The Phoenix Crisis

by Richard L. Sanders

With the bottle of pills in one hand and the half-empty water bottle in the other, he went to the adjoining bathroom and locked the door. Only then did he feel safe. Certain no one was watching him. Of course, he knew, he’d been just as secure in his private bedroom, but somehow this additional layer of security made him feel safer.

  He set the water bottle on the sink and then opened the bottle of pills. With trembling hands he dumped out several of the pills and held them up in the light. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, bloodshot eyes and stubble on his face, but he didn’t care. For an instant he saw a glimpse of his father’s face in his own. But he blinked it away with a shudder. He wasn’t Samil. And how he looked wasn’t important. He needed to feel better. At whatever cost.

  He opened his mouth and raised the pills, reaching for the water bottle with his free hand to chase them down once he swallowed. A part of him hungered for this—had never stopped wanting this. He shook his head and glanced at himself one more time in the mirror before swallowing the equarius and putting the terrible and violent images to rest.

  What he saw startled him. In the mirror, standing behind him, he thought he glimpsed a flowing lock of red hair. He blinked and it was gone. He even spun to look behind him, just to be sure no one was there. It had been a trick of the brain, he knew. His delirious and tired mind seeing things that weren’t there.

  He made a second effort to raise the pills to his lips but stopped, just shy of dumping them into his mouth. He wondered what it meant, what he was doing. Yes he’d feel quick relief, and for a little while he’d feel much better, but for how long? And at what cost?

  He thought of everything equarius had done to him. How it had made him its slave since the Trinity Incident. How it had affected his health, worsened his sleep, given him horrible night terrors, and—most of all—how it’d nearly lost him the Nighthawk. And for what?

  He shook away those thoughts, trying to think of the times when equarius had helped him. How it’d eased his pains, and lessened his burdens, and put him into a state of mind where he could embrace the inevitable—the sheer pointlessness of life and everything in it—and find serenity. He knew he wanted to take it. He burned to take it.

  Calvin pressed the white pills up against his lips. And then thought of Rain. He thought of what he’d say to her when he admitted that he’d strayed from her treatment. He thought of her shame for him, and the guilt she would feel for trusting him with the drug. When, in all honesty, she probably shouldn’t have, Calvin knew.

  He closed his eyes and shut everything out of his mind. Needing to decide what he wanted. What was best for him, no one else. No one else had to deal with his burdens and so no one else got a vote on whether or not he took equarius.

  In an instant he made up his mind. It was something he should have done a long time ago. He dumped the pills into the toilet, watching them slowly float their way down to the bottom of the bowl, and then he poured out the rest. Emptying the entire orange bottle over the toilet. Without a second thought he flushed it. Flushed the quickly-dissolving white powder away. Flushed equarius out of his life forever.

  Chapter 22

  Mister Cox dropped the Nighthawk out of alteredspace. Summers watched him, noting how haggard and worn out he looked, despite the short relief she’d given him and the rest of the senior staff as they’d traveled from Titan Three back into Imperial space.

  “We have arrived at the rendezvous coordinates,” said Jay. “Drifting in open space, one-thousand mc’s per second.”

  “Thank you, Mister Cox,” said Summers. “Full stop.”

  “Answering full stop,” said Jay.

  Summers looked to Cassidy. “Midshipman Dupont, anything on our scopes?”

  “The region is empty,” said Cassidy. “But there are several alteredspace signatures bearing down on this position from multiple directions.”

  “ETA?”

  “Varied. Shortest time… about a minute.”

  “Looks like we won the race then,” said Midshipman Ford. “By a hair.”

  Summers ignored him. “Begin preparations to dock with the Arcane Storm when it and its support ships arrive.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Jay. He relayed her orders to the rest of the crew.

  Summers tapped her direct line to SFHQ.

  “Hello, Commander,” came Pellew’s voice over the speaker. Summers had never been comfortable around Pellew, his eyes followed her too eagerly and she didn’t trust him, Summers avoided talking to him except when absolutely necessary.

  “Mister Pellew,” she said. “We are making preparations to dock with the Arcane Storm and support ships for resupply and repair. I trust you understand that anyone coming aboard this ship will need to be watched.

  “Say no more,” he said. “I’ll have my people at the airlocks.”

  “Sir, incoming ships,” said Cassidy.

  Summers watched the 3d display as it adjusted to reveal a supply ship. And then another. And then two more. A final ship arrived, making it a convoy of five supply ships. They were long, narrow, boxy, and had limited defense capabilities. The convoy moved into a group and then adjusted heading.

  “Supply convoy has changed course; now bearing on our position,” said Cassidy.

  “We are being hailed by the lead ship,” said Jay.

  “On speakers.”

  “Well hello there, Nighthawk,” said an amiable, somewhat scratchy voice over the speakers. “We were told we’d find you here. Are you prepared to dock and accept our supplies?”

  “Confirmed Convoy One,” said Summers. “We are prepared to comply with docking instructions and begin transfer.” She didn’t like the seedy, less-than-legitimate feel of this exchange. And she didn’t like accepting charity from Raidan—especially since anything he gave them was probably ill-gotten in the first place. But these were Calvin’s orders. And the Nighthawk was in dire need of supplies and repair, and certainly in no position to acquire such things legitimately. So, Summers supposed, this would have to suffice.

  “Now just to remind you,” said the Convoy Commander who—Summers noted—had yet to identify himself. “This is kind of an… off-the-books exchange. So don’t make a note of this in your logs or file any official paperwork regarding these requi—”

  Cassidy shouted over him. “Sir, incoming ship.”

  “The Arcane Storm?” asked Summers.

  Cassidy shook her head. “Too big. Attack Cruiser class.”

  “Attack Cruiser?” asked Summers. That certainly hadn’t been anywhere in the rendezvous instructions they’d been given. Was Raidan providing additional security? No, he would have told them… but who else could it be? This was a random point in space, no one could simply stumble upon it—the odds were astronomically small—Summers knew, she could calculate them. That left only one likely explanation. One of the ships had been tracked.

  “General Quarters,” said Summers. “Alert condition one.”

  Midshipman Ford adjusted the alert status and raised what he could of the shields. Jay activated the sublight drives and got the ship moving. Angling into a defensive posture against the incoming alteredspace signature.

  “What’s going on there, Nighthawk? What are you doing?” asked the Convoy Commander, still connected to them via hail.

  “Incoming warship,” said Summers, realizing that the paltry sensor technology on the supply ships likely couldn’t detect inbound alteredspace signatures. “Likely hostile.”

  The Convoy Commander let loose a string of panicked curses. Summers winced at the unprofessionalism, nearly ordering Jay to cut the line. But she didn’t want to increase the civilian commander’s panic any further. She had to keep him calm.

  “We’re here to help you, Nighthawk,” said the Convoy Commander. “You have to help us.”

  “And we will,” said Summers. “I recommend you scatter your vessels and withdraw immediately.”

  “Copy that,” said the Convoy Commander. “It’ll take us a few minutes to prep for
jump.” With that he cut the line and Summers noted the supply-ships began to change posture on the 3d display.

  “We don’t have a few minutes to give them, do we?” asked Summers, almost rhetorically.

  “Shields at eleven percent, no armor on the port side, nearly all of the ammo for the main guns is depleted… but the beam weapon seems to be working at full capacity,” said Midshipman Ford. Summers sized him up, the newest acting member of the senior staff. She had no idea what his skills were manning the defense post and she had half a mind to relieve him and take the station herself.

  “Mister Cox, notify the Acting XO to get up here immediately,” said Summers.

  “On it.”

  She almost couldn’t believe she was asking for Miles’ tortuous presence… but she’d seen his skill at the defense post during the Abia action. And she doubted anyone was better at that one thing—at everything else in life Miles was the worst, but Summers could concede that he had one single use.

  “Cassidy, ETA?”

  “Incoming ship will arrive in less than a minute.”

  “And the supply-ships?”

  “They have moved into a scattered formation and have commenced jump procedures… probably going to be another four minutes at least.”

  “Dammit,” Summers cursed under her breath. It didn’t help that she felt extremely tired and now, with her heart racing and adrenaline shooting through her, she felt more like an animal than an officer.

  “Your orders, sir?” asked Midshipman Ford.

  “The supply-ships are vulnerable,” said Cassidy. “They can’t take any kind of a beating.”

  “Neither can we,” added Midshipman Ford.

  “Move us between the supply-ships and the attack cruiser’s exit point,” said Summers. As crooked and shady as the crews of the supply-ships were, they were likely Imperial citizens, and she wasn’t simply going to watch as civilians were slaughtered.

  “Aye, sir,” said Jay. He had the look on his face of someone who’d just signed his own death warrant.

  “Show them our starboard side,” said Summers. If they were about to take flak, might as well take it on the side that still had most of its armor.

  “Ship arriving,” reported Cassidy.

  An instant later the 3d display adjusted, showing a very familiar-looking attack cruiser. It was in an aggressive posture, dropping out of alteredspace at a swift velocity, and moving right toward them.

  “It’s the Phoenix…” said Summers. The ship she’d once served aboard that now tried to kill them. It gave her waking nightmares. Haunting her like a dark omen, it seemed now to represent everything that had gone wrong in her life and the Empire.

  “Yes, sir, I confirm that,” said Cassidy. “The Phoenix is rapidly closing on our position. Weapons range imminent.”

  “Standby to intercept any incoming missiles,” said Summers. “Restrict fire to defensive—”

  She stopped abruptly when she heard the elevator door slide open and the sound of heavy footfalls behind her.

  “Oh shit… the Phoenix again?”

  “Take your station, Mister Brown,” said Summers, without looking at him. “Mister Ford, you are relieved.”

  The younger officer stepped away from the defense post and Miles took his place. “Okay, what’ve we got…” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

  “The Phoenix is in weapons range,” said Cassidy. “Missiles incoming.”

  Miles used the beam weapon to intercept all he could before it overheated and needed to be cooled, at which point he switched to the guns. They took out two more missiles—fired sparingly—but ran dry after that. Summers watched him like a hawk, knowing their very lives were in his big clumsy oafish hands. Yet, despite his general mind-blowing stupidity, he used their limited weapons as wisely and optimally as possible. Unfortunately it was not enough.

  “Weapons are dry,” said Miles.

  “Two more missiles incoming,” said Cassidy.

  “Tactical withdrawal,” said Summers. “Mister Cox, fire up those engines. Let’s outrun those missiles as long as we can. Maybe the beam weapon will have cooled enough—” Summers knew she was grasping at straws. Still, her crew complied.

  I’m sorry, Calvin, she thought as she stared at the desperate faces around her. I’ve lost you your ship.

  “New alteredspace jump signature detected!” shouted Cassidy. “Bearing down close on our position. Entering normal space in five seconds.”

  Summers felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her. It had to be the Arcane Storm! And although it was true the Arcane Storm was no match for the Phoenix, it might be enough to keep the Nighthawk and the supply-ships alive. At least long enough for everybody to jump to safety.

  A massive starship filled their window, it entered normal space so close to their position that only a fraction of it was visible—dark grey with harsh features. Jay had to adjust course immediately, and hard, to avoid a collision. The ship was far more massive than the Arcane Storm. It lit up the blackness with its countless beams and guns firing practically the instant it left alteredspace.

  “Incoming missiles have all been destroyed,” reported Miles. “The Phoenix is in full retreat.”

  Summers’ eyes flicked to the 3d display. “Is that—?” She paused. It was just as she’d suspected. The Harbinger had arrived.

  “The Phoenix has jumped into alteredspace,” said Cassidy.

  “Is the Harbinger pursuing?” asked Summers.

  “Negative. It has adjusted course and appears to be commencing docking procedures.”

  “The Harbinger is sending us new instructions for the resupply and repair operation,” said Jay. “We are requested to dock with the Harbinger for immediate transfer of personnel; afterward our ship and the supply convoy are to follow the Harbinger to coordinates near Renora System where the repair operation will take place and the supply ships will transfer supplies. The Arcane Storm is no longer a part of the operation.”

  “What happened to the Arcane Storm?” asked Summers. She knew that Vargas had been given specific instructions from Calvin to return to the Nighthawk with the Arcane Storm in hand, along with the rest of their absent crew.

  “The instructions don’t specify,” said Jay. “Shall I comply?”

  Summers took a deep breath and, somewhat begrudgingly, ordered him to comply. She wasn’t sure what Raidan was up to, showing up here himself, but she would keep a sharp eye on him.

  ***

  Pellew cleared the newcomers entering the ship one by one. Most were returning personnel, and they looked almost as tired and run-down as the crew that’d stayed behind. But there were some fresh new faces too. Four crewmen, a medic, and an entire detachment of new soldiers to replace the Polarians. These fighting-men looked green and inexperienced. Pellew stopped one of them at random.

  “You there,” he said. “Where do you come from?”

  The man looked at him with narrow, suspicious eyes. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m your commanding officer,” said Pellew. “And you will address me as sir or I will throw you off this ship. And I promise you, that is not a metaphor.”

  The man stared at him, perhaps testing him, but eventually submitted. “I’m from Capital World,” he said.

  “And your name?”

  “Rodriguez.”

  “You ever served his Majesty’s military, Rodriguez?”

  “No, sir. Can’t say ‘at I have.”

  “So what’s your fighting experience?” Pellew pressed him.

  “Mercenary, mostly.”

  Pellew was not surprised. This man Rodriguez, and all of the rest of them, had looked exactly like hired guns. Sure they had a kind of toughness about them, and they’d probably killed people before, but none of them had the steel in their eyes that came from real military service. None of them had any of the trained habits that came from years and years of drills. And none of them showed the kind of camaraderie that came with fighting in uniform si
de by side with the best and the brightest. These were civilians who happened to be in the business of soldiering, but they weren’t actual soldiers. Not one of them.

  “Is that all, sir?” the man asked.

  Pellew sent him on his way. Like the others, the man carried two bags of personal possessions, both of which had been searched for weapons. Until Pellew trusted these men, and believed them capable of seeing action, he was not going to arm them. When they finally were ready to carry weapons, they would be standard issue and would come from the armory. But for the near future Pellew intended to keep the weapons lockers secure.

  One familiar face that Pellew did not expect to ever see again belonged to Rez’nac. The large, fiercely muscular Polarian stepped through the airlock, having to duck to enter, and then greeted Pellew with a proper salute. Everything about his demeanor, the way he stood, and even his scars and injuries were all tributes to his great strength. All except his eyes, which were sad.

  “Welcome back,” said Pellew. Though, in truth, he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea for the Polarian to return. His special forces detachment had yet to get the closure they needed regarding Staff Sergeant Patterson’s death. And Pellew worried that they might take their retribution out on Rez’nac. Who, despite his toughness, was no match for the Special Forces by himself.

  “I am honored to be back,” said Rez’nac. “I would like to see the captain right away.”

  “Calvin isn’t on the ship right now, so Summers Presley has command. I could take you to her if you’d like.”

  “Is Calvin returning?”

  Pellew shrugged. “Who knows? I imagine so. But right now he is working for the Akira House on Capital World.”

  “I see…” said Rez’nac. Pellew expected more surprise from Rez’nac than the Polarian showed. Pellew himself had been quite shocked when he’d heard the news. “In that case I would take my matter to you,” said Rez’nac.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I know that Grimka—my son—is the one who committed the injustice against your officer.”

  “And?” asked Pellew, folding his arms. “Was justice done? Did Grimka answer for his crime?”