Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer (3 page)

“I have some questions, but first why don’t you have a seat, and give me your take on what happened. I shall be recording all that transpires. A transcript will be presented for your corrections or amendments, should you wish to do so. Please begin, detailing why you were on Deck Twelve.”

Dana sank stiffly onto the edge of the high-backed chair facing Davis/Xalier; her mismatched eyes locked on his direct — and menacing — golden cat-eyes. She began by giving her name and rank. “My duty station is currently Shuttle Small Craft Maintenance. The shift ended at 1800 hours. By the time I stowed tools and such, I left the hangar bay at 1812.”

The Felidae purred approvingly.

“I normally take the aft stairwell up one level to reach my quarters, so I proceeded down corridor ten and rounded the corner to corridor eleven.”

“You’re sure of that location?” he demanded.

“Sir, I have a photographic memory for text and diagrams, and can perfectly recall the deck plan for every level on this station.”

He snorted, but waved a beige-and-black striped paw to encourage her, “Please continue.”

“I heard sounds of a scuffle, a bone breaking, and a cry of anguish, followed by a drop to the deck. I witnessed two human males kicking a prone victim in the ribs before they fled down corridor twelve.”

“Two men? Are you certain?”

“I base my assessment upon the body types, height, weight, and stature.” She beat him to the point. “Males, just under two meters, twenty stone approximately, gray, civilian tunics, and matching work trousers, black canvas boots with laces, black mock-leather gloves. One was bearded, silver, approximately one centimeter, well-trimmed. The other, clean shaven. Both had ruddy complexions, dark brown hair, and dark eyes. Otherwise, their features were very similar. I do recall dark furry eyebrows and…”

Davis/Xalier interrupted, showing her a padlet using both front paws. “These two?”

The images on the screen were from a security camera looking down corridor twelve as the two were fleeing the assault.

“Exactly,” Dana answered with a sigh of frustration at having wasted all that time on descriptive detail when she could have identified the two from the freeze-frame image.

The Felidae wrinkled his snout, no doubt sensing her frustration. “Please continue, Doctor. For the record, you offered first aid after alerting security. We have the audio of that conversation. No need to recount it.”

Dana continued, “I did my best to stem the bleeding…”

“That probably saved Commander Brandt’s life.”

“Probably?” Dana blinked.
 

Davis/Xalier blinked, too. Then he corrected, “Amend record to read: saving the Commander’s life.”

Dana nodded. “After transfer to the Infirmary, I returned to my quarters.”

Davis/Xalier asked two more questions. “Do you recognize the two men? Can you identify what ship they are from?”

“No, sir,” she responded truthfully.

He already knew, of course. She could tell by the way his whiskers twitched, but she didn’t care either way, and asked, “Is there anything else, sir?”

The Felidae reviewed something on his padlet. “Your request for a transfer to Scanlos was denied. A multi-talented officer like you, with your Eridani empath training, would be an invaluable addition to the SSID office there, if you should be interested.”

That he had already accessed her personnel record was no surprise. However, the offer stunned her to silence. Why would an intelligence division officer even make such an offer? And what was he doing on Four, acting as — and impersonating — a security chief?

When she didn’t immediately respond, Davis/Xalier added the suggestion, “Please consider the offer.” Taking the padlet now in his left paw, he waved the right. “Thank you for your time, Doctor Cartwright. Dismissed.”

Dana left without so much as a glance backward. She felt his cat-eyes on her long after proceeding to the aft stairwell.

Leaving security, Dana rushed up two flights and proceeded down the corridors to the Infirmary. Doctor Sanford was off duty, replaced by a much younger assistant watching the diagnostic readings for Commander Brandt.

“You Cartwright?” the intern demanded.

“Yes,” she didn’t deem a respectful ‘sir’ was appropriate, since she out-ranked him and he hadn’t offered one to her.

The patient, however, was far more honorable. Brandt weakly acknowledged, voice raspy and distorted from the oxygen mask covering his face, “Doctor Cartwright?”

He waved her closer with his right hand in a plea for her to shake it. She did so, immediately sensing an empathetic connection, although the N-link she wore blocked most of the emotion this time.

Brandt began, “I…so sorry.”

Dana’s eyes narrowed as she puzzled why.

“Was coming to see you. Promised…had a gift. They got it,” the Commander managed with short, choppy gasps.

“A gift?”

“From your father...”

Excitement rushed through her. She leaned closer, longing for more information from the Commander. “You’ve seen Frank Shepherd? Recently? Is he well?”

Brandt took awhile to get out bits of the story. “Was at Enturize…mentioned Four. Frank asked me to bring you a package. I think it was a neck jewel. Not sure…didn’t peek…so sorry.” His dark eyes clouded up and Brandt finally shut them after giving her fingers a squeeze.
 

He was exhausted, but continued as best he could, “Hope security gets it back for you. Xalier promised he would try.”

At the mention of the SSID officer’s real name, Dana began to sense again, that Brandt had a covert mission and an agenda. However, she was far more interested in personal matters.

“How is my father? Is he walking? In therapy? Where is he?” She hated badgering, but desperately wanted to know. “I’ve had no messages at all. Doctor Tracy promised to keep me informed, but hasn’t.”

Brandt wanted to answer, but was clearly too weak to continue. Even his grip upon her hand lessened.

The intern scowled, suggesting, “He needs to rest. Maybe you should come back tomorrow.”

“May I?” Dana asked the Commander.

Brandt’s eyelids blinked and he gave a perceptible nod.

She smiled and gave his shoulder a pat. Then she took a careful look at the diagnostics, advising the intern, “His blood oxygen seems low. Better review the meds.”

Cartwright walked out, feeling a mixture of elation and disappointment, but was still hopeful that Brandt could tell her more about his meeting with her birth father, Franklin Shepherd. That news was exciting indeed.

She joyfully raced down the stairs to Deck Twelve, smiling all the way.

The Shuttle Bay had a separate galley area reserved for the crew members that staffed the station’s small craft hangar. Some were mechanics, some were maintenance, and others fuel specialists. Most referred to their department as Mech-Tech. It made them all sound important.

Dana Cartwright out ranked them all, but tended to just blend in, wearing overalls and tool belts. She wasn’t the only woman; and she wasn’t the smallest.
 

Lt. Denton, Four’s newest addition, a human from a little known Earth colony, held that honor. About a hand shorter and a stone lighter than Dana, the recent engineering academy graduate chose interesting specialties. Welding, metal work and paint were in high demand, and on a station with eighty small craft stalls, it meant she kept busy. Denton lamented not getting an engineering post on a big battle cruiser, but said she took the offered post at Four in a heartbeat, though
 
never explaining why. She was standing at the digitizer when Dana arrived.
 
They both worked second shift, having an hour before they needed to report. She was muttering and complaining, “This thing won’t make a hot chocolate this morning.”

Dana glanced her way, chuckled, and in a rather playful mood, reminded, “They re-programmed them for chocolay when the Enturian Ambassador arrived, and haven’t changed the menu. It’s almost the same thing.”

“Actually, it’s much better,” Denton chirped, tiny, callused fingers flying over the keypad.

“Make it two,” Dana suggested, craving the sweet nectar after the dour interview with the Security Chief, but thinking it would be good to celebrate the news that Commander Brandt had relayed.

Denton brought the two cups, setting one at Dana’s left and the other across from her at the small corner table before returning to the digitizer. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“This is fine,” Dana answered, as she lifted and sipped from the Station Four logo mug, and sighed. Since they were alone, she asked, “Did you hear what happened last night?”

The Lieutenant shrugged, waiting as a breakfast tray materialized inside the digitizer enclosure. “Something good?”

She shook her head, “No, Commander Brandt of
Lancer
was assaulted in the corridor here on Deck Twelve, just after 1800.”

“Whoa!” Denton nearly dropped her tray of pancakes when crossing the room.

“Didn’t recognize the two men.
 
They fled when I happened along, and I didn’t pursue because the Commander required medical aid.”

“Two big guys?” Denton wondered, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.”

“I saw two in the pub on the civilian level a few nights back. Seemed itching for a fight.” The Lieutenant poured half a carafe of syrup over her short stack and began eating.

Dana demanded, “One was bearded?”

“Yes, sir,” Denton answered between big bites.

Cartwright tapped her collar voice-badge, requesting a connection to Security Chief Davis.

When the Felidae responded, she told him, “Your two were in the pub on the civilian promenade a few nights back, reportedly looking for a fight.”

Davis/Xalier hissed a reply. “Yessss, we have the footage from the cameras. Thank you, Doctor. How did you know?”

Dana glanced at Denton before answering, “Just a rumor floating around down here among the Mech-Techs.”

“Very good…Davis out,” came back over the COM.

Denton frowned, watching as Dana tapped the badge to end the conversation.
 

“Thanks for not mentioning my name. I…uh, I wasn’t supposed to be up there with the civvy.”

Cartwright chuckled.
 

Denton put the fork down, sheepishly admitting, “I was supposed to be in my quarters studying for the review class. Don’t tell Dutch?”

“Not a problem,” Dana assured, not wanting to get involved in private affairs.

“You know, they do that a lot. Up there… They even place bets,” the Lieutenant offered.

Dana kept silent.

“They target loners and…well…”

“I’ve heard the tales,” Dana sighed. “It’s why I never visit the promenade. You’d be wise to steer clear of the civilians, too.”

Denton nodded, but was about to add something when Dana’s voice-badge sounded.

“Cartwright? Is that ambassadorial shuttle ready for a test flight?” Commander Dutch, demanded.

Dana tapped the badge to respond to the Shuttle Deck Controller. “Just another hour or two of work on the autopilot system, sir. The drone escort is still offline, of course.”

“That’s great, because it’s going out today. Finish up ASAP.”

Cartwright rolled her eyes, answering, “Aye, sir,” and tapped the pin again. Looking to Denton, she wondered, “Were you scheduled to finish the exterior paint on
Trader One
?”
 

“The Blade Class? Dutch pulled me off it and wanted the fuselage of the tug in 27 worked on instead.”

“It’ll have to do. Can’t believe they’re sending it out this fast. It’s been here for years.” Dana shrugged, rising from her seat, “Oh, well, back to work. Can’t wait to fly it again.”

“Again?” Denton wondered.

Dana nodded. “That Blade Class and I are old friends.”

“Nice… I’ll clean-up,” Denton offered, adding Dana’s empty cup to what was on the tray.

“Thanks.”

Cartwright headed for Bay 76, opened her lockbox, pulled on overalls, and took up her tools. “Yes, indeed, I cannot wait to fly you again,” she told the ship, punching in the code on the keypad for the access ramp to descend and the hatch to open. She smiled, patting the entry door frame affectionately, before proceeding to the pilot’s console of the Blade Class shuttle. Even without a fresh coat of exterior paint, it was still her favorite ship.

All the while she mechanically worked on the shuttle repairs, Dana’s mind was far away, thinking of Doctor Calagura and the message she’d sent. If anyone could help, it was Francis. He’d been through a lot with her.
 

She didn’t tell him everything, of course; like the details of finding a graying, bearded, comatose man at a skilled nursing facility a few kilometers from her home in Estes Park, Colorado, Earth, and using her empathetic abilities to miraculously revive him.
 

Franklin Shepherd — the man with mismatched heterochromia eyes like hers — was what the genetics lab would call ‘the sperm donor.’ She called him her human father. He’d been comatose for a score of years — in fact, for over twenty-four years, all the while she’d been growing up until she found him. She wondered what it would be like to sit down beside him and hear his life stories, the tales a real father might tell his daughter.

DOC Cartwright had raised her — adopted her — but he never spoke of his life or told her stories. She had few memories even of her step-brother, Gregory,
 
as they were growing up.

She thought again about the dream of Forever Pointe — of flying — the memory that Kieran Jai, a friend and lover, had given her. Her mood descended to melancholy at the thought of him.

Trader One
, formerly called
Trident
, was identical in every way to
Stiletto
, Ambassador Cray’s private ship that had crashed on landing at the Capitol City Observatory. Dana could still recall the full harvest moon and her mournful lament that night. “I should never, ever have become a doctor.”

Minutes later, she was climbing under the wreckage to save the life of the pilot of that shuttle, Kieran.