Emerald Flight: “Human Factors”

- Prologue -

He finished sliding the enormous rock into place, sealing off the entrance to the cave. His hands automatically moved the additional stones into place, knowing that it would make it more difficult for others to enter. He would hear them in any case, but the additional effort would slow them down and give him more time to ready his defenses.

Large, similarly carved stones filled the cave. Symbols were carved into many of them, symbols that he thought he should recognize, but comprehension darted just beyond the edges of his understanding. Most were at least as tall as he was, but many were at least twice that height. There smooth edges would make them difficult to climb, he knew, but not wholly impossible.

Sunlight filtered down from unseen cracks in the cave’s ceiling. The diffuse rays glowed with an odd hue, one that he found both familiar and yet felt unnatural. They did not reach all areas of the cave, leaving large pools of shadows where he could secret himself unseen.

The sunlight flickered, threatening to brighten. He uttered something that might have been a curse. The streams of light dimmed. He smiled, pleased that the gods had chosen to concede to his prayer. Pausing, he surveyed his surroundings, listening for sounds that would tell him that someone else already occupied this cave. He heard none, only a quiet, almost imperceptible murmur that was most likely the wind moving along the crevices of the cave ceiling.

Satisfied, traveling almost without sound, he moved into the darkness.

- 1 –

Captain Christine Devereux entered the bridge carrying her double cappuccino in a tall mug. She had learned long ago the dangers of carrying it through the corridors in a smaller one. An ensign from the Engineering department coming off shift passed her as she came through the hatchway. He glanced at Devereux nervously; his expression told Devereux that he was trying to decide whether it was imprudent or not to address the Captain.

“Good morning, Ensign,” Devereux addressed him, giving him a warm, steady smile.

The ensign visibly relaxed.

“Good morning, Captain.”

He returned her smile. Devereux wondered how much it came from genuine feeling and how much from a sense of relief. He stood aside as she entered the hatchway, waiting until she had fully entered the bridge before exiting it himself.

“Have a good evening, Ensign,” she said as he passed her. Harrows, she reminded her silently, remembering the surname of the young crew member.

There was a slight hesitation before he responded. “Thank you, Captain.”

Devereux heard the sound of his footsteps fade in the corridor behind her as he strode away from the bridge. She smiled slightly at herself, taking a tiny sip from the mug. It was still too hot to consume quickly. She preferred it that way, as it prevented her from doing just that.

Pausing just inside the bridge, she quickly surveyed its interior. All of the primary stations were occupied; a young lieutenant from the Astronomy team, with long dark hair that cascaded down the back of her uniform, stood at the secondary Science station that her Medical Officer Hope typically used when she was on the bridge. No one appeared to be of being relieved by their upcoming shift counterpart. Devereux did not find this wholly surprising, as she had arrived several minutes early. The beverage system in the galley had behaved that morning, providing the drink that she wanted on its first try. Devereux took that as a positive omen for the remainder of the day.

She stood several steps toward the command deck, slowing her pace to a stop without immediately realizing why. Something seemed off about the activity on the bridge, but she had not recognized what it was until just that moment.

“Ensign,” she called to the young female officer seated at the helm and navigation station. “Where’s Lieutenant Hawkes?”

The ensign, already surprised by the Captain’s attention on her, looked around the bridge in confusion. She paused and looked puzzled, and then surveyed the bridge again.

“I, um, don’t know, Captain,” she admitted. Her cheeks grew pink against her pale complexion. She glanced around again before facing Devereux. “He was here.”

Devereux frowned. It was completely out of character for her Chief Tactical Officer to leave the bridge without formally handing over command to another officer, no matter how briefly he planned to be away. Actually, checking her memory, Devereux could not recall her Tactical Officer ever being “briefly away” whenever she had been present during a duty shift.

Best not study that too closely, Christine, she warned herself. She turned her attention back to the now-uneasy ensign. “When did you see him last?”

The young woman swallowed hard before answering. “He was on the command deck,” she told Devereux, nodding toward the raised platform that comprised the aft section of the bridge.

Devereux looked toward the command deck, seeing that it remained as unoccupied as it had looked a few moments earlier.

“When was that?”

The ensign swallowed again, her cheeks taking on a dull red hue.

“I’m, uh, not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe an hour ago. I, um, wasn’t really paying attention.” The young ensign looked down toward the deck. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

Devereux’s frown deepened, but she reached out and rested her hand lightly on the young officer’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Ensign,” she told the young woman, flashing her a quick, sardonic smile. “It’s not your job to keep tabs on my senior officers.”

She felt the tension along the ensign’s shoulders ease.

“Thank you, sir,” the ensign offered tentatively.

Devereux flashed the ensign another smile and removed her hand from the young woman’s shoulder. She turned, quickly surveying the bridge once more before turning her eyes back to the unexpectedly vacant command deck. Nothing appeared to be amiss there, at least from her vantage point near the helm station. Troubled, but not yet deeply concerned, Devereux headed for the raised platform.

She eyed it carefully as she made her way up the ramp. Her gaze swept the raised area, seeking any signs that might lead her to an explanation for her Tactical Officer’s unexplained absence. Approaching the desk, she studied it for any items out of place, or any items at all that might provide her clues regarding her Chief Tactical Officer’s uncharacteristic behavior. She found none. The tablets were organized in two neat stacks; the folder of hard copy reports was positioned precisely between them. Nothing else was present on the desk’s surface—no coffee mug, no personal articles, nothing—just as Devereux would have expected.

The console’s command functions were locked, leaving the console only in basic operating mode. Devereux tapped her finger lightly against the desk’s surface, but gently enough to prevent it from activating any of the station’s functions.

“He knew he was leaving,” she murmured to herself.

She was already amazed to find the command console unattended, but she would have been astonished to find that it had also not been locked down.

Her eyes turned toward the two hatches that led onto the bridge as if she expected her Chief Tactical Officer to stroll through either one of them at any moment. The main one opened to the aft sections of the ship, while the smaller one on the starboard side that led to an access corridor. The latter was rarely used, except maintenance and evacuation drills. No one appeared through either one of them.

Devereux set the tall coffee mug down onto the desktop. Without unlocking the console’s command functions, she tapped its intercom control.

“Infirmary.”

Hope’s soft tones reassured Devereux in a way that she was certain would never be able to explain to anyone else.

“Hope,” she asked quietly. “Is Lieutenant Hawkes there?”

Hope’s answer was instantaneous, doing little to allay Devereux’s growing concern.

“No.”

“Has he been there today?”

“No.”

Devereux’s frown returned, creating creases along her the edges of her lips and eyelids.

“Do you require assistance?”

Devereux considered her Medical Officer’s offer for a moment.

“Not yet,” she told Hope. “But stand by.”

“I shall.”

Devereux reached down and tapped the intercom again to end the call. Frowning even more deeply now, she lowered herself into the chair. Her fingers played along the surface of the console, moving almost automatically as she entered the codes required to unlock the station. It beeped shrilly and flashed a warning. Scolding herself silently for relying too much on her muscle memory, she entered the code again. This time she did it slowly and deliberately, checking against each code she entered against the ones she held ingrained in her memories.

When the console sharp warning tone sounded again, she stared down at the console warily. Once, she could forgive herself for entering the incorrect codes. Twice, something else was at play here.

I don’t think the coffee’s spiked.

If it had been, that was a problem she could deal with. Certainly, she decided, it was far preferable to the one that she suspected they were about to face.

Devereux entered the codes again. She was unsurprised, but nonetheless disappointed, when the console responded once again with a warning chirp.

“Damn it,” she swore, just slightly louder than under her breath. Still, she doubted that anyone else on the bridge had heard her. At least, no one turned, however covertly, to glance at her.

Trying to keep her voice even, she called to the officer currently standing at the Security station.

“Lieutenant Chien,” she said tightly. “Locate Lieutenant Hawkes.”

Chien looked puzzled for a moment, but something in Devereux’s expression told him to just follow the order, quickly.

While she waited for his response, she rubbed the surface of the command console with the fingertips of one hand, as if willing it to unlock itself based on her desire alone.

“Captain,” Chien called to her, his voice wavering slightly. “He was last seen near Cargo One.”

Cargo One?

She quickly checked her memory. Both of the cargo bays were filled to about seventy-five percent of their capacity. Trying to recall the manifest for what they currently held—mainly supplies for the colony on New Haven and also for Perseus Station—she could think of very little of any value to anyone but the inhabitants of those two outposts. She could think of no reason why her Tactical Officer would have gone to the cargo bay, much less secretly, without a word to anyone.

Now the Chief . . .

Devereux started to access the cargo manifest, and then slapped her palm against the console when it reminded her that it was still locked. The sound she produced was not really loud enough to carry far into the bridge, nor did she strike the console hard enough to sting. She was tempted, though, even if only to use the transient pain as a distraction from her growing alarm and frustration.

“Lieutenant,” she called out to Chien again. “Locate Chief Rayna,” she told him. “And bring me a copy of the cargo manifest for Cargo One.”