Read Dana Cartwright Mission 2: Lancer for Free Online

disappointment.
    Dana took up her communications voice-badge and attached it to the sleeve of her overalls, quickly abandoned tools and panels, and hurried out to meet the captain. The work order from Shuttle Control said the ship needed to be ready and it was — well, almost — needing only the required test flight.
    She, however, had to dust off her gray flight suit and, as she came down the ramp to the deck, had to push aside her long braid of cinnamon colored hair.  
    “May I help you, sir?” She offered, after clearing her throat.
    He came to a full stop at arm’s length, literally towering over her. She guessed he was about forty, with a full head of unruly, reddish-brown, curly hair, a flushed ruddy complexion quite unusual for an Alphan, and clear blue eyes that flashed like lightning.  
    He wasn’t at all happy.
    That alone caused her to stiffen to attention.
    “Captain Macao of Lancer . I need Lt. Cmdr. Cartwright,” he growled, impatiently pounding a padlet against his left palm.
    “Yes, sir,” Dana responded, though she didn’t move an inch.
    “Get him!” The Captain ordered. “He’s my new Computer Circuitry Chief, a last minute replacement.” Macao pointed to the screen of the device in his fist.
    “Last minute replacement? For Commander Brandt?” Dana gasped, wide-eyed.
    Macao rolled his. “Am I not speaking universal? Or do you not understand me? I need you — to fetch — Mister Cartwright — right now — for me — this second — pronto.”
    She stared back at him and assumed the proper stance, again coming to attention, admitting, “Sir, I am Lt. Cmdr. Dana J. Cartwright…”
    His disappointment turned to disbelief and, perhaps, despair.
    Dana watched his complexion turn thunderstorm gray, something else Alphans rarely, if ever, managed to do. He stared into her mismatched eyes. She felt his struggle to fight down a roaring flood of anger, which most certainly required using all his Alphan Mastery training to keep from erupting with volcanic force. It wasn’t proving easy for him.  
    “Someone’s made a mistake,” he hissed, pointing at the padlet, to the name there in bold font at the top of the transfer orders. “No where on this screen does it mention that Lt. Cmdr. Cartwright is a thirty-something female who barely reaches my chin and probably weighs less than a hundred weight.”
    Dana shrugged. She wasn’t about to apologize for being female, petite, or thin.  
    “Fane!” Macao gritted his teeth, stared down at her in abject dread, and hissed, “Surely, someone has made a mistake! I don’t allow squeamish, dithering, females aboard my ship, let alone on my bridge.”
    “I’m sure you don’t, Captain,” she responded icily, her brown, right eye narrowing slightly, while the blue, left one drilled him with cool formality, “and I don’t see any ‘squeamish, dithering females’ anywhere on the shuttle deck.” She appended a brutally cold, “Sir,” just to keep a degree of respectfulness.
    His hard-as-stone facade returned, though he glared down at her with narrowed eyes. Dana matched his gaze, with utter silence, in a battle of wills.  
    Macao looked away first. He pushed past her, climbed the ramp up into the ship, took a look around, groaned and grunted, and then retraced his steps.  
    “It’ll have to do.” He shoved the padlet into her unwilling hands. “Assuming it flies, I want it aboard Lancer in one hour or less, locked down on the shuttle deck. I expect you on my bridge an hour after that, with your station at the ready, fully prepared for departure. Understood?”
    “ Trader One hasn’t had a shake down yet, sir,” Dana responded calmly. “One hour doesn’t allow for the required test run.”
    “I want it — and you — aboard Lancer in one hour.” He held up one finger and pointed at her chest. “What ever it takes! One hour! Get it done.”
    He stalked away before Dana had the presence of mind to answer, “Yes, sir.” Under her