Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Rusty surveyed the twin engine cores, and then checked the status displays. Both of these told him what he already knew: the slipstream drive was purring contentedly like a sated wildcat.

“Carson,” he called out, without turning around. “Watch out for that spill,” he warned the technician. “And then watch where you put your hand.”

He snickered softly a moment later when he heard a startled yelp in a female register. Carson had evaded the puddle of spilled lubricant, nearly lost his balance, saw that he was about to grab onto a heat exhaust conduit for support, and then collided with Ensign Gwen Kennedy instead. “Collided” might not have been exactly the right word, considering where Carson's hands had ended up.

Gwen might be surprised, but she won't hurt him—much.

In a rare flash of what have been longer-term precognition, or simply his prurient imagination, Rusty saw Gwen forgiving Carson rather emphatically later that night in her quarters.

“Chief!” Niguchi called down from the upper level. “They need you in Cargo One.”

He paused a moment, worried that his alien angel had broken loose again.

No, that's not it.

He realized, with relief, that he sensed no real danger at all. Reaching that conclusion, he wondered why they needed him.

“Do they say what they needed?”

“No, sir,” Niguchi shouted back. “Just that the Commander was heading down there.”

Lizzie? What's she doing down in Cargo One?

“Thanks,” he responded, not caring whether he voice carried back up to the level above or not. He took another check look around the Engineering deck and, confirming with his eyes that nothing was amiss, headed for the cargo bay.

Although he knew what he would see a moment before he stepped through the hatchway, he was still surprised.

“What in the friggin' hell are you doing to my cargo bay?” Ratko's voice echoed back from the metal rafters above.

Rusty grinned. Anything that annoyed the Chief Petty Officer enough for him to hit that voice pitch had to be good.

That was the first thing he heard. The first thing he saw made him stop in mid-stride. His eyes widened with surprise.

The deck of the cargo bay looked as if it had taken a direct hit from a passing asteroid. Rusty guessed that the deck had won, but only because it lacked what should have been a very noticeable dent in the deck plating.

Scattered pieces of debris and small asteroid fragments littered the space. He had known that Jeffries and Tsu-tao had loaded some samples aboard the shuttle—he just had not realized how many. At first glance, the mass of the scattered pieces of debris and asteroid fragments looked far greater than what should have fit in the shuttle's cargo hold.

Jeffries crouched amid the fragments, picking some up at random and then carelessly tossing them aside. If there had once been a system to how the fragments had been laid out, Rusty suspected that it had now been abandoned. Off to the side, out of range of the professor's throwing range—although just barely, Rusty noticed—stood Ratko. Rage emanated from the logistics officer like perceptible waves of heat. A smirk played across Rusty's lips. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud.

Standing away from the commotion, near the aft hatch, was Ensign Cavallero. Rusty guessed that either Ratko had called for Security, or the commotion he was causing prompted someone else to. Cavallero seemed uncertain whether to intervene. Rusty could understand the man's hesitation: Jeffries had rocks; Cavallero just had a gun.

“What's wrong, Chop?” Rusty called out, moving the rest of the way into the chamber. “The rocks finally fall out of your head?”]

He grinned as he stepped over some of the strewn fragments. Ratko turned toward him and scowled. The man's face was the color of a rare steak. Cavallero, on the other hand, looked relieved. Jeffries, as far as Rusty could tell, disregarded his presence as irrelevant to his current task. What exactly that task was, apart from moving rocks haphazardly from one pile to another, Rusty could not yet say.

“Do you see what that crazy coot's done to this place?” Ratko snarled. “The Captain said—“

He broke off, his eyes fixed on the hatchway behind Rusty. Rusty started to turn around, expecting to find the Captain there, but knowing a moment before he did so that he would not.

“Hey, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth paused, clearly surprised to find him there.

“Chief,” she said, doing a creditable job of regaining her composure. “What are you doing here?”

Rusty frowned at the unexpected question. “Niguchi said I was needed down here.”

“By who?”

Rusty frowned. “He didn't say.”

Elizabeth eyed him critically for a moment. Then, seeming satisfied that he was telling the truth, looked back into the cargo bay, the deck of which was rapidly beginning to resemble the surface of the asteroid they had just explored. After taking a moment to digest the sight, her expression became one of puzzled bemusement.

“Chief,” she said, her eyes shifting for a moment back to Rusty. “Chop,” she went on, her gaze now moving to the logistics officer. “Can someone explain to me what's going on here?”

“Someone let one of the inmates out of the asylum,” Ratko remarked with surly impatience, nodding toward the apparently still-oblivious Jeffries.

“Takes one to know one, Chop,” Rusty quipped, and turned to hide his grin at Elizabeth's sharp look, but not feeling terribly guilty about it.

Elizabeth opened her mouth, probably to scold him, but was interrupted by an outburst from Jeffries. Rusty turned to look, finding the professor with his arm raised in triumph. Clutched within it was a single rock. To Rusty's eyes, the fist-sized shard looked pretty much the same as the countless other fragments scattered around the deck.

“This is astonishing!” Jeffries shouted. “Just . . . astonishing.”

All eyes in the cargo bay turned toward the animated scientist.

“Okay, Prof,” Ratko said with exaggerated irritability. “What's so astonishing?”

“This!” Jeffries answered, waving his fist in the air. Rusty got ready to duck in case it flung loose, although he did not foresee that happening. “This!”

“Doctor Jeffries,” Elizabeth said in soothing tones.

Rusty tried very hard not to snicker. He saw her glance toward Cavallero, who nodded slightly, his hand moving toward the weapon at his waist.

“Why don't you put the rock down . . .” Elizabeth went on, taking a single, tentative step toward Jeffries.

Jeffries looked confused, staring at the rock in his hand, to Elizabeth, and then back at the rock again.

“Don't you understand what we have here?”

“An old chunk of rock?” Ratko suggested, still sounding annoyed.

Jeffries stared at the logistics officer with the same kind of smug satisfaction that Rusty guessed he often used on students who gave the wrong answer. He hated teachers like that.

“Wrong,” Jeffries retorted. “And this isn't a chunk of rock,” he announced. “Most of these,” he said, waving his clenched fist over the scattered fragment, “are. But this is not.” He held it out, attempting to give the others a closer look. “This is a metal fragment—probably part of a hull or some kind of structure. And it's only two thousand years old.”

Only? That seems old enough to be old.

“Don't you understand?” Jeffries persisted. “It's only two thousand years old.”

Rusty felt like he should understand the significance of Jeffries' statement. To his relief, he saw that Elizabeth and Ratko appeared to be as mystified as he was.

Jeffries heaved a dramatic sigh, rolled his eyes, and then held the chunk of rock out toward them.

“This,” he repeated, “is only two thousand years old.” He turned at the waist, gesturing toward the rest of the scattered debris. “All that is millions of years old,” he explained. “As it should be.”

Realization slowly came to the others. Rusty felt it like an ancient light source flickering on in his mind.

“Whatever happened to our winged visitor,” Jeffries continued, “It only happened two thousand years ago.”

Only.

Rusty then remembered that the not-quite-crazy old man was a specialist in space geology. Geology: where time was measured, not in years or decades, but in eons.

Two thousand years . . . Rusty chuckled aloud. I always did have a thing for older women . . .

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Devereux stared out from the command deck, casually surveying the activity on the bridge. Her eyes felt dry and grainy. She had to blink to focus on the main displays, only then realizing that she had working for more than three hours without a break.

I really need to stop doing that.

She stretched hesitantly, feeling joints crackle and unused muscles mutter their complaints. Her stomach awoke from its slumber as well, reminding her that she had eaten nothing since breakfast. Letting out a slow breath as blood flowed back into awakening muscles, she scanned the bridge for Elizabeth, and then remembered that her First Officer had gone off-duty more than an hour earlier. Hawkes, too, was gone, replaced by Ensign Cortez at the Tactical station.

He was off doing . . . whatever it was he did during his off hours. She had never been sure. Although than sometimes seeing him eating in the galley, usually alone, Devereux could not recall ever seeing him at any of the ship's informal social gatherings, except in those rare instances when she had not-so-subtly suggested that his absence would be noticed. Turning her head, she felt the tension along her shoulders and down along her back as the stiff joints in her neck snapped quietly.

I wish Hope was up and around. I could use one of her massages about now.

With that guilty reminder that she had still not made it down to the infirmary, Devereux logged off from the command station and rose. She was about the hand the bridge over to Cortez when Gho appeared near the main Science station. Intent on surveying the rest of the bridge, Devereux had overlooked the young officer. With that console mounted against the command deck platform, it was easy for her to miss someone seated at that station.

“Captain,” Gho offered quietly, as if uncertain whether she should interrupt her Captain's train of thought.

Devereux gave her a quick, warm smile. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

The young officer relaxed and, Devereux noted, stopped fidgeting quite so much with her tablet.

“I completed a draft of that analysis you asked for,” she said.

Devereux stared at the Science officer for a moment, trying to remember.

Did I ask her for one? A thin fog shrouded her thoughts. Wow, I am tired . . .

At her Captain's questioning look, Gho quickly added, “The one about the drift of the debris field.”

Devereux nodded her understanding. Oh, right. She felt a small wave of mild relief. Nothing urgent or vital.

Gho watched her expectantly. Devereux was tempted to ask if they could discuss in the morning, but she could see that the young woman was eager to present her findings.

Taking a slow, shallow breath in an attempt to clear her head, she flashed the lieutenant another quick smile, and said, “What did you find out, Lieutenant?”

Gho seemed uncertain whether to just offer Devereux the tablet or report her findings from it. Devereux managed to suppress most of a smile, remembering her days as a junior officer when she had to submit a report to one of the command officers.

“Just give me the high points,” she told Gho. “You can save the hard math for the pilots and the engineers.” Her eyes flicked for a moment toward the helm station, but Pyrafox, who might have enjoyed the joke, was not there to hear it.

“Yes, Captain,” Gho agreed. Her expression told Devereux that she had been confused by the comment.

She tapped up a chart on her tablet. “Based on the current trajectory and drifting velocity of the debris field, I've calculated a course it might have followed since its origin point.”

A bright yellow-green line appeared overload across the small grid on the tablet's display.

“It's only an approximation,” Gho added apologetically, unwilling to look up from the tablet and meet Devereux's eyes. “It's passed through a lot of uncharted space,” she explained. “We don't know what kind of gravitational or other effects it might have encountered during the past two thousand years.”

Devereux's thoughts came to a halt. She silently replayed the Science officer's last statement, wanting to make sure that she had heard it incorrectly.

Two thousand years?

She must have either also spoken her question aloud, or Gho had read the question in her expression.

“I'm sorry, Captain,” Gho offered, sounding uncomfortable. “I thought someone had told you.”

Devereux glanced down at the tablet in the Science officer's hand, trying to remember if she had seen such as assessment in any of the daily department logs. She was certain that she would have remembered if she had.

“I've haven't finished reading all of the reports yet,” she admitted. That part is true, at least.

Gho relaxed, nodding slightly with understanding. “Professor Jeffries and the Chief just got done dating some of the samples,” she explained. “The metallic fragments near where Chief Rayna found . . . the alien seem to be about that old.”

“I see,” Devereux said, trying to force her fatigued mind to function and produce a least moderately rational conclusion from the data.

Two millennia. That poor thing's been floating out there for more than two thousand years.

She tried to put into further perspective, frustrated by how slowly her mind seemed to be functioning.

Earth had barely entered the Middle Ages. She looked up from the tablet and stared at the security display that monitored the infirmary's isolation chamber. If that thing really is Aerian . . .

For her previous experiences on the Aerian home world, she knew the Aerian culture was old. She now had a renewed understanding of exactly what that meant.

“Captain?”

Devereux turned and focused again on Gho. She gave her a small, apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, Lieutenant,” she said. “I was thinking about our . . . guest. Please continue.”

Gho's eyes flickered toward the security display and then back to the Captain.

“Based on my calculations,” Gho went on. “It's looks like the origin point of the debris field was about twenty-two light years from here. Whatever created it happened there.”

“How close are your approximations?” Devereux asked thoughtfully.

Gho frowned unhappily. “Pretty approximate,” she admitted. “So far, we can only guess at about two thousand years,” she said. “And have no idea what kind of acceleration or deceleration the mass might have experienced during that time.”

Devereux took the tablet from Gho and studied the chart on its display.

“It looks like this passes not too far from the Paragon colony.”

Gho reached over and tapped a control on the tablet. One of the dots that speckled the background of the chart glowed a little brighter.

“Yes, Captain,” she agreed. “But not on a direct course. Barely even in sensor range.”

Devereux studied the display thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

“That's mostly it, Captain,” she said. “Unless you want to check my calculations.”

“I'll pass on that for now,” Devereux chuckled. “Send it to me and I'll take a closer look at it later.” She flashed Gho a tired smile. “Right now, there's a ham sandwich and some hot tea with my name on it in the galley.”

“Yes, Captain,” Gho replied, seeming unsure whether or not to smile at the Captain's remark.

Devereux handed Gho back her tablet. “Nice work, Lieutenant.”

The young officer brightened. “Thank you, sir.”

Devereux smiled and regarded the young officer for a moment.

It's both so easy to forget and so easy to remember what that was like.

“Have a good evening, Lieutenant,” she told Gho.

“You too, Captain.” Gho looked quickly away, apparently embarrassed.

Devereux breathed a soft chuckle as she headed for the main hatchway. She was still tired, but her spirits were lifted.

I really need to check in on Hope, she reminded herself, and made a solemn promise to do so—after she had silenced her stomach.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“Chained in irons, if you’re smart,” the Chief Petty Officer suggested, although not loudly.

Hope did not recognize the reference. It was plain from the expressions of both the Chief Engineer and First Officer that they did. Even the Captain flinched slightly. Whatever the phrase meant, it clearly referred to something unpleasant.

I must protect her. She must be studied.

“How charmingly medieval of you,” the Chief Engineer retorted.

“She might look like an angel,” the Chief Petty Officer persisted. He was clearly growing more angry. “But she nearly made ones out of two guards, you, and the Doc here. She’s a cold-blooded killing machine.”

“That is inaccurate.”

All eyes turned toward Hope at her interruption.

“Her blood is the same as mine.”

The Chief Engineer appeared about to respond, and then stopped with a look of surprise.

“Hope,” the Captain said quietly. “Are you saying she’s Aerian?”

“Yes. Very ancient.”

“What?” the Chief Petty Officer protested. “How can—“

The Captain raised a hand and all voices around the table became silent. She looked thoughtful and Hope was sure that she was remembering their visit to the home world.

“That changes a few things,” the Captain said.

Her eyes turned toward Hope for a long moment, and then back toward those around the conference table. Confusion now overlaid their previous expressions.

“I must study her.”

The Captain nodded slowly, deep in thought once more. “I’ll bet you must . . .”

Hope felt reassured by the Captain’s tone. The Captain had not yet issued her commands. She had permitted her lower officers to give voice to their opinions, but the Captain held the ultimate authority.

“Has anyone actually tried to talk to it?”

Heads and eyes turned toward the First Officer in surprise. Her cheeks brightened and her lips moved nervously. She turned toward the Captain, her eyes seeking support there.

“Our ol’ boy Hawkes here tried,” the Chief Petty Officer replied. “And he got it into the brig—where it should stay.”

“He threatened it with his weapon,” the First Officer objected. “With two armed officers to back him up. That’s not communication—that’s intimidation.”

The Chief Petty Officer began to speak, but the Captain raised her hand again, cutting him off.

“Hope,” she addressed the holographic image once more. “Is it intelligent?”

“Yes.”

“Can you communicate with it?”

Hope paused for a moment before answering, considering how much she should reveal.

Basic facts, she decided. No more.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it wants?”

“No.”

The Captain took a slow breath. Hope could not tell whether she was expressing frustration at her limited responses or simply trying to form her thoughts.

“Do you know what it attacked us?”

I presume. I do not know.

“No.”

“I see.”

The Captain studied Hope’s holographic image. Hope was certain that the Captain suspected that she knew more than she was revealing. The Captain’s expression settled into one that Hope recognized: the Captain had made a decision.

“Can you guarantee that you can keep it contained within an isolation chamber?”

“After wounds are treated, yes.”

“Captain,” the Tactical Officer interjected. “I recommend extreme caution.”

“I think you recommended a bit more than that, Lieutenant.” The Captain’s tone remained calm and even, carrying none of the accusation that Hope might have expected.

The Tactical Officer reacted solely by lowering his head slightly in submission.

“You’re not thinking of marching that thing back down the halls again, are you?” the Chief Petty Officer asked with angry incredulity.

The Captain turned her head to regard him. “I am,” she responded firmly. “Unless you can give me a practical plan for moving half of the infirmary, and its isolation, lab down into the brig.”

The Chief Petty met the Captain’s gaze for only a moment before looking away. “No, ma’am.”

The Captain nodded, satisfied. “Then it’s settled,” she said. She turned now to the Tactical Officer. “Lieutenant, prepare to escort our guest back to the infirmary.”

“Yes, Captain.”

As stoic as the Tactical Officer’s expression was, Hope could tell that there were other options he would have preferred.

“However,” the Captain continued, “I still want two armed Security personnel in the infirmary at all times.”

That is not my preference.

Hope did not voice the thought aloud. The Captain had given her enough. She would not risk what she had gained by offending her.

“Hope,” the Captain turned back to her holographic projection. “This alien is now your responsibility,” the Captain said. “At least until we know what it is and what it’s doing here.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The Captain turned back to those seated around the table. For a moment, Hope thought he might invite further discussion.

“For now,” the Captain said. “The matter is settled.” Her eyes swept across each of the face gathered there. “Commander,” she said. “Please remain a moment. The rest of you are dismissed.”

The First Officer exchanged an uncertain glance with the Chief Engineer. The Chief Engineer flashed her a quick smile, winked, and then rose from his chair. The Tactical Officer was already moving toward the hatchway. The Chief Petty Officer remained seated, as if daring to defy the Captain’s command. The Captain glanced at him for only a moment, but it seemed enough for the Chief Petty officer to change his mind.

The First Officer settled back into her seat. Her unease was evident. Hope wondered why the Captain had ordered her to remain.

“Thank you, Hope,” the Captain said. “Get some rest.”

Hope’s view into the conference room vanished.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hope stared back at faces of those seated around the table. Each expression revealed much about their thoughts. Both the First Officer and Chief Engineer appeared to share a similar one: both were relieved by her statement. The Chief Engineer, in particular, seemed almost . . . smug. It was the closest Human term she could assign to his expression. His eyes watched the Chief Petty Officer with a gleam of triumph. The Chief Petty Officer’s demeanor clearly conveyed his distrust. He glanced for an instant at the Chief Engineer. His mouth formed a tight scowl as he looked away.

Even knowing that her mind was not yet functioning as efficiently as it should, Hope found that she could not determine what victory the Chief Engineer might have gained over his rival officer. Although assigned to different positions on the ship, they both held an equivalent rank. Hope assumed that the ongoing competition between the two men derived from their desire to improve their personal status. Such political maneuvering, she had observed, was as common among Humans as it was among her people. The Chief Engineer, however, appeared to be one of the rare exceptions. He had been known, in fact, to publicly ridicule it in others. Only when the his male sibling had been present had the Chief Engineer exhibited such behavior.

The Tactical Officer, with whom she often advocated the same cautious approach to situations, remained unconvinced. Masked behind the archaic lenses he wore, his eyes flashed a quick spark of betrayal. Under other circumstances, she might have yielded to his position and authority.

Not this time. You are wrong.

She did not speak these thoughts aloud. It was enough that her statement failed to support his opinion. To also contradict him openly would be a grave breach of hierarchy and protocol. He was, after all, the Tactical Officer.

“You seem quite certain of that,” the Captain addressed her. Although the situation was deeply serious, Hope saw a bright spark of humor in the Captain’s eyes.

“I am.”

Her terse statement resulted in a long moment of expectant silence. Apparently, the others assumed that she would provide more detail as to the reasoning behind her assertion. She saw no need to do so.

“What?” the Chief Petty Officer said, clearly mocking her. “Our little alien angel knows she’s been put in a ‘time out’ and is going to stay there until someone comes for her?”

“She’s not so little,” the First Officer murmured, casting a sharp glance first at the Chief Petty Officer and then, seemingly without provocation, at the Tactical Officer.

“She will remain,” Hope reiterated, judging that a different choice of words might more clearly convey her meaning.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Her own eyes turned to the now-paused holographic image. Seeing the wreckage done to her ship, even after at least a half dozen viewings, still brought a swell of anxiety and anger.

It could have been so much worse.

Devereux studied the scene for a moment, and then reached down and deactivated the display. The image dissolved in a pale kaleidoscopic mist.

“You all know why we’re here,” she began. Her gaze remained on the area of empty air where the projection had been. “We have willingly brought on board this ship a being whose destructive force poses a significant threat to the safety its crew.” She took a short, slow breath. “And now we need to decide what to do about it.”

No one spoke, but some of the officers shifted in their chairs. Elizabeth, she noted, shot another hard glance toward Hawkes.

“I’ve read your reports and recommendation,” Devereux went on. “At least from those of you who bothered to submit official ones.”

Her eyes turned toward the Tactical Officer for a moment while a faint smile danced for an instant across her lips. Her gaze now swept across everyone seated around the table.

“I’d like to hear from everyone,” she said. “Be candid. If you have concerns, voice them. I don’t want my crew put at risk because someone didn’t speak up.” Her gaze lingered for a moment on Elizabeth as she said this.

Something’s definitely on her mind.

Devereux started to speak, but was interrupted by the intercom. Although relieved to see that it was not the bridge, a different concern rose when she saw that it came from the infirmary.

Devereux tapped the control. The face of Lieutenant Ramsey appeared on the small screen.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain.” The young woman looked more than mildly frazzled.

“That’s all right, Lieutenant,” Devereux responded calmly. “Is something wrong with Hope?”

Ramsey visibly sighed. “Only in that she’s insisting on joining your meeting,” Ramsey explained, sounding both apologetic and frustrated at the same time. “But there’s no way I can release her from here yet. She’s not ready.”

Devereux nodded. “I understand.”

Why am I not surprised?

“What if she used her desk pickup?” Elizabeth suggested.

Ramsey looked uncertain.

“Would that be acceptable to you?” Devereux prompted her.

Ramsey hesitated. “Yeah,” she answered. “As long as she stays there.”

“I can patch her in,” Elizabeth said, already working the table controls.

A few moments later, Hope’s head, visible to the top of her shoulders, appeared at one end of the holographic display array.

“I am here,” she announced.

“So you are,” Devereux agreed, unable to wholly suppress a smile. “Shall we continue now?”

“Yes.” Hope agreed.

Not for the first time, Devereux wondered if Hope was typical of the Aerian medical officers who served on their own ships. She somehow doubted it.

“Okay, Lieutenant,” Devereux said, turning to Hawkes. “Let’s hear it.”