The Phoenix Conspiracy (34 page)

“—
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 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, almost
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."

"Tisk, tisk," 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 any time 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 eyes 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 eyes met. Summers smirked, thinking Calvin
didn't have a chance.

"Yes, everything went fine," said
Summers with a cool smile. "Now, mister..." 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."

Chapter 21

Calvin stood on the observation deck,
leaning against the railing. In front of him was the largest window
on the ship, so clean it would be invisible if not for the glare of
the light behind him and the hint of his own reflection. Beyond
that the view was one of complete darkness. Emptiness. A perfect
void with absolutely nothing to see. To Calvin it was more
intriguing than depressing. And it helped him forget the many
questions on his mind, however briefly.

There was something peaceful about the
deep black emptiness. Something serene. Even a slow rolling tide
couldn't be more calm. He hadn't felt that kind of peace in a long
time, if ever, and now, as his mind struggled harder than ever to
make sense of the mess he'd been catapulted into, he felt some
desire for that peace to last. It was a strange thing to be jealous
of the emptiness. What was space anyway? Apathetic
nothingness?

Somehow it reminded him of the
Trinity. How he'd seen death's face and knew he had no hope. Is
that how it'd been on the Rotham ships just before Raidan destroyed
them? Or were they wiped into oblivion before they could even
realize it? He hoped, if things didn't go well, he'd get the second
treatment. And maybe then, if there were some kind of afterlife, he
could be with Christine again.

He heard the door slide open and he
turned around. Summers walked in; she was alone. His instinct was
to tense up, guard himself, but there was something different about
her. He could see it in the way she walked. She was relaxed, even
though her clothes hugged her tighter than usual, accenting her
unusually beautiful physique. Her thick lips curved into a
mischievous smile and her eyes danced with his
playfully.

He felt his heart thumping. And...
couldn't make sense of this change in her character. She was like a
completely different person. And as she approached, he caught the
scent of something wonderful. He didn't know if it was perfume,
lotion, shampoo, or what, except that it smelled clean, refreshing,
and alluring.

He was too dazed to speak. His
thoughts were lost as he felt his eyes grip her face like some lost
piece of rare, brilliant art. It just wasn't fair that some people
in the universe could be so overwhelmingly, undeniably beautiful,
while the rest did their best just to pass as mediocre.

Calvin shook his head slowly. Some
small part of him sounded an alarm, despite how much his eyes
approved. It took more effort than he would have liked, but he
managed to tear his gaze from her and turn back to the blackness
which, now, seemed completely uninteresting.

"So what's this about?" he
asked, holding back the excitement he felt inside. Instead, he
allowed his suspicion to tint his words. After all,
she
had arranged this
meeting and, since she had thus far been a thorn in his side, he
had no reason to think this meeting was for his benefit. He kept
his eyes fixed on the window and, as best he could, breathed
through his mouth in a vain effort to ignore her intoxicating
scent.

"I just thought it would be nice for
us to talk," she said, slowly stepping closer and closer. Not able
to see her face, he had some trouble reading her intentions. She
kept her tone simple and pleasant.

"What about?" he asked, still making
an effort to sound cold.

"About us," she said
smoothly.

His heart skipped a beat.

"About the tension between us," she
clarified.

He felt himself go stiff as she sidled
up next to him, resting her delicate smooth hands on the railing,
next to his hands. Close enough he could touch them, if he wanted
to.

He tried not to look at her. When he
didn't say anything she continued. "I owe you an apology, Calvin.
As much as I hate to admit it."

Now he was totally lost. "For what?"
He tried not to betray his confusion.

"For questioning your
command on your bridge," she said it slowly, almost like she meant
it. Could she? That seemed wrong to him. A few minutes ago he
thought he understood her perfectly, had her pegged as a zealot
with a one-track mind.
Take Down
Raidan
. And Calvin had been certain she
didn't approve of him, his ship, or any of his ideas. But then
again... he wasn't a mind reader. And he hadn't truly known her
long enough to be absolutely sure who she was and what she thought.
Had he?

He said nothing. Hoping her words
would reveal her intentions.

But when she didn't speak again and
the silence hung between them for awhile, he couldn't help opening
his mouth. "Summers... why are you really here? What do you
want?"

"I want us to be friends."

"Now why don't I buy that?"

Her voice was soothing. "This whole
thing has been an adjustment for me," she said. "First the thing
with Raidan..." she paused before continuing. "And now... here I
am. It's just hard, you know, this ship, this... mission. It isn't
what I'm used to. It isn't my world." She almost sounded ashamed,
like there were some real emotions hidden beneath the surface of
her words. And that she struggled to articulate her thoughts
sounded, to Calvin, surprisingly sincere. He felt himself relax as
he took it all in.

Could this beautiful woman standing
next to him really be a victim of circumstances? A soldier thrown
into a ring of chaos as her commander, Raidan, betrays her and
she's tossed onto a strange ship working for some strange part of
the military she's unfamiliar with? A lifestyle she isn't used to.
A mission she isn't used to. And this strong front she's been
putting up—all those walls, all her barking orders, protestations,
emphasis on protocol—was that some kind of mask to hide her own
vulnerability? A defensive mechanism?

He didn't know. A part of him wanted
that to be true, and that part of him steered him in the direction
of believing it was true. Because then, if that were so, he could
imagine a future where he and Summers could co-exist without
tension, without being enemies, and maybe they could even be
friends. It was a strange thought. But an attractive
one.

On the other hand, for her to act that
strong and question him so much for so long … and then suddenly
change, letting her walls tumble down before him, just like that...
it was too good to be true. No, the more he thought about it, the
more he just couldn't buy it. Whatever Summers was, she was more
complex than that. And, he was sure, she wanted something from him.
Was this her strange way of asking him to unlock the kataspace
connector? Not going to happen. Even she must know that.

No... her game was something
different. But what? He wracked his brain wondering what she could
possibly be after and when his mind came up blank he knew he
couldn't rule out the possibility that she meant what she said.
That she wanted to make peace. If that were true, it couldn't have
come at a better time.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"
she asked, her voice tender.

"Yeah," he said on impulse. He tried
to think of something to say. Anything. "Look, I'm not very good at
this sort of thing. I really don't have a lot of experience," he
chuckled to ease the awkwardness and thought of his few experiences
in the past having heart-to-heart conversations with women. None
had gone particularly well. "But I accept your apology," he said.
The next part came almost like a reflex. "And I apologize too, for
being a really stubborn CO and not asking for your advice more
often."

She looked up at him and smiled. It
wasn't a big smile, but there was something about it that pulled
him in. The way her lips curled, her cute nose, and above all her
bright shining eyes. He took her in for a full, rich moment and
then looked away. Pretending to stare off through the window. But
he wasn't interested in the view of space anymore.

"So tell me about yourself, Calvin
Cross," she said his name slowly.

"What do you want to know?"

"What do you want to share?" Her
reflection was playful.

He couldn't help from laughing and
shaking his head at the absurdity of the whole situation. It was
surreal.

"Well... there's not much to me," he
said. "I like all sorts of music. No genre in particular. My
favorite food is sushi. My favorite color is green.” He didn’t say
it but it was the same deep shade of green that was in her eyes.
“And I like hiking and swimming..." he tried to think of all the
stupid get-to-know-you-in-two-minutes-type questions he always ran
into. "I like... puzzles..." Unable to think of any more he
shrugged. "What about you?"

She inched closer ever so slightly. He
felt his heart quicken.

"Puzzles?" she laughed and it made him
laugh.

"Hey there's nothing wrong with
puzzles," he said, throwing his hands up.

"Sure, if you're in a retirement
center," she smirked. He liked the banter. It helped him relax
around her.

"What about you?" he asked again,
trying to think of something incriminating about her. He couldn't
come up with anything.

"My favorite color is blue and my
favorite music is classical," she said. "And my favorite drink is a
variety of white wines." She emphasized the last word. "What's your
favorite drink, Calvin?"

"Water," he said. She seemed
disappointed by his answer.

"You like water more than
wine?"

"I'm afraid so," he made a weak grin.
Her eyes tested him, then she changed the subject.

"So what brought a hiking,
puzzle-playing, city boy like you all the way out here?” she asked.
When he didn't answer right away she clarified. "Why
did
you join the
military?"

"That's an interesting question," he
let out a sigh. He liked this side of her. It had been too long
since he'd been in such enjoyable company and seeing her take
interest in him—though a part of him wondered if it was all a
façade—felt good. But just because he liked it didn't mean he was
about to roll over and make himself an open book. "It was my best
option," he hoped to leave it at that.

"What do you mean your best
option?"

"No, no, that's enough about
me," he said. "What about you? Why did
you
join the navy?"