by Lance Hartcort and Dane Cristiane
90117
Following Making Good Their Threat
90117
Following Making Good Their Threat
-=Orphanage at the Altaan Sanctuary, Bajor=-
*Command?!?*
*She must be joking.*
Lance looked at Dr. Adams and knew immediately that she was anything but joking. She was placing him in command of the Alchemy.
He instantly wondered if she was feeling alright.
“Doctor Hartcort, I'll speak to you briefly again before you take off."
Lance silently nodded before turning to head back. For once in his life he was not sure what to do. Taking charge of a sickbay, any sickbay, as he did when he arrived on the Sera was one thing. But this? This was something way out of anything he ever thought he would have to do.
They made there way back onto the ship and Lance walked almost zombie like onto the small bridge and stood staring blankly at the center chair.
The others milled around the bridge setting to work on their various projects with out any need of guidance from Lance. It was not until Micah bumped into the doctor for the third time that they realized he had not moved since entering.
Micah and Dane exchanged glances before Dane spoke up.
“Commander Hartcort, Sir, I hate to bother you but you are kind of in the way.” He nodded towards the center chair. “Could you please sit down?”
Lance, hearing his name, popped out of his mental self wondering and nodded. He then slowly slid down into the seat.
Dane and Micah glanced at each other again before returning to their work.
*This is going to be interesting.* Dane thought to himself. He had no doubt that he and Micah could manage to stumble through the process of getting the Alchemy back to Earth if they had to. If, say, this medical genius melted down suddenly under the pressure and decided to spend the whole trip hiding in the Ready Room.
Now that he thought about it, Zanh Liis spent a hell of a lot of time hiding out in her Ready Room, and the ship never fell apart because of it. Perhaps that was because, though, everyone was extra careful about keeping things running smoothly because if she had ot be called out of that Ready Room before she was, well, ready, someone's head was going to end up displayed on a pointy stick to warn other people that they'd better damn well do their jobs and 'quit whining about it'.
All he knew was that whatever Hartcort did or did not do while in command, Dane was going to comport himself as though he was taking orders directly from Zanh Liis. Because if he didn't, he was certain that when they met up with the Bajoran it would be his head that would adorn that pointy stick. Azalea Adams appeared on the bridge a few moments later. She had managed to pull herself together, her professionalism carrying her through despite her feelings about what had just taken place.
Dane knew she was, or had been, Temporal Investigations.
*There's no doubt about it, that woman has seen some things...* He knew that among those things was the alternate timeline he had seen, the one where they had buried Keiran O'Sullivan. He knew, because he remembered meeting her there, in the pub after the funeral...
"Doctor Hartcort, could we speak privately please?" Azalea stepped into the Ready Room, waiting for Lance to join her.
Lance practically jumped out of the chair as if it was on fire. “Sure.” He made a beeline for the ready room.
"So, this is new, I know," Azalea began, smiling gently. "But I want you to know, Lance, you have my full confidence. After saving an entire planet from potential annihilation, taking one small and very fast ship from Bajor to Earth should be a cake walk. Right?"
Lance blinked and looked remarkably like a deer in the preverbal head light.
“Um, look doctor.” He wrung his hands together. “It’s, not that I do not, um, appreciate you confidence in me. But…um.”
Azalea realized that in the short time that she know Lance this was the first time she even found him to be at a loss for words.
He shook his head in irritation at himself. “Look, I don’t think I can do this. I mean, I’ve never done this. I’m a doctor not a helmsman.”
"You don't have to fly the thing. That's what Lindstrom is for." She nodded toward the door to the bridge, where Lance knew that the burly and blond-haired man known as Ensign Lindstrom was sitting at the helm, all poised and calm and ready to fly. Damn him.
The bridge.
Where that chair was.
The big chair.
The one they wanted him to sit in...
"Lance, any man who can pull article 17B subsection C of the infectious event reaction procedure out of thin air on a moment's notice can handle something like this. You...she took hold of his arms. "You have the training, right? You mean to tell me that in all the time you've served on the Rev, they never put you in command of anything?"
“Yeah, Sickbay. Any big bad bugs that came along they sent me in hypos blazing!” He made a motion like an ancient earth cowboy.
"Well, okay. I'll tell you what then. I had planned to stay here and help Jariel through this, but if you'd rather stay behind on Bajor in my place, I will take the Alchemy back to Earth. Then I will get on another ship and it'll take me a week to get back here at normal warp. Then it'll take you another week to get home at normal warp and this all seems to me to be a lot of trouble to go through when you are perfectly capable of taking the Alchemy and her crew in hand, making a couple of transwarp jumps and basically being home on Earth in time for dinner."
For a second, a very, very long second. Lance considered taking Azalea up on the offer but the one quarter Vulcan blood that pulsed through him told him that what she said made perfect sense.
*Damn my Vulcan heritage.* He thought to himself.
He shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “You're right.” He forced a smiled that hid his personal disbelief of what he was about to say.
“I’ll be fine.”
There was a moment of silence before his spoke again. “So, what did you want to talk to me about. I’m a busy man you know, I have a ship to run.”
"Well I'd best not keep you from running it then." Azalea smiled. She brought her hand to her forehead and offered him a crisp, formal salute. "Carry on, Commander. Oh, wait. This might help you a little. Computer,"
The computer chirped in its incredibly perky way- a way that irritated Lance right now, beyond belief.
"Transfer command of the USS Alchemy to Commander Lance Hartcort, authorization Adams twenty-one, pi alpha Cork."
The computer now made the even more irritating sound it emitted when it indicated that a command could not be processed. ^Invalid command code. Please restate request.^
"Cork?" Lance's eyebrow elevated, having no idea where that had come from, but he knew a Freudian slip when he heard one. "Who's in Cork?"
Azalea's cheeks flushed, burning as her hand instinctively went up to touch them. "Computer, transfer command of the USS Alchemy to Commander Lance Hartcort, authorization Adams twenty-one, pi, alpha Charlie."
The computer beeped, happily satisified once again. She didn't reply to his question, even as Lance continued to blink and stare at her awaiting an answer. *Who's in Cork? Someone I wish were here.* She thought.
She smiled, an expression both wistful and hopeful, at the same time as she regarded Hartcort again. "Lance, you're a hell of a doctor and it's truly been a privilege to work with you during this crisis. If there's ever another epidemic on Bajor, I know exactly who I'm going to ask 'fleet command to send to bail us out. Thank you for everything you've done here. I've no doubt that if not for you, the situation would have had an entirely different outcome."
“You would have figured it out.” Lance dismissed. “Watch your back here. As soon as I can I’ll make sure help gets sent. If they want to play hardball, I’ll expose everything to the light of day. But first, make sure you get that little girl safe.”
"We will, I give you my word."
He held out his hand and shook hers. “It was good working with you doctor.” He smiled. “And I still want that dinner.” He winked as he turned to leave the room. “After all you did kiss me and I would feel slighted if I did not at least get dinner out of the deal.” He walked out of the ready room and onto the bridge.
Cristiane, Samson and Lindstrom all turned their attention directly to Hartcort.
"Orders, Sir?" Lindstrom asked, rather nervously. Dane and Micah shared a glance and waited for Hartcort to speak
Lance plopped down in the chair with more authority than the last time he was on the bridge.
“Take us home gentlemen. Back to the big blue marble.” He ordered with a snap of his fingers.
---------------
Commander Lance Hartcort
Guest Starring CO of the
USS Alchemy NX-53099
and
Ensign Dane Cristiane
The lackey answering the phones
USS Alchemy NX-53099
Commander Lance Hartcort
Guest Starring CO of the
USS Alchemy NX-53099
and
Ensign Dane Cristiane
The lackey answering the phones
USS Alchemy NX-53099