"These things were way over-engineered." Dyssa D'jheph, my chief engineer, slides out of the Jeffries tube and looks thoughtfully at her tricorder.
"All the better for us," I say.
Dyssa looks around, at the Jeffries tube, at the simple clean lines of a twenty-third century starship's interior. "You could channel a pulse through the main deflector that could stop an asteroid in its tracks," she says.
"I think the Enterprise tried that, one time, but the engines couldn't take the load. But with the gear we're putting in this spaceframe, pretty much anything's possible."
"Maybe." Dyssa scratches the base of one antenna, her broad homely face thoughtful. "You're still planning on putting that quantum phase gear in this beast, then?"
"I think it's the best match for the existing technology. We can tune the SI field significantly higher and still maintain full synchronization with the warp coils." I hold up the PADD in my hand. "Desynchronization was the main problem with the... original... build, after all."
A software upgrade package, delivered via a Temporal Investigations agent, enabled Ronnie Grau's Harrier to take on and beat a Na'kuhl battlecruiser, back in the twenty-third century. Unfortunately, it didn't last - the complex interactions between the supercharged components nearly shook the Harrier to pieces as they came out of step with each other. But I've learned from that near-disaster, and I'm ready, now, to put the lessons into practice.
"Can we get back to the bridge and see how all this hangs together from the command stations?" Dyssa asks.
I nod. "Sounds like a plan."
We stroll off down the corridor. It's very plain, by modern standards; the few pieces of ship's machinery that are visible in the wall panels are painted in bright colours, presumably to stand out. "You're not planning on changing the interiors?" Dyssa asks.
"It's just cosmetic. I don't want to waste time on appearances, not when we've got so much real work to do."
Dyssa smiles wryly. "Admiral Semok is going to throw a fit," she observes.
"He might even raise both eyebrows at me," I say. My boss, the head of the Experimental Engineering group, expects to build the next generation of Starfleet ships soon... and he's had words, before, about my fondness for tried and tested designs. But sometimes the old methods are the ones that work....
"He might have a point," says Dyssa. "The amount of special tuning we're going to have to do... I don't see any way we could mass-produce ships like this. Each one's going to have to be custom-built, and that'll take a lot of time and effort."
"True, but even a few ships like this one will count." We reach the end of the corridor, and the turbolift doors hiss open.
Dyssa tuts. "The tubes are powered down while the EPS is finalized. We're travelling on the capsule's own backup power... this will take a while." She grasps a projecting handle and says, "Bridge." Then, as the capsule starts to move, she leans against the wall and grins at me. "Gives us time to catch up on important stuff, yeah? How'd it go?"
"What?"
Dyssa's grin gets broader. "You know what. Your date."
"Oh." I can't help it, I feel a faint cobalt blush on my face. "Well, you know... Koneph's a nice guy, he's... fun, he's...." I'm lost for words. Am I dating? I feel like I'm not supposed to be... but it seems Osrin Corodrev and his chan-partner Koneph Phoral have other ideas.
Dyssa laughs. "I swear, you're the most uptight shen I know. Listen, if you don't have a use for those guys, you can pass them both over to me, 'cause I think they're yummy."
Gender roles among Andorians are... complicated. The alpha-female shen gender is traditionally forthright, and Dyssa is a prime example - a lot more so than I am. Nonetheless, it's easy enough for me to answer back, "Hands off, Commander. Rank hath its privileges, and those two are mine." I frown. "Besides, you're not going to get the chance. They're both off to Vel Tarsus right now, helping with the relief effort. All the disaster relief agencies are scrambling there, now the Actionists are getting involved."
"Actionists?"
"That new political party. You know."
Dyssa sniffs. "I never bother with politics."
"You should. Politics sets Starfleet's agenda. Determines what we do, and what resources we have to do it with."
"From what I can see," says Dyssa, "Starfleet's agenda for the past ten years has been set by a bunch of manipulative Iconians. And we don't get to vote for them. Besides, you're getting off the subject, sir. When's the wedding going to be, then?"
"Oh, come on," I protest. "Sure, they're both nice guys - nicer than you'd expect, given their background - but, well, it's early days still. Besides, aren't you forgetting something? You need four people for a wedding, and there isn't a zhen on the horizon."
Dyssa shoots me a rather peculiar sidelong glance. The turbolift doors hiss open.
"Admiral on the bridge." My ever-faithful exec, Anthi Vihl, announces me with military punctilio. She hands me another PADD as I step out of the capsule. "Admin details, sir," she says, "if we want to commission this one formally."
I glance at the space where the dedication plaque should go. "Definitely," I say. "This is going to be a fine ship, believe me. She deserves a name, and a place in the fleet."
Anthi smiles slightly. "No argument, sir. If you notice, Starfleet has released some old NCC numbers - if you want to give her a registry number that's, well, in period." She glances around at the colourful panels and rectilinear lines of the antique bridge.
"Hmm. That's a good thought." I scan down the list on the PADD. "1874, no, that's still active.... 1934, that'll do. Get on to the bureaucrats and stake a claim on NCC-1934. It'll fit the name."
Anthi looks puzzled. "You have a name in mind, sir?"
"Oh, hell, yes," I say.
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