Can The Lady Make An Exit, Or What?
(S)

        On every ship, Imperial or otherwise, a daily cycle is divided into
three equal time periods called watches.  On every ship the third watch is
a quiet time, when crew sleeps and machinery recharges-the so-called "dead"
hours.  On small ships it is a lonely and boring vigil manned by a sole
crewman.  On larger ships the dead watch couldn't be called lonely but
certainly is just as monotonous.  It's a time when nothing happens.
        But something was happening, the crew of the Imperial flagship
Watcher just wasn't aware of it yet.  One on board did suspect that
something was going to happen soon, but even he wasn't aware that it had
already begun.
        Lieutenant Kyle, the third watch officer for Watcher's flight
control bridge was utterly bored.  From his command chair he could easily
see all fifteen of the screens that were used to track the local traffic
around the gigantic warship and, true to form for the dead watch, nothing
much out there was moving.
        Only the first five screens showed any activity.  1, 2 and 3
tracked the small double blips of perimeter patrols.  4 and 5 shepherded a
training wing of new pilots through a series of complex battle maneuvers.
he focused on those last two screens, enjoying the complex dance the
fighter blips created.  Suddenly 6 blinked into life creating a flurry of
startled activity from its Tech.
        "Incoming, sir."  The fingers of the tech flew across the screen's
console.  "Have specs in a moment."
        Kyle scanned his own display and, as he already knew, found no
scheduled incoming flights.  A nod towards 2 sent a set of the double-blip
patrols arrowing off in the direction of the intruder.
        "It's an Imperial shuttle, sir," 6 informed him.  "Comm range in 36
seconds."
        Kyle's eyes followed the patrol blips as they angled across 4 and 5
to take up positions on 6 against the incoming ship's flight path.
        "Tell patrol two to hold position."  The double blips on 6
obediently hovered in place.
        "Comm request, sir."
        Kyle nodded.
        "This is shuttle 225-V off Hunter, requesting permission to
transmit clearance code."  It was a feminine voice filled with bored
irritation that flirted on the edge of insubordination.
        Kyle nodded again and keyed up his own display as 6 answered,
"Hunter shuttle 225-V, go ahead with your transmission."  He divided his
concentration between the frenetic activity on his screen and the shuttle's
show progress into his airspace.  The screen snapped into sharp focus, one
side displaying the shuttle's registered flight plan, the other occupied by
the cargo manifest and pertinent flight information.  An area highlighted
and started to blink as Comp demanded an explanation for conflicting data.
A flick of his finger transferred comm control to his station.
        "Hunter shuttle, this is the flight officer for Watcher, you will
maintain your present position."  An uneasy tension began to prick at the
base of his skull and he made sure that the shuttle blip had come to a
complete halt before he focused on the data on the screen.  He read the
information, frowning at the unmoving blips on 6.
        "Hunter shuttle, you are two hours behind schedule."  He waited for
the pilot to explain.
        The woman's voice turned professional as she made her report.  "Had
a nav glitch, sir.  Ended up one hour behind you and then had to
recalibrate navcomp by hand."
        A plausible excuse.  The older shuttles were notorious for their
twitchy navcomps but... there was a saying aboard Watcher that went,
"better safe than dead."  Kyle had made it a part of his basic philosophy
early on because on this ship there was no such thing as "sorry."
        "Hunter shuttle, transmit your flight log and stand by."  He closed
the channel, motioning to 6.  "Check it out."
        He studied the unmoving blips through narrowed eyes, the forefinger
of his right hand tapping slowly against the arm of h is chair in response
to his mental agitation.  Something just didn't feel right.
        "Patrol two, do a flyby of Hunter shuttle 225-V.  Report anything
unusual."
        The double blips sped to their target, executed a tight arc around
it and headed back to their defensive positions.  "Nothing, Lieutenant."
        "Sir," 6 called for his attention, "the flight log checks out."
        Kyle glared at the tech, then gave a mental shrug.  The shuttle
checked out, there was nothing to base his unease on except a bad case of
the dead watch jitters.
        "Clear it," he snapped, already refocusing his attention on the
conclusion of the training flight.

* * *

        Taandra Ryan finished lining up the hi-jacked Imperial shuttle with
Watcher's landing beacons and relinquished manual to Flight Control, giving
her precious minutes to get her nerves back under control and check on the
little empath who was her sole passenger.  She studied the delicate little
woman through the passenger monitor and gave a perplexed little sigh.  She
appeared totally relaxed, a talent Tandy wished she could emulate.  Despite
her ease, she seemed especially vulnerable engulfed in the seat designed to
accommodate a soldier in full battle harness.  Certainly too fragile for
the task she was about to undertake.  But Tandy had discovered, during the
few months she had been with the Excalibur, that there was quite a bit more
to the physician than met the eye.
        For security reasons, they couldn't use the comms that all
Excalibur crew carried implanted in their right jawbone and she cursed the
nardy shuttle for the eighty-seventh time as she fumbled for the innership
commlink.
        "Showtime, Doc."  Two large, liquid brown eyes opened and seemed to
focus on her right through the monitor.
        "How are we doing?"  Chenille's voice was soothing and low pitched.
        "So far, so good.  Remind me to thank the captain for making us
wait for that flight log."
        "You're reminded."  Chenille's quip was followed by one of her shy
smiles.  "What's your turnaround?"
        "Flight Control promised forty-five minutes, so it'll probably be
closer to an hour and a half."
        A tell-tale blinked for her attention.  "Gotta go, landing sequence
just started.  Buckle in."
        Tandy became very busy as she fought to maneuver the ungainly bulk
of the shuttle onto it's inadequate landing pad, cursing it for the
eighty-eighth time.
        She was wiggling out of the flight harness before the shuttle had
fully settled, patting her breast pocket to make sure she had the manifest
chit as she hurried out of the cramped confines of the cockpit.
        Chenille was waiting by the crew access hatch, one hand fussing
with the collar of the dove gray uniform of the Imperial medical section,
the other adjusting the strap of the medkit so that it rested properly
against her right hip.  Tandy found herself suddenly uncomfortable, but
couldn't find a single thing to say that wouldn't sound totally inane.
        Aware of the pilot's distress, the little doctor reached out and
gathered Tandy's strong hands into her own.  "My thanks, pilot, for a swift
journey and gentle landing."
        Tandy, startled, gave the traditional reply.  "My hope that the
rest of your journey be as uneventful."
        The archaic ritual said everything that needed to be said.  She
squeezed the empath's  hands in gratitude.  Chenille returned the pressure,
allowing her own confidence to transmit itself, through the contact, to her
worried crewmate.
        They descended the ramp together, then parted.  Chenille heading
off across the cavernous flight deck, Tandy trotting to the rear of the
shuttle to confront an irritated cargo chief.

* * *

        Chenille stood patiently in front of the deck officer's desk,
unobtrusively observing him as he tried to coax comp into digesting her
forged orders.  He couldn't be more than eighteen and obviously green,
despite the Lieutenant's bars that decorated his collar.  Third watch was
apparently the training watch for the Flight Deck.  Her captain, Michael
Pendragon, had said once that dumb luck was one of the guiding forces of
the Excalibur's crew.  She believed she was seeing it in operation now.
        The deck officer looked seriously upset.
        "I'm sorry, Doctor, but we don't have your transfer orders."
        She sighed, letting her shoulders slump.  "Well, that's that.  I
suppose I must wait then until the next data transmission?"
        The deck officer frowned.  The only place he had to put her was the
detention room and that certainly wasn't any place for this delicate little
med, especially since the next d-trans wasn't until first watch and that
was a full seven hours away.  He also knew better than to irritate a med.
the only thing more feared on this ship than its Lord, was a pissed-off
med.
        The doctor reached out and placed a small hand on his arm.
        "Truly, I don't mind having to wait."  She adjusted her pheromones.
"Where should I go?"  She linked just enough to play havoc with his
hormone levels.
        She was being so understanding.  He just couldn't put her in the
detention room.  "Tell you what," he said.  "I'll go ahead and assign you a
billet and temporary tags.  When your orders come through I'll just
transfer them over."
        "That would be wonderful!"  Her voice was full of unfeigned relief
and she flashed him a delighted smile, ignoring the twinge of guilt she
felt for what she was doing to the young man.
        He grinned back, totally bewitched.
        "You might as well begin orientation."
        He fumbled for the appropriate badge and little sparks jumped up
his spine when her hand brushed against his as she gathered it from his
hand.  He watched, fascinated, as she clipped it to her collar.
        "Um, you have two watches, then you should report to Med for duty
assignment."
        Comp spat out the tags in the middle of his sentence and he offered
them to her.  She bowed her head in invitation, letting him slide the
slender chain over her head.  His fingers delighted in the satin texture of
her fine brown hair.  He wondered if it would still have those honey
highlights in more subdued lighting.  She smiled up at him, one hand
playing with the two clear, glittering bars that now rested between her
breasts.
        "There's an orientation map right outside the main deck doors."  He
pointed in what he hoped was the right direction.
        "You are off duty at the end of this watch?"  Her voice was full of
veiled promises.  He swallowed hard and nodded.
        "And where would you suggest a weary med might go for some
refreshment at the end of her orientation tour?"
        "The Downside," he managed to get out.  She smiled that wonderful
smile again.
        "Thank you for your time, deck officer.  I will remember your
kindness."
        If he hurried to their implied rendezvous, he would probably
survive to serve his next watch.  That was the only kindness she had to
offer in return.
        His smile followed her all the way off the flight deck.

* * *

        She stopped in front of the orientation map, placed the appropriate
tag into the appropriate slot and memorized the map while a glowing blue
line traced the quickest route to her quarters.
        (Hiya, Doc!) a familiar voice chimed and Niccolo appeared in a
blast of frigid air at her feet.  (Boy am I glad to see you!  Got room for
me?)  He collapsed dramatically over the arch of her right boot.
        Chenille quickly glanced up and down the corridor as she shrugged
off her flight jacket, making sure they were clear.  Hooking her left thumb
into her belt, she crouched down, creating a Roben-sized nook.
        "Think you can find a comfortable position?"
        (Shoulders are better,) he grumbled but scrambled up and stretched
himself out on her forearm, winding his tail securely above her elbow and
locking his front feet around her wrist.
        "Shoulders are also conspicuous."  She worked on draping the jacket
so it covered all of her passenger.  "If I remember correctly, there is a
rather terminal regulation about pets found on-board Imperial warships."
        He made a rude noise, both physically and mentally, as she started
down the corridor, not in the direction the glowing line had suggested, but
towards a small cargo access that opened onto the flight deck.
        (I can't breathe!)
        She made an adjustment to the jacket, crossed to the other side of
the passageway in response to a polite warning chime from the maintenance
unit that trundled toward them.
        "So, what's going on?"
        Niccolo heaved a huge sigh that was echoed in his mental tone.
(Good question.  Where do you want me to start?)
        "Harvey?" she whispered tensely.  If he was seriously injured they
would be in real trouble.
        (He's okay.  Just really pissed off.  The only reason we got caught
was because we blew that power coupling that Joe swore he had fixed.)
        Not as bad as she had expected.  She did a mental recall and turned
up an intersecting corridor.  They would visit the garage supply room
first.
        "Max?"
        There was an uncomfortable pause from her passenger.  (We can't
find him.  Harvey got some serious feedback from his comm and then it went
dead.  I've looked everywhere I can get...)
        "Did you try the morgue?"  Having seen the handiwork of Ophidian's
temper, she knew it was as likely a place as any.  She forced herself to
smile at a passing crewman.
        (Nah,) Niccolo answered with a touch of smug confidence.  (I know
he's still alive 'cause he and Albion have been scheduled for termination
at 0:15 first watch.)
        "Albion?  Who's Albion?"  A little twinge of apprehension tightened
her stomach.
        (Shhh.) The Roben's tone was uneasy.  (This is going to sound
really crazy...)
        "Okay," she prompted.  A green arrow on the wall with Garage Supply
stenciled above it suggested a right turn into the next passage.
        (He and this woman, Rachael, just sort of...)  He paused, searching
for just the right word.  (...appeared... in the cabin right before we got
caught.)
        "Appeared?"  She couldn't keep the disbelief from her voice.
        (Well,) Niccolo squirmed, (I think they came out of the Twin's
mirror...)
        He gauged her pause.  She didn't believe him.  His mental tone
turned combative.
        (I told you it was going to sound crazy!)
        "Okay, okay," she said, soothing the small furry body.  She needed
the little teleporter's help desperately and couldn't afford to let him
slip into one of his uncooperative snits.  "We'll sort that out later."
        (Damn right we will!) he snapped, unwilling to be soothed.
        She changed the subject slightly.  "So what is this Albion to us?"
        (Well, I kinda told hi that if he'd help me rescue Max, I'd help
him rescue his lady friend.)
        She groaned inwardly.
        (It seemed like a good plan at the time,) he added meekly.
        "Where is he now?"  There was a resigned acceptance to her words.
        (Prison section.  Rachael's in a Mind Room in Med.)  He added in
anticipation of her next question.
        "Okay, we'll see what we can do..."

*  *  *