Battlefield: “Future Tense” (continued)

His hands continued their fierce grip on the edge of his console. Tension in his upper arms sent ripples of along their entire length. He could not be certain, though, how much of it came from his own body and what radiated from the jolting vibration of the ship.

With a sudden lurch, the motion ceased. For a moment, Raynes felt as though the ship has slid into a glide—which would have not been far from the truth as its momentum carried it powerless along its last trajectory.

His fingers lost their grip at the last moment, the perspiration from them defeating the friction. Raynes rocked back into his seat, relieved to discuss that he could once again breathe more easily. His ribs still ached, but he felt less threat of an imminent death from asphyxiation.

He opened his mouth, and then swallowed, finding it too dry to speak. Bringing his ragged breathing back under control, he tried again.

“Damage report,” he called out over the cacophony of klaxons. “Helm, what happened to us?”

Hudson shook her head as if trying to clear it, wincing as she did so. Raynes could understand; he wished the klaxons would stop as well.

The helm officer’s hands played across the surface of her console, and then again. This time her fingers impacted the controls with more force.

“I don’t know!” She yelled back. Raynes recognized the anger and frustration in her tone. “We’ve been tossed from slipstream . . . but I have no control—over anything.”

Adrift.

A deep chill traveled long Rayne’s spine. It was every Fleet crew member’s nightmare: to be stuck adrift in the middle of deep space.

He fought back the sensation with a visible shrug, once again quickly surveying the condition of the bridge.

At least we have power.

Emergency lighting was visible on two of the auxiliary stations, but all of the main systems appeared to be active and functioning.

Well, maybe not functioning, he conceded silently, noting Hudson’s report.

“What’s our position?”

“Trying to get some kind of fix,” Hudson reported.

Raynes turned toward Chautran. “What do the sensors say?”

Chautran stared back at him, her eyes widened with fright. She was clearly shaken.

“Ensign,” Raynes tried again in quieter, calmer tones. “I need a sensor reading of our surrounding space.”