Dana Cartwright Mission 1: Stiletto (22 page)

The pilot, an aging human with oriental features might have been Captain Ensoto’s ancestor. He offered to take her tote. “Is that it?”

Dana nodded. “I travel light. Captain…”

“Takio,” he offered. He knew her name already. “Welcome aboard, Doctor Cartwright.”

The shuttle was an old Class F, seven-passenger — probably retired from one of the big commercial ships.

“You’re my only passenger. Most would just MAT transfer,” Takio admitted, as he sealed the rear hatch.

Dana offered up a smile. “I want to fly.”

His eyes — both brown — gleamed. “Well then, come up front and take the copilot’s seat.”

She grinned and after stowing her tote in a locker, she did just that, carefully fastening the safety bar.

She noted that he didn’t and mentioned it.

“Oh, most pilots don’t bother.”

She told him about the Alphan Blade Class shuttle,
Stiletto
, crashing on the upper landing zone of the Capitol City Observatory the night of the harvest full moon.

He listened and under her scrutiny fastened the safety bar. “So, that was your business. Patching craft together?”

Dana shook her head. “No, patching up people,” she sighed, “but I’ve enlisted in the Star Service for a career change.”

Takio nodded. “Well, my specialty was circuitry — piecing shuttles back together. Best darn job in all of the service, if you like flying.”

Dana’s ears perked up. “Why is that?”

“You get to test fly them before everyone else…on manual as often as autopilot.” He beamed. “And you mostly get to hang out down in the shuttle bay — away from all the drama up top.”

She felt like hugging him. “Thank you, Takio. You’ve steered me toward my new career. I’d rather be a ship doctor, than a ship’s doctor.”

He got a kick out of the play on words. All the rest of the flight, he lectured about the different shuttles and their peculiarities.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Type 5’s…they’re still on the drawing board. Will be two more years, maybe, before they are flying.” He went on to detail the new features. “Maybe your graduating class will be the first to fly them.” Takio beamed. “This one’s a duranium shell with ion crystal engines. The new ones will have nano technology.”

Dana listened, captivated by his wealth of knowledge. “Why’d you retire from Star Service?”

“I’m seventy-five. Time to let younger ones, like you, get a taste.” He chuckled. “Not many ladies down there on the shuttle deck. You’ll be a big hit.”

“Am I too small?”

He snickered. “Smaller is better. You can get into the tight spots, but use the levitation units to lift things. Saves your back.” He looked over. “Say, you sure have unusual eyes.”

“One in three million…”

“I met a young man - I guess it was out at Spaceport Nine. He had mismatched eyes, the same as yours. About the same age as you, too.”

“Was he Galaxea?”

“No… Can’t say that he was. Can’t recall his last name, but his first name was August.”

Dana smiled and filed the information away. “I’ll have to look him up.”

The approach and landing at Star Service Academy, gave Dana a much clearer focus on her new career. Flying included takeoffs and landings, not just soaring. And as Kieran Jai had learned, the hard way, landings could be the most dangerous part.

Dana watched as Captain Takio skillfully went through the procedures of contacting the tower, aligning on the outer marker, gauging the descent, factoring speed and crosswinds, hovering, and touchdown.

Captain Takio lectured through the whole process through the whole process, just the way his first flight instructor had taught him. “You can learn all of this on simulators, of course,” he said, “but your first solo flight is when you get your wings.”

Dana beamed with anticipation and absorbed as much as possible. “I am so glad I decided to take a shuttle. Thank you for having me up here in the copilot’s seat.”

“Copilots must help during preflight and postflight,” he cautioned. He talked her through the checklist. “You won’t remember all of this the first few flights; they give you a padlet with the list. Afterwards, it becomes very mechanical.”

Dana didn’t boast of having a photographic memory. It didn’t seem the time.

“When the checklist is complete, you advise the landing zone and the controller acknowledges,” Takio said. He indicated the COM button.

Dana reached for it. “Tower, this is shuttle F-1711. Postflight complete.”

“Roger, F-1711. You are clear to disembark passengers.”

Takio nodded approvingly. “Well-done.” He started to rise, but the safety bar stopped him. “You see how old, bad habits die hard.”

Dana smiled as she released her own safety bar. Remembering how DOC hated MAT’ing, she started to chuckle.
 

“All set?” Captain Takio asked.

“All set,” Dana answered, retrieving her gear bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

He opened the hatch and the gangway descended to the deck. Then he offered the Galaxean salute.

Dana wondered why, for a moment thinking that he was saluting her. Then she saw a man waiting at the bottom of the ramp — a Galaxean.

“Ambassador Solon,” Takio offered a bow.

Dana saluted.

The tall, painfully thin, middle-aged Galaxean lifted his hand to respond. “Captain Takio and Cadet Cartwright.”

Dana bowed in the customary Oriental way to Captain Takio then took the ramp down to the deck. “Mister Ambassador?”

“Welcome to the Academy, Cadet Cartwright.”

Dana blinked, realizing he’d come to meet her. “Thank you, sir.”

With a swish of his formal robe, he turned toward the VIP lounge and led her that way, past a hundred or more young cadets in fresh uniforms crowding through the intake area waiting for luggage and such. They were, no doubt, her future classmates.
 

Dana felt a pang of regret. “Sir? I should…” She pointed.

Ambassador Solon gave the cadets a glance, but shook his head negatively. “You have been granted First Class rank. You do not have to wait with the younger cadets if you so choose.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“You have completed your Science Degree. I argued you should be ranked Lieutenant, and you will receive a promotion to that rank once you have completed flight school.”

Dana could only nod in awe. It paid to have a mentor.

Solon led to a window table in the nearly deserted lounge, and invited her to sit. She dropped her tote on a vacant seat and joined him. That gave her the first opportunity to stare into Solon’s eyes.

“DOC asked you to meet me?” She wondered.

Solon responded rather stiffly, “No, I took it upon myself when Doctor Ankara told me you had applied and been accepted.” He stared back. “You belong in the Star Service, Doctor. I have argued that with DOC for years.”

Dana barely heard his response. “I have your eyes,” she mouthed, seeing the resemblance that Kieran had seen in the bedside photo. “Are you my biological father?”
 

“Why do you ask?”

She recognized the skillful way he manipulated the conversation, just the way DOC always did.

“New information about my birth had been made known to me,” Dana answered, “Except for my parentage. I continue to seek that knowledge.”

Solon’s gaze softened. He was kind, but admitted, “I have not the honor of being your father.”

“You know who is,” she realized.

He blinked, but did not answer. He gave a curious glance at the welts on her wrists, again diverting the conversation. “What are those?”

“I treated a young, Alphan woman. Her mate died and, in her grief, she attempted suicide. I empathically suffered her wounds. They should fade over time.”

Solon nodded and his right eyebrow rose. “You experienced an empathic wound?”

Dana stared. “It was rather shocking to me, since I had never experienced such a reaction before.”

The Ambassador asked for her to show him both wrist again, then commented, “Did your patient survive?”

“I believe she did. However, I had to log off the case.”

“Extremely interesting,” he answered. “And this never happened to you before?”

“Never.”

“Were you recently exposed to sulfites?”

Dana puzzled over the question. “Yes, to sodium sulfite. Why do you ask?”

“Any other toxic form of sulfites?”

“Yes. Is it related?” Now she was puzzled.

“You may wish to study Enturian pharmacology while here at the Academy, Doctor.”

“Why? I just want to learn to fly.”

“Do you know the Enturian Ambassador?”

“Brettes? No, sir.”

Solon shook his head negatively. “I was referring to Ambassador Hale, former Master Captain of the Enturian Fleet.”

“No, I’ve never met her,” Dana answered. Her heart skipped a beat, recalling, “She resigned after exposure to sulfites. I recall DOC mentioning that.”

“She was intentionally poisoned by a nearly lethal dose of sodium sulfite, while working on a very important terra forming project. The result was an activation of certain latent DNA mutations in her blood.”

“Mutations?” That aroused Dana’s interest.

Solon nodded. “Captain Hale came to Galaxea to study under my tutelage.” His eyes were kind. “You may wish to take the same training. It would be in addition to your Academy coursework.”

The thought of studying with Solon excited her. It would be an incredible opportunity. Dana reviewed the possibilities and then smiled, realizing how he had so easily again taken control of the conversation. She needed to learn how to do that, too.

“Mister Ambassador, I would consider it a great honor to study under your tutelage.” She bowed her head respectfully. “I still want to learn who my biological parents are.”

“The records were sealed to protect you,” he reminded.

“Well, it hasn’t. I was nearly killed at the closing ceremonies of the Meeting of the Masters.”

Solon’s eyebrows shot upward but he said nothing.

“You are aware, Mister Ambassador, that there was an attempt to murder Ambassador Cray?”

“Several attempts, as I understand it,” Solon amended. “There were successful assassinations of four other members of the Alphan delegation and two against the Betelgean delegation.”

Dana nodded.

Solon asked, “How were you involved?”

She told him the details of witnessing the shuttle crash, of being the first responder and then assisting when Colonel Sierra was critically wounded.

Solon asked pertinent questions. To Dana, they were far more pertinent than those Inspector Regis had asked — and far more logical.

She answered honestly. “It was a very carefully-plotted attempt.”

The Ambassador agreed.

Though the conversation proved interesting, Dana still had to ask one more time about parentage. “Sir, are you lecturing on DNA mutations and genetics at the Station Four conference this semester?”

Solon responded carefully, “If the schedule permits.”

Dana carefully crafted her answer, “I should like to attend, since I was born there, and Doctor Kyoko Dey-Cartwright, my stepmother, still teaches there.”

Solon reacted as she expected, with a raised eyebrow.

“I wasn’t aware Doctor Dey was still teaching.”

“My cousin, Emyko, told me. DOC never mentions Kyoko.”

Solon offered, “Perhaps the Star Service would permit you to travel to the conference as my assistant. I will investigate the possibility.”

Dana smiled demurely, mimicking Solon’s Galaxean mannerisms, finding them to be very comfortable and natural.

Solon rose, signaling the end of the conversation. “Your campus orientation begins tomorrow, so I won’t keep you.”
 

Dana collected her tote and gave the Galaxean salute with her right hand, realizing how very much she appreciated his taking the time to meet her. “Peace be with you, Mister Ambassador.”

He responded, “And with you, Doctor Cartwright.”

She thought about reminding him her rank was now cadet, but let it pass.

Solon departed through the VIP door.

Dana felt the need to return to the passenger lobby, where the last of her fellow cadets were still in line being screened.

A very young man with albino hair and pale, brown eyes brought up the rear. He stepped aside to allow her to go ahead of him.

“Thank you, Cadet.”

He responded in Alphan, “I am honored.”

Dana grinned and returned, in his language, “Your first year?”

“Yes. Yours?”

“I’m transferring in for flight school.” She added, “I’m Dana Cartwright.”

“Korwin Kord.”

Dana offered her hand to shake, but he shook his head and apologized. “Sorry, I can’t. There’s a rule against telepathic touching.”

“Mated already then?” she wondered.

His eyes widened. “You know about that?”

“I’ve studied Alphan anatomy and physiology.”

Korwin chuckled and admitted sheepishly, “Oh.”

After they squeezed through the stalls and were shuffled along to the tram station, Korwin offered to carry her tote, since he had only a small one.

“You travel light,” he remarked.

“You, too.”

And then he had to ask, “Your eyes are quite unusual. Complete heterochromia iridium?”

“Iridia,” she corrected, “One in three million.”
 

“Do you get teased about them?”
 

“No, never. People do occasionally ask though. Why?”

“Oh,” he smiled. “Good.” When they stopped at the line for the tram, he set down both their totes and popped out one eye lens, revealing his left eye was actually pale-blue — just like hers.

Dana’s smile turned into a broad grin. “How fascinating!”

He chuckled. “Now there are two in three million.”

“Are we cousins?” she wondered.

“We are now,” he said proudly, “if I may adopt you.”

They laughed together as they took the only remaining seats of the last tramcar, chattering about housing and orientation.

“I have a furnished apartment off-campus,” Dana admitted when the tram stopped at the student union building and everyone jumped off.

“I’m here in the dorms for now,” Korwin answered.