Ship's Log: November 23

As Fear turned to request the infirmary surveillance logs, she noticed a subtle shift in the ship internal fields. Most of the crew was completely unaware of them, but her Aerian awareness made her extremely sensitive to even the smallest changes in electromagnetic fields. They’ve changed course! she realized. Without orders.

With a deliberate motion, she activated the intercom. “Bridge,” she said, her voice even, but revealing a sharp edge. “Report.”

There was a long pause. Fear imagined whoever had ordered the change—most like the First—gathering their courage to respond.

“Bridge here,” the First’s voice came over the channel. “We’ve detected several objects that might be approaching ships,” he said. His tone sounded unusually calm. “We’ve altered course to investigate.”

“I see.” Her voice was cold. A thought stopped her. “Is it the Captain?”

“Unknown,” the First replied. “It might be a small fleet of no more than four or five ships,” he continued, “or more. Or it might not be ships at all.”

She changed the view on one of her displays to match that of the main screen on that bridge. It revealed nothing, even after the enhancements she requested.

“Coming there,” she said, rising from her desk. She closed the intercom channel without waiting for a response and headed toward the hatchway.

The hatch opened and a guard appeared in the doorway, blocking her way into the corridor. Her wide, dark eyes flared slightly.

“I am returning to the bridge.” She stated as it a fact rather than an order, but the guard remained in place. Fear’s hand moved down toward her waist.

His attention seemed to be elsewhere for a moment and then he looked down at her. “I will accompany you.” He stood aside and waited her to move into the passageway.

She stepped into the corridor and headed toward the bridge. Fighting back the urge to kill the guard, she kept her attention focused on the deserted corridors ahead. Although he was considerably larger than she was, Fear was certain that she could inject him with a fatal dose of a neurolytic toxin before he could react. It would serve little purpose, she realized, other than to ease her own displeasure.

The guard remained just out of her reach, as if sensing her unspoken intentions. She grudgingly admitted that they had been trained well. They reached the bridge and the guard stepped inside with her.

The First turned as she entered, but his expression was one of steady self-assurance, not half-hidden disdain and deference. He is now a threat, she thought. He would be far easier to deal with than the Captain had been, she knew. There were many among the crew who would be pleased to see this First removed.

“You have altered course,” she stated, moving to stand near the navigation and helm stations. She indifferently noted the faint tremors that passed through the body of the young woman at the helm as she approached.

“Yes,” the First said. He seemed unaffected by her dark stare. His eyes flickered for a moment, glancing toward the Tactical Officer, then back to her.

Without turning, Fear knew that the Tactical Officer was watching the exchange closely. That was not unusual, but this time she felt faintly unnerved by his attention on her. She pushed aside the sensation, directing her focus on the First.

“I gave no such orders,” she told him, keeping her gaze fixed on his.

“No,” he agreed with surprising composure. “I did.”

Fear felt reassured to see the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his dark blue eyes. She turned her attention to the main view screen. “Show me the scans.”

The First nodded toward the Navigator, who brought the results up on one of his status displays.

Fear studied the data in silence for several moments before announcing, “Inconclusive.”

The First nodded slowly in agreement. “That’s what we thought,” he said, and then explained the reasoning behind their approach vector.

She could find no flaw in his logic. It made sound tactical sense to approach the enemy rather than wait for the enemy to approach the Sapphire Night on their terms. Still, he had done so without consulting her. It was a definite change in the command structure since the event of the mutiny that would bear careful observation.

Turning slightly, she looked over at the Tactical Officer. His scarred visage betrayed nothing of his thoughts. He appeared as he always was: ready, capable, and cunning.

“I will remain here,” she announced.

The First regarded her for a moment before nodding to her security escort. The guard saluted the First and then left the bridge. The First moved back toward his station, leaving Fear standing alone behind the young ensign at the helm.

#

Thompson walked with slow, deliberate steps back to his station. He fought the urge to look back at the Aerian. In his mind, he could see her standing there at the helm, probably staring at him with those deep black eyes of hers. Of everything else about her, those seemed to be the most alien. Nothing in his research had told him that she could see any differently than he could, although possibly in a slightly broader spectrum and with greater night vision. Yet, he still often wondered if that might not be another of those well-kept Aerian secrets.

Working the controls on his console, he brought up a display of their current course. Within the next few minutes, he estimated, they should see the evasive objects at the limits of their sensors again. In all likelihood, they would still not be able to tell whether they were ships or not, but they might learn whether there really was something out there. It was not unusual, he knew, for the sensor to see ghost objects at the limits of their range. Even the best-maintained and finely-tuned sensors suffered from it from time to time. He could order a diagnostic sweep of the sensor systems, but he did not dare take them offline for even a few moments right now. If—no, he told himself, when—Devereux did return, they would need every second of warning to prepare for her attack. He was willing to suffer this minor inconvenience for that margin of security.

Hawkes was right, he knew. Devereux would return to reclaim her ship. If she did, and was successful, he held few illusions that he would survive. If she did not succeed—or never returned—then he would have to deal with the Aerian. There was no doubt of her skills and usefulness, but needed her loyalty. Although she had been the architect of the mutiny, the ship was his, not hers, to command. Even if she accepted that, how long would it be, he wondered, before she decided to turn against him as well?

“Anything yet?” he asked.

“Nothing yet, sirrr,” Pyrafox replied. “We’rrre still at the farrr limits of ourrr sensorrr rrrange.”

Thompson fought down the urge to pace the deck. He had seen Devereux do it on occasions of elevated tension, prowling the inside perimeter of the command deck like a caged animal. It had always made him nervous, as if she might suddenly attack without warning, discharging the frustrations she could not release on her enemies against her crew.

He risked a glance at Fear. She had moved away from the helm station, much to the relief of the young ensign there. She stood near the raised platform of the command deck, but not near any of the ramps, facing the main view screen, but her presence seemed to be entirely elsewhere. She really has no place on the bridge, Thompson thought with some rancor. Her station is the infirmary. For a moment, he considered having her escorted back, but then relented. If it was Devereux out there, it might be useful to have the Aerian where she could be seen.

“Still nothing, sirrr,” the navigator reported. Next to him, the helmsman’s hands danced over her console, guiding the ship along its ordered course.

Thompson stared at the main screen as if willing the mysterious vessels into appearance. Where they chasing ghosts? he wondered.

“Maintain course,” he said with what he hoped was an air of confident authority.

“Yes, sir,” came the response from the ensign at the helm. Her hands remained steady on the controls.

The bridge was silent except for background noises. There was an air of both growing tension and expectancy.

“Sirrr,” Pyrafox said, even his voice seemed hushed. “We arrre apprrroaching the point wherrre the objects firrrst appearrred on sensorrrs.”

Thompson looked over toward Hawkes. The Tactical Officer stood ready, but his expression gave the First no indication of what he might be thinking. He felt Fear’s eyes on him as well, but refused to turn and acknowledge her unseen gaze. He turned back to the main view screen and considered his options.

His strategy might have failed and, if there were in fact ships out there, they had continued to move out of range as the Sapphire Night had approached. They might also only be chasing scanner artifacts. If there are ships out there, what were they waiting for?

“Helm,” he said suddenly. “Increase speed to half standard. Alter course to a straight heading.”

“Yes, sir,” the ensign replied and immediately began making the necessary adjustments.

“Enough sneaking around,” Thompson remarked quietly, but loud enough that he was knew that Hawkes had probably overheard him. Let’s see if someone really is out there.