The Phoenix Conspiracy

by Richard L. Sanders

  "Assuming your information is correct," she said very carefully, "then yes, I think your reasoning is sound. Why didn't you tell me this before?"

  "I didn't know before, I didn't run the prints until half-an-hour ago."

  Summers raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't that supposed to be Shen's job?"

  Calvin shrugged. "Yeah, but I got curious. Anyway, he's doing the deep research. I just wanted a quick glance to see if there were an obvious connection.”

  The connection seemed too obvious, Calvin wondered if someone had meant it to be found. Perhaps trying to plant a false flag. Or maybe CERKO was trying to announce a come-back

  "This just gets more and more interesting," said Calvin.

  "You're over-thinking it, I can tell." Her eyes challenged his.

  "Excuse me?” he asked, brought back to the moment.

  "You think you're so smart because you see things other people don't. A conspiracy, a plot, whatever. But sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

  He scratched his head. "You know... that's the second time I've heard that expression today."

  She shrugged. "Maybe it's fate's way of giving you a hint."

  "So you'd rather I not look for all the information and just answer the question anyway. Jump to some conclusion and be done with it. That's called guessing. You'd be a terrible math student."

  "You're not looking at all the information. You're inventing information in your head that isn't there. Adding to the problem, making it more complex than it actually is. And just so you know, I'm great at math. It was my minor at university. What about you?"

  Maybe the math quip hadn't been such a great idea. "What would you know anyway? You're in the navy. You're not trained to investigate; you're trained to shoot stuff."

  "I'd put my powers of deduction against yours any day," she folded her arms. Seeing her challenge him like that, it made him smile.

  "All right," he said. "It's a long flight anyway," he tapped a command and the table between them displayed a virtual chessboard.

  "You're kidding. We don't have time for this."

  "That's what I thought," said Calvin. "You're all talk."

  "One of us should be on the bridge."

  "Who has the deck?" asked Calvin.

  "First Lieutenant Iwate Shen."

  "He's a good officer; we're in good hands," said Calvin. "So what's the matter, chicken?"

  "Do you have any idea how childish you are?" She looked unimpressed.

  "No," said Calvin. "So I'll say it again, are you chicken?"

  The hint of an amused smile cracked her lips but she forced it away. "All right, I suppose I can spare five minutes to prove a point."

  "Only five minutes," said Calvin. "Where's your confidence?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "You really are a piece of work."

  They began. Calvin let her play white and make all the first moves. He was curious to see how she'd develop, what kind of position she'd create. He could learn a lot about someone by fighting them. He made moves to match her tactically. Not going out of his way to be aggressive or wrestle away control of the board. Mostly he just wanted to see what she'd do, how her brain worked, what her tendencies were.

  He found her boring and unimpressive. She was smart and her decisions were solid, but too cautious and safe. She lacked creativity and her moves, although good, were rarely surprising—and never dazzling. She built her attack patiently and her side of the board was a granite wall of well-placed pieces.

  Calvin was another story. At first he made his moves quickly, partially because he was familiar with good openings and partially because he didn't take her all that seriously. But, when it became evident she was no rookie to be walked over, he had to focus a lot harder. And the slight mistakes he made at the beginning haunted him throughout the game. In his hurry to compensate and counter her threats, which were building like a slow avalanche, he kept himself alive only through a great deal of cleverness.

  But he was no professional. And though he was skilled at deduction, he had a difficult time keeping focused on the game. His mind tended to wander free from the shackles of the board and he'd catch himself thinking about Summers, wondering what was going on in her head. He was more gifted at playing the player than the game, and though he found her style easy to predict, this talent was more useful in real life than it was on a 64 square playing board with only a handful of options available at any given time.

  Eventually, when it looked like the game would either end in stalemate or in her favor, he took a large risk. Believing that sometimes the best move is a heterodox one, something unpredictable that throws the opponent off her game. Messes with her head, makes her unsure of herself. Defeats her psychologically.

  "Are you sure you want to put your bishop there?" asked Summers.

  Calvin nodded, looking as arrogant as he could, even though his eyes were jumping all over the board to see if she could counter his idea. His ability to see ahead was only about four moves. "Trust me I know what I'm doing," he lied.

  "Whatever you say," she took the bishop like a mouse snatching cheese.

  The next several moves were slow but intense. Both players stared at the board for long periods of time before dragging their fingers across the table-screen to move their pieces. Calvin had no mercy as he unleashed a combination of attack after attack, keeping the pressure on, routing Summers’ pieces, and threatening her king. It felt good to say "Check, Check, Check," and watch her pieces dance accordingly. But, since he hadn't been able to see more than a few moves into this position, he'd assumed that, given all his attacking power, he'd be able to force a win. This was not so. What had seemed like an endless ocean of checks and attacks was just a pond, and it dried up quicker than he'd expected .

  Calvin knew his options had evaporated. He kept the pressure on, as best he could, going for more and more desperate jabs. Sacrificing pieces when he had to. But as Summers held him at bay she was readying an attack of her own which, Calvin knew, would not fail.

  So he offered a draw, still trying to look smug. "How ‘bout it?"

  Her eyes laughed. "No chance, egomaniac."

  "Maybe I'll just sit here then and think," he took out a book and pretended to read.

  "Your clock's ticking."

  If he moved, he'd lose the game soon and if he didn't move he'd lose on time. But not for ten minutes. He considered making her wait the whole time to see if she was impatient enough to accept the draw but, ultimately, decided that was bad sportsmanship and he resigned. "You're a very good player, much better than I thought."

  She smiled. "And you're... about what I expected."

  "Too bad chess isn't a real game anyway," he said shrugging her off.

  She chuckled. "You're right. Maybe you should stick with bingo, it's more on your level."

  "Ha ha..." He turned off the table-screen and leaned back in his chair. "Now poker, that's a game."

  "You were doing fine until the end," she said. "Then you just blew it."

  "See that's why chess isn't a real game. It lets you be clever but not creative. In real life all the best moves are unorthodox, unexpected, and unpredictable. There are literally infinite 'moves' you could make at any time. But in chess there's what... like twenty?"

  "All the worst decisions are unorthodox too. They defy common sense. That's what makes them unorthodox, everyone knows they're stupid to do. Walking on your hands instead of your legs is unorthodox, because it's slower, harder, and stupider."

  "But it is something you could do, if you ever found a situation where it would be useful. It's just one more strategy in your repertoire. For that rare moment when it is useful. No reason to limit yourself because something seems stupid most of the time. May as well keep it in your bag of options."

  She cocked her head. "And when would that ever be more useful than walking the regular way?"

  Calvin was known for being quick on his feet, but even he couldn't come up with anything. "What if there were a walking-on-your-hands
contest and the winner got a million q?"

  She folded her arms. "Are we done here?"

  Calvin knew he'd picked a bad example of what a good "unorthodox move" would look like.

  "OK," said Calvin, thinking back over the last several days. "Take Raidan." She visibly shuddered at the name. "No one expected him to surrender without a fight and plead guilty, but it also made it harder for us to notice his escape plan. The predictable thing was for him to resist arrest and resist the sentence of the court, fight his battle there. Instead, he sped things along so we wouldn't have time to unravel his behind-the-scenes planning."

  "And sometimes doing the unpredictable thing ends up being stupid and you get the death penalty for it. And for what? So he could blow up some alien transports out of irrational hate? What a stupid, stupid waste!"

  Her strong reaction only added to Calvin’s suspicion that Raidan’s and Summers’ relationship had been more than just professional.

  "But was it really stupid?" Calvin sat forward, anticipating her reaction.

  "Are you taking Raidan's side now, Lieutenant Commander?" Summers' eyes glowed.

  "No," he said. "But sometimes someone can do a bad thing in a smart way."

  She gave him a strange look.

  "Raidan did commit an international crime, which carries a serious burden of consequences. But what did he do it for? Maybe, somehow, the benefits outweighed the costs. I'm sure Raidan must think that's so. Otherwise he wouldn't have done it."

  "Sometimes people aren't as rational as you think. Sometimes they act blindly, quickly, and emotionally," she said. "Like a father beating his child, or a gambler diving deeper into debt so he can win it all back, or an addict returning to the same bottle of pills even though he knows he'll hate himself for it afterwards."

  That stung Calvin even though she couldn’t possibly know about his equarius habit. And she was right. Rationally he hated the pills and knew the costs outweighed the benefits, but he came back to them all the same.

  "And people end up making decisions they regret later," Summers continued.

  "Yeah," Calvin admitted quietly. "Sometimes they do."

  She folded her arms and nodded smugly, like she’d won something. Calvin dismissed her.

  Chapter 15

  "Cap'n on the bridge," said Miles. “What’s up, chief?”

  "I've been reviewing the details of the engagement when Raidan destroyed the Rotham freighters,” said Calvin. “And I’ve found something interesting.”

  “What is it?” asked Shen, though they all looked curious.

  “First let me ask you, if Raidan were willing to give up everything, including his life, to destroy those ships, what does that imply?”

  “That he hates rotham and possibly wanted to start a war,” said Summers.

  Calvin shook his head. “No that’s too simple and isn’t consistent with his past behaviors. Any other ideas?”

  “That the ships were carrying important cargo that he needed destroyed,” said Sarah.

  “Exactly.”

  “But we know what they were carrying,” said Shen, now reading the report. "The Ortahn had eighteen thousand crates of alcohol. The Guinn had a cargo of predominantly exotic spices, salts, and preservatives at approximately 80,000 kilograms. The Qiun'ha had a cache of nine hundred personal computers and seven thousand type C power cells. And the Ursa, which escaped, carried two million liters of purified water. Net worth of the combined cargo losses is registered as just over 2.5 million q. A lot of money."

  "But not a lot for four freighters worth of cargo," said Summers.

  “What if it’s a lie. What if the ships carried something else, perhaps smuggling something illegal, we’d never know.”

  “That’s a bold indictment,” Summers frowned.

  “Is it?” asked Calvin. “Then maybe you can explain why the Ursa ran back to Rotham space rather than docking at a closer outpost for repairs? There were three Imperial stations on the way to N-175 but it ignored all of them. Why?”

  “Obviously they didn’t trust us after being assaulted by one of our attack cruisers,” said Summers.

  “Maybe,” admitted Calvin. “Or maybe they were hiding something. Something Raidan found out about and tried to stop.”

  “If they had any secret cargo then how did Raidan find out about it? And why would he destroy it—keeping his motives secret—rather than report it? Why not try to board the ships and seize the cargo?”

  Calvin wasn’t sure.

  Summers continued, “And what kind of cargo could be such a threat? Something he’d throw his life away to destroy? Probably not narcotics.”

  “Slaves?” asked Sarah.

  “Weapons, perhaps,” said Calvin.

  “It could be information,” suggested Shen. “Either on harddrives or in the minds of some VIP passengers.”

  “In any case, this is all pointless speculation,” said Summers. “And doesn’t further our goal—which is to find Raidan.”

  “It’s not pointless speculation, there is more evidence for my theory,” said Calvin.

  “Tell us what you found,” said Miles.

  “Anyone else wonder how an attack cruiser like the Phoenix got as damaged as it did fighting nothing but freighters?”

  Silence.

  “They had military-grade armaments and shielding, heavy armor, and professional pilots,” he said, his crew looked as surprised as they were curious.

  “Really?” asked Sarah.

  He looked at Summers. “You were there, tell them. Those were not ordinary freighters you engaged.”

  Summers looked embarrassed. “I was ordered elsewhere at the time and wasn’t on the bridge.”

  “How could you know they were upgraded, aside from seeing the damage they inflicted on the Phoenix?” asked Shen.

  “The report the Ursa crew submitted after the engagement, the one that incriminated the Phoenix, included some footage from the action. Details are sketchy but not too hard to put together. Shen pull up ‘Beotan A-2’ on the display and play the footage.”

  He complied and five ships appeared on the projector. Four freighters and a sleek-looking attack cruiser which closed in and exchanged fire.

  “Stop,” said Calvin. The image froze in place and he walked closer to it, where he could point with his hands. “See the position the ships are in?”

  “Doesn’t strike me as unusual,” said Shen.

  “The ships haven’t broken formation. Usually when civilian pilots are attacked they break off individually and route in all directions. But there is no panic, they’re trying to escape as a unit, discipline intact.”

  “Maybe they’re just experienced,” said Summers.

  “Think so?” Calvin resumed the display and paused it a few seconds later. “Now look.”

  “I don’t see anything interesting,” said Summers.

  “I do,” said Sarah. “That’s a kilo-six evasive pattern.”

  “Right,” said Calvin. “A complex evasive maneuver that the rotham used several times during the Great War.”

  “Maybe they learned how to do it on their own,” said Summers.

  “Sarah, in your opinion, could someone learn how to do that on their own?” asked Calvin.

  She shook her head. “That’s years of military-training to learn something like that. A ship like that shouldn’t even have the maneuverability to execute it.”

  “Yet they did,” said Calvin. “They all did. Which brings me to my next point, not just military pilots but improved thrusters and engines. And, look at this,” he played another segment which showed the Phoenix firing a barrage of rockets at a ship, eventually destroying it. But what stood out—after careful scrutiny—was that the projectiles were being intercepted by a point deflector system. A countermeasure that was so expensive to install most military starships didn’t even have one, including the Nighthawk.

  “Amazing,” said Miles. “No way some corporation could have outfitted their cargo carriers with point de
flectors!”

  “And that’s not all,” Calvin said, resuming the clip once more. The Phoenix cut in close and opened up a full broadside—its mounted m90’s eventually shredded the freighter’s hull but not nearly as quickly as they should have.

  “That’s some solid armor plating,” said Miles.

  “Yes,” said Calvin. “Clearly someone spent a lot of money upgrading these ships. Probably to protect whatever they were carrying. Raidan was not the only one who thought the cargo was important.”

  "So why were the ships destroyed, if someone went to all that trouble to protect them?" asked Shen.

  "Even with all those defenses, these kinds of ships are still large with several hull weaknesses and systems vulnerabilities,” said Calvin. “The Phoenix is an attack cruiser—more than capable of destroying a convoy even tougher than this one. But what is interesting," Calvin paused. "Is that the Ursa still managed to escape. Based on its escape velocity and trajectory, relative to the pursuing Phoenix, it never should have made it out of the system with standard engines. But it did clear enough distance to jump and made the calculation in practically no time. Achieving a depth of eighty-eight percent potential within three minutes. Now I dare you to find any standard freighter that can do that.”

  “How do you know someone didn’t doctor all of this footage?” asked Summers.

  “I’ve had the computer analyze it for any signs of tampering and haven’t found anything. The data agrees with what the Phoenix’s computer recorded.”

  “Okay,” said Shen. “I think we’ve established the ships were upgraded, but where does that leave us?”

  “We need to find out who upgraded them and why,” Calvin smiled. “Shen, I want you investigate what corporation sponsored this convoy, who owns the ships, who pilots them, find out everything you can. Since they were heading to Capital World, that means humans purchased their cargo. If the shipment was something sinister, some humans must be in on it. Find out who they are."