Call for Help

Month 16 day 2

15:32 Hours

Bugalu

Bugalu waited impatiently for the end of his shift, which had been uneventful, like most shifts on a Fleet starship. It's time for me to sit Mac down and have a long conversation with her. Whatever her problem is, I've got to get to the bottom of it. She's been quiet, preoccupied and often morose for the past couple of weeks. Or longer. Scattered into that mix are fitful bouts of anger, which frequently seem to be directed at Smythe, though she won't say so directly. But nobody can tell me what the problem is between them. Every time I ask her, all she does is shrug and tell me to forget it. I'm tired of not knowing what's going on. It's time, even if she doesn't want to discuss it. So help me, if Smythe is harassing her in some way, I'll go straight to the captain.

He glanced at the chronometer and silently sighed in frustration.

The captain was having a quiet conversation with Takor at the science console, and Bugs tried not to listen. Conversations between those 2 were often confusing for someone not that familiar with the Sciss physiology. And then Abdulla broke into the conversation. “Captain, we’re receiving an SOS from the St Elmo.”

“Recorded or live?” Burke asked, her conversation forgotten as she whirled to return to her command chair.

“I- I’m not sure. It… There, it just started repeating, so probably recorded.”

“Patch it through and send an acknowledgement. Ask how we can help.”

Bugalu heard Abdulla manipulate her controls and whisper into her personal mic as the call for help was transferred to the speakers.

“…from the St Elmo. Requesting assistance from whoever can get to us. Our warp engines exploded unexpectedly, throwing us severely off course before we could regain control. All we have are impulse engines, and we’re not sure about them. Astronavigation puts us at approximately 351, -115, 2021 from the Bergosi Star. Repeat. All Fleet vessels who hear this message. This is an SOS from the St Elmo. Requesting assistance—" It went silent as Abdullah cut it off, and then a live voice came over the speakers.

“Hello, Fireball. You’re the first to answer our call. This is Captain Yolanda Valentine of the St Elmo. We're in stable condition right now, but we're currently drifting, uncertain we can trust even our impulse engines at this point.

"Our chief engineer and most the engineering staff from the B shift are in sick bay, some of them in bad shape. We’re not even sure what happened. So if you could spare some engineers to help us get things put right, and maybe a few medical personnel, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“This is Captain Jane Burke of the Fireball. Of course we can help,” Burke answered at once. “I’ll notify my engineering and medical departments and start for your location right away. I estimate it’ll take us 2 days to reach your location, so if you could turn on a homing beacon in about 36 hours, that will help us locate you.”

“We’ll do that, Fireball. As I said, we’re drifting right now, and not even sure of our speed. I'll have Astronavigation take another reading in 12 hours, and give you an update on our speed and course. We’ll look forward to seeing you in about 2 days.”

“Stay safe,” Burke told her counterpoint. “We’ll be in touch.” The bridge speakers went silent, and Burke punched a button on the arm of her chair. “Smitty.”

It took him a second to answer. “Yes, captain.”

“How are our warp engines? Have you got all those blips tamped down?” Blips? Bugalu wondered to himself. I haven’t heard Mac mention any blips.

“Yes, captain,” the engineer returned immediately. “The warps are fully ready for whatever you want.”

“I need a 2-day run at high gear. Warp 10, if you can keep it there,” Burke told him and broke the connection. “Capac, have you got our new course plotted?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Bugalu, change course and head out, full warp.”

“Yes, captain.”

She pressed another button on her chair arm. “MacGregor.”

“Here, captain.”

“We’re headed to give assistance to the St Elmo. They had an engineering accident of some kind, and most of one engineering shift is in sick bay.”

“I’ll coordinate communications with Abdulla, so we can be prepared when we get there.”

“We'll be there in about 48 hours.” She closed that circuit and opened the one to engineering again. “Smitty, how are those warp engines doing now?”

It took a little longer for him to answer this time. “Working perfectly, captain, and approaching warp 9. Will you be wanting any more than 10.2, captain?”

“Let’s not test our luck,” she told him. “Warp 10 should be enough. The St Elmo said their warp engines exploded. Always makes me nervous to hear something like that.”

“The Elmo,” Smythe repeated. “Captain, they recently had some sort of modification made to their warp routing couples.”

“Now, how would you know that?” she asked.

“I’m good friends with their Chief Engineer. He wrote me about it a few weeks back.”

“Oh." She hesitated half a second. "Uh, Smitty, their Chief Engineer is in sick bay. You not only will be assisting with repairs, you may be called on to figure out what happened.”

“I understand, captain. Uh, if Stinky… Lt. Cmdr. Facchini... is in sick bay, did they mention who’s currently in charge of that investigation?”

“Have Abdulla set up a contact line for you. One of his shift supervisors, I would assume, but I didn’t get any names.”

“Right. I’ll do that. Will there be anything else, captain?”

“No. I trust you to keep things humming down there.”

“Thank you, captain. Smythe out.”

And just like that, the emergency was handled—for now—and assignments were given. And Bugalu’s shift still wasn’t over, though it was closer to it.

With preparations for an engineering and medical assist to make, will I even be able to find Mac this evening to talk to her? That can be hard to do without being in the midst of planning an assist.

A Chance Encounter & Another Chance Encounter

A Chance Encounter

Month 15 Day 18

19:57 Hours

Bugalu

Bugalu jumped up from their shared table and pounced on the pool table as soon as it opened up. "Come on, Mac, let's play some pool," he invited.

She got up and walked over, selected a pool cue. "The designers should have installed more pool tables," she commented. "It's almost impossible to get any time on one."

"They'd have to remove some of the electronic games," he returned. "And believe it or not, some of those actually sharpen certain skills."

"Yeah, yeah, so you've told me."

"Don't suppose you'd care to share the table?" MacGregor asked as he approached.

Smythe stood back, looking at Mac uncertainly. "Drake, we can find something else to do."

"If we have to," MacGregor returned to his companion. "I haven't played pool since the Verasis Flu was rampaging through the ship. I'm not sure I remember how."

Bugalu turned to his 'sister'. "Mac?"

He saw her swallow. "Okay," she agreed quietly. "We can share."

It was decided to divide into teams according to rank, and when MacGregor broke the formation, he managed to sink the 11 ball, so Bugalu and Mac were left with the solid colors. Mac made a raspberry sound. "Sure, it's obvious how much you don't remember the game," she told her friend.

"Pure luck," he returned. "I never manage to sink a ball when I break." He studied the table to see what possibilities remained for him.

Mac walked to their table for a moment and returned with their drinks, put them down on a closer table. Smythe watched her closely as she finished half a glass of tea. "I thought–" he began, and stopped.

MacGregor took his second shot, but the 15 ball didn't go in. "You thought what?"

"Nothing." Smythe looked uncomfortable.

Mac went to a drink dispenser and came back with a fresh glass of brown liquid. Bugalu turned to the pool table and took his shot, but the 7 ball bounced against the back of the pocket and rolled into the middle of the table. Blast! I wish Mac had sent them away. I don't know what's going on between her and Smythe, and I find it hard to concentrate with my mind wrapped up in their problems.

Smythe took his turn, and got the 10 ball in, but didn't quite have his bank shot right for the 12. Mac had a simple shot to get the 3 ball in a side pocket, but somehow missed the 5 entirely on her next shot and nearly scratched the 8 ball.

While Bugs went to the table to get himself a drink, he noticed Smythe plant himself right next to Mac and whisper something only she would be able to hear. She gave him a startled glance and asked, "Who told you that?"

Smythe continued to whisper. Mac's mouth tightened, and she reached over to the table to get her glass. "Not that it's any of your business what I drink, but it's tea!" And she poured the rest of the glass all over her would-be suitor, then tossed her cue stick to the pool table and walked out of the rec room.

"What was that about?" Bugs wondered.

Smythe wiped his face with his sleeve. "Never mind. I was wrong."

"If you're going to argue with her, I wish you'd do it somewhere else," MacGregor told him, and returned to studying the table.

Smythe walked over to Bugalu and handed him his pool cue. "I too often say the wrong thing to her," he stated.

"Congratulations," Bugs told him softly, and Smythe gave him a confused look. "She cares what you think of her."

"Well, I think I'm done for the night." He turned and left the rec room.

MacGregor took his shot but didn't drop a ball in a pocket. "What was that about?" he asked Bugalu.

The helmsman shrugged. "Not a clue." They continued their game.

  

Another Chance Encounter

Month 15 Day 25

20:33 Hours

Smythe

It was already dark when Smitty entered the arboretum. He turned on his flashlight to its lowest setting and directed it to the path about a foot ahead of him. He knew where he was headed, and didn't want to disturb any indiscrete lovers he might pass on his way.

Two minutes later, he stopped, listened for sounds of anybody coming along the path, then doused his light and ducked under the drooping branches to approach the trunk of the weeping willow. He sat down with his back against the trunk and sighed.

"You aren't alone here," someone whispered.

"What? Who's there?" It wasn't quite a whisper when it came out, and someone shushed him. Whether they were under his tree or further afield, he couldn't tell.

"Smit?"

His breath caught in his throat. "Colleen?" He flipped his flashlight on and shone it on her face, to be sure.

"Ouch! Turn that off!" she hissed, and then, "Did you come here alone?"

"Yes," he muttered, the light held tight against his chest until he got it turned off. He vividly remembered her face as shown by that light, and there had been tracks down her cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"Are you expecting someone to join you?"

"No. I come here from time to time to think."

"In the dark?"

"It reminds me of a weeping willow I knew, when I was a child."

"Same here," she answered. "Not a weeping willow, but a Gaelund tree with many of the same characteristics."

Oh, she's been thinking of home. I've probably interrupted a bout of homesickness. "My tree died while I was at the Academy."

"That's sad."

"What about your tree? Is it still alive?"

"It was when I went home for my brother's funeral." He heard murmurings and cloth against the tree bark as she adjusted her seat.

"You must miss your home."

"Not really. The gravity is about all I miss anymore."

Then why is she crying? "But your family. Surely you'd like to see them again."

"I have no desire to ever go back." It was a cold pronouncement, despite being whispered.

"But you came here, to a place that reminds you of home."

"I came here to think, not reminisce. I know what waits for me if I go back, and it's not happy."

"You can't be sure of that. If you went home to make amends–"

"I have nothing to make amends for!" she declared.

"Quiet," someone requested from the darkness from beyond the tree, reminding Smitty to keep his voice low.

"Then don't you think you should give your family the chance to apologize for... whatever they've done?"

"You don't understand."

"Possibly not. But your parents won't live forever. It's always best to forgive and forget. Not let bad feelings fester between you."

"Please, I didn't ask for advice! But if you must know, if I were to return home, I'd be disowned! What I've been through is nothing compared to that!"

Now she's being melodramatic. Things can't be as bad as that. She hasn't been home to do anything to make them mad. "I'm just saying–"

"You're talking nonsense!" she shot back. "They'd never forgive me!"

"It can't be that bad."

"It's the worst thing—" She stopped abruptly, and he felt movement in the air around him. He reached out for her shoulder, found a standing leg instead. "Let go of me!" She moved away from his hand. "I'm sorry to have intruded on your solitude," she bit out, and shadows bounced among other shadows as she made her way through the tree's branches.

Smitty assumed she found her way to the path and thus to a door out of the arboretum. She was obviously too angry to want him to follow her, so he didn't. He spent the next hour or so wondering what he'd said that set her off.

A Change of Habit

 Month 15 Day 8

19:31 Hours

Jane Burke

 The book was a period mystery, but it involved time travel, so the period kept changing. It was definitely set on Earth, and it involved some humor, as well. Jane would have to look up other books by this author.

The doorbell startled her, and she glared across the room, but of course she couldn't see through the door to see who had disturbed her. She sighed and bookmarked her place, then rolled off her couch and stood up. She dropped her book on her desk as she walked to the door.

A quartet of joyous faces greeted her, and Smythe held up a nearly full bottle of whiskey.

"What's going on?" she asked, although now that she recognized Abdulla, MacDowell, and Wilson, she could think of 2 possible reasons for such joy. She wasn't sure which one she hoped it was.

"It worked!" Smitty declared, surging into her quarters. He headed for her liquor cabinet, probably for glasses.

No, that doesn't explain things for me. "What worked?" Did he convince MacDowell to get engaged again?

"The Yukoskian transportation machine we've been working on!" Abdulla explained. "We finally got it to transport items and not have those items be deformed!"

"Well, at least they don't look deformed," Wilson added. "We'll have to wait for the labs to run tests to make sure they remain identical to what we sent through the machines."

"Well, congratulations," Jane told them. "I see Mr Smythe intends to celebrate in his usual way." Not exactly. His usual method is with gin, but I've heard MacDowell won't drink anything but whiskey.

"I didn't have champagne," Smitty stated as he poured 2 fingers of brown liquid into 5 different glasses. "But this will do." He picked up one of the glasses and handed it to MacDowell, who hesitantly took it. As the other women each took a glass, Smitty took the last one and held it up for a toast. "To what looks like success."

"Absolutely," Jane agreed, and took a sip. As she lowered hers, she realized MacDowell hadn't even sipped. What's up with her? I've seen her drunk. I've heard how much she can handle. I've even heard rumors she has a secret cache of whiskey somewhere on the ship. This is a perfect excuse for her to drink. But instead, she's wrapped her hand around the glass to hide that she isn't drinking.

After the others drank, Smitty closed the bottle and sighed. "I wish we could continue, but it's a bit premature, since the labs haven't finished their tests. Besides, most of us have work in the morning, and Wilson in just a few hours. So I'll call an end to our evening, and I'll let you know what the labs say. Shouldn't take more than a day or two. In the meantime, I want each of you to think of something to run through the machines next week. But no live creatures yet; we aren't ready for that. Whatever you decide on, bring 2 of them to the session next week, so the labs can see what we start with, and what we wind up with."

"So you're moving along with more experiments," Jane stated.

"I don't see any reason to stop," he returned. "Just imagine what this could mean, just in moving cargo from space station to ship! Or vice versa."

"I have thought of it," she answered. "It could revolutionize shipping. I'd like to be kept in the loop, as you continue with your experiments. Don't save it all up for a grand finale. If I had more training in engineering, I'd consider joining you for at least some of these experiments."

"You'd be welcome to join us, captain," Smitty stated.

Jane dismissed the idea. "I'd get in the way and ask too many questions. Just let me know if the experiments are going well, or if you've hit a stumbling block."

"Of course, captain. Be happy to."

And since I'd be asking questions about something engineering, he won't mind if I ask them. But I won't be impeding the process of the experiments, and can cut him off if he gets too deep for me. Yes, that will work.

"Well, I do have to work in a few hours, so I'll say good night," Wilson stated. "Thank you for the celebratory drink, Mr Smythe."

"You're welcome, Wilson. I'll see you in the morning."

"I should be going, too," Abdulla decided. "I want to write a letter home about this, and I won't have time tomorrow."

"Lieutenant, tomorrow starts your weekend," Jane reminded her.

"Yes, and I've got 3 dates lined up over the course of the day," she admitted, and put down her glass to head for the door.

After those two left, Jane regarded the two who remained. By now, MacDowell had both hands wrapped around her glass, which she was staring at. Smitty was staring at the redhead warmly, his half bottle of whiskey held negligently in the crook of his elbow.

Taking another sip, Jane put the rest on the coffee table and led MacDowell by the arm toward the door, then leaned forward confidentially as she took her glass from her. "Did you think it was too soon to celebrate?"

"What? Well, no. Not really. I guess." She could hardly be heard.

Jane placed the drink on her desk and stopped near the doorway, turned to face the younger woman. "But you didn't drink."

For a moment, it seemed the face would become as red as her hair. "I... I..." She looked up. "I think I might be alcoholic. So I'm trying not to."

Do I believe that? What else would make sense? "Good for you. If you need help, Dr Fong provides counseling." A shadow appeared in the green eyes that Jane wondered about. "Or Dr MacGregor, if you prefer. Now, I'm going to keep Smythe here for a few minutes to give you a chance to get down the hall and out of sight, okay?"

MacDowell glanced back at the engineer. "I don't think he's stalking me."

"Let's not give him a chance to start tonight." She steered the girl out the door. Jane turned back to her chief engineer, picking up the untouched glass of whiskey as she passed the desk. "Here." She handed the glass to him.

He looked at it in confusion as he automatically took it. "Captain?"

"That's MacDowell's glass. Since she didn't want it, I thought you might drink it."

"Not want it?" he repeated.

"Next time you want to celebrate, maybe you should suggest cake, or ice cream," she proposed.

"We aren't children!"

"Smitty!" She put a touch of iron in her voice to get his attention, then softened it again. "If she doesn't want to drink, it isn't your place to try to force her."

His eyes widened at the idea. "No. Of course not." He tossed the whiskey down his throat, lowered the empty glass to the coffee table. "I wasn't trying to get her drunk, if that's what you were thinking, captain." He tightened his grip on his bottle. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

She let him get 3 steps away before she stopped him. "Smitty." He turned to face her. "She's wondering if she's alcoholic. That's why I thought another method of celebrating might be in order."

"Alco-!" He stopped his exclamation and pondered the possibility for a short moment. "Yes, captain. I understand." He seemed uncertain what else to say. "Thank you for telling me." He turned and left.

That redhead keeps surprising me. And Smitty, too, from what I can gather.