Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer

by Joyz W. Riter

  “I’ve already considered that option. If Chief McHale was with us?”

  “McHale?” Dana groaned. “What if he…”

  “He’s not our spy, Dana, I can assure you. However, I don’t want to pull him off Lancer, though I trust him implicitly.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  The Captain scowled. “McHale and I have…a lot of history. He’s needed aboard Lancer.”

  “But…” Dana groaned.

  “McHale’s saved my backside too many times for me to distrust him,” Macao said.

  “Forgive me, sir, but…”

  The Captain closed his eyes, lounging back, “Let me tell you about Mac…”

  “We were freshly christened lieutenants, with a lot more enthusiasm than common sense, and decided to volunteer for ground party duty — just a routine investigation of a bad shuttle landing with no hope for survivors — thinking, maybe, we might recover the flight recorder and that some equipment could be salvaged. I’d already spent my extra duty pay before we went down for a look-see. It wasn’t at all suspicious and all six of us on the ground party were a bit lax in our preparations. The Captain sent along a few ensigns, thinking they’d get some experience.

  “The crash site was a mess, down at the bottom of a ravine. McHale, as senior engineer, pretty much took charge. He handed out assignments to all and called for me to tag along to check out some glittering, metallic debris halfway up the rugged cliffside.

  “Dawn had just broken and the day was destined to be hot and humid. The atmosphere was a tad heavy for me, as an Alphan, but the Terrans felt comfortable.

  “The climb proved difficult. Our hands were bleeding long before we reached the first ledge, but our target was now easily identifiable as the shuttle flight recorder, presumably jettisoned before the crash, and a valuable prize indeed, if we could get to it.

  “McHale led. Quite suddenly, he lost his footing and sent an avalanche of loose rocks careening down upon me. I lost my grip and skidded several meters backward, using my arms to fend off any blows to the head from debris. My left elbow caught a large boulder and suffered a fracture. My weapon came loose from my belt and went tumbling down into the ravine. My voice-badge got smashed during the slide.

  “McHale faired better. He managed to get up to the next ledge, but his knees bled profusely.

  “What a pair! I struggled up to join him, tended his leg wound, using only my right hand and my teeth to tie tatters of material from my uniform about his leg to stop the bleeding.

  “He used his sleeve to rig a sling for my arm. We decided he should stay put and rest for the trip back down and I would go up the next twenty or so meters to reach the flight recorder. I’d scoot it off the ledge and let it slide down, hopefully into McHale’s lap.

  “When I was just about to grab for the recorder, a laser beam hit it squarely. It glowed and shattered. I protected my face with my good arm. Afterwards, when I looked again, I found myself looking straight into the muzzle of a Castellan weapon. The man behind the weapon sneered from behind crooked, carnivorous teeth. He didn’t look like your standard Castellan, was dressed in civvies, but my telepathic senses screamed that he was. I can usually detect a Castellan quite easily; it doesn’t work as well with some other races.

  “Another, of equally tall stature, crouched on a ledge above us, with his weapon trained on McHale. ‘Throw your weapons down,’ the first shouted in Castellean.

  “I responded, in a sad attempt to speak their language, that I had none. McHale didn’t understand the command; or, rather, didn’t let on that he understood.

  “The first Castellan ordered me to translate. I turned my back to him to look at McHale. The Chief’s face conveyed a confidence I found rather strange. Then I closed my eyes and trained my Alphan senses on him. I picked up his thoughts and understood the plan. I faked a bad step and slid a few meters away from the Castellan. It wasn’t acting. I hate heights. I panicked, falling and crying in agony, banging my other elbow.

  “While I had the attention of both Castellans, McHale drew his weapon and took them out. The first died where he was standing. The second fell from his perch and his body skidded past me, tumbling down the cliffside.

  “I breathed a sigh of relief. Shock was starting to cloud my vision. McHale tapped his voice-badge, but there was no response. Must have been a jamming signal blocking transmission.

  “Looking down into the ravine, we couldn’t see a trace of the rest of the ground party; no hint at all of movement down there.

  “Two Castellans dead, how many more were left, we didn’t know. We had one weapon between us and McHale had a bad leg and my arm was useless.

  “Fane! What a mess! An easy assignment, I kept thinking. Yeah, right!”

  Janz Macao rubbed his left elbow absently, as he silently recalled the rest of the adventure, reliving with nearly equal intensity the balance of the nightmare.

  “We started back down at a snail’s pace. It was hot — unbearably hot. My skin started to turn copper color from the ultraviolet. The sunblock I normally wear had washed away from sweating so much. Every muscle in my body screamed under the strain.

  “McHale stopped, and lay there on his back for a time, eyes closed, face up to the sun, barely conscious. He complained of feeling dizzy. I didn’t realize, but he’d lost a lot of blood.

  “I slid closer, wrestled the weapon from his grip and ended up carrying him over my shoulder once we were back on sure footing. All the while, I wondered what in hell I would do when I reached the bottom of the ravine.

  “The matter proved rhetorical. The rest of the ground party, under the watchful eyes of four more Castellans, looked my way.

  “These were full-featured Castellans, rugged men in their service uniforms. The others had obviously been surgically altered somehow, perhaps to let them pass for hybrid humans.

  “It was too late for me to do anything with the weapon. I walked right into the pack of them and set McHale down next to a terrified and badly beaten ensign who was beyond tears. At least it was in the shade.

  “In Castellean, I told their senior commander that his two men up on the ledge were dead and the shuttle recorder was destroyed.

  “He held back one of his lieutenant-commanders from killing me right on the spot.

  “You will do well as a translator,” the senior officer told me.

  “His name was Kelleran. He told me how his two cousins had infiltrated Star Service security and were returning with codes and information to rendezvous with him on this miserable excuse for a planet, where the two surgically altered men would replace the first two and return to our Star Service to do more of the same. He wanted that info. It was somewhere in the rubble of the crashed craft.

  “He decided to use us to get at it. Somewhere in the debris was an indestructible data disk. ‘Find it!’ He commanded.

  “I knew if I stalled long enough and the ship got no response from us, the Captain would send someone looking.

  “So, I rounded up my ground party officers and told them to keep on digging with the intent of finding the damned disk. It would keep us all alive, at least, a little while longer.

  “I told Kelleran that my arm was fractured and I was suffering sun exposure. If I could tend McHale’s wound, he might be useful.

  “McHale was aware of the situation but had lost a lot of blood. He kept telling me to ‘wing it, partner.’ Wing it? I didn’t know what he meant. He started feebly digging through the wreckage with the others and I made a good attempt at looking like I was accomplishing something, too. I started throwing all sorts of trash aside, all the while moving away from the rest of the ground party. Kelleran had one of his men covering me.

  “I was digging under the wing of the shuttle, in the shade, when it hit me what McHale might have meant. The wing storage compartments were almost always used to store personal gear. If I found that gear, I might also find a weapon and possibly the data disk.

  “By that time, with the
midday sun baking us, my face must have glowed, since I sunburn so easily. I kept at it and found what I wanted. I called Kelleran over.

  “I think I’ve got your…” I broke off. Well, I’d found a body, badly decomposed, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to dig under it. Kelleran pushed me aside and while he inspected the corpse, I noticed all the others watched him and not me.

  “I made my move, smashed the nearest guard, grabbed his weapon, and got off two good clean shots before the Castellans had a chance to react. McHale jumped the third guard and disabled Kelleran with that weapon.

  “I heard the sound of a MAT pod and six of our security officers materialized close by, coming to the rescue.

  “McHale and I got decorated for retrieving the data and saving the day. His knees still bother him and he often refuses ground party duty because of it. It’s a fair enough request from the man that saved my life.

  “We were debriefed by SSID. That data disk could have blown the cover on twenty or more of our Star Service spies operating undercover in that sector. Catching Kelleran proved to be incredibly fortunate. He was the key man to over a dozen Castellan and human-hybrid spies in the Star Service.”

  Macao glanced over at Dana Cartwright, to be certain she understood his meaning. “Now you know why the idea of spies aboard Lancer is particularly disturbing to me.”

  Dana stared forward. “Our spy isn’t Castellan, sir, nor a hybrid. He’s a Star Service officer. That makes him far more dangerous.”

  “Yes,” Macao muttered, “but if I’m right, he’s going to make a mistake and give himself away very soon.”

  Dana frowned, looking to him for a further explanation.

  Macao merely said, “Let’s wait a few more minutes before you fly us home.” He lounged back comfortably in the copilot’s seat, closing his eyes again to rest.

  She sank back in the pilot’s chair. “Do you have history with other members of Lancer’s command crew?”

  He chuckled. “Actually, yes, I do.”

  “Jay Gordon?”

  Macao nodded.

  “Sam Ehrmann?”

  “Dana, you’re giving me a headache.”

  “I have a cure for headaches,” she reminded.

  “I do, too. Is that why you pushed me away? It’s just the two of us; permission to speak freely.”

  “We would regret it,” she answered simply, “that about sums it up.”

  He remained silent for a time. “You don’t enjoy such pleasures? Or do you prefer other women?”

  “No, sir, I don’t lean that direction,” Dana quickly countered.

  “Then why?”

  “My heart’s been broken,” she admitted honestly, “and it took a long time to heal.”

  Janz Macao nodded. “Ah…so you are gun shy?”

  “Let’s just say I’m cautious.” She busied herself with navigational calculations. “We’re expending battery power. Would you like an update on…”

  “I’d like you to do that headache treatment, if you don’t mind.” He extended his left hand.

  She released the lap bar, got up from the pilot’s seat and stood beside him, taking a hold of his hand, exerting pressure between the thumb and first finger. “This is the elbow that was fractured?”

  He nodded.

  She touched a place on his upper arm and he winced. “You may have some residual nerve damage. You are left handed?”

  “Ambidextrous.”

  She pressed upon his left shoulder blade and got a similar reaction, then upon a place on his neck, just above his uniform shirt collar.

  “Fane! Stop!”

  She released the pressure and began to massage the area.

  “Who taught you this?”

  “I studied…”

  “EMTs don’t learn this sort of thing,” he protested.

  “…Alphan anatomy and physiology,” she reminded, expanding the area being massaged to include his neck and shoulders. “Your muscles are very tight. Is there no masseuse aboard?”

  “I may add it to your job description…well-done…I could get used to this,” Macao muttered, closing his eyes, enjoying her touch more than he dared admit. “Your file says you were an eye doctor and a surgeon. You shouldn’t have changed careers…”

  “I had to, sir. The suicide…” She stopped speaking, though her fingers still pressed deeply massaging his neck to relieve the tension in the muscles.

  “Go on,” he coaxed.

  “I told you about an emergency, a suicide…self-inflicted wounds.”

  “The wrist scars…I’ve never heard of an empath manifesting such wounds.”

  “I felt everything; I saw her…mate die. It tore me up inside,” Dana admitted. “However, I had been thinking about leaving medicine for some time. Everyone kept pushing me towards being a professor and teaching. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but it wasn’t that.”

  He sensed a wave of emotion; that he’d touched a deep wound. “I’m sorry…” He got up from the chair and pulled her against his chest, “sorry I pressured you.”

  Just the idea of suicide troubled him.

  “I’m sorry…” He brought his lips down to hers, for a very gentle kiss.

  She turned her face away.

  “When we get back, let’s order dinner and just be friends. I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing.” He massaged her back, feeling the tension in her muscles, hoping his touch was not the cause. “Relax,” he whispered.

  She couldn’t.

  He closed his eyes and tried very hard to telepathically connect with her thoughts. “You are very hard to read. You’ve built walls.”

  “That’s the Eridani training,” she reminded.

  “More than that…’he’ hurt you very deeply. He wounded you…He was Alphan; that’s why my touch causes such a reaction. Was he the one who gave you the N-link?”

  “No,” Dana shook her head.

  “PK gave it to you?”

  Dana pulled away. “How do you know that?”

  He smiled. “Who was PK?”

  She turned her back.

  Macao slid his right hand up under her hair braid and she stiffened even more. “He was Alphan.”

  “Please don’t,” she murmured.

  Macao allowed the connection. His fingers caressed the nape of her neck. “Prince Korwin…PK? You went through academy with a High Prince?” The Captain sighed.

  “There are regulations against this, sir. I could report you for sexual harassment.”

  “You won’t. And, it’s not. It’s just my feeble attempt at showing you how very attractive I find you.”

  She shivered.

  Under other circumstances, she would have experienced great pleasure.

  He gave her a brief, but intense glimpse of the desire he felt. She could also feel his manhood rising.

  “Sir, this is such a bad idea.” She pushed him away.

  He forced her back up against the slope of a console and leaned in, pressing fabric against fabric, straining with passion. “I promise to give you pleasure.”

  Still, she wavered.

  “No one will ever know.”

  In spite of the wonderfully erotic link he had established, she could not give herself to him in lust. “Please stop…sir…your mate will know.”

  He slid his hand away, and backed away, placing a gentle kiss upon her cheek. “I will not use force, Dana. I would be lying if I said I did not feel the temptation to take you against your will.”

  He opened his eyes, studying the frown lines at the corners of her lips, the pain on her face, the struggle within her. “You want to love again. I sense it. Can you not allow yourself some pleasure?”

  She forcefully pushed him away and recovered her composure.

  “So it’s me,” he mumbled.

  “If you weren’t my C-O, and you were not mated, I wouldn’t hesitate a moment,” she admitted.

  “I am…” He heaved a sigh, petting her beautiful cinnamon hair, givin
g the top of her head a quick, little, friendly kiss, then settled back down in the copilot’s seat, staring forward. “I’ll just have to fantasize what it would be like.”

  Dana bit her lip, but offered, “Fantasies are healthy.”

  “Are they?” He closed his eyes and a pleasant smile formed on his face.

  “Shall I fly us home?” she asked quietly.

  “Wait just a few minutes more…”

  She busied herself with a console behind him. “Battery power is down to 70 percent. Showing a power drain of some sort... I’ll need to trace the cause when we return.”

  He didn’t acknowledge.

  The minutes slipped away.

  Dana returned to the pilot’s seat and reached with her right hand toward the ignition switch on the control panel, but abruptly stopped short. Her eyes caught sight of movement out the front viewport. Without the scanners, she couldn’t confirm the identity, but she announced, “Captain, we have company.”

  “Do we?” He responded, opening his eyes and following her gaze.

  “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” she mumbled.

  “Our veiled friend has disrobed?” He chuckled, “That design matches a smuggler spotted frequently in the Raritan system; she’s a suspiciously long way from home.”

  “Heading our way,” Dana informed him. “We might out run them.”

  “Not likely…our engines have been off for too long. Will take time to recycle. Besides, I have no doubt their firepower equals Lancer’s. No,” Macao lounged back, “shut down more systems. Play dead.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me.”

  “A sitting target,” she retorted nervously, but obeyed his order. Even the air circulation system whirred to a halt. “It’s the oldest trick in the book, Captain,” she protested quietly.

  “And it works like a charm,” he reminded. Then he growled, “Don’t panic on me, Mister Cartwright. You swore you weren’t a squeamish female. You’d better act the part.”

  “I won’t panic, Captain,” she assured, but her hands were quaking a bit. “I don’t like playing cat and mouse.”