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There was no dramatic music, no fanfare as Comm. Lance Armstrong exited the shuttle to join the crew of the USS Arr. All that was there to greet him were a few crewmen and a minor bridge officer. The skinny little man stepped forward, a large yet nervous smile on his face as he ripped off a salute. "Welcome aboard Arr, sir," he said politely. "I'm Helmsman Buddy Steele, but everybody calls me 'Nerves.' The captain asked me to welcome you." He shuffled his feet. "So I, so I did."
"Yes, you did," Armstrong remarked, looking around the shuttle bay as the crewmen walked past him to collect his gear. "Where is the captain?"
"The captain," Buddy said with visible discomfort. "The captain is working out at the moment."
Armstrong stopped in his tracks. "The captain decided to work out instead of greeting his new first officer?"
It quickly became obvious that Buddy wasn't interested in discussing the captain with Armstrong, but under his penetrating stare the ensign relented. "One of the first things you learn, commander, is not to interfere in the captain's routine."
Armstrong frowned at the breach of protocol, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Why don't you take me to the captain," he said.
Buddy had an expression like Armstrong had just suggested he stick his head in the reactor. "Now sir?" he said as he fidgeted with his hands.
"Yes now," Armstrong said testily.
Buddy swallowed but nodded slowly and emphatically. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice filled with a sense of impending doom. With a sharp turn he led Armstrong to the door and through the halls of the ship. While they were walking, whether it was to distract himself or out of genuine interest, Buddy began filling Armstrong in on the capabilities of the Arr.
"The Arr is the first of a new line of high-speed, heavily-armed starships," Buddy said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. "The Arr is the first and only Assault-class starship. It's purpose is to serve as a deterant by bringing superior firepower to the table."
"Yes, I know," Armstrong said with distaste. The Confederation had learned the hard way that despite their ideals, they simply needed to have powerful warships to ensure its own safety as it continued its exploration of the galaxy. Armstrong didn't like it, but ships like the Arr were a necessary evil. "But we have such weapons in the hopes we never have to use them."
"Yes sir," Buddy said, but there was a noticeable lack of conviction. They drew to a halt outside the simulator. "Computer, open doors." The doors slid open, allowing the two officers inside.
Armstrong looked around carefully. The room was filled with huge, beefy men working out with giant exercise equipment. None of them wore any uniforms. "Which one is the captain?" he asked finally.
"Uh, him sir," Buddy said, pointing nervously. "The one arm-wrestling with the orangutan."
Armstrong followed the gesture until he saw a man in a grey T-shirt who had just slammed a monkey's hand down on the table. The man immediately jumped up and began pumping the air with his fist and shouting furiously. The orangutan sulked off as the man knocked the table over and tossed one of the chairs. Before they could even get there he had grabbed a dumbbell and begun doing an arm curl. "Captain Random?" Armstrong said uncertainly.
"What do you want?" Random shouted, his body still saturated with testosterone. He stopped, and a slow smile crept across his sweaty face. "Wait a minute," he said as if he suddenly got the punch-line to a joke, "You're Lance Armstrong, right?"
Armstrong saluted. "Commander Armstrong, reporting for duty, sir."
Captain Random stood up and tossed the dumbbell at Buddy, who fell over backwards as he caught it followed by a tiny yelp. "Welcome aboard," Random said excitedly, shaking Armstrong's hand. "I saw your name in the files and knew immediately that you were the first officer I needed."
Armstrong was a bit taken aback, considering how the captain had blown him off by not being in the shuttlebay when he arrived. "I'm glad to hear that, sir. I hope my record lives up to your expectations."
"Record?" Random said, letting go of Armstrong's hand and walking a little ways away. "No time to read your record, we've got a peace to enforce."
Armstrong opened his mouth and then promptly shut it. He wasn't exactly sure what the captain meant by that. "You spoke to my former commanders?"
"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time," Captain Random said as he pushed a few buttons on the control panel. "We're a little too busy to waste our time like that." He turned around and peeled his T-shirt off. His face had an expression of intense concentration.
"Sir," Armstrong finally said, "Am I to understand-" He was cut off as a clay disk launched out of a device ten meters away. The disk struck the center of Random's chest and exploded, showering the area with clay bits. Random let out an excited grunt and then hit his chest with the side of his fist. "Am I to understand that I was chosen for this assignment based solely on my name?"
"AH! Yeah!!!" Random screamed as an even larger disk hit his chest this time. "Give it your best shot!"
"Sir?" Armstrong prompted after a few more disks were fired.
"Yes," Random said, brushing clay particles out of his chest hair. "I need strong men if we're going to pacify this portion of space, and I knew immediately that you were the man for the job."
"Captain," Armstrong said as the shock started to wear off, "I'm positive I'll do a fine job for you as your first officer. But, don't you think that you should base your decisions on more than just a name?"
"Why would I do that?" Random said, stopping the assault and looking at Armstrong with his hands on his hips. "If it's good enough for your parents, it's good enough for me."
"It just seems-"
"Trust me on this," Random said. He hit a few more buttons on the controls. "Ensign," he shouted, causing Buddy to jump a foot in the air. The little man turned his full attention to the captain. "Face front!"
"Yes sir," Buddy said, immediately turning to face the same direction. His eyes widened and he let out a surprised cry as a log swung down on a vine and struck him in the torso. He flew backwards, bounced off the wall, and fell face first onto the ground.
"You see," Random said with pride, "that's a man named 'steel!'"
There was the odd sound like someone clearing a clogged pipe and Buddy twitched where he lay on the ground. Armstrong asked if he was all right, but the only response was like someone scraping the rust off a grill. "I think he's really hurt," Armstrong said.
"Hmm, must be sick," Captain Random said, looking at Buddy oddly. "Why don't you take him down to the infirmary?"
"You mean the sickbay?"
"Eh, yeah, whatever it's called."
"That won't be necessary," Buddy said, pulling himself up off the floor. "I'm fine." He whinced as he pulled himself up straight, ribs visibly protruding under his uniform.
"You see?" Random said with pride. "Steel!" He slapped Buddy on the back, who promptly whimpered and fell down. Random looked at him with annoyance.
"Way to hit the pressure point, sir," Buddy croaked. "You're a master of unarmed combat."
"Ah, of course," Random said. "Why don't you finish showing the commander around the ship?"
"Delighted, sir," Buddy said with a voice filled with pain. "This way, commander." He walked with an odd sort of shuffle towards the doors, rasping and wheezing with each step. Armstrong watched in morbid fascination, then followed him.
A weight seemed to life off Buddy's shoulders as they exited the holodeck, but that didn't satisfy Armstrong. "I think your ribs are fractured," he remarked.
"Only three or four," Buddy said weakly. "I'll live."
"I'm afraid I must insist on going to sickbay," Armstrong said.
Buddy's face fell as if he'd been ordered to cut his own throat. "It's not that bad," he insisted.
"Ensign," Armstrong said with disbelief, "you're coughing up blood."
"No-no! No, that's, uh, that's tomato soup. Yeah, I was eating tomato soup, and now I'm- I'm a little queasy."
"Then you should go to sickbay."
"Oh, no sense wasting the doctor's time," Buddy said. He tried to wave his hand dismissively, but he had to stop half-way through the gesture and grab his side. "I just need to walk it off."
"Which way to the sickbay?" Armstrong demanded.
Buddy hung his head as if it were a death sentence. "Follow me," he squeaked. He limped through the corridors until at last they reached the entrance to sickbay, where he seemed to freeze. "Well, here it is," Buddy said with as much enthusiasm as his broken body could allow. "If you need anything, I'll be on the bridge." He yelped as Armstrong grabbed the back of his uniform and almost dragged him into sickbay.
The way Buddy was acting Armstrong was expecting sickbay to be some kind of torture chamber. He noted with approval that the room was spotless, and everything was in order. Some of the instruments were so clean Armstrong could have sworn they'd never been used. Buddy must just be one of those people uncomfortable around doctors.
"Why don't you lie down," Armstrong said, "while I find the doctor."
Before anyone could move a head emerged from behind the corner with a grin almost as wide as its face. When he spoke, it was with a high-pitched Italian accent that had a kind of manic edge to it. "Is somebody unhappy?" he almost screamed. Buddy took one look and fell over, shrieking wildly as he tried to crabwalk away. Armstrong had to grab his leg to keep his from leaving. "What can I dos for you?" the doctor said as he came around the corner. He was wearing thick rubber gloves that went up to his elbows, and a pair of goggles hung around his neck. He scooped up a hypospray as he slid across the room, and in one fluid motion injected it into Buddy's neck. "Some-body needs a hap-py pill," he sang as it discharged. His grin grew as he heard the sound, and they watched Buddy collapse. "That should helps him relax," the doctor said, then put the hypo to his own neck. He gyrated a little after the hypo injected, then tossed it over his shoulder. "Okee-dokey," he said, wiping his nose on his glove, "Let's gets this boy on the table."
"Are you the doctor?" Armstrong asked. His tone implied that he couldn't imagine the answer would be "yes."
"Yessirs," the doctor said, picking up the fallen helmsman, grinding his shoulder into the broken ribs as he dropped him on the table. "Dr. Baxter Scabs," he introduced, shaking Armstrong's hand with the sticky glove. "Okee-dokey, let's get to medicininging." He pulled out a scary-look bladed object and looked at it with approval. "This oughts to do it," he said with satisfaction.
"You're not going to use that to try and cure him?" Armstrong said with horror.
"This?" Dr. Scabs said, looking at Armstrong oddly. "Don't be stupids. This isn't a medical tool." He ran it along the front of Buddy's uniform, splitting the fabric, and then pulled it open. Armstrong felt a sense of relief; then Dr. Scabs opened the drawer. "This is a medical tool," he said pulling out a huge saw. He clicked the switch and it vibrated with a sickening sound while dust and dried blood puffed away from the serrated edge. "Oh yeah," he shouted over the sound of the blade, "this'll get those naughty ribs out."
"You're not removing his ribs," Armstrong said in disbelief.
"It's no problem," Dr. Scabs said with reassurance. "He's got plenty more."
"No," Armstrong said. "No removing anything." Dr. Scabs said nothing, he just pulled the goggles up over his eyes. "No removing his ribs," Armstrong shouted.
"You mights want to step back," Dr. Scabs shouted back. "Sometimes theys spray good."
Armstrong grabbed his shoulder and almost screamed in his ear. "No removing his ribs!"
The blade whirled to a halt. "Are yous kidding me?"
"No!"
Dr. Scabs tossed the saw back into the drawer. Armstrong felt the bile rise in his throat as he saw the horrid collection of tools inside. "You wants him to keep the broken ribs, eh?" Dr. Scabs said with disgust. "Yous one sick mother!"
"Why don't you just fix the broken ribs?" Armstrong said, trying not to scream at him.
"And hows you want me to do that?" Dr. Scabs demanded.
Armstrong looked around and picked up an instrument off the stand, then paused to remove the packaging. "Use this," he ordered.
"Oh, I get it," Dr. Scabs said. "You're one of those quacks, right?"
"Just use it!"
"Okee-dokey," Dr. Scabs said, but he sounded dejected. Minutes later the ribs were properly healed. "If he's upset, though, let hims go crying to you."
"I take full responsibility," Armstrong said sarcastically. He gave Buddy an injection which brought him around. He helped the helmsman down and they started walking out.
"Commander," Dr. Scabs shouted after him. Armstrong stopped and turned around. "You wants a checkup while you's here?" He held up a hypospray in one hand and in the other some kind of instrument. It had four prongs which began pinching together, then spun around wildly with a high-pitched whine.
"Uh, no thanks."
"Okee-dokey," Dr. Scabs said. Then he looked at the hypospray, grinned, and put it to his own neck. "Oh yeah," he said distantly as he fell face forward on the floor, the tool still whining in his hand.
Buddy was wiping the sweat from his face as they rushed away from sickbay. On the way he explained that the crew had gotten used to performing their own medical services when it was needed to avoid seeing the doc. "How can a butcher like that stay chief medical officer?" Armstrong asked.
"The captain's never been treated for any injury," Buddy said. "Ever. And he doesn't like people complaining."
"This is insane," Armstrong said.
"You get used to it," Buddy said. A door opened and Buddy jumped two feet into the air, squealing. Before Armstrong could say another word he was running down the hall.
"HI!" an officer said, shaking Armstrong's hand enthusiastically. He smelled like an animal cage.
"Hi," Armstrong said, taking his hand back. "Um, excuse me." He went running after Buddy.
"SEE YOU AROUND!" the man called after him. "Nice bloke, eh?" he said to himself. "Reminds me of me dad."
Armstrong slowed to a jog as he saw Buddy leaning against the wall nearby. "Something wrong?" he asked the helmsman as he arrived.
Buddy was panting. "No-no," he replied. "Um, should we continue?"
"Do we dare?" Armstrong deadpanned.
"You've seen the worst," Buddy said. "Just stay away from sickbay and don't cross the captain and you'll do fine."
"Perhaps we should head down to engineering," Armstrong suggested. "I'd like to meet the men and women that hold this ship together."
"It's this way," Buddy said, pulling himself together and leading him over to the lift.
"I imagine it must be difficult for them to keep this ship running smoothly," Armstrong said to fill the silence. "Some of these systems are prototypes."
"Well, they can handle just about anything," Buddy said. "Just make sure to stay out of their way."
While sickbay had been meticulously organized in appearance, engineering was a nightmare. There wasn't a single surface that didn't have a wire, hose, or conduit trailing across its surface. The floor was covered in different colored stains, some parts of the carpet singed by who knows what. The reactor was like Tim Burton's Christmas Tree, covered with all manner of electronic and mechanical devices. Its blinking was frightening, as if it was posessed by the devil. There was an unnatural whine, and as Armstrong approached he could feel his hair start to stand up. "What in the hell..." he said slowly.
"I'll admit it looks bad," Buddy said.
"'Bad' doesn't begin to describe this," Armstrong said with disgust. "This place is a disaster."
"The engineers know what they're doing," Buddy said. "Believe me, I'd trust them with my life."
"You have to, they run the ship." Armstrong squinted at the wall. "Is that gum?" he said with disbelief. He strode across the room and grabbed it.
"No!" Buddy said, jumping forward. "Don't touch anythi-"
He was cut off by the klaxons as lights began flashing. "Core explosion in fifteen seconds," the computer said cheerfully. Armstrong furiously tried to put the gum back on the spot, but it was old and dried out and only fell to the floor.
"Three," a bass voice called across the deck. Armstrong whirled around and saw a rotund man with a large cigar and a beard come storming across a bridge. "I need gum," he ordered.
An engineer seemed to materialize out of thin air. He was carrying a four foot-long wrench over his shoulder, which was an interesting effect considering he was only about five feet tall. He whipped a stick of gum out of his pocket and chewed it violently. His limbs were a blur as he snatched it out of his mouth and slammed it over the spot. The noise and the lights stopped, and the computer announced that the reactor was stabilized. The little engineer vanished, leaving Buddy and Armstrong alone with the cigar-smoking engineer. His movement was odd; he somehow managed to cover the distant between them in no time, yet he never seemed to rush. He took the piece of gum out of Armstrong's hand and shook it. When he spoke it was quiet, but it had a tone that wouldn't truck any argument. "Don't - touch - anything."
Buddy cleared his throat, hoping to defuse the situation. "This is Comm. Armstrong, our new first officer." He tried not to sound nervous, but it was futile. "This is Lt. Thrust, chief engineer."
The chief engineer's gaze never wavered. After a few seconds he finally smiled and shook Armstrong's hand. "Welcome aboard, sir," he said, his anger forgotten. "Care for some coffee?"
"Uh, sure," Armstrong said as the engineer walked over to the dispenser.
Buddy sidled over to Armstrong. "Don't drink the coffee," he warned in a very low voice.
Armstrong glanced between Thrust and Buddy. "Why?" he whispered. "It's not poisoned, is it?"
Buddy shook his head. "They spike it with caffeine and meta-amphetamines. If you're not used to it, one cup can send you to lightspeed without a ship."
"On second thought," Armstrong said, "I should pass on the coffee."
The chief engineer just shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said as he downed the cup in one gulp. One eyebrow twitched. "We were just about to engage the new system," he said to Buddy. "You want to see?"
"What have you done this time?" Buddy asked, stepping over to the workstation where Thrust was standing. Armstrong followed out of morbid curiousity.
"Here's an exterior of the ship," Thrust said. The Arr was sleek, with the exception of its two oversized engines protruding from the sides. It was obvious from a single glance that this was the fastest ship in the fleet. "Now," Thrust said, holding his finger up in the air, "watch this." He slammed the digit down and the ship's image swirled and...
"Blue?" Buddy said. "You can turn the ship blue?"
"Yes, ensign," Thrust said with pride. "Whenever we want."
"Like camaflogue," Armstrong said, trying to think of any time when such a skill might be useful. "So you could also, for example, change it to red?"
The chief engineer didn't move a muscle. The seconds ticked by, and Armstrong was afraid he might have somehow offended the man, but then... "We could try," he said resolutely. Before Armstrong could open his mouth Thrust shouted, "One ! Two!" Two engineers appeared side-by-side almost out of thin air. "The commander wants to turn the ship red," he announced.
The one on the right immediately began talking a bluestreak. "Weneedtorealigntertiarypowerdistributorsacrossthecentralsub-axisandmodifyselectiveoutputswithin..." While his voice flew the one on the left just opened his mouth and screamed, his bloodshot eyes wide-open. Their bodies began to tremble like they were made of rubberbands that were stretched to the limit, waiting for the tension to be released.
Thrust took a deep breath. "Do it," he said. The words caused an explosion. Immediately the two engineers began literally running around the room, quickly joined by two more who seemed to share their sudden fervor. He watched as the one called One raced over to a panel, pulled it off, and tossed it aside. He reached in and pulled out yard after yard of wires, his hands a blur. Three, the one with the wrench, grabbed some twisted piece of metal off a pile of junk and sprinted to the opening, jumping up and grabbing the edge. One dropped the wire, grabbed Three's foot, and heaved him into the hole.
Buddy must have seen the look on Armstrong's face because he immediately stepped closer and tried to reassure him. "Relax," he said, "they know what they're doing. They're the best in the fleet." Armstrong stepped back as Two went running by, holding an axe over his head and screaming "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!" He swung before he'd even reached a stop, digging deep into the metal panel on the wall. He swung again and again in an obsessive rage, turning the original cut into a jagged hole. Two tossed the axe aside and reached into the hole and pulled out a long black tube, then bit into it, spraying himself and the wall with a yellowish-brown fluid.
"Zero, conduit," One shouted, and Thrust ambled across the room to the main control station. In the time it took him to walk the distance the last engineer, presumably Four, darted between the two walls six times as he made adjustments. Thrust entered some commands into the panel and the whine of the reactor changed its pitch, sounding more like a disturbed beehive than anything mechanical. This was followed by a sudden pounding that seemed to be coming from inside the reactor itself, the intensity and speed gradually increasing.
One of the panels in the ceiling dropped to the floor with a bang as Three fell through the new opening, his body tangled in wires. "Four!" he cried. Four pulled a pair of wirecutters from his toolbelt, then turned and tossed it at Three like a ninja. The engineer snatched them out of the air and began snipping madly, jerking a little as he was shocked by each cut of the wires. While that was going on, Two had grabbed a pull cord on an engine connected to an intimidating collection of pipes. He pulled madly until the machine kicked into gear, its pistons drowning out the sound of the reactor while the pipes began to leak steam at the joints.
"Engaging...." Thrust screamed over the din. The floor was shaking so violently at this point Armstrong had to brace himself against the wall. "Now!" There was a high-pitched squeak and one of the pipes broke away from the wall, and Armstrong smelled ozone. And then everything just seemed to stop. The sudden silence was eerie. Thrust pointed to the display, and Armstrong saw that the ship now had a bright red hue to it.
The engineers were frozen. "YES!" Four screamed, high-fiving Two and knocking him over.
Armstrong took a moment to catch his breath after the sudden excitement. The entire event hadn't taken more than a minute, but it was the most intense minute he'd ever had, and that included front-line combat. "Well done," he said finally. The assembled engineers, all drew themselves up to attention, but they couldn't hide the smiles of intense self-satisfaction. There was a bang that followed as Three fell flat on his back behind them. "Keep up the good work, lieutenant," he said, and quickly exited, followed closely by Buddy.
The Motion Picture
The Final Frontier
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