Rating: G
Genres: romance
Keywords:
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Star Trek universe. I only own how I play around in it. No filthy lucre changed hands.
Rating: G
Genre: Main Engineering, vignette, romance
Summary: Bether-style prose poem: a vignette of Trip Tucker completing an uneventful shift in Engineering. All is well, for once. Story is set sometime after the Terra Prime episode and the TATV episode never happened.
Note: This is just a little piece that came to me in the lull of a period of heavy activity before I go off to a campground where no computer can reach me. I will read and respond to any comments when I return in ten days.
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 companion way, 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.
I have to agree with other commenters. This was very sweet, especially your last line.
This cracked me up: "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."