phil jones2 (7 page)

'Then we can only hope that whatever attacked the Scavanger isn't still out there waiting for us.' Annika said. 'What do you think, glove-wearer?'

In truth Phil Jones wasn't entirely sure what to make of most things in life, let alone queries from fellow officers. That he had suddenly found himself Captain of a small ship hurtling through space faster than the speed of light was a large enough pill to swallow without having to give orders.

'I... I think we have to be prepared for both those things happening, as well as other stuff.'

The faces continued to stare at him, waiting for more.

'The problem with rescue missions is that something always goes wrong, we're just going to have to try our best and make it so.'

Smith frowned at him. 'Make it so?'

'Affirmative, number one.'

'Number one?'

'Er... Yes, you are next in command, aren't you?'

Smith offered him a cold smile in return. 'If that's what you order, Captain.'

'Very good number one, do I have a ready room?'

He watched the stares grow increasingly confused, all except Annika that was, she seemed to be laughing behind her hand.

'You know... a place where I do all my Captain stuff.'

'What the glove-wearer is trying to say is that he wants to know if our vessel is equipped with a Captain's private quarters like the larger Star Command ships.'

Hanniman poured over the schematics once more and after a short time nodded his head. 'Yes sir, there are private quarters for the Captain.'

'No ready room though?' Phil asked hopefully.

'No ready room.' Annika told him consolingly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

'I guess I'm supposed to do my Captain things out here in the cockpit then.' he hitched up his belt and took a look at the expectant faces. 'I may not have been Captain very long but I know for a fact that every time the Enterprise went on a rescue mission something terrible would go wrong. Not once did they ever mount a rescue that went exactly according to plan without any hitches. So what I'm suggesting is that we should expect the worst and remain vigilant.'

Smith's eyes widened slightly, he hadn't expected Phil to come out with more than one semi-coherent sentence at a time.

'What is this Enterprise thing he keeps talking about?' the Agent asked Annika, still no clearer as to where the strange well of Phil's expertise was coming from.

'It's an old science fiction television programme from back on Earth, Phil watches it religiously apparently.'

Phil smiled at them both. 'It's my favourite show, everything I learnt about starship command I got from Star Trek.'

'Mr. Jones, this is not a television show. The dangers we face are very real and the threats are imminent. If you believe you are incapable of commanding this vessel then I suggest you delegate the task to your... number one.' Smith drawled.

Phil knew of course that he had technically made Smith his second in command and that the ship was far less likely to be blown in a million pieces with him in charge. Something stopped him though, he couldn't put a finger on what it was exactly but he felt inclined to continue in his command capacity.

'Belay that request number one.' Phil said. 'Chief Hanniman, can you hear me?'

'Aye Captain, every word.' Hanniman's voice crackled over the intercom.

'Take us to maximum hyperwarp, let's see what this ship is made of.'

'Aye Captain, maximum hyperwarp it is.'

The ship shot out into the gaping void of space at an even faster rate than before, hurtling Phil onward with his crew into an unknown future.

Chapter 8

Chime! Scotch! Uniform!

T
he Captain's chambers that Phil found himself in were no worse than his previous quarters at Star Command. Considering the size of his vessel and the lack of ready room he had been expecting something far more unforgiving and military, but it seemed that the luxury he had been afforded before was set to continue.

A large scale model of the ship he was on was mounted upon the wall and he studied it intently, almost afraid to do anything else in case he set off an alarm or caused unnecessary problems for the rest of the crew.

A small chiming noise interrupted his thoughts. He shifted his gaze around the room, wondering where the elusive noise could be coming from, it chimed at him again and he frowned. Was the ship trying to tell him something that he was unaware of? The problem there was the sheer number of things he was oblivious to, that chime could mean anything. Why didn't the computer just speak?

'Captain? Are you there sir?'

So that's what the noise had been, it was a glorified doorbell, and if it worked the same way as they did on the Enteprise...

'Enter.' Phil said, watching his doors slide open at the command and reveal his pilot RJ awaiting entrance.

For a moment Phil didn't recognise him, then he spotted the wide-brimmed hat the Texan held in his hands deferentially, it was only the second time he had seen the man without it firmly affixed to his head.

'Pardon the intrusion Captain, I just figured I should have my say outside of the briefing in the cockpit area. Mind if I come in?'

Well, at least now Phil knew that this wasn't exactly a courtesy call, he waved him on in without a word.

'Well Captain, I'll get right down to the point. That was some mighty fine talking you did up there in the pit, even managed to turn stiff's head for a moment, until he knew the source that was.'

Phil had no idea what the man was talking about. 'Stiff?'

RJ smiled at him and Phil felt a genuine warmth in it. 'That's what the boys at Star Command call Agent Smith, on account of his having a stick rammed so far up his... Fancy some scotch?'

'I... er... Okay.' Phil had thought about using the replicators for a snack but decided against it, his brushes with technology since leaving Earth had left him wary of anything mechanical.

'Scotch. Single malt. Neat.' RJ said. 'Two tumblers.' He added as an afterthought.

'When entering a conflict zone it is advised that crew members do not indulge in alcoholic beverages.' the computer informed him.

'Override. Ain't never been in a conflict zone without at least a shot of scotch in me.'

The tumblers full of scotch appeared and RJ handed one over to Phil, who sniffed at it distrustfully.

'Just like the stuff back home, try it.' RJ replied. 'Trust me, you'll want a drink before I get talking.'

He didn't like the sound of that and sipped at the scotch, which he had to admit wasn't bad. Phil was no stranger to alcohol and the warming effect that the scotch was having was welcome after all his recent frights.

'Now while what you said on the bridge was well-received and further cemented your credentials with the rest of the crew, I can't help but get a vibe of nervousness and under-confidence from you whenever things get rough.' RJ wandered over to the softer furniture in Phil's quarters and settled himself down, enjoying the scotch and the comfort. 'You're Captain of a ship now, you can't afford to display those qualities otherwise the people around you will start to doubt you.'

Phil sighed, he had suspected that this was where the conversation was going. 'You want me to hand over the command to Stiff, I mean, Smith. Don't you?'

To his surprise, RJ started laughing. 'Lord no, that would be tragic! I just want you to have a bit more faith in yourself. The big man upstairs certainly does, we've seen you make it through simulations and even an abduction from which you'd no right to survive. Someone up there likes you.'

Phil stared at the ceiling for a moment before realising that RJ was talking about God. He often invited Jehovah's Witnesses in, after some time in his company they'd all get that panicked look in their eyes and excuse their way out of having to talk to him any more.

He wasn't a particularly religious person, having never really given it any thought. If what RJ was saying had any truth to it then God must have a very strange sense of humour.

'What if it's all just dumb luck?' he finally said, tearing his eyes away from the ceiling. 'What if you've got the wrong man and I'm going to lead you all to your doom?'

RJ's smile didn't leave his face. 'Nothing dumb about the luck you've been having. In every situation have you not done exactly what you thought was right at the time?'

'Yes.' Phil said, uncertain as to where this was going now.

'And have you not come out of it in one piece as a result?'

'Yes... but...'

RJ held up his hand to silence Phil's protests, something that was probably a terrible act of insubordination. 'But me no buts. Fact of the matter is you're still in one piece because you've kept doing what was right and not let yourself get bogged down with questions like are you good enough or are you the chosen one.' he downed the rest of the scotch. 'In the heat of the moment you make the right choices, that's what being a Captain is all about and it's why you've got this.' he tapped the glove in Phil's hand. 'Now I don't know about all this chosen one stuff that Annika harps on about but I can tell you that those folks at the human genome station are the smartest minds in the galaxy. If they're convinced that the glove chose you and there's practical evidence of that being the case then that's good enough for the likes of me.' he placed the hat firmly on his head once more and looked up at him over the brim. 'That should be good enough for the likes of you too. Go out there, be confident and commanding and do what you think is right.'

The pilot stood up and made his way to the door. 'Thanks for the drink.' he said, then was gone.

Phil knew it was probably a serious breach of the command structure to have the lowly pilot wander into the Captain's quarters and lecture him on the finer points of said command. The man's words had made sense though, he had that old-fashioned southern quality to him that a certain Dr. McCoy from Star Trek possessed. Was this a potential confidant in the coming conflict? Frankly Phil could use all the support he could possibly get and if taking the man's advice was going to prevent them all from getting killed then he was all for this brand of insubordination.

He gazed out his window at the tunnel of purple-blue that raced past them, the universe was a huge and daunting place and he was but one man. Could he really make all the difference? There was only one way to find out.

'Computer.' Phil stated, which resulted in a few beeps to signify that he had its attention. 'Display a schematic of a typical Star Command Captain's uniform.'

A holographic projection shot out from the glass table and a dark navy-blue suit with a heroic-looking chest piece twirled before his eyes.

'Can you replicate a copy of this to my...er... proportions?'

A few more beeps gave the impression of serious thought. 'Please hold still for one moment, Captain Jones.'

Captain Jones, he liked the sound of that.

A blue beam shot out and hit him straight in the chest, he yelled and rolled out of the way, upending some furniture and shattering one of the scotch tumblers.

'Captain Jones, it is required that you stand still as my beams determine your proportions.'

Phil picked himself up from the floor, feeling rather embarrassed. 'Right, yes. Can you fix the room up while you do that too?'

A second blue beam swept across the room, removing the shards of broken glass and re-positioning the furniture that Phil's considerable bulk had dislodged in his attempt to dive to safety.

He stood still this time as had been requested and allowed the computer to scan him with the strange blue beam.

'Scan complete.' the computer informed him, shutting off the beam. Phil turned expectantly to the replicator, instead of finding a freshly folded uniform there was a distinct lack of anything.

'Computer, where is my uniform?'

'Your uniforms are located in your wardrobe, Captain Jones.' the crystal-clear voice said sweetly. 'You may find them in the adjoining bedroom area of your quarters.'

That was more like it. Phil made his way to the bedroom and there indeed was a large wardrobe that he hadn't previously spotted. Opening it up he discovered twelve exact copies of the uniform in what he hoped were Phil Jones proportions.

As futuristic as this vessel seemed to him he had to stop believing that this really was the future that he had been thrown into. The cupboard and coat-hangers helped with that, standing out as decidedly ordinary in an otherwise fantastical abode.

He held up one of these hangers now and gazed at the suit it was attached to, trying to imagine what it'd look like with him in it. Once more there was only one way of finding out.

As he struggled with the chest plate another chime came from the computer, it had been the same as the doorbell and after fumbling some more Phil finally gave in and bid the crew member enter.

The doors slid open once more to reveal Annika, she was wearing a uniform of her own now which seemed oddly similar to the catsuit she had previously been wearing.

'I just thought I'd pop by and see how you were... oh my.'

They had both stopped dead then in the middle of the room, looking at each other with a mixture of awkward discomfort and something else that Phil wasn't prepared to admit yet.

'You look...' Annika began, faltering as if searching for the words. 'Heroic.'

Phil straightened up a bit at that, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks caused by her words. 'I can't seem to...' he started to say but his throat went dry as she crossed the room.

'Here, let me help you with that.' she said, adjusting some previously unseen straps that buckled the chest plate into place.

'Your uniform is, nice too.' Phil spluttered, his voice cracking toward the end. He certainly didn't feel very heroic right now.

To his amazement she blushed at him, staring down at his feet as if too shy to meet his eyes. What the devil was going on here? Was she trying to get in his good graces now that he was the Captain?

'Thank you, Captain.' she eventually replied. 'Is... everything to your liking?'