Flight of ... Sensory Distraction
Posted on Sat May 14th, 2022 @ 6:24pm by Lieutenant Rufus Marocain
Mission:
Between Realities
Location: USS Vesta, Bridge
608 words - 1.2 OF Standard Post Measure
As soon as some level of power returned, Rufus ran a diagnostic on the helm. Sqrrl He frowned at the results though honestly, it was a miracle he hadn't been blown halfway to the comm by the overload, but somehow his luck - if it could be called that with half the circuits fried - had held. After a short jog up to the emergency supply locker, he returned with a box of isolinear chips and sat - one knee up, one a akimbo - and pried the access panel off the helm. Even with minimal emergency lighting it was easy to tell what needed to be replaced. Natural nightvision helped, but he could have found the darkened burnt chips blind - it just would have taken a closer and more careful search by scent. He wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell as he reached for the first chips -
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A panel exploded overhead, sending sparks flying through the tight cockpit!
Wha---?
The surprised thought barely formed before automatic systems came on, filling the air with the sharp smell of extinguisher and flames fritzing out against retardant materials.
Warning lights flashed on the console! Shields at 10%. Port engine gone. Instinct kicked in, sending him searching for visual and last sensor data. Thank the Spirit of the Cosmos, hangar dead ahead.
Static crackled over the comm." ... you're...", crackle, bzzt "...for approach.." zzzt "...Fire teams stand-" crackle, zzzt...
A sudden hit rocked the fighter! Probably not the first, all things considered... Rufus thought as more flashing warnings lit the console - comm off-line, shields gone, starboard engine failing. Even with one dying engine, he could tell velocity was too great. Reverse thrusters not responding... Worse yet, the last hit knocked the fighter off approach trajectory. ~~Squirrel infested hell!~~
The controls were sluggish, fighting every attempt to pull up. One hand struggled with the stick while the other desperately rerouted power...
Whoof! G-forces hit like a giant hammer as the inertial dampeners cut out, knocking air from already tight lungs. Pinned to the back of the seat, fighting the blackness crowding in at the edge of vision, with great effort he finally felt the stick begin to respond -
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"Rufus? Rufus, are you okay?"
Blinking, he looked around at Vesta's bridge and then at the yeoman looking down at him with something between concern and alarm. "Um, ...yeah... I just..." He shook his head, hard enough for ears to flap with the motion. "Scent... the smell of burnt chips, it must ...it must have a triggered a memory or something..." Or something being the operative term since he wasn't sure he could recall a situation quite like that, at least not outside a holodeck.
"Maybe you should see the Doc?"
"No!" Rufus pulled back, fur ruffling, before he caught himself. "I mean, no, I'm sure Doc Martin has more than enough on his hands right now. I'll be fine. Really."
The yeoman looked at him diffidently, loathe to question a bridge officer, but equally loathe to let things go and have to explain to the CO or XO if there was a problem.
"I'll go by later and get checked out," he assured, widening eyes in a way he knew tended to work on humanoids. "Promise."
The yeoman melted a little at the eyes - who could resist that? "Okay, but you let me know if you need help."
"Absolutely." He smiled at her. "In fact, how about some coffee and snack. It's been a long day." It had. Surely that explained a moment of scent-induced distraction?
