A Little Night Music - Part 4

As the doors opened onto the Bridge, Mistry leaned in and ordered, “Get my jacket and boots. Leave the socks and bra, though.”

“Aye, Ma’am.” Nola rushed in, her pulse racing as she gathered the clothing. This was incredible! She was in the midst of an exciting secret mission, tracking down Orions with a stolen cloaking device while hiding out in a dark matter nebula! It was everything she had ever wanted out of being on a starship! And the Captain turned out to be some sort of eccentric genius, working with a team of eccentric geniuses! She couldn’t wait to tell her friends!

She rushed back out and down into the inner circle, where Mistry stood beside her chair, accepting the boots and slipping into them, before exchanging jackets, as she continued to speak with Gallop. “The Pack will be sending up the sensor calibrations; once they’re keyed in, I want a wide sweep of the Cloud. Forward the calibrations to the Memphis and Sirocco.”

“Their sensors won’t be as strong as ours, Captain,” Gallop pointed out.

Mistry took her seat, resting her hands on the arms of the chair as she stared ahead. “No one’s sensors will be as strong as ours, Commander, at least not unless you have an Excelsior around. But we can’t afford to let the Orions escape. The Memphis was lucky to pick up the residual sensor echoes before the Orions fully implemented the Spectre and entered the Cloud. I have a feeling we won’t get another chance when they try to leave.”

“Yes, Captain.” Then Gallop indicated Nola. “Perhaps Crewman Brice is better served somewhere else?”

Mistry joined him in looking at Nola, but asked her, “Crewman, do you wish to see this through to the end?”

Nola swallowed, aware that the First Officer had made his feelings about her presence clear, but also pleased that the Captain was giving her the chance to stay. She straightened up. “Yes, Ma’am, I do.”

Mistry nodded at that. “Then stay out of the way and stay quiet.”

Nola tried and failed to keep the grin from her face. “Yes, Ma’am! Thank you, Ma’am!” She took a step back, watching the rush of activity around her, officers at the Helm, Navigation, Tactical, Engineering, Communications, Sciences…

But throughout, she kept returning to the Captain… and was frankly astonished at how acutely focused the older woman had now become. There was nothing of the mercurial, scattered, stream-of-consciousness personality here; here, now, there was an intensity that was almost... frightening.

From the Sciences station, Second Officer al-Rad was on duty, reporting, “Captain, we have the sensor modifications from the Radio Shack. Dr Leavitt also warns that the Orions are likely to be alerted through ionic feedback if we do detect them.”

“Acknowledged. Implement the modifications. Weapons status, Mr Wixtar?”

From Tactical, the huge Bolian turned, making his chair creak as he reported with a deep bass voice, “Phasers and photon torpedoes online and ready, Captain.” He hesitated slightly as he added, “We’ll need your authorisation for actuation of-”

“Understood.” Mistry opened a comlink on the arm of her chair. “Computer: Actuate Sunder Protocols, Authorisation Mistry 1966-Alpha.”

The feminine voice of the computer responded. “First Officer Authorisation Required.”

Beside Mistry, Gallop adopted a sober expression as he responded, “Authorisation Gallop 1942-Beta.”

There was a moment, and then the computer concluded with, “Sunder Protocols Actuated.”

Nola watched the exchange with mild confusion, trying to recall something from her training that would help her identify what ‘Sunder’ was referring to, but there had been a whirlwind of classes and briefings on all aspects of Starfleet Enlisted life, she couldn’t recollect anything.

Then she focused on the here and now, as Mistry nodded, more to herself than to him. “Begin scans. Let’s get this over with.”

Nola leaned back against the dividing rail, her hands gripped the metal framework tightly, as if waiting for the ship to begin rocking, and watched as the viewscreen begin dividing itself into tiny sensor grid sections, each one rapidly disappearing as the sensors swept over the Cloud, eliminating irrelevant sections in favour of ones with higher concentrations of ionic cascade activity, sections more likely to contain their quarry. She was rocking slightly with anticipation, tapping her boot nervously-

“Stop that,” Mistry snapped without looking behind her.

Nola froze, realising after a few seconds that the Captain was referring to her.

“There!” Wixtar finally reported.

Onscreen, one section expanded to reveal an arrowhead-shaped ghost surrounded by coruscating blue-white energy.

“Normal sensors still indicate nothing there but ionic interference and dark matter, Captain,” Gallop reported.

Nola watched Mistry nod absently to that, her eyes focused, reminding Nola of a cat foxed on its prey, before the Captain replied, “We are as much measured by our effect on our surroundings as by our existence. Alert the Memphis and Sirocco, inform them-”

“Captain!” Wixtar interrupted. “They’re moving!”

Nola looked up, along with everyone else. It was true, the ghost was working its way away from its previous holding position, with ionic lightning still following them, as if tethered.

“Red Alert,” Mistry responded, stiffening as the klaxon sounded around them.

“Captain,” Gallop cut in over the noise, “If they leave the Cloud, our ability to track them will-”

“I know.” She looked down at the control panel on the arm of her chair, her finger moving quickly to key in a sequence of numbers, hesitating… and then keying in one more.

“Sunder launched, Captain,” Wixtar said.

Nola frowned. They were too far away for phasers, so ‘Sunder’ must have referred to some sort of tactical manoeuvre involving torpedoes. But still, they couldn’t get close enough to the Orions in Agocho’s gravimetric turbulence to-

She saw the single red flare swoop in towards the Orion ship, detonating far from it.

Seconds later, energy spikes onscreen set off further alarms around the Bridge, with Lt al-Rad reporting over the din, “Tricobalt detonation- subspace tear in the Cloud- we have surrounding dark matter and gravimetric disruption!”

Nola stared up in awe. Watching the cosmic fireworks as a blinding light from the… whatever it was… ruptured the very fabric of the Cloud, drawing in dark matter and ionic energy like a breach in a starship hull.

The Orion ship was drawn in as well, the immense, inescapable pressures of the tear forming a cosmic crucible, crushing all in its grip, even as the tear was collapsing in on itself. She watched the ship struggle, in vain, before being consumed utterly.

The disruptions spread through the rest of the Cloud, affecting almost its entire internal shape and composition, reminding Nola of childhood memories of watching the massive construction projects on Mars, when the basin of some entire plain would settle after underground explosive charges were set off, and the surface would rumble, depress, and then finally settle.

But then, the tear sealed itself up, the Cloud settled once more, and it was as if nothing had happened.

The Bridge continued to sound the klaxon, the internal communications continued to make reports to each other. But the people themselves were silent.

Nola understood the feeling. That had been… amazing! They’d done it! They’d really done it! They’d stopped the Orions from getting away! An exhilaration ran through her at their victory!

“Stand down from Red Alert,” Mistry ordered curtly. “Update the Memphis and Sirocco, inform them we can all return to our assigned duties, and to continue to implement Security protocols regarding the last 24 hours… including wiping the sensor logs of the last five minutes. Thank you for staying past your shift, Mr Gallop, you’re relieved now, I’ll finish up here-”

“Awesome,” Nola breathed out.

Mistry turned her chair to face the crewman. “Excuse me?”

Nola’s heart raced, and she was grinning as she looked back at the Captain. “You did it! You got them, Ma’am! Congratulations-”

“You’re dismissed!” Mistry snapped, her face taut with outrage.

It was like a slap across the face, knocking the excitement from her. “Wha- Captain, w-wha-”

“Get off my Bridge!” the older woman demanded loudly.

Beside her, Gallop drew closer, looking between the women. “Captain, she didn’t mean-”

Mistry ignored him, her face boiling with fury. “I said get off my bloody Bridge, Crewman! Now!”

Perplexed, panicky, Nola almost stumbled as she stepped up backwards onto the outer circle of the Bridge and turned towards the turbolift doors, almost shaking with fear when there was no turbolift waiting for her, and she stood there, not knowing what to do or where to go. Oh God, what did I do what did I do-

“Ensign Brice,” Mistry was saying… in a calmer, more measured tone now. “Please turn around.”

Nola did so, holding her breath, fighting to stay in control. Mistry was standing up now, facing her. Gallop was beside her, looking sympathetic, and the rest of the Bridge was trying not to be seen watching and listening, with varying degrees of success. Mistry had her hands behind her back, and her face remained taut, but her eyes were filled with contrition. “Crewman Brice… I apologise for the way I spoke to you just now. It was unbecoming, and I assure you, and everyone present, that you did nothing to deserve it.”

Nola was as stunned by the apology, as by the outburst of seconds before. She didn’t know what to make of it all, so she just nodded numbly.

Mistry shifted in place, before continuing. “Now, would you be so kind as to please straighten up my office? I’ve left it a mess, and I’ll be busy out here for a while.”

Nola swallowed, nodding finally. “Yes, Ma’am.” She turned and entered the office, grateful to get away anywhere. Once the door slid shut behind her, she bent forward sharply, breathing in deeply, feeling sick and dizzy and horrible and confused… What had she said to Mistry to upset her so much?

She couldn’t tell how long it took her to recover from that, but as she stared at everything on the floor, she forced herself to calm down, Then she began following orders: lifting up books and PADDs and setting them back up on shelves or the desk, straightening out pillows and cushions, even adjusting the pictures on the walls, though they didn’t need them.

One picture caught her eye: someone who was obviously a younger Mistry, in a cadet’s dress uniform from decades ago, beside a smiling older woman in a Starfleet uniform with an afro of pepper-grey hair and… Admiral’s insignia? She looked familiar… a relative, perhaps?

She glanced around again, seeing nothing else that indicated family, or even a personal life. There must have been something here. In her cabin, Nola had half a dozen pictures of her family, a model of the Korolev, the starship on which her mother had died, a Martian sandglobe from her hometown of Tars Tarkas...

Then she saw the old-fashioned receiver still on the desk, sat down there and picked it up, examining it. It felt so heavy compared with more up-to-date models. Why would the Captain have and use something like this-

She must have accidentally activated a control on it, because she was startled by a blare of the chaotic sounds Mistry seemed to prefer. She looked up, as if some mischievous entity had done it on purpose. “Stop! Computer: stop that! Pause!” When it seemingly ignored her, she looked at the receiver, trying to work out what she did to kill the blessed silence-

“Pause Mix.”

It stopped, and Nola looked up to see Mistry standing in the open doorway, stepping in to let the door slide shut behind her. She wore a slightly-amused expression. “Comfy, isn’t it?”

Nola frowned, and then bolted out of the Captain’s chair. “Sorry, Ma’am! I didn’t mean-”

Mistry waved her off, venturing further inward towards the bathroom. “Too comfy. It relaxes me, at times when I need to focus. I prefer the floor.”

Nola heard the sound of running water from the bathroom sink. “Ma’am, I- I didn’t mean to be playing your, uh, music-”

Mistry returned with a glass of water. “I know. No one sane would be willing to listen to that chaos.” At Nola’s reaction, the older woman smiled in comprehension. “You think it’s just one track, don’t you?” Her smile widened slightly. “Computer: Resume Mix.”

It returned, and Mistry pointed up at the speakers in the ceiling as she walked around, glass in hand, cocking an ear. “Only a Northern Song, by the Beatles; First Contact Night, by Desi Naybitt; I’m a Fool to Want You, by Billie Holliday; Baby Doll, by Cube Squared; The Aria of Kahless’ Conquest, by Barak-Kaden. Computer: One Track Only.”

The chaos ended, leaving something far more palatable to Nola’s ear: a set of electric guitars and other instruments, and a man’s voice crooning, “And it doesn't really matter what chords I play / What words I say / Or time of day it is...”

Mistry smiled, explaining, “A mix, chosen at random by the computer; sometimes I also get it to throw in a Vulcan lecture or a random Starfleet communique. It’s an old Communications Officer exercise, a way for your mind to develop the skills to focus on one voice, one sound, when everything else is competing for your attention.”

Nola’s jaw dropped in understanding. Of course. It made perfect sense now! “And it works, Ma’am?”

Mistry nodded, drawing closer to the desk, picking up the receiver and regarding it. “Uhura always swore by it.”

The name made Nola’s pulse race even more. “Admiral Nyota Uhura? The Admiral Uhura?” She glanced over at the photo on the wall, recognising her now. “You knew her?”

Mistry drew up to the picture, drinking water before responding. “I was in one of the last classes she chaired at the Academy before she retired. She sort of took me under her wing.” She drank again, holding up the receiver. “This was a present from her, one of the ones she used on the Enterprise-A, almost forty years ago; I had it upgraded slightly, but otherwise it’s the same device.” Mistry took on a thoughtful expression. “She always said, ‘Listen carefully, there can be songs in the static.’”

Nola looked up at the woman with heightened respect. Mistry studied under one of Kirk’s Crew? They were legends, all of them!

Mistry turned back, setting aside the glass and receiver. “Of course, she also warned me against seeking command. ‘It will take more from you than it will give back’.” Now she leaned against her desk, crossing her arms. “She was right. Responsibility does not bring comfort. Nor does knowledge, for that matter.

Crewman… Nola… you congratulated me out there for destroying that Orion raider, and I reacted negatively. Because I knew that there were innocent people onboard that ship: scientists, abducted from the lab where the Spectre was stolen, forced to help them employ it to try and escape us. And no doubt there will also have been slaves onboard, people whose lives, whose freedoms had been taken from them. But at least they were still alive… until we came along.”

Nola’s stomach sank. Hostages? Slaves? She hadn’t thought about that.

“I didn’t want to do what I did,” Mistry continued. “If there had been a way to save those people, and keep the Orions from taking the Spectre back into their space, I’d have taken it. But there wasn’t. And I recognise the irony of using a subspace device that does not officially exist, one banned by a treaty signed with one enemy… to prevent the Orions from stealing another device that does not officially exist either, one banned by a treaty with another enemy.”

She breathed out, sounding tired. “When I was your age, still at the Academy, I would never, ever have imagined knowing the things I know now. Doing the things I do now. And will still do: the Harken, this ship and crew, gets called upon from time to time to perform morally questionable but necessary duties, some of which will never make it into the official logs.”

Nola swallowed, aghast at what she heard from Mistry… and at her own naivete. She had been happy to indulge in the excitement of a secret mission, without understanding the costs: breaking treaties, altering official logs, even participating in the deaths of innocent people. She had been raised to believe that Starfleet, the Federation, was the pinnacle, the acme of any organisation, any government: moral, ethical, committed to the protection of the people and the advancement of knowledge and security by any means necessary. Now, to see first-hand what By Any Means Necessary could mean-

“You probably wish now that you hadn’t gotten involved in all this,” Mistry conjectured, as if having read her mind, offering a look of sympathy. “And maybe I shouldn’t have pulled you in so deeply, so soon. But I cast that die, because I know your family history, and hoped you would have the foundation of understanding… and because on a ship this small, you and the other Baby Blues will inevitably get involved in more missions like this one, even if you can’t tell anyone else about them.

But now I offer you this advice: don’t let what you have experienced, what you will go on to experience, tarnish you. The knowledge that life is not as clear or as straightforward as you may have originally thought, that choices are not always Right versus Wrong, but Less Wrong versus More Wrong, can lead you to pessimism, cynicism, to focus on the negativity and ignore the positivity. But that’s a trap.

Much of my favourite Terran music was written during one of the most tumultuous periods in the planet’s history: war, poverty, racism, pollution, overpopulation, social discord; many your age expected the world to end before they reached Thirty. But to focus on those aspects of the era does injustice to its positive aspects: the efforts to achieve peace, equality, and environmental stability, the advancements of science… and the incredible artistic expression on display.” She pointed to the speakers again, as the song ended.

She continued. “Goodness – morality, decency, integrity, call it what you will – whether as individuals or as organisations, is not defined by innocence. It’s defined by continuing to do the right thing whenever you can, the best one can, and not abandoning this path, because of those few times when you may have to do the necessary thing.”

Mistry looked at her again. “But… if you feel you cannot continue to serve on this ship because of what you have witnessed, I will use my rather considerable influence to have you transferred to anywhere you like, with no adverse reflection in your record. I hope you don’t go, however. I like you.”

Nola nodded, still feeling stunned by it all. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Mistry nodded. “Then I think you’re done for now. I’ll see you back here tomorrow night, 0000 Hours.” She smiled slightly. “I like the Graveyard Shift, when there’s no crisis; I get to play my old music out on the Bridge without any complaints.”

She nodded again. “Yes, Ma’am. Good night, Ma’am.”

*

Nola felt like a zombie as she stepped into the turbolift and descended to Deck 2, meeting no one, hearing only her own bootsteps as she entered her quarters, knowing her bunkmate was asleep, and keeping the lights off. She was as quiet as she could be as she undressed.

She was about to climb into the upper bunk, when T’Shak broke the silence. “I take it our secret mission was successful”?

Nola paused in mid-climb. “Yes.”

When she continued up into the bed, she heard the bunk shake, and then the lower bunk light was switched on, and T’Shak appeared standing up, looking at her with concern. “What is wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Yes. Your tone, your expression, suggests profound disquiet. Has something happened?”

Nola swallowed, desperate to tell her friend, tell someone, tell anyone, if only to unburden some of what she knew… and to help her process what she was going to do about it. If anything. “Vulcans believe that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, don’t they?”

T’Shak nodded. “It is a utilitarian approach that is, generally, considered desirable.”

“‘Generally’?”

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “It is of course not a perfect approach to life. But then, there is no perfect approach, no universal, all-encompassing philosophy. One must… do the best one can.” Now she frowned. “What has happened tonight, Nola?”

Do the best one can. She wanted to believe in that. What was her alternative? To quit, to give up her dreams and take another path in life? “Something I’m not allowed to talk about, but wish I could. But I’ll be fine, thank you. Sorry to wake you over this.”

T’Shak offered a slight shift in her mouth. “There are more embarrassing ways that you have awakened me at 0300 Hours.”

“T’Shak!”

“I mean of course your snoring. Good night, Nola.”

Nola smiled “Good night.” As T’Shak returned to the lower bunk, Nola turned to face the wall… and the old-fashioned gold-silver Starfleet insignia she mounted there, one of her mother’s uniform insignias, that had been an inspiration to Nola. On the back of it was inscribed Per Ardua Ad Astra: Through Hardship to the Stars. She remembered her six-year-old self asking her mother what it meant, beyond the exact translation.

“Well,” she had replied. “In the literal sense, it took a great deal of trial and sacrifice for humanity to rise and go into space, to go to other worlds and meet the Vulcans and other races and help form the Federation. And we are all still making sacrifices, to keep what our ancestors have built alive and strong, to protect our people and our planets. But in general, it means that life isn’t meant to be easy, and that everything worthwhile takes effort, hard work, compromise and perseverance.”

As T’Shak switched off the light below, Nola was certain her brain wouldn’t let her get to sleep.

Until it did, her last thought being a reminder to leave a message in the Captain’s Inbox first thing in the morning…

*

Deck 2 Mess Hall – 2330 Hours:

Sebastiere looked over the huge platter of snacks, declaring, “This is not a meal, this is an exercise in hardening arteries.” He looked across at Nola, who was picking off what she wanted to fill up her plate. “Isn’t this technically your breakfast, Cherie?”

Nola nodded, selecting another spring roll to go with the cheese bites, filo prawns, chicken goujons, samosas and many other crunchy delights that had taken her fancy. Her friends had finished their shifts and were now winding down, but she had yet to start hers. She looked up at T’Shak. “Help yourself to the onion bhajis, vegetable rolls and halloumi fries.”

The Vulcan nodded, complying. “That will not be a problem.” She looked to Granch, whose hooves were moving towards the vegetarian quarter of the platter. “There is more than enough elsewhere to suit your carnivorous appetite, Tellarite.”

Granch wrinkled his snout in amusement. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that was a threat.”

T’Shak never looked up as she replied, “Having seen your academic grades, the concept of your not knowing any better is most credible.”

As Granch snorted with laughter, Sebastiere continued to regard Nola. “And what has brought on this obvious depletion of your food synthesiser credits? Celebrating a victorious secret mission?”

Nola offered a smile. “What secret mission?”

Before the Canadian could respond, the Mess Hall doors parted, and Mistry and S’Li entered, the Caitian leaning on his cane as he continued talking to the Captain. “What we call the ‘Old Caitian’ dialect in fact predates our arrival on Cait, and our efforts to keep it out of the Universal Translator matrix a cultural necessity-”

“Evening, Captain!” Nola spoke up, smiling. “Evening, Professor!” She indicated the platter. “Please, help yourselves!”

Mistry frowned good-naturedly at all the food. “Thank you, Crewman, but I’ll settle for coffee for now… and more chips and gravy for later.” She continued to the synthesisers.

But S’Li drew up to the table, helping himself to a plate and various items. “Thank you, Dear Cubs, thank you! This is most generous of you!”

“Not at all, Professor,” Nola assured him, watching him load his plate. “I’ve learned a lot from you. And I’m looking forward to learning more in the future, from you and the rest of the Shack Pack.”

The Caitian peered over his spectacles at some breaded cheese sticks, his snout twitching. “Of course, Dear Cub, of course. My distinct pleasure to continue your education… are those sausage rolls made out of tribble meat?” Without waiting for a response, he started lifting some up.

Granch narrowed his beady black eyes up at him. “Would you like a second plate, Professor?”

“Thank you, no, this will do nicely.” He smiled at Nola. “I must return the favour sometime, Dear Cub.”

Nola leaned back in her chair and smiled. “You already have, Professor.”

“Eh?”

She indicated the spread. “You paid for all of this. The Captain gave me your account number.”

S’Li drew back, ears twitching as he looked over at Mistry. The Captain raised her coffee mug in salute.

He looked back at Nola with a new regard. “Well played, Dear Cub. Well played.”

Nola shrugged. “I just do the best I can.” She shared a smile with Mistry. “Like everyone else.”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE HARKEN WILL CONTINUE...