Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hawkes studied the kneeling alien with suspicion. The cause of its sudden and unexpected surrender remained a mystery. While it was possible that it had done so upon realizing that it faced three obviously armed men, Hawkes doubted that was the true cause.

From what it did before, there’s a good chance it could have disarmed us all before we managed to do it any real harm.

Nonetheless, it had allowed Lieutenant Ramsey to proceed unharmed to assist the doctor. He had seen, though, the winged being’s struggle to remain in submission as Ramsey passed it. Whatever bond held, he suspected, was not wholly unbreakable.

He glanced for an instant toward the diagnostic bed where Ramsey was examining Hope. The lieutenant looked up and nodded to him, evidently signaling that she expected the wounded doctor to recover. Reassured, he turned his full attention to the alien before him.

He assessed their tactical status, trying to adapt his prepared scenarios to the current situation. The final outcome in a majority of them was the capture and containment of the alien. Many of these, however, also resulted in additional serious casualties and a considerable amount of additional damage to the ship. None had presumed a condition where the alien willingly surrendered prior to any kind of hostile engagement.

It doesn’t help that we can’t communicate with it.

It was unlikely, he thought, that any of their linguistic databases would contain a language that could both understand. Even gestures, he knew, could be problematic. Even some of the cultures on Earth assigned different meanings to the same common gestures. One society’s friendly greeting might be another’s profane scatological insult.

Is it even intelligent? he wondered.

Something inside him assumed that it was, but they had not seen any definitive proof to support his opinion. Its reactions so far could have been wholly instinctive, but he doubted it.

What might it understand then?

“Lieutenant,” Tuggle’s voice whispered over his comm. “The Chief’s pretty banged up,” he reported, “but he’s alive.

“Acknowledged,” Hawkes responded in a hushed tone almost too quiet to hear.

“He’s buried under a bunch of stuff,” Tuggle continued.

Hawkes did not bother to hide his annoyance, although it only showed in his eyes and the lines of his jaw. The Chief could wait a little longer; he needed to deal with the alien.

“I can’t move it off him,” Tuggle went on. “Not without some help.”

“Acknowledged,” Hawkes repeated. “Stand by.”

‘Yes, sir,” came Tuggle’s sharp reply.

Hawkes stared at the alien, refocusing his thoughts on what needed to be done.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Not easy to do with the brig two decks down.

Devereux considered the situation further. The main hull of the ship was not large, but the distance between the infirmary and their brig provided plenty of distance for the alien to attempt to break free and wreak new havoc against her ship and crew. As bad as the casualties and damage was this time, she suspected that they could be much, much worse.

“Elizabeth,” she said without turning to her First Officer. “See if you can get a discrete audio feed to the infirmary. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Engineering’s working on it, Captain,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s . . .” she paused, sighing. “There’s a lot of damage down there. They’re doing the best they can.”

Devereux nodded her understanding. “I’m sure they are,” she replied with quiet reassurance, while silently scolding herself for allowing her impatience to show. She knew that her crew were doing the best they could.

She looked over toward her First Officer. Elizabeth stared with intense concern at the scream. Everything in the young woman’s body language screamed that she wanted to do something, to help in some active way. Devereux could understand, particularly under the circumstances. Their Chief Engineer was down, the damage to the ship was disrupting communications, and Elizabeth was one of their most experienced Engineering specialists.

I’d be down there myself, if I could.

Devereux studied the screen, considering it. No, I need her here. Letting her go down there might make her feel better, but it would just put another command officer in harm’s way.

In the infirmary, Ramsey worked efficiently. The physician’s assistant’s lack of frantic urgency reassured Devereux that Hope’s life was probably not in any immediate danger.

What about the Chief?

The Chief Engineer’s location was out of range of the security feed. Devereux could only hope that he was being tended to by one of the other Security officers. Something told her that he was not dead. There was a way that people reacted, even seasoned professionals, when a dead body was present. None of those present in the infirmary were exhibiting those behaviors, even given the distraction provided by the presence of the alien.

Her attention returned to Hawkes, watching as he continued to study the kneeling alien. Neither had changed position. Devereux wondered who would budge first. Her money was on Hawkes to win the contest of wills. After that, though . . .

What’s his next move?

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Devereux stared at the screen, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. More than anything, she wanted an audio feed from the infirmary so she could what was being said.

Activating it now, though, might startle the creature.

Hawkes stood before the kneeling alien, looking as uncertain as Devereux could ever remembering seeing him. Under other circumstances, she might have found the scenario more than just a little amusing. Right now, she was not entirely willing to believe that the winged alien might not still suddenly rise up and tear into her Tactical Officer.

Gathering his composure again quickly, Hawkes gestured subtly to someone out of the feed’s field. Devereux saw a head with a long ponytail dash past the feed pickup.

Ramsey.

The alien was visibly agitated as Ramsey dashed past it toward Hope. It remained where it was, though, kneeling before Hawkes with its head lowered. Devereux released a soft breath of relief as Ramsey safely reached Hope and Hawkes remained unharmed, She had been unaware that she had even been holding it in.

Ramsey performed a quick visible examination of Hope. When that was completed, she said something to Hawkes, to which he responded by signaling someone else out of range of the screen. One of the Security officers—Sykes, Devereux realized—appeared and moved cautiously toward Ramsey and Hope, while never taking his eyes away from the alien.

After receiving instructions from Ramsey, he helped her lift Hope, cradling her limp form carefully between them. The alien’s agitation increased. Hawkes’ hand moved closer to his weapon. Devereux swallowed hard, ready to send an armed assault team to the infirmary.

New life form or not, I need by ship and crew in one piece.

Ramsey and Sykes maneuvered Hope onto one of the diagnostic beds. At Ramsey’s gesture, Sykes moved quickly away, keeping as much distance between himself and the winged alien as possible. Ramsey activated the bed. Devereux saw its pale blue aura glow into life as it began its scans.

The alien seemed slightly less agitated now, she noticed, but was still far from calm. Devereux wondered just the extent of its patience was.

Whatever it is, Hawkes will find out an instant before we do. She studied the screen for a moment. He needs to get that thing contained again before we find out.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hawkes took another step toward the alien. Its posture stiffened. Hawkes spoke to it once more. He moved forward again. The alien rose slowly, unfurling its wings to their full span as it turned to face him. It barked some kind of challenge to Hawkes. He returned it calmly.

Elizabeth watched the scene with silent admiration.

You’d think he faced down pissed-off aliens every day.

The alien’s taloned feet moved, scratching at the deck in tight, seemingly random patterns. Elizabeth recalling seeing that kind of behavior before: in birds protecting their nests and young from possible predators. It remained in place, though, apparently unwilling to leave Hope unprotected. Fixing its fiery eyes on Hawkes, it issued another challenge. This time, he did not immediately return it.

What is he doing?

Elizabeth glanced over at Devereux. The Captain’s attention was fixed on the scene playing out on the screen before them. Pyrafox was watching just as intently. Elizabeth noticed that his jaw was drawn back, exposing the points of his rear teeth.

Was he growling?

Her attention returned to the screen. Hawkes was motioning toward Hope. The alien watched him warily, clearly displeased with the focus of the Tactical Officer’s interest. Hawkes took a half-step forward, more of a gesture than an actual movement, but it was enough.

Screeching, the alien spread its wings wide and lunged at Hawkes. His weapon was out and up faster than Elizabeth could see. The alien ignored it, advancing on Hawkes with slow, deliberate steps. The Tactical Officer held his ground.

The alien paused for a moment, giving quick study to the creature before it that did not seem to have sense enough to flee. It appeared to reach a decision quickly, though, and surged forward.

Elizabeth gasped, and then watched in amazement as the creature suddenly staggered backward. As far as she could tell, Hawkes had not fired his weapon.

The other guards?

The alien shook off the effects of the unseen blast and glared challengingly at Hawkes. Hawkes raised his weapon, but more as a symbol than an actual threat, as he did not appear to take careful aim. The alien approached him again, although much more cautiously this time. When it reached the point where it had been stunned before, it slowed, but did not quite stop. Hawkes’ weapon steadied; his meaning was clear.

Eyeing Hawkes defiantly, the alien moved toward him. An instant later, it retreated, shaking its head. It continued backward until it once again stood next to Hope. Once there, its wings lowered, but it maintained its defensive posture. Hawkes spoke to it again and then gestured to someone out of the visible area of the feed.

One of the guards?

Hawkes said something to whoever it was again, more insistently this time. Then, to Elizabeth’s astonishment, he knelt before the winged being.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Elizabeth watched as Lieutenant Hawkes approached the winged creature. Beside her, she heard the Captain take a deep breath, hold it. Hawkes continued to move slowly, his hands open and empty, but Elizabeth noticed that they never strayed too far from his weapon.

The winged alien continued to kneel before Hope. The tableau seemed almost surreal.

If she hadn’t torn the infirmary apart, along with the Chief and Hope, it might even be humorous. What is it with Hope anyway?

The crew’s experience with the Aerian Star Bloods told her how seriously they revered Hope and others of her kind. This being obviously felt the same way.

She must be Aerian too! But she’s not any type we’ve ever seen . . .

Subtle shifts in its posture told Elizabeth that the creature was aware of Hawkes’ presence. It did not rise, though, or even turn its head to observe his approach.

Sudden movement stirred the image on one corner of the screen. Elizabeth suspected that it was the result of movements from one of the Security officers. The angle of the feed prevented Elizabeth from seeing them, but she caught the occasional glimpse of what she thought might be an arm, leg, or head.

Hawkes continued to move in closer. He was, Elizabeth thought, still out of range of the being’s wings or talons.

But what about its energy weapon?

From what Elizabeth could tell, the alien being held nothing in its hands.

She must have dropped it when she picked up Hope?

Hawkes seemed to be saying something, but the resolution of the image was so poor that Elizabeth could not even begin to make out what words his lips and mouth might be forming. He paused now, clearly addressing the alien.

He thinks it will understand Fleet Standard?

Although she would not be terribly surprised to find out that she was wrong, Elizabeth did not believe that Hawkes spoke Aerian. She knew of almost no humans who could. Even the Captain, despite her apparently close relationship with Hope, and mysterious assignment last year on the Aerian homeworld, seemed to know no more than a dozen or so words and, according to comments made by Hope, pronounced none of them well.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Rusty could find no part of his body that did not hurt. When he attempted to move, he immediately regretted it. Pain speared through his left leg. For an instant, his awareness became astonishingly acute, increasing his perception of the pain nearly beyond his limits to endure it. Mercifully, the sensation faded just as quickly, leaving his mind floating in a thick haze.

Through the drifting mist, he could see a winged figure.

An angel. No . . . an alien angel.

No . . . not mist. Glass.

At least he thought it was. He looked through it as if observing an exhibit at a zoo.

Its wings unfurled wide and then . . .

The Doc!

His arms were empty now. They ached and he tried to move them. The gestures they made were weak and feeble. Bits of . . . something scattered off of them. He tried to move his legs, but some kind of weight pinned them in place. Trying again, he felt shards of debris grind beneath his body.

He became aware of wetness spattered along several parts of his body.

Blood?

Those sections ached no more than any of the others, but he knew that was hardly a reliable indication of the severe nature of an injury. Something moved across the mist. It began to clear, revealing figures in olive-tan uniforms.

“Lieutenant,” one of them spoke in a low whisper. It took Rusty a moment to recognize that it was not addressing him.

“I can see the Chief,” it went on. “He’s trapped under a storage locker and some other stuff. I can’t tell if he’s okay. Should I—”

“Maintain your position,” another voice said. Rusty was certain that he recognized it, but the name of the person to whom it belonged did not come to him.

“It will be safer retrieve him after the threat from the alien has been neutralized.”

Neutralized? Did that mean . . . killed?

Rusty wanted to—tried to—call out.

No! Don’t!

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Full consciousness continued to elude Hope. She had the sensation of movement, then the feeling of an unyielding surface—the deck?—beneath her. So softly did she come to rest upon it that she wondered whether ship’s artificial gravity system had failed.

Shadows passed before her, evading recognition. Pain remained at a distance, as much a result of conscious effort as her disassociated mental state. A faint voice seemed to still speak to her, but the meaning of the words darted away before she could comprehend them. The waves of anger and danger she had felt had passed, replaced now by a feeling of . . . what? Hope found that she had nothing to compare it to. The closest equivalent was those she felt for the Captain. But this was different from those—similar, but different.

A wave of not-quite-rage swelled within in her. Other shadows, other colors, moved across her vision.

Protect.

The thought was clear, piercing sharply through her muddled thoughts, although the sound of the word possessed an odd quality.

Defend.

The shadows moved and the anger within her rose like a flame being fanned by a hard breeze.

No!

Hope struggled to shout it aloud, still not entirely certain that she was truly aware.

The fire behind the anger subsided, but was not completely extinguished. Hope suspected that it would take little for it to flare to full strength again.

Protect. Defend.

The voice repeated the words. It stated them firmly, without the full force of barely contained fury behind them.

Yes.

Hope answered the voice, hoping that, by agreement, she might calm of the anger that lay just behind them.

A rising buzz of warning rose within her mind now. The shadows before her moved with preternatural slowness. The haze grew thick across her thoughts once more.

Protect!

Defend!

Each word was a scream within her mind this time.

Protect!

Defend!

The shout drowned out the rest of her thoughts. A shriek of rage flooded her mind, filling it with a fiery glow.

It ceased abruptly, cut off in mid-cry. Darkness swirled around Hope, seized her, and captured her once more.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hawkes studied the kneeling winged being. It had remained quiescent ever retrieving the ship’s physician from the wreckage that it had caused.

That, however, could change again quickly.

He looked toward the damaged bulkheads. Tuggle and Sykes, while battered, seemed still fit for duty. They murmured in loud tones and broad gestures with the two Security officers who assisted them.

No doubt recounting the more dramatic moments from their encounter with the alien.

Hawkes considered the situation, mentally building a tactical plan for surrounding and capturing the alien. The sound of hurrying footsteps divided his attention. Before he identified the cadence of the footfalls, he grew concerned that the Captain or First Officer might have failed to heed his advice and had come anyway. The flash of a sandy blonde ponytail convinced him that was not the case.

Lieutenant Ramsey came to a stop beside him, her soft green eyes aimed ahead in the direction that he had been looking.

“Hope,” she gasped upon seeing the scene, her voice a soft, hoarse whisper. She began to move forward.

“Stop.”

Hawkes’ voice stopped her, but only for a moment. Her concern for the ship’s physician overrode the Tactical Officer’s command. His hand gripped her arm when she tried to lunge forward again.

Ramsey’s head whipped around, staring at Hawkes’ face and then down at his hand.

Her eyes came back up to his face when he did not release her immediately. Without saying a word, he looked toward the far bulkhead and nodded slightly. With a puzzled frown, Ramsey turned in the direction of his gaze. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the ruined hatchway and damaged bulkhead. She slowly turned back to Hawkes.

Hawkes nodded. Ramsey swallowed hard.

“Remain here,” Hawkes told her.

Ramsey crouched down beside him, siddling back until her back rested against the bulkhead behind him.

Hawkes tapped his comm. It might make no more difference than shouting his orders across the chamber, but it was at least worth an attempt to keep the instructions to his officers covert.

“Ensign, crewman,” he addressed them in a low voice. “Are you able to function effectively?”

Murmurs that he could not at first understand came over his comm before Tuggle spoke out more clearly.

“Yeah, Lieutenant,” he said. “We can help you take the bitch down if that’s what you mean.”

Hawkes’ eyebrow rose slightly with displeasure.

I apparently need to refresh his memory on proper on-duty vocabulary . . . again.

“Adjust your sonic emitters for a high power setting. Use a wide beam setting so that we can better contain her movements, if necessary.”

Another jumble of murmurs sounded over the comm.

“Is there a problem complying with my orders, Ensign?”

There was a brief pause before Tuggle answered him. “It’s just that our ear guards are over there, sir.”

Hawkes glanced up to see where Tuggle had indicated. Although he could not spot the items, Hawkes assumed that they were buried among the debris on the port side bulkhead.

He glanced toward the still-kneeling alien, growing increasingly concerned that they were running out of time.

“I recommend, then,” he said, “that you make your best efforts not to aim your weapons in your own direction.”

The sounds that followed Hawkes was certain was each of the Security officers expressing their displeasure with his advice. What they said aloud, however, was, “Yes, sir.”

A few moments passed, and then Tuggle reported, “We’re ready, sir.”

“Very good,” Hawkes acknowledged. “Stand by.”

Hawkes checked the charge in his weapon, rose, and began to approach the alien.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“One moment, Captain,” Hawkes said, surprising Devereux with his request to delay his answer. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had done that he was first assigned to her ship.

Several seconds of silence passed, punctuated with indecipherable murmurs and the faint clicking of what might have been equipment.

“Captain,” Hawkes voice came again, startling her slightly. “Switch the feed to one of your screens to secure Security link Beta-Seven-Three.”

Devereux frowned and then nodded toward Elizabeth. Her First Officer tapped out the commands on her tablet, bit nervously at her lower lip, and then tried to enter the commands on the auxiliary station.

“Captain?” She appeared both startled and concerned by what she found.

Devereux stepped forward, and then relaxed when she saw the security prompt.

Oops, I must never have given her a set of command override codes.

Devereux entered her command access code and then gave Elizabeth a encouraging wink. “Just our Tactical Officer being his usual cautious self.”

Elizabeth did not seem completely reassured.

“Let’s see now,” Devereux said, and turned toward the main bridge displays.

The star field it currently displayed dissolved, replaced by a splotchy gray image. It resolved slowly, lacking fine detail, but Devereux recognized the chamber that led to the infirmary’s recovery bay.

“What is—?”

“The Lieutenant managed to get one his remote security monitors online,” Devereux explained. “Barely,” she added, “by the looks of it.”

Although the details were unclear, Devereux could see the damage wreaked on two of the bulkheads.

Looks like someone drove a shuttle through there . . .

The image flickered and she found it difficult to discern the debris from the transmission artifacts.

There’s secured storage. And . . .

Her thoughts trailed off in surprise as the image sharpened and she clearly saw Hope sprawled limply on the deck. She opened her mouth, but stopped at the sight of the shadowy shape less than a meter away from Hope’s unconscious form. The surge of fear she felt for Hope dissipated as her mind and memory put the pieces together.

It’s kneeling . . . just like the Star Bloods did.

She peered closer, hoping to see more detail, but failed to accomplish much than to get a closer look at the signal artifacts. Taking a step back, she considered the scene for a moment. The alien had not moved since the security link had been established.

“At least she’s not tearing the place apart any more,” she murmured.

“It looks like she already did,” Elizabeth whispered in response.

Devereux gave a quick, small smile. She turned back toward the main screens.

“Lieutenant,” she said. “Restrain the alien and prepare to return it to isolation. I recommend using the brig until we have a better idea on how to keep it contained.”

“My thinking exactly, Captain.”

“I’m glad we agree,” Devereux said, chuckling softly. “I’m on my way there. I want to—”

“Captain,” Hawkes’ voice interrupted her. “I recommend that you do not arrive in the area until we have secured necessary repairs.”

At the edge of her peripheral vision, Devereux saw Elizabeth struggle to suppress a giggle. She almost smiled, but then grew more serious.

“Are you worried about a hull breach?”

“No, Captain,” Hawkes reported. “But there is a considerable amount of damage to several of the internal bulkheads.”

“I can see that,” Devereux remarked dryly.

“And a large quantity of medical supplies have also been compromised, Hawkes went on. “I recommend that you not expose yourself to them until we can assess the danger potential.”

Devereux mouth formed a tight-lipped frown. “All right,” she conceded unhappily. “Keep me posted.”

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“Well done, Lieutenant,” Devereux told him, sharing a quick smile of satisfaction with her. Her expression than went grim. “Are there any casualties?”

“Several,” Hawkes replied. “Including the Doctor and the Chief Engineer.”

For an instant, Devereux’s expression betrayed her shocked concern. It was gone a moment later, but Elizabeth realized that she had seen it mostly in the Captain’s eyes.

“Have Lieutenant Ramsey report to the infirmary, on the double,” she told Elizabeth.

It took Elizabeth a moment to recover, hoping that she did so before the Captain noticed. “Yes, Captain,” she replied and tapped out the necessary orders.

“How did you finally manage to subdue the alien?”

There was a brief pause before Hawkes responses. “I cannot take credit for the accomplishment, Captain,” he finally said. “Nor can any members of my Security team, although they did make several noteworthy attempts.”

“Who did it then?”

Elizabeth could see Captain Devereux sorting through the possibilities in her mind.

The Chief? Did he somehow manage to control the alien before he got knocked out?

“The Doctor.”

Elizabeth watched the Captain’s eyebrows suddenly rise.

“But I thought she—“

“She is unconscious and requires immediate treatment, as does Chief Rayna.”

Devereux still seemed to be trying to sort through the missing details of Hawkes’ report even as she turned to Elizabeth.

“Okay, Lieutenant,” Devereux said, taking a long breath. “We still don’t have any reliable visual feeds in that section. I really want you to tell me what’s going on.”

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Full awareness eluded Rusty. His head ached, from his brain outward in all directions. His skull felt several too small.

Must have been some party . . .

He became aware that he ached all over. His entire body was a dull, steady throb of pain.

Musta been quite a night. Hard drinking and a tussle.

After spending several seconds, trying to move, he surrendered when no part of his body seemed willing to answer his call. He had suffered more hangovers in his life than he cared to count. This felt nothing like any of those. The bruises, though, those felt familiar.

I wonder what kind of shape the other guy—guys?—are in.

He mentally sank back and waited for his mind to try to reorder itself.

It had not been a bar, he remembered now. He was on board a ship. He had been on his way . . . where? To see a short little alien chick about . . . what?

He remembered now a prescient flash of an explosion of some kind, pushing her aside as . . . what?

Confusing glimpses of wings and flying bits of . . . what danced across his thoughts. He had become one of those flying bits, he remembered now, slamming hard into something. After that, things fell on him as he shielded . . . who? the alien? with his body. There was a lot of shouting, but he did not think any of it came from him.

He had tried to rise, to crawl, but had been trapped by . . . something. With effort, he had tried to turn. His head rocked from the impact of something new.

And there he was here.

Heroic Measures (continued)

He pondered this for only a moment before he became aware of a smell. The odor was tantalizing familiar in a vague sort of way. It was also, he decided, wrong for where he expected to be.

Where am I?

He analyzed the scent some more, but was able to only eliminate possibilities, not reach any actual conclusions.

It’s not . . . it smells kind of like . . .

Vague memories danced across his awareness. It took him a moment, but then recognized their theme: examination rooms, the nurse’s office at school . . .

Where am I? he asked himself again. A hospital?

It did not smell like home, even after his mother had given it one of her more thorough cleanings.

A hospital. He took a moment to try to come to terms with that. What the hell happened?

He fought to remember again.

Wind. Rain. Running. Thunder. Clara.

She had touched him . . . there.

No, that was before.

The wind.

A shape blew away on the wind. What was it?

Her sweater.

He had chased it across the field.

Rain. Thunder.

Clara. Under the tree.

Light flared, searing across his memory. Walter gasped, choking for breath. He thought he should be spasming, but his body remained oddly still.

Odd sounds buzzed around him, forming no patterns that he could understand. Shadows darted across his vision. He tried to breathe, wanting to scream out for help.

A sharp pain penetrated his awareness. It came from somewhere in the region of his left forearm, but it was gone before he realized that it was there. He tried to follow it, hoping he might be able to . . .

His thoughts began to swim. What little clarity he had managed to reclaim began to wash away. The colors before him faded to faint hues, and then to gray. He tried to hold onto them, but failed. His awareness dissolved, but not before he managed one last thought.

What happened to the sweater?

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

The thought only slightly eased her desire to dash from the bridge.

A loud surge of static burst from the main speakers. Elizabeth tried to discern words through it and saw Devereux also listening with furrowed intensity.

“Hawkes?” Devereux turned to Elizabeth inquisitively.

Elizabeth fought back the urge to shrug. She glanced down at the console, hoping for an answer. The Lieutenant’s locator beacon had stopped transmitting. Or rather, she realized, it was probably now as blocked from the interference as the others were.

Words and voices popped tantalizingly through the harsh waves of interference. Elizabeth tried to tease meaning out of them, but almost every sentence her mind assembled for her seemed ridiculous.

Iron teapot over bulkhead nacelle?

“Turn it down,” Devereux conceded irritably.

The Captain turned and paced the narrow space between the command deck and secondary stations. She was clearly deep in thought; Elizabeth wished she had some advice to offer her.

Send another Security team down there?

No, she decided. It’s probably crowded enough down there. The last thing they need is more people in the crossfire.

An EVA approach was out of the question, she knew. The infirmary was safely nestled within the interior of the ship. There was no way to reach it directly from the outside of the ship, except through a complex series of passageways and conduits. It had been deliberately re-designed to be a completely isolated system, if necessary.

Devereux stopped. Something in her expression told Elizabeth that she had made a decision. The Captain began to open her mouth to announce it, but was interrupted by Hawke’s voice, sharp and clear over the background interference.

“Lieutenant Hawkes to the bridge,” he reported. “The situation has been contained.”

Elizabeth felt her muscles relax with relief. She saw the Captain’s posture ease as well.

“Captain,” Hawkes’ voice continued. “I recommend that you do not arrive in the area until we have secured necessary repairs.”

Elizabeth almost giggled aloud at the Captain’s expression and then watched it grew more serious.

“Any chance of a hull breach?”

“None, Captain,” Hawkes reported. “But there is considerable damage to several of the bulkheads. A large quantity of medical supplies have also been compromised.”

Devereux mouth formed a tight-lipped frown. “All right,” she said. “Keep me posted.”

“Yes, Captain.”

There was a subtle shift in the background of the comm channel that told Elizabeth that Hawkes had ended contact.

“Well, Commander,” Devereux said, turning to Elizabeth with a tense smile. “I guess we wait.”

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“Can you raise Lieutenant Hawkes?” Devereux asked.

Elizabeth tapped out the command on her tablet. An acknowledgement signal flashed back almost instantly. “Yes, Captain,” she replied. “I him on comm.”

“Put him on the main speakers.”

Elizabeth entered the appropriate commands.

“Yes, Captain?” Hawkes’ voice sounded from around them. From the carefully paced cadence of his words, Elizabeth guessed that he was still running down the corridors toward the infirmary. “I have not yet reached the infirmary.”

“Where are—“

Devereux was interrupted by a crash of static across the speakers.

“Lieutenant Hawkes,” she called out. “Report!”

She was answered only by a wavering buzz of interference. Her eyes turned toward Elizabeth with a. intense and questioning gaze.

Elizabeth tapped the controls on her tablet and then repeated the same actions on the console in front of her. Both efforts yielded the same results: that is, none. She lowered her tablet in resigned frustration.

“His comm must be blocked by the interference.”

Devereux slapped her palm against the surface of her console. It did not sound to Elizabeth like it was hard enough to swing, but it was a clear sign of the Captain’s concern.

Elizabeth saw the Captain’s eyes glance toward the main hatch.

She wants to go down there, too. Heaven knows I do.

Elizabeth wondered whether she would be able to protest if the Captain attempted it. Enough of the ship’s senior officers were already unaccounted for without either them adding to that number.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Elizabeth listened to the garbled reports coming over the comm. Through the urgent shouts and sporadic sounds of blaster fire, she had lost track of which voice belonged to whom. She glanced toward the Tactical station, and then at the main hatch, envious that Hawkes had been allowed to witness the action for himself.

“Captain,” she called out as a status message blinked on her tablet. “The Engineering team reports that they’ve managed to get a signal from one of the aft security feeds.”

“Let’s see it,” Devereux ordered. “Put it on Screen One.”

The comparatively prosaic scene of the debris field dissolved away. A moment later, it was replaced by a gray-white wash of static.

“I don’t see anything,” Devereux said, peering hard at the monochromatic haze.

“It’s pretty weak, Captain,” Elizabeth admitted, feeling a sharp twinge of embarrassment. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her yet.

“See if you can clear it up.”

Elizabeth tapped out instructions to the Engineering team. “They’re working on it,” she told Devereux. “There’s a lot of damage to the conduits running through that bulkhead.” She paused, looking down at the updated status report. “Some of it might be interfering with the signal.”

Devereux frowned unhappily.

Portions of the image cleared for a moment. Elizabeth recognized two figures in Security uniforms. They both appeared to be very busy firing their weapons and defending themselves against . . . what? One of the men dove for cover and—

—the screen flared and then was once again filled with the flickering gray interference

“Can you get it back?”

Elizabeth was surprised by the anxiety in Devereux’s voice. “We’re trying,” she told the Captain. “But the line might have been overloaded.”

Devereux mumbled something under breath that might have been a curse. Elizabeth stared at her for a moment in surprise before looking back down at her tablet.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hope stared back at the Captain. The Captain’s face filled her vision with startling clarity. All else around it seemed distant and out of focus. She attempted to will her way back to full control over her senses, but the effort exhausted her.

I needed to help . . . to help heal the Chief Engineer.

She found herself unable to speak the words aloud. The Captain glared down at her, glancing away only for an instant to check the monitors.

“I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger,” the Lieutenant Ramsey said. “She’s weak, and needs to rest, but it doesn’t seem any more serious than that.”

“Are you sure?” the Captain asked. Hope could hear the deep concern in her voice.

The Lieutenant Ramsey checked the readouts again and frowned. “As sure as I can be,” she said. “At least the monitors don’t seem to be showing anything more than that.” The Lieutenant Ramsey turned back to face the Captain apologetically. “I didn’t exactly get trained in Aerian physiology.”

An understanding scowl crossed the Captain’s face. “Something I guess we’d better all correct sooner rather than later.”

“Perhaps I can help, Captain.”

All of the heads turned toward the Tactical Officer in surprise.

“In what way?” the Captain asked.

The Tactical Officer studied Hope for a moment before turning back to answer the Captain’s question.

“I have gathered a considerable amount of data on Aerian physiological weaknesses and limitations,” he explained. “For tactical purposes.”

A faint smile played along the Captain’s lips. “Of course you have,” she said.

“Ever since Hope’s groupies showed up, eh?” the Chief Engineer quipped from the other bed.

The Tactical Officer’s mouth opened, but the Captain rested a hand on his arm. “Let it go, Lieutenant.”

The Tactical Officer regarded the Captain for a moment before turning to look once again at the medical displays. “I’ll have the data sent to Lieutenant Ramsey.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” the Captain said with sincere smile and then looked back down at Hope.

Hope stared back. The Captain appeared to be less agitated now. Hope tried to rise, but the strength to do so eluded her.

I am weak.

The acknowledgment did not please her.

“You need to rest,” the Captain told her. “I think Lieutenant Ramsey can handle things for a few days.”

No! I must study the Other One!

The Captain seemed not to notice her distress.

“And I’ve got two Security officers here to make sure you do,” she said, laughing softly.

Hope did not find the statement amusing.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“How is she?” Devereux demanded.

“I . . . I don’t know yet,” Ramsey replied. The uncertainty in her voice was also reflected in her gestures. “I’m trying to remember how to re-calibrate this . . .”

Hope lay limply on the diagnostic bed. She pale complexion appeared waxen, her large eyes dull. Her thin, nearly lipless mouth hung open, but Hawkes could not tell whether or not she was breathing.

Something hummed and a familiar faint green glow emanated from the bed’s surface. Several of the monitors came to life. The readings they showed, particularly those related to heart rate and respiration looked nothing like what Hawkes expected to see for a human being. Whether they were correct, or even normal, for an Aerian, he did not know.

Ramsey adjusted something on the console and the audio indicators became less insistent. The colors on the real-time physiological charts settled into the customary spectrum.

“There,” Ramsey said, releasing a long breath. “That should do it.”

“How is she?” Devereux repeated.

Ramsey frowned and studied the displays. “According to this,” she said, “if I’m reading it right, she suffered a cerebral hypoperfusion episode.”

“Is that serious?”

Ramsey looked up, clearly trying hard not to smirk as she answered the Captain. “She fainted.”

Devereux stared back at Ramsey, clearly not amused. “Why?”

“For getting out of bed,” Ramsey replied, with only the faintest hint of reproach. “She was more banged up than the Chief was,” she explained. “She needed rest, and time to heal, but didn’t.”

An audible breath sounded from Hope. Her eyes quickly regained their normal bright sheen. The waxy texture was slower to leave the surface of her skin.

“She’s coming around,” Ramsey reported, somewhat needlessly, Hawkes thought.

“Hope?” Devereux asked, moving closer to the diagnostic bed.

“Captain.”

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

Hope was uncharacteristically silent for a moment before she answered.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

He wondered, though, if she was conscious that she had done so.

She is both distracted and angry. Concern over the fate of the Doctor? The Chief Engineer?

Hawkes noted with silent approval as a Security officer fell into step behind as they passed a junction on the next deck down. He recognized Ensign Lenz by his distinctive, closely-cut hair style and stride. Although Hawkes was reasonably certain that he could defend the Captain alone, he felt reassured at having the support, should the alien manage to break loose again.

They reached the infirmary with exchanging a single word. Hawkes moved ahead to open the hatch for the Captain. Lenz moved in close behind Devereux. His hand, Hawkes noted approvingly, rested ready on his weapon.

Devereux strode in past him, barely acknowledging the Security officer, giving Hawkes further evidence that the Captain was distracted. She tended to be unfailingly polite to members of her crew, typically responding with a courteous word or gesture. Sykes and Tuggle straightened when they saw the Captain enter, but then their postures snapped into rigid attention upon seeing Hawkes with her. Hawkes appraised them critically, but said nothing as he tried to stay close to the Captain.

A few, quick strides brought the Captain across the infirmary antechamber and to the recovery bays. Hope turned at her approach.

“He will recover.”

She stood beside the Chief Engineer’s bed. Hawkes could not immediately decide which of the two of them remained in worse condition. Bruises like smudges of ash marked the Aerian physician’s otherwise alabaster complexion. Her gait, although she moved very little, remained awkward and stiff. Hawkes suspected that she still suffered significant pain from those injuries, but her expression revealed nothing.

Devereux studied the Chief Engineer for a moment and then turned her gaze fiercely toward Hope. Hawkes could rarely recall seeing such hard rage reflected in the Captain’s eyes. The lines of her jaw ran tight with tension. She opened her mouth to speak, clearly planning to address the Medical Officer when the Chief Engineer interrupted her.

“Hey there, Cap’n.”

The Chief’s voice was weak, although it still managed to convey much of its customary exuberance. He remained on the bed, but raised himself cautiously onto his elbows to face them. Devereux held her hard glare on Hope for a moment longer and then turned toward the Chief Engineer, forcing her expression to soften.

“How are you feeling, Chief?”

The Chief Engineer flexed some muscles experimentally. He winced lightly a few times, but gave no indications of great pain.

“Hell,” he said, coughing lightly and clearing his throat. “I’ve been in worse bar fights.”

“I know you have.”

Devereux’s expression was dead-pan at first, then she chuckled and her posture relaxed, clearly relieved that the Chief Engineer seemed to have at least recovered what passed for his wit.

The Chief grinned back at her. It lasted almost a moment, though. His eyes widened and his head turned sharply.

“Doc!”

Hawkes turned in time to see Hope lose her balance, trying to clutch for purchase on the console as she fell toward the deck. Fortunately, Lenz reacted more quickly, catching the alien physician’s torso before her head hit the deck.

“Ramsey!” Devereux shouted to the physician’s assistant.

The young woman turned, her long dusky blonde ponytail whipping through the air. Her eyes widened with surprise.

“When did she—“ She stopped, seeing the Captain’s expression, and composed herself. “Bed Three,” she told Lenz, as the Security officer carefully lifted Hope from the deck.

Ramsey already had the bed’s systems online by the time Lenz reached it. Slowly, and with deliberate care, he lowered Hope onto the bed.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“Captain,” Hawkes called, interrupting her thoughts. “The infirmary reports that Chief Rayna has regained consciousness.”

Devereux turned toward the Tactical station with a frown. “What about Hope?”

“She is . . .” To Devereux’s surprise, the Tactical Officer hesitated, as if unable to make sense of the report he had received. “She is treating Chief Rayna.” His expression, Devereux noted, remained almost unreadable, but she was certain that she saw an undeniable glint of disbelief in her Tactical Officer’s eyes.

“Tell them I’m on my way.” She started to turn away, but caught a glimpse of Hawkes beginning to open his mouth. “Fine, Lieutenant,” she said, cutting off the protest that she was certain was coming. “You’re with me.”

She locked down her console and called toward the helmsman. “Lieutenant Pyrafox, you have the bridge.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Devereux headed for the main hatch, not at all surprised to find Hawkes already there.

#

As he escorted the Captain from the bridge, Hawkes continued to mentally assess the unusual status report that he had received. His Security officers assigned to the infirmary, Tuggle and Sykes, while hardly the most disciplined members of his Security force, were not known for submitting inaccurate reports. They might, on occasion, Hawkes considered wryly, resort to hyperbole, but never to outright misrepresentation of the facts.

The Doctor had suffered severe wounds, requiring treatment to heal several fractures. It was only through the unusually quick and protective actions of the Chief Engineer that she had not suffered graver injuries. He had, however, done so at great cost to his own safety.

His actions have gained the admiration of my Security force as well. And mine as well.

Hawkes glanced at the Captain, but she seemed intent on her own thoughts. Despite the demonstrated destructive abilities of their captive, he noted that she had chosen not to arm herself. He, of course, had retained his sidearm since the alien being had first been brought on board.

She must feel that my team and I are capable of protecting her.

He was surprised by the small swell of pride that accompanied that thought.

I’m just performing my duty, he reminded himself. As per Fleet regulations.

For a moment, he considered reminding the Captain of the ones applicable to this situation, but decided against doing so.

She is as cognizant of the regulations as I am, he reasoned. She has made a choice to disregard them.

Hawkes noted with silent approval as a Security fell into step behind as they passed a junction on the next deck down. Although he was reasonably certain that he could defend the Captain, should the alien break loose again, he felt reassured at having the support.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Devereux studied the survey reports again. So far, neither the analyses from the exobiologists or the metallurgical studies had revealed any clear answers as to the origin or species responsible for the debris discovered in the field. For the most part, the composition of the asteroid fragments had been found to be unremarkable. The majority of them, particularly as one moved further out from the locus of the original disturbance, contained elements that could be found widely throughout known space.

Her eyes flicked toward the helm as Pyrafox made an adjustment on his console, firing the maneuvering jets to adjust or hold their position. Newton’s laws being what they were, even the ship remained stationary, the fragments around them continued to move, however slowly. Occasional course corrections would be needed to avoid collisions with some of the larger chunks.

“Lieutenant,” Devereux said in a musing tone, moving to address Gho at the Science station. “I assume that debris field is still drifting?”

The young Science officer looked startled by the question. “Yes, Captain,” she replied and then consulted her console. “I think astro—“

“Can we trace its course back to its point of origin?”

Gho blinked as she processed the Captain’s question. “We should be able to,” she answered with some confidence. “I’ll need to—“

“Good,” Devereux agreed. “Work with the Lieutenant, if you need to,” she said, nodding toward the helm station.

“Yes, Captain,” Gho replied. Devereux saw the Science officer swallow hard. “I’ll get right on it.”

Devereux glanced toward the helm station as she moved away. He did not appear to be aware of her gaze, but his ears were perked up at attention.

We’re going to need to get used to this, she reflected.

Devereux sensed the Science officer’s conflicting desires for the helmsman and wondered which drove the young woman more: curiosity, revulsion, or guilt over feeling emotions that contradicted her spiritual beliefs.

There’s tens of thousands of them, she reminded herself. A lot of them serving in the Fleet.

The Star Force, she knew, was one of the few places where the products of Earth’s of extreme genetic engineering program felt reasonably at home. Mingled among the handful of alien races that humans had encountered so far, they appeared somewhat less remarkable and noteworthy. As far as she could tell, Pyrafox had never allowed his genetic heritage to slow him down. If anything, he was one of the few of his kind who seemed to embrace it without slipping onto the side of radicalism.

Devereux had never carried any particular prejudice against them. She could recall, though, as a young girl, her surprise and then intense curiosity at seeing one a local marketplace. That one had been an unusually rare blend of genes, giving the woman feathers, yet the facial features that seemed to be more amphibious in nature. The result had been, at least to her, surprisingly aesthetically intriguing.

Yes, Devereux reassured herself. I would let my sister marry one—if I had a sister. For herself, Devereux had never found herself emotionally drawn toward any of them, although she had encountered plenty during her days at the Academy and in the service of the Fleet. She much preferred, in general, the company of human males.

Although that doesn’t quite explain your reaction to the Heftaur ambassador, does it, Christine?

It was more with fondness than discomfort that she recalled her brief encounter with Tarkanan, the Heftaur liaison, during their unexpected mission to ferry a group of alien ambassadors to a rendezvous with another vessel heading toward a diplomatic enclave on Sagan One.

Besides, she told herself. That was different. He was an alien, not a . . . well . . .

She stopped herself right there, recognizing that if she could not convince herself, then there was no way that she might convince someone else.