Ship's Log: November 16

Changes in the command structure often came swiftly—and not always from the direction that one expected.

He had been aware of Fear's plans for mutiny, silently appreciating her cold, calculated efficiency. He had even given her a high chance of success. What he failed to understand was her motive. Her rank and position was not one that typically led to command of a starship. Had she desired that, she would have better off returning to a post in her native Aerian fleet. There were no Aerian commanders in the Coalition fleet, both by design and choice, it seemed. Her current control of the ship was due chiefly to her leading role in the mutiny attempt, but it could not last, he knew. Eventually, Thompson, or some other ambitious officer, would move in to replace her. While she was a formidable opponent, Hawkes conceded with a silent note of admiration, there was only one of her. She could not defend herself alone indefinitely—and many of the crew had personal vendettas against the Aerians in general. Fear would make a tempting target for their retaliation. So why had she done it?

Fear had several members of the crew under her control, he knew. He did not know, however, exactly what her hold was over all of them. Thompson seemed willing to defer to her, but for no other likely reason than he was awaiting his own chance to strike. There was little doubt over how she controlled the Chief Engineer. Hawkes fought down a sharp feeling of disgust and wondered, far from the first time, why Devereux allowed him to remain on board, much less trusted him with the continued operation of the engines. He had to admit that he had been so far been able to find little fault with the quality of Rayna's work. He felt it was inevitable, though, that there would come a time when the engines or another ship's system would not be available at a critical moment—the results would be disastrous. It was only due to the competence of his crew that none of that had yet come to pass.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft signal from his console. The diagnostics he requested had completed. He checked the results, nodding with silent approval. Satisfied for the moment with the readiness of the weapons systems, he turned to the task for which he had genuinely returned to the bridge. Accessing the personnel files, he once again reviewed the service records of Lieutenant Elizabeth Banks.

#

Devereux banked the shuttle carefully, staying to lower altitudes, but trying to remaining out of casual sight from the ground. She had originally planned to fly in at high speed, hoping to reach her destination safely before anyone here realized that something was happening. Thinking back on her initial encounter with the aircraft of the era, she decided to alter her strategy. While she was sure that she could outrun them, she was not nearly as certain that she could withstand a concerted assault if they sent an entire flight squadron after her. The small shuttle was tough—particularly by the standards of this era—but it was not indestructible.

She kept the shuttle's velocity low, below that of most of the aircraft she had seen. If she appeared on any of their scanning devices, she would seem too slow to be an air vehicle. She was also radiating a thin vapor of coolant as she went. If she was picked up by any tracking devices designed to register heat signatures, the shuttle should appear as a fast-moving, water-heavy cloud. Before anyone might think any differently, she should be safely secured out of sight.

Hope had replaced her earlier despair, as well as a tingling sense of curiosity. The names listed on the display were known to almost everyone on Earth in her time, certainly to anyone who had ever served aboard a starship. Devereux found herself smiling, her mind now diverted from its earlier thoughts of conquest. She now had something specific onto which to direct her efforts; she just needed to make contact with the right people: those people.

It was an intricate kind of flying, made more so by her desire for speed. As she guided the controls, she realized how long it had been since she had made an atmospheric landing on her own. She usually had someone else pilot the shuttle when going planetside, preferring to keep her attention and focus on the crew and the upcoming mission. A faint smile danced over her full lips as she realized that she enjoyed it, just enough of a challenge to be interesting, without being so risky as to be wholly dangerous.

She glanced at the display to her right, making sure that the shuttle's systems were recording her passage. Any data should might be able to get might prove useful later in any number of ways. If nothing else, she could sell it to one of the museums or historical foundations upon her return home. That idea brought the thought to her mind: I'll probably need access to whatever passes for money here. If she remembered correctly, physical currency was still being used in this era, but it was well on its way to a digital economy. That should make it a bit easier, she thought.

Shadowy shapes filled the landscape as she prepared to land. The sensors showed that, other than a few fleeing animal lifesigns, the area was as barren and uninhabited as she had predicted. Based of the lack of proximity alarms, she guessed that her approach tactics had been successful. She landed the shuttle slowly, feeling only a mild lurch as one of the landing struts slipped on an unseen rock.

She surveyed the interior of the shuttle. Trying to transport herself everywhere in the shuttle, even if she flew only at night, would eventually draw attention to her—attention she did not want. I'll probably have to get a hold of one of those primitive vehicles. The idea worried her slightly; they appeared quite fragile in construction.

She glanced down at herself, thinking, I'll need some clothing that won't stand out as much in this era. Based on the few images she had seen broadcast, her flight suit might not appear completely out of fashion in some areas, but it did not seem to resemble what the majority of the population seemed to wear. Although the styles of tunics and shirts varied widely, there was a remarkable consistency in the kind of pants they wore. They appeared to be manufactured of a kind of rough, pale blue fabric that did not look very comfortable, Devereux thought with a small frown.

Adjusting the thruster controls, she shut them down and prepared to exit the shuttle. Checking the external sensors, she noted that the temperature had dropped several degrees since she had originally started her approach. It was not likely to get much colder, she thought, as dawn was only an hour or so away. She took the landing jacket anyway, preferring to be caught with too much clothing than too little if the weather suddenly changed. That was one thing she remembered about planetside environments: they tended to change quickly with little warning.

Reaching into one of the compartments, she grabbed an equipment belt. She attached a communications unit, portable scanner, and hand weapon. The knife she left tucked into her boot. Based on the readings on the map, it was about two kilometers to the nearest sign of habitation. With a grumbled sigh, she tucked several food and drink packets into the pouches on the belt. Until she got her hands on some of the local currency, she did not know when she might be able to eat again.

She fastened the belt around her waist and looked around the shuttle, checking to see if there was anything else she might need. If so, she shrugged, it would not be that far away. With a slow breath, she powered down the shuttle, leaving only the maintenance and passive security systems active. Tucking the jacket under her arm, she stepped out of the shuttle, waiting until the hatch sealed itself behind her before walking into the dark desert night.

#

The Chief looked up from the tablet, although part of his mind remained on the puzzle it represented. He wanted to check on Elizabeth's progress before devoting his attention to Fear's request. He headed to his office and activated the intercom.

"How's it going up there, Lizzie?" he asked.

"It's a mess down here, Chief," came her reply, echoed by the sounds of equipment. "I've almost got one panel off. That should make it go a little easier." There was a pause. "Have you seen Higuchi? I sent him to get me the sensor logs, but he's been gone a while."

Rusty peered out toward the main engineering deck. "I don't see him here," he said.

"I wonder where he's disappeared to?" Elizabeth wondered.

Rusty looked out into the small knot of crewmen again. That’s not like Higuchi, he thought. Hiroki Higuchi, while not a very experienced crewman, had consistently demonstrated an acute attention to detail and promptness. All of his assignments so far had not only been completed on time, but with a degree of skill that even Elizabeth had remarked favorably on.

“I’ll find him,” Rusty told her. “You worry about doing what you need to do there.”

“Okay, Chief,” came her response.

Rusty could tell she was troubled by the crewman’s disappearance. He closed the communications and channel and walked out into the main deck.

“Carson,” he called to one of the technicians working at the reclamation monitoring station. “Have you seen Hiroki?”

Carson glanced around the area. “Not since he left with the Lieutenant, Chief,” he shouted back over the background noise.

Rusty frowned and then nodded to Carson, who then turned his attention back to the console. The Chief walked back through the main engineering deck, checking the various consoles and monitoring stations scattered throughout it, but there was no sign of the missing Higuchi.