Katris completed the short walk from her quarters to the bridge in record time, her executive officer following close behind. One of Erigone’s small doors swooshed her admittance to the small bridge.

“Report!”

Like the Yellowstone class runabout it was vaguely based on, the Raven Class Corvette U.S.S. Erigone could be piloted in extreme cases by just one person. More often, like now, it was two. The large consoles at the front of the bridge that served this purpose echoed the Yellowstone in rough size, position and function but unlike the Yellowstone there was a Captain’s chair positioned a few feet behind them. This larger and wider version of the Yellowstone front compartment had three windows instead of two and more and larger consoles along either side of the bridge space, making for a possible total of four crew at stations plus the Captain, somewhere between that of a Yellowstone and a Defiant.

Since taking over Eriogne, Katris had instigated a standard three shift rotation. In addition, referencing Earth naval ships of old, she had enacted ‘conditions’. With a crew of ten, there would be times when certain hands were needed in certain places that did not fall under normal shifts. Under Condition One, all crew were at battle stations and not to leave their posts until the condition was changed, such as a Red Alert. Condition Two was similar, but allowed the crew to take short breaks for comfort or sustenance. Condition Three was normal operations, with one shift of three three running the ship’s primary stations, two on the Bridge and one in Engineering, the rest of the crew either sleeping, eating or taking other work or non-work time. Condition Four had only two persons on duty, one on the Bridge and one in Engineering. This was to be used after missions or periods of heavy activity when the majority of the crew would need to recharge. In that case, the two on duty would be volunteers, those who felt they were the most capable of taking a shift based on their alertness, levels of rest, outstanding responsibilities and other fitness parameters such as injury. Separate from all of this was the ship’s yeoman, Crewman Hailie Pierce who was the only person aboard not qualified to operate any station on the Bridge or in Engineering. She was allowed to follow whatever shift pattern she wished, as long as her work was done. This usually alligned with Alpha shift, when Katris herself was on duty and on the bridge.

Right now, Gamma shift was on duty, with the ship’s Second Officer and M.O. Lieutenant H’Mira in charge and piloting. To her right sat Petty Officer Darren McKay on tactical, and the Orion Petty Officer Dazzarc Rox was on duty in Engineering. The Caitian Lieutenant swivelled in her seat, her amber cat-eyes resting on Katris with her usual measured tranquility.

“We have dropped out of Warp, Captain,” she said, Katris watching the sharp canines in her delicate mouth as they punctuated silver fur in a mesmer of graceful speech. “I cannot say why. We did not issue the command.”

Katris’ anxiety morphed to indignation. Taking her seat in the Captain’s Chair she stabbed at the com button.

“Engineering, report! Why did we drop out of warp?” She had been expecting Dazzer to respond so was momentarily thrown by hearing Motar instead.

“We have detected a crack in the port plasma coolant lines, Captain. I brought the ship out of warp to prevent the system deteriorating further. It must be repaired before we proceed or the system could fail and the warp core could go into meltdown.”

Katris smacked the arm of the seat with a closed fist in frustration.

“Why was this not identified before leaving port?” She sneered.

“I do not know. It has only now become apparent.”

Katris notrils flared. “How long will it take to fix?”

“In spacedock, not more than four hours. Out here, a day.”

“A day?!” Katris was not the kind of Captain to issue arbitrary deadlines, in the style of ‘you have twelve hours’ or similar. If the Engineer said a day, it was a day. She knew they would over-estimate a lot of the time, but this delay would make them late for their rendezvous and the sale of the Borg shield they had been tasked with recovering. She related this concern to Motar, fighting to keep her compsure.

“Understood Captain.We will begin immediately.”

“I’ll send you T’Lera and Hailie. Katris out. Bah!” Her armrest took another thumping as the channel closed. “McKay, set Condition Two.”

The Petty Officer nodded from his seat in front of the large forward windows, sharing a look with H’Mira that went unnoticed by their Klingon Captain.

“Aye Captin.” Soon Darren’s London accent rang throughout the ship on the intercom. “Now ‘ear ‘dis. Now ‘ear ‘dis. Set condition two froughout da ship.”

Bodies began to appear at the bridge door. Soon H’Mira and McKay were giving up their seats to Alpha shift, the pilot station being taken by Ensign Elanna Henderson, Tactical by the short, stocky Tellarite frame of Lieutenant Lek. As science officer, T’Lera took the science station to Katris’ right. The last bridge station to Katris’ left was manned by H’Mira, as there were no patients to be attended to in the ship’s small sickbay. She laid a hand on McKay’s arm as he left the bridge, headed for a period of boredom alone on the ship’s transporter room on deck three.

“Tell her,” she said kindly, her large, amber eyes reflecting his look of surprise in the bright lights of the bridge.

“What, now?” Mckay protested.

“Tell me what?” Katris asked testily from her seat. McKay turned slowly, a look of anxious apology greeting the fierceness of Katris grumpy demeanour.

“It’s me name, Captin,” the Petty Officer explained. “McKay, it rhymes with pie or guy.”

Katris eyes narrowed.

“How have I been saying it?” She asked.

“You says it McKay, rhymes with slay or prey.” Katris nodded.

“Very well, McKay, rhymes with fly. You have my apology.” Darren smiled. H’Mira smiled with him.

“Fanks, Captin.”

Katris nodded curtly, a small crack of amusement in the corner of her mouth. “Now, to your station.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.”

Katris took a deep breath, calming her sizzling temper. Her first mission as Captain was being set up for failure. She couldn’t help but think that Motar would be the architect of her downfall. Perhaps his appointment as Chief Engineer had been a mistake. She went to take another stab at the com button, but thought better of it.

“T’Lera, you have the bridge.”

Katris took a short, hot walk in the direction of Engineering. Fortunately, everywhere was a short walk on a Corvette. It was a small ship, but, like the Defiant, punched above its weight, or so Katris thought. Warp eight wasn’t touching the heady heights of speed that more prestigious classes could achieve, but the Raven class could hold its own and be useful even against a Bird of Prey, with the right commander. Katris fancied herself as that commander. After all, if anyone knew how to beat a Bird of Prey, it was she. Upon arrival in Engineering she singled out Motar’s second, Ensign V’Las for a surreptitious whisper in a dark corner.

“Tell me about this crack in the plasma coolant lines,” she probed. “Will it really take that long to fix?”

V’Las’ eyebrow rose, very slightly on an otherwise impassive façade. Due to many hours on T’Lera’s company Katris knew this to be surprise.

“It will, Captain,” the young Vulcan explained. “With only three engineers and limited parts, in addition we will have to keep auxiliary power online. That adds further complication. In space dock the ship could tether to the station for power.”

Katris nodded.

“Why wasn’t this discovered before?” She asked, her bubbling anger beginning to come off the boil.

“I do not know. Rox alerted Lieutenant Motar as soon as the fault was discovered.”

“Rox discovered it?”

“Yes, Captain.”

So, Motar had nothing to do with it, but he had saved the ship, very possibly. Somewhere in the irrational resentful bubbling cauldron of Katris’ Klingon emotions she had been certain of his complicity in sabotage of some kind. Her anger replaced with shame, she could only nod and release the Ensign back to her work. As she stepped through the many bulkhead doors on her way back to the bridge Katris ruminated on her reaction to the son of gha’nIq. Her better judgement had chosen him for his Engineering prowess and on the hope that perhaps true sons and daughters of Kahless banished to other worlds could find some comradery in battle. Now she had to put years of resentment aside. On that point there was only one thing Katris currently didn’t know.

How.