Last Dance of the Phoenix

by James R. Lane

  “Dr. N’looma!” I acknowledged. “Greetings! How is your mate’s broken back?”

  She wasn’t impressed with my false warmth, almost snarling, “Thomas Barnes, how did you manage to frighten my technician to the point she (I felt a slight pang of guilt over scaring a young female) literally shoved me into my office, babbling something about dire consequences and shaved tails?” Oh, she was pissed. Good!

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Doctor---” I snarled, my false warmth instantly traded for obvious rage, “you and your people may be a helluva lot smarter than we dumb humans, but there’s something to be said about our long history of dealing with con jobs, fraud and political intrigue. This whole ‘we’re gonna help the poor ignorant hairless apes get healthy’ operation of yours is crap, and it stinks even more than the young female you bullied into accompanying me on my long ride home.” That was the last thing she expected to hear, and as expected, it knocked her somewhat off balance.

  “W-what are you babbling about, Mr. Barnes?” she sputtered, trying to regain control of the conversation. She never realized that she was way out of her league.

  “Deny it if you dare, Doctor,” I growled, “but I’ll wager your mate’s back was never in distress. In fact, the real reason you stayed home appears to be due to the unauthorized, highly immoral test you’re running! On me!” Her vertical pupils noticeably dilated in shocked guilt. “You not only restored me to health and a vitality I’d not known for decades, you also made my sense of smell highly receptive to your females’ estrus musk, although that’s the only response I have to it. It damned sure doesn’t get me all hot and bothered, since to me she smells like rotten fish!”

  She sputtered indignantly for a few moments, then almost yelled, “That’s preposterous! Why would---”

  But that’s as far as I let her rant, interrupting her with, “No, Doctor, that’s a cold, cruel fact. I noticed it when I awoke from my last major surgery; one of your female technicians was, to my human nose, stinking to high heaven, and I recognized that the extra attention she was receiving from the male techs was heavily sexual in nature. I made a discrete inquiry and was told that the female had entered her every-sixty-day estrus cycle, and would be ‘attractive’ for at least another couple of days.” Dr. N’looma had grown quiet, although her upper lips quivered and threatened to lift in a threatening snarl. “But what brought all this to a head was when the young female technician you sent in your place---a technician who claims to have had no prior off-world experience, and obviously had not been properly prepared ahead of time for the journey---was brought out of cold sleep here on Earth, then pumped full of drugs to supposedly counter her terrible illness brought on by the irresponsible treatment there on your home world. She not only looked like hell, she smelled worse---because she was in heat!” I didn’t have to put on an act to appear outraged; I was outraged. “It took me a few moments to realize that she didn’t realize her condition, but as sick as she was, it didn’t really surprise me. I brought her home anyway, just as you planned, although your embassy here was of no help whatsoever when I told them just how sick she was. When I took her into my house and led her back to what was supposed to be your room, Doctor, she suddenly collapsed on the floor, spewing foulness from every opening!”

  Oh yeah! The good doctor was not happy with my report, but before she could inject some sort of bullshit denial, I continued. “It took a while to get her calmed down, and then I had to carry her into the bathroom and place her in the shower---and then join her, against all of my kind’s moral standards and codes, to help clean her enough so she could be placed in bed to hopefully rest and begin recovering from her horrible ordeal. Then I had to procure cleaning equipment to try and remove the results of your people’s incredibly criminal procedures that almost killed her!” I was so outraged I was nearly jumping up and down in my chair, and the doctor’s eyes had widened so much I thought they would pop out of her head.

  “But that’s not all, Doctor--- Oh no, there’s more.” I dropped my voice back down to a more-sane level. “This absurd little move by you and your staff brought a lot of seemingly-unrelated things into focus; things that my government probably needs to be aware of---and address.”

  This time Dr. N’looma managed to get a word in edgewise, and I began to sense that she was not only scared, but slightly confused. Even better!

  “I…I don’t understand--- No, I simply can’t believe the…the terrible things you’re saying, Mr. Barnes. I would never endanger my gran---I mean, one of my students by---”

  That was enough; I cut her off. “Oh, you know full well what I’m talking about, Doctor. Nothing done to me escaped your keen eye and tight controls. You knew my sense of smell had been altered---and why. I just can’t imagine why you’d risk killing your student by forcing her into estrus, instead of allowing her to experience it during her three-month stay here on Earth. You and your people are cold, Doctor, but I didn’t think you were so callus in regards to your people’s lives.”

  She blinked and sputtered, momentarily at a loss for words. Eventually, “Mr. Barnes, please believe me when I say I would never risk the life of a student, or even a paid staff member, for any such reason.” And strange as it seemed, I was beginning to believe her. Then, after a few damning moments of silence, she continued, “But yes, we…we did alter your sense of smell---and we hoped your sensitivity to our females’ estrus pheromones---in the name of both scientific experimentation and…and convenience. We thought it would help bond the two of you, in hopes that you both would better tolerate each other throughout the three-month observation period. We chose L’raan for the job because she not only was qualified, but that her normal two-month estrus cycle would bring her into season around the fourth week of her stay with you, which is about the time we thought you both would be reaching your tolerance limits. We certainly didn’t intend for her to come out of cold sleep deathly ill, and especially not already in estrus! I have absolutely no idea why that happened!”

  I glared at her for a pregnant moment, and she actually squirmed a bit. Another notch in my gun! “Maybe you didn’t intend for her to arrive in full sexual song,” I stated ominously, “but somebody did. Either that, or in trying to arrange for her timely death, their preparations royally screwed things up.” The doctor’s mouth dropped open in outright shock; real, I firmly believed. “I’m well familiar with the preparation procedures,” I continued, “and while they’re supposed to be done a day or so prior to departure, even hurrying the process shouldn’t make a subject ill; only uncomfortable. L’raan complained that the meds and injections given her prior to departure made her very sick, and upon arrival she was given additional injections and a collection of pills and supplements by the med techs on the ship---injections, pills and substances that I believe were to ensure that she would sicken further and die once I got her home, an ‘unfortunate incident brought on by the dangers of space travel’. Lucky for her, she became violently ill before she took the rest of her meds, or their little plan would probably have worked.”

  Dr. N’looma’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, then she managed to say, “B-but---why? Why would someone want to hurt---to kill my---I mean L’raan? It just doesn’t---”

  “Oh, but it does, Doctor! With my observer out of the way, it would be easy for somebody in your embassy to arrange for my demise, brought on by ‘an unforeseen complication with the rejuvenation process’. You see, Doctor, somebody has apparently realized that I know---or at least suspect---that your little altruistic venture in rejuvenation has a darker purpose, that this whole ‘let’s help the poor, backward humans’ program is a front for something far more important.

  “Important to Yularians, that is.”

  While I couldn’t read all of her body language with certainty, I could tell I hit a nerve. Several times she started to respond, and each time she caught herself before saying a word. I simply waited for her to sort it out. There was plenty of time. If I could keep the
Yularians from killing me, I might even live another thirty-forty years.

  Finally, she managed to push some thoughts out in words. “I’m a scientist and a physician, Mr. Barnes, not a politician,” she began with just a trace of her natural elitism. “I concern myself with helping people, not hurting them, and I would never stoop to killing my patients, my students or my staff---nor would I allow them to be killed! You must be wrong---you have to be wrong---in your evaluation of this unfortunate incident.” Oh no, she wasn’t going to get away with that!

  “Sorry, Doctor,” I interrupted, almost snarling, “but I think I’m absolutely correct, and here’s why: With me out of the way, your government could pick another human, one that hopefully wouldn’t connect the puzzle pieces. My theory is that someone in your government got nervous, realizing that they’d made a big mistake in selecting me for the project, and they wanted to…to ‘reboot’ the whole thing, to start over fresh with someone who they hoped wouldn’t figure out what they were actually working on.”

  “But what do you think we’re working on?” she injected.

  “Dr. N’looma,” I said, dropping my outraged tone back to a modicum of civility, “I’m not entirely sure, but I think it has something to do with making fundamental changes in humankind itself. Once those behind this are sure your processes will work on humans, I think it’ll be implemented on a much larger scale---maybe not on the entire world’s population, but on at least enough humans to serve their purpose. Why else offer us an expensive, time-consuming procedure that is not economically feasible! Interstellar trade is horribly expensive, and the small amount of luxury and exotic goods your ships, and even the ships of the other three-star faring species, can carry can’t show enough profit to make the trips worthwhile. Even having paying clients for the rejuvenation process won’t make it profitable enough!

  “It only took a little bit of digging to realize that you four species don’t like each other. Your people boast that Yularians are more intelligent than humans---and everybody else, for that matter. The Eelon are arrogant and aloof, and look down their feline noses at everybody else, claiming to be the only true predators in the bunch. The Dralorians really don’t give a shit about making friends and making money, preferring to live and play and not be bothered with the details. And then we come to the Ar’kaa---the big bunnies! As the only strict herbivores in the bunch, they’re terrified of the bloodthirsty cats---who make no bones about liking to eat them---and they’re not all that comfortable around Yularians---who I’m told also have a fondness for tender Ar’kaa cutlets. Since the Dralorians are omnivores like Yularians and humans, their meat-eating habits make the bunnies understandably nervous as well.

  “And the Ar’kaa absolutely hate us humans.”

  “They---w-hat? Why?” she asked, obviously surprised at my statement.

  “It’s a short, ugly story, but it’s not pertinent to the problem at hand,” I said dismissively. “What’s important is, the bunnies aren’t all that bright; hell, they were barely above a primitive cave-dweller level of civilization when your people stumbled across them, and you uplifted them by force---shoved your brand of civilization down their throats, really---which no doubt created social upheavals that we humans can’t even imagine. They’re fairly ‘modern’ now---but they’re still not all that bright. They don’t create, they don’t innovate, they don’t invent, nor do they explore. They really don’t want anything to do with humanity, and I’ll wager that, given a choice, they’d be happy not to have anything to do with any other species, either. Especially the Eelon.”

  Her ears had drooped, her fizzing elitism now flatter than stale beer. “Do…do you think L’raan will recover?” she asked, seemingly-honest concern on her face.

  I nodded. “Yeah, she’s young and strong, and after she expelled some of that---stuff they’d pumped into her, she began to perk up a bit. She’s sleeping now, but in a little while I’ll wake her and try to get her to drink something and eat some Yularian-safe food.” When the Doctor tried to inject something I added, “And no, I’ll make damned sure she doesn’t take any of the so-called ‘meds’ those bastards on the ship gave her. In fact, I’ll save them for evidence---if you decide you want them.”

  Dr. N’looma was quiet for several moments, then said, “Yes, Mr. Barnes, I do want them.” She seemed to sigh, then continued, “Please make note of the following code. It’s in your alphabet and numeric notation, and can be entered on the touch screen after you touch the ‘star’ icon on the lower right: ANBR549. This will connect you through a secure link to this private videophone, and if I’m not available when you call it will allow you to record a message, including video images. The camera on your unit is quite sophisticated, and can be adjusted to take magnified images. While recording, touch the ‘circle-star’ icon and you will access both an inset image of what the camera sees, and several self-explanatory controls. I want to see the pills and any other medications given to L’raan as soon as she’s able to give them to you. They may tell me nothing, but then again---”

  This was encouraging. The good doctor appeared to be quite pissed. “You have given me much to think about, Mr. Barnes, and for that I thank you.” She hung her head momentarily, then added, “And I thank you most sincerely for taking care of L’raan. She…she is a good student, and I hope to see her become a fine physician, perhaps even a scientist.”

  And with that she broke the connection.

  I stared at the blank screen for a moment, then finished my Scotch. “So what do you think of our Dr. N’looma, young lady?” I tossed into the air without looking around. A soft gasp answered my question. “You hear enough to understand what’s going on?” When no answer was made I slowly spun my high-backed computer desk chair around, and confronted L’raan, who was standing unsteadily in the connecting bathroom’s doorway, having come through from her bedroom. Her expression was one of total confusion.

  “H-how did---?”

  “I saw a slight change in the room’s light when you opened the door, there was a tiny reflection in the videophone screen, and while your fur is clean now, I’m sorry to say that your estrus scent is noticeable all the way across the room.” She looked horrified. “And while it may be the hot romance ticket to a young male Yularian, it really doesn’t do a thing to excite me.”

  “I…I’m sorry that---” she began, then faltered, lost for words.

  “Don’t apologize, my dear,” I offered, smiling gently. “As you probably heard me tell the good doctor, I don’t think any of this was your fault. The main thing is, you apparently got enough of the poison out of your system in time, and didn’t take any of the crap those med techs on board the ship gave you. Otherwise---” and I shook my head.

  “They…they tried to kill me,” she whispered, her eyes wide in disbelief. “They really did!”

  Nodding, I said, “Yeah, I’m afraid so.” Then, smiling encouragingly, I offered, “But you puked, pooped and peed it out, and they failed, so let’s celebrate by getting some much-needed fluids into your system now, and when you feel up to it we’ll get some solid food into you, too.” As if on cue her stomached rumbled, and her ears perked up. “I think I have some chicken broth I can warm up, as well as some grape-flavored Gatorade, both of which will give you some quick calories as well as replenish some of the electrolytes your body is screaming for.” I slowly approached her as she stood in the bathroom doorway. “But first,” and she looked at me, her head tilted sideways like my old German Shepherd often did, “you need to put on a pair of shorts.”

  She frowned, asking, “But---this is a private residence. Must I wear---?”

  “Yes, dear,” I stated. “Your nudity doesn’t offend me, but for the sake of hygiene and sanitation we don’t sit or lounge on the furniture without crotch covers.”

  Chapter 4

  Well-Healed

  Thankfully, L’raan held true-to-form. Wild foxes love raiding chicken coops, and my little “domesticated” Yularian vixen slurped,
lapped and sucked down warm chicken broth---and a short time later, part of the can of “heavy duty” chicken noodle soup I fixed for myself---with the same gusto her apparent ancestors scarfed down farmyard poultry. Then, too, grape-flavored Gatorade from my pantry also went down with little problem, and with the help of both kinds of nourishment L’raan quickly began throwing off the debilitating effects of the poisons.

  “Go easy on all that,” I eventually cautioned, “since your belly and guts are totally empty and no doubt highly insulted by what you’ve been through. We don’t need you overdoing things and barfing all that good stuff back up.” She wasn’t pencil-thin like so many young human women liked to be, which probably helped her resiliency. “You want something more substantial to eat later, there’ll be plenty of Yularian-friendly food here you’ll like.”

  After tossing the bowls and utensils in the dishwasher we moved into my combination library/den/TV room, a far more comfortable and casual environment than the large formal living room. Just the short period of time we spent at the breakfast bar in the kitchen showed an increase in her strength, and she no longer had to cling to my arm for support. Nothing like “Jewish penicillin” and supercharged sugar-salt-mineral water to bring a body back from the brink, my wife used to say. God, I missed her.

  L’raan curled up at the end of an overstuffed micro fiber-upholstered couch, while I kicked back in my old La-Z-Boy leather recliner, which welcomed my rejuvenated body like an old friend. Once settled, I could see that the Yularian was far more alert---and visibly nervous---as she sat with her oversized vulpine feet tucked under her legs and her long, thick tail curled around her like a security blanket. “Are you too cool?” I asked. “I can either warm the house a bit, or get you a light cover.”