phil jones2

  Chapter 1

  Asteroids! Voravians! Blindfolds!

  A wise man once stated that space was a very big place indeed, this is of course subjective. Space is as space does and when you're being chased across the galaxy by a Voravian battle cruiser it can seem rather small.

  'Release the missiles!' Captain Darwin bellowed incomprehensibly as the ship was rocked by another barrage of photon fire.

  'Sir, we're distinctly out of missiles, that sucker has us pinned in and the only alternative is to fly through the asteroid field!'

  This was of course, a complete lie. Space may not be as big as some people want it to be but it certainly has more than two dimensions, they could have quite easily flown over the asteroid field or around the asteroid but sadly the pilot was much too frazzled to think of such a daring plan.

  ‘Then we shall fly through the asteroid field and those cosmic rocks will like it.’

  The crew of the ship stared agape at the Captain’s demands, knowing that trying to pass through the spinning chunks of rocky death with their hefty vessel would result in a pulverisation of galactic proportions.

  ‘Sir, those spinning chunks of rock will pulverise our hefty vessel in a galactic manner, the only way out is to ram the Voravian battle cruiser!’ The chief science officer supplied.

  The Captain mused over this latest morsel of information, stroking his manly jaw in a fair imitation of thought.

  ‘Very well chief science officer, turn us about and go to ramming speed.’

  Ensign Trigger Hawkins was a nervous man and the myriad of explosions and flashing lasers had done nothing to improve his disposition. He had listened frantically to the bellowed conversation as the shields of the ship buckled under a series of photon blasts and had come to the conclusion that the entire command structure didn’t have a bloody clue what they were talking about.

  ‘We need to fly over the asteroids,’ he pleaded to the Captain, hoping that his suggestion would be taken on board.

  Captain Darwin adjusted the belt of his uniform with a grunt and completely ignored Hawkins’ request.

  With a sudden realisation, Trigger decided to push his luck. He’d be dead anyway if this didn’t work.

  ‘Sir, a head on collision with the Voravian battle cruiser will destroy us, we need to fly over the asteroid field.’

  His commanding officer blinked as if something small and foul had landed with a splash in his morning tea. ‘I’m sorry Cadet, I’m not sure I follow you.’

  Trigger felt like tearing his hair out at this point, every single time he had made a suggestion to the crew it had been completely ignored. It was as if he wasn’t there, simply manning his con in order to fill up space.

  ‘Captain,’ the science officer interjected. ‘I have an idea.’

  Darwin beckoned him forward, a confident smile spreading upon his face. ‘What do you have for us?’

  The science officer (Trigger still hadn’t learnt his name) tugged down on his shirt with a look of seriousness. ‘It’s a bold strategy sir, but if we were to angle ourselves away from the Voravian battle cruiser and fly over the asteroid field, we may just stand a chance.’

  ‘My word, that’s so brilliant it might just work!’ Darwin exclaimed, clicking his fingers and proceeding to point at Trigger. ‘Cadet, set a course for above the oncoming asteroid field.’

  ‘Aye sir, setting course for above the asteroid field,’ Trigger replied, a note of disbelief at having his idea stolen so blatantly.

  Darwin clearly misinterpreted his tone, walking forward and placing his foot upon the con and a reassuringly clammy hand on Trigger’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry Cadet, I know it sounds crazy but you’re going to have to trust that we know what we’re doing on this ship.’

  Trigger declined to comment, his fingers flying across the console and guiding the ship safely over the asteroid.

  'Switch rear view to the main screen,' Darwin instructed to his tactical officer.

  They then sat motionlessly watching the image on the large screen in front as the Voravian battle cruiser ponderously drove forward into the asteroid field. Trigger had hoped that their enemy would be equally as stupid as their own crew and it seemed to be the case. Given that the favourite past time of the crew was unsuccessfully attempting to hunt down and/or seduce wildlife on whatever planet they happened to be passing, it had come as quite a surprise.

  Darwin clamped down his hand on Trigger's shoulder once more without warning, sending the Ensign flying out of his seat.

  'Easy Cadet, the danger has been averted. We are safe from those Voravian dogs for now.'

  Trigger looked at his collar just in case. No, he wasn't missing a pip.

  'Sir, I'm an Ensign.'

  'Very good, Cadet. You are free to leave your post, we've had quite the battle.'

  Trigger stared at him, slowly gaining his feet. 'Sir, I manned my post five minutes ago.'

  Darwin smiled, a tear in his eye. 'You young boys are always so diligent with your work, five days you say? The stims must be killing you, go get some rest Cadet, you've earned it.'

  Cautiously, Trigger found his feet and made his way to the turbo shaft, after all, who was he to argue with the Captain of the ship?

  The Scavanger was the flagship of the fleet, representing the best and brightest that Star Command had to offer. When Trigger had heard he was getting a transfer to the vessel he was overwhelmed, he buried his head in technical schematics in the hope of being good enough and suitably up to the task.

  He need not have worried, there was no step up from his previous position. Most of the systems were automated by voice control, he merely had to clarify that the order hadn't been misheard. His temperamental former commanding officer had overridden the prompt, they had never quite got the smell of beetroot off the equipment. Nor had they understood the man's penchant for beetroot. I mean really, who likes beetroot?

  The doors of the turbo shaft slid open just as the communications officer informed the Captain of an incoming transmission from command. Trigger idled by a row of equipment, pretending to make repairs and trying his best to look inconspicuous.

  'Patch it on through to the main screen,' the Captain replied, lounging in his chair like a deflated whoopee cushion.

  'But sir...' the communications officer started. 'Star Command insists that you take it on a private terminal.'

  Darwin grinned with what he must have thought was a charming smile. 'I know, Lieutenant. I like the big screen though. Pass the blindfolds around and try your best not to crash the ship.'

  Audible groans came from the rest of the bridge crew, Trigger looked on in horrified fascination.

  'Patch them through.'

  The screen flickered and the stern face of a balding man appeared, a Grand Admiral judging by his collar.

  'Darwin, what the devil do you think you're doing?'

  If Captain Darwin was startled he made no show of it, instead he offered the Grand Admiral the same easy smile. 'Oh come on now Admiral, don't tell me you never had a few private conversations with Star Command H.Q. in your time.'

  The Admiral had the decency to splutter and tug at his collar. 'As you were Darwin, for the love of god man please put it away.'

  Darwin set down the mirror and focused on the Admiral's face. 'I'm sorry sir, I was in a moment of quiet reflection.'

  'As you were then Darwin,' the Admiral replied, regaining some composure.

  The Captain continued to admire his face in the mirror as if his superior wasn't there.

  'Darwin, what the blazes are you doing man?'

  'I'm sorry?' Darwin asked, as if noticing the Admiral for the first time. 'I thought you wanted me as I was.'

  'Put the damn mirror away and focus on me, what I'm about to tell you i
s classified and of the utmost importance. Are we speaking privately?'

  The Captain looked around at his crew, who all sat stock-still. 'My crew are here Admiral but it's okay, I've blindfolded them.'

  He looked up and noticed Trigger as if for the first time. 'Cadet, why aren't you wearing a blindfold?'

  Put on the spot, Trigger's brain started to panic, what the hell was he meant to say to that?

  'I... er... that is, I wasn't given one sir.'

  Darwin nodded, producing a blindfold from under the cushioning of his command chair. 'Here,' he said, throwing it in his direction. 'Put this on, we can't have you seeing what the Admiral is about to tell me.'

  Trigger decided not to argue with this, donning the pink lace blindfold and trying not to wonder why it smelt of onions.

  'There we are Admiral,' Darwin said, spinning his chair back to view the main screen. 'All the bridge crew are accounted for, you may speak in confidence.'

  'Captain the situation with the Voravians is getting pretty dire, we're running out of asteroid fields to run into and running out places to run to because we've run out of them already.'

  Darwin nodded. 'Of course, do continue.'

  The Admiral tugged at his shirt irritably. 'Much as it pains me to give in to those fools at the human genome station, I'm afraid we're going to have to initiate their plan.'

  The Captain nodded sagely. 'Indeed, the plan.'

  The Admiral awaited further comment from Darwin.

  'Yes, absolutely. The plan. How shall we go about implementing the plan, sir? I am well-versed in the various permutations but I believe you know the best way to proceed.'

  The Admiral nodded. 'Here's how we shall proceed. There's only one man who can save us and only one way to find him.'

  Trigger listened in utter horror.

  Chapter 2

  Apples! Paris! Antares!

  His fingers flew across the keyboard like a series of frenzied obese worms gorging on the latest remnants of cheesit dust falling out of the sky like an orange snowstorm. He was getting close now, they would finally manage it.

  The battered headset was strapped against his bald head with pieces of duct tape as he blurted out orders into the microphone that hugged the bulge of his cheek.

  Letting out a mighty cry he brought the axe down with crushing impact, his enemy flopped dead with a yelp and he punched the air in triumph.

  'Take that you mangy mutt!' he yelled into the microphone. 'How do you like them apples! Hey, Steve, do wolves eat apples?'

  He heard the hiss of static over the connection, Steve wasn't dignifying him with a response again. He hated how his buddy would pause on him like that before lecturing him on something he was already supposed to know.

  'No Phil, wolves don't eat apples.'

  Phil Jones' face contorted in what must have been an approximation of a frown. 'Then why were they in the orchard in the first place?'

  More silence.

  'Phil, it's just a game. It doesn't have to make any sense.'

  He hung up on him then, he hated how Steve could stroll through life as if it were nothing when here he was, sat on the first few levels and still unable to kill wolves unaided.

  That was a lie, Phil Jones could dispatch wolves under ordinary circumstances but after last night he was having difficulty in the extremity. Or rather, the extremities. A single pink glove had fluttered in through his window and settled itself perfectly upon his hand as he lay dozing in his computer chair. In spite of his best efforts the constricting item had refused to budge, it was certainly throwing him off his game. It had made every aspect of living an unexpected difficulty and had substantially lowered the quality of his life in the single apartment where he resided.

  To call Phil Jones' apartment a place to live, or even Phil Jones' life one worth living would have been charitably stretching the definition to breaking point. While technically a man could live in such conditions through a long process of acclimatisation, he couldn't expect any visitors or host any parties, unless there was a bring your own gas mask rule.

  The one unlucky visitor that Mr. Jones did have outside of takeaway delivery services was his postman, a Mr. Ronald Crawley. Crawley had been tasked with providing Phil access to the plethora of useless crap he bought off the internet that was too big to make it through the letterbox, to the point where Phil had made him a copy of the key to his apartment.

  Recently he had bought a Starship Enterprise pizza cutter, an inflatable pillow and four imported cases of some obscure European energy drink with a side helping of baconnaise.

  Today was a special day though, today he would receive his new graphics card. A nice liquid-cooled glowing shiny thing that promised to power his computer for at least the next six months of gaming.

  When the buzzer finally went, Jones was relatively fast to his feet thanks to the excitement getting the better of him. Unfortunately for a man of Phil's girth and dynamics, this also meant that the floor was even faster at greeting him.

  Several empty pizza boxes broke his fall, his scrambling legs couldn't find any purchase on the cardboard though and he lay there for a moment, breathing heavily in anticipation.

  Noticing a metallic gleam he reached out and fished under his couch, coming up with a replica key chain version of the Delta Flier, the shuttle from Star Trek: Voyager.

  Phil's humour was such that he had decided to also attach a key chain version of the Eiffel tower onto it. He realised nobody outside of Voyager fans would get such clever symbolism, then again if they didn't watch Star Trek they weren't worth talking to, were they?

  Happily grasping the key chain he ponderously made it to his feet and awkwardly tip-toed around the heaps of clothing and containers that had decided to steal his floor space. He briefly remembered having a carpet when he first moved into the flat, he couldn't remember the colour though. If carpets were people this one would have suffocated to death a long time ago. Assuming it hadn't been bludgeoned to death by Phil's fat ass first.

  He made it to the door without any further incident and fumbled with the latch, triumphantly opening it and greeting Mr. Ronald Crawley the postman with his customary Vulcan salute.

  Or at least it would have been if that damn glove hadn't covered his fingers.

  'I am here to investigate the disturbance reported in this block of flats last night,' the postman said.

  Phil smiled. 'I'm glad you're finally here, now where's my package?' He looked around for the familiar cardboard box but there was no sign.

  The man stared at the pink glove in awe. 'So you have it! At last, my search is finally at an end!'

  Phil Jones stared at the man staring at his glove, then stared at the glove, then stared back at the man staring at his glove. He wasn't sure what was going on here.

  'You mean... You're not the postman?'

  The stranger raised an eyebrow. 'No, I'm just here to remove the glove. You sir, are an idiot.'

  'I already tried, the damn thing is stuck!' Phil exclaimed in jowly frustration, holding out his hand and welcoming any effort to remove it. 'It took me eighteen attempts to kill the wolves in the orchard because of this thing!'

  If the stranger was sympathetic towards Phil's clear plight he did not display it, instead he tugged at the extended glove without any success.

  'Most interesting... We might have to take you to our offices to get this removed.'

  Phil panicked, if he had to leave his flat he'd miss out on the delivery of his graphics card. Then there'd be the long journey all the way down to the post office to acquire it, that was a fate he wanted to avoid at all costs.

  'Can't it wait until tomorrow? I have an important..'

  'Date?'

  Phil looked at the man and reluctantly decided not to lie to him. 'Well, no.'

  The man peered past his shoulder into the room, clearly the air was leaking out the doorway. 'You're going to sit there and play on your computer all night, aren't you?'

  Phil puffed himself
up like a very flabby blowfish. 'I'll have you know that my guild would be lost without me, this is serious business. What's with the shades and the suit anyway? Next thing I know you'll be calling me Mr. Anderson.'

  The man pulled a gun out of his suit pocket and stared directly down the sights at Phil. 'How serious would you like to make this, Mr. Anderson?'

  Say what you will about Phil Jones, his survival instincts were unparalleled. He fell over backward to the sound of crunching cardboard and tin. 'Don't shoot, don't shoot!' he wailed, waving the pink glove at the man frantically. 'Just get this thing off me as soon as you can, I'll go anywhere!'

  The man looked at Jones' other hand, lowering his gun. 'Is that the Eiffel Tower on your key chain?'

  Phil nodded. 'Do you get the joke? The Delta Flyer was built by Paris and the Eiffel Tower is also in Paris.'

  The man did not laugh.

  'If you''ll come with me sir, a shuttle is waiting on the roof of this apartment block.'

  Phil scrambled back to his feet and pocketed his keys and wallet, he had no need for a phone and his body was fairly well insulated from the world without a jacket.

  The man took the flight of stairs gracefully and at a brisk pace, Phil floundered behind him, ruing every step and wondering why they couldn't have just used the elevator.

  'Mr. Jones if your pace continues to slacken I shall forcibly remove your hand and leave you here.'

  He redoubled his efforts then, the tone of the man's voice painfully reminding him of gym class all those years ago.

  They reached the roof of the apartment without any further incident, Phil's legs finally buckled as he saw the shuttle's insignia.

  'SC Antares,' he mumbled to himself, trying and failing to find his feet. 'That's not possible, it's only a glove.'

  The man hauled him to his feet and offered him a smile. 'Oh but it is possible Mr. Jones, Star Command has need of you.'

  He was bundled into the back of the shuttle without much ceremony and the door was slammed shut. The clicking noise sounded like a fate being sealed, Phil didn't much care for it at all.

  'How are you holding up back there, partner?' a Texan accent crackled across the intercom.