“I wish it so.”
“Course calculated. Helm, are you ready to jump to interstellar?”
Kell squawked, “I am.”
“Engage…” She wanted to see what the ship could do, ordering, “Speed: Level 4.”
Kell didn’t blink a beady eye.
Over the intercom, Dana called, “Secure from departure stations. Enjoy your flight.”
Hawk turned and descended the ramp. A humanoid woman replaced him.
“Cap?”
Dana eyed the woman, noting the slave torque about her slender neck, lash-length, platinum-blonde hair, almost masculine size and features of the lime-green, hybrid human, but couldn’t be certain what DNA mix could combine to create her.
“You like chocolay? Lita will bring you some.”
“Please,” Dana responded, returning her attention to the ship.
Kal-King purred. She rather liked the melodic tones.
Maybe not so bad after all…
Kieran responded telepathically, We’re tracking you. Arkares? Smugglers’ den of the galaxy — odd choice for your first outing with Hawk. I’m aboard Kaiden.
Dana sulked.
Mad at me?
She ran some quick diagnostics on the ship, ignoring him.
I love you.
You’re distracting me, Kieran. Go deal with your emergency or something.
D?
If this is what it is like to be mated, it sucks.
Lita brought a mug of steaming chocolay, offering, “I take over, Cap, if you like.” Dana accepted both, getting up from the navigations station.
“We’re on a direct route to Arkares, advise if course corrections are necessary.”
Lita shrugged, “Okie, Cap.”
“Who doubles for you, Kell?”
The Tresgan squeaked, “I and Dran are teamed, Presk and Dran are, and Kalan and Trede below.”
Dana nodded. “Gee?” She sipped some chocolay and then moved to look over the communications officer’s shoulder. “The gravity seems low normal. Have engineering give us a bit more on the artificial gravity meter.”
Gee nodded, calling the order down below.
Trede didn’t answer, but she sensed the change right away.
“Perfect,” she said. “Steady as she goes, Kell.”
Dana took the mug and started down to the rotunda lounge, deck 2.
Hawk jumped up from his chair at a conference-sized table that could easily seat ten.
He pointed her to what appeared to be the captain’s chair.
She set her cup down first, and then the chair swallowed her. “Guess I need some pillows.”
He didn’t find that humorous.
Hawk tapped the table top and a holographic padlet appeared above the shiny surface. “I will have slyerp.”
Dana didn’t understand what he’d ordered. Hawk motioned to her.
“I’m fine with this,” she assured, indicating the mug.
The hologram vanished. Hawk stared. Dana matched it.
“Eight hours to Arkares,” she told Hawk.
That seemed to please him.
“I think you are sweeter than Heskar,” Hawk announced.
Dana scoffed, knowing the translator Hawk was using didn’t quite get that right, but let it slide.
A soupy mixture in a bowl arrived, delivered by an exotic looking human, who introduced himself as Halpin, Patrick, Hawk’s personal chef.
“I’ll be in my quarters resting.” She quickly excused herself, clawed up her tote and backpack and headed toward the big cabin at the end of the corridor with the sign on the door, then she sighed hoping the gag-response would subside.
Dana spent some minutes familiarizing herself with the blueprints and specs on the ship, and the crew bios that Heskar had conveniently left on his log computer with the lamest of passwords. She also found an in-depth bio on herself, with images dating as far back as her Medical Center East days as an ER doctor and surgeon. In fact, one might even have been an image from the night that Stiletto crashed at the Capitol City Observatory, the night of the harvest full moon, all those years ago.
Odd…
Hawk — or Heskar — had done some homework. Time for her to do the same.
Kal-King had seven decks, and a good number of storage compartments. It ran on a 20-hour clock, with 5-hour shifts. She wondered what secrets she would find down on the lower decks. The crew were experienced spacers, though an unusual lot, and not all Tresgans.
Kell was shown as helmsman, but was rated for computers.
Dran, also a Tresgan, served as relief for Kell.
Presk switched between computers and circuitry.
Trede stayed below, managing circuitry and engineering.
Kalan was assistant engineer and maintenance.
Lita, was listed as secondary navigator, but had no technical background.
Halpin, a slave bought on some strange outworld, served as chef and personal steward to Hawk.
Jordan only manned communications.
Dr. Russet was listed as Hawk’s personal physician, but had an infirmary on deck 4.
Dana couldn’t wait to get a glimpse of that, and went below to snoop.
Being a tribrid herself, she found Russet, a human/Kentorian hybrid, incredibly intriguing. He clearly had deformities, with skin so pale as to be albino, and his eyes were translucent aqua. His need for dental work became obvious when she entered his hideaway and caught him smiling.
“I protest you.”
Dana stared. “Why? Because I’m Enturian, Doctor?”
He snorted, “You are a tri-breed.”
“Tribrid,” she corrected.
Russet shook his head negatively. “I cannot treat you.”
Dana assured, “I was a doctor…don’t worry about me…”
“If something should…”
“Nothing will,” she countered, empathetically sensing his discomfort stemmed mostly from a sexual attraction. After taking a last look about, she headed for the exit.
Dana did her best, but found no weaponry systems. None. They had to have some defensive capabilities. No privateer would dare to galavant about a very dangerous galaxy without some means of protection.
She gave up.
K? I found nothing.
Kieran wondered, Do they have wraith?
Invisibility? Nothing even remotely close to it. I still think this is a bad idea. Five hours from Arkares.
I’m six hours from The Crossroads, on autopilot. Get some rest…and stop frowning.
She wasn’t aware she had been. Can you see me frown?
Kieran didn’t respond.
Dana scoffed, believing it impossible. Yet…
After a nap and a very light snack, all of about five hours later, Dana returned to the bridge. Lita was still at navigations. Gee was picking his nose, earphones clamped down over both ears, obviously listening to some really awful techno-music.
Kell was quietly squawking. She thought it might be Tresgan expletives.
“As long as I’m captain, you will use Uni only on the bridge. And keep your swearing to yourself.”
His back arched, eyes never straying from his console screens.
Dana took the big chair. The bridge hummed.
She heard Kieran chuckle.
Do you miss being at the controls?
She sneered at him. Are you eavesdropping?
Can’t fool me, DD.
I am a little bored.
Review the logs and see what Captain Heskar reported for the last few months as ports-o-call.
Dana sighed. Already did…You know how awful it is to listen to logs in a Tresgan’s dull, monotonous voice?
That awful?
Yes! They have a despicable habit of misusing the pronoun, I.
Indeed…so what did you find?
All the usual ports-o-call — nowhere little spaceports — SSID already has them on the watch lists.
Probably…
We’re less than an ho
ur out from Arkares. I’m getting a bit nervous about this.
You’ll be fine. I’m with you.
K? What’s slyerp?
Kieran didn’t respond.
Dana guessed it wasn’t palatable for Enturians in any event.
K?
He didn’t answer.
She frowned, trying again.
The link had failed.
Or, something was terribly wrong.
Arkares loomed ahead. She ordered Kell to decrease their speed. It wasn’t much more than a giant asteroid with an orbital space dock, with every known ship, and even some exotics, either preparing to dock or departing.
“A lot of traffic,” Dana grumbled, taking over from Lita at the navigation console. “Gee, get us clearance.”
Kell remained silent.
She got suspicious, empathetically realizing the Tresgan — though hard to read — was hiding something. She sensed the same thing from Gee.
They all knew something.
It’s a trap.
She felt certain of it, but she couldn’t get through to Kieran.
Gee called, “Arkares Monitor has cleared us to space port Bay 11.”
“Order everyone to stations…” She turned her head, “Kell, are you…?”
“I am ready.”
Dana tensed, watching the Tresgan’s every move, relaxing only once the ship was on the pad and descending into an interior bay. The deck came to a stop and the overhead bay doors shut.
Lights came on within.
“Shut her down, Kal-King,” came over the speaker.
Kell looked to her.
“Shut her down and perform the postflight checklist. I’ll advise Hawk.”
Dana fled the bridge. Before she reached deck 4, Hawk’s cabin, she had to use the Eridani techniques to calm her fluttering heart.
Hawk bid her enter. She chose to stay in the doorway of the luxury cabin, unhurriedly looking about. It didn’t fit him.
The Tresgan had already dressed in a dark blue silk tunic over black trousers, with black boots, and a formal, hooded robe. “I will have you join me; wear something…modest.”
Dana’s eyebrows rose. “Define modest?”
Hawk squawked, indicating his long-sleeved tunic and high boots.
Dana nodded, and retreated to her cabin, digging through the clothing Kieran had provided. There wasn’t much in the modest category. She fondly remembered her overalls from the flight deck at Station Four, while changing into a black sheath dress with a long-sleeved, gray undershirt. The hem ended about an inch above her high boots. “Too bad,” she decided. At least the neckline was high, exposing no cleavage. After verifying that the Sterillian dagger was secure in its sheath inside her left boot, she joined Hawk in the rotunda, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
“I will lead, as is the custom of Tresgan,” he ordered, moving to the hatch with a swish of his robes.
She knew what that meant: keep silent and defer as a slave would to a master. The custom chafed; however, she would pretend he was an ambassador or royal and do his bidding — within limits, of course.
Hawk led down the ramp to the deck, and then across to a second ship sharing the bay, stopping just short of the place where the ship’s ramp descended.
Dana shivered from the cold — or was it with a sense of dread?
The Tresgan stretched to his full height, and then started up.
No one came to greet them.
Instincts screaming again that this was a trap, Dana hesitated, noting the nameplate on the ship, Kalis, which, she recalled from one of DOC Cartwright’s library books, was the name of an ancient, ceremonial double-edged sword. How appropriate…
Hawk stepped inside and stopped, bowed to a man dressed all in white, then whirled about and pressed an injector against Dana’s shoulder.
Darkness quickly overwhelmed her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dana stared up into a mirror image of her own worried, mismatched eyes, guessing, “March?”
“January…”
What was hidden behind his eyes, she wasn’t sure. Her empathetic senses were too confused to focus. The eyes seemed to convey admiration, and something more that she couldn’t easily identify.
“Where am I?” she demanded, “and where’s Hawk?”
“Hawk delivered you. Don’t you remember?”
Dana blinked. “I remember Kal-King making the approach, receiving landing clearances. It gets hazy after that,” she admitted, sensing empathetically it was what he wanted to hear.
“Good.”
Of course, it wasn’t good from her standpoint — only from his. He held up the SSID tracking chip Kieran had implanted. “Do you know what this is? I removed it surgically from your body.”
She blinked, narrowing her brown right eye just the way he did. “It’s a tracking device. Could the medical center on Tonner III have inserted it while I was there after Seraph crashed?”
March frowned. “That may be.” He tossed the thing to the floor and crushed it with a boot heel. “Usually SSID inserts them when they want to track someone. We have ways to block the signals, of course.”
“The Star Service uses them, too,” Dana countered. “Was it fresh?”
March scowled. “Fresh?”
“Yes…Fresh? Newly inserted? Surely, Doctor, you can tell if it was recent — say, within a week or so?”
He didn’t have an answer.
Dana struggled to sit up, unconcerned that the blanket slipped away exposing her naked torso.
“You do show signs of recent surgeries, but on your left knee,” March continued, watching unabashedly as she dressed in her black dress that she found among the personal items from her pack strewn about on a second diagnostic bed. “I don’t see my boots,” she complained, avoiding the crushed device near his heel.
Treating him as a colleague and equal since, after all, he was an accomplished ophthalmologist, according to his adoptive brother, Doctor Garcia.
March, however did not reciprocate. He treated her as a patient, bluntly affirming, “You have no ovaries. Was that a voluntary sterilization?”
Dana nodded. “My DNA, just like yours, has mutated.” She grumbled, as she stuffed her link-reader and other items back into the pack, getting ready to leave.
“That’s not possible…You are January; your DNA is perfect.”
She shot him a sidelong glance. “And who eactly told you that?”
“I did.” The disembodied voice came from speakers in the ceiling.
“And who the hell are you?” she demanded. “Have you been watching me as I got dressed? How rude!” she shot back at the ceiling.
“I am August…Augustus Kaelin King, to be accurate. The last but not least, so to speak.”
“Hardly,” Dana countered, sensing more than the man wanted her to know from just the few words of introduction.
“Well, the rest were defective and ordered destroyed.”
Dana elected to tread very carefully. “You know how many were cloned?”
“Twelve in all.”
“Are you sure?”
The voice, until that time confident and assertive, faltered as if uncertain. “I have the records from the Station Four genetics laboratory. That is what they show. Do you have information that proves otherwise?”
“Let’s talk, face-to-face, just family,” Dana offered, smirking at March. “Oh, wait, we’ll need April and Novem and…” she stopped herself.
The voice commanded, “Bring her up.”
March’s blue, left eye narrowed as he whispered a warning, “You shouldn’t antagonize him.”
“Where are my boots?” Dana demanded, letting him know she was antagonized, “Did you use a spinal anesthesia on me? My back hurts something awful!”
March groaned. “No, I did not.” He stopped at the door and motioned her to follow into an adjoining office, pointing to a chair where her boots waited. The dagger, of course, was missing.
“So why does my
back hurt?”
Dana dropped her pack on the deck, pulled on each boot, moaning from the effort, keeping her back to him, while also checking the secret pocket in the backpack for the medical injector. Unfortunately, it was also gone.
“Would you like me to…” March didn’t wait, but used a medical scanner on her spine since her back was to him. “I detect no reason for any discomfort.”
She rubbed the area around T-2. “Not even here?”
He announced, “Nothing.”
“Odd…” She sealed the pack and announced, “All right then, let’s go see our brother.”
March stiffened. “We do not consider ourselves kinsmen.”
Dana roared with laughter. “What else are we? Litter mates? No…petrie dish darlings?”
March scowled, and raised an eyebrow the way April often did; clearly a learned trait from consorting with Galaxeans.
“We have the same father. We all have his mismatched eyes,” Dana said, as they started together down a ramp and proceeded to the end of the corridor.
“So, you’ve met him?”
“I found him.”
The announcement didn’t seem to sit well with number three in the clan. “Who is he?” March demanded, skidding to a stop before a set of double doors.
Dana glanced his way, but declined to answer, “Later…”
March touched the lock and the doors spread wide for them to enter a circular conference room with a round table in the center and twelve chairs in an analog clock formation. A man sat at the far chair, at the 0800 position. At many of the other chairs were picture images, some of infants and others much more recent; one of Dana at the first chair, one of March, and one of April at the third and fourth chairs. Even November and December at the eleventh and twelfth chairs. Except for June and July, chairs six and seven, which had none.
“The whole clan,” Dana teased, locking stares with Augustus Kaelin King. His cinnamon colored hair curled long at the nape of his neck, and touched his eyebrows at the front. She knew it was fake, like the wigs Kieran often wore when impersonating ambassadors.
August looked younger than March because of it. Unlike March, he had strong Galaxean facial features and ears that gently pointed. However, he had the same slim build and emotionless face. She realized, also, he was severely crippled.
Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King Page 11
