Chapter 1
Venice Dylenski had measured the possibility of losing
hold on that transient state that human beings call life more
than once, but at the moment she couldn’t recall a more painful
experience. She struggled, her chest heaving, to find a
hand or foot hold on a sheer cliff of orange–red rock. One
hand grasped a thin, multi–fiber relay cord, while the other
searched the smooth rock for a crevice or bump to use as a
handhold. Finding none, she quickly returned it to help hold
onto the thin cord that cut painfully into the flesh of her
hands. Glancing up to the top of the cliff, she caught sight of
Corporal Lynn Washington, who was ineffectually bending
over an outcropping, watching her superior officer’s struggles.
Venice had no time to be annoyed at the young corporal,
despite her inaction.
Trying to keep the desperation and fear out of her voice,
Venice called out, “Corporal, someone must be close by, get
on your com-link and get some help.” Keeping control was
necessary, because at any moment Washington might panic
and make her already precarious situation even worse. “You’ll
need to tell them we need a rope or something to help me to
climb.”
“Washington to any unit, Washington to any unit...” As
the sound of her voice trailed off, Venice once again turned
her attention to her seemingly hopeless position. The pain in
her fingers was becoming so excruciating that she feared she
would not only be unable to climb, but that she would lose
her hold altogether. The geographical sensor banged into the
cliff below her as she swung to and fro, still hoping for a foot
or handhold.
“Major,” Washington called as she approached the brink
of the cliff, “I’ve raised the XO. He’s coming.”
“Good.” Venice prayed for the strength to hold on. “Look
for a good anchor. He’ll have to come down for me. My
hands are too numb for me to climb up.” Venice glanced upward
again, and saw the girl’s blonde head move obediently
away from the edge of the cliff.
* * * *
After receiving the slightly garbled message, Lt. Commander
Steve Dylenski set off at a run, leaving his men trailing
at his heels. The Lt. Commander and Executive Officer of
the Excalibur was just over six-foot and slender, but his broad
shoulders promised strength. At thirty, he was a man in his
prime—still young, yet experienced.
Just now his fear made him fleet; he wasn’t sure that his
wife could hold on for long, and he was unsure of her position.
He ran on, following his com-link’s directional finder, at
a pace that Lt. Andrew Redwine and Sergeant Rich Weber
had trouble matching.
He sighted Washington’s blue jacket and pocketed the
miniature com-unit. As he turned to his men, he saw that
Weber was tearing a climbing rope from his gear–pack. At
Steve’s direction, Weber wrapped the rope around a large
boulder which rested close to the edge. He looked down to
check Venice’s position.
“Hold on, Venice,” he called as he realized the hopelessness
of her situation. “I’ll have to climb down to you.”
Turning to Redwine, Steve planned aloud. “I’m going to
rappel down to her, and you’ll have to haul both of us up.
There is no handhold at all, and I don’t think she can help herself if we try to climb. I hope that the two of you can pull us
up, but if you can’t, secure the rope, and I’ll hold her until
you get some more help.” At Redwine’s nod Lt. Commander
Dylenski ordered, “Let’s go.”
Steve descended the cliff about five feet further down
from Venice’s position and bounced over to his dark-haired
wife. Venice relaxed her hold on the narrow sensor cord as
she felt his arms come around her waist. Steve felt the strain
of the harness around his waist as it took all of their combined
weight.
“Take it easy, Venice. I’ve got you, but you’ve got to take
some of the strain. Put your arms around my neck and try to
hold your weight.”
Venice clumsily released the cord and clung with numb
fingers to her husband. He shifted his hands to the rope and
looked up at the waiting crewmen.
“Okay, let’s go up.”
Face to face with him, Venice noted the lines on either
side of his mouth as he grimaced with the strain of holding her
weight. The three crewmen above struggled and fought, pulling
the rope in a series of jerks until Steve was able to boost
Venice over into Washington’s waiting arms. Then Redwine
pulled his XO over the edge as well.
“Well done, all.” Steve glanced around at his crew members,
who were still panting after having expended so much
effort. He knelt beside his wife and asked in a voice pitched
for her ears alone, “What happened?”
“We were lowering the geo–sensor over the cliff, and it
snagged on something.” Looking just a bit sheepish, Venice
continued, “I leaned over, bracing myself on a rock as I looked
for any obstructions. The rock gave way and I fell. I’m sorry.”
“So am I. That was a careless mistake. We could have lost
you.” Steve helped her to her feet and moved to take Venice’s
hands in his own. He continued, his voice once again at its
normal pitch, “You need some medical treatment. Go back to
the lander and let Pat look at your hands.”
“I am all right, Steve.”
“That was not a suggestion, Major; it was an order.”
Steve spoke with authority so that the entire group could hear
him.
“Sir,” Venice acknowledged his order. She started for the
hilly area that lay between them and the lander, her steps slow
and deliberate.
“Corporal, go with her and see that she does not stir from
the landing site until we return.”
“Aye, sir.”
* * * *
Venice’s hands were so sore that she struggled with the
buckle of her seat’s harness in the lander. Steve stopped on his
way to the pilot’s chair to fasten it for her. He looked at her
bandaged hands and tired face for a moment.
“Still all right?” he queried.
Her face reddened. “Yes, really.”
Steve slid into the seat, fastened his own harness, and
pulled the seat under the control panel. As he completed running his preflight checks, he turned to Ensign Cheryl Kowalski, who was manning the communications and navigation station.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Confirm E-T-A.”
“Aye, sir.” She flipped a couple of buttons and Sandra
Ware, communications chief aboard the Excalibur, acknowledged.
“Excalibur, this is Landing II, departing sector five, survey
complete. E-T-A thirty-five minutes.”
“Landing II, this is the Excalibur. E-T-A thirty-five minutes.
Everything go okay?”
She cast a meaningful glance at Lt. Commander Dylenski
and noted that his face remained impassive.
“We’re fine, Excalibur,” Kowalski replied and continued
her nav scan.
“Good. We’re expecting you. Use the rear landing bay;
looks like we’re done with this one.”
“Acknowledged. Landing II out.”
* * * *
The small twelve passenger craft shuddered briefly as it
broke the hold of Gamma Delta IV’s gravity. Inertial compensators came on line, then it lifted its occupants smoothly
through the planet’s atmosphere and into space. Amidst the
bright and clearly shining stars, Steve pointed the little craft
toward what appeared to be the brightest of them all. As they
approached the bright light, it became recognizable as the Excalibur.
Watching as the craft approached the rear landing bay
door, Venice was once again impressed with the sheer size of
the vessel. The Excalibur was a colonization ship holding a
crew of seventy, as well as their children. From their angle of
approach, it looked like a huge wedge floating in space.
The lander drew closer to the aft door, and an aperture
yawned in the underside of the vessel. Steve expertly guided
the little craft through the narrow opening, and set it down on
the deck. The shuttle’s crew unbuckled their harnesses as they
waited for the doors to close and the bay to repressurize. If
another journey planet-side was in the offing, the lander
would have discharged its passengers through a docking port,
and the craft would have remained tethered outside the Excalibur.
Apparently the captain had declared them finished
with the planet below, so the craft was going to be returned
to its hangar deck for servicing. Venice watched, while the
others gathered their equipment, noting that the light bar
above changed from red to green. From his pilot’s position,
Steve also observed the change, opened the hatch and lowered
the ramp.
Pat McPherson, the ship’s nurse and the wife of the mission
captain, paused to assist Venice as she struggled once
again with the harness. A short, slightly overweight, redhaired,
middle-aged woman, Pat was the embodiment of a
perfect mother, and indeed she mothered most everyone in
the crew, officer or enlisted. As she looked at the young security
chief, her maternal instincts were in high gear.
“You need to get some rest, okay?” She squeezed Venice’s
shoulder and moved on as she saw Steve approach.
“I’ll see to debriefing,” Steve touched her cheek, an affectionate
yet possessive gesture. “You go on to bed.”
“I’m perfectly able to...” she began.
“But you don’t have to. I would prefer to handle this as
quickly as I can, Venice. Just go to bed. I’m tired even if you
are not.”
“Okay,” Venice smiled at him, her perfect teeth lighting
her face, and he felt his spirits lift once more. Leaning over,
Steve pulled her to her feet, his face close enough to hers that
he might have kissed her. With a gentle push, he guided her to
the aisle between the seats, then to the ramp. They strolled
down the ramp of the lander side by side and moved toward
the access corridor, taking up the rear of the landing party.
* * * *
Venice was almost asleep when the buzzer beside her
went off. She fumbled for the switch, her hands stiff under
their bandages.
“Major Dylenski,” Venice answered in a tone that
sounded far more alert than she felt.
“This is Captain McPherson. I want a word with you.”
The voice rang from the com center
“Yes, sir. I’ll be with you shortly.”
“Major, I’ll come to you—I am on my way to my own
cabin.”
“Yes, sir.”
Venice slipped on a short front zipping terry jumpsuit,
stepped into the head, and began awkwardly running a brush
through her luxuriant raven hair. Noting a developing bruise
on one cheek, she frowned at her appearance and went into
the office area she shared with Steve. Seated in a swivel chair,
she fidgeted nervously as she waited.
After she acknowledged the brief knock, her cabin door
slid open and the captain of the Excalibur entered. Captain
Harry McPherson matched Venice’s own five–ten with a wiry
build. They were, in fact, much the same size. Venice came to
attention, eye to eye with him.
“As you were. Sit down, Major. These are your quarters.”
She sat, uneasily, puzzled, by his presence in her cabin.
Venice couldn’t remember McPherson, or any other commanding
officer she’d ever known, entering a senior officer’s quarters. He leaned against the computer console, not encroaching upon what little space could be between them in the tiny cabin.
“I came here because I didn’t want anyone to know about
this conversation. If you were anyone else, I imagine we’d be
having this discussion in sick bay.”
“It’s not that serious, sir.”
Captain McPherson peered at her face, then turned his attention
to her hands. “Now, about this accident, how are your
hands?”
“Fine, sir.” Her response was automatic as she noticed his
gaze on the bandages covering her hands. “Well, actually, they
are rather sore, but nothing’s broken. I wouldn’t want to
shirk my duties over a few minor scrapes and bruises.”
“I want you to see Dr. Freebody first thing tomorrow.”
“Your wife looked after me...” Venice began.
“You will see the doctor, Major.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
McPherson paced the narrow cabin for a moment and
then he turned to face her, an odd scowl on his face.
“I have talked to Lt. Commander Dylenski and Corporal
Washington about the circumstances of your fall. Do you wish
to elaborate on the incident?”
“No, sir. I’m sure that they gave accurate accounts.”
“Major, you are no doubt aware that if the officer in
charge of the landing party had not been your husband that
you would have been severely reprimanded. I don’t blame
Steve for not doing that; it’s sometimes difficult serving with
your spouse. I’m often glad Pat and I seldom cross paths. No
doubt issuing a reprimand is something that he couldn’t do.
He was too glad to have you alive. So, I’m here to do it for
him.”
Captain McPherson seemed reluctant also. He sighed and
looked at the woman’s swollen and bandaged hands.
“Major Dylenski, we are on a mission in space, many
light-years away from Earth. If something happens to our security
chief, we can’t just send back to the base for a replacement.
Every member of this crew has a vital job to do. As a
member of the officer complement on this ship you are doubly
important. You must not only do your job; you must set
an example for the crew to follow. Any military expedition is
only as good as its leadership.”
Venice couldn’t keep the remorse out of her voice as she
acknowledged, “Captain, I know that you’re correct. I won’t
make any excuses—there are none that would be acceptable,
not to you and not to me.”
“Any time that you go out you had better be on your
toes. I don’t want to have this sort of conversation again.” He
looked a bit contrite. “I also don’t wish to have the honor of
speaking at your funeral. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s it then, Major. Remember to see the doctor in
the morning.” McPherson left before she could respond.
Venice sprawled on the bed after the door closed. Tears
welled up in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. At
twenty-six, she was the youngest member of the executive
staff, as well as the highest ranking Marine, and the pressure
to perform just as well as officers with twice her experience
had sometimes been excruciating. On ships where Marines
and Navy personnel serve together, it is customary to give a
marine captain a courtesy promotion to major— just to avoid
the confusion of having two captains. At the moment she felt
as phony as the title— “Major”. Often she had felt that she had
been given the assignment as security chief only so that Steve
could be lured as XO. For the most part, she managed to keep
her insecurity buried beneath the surface, as it must be, but
for a few private minutes she let it come out and wallowed in
it. Before long she recognized her own self-destructive behavior,
making her tears short lived. She thought over the incident
and finally decided that she was very, very lucky. After
all, she could have missed the damned cord. Finally, she slept.
* * * *
Venice awoke when Steve came to bed.
“You didn’t come to dinner,” he said, caressing her back.
“No, I wasn’t hungry.” Venice snuggled closer to him.
“What time is it?”
“1700 hours, not long until our shift begins.”
“Debriefing go okay?”
“Sure, no problems,” he told her, stroking her trim, wellmuscled
body. Enjoying the close feeling of being in each other’s arms,
they fell asleep.
When the alarm went off, Steve almost leaped from the
bed, instantly awake. Venice roused herself in an unhurried
fashion. After stretching all over, like a cat, Venice sat on the
bed and unraveled the bandages from her hands, noting that
they were green and blue and scraped raw in places, the fingers
still swollen. Gingerly, she flexed them, and decided that
everything was working, just sore.
Steve emerged from the head, shaking droplets from his
close-cropped dark blonde hair. He pulled on his uniform
jacket, which was identical to all those of the officers, except
that his had the gold rings of a lieutenant commander on the
sleeves. The royal blue waist length jacket, worn over a highnecked white knit and black trousers completed the uniform.
Venice yawned and moved toward the head. Steve caught
her and pulled her to him, cuddling her breasts. She leaned
against him, breathing in the masculine scent of his body. He
bent down to kiss her on the forehead, causing her to smile.
“I love you,” she said.
“And I love you, too.” Steve stroked her hair as she
leaned against his broad chest. “Go on, sleepyhead, you’ll be
late.”
“It might be worth being late,” she teased.
“Later, my love, later. Bye.” With a wink, he strode into
the hallway.
The door slid back into place, and she stretched
once more before going to her own clothing cabinet.
Venice dressed in her own royal blue jacket and black
pants, and strapped a small stun pistol into the tactical holster
which dropped from her waist to her right thigh. All security
personnel were armed, and they were the only people on the
ship to wear arms. Although she had never used the small but
powerful weapon, and really never expected to use it, standard
operating procedure required that she wear it. She
checked that the weapon was fully charged before leaving her
quarters, another part of her established routine.
Leaving her quarters, she looked up at the monitor camera,
beamed an exaggerated smile and tossed her hair, hoping
that Drew Redwine was looking. Her second in command was
a man who took himself a little too seriously, and she enjoyed
needling him just a bit. Lt. Redwine seemed to have problems
dealing with a woman, especially a younger woman, as his superior.
He always treated her politely, but never with any of
the camaraderie that she’d experienced in other units. Venice
had tried to smooth out their relationship at first, but now she
tried to ignore his distant attitude because he was the most efficient officer in her department.
The lift took her up to B Deck, where security was
housed. The area was small, an elongated room with a wall
covered with small monitor screens, counter workspace and
control center below the screens with the brig behind that.
The weapons locker was located near the landing bay, not
near security. Among her duties, Venice was responsible for
those areas, and security was expected to provide personnel
for each landing party. During normal space travel, her list of
responsibilities was almost nil, but she quickly became accountable for the safety of the crew when any member of it
landed. That, of course, made her accident on the previous
day even more acutely embarrassing.
She entered the monitor area and glanced around at the
small screens. As her eyes moved from monitor to monitor,
the whole ship seemed to be enveloped in a snowstorm.
“What’s wrong with this system?” she asked Sergeant
Weber, who was on duty in the control station.
“We’re not sure, Major. I noticed a growing amount of
electrical interference about two hours ago. Lt. Redwine said
keep watching, and when you came on ask you to check with
engineering about it.” He smiled at her, a genuine, warm expression as he asked, “How are your hands?”
Venice returned his smile, “Fine— just a bit sore. I don’t
remember thanking you for your help yesterday; I wanted to
tell you that you did a great job.”
“I’m just glad that we were close by, and you were all
right.”
“Me, too. Believe it or not, my ego is suffering more than
my hands. Now tell me when this first occurred,” she gestured
at the monitor screens, “and when it got to looking like
this— we can’t see a thing.”
“It really wasn’t bad at first. As I told you, I started noticing
it about two hours ago. I told the Lieutenant about it
roughly half an hour ago. I think that he figured that if we
called Engineering that they would get started about the time
the shift changed.”
“I am not after Redwine’s ass,” she told him with a half
smile, “I just want to be accurate when I tell them about the
problem.” She leaned over to activate the com.
“Engineering, this is Major Dylenski in security. I need a
technician to check out our interior monitors.” She spoke to
the Communications Center from the end of the control
panel.
“Security, this is Lt. Sanders, you’ll have to wait your
turn, the bridge is practically blind and they have first priority.”
“Understood, Dylenski out.”
Venice sat back and looked at the monitors. She turned to
Weber, who was waiting for his replacement and gestured
toward the hatch.
“You can go on. I’m sure that Washington will be along
any minute. Besides, you can’t see anything here anyway.”
“Lt. Redwine took the last round, so he’ll be back any
minute,” he informed her, as he stood up to go. “Do you think
that we’ll ever find a place to establish the colony?”
“You were disappointed with Gamma Delta IV, too,
huh?” He nodded. “We all were, of course. Don’t give up
hope, Rich. We have been out here a lot longer than most of
us thought we would, but there have been some encouraging
signs. Back home, most of the scientist types thought we
would never find a breathable atmosphere, and we have found
decent air over and over. It just remains to find the right balance
of land and water. I’m beginning to understand that it’s
not air that is precious, it’s water.”
“Gamma Delta IV was too dry wasn’t it?”
“The geological sensors didn’t come up with any underground
sources. It’s better to keep looking for a better prospect
as long as our supplies hold out.” Venice stated McPherson’s
policy once again, without even thinking about it.
“See you later, Major.”
“Right,” she acknowledged, already reading over Redwine’s
shift log entries. When she finished, Redwine was
standing at the counter, gazing at the useless monitors. He
stood still, waiting for her to begin the conversation.
“Apart from the monitor problem, do you have anything
to report, Lieutenant?”
“No, Major, it seems quiet. I made one extra round, just
to be sure.”
“Very good, you may go.”
“Washington hasn’t reported in yet.”
“No, but I’m sure she’ll be along shortly—” the communications
center buzzed, and she answered, “Security, Dylenski.”
“This is Captain McPherson, have you seen the doctor
yet?”
“No, sir, I—”
“If I don’t have a medical log on you within the next half
hour, you will be on report for having disobeyed a direct order
from the commanding officer of this ship. Is that clear,
Major?”
“Yes, sir.” The light went out. She looked at Redwine’s
impassive face. “You heard the man. Please stay here until
Washington comes in. If she doesn’t report in ten minutes,
call her.”
“Yes, Major.” Redwine didn’t quite manage to keep the
smugness out of his voice.
