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 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, red-haired, 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, well-muscled 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 high-necked 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.