Dana Cartwright Mission 1: Stiletto (18 page)

“We need to talk… Please?”

Kieran sighed and nearly exclaimed in frustration an expletive directed at women in general. Instead, he gathered up his clothes, dressed, and then picked up the sealed bag with the white wig and beard they’d retrieved from MCE Intake.

“I’ll be at HQ,” he told her through the door. “You can come out now. We’ll talk later, when you’re calmer.”

He tapped his voice-badge and requested a MAT transfer to his private office.

The viewer blinked, signaling a message awaited him. Kieran ignored it for a few moments, while he regained his composure.

“Women are such strange creatures — especially hybrid women. Obviously, Dana’s Galaxean half needs to be cultivated.”

DOC Cartwright set the book down upon the mahogany desk and peered over his reading glasses at Kieran Jai. With a perfunctory wave of his shaky right hand, he pointed the young Colonel to a chair. “Thank you for coming.”

Kieran remained standing. His experiences with his own father taught: be respectful of your elders. DOC was that and more.

“Doctor,” Kieran bowed his head respectfully, “Do you plan to lecture me?”

DOC’s face was unreadable. “You come from a very honorable family. I met your father many years ago; perhaps before you were born, when Alpha Centauri was new to the Republic - before interspecies marriages were common and accepted.”

“Sir?”

“You have a duty, lad, an oath and a remarkably promising career ahead of you. Dana does, too. Leave her alone. She is far too young to throw it all away, chasing you about the galaxy.”

“Doctor Cartwright, Dana saved my life. I owe her everything.”

“Gratitude is no basis for choosing a mate. If you discussed the matter with your own father, he would counsel you as I… Do your homework, lad. You have nothing to offer her.”

“Sir… I realize she is your daughter, but…”

“I have raised her as my own, but she is not mine.”

Kieran shrugged. “Dana and I are forever linked by a single, traumatic event in time; and will forever be. I do love her. I will always love her. Can you not understand that?”

DOC Cartwright blinked his cloudy, aging eyes and sighed heavily. “Let me be blunt, Colonel. Leave her alone; or you will find new orders to relocate to the far, far fringes of Republic territory.”

“You’re threatening me?” Kieran chuckled. “You would have me banished?” He found that extremely funny.
 

“Exactly.”

“You don’t have that kind of authority.” Kieran felt anger and something else. This attempt at intimidation just would not work. He realized he could argue until the next full moon and DOC Cartwright would not budge.

DOC showed him the book on the desk. “William Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet
. The tragedy of two star-crossed lovers; a relationship doomed from the very start. You’ve read it. Do your homework?”

“I am not a Montague; and Dana is not a Capulet.” Kieran countered, “I actually played the part of Tybalt in my younger days.”
 

“Well, mayhap you know of what I speak.” DOC Cartwright stared. “Think on it, Colonel. Avert a tragedy.”

Kieran had no answer. He bowed his head respectfully, tapped his voice-badge, and transferred back to SSID headquarters.

Dana MAT’d to the Observatory and climbed the steps to the upper deck — to the place where she’d watched the moonrise. The sky was overcast. She leaned against the railing, feeling that cold, Northwestern wind off the Rocky Mountains even through her cloak.

The link with Kieran was, again, broken. She knew why. Every time she let her heart — her emotions — overrule her head, she could no longer hear his thoughts.

Nor could he hear hers. That was good because, right now, hers were in turmoil.

Maybe DOC was right. Wouldn’t that be a joke?
 

Face it, girl. You’re not Alphan. To mate with Kieran would only bring pain and heartache.

Already, the wound was deep.
 

Maybe I can pretend that none of this ever happened…
 

She wistfully looked off to the East.
 

Forget…
She repeated as a mantra.

Francis beamed at her, “Back to work already?”

Dana was in scrubs and pushing her hair up into the mandatory hair net. “Yes… Time flies.”

Calagura gave her a sidelong look, but they were heading into the Intake room and needed to focus.

“Head wound… And a broken leg… Which do you prefer?” He asked.

“I’ll take the broken leg.” Dana responded, heading into the ER where Grant Jeffries was pushing a coffin into position.
 

“Hey, Grant. Good to see you.”

“Hey, Doctor Dana.”

Dana read the coffin output. “Human male, age twenty-two… Flying a hang glider?”

“Yeah… Caught a nasty downdraft. We sedated for transport. Leg appears to be broken in three places. He was lucky.”

“Ever been hang gliding, Grant?”

“Nope, though it does look like fun. Too cold today and too windy, I guess.” Grant gave her a mock salute before going through the exit doors.
 

Dana bobbed her head in response, mumbling, “Hang gliding…”

She set to working on the patient’s left leg, while he was still under sedation.
 

It didn’t take long to mend broken bones -- not nearly as long as to mend a broken heart.

Francis called to her, “What’s the sit?”

“Almost done,” Dana called. “How about you?”

“Possible concussion… Going to admit.”

“I think mine will walk out of here.” Dana decided.

“We still going to the closing ceremonies tomorrow?” Francis asked. “It’ll be ten more years before the next series.”
 

“Can’t wait…” Dana returned.
 

Kieran held the longhaired wig and the false beard — his disguise — with his scarred hands. “Need gloves, too,” he decided, inspecting them. The tunic and cloak had also been delivered to
 
Ambassador Cray’s suite at the spaceport. The little android aide waited there with Kieran. Cray was 4.24 light years away, at Proxima Centauri, where Doctor Santero was planning to do a surgical implant to replace the Ambassador’s wounded eye.

No one knew that save for Kieran, the Ambassador, the crew of the private shuttle and
 
Doctor Santero.

Impersonating the Ambassador one last time for the closing ceremonies of the Meeting of the Masters would end Kieran’s mission as part of Cray’s security detail.

As he dressed in the costume and applied the wig and beard, his heart wasn’t in it. His thoughts were still on Dana -- on losing the most beautiful woman in the world — due to a freaking technicality of his oath and employment contract with SSID.

Entanglements!

The word alone was offensive, too bloody offensive. She had every right to be angry. He was, also.

He ached to see her again, feeling a pain deeper and more traumatic than the spinal injury — more even than the incident in the coffin.

He heaved a sigh.
No
, he chided himself. “Focus, Kieran!” He heard his father’s voice scolding, “You have a job to do. Get it done.”

Still, his heart overruled his head. And then he remembered DOC Cartwright scolding him — ordering him to “Leave her alone,” using that reference to Shakespeare’s star-crossed lovers. “Leave her alone, or face the consequences!”

Two years apart from Dana were consequences enough.

“Sir, it’s time,” LittleJohn chimed.

Kieran nodded. He looked the part.
 

No one at the Meeting of the Masters even paid him a second look. He followed the security details’ instructions and was escorted along with the other ambassadors and dignitaries to ringside seats.

Focus,
he scolded.

Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed the final bout. He spotted Dana in the audience, across the arena. She was sitting next to Doctor Francis Calagura and her discomfort was obvious.

Yet, Kieran could not hear her thoughts. They had no link. She was too agitated.
 

He watched her body language and followed her gaze to a group of men wearing Star Service uniforms. Then he knew the cause of her distress. He tapped his hidden voice-badge and whispered, “Sierra? Code red. Via and Skeller!”

He heard a response but, with the noise in the arena, could not be certain what the Galaxean had said in response.

The situation prevented confirming.

And then, he did hear Dana’s plea. She began to panic — as he had in the coffin — he knew and recognized the feeling.

Though he tried, she did not respond.

Dana fought down her fear. Their reserved seats at the Meeting of the Masters were practically on the main deck with the participants — so close to the action — too close for her comfort zone.

“Terrific seats!” Francis Calagura announced, unaware of her distress. “Your brother surely paid a fortune for these.”

“Probably received them as a gift,” Dana complained, nervously squeezing back against the metal chair to let others pass, though she was so petite she really needn’t.

The auditorium seated ten thousand; and the crowd clearly overflowed. She bristled. “Now I remember why I was out on the Observatory deck the night of the shuttle crash.”

Francis teased, “You hate crowds… Ochlophobia!”
 

“Something like that.” She pulled her multicolored cloak closer about her ribs and found herself leaning closer to her friend as the minutes ticked off and the time for the last match of the series to begin grew nearer.

And then Dana saw him. Her photographic memory made it impossible to be mistaken. Xavier Via was standing opposite her, across the ring, near the vomitorium where the dignitaries entered and exited. He wasn’t alone. The man she’d kicked — the man who’d attempted to stop her from crawling under the wreckage the night that
Stiletto
crashed — was there, too.

They wore dark gray, SSID uniforms and blended in very well with the group around them, other Star Service officers, apparently.

“Francis?” Dana squeaked, turning her face into his shoulder. “I think the men who attempted to assassinate Ambassador Cray are seated opposite us.”

Calagura casually looked that direction, as if scanning the crowd for a friend. “SSID uniforms? I see them. How’d they get past security?”

“They are security!”

He realized her meaning. They were, obviously, impersonating members of the security team.

Unfortunately, the match contestants and referees were flooding out into the ring and the noise level — cheering and some jeering — rose several octaves.

Dana shut her eyes and willed a telepathic message to Kieran Jai.
 

Kieran, please, if you hear me. The men are at the Meeting of the Masters. Kieran! If you’re here…
 

S
he focused her blue eye on the men, blocking out all extraneous thoughts, as if locking the image into her memory, however, she wasn’t sure Kieran received the image. She felt no connection — no link.

She tried to calm her emotions, meditating on calmness, hoping for confirmation from Kieran.

The match began. A large Rigelian and an equally massive Zakdorn circled and stomped. The two giant humanoids, both well over two hundred weight, brutalized each other.
 

Dana cringed, “Francis, I can’t take this!”

“It’s almost over,” he assured, taking her hand and squeezing. “And then it will be the closing. Pomp and pageantry.” Even Calagura jumped when the Rigelian hit the mat, very nearly at their feet.

All eyes were on the participant — down for the count — except for Dana’s and Xavier Via’s. Their eyes locked together in recognition.

All color drained from Dana’s cheeks, but in her mind, she thought she heard Kieran’s voice.

Stay calm. Don’t panic. I see them.

Suddenly, the crowded arena erupted in applause and everyone bolted to their feet. Francis jumped up. Dana didn’t.

Only by tightly shutting her eyes could she push down the anxiety. In her mind, Kieran’s voice soothed, urging,
Go flying
.

The memory he’d given came freshly to her and soon she was caught up, soaring above the Canyon, just the kite-glider on the wind like a majestic eagle.
 

She easily tuned out the cacophony around her, until Francis jarred her back to reality, touching his collar and clawing her to her feet, dragging her along. “Dana! Hurry!”
 

They were moving.
 

She frowned, “Where are we going? Francis?”

He called something over his shoulder, but the crowd was just too loud.

Kieran watched as Doctor Calagura abruptly pulled Dana to her feet, leading her through the crowd.

He lost sight of them; and he lost sight of Via and Skeller. Pulling his robes together, he started for the vom.

Dana’s own voice-badge sounded and she heard, “Doctor Dana Cartwright to Arena emergency medical station one: code red. Doctor Dana Cartwright: code red.”

And then she and Francis were down below, in the clear, in an open staging area near the vom — and she could see two EMTs setting up a coffin. Francis tugged her that direction at a run.
 

“Colonel Sierra is down!” A security officer shouted to them.
 

They both had their medical kits slung over their shoulders and the moment security personnel appeared, carrying the Galaxea, they set to work.

“Stab wound!”

“Multiple stab wounds…” Dana realized.

Both doctors used ultrasonics to sanitize, seal, and heal the external wounds. The internal bleeding was another matter. “Have to MAT to MCE!” Dana insisted.

“Get him into the coffin first. We must get him stabilized!” Francis countered.

“Can’t MAT from down here. Too much shielding! Must get to an exit.”

They were already covered in greenish Galaxea blood. The two EMTs helped with the levitation unit, while Dana programmed the coffin for Galaxea physiology — recalling all the textbook settings from memory.