The Phoenix Conspiracy

  ***

  With both the bridge and engineering secure, Calvin gave the order to go to Abia. It felt good to have his command again, even illegitimately. He kept from thinking about the consequences of his actions by imagining what secrets awaited them in Abia.

  “ETA?” he asked for what must have been the twentieth time.

  “Two hours and fifty-three minutes,” said Sarah.

  With the major’s force in ruins, Calvin had ordered his White Shift officers to the bridge and had relieved Red Shift, which he’d sent below. Fortunately the exchange of personnel had happened before more Special Forces soldiers appeared—who were now drilling futilely into the defense walls.

  Only Summers had been kept against her will; she was cable-tied in the CO’s office where, presumably, she could do no further harm. Miles had taken a break earlier to go and surprise her with a beanbag round from a shotgun—enough to knock her unconscious. Only he would think to do such a thing to an unarmed prisoner. Calvin scolded him and forced him to resume his station, but, deep inside, Calvin was a little bit pleased. Not enough to condone the action, but he also hadn’t forgotten the jagged wound she’d given him earlier. How she’d slipped into his heart and had ravaged it mercilessly from the inside.

  “Is everything still fine in engineering?”

  “As of last report … one minute ago,” said Sarah.

  “Good, good,” said Calvin. He stood up and started pacing around the bridge.

  “Are you okay?” asked Sarah.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He hovered over Miles’s screen and examined the defense systems.

  “All’s good here, Cal,” said Miles.

  Calvin nodded and wound his way over to Shen’s station.

  “Everything’s fine over here too,” said Shen.

  “And is the Andromeda and its flotilla in sight?” he asked.

  “Negative. Nothing on our scopes bigger than random space debris.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. His biggest concern now, aside from the perpetual threat that he’d somehow lose control of the ship … again, was that the fleet would overtake him. The Nighthawk had spent a lot of fuel and had taxed its engines heavily; as a result, they couldn’t do as deep of a jump as Calvin had wanted. Their present depth still translated into a fast speed, but whether it was fast enough was difficult to say. Not without Andre’s input, and the poor guy was still locked away in HQ.