Devereux sat, staring at her now-empty cup, waiting while the others arrived. She had decided to call for a staff briefing before having Pyrafox execute their course change. The first shift was now coming on duty and she wanted to avoid a fragmentary exchange of updates and mission information.
She had arrived earlier, having stopped by the galley to grab a croissant and a fresh mug of coffee. Rather than return to the bridge for less than ten minutes, she opted to spend the time alone in the conference room.
It had actually been quite nice, she thought. There was a minimum of ambient noise and few distractions. She had resisted the urge to activate the holographic display and monitor the bridge activity. These moments of relative peace were all too infrequent, particularly of late. It appeared, however, that situation might change—at least for the next few days.
Hawkes arrived two minutes early, right on schedule. He paused in the hatchway for a moment before entering. If he was surprised to find Devereux already there, that was the only indication that he made of it.
“Captain.”
Devereux greeted him with a sincere smile.
“Lieutenant.”
He acknowledged her with a slight nod and then took his customary chair facing the hatch with his back to the bulkhead. To Devereux, he seemed content to wait in silence for the others to arrive. Before she could break the silence, Elizabeth arrived. She too stopped in the hatchway upon seeing Devereux already seated.
I seem to have a reputation . . ., she mused.
Elizabeth recovered quickly and gave Devereux a smile.
“Good morning, Captain,” she said and moved around to take the seat on Devereux’s right.
Devereux saw her glance down at the tablet she was carrying, probably to verify the time, before her expression relaxed with relief at seeing that she was not, in fact, late.
Pyrafox arrived a few moments later. His attention was focused on the contents of the tablet that he carried. He paused outside the hatchway as if surprised that he had already arrived at his destination. Peering through the open hatchway, he paid no particular to the fact that Devereux was already present. He stepped inside and took the seat next to Hawkes.
Elizabeth sat almost primly at attention, her hands folded neatly on top of her tablet. Devereux suppressed a smile, recalling a time that seemed both long ago, and yet not so far back time, when she was determined to prove herself to her commanding officer. She was about to tell Elizabeth to activate the display when Rusty sauntered to the doorway.
There was really no other way to describe it, Devereux decided. She had seen Rusty move like a burly rocket under emergency conditions, but his typical gait gave no other impression than a lack of urgency in any regard.
He made his way through the doorway, paused to see where the empty seats might be, and then entered, nodding graciously toward Devereux.
“Cap’n.”
Devereux considered remarking on the Chief’s tardy arrival, but decided against it. It had proven to be an ineffective measure in the past, and would only serve to turn everyone’s attention toward him.
She waited for several moments in silence. It took her that long to realize why she had continued to delay in starting the meeting. One of the remaining chairs was still vacant. She had not invited Hope, she had not seen any reason for the Medical Officer to attend a briefing that was chiefly focused on navigational and engineering issues. For a moment, she considered calling for Hope, but she knew it would only be to satisfy her own personal desire for the alien’s reassuring company rather for any practical need. Instead, she motioned for Elizabeth to activate the projector.
The room lights dimmed slightly and a three-dimensional representation of their proposed new course heading appeared above the conference table.
“We’ve received new orders,” she began. “All we have is a set of coordinates and a rendezvous schedule.”
She paused, looking at the expressions and body language of her officers seated around the table.
“That’s literally all we have,” she went on. “Other than that it’s in a region of mostly unexplored space and we should have enough time to get there without pushing our engines to the breaking point for a change.”
Her last remark garnered a smile from a Elizabeth and a soft laugh from Rusty. Pyrafox’s expression was, as usual, almost impossible to read. Hawkes continued to stare intently in the direction of the floating navigational display.
“It’ll take us eight days to get there,” Devereux said, “even with some expert piloting.” She glanced toward Pyrafox with an encouraging smile. She gestured toward the holographic image. “Lieutenant.”
Pyrafox swallowed, and then leaned forward and provided a summary of the series of slipstream jumps and course corrections that would be needed over the next several days in order for them to arrive at their destination safely.
“There’s a few things of scientific interest along the way,” he finished. “But we won’t have time to stop for more than a quick set of scans on the way out if we want to make the rendezvous on time.”
“And we do want to make it on time,” Devereux confirmed.
There was a brief period of silence before Hawkes spoke.
“There’s no new information about the rendezvous itself?”
Devereux shook her head. “None,” she replied. “At this point, we’ll all get to be surprised together.” She looked around the table again. “Any other questions?”
Elizabeth and Rusty exchanged looks, as did Pyrafox with each of them.
“None at this time, Captain,” Hawkes replied.
Devereux nodded. “Very good then,” she said. “We’ll execute the course change in fifteen minutes.” When she saw that everyone had understood the order, she added, “Dismissed.”
She rose, but allowed her officers to leave the room before she left the table. They were going to have eight somewhat tedious days ahead of them. Both the helm and Engineering teams would have some interesting spurts of activity. For the rest of them, though, it would be business as usual. The science teams could spend the time calibrating their instruments, she supposed, and made a mental note to ask Hope about it.
Devereux walked around the table and switched off the holographic display, watching as the image dissolved into a fading dance of spectral dust motes.
#
Thad walked outside, blinking in the diffuse autumn sunlight. The first piece of evidence that supported Scott’s story was that the car was parked at the curb and not in the driveway. He knew that there was not even the excuse that he had left his motorcycle in the middle of the driveway again, as he had moved it into the garage the previous morning to work on it.
Or had that been the day before? Thad wondered idly. It doesn’t matter, he answered himself with a mental shrug. It’s not in the driveway.
As he walked around to the driver’s side, he did not immediately notice any new damage that the alleged tow truck might have inflicted on their car. He unlocked the car and quickly looked over the interior: nothing there either. Reaching down, he pulled the latch, releasing the hood. He then propped it open and surveyed the engine compartment. Nothing appeared immediately to be out of place. He then methodically checked all of the fluids. The coolant was a little low, and the reservoir for the washer fluid was nearly empty, but neither of those should have caused the problem that his brother had reported.
Thad returned to the driver’s seat and started the car. The engine roared to life, its sound unmuffled now by the open hood. Thad glanced across the dash panel, but found no warning lights glowing. With a frown, he turned the key and the engine whined back down to silence once more.
What’s the deal, then? And what’s going on with Scott?
The receipt from the towing company lay on the front passenger seat, giving further proof of his brother’s tale.
Okay, Thad conceded silently. But that doesn’t explain the waffles.
He sniffed experimentally. The interior of the car smelled like . . . car. There was a hint of warm metal and oil, but nothing that even remotely smelled of anything feminine.
What was it then?
Thad looked around the interior of the car again, but found nothing else except for what appeared to be some old gum wrappers and a brittle, faded flyer from some indistinguishable local gardening service.
He swears it’s not the meds. Thad stared off into the distance. Something of the more recreational variety?
Thad shook his head. As weird as Scott might be acting, he refused to believe that. Even when Scott had been at his worst, he had never ingested anything more potent than a tequila shot—not that those were necessarily harmless.
A girl? But where had he met her? At the gas station? The tow truck driver?
Thad shuddered at the image that his mind presented him with.
Probably not.
A guy?
Thad frowned at this. Scott had never shown any interest in that direction. He was not particularly prejudiced against the concept, and had not teased him about his dalliances in that regard any more or less than he would have about a female companion, but had simply shown no interest in pursuing anyone who was not a member of the completely opposite sex.
Maybe he really is just in a good mood today, Thad tried to convince himself. Maybe he’s finally getting over . . . her.
Scott had taken that one hard, in ways that Thad could only scarcely begin to understand. Thad could almost wrap his mind around it, but he lacked the experiences and buried longings that his brother possessed to fully grasp the depth of it. He could be sympathetic and supportive, but Thad recognized that he just could not feel it in the same way that his brother did—had.
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