Lieutenant Julius Ashworthy – who went by Jules with anyone who he’d meet more than once – was in one of those rare moments when he was actually fully focused on the work before him. He tapped with a rapid precision as he cycled through various communication channels, empowering the Gilroy to act as a communication’s relay for the various away teams and the outpost’s own personnel.
He pushed back a strand of red hair before rubbing at his eyes, sore as they were from a combination of staring at screens and being slightly hungover. His entertaining of their Klingon guest had gone well into the night, the two men having closed out the mess hall before retreating to Pay’tor’s guest quarters and continuing to drink from a bottle – of what, he couldn’t remember – that the Klingon had brought over from his shuttle.
It was a good night, enough said. Jules felt young and relished at the chance to have fun. He loved the crew of the Gilroy, but many of them must preferred quiet nights and early mornings over Jules’ penchant for partying and late nights.
A long, deep smile swept across his face as he remembered the rest of the night, lasting long until he was pulled out of his memories but a priority chime on his console.
“Gilroy receiving,” he announced, pressing a hand to his ear to better hear from his headset. The familiar voice of commander Tehm Mall came through – distorted slightly, most likely by weather.
“Located the… … problem… … need Engineering…”
“Repeat Commander,” replied Jules. “There’s interference. Please repeat.” He began tapping wildly on his panel, cycling through a series of pattern enhancers.
“Loc… power disrup…,” came Mall. “Ion storm… …support.”
Jules transferred the signal from his headset to the bridge’s speakers before replaying the entire sequence.
“Helm, see if you can move our orbit over the Commander,” came the captain. “Jules – keep clearing up the message,” he ordered.
Jules was already deep into the work, but he nodded to his captain on instinct. His head was pounding – no more wine – he cursed to himself, as he looked up the viewscreen which showed a large, towering storm across the planet.
“I think we found the source of the interference,” commented the Captain, though he stopped from speaking further as Jules piped through the next message.
“Ashworthy – I repeat. We’ve discovered the issue… with power regulation. Need an Engineering team here stat. An ion storm is fast approaching. Please respond.”
“We read you, Commander. Glad to hear you.”
Lieutenant E’Spor, a tall, tan skinned Vulcan, gripped the seat of the shuttle tightly. A capable engineer, he was also a confident believer in logic – and the chance of a shuttle crash was never statistically 0.
He did his best to appear cool and confident to the pilot and team of junior Engineers who rode alongside him. More than one of his crew noticed the tight grip of his fingers but, to his appreciation, no one said anything.
The shuttle encountered a sudden bout of rough turbulence and the cabin shook violently. The pilot offered a hasty apology. Hoping to recover from the brief hiccup of fear that left his voice, E’Spor turned to face his team.
“We have about two hours before the storm hits Commander Mall’s position, which means we have approximately two hours to repair whatever it is he’s found. He’s concerned the storm will exacerbate the damage. Everyone be ready to move the moment we touch down – do not slow us down.”
He paused briefly, reviewing his words and recalling his most recent set of feedback from the Captain. Logic dictated that morale was a factor in efficiency.
“I…” he started, the briefest of hesitations catching in his throat. “I know I can count on each of you.”
