Chapter Four
Stardate 54639.90 (28 August 2377)
USS Pamlico
Berth 5 - Star Station Echo
Lt. Bane followed Chief McManus as the grizzled NCO led the way to the XO’s quarters. The journey was brief as Bane’s cabin was a mere four doors from the wardroom.
Stepping inside, Bane was surprised at the spaciousness of the cabin. McManus seemed to read his mind.
“Perks of serving on a buoy tender, Mr. Bane. When she was rebuilt, they took out all of the science labs and expanded most of the quarters. Even our crewmen only bunk two to a room. She may not be a cruise ship, but at least you can stretch out your legs without kickin’ the walls.”
Bane nodded and placed his carry-all on the bed. “Nice,” he said, with feigned enthusiasm. “Guess I best get unpacked and see what the Capt . . . Skipper wants me doing.”
“Aye. I need to get to the bridge m’self. Just one last thing, Lieutenant.” McManus held out a meaty palm.
“Hand ‘em over, sir.”
Bane blinked. “Hand what over?”
McManus wore the tolerant smile of the imminently patient. “The vials of Correllan Acid ye’ve got.”
Jack blanched. “What makes you think . . .”
“Ye can’t fool another addict, lad. Come on, come on, I haven’t all day.”
“I don’t have any, Chief. I came here straight from New Zealand, remember? Outside of this uniform, my clamshell doesn’t have much more than a toothbrush and some beard suppressor!” Bane’s voice was becoming indignant.
With the same tolerant smile, Chief McManus stood nose-to-nose with Bane. He was slightly shorter than the Aussie, but he held a sizable advantage in weight and muscle.
“Bollocks, sir,” the Chief continued, his voice calm and measured. “You had a layover at Starbase 210 – plenty of time to score some ‘insurance.’”
Bane’s face was ashen. “Are you accusing me of lying, Chief?”
McManus nodded. “Oh, aye, that I am.”
With a sudden, vicious snarl, Bane took a swing at McManus. The Scotsman easily deflected the blow, grabbed Jack by the front of his tunic, and administered a solid head butt. Bane went down to the deck, stunned.
The chief knelt down and regarded Bane sadly, shaking his head. “There’s no point protestin’, sir. I had your case scanned when you came on board.” He stood and pulled a small folding knife from a pocket of his coveralls. Yanking open the clam-shell case, he felt around the lining then paused before taking the knife and slicing through the material. He pulled out four vials of amber liquid.
Bane stared blearily at McManus. “Do you have a brig on board or are you going to contact station security?” he asked in a defeated tone.
“No and no,” replied McManus. He tapped his combadge. “McManus to Corpsman Burdeshaw.”
“Burdeshaw – go ahead, Chief.”
“Mike, please come to the XO’s quarters. He has some special medical instructions to pass along to you.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be right there.”
The Chief helped Bane up off the deck and onto the side of the bed.
“How you doin’ there, Lad?”
“I feel like I’ve been butted by a Klingon.”
McManus seemed pleased by the remark and chuckled. “I’ve got a bit ‘o a reputation as a hard-head. Glad to know I’ve still got it. When Corpsman Burdeshaw arrives, be sure to pass along your medical history . . . is it on the PADD there?” he gestured to the slim device in the carry-all.
Bane attempted to nod and grimaced. “Yeah – yeah, it’s there.” He rubbed his forehead and glanced up at McManus.
“Why did you do that?” Bane asked.
“Well, lad, you did take a poke at me.”
“No, not the head –thing. Why are you letting me off so easily?”
Pete snorted. “Easy? You’ve got it wrong, Mr. Bane. This is going to be hard. And I promise ye, if I get the idea you’re even thinkin’ about getting back on the drugs, I’ll personally kick your arse so high that you’ll achieve orbital escape velocity.”
“S’ funny. I always thought threatening a superior officer was a court-martial offense – even in the Border Service.”
“Aye. Maybe so. But we both know you won’t do that.”
Bane looked down, ashamed, “You still haven’t answered my question, Chief.”
McManus sighed. “The first time I came aboard Pamlico, I was so drunk I couldn’t stand on my own. I used to be a Master Chief Petty Officer and was up for Command Master Chief – did you know that?”
Bane shook his head, and winced – his head still throbbed.
“I was senior NCO on the Minotaur out of Star Station Charon, near the Romulan Neutral Zone. I believe you met my old C.O., Captain Meyer?”
“Yeah, we’re old mates.”
Pete chuckled again. “That’s not what I hear.” His expression grew somber. “Like you, I got snared by an addiction. In my case, single-malt Scotch. And I’m not real pleasant when I’m drunk – which was more often than not. Captain Meyer hauled me out of the station brig on more occasions than I could count. Finally, he had enough. I was busted back to CPO after putting a security officer in hospital. I’m nae proud of that. Captain Meyer had me transferred off Minotaur and sent across the quadrant to Echo station.”
“Where you lived happily ever after,” said Bane, sarcastically.
McManus shook his head. “No. I was mad at the universe and feelin’ sorry for myself. First thing I did when I arrived, was got drunk and in a brawl. Made the mistake of taking a swing at an officer from the Bluefin. Next thing I know, their senior NCO – a big Orion fellow named Brin – intervened. He warned me to stand down. I didn’t.”
Bane was now listening with interest. He knew of Solly Brin from his brother, Nigel. “What happened?”
Pete smiled. “I’m not sure, Lad. I didn’t wake up for two days. Senior Chief Brin throws a nasty punch. When I woke up in the station’s sick bay, Lt. Commander Nor Huren was there. We’d served together on Minotaur when she was a junior officer. I had looked out for her, til she got her space legs and became a fine Border Dog. She offered me a choice – a billet on Pamlico or I could be cashiered out of the service and live the rest of my life from inside a bottle.”
“So you accepted her offer? That was it?” smirked Bane.
McManus looked away, embarrassed. “No. I told her to ‘sod off.’ That pissed her off. I won’t go into all that she said – that was meant for me – but after she left, I did some hard thinking. I was released the next morning, got a bottle of single-malt and drank it all down. Then, I reported for duty on Pamlico.”
“And you quit drinking? Just like that?” Bane asked, derisively.
“Not quite that easy, Lad. I made the decision to stop, once I set foot on Pamlico. I’ve been sober for two and a half years, and every day has been a test.”
Bane peered intently at the burly NCO. “So, how did you do it – quit, I mean? Join a 12-step program? Genetic therapy?”
McManus shook his head. “Like I said, I made a decision to quit. Every day I remind myself the decision has been made and I live accordingly. The Skipper and a few others keep my feet to the fire. Nothin’ like good old-fashioned accountability.”
“Don’t you miss the booze?”
“Every day, lad. Every day. But I missed having a life even more. And as time has passed, the craving has faded, though never completely.” The door chimed softly.
“That will likely be Corpsman Burdeshaw,” said the Chief. He gave Bane a meaningful stare. “We’ll talk more, Mr. Bane. The decision is yours – walk away from the drugs and get on with your life and career, or give in and end up in some dark hell-hole. I can help you, but I can’t do it for you. Think about it.”
McManus allowed Burdeshaw to enter and introduced the corpsman for Bane. “Best get those medical records in our database straight-away, Mike. Then see what you can give the XO for a headache.”
* * *
Captain’s Log, supplemental – We’re twelve hours out of Echo station and beginning our maintenance run. Since we’re filling in for the Saginaw, our course will take us near Starbase 500. If time permits, I hope for at least a 12 hour layover there. It has one of the best Rigellian restaurants outside of my home system.
Lt. Bane has been given the tour of the ship, which took about twenty minutes. I must confess to having doubts about our new XO. Chief McManus continues to encourage me to be patient with Lt. Bane. I have an abundance of patience but I don’t sense a great deal of confidence on the XO’s part. Time will tell.
Our first order of business is to recover a R.O.V.E.R. (Rapid Orbit Vehicle Environmental Research) from Jinar II, a class N world that was once home to a space-faring civilization. Following that, we have four subspace relays to service. At least we won’t be bored.
Long range sensors indicate some ionic disturbance along our heading. It should not pose any difficulties for us, other than possibly slowing our progress and preventing me from dining on proper Rigellian cuisine.
Lt. Commander Nor Huren saved her log entry and exited her cabin. She encountered Chief Anderson waiting for the turbolift.
“Sage,” acknowledged Nor Huren.
“Skipper.”
“How is number one impulse engine holding up?”
Anderson produced a worried frown. “So far, so good, but I hope we don’t have to push the impulse engines too hard on this trip.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself,” replied the Rigellian, dryly. “Are we set to retrieve that R.O.V.E.R.?”
Sage nodded. “It will be a tight fit, but we should be able to get it in bay 2 without trouble.” She paused. “Um, Skipper, do you think I can download the data once it’s on board?” Anderson’s eyes twinkled at the prospect.
Nor Huren shook her head as the lift doors opened. “Sorry, Sage. Our job is only to haul it to Starbase 500 and let the Fleet tech-nerds pour over the data.”
Anderson nodded and sighed in disappointment. “I’m a pretty good tech-nerd myself, Skipper.”
Kelendi patted the shorter woman’s shoulder. “I know you are, Sage.” To the lift, she announced, “Bridge.”
* * *
Stardate 54640.71 (29 August 2377)
Aboard a Cosmo-Works Planet Hopper N10778
Glenda Hurst took a sip of fruit juice and looked out the viewport. She frowned.
“Scott – what’s that?”
Her husband looked up and toward the area of space to which she was pointing. A shimmering patch of purple and orange seemed close enough to reach out and touch. Scott glanced at the sensors before replying.
“It’s a patch of concentrated ions. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Glenda looked back in alarm. “An ion storm?”
“No, hon. Nothing as bad as that. We just have to be careful navigating through them – run at sublight until we’re clear – then back to warp. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“If you’re not concerned, then why have you been chewing on the end of you stylus? You only do that when you’re worried.”
Busted, he thought. Aloud he said, “Just pre-natal jitters, Dr. Hurst. I’ve never been a dad before.”
She smiled. “I think you’ll do okay. With practice, that is. I can’t wait to see you change a diaper.”
He frowned. “We can travel hundreds of times the speed of light, yet we can’t . . .”
They were interrupted by a warning klaxon. Red lights began to flash on the control panel.
“Warning,” announced the computer, with maddening calm, “sensors indicate a Deuterium leak. Activating emergency flush protocol to clear ship of toxic fumes.”
“Scott?” Glenda’s voice held a tinge of alarm.
“We’re okay,” he said, with more assurance than he felt. “The cabin air is fine. The Deuterium tank is in the hold and sealed off from the rest of the ship.”
“Yes, but that’s our fuel.”
“Computer, based on the current rate of leakange, calculate our maximum speed and range.”
“Acknowledged. Current fuel levels allow for a maximum 12 light years at warp 6.”
Scott let out a breath of relief. “See? We’ve got plenty of fuel to make it to Starbase 500.” He patted the control panel. “This old hopper has plenty of star hours left.”
Glenda returned the smile, but her sense of unease remained. She squirmed back against her seat, then gasped as an intense contraction caught her by surprise.
“Glenda?”
She breathed through the contraction before putting on a reassuring smile. “That was a strong one,” she admitted.
“Is . . . is the baby coming soon?”
“It was just an isolated contraction, hon. We should still have plenty of time.” she replied, with more assurance than she felt.
In the hold of the hopper, the computer lowered the pressure, venting much of the Deuterium gas into the void. As the pressure in the hold dropped, the tank began to bulge outward, allowing even more of the heavy water to escape.
In the cockpit of the hopper, alarms began sounding with renewed intensity.
* * *
). 
) he'll take some positive steps.
(Though rumor has it, he does enjoy wearing his tartan when off-duty.)
Pudge has got some cojones even if he doesn't realize it...but they better be made of solid latinum if he doesn't want Admiral Yellico jumping down his throat...and when he finds out who the XO is, this is gonna be fun...
