by Tony Healey
* * *
Dr. Clayton shouldered his way through the crowd – the majority of the merry men and women dominating Mickey’s were faces he recognised from the Defiant – and got to the bar in one piece.
“Whaddaya have?” the bartender asked him.
“Jack. Double. Straight up.”
“Gotchya.”
Clayton ran his eyes over his surroundings as his drink was prepared. He turned back as the bartended set the glass in front of him.
“Thanks,” he said and lifted the glass to his lips. He’d tried many things, from all over the place, but sometimes that craving for good old Jack Daniel’s overcame everything else. It wasn’t anything special, but it did the job.
That kid Dollar sounds like he’s from some place like Tennessee, Clayton thought idly. I’ll bet he grew up on the stuff. Fed it through a teat.
A hand fell on his shoulder and he half-turned to see who it was.
“Doc!” Banks said.
Inwardly he groaned. “Hey there.”
“What’re you doing here, Doc?”
Clayton lifted the glass. “What d’you think?”
Banks broke into a loud, grating laugh. The Doctor decided to hurry his drink and get out as soon as possible.
I have to put up with these idiots and their antics on the ship, he thought. I’m not doing it here. Goddamn kids…
“Lemme buy you a drink!” Banks yelled in his ear. Admittedly, the music was very loud.
“I’m fine, kiddo. You here by yourself?”
Clayton slung the rest of the Jack Daniel’s down his throat and grimaced for a second from the resultant heat. A good heat, a welcome burn.
“No, everyone else is over there…” Banks said, turning around to scan Mickey’s for whomever he was with.
Clayton took that as his cue to leave and swiftly waded back into the crowd. Seconds later he heard “Doc?” from where he’d been at the bar, but by then he was nearly at the door and well on his way.
He found it nigh impossible to enjoy himself in a place like Mickey’s where the drinks were so cheap and flowed freely. A medical man through and through, he found himself forever on the verge of giving each and every one of them a lecture.
Still, I have a few bottles of good old Veluzevaran back in my quarters, he thought with satisfaction.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” he mumbled to himself as he strode out of Mickey’s and onto the promenade, aware of the irony of rushing out of a bar to drink in private.
* * *
“I swear the Doc was here earlier . . .” Banks said. Now he couldn’t be so sure. He’d had a lot to drink.
Ken Dunham waved him off. “Nah, couldn’t have been. The Doc wouldn’t come in a flea pit like this.”
Banks seemed sure. “Oh, I don’t know. Or maybe just someone who looked like him…”
Dunham shook his head.
“To the Doc!” Billy Yamato said, lifting his beer. It was now his sixth, and he was well on his way past merriment to falling-over-his-own-feet drunk. Unlike other joints on other Starbases, Mickey’s only served real alcohol. None of the synthetic stuff those other dives peddled. Starbase 37 had been the only other station the Defiant had so far visited that held real booze – perhaps because it was so far out from the rest of the Union.
Trouble was, when crews got a chance to let their hair down, they couldn’t hold their drink. It soon got the better of them.
So to say the crew of the Defiant partying in Mickey’s were wasted was an understatement.
They all raised their drinks in a toast. “The Doc!”
Why they would be drinking to Dr. Clayton was anyone’s guess. Not that they needed a reason to drink.
The music thumped and thumped around them, the lights strobed from time to time in a way that made them feel unsteady. Chang, Rayne, Banks, Dunham and Yamato drank round after round.
“We deserve this,” Chang said in Rayne’s ear.
Olivia nodded. “Yeah.”
“It’s been tough.”
“But good, no?”
Chang smiled. Drunk – more than tipsy drunk – she looked positively goofy with her big smile and sleepy eyes.
“Very good,” Chang said and moved in for a kiss. Rayne swung her arms around Chang’s neck, pressed her lips hard against Lisa’s.
Chang’s hands wandered to Olivia’s waist as they made out right there, in front of the others, their mouths locked in a passionate snog.
The intermittent conversation between the three boys rapidly faded away as they watched the show.
“Are we… hallucinating?” Dunham asked, his eyes wide.
Banks couldn’t look away. “Dunno. Am I seeing things?”
“Nope,” Billy Yamato said. He swallowed. Unsurprisingly, his throat had gone suddenly dry. “We’re not that drunk…”
The sudden flickering of the lights overhead cast explosions of white-blue light over the somewhat uninhibited women.
Banks stood up. “I’m going up to the bar. I need something stronger.”
9.
Aboard the Defiant, while the others partied and enjoyed their short freedom from the confines of the ship, Jessica explained the details of their mission to Commander Greene.
“Strange,” he said. “I mean, for them to pull us away from our next excursion to investigate this, it must be pretty important.”
“From what I’ve had a chance to read – and I’ve only skimmed some of the file – the Namar were famous for their advances in the areas of starship construction, weaponry advancement, and biological enhancements. And if this thing is Namar tech…”
“I get you,” Greene said. “It’s of great interest to Command.”
“Anyway, I’m up for it. To be honest, it still falls within the parameters of our actual mission,” Jessica said. “Explore unknown territory. Make contact where possible, so long as it doesn’t violate directives in place to protect developing civilisations.”
“And all that jazz.”
“Yes. And I feel this side mission of ours could encompass all that. There’s no way this thing is naturally occurring phenomena. It’s completely, perfectly cylindrical. Built to precision,” King said. “And the orbit is perfect. No degradation of any kind. It’s out there, going round and round, an orbiting mystery.”
“I take it you’ll hold a meeting?”
Jessica nodded. “Yes, once we’re under way. I’m going to stick with the profile and assign three teams. Sounds about right.”
“Any thoughts on who should be on them?” Greene asked.
“Not yet. I’m still deciding. Anyway, I hear from Grimshaw we’re to expect a guest. Doctor Wilf Gentry. I said we’d put him up in one of the ambassadorial suites,” she said.
“Good idea. Who is he, anyway?” Greene asked.
“Some kind of expert on all this. To be honest, I’m not sure just how much the man is going to help. But hey, Grimshaw must have some reason for wanting him brought along.”
“There is that . . .”
“It’ll be fine,” King assured him. “We’ll be heading into the unknown. What could possibly go wrong?”
* * *
Commander Greene wandered down to the engineering section and, sure enough, found the Chief there barking orders.
“Uh, Meryl,” he said from the open doorway.
She waved a hand at him. “Not now, Commander. This has turned into a farce!”
There were men and women everywhere, and he realised that hardly any of them were from the Defiant herself. They were engineers from station-side, and it became instantly apparent that Gunn took umbrage at having her engineering room commandeered by strangers.
“Calm down,” he said.
She whirled on him. “I’ll be calm when I’m confident this lot know what they’re doing!”
“Chief . . .”
She ignored him.
“Chief!”
“Huh?”
He beckoned her over. “Come here, C
hief. That’s an order.”
Commander Greene waited until the Chief was near the door, then he backed into the hall outside.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Follow me,” he ordered her, and led her away from engineering.
She walked behind him, still muttering under her breath about how her whole engine room had been thrown into disarray. How she was going to challenge several of the upgrades, first thing the following morning. How she would not rest until the Defiant was one hundred percent.
It only took a few minutes of this for the Commander’s attention to fade. He just let her ramble on as they walked. Thankfully, they reached their destination soon enough.
“Here we are.”
Greene led them into the mess hall – empty save for them – and showed her to a table at the far end, where he’d laid out a little spread for them both and a bottle of wine.
Chief Gunn’s face instantly softened as she took in the scene. “Del . . . what is this?”
He took her hands in his. Meryl’s big glassy eyes made his heart melt.
“I thought we could do with an hour together. Just you and me. Something to eat. A glass of wine,” he said. “And besides, we did discuss this yesterday.”
“We did?”
He nodded.
Gunn looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. I got so wrapped up in the ship and everything. And I’m still really –”
Commander Greene planted a kiss on her lips to quiet her. He was thankful he’d ordered the mess hall out of bounds for the next hour and a half.
There was plenty of food left when their time was up…
10.
Jessica chose her moment to visit the munitions section, knowing most of the crew were off ship getting some much needed R&R. She’d not had a chance to get down there, but the desire to do so had burned within her. She couldn’t believe it had been as long as it had. It only seemed yesterday she’d been given her posting as Captain of the Defiant and sent on her way into uncharted territory. In a way, the ship had been her inheritance. Shortly after getting under way, she’d learned that Andrew Singh was her Father and it had made the words on the memorial plaque fixed to the bulkhead in munitions a lot more meaningful.
She turned a corner, and there it was:
IN MEMORIAM
CAPTAIN ANDREW SINGH
FATHER TO MANY
Now she looked around, located the place where he’d perished in her arms. The recollection of that day, now a year past, came racing home. It caught in her lungs, made her eyes sting. He’d been there. At that very spot. Right there, looking up at her…
* * *
She spotted Singh straight away. He lay on the floor, his helmet off. Two medics worked to keep him alive. They looked up as King approached.
Doctor Clayton stood. Jessica went to fall at Singh’s side, but the doctor stopped her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, held her at arm’s length.
“Commander, look at me. Look at me,” he said.
Her eyes locked onto his.
Dr. Clayton’s eyes were full of regret, his voice firm, but tinged with sadness. “He’s dying. The explosion tore him apart. There’s too much… there’s nothing I can do for him now…”
Jessica looked over his shoulder. She saw the blood that covered the Captain and coated the floor around him. Her hand went to her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Clayton said. “He doesn’t have long.”
He let go of her, dug his hands into his jacket pockets.
She walked past him and knelt by Singh’s side. He looked up at her and smiled. He was burnt all over. She fought to hide her horror. Jessica knew the Captain needed to see all the strength she could muster.
The mangled mess of his legs. The blood pooling from his midsection. His face grey, washed out. Tears streamed down her face.
Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Please don’t go, please.”
Captain Singh shook his head slowly. Smiled. “Jess… We each have our time. My own is at an end…”
“No…” she managed to say.
Singh reached up, stroked the side of her face. “Now it is your turn to do as much as you can with the time you have…”
He smiled again, then his eyes seemed focus on something far away. The light in them faded. Singh’s hand fell away from hers and the sound of his last breath issued slowly from between his lips.
“No…” she whispered as she cradled him in her arms.
* * *
“Excuse me, Captain? Are you all right?”
She turned around to find an Ensign standing there, a look of concern on his face.
“Huh?” she asked, taken aback. She’d been certain there wasn’t anyone down here.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I . . . it’s just I saw you standing here…” he stammered.
Jessica smiled. She was well aware her eyes were moist, her face red.
“It’s okay, Ensign. Just having a look about. I thought I was alone down here,” she said.
“You would’ve been, but I didn’t much fancy drinking tonight with the others. I’m very much looking forward to our next assignment, Ma’am,” the Ensign said.
“Well, I am too. But don’t be afraid to let your hair down a little,” Jessica told him. “We all deserve a little break now and then.”
The Ensign nodded. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
As Captain King left the munitions section, she thought, As will I.
* * *
Master At Arms Eisenhower peered up. “Haven’t you got anything better to be doing with your time, sonny?”
Dollar grinned. “Nope. Hand me a wrench, will yuh?”
Eisenhower sighed, dug out a wrench and watched as the gifted pilot worked on his ship. He’d been slowly piecing together the antique star fighter for months, and it was nearly done.
“What did you say you’re going to name this thing, when you’re done?”
Dollar patted the nose of the ship. “I was thinkin’ Dragonfly.”
“Good name.”
“Thanks.”
“So, uh, you not with your lady friend this evening? I hear most of the crew’s upped sticks and gone out for drinks and what have you,” the Master At Arms inquired.
The hangar was quiet save for Dollar’s antics, and it was a wonder Eisenhower wasn’t tucked up in his quarters already. But the truth was, he’d found it hard to sleep the past couple of months. Ever since the accident…
“I was with her,” Dollar said sheepishly. “Then I was with her, if yuh get my meanin’.”
“Oh,” Eisenhower said. He knew all too well. He’d been something of a ladies’ man himself, many moons before.
“Anyways, she’s asleep, and I’m there next to her thinkin’ I’d like to get a few hours in down here,” Dollar said. “Tell the truth, I didn’t expect to see yerself down here either, fella.”
“Can’t sleep,” Eisenhower said. He took the wrench from Dollar and swapped it for a long handled screwdriver. With every tool and implement at their disposal, sometimes there was no better tool than a good old-fashioned cross head.
Especially when it happened to be an antique that was being put together, piece by piece.
“I hear yuh,” Dollar said softly. “The accident.”
The Master At Arms nodded slowly. “Comes to me, now and then. Yourself?”
Dollar stopped what he was doing, looked up at some distant point.
“Sometimes.”
They’d been down in the hangar bay when the Defiant got struck by a series of tachyon bursts from a nearby supernova. It played havoc with ship’s systems, caused many of them to operate erratically, without warning. At the time, Jack Boi had been helping Dollar work on Dragonfly. The cargo bay doors opened of their own accord. Eisenhower raced for the manual override, but was too late. The pull of the vacuum lifted both men off of the half-built ship. Dollar managed to keep hold by the edge of his fingertips. Boi was not so lucky. He went tea
ring out into space a mere second before Eisenhower could get the doors closed.
“I can’t get it out of my head,” Eisenhower said. “If only I’d been a little quicker.”
“Yuh can’t get to thinkin’ about that, pal,” Dollar said. “It’ll drive yuh mad.”
Eisenhower smiled. “Old and senile already, son, I can’t get much worse.”
Dollar laughed. It broke the ice somewhat. “Hey old timer, pass me one of those spanners, will yuh?”
* * *
Jessica left the lights off and poured herself a drink. A more than adequate measure of icy cold vodka, it burned deliciously on its way down. She unbuttoned her uniform tunic and reclined on the sofa. She poured another glass, let loose a sigh, and gazed out at the stars beyond the porthole.
Jessica lifted her glass, as in a toast. “Here’s to you, Dad.”
She downed it. And poured another.
11.
It was a push, but by the end of the week the Defiant had been fully re-supplied and refitted where needed. The ship didn’t have that “new car smell,” but she did feel refreshed somewhat. Along with many other tweaks to her internal systems, the Defiant had been fitted with new hull plating and an energy shield. The old Archon classes had never had anything like an energy shield, and certainly the Defiant was one of the first to be fitted with such a device. Her weapon systems remained as they were, but she’d gained more speed and manoeuvrability due to several improvements to her propulsion systems.
When it came to updating the bridge, Jessica King had been adamant that the captain’s chair had to stay.
“But don’t you think it’ll look out of place amongst all this new stuff?” one of the engineers asked her.
She simply shook her head. “If it goes, so do I.”
Admiral Grimshaw approached the airlock, wrapping up his brief tour of the reinvigorated ship. “She’s looking good, Captain.”
“Thanks,” King said. “She needed it, I think.”
Grimshaw patted the nearby bulkhead. “Old but still has it where it counts.”
Jessica beamed. “Yes.”
