Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer (11 page)

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “yes, good point, Chief. I tend to forget, but they are rather unique.”

“Doctor Patel can probably design one for your blue eye to make it appear brown.”

Dana nodded. “I have to see him for a pre-mission physical anyway.” She sighed, wondering, “Chief? Why do you bet on missions?”

“Just for fun…something to break up the tension.” He shrugged. “I win a lot. Usually buy a round at Starboard-Seven when it’s all over. Unlike at a base, there isn’t all that much to do aboard
Big L
when we’re out for months at a time.”

Dana read something into the comment he probably didn’t intend for her to see. She might be the ‘noob’ as the Captain suggested, but she sure as hell wasn’t naive.
 

The Chief shopped around — actually, he propositioned quite a few of the ladies — Dana wasn’t buying, and she sure as hell wasn’t selling.
 

Without the N-link, she picked up some very personal information on the Chief’s tastes in the bedroom, most would make her very uncomfortable; some nearly made her blush.

When he offered that toothy, boyish grin again, she shut him down. “I read a lot; it keeps me out of trouble.”

“Am I trouble?” he teased.

“Absolutely,” she retorted, “it’s probably your middle name.”

He thought that was funny. “Thomas…Samuel Thomas Ehrmann… What’s your middle name?”

“January.”

“Kind of unusual...”

“Like my eyes,” she said, matching his grin.

“In Enturian it means ‘first’ I believe. You are Enturian, right?”

Dana nodded, wondering if he’d viewed her Star Service personnel record, and if he had the security clearance. He probably did, as a trusted member of
Lancer
’s command staff.

“I’ve met quite a few of the exchange officers over the years. You’re sure the prettiest I’ve ever seen.” Sam took a long sip from his coffee cup. “Never met one with hair like yours either. Most have platinum, blonde or jet black…”

“Ever met Major Captain Brandenberg?” Dana asked.

“No… Is he a friend of yours?”

“Major January Brandenberg,” she said coolly, “is the liaison officer from the GCE to the Star Service Academy at Coronado.”

“Uh…no,” he stammered, “actually, I’ve only met a few lieutenants…none of the top brass…”

“I flew shuttles for a few OAR ambassadors. Got to meet Major Brandenberg and Major Gage, Chief Surgeon Tracy, and even Ambassador Brettes while at academy.”

“Wow…You are very well connected. Must be great having friends in high places?”

Dana felt a chill at the suggestion — the innuendo — of having friends in high places.
 

Was it resentment? Suspicion? She decided to watch Sam Ehrmann very carefully over the next few days.

“Well, nice chatting, Chief. I’ve got to get my dictation ready for the morning.” She stood, took up her padlet and started to collect her tray.

“I’ll take care of that, Mister Cartwright, nice chatting with you, too. And, nice shooting…”

Dana bowed her head toward him, awarding some bonus points for his being a gentleman, though she still bristled at being called, ‘mister.’
 

“Thanks, Chief…”
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Yeoman Warren arrived at Dana Cartwright’s quarters at precisely 0600 hours, looking bright and perky. The woman had a padlet in each hand, wordlessly offering them up.
 

Dana stacked them on the edge of her bunk, and
 
then took up another with a duplicate of her dictation and handed it on with instructions. “My log and several departmental memos, some related correspondence, a new duty roster to be posted immediately and my daily itinerary so you will know when and where to locate me to sign off on them. That is all.”

Cartwright dismissed Warren without further comment. She had more important things on her mind.

After the yeoman exited, Dana settled down at the desk and called up the Groomsmen file once again, along with the astronavigation maps to refresh her memory, although that was entirely unnecessary. Having both open allowed her to enter a few notes and add some pertinent observations. The more she studied, the more convinced she was that the rise in the “foreign” population of the colonies near the outpost was directly related to smuggling, possibly even human trafficking.

Plenty of rumors circulated throughout the OAR that human-hybrid citizens could be found out on the fringe colonies. Most bore some form of abnormality, even mutant DNA, and were kept as slaves or servants. If smugglers managed to help a few escape to freedom, well, why stop it.

Suppose, however, that a spy or two got smuggled through as well. That could be damned dangerous.

The physiological differences between full-breeds and hybrids could only be detected with finely tuned medical DNA scanners. Some humans actually failed the tests, a result of too much crossbreeding.

Dana’s own DNA resulted from carefully controlled experiments in a genetics laboratory. There was no way she would pass a scan.
 

The hybrids in the outer colonies, reportedly, had no medical inhibitors. They carried raw genes — ‘surprises’ as genetic specialists often called them — and that spelled trouble. Being a tribrid, Dana understood all too well the consequences.

Some humans claimed to be capable of telling the difference on sight; most scientists, however, discredited such reports. Dana agreed.
 

Her medical background would prove valuable to the away team. With an inconspicuous sensory device, spotting any unnatural alterations should not prove too difficult.

She thought about the possibility of surgical alterations. Those she could also spot, though she wondered if anyone would stoop to such degradation. Her empathetic senses would be very useful.

As for the human-hybrids, who could pass most scans, there was no way to detect psi and ideological enemies without telepaths and…

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “that explains why Captain Macao is perfect for this…”

Only a Master of the Elect, with full Alphan telepathic training, could detect thoughts and not be detected doing it.
 

Just one catch… What if they were wearing an N-link type device? Even Janz Macao couldn’t reach beyond that. Could a med-scanner?

Her empathetic senses might prove useful to detect liars and such. “With my Eridani training…that’s why Operations sent me to
Lancer
for this mission. I’m even more qualified than Commander Brandt. Fascinating!”
 

Even if the team from
Lancer
went nosing around under the guise of traders, the possibility of uncovering the whole operation still had very slim chances for success. Janz Macao said he had a plan.

“It better be good,” she commented, clearing the viewer history.

With the re-arrangement of the duty roster, she could check in at auxiliary and visit the Main Bridge station whenever she saw fit. The itinerary she’d mapped out for the day did not even hint of a trip up there, as the Captain had requested.

She decided to pop onto the Main Bridge after the mandatory visit to the infirmary to get medical clearance for the mission. Doctor Patel’s memo said to drop in, no appointment necessary. She would protest that her fleet physical, just days before joining
Lancer
’s crew, would suffice. Protocol…

She sighed.
 

Protocol shall be observed. So the orientation directed — a total waste of time, in her opinion.

Lancer
’s medical infirmary had few frills or thrills. It served one purpose only — to mend injuries. Elaborate labs and research facilities, like those on bigger vessels, had no place on a battleship.

Patel, the Chief Surgeon, looked hardened, an old school, no-nonsense physician, accustomed to patching bodies back together under dire circumstances.
 

He ushered Cartwright to a diagnostic bed and proceeded to tell her his life’s story.

Born and raised in a small, tribal village on the outskirts of Earth’s New Delhi region of India, a once war-torn landscape, he was no stranger to combat medicine.

Patel’s exam was thorough.

Within a few minutes, he bluntly pronounced her fit for special duty, but he did bring up one rather private matter. “You are of child bearing age, but you have no ovaries? When was the surgery?”

“Years ago,” Dana assured, “before I enlisted in the Star Service.”
 

Patel frowned. “Voluntary sterilization?” He re-checked the readings. “Two separate surgeries?”

She nodded into the face of his disbelief. When he asked, “Why?” she declined to answer and slid off the exam table without another word.

“Mister Cartwright?”

Patel withheld the padlet with her medical clearance, demanding, “Why?”

Dana admitted, “I lost the left during a knife assault; the other was voluntary, to preserve my options.”

“Cryogenics…” Patel’s eyebrows rose. “At what age?”

“Twenty-four.”

He muttered something in his native tongue, then complained, “There’s nothing in your file about it.”

“As I told you, it all happened before I entered the Star Service.”

He humphed and grumbled, “You should be on hormone therapy.”

Dana’s own medical training kicked in. “Doctor, I’m a tribrid, Enturian/human and Galaxean. I’d have to go to the genetics center of origin for that.”

He scowled. “Irrelevant! I could attempt to balance them.”

“It’s not your specialty,” she reminded, and stared back icily. “I would not submit. I’m not some lab rat you can experiment upon.”

He finally released the padlet into her hands. “Here,” he exhaled, “for as much good as it will do you. You really have no chance in hell of being chosen. The Captain might let you believe it possible, but when it comes right down to it, you’ll be left behind, Mister Cartwright. Choosing you would set a precedent, and he can’t afford that.”
 

Patel turned his back on her as he logged her out of the patient scanner.

She wanted to argue that the Captain had already confirmed she would be among the team, but held her tongue.

Doctor Patel’s scowl offended. Even more humiliating was his addendum. “You’re a woman, Cartwright. Forget your Enturian values. We’re talking about an Alphan male. The social and educational mores of Janz Macao’s culture are a far cry from Terran or Enturian ‘equal rights’ for both sexes. In addition to the anatomical and physiological differences, you just don’t fit the profile. Do your homework, Mister Cartwright, and learn what you are up against.”

“Are you finished, Doctor?”

She still wanted to argue and knew her face was probably the same shade of red as her uniform. She wanted to fling at him a retort; that she knew very well the social and educational mores of Alphan males and she could best many of them at any task they put before her. However, Dana held her peace. “I’ll be on my way.”

“You know he will never call you by your given name, don’t you?” Patel smirked. “Dane means ‘the superior.’ Janz Macao will never address you so.”
 

The Doctor was still laughing as she started for the door, but she wasn’t about to let Patel have the last laugh.

“You are mistaken, Doctor. ‘Dane’ is the masculine Alphan term for ‘Elder.’ ‘Dana’ would be the feminine. You see, I speak Alphan quite fluently.” She switched to it and told him, flatly, “There’s a hell of a lot more to Dana Cartwright than you realize. Janz Macao needs me on this mission, more than you will ever know.”

Patel, obviously, didn’t speak Alphan, or knew only a few words.

She left him stunned by her assertions.

Fueled by Patel’s jibes and inflammatory remarks, Dana marched straight to the lift, intent upon sounding out the Captain. As she reached out to take hold of the hand rail within the lift, the sight of her trembling hand shocked even her. She punched the hold button, swearing angrily.
 

Fane!
 

In the course of ten minutes, the Doctor had succeed in setting her against the Captain, planting seeds of doubt, and undermining her self-confidence.
 

What an incredible manipulator!

Could Patel be the source of the resentment the Captain had sensed? Was Patel the man? He’d been at the briefing, and had made several appearances on the Bridge during her duty shifts.

She shut her eyes and focused, mumbling, “Oh, he definitely holds resentment — of all tribrids — but he’s not the only one.” She heaved a sigh. “Well, Doctor Patel, it will not work. You are not powerful enough to get me off
Lancer
, or this mission.”

With new determination, Dana released the hold and the lift continued up to Deck One. Whether she realized it or not, her self-assurance was showing.

Captain Macao blocked the way as the doors parted.

“Ah, Mister Cartwright, just the person I need. Come with me.” He brushed past her to stand at the back of the lift.

She took two steps backward and the doors slid closed.

Macao set their destination as the shuttle deck before he addressed her. “I’m rather disappointed in your log entries. Somehow I expected more creativity from you.”

Dana blinked, taking a moment to recover from the initial shock. “I don’t understand, sir?”

“I reviewed your log just now, while on the Bridge,” he scowled.

“Then it was unsigned.”

“No, I distinctly remember seeing the signature.”

“Captain, Yeoman Warren collected it not an hour ago. I have not reviewed or signed anything. She was to transcribe it and format it to your specifications, with the understanding it was to be returned to me for approval before being presented as final.” Dana showed him the padlet in her hands. “I just came from the infirmary after enduring Doctor Patel’s medical scan. There was no time for me to review the yeoman’s work.”

Macao hit the stop button on the lift control panel and the downward movement of the car stopped.

“Would you kindly explain that statement about ‘format it’ to my specifications? Why would a log need editing and what specifications of mine require it?”