The BLTS Archive - Change of Watch
by Bineshii (ldaly@wi.rr.com)

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Published: 11-12-07

Disclaimer: No filthy lucre changed hands.

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From the catwalk he surveys his domain: hands griping the
rail, ears detecting the hum of several pieces of equipment,
feet detecting the quiver through the metal of the
grillwork. He can isolate the voice of each machine in his
mind, gauging their individual health, yet enjoy their
symphony of sound and physical vibration. All is quiet in
this artificially defined night inside his ship as it
transits the interminable dark between the stars. /My form
of meditation,/ he thinks. /All is well. For the moment./
His eyes sweep over the various configurations of panels and
lights, able to spot something out of order - but nothing
is.

He moves on to the next spot where he will stop to check
things. Momentarily off-task, his mind conjures up her
quarters softly glowing and flickering in the light of many
candles. His tired muscles relax just thinking of it. Soon.
Soon he will be there, but first comes the end-of-watch tour
of inspection. He will have a verbal report for his
replacement: "keep an eye on that, adjust this at 23:45,
test that half way through your watch…".

/Wait. Something's not right./ He slides down the ladder for
a closer look. /A simple adjustment. Okay for now, but it
bears watching. Add it to the list./ He climbs back up the
ladder and continues. /That looks okay, and that too. Yeah,
just about done./ He walks on and a vision of her in that
blue nightie overlays his thoughts. /Uh, uh, uh, stay on
task, he warns himself. Keep your mind off that bum! It
won't run to fat for another hundred years; it can wait a
few minutes more./

He stops, squats, removes a panel. /Yep, that repair is
holding. But there is only one more replacement part if it
goes again. Must add it to the supply list for the Captain
tomorrow. Heck, any well stocked space dock will have them
or something like them. In a pinch they can be remachined
onboard./ He replaces the panel. Stands. Pats the panel.
Moves on.

Tired feet plod down the ladder to the main engine room
deck. One last scan around. He turns slowly in a circle,
looking, listening. /Good timing; here comes Collins./ The
report takes less than two minutes.

Collins nods. "Night, Commander."

"Night, Chief."

The engineer walks off, lifts the latch, steps out into the
companionway, glances back. Seeing that he is out of
Collins' hearing he raises his eyes to the warp engine and
whispers: "Night, Enterprise". And deep within his heart a
wordless prayer echoes Night, both my Lizzies. His mind
fills again with soft glowing candlelight and soft blue silk
and his feet take him to her.

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The End