Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer (4 page)

“The man of my dreams,” she said with a sigh.

He’d given her the memory of flying at Forever Pointe while trapped amid the wreckage.
 

No one had ever touched her heart and mind that way before, nor since.

She wondered if the Felidae, Xalier, knew where Kieran was.
 

The thought popped unbidden onto her tongue, “And what exactly would you do if he told you, DD? Swoon at his feet?”

She snorted at the thought, grumbling, “Let him swoon. Let him beg. In ten years, not one letter from him.”

Dana dropped a screwdriver; it nearly shorted out the panel below. She swore in irritation. “Fane! Have to be more careful. Should be using class-4 non-metal tools.”

She had none with her, but back in her quarters was a Sterillian blade, a gift from Kieran. She didn’t dare use it. Too valuable… In fact, it was the only thing of value that she kept from her younger years.

That thought brought her back to the visit with Neville Brandt and the idea that her father had sent a gift.

“Hope Xalier — or should I say Davis — finds the brutes that assaulted the Commander and stole the gift.”

She finally sighed and tapped her voice badge. “Commander Dutch?
Trader One
requires an engine test. Is it safe to fire up?”

After a pause, Dutch’s strong, masculine voice returned, “Roger, Dana. Safety warnings have been initiated. You may proceed with your engine test.”

Dana set her voice-badge on the top of the console and settled into the pilot’s seat. She even snapped the safety bar into place, going through the preflight checklist from memory, before starting the shuttle’s engines.

CHAPTER FIVE

The moment Macao returned to
Lancer
’s Bridge, Communications Officer Nishada rose and brought the Captain a padlet.

“Still no mission update, sir, however, a private message came in — your eyes only.”

“Thank you,” the Captain mumbled, accepting the device as he settled into the command chair.

“Mister Nichols?”

“ETA: seventeen minutes,” the First Officer advised before Macao even asked.

A blue-white dot shone in the center of the forward view screen, several magnitudes brighter than the surrounding star field.

A telepathic image of Forever Pointe flashed before Macao’s eyes. Why, he could not deduce, but the vivid picture of Centauri Prime caused him to cringe. He hated Forever Pointe, the red rock canyon, where his elder brother often went to fly a kite glider. He shrugged it off at first, lifting the padlet to read the personal message, but the screen blurred before his eyes and the telepathic energy of the vision overpowered.
 

Macao glanced about the bridge, attempting telepathically to define where the image originated. A jumble of emotions came to him from the officers present
 
— primarily boredom.
 

Still, the image persisted.

He sighed and used a breathing technique from the Alphan Masters of the Elect training learned in his youth to dispel it.
 

The image of the forbidding heights still overwhelmed, along with a familiar anger targeted at his elder brother. Kieran had pushed him off that cliff when they were young, knowing of his fear but disavowing it.
 

He finally concluded there was no logical explanation for the memory to surface now and returned his attention to the padlet to read the private message.

“What!” His face contorted into an even deeper anger as he read the cryptic message.

“Commander Brandt wounded. Substitute assigned. See attachment. Blade Class shuttle awaits inspection, Bay 76. Shore leave request denied. Station Four, Security Chief Davis out.”

Macao echoed aloud the last line, “Shore leave request denied,” and glanced to his First Officer. “What do you make of that?”

Nichols shrugged. “Seems odd, sir.”

The Captain kept the rest of the message to himself, deleting it securely. He then opened the attachment and gave the reassignment order for Lt. Commander Dana J. Cartwright a cursory scan, muttering under his breath, once again using the Alphan technique to calm his anger.

His life-mate remained uncharacteristically silent.

“Since we’re not welcome at Four, order all departments to stand by while we’re here. I’ll go down and file a protest. Are we in MAT range of the station yet?”

“Just reaching approach zone now, sir,” Navigator Bryant advised.

“Mister Nichols, you have the con. Assume station keeping. I’ll be…” Macao didn’t complete the thought. He stood, taking the padlet with him as he exited the Bridge.

He rode the lift down to the shuttle bay, reaching some degree of quiet calm during the brief descent, mulling over options and the original mission plan transmitted to him many days ago. He abhorred last minute changes and substitutions. It threw off all his calculations and strategies.

Neville Brandt wounded? Without Brandt, would the mission succeed? It all depended on skill, knowledge and experience.
 

Chief Miller wasn’t at the shuttle control console, which nearly triggered a reversal of the Captain’s calm. He’d hoped to run a few quick scenarios by his tactical officer. Instead, he cornered a Lieutenant. “Make ready to receive another shuttle.” After giving the two standard service craft parked on the deck a glance, he added, “One hour or less.”

That said, Macao went to the MAT station on that deck and had them coordinate a transfer to Station Four - Security.

“You are jeopardizing this mission!” Janz Macao shouted at the Security Chief. He resisted the overwhelming urge to smash the padlet in his hands down onto the man’s desk. Outwardly, his rage did not show; within, he was seething.

Finally, Macao could stand no more of Davis’ cat-eyed stare, so he stormed out, muttering against the incompetence he perceived in not just the Security Officer’s agenda, but the entire galaxy’s.

He took the lift and demanded, “Shuttle Deck.”

Stop!

He obeyed Shalee’s command and punched the hold button.

Beloved?

Janz leaned back against the hand railing inside the car and took three deep breaths, achieving a tentative calm and peace before he answered.

Dear one?

Why do you rage, Beloved?

They…

Start with you, my love! There is no ‘they.’

He shut his eyes. The image of Forever Pointe returned. She forced him to look and to be truthful.

This is my last mission, Dear One.

She softly counseled in return.
 

You are afraid, just as you were at Forever Pointe. Beloved, you feared the heights and Kieran had to push you.

Janz hissed an audible, “Yes.”

You flew! You soared above that canyon and brought that kite safely to a landing.

And I never, ever, want to repeat it.

You should go back and do it again.
 

Never!

She laughed at him, at his pouting protest.
You’re still that little boy deep down inside, standing on the precipice, afraid.

He hated to admit it, but she knew the truth.

One last mission…

You want it to be a massive success. It’s not about the mission, Beloved. It’s about you. And about Kieran…

Janz scoffed.
It’s not…

She interrupted,
Oh, but it is, Beloved. Solve this mission and you think you will be his equal. You are still competing with him, all these years later. You still hate and you envy.

He made everything look easy,
Janz lamented.

It is…

He bit back a protest as the ultimate truth surfaced and he was forced to admit,
I failed you.

No!
Shalee sweetly reminded,
You saved the Ambassador, the High One of the Shonedren people. I gladly gave my body to protect her. I gladly sacrificed. And I am with you always, Beloved. One love…forever…Peace, My Beloved. No fear.

Janz fought back emotions, using the techniques of the Masters of the Elect. He finally tapped the release button. The lift descended, doors opening on a corridor of Deck Twelve. He paused a moment after rounding a corner, sensing something.

This is where Neville Brandt was assaulted
, Shalee whispered in his mind.
I can feel the energy here; the memory of the violence lingers.

He felt it, too.

You have neglected your Mastery rituals, Beloved. Every moment you have, you should…you must…practice them. For on this mission, you will need all that they offer and more.

He had to agree.

Macao quickly continued on to the entry door of the Small Craft Hangar Bay.

The access system warning lamp glowed red and flashed at intervals: Warning — Engine test in progress — do not enter.

He impatiently waited for the warning message to cease, tapping the padlet against the palm of his left hand, keeping time with the warning lamp.

CHAPTER SIX

Once the red ‘engine test’ warning winked out, Captain Macao pounded the release on the entry doors and, when they slid open, stormed through onto the upper level shuttle bay of Station Four.

He checked the padlet once again, verifying the stall number, and then crossed the expansive small craft hangar deck. He casually scanned the array of vessels parked in the successively numbered stalls, all in various stages of repair or disrepair.

“Relics,” he commented, starting down the seventh row, looking toward Bay 76, spotting an aging Alphan shuttle — another relic from a bygone era.

He hissed with disappointment, forming a negative first impression. “Fane! What a rust bucket! It needs paint, and who knows what else. Can it still fly?”
 

Once the top of the line, the Blade-Class ambassadorial shuttles now barely ranked above tankers and tugs. The mission required a ship with a good sized hold, quarters for between twelve and twenty men, and the speed to out-run a pirate or a heavy cruiser.
 

“There’s no way,” Macao lamented, letting out a groan, adding it to the growing list of protests he would present to the Star Service Mission Commodore, as further proof of their incompetence.
 

Still, he gritted his teeth and steeled his will, grumbling, “It will have to do.”
 

Cartwright gave the pilot’s console a gentle pat, watching the voice-badge on the top level for signs of unusual vibration. It remained perfectly steady. “Purring like a kitten,” she mused, praising herself for choosing the correct engine balance levels on the first try. “Do I know these ships or what!” She beamed with pride, deciding and pronouncing, “You are ready for take off. Can’t be sure of the autopilot system until we take a test flight, but I think you are back, better than ever.”
 

All the mechs talked to their ships. Like loving parents, they coaxed and cajoled their ‘children’ back to flight-worthy status. She was no exception.

After shutting down the engines, she tapped the voice-badge. “Shuttle Control,
Trader One
engine test complete. All systems are showing ready. I’m going to take a coffee break before the test flight.”

“Roger,” came back quickly, followed by, “Heads up — VIP on the deck.”

“VIP?” She wondered who it might be, but didn’t ask. Dana used her left hand to release the safety bar from across her lap and stood.

Through the front viewport, she spotted an officer crossing the deck from the entry hatch.

Clutching the edge of the pilot’s console to brace herself, she stretched on her toes and craned her neck to watch, murmuring, “‘VIP on the deck’,” followed by, “Uh oh…”

He was heading straight towards the stall where she was working. She noticed the captain’s insignia on his uniform sleeves and, using her empathic senses, recognized the distinctive energy signature of an Alphan, probably a 33
rd
Degree Master of the Elect from the mystery schools of Centauri Prime.
 

“Don’t get many Alphans here at Four,” she muttered, fully intrigued, “and he’s a captain…”

She trained her mismatched eyes upon the handsome, well-built Captain coming closer and closer to the little Alphan shuttle. “Wonder who he is?”
 

Another much more troublesome thought crossed her mind. “Wonder if he’s coming here?” Then it dawned upon her. “
Trader One
is an Alphan ambassadorial shuttle. He has to be coming for it.”

She focused, empathetic senses registering very little emotion. “Stone cold — like a marble slab…” Her Eridani trainers always described Alphans that way.

This one was a bit different. He certainly was holding back, masking everything, until he stopped near the nose of the Blade Class shuttle and looked up. Then the facade fell away.

Cartwright felt a tumultuous flood. In spite of the N-link device she wore that dampened such telepathic and empathic emotions, she sensed his dominate emotions — the main one being disappointment.

Dana took up her communications voice-badge and attached it to the sleeve of her overalls, quickly abandoned tools and panels, and hurried out to meet the captain. The work order from Shuttle Control said the ship needed to be ready and it was — well, almost — needing only the required test flight.

She, however, had to dust off her gray flight suit and, as she came down the ramp to the deck, had to push aside her long braid of cinnamon colored hair.
 

“May I help you, sir?” She offered, after clearing her throat.

He came to a full stop at arm’s length, literally towering over her. She guessed he was about forty, with a full head of unruly, reddish-brown, curly hair, a flushed ruddy complexion quite unusual for an Alphan, and clear blue eyes that flashed like lightning.
 

He wasn’t at all happy.

That alone caused her to stiffen to attention.

“Captain Macao of
Lancer
. I need Lt. Cmdr. Cartwright,” he growled, impatiently pounding a padlet against his left palm.