Love at First Bight: Deep Space Mission Corps, #1

PROLOGUE

FROM THE EARTH ALMANAC, COPYRIGHT 2668:

While similar in appearance to the primitive automobiles and trucks originally developed in the twentieth century, modern ground vehicles share a lineage with their early counterparts and little else. Today’s modern, lightweight polymers mean vehicle weight is a fraction of the old metal vehicles, with a thousand times the strength and durability. And the newest generation of Solectric hybrid fission engines are clean, which drastically reduced carbon emissions in the world upon their initial introduction in the year 2284. Within fifty years, greenhouse gas levels had dropped to levels not seen before the original historic Industrial Revolution period…

ONE

With the graduation ceremony over, an underwhelming sense of completion washed over Emilia Hypatia.

Done. Eight long years of classes and training and practice and…

Oh, Hades. Done.

Now what?

Her best friend, Donna, slid her hand-held reader across the coffee shop table toward her, and pointed to a highlighted advertisement.

What about that, Emi?

Emi took the reader and studied the ad her friend had notated.

Adventure! Training! Excellent Pay!

We’re looking for a few good men―and especially women―to train for the DSM Corps. New missions leaving as soon as six weeks. Trained medical professionals earn substantial bonuses. Minimum five-year tenure required.

Emi sat back. Five years is a long time.

"Excellent pay and substantial bonuses would buy you your own place, Doctor Hypatia. Set you up for life. You know the Deep Space Mission Corps makes millionaires out of people."

Emi snorted, pushing the reader back across the table to Donna. Yeah, if you survive.

They haven’t lost a crew in over ten years. I saw it on the news the other night. Donna paused. It would get you far away from Dagbert.

Daniel.

Whatever.

That would be nice. Ever since the night three weeks earlier when she caught him screwing one of her chem lab classmates, Emi had been dodging his attempts to get back together with her.

Later that night, Emi looked up the ad on her own hand-held, noted the code, and requested an information packet. Couldn’t hurt to check into it, right? Not like she had any family. Her mother and father had died ten years earlier in 2659, when a meteor slammed into their research station on the moon, near Mare Serenitatis. A totally preventable freak accident for which the government compensated her and provided a complete paid college education.

Now she was a trained healer, with holistic, medical, and surgical rankings, not to mention the empath training and minor in psych. She could probably name her price and have her pick of the juiciest job appointments.

Yet she wanted…more.

Just what that was, she still didn’t know.

The information packet arrived in Emi’s email the next morning. She browsed it, interested. Safety wasn’t guaranteed, of course, but unless it was a hell of a lot riskier than they let on, they were honest that it wasn’t a sure-fire return trip home. Those who did return home, however, would be set for over ten million bucks and a pick of future assignments within the DSMC, on or off-Earth, as desired. As an Alpha-ranked healer, she’d earn an additional five mil bonus.

They had a one o’clock interview slot available.

Why in Hades not?

She took it.

The DSMC complex sat on a wind-scoured desert plain minutes outside of New Phoenix, grouped with several other military services sharing the gigantic, sprawling dry dock facility. It was the DSMC’s main compound, where ships were brought for extensive retrofits before being sent to the orbiting docking hubs to leave Earth.

The receptionist looked up Emi’s appointment information and directed her to the correct building. After twenty minutes of playing twenty questions with a lab assistant, Emi was ushered into a small interview room and took a seat in front of a large desk. A few minutes later, an older man joined her.

Sorry to keep you waiting, Dr. Hypatia. He shook her hand. I’m Dr. Louis Graymard, the personnel acquisitions supervisor.

Emi is fine.

All right. He sat and consulted his hand-held console. You’re twenty-six. You just graduated?

Yes.

Graduate Alpha Healer Ranking, very nice. We don’t get enough of those. Psych minor, empath training. That’s a bonus. He looked at her. Why are you interested in one of our positions? You could have your pick of jobs here.

She shrugged. Why not the truth? I have no family. I have no boyfriend. I’ve got a couple of degrees and a dwindling government settlement for the death of my parents. So why not?

You realize it’s a five year contractual commitment? There’s no getting out there in deep space and saying, ‘Sorry, I want to go home now.’

I have no home to go to. I have to be out of the school dorms by the end of next month anyway.

He nodded and noted something in his console. You went through the information packet we sent?

She had, and that’s where her questions started. Let’s cut the bullshit. What exactly is meant by crew will be expected to ‘mutually care for each other?’ Are we talking doing each other’s laundry, or doing each other?

Graymard laughed. Very perceptive. The second. No force will ever be allowed, of course. Our crews are fitted with compatibility chips.

Which tells me bubkis.

It means they can’t force you, you can’t force them. Likewise, you won’t find it comfortable to let them…suffer, as it were. Or them you. It also insures fidelity amongst the crew to prevent straying. They are removed upon returning from the mission.

I don’t want to spend five years stuck with some ugly-ass jerks.

Oh, it doesn’t work like that. If you don’t find a compatible crew, you aren’t assigned. It’s no fun for anyone if it’s…well, not fun.

At least they couldn’t cheat on her.

I won’t sleep with a girl.

You wouldn’t be asked to do that, then.

Emi sat back in her chair. I get to pick the crew I work with?

Absolutely. Of course, there are the usual precautions. Everyone is screened for health concerns, and the compatibility chips also take care of the birth control issue.

She thought about it. She’d looked through all the paperwork and contracts last night, had nothing here on Earth, wanted to get as far away from Daniel as possible. Why not try something new? Sow some wild oats. She could settle down later.

All right, I’m game. What’s the next step?

We’ll take you first for a complete physical, including a brain scan, that takes a couple of hours. Then we’ll introduce you to the crews.

I won’t commit to anything until I find a crew I like.

You won’t be signing anything unless or until you find a compatible crew. Contingent upon passing the scans and other evaluations, of course. If you didn’t find a compatible crew and still wanted to be kept in consideration, we could offer you an on-Earth position until you’re matched with a suitable crew.

So I don’t lose, is what you’re saying?

He laughed. No, you’re actually the one with the upper hand.

Graymard escorted her to another building, talking as they walked. We’re assembling four-person crews right now, we call them ‘four-packs.’ It would be you and three men.

She hoped her knees wouldn’t buckle. "Three men? No one else, no other women to, eh, help out?"

No. He stopped and turned to face her. Having second thoughts?

She swallowed hard. No. Let’s do this.

Holy crap. Three guys. It hadn’t quite slammed home until then. She’d figured one, maybe two. Three guys?

Well, at least it wasn’t more. And she had wanted something different.

The converse was three guys who depended on her, and who wouldn’t be cheating on her.

Couldn’t cheat on her.

Maybe not such a bad deal after all.

The scanning center was filled with rows of dozens of units that looked like old-fashioned tanning beds without the lights, some of which were already occupied. After Emi gave blood and urine specimens and went through a physical, a technician hooked her up and made sure she was comfortable.

This takes about two hours, feel free to doze off. We can adjust the temperature, any of that, just tell us. He handed her a small cup of clear liquid. Take this, it helps with the results.

She sniffed it, but it was odorless and colorless and tasted like water. Doze off, huh?

He smiled. People usually do.

TWO

Emi looked up as someone shined a bright light into her eyes. It felt like she’d closed them for only a minute.

The brain scan technician smiled. Did you have a nice nap? He helped Emi sit up.

I guess. How long have I been asleep?

A couple of hours. It’s better when you sleep, because the results are more accurate.

Oh. Okay. He helped her stand and led her to a recovery room to make sure the sedative had completely worn off. Dr. Graymard walked in a few minutes later, smiling.

Very good, Emi. Everything appears fine, the lab work came back with no issues. You’re eligible to move on to the next stage.

What’s that?

Well, if you’re still willing, we’ll introduce you to three crews. If any of them interest you, we’ll match you with them for further training.

Introduce how? I don’t want to get into space and realize they all stink in bed. Somehow it didn’t feel real, talking about her future sex life like that. In fact, she still felt a little fuzzy, disconnected. Must be a residual effect of the sedative they gave her.

Crew pairing is the toughest part of the process. You take as much time as you need―within reason, of course―with each crew. The usual procedure is to go to their ship in dry dock and visit them, talk with them, and see if there’s any initial chemistry. A first meeting, then make an appointment to go back later for another visit if you wish to get to know them better. Feel free to do whatever you need to do to get to know them before making a decision.

By that you mean…

He smiled. It’s usually helpful for crew who have initial attraction to have a test run, as it were, in an intimate setting, to see if they are a match. It’s better to find that out sooner rather than later.

What if they don’t like me?

"I sincerely doubt that will be an issue."

Actually, the first step was inserting a compatibility chip. The crews already have them, Graymard explained. This will make sure there is no force allowed. If you’re not assigned to a crew this time, yours will be deactivated until the next round of introductions.

Once I’m paired with a crew, what, we’re synced or something?

Correct.

It was completely painless, the needle inserting the small capsule under the skin in the back of her neck. She never even felt the needle prick. Sort of like microchipping an animal?

Similar theory. We can also track the crew, but only if the ship’s emergency beacon is activated. You’ll be synced to the ship and other crew members in that way, so there are no privacy concerns to worry about.

It was already late afternoon as Graymard led her across the compound to the dry dock facility. The first ship was the Kendall Kant. Graymard gave her a small hand-held console.

Here’s their information. Feel free to take notes, whatever. The other crews and their dry dock locations are also there.

There were approximately two dozen ships docked in the hangar, maybe a dozen of those with DSMC markings, the others from Merchant Marines and the ISNC. He pointed to two other large ships. "The Braynow Gaston and the Tamora Bight."

How long should I talk to these guys today?

As long or as little as you wish. Depends on whether any of them strike your fancy. If you don’t like any of these crews, we start over with a new set for you to consider. They’re all on board right now, just send them a notice requesting permission to board―

Permission? She arched her eyebrow.

"It’s an old holdover from the maritime days. Just a formality. The Kendall Kant is already expecting you. I sent them a message before we left the building. So whenever you want to go…"

It was a hundred-yard walk to the main gangway leading to the hatch. Where they now stood, a short distance away was a construction table with chairs loosely gathered around.

Can I sit for a minute and look through the info?

Of course. Did you want me to stay?

She shook her head. She was nervous enough. No, that’s okay.

He handed her a small cell phone. If you need me, my number’s programmed into it. Feel free to contact me twenty-four/seven. You can also message me through the hand-held. Good luck.

Emi watched him walk away before she sat and consulted the console.

According to the records, the Kendall Kant was a ship of a type called a medium-heavy, a mid-sized, deep space freight transport being converted for exploration work. Built for cargo, not speed. The crew were transfers from the ISNC―Interstellar Naval Corps.

Ugh, military.

She called up the crew bios. Ooh, pictures.

Not bad looking, each of them with close-cropped hair, muscles, and unsmiling in their ID photos. The captain was a lifer, apparently, over fifteen years in the ISNC before switching to exploration. The crew had been together three years, with the first officer in the ISNC for seven years, and the mate in for six. Highly decorated with many military honors amongst them.

The Braynow Gaston’s crew came from the other end of the spectrum―geeks. All three crew members transferred over from the NSI―National Science Institute. Not much in the way of deep space experience, with the captain just off a three-year training stint in the ISNC. The ship was also a medium-heavy, but of a slightly different configuration.

The three officers were also not bad-looking despite their serious expressions. Highly recommended in terms of their professional achievements and commendations.

So far, no ugly grunts.

The Tamora Bight’s crew looked to be an odd choice. The ship was called a full heavy, over a third larger than the other two and being retrofitted from military outpost cargo duties. The crew were Merchant Marine transfers but had worked together for twenty years, all of that spent on space duty and with quite a few commendations between them. Ironically the most experienced of the three crews, and the oldest crew in the running.

The crew pictures…The captain, Aaron Lucio, forty-two. He’d be handsome if he smiled. He looked like a brooding man, with deep brown eyes she couldn’t fathom, but his serious stare wasn’t the hard, professional glare of the first two crews. First Officer Caphis Bates, forty, had shaggy blond hair, not long but definitely overdue for a haircut, playful green eyes, and an infectious smile. She found his appearance to be an interesting contradiction when she studied his impressive service record. From his picture, he didn’t appear to fit the role of experienced officer. Mate Ford Caliban was forty-one, and his blue eyes and teasing, sly grin stirred something inside her.

In the spirit of disclosure, it was noted that while the Tamora Bight’s crew was experienced and highly decorated, they had so far in their six months at the dry dock facility wracked up more demerits than any other crew in DSMC history.

Ever.

Because the DSMC wasn’t military, for the kinds of things these men did the crews didn’t earn disciplinary action beyond pay cuts and mission assignment withdrawals, but apparently they were the bad boys of the dry docks.

Fantastic.

She switched back to the Kendall Kant’s crew file and took a deep breath before making her way to the main hatch. A low tone sounded when she stepped up to the closed hatchway, and then the intercom crackled to life.

A male voice spoke. Dr. Hypatia?

Yes.

The hatchway slid open. Permission to come aboard, ma’am.

Um, thank you.

She nervously stepped through the hatch and looked around. She’d never been inside a spaceship before, even though she’d seen pictures her parents had sent home from their journeys. A sterile-looking corridor stretched out into the distance before her. She hesitated, unsure what to do.

The man spoke again. Wait there, please. The mate is on his way to meet you.

She wished they called the second officer something else, considering what her duties would entail, but that wasn’t her decision. Okay. Thank you.

A few minutes later, a man turned the corner down the hallway and strode toward her. Big, beefy, broad-shouldered, he apparently grew taller the closer he got.

Whoa.

Exactly how tall he was became apparent when he stopped in front of her. Dr. Hypatia?

He was a good foot taller than her, and she was a respectable five-seven. Uh, yeah. That’s me. His tight T-shirt stretched across his huge chest, defining every sculpted muscle. And he had quite a few.

She might not mind playing doctor with him.

While his expression wasn’t cold, it was… Appraising would work. His gaze unapologetically traveled up and down her body and―was that a slight frown?

Nice to meet you, Doctor. He held out his hand. She shook it but got the distinct impression he wasn’t thrilled. Follow me, please. She knew his name was Gregor Davis from his crew file, but he didn’t introduce himself.

With that he turned, and she had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. She wasn’t a natural empath, but she’d had extensive training, enough to earn a class two ranking. If she wasn’t mistaken, this guy wasn’t totally happy. Not hostile, but he certainly acted chilly.

They wound through corridors and passageways and made their way deep into the ship. Hades, she’d get lost in this damn place. They ended up in a common area, where two other men waited at a dining table. Both men stood at their arrival. Emi noticed all three men were physically stacked, dressed in identical T-shirts and work pants. Apparently, the military was turning out tough guys in more ways than one.

They also wore stern looks nearly identical to Davis’.

The captain stepped forward. Dr. Hypatia, I’m Captain Elloy. This is First Officer Johnson and Mate Davis.

Each man nodded, as did she.

You can call me Emi, that’s fine.

No offense, Dr. Hypatia, but we tend to stick to regulations about addressing crew.

Oh. Um, okay.

He indicated a seat at the head of the table. They waited to sit until after she did.

Well, they get points for that, at least.

Captain Elloy sat at the far end of the table. Did you have any questions?

The other two crew members flanked him. While handsome and certainly with great bodies to match, they didn’t fill her with lust.

They barely filled her with like.

Yeah. Why are you going into exploration when you were military?

She tuned out after three minutes. Twenty minutes later, he finished droning and the other two men nodded.

Okay, she said. That was…detailed.

I run a tight ship, Doctor. It’s how I’ve managed to stay alive all these years.

"That’s always a plus. Heh, I’m rather fond of living."

They didn’t even crack a smile.

Greeeeeat.

The men stood, and the captain spoke. Davis will show you around the crew quarters.

Don’t you have any questions for me? she asked.

He shook his head. We already reviewed your file and found that your qualifications are adequate.

Adequate?

She’d graduated at the top of her class as an Alpha-ranked healer, thank you very damn much. And his expression didn’t look very pleased. But? she asked.

He frowned. I don’t understand.

There’s more to your statement. That much she could sense. "My qualifications are adequate, but. She motioned to him with her fingers. What’s the rest of that statement?"

The men exchanged another glance. Well, we’ll have quite a bit of time ahead of us before we ship out. I’m sure it won’t be difficult, with our help, to put you on a training regimen to improve your physical condition.

She swallowed, hard, to keep the acerbic retort in her mouth. She instead opted for, Improve my physical condition?

The captain nodded. Not that you’re not attractive, because you are, we all agree on that. For a mission like this, every crew member’s life depends on the others. Each member must be in top physical condition.

"Sooo, you think I’m fat, is that it?"

His diplomacy skills left a lot to be desired, because he didn’t even flinch at the question. Not morbidly obese, obviously, but your musculature isn’t as developed as it should be for endurance and strength. I mean, for an on-Earth assignment, that’s fine. In a mission such as ours, however, there are certain expectations. All crew members must be in top physical condition. I’m positive a few months of physical training would bring your BMI and other stats well within regulations.

Regulations?

Uh, Dr. Graymard didn’t say anything to me about that? He seemed to think I was fine.

Yes, but he’s a civilian. I’m the captain of this ship, and I expect my crew to be the example other crews aspire to. If you were in the military, you would likely be at the borderline, if not over requirements.

Oh, she and this dude would be butting heads if she picked them. Still, they were all good-looking. No reason to discount them―yet.

Let’s get the tour out of the way, she gritted through clenched teeth.

Davis showed her around the crew quarters. The men each had their own small cabin with a standard single bunk. The only way she could tell whose was whose was the nameplate on the door. There were no signs of personality in any of the rooms.

This would be your quarters. He opened a door, and the room looked…identical.

Those are pretty small beds.

Space is tight. It’s not like everyone will be sleeping together. They’re adequate for what they’ll be used for.

That was about as romantic as a root canal. You guys live pretty…spartan, huh?

Personal items fit inside the allotted crew space. Having things displayed clutters up the space.

Well, he was quickly ticking points in her cons side of her mental pro-con list.

Anything else I should know about you guys? she asked.

Feel free to ask whatever you want, ma’am.

No Emi, huh?

Not even a hint of a smile. Doctor, we’re preparing for a deep-space mission. Our focus must be on our jobs. Surely a professional with your academic qualifications can understand that?

She felt something else. Tell me about your captain. He makes the calls around here, doesn’t he?

Of course he does. He’s the captain.

I think I want to talk to him again.

He led her without further comment through the ship to the bridge. Captain Elloy looked annoyed at the intrusion. Yes, Doctor?

I have a few more questions.

All right.

Might as well grab the bull by the balls. How would the scheduling be set up?

He frowned. The crew duty roster?

Uh, yeah. You know, sleeping arrangements.

All crew sleeps in their own quarters.

Stupid man. Okay, the sexual arrangements. Might as well get used to saying it.

You’ll have duties other than that, obviously. You’ll be trained to take watches, maintenance, other duties. Cross-trained in some of the systems monitoring, light weaponry as well, I’m sure.

You didn’t answer the question.

I’m sure that’s negotiable when we first set it up, but the easiest way would be to schedule you off one day a week in terms of sex, and with three male crew, that gives everyone two times a week, and then we’d work around your…monthly issue.

Apparently he wasn’t comfortable talking about that. No midnight tampon runs for this dude.

So what happens if the mood strikes someone and it’s not their scheduled night?

We wouldn’t deviate from the set duty roster unless someone is ill or injured, or there are circumstances preventing us from maintaining it, such as mission duties. That’s the best way to avoid any unpleasant personal situations.

Okay then. She stuck out her hand and shook with all three men. Thank you for your time. I’ll let you know. I have two other crews to interview before I make any decisions. She consulted the hand-held. "The Braynow Gaston and the Tamora Bight."

At the mention of the third ship, the men broke out into their version of hysterical laughter, which was amused smirks. Elloy might have snorted.

"The Tamora Bight? Really. I didn’t think they were seriously sending them out."

Emi immediately felt defensive for the crew she hadn’t even met yet. Why?

Elloy’s professional mask slipped back into place. Dr. Hypatia, I would prefer not to get into that discussion. I don’t want to be accused by other crews of trying to scuttle their chances with you. Let it suffice to say it’s not braggadocio on our part that we think you’ll find us the most qualified crew of the three you are evaluating.

Right. Thanks. Without further comment, Davis led her back to the hatch.

She stepped down the gangway and sent Graymard a message from her hand-held.

Kendall Kant―No. Fucking. Way. Not enough money in the world.

Send.

THREE

On her walk to the Braynow Gaston , Emi figured out how to send a request. Within a minute they replied, welcoming her.

First Officer Alex Parisi waited for her at the hatch and greeted her with a smile.

Permission to come aboard? She hoped she didn’t sound too snarky, but her experience with the Kendall Kant’s crew had left a bad taste in