phil jones2 (25 page)

See through them? Future Captain? Phil shared in their confusion, before slowly realising that if Darwin was going to be their future Captain then that meant...

Burroughs tapped at a few buttons and the image of Doctor Hanniman appeared on the screen, it was only then that Phil realised the good Doctor was not with them.

'If you'd like to continue, Doctor?'

'Gentleman and Lady, I am Dr. Hanniman. Prior to joining your mission against the Voravian threat I was head researcher at the Human Genome Project. I am afraid that we've pulled the wool over your eyes somewhat.'

They all stood aghast, nobody knowing what to say, judging from Darwin's wide grin it would appear that he was in on whatever this was.

'The glove that has mysteriously disappeared from your hand was a prototype to test a simple premise. Could a random individual become Captain of a Star Command vessel in a high-risk situation and triumph?'

Phil felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as the man continued to talk, as if a dream was slowly bursting and he didn't know why.

'The Grand Admiral suggested that we test the capabilities of this new device in a mock-up situation involving a threatening race of our invention. Namely, the Voravians.'

Phil looked around the room, everyone was completely stunned.

'But sir, the Voravians are known to be our mortal enemy, how can you simply say they were invented?' Annika asked.

Burroughs chuckled. 'My dear, there are indeed Voravians out there, but we are at peace with them and they were kind enough to let us borrow a number of them for the purpose of this experiment. It is the idea that they are threatening which is entirely fiction.'

'What then of the weapons we used, did we not kill many of them and another species on the planet?' Smith asked.

It was Darwin who spoke this time. 'The weapons you were given were entirely fabricated and no more lethal to your opposition than a child's first stun gun. Both the Voravians and the Pinkarians were fully informed of our choreographed routine, one in which I had much fun participating.'

Phil couldn't believe it. It had all been one big set-up to test out their damn glove. He wasn't the chosen one, he was just some fat idiot they had conned into believing otherwise.

'Judging from your performances, it was decided that Captain Darwin was still a more superior commanding officer than “Captain” Jones and will henceforth be your new commanding officer.' Hanniman said.

The crew, who had reacted badly to such trickery, were in uproar at the decision.

'You cannot be serious.' RJ said through clenched teeth, Beckeresque in his fury. 'That pompous idiot knew that whole time that this was just a game!'

Darwin smirked. 'Oh this is no game, my Texan friend. Besides, it's the Captain's job to know the unknowable.'

'That doesn't even make sense!' roared RJ, losing his cool entirely at the smug man.

Annika stepped forward too, but she had some of her analytical cool about her now and addressed Hanniman, not Darwin.

'It would appear to me that by taking advantage of the disabled forcefield, Agent Smith was responsible for the ship's “destruction”.'

The scientist waved away her concerns. 'Smith's evasion of the trap was by pure fortune, and the acid was never a danger to the craft, merely an excuse to sound the alarm and ratchet up the tension further.'

'What about Captain Jones then? Did he not activate their self-destruct mechanism?'

Burroughs let out a guffaw of laughter. 'the glove was responsible for that, not Phil Jones.'

Phil found himself standing right up to Burroughs now, and in his heart he knew that it was he who had done this, not the glove.

'I don't pretend to know what it was the glove did to me.' he said, sweeping his gaze across all three men. 'I do know that it has changed me in ways I could never imagine before.' he stared down at his hands and watched them twitch. 'you say that the glove was the one responsible for all these things happening, I was there when it happened and I watched it all unfold, I know who did what and I also know that toward the end, when it really mattered, it was me doing those things, not the glove.'

The room was silent, nobody dared interrupt him even as he paused to give them the opportunity.

'I may not have a wealth of experience like the Grand Admiral, or the practical credentials of Darwin. I certainly don't have the scientific knowledge of you, Hanniman. I've been thinking though, looking back over everything that happened to me, and I've realised that the glove only had a small part to play in that. That for my every weakness I had someone with me who made up for that with their strength.' he turned to the crew now and saw that Annika's eyes were watering. 'I may not have the combat skills or know how to shoot a gun, but I trust Agent Smith to. That's why he's my number one.'

Smith actually smiled, Annika had tears in her eyes, but Phil wasn't done yet.

'I may not have the intelligence or analytical mind required to understand things, but I know I can rely on Annika. I may not have the wisdom and foresight or faith but I trust RJ's counsel to provide me with them and from what I've heard if I need a damn good pilot to get me out of a tight spot, I can rely on Ensign Trigger Hawkins.'

He turned to face the men behind the table, there wasn't a grin among them any more.

'I may not have these things, I may not be your ideal Captain and I may not have done enough in your simulation to warrant a ship. What I do know is that your glove chose me for a reason, out of all the people on Earth it chose me.' he pointed a finger at his chest now in emphasis. 'Me, out of the billions of people. Simulation or not, random chance or not, I believe that it chose me.'

Silence engulfed the room, and time seemed to stand still as he let out a sigh and said no more.

'Be that as it may, Captain Jones. Our simulations showed that Darwin was the superior man for the job should an invasion be forthcoming. I'd like to thank you for your participation and wish you all the best in your future endeavours.'

Smith stood forward now, eyeing them all behind his darkened shades. 'Gentlemen and lady, as you may already know I am not Captain Jones' greatest proponent. Nevertheless, I have seen this man transformed over the course of this... simulation. I owe him my life and if you force him away from Star Command then I too shall seek employment elsewhere.'

'You'll need to find yourself another pilot too, because if Smith's out then I'm out.' RJ said.

Annika nodded. 'Captain Jones is the chosen one, if he is to be blocked by bureaucracy then you're short a Lieutenant too.'

Trigger didn't speak, Phil wasn't surprised. These men couldn't even remember his rank, let alone his purpose for being here. From the skinny man's hard stare he could tell that he was with them though.

'Be that as it may.' Burroughs stated. 'I do not recall giving you a choice in the matter. I shall consult with the Captain and we shall return with our verdict.'

He stood and motioned to Darwin to follow him, the Star Command Captain looked less than pleased at the situation.

Phil felt the touch of Annika's hand upon his shoulder, he turned to face the rest of his crew that had stood behind him in this final hour.

'Whatever happens, Captain, we're yours to command.' the words were followed by a chorus of agreement and nods that humbled Phil and brought tears to his eyes.

'I don't know what's left to say.' he said to the resolute faces of his crew,
his
crew. 'thank you.'

Then the world went white and Phil knew no more.

Chapter 30

Indentation! Dust! Sky!

P
hil Jones woke upon a bed of pizza boxes and the smell of stale sweat.

Rising ponderously, he eyed the faint illumination from the street lights streaming through his thin curtains. What a crazy dream that had been.

He stared down at the Phil-shaped indentation that had formed in the boxes, it looked as if he had been lying there the whole night. Had he simply passed out after the fight with the wolves in the orchard?

Turning to his computer, he waved the mouse and the screen blinked up. The desktop looked exactly the same as ever, offering no clue as to how long he had been comatose save for the clock in the corner cheerily informing him it was far too early in the morning.

If he had passed out playing, as his memory indicated, would the game not still be open?

He flicked on the lamp beside his gaming station to offer more light on the situation. That was when he noticed with a rising excitement that there was a new package sat beside his door, he suspected that Ronald had finally let himself in with that key and deposited the box, thinking Phil asleep due to the unsociable hours. He was sure the postman would get a good laugh out of recounting the tale of finding Phil's sleeping form prone upon the mound of pizza boxes to his work friends.

Staggering over to his door after several failed attempts, Phil reached out and grabbed the package, clutching it gleefully to his flabby chest and thinking about the wonders he would soon witness.

He then sneezed and dropped it, colliding with a foreign object and finding himself staring up at his ceiling as a pile of dust slowly settled.

Frowning in confusion, his hand quested out and found the box once more. There was a thick layer of the stuff coating it, which made absolutely no sense given that it had been delivered yesterday.

Something was very wrong here.

Finding his feet once again, he tried to shake off the feeling of confusion and found himself staring at his mail box, through which there were a series of letters.

Crossing carefully over to it he thumbed through the envelopes and realised that he had been unconscious for several days at the very least. He knew he was a heavy sleeper, but that was ridiculous even by his standards.

That was when he started to remember the dream, more vivid and colourful than any he had witnessed before. It had lasted for a very long time, was it possible he had been asleep for several nights and living through this?

Trying to shove the thought aside and chalking it up as a strange experience, he unpacked the graphics card with a struggle and made his way over to the computer.

Only to find that he didn't really want to install it just yet, a feeling that shocked him to his very core considering just how long he had waited to see this beauty in action.

Instead he grabbed his keys from where they lay on the desk and let out a yell as a sharp object poked into his palm. Unclenching his fist, he looked down at the intruding object in disbelief.

Instead of the Eiffel tower and the Delta Flyer there was a strange miniature vessel that he couldn't remember from any episode of Star Trek, or Stargate, or any of the other Star-related shows he watched for that matter.

Attached to the vessel was a small note, he unrolled it carefully and read out loud the two words hastily scrawled upon it.

'Be prepared.'

It hadn't been a dream, he had been aboard this very ship, blazing his way through the galaxy and protecting Earth from what he had thought was an impending Voravian invasion fleet.

His crew were still out there, somewhere, and somehow they had managed to deliver this message to him. They were waiting, and glove or not, they acknowledged him as their Captain.

Staring back down at the graphics card and the debris that surrounded it, he suddenly found that installing it didn't seem that important at all. He needed to be prepared, his crew would come for him eventually, all he had to do was wait for them.

He looked out of his window and drank in the cool air, searching the night sky and counting the stars.

Chapter 31

Jam! Swashbuckling! Ejection!

F
ive months later, Trigger Hawkins was suffering from the severe case of deja vu.

Okay, so he hadn't been here precisely. It had been aboard the Scavanger he had found himself in the most precarious of situations, led by a bumbling overconfident buffoon in the command seat.

Well, at least that part hadn't changed.

'Fire the torpedoes!' came the familiar bluster of Captain Darwin, who now slouched in the command chair formerly occupied by the departed Phil Jones.

'Captain,' came a deeper and more sardonic voice, 'unlike the more spacious capital ships that you are accustomed to, we are not equipped with a generous supply of torpedoes.'

'What are you trying to say, Smith?'

Agent Smith let out an audible sigh, to Trigger it sounded long-suffering but to the best of his knowledge they had only been working together a few months.

'What I am trying to inform you of Captain is that we are out of torpedoes, there is nothing left to throw at them. Unless you'd like to venture near an airlock.'

Captain Darwin seemed to ignore that last remark, slamming his fist down upon the arm of his command chair and causing a series of startled beeps to emanate from it. 'Dammit Smith, that's not good enough! Lieutenant Annika, suggestions. Now!'

The flustered-looking woman turned in her chair and attacked a series of consoles with an increasingly frantic vigour. 'I see no trajectory or calculated simulation that could end in anything but our certain death, Captain.'

There was a silence after that sentence. For all the panic creeping into her voice, the Lieutenant was fiercely scientific with her projections, but where Trigger would usually find comfort in such rock-hard statistics he now discovered terror.

He felt a hand on his shoulder then, but it wasn't the sweaty clamp of his commanding officer. It was a firm grip but a friendly one, from his co-pilot and navigator RJ.

'Take it easy, Ensign. We'll get out of this jam yet, I have me a few tricks left.' the Texan informed him in his easy southern drawl. 'Just you be ready to react to anything I throw at you, you hear?'

'Yes sir.' Trigger replied, turning back to his controls and away from the stressful arguing of his superiors. He took a steadying breath, just like RJ had shown him, focusing instead upon the console in front of him.