Gordie moved to a nearby bench to grab their towels. The Captain, meanwhile, got to his feet and stretched his neck muscles, already aching from the workout. Then he answered the Chief’s question. “Not one word yet.”
Gordie’s eyebrows shot upward. “That’s not a good sign, is it?”
Macao scowled, still breathing heavily, as he took the offered towel. Drying his fading red, curly hair, he slid it down over his face and neck and used it to give his shoulders a long, slow, cool-down stretch.
All the while, Gordie let out a yawn, barely moist under the arms from the workout.
“I’m looking forward to having Neville aboard.” Gordie taunted, “He can outlast you on the mats.”
Macao had to laugh. “Aye, that he can. He’s one of the best. That’s why I requested him specifically for this mission. We can’t be certain who we’re up against.” He stopped there. “Can’t discuss it further until we’re underway.”
Gordie nodded. “Understood, sir.”
Macao headed for the showers, leaving the Chief to sort out the equipment and tidy up the gym, even though there were yeomen from the maintenance and supply department assigned to that task at the end of every shift.
Janz guessed that Gordie would run some laps and, maybe, even do some sets of push-ups before calling it a day. However, he needed to get up to the bridge. For as Gordie had pointed out, Lancer was a day out from Four, and had heard nothing — nothing at all — from Mission Control or SSID, and that meant something. Macao wasn’t certain exactly what.
If he sat and meditated, using his Alphan telepathic abilities, he might just pick up some subtle nuances. Once they arrived, of course, he would receive the formal mission package.
Janz thought of Brandt, his long-time friend and a trusted Star Service officer. Couldn’t ask for a better number two for the mission. They went back a dozen years and kept in touch, especially after the Imperial Treaty brokered by Captain Syzek and his team. No, couldn’t ask for a better small craft pilot than Neville Brandt.
Dressed in a fresh, one-piece, day uniform with his rank upon the sleeves, Captain Macao took the lift up to Deck One, and stepped through the doors directly onto Lancer’s Bridge. He scanned every station with his eyes, stopping momentarily at the high-backed swivel chair for Circuitry, the chair Neville Brandt would fill. Ensign Matthews sat there, looking busy, but probably was just monitoring chatter from the auxiliary station on Deck Six.
Cruisers like Lancer maintained double and even triple redundancy stations in the event the upper decks were hit by enemy fire. During the war with the Imperium, Lancer took the front line. They also took a beating, which was the reason his ship would soon be sent to salvage.
One last mission…
“Mister Nichols, anything from Four?” The Captain demanded, standing beside his central console but not settling into the chair.
“Nothing, sir,” First Officer Nichols responded from the forward-right Helm console.
The octagonal Bridge had eight stations, five along the forward walls and three behind the Captain’s central console, but only six were customarily manned unless they were at battle alert or battle standby. Security and Sciences rarely reported up to the Main Deck Bridge, though they could send up specialists as needed.
“Mister Nishada, send a message to Four advising our ETA and requesting a mission update.”
From the Communications station beyond the Helm, Nishada acknowledged, “Aye.”
To no one in particular, Macao announced, “I’ll be in my quarters. Advise the moment we receive a response.”
He turned to go, took one last look about and decided all was well.
After stepping into his quarters on Deck Two, Macao winced and rubbed his shoulder where the mat had connected. He’d never admit to a bruise, but was almost certain the spot was discolored if he looked.
Because of their gray-green blood, Alphans usually turned just a dark shade of gray when wounded or bruised, unlike humans whose bruises turned purple or in Gordie’s case, because of his Earth-human Zambian ancestry, invisible.
The bruise troubled less than his spiritual ache.
Janz turned to the left wall of the bed chamber, approaching the life-star hovering there. A dim light illumined it from behind, sending rays of color through the many jewels on the surface.
Be still, my love, his life-mate counseled with wisdom and concern.
Shalee?
I am with you always, Beloved.
His heart beat just that little bit faster, hearing her voice in his mind, and feeling the link between them. He fingered the center jewel upon the life-star — her jewel — and all the love for his wife and forever mate flowed through him with a rush.
I miss you so.
I am here.
Shalee? I tried to save you.
Hush, Beloved. We are one. We shall always be one. United, forever and always.
He felt her near, but in spirit only. His Shonedren wife of fourteen years was gone now for eleven of them.
Shalee?
Beloved?
This is my last mission.
So you say. Where will you go? What will you do? Beloved, the Star Service has been good for you.
I… I’ll fill the life-star and send it home. Then I’m done. I’ll be free. We’ll be free.
Will you return to me, Beloved? You ignore your meditations. You are a 33rd Degree Master of the Elect, yet you ignore your rituals. You ignore the opportunity for time with me, claiming duties. You are a man and you need the peace only our union can give. You are a man and you require a woman’s kisses and touch.
Dear One…
Seek a woman, Beloved.
I cannot. No one but you…
You must.
Macao hung his head. She knew the truth. He could not lie to his life-mate. They were joined forever and always — one flesh, one heart, one mind — the true marriage all Alphans longed to consummate. However, to take another woman in his arms and feign affection, for the benefit of physical relations, that he could not do.
Rest now, Beloved, and I will come to you in your dreams.
He sank down onto the bed, stretching out, feeling her close the moment his eyes closed. In his waking dream, they were together again once more.
CHAPTER FOUR
In her dream, she was flying. Dana felt the exhilaration of a kite on the breeze, hang-gliding, soaring like an eagle over Forever Pointe, a red rock canyon of Centauri Prime. It was but a memory — and not her own — one that energized and inspired. That it should come to her, just before the wake-up alarm sounded, seemed prophetic, though she could not say exactly why.
She opened her eyes, glancing about her tiny quarters, with the hum of Four’s massive turbines churning and generating electricity for the station the only sound reaching her ears. A soft red glow came from the message lamp on the desktop viewer winking in a double pattern, signaling she had messages though she did not recall hearing the device activate, nor recall it blinking last night before retiring for the evening.
“Must have fallen asleep reading,” she muttered, yawning and moving her padlet, still beside her on the pillow, to the bedside table.
Getting up from the small bunk and padding, naked, across the carpeting, she went to use the facilities first, and then dressed in a fresh uniform with new faux-leather boots. Once presentable, she sank into the chair at the small console desk, activating the viewer.
The first message, from an AN at the Infirmary, advised that the surgery on the patient was successful, that Commander Brandt was awake and asking for her. The second was from Station Security, a man who did not identify himself further, demanding she appear at 0900, to give a statement detailing her perspective on the assault, and the part she’d played as first responder.
“That ought to prove entertaining,” Dana grumbled, checking the chronograph on the unit.
She had just enough time to gulp down some coffee from the digitizer before heading over to the
designated station to give her testimony. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been interrogated by an investigator. They tended to be rather tedious, detail-oriented, bores. Well, she knew how to respond. All her medical training taught her to be thorough, and just as tedious.
Cartwright stared at the Felidae behind the desk, recognizing the eye stripes, and buff-and-white colored fur. She never forgot faces, or names, and though he was from a rare member race of the Republic, he was no exception. He introduced himself as Commander Davis, Chief of Security, rather than as Star Service Intelligence Division officer, Lt. Colonel Xalier, the name by which she remembered him from their first meeting some years ago, when she flew shuttles for a Galaxean ambassador and his staff.
“I have some questions, but first why don’t you have a seat, and give me your take on what happened. I shall be recording all that transpires. A transcript will be presented for your corrections or amendments, should you wish to do so. Please begin, detailing why you were on Deck Twelve.”
Dana sank stiffly onto the edge of the high-backed chair facing Davis/Xalier; her mismatched eyes locked on his direct — and menacing — golden cat-eyes. She began by giving her name and rank. “My duty station is currently Shuttle Small Craft Maintenance. The shift ended at 1800 hours. By the time I stowed tools and such, I left the hangar bay at 1812.”
The Felidae purred approvingly.
“I normally take the aft stairwell up one level to reach my quarters, so I proceeded down corridor ten and rounded the corner to corridor eleven.”
“You’re sure of that location?” he demanded.
“Sir, I have a photographic memory for text and diagrams, and can perfectly recall the deck plan for every level on this station.”
He snorted, but waved a beige-and-black striped paw to encourage her, “Please continue.”
“I heard sounds of a scuffle, a bone breaking, and a cry of anguish, followed by a drop to the deck. I witnessed two human males kicking a prone victim in the ribs before they fled down corridor twelve.”
“Two men? Are you certain?”
“I base my assessment upon the body types, height, weight, and stature.” She beat him to the point. “Males, just under two meters, twenty stone approximately, gray, civilian tunics, and matching work trousers, black canvas boots with laces, black mock-leather gloves. One was bearded, silver, approximately one centimeter, well-trimmed. The other, clean shaven. Both had ruddy complexions, dark brown hair, and dark eyes. Otherwise, their features were very similar. I do recall dark furry eyebrows and…”
Davis/Xalier interrupted, showing her a padlet using both front paws. “These two?”
The images on the screen were from a security camera looking down corridor twelve as the two were fleeing the assault.
“Exactly,” Dana answered with a sigh of frustration at having wasted all that time on descriptive detail when she could have identified the two from the freeze-frame image.
The Felidae wrinkled his snout, no doubt sensing her frustration. “Please continue, Doctor. For the record, you offered first aid after alerting security. We have the audio of that conversation. No need to recount it.”
Dana continued, “I did my best to stem the bleeding…”
“That probably saved Commander Brandt’s life.”
“Probably?” Dana blinked.
Davis/Xalier blinked, too. Then he corrected, “Amend record to read: saving the Commander’s life.”
Dana nodded. “After transfer to the Infirmary, I returned to my quarters.”
Davis/Xalier asked two more questions. “Do you recognize the two men? Can you identify what ship they are from?”
“No, sir,” she responded truthfully.
He already knew, of course. She could tell by the way his whiskers twitched, but she didn’t care either way, and asked, “Is there anything else, sir?”
The Felidae reviewed something on his padlet. “Your request for a transfer to Scanlos was denied. A multi-talented officer like you, with your Eridani empath training, would be an invaluable addition to the SSID office there, if you should be interested.”
That he had already accessed her personnel record was no surprise. However, the offer stunned her to silence. Why would an intelligence division officer even make such an offer? And what was he doing on Four, acting as — and impersonating — a security chief?
When she didn’t immediately respond, Davis/Xalier added the suggestion, “Please consider the offer.” Taking the padlet now in his left paw, he waved the right. “Thank you for your time, Doctor Cartwright. Dismissed.”
Dana left without so much as a glance backward. She felt his cat-eyes on her long after proceeding to the aft stairwell.
Leaving security, Dana rushed up two flights and proceeded down the corridors to the Infirmary. Doctor Sanford was off duty, replaced by a much younger assistant watching the diagnostic readings for Commander Brandt.
“You Cartwright?” the intern demanded.
“Yes,” she didn’t deem a respectful ‘sir’ was appropriate, since she out-ranked him and he hadn’t offered one to her.
The patient, however, was far more honorable. Brandt weakly acknowledged, voice raspy and distorted from the oxygen mask covering his face, “Doctor Cartwright?”
He waved her closer with his right hand in a plea for her to shake it. She did so, immediately sensing an empathetic connection, although the N-link she wore blocked most of the emotion this time.
Brandt began, “I…so sorry.”
Dana’s eyes narrowed as she puzzled why.
“Was coming to see you. Promised…had a gift. They got it,” the Commander managed with short, choppy gasps.
“A gift?”
“From your father...”
Excitement rushed through her. She leaned closer, longing for more information from the Commander. “You’ve seen Frank Shepherd? Recently? Is he well?”
Brandt took awhile to get out bits of the story. “Was at Enturize…mentioned Four. Frank asked me to bring you a package. I think it was a neck jewel. Not sure…didn’t peek…so sorry.” His dark eyes clouded up and Brandt finally shut them after giving her fingers a squeeze.
He was exhausted, but continued as best he could, “Hope security gets it back for you. Xalier promised he would try.”
At the mention of the SSID officer’s real name, Dana began to sense again, that Brandt had a covert mission and an agenda. However, she was far more interested in personal matters.
“How is my father? Is he walking? In therapy? Where is he?” She hated badgering, but desperately wanted to know. “I’ve had no messages at all. Doctor Tracy promised to keep me informed, but hasn’t.”
Brandt wanted to answer, but was clearly too weak to continue. Even his grip upon her hand lessened.
The intern scowled, suggesting, “He needs to rest. Maybe you should come back tomorrow.”
“May I?” Dana asked the Commander.
Brandt’s eyelids blinked and he gave a perceptible nod.
She smiled and gave his shoulder a pat. Then she took a careful look at the diagnostics, advising the intern, “His blood oxygen seems low. Better review the meds.”
Cartwright walked out, feeling a mixture of elation and disappointment, but was still hopeful that Brandt could tell her more about his meeting with her birth father, Franklin Shepherd. That news was exciting indeed.
She joyfully raced down the stairs to Deck Twelve, smiling all the way.
The Shuttle Bay had a separate galley area reserved for the crew members that staffed the station’s small craft hangar. Some were mechanics, some were maintenance, and others fuel specialists. Most referred to their department as Mech-Tech. It made them all sound important.
Dana Cartwright out ranked them all, but tended to just blend in, wearing overalls and tool belts. She wasn’t the only woman; and she wasn’t the smallest.
Lt. Denton, Four’s newest addition, a human from a little known Earth colony, held that honor. About a
hand shorter and a stone lighter than Dana, the recent engineering academy graduate chose interesting specialties. Welding, metal work and paint were in high demand, and on a station with eighty small craft stalls, it meant she kept busy. Denton lamented not getting an engineering post on a big battle cruiser, but said she took the offered post at Four in a heartbeat, though never explaining why. She was standing at the digitizer when Dana arrived. They both worked second shift, having an hour before they needed to report. She was muttering and complaining, “This thing won’t make a hot chocolate this morning.”
Dana glanced her way, chuckled, and in a rather playful mood, reminded, “They re-programmed them for chocolay when the Enturian Ambassador arrived, and haven’t changed the menu. It’s almost the same thing.”
“Actually, it’s much better,” Denton chirped, tiny, callused fingers flying over the keypad.
“Make it two,” Dana suggested, craving the sweet nectar after the dour interview with the Security Chief, but thinking it would be good to celebrate the news that Commander Brandt had relayed.
Denton brought the two cups, setting one at Dana’s left and the other across from her at the small corner table before returning to the digitizer. “Anything else I can get for you?”
“This is fine,” Dana answered, as she lifted and sipped from the Station Four logo mug, and sighed. Since they were alone, she asked, “Did you hear what happened last night?”
The Lieutenant shrugged, waiting as a breakfast tray materialized inside the digitizer enclosure. “Something good?”
She shook her head, “No, Commander Brandt of Lancer was assaulted in the corridor here on Deck Twelve, just after 1800.”
“Whoa!” Denton nearly dropped her tray of pancakes when crossing the room.
“Didn’t recognize the two men. They fled when I happened along, and I didn’t pursue because the Commander required medical aid.”
Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer Page 2