Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [54]
“You’re here too. Ever since the five Sullivan brothers were all lost in the demolition of one ship, the service has avoided putting brothers on the same vessel. I always thought it was kind of silly in this day and age. So you and I had to push for the tradition to slip. We just had to serve on the same ship. The two McClellans, together on the same bridge. We were so charming, weren’t we?”
“Steve … cut it out.”
“How long do you figure headquarters waited until they wrote to Dad and Mom and Uncle Ray and told them we were both missing in space? How long you figure Starfleet looked for us before they gave up? You think there’s been a memorial yet?”
“Cut it out and that’s an order,” Mark insisted.
“You can’t give me orders. I outrank you.”
“Too bad. We’ve been tight as a carrick bend all our lives. Nobody could see light between us. I don’t think it’s so bad that we’re both here. Maybe it’s a good sign. We’ll get out of here. Starfleet’ll come for us.”
“Starfleet’s not coming, Mark. They think we’re dead. They don’t—” He was cut short by a stab of pain up the right side of his back and struggled to finish. “They don’t know to come.”
“Don’t try to get up. What are you doing? Sit down!”
“No time. I’ve got to deploy an armed detail north of here. We’ve got to block the Cardassians off before they work around behind the produce warehouse, or we’ll starve for a month.”
“Let me help you. And promise you’ll quit talking about Mom and Dad and Uncle Let’s-Go-Fishing.”
“Okay, deal. Oh, hey!”
“What?”
Steve maneuvered his good arm around his brother’s shoulders and leaned on him. “Happy birthday, baby boy.”
Together they crawled toward the crack in the back wall. Elbowing aside a piece of collapsed roof material, Mark McClellan blinked through the settling dust.
“Is it my birthday?” he asked.
Eighty-five years ago, the tragic loss of 1500 people aboard the R.M.S. Titanic forever changed the perceptions and practices of sailors. Caution was no longer a thing in the wind. “Master of the sea” was handed back to the birds and fish. Thousands more lives have been saved because hundreds were lost.
Because of our loss of Danielle, this schooner is forever safer, the crew more watchful of each other. Through the fog of senselessness comes clear appreciation that Danielle’s loss has saved or will save the life of a child, a cadet, or a crewmate.
Certainly tragedy need not be devastation, for here we are back again. Rather than being fearful, we are merely smarter and more humble, for many more sailors lie there than stand here. For our lives, and the lives of the children and young adults who sail this ship, we pause in appreciation for Danielle Faucher and all those with her.
D. Carey, Schooner Californian.
read at memorial wreath service on board,
May 4, 1997, near the appropriate latitude
and longitude.
Chapter 14
“Mr. Riker, I’m Mike Dennis. This is Wizz Dayton.”
“Wizz?”
“Short for Wizard. Communications Specialist. Welcome to the Enterprise-E. We didn’t see you at the ceremony, sir. We were afraid you’d miss our launch time.”
“Oh, I was there.” William Riker nodded and offered the two men no explanation of why he was late.
He was late because it had taken this long to convince himself to actually board this vessel without Captain Picard as his captain. The commitment was a little hard to swallow, but here he was. Somehow the oath he’d made to Starfleet overcame his irritation at admiralty whim.
“Report ship’s status, Mr. Dennis,” he requested.
“Sir, we’re under way at impulse speed. Course is Port Innerspace Standard on Lane Delta India Tango away from Starbase 12, trying to shake all the confetti off the hull from the launch celebrations. We’re cleared for any primary spacelane. All local traffic has been detained, and we’re putting on a nice show for everybody who’s pulled over so we can pass. We’re receiving hails of congratulations and fair weather from dozens of spectator vessels, and even one from a grizzly tanker captain who swears he took a shot at the Enterprise-C