“May I help you, sir?” She offered, after clearing her throat.
He came to a full stop at arm’s length, literally towering over her. She guessed he was about forty, with a full head of unruly, reddish-brown, curly hair, a flushed ruddy complexion quite unusual for an Alphan, and clear blue eyes that flashed like lightning.
He wasn’t at all happy.
That alone caused her to stiffen to attention.
“Captain Macao of Lancer. I need Lt. Cmdr. Cartwright,” he growled, impatiently pounding a padlet against his left palm.
“Yes, sir,” Dana responded, though she didn’t move an inch.
“Get him!” The Captain ordered. “He’s my new Computer Circuitry Chief, a last minute replacement.” Macao pointed to the screen of the device in his fist.
“Last minute replacement? For Commander Brandt?” Dana gasped, wide-eyed.
Macao rolled his. “Am I not speaking universal? Or do you not understand me? I need you — to fetch — Mister Cartwright — right now — for me — this second — pronto.”
She stared back at him and assumed the proper stance, again coming to attention, admitting, “Sir, I am Lt. Cmdr. Dana J. Cartwright…”
His disappointment turned to disbelief and, perhaps, despair.
Dana watched his complexion turn thunderstorm gray, something else Alphans rarely, if ever, managed to do. He stared into her mismatched eyes. She felt his struggle to fight down a roaring flood of anger, which most certainly required using all his Alphan Mastery training to keep from erupting with volcanic force. It wasn’t proving easy for him.
“Someone’s made a mistake,” he hissed, pointing at the padlet, to the name there in bold font at the top of the transfer orders. “No where on this screen does it mention that Lt. Cmdr. Cartwright is a thirty-something female who barely reaches my chin and probably weighs less than a hundred weight.”
Dana shrugged. She wasn’t about to apologize for being female, petite, or thin.
“Fane!” Macao gritted his teeth, stared down at her in abject dread, and hissed, “Surely, someone has made a mistake! I don’t allow squeamish, dithering, females aboard my ship, let alone on my bridge.”
“I’m sure you don’t, Captain,” she responded icily, her brown, right eye narrowing slightly, while the blue, left one drilled him with cool formality, “and I don’t see any ‘squeamish, dithering females’ anywhere on the shuttle deck.” She appended a brutally cold, “Sir,” just to keep a degree of respectfulness.
His hard-as-stone facade returned, though he glared down at her with narrowed eyes. Dana matched his gaze, with utter silence, in a battle of wills.
Macao looked away first. He pushed past her, climbed the ramp up into the ship, took a look around, groaned and grunted, and then retraced his steps.
“It’ll have to do.” He shoved the padlet into her unwilling hands. “Assuming it flies, I want it aboard Lancer in one hour or less, locked down on the shuttle deck. I expect you on my bridge an hour after that, with your station at the ready, fully prepared for departure. Understood?”
“Trader One hasn’t had a shake down yet, sir,” Dana responded calmly. “One hour doesn’t allow for the required test run.”
“I want it — and you — aboard Lancer in one hour.” He held up one finger and pointed at her chest. “What ever it takes! One hour! Get it done.”
He stalked away before Dana had the presence of mind to answer, “Yes, sir.” Under her breath, she muttered something far less acceptable.
The padlet in her hand meant two contrary things: a ticket off of Four, which she had been hoping for but had been lead to believe was denied, and trouble with a capital T.
She resisted the urge to toss the device after Captain Janz Macao. He wasn’t worth the risk of a court martial.
“Damn right there’s been a mistake,” Dana muttered, “I am not and never will be a good substitute for the likes of Commander Brandt!”
She returned to the pilot’s console of the little shuttle, took up her tools, let out a hissed sigh, and then tapped the voice-badge communicator on her sleeve. “Shuttle Deck Control?”
Commander Dutch responded, “Aye,” as she reviewed the padlet screen.
“Dutch, my reassignment orders have been finalized. They have me shipping out on Lancer in an hour. I’m taking Trader One.”
A muffled chortle came in response followed by, “I thought your transfer was denied?”
Dana heaved a sigh. “So did I. This Executive Order says I’m to report to Lancer, ASAP. Her Captain gave me an hour.” She imagined the whole shuttle control room crew laughing at her expense and let out another muffled groan.
Commander Dutch responded civilly, “Janz Macao is Captain of Big L. Good luck! You’re going to need it, Dana.”
Cartwright understood his sarcasm and muttered a quiet, ‘Indeed.” Then she advised, “Sir, I’ll leave the chargers running on the shuttle, while I go fetch my gear. Will have to give Trader One the mandatory test flight right before docking with Lancer.”
Dutch returned with a brief and sympathetic, “Gotcha...Very sorry to lose you, Dana. Keep your transfer order open, just in case you want to come back to us.”
Dana knew she would never ask to be stationed back on Four, unless her life depended on it. For his sake, she responded, “Thank you, sir. I’ll do that. It’s been a pleasure serving with you. I trust I’ll get a favorable rating for my service here at Four.”
“Absolutely, Dana, you’ve been one of my best.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Macao tapped his voice-badge, demanding that Lancer MAT transfer him up to the ship. He took a last glance back at the Alphan shuttle, watching Cartwright climb the ramp, hearing Shalee’s laughter in his mind.
What?
Dithering female?
Well, you see the way some Star Service women behave.
She’s no yeoman, Beloved.
He scoffed. She’s no Neville Brandt.
Good…
Good?
Very good…
The MAT pod materialized on Lancer’s shuttle deck level, in the same room he’d used to leave, since he hadn’t specified a different location.
A different lieutenant manned the desk. He stiffened, offering, “Morning, sir.”
Macao nodded in response, heading immediately for the door, stopping short of it and turning back. “Lieutenant?”
The young engineering officer looked up from the console with mismatched eyes. “Sir?”
“Your eyes?”
“Heterochromia Iridium, sir. It’s hereditary…or so they tell me, though no one else in my family has it.”
They were the opposite of Cartwright’s, but equally disturbing.
“Kind of rare?” the Captain wondered.
“Yes, sir. I’ve never met anyone else with it, although there’s an eye doctor at Scanlos that told me he had a colleague with it, but the other doctor had an eye injury requiring a transplant when he was young.”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah, um, yes, sir.”
Macao deliberated revealing that Lancer’s new C-O-C had it, but instead continued out to the corridor.
Jay Gordon was on his way to the firing range. Janz tagged along, telling of Brandt’s misfortune, lamenting the incompetence of the Star Service.
“I was counting on Neville. They substituted a woman…and a relic of an Alphan shuttle instead of a newer and faster ship.”
Gordie shrugged. “We’ll adapt. Have the mission Rules of Engagement arrived?”
“That’s another issue,” the Captain mumbled. “Chief, I am so ready to retire. I need three more stones for the life-star and then I’m done.”
Gordon offered, “I’ll see what I can do.”
They took up test weapons and fired off several hundred virtual rounds.
Macao groaned and muttered, “I won’t set a new accuracy rating today.”
Gordon’s nearly perfect score was still not enough to top Sam Ehr
mann’s all time best.
“Want to work the mats again?” Gordie asked, inviting to the Captain to join him in the gym.
“I need a bite to eat,” Janz answered.
They parted at the lift. Macao took it up to Starboard-Seven, sitting and ordering coffee and a light snack as he lounged back in the nearly deserted cafe.
His assistant, Yeoman Napa, delivered the tray of food along with a padlet. “This just arrived, sir,” she announced, indicating the message on the screen.
“Thank you, Mister Napa.”
She vanished rather quickly. Macao made a mental note to remind that her uniforms were inappropriately tight. He didn’t need the distraction.
Shalee chuckled, but said nothing as he ate and sipped and read.
The padlet had the ROE and the final mission parameters. He studied the first and only glanced at the latter.
“More limitations…more and more distractions…and more substitutions… Why? Why are they even sending us?” He began to wonder if they were deliberately trying to sabotage the mission.
Finally, he logged in to record his official protest, documenting all the perceived ‘wrongs’ and the very few ‘rights’ that the Star Service had, so far, made.
Personal Log: Captain Janz J. Macao
Location: S.S. Lancer
I cannot believe the incompetence. How can The Republic — the greatest organization in the history of the galaxy — tolerate a Star Service overflowing with incompetence?
Lancer arrived at Station Four, as scheduled months in advance, to take on a small, twenty-man shuttle and a command crew addition. Now, they’ve changed everything!
The shuttle is barely space worthy and my command crew choice, Neville Brandt, has been replaced by a substitute — a tiny female — with no real mission experience.
Unbelievable! Fane! What incompetence!
Must I abort a carefully crafted, planned, and detailed mission because of incompetence?
No, I will overcome. I will adapt.
JJM - Lancer
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dana rushed back down to the flight deck with her gear bag over her shoulder, crossing from the doors to Bay 76 with an anxious feeling, lower on the scale than excitement, but not exactly dread.
Again giving an affectionate pat to the exterior name panel on Trader One, she climbed the ramp. The aging Blade-Class craft might have a new name, but she would always remember the Alphan ambassador’s shuttle by its original name, Trident. It was the very first shuttle craft she’d ever flown as a cadet, while at the Star Service Academy, Coronado.
Now, nearly ten years later, Ambassador Kord’s private shuttle had been retired from service. A dash-and-bash meteor shower took out a stabilizer and caused a massive circuitry failure. The drone escort program had been disabled, as had some of the other more sophisticated tracking systems, which only a privileged few private ships were permitted to use.
Captain Macao might scoff at the little ship, but Dana certainly had great respect for all the Blade Class ships.
Station Four recycled lots of the little, older shuttles, keeping them for use when needed for short VIP hops to conferences. If they weren’t repairable, the mechanics scavenged them to use for spare parts. Restoring them had become somewhat of a Dana Cartwright specialty, since she had the schematics and specifications locked in her photographic memory. It kept her flying, instead of chained to a console up in the control booth, where most commanders ended up, pushing buttons and people.
Trader One hadn’t left Bay 76 for nearly two years. Not a soul had worked on it, though she had more than once asked Commander Dutch for permission to give it a going over. When he finally approved and the repair order came down to her from flight control, Dana jumped at the opportunity to restore and ready the ship, though she never suspected she’d be reassigned, along with the craft, to Big L.
Working down below kept Dana out of the politics and out of the fray. Captain Takio was right, all those years ago, when he inspired her to become a ‘ship doctor.’ Being down on the flight deck beat out being on the flight bridge. Though it meant staying a lieutenant commander on the duty roster, her pay grade rose to that of a senior officer.
Dana sighed as she stowed her heavy gear bag in a secure cabinet. All of that was about to change. She stifled a moan, disconnected charging cables and tethers then started the preflight.
“Yes, everything’s about to change,” she mumbled with a degree of uncertainty quite uncharacteristic for her. “I’m now the Chief of Circuitry — the C-O-C — aboard a heavy cruiser. That’ll mean watch-and-watch on the bridge. Wonder what brain-dead Admiral thought I’d be a good substitute for Commander Neville Brandt?”
She rushed through the preflight, checking off every item from memory, settled in at the pilot’s console, and snapped the safety bar into place across her lap.
The best test for the little shuttle meant taking her out on manual — the only true test of the stabilizers and repairs.
Dana called up to the control bridge, “Trader One requesting permission to launch.”
She thought Commander Dutch’s voice held far too much sympathy when he responded, “T-One you are clear when ready. Flight deck is secure. Bay doors will open when you pass the second marker.”
“Roger, Control,” Dana responded and cut the COM, focusing on piloting.
It was all so routine, but it gave Dana a twinge of melancholy, remembering the very first time she’d flown Trident with her teammate, and academy best friend, Prince Korwin Kord.
With a wisp of melancholy, she mumbled, “Wonder where he is now? Probably out of medical school internship and in private practice. Glad I left all that behind.”
She never once looked back with regret on her decision to give up her medical career in favor of becoming a pilot, even though the Star Service wasn’t all she’d expected it to be.
When re-upping, after five years on the shuttle deck at Earth-Station One, she’d finally snagged the assignment to Four. It only took five years of special transfer requests. Her high hopes for finding her birth records, which had been sealed for the last thirty-four years, and the expectation that they would lead to the identity of her birth mothers, didn’t quite pan out.
However, that’s how life always seemed to go.
Maybe it would take another five years to get a shot at Scanlos. Maybe, just maybe, a year aboard Lancer would bump her higher on the list. “Now, there’s a thought.”
The engines fired up and the little shuttle hummed to life, purring with an even, melodious pitch that made Dana grin. She gave all the gauges and readings a last check and admitted, “Sounds just like new.”
Under her skillful piloting, Trader One lifted off the flight deck. Using only the basic maneuvering thrusters, Dana nudged the craft up and forward, and then aligned visually with the forward bay doors. As promised, the hatch yawned open when the shuttle drifted past the second marker.
Once past the outer lights, she gave the station the all-clear signal, engaged the main engines and took Trader One for a short, aggressive, test flight — one last orbit around the massive Station Four spaceport — before zeroing in on the massive battle cruiser, Lancer.
Right on schedule.
With his log recorded, Macao checked the time. The little, Alphan shuttle should be arriving shortly. He took the padlet and his coffee cup, going to the observation level above the shuttle deck. He felt Shalee’s presence as strongly as if she stood beside him.
Trident is due. She continued, That ship was Ambassador Kord’s. My Princess and I traveled aboard it from Tritia to Earth.
He responded, It’s old and decrepit now, and hardly suitable for our mission.
Kord’s pilot was an Earth-human named Skein — one of the best pilots ever.
I haven’t flown a Blade Class in years. Used to like to watch them land, back in the days when the drone escort program was still functioning.
Shalee softly reminded, Remember my ship
?
Always…
I miss it — one of a kind — so agile.
Like the Enturian ones…
Cartwright is Enturian.
Macao was about to argue, but the bay lights began to blink, and the siren sounded to clear the bay for an arrival.
Trader One.
Trident.
Dear One, you’re distracting me.
Beloved, I have a purpose.
The image of Forever Pointe flooded back over him, though it was different this time. It seemed as if he was flying tandem with a woman — a cinnamon haired, petite, young woman — and he realized it had to be Cartwright.
Shalee chuckled, but refused to explain why.
Big L, as Dutch had called the heavy cruiser, was not the largest ship Dana had ever visited. Navitor held that distinction, but Lancer certainly was the biggest she’d ever been assigned to serve aboard. To say it was intimidating didn’t quite capture the truth of the matter.
“Fane! Wish I had the time to call up her deck plans and specifications in advance. First thing when I get aboard,” Dana mumbled, as the ship loomed large in the front viewport.
“Positively huge,” she gasped, while aligning with the aft marker lights of the big cruiser.
“Lancer Bridge to unidentified shuttle craft — what do you think you’re doing?” came over the COM.
Dana tapped the transmit button, and formally called back, “Lancer, this is Trader One, requesting access to shuttle bay on Captain Macao’s orders.” She made a minor course correction, still using the manual flight controls. All the while, she had a deep, gut feeling of disquiet. It wasn’t just empathetic, and, despite her Eridani training, it wouldn’t go away.
Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer Page 4
