Uncertainty

[Ethan Neufeld 0]

Ethan patiently spent some time waiting for Alex Macen on the bridge of the Qob, casually listening as the two scientists, engineer and pilot compared what they knew and shared their expectations for Zoalus. Then, as the hour grew late, he learned that Rosetto had been assigned to the liaison. Rosetto would show Macen to his berth and Ethan didn't need to loiter around the cramped bridge anymore. Ethan merely shrugged, unperturbed by the correction. Captain Manning had directed him to show Macen to the bridge and introduce him to Sal; the rest Ethan had assumed upon himself out of politeness when Macen asked about quarters. He'd obviously assumed beyond what others had planned and it was his mistake. He quietly left the bridge, wishing only for a split second that he'd been told earlier but glad he was relieved. Maybe he would have known if he'd been an actual member of the crew.

 

He traversed the central passageway, a hand stuffed in his left pocket and walking more leisurely than before. The Qob was small compared to many Starfleet ships, but silence pervaded and no one passed him in the time it took to reach the hatchway. Ethan climbed down the ladder and walked to his berth. His mind was heavily occupied. Filled with reflections on the raiders, their motives, understanding their desperation; his unwavering training and mindset, regret for other's actions but not his own; Zaphod and his close encounter with death at Ethan's hand, concern for the half-Caitian's recovery; the Verbistul's impulsive Security Chief, Alex, and her desire to tagalong after Zoalus; Zoalus itself, the expedition and his objective. For the second time that day, after entering, he found his bunk and fell asleep quicker than he'd intended and fully dressed.

 

Ethan didn't dream that night, not anything that he could remember. Fatigue was only a small part of it. He had learned years ago that he would experience troubling circumstances that were not his fault. The only control and security life gave him was choosing the consistency of his decisions, his actions; choosing what to dwell on and what to let go.

 

He woke sometime around 0400 by habit, the dial of his watch glowing blue and green in the dark on his left wrist. He didn't have an ODRI or 'Audrey' in his possession and was probably one of the few who didn't. His watch was a conventional analogue Luminox. His radio was a conventional, handheld subspace transceiver with tactical mic and earpiece. Conventional but not obsolete. He wasn't a technophobe; he simply didn't need anything extra. He embraced technology where and when it was useful, but resisted allowing it to replace the human element or exceed what he needed. In spite of ODRI marketing strategies, with a CIRAS and sound training, retention and mishandling equipment wasn't much of a concern.

 

Ethan rolled to his side and glanced at the other bunk, half-expecting to see the shadowy lump of a sleeping person. It was empty and undisturbed. There were no signs that anyone else had been in the compartment. So he hadn't slept through any entrances like he'd thought he might.

 

He sat up and rubbed the back of his head and neck. Stretching off his bleariness, he made his way to the galley, briefly wondering where Macen had been berthed as he walked a passageway of closed crew doors. He might have been amused to learn Macen had slept on the deck and see the marks on his face, but Ethan wouldn't have contact with him that morning. He didn't know much of Rosetto's and Macen's sensor work had been done while he was sleeping. No call had been made for their deployment and his morning unfolded like the empty bunk in his quarters: no sight or word from the crew around him. He ate breakfast alone, exercised alone, showered; and then began reviewing what little sensor data he could access, comparing it to the tactical plans he had made weeks earlier. By the time Ethan heard anything of the Qob's crew, Macen or Zoalus, they'd found a new and mysterious snake-like, delta-eating creature. But that didn't interested him as much as the fact that Site 8 was being considered for their first landing zone and Captain Manning had ordered a probe launch.

 

Ethan signed to no one but himself. He'd suspected that he wouldn't be included in their tactical decisions, at least not at first or until after things had gone terribly wrong. He'd known from the beginning that few would be inclined to take him seriously as Selek; maybe not even as Ethan Neufeld. When he'd talked to Pher about his suggestions, he'd wondered how much of it would make it to their final planning stages. Even Pher had known caution would lose to scientific curiosity.

 

'Get the scientists somewhere they think they'll be happy, then adlib', he recalled her saying. ''Don't worry about it. Everything's the Captain's fault in the end.'

 

Obviously he couldn't just blame the Captain and leave it at that if things fell apart. He had an interest in how they conducted the expedition; he couldn't let their problems become his obstacles. But as long as there was a ship and a way, their lives weren't supposed to be his problem either. It wasn't cold-bloodedness. He didn't like seeing people suffer or die and always would have done what he could to prevent unnecessary losses. But he didn't have the resources or time to make their lives a full priority.

 

Still, not giving everything he could to their protection was beginning to bother him and for reasons that he'd been trying to convince himself shouldn't have been considered. He was losing his objectivity. It was more than just ensuring that he could successfully secure his objective and had solid transportation off of Zoalus. It was more than impersonal humanism. He'd begun to care about what happened to the Qob on a personal level. Ironically, he just wasn't sure if they'd let him lend his expertise or trust him, an outsider, to make those decisions. Would he be reduced to simply reacting or salvaging in the crisis?

 

It won't come to that, he thought and stared all his hope at the data slate in his hand. Survival means having trust in your teammates and their abilities...even when you're not sure what they are?

Edited May 21, 2011 by Ethan Neufeld

[Ethan Neufeld 0]

Needing a stretch and a drink, Ethan left his berth for a walk and paused as he crossed an open door. The half-Caitian, Zaphod, stood inside with his back to the passageway; the only member of the Qob he'd seen that morning. Ethan briefly considered what he wanted to say and then stepped forward, stopping just shy of the threshold.

 

"Hey, Zaphod," he greeted casually, trying his best to sound friendly. "Settling in okay?"

 

Zaphod turned to Ethan as he grabbed his jacket. "Hey, I'm a bit late for my first shift. Maybe we can talk later." Zaphod smiled as he headed down the corridor towards the engine room. Friendly crew. I'm going to like this job.