NEW TOS Arrows of Desire [NC-17] part 1 11/15
Gil Shalos
Author: Gil Shalos
Series: TOS
Code: Ensemble.
Email: gilsh...@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17+ for yucky squicky stuff, horror and very
bad things happening to people we like.
Summary: After several difficult missions, the crew of the
USS Enterprise is looking forward to a milk-run: ferrying
supplies and personnel for a brand new starbase. But what
is the meaning behind the strange transmissions coming
from sector 31? The third Larssen story.
Archives: Sure
Feedback: Any and all welcome. In fact, I BEG you for
feedback.
"You're crazy." Madison said flatly. "You are out of your
tiny fucking mind. I've shown you the engines. There is
no way in hell this bird will fly in sixty hours with a
handful of Starfleet teenagers and my skeleton crew
working on her."
"If that's your opinion, you'd better get down to the dock
and tell Command how many of you need evac berths."
Larssen said, still studying the readout. "They'll find
you places."
"I've already sent the others." he said.
"Then you'd better get moving." Larssen said, although
that was a blow. Even if there were only a handful of Lady
Grace engineers left aboard, their help would have been
invaluable. She dismissed the regret as something she
couldn't do anything about, and keyed for the next display.
"Lady, I am not leaving my ship. Starfleet can wet their
pants all they like, I'll take my chances."
"Well, we're not leaving either. So hadn't we better work
together to get us all off?"
Larssen's comm. beeped.
"Larssen here."
"I have the report on bridge systems you wanted, ma'am."
Rand said. "There was no-one up here, we had no
trouble."
"Hold that report for a minute. Chief Engineer Madison
is going to give you a list of parts we need. Put in a
requisition, but get their location and available transport
as soon as you've done that. We may have to pick them
up." Larssen held the comm. out to Madison, who
hesitated just long enough before taking it to be insulting,
but not quite long enough for Larssen to make a legitimate
issue of it. ~Insubordination as an art form,~ she thought.
"This is Chief Madison." he drawled. "Who do I have the
pleasure of addressing?"
Larssen listened long enough to know he was giving Rand
a list that made sense, as the things a merchant ship would
need. It was long. It was terrifyingly long. John Lim and
Brand came back in and she moved to speak to them,
noting down the parts they'd need for life support, and sent
them back to get started.
"Yeah, I remember." Madison was saying. "What say
when we get this out of the way you and I meet up for a
drink?"
"Give me the comm., please." Larssen said.
"Oops, I gotta go. Your boss is pissed with me." he said,
and then handed back the comm., smiling.
"Rand, I have some other parts to add to that list. Life
support parts. One conduit modulation board. A box of
filters, size 31-Beta." Larssen read through the list, let
Rand confirm it. "What's the status on bridge systems?"
"Communications is still out. Sensors, helm, navigation
read adequate at basic diagnostic level. That's the full
extent of our facilities here."
"All right. Get that parts requisition in, source the stuff
we need and then get back to me."
"Yes'm."
Larssen pocketed her comm. "Aside from getting the
engines on line and the ship into space, I need to house five
hundred people somewhere on here."
"Can't be done. Quarters are tiny - we only run to a crew
of thirty fully manned, and then they're sharing rooms."
"What about your cargo holds?"
"You can't put people in the cargo holds!" he said. "Jesus,
lady, they're just fucking big pits for the ore!"
"We can rig scaffolding through them, divide them into
floors. That'll give us what we need."
"You can't rig that much scaffolding in this much time!
Lady, you are off your head. I thought so before and
now I'm sure. What the fuck were they thinking, putting
you in charge of this?"
"What's your better idea, Madison?" Larssen said mildly.
She took out her comm. again. "Rand, this is Larssen. I
need you to add two thousand units of standard plus
engineering units. Yes, I said two thousand. We'll work
that out when we know where they are. Yes, get back to
me."
"They think you're crazy too." Madison said. "Starfleet
must be a lot of fun, having to put your life on the line
for a madwoman."
The crew she had sent on various errands around
engineering were drifting back now, and Larssen could
tell Madison liked having the audience. "They're not
doing it for me." she said evenly. "They're doing it for
the five hundred people who'll have to be left behind if
we don't get the ship functional."
"They're doing it because they're scared you'll court-
martial them if they disobey a fucking order, lady, don't
fool yourself. That's all your precious Starfleet discipline
is, fear. Fear and loathing, if you only knew."
There was an audible gasp from behind Larssen. Madison
was smiling at her now, leaning against the warp drive
housing. Any battle of words, she'd lose, and they both
knew it. The merchant fleet gave you a lot more practice
at invective than Starfleet did, and Madison didn't have to
worry about how he looked in front of the others the way
Larssen did. She considered trying to hit him, but she
wasn't confident enough that she'd succeed, and it wouldn't
do her much good to have her crew see her knocked
down and probably out by a cocky, insolent civilian.
"Shall we discuss this in your office?" she said.
"No, let's discuss it here." he said. 'Let's discuss how I
want you off my fucking ship with your eager little helpers
here." He came forward and lowered his voice, for which
Larssen was grateful. "Let's discuss that big-titted girly
you've given the conn to, who'll stop ship's business to
chat up a bit of rough trade. Let's discuss -" and he moved
so fast Larssen's block and twist hit only empty air. He
had her by the arm, spun her with humiliating ease. Her
back kick hit him and she heard him gasp in pain but the
next second there was something cold pressed against her
temple. "Let's discuss this blaster I have in my hand,
'shall we'?"
All around them sidearms were out, safeties off. Larssen
dismissed an instant's hopeless yearning for Shimona, who
she had sent to the bridge. "Madison, you're making a
mistake."
"No, lady, I don't think I am." He laughed. His arm was
around her neck and she could feel the strength in it, the
strength of hard labour that could never be mistaken for
the kind of muscle gained by a sedentary person working
out in a gym. Whatever he wore on that string around his
neck dug painfully into the spot between her shoulder-blades.
Larssen shifted her weight, probing for a weakness in his
hold, and he shifted with her, wise to the trick. "Tell
your kiddies to put their weapons down. This has no
stun setting, and if they fire at me you know I'll have
time to pull the trigger before they knock me out."
"Wrenth." Larssen said, and then changed her mind.
"Drysden. Have you got a target?"
He raised his weapon, and Larssen saw that his hands
were steady. "Yes'm."
"Set to kill, Drysden."
"Yes'm." he said coolly, and adjusted his phaser setting.
"He won't shoot." Madison said in Larssen's ear. "He
won't kill his officer. Starfleet crews *die* for their
officers."
"Ask him." Larssen said. She met Drysden's eyes, making
herself calm, letting peace run through her like cool water
until there was nothing in her mind but a patient waiting
for whatever the outcome would be. She could feel Madison's
pulse where she still held his wrist, and she betted he
could feel hers where his arm pressed against the big veins of
her neck. His pulse was steady, barely faster than it would
have been at rest. Hers was slower. ~Notice that, Madison.
Wonder about it.~
"Are you going to shoot, kid?" Madison asked Drysden.
"Gonna kill your boss?"
"If you don't put the gun down, sir," Drysden said, "I'll
have to."
"You wouldn't do it." Madison said.
"On three, Drysden." Larssen said.
"Yes'm." said Drysden steadily.
"One." Larssen said. "Two."
The blaster clattered to the floor, and Madison stepped
away from her, his hands raised. "Jesus fucking wept!"
he said. "You're all as crazy as each other!"
"Thank you, sir." Drysden said as if he'd just been paid a
compliment, still holding a steady bead on the chief
engineer.
"Weapons away, people." Larssen said, stooping to pick
up the blaster. It was bigger and heavier than a phaser
and it felt wrong in her hand. She shifted it awkwardly,
used it to gesture towards the engineering office. "You
and I have to talk, Madison. The rest of you, report in to
Janice Rand. Give her your reports. She'll give you your
schedule."
Following Madison into the engineering office, some
remnant of the security procedures Shimona had drilled her
in on the way to Starbase 18 kicked in, and she flipped the
blaster up to check the power charge.
Empty. The only way to use it as a weapon was to hit
someone over the head with it. Sticking it in her belt, she
drew her phaser instead, and kept Madison covered while
the door shut behind them.
"I bet you're good at poker." Larssen said.
He slumped into the chair, put his feet on the desk. "You
gonna shoot me?'
"I need your help."
"Lady, you oughta realise by now I'm not co-operative."
"Listen to me." Larssen said. "If I have to knock you out
and truss you up like a chicken for the roast I'll do it.
And then you can ride out of here in the cargo bay with
the refugees we're going to load. I'm not going to kill
you unless I have to. But I am going to take the Lady
Grace out of here in sixty hours with five hundred people
on board, and if you hinder me I will do anything I have
to do to get you out of my way. My job is going to be a
lot easier with your co-operation, but not if it means I
have to have someone standing over you with a phaser and
somebody else checking everything you do to make sure
you haven't deliberately fouled us up. I don't know what your
problem is, Madison, but this is not the time for therapy.
Understand?"
"You walk in here, you tell me you're taking over the
ship, and then you expect me to help you do it. You have
brass balls, lady." he said. He was still smiling faintly
and Larssen wondered if anything could get rid of that
smirk.
"They issue them with the uniform." Larssen said. "I want
your word you'll help us."
"You think a merchant spacer's word counts for anything?
Jesus, where have you been?"
Larssen leaned over the desk and jerked at the thong
around his neck, flipping the decoration out to lie on his
stained tunic. She kept the hand holding the phaser out
of his reach, and turned the little pendant over with her
finger. "Space makes some men religious." she said in a
conversational tone. Madison didn't flinch as she took
hold of the trinket and pretended to study it, but kept
his gaze fixed on her face. He wasn't smiling now. His
eyes were flat. Cold danger burned off him like the
inside of the observation deck windows.
"What's this, Madison?" she asked, still holding it,
looking straight at him.
"None of your fucking business."
"It looks like the sign of the Triple God at the top." she
said. "You wear these ornaments in memory of someone
who's dead, don't you? Who was it you wear this for?"
"None of your fucking business."
"It's not a cheap piece of work, not the sort of thing a
man on a limited income would buy out of duty. Not very
clear though, is it? Not much detail. A parent? No? A
wife? A child?" Larssen felt faintly sick. "None of
those?"
"None of your -"
"A sibling, then?" He had himself under control, and only
the faintest flicker of reaction cross his face. A flare
of his nostrils, a breath taken slightly too soon. The
pupils of his eyes contracting as if he had looked at too
bright a light. "A sister? No? A brother, then. What was
his name, Madison?"
"None. Of. Your. Fucking. Business."
Larssen swallowed bile. "Swear by his memory." she
said. If Madison *did* believe in the tenets of the Triple
Faith, that was the surest hold she could have on him.
Breaking that oath would condemn his brother to hell.
And if he didn't believe, he would swear without
compunction and then do what he liked. Larssen doubted
that an unbeliever would have such murder in his look at
that moment, though.
"Fuck off."
"Swear it, Madison. I need to be sure of you."
"I said, fuck off."
With one jerk, she snapped the thong and stepped back,
the little icon in her fist. Madison cried out involuntarily.
Larssen saw that the thong had cut his neck before
breaking, and a trickle of blood was making its way down
to form a fresh stain on his tunic. He didn't seem to
notice: all his attention was on the hand she held aloft.
"Swear to me on your brother's memory." she said. "Or
I'll vaporise it."
"You - fucking - bitch." Madison said, his voice so low
and so shaken by rage Larssen could barely understand
him. "You fucking *bitch*."
"I will do it." Larssen said. "Make the oath."
He glared at her a moment longer, and then drew his lips
back in a snarl. "I swear on my brother's memory that I
will do as you ask." he said.
Larssen thought of tossing the icon back to him across
the desk - her flesh crawled at the idea of going within
arm's length of him now - but she couldn't bear the
contemptuous nature of the gesture. Carefully, she set
it down on the desk and stepped back. Madison
snatched it, clutched it in his hand, and growled at her
- there was no other way to describe the sound he
made.
She holstered her phaser, opened the door. "Come on."
she said.
Madison stood up, his icon still clutched in his hand, and
walked past her through the door. No saunter now. He
stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat
of his body.
"You're all the fucking same." he whispered. "You'll use
anything and anyone to get what you want. Is there no
decency left anywhere in your soul?"
Larssen thought he might hit her, and braced herself, but
instead he spat in her face and walked out.
She wiped her face with her sleeve and followed him.
Back in main engineering, she picked out the three
nearest crew, introduced them to Madison, and said,
"Chief Madison has the rank of Chief Petty Officer
for the duration of the emergency, on this ship only,
by the authority I have under section 75 subsection
39 a paragraph 4. He is now in charge of
engineering."
Madison stuffed his necklace in his pocket, glared at
Larssen and then deliberately turned his back to her.
"You there - Wrenth. The main distribution gird is
pulled out and waiting for a new coupling housing.
You'll find parts on the small mechanical bench over
there. Fix it. You, what's your name? Klein? Get the
engine housing open and ready for the replacement
mixer installation. You - "
Larssen left them to it. Walking quickly, she found
the nearest 'fresher, locked the door behind her and
bent over the sink.
"Stinking, rotting garbage on a plate." she said in
measured, even Romulan, and then threw up
everything in her stomach.
Her comm. went.
"Larssen." she managed to say.
"I have the sourcing on those parts, ma'am. They're all
in dock storage 3 and 4. I have the access codes." Rand
said. "They can't spare anyone to deliver them."
"Send Tarn and N'o. Are there antigrav lifters available?"
"Yes'm."
"Alright. They can bring them across..." she closed her
eyes to the sight of her pale face in the mirror, brought
up the station specs. "Across dry-dock from the cargo lifts
at grey section."
"Yes'm. Ma'am, I have the repair schedule drawn up, with
the cargo bay modifications factored in."
'What time do you have on it?"
"Ninety eight hours, ma'am, if nobody takes a break."
"Cut each task down to eighty percent. What does that
give us?"
"Seventy eight hours."
"Get it down to fifty eight however you can, Janice, and
if anyone complains at the times tell them you've set them
off Enterprise standards."
"Yes'm."
"I'm going down to the cargo bays to set up for the
scaffolding. Send Tarn to me when she gets back from
supply."
"I have Tarn down to assist in life-support, ma'am."
Larssen opened her eyes, looked squarely at herself in
the mirror. "Can you spare me anyone for the cargo
bays?"
"No'm."
Handling those heavy struts by herself would be a bitch of
a job, even with the antigrav lifters to take the weight
off them. ~Well, a bitch of a job for a bitch of an
officer,~ she thought, remembering how it had felt to snap
the pendant off Madison's neck, the tension of the thong
before it broke, the look in his eyes when she'd held it
up. Hate. Anger. Terror. She'd held his brother's soul in
her hand and threatened to turn it to ash.
"That's where I'll be if you need me."
"Yes'm. I can send you Farley when he gets
communications on-line."
"Do that. Larssen out." She closed the channel, put the
comm. back in her pocket, rinsed out her mouth. Looked
at herself in the mirror again and tucked a stray strand of hair
behind her ear.
"My first command." she whispered to herself, straightened her
shoulders, and went out.
Ten hours later, when Farley finally made it down to the
cargo bays, Larssen didn't feel much like a commander.
Every muscle in her body ached from manoeuvring the
braces and struts around and she had a burn on the back of her
hand where her concentration had slipped when she was
using the welder. Grime from the ore that had been the
Lady Grace's last cargo before supplies for Starbase 34
covered every inch of her coverall and every exposed
patch of skin, and her hair was perpetually in her eyes.
"Ma'am?" Farley asked from the doorway.
Larssen crawled up off the decking where she was lying
getting a bolt set, and had to pause for a moment on
elbows and knees. "Grab a welder." she said. "You set
this sort of thing up before?"
"No'm."
"It's pretty simple. Brace here, strut there, one of these
double bolts through the two and then a couple of size
fours in the edges. Do that four times, go back and deck
over them, bolt holes in the decking, set them with the
welder to seal. Got it?"
"Yes'm." Farley.
Larssen got to her knees. "Don't say that when it isn't
true, Farley. Come here and watch what I do until you
have it down."
"Yes'm," he said, "Sorry, ma'am."
She used his arm to lever herself to her feet. He looked
exhausted, the skin beneath his eyes smudged indigo with
fatigue. "Good work with the communications relay."
Larssen remembered to say.
"I was outside Ms Rand's schedule, ten percent over I'm
sorry, ma'am."
Larssen wished she could tell him that ten percent over
the schedule Rand had set him meant he might just have
set a fleet record. "It was a good job, anyway." she said.
"Now, this is a brace. Get the other end of it and I'll
show you where it goes."
They got the scaffolding and the decking up. Larssen lost
track of time after a while, lost sight of everything
except the metal of the struts and the glare of the welder
and the pace she set them both. At one point Farley
started sobbing with exhaustion, and apologising for it at
the same time. Cry all you want, Larssen told him. Cry
all you want, just don't stop working. And he didn't.
Rand didn't page her and Larssen had to assume that
meant there was nothing that needed her decision, her
approval, her intervention. She thought that perhaps she s
hould be keeping a closer hand on what was going on
elsewhere on this ship but she knew that if she stopped
the rhythm of the work she'd never get it back.
Finally, they set the last bolts. Farley staggered and
sat down the second they were done. Larssen took out her
comm. and blinked at it for a moment until she could
remember the right sequence of buttons.
"Larssen here." she said. "Cargo bays are fitted as
required. What's the time?"
"Minus fifty five hours." Rand sounded strained.
"What's our status?"
A slight pause. "Not so great, ma'am. Engineering is more
than thirty percent outside requirements. Life-support is
fifteen percent behind. Shimona has finished with the hull
integrity survey and identified eleven places that need
reinforcement. She's started on that. Everybody but her,
you and Farley and the life-support team are in
engineering."
"I'll be in engineering. I'll send Farley to life-support."
"Yes'm." Rand said.
Larssen put her comm. away, fumbling before she could
find the pocket. Lifting Farley to his feet, she propelled him
towards the door. "Go up to main life-support. Take the
turbo life to deck 4 and it's the third door on your right.
Tell them it's my orders you sleep for thirty minutes.
Anyone else who needs it is to take thirty minutes after
they wake you. Don't all doze off at once."
"Yes'm" he mumbled. She pointed him in the right
direction and he stumbled off. Main engineering is..
Larssen thought, main engineering is ... I'm sure I
know this. Main engineering is... that way.
She'd seen the Enterprise engine room in what had
looked like chaos before now, crew scurrying like ants
under the lash of Scotty's voice. Now that was revealed
as a highly ordered and well-organised situation, in
comparison with the scene that greeted her in Lady
Grace's main engineering.
What Larssen always thought of as the fundamental guts
of he ship were laid out across the floor, Wrenth and
Drysden taking readings in tandem. Drysden was nearly
crying with frustration. "I can't isolate it!" Larssen
heard him saying. 'I don't know where the hell it is! I
can't isolate it!"
Another pair of legs in uniform pants protruded from
beneath the main console, while Klein was crawling the
length of the main power conduit, replacing sections
deemed too fragile to be patched. Lieutenant N'o was
crouched beside another console, next to the only pair
of legs in the room not in starfleet uniform. Larssen
guessed that meant it was Madison under that console.
Suddenly at a cry from the three crew replacing parts
of the matter-antimatter assembly, N'o leaped up and
went to help them.
Larssen went over to Madison's feet.
"Give me the double aught gauge, will you?" he asked,
and then his feet twitched as he realised N'o's departure
had left him without an assistant. "Shit." he said, and
started to haul himself out.
Larssen knelt down beside him and slapped the tool in
his hand.
"Thanks." he said, still head and shoulders under the
console. "Start a level one diagnostic running, will
you?"
She leaned over his legs and keyed it in. The
diagnostic ran for a few seconds, and then gave a
curdled beep and shut itself off.
"Shit. The fucking secondary board is totally fucking
fried. I thought it was only the relay units. Can you
see a set of board switches anywhere?"
They were a few feet away, and Larssen got them, passed
them under the console along with the triplex unit he'd
need to set the switches in place.
"And the - oh. Got it. Thanks."
"No problem." Larssen said, and Madison came out from
under to console in a hurry.
"You!" he said.
"We're done in cargo." Larssen told him. "What do you
need me to start on here?"
"I dunno. Can you do anything?"
"Small mechanicals. Tech certificate stuff."
"What's a tech certificate when it's not some kind of
fancy Starfleet diploma?" he asked, wiping grease and
sweat from his face with one hand. His voice was cold
now he knew who he was talking to, but Larssen could
live with cold.
"I can build an antigrav unit from parts and repair
anything that doesn't have a double relay computer
board, and some things that do." she said.
"Then lady, have I got a job for you." Madison said. "See
the regulation units over there? Not one of them works.
I need at least two on line if we're to get out of here
and all three if we're going to keep moving for more than
twenty minutes."
She couldn't argue. The regulators were essential. Of
course, as Madison was no doubt aware, repairing them in
situ was a nasty job that would involve lying flat on her
back while oil dripped into her eyes and her fingers
cramped from holding the fiddly little drivers the task
would require.
"Got it." she said, and went to find a tool kit.
She pulled herself out for a rest after the first one, to
stretch her cramped fingers and work the knots out of her
shoulders. Klein was done with the power conduit, and
nobody was working under the consoles. Madison was
glaring at the warp engine housing as if it had offered to
buy his sister for three camels. Larssen reached for her
comm.
"Rand." she said wearily. "It's Larssen. What's our
status?"
"Life-support is only five percent behind now." Rand said.
"Engineering - at twenty five percent below."
"What's the time?"
"Minus forty five hours."
"Pull two people off life-support - your discretion which -
and send them to engineering. How's Shimona doing on
the hull?"
"Nearly done, she says."
"Get her down here as soon as she's finished."
"Yes'm. Ma'am - those people from life-support, they'll
fall behind again."
"I know." Larssen said. Work it out, Janice. We might
be able to fix life-support once we're out there, but
without the engines we just have to sit in dock and watch
whatever's coming.
"Yes, ma'am." Rand said. "I'll send them down."
"Good." Larssen said. "Larssen out." She hauled herself
back under the regulators.
By the third unit her fingers were numb and clumsy, her
vision blurred. No matter how hard she concentrated, she
kept making mistakes, having to stop and fix something.
~Taking too long at this, Cory,~ she thought.
A tiny seal slipped from her fingers and rolled away.
"Rotting, stinking garbage on a silver plate." she
murmured in Romulan, and began to push herself out to go
look for it.
"Here." said a hoarse voice, and a greasy hand appeared
with the seal.
"Thanks." she said, and took it. She was setting it in
place and trying to match up the next part when she
realised there was someone under the units beside her.
"How long you gonna be with these?" Madison asked,
studying the repairs she'd finished.
"I don't know." Larssen said. "What time is it?"
"Miss Bigtits on the bridge says we're at minus thirty
three hours."
"Rotting, stinking garbage on a silver plate with a
herb garnish." The harsh alien phrases rolled off her
tongue and somehow made the next seal slip smoothly
into place.
"What?"
"Nothing. You know," Larssen said, "coming from me
this probably won't make any difference, but Janice Rand is a
fine officer and a decent human being."
"Who's Janice Rand?"
"Miss Bigtits on the bridge."
"Okay. She's a fine officer and decent human being with
big tits." Madison said.
Larssen snorted. She turned her head and saw Madison
looking back at her, lines of fatigue etched deep on his
face but a glint of humour in his eyes.
"Surely no more than a D-cup." Larssen said.
"Oh, no, I'd say an E. Maybe an F with good suspension.
I'm an engineer. We know about these things." He
grinned, an honest grin that was more at the bizarre nature of
the situation and the conversation than at his own joke,
and Larssen could suddenly see why Rand had thought he
was handsome.
The he remembered that he hated her and the shutters went
down behind his eyes.
"Let me know when you finish." he said. "I've got a lot of
other things for you to do."
The 'other things' included crawling through the access
crawlways to replace conduit linkages; helping Tarn and
Klein drag the replacement parts for the Duane line
modulators into place and set them (over a hundred
fiddly screws) and patching the four back-up dilithium
cases.
She was finishing up the last of these when Madison's feet
appeared beside her.
"What time is it?" she asked him.
"Minus twenty hours." he said. "Lady, I have to lie down
for an hour."
"All right." she said. "I'll call you in an hour."
"All right?" he said incredulously. "Just like that?"
Larssen finished the last patch and rolled over on to her
stomach. Now, she thought, the next thing is to get up.
That's going to involve legs and arms. Legs and arms, you
hear that? "Just like that." she said hoarsely. "Are
you just being lazy, Madison?" She got to her hands and
knees, and paused.
"I've been working like the devil for forty hours." he
said. "I can't see straight and I can hardy stand up.
And you ask me if I'm lazy?"
"I didn't think so. Take an hour." Larssen started to
lever herself to her feet using the casing and a support.
Madison took her arm and pulled her the rest of the way
up.
"You should take some time yourself." he said in a more
neutral tone.
"Suggestion noted." she said. "What time is it?"
"Minus twenty hours, I told you. You losing it, lady?"
"Have your crew had any breaks?"
"I sent each of the off for a bit in the last little
while."
"Good." Larssen said. She freed her arm from his grip and
took out her comm. "Rand, report."
"Ma'am." Rand said. "Engineering is on target. Life-
support reports they are twenty percent outside. That's
all."
"Message to Admiral Dewey. Say: Lieutenant Larssen
respectfully reports the Lady Grace will be ready to
take passengers, up to five hundred, at their convenience.
We request assistance in getting our passengers boarded
and settled down. We have no working transporters and
will have to board through the dry dock lock prior to moving
away from dry dock for the final engine repairs. We
request that any refugees or Starfleet crew with technical
expertise be given priority for this transport."
"Life support isn't ready - won't be ready - for those
people."
"Even if all it's doing is working at standard, Rand, it'll
take five hours before we have anything to worry about.
And with any luck, they'll send us help. Add an addendum
to that message: Lieutenant Larssen reports that facilities
aboard the Lady Grace are at a minimum and we will
require off-loading as soon as possible. End."
"Yes'm."
Larssen pushed her hair out of her face and looked around.
Madison had walked off while she was talking to Rand,
but the crew were still working. "Page Madison in one hour.
If he doesn't answer, page me."
"Yes'm."
"Larssen out." She pocketed the comm. and leaned against
the nearest piece of equipment for a moment. Was this the
right decision? Would they be able to get life-support
properly modified when they were under way? Was the
risk she was taking on behalf of those nameless, faceless
passengers a worse or better chance than staying behind
on the Starbase and facing whatever it was that was
coming at them?
~ Field too large. ~
~I wish the captain was here,~ she thought dully. ~He'd know
what to do.~
Rand got back to her with the information that the
passengers were ready to board before Madison's hour was
up. Larssen went down to the lock to see what they had,
and would have been dismayed at the sight of a horde of
scared civilians with nary a Starfleet uniform in sight
if she hadn't been too tired to feel anything. Her own
appearance, she guessed from the way they drew back
from her when she appeared at the lock, was hardly of the sort
to inspire confidence.
"Hello." she said, smiling warmly. "My name is Corrina
Larssen and I'm in command here. I'm afraid your
accommodations are less than luxurious, but they were
the best we can do at the moment. I'll show you where
they are. But first, can I ask anyone with technical
qualifications to come forward? Tech or mech certificates
of any level, or practical experience without formal
recognition, all those people please come forward."
Fifteen of them, of varying ages. Larssen gestured to
them to come up to the lock. "Please go into the first
room on your left through the lock and wait for me there.
I will be with you in just a moment."
"Do you - are you short handed?" one of them asked, a
woman about Larssen's age.
A true answer to that would send panic through the rest.
"The Lady Grace isn't designed to carry passengers."
Larssen said honestly. "In order to get you all moving
in best possible shape, we can use all the help we can
get." Not a lie. Not the truth.
The small group went inside, and Larssen turned back to
the crowd. "Now, anyone here who works in personnel,
administration, psyche services, that sort of thing?
Please, if you have experience with organization or
counselling, please step forward."
Quite a few more came out of the crowd in response to
that appeal. Larssen explained to them the basic nature
of the accommodations, the need for everyone to keep
calm. She divided the rest of the refugees into teams with
each of the twenty or so people before her as team leaders,
and led the way into the cargo bay.
Some of the refugees were complaining already when
Larssen's comm. went, but others were looking around
with the kind of rigid fearful posture that Larssen knew could
be more trouble than the whingers. The kind of frozen
terror that could turn into anything - tears, panic,
anger, stupidity.
With a few more words to the team leaders about the
importance of morale, the need for calm, she stepped out
into the corridor.
"Larssen here."
"Ma'am, it's minus nineteen hours and Madison isn't
answering his page."
"Thank you." Larssen said. She went back to main
engineering via the lock, collected the baker's dozen of
tech and mech qualified passengers and led the way to
main engineering.
"N'o." she said. The lieutenant detached himself from his
job and came across the room with the slow, straight-
legged gait of the very drunk or the impossibly exhausted. "Find
out what these people can do and set them to work."
"Affirmative, obedience, furry." he said, antennae lifting
a little. Any help was welcome.
Larssen left them to it. She guessed Madison would be in
his office, and when she got to the door she saw she was
right. He was in the desk chair, so deeply asleep even
the normal unconscious tension of his muscles had gone
slack. Almost all the lines of strain and anger were
erased from his face, and on the floor beneath his hand
was the little amulet she had torn from his neck.
"Madison." Larssen said, and he didn't stir. She crossed
the room and leaned against the desk, looking down at
him, and then bent and picked up the amulet. She put in his
open hand and closed the fingers around it. "Madison."
she said again, and then putting her hand on his shoulder
she shook him gently. "Madison, it's an hour. Wake up."
He slept on. Larssen found herself deeply reluctant to
bring him back to the nightmare he had so thoroughly fled.
Madison, wake up, she thought. Time to remember that
you have a full day of backbreaking work ahead, under the
orders of a woman you despise, helping people you hate
steal your ship from under you. Madison, wake up.
There wasn't time for such squeamishness. "Madison,"
she said again, "Madison, hull breach."
Two words that every spacer whether Starfleet or not had
engraved on the deepest recesses of their consciousness.
He came awake all at once, lunging to his feet so fast that
he nearly struck Larssen in the face and then wavered,
disoriented.
"It's an hour, Madison." she said. "We have our passengers
loaded. It's time to take her out of dry dock for the final
work."
He just blinked at her, slow coming back, slow to
recognise her. Lost and open, so that it was impossible for
Larssen to fear him. His gaze searched her face as if for
a clue to what was going on. Sudden pity for him swept
her, and then turned to fury. How dare he make her feel
sorry for him? How *dare* he change the rules that let her
force him to the work she needed?
"Get it together, Madison." she said mildly. "Clock's
ticking." Turning away from the pain that flashed
across his face, she led the way back to main engineering.
Now they needed more than Rand on the bridge. Larssen
sent N'o up there to handle the helm and Farley to handle
communications. With the tech qualified refugees
dispersed between engineering and life-support, there
were enough hands to handle the work that needed to be
finished before they could start the last stages of
repairs, the ones that needed null-G . Larssen trekked
up to cargo to tell her team leaders to prepare the
passengers for null-G conditions for at least five hours,
and make sure they had enough barf bags to go around.
Loose vomit in null-gravity would really and truly end
their chance to get life-support up to maximum. When she
was half-way back to main engineering she heard the
clang of the grapples loosing vibrate through the hull.
"Take hold." Rand said over allcall. "Take hold.
Manoeuvring in sixty seconds. Take hold. Take hold.
Manoeuvring in fifty seconds. Take hold."
A five minute burn took them into position to enter
space dock, and then several heart stopping minutes
while Larssen imagined N'o handling the helm and wished
she was up on The bridge to at least *see* any collision
coming at them. A mass proximity alarm, quickly
silenced, but bringing a wail from cargo bay audible all
the way down to where Larssen stood. The clanging of
space dock tethers settling in, not quite on target,
scraping across the hull to their settings. Then Rand's
voice again.
"Null-G in sixty seconds. Null-G in sixty seconds."
She had to go back to cargo and reassure them. When
gravity suddenly flickered and vanished her progress
got harder. The slow, floating strides that null-G
required were not second nature to her, and strained
both muscles and concentration.
It took her fifteen minutes in cargo, hanging on to the
doorframe and shouting herself hoarse, to persuade the
passengers that the ship was not about to hit anything.
Over-sensitive sensors, she explained the mass
proximity alarm. Everything was on course. Everything
was fine.
Somebody threw up and missed the bag. Larssen left
the team leaders to clean up and bounced back down the
corridors to main engineering.
The civilian techs were not doing well in the conditions.
Mercifully, by the time Larssen got there they had
already emptied their stomachs and were only looking
grey and occasionally dry-retching. Her crew were
alternately working and trying to chivvy the civilians
into action, and a few of them were looking pretty green
as well. Only Madison seemed at ease in the lack of
gravity, and as Larssen watched he pushed off from the
warp core housing neatly, used his momentum to rotate
in midair and fetched up lightly against the wall near
her.
"What can I do?" Larssen asked him.
He studied her impersonally. "Get some rest." he said.
"I'm fine."
"Lady, you might be in command on this ship but this is
my engine room. You're not touching a spanner in that
condition."
She had to admit he was right. It wasn't that her
hands were shaking, it was her whole body that
trembled. "Wake me in thirty minutes." she said, and
pushed off from the wall in the direction of the
engineering office.
The thing about null-G was that you didn't need chairs
or desks or beds, Larssen thought as she lay down in
midair in the little office. The hair that had escaped
her plait floated around her head, and she was in the
middle of wondering whether it was worth the effort to
tuck it back into place when she went out.
--
Stephen Ratliff
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