The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [3]
Natasha Yar was on her feet by the second flash of the alert lights. By the third her blue eyes had opened wide and her mind was fully awake. Her hand groped in the dark for a communications link. “Security chief to bridge,” she called out as her fingers closed in on the cold metal of her insignia.
A full five seconds passed before she received a reply, time she put to use scrambling into her uniform. Yellow Alert meant she could afford to get dressed properly, but there was no time for a shower. She ran her fingers through short locks of blond hair and considered her grooming done.
“Bridge here, Lieutenant.”
She measured the tension in Riker’s voice and accurately judged the severity of the alert. The ship was not in danger. Yet.
“I’m on my way.” Yar didn’t bother turning on the lights as she ran to the door. She had memorized the layout of her cabin for just such emergencies.
Her sprint to the bridge was several seconds short of her best time, but neither Riker nor the captain uttered a reprimand when Lieutenant Yar erupted out of the turbodoors. Taking her position at the tactical console, she surveyed the activity on the upper and lower decks, then studied the main viewer. Nothing of interest was on the screen, so she turned her attention to the distress signal that ran across the communications board in an unvarying pattern.
“No response to hailing calls,” said Worf, standing by her side.
“Why didn’t you call me as soon as you received the transmission?” hissed Yar.
“I was busy,” said Worf.
“I should have been here to initiate Yellow Alert.” Wary of drawing the captain’s attention, Yar kept her voice low, which weakened her display of anger. Not that a full-volume explosion of temper would have made any greater impression on the Klingon; the emotional storms of the human race were little more than a mild summer rain to him.
“I was busy.”
Yar was suddenly too preoccupied to pursue the one-sided argument. Scan readings had changed. The orange tracing of a fluctuating energy profile was faint but unmistakable.
Geordi La Forge dashed out of his cabin only to stumble over a pair of feet that blocked the portal. A strong arm shot out across his chest, breaking his fall.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” replied Data. He pushed Geordi upright effortlessly, then fell into step beside him. They raced in concert down the corridor, a study in contrasts. Lieutenant La Forge was shorter and more solid of build with a deep brown skin that accentuated the unnatural pallor of his companion. Lieutenant Commander Data’s eyes were a golden color that matched the metallic gleam of the visor on Geordi’s face.
“So what’s going on?” gasped Geordi as they jumped through the opening doors of a turbolift.
“We are on Yellow Alert,” offered Data after calling out their destination. Unlike La Forge, he was unwinded.
“Yes, but why are we on Yellow Alert?” persisted La Forge. The positronic components that gave the android his strength and endurance were also responsible for certain lapses in his understanding of human speech. Geordi knew which direction the conversation was taking and patiently played out the game; he had undertaken an informal role in Data’s social education and there was always time for a quick lesson.
“Presumably, we have encountered a situation that necessitates an increased state of vigilance that-“
Geordi cut him off. “Just say, ‘I don’t, know, Geordi.’ “
“I don’t know, Geordi,” repeated Data. He puzzled over the verbal exchange. “I see. I was being too literal again.”
“That’s right, Data.”
“I shall endeavor to be less literal next time.”
“That’s what you always say,” sighed Geordi as the lift eased to a halt.
Yar logged their arrival on the bridge with a curt nod of her head. “Bridge crew complete, Captain.”
With practiced motions, La Forge and Data exchanged positions with the nightshift helm. The maneuver was seamless in execution, one set of