A Fantale by Falstaffe
The
Enterprise’s captain was proving to be a formidable opponent, much to the dismay
of Junior Transport Technician Third Class J.G. Whitcombe. Kirk leaned one
shoulder against the wall of the turbolift, a thick book in one hand, while the
other rubbed his eyes. Tired from a long shift on the bridge and despite the
weight of nearly five-years spent touring the frontier, Kirk was still an
intimidating presence. Whit had to gather all his courage to even broach the
subject in the first place.
Kirk
didn’t seem to want to believe him, and dropped an open, pleading hand as he
asked, “Whitcombe? That’s not a very traditional name for an Orion, is it?”
“Ah-my
grandfather, sir. One of the first Earth traders to visit Orion.”
“Well,
Mister Whitcombe, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason why your
shuttlecraft maintenance cycles have been interrupted. Perhaps this would be a
good time to start a new book?” He said, tapping the cover of the volume of
poetry.
“Sir,
it’s much more than a simple scheduling glitch. The whole safety of the ship is
at stake!”
“Ensign?”
“The
computer’s safety interlocks have been disabled.”
“What?
All of them?”
“No,
just the ones that check to see if all crewmen on the flight deck have the
necessary backup life support gear.”
“Oh,”
Kirk said, relieved, “I was going to say Mister Scott must be off his game.”
Kirk indifferently rolled a hand. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation
for it. I wouldn’t worry. The new force field hatch we installed at Starbase
Two-surely that’s safe enough.”
“Safe
enough!?” Whit blurted out. The rest of his words became a jumble of incoherent
syllables.
“Ensign
Whitcombe,” Kirk’s brow furrowed, but he put a paternal smile on the rest of
his face, “In my time out on the frontier, I’ve learned that sometimes you have
to bend a few rules. This may be one of those times. Now, this is a direct
order from your captain: forget about the safety interlocks. “The turbolift
slowed and the doors hissed open. “Are we clear?”
Whit
nodded, but was undeterred.
#
Whit
climbed up the Jeffries tube to the flight control room, a magna-spanner
clenched in his teeth like a pirate. He cautiously slid the access plate aside.
The overlook to the flight deck was empty, but Whit could tell from the
controls that he’d just missed the saboteur. One screen flashed a warning about
the disabled safety interlocks, while another showed that the elevator controls
were active. He climbed out of the tube, crept up to the window, saw more troubling
signs. The flight deck was completely blacked out, even the emergency lights.
“Impossible.”
Whit muttered.
He
jumped at a sudden, loud, rumbling noise. The outer airlock—the “clamshell”— slowly
opened, revealing the pinpoint specks of distant stars and the faint whisp of a
nebula. The forcefield stretched over the opening shimmered momentarily as atmosphere
pressed against it. Whit strained to see what was going on, nose pressed to the
glass.
The
faint hint of starlight revealed a mysterious figure on the flight deck. The
young technician’s eyes widened as he saw the intruder creep towards the very edge
of the shuttle bay. For a moment, Whit thought they had stepped off the fantail and were floating in the blackness of
space, but then caught a glimpse of a small platform beneath the intruder’s
feet.
Whit
raised the magna-spanner, prepared to bring it crashing down on the controls,
then froze as lights from a shuttle stabbed out of the depths of the bay. He
started to turn, to look and see who the beams illuminated like a spotlight,
but lights from other shuttles snapped on, blinding him. He squinted at the
flight deck. Shuttles had been arranged in a row on the flight deck-Einstein, Galileo
II, Copernicus, and Columbus-and all of them were focusing their navigation lights
onto the lone figure.
Whit
turned. Standing at the edge of open space was a woman. He had to blink twice
before he recognized who it was. Lieutenant Commander Uhura stood on the
platform, resplendent in a sparkling gown whose hem blended seamlessly with the
deck, as if she were a living part of the ship.
The
voice of Commander Scott echoed through the bay, “Ready, darlin?”
“I
hope so.” Uhura replied unsteadily.
“The
recorders are active-whenever you’re ready.”
She
took a deep breath, paused, as if uncertain what to say or how to start. “Hi Dad.
I don’t know what I can say at a time like this. I’m sorry I can’t be there. If
your heart is like mine, I’m sure it’s in a million pieces. It’s ironic, just a
few more weeks and this tour would have been over-I could have been there, I
could have said goodbye, I could have--” Her words choked off, then she
regathered herself. “Well, since I wasn’t, and I can’t, here’s the next best
thing: some of Mom’s favorite songs. My way of telling you that I’ll be home
soon, and telling Mom that I love her.” And then, lit by the shuttles and
standing against the backdrop of deep space, Lieutenant Uhura began to sing.
Whit
fumbled with the magna-spanner in his hands for a moment, the door behind him
hissed open. Kirk strode in, nonplussed that the Junior Transport technician
stood there, ready to smash the controls.
“Well
Mister Whitcombe, what have we learned here?”
“To
obey direct orders…and to sometimes bend the rules.”
“I
can’t fault you too harshly. You had the ship’s safety in mind. I’ll try to
keep this infraction off your permanent record-if you can behave until we reach
Earth.”
“I’ll
try, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
“Yessir.
Thank you, sir.” The young technician slipped out.
Kirk
sighed, a slight grin at Whit’s expense on his face. He sat in the chair,
adjusted the comm, and listened to Lieutenant Uhura’s farewell song as the
stars slid by behind her.
“Somewhere,
over the rainbow…”
(Hope you enjoyed this "Fantale," stories from the flight deck of the Enterprise and her sister-ships.)
