I’ve never been anywhere near a battle zone, but Lancer has that feeling of…tension…raw martial tension.
She thought of the Meeting of the Masters, an olympic-style event for martial arts held every decade, which she had attended on Earth over ten years ago, and realized that was the sensation she was feeling — the tension of a mixed martial arts battle — a battle of wills.
During the boring wait while running a circuitry diagnostic, her thoughts flitted about, going to other long forgotten memories, ending with the memory of Forever Pointe and the man that had given it to her.
Kieran loved flying. She wondered if he’d given her the love for flying, too.
Why is Shalee Raja so interested in the memory of flying?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As ordered by the Captain, Dana enlisted the assistance of two circuitry lieutenants and one of the computer division ensigns, to do an inspection of the damage to Trader One.
She’d chosen all three at random from the duty roster, as a precaution against the saboteur having stacked the list with his or her own favorites. Armed with standard recorders and scanners, they trooped off for the shuttle deck to assess the repairs required to make Trader One flight worthy.
Security Chief Gordon and three of his men were at the door, but made no move this time to stop her from entering the bay. In fact, Gordie generously offered his assistance. Though the Captain trusted him, Dana did not; she would have kept him away. She suggested he let her crew do their job, but he could watch.
The clean-up Mech-Techs had done a fine job of vacuuming up the chalky, ammonium phosphate, powder from the fire extinguishers. At first glance, there appeared to be targeted damage to the craft. As Dana and her team took readings, the situation became clearer. The saboteur focused on the autopilot and guidance systems. Both pilot and copilot stations of the command console were charred and damaged, but not irreparably. What’s more, the saboteur had tampered with the systems from below, using the fuselage access panels and not the interior.
Inspection of the circuitry readily indicated the extent of the repairs necessary. Unfortunately, as Chief Gordon quickly pointed out, Lancer didn’t have the spare parts nor the facilities to make major repairs.
Cartwright frowned, both disappointed and dismayed. She sent her assistants away and confided in Chief Gordon, “I can make limited repairs. However, this ship will only fly under manual control. The Captain will have to pilot it on the mission.”
“Major violation of regulations…I don’t think he’ll go for it,” Gordon continued, “and I bet the saboteur knew that.”
She agreed, but decided, “Then I must fly. I’ll find a loophole and a way to convince him. In the meantime, let’s maintain before the other officers that this ship is going nowhere. Our culprit may feel secure enough to make a mistake and give himself away.”
Gordon nodded, then changed the subject, “About that incident yesterday, just doing my job.”
“I understand perfectly,” she returned, adding, “I also understand that as the newest member of the command staff, I might be suspect, though I will adamantly profess my innocence.”
“The Captain seems to trust you,” Gordie answered with a Cheshire grin.
She chuckled. “Seems? The Captain and I have reached an understanding, Mister Gordon. He knows two very important things about me. First, I wanted to be on this mission more than any other officer aboard this ship; and secondly, somebody else doesn’t want me along and is willing to risk other people’s lives to ensure I don’t go.”
The black man’s grin faded, “I can think of a third, Mister Cartwright. Someone doesn’t want this mission to succeed at all.”
Dana concurred, offering, “We will find the saboteur and he’ll be very sorry he tangled with me.”
“Is that a threat?”
Gordie seemed to be scoffing, looking down and possibly judging from her petite form that she was hardly a threat.
Dana took up her recorder and left the shuttle deck without responding.
Before she even considered taking the damage report to Captain Macao, Dana went to her quarters to make a duplicate for her records. She also decided on a shower and a fresh uniform, which gave some much needed time to think.
Much as she loathed the idea, Dana decided to be very unpredictable and cautious. That included taking additional precautions of duplicating not just her log entries, but all of her other work and correspondence. She would start a handwritten diary, with the intent of documenting all of her suspicions and investigations.
Someone on Lancer’s command staff was an enemy, and she had no one to watch her back, so she needed to be more careful.
Doctor Patel’s name went on her list of least likely suspects. He had neither the knowledge of explosives nor the technical background with circuitry to do Trader One such selective damage. He might be antagonistic, but she didn’t consider him a threat to the mission.
Next on her list of least likely suspects was Sam Ehrmann. The MAT-SYS Chief was quite friendly at the briefing and during their chat in the galley. Though he had some knowledge about the circuitry and explosives, what weighed in his favor was his gambler’s attitude. A sure bet to be on the mission would not likely to want to disrupt it.
Lt. Commander Kulak, on the other hand, was not likely to be on the mission team, nor would he be particularly disappointed. Service and supply supervisors tended not to see much action and generally liked it that way.
Jay Gordon was above suspicion only because of Janz Macao’s trust in him. She put a question mark next to his name because she was still uncertain about him.
Communications Chief Nishada was a very likable, oriental man, that remained both professional and aloof. Nothing to date that he had said or done could be interpreted as even mildly offensive. He was also unlikely to be on the mission, since Lancer needed him on the Bridge.
Sciences Lt. Commander Grant — Doctor Grant — was merely a face Dana recalled from the briefing. In her opinion, he lacked the technical skills to do such targeted damage, though he did have some expertise with chemistry. She put a question mark next to his name, as well.
Dana had succeeded in narrowing down the twelve suspects to six possibilities: Nichols, Mansfield, Bryant, Destry, McHale, and Miller.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dana glanced up from the padlet when the Captain entered Starboard-Seven. Her empathetic senses detected something deep and dark in his psyche. Since their recent dinner together, and the brief encounter in the galley, a connection had opened up, allowing her to feel even the subtlest of his mood shifts.
He glanced about at a female lieutenant from engineering sipping something exotic looking, while standing at the bar, and at a lieutenant from supply nursing a beer; otherwise, the place was deserted.
The sensation Dana felt, however, came directly from Janz Macao.
The Captain looked worried, and now could not hide it from her. He deliberately crossed the room, sat opposite her and sank back without a word.
After a few minutes of silence passed, she picked up his telepathic message. Without the N-link it reached her with ease.
I have another headache. It won’t go away.
She stared back at him, offering silently, How can I help?
He held out his left hand. She clasped it tightly.
To a casual observer, it would appear to be a platonic handshake, albeit, with the wrong hand. She pinched the pressure point between the thumb and first finger until he winced then let go.
He nodded and sighed. “Have you eaten?”
“I just finished some vegan soup and green tea.”
He wrinkled his nose at both, leaned over the menu and tapped a few items then hit ‘send’ to place his order.
After a few minutes of silence, a yeoman brought his food, setting out a cup of coffee and a bowl of stew on the table, with napkins and utensils, then retreated.
Macao took up a spoon and tasted the gravy laden beef st
ew. Dana watched while sipping her tea.
Finally, the Captain sighed and paused, admitting, “I hate being out run.”
She sensed more — much more — that he wouldn’t acknowledge. He had that same look in his eyes, the same set of his jaw, as when they’d first met on the shuttle deck at Four. Deep down inside he was seething. She expected him to explode.
“I also hate not knowing who we’re dealing with.”
She nodded agreement.
“Are you sure the wraith device signature was one of ours?”
“Quite sure, sir. That doesn’t mean the ship is one of ours. The technology may have been stolen. Or…”
Macao threw down the spoon onto the table, then made an angry fist, pounding the arm of his chair. “Fane! Half the galaxy now knows we’re in this sector.” He kept the volume low and the tone of voice controlled, but his anger bled through.
Dana lifted her eyes to meet his, calmly offering, “Half the galaxy probably knew before we ever left Four.”
The implication did nothing to mollify him.
Dana waited until a group of three female lieutenants that had just entered the lounge took seats out of earshot before adding, “It is a well known, though generally undocumented, fact that the most successful smugglers have spies within the fleet passing information to them.”
“And you are suggesting we have spies aboard Lancer, too?”
She nodded.
“Why haven’t they acted before?” He demanded, “I don’t mean to cast aspersions on your assessment, but…”
“Someone sabotaged the shuttle,” Dana reminded.
He scowled and pounded his fist against the arm of the chair a few dozen more times. “Is that your report?” He pointed to the padlet.
She nodded, moving it across the table to a position near his right hand before continuing, “Maybe your other missions didn’t threaten their territory.”
His eyes narrowed. “So, it’s a member of the command staff? Someone who was at the mission briefing?”
Dana did not dare a response, though she suspected as much. “I have no proof…yet.”
Macao held his anger in check as he glanced about the lounge.
Four more officers came in. Miller and Ehrmann took a table in the far corner, and focused intently upon a padlet the MAT-SYS Chief held between them. Mister Bryant’s attention focused on two female lieutenants from the science lab, both showing too much skin between boot tops and hems.
The Captain locked eyes with Dana. She returned his stare, while quietly sipping the remainder of her tea. He reached for her free hand. What do you sense?
She deliberated telling of her observations, decided honesty was the best tact and informed him, telepathically, I’ve concluded that Dan Nichols resents me most.
I picked up something during the alert, Macao answered, staring back, silently demanding to know more.
Do you suspect him of sabotaging the ship?
I have no proof.
His eyes loosely focused on the viewport. Then he shrugged. I can’t pick up anything now. I feel like I’m…blind. He let go of her hand.
Dana stiffened. Sir?
He glanced her way.
That ship today was veiled, just the way an N-link veils the person wearing it. Perhaps I am not the only officer aboard Lancer with such a device.
Good point, Mister Cartwright.
She waited for a further response, silently demanding to know what he intended to do about it.
Macao left his tray, took up the padlet, and stalked out of the lounge without another word.
Dana shut her eyes and heaved a sigh, ruminating over Janz Macao’s response, sending telepathically, Silence is not an acceptable answer, Captain.
He still didn’t respond.
She directed her empathetic senses toward the command rank officers in the lounge, picking up some emotions from Bryant, mostly about skirts and upward, and a bit from Miller and Ehrmann; but nothing aimed her way. That helped rule out the three men.
Dana left the lounge very soon after the Captain, going to her quarters to collapse on the bunk. She stared up at the patterned ceiling for far too long, mulling over the situation, succeeding in giving herself a headache.
After using the pressure point technique on her left hand, and some carefully paced deep breathing, she fell into a much needed sound sleep.
Less than six hours later, Dana was wide awake and down in the shuttle bay, beginning the repairs on Trader One intending to make it fully capable of flying the mission.
She didn’t trust the repairs to anyone else because only she had the circuity schematics memorized. There would be no ‘jury-rigging’ this time. Everything was according to the book.
The autopilot was irreparable; however, on manual, with an experienced pilot and copilot at the helm, it’d be just as safe a ship as any other shuttle. Most good pilots preferred manual control anyway.
Besides, it made a good reason for her to be on the mission team.
You wanted adventure, Dana… You wanted to fly.
Trader One would fly.
She’d bet Sam Ehrmann and win.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After finishing the repairs to the Blade Class, Dana locked the access door with her fingerprint. She wanted no one else to get aboard in her absence.
She also got busy, reviewing Star Service regulations, and found a likely loophole that could be used to get around the autopilot issue.
All that done, she returned her attention to the astronavigation map in the Groomsmen file; picking out the necessary data any helmsman or navigator might need. Barring a landing on some uncharted, sad excuse for a planet, all the small colonies and outposts in the sector had small ground level spaceports with easy access and quick departure. As long as both the pilot and copilot were not incapacitated, the mission would not be threatened by the lack of an autopilot system.
Feeling somewhat smug about her assessments, she went back down to the shuttle deck to make a preflight check on the ship.
The security officers on duty had new orders that no one was to get near the ship, unless the Captain ordered it.
Dana scowled. It became necessary to disturb both Jay Gordon and Janz Macao before she got access to Trader One.
Five minutes later, with the preflight nearly complete, a very weary and disgruntled Captain entered the hatch behind Dana, and made his way to the copilot’s chair.
He stretched out his long legs, folded his arms across his chest, and cast a sidelong glance her way, mumbling, “Thinking of taking her for a little test flight, Mister Cartwright?”
“If my C-O will permit it,” Dana returned, professionally going through the last of the check lists of onboard systems.
Macao heaved a sigh. He reached for the communications board half-way between them and fingered the COM button.
“Deck officer, this is the Captain. Clear the shuttle bay and stand by bay doors for launch.”
When Rollings responded, “Aye,” Macao called to the Bridge.
“Commander Bryant, slow to Level 1 and maintain present course. I’m taking a short test flight. You have the con until I return. Macao out.”
To Dana, the Captain merely nodded, giving her the permission to proceed. She fastened the safety bar across her lap and waited for the Macao to do the same.
He delayed.
“Sir, we’ll be on manual. Regulations require you wear your safety bar.”
He scoffed, but finally clicked the bar into place across his lap.
Once Dana had the ‘all clear’ signal from the deck officer, she fired up the engines and transmitted the code for the bay doors to open. With both hands busy on the manual guidance controls, the equivalent of joy-sticks on an F-class, Dana piloted the ship clear of Lancer.
“How fast is she?” Macao wondered aloud. He still made no effort to take the copilot’s controls.
Dana waited until they were a safe distance from Lancer’s aft bay doors, gave the co
nsole data readings a quick cheek, and then punched the thrust control toward maximum, though not all the way.
“Seems a little sluggish,” she commented. At first there was some vibration from the stress on the hull, reminders of the size and weight of the vessel in comparison to a battle ship like Lancer. “I’ll need to re-check the balance on the drives.”
Macao’s expression remained neutral until they reached an easy Level 4 and still had thrust left to push the vessel even faster. “I don’t remember these Blade Class shuttles ever being this fast.”
Dana shrugged. “I made some improvements during the refit. It may not look like much but…”
“Wish we could fire up the drone assist…oh, well…” He was smiling when he commanded, “Okay, shut the engines down.”
Dana frowned, but obeyed the order. She cut the thrusters and let the forward momentum continue unchecked.
“So…she’s plenty fast, holds together well, but if anything happened to the pilot or copilot, I don’t think the rest of the team could safely get her to a port,” Macao said.
“I think you underestimate your officers, sir,” Dana responded. “These Alphan shuttles are an easy fly — landings might be a problem.” She showed Macao that two fingers could easily maneuver the controls. “Mister Kulak could steer it to within tractor beam range of Lancer if it became necessary; and he has very little small craft pilot training.”
“I don’t foresee Lancer being in that close of a proximity,” the Captain countered. “No, Mister Cartwright, without autopilot, landings would be far too dangerous. We can’t take the chance.”
Dana scowled. “You would rather abort the mission, return this ship to base and have ground maintenance crews make repairs? Sir, why not take it into the zone, set down at one of the smaller space ports under the guise of making repairs. And, while the rest of the team noses around looking for evidence, I can be working on the autopilot system? We might even get lucky and find the spare parts, or something that can be adapted. It’s the perfect cover for our operation and solves the problem at the same time.”
Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer Page 12