Post 3991

He walked in and his jaw hit the floor.

Every piece of furniture in sight was completely buried in clothing, shoes, make-up, jewelry, little trinkets of every shape and size.  It didn't even look like his quarters.  It looked like the treasure vault of the crown princess of Alnath.  His one-eyed gaze panned slowly, taking it all in.

"What... the... hell?"

Neria's head poked out of her bedroom and her eyes widened.  Uh oh.

At maximum velocity, the Arcadia could have reached Nonallix B in 4.2 hours upon leaving the Bajoran wormhole.  Due to diplomatic constraints, the trip would last over twelve.  And they didn't even have to stop at checkpoints – they just had to take their time.  No too-sudden moves and no variations; politicians had prescribed and plotted their course before they left Earth.

April walked the corridors in league of old friends: PADDs.  Used to be, he'd never be caught dead without one.  He'd died since then – twice – and given up the practice for live, on-the-spot reports as needed.  Now he walked in their company again.  Sporting a new work-uniform variant – a jacket adorned with several pockets, and cargo pants, each stuffed with PADDs – he wound his way through deck five after leaving his quarters, carrying PADDs in each hand, gaze darting between them: Standard operational material – consumption reports, efficiency projections... dry stuff, the bane of an action-oriented man, but part of the job of a starship captain.  It wasn't all glamor and adventure.  After the ups and downs in his life the past two years, he actually welcomed the bane – and had found that reading still relaxed him.  That was another thing that had changed, then changed back: He used to be a reader.  He couldn't read enough.  After Vor'ok Nir, for months he couldn't sit still long enough to read.  But he was slowly, finally, coming back to old habits, in little steps at a time, such as this.

Rounding a corner, he looked up in time to see an ominous silver shape hanging in the brown corridor.  Mull.  April stopped.

Mullakaros, known casually as "Mull", had been with the ship from the start – when the corridors were silver, like him.  Or, more precisely, like the silver shape currently floating before April.  It was easy to forget, the real Mullakaros was inside.  A Medusan, he (though 'he' did not really apply) inhabited a high-tech silver exoshell equipped with tactile arms, miniature sensor arrays, and an anti-gravity propulsor, overall resembling a large, inverted teardrop.

"Captain, I would like a moment of your time," the silver shell emanated in its peculiar tone – synthesized, metallic, like plucking a lyre inside a steel tube, oscillating with that harmonious, lyrical frequency.  Musical.  Not Mull's actual voice; for Mull, like all Medusans, was noncorporeal – a being of living plasma energy.

April regarded Mull.  Considering the timing, he had an idea what this might be about.  Mull had been the Arc's chief flight control officer, more than once.  As crew assignments tended invariably to get shifted around, positions changed, officer to officer, and sometimes back again.  With Dennh's transfer, Mull had been slated to replace him on alpha shift.  Medusans were renowned for their unparalleled navigational senses, somehow attuned to the subspace winds of the universe.  This ability made Mull the ship's savior in many an instance when speed and sense of direction were paramount.  Keen to that, Mull must have heard by now about the new chief helmsman.

"Does this have anything to do with our new Lieutenant Havercroft?" April said.

"It does," came the metallic lyrical reply.  "I am understandably concerned.  Forgive me, Captain, but I know your practice.  You grant new officers opportunities to prove themselves.  You'll task the new navigator with the singularity?"

April couldn't deny it.  Sometimes he was predictable.  "You know me too well, Mull."  He continued on his way, the silver-shelled Medusan floating along beside.

"I would like to request that duty," Mull said simply, eliciting a glance from April.  He would not make this request lightly and April knew it.  Medusans were objective as a rule.  However... not always.  They could be... sensitive, at times – which fit with their nature.  Was Mull simply envious; jealous perhaps?

"Explain."

Mull deliberated for a long-drawn beat before responding.  "As you know, I am Medusan.  We feel subspace, its intricacies in navigation; we have what humans call a sixth sense.  Subspace alignments are in flux.  This I believe to be the result of the impending sojourn.  It will, I fear, overpower young Miss Havercroft.  Or any of your humanoid kind, with your fragile sensibilities."

April looked at him.  "I don't follow.  What are you saying?  That you can see the future?"

A strange warble filtered through the exoshell's comm-badge.  Laughter.  "That would be a precious gift, Captain.  No.  However, we feel the future.  Subspace tides flow not through space alone, but time as well.  To that I'm oriented.  As we near the singularity, I feel the effect rise sharply.  It will be a momentous passage, unlike any your kind has experienced in your present incarnation."

Present incarnation?  April was intrigued, wondering what he meant by that.  Something to do with evolution, maybe?  But he didn't get time to ask.

Then... whether it was fate, chance, or some greater, subliminal design... he came around a corner, and spotted her.

As he rounded the bend in the corridor and saw her, April told Mull, "I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant.  But humans have a gift for adapting quickly, and we've met singularities before.  I'm sure we can handle it.  Now if you'll excuse me."  He started towards the new chief conn officer.

"Captain," Mull said, urgent.  "I am trying to warn you."

April's head snapped around, annoyed; he didn't like his decisions constantly being questioned.  Then he forced himself to relax.  Mull did what he thought was right; April knew this about him too.  And, perhaps he had a valid point – one more impetus for conferring with Havercroft as planned.  "I'll discuss it with her," April said, "and let you know.  Carry on, Mr. Mull."

"As you wish, sir."  The silver shell floated away down the hall.  April turned back towards the young woman.  Pensively, he approached her, Mull's words still ringing in his mind.