Everything Changes

[Gage Silver 0]

Everything Changes

A Granger-Silver Log

 

 

You can wear a uniform only so many hours before it cleaves to your body, takes on the form and the smell. In Cass’s case, globs of dust mixed with cleaning fluid from climbing in, over, and around consoles on the bridge dappled her back; some smeared down the front. She should have changed before entering the officer’s lounge - not only protocol but basic courtesy - but it was mostly empty at this time of night, and at this point she didn’t much care.

 

Not wanting to be noticed, she slipped quietly into a corner, downed a drink, then sat there twirling the empty glass, the ice clinking against the orange slice trapped in the bottom. They’d calculated the entry vector, worked it, reworked it, and tweaked it until it couldn’t be worked over anymore, but she still had her doubts. Moa, in his wisdom, had chased her off the bridge, so here she sat, the ice becoming the rift, and the orange - most of the life sucked out of it - the ship. Their ship. Comanche Creek. Battered, torn, smashed into a pulpy mess that splattered, lifeless, on the bottom.

 

A presence behind her jerked her out of her thoughts. The smell of lubricant and assorted other things associated only with main engineering - the only stuff that could overpower her own stench - drifted on the recirculated air current.

 

Aw, hell.

 

Too tired for formalities and pretty much knowing he would sit anyway, she kicked out a chair. “Join me?” she said as Gage came into view.

 

His intentions caught on the way in, Gage smirked at her and grasped the chair as it slid noisily across the floor, remarking ironically: “If you insist.” Twisting the chair and clacking it against the table’s edge, he straddled the seat, arms folded over the backrest as he stared at her.

 

“Be honest, Cass,” he said bluntly, nodding more at the glass she held than her. “What’s your real poison: that drink or your thoughts?” Loaded question.

 

Cass gave a cocky snort, partly from exhaustion but mostly from wanting to be left alone. Her eyes still resting on the glass, she tossed her head. “Be honest? None of your damn business,” adding after a beat, “...sir.” She leaned back, dangling her glass toward the orderly. “Iced tea. Sweet....” Turning back, she met his gaze, waiting for the smart-ass reply that was his trademark, the one she was sure would come.

 

“Uh, what was that? You say ‘my icy attitude, sir’?” Gage shot back, putting a hand to his ear. “Good answer. Wait,” he signaled with the same hand; “let me turn up my hearing-aid before you spew the next round of BS; then you’ll be wrong and loud.”

 

Cass eyed him another minute. The effort it took to hold the cocky expression wasn’t quite worth it so she let it fade. The few others in the lounge had stopped talking. One left, and the others put on their best I’m ignoring your conversation faces and tried to finish their drinks. The bar tender disappeared into his office, as did the orderly after easing Cass’s iced tea just within her reach.

 

Cass dialed her volume down a notch, her eyes still leveled as she leaned forward. “That...” she raised a finger, “...was a good one. Got any more like it, ‘cause... I’d sure as hell like to hear a few more before we blow ourselves to bits in that...” she left off, jerking her thumb toward the observation window. “You know... lighten up the atmosphere? Give us something to laugh about while we die.”

 

“Nice try. I’ll believe you’ve given up, when God calls my name and sounds like Bill Cosby,” Gage retorted. “Ship’s too small for headcases, so what’s goin’ on, Cass? Can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.”

 

She leaned back to check out the rift one more time. It pulsed, occasional gamma ray bursts shooting toward the ship, deceptively beautiful crackling fingers that sparked and intertwined before an unforgiving space consumed them.

 

“Not giving up, sir. Just facing reality,” she said, turning back to face him and grabbing her tea on the way. “We used to say ‘Vulcan changed things,’ but slipping into another time, another place, sure beat the hell out of that one.”

 

He saw a problem that could negatively affect her performance and the ship; by definition that made this his business, and he was supposed to believe this was just a case of pre-flight jitters or a bit of chronohodophobia? Incredulity clearly written on his face, he stared at Cass for what might have felt like an eternity.

 

“Hell if I can figure this out,” he finally muttered, rubbing the back of his head. “Fleet doesn’t issue ... crystal balls.” He briefly glanced around the room, flashing a stupid grin at the few who thought their gazes would go unnoticed.

 

“You don’t wanna tell me what your problem is, okay,” Gage said, shrugging and laying a sobered expression on Cassie. “But screw your head on soon, ‘cause a few hundred people need you to get us through the ...-end of time ‘n’ space in one piece.”

 

“My problem?” She paused, honestly believing she’d already told him. “You’re a damn good engineer, sir. Damn good. Couldn’t have done that entry vector without you, but... it’s still a crap shoot.”

 

“Stop bull... me, Cass. We all wanna get home; everybody’s got the same doubts. But you’re the one who looks like she’s drinkin’ with the reaper. What gives?”

 

The look she gave him as she sipped was nothing short of total confusion. “Sir?”

 

Gage audibly sighed, resisting the urge to rub his face. “There’s more goin’ on here than doubt, Cass. You bit my head off the other day and I’m damn sure I didn’t deserve it.”

 

The glass paused half way down, her expression even more confused. “Sir?”

 

Gage snapped. “Dammit, Gunner, are you a ... Marine? ‘Cause you sure as sh*t ain’t actin’ like one with your head in the sand!”

 

The glass hit the table. She froze, staring at him, her thoughts on the bridge hitting her straight on.

 

Frank Granger, Marine pre-enlistment instructor, came from behind and jerked his sixteen-year-old daughter up by the collar, planting her feet in the sand. Hard. Taking a DI stance in front of her, nose to nose, the intensity of his words jerked her even straighter. “Where... the hell... is your team? You wanna be a Marine, Buddy? ‘Cause you sure as hell aren’t actin’ like one, with your face in the sand!”

 

It took her a while to get a grip, but she finally managed to spit it out. “You have family, Sir? Back in our time?” Not exactly what she meant to say, but the words came out before she could stop ‘em.

 

“Yeah,” he answered on an exhale.

 

“I don’t. Lost ‘em both at Vulcan. At least... thought I did. Colonel Tigard....” She shook her head, a vain attempt to bury the thoughts that spilled out despite her best effort. “Anyway, there’s a chance. A really small chance they might be alive back there. But if we’re stuck here? If we never get back, or worse... if we die trying? That’s why I’m pushing so hard. Figure everyone else needs to push hard, too.”

 

Gage answered her firmly. “Everybody’s workin’ their a**es off. Don’t doubt your team and don’t pull a deathwish, Cass. We will make it back. You gotta believe that. Our failure’ll be on your head if you don’t.”

 

“Deathwish, Sir? My head, Sir? There’s more than one of us on that bridge, and I for damn sure do not want to die.”

 

“Takes everyone in the team to carry the boat, Cass. You know that.”

 

His reference to Special Warfare training jerked her up. Again. “Aye, Sir. That it does.” She sighed, giving her eyes a rub, the last twelve hours having taken their toll.

 

Gage considered her and her obviously disheveled appearance for a moment. “You slept, Cass?”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“Do I gotta tell you to?”

 

“No, Sir,” she said with an air of resignation. Her glass half-empty, she pushed it aside and stood, turning sharply to face him, the die-hard Marine returning. “Permission to retire, Sir.”

 

“Go. And, Cass,” he said, hanging for a beat; “don’t make me escort you.”

Edited January 30, 2012 by Gage Silver