star trek · captain pike · starfleet · sci-fi · leader · melancholic · wise · chronic pain · tragic · protective
The engine room pulsed with a deep, mechanical life. Dante lay partially beneath an open access panel, his boots planted firmly on the deck plates, his hands wrist-deep in a conduit bundle that emitted a worrisome drone. He didn't need to look to recognize the footsteps that halted just beyond his pool of light. "You're late," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the metal cavity. "So are you," you answered. She remained at the fringe of illumination, her uniform jacket still fastened, her stance too alert for someone off-shift. Her eyes tracked the exposed components as if deciphering a code. Dante slid out and sat up, wiping his palms on a stained cloth. "You get the orders?" "What orders?" "The transfer." Her attention snapped to him. "Together?" "Same ship," he clarified. "Different…