The Phoenix Rising Read online

  “Of course,” she said, shooting him a warm smile. “The pleasure was mine. See you when you come in for your check-up and physical.”

  “Nice try.”

  ***

  Calvin’s dreamless sleep was interrupted by the chirp of the alert panel. He took only a moment to rub his eyes and collect his bearings before lurching out of bed and rushing to take the call.

  “What is it?” he croaked. A glance at the desk clock revealed he’d only slept for two hours.

  “The ship received a high priority message addressed to you,” said second lieutenant Vargas over the speaker. He was acting in the role of second officer and commander of Red Shift, even though Calvin hadn’t officially promoted anyone to the position.

  “I assume the message is encoded,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. The message is encoded and came through the most secure channels. Your ears only, sir.”

  “Understood. I’ll take it in here.” He was a mess and his hair was tangled but he didn’t want to postpone an urgent call just so he could improve his appearance.

  The display came to life and he entered an authorization code. The message turned out to be pre-recorded.

  “Calvin,” said the commanding voice of Princess Kalila. Her smooth, flawless skin, dark eyes, and waterfall of rich midnight hair were captivating. He stopped himself before she could reel him in completely with her stupefying charm and beauty. He couldn’t let himself forget that she was the key suspect in the slaughter of many thousands of people on Renora.

  Besides, Calvin had been played by women before—most recently by Summers—and he wasn’t about to let that happen again. True, Summers’ beauty surpassed even Kalila’s. But somehow Kalila was more irresistible. He supposed it might be the mystique of her throne, or her tremendous wealth and influence, but he doubted that was why she had such a strong effect on him.

  “Do not believe the rumors,” she went on to say, almost pleadingly. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  The message ended.

  He played it again.

  “Calvin, do not believe the rumors. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Very interesting. He took it as a denial that she’d participated in the attack on Renora. Perhaps her ship had been seized by an unknown force? Or maybe the ship’s captain had acted against her will?

  The fact that she seemed to believe she could contact him again and “be in touch soon” implied, that she was not a prisoner. It was possible that she was a captive, and this message was sent under duress, but that didn’t really add up.

  He played the message a third time, closely studying her face. And tried to decide if she was a replicant. It was impossible to tell for sure, but he believed the message was indeed sent from the real princess.

  He decided he couldn’t do anything more with this mystery until she contacted him “soon”—whenever that was. So he returned to bed.

  Doubts and concerns haunted him, swirling around in his mind. And, even though he was exhausted, he had difficulty finding sleep. He put his head on his pillow and tried to empty his mind but it was no use.

  He wanted equarius. His body pined for it. It would give him peace. Relax even the most unsettled depths of his core. Then all the trouble, and the pain, and the anxiety would fade into nothing. And he could sleep.

  No! He rejected the idea. Equarius had nearly cost him his ship. It had made him its slave. “I don’t want to be a slave,” he whispered. “I won’t be a slave.”

  The hunger for the drug ate at him. Forcing his mind to spin circles. But he fought it. Trying to think of nothing. Of blackness. It didn’t work and another hour passed. He fought the need. Fought the intense demand. Eventually his body relented and he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  The images were fleeting and surreal. At times almost tangible, yet elusive.

  She smiled at him; her soft brown eyes glowed. The scent of her perfume, very lightly applied, tickled his nose.

  “What is it?” he asked, soaking in the delightful mischief behind her smile. His own voice sounded distant, like an echo.

  She didn’t answer, except to take his hand and lead him down the corridor. It was a familiar place, and glowed brightly. Figures passed by them. He couldn’t see their features. They were like shadows, silhouettes moving against the bright light they approached. Calvin shielded his eyes.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, smiling.

  “It’s a surprise,” Christine replied, her voice playful.

  They reached a door. It was the airlock. She pushed a button and it began to open. But they weren’t blown out into space. Instead there was an all-white room awaiting them. So bright Calvin had to squint as Christine led him inside.

  “What is this place?”

  There were others there, all whispering something. It was a Polarian prayer chant. But the other figures, who stood assembled in a ring with two people in the center, were humans. Fellow officers in Imperial navy uniforms. They cried in unison, in the Polarian tongue, and reached their hands up to the sky. In the center of them all was Commander William. He led the chant. His eyes met Calvin’s as he and Christine approached—she led him inside the prayer circle.

  “We’ll all die if we board that ship!” Commander William screamed. He looked at the sky and then once again directly at Calvin. “Don’t you understand? We’ll all die!” His body transformed into the grotesque figure of a type two Remorii in full-blown blood-lust, a fierce strigoi. A distortion of a man.

  The strigoi lurched forward and Calvin let go of Christine’s hand and instinctively covered his own face. Protecting himself. But Commander William—what was left of him, didn’t attack Calvin, instead he assaulted Christine. Biting her over and over. Calvin charged him, punching and hitting the far stronger Strigoi with all his force, but it was too late. Christine lay on the ground.

  “NO!” he yelled.

  The scene changed in a dizzying spiral and he found himself in a dark room. He stood before a bed, on it was Christine, unconscious. The only light shined down on her, revealing her sullen face. All kinds of machines and tubes were plugged into her. She looked pale and broken, wasted away. Aged decades in only days.

  Calvin bowed his head. He leaned down to give her a final kiss, feeling his heart bleed. Just as he was about to press his lips to hers, her eyes opened and she screamed. Her hands grabbed his arm and she squeezed with the force of a vice.

  “Why did you let me suffer like this for so long?” Her eyes searched him and he felt a profound chill pour over him. He had no answer for her.

  ***

  Calvin awoke in a start. He was gasping for air, his sheets tangled around him tightly, the comforter having fallen to the floor. His chest was a frozen sheet of sweat and he shivered.

  It had been a dream. Only a dream...

  “Temperature?” he asked out loud.

  “Twenty-four point three degrees centigrade,” a dispassionate automated voice said.

  Twenty-four degrees? That wasn’t cold. Yet he felt like ice. “Lights full,” he said.

  The room lit up and he was forced to squint. He felt suddenly nauseous and rolled out of bed onto the floor, nearly vomiting his guts out. He felt like he was going to die. He disentangled himself from his sheets and crawled very slowly to the bathroom.

  The next twenty minutes were hell. Flashes of cold came and went, and intense cramping seized his abdomen. The pain ripped into him like a bonesaw. And the nausea never left, even though he was unable to vomit.

  “Oh, God. Make it stop!” Minutes felt like days.

  Eventually the pain subsided, and the feeling of nausea lessened enough that he could return to bed. There he tossed and turned anxiously, trying not to think of the nightmare, or his sick feelings, or anything really. But uneasiness kept him awake.

  “That’s it,” he said, and he climbed out of bed. “Nothing is worth this.” He’d have ten physicals, get a hundred shots, and donate all his blood if that meant h
e could sleep normally again.

  He took a moment to dress, putting on the first shirt and pants he could find, and then set out for the infirmary.

  ***

  “What you’re describing sounds like withdrawal symptoms,” said Rain. “Honestly I’m surprised these didn’t manifest much earlier.”

  Calvin nodded. He’d expected nothing less. “So what do I do, Doc?” he asked, grateful that Rain wasn’t giving him a glass of “I told you so.”

  She didn’t smile or relish the moment, it apparently meant nothing to her to be proven right; she honestly seemed concerned only with his welfare and helping him recover. His respect for her grew. She still wasn’t Monte, but he was glad he’d chosen her over the other candidates.

  “I’ll give you something to treat your immediate symptoms,” she said. “And something else to help you sleep. This will all pass eventually on its own, however, the process will be significantly lessened if you agree to a scale-back treatment, instead of going cold turkey.”

  “Fine. Anything.”

  Rain unlocked one of the storage compartments in the infirmary and began sorting through the various shelves of drugs. It took her a few minutes, she wasn’t familiar yet with how Monte had organized everything.

  “Here, take this every six hours for the next day or two,” she handed him a bottle. “Take two tablets each time. And then,” she handed him another bottle. Its translucent orange figure was just as light as the other prescription in his hand but felt much heavier in his mind. Equarius. “These tablets are much smaller than what you’re used to taking. Take five tablets every day for the next three days. After that, decrease to four tablets and so on. I’ll write up a schedule for you.” She paused and looked him in the eyes. “Can I trust you to take only the prescribed amount and not more?”

  Yes, he wanted to say. But, as he felt the longing within him, and knew his own weaknesses, he found that he couldn’t answer her right away.

  She took the bottle back. “New plan,” she said, and she opened the bottle and handed him five tablets. “Take these now and come back here every twenty-four hours. I’ll see how you’re doing and then give you the right scale-back dose.”

  “Okay,” said Calvin. He wasn’t enthusiastic about having to come back here so often but, still feeling pretty horrible, he was inclined to agree with just about anything she suggested.

  She pointed him to the sink. He took one of the paper cups and filled it, then downed the prescribed medications. For the pain, the nausea, and lastly, the equarius. It felt strange taking it. Like poison. He hated it. Hated that he was still its slave. But a small part of him was excited. Expecting the same calming pleasure to overcome him. Even though he knew this lessened dose wouldn’t have that same effect. At least not as strong.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Rain smiled. “I’m happy to help.”

  He nodded and began walking for the door.

  “Calvin, wait,” she said.

  He stopped and faced her. “What?”

  “How—” she paused, searching for the right words. ”How did it all begin? Your equarius addiction, I mean. I know that’s none of my business and you don’t have to answer but—”

  Old memories raced through his mind, memories he’d kept buried. Rain must have seen it in his face that her question had made him uncomfortable.

  “I understand that we all have our secrets, and our baggage,” said Rain. “Even me. But these things can be good to talk about. It helps us face them head on.”

  “You have secrets, Rain?”

  “I do,” she said very seriously. “I’ll keep yours if you keep mine.”

  Calvin couldn’t help but feel curious. Normally he wouldn’t make himself vulnerable by opening up to someone who a few days earlier had been a total stranger, but now that Monte was gone he felt a void—he had no confidant anymore where his addiction was concerned—and he was curious to know her secret. Even if it was just a ploy to get him to unearth his.

  “Very well,” he said, deciding there was no harm in sharing the short version of the story. Now that his addiction was common knowledge, and Monte was dead, keeping the secret no longer protected anyone.

  He looked at Rain, from her striking pale eyes to her barely tamed red hair—there was something about her that stood out, something he trusted but couldn’t identify. She was pretty, though not in a way that forced all nearby men to ogle her—like Summers did—rather Rain’s charms were more subtle. She just came across as genuine and kindhearted.

  “You first,” she said.

  “Fine.” He cleared his throat, thinking how to begin. “A long time ago I was on a ship called the Trinity.” He didn’t want to go into details about the horrible massacre that had happened on that ship when—after responding to a distress call—they’d been ravaged by strigoi. Nor did he want to tell her the intimate details about his relationship with Christine, the fellow officer he’d fallen deeply in love with. The only woman he’d ever truly loved. And he especially didn’t want to tell Rain about Christine’s tragic death. Something he’d never found a way to get beyond. So he skipped over those details.

  “The ship was destroyed in an unfortunate incident,” he went on. He’d been fortunate to avoid being bitten or clawed by the strigoi, but he’d still torn his ACL in the fight and subsequent escape.

  “The ship was destroyed?” she asked, shocked.

  “Yeah,” said Calvin, thinking of how the Imperial warship had fired on the Trinity and blown it to dust to contain the Remorii contagion.

  “How many survivors?”

  “Fourteen,” said Calvin. Actually there’d originally been fifteen including Christine.

  “Out of how many?”

  “About four hundred crew.”

  Rain’s eyes widened. “You’re lucky to be here!”

  “Yeah,” said Calvin, recalling the horror. “Lucky…” He didn’t think that described the ordeal very well. “Anyway, I hurt my knee during the evacuation and had to get surgery. Equarius was given to me to manage the pain.”

  “And you got hooked?”

  “Yep. I found that it was a way to deal with not just the physical pain, but the emotional pain too.”

  “I’m sure that was horribly traumatic.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. “It was.”

  “So how did you get more equarius after the prescription ran out?”

  “Well,” he said; this part of the story was the shady part. “I became friends with the doctor who treated me post-op. Monte Blair… he was a real good guy. When I came to him with new excuses for why I needed more of the drug, he put two and two together. But, rather than rat me out that I’d become addicted, Monte decided to keep supplying me with the drug.”

  “He was an enabler?”

  “For a small fee.”

  “A drug dealer?” Rain balked.

  “The way he saw it, I was dealing with a lot and it was a choice I had a right to make. What to put in my body was up to me,” Calvin tried to justify it. “And eventually, when I got this ship, and got to handpick my senior crew, I selected him as my chief physician.”

  Rain looked around the infirmary. “Oh. I thought that name sounded familiar. A really messy signature that vaguely resembled ‘Dr. Blair’ is on a lot of the paperwork here.”

  “Yep,” said Calvin. “He was my dealer and my enabler. But he was also a fantastic doctor and an even better friend. I know my story doesn’t paint him in the best light, but you’ll just have to trust me. Monte was a great man. And I miss him dearly.”

  Rain’s incredulous expression became soft. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “I’m sure he was a great friend. And, while I know I cannot replace him, I will promise to be at least as good of a physician as he was.”

  “That’s all I can ask,” said Calvin, though it was small comfort. “Your turn. What’s your secret?”

  “I’m dying,” said Rain without missing a beat.

&nb
sp; “What?” Calvin looked at her. She was young and energetic and seemed perfectly healthy. “Wait, is this some kind of loophole? Cause technically we’re all dying.”

  “Yes we’re all dying,” said Rain. “But I’m dying faster. I have a terminal illness.”

  “Oh,” said Calvin. “I’m sorry,” he was at a loss for words.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. Her eyes weren’t happy but they weren’t sad either. She seemed very at peace. “We all die. I accept that we each have our time. Honestly I’m just glad to have had the chance to live at all.”

  He doubted he would be able to deal with such a diagnosis so gracefully. “How long do you have?”

  “Three years,” she said. “Five if I’m lucky.”

  Calvin felt a wave of sympathy toward her, and an increased respect, but he also felt more alarmed. And, after giving himself a moment to try and figure out a polite way of asking the question, he eventually just asked it. “I’m sorry to have to ask this but... given your condition...”

  “Am I able to perform my duties as chief physician?” She’d anticipated the question.

  “Yes, well... there was nothing about that on your application or in your records. I’m just—” he fumbled for words, not wanting to appear unsympathetic. But he was also concerned for the needs of the ship and crew.

  She walked up to him and touched his shoulder in a reassuring way. She even smiled as she looked into his eyes. “It’s alright,” she said. “That is an important question, I don’t resent you for asking it.”

  “Thanks,” he said, not stepping away. He looked into her beautiful pale eyes and saw something more to her.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “The symptoms of the illness are in a very manageable state for now. And should be for at least another year and probably longer. My mind isn’t impaired, I’m not more tired than others. I promise, I can do my job.”

  “Good to know.”

  She let go of his shoulder but remained close.