Battlefield: “Future Tense” (continued)

Eyes shifted across the table as some of the officers exchanged silent glances. Raynes remained calm and firm. Whatever the larger problem might be, maintaining a steady flow of power throughout the ship was essential to their survival—regardless of how long their journey home might last.

He glanced down at his tablet. “Engineering is working on it, but it appears to be widespread throughout the ship. If you can spare anyone to assist with maintenance or repairs, please do so.”

His gaze rested on Hansen.

“I’m pleased to report that injuries were light and everyone affected should be returned to at least light duty within two days.” He caught Hansen’s eyes. “Anything to add, Doctor?”

Hansen shook his head wearily. Raynes nodded his acknowledgement and turned toward Beart.

“What’s our tactical situation?”

Beart straightened and then leaned forward slightly. “About the same as when we left,” she reported in her usual calm, quiet tone. “No damage to weapons or defensive systems. We still have our full load of missiles and mines.”

Postures eased around the table. Although Raynes knew what their status was, he had wanted to give Beart a chance to report it aloud. Knowing that they could defend themselves in unknown, and possibly hostile, space was help to reassure his crew.

“Anything else?” he prompted her.

“No, sir.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Raynes looked toward Hudson. Before he could address her, though, he was interrupted by arrhythmic mechanical sounds of the hatch opening. The Chief Engineer entered, grime streaking his uniform, arms, and face. He glanced quickly around the table, searching for an empty seat, and dropped into it noisily.

Raynes waited with moderate impatience while the Chief Engineer settled himself. Instead of returning his attention to Hudson, he addressed the Chief Engineer.

“Any news, Chief?”

The Chief Engineer looked at Raynes and blinked several times before answering. Raynes suspected that the man was checking the data coming through the feed implanted on the back of his skull at his neck.

“Hull damage on Decks Two and Four has been repaired. Power has been fully restored to Aft Deck Two.” He blinked. “Power is still intermittent on the rest of the decks. Full Life Support should be functioning in all sections except for Aft Deck Five once power has been fully restored.” His focus returned to Raynes. “Aft Deck Five has a blown conduit that needs to be replaced first.”

Still, Raynes considered silently, generally good news.

“Thank you, Chief,” he said aloud. “Give me compliments to the repair teams.”

The Chief Engineer nodded in acknowledgement, his large head bobbing slowly. “Will do, Captain.”

“What about the engines?” Raynes asked.

The Chief Engineer’s attention faded for only an instant that time. Raynes suspected that he already knew the answer but was checking for any updates before giving his report.

“No damage,” he reported. “Once we can feed power back to them, we should be able to go anywhere we want.”

“Where exactly would that be?”

All eyes turned toward Hudson. She seemed slightly embarrassed at the unanimous attention that she received, Raynes noted—but only slightly.

“Home,” Hansen answered tiredly. “Where else?”

Hudson glared sharply at him. Raynes guessed that their Chief Medical Officer was either not current with their situation, or was simply too tired to process the information properly.

Hudson opened her mouth, but Raynes cut her off.

“That’s the idea,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm and even. “Once we figure out how.”

His eyes fixed on Hudson.

“You’re certain there’re no transition points in this area?”

Hudson’s eyes narrowed. Raynes knew better than to challenge her publicly, and generally he would have avoided it, but this was not the time to focus on bruised egos.

“None,” she replied, looking moderately defiant. Under his gaze, she backed down slightly. “Unless the navigational data feeds were impacted by the power fluctuations.”

Raynes held her gaze for a moment and then began to turn toward Chautran.

“Check it out.” To Chautran, he said. “Run a full, detailed sweep of this area of space. See if you can find any residual signs of any kind that might possibly be the result of a transition point.”

Chautran nodded with renewed confidence. Raynes almost smiled. This was something she knew that she could handle.

If she comes up empty, though . . . He pushed the negative thought from his mind. We’ll deal with that if it comes.

“Anything else?”

He surveyed the eyes and expressions of those gathered around the table, looking for unvoiced concerns or unspoken questions. He found some uncertainty, and no lack of fatigue, making him realize how long he had been on duty without a break.

“Okay, then,” he said. “You have your orders. Where possible, release your people to Engineering to assist with repairs. And then I want everyone currently on duty off-shift for six hours to get some rest.” Seeing flickers of resistance in some eyes, he added with a faint ghost of a smile, “You can consider that an order.”

Several mumbled “Yes, sir,”s sounded from around the table.

Raynes began to rise. “Dismissed.”

He waited while his officers exited the conference room. As the last one left, he released a long, slow sigh. He felt more optimistic than he had before the briefing had begun, but the core problem remained unresolved. They were still more than forty thousand light-years from home, in unexplored space, and with no certain route back to known space.

Picking up his tablet, he walked slowly toward the hatchway. He was surprised to find Beart waiting for him in the corridor.

“Captain.”

She greeted him with her usual quiet demeanor. Her eyes, though, lacked their typical emerald spark. They appeared almost—what was the word?—haunted. Seeing them renewed his deep concern for their situation.

“Lieutenant,” he responded, managing a faint, what he hoped was reassuring, smile.

She turned away and, together, they headed in the direction of the bridge. Expectant silence hung between them for several moments as they walked. Raynes finally decided to take the plunge.

“Is there something on your mind, Lieutenant?”

Her rhythmic pace hesitated for an instant and then continued.

“Sir,” she said quietly. “About our situation . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted, surprised at her unusual reticence.

“We’re a long way from home . . .”

Raynes nodded, trying hard not to look grim. It was difficult to argue with her statement, although the situation was still new and he was far from giving up hope.

“We are,” he agreed evenly.

“We’ll need long-term survival procedures,” she stated calmly.

Raynes saw the spark of uncertainty and fear in her eyes. The latter was a bit of a surprise, for it was something that he very rarely witnessed. Beart was one of his steadiest officers. She was perhaps not the most creative, but she followed orders almost without question. When she did voice her concerns, he took notice.

He relaxed slightly, seeing that she had chosen to channel her personal disquiet into constructive action. Still, that such plans as she proposed might be needed caused the knot in his stomach to tighten.

“You’re right,” he agreed again. He looked over her expression without studying it closely. “Go ahead and begin an assessment. Send it to me when it’s ready.”

She straightened, seeming instantly more confident. Raynes almost smiled.

“Yes, sir.”

She entered something into her tablet and then tucked it back under her arm.

“Is there anything else?” he asked her.

“No, sir.”

Raynes nodded slowly, unconvinced, but let it pass for now.

“Dismissed, then,” he said. “I look forward to seeing your report.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. Her expression revealed a small measure of pleasure at the remark.

Beart turned and exited the conference room. Raynes watched her for a moment, admiring her smooth stride and the angles of her superbly conditioned legs and buttocks. Her braided ponytail, which hung nearly to her waist, swept across her back as she walked.

Raynes looked away and stared down at the polished faux grain of the conference table.

Forty thousand light-years.

He inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, and then released it. It helped and he headed once more toward the bridge.

Battlefield: “Future Tense” (continued)

“Any signs of other vessels?”

Chautrans consulted her console, working with its controls for several seconds before she answered.

“Nothing detectable within normal range, sir.” She released a slow breath. “Just a lot of empty space.”

Good thing for that, Raynes noted with relief. As big and empty as space was, it was astonishing easily to encounter an unexpected energy surge or gravity well. If we’d transitioned into either of those, he considered, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

Raynes turned toward Beart. “Anything from Engineering?”

The straw-haired Tactical Officer glanced at her console.

“Primary systems are coming back online,” she reported. As if to punctate her statement, the bridge lighting brightened. “Life support has been restored to Decks Three and Five.”

Raynes nodded, feeling a growing sense of relief.

We might be in the middle of nowhere, but at least the ship’s still functioning.

He turned back to Chautran. “Any signs of habitable planets in any of the nearby systems?”

Chautran’s fingers danced across the surface of her console. “Checking,” she said. Hesitantly, she added, “This might take a while . . . sir.”

Raynes flashed her a quick smile. “Noted.”

It’ll help keep her focused and her mind off things that she can’t change.

He approached the helm station. “Any luck with the engines?”

Hudson shook her head irritably. “The one thruster finally stopped firing, but other than that I still have no control.”

Raynes nodded his understanding, but assessing that Engineering was tackling things in the right order. He patted Hudson on the shoulder, regretting the action instantly. She stiffened almost imperceptibly under his touch but said nothing. Raynes fought back a sigh.

We’re really going to need to deal with this, he told himself, while silently projecting the thought toward Hudson. Someday.

Raynes turned back toward the command desk, reminded once again why relationships between officers of a crew were highly discouraged. Not against regulations—at least not any more—just rarely met with approval.

It was different, Raynes knew, if the posting was dirt- or station-side. Those were viewed, justifiably or not, as “safe” postings. There was almost always some way back, some safe route by which any of the individuals could easily change location. On a months- or years-long journey into deep space, there were few such opportunities.

He was relieved by the lack of indicators urgently requiring his attention. Power seemed to be the ship’s major problem. No one had reported from Sickbay, which he took as a positive sign. If there had been any injuries as a result of their rough transition, they must have been minor and would be reported in Hansen’s medical log later.

“Captain,” Chautran said softly, as if afraid to interrupt him.

Raynes looked toward her, offering the young Science Officer a quick, reassuring smile, not realizing that he had been so deep in thought.

“Yes?” he said. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

She swallowed hard before answering. “Sir,” she said quietly. “We have more data from the astrogation computers.”

A chill trickled along Raynes’ spine.

“Yes?” he prompted Chautran, forcing the single word out through a tightened throat.

“We have a better fix on our position,” she reported, although the information clearly brought her little comfort.

Raynes glanced toward the main bridge display as it might offer him the answer before Chautran did.

“Forty-three thousands light-years,” she said. Her voice was almost a whisper. “Here.”

She tapped a control and a tiny section of the display brightened. Raynes stared at it for a moment without understanding. Hudson’s involuntary gasp, though, made the connection for him.

Oh god.

“Laureen?” he asked aloud. The rest of his question went unspoken, but he knew that she understood it.

“Yeah.” Her confirmation sounded almost like a breath.

Raynes stared at the screen. His insides grew hollow as he digested the realization: not only were they more than forty thousand light-years from home, but in a region from which there were no known routes back.

For an instant, he closed his eyes, shutting off his view of the main bridge display. He sighed, deeply, fighting back despair.

Two hundred years from home, he reminded himself. And now forty thousand light-years more.

In that moment, he was not certain which was worse.

#

Raynes released a long, slow breath.

“Acknowledged,” he told Hudson. Straightening his shoulders, he turned so that he addressed as many of the bridge officers—his­ bridge officers—as he could at once.

“Our first priority is to stabilize life support and restore power to the drive systems and helm,” he informed them. “Without those, the rest won’t matter.”

His eyes locked into Beart. “I want damage assessments from all stations,” he told her. “We’ll evaluate our options as a senior staff in one hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Raynes almost smiled at her calm, almost placid demeanor.

“In the meantime,” he continued. “Make your teams available to assist with immediate damage control as needed. Power and medical have priority.”

Soft murmurs of acknowledgment sounded from around the bridge. Raynes again realized that he had received no reports from Hansen.

“Lieutenant,” he said, turning to Chautran. “Are internal communications functioning?”

Chautran looked startled by his request, but then quickly consulted her console.

“Except for a few sections on decks Four and Six, yes, sir.”

Raynes frowned. “And the infirmary?”

Chautran tapped several controls. “Yes, sir,” she reported after a moment. “Dr. Hansen is unavailable, though,” she added. “He’s in surgery.”

Raynes nodded. The news did not make him a whole lot better, but it sounded like his medical team had things under control.

He looked toward Beart. “I want a report as soon as one is available.”

His Tactical Officer met his gaze evenly. “Yes, sir.”

Raynes turned back to face the main bridge display. The stars—unfamiliar and daunting—stared back at him.

#

Raynes strode into the conference room almost ten minutes early. Pacing the bridge, even offering some small assistance with repairs where he could, had done little to pass the time or help ease worry that increasing gnawed at him.

The room was, as he had expected, empty. The overhead illumination glowed into life as he entered. With a quick tap on the wall console, he dimmed it nearly back to darkness. He strode to the starboard bulkhead, where a series of rectangular portholes provided small, discrete glimpses into the space. Raynes strode to one of these and stared through it, remaining more than a pace back. Unlike the broad panorama provided by the main bridge display, this felt less overwhelming, almost manageable—almost.

From that viewpoint, he could see only a small slice of stars. His mind kept trying to group them into familiar patterns—and kept failing.

Forty thousand light-years . . .

The hatch opened behind him and he turned, seeing Hansen enter. Hansen flashed him a quick, weary smile and slid into a seat near the hatchway. “Captain.”

“Doctor.”

The ship’s physician looked tired, but not grim. Raynes took that as a positive sign. Hansen took each death under his watch personally, something Raynes could understand, although, for some reason, he expected physicians to handle it differently—or better.

While there had been several injuries among the crew as a result of their rough and unexpected transition, only one had been serious enough to require immediate surgery. With that and one other exception, the rest of those injured had returned to duty.

Hudson entered next, glancing toward Raynes without actually meeting his eyes. Raynes watched as she chose a seat that separated them by several empty ones. Raynes brushed away the quick stab of frustration, turning his attention to the tablet on the table before him. It contained all of the status reports that he had requested, most of which had arrived only a few minutes before this meeting was scheduled to begin. He had managed to skim the summaries of the most critical ones, relieved to find that, other than for the widespread power outages, actual damage to the ship’s systems had been generally minor.

Beart entered next, looking as calm and collected as always. Darkened smudges beneath her eyes betrayed her fatigue, but nothing in either her bearing or expression revealed it. She acknowledged him with a sharp, “Captain” and seated herself next to Hansen. Chautran followed only seconds later, her eyes darting nervously around the room when she realized that she was one of the last to arrive.

Raynes glanced at the time displayed on his tablet. She was still two minutes early and he tried to watch her only covertly as she struggled to decide where to sit. Finally, she slid hesitantly into the chair next to Hudson. The helm officer noted her presence with only a glance, despite Chautran’s attempt at a sunny smile. It clouded over quickly at Hudson’s cool response.

Raynes cleared his throat softly. The sound did not carry far, but it was sufficient to draw his officers’ attention. Although the Chief Engineer was not yet there, Raynes was ready to begin. The Chief had warned him that he planned to check in with one of the repair teams on his way and might be delayed.

“I’ll start with, ‘We were lucky’,” he said, his eyes sweeping across the faces around the table. “Damage to the ship was light, and the worst problem we seem to have is power.”

Battlefield: “Future Tense” (continued)

Raynes waited, trying not to pace, as he waited for his officers to report. The adrenaline began to wash away, bringing with it the familiar sense of weary post-battle fatigue. It was not, he had recognized some time ago, not all that different from the pleasant lethargy that came after sexual climax. This was not nearly as pleasant, but he could see why people became addicted to its preceding high.

“Captain,” Chautran called softly from behind him.

Raynes blinked, refocusing his thoughts on the present moment.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

He turned to find her staring at him from across her station. Her complexion, usually a warm hue like cappuccino, was pale.

“What is it?” He asked her, trying to sound both gentle and urgent.

“I’ve . . .” she swallowed and started again. “I’ve completed a preliminary scan of the surrounding space.” Her lips trembled noticeably.

Raynes nodded. “And?”

Her eyes remained on his. She straightened, regaining some measure of self-assurance.

“There’s nothing unusual in the immediate area.”

Raynes nodded slowly, silently prompting her to continue. His stomach tightened with a new knot at her continued hesitation.

“Lieutentant?” he prompted her when she remained silent.

“Sir,” she admitted, looking both panicked and disappointed in herself. “I don’t know where we are.”

The knot in Raynes’ stomach turned to stone. For an instant, he felt a flare of anger, wondering whether Chautran was truly qualified enough to hold her post. He squelched, recognizing the flash of fury for what it was, and took a step toward the helm station.

“Laureen?” he asked, hoping she had overheard.

A flicker of annoyance passed across her features. She was still fighting to regain control of the vessel—without much success, Raynes noted.

She did not directly acknowledge him, but her hands shifted their positions above her console as she worked different controls now. A display shimmered into view above her station showing the plot from the navigation systems. It showed the landmarks from their last position before transitioning into slipstream, color-coded and labelled at key locations.

The image shifted, stretching and twisting, deforming itself in the familiar it did as it depicted their transition, and then passage, into slipstream. Hudson tapped a control and the motion of the image sped up, froze, and then abruptly shattered. The display went blank, empty except for the faint sparkle of dust particles in the air that revealed its continued existence.

The air before the helm console flickered. Bright shapes appeared, shifted, and then vanished. A few, displayed as circles clearly meant to designate planets, remained for moment. Short lines of text appeared below these, but they changed too rapidly for Raynes to read them. Then, these too disappeared, along with the planetary circle.

Raynes, Chautran, and Hudson stared at the rapidly shifting and flickering display in silence. Confusion, along with growing concern, was evident on all of their faces. Chautran bit at her lower lip nervously.

Finally, the image stabilized into what was clearly meant to be a star chart. From experience, Raynes knew which symbols represented planets, suns, asteroids, and other spatial objects. However, labels were absent from all of them.

Damage to the astrogation data banks?

As if hearing his unspoken question, Hudson replied, “The integrity of the navigation and astronomical data is confirmed.” As she turned to face him, her voice flat, she said, “The computer just doesn’t know where we are.”

Raynes stared at her for several moments while the weight in his stomach turned to lead. He looked toward the main bridge display, reassured to the see stars shown there. He did not recognize any of them, nor their arrangement, but that was not unusual, unless they were passing through a very familiar region of space.

“No reference points at all?” His question came out unbidden. He was relieved, at least, that his voice did not quaver.

Hudson’s hands worked her console. She shook her head.

“The computers are still working on it,” she reported. “But nothing definitive yet.”

Raynes turned back to Chautran. “Not even a guess?”

She shook her head, her dark tresses framing her face. Her eyes turned toward her console displays and then back up toward his. They seemed even brighter with fear than before.

“Based on the data so far,” she told him. Her voice was soft and almost trembling. “We’re at least forty thousand light years from known space.”

Raynes played back her statement in his mind several times to make sure that he had heard it correctly.

Forty thousand lights years?

That was further out from Earth than any known vessel had ever gone. While the distance was startling, it was not without hope. Slipstream travel being what it was, if they could find the right transition points, even if it took several jumps, they could return to known regions of space within a reasonable period of time—well before their supplies ran out.

The danger was, of course, that this far out, the systems were uncharted and the dangers unknown.

Battlefield: “Future Tense” (continued)

The young Science Officer continued to stare at him as if she did not realize that he had spoken.

“Ensign,” Raynes repeated, slightly firmer, but trying not to sound too harsh.

Her eyes sparked with awareness. “Yes, Captain.” Her voice was flat and almost toneless.

“I need a full sensor sweep of the area.”

Chautran blinked, seeming to have to parse every one of his words in order to understand his meaning. Then, she seemed to fully return to herself. Her cheeks darkened with embarrassment.

“Yes, sir,” she responded smartly, although her voice still remained quiet. “On it.”

She turned back toward the main Science station. Her fingers seemed to move tentatively at first, and then with more assurance as she recovered her confidence.

Raynes watched her for a moment, allowing a frown to briefly pass across his features. He could not remember ever being quite that nervous, but he had commanded some who were. Some of those had died.

“Helm?” he called over to Hudson again. He kept his tone even. Even before she spoke, he knew the answer.

“Still nothing,” she replied tightly. Her jaw vibrated at the joint. “Not even attitude thrusters.”

Raynes nodded, accepting her report. He had hoped for better news, but was unsurprised by both her report and her reaction. He turned toward Beart.

“Any news from Engineering?”

She glanced at her console for only an instant before shaking her head, her long braid swaying behind her.

“No, sir,” she reported. “But plenty of comm traffic.”

Raynes almost chuckled at that. “I can imagine,” he remarked softly, probably too low to be heard. If he knew [Chief Engineer], he would be tearing off bulkhead panels one by one himself until they located the problem.

“Do we have life support?” he asked Beart.

It took her longer to respond this time and he began to fear for the worst. Finally, though, she nodded and said, “Yes, sir. It’s functional in almost all sections.” She frowned, her fingers playing across some of the controls. “But I don’t think we should stress it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Raynes told her, flashing Beart a quick, reassuring smile. When her attention was drawn again to her console, he allowed his frown to return.