Chapter 11
After all those years, he was back in a Starfleet uniform. The uniform felt tight around Brett’s chest to the point where he couldn’t breathe. He knew this had little to do with the uniform’s construction. His discomfort was a psychosomatic condition as the ship’s counselor would have said.
He smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric, maintaining that rigid Starfleet posture that always made him feel like he was walking with a rod surgically implanted in his spine. With the shave and haircut he’d undergone earlier, he looked almost like a respectable officer. He looked almost like the man who’d killed a shipload of Serparnian refugees and lost his commission.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked Robyn.
“You look fine. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were an actual Starfleet officer.”
“Thanks.” He turned away from the mirror, ready to get down to business. “What are your orders, sir?”
“Supervise the repairs, make sure no one shirks their duties. That includes you.”
“I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”
She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders. “Just don’t get too used to this. It’s only until we can make port.”
“You definitely don’t have to worry about me getting too comfortable in this.” He tried to shift the fabric to fit more comfortably. “I don’t know how you can stand it.”
“You forget, I was born in one of these.” She smiled at him, but in her eyes he saw the uneasiness remained.
He doubted his own uneasiness was any better hidden. Until repairs were made, they were sitting ducks. At any moment the Serparnians could return to finish them off. That meant no one was going to get much sleep until repairs were finished.
All along the corridor between Brett’s quarters and the engine room, they saw evidence of the battle. Here and there whole sections of the corridor walls or ceiling lay in piles shoved to one side to let people pass by. Other sections had black streaks from fires or doors that refused to open or close. Emergency lighting was all that illuminated some areas while others were completely dark and could only be navigated by using a hand light.
Pressing the turbolift call button, Brett knew it wouldn’t comfort Robyn much to say they were lucky the Orion wasn’t in worse shape considering the pounding it had taken. Fifty dead and twice as many wounded seemed pretty good from the damage he’d seen. If anything, he suspected this kind of optimism would only make Robyn feel worse. With every damaged section they passed, she winced as if someone had jabbed her in the heart with a knife. For her, each pile of debris represented a monument to her failure.
The turbolift took four minutes to arrive and when it did, there almost wasn’t room for the two of them to fit. Three-quarters of the turbolifts on the Orion didn’t function, making the existing cars high in demand. Brett elbowed himself some room next to a good-looking blonde woman in a sciences uniform. Any other time he might have trotted out a pick-up line, but he couldn’t in a car full of people and clad in a Starfleet uniform. Throughout the turbolift ride, the uniform seemed to tighten around his groin like a chastity belt.
The blonde got out two decks above engineering. Brett made a note of this so he could pay her a visit later. If only he’d found out her name. After the doors closed, he saw Robyn shooting him a dirty look. He suspected the moment they got alone she’d launch into a lecture on Starfleet ethics.
They didn’t have any time to be alone, though. The engine room was abuzz with activity as technicians worked to bring the engines online. At the center of the storm was a stocky alien who could have passed for Smitty’s brother, the chief engineer.
The chief passed a datapad to one of his subordinates with a terse, “I’ll check on it in a few minutes.” Then he looked up at Robyn and Brett. “Greetings, Commander and—”
“This is Commander Boutwell, our new acting first officer,” Robyn said. “How are things coming down here, Commander Jolok?”
“We should have impulse power in the next three hours. Perhaps another twelve to bring warp engines online. I have detailed estimates for your perusal.” He handed another datapad to Robyn, who studied it with increasing concern.
When Brett saw the estimates, he mirrored Robyn’s concern. From what Jolok indicated, they’d need two days to get the ship anywhere close to battle-ready. Until then they had to pray the Serparnians didn’t find them.
Robyn’s communicator beeped. “Commander, we’re receiving a message from Starfleet Command,” Ramirez said.
“Put it through down here, Lieutenant.” Robyn turned to Brett and said, “Go up to sickbay and see how things are going. I’ll join you after I’m done.”
“Sure thing…sir.”
Of course Brett knew why Robyn wanted him to go to sickbay: she didn’t want to risk anyone from Command seeing him, especially in a Starfleet uniform. Not at least until she had a chance to explain things.
Brett slunk away to the turbolift, waiting another three minutes for it to return. When it did, he was disappointed not to see the good-looking blonde on board. Better luck next time, he thought.
Sickbay was even more chaotic than engineering. With so many wounded, temporary beds had been set up in a nearby cargo bay. He found Doctor Chen there, examining a man with severe plasma burns on his face. Under ordinary circumstances he would already have been treated, the burns reduced to pink scars that would fade away. But these were hardly ordinary circumstances.
“I’m going to give you something to help you sleep,” Dr. Chen said to her patient. Before the man could say anything, the doctor stabbed the hypo into his arm.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Brett asked, feeling more useless than after abandoning the Cassandra.
“We have everything pretty well in hand now,” Dr. Chen said. “They must be hard-pressed for officers now.”
“That’s what I said.” He allowed the doctor to lead him into a secluded corner of the cargo bay. They sat on a container, Dr. Chen stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. Before much longer, she would have to inject herself with something to keep on her feet. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better. I’m still better off than them.” She motioned to the wounded scattered around the cargo bay.
“How are they?”
“Most of them are out of the woods for now. A couple of days and we should have things well in hand.”
“Try to get a couple hours of rest in there.”
“As touched as I am by your concern, I’ll be fine. I used to work seventy-two hour shifts during the war,” she said with a tired smile.
“Well if you feel like you need a nap just turn on emergency medical hologram for a few minutes.”
She rolled her eyes at this suggestion. “Oh no, anything but that.” With another yawn, she dismounted from the container. “I’ll be fine. Tell Commander Lichen we should have everything under control—unless they come back.”
“Understood.”
“And Mr. Boutwell, it’s good to see you’re back.”
“Thanks.”
After the doctor walked away to continue her rounds, Brett’s communicator beeped. “Brett, meet me up in the ready room,” Robyn said.
“I’ll be right there.”
On his way up to the bridge, he noted her use of ‘the ready room’ instead of ‘my ready room.’ Clearly she wasn’t ready to settle into the command chair quite yet. At some point she was going to have to see this as her ship.
He didn’t voice this concern to her when he entered the bare ready room and sat down. From the grimace on her face, she already had more pressing matters on her mind. “What did they say?” he asked.
“The nearest ship is five days away. Admiral Thelen wants us to remain on station until they get here.”
“What? We can’t do that.”
“I explained our situation to him, but they’re concerned about losing face. The Federation can’t be seen as running away from one rogue ship.”
“So we just sit here like a targeting drone until they decide to come back and finish us? That’s crazy!”
“Brett, you have to understand the situation here. There are a lot of Serparnians who feel the same way as those rebels. If we cut and run, the next ship is going to face even more opposition. We have to stand our ground.”
“So you support them? You saw the damage report—”
“I don’t support the decision, but I understand it.” She lowered her voice to add, “If you want to turn in your uniform I’ll understand. This isn’t your fight.”
Brett considered this, but then shook his head. “If you’re going through with this then you’ll need my help more than ever. I don’t suppose Command had a plan?”
“No. I was thinking we would continue towards the capital as soon as impulse power is restored.”
“And wait for them to ambush us again?”
“You have a better idea?”
“Let’s turn the tables on them.”
After he finished explaining his plan, Robyn nodded. “I suppose it’s just as good an idea as anything else.” She pulled out the black case she’d offered to him earlier. “In light of our situation, Command made me acting captain of the Orion. They agreed to make my first officer an acting commander. I didn’t tell them who I had in mind of course.”
Taking three of the pips from the case, she affixed them to Brett’s collar. Having her so close to him, her hair caressing his cheek, he had to resist the urge to kiss her. When she finished, she gave him a hearty handshake instead. “Congratulations, Commander. Let’s get to work.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
