鳳凰の契り
Plight of the Phoenix

"Velocitas Eradico..."

If an object cannot endure the forces subjected to it, it will distort, and distribute the force across a greater area: physical shock; a shock wave...

Ek = p^2 / 2 · m

The Kinetic Energy of a mass increases exponentially according to its momentum...

p = m · v

Momentum is the result of a mass and its velocity...

"An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an outside force."

The greater the mass and/or velocity of an object, the less an object will be effected by outside forces...

[Large mass impractical. Small mass with greater velocity necessary.]

F = m · a

Force accelerates mass, gives velocity to mass, turning an object at rest into an object in motion that cannot be stopped unless acted on by another force...

[Acceleration must be swift, near instantaneous. Extreme forces required to attain maximum velocity, but only for an instant at a time.]

F = LI x B

A force is produced by the magnetic field induced by an electric current traveling through a conductive medium...

[With a current-carrying conductive medium that is unrestricted, free to move, the force will produce motion in the medium; a moving projectile.]

The intensity of the electric current must be maximized...

An intense current induces an intense magnetic field...

An intense magnetic field imparts a greater force...

A greater force results in greater acceleration...

A greater acceleration results in a greater velocity...

A greater velocity carries a greater momentum...

A greater momentum carries greater kinetic energy...

A greater kinetic energy delivers a more intense shock...

"Velocitas Eradico."

Considerations: Imperfections. Flaws.

Resistance in the medium produces heat.

Friction of the projectile produces heat, erosion.

Excess heat results in distortion, more resistance.

Distortion results in more friction, more heat, more resistance.

[Heat displacement demands more power, more work, more complications.]

Heat must be minimized.

Resistance must be minimized.

Friction must be minimized.

Smooth...

Conductive...

Cool...

...

Fast...

...

"Velocitas Eradico."

"I am speed, and I destroy."

"Mr. Phoenix..."

/


/

"Mr. Phoenix..."

"Field-strength-from-a-steady-current-equals-the-magnetic-constant multiplied by... multiplied by..."

Owen Phoenix awoke, or at least came into a discernible state of awareness, sitting bolt upright behind the desk of his office aboard Château de l'Étoiles space station, staring out into the black, star-specked void of space. In his current state, the fox could only hold a quivering hand up against his pounding forehead, while his breath stuttered in a series of short, sharp gasps.

There was another occupant in the office: a polished, silver colored bipedal robot that stood to one side, speaking in a mechanical monotone.
"Wallace Hargrave sent me to inform you that everyone has arrived. They are waiting for you in conference room 25 C, as per your request, sir."

"Yeah... right..."
Coming to his senses –at least partly– Owen Phoenix opened a drawer in his desk filled with autoinjector tubes and loose cartridges, and began rummaging through it. Many of the tubes were empty, like they'd been used...

"Mr. Phoenix, I am once again obligated to remind you that neurostimulators are meant for reviving comatose patients, and are not intended to be administered while fully conscious."

"They help me think..."
The fox stopped a moment, reeling and cringing from a sudden pang inside his head.
"I run an engineering company! I'd like to at least be able to speak the same language as all the gearheads who work for Space Dynamics! This is unlike any other company, and I cannot be like every other executive. Goddammit R.O.B. I need this."

"It is unreasonable to hold yourself to such standards, sir. An engineering license typically requires a four-year undergraduate degree supplemented with up to six additional years of graduate studies, and that only qualifies the applicant to take the licensing exams."

Finally, Owen pulled one of the injector tubes out of the drawer, and loaded a fresh cartridge as he spoke.
"Here we go, this should counteract the neurostim's side-effects, and help me focus..."
He rolled up a sleeve of his roughened shirt, and emptied the hypodermic autoinjector into his forearm just beneath the elbow.
"Don't look at me like that, I'll be fine."

"I cannot alter the way I look at you, sir."

Robots are only robots; computers that can walk, talk, and respond to voice commands. But sometimes –even though they're only being themselves– it seems like they're being smug, like they're somehow better than the flesh-and-blood that created them...

"R.O.B. 42." Owen stated in a firm voice as he dropped the injector tube and cartridge back in its drawer.

"Yes, Mr. Phoenix?"

The fox stood up from the desk and straightened his shirtsleeve. His motions and speech were more controlled now, likely from the drugs he'd only just taken.
"Compute the exact untruncated decimal value for the square root of negative two, right now."

"Yes sir..."

The shining robot stood absolutely still, and obeyed the simple command.

"Processing..."

In the meantime, Owen smoothed down the matted fur, tucked his shirt again as well as other minor adjustments to salvage his haggard appearance.

"Processing..."

A robot, for all it could do, is still a machine, designed to obey any command given by a recognized authority, even if asked to do something impossible.

"Processing..."

Satisfied with his rushed grooming, Owen Phoenix stepped out of his lavish office with a chuckle, leaving R.O.B. 42 to its impossible task.

/


/

"What's taking him so long?" asked a rugged, russet colored ram.
He wore a denim vest over a plain t-shirt, with a flame patterned tied around his hefty, curled horns. His posture was bored, impatient at the conference table, the fingers of one hand drumming against the polished wood while the other hand supported his drooping chin.

"He'll be here..."
Next to the ram was a wiry, uneasy weasel in a clean-cut suit. He hid his anxiety well, but the telltale wandering eyes blew his cover. For all anyone else cared, he probably only half believed the words he spoke.

Across from the bored ram was a stoic, ash gray leopardess who sat silent and still with precisely controlled posture, sporting a pair of loose-fitting trousers and a form-fiting t-shirt that highlited her toned, clearly athletic physique. Her eyes were closed, lightly, and her hands laid cupped together on the table in front of her; meditation. Yet her perfect harmony was disturbed, one ear twitched, a reflexive reaction to a nearby sound that just wouldn't go away...

Next to her was a gangly, almost disturbingly thin blue-gray avian with white, hair-like plumage running down from his head. He sat quietly with his folded arms across his chest, dressed in all black, including a many pocketed floor-length coat that hung loosely over his frame. A pair of thick headphones clung to the avian's head, and the faint twinge of a heavy metal band could be heard leaking out from them...

"Well, time sure as hell ain't getting any shorter..."
The russet ram turned to his right, to Scott Aberdeen, who wasn't doing much, just staring down at his hands as he kneaded them together.
"You, fidget-fingers, don't be a stranger..." he said as he thrust a strong hand to the terrier, "Name's Malcolm Aries."

The terrier looked up, a little hesitant, but returned the ram's gesture and shook his hand.
"Scott Aberdeen."

"So what's your story, Scott?"

"I'd rather not tell."

Malcolm huffed out a sharp sigh, frustrated.
"Look son, skinny-dip there ain't gonna talk to nobody with that trash is flooding his ears, the ice priestess hadn't said a single gosh-darned word, yet, and this other jitterbug behind me is dull as a asteroid. If you won't fit something into the silence, this whole shindig'll get real awkward, real fast."

"My past isn't exactly a pleasant one." Scott replied, turning his head forward away from the chatty ram.

"Hey, no worries." Malcolm assured with a dismissive wave of his hand, "We all got skeletons buried in our closets, comes with the territory of merc-work. Me for example: I used to run this little freighter and crew from port to port all across Lylat, picking up odd jobs as they came. Man, those were some fine days."

"So why'd ye stop then?" Scott asked, turning to the ram once more, "What're ye doing here?"

The rugged ram considered the query for a few thoughtful moments, slowly nodding his heavy head.
"That right there is something of a tale, but I guess we got some time–"

He was cut off when the conference room's door sprung open, and Owen Phoenix strode in brimming with confidence, drawing the entire room's worth of attention.
"Sorry I'm late everyone."

"Or maybe not." Malcolm muttered with a shrug.

Phoenix made his way to the front of the room, where he made himself comfortable behind a built-in terminal in the conference room's table.
"Got everything set up like I need it?" he asked

"It's all there." the weasel answered, relief taking hold now that his superior finally made it, "Just press play."

"That's great, that's great..."
The fox stopped a moment, and looked up from the terminal.
"Say Wally, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure thing boss."

"Go into my office and calm R.O.B. down. I got the poor sucker stumped on a simple math problem again."

The weasel gave Owen a puzzled look, but got up and left the room without much fuss, leaving the fox and his hodgepodge of guests alone at the table.

"Pie?" The thin, black-clad avian had taken the headphones off, and his question came seemingly from nowhere.

"Come again?" Phoenix asked.

"Your talking calculator is stumbling over an irrational number, like the ratio pi, right?"

"No, Adrian." the fox replied, "Square root of neg two, actually."

"Huh, good one..." Adrian commented with a subtle chuckle, "It's bad enough you got it chewing on an irrational, but make it a negative root with the imaginary number i and... I guess we'll see if Wally can get there before your robot fries its own CPU..."
The avian had attracted the attention of the entire table, all but Owen Phenix giving him a series of confused looks.
"What? It's only math. You look like we're talking in a foreign language or something."

"It sure sounds foreign to me." the ram guffawed, with Adrian rolling his eyes as his response.

Owen kept right on going, turning to Scott Aberdeen, seeming to shelve the last exchange he had only moments ago with Adrian.
"Nice to have you here again Scott, haven't seen you since that little stint with Argus and the LCI."

Caught somewhat off-guard, the terrier just gave him a shrug and a weak smile.

"Welcome back, Chakori." Owen turned now to the ash gray leopardess, "I guess that other gig didn't pan-out so well for you."

Her only acknowledgement was a low, almost growl-like sigh.

"Mal–"

"Phoenix," the ram cut him off, "lets just ditch this chitter-chatter and drill straight down to the brass tacks..."
He leaned in over the table toward Owen, using both hands as a firm support while he gave the fox an equally firm gaze.
"What did you bring us all here for, again?"

Everyone else turned toward Owen Phoenix, matching Malcolm's inquisitive stare with their own.

The fox surveyed the room and its occupants, and gave a quick nod before beginning, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the conference table.
"Right now, you are each considering a proposal to form a small, private military contracting company, at my suggestion. When I approached each of you individually, I expected that I'd require your sort of services in the near future, and so began making preparations for it. What I didn't expect is that I'd need you so soon..."
Owen came to a stop, and a grim mantle fell over the young fox with the pause.
"Gentlemen, and lady, the Space Dynamics company is at war."

Owen entered a command into the terminal in front of him. The lights dimmed, and an image soon appeared on the wall...

/


/

/

It was the backdrop of space: endless black nothing, interspersed with innumerable immobile points of light. A few of the lights went out, in the center of the picture, and more were extinguished as time flew past. The snuffed-out lights eventually formed a clear silhouette: roughly X shaped, with a large bulge at the cross. A bright light suddenly flashed from the center of the X, and the image became white noise static...

A different shot now. The background of space was still there, but the foreground was dominated by the shape of a space cruiser, moving fast and maneuvering incredibly well for its size. The vessel's design was dominated by a set of 'wings' arranged in an X, and a forward jutting bridge at the end of a long 'neck' with a gigantic plasma cannon slung underneath it. The ship's hull was painted black, but heavily overlaid with bold graffiti, and a snarling maw painted onto the nose. One of the few clearly printed words on the hull, uncluttered by the surrounding graffiti, was the ship's name: Cerberus...

The image cut to another shot: some kind of interior security footage. There were around a dozen or so armed security guards, taking cover at various positions in a corridor with their weapons trained on an unseen target. The screen suddenly went dark, with only the muzzle flashes of the guards weaponry providing brief glimpses of light. Seconds later, a raging inferno flooded the corridor, a jet of flame spewing from an unseen point in the blackness. And as quick as it started, the burst of fire stopped. The hallway was dark again, but not black, dimly lit by the writhing amber torches of burning figures. The hellish light showed one of the guards still on his feet, not burnt badly, and another hulking shadow of a figure, standing across from him. The juggernaut lumbered forward and the guard fired back as furiously as he could, but his bulky target kept right on coming, unfazed by the torrent of blasterfire. The guard backed away, until he came up against the wall, and the squat juggernaut was upon him. What went on next wasn't clear from the camera footage; apparently a brief, but futile struggle. When the great, looming figure backed away, there was a distinct dark splotch against the corridor wall, and the guard lay on the floor in two pieces...

The image cut to a blurred and shaky handheld shot, until it came steady, in a well lit corridor not unlike from the last shot. This time however, there was audio.

"Hallo Mr. Phoenix man! How do you do?" boomed a deep, chesty voice.

The frame jolted to face a long faced mastiff type canid with patchy black-and-white fur, and pair of cropped ears that stood up on-end. He was a tower of a figure, challenging a bear for sheer height, but certainly not for girth. The image frame only displayed his image from the chest up, showing him in a ballistic vest and sleeveless shirt that exposed his long, muscular arms, one of which lightly held the grip of an assault rifle in his hand.

"Enjoy our little display?" the canid asked with jolly grin, "No? Understandable I suppose, can't please everyone. So many people today lack appreciation for the bold and avant-garde–"

"Oi!" another voice spat, "No movement! Or I'll torch the whole bleedin' lot of you where you stand!"

The frame swung over to a shorter, bulky, more compact figure encased in a set of power armor; the shadowy figure from earlier. He stood off to one side, holding an outstretched fist toward a group of bystanders huddling together against a wall as he threatened them...

"Hold steady now..." the deep voice said as the image jostled again with the moving camera.

The image came to rest on an open notebook computer who's screen took up the entire frame, concealing the bearer. The computer screen scrolled through a set of technical diagrams, schematics, chemical and mathematical formulas, and dense pages of text; all too quickly to discern much detail from.

"See what we find here, Mr. Phoenix man? I cannot make sense of it; very scientifical and technological; I have no use for it. But I believe I can find someone who does, and I believe also that they will pay a handsome price to have it..."
The booming voice dropped an octave, taking a more authoritative timbre.
"Put it away, Serge."

Serge was never seen, and the computer screen just slipped away to show the first figure again.

"Oh, no no no no. Don't think I mean to be unfair Mr. Phoenix man. If you care deeply about your secrets, deeply enough to track us down and get them back for yourself, we will give you a good fair price for them, at a discount even! No questions, no strings, no tricks. What you say?"
He switched back to the lower, commanding voice.
"Stop the recording–"

The images ended, but the lights hadn't yet come up in the conference room.

/

"Hellhounds..." Malcolm Arie's grumbled in the dimness, "Bunch of overgrown punks with a few cute toys."

Chakori's outlandish voice spoke for the first time, in Cornerian, but affected by an exotic foreign accent.
"They know the arts of combat, that much is certain."

"Hold on, there's more." Phoenix interrupted, while the screen cut to another image...

/

The frame flickered on again. It was apparently the same handheld camera, but the image was far more unsteady and out of focus. There was audio with the video, but all that was heard was a slow, deep gasps of someone out of breath...

"Owen..." a woman's voice, probably mid-aged...

The frame centered itself, completely dominated by the worn-out face of a pale furred rat. Her chiseled features suggested strength, but her grave, tired voice carried the heavy burden of someone defeated.
"They're gone, but they... they sabotaged the station's life support, jettisoned all our escape pods, and wrecked every vehicle in the hangar bay on the way out. I've got the guys working on a solution –they're hopeful and everything– but I'm just trying to keep everyone calm. It's only a matter of time until... until we're all dead. I figure about ten minutes or so–"

The frame suddenly jostled to one side, coming down against the floor. The pale rat had fallen to her knees, exhausted and sucking down lungfulls of air. She pulled herself back up to her feet though, and pressed on with her message...

"I know they meant for you to see this video, they must've figured I'd transmit to you like I'm going to now... For the love of Lylat, do not give in to their demands, do not trust them; they are experts at this. They knew every weakness, every loophole... they knew exactly how to screw us all over. Even if you buy the info back like they proposed, there's nothing to stop them from just turning around and selling another copy to the highest bidder–"

The video image jerked again, and she almost collapsed. The pale rat's face twisted into a pained grimace, barely containing a dry heave. She was dying, slowly...

"I'm not thinking about the company anymore... I'm not thinking about our profits, or the competitive edge, or anything else businesslike... hell I never did anyway, always left that to you... No, I am thinking about who those bastards could sell to, the kind of maniacs' hands our tech might end up in: criminal thugs, backworld fanatics, terrorist factions..."

She managed to stagger her way to a cluttered desk, slumped herself into the chair behind it, and set the camera on the desk's edge, facing her.

"Do whatever you have to, but do not let my research get out in the open. The spilt blood will be on our hands if it does... Teresa Nicodemus, signing off... I'm sorry Owen."

Teresa reached a quivering hand to the camera, and the image went dark for the final time.

/

"Bloody brutal that is." Scott -ed as the lights faded up.

"The response team got there an hour later, found Teresa dead in her office." Owen explained, "There was a camera, but no video, and the station's transmission records were erased completely. She must've purged everything shortly after she sent, so nobody else would snag details of the attack."

"What kind of research were they working on?" Adrian asked.

"Broadly: weapon systems and advanced countermeasures. I couldn't tell you the details though, pirates ran off with them and..."
The fox halted, clawing at his forehead, stumbling over a stampede of his own thoughts.
"Look– listen– that station, and the projects Teresa and her people were developing there, were supposed to be secret. Nobody but nobody knows about it, not even my own senior staff. The only way this could've happened is that somebody within my organization betrayed me, tipped off these... Hellhounds, and sicked them on this company's assets."

"So what's the motivation here?" Malcolm Aries pried, only mildly suspicious, "What does this hypothetical traitor of yours get out this mess other than pissing you off?"

"My guess, Malcolm, would be a substantial finder's fee."
Owen paused a few moments, tossing a dead-certain look to the rugged ram to keep him assured.
"I'm sure you're familiar with the corporate stereotypes: fat, lazy, comfortable, and perfectly content to remain so. All they want is to maintain the status quo that keeps them in wealth and power, by any and all means available. So when some upstart strikes out from the blue and –Sol forbid– dares to make innovative breakthroughs that will change the face of modern technology as we know it, why that upstart becomes a threat to that fat-and-happy status quo: a threat thats just got to be neutralized. They won't admit it to anyone but themselves, but my competitors are afraid, quaking in their thousand-cred Zonessian balmoral shoes because now that Owen Phoenix's Space Dynamics is up and running at full-steam, they can see their comfy contracts and easy profits slipping away. They can't keep up, but they're desperate to stay ahead; because of this, I can guarantee you there is no low they will not stoop to in order to drag this company down, and keep their industry stranglehold secure...

The young fox stopped a few moments. He placed his hands on his hips, hung his head low, and shook his weary head as he stared at the floor by his feet, but then something odd happened. Instead of a sigh –instead of the expected gesture of defeat– Owen Phoenix began to laugh. It started out small, never got much more intense than a chuckle as the fox raised his smirking head, and bowed out his chest in an ironic display of pride. In some twisted way, he actually enjoyed being the target of powerful enemies...

"There are many who think Space Dynamics can be bullied into submission because I'm 'young', 'green', 'inexperienced', 'naive' even. They think I don't have the balls to fight back when someone strikes a low blow. They expect me to huddle in a corner sucking my thumb while they tear down the company I put together, and claim my innovations as their own. But they're wrong..."
Owen changed again, slipping into a fearsome, single-minded determination that felt out of place for someone in a collared shirt and tie.
"I told you people: I am at war, and I mean it."

"Aren't there government agencies that take care of things like this?" Adrian asked,

"Ha! You try firing the government at an army of corporate lawyers, and see how well that works for you." Owen scoffed back, "No, the law can't help us here, not how I need it. I'm not going to get tangled up with the police, military, or someone else official, not while I still have other options at my disposal. What I need right now is something, someone a little more tangible to get it done: I need you..."
The fox stopped, and let his gaze wander around the table, making it absolutely clear who he meant by 'you'.
"I had my pick of the finest persons-for-hire Lylat has to offer, and look at who I end up picking:"

"A rebel without a cause..." Owen looked to Scott.

"A soldier without an army..." to Chakori.

"A genius without the chance..." to Adrian.

"And a captain without a crew..." to Malcolm.

"Well Phoenix, you sure make a very impressive speech there, but talk is cheap..."
The rugged ram brought is hands together on the table, and leaned forward.
"Action, on the other hand, is not."

"On the subject of action:" the ash gray leopardess added, "what exactly would our action entail?"

"The greater issues at play here may be complex, but what I need from you specifically is quite simple: recover Teresa Nicodemus's research before it gets out in the open, or destroy it if you can't."

"Ye expect us tae do that how?" Scott blurted out.

"And who's to say that the data isn't circulating all over the black market already?" Adrian questioned, "Information moves very fast these days."

"I know where and when the Hellhounds intend to sell their digital booty." Owen answered firmly, "These pirate thugs aren't going to let their prize go anywhere out of their grasp until they see the money."

"Fair enough." Malcolm agreed with a nod, "So what're the specifics of this intel you got for us?"

"For starters, Nicodemus's research is slated to be auctioned through an information broker on the Sargasso station freeport, goes by the alias 'Episteme', and there's plenty more where that came from."

"I see..."
The ram paused a moment, letting his hidden internal calculator sort out the circumstances.
"Now, this sounds to me like a very dangerous, high-risk type of undertaking, and I think I speak for everybody at the table when I say we ain't agreed to nothing yet. I just want to make sure that you're prepared to hold up your end of this bargain."

The rest of the table's occupants turned toward Phoenix with the same look of quiet anticipation. This, where an employer puts their money, is where an employer's character come out, and where deals are made or broken.

"Spoken like a true mercenary..." Owen replied with a satisfied smirk, "This is one rare instance where the stakes are high enough that I will spare no expense to see the issue resolved, you can rest assured that I won't be at all stingy with your compensation. In addition, if there are any supplies, gear, or equipment you need to make this job work –within reason of course– I'll see to it that it's supplied."

Malcolm, Scott, Adrian and Chakori looked around the table to each other, and found no one unsatisfied with the terms Owen Phoenix had given. At that moment, a collection of four wayward vagabonds became a single, unified team...

"Well..." The ram announced, "I think you got yourself a deal."

/

To Be Continued.

/


/

Author Note:

This one was kind of tricky. I was a little worried that there'd be too much info-dumping in this chapter with everything going on, but I think I got it to work here...

As always, your feedback is most welcome.