Ship's Log: November 4

She stared down at the motionless figure, trying to recognize it from among the members of the crew. Its face, however, was turned away from her, covered by a forearm.

Fear descended the ramp from the command deck, stopping before unconscious crewman. Blood streamed down its cheek and Fear glanced up again at Pyrafox, who regarded her with an even, confident stare. Gazing down at the crewman again, Fear gave it a sharp kick, turning the figure over on its back. Its head lolled limply as it rolled. Fear looked back at Pyrafox as she recognized the crewman. He stared back at her with a sharp, predatory smile.

#

Thompson swallowed with surprise at the face of the young ensign. He recognized her instantly, feeling his face flush with the knowledge. He remained still, wanting to call no attention to himself while he sorted through the implications. She had been his companion the night before, unusually eager and playful compared to most; he had wanted to remember to choose her more often. Now, not only did that seem unlikely, but the interrogation that was soon to follow at Fear’s hands would reveal his place in her activities over the past several days. While he knew that he had played no role in the captain’s escape, his involvement with the traitorous woman would place him in Fear’s sights as a possible collaborator until he could convince her of his innocence.

“Bring her,” Fear said. Her voice was cold. Thompson could sense the cruelty inherent in it. The young crewwoman would surely not survive what was coming. Thompson was torn between wanting to witness it and being at some distance when his involvement was revealed.

Pyrafox lifted the woman roughly over his shoulder. She whimpered weakly. The red-furred snarled quietly and headed off the bridge.

Thompson moved to follow him. Fear faced him, her dark alien eyes piercing him like obsidian daggers.

“Remain here.”

Although wanting to protest, Thompson only nodded his acceptance of the order. Fear continued to stare at him for several long moments, as if reading everything into his discomfiture. She broke contact abruptly and Thompson felt momentarily drained. Damned alien bitch, he swore silently. I hate it when she does that. His eyes followed the petite alien as she left the bridge, allowing himself a small sigh of relief as the hatch closed behind her.

He turned back to the main area, gazing across the crew at their stations. All of them stared intently at their consoles, making every attempt to appear busy and productive. Thompson spied the sensor specialist, realizing that he had not yet received a report from him. He strode over with bold purpose, peering down at the crewman.

“Your reports,” he growled. “Where are they?”

The crewman looked up at him, clearly nervous at the attention he was receiving from the First Officer. “Almost done, sir.” There was a distinct quaver in the man’s voice.

A thin smile formed on Thompson’s lips. “I recommend it be soon,” he advised. “I expect our good doctor will want to see them when she returns.” His smile widened slightly. “And you know that she doesn’t like to be disappointed.

The crewman paled slightly. “At once, First,” he said, and began working furiously.

Thompson gave a low, quiet laugh as he considered the crewman’s palpable anxiety. He found it both amusing and strangely enticing. While he usually preferred female companions for his off-duty activities, men occasionally had some appeal. Their reaction to pain and pleasure was, in so ways, so different from the women. It often made for a stimulating distraction. Perhaps tonight, Thompson considered, this crewman might be so fortunate. His thoughts flashed to the interrogation no doubt underway in the infirmary. Depending, of course, on what other surprises the day brings . . .

#

As she moved through the corridors and hatchways, Elizabeth called up a schematic of the data junction, looking for which systems were routed or could be bypassed through that set of relays. Being the main junction that fed into the shuttle dock itself, almost all of the systems could be routed through it so that information could be quickly transferred when the shuttle was prepared for or returned from a mission.

Several crewmembers gave her extra distance as she walked through the passageways, but she ignored them. She kept batting a lose strand of her long, chestnut-colored hair away from her optical implant. It caused kaleidoscopic images to dance across her vision until the implant reset itself and filtered out the visual interference. She had considered just shaving her hair close to her scalp, but could not quite bring herself to do it. A part of her still wanted to cling to that part of her feminine humanity.

Arriving at the corridor that led to the shuttle dock, she was surprised to find the ship’s Tactical Officer there, deep in conversation with another technician. Elizabeth paused, double-checking the duty roster again. No mistake: she was assigned to this area. She waited a moment, unclear how to approach Hawkes. Although they both held the same rank, the man was several decades more senior than her in years. She always felt awkward approaching him as an equal.

She was saved from having to announce herself when Hawkes noticed her approach.

“Did the Chief send you down here?” he asked, regarding her expectantly. He studied her with what she felt was a faint air of suspicion.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, handing him a pad with her assignments for this shift.

Hawkes took it carefully, his eyes never leaving her face. He then looked down at the tablet and read it contents. After a moment, he passed it back to her, seemingly having satisfied his doubts about her presence there. He turned to the other crewman and dismissed him.

The crewman shot Elizabeth a quick, unpleasant look, and then gathered his equipment and left. Elizabeth watched him go, feeling only mildly annoyed by his behavior.

“We were just getting started,” Hawkes told her, gesturing toward the access panel.

Elizabeth entered her security access code, followed by her handprint, at a nearby pad. After the indicator light glowed red, she released the remaining latches, and lifted the panel away. She placed it flat on the deck, out of the way. She opened her case, removing a small device for measuring electric fields. First, she located the emergency shutdown controls. They might need them later, she knew, not trusting someone on the bridge to reroute the systems properly. Ready now, she peered into the interior of the junction.

She adjusted the view of her optical implant, setting it to show variances in temperature. As first, the interior of the panel was awash in yellows and oranges before she fine-tuned its sensitivity. The colors settled down into specific areas of orange and red, denoting components producing a lot of heat—that was, getting a lot of use. She matched the image against the schematic displayed in her mind, noting one regulator which changed color sporadically, rather than an even ebb and flow of brightness. She confirmed what her implant saw with the field measurement sensor and then looked more closely at the malfunctioning component.

At first, it appeared no different than those around it, and then she noticed the rough scuff marks on its casing. She thought it might have been the result of it overheating, but realized that the coloration was wrong. It looked as if the regulator had been mishandled—or someone had tried to damage it by banging at it with some kind of tool.

“Have you found something, Lieutenant?” Hawkes asked her, disrupting her concentration.

“I don’t know yet,” she replied, the hum of the equipment masking the hint of irritation in her voice. She pulled herself part way out of the opening. “I’m going to re-route some of the systems now.” She sent a quick signal through the maintenance channels, warning any other technicians about the change.

She felt the tactical officer’s eyes on her as she switched off some of the systems, causing them to be routed through junctions elsewhere on the ship. In her vision, the colors on the suspect regulator and surrounding systems faded to a cool blue as they shut down. Grabbing another tool from her case, she reached in and began to remove the component.

The space was crammed tight with other modules, so it took her longer than expected to disengage the regulator. She could sense the Tactical Officer growing restless behind her, but he said nothing. Let him be impatient, she thought with slight amusement. It’s better than taking the whole damned panel apart. She pulled the component free, examining it more closely in the dim light of the corridor. Definitely signs of tampering, she decided, turning it slowly over in her gloved hand.

“That’s the faulty component?” Hawkes asked, taking it rather abruptly from her.

“Yeah,” Elizabeth agreed. “It looks like someone tried banging on it with something,” she suggested, “like they were trying to knock it loose or something.”

A crooked smile crossed Hawke’s face, making the scar partially hidden under the patch over his right eyes wrinkle slightly. “Excellent.”

Elizabeth looked at him, trying to keep her puzzlement carefully hidden.

Hawkes still seemed to manage to read her expression. “Evidence, Lieutenant,” he explained plainly. “Evidence.”

He rose from where he knelt next to her. “Continue with your repairs.” He gave her a quick, unpleasant smile. “Your cooperation will be noted.”

She held still, watching him as he strode away, feeling a momentary chill at his statement. That bastard was ready for me to take the fall if we didn’t find anything. She left out a quiet snarl of frustration before bringing out her tablet and checking the supply inventory for a replacement part. She signaled for someone to bring it to her from the storage vault in main engineering. She could have retrieved it herself, but she was longer feeling particularly charitable.

#

Hawkes headed toward the infirmary, carrying the damaged regulator in one gloved hand. He was looking forward to seeing how the crewman’s interrogation was proceeding. He checked the time, noting that it was likely that it was still underway, unless Fear had gotten overzealous in her ministrations. As he studied the telltale markings that Lieutenant Banks had pointed out, he anticipated seeing the crewman’s expression at seeing the physical evidence of her handiwork held before her.

He entered the anteroom of the infirmary, feeling a sense of irrational surprise at how ordinary it appeared. Of course, he realized, the interrogation would be taking place in one of the aft chambers. He knew from experience that the acoustics could be adjusted to varying degrees, depending on the message Fear wished to send to those waiting in other areas of the infirmary. They could be silenced entirely, or amplified to carry to all of its areas. She did the latter sometimes, he felt, simply to satisfy her perverse sense of amusement.