approach.”
“More likely that docking clerk has a twisted sense of humor,” Paris replied.
Janeway kept her eyes on the Hub, noting familiar vessel designs as well as far more numerous ones she’d never seen before. There must have been a few hundred ships docked at the station, and once again, she remembered Chakotay’s warning that they were alone in this quadrant.
That reminded her of something else…. She took deep, calming breaths, imagining the beach where her spirit guide lived. She saw herself lying on the warm sand, with the sun beating down on her bare skin as the salty breeze refreshed her with its coolness. She liked to think of her spirit guide lying next to her, stretched out on a rock, its scales reflecting the strong light as its tongue lazily flicked out to sample the air.
Chakotay would be proud of her. As the ship neared their assigned pylon, she didn’t say a word of protest as Voyager followed the docking instructions dictated by the beacon.
Up front, she overheard Paris say to himself, “There comes a time when simulations end, and you find out what you’re made of.”
The pilot was actually sweating as he completed the difficult maneuvers, but if there was one thing Janeway trusted, it was that Paris knew how to fly. Her confidence was rewarded when the ship docked to the Hub with a whisper contact.
“Docking joints coupled,” Paris announced, with something like a sigh.
“Finally.”
“Nice work, Mr. Paris.” Two other ships were tethered to the same spire—the one to starboard was a large merchant vessel similar to the ones they’d seen crewed by Yawkins, an interrelated family group. To the port, a stumpy freighter was connected to the spire with elaborate coils of electrocable.
The beacon bobbed, and a final recording informed them, “Docking complete. Welcome to the Hub.”
“Thanks a lot,” Paris retorted.
“We’d have been here ages ago,” Torres added. “If they hadn’t kept interfering.”
“I’ve never heard of such rigid docking procedures,” Kim agreed.
Janeway felt practically serene after her pseudo-meditation.
“Now that we’re here, take all nonessential systems off-line.
Torres and Kim—I’ll want a full report on the damage to the ODN and the main core as soon as possible.”
Torres joined Kim at Ops. “Aye, Captain.”
“Tuvok, you’re with me,” Janeway added. She refused to endure any more faceless manipulations. “I believe we have an appointment with an agent of House Min-Tutopa.”
Paris casually turned to stop her. “Captain, navigation systems are locked down, and there’s nothing I can do until computer control is returned so request permission to go off duty.”
“Request denied,” she said instantly. “Paris, you have the bridge.”
“Me?” Paris glanced around dubiously. “But we’re docked.”
“Make the most of it while you can,” Janeway told him with a brisk slap on the shoulder.
Startled, he straightened up. “Aye, Captain!”
Paris pretended to jab at his control board, waiting until Kim and Torres followed Janeway off the bridge. Then he slumped back in his chair. The sound of Kim’s nervous voice trying to placate Torres had been even more irritating than Janeway’s refusal.
He’d already told the kid to give up, but he figured some people were too nice for their own good.
Shrugging off his jacket, Paris sauntered over to the captain’s chair.
Ensign Yarro at the environmental station eyed his gray undershirt, but she said nothing. Ah, the privileges of command…. Paris took his time, settling into the seat of power.
But he felt nothing. How could he, when they were stuck to the station like some dying parasite? His chin sank into his hand, as he brooded on the image of the Hub on the viewscreen. He could almost feel the teeming life within it, all those possibilities barely within his reach… and he was stranded on the bridge, a puppet-commander in charge of a papier-mache ship.
His
“More likely that docking clerk has a twisted sense of humor,” Paris replied.
Janeway kept her eyes on the Hub, noting familiar vessel designs as well as far more numerous ones she’d never seen before. There must have been a few hundred ships docked at the station, and once again, she remembered Chakotay’s warning that they were alone in this quadrant.
That reminded her of something else…. She took deep, calming breaths, imagining the beach where her spirit guide lived. She saw herself lying on the warm sand, with the sun beating down on her bare skin as the salty breeze refreshed her with its coolness. She liked to think of her spirit guide lying next to her, stretched out on a rock, its scales reflecting the strong light as its tongue lazily flicked out to sample the air.
Chakotay would be proud of her. As the ship neared their assigned pylon, she didn’t say a word of protest as Voyager followed the docking instructions dictated by the beacon.
Up front, she overheard Paris say to himself, “There comes a time when simulations end, and you find out what you’re made of.”
The pilot was actually sweating as he completed the difficult maneuvers, but if there was one thing Janeway trusted, it was that Paris knew how to fly. Her confidence was rewarded when the ship docked to the Hub with a whisper contact.
“Docking joints coupled,” Paris announced, with something like a sigh.
“Finally.”
“Nice work, Mr. Paris.” Two other ships were tethered to the same spire—the one to starboard was a large merchant vessel similar to the ones they’d seen crewed by Yawkins, an interrelated family group. To the port, a stumpy freighter was connected to the spire with elaborate coils of electrocable.
The beacon bobbed, and a final recording informed them, “Docking complete. Welcome to the Hub.”
“Thanks a lot,” Paris retorted.
“We’d have been here ages ago,” Torres added. “If they hadn’t kept interfering.”
“I’ve never heard of such rigid docking procedures,” Kim agreed.
Janeway felt practically serene after her pseudo-meditation.
“Now that we’re here, take all nonessential systems off-line.
Torres and Kim—I’ll want a full report on the damage to the ODN and the main core as soon as possible.”
Torres joined Kim at Ops. “Aye, Captain.”
“Tuvok, you’re with me,” Janeway added. She refused to endure any more faceless manipulations. “I believe we have an appointment with an agent of House Min-Tutopa.”
Paris casually turned to stop her. “Captain, navigation systems are locked down, and there’s nothing I can do until computer control is returned so request permission to go off duty.”
“Request denied,” she said instantly. “Paris, you have the bridge.”
“Me?” Paris glanced around dubiously. “But we’re docked.”
“Make the most of it while you can,” Janeway told him with a brisk slap on the shoulder.
Startled, he straightened up. “Aye, Captain!”
Paris pretended to jab at his control board, waiting until Kim and Torres followed Janeway off the bridge. Then he slumped back in his chair. The sound of Kim’s nervous voice trying to placate Torres had been even more irritating than Janeway’s refusal.
He’d already told the kid to give up, but he figured some people were too nice for their own good.
Shrugging off his jacket, Paris sauntered over to the captain’s chair.
Ensign Yarro at the environmental station eyed his gray undershirt, but she said nothing. Ah, the privileges of command…. Paris took his time, settling into the seat of power.
But he felt nothing. How could he, when they were stuck to the station like some dying parasite? His chin sank into his hand, as he brooded on the image of the Hub on the viewscreen. He could almost feel the teeming life within it, all those possibilities barely within his reach… and he was stranded on the bridge, a puppet-commander in charge of a papier-mache ship.
His
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