Switched, Too

By Diane Burton

Be careful what you wish for...you might get it.

When downsized astronaut candidate Scott Cherella is offered a chance to go into space, he doesn't hesitate. He just has to pretend to be an Alliance of Planets starship captain. The moment he's beamed aboard, his lifelong dream becomes a nightmare. Sabotage erupts. To save the ship and crew, he has to depend on an uptight, disapproving colleague.

Although Veronese Qilana fears the smart-aleck Scott will never be able to pull off the switch, she must protect his real identity, a Terran masquerading as the starship's captain. Besides owing the real captain a debt of gratitude, she has her own ghosts and guilt to deal with. They must work together to uncover the saboteur and get the crew home. In doing so, they discover that opposites really do attract.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.M. Burton
• Release date: Jun 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476148816

Diane Burton

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction. Besides writing science fiction romance, she writes romantic suspense, and cozy mysteries. Diane and her husband live in West Michigan. They have two children and five grandchildren.For more info and excerpts from her books, visit Diane’s website: http://www.dianeburton.com

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Emergency Alert!

The strident klaxon blared. Red lights flashed. The message repeated.

Veronese Qilana's heart hammered against her ribs as she quickly stepped off the elevated transport platform. Her stomach clenched. Adrenaline raced through her veins. By the Intrepid Ones, the ship was under attack. Again.

Battle stations!

She checked behind her for her companion. Scott Cherella momentarily stumbled—a normal effect for one unused to a tele-transporter. His hand fell heavily on her shoulder before he steadied himself. She caught her breath and quickly stepped aside. The man would give himself away if he were not careful. If that occurred, her complicity would be revealed. As if she wasn't—she caught herself in midthought. Wasn't? She cleared the contraction from her mind and forced herself to return to the formality of Serenian speech. As if she was not in enough trouble already.

Prepare for attack. The command from First Officer Klegznef, his deep voice unmistakable over the general comm unit, replaced the computer-generated Emergency Alert. A vessel with hostile intent approaches.

That could not be. The war was over. According to Space Fleet Command, the rebels had abandoned this system. Alliance vessels were deployed in other sectors, routing out those who hid instead of surrendering. No starship should be in this system—not even the Freedom.

While she and the captain were on the surface, the ship was cloaked to avoid detection by Earth's defense systems. Decloaking momentarily to transport Scott and her to the ship must have made the Freedom visible to this other vessel.

The klaxon's blare charged every one of Veronese's nerve ending. Anxiety raced up her spine. Her stomach twisted. Her heart pounded in her ears. She had experienced those emotions once before. Tragedy resulted.

For the past six months, the Freedom had been engaged in battle with the Praetorians, rebels who wreaked havoc on Alliance ships and outposts. After seeing death so recently—so close—she feared for the safety of the crew. Fear. Such a Terran emotion. One she could not totally suppress despite her Serenian conditioning.

With a shaking finger, she tapped the communicator on her wrist before her companion forgot about the transport technician hidden from view and asked the way out. Her link opened the concealed portal. Scott Cherella did not even glance at her as he dashed through the opening she created. She quickly followed him through the portal.

With surprising confidence, he strode down the corridor toward the bridge. The captain's uniform molded his long legs and excellently proportioned rear. Veronese recalled a video she watched during her first sojourn on Earth. Buns of Steel. She quickly stifled the thought, so inappropriate in the midst of a crisis.

She did not have time to ascertain how Scott knew where to go. She could not follow. Her duty was in Engineering, deep within the bowels of the starship. He was on his own.

She dodged crewmembers scurrying like her to their assigned posts. Rounding the curve of the main corridor, she nearly tripped over Drakus, the diminutive Trucanian.

Holy smoke, where's the fire?

As he raced past her on his way to the Security office, Veronese wondered if he was ever going to get over his infatuation with Terran colloquialisms.

When she arrived at the conveyance to Engineering, several crewmembers were waiting to descend to the lowest level of the ship. Her link indicated the conveyance was descending.

Crewmen, this is an emergency, she said. Do not wait for the conveyance. It will take too long to return. Using her link, she opened a secure portal to a maintenance conduit.

With both hands, she seized the railing along the vertical stairs inside the narrow conduit. Then, planting her feet along the rail, she slid down to the platform at the next level. Her boots rang as she hit the grating. She glanced up. The crewmembers followed her through the portal. One stood to the side, allowing others to go ahead of her. It was the Lerossian whose station abutted Veronese's.

Again, bracing her feet on the rail, Veronese slid down another level. The others easily slid to the first platform—except the Lerossian female who was now slowly climbing down one rung at a time, her eyes firmly fixed on the circular wall of the conduit. Looking straight down five levels unnerved some of the crew.

When the portal closed behind the tremulous fem, the soundproof conduit silenced the klaxon's blare. Veronese knew the relief would be temporary . . . until she reached Engineering. The swooping tail section of the Freedom contained the main power plant. Engineering, a restricted area, was separate from the three-level, saucer-shaped portion which housed the bridge and research labs as well as the crew's quarters and assembly areas.

When Veronese entered the main room of Engineering, what seemed like chaos reigned as Chief Luqett barked orders and charged from station to station to ascertain the condition of all systems. Even after serving with him for nearly a year, she still found it difficult to reconcile Luqett's disregard for Serenian propriety. Serenians remained calm in the midst of crisis. Just as she forced herself to be.

Crewmembers bustled about checking systems and, in general, barely listening to Luqett's roar. Each had his or her duty to perform and did not need Luqett's direction. They indulged his histrionics because every crewmember—Veronese included—recognized that Luqett was the best Engineering Chief in Space Fleet.

When she reached her duty station, Veronese relieved her temporary replacement. With a quaver in his voice and a furrow to his blue, scaly brow, Rataxel turned over the controls. I'm really glad you're here, Lieutenant. The Tegror's yellow eyes widened at her appearance.

In the midst of Emergency Alert, she could not very well take time to change from Earth attire—jeans and T-shirt—into her uniform. What is wrong, Crewman?

I-I can't bring up the hyperdrive. The analyzer indicates all systems are operational. I didn't know what to do.

Did you inform Chief Luqett? she asked, stepping up to the terminal.

Rataxel waved his blue hand. N-Not yet. I-I didn't want him to yell at me.

You should know by now Chief Luqett speaks loudly to everyone. I will take over here. Report to your assigned position. Ignoring the flashing red lights around her, Veronese concentrated solely on preparing the hyperdrive for the ship's departure from the Terran system. Finally, the blaring klaxon ceased and the red lights changed from flashing to a continuous glow. A reminder that attack could come at any moment.

Veronese touched the appropriate sectors of the vid screen to activate the hyperdrive engine . . . and nothing happened.

Perhaps like Rataxel she was disconcerted by the Emergency Alert. She must have skipped a sequence. She repeated the procedure. Nothing.

Her fingers, moist from trepidation, might have slipped off the appropriate command symbol and caught the edge of another. That would be the logical reason, even though she rarely made such a mistake.

Surreptitiously, she wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans—rather, her sister's jeans, the ones Veronese kept as a reminder of her disastrous first trip to Earth six months ago. After taking a calming breath, she executed the sequence a third time. Again the hyperdrive remained inoperative even though the analyzer indicated all systems were functioning properly. Foreboding roiled in her stomach.

Without the hyperdrive to compress time and space, the ship would merely creep along, albeit faster than the primitive space vehicles from Earth.

Without the hyperdrive, they would be unable to return to Serenia before Space Fleet discovered that Captain Marcus Viator—the hero of the war—had disobeyed a direct order.

Without the hyperdrive, they would be marooned in this system.

Chief Luqett charged up to Veronese's station faster than a sonyo swooping down on its prey. Are the engines ready?

The hyperdrive is not functioning, she reported.

By the Seven Moons of Tarsus, not again!

Chief Luqett, prepare for the jump to hyperspace.

For a moment, Veronese was certain she heard Captain Viator's voice over the general communications unit. Only her acute hearing—attuned to fluctuations in mechanical sounds—detected a hint of Scott Cherella's cowboy accent.

Fear raced along every nerve ending. What if someone else heard the difference between the real captain and the impostor?

CHAPTER 2

Scott Cherella forced himself to stay calm while all hell broke loose. He'd barely recovered from being yanked off Earth, sliced-and-diced into microscopic particles by a transport beam then reassembled aboard a starship—all particles, hopefully, in their appropriate places.

He took a deep breath and willed his excitement not to show. The command center was larger than he expected, approximately three hundred square feet in area, wider across and sloping from aft to fore. Holy Moley. He couldn't get over it. He was on the bridge of a starship.

His heart raced. The tension in the room was palpable. The ship was in danger of being attacked and all he could think about was how thrilled he was to be there. He had to pull himself together, put into practice his military training and assess the situation like the commander he was supposed to be.

He quickly scanned the room. The science station was aft and to port, communications starboard. Just as the diagrams indicated. Helm was fore and center. Directly in front of the helm—navigation—position was an enormous viewscreen. Oh, my God. Space, up close and personal. His self-control not to react was getting good exercise.

Mr. Klegznef, he addressed the First Officer who vacated an elevated chair in the middle of the room, behind helm, as soon as Scott entered the bridge. What is our status?

Sir. The gray-skinned giant could give lessons in military bearing. Ramrod straight, heels snapped together, Klegznef stood at attention behind the captain's seat. From his proprietary grip on the back of the chair, he obviously thought it should belong to him. At Scott's pointed stare, Klegznef took a small step back. A ship approaches. It has not responded to a hail. Its identity is deliberately obscured. Its intentions appear hostile.

Hail the ship again, Officer Cabbeferron, Scott said. Ascertain its purpose.

Yes, Captain. The Communications Officer with long blond hair and hexagon markings on her skin barely looked up. Instead, her three-fingered hands flew across the flat-screen panel spread out in front of her, adjusting here, tapping there.

No response, sir, Cabbeferron said unnecessarily since the entire bridge crew heard the silence.

Its intentions are clear, Captain, the First Officer said in a voice that reminded Scott of Darth Vader. That coupled with the demeanor of Frankenstein's monster made Klegznef formidable. Its shields are up and weapons online. Give the order to fire before it fires on us.

When did officers give the captain orders? Not in the U.S. Navy and certainly not here.

In the large viewscreen, the vessel appeared stationary—just out of range of the Freedom's weapons. According to the Science Officer, the Freedom was also out of its range. Thank heaven for small favors, Scott silently repeated his momma's favorite saying.

Mr. Glaxpher, he addressed the Navigator. Lay in a course for Serenia.

Serenia, in the Andromeda Galaxy, was where the ship should be, not hovering over Earth while the real captain returned for the woman he had fallen in love with, the woman he left behind six months ago. Captain Marcus Viator, the twin Scott met only hours before, had gotten his heart's desire while Scott got his.

But, Captain, First Officer Klegznef began.

We will not break the peace accord, Scott said. Mr. Glaxpher, to Serenia.

The blue, scaly-skinned Navigator, a Tegror if Scott remembered his notes correctly, nodded his head making his curly indigo hair shimmer from the overhead light. Aye, Captain.

Klegznef gave Scott a look of disgust but kept silent. The First Officer was from a warrior society, so it made sense he would want to fire on what he perceived as a hostile ship. Strike first, negotiate later. Apparently, he also had the discipline not to contradict the captain's order.

They were cruising at normal speed. Faster than the space shuttle Scott almost piloted before government cutbacks put an end to that program and left him out in the cold. He had more experience, was a better pilot than those suck-ups they'd kept for whatever program came next.

Scott caught himself. What did he care about lost opportunities? He was here, in space. The Final Frontier. Thank you Gene Roddenberry for giving me dreams. And now Scott was living his dream, the dream he'd had since he was six years old. Even in the midst of an emergency, giddiness zinged through him. I finally made it.

And landed smack dab in the middle of a major crisis.

He was right where he wanted to be. He could do this. He finally achieved his heart's desire. Pretending to be his twin had gotten him into space. Hell, he'd do anything to stay there. Even wear a silky, nearly skin-tight, purple jumpsuit, like the rest of the officers on the bridge. Some people might call it burgundy. It was purple, for God's sake. Purple.

He took a breath. Beggars can't be choosers, as his momma used to say. Scott would wear sky-blue pink if it meant being in space.

The aft wall—the space between the science station and tactical—opened. Although this was the third time Scott had seen what everyone on board took for granted, he was still in awe of a blank wall opening into a doorway. Not a pocket door. Just, whammo, an opening.

As soon as a burly human strode through, the opening disappeared. Cap'n. We no ha' hyperdrive capacity.

If Scott's notes from the last person to beam aboard the starship were correct, this must be Luqett, Chief Engineer and Star Trek aficionado. With the addition of Luqett, the entire senior staff of the starship was assembled on the bridge. Hail, hail the gang's all here.

Wait a minute. No hyperdrive? What about main engines? Scott demanded.

Aye, sir. We have standard power.

Again the portal opened. This time, an alien in a forest green jumpsuit marched in. She bore a strong resemblance to a female Tasmanian Devil, a Looney Tune come to life. I have scanned the entire ship and cannot find Chief Hervimb.

Oh, shit. He'd forgotten about that damn traitor. Landing in the middle of a crisis might have had something to do with it.

Horice Hervimb is a traitor, Scott announced. "Our former Security Chief was Doctor Cenamola's accomplice. She followed him in order to join the rest of the rebels."

Disbelief and shock from those on the bridge met Scott's declaration. Except for two. The First Officer just stared with piercing black eyes while Science Officer Xaropa merely raised an eyebrow, ala Star Trek's Mr. Spock.

Sir, the war has ended. The Praetorians have surrendered, Xaropa said with quiet logic. If Scott didn't know about Serenian's abhorrence of emotional displays, he'd wonder about Xaropa's calm lack of expression.

Looks like a few didn't, including that vessel out there, Scott snapped before controlling a wince. He had to remember that Serenians spoke in formal sentences, with no contractions.

That is impossi— the newcomer began. Green uniform. That meant Security. Silver collar indicated an officer. This had to be Zlebal.

Scott cut her off. Hervimb rendezvoused with those rebels who chose not to honor the peace accord—quite possibly with the vessel refusing to answer our hail. Cabbeferron, contact Space Fleet Command. We must report Hervimb's treachery. He turned to the First Officer. Hervimb's security code must be terminated. We must see to it that she is unable to access the ship's computer remotely.

Captain, Zlebal said. I cannot believe Chief Hervimb joined the Praetorians.

Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn what you think. Scott gave her a haughty look—one his twin had used on him—then realized he'd slipped into Earth slang.

All the diagrams, descriptions of the crew, even Veronese Qilana's warnings about surveillance cameras and acting like a proper Serenian did not prepare him for an all-out crisis. But, then, nobody expected a crisis after the rebels surrendered to the Alliance. His twin, the real Captain Viator, hadn't. Otherwise, he never would have turned his ship over to Scott. And that would have left him back on Earth still longing for a chance to get into space. Well, he was here now and up to his ass in alligators.

Chief Luqett, we need that hyperdrive. Zlebal, you are Security Chief now. Dismissed.

Luqett obeyed instantly. Zlebal, a little slower.

Scott had no choice but to use the computer now. Before tackling it for the first time, he'd hoped for the privacy of his quarters—and Veronese Qilana's help. His reluctant co-conspirator ditched him as soon as they came aboard. He mentally kicked himself for his selfishness. They were in the middle of a crisis. She had her duties. He had his.

Damn. He didn't want to tackle the computer. Suck it up, Ace. You can do this. You wanted adventure. You wanted to explore space. You got it. Now, man up.

He sat in the captain's chair. Automatically, an instrument panel on the right swung up and in front of him. A hit in the solar plexus might have been easier to take. Symbols and shapes he'd never seen before covered the segmented screen. It might as well be filled with ancient Sanskrit. Panic shot through him. He couldn't read.

He thought he'd covered all bases. He knew the layout of the ship. He knew the senior officers' names and could match them with their descriptions. The tiny universal translator, attached behind his right ear, enabled him to understand the crew. How was he supposed to know that the translator only worked on speech? Maybe he should have put in his twin's silver lenses that mimicked Serenian eye color. Maybe the lenses translated symbols.

Dear God, what do I do now?

Okay, deep breath. No panicking allowed. The ship's computer was voice activated. He took a breath and blew it out slowly. Computer, suspend Horice Hervimb's access code.

Access denied, the computer's female voice replied.

What!

Repeating, the computer said. Access denied.

This is Captain Marcus Aurelius Viator, alpha two seven five delta six, allow access.

You have the proper access code, the computer intoned in a sultry, just-got-out-of-bed voice, and your genetic identification scan is correct—

What the hell was wrong? He had the captain's access code. And, being identical twins, their genetic code was the same.

—however, your voice does not register as Captain Viator.

Damn. Busted by the Computer Babe for living in Houston for the past four years.

Captain? Cabbeferron said. I am unable to contact Space Fleet Command. From past experience, it appears that something is disrupting communications.

Not good. Or maybe a blessing in disguise. Scott only had to deal with Computer Babe instead of the added stress of talking to a superior officer.

He cleared his throat. He'd worried that the officers would guess he wasn't the real captain. Not the damn computer. Not in front of his senior officers. And not because he picked up a Texas accent while in training with NASA.

This is Captain Marcus Aurelius Viator, alpha two seven five delta six, he repeated in the flat Midwestern tones of his youth. Apparently, the trip to Earth has altered my voice. I may have contracted a virus.

The transporter's decontamination charge would prevent such an occurrence, Computer Babe replied. Your physical appearance is altered. Access denied.

Well, shit. He had a hostile ship nearby, the First Officer was looming over his shoulder like a vulture, the rest of the bridge crew were watching, and the computer was blowing his cover. He and Marcus were identical twins, both six-one, a hundred ninety. Marcus's hair was darker—near black, thanks to a dye job to make him look more Serenian. The switch happened too quickly for a complete transformation. No depilatory pills to erase Scott's five-o'clock shadow and body hair. No silver lenses to disguise his green eyes. And he should have gotten a haircut last week.

I am Terran. Scott gave out the cover story he just thought of. God, he felt like Indiana Jones making up things on the fly. Now that I have returned from my home planet, I have decided to no longer disguise myself.

You are speaking in an Earth language used by inhabitants of a continent in the northwestern hemisphere, the computer persisted. Specifically, English.

Involuntarily, he touched the small black dot the size of a mole that Veronese had attached behind his ear. He never gave it a thought that while the universal translators the crew wore in order to understand each other converted his speech, the computer could tell he wasn't speaking the proper language. Could the others? Surreptitiously, he glanced at the crew. Something flickered in the Communications Officer's eyes. A puzzled look, he thought, that quickly disappeared.

I am practicing the language of my origins, Scott explained. Time to cut the bull. He had to let Computer Babe know who was boss. "Computer, I have given the proper code. The genetic scan is correct. You will allow me access."

A long pause. Access authorized.

About time, damn it.

Proceed. Computer Babe still sounded wary, as if she suspected he was not the real captain. It was a machine, damn it, and he was giving it human properties. But, what if this computer turned into a HAL or HAL-lie? I'm sorry, Dave, she would say in that sexy voice. I'm afraid I can't do that.

Scott shook off the horrifying thought of a computer trying to kill him. Computer, I repeat. Terminate former Security Chief Hervimb's access code.

Only Space Fleet Command has the authority to terminate the Security Chief's access code, the computer intoned.

That made sense, Scott thought with chagrin. A safeguard against a rogue captain. He should have realized that.

In the event of an emergency, the computer continued, another senior officer must agree to a suspension.

You read my mind, sweetheart. Scott turned to the First Officer.

Klegznef stared hard at him. You are certain Hervimb joined the rebels?

Absolutely.

Klegznef nodded once then gave his code. Computer, confirm emergency suspension of Horice Hervimb's access code.

Scott was amazed that the First Officer took his word. What trust he must have in the real captain. The others, too, from their expressions.

Horice Hervimb's access is suspended pending approval by Space Fleet Command, the computer replied.

Scott had to get away from the instrument panel. He hoped to God he wouldn't have to give any commands that required reading—like ordering the ship to self-destruct. At the rate he was going, he would be the one to self-destruct.

. . . Captain?

The First Officer must have been talking while Scott had his head up his butt. He waited for Klegznef to repeat his question. Instead, he pointed to the array of instruments. Scott approached. So far, he hadn't gotten close enough to see the screens clearly without looking over shoulders, something he hated. Like the one at his chair, the screens were filled with gibberish.

Suddenly, the lights flickered. Jagged lines—like a scrambled television signal—skittered across the instrument screens. All stations were affected. Science. Communications. Weapons Control. From their expressions, the officers were as astonished as he. With two exceptions, the human-looking Science Officer and the gray-skinned First Officer. Neither showed any emotion.

Then, the lights flickered again and the screens came back to life. Except for the viewscreen. It remained as black as the gold that enriched the oil companies of West Texas.

Status report, Scott ordered.

Weapons are still off-line, First Officer Klegznef reported. Scott hoped that was what Klegznef tried to tell him before. The cloaking device is operational.

Thank God, that was working. Otherwise, every military defense system on Earth would go into high alert, scrambling to discover the identity of the UFO. Scott wouldn't have to worry about someone discovering he wasn't the real captain if the starship was shot out of the sky. He had to wonder about the smaller ship. It was a miracle it hadn't been detected yet. Or, maybe it had and those Air Force weenies were lollygagging instead of scrambling to get a look-see.

Captain, the blue-skinned Glaxpher demanded Scott's attention. The navigation instruments have not come back. I do appear to have helm control, though.

So, we can steer the ship but can't plot a course. We're blind as a bat, can't tell where the hell we're going.

Shields are inoperative, reported Science Officer Xaropa, the Serenian who showed no emotion. He didn't have to point out how vulnerable the Freedom was to attack if the other ship knew where they were. How could the man not react?

Life support systems are functioning properly, Xaropa added.

Thank G— Scott caught himself in time. Thank the Intrepid Ones, we are not in danger of suffocating. Cabbeferron, what about communications?

She was frantically tapping different places on the instrument screens spread out in front of her. No, sir. Something is still disrupting all frequencies.

Scott tapped his link. Engineering, status.

Luqett's face appeared in the mini-monitor. No power, sir. We're dead in the water.

No engines, Scott muttered. No external sensors, no shields, no navigation control.

The Engineering Chief gasped. I dinna ken how evrathin' could go down at once.

We need external sensors, navigation control and engine power, Scott said. The navigation and science crew are working on their problems. Fix the damn engines.

Sabotage! Chief Luqett thundered.

Veronese was not surprised. After reinstalling the back-up program for the hyperdrive analyzer, she had run diagnostics and found evidence to support that claim. Lieutenant Oriana, whose station was to her left, started running diagnostics on the main engines as soon as they went down. He was not having any more success than she.

Sabotage? Who could have done such a thing? asked Crewman Synneferron, the Lerossian fem afraid of heights. Like the Communications Officer, she had hexagon-marked skin and long, blond hair.

After what happened during her recent visit to Earth, Veronese knew exactly who the saboteur was.

Our Security Chief has betrayed us. Chief Luqett turned his faux accent on and off at will. She joined the rebels.

Gasps and denials followed Luqett's announcement, even from a couple of Serenians. Horice Hervimb was the consummate officer. Everything she did had been in accordance with Alliance laws and principles. She was the least likely to be a traitor. If she had not seen the results of her actions, Veronese would not have believed either. That traitor zapped her brother with a lazin blaster. At least, Hervimb had the weapon on stun. Unlike her compatriot, Doctor Cenamola, the wicked scientist who had changed the lives of Veronese and Jessica, Scott and Marcus and countless other twins before they were born. His blaster had been on full power.

Veronese caught herself from reliving the horror of what had happened next. Instead, she thought about the traitor who had kidnapped Jessica from her farmhouse. Veronese prayed the real captain would rescue her twin in time. That was the reason she agreed to assist Scott Cherella switch places with Captain Viator. He had to save her sister from Hervimb.

That traitor must have attempted to delay the Freedom until she reached the rebel ship. Always thorough, she would have made sure she had an alternate plan in the event that she did not make contact with the rebel ship. Hence, the time delay before the systems went down.

Once Hervimb made it aboard the rebel vessel, if she made it, she would have no need for the Freedom. Veronese attempted to control her trembling fingers. If Hervimb completed her plan, she would destroy any who knew of her treachery. She would destroy them all.

Chief Zlebal, Scott said into his link. Instruct your crew to search for tracking devices.

Sir, under Chief Hervimb’s instructions, we routinely monitor for tracking devices. Not only did she sound pissed, her expression in the little monitor on his wrist communicator conveyed her affront that he dare tell her how to do her job. Tough.

Do a physical sweep of the entire ship, Scott ordered. It is possible Hervimb programmed the computer to ignore any device she planted.

But, sir—

Hervimb may be from your homeland, Zlebal, but I assure you, she is a turncoat.

Fear flickered across Zlebal's face. The implication that she might be complicit must have hit her. Yes, sir. We will search for devices.

Before Scott ended communication, she appeared subdued. Good. He'd thrown the fear of God into her. Still, he'd better keep an eye on her.

A low rumble broke the silence. A cheer went up from the bridge crew.

The main engines are back online, Luqett announced over the general comm unit.

Well done, Chief, Scott responded via his link. I am instructing all senior officers to change their access codes. Hervimb knows them. She may try to remotely access the ship's computer as one of us.

Aye. Good thinking, sir. Luqett signed out.

I concur with your assessment, sir, Klegznef said. Changing our codes is an appropriate action.

Scott repeated the instructions to Zlebal before turning to the bridge crew. As I instructed—

We're way ahead of you, Captain. Glaxpher's blue face split into a grin.

The others nodded. Xaropa said, As soon as you gave the order to Chief Luqett, we all changed our codes.

Well done. Scott returned to the captain's station to change his. He held his breath until Computer Babe gave him access.

When he finished, he strode to the blank viewscreen. Clasping his hands behind his back, he assumed the wide stance of a captain on a sailing vessel. An appropriate analogy, he thought, since he was sailing amidst the stars. Instead of facing into the wind, so to speak, he faced his crew. Helm, do we know where we are?

No and yes, Glaxpher responded. If I relay our last coordinates to Mr. Xaropa, he may be able to determine from our engine speed and previous direction where we should be.

Do so, Scott ordered. Use that information and plot a course that will take us away from Earth and also away from Serenia. Make sure there's nothing in our path that might be hazardous to our health.

Glaxpher chuckled. Aye, Captain.

"Sir. Our orders are to return to Serenia," the First Officer said stiffly.

I am well aware of our orders. So is Hervimb. She will anticipate that and will search for us all the way back to Serenia. We will take the scenic route. Oh, shit. He'd better watch the smart-ass comments. Serenians had no sense of humor. The short amount of time he spent with Veronese Qilana before being beamed aboard the Freedom convinced him of that.

Glaxpher laughed out loud. It made sense that he was the one to react, since he wasn't Serenian. You're sounding more like the new and improved version again, Captain.

Scott arched his eyebrow.

Glaxpher shrugged. Before you left for Earth, you were starting to loosen up. You even joked. With a small grimace, he bobbed his blue head and returned his attention to his instruments.

Shi-it, Scott thought. Here I am trying to act like James Bond's stiff-ass Brit and Marcus had chilled. How else can I screw up?

CHAPTER 3

The ship was defenseless. A chill ran through Veronese. External sensors, navigation control, weapons, shields . . . gone. Her first thought had been a major electrical failure. But other critical components that required electricity were still functioning—like the very light they used to determine what was not functioning properly, or at all.

Chief Luqett paced from station to station. As he arrived at hers, she heard him mutter, Tis a wonder Hervimb dinna sabotage the environmental system. Then, she'd kill us all and take over a ghost ship.

Veronese's heart faltered for the briefest second. She hoped no one else had heard Luqett or panic would ensue. She thanked the Intrepid Ones that the redundancies in the environmental system's controls made it extremely difficult to sabotage. Even with all the safeguards, however, the controls were not impossible to access.

She attempted to subdue her skittering fears by forcibly closing her mind to the part of her—the Terran part—that generated such emotion. She could not be distracted from her mission. She had to repair the hyperdrive.

Methodically, she checked each component of the analyzer to ascertain the damage. If the analyzer did not indicate the damage to the hyperdrive, she would have to physically inspect every segment of the engine.

While she eliminated cause after probable cause for the hyperdrive's malfunction, Luqett remained beside her, looking over her shoulder. She wondered if he was ascertaining that she did not miss anything, that she was not capable of finding the problem.

Insecurity was a Terran reaction, she thought with disgust. A proper Serenian has confidence in her abilities. Veronese found it strange that during times of crisis her mother's words haunted her. Correction. Her Serenian mother, the woman who resented the Terran babe her mate had foisted on her.

At length, Luqett spoke again. Carry on. You are a verra fine expert, Lieutenant. He patted her shoulder.

Although pleased by his words, Veronese was still unaccustomed to the easy manner in which the chief conveyed assurance to his crew. Serenians respected another's personal space and rarely touched each other. Yet, during her first sojourn on Earth, when she had switched places with her twin, she came to appreciate the comfort of physical touch. Her brother Tim had been somewhat clumsy in his attempts to reassure her that her ship would return for her. That she had not been abandoned. Luqett's pat on the shoulder meant almost as much as his praise.

This is the captain speaking. The announcement came over the general comm unit in a shipwide broadcast. "As you are all aware, we encountered a vessel with hostile intent. Thanks to your quick response, we avoided an attack. However, we are also under attack from within. Rebels infiltrated the Freedom in the person of our former Security Chief, Horice Hervimb. She has attempted to disable the ship. Although Security has the primary task of searching for crippling devices, everyone must be vigilant. You each know your area best. Be alert for anything—even the smallest device—that looks out of place."

Veronese slumped against the