Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer (24 page)

McHale turned away from her and pounded his fist angrily on the desktop. “Why didn’t Janz tell me all this?”

“Because he knows your hatred for spies; and you might blow the whole game plan.”

McHale believed that. “None of them will be heard from again?”

“It’d look better. Star Service wouldn’t want to have to court-martial any member of this crew. It would destroy morale. The rest of the team members will go undercover with Captain Tighe to complete the real mission.” Dana could hardly believe what she was saying.

McHale believed her. “And what is the real mission?”

“It should be obvious, Commander, if you reviewed the Groomsmen file. The influx of hybrid’s… They aren’t human-hybrids. They’re undercover intelligence agents, smuggling Imperial defectors into free space, in exchange for information from behind the border zone.”

McHale’s face went blank as he strode for the door. He didn’t look back, didn’t say another word.
 

Dana guessed he was far too upset to worry about seeming ill mannered.

When the door closed, she lounged back in the chair, staring at the barren closet, all the while silently repeating,
What if I’m not wrong?
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Cartwright faced the necessity of carrying on by asking Mackenna to visit supply and order replacement tunic uniforms for her, while she went on to security to report the loss of her valuable collector’s edition books as over two thousand credits.

The ensign in security was less than helpful. She left thoroughly frustrated by the red tape and disgruntled over the inconvenience. Reimbursement for the loss would never fully compensate for the value of the books destroyed; at least the thief didn’t get the stiletto.

As Acting First Officer, Dana realized the need to be on the Bridge frequently and mentally shuffled around the duty roster to allow for it. She stopped off at personnel to enter the changes.

Mackenna was at the terminal and was only too happy to be of service. In contrast to the treatment she’d received in security, he was a sweetheart.

She wondered aloud, “Mackenna, why are your talents being wasted down here?”

He sheepishly admitted, “I had a little problem with a superior officer on my last…cruise.”

She couldn’t imagine it. “What’s your specialty?”

“Computers, of course.”

The coincidence did not surprise Dana. “I’ll bet you’d like for me to spring you out of here?”

He kept an honest face. “There isn’t a computer system aboard I can’t handle. I would like a second chance.”

Dana got the picture. “Mister Mackenna, Captain Macao permits no favoritism. I’ll check you out. If you’re worthy, I’ll give you the opportunity to redeem yourself. However, I make no promises.”

“A second chance — that’s all I ask,” Mackenna pleaded.

As Dana left, he was smiling.

On the Main Bridge no one smiled, especially not McHale as he vacated the command chair and passed the con to Dana.
 

It’s a man’s chair
, she thought as she settled in. She could think of a dozen or more names for it, but ‘hot seat’ fit her conception best. She found herself watching the chronograph, biding the time until the watch was over.

By the end of her first full shift as Acting First Officer, Dana was uncharacteristically overcome with a sense of foreboding. The team was at six hours, fifteen minutes into the mission. She estimated them to be within scanning range of the Fabre system. What caught Dana was the sense something had gone wrong.

She kept hearing Janz Macao’s voice in her mind, saying, “She can’t handle the pressure.”

At first she imagined he was referring to her. As the hours wore on, she became convinced it was
Karis
. Equally disturbing telepathic and empathetic sensory information came from Kieran. She couldn’t shake the feeling something was desperately wrong.

And speaking of shaking… The discordant vibration she’d been feeling aboard
Lancer
had stopped…totally and completely.

Why?

Then it hit her. They were all gone. The discordant vibrations were from the men and not the ship?

After two more days, she began to empathetically sense a dramatic shift in Kieran’s emotions. Without the N-link, the impressions were much stronger.

She realized the voice she’d heard was Kieran’s. And when she closed her eyes, she could catch glimpses of him — but as he was years ago, impersonating an ambassador on a mission that had gone all wrong when his Blade Class shuttle crashed at the Capitol City Observatory landing zone. It all flashed through her mind like one of his mind-link memories.
 

She wondered if he was trying to contact her now, using the telepathic connection? Was it possible? She couldn’t shake the feeling something had gone very wrong; and as a last resort, she decided to act upon her fears.

She bumped Ensign Devon from the computer station and began running a check on the data reports on the
Karis
. Three reports were on file: Chief McHale’s evaluation of her engineering, Chief Miller’s analysis of the tactical damage caused by
Lancer
’s weapons, and Dana’s report on the computer circuitry.

Not one of the three had inspected
Karis
’s wraith device.

Generally speaking, it was not an oversight because regulations didn’t specify checking such a system — regulation vessels of similar class had none. Dana blamed herself for the oversight, not having made a point of investigating personally.
 

She wondered if — based upon the data she did have and the similarities she’d noted in
Karis
’s invisibility device to those Star Service had attempted — if she could correlate and determine
Karis
’ situation?

It was a big job. She’d need help and knew even Lt. Milan was not experienced enough to be of value. Then she remembered Mackenna’s boasting.

She called up his personnel file, looked for and found the credentials she required. He’d get his second chance, all right. It was their only chance.

Commander McHale came on the Bridge just as Dana formulated her plan of action. He stared hard at her then at the command chair she had vacated. A look of disapproval crossed his face, but he said nothing. He took back the con and entered the change in the log, then ignored her.

The thought crossed her mind of telling McHale her fears, but instincts argued, ‘don’t make statements or accusations without the facts to prove them.’

If she and Mackenna found reason to support her fears there would be time enough to advise the Commander.

Mackenna was off duty by the time she reached personnel. His replacement volunteered, “Try the simulator room. He spends a lot of time down there.”

The simulators were expressly designed for officers who did not regularly pull bridge duty, but needed to maintain the regulation number of hours to stay certified.

Dana used simulators herself to keep her shuttle craft flight status current, and to brush up when necessary on landings, tactical and evasive maneuvers.
 

She found Mackenna hot into a simulated battle between a destroyer and two Imperial Raiders. While watching, Dana became engrossed by the scenario, like none ever attempted though she’d tried them all.

Very near to the final sequence, Mackenna bungled a shot, but the simulator arbitrarily called it a hit and awarded him the victory. He swore at the machine. “Damn! There must be another bug in the code.”

He realized he wasn’t alone when mouthing the last word and froze in place, looking like a criminal caught in the act.

“Did you program that scenario yourself?” Dana demanded.

He nodded.

“That’s why you got busted down to yeoman, isn’t it?”

He nodded again. “I substituted one of my scenarios for one of the regulation ones. Everybody failed it — except me — of course. When my C.O. found out, he blew up.” Mackenna implored, “Please don’t reprimand…”

“On the contrary,” Dana grinned. “I want you to work on a special project for me, creating a scenario just like this. I’ll give you three factual reports; engineering, computers and circuitry, and one variable. I need a simulation of every possible thing that might go wrong.”

He looked elated.

She added the last criteria. “I need it in less than six hours.”

“Huh?”

“All the help and computer time you need,” she assured.

His face lit up like a holiday party. “Point me to a terminal!”

Dana thought about it and decided, “Auxiliary bridge is the best computer station for a project such as this. Come on.”

He doggedly followed as she led the way to the Deck Six station. She bumped aside two ensigns and put Mackenna to work, promising she’d take care of all the necessary authorizations, and then called up the three data reports on
Karis
alerting him to the additional fact that, “This ship has a wraith invisibility device. Based on the data given: Could a weapons assault cause undetected damage? And, would such damage endanger the crew?”

Mackenna nodded acceptance of the challenge.

Dana patted his shoulder encouragingly. “I’ll be back shortly to help.”

She headed for Starboard-Seven lounge to grab a coffee and eat a quick bite, since she couldn’t remember her last meal and her stomach felt queasy. Her energy levels had dropped substantially and short of having a long nap, a quiet meal would be a pick-me-up.

The room was crowded with lower ranking officers and Dana thought seriously about taking a tray back to her quarters when she spotted Doctor Patel. She was far too hungry and tired to avoid the man. Even Patel’s worst comments wouldn’t get much of a rise out of her now.

He appeared to be finished with his meal and was lingering over his coffee. She nodded in his direction when their eyes met, but sat halfway across the room. He made the first step and came to join her.

Dana noted his sullen expression but, frankly, didn’t care a damn about its cause. He let her finish most of her meal before clearing his throat and offering, “I’m not much at apologies, but I owe you one.”

She rested both elbows on the arms of her chair and her chin on her hands, while blankly staring at him. Since their first meeting in the infirmary, Dana knew he could never be counted upon for support — moral or otherwise.

He appeared uncomfortable and she was quietly glad to see him squirm. He hummed and hawed before she finally insisted, “I’m very busy, Doctor. Would you kindly get to the point?” It sounded rude, but she wasn’t all that concerned.

Patel finally spoke up. “McHale told me about your loss. I’m a collector, too. There’s something about rare books and antiquities.”

She shrugged, finished her coffee and got up, ready to leave him there. He clutched her hand and tugged her back into her chair. “I’ve been a fool, I realize. Thinking back, now, I wish you were on the mission, for Janz’s sake.”

He sounded sincere enough that Dana believed him. She also wondered how much McHale had told him.

“You cannot know how very much I wanted to be on that mission, Doctor.” With that said, Dana took her food tray to the recycle chute.

Patel followed and stepped out into the corridor with her. “If they don’t come back,” he admitted, “I’m going to blame myself.”

“We’ll form a club,” she retorted tiredly. She hoped it wouldn’t come down to that and told him so.

Patel’s features reflected his concern. “If it’s necessary to send a rescue mission, I want to be on it.”

“That would be up to McHale,” she reminded. “The Captain expressly prohibited it.”

“Dana?”

His use of her first name stunned her into immobility.

“I’ve known Janz Macao a long time. Most of
Lancer
’s officers would do anything for him. Believe it. We’d risk anything.”

Dana wondered to what extent Patel meant. Lie? Cheat? Steal? Smuggle? Kill? Betray the Republic? Commit treason?

She drifted away from the Doctor, heading toward the lift intending to join Mackenna in auxiliary control, searching her own heart for answers.

How far will Dana J. Cartwright go for Janz Macao?

The question troubled her. And, even more so:
How far will you go for Kieran Jai?
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Dana left the lift, and started down the corridor to the auxiliary bridge when an unfamiliar voice called her name. She turned about and found one of Chief Miller’s specialists, one of the two she’d reprimanded her first day aboard
Lancer
for jury-rigging the wiring in engineering and hadn’t seen since.

“What can I do for you, Ensign?”

“Mister Cartwright, there’s something I think you should know,” he began, looking down at his boots.

Cartwright stared, already sensing guilt and something more, as he admitted, “It’s about that ship; we jury-rigged the circuitry on
Karis
. Chief Miller said he did the inspection but…” he trailed off.

“But what, Ensign?” she demanded.

“I know he didn’t.” He looked up, extremely embarrassed but sincere.

Dana’s frown deepened. “Are you accusing your superior officer of falsifying an official inspection report?”

“No, sir, all I’m saying is, Chief Miller never MAT’d over to
Karis
after the circuitry repairs were made.”

She stared openly. “What’s your name?”

“Landers, Eric…”

“Come with me, Ensign Landers.” She led to the auxiliary bridge, to a free terminal near to where Mackenna busily pounded away, and punched in a request for Miller’s circuitry report and the transfer log.

The system sluggishly responded, flashing the date and time of Miller’s authorization on the viewer screen. Dana searched the transfer log backward from that time and found nothing.

Landers’s statement was correct. Chief Miller had never set foot aboard
Karis,
though the report indicated he’d personally made the required inspection.

Dana slumped into the chair, overwhelmed by the implications.

The intercom boomed with McHale’s voice. “Auxiliary? What in hell is going on down there? We’re showing a 2000% increase in computer usage.”