Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer (18 page)

“And cheese,” he reminded.

“Sir, I had no intention of risking your life when I suggested this little test flight.”

“So noted,” Macao responded.

She drilled him with her eyes. “It was far too dangerous, with that wraith equipped ship out there and…”

“Perhaps your mentor in the Star Service is right to keep you safely tucked away on a flight deck. You’re obviously not cut out for combat duty.
Lancer
is a peace keeper, Mister Cartwright. That is our primary function. Not research…Not terra-forming…Not exploration… If you want to stay aboard, you’d better start thinking that way. You’re useless to me if I can’t place you on combat missions with the confidence that you’ll perform.” He stared. “You took the EVA-Stress Test…Out here, it’s not a test…not a drill…ever. Understood?”

She nodded. Macao’s warning struck home with brutal impact. Military strategy was not Dana’s strong point although she’d aced the exam at academy. “I will keep that in mind, Captain. However, I can quote a dozen rules and regulations that you have violated…”

“Please take us home, Mister Cartwright,” the Captain interrupted, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes. “Nothing like a fun little joyride in a Blade Class shuttle. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”
 

“Safety bar,” she reminded while powering up the engines.

He made no move to comply.

Grumbling, “I hate cheese…” she flew them home.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cartwright gracefully set
Trader One
down on the shuttle deck, with only manual controls.

“Nicely done,” Macao commented. “I may fly with you more often.” He winked.

She just shrugged, performing the postflight as the Captain moved to the hatch.

Jay Gordon met them when they descended the ramp. The black man beamed, handing over an emerald the size of a child’s thumb. “Quite a nice haul, Captain. Our smuggler has some rather interesting cargo.”
 

Macao held the gemstone, giving it only a cursory glance, demanding, “Where’s Mansfield?”
 

They started for the lift, leaving Dana far behind.
 

She didn’t hear the rest of their conversation about the Captain of the captured vessel, and wasn’t much interested. Instead, she went straight to a console and entered a work order for engineering to check the shuttle for an imbalance and a power drain. She was too exhausted to do it herself.
 

A shower and something to eat were her first order of business. The ‘joy ride’ had expended all her available energy; she needed to replenish it, fast.

Dana ordered a tray delivered to her quarters. Yeoman Warren delivered it without comment. After the soup and vegan sandwich, Dana stripped down for the sonic-shower, hoping that feeling clean and fresh might brighten her mood. It didn’t. She stepped into the last of her clean uniforms and made a mental note to order the women’s tunic style for the next batch. After the incident with the Captain, well…It just didn’t seem to matter anymore.
 

Everyone warned against having a liaison with a commanding officer. With an equal, well, she might not hesitate. Then she remembered Sam Ehrmann’s advances. No, he didn’t have that appeal. To be honest, of an all male command staff, not a one had it except for the Captain.

His touch had ignited desire, and the flame could easily have blazed. Should it? Truthfully, she had to answer, no. She couldn’t satisfy the lust without losing control.
 

And the real issue — the one that haunted most — Janz Macao was mated to a Shonedren Captain…and Alphans mated for life. Though her understanding of what, exactly, that meant had changed somewhat. She’d always assumed it meant no sexual desire for another woman. Apparently, that was not entirely true.

Yeoman Warren returned for the food tray and lingered near the desk — by the three Shakespeare volumes — a lot longer than Dana thought necessary.

“Is something wrong, Mister Warren?”
 

“Sir, will your logs be ready soon?”

Dana shook her head, “No.”
 

Warren’s waist-length curls bobbed accordingly, but she didn’t leave.
 

“The Captain has asked for my original log. I’ll pass it back to you once he approves. Check back at the usual time.”

“Aye, sir,” Warren answered, heading for the door, with the tray balanced on one palm.

The moment the young woman exited, Dana checked the middle book of the set to confirm the contents in the secret compartment were untouched.

Regretting the tasteless soy-something-or-other sandwich, Dana mulled over her career goals. Re-evaluation was in order. She wasn’t accustomed to failing, and that’s exactly what had happened when she overlooked the possibility of the little ship being attacked.
 

“What I really need is dessert…”
 

She went down to Starboard-Seven and ordered a hot fudge sundae, savoring the rich chocolate sauce while staring out the green-tinted viewport at the stars, feeling an even stronger discordant vibration. “Engineering should…” Dana stopped abruptly.
 

Mansfield made her smile vanish. He glared at her from across the room then turned his back.
 

She didn’t need empathetic senses to read him. Just the look on his face told her it was time to leave.

Lancer
’s weaponry officer followed and caught up at the lift. “I want a word with you, Mister Cartwright.”

His icy tone made her stop cold. She gave him a respectful nod, but kept her distance.
 

Mansfield pressed closer. “What’d you tell the Captain about me?”

Her eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” he threatened, “Macao came back from your little outing and put me on report! Don’t deny it.”

Mansfield gripped her upper arms tightly, pinning them to her sides.

“Commander!” She struggled to get free, testing his strength, while tempering her response. She could have decked him — should have — but acted the weakling. “Let go!”

“Tell me what you told him,” he hissed.

“This may disappoint you, but your name never came up in the conversation. Now let go of my arms!”

He forced her into an alcove, grabbed a handful of her hair and pinned her against the wall. “I don’t buy that, Cartwright!” He growled, “Try again, the truth this time.”

A burning anger crept into her voice as she responded. “Let go or I’ll see to your court-martial for assaulting an officer!” She could easily end this. At the dojo, she’d taken on larger opponents; but something about his demeanor made her wary.

She didn’t want to fight him, but thought she might outwit him.

“Answer my question!” He charged, ignoring her threat.

“All right, the truth, Commander. The Captain was angry that you weren’t on the weapons console during the exchange with the smuggler.”

Mansfield let go, stung. He took a step back, staring as Dana rubbed feeling back into her bruised biceps.

“I was on the Bridge,” he muttered.

“Bryant said Dawson…”

“I’m training Dawson! I was right there the whole time.”

“Well, tell the Captain that! Don’t blame me for your problems,” Dana retorted in annoyance, “I have my own!”

Jay Gordon rounded the corner in time to hear her retort and demanded, “And what problems are they, Mister Cartwright?”

“How to get the hell off this ship,” she responded without a moment hesitation. “Excuse me, gentlemen!” She sidestepped and headed straight for the lift.

“Mister Cartwright?” Gordon called.

She stopped, but didn’t look back.

“The Captain wants to see you in Briefing Room Three.”

They didn’t see her scowl, nor did she see Mansfield’s reaction.
 

Neither looked happy.

Dana took the time during the lift ride to regain her composure; and to re-braid her tousled hair. It wouldn’t do to have it loose when going in to see the Captain. Regulations and protocol and all that…
 

The tone Security Chief Gordon had used planted doubts in her mind as to the possible reasons for her summons.
 

What could the Captain possibly want?

Janz Macao sat at the farthest station at the small
 
briefing room table with the central view screen active. He looked up when she entered and silently motioned for her to join him.

Computer data on the smuggler’s ship scrolled by until the end of file marker. Then, Macao flicked the ‘off’ switch.

“Gordie was right about her. Quite a prize catch,” he muttered. “Don’t you agree?”

Dana shrugged. “The ship? Or the cargo?” She taunted, recalling the emerald gemstone.

“The ship — our new ticket to the Fabre system.”

She studied him intently, struggling internally, mulling whether to speak of her reservations or to hold back. “Permission to speak freely?”

He nodded.

“Begging your pardon, Captain, combat strategy may not be my strong point, but Galactic Law is. You can’t just appropriate that ship. Right now you’re on the borderline of illegal search and seizure rulings.”

“They fired first,” Macao reminded.

“Entrapment,” Dana offered in retort.

“Let me worry about the technicalities, Mister Cartwright,” he said formally. “
Karis
is perfect. And, yes, she has wraith technology. I’m putting you in charge of doing a thorough check of her computer and circuitry in preparation for the mission. I want the ship ready in twelve hours. I’m expanding the team. Doctor Grant has some additional equipment he wants brought along. He’ll advise you how much.

“Mister Mansfield will be checking out the weapons console. Give him what ever assistance he may require.”

She nodded reluctantly. “Commander Mansfield blames me for being put on report.”

“That’s not your concern,” Macao countered sternly, turning his eyes away.

“He was very abusive, Captain. He thinks it’s my fault.”

“I’ll set him straight.” Macao pushed away from the table, ejected the data recording from the viewer and handed it to her. “For your review...”

She accepted it with her left hand.

He clutched at her arm. “Mister Cartwright, from here on out, while you’re aboard that ship, please wear your N-link. We don’t know who we’re dealing with yet.”

She puzzled the change in his orders, but nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Dana briefly returned to her quarters to retrieve the N-link, slipping it about her neck.
 
She then made her way to the MAT station on Deck Six, with a recorder and scanner in hand.

Sam Ehrmann and an assistant were at the controls, reviewing procedures. “Heading over for a look-see, Dana?”

“Captain’s orders,” she returned, quietly preoccupied with the task before her.

“She’s a big one. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Dana nodded, “Far bigger than an Alphan Blade Class.”

“Bigger than even F-20’s. More like a K-20.” Sam winked, “She’s perfect…may have to double the odds. Not too late to…”

She chuckled, but shook her head, “No thanks, Chief.”

He shrugged and motioned for her to stand clear.
 

The MAT pod engulfed her soon after.

Dana felt a wave of apprehension the moment she materialized aboard
Karis
. The reception area, a rotunda of sorts, had five access corridors; three led upward, two down. She took the middle of the three. Her feelings compounded as she got her first look at the bridge controls.

A young black officer occupied the pilot’s chair attempting to look busy. Obviously, Ensign Lewis knew as little about the system as she. She remembered him as one of the young men from the engineering department she’d chewed out for jury-rigging the circuitry just before leaving Four.

He jumped up when he noticed her, and stood at attention, or close to it.

“Relax, Ensign. I’m just going to make a few surveys and do a preflight on the computer.” Dana held up the recorder.

He nodded then sheepishly asked, “Do you think I might be able to take a break while you’re… ah… working.”

“Certainly,” she returned. “Take your time. I’ll be several hours.”

Maybe longer
, she groaned to herself, as she settled in at the controls to familiarize herself with the extraordinary system. Something about it instantly felt familiar.
Strange…I’ve never flown a ship like this before, but…
 

Macao sat, cross-legged and bare-chested, staring into the kaleidoscope of colors emitted by the life-star, using the cacophony to calm his chaotic thoughts. Every jewel had a story — a memory — attached. However, the capstone remained vacant.

One last mission — one more year —
Lancer
faced decommission — well, Janz Macao faced it, too. He told the life-star and Shalee,
I will resign.

For a long while, she was silent.

He sat, longing for communion with his mate, his wife, and his spirit guide.
 

The Galaxeans called the spirit the nous; Alphans called the united spirit the ‘consummated one’ for they were forever joined with their spouse.

Shalee’s essence comforted him. Her memory enveloped.

She whispered into his mind,
Peace, my love.

He countered,
How?

Her answer was a flood of loving emotions, so erotic he gasped.

You neglect the needs of all flesh. The desire for physical union keeps one strong. It recharges depleted spaces and energies. Take a lover.

Take?
 

He repeated it, thinking about Dana Cartwright’s reaction to his advances.
 
Take? Beloved, it is not honorable to ‘take’ and not give in return.

Give pleasure. You were always good at that, my love.

He sighed and shook off the agonizing need.
 

She is beautiful…

Shalee, don’t…

Touching her excited you.