He snatched the disk from her hand. "The data isn't on the disc, it's in the disc," he said dismissively, as if she were stupid. When, in reality, nobody really understood what he meant. Including himself.
He went into his office and pretended to look the disc over carefully until his door slid shut. Once he was alone he locked the disc in a drawer and collapsed in his chair with a sigh.
Other ships would be looking for him now. And all his faceless, nameless enemies knew he was going to Abia.
***
Summers tried once more to contact the Fleet with the terminal in her room but, for the sixth time, she only got as far as the screen that said: "I'm sorry, this function has been disabled: code 101-C." She'd used every single Executive Officer bypass she knew to remove the block, but Calvin had higher clearance than she did. The computer would not budge.
She felt like slapping the console a few times, but had just enough discipline to keep it together. So, instead, she took a deep breath, marshaled her intellect, and began brainstorming how to circumvent Calvin and contact the Fleet.
Since Calvin had gone to such lengths to keep the Fleet from contacting her, she had to do whatever it took to contact them. And find out what Calvin was trying to hide.
She didn't buy Calvin's ridiculous story that outside contact was a security threat. It was a bold-faced lie. Calvin had obviously blocked it out for his own purposes—just like Raidan had. And if that's what ended up stopping her from catching Raidan and fulfilling justice... she'd go completely ballistic!
Of course... if Calvin were somehow unfit to command the ship, Major Jenkins had the power to override his command codes. And Calvin’s standing orders could be revoked. But how to arrange that? It wasn't an issue of making it happen. She wasn't going to injure him. That was something out of Raidan's playbook. No, Summers would follow the rules; since, in the end, the rules were designed to prevent this sort of thing from happening—they would allow a way for her to stop a deranged commanding officer from chasing ghosts across the universe at the expense of the mission.
Calvin had shown bad judgment on the bridge. And he'd shown up with signs of confusion and mental exhaustion. He'd been drinking, she was sure of it. And in that kind of condition he was not fit for command. And yes, that would explain his poor decisions. He's not right in his head. He needs help.
Before she knew it, she was on her way to the infirmary. With every step she further organized her arguments, giving them a brief polish so they'd be ready for the chief physician, Dr. Blair. Then he could declare Calvin unfit and Summers would take command. Once she had control, she'd re-establish contact with the Fleet and get the ship back on course to track down Raidan. It was not only the logical thing to do, it was the right thing to do.
Arriving at the infirmary, she found an empty, sterile room with a bored looking medic twiddling his thumbs and staring absent-mindedly from his chair by the door. Upon seeing her, the young man jumped to his feet, brown hair bouncing over his eyes. "Commander," he said, snapping to attention. She returned his salute.
"I need to see Dr. Blair right away."
"He's in his quarters," the medic pointed to a door. "He's not on shift."
"I need to see him, on the double, mister," said Summers, adding an edge to her voice. She didn't know what Calvin had done to these people, but for some reason they only seemed to listen if she sharpened her tone and repeated herself.
The man paged Dr. Blair. His rough voice crackled over the speaker. "Just what the hell are you doing, boy? I'm trying to sleep!"
Summers wasn't impressed.
"I'm sorry, sir," the young medic said. "But the XO is here to see you."
"If she's bleeding then patch her up. If not, tell her it can wait 'til morning... err afternoon. Whatever the hell time it is when I get up."
The medic glanced at Summers, clearly unsure what to do. Summers let out a quiet sigh and waved him aside. "Mister Blair," she said into the comm. "I need to speak with you right away; that's an order."
"Can't you just speak to me over the comm? I mean that's what you're doing right now, isn't it?"
"Not good enough."
"Fine, fine, just... let me put some pants on."
As the seconds ticked by Summers found her patience wearing thinner and thinner and again her mind spun circles at how ridiculous this whole ship was. 'Intel Wing is the pride of the military'... hardly. Public transit was more orderly than this flying circus.
"OK, what is it?" Dr. Blair asked after poking his head out the door. She'd only seen him a few times and once again it stood out to her how old he looked for a man in his fifties.
"We should speak in private," she said walking toward his door. Her intonation made it clear this was an order and not a request. Dr. Blair looked startled for a second and then hustled inside.
"Yeah... just let me put a few things away real fast."
Summers pushed the door open and caught a glimpse of what had to be the strangest starship apartment in the military. It was half bathroom half bedroom with a small liquor cabinet and a tiny refrigerator. The place smelled of old cologne and... some kind of fruit, and the few dressers and only table were covered with clothes, books, and random odds and ends. Clearly Dr. Blair wasn't used to entertaining guests.
As Summers closed the door behind her, she saw Dr. Blair hurriedly cram a stack of magazines and who knows what into a dresser drawer then slam it shut. Summers folded her arms thinking I don't want to know.
"So how can I help you, Commander?" Dr. Blair put on what was obviously a fake smile and then waved for her to take a seat. She declined.
"I'm going straight to the point, Doctor," she said. Perhaps approaching a subject like this slowly and gingerly was better, but she'd never had any skill at beating around the bush. Why bother trying now? "It is my recommendation that Calvin Cross be relieved of command. He is unfit."
The doctor looked taken aback; Summers had expected this. She waited quietly for it to sink in.
"What... what for?" His voice was weak. He still sounded shocked but there was something else too, a hint of anxiety.
"Because Mister Cross has violated direct orders from the Fleet—he did not engage the Harbinger. And now he’s cut off outside communication, and is sending the ship completely off mission." She tried not to raise her voice but couldn't help it.
"Now, now, I'm sure everything's fine. I'm not in the chain of command so I really can't arbitrate these kinds of issues. I'm sure Calvin knows what he's doing. He's won his share of medals and all that."
She felt her face get hot but she managed to keep calm. "Calvin showed up on the bridge today hung over—like some kind of alcoholic! And it affected his performance. His slow reaction time gave the enemy ample opportunity to destroy our ship."
"Yet here we are," Dr. Blair said calmly. "So what happened?"
"We got lucky," she said. "But next time, who knows. For the success of the mission and the safety of the ship, Calvin must not be allowed to retain his command. In his condition, he's putting everybody and everything in jeopardy."
"You said he was like an alcoholic," said Dr. Blair. "I happen to know that Calvin doesn't drink."
For a moment Summers second guessed herself. She really didn't know that Calvin was an alcoholic. But she did get the distinct impression he was hung over. "It was in his face and in his eyes, and his reaction time was very slow. He complained about noise on a quiet bridge..." she wracked her memory. "I'm sure something wasn't right about him."
"But you don't actually have any evidence of any kind?"
“Circumstantial…”
“—but not empirical.”
“I suppose that’s so," she admitted.
Dr. Blair smiled and seemed calmer. "I'll take your recommendation under consideration, Commander. But on this ship people are innocent until proven guilty. If you find evidence that Calvin has more than the allowed amount of alcohol or too strong of drink, you let me know."
"But until then you're not going to do anything, are you, doctor?" She was disappointed.
"No, I'm not. Nor should I. Now I suggest you go get some sleep yourself, Commander," he said, almost condescendingly. "You look miserable. And don't worry. I've known Calvin a long time and he knows what he's doing."
"Unless he's not himself."
"Tisk, tisk," the doctor wagged a finger at her. "No accusations like that until you find proof of the proof, get it? It's a pun," he chuckled and then climbed back into bed. "Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out."
Strongly irritated, she left his quarters.
So the doctor wasn't going to be any help; she should have expected as much. Just another crew member Calvin had in his pocket. One more marching, clapping, dancing idiot in his circus of fools. She pined for the day when Calvin's ship would undergo a thorough investigation and he'd get his. But, since that wasn't going to happen any time soon, it was up to her to set things straight.
She realized she still had one more card to play, as much as she loathed the idea. It was the kind of despicable thing she considered beneath her. But, despite her proper nature, she wasn't blind to the effect she had on men. And she'd seen Calvin, and almost every other man on the ship, trace her figure with their eyes at one point or another... why were men so very weak?
Calvin wasn’t ugly, but the thought of letting him get close to her was absolutely repulsive. She would never let him have his way with her, but that didn't mean she couldn't use his desire against him. The very idea was shameful... but if that's what it took to save the ship and prove that Calvin was a lunatic unfit for command, then that's exactly what she would do.
"I hope everything went well with the doc," the young medic spoke in his own cute nervous way, his face turned red when their eyes met. Summers smirked, thinking Calvin didn't have a chance.
"Yes, everything went fine," said Summers with a cool smile. "Now, mister..." she searched his lapel for his name but the white coat had no markings.
"Andrews," he said flashing a sheepish grin. "James Andrews." She had his complete attention.
"Thank you, James," she said. "Now I was wondering if you could help me with something."
"Anything."
"I need a particular kind of medicine."
Chapter 21
Calvin stood on the observation deck, leaning against the railing. In front of him was the largest window on the ship, so clean it would be invisible if not for the glare of the light behind him and the hint of his own reflection. Beyond that the view was one of complete darkness. Emptiness. A perfect void with absolutely nothing to see. To Calvin it was more intriguing than depressing. And it helped him forget the many questions on his mind, however briefly.
There was something peaceful about the deep black emptiness. Something serene. Even a slow rolling tide couldn't be more calm. He hadn't felt that kind of peace in a long time, if ever, and now, as his mind struggled harder than ever to make sense of the mess he'd been catapulted into, he felt some desire for that peace to last. It was a strange thing to be jealous of the emptiness. What was space anyway? Apathetic nothingness?
Somehow it reminded him of the Trinity. How he'd seen death's face and knew he had no hope. Is that how it'd been on the Rotham ships just before Raidan destroyed them? Or were they wiped into oblivion before they could even realize it? He hoped, if things didn't go well, he'd get the second treatment. And maybe then, if there were some kind of afterlife, he could be with Christine again.
He heard the door slide open and he turned around. Summers walked in; she was alone. His instinct was to tense up, guard himself, but there was something different about her. He could see it in the way she walked. She was relaxed, even though her clothes hugged her tighter than usual, accenting her unusually beautiful physique. Her thick lips curved into a mischievous smile and her eyes danced with his playfully.
He felt his heart thumping. And... couldn't make sense of this change in her character. She was like a completely different person. And as she approached, he caught the scent of something wonderful. He didn't know if it was perfume, lotion, shampoo, or what, except that it smelled clean, refreshing, and alluring.
He was too dazed to speak. His thoughts were lost as he felt his eyes grip her face like some lost piece of rare, brilliant art. It just wasn't fair that some people in the universe could be so overwhelmingly, undeniably beautiful, while the rest did their best just to pass as mediocre.
Calvin shook his head slowly. Some small part of him sounded an alarm, despite how much his eyes approved. It took more effort than he would have liked, but he managed to tear his gaze from her and turn back to the blackness which, now, seemed completely uninteresting.
"So what's this about?" he asked, holding back the excitement he felt inside. Instead, he allowed his suspicion to tint his words. After all, she had arranged this meeting and, since she had thus far been a thorn in his side, he had no reason to think this meeting was for his benefit. He kept his eyes fixed on the window and, as best he could, breathed through his mouth in a vain effort to ignore her intoxicating scent.
"I just thought it would be nice for us to talk," she said, slowly stepping closer and closer. Not able to see her face, he had some trouble reading her intentions. She kept her tone simple and pleasant.
"What about?" he asked, still making an effort to sound cold.
"About us," she said smoothly.
His heart skipped a beat.
"About the tension between us," she clarified.
He felt himself go stiff as she sidled up next to him, resting her delicate smooth hands on the railing, next to his hands. Close enough he could touch them, if he wanted to.
He tried not to look at her. When he didn't say anything she continued. "I owe you an apology, Calvin. As much as I hate to admit it."
Now he was totally lost. "For what?" He tried not to betray his confusion.
"For questioning your command on your bridge," she said it slowly, almost like she meant it. Could she? That seemed wrong to him. A few minutes ago he thought he understood her perfectly, had her pegged as a zealot with a one-track mind. Take Down Raidan. And Calvin had been certain she didn't approve of him, his ship, or any of his ideas. But then again... he wasn't a mind reader. And he hadn't truly known her long enough to be absolutely sure who she was and what she thought. Had he?
He said nothing. Hoping her words would reveal her intentions.
But when she didn't speak again and the silence hung between them for awhile, he couldn't help opening his mouth. "Summers... why are you really here? What do you want?"
"I want us to be friends."
"Now why don't I buy that?"
Her voice was soothing. "This whole thing has been an adjustment for me," she said. "First the thing with Raidan..." she paused before continuing. "And now... here I am. It's just hard, you know, this ship, this... mission. It isn't what I'm used to. It isn't my world." She almost sounded ashamed, like there were some real emotions hidden beneath the surface of her words. And that she struggled to articulate her thoughts sounded, to Calvin, surprisingly sincere. He felt himself relax as he took it all in.
Could this beautiful woman standing next to him really be a victim of circumstances? A soldier thrown into a ring of chaos as her commander, Raidan, betrays her and she's tossed onto a strange ship working for some strange part of the military she's unfamiliar with? A lifestyle she isn't used to. A mission she isn't used to. And this strong front she's been putting up—all those walls, all her barking orders, protestations, emphasis on protocol—was that some kind of mask to hide her own vulnerability? A defensive mechanism?
He didn't know. A part of him wanted that to be true, and that part of him steered him in the direction of believing it was true. Because then, if that were so, he could imagine a future where he and Summers could co-exist without tension, without being enemies, and maybe they could even be friends. It was a strange thought. But an attractive one.
On the other hand, for her to act that strong and question him so much for so long … and then suddenly change, letting her walls tumble down before him, just like that... it was too good to be true. No, the more he thought about it, the more he just couldn't buy it. Whatever Summers was, she was more complex than that. And, he was sure, she wanted something from him. Was this her strange way of asking him to unlock the kataspace connector? Not going to happen. Even she must know that.
No... her game was something different. But what? He wracked his brain wondering what she could possibly be after and when his mind came up blank he knew he couldn't rule out the possibility that she meant what she said. That she wanted to make peace. If that were true, it couldn't have come at a better time.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked, her voice tender.
"Yeah," he said on impulse. He tried to think of something to say. Anything. "Look, I'm not very good at this sort of thing. I really don't have a lot of experience," he chuckled to ease the awkwardness and thought of his few experiences in the past having heart-to-heart conversations with women. None had gone particularly well. "But I accept your apology," he said. The next part came almost like a reflex. "And I apologize too, for being a really stubborn CO and not asking for your advice more often."
She looked up at him and smiled. It wasn't a big smile, but there was something about it that pulled him in. The way her lips curled, her cute nose, and above all her bright shining eyes. He took her in for a full, rich moment and then looked away. Pretending to stare off through the window. But he wasn't interested in the view of space anymore.
"So tell me about yourself, Calvin Cross," she said his name slowly.
"What do you want to know?"
"What do you want to share?" Her reflection was playful.
He couldn't help from laughing and shaking his head at the absurdity of the whole situation. It was surreal.
The Phoenix Conspiracy Page 23
