“Good evening ladies…. and Commander,” the captain said.
Sissy turned her head to see Maggie’s reaction to this small verbal dig. Maggie’s eyes narrowed. To Sissy’s great surprise, the commander’s nose wrinkled slightly, and she appeared on the verge of sticking her tongue out. Appearing to think the better of it—Captain Hill’s left eyebrow had arched at the pert expression she’d given him—Maggie unfolded her lithe frame from her chair and walked to the counter.
Clara ducked sideways as Fortunas tried to rumple her hair. She glared at Cassie. “I suppose you told them we were in here?”
Before Cassie could proclaim her innocence, Maggie snorted. She turned around, brownie in hand. “No one told them. The captain knows all. It’s part of his omniscient majesty of command. He’s come here for his ritual offering and in return won’t hand us over to the mess techs when they find their brownie mix gone.”
The room fell silent. The women around the table held their breath; Fortunas watched the commander with a bemused expression on his face. The captain smirked. His blue eyes danced with mischief as Maggie approached him, offering in hand. The rest of his expression and posture were rigidly perfect. The mirth turned to pupil-dilating surprise when Maggie stopped as she came toe to toe with him and then reached around him to give the brownie in her hand to Dr. Fortunas.
No one moved or spoke as O’Connell completed her show of defiance by turning her back on her captain and curling back into her chair. She tossed her head back and met his look with a small smirk of her own. Seated as they were, no one else in the room could see the captain’s expression when he walked over and leaned down, one hand on the back of Maggie’s chair. Sissy thought she heard the captain whisper “good show”, but she couldn’t be sure. She did notice Maggie’s cheeks flush before she averted her gaze.
O’Connell gasped in outrage when the captain used his other hand to pluck her brownie off her plate and slide it into his mouth. He winked at her and nodded his head to the women around the table. “Have a good evening, ladies.”
As the door swung shut behind them, Ben laughed. “You don’t even like brownies.”
“Nope.” Captain Hill looked over at the doctor and smiled. “But I can’t resist tweaking her temper. It keeps her in fighting spirit—a very valuable state for a pilot and senior officer.” He didn’t add that he was happy to have the commander speaking to him, and taunting him, once more. They had resumed their normal state of exasperation with each other and avoided all-out warfare.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure you do it for purely professional reasons.” Ben laughed, but the laughter did not reach the calculating glance he gave the captain as they walked away.
Back in the mess, Maggie glared at the door. She slouched in her seat and groused “Remind me to lock the door next time.”
Cassie, determined not to let her evening be spoiled, giggled. “You say that every time, and every time he finds where we are and sets you off.”
“Mm hm. I’m having the next meeting in the bathroom. Let’s see him follow me in there.”
Cassie murmured a soothing “Yes, dear” while Clara sputtered her mirth.
***
The officers’ mess was empty, lunch having ended several hours before. Coffee still percolated nearby, the machine turning the brew over and over. Left for much longer the mixture would start to over-aerate and take on the consistency of flat soda water. Packages of energy bars, freeze dried fruits, and flash sealed carrots were available in the Plexiglas front cabinets, should an officer develop the munchies.
It was the large, spotless, table that had drawn Ensign Robertson to the room. He sat down in the middle of the table and began to spread his star charts before him. The reinforced, easy fold, paper greedily ate up the space. Not even the chart table on the bridge offered so much surface area.
The solitude was nice too.
Nate twisted the top off a soda bottle—he preferred his caffeine cold—and replaced the cap in its inverted, siphon-valve, configuration. He didn’t want to risk spilling the sticky liquid on his charts. No-spill soda caps were, in his estimation, one of the greater inventions of mankind. The young ensign took a sip and leaned over the table.
He moved a small glass rectangle over the map. The glass was etched with markings that he noted on his tablet. A computer program with advanced AI and several billion lines of code could do all of this in seconds, but Nate liked the simple beauty of the charts, calculator, and his own brain. Plus, he had a suspicion that the computer program, having been written by Dremikians, wasn’t quite as precise as his human calculations.
And Nate didn’t trust Dremikians.
He found them likeable enough, the few he’d met. His father’s position in the government of Earth’s largest surviving nation allowed the young officer a greater than usual chance to interact with their alien guests. Individually the Dremikians seemed open, humorous, and eager to please. Taken as a whole, however, there was a hesitancy about them that bordered on shiftiness.
Nate worked quietly. He barely noticed Dr. Fortunas as the old man entered the mess. While the scientist sniffed the coffee pot with a suspicious expression, Robertson rearranged his charts. When Fortunas pulled a small bag of cranberries from the cupboard and walked out of the mess, Nate was re-working a calculation. He might have paid greater attention to Fortunas, if he’d noticed the scientist’s brown eyes attentively studying him.
Unaware of the interest he’d engendered, Nate made a note on his chart and nodded with satisfaction. He rolled the collection of maps with a slight smile stretching his narrow features.
***
The Hudson’s engines hummed to full power. Lieutenant Price slid his fingers along the power controls while the navigational computers adjusted their course. At the end of the small galaxy where the ship currently flew—there was no human name for the system, since no human had ever seen that far into space—the next jump conduit waited. Their mission parameters allowed for several days travel through this particular galaxy. They could have spent the time mapping the star systems it contained, or merely traveling at a sedate pace while Lieutenant Guttmann ran engine diagnostics, but the captain was in a hurry.
Price couldn’t fault the captain. He, too, felt an imperative to reach Dremiks as quickly as possible. They still had no idea what Dwax was up to with his mysterious crate in the cargo bay, and they still had no idea if the alien was indeed the saboteur. Price very much wanted to avoid any more near-death experiences. He just wanted to get through this mission and back to Holly. The co-pilot checked to make sure the log correctly recorded their heading and speed before leaning back in his chair to relax. The head’s up display showed the latest radar and stellar cartography and would alert him in plenty of time if the ship veered too close to an object or destructive energy field. He literally did not have to lift a finger for the next two hours.
To forestall the inevitable boredom, Price liked to mentally plot their position and try to anticipate what the auto-pilot controls would do. An hour into his shift, he suddenly straightened in his chair. With deft movements, he pulled up more information on the display.
“Why in the hell would we turn there?”
“Sir?” Price’s sudden inquiry startled the junior helmsman out of his own reverie.
“Apologies, Petty Officer. I need all the data on our current course plot transferred to my station. Please include the latest telemetry from all sensors.” He didn’t wait for a response, but dove back into his calculations. The autopilot course projections showed a turn, fifteen minutes away, that would take them around a small asteroid cloud. That wasn’t troubling. What made Price squint in confusion was that the computer held the new course for so long that they would go nearly ten million kilometers out of their way. That was just slightly more than the distance between Mars and Neptune and would cost them over a week of travel. The logs indicated the course change had been authorized due to safety concerns—but the asteroid cloud was too
small to have caused such a wide detour.
Delving further into the logs, Price found that Ensign Robertson had plotted the new course and over-ridden the navigational AI. His changes had been approved by the commander and the captain. Robertson was a freaking prodigy when it came to navigation. He did most of his calculations in his head—so Price found it very hard to accept that the young officer’s course plot was incorrect. The lieutenant checked his own work twice more, mindful all the while that the time until they changed course was rapidly dwindling. He finally gave up and called O’Connell to the bridge.
“This better be good, Lieutenant. I was having a lovely dream involving a beach.” She flopped into her chair
“Apologies, ma’am. Were there cabana boys?”
She glared at him for his flippancy, but she also automatically took in the course projections and calculations he’d been working on. She stared at the data. Price watched as her frown increased. “What the hell, Price? Why are we going that far off course?”
Somewhat relieved that the senior pilot was also confused, Price relaxed a bit. “That’s why I called you, ma’am. I keep working out the data and checking the sensors, but I cannot fathom what safety concerns would keep us on that heading for that amount of time.”
She grunted and accessed her own logs. Her initials were in the official record next to the amended plot, meaning she had approved it and forwarded it with a recommendation to the captain. Surely there had been a good reason to do so. “Huh. My notes say the asteroid field was twice as large and beyond it there was a pocket of magnetic disturbance.”
They both stared at the latest sensor readings. The delicate instruments that lined the hull of the Hudson had recorded, plotted, and logged every aspect of the current galaxy. They were now three minutes from the turn and only twenty thousand kilometers from the asteroid field.
“Do you see any of that?”
“Nope.”
“What the hell?”
“One minute to scheduled course correction, sir.” The junior helmsman and the two other enlisted crew on the bridge watched the pilots.
“Officer-of-the-watch, execute the turn, reduce power to half, and await further instructions.” O’Connell made sure her orders were recorded in the log before rising from her chair. “I’m going to go pick Robertson’s brain and inform the captain of the issues. “Maintain the new heading but cut speed until I figure out what’s going on.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” He transferred steerage command from the computer to his station. He blinked in surprise when the commander stopped and turned back to him.
“Good work, Lieutenant.”
Price nodded once and went back to work.
The commander found the captain in his office, listening to a report from Dr. Fortunas. She nodded politely to the scientist. “My apologies for interrupting, sir. I’ve encountered an anomaly with our current course.” She quickly gave the captain a summation of the issue. “I’m on my way to speak to Ensign Robertson, but wanted to check with you as well, sir. Perhaps your personal notes for the log could provide more information?”
Frowning, Captain Hill checked. “I see only a notation that you forwarded the changes with a recommendation for approval. Find the ensign immediately, Commander, and clear up this matter. Price is still on duty?”
“Yes sir. I had him make the turn as planned. We can continue with the modified course as long as necessary, obviously, but I’d rather not lose the entire week’s travel if we don’t have to.”
“Agreed. Please keep me informed of your progress. Dismissed.” The captain kept his log open while Fortunas resumed his report. The course change was only a few days old. The most obvious reason for the discrepancy was that Robertson’s data on the asteroid field and magnetic disturbance was inaccurate. The date of the change hung in Hill’s thoughts, taunting him.
“Captain?”
Hill tried to focus. “Sorry, doctor. I am listening.”
“But a remarkably smaller asteroid field is far more interesting than soil acidity and water conservation. I do understand, Captain.” Fortunas paused, considering his words carefully. “I’ve often observed young Nate hard at work with star charts. We have to rely on Dremikian cartography of these systems. It is eminently conceivable that the information he used was incorrect.”
“That’s what worries me, Doctor. Was the data incorrect due to simple error or maliciously altered to slow our progress?”
Fortunas tilted his shaggy head to one side. “Why would anyone want to slow our progress?”
“I keep asking that same question.”
***
Ensign Robertson presented the commander with his charts and the computer simulations. She reviewed his data and confirmed that the charts were grossly inaccurate. She felt a nagging suspicion about the difference between reality and the Dremikians’ information, but had no firm theories to present to her captain. After assigning the ensign a detailed review of all star charts, O’Connell made her way back to the bridge. Her interrupted nap was beginning to catch up with her—that was the only excuse she could fathom for her paranoid thoughts.
She was shocked to learn the captain shared her doubts.
“I saw the charts myself, sir. They have all the usual markings. I highly doubt they are forgeries.”
“Not that you, or any of us, would know what to look for in a good forgery.”
She shifted her weight. “It is a mystery sir, but one without a pressing time constraint. I’ve assigned Robertson to review all the upcoming system charts. I’ll have Price enter this less oblique route,” she waved her hand to indicate the information she’d just transmitted to the captain’s tablet. She paused, chewing her bottom lip as she thought. “Should I have Guttmann increase patrols in the engineering sections? If someone is trying to slow us down…”
He looked at her sharply, but shook his head in the negative. “No, I don’t want to arouse suspicion among the crew or colonists. You and Price keep a look out, the same for Guttmann. Anything that raises the slightest suspicion I want to hear of it, understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir.” She left the captain’s office knowing that she would be unable to return to her nap. Saboteurs, altered charts, plots, and the possibility of plots had her chewing her lip until she tasted blood.
Chapter 15
Maggie hated scheduled maintenance. She really hated scheduled maintenance when the lander in question hadn’t been out of its secured docking station in months. She turned up the volume on her music and hummed along while walking the surrounding deck. With the sound booming in her ear drums, and her mind only partially on her task, her feet started to follow the beat. It wasn’t long before her red head bobbed in time with the music while her hips swayed along.
Swede, busy with his own task, didn’t notice until the sharp voice of his captain intruded into his thoughts.
“What in the hell is she doing now?”
The lieutenant didn’t need to ask who the “she” in question was. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. With a fleeting grin at his captain he went back to work. “Dancing, sir.”
The captain stood and watched as his second in command slithered and sashayed around lander 3. He hadn’t actually ever thought about her dancing. He had to pause and let his mind catch up. The deck crewmen were in no such quandary. Several were out-right staring.
“Well, make her stop or no work is getting done in here today.”
Swede shook his head. “I respectfully decline to follow that order, sir.” His grin was not at all fleeting when he saw the look the captain gave him. “I like all my parts in working order, sir. She’s not hurting anyone right now.” He choked back a laugh when the captain’s left eyebrow shot upward. “Well, nothing a few dozen cold showers won’t handle.” He turned and leaned against the lander he was working on. “Kind of shocking, eh?”
The captain was watching O’Connell again. “What’s that?”
“That flight deck fati
gues can look so damn good.” Swede’s laugh echoed in the bay as he ducked the open-handed swat the captain aimed at his head. Still chuckling, he tried to assume a somewhat more proper attitude. “I suppose I should be the one to stop her. Anyone else she’ll flay alive.” His eyes sparked with mischief as the captain pushed away from the lander and stalked across the bay. “Works every time,” Swede muttered before returning to his check-list.
Since O’Connell hadn’t noticed Swede’s booming laugh just a few seconds before, the captain was reasonably sure that he could shout himself deaf before she heard him over her music. He waited until she ducked behind an engine casing then stepped into her path. She popped up on the other side of the engine and gasped.
Maggie was still not happy with her afternoon’s task, but the music made it bearable. She didn’t have to worry about Ryan Hill giving her the creeps, Cassie nagging her about some medical issue, or the captain glaring at her every move. She bounced up from under the starboard engine and promptly flattened herself back against it. Where the hell had he come from?
Captain Hill stood so close that he had her pinned with her back to the engine. His arms were folded across his chest. His uniform was immaculately crisp, without a wrinkle or smudge. That damned eyebrow of his moved fractionally higher.
She was... grimy. Curls, sprung free from her braid, hung over her ears and at her temples. Grease smudged one cheek and clotted under her nails. The soft “o” of surprise her mouth formed when she nearly ran him down was replaced with a pursed lip pout. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she glared at him. It was the most incongruous sight the captain had seen in months: pouting, pixyish, features on a grease-streaked harridan.
“What?”
“You’re distracting the crew.”
“Huh?” Her nose wrinkled further before she leaned sideways to peer at the bay behind him. If anyone had been watching, he was studiously back on task and pointedly ignoring the conversation between captain and second in command. “Yeah, they look it.”
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