The Phoenix Crisis

by Richard L. Sanders

  “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.”

  “No,” said Ryker as he watched the transport. Its altitude and speed were steady. “More likely heading past, just to the outskirts. Over by Lone Hill District. Looks like someone is setting fires over there,” he moved the binoculars until he caught sight of the pillars of smoke. They weren’t large, but they were growing. “My guess is they want to put a stop to it.”

  “Starting fires, you say?” asked Tank. “Well how about that… this time it wasn’t even us who done it.” He was one of the bigger and more experienced men—and like many of the others he’d kept the nickname he’d earned in prison, back when they’d all been doing time together on Andricus Penal Colony.

  Ryker lowered the binoculars and looked back at his men. They were armed like him, in guerrilla style with lots of weapons and ammo hanging off of them. They stayed low and kept out of sight, hiding in the debris and abandoned buildings as Ryker had ordered. The last thing he needed was to be spotted by one of the King’s transports.

  “That’s the hundred and tenth one I’ve seen today,” said Micah. He was wiry and thin but despite his featherweight appearance he was perhaps the strongest man Ryker had ever met, and easily the most vicious. He took a long draw from his cigarette and then tossed it to the ground, crushing it on the blacktop with his boot.

  “That makes about twenty thousand or so men, just in this area,” said Vulture. “Far more than our forty-seven.”

  “And what we’ve seen today is just a drop in the bucket,” said Ryker. He looked up at the sky. A
few ships could still be seen, but nothing like the blanket of vessels that had swarmed the skies of Renora earlier that day. Massive interstellar troop-carriers had encircled the planet in low orbit, blocking the blue sky like an ocean of metal clouds. And from them a seemingly endless ocean of Tritan Planetary Landers poured—far larger than the Foxtrot Transports now zooming around—and like the rolling tides they came, wave after wave, descending on the broken world and dumping off troops in numbers barely fathomable.

  “How many did you say landed here?” asked Micah.

  “Last I heard from Mister Martel, it was about forty or fifty million troops,” said Ryker. He looked back into his binoculars and started tracking another Foxtrot Transport, this one was flying a bit higher than the last and was heading the other way. By the look of it, it’d already dumped off its cargo of Imperial Marines.

  “Shit…”said Micah. He spat on the ground.

  “Forty or fifty million…” said Vulture with awe. “Even with every man in every cell here… we can’t… we’re only about thirteen thousand.”

  “And the population of Renora is over nine billion,” said Ryker. “Fifty million troops won’t be nearly enough, not when we’re finished. Thirteen thousand of us, split into two-hundred and fifty cells, covering almost three hundred major cities… it’ll be like swatting flies. Like swatting fifty-million pointless, meaningless, son-of-a-bitch flies.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Vulture.

  “For now we lie low and keep our eyes on the enemy. Listening. Studying their positions. Waiting for the shock of the military invasion to be heard from pole to pole. By tomorrow every person on the planet with even half a brain will know about the military invasion. And in two days the entire galaxy will know.”

  “And when we’re done waiting?” asked Vulture.

  “When we’re done waiting… we raise hell like the universe has never seen. Renora will burn, and the galaxy will burn with it.”

  ***

  Calvin stood in the corridor by the hatch. He wore tight-fitting civilian clothes, including a common jacket, and had a luggage bag next to him. In it were clothes and basic travelling essentials for two people.

  Kalila stood next to him. Her hair had been lightened—not quite to a bright gold like Summers’—and her skin had been lightened as well. It hadn’t been very dark before but a lot of the elegant olive-color that suited her so well had been hidden by whitening cream. The lenses in her eyes made them a watery blue—like Rain’s—and she wore jeans and a sleeveless shirt. She looked far too casually dressed to be a member of the royal family, particularly a high-ranking princess, but Kalila had insisted on jeans for their tactical usefulness should things go wrong. Calvin agreed. And as he looked at her. Seeing her in all the wrong clothes, with all the wrong coloring to her hair, eyes, and skin; she looked nothing like herself yet the sight of her still made him melt. And he wished, more than anything in the universe, to be a simple common civilian, married to this simple, common civilian woman, on their way back from a wonderful vacation—ready to return to their common jobs and common concerns. To be removed from all the chaos, all the danger, and the responsibility. True he would miss the intrigue of the spy-game. But if it meant having love, and family, and peace of mind… he doubted anything in the universe could be more desirable.

  “Docking operation complete,” Cassidy’s voice could be heard over the loudspeaker. She was on the bridge with Summers, who had command.

  “You kids ready?” asked Pellew. He stood there with rifle in hand to ensure they got aboard the Ice Maiden securely.

  “Looks like it’s time,” said Kalila She smiled up at Calvin and he returned her smile.

  “I suppose so.” He grabbed the handle of the luggage truck and looked at the hatch, waiting for it to unseal. He wondered what the Ice Maiden would be like, what sort of people were her crew, and if they could really be trusted. If not… Calvin had a pistol smuggled onto his person, but knew it would do little good against extreme resistance. And that he’d have to ditch it before they went through Imperial Customs. Mainly he was bringing it because he was suspicious of the Ice Maiden’s crew.

  The hatch began to unseal with a hiss and Kalila tightened her grip on the satchel slung around her shoulder. The movement drew attention to the gleaming golden ring on her finger and its two-and-a-half carat’s worth of diamonds. They were as fake as the operation—being cubic zirconium—but still Calvin liked seeing the shiny piece of jewelry on Kalila’s finger. Knowing that he too wore a wedding band, though his was a plain piece of tungsten.

  The hatch finished opening and revealed the star-barren innards of the Ice Maiden’s main corridor. The tiny civilian vessel only had two decks, and was crewed by less than five people at any given time. Two men were standing at the entrance, an older man with a moustache with white patches that seemed to have gotten away from him, and at his left was a young man with an almost mercenary look to him. Calvin narrowed his eyes and studied the strangers. Trying to ascertain if either would be a threat to Kalila.

  “Welcome aboard the Ice Maiden, Your Highness,” said the older man. He gestured for them to come aboard, and ordered the young man next to him to help with the baggage. An offer Calvin declined. There was truly only the one bag and Calvin had it well in hand.

  Kalila led the way and Calvin followed. Once they were aboard the other ship, Pellew saluted Calvin and closed the airlock. The older man sealed the airlock from the Ice Maiden’s side.

  “Thank you for having us aboard, Reginald,” said Kalila.

  The older man bowed deeply. “It is my great honor, Your Highness.”

  “From now on you must address us as our cover identities,” said Kalila. “This is Mr. David Green,” she gestured toward Calvin. “And I am Mrs. Ava Green.”

  “Married couple, eh?” Reginald asked, he raised a curious eyebrow as he sized them up, looking almost eerily intrigued.

  “That’s right,” said Kalila, and she took Calvin’s free hand in hers.

  Reginald cracked a smile. “I’d put you two love birds in our honeymoon suite, I would. Except that there won’t be no time—we’re just a few hours from Capital World. And we ain’t got no honeymoon suite.”

  “That’s fine, just take us to the bridge,” said Kalila.

  “Aye, I can do that, the bridge is a bit cramped though. Don’t think you’ll be comfortable. Guess you could rough it for a couple hours if it pleases you, I s’pose.”

  They followed Reginald down the corridor and to the right. The younger man took up position behind them and Calvin watched him the best he could out of the corner of his eye, feeling apprehensive about him. Perhaps it was just because his tactical instincts had taught him not to expose his back to strange mercenaries.

  Reginald’s word had proven true, the bridge was indeed small. Calvin had to leave the luggage bag behind, and even without it he, Kalila, Reginald, and the ship’s pilot all together made for crammed conditions. There wasn’t even room for the young mercenary, so Reginald had dismissed him to the lower deck to attend to his duties.

  “There you have it,” said Reginald. He pointed to the window straight ahead, which made up all of the bridge’s stern wall and about half of port and starboard. The view was of total blackness, not a star in sight, suggesting they were already in alteredspace. “I told Ruby here to jump the ship the moment you was safely aboard,” Reginald smiled at his pilot. She was middle-aged, though younger than Reginald, and overweight. Her hair had a slick, greasy texture and was tied back behind her head. Her face, which may have once been beautiful, now carried a coarse roughness to it, not unlike a gamers’ catching mitt, and she seemed to be made of toughened leather.

  “At your service, Your Highnesses,” Ruby bowed her head once.

  “They’re to be called Mr. and Mrs. Green,” Reginald quickly explained. “No Your Highnesses here.”

  “Beggin’ your pardons then,” said Ruby.

  “No apology necessary,�
�� said Kalila.

  “I know she ain’t much but the Ice Maiden is tried and true,” said Reginald. He gestured toward the captain’s seat, the only chair on the bridge—even Ruby had no chair and was forced to pilot the ship from what looked like a misappropriated bar stool. “I offer you the captain’s chair, Mrs. Green.”

  Kalila let go of Calvin’s hand and gratefully sat down. She thanked Reginald who then excused himself from the bridge—giving Ruby instructions to summon him when they were going to drop back into normal space, or if there was any trouble.

  Calvin sized up Ruby, searching her with his eyes for weapons or any sign of hostile intent. She seemed like a tough old bird but he doubted there was a malicious bone in her body. Deciding that Kalila was probably safe with just Ruby around, Calvin decided to slip away from the bridge and find the computer mainframe. His Intel Wing training took over and he wanted to tap into the ship’s logs and records, to make sure there was no sign of something shady in the works. A part of him naturally feared that Reginald and his crew were planning to double cross Kalila, and turn her in to the authorities—and therefore the Phoenix Ring—in exchange for some monetary compensation. As Calvin looked at around at the insides of the tiny, mostly pathetic ship, he almost wouldn’t blame Reginald for any such ambitions. If he truly knew the worth of Kalila to the Phoenix Ring, he could probably negotiate for his own battleship in exchange for delivering her. Hopefully he wasn’t so clever, or so self-serving.

  It didn’t take long for Calvin to find the computer mainframes. By using a method that Cassidy had briefed him on, he was able to bypass the traditional log-in methods and access a backdoor in the software. He lacked even a hundredth of the knowledge and skill Shen had with such computer wizardry, but Cassidy’s directions had been fairly straightforward and Calvin had his Intel Wing training.