Sense-Oars

Posted on Mon Oct 27th, 2025 @ 3:19pm by 2nd Lieutenant Jekebb ch’Bari & Lieutenant Nathan Cole

2,696 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Long Night
Location: Main Engineering
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 0000

[NX-03 Challenger]
[Main Engineering]
[1600 Hours]

Engineering was a shade warmer than the rest of the ship, the kind of gentle heat that came from the warp reactor running quietly at dockside power. The steady thrum of the engine filled the compartment, a vibration Nathan could feel in his chest as much as hear in his ears. Conduits along the walls pulsed with blue-white light, consoles chattered diagnostics, and the air carried the faint tang of metal and ozone.

Nathan paused at the railing of the upper catwalk, letting his gaze sweep over the most advanced propulsion system Earth had ever fielded. Horizon’s reactor had felt modest compared to this, something you could imagine coaxing along with patience and elbow grease. Challenger’s heart, by contrast, radiated confidence.

But he hadn’t come down here to admire it. His PADD still displayed the readouts from the forward targeting sensors. The indicators were flickering unpredictably from green to amber despite every diagnostic coming up clean. The only new factor in the mix was the Andorian deflector tied into the grid. If it was playing havoc with his targeting systems now, better to address it before Challenger ever left dock.

He tucked the PADD under his arm and descended the steps, moving with brisk purpose onto the lower deck. Ahead, a cluster of technicians bent over a console. Among them stood the ship’s newest and most talked-about officer, a tall, broad-shouldered Andorian whose antennae tracked movement as keenly as his eyes.

Nathan hesitated only a moment. It wasn’t distrust, but there was weight in this first meeting. Andorians and Humans were still learning to trust each other, and now here was one sharing his ship, his systems. He pushed past the thought and closed the distance.

He cleared his throat, enough to draw attention without being sharp. “Lieutenant ch’Bari? Nathan Cole, Armory.” He lifted the PADD slightly, letting the numbers speak for themselves. “I think your new deflector is playing tricks on my targeting sensors. Unless, of course, the sensors suddenly developed stage fright.” The humor in his tone was light, but his gaze stayed steady. First impressions mattered.

Jekebb turned sharply at the sound of footsteps, his brow knitting as he realized someone had strayed into what he considered his domain. On an Imperial vessel, such a thing would have been unthinkable, an armory officer strolling into engineering unannounced? That sort of breach of order simply didn’t happen. But this wasn’t an Imperial ship. This was an Earth ship, and he was beginning to understand that the rules here were… different. Looser, perhaps, though whether that meant weaker or merely more flexible was something he hadn’t yet decided.

He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, straightening his posture as he crossed the room with measured steps. Lieutenant Cole stood waiting, a PADD cradled in his hands, clearly expecting Jekebb to look it over. The Andorian forced himself into a calm, diplomatic frame of mind. Politics had been as much a part of his upbringing as combat drills and so he knew how to temper irritation into courtesy when it served him.

He inclined his head in a brief, formal nod of greeting before speaking, his voice carrying the low timbre of restrained frustration. His antennae moved in a slight sweeping motion. "I told them the deflector should have been installed at ASC," he said, extending a blue hand to take the device. "It would have been easier to troubleshoot there, with the Mechanical Brigade’s sensors and proper technicians."

The sigh that followed was quiet but heavy, a weary exhale that betrayed his disapproval of the situation. Still, his eyes remained steady, sharp and calculating. He was already preparing to dissect whatever problem had been brought before him. If Earth’s ships insisted on doing things the difficult way, then it would fall to him, as always, to make the best of it.

Nathan let the PADD slip into Jekebb’s waiting hand, his expression open and unguarded. He had to tip his chin up more than he expected, and the sheer size of the Andorian officer hit him in a way he hadn’t quite prepared for. Two meters tall, broad-shouldered, built like he could shoulder the reactor core himself, and those antennae moving in sharp, deliberate arcs. For half a beat, Nathan felt his pulse jump, and he was grateful for the excuse of the warm compartment to explain away the heat in his face.

“I get why you’d say that. Makes sense. ASC probably has half a dozen technicians who eat this kind of integration for breakfast.” He shifted his weight slightly, eyes flicking to the reactor’s glow before steadying back on Jekebb. “But this is the only Andorian system on a ship that’s otherwise wall-to-wall Earth tech. We’ve got to figure out how it plays with our hardware, not just how it runs on yours.”

He hooked his thumb against his belt, trying to keep his voice even. “If the deflector’s bleeding into my targeting sensors, I’d rather iron it out here and now than have to tell the Captain we missed a lock because we trusted someone else’s lab results.”

His tone softened a fraction, earnest beneath the attempt at humor. “And if this coalition we’re building is going to mean anything, then it starts with us finding ways to make our systems, and ourselves, work together.”

Jekebb lifted his gaze from the PADD, peering over the ridge of his thick white brows. “I only meant…” He paused, catching himself before the edge in his tone carried further than intended. With a clipped exhale, he shook his head. “Never mind.”

His eyes dropped back to the glowing readout, scanning line by line until his antennae twitched with finality. “We’ll need to reroute targeting control to an auxiliary processor. The new deflector array demands more computational bandwidth than these… older schematics accounted for.” His tone was matter-of-fact, neither accusatory nor forgiving, just precise.

Handing the PADD back to his Human colleague, Jekebb tilted his head slightly, his voice measured. “Access panel twenty-nine beta. We can make the changes there. It should stabilize your sensors.” He grabbed a toolkit.

Nathan accepted the PADD, fingers brushing the edge before tucking it back under his arm. “Twenty-nine beta,” he echoed, already stepping toward the hatch. His pace was brisk, but not rushed, the confidence of someone who knew where he was going.

He glanced sidelong at the towering Andorian keeping stride beside him. “You know, it’s a little unfair,” he said lightly, “you’ve been aboard what, a day? And you’ve already pegged the right panel. Took me the better part of a week to commit all of them to memory.” He gave a small, almost sheepish grin. “Not that I’m complaining. Means I get to prove to myself I know this ship inside and out.”

As they passed through the corridor, the hum of the reactor softened to a steady background throb. Nathan’s hand brushed against the bulkhead once, more out of habit than need, like reassuring himself Challenger was solid under his fingertips. “Anyway,” he added, glancing back up at Jekebb, “if it’s twenty-nine beta that’ll get us back on track, that’s where we’ll go.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them carried a quiet satisfaction. He might not be the tallest man on the deck, but he could lead the way.

Jekebb kept in step with Cole, his stride marked by the kind of trained precision all Imperial Guardsmen shared. His boots struck the deck in perfect rhythm, antennae angled forward, every movement deliberate. He did not glance aside as they walked, eyes fixed ahead as if the corridor itself were a parade ground.

“I may have only just come aboard,” he began, his voice even but carrying the weight of a man who wanted his words to matter, “but I spent the entire journey from Andoria and the weeks I was on Earth immersed in this ship and her systems.” There was no boast in his tone, only the steady cadence of a soldier reciting fact. Yet beneath the words lay something more personal: a need to demonstrate not only to Cole, but to himself, that he belonged here, among these strangers.

“We will have better access if we go through the maintenance corridor,” he added matter-of-factly, his tone clipped and certain, as though he had already mapped the route in his mind a dozen times over.

Nathan arched a brow, lips twitching faintly. “Maintenance corridor, huh? That’ll…”

He broke off as the junction appeared—a sharp right turn barely a step ahead. Nathan pivoted so fast he almost startled himself, boots squeaking against the deck plating as he disappeared into the narrow corridor.

“Yep,” he called back over his shoulder, voice dry but amused, “sure would.”

As he walked, Nathan let out a soft huff of laughter. Weeks aboard, and he still hadn’t put every shortcut to memory. He made a quiet mental note to run through the schematics again later, but for now, he took it in stride, content to let the Andorian’s precision show him something new.

The Andorian’s antennae swept side to side in measured arcs as they moved through the maintenance corridor, an unconscious habit that betrayed both vigilance and curiousity. The narrow passage stretched ahead in stark utilitarian lines. The bulkheads bare of polish, conduits exposed, and the faint hum of power relays running just beneath the plating underfoot. The walls were punctuated with engineering access panels, each one numbered and tagged, the gateways into the cramped service tunnels where only the most determined engineers dared to crawl.

Jekebb kept his stride sharp, boots echoing softly in the confined space. The human officer at his side. At the final junction they took a sharp turn, arriving at access panel twenty-nine beta, their prescribed destination. Without hesitation Jekebb crouched low, his movements efficient and practiced. He set his toolkit neatly at his side, unclasped it, and selected the proper tool before popping the casing free. With a metallic clang, the panel swung open, exposing the dense cluster of relays and processors within. The thrum of the ship’s lifeblood pulsed just beyond, steady and unyielding.

As his hands began to work, methodical and sure, Jekebb allowed himself a glance at Cole. Humans, he had learned, favored conversation even in work. It was a practice he had not yet mastered, but one he suspected would smooth the edges of his new assignment. He cleared his throat, eyes never leaving the gleaming tangle of circuits before him. “How long have you worked with Starfleet?” His voice was neutral, but there was weight behind the question. For Jekebb, it was not idle chatter. It was an attempt at what the Humans called small talk, a ritual he was still learning, but determined to try.

Nathan adjusted a relay until the tone shifted, then looked up with a small, open smile. “About twelve years now. Started on the Pioneer, then the Clarke and Horizon before landing here. Long enough to know what I’m doing, not so long that I’ve forgotten why I joined. Mostly, I just want to keep people safe enough to get home.”

As he spoke, his eyes lingered on Jekebb’s sharp profile and the way his antennae tracked the conversation with subtle arcs. The Andorian’s size still struck him, shoulders filling the narrow corridor, but there was precision in every movement, even the set of his jaw as he listened. Nathan tilted his head slightly, curiosity plain in his expression. “What about you? Has the Guard always been the plan, or did you ever picture yourself somewhere other than in uniform?”

Jekebb almost laughed, though he quickly caught himself. His Human comrades wouldn’t have the faintest idea who he, or his family, were. There was a certain quiet relief in that anonymity, even if it stung a little to think his lineage carried no weight here.

“No,” he said at last, his tone even. “You could say it was always expected that I join the Guard in some capacity.” He allowed a sigh to escape, shoulders shifting slightly as if releasing the weight of that truth. “I was never really given the chance to explore anything beyond this path.”

His antennae tilted as he recalled the memory. “I believe one Admiral referred to me as a ‘Guard Brat.’” He arched a thick brow, tasting the Human phrase as though it were something foreign and unpalatable. “Whatever that is supposed to mean.” The Andorian glanced at his crew mate, a flicker of curiosity cutting through his otherwise controlled demeanour. Perhaps, he thought silently, they might be able to explain.

Nathan’s grin softened, eyes still on the tangle of circuitry. “Yeah, that sounds about right. On Earth we’ve got Navy brats, MACO brats, and these days a few Starfleet brats too. It’s what we call kids who grew up in uniformed households, more or less born into service.” He paused, adjusting a coupling before glancing back toward Jekebb. “My family’s background was different, though. Civil engineers and teachers mostly. Dad helped rebuild cities after the Xindi attack, and my mom taught school back home in Oregon. They weren’t military, but they believed in service, doing your part for something bigger than yourself. Guess that rubbed off.”

He offered a small, genuine smile. “So I traded blueprints and classrooms for phase cannons. Different tools, same idea.”

The Andorian man nodded slowly, antennae tilting forward in quiet acknowledgment. He understood the pull of family influence. The way one’s path could be shaped long before a choice was ever made. Had he been given such freedom, he might have followed in the footsteps of his zhavey, Pava. She had been an architect, a designer of crystalline spires and domed facades that shimmered against the icy blue light of Andoria’s sky. Even as a child, her work had captivated him, the balance of form and function, beauty and purpose.

“Sounds like you have a good connection with your parents,” he said finally, his voice calm but carrying a note of wistfulness. He offered a faint smile, the kind that softened his otherwise disciplined features. “That’s… something to be proud of.” He used a rather lethal looking tool to turn a switch. The surrounding panels lit up. “That should do it.” He said, looking proud.

Nathan opened his mouth to answer, but the lights from the surrounding panels blinked from amber to steady green. He blinked once, then let out a short, relieved breath that turned into a grin. “Looks like it,” he said, checking his PADD to confirm. “Targeting’s clean across the board. Whatever you did worked perfectly.”

He hesitated, realizing Jekebb was still crouched there with that faint look of satisfaction, and added, “Thanks, Lieutenant. I appreciate the help.” The warmth in his tone was genuine, even if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands now that the problem was fixed.

“I, uh…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing briefly toward the door. “Hope I’ll see you around. I mean, not just because of a systems glitch or something.” The words stumbled out, earnest and awkward all at once. Color crept into his cheeks as he realized how it sounded. “Anyway, good work. Thanks again.” He managed a quick smile before turning on his heel a little too fast, nearly clipping his shoulder on the hatch as he ducked out of the corridor.

Jekebb smirked to himself as he rose to his feet, the faintest glint of satisfaction lighting his pale eyes. “Glad I could lend a hand,” he called after the retreating Lieutenant Cole, his deep voice carrying easily across the hum of the compartment. His antennas twitched, touching the ceiling slightly as he stood. He looked forward to their next meeting, and hoped he could be a bit more personable.

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