Last Dance of the Phoenix

by James R. Lane

  Last Dance of the Phoenix

  James R. Lane

  Copyright

  Copyright ©2016 James R. Lane

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Illustration

  Copyright © 2016 Eugene Arenhaus

  arenhaus@chiseledrocks.com

  Used by permission.

  This book was printed in the United States of America.

  ISBN 978-1-365-33232-6

  Published by Lulu Press

  http://www.lulu.com

  Other books by James R. Lane

  Redeeming Factors

  Lifetimes

  Visit the Author's website

  http://www.lane-books.com/

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the late Jack D. Hunter; soldier, spy, journalist, novelist, artist, mentor, and above all, friend. Thanks to longtime journalist, as well as to artist Eugene Arenhaus, and fellow writer Ted R. Blasingame. Special thanks to my late parents, Norma L. and James E. Lane. They cared, and they never gave up.

  Chapter 1

  Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jig

  “Well, are you going to attack me, or would you like to have a seat?” I slowly turned in my seat to look over my left shoulder. What I saw there was both expected---and yet a surprise. She was what I expected---a Yularian female---but she was decidedly not the individual I’d been assured would be keeping tabs on me!

  My head partly covered and my eyes shaded by a dark blue NRA ball cap, I’d been sitting facing a large window that overlooked the relatively new Jacksonville, Florida, spaceport landing field, my back to the service counter. In time I’d heard a bit of commotion entering the room, followed shortly by muttered voices at the service counter. Muted sounds hesitantly approached the small row of chairs where I was seated, but I remained quiet, apparently dozing. The sounds stopped directly behind my chair, and after a few moments I’d broken the silence---with a surprising effect.

  “Well, are you going to attack me, or would you like to have a seat?” I’d said, which obviously startled the creature. Yularians, like the three other alien species we knew of to date, were (to our human-biased perceptions) distinctly humaniform beings that, for lack of a better description, resembled different species of animals that had human-like characteristics. They walked upright on their rear legs/feet, had fully-functional hands with opposable thumbs, room in their skulls for ample brains---and they were quite intelligent. Yularians were vulpine-like; they somewhat resembled the anthropomorphic red foxes of our human children’s stories, and (in my opinion, which meant nothing) looked suspiciously like the fox-people described in cliché Internet science fiction. The females even had a single pair of small, human-type breasts, in the human-correct location, with slightly heavier arms and much sturdier legs and larger feet than the fox-people illustrations in children’s books. Still, if you ignored the breasts, and overlooked the fact that they were bipedal---and human sized---you’d almost swear they were foxes. Big foxes. Foxes wearing featherweight, loose-weave shorts with bushy tails poking out the back, pocketed vests for the males (sometimes) and modest little halter tops for the females---but only when mixing with us prudish humans. Foxes that spoke fairly good English, rotten German, pathetic Chinese and Japanese, and mediocre Russian. Forget French, Italian, Hebrew, Arabic or most other languages; they didn’t even bother. Neither did the other three alien species. English was what they all liked, and English was what they all spoke---when they weren’t chattering, barking, squealing, whistling and yowling in their own tongues, that is.

  An hour earlier I’d come briskly striding into the small passenger terminal, fresh out of cold sleep from the relatively long (distance-wise) but short (time-wise) ride to Earth from the Yularian home world. Ah, cold sleep. Sounds benign; almost pleasant, even, and in popular science fiction stories and movies it often appears to be an ideal way to travel. Trust me---it’s not. Passengers don’t have staterooms or even postage-stamp-size cabins like in ocean cruise ships; they don’t even have rooms. Like it had been correctly imagined in surprisingly few classic sci-fi books and movies, we’re sedated off-ship, then loaded into cryogenic cocoon-like drawers that both hold us in stasis---all metabolism halted---and protect us from the mind-twisting, soul-ripping effects of Faster Than Light travel. Even the ship’s crew is “iced down” (as the snarky term implies) from shortly after liftoff---but before FTL travel is initiated---until shortly before landing once the ship is safely back into normal space. If not for the supercomputers that handle the complicated FTL process, none of the alien worlds would know of each other, nor would we Earthlings know of them.

  The other alien species were made up of Dralorians (a lot like really big river otters), the Eelon (beautiful, haughty felines resembling man-sized cheetahs) and---the ones that both excited and annoyed humans the most---the Ar’kaa. Those creatures somewhat resembled arctic hares---beautiful rabbit-like creatures you could imagine happily taking to a nice restaurant, the theater...or home for the evening. Wink-wink!

  As stated, all four species were pretty much human sized and, like the Yularians, fully bipedal, but since they had ample fur for protection under normal climate conditions none of them, other than the Yularians, wore even modest clothing---except around humans. The female otters and cats had no human-like breasts, so they always went “topless”, but the Ar’kaa females were like the Yularians; they had nice, firm little knockers, so they had to cover them or face the quite considerable ire of our human conservative modesty Nazis. None of the aliens wore confining shoes over their non-human-like furry feet, but they wisely protected the soles or pads of their feet with sandals---really strange-looking sandals.

  One all-out predator, two semi-omnivores and one herbivore species. No bug-eyed monsters, no giant slugs, spiders, dragons, demons, birds---nothing else. Aliens that didn’t seem so alien after all, apparently guaranteed not to terribly upset ape-based humanity’s rabid xenophobia. To me and a lot of others it just seemed too damned pat. Somebody---or something---had to have engineered all this. Cute. And just as cute, in her own fuzzy, disheveled way, was the young Yularian female standing uncomfortably before my guarded, surprised eyes.

  “Well, are you going to attack me, or would you like to have a seat?” had been my first words to the young vixen, and they’d had the desired effect, throwing my new companion off-balance and placing me firmly in control of the moment.

  “H-how---how did you know I was back here, Mr. Barnes? I…thought you were sleeping and…I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “My dear, you were far from stealthy when you entered the room, and even though I don’t have big, furry ears like you do, I overheard you asking the woman at the service desk if I was ‘the human Thomas Barnes’. I didn’t have to turn my head to see your reflection in the window---” I paused for a moment, studying her a bit more critically, “---and the ventilation system brought me your, uh, scent.”

  There was good reason why I studied her closer. Even though the Yularians don’t show age quite the same way we humans do, there was no way this young female was the one I was supposed to have shadowing me for the next few months. My observer/companion was supposed to be the scientist/doctor who headed up thi
s project, and I’d had a brief meeting with her before I went under the knife, as well as seeing her brusquely interrogate several technicians shortly after I regained consciousness. The physician was anything but young, supposedly long past breeding age, a bit saggy-baggy in stature and with substantial gray in her red and white-furred muzzle. This shapely female, however, looked barely older than an adolescent, and her fur was richly colored with no trace of gray. Unfortunately, it was also somewhat matted and ill-kept. She appeared to be somewhat ill, too.

  And rather than being slinky, she was, quite frankly---stinky.

  It felt wonderful to finally be home, even if “home” was going to be a whole new experience for me now.

  This old man was a far different person from the one who’d tottered through this terminal three months earlier, and while my humble estate had (I hoped!) been properly maintained in my absence, I’d now be seeing life from a whole new perspective.

  Now. As compared to before. Lordy, but my now had become the stuff dreams---and sometimes nightmares---were made of. Although…maybe I shouldn’t be complaining. After all, I’d been winding my life down from eighty-six years of wine, women and song---OK, a little wine, fifty-five years of marriage to a wonderful woman (now nearly five years cold in her grave) and a voice that couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Who was I kidding? I’d already had two heart attacks, six bypasses, an artificial hip, cataract surgery and dentures that never quite fit right despite all our fancy-schmancy dental “technology”.

  Even with my modest success at writing science fiction novels, and the buckets of money I’d had dumped on me when two of my books were turned into blockbuster movies, old age had been creeping up on me at a dead(ly) run. I’d long been on a first-name basis with the local funeral home owner, and I’d dutifully pre-paid the tab for a quiet, no-frills send off for when my clock ran out.

  Funny thing is, neither of us had counted on my clock not running out.

  Earlier, when I’d walked down the ramp from the Yularian starship, a beautiful, massive craft incongruously known as a “hopper”, Earth’s gravity had seemed far less cruel---pleasant, even, if you could believe the spring in my step. Since the Yularians had developed the starships and the other three alien species copied their designs, all of them looked pretty much the same except for decorative paint and minor trim details; a classic “flying saucer” shape that, due to its enormous Faster Than Light engines, actually had very little room for passengers or cargo. After landing, my ship had gently oozed itself under the cantilevered shelter of the terminal specially built to receive such vehicles, and cargo and a few passengers were unhurriedly moved in and out; the passengers routed through the small lounge/waiting room while the cargo was directed to and from a nearby mini-warehouse.

  All my worldly travel goods were in the small Cordura wheeled bag I’d dragged behind me as I approached the service desk, and the lone human female attendant greeted me by name---which gave me a momentary tweak until I realized she had the passenger manifest on her computer screen. As the last human passenger to leave the ship, it was a good chance I was the one-and-only Thomas D. Barnes she was expecting, although I certainly didn’t resemble the Thomas D. Barnes who had tottered through this very same terminal those incredible ninety days prior. That Tom Barnes had been skating along on a proverbial banana peel, with his other foot already planted in a cold plot of dirt. This Tom Barnes, however, was ready to kick ass and take names. Well, as long as the asses weren’t too antagonistic and were reasonably willing to divulge their names. I had a new lease on life, but I was far from a bad-boy head-knocker. There was still a nice, dignified touch of gray at my temples, along with some “character lines” on my face---as per my request. Actually, I most resembled my first author’s photo, taken many decades earlier.

  Call it ego, call it arrogance, call it whatever you wanted. I could have had my physical appearance set at virtually any age, but had I looked too youthful I’d have wound up arguing with the counter folks at McDonald’s when ordering my “senior coffee”. Couldn’t have that!

  “I’m supposed to meet with a Yularian female passenger from the ship---” I offered after noticing that I was the only other occupant of the waiting area.

  “You’re the last human I show departing the ship, Mr. Barnes,” the woman stated with raised mascara eyebrows, “but I’m sure your---“

  “I had an experimental rejuvenation procedure done, and Doctor N’looma, the Yularian in question, is my assigned medical observer,” I explained, slightly annoyed at the woman’s apparent disapproval. “If something goes wrong---” I grimaced theatrically, “---the scientists need to know ASAP.”

  Bitch.

  The attendant’s eyes widened and her face flushed hard under her makeup. I could be a grouchy old fart when people pissed me off, and the rejuvenation hadn’t taken away that edge. “I…I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes,” she sputtered. “I…I didn’t connect the name and---honestly, I didn’t recognize you. You look so---young!” Struggling to recover her composure, she smiled nervously and added, “You’re welcome to relax in the chairs over by the window, and when your…observer…shows up I’ll let her know where you are.”

  Right. The entire passenger terminal wasn’t more than a couple of hundred square feet; like the Yularian couldn’t smell me even if her eyes hadn’t yet recovered from the effects of the cold sleep we passengers had to endure.

  The aliens showed up in Earth orbit a mere two years ago, full of life, fun and wonder---for us humans, anyway---and offered a new direction for our stagnating billions. After establishing “friendly” relations and setting up small embassies throughout the world, they soon zeroed in on me and made me an offer I damned sure couldn’t refuse: A Heinlein-science-fiction-like rejuvenation treatment---obviously experimental since I would be the first human they’d tinkered with---that would “reboot” my worn-out body back to a healthy younger age. They planned to offer this service to mankind---at an exorbitant price, of course---to help finance the outrageously expensive interstellar travel between our world and theirs. Only pricy trade goods and services made the FTL trips economically feasible, and until a cheaper FTL process was developed, “Joe Sixpack” and most of the rest of Earth’s billions would remain outside the candy store, faces pressed against the window glass as the occasional starships came and went. Even with my comfortable money cushion a trip to a distant star---not even counting the expensive rejuvenation process---would normally have strained my financial means. Still, the aliens needed a guinea pig, and partly because of my particular notoriety due to the stories I’d written---and my advanced age---I’d managed to grab a free gold ring.

  I just hoped it didn’t turn out to be a brass-colored noose around my neck.

  After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I decided to bring matters to a head. “Why not leave your baggage there and come sit down---” I motioned to a chair two seats over, “---and tell me who you are, and what happened to Dr. N’looma, the scientist who was supposed to be my observer.” I was careful to smile with a closed mouth---showing no teeth---and to her credit she realized what I said was not a question. She blinked woozily, then padded with noticeable effort around the end of the short row of chairs and dropped wearily into the indicated seat. Her uncharacteristically strong musky odor had a rank, sour undertone, and it washed over me like second-hand cigarette smoke. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  “Yes, Dr. N’looma was supposed to be your observer,” she primly informed me, “but her mate fell and broke his back shortly before the technicians were to put her into cold sleep. Since we Yularians mate for life and are very devoted to our mates’ welfare, she elected not to make the trip.” The young female shivered and tried to wrap her lush tail around herself for warmth in the air conditioning’s draft. “She called an emergency meeting with her department heads, and based on your stated preferences for a female observer to avoid potential male-to-male conflict, they immediately looked for a female familiar enou
gh with the basic rejuvenation process to be able to spot problems---”

  “And they found you,” I stated, carefully keeping my face neutral.

  She looked at me, blinked slowly, then said dully, “Yes, they found me.”

  “And you are---?”

  “I…my name is L’raan. I’m a graduate student at Bin’Naigh University, working on a research degree at the clinic where you underwent your procedure.” When I looked a bit surprised at this, she explained, “You may not remember having seen me, since much of your actual treatment time was spent unconscious, but I was assigned to the team doing endocrinology research under Dr. N’looma. Since the other females on the project are either mated or otherwise high enough ranked to be able to refuse such an unusual off-world assignment, I was given the…honor.” When I said nothing, she added (somewhat bitterly, I thought), “I have no mate, and as a mere student I have little status.” She shivered, then sat a bit straighter in her chair, adding proudly, “But I do know enough about what was done to you to be a competent observer!”

  Wow! Feisty little thing, but--- “I’ll grant that you’re knowledgeable in your field, but---you look ill.”

  “I am ill!” she barked. “I’ve never been off the home world, and did not have the proper time to…to accommodate the necessary anti-infectives and antibiotics everybody who journeys to an alien world must have before such a trip. They pumped me full of all this…stuff, then threw me into a cold sleep unit before my body could purge itself or adapt itself or…or simply get over it! You went through this process several days before you left Earth, Mr. Barnes, so you had time to recover. When the crew opened the capsule and revived me on the ship, my body revolted!”