The Phoenix Project

by Kris Powers

  “Yeah I think so, too. Now get out of here.”

  Phelps rushed off the bridge.

  A swarm of tiny boxes exited the ship from all decks and poured into space. They emitted tiny bright lights once they cleared the Excalibur and entered superluminal speeds for just a few seconds to clear the area.

  Maria bent over the helm console and grabbed the protruding joystick to guide her cruiser through the enemy ships vying to stop her. As the Excalibur closed in on the carrier, she input the commands to auto—navigate towards the carrier.

  “UNABLE TO LOCK,” blinked across the screen on the right side of the console’s display.

  “Come on!”

  The cruiser took more hits to its overloaded shields. Mechanics on the last Coalition carrier rushed to launch sixty foot long fighters ahead of time.

  Again, Maria ordered the computer to auto—navigate to its destination.

  “UNABLE TO LOCK.”

  She slammed her palm against the console next to the stick. The intrepid ship’s shields collapsed under the continued assault. Spots on the hull flashed white as its armor was vaporized.

  Armors failed and the multiple torpedoes and particle pulses began to penetrate the hull. She heard the sound of explosions within the ship. They were followed by the clamor of crumpling metal.

  Maria slipped past the last intervening destroyer and saw clear space towards the carrier. Again she pounded the buttons for automatic navigation towards the target.

  “COURSE LOCKED.”

  She smiled and returned to her command chair. The press of a button on her armrest would activate a modular capsule which would encompass Maria and propel her to safety.

  The Excalibur entered its death throws. A cruiser of enemy origin unleashed a great swelling of energy towards the cruiser in a bid to stop its final ascent.

  A storm of green pulses and bright torpedoes found their mark against the forward hull. Excalibur howled at the release of energy. A great hole in the ship emitted coiling smoke as she dived towards her target.

  Maria felt the deck shift. Her escape capsule began to envelope her as a bright light emitted from the monitors on the right side of the bridge. In the next moment, they exploded and collapsed the entire port side of the command center. Fragments of metal and plastic flew at fantastic speeds across the command center.

  The capsule was nearly closed when traces of superheated plasma flew into it. The bridge’s groans of weakness competed with Maria’s screams of agony. The pod closed and sped through a shaft in the ceiling of the bridge to the exterior of the ship. It flashed a bright light and sped outside the area to a safe distance.

  The AWS Excalibur was a spear of smoke and flame when it crashed into the Coalition carrier. The warship instantly lost shields as the Excalibur smashed into its hull. Conduits and piping stretched and snapped in short order as the valiant ship sacrificed itself for a greater purpose. Excalibur’s forward hull came to a stop now that it had impaled the enemy vessel. It presented an image of a broadly—winged bird sticking its head into a feeder.

  As secondary explosions rocked both vessels, the carrier’s superluminal engines exploded. The white flash created a shockwave dangerous to anything within several thousand miles. Two approaching Coalition frigates dissolved once the blast wave hit them. A more distant cruiser’s shields failed and became marked by a blackened hull along its port side.

  The next highest ranking officer of the Second Battle Group, Commodore Stokes sat on the bridge of the cruiser AWS Iroquois. He watched the distant flash in the rear line of the enemy Coalition fleet.

  “Are there any survivors?”

  “Yes, I’m reading dozens of lifeboats outside the battlefield. It looks like they made it Sir,” the officer replied.

  Stokes lifted his bulbous body from his chair. “I’m taking command of the battle group.”

  “Sir, I have a text message from Commander Phelps detailing the rest of Admiral Peterson’s orders,” his communications officer reported.

  “Maria’s first officer? Does the message have the correct recognition codes?”

  “Yes Sir,” the officer said after a moment.

  “Download them to my link.”

  The officer nodded and sent the data to him. Stokes took a link from a breast pocket and brought up the orders.

  “Excellent,” he said after a careful review of the document. “The enemy is off—balance. We need to take advantage of their confusion. Order all fighters to break from their positions and run for the enemy’s flanks.”

  His tactical analysis personnel nodded and relayed the order. To the Coalition’s surprise, the light grey fighters abruptly turned and raced across the enemy ships’ bows. They then poured over the edges of the Coalition front line.

  “All fighters proceed to the rear of the Coalition’s formation.”

  The fighters complied and moved to surround the aft arc of the Coalition fleet.

  “Target the enemy ship’s sub—light engines and unload all ordinances.”

  Six thousand tiny torpedoes gushed from the fleet of Alliance fighters. The massive armada of tiny orange stars crashed into the Coalition’s ranks. They exploded against the sterns of every ship. Many of them lost their ability to maneuver and became sitting ducks open to attack.

  “Move the group to surround the fleet. What is the enemy status?” the Commodore inquired.

  “Ten ships have been destroyed. Ninety seven have lost their sub—light engines,” his tactical analysis officer replied.

  “Order all ships to fire at will.”

  The Second Battle Group was now completely unfettered and began to fire every weapon in their arsenals. The emerald of particle beam cannons was joined by the orange flame of torpedoes occasionally lit up by the bright discharge from a primary plasma array.

  “What is the status of the enemy?”

  “Thirty—seven ships destroyed. Nearly all of the rest of the enemy fleet has suffered moderate to heavy damage.”

  “Have the fleet concentrate their fire on any remaining undamaged Coalition ships.”

  With their fighter support a ghost and Alliance ships in every direction, the Coalition lines collapsed. Their warships attempted to face every direction to deal with the enemy ships but with no concentrated fire, they were ineffective.

  The Iroquois’ communications officer addressed Stokes in her high piping voice.

  “Orders from command, Sir.”

  “Yes, what are they?”

  “We are ordered to disengage and fall back to the outpost. The Coalition has ordered their fleet to stand down and retreat.”

  “A little late for that,” Stokes said. “Order our forces to stop firing and disengage. We’ll fall back to the outpost. Have the Yorktown and the Indefatigable pick up the Excalibur survivors.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Beams of energy and orange torpedoes ceased their journeys across space. The bulk of the fleet turned away from battle and moved back towards the distant outpost. Two Alliance frigates stayed behind to search the battlefield for survivors of the Excalibur.

  The Coalition did its best to consolidate their fleet and return to their space. Many of the ships burned from spots along their olive hulls as they limped home.

  Two lifeboats were pulled into an empty bay of the rescue ship Indefatigable. A battered pod came in shortly afterwards and took a different route than the two escape vehicles on the main hangar deck.

  The Admiral’s escape vehicle continued a slow course over the lifeboats. Excalibur crewmembers looked up in concern at the large, nearly coffin like pod being carefully and slowly maneuvered into a smaller open deck above their heads.

  Two technicians and an equal number of paramedics nervously shifted their weight from foot to foot as the tomb hovered over the upper deck and came to a quiet landing on the titanium floor.

  The white clothed paramedics surged forward with an anti—gravity gurney only to have the technicians stop them.


  “Stop. You need the pod open first. Wait here while we do our job,” one of the techs said.

  “Just be quick. We were told the life sign was unstable.”

  The technician nodded with a somber expression and yelled to his partner.

  “Come on buddy. Act like your girlfriend’s daddy was on your heels.”

  The other tech raced to the pod with him. He bent down to the melted alloy on the pod.

  “Jesus,” he said to a smashed lock. He looked at the large duffel bag his standing companion had hanging from his hand.

  “Gimme the welder, Mark. Quick!”

  The bag dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. His partner slashed the bag from end to end with the zipper. Mark dug for the welder, producing it a second later. The other technician grabbed the faded gray colored pistol from his hand the moment he saw it appear from the bag.

  “No offense, Mark.”

  “None taken, Ralph.”

  Ralph aimed and pulled the trigger. The welder emitted a bright discharge from its muzzle and began to cut through the damaged seal of the pod. A tiny sputter of sparks flew from a growing hot line.

  “Hurry up,” Ralph muttered to himself.

  The line grew to three feet. Ralph relaxed his hold on the welder’s trigger. He put both palms on the rounded side of the door and lifted it upwards a foot. The light from the bay cut into a dark capsule. Ralph shivered at the thought of being confined within its black space.

  He jumped back when the light uncovered a white hand splattered with blood. Ralph’s whipped his head around to face the paramedics several feet away.

  “God almighty! Get over here!”

  They ran to the pod with the anti—gravity gurney between them. The head medic stuck his head into the capsule.

  “I need a light!”

  Ralph grabbed a large flashlight from his belt and shoved it at the paramedic.

  “Thanks.”

  The illuminating instrument shone into the capsule. Maria lay on her back in her chair. One hand rested on an armrest, the other on the protective hull. Tiny droplets of blood had sprayed across the capsule. A bright red smear had pooled across the right side of her uniform.

  The paramedic forced himself to look at her face.

  He couldn’t help but pause at the sight. He had never seen anything like it. The paramedic found his steadiness and brought up a palm sized scanner. He raised it to the slim figure knowing the sure truth printed across the stone of his face.

  And then he gasped.

  “She’s alive! Get the gurney over here. I need oxygen and a coagulant kit!”

  The other paramedic hurried to the edge of the capsule and produced the needed items from a drawer in the bed. The medic grabbed the medical devices and sprayed the effected area with the coagulant. He then placed a small device over her mouth and nose producing oxygen.

  They placed the gurney next to the open side of the pod. One of them placed his hand on the inside of the ceiling of the escape vehicle. He felt for the button he knew was there. A few drying drops of blood caused his finger to slip before he depressed it.

  Maria’s chair disengaged from its place with a grinding of damaged metal gears and moved to the edge of the life pod. Both arms of the chair folded down parallel to the deck. The two medics carefully moved her from the chair and onto the gurney.

  “Let’s go, Medical Bay One.”

  Elliot Fredericks sat back after finishing a well prepared plate of lasagna. He saw Ranik and Lathiel spoon the rest of their food into their mouths and nod to each other in appreciation.

  “It seems we arrived at an inopportune time,” Lathiel said.

  “I hope not. You may be what we need to establish a lasting peace.”

  “Why do you believe that?” Ranik asked.

  “The knowledge that we are no longer the only intelligent species in the universe may be enough to force everyone to lay down their arms and forge an agreement.”

  Ranik and Lathiel quietly looked at each other.

  “You disagree?” Elliot asked.

  Lathiel swallowed and leaned towards the table while avoiding Elliot’s eyes.

  “That has not always been our experience.”

  “How many first contact situations has your species been involved in?”

  “Well over a hundred by now,” Ranik replied.

  “And?”

  “Some of them went badly,” Lathiel said.

  “Some went very badly. The more violent species we encountered actually started civil wars as a result of contacting another civilization,” Ranik interjected.

  “Hopefully, that won’t happen here.”

  Joshua and Madison came back into the room and sat down at their seats. Elliot saw the despondent looks on their faces.

  “I take it things didn’t go well.”

  Joshua threw a cautious glance at the Ferine guests.

  “It’s alright Josh. I’ve filled them in on current events.”

  “The Fleet Admiral disagreed with our recommendations.”

  “How so?” Elliot asked.

  “His head got stuck in his butt,” Madison said. “Sorry,” she said to the Ferine.

  “Butt?” Lathiel asked.

  “A different way of saying rectum,” Joshua supplied.

  “Your people are capable of that?” Ranik asked in disbelief. The comment made Elliot clamp a hand across the smile on his face despite his shaking shoulders. Madison laughed outright to relieve her frustration. Both Lathiel and Ranik’s eyes searched the situation in confusion.

  “Some are,” Joshua said.

  “We’re sorry. Madison was referring to an expression we use. It’s a metaphor for someone who is being irrationally stubborn.”

  The meaning sank into the two Ferine and they soon joined in the laughter at the table. Elliot found their amused roars cut through his reserve and he gave in to the spontaneity.

  Lathiel stopped heaving for a moment to interject his own metaphor. “We would say he’s too busy tripping over his scrotum!”

  The revelation of the alien saying brought a second series of guffaws to the table.

  “I am so glad you’re here,” Madison said to the Ferine once the laughter had died down.

  “So are we. Why does the Admiral have this problem?” Lathiel asked.

  “Politics, Lathiel, politics. Neither side wants to lose face in this confrontation.”

  “Nelson won’t back down unless the Coalition does,” Joshua said.

  “I see some things are universal,” Ranik grumbled.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Lathiel inquired.

  “I wish there was, but no. The situation is out of our hands for the moment.” Elliot’s earpiece beeped. “If you could wait for a moment, Lathiel.”

  Lathiel fell silent and nodded. Elliot thumbed the communications device at his ear. A hushed conversation occurred before Elliot thanked the person and deactivated the earpiece. “There is a truce in effect but it came too late. Several Coalition ships were destroyed as well as one Alliance ship. One of my friends was badly wounded.”

  “Maria?” Madison asked.

  “She’s in critical condition. I need to leave immediately.”

  Elliot arrived at Outpost Fourteen an hour after he departed from the Endeavour. The outpost allowed him clearance with little protest. The large station pulsed with piping and conduit, snaking across its walls.

  The hospital was easy to find. The layout of the station was clearly marked on large accessible monitors embedded in the walls on every level.

  Elliot asked the nurse for Maria’s room number at the information desk in the hospital’s lobby. She graciously gave the admiral the room and floor number which he accepted with a thank—you. His stomach twisted in the elevator as it stopped.

  Upon locating Maria’s room, he cautiously tapped the entry pad and the door parted into the walls. A doctor stood at the bed in the private room. He regarded the visitor.

  “F
riend or family?”

  “Friend.”

  “This is past visiting hours. Please re—” he began.

  “I’m also an admiral,” Elliot interrupted.

  “Alright. You can stay, Sir.”

  “How is she?” asked Elliot.

  “She just crossed the line,” he replied and realized he should clarify his statement, “for the better. She’ll make it.”

  Elliot looked at Maria resting on a large hospital bed. She was unconscious and had a large technological prosthetic covering nearly half of her face.

  “Would it be alright if I stayed for a while?”

  “Alright,” the doctor said cautiously, “but only for a while. When I say to go, you go, Admiral.”

  “No problem.”

  The doctor turned from his patient and exited the room. Elliot sat on the chair next to her bed. He took her right hand into both of his. He stayed through much of the evening worrying that she might take a turn for the worse but his friend did not leave him.

  The battle at Outpost Fourteen is the strongest evidence of what might have occurred if First Contact had not happened. The common view indicates that with a strong, decisive strategy, the Alliance would have prevailed in an all out war.

  In this battle, post—tactical estimates involved counts of forty—seven Coalition warships destroyed and sixty—one more suffering moderate to heavy damage. If the war had not been called off, it is very likely that the entire fleet of one hundred and twenty ships would have been slaughtered.

  Did First Contact save the Alliance or condemn it?

  2299: Sunset on the 23rd Century

  by Ronald Scott

  Chapter VIII

  “I see it!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

  “Calm your emotions,” Catherine said softly. The group of twelve elderly people kept their eyes closed while they wandered in the future.

  “It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said.

  “Careful. Don’t let the images escape,” Catherine said.

  “Yes, I see them,” Victoria said.

  A strange ethereal mist existed in the center of the group, much to Alexander’s dismay. The mist seemed to fluctuate and change as dim images appeared within it.