Before their flight began, the Chief Engineer (she thought she had heard someone refer to him in passing as “Rusty”, but had not been certain whether in fact they had actually been referring to him) had treated her with an almost mischievous respect. She could see that there was a certain charm beneath his rough and brawny exterior, and there was little doubt that he knew his stuff.
After the initial nervous excitement and minor fanfare passed the voyage became quickly routine. The starship flew, the drive was powered up and engaged, and then the ship flew faster and further. There a subtle, but noticeable sense of excitement among the crew. While some of them were willing to talk to her, it was hardly the content of award-winning interviews.
Her irritated boredom was short-lived, however. The steady pulse on several of the status displays suddenly became chaotic. The deck then rocked beneath her boots, alarms sounded, and it became evident that something had gone terribly wrong. Now, amidst the klaxons that continued to sound through the main Engineering deck, she wished she had selected a quieter location to report from.
She has specifically chosen . . .
. . . told her to get to work.
She removed a small device from her belt and pressed one of the controls. The remote camera positioned near her obediently powered down its lights and lens. A moment later, it retracted its three legs, reducing itself to a smaller, more easily transported form. Roberta smiled, pleased and slightly amused at the ease at which such things took care of themselves for her.
Replacing the remote control back at her waist, she went over to the now-insert camera system. She hefted it experimentally, frowned, and then lifted it. It was no heavier than she remembered, but, after looking around her at the bustling crew members, she realized that she would have to carry it herself out of the compartment. Grunting softly, she lifted it a few centimeters from the deck and headed for the hatchway.
She was saved from having to figure out how to open the hatch without putting the camera system back down by the entry of two new crewmembers. The first, a young male ensign (if she read his rank badge correctly), gallantly held the hatch open for her. The other one watched as she made her way through the hatchway and Roberta could feel her eyes on her. It was not the steely, almost disdainful stare of an officer regarding a civilian, but a different kind of assessment entirely.
Roberta was not certain how she felt about that, and she was not about to turn around to confirm her suspicions. Reading people and their desires was an advantage in her business, one that she had honed well, and she was almost fully certain that the crew member had been evaluating her suitability for activities other than media reporting. The notion did not alarm or disturb Roberta, for she had dallied briefly in college with such relationship, but it had been short-lived. The experience had not been particularly unsatisfactory (she had long since conceded to herself, occasionally reliving the stimulating memories, and even the random fantasy, about such a liaison), but she generally found herself drawn much more strongly to those of the gender opposite to that of her own.
The hatch was closed behind her and she avoided looking back to see who had done it. She gave the security officer positioned there a cheery smile, receiving in turn a stony response that was in direct contrast to the reaction she had received only a few moments before. Her ego brushed aside the slight as she considered her next destination.
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