Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer

by Joyz W. Riter

  Only a Master of the Elect, with full Alphan telepathic training, could detect thoughts and not be detected doing it.

  Just one catch… What if they were wearing an N-link type device? Even Janz Macao couldn’t reach beyond that. Could a med-scanner?

  Her empathetic senses might prove useful to detect liars and such. “With my Eridani training…that’s why Operations sent me to Lancer for this mission. I’m even more qualified than Commander Brandt. Fascinating!”

  Even if the team from Lancer went nosing around under the guise of traders, the possibility of uncovering the whole operation still had very slim chances for success. Janz Macao said he had a plan.

  “It better be good,” she commented, clearing the viewer history.

  With the re-arrangement of the duty roster, she could check in at auxiliary and visit the Main Bridge station whenever she saw fit. The itinerary she’d mapped out for the day did not even hint of a trip up there, as the Captain had requested.

  She decided to pop onto the Main Bridge after the mandatory visit to the infirmary to get medical clearance for the mission. Doctor Patel’s memo said to drop in, no appointment necessary. She would protest that her fleet physical, just days before joining Lancer’s crew, would suffice. Protocol…

  She sighed.

  Protocol shall be observed. So the orientation directed — a total waste of time, in her opinion.

  Lancer’s medical infirmary had few frills or thrills. It served one purpose only — to mend injuries. Elaborate labs and research facilities, like those on bigger vessels, had no place on a battleship.

  Patel, the Chief Surgeon, looked hardened, an old school, no-nonsense physician, accustomed to patching bodies back together under dire circumstances.

  He ushered Cartwright to a diagnostic bed and proceeded to tell her his life’s story.

  Born and raised in a small, tribal village on the outskirts of Earth’s New Delhi region of India, a once war-torn landscape, he was no stranger to combat medicine.

  Patel’s exam was thorough.

  Within a few minutes, he bluntly pronounced her fit for special duty, but he did bring up one rather private matter. “You are of child bearing age, but you have no ovaries? When was the surgery?”

  “Years ago,” Dana assured, “before I enlisted in the Star Service.”

  Patel frowned. “Voluntary sterilization?” He re-checked the readings. “Two separate surgeries?”

  She nodded into the face of his disbelief. When he asked, “Why?” she declined to answer and slid off the exam table without another word.

  “Mister Cartwright?”

  Patel withheld the padlet with her medical clearance, demanding, “Why?”

  Dana admitted, “I lost the left during a knife assault; the other was voluntary, to preserve my options.”

  “Cryogenics…” Patel’s eyebrows rose. “At what age?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  He muttered something in his native tongue, then complained, “There’s nothing in your file about it.”

  “As I told you, it all happened before I entered the Star Service.”

  He humphed and grumbled, “You should be on hormone therapy.”

  Dana’s own medical training kicked in. “Doctor, I’m a tribrid, Enturian/human and Galaxean. I’d have to go to the genetics center of origin for that.”

  He scowled. “Irrelevant! I could attempt to balance them.”

  “It’s not your specialty,” she reminded, and stared back icily. “I would not submit. I’m not some lab rat you can experiment upon.”

  He finally released the padlet into her hands. “Here,” he exhaled, “for as much good as it will do you. You really have no chance in hell of being chosen. The Captain might let you believe it possible, but when it comes right down to it, you’ll be left behind, Mister Cartwright. Choosing you would set a precedent, and he can’t afford that.”

  Patel turned his back on her as he logged her out of the patient scanner.

  She wanted to argue that the Captain had already confirmed she would be among the team, but held her tongue.

  Doctor Patel’s scowl offended. Even more humiliating was his addendum. “You’re a woman, Cartwright. Forget your Enturian values. We’re talking about an Alphan male. The social and educational mores of Janz Macao’s culture are a far cry from Terran or Enturian ‘equal rights’ for both sexes. In addition to the anatomical and physiological differences, you just don’t fit the profile. Do your homework, Mister Cartwright, and learn what you are up against.”

  “Are you finished, Doctor?”

  She still wanted to argue and knew her face was probably the same shade of red as her uniform. She wanted to fling at him a retort; that she knew very well the social and educational mores of Alphan males and she could best many of them at any task they put before her. However, Dana held her peace. “I’ll be on my way.”

  “You know he will never call you by your given name, don’t you?” Patel smirked. “Dane means ‘the superior.’ Janz Macao will never address you so.”

  The Doctor was still laughing as she started for the door, but she wasn’t about to let Patel have the last laugh.

  “You are mistaken, Doctor. ‘Dane’ is the masculine Alphan term for ‘Elder.’ ‘Dana’ would be the feminine. You see, I speak Alphan quite fluently.” She switched to it and told him, flatly, “There’s a hell of a lot more to Dana Cartwright than you realize. Janz Macao needs me on this mission, more than you will ever know.”

  Patel, obviously, didn’t speak Alphan, or knew only a few words.

  She left him stunned by her assertions.

  Fueled by Patel’s jibes and inflammatory remarks, Dana marched straight to the lift, intent upon sounding out the Captain. As she reached out to take hold of the hand rail within the lift, the sight of her trembling hand shocked even her. She punched the hold button, swearing angrily.

  Fane!

  In the course of ten minutes, the Doctor had succeed in setting her against the Captain, planting seeds of doubt, and undermining her self-confidence.

  What an incredible manipulator!

  Could Patel be the source of the resentment the Captain had sensed? Was Patel the man? He’d been at the briefing, and had made several appearances on the Bridge during her duty shifts.

  She shut her eyes and focused, mumbling, “Oh, he definitely holds resentment — of all tribrids — but he’s not the only one.” She heaved a sigh. “Well, Doctor Patel, it will not work. You are not powerful enough to get me off Lancer, or this mission.”

  With new determination, Dana released the hold and the lift continued up to Deck One. Whether she realized it or not, her self-assurance was showing.

  Captain Macao blocked the way as the doors parted.

  “Ah, Mister Cartwright, just the person I need. Come with me.” He brushed past her to stand at the back of the lift.

  She took two steps backward and the doors slid closed.

  Macao set their destination as the shuttle deck before he addressed her. “I’m rather disappointed in your log entries. Somehow I expected more creativity from you.”

  Dana blinked, taking a moment to recover from the initial shock. “I don’t understand, sir?”

  “I reviewed your log just now, while on the Bridge,” he scowled.

  “Then it was unsigned.”

  “No, I distinctly remember seeing the signature.”

  “Captain, Yeoman Warren collected it not an hour ago. I have not reviewed or signed anything. She was to transcribe it and format it to your specifications, with the understanding it was to be returned to me for approval before being presented as final.” Dana showed him the padlet in her hands. “I just came from the infirmary after enduring Doctor Patel’s medical scan. There was no time for me to review the yeoman’s work.”

  Macao hit the stop button on the lift control panel and the downward movement of the car stopped.

  “Would you kindly explain that statement about ‘format it’ t
o my specifications? Why would a log need editing and what specifications of mine require it?”

  Cartwright groaned. “Sir, during my orientation briefing, I was told you wanted log entries to be uniform. Yeoman Warren said she was authorized to…”

  He held up his hand to silence her. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I never used the word ‘uniform.’ I said I wanted unity — not uniformity. No wonder all the blasted things sound alike.” Macao started to chuckle and pointed his finger in her direction. “So, that explains it. Your yeoman altered the text.”

  He shook his head from side-to-side. “I never meant…”

  “Are not the other logs uniform?” Dana wondered.

  He shrugged. “I rarely read them. You’re new and…”

  She got the picture.

  “From here on out, Mister Cartwright, you will submit only your original dictation. I will instruct all command officers to do likewise. The yeomen can transcribe them after I’ve appended my approval. I want the ship logs to be accurate and complete.” He sighed, asking, “Did you keep a copy of your original?”

  She responded, “Absolutely, sir.”

  “Retrieve it now and meet me on the shuttle deck in ten. I’m going to have a word with Flight Ops.” He hit the release on the control panel, let the lift reach the shuttle deck and stepped out.

  Dana returned to her quarters on Six. She could have sent her yeoman to fetch it, but still didn’t fully trust Warren. Besides, she had the original recording of her log locked in the security box in the closet and no one was getting that combination.

  After quickly making a duplicate for the Captain and returning the original to the safe, Dana headed back down.

  The shuttle deck doors were unguarded, so Dana proceeded straight in.

  Five security guards and Chief Gordon met her inside, all with weapons drawn. A warning siren blared. Smoke and soot filled the air.

  “Fane!”

  Chief Gordon motioned with his weapon that she should step forward and show him what she carried.

  Dana obeyed the unspoken command, letting Gordon inspect the padlet. He quickly handed it back.

  From the rear of the shuttle bay there came shouts and loud voices, also the hissing of fire extinguishers. Then the Captain’s raised voice could be distinctly heard, saying, “Good work, Mister Miller. Have your men clear out for a bit.”

  Macao walked around the corner and into Dana’s view. Blood was trickling down his left cheek from a gash above his eyebrow, but he seemed unconcerned. His eyes went from Gordon’s weapon to Cartwright’s midriff where it was pointed.

  “What’s going on, Gordie?”

  “Sir…”

  Macao assessed the situation and coughed, “Let her pass. Mister Cartwright is not responsible.” He motioned her forward and took the padlet from her hands.

  Dana looked up at him, immediately went to retrieve the first aid kit and returned, preparing to tend the wound upon the Captain’s forehead. As she reached for him, he brushed her hand aside and touched the gash with his fingers. They came away stained with gray-green colored blood.

  He swallowed, stooped a bit and let her proceed.

  “What happened?” she asked quietly.

  “Someone has sabotaged the ship…and the mission.”

  Cartwright frowned, glancing toward the little ship. “I’ll take a look,” she offered as she used the two-stage instrument to sanitize the wound and glue the skin layers, leaving only a tan stripe that would slowly fade away in a few hours.

  He nodded his thanks.

  “Was anyone else injured?” Dana started toward the ship with the kit.

  “Dana! No… Let the dust settle.”

  She screeched to a stop some distance away from the little vessel and the Captain moved to join her.

  “Explosives?” She sniffed the air, detecting a peculiar odor.

  “I must have triggered something when I went aboard.”

  The very idea of it incensed her. “Why?”

  “You tell me,” he responded.

  She whirled around to face him.

  His stare was steady, but not accusingly. “You’re the empath, and the newest member of the crew. Were they trying to frame you? You would be the first and most logical suspect.”

  He held up his right hand to silence her budding retort and offered sincerely, “I know it wasn’t you. I trust you, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say about the rest of my command crew right about now.”

  Dana glanced over her shoulder at the security detail still standing with Chief Gordon. Any one of them had access, she bet. “Sir,” she said in a whisper, “I can pull the access records.”

  “We already have. Nothing...”

  He motioned for her to follow and they headed back toward the lift, though he stopped at a console and called up some data files, while she stowed the med-kit.

  Dana sensed that all eyes were watching as she entered the lift and stood at Macao’s side. Some of the men looked envious. Some venomous... She also sensed something more sinister.

  The door slid closed, but the Captain did not reach to the controls to enter a destination.

  “Someone has deliberately sabotaged Trader One and the mission. That someone might be there on the deck watching. Yet I sensed nothing. I walked into a trap.” Macao frowned and repeated, “I sensed nothing.”

  Dana remained silent.

  “Are you wearing an N-link still?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I can’t… I can’t even sense you.” He scowled, “Why?”

  Dana shrugged. “Maybe Doctor Patel should evaluate you.”

  He scowled at the suggestion, still mulling over the situation.

  “Even on the Bridge today, just as you arrived, I sensed nothing. It’s as if my psi abilities are dampened somehow — like everyone is wearing an N-link.”

  “Do you trust Doctor Patel?” She blurted it out before realizing how accusatory her tone made it sound.

  The Captain shrugged. “I have always trusted him. He was aboard Lancer long before I received my commission. Obviously, you don’t trust him.”

  “He and I had words,” Dana admitted, “after my pre-mission physical.”

  Macao realized he no longer had the padlet with her fitness approval, nor the recording of her log. “I have to go back. I left everything…”

  “The doctor can record a new one, sir. I’ll make another duplicate of my original log. I think you should visit Doctor Patel and ask if he detects any reason why your senses seem not to be functioning.”

  The Captain conceded and ordered the lift to rise to the infirmary level. “You do nice work.” He touched the wound area on his temple gingerly. “I like the idea of having a doctor — a surgeon — along on the mission, even if you are reluctant to use those skills. They could prove valuable.”

  Dana looked up into his eyes. She had no trouble empathetically sensing his admiration and something beyond…affection.

  “You could have entered the Star Service as a physician.”

  “I got tired of seeing blood and guts, sir.” As an after thought, she added, “My adoptive-father wanted me to teach at the science academy. I wanted to fly. He disapproved, of course; wasn’t even there when I graduated, and died not long after I accepted my appointment to the small craft hangar at Earth-Station One.”

  “Are you to blame?” Macao wondered.

  “I disowned him years before,” she mumbled self-consciously. “It’s a long story.”

  The lift had stopped and the doors parted, but Janz Macao was in no hurry to step out. “Join me for dinner tonight. Informal… I’d like to learn a bit more about your possible mentor.”

  “I know very little,” she responded.

  “Your shift ends at 1700…” Macao insisted, “Join me in my quarters.”

  Dana stayed inside the lift and watched as he turned the corner toward the infirmary. He didn’t glance back.

  She decided on making a quick tri
p up to the Main Bridge to take a look around. From her console, she could run a security scan, with the highest level of clearances, to see who of the members of the command staff had access to the shuttle bay since the Captain’s last visit.

  It took much longer than expected.

  Miller, Ehrmann, McHale and Mansfield all had accessed the shuttle deck. Kulak and Gordon were the only two, however, that could alter the record presented to the Captain Macao.

  The facts were…disturbing.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dana returned to her quarters for a shower before she would take the news to the Captain during their dinner meeting. After dressing in a fresh uniform, she put the new recording of her log in a pocket, and returned the original to the secure box in the storage closet for safe keeping.

  The idea of needing such precautions was unsettling. In all her years in the Star Service, she had never, ever, had to resort to subterfuge. However, aboard Lancer, she trusted no one, not even Janz Macao.

  Before dinner, she stopped again at the Main Bridge, for another surprise visit. The Captain wasn’t there.

  Lt. Commander Nishada offered, “He’s in his quarters, Mister Cartwright, as I understand, dealing with a nasty headache.”

  Dana nodded and retreated back to the lift, without commenting. Everything seemed subdued. No animosity…no strong emotion… However, First Officer Nichols was not there.

  At the door to the Captain’s quarters, Dana had second thoughts about disturbing him if he was resting. It was difficult to envision Macao complaining of a terrible headache to one of his command officers. Would he share such a comment with Jay Gordon? Perhaps…but not with Nishada…it seemed out of character.

  Maybe, just as with his order about ‘unity’ being mistaken as being ‘uniformity’ this instance was being taken out of context.

  She touched the call button.

  His “Come in” spoken at half volume, as if in a whisper or absentmindedly, even sleepily, came in response. She stepped inside when the door slid open and let it close behind her.

  The room seemed morbidly quiet. The only light came from the left wall, where a meter high, five-pointed star hung suspended in midair. A most impressive decoration, it glistened with jeweled stones fitting like mosaic pieces upon the transparent surface. Illumination from behind, through the gems, cast kaleidoscope rays of rainbow-colored light to all corners of the room.