Human After All: Chapter 1

Captain’s Personal Log, 22-11-2164 TSC

Dearest Audrey,

They’ve assigned a new forensic scientist to the ship. Dr. Gabriel Rios came highly recommended by Admiral Jensen, but I am skeptical. On first glance he is eccentric to the point of mania, but I get the sense that he’s hiding something with all of that bravado. He feels like an albatross around my neck, and no matter what I do I can’t shake that feeling.

I also feel terrible for Ye’fal, who is a perfectly capbale forensicist as well as being our doctor. Being replaced by a more senior scientist for this mission has to trouble Ye’fal as much as it troubles me. And for what? The retrieval of a lost runabout? Something doesn’t seem right here.

Jensen has her reasons, I’m sure. I just wish she would share those reasons with me.

…

I can’t believe it’s been nearly two years since I lost you. I miss you every day. If you’re out there, somewhere, please help me carry this burden. I’m not sure I can do it myself.

Love always, Jezza.

Captain Jez Shaw tapped his thumb and index finger together. “Nous, stop recording,” he said.

“Recording stopped,” the computer system replied in its calm, feminine voice.

The corner of Jez’s mouth quirked up into a half-smile. Nous’ voice always reminded him of his late wife, and today that made him smile instead of making him sad and bitter. Maybe she was with him after all.

Jez looked around his quarters and sighed. He was due on the bridge at 0800 hours, and as Nous chimed half past seven he knew he’d have to hustle if he wanted to grab a second cup of coffee in the officer’s mess before heading to work. He sighed and dropped the tablet he’d been reading onto his coffee table.

Jez stood, stretching his aching body as he did so. He’d gone for his usual run around the main deck this morning and tripped over a spanner some hapless crewman had left near a service panel, sending Jez crashing into the bulkhead. He wasn’t badly injured, but he knew he’d be a little bruised for a few days.

He sighed again and let the mask of command settle onto his frame. He stood a little straighter, held his head a little higher, and cleared his mind of the troubles he had just posted to his log. He stepped out of his quarters and strode towards the nearest lift, nodding at saluting crewmen as they passed him. Today the Nomad would make the final jump to the origin of the runabout’s distress signal, tractor the ship into a cargo bay, and treat any survivors aboard.

If there were any survivors aboard.

No one had heard from the Theta-1 Expedition in two weeks. An automated distress signal from the Expedition’s runabout had been detected two days ago, and Admiral Jensen had issued her orders to rescue the runabout to him not an hour later. Dr. Rios had been assigned to the Nomad at the last minute, something Jez was not thrilled about, but that was the Admiralty for you.

Jez tapped his CARD, the little rectangle of technology attached to his wrist that registered him with the ship and allowed him to interact with Nous. The time displayed across the mercury-like surface of the CARD in large numbers: 0750. Nevermind coffee; he’d have to head straight to the bridge. He stepped into the lift that would take him up to the top deck of the ship and told Nous his destination. The lights in the steel-gray elevator flickered in acknowledgement as the doors closed and the lift whirred into action, quietly humming as Jez was taken to the bridge.

Nous whistled low, then high as Jez exited the lift onto the bridge, commanding the attention of everyone there. “Captain on the bridge!” his Chief of Security, Lieutenant Commander Inzae, announced as the crew saluted him.

Jez nodded to his first officer, Commander Sheila Fernandez, and the crew relaxed their posture back and returned their attention to their work. The bridge was bustling, as it should be right before a jump; everyone had to make sure their stations were ready for the lead pilot to input his calculations and initiate launch. If they weren’t ready, any number of things could go wrong.

Jez observed every station carefully, looking for things that may have been missed. Luckily for him, his crew were some of the best in the fleet, and nothing was out of place. He nodded to himself and walked over to his chair at the center of the bridge, his boots clanking against the steel floor as he went. 

Fernandez took her seat next to him as he sat down. “Everyone’s ready, Captain. We’re just waiting for…”

Jez grimaced as he looked at the empty helm at the front of the bridge. “Let me guess. Zakvan is running late again.”

“He only entered prep twenty minutes ago.”

“Twenty minutes?” Jez exclaimed, looking around as he realized he’d been louder than intended. “We’re supposed to jump at 0815. The hell does he think he’s doing?”

Fernandez shook her head. “He’s done shorter preps before.”

Jez bit his tongue to keep from saying what he really wanted to say. As a former pilot himself, he knew that 45 minutes of sensory deprivation was the mandatory minimum for jump prep. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Dipthan, the mind-altering drug that helped make the jump calculations possible, would work fast enough to make a sub-45 launch possible. 35 minutes of prep was insane and reckless.

Then again, that was Ensign Arren Zakvan for you: young, mad, and reckless. Even in Jez’s wilder days, when he’d been a stunt pilot, he couldn’t hold a candle to Zakvan’s complete lack of self-preservation. It bothered Jez immensely that Zakvan would have such little regard for the rest of the crew as well.

“I’m going to write him up for this,” Jez finally said, being as diplomatic as he could be.

“You have every right to do so,” Fernandez replied, staring straight ahead at the three screens at the front of the bridge that displayed their immediate surroundings, starmap location, and other important data.

“Eventually the Admiralty will notice. I don’t care that he’s Admiral Elias’ son. She ought to know better than to coddle a dangerous pilot.”

“He’s also the best pilot in the GSF. He has a perfect jump record. Do you really want someone else helming your ship?”

Jez leaned closer to Fernandez. “Of course I don’t, Sheila,” he whispered. “I’d be mad to give up Zakvan. You know that.”

Fernandez leaned in as well. “Then lay off the kid. He knows what he’s doing.”

“And if he gets us killed?”

Fernandez shrugged. “Then you’ll be dead and won’t care anymore.”

Jez grimaced. “You have a point there.”

“I usually do,” she said with a smile on her face.

Jez relaxed into his seat and pulled up the display on his right armrest. He busied himself with reading senior officer logs and doing paperwork until, at 0819, a handsome young Terran man in a dark green flight uniform entered the bridge from the lift. He held his head high as he strode from the lift to the helm and took his seat.

“You’re late, Ensign,” Jez chided.

“Apologies, Captain,” Ensign Zakvan said nonchalantly. “Prep took longer than expected.”

Jez bristled at the half-truth. “Commander Fernandez informs me you’ve only done 40 minutes of prep. 45 is standard.”

“I’m aware, Captain,” Zakvan replied without turning around to face Jez, “but I’m certain my calculations are correct. Waiting an extra five minutes would have only delayed us further.”

He was right, Jez admitted to himself. He looked at Fernandez, then back at Zakvan, and bit back a sigh. “Very well, Ensign. You may proceed.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jez could feel the righteousness rolling off of Zakvan as the pilot’s fingers flew across the helm inputting his calculations into Nous, and it annoyed the crap out of him. He did his best to reel in his anger and remember that he, too, had been young and cocksure once. Hell, he’d probably annoyed his commanding officers too, given the way Dipthan subdues your superego so you can make bigger calculations with more confidence. That drug alone could account for Zakvan’s behavior, if he wasn’t also this insubordinate sober.

“Calculations received,” Nous’ soothing voice announced. “Awaiting further instructions.”

Zakvan looked over his shoulder at Jez, who nodded. Jez tapped his fingers together and spoke. “Attention all crewmembers: prepare for jump.” The normal bustle of the bridge settled down as people took their seats or braced themselves against their workstations. Jez gripped both arms of his chair. Jump technology was necessary for the success of the Galactic Union, but that didn’t mean it was a pleasant experience.

“Ensign Zakvan,” Jez commanded, “proceed.”

“Initiating jump,” Zakvan replied, and Jez’s world went sideways as the ship lurched and vibrated. He closed his eyes and kept his breathing as even as possible, like he’d been taught at the Academy, grounding his mind by focusing his energy at his navel. That technique had gotten him through hundreds of jumps, but this time felt different as the ship lurched again just as soon as the jump’s dizzying effects subsided. 

“Engaging evasive patterns!” Zakvan shouted.

Jez felt the hull straining under his feet as the intertial dampeners struggled to cope with Zakvan’s piloting. He opened his eyes to check the viewscreens, and cringed when he saw that they were barely scraping by the dull brown hull of a massive Kirkirtic freighter. Gritting his teeth against the pull of G-forces that threatened to rip the Nomad apart, Jez managed to move his right arm and pull up the ship’s status on his display. 

It wasn’t good. The hull was breaching on the quarterdeck, just aft of the bridge. If the breach widened further, it could send all of the bridge crew into the vaccuum of space. “Reroute power to gravitational systems! And get a force field up over that hull breach!”

“Aye, Captain!” replied Lieutenant Osu Imnas, his Operations Officer. The cat-like Zarthustan woman scraped her claws against the deck to steady herself and began tapping commands into her console as quickly as she could given the circumstances.

The ship started leveling out, and the gravitational systems began to compensate for the sudden change in acceleration. The hull of the Kirkirtic ship no longer filled the viewscreen, instead replaced by a large debris field floating amongst the stars.

“Lieuetenant Osu! Damage report!” Jez called out.

“Quarterdeck breach has been contained,” Osu said. “Nux is seeing to the repair personally. A few strained bulkheads here or there, but we’ve seen worse, Captain.”

Jez nodded. Lieutenant Cranux was an excellent Chief Engineer, but that cranky little bastard must be bored out of his mind if he was overseeing the hull repair himself. Jez would laugh about it if he wasn’t so concerned by the appearance of the Kirkirtics.

“Sir,” Inzae stated, her icy Doatan demeanor nearly giving Jez chills with just one word. “The Kirkirtics are tractoring a Union runabout into one of their cargo bays.”

“Zakvan,” Jez said. “Maneuver us to have weapons lock on the  freighter.”

“Aye, Captain.”

He really hoped it wouldn’t come to firing broadsides at each other, but the Kirkirtics were unpredictable. It bothered Jez immensely that they had arrived at the location of the Theta-1 roundabout before the Nomad. The Kirkirtics would love to get their hands on some Union technology, especially if they could use it as leverage in their trade wars with the Union.

“Hail the Kirkirtics,” Jez finally said. “Let’s get our runabout back.”