The Phoenix Crisis (16 page)

Very
curious
… Nimoux wasn’t quite sure what to
make of these latest orders. He wondered if the ships were being
diverted to join forces with the Fifth and Sixth Fleets—as well
they should—to respond to the Rotham invasion. It was possible that
was the case, certainly it was the logical thing for the Fleet to
do, but this did seem to be an odd way to go about it. Why not keep
the squadron together? And why order the Desert Eagle to meet up
with the ISS Wolverine? It was a navy battleship—one of the more
powerful ones—and had nothing to do with Intel Wing.

“
Sir, your orders?” asked
the XO. No doubt everyone expected Nimoux to follow the Director’s
orders to the letter. It was his sworn duty, after all. One did not
maintain a command by making rash, renegade decisions. But on the
other hand, something did feel strange about these
orders.

Nimoux returned to his seat and stared out
the window. His face looked calm and serene but inside his head his
thoughts were a windstorm. There were so many considerations to be
made, and so many variables. Defiance of his orders wasn’t really
an option—not truly—and he had no concrete reason to distrust his
superiors, other than Calvin’s testimony—which may have been a ploy
on his end—and the general lack of sense behind the Fleet and Intel
Wing’s under-reaction to the intelligence he’d given them about the
Rotham invasion force, and the missing isotome. Neither security
crisis seemed important to them.

“
Sir, the rest of the
squadron is splitting up. IWS Rhea has jumped from the system. The
other ships are preparing their engines,” said the ops
officer.

“
What are our orders?” asked
the XO again.

If everything Calvin had said was true, and
there were isotome weapons, and corruption in the military
leadership, and cooperation with hostile foreign interests, and
there was a cover-up going on—all of which seemed unlikely, but
increasingly plausible—then Nimoux had asked too many questions,
and rattled too many cages, and was being sent to rendezvous with
the Wolverine as a way of mitigating him. After all, he’d allowed
the Nighthawk to escape, despite orders to capture or destroy it,
that alone might be sufficient to make him seem like a threat.

On the other hand, there might be a very
logical and credible reason why the Desert Eagle needed to meet
with the Wolverine, though Nimoux couldn’t think of what that
reason was, and failing to obey that order might be putting not
only his command at risk but, much more importantly, other peoples’
lives. He thought of the three fellow officers he’d been forced to
kill during the Altair mission and shuddered.

“
Sir?” asked the XO. By now
the officers on the bridge were likely starting to worry about
him.

“
Proceed as directed,” he
said at last. “Fastest safe jump depth.”

“
Aye, sir. Setting course,”
replied the helmsman.

Nimoux reasoned that there was nothing truly
compelling him to defy his orders and fail to make the rendezvous.
And while he was suspicious of many things, not the least of which
was the destroyed Imperial starships he helped clean up in Abia, he
needed more information before he could truly act. For now, making
reports to both the Fleet and Intel Wing regarding the Rotham
invasion force and the disappeared isotome was all he could do. And
though he felt he was being ignored, and had half a mind to take
his case directly before the Imperial Assembly where he knew his
celebrity status would ensure he’d be heard, things were not so
desperate that such a bold, defiant action was required. Or so he
hoped.

He corrected his posture and
closed his eyes, forcing his mind to be silent so he could meditate
and clear away the noise inside him. He felt some anxiety toward
what he’d be facing once his ship met up with the
Wolverine—especially if he’d inadvertently made himself into a
liability—but he reasoned that he couldn’t be
dealt with
easily. He was too
well-known, too public a figure to be made to disappear without
questions being asked. Certainly there was no action that could
truly be taken against him, not without spreading alarm. And, for
the first time ever, he took comfort in his celebrity
status—something that, until now, he’d always hated. And certainly
something he felt he did not deserve.

Chapter 10

For as bad as the Nighthawk had been injured
in its fight with the Phoenix, most of the damage had been
superficial and had not affected important systems. There were some
failures, and power had to be routed and rerouted every which way
to keep things online and functional, but so far the stealth system
seemed to be holding. Which was good since the Nighthawk was now
extremely deep inside Imperial space, about a day and a half’s
flight from Capital System. Calvin had ordered the bridge to change
course from Ursa Leo to the dead space zone Kalila had provided.
Where, if all went as planned, they would meet up with the Ice
Maiden.

Calvin ran a hand through his newly darkened
hair as he walked through the ship, catching strange looks from the
skeleton crew that remained. By now word had gotten around that
Kalila was on board, and that she and Calvin were going to pose as
newlyweds for some sort of undercover op, but people still looked
at him without recognition when they saw him. Which, though a bit
awkward, was actually quite reassuring since he and Kaila had both
gone to great lengths to alter their appearance. In addition to
changes in hair color and style, they’d both had false skin grafted
to their fingers and thumbs—to change their prints—and both wore
lenses in their eyes that served the double purpose of changing
their iris colors and caused any retinal scanners to achieve a
false result.

In all, Calvin thought he made a rather
good-looking brunette with eyes that were nearly as green as
Summers’. They stood out a lot more than his normal faded blue
color and he was actually enjoying the compliments he was getting
from his staff. Almost enough to consider wearing color-changing
lenses in his eyes all the time, but not quite. The hassle wasn’t
worth it.

He arrived at the infirmary and entered. It
was the second time that day they’d he’d been inside its familiar
walls—the first was to get the skin grafts on his fingers. It still
felt haunted and missing something, ever since Monte’s death, but
Rain had brought her own warmth and personality to the place, so
Calvin didn’t dread going there nearly so much. When he stepped
inside she looked up from her clipboard of notes and snickered a
little.

“
What is it?” he asked,
walking up to her.

She shook her head slightly.
“If there is a God, then he painted your hair sandy-colored for a
reason—
trust
me.”

Earlier when he’d seen Rain, Calvin hadn’t
been sporting the dark hair yet. “What are you talking about?” he
shrugged. “I think I’m totally pulling it off.”

Rain rolled her eyes and glanced back at her
notes. After flipping through them briefly she set them aside and
brushed her scrubs with her gloved hands. “What can I do for you?”
she asked. She gave him a good look, taking in the new brunette
Calvin once more, and a giant smile spread across her face. She
shook her head slightly, almost not believing what she saw, but
managed to keep from laughing again.

Calvin felt slightly self-conscious by this,
but he deflected the embarrassment by getting right to the point.
“I’m going to be leaving the ship in just over twenty-four
hours—”

“
Yes, I know,” she said, and
her smile vanished. Rain had been skeptical of Calvin and Kalila’s
plan to sneak down to Capital World as newlyweds. Calvin wasn’t
sure what the problem was, it seemed like the perfect idea, but
somehow it had gotten a less than enthusiastic response from just
about everyone. Especially Rain, and—for some reason—Summers.
Calvin remembered how unimpressed she’d been, how she raised her
eyebrow and bit her lip, her eyes judging him.
What was the big deal?
—he’d wanted to
ask. Only Miles had shown any real support, he’d demanded a
high-five from Calvin once he knew he was going undercover as
Kalila’s husband. Calvin had reminded him that it was only pretend,
but Miles had insisted on calling Calvin “
Prince”
and “
Your Highness
” ever afterward, once
he’d even called him “
Your
Mightiness
” which wasn’t even a real
title.

“
Anyway,” Calvin continued,
“I’m concerned that…” he hunted for the words for a moment. “I’ll
be away from the ship but…
my
treatment
is still ongoing, if you know
what I mean…”

A look of realization came across Rain’s
face. “Oh yes, that,” she said. Calvin had adopted Rain’s advice to
take decreasingly smaller amounts of equarius every day to wean him
from his dependence gently, while minimizing side-effects. Since
implementing Rain’s plan, he was making steady progress. He still
felt strong desires from time to time to take much more than the
allotted dose, but Rain only gave him what he was allowed to
take—which kept him from falling back on bad habits. However it
also meant he had to see Rain every day which, to his surprise, was
actually becoming one of his favorite parts of the day. But it also
meant he couldn’t really be away from her and her clinical
stockpile, even though his next mission fully demanded it.

“
So my question is… do I try
going off it cold-turkey again, or do you give me a supply of the
equarius and trust me to take it like I’m supposed to?” he
asked.

Rain bit her lip and looked at him very
thoughtfully. He could imagine what she was thinking. She wanted to
trust him, they were fast becoming good friends, but what kind of a
doctor trusted a recovering addict with a large supply of the very
thing he had a vice for? On the other hand, the last time he’d
tried to quit equarius cold turkey—which had been his initial plan
after the drug had nearly cost him his command—he’d suffered severe
side-effects. Including vivid night terrors, light-headedness,
nausea, vomiting, extreme headaches, and a host of other unpleasant
things.

“
Well?” he asked.

“
You know yourself better
than anyone,” she said. “The healthiest thing would be for you to
continue the treatment as planned, by taking diminished doses until
you zero out, but if you deviate from the plan—and take more than
you’re supposed to—you’ll be setting yourself back ages. You might
even get a shock reaction from your body that, trust me, you won’t
like. On the other hand, while we have made considerable progress,
you are still at a level where withdrawal symptoms are very likely
to occur. And they might be just as bad as before—though, then
again, they might not happen at all.”

“
So what you’re saying is…
cold turkey?” he asked.

“
No,” she said, folding her
arms. Her eyes locked with his. “What I’m saying is, this is a
decision you will have to make. And the question is—do you trust
yourself?”

Calvin thought about it for a moment.
Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to give that damned
poison the boot once and for all. To be permanently and finally rid
of it. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, that seemed impossible.
Maybe even a little undesirable. After all, equarius had such a
wonderful way of making even the most unpleasant experiences fade
away into a blissful apathetic nothingness that was warm and
comforting…

“
Well?” she
asked.

He was fully prepared to tell her he never
wanted to see the drug again, but those weren’t the words that came
out. “I trust myself,” he said. He thought of how vicious the
withdrawal symptoms had been and knew that he never wanted to
experience anything like it again. Death throes seemed more
appealing. “I have the willpower, I will be fine.”

She narrowed her eyes, which
she kept sharply focused on him, and she stepped closer. She took
him by the hand and gave him a tight squeeze as she spoke. “You
must promise me you will follow my instructions exactly,” she said.
“
Promise
me.”
Conflict shone in her eyes, but there was another feeling there
too—one even more potent.

“
I promise,” Calvin said
simply.

She nodded. Then let him go.

“
So you’ll have everything
ready for me… when?” he asked.

“
I’ll have the Xinocodone
capsules and very specific instructions ready for you by the time
you leave.”

“
Good,” he said with a nod.
He turned and went for the exit.

“
Calvin, wait,” Rain
called.

Calvin turned back around. He saw her there,
standing in her scrubs, her fiery red hair almost aglow in the
infirmary lights. There was something warm and compelling about
her, but also something very sad in her countenance.

“
What is it?” he
asked.

“
Be careful out
there.”

***

Pierce Ryker watched though the binoculars
as another troop transport flew low over their position. It was
open on each side and enemy boots could be seen hanging over the
edge—there were far too many to count.

“
Foxtrot Transport…” said
Vulture, of all Ryker’s men he had the sharpest eyes and best
attention to detail. Supposedly he’d been a member of Intel Wing,
way back in the day. “Probably carrying about two-hundred men.
Looks like it’s heading to the Capital… what’s left of
it.”