Heroic Measures (continued)

That he could pause and replay live television broadcasts were still a miracle to him. That he could record programs with the touch of a button, without having to set clocks or keep a supply of videotape cassettes, was a bounty beyond reason—and a skill he had managed to somewhat master.

He pressed such a button now. The image on the television obeyed and ceased its movement. Gingerly, he tapped the rewind button, slowly applying just the right amount of pressure—as the thing had a maddening tendency to dash far past the scene he wanted to see—he coaxed it into replaying the past several seconds of the news broadcast. He stopped the playback again, squinting at the now-frozen image on the screen.

Standing among the small crowd gathered behind the two young men dressed in green, partially hidden from view by a knot of people, was another figure. Clad almost entirely in red, he remained slightly aloof as others passed him. He did not seem to be seeking attention, but appeared intent on being near the action that was taking place. There was something about the way the figure stood that called at Walter’s memory. He leaned forward, peering more closely at the image on the screen. There still lacked enough detail for him to clearly discern the man’s face.

It couldn’t be, he told himself, following the denial with shallow chuckle. It’s been years. Years. Almost as many as it’s been for me.

Still, the memory nagged at him, demanding recognition. Walter studied the buttons on the remote control again. I thought for sure I’d seen a “Zoom” button on here somewhere. After a moment, he found it. Aiming the remote control directly at the screen, he pressed the button. The image on the television screen enlarged, but still not enough. It also lost some of it sharpness, making it that much more difficult for Walter to be certain of what he was seeing.

Experimentally, he pressed the button again. The picture doubled again in size. The man’s head now filled the center of the screen. The image had grown even more indistinct. Walter was no more certain than he had been before whether the red-clad man was the person he thought it might have been.

Red’s not that rare, he tried to convince himself. Primary colors have always been popular. And red tends to stand out in a crowd.

Walter settled back, still staring at the enlarged image. What would he be doing back out there? And why now? He frowned, still trying to reason his increasing certainty away. He’s got to be off in some nice warm place like Florida. Or even California. He always did seem to like those hippie types.

But Walter knew it was not true. Even his eyes refused to acknowledge it, something deeper in his mind did: Red was back in town.

#

October 28, 1979 . . .

Even over the roar, and occasional cheer, from the gathered crowd, Walter heard something creak behind him. Without relaxing his grip on the frilled shirt front of the man he had just pulled aside, he ducked and shifted his balance just slightly. Something whizzed past his head and then shattered on the concrete in front of him. Keeping his face turned aside, he clenched his eyes closed tight, wincing at the sharp stings as the shards of wood or glass—he could not be certain—pelted his face. None seemed large enough, or hit with enough force, to be more than a temporary annoyance, but any annoyance—even a temporary one—was something he could do without.

Halloween was still two days away, but that did not keep those determined to celebrate the occasion (or get as much mileage as possible out of even the most garish homemade costume) from doing so. The parties usually began as early as Friday night, but it has rained the night before, keeping most of gatherings indoors and, generally, any resulting mayhem somewhat contained. The day had dawned with a nearly cloudless sky, and unseasonably warm. Many of evening’s celebrants took advantage of the opportunity to carry their often inebriated festivities into the outdoors.

It had not been Walter’s first choice to get involved in the sudden fracas. He had no real idea about who had started it, what might have said to who to instigate it, or why. He did, however, take exception to someone taking a swing at him simply because they believed that he was in some way either related to, or in support of, whoever had made one of the original offending statements. It was particularly irritating because all he had been trying to do was to follow up on the rumor of a fresh beer keg somewhere in the immediate vicinity.

The youth he still held gripped in his fist squirmed, trying at the same time to gain some traction and also release Walter’s hold on his shirt. Walter obliged him, releasing his hold abruptly, causing the young man to land solidly on the damp cement. Dark stains appeared on the young man’s white linen shirt (or what appeared to be linen; it might have been polyester for all Walter knew). The youth raised his hands to wipe at it and then stopped, swearing inaudibly as he noticed that they were no cleaner than his shirt. Walter might have felt some measure of sympathy for the youth, if he could understand why he had opted to dress like an effeminate pirate. There was probably more to costume than he realized, but in truth, Walter did not really care.

Pausing only a moment to make certain that he had, in fact, not bruised anything more than the youth’s ego, Walter rose to deal with the person who was, with some determination tugging at his shoulder. Whoever it was, they had been doing so for some time, with either the intent of hoping to pull him away from rather hapless pirate, or to simply get his attention, he did not know. He turned, ready to face yet another drunken assault, and then stopped, unable for several moments to breathe or speak.

The face that stared back at him was definitely female. She seemed flushed, but it might have been a result of lighting. Her dark hair hung in loose waves far below her shoulders. Her eyes seemed equally dark and bright. There was far too much makeup around them for Walter’s taste; he hoped it was merely part of her costume. What there was of her costume, he noted. The neckline—or was it called a bodice?—was cut low enough that there was little doubt concerning the authenticity of her generous cleavage. Walter’s hormones shouted at him to be heard over the surrounding din; he accepted their call.

After a moment, or several separate ones, he forced himself to look away and back up into her eyes. She seemed not to notice that his attention had originally been focused elsewhere. Or, if she did, she gave indication of it. Not particularly surprising, Walter decided, as both her posture (or lack of one) and the rapid blinking of her eyes told him that not only had she probably already discovered the location of the fabled keg, but also perhaps the source of a one or two other recreational condiments.

The colors and cut of her outfit made him suddenly realize that she had probably arrived with the make-believe buccaneer he had just hopefully subdued. That thought made him turn, sudden wary that he might be forced to impress the captivating wench by pummeling some sense and decorum into her date. Probably a no-win situation in any case, he realized.

He was relieved to find that his earlier assailant was gone. At least, he no longer sat on the ground in a puddle of unidentified liquid. Nor did he seem to be nearby. Maybe he finally gathered some fashion sense, Walter considered, nearly breaking into a giggle. For what would not be the first time that evening, he wished that he had not drained that second beer.

Turning back around, he found the luscious pirate wench still staring at him. She was clearly conscious, although perhaps not terribly sober, but seemed to find him the most fascinating thing in her universe. Walter held no desire to divert her attention, except possibly to some place more private where he might be able to convince her to take a journey of exploration together.

Her lips moved. At first, Walter thought she was going to speak, but instead she just smiled. It was enough, though. His stomach seemed to drop from its place; his head buzzed pleasantly in a way that he knew had nothing to do with the cheap brew. This could work, he thought. I’ll bet we could . . .

He never got a chance to make the wager. Before he could finish the thought, he was knocked suddenly sideways. Shifting his weight, he caught himself before he landed on one knee. He turned to look back up. She was still there, but the link was now broken.

“Sorry about that, mate,” someone said from his right. The accent sounded faintly British. No, Australian, Walter corrected himself. He turned his head, ready to rise and potentially defend himself.

A young man, who looked to be about his own age, stood there brushing his hands down along his pants. In the dim light, it was difficult for Walter to tell whether the young man’s efforts were making matters better or worse. What he could tell was that the young man had red hair, although whether that was its natural color or dyed for the occasion, he could not determine.

The young man greeted Walter with a wide smile that revealed somewhat large, but nearly perfect teeth.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he said, offering Walter a hand back up to his feet.

Walter shook his head as if to clear it and straightened, disregarding the proffered hand. “Nah,” he said. “It’d take more than that.” He glanced around, but the dark-haired maiden of the seas was gone. His expression must have betrayed his disappointment.

“Something the matter?” the young man asked. His concern seemed genuine.

Walter allowed himself a sigh. “Not really,” he replied. “There was just a girl here . . .”

The young man’s eyes brightened with interest.

Heroic Measures

- 1 -

Walter Eastman settled into the worn, but still very serviceable, recliner with a quiet sigh. Part of it creaked in a series of quiet, but sharp and discordant sounds as he adjusted his position until finding just the right comfortable fit. Breathing out another contented sigh, he reached for the glass waiting for him on the small table at his side. He lifted it, inspecting its contents for a moment in the faint glow of the overhead light. It held two fingers worth of passable Scotch poured over two cubes of ice. It glistened like reflected amber and Walter gave it his silent, nodding approval.

It was not the good, single-malt variety that he saved for special occasions; it was an ordinary Scotch for an ordinary day. It was probably Dewar’s or Johnny Walker, but he could not remember for certain. It was almost definitely not Scoresby. Still, he bothered him some that he could not remember, for he had opened the bottle and poured just minutes ago in the kitchen. Perhaps, he mused with a mixed sense of melancholy, it was enough that he remembered that it Scotch.

Continuing to stare at the glass and what it contained for a moment longer, he was taken once more by its jewel-like contents. The ice cubes, their faintly cloudy centers somewhat obscured, looked like gigantic diamonds bathed in liquid amber. He gave a small smile of aesthetic appreciation and then sipped from the glass. The liquor burned slightly as it went down, revealing none of the lingering smoothness that a really good blend would have. Still, for tonight, as with most nights, it would do.

Walter reached for the remote control and, with fingers he felt were none too agile for its tiny buttons, turned on the television set. Its dark rectangular face lit up almost immediately with flashing images that presented too many primary colors. Less than year has passed since he had finally been forced to replace its predecessor. That superb Japanese-made set had served him more than admirably for nearly a decade before Terence, the local electronics repairman, told him that the parts just were not available any more outside of someplace called eBay.

“Why can’t you just get them there?” Walter had asked.

Terence had chuckled, shaking his head as he started repacking his tools. “I suppose I could,” he replied. “But I don’t know how much they would cost, when I would really get them, or whether they’d even really be any good.”

Walter had stared stubbornly at the set, but it refused to grant him even a snowy wash of static.

“Tell you what, Walt,” Terence went on. “You find yourself a new set and I’ll have Gary or myself set it all up for you.” He wiped his hands on a crimson rag before tossing it into the toolbox as well. “I’ll even have my boys come by and take this beast away for you.”

Walter’s jaw set, but he knew that Terence was right. There was no way that he could manage to carry the thing around—not any more. Well, maybe. But even if he could, what would he do with it? Terence and his sons might be able to do something with it, for spare parts for that eBay place perhaps.

“Okay, Terry,” Walter conceded, trying to keep the sigh out of his voice. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great,” Terence smiled, snapping closed the toolbox. He patted the top of the now-deceased set. “No charge for this visit,” he told Walt, “since I couldn’t help you.”

Walter smiled, nodding his appreciation. “I’ll owe you a Scotch,” he said. He watched as Terence tried not to grimace. He knew the man preferred a good beer, although had rarely met one that he felt met that description.

He still was not quite used to a television screen that was quite so . . . unsquare. Yes, he knew that the older screens were not truly square in shape, but the new wide ones just did not seem right. Still, he had come to appreciate that it was much quieter, having not realized what a chorus of hums and buzzes the old one had acquired until those sounds were no longer there. And, yes, he had to admit that the clarity of the picture was far sharper than the original set could probably have produced even when it was brand-new.

The image it showed now he recognized immediately as one of the continuous news channels. A male reporter spoke into a microphone while to the right stood two young men clad in green-toned uniforms. Walter could remember seeing them both before, although he could not recall exactly where. It might have been on television, although it could just as likely have been on the covers of one of the countless tabloid magazines covers that proliferated along the checkout aisles at the supermarket.

After looking down to locate it, his thumb worked the volume control. A sectioned bright green bar appeared along the bottom of the screen and moved toward the right. The reporter’s voice transformed from a murmur to an enthusiastic chatter.

“. . . showed everyone that once again that they are, indeed, a force to be reckoned with in our city.”

One of the two young men, moved closer to the camera. Although the camera angle only provided a view at about chest height, it was clear that the young man was wearing an outfit constructed from a form-fitting material that was intentionally designed to emphasis the physique beneath it. Although there was undoubtedly some protective padding present, it seemed to Walter that there was little need for the artifice. The way that the young man moved and held himself told Walter that the muscles beneath were quite authentic.

His dark chestnut hair was in mild disarray, but appeared to have been expertly coiffed in some modern fashion that Walter had referred to as “metrosexual”. Why a clearly handsome and fit young man would want to portray himself in that fashion was beyond Walter’s understanding. He also wore an elfin expression that Walter was all too familiar with.

Throughout the years, he had watched as many a “pretty boy” tried to make a name for himself in the business, thinking that having a Hollywood star presence and cutting a striking figure in Spandex or lightweight Kevlar was enough. It was often was, until the first time they were handed their ass, outnumbered or outgunned—or both—by a gang of thugs. Things tended to go even less well for the women. He had heard stories . . .

“I don’t get why they even try, Jay,” the masked young man said, addressing the reporter almost cavalierly by his first name. “They should know better than to even try to go up against people like us.” He grinned, clearly mugging for the camera. His eyes sparkled, but Walter was relieved to see that the young man appeared to be hopped up on nothing more than adrenaline. His head turned slightly, but his eyes continued to track with the camera. “Isn’t that right, bro?”

The camera angle shifted, moving in for a closer shot of the young man’s companion. He seemed to be about the same age as the first young man, although perhaps a few years older at most. Remaining positioned slightly behind the first young man, he radiated a calm authority and confidence that seemed a marked but understated contrast to his more energetic companion. His hair, visible above the mask that covered nearly his entire face, appeared to be approximately the same color as the first boy’s. He seemed to wear his, though in a more conventional and conservative cut. There was something about his eyes, though, Walter noted. He had seen something like those before as well.

Maybe they really are brothers, Walter decided. He had heard the first young man use the term “bro” and neither of them looked dark-skinned enough for it to be the commonplace, if dated he supposed, racial slang. And their easy, casual camaraderie was that which Walter had often seen between siblings, even between his own two boys. Before.

The second young man nodded. If he spoke, his words were drowned out from shouts that suddenly erupted from somewhere near the camera. Even the reporter appeared startled.

The camera turned toward the source of the commotion. Two uniformed police officers were, clearly aware that their actions were now being broadcast, trying to forcibly but carefully subdue another young man. This one appeared dressed in normal street clothes: jeans and a light-colored t-shirt bearing a slogan that was unreadable due to either the abrupt motions of the camera or the contortions of the young man’s body as he tried to evade being taken in custody. He was shouting something, but it did not seem to be directed at the officers who attempted to restrain him. His words were lost in his distance from the camera’s audio pickup and the background noise of the crowd.

As the two officers managed to successfully secure their now-captive offender into the rear seat of a nearby patrol vehicle, the camera returned its focus to the reporter and the two green-garbed young men. The momentary distraction seemed to have fazed none of them for more than a brief moment, but Walter noted the second young man’s eyes still appeared to follow the action taking place beyond.

The reporter stepped away, forcing the camera to move to a wider shot, revealing some of the people moving around in the background behind the two young men. Walter paid little attention, beginning to lose interest in whatever might have made the whole incident newsworthy, when he suddenly fumbled the remote control. He searched blindly, almost frantically, around his nap for it, feeling some relief when he discovered that it had not rebounded onto floor. Having located it again, he stared at it intently, trying to remember.

After purchasing the new television set (and having to spend much more than he thought he rightfully should have), Terence had convinced him to also upgrade his cable receiver box. As far as Walter was concerned, there was nothing wrong with the one that had served him well with the old television for almost five years. He allowed himself to be convinced, though, when Terence offered him a new box for free, so Walter would just need to pay in difference in cable service fees. That change, at least, had cost him little, although the young man on the customer service line had gotten a little snippy with him.

While Terence was setting it all up, Walter could not quite figure out whether he felt like he was old and senile or back in second grade again as Terence seemed to speak in tongues, spouting arcane initials that were supposedly meaningful, such as D-V-R and H-D. These were new and wonderful inventions, Terence had assured him. At first, he thought maybe Terence had fallen back into some kind of childhood accent, for Walter knew what a VCR was, so maybe Terence was just saying it wrong.

It had taken considerable effort, quite a bit of misunderstanding, but Walter finally got the concepts—for the most part.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2 (continued)

Referring again to his checklist, although he had it well-memorized, he verified the next sections to be inspected. He acknowledged the report and sent instructions to the team to continue to their next location. A moment later, he received their confirmation. Although he might never show it overtly, he was pleased that proper procedures were being followed and, aside from the crisis in Engineering, everything else on board the ship seemed to be in order.

#

Rusty was checking the integrity of a coupling along one of the ruptured conduits when he heard Wayne’s shout. Actually, he had paused a moment before, as if expecting it. He handed the insulated wrench to Aruna, the dark-skinned engineering technician who was assisting him. Motioning toward the conduit, he indicated for her to continue checking the system while he checked on whatever it was that had Wayne all fired up.

Walking past the main slipstream drive core, he frowned, shaking his head slightly as he once again saw the charred damage. It bothered him more than just a little. Beyond the fact that the drive had unexpectedly, and so far inexplicably failed, he had not seen it before it had happened. He knew the drive systems of this ship better than almost anyone else in the fleet; he could not reconcile that he could have been so distracted by all of the fuss and activity around him that he would have missed even the most subtle warning signs of potential trouble.

He let none of his personal uncertainty show, however, as he approached. Giving the fidgeting ensign amused grin, he glanced down toward the open panel.

“What'd you find, Wayne?”

Wayne’s hands opened, the palms streaked by dark smears, revealing a blackened component.

“Looks pretty friend, Chief,” Niguchi offered.

Rusty nodded, taking the badly scorched component from Wayne’s outstretched hands and studying it.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2 (continued)

#

Hawkes surreptitiously watched as Devereux assisted the young technician. Her name, Hawkes had determined, was Ensign Renee Ashton. He had verified her identity the moment she had entered the bridge. Although the guard stationed outside had transmitted her credentials before allowing her to enter, Hawkes considered it well within his duties—particularly considering the increased security arrangements—to ensure that they did indeed match.

He kept his disapproval masked. It seemed apparent that the ensign did not possess the necessary skills required for the task that she had been assigned. That she had been dispatched there, though, came as no particular surprise to Hawkes. As far as he had been able to determine, the Chief Engineer often seemed to select his crew assignments using little other criteria than which of them happened within shouting range when they were needed. If such was truly the Chief Engineer’s approach (and Hawkes had little evidence to convince him that it was not) then it was hardly the ensign’s fault that she seemed unable to complete—or even begin—the requested repairs without assistance.

From what he could see, though, the captain did not appear to share his dissatisfaction over the incident. She smiled, even seeming to enjoy her interaction with Ashton. The captain appeared to be performing a majority of the work. At least, Hawkes noted, she seemed to be using the occasion to also educate the ensign on the task at the same time.

An alert indicator on his console chimed for his attention. He glanced down, seeing that the inspection of the main and auxiliary airlocks had been completed, as well as the hatches that led to the twin cargo bays in the aft of the ship. There had been evidence of either damage or tampering. Hawkes had suspected that such would be the report, but regulations required such an examination and now it had been completed.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2 (continued)

Although eager to get back to the action on the main Engineering deck, Elizabeth paused, showing a sudden interest in the status displays on a nearby bulkhead. In truth, they showed nothing of any particular interest, unless one cared about the internal temperature and humidity in this section of the Engineering deck, but Elizabeth wanted to make certain that the two young engineers could get the access panel back into place without her assistance.

They managed to get it properly aligned on their second try. Hearing the first of the fasteners snap accurately into place, Elizabeth headed for the ramp that would take her back down to the main level. Before she had gone more than halfway, she could already hear the Chief’s distinctive baritone as he issued orders to the available engineers and technicians. He was not shouting really, and Elizabeth could not recall ever hearing him actually yell at anyone, but his voice seemed pitched to carry exactly as it needed in order to be heard above the surrounding din of equipment and agitated voices.

As she stepped off the ramp onto the main Engineering deck, she realized that she had left the equipment case with Beacon and Yoshi. While hardly catastrophic, it was annoying as she would need to gather a new one before starting on whatever the Chief had in mind for her next. She tried to guess what it might be, for there was certainly no shortage of systems to be repaired or tested at the moment.

Her attention was suddenly drawn by a high-pitched shout coming from somewhere near the main slipstream drive system. She tried to look past the collection of weaving heads and spied a technician waving energetically toward the Chief. Elizabeth found herself surprised to see that the technician was male, given the octave at which she thought she had heard him call out. When she spied the dark, close-cut and curly hair, she allowed herself a small smile as she recognized the crew member: Ensign Alex Wayne.

Rumor had it that Alex stood for “Alexandria”, but no one knew with absolute certainty if that was true. At the moment, Wayne was one the very fortunate few lower-ranking crew members to not have to share quarters, so there was not even a roommate that someone could ask. Purportedly, anyone who asked directly had been given the bemused, but firm, answer: “Alex”. Whatever the truth, Elizabeth found it of interest only because of the light mystery surrounding the matter. With a society of genetic constructs, and the occasional alien, the boundaries of what was considered “normal” were beginning to blur considerably.

Wayne straightened and started waving again.

“Chief!” he shouted. “I think we found something!”

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2 (continued)

#

Elizabeth worked quickly, but methodically, repairing or replacing the damaged conduits. As she worked, she as often talked to herself as she did to the two junior engineers assisting her, pausing occasionally to ask their advice (although she usually already knew the answer) or to request assistance (that she did not really need). She knew that she could have finished in about half time, working alone, but felt that it was important that they feel necessary to the task at hand, particularly considered their earlier embarrassing inability to even open the hatch.

After having Hoshi run one final check, Elizabeth snapped the final piece back into place and examined their work. She nodded at Beacon with a faint smile, seeming pleased. Reaching down, she pulled out her communications unit.

“Okay, it looks like we’re done here. Go ahead and restore power to this section.”

The voice of one of the engineering technicians sounded from the speaker; Elizabeth could not quite place who it was. “Twenty-four Baker?”

“Yeah. All lines.”

The trio waited for a moment and then the lights in the previously damaged section were restored to normal brightness. Elizabeth checked the readings on the monitoring device she still held, nodding and almost grinning as they all now showed the proper status. She spoke into the communications unit again.

“Chief,” she said. “We're all set here. The fluctuation should be fixed now.”

There was a brief pause before Rusty answered. “Looks good from here.” A faint crackling noise came from the small speaker. “Good work, Lizzie,” Rusty’s voice continued. “Now get back down here so I can find something more challenging for you.”

Elizabeth chuckled, feeling mildly embarrassed at the remark being overheard by the junior engineers. They seemed not to notice, though.

“Go ahead,” Beacon said, giving her a bright, almost relieved smile. “We’ll finish cleaning up here.” She glanced at Hoshi who, after glancing quickly at Elizabeth, nodded his agreement with the officer.

“On my way, Chief,” Elizabeth said into the communications unit before shutting it off and clipping it back at her waist.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2 (continued)

Hope approached the pair and stopped.

The kneeling crewman looked at Hope and rose, backing away. Hope then crouched down in turn, placed her medical case flat on the deck, and began to examine the injured crew member. Taking the female’s hand in her own, she studied it for a moment. She then closed her eyes and began slowly to run her fingertips along the back of the crew member’s hand.

In her mind, Hope could sense the female watching her. She dismissed the mental image and focused on assessing the female’s injuries. Her fingertips barely brushed the surface of the female’s skin, making just enough contact that she could detect the subtle variations in its density, temperature, and other properties. She heard the female draw a sharp breath as Hope’s fingers passed over one of the key sites of injury. Hope paused only a moment, immersing herself in a deeper study of the site, before continuing onward, up the female’s arm.

Hope’s fingers traveled to the crew member’s shoulder, and nearly to her neck, before she stopped. Pulling her hand away, Hope remained silent a moment before opening her eyes and staring into the female’s face.

“First- and second-degree burns,” she reported flatly. “Dislocated shoulder. Minor contusions.” She paused, studying the female more intently. “There is pain?”

The female crew member exchanged a quick glance with her male companion before nodding wordlessly.

Hope placed her hand back on the female’s shoulder. She pressed lightly, noting that the female grimaced, but made no sound. Hope found that satisfying. Closing her eyes once more, Hope increased the pressure of her hand slightly and then paused, waiting.

Beneath her fingers, she could feel the female’s muscles tense. The pulse underneath quickened and then began to slow to its normal rhythm. Hope could hear the female’s breathing resume its regular pace as well. Slowly, Hope lifted her hand and opened her eyes.

The female crew member stared back at her, much of the strain now gone from her expression. She swallowed unsteadily.

Hope released her hold completely and reached for the medical case. She withdrew an injector and then pulled out an ampoule, snapping it into place. Looking back at the crew member, she stared fully into the female’s eyes.

“Remain still.”

The crew member nodded in response, her head barely moving.

Hope activated the injector at several locations along the crew member’s arm. When she was done, she paused, watching the female's expression before replacing the injector in the case.

Next, she removed a small piece of shiny fabric. She quickly unfolded it, and then parted the ends so that it formed a long, narrow tube. Hope slid it over the crew member's arm, stopping to place it so that it covered the location of the other injury. Taking a small device from the case, she pressed it lightly against the surface of the fabric. Within moments, it shrank to form a snug wrap around the crew member's arm.

Hope closed the medical case and stood. “Report to Infirmary. Further treatment is needed.”

The sitting crew member looked toward the other one who remained standing throughout the entire experience. She then stared at Hope while getting to her feet.

Her voice came out barely audible. “Yeah . . . sure.”

Guided by the male crew member, she headed down the passageway. Hope watched the two humans depart and then, gathering her case, followed them.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2 (continued)

#

Hope made her way efficiently to Deck Two and now moved through the passageways of the ship to Section Eight. The medical case she carried moved in a precise arc in opposition to her stride. Several sections of the passageways were darkened and filled with shadows, lit only by emergency lighting. Others caught reflected light from other portions of the corridor that had maintained power.

She adjusted her pace only once when two repair technicians moved a large cart of equipment down the passageway toward her. The other crew members she encountered either were not in locations that interfered with her intended path or else moved aside as she passed. She regarded none of them, ignoring the occasional stare as she strode past.

Following the curve of the corridor, Hope slowed as she saw the seared section of bulkhead. She quickly determined that the damage appeared to be mostly superficial; there appeared to be little danger of an imminent breach. Two crew members were present: one (human male) was kneeling, the other one (human female) was seated on the deck with her back against the bulkhead, cradling her left arm.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2 (continued)

She had always hated the waiting, even more so when she was not even certain what she was waiting for.

Hearing the main hatch open, she glanced over, secretly hopeful that it was Rusty arriving with a personal report on the status of their main drive. While the crew member wore the uniform of someone from the Engineering section, it was definitely not the Chief Engineer. The young female engineer looked nervously around the bridge and then moved toward one of the engineering control stations located port and aft from the command deck.

Devereux tried not to let her disappointment show, but still felt the motion of her lips betraying her. She released a small, nearly silent sigh. Shifting her chair into position, she had nearly sat down when she noticed the female engineer puzzling over the inactive console. Devereux watched for a moment and then smiled to herself. It would be something to do while she waited—and it was definitely preferable to hovering near the tactical or helm stations and annoying Hawkes or Pyrafox.

The engineer looked up from the console as she heard Devereux approach. The young woman’s eyes widened and she swallowed hard. Devereux tried to put her at ease with a quick smile.

“Having trouble, Ensign?”

Swallowing again against what Devereux was certain was a nervous lump in her throat, the young woman nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

The ensign’s cheeks were beginning to reveal a rosy tinge. Devereux fought the urge to smile again. Rather than removing the tool from the young engineer’s hands, she reached into the equipment case and took a different one.

“How about if I give you a hand?”

The ensign studied her for a long moment before responding. Devereux was certain that the young engineer feared that a reprimand was coming, or at least some kind of detrimental mark would now be listed in her service record. She patted the surface of the console lightly.

“These old CP3000 stations can be tricky to get into,” she said in a light, almost conspiratorial, tone. “Let me show you a trick a repair tech showed me once when I was an ensign on the Lancer.”

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 2

- 2 -

Devereux stood before the main command console, staring down, but seeing nothing of what the displays showed her. Part of her wanted to march down to the main Engineering deck to see for herself what was happening, but she knew that doing so would accomplish little. More than likely, it would just serve to feed her already gnawing disquiet. The Chief would give his report when he had something worthwhile to report; there was nothing that she could do to hurry that along.

She remained standing, silently considering how quickly this mission has fallen apart. It has been an honor for her vessel to have been selected for the test flight. Even if she knew that one of the major factors had been that the Emerald Flight was not constructed from one of the standard sets of the blueprints that the most of the other starships of the fleet were built from. This made her ship, like it or not, a bit more . . . expendable if something went terribly wrong. And something had.

It could have been far, far worse, she knew. Aside from the sudden failure of the slipstream drive, the damage to the ship itself seemed to be minor. A few hours worth of work and those repairs would be completed. That then just let them . . . stranded.

With their communications systems scrambled by the sudden slipstream departure, they could not even signal for assistance. If the interference did not clear soon, there was always the option of sending someone out in the ship’s lone shuttle to establish contact. We’re not at that stage yet, she decided. Rusty will find a way to jump start those engines, she told herself. Or get out and push.

The mental image made her smile and she felt a little better. They had supplies (although not nearly enough if they had to limp their way back to inhabited space) and her ship was intact. It was a far cry from some of the combat situations that she had endured.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

Before their flight began, the Chief Engineer (she thought she had heard someone refer to him in passing as “Rusty”, but had not been certain whether in fact they had actually been referring to him) had treated her with an almost mischievous respect. She could see that there was a certain charm beneath his rough and brawny exterior, and there was little doubt that he knew his stuff.

After the initial nervous excitement and minor fanfare passed the voyage became quickly routine. The starship flew, the drive was powered up and engaged, and then the ship flew faster and further. There a subtle, but noticeable sense of excitement among the crew. While some of them were willing to talk to her, it was hardly the content of award-winning interviews.

Her irritated boredom was short-lived, however. The steady pulse on several of the status displays suddenly became chaotic. The deck then rocked beneath her boots, alarms sounded, and it became evident that something had gone terribly wrong. Now, amidst the klaxons that continued to sound through the main Engineering deck, she wished she had selected a quieter location to report from.

She has specifically chosen . . .

. . . told her to get to work.

She removed a small device from her belt and pressed one of the controls. The remote camera positioned near her obediently powered down its lights and lens. A moment later, it retracted its three legs, reducing itself to a smaller, more easily transported form. Roberta smiled, pleased and slightly amused at the ease at which such things took care of themselves for her.

Replacing the remote control back at her waist, she went over to the now-insert camera system. She hefted it experimentally, frowned, and then lifted it. It was no heavier than she remembered, but, after looking around her at the bustling crew members, she realized that she would have to carry it herself out of the compartment. Grunting softly, she lifted it a few centimeters from the deck and headed for the hatchway.

She was saved from having to figure out how to open the hatch without putting the camera system back down by the entry of two new crewmembers. The first, a young male ensign (if she read his rank badge correctly), gallantly held the hatch open for her. The other one watched as she made her way through the hatchway and Roberta could feel her eyes on her. It was not the steely, almost disdainful stare of an officer regarding a civilian, but a different kind of assessment entirely.

Roberta was not certain how she felt about that, and she was not about to turn around to confirm her suspicions. Reading people and their desires was an advantage in her business, one that she had honed well, and she was almost fully certain that the crew member had been evaluating her suitability for activities other than media reporting. The notion did not alarm or disturb Roberta, for she had dallied briefly in college with such relationship, but it had been short-lived. The experience had not been particularly unsatisfactory (she had long since conceded to herself, occasionally reliving the stimulating memories, and even the random fantasy, about such a liaison), but she generally found herself drawn much more strongly to those of the gender opposite to that of her own.

The hatch was closed behind her and she avoided looking back to see who had done it. She gave the security officer positioned there a cheery smile, receiving in turn a stony response that was in direct contrast to the reaction she had received only a few moments before. Her ego brushed aside the slight as she considered her next destination.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

Something still troubled him and it took a moment before he realized what it was. The readouts that should provide him with the transponder signals from navigational buoys and other vessels alternated between blank and cascades of static. Abrupt departures from slipstream were known to interfere with many of a ship’s operations, sometimes for several hours after event. It was not uncommon to even require complete resets of the supporting hardware systems in order to restore them functioning condition. Still, he took nothing for granted.

“Captain,” he called out again. “Our communications system appear to behaving erratically. While expected, I thought you should be aware.”

Devereux paused and then looked down toward Pyrafox. The navigator checked several displays before nodding affirmation.

“Confirmed, Captain,” Pyrafox reported. “We’re not receiving the usual navigational data stream. Most of the frequencies are either empty or filled with some kind of interference.”

Devereux frowned slightly, but did not appear overly concerned. “Have an Engineering team take a look.”

“Aye, Captain,” Hawkes acknowledged and entered the request. After a moment’s consideration, he raised its priority over that of the tactical systems inspection.

“Hold position here, Ensign,” Devereux said, her gaze once again fixed on the screen. “I want us to stay put until we know what happened and we can make repairs.”

“Yes, Captain,” Pyrafox replied. “Setting all thrusters to standby.”

Devereux nodded slowly. After a moment, her eyes finally left the main displays as she turned and headed toward the command deck.

#

It was hardly the assignment that Roberta Janusae had hoped for. Certainly, a possibly faster and more efficient starship was news, perhaps even of significant importance in a way that Roberta could not quite grasp. To her mind such interest extended chiefly to an audience of technicians and space travel enthusiasts—not quite the broad media exposure she sought. Careers were made by one’s popularity with the general media audience, not by reporting to a select group who undoubtedly knew more than she did about the subject.

Now, amidst the klaxons that continued to sound through the main Engineering deck, she wished she had selected a quieter location to report from. She has specifically chosen it based on her experience on other assignments onboard starships. While the bridge might be where all of the command-level personnel were, it tended to make for extremely dull live reporting. Audiences tended to switch away after more than a few minutes of uniformed officers relaying routine orders. She knew that the key places to be, depending on the mission, were either whatever served as the medical center or the main engineering level. Because this was a mission focused on the test of an experimental upgrade to the starship drive, she had opted for the latter. If anything even remotely worthy was reporting was going to happen, it was going to happen there. She had been right—spectacularly so.

Before their flight began, the Chief Engineer (she thought she had heard someone refer to him in passing as “Rusty”, but had not been certain whether in fact they had actually been referring to him) had treated her with an almost mischievous respect. She could see that there was a certain charm beneath his rough and brawny exterior, and there was little doubt that he knew his stuff.

At that moment, though, she felt very much in the way. So far, no one had snarled at her to get the hell out. Despite her earlier impressions of him, she could imagine the Chief Engineer doing so. In any case, he seemed far too busy calling out to nearly everyone else in the vicinity. Members of the crew darted around her hurriedly, engaged in a multitude of tasks that she was certain that she would barely understand. She desperately wanted to get off the deck before someone put a tool in her hand and told her to get to work.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

Context: I wasn’t happy with how this was originally written. Hawkes is very much an internally-focused character, so I’m having trouble not so much wrapping my head around him as I am trying to make him interesting to the reader.

---

Hawkes watched as Devereux silently stared at the main bridge displays. As Tactical Officer, his responsibilities on this mission had originally encompassed ensuring that the additional security arrangements requested by Colonel Antonio were in place. There had been little expectation that the ship’s weapons or defensive system would be needed during their brief test flight. Once that was done, there had been little for him to do but continue to monitor what had quickly become routine reports between the security posts. Not that he particularly minded. Routine was good, he had along ago concluded. It tended to prevent the unexpected. In space, unforeseen events usually resulted in disaster, often for both the vessel and its crew.

Fortunately, what had happened was not entirely unexpected. A failure of the prototype drive system had been discussed as one of the most likely outcomes of the test. However, based on success of the simulations in both the lab and smaller test vessels, it had been considered to have a low probability. Given that, Hawkes suspected was that no one had anticipated that it might fail in quite so dramatic a fashion.

Based on the status reports he had received so far, it appeared that they were fortunate. Other for the two casualties already reported by the ship’s physician, there appeared to be no other significant injuries among the crew. So far, reports from all other sections except for the main Engineering deck seemed to indicate no significant damage to the ship—although it was still unclear what had caused the injuries to the two affected crew members. Hawkes held little doubt that Hope’s report would be prompt and thorough.

“Captain,” Hawkes called out, his voice rising just slightly above its usual even timbre. “All reports so far indicate no significant damage to the ship, or its systems, outside of Engineering.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Devereux acknowledged, almost absently it seemed to Hawkes. Her gaze remained intent on the view displayed on the main screens. After waiting for a moment to see whether she would respond further, he turned his attention back to the updated status data that flashed onto the displays at his station. He officially logged his report and began studying the new reports.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he offered with a tentative smile.

Elizabeth’s smile was genuine. “It’s okay, Ensign,” she told him, trying to keep her tone light and encouraging. “I’m sure you’ll remember next time.”

She knew from experience that it would be a while before he forgot again.

“Here,” she said, pulling a tool from her own case. “I’ll give you a hand.”

#

Hawkes watched as Devereux stared at the main bridge displays. Until a few moments ago, he had felt that his participation was generally unnecessary to the successful completion of their mission. Once the additional security arrangements requested by Colonel Antonio were in place, there was little for him to do but continue to monitor what had quickly become routine reports between the security posts. There was only so much one Tactical Officer could do on a mission where the need for weapons and combat experience was not expected.

Routine was good, he had along ago decided. It provided stability and tended to prevent surprises. In space, an unexpected event could result in disaster for a ship and its crew. His experiences of such crises provided him with ample motivation to do everything in his realm of influence to avoid them. Such drove him now as he collected the status reports coming in from all sections of the ship. Other than for the information coming from the main Engineering deck—and their frustrating, if usual, lack of detail—the remainder of the ship and crew seemed to experience little more than a rough transition from slipstream. Such occurrences, although fairly uncommon, only rarely resulted in catastrophic damage to the vessel. The most common consequence was that the ship would need to be towed to the nearest space station or inhabited planet, often to the crew’s chagrin. The resulting embarrassment was typically good-natured and short-lived, for the alternatives were far less welcome.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

“Okay, Chief,” Elizabeth heard Captain Devereux say over the intercom. “Let me know as soon as you find out something.”

“Of course, Cap’n,” Rusty replied, both rolling his eyes and yet looking amused at the same time. He paused for what seemed like the briefest acceptable period of time before closing the connection. Turning his head, he caught Elizabeth watching him and gave her a quick wink.

“Don’t be just standing around, Lizzie,” he told her with tense, but genuine grin. She could tell that his thoughts had already returned to the apparent ruin of the slipstream drive. He jerked his thumb toward one of the upper platforms. “Give Yoshi and Beacon a hand checking the logs and junction regulators.”

Elizabeth glanced upward, locating the two junior engineers amid the swarm of crew members hurrying about on that level. She nodded back toward Rusty.

“I’m on it, Chief.”

She did not wait for a response, knowing that he had already turned his attention back to puzzle of the failed slipstream drive. Grabbing an equipment case from a nearby rack, she pushed her way toward the narrow ramp that would take her to the upper sections of the deck.

The two young engineers seemed visibly relieved by her arrival. Yoshi, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail similar to Elizabeth’s, stared frantically at the information being presented on a nearby status display. Her eyes darted almost wildly as she tried to find meaning in the scrolling data as it flashed past. Beacon knelt about a half meter away, trying to pry an access panel away from the bulkhead—with little success.

Elizabeth felt her own tension rise. Part of her wanted to scold them both; another part wanted to just push them each aside so she could fix the situations herself. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Neither solution was the correct one—at least not right now. The ship was in no immediate danger of blowing itself apart and, while Rusty needed the results of their analysis quickly, it was not so urgent that she needed to be quite so dramatic.

She reached over and paused the engineering systems log playback.

“Start at the moment of the breakdown,” she instructed Yoshi calmly. “Then work backward in fifteen second intervals.” She pointed at the display. “Focus on these readings for now unless you don’t see any significant changes.” Her finger moved downward to a different set of data. “Then start checking these.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” the engineer replied. She managed a weak, grateful smile and then began working her way back through the data.

Nearly at her feet, Beacon’s sandy and tousled-looking hair bobbed as he struggled with the panel. Elizabeth caught a momentary flash of his gritted teeth as he strained to get the bulkhead to release its hold on the small access hatch. She fought back a small smile. A plebe mistake, she knew, for she had made it herself more than once—and had been known to once or twice since then if she was particularly tired or distracted.

She bent down and removed an instrument from Beacon’s open case on the deck. He must have caught her movement from the corner of his eye, for he stopped suddenly and stared at her with nearly simultaneous expressions of startlement and irritation. When he recognized her, he stopped and swallowed noticeably. Fighting to keep her expression neutral, Elizabeth offered him the tool.

He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment and then she watched as a dull flush began to fill his cheeks. His jaw muscles worked like he wanted to say something—or trying to keep from revisiting his breakfast—but he said nothing and accepted the tool. Swallowing again, he turned and began working on the panel’s fasteners. Within a few moments, the panel came away easily, and he leaned it against the bulkhead.

He turned to reach for another piece of equipment in his case as the panel began to slide down the bulkhead. Dropping the tool he held, he grabbed at the falling panel. His fingers grazed the edge, but not enough for him to get a grip or prevent its descent. He winced as it clattered to the deck.

There a sudden hush in their immediate area. Elizabeth could tell without looking that several crew members were staring in their direction. Beacon’s gaze was fixed on the betraying sheet of plasmetal. For a moment, Elizabeth was concerned that he might really throw up this time, but to her relief (and probably his as well, she realized), he managed to maintain the appearance of control until the noise level around them returned to normal.

His eyes turned toward Elizabeth. There was something almost pleading in them that collapsed her remaining resolve and she could not help but smile at him. She hoped it was the right kind. Captain Devereux or the Chief would know the right thing to say at this moment, and she wished she knew what it was. Nothing that came to her mind sounded other than it could also be taken as condescending or ridicule.

She must have managed to do the right thing, though, she noted, because Beacon started chuckling softly.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

The security officer stationed outside the Infirmary straightened as Hope appeared along curve of the passageway. His looked Hope over quickly and then nodded slightly.

“Doctor.”

Hope saw no reason to address him in kind, so she waited, mildly surprised when he reached over and opened the hatch for her. She strode steadily past him, not hurrying, but sensed his eyes following her inside. The interior lights brightened toward full illumination as she entered. Turning out of habit to close the hatch behind her, she found it already in the process of being closed. For no clear reason she could immediately identify, she found the action somewhat unsettling.

She spent only a moment considering it before turning her attention to her more critical task. From a cabinet next to the hatchway, she removed a case already filled with essential emergency medical supplies. Moving to another cabinet, which opened at her touch, she withdrew two additional ampoules and then removed a small container from a drawer to her left. She added all of these items to the contents of the case before heading back toward the hatchway.

She had to enter her security access code before the hatch would unlock and allow her to exit. This time, she found it not at all unexpected when the hatch seemed to open of its own accord, aided by the guard outside. She stared at him for an instant, and then, without a word, continued down the passageway that would take her to Deck Two, Section Eight.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

Hope paused in the corridor as the security officer closed the hatch behind her. She had briefly considered requesting that the Captain accompany her to the Infirmary so that she could treat the minor abrasion on her forehead. However, she never spoke the request, for Hope knew that, short of being unconscious, the Captain would not leave the bridge until she was certain that her crew and ship were safe.

The female guard returned to her position next the hatchway. Hope noted that the woman’s eyes regarded her with hard expression. Hope had seen such expressions before. For all their beneficial qualities, many humans still held an arrogant, often almost hostile, attitude toward aliens. It in no way disturbed her. If, in fact, she had feelings about the matter it was disappointment that the officer’s outlook was so limiting in it prejudice.

The security presence aboard the Ship was unusual. Under most circumstances, the crew took care of security matters on their own. According the Captain, a Colonel had insisted that an official guard detail be aboard the Ship for this mission and be placed at all key access points, including the Bridge, Main Engineering, and Shuttle.

As she moved down the passageway away from the Bridge, all observations of the behavior of the security officer now compartmentalized away for later consideration if she so chose, she determined the most efficient path between the Infirmary and Deck Two, Section Eight. Although she had been informed that neither injury appeared to be immediately life-threatening, she preferred to evaluate their condition of the crew members herself before having them transported to the Infirmary for more thorough treatment.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

Devereux watched peripherally as Hope exited the bridge. Once she was certain that the medical officer was on her way, and the hatch had closed behind her, Devereux murmured to herself, “Okay, then. Let's at least find out where we really are.”

She worked several controls at her station, but nearly all of them presented her with data that was either conflicting or meaningless. It was a clear sign that systems were still compromised from whatever had happened to them.

She looked up, peering at the flickering and indistinct images displayed on the main bridge displays. She could make out what appeared to be a field of stars—to be expected—but little else. Interference from the ship’s degraded systems prevented the view from resolving into anything more recognizable.

“Ensign,” she called out. “What's our position?”

The young officer’s hands moved expertly, yet almost frantically, over his console. “Working on it now, Captain.” There was a pause while he checked the readouts again. “Many systems are still malfunctioning or offline, Captain. Coordination is difficult.”

Devereux sent a quick smile of encouragement in his direction. “Keep at it, Ensign.”

She stared at the flickering star field and frowned.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

Hope stood before the auxiliary environmental control station. Her hands worked methodically and precisely at the controls. She appeared to pause for the briefest moment, as if sensing Devereux’s gaze on her, but completed her task before turning to face her Captain.

Her dark, unblinking eyes met Devereux’s. “Life Support, environmental systems, function normally.” Her voice was calm and almost completely without inflection.

Devereux nodded and continued to study Hope's alien eyes for a moment before she turned and returned to the command deck. She silently surveyed the condition of the bridge once more before once again activating the intercom.

“Chief,” she said, swallowing back her growing impatience. “I'd like that report now.”

“All the main systems are working as expected,” Rusty’s voice echoed faintly. Devereux guessed that he was shouting into the open intercom from a short distance away. “But the slipstream drive is shot.”

Devereux fought back her frustration with a barely audible sigh. “Okay, Chief,” she managed evenly. “Let me know as soon as you find out something.”

“Of course, Cap’n,” came Rusty’s response after a slight, but noticeable, delay.

Was there a trace of sarcasm there? Devereux switched off the channel before she could know for certain. Her eyes moved back toward Hope. The Aerian xenobiologist interpreted the act of eye contact as permission to speak.

“Casualties reported. Deck Two. Section Eight.”

Devereux felt her lips tighten. Before she could speak, the lights brightened to normal illumination. She looked around quickly with a growing sense of relief. Nodding to Hope, she said, “Go. It looks like we have things under control here.”

Hope responded with a slight nod. “Yes, Captain.” With a steady, deliberate stride, she left the bridge.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1 (continued)

She stabbed at the intercom control.

“Engineering,” she shouted over the noise. “What the hell happened?”

Chief Engineer Rayna’s voice crackled over the speaker. “One moment, Cap’n,” he said. “We're still trying to figure it out.”

Devereux frowned at the report, but knew better than to press the Chief for information that he did not have. She stepped down from the command deck and approached the main navigation station. The ensign seated there did not turn at her approach. The young officer’s russet-colored pelt visible above the collar of his uniform was ruffled, but his vulpine ears remained erect.

“We're where we're supposed to be, Captain,” he reported, his elongated jaw structure drawing out the sounds of the r’s. He worked at the console controls for a moment. “Standard propulsion systems are all working,” he continued, “but the slipstream drive seems to be offline.”

Devereux turned to face the stations on the other side of the bridge.

Emerald Flight: “Past Imperfect” – Chapter 1

The ship slammed out of slipstream. Devereux was not sure how she had prevented herself from being flung to the deck, but she had somehow managed the feat. The ship had stopped shuddering. She mentally forced herself to pry her fingers from the arms of her chair. They felt cramped from the strain as their grip was eased.

The glowing pinpoints of emergency lighting cast harsh shadows around the bridge where they penetrated. Nearly all of the stations were dark. Sharp-lined silhouettes moved among the shadows, but Devereux was not certain which crew members they represented. Fortunately absent was the glow of fires or electrical flares.

She was about to call out when she the main lighting returned at nearly its normal brightness. A quick glance around told Devereux that no one among her bridge crew seemed seriously injured. The ensign standing near one of the sensor stations rubbed absently at her hip, but did not appear to be suffering serious discomfort.

Emerald Flight: Departures

Context: This scene takes place around the middle of the first story in what I’m calling “Season Two”. Devereux has returned to Earth to take care of her terminally ill father.

---

“Just rest, dad,” Devereux said, beginning to rise from the chair. She ignored the stiffness in her legs and spreading numbness in her buttocks. “I’ll bring you a sandwich.”

“Not hungry yet.”

Devereux gave her father a quick smile. “Maybe I am.” Her expression grew more serious. “And you do need to eat too.”

The old man nodded weakly. His eyes returned to gaze upward. Again, Devereux wished she could have a skylight installed so he might have more to observe than the lightly textured surface of the ceiling. Maybe next week, she told herself. She did not allow herself the belief that next week might be too late.

“Aye,” he whispered. His voice was barely more than a breath, “Captain.” Devereux thought she spied the faintest hint of a smile on her father’s lips. His eyes closed and he seemed to sigh.

After a moment, Devereux realized that his next breath did not come. Her father’s features relaxed, freed from all of the pain he had ever endured. Devereux reached over and took his hand.

“Dad . . .” she whispered.

She did not know how long she remained there, her father’s hand resting in her own. After a time, though, a faint footfall penetrated her consciousness. She turned her head and looked toward the doorway.

Sarah stood there. Her dark eyes moved toward the still figure of the old man and then to Devereux.

“How long ago?” she asked softly.

“I’m not sure,” Devereux replied quietly, shaking her head slowly as if to clear it. “Not long, I think.”

Sarah did not enter the room. “Take all the time you need, Christine,” she said, and moved back into the shadows of the hallway beyond. Devereux heard her speaking softly in her phone as she stepped away.

Emerald Flight: Morning Shift

Context: This is the opening scene for one of the stories in my Emerald Flight series. I have no idea right now which one, though.

---

Devereux walked the corridor at a steady pace, moving quickly without rushing. She had plenty of time before the shift began, using the time to gather her thoughts and build a mental agenda for the day. Tucked between her arm and body was her personal tablet. She could have recorded her thoughts there, but numerous collisions and near-misses with both bulkheads and personnel had finally taught her not to attempt it while walking.

Although the distinction between day and night was a slippery concept at best aboard a starship, she still felt an air of crisp expectancy as she moved along the passageway. There was no sunrise, no hint of dew, but—at least in her mind—there was an indefinable something that said to her that it was the fresh start to a new day.

It took Devereux a moment to register that someone now strode beside her. She glanced over, immediately recognizing Elizabeth. Devereux fought back a small smile. She noted how the young lieutenant's stride faltered for a moment, as if she were unsure whether to match pace with her commanding officer, continue past, or fall in behind her. She decided to aid the young woman in her indecision.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

Elizabeth seemed to take the greeting as an invitation and adjusted her pace to walk beside Devereux. The young officer’s face lit up. "Good morning, Captain."

“Busy day ahead for you?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Some of her earlier enthusiasm faded and her voice took on a much more sober tone. “I’m working a shift in Engineering.”

Devereux nodded slowly in return and gave Elizabeth what she hoped was a mildly reassuring smile. “Good,” she said. “Someone needs to keep an eye on my Chief Engineer.”

Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on her for a moment in a way that disquieted Devereux. She quickly analyzed what she had said but could find no cause for such a reaction.

“Yes, Captain,” Elizabeth responded after a moment. Her face lost nearly all expression as she looked away.

They now walked together in silence. Devereux considered what to say. Something had gone awry in their seemingly casual conversation and she did not want the day to begin on such an awkward note—for either of them.

Devereux lifted his tablet, activating its display as she did so. “A piece of career advice, Lieutenant?”

Elizabeth’s response was delayed and hesitant. “Yes, Captain?”

“When you’re promoted and offered a command of your own,” Devereux said. “Think about it long and hard.”

Elizabeth’s features creased into a frown. “Yes, ma’am.”

Devereux allowed her lips to form a repressed smile. “It’s not the invading aliens that’ll get you,” she cautioned. “It’s the paperwork.”

Elizabeth stared at Devereux for a moment with something akin to disbelief. A moment later, she relaxed and let out of quiet, but genuine, laugh.

“Yes, Captain,” she said, smiling now. “I’ll remember that.”

Devereux smiled back to the young woman, relieved that the disquieting moment seemed to have passed. “See that you do.”

The pair reached the junction of two intersecting passageways.

“Have a good shift, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the young officer said. “You too.” She turned with a smile and headed down the port passageway that led to the main Engineering deck.

Devereux watched Elizabeth go, allowing herself a small smile of her own. It wasn’t really that long ago, was it?

Stardate undefined - Supplemental

The small, bland, but ultimately satisfying meal revived her somewhat. She still felt tired, but less in danger of just collapsing into sleep. Across from her, David seemed intent on his own rations. If he was watching her, she could not catch him at it.

Jana downed the rest of the water, pausing for a moment to consider whether she should save some of it for later. There was more in the storage locker, she knew, although she was not certain how much. She also remembered her survival training instructor telling them all that the best place to store water was in their bodies, not in containers where it could evaporate, leak out, or get lost.

Placing the empty container and deflated meal package aside in a neat pile, she rose.

"What are you doing?"

Jana peered at him for a moment. There was something in those dark eyes that stared back at her that reminded her why she had been attracted to him.

"I'm going to work on the internal sensors some more," she said, waving in the direction of the ring of engineering stations.

David nodded. "Can you use some help?"

Jana felt her eyebrows rise. Her skepticism must have been obvious; David winced slightly. She bit back the snide retort that had arisen to her lips. Knowing that the stress and fatigue were fueling her emotions as much as any other feelings she had about David, she looked away, taking a slow, deep breath.

"Why don't you check on Wa?" she suggested. "I'll let you know if there's anything you can help with."

David nodded, but the disappointment was evident in his features as well. Jana knew that he must be just as tired and scared as she was.

I can't be strong for both of us, she told herself. She watched as David gathered up the tricorder and medical kit. Do I?

David walked over to Wa-Rhayvea and crouched down, pulling out the tricorder. He began scanning the Chief Engineer without looking in Jana's direction.

Jana rose to her feet, dusting imaginary crumbs and lingering dirt from her pants. She headed for the equipment locker again, creating a mental checklist of tools she needed. It was main Engineering after all, she told herself with vague humor. Nearly any tool she might want should be here somewhere.

Stardate undefined - Supplemental

David returned a few moments later carrying two pouches and two small containers of water. He stopped in front of Jana, staring down at her for a moment. Jana looked away, not wanting to be the subject of his attention. From the corner of her vision, she could see him hold out both of the silvery packets.

"Some kind of chicken or some combination of healthy, freeze-dried vegetables?" There was a forced light-heartedness in his tone that made Jana want to scream at him.

She grimaced at the choice. "Chicken," she finally mumbled, just loud enough so that David should be able to hear her.

David withdrew the other package and then offered her one of the containers of water.

"Thanks," she croaked out softly, wanting to wince at how hoarse her voice sounded. She unsealed the container and gulped the water down greedily. Stopping to take a breath, she looked down to realize that the container was now only about one-third full. She looked up sheepishly and was relieved that see that David was intent on opening his food packet and had probably not noticed.

Taking another deep breath, and feeling somewhat rejuvenated by the water, she began working at the seal of her own packet. She pulled at the tab cautiously, remembering her unfortunate experience during survival training. Back then, she had opened her packet a little too vigorously, managing to spray herself with a layer of brownish-green goo. She still held a grudge against Lieutenant B'hela for refusing to replace it. It was not the later hunger that still irked her, but the memory of the increasing stench as the organic paste had begin to grow sour.

This particular packet opened went without such incident. She reached a finger inside, ignoring the texture that reminded her of improperly puréed baby food. Removing, she sampled a taste. It was not as awful as she had expected, but it was a far cry from even replicated cuisine. Still, it was nutritious sustenance—and far better than the alternative.

Jana ate slowly, filled up somewhat by the sudden intake of the water. She tried not to think of what other personal necessities would become urgent within the next few hours. Leaning her head back against the bulkhead, she swallowed, closing her eyes. It felt good.

Stardate undefined - Supplemental

Jana walked over to the wall status display. Like nearly every other panel on the Engineering deck, it remained dark. If she could get it working, it might tell them much about the condition of the Ares, without having to call up the status of every system, one by one, from the one console she had managed to revive so far. She crouched down, working to remove the access panel from underneath, hoping that she might be able to easily restore power to it.

Raising her wrist light, Jana peered into the bulkhead innards. She saw mostly shadows, and nothing seemed to reveal a local overload of the system. Whatever the problem was, it was further along down the power and data connections. Sighing softly, she rested her head against the bulkhead and closed her eyes.

A few moments later—at least she thought it was only a few moments later—Jana jerked her head suddenly upward. Had she dozed off? She looked guiltily around and saw David coming toward her. Nothing in his expression told her whether he had caught her brief lapse or not.

"I think he'll be fine," David said, nodding in Wa-Rhayvea's direction. "It looks like just a mild concussion, but that's about all I can say for certain—and not even that." His lips worked in a small, self-deprecating smile. "I never really studied up on Efrosian physiology."

Jana's eyes moved toward the shadows where Wa-Rhayvea rested. "Me either," she whispered.

"Your turn," David said, raising the tricorder.

Jana started to protest, but then just nodded her head tiredly. David began scanning near her head and then began to slowly pass the tricorder down over her body. For a moment, she felt an odd echo of erotic feelings, as if he undressed her as he moved the tricorder over her.

"You might be more comfortable if you sat down," David offered quietly. His eyes remained fixed on the tricorder's display.

Jana allowed herself to sink slowly down to the deck, bracing her back against the bulkhead as she slid down it. She sat silently while David finished his appraisal.

He snapped the tricorder closed. "Other than borderline exhaustion, you're fine except for that gash."

Jana's fingers reflexively went to the clotted cut along her face.

"Here," David said softly, and removed a small dermal regenerator from the medical kit. He held it over the wound.

Jana lowered her hand, feeling her skin tingle as the device repaired the subcutaneous and surface damage.

"Almost good as new," David told her with a faint smile, lowering the device.

Jana felt the smooth, newly regeneration skin. "Thank you," she whispered, not at all certain why she said it.

David's smile was surprised and sincere. "You're welcome." He replaced then dermal regenerator and removed a hypospray. He checked the setting, adjusted it, and then pressed it against her lower neck.

"What's that for?" she asked, her tone almost accusatory.

"It's just a general antibiotic," he told her. "Who knows what little microbes are churning around out here."

Jana studied him for a moment before nodding, accepting his explanation.

David replaced the hypospray and then closed the medical kit. He turned back to Jana. "You need some food." He gave a small chuckle. "Actually, we both do."

"Survival rations?" Jana asked with obvious distaste.

"Unless you have one of the replicators working?"

Jana shook her head.

"Well then."

"Over there," Jana said, nodding toward one of the starboard storage lockers. "I think there's some in there or in the one next to it."

David's head turned in the direction of Jana's look. He nodded and rose, heading for the specified cabinets.

Jana swallowed drily. Hopefully, David would think to bring her water as well.

Stardate undefined - Supplemental

There followed a long moment of awkward silence. David's mouth moved, but he chose not to speak whatever thoughts he had. Jana just looked away, her gaze moving over the mounds of debris and shattered consoles.

"Let me take a look at you," David finally offered. His voice was quiet, but the tone conveyed nothing but professional interest.

"I'm fine."

"Uh huh," David responded.

When he started to move toward the equipment locker, Jana stopped him, surprising herself by grabbing her arm.

"I already took it," she said. "I left it over by Wa."

A strange, almost undecipherable look passed over David's face. "Wa-Rhayvea's still alive? You're not the only one here?"

Jana shook her head. She felt suddenly very tired. "Just me," she answered. "Wa's unconscious," she said. "Or was when I left him."

"I'd better a take a look." David headed in the direction Jana had indicated.

"You're just an assistant counselor," she said. Her protest sounded weak and indifferent even to her.

"And you've had how much medical training?"

There was nothing caustic in David's retort. Under other circumstances, Jana might even have interpreted it as good-natured teasing. She chose to ignore it, her own fatigue and concern for Wa-Rhayvea, winning out.

David knelt, removing the tricorder from the emergency medical kit. "Don’t wander off too far," he cautioned Jana without turning around. "You're next." He began scanning Wa-Rhayvea's still form.

Stardate undefined - Supplemental

Chunks of debris that had blocked the access hatch fell away. Something large tumbled out of the Jeffries tube. Jana's fingers tightened around the firing grip even as her eyes widened. She swore beneath her breath, almost tossing the phaser away in her haste not to fire as she recognized the grime-covered figure.

Rising unsteadily to its feet, the crew member in Sciences blue moaned loudly, rubbing at several locations throughout its body. It brushed away at the soot and dust that covered its uniform, but the effort seemed to only produce dark smears.

"David!" Jana shouted, fighting the urge to run over and throw her arms around him.

His head turned slowly toward her and Jana swallowed hard, raising the phaser once again. They had been attacked by the Borg, after all, and it was possible . . .

Jana breathed a soft sigh of relief and lowered the phaser again. The marks that she had seen on his face were only shadows and dirt—gratefully not the Borg implants she had feared.

"Will you make your mind?" David scolded her irritably, but there was a visible sparkle in his eyes at seeing her. "Either shoot me or not." He straightened, evidently giving up on any semblance of a neater appearance. "Or put it away before you hurt someone."

"Don't tempt me," Jana tried to snarl, but her relief at seeing him alive and unharmed was too palpable to disguise. She lowered the phaser's power setting and tucked it back in at her belt. Jana looked toward the still-open hatch, the trail of strewn debris, and then back at David. "How'd you get here in?"

David absently brushed at his tunic. "I was talking to someone just down the corridor when they hit us." He frowned, his dark eyes filling with momentary sadness. "She didn't make it."

Jana gave him that moment to silently grieve before prompting him to continue. Part of her flared with anger. Someone . . . she. Uh huh . . . She pushed down the uncharitable thought quickly, chiding herself sharply.

"The turbolift wasn't working," David went on, "and the other corridors were blocked or sealed, so I made my way back here." He nodded toward the main hatch into the Engineering deck. "It's completely blocked—more than I could clear away alone, anyway—so I climbed through one of the maintenance shafts until I came out here." A faint laugh escaped him and he looked toward the hatch through which he had arrived. "There, I mean,"

Jana gave him an annoyed look; she was in no mood for humor. Studying him quickly, she asked, "Are you okay?"

David nodded. "Just a few bruises from bumping into things in the tube in the dark." His expression became serious. "Jana," he said soberly. "I am really glad you're okay."

Jana stared back at him, unable to form any kind of response. After several moments, she finally settled on a non-committal, "Thanks."

David's expression told her that he was unhappy with her response, but she really did not want to spend any more time on David's feelings—or her own, for that matter—at the moment. There were far more critical issues that required their immediate and focused attention.

Stardate undefined - Supplemental

He was still unconscious, but seemed to be resting comfortably. His breathing continued to be slow and regular, and she could detect no change to his pulse or skin color. The blood on his face had dried to a dark rust color. She guessed that was normal for Efrosians, as she doubted any infection could have set in so quickly.

Jana wished she had a blanket or something to cover him with, but could think of nowhere in the area where there might be one. For a moment, she considered removing her uniform tunic and using that, but her modesty won out. If he did waken, she was not sure she could face him with dignity in only her undershirt.

She made her way back to what appeared to be the one functioning station. Tapping at the controls, she tried to get an open communications channel.

"Engineering to bridge." She paused a moment before repeating the call. "Engineering to bridge." When no reply came, she switched over to what should be a general frequency. "Engineering to any station, please respond."

Only a faint hum of static answered her. She was disappointed, but not terribly surprised, having expected it when she had not heard the standard acknowledgment signal. She changed the configuration of the console again, this time trying to gain access to the internal sensor array. Although she spent several minutes in the attempt, trying a variety of ways she knew to reroute and otherwise access its systems, it proved to be ultimately unsuccessful. If the internal sensors were working, they were cut off from Engineering.

Jana fought back a swell of claustrophobia that threatened to engulf her. Despite its size and open design, the main Engineering chamber suddenly felt much, much smaller inside. Aside from Wa-Rhayvea’s comatose form, she felt utterly alone. She tried to fight back the urge to escape, to find some way to leave the Engineering deck. Reason told her that the corridors outside were even smaller spaces, but that knowledge did little to help quell her growing anxiety.

She did need to get out at some point, she told herself, trying to rationalize the situation calmly. Despite its size, there were only a limited number of survival supplies available on the Engineering deck. In most emergency situation, it was usually one of the first areas to be evacuated. If the warp core went critical, it was the last place anyone wanted to be who was not looking for a very quick and dramatic death.

Debris shifted near one of the auxiliary access doors to the main aft Jeffries tube. Jana spun on her boot heel, surprised to find a phaser already in her hand. She did not remember pulling it from its holster, which told her just how keyed up she was.

The sound was repeated, although slightly different. Jana swallowed hard, her fingers tightly wrapped around the grip of her phaser. This time, she saw the debris move, falling outward on the deck. She raised the phaser, ready to fire at whatever emerged through the maintenance hatch.

Stardate: undefined - Supplemental

Her gaze was caught by a glimpse of a figure laying crumpled a few meters away from the main engineering stations. The color of the uniform told her that it was a member of the Engineering team, but from that distance she could not discern who is might be. She made her way over to it, ducking to avoid another fallen support beam.

As Jana knelt over the figure, she recognized it was it instantly. The distinctive orange cast to the skin, and the long white hair and moustache, revealed Wa-Rhayvea.

Oh no, Wa . . . not you.

A nasty gash ran along the left side of his face, from his ear down almost to his jaw. The blood seemed to have already dried, so Jana left it alone for now. Jana reached down to gently touch his forehead. His skin felt cool, but not cold. Without having to feel for it, she could see the faint throb of a pulse at his neck. His chest rose and fell with slow, but steady respiration.

Jana breathed a sigh, feeling relief flood through her. He's not dead—just unconscious. Maybe with a concussion . . . I don't know. She realized that one of her next priorities was to get her hands on a tricorder. Even a standard issue one would allow her to get basic physiological readings.

She looked around again, having a much better idea of her bearing now that there was at least minimal lighting. There was an equipment locker on the starboard side, near one of the main Jeffries tubes. She made her way over to it and opened it.

Inside she found emergency medical kits and a wide assortment of tools, including a selection of tricorders. She grabbed one of the medkits and a tricorder and closed the door. She began to turn away and return to where when Wa-Rhayvea lay when she noticed another cabinet mounted to the left: weapons locker. She entered her security access and peered inside.

There were a few phaser rifles, a small number of concussion and photon grenades (neither of which she had ever used), and a small number of standard hand phasers. Jana took one and dropped it into the pouch at her waist. She hesitated a moment and then took another one, tucking it into her waistband at her back. We don't know the condition of the ship or if we were boarded. I might not able to get back over here for another one if I need it.

She then silently prayed that she would not need to use either of them. Finding nothing else that she felt competent enough to use, she closed the cabinet and headed back to Wa-Rhayvea.

Stardate: undefined – Supplemental

Stumbling over several other obstacles in the dark, Jana kept herself moving in the direction where she believed the aft stations were located.

A dark, roughly geometric, shape appeared before her. Reaching out, Jana breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers encountered the smooth surface of one of the engineering consoles. She pulled herself to her feet, gripping its edge for balance. Her fingers played over its surface several times, but it stubbornly remained dark.

Probably a severed power conduit, Jana guessed silently. She turned, trying to orient herself in the almost non-existent lighting. If she was right, there should be another station about two and a half meters to her right.

She turned and moved in that direction, using one of her boots to probe cautiously ahead of her. To her relief, it encountered only loose debris. Her hand bumped against the edge of the console, surprising her. She had expected it to be still about half a meter still further ahead. It made her wonder if she really had her orientation correct within the dark chamber.

Reaching out blindly, she tapped the surface controls. This time, the console glowed to life. To her relief, it accepted her access code and entered a ready state, awaiting her commands.

The first thing she did was to attempt to reroute and restore emergency power. Faint yellow-white lighting flickered on throughout the Engineering deck. Deep pockets of shadow scattered throughout told her that many of the systems still remained severely damaged. Still, after all that time in the near-perfect darkness, it felt nearly as bright as day. A faint breeze against her forehead and cheeks told her that the air reclamation system was working again as well.

Looking toward the multi-level center chamber, she saw clouds of dust and smoke beginning to disperse. The warp core was dark, but seemed to be undamaged. Its appearance added to the eerie feeling of the scene. Jana had never seen it completely shut down before. Even if all of its systems were operational, it would be sometime before it could safely be brought online again. She also noted with relief that none of the coolant tanks had ruptured, nor did any appear to be leaking.

Stardate: undefined

- 1 -

The transition back to consciousness was a subtle one for Jana. Although she was certain that she had opened her eyes, everything around her remained dark.

Her head throbbed and her body ached almost everywhere. She lay there, uncertain whether she should move—should move. Experimentally, she wiggled her fingers and then her toes. Although they tingled faintly, they seemed still attached and functional. With cautious effort, she turned to one side. She found herself breathing heavily from the effort. Taking slow controlled breaths, she waited for her strength to return and took a quick mental assessment of her situation.

She was alive. Main power seemed to be out. That she was able to breathe at all, not yet freezing to death, or trying to breath vacuum told her that at least this part of the ship remained intact—at least for the moment.

How long have I been out?

The deck beneath her remained steady and still. Also absent was the usual hum of environmental and other support systems. That alone did not bother her too greatly. As long as there were no hull breaches, she could probably survive for days on the air available in the core engineering section.

Jana now realized that it was not completely dark. Scattered throughout the section that she could see where multi-colored dots of light from systems that were not completely offline. Gathering her strength, she rose to her knees and then began to stand. The faint sensation of something brushing against her hair slowed her ascent so that her head only lightly grazed something overhead, rather than slamming against it.

Reaching upward, she groped blindly overhead. She stopped when her hand encountered a broken span of metal. From the texture, she guessed that it was one of the bulkhead support braces. It had apparently sheared loose and fallen during the battle, forming a rough arch above her. It had likely deflected any additional debris, she realized, probably keeping her from being crushed.

Remaining in a low crouch, she worked her way slowly across the deck, trying to find a space not obstructed by large chunks of debris. Once, she collided with something soft that yielded only slightly against her boot. She reached down, her fingers brushing against the fabric of a uniform. She swallowed, fighting back a mild swell of panic and revulsion, and probed further. A moment later, her fingers encountered bare skin. From what she could tell, it seemed to be a neck, but she was could not be certain what species. Definitely humanoid, she decided—and quite dead. She could not feel a pulse or any signs of respiration.

Jana removed her hand and took a deep, sighing breath. Keep going, she told herself. Keep moving. At first, her legs refused to obey, but they finally relented to her will and she continued on.

Stardate 44002.3 - Supplemental

The silence between them resumed, filled only by the faint hum from the movement of the lift.

The doors opened. Jana was relieved that there was no one waiting to enter. She stepped into the corridor, trying to ignore that David had exited the lift with her. He had no reason to be anywhere near the main Engineering deck, she knew. If he had an assigned post while they were under battle station conditions, it was probably sickbay.

Jana quickened her pace, not necessarily because she was in a hurry, but to hopefully gain her some more distance from David. She was relieved when he did not follow her as she entered the multi-level chamber that was main Engineering.

Nearly every crew member present was in motion, nearly all of it with some kind of deliberate purpose. Chief Engineer Wa-Rhayvea looked up as she entered, giving her a quick smile. Even under the heightened tension of their impending battle, Jana found the Efrosian's gentle demeanor warmly reassuring. Wa-Rhayvea nodded to the ensign next to him, apparently giving approval to whatever had been proposed, and straightened. He seemed about to say something when the shipwide intercom sounded.

"All hands," came duBois' steady, but amplified voice. "This is the Captain. We have arrived at Wolf 359 and are awaiting our final orders. All systems go to full battle readiness. Prepare to engage the enemy. Good luck to all of us."

The intercom went silent.

Wa-Rhayvea nodded as if the announcement was nothing unexpected. He looked back at Jana.

"Jana, please take the aft shield station."

"Yes, sir," Jana acknowledged, nodding.

She strode deeper into the Engineering deck to a station on the far side of the warp core. Glancing upward, she saw several crew members in the mustard Support and teal Science uniforms busy at other posts. She found herself mildly disappointed by the assignment. There was something very satisfying about manning one of the weapons stations during combat, but she had her orders—and she could never see herself disagreeing with Wa-Rhayvea about anything.

Jana felt the deck shift slightly under her feet. That she was able to detect the movement at all told her that the ship was undertaking some serious evasive maneuvering. She grabbed at the edge of the console, grateful for the slight lip at its edge.

"Begin random cycles in shield frequencies," Wa-Rhayvea called out.

Jana noted that Wa-Rhayvea did not shout, but his voice carried easily to where it needed to. She focused on the status display in front of her. The computer was shifting the shield frequencies randomly based on some internal algorithm. Jana occasionally overrode it and set the frequencies manually. The computer could do it far more quickly than she could, but she told herself that her actions added further randomness to hopefully prevent the Borg from knocking out the Ares' shields.

A shrill alert sounded from her left. She glanced over to see that the port fore shield generators had failed. Her lips tightened as Ensign Dunali looked at her in horror and frustration. Jana wanted desperately to help the young ensign, but she did not dare leave her station while she was still having some success in frustrating the Borg.

"Resistance is futile. You will disarm your weapons and escort us to Sector 001. If you attempt to intervene, we will destroy you."

Jana swallowed back a surge of fear. The voice had sounded less artificial than in the recordings she had heard, but that made it no less threatening.

The deck moved beneath her again. A moment later, it rocked sharply under her feet. There was a loud whine and the console before her flared brightly and then went dark.

Damn, she found herself thinking with an almost unnatural calm. Abruptly, it seemed as though the ship had flipped over. The deck became the ceiling.

Jana reached out reflexively to steady herself. Her hand touched nothing. She began to fall. Twisting, she tried to find equilibrium.

We've lost artificial gravity? she considered, wondering why she was not speaking aloud.

A hollow-sounding explosion echoed from nearby, making her ears ache. Before she could react, something slammed into her head and shoulders.

Blackness swiftly claimed her.

Stardate 44002.3

"Approaching Wolf 359."

"Take us out of warp," Captain duBois said. "Slow to one-quarter impulse."

Lieutenant (J.G.) Jana Ferguson turned from the station she was working on to face the main viewscreen. It was almost a reflexive action, driven by the desire to see what lie ahead.

Without turning, duBois addressed Bahan, the lead Communications officer. "Raise Admiral Hanson's ship. Ask them where they want us, Ensign."

"Aye, Captain."

There was a brief moment of relative quiet, filled only by sound of the alert klaxons and the subdued background chatter of the Ares' various departments reporting in to the bridge.

"I have the Admiral's ship, sir," Bahan reported. "They request that we take up position behind the Zeus and Artemis."

"Filling out the pantheon, are we?" duBois remarked with a hoarse chuckle.

"Sir?" Banah looked genuinely confused.

"Don't they teach you the classics any more at the Academy, Ensign?"

Bahan's cheeks darkened. "Sorry, sir."

duBois shook his head good-naturedly, saying something under his breath that Jana could not make out.

"Slaran," duBois instructed the Andorian helmsman, "Engage thrusters. Bring us into position."

Slaran nodded, his sky-blue fingers moving swiftly over the helm controls. "Thrusters, aye, Captain."

Jana forced herself to look away from the main viewscreen. It was an awe-inspiring sight: forty Federation starships of varying designs all massed to defend the sector from the impending Borg assault. It was only a single ship, Jana told herself. There was barely any chance that it could survive the combined defenses of an armada like this one.

The console flickered to life in front of her. Its control panel glowed with the subdued colors of normal operation and, unlike a few minutes ago, stayed active.

"That should do it," she told Ensign Korloch, the Benzite assigned to the auxiliary sensor station.

Korloch smiled appreciatively, inhaling slowly from her breathing frame. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Jana smiled, glowing inwardly at the open gratitude. Many of the officers were so formal, she had determined, giving her a "Thank you" with about as much emotional substance as a Vulcan.

"I'll be in Engineering if you have any more trouble."

Korloch nodded slightly. "Thank you again, Lieutenant Ferguson."

Jana smiled again, laughing quietly as she turned away. She knew the full statement of her name and rank was all part of Benzite formality, but she still found it vaguely amusing. Gathering her equipment case, she headed for the turbolift.

As Jana waited for the doors to open, she heard the soft footfalls of someone coming up behind her. She did not think anything of it, as it was common for crew members to share the lift, particularly when under hurried battle conditions. It was when she heard the voice that she felt her cheeks grow hot and her stomach knot.

"I'll walk with you," it said. "It's on my way."

Jana did not turn until she stepped into the turbolift. Lieutenant David Taylor followed her inside.

"Main Engineering," Jana instructed the lift. She paused, waiting for David to issue a command of his own. When, after several seconds, he did not, she pressed the lift control.

The lift doors closed. They both stood in silence as the lift began to move.

"Now is really not a good time," Jana suggested tersely. "In case you haven't noticed, we're at Battle Stations."

David looked only mildly abashed, but Jana knew that she had affected him more deeply. As a Betazoid, and an assistant ship's counselor, he had learned to mask his feelings well. He was no Vulcan, but he did a creditable job. Jana knew that it was only her close experience with him that allowed her to read him as well as she could.

"Jana," David pleaded quietly. "I'm sorry." He tried to make eye contact with her. "I really am."

"David," Jana warned him tightly. "Just . . . don't."

David bit off whatever else he had planned to say, swallowing the words back before they could come out.