Chapter 21

 

Calvin blinked. All he could see was a blinding white light. He squinted most of it out as his eyes rapidly adjusted. He spent a few seconds trying to get a sense of his bearings.

I’m sitting up in a bed, he realized. And there’s a mask on my face. The wall ahead of him was metallic and austere. Around him he heard noises, people walking around, several voices. He couldn’t really tell what they were saying. And beeping, lots of beeping.

He reached up and pulled the mask off of his face, it had been covering his nose and mouth and was attached to a tube which ran back into a machine he could not identify. Free of the mask, he inhaled a breath of normal, stale, starship air. He dropped the mask; it fell to his side.

I know where I am, Calvin realized, feeling both startled and excited, but above all confused. This is the Nighthawk. I’m in the infirmary.

The place seemed far busier than usual, and heavily staffed. He counted no fewer than six doctors and medics attending to everyone, and each of the infirmary beds was occupied. Other than himself there were five patients. Rez’nac lay on his bed, mask over his face; he showed no signs of consciousness. Miles was there too, sitting up on his own bed, wide awake, but unlike Calvin he’d kept his mask on. He gave Calvin a nod when Calvin looked over. Calvin nodded back. Rafael was there too. He, like Rez’nac, was just lying there, mask over his face, plugged into several machines, looking either unconscious or dead…Calvin sincerely hoped the former, for both of his people. There was a fourth patient, one he couldn’t make out from here. The person was male, based on his body shape, but his face was almost completely covered. He appeared to be receiving the greatest medical intervention, with at least three of the six medics and doctors standing around his bed.

Finally, Calvin’s eyes fell upon the last patient. Rain. She too had a mask over her face and seemed unconscious. He felt something stir within him and, without knowing why, he found himself removing the oxygen monitor from his finger, unstrapping himself from everything else, and then rushing over to Rain’s side.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten here; his memory of recent events was clouded at best. But he felt compelled, emotionally, to race over to her, even though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

He’d made about four steps before one of the medics, who'd been checking on the various patients, took note of him.

“Look, you’re up,” said the medic. She looked at Calvin with a smile, which suggested she was pleased with this outcome, but also made anxious by his abrupt removal of all the medical equipment. Calvin did not recognize her.

“Yeah, I’m up,” he said, walking past her.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like to check a few things before releasing you,” she said, following him.

“I’m fine.”

He arrived at Rain and sat on the stool next to her bed. He reached over and instinctively took her hand, holding it. At their touch, he remembered kissing her in the hold of the Rotham shuttle, although he didn’t recall much of what had led up to that moment. “Is she all right?” he asked, looking back at the medic, who was standing next to him.

“Dr. Poynter is going to be just fine,” said the medic happily. “She’s suffered a very mild case of generalized hypoxia and lost consciousness as a result of it. Actually, that’s true for all of you,” she glanced around at the various patients, all except the mysterious fourth patient.

“What does that mean, hypoxia?” asked Calvin.

“It means that you all became oxygen deprived. When we found you, the life-support systems on your vessel were not functioning. Luckily, we got to you quickly.”

“Is that why the masks?” asked Calvin.

“Yes, it’s for oxygen therapy, a treatment most of you have responded well to. Dr. Poynter should wake up soon and make a full recovery.”

“Wait,” said Calvin. “Most of us?” He glanced over at Rez’nac and Rafael, knowing that meant one or both of them was in trouble.

“Yes, all of you except for Imperator Rez’nac, who has experienced worse complications, unfortunately.”

“It’s just Rez’nac,” said Calvin, “not Imperator.” He knew Rez’nac had lost his Imperator title, along with most of his pride and self-respect. “What complications?”

“Rez’nac has suffered a pulmonary edema as a result of his oxygen deprivation,” said the medic.

“That sounds serious,” said Calvin.

“It can be,” said the medic. “We already did an aspiration procedure and hopefully removed all of the fluid from his lungs, and we’ve administered preload and afterload reducers. We’re planning to catheterize him and introduce a regimen of loop diuretics. Luckily, so far anyway, the oxygen therapy has been sufficient to supply him with necessary O2, although if he worsens Dr. Andrews has said mechanical ventilation may be necessary. But that seems unlikely.”

Calvin did not follow, beyond the implication Rez’nac was being treated and there seemed to be hope for him, but he was still in dangerous woods.

“When will you know if he’ll be all right?”

“If all goes as it should, he will be all right,” the medic reassured him.

“And you’ll know that when?”

“He should quickly recover.”

Calvin didn’t know if quickly meant minutes or weeks, but he decided not to press the issue further. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help, sir.” The medic wandered away, ostensibly to go check on Rez’nac.

After a minute or two, Rain stirred, waking up. She squinted, looking a bit confused, then, upon seeing him, she smiled.

“You’re okay,” said Calvin, feeling more relief than was probably warranted.

“I’m okay,” said Rain happily, her voice muted by the oxygen therapy mask. She looked confused as to her whereabouts.

“Do you know where you are?” asked Calvin.

She glanced around. “The infirmary on the Nighthawk,” she said, putting it together faster than Calvin had. “Why am I here?” she looked back at him.

“We had a hyperpoxia,” said Calvin.

“Hyperpoxia?” Rain looked at him with a confused, furrowed brow. “Do you mean hypoxia? How did that happen?”

Calvin suddenly wondered if he’d remembered the correct term. “We lost oxygen back on the shuttle but the Nighthawk found us. That’s why we’re here.”

“Oh,” said Rain, then she smirked at him. “Generalized hypoxia.”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s what I said.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, teasingly, but did not argue. “In that case, I give myself a clean bill of health,” she said, removing the mask. She started to get out of the bed and he helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand once she was standing.

“Is everybody else all right?” she asked, looking at the others.

Of course that would be her first real question, Calvin thought. Rain was always more concerned for others than she was for herself.

“I’m going to go check on them,” she said, looking back at him with her pert smile.

“I should go anyway,” he said, “I need to be on the Bridge.”

She nodded and they parted ways.

He’d just reached the infirmary door when it slid open and, to his pleasant surprise, he saw Sarah and Shen. Shen looked a little ill. Calvin couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something seemed just a bit off about him. Sarah, though, seemed to be her usual self. Upon seeing him, she beamed.

“We heard that you were down here,” she said. “I’m so happy not to see you in one of those beds.”

“And I’m just glad you’re back,” said Shen.

Calvin smiled at them. It hadn’t been that long, not truthfully, yet it had seemed like forever since he’d seen them. And now, finally, he was back to command the Nighthawk. And he could work with his friends once more.

“It’s so great to see you both!” He instinctively pulled Sarah in for a hug. When he let go, Shen reached out to shake hands, but Calvin hugged him anyway. “You have no idea how happy I am to be here.”

“And we’re thrilled to have you back,” said Sarah.

“Now, you’re staying with us this time,” said Shen, looking momentarily worried. “This isn’t another one of your, ‘Hi, I’m just dropping in for a bit, see ya later,’ kind of visits, is it?”

“No, I’m here for good,” said Calvin. “There’s not a thing in this galaxy that's going to get me off this ship ever again.”

“Good,” said Shen, looking genuinely happy. “Because we’ve spoken about it and decided if you tried to leave us again, no matter how important and galaxy-saving the assignment, we weren’t going to let you go. You’d have to do it over our dead bodies.”

Calvin laughed. “God, it really is good to be back and see you two. What have you kids been up to?”

“Kids?” asked Sarah. “I’m a year older than you!”

“And I’ll never let you forget it,” he said, still all smiles. “But seriously, what have you two been up to?”

They looked at each other almost awkwardly, then back at him. “Let’s just say I’ve been trying to get this one,” Shen nodded his head toward Sarah, “to accept my apologies.” In response, Sarah’s face turned scarlet.

Calvin almost asked “for what?” but decided he’d rather not know. “Well this has been a good reunion,” he said. “But I’d better get to the Bridge.”

“Do you even remember the way or should one of us guide you?” asked Sarah.

Calvin laughed. “You two…speaking of which, shouldn’t you be on the Bridge anyway? With both of you down here, is anybody even up there?”

“It’s Red Shift,” said Shen. “But you’ll be happy to know, or maybe not, Summers is still up there. She’s taken to commanding two shifts, and sleeping…God knows when.”

“Ah,” said Calvin. “I had been wondering why she wasn’t down here rolling out the red carpet to greet me.”

After another laugh, he parted ways with Sarah and Shen and hurried to the elevator. He expected to run into one or more crewmen in the corridors along the way, but he didn’t. The entire deck felt hauntingly empty, like instead of the lively Nighthawk he’d mistakenly gone aboard an eerily similar ghost ship.

When he stepped onto the Bridge, which felt like walking back inside an old home, he’d expected to see Jay Cox at the helm, Cassidy Dupont at the ops controls, Patrick O’Conner at the defense post, and even Vincent Rose in the command position. It was like a splash of ice water when he saw different faces occupying the stations, some of which he didn’t even recognize.

Vincent Rose and Patrick O’Conner weren’t there for obvious reasons: they were both deceased. Calvin knew this, but had somehow repressed it in his mind. He mourned the loss of Mr. Rose, who had fallen nobly in Abia, but he felt considerably less grief over the loss of Mr. O’Conner, who had proven both an annoying upstart and a traitor.

Still…in Mr. Rose’s tragic absence, it should have been Second Lieutenant Vargas who sat in the command position or, at the very least, the XO’s seat, since Summers had taken command of this shift, but neither Vargas nor Summers was anywhere to be found. Instead, Cassidy Dupont, a mere midshipman, sat in the XO’s chair. Jay Cox had the helm, like he was supposed to, but two unfamiliar officers sat at Ops and Defense. If Calvin had seem them before, he didn’t recall.

“Captain on the Bridge,” said Cassidy, rising to her feet. The others officers also stood.

“Now that isn’t necessary,” said Calvin, fighting a grin as he walked to the center of the Bridge. This tradition of greeting the CO so ceremoniously was something he’d long eliminated from the Nighthawk. He had no doubt in the world this recurrence of it had been the brainchild of Summers, both as a way of teasing him for his unconventional methods, and also a friendly way of welcoming him back.

“Commander’s orders,” said Cassidy with a salute. Commander’s orders, he thought, well, that confirms my suspicions.

“At ease,” said Calvin. The crew returned to their seats.

He considered taking the command position and asking for a status report if for no other reason than to remember how good it had felt commanding this ship, but he supposed there was time for that later.

“The Commander wanted us to inform her at once when you arrived,” said Cassidy, walking toward the command chair where the intercom controls were.

Calvin stopped her. “Don’t.”

“Sir?”

He smiled. “Just trust me.”

Calvin walked to the CO’s office and pressed the chime. He could have just entered, it was his office after all, but he had something better in mind. Time to see if the Commander can get as well as she can give.

“Come in,” he heard Summers call out, through the door.

He pressed the chime again.

“Enter,” she said, more loudly this time.

He pressed it a third time.

“Either come in or stop pressing that damned chime!”

He pressed it a fourth time, then waited. He imagined angry footsteps marching his way, even though he couldn't hear them.

The door slid open. “What in the hell do you—” Summers stopped midsentence and her anger vanished from her face, although the pretense of anger remained in her voice. Calvin smiled at her, feeling a little underprepared for the shock of seeing her and remembering just how stunningly, illegally beautiful she actually was.

“Calvin…I should have known you were behind these juvenile antics.”

“Thank you,” said Calvin, feeling his smile widen. “It’s wonderful to see you too!” Then, taking her completely by surprise, he scooped her up in a massive hug and gave her a squeeze, lifting her in the air. “Oh, it’s so great to see you!”

“Put me down, Calvin,” she said, still feigning disapproval in her tone, but clearly finding it difficult to do so. For an instant, she almost lost it as he spun her around, very nearly getting her to break into laughter. Meanwhile, she maintained her best efforts at sounding annoyed, “This isn’t appropriate…we’re officers…”

After completing a full circle, he set her back down. She bit her lip to keep from smiling, obviously not having hated his over-the-top greeting.

“I’m shocked,” he said, looking past her and noticing the décor of the CO’s office. “It looks like you finally got a proper decorator. The CO’s office has never looked better!” He stepped inside, amazed to see Summers had spent the energy returning the office back to the exact state it was in when he’d left it, or nearly so. The desk had been rotated back, the star charts, duty rosters, and timekeeper had been removed from the walls, stacks of poorly organized papers sat on the desk and the floor, and there was even a crate of water bottles set to the side.

She followed him into the office and the door slid closed. “Last time you were here, I promised you that I hadn’t gotten too comfortable in that chair,” she pointed to the chair behind the desk; his chair. “This is my way of proving it to you and of saying…welcome home.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her pert face and perfect lips, seeing her happy, being back here in this place, it was all so overwhelming.

Calvin went to the chair, almost feeling a tingle as he pulled it out from the desk and, after what he knew had been too damned long, finally took his seat. He was back. In his office. On his ship. And it felt good.

Summers took the seat opposite him. “I guess that means you owe me one,” she said.

“For redecorating the office back to normal?”

“No, Calvin. For saving your ass from that sentry ship. It was lucky we arrived in time to destroy it and get you off that shuttle before you all asphyxiated.”

So that was why the sentry ship had exploded when it had…he’d been wondering. “Thank you for that,” he said.

“Well, all in a day’s work, I suppose,” she replied.

“No, I mean it,” said Calvin, looking into her eyes. “Thank you. You saved my life. You saved all of our lives. That was damned amazing of you, and I appreciate it.”

Summers’s face turned beet red. “So,” she said, looking like she wanted to change subjects and get down to business. “The queen asked me to pass along her compliments for retrieving that intelligence.”

“Oh, good! So you did send the queen all those files we transmitted to you?”

“I did,” said Summers. “And I most recently notified her to tell her of your safe return. She wished for me to convey to you her gratitude and, how did she put it: it is my extreme pleasure to learn of the safe return of Mr. Cross and his team. They are heroes of the Empire and I look forward to thanking them in person.”

“You memorized what she said?” asked Calvin.

“Well, you know,” said Summers, looking at him, then looking away. “I didn’t want to misquote our monarch or anything.”

“No, I suppose that wouldn’t be good,” Calvin chuckled. “Did the queen understand from the intelligence we sent that there is a Rotham fleet on its way to Thetican System even as we speak?”

“Yes, that much she made clear,” said Summers. “She'd detected the movement of the Rotham fleet, but been unable to pinpoint their target. Now, thanks to you, she can have her fleets arrive before the enemy and organize a proper defense.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“Actually, to that point,” said Summers. “That is our current heading: Thetican System. The queen has asked us to join her in the battle to come.”

“Well, as much as I love battles…” said Calvin, thinking he’d seen quite enough combat engagements to last him a while. “There is something far more important for us to do than go to Thetican System.”

Summers looked intrigued.

“Tell the Bridge to set course for The Charred Worlds. We’re headed into Polarian space. And make sure the stealth system is up to par and activated.”

Summers didn’t budge. “You can’t just drop news like that on me and expect me to walk away without hearing the details.”

“I’ll tell you all about it, I swear,” said Calvin. “But first go and order that course correction. We don’t have any time to waste.”

“What about the queen’s orders?”

“I’ll apologize to the queen myself, right now. But trust me, she’ll understand.”

“All right, then you’ll tell me?” Summers eyed him warily.

“Cross my heart.”

 

***

“You will not be joining us in Thetican System?” asked the queen.

She was simultaneously surprised to hear of this news and stunned by Calvin’s audacity to inform her he would not be there, rather than ask humbly for her permission. Had it been anyone else, she likely would have rebuked him, but considering the value Calvin had proven himself to be lately, and all that he'd risked for the cause, she couldn't find it within herself to be harsh with him.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Calvin over the speakers. He’d contacted her using an audio channel only, which implied a greater security sensitivity, since the audio transmissions to and from her ship tended to be shorter and commoner and therefore less likely targets for the enemy’s message interception and decryption efforts.

“I would ask of you, why?” she said, stating the obvious.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he said. It was the wrong form of address, but she chose to ignore this slight also. “The intelligence we stole, from the parts we have translated, we've reason to believe this conspiracy is deeply connected with something happening inside Polarian Deep Space. Specifically Polarian Forbidden Space.”

“And you realize the inherent dangers in going there?” asked Kalila. “Remember, no mission to penetrate Polarian Forbidden Space has ever succeeded, or returned with survivors for that matter.”

“I know that,” said Calvin. “But it’s where the arrow points, and so it’s where we have to go.”

“In that case, I give you my blessing. If anyone can survive a visit to Polarian Forbidden Space, it is you and your people. I wish you all the luck in the galaxy, and hope you prevail in your quest to uncover the truth for us all.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said. “And I wish you all the luck in the galaxy defending us all from the Rotham invasion. And may I say, you are noble for doing so, considering Caerwyn Martel has shown himself too cowardly to do the same.”

Kalila felt anger at even the mention of that name. He'd cost her much and she would take from him everything in time. “No true monarch can stand idly by and watch as their people are attacked.”

 

***

 

“What the hell are you thinking!” asked Brinton Martel, his face red with anger. It wasn’t a flattering look, the man’s grey hair and wrinkles showed his age in crisp detail over the viewer, and worst of all, his fatness had seemed to go all to his face. His cheeks were so puffy Caerwyn half thought his father was a squirrel saving nuts for winter.

God, I hope I have mother’s genes, Caerwyn thought, even though he knew that, unlike his late brother Zane, Caerwyn did in fact take after his father in the department of physical appearance.

I must remember to take care of myself if I am to look kingly as he allowed his father’s insult to roll off his back.

“Hello to you too, Father,” said Caerwyn. “I must say that is a rather unconventional way to address one’s liege.”

“A pathetic excuse for a liege if ever there was one,” said Brinton, still looking furious. “And an even more pathetic excuse for a son. Strike that; I have no son!”

The words stung, but they'd not been unexpected. He knew it would invoke his father’s ire when he’d chosen not to send any forces to defend Thetican System against the Rotham…that was the place his father called home.

“Everything I have done has been calculated to serve the best interests of my Empire,” said Caerwyn in an explanatory tone. He did not wish to get into a shouting match with his father. Especially since the man, despite all his immediate rage, was still useful to Caerwyn, and he knew all of this nonsense would blow over soon enough. After all, Caerwyn was Brinton’s only family and heir. And what kind of father would not be proud his son had taken the throne of the Empire and ascended to that stately and most prestigious office of king?

“More like calculated to serve your own best interests,” said Brinton. “You know, I don’t know what I expected; you’ve always been like that.”

“Like what?”

“A terrible, selfish son.”

“But, Father, I am only following your example.” This didn't go over well with Brinton, who looked on the verge of shouting or screaming. For an instant, Caerwyn thought the man might punch the camera with his bare fist.

“Some amount of self-interest is good, wise even. It promotes our survival, helps us to live the kind of lives we wish to while we have the privilege of being alive,” said Brinton. “But you have always missed the point. There is a limit to that privilege, and abandoning your father to be slaughtered by aliens crosses that line.”

“Oh, come now, Father, you know I would never do that. Even now, the rebel queen and all her armed forces are racing to protect you from what is clearly a feint by the Rotham military. Take it from me, there will be no battle.”

“You don’t know that, you fool,” said Brinton. “You’re not a man of war, a man of strategy. You’re a man of politics, greased wheels, and climbing the ladder of power. You know nothing of battle.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, my forces, at my command, were correctly deployed in Apollo System before the rebel queen’s fleets arrived, even though she'd used a strategy of her own to try and trick me into believing that she was after Olympia. I saw through the ruse and, in the end, defeated her in battle.”

Brinton squinted, as if annoyed by these facts and wanting to see in his son some lie, some clue Caerwyn had no involvement in the success at Apollo, but he clearly could think of nothing.

“So, you see, Father, I am a man of strategy after all. And I tell you, this strategy of the Rotham, they do not mean to actually attack. They are merely probing our defenses. Once they discover the rebel queen’s forces there standing guard, they shall withdraw. You have my word.” Of course, Caerwyn did not actually believe this, and he hoped such was not the case; he desperately wanted the rebel queen and the Rotham to clash violently and wipe one another out, eliminating two birds without throwing a single stone. It was perfect!

Still, he needed his father to believe he'd not chosen to abandon him. His father remained useful and, now that Representative Tate had fled Capital World and denounced Caerwyn as a coward for choosing not to defend her homeworld, Caerwyn would need his father to leverage her again; he must force her back into the fold. She was too valuable an asset to the Assembly to lose.

When Representative Tate left the planet in such a public way, Caerwyn’s ministers had asked if they should arrange for her elimination, but Caerwyn had instructed them to let her go because he knew, deep down, he could get his father to lean on her and make her return. Just as he’d leaned on her before for Caerwyn’s benefit. He need only wait for his father’s temper tantrum to blow over and for the Rotham fleet to either withdraw or be destroyed, proving to Brinton Caerwyn that Caerwyn had been right, that there existed no credible threat to Thetican System.

“You are a damned liar,” said Brinton.

“Well, I must say, that accusation is rather out of the blue.”

“You swore to me, with your word of honor, you would defend Thetican System above all,” said Brinton. And Caerwyn did vaguely remember making such a meaningless promise.

“And so I shall,” he replied.

“Bollocks! You have left us here to fend for ourselves and die for all you care. If Thetican System is lost and I die here, let these be my last words to you: Rot in Hell, you bastard. You’re no son of mine.”

The call terminated.