Wreck of the Nebula Dream Read online

  “My mind is made up.” Making a slashing motion, the noble cut harshly across her soothing offer. “I don’t care what problems your pilot has. They aren’t my concern. My wife is so irrational at the moment she’s jeopardizing her own health and that of our unborn son. We’ll journey to Sector Hub another time.”

  He would not be budged. The shuttle’s pilot came from the cockpit to argue, requesting they at least finish the trip and drop off the other passengers. The mere suggestion sent the wife into renewed hysteria. She apparently suspected some trick would be played on her, an attempt made to get her onto the Nebula Dream once they docked in orbit.

  “I’ll kill myself, then, if you aren’t man enough to do it,” she screamed, raising the dagger her husband refused to take. Far gone in hysteria and panic, she slashed at her right wrist twice, before pointing the blade at her swollen abdomen.

  Moving in the blink of an eye, brushing rapidly past the ineffectual noble and the cabin attendants, Nick inserted himself into the domestic drama yet again.

  Usually my job to kill people, not keep them from committing messy suicide. Nick’s reflexes kicked into high gear.

  With a savage, throat-tearing scream, the woman he was attempting to save went on the offensive, slashing at his face with her knife. Nick staved off the first blow, losing his grip on her as a result. Her wild second thrust with the glittering blade tore through the sleeve of his civilian shirt, leaving him with a stinging slash in the upper right arm. Cursing wildly at him in her native language, she took aim at his face. Having been given no choice, he roughly disarmed her.

  The jeweled dagger went spinning away across the shuttle’s deck, drops of their commingled blood splattering the bulkhead until it disappeared under a seat. His unlikely adversary cried out with pain, trying to get loose, presumably to retrieve her weapon. Wrapping one arm around her, Nick eased her to the deck as she swayed and crumpled. Somehow he managed to keep them both from further injuries as they fell.

  He’d no idea what language her people spoke – he hadn’t heard enough of it to trigger any of his implanted linguistic reflexes. Cradling her, Nick tried a reassuring murmur in Basic. “It’s all right, madame, we’re in no danger. The shuttle flies normally. There’s no need for you to –”

  “Fool!” She literally spat at him, twisting her upper body so she could see his face. “If we set foot on that cursed ship, we’ll all die!” Her beautiful face contorted further, and she fell against Nick’s chest, weeping, body shaking. “I’ve dreamed it truly. My baby will die unborn with me – we must not go there.”

  Shaking his head slightly, Nick tightened his arms around her in a wary attempt to instill comfort and calm. This is beyond me. Where’s the damn husband? And the flight crew? Why aren’t any of them offering assistance? It certainly isn’t my job to subdue hysterical passengers. He did draw a line, however, at standing aside while someone made a serious suicide attempt right in front of him, endangering everyone else on the shuttle as well. If Nick hadn’t prevented her from triggering the emergency air lock override, they’d all be dead by now, swept into the thin upper atmosphere of Glideon. The pilots might have survived, locked in the flight deck, but for sure no one else would have. By the Seven Hells, they all owed him – pilots, flight crew and passengers alike. Damn it, somebody had better step forward soon, help me resolve this.

  “If you were a man, you’d kill me yourself,” the woman taunted suddenly, startling Nick, although he didn’t release his hold on her. Then he realized she was speaking over his shoulder, addressing her husband as he nervously shuffled closer to them.

  Masking his own thoughts, Nick stared hard at the diffident spouse. The guy certainly looks big enough to handle his own wife.

  But then again, if this couple had been able to resolve their own marital spat, he wouldn’t be sitting here on the cold shuttle deck, bleeding, still clutching a hysterical woman in his arms while all the other passengers stared. I’d be halfway through my next drink by now, relaxing. He didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry old habits had led him to take the rearmost seat in the shuttle’s luxurious cabin, closest to the exit, back to the wall for automatic self-defense. Even in a totally civilian situation, Nick stayed vigilant.

  And now here we sit, on the deck, bleeding. Nick ignored the sluggish flow of his blood from the superficial wound the woman had inflicted on him. He was working to stem the much more rapid loss of blood she was suffering, having apparently managed to slash a vein with her small, wickedly sharp knife. Fury spent, the injured woman sat leaning against him, weeping and crooning to herself in her native language.

  “Get the medkit.” Nick snapped his fingers at the gaping attendants, hovering uncertainly by the first row of seats. “This wrist wound of hers needs to be sealed. You’re trained in first aid, aren’t you? I’ll do it myself if you can’t handle it, but we’re losing time. Not life threatening, but we should deal with the blood loss.”

  “Absolutely, sir. I’m sorry – I’ll be right back with our first aid supplies.” The attendant shoved her way through the gaping spectators, going to the shuttle’s bow.

  Muttering soothing remarks to the distraught woman in her own tongue, which had finally, blessedly snapped into the fore in his mind, Nick tried to keep her calm.

  The lead attendant brought the medkit and gingerly applied skin sealant and antibiotics to the slashed wrist, which Nick immobilized for her. The young wife wept, occasionally responding to Nick with broken sentences about her dreams and her unborn child being at risk, to which he told her in halfway-fluent dialect she must do what was best for the baby. Creeping out from under the seat, the pet came to them, crooning as if it sensed the woman’s distress, long green tongue flickering in and out. Curling up next to them, the creature made no other move, to Nick’s relief. Don’t want to be dealing with a hysterical woman and an unknown animal.

  The shuttle had grown quiet, passengers twisted in their seats, staring and listening to the unexpected drama. The Socialites had stopped laughing and joking when the woman made her abortive suicide attempt. Several were complaining in dramatic tones about being nauseated at the sight of the blood, but at least they weren’t demanding service. Nick observed peripherally even the businesswoman had paused in her work to watch the events unfold.

  Abruptly, his attention was drawn to the woman he was holding, as she drew in a hissing breath and clutched dramatically at her abdomen, closing her eyes and biting her lip. Eyeing her, he realized she wasn’t displaying the physical symptoms of a woman in labor. But if that’s how she wants to play it, who am I to get in her way? I’m no medic. He raised his voice, and put an edge on it, to cut through the squabble. “Gentlemen, you’d better decide something.”

  The husband and the pilot glared at him, both equally annoyed at the interruption.

  Nick didn’t care. Events might be about to overtake them. “I’m far from being an expert, but I think she’s going into labor here.”

  The pilot gave in, as the other passengers groaned.

  “Fine, we’ll get you to Glideon straightaway,” the man said, throwing up his arms. “We can claim medical emergency, if she’s in labor. They’ll give us clearance.”

  “But the Dream has a fully equipped infirmary,” protested the lead attendant. “There’s no need to land, even if she is in labor. And she could be in false labor –”

  “What do you care?” the pilot said. “We’re going back to surface.”

  “But if we miss the departure. . .” The attendant’s voice trailed off as the pilot glared at her even more fiercely, shaking his head.

  “I don’t think she’s faking it,” Nick said from his awkward location on the deck. He would have been more than happy to stand up, move aside, and let the man handle his own wife, but the SMT board member made no indication of any desire to intervene. Nick didn’t have the heart to leave the poor woman on her own at this point. She was clinging to him, too frightened to speak, gasping as each new contra
ction hit. It was pitiful. This guy must have a heart of stone, ignoring his wife’s distress and pain, allowing a total stranger – a man – to be the one offering comfort.

  None of the SMT crew was inclined to assist Nick with their most difficult passenger. I’m on my own and I’m all this lady’s got until we reach the ground.

  As soon as the pilot went to the flight deck, the shuttle made a wide loop in the crowded space lanes, returning to the spaceport. Nick braced himself against the emergency hatch, handles digging painfully into his back, to keep the woman from further injury, as she was now beyond any ability to fend for herself, lost in hard labor. Her husband stood impassively beside them, one hand clenched on a seat back.

  The SMT crew had to work around the wife to open the airlock once they landed. Nick stood up, bringing her smoothly to her feet. She acted dizzy, perhaps from loss of blood and general stress. Two of the older wives finally came from the curtained-off compartment at the bow and took her by the elbows, rushing her through the portal before the door had even finished cycling, the pet scurrying in their wake, yelping. Nick caught a glimpse of a waiting med team in the passageway to the terminal.

  “We don’t have time to unload your luggage, or we won’t make it to the Nebula Dream before she goes interstellar.” The pilot, walking aft from the flight deck, delivered this news to his difficult passenger with relish. “We’ll return the bags to Glideon on the next available freighter, priority status.”

  “Fine.” The SMT board member stared at the far bulkhead, over the heads of the passengers, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “My apologies, on behalf of my wife and myself. The drinks on your renewed journey to the ship shall be on me, as minor recompense for your inconvenience. I bid you good speed. And to you, sir, my thanks,” was all he said to Nick for keeping his wife from killing them or doing harm to herself and his unborn son. A quick half bow and then the noble was gone, servants and the other pet scurrying in his wake.

  “Well, I never,” huffed the attendant in a hissing whisper to the pilot, as they refastened the airlock portal. “You certainly caved in to his demands.”

  “Hey, what was I supposed to do?” Slamming the latch closed, the pilot put his hands on his hips, frowning. Keeping his voice low as well, he gave vent to his feelings. “The man owns about half the damn company. And whether she was in labor or not, she was spooking everyone, including me. Better not to have someone so unhinged on board the Dream! Talk about a jinx.”

  Glancing at the nearest passengers nervously, the attendant shushed the pilot.

  He shook off her hand. “Break out the best stuff, and be sure you bill it to him.” Avoiding eye contact with his passengers, the pilot went back to the cockpit.

  “Will we still make it on time?” Snagging his sleeve and hanging on, one of the Socialites screeched her question in a high, petulant voice as the officer walked by.

  The pilot loosened her grip none too gently.” There are a few rules on excessive speed in nearplanet space, but I’ll do my best for you, ma’am.”

  “Rules exist for us to break, man,” drawled another of the Socialites in the affected accent they favored. He was a vapid youth, with blotchy skin and bad teeth, too small for his stylish bronze and purple suit.

  “Yes, well, I suggest you all remain in your seats for the trip.” The pilot made his escape into the flight deck above the passenger compartment, the slamming of the hatch suggestive of his feelings about anymore passenger face time on this trip.

  Nick stood, grimacing at the blood on his best set of civilian clothes. The untended slash in his upper arm burned but had stopped bleeding. Pausing for a second, her floral scent surrounding him like a promise, the attendant smiled. “You were incredibly brave, Mr. –?”

  “Captain, Captain Nick Jameson, Special Forces. Miss – “

  “Helene, call me Helene,” she said, her brown eyes big, lashes fluttering. “It was impressive.”

  Impatiently, the chief attendant called to her.

  Helene glanced toward the bow with unconcealed annoyance and then gave her full attention to Nick. “SMT will clean or replace your clothes free of charge, Captain. I’ll see to it. Personally.” And she was gone down the aisle.

  Gazing after her in frustration, Nick met the electric stare of the businesswoman, who raised one eyebrow in an elegant arch before shifting focus to her work. Nick was embarrassed, now the crisis was over. I don’t like being the center of attention, anymore than the husband did. He sat.

  There was a tug at his sleeve as he attempted to raise the now warm and watery drink to his lips. Glancing down, he saw the boy standing there in the aisle by his side.

  “Sir, she forgot her pretty knife,” the boy said respectfully, offering the weapon to him, holding it by the lavishly gemmed hilt, stained blade pointed at the deck.

  In vain Nick checked the aisle for a cabin attendant. They’d all gone into their private cubicle for a moment. Probably gossiping about the events that just transpired. He reached for the dagger, wrapping it in a napkin. “Thank you. Extremely observant. I’ll see it gets back to her, okay?”

  The boy nodded, seeming to want to continue the conversation but at a loss for what to say next. Nick was willing enough to chat, but the father came and retrieved his son, with a word of apology.

  Sinking further into his lush chair, he closed his eyes for a long minute. Well, okay, Jameson, now the trip will be boring. Hope you enjoyed the only excitement there’s going to be for the next ten days.

  The engines sequenced up again, this time obviously in response to the application of significantly more power. The trajectory was straight up, pushing the passengers deep into their cushioned seats, as the pilot tried to make up for the lost time. Nick could imagine what the traffic controllers were saying to the flight crew, since the orbits of practically every craft trying to land or leave Glideon had probably been disrupted for the last hour. Man must have gravity to spare, to get himself returned to the surface on a young wife’s whim. Even one in labor. She could have been suitably cared for in the Dream’s sickbay.

  “My apologies, folks, but we’re going straight into the shuttle bay, rather than landing at the starboard First Level portal,” the copilot said on the com. “The captain of the Nebula Dream regrets he must insist on it, so we can leave planetary orbit on schedule. Have to break the inter-Sector speed record, you know.” False excitement in his voice, the pilot tried to distract them with SMT’s heavily promoted attempt to set a new time for the Glideon to Sector Hub run. “Even seconds may count.”

  The attendants, out and around again in the cabin, were doing their best to sell the company line, too, murmuring what a rare treat the passengers would have, getting to see behind the scenes of the liner’s work areas when they left the shuttle and stepped into the hangar bay. Only the boy was buying the story, Nick observed. He was excited, in the manner of children everywhere, offered an unexpected treat. For the most part, the other passengers acted grumpy. Nick wasn’t any too happy himself. I’ve seen enough of this shuttle and this set of people.

  As it turned out, they had to ride through the Nebula Dream’s departure from orbit and entry into hyperspace while seated aboard the shuttle, which berthed about three minutes before the deadline. Only then were they allowed to disembark in the cramped shuttle bay, which housed three other SMT private craft. Most of the liner’s passengers had arrived earlier via commercial carriers and taxis, but the cream of the list, such as the majority of the fifty people on this last incoming ferry, had been singled out to receive the individual SMT treatment on its own small fleet of shuttles.

  Talk about a perk becoming a distinct disadvantage in this case, since they came close to missing the trip altogether as a result. Nick scanned the shuttle bay, noting a small army of stewards and stewardesses waiting off to the side, ready to gather the passengers and carry them away to their cabins on the upper decks. The staff had doubtless been pulled from their other duties to deal with this unusual a
rrival.

  Nick managed to find Helene, the attendant, for a second, to hand over the dagger. Visibly reluctant to take the weapon, she shuddered, but did promise to have it restored to the noble on Glideon. Then she had to answer a question from someone else and Nick allowed himself to be drawn away in the crowd of departing passengers.

  Her perfume’s too floral for me anyway.

  Even he, a lowly military officer traveling on a discounted government ticket, had been assigned one steward to convey him and his single kitbag up to Level Three. The rest of his possessions were checked through to Sector Hub, and would make the journey in bonded stores, he’d been assured. The young steward reiterated the information as they strolled in the wake of the others, going toward the rather narrow ramp providing access to the upper decks, where passengers were expected to spend their time. Transit between passenger decks was via either deliberately retro, elegant staircases, or the more prosaic moving access strips.

  “Did you want to see the ship’s doctor, sir? For your arm?” the steward asked, hesitating a bit.

  Nick shook his head. “It’s only a scratch, thanks. I’ve had all the military injects for infection, and I heal fast.” He smiled, but the SMT steward didn’t appear reassured. “I can tend to it myself with the cabin’s first aid kit,” Nick said, frowning. “I’d like to get to my cabin and take a shower; change clothes.”

  The steward was slightly in awe of Nick, but continued to stare at him, chewing unconsciously on his lower lip. He’s probably uncomfortable with my unkempt appearance – ripped shirt and dried bloodstains. The attendant’s next words confirmed his impression. “Yes, well, fine then, sir.” The tone was deferential, but nevertheless, they didn’t move toward the exit. “Speaking of your clothing, I’m afraid we can’t very well go up the Levels to your cabin with you looking like you’ve been assaulted, now can we?”