The Little Things
By Astrogator
Part I: Permission to Come Aboard?
    Whitney dreamed of having a command of her own one day, so she tried hard to be a good officer. When she was assigned to a destroyer called "Dragora" she was pleased. Her father, a retired Starfleet Admiral, had once said that destroyers were the best duty one could have. No assignment was more exciting, no experience more valuable, and no service more glamourous than the small, fast moving destroyers with their light armor and powerful torpoedoes. Destroyers went everywhere and did everything, in flotillas and alone, while the bigger cruisers and battleships dared not move except in fleets and with swarms of destroyers to watch for danger.
    Whitney was a striking figure of a woman in her regulation skintight suit, high heeled boots and long sleeved blouse. It was awkward climbing the destroyer's boarding ladder in heels and sometimes she resented the fact that men's uniforms were more practical and comfortable than women's, but regulations were regulations and it would not further her career to attract unfavorable attention by complaining about "fairness."
    She had once complained about fairness to her father and he had replied, "I agree, Whitney. The Service is totally unfair to women. Why don't you just give up this crazy idea of joining the fleet and follow a respectable career for a women like being a housewife? I can't stand the idea of seeing you defeated and broken by trying to succeed in a career for which women are totally unsuited."
    Her father's skepticism had only increased her resolve to smash her way through the glass ceiling. Other women had done it, why couldn't she? Anyway, she knew Admiral Carpen was just teasing her. She had been quietly informed that the Admiral was often heard to say, when she was out of earshot, "I have no son to follow in my footsteps, but I have a daughter who can fill my boots quite nicely."
    Whitney was determined to do just that, even though she would have to do it in high heeled boots.
    Whitney grimaced as she twisted her ankle on the last step. There was a rating standing by the hatchway with arms crossed behind his back and wearing a side arm. When he saw her stumble, he started forward. "As you were," snapped Whitney, and he stiffened to attention.
    For a moment, Whitney paused on the landing, testing her foot. It seemed to be okay, it wasn't sprained. "Ensign Whitney Carpen reporting aboard," said Whitney formally.
    "Please wait here for the officer of the deck," said the rating. He pulled his communicator off his belt and called the control deck. While they waited, the rating's eyes drifted to Whitney's breasts and remained there. Whitney stared at him, until his eyes lifted and locked onto hers.
    Nothing was said as Whitney and the rating stared at one another for several long seconds, then the rating blinked and swallowed. "Welcome aboard the Dragora, Ensign Whitney," he said. "I am Engineer 2 Jones." Jones was about Whitney's age and his single stripe indicated only two years in the service.
    "How many ratings on this ship, Jones," she said.
    "There are three, including myself," said Jones. "Torpedo 1 Bridget and Torpedo 2 Mitzi."
    "And Officers?"
    "There are two officers, Lieutenant Belton in command, and Second Lieutenant Prado."
    "Aren't you forgetting someone?" asked Whitney.
    Jones gulped. "Sorry, Ensign Whitney. There are now three officers including yourself."
    "And do the ratings on this ship always refer to the officers by their first names?"
    Jones frowned. "No Ensign Whitney. Only the women. It is the custom in the fleet."
    "Is that so?"
    Jones nodded. "Yes, Ensign."
    Whitney decided to let it drop. The rating was probably correct. Things had been more formal back at the academy, but she was going to a fighting ship and she had been warned that things would be different out on the line. There was a special briefing by a woman officer who had told her graduating class, "Out there, it's still a male club. You just have to be better than they are, it's the only way. Don't get upset about the little things."
    Whitney had promised herself not to get upset about the little things, not even the fact that her regulation summer uniform blouse exposed her neck and gave a teasing glimpse of cleavage. That was just a little thing, after all. The important thing was that the service provided equal pay for equal work and equal opportunity for women, if they were twice as good as their male counterparts.
    Engineer Jones grinned in obvious relief when the officer of the deck arrived. "Lieutenant Prado, Sir, this is Ensign Whitney."
    Lieutenant Prado had a lean, tough look about him. His strong jaw bore a slight four o'clock shadow. He smiled ruefully when he saw Ensign Whitney. "You are a woman," said Lieutenant Prado. "I couldn't tell from the name."
    It suddenly dawned on Whitney why female officers were referred to by their first names. "There is always the unexpected, isn't there?" said Whitney.
    Lt. Prado nodded and ran his eyes up and down her rangy frame. He said, "The skipper doesn't like surprises, normally, but I think this is one surprise he is going to like."
    Ensign Whitney smiled pleasantly and falsely. "I hope I can surprise you all," she said.

Part II: Whitney Moves In
    The two ratings snapped to attention when Lt. Prado led Whitney into the enlisted personnel's cabin. "Girls, this is Ensign Whitney," he said. "Look after her. The commander has assigned her quarters in here."
    "Aye aye, Lieutenant," said Torpedo 1 Bridget, standing stiffly at attention. Her eyes pivoted toward Ensign Whitney. Lt. Prado turned to Whitney and said, "You'll be assigned the dog watch, of course."
    "Of course," said Whitney. She was the most junior officer on board.
    "You will relieve the commander at 2400 hours. Until then, you are free to get settled in."
    "Thank you, Lieutenant," said Whitney. "I shall see you at 0400 hours then."
    Lt. Prado nodded and repaired up the ladder to the control deck. Immediately the two ratings relaxed and moved toward Whitney. "Welcome to the Dragora, Honey," said Torpedo 1 Bridget. "Where is your kit?"
    Whitney was too surprised by the rating's familiar manner to react at first. "It's at the foot of the boarding ladder," she said.
    "Run and get it then," said Torpedo 2 Mitzi. "Toss it on one of the upper berths. The lower berths are taken."
    Whitney felt a flash of anger. "As you were!" she snapped.
    The two women looked at each one another in surprise. "What do you mean?" said Bridget.
    "I mean that you were at attention," said Whitney. "I mean that you were not dismissed."
    The two women stiffened to attention. There was a gleam of amusement in the eyes of Bridget, but Mitzi's neck was turning red and her face showed resentment.
    Whitney put her hands on her hips and leaned toward Mitzi who was slightly shorter. "Torpedo Specialist 2 Mitz, would you be good enough to run down the ladder and get my kit?"
    "Aye aye, Ma'am," said Mitzi in a bleak voice. The rating turned and started toward the exit.
    "On the double, Specialist," Whitney added.
    "Aye aye Ma'am," said Mitzi, and doubled on out, her perky bosoms bobbing beneath her uniform blouse.
    Whitney turned her attention to Bridget. "Do you think I am being unreasonable, Chief?"
"No Ma'am," said Bridget. "You were absolutely right to correct us...but..."
    Whitney waited for a few seconds then prompted "But what, Chief? Do you have a question?"
    "Aye Ma'am," said Bridget. "Do you intend to keep us at attention for the entire commission?"
    "No," said Whitney. "In a moment you will be ordered to be at ease. At that time, you may address me as 'honey' if you are still so inclined. But as long as you are at attention and when you are on watch, you will be expected to extend to me the same courtesy you extend to the other officers on this ship. Is that understood?"
    "Aye aye, Ma'am."
    Mitzi came into the cabin lugging Whitney's heavy duffel. "Where shall I put this, Ma'am?" she asked.
    Whitney looked at the bunk farthest from the door, then pointed at the one nearest the door. "Put it there," she said.
    Mitzi started to hike the duffel upon the upper berth but Whitney said, "No, on the lower berth."
    Mitzi hesitated and looked at Whitney with a wide-eyed look.
"But that's my berth, Ma'am."
    Whitney pointed to to the upper berth on the opposite side of the room. "You will be bunking over there."
    Mitzi dumped the duffel bag on the lower berth and stood to attention, still fuming with anger.
    Whitney looked stood looking at the two women. They were at her command, they could not move until she gave the word and she held him there to let the message sink in. Whitney took no pleasure in her power over these women, but she had to assert her authority as an officer at the outset. Anything less would be the ruin of her career. "You are dismissed," said Whitney.
    Mitzi turned her back abruptly and started gathering her things from the berth that Whitney had commandeered. When Mitzi was out of the way, Whitney went to her duffel and started to unpack.
    Bridget was immediatley, beside her, reaching into the bag. "Let me give you a hand with that, Honey," she said.
****
    Lt. Belton came onto the control deck and said to Lt. Prado, "You are relieved, Lieutenant."
    Prado relaxed a little and slid out of the commander's chair. Prado smiled and said, "Whitney is her first name."
    "Her? Who her?" said Lt. Belton.
    "The new Ensign. She reported aboard this afternoon," Prado explained.
    "I wasn't expecting a woman," said Lt. Belton. "What were your impressions? Another bitch goddess?"
    Lt. Prado shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Ugly, huh?"
    "Not at all, Skipper," Lt. Prado said. "She is quite attractive. But there is something earnest about her. It's the expression on her face. She impresses you as someone who is in control of herself. I would say she is determined to be taken seriously. Considering her family, I would take her very seriously."
    "Huh?"
    "She is Admiral Carpen's daughter," said Lt. Prado. "He is retired now, but he has friends in high places."
    Lt. Belton sighed. "At least it solves the accomodations problem. We can put her in with the two female ratings and leave Jones in the second's cabin."
    "And what if she refuses?" said Lt. Prado. "As third in command, she is entitled to a private cabin."
    "She can't refuse," said Lt. Belton. "We can't put Jones in there with the two bitch goddesses."
    Lt. Prado chuckled and said, "I didn't hear that."
01/17/99

Part III: Whitney Screws Up
    When Whitney arrived on the control deck to stand her watch, she was surprised to find Engineer Jones sitting in the captain's chair.
    "Where is Lt. Belton?" she said.
    Jones gestured vaguely. "He was called ashore for a briefing," the engineer said. "He rousted me out to finish his watch for him."
    "Are you qualified to stand a watch as officer of the deck?" said Whitney.
    "It's okay when we are grounded," said Jones. He peered up at her. "Are you going to relieve me or not?"
    "You are relieved," said Whitney. When Jones rose from the Captain's chair, she added: "Now stand at attention."
    Jones face was incredulous. "I am off watch!" he protested.
    "You have not been dismissed yet," said Whitney. "Until you have been dismissed, you are still on duty. Now stand at attention."
    "It's the middle of the night, for crying out loud!" said Jones. "I need to get some sack time!"
    "I gave you an order," said Whitney. "If you do not come to attention this moment, I shall charge you with insubordination."
    Jones snapped to attention, but he made no attempt to hide his indignation. "Request permission to speak, Ma'am," said Jones.
    "Permission granted," said Whitney. She seated herself comfortably on the captain's chair.
    "Thank you, Ma'am," said Jones. "I just want you to realize that you aren't doing yourself or your sex any good by playing the hard ass. You think just because you are a woman you have to..."
    "That's enough," said Whitney. "Go to your quarters."
    Jones relaxed his body but not his attitude. "We have an understanding in the fleet between the officers and the ratings. We don't need no rookie ensign with an inflated ego and a chip on her shoulder..."
    "Consider yourself under arrest," said Whitney. "You are confined to your quarters when not on watch."
    "What did I do?" Jones demanded. "You gave me permission to speak my mind and now you are going to charge me for it? You can't do that."
    "I didn't give you permission to insult me," said Whitney. "Now get out of here. Every word you say is only making things worse."
    "Crap!" said Jones, but he hurried from the control deck.
***
    Whitney sat in the captain's chair on the silent control deck, waiting for the hours of her watch to slide by. There was nothing to do when the ship was grounded, except monitor the environmental control system. The engines were cold and the weapons were rendered inoperative. But the regulations required there to be a watch on the control deck at all times, as long as the ship was in commission.
    It was not in Whitney's nature to waste her time. She spent her first watch studying the ship's systems, perusing the online manuals, and reading the log to familiarize herself with the Dragora's history. She found to her amusement that some of the log entries were in error. Past officers of the deck were not inclined to look to dig too deeply into a technical problem and were inclined to sweep a sticky one under the rug whenever possible. Let the next guy handle it was a common attitude.
    While reading a series of entries about a persisitent coolant leak that had plagued the ship since it was placed in service, Whitney was interrupted by the sound of boots on metal plates. She turned and saw an officer with the insignia of a first lieutenant enter the cabin. Whitney rose from the chair and stood to attention. "Welcome back, Commander Belton," said Whitney, and saluted.
    Lt. Belton nodded. "You must be the new ensign. As you were. Put me on the speaker."
    Whitney sat down, activated the shipboard address system and handed the wireless microphone to Lt. Belton. "All hands, this is the Commander speaking," said Lt. Belton. "We have received orders and must be ready to depart in two hours. All hands, go to launch stations and make ready for departure. That is all."
    Lt. Belton handed the microphone back to Whitney. "I have the deck ensign. You shall take the environmental systems console for departure."
    Whitney stood up, saluted and said, "I have something to report, commander," she said.
    "Yes yes, what is it?" said Lt. Belton impatiently.
    "I placed Engineer 2 Jones under arrest for insubordination."
    Lt. Belton sighed. "Oh hell. I haven't got time to worry about that now. Go to your departure station and make ready. I'll dismiss the charges against Jones. You and he just got off to a bad start. I am sure there won't be anymore trouble."
    Whitney felt her face turn hot. She forced her expression to neutral and went to the environmental control console. Sitting in the chair, she stared at her board and realized she had been given the idiot's job. There was no need to man the environmental control system console during launch. The engineer handled everything from his board, anyway. She opened the prelaunch checklist at her position and ran her eye down to item 441. It read, "Environment control position, (if manned) report temperature, cabin pressure, and go status."
    She wanted to cry, but she didn't.

 Part IV: Whitney Gets Cooking
    The hours immediately before and after launch were busy ones and that kept troubling thoughts from Whitney's mind, but soon the normal rotation of watches was resumed. Each of the three officers served a four hour turn twice a day. Whitney's first watch was 1200 hours to 1600 hours, then she came back at 2400 hours for the dog watch. At 0400 hours, she was relieved by Lt. Belton.
    "I'll take it," said Lt. Belton. "You can go below, Ensign Whitney." Whitney vacated the command chair. "Thank you, commander," she said and saluted.
    Lt. Belton returned her salute with a flip of the finger and took over the command chair. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.
    "I didn't get enough sleep," he complained.
    Whitney had spent the last four hours trying to guess what the Dragora's mission might be. Yielding to curiosity, she said, "Do you think we will see action on this trip, Commander?"
    Lt. Belton yawned again. "Don't worry about it, Ensign."
    "I am not worried, Commander," said Whitney. "I was just curious."
    He nodded. "Yeah, sure. Well I promise you that you will be told everything you need to know in plenty of time. Get some sleep, Ensign."
    "Aye aye, Commander."
    When Whitney reached her quarters, she noted that Mitzi was asleep, but Bridget's empty bunk showed signs of recent occupancy. Whitney got her bathrobe and ditty bag and headed for the baths. When she got there, she saw that Bridget was just stepping out of the shower. Bridget said, "Pardon me if I don't come to attention," and started towelling herself.
    Whitney laughed. "Of course. I think we can dispense with that stuff in here. I thought you would be asleep by now."
    Bridget gave her a funny look. "I couldn't sleep," she said. "I thought a hot shower would help me relax."
    Whitney started to undress, wearing a rueful smile. "What have you got to worry about? I thought enlisted personnel were supposed to be carefree." She chuckled to indicate she was joking.
    "This is an exciting mission we are on," said Bridget. "I can't help thinking about it."
    Whitney cleared her throat to cover her surprise. "You think so?" she said.
    Bridget looked at Whitney knowingly. "They haven't told you our orders yet, have they?"
    Whitney felt hot with embarassment. "They? What do you mean by they?"
    "Jeff and Darrin," said Bridget. "They didn't show you the orders, did they?"
    "I am not at liberty to discuss the orders......" Whitney's voice trailed off as she realized the meaning of Bridget's smug expression. Whitney turned to the sink to hide her humiliation.
    Bridget laughed. "Don't feel bad, Honey. I'll fill you in at breakfast. Right now, I need my beauty sleep."
    Whitney showered and changed into pajamas in silence. When she got back to her bunk, she found a pair of panties under the blanket. She wasn't sure which one of her bunkies they belonged to, but she took a wild guess and tossed them on top of Mitzi's sleeping form. After Whitney settled down in her bunk and turned off the light, she heard a movement and then the sound of Mitzi giggling.
***
    After less than four hours sack time, Whitney was awakened by Lt. Prado poking her on the shoulder. Whitney opened her eyes and looked at him. "It can't be time for my watch," she protested. "What time is it?"
    "It's 0800, Whitney," said Lt. Prado. "The commander wants to see you. Get dressed and get topside." With those words, he was gone. Whitney dragged herself out of bed, showered, and started pulling on her hip hugging uniform trousers. She was starting to tug on her boots when she heard Lt. Belton announce over the P.A. system that was heard throughout the ship, "Whitney, get your cute little ass up here, on the double!"
    Horrified, Whitney finished struggling into her boots, hurried buttoned her blouse and hurried from the cabin with a despairing glance into the mirror. Her hair was a mess!
    On the way to the bridge, Whitney met Bridget who saluted and grinned at her. "Jeffie boy sounds impatient," said Bridget. "You better hurry, Honey." Whitney could not spare the time to give Bridget the dressing down she had coming for this insolence, so she simply brushed past her without returning the rating's salute. Two could play at this game, Whitney thought, as she pounded up the ladder and onto the bridge of the Dragora. She was indignant as she approached Belton and said quietly, "You sent for me, Commander?"
    Belton turned and looked at her in a way that made her want to slap him, but there was nothing she could do. Not a damned thing! "It's about time," said Lt. Belton. "I was just about to call you again. Whitney, you are in charge of the ship's galley. Get breakfast for the crew and bring some coffee, right away."
    "Me, Lieutenant?" said Whitney, feeling a growing dismay. "Who else is assigned to the galley?"
    Lt. Belton waved his hand as if shooing her away. "You will have to handle it by yourself, Ensign," he said. "I can't spare anyone from their duties. Now get moving."
    Whitney hesitated about half a second, then turned on her heels and banged down the ladder to the galley. She was determined to rise above the humiliation, she was not going to show her anger, she was not even going to allow anyone to know how humiliated she felt. Whitney started the coffee and began fixing breakfast. While the waffles were browning on the grill, she delivered Belton's coffee.
    "The officers will have breakfast at 0830 hours," said Belton. "The ratings will have their breakfast at 0900."
    "Aye aye, Lieutenant," said Whitney. She was not looking forward to serving breakfast to her subordinates, and she could imagine Bridget's smug expression, Mitzi's snicker, and Jones's leer. She would have to get through it somehow, she told herself. Don't let the little things get under your skin.
01/17/98

 Part V: Whitney Gets the Word
Prado showed up in the galley at 0830 hours at sat down in the tiny booth. Whitney quietly placed a tray of waffles, eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee in front of him. "Look's great," said Prado, taking a deep breath of the plate. He picked up the coffee and looked up at Whitney. "You better eat breakfast now if you are going to," he said.
    "What about the commander?" said Whitney.
    "I'll relieve him temporarily so he can come down and eat," said Prado. "He'll be here at 0845 and the ratings will be here at 0900. You better eat now."
    So Whitney fixed herself a tray and sat down opposite Prado. "Is this normal on destroyers?" said Whitney. "I mean, is it normal to have an officer serve as cook?"
    "No," said Prado. "But Dragora is small, even for a destroyer. And we are short one rating. Normally the fourth rating would be the cook. We have to bend the rules sometimes to get things done. It's no reflection on you, Whitney, but it's a tradition, you might say, to always give the junior officer all the worst jobs. It's suppose to build character; shows that you are worthy of command."
    Prado finished eating his breakfast and went up to the bridge to relieve Belton. Belton showed up looking grumpy and ate his breakfast in silence. Belton left promptly at 0900 and promptly at 0900, the three ratings filed in.
    Whitney studiously avoided making eye contact with any of them as she served their breakfasts and stood by waiting for them to finish so she could clean up and secure the galley. "Grab a cup of coffee, Honey," said Bridget, looking up at Whitney. "It's time to lay it all out."
    Whitney sat down in the booth beside Bridget with her coffee in front of her. Jones and Mitzi sat side by side on the opposite bench.
    "So how is it that you know all about the ship's orders and I don't?"
    Mitzi giggled and blurted out, "She's sleeps with Belton, of course."
    "Oh shut up," said Bridget, smiling at Mitzi. "The ensign here is not interested in my love life. What she wants to know is where we are going and what we are going to be doing. Isn't that right, Honey?"
    Bridget smiled at Whitney and despite herself, Whitney found herself warming to this woman who seemed to have a severe deficit of respect for rank.
    "So, let's hear it, then," said Whitney.
    "Okay," said Bridget. "Here's the dope. A week ago, Starfleet received a call for help from the Garzan Empire. They said they were being attacked and were in danger of being wiped out. They asked for help against the 'evil ones.' "
    "What are the 'evil ones?'" said Whitney.
    "The message didn't make that clear," Bridget said. "Starfleet Command decided to send one destroyer to investigate and observe, but not to intervene. We are going straight to Garzan, the home star of the Garzan Empire and observe the alien attack on Garzan IV, if it takes place."
    "What for?" said Mitzi. "Why do they care? The Garzan are just a bunch of cutthroats, corsairs, slavers, and pirates."
    "The Starfleet Command doesn't care about the Garzan any more than you do," said Whitney. "But they want to know if these 'evil ones' are a threat to Starfleet. That's why we must not intervene. Our job is to find out what we can about the Aliens and get the information back to Starbase 1."
    "How come you know so much?" said Mitzi. "I thought you didn't know the orders."
"She's an officer," said Bridget, smiling. "Not only that, she has brains. Whitney is going to be an admiral some day, isn't that right, Honey?"
    Whitney felt herself blushing as she met Bridget's eyes. "Well, I don't know if that is going to happen."
    Bridget was wearing a mysterious, knowing smile. "It's going to happen, Honey. You can depend on it."
    "She better start using her assets if she wants to get anywhere in this man's outfit," said Mitzi. She turned to Jones and said, "Why couldn't you have been an officer, you dumb lug?"

01/17/99

Part VI: Whitney Aghast
    Seven weeks later, the Dragora crept forward slowly, masking her energy emissions and silently tracking those from the alien ships. Whitney had been excited about the upcoming encounter from the moment Bridget had divulged the news the the Dragora was being sent to investigate a mysterious call for help from the so called "Garzan Empire" against an attack by an unidentified enemy.
    "There must be a hundred targets," said Lt. Prado, gesturing toward the sensor screen. "And there are another dozen or so on the other side of the planet. All moving in formation." Prado looked at the skipper and said, "What do you think is going on?"
    Belton shrugged. "I don't know. I am not sure I want to know. Let's just get the data we were sent for and get the hell out of here." He applied reverse thrust and stopped the Dragora's forward movement relative to the planet.
    Whitney had been watching the screen from her station at environmental control. The way the two groups of ships were moving intrigued her and she tried to guess what they were doing. Why so many ships? Why were they moving in two oppositely arrayed formations... "Oh my God!" Whitney blurted. "It's a battle!"
    Commander Belton looked at her. "What makes you think so? There are no indications of any weapons being discharged."
    Whitney pointed to the screen. "They haven't come in contact yet," she said. "It's a classic tree and squirrel maneuver. The weaker fleet tries to keep the planet between itself and the enemy fleet. They run around the planet, always staying below the horizon so the enemy can't use their weapons."
    Belton said, "I don't think so, Whitney. We have been watching them for hours and nothing has changed. Why doesn't the larger fleet just split up into two forces and crush the enemy between them?"
    "We don't know their true relative strengths," Whitney said. "You can't go by the numbers of ships. It depends on their size and their weapons. If the agressor splits his force, it offers an opportunity for the other side to defeat him in detail."
    The three men on the bridge were looking at her oddly as she concluded her explanation. They continued to stare at her for a moment, then one by one they turned away. The engineer, Jones shook his head slowly as he looked down at his console.
    "I think we have seen enough," said Belton. "Let's get out of here before we are spotted. If it is a battle, I don't want to get caught in the cross fire."
    "One moment, Sir," said Whitney. "Something is happening."
    All eyes were on the screen as two blips began to separate from smaller fleet. "One side is splitting his force." They watched as two ships separated from the fleet of ten and began to circle around the planet in the opposite direction.
    "It looks like we are going to be eyewitness to a battle," said Lt. Prado. "Fantastic! We have a ringside seat!" He pressed several keys and suddenly the two fleets were displayed in different colors, red and blue.
    Lt. Belton was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "We got a lot of data already," he said. "The admiralty is going to want to look at this stuff we have."
    "We should stay and get as much information as we can," said Whitney. "We may have to fight these people some day. We need to find out as much as we can about their weapons and their tactics."
    Lt. Belton gave her an angry look and snapped, "When I want your opinion, Ensign, I shall ask for it." It was obvious from the way he emphasized the word Ensign that he did not think much of her opinion. "What do you think, Darrin?"
    Lt. Prado was unable to take his eyes off the screen. "We better stay as long as we can," he said. "You'll be in deep trouble if you pass up a chance like this to see how these aliens fight."
    "Ahem," said Lt. Belton. "My opinion as well," he said. "But keep your scanners going. If there is any indication we are being painted, we are going to pull out at maximum g's. Is that understood?"
    "Sure skipper," said Lt. Prado.
    As the crew of the Dragora watched, the colored dots on the screen continued to sweep around the planet. Two red dots, moving opposite the traffic, soon pushed head on into the oncoming fleet of one hundred blue dots. The ships of the blue fleet maneuvered to avoid closing with the red and blue's formation began to break up.
    "They don't want to fight," remarked Whitney. "Even though they have them heavily outnumbered, they are afraid of the red fleet."
    As the Dragora watched, the odds slowly began to change. The waltz ended and soon the ships of both fleets were mixing it up in a general melee. The odds dropped from 10 to 1 down to 8 to 1, then 5 to 1, then 3 to 1. There were still 10 red dots on the screen, but over 70 blue ships had been annihilated.
    "Looks like a very one sided battle," Lt. Prado remarked. "Blue is using conventional energy weapons, but I can't detect any emissions from red. They must have some new technology."
    "Perhaps if we moved in closer," suggested Whitney. "Perhaps we are too far away to detect the emissions from their weapons."
    "No way," said Lt. Belton. "I am getting out of here now." He rotated the ship slowly around to a departure vector.
    "We might be better off if we waited," said Whitney.
    "Oh, why don't you just shut up, Whitney?" said Lt. Belton. "Make that an order. Shut up!"
    Whitney was going to explain that the aliens might detect the Dragora's engine when they touched it off. She was going to suggest that they wait until the Dragora had drifted out of range or until the alien fleets had moved farther away, but she had been ordered to shut up, so she did.
    As soon as Lt. Belton started the engine, Jones yelped, "We are being painted!"
    Lt. Belton immediately advanced the thrust to full. The crew were shoved down into their couches by the pressure of acceleration.
    If they didn't see us before, they do now, Whitney thought.
    Jones voice rose. "Target designation beam!" he yelped. "They are locking on!"
    "Red bogey closing," said Prado. "It's big and it's coming in fast on an intercept vector."
    "Is it a ship, or a missile?" asked Belton.
    "Must be a ship," said Prado. "Too big for a missile."
    In a shaky voice, Belton said, "General quarters, now!" He activated the alarm tone with a button at his console and waited.
    "All positions report status," Belton said, and waited.
    There was a pause and he said, "Report now! Report goddam it!"
    "Tactics console, manned and ready," said Prado. He had been in that condition for three hours.
    "Engineering console, manned and ready," snapped Jones. "We are being scanned with active sensors, Skipper."
    Over the intercom, Bridget reported, "Torpedo 1, armed and ready."
    Immediately came the voice of Mitzi. "Torpedo 2, armed and ready." Mitzi giggled and added, "It's been fun, eh boys?"
    Whitney felt a twinge of sadness. Poor Mitzi. She was piloting the aft facing torpedo and the Dragora was running away. That meant she was going to precede them all into death. It was simple logic that put human pilots in torpedoes on destroyers. They were more reliable than automatic guidance systems and the chances of a destroyer surviving a torpedo attack was almost nil anyway. The policy was, make every life count. On the other hand, the destroyer had a fair good chance of getting away, while the persuing ship maneuvered to evade the suicide attack.
    "Whitney!"
    She started out of her reverie at the sound of Lt. Belton's angry voice. "Sorry, Skipper," she said. "Environmental Control ready. Temperature 70 degrees, cabin pressure 14.7 psi and holding."
    Lt. Prado reported, "Bogey still closing. Rate of closure is increasing." There was something in his voice that told Whitney he was running on automatic. His life was over and there only remained the task of playing out the remaining seconds with out thinking about the unthinkable.
    "Are they in range?" snapped Belton.
    "Target is in extreme missile range," said Prado.
    "Torpedo 2, report," said Belton.
    "Torpedo 2 locked on," said Mitzi. "Let me at them, Skipper."
    "No," said Whitney quietly. "No."
    "Fire 2," said Belton.
01/17/99

Part VII: Whitney Volunteers
    "Aye aye, you piece of shit!" said Mitzi.
    The Dragora wobbled as torpedo 2 blew out of the rear tube and accelerated toward the persuing alien craft. Mitzi was gone.
    "She's tracking the bogey," Prado reported. "Good girl Mitzi!"
    "Go Mitzi! Go!" yelled Jones.
    "Silence on the bridge," snapped Belton. All eyes were on the big screen which showed the persuing craft and the tiny dot that was the piloted torpedo steadily accelerating toward the enemy.
    "Tactics, report," the commander ordered. "Are there any other threats?"
    "Negative, Skipper," said Prado. "Threat one is still closing. Rate of closure increasing."
    "She's got him!" crowed Jones, looking up at the big screen.
    "Go for it, Mitzi! Go for it now!"
    They waited for the blossom to appear on the screen that would tell them that Mitzi had released the handle of the deadman switch. They waited, holding their breaths.
    "Brace for blast shock," said Belton.
    Everone on the bridge gripped the arms of the chairs.
    It did not come.
    "It's gone," said Prado, with a gasp.
    "Report properly," growled Belton. "What the hell happened."
    "I am not painting torpedo 2, skipper. Threat is still closing. Rate of closure is increasing."
    "What happened?"
    "Don't know," said Prado, in a bleak voice. "The indication just disappeared. There was no weapons signature from the enemy. The torpedo did not detonate."
    "Must be a malfunction," said Belton. "Bridge to torpedo 1. Go aft. Reload aft tube and prepare to launch."
    "Aye skipper," said Bridget over the intercom.
    Not Bridget too! Whitney wanted to shout. But she knew Belton was right. They had to get away. They had to get the data back to starfleet. They were all expendable if that is what the survival of the human race required. Whitney felt her eyes burning. She wished to god there was something she could do instead of sitting helpless at this idiot job while the Dragora's crew were being sacrificed one by one.
    "Skipper, I have a suggestion," said Whitney.
    "Not now, Whitney," said Belton.
    "You may need another torpedo," she said quietly. "I would like to volunteer."
    There was a moment of silence, broken by Jones who laughed and said, "We got ballsy dames on this tub!"
    Belton sighed. "We have no more spares aft. If Bridget can't do it, we are done for." He looked at Prado. "Are they still closing?"
    "We can't outrun them Skipper. Looks like."
    A few minutes passed in silence on the bridge. There was nothing to be done except wait. Finally, Bridget came onto the intercom.
    "Torpedo 1, ready to launch aft," she said.
    "Launch immediately," said Belton.
    Whitney clenched her fist until her nails drew blood from the palms of her hands. Goodbye, chief, she said under her breath. The Dragora wobbled on her thrusters as Bridget launched and the torpedo streaked toward the persuing enemy. The alien was much closer by this time and if Bridget was able to detonate, there was no guarantee that Dragora would survive the blast. Not at this range.
    "I am not painting torpedo 1," Prado announced. "They got her."
    "Dammit to hell!" cried Belton. "Stupid bitch waited too long! Why didn't she detonate? Damned females! Not one of 'em worth a ..." He was interrupted by a green flash that bathed the ship, and he looked around with fearful eyes. "What was that?"
    No one answered, because no one knew.
    Abruptly, the Dragora's acceleration ceased. Belton swung toward Jones, his face white with fear. "Get me some thrust online, chief!"
    "Propulsion, negative function," Jones reported. Everyone turned to look at the tactical screen which was almost completed filled by the trace of the enemy ship, looming larger and larger as it drew near.
    "That's an awful big ship!" said Prado. A moment later, he added, "They are right on top of us! Closure rate nil!" Prado looked at Belton. "Swing us around, Skipper. I want to get a look at that bugger before they blow us away."
    Belton pulled the stick and pitched the Dragora around 180. As the enemy ship swung into view into the windows, the bridge crew stared at the enemy ship in awe and fear. "Why don't they fire?" breathed Lt. Belton.
    "Maybe they want to capture us alive," whispered Whitney. The alien craft was huge, and appeared to be made up of three differently size spheres joined together by two narrow cylinders. Smaller spheres jutted from the endsphere on pylons and seemed to pulse with living green light.
    Belton unstrapped from his chair and stood up. "Jones, give me a hand. I want to launch the lifeboat."
    Prado looked up at Belton. "Do you think there is a chance?"
    "Maybe," said Belton. "The lifeboat is very small. They just might not see us get away if we keep the Dragora between us and them until we are out of sensor range." Belton turned to Whitney.
    "Ensign, you have the bridge. Lt. Prado, you come with Jones and me."

01/19/99

Part VIII: Whitney In Charge
    Whitney stood up and moved to Belton's abandoned chair. Prado and Jones left the bridge first and Belton paused in the hatchway.
    "Start transferring all of the surveillance data to the lifeboat computer," he said. "I'll call you when we are ready to launch and you better get down to the hangar bay fast."
    Whitney nodded and set to work. She hoped that the aliens would give them time to carry out Belton's plan. It was something of a forlorn hope, but it was the right thing to do. The skipper had to do everything he could to try to carry out the Dragora's mission as long as any of them were alive.
    It took only a few seconds to configure the computer to download all the stored information into the lifeboat. Whitney was glad that she had spent so many lonely watches studying the ship's operating manuals. She knew the data processing system like the back of her own hand. "Bridge to lifeboat," she called. "Ready to transfer data. "   
    "Standby, Whitney," Lt. Belton called.
    Whitney relaxed and waited. She glanced up at the alien ship, wondering what would happen if they were taken alive. While she pondered this, she felt a vibration and a shudder go through the ship. It was just as if a boat had been launched....
    Whitney stared at the two red lights on the console in front of her.
    A moment ago there had been one red light and now there were two.
    She leaned closer and read the labels. One read, "Mn.Drv F." Main Drive Failed. The other read, "LB Awy." Life Boat Away.
    Whitney suddenly felt very cold. "Bridge to lifeboat," she called. The intercom was dead. Whitney switched to the ship to ship channel. "Bridge to lifeboat!" she called again.
    There was no answer. Whitney realized they were abandoning her. She wanted to call out to them to come back and take her along, but she knew it would do no good whatsoever. She was done for. Why hadn't Belton at least waited for her to transfer the data?
    Whitney felt tears flowing down her face as she twisted the quick release in the floor. There was one last thing to be done, she thought as she swung the lift panel up and reached for the ships self-destruct handle. She would never be an admiral, she thought as she folded her fingers around the red knob. She would never see her father again. She waited a minute to be sure the lifeboat was clear.
    "Good bye, Daddy," Whitney said aloud, and pulled the handle.
    She pulled and tightened every muscle in her body, bracing herself for the searing death which would consume the Dragora in a blinding flash. She held that braced attitude for about ten seconds, then relaxed. She pushed the handle down, then pulled it up several times, then shoved it back down with a whimper of despair. The self-destruct did not work. There was nothing else to be done but wait to find out what the aliens would do with her. Whitney yielded finally to all of her fear and grief and she cried. She cried for Mitzi, she cried for Bridget, and she cried for herself because she had failed.
    It only took a few seconds for Whitney to realize she was wasting her time and she cut off her tears like a faucet. Something fantastic was happening, she thought, as she looked up at the alien ship. She was about to meet an alien race. Perhaps a superior race. Their weapons seemed incomprehensible to Whitney. They had intercepted two torpedoes, stopped the Dragora cold, and managed to disable the self-destruct system without registering any energy expenditure on any of the ship's detectors. She had watched them wipe out a fleet ten times their number without losing a single ship. These beings were as far in advance of man as man was of monkeys.
    Whitney composed herself and looked up at the alien ship once more.
    "All right you bug-eyed monsters," she said. "Come and get me."
    Whitney waited a moment, then considered trying the communications channel. If they were so advanced, surely they could interpret a primitive signal. She started pushing down the buttons to activate all of the ship to ship channels at once. While she was doing this, the ship was suddenly bathed in green light and she turned to look up at the alien ship. The alien ship was backing rapidly away at high speed! Whitney stared in disbelief as the huge, bulbous craft grew smaller and vanished from sight.
    The tactical screen continued to paint the alien ship moving away.
    Was it possible they were going to just leave her to die in a disabled ship in the middle of interstellar space? Why not, Whitney thought. Why should they care what happened to her?
In a few minutes, the alien ship was just a dot on the tactical scanner, but there were two objects drifting only a few kilometers away. Perhaps they were bombs, left to finish her off after the alien craft had withdrawn.
    One of the ship to ship channels made a chirping sound and a familiar voice said, "Dragora, Torpedo 2. I need a pick up."
    An instant later, another voice chimed in. "Torpedo 1 here. Me too, fellows."
    Whitney slammed her hand down on the talk button. "Mitzi? Bridget? Are you okay?"
"I guess we are okay," said Bridget. "But you'll have to come to us. We are all out of gas."
    Whitney started to say that she was unable to pick them up, but her eye went to the engine status display and she saw the red light labled "Mn. Drv. F." was out. Instead, there was a green light labled "Mn. Drv. R." Main drive ready.

01/21/99
Part IX: Whitney Hangs On
    The two torpedo techs secured their birds and pounded up the ladders to the bridge to report, as they had been ordered by the officer of the deck. When they arrived, they saw Whitney sitting in the captains chair, alone on the bridge.
    "Where are the guys?" said Bridget.
    "I'll tell you after you have been debriefed," said Whitney. "You first, torpedo 1. What happened to you?"
    Mitzi shrugged. "I am not sure," she said. "I was closing in or the kill, but just before I started to detonate, there was a green flash and my bird went dead. I was deaf dumb and blind for lmost an hour, then suddenly everything came back on, but my propulsion energy was reading zero. So I called in and asked for a pickup."
    "Is that all you saw?"
    "I am afraid so," said Mitzi. "They don't put windows on torpedos, ya' know."
    Whitney looked at Bridget who said, "That's about it for me too. Just as I was about to detonate, I lost thrust, sensors, and everything. I tried to detonate, but nothing happened. About half an hour later, everything came back, except propulsion."
    Bridget gazed around the bridge curiously, then looked at Whitney. "Your turn, Honey."
    "Do not address me as Honey while on duty, chief," said Whitney. "You know better than that."
    "Come on, Whitney," said Bridget. "I can plainly see there is nobody here but us girls. Now you tell us what is going on. Where are the guys?"
    Whitney smiled and pointed up at a bright star that was plainly visible in the windows. "They are probably making for Canopus is my guess."
    "Canopus?" repeated Mitzi. "How the..."
    Bridget put her hand on Mitzi's arm. "As a matter of fact, I did notice the lifeboat was not in its cradle."
    The three women looked at one another for a moment in silence. There was no need to state the obvious. Mitzi laughed. "Well, I guess you are in command," she said. "What are you going to do?"
    Whitney chuckled and swung her chair around to face forward. "I believe the first order of business is to recover the ship's lifeboat."
    "It would serve them right to leave them," said Mitzi. "They can make Canopus on their own."
    "It will take them a year," said Whitney. "No, my duty is plain. I am going to pick them up."
    "If you do, then Belton is back in command as soon as he sets foot on the ship," Bridget pointed out. A sly look came over her face. "We can't be sure they are headed for Canopus. My recommendation would be to vector ourselves directly back to starbase to report what we have about these Aliens."
    "I wish I could do that," Whitney said. "But I am not going to descend to their level." Whitney knew no further explanation was needed. Both women knew exactly what she meant. "Bridget, you take tactical, Mitzi you take engineering."
    "Sure thing," said Mitzi sliding into her new station. "You want me to monitor EC as well," she asked with a grin.
    "If you think you can handle it," said Whitney, smiling back at her.
    "Bridget, I don't expect to make contact with the lifeboat for at least twelve hours, but start scanning immediately and keep it up until we find them."
    "Aye aye, skipper," said Bridget.
    Whitney aimed the nose at Canopus and pushed the Dragora up to standard acceleration. The women settled down for the watch that lay ahead. While they searched for the lifeboat, Whitney told Bridget and Mitzi everything that had happened on the bridge during the encounter with the alien.
* * *
    After a couple of hours, Whitney realized she would have to setup up a new watch rotation. Technically, the two ratings could not stand watches while the ship was in flight, although their skills as torpedo pilots certainly qualified them to handle a starship. It was just a question of regulations.
    "Bridget Tucker," said Whitney suddenly.
    Bridget looked around in surprise. She had not been addressed by her last name in several years in the service. "Huh?"
    "Bridget Tucker, as commander of this ship, I hereby award you a temporary commission as a starfleet officer with rank and pay of Ensign. Congratulations, Ensign."
    "Good for you, Bridey," said Mitzi. "Good for you!"
    "Mitzi Lane," Whitney said, turning toward the engineering console.
    "Oh no," said Mitzi, raising her hands to her face.
    "Mitzi Lane," Whitney continued. "As commander of this ship, I hereby award you a temporary commission as a starfleet officer with the rank and pay of ensign." She rose from her chair announced. "I am going below.
    "Ensign Tucker has the deck. Ensign Lane, since you are junior officer, you will take the dog watch."
    "Hey, no fair!" said Mitzi. "I hold the same rank as Bridey."
    "Her commission predates yours," Whitney explained. "That makes her senior to you."
    "By ten seconds," said Mitzi.
    "I suggest you go below and get some rest. Those dog watches can be draining."
01/22/99

Part X: Whitney Stymied
    Whitney was just settling down into her bunk having spent the first hour of her off watch transferring her kit to the commander's cabin, when the intercom chirped and Bridget said, "Whitney, you better get back up here. I have a contact."
    "Already?" said Whitney, incredulous. "Is it the lifeboat?"
    "No, I don't think so," said Bridget. "I am not sure what it is."
    A cold feeling stole over Whitney. The alien ship was coming back to finish them off. Of course their deliverance was too good to be true. Whitney did not wait to ask any further questions. She dressed quickly and hurried up to the bridge with only a glance in the mirror to confirm that her hair was a mess. It was a glorious mess, but a mess nevertheless.
    Bridget was studying the readings at the tactical console with a puzzled look on her face as Whitney came onto the bridge. "Something bad has happened," she said.
    Whitney said, "I have the deck." She sat down in the commander's chair and snapped, "Report, Tactics."
    "I am painting a small metal object approximately two feet long," Bridget reported. "It is transmitting a coded signal identifying it as our lifeboat, but it is on the wrong channel."
    "It must be a piece of debris," said Whitney. "We better pick it up."
    "Whitney, it's under power," Bridget said.
    "It must be a drone," said Whitney. "But why would they drop a drone way out here?"
    "Something bad must have happened to them," said Bridget. "I don't think we are going to find them."
    "We better pick it up," said Whitney. "It might give us a clue as to the fate of the lifeboat." She yawned. "Look, you must be tired too. I'll chase the thing down. While I am doing it, you go below, get a shower and some food, then bring Mitzi back with you. It may take all three of us to catch that drone and bring it aboard."
    For the next hour, Whitney tried to close with the drone, but every time she managed to maneuver the Dragora close enough to pick up the drone, it turned away and started to open up the range. When Bridget and Mitzi came onto the bridge, Whitney looked up at them and said angrily, "The damned drone is evading me. It does not respond to command sequences."
    Mitzi went to the engineering console and Bridget sat down at the tactical console. "I'll try to get an optical zoom on it," Bridget said. "Don't chase it, just maintain your interval so it won't maneuver."
    A few seconds later, a small cylinder appeared on the screen. "That's it," said Bridget. "Now hold steady while I zoom in." The image got larger but it was blurred.
    "Can't you focus it any better than that?" said Mitzi.
    "Give it a minute to build up the database," Bridget replied. "Just hold the ship steady, please, Whitney, while I scan it."
    Gradually the image sharpened until three simultaneous gasps emerged from three female throats. It was Whitney who spoke first. "It's the lifeboat," she said.
    "It can't be," said Bridget. "It's only two feet long. The life boat is twenty feet long."
    Whitney did not argue. As the image grew sharper and sharper, it was obvious to all of them that the contact was indeed the Dragora's lifeboat. Bridget slammed her fist on her console. "This thing isn't working right," she said. "It certainly looks like the lifeboat. But why don't they let us pick them up?"
    "Maybe they are dead," said Whitney.
    Mitzi had a thoughtful look on her face as she stared at the screen. "I don't think they recognize us," she said. "I'll try to contact them."
    Mitzi set to work and in a few minutes, she reported, "Bingo. Audio and visual coming in. The signal was sort of messed up, but I think I got it unscrambled now. I'll put it on the big screen."
    The face of Lt. Belton filled the screen and he was wearing a worried look. His mouth moved silently until Mitzi patched in the audio. "...sheer off," Belton was saying. "This vessel is under commission to Starfleet command. Any interference would be an act of war. I order you to identify yourself."
    "Let me talk to him," said Whitney. Mitzi patched Whitney through and indicated with a nod that she was ready. "Lieutenant Belton, Sir. What is your malfunction?" Whitney demanded. "We are trying to recover the lifeboat. Will you please cut your drive and standby for pickup."
    Belton's face relaxed somewhat when he saw the visual with Whitney's image. He looked puzzled but reassured. "Thank god it's you Whitney. We will comply immediately."
    Whitney turned to Mitzi. "Activate the auto recover sequence."
    Mitzi nodded, but a moment later, she said, "Something's wrong. The remote control link is down."
    Whitney sighed and keyed her microphone again. "Commander, we are unable to contact the automatic docking system. You will have maneuver yourself into the hangar bay yourself."
    Belton's face still looked worried. "I don't think I can do that," he said. "There is something wrong with the visual. I can't judge distances properly."
    "I suggest you look out the window, Commander," said Whitney.
    "I am looking out the window," said Belton. "It's no go. You will have to pick us up."
    "What seems to be the problem, Commander?" Whitney asked.
    "I don't know," said Belton. "It must be distortion in the glass. The perspective is all messed up."
    "Very good, Lieutenant," said Whitney. "What is your status? Can you wait while we sort this out?"
    Belton hesitated a moment, then nodded. "We are all right, Whitney. We are standing by for recovery."
    Whitney switched off her microphone and gave vent to a little cry of frustration. "What are we going to do now?"
01/23/99

Part XI: Whitney Dismayed
    "I am working on it," Mitzi said. "I have an idea I want to try out."
    "What is your idea," said Whitney.
    Mitzi hesitated, then shook her head. "It's too complicated to explain. Just let me try it first. If it works, we should be able to activate the automatic docking system."
    Whitney shrugged. "Allright, go ahead. I am going to get some rest."
    Bridget exchanged glances with Mitzi and a nod went between them. Bridget looked at Whitney and said. "Go ahead, commander. They aren't in any danger. You get some sleep. Mitzi and I will get them aboard. You have earned your rest."
    Whitney did not feel inclined to argue with Bridget, even though the honorary title of commander seemed a bit ironic under the circumstances. After all, as soon as Lt. Belton was back on board, everything would go back the way it was. Whitney would be junior officer on board and the two other women would be busted back to specialist grade. Whitney walked wearily to her cabin and started to undress before she recalled it wasn't her cabin anymore. She had at least a half an hour's work ahead of her moving back to her bunk in the enlisted ratings quarters.
* * *
    Whitney awoke in her bunk feeling rested and refreshed. She reached for her watch and checked the time. Good lord! She had slept straight through two watches! Why hadn't someone awakened her to stand her watch? Whitney rolled out of bed, showered and dressed hurriedly. She saw no one else and wondered what the status of the ship was. Had Bridget and Mitzi managed to recover the lifeboat while she slept? Was Belton on the bridge now fuming because she had not appeared for her watch?
    As soon as she had her uniform buttoned, Whitney hit the door with a final glance at the mirror. Her hair! Another glorious mess! No time to do anything about it now! She pushed out into the hall and pounded up the ladder to the bridge. As she stepped onto the bridge, she looked around with dread as she wondered what Belton would say.
    Bridget was in the command chair and Mitzi was standing next to the tactical console when Whitney came anxiously onto the bridge. Bridget stood up and both women snapped to attention. "Commander is on the bridge," said Mitzi. This was a formal announcement that was rarely made on a ship as small as a destroyer.
    Whitney looked around, unsure of herself. She saw no one but the two women. "I am still in command?" said Whitney, cautiously. Bridget grinned and nodded. "Then you were not able to recover the Lifeboat," Whitney said. "I don't think that is any reason for levity."
    Mitzi snickered and Bridget gave her a sharp look. "We recovered the lifeboat," said Bridget. "The guys are back on board and appear none the worse for their experience."
    Whitney relaxed. "That's good. What are the orders from commander Belton?"
    Bridget said, "Lt. Belton's orders are too numerous to mention, but I don't think he will able to resume command of the Dragora."
    Mitzi snickered again and Whitney glared at her impatiently. "Bridget, for god's sake!" Whitney said, dropping all pretense at naval etiquette. "Stop beating around the bush and tell me what is going on."
    "Yes, commander," said Bridget. "But first, you should sit down and we will give it to you, short and sweet." She stood behind the commander's chair and invited Whitney to sit with a gesture of her hand. Both of the other women were smiling at Whitney as she eased herself into the chair and glared at them. "Okay, let's have it," said Whitney. "Now. You first, Bridget."
    "I better go first," said Mitzi. "First, we have recovered the lifeboat." She bent down behind the tactical console and picked up a silvery object about two feet long. "As you can see, it appears to be essentially undamaged."
    Whitney blinked twice and stared at the object. It appeared to be the Dragora's lifeboat, but it was only two feet long. Whitney was dumbstruck as she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. While she gaped at the object in Mitzi's hands, Mitzi said, "As you can see, the lifeboat has been shrunk to about one twelfth of it's normal size. There were lots of clues in the sensor readings, but I didn't put them together until I talked it over with Bridget while we were having breakfast. All the readings were off because of the scale change. Once we figured out what the ratio was, it was a simple matter to reprogram the com links and the auto recovery system to bring the lifeboat in for a normal docking. Well, almost normal. It flew to the center of the bay and hovered there until I went down and grabbed it with my hands."
    "What about the crew!" demanded Whitney. "What happened to them?"
    "They are right here," said Bridget. "They are a little nervous, as you might imagine. Mitzi, bring your big feet over here so you won't scare them."
    Mitzi laid the shrunken lifeboat on the tactical console and went to stand beside the commander's chair.
    Bridget said, "Okay, come on out, guys."
01/23/99


Part XII: Whitney Takes a Stand
    Whitney stared in wondrous dismay as three tiny figures emerged from behind the Tactical console walked slowly toward her. They approached within a few feet then stopped and stood huddled together with faces upturned. "As you can see," Bridget said, "The guys have also been shrunk approximately 1/12 their normal size."
    Lt. Belton was the first to speak. "I don't understand any of this," he said. "But I want to remind you that I am commander of this vessel."
    Whitney stared down at him without saying a word, but Mitzi and Bridget laughed loudly at the little man's presumption.
    "Silence!" said Belton. The ring of authority had gone from his voice and all Whitney heard was a tiny squeak. "Ensign Whitney, listen to me. You are an officer, sworn to uphold the regulations of Starfleet. You know that I am right. Despite what has happened, I am still your commanding officer."
    "Come closer," said Whitney.
    "What?" said Belton. Prado and Jones took a step backward.
    "Come closer," said Whitney once more. "I want to make a positive identification."
    Belton said something to the other two men that the women did not hear. Slowly, the three of them crept forward until they stood just inches from Whitney's boots. "Do you recognize me now, Whitney?" said Lt. Belton in the same squeaky voice and drew more sniggers from Bridget and Mitzi.
    Whitney studied the faces of the three incredibly tiny men for a moment, then leaned back in her chair. It wouldn't do to have a six inch tall man in command of a Starfleet ship of war. She would look ridiculous taking orders from a homunculus. Although there was logic in what the tiny Lt. Belton was saying, she could imagine the stories, the jokes, the laughter that would haunt her for the rest of her career. Everything depended on what she did right now. She had to find a way out and she found one.
    "Lt. Belton," she said. "I regret to inform you that it is my duty to relieve you of your command and place you under arrest for desertion of your post in the face of the enemy. You other two will also be placed under arrest and charged with conspiring with Lt. Belton to desert his post."
    Her words were spoken in a calm voice with no noticable trace of anger, but the words fell on the diminutive trio like thunderbolts. Lt. Prado wobbled and went down on hands and knees and Jones turned away, cringing. Only Belton remained on his feet, his hands spread in an imploring gesture. "Ensign, I was only doing my duty. The Dragora was lost, or so I thought. My duty was to make our report to Starfleet command, at any cost. Surely you can see that."
    "You can explain it to the courtmartial," said Whitney. "Mitzi, Bridget, take charge of the prisoners."
    "Gladly," said Mitzi. The two women bent toward the terrified men and stretched out their hands with ardent devotion to duty. When they straightened up, Mitzi had two and Bridget had one. "Looks I got the lionesses' share," said Mitzi, smiling.
    "I got the commander," said Bridget, smiling at the little man squirming in her fist. Bridget looked at Mitzi and said. "Why don't you give one to Whitney so she won't be left out?"
    "I don't want one," said Whitney. "Get them out of my sight."
    Bridget said, "But Honey, it's not fair. Mitzi has two and I have only one. I am still senior to her, aren't I?"
    Whitney looked at Bridget, then at Mitzi. "Allright, Mitzi. Give one of them to Bridget. She is senior."
    "That's not fair," complained Mitzi. "I don't see why I should give one of mine to her. It's her fault for being such a pig."
    "You should take one Whitney," said Bridget, glaring at Mitzi. "It's the only fair thing."
    "I don't want one," Whitney reiterated. "If I took one, you would still have only one. What good would that do you?"
    "Then Mitzi and I would both have one," said Bridget. "That would be fair."
    Whitney looked at Mitzi. "Would you mind giving me one of your men?" she said.
    Mitzi smiled. "Of course not. As long as you promise not to give him to Bridget." She held out her hands. "Take your pick."
    Whitney chose one at random, and it happened to be Engineer Jones. "Whoa!" Jones squeaked as her hand approached. "Don't take me! I want to stay with Mitzi!"
    For a moment, Whitney was frozen with her hand extended as she considered the enormity of the engineers words. "You want to stay with Mitzi?" Whitney said.
    Jones nodded vigorously and looked up at Mitzi with a big smile on his face. Whitney looked up at Mitzi's face and saw a flush of pleasure there. "Very well," said Whitney. "I'll take Lt. Prado."
* * *
    It took several weeks for the Dragora to reach Starfleet Command. Whitney moved back into the commander's quarters and let Lt. Prado sleep in one of her slippers. She did not ask what went on in the enlisted ratings quarters, and she tried not to worry when she heard loud laughter coming from there. She frequently admonished Bridget and Mitzi not to take advantage of the prisoners helpless condition and she was answered with smiles and reassurance which failed to satisfy her.
    One watch when Whitney had the duty, Bridget came up the ladder and approached Whitney's chair. "Jeff wants to speak to you," Bridget said. "He claims it is urgent."
    Whitney considered ordering Bridget to bring Lt. Belton up to the bridge, but she decided to spare the prisoner the additional humiliation. "Very well," Whitney said. "I will go down and meet with Lt. Belton when Mitzi comes to relieve me."
    "No need for that," said Bridget. "He's right here."
    Whitney blinked. "Right where?"
    Bridget poked her finger upward beneath her bosom and Lt. Belton's tiny head popped up between her breasts. "Go ahead, Jeff," said Bridget. "You said you wanted to speak to the commander."
    Belton was looking around, a confused expression on his face. "What did you want to speak to me about, Lieutenant?" said Whitney.
    Belton focussed on Whitney and began to speak quickly in a small, nervous voice. "Whitney, please. Let me move in with you. Darrin can stay with Bridget for awhile. I am the senior officer. It's not fair that Lt. Prado should take precedence...."
    "Stop it!" said Whitney in a voice so loud that Belton cringed in terror from it. "I don't want to hear this."
    "But commander," Belton pleaded. "It's not fair...."
    Whitney leaned closer to Bridget's cleavage to address Lt. Belton in no uncertain terms. "Don't talk to me about what is fair and what is not fair," she said. "I would think that an officer of your experience would know by now that life in the service is not fair. It never was and it never will be. My advice to you, Lieutenant, is not to dwell too much on the little things."
    Lt. Belton shrank down into Bridget's cleavage, in terror of Whitney's anger. Whitney stared at him for a moment with a feeling of pity. She had only raised her voice very slightly, but to the shrunken Belton, she must have appeared like some wrathful, righteous goddess. It must be terrifying to be so small and to find yourself in the power of those you had once terrorized and bullied, Whitney reflected. It must especially frightening for Belton, who she now realized, was an abject coward. At his size, the only little thing in his life was himself.
    Whitney considered ordering Bridget not to carry her prisoner around between her breasts, but decided against it. Instead, Whitney said, "Bridget, the prisoner is your responsibility. That is all I have to say on this matter."
    Bridget smiled and rested her hand on the smaller bulge between her breaast. "I understand, Whitney. I won't let him bother you anymore." Bridget then turned to leave the bridge.
    "One more thing," Whitney called to her.  Bridget turned around and waited.  "You will take good care of them, won't you?  I don't want any of the prisoners to be mistreated."
    "Don't worry," said Bridget.  "They'll be fine."
    Whitney returned to her post at the command chair, but as she monitored the systems and scanned the displays, she could not help but think how glad she would be to get home and dump the problem of the shrunken men into the hands of her superior officers. There was something about the situation that made her feel extremely uncomfortable, and she dreaded the snickers, sly looks, and repressed laughter that she feared would follow her the rest of her days in Starfleet.
    Shaking off such thoughts, Whitney focussed her mind on her duty. Duty and honor were all that mattered, Whitney reflected. As long as she had these, she feared nothing.
01/23/99


Part XIII: Aftermath
    Admiral Larkin gently laid the tiny lifeboat on his desk and looked at the three women of the destroyer Dragora.
    "There is no disputing the facts of the case," said Admiral Larkin. "The data you have presented is decisive. The question that remains is, what does it mean? Are these Aliens a threat to us or not? Do you have any thoughts on this matter, Ensign Whitney?"
    Whitney leaned forward in her chair. "Yes, Admiral. It is my conclusion that we encountered a race of beings that possess a technology far in advance of our own. It is also my conclusion that these beings have developed a humane method of making war. They do not destroy their enemies, they simply shrink them and their ships. When the war is over and peace is restored, the losers are restored to normal size and allowed to resume their lives."
    "So these Aliens shrank the lifeboat," said Bridget, gesturing toward the object on the admiral's desk.
    "They shrank the Dragora and the torpedoes we launched against them as well," said Whitney. "Although we did not realize it at the time. After they finished scanning us, they concluded that we were not a threat and restored us to normal size. We were then allowed to proceed on our way. We did not realize what had happened until later. In space, the relative size of objects is difficult to judge. You cannot tell if you are seeing a large object far away or a small object up close."
    "What about the lifeboat?" asked the Admiral. "Why didn't they restore the lifeboat?"
    "The lifeboat was deployed while in a shrunken condition," said Whitney. "When the aliens restored the Dragora and the torpedoes, they did not know that one of our craft had escaped and remained in a shrunken condition. I am sure they did not intend to do us any permanent harm. Their actions were precautionary, and they attempted to restore the status quo ante once they were convinced that we were not a threat to them."
    The admiral nodded. "I believe you are correct, Ensign. I hope we never have to fight these aliens. One more question. Where are Lt. Belton, Lt. Prado, and Engineer Jones?"
    The women looked at one another.
    "Tell me, Ensign Whitney. What did you do with them?" the Admiral demanded.
    "Nothing," said Whitney. "No one knew what to do with them. The provost marshal refused to accept custody. I told him that they were to be held for court martial, but he would not take them because he has no facilities to accomodate them." She stopped and looked to her companions for help, but they both avoided eye contact.
    "So what did you do with them, Ensign? Are they in sick bay?"
    "No," said Whitney.
    "Then where are they?" the admiral inquired patiently.
    After an awkward pause, Whitney said, "Are you asking me, Sir?"
    "Yes, Ensign."
    "They are here," Whitney replied, and said no more.
    "You mean, on your person?" said Admiral, with dismay.
    "You see," Whitney began and was interrupted by Mitzi.
    "It's against regulations for us to carry purses, Sir," Mitzi explained. "Since we had custody, we had to keep them with us at all times and we could not leave them alone unguarded in their condition...."
    "Never mind," said the Admiral.
    Mitzi rattled on. "We found that the best place to carry them was right here." She started unbuttoning her blouse as the Admiral rose to his feet in alarm. "This is Engineer Specialist Jones, Admiral, Sir. I have him right here."
    The Admiral averted his eyes. "Lt. Belton is right here," said Bridget, placing her hand between her bosoms.
    "Admiral, Sir, we will gladly leave the prisoners in your custody," offered Whitney. Mitzi and Bridget did not look pleased when they heard Whitney speak.
    "No, not me," said the Admiral. "I wouldn't know what to do with them. You had best keep custody of them until the courtmartial sits and then let the court decide what to do." He picked up the shrunken lifeboat and placed it on a shelf next to a trophy he had won from his golf club. "Enough about that." Larkin took three sheets of paper from his drawer and laid them on the desk in front of them. Taking a pen from his pocket, he signed each sheet.
    "Lieutentant Carpen," Admiral Larkin said, looking up. "Ensigns Tucker and Lane," he added and smiled with pleasure when he saw the two ensigns exchange happy glances then look toward Whitney. "The temporary ranks conferred by the commander of the Dragora have been confirmed. As Admiral of the fourth starfleet, I have the authority to do that, subject to the review of the chief of operations back on Earth. Also, Ensign Carpen is now Second Lieutenant Carpen."
    "Thank you, Sir," said Whitney, flushing with pleasure.
    The admiral waved away her thanks. "No need to thank me," he said. "It is customary to promote an ensign to second lieutenant after he, or in this case she, has successfully completed his first commission. However, you will not hold that rank very long."
    Whitney's pleased expression vanished and her eyes widened for a moment, then she nodded her acceptance of the inevitable. "I understand, Sir," she said in glum voice. "You may have my letter or resignation within the hour. I was in command. I accept full responsibility for what happened on the Dragora from the moment I assumed command."
    "No need for that," said the admiral. "You are not being drummed out, Whitney." He smiled at her and she looked at him in surprise. He had not adddressed her by her first name before. "Tomorrow, you are being promoted to full lieutenant. I can't jump you two grades in one day and you must be a first lieutenant to receive a permanent command."
    "Congratulations, Whitney," said Bridget, smiling.
    "Good on you, Whitty," said Mitzi and she clapped her hands together and beamed.
    "I think we are done here," said Admiral Larkin. "Thank you for your service and good luck on your next assignment. Now, if you will excuse me." He waved them toward the door.
    After the women had gone, the back door to the Admiral's office opened and the Provost Marshal walked in. "That was well done," said the Provost marshal. "You have gotten us out of an awkward situation. What now?"
    The admiral sat behind his desk and rested his chin on his hands. "It would be best if this business were kept quiet, Henry," said the Admiral. "Can you imagine what a sensation it would be if word got out that three of our men had been shrunk by aliens and then carried around by female officers in their brassieres? And what about Lt. Belton's family. They are very influential, and they are not going to want to hear that one of their sons has been charged with cowardice." His face wore a thoughtful look for a moment. "I think," he said at last, "That these ladies should be assigned another mission as soon as possible. Preferably one that has an early departure date. I think they should be sent to a star system far, far away."
    "And the prisoners?"
    "These young female officers will have to take the prisoners with them, of course," the Admiral said.
    "What about the courtmartial?" said the provost marshal.
    "That can wait until they return," said the Admiral. "I am in no hurry. Are you?"
    The provost marshal said vigorously, "No sir. No hurry at all." He chuckled. "If we are lucky, they will not return at all."
    Admiral Larkin sighed. "We can only hope."
The End

01/23/99