Satisfaction bordering on triumph described the current atmosphere of Enterprise, her crew's mood was jovial. Three days ago their final planned assignment concluded, another tick among many in the success column, thus completing each mission objective of this long tour. In three months, they'd dock at Starbase One, a record amount of time from this far out, testing and measuring the endurance of the ship's engines during sustained high warp.
An informal, spontaneous, mostly friendly (starship crews are known for their competitiveness) contest had ignited, each participant racing to identify an interesting orb or phenomena for study during the return trip to home space and therefore immortalize themselves via a new discovery's name: the Amin-Una Nebula, the Boyce expanse, Rodger's Comet. Other groups leisurely mapped areas of this unknown sector via long range sensors. Chief Louvier and his junior engineers tinkered with the still which was the worst kept secret on the ship.
Off duty musicians and actors entertained their mates, cooks borrowed the galley, intermural athletic contests stepped up in number and intensity. All on board planned reunions with spouses, friends, and other loved ones missed during this twelve-month absence. Deep space exploration did not permit real-time face-to-face interactions.
Communications, official as well as personal, were slow at these distances and tenuous. Vids and written messages from and to headquarters transmitted via a network of long-range subspace buoys dropped by Enterprise on her outward journey. Redundancies planned due to the unknown hazards these relay stations might encounter at times failed.
In the main recreation area, accompanied by a bagpipe, Montgomery Scott, bedecked in tartan kilt and blue tam representing his clan, performed a Gille Chaluim, the Highland sword dance, to an enthusiastic, applauding crowd. The weapons his nimble legs and feet leapt around and between had been handed down over centuries.
When Aalin entered, she spotted her target at the far end of the room and hugging the wall carefully made her way to the side of Enterprise's security chief. Standing on tip toes, which only got her to the shoulders of the six-foot-six man, she motioned to him. Isak lowered his head and she whispered, "I'm looking for Chris. At breakfast he said he was walking the ship today. Have you seen him?"
Isak shook his head.
Her brow creased. "Neither has anyone else."
ooooo
There was only one place left to look. Aalin didn't start there as Chris was rarely in quarters in the middle of the afternoon. She didn't page him because his wife's voice calling over the public address system felt like crossing a boundary that shouldn't be infringed. Pinging the communicator he always carried she reserved for serious or time-sensitive matters.
Finding the door locked, she tried to quell niggling concern. Chris didn't lock doors, not to his ready room, nor their private space. There was little need for this measure among a contained community respectful of others, especially their commander.
Aalin hesitated. Started to walk away assuming he wanted time alone. Paused. Considered from a different perspective, thinking, except during an emergency, I'm the only other being who can unlock these doors.
And maybe that's his intention.
Chris stood in the shadows staring out of the viewport at faint stationary stars, a decanter on one hand and a filled yet untouched tumbler in the other. The only illumination in the normally brightly lit combined kitchen and dining space was a diffused soft glow from a small table lamp by the sofa. He did not turn, move, nor speak when the doors of their quarters swished closed.
Aalin leaned against the far wall near the entry way and waited.
For twenty minutes.
When Chris turned to her, his face moved through the narrow band of light accentuating an ashen pallor. She could just make out the slight tremor of his right hand.
With deliberate care he set both the decanter and glass on a table. Took a few slow steps in her direction then stopped. She mirrored his approach, lingering when he did.
Closing the distance between them with two rapid long strides, he wrapped arms around her, tightly pressing their bodies together like clinging to a lifeline slipping away. Aalin slid her arms up and around his shoulders, resting her head against his chest.
Chris did not believe leaders should unfailingly project invulnerability.
This wasn't one of those times. Steadfastness and indomitable courage would be required. But that was for later, in front of his crew.
So here in his wife's arms, his safe space, he let go. Eyes moistened. His body trembled.
Aalin hugged him tighter. She murmured soothingly. Her fingers traced circles on his back. She didn't press for information. Her body remained soft and welcoming rather than growing rigid and tense.
Even though I'm scaring her, he thought. Not for the first time Chris marveled at her capacity for poise and patience. She raised her head and cupped his cheek. He leaned into her touch. Time and reality slipped its leash.
Unsure how long they remained there in each other's arms and reluctant, he pulled away from their embrace and, hand clasping hers, led Aalin to the sofa. Once settled side by side, hand still in hers, Chris said, "Three months ago the Klingons mounted a surprise offensive at a binary star system. The battle was brutal and their victory substantial. Because of distance the message only arrived this morning." He paused. His eyes closed briefly before opening and holding hers. "We're at war."
"I don't understand," Aalin started. Her grip on his hand increased. "I mean I get it but how … there was no warning? No ramping up of tensions?"
"I don't know."
They lapsed into silence. She glanced out of the window. "Why aren't we at warp?"
His reply was so soft she almost missed it. "Because we're not going home."