Devil's Due

By Rhobin Lee Courtright

In an unexpected reversal of fate, Jezlynn Chambers finds herself not only serving on a Space Service Corps Ship, but under the command of Captain Lucian Krayne, the only man she’s ever loved, the one she left. Her mission to contact the Khajari government before the current truce erupts into warfare turns into her a fight for survival and Jezlynn finds it’s one thing to think you can accomplish a goal, quite another to achieve it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781597050739

Book preview

What They Are Saying About Devil’s Due

Devil’s Due Title Page

Dedication

The Constant

Chapters

Meet Rhobin Courtright

Works From the Pen of Rhobin Lee Courtright

What They Are Saying About Devil’s Due

Rhobin Lee Courtright’s latest Science Fiction release, Devil’s Due, is the third in a series featuring Maj. Jezlynn Chambers as an agent who makes 007 look like a Boy Scout. This book has a well crafted complex plot-line, and is an excellent, fast-paced Science Fiction tale about the multi-talented heroine and her bigger than life adventures. It is a definite keeper.

JoEllen Conger

Conger Reviews

Devil’s Due

Rhobin Courtright

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Science Fiction Novel

Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Robin Courtright

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2007 by Robin Courtright

ISBN 978-1-59705-073-9

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

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Dedication

To all my family and friends

for their continued support and encouragement.

The Constant

1588.6 Universal Space Calendar

Morgan Dachs sat facing the ship’s captain, teeth clenched, strangled with words he refused to voice. He resisted any display of weakness or anger, fought not to plead before this Visekan vulture. A retreat into silence only delayed the inevitable.

This ill-fated command had fallen to him when Captain Quante died, and he damned the man for leaving him this humiliating duty. Everything lay in ruins, his first command, his ship, his career.

Mere hours before the appearance of a ship had filled Morgan with hope, even if it were a non-Allied registry. He swore then to correct his mistakes, but he now realized salvation shunned him.

His gaze remained on the nonchalant Visekan captain with whom he negotiated. Sage skinned, with coarse hair and outsized incisors in his protruding, near muzzle-like jaw, the man waited with the patience of a victor.

Morgan closed his eyes. If he believed there was a chance of survival he would... it was too late. Maybe the unrelenting series of crises had driven him mad, caused his crazy, outrageous conduct... No, if he were crazy, most likely Betzen’s drugs caused it... Or terror... Or despair. He sighed in a mental shrug. No, he had only done what was necessary.

Betzen was the crazy one, with his promises of drug-induced eternal youth. Now, not only his youth, but his expectations, his very life, shriveled before him.

In her present condition, the chances of the Constant returning to any port were nonexistent, especially with the remaining crew. Most survivors came from the embassy staff on the ship. They were scared shitless and incapable of any meaningful help. Those knowing anything about the operation or repair of a ship were either dead from the Khajari attack, or sitting in his makeshift brig, the mutinous insubordinate bastards. Traitors.

At least comfort existed on this Visekan ship. Environment, heat, and light remained. The air smelled fresh, not stale and fetid. He wanted to stay on this ship, let the Constant rot in space. Briefly he toyed with the thought of taking refuge with the Visekans. Knowledge of his fate stopped him and he clamped his lips over a plea, afraid even his talent for persuasion might fail him when he needed it most.

Returning to the Constant meant resuming his role as the only senior officer on the crippled ship. It meant returning to overcrowded discomfort, the aggravation of bodies reeking of fear and no hygiene, crammed together with a limited environment, rations, and near freezing temperatures. It meant everyone watching him, looking to him for confidence, comfort, and assurance. He was tired of it; tired of the being needed, tired of the situation, but it was his only option. Survival meant returning to the horror and insanity of the Constant, of somehow salvaging a hopeless situation.

Stale, dried sweat and days of dirt made his skin prickle and itch as new moisture seeped from his body. Stains streaked and covered his Space Service Corps uniform, worn far beyond regulation, worn even during his short periods of sleep. Wearing the uniform was his duty, like dealing with this Visekan. He needed the Visekan’s help to ensure survival of the Constant—and he would survive whatever the cost. He opened his eyes and resigned himself to fate.

The Visekan smiled, and Morgan knew behind the polite smile, the still, coppery eyes, hid contempt. The man’s smile widened beyond politeness. Briefly he wondered if the Visekan read his mind as he stalled in silence, and rubbed his damp brow in frustration. In sudden insight he realized the Visekan ship’s appearance was not random chance, but the calculated economic venture of scavengers following predators. He looked at the Visekan. There was no compromise, no leverage to use in negotiation, no time to waste trying. Only acquiescence. The Visekan knew it and Morgan knew it.

All right. I’ll need the supplies and equipment now or the ship won’t hold together, but I need a couple days to arrange the rest of it with the crew.

No delivery without the agreed upon trade.

You carrion eating offal, your demands are barbarous, inhuman! It’s against the law.

Nonsense, Commander... Excuse me, Captain... The Visekan remained unperturbed at Morgan’s outbreak. "It’s against United Planets Alliance law, but you aren’t in Alliance space. I might ask what an Alliance ship, especially an Embassy ship such as the Constant, is doing at these space coordinates?"

This is not Visekan space either...

Just so... The Visekan smiled his agreement; his long teeth gave his lips a strange expression. If you intended to insult me because I am not human, then you are incorrect. The Visekans are a different species, but we share the same genetic ancestors. Even the Khajari are of human stock. We’re just different in appearance and goals, as our home worlds have shaped us. The only truly nonhuman are the Xantheans, and they quit traveling the space routes long before our human ancestors started. I digress. For me, this is business.

Anger overwhelmed Morgan’s good judgment. None of you have been human for a long time. He threw his head back and stared at the overhead, regulated his breath. At last he looked at the Visekan in capitulation. You give me no choice.

"You have choices. We will just leave if you choose, no deal, no trade. You might survive. The chances are slim, but there. Unless there is another asset you wish to trade? Such as information? You could tell me why the Constant is in Zeranth Ea space? Perhaps your mission sought to sway the Xantheans to your Alliance? Were you to find someone capable of handling the Khajari before you lost this war? The Visekan laughed at the ridiculousness of his statement. Surely the Alliance has not tried to initiate political affiliation with the Xantheans?"

Morgan couldn’t speak. With what was left of his dignity he rose and left the compartment. During the trip back he thought hard as he looked out the port at the Constant. Large sections of the ship were torn away. Ribs, struts and stay lines reached toward the debris floating around her like a halo in hopeless disarray.

There had to be a way out. He wished he knew why the Constant was where it was; speculated on a deception the Visekan would believe. His mind refused to cooperate. The Visekan was right in his ridicule—the Xantheans, confirmed pacifists, refused to take sides in the current conflict, refused even to talk with any alien government caught in the conflict. Yet the warring factions feared the Xantheans, feared what unknown technology they concealed, even while the Xantheans welcomed all impartially. No Visekan would believe any lie he might give them in this respect.

Few onboard the Constant knew about the Visekan ship. All intra-ship communication and visuals were inoperative, and all view ports were locked down for ship security. He might yet save himself... he might yet keep the transaction with the Visekans secret. Salvation. He released his first unrestricted breath in days. The slave trader could take his dissidents.

True, they were Corps officers and their presence could help affect a safe return and it was through their efforts the Constant had held together this long. But they were useless to him, worthless if they did not follow his orders implicitly. Luckily, none of the embassy personnel knew how many Corps personnel survived. If they thought about it at all, they assumed Corps personnel worked on repairs in other sections of the ship. Repair. Repair with what?

Morgan heard his unconscious groan of desperation. In the presence of the arrogant Visekan crewmen watching him, he hoped they assumed it caused by the sight of the Constant and her battered state.

Why wouldn’t Chernov tell him where the emergency fuel cells were? They had to be there. He knew it. His heart beat faster. Tangible evidence of the anger brought by just the thought of his crew’s defiance. Chernov would pay; they all would pay for their insubordination. Langston just wanted Captain’s position; it was only prudent to remove him. Was Chernov in league with Langston? What did they hope to gain, anyway? Maybe Chernov had sold the cells for his own profit. It wasn’t altogether unheard of, even in the Corps. Of course, Chernov insisted the cells were destroyed during the attack. What else could he claim? The man’s explanation defied common sense. There would have been signs of their destruction.

Experience showed how unscrupulous Chernov could be. Hadn’t he stolen Morgan’s woman? And flaunted it before the crew? Chernov claimed otherwise, but Morgan knew he had. Morgan felt his breath squeeze, his body tying in knots, and flared his nostrils to take in air and calmness. Langston had told him to leave the pair alone. Insolent prig. He infected the others with his insubordination.

Damn them all. Maybe Betzen’s drugs had worked on Chernov at last, found the truth in the man. He prayed for it. If not, only the Visekan offer remained. Sudden calm came with a decision. It cooled his fury, his reluctance, and his terror. That, at least, insured just punishment for those who deserved it.

One

4604:08 Universal Space Calendar

::We don’t belong here.::

Jet’s mental admonishment didn’t help Jesse’s travel-strained temper. She ached from sitting, her eyes burned with fatigue, and escaping a premonition of impending doom became increasingly impossible. Besides, even Jet understood there was no other choice. ::We’ve gone over this before:: Jesse admonished silently to her other. ::According to the law, even someone with a dishonorable discharge can be reactivated. Our discharge status has already been upgraded to general discharge just for putting on the uniform. They had Commandant Roberre ready to back up their demand.::

::We could’ve run.::

::Do you want to be exiled from Alliance Space? That’s how far we would have to run, nowhere else would be safe. Do you want our friends harassed, investigated or hunted, too?:: Jesse looked around the shuttle interior. At least arguing within your own mind was quiet.

::But getting called-up? And to the wrong service branch? That’s crazy. Dress whites, sheesh.:: Indignity laced Jet’s voice.

Jesse laughed. Aloud. She controlled herself as she drew the notice of the other uniformed passengers. Living with five alternate selves had its public perils, at least recently, since she had lost her own strict emotional control. Mentally, she admonished, ::You know the come back for that comment. Go away, Jet. Relax and let me be.::

Jet retired.

::This is lunacy, unavoidable lunacy, admittedly, but still lunacy. You made a rather unilateral decision, :: Alyss said.

::You heard Jet? ::

::Heard you; and the situation is bizarre. ::

::Bizarre, not crazy? Besides, did you think of any alternative?:: Jesse sighed with another mental disruption.

::Yes, but none with as many positive aspects if we succeed,:: Alyss answered. ::You are anxious. Take your own advice and relax while you can.::

Jesse huffed softly as she felt Alyss leave. Anxious my ass, tired ass more like; besides, the circumstances might cause anyone distress. A reputed mutineer and former pirate doesn’t readily resume a failed Corps career except under extreme duress. Especially since she was not the individual Alliance Under Secretary Corrao thought, but six individuals, who lately seemed too independent. Six individuals who needed to avoid a criminal rehab facility at any cost.

Corrao had applied duress, leaving her little choice. Her others knew it, so why keep harping on it? What documentation existed in the Corps’ file remained the dilemma, too little or too much? And if not her, perhaps on one of her confederates?

A few years ago she had eluded one of the Corps’ most dedicated officers, Captain Lucian Krayne. He warned her someone might untie the knotted strings hiding her transgressions. But if Corrao knew enough to convict, why trust her with this assignment? Then, to top everything off, Wakeman assigned her to this ship. A petty pay back for the grief she had caused him?

We’re starting docking procedures! The exclamation of one of her fellow passengers drew her attention.

Jesse looked out the view port. She knew Jet’s attitude. Docking a ship in open space, her pilot other would say, is more complicated than docking in a spaceport, more of an art than a skill. Unfortunately this shuttle’s pilot lacked artistry. Even Jesse felt his myriad compensating moves to align ship and shuttle correctly.

Maybe he’s on fizz.

Her sotto voce comment was heard. Heads turned, and grinned in her direction, disappeared when they saw who spoke. Disappointed at the view, she turned away from the port, finding the interior view of the other passengers more interesting. Fresh-faced ensigns in spanking formal white uniforms conspicuously empty of service tokens filled the seats. She felt the corner of her mouth quirk before she could stop it.

They treated her with the deference students used around a cranky professor they depended on for a passing grade. Although the Corps drilled circumspection around a superior officer, she frequently caught their gazes on her. In their early twenties, she knew they were surprised at her own youthful looks, which appeared close to their own age, a side effect of her fizz usage. Their eyes covertly inspected first her face, then her insignia.

Jesse’s uniform was just as spanking, but far surpassed theirs in quality and tailoring. The Service Crops provided computer-tailored fit for its officers, but that did not provide the subtle flare of superior design or the quality of fabric her human tailor used.

Displayed below the Space Service Corps insignia, an unusual Ranger Forces signet decorated her uniform. Few knew it indicated rank transferred from the Rangers. After her long-ago discharge from Space Service Corps, she still needed to work off her education obligation. A forced transferal to the allied service branch, the Ranger Forces, accomplished that. Now she was the only major in the Corps. The thought challenged her imagination.

Four short weeks ago she had walked into a trap, set up by her freelance employer, Alex Carson. A roomful of Service Corps elite, government bureaucrats and the Ranger Commandant himself awaited her.

Ranger Commandant Roberre had taken full advantage of the Service Corps’ dilemma, and put up a strong argument against the Corps’ request. Jesse had felt humor despite the situation. She had been well aware of Ranger attitude toward anything Corps. To anyone wearing Ranger black and red it seemed like the Corps eclipsed the other military branch in recruit draw, public respect and admiration, and in government appropriations. The Commandant had settled for concession of rank title, and that she wear Ranger Force insignia above her Service Corps insignia. After all, he had said, her first obligation was to the Rangers, not the Space Service Corps.

The Commandant got his way, and Jesse felt like an over decorated cake. Above her ribbons, above her Corps’ engineering insignia and Ranger pilot’s wings, rested a gold star. It indicated wartime service. That alone put her at least twelve years senior to the ensigns. War service was unknown to most officers serving on her new ship.

The ensigns’ excited babble indicated their excitement at witnessing their first non-simulated space docking, and Jesse wondered if their enthusiasm blinded them to the pilot’s mediocre talents. Overhearing one or two boastful exchanges, and a few crude remarks followed by laughter, answered her. Thinking back, she tried to remember young Lieutenant Chambers’ first reaction upon viewing this spectacle, but couldn’t. She was glad Jet hadn’t viewed the docking.

::Did. Ought’a eject him. A disrespectful pup, too. You harry him?::

::No. I believe our reputation has preceded us.:: She ignored the irritation of Jet sneaking up on her, a new occurrence. But the comment brought her back to her unhappy speculation of her own tour of duty. Her expectations were not as high as the ensigns. Jesse looked out the viewing port.

Illuminated identification emblems and lettering glowing in the blackness of space drew her attention first. The Sentinel’s name and designation shone in bold neon blue. Red, yellow and green docking lights defined sections of the ship’s huge, dark, rotating hull that hung before the shuttle. Edges of the ship disappeared out of her port’s viewing range, enveloped in darkness. The ship was an impressive sight, a fretwork of struts, braces, staylines and girders holding the main ribs in a spider’s web of support. Toward the center of the web the main engine compartments lay dimly visible.

Nael had described the ship from structural-framework and specifications to the various engine’s energy configurations and output. When Jesse refused viewing a virtual of the ship’s interior, Nael, seldom loquacious, went on with descriptions of the ship’s mission, her personnel and their responsibilities. Jesse had heard about everyone, from operations to maintenance, to missions, exploration, research, peacekeeping, diplomacy and colonial support. Nael thought few ships existed comparable to the Sentinel, in either its enormous size or scope of missions. It was twice the size if the Constant. Jesse was glad to know at least one of them looked forward to Corps duty, but she wondered how an introvert like Nael would deal with the reality of working with a team.

Now better informed than she wished, Jesse knew power and elegance defined the ship’s lines, but forgot how and why. It didn’t matter. She already knew the most important fact about the Sentinel: Captain Lucian Krayne commanded.

A man who might not be overjoyed to see Jezlynn Chambers, Major or no, in any of her personas. She squirmed in her seat with memories of their last meeting. Under her breath she uttered, almost involuntarily, Well red-rover, we start all over. She smiled with ironic mirth. The game moves to your court, Lu.

The pilot achieved correct alignment. The Sentinel’s gravity tugged harder at her as the huge bay swallowed the small shuttle, and Jesse felt an unexpected surge of comfort. Strictly a body response she told herself. She had been out way too long.

The shuttle slipped into its berth accompanied with a metallic clang. The force threw the passengers in rotating motions against their seat restraints. Another clang announced the hatch’s attachment to the dock hatch. There was a brief wait while the ship and shuttle pressure equalized. The main hatch cracked and a strong current of air, still crisp from purifiers, flowed into the shuttle.

Jesse waited while the ensigns unlatched their duffle bags from storage and exited the shuttle. Unlatching her seat harness, she released and grabbed her duffle. Turning in the tight aisle, she found the pilot staring at her from the cockpit. She smiled. I’m sure the Captain understands everyone has a bad docking. Occasionally. At his reddened expression her smile turned genuine.

A few of her fellow passengers still lingered, gawking, on the gangway, and Jesse took a minute to orientate herself and observe the docking bay with curious interest. This territory belonged to Jet and Nael. Jesse preferred it that way as a fleeting feeling of vertigo hit her. Under the circumstances, though, she wanted neither volatile Jet nor imperceptive Nael in control.

A maze of latticed metal gangways, catwalks and balconies laced the inner shell of the docking bay. The whole structure surrounded and enclosed the open space composing the mooring bay like a huge placenta. Jesse knew the decks were arranged in semicircular fashion on seven levels. The shuttle was docked in one of five berths on this mid-level balcony.

Looking up heightened her dizziness. Not wanting to fall flat on her face, Jesse concentrated on the maintenance staff moving about. There were three, two men and a woman. One, to her left, finished securing the shuttle. Another worked at a control panel on the end of the gangway. The last removed cargo from the shuttle’s aft hatch on a second gangway. All three worked diligently, casting furtive glances her way as they tried to hide their curiosity.

::You expected this, check your emotions or you will rouse Jet or worse, May.:: Alyss’s unexpected voice floated into her mind. With a start of surprise, Jesse heeded the warning and took precautions.

~ * ~

On the deck beyond the catwalk Doctor Liz Rae waited. Her presence was a concession to curiosity more than fulfillment of medical duty. Her med-tech usually performed the shuttle watch duty. Standard Corps procedures prevailed. Ella, the Personnel Officer, stood tall and lanky, looking more austere than usual in formal whites while waiting with her welcoming committee for the new crew to assemble. Liz knew Ella’s opinion on Chambers’ arrival already. Ella’s crewcut, violent carrot hair seemed to set flame to the already tense atmosphere.

Liz smiled at the ensigns, their uncertain expressions daunted by Ella’s stern looks. Formality hushed the assembled crew as Liz moved among them giving immunization inoculations for diseases currently on the ship along her welcome.

A hush fell over the bay.

Liz turned and watched the shuttle’s hatch as the most anticipated passenger emerged. So, this was the traitor and mutineer of the Constant.

Their new officer, a major, stopped on the catwalk. She looked over the multiple levels of the docking bay. Liz took a moment to inspect her. She looked young, far too young. Black haired and, Liz inhaled softly, beautiful; more so than in vid, and apparently impervious to the unwelcoming atmosphere. The Major turned from her inspection of the docking bay and resumed her walk off the catwalk relaxed and composed, returning the cold looks turned her way with a calm expression. Liz gasped at the unusual, almost iridescent sapphire eyes, wondering if they were enhanced or natural.

Amused, Liz stepped forward to administer the inoculation and instantly sensed tension. Chambers stopped abruptly, those stunning eyes, dark fiery blue, focused sharply on her.

She smiled in greeting but received no return smile or recognition. With an almost hostile stiffening of her body, Chambers’ stare locked on Liz during the short time it took to administer the hypospray. The woman never spoke, and walked abruptly away, nearly before Liz finished.

Done with her participation in the arrival formalities, Liz joined two transport officers who watched the proceedings. The shuttle’s pilot stepped to Ella, and handed the officer the datawafer listing the official confirmation of the new crew and their files. Regular link communication had confirmed them long before. Liz snorted at the ritual of redundancy.

Report to Commander Fournelle immediately, Ella said curtly, dismissing the pilot with a cool glance.

Liz listened while keeping her attention on Chambers. She noticed the quirk of lips on the otherwise serene face, and how the eyes followed the pilot’s stiff-gaited departure. So, you’re not as disinterested as you appear.

Liz also noted the slight facial movement at the mention of Commander Fournelle’s name. Perhaps recognition? Did Chambers know Fournelle? Fournelle transferred to the Nebulae with Captain Krayne, a common enough practice. A large section of the Nebulae’s crew had transferred. It was a good sign to Liz that so large a segment of his former command chose to stay with their captain. A newly commissioned ship needed experienced officers familiar with each other.

Ella had turned her attention to the new crew, giving them a quick half smile. "Welcome to the Sentinel. I am Lieutenant Commander Murray, the Chief Personnel Officer. As I call your name, step forward and accept your quartering assignment from Lieutenant Yen. The message tender in your quarters lists today’s duties. At fourteen-hundred hours report to the specified wardroom for orientation," she said, removing her smile as she finished.

As Murray started calling names, Liz noted Major Chambers studied the assembled group. When Chambers eyes discreetly turned towards her, Liz returned her regard with obvious interest. Chambers’ gaze turned away.

It was evident to Liz that Ella Murray’s remote belligerence disturbed the ensigns. She regretted Ella’s abhorrence of Chambers should tarnish their arrival. Their initial excitement quelled, they quickly stepped forward, took their keys and escaped the docking bay. Liz watched Chambers raise one eyebrow. Like herself, she probably speculated on time needed to inform the rookie crewmen with whom they had traveled, and Liz didn’t like the nearly imperceptible look Chambers turned on Ella. Liz swallowed, anticipating a showdown. Keeping a senior officer waiting was a breach of etiquette and an insult to Chambers’ rank, especially when transferred from the Rangers.

Liz watched the last ensign depart and waited while silence reigned too long. Officer Yen nudged Murray, who remained unresponsive, glaring at Chambers. Chambers remained indifferent, seemingly oblivious to the tension surrounding her. She stepped to Yen and removed the remaining key from his slack fingers. I believe this is mine. Touching the pad on the corner of the small oblong wafer, she read the printout. Major J. A. Chambers, yes, I see it is, she confirmed with easy confidence.

Her voice surprised Liz—a soft contralto untouched by emotion.

Ignoring Yen’s astonished look, she gave him a charming smile. Officer Yen, Murray. Chambers nodded at each. Officers, Chambers turned and nodded to Liz and those near her. Then she headed for the dock’s oversized hatchway, skipping introductory civilities.

She halted as she drew near a waiting maintenance officer. Lieutenant, this shuttle’s starboard lateral thruster pack is out of balance. One of the parallel pipes is not firing, it sounds like a damaged vent.

The surprised officer nodded mutely. Liz grinned at his surprise.

The Embassy posted Ranger guard snapped to attention as Chambers approached the hatch, obviously aware of the insult given the Rangers through Chambers. Liz’s lips twisted in a wry smile, anticipating the stories that would travel the ship.

Corporal, you put me in a quandary. Unmistakable drollery threaded Chambers voice. Do I follow elite acknowledgment or Ranger protocol?

Liz held her breath and glanced at Ella at the ‘elite’ disparagement inherent in Chambers’ words.

The guard remained at attention. Chambers suddenly snapped a crisp Ranger salute. Do not salute me out of Ranger uniform again, Corporal. Her command tones reverberated around the deck as she left the bay. An unrepentant smugness remained on the Ranger’s face. Amused and intrigued, Liz enjoyed the performance, for no doubt, performance it was. She felt the itch of curiosity grow alarmingly.

~ * ~

Entering the ship, Jesse’s skin prickled in subliminal recognition of the familiar domain. Half-way down the corridor to the lift, her pace and posture subtly changed as Nael took over.

Unaware and uncaring of the furtive glances and curious stares aimed at him, Nael checked the quartering assignment on the key’s small data printout. Locating them from his memory of the ship’s layout, he proceeded there, unlike the ensigns, neither asking for, nor needing, direction. Removing the small seal on the datakey, Nael placed a thumbprint on the key code and slipped the thin wafer into the door slot, placing his thumbprint on the door lock also keying in the lock.

Entering the small cabin, Nael placed the duffle on the floor, sat down to the computer console and began further investigation into the Sentinel’s records. Repairs and maintenance logs, crew qualifications, current cargo manifest, current missions and logged missions, all came under his scrutiny. As Nael finished, Jesse took over, placing several private messages for the deep net.

~ * ~

Sitting deeply relaxed in a pillow-piled lounger, Morgan Dachs enjoyed the aftereffects of sex, his disamine and the message. Retired from the Corps, he smiled at the power he still maintained from his many contacts within the service, within government headquarters at Starbase Constellation, for that matter.

When his message tender chimed, he heard the message from the Sentinel. Guest arrived.

It pleased him to learn of Chambers arrival. Letting her go had been an unavoidable misfortune, like leaving the Corps. He missed the Corps, not the humdrum routine of duty, of course, but the prestige, the respect given the officers.

It couldn’t be helped. Resigning his commission became imperative when grandfather Admiral Dachs told him he planned to retire; too many incidents lay buried in his record. He might have overcome that, except the name Dachs no longer carried quite the same power it once had. The changing tides of fortune. He let his Corps career go just like he had released his Angel. Now the Corps had found her for him. It was a sort of balance, and only just.

A movement from the bed drew his attention. Rising, a pretty, dark-haired woman walked provocatively towards him. Although a slave, the woman loved him. Until he heard of his Angel’s survival, he had been content with this one. He looked at the woman before him dispassionately, as she tried to arouse him.

It suddenly occurred to him that he had chosen her for her resemblance to the young Lieutenant Chambers; now she paled in comparison. She was certainly too compliant. His Angel had never been submissive, but he would teach her. A burning desire hardened him at the thought and he satisfied himself with the inferior model at hand. When through, he made plans.

He had to know why the Corps had gone to such lengths to get Chambers back. For months his contacts had searched for information on his former officer. The rumor of the Corps’ search for Chambers had instigated his own search. Vids filled his library at great cost. He smiled at his ability to achieve whatever he wanted. But none of his agents had uncovered the reason behind the Corps’ purpose; but he would, given time.

~ * ~

A few minutes before fourteen hundred hours, Jesse stepped into the designated wardroom wearing dress uniform. The Space Service Corps, while considered military, functioned in a hybrid domain between strict military and business protocol. She stood in calm self-confidence, assessing the room’s occupants. Murray’s red hair she quickly picked out, and Yen, who stood close by Murray. Fournelle, wearing Exec braid, stood next to the too observant medical officer from docking bay, an average sized woman with chin-length, straight, light brown hair. Jesse briefly speculated if the woman knew how close she had come to getting decked, castigating herself for forgetting so important a part of crew arrival.

She, in turn, stood next to a tall blond man with Commander’s insignia decorating the shoulder of his uniform. For a few brief seconds Jesse’s gut clenched in a wrenching sense of déjà vu. She felt Jet waking in response, but quickly reassured her and forced her back. A case of mistaken identity, she realized, gaining control over her emotions and facial expression before moving toward the officers near the podium.

Get a grip on, she muttered softly, you can’t afford to lose control now. Jesse hated these episodes. The destruction of the Constant had occurred sixteen years ago. Certain reminders still haunted her awareness, and the tall blond officer conjured terror. Bracing despite herself, Jesse stepped to Fournelle and offered him her hand, as Corps protocol dictated upon meeting a superior officer.

Major Jezlynn Chambers. Ranger Forces assigned rank. A small smile touched her face, not for politeness but in relief her forced voice spoke in near normal tones. She noted Fournelle mistook the smile.

Major, Fournelle answered, unsmiling. He nodded and released her hand too abruptly. It’s been a long time.

Yes, sir, it’s amazing how things work out. With the small jab, Jesse did not wait for a response, but moved to the blond officer. Commander, she said, extending her hand. His large hand completely enveloped hers and Jesse had to fight to control a shiver and the urge to jerk her hand free. His baritone voice differed from her preconception. That helped.

Dan Ribberdan. I’ve heard a lot about you. Inevitable, I suppose, with a Major in the Corps.

His tone suggested nothing but interest and a certain humor, so Jesse smiled in agreement. He continued.

I already have orders for you. Captain Krayne wants you in his office immediately after this briefing.

Hesitating a moment at Fournelle’s involuntarily movement, Jesse looked into Ribberdan’s handsome face. Thank you, Commander, I’ll leave promptly after the briefing. Say it with a smile, Jesse told herself, judging there was no malice in his words or the order.

Withdrawing her hand from his, she moved to the next officer whose hand already extended toward her. She was indeed a medical officer... the medical officer. While shackling all response, Jesse noted the Chief Medical Officer’s insignia.

I’m Doctor Elizabeth Rae. I saw you come aboard, but circumstances prevented meeting you properly, so I’ll extend you a late welcome aboard, Major.

The woman was genuinely friendly and her smile reached into her pale hazel-gold eyes. Those unflinching eyes regarded Jesse with avid interest. Damn. She didn’t need that.

Your trip must have been very boring, it’s a long way from Starbase Celeste.

Her voice didn’t fail her. Thank you, Doctor Rae, but not so bad after the trip from Starbase Constellation to Celeste, Jesse answered with her own polite smile and without further reference to her arrival. Catching Commander Ribberdan’s eyes upon her, she continued before he could start further conversation, I believe you are ready to start Commander, so I’ll find a seat.

~ * ~

Rae watched with slight envy as Chambers moved gracefully to the back of the room. Then Ribberdan’s deep voice drew her attention.

Well, what do you think? he asked.

Rae continued following Chambers until she took a seat, noting the heads that turned to watch her, their expressions varying from awe to abhorrence. Are you asking for a professional opinion, Commander? The doctor turned to watch Dan whose appreciative gaze also lingered on Chambers. If so, I haven’t formed one. But, if you’re asking on a personal level, I have two observations, Dan. One, Chambers noticed you ogling her and didn’t like it. And two, she is right. It’s time you start this briefing.

Ribberdan straightened from his slightly slouched posture and moved towards the podium. I was not ogling her, he denied lowly. I was admiring her uniform.

Still, highly suspicious, Rae said with soft, humorous laughter filling her voice as the room quieted. She took up her position and waited for her part in the program. Liz knew Dan, and knew what had captured his interest, for she too, had noticed the quality of Chambers’ uniform. Not computer tailored, but couturier made, not exuded fabric, but woven.

Standard Corps tailoring adjusted uniforms to fit precisely, but never, she reflected enviously, with the elegant perfection of Chambers’ uniform. The expensively tailored whites with their near glowing fabric screamed a very un-Corps like extravagance.

The uniform aside, what Rae found particularly interesting was Chambers’ reaction on the quarterdeck in docking bay, and just now, to the First Officer, to Dan and then herself. These were unfinished, personal observations tickling her curiosity, but observed and marked with professional experience.

~ * ~

Settling in for the inevitable orientation speech covering ship custom, a combination of regulation and senior officer’s habit of command, Jesse assumed a mask of interest while she thought on other matters. Since Ribberdan headed this briefing, she assumed Fournelle delegated this duty to the second officer. Fournelle, she knew, handled ship operations. He was not happy to see her. This caused her a moment of uneasiness, until she decided only Nael was likely to be affected, and Nael’s tunnel vision let little bother him.

Ribberdan, a competent speaker with a breezy, conversational style, finished his talk by covering their responsibilities to the ship, duty rosters, off-duty facilities, social activities, groups and sport teams. Rae followed, giving the canned Corps medical speech warning about the signs of mental distress due to long periods of confined dwelling, regular vaccinations, dietary concerns and other common health problems related to space duty. Everyone had heard the information before. She interspersed her talk with a droll humor that lightened the topic and almost made it interesting. The briefing ended with an introduction of the senior officers to which the ensigns were assigned.

As Ribberdan and Rae stepped away from the podium, the ensigns and officers converged into talkative, animated groups. Jesse eased her way through the crowd on her way to the exit. She halted frequently, stopped by others stepping in front of her, eager to greet each other. Few greeted her, and then only a couple of the ensigns who arrived with her.

Rae was one of the few. The doctor stopped her, asking inconsequential, get-acquainted type questions. Jesse, ever alert to nuance, wondered transiently at the doctor’s attention. She gave brief, vague answers before excusing herself and resumed her path to the exit. Before she reached her goal, Joel Fournelle stepped before her.

I’m surprised to find you onboard, Major Chambers.

Knowing he must have been briefed on some aspects of her duty assignment she doubted his surprise, but hearing no animosity in his voice, she returned his overly polite tone. No more surprised than myself, Commander.

She sensed his desire for her to say something, but when he said no more, Jesse excused herself. Escaping at last, she headed for the Captain’s cabin with a sense of both dread relief and uncertain anticipation.

Two

Liz noted Murray’s belligerent gaze on Chambers as the major left the wardroom. She walked over to where Murray stood by Ribberdan and Yun. Our new Major is an interesting addition to the crew—beautiful, personable, and with such a reprehensible reputation. A fascinating combination. Addressing the anger in Murray’s face, Liz added, I take it from your frown you don’t agree?

I don’t approve of mutineers and traitors. No matter how they act or appear. Murray’s utter contempt colored her curt tone.

That’s only gossip, Ella, Dan said. She was never charged.

His defense of Chambers and his tone surprised Liz. She looked at him, wondering if he were smitten by the major, something she hadn’t considered.

Where there’s rumor there’s reason, Murray replied. And why does the Corps need her anyway? She’s a Ranger, Murray continued unabated, her head shaking. A Major. Liz thought Ella would spit as she said the words a second time in disgust.

Dan spoke, censure threading in his voice, The Senate gave her the opportunity to rehabilitate her record. Now you’re slandering a Corps officer.

Damn them for making it possible, Yun said. They might have considered the consequences of letting wash-out space trash back into uniform.

Dan turned and stared at Yun until the younger officer reddened and squirmed where he stood. Don’t ever. Major Chambers took the opportunity offered all former officers. The Service Corps needs officers, not enough are currently enlisting to fill necessary positions.

Everyone knows the Embassy requested her, Murray continued the painful topic. If they needed a Ranger, why let her disgrace a Corps uniform? Why not just put her in the Ranger Security contingent? The red of her angry face clashed with her hair, her furious voice drew notice.

She is assigned here by Corps Command, not Embassy request. The Embassy requested her services after they knew of her assignment to this ship. Corps Command decided they would accept her back in uniform, and I expect they have reasons which we’ll never know. The point is, she is a Corps officer now, and don’t you forget it, Ribberdan said.

In any case, she won’t seize this ship in mutiny, not with all of us watching, Yun said.

Catching Dan’s eye, Liz realized further argument could not change Murray or Yun’s attitude toward Chambers. Dan turned the conversation to the other new shipmates. Murray moved away. A few minutes later she noticed Joel Fournelle speaking