Attitude control
Sep. 16th, 2008 02:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icarusOne more week of vacation time left. One more week to write Out Of Bounds.
Annoying teeth, to have cost me days, and momentum, and, um, maybe a beta or two. So a ficlet for you.
Attitude Control
The Daedalus was in rotten shape, smoke still rising on two critical systems panels. By the tilted image of the planet below it looked like they'd lost attitude control as well. The view made Steven Caldwell momentarily dizzy and he raised a hand to his head... found and remembered the bandage there... and forced himself to leave it alone. He'd bullied his way out of sick bay and there was no sense giving the doctor a reason to order him back. They were already on shaky terms.
Techs rushed around the bridge in a panic, putting out fires -- in both the literal and figurative sense.
"Hermiod! Report," Caldwell snapped, turning on the comm. He slumped into his chair. "What's our situation?" There was no reponse. "Damn it, Hermiod!"
"Um, sorry, sir," Novak said, popping up from under the communications station. "Just need a sec."
He should have noticed there was no light on the comm panel. "Get communications on, now," Caldwell ordered, aware he was on the edge of shouting. He had to pull his hand away from the bandage again.
"Yes, sir."
The control panel lit up, but more importantly, so did the comm panel on his chair. "Hermiod--" he began, but Hermiod cut him off, one step ahead of them all.
The litany of damage was delivered in a voice as calm as a computer, with a faint snide undertone of "I told you so." But as Sheppard had pointed out before he left in an F-302 to beg help, at least they were in better shape than the Hive ship. It floated below them in a lower orbit, breaking up like a cloud.
"I get that the damage is extensive. How long till we can fix it?" Caldwell snarled. He grimaced, pulling his hand away from his head again. The pressure had helped, however. If there was one thing he hated, it was floating helpless in space waiting for a second Hive to pick them off. "I want answers, repair estimates, solutions," he growled, frustrated at hearing the obvious.
"Sir?" Novak said slightly behind his chair, her tone nervous and questioning.
She held two familiar orange pain pills in her palm, the coating smearing on her sweaty hand.
"No, I'm fine," Steven insisted.
But Novak just stood there, pills in hand, looking nervous, determined, and a little scared.
"All right," he said. He accepted them and swallowed them dry.
Several minutes later the tension unknotted in his shoulders. Pain he hadn't noticed lifted and he breathed an unexpected sigh of relief.
"Good work, people," he told his crew, calmer. "We seem to have nine lives. Now let's get those shields working, I don't care what it costs us."
Novak smiled, smug, and a tad too motherly for his tastes.
Annoying teeth, to have cost me days, and momentum, and, um, maybe a beta or two. So a ficlet for you.
Attitude Control
The Daedalus was in rotten shape, smoke still rising on two critical systems panels. By the tilted image of the planet below it looked like they'd lost attitude control as well. The view made Steven Caldwell momentarily dizzy and he raised a hand to his head... found and remembered the bandage there... and forced himself to leave it alone. He'd bullied his way out of sick bay and there was no sense giving the doctor a reason to order him back. They were already on shaky terms.
Techs rushed around the bridge in a panic, putting out fires -- in both the literal and figurative sense.
"Hermiod! Report," Caldwell snapped, turning on the comm. He slumped into his chair. "What's our situation?" There was no reponse. "Damn it, Hermiod!"
"Um, sorry, sir," Novak said, popping up from under the communications station. "Just need a sec."
He should have noticed there was no light on the comm panel. "Get communications on, now," Caldwell ordered, aware he was on the edge of shouting. He had to pull his hand away from the bandage again.
"Yes, sir."
The control panel lit up, but more importantly, so did the comm panel on his chair. "Hermiod--" he began, but Hermiod cut him off, one step ahead of them all.
The litany of damage was delivered in a voice as calm as a computer, with a faint snide undertone of "I told you so." But as Sheppard had pointed out before he left in an F-302 to beg help, at least they were in better shape than the Hive ship. It floated below them in a lower orbit, breaking up like a cloud.
"I get that the damage is extensive. How long till we can fix it?" Caldwell snarled. He grimaced, pulling his hand away from his head again. The pressure had helped, however. If there was one thing he hated, it was floating helpless in space waiting for a second Hive to pick them off. "I want answers, repair estimates, solutions," he growled, frustrated at hearing the obvious.
"Sir?" Novak said slightly behind his chair, her tone nervous and questioning.
She held two familiar orange pain pills in her palm, the coating smearing on her sweaty hand.
"No, I'm fine," Steven insisted.
But Novak just stood there, pills in hand, looking nervous, determined, and a little scared.
"All right," he said. He accepted them and swallowed them dry.
Several minutes later the tension unknotted in his shoulders. Pain he hadn't noticed lifted and he breathed an unexpected sigh of relief.
"Good work, people," he told his crew, calmer. "We seem to have nine lives. Now let's get those shields working, I don't care what it costs us."
Novak smiled, smug, and a tad too motherly for his tastes.
