The Gilroy wasn’t built for speed. Even at her designed maximum – warp 8 – she tended to shake – frequently – while the bells and whistles that warned of structural integrity fields, microfractures, and power dysregulation chimed off in an orchestra soundtrack to a Starfleet engineer’s worst nightmare. When the ship had been transferred to his command, some dock technician had warned him to ‘keep her slow’. At the time, Captain Jericho Sands thought he meant philosophically. Now, of course, he knew he had meant literally.

“We’re approaching warp 8.4, Captain,” the helm called out, her voice obviously concerned. “Estimated arrival at Starbase 80 is just under two hours. Assuming…” The helmswoman stopped herself, tucking her head down in a move that the Captain recognized meant she felt she had said too much.

“Assuming what?” he asked, prodding her. He tried to keep his voice level, even inviting. He liked his crew to speak their minds.

“Well, assuming we don’t come apart at the seams before then,” she replied, gripping her console tightly as another shake rocked the ship like an old navy vessel through rough waters.

Jericho sighed in a way that he knew would have disappointed his first officer. He wanted to get this mission started; not out of some desperate desire for glory or discovery, like many of his fellow captains, but because he was worried for his crew. Tehm seemed afflicted by something – no doubt, he assumed, what the orders from Starfleet had briefed about – and he couldn’t stand to think that others on his ship were just as ill. How many on his ship would be losing their sanity or coherence but go unnoticed because they didn’t have an episode in front of the entire bridge crew?

The sooner the Gilroy played her role in this latest galactic tragedy, the better it was for everyone. No?

“Bridge to sickbay,” said Jericho, activating his comms. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s grouchy and irritable,” came the quick reply of Lieutenant Commander Betty Walker, his chief medical officer. “So, for the time being, back to normal.”

A chuckle escaped his lips before he could catch it, and he felt his shoulders relaxing. She continued.

“There are signs of something going on, though. He’s certainly not gone mad – I can tell that much. But it’s nothing I’ve ever encountered before – my specialty isn’t quantum-time traveling-mirror paradoxical witchcraft. And the shared database isn’t an expert either. But we’ve given him a sedative – which he fought the entire time – and a recommendation for rest, which he is refusing.”

Jericho rested his hands on his stomach – something a friend once pointed out to him meant he was deep in thought – and let the line go quiet for a minute. He ordered his tactical officer to take the helm, briefly, and moved into his ready room.

“Is there anything we need to… worry about?” he asked, unable to find the right words.

“Yes and no, Captain,” she said. “It doesn’t look like he’s in any physical danger. But from what we managed to get out of him, he might be experiencing flashes of different versions of himself. It might be blurring his judgment. If he has a vision where he thinks we’re under attack, he might give out an order that’s at best confusing and at worst… well.”

“I see, Betty,” he answered.

“He is insisting on being allowed to go back to work. But I don’t let little boys tell me what to do. So I’m more than fine grounding him, Jericho.” She didn’t sound angry or even boisterous. Just matter-of-fact. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

That was a complicated question.

“Let him return to work. He needs this.”

“You sure, Captain?”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you,” he added before ending the connection.

He moved to his desk, pulling one PADD out of the dozen and opening its only saved file – the transfer papers for Commander Tehm Mall. The spot for his thoughts and final recommendation was still blank. He stared at it for minutes, quietly letting his thoughts cycle around in his head.

The PADD tumbled out of his hands when the ship shook again and he lost his balance, the stack of remaining PADDs on his desk tumbling too. He slowly righted himself and exited back to the bridge, offering a quick nod to his tactical officer before retaking his central chair.

“Helm – reduce speed to Warp 6.5. Send an updated arrival note to Starbase 80.”

A moment later, the doors from the bridge’s turbolift opened. Commander Mall stepped through them, nodding quickly to the captain before walking around and taking the seat of the first officer.

“Steady as she goes,” called Jericho, the lights rushing past on the viewscreen slowing down just a bit.