Chapter 3
The room Calvin had been given was about the same size as his quarters aboard the Nighthawk. Just large enough to have a bed, a desk, various drawers, and enough floor space for a pile of boxes. It was sparse and barren, with a small liquor cabinet as the only luxury. But since Calvin didn't drink, it was only there to take up space in an already cramped room.
At his feet, and in piles on his bed, were all the effects from his quarters aboard the Nighthawk. Even the posters had been removed from the walls, the remains of which were in tatters. He was probably the only CO in the Empire who decorated his military quarters with posters of music artists and slick-looking ads for upcoming blockbusters. He liked the color and noise they filled his space with, and they reminded him of the lighter side of life. But, because of the ship’s scheduled cleaning, they'd all been removed and in their condition would never hang again. Luckily they were less than 1q a piece and would be easy to replace.
He shifted his things around, only unpacking the boxes that were on his bed. His better judgment knew he should unpack everything now and avoid taking a nap in order to adjust to Local Time. But, to Calvin, better judgment wasn't all it was cracked up to be. And he knew he couldn't be productive while tired. So, with a heave, he pushed the last box off the bed so he could sleep. It spilled open and a lemon-shaped chargeball rolled out. He scooped it up, feeling the firm leather as he turned it in his hands. It was worn from casual play and bore the white and crimson colors of the Camdale Cardinals.
He, Anand, and Miles had each been part of the so-called "miracle class" of 1212. The year when their rogue public school—from one of the dumpiest parts of Capital World—beat all the premiere universities in the Empire at both academics and the only sport the Empire seemed to care about, chargeball. And though he and his friends never attended a single game, it was still one more thing to be proud of. The rebel underdogs with the surprising—and never repeated—upset.
He smiled, thinking back on some of the "glory" days of just six years prior. From outlandish, and often unsuccessful, forays with girls to pranks and parties that as often as not ended on a low note, their academy years had brought them all together. And now, partly as a reward for his efforts on the Hadar Mission and partly because of good luck, they were still together. Calvin had been given the chance to handpick most of his crew once he’d taken command of the Nighthawk. He knew it wouldn't last forever, transfers happened, but for as long as they let him serve alongside his friends, he’d enjoy it.
Lying on his bed, he rotated the chargeball in his hands and stared up at the ceiling. His thoughts shifted to his recent encounter with Summers Presley. He had a keen memory for images and as he replayed the conversation over in his head, he could see her in his mind almost as clearly as a photograph. He paid attention to her body language—which often proved more honest than words—and he found himself feeling unsettled. Something about the encounter bothered him. Yes, he didn't like that it had been cold and unsuccessful, but more importantly—she'd inadvertently given something away. Summers cared for Asari Raidan. For all her show of spite and ice she couldn't hide the fact that she felt betrayed by him personally and not just professionally. At one point or another, she'd had sincere feelings for him. What were they? Admiration? Friendship? Or was it romance?
Sadly, Calvin hadn't picked up on anything more. Summers had been too distracting with her flowing hair, eyes like deep green pools, luscious lips, teeth white and glossy, and a face that was both delicately crafted yet confident and strong. Her beauty pit his body against his mind, making her incredibly difficult to analyze. Eventually he gave up. Deciding she was probably not part of Raidan's scheme to attack the Rotham ships—though her relationship with Raidan was definitely more than she’d pretended.
The chime broke his concentration.
"Come," he said
The door slid aside and Anand stepped in, complete with stubble and mussy brown hair that matched his skin but contrasted with his overly-immaculate black uniform. In one hand he held a set of papers.
"Who dares disturb my slumber?" asked Calvin as he sat up. He tossed the chargeball to Anand who botched what would've been a neat one-handed catch. Anand reached down to scoop up the ball. "Don't worry about it,” said Calvin. “The room's a mess anyway."
"It wouldn't be you, if it wasn't," said Anand with a smile.
"Very funny," Calvin rolled his eyes. "Is that what you're here to do? Harass your superior? Keep him from his much-deserved nap?"
"Easy there, Cal, I'm the one who's a full Commander here," Anand pointed to the gold bar on his lapel. "So I'm perfectly safe disturbing you and your much undeserved nap, Lieutenant Commander."
"You know that's the second time someone's reminded me of that today. I should just never step off the ship again... But don't think just because we're ashore that you get a free ride. The minute we're back I'll have you on continuous watch for days," said Calvin. "And don't think this big vacation will make me forget it either. I'll stew over it the whole time. I take my naps very seriously, you know."
Anand laughed, but there was a touch of sadness in his laughter, and when he stopped his face became pensive. "Actually that's why I'm here. I'm not going back aboard the Nighthawk."
"What are you talking about?" Calvin stood up and Anand handed him the papers.
"I've been given command of the Phoenix, effective immediately. It seems the Fleet isn't very confident Captain Raidan will return to duty any time soon. And they want an outsider to do a full audit of the ship and crew."
“And that’s you?”
Anand nodded. “Who better than Intel Wing?”
Calvin thumbed through the documents which were all very official, complete with digital seal. "Why wasn't I notified by the Fleet about this?"
"After I found out, I asked the Vice Admiral to let me be the one to tell you."
"Well... that was nice they let you. Did they say who my new XO is?"
"No. I bet they're waiting for the trial to be over to announce it."
"Yeah right. I give it nine to one on that they haven't even decided yet."
Anand laughed. "That's the Imperial Fleet for you."
"Well..." Calvin wasn't sure what to say. He felt a little hurt but masked his disappointment. "Your own command..." he floundered for words. "That's got to be exciting."
"I'm ecstatic," said Anand, perhaps more eagerly than he’d intended. "Not that I won't miss the Nighthawk or anything."
Calvin forced a chuckle. "Yeah right, you'll forget all about us the minute you sit in that big chair and hear someone call you Captain for the first time."
Anand shrugged.
"Well I guess we'd better get it over with." Calvin signed the papers and handed them back.
Anand then read the orders of detachment. "Commander Anand Datar, you are ordered to take command of the ISS Phoenix immediately, and all current assignments are hereby dissolved." He continued until he'd read the entire address.
"I relieve you as Executive Officer of the IWS Nighthawk," said Calvin.
"I stand relieved." Anand saluted.
"Well, Anand. You'll be missed. It was an honor serving with you. Do me a favor and try to keep yourself alive out there, the galaxy is a fearsome place."
Anand laughed. "You're the one I'm worried about. How many times did I save the Nighthawk when you tried to crash it into a planet or something?"
"At least a hundred."
"More like a thousand."
Calvin smirked. "All right, Anand, see you around the stars."
"Take care, Calvin.” He nodded and left.
Once the door whisked shut Calvin shook his head. He'd just lost an excellent officer. And as a CO who put a lot of value in his XO’s capabilities, he hoped his next one would be as good.
***
Calvin awoke slowly, rubbing eyes that seemed to be glued shut. His throat was parched and his stomach growled like a beast on the brink of starvation. Everything was black, except for the blinding glow of the clock on the nightstand.
0430 L.T. & 1950 S.T.
A yawn escaped him as he stretched out his limbs and crawled out of bed. His fingers skimmed his clumpy, messy hair and he realized he'd slept on-and-off for the better part of fifteen hours. The unhealthy result of sleep deprivation, stress, and way too much equarius. Speaking of which... he reached for the bottle of pills and placed it back in its locked case, which he then buried in one of his many boxes. It’d been sloppy of him to leave the bottle in plain sight, even in his own quarters. Had someone seen the pills, he'd be in a lot of trouble.
His shirt was sweaty as he peeled it off and he realized he hadn't showered in over a day. For someone obsessed with being clean, hygiene trumped breakfast as top priority, despite the protests of his stomach—food would have to wait a little longer.
The private shower was much larger than his on the Nighthawk and being on the station carried another advantage, the hot water seemed endless. He scrubbed himself more than he needed to, lathering everywhere with soap as he enjoyed the soothing hot water and steam. It was relaxing, like his own personal chamber of solitude. There was a tranquility here that even equarius couldn't offer, and in his relaxed state his mind wandered like a dream.
Until a chirping sound brought him back to the present.
At first he didn't know what it was, but he had to cut short his shower when he realized the comm panel was going off. As he grabbed for a towel to wrap around himself he wondered who would call him this early. If it's a sales call they'll never hear the end of my wrath!
He tapped a button on the panel and the screen came to life, blue text informed him that a private call was coming through. He tapped Accept to the audio but denied the visual, since being broadcast wet and shirtless wasn't his style, even if a few people might have enjoyed it.
"Lieutenant Commander Cross, are you there?" The voice was disguised by computer modulation.
"Yeah, I’m here," said Calvin. "Who is this? What do you want?"
"I just want you to know… I'm sorry."
He wondered if this was some kind of prank. "Sorry for what?"
"For involving you in this. But I hope, when the time is right, you'll understand that there was no choice."
Calvin didn't say anything for a few seconds, wondering if the mysterious voice would continue.
It didn't.
"Okay, I have no idea who this is. If you want something from me, you're going to have to give me more to go on than that. Like your name and what this thing is you're involved in."
"Goodbye."
The screen flashed the text "Call Terminated." Calvin searched for caller information but there was nothing, not even a call-back link. Maybe the caller was harmless, but maybe not.
He wrote down what the voice had said, verbatim. Including details about the voice's sound and texture. Even though the computer modulation disguised the caller’s voice perfectly, no detail was worthless until proven otherwise. Perhaps if he could identify what software they used he would be that much closer to identifying the caller… Though he didn’t have the faintest idea how to begin that investigation.
The panel chirped again. He quickly tapped Accept Call and, in his haste, forgot to deny the visual.
"Well, that's certainly... unprofessional attire." From the other side of the screen was the narrow brown face of Vice Admiral Harkov in full dress uniform, including her emerald rank insignia.
"Hey... what I wear at obscenely early morning hours—while on leave, is my business and not the Fleet's." He cracked a smile. He'd been chastised in the past for being too casual or "sarcastic" in tone while talking to the top brass, but since he wasn't part of Harkov's Fifth Fleet, he didn't care what she thought of him. It was easy to let his privileged Intel Wing status get the better of him.
"They moved the trial from 0800 to 0600 to decrease media attention. Also it'll be in chamber three instead of one. You're still expected to be there early and in full dress uniform—I hope you packed one."
"So do I," he said with a smirk.
"That is all."
Calvin saluted and the call terminated.
So... two unwelcome calls already and before six in the morning... I can already tell what kind of day this is shaping up to be.
He scrambled to find the pieces of his dress uniform which were mostly wrinkled, "where's that damn hat," he mumbled, while hopping on one foot to get his pants on. He dreaded the thought of wearing the whole outfit all day, including the coat and heavy boots. Sure it looked great but it was horridly uncomfortable and far too hot.
Once he was technically presentable, deciding not to brush his hair because he was pressed on time and had to wear a hat anyway, he dug through a box of rations and grabbed a dehydrated breakfast to eat on the way. Mmmm... everyone's favorite.
He locked the door and headed for the trial chamber, deciding not to worry about the mysterious call.