Free Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer by Joyz W. Riter

year before snagging the assignment to Four.”
    “Oh, one of the big, Galaxean birds? Makes that little Blade Class seem like a peep.”
    “Blade Class shuttles, like Trader One , are far more agile, and I’m rather fond of the drone escort program.”
    “I am, too. When they’re functioning, it’s quite impressive.” Macao whispered, “I shouldn’t have given you back that N-link.”
    “It blocks my telepathic thoughts and makes it impossible for you to read me,” Dana reminded, self-consciously fingering the pendant.
    “Exactly.”
    “You could order me to remove it.”
    He stared then heaved a sigh. “I may just do that.”
    Their meals were delivered by a petite yeoman.  
    “Thank you, Mister Napa,” the Captain said, giving the yeoman very little attention before slipping a cloth napkin over his lap and taking up a fork.
    Dana waited for the woman to leave before taking up a spoon.
    “So you’re a total vegan?” Macao commented, while stabbing a small curl of breaded shrimp on his plate amid a bed of fried rice. “I lean more towards seafood.”
    “I normally follow a very strict vegetarian and low-carb diet, but I make exceptions now and then for treats, such as chocolay,” Dana said, taking up a cup of the Enturian beverage and savoring the first taste. “Not all duplicators offer it.”
    The Captain chuckled. “That’s a bad vice of mine. I love that stuff. It’s been awhile since I visited Enturize. What continent are you from?”
    “North America,” Dana answered stiffly.
    His eyebrows shot upward as he puzzled over the response, “North America, Earth?”
    She added, “I was raised on Earth, sir.”
    “Really?”
    “Estes Park, Rocky Mountains, Capitol City…”
    He seemed truly surprised. “You are quite an enigma, Mister Cartwright. Why are you my C-O-C?”
    “I have an uncanny ability with wiring schematics. I’m like a neurosurgeon when it comes to circuitry.”
    For the first time since meeting the Captain, she saw Janz Macao offer up an unguarded smile.  
    “Like a neurosurgeon?” He chuckled over that all through the meal. He ordered a chocolay for himself and, after it arrived, sank back in the tub chair with it, relaxing for just a few minutes longer. “You really do need smaller uniforms. What were they thinking?”
    “I’m guessing these were ordered for Commander Brandt,” Dana joked.
    “Perhaps…” The Captain nodded then grew serious, setting down his empty cup. “They could have patched up Neville’s broken ribs.”
    Dana knew his meaning. “One punctured a lung — mandatory three weeks of down time. I could quote the medical procedures manual.”
    “Fane! I should have visited him in the med-center on Four. I wasn’t thinking.” Macao stood abruptly, bowed his head in her direction, and then said, “Mission briefing 0900.”
    She didn’t have time to rise or respond before he was gone.

    After dinner with the Captain, Dana went down to Deck Eleven to scold them about the uniform order. Yes, her yeoman could — and should — deal with it, but it gave her a way to vent, and an excuse to explore the lower decks.  
    The male yeoman called up the text of the order and the error became blatantly clear.  
    “Four, size small, two-piece, keyword ‘male’ uniforms.”
    Dana stared at the man behind the counter. “As you can see, there’s been an error.”
    Yeoman Mackenna eyed her from head to foot. “It would appear so, Commander Cartwright. I’ll take care of it. My sincere apologies… Bet they never dreamed a Bridge C-O-C would be...err...female.”
    Dana shrugged. “I find it rather surprising we have no duplicators in our quarters,” she grumbled, watching and waiting as he processed the corrections.
    “These older battleships lack quite a few amenities. Big L ’s being retired in a year or so. No retrofit for Lancer …Going to moth balls.”
    Dana chuckled at the latter, “Moth balls have been banned for a hundred