Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hope stared up at the winged Aerian, suddenly aware of just how much taller than her the being was. The Star Bloods had also loomed over her, but that had seemed fitting, given their greater overall mass. Hope knew, that the slight build of this being contained a strength and power perhaps even more devastating than belonging to a Star Blood.

“Why have you returned?” She spoke aloud, chiefly for the benefit of the Tactical Officer, but also echoed the question in her mind.

The winged Aerian's head remained lowered. For a moment, Hope thought for a moment that it might once again drop to its knees in supplication. To her surprise, it did not.

<I no longer wish to be apart from you. I cannot fulfill my duty . . . apart.>

Hope sensed that the being's last word carried a far deeper meaning, but its nuances had been lost in time. Her mind provided the best translation that it could, but she saved the original sounds for later research. Once again, she was frustrated by her lack of access to her home world's data sources—particularly the historical records. She could request them, of course, but at this distance it would take several days before they might arrive.

Assuming the Hierarchy approves, of course, she thought with wry annoyance.

Still, she intended to make the effort. Already, she could imagine the upset that the discovery of this ancient being would cause among the Administrators.

“She may remain.”

Hope stared at the Tactical Officer, waiting for his reply, expecting him to protest. He was often reasonable, but his priorities did not always match her own.

The Tactical Officer regarded her in return, saying nothing at first. Finally, he nodded, once. He turned toward the Security Officer at his left.

“Two guards are to remain posted at all times,” he told her. “One at the isolation chamber, and at the other at the main hatch.” His eyes fixed on those of the Security Officer. “Your priority is containment. Is that clear?”

The Security Officer held the Tactical Officer's gaze for a moment and then nodded sharply. “Yes, sir.” She gestured toward the other Security Officer, who silently took up position at the main hatch leading into the infirmary.

“The bridge will continue to monitor all activity,” the Tactical Officer said, turning back to Hope.

She returned his gaze, understanding the implied warning.

“Understood.”

The Tactical Officer maintained eye contact with her for a long moment, and then turned sharply on his heel. With a few measured strides, he left the infirmary.

<He would defend you.>

Hope's eyes turned from the now-closed hatch, looking at the winged Aerian in surprise.

<He would defend you.>

The being repeated it, as if Hope had not understood.

<And die.>

Hope stared at the winged being. Shock rippled through her even as she realized that what it had spoken was true. Although it was not programmed into their genes, as it was with the Star Bloods of her race, Humans would do this for each other.

“How do you know this?”

<Can you not see it? In his heart?>

The ancient Aerian used a different word, one that almost translated into current Aerian as “soul”, but with different nuances than Humans would use.

Hope looked toward the closed hatch, staring at it in silence for several moments. She turned backed to the winged being. It gazed back at her patiently, its fire-red hair forming a flame-like nimbus around its head.

“You must go to the isolation chamber now.”

The winged Aerian bowed its head.

<I will obey.>

It turned, and without waiting for the Security Officer to accompany it, headed in the direction that Hope had indicated.

Hope watched it go, wondering what else it understood.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Rusty surveyed the twin engine cores, and then checked the status displays. Both of these told him what he already knew: the slipstream drive was purring contentedly like a sated wildcat.

“Carson,” he called out, without turning around. “Watch out for that spill,” he warned the technician. “And then watch where you put your hand.”

He snickered softly a moment later when he heard a startled yelp in a female register. Carson had evaded the puddle of spilled lubricant, nearly lost his balance, saw that he was about to grab onto a heat exhaust conduit for support, and then collided with Ensign Gwen Kennedy instead. “Collided” might not have been exactly the right word, considering where Carson's hands had ended up.

Gwen might be surprised, but she won't hurt him—much.

In a rare flash of what have been longer-term precognition, or simply his prurient imagination, Rusty saw Gwen forgiving Carson rather emphatically later that night in her quarters.

“Chief!” Niguchi called down from the upper level. “They need you in Cargo One.”

He paused a moment, worried that his alien angel had broken loose again.

No, that's not it.

He realized, with relief, that he sensed no real danger at all. Reaching that conclusion, he wondered why they needed him.

“Do they say what they needed?”

“No, sir,” Niguchi shouted back. “Just that the Commander was heading down there.”

Lizzie? What's she doing down in Cargo One?

“Thanks,” he responded, not caring whether he voice carried back up to the level above or not. He took another check look around the Engineering deck and, confirming with his eyes that nothing was amiss, headed for the cargo bay.

Although he knew what he would see a moment before he stepped through the hatchway, he was still surprised.

“What in the friggin' hell are you doing to my cargo bay?” Ratko's voice echoed back from the metal rafters above.

Rusty grinned. Anything that annoyed the Chief Petty Officer enough for him to hit that voice pitch had to be good.

That was the first thing he heard. The first thing he saw made him stop in mid-stride. His eyes widened with surprise.

The deck of the cargo bay looked as if it had taken a direct hit from a passing asteroid. Rusty guessed that the deck had won, but only because it lacked what should have been a very noticeable dent in the deck plating.

Scattered pieces of debris and small asteroid fragments littered the space. He had known that Jeffries and Tsu-tao had loaded some samples aboard the shuttle—he just had not realized how many. At first glance, the mass of the scattered pieces of debris and asteroid fragments looked far greater than what should have fit in the shuttle's cargo hold.

Jeffries crouched amid the fragments, picking some up at random and then carelessly tossing them aside. If there had once been a system to how the fragments had been laid out, Rusty suspected that it had now been abandoned. Off to the side, out of range of the professor's throwing range—although just barely, Rusty noticed—stood Ratko. Rage emanated from the logistics officer like perceptible waves of heat. A smirk played across Rusty's lips. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud.

Standing away from the commotion, near the aft hatch, was Ensign Cavallero. Rusty guessed that either Ratko had called for Security, or the commotion he was causing prompted someone else to. Cavallero seemed uncertain whether to intervene. Rusty could understand the man's hesitation: Jeffries had rocks; Cavallero just had a gun.

“What's wrong, Chop?” Rusty called out, moving the rest of the way into the chamber. “The rocks finally fall out of your head?”]

He grinned as he stepped over some of the strewn fragments. Ratko turned toward him and scowled. The man's face was the color of a rare steak. Cavallero, on the other hand, looked relieved. Jeffries, as far as Rusty could tell, disregarded his presence as irrelevant to his current task. What exactly that task was, apart from moving rocks haphazardly from one pile to another, Rusty could not yet say.

“Do you see what that crazy coot's done to this place?” Ratko snarled. “The Captain said—“

He broke off, his eyes fixed on the hatchway behind Rusty. Rusty started to turn around, expecting to find the Captain there, but knowing a moment before he did so that he would not.

“Hey, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth paused, clearly surprised to find him there.

“Chief,” she said, doing a creditable job of regaining her composure. “What are you doing here?”

Rusty frowned at the unexpected question. “Niguchi said I was needed down here.”

“By who?”

Rusty frowned. “He didn't say.”

Elizabeth eyed him critically for a moment. Then, seeming satisfied that he was telling the truth, looked back into the cargo bay, the deck of which was rapidly beginning to resemble the surface of the asteroid they had just explored. After taking a moment to digest the sight, her expression became one of puzzled bemusement.

“Chief,” she said, her eyes shifting for a moment back to Rusty. “Chop,” she went on, her gaze now moving to the logistics officer. “Can someone explain to me what's going on here?”

“Someone let one of the inmates out of the asylum,” Ratko remarked with surly impatience, nodding toward the apparently still-oblivious Jeffries.

“Takes one to know one, Chop,” Rusty quipped, and turned to hide his grin at Elizabeth's sharp look, but not feeling terribly guilty about it.

Elizabeth opened her mouth, probably to scold him, but was interrupted by an outburst from Jeffries. Rusty turned to look, finding the professor with his arm raised in triumph. Clutched within it was a single rock. To Rusty's eyes, the fist-sized shard looked pretty much the same as the countless other fragments scattered around the deck.

“This is astonishing!” Jeffries shouted. “Just . . . astonishing.”

All eyes in the cargo bay turned toward the animated scientist.

“Okay, Prof,” Ratko said with exaggerated irritability. “What's so astonishing?”

“This!” Jeffries answered, waving his fist in the air. Rusty got ready to duck in case it flung loose, although he did not foresee that happening. “This!”

“Doctor Jeffries,” Elizabeth said in soothing tones.

Rusty tried very hard not to snicker. He saw her glance toward Cavallero, who nodded slightly, his hand moving toward the weapon at his waist.

“Why don't you put the rock down . . .” Elizabeth went on, taking a single, tentative step toward Jeffries.

Jeffries looked confused, staring at the rock in his hand, to Elizabeth, and then back at the rock again.

“Don't you understand what we have here?”

“An old chunk of rock?” Ratko suggested, still sounding annoyed.

Jeffries stared at the logistics officer with the same kind of smug satisfaction that Rusty guessed he often used on students who gave the wrong answer. He hated teachers like that.

“Wrong,” Jeffries retorted. “And this isn't a chunk of rock,” he announced. “Most of these,” he said, waving his clenched fist over the scattered fragment, “are. But this is not.” He held it out, attempting to give the others a closer look. “This is a metal fragment—probably part of a hull or some kind of structure. And it's only two thousand years old.”

Only? That seems old enough to be old.

“Don't you understand?” Jeffries persisted. “It's only two thousand years old.”

Rusty felt like he should understand the significance of Jeffries' statement. To his relief, he saw that Elizabeth and Ratko appeared to be as mystified as he was.

Jeffries heaved a dramatic sigh, rolled his eyes, and then held the chunk of rock out toward them.

“This,” he repeated, “is only two thousand years old.” He turned at the waist, gesturing toward the rest of the scattered debris. “All that is millions of years old,” he explained. “As it should be.”

Realization slowly came to the others. Rusty felt it like an ancient light source flickering on in his mind.

“Whatever happened to our winged visitor,” Jeffries continued, “It only happened two thousand years ago.”

Only.

Rusty then remembered that the not-quite-crazy old man was a specialist in space geology. Geology: where time was measured, not in years or decades, but in eons.

Two thousand years . . . Rusty chuckled aloud. I always did have a thing for older women . . .

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Devereux stared out from the command deck, casually surveying the activity on the bridge. Her eyes felt dry and grainy. She had to blink to focus on the main displays, only then realizing that she had working for more than three hours without a break.

I really need to stop doing that.

She stretched hesitantly, feeling joints crackle and unused muscles mutter their complaints. Her stomach awoke from its slumber as well, reminding her that she had eaten nothing since breakfast. Letting out a slow breath as blood flowed back into awakening muscles, she scanned the bridge for Elizabeth, and then remembered that her First Officer had gone off-duty more than an hour earlier. Hawkes, too, was gone, replaced by Ensign Cortez at the Tactical station.

He was off doing . . . whatever it was he did during his off hours. She had never been sure. Although than sometimes seeing him eating in the galley, usually alone, Devereux could not recall ever seeing him at any of the ship's informal social gatherings, except in those rare instances when she had not-so-subtly suggested that his absence would be noticed. Turning her head, she felt the tension along her shoulders and down along her back as the stiff joints in her neck snapped quietly.

I wish Hope was up and around. I could use one of her massages about now.

With that guilty reminder that she had still not made it down to the infirmary, Devereux logged off from the command station and rose. She was about the hand the bridge over to Cortez when Gho appeared near the main Science station. Intent on surveying the rest of the bridge, Devereux had overlooked the young officer. With that console mounted against the command deck platform, it was easy for her to miss someone seated at that station.

“Captain,” Gho offered quietly, as if uncertain whether she should interrupt her Captain's train of thought.

Devereux gave her a quick, warm smile. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

The young officer relaxed and, Devereux noted, stopped fidgeting quite so much with her tablet.

“I completed a draft of that analysis you asked for,” she said.

Devereux stared at the Science officer for a moment, trying to remember.

Did I ask her for one? A thin fog shrouded her thoughts. Wow, I am tired . . .

At her Captain's questioning look, Gho quickly added, “The one about the drift of the debris field.”

Devereux nodded her understanding. Oh, right. She felt a small wave of mild relief. Nothing urgent or vital.

Gho watched her expectantly. Devereux was tempted to ask if they could discuss in the morning, but she could see that the young woman was eager to present her findings.

Taking a slow, shallow breath in an attempt to clear her head, she flashed the lieutenant another quick smile, and said, “What did you find out, Lieutenant?”

Gho seemed uncertain whether to just offer Devereux the tablet or report her findings from it. Devereux managed to suppress most of a smile, remembering her days as a junior officer when she had to submit a report to one of the command officers.

“Just give me the high points,” she told Gho. “You can save the hard math for the pilots and the engineers.” Her eyes flicked for a moment toward the helm station, but Pyrafox, who might have enjoyed the joke, was not there to hear it.

“Yes, Captain,” Gho agreed. Her expression told Devereux that she had been confused by the comment.

She tapped up a chart on her tablet. “Based on the current trajectory and drifting velocity of the debris field, I've calculated a course it might have followed since its origin point.”

A bright yellow-green line appeared overload across the small grid on the tablet's display.

“It's only an approximation,” Gho added apologetically, unwilling to look up from the tablet and meet Devereux's eyes. “It's passed through a lot of uncharted space,” she explained. “We don't know what kind of gravitational or other effects it might have encountered during the past two thousand years.”

Devereux's thoughts came to a halt. She silently replayed the Science officer's last statement, wanting to make sure that she had heard it incorrectly.

Two thousand years?

She must have either also spoken her question aloud, or Gho had read the question in her expression.

“I'm sorry, Captain,” Gho offered, sounding uncomfortable. “I thought someone had told you.”

Devereux glanced down at the tablet in the Science officer's hand, trying to remember if she had seen such as assessment in any of the daily department logs. She was certain that she would have remembered if she had.

“I've haven't finished reading all of the reports yet,” she admitted. That part is true, at least.

Gho relaxed, nodding slightly with understanding. “Professor Jeffries and the Chief just got done dating some of the samples,” she explained. “The metallic fragments near where Chief Rayna found . . . the alien seem to be about that old.”

“I see,” Devereux said, trying to force her fatigued mind to function and produce a least moderately rational conclusion from the data.

Two millennia. That poor thing's been floating out there for more than two thousand years.

She tried to put into further perspective, frustrated by how slowly her mind seemed to be functioning.

Earth had barely entered the Middle Ages. She looked up from the tablet and stared at the security display that monitored the infirmary's isolation chamber. If that thing really is Aerian . . .

For her previous experiences on the Aerian home world, she knew the Aerian culture was old. She now had a renewed understanding of exactly what that meant.

“Captain?”

Devereux turned and focused again on Gho. She gave her a small, apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, Lieutenant,” she said. “I was thinking about our . . . guest. Please continue.”

Gho's eyes flickered toward the security display and then back to the Captain.

“Based on my calculations,” Gho went on. “It's looks like the origin point of the debris field was about twenty-two light years from here. Whatever created it happened there.”

“How close are your approximations?” Devereux asked thoughtfully.

Gho frowned unhappily. “Pretty approximate,” she admitted. “So far, we can only guess at about two thousand years,” she said. “And have no idea what kind of acceleration or deceleration the mass might have experienced during that time.”

Devereux took the tablet from Gho and studied the chart on its display.

“It looks like this passes not too far from the Paragon colony.”

Gho reached over and tapped a control on the tablet. One of the dots that speckled the background of the chart glowed a little brighter.

“Yes, Captain,” she agreed. “But not on a direct course. Barely even in sensor range.”

Devereux studied the display thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

“That's mostly it, Captain,” she said. “Unless you want to check my calculations.”

“I'll pass on that for now,” Devereux chuckled. “Send it to me and I'll take a closer look at it later.” She flashed Gho a tired smile. “Right now, there's a ham sandwich and some hot tea with my name on it in the galley.”

“Yes, Captain,” Gho replied, seeming unsure whether or not to smile at the Captain's remark.

Devereux handed Gho back her tablet. “Nice work, Lieutenant.”

The young officer brightened. “Thank you, sir.”

Devereux smiled and regarded the young officer for a moment.

It's both so easy to forget and so easy to remember what that was like.

“Have a good evening, Lieutenant,” she told Gho.

“You too, Captain.” Gho looked quickly away, apparently embarrassed.

Devereux breathed a soft chuckle as she headed for the main hatchway. She was still tired, but her spirits were lifted.

I really need to check in on Hope, she reminded herself, and made a solemn promise to do so—after she had silenced her stomach.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“Chained in irons, if you’re smart,” the Chief Petty Officer suggested, although not loudly.

Hope did not recognize the reference. It was plain from the expressions of both the Chief Engineer and First Officer that they did. Even the Captain flinched slightly. Whatever the phrase meant, it clearly referred to something unpleasant.

I must protect her. She must be studied.

“How charmingly medieval of you,” the Chief Engineer retorted.

“She might look like an angel,” the Chief Petty Officer persisted. He was clearly growing more angry. “But she nearly made ones out of two guards, you, and the Doc here. She’s a cold-blooded killing machine.”

“That is inaccurate.”

All eyes turned toward Hope at her interruption.

“Her blood is the same as mine.”

The Chief Engineer appeared about to respond, and then stopped with a look of surprise.

“Hope,” the Captain said quietly. “Are you saying she’s Aerian?”

“Yes. Very ancient.”

“What?” the Chief Petty Officer protested. “How can—“

The Captain raised a hand and all voices around the table became silent. She looked thoughtful and Hope was sure that she was remembering their visit to the home world.

“That changes a few things,” the Captain said.

Her eyes turned toward Hope for a long moment, and then back toward those around the conference table. Confusion now overlaid their previous expressions.

“I must study her.”

The Captain nodded slowly, deep in thought once more. “I’ll bet you must . . .”

Hope felt reassured by the Captain’s tone. The Captain had not yet issued her commands. She had permitted her lower officers to give voice to their opinions, but the Captain held the ultimate authority.

“Has anyone actually tried to talk to it?”

Heads and eyes turned toward the First Officer in surprise. Her cheeks brightened and her lips moved nervously. She turned toward the Captain, her eyes seeking support there.

“Our ol’ boy Hawkes here tried,” the Chief Petty Officer replied. “And he got it into the brig—where it should stay.”

“He threatened it with his weapon,” the First Officer objected. “With two armed officers to back him up. That’s not communication—that’s intimidation.”

The Chief Petty Officer began to speak, but the Captain raised her hand again, cutting him off.

“Hope,” she addressed the holographic image once more. “Is it intelligent?”

“Yes.”

“Can you communicate with it?”

Hope paused for a moment before answering, considering how much she should reveal.

Basic facts, she decided. No more.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it wants?”

“No.”

The Captain took a slow breath. Hope could not tell whether she was expressing frustration at her limited responses or simply trying to form her thoughts.

“Do you know what it attacked us?”

I presume. I do not know.

“No.”

“I see.”

The Captain studied Hope’s holographic image. Hope was certain that the Captain suspected that she knew more than she was revealing. The Captain’s expression settled into one that Hope recognized: the Captain had made a decision.

“Can you guarantee that you can keep it contained within an isolation chamber?”

“After wounds are treated, yes.”

“Captain,” the Tactical Officer interjected. “I recommend extreme caution.”

“I think you recommended a bit more than that, Lieutenant.” The Captain’s tone remained calm and even, carrying none of the accusation that Hope might have expected.

The Tactical Officer reacted solely by lowering his head slightly in submission.

“You’re not thinking of marching that thing back down the halls again, are you?” the Chief Petty Officer asked with angry incredulity.

The Captain turned her head to regard him. “I am,” she responded firmly. “Unless you can give me a practical plan for moving half of the infirmary, and its isolation, lab down into the brig.”

The Chief Petty met the Captain’s gaze for only a moment before looking away. “No, ma’am.”

The Captain nodded, satisfied. “Then it’s settled,” she said. She turned now to the Tactical Officer. “Lieutenant, prepare to escort our guest back to the infirmary.”

“Yes, Captain.”

As stoic as the Tactical Officer’s expression was, Hope could tell that there were other options he would have preferred.

“However,” the Captain continued, “I still want two armed Security personnel in the infirmary at all times.”

That is not my preference.

Hope did not voice the thought aloud. The Captain had given her enough. She would not risk what she had gained by offending her.

“Hope,” the Captain turned back to her holographic projection. “This alien is now your responsibility,” the Captain said. “At least until we know what it is and what it’s doing here.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The Captain turned back to those seated around the table. For a moment, Hope thought he might invite further discussion.

“For now,” the Captain said. “The matter is settled.” Her eyes swept across each of the face gathered there. “Commander,” she said. “Please remain a moment. The rest of you are dismissed.”

The First Officer exchanged an uncertain glance with the Chief Engineer. The Chief Engineer flashed her a quick smile, winked, and then rose from his chair. The Tactical Officer was already moving toward the hatchway. The Chief Petty Officer remained seated, as if daring to defy the Captain’s command. The Captain glanced at him for only a moment, but it seemed enough for the Chief Petty officer to change his mind.

The First Officer settled back into her seat. Her unease was evident. Hope wondered why the Captain had ordered her to remain.

“Thank you, Hope,” the Captain said. “Get some rest.”

Hope’s view into the conference room vanished.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hope stared back at faces of those seated around the table. Each expression revealed much about their thoughts. Both the First Officer and Chief Engineer appeared to share a similar one: both were relieved by her statement. The Chief Engineer, in particular, seemed almost . . . smug. It was the closest Human term she could assign to his expression. His eyes watched the Chief Petty Officer with a gleam of triumph. The Chief Petty Officer’s demeanor clearly conveyed his distrust. He glanced for an instant at the Chief Engineer. His mouth formed a tight scowl as he looked away.

Even knowing that her mind was not yet functioning as efficiently as it should, Hope found that she could not determine what victory the Chief Engineer might have gained over his rival officer. Although assigned to different positions on the ship, they both held an equivalent rank. Hope assumed that the ongoing competition between the two men derived from their desire to improve their personal status. Such political maneuvering, she had observed, was as common among Humans as it was among her people. The Chief Engineer, however, appeared to be one of the rare exceptions. He had been known, in fact, to publicly ridicule it in others. Only when the his male sibling had been present had the Chief Engineer exhibited such behavior.

The Tactical Officer, with whom she often advocated the same cautious approach to situations, remained unconvinced. Masked behind the archaic lenses he wore, his eyes flashed a quick spark of betrayal. Under other circumstances, she might have yielded to his position and authority.

Not this time. You are wrong.

She did not speak these thoughts aloud. It was enough that her statement failed to support his opinion. To also contradict him openly would be a grave breach of hierarchy and protocol. He was, after all, the Tactical Officer.

“You seem quite certain of that,” the Captain addressed her. Although the situation was deeply serious, Hope saw a bright spark of humor in the Captain’s eyes.

“I am.”

Her terse statement resulted in a long moment of expectant silence. Apparently, the others assumed that she would provide more detail as to the reasoning behind her assertion. She saw no need to do so.

“What?” the Chief Petty Officer said, clearly mocking her. “Our little alien angel knows she’s been put in a ‘time out’ and is going to stay there until someone comes for her?”

“She’s not so little,” the First Officer murmured, casting a sharp glance first at the Chief Petty Officer and then, seemingly without provocation, at the Tactical Officer.

“She will remain,” Hope reiterated, judging that a different choice of words might more clearly convey her meaning.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Her own eyes turned to the now-paused holographic image. Seeing the wreckage done to her ship, even after at least a half dozen viewings, still brought a swell of anxiety and anger.

It could have been so much worse.

Devereux studied the scene for a moment, and then reached down and deactivated the display. The image dissolved in a pale kaleidoscopic mist.

“You all know why we’re here,” she began. Her gaze remained on the area of empty air where the projection had been. “We have willingly brought on board this ship a being whose destructive force poses a significant threat to the safety its crew.” She took a short, slow breath. “And now we need to decide what to do about it.”

No one spoke, but some of the officers shifted in their chairs. Elizabeth, she noted, shot another hard glance toward Hawkes.

“I’ve read your reports and recommendation,” Devereux went on. “At least from those of you who bothered to submit official ones.”

Her eyes turned toward the Tactical Officer for a moment while a faint smile danced for an instant across her lips. Her gaze now swept across everyone seated around the table.

“I’d like to hear from everyone,” she said. “Be candid. If you have concerns, voice them. I don’t want my crew put at risk because someone didn’t speak up.” Her gaze lingered for a moment on Elizabeth as she said this.

Something’s definitely on her mind.

Devereux started to speak, but was interrupted by the intercom. Although relieved to see that it was not the bridge, a different concern rose when she saw that it came from the infirmary.

Devereux tapped the control. The face of Lieutenant Ramsey appeared on the small screen.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain.” The young woman looked more than mildly frazzled.

“That’s all right, Lieutenant,” Devereux responded calmly. “Is something wrong with Hope?”

Ramsey visibly sighed. “Only in that she’s insisting on joining your meeting,” Ramsey explained, sounding both apologetic and frustrated at the same time. “But there’s no way I can release her from here yet. She’s not ready.”

Devereux nodded. “I understand.”

Why am I not surprised?

“What if she used her desk pickup?” Elizabeth suggested.

Ramsey looked uncertain.

“Would that be acceptable to you?” Devereux prompted her.

Ramsey hesitated. “Yeah,” she answered. “As long as she stays there.”

“I can patch her in,” Elizabeth said, already working the table controls.

A few moments later, Hope’s head, visible to the top of her shoulders, appeared at one end of the holographic display array.

“I am here,” she announced.

“So you are,” Devereux agreed, unable to wholly suppress a smile. “Shall we continue now?”

“Yes.” Hope agreed.

Not for the first time, Devereux wondered if Hope was typical of the Aerian medical officers who served on their own ships. She somehow doubted it.

“Okay, Lieutenant,” Devereux said, turning to Hawkes. “Let’s hear it.”

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

All discussion fell away as Devereux entered. Pausing in the hatchway, she silently surveyed the table and those around it, seeing that the chair at the head of the table remained vacant. Although it was customary to reserve that seat for the ranking officer, she really did not care where she sat, just so long as she had a seat.

Ratko dropped into the seat next to the Chief, making more noise and fuss about it than was probably necessary. Making a show of getting comfortable, he turned to the Chief Engineer and greeted him in gravelly whisper that was easily overheard by everyone else at the table.

“Hey there, ol’ rust bucket,” he remarked with rough cordiality as he eyed the Chief’s numerous bruises. “I hear you tried to go ten rounds with that thing in the brig.” He snorted with mock derision. Devereux was convinced it was entirely false. “Told ya to stay away from that hooch from the still behind the plasma converters.”

Despite the urgency of other matters on her mind, Devereux found herself observing the Chief’s reaction. It would not be the first time that some clever and enterprising Engineering crew, usually with the assistance of someone from the Science staff, had constructed a still on board a ship. She was certain that the Chief had maintained one before the refit. It had been perhaps one of worst-kept secrets aboard their small vessel, but she had never pushed too hard to officially locate and confiscate it—much to her Tactical Officer’s displeasure. Since then, though, she had heard nothing. Nor had Hawkes brought to her anything more than vague, fleeting rumors (all of which had turned out to be just that) of the existence of a new one.

Something sparked in the Chief Engineer’s eyes, but then faded and fled. Nothing in his expression or posture revealed that Ratko had touched on the truth. Mostly, the Chief just looked tired.

Not surprising, Devereux thought. He should be recuperating in the infirmary.

She let the matter pass, understanding full well why he wanted to be present.

I’d probably do that same thing—being the Captain or not. Damn, she added with a guilty start, I need to check in on Hope.

Hawkes, to her surprise, seemed to be ignoring the exchange. His attention was apparently captured by something Elizabeth had said before she had entered the room. Whatever the exchange had been, it had clearly agitated her First Officer.

I guess we’ll find out . . .

Devereux eased into her seat, taking those few moments to regather and refocus her thoughts. She knew, without looking, that all eyes were on her, directly or not.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Boredom, he could see, would be a problem. Reliving his most exciting memories would be fine . . . for a time. After that, what else was there?

He felt odd sensations along his body now. His mind seemed less disconnected from them than before.

Not a plus, he decided, as his earlier numbness faded in spots, replaced by a collection of dull aches.

He became aware of light, but nothing that resembled a tunnel or, thank the Morris, something generated by fire and brimstone.

What does brimstone smell like anyway?

He sniffed experimentally, prepared to cough and retch. Instead, the odor was only mildly unpleasant—and all too familiar.

By the Morris, this is Hell. I’m going to be trapped for eternity in here with that damned alien doc!

His head thrashed back and forth—or at least he thought it did—as he tried to forcibly thrust the notion from his mind. His eyes snapped open. There, staring down at him, were a familiar pair of large, dark alien eyes.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Rusty was floating. His mind drifted free. His body remained locked within the embrace of gravity. It was a sensation that he recognized.

Pain meds. Strong ones.

Damn.

The Doc never would’ve . . .

Hope!

His distress cut through the medicated fog. He still felt strangely light. A moment later, one through which he fought to think clearly, he realized that it because nothing now pinned him against deck. In fact, the deck felt oddly soft beneath him.

The A-G’s out?

No. Bio-bed.

The infirmary? That seemed right. At least it’s not the morgue.

His thoughts became a jumbled, colliding set of a images: the sight of space through his helmet, landing on a large chunk of rock, wanting to kick Professor Jeffries out of orbit for being a nuisance, an angel . . .

An angel? By the Morris, maybe I am dead.

He pondered that for a moment, not liking how it felt.

Not much of an afterlife . . .

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“Commander?”

Elizabeth started, silently praying that it was not the first time that the Captain had addressed her.

I really need to stop doing that. Pay attention, Elizabeth!

“Yes, Captain?”

“Are the security cameras functioning down those corridors?”

Elizabeth tapped her tablet and checked, even though she was pretty certain of the answer. “Yes, Captain,” she reported. “Engineering says they’re operational.”

“Then why aren’t they on the main screen?”

Fortunately, Pyrafox reacted more quickly than Elizabeth did.

“On Screen Three, Captain,” the helmsman informed them. “It looks like they’re on Deck Four, Section Eight.”

“I can see that, Lieutenant,” Devereux remarked, her eyes pointed toward the status readouts on the bottom of the image.”

“Urm,” the helmsman said. Elizabeth saw him swallow back whatever else he had intended to say. “Yes, Captain,” was what he settled for.

Elizabeth watched as Hawkes, flanked by the two Security officers from the infirmary, led the winged alien toward the brig. Each intersection of corridors they passed also contained a additional guard posted in each direction it led. It became almost a rhythm as the small group moved along, making their way through one passage way and then another.

Both tension and relief became palpable in the atmosphere on the bridge when they received the hatch that led to the brig. Hawkes entered his access code and then waited as two of the Security officers opened the hatch. One of them entered ahead of the rest of the group. The alien seemed to understand Hawkes’ gesture and moved through the hatchway.

The vantage point of the scene changed as the computer switched cameras. Elizabeth guessed that this was inside the brig’s antechamber, as she saw the alien enter, followed only a pace behind by Hawkes. With his weapon drawn and ready, the angle of the camera made him appear quite threatening.

The ship’s brig consisted of a single large chamber, It could be partitioned into three cells of roughly equal size, separated by mountable bulkheads manufactured from hull alloy. Unless the occupant was capable of punching through the ship’s hull, the cells were effectively impregnable. For reasons only Lieutenant Hawkes knew, he had ordered it configured for a single, wide cell.

The winged alien stepped inside, after hesitating for a moment, and then watched quiescently as the Security officer resealed the hatch. A guard took position outside the hatch, while another one assumed a station out in the antechamber. Hawkes conferred with the one in the outer chamber and then disappeared from view as he stepped back into the corridor.

“Well,” Devereux said. “That’s done.” She turned away from the screen and began to move toward the main hatchway. “I’ll be in the infirmary.”

“But, Captain,” Elizabeth called to her quietly. “The Lieutenant—”

“Have him meet me there, then.”

“Captain,” Elizabeth persisted, trying not to allow her uncertainty to show in her tone. “He said to wait until repairs have been completed.”

Devereux stared back at her. Elizabeth was relieved not to see any anger reflected in the Captain’s eyes. There was something else there, though, Elizabeth, but she could not quite put her finger on what it was.

Worry? Frustration?

“And are they?”

Elizabeth covered her startled surprise by checking her tablet.

“Not yet, Captain,” she reported. “The Engineering team reports that they need at least forty more minutes before the damage will be secured.”

“Fine,” Devereux replied.

Elizabeth thought she heard the Captain sigh with resignation, but then realized that Devereux had expressed it more by the change in her posture than through any audible sound. She watched as Devereux returned to the command deck, trying very hard to hide her smile.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

“Captain!” Elizabeth called out, a bit louder than she had intended.

Devereux looked toward Elizabeth with a look of concern. “What is it, Commander?”

Elizabeth examined the message on her tablet one more, just to make sure she had understood it correctly the first three times she had read it.

“Commander?”

Elizabeth looked up, feeling a sharp twinge of guilt for not answering the Captain sooner.

“Security reports that Lieutenant Hawkes has the alien in custody and is proceeding to the brig.”

The Captain’s mouth formed a relieved smile.

“Did he have any trouble?”

Elizabeth stared down at her tablet uncertainly. “No, Captain,” she managed to say, with a lot less confidence than she would have liked. “It just got up and followed him.”

Devereux stared at her in wordless disbelief. After a moment, the Captain’s eyes narrowed slightly in warning.

“It’s not a joke, Captain,” Elizabeth protested a little too shrilly. “I swear!”

The Captain looked back at her. Devereux’s face seemed to struggle to find an appropriate expression for the situation. Elizabeth could understand the Captain’s disbelief. It was exactly the kind of tale that the Chief might tell.

But the Chief’s been smacked down in the infirmary, while I’m here—

“Very well, then,” Devereux finally agreed. “Clear everyone from all of the corridors between the infirmary and the brig.”

Elizabeth glanced down at her tablet. “The Lieutenant’s already done that,” she told Devereux. “Except for Security personnel.”

“I see,” Devereux responded evenly. “In that case,” she went on, “please tell the Lieutenant to report in once our ‘guest’ has been secured.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Devereux turned away before Elizabeth could tell whether the Captain was piqued or not. Without saying another word, Devereux headed back toward the command deck. Elizabeth watched the Captain go, wondering whether she or Hawkes had actually done something wrong.

She’s sure acting like it.

Elizabeth could not figure out, though, what it might have been. Lieutenant had followed the standard Security protocols for transporting a dangerous prisoner through sections of the ship. He had done so before Devereux had ordered him to, sure, but Elizabeth could not imagine that the Captain would have gone against regulations in this case—not after what happened in the infirmary.

And all I did was offer the report and pass on the orders.

Then what had supposedly upset the Captain?

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hope struggled back to awareness, fearful of what she might find there. It required far more effort than she had imagined it would. She clung to it fiercely, unwilling once again slip into unknowing darkness. What she found was not the fury and chaos that she dreaded, but nor was there peace. There was . . . confusion and . . . fear? No, she realized. It was something other than fear, but akin to it.

While she fought to maintain her tenuous hold on consciousness, other parts of her mind processed her surroundings. A faint, almost imperceptible warmth bathed her cells. She was on a diagnostic bed. Someone was running basic exploratory scans. Although could not see the readout displays, she was fairly certain what they might show. At minimum, she had suffered a badly fractured wrist and left leg. Her body revealed the location of numerous contusions along, but most had already begun to heal. There was no serious internal damage, although two of her organs had been badly bruised by external contact with falling debris.

She found the winged being who had spoken to her mind in distorted Aerian. It had, she was relieved to discover, submitted and remained quiescent, but mostly outwardly so. The confusion she sensed earlier came from the new being. Hope tried to sift through its projections, trying to learn the cause of its anxiety. Another being stood before it, making sounds that it could not understand. They sounded nothing like her own tongue. The being before it moved its limbs as it made its sounds, but the gestures held no meaning for her either.

Humor rippled through Hope’s being as she realized who stood before the winged creature. Filtering past the projected perceptions in her mind, she recognized Tactical Officer Hawkes. She read the message of his motions, understanding the confusion of the being. It had taken a long time living among Humans for her to grasp the meaning of many of their gestures. Even now, she found some of them incomprehensible, particularly those seemingly meant with humorous intent.

She refocused her thoughts on the being’s perceptions, concerned that her own had begun to drift. Her strength was waning and she did not know how much longer should could maintain a sensible consciousness.

<Go.>

Grayness formed like clouds on the edges of her awareness.

<Follow.>

Deep mist filled her inner vision.

<Obey.>

Darkness reclaimed her.

Emerald Flight: “Star Wing” (continued)

Hawkes stared at the alien, refocusing his thoughts on what needed to be done: the alien must be placed in confinement before it can inflict any further damage on the ship or its crew.

The ship’s brig had been prepared. All that remained was getting the alien down to it.

Hawkes tapped his comm, doing his best to make it look like a casual, harmless gesture. “Assume your previous positions,” he told Sykes and Tuggle.

“But the Chief—“ Tuggle protested.

“He can be attended to once the situation is secure,” Hawkes responded coldly. “Resume your position.”

Whatever Tuggles muttered in response was too faint to be picked up clearly by his comm.

That’s probably just as well, Hawkes decided, as it would almost certainly have earned him a reprimand.

Hawkes looked up to see the two Security officers moving back to their original positions. Each one had a a clear lateral shot at the alien. He drew his own weapon and then looked down and studied the alien once more. He addressed it.

“You must come with us.”

The winged being lifted its head. The fury had faded from its eyes. Hawkes saw intelligence there, but could not gauge its depth. It was much like trying to read the ship’s doctor, but he had no doubt of her intelligence. This creature, though, might be no wiser than a dog, or as cunning and ruthless as any Star Blood.

Hawkes doubted that it understood him, reacting more to the fact that he had spoken than to any real comprehension of his words. It did not appear to be wounded, although it was possible that it had suffered injuries that were either internal or hidden by the being’s clothing. Hawkes knew that there were few things more dangerous than a wounded animal—except perhaps for one protecting its young.

His eyes darted momentarily toward Hope and then back at the alien.

Had it been trying to protect Hope? Could this thing be some kind of guardian or parent?

But Hope had not known what it was. It possessed clear Aerian characteristics, but Hope had failed to immediately identify it as such.

Or was that a ruse?

He had never known the Aerian physician to ever have been anything more than wholly truthful. Even, perhaps, a little too direct, he admitted, but it was a trait that he could both respect and admire.

“Come,” he told her alien, gesturing toward the hatchway with his weapon.

The being’s dark, pupil-less eyes turned in the direction he had pointed.

“Come,” he repeated.

The alien stared back at him. He could not read its expression, but he sensed confusion rather than defiance.

Maybe it’s young , , , ?

There was no way to know. Hope might be able to determine its age, Hawkes thought, but she was out of action for the moment.

He gestured toward the door once more. It looked toward the hatchway, its gaze lingering on it for a moment, before turning back to Hawkes.

Planning a means of escape?

Hawkes took one step back and waited. The alien regarded him steadily and Hawkes wondered what it might be thinking. He stepped backward once more, leaving the winged being a clear view and path to the hatchway. Its eyes turned toward the hatchway and then focused again on Hawkes. With the grace of an accomplished dancer, the alien began to rise.

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.