One of our shuttlecraft is missing tonight ...

[T'aral 0]

T'Aral watched the shuttlecraft carrying the Comanche Creek staff officers leave without comment. While it was true that the medical supplies she was monitoring would most likely be shipped to the surface without delay or difficulty, there was no reason for her not to stay with the supplies either. All other things being equal, it would be just as well if she kept with her assignment.

 

Once everything was loaded and tallied, T'Aral stepped into the cargo shuttle's command pod where a suitably quiet Ensign waited patiently for her to strap in properly. "You don't mind if I play a little music during the trip, do you?"

"No." T'Aral settled in to the seat quietly, seeking the oblivion of meditation which unfortunately eluded her in this place. There was a residue to this space: a spectre of the scream shared by every Vulcan mind who died the day their planet was devoured. It remained as a ghostly echo - unnoticable by most, but unmistakable to Vulcans. T'Aral already had to councel two of her kin on the Creek to help them maintain their own stability, but leaving the confines of familiar surroundings left her disoriented and vulnerable to the residual cry. Without any outward sign, she abandoned the attempt at meditation and allowed herself to listen to the music the pilot was playing.

 

Don't want your help - don't need your help - don't want your help - don't need your help!

 

Find a way - to make me say - "Help me please, someone!"

 

Helpless!

She pondered the chorus of this song and its curiously ambivilent nature. The insistence of not wishing help, while being unable to help one's self, all the while apparently hoping for someone to break them down from the outside ... it was all very inconsistent, very illogical, and so very human. T'Aral wondered if she would ever understand humans or any race even similar to them, and whether or not that was necessary. For the time being it was enough to perform her function in Starfleet when she was allowed to; perhaps that was all that would ever be needed.

 

T'Aral's ponderings were suddenly stopped as the shuttlecraft lurched awkwardly. Turning to the pilot, she observed as his hands dashed about the controls trying to regain some amount of even flight. "We just got spiked by an ion discharge - it'll take the controls a moment to reset ... no problem."

The board, however, seemed to have a different opinion. While the controls did reset, the ship was off course and diving down hard towards the planet. "We've got steering, we've got thrusters, and there's plenty of space between us and Vega ... no problem!"

To his credit, the Ensign was a capable pilot. Even with minimum operation he leveled off the shuttlecraft's flight, but without sensors they were blind and far off course while cruising at hypersonic speeds across Vega's landscape. "Ok: best thing to do is to find a flat spot to set down, and the sooner the better ... no problem!"

The Ensign's 'flat spot' only appeared so from above. Like most of Vega it was cracked glacier which arced upwards and downwards, tossing the shuttle about as it decelerated hard while skidding for miles. The Ensign's piloting was again above reproach as he managed to avoid any jutting shards of excessive size until finally the ship was slow enough to be stopped without killing the both of them. Still, the front crumple zone of the shuttle was used to its maximum limits as it bore the brunt of their stop.

 

With the shuttle finally stationary, T'Aral turned to the Ensign. "What is your name, and are you hurt?"

 

Gathering a deep breath, he looked back at her. "Raden, Ma'am, and I'm not hurt - at least not badly ... just a few bruises."

T'Aral nodded as she drew out her tricorder to scan him, just to be sure. Once she was certain that he was correct in his assessment, she stepped out to check the cargo, then managed to pry open an emergency hatch to examine the outside. The view was grim: they were a white shuttlecraft sitting on a white backdrop, having broken through broken terrain to crumple their ship in a crumple of ice.

 

"Well, Ensign Raden - I believe we may have a problem."

 

------------------------------

Song: Faith No More - "Helpless"