Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer

by Joyz W. Riter

  “You flew for Alphan ambassadors? You flew Trident before? And Solon’s ship?”

  “Yes, sir, for Ambassador Kord of the Alphan delegation and for Ambassador Solon of the Galaxean, and a dozen others; even flew the President of the Republic once on a short hop from Earth-Station One to his home on Betelgeuse II, when his crew…” She stopped, seeing the Captain’s eyes narrow.

  Macao demanded to know, “Why are you on my ship?”

  “You’ve asked me that before,” Dana said. “I have no idea.”

  Janz abruptly winced, bringing his left hand up and rubbing it. “I suddenly have this really intense pain in my palm.” He flexed his fingers.

  “Ever injured it?”

  “Not the left hand, only the elbow.”

  She reached out, offering to do a careful examination, checking the joints.

  “Ouch!” he pulled away, still staring. “Did you know Lt. Zak in engineering has mismatched eyes like yours?”

  Her attention heightened, “An interesting coincidence — heterochromia iridia, however, is not all that rare, sir.”

  Macao scowled. “I’d never met anyone with it until you and him.”

  “My father had it.”

  “Is that why you became an eye specialist? It says in your personnel file you performed eye transplants.”

  “My adopted father, David Cartwright, thought it was an up-and-coming field.”

  “You became a transplant surgeon because he wanted you to?” Macao frowned.

  She nodded.

  “You were an accomplished surgeon…if I ever need one, I’ll be sure to ask for you.”

  Clearly, he was now teasing.

  “I no longer practice medicine,” she reminded.

  “Nonsense! I checked. All your credentials and EMT certificates are current. You could replace Patel with ease.”

  “Stars forbid!” Dana blurted out without thinking.

  “In an emergency…”

  “Never!” Dana insisted.

  “Yet, you tended Neville Brandt,” he reminded.

  “Had to…I was there…first responder.” She frowned and looked away, not wanting to admit to the empathetic reaction which resulted from that incident.

  “Have you read Alphan A&P?” he asked

  “Read and memorized, sir, but…” she carefully avoided a discussion of chapter ten.

  He laughed at some unspoken thought as Dana finished her meal.

  “Mister Cartwright, if I should give you a direct order to use your skills, I expect…”

  His voice-badge chirped before she could answer.

  “Macao,” he responded.

  “Gordie, sir, I have something.”

  “Excellent…I’ll be right there.” Macao ended the conversation by touching his voice-badge, and then looked to her.

  Dana silently urged him to go.

  He invited, “Come with me?”

  “We have a mission briefing at 0900.”

  Macao nodded and rose to leave. “See you then…”

  Dana watched after him, until the doors closed, self-consciously glancing about the lounge to see if anyone else had paid attention to their exchange.

  No one seemed to have noticed.

  She wondered at the conversation and was extremely concerned with how personal it had become.

  Had Janz Macao sensed the wounds she’d treat on Neville Brandt? Or Alley Song? Or Kieran Jai? Through her?

  And what about the memory of Forever Pointe?

  Without the N-link, he could telepathically do more than that, as a Master of the Elect. With her wearing the device, could he still?

  She wasn’t ready to reveal all the secret things of her past relationships.

  The Eridani empath training promised to enable her to block out ‘all’ unwanted intrusions. It could not protect if she voluntarily allowed some access. There could be no relationship with Janz Macao, for that very reason. She didn’t dare let him get that close.

  No entanglements!

  Not that she didn’t long for intimacy with someone. Since her romance with an SSID colonel, some ten years ago, there’d been no one. More than once she wondered if the brief liaison had linked her to the Alphan forever. Alphans mated for life — forever and always. Kieran had given her memories — wonderful memories — just recalling them made her smile. He had given her the memory of soaring with a kite glider over Forever Pointe.

  Was that the memory Janz Macao was retrieving?

  Kieran had used the L-word so easily.

  She couldn’t, realizing her Enturian and Galaxean ancestry was cause for caution about relationships. All the more reason she needed to find her birth mothers and resolve the issue of mutations.

  Dana finished her tea, mulling options.

  Maybe a year aboard Lancer would be okay. The ship would be decommissioned. She could then put in a request for Scanlos.

  Davis/Xalier’s offer was extremely appealing, and joining SSID — the Star Service Intelligence Division — might grant her total access to her genetic records, even those sealed. It was definitely tempting. If he could be believed.

  SSID had made similar offers to cadets, only to assign them to backward worlds, and other remote locations, like Reslan, instead of at galactic hubs like Scanlos or Tritia, and with no recourse.

  Enlistment and assignment with SSID was permanent; there was no going back once you had that level of security clearance.

  What about entanglements? Well, she still had that fling with Kieran and the desire to see him again.

  No one could know.

  She left Starboard-Seven with about ten minutes to spare before the briefing, steeling herself for the ordeal, and not knowing exactly what to expect.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Aboard Lancer less than twenty-four hours and already Dana felt homesick for Station Four. Worse than being the only hybrid aboard and the only empath, she could barely stand the throbbing dissonance from the interstellar drive.

  Were they pushing the ship to the limit? Could that explain the strange vibration she sensed?

  She’d slept well and awoke refreshed, however, during the brief visit with the Captain at breakfast, as now, she sensed a strong, disruptive energy.

  Eager to arrive at the briefing early, she took the lift up to Deck One, Briefing Room One. The lift door opened on a long, empty corridor. She stepped off reluctantly.

  All her empathetic senses screamed, though she wasn’t immediately sure why. With both palms touching the wall, she received a clear image, one of men engaged in a wrestling match. Apparently it was a friendly one, for the fun of it, but with strong martial undertones, much as her aikido classes. She could hear a sensei’s words, cautioning that being ‘small had advantages’ against larger attackers. They weren’t her former instructors, however.

  The real issue, and the most important part of training, was always being focused and disciplined. No one could accuse her of anything less, though Macao had by suggesting she was a ‘dithering, female’ — a remark that still haunted. Once such a comment found its way into someone’s psyche, it took physical proof to uproot it.

  Maybe Lancer’s predominantly male command staff needed a demonstration of her capabilities. Maybe…

  She pulled her hands away from the wall, still sensing the dissonant vibration.

  Get used to it, DD.

  Two men stepped off the lift, jostling her elbows in passing. They quickly headed inside the briefing room.

  She followed a moment later, after collecting her thoughts and scolding herself.

  Stay focused!

  Eleven of the fourteen chairs at the table were already occupied when Dana Cartwright entered Briefing Room One; all the men awaited the arrival of Captain Macao and Chief of Security Gordon.

  Two of the eleven men were total strangers — the two that had jostled her in the corridor. The others she at least recognized by sight or knew from being introduced while on the Bridge. Cartwright headed for the vacant chai
r next to First Officer Nichols, guessing she ranked high enough to be at his left.

  “Sorry, that’s Mister Gordon’s place; you are at the far end of the table, Mister Cartwright.”

  She didn’t dare bicker about it. Any seat would be equally uncomfortable, since she was the only ‘rose’ amid the thorns.

  Her empathetic senses registered a great deal of resentment, but she could not pinpoint the source.

  Eleven men…incredible odds should the situation be different. She shrugged, and nervously slid into the farthest vacant chair, wishing she had a female uniform and not the oversized one from yesterday. She whispered a plea to Yeoman Mackenna for his help in resolving the issue.

  The lieutenant on her left — one of the strangers — made a motion to rise as she took her seat. He was stout, and twice her age, but had a friendly look about him.

  “I knew Jack Connors for seven years! Never would have guessed his replacement would be a woman.” He forced a smile, introducing himself, “Sam Ehrmann, MAT-SYS Chief.”

  “Dana Cartwright,” she said in return, gripping firmly his extended, generously calloused, hand. “Nice to meet you, Chief.”

  “Cartwright?” He echoed, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and then he mumbled, “You any relation to the…No, guess not…”

  “To the Admiral?” Dana chuckled, “Hardly.”

  They exchanged casual smiles.

  “I’m taking odds on who gets a piece of this mission. Are you in?”

  “I don’t gamble, Chief,” she responded quickly.

  “Sam,” he corrected, “it’s a sure thing. Five credits says I’ll be on the away team.”

  “We don’t even know what the mission is yet.” Dana cautiously assessed her new crew-mate. She’d never met a MAT System Chief with calloused hands before, but she knew a lot of small arms and weapons specialists with the telltale callouses.

  Ehrmann winked at her. “Mister C, there are only two kinds of missions — dangerous and not so dangerous — both are my specialty. The side action is an additional credit.” He offered a toothy grin that now made her uncomfortable.

  Dana looked away. Gambling was not her game. Then again, neither were dangerous missions.

  At 0859, the Captain entered with Lancer’s Security Chief in close pursuit; both looked very pessimistic.

  She studied Jay Gordon first, while Captain Macao called those present to attention. Gordon towered over them all. He was big, a black man with a serious brow and a chiseled chin. Actually, he bore a strong resemblance to Admiral Barrett Cartwright, in her humble opinion.

  She easily understood his propensity for security. Anyone stupid enough to even dream of testing his strength — or patience — was in for a very rude awakening.

  “Secure the doors, Gordie,” the Captain ordered, waiting as Gordon dutifully complied.

  Dana blinked at the casual form of address. They obviously had a long history together that transcended ship-board protocols, which Yeoman Warren found so essential.

  “Computer? Begin recording and file under security code C4T2.”

  The computer, in a strong masculine voice, responded, “Recording.”

  A hush fell over those in the room as Janz Macao surveyed their faces. “All that transpires at this briefing shall be considered secrecy level zero-zero and kept confidential. There shall be no discussion of our mission beyond the walls of this room without me present.”

  The Captain sat and nodded that they should do the same. “Our new orders are simple. Raiders — and possibly mercenaries — have breached Zone Eleven, Alpha Quadrant in the area of the outer colonies. We are to apprehend those parties before more attacks cripple the shipping routes. A specially equipped team from Lancer shall investigate, first hand, under the guise of local traders.”

  The Captain drilled Dana with his eyes. “Our new Blade Class shuttle, that Mister Cartwright brought up from Four, will provide our cover for my plan.”

  She nodded self-consciously under his gaze.

  The Captain continued without looking away, “It’s not ideal for the mission… I would have preferred a craft with a much bigger hold, but it will have to do. Six security officers will be chosen by Chief Gordon and six of you shall be on my team. Due to the sensitive nature of the mission, I shall individually contact those officers chosen. The identities of the final team members will not be announced until after the team has left this ship.

  “All here present should proceed under the assumption that you are a candidate and prepare accordingly. During the next three shifts, all department chiefs are ordered to review and assimilate the information in computer storage under the code name: Groomsmen. Be prepared to offer commentary upon that data when I demand it.

  “Any questions?”

  Macao took in their faces, acknowledging Chief Ehrmann, Chief McHale of Engineering, First Officer and Helmsman Nichols, Chief Navigator Bryant, Chief Surgeon Patel, Chief Destry of Physical Sciences, Chief Kulak of Service and Supply, Weaponry Chief Mansfield, Chief of Tactical Miller, and Chief of Communications Nishada. Then his gaze stopped and focused back on Dana Cartwright and it stayed there.

  “Briefing terminated. Dismissed. Computer? End recording.”

  Chairs swiveled and bodies bailed out. Only Cartwright and Macao held position. Once the briefing room doors closed behind the others, the Captain spoke. “You look disappointed, Mister Cartwright.”

  “Puzzled would be a better description, Captain.”

  He seemed intrigued. “Puzzled?”

  “Chief Ehrmann’s taking bets that he’ll be on the team even before the nature of the mission was made known to us.”

  Macao didn’t respond.

  “I fail to see how a MAT system chief might be vital to the success of the team.”

  “Like yourself, Mister Cartwright, Sam Ehrmann has many secondary skills that make him very valuable — first and foremost of which is his marksmanship.”

  Dana nodded, “That would explain the callouses on his hands.”

  “You’re very observant,” the Captain said with a smile of satisfaction, and then he continued, “Mister Ehrmann has proven his worth on many a mission. Your record, conversely, indicates a long period of inactivity, Mister Cartwright. I took a very thorough look just now. Top of your class at academy…all sorts of awards and commendations. Still, nothing explains why you’re here. Why in hell did Ops substitute you for Neville Brandt? And for an extremely dangerous mission? It’s been five years since your first — and only — away team assignment. Why is that?”

  Dana sighed, “I have no idea, Captain.”

  They exchanged uncomfortable stares.

  “Could someone in Ops have made a gigantic mistake?”

  “I am qualified, sir,” Dana assured.

  “You are indeed. Well, if it’s all true...”

  Dana stiffened at the insinuation it might not be. “Sir?”

  “Who the hell are you? Are you with the Star Service Intelligence Division — some kind of SSID plant?”

  “No, sir,” she quickly countered.

  Macao frowned. “You have no parents — those records are all sealed. You have no tactical mission experience. How can you spend eight years in the Star Service and have no experience?”

  Dana stared. “Permission to speak freely?”

  “Please…”

  “Sir, I have a mentor somewhere high in the command echelon — an Admiral perhaps or someone who knew my stepfather, DOC Cartwright — someone who manages to keep me away from hazardous assignments and life threatening situations.”

  “Then why Lancer? Why this mission?” Janz Macao demanded, “Why not base ops or a relay station? Why NOW?”

  “Perhaps news of my transfer has not reached that level in Operations,” Dana answered.

  Macao stood, unhurriedly pacing near the exit. “I despise favoritism, Mister Cartwright. Your record says you’re a marksman. You claim to be one. I want a fresh accuracy report by first watch tomorrow. If I
’m…impressed, you may consider yourself on the team.”

  “Aye, sir,” she responded, nodding to his back as he abruptly exited the briefing room.

  Dana sank back in the chair, quietly mulling over the twenty minute session. “At least it was brief…”

  The lights in the room dimmed, automatically switching to energy-saver mode, sensing no motion. In the pale glow, she took a deep, serious breath.

  “Macao’s right, of course…what am I doing here?” Then, she had to laugh. “SSID? Me?” She scoffed, “No, sir. I’m not with SSID. I have too many…entanglements.”

  However, Colonel Xalier’s offer of a post with SSID at Scanlos echoed in her mind. Perhaps they’re testing me? And perhaps the Captain is sensing that telepathically?

  That made sense.

  A flood of melancholy changed her amusement to a frown. “Guess I better get some coffee and head over to the bridge. Don’t want to be late…”

  The lights came back on full when she stood and crossed to the exit doors.

  The Captain appeared pensive, and the other Main Bridge officers were noticeably subdued when Dana arrived at 0958 — all of two minutes early. She relieved Mister Billings and busied herself with reviewing all the fleet updates from the last year, verifying the work had been completed and inspected.

  Big L had weathered several storms since the last retrofit, and desperately needed a costly, major overhaul. So many of the systems were obsolete. She’d seen her days during the war with the Imperials, was even considered top-of-the-line, back then. Now, however, the Blade Class ambassadorial shuttle actually had newer technology and design features.

  No wonder Lancer was headed to ‘moth balls’ as Yeoman Mackenna put it.

  A series of checks on Lancer’s computer circuitry and the memory core showed a good deal of meteor storm related disruptions and damage. Sector Eleven-Alpha Quad, near the outer colonies, might throw a few more at them.

  Big L needed a lot of work. Dana rolled up her sleeves, starting with some file reorganization. Her predecessor’s method just didn’t work very well. In addition, she created a list of systems with issues, and drafted work orders for the department. It was all very routine and boring — the kind of thing the enlistment officers failed to mention when enticing techs into the fold. Some days at base the only excitement you would have was the obnoxious blare of the horn signaling shift over.