Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer

by Joyz W. Riter

  She chuckled nervously.

  “Your muscles are so tight… Don’t you ever relax?”

  “I used to swim laps to relax.”

  “Oh,” the Captain shook his head. “Too bad Big L doesn’t have a Virtual Reality system. I love to swim. I love the water. My brothers and I…” he broke off. “Hard to believe you were a doctor.”

  “A neuro-ophthamologist,” Dana reminded.

  “An eye doctor? It figures…with eyes like yours.” He pulled her into an embrace, just holding her gently. “I feel like we’ve met before; yet, you are an enigma. I can only sense little things. Are you wearing the N-link?”

  “No…”

  “Then, it must be your Eridani training. Can’t you let down the walls just a little?”

  She had to decline the invitation, “Not a good idea, sir.”

  “Who are you?” He demanded playfully, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.

  “I’m your C-O-C.”

  “Yes,” he whispered, “but why?”

  She had no quick answer. The yellow alert klaxon sounded before she could think of a retort.

  Macao pushed Dana to her feet and reached across the desk the moment the alert sounded. He pounded the COM switch on the viewer, demanding an explanation.

  “Ensign Milan here, sir, we’ve picked up an unidentifiable signal at the fringes of scanning range.”

  “A vessel?” Macao questioned, looking at Dana Cartwright.

  “Impossible to determine,” Milan responded.

  Dana asked, “Has he checked for a malfunction?”

  Macao didn’t have to repeat the question, Milan volunteered, “I’ve run a diagnostic, sir. It appears real, what ever it is.”

  The Captain mumbled, “On my way,” and cut the circuit.

  He slid into a uniform and boots as quickly as he’d jumped to answer the call and led the way to the lift.

  “Are we close enough to the target zone for it to be a trader?” Dana asked.

  “Not unless they’ve penetrated deeper into Republic space than we anticipated.”

  They burst onto the Bridge together and without words proceeded to the computer station.

  Dana immediately began reviewing Milan’s malfunction checks while the Captain reviewed his data.

  As the Ensign had stated, the computer system seemed fine. The sensor sighting and report proved to be legitimate.

  Macao pointed out certain data to Dana, but he called upon First Officer Nichols for an evaluation.

  “The readings are inconclusive, sir. Could be space debris. There’s no indication of movement and no energy signature,” Nichols decided.

  “Is it worth investigating?” Macao asked.

  Dana only partially listened, while reviewing the data, finding it oddly familiar; something like the readings in the vicinity of a shuttlecraft testing near Station Four when they were experimenting with… Hmm. “A wraith device?”

  “Invisible?” Macao stared blankly as Cartwright ushered Milan aside and called up computer readings of known devices. The results, side-by-side on the screen, showed vague similarities.

  “Hardly conclusive, Mister Cartwright,” the Captain muttered.

  She called up on the display the readings from the Star Service’s attempts at invisibility devices and the differences were too minor to quibble over. “A wraith device…it has to be.”

  “So, it’s a ship…possibly one of ours…and veiled?” Macao scowled.

  “If it’s one of ours, we could blow their cover by trailing it,” Nichols piped up.

  “If it’s one of ours, they’d have identified themselves by now, wouldn’t they,” Ensign Milan wondered.

  “Not likely,” Cartwright said. “Could be under orders to shadow us.”

  Macao decided, “Signal red alert. Mister Nichols, stand by for an intercept course. Weapons on standby… Ready? We’re going to show them we know they are there.”

  Throughout Lancer, the red alert sounded and duty stations went to the highest alert status.

  “Scanners? Report any activity without demand.”

  “Aye, sir,” Dana responded from the computer console.

  “Helm! Intercept course,” Macao ordered. “Engage!”

  Helm responded with amazing agility and the engines drove the speed to Level 7 without complaint.

  “Preparing to overtake — thirty seconds from…”

  “Target on the move!” Cartwright shouted, “New heading, zero-three mark oh-four-five. Readings in flux…losing sensor fix. Gone!” Dana pounded the edge of the console with her right fist. “Signal lost, Captain.”

  “Without a trace?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Macao sighed then called, “Helm — return to previous course and heading. Reduce speed to Level 3.”

  The Captain came over to stand beside the computer console. “Did they out accelerate us, or did they recover from a momentary lapse in their invisibility system?”

  Dana guessed, “Both options are likely.”

  That didn’t settle well with the Captain.

  “Well, they know we know.” He turned to Nichols. “Continue on yellow alert through the end of the watch,” he ordered. “Eyes sharp.”

  Macao settled into the command chair.

  Dana sent Ensign Milan below for a rest break and finished out the shift at the Main Bridge console, watching the readings for even the tiniest of fluxes. Sensors detected nothing — nothing out of the boring ordinary.

  Just before the shift ended, the Captain turned the con over to Nichols, and went below.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Macao massaged his left wrist while the lift descended to the shuttle craft hangar, feeling intense pain when bending or flexing it. His headache was back, as well, so he moved his fingers to pinch the area near the thumb and first finger, the way Dana had shown him.

  Accupressure? Patel scoffs at such things…Yet he recommended meditation and…

  Shalee scoffed.

  Beloved, you need to return to your Alphan studies.

  Dear One… Janz started to protest.

  The pain you feel, Shalee counseled, is not yours, Beloved. It’s hers. It is a deeply buried memory.

  Hers? Cartwright’s?

  Suicide leaves deep scars…just as losing a loved one…

  He heaved a sigh. Lots of things leave scars…Where is this going, Shalee?

  His mate remained silent.

  The doors parted and Macao proceeded toward Trader One, focusing on it. He had a hunch that sitting in the pilot’s chair, he might detect the essence of the culprit that had sabotaged the ship.

  The Mech-Techs had already vacuumed up the residue from the fire extinguishers and sorted through the damaged parts to determine what might be salvaged.

  As he sank down into the chair, his first thought was of Dana Cartwright.

  It surprised him, however, not because she was the last person to fly it, but because the thought — the mental image he was receiving — was of a much younger Dana Cartwright piloting the Alphan ambassador’s ship, then called Trident.

  He sensed Cadet Cartwright’s self-confidence and her competence.

  Breathing and using the techniques of a Master of the Elect, he felt her elation and excitement, on that occasion, all those long years ago.

  “My first landing…” she told her co-pilot with glee.

  Macao grinned as had the young, Alphan male beside her. The Captain didn’t recognize the man, but noted mismatched eyes, just like Dana’s. She called him, PK. It must have been a nickname. The young man called her, DD.

  They were friends…nothing more than close friends.

  Wait…Brainiacs…

  Macao laughed.

  The memory, however, did not explain the reason for Shalee’s fascination with Forever Pointe. PK was not the man flying the kite-glider.

  Macao felt like a voyeur and withdrew his attention. Like Remote Viewers in Earth’s past, he could often pick up bits and p
ieces of information, and images, not always the whole story and not the correct time frame.

  His purpose was to detect the saboteur. Reframing his intention, he placed his right hand upon the console, instantly withdrawing it, feeling a burning sensation, as though it were an open flame.

  He quickly deduced that he’d detected the moment of the explosion, set his hand down again, probed with psychometry, but could sense nothing more.

  Fane! He groaned and looked about, now rubbing the palm to calm the burning sensation.

  This is getting me nowhere.

  Shalee responded, Let her do it, Beloved. Her skills are different from yours.

  Macao rose, abruptly, leaving the ship and the shuttle deck, feeling a strong desire for…coffee.

  “I need this fixed,” Macao complained, pounding a fist on the face of the digitizer input panel on the unit in the Deck Six galley.

  Dana Cartwright was there. She chuckled, coaxing him aside, running a test on the input device, ending up cleaning the face of it with her uniform sleeve. Under her ministrations, the device finally rezzed the Captain’s requested carafe, filled with rich, aromatic hot coffee, no sugar, light cream.

  He squinted an eye at her. “It’s never done that to me before. Did you jinx it?”

  Dana shook her head, let out a little laugh, and then tapped the input to request a cup of hot, green tea.

  Janz remained at her elbow, watching with admiration. “You have a way with machines.”

  She shrugged.

  “Did you just leave the Bridge?”

  “Yes, sir,” she sighed.

  “Anything?”

  “Nothing…”

  Macao frowned, as she reached for the cup, he stopped her hand, and asked, “Mister Cartwright, have you ever injured your wrist?” He clutched her left wrist and inspected the scar, right about the spot on his own wrist, where he experienced the pain. “Is this from a dog bite?”

  She shook her head, answering carefully, evading, “No, Max chewed my blanket, but he never bit me.”

  “So, what is this?” Macao indicated the scar.

  Dana heaved a sigh, glancing about and lowering her voices before responding, “I’m an empath, sir. When I was an intern, working the ER, I treated a young, Alphan woman. She had attempted suicide.”

  “By slitting her wrists?” Macao’s eyes widened.

  Dana merely nodded.

  “So why do you have the scars?” He gasped, realizing, “Are you that empathetic?”

  Dana swallowed and nodded, pulling her hand away, reaching for the cup of hot tea in the duplicator.

  The Captain led to a small table and motioned her to sit opposite him, though he also glanced about and noted the spying eyes of certain command staff officers. Miller and Mansfield made eye contact, then quickly turned their backs to him.

  Dana nodded, understanding the situation, having noted them as well.

  “Sensing something?” Macao asked.

  “You,” she responded, lifting her mismatched eyes to meet his eyes. “Is something wrong? Did you burn your hand?”

  He blinked, then shook his head. “I was just down in the little ship…doing an…experiment. I have many reservations about it…and you...”

  “That’s not what I am sensing,” she interrupted, deliberating how to diplomatically reveal all that she detected.

  “…And the mission,” he continued, “since the new ROE are rather vague.”

  “Sir?” Dana returned his stare. “There’s something more…”

  He scowled, retreating into a technique used by the highest practicing Masters of the Elect.

  She shook her head. “You can try using mastery techniques to hide it, but it’s still there.”

  “It? Or she?” Macao wondered, sipping his hot coffee, leaning forward just a little. “Perhaps you are sensing my mate, Shalee. She…” he paused briefly before continuing, “…she wants to know if you love ‘him’?”

  Dana couldn’t hide her distress, though she tried by looking down into her tea.

  “He’s the one you flew with over Forever Pointe…” Macao whispered.

  “I have never flown over Forever Pointe,” she admitted. “I have never been past the spaceport on Centauri Prime, sir.”

  “Then how is it I see you there…Where does the image come from?”

  Dana sipped the tea. “A patient of mine gave me that memory. He thought he was dying and didn’t want it to be…lost.”

  “Did he die?”

  “No.”

  “Why am I seeing it?” He scoffed, “I shouldn’t be picking it up.”

  “Although,” Dana countered, “it is an emotionally charged memory.”

  The Captain frowned. “No, that can’t be it. Unless…you are more than an empath.”

  Dana looked away, “Sir…” She sensed he wanted to probe deeper, and was unwilling to go there, so she changed the subject, turning back to him. “Have you ever heard of an Alphan survivor choosing suicide after the death of their mate?”

  Macao reluctantly nodded. “I’ve heard of it; though it is rare among those trained as an Elect.”

  “Women don’t take the mastery training, as I recall. Why is that?”

  “They learn it when they mate,” he answered.

  “And if they don’t mate with an Alphan master?”

  He shrugged, “They miss out.”

  “What happens if an Alphan master mates with a non-Alphan woman?”

  His eyes flickered with deep emotion, though he tried to mask it well.

  Dana asked, “Your mate was not Alphan? Did she learn through you?”

  “She is with me forever,” Macao assured.

  “Did she gain your telepathic powers?”

  He sank back. “Why do you want to know? Planning to mate with an Alphan? Is that it?”

  Dana blushed. “I considered it…over a decade ago.”

  “Highly unrecommended, since you’re a hybrid.”

  “Tribrid,” she reminded, correcting his statement.

  Glancing about before answering, as if checking that no one would overhear, Macao asked, “Ever read the ‘Theorem of Eternal Life’ by Galt?”

  Dana nodded. “Are you going to quote Galt to me again?”

  Macao grinned, “I will if you like.”

  “The theorem is full of unproven allegations and…pure mysticism. Some believe it is riddled with errors, as well.” Dana added in response, “Many of the same statements are made in Earth’s biblical doctrines. Eternal life is an impossibility.”

  “That’s a lie! It is all true — one hundred per cent true. Alphans live it from the moment they form a union with their mates,” Macao countered, his hackles rising.

  Dana sensed she’d touched a wound. “You’ve argued this before, apparently.”

  “And won,” he assured. “You see, my mate was a Shonedren Captain, not an Alphan,” he reminded. “Her body died. She was killed in the line-of-duty eleven years ago, but her soul is with me, forever and always. The ‘nous’ does not die.”

  “Galt speaks of the ‘loss of great ones,'” Dana reminded.

  He reached across the table and clutched her wrist. “Can you not feel her, right now?” Macao demanded, “She wants to know to whom the Forever Pointe memory belongs.”

  Dana shut her eyes, but did not pull away.

  Without the N-link, she could feel Macao’s mate. When she reopened her eyes, she could even see the Shonedren Captain, Shalee Raja, standing at Macao’s left.

  “Her spirit stands beside you,” Dana whispered, deflecting the question, suddenly realizing with embarrassment that last night, in Macao’s quarters, Shalee Raja was there as well.

  “This is troubling,” Dana admitted, but distinctly heard Raja whisper, Fear not.

  “Is she a telepath? I don’t recall Shonedren having that ability.”

  “They do not. She has my skills.”

  “And your training? I can see and hear your mate.”

  �
�She can sense your memories, only through me…” he began, letting go of Dana’s wrist.

  The apparition of his mate vanished.

  Dana set her empty tea cup aside with unsteady fingers, looked deeply into Macao’s eyes, seeing him in a far different light.

  “You are never alone?”

  He nodded.

  “Never?”

  He nodded.

  “What if something should happen to you? Are you both lost?”

  Macao threw his napkin down onto the table top, suddenly angry. “Where is this going?”

  “Galt wrote…”

  “He’s not Alphan,” Macao said, abruptly rising, “however, I suggest you re-read the Theorem and you’ll come to understand. It’s called ‘eternal life’ for a reason”

  “Where do you go when you die?” Dana blurted out the question.

  Macao declined to answer, deflecting the issue by ordering, “First thing tomorrow, I want you to evaluate Trader One. I need to know what will it take to make repairs.” He stared down at Dana silently for a long moment before turning and exiting the lounge.

  She regretted bringing up the concept of everlasting life. Many bristled at the unknowable koan. Yet, she puzzled over Macao’s reaction.

  Actually, he’d brought it up by inspecting the scars on her wrists.

  I touched a wound, she thought, taking the tea cup and his coffee carafe and sending them down a recycling chute. Well, I have a few of those myself.

  She wondered, chewing her lower lip, what it would be like to never be alone.

  Is that why SSID wanted agents to have no ‘entanglements’? It had to be.

  Dana glanced again at Miller and Mansfield. The latter glared in her direction, while downing the last of his drink, slammed the empty on the bar, and then stormed out of the galley.

  Instincts shouted, Watch out for him!

  Miller merely scowled in her direction, and then turned away.

  Watch out for him, too!

  She sighed, and headed down the corridor to the Auxiliary Bridge to begin her previously scheduled six-hour shift, turning her attention to Lancer.

  The ship felt uneasy, just like the command staff.

  Dana equated it with, “Being in enemy territory,” though she wasn’t certain why.