“Captain on the bridge!” Ensign Ellie Doall’s voice rang out across the bridge.
Captain Jebediah Tiberius glanced at Lieutenant LaFuentes, who answered with a shrug. As long as his Chief of Security had been sticking around the ship while it was in dry dock, he’d set him to solving another mystery: Figuring out how their Operations Officer inevitably knew when her Captain set foot on the bridge, no matter where she was facing or where he entered from. Apparently, some mysteries were meant simply to be appreciated.
The rest of the crew were at their stations. Doall, of course, stood at the Ops, her hands flying over the console, likely doing three things at once and all of them perfectly. She hadn’t mentioned where she’d spent her vacation. Loreli stood beside her at the biosciences monitor. She really didn’t need to be on the bridge right now, but as Ship’s Sexy, it was her right and duty to be visibly present to inspire the crew. First Officer Phineas Smythe had trimmed his hair and mustache according to the latest styles of his homemoon, Calisto. Lieutenant Tonio Cruz cracked his knuckles over the helm. Jeb noticed the small medallion attached to the console – Saint Danika Wash. Cruz had been very proud that he and his nona had been invited to the Vatican for the canonization of the patron saint of starship pilots.
Since the rest of the main characters are not on the bridge, but elsewhere on the ship actually doing their jobs, we’ll just sum up by saying the rest of the bridge staff were at their at their consoles, watching indicator lights, typing in commands, and in the case of the second-string crew in the bullpen, wistfully dreaming of the day when someone on the bridge suffers a debilitating accident and they could bravely dash forward to take their place.
“What’s the word on the TP Prankster?” he asked LaFuentes as he made his way to the command chair.
“Nothing yet. This guy is good,” LaFuentes replied, “but non te preocupara, Captain. My team will keep at it until there’s nothing left to go on.”
Jeb hesitated at the stairs. Had his Chief of Security made a potty joke? Even Doall had paused in whatever it was she was doing to gape at LaFuentes, but he focused on his console as if he’d said nothing out of the ordinary. “Security has finished the last sweep of the ship. We’re secure to launch.”
Doall turned back to her console. “All stations report ready for launch, Captain.”
“Activate dramatic running light sequence and let’s get out of here.”
Sadly, I don’t have a dramatic exit sequence for you, so let’s just crib one from Star Trek:
(I’m pretty sure the astronaut at 2:10 is washing windows. In space, no one can hear you squeegee.)
“We’ve cleared space dock,” Cruz said as the last of the fanfare died down and the normal sounds of ship operations could once again be heard. “Course is set for the Pack Nebula.”
“Cool. Let’s go blow up a brown dwarf!”