***
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 executive officer bypass she knew to remove the block, but Calvin had higher clearance than she did. The computer wouldn’t 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 bald-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 forcing it to 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 exhibited 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 reestablish 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 absentmindedly 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. “Mr. 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 on some pants.”
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.
“Okay, what is it?” Dr. Blair asked after poking his head out the door.
She’d only seen him a few times, and once more 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 away a few things real fast.”
Summers pushed open the door 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 Mr. 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 hungover—like some kind of binge-drinking juvenile alcoholic! And it affected his performance. His slow reaction time gave the enemy ample opportunity to destroy our ship.”
“And 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 for a fact 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 hungover. “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 a 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, alm
ost 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.”
“Tsk-tsk.” 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 anytime 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 stares 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 gazes met.
Summers smirked, thinking Calvin didn’t have a chance. “Yes, everything went fine,” said Summers with a cool smile. “Now, Mr.—” 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.”
The Phoenix Conspiracy Page 41
