The Phoenix Rising

by Richard L. Sanders

“On speakers.”

  “IWS Desert Eagle, what is your status? Please inform.” The voice crackling over their speakers belonged to Director Jack Edwards, handler for all phantom-class stealth ships in the Empire. Edwards sounded somewhat... different, Nimoux couldn’t put his finger on why though.

  “We have arrived in Abia System, sir,” said Nimoux. “Commencing sweep operations.”

  “Good. Destroy all the debris you find. Leave no trace that any ships were ever there.”

  “Understood,” said Nimoux, though he thought it a strange order. He knew better than to question Edwards, though. “Will comply. Also be advised that we have had no contact with the station and it appears to be inoperable—possible unmanned.” He hoped to glean some information about what had happened here, what they were covering up.

  “Don’t worry about the station, or anything else. Conduct sweep operations, then proceed to Gemini System. A probe dispatched to the region several days ago positively ID’d jump signatures in Abia that targeted Gemini System.”

  The fact that Intel Wing wanted Nimoux to take care of business in Abia before proceeding to Gemini was very interesting, especially since the longer they waited the colder the trail would get. “Yes, sir.”

  “Intel Wing out.”

  “You heard the man,” said Nimoux to his bridge officers. “Set up a thorough pattern and commence a sweep. Destroy anything large enough to be detected.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Mister Jorgensen,” said Nimoux to his Ops officer, “if you happen to identify any of the debris before it’s destroyed and make a log of it... I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the ops officer.

  Something very strange had happened here. Something Intel Wing was desperate to keep a lid on. Nimoux couldn’t help but wonder what. There was obviously more to the story than he’d first anticipated.

  ***

  The bridge of the Nighthawk felt like home in a way that no other place could. Now that they were leaving Gemini and returning to where they truly belonged—the stars, Calvin felt a surge of energy. felt excited.

  “Sarah, put in a departure request,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Miles, get a status report from every deck. Let’s make sure all hands are aboard and we’re secure for launch.”

  “Way ahead of you, Cal,” said the round-faced man at the defense post. “All crew is aboard and all decks report go.”

  “Very good.” Calvin looked over his senior staff—his friends—and smiled. It was a good moment. No matter how many dangerous, uncertain roads lay ahead of them, he felt he could weather any storm with friends like these. Only one person was missing to make the picture complete.

  “Ops, give me a status report on all critical systems,” he looked at the man who sat where Shen should be. The newcomer was human, about middle-aged, and thin as a tree-branch.

  “Sir, all systems are functioning within expected parameters.”

  “Excellent. Sarah, as soon as we get the word, let’s get out of this behemoth and into open space.”

  “You got it,” she said. Then she spoke into her headset. “Confirmed, Control. Initiating launch sequence.”

  Out the window Calvin could see the massive metal doors that separated the drydock from open space. An alarm was flashing, warning all personnel to clear the deck. Once all hands were safely on the other side of the airlock, the massive chamber depressurized.

  “We’ve decoupled from the deck. Lift thrusters firing.”

  As the Nighthawk separated itself from the deck, the massive door—like tremendous jaws—opened, revealing the blackness of space.

  “Firing forward thrusters,” said Sarah. “Ten mc’s per second and accelerating.”

  They approached the open door quickly and plunged into open space.

  “We’re clear of the drydock.”

  Calvin saw a projection of the mighty Gemini conglomerate on the 3d display. Their ship looked tiny, like an infinitesimal wasp, as it flew away from the station. “Take us a safe distance from the planet and then commence alteredspace jump.”

  “Aye, aye. What is our destination?” asked Sarah.

  “Yeah, Cal, what kind of a wild goose chase are we on now?” asked Miles. “Gonna meet up with Raidan?”

  “No,” said Calvin. “Set course for the DMZ, most direct jump. Ninety percent potential.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The DMZ?” asked Miles. His face beamed with excitement. “What are we going there for?”

  Calvin’s officers obviously expected him to tell them everything he knew. They had proven trustworthy, and none had been more loyal than Miles.

  “Don’t worry about it for now,” said Calvin, noting a look of approval on Tristan’s face.

  “If you say so,” said Miles, looking confused and disappointed.

  Calvin looked back at Tristan and shot him a scowl. He’d keep Tristan and Raidan’s secrets for now, but consoled himself that he wouldn’t keep Miles and the others in the dark forever. “Once we get inside the DMZ, Tristan will provide flight instructions to our destination.”

  “The werewolf?” Miles looked at Tristan with disdain, and perhaps a little fear.

  “That’s right,” said Tristan with a slight grin.

  “Jump distance reached, commencing alteredspace transition in three, two, one...” said Sarah.

  The view of stars vanished into pure darkness. They were on their way to the DMZ.

  “We are now in alteredspace.”

  “ETA?” asked Calvin.

  “Just over fifty-three hours until we cross into the DMZ...” said Sarah. “And commit an act of war.”

  Fifty-three hours... Calvin took a deep breath and relaxed, thinking that was plenty of time to squeeze more information out of Tristan and figure out their next move. Special Forces and the Polarian Division would have to begin drills so they could breach the Arcane Storm when the time came. Calvin decided the best thing he could do now was get to know the new crew. Making sure they assimilated properly fell under the duties of the XO, but Calvin was happy to help if he could.

  “Calvin,” said Miles, in an unusually serious tone. “If we’re doing this, if we’re really going into the DMZ, I should have weapons hot when we go in, and the new crew needs to be put through battle drills.”

  “I’m not expecting a fight, Miles.”

  “The latest reports on the DMZ list raiding and piracy as extremely rampant. If anyone sees us, they will most likely try to capture the ship. And I’m not going through that again.”

  Calvin would never forget what it had been like to surrender his vessel to the Rotham squadron. The torture and cruelty they’d faced at the hands of the Rotham back in Abia had cost them many lives and left scars on the survivors that would never completely heal. “Point well taken, Miles. You may organize and execute three battle simulations for each shift. Make sure everyone is tested and ready for what we might find when we get there. But we won’t be going in hot. Armed weapons will compromise our stealth.”

  “Good enough for me,” said Miles. “Though I would feel better with at least some of the weapons armed.”

  “I’ve been in the DMZ before,” said Calvin. “Not recently, that’s true—but I know it’s a big place, and we’ll be better off if we avoid being seen.”

  “If you say so. Doesn’t sound like much fun to me,” Miles shot him a grin, telling him the backtalk at this point was meant as jest not insubordination. Calvin half expected Summers to begin deriding Miles for his unprofessionalism, but then he remembered she was below helping to situate the new crew.

  “Your sense of fun is really unique, Miles,” said Sarah. “Most people wouldn’t equate violence with fun.”

  “Yeah, yeah, just cause you don’t know how to have a good time.”

  “Your idea of a good time usually ends with the luxurious accommodations of a debtor’s detention cell,” she fired back.

 
“Hey! That only happened one time!”

  Most COs wouldn’t tolerate the chatter, Calvin knew, and allowing it went against all of his professional training. But he liked the relaxed atmosphere. And believed that his officers worked best in a liberal environment where they didn’t have to worry if their uniforms weren’t pressed well-enough. It was his command style, always had been, and now that he was a commander in exile, he felt even less restrained.

  “Carry on,” said Calvin. “I’ll be below, seeing to the new crew.”

  “Calvin not on the bridge during his shift? Big surprise there,” said Miles.

  “Sarah, you have the deck.”

  Tristan cleared his throat. “I should have the deck,” he said, pointing to the gold bar on his uniform—the insignia of a commander.

  Calvin almost laughed. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” He wondered whose uniform Tristan had stolen.

  “As a point of fact, Lieutenant Commander,” said Tristan, addressing Calvin with his technical rank and not his position, “I outrank everyone on this ship except for Commander Presley. I, at minimum, should be instated as your second officer, since this ship doesn’t have one.” It was true; Calvin hadn’t promoted anyone to the position since Vincent Rose’s death.

  “I don’t know where you got that uniform, Remorii, but as far as I’m concerned you’re a civilian observer. You’re here because I’ve chosen to tolerate you. But you are not part of the crew.”

  “That’s a waste of my natural talents.”

  “Just be happy you’re not spending the journey in the brig this time.” On Summers’ suggestion, Calvin had decided to allow both Tristan and Alex to have quarters. Thinking that the appearance of trust would elicit maximum cooperation from both guests.

  Tristan frowned, and his eyes searched Calvin. They didn’t glow red, however, so Calvin knew Tristan wasn’t actually upset. More likely testing him, and trying to weasel into as much power as he could. Calvin was going to keep him under his thumb. Having a Remorii on the ship at all grated against his better judgment. Unfortunately it seemed to be a necessary evil. For now anyway.

  “Very well, Captain,” said Tristan.

  “That’s better. Now, Sarah, the deck is yours.”

  ***

  Some of the crew didn’t take to him right away. A handful even had complaints already. Mostly pertaining to their particular shift assignments. “Take it up with the XO,” was his constant reply.

  Several of the men were obviously infatuated with Summers, and he didn’t really blame them. More like pitied them. Fortunately he’d gotten a lot better at not letting his eyes linger on her figure when she came around.

  The smitten newcomers repeatedly asked Calvin questions about her. Is she seeing anyone? Does she date other crew members? When is she not on shift? Calvin dismissed all such questions. They weren’t important to him and, truthfully, the last thing he wanted to be thinking about. If he was going to strike some kind of harmony with Summers—where he could depend on her the way he used to depend on Anand, rather than fight her at every turn—he needed to cast aside all romantic feelings toward her. And all the animosity he still harbored. Most importantly, he needed to forget that brief moment on the observation deck, when he’d opened his heart to her and she’d crushed it between her steel fingers shortly afterward.

  To her credit, she did make a sincere, though somewhat pathetic, attempt at an apology. So he would try to let bygones be bygones and make things work.

  Considering that several members of the new crew had no military experience, he was impressed at how quickly they were adapting to the discipline. Summers had explained the basics of protocol to each of them, in no uncertain terms Calvin was sure, and had required them all to shadow existing crew and be properly trained. Because of this, the shift schedules were thrown off for the next twenty-four hours—a logistical nightmare Calvin was glad not to be managing.

  After winding his way through the crew quarters, the analysis lab, and even the mess, he’d introduced himself to all the human newcomers but one. He found himself standing outside the infirmary, a place he’d avoided going, and took a deep breath. Part of him expected to find Monte inside, grouchy and limping but secretly happy to see him. He’d trusted the old doc tremendously, and they’d been friends for years. Ever since Christine’s death.

  The clearest image of all the hellish sights that dominated his memory of Abia was seeing Monte slip from the deck ladders and plunge to his death aboard the Rotham warship. Calvin felt a chill thinking about it, and tried to push it from his mind. Monte is gone now. Nothing I can do about it.

  He steeled himself and entered the infirmary, trying very hard not to see the new chief physician of the Nighthawk as an intruder squatting Monte’s domain.

  Dr. Poynter was her name. She was tall, thin, and had the brightest red hair Calvin had ever seen. It was curly, wild and clearly unmanageable so she’d tied it together behind her head. She held a clipboard and was finishing up with a patient.

  “Take it twice a day orally and let me know if you have any side effects, okay, Donny?”

  The injured man, who Calvin recognized as part of the original crew, nodded. He wore a cast and sling around his left arm from an injury sustained during the fight in Abia. He was one of six remaining crew who had injuries severe enough to keep them on reduced duty. Another logistical headache that Calvin had been happy to leave on Summers’ plate.

  “I want to see you again in a few days, okay?” said Dr. Poynter.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No sirs or ma’ams, I’m not a soldier, just a physician,” Dr. Poynter said with a smile. “Now you take care, Donny, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” said Donny. He left, saluting Calvin on his way out. That’s when Dr. Poynter seemed to notice Calvin’s presence. Her face lit up with surprise.

  “Captain,” she said.

  “Dr. Poynter.”

  “Call me Rain.”

  “Right,” he said, remembering her application. “Rain Poynter. I’m here to see how you’re settling in, and if there’s anything I can do for you.” He looked past her to the adjoining apartment reserved for the chief physician. The door was closed and somehow he still imagined it as the simple, unkempt environment that Monte had occupied. Complete with pornographic magazines and all its other charms.

  “Actually there is something you can do for me, Calvin—may I call you that?” she asked.

  “Please do.” He preferred the use of given names.

  “I need to see all the new crew in here, and about half the old crew, so I can create a medical chart for them, or update their existing one. I’d like to make sure everyone is current on their inoculations, screen for a few things, and perform complete physicals.”

  “Tell the XO,” said Calvin, “and she’ll forward a mandatory signup sheet to all the departments on the ship.

  “I already have.”

  “Then what do you need from me?”

  She looked him in the eyes. Her irises were very pale blue. “Calvin, you’re one of the ones I need to see. Your chart was mysteriously scant on details so you’ll have to get the works.”

  Of course his chart was scant on details—Monte had needed to hide the fact that he’d been Calvin’s drug dealer.

  “Including a physical?” he asked. Calvin was the type who saw no use in being a patient when he didn’t feel sick.

  “Yep. A full physical.”

  He didn’t care for this idea. “I feel fine,” he said. “I think you should focus on some of the others.”

  She cracked a smile. “Wait a minute. It’s not that you’re shy, is it?” she looked him up and down briefly. “I can have one of the male physicians…”

  “No,” he cut in abruptly. “It’s not that. I just, I don’t care for physicals. I drink lots of water. I eat pretty healthy. I stay active. I don’t feel sick. So I don’t think I need one.”

  “There are a lot of things that a person could have and not even
know. By the time you notice the symptoms, the condition could have progressed severely and—”

  “I appreciate your concern, Rain. But I’m fine. I’ll let you know if I have a hernia, or anything else.”

  “Does that mean your crew can opt out too?”

  He thought about it for a moment. He didn’t want to be a hypocrite. But then again he wanted his crew to be in top shape. “No, they can’t. That’ll give you lots to do and make sure everyone is as fit and healthy as I am.”

  She frowned slightly. “Doesn’t that seem like a double standard to you?”

  “Not really,” he replied. “If the goal is to make sure everyone is as healthy as I am, and I am always as healthy as I am, I don’t need to be tested; it’s just given.”

  “But if we’re using you as the benchmark, for whatever unwise reason, we would need complete records on you so we have any picture of how healthy you are.” She folded her arms.

  “Well then I guess, yeah, it is a double standard. But one I won’t lose any sleep over.”

  “Alright, Calvin, as you wish. But tell me this, how is your equarius situation?” Her eyes probed him.

  He was taken by surprise. It hadn’t sunk in yet that his dark secret, his personal drug addiction, was now fairly common knowledge. It had been the forefront issue in his loss of command, almost resulting in the Nighthawk never arriving in Abia. Now, probably, all of the original crew was aware of it. Rain could have heard from any of them.

  “You can be honest with me,” she said. “I’m only here to help, not to judge, and I understand what chemical dependency is like. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but it is something you should set your mind to beating because it’s unhealthy.”

  “You’re wrong, it is something to be ashamed of,” he said, more sharply than he’d meant. He felt a bit like a wounded animal having his secret talked about openly and casually by a stranger. “But don’t worry, I have it under control.”

  “Under control? What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve taken equarius for the last time. And that damned poison is not part of my life anymore.” For as much as he loved the sweet relief that came from equarius, it had done nothing but harm him and he hated the dependency. He loathed it with all his might. It had almost cost him everything. And, according to Monte, would eventually kill him.