Seeking

Lieutenant Booker aimed his phaser around the hatch's rim, etching a momentary line of blue into the ceramometal. Then he leaned, pushed, and was the first to scramble inside.

Mala followed, grasping the hatch with both hands, sliding her feet along the hull then releasing their grip until after she'd leaped inside, making contact with the deck.  She moved out of the way, watching as the others came through: Dr. Tabatha Brisk, Walker the CEO, and last, the small round shape of Clicker.  The CSO's environmental suit was equipped with a pair of servo-robotic legs with magnetic boots, as well as robotic arms with manipulator/diagnostic tools.  Beams from each of their helmet lights swept across the darkened bay.

"I'll find an EPS panel," Walker said.

"Right.  You lead the way.  For the moment we'll all stay together," Mala told them.  They moved alongside the nearest bulkhead until he found the panel, forced it open and directed finger-controlled narrow-beamed light into the panel's interior, performing a quick diagnostic with his suit's arm-padd.  "The conduits maintain integrity, but the EPS is out.  I can't do anything until I get to the engine room," Walker reported.

"Understood."  Mala wasn't surprised. Her cybernetics detected no trace of computer activity.  She moved further into the center of the room, then toward the bay doors.  The vessel's bay was small, with a shuttle, a work bee, three escape pods and a few cargo stacks latched down, along the sides of the bay.  Near the outer doors lay a small sphere – crowned with an antennae array – within a launch cradle. Mala stepped closer, gazing at it.  "A sensor probe.  They were ready to launch it when..."  Mala heard Tabatha gasp, and turned quickly to her left.

"Over here!  A body."  Tabatha had nearly fallen over it, clutching Walker's arm to steady herself.  Then she knelt, using her arm-padd to scan the body.  Though Mala knew, they all knew, the result.  The man hadn't been wearing any sort of EVA suit when life support failed.  "He can't be resuscitated," Tabatha confirmed, standing, directing the beams from her helmet to play along the floor.

"Uh oh, another one."  Walker gestured toward the port bulkhead, near the inner doors.

By the time Mala reached them Tabatha had turned the body over.  He'd fallen across an environment suit trying to put it on.  Released, it floated upward, and Mala shoved it away from her face, grimacing.  "He almost made it.  But he wasn't quick enough," Tabatha said sadly.

"Let's get out of here and up to the bridge," Mala said.  Walker was already operating the door's manual control switch.  As it cracked open, Mala pushed it further, and went through.  They'd examined the Flamsteed-class schematics during the trip over, after Mala downloaded them into the runabout's computer.  So without comment, they now headed toward the nearest Jefferies tube access.  Mala, after reconsidering, said, "I don't like splitting up, but we need to cover all the decks.  Walker and Clicker, go the engine room.  First priority – life support, then transporter power.  Stay in radio contact if possible.  We'll go to the bridge.  If we lose contact, report there in fifteen minutes."

Mala felt the heaviness of responsibility sink deeper into her mind and body, knowing that their lives and well-being could depend upon her decisions.  Though she accepted such responsibility easily enough while piloting any sort of craft, the present unknowns snipped away at her confidence.  She realized how much she wanted Jeremy there, beside her.  The need for him suddenly engulfed her awareness.  If her self control had been less, she would have cried, or at least sighed.  Instead, she told herself that this would be an excellent time to stop wishing for him.

She watched Lieutenant Booker lift himself into the access way.

Before she could follow, the corridor lights flicked on, then off, and on again.  Then a voice sounded from the intersystem com.  Mala's feeling of relief was short-lived, and followed by puzzlement.  A ship's officer was reporting the stats from the probe's programming; a different voice made a correction.  Then followed a request for docking instructions, and a few words of good-natured bantering.

Nothing they heard made any sense, given the ship's circumstances.  Mala flicked through the frequencies and spoke on the same bandwidth.  "This is Lieutenant Commander Hendriksson from the UFS Arcadia.  What is your ship's status?  Reply please."

The only reply she received was a routine maintenance request – the lounge replicator needed repair.  Then an image coalesced in the corridor: Snow, a tall building with balconies.  Music in the background.

"A holofilm?"  Walker's voice was disbelieving.  The holoscene disappeared and another took its place: a water polo match.

"It's all just random," Mala said.  "As if someone accessed the ship's logs and systems without understanding them.  Everyone – phasers ready.  And we are staying together."

She heard a sound from the corridor behind them, the way they'd just come.  Booker slid from the Jefferies tube.  Mala gestured, and they stood, waiting, phasers in hand.

A crewman slithered along the floor, turning the bend in the corridor.  He was Andorian, his face a darker blue than it should have been.  Mala recognized him.  She'd just seen him in the bay.  He should have been dead.  Was dead.  Three of them fired at the same time.  The body stopped.

A flash of purple lighting streaked from deck to ceiling.  Bits and pieces of old conversation pulsed from the com system.  Then light and sound stopped.