| abstract
| - The bridge of the USS Pioneer buzzed with activity. Engineers and technicians still scurried around, making last minute checks on the new ship. On the port side, the door to the ready room slid open and Captain Tobias Quinton strolled out to survey the scene. Past him, at the Operations console, Lieutenant Thales conferred with a colleague. She glanced up briefly, then nodded a goodbye to the crewman and approached Quinton. “How are we doing, Lieutenant?” “We're ahead of schedule, actually. All systems are ready, we're just waiting on the rest of the crew.” “Any word on that transport yet?” “I'm afraid it's still held up. I've been in contact with Commander Xavier's shuttle, though, and it's on it's way, so he should be arriving—” Thales' combadge interrupted her with a chirp. “Dalton to Thales.” The brusque voice seemed to fill the room. “Lieutenant, you have any word on my nurses?” She shrugged and smiled apologetically at Quinton. “No, Doctor, not yet. The transport's still at Starbase 5, but I'm sure they'll be here as soon as they can. As I told you, I'll let you know if I hear anything new.” “Of course you will. I'm merely looking for an update. I sincerely hope they get moving soon; I would like to get my sickbay in order sooner rather than later and I can't do that if it's understaffed. Keep me informed. Dalton out.” Thales sighed. “That man is insufferable. Did you really pick him out yourself?” A small smile tugged at the corners of Quinton's mouth. “Don't worry, Lieutenant, I didn't just pull names out of a hat. I had plenty of input into these assignments. I have faith in this ship and I have faith in her crew.” “Mmm, I'll keep that in mind.” “We'll make our mark; I can feel it.” The crewman at Ops cleared this throat. “Sirs, Commander Xavier's shuttle has just been cleared for docking.” Quinton glanced at Thales. “I see you have things well in hand here, Sara. I'll go greet our new arrival. Carry on.” A lieutenant in command red dashed down the corridor toward the airlock and skidded to a stop just inside the adjoining waiting area. Several others were clustered there, various crewmen and a few officers in operations gold and sciences green. Most leaned back against the walls, but some sat as best they could on their luggage. She glanced around at the weary faces. “The transport to the Pioneer hasn't left yet, has it?” Another lieutenant, this one in green, looked glumly over at her. “No, it's having engine trouble, apparently. They're working on it now.” “Oh,” she said. “Well, I'm glad I didn't miss it.” He cracked a wry smile. “You might have, but for that. Aren't you rather late?” “I had engine trouble of my own,” she said, moving closer. “My shuttle's warp drive gave out on me and we had to limp along at impulse. It was not a pleasant experience.” “Sounds like somebody skimped on the pre-flight checks.” Her eyes narrowed. “I doubt that. I piloted it.” “Ah. But then I don't know anything about ships, do I, mere butterfly catcher that I am?” He patted the wall next to him. “Here, have a lean. It may be a while yet.” She eyed him dubiously, but set her bags down and held out a hand to him. “Adriana Watley. Chief Flight Control Officer, oddly enough.” “Tolly Gerard, Chief Science Officer. I may not know when to keep my mouth shut, but I do know a protostar from a pulsar.” “I'm very happy for you. And I'm glad you're not the counselor; you'd be rubbish at it with a manner like that.” “That would be tragic. I'm a far sight better with tricorders and LCARS displays than with people. I'm not 100 percent with people.” “Can't blame you. I'd rather have a shuttle myself.” The transport pilot stepped through the airlock, his uniform rumpled and a harried expression on his face. “Sorry about the delay. I'm sure we'll be underway soon.” “Glorious,” quipped Gerard, receiving glares from the pilot and several of the assembled crew members for his trouble. The pilot's gaze fell on the other lieutenant next. “Would you be Lieutenant Watley?” “Ah, yes. I was... delayed.” “Noted," he said dryly. "Everyone's here, then. As I said earlier, we apologize for the delay. Repairs are in process now. I ask you to please be patient with us, and I'm sure we'll be on our way very soon. Thank you.” He turned and disappeared back through the airlock. The main shuttlebay was on deck five. Quinton arrived there just as its lone passenger disembarked. He advanced on the shuttle and the other man reflexively straightened upon sighting him. “Captain, I'm honored, though a bit surprised. I was expecting to report to you, sir.” “At ease, Commander.” “Thank you, sir.” Xavier relaxed—but only slightly. “I thought I'd go ahead and give you the tour now. Besides, I like a casual chat with my new first officer before we get underway.” “I see. Thank you, sir.” “Yes. Shall we go, then? She's not a large ship, as you know, but she's capable. I'd like you to see some of the main departments before we go up to the bridge. I’m afraid we’re still missing three of the senior officers; there’s been a problem and their transport has been delayed. I had planned for a meeting in the morning, and hopefully they’ll be here by then. Still, there's plenty of people for you to meet in the meantime. Let's have at it.” “Of course, sir.” Quinton and Xavier turned and walked back toward the corridor and the Captain winced. “Commander, you don't have to end every reply to me with 'sir'. I like things a touch on the informal side as it is, and that's beyond formal. Really, I can't imagine your former CO not being driven mad by it. I forget, who was it?” “Captain Engström. Admiral Engström now, of course.” “That explains it.” Quinton didn't notice Xavier's sharp look. An hour later, the future passengers of the shuttlecraft Analemma were still waiting to board. Most everyone had given in to their weariness and aching feet and ended up sprawled on the floor. Not the most dignified position, but then they had no indication that their transport would be leaving anytime today, much less soon, nor had they been advised to return to the Starbase and wait for another shuttle. Watley and Gerard were engaged in a spirited discussion stemming from one of his offhand comments. “Of course I see the use,” she told him. “I know deep space missions can be stressful; I'm sure a counselor comes in handy. I'd just prefer to solve my own personal problems on my own. I wouldn't want to talk them over with a counselor.” “Still, strange words from a Betazoid.” She bristled. “Part Betazoid, and I'm a pilot, not a psychologist.” “Well, it's like going to the doctor, isn't it? It's for your own good, but still some people have anxiety.” “Counseling doesn't worry me, I just don't think it's anyone else's business. Doctors are one thing; if you're sick, you're sick. But for anything but the most serious sort of problem, I'd feel better talking to a friend. That is, if I wanted anyone else involved at all.” “The self-reliant type, eh?” “Absolutely. I just don't think it would help me. What would you do?” “Me? Sure, I'd talk to my friends, but I'd probably go to the counselor anyway. I mean, they're trained for it. I don't know about you, but I don't really want my friends hearing all about my deepest, darkest fears or what have you, and I don't think they would either. There's some things that are better left unsaid.” “These paralyzing fears, do you have them that often?” “I'm speaking hypothetically, thank you. Anyway, someone's got to put 'em to use, what with all you emotionophobes about.” She shot him a look and he grinned. “Just kidding! I know not everyone likes to talk about their feelings.” Watley shook her head and her eyes flickered across the room. To her left, past Gerard, leaning on an adjacent wall, was a tall man in a sciences uniform. She caught his gaze and he gave her an amused smile. The room was small enough that everyone could hear their conversation, and she knew it. She hadn't expected anyone to be so obvious about it, though. Watley frowned at him, and turned back to Gerard. However, before she could speak, the transport pilot appeared again. “We're ready.” “Finally,” murmured Gerard. The assembled crewmembers roused themselves from their seats and began queuing up. Watley and Gerard filed in toward the back and she found herself face to face again with the eavesdropper. Up close, she could see his rank insignia—that of a lieutenant commander—and she wondered who he was. Silently, he motioned for them to move ahead of him. Gerard offered him a grin and shuffled forward, but she hesitated. The commander looked intently at her and instinctively Watley's eyes narrowed at him. Gerard tugged her sleeve as the line flowed briskly into the waiting ship and threatened to leave them behind. Watley muttered a thank you as she shifted the weight of her duffel bag and followed Gerard.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)