The Drigon's Fall

Prologue

     “Computer, record,” Dawson Lang ordered as he laid back on the cot in his quarters and tucked his hands behind his head as he crossed his legs at the ankles. “This is personal log number three, three, nine, nine, two of Captain Dawson E. Lang of the IPA Drigon.”

     He heard the computer beep in acknowledgement of his statement then he began recording his log. “I am currently six months and three days away from retirement after a four-year term of service in the Interplanetary Alliance, though military life was never something I had planned to partake in. When I hit rock bottom, I found myself faced with two choices—join the Alliance or join the space pirates.” He paused and shifted his weight on the bed. “I look horrid in eye patches, so I opted for the more noble of the choices. If only I had known then what I know now, I may have chosen differently.

     “Insubordinate. How many times have I heard that word associated with my name? So I prefer to wear jeans to the Lycra regulation uniforms. Not everyone likes that funky material, and it itches like the blue blazes.” Dawson scratched his head and sighed. His choice in wardrobe wasn’t the reason for this log.

     “Today we find ourselves returning to spaceport to pick up the newest member of our crew—Dr. Meredith Carson. Damn General McAllister. He knows I didn’t want any women onboard my ship, that’s why he deliberately gave me this assignment then ordered me to not let anything happen to her. Like I have time to baby-sit the general’s pet project. With my luck, she’s fresh out of medical school and as green as the Nebula Eight moon.”

     He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “I guess it’s my own fault, really. If I hadn’t called him a spineless Jardalian, maybe he wouldn’t be choosing this moment to exact his revenge. All I ever wanted was for him to leave me alone. The moment we first met, the man had it out for me. Though I suppose I didn’t help it any by telling him that he had no business commanding a fleet when he obviously didn’t know his left from his right hand. Of course, he had insinuated that I couldn’t fly. I suppose it’s a no-win situation where the general and I are concerned.”

     Dawson stood and paced the room. “What am I going to do about our new doctor? I don’t want her onboard ship, and I certainly don’t want to fly halfway across the galaxy this close to retirement on some bullshit assignment, but what choice do I have? If I don’t go, I won’t get that final commission I need to make renovations on the Drigon and get her ready for reentry into the shipping business. At least in that line of work, I don’t have to deal with pompous windbags like the general.”

     He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. It would do no good to get angry, and rant and rave about the general any more than he already had. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and our Dr. Carson will be ugly as sin and stay locked in med lab the whole time she’s here.”

     Dawson stuffed his hands into his pockets and moved to look out the window at the millions of stars passing by. “And there is no way in hell I could be that lucky.” He turned away from the window and headed for the door. “Log complete,” he said before stepping through the door out onto the bridge.

Chapter One

     Captain Dawson Lang peered out the observation window in his quarters. The Drigon circled the small planet of Ferraven, the Alliance’s newest acquisition during their “expansion”. They’d been sent to the planet to study it for possible use as a terra-forming station for agricultural purposes—studies showed it to be little more than a wasteland. The planet consisted of two major ice regions and a narrow band of desert along the planet’s equator. As far as he could tell, the planet was useless.

     Two landing parties had gone down to the planet’s surface, and though signs of past life were evident in the “skeleton” forests—as the crew had dubbed them—that dotted the landscape, no life of any size, shape or form could be found. Caverns had been reported found in the southern hemisphere, though he’d refused a request to explore them. They weren’t there to search for buried treasure. No, they were there on a babysitting mission, or so Dawson believed.

     A woman had never walked the corridors of the Drigon, not until this assignment. In fact, he believed the whole assignment to be a farce for the sole purpose of keeping General McAllister’s pet project safe. Doctor Meredith Carson was on her first trip into space and, if Dawson didn’t miss his guess, he’d say she was a personal favorite of the general’s. This was just another strike against the man.

     Dawson had joined the Alliance’s military four years ago out of sheer desperation. The Trade Wars had begun with no end in sight, and it was either starve or trade on the black market. The money for trading would have been better, but he didn’t have much of a taste for illegal activities. From the moment he’d joined the military, he and McAllister had bumped heads. Now, three months from retirement, the old man was sticking it to him one last time with this poor excuse of an assignment.

     The ship moved an almost indiscernible motion, but it was enough to catch his attention. Something wasn’t right. He knew this ship like the back of his hand. She wasn’t meant for military use, being a trading vessel, and soon he’d be back to the life he’d once known. Time to go to engineering, he supposed.

     “Captain?” the engineer’s voice sounded over the com link.

     “What is it, DeVos?” he asked, pressing a button to close the observation window.

     “I think you’d better come down here. Sensors indicate a fluctuation in the engines.”

     Dawson nodded to himself. “Yeah, I felt it. I’ll be right there.”

     He buttoned up his jeans—they weren’t regulation, but they were better than those scratchy uniform pants—and picked up his uniform jacket, sliding into it. Dawson grabbed his knife off the bedside table and slid it into his pocket. Only one person had been brave enough to make a comment on his use of what was deemed “archaic” tools and clothing. The man had ended up in the med lab having his jaw repaired. Dawson preferred his old-time jeans and tools to most of the modern technology, and most especially to the gaudy Alliance uniforms.

     He stepped out of his cabin and waved dismissively to the crew on the bridge when they saluted him. They were good men, capable of handling the ship during his rest periods. He’d miss them once his term was up, but he longed for the lazy life of a trader that he’d had before.

     Moving off the bridge and down the corridor, he passed the med lab on his way to engineering. Meredith was in there, and as much as he hated the thought of having a woman onboard, just the thought of that particular woman was enough to set him on edge. If he said he wasn’t attracted to her, he’d be lying. From the moment the pretty little brunette had stepped aboard, he’d been fascinated with her, even though he’d tried his damnedest not to show it.

     It didn’t help him, or his peace of mind, that she was constantly running to him to report the findings of that damned BIOscan machine. He knew what the report was going to say before she ever opened that pretty little mouth of hers—the planet was dead. Why McAllister and the Alliance thought it’d make a good agri-station was beyond him. It was little more than a block of ice with a narrow strip of desert down the middle.

     Damn his hormones. That’s all it was. He was getting old and his hormones were going crazy.

     Great, Dawson, sound like a woman why don’t you? He ran a hand through his hair. Well, women use that excuse all the time, why can’t I? Men have hormones, too.

     He entered engineering and waved a hand dismissively at DeVos, the engineer, as the younger man jumped to attention and saluted him. “What’s the diagnostics check come up with?” he asked, taking the small computer from the man.

     DeVos shook his head. “Engine two’s output readings are low. I’m thinking one of the circuits is shot again, sir.”

     Dawson nodded. “Sounds like it.” He handed the computer back to DeVos and moved to the wall where he ran his finger over the sensor to open up the panel. “Do you have a replacement for it?”

     “No, sir. That was the last. She seems to be going through more here lately than ever before.”

     Damn. He’d have to bypass it until they reached a base and he could restock on supplies. Digging into his pocket, Dawson pulled his knife out and sliced through the fiber-optic cables. He’d have to splice the cables together without the circuit between them in order to increase the engine’s output. Once his retirement was up, he’d take the time to give the Drigon a complete makeover and completely update her.

     His mind drifted to Meredith and the knife slipped, slicing into his hand. “Damn it all to hell,” he swore, jerking back his hand. He flipped his knife closed and stuffed it in his pocket as he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and pressed it to his palm. “DeVos, finish splicing those cables back together. I need to go to the med lab and get this taken care of. Engine two’s performance should pick back up after that. If it doesn’t, give me a holler, and we’ll figure out what the problem is.”

     “Yes, sir,” DeVos said, saluting.

     Dawson tugged one corner of his mouth up in a grimace at the man’s salute and walked out of engineering into the corridor. Now he’d have to go see her—and he wasn’t really sure he was ready for that just yet, though he had no real choice in the matter. The last thing he needed was to see the object of his obsession.

     Damn it! I am not obsessed with her. I wish she wasn’t even on the ship. Maybe my life would be a little less stressed if she wasn’t around all the fucking time. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he’d miss her once his three months were up.

     He stormed into the med lab without so much as a hello to the woman working at a table along the far wall.

     “Well, hello to you too, Captain,” she said without looking up. “What brings you in today?”

     “I had an accident.” He plopped down in one of the chairs and waited for her to turn those pretty green eyes of hers on him.

     “An accident,” she began, turning to face him. She paused when he held up his blood-covered hand for her to see. “What in heaven’s name did you do to yourself this time?” She moved across the room to stand in front of him. Lifting his hand, she inspected the small gash across his palm.

“I was working in engineering when the knife slipped.” No need to tell her that his mind wasn’t on his job at the time.

     She lifted her gaze to his. Such pretty eyes set in an oval-shaped face with pale pink, perfect skin, framed in dark brown waves. Hell, he had to stop thinking like that.

     “You really should learn to be more careful.” Meredith reached behind her and picked up a long, narrow instrument off a tray. “I still don’t understand why you insist on using such old-fashioned tools to work on the ship.”

     Dawson’s gut clenched at the sparkle in her eyes, her dazzling smile. The woman could turn him inside out in no time flat. She took a firmer hold on his hand and drew him from his thoughts.

     A warm, tingling sensation traveled up his arm from where her fingers touched him. It had always been this way, so why couldn’t he find it within himself to say something to her? Damn it! Because he was a coward where Meredith was concerned, that’s why.

     A stray lock of dark hair fell onto her cheek and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to reach out and brush it back behind her ear. His body tensed with the effort, causing Meredith to lift her eyes and meet his. The bright blue light emanating from the RemLite she held ceased as she looked up at him.

     “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked, sounding concerned.

     Dawson shook his head. “No. No, you didn’t hurt me. Almost done?”

     He could easily get lost in the pale green depths of her eyes, but that way led to trouble. He couldn’t afford to get tangled up with a woman, especially not now. In another three months, this mission would be over, and he wouldn’t see her again. Retirement wasn’t an easy thing to swallow for anyone, even when it was planned. But the politics were just getting too crazy. It was better to get back to the lazy life he’d led before the Trade Wars.

     “I’m almost done.” She depressed a button on the instrument, turning it back on. The blue light shined once more, the cut on his hand slowly fading as she moved it over the wound.

     Her little gizmos fascinated him, but the woman operating them intrigued him even more—and if he didn’t hurry and get away from this dark-haired little elf soon, she would know it too. Already his cock was painfully hard, and the only thing she’d done was repair his hand.

     “There, all done.” Her words jerked him from his thoughts and he lifted his gaze up to her smiling face.

     Dawson made a fist and opened it several times to test her work. “Good as new,” he remarked. “Mighty handy little gizmo you have there.”

     Meredith smiled. “It’s called a RemLite.”

     “I know. We were without a doctor onboard for a while, Dr. Carson. I do know a thing or two, even if you think I’m a dinosaur,” he chided.

     She blushed. “Oh, sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to imply such a thing.”

     He found himself smiling at her blush. She was definitely getting to him. The sooner he got back to the bridge, the better.

     “No need to apologize. Normally a captain wouldn’t have any medical knowledge.” The steadiness of his voice amazed him. “I’d love to stay and talk some more, but I’d better get back to the bridge.”

     Turning, he left the room before she could reply. The last thing he wanted was to get caught up in a full-fledged conversation with her, though something made him pause just beyond the door. He turned and glanced back into the medical lab.

     Dawson watched her from the shadows of the corridor. He needed to either get over this infatuation with her or get off the ship. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do about either of those options at the moment.

     With a heavy sigh, he turned and headed back toward the bridge. After he checked the ship’s status, he’d try to get some sleep, or at least some relief. He’d figure out which once he got to his cabin.

     As Dawson stepped on deck, his men paused to look at him. They knew Meredith was giving him fits. He could see it in their eyes. He moved to his chair and sat down.

     “Report.” He took the ledger offered to him by the communications officer, signed off and handed it back.

     “Everything on the monitors is clear, sir. Looks like another uneventful night,” Hanson replied.

     Dawson nodded his head. Good. Uneventful was a good thing. Boring as hell, yet good, considering their “precious” cargo onboard.

     He slapped his hands down on the chair arms and pushed himself up. “Well, looks like you gentlemen have things under control. If you need me, I’ll be in my quarters.”

     “Night, sir,” they called out in unison.

     He nodded his head in their direction, walked through a side door and entered his cabin.

     “Lights.” Instantly bright light flooded the room.

     He looked over the small confines of his cabin. There wasn’t much to it. A bed sat pushed up against one wall with a small nightstand next to it. He had a desk with his built-in computer terminal, and along the opposite wall, his storage compartments were found. Next to those, a door led into the incredibly small lavatory.

     Dawson looked up at the ceiling and sighed. He could take yet another cold shower, which rarely helped, or he could play with his holo-shades. Jack off in the shower or jack off with virtual stimulation.

     He hurried to his desk and flipped open the control panel. Imagination was one thing, but why fantasize when he could hear, see and feel a woman in his arms as if she was real? All he had to do was write the program, which wasn’t hard at all. Besides, he had to do something to banish Meredith from his mind. The woman was driving him crazy.

     Pressing a series of keys on the touch-screen, he opened up a new holo-file and set to work creating his virtual woman. First, he’d have to decide on a frame size. “Hmm, medium sounds good.” He didn’t want her too tall but, then again, he didn’t want her too short, either.

     Once he had the frame he wanted, he had to decide on features. “Green eyes. Shoulder-length dark brown hair.” He looked over all his options. “Full, pouty lips and a pert little nose.”

     The image slowly took shape before his eyes. With a start, he realized she looked almost exactly like Meredith—maybe a little taller. He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Will I ever get her out of my mind?”

    He ran his hands through his hair and smiled widely as another idea struck. Pressing another set of keys, he set to work on altering her appearance. Making her different. He was not stuck on her. The image began to change, the hips became more rounded, the breasts larger, the figure’s legs longer. He considered leaving the changes, but reluctantly deleted the alterations. It wasn’t what he wanted.

     Pressing another key sequence, he opened a second file and transferred footage from video surveillance into the program. He’d just use a real image of her and edit the clothing out.

     Dawson smiled. Now that was what he called a holo-program. He closed out the program and headed to his bed.

     He jerked open the drawer and pulled out a pair of holo-shades, placing them atop the bedside table. Quickly he undressed and sat down on the bed before lying back.

     “Lights.” The room returned to total darkness.

     Dawson slipped the glasses on, pressing a small button located at one side. Instantly he found himself gazing at Meredith’s image. If she ever found out he’d programmed his holo-shades with her picture, he’d be a dead man.