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

years.”
    “It’s just an old saying my grandfather used to…”
    They both laughed.
      Mackenna went to the digitizer to enter a request for six new, female, size X-small uniforms for her, promising, “I’ll have them delivered to your quarters. You can recycle the men’s uniforms, if you like, or set them out in the corridor for your yeoman.”
    Dana shrugged, offered her thanks, and left, looking forward to having the new uniform shirts and pants before the morning briefing.  
    The moment she reached her quarters, she settled down on the overly firm bunk, suddenly exhausted, and closed her eyes. The dissonant pulse of the interstellar drive lulled her to sleep.
    Once again, she dreamed of flying — of soaring — over Forever Pointe on Centauri Prime, with no logical explanation as to why.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    At 0700, Dana Cartwright dressed in one of the old uniforms, since the new ones had not yet arrived, and went down to Starboard-Seven, the officers’ lounge, for a meal.
    The Captain was already there.   He didn’t appear rested. She deliberated taking a seat farther away, but he motioned her to the empty chair opposite his at the same table they had shared the night before.
    Dana ordered as the Captain finished his coffee.   Neither broke the silence, until her meal and a cup of hot tea arrived.  
    Macao stared at the bowl of oatmeal, “I hate oatmeal. Every day at Academy they served us oatmeal, and eggs…reconstituted, powdered eggs.”
    Dana chuckled, “I don’t eat eggs.”
    He locked eyes with her.
    She boldly returned his stare.  
    “Sir?”
    “Have you ever been to Forever Pointe?”
    She sucked in a breath, “Why do you ask?”
    “I keep seeing an image of you flying over the canyon. Can’t put it out of my mind.”
    “Did you see it telepathically?” she wondered, deliberately being evasive.
    He nodded.
    “That should be impossible, sir, with me wearing an N-link.”
    “I saw it before you even came aboard, but after I first met you on Four.”
    “Perhaps it’s precognitive,” she suggested, manipulating the conversation away from his inquiry.
    “I hate Forever Pointe,” Janz admitted, “you would have to push me off the cliff.”
    She chuckled, thinking he was joking. “I love flying. Gave up my medical career so I could. Declined a promotion to full commander, so I could stay on the small craft level and on the Mech-Tech flight crew.”
    “You flew for Alphan ambassadors? You flew Trident before? And Solon’s ship?”
    “Yes, sir, for Ambassador Kord of the Alphan delegation and for Ambassador Solon of the Galaxean, and a dozen others; even flew the President of the Republic once on a short hop from Earth-Station One to his home on Betelgeuse II, when his crew…” She stopped, seeing the Captain’s eyes narrow.
    Macao demanded to know, “Why are you on my ship?”
    “You’ve asked me that before,” Dana said. “I have no idea.”
    Janz abruptly winced, bringing his left hand up and rubbing it. “I suddenly have this really intense pain in my palm.” He flexed his fingers.
    “Ever injured it?”
    “Not the left hand, only the elbow.”
    She reached out, offering to do a careful examination, checking the joints.
    “Ouch!” he pulled away, still staring. “Did you know Lt. Zak in engineering has mismatched eyes like yours?”
    Her attention heightened, “An interesting coincidence — heterochromia iridia, however, is not all that rare, sir.”
    Macao scowled. “I’d never met anyone with it until you and him.”
    “My father had it.”
    “Is that why you became an eye specialist? It says in your personnel file you performed eye transplants.”
    “My adopted father, David Cartwright, thought it was an up-and-coming field.”
    “You became a transplant surgeon because he wanted you to?” Macao frowned.
    She nodded.
    “You were an accomplished surgeon…if I ever need one, I’ll be sure to ask for you.”
    Clearly, he was now teasing.
    “I no longer