Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Posted on 21 Oct 2024 @ 9:49pm by Ensign Emilie D'Astous & James Flint

705 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Stranded
Location: Fat Alice's

Emilie moved carefully along the corridor, her palm beacon casting long shadows through the debris that littered the deck. She had to crawl under a fallen structural support beam, and avoid touching some of the power cables protruding from one of the panels in the bulkhead, but eventually she made it to the door leading to Fat Alice's, the bar of questionable taste that she usually avoided.

She listened carefully, but she couldn't hear any voices from inside. She pushed open the doors, and walked inside, sweeping her light around the room. Eventually she came upon the body of Ensign Roberts, her fellow navigation officer, who'd had the Conn right before she did - right before all of this happened.

She gasped at the sight of the body. The poor man had been crushed by a fallen beam, which was now buried twenty centimeters into his chest. Emilie might not have liked the guy, but she surely didn't think he deserved this.

"Afraid you missed last call, Ensign." Flint leaned against one of the few intact tables, aid kit slung over one shoulder, unlabeled bottle of a clear substance in his free hand. He visually assessed the newcomer; she was ambulatory, which meant she could help. "You hurt?"

"A few bumps and bruises," she said. "The Captain sent me to assess your status. How many people are in here?"

"Awfully kind of him. Four, your's truly not included. Two stable, one fairly poorly but will survive, and.." James nodded to the deceased Ensign. "This portion of the ship was hit hard, but we are secure here. It may not be the sickbay, but it'll do for now."

The Barman stood upright, slinging the aid kit across his back. "There will be more who need help. You coming along?"

"Actually he didn't send me just here to check up on you," said Emilie, speaking quickly. "I was ordered to check up on every emergency shelter on the ship and get a head count on the survivors. So far..." her eyes wandered over Roberts's body, "the numbers don't look so good. There are a number of decks I couldn't reach because life support was down."

Flint briefly gave the young officer a less than charitable look, considering what she said. His gaze softened, remembering long ago what it was to be in her shoes. "We have to focus our efforts on those we can help, at least for now." The Nebula Class deck configuration played in James' mind, considering their next move. "Where do you still need to check?"

"Everything below Deck 19," she said. "Crew mess. Science labs, holodecks, cargo bays. So far I have a head count of two hundred and forty-six survivors." She suppressed a shudder. She was over two-thirds of the way down the ship, she would have expected over five hundred people to have survived.

Flint nodded as he fit the unlabeled bottle in the aid kit, before handing it off to his new companion. With nothing more he could do in the improvised aid station, James took it upon himself to wedge himself in on her assignment, "Well, who doesn't enjoy an adventure to the depths of the ship. Let's go." Without waiting for the almost certain objection he was already at the door, not stopping to add, "Hope your not claustrophobic."

Emilie had to run to keep up with the bartender, his legs being half again as long as hers. She'd been in more than her share of confined spaces, piloting Class-Eight probes and workbees and doing test runs on escape pods. Tight spaces were nothing. Heights were another story.

"Not at all," she said.

The grin across Flint's face couldn't be helped. He was starting to like his new companion; she had spirit, and that might be enough. His expression soured as they approached the Jeffries tube access. Opening the hatch, James sighed, "Not how I pictured retirement, but here we are." With that, down he went.

Emilie tightened the equipment belt around her waist, and followed the strange bartender into the depths of the ship's bowels.

- - - - - -

A post by

Ensign Émilie D'Astous
Flight Control Officer
USS Cygnus

and

James Flint
Bartender
USS Cygnus

 

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