The Single Lost

The Single Lost

Word count: 1,397



An anguished shriek pierced through the dull buzz of activity. In the science labs, an intern cataloging samples of space dust jerked and spilled the fine dust all over the shiny aluminum counter top. In the medical bay, a doctor's hand drew a long, jagged line across the supplies request. In the canteen, a cook dropped a ladle full of baked beans over the side of a tray, causing an ensign to jump back with a yelp. And on the bridge, a young woman struggled against the restraining arms of the science officer. Her forehead was scrunched together and her mouth was open in a desperate cry that echoed through the metal hallways and reverberated in nearly every compartment in the upper decks.

"Walsh! Stop!" the man called, clinging to the woman's upper arms and trying to wrap his arms around her.

She wriggled in his grasp and lunged toward the display screen with her hand stretched out but he held her back. The colorful swirl of gases faded and a semi-transparent face flickered to life on the screen.

"Tracy?" the man on the screen asked, breathing heavily in the dark cockpit. There was nothing but a flashing red emergency light in the back and the faint blue glow of his console screen to light the away ship.

Commander Fletcher let go of the struggling lieutenant and she stumbled forward. Falling to her knees, she held trembling fingers against the bottom of the cool screen. She peered up into the ghostly face of her husband and waited.

"Tracy?" the man on the screen rasped again.

"I'm here, Robert!" Tracy called out.

There was a long, pregnant pause and everyone on the bridge was forced to watch the long, deep breaths of the pilot.

"Tracy," the pilot said, moving unnaturally slow and drawing the syllables out. "I…'m… ssssoorrrr-"

The pilot's display cut off immediately and the swirl of colors brightened again to full intensity.

"No!" Tracy shouted, slamming her hand down on the screen, causing the image to flicker. She stood up and whirled around. She raced towards the door, slipping past Commander Fletcher on the way.

"Stop her!" the Commander ordered the two yeomen by the door. They managed to grab hold of the small blonde woman but broke free by jamming her palm into the nose of one and kicking the other between the legs. The yeoman with the broken nose reeled back clutching at the blood pouring from his nose and the other one collapsed into a groaning heap.

Commander Fletcher ducked between the two of them and ran after Lieutenant Walsh as she sprinted through the corridors. Her short blond bob disappeared around corners, moments after Commander Fletcher laid eyes on it. He wanted to call out to her, order her to stop, but he knew that in her grief she would not obey the order. Fletcher rounded a corner and gasped when he saw where the lieutenant was headed. "Stop her!" he tried again with the two security officers by the door but it was too late, she had already squeezed through into the shuttle bay.

"Walsh!" he cried as he pushed past the security officers and into the large bay. She was punching numbers into a key pad on the hull of one of the shuttle crafts. When the lights turned green, she latched on to the ladder and began climbing up the side of it.

Fletcher pounded to a stop beside the shuttle and gripped Lieutenant Walsh at the hips. He pulled her forcefully from the ladder, causing her to land solidly on her back. She was momentarily winded but she sat up and attempted to go to the shuttle again. Fletcher pushed her back down and used his body weight to keep the wiggling, struggling body down. He pinned her wrists down on the floor and grunted when a forceful knee jabbed into his gut.

"Lieutenant Walsh," he barked. "I order you to calm down this instant."

The command seemed to get through because she dropped down against the floor and stopped struggling. Her fingers, however, still clutched at his uniform. "Let me go," she pleaded. "I can save him!"

The lieutenant lunged up again but Fletcher refused to let her up. "No, you can't!"

"Yes I can!" she insisted. "We only lost transmission a moment ago. He can still be retrieved; all I need is a shuttle with more power to escape the gravitational field!"

"There is no shuttle here with that kind of power, Lieutenant, and you know that!" Fletcher ground out.

For a moment, the light in Tracy Walsh's eyes dimmed as the hope slipped away from her. Suddenly, her eyes brightened again and she picked her head up. "The ship has that kind of power!"

Fletcher ducked his head away and fought the urge to slap her. He looked at her again, outrage showing in his focused glare. "I know you are not suggesting we endanger the lives of over 300 people to go after a man who can't be saved," he growled lowly.

The overwhelming despair on her face was almost too much for Fletcher to bear. He'd lost the love of his life while he’d been away from Earth and it had torn him up inside, knowing he hadn't been there to help her. So busy sympathizing with the loss of a loved one, he was caught unaware when she slipped away and took off running again.

Fletcher didn't have time to order the shuttle bay doors closed before she was out. She had so much of a head start on him this time that he didn’t catch sight of her until he reached the bridge to find her surrounded by the bridge personnel, each trying valiantly to keep her away from the pilot trying to maintain control of the ship in the constant pull of the black hole.

Commander knew he was being inappropriate but the lieutenant's grief was going to endanger the entire ship if he didn't stop her. He shoved a couple of people out of his way until he came up behind Walsh. He wound his fingers into the short blond locks and pulled her back forcefully by her hair. He jerked her around bodily, his other hand clamped around her bicep to steady her.

"I can save him! Let me go; I can save him!" she sobbed again and again, still struggling.

Fletcher jerked her head as hard as he dared. "No, you can't!"

"Yes, I can! I can fly out and-"

"He's already dead!" Commander Fletcher snapped.

"No," she moaned pitifully. Her hand lifted and fingers curled back until she was pointing at the small, magnified speck that was the missing ship. "He hasn't gone in yet," she whispered. Her voice and the soft beep of the scanner were the only sounds on the bridge. Everyone was watching them carefully.

Her legs went slack and Fletcher was forced to wrap his arms around her waist rather than hurt her. He lowered her gently to her knees and placed wide hands on her shoulders.

"The closer he gets to the singularity, the faster he goes," Fletcher said slowly and carefully. "But it takes longer for light to escape from that kind of proximity. We may see him right there on that screen, so close and so savable, but the truth is..." Fletcher paused to put his own growing grief under control before finishing, "The truth is that he's already dead."

This time the rest of her body went limp and Fletcher supported her bodily. He rubbed a comforting hand up and down her arm.

"That's not true," she whispered in denial.

Patting the side of her head, he whispered back, "You know it is."

Lieutenant Walsh let out an audible sob and turned into him, letting the tears flow freely.

The captain of the Starship Fremont looked around the quiet bridge. He tapped the closest officer and motioned him back to his post. The others followed his lead and moved away. The captain settled into his seat. "Lieutenant Egan, move us to a safe distance," he asked the pilot.

He pressed the comm. unit on his chair and said, "Bridge to Medical Bay."

"Medical Bay," a young woman responded.

"Send medical personnel to the bridge to assist Lieutenant Walsh," he commanded.

There was brief pause and then, "Aye, sir."

"Bridge out."