Star Trek: Erin

Part 20: Cool, it's the 1990s

     I managed to keep my face deadpan instead of grinning like an idiot as I arrived at the transporter room. Lieutenant Hoal pulled me aside while the assembled redshirts studied me curiously. "You're green, Cobos, don't forget that," he growled. "No takin' chances, not with yourself or these men. One wrong move and you ain't seeing another promotion, clear?"

     Do not smile do not smile do not smile. "Sir."

     "Something funny, Cobos?"

     Shit. Get your stupid face under control. "No, sir."

     "Good." Hoal turned to address the other six people in the room too. "Alright, we're boarding the SS Botany Bay. Ship is a 1990s sleeper with seventy-two active pods. Don't try waking the sleepers. That'll be Security and Medical's job, and they're still working. If you touch a chamber, I'm sending your idiotic ass back here, understood?"

     Yup, we understood.

     Hoal continued. "Our mission is simple: escort Weapons Specialist Cobos to the Botany Bay's munitions depot to do her job. Once there, Specialist Cobos will keep Fennec, Najjar, and Styme while I take Orlova, Kale, and Ito to secure the immediate area. Check in time is every two minutes, on the dot. Don't fall behind or screw up and we'll get along fine."

     Again, we all made noises that we understood. Hoal ran a critical eye over us, and I got a hell of a slap from nostalgia. I glanced to my team, making sure I knew their faces. I'd been getting acquainted with crewmen, but making sure is a good plan.

     We climbed onto the transporter pad.

     "Energize," said Hoal.

     The Botany Bay was pretty plain. The long, straight hallways were studded with oven-like suspended animation chambers containing hot people. Still, you can be both hot and batshit crazy, so you ALWAYS stay on full alert.

     It was a lot of gently beeping panels and ugly twentieth-century décor—growing up, retro was in and it was hideous—and while there was Starfleet equipment and personnel all over the place, it certainly felt like a piece of history. Labels were in an older version of English and all the 1990s people seemed to be wearing sparkly netting and not much else.

     Most of the boarding parties were near the beam-in point, but there were blueshirts being escorted by redshirt pairs to different parts of the ship. I glimpsed Gabriel but she didn't notice me smirking at her.

     Despite not being very big compared to the Enterprise, something about the Botany Bay lent itself to silence. The Starfleet bustle was hushed, and as we moved away from the beam-in point, it only became spookier. I was grateful for what I'd quickly realized was my security detail.

     Which was pretty cool.

     It took significantly longer than expected to navigate the Botany Bay. There were high-density areas with lots of chambers, then stretches of empty corridor marred with—guess what—more beeping panels. My brain grew bored, so I made myself view every long-term snoozing oven as a Big Threat, which helped me focus.

     We reached the Botany Bay's munitions depot. Being a sleeper ship, it wasn't very big, but twentieth century weapons had an alarming tendency towards being improperly stored and nuclear. We proceeded with caution, dismissing the redshirt at the doorless entry. The Botany Bay's captain apparently trusted everyone in their sleeping crew. Pretty stupid, if you ask me.

     Unless 1990s people were made of more trustworthy stuff.

     There was a manual switch for the lights—how quaint—and light washed away the pitch black. And thank goodness for depth perception. The crates were painted the exact same shade as the walls, and at first glance the lighting blended everything together to make the room appear empty. "Woah," Styme said, and then, "oh," two seconds later.

     Hoal apparently didn't find what he was looking for in the Botany Bay's munitions depot, because his scowl deepened. "Try to make it quick, Specialist Cobos. You have everything you need?" I nodded. "Orlova, Kale, Ito, with me." He swept from the room, leaving me with the other three crewmen.

     I tried to keep my glee from showing. In command at last. "Fennec, guard the entry. Najjar, you'll coordinate with Fennec for the check ins. Styme, I might need help moving things."

     They saluted. "Ma'am."

     I drew a steadying breath and the tricorder I'd been issued for this purpose. Inventory wouldn't evaluate itself.

     They had guns. What else could you expect from the 1990s? What separated Starfleet phasers from guns was the solid projectile. Guns were made to tear flesh. Phasers were made for efficient takedowns or clean vaporization. The Botany Bay's guns were gummy from nearly three hundred years of sitting in packing grease and wouldn't be much fun to use until cleaned.

     I tilted my head to read the next crate's label. Grenades. Hate classifying these. I pulled out my notes to record the details. Next, I came across assorted charges, withholding a sigh before starting into recording them. It was menial, but good practice. 'Cuz I'm a Weapons Specialist. I smiled. Damn lucky to have gotten that, and at least I'm earning it now.

     "Earned it?" My sister's voice echoed in my head. From our last conversation, back home. "Earn a place in the universe? Are you even listening to yourself? There isn't a price you have to pay for existing, Erin!"

     "Alright, geez. That was a bad way to put it. I meant that I want to leave my mark on the universe, and I can't do that here. And yes, I might die, but that's part of the journey. We're gonna die anyway, might as well do it so people care, eh?"

     "I would care, Erin!"

     I'd thrown my arms wide. "What do you want, Marth? I can't keep doing nothing. I want to lead and fight and see the stars and be important. The Enterprise is how I do that. I'm going to captain that fucking ship or die trying."

     "Then I don't want to hear from you."

     All the heat had sucked out of me. "Marth... you don't mean that."

     "It's selfish, but I couldn't—I don't want to wonder. Space is impossibly random, and I don't want to be cut off mid-call because you just got murdered or left waiting for a call that'll never come, okay? Don't throw away your life, Erin. Remember there's someone waiting for you." She held out her arms. "I'll be here. So just leave and don't call me until you've done what you need to do."

     I gripped her the tightest I'd ever hugged anyone.

     "Love you, Erin."

     That night I'd cried like my heart had been ripped out.

     Now, as I finished cataloguing the grenades, a glance at the others confirmed Najjar was making a check-in, Fennec was alert at the door, and Styme waited at my shoulder.

     I moved on.

     Nearing the end of my evaluation, something bright between a crate and the wall caught my eye. The fuck is this? I held up a loose spring coloured neon green. "This doesn't look like a weapon. What do you think, Styme? Some kind of toy?"

     Styme approached cautiously. "I took a course in 1990s practices, and I believe you're holding what was referred to as a 'Slinky.' To the best of my knowledge, it's a harmless ritual object."

     I dropped it immediately and wiped my hands on my pants. "The 1990s were a strange time. Thanks, Styme."

     "Pleasure, ma'am."

     I resolved to do a bit more historical reading.

     "Uhm, ma'am?" Fennec's voice jumped a couple octaves. "This may be a problem."

     I strode to Fennec's side and immediately saw the problem. The suspended animation chambers were defrosting.