The list it produced was very short. Considering that this period history considered star travel to be a fictional venture at best, she was surprised to find anything listed at all. Except for the one item, they were all educational institutions. The exception, however, caught her attention: a small company that was developing alternative sources of power. It seemed an unusual selection based on what she had requested. She probably would need access to an advanced power system, she realized, but it would be of limited value until her slipstream systems were functioning again.
With a growing sense of frustration, she looked around the interior of the shuttle. All this technology . . . It all worked, except for the slipstream drive. She had access to weaponry and defenses that would not be developed for centuries. I could rule this world . . .
In addition to the destructive capabilities at her command, she also possessed specific knowledge of the future. She knew who would act when and why. Understanding that, she could manipulate events to her advantage. She was accustomed to making others conform to her desires. Doing so in this primitive era should prove to be little challenge, she thought.
A smile crept along her wide lips. A definite fallback plan if I can't get home. She was not ready to give up on that just yet, but images of conquest crossed through her thoughts. If I'm going to be stranded here anyway, she considered, then why worry about happens to the timeline? Commanding a starship is one thing, she thought. Ruling a world, well . . . She smiled at the visions of Earth united under her leadership, beginning an empire that would live on for millennia. The thought of Aerians under her control, rather than associated by the slippery alliance of her time, gave her a pleasant sense of satisfaction.
Her gaze returned to the unusual entry displayed on the computer console. Something continued to prod at the back of her thoughts, distracting her from her daydreams of conquest and glory. There was something familiar about the name of the organization, but she could not consciously place it. She called up the details of the entry and looked it over quickly. Her smile grew as she read it, realization dawning.
Well, she thought, isn't that interesting?
#
Rusty had just entered the main engineering deck when the klaxons began to sound. Almost without thinking, he dashed to the source of the alarms, checking the status displays to learn the cause. Overload. Deck Two. No hull breach. He let out a quick breath of relief at the last. It meant fewer casualties and easier access to the damaged area. Few things slowed down repairs more than having to work in an EV suit.
Crewmen swarmed around him, most seeming bewildered by the blaring klaxons. He was about to shout orders to two of the technicians when he spied
He watched as she caught it easily, signaled her understanding, and headed for the equipment storage after speaking to another crewman. Sighing with a sense of relief that his best technician was on the job, he turned to deal with the others crowded around him. The first thing he did was tell them to turn down the alarms; they were giving him a renewed headache. After that, he found other things for each of them to do. He reminded them that dealing with the overloaded conduit was not the only thing on the ship that required their attention.
After several minutes, relative calm was restored to the main engineering deck. There still came the noise of voices and equipment, but they echoed now with a more purposeful sound. A grin crossed his broad face, feeling a warm wash of satisfaction from his efforts. He turned to head for the space that served as his office when he saw a petite, uniformed figure enter. Several crewmen in the immediate vicinity stiffened and moved perceptibly out of her way. Her gaze located Rusty and she headed in his direction. She appeared to ignore the others around her, but Rusty knew that she had noted the presence of each and every one of them.
Feeling his earlier glow evaporate, Rusty watched Fear as approached. Rarely had she been known to visit the engineering deck. It felt like an intrusion. Everyone had a place on this ship. Engineering was his, Devereux's was the bridge, and Fear's was the infirmary. Although, Rusty realized, she had been spending much of her time on the bridge as well lately.
She stopped in front of him, holding out a tablet similar to the one he had just thrown to
"Explain this."
Rusty stared at the tablet for a moment. He felt a sharp sense of uneasiness and then calmed himself. She came down here, he reminded himself. For matters that she felt required discipline, she nearly always summoned the ones involved to her.
He took the tablet without looking at it, assuming that she wanted a report on the bulkhead rupture. "Fire control teams are already down there," he told her. "I've sent two repair technicians down to evaluate the damage." He checked the chronometer. "I expect a preliminary report from them within the hour."
Fear regarded him coldly. Although he could not identify any particular change in her expression, he had the impression that he had said something wrong.
"I am aware of the situation," she said, her tone filled with icy condescension. Her dark eyes darted toward the tablet. "I require your evaluation of that data."
Rusty felt himself flush with a mixture of chagrin and anger. He activated the display on the pad and began to study it. "What is it?" he asked. "Looks like readings for a slipstream jump."
"It is."
The Chief looked up at her, waiting. She can be so damned enigmatic at times, he growled silently. He looked at the timestamp on the file. "The Captain's?"
"Yes."
Rusty nodded, but really wanting to shake his head in annoyance. "I'll need some time to look it over."
"When can you report?"
Rusty met her eyes again. Although he hated this little game, it did amuse him to a small degree. "Couple of hours," he answered with as casual a tone as he could manage. "Depends on what else explodes around here and what I find in the data."
"Two hours," Fear told him with a sharp tone of command.
Rusty shrugged in response. "Yes, ma'am."
Fear remained staring at him for several long moments. Rusty knew better than to try to outstare her. He allowed himself to blink, but not turn his eyes away from her. She abruptly turned away and left the engineering deck. Alien bitch, he thought, not daring to even whisper the words. He turned his attention back to the information on the tablet, intrigued in spite of himself.
Where have you gone, Captain? he wondered. Where have you found to hide?
#
Fear paused outside the hatchway from the engineering deck. If the Chief Engineer had not both demonstrated his considerable competence on multiple occasions and was under her unquestionable control, she would have likely arranged his disappearance long ago. She knew the feeling would fade, but it was one of those times when she regretted his rescue on Caliban. Devereux had abandoned him there to die with his battalion so that she and her team could make their escape. Although he might have survived his injures unaided, Fear had recognized that he might prove useful—in ways beyond his purported engineering skills.
Although he had failed to adequately perform his role in her assassination attempt, she knew he was likely not entirely at fault. The Captain's desires were often as mercurial as her moods. A small part of her was relieved that he had not succeeded. Otherwise, her current flicker of irritation with him might be ignited into something more dangerous by a spark of jealousy. She needed him for now, she knew. Although there might be other specialists on board who might be able to eventually decipher clues from the slipstream sensor data, the Chief Engineer could do it more quickly. An efficient ship, she told herself, was an effective one.
She had moved only a few meters down the corridor when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Her hand moved instinctively to the knife hidden in its sheath at her belt. She preferred it over energy weapons, as it was immune to jamming fields and she knew exactly where to use it against most species to inflict the greatest amount of damage—or pain—as the circumstances dictated. The cadence of the footsteps sounded familiar—there were two sets of them approaching—but she never took any chances. Her position, particularly now, was too precarious to relax her guard for even a moment.
The Tactical Officer marched into view, followed closely by the First. The Tactical Officer saluted as he stopped before her. Based solely on rank, it was unnecessary, but she took it as a sign of his current allegiance. The First made no such gesture, but she had not expected him to. His acceptance of her current status, she knew, was based solely on necessity, not loyalty.
“You are not on the bridge,” she said. It was as much an accusation as a statement.
The First looked discomfited by her remark. The Tactical Officer remained calm, unperturbed. Fear relaxed the hand on her belt slightly. Nothing in their posture or expression told of attack.
“You have a report?”
The First passed a glance at the Tactical Officer.
“Little is known at this point,” the Tactical Officer reported. “Lieutenant Banks will provide a report shortly.”
Fear was annoyed, but not surprised, by the meager report. There had not been enough time for anyone to perform an adequate survey of the damage or determine its cause. Why had they come here, then, she wondered, rather than waiting until she returned to the bridge?
“I see,” she said, studying them both for a moment before continuing down the corridor. “Come.”
The two officers fell into step behind her. Neither said a word as they walked. Fear’s hand remained near the knife at her waist, a growing sense of comfort at the twin echo of footsteps behind her. They stopped at a split in the passageways.
“I am returning to the Infirmary,” she told them. “Resume your stations.” She noted barely masked relief on the First’s face.
The Tactical Officer saluted again, but paused, waiting for the First to accompany him. Fear caught the First staring at her, but she could not guess what he was thinking at that moment. He turned away from her, his eyes the last thing to leave her. He took position beside the Tactical Officer as they strode around a corner, out of her sight.
0 comments:
Post a Comment