Jeopardy Chap 5

The hatch slid to one side and bright lights shined into Jackson’s eyes. He couldn’t exactly see what, if anything, stood in front of him.

“What’s the air like inside?” Jackson asked Wagner, who was reading a scanning instrument.

“Looks like 17% oxygen, 77% nitrogen, 1% argon, 0.5% carbon dioxide, and 4 percent water vapor. Temp is 31 C. Gravity is zero point seven G’s. Think of it as Costa Rica in July.”

“Helmets off,” Jackson said. Once they unlocked their EV suits and stashed their head covers in the Osprey, Jackson was able to look through the oncoming lights to see the occupant who had opened the hatch.

A shiver erupted on his skin inside his insulated suit. A single life form, taller than themselves, thinner than themselves, and hairless. It had smooth, mottled blue skin like a salamander, with a pair of bulgy, golden-green eyes, one on each side of its…head? The big orb resembled a beach ball with some of the air let out, hanging behind the area with the eyes, and a nose. Or it might have been a mouth. And under each eye was some kind of organ that appeared ribbed like the underside of a mushroom.

Most stunning were its multiple legs, or, arms, likely both, that stretched from the base of the head-neck-face straight to the deck. It didn’t have a central body. In fact, it didn’t appear to have a spine. Two appendages below the … face/nose/mouth? were short, with filamentous ends, something like fingers. Two more appendages just below the first were longer, with several tentacles at the end that stretched out like seaworms. Both were near the face and head.

The other appendages, eight, it seemed, were legs, paired like an insect, but not with an exoskeleton. The whole being looked like it had been put together from spare parts: half a dozen mottled-blue slugs upright under a soft shell that bobbed behind its eyes, which were focused directly on his own. It was a 2.5-meter, sky-colored, octopus! Hextopus? Dectopus?

Captain Jackson maintained his composure, on the outside. He had to admit he’d never met a spineless, space faring life form with ten arms and legs.

A moment later the alien waved one of its long arms and stepped backward so the three humans would have room to enter. Jackson led Adams and Wagner into the alien’s territory leaving the Osprey attached, but empty.

It shuffled ahead of them up a dimly lit corridor. Another one appeared, more greenish, and waited for them to catch up. It handed its crewmate a small metallic box. The blue alien touched it and then held it out to the humans. Jackson looked at his men, then back at the alien.

Alien number One fluttered its mushrooms and emitted notes from an Asavari scale, reminding him of his former navigator, an Indian woman. She loved her folk music and often played sitar recordings in her quarters; he’d caught her meditating with an open flame and her music playing when the fire suppression system went off.

“Does he want us to talk?” Wagner asked.

“Maybe that’s a translator,” Adams said.

“Do you want us to speak to the box?” Jackson asked, looking at it in case they were wrong. Maybe it was a recorder, or a device to read their temperature, but the creature only made another sound and pushed the box at them again, wavering it slightly.

“You want us to talk? Well, boys, let’s talk.” Jackson turned to their two hosts. “I’m Captain Thomas Jackson of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell; we’re from a planet that’s 23 light years from here, called Earth. This is my doctor, Phil Adams, and my armory officer, Clayton Wagner. We’re humans.” Jackson’s eyes casually searched for weapons on the aliens or their ship but discern any threats.

“What do you call yourselves, and what is your emergency? I hope that’s a translator because I’m going to feel like an idiot if it’s not.”

“I’m Dr. Adams, a physician. If you have a medical situation, I’d like to see your doctor and sick bay.”

The response was more Indian music from their mushrooms and they both manipulated a button-sized device into small holes behind each eye.

“We understand you. Keep this.” The blue alien’s words sounded as if it was a talking computer, a synthesized voice. It handed the box to Jackson. “Not stop it from function.”

Captain Jackson took the translation device by the handle.

“Thank you. I don’t think we would be able to speak your language.”

“We Zlōgers. Our planet, Lojeen, 11 light years toward center of galaxy. Our star old, cool. Come with.” Jackson followed the aliens and his crew followed him. He took in the surroundings as they traversed deeper into the ship. Still enveloped in their EV suits, Jackson began to feel the weight of the high humidity and the low oxygen content in the air. A vague odor like that of a busy fishing wharf permeated the walls.

“We grateful for help.”

“What do I call you?”

“I am Commander Gugnichacrik, he is Pekeena, medicine zlo.”

“I’m Captain Jackson, this is our medicine person, Adams, and Wagner, my technician.”

“Your garments show hierarchy?” Gugnichacrik asked, turning, and ambling away from the hatch toward the heart of the ship. The others followed a step behind. “We no need.”

Did it mean they didn’t need a hierarchy or garments? The vague odor of a fishing seaport seemed stronger, as did the gravity, the deeper in they got. Windows obviously weren’t important aboard the alien vessel. Jackson’s body was acclimating to the environment although not enjoying the change of scenery from the Maria Mitchell.

“Yes, but these do not.” He tugged at his own suit. “They are environmental suits.” The Zlōgers led the party to a room that seemed comfortable, with bench seating and a central table.

“You put outer garments here if environment suitable without wearing,” Pekeena, the doctor, told them. Given the conditions, Jackson didn’t hesitate to climb out of his 14-kilogram suit. 

Environmental suits were worn over snug fitting long sleeve shirts and close-fitting trousers, both of which were significantly cooler, drier, and easier to wear.

“We appreciate that,” Jackson said. “Commander Gugnichacrik, we have urgent business in the Beta Hydri system and they’re expecting us. We don’t have time for a kidnapping and ransom, so what is it you need? We just need to be on our way.”

“Not see hull damages?” If a Zlōger could appear surprised, this one was doing a good job of it with wide opened eyes and fluttering mushrooms. Jackson looked at his party, shaking his head.

“No, we certainly didn’t. It must be on your starboard side.”

“We want reach orbit of planet, make repair.”

“You said medicine supplies. Do you need something specific or raw materials?” Jackson’s clipped speech took an extra moment for the translators to kick in. The two of them looked at each other and blew air through their mush – those were gills. Those are gills, respiration organs! He looked at Adams and glanced back and forth a few times. Adams nodded.

“Amphibians,” the doctor whispered. Jackson answered with a subtle nod.

“You offer all service? At what price?” the greenish doctor Zlōger asked. Jackson looked from Adams to Wagner and back to the greenish creature.

“Wait, no, you said medical supplies.”

“Maybe we can make a trade. Sit?”

Jackson remained standing, his hands clenched.

“What do you need, we will give you what we can, and we must leave immediately.”

“We need food 40. Hull breach caused by a small meteorite, we suspect. We not have proof. Most space dust and particles reflected by radiation shield. We will need boron, lithium, aluminum--”

“Wait.” Jackson held up one hand and turned to Adams. “My doctor will help you if you will take us to your infirmary.” Adams moved toward them.

Commander Gugnichacrik crossed the room to a monitor. Jackson amused himself briefly watching the Zlōger walk, as if on extended tip toes. At the end of each limb was a large single claw that clacked on the smooth flooring. The flat monitor came to life and an image of a hole appeared, roughly four by four meters.

“Our hull aluminum alloy with ionomers to seal minor disturbance. With breach this size, not reach half-light speed.” An alarm rang in Jackson’s head. They’d been following them at more than 100 times light speed. Was that a mistake in the translator or the blue guy’s speech? He spoke with diligence.

“Our ship has machinery that can build most any needed technology if the materials are available. My doctor even used it to manufacture medicine, but my engineers usually use it to replicate parts that break or wear out.”

Jackson couldn’t imagine going into space without a Directed Energy Deposition machine. How would they replace things that you’d need? Broken dishes, damaged tools, blankets, parts for propulsion systems, weapons … if they had the raw material, they could make whatever they programmed it to make. Given enough room, time, and materials, the damn thing could make a house. In fact, on Earth, they sometimes did in regions where newer technologies weren’t available.

“We able to assemble our hull with right elements. We hope find them on planet. We could use taxi to planet. Many our crew would enjoy visit your ship.”

A tense burst of serotonin rattled Jackson’s solar plexus and a red flag waved in his head.

“What can you offer in trade?” he asked, mostly to avoid answering. Gugnichacrik rattled off a list of metals, minerals, and miscellaneous engine parts.

Captain Jackson’s ears pricked when he heard ‘iridium’ but these blue guys weren’t benign explorers. He put a lock on his enthusiasm.

“Iridium would be of value to us, say, ten kilograms in exchange for the medical supplies you need?” Jackson would have done it out of generosity had they not fired on Maria Mitchell.

Gugnichacrik rose from the bench and herded the humans back to the hatch. “We contact you next day?”

“We have a mission to attend to. We’re not waiting until tomorrow. Don’t you want my physician to assess your infirmary deficiencies?”

The Zlōgers waited for the translation then conferred in low tones. Jackson took the chronometer from his wrist and set a timer for one hour before handing it to the commander.

“We will not stay longer. We’ll return with whatever medical supplies you need and then we will leave.”

Jeopardy Chap 4

“Any answer to our hails?” Jackson asked, arriving on the bridge still in daily working wardrobe. The chronometer showed 19:08.

“Nothing yet, Captain, but they are close enough now we can get a visual,” Watson said.

“Do it.”

The officer called up a three-dimensional image on the flat monitor. The four bridge officers turned to see what their telescopic camera had captured one hundred thousand kilometers aft. A smooth, golden, cuboid vessel, maybe 200 meters long and 70 meters wide. At one end, a conical projection glowed enough to define it as the engine exhaust port; the ship wasn’t disabled as far as propulsion.

“That’s a beautiful craft,” Jackson said. “Anyone see any external damage?” Watson magnified the picture.

“No, Captain, no external scorching, missing hull sections, broken viewports…it’s uncompromised.”

“But no response to hails?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you confirmed our com system is operating properly? Pings, systems, routine signals?”

“Aye, sir!”

“So, they’re unable or unwilling. If they sent a distress call I’m going with unable,” Jackson said.

“Twelve minutes, sir,” Lee offered.

“Very well. Mr. Lee, slow to ISS speed. They want to have a look at us, we’ll let them. Mr. Watson, take as many sensor readings as you’re able and let’s be gone in 90 seconds. Not a second more, then take us full ahead as fast as safely possible, Mr. Lee.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jackson kept his eyes glued to the monitor. As the ship fired braking rockets, he minded the gold cube as it closed intimately on their stern.

“Mr. Lee, mark. Ninety seconds.”

The cube slowed and stopped one kilometers from the Maria Mitchell.

“We’re being scanned, Captain,” Mr. Rougeau announced.

“We have them right where they want us. Let them look.”

“Sir?”

“Time from my mark?

“Forty-eight seconds.”

“Steady, Mr. Lee. Stand by.”

“Aye, Captain, standing by.”

But for the normal hum of the bridge, the chirps, beeps, and blips of the computers announcing their status’, the silence made Jackson’s skin shiver, from his skull to his coccyx. He licked his dry lips and moved towards his center chair.

“Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight,” Rougeau counted.

FWHAAAM! The Maria Mitchell lurched forward, hit from behind, knocking Jackson back into the nadir and the other crew into their dashboards.

“What the hell was that?!” Jackson shouted.

“The alien ship, Captain! It’s a tow line. They’ve got us!”

“Mr. Lee, get us out of here.”

“I can’t, sir, they’re reversing their thrust, and they’re stronger than we are.”

“Dammit, I don’t have time for this kind of stonewalling!

“Alien vessel,” a primitive, robotic voice rang through the communication system on the bridge.

“All stop, Mr. Lee. Watson?”

“The com channel is hot.”

“Who is this? What right do you have to hold my ship?” Jackson snarled.

“We signaled distress and need help.”

“I’m on an emergency, urgent mission. I do not have time to stop and assist. Now release my ship!”

“We need medicine supplies.”

“You won’t get it holding us hostage. Release my ship and we’ll talk.” Jackson spit the words at the unidentified captors. He stood before his chair, a goat on the side of a mountain cliff, surefooted, determined, and unyielding.

“We can trade for medicine supplies?”

“Release my ship!”

A pregnant pause was followed by a lurch of Maria Mitchell, and she was free of the tow line.

“Damage reports, all stations,” he directed at the com station.

“Your vessel is free. What can we trade for medicine supplies? Deuterium, tritium, hydrogen, iridium, textiles, oxynitride? We ample supplies.” The robotic voice rubbed Jackson the wrong way, like scratching fingernails on a slate board.

“Who am I speaking with?” he asked.

“I have Commander Gugnichacrik.”

“I am Captain Thomas Jackson. What medical provisions do you require?”

“What materials will you need?”

“We don’t need any goods. You stopped us. What do you need?”

“You need come on our ship.”

“Damage reports, Captain,” Watson interrupted, handing him a small data pad.

Hull Damage, ventral stern

Propulsion Damage, fusion chamber discharged

“Stand by, Gugnichacrik,” Jackson said calmly, his adrenaline rush subsiding, from a freight train to an old fashioned electric streetcar. With one hand he sliced at his neck in Watson’s line of sight, and the man shut the ship to ship com.

“Engineering, this is the Jackson.”

“Yes, sir, we’ve got our hands full right now.” He recognized Kym Byrd’s voice.

“What’s the repair time for our propulsion and that hull damage?”

“Well, sir, we’ll have to manufacture some slip coating for the hull and seal a few breaches. Quixote is setting up the fusion chamber to start a new reaction. Maybe 12 hours?”

That was 12 hours they didn’t have to spare.

“What do we have to get moving?”

“Thrusters only, Captain.”

“Double down on personnel, we have to get out of here as soon as humanly possible.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll pass the word.”

Jackson’s brain fizzed up a solution. They were dead in the water anyway. He gestured for Watson to reopen the com.

“Commander Gugnichacrik, if you can articulate your requirements we can bring a supply to your ship.” It was several seconds before a reply returned.

“You must come aboard to make inventory and request trade.” Jackson glanced at the bridge crew in turns.

“You can’t go over there, Captain. It’s crazy,” Lee said.

“I’m not letting them come over here. Can you get a fix on their environment at all? Life support?” Rougeau shifted to the far end of his console and looked directly at a display to activate the data. Most controls were click buttons to ensure a tactile confirmation of an order, but less critical systems still operated with sight signals.

“It appears to be humid, nitrogen and oxygen, minimal gravity, probably point five, or six.”

“Captain Thomas Jackson what your response?”

“My doctor and I will come shortly to help assess your needs.” Jackson turned to Mr. Watson. “Ask Adams and Quixote to join me in the shuttle bay.”

“One doc and one engineer, we’re in business,” Jackson said, walking into the shuttle bay where his small boarding party had gathered. “Ready?”

“Can you ever be ready for this?” Adams said, stepping into an environmental suit one leg after the other. Jackson stopped in his tracks and focused on the two point three meter reptile in front of him.

“Quixote, would you like to be excused from the landing squad?” Jackson pasted an apology on his face when the reptile held up its ungainly protective suit. It appeared to Jackson that Quixote was contemplating the best approach to climbing into the quadratic-limbed garment.

“Sir?”

“I forget about this situation for you,” he said, waving his hand at Quixote’s EVS tangled on the deck.

“You forget, Captain?”

“I don’t think of you as a dinosaur, just a member of the crew. I can have Wagner or Bowen take your place.”

“I believe I should be insulted, but I’m happy to stay aboard, Captain.” Jackson looked hard at the orange eyes under olive, scaled brows.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. Report back to engineering. Get those fusion chambers roaring and put someone on EVA to repair the hull.” Quixote dragged his suit to the cabinet and stashed it before leaving the humans alone in the shuttle bay.

“He is your XO, Jack,” the doctor reminded him. "He should be on board anyway."

“I was thinking that having a non-human with the party would be helpful in breaching any gaps, but you’re right.”

“Jack, you spend too much energy trying to be textbook.”

“I’d agree with you, except I just called Qee down, then dismissed xe for being a saurian and not a human.”

“Really? I just thought you forgot you promoted him to XO,” Adams said, hefting the body cover onto his shoulder before pulling the front up where it could be fastened to a helmet. “Xe’s always been a reptilian but only been an XO for a couple days. If you really want an alien along, why don’t you ask Rianya?”

Jackson looked up sharply. Take his wife to an alien ship and a likely dangerous situation? Adams’ eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, accusation, and reality. Adams was right. Jackson needed to look at himself a little with perhaps a little less judgement. 

“She’s not un-human enough,” he muttered, punching the intercom. “Sergeant Wagner, report to the launch bay,” he said. "Wonder what kind of medical supplies they’re talking about? Bandages or narcotics?”

“Who knows what kind of life forms are on that ship. They could be aquatic, microscopic, mastodons, telepaths…”

“Intelligent life forms that are space faring,” Jackson said. He checked the rear panel connections of Adam’s suit.

“Any clue at all?” Adams asked.

“Sentient, corporeal, intelligent, and dangerous.”

Sergeant Wagner rushed in.

“Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Issue two side arms, get your EV suit and join us on the Osprey, Sergeant.”

Jackson always enjoyed an opportunity to pilot the shuttle crafts. Those little rocket engines could fly at Mach 20 for several hours or survey an average planet in just 90 minutes. The computer did most of the work, but Jackson coveted the cool, metallic controls quivering under his own hands. Within Earth’s atmosphere, he rarely got to fly any faster than Mach 3, which was, well, never damn fast enough.

Ahead one kilometer, a gold-plated prism hung in space, ostensibly by skyhooks, growing larger as they approached. The exhaust port glowed orange, and the distress signal continued to broadcast despite their advance.

“That’s one big box,” Wagner uttered. “What’s illuminating it?”

“That F star; it might be 10 AU's from here but it’s so much bigger and brighter than Sol.”

The long, gold-plated cuboid soon was just a flat golden plane in the window as they closed in. It reminded Jackson of a skyscraper that fell over and floated away like a Mylar balloon.

“Is that a docking port?” Jackson wondered aloud. They crept in at just 100 kph, slowing, maneuvering to get a complete picture of the mystery. “Where’s the bridge?”

“There, Captain, at the opposite end from the engine?” Wagner pointed out a small square projection about the size of a large house. It didn’t have any windows, but nothing else looked promising. A few other assorted projections, all square or rectangular but for the single black cone on the aft end, dotted the surface area.

“No grace,” Adams said.

“No need in a vacuum,” Jackson said. They each jockeyed for a better view through the small window of the Osprey. Without being belted against the seats Adams and Wagner, braced against the bulkheads, bobbed gently on each side of the captain.

“It’ll be nice when we can get those grav-mags to work while the engines are running.”

“That’s no fun,” Adams said. “It looks more like a big probe, or a telescope.”

“Why do you say that?”

“No windows, no hatches, just energy cells all over and an engine.”

Jackson glanced to his other side where Wagner hovered.

“It looks like an unmanned vehicle, like maybe it was launched from one of the planets and floated away, like the JPL Voyagers in the early 21^st century.”

“It’s awfully large to be just a probe.”

“Large is relative, Jack. To a microbe, humans are large.” The captain gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, regretting his neglect to use precise words in Adams’ presence; the doc loved to point out Jackson’s imprecision whenever possible.

“You got me there. Look, that’s an access hatch!” Jackson altered their trajectory and drifted toward an oval bump the way a computerized cargo container would approach a space station in orbit: constantly changing coordinates of two moving objects in a vacuum. “This is a helluva lot harder than putting a plane on a ship.”

“Your target is much larger, sir,” Wagner said.

“More like refueling at Mach 2,” Jackson muttered, his eyes fixated on the hatch, his hands on the thrusters, his fingers knowing exactly what to touch and when, the way a pianist reads the music without ever watching her hands fly over the keys.

“Mr. Wagner, stand by on that switch,” he ordered, pointing to a red toggle. “On my mark, reverse thrust…Mark,” he said calmly. The craft slowed to a snail pace of five kph. Jackson could clearly see the access hatch. He gently snuggled the Osprey up against the portal and engaged the electromagnets to hold her in place. He toggled a few more switches.

“Excellent flying, Captain,” Wagner said. Jackson pretended not to hear the compliment, powered down, and unbuckled his harness. As the energy priority switched from propulsion to minimal gravity, the other two found themselves slowly sinking to the floor.

“I like to keep in touch with the dashboard now and then,” he finally explained. “Airlock is sealed.”

“Do we just knock on the door?”

“That’s the general idea, Doc.” Jackson looked around and spotted a toolbox. Inside, a heavy wrench was the object of choice. He banged on the hatch a couple of times and set it down. “Lasers at ready.”

Wagner and Jackson placed their hands on their respective side arms and waited. Jackson wasn’t sure if his body was excited or terrified the way it quavered, involuntarily, down deep, where the others couldn’t see. A small bead of sweat trickled from his forehead and almost into his ear.

“I don’t hear anything,” Wagner said.

“Neither do I,” the doctor added. Jackson reached for the tool when metallic clicks and clacks of bolts and magnetic grips echoed from the other side of the door. 

Jeopardy Chap 3

“Sorry to wake you, sir, but we’re receiving a com. It appears to be automated distress signal point three light years positive 87 by negative 11.”

Jackson sat up and pushed one hand through his hair and the other pressed his face awake. He pulled on a shirt and shorts, and scrambled out of bed in the dark. Rianya pulled the covers over her head. 04:17 showed on the chronometer.

“What have you got, Mr. May?”

“I can confirm a distress signal, Captain, but can’t identify the sender.”

“Have you compared the bandwidth patterns with records from species not originating in this sector?”

“Aye, sir, but it’s unique.” The lieutenant called up a colorful diagram of sound waves. The red wave on top looked more like radio frequency, although clearly a repetitive audio signal. “The blue signals for comparison are all documented civilizations within a twenty-five-light-year diameter of Earth.”

“So, they’re beyond Beta Hydri, not between here and Earth,” Jackson said. He looked at May’s attentive face, then at the display again. “Are they drifting?”

“I pinged their ship; they’re going just under Mach 100, in the general direction of Beta Hydri.”

Captain Jackson stepped back and settled into his chair. His adrenaline was circulating but his brain was begging for a shot of glucose. A space faring species is looking for some kind of assistance, be it mechanical or medical. Normally, he had to consider if the initial meeting with a new species going to be worth the risks, anything from a hijacking, an ambush, an infectious fatal disease, a territory war, supply raid… but this time the most important factor was the crisis on Beta Hydri IV.

“Send a message to Space Admin, Admiral J P Wallace, date today. ‘Encountered an unidentified but unmistakable distress signal. S. S. Maria Mitchell will not detour in light of situation on Beta Hydri Four.”

“I’m not sure I’ve actually sent a com since taking this assignment, but, no angst, sir.”

“Never mind, then. Let Watson do it when he relieves you. An hour or two won’t make a difference. Goodnight.”

“You’re wicked,” Rianya mumbled and tucked her knees to her chest when Tom climbed back into bed and nudged her with his cold feet. He lifted a heavy strand of hair out of her face. “What was that about?”

“Distress call.”

“Are we going to help strangers instead of my people first?” she snapped.

“No.” He stroked her shoulder.

“We’re not going to help them?” She turned over to face him.

 “We would if it weren’t for the asteroid, but my job is to prioritize. Kinnae comes before assisting aliens we don’t know.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that, but glad.” She placed her hand on his bare shoulder where he could feel the heat of her skin radiate to his own. He yawned and pulled her closer, wrapping himself around her as if she were a body-sized, heated pillow, and kissed her cheek before the personal twilight of sleep took over.

þ

Arriving on the bridge shortly after 07:00, he found the day crew already in their seats with their eyes on their instruments.

“Good morning, everyone. Anything interesting from the aliens?”

“Nothing overnight, Captain,” Chief Petty Officer Watson answered. “We’re getting the same signal with the same Doppler pattern as we were a few hours ago. However,” he continued, “They are closing and should reach us in about 25 hours.”

“Closing? What do you mean, closing?” Jackson planted himself in the center seat and perched his coffee on the armrest.

“The ship is following us, sir," Lee answered.

“That’s peculiar.” Jackson stepped into the nadir and took a look at Lee’s dashboard and imager.

“Recalculate arrival at Beta Hydri Four at FTL-10, 7^th power.”

“Seventh power? Aye sir.”

“I know what you’re thinking. Quixote has it all worked out down there. No seventh power black holes today.” Lee flushed and plugged numbers into his computer. Jackson, too, recalled a jump to seventh power which created a space-anomaly that almost devoured them.

“Negating any other variables that would shorten our trip by 47 hours, Captain.”

“Very good. Increase to seventh power. Rougeau, what’s our power consumption difference?”

Rougeau touched a few pictures on his dashboard.

“A net point three of a gigajoule per hour, sir,” Rougeau answered.

“Any dark matter, asteroid belts, rogue planets, cosmic junk up ahead?”

“No, sir, clear sailing,” he said.

“Engage, then. My experience is that we can never be over prepared, too early, or too cautious.”

Jackson left the bridge for the doyen’s office, what would have been called a ready room on a carrier or battleship. The Maria Mitchell was the first of any Space Agency ship to have an administrative office for the captain and officers. Before that, meetings were always in the mess, his quarters, or a random corridor on the lower decks.

“Quixote to the captain.”

“Good morning, Commander. I haven’t even finished my coffee.”

“My apologies, sir. We’ve had an increase in speed?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, sir, just confirming your approval. This will consume nearly 30 percent higher energy per hour beyond our current power level.”

“Yes, I want to get to B H Four and get some distance between us and that alien ship. Don’t know if there could be a life and death situation or not.”

“Not a problem down here, Captain.”

“Thanks for confirming with me.” Jackson ended the com and sat down at his desk for a second taste of morning brew.

“Captain?”

“Good morning,” Tom said. He’d skirted out of their quarters early and let her sleep.

“The aliens?”

“We’re stepping up our rendezvous with Kinnae a couple days. The aliens are following us.”

“Thank you. I just wanted an update. We’re going to the mess now.”

“Be in sick bay at 08:00,” he said.

“Yes, Sir.” Her terse voice drew Tom’s attention back to the tiny, metal grille. He should have turned on the visual first thing.

“Sorry. Ms. Rianya, would you please report to sick bay by 08:00?”

“Of course, Tom.”

He turned on his computer unit and gulped a hundred mills of sweet coffee anticipating the intercom to interrupt him again. He glanced out the window at the stars, looked at the door that lead to the bridge, stared at the intercom grille, but he sat in silence. After a full minute, he enjoyed more coffee from his oversized cup and opened the com himself.

“Jackson to Sergeant Wagner.”

“Good morning, Captain. What can I do for you?”

 “Good morning. We have a new intercept timetable with the asteroid, but the aliens sending the distress signal are following us. I’d like you to coordinate and conduct a disaster drill by 14:00.”

“For what scenario, Sir?”

“Hostile takeover and medical contamination.”

“With respect, Sir, didn’t we just do both of those in the last couple months?”

“Can’t be too prepared, to early, or too cautious, Mr. Wagner.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Attention all hands, this is the captain,” Jackson said. “Mr. Wagner will be conducting a disaster drill for unexpected emergency at 14:00. Please give him your full attention and cooperation. All hands will be at duty stations for the duration until the drill is over.”

When 14:00 came, every hand was at their battle station waiting for an emergency klaxon. A minute went by, and then another. Jackson frowned and banged the intercom.

“Mr. Wagner, this--”

WAAA WAAA WAAA WAAA pounded the eardrums of each person on the ship. The lights on board shifted from bright white to a vivid red-orange.

“Status!” Jackson shouted over the alarm.

“Doctor Adams issued an emergency alert. I’m getting a report from sick bay, Captain. There’s an outbreak of Small Pox virus.” Tom stifled a laugh given that Small Pox was eradicated in the 20th century. It would indeed be an emergency if there was an outbreak of that.

“Rougeau, seal deck three and close ventilation to secure the virus. Lee, all stop, thrusters at station keeping. Watson, compose and submit a report to Space Administration immediately. Prepare a warning buoy in case we have a breach or necessity to evacuate that section to space. And shut off that damn noise.”

“Aye, Captain.” The klaxon stopped but the red lights stayed on. Jackson pounded the intercom and sounded the boatswain.

“Attention all hands, this is the captain. Secure all stations for quarantine, deck three. Secure all stations for quarantine of deck three. Prepare escape pods for departure.

“Quartermaster, ready all EVA suits and save data and personnel records.

“Engineering, stop neutron bombardment and close all fuel ports.

“Sick bay, no ingress or egress of any crew members will take place unless authorized by myself or the chief medical officer. Prepare for sterilization procedure and isolation.

“All departments, prepare status reports and submit to the bridge com. Stand by for additional instructions. Captain out.” 

Jeopardy Chap 2

“Bridge to Captain Jackson,” the intercom squawked. Rianya looked at the ceiling; Tom blew air from his cheeks, then answered.

“Sir, we just received a communication from the BH4 science team. It’s marked urgent.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, I’ll be right there.”

“Can I come along?” Rianya asked. Tom hooked his head to one side for her to join him.

Jackson stepped onto the bridge, tossed his jacket over the back of his chair then stepped to the communication station, loosening his necktie. Mr. May looked up and indicated a file marker on the dashboard. The captain nodded.

“Science Ship Maria Mitchell, this is Dr. Thompson from Beta Hydri Four Science Expedition. I realize you will be arriving in a few weeks, but we have an emergency. A small space body is on a collision course with BH4. We’re a biological panel; our astronomical equipment is limited so I can’t give you much more information.

“I am requesting you arrive as soon as possible to evaluate our vulnerability to the space object, as well as identify a time line and possible effects of the impact based on those calculations.

Many thanks. Please reply as soon as possible. We will be watching for it. Thompson out.”

Jackson felt his heart jump through his ribcage.

“When did they send that message?”

“Eight days ago, Captain.” Jackson turned from the lieutenant to Rianya. Her face reflected his concern back at him, her brows arched and her dusky pink lips fit together in a straight line.

“Best speed to Beta Hydri, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Tom?”

“Come with me.”

Jackson snagged his jacket and headed for the doyen’s office, Rianya on his heels, her gold sateen gown fluttering at her heels. He secured the door and called Watson to join them.

“What does that mean?” she asked him. “What’s a space body?”

“Kinnae is a space body. So are the three moons, Beta Hydri, comets, asteroids, planetoids—”

“Okay,” she said holding up her hand to stop his rambling. “Your face is white.”

“It’s been a week since they sent the message. Kinnae could have been hit by an asteroid or rogue moon. They know something’s on a trajectory but they don’t know what or how long it might take to get there, or what damage it will do.”

“A planet will fall out of the sky?”

“Love, this ‘planet’ could be the size of a house or it could be the size of a city. It’s large enough that a biology team detected it. And that’s bad news.”

“So, it makes a really big hole in the ground?”

“Did you sleep through the dinosaur lecture?” Tom jerked at the flat, black noose around his neck and flung it on the table, unbuttoning his collar with the other hand. “Sixty-five million years ago a 10-kilometer asteroid hit Earth, wiped out every large reptile in a few centuries.”

“I remember something about it. Earth history isn’t my specialty.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“Radiation, an impact crater, dust in the atmosphere. Blocks out the sun, kills the plants, plant eaters die, then the predators.”

“That could happen on Kinnae?” Tom sat in his desk chair and motioned Rianya to sit.

“Possibly.” Jackson opened the intercom and shut if off again. “Damn, I need to talk to Scott and he’s in sick bay.” The doorbell chirped. “Come.”

Chief Petty Officer Stuart Watson entered, already changed into a duty uniform.

“Mr. Watson. I need you to listen to this com, and prepare a status message to Space Admin. We’ll be heading directly to Beta Hydri Four at best possible speed. Send a message to the science team, too, let them know we’re on our way asap. Check with May and give them our ETA. Wish we had that quantum technology to send, not just receive from Earth. Thank you. And send Byrd up here. Dismissed.”

“Could my family be dead like Earth dinosaurs?”

“I don’t think so, Love, it would have to be a big one that hit very close to Waiso-town. Otherwise it would take a couple of years for the fallout to initiate an extinction.”

“Fall out? I not hear you talk these words in past,” she said. Her pidgin prompted Tom to reach across his desk and cover her hand.

“It’s serious, and I don’t have enough information to make any conclusions. I hate being in the dark.” He paced around the table then sat down. Behind the door chirp it was Engineer’s mate Kym Byrd, still in her dress uniform from the ceremony.

“Reporting as ordered, Captain.”

“Sit down, Kym.”

“What’s wrong, sir?”

Jackson didn’t speak but simply replayed the communication from Thompson.

“Oh, crap! That’s not good. I’ll get down to Astrometrics right away and see what I can find out.” She turned to go but then stopped and looked at Rianya. “If there’s anything we can do, we’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go get some coffee,” Tom said.

“I’m scared.”

The captain sat down again. He didn’t know what to do with his fingers; they seemed to keep tapping the table without his permission. Rianya’s amethyst eyes had turned nearly black; her frilled pupils had grown large and round. His chest tight and still, he realized he’d been holding his breath and released it in a controlled, measured stream.

“Let’s wait until Kym gives us the word before we start worrying about something we have no control over.” If only he believed his own words, maybe he’d stop shivering inside. “I know it’s hard but we can do something, take our minds off it for a little while.”

Rianya’s eyes narrowed and the pupils shrank to little asterisks again. She shot a poison tipped arrow at his chest.

“Let’s get some coffee and see what’s left over from the ceremony, to eat. Keeping busy and focused is important.”

“This no time for play,” she verily growled.

“Play?” he asked. He closed his eyes as her words caught up to his brain. “That’s not what I meant,” he chuckled. “I wasn’t even thinking of that.”

“You always thinking of that.”

“No, usually I’m thinking about my ship. And you. Which leads to that. But not now.” He stood and took her hand, pulling her out of the chair to take her with him on a ‘left overs’ run.

“Lieutenant May,” he called before going to the elevator. “What’s our new estimated arrival time?”

“We should arrive in the system in 4.1 days at a fuel cost of 17.2 gigajoules.

“Don’t worry about fuel. Let’s just get there as soon as possible.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Tom and Rianya walked in silence. His sight turned inside where he hoped to find that fearlessness he knew was there, if he could just dredge it up. He’d done it a hundred times before. For one reason or another, no matter how many successful missions to his credit, every time he was faced with a life or death situation, when the responsibility fell on his shoulders, he doubted his courage. Not his smarts, not his fortitude, but would he make the right choice, stand up to the threat, and be the hero everyone else believed he was.

“Where are you?” he heard. It wasn’t an angry question, but a heartfelt one. He looked down at Rianya’s empathetic face, holding her heart out to him for assurance.

“Don’t worry. I’m still here.”

“You don’t like the crew to know you are a real person, do you?” He didn’t answer her, but glanced away so she couldn’t read his face. “But they know.”

“No, they don’t. The captain is never a real person. He, or she, doesn’t get that luxury,” he muttered. They entered the mess and found some remaining sushi, chocolate cake, and the most importantly, coffee.

“You told me once that it takes strong to be weak.”

“It takes courage to be vulnerable. You’re the only one I can do that with. To everyone else I am The Anchor, their Glue.” Rianya smiled despite the crisis in the air.

They took their edible treasures to the captain’s mess and settled down at the table. Bailey’s cheerful face popped in the doorway.

“I don’t have a lot of options right now but I have some salmon with zucchini or some chicken tetrazzini with pasta.”

“We have salmon?”

“Captain, for you I have specials that I have been meting out all year. You don’t want to eat all the salmon and steak the first month and have nothing but tuna and celery the rest of the trip.” She winked and raised one eyebrow before darting out.

“This is what I meant by a distraction,” Tom said, spreading his arms across the table.

“I can’t help but wonder if everything is okay at home.” 

“Wonder is okay, worry is not. Let me do the worrying, you take care of my girls and support the med staff.”

“I can do that. But four days before we know?”

“Four days before we arrive. Scott and Kym will have some information for us in a few hours. She’ll use the hull sensors to locate the objects around Kinnae and determine what the ground crew couldn’t.”

“What’s wrong with Dr. Gregory?”

“Too much party.” She cocked her head. “Too much alcohol.” She raised her brows. “I don’t know why he got himself drunk, but he is, and I’ll find out later and then bring the gossip to you first.”

“From four days away, they can see what the people on the planet cannot see?”

“With the right equipment and knowledge, yes.”

“I didn’t think I could still be impressed by this group of people and this ship but it seems so.” She shook out her napkin and filled their glasses with water from the pitcher Bailey had brought in. Tom watched the ice cubes bob in the water and pondered the years they’d spent marooned on Kinnae, er, Beta Hyrdi Four, with no ice, and no coffee, but discovering Rianya more than made up for it. He watched her across the table, placing her napkin under the carafe to catch the condensation forming on the outside, arranging the flatware neatly beside the charger plate, then folding her petite hands to keep her fingers from drumming the table.

“Here you are, Captain, Rianya,” Bailey said, entering with two plates.

“You plan, cook, and serve. I think you should get a raise,” Jackson teased. Bailey nodded and left them to enjoy their midway-mission dinner.

“I’m going down to Astrometrics,” Tom said, standing.

“I’ll go catch up with two little girls,” Rianya said, pushing her dishes to the center of the table.

“You’ll let me know about the ass-roid?” Tom halted on the spot and bit his lip nearly to split, but the harder he tried to maintain a straight face the closer he came to a full-fledged sputtering jag of laughter.

“Yes,” he managed to get out. “I’ll let you know. And it’s pronounced az ter oid.” His chest heaved and he leaned his head against the wall, unable to keep the lid on.

“Tom?”

“But I like your… your word better!” He gulped for air and turned to face her. He physically could not stop the seizures; he couldn’t stop hearing her voice: ass-roid. “It’s perfect!”

“You make fun on my Human words. I not say it more.”

“I’m sorry,” he gagged, wiping the hint of a tear from the corner of one eye. He stumbled out of the captain’s mess and stopped to composed himself before going to the astrometric lab. He had one more snort of laughter in the elevator and the compulsion finally subsided. With the smile still on his face, he then remembered why he’d come to the lab. His longtime friend glanced up when he entered. His face might have been as stoic and serious as he’d seen in twenty years.

“Tom, you need to see this.”

“You should be in sick bay.”

"I should be here." Astrometrics was a windowless room made for three or four people to work inside at one time. A three-meter by three-meter flat monitor was built into one wall, and at the opposite end a holographic projector could display any object the user selected that appeared on the flat screen. In this case, Scott had the Beta Hydri system up on the wall, and the fourth planet of the system and the space body floating in the projector.

“Trajectory?” Tom asked. Scott tapped a key and a crimson line appeared in the hologram. It began outside the image, ran nearly straight through the center of the space body, then ended abruptly on the planet, about halfway between the equator and the southern pole. Actually, it was the northern pole, but everything about Kinnae was upside down and backward.

“Size?”

“About three kilometers, an M type.” Tom swallowed hard and sat down. His stomach had turned from hard with laughter to septic with nausea.

“How long?” he asked. Scott grimaced and folded his arms, a noisy exhale adding emphasis.

“At most 200 hours, give or take an hour; likely less.”

Captain Jackson clapped his face with one hand, pushing at his temples until they begged for mercy. Both men stared at the hologram in silence. An eternal minute ticked by.

“I’m reading most of the infrared on the northern hemisphere. Population?” Scott asked.

“Most likely. We didn’t explore much beyond the beach. I don’t know what kind of population might be on the southern hemisphere.” Tom leaned forward in the chair and rested his chin in one hand. His elbow made a small divot in his thigh. “We didn’t explore much beyond the beach. All that time and—I’ll see what Rianya knows.”

“Tom, it’s unlikely, but possible that it will break up into a few pieces in the atmosphere. Three big craters instead of one gigantic crater. It’s not real clear from this distance. I’ll know more when we cross the heliopause. The trajectory is clear. It’s headed in at 49 degrees.”

“One piece or three won’t make much difference in the long run as far as radiation.” He stared at the flat monitor, then he snapped his attention to Scott. “The beach. If the asteroid hits the ocean, a tsunami will hit the beach.”

“For now, let’s just get there. We can try to knock in a degree or two and have it skip the atmosphere, we can break it up, perhaps, but this is a done deal. Beta Hydri Four is going to be hit by this asteroid in 8-9 days, and we can’t stop it. The catastrophe will be just a matter of degrees.”

Jeopardy Chap 1

Truth be told, Earth wasn’t home anymore for Captain Jackson. It hadn’t been his home in twenty-some years. A longer mission, more time in space, was analogous to putting extra sugar in his coffee. Time didn’t make much sense anyway, not when hurtling through space at a hundred times the speed of light.

Ten months had sailed by since Captain Jackson took command of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell. When they left Earth, the plan had been to return home in twelve, maybe fourteen months at the outside. From his center chair on the bridge, he sat, calmly, and stared out the bow windows at the infinite void, an expanse of a billion stars and galaxies, scattered like a bucket of diamonds on black velvet.  

The rest of the crew, however, fidgeted in their seats as if they were sitting on anthills. All morning his bridge officers used any excuse to get out of their chairs, wander around, or visit the galley. He looked down at the vial of green crystals the biologist had just handed him.

“They’re virtually indestructible. Enzymes within the crystals protect their structure despite every test engineering has thrown at it. We’d like to name it Fearless.” He rattled the petite, lime-colored cubes.

“The Fearless Ferris Enzyme?” Jackson chuckled.

“I’ll have to work on that,” she said. Her pale side was adjacent to him; her blue eye twinkled.

“Fear exists to be conquered,” Jackson said. He leaned on the right arm of his bridge chair and put on his poker face. “It protects us, raises the caution flags, but you can’t let it be in control. It’s a tool, an ally. You stand firm and be prepared to defend the castle. Sometimes you’re forced to choose between life and death, even your own.”

“If we can synthesize enough of these crystals in microscopic form, maybe suspend them in a kind of dehydrating gel, it would be a spectacular substance to paint on the hull.”

“I’m all for it, doctor.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Dr. Ferris said with a smile. She took a step backwards and left Jackson with the helmsman, navigator, and com officer. He heard the elevator door slide shut and considered the doctor’s point of view for a moment. Appearing fearless was at least as important as actually being fearless. It was as critical a skill when standing before the enemy as it was sitting in the captain’s chair.

He held the container up to his eyes and examined the few grams of green crystals. They could be mistaken for small raw emeralds. Leave it to the doctors to come up with such a compound that would give new meaning to the term ‘indestructible’.

“Ensign Rougeau, what’s our ETA to Beta Hydri?” Jackson looked through the transparent aluminum oxynitride windows of the ship and could see the star ahead. He knew well they had a week to go, but his navigator needed something to do besides think about shore leave.

It wasn’t a star that stood out against the millions behind it except for a magnitude of negative three. If standing on Earth, it would appear brighter than Sirius, yet dimmer than Venus.

“We have 1.05 light years to go, Captain, 8.2 days, approximately, at our current speed.” Rougeau tapped several icons on the dashboard touch screen. The 3D holographic image of the aforementioned light year began to rotate until it was aligned with the galactic plane. Jackson stepped down into the nadir and placed a hand on Rougeau’s shoulder.

“We’ve gone half a light year without any hiccups. Something must be wrong.” He glanced out at the galaxy then turned to Lieutenant Lee at the helm. “Carry on, gentlemen.”

Captain Jackson headed down two decks to the galley in search of coffee. It had been hours since his last fix, and when the journey was as uneventful as it had been for a few days, he was going to need the afternoon boost to literally stay awake.

“Hi, Papa!” Zalara greeted.

“Hi, Captain-sir,” Honey said.

Each carried a drink, a nondescript something the color of pomegranate juice, and two round sugar cookies.

“We’re going home,” Zalara told him, and the two girls dashed out of the archway and disappeared. Those two had been joined at the hip from the start of the mission, but he didn’t know how much longer it would stay that way. Now, living as sisters instead of as friends, Jackson expected sibling troubles would erupt any day.

He took his coffee and decided against retreat in their quarters, knowing the two little girls would be playing in the next room. He loved his daughter immeasurably, but today he wasn’t in the mood to attend a pink and purple tea party with Honey, several stuffed animals as guests, and imaginary tea. Anyway, sitting on the floor always gave him a leg cramp.

Sick bay might have something interesting going on. If not, he could at least find Rianya in the laboratory. On the same deck as the mess hall, he walked in the door two minutes later. He looked around at the empty beds, dim lights, and silent monitors. Sick bay was as humdrum as the bridge.

“Doc? Mills? Henderson?” Met with silence, he wandered back to the lab and found his wife engrossed with some kind of sample in a petri dish. She softly tapped a tablet and a hazy image of the life form emerged in holographic, three-dimensional, full-color glory.

“Tom. What are you doing here?”

“I hope that’s not life size of that thing,” he said, pointing to the floating blue microbe, its flagella waving like kelp in a shallow lagoon. He stepped closer to the alien woman, glanced around quickly to assess the privacy factor, and pushed a few heavy locks of her hair away from her cheek to kiss her.

“Of course not.” Rianya gently leaned into him, and his cup of coffee was no longer as interesting as it had been two minutes earlier. “It’s not even alive, actually.” He slid his free hand into her hair.

“Why did you put in all the beads?” Dozens of pea-sized, glass beads in all the colors of a rainbow glinted in the bright sick bay lights. Her sable hair framed her face and cascaded down her back. “Afraid your family won’t recognize you without them?” he teased.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Only four years. People don’t change much in four years. Well, maybe Zalara has. Time is relative, especially at this speed,” Tom said, setting down his coffee.

“I haven’t been able to put my brain around the whole time-space twist. Especially with Commander Wiseman.”

“I have tried to explain it. We’re traveling in flat space, very little distortion.” He lost whatever interest he’d had in the life form swimming above a holopad. Rianya’s alien eyes, lush plum with scalloped black pupils, could still hypnotize him in a second. “Wiseman had to bend space with immense energy.”

“Forget I mentioned it. They will know Zalara by her eyes, if nothing else.” She turned her attention to the microscope.

He didn’t doubt that. Their daughter’s eyes had been, to say the least, a cause of serious consternation before she was even one large moon cycle of age. No one in her community had ever seen green eyes before. The reaction was less than welcoming; Zalara’s appearance confirmed exactly who her father was, and to her people, he was the alien.

“Where is everyone?” he asked her, finally taking a test sip of his coffee.

“Nothing happening here, so they all secured.” Tom grinned at the competency of her vernacular. When stressed she could barely put pidgin English together with any resemblance of syntax. The private moment at hand was too precious to disregard. Tom pulled her closer with one arm and buried his face in her hair, planting a series of slow, small kisses on each irregular, rose-colored blotch that ran along her hairline and down to her shoulders.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Tom whispered. The scent of lemon in her hair worked like a switch on him. Rianya squirmed, smiled, then broke into a giggle. “Let’s lock the door and turn out the lights.” The glass beads played on back of his hand.

“Bridge to Captain Jackson,” a metallic voice called.

“They have the timing down to an art form,” Tom grumbled, stretching to reach a button next to the speaker grill on the wall, but still holding his wife snug against his body.

“Permission to secure and attend the ceremony.”

“Aye, of course, Lieutenant. Call Mr. May to the bridge,” he said, and quickly tapped the button. “I have to go.”

Jackson had forgotten entirely, but wasn’t about to admit that aloud. Two crew members had earned promotions and the captain needed to be on deck at seventeen hundred to, well, promote them.

“I’ll see you there,” she called after him as he darted out and up to their quarters. Damn, he only had 20 minutes to dress and get to the podium in the reception room. Just below the bridge, the viewing deck shared the magnificent vista of the cosmos through the same windows that actually made up the bow.

Uniforms had evolved since working astronaut days when crews floated around their living habitats in T-shirts and shorts. Less than a century ago, khaki coveralls made the fashion statement on the original moon base from which Luna Colony was eventually built. Now, in the middle of the 22^nd century, aeronautical personnel dressed similar to the air armed services when on duty.

Dress uniforms, however, were substantially less practical and made for obvious formality. The higher the rank, the more obvious the un-workability of the garments. Daily wear could be cleaned by exposure to ultraviolet light, but not the ceremonial apparel.

He buttoned his jacket, burnished the lowest brass button with his cuff, then hustled to the observation deck. Most of the crew had already congregated and were enjoying assorted beverages and private conversations among themselves when he came in.

“Captain on deck!” Ensign Rougeau shouted before Jackson had made it through the door. Those not standing quickly rose to their feet and the rest snapped into a respectful attention.

“As you were,” he told them before anyone was pained. After more than a decade of commanding a starship, he could still be surprised backwards a step when every crewmember in a room would jump to attention. On an occasion of honor, he appreciated the protocol, but had made it clear that he expected the occasion to dictate actions as opposed to strict adherence to archaic military rules. Respect was earned at any level, not owed to an officer because of the stripes on his shoulders.

Maria Mitchell’s Quartermaster and Yeoman, Zoe Stone, met Jackson at the small podium to review the ceremony. She handed him two small boxes, one for Quixote and one for Wagner.

“I don’t get to do this very often,” Jackson said.

“Cake walk, sir,” Stone said with a smile. She promptly rounded up the troops and settled the room before leaving to fetch the recipients. Jackson admired her steady confidence in always accomplishing everything she needed to do, like a duck madly paddling underwater but floating serenely and calmly above the surface.

Jackson looked up and out at the small audience, all the officers, medical personnel, and mission specialists, all seated, and all dressed in formal uniforms with assorted insignias pinned to their chests. The timepiece on the wall: 16:59.

“Welcome everyone, thank you for attending. It’s my pleasure to make the following announcements and honors regarding two of our own.

“Clayton Wagner, front and center.” Mr. Wagner strode to the podium and stood at attention, saluting the captain. Jackson countered, nodded, opened the box, pulled out a bright, metal insignia, and held it up. “Mr. Wagner, over the past year you have demonstrated many qualities of a leaders and have demonstrated willingness to go above call of duty. I hereby grant you a field promotion in the North American Space Administration to Corporal, hereby granted.” Jackson pinned the coppery bronze knot on the young man’s left lapel and shook his hand firmly.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I also appoint you to the position of Chief of Security and Armory Officer of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell.” Wagner turned to face the crew and accept their applause, then sat down with a measure of dignity in one of the open seats in the front row.

“Quixote Kee, front and center.” The only Draconian on board took three long strides and stopped in front of Jackson. At more than two meters tall, the saurian engineer would have been intimidating even if xe were humanoid simply given xs presence. “You’re dressed pretty fancy, Quixote,” Jackson said for the reptile’s ears only.

“Best I can do, Captain.” Quixote wore a dark blue cape that hugged xs body more than it draped, with a split up the back allowing for a muscular tail that counterbalanced a large thoracic barrel.

“Quixote, your leadership for the last ten months has given our crew stability and confidence in you, and I am grateful to have you aboard my ship, and not just as our engineer. You are hereby granted a field promotion to Commander. You are also the first to hold the position of the new First Officer of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell. You’ll have to do that from Engineering rather than the bridge, but I doubt you’ll mind.” 

Jackson couldn’t help but grin, looking up at the orange eyeballs with scaled brow arches. He opened the box and lifted out a gold medallion with a lush lapis center, resembling the sun with the Earth in conjunction. Jackson pinned it on Quixote’s cape, in the center, where xs heart would be, more or less. He clasped the three-digit claw, carefully avoiding the sharp tips, and shook it once. Quixote turned to face the crew for their recognition. The alien dinosaur bowed his head slightly and took the other open seat.

“Congratulations, and thank you for your past and future service,” Jackson said with finality. As the crew broke up, he stepped away from the podium and caught Rianya’s eye. He’d not noticed her standing in the back of the room; he wasn’t sure how long she’d actually been there.

“When did you have time to get into this beautiful thing?” he asked her, tugging gently at the hip of her satin, gold gown. It hugged her subtle curves like a kidskin glove, igniting his imagination for the evening. For a fraction of a second, she resembled an African lion.

“So, Blackjack, when was the last time you pissed a night away playing poker?” Dr. Gregory’s question came from behind his back, jerking him out of his bed. He jumped a centimeter to one side.

“Heh, oh,” Tom chuckled. “What made you think of that?”

“This is a party, isn’t it?” his former dormitory bunkmate slapped him on the shoulder. Tom looked hard at the man. An odd jiggle in his grey eyes told of one too many shots of something. “So, when?”

“About the last time I saw you plastered. Here, sit down, Scott,” he said, leading the astrophysicist to a chair and helping him slump into it. Tom looked at Rianya with a surprised grimace on his face. He wasn’t sure if he should leave the man or call the doc over.

“I’m not on duty, sir.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be tonight, either.” He looked from Scott to Rianya again. “Go get Adams and tell him Dr. Gregory’s... intoxicated.” She hurried off. Tom looked down at his longest friend. He rarely drank alcohol, and when he did, it was one shot, maybe, maybe, two.

“Doc’s coming; he’ll take you to sick bay, Scott. Go with him.”

“Don’t you wanna play poker? Oh, no, you wanna play black jack, right?”

Rianya and Adams returned and Adams assisted Scott and took him away from the observation room.

“What’s wrong with Dr. Gregory?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out later.”