Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer (6 page)

However, that’s how life always seemed to go.

Maybe it would take another five years to get a shot at Scanlos. Maybe, just maybe, a year aboard
Lancer
would bump her higher on the list. “Now, there’s a thought.”

The engines fired up and the little shuttle hummed to life, purring with an even, melodious pitch that made Dana grin. She gave all the gauges and readings a last check and admitted, “Sounds just like new.”

Under her skillful piloting,
Trader One
lifted off the flight deck. Using only the basic maneuvering thrusters, Dana nudged the craft up and forward, and then aligned visually with the forward bay doors. As promised, the hatch yawned open when the shuttle drifted past the second marker.

Once past the outer lights, she gave the station the all-clear signal, engaged the main engines and took
Trader One
for a short, aggressive, test flight — one last orbit around the massive Station Four spaceport — before zeroing in on the massive battle cruiser,
Lancer
.
 

Right on schedule.

With his log recorded, Macao checked the time. The little, Alphan shuttle should be arriving shortly. He took the padlet and his coffee cup, going to the observation level above the shuttle deck. He felt Shalee’s presence as strongly as if she stood beside him.

Trident
is due
. She continued,
That ship was Ambassador Kord’s. My Princess and I traveled aboard it from Tritia to Earth.

He responded
, It’s old and decrepit now, and hardly suitable for our mission.

Kord’s pilot was an Earth-human named Skein
—
one of the best pilots ever.

I haven’t flown a Blade Class in years. Used to like to watch them land, back in the days when the drone escort program was still functioning.

Shalee softly reminded,
Remember my ship?

Always…

I miss it — one of a kind
—
so agile.

Like the Enturian ones…

Cartwright is Enturian.

Macao was about to argue, but the bay lights began to blink, and the siren sounded to clear the bay for an arrival.
 

Trader One.

Trident.

Dear One, you’re distracting me.

Beloved, I have a purpose.

The image of Forever Pointe flooded back over him, though it was different this time. It seemed as if he was flying tandem with a woman — a cinnamon haired, petite, young woman — and he realized it had to be Cartwright.

Shalee chuckled, but refused to explain why.

Big L
, as Dutch had called the heavy cruiser, was not the largest ship Dana had ever visited.
Navitor
held that distinction, but
Lancer
certainly was the biggest she’d ever been assigned to serve aboard. To say it was intimidating didn’t quite capture the truth of the matter.

“Fane! Wish I had the time to call up her deck plans and specifications in advance. First thing when I get aboard,” Dana mumbled, as the ship loomed large in the front viewport.
 

“Positively huge,” she gasped, while aligning with
 
the aft marker lights of the big cruiser.
 

“
Lancer
Bridge to unidentified shuttle craft — what do you think you’re doing?” came over the COM.

Dana tapped the transmit button, and formally called back, “
Lancer
, this is
Trader One
, requesting access to shuttle bay on Captain Macao’s orders.” She made a minor course correction, still using the manual flight controls.
 
All the while, she had a deep, gut feeling of disquiet. It wasn’t just empathetic, and, despite her Eridani training, it wouldn’t go away.

“Maybe Captain Macao was right. This is a bad idea — a very big mistake.”

Lancer
took their time responding.
 

She gritted her teeth. The little, private shuttle was on direct line of sight approach for the shuttle deck at the rear of the cruiser. She held position, counting the minutes, impatiently waiting for a response, guessing that they had to clear out a few dozen people from the bay before they could depressurize and open the
 
doors.

Just like at Four, getting everyone to safety had priority.

Finally, a masculine voice called back, over the COM, “Chief Miller of
Lancer
Shuttle Deck Control to
Trader One
, switch to autopilot. Captain Macao does not permit manual landings.”

“Roger, switching to autopilot,” she confirmed as her left hand flew over the flight console computer and the right released the manual controls. The autopilot system engaged flawlessly.

“We’ll take control on three…One, two, three.”

Dana felt the moment, that little bump, when
Lancer
took over guidance of the forward motion, and she could sink back in the pilot’s chair, watching very carefully as the shuttle deck computers guided the approach. She kept her hands at the ready, ready to switch back to manual and take over if any glitch should occur, an old habit that was hard to shake. “Never much trusted the auto-guidance,” she grumbled.

Shuttle Deck Control set the ship down between two smaller, boxy, Star Service shuttles on the deck turntable. The bay doors closed and the deck pressurized.

She was home.

“
Trader One
, bay clear for egress. Shut her down.”

Cartwright acknowledged, “Aye, shutting down,” then powered off all the systems, and went through the normal post-flight checklist. Only when satisfied that all was well did Dana release the safety bar and vacate the pilot’s seat.
 

She quickly retrieved her single duffle bag of gear from the storage locker, moved aft and pounded the wall control. The hatch slid open to the left, the ramp descended and she stepped down onto the deck.

After dropping her gear bag, she swiveled, taking a long, slow look around.
 

Nice! Real nice! I would love being assigned to work down here. No wonder Denton was disappointed not getting the assignment to
Navitor
.
 

A pert, young woman, barely past puberty, with a bobbing, blonde ponytail, and wearing a form-fitting casual gray uniform, rushed in from the corridor through the nearest double hatchway. The girl carried a padlet in her left hand, and a collar pin voice-badge in the other.

“Sir? Mister Cartwright?”

Dana cringed at the form of address, but looked up as the Yeoman approached and responded, “Yes, I’m Cartwright.”
 

“Yeoman Warren, sir, I will be your secretarial assistant during your assignment aboard
Lancer
,” the little, blonde bombshell twittered, offering to affix the voice-badge.

Dana took it from her and did the task herself, clipping the shiny, gold circle with the letter ‘L’ in the middle — the
Lancer
ship logo — to the left sleeve of her overalls replacing her old one with the numeral ‘4.’ The device activated and announced in a very mechanical, masculine voice, “Cartwright, Dana January, logging.”

After a moment, the badge beeped twice, signaling a connection.

Warren forced a smile. “Welcome aboard
Lancer
, Mister Cartwright.”

Dana sighed. She didn’t feel welcome, only irritated. “If you are to be my secretary, Yeoman, you will cease to use ‘sir’ and under no circumstances address me as ‘Mister.’ Just call me Dana. Is that clear?”

Unexpectedly, and with great boldness, the Yeoman countered, “With all due respect, sir, the Captain requires we use a consistent from of address. All officers of command rank or higher shall be addressed by their rank, or as Mister or simply, sir. All below command rank shall be addressed by name, preceded by Mister or simply, sir. It will all be explained in your orientation briefing. Do you have any gear, sir?”

“This is it,” Cartwright groaned. “I travel lightly.” That wasn’t quite accurate — the gear bag weighed about as much as she did — but there was no point quibbling over it.

“That’s all? Okay, then, sir, I have orders to show you to your quarters. They are on Deck Six, near the auxiliary bridge. You have only 77 minutes until your bridge shift.”
 

The Yeoman whirled and started back toward the double doors.

“If those are your orders,” Cartwright answered, throwing up her hands in defeat, slinging the duffle-bag over her back and falling into step alongside.
 

They took a lift to Deck Six, rounded some corners and then the Yeoman announced, “This is it.”

Dana touched the door release and peered inside. “Solo cabin?”

“Yes, sir, your rank, as Chief of Circuitry, allows for a full-sized cabin,” the Yeoman assured. “Uniforms have been delivered and are hung in the closet.”

“Where is this orientation?” Cartwright asked, dropping the gear bag onto the deck at the foot of the full-sized bunk.

“Deck Two, Briefing Room Two, sir, at 0800. Would you like me to come and fetch you before hand?”

“I can find the way there,” Dana assured.

“Do you require an escort to the Main Bridge?”

She chaffed and responded, “I can manage. Dismissed.”

The Yeoman bolted, like a race horse out of the starting gate, only too eager to get away — or so it seemed — and the door to the cabin slid closed.

Dana sank down onto the foot of the bunk, thoroughly exhausted from the tension since Captain Janz Macao had appeared in the viewport of the little shuttle down at Four.

“This is a gigantic mistake.” She repeated it over and over, while staring up at the pleasant, marbled pattern on the overhead tiles. “Time?”

The computer responded, “Eleven hundred twenty-two.”

“Eek!”

Dana jumped up from the bunk, unpacked her few personal effects and carefully placed her treasured trio of William Shakespeare collector’s edition, hand-crafted, leather-bound books on the boxy desk. Next to them, she set down the padlet Captain Macao had given her with transfer orders assigning her to
Lancer
for a one year tour of duty, and her reader padlet.
 

She slid out of the gray, flight-suit overalls and into a fresh, two-piece, red uniform from the closet. Then Dana swore. “Fane! This is easily two sizes too big!”
 

It would have to do for the moment; no time to run down to supply and requisition the proper size. She stuffed the pant legs into the tops of her boots so she wouldn’t trip over them, and rolled up the sleeves of the shirt.
 
While affixing the voice-badge to the collar, she called up the deck plans on the desk viewer. Memorizing the location of all the lifts, and other pertinent information, Dana then started for her cabin door.

Next stop, the Bridge…with five minutes to spare.

Captain Macao wasn’t there when Cartwright stepped off the lift and onto
Lancer
’s Bridge for the first time. The reception could hardly be considered welcoming.

Those officers present went through the formalities of introductions, albeit, reluctantly. Every single man addressed her as Mister Cartwright.

She didn’t need her empathetic senses to register the cacophony of emotions coming from the all-male command crew. First Officer Dan Nichols scowled and complained, “I’ve only just been informed you are replacing Commander Brandt.”

Dana felt a pang of sympathy, however brief, and answered, “I was only informed a little under an hour ago myself, Commander.”

Nichols shrugged and pointed her toward a station, with a look of disdain.

She glanced that direction, took a cursory look around and then took her station. A countdown clock on the console read 00:61:20.
 

“One hour to departure…are we ready?” Mister Nichols asked from the helm.

“Aye, sir,” responded Bryant at navigation.

Communications Officer Nishada advised, “Engineering, Deck Twelve, sector three, reports a malfunction in computer circuitry. Repairs are under way. They say it should be finished on time, but an inspection is required and Chief Mansfield is unavailable.”

Dana called up the repair order, traced the location on the deck plans, memorizing the schematic. She turned to her immediate superior and volunteered, “I’ll take care of it, sir. Everything up here is complete.”

Off in an instant, she actually felt glad for the opportunity to tour the lower levels of the ship. No amount of studying engineering blueprints could make up for walking the real thing.

A half-dozen workmen were bent over the console with the problem. They all took two steps back when Dana questioned them.
 

Though small in size, she used a tone of voice that left no room for conjecture. “I’m Lt. Commander Cartwright, your new C-O-C.”
 

She took in a few of the surprised expressions before settling in at the console to perform the inspection. The tracer seemed to take forever. Then it stalled entirely.

Dana went to the viewer at that station to call up the schematics, pointing out to the men their error.

The circuitry had been jury-rigged. It might hold for a short while, but it wouldn’t last.

“Unacceptable…redo it,” she ordered. “Advise me on the Bridge when it’s complete.” She started for the door.

“Sir?” The young Ensign began to protest, “We’re too close to…”

“Better get it done right while we’re still here at Four, than to have something go wrong in the thick of things, Ensign. You have fifteen minutes remaining until departure.” She spun on her heels, “Get to it.”

All the way back up to the Bridge, Dana was frowning.
Big L
emitted an odd, droning sound — something it shouldn’t have. Something was out of phase or alignment, though she could only make an educated guess. Might be a problem with the fuel
 
injectors. Maybe some of the crystals were misaligned or slightly defective in size. Perhaps something else had been jury-rigged. Dana decided she’d have to run a thorough diagnostic, once they were underway and had plenty of time to research the problem.