Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 54512.7. The Bozeman is in dry dock, recovering from a Cardassian-Romulan invasion attempt, and I have allowed my crew several days of needed shore-leave. I have to spend my shore-leave back at Starfleet Headquarters, lecturing the Cadets on proper battle strategy. Oh, boy. However, they say these new Cadets are very well behaved (I know I wasn’t.) Anyway, it seems as though Ensign Gallimore and Lt. Foreman’s relationship is going on strong. I talked to the boy just yesterday, and it seems as though, from what he’s told me, that he really loves this girl. After all, it’s not as if she’s the ugliest woman ever to graduate from the Academy. Heh, I think Lt. Foreman is up to his ears in dreams. I noticed yesterday, when we were docking, he kept on looking back toward Tactical, of course, I didn’t say anything, I was once as love sick as he is, but he had an unusually hard time concentrating on docking the Bozeman. Oh, I can’t wait to tell Picard this love story, it seems as though he has his own, with Anij, of the Ba’ku. Heh, it’s been literally a hundred years since I’ve loved. Oh, and all the things I’ve missed. End of Log Entry.

Lt. Foreman’s personal log, Stardate 54512.8. Whitney and I had a great time last night. I took her, with permission from Captain Picard, over to the Enterprise. We got a guided tour by Captain Picard himself, and we dined at Gunian’s Ten-forward. Gunian can fix a mean Delorian stir-fry. After dinner, we returned to the Bozeman, where we enjoyed a holo-deck program. The program consisted of a wonderful beachside resort, with a pool and spa-house. Oh, and the aroma therapy, ooh, so relaxing. We returned to my quarters, where we talked the night out. Oh, I’m sorry to report no kisses (maybe next time). End of Log Entry.

The Bozeman sat in dry dock, orbiting Earth. Onboard, Brad Foreman was packing for his shore-leave. With him was Ensign Whitney Gallimore. She was waiting patiently as he packed, to go with him on his shore-leave. She said to him, “And you talked about me taking time to pack.”

Brad smiled and continued to pack, “Oh, at least I don’t have the Borg breathing down my neck, at least I can take my time.” Whitney reached for one of his suitcases, seeing he was done packing, and said,

“Where are we going?”

Brad smiled again, “Oh, you’ll find out when we get there.” He grabbed another suitcase, and headed out the door, with Whitney to follow. He made his way to the Shuttle Bay, passing through Engineering first. When he got to the Engine Room, he found Captain Scott. “Sir,” he said, standing to attention.

Scotty simply smiled, “Call me Scotty, lad, how many time do I have to tell ye? Oh, and don’t bother lookin’ all proper for this lass, she knows the real you, and that’s all that matters, lad. Now, carry on.” Scotty turned and walked away, and Brad stole a glance at Whitney, seeing her giggling.

Relieved, he said, “Let’s go.”

She stood at attention, and said, smiling, “Yes, sir!”

Brad rolled his eyes, “I knew I wouldn’t get off that easy. Come on.” He picked back up his suitcase, and proceeded to the Shuttle Bay. As he entered the big sliding doors, he walked over to the shuttle already waiting for him. Climbing into the cab, he sat his luggage down where Whitney’s already was, and made his way to the pilot’s seat. She sat beside him, and glanced around this new model Starfleet Shuttle. She said,

“Why would the Captain give you a warp shuttle just to go down to the planet?”

Brad replied, “You assumed we were going down to the surface.”

She smiled, “So, where are we going?”

Brad only started the ignition sequence, “You’ll find out.” The shuttle, or runabout, sprang to life, and Brad piloted her out of the Bozeman’s aft Shuttle Bay. As the runabout sailed out of the dry dock, Brad said, “Did you notice anything familiar about the name of this runabout?”

Brad only smiled, “Not only you. You see, after the Borg Encounter, Starfleet decided to name a runabout in your honor for your bravery as tactical officer in that crisis. No other ensign has done so much as what you’ve done. This runabout is also named after your mother.”

Whitney let that sink in. When she said nothing, Brad continued, “And, so, it is with love and pride, that I have been ordered to give you the new rank of lieutenant effective immediately.” Brad reached into the drawer underneath his console, bringing out the insignia for lieutenant. He pinned them on the collar of Whitney’s uniform, and he looked into her teary eyes.

She said, “Thank you, Brad.”

Brad said, “Don’t thank me, thank Starfleet.” She smiled, and then it happened. Brad noticed, as before, his body coming closer to her’s. She did the same, and this time, nothing interrupted them. As their lips met, Brad felt a thousand feelings flood his mind simultaneously. As they backed away, Brad whispered, “Thank you.”

She returned to her work, adjusting a sensor readout here, calculating course adjustments there. Brad said, “Do you wanna know where we’re going?”

She replied, “I’d sure like to know.”

Brad answered, “We’re off to see the Wizard.”

Whitney looked puzzled. “Wizz Dayton?,” she asked.

Brad smiled, “Nope, the Wonderful Wizard.”

She still looked perplexed, “Huh?”

Brad punched a few buttons on his console, and said, “Here, go back to the viewscreen, and watch this.” He watched her proceed to the rear of the runabout, and he hit play, thinking, I wonder why she hasn’t seen “The Wizard of Oz” yet?

Morgan Bateson was busy throwing together a lecture for the students at the Academy, when his communicator called his attention. “This is Starfleet Headquarters to Captain Bateson, Priority One.”

Bateson tapped the communicator, “This is Bateson, go ahead.”

The voice replied, “Captain, we’ve just received word that there is an enormous energy surge just outside the quadrant. It’s on a direct course for Earth. We estimate that if it, whatever it is, collides with the planet, Earth will not survive. Also, long-range scans tell us that destroying it is impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because we haven’t even fully identified the size of it. Our current scans of the object put it’s size in the Solar System range.”

“So, what are the Bozeman’s orders?”

“To leave the system, and proceed to Vulcan, to continue your repairs. We are redirecting all the ships in dock here to Vulcan. You will also tractor the Enterprise and take her with you, because she isn’t repaired enough for warp speed.”

“Understood, Bateson out.” Bateson laid down his padd, and went to the Bridge, where Wizz Dayton was closing down his station. “Wizz, get me Engineering.”

Dayton replied, restarting his console, “Aye, sir, on speakers.”

Bateson said, “Engineering, Scotty?”

Scotty replied, “Scott here, sir.”

Bateson continued, “Scotty, we have new orders to go to Vulcan to continue repairs. Start your engines.”

Scotty protested, “But, sir, we’ve just shut ‘em off!”

Bateson replied, “You heard me, Mr. Scott.”

Scotty said before cutting the connection, “You always know they mean business when they call you ‘Mr. Scott’.” Bateson smiled as he turned back to his Communications Officer,

“Wizz, put me on loud speakers.”

“On speakers, sir.”

Bateson spoke, “This is the Captain speaking. We have orders to move to Vulcan to continue our repairs there. Also asked by Starfleet is that we tow the Enterprise with us, since she isn’t ready to warp yet. To make a long story short, it’s time to unpack.”

The runabout shuttle USS Gallimore sped through space, her destination growing closer as the hours raced by, or so it seemed. Brad Foreman sat idly at his controls, and a bit of life sprang into him as Whitney Gallimore came to the front of the runabout. She said, “Oh, okay. So that’s what the ‘Wonderful Wizard’ was about. I didn’t know there was a place in Federation space called ‘Oz’.”

Brad smiled sleepily, “Noooo, no, no, no. I was only using it as a figure of speech. In all reality, we aren’t going anywhere, just crusin’ around.”

Whitney sat puzzled. “But why go on this ‘joy ride’?”

Brad answered, “For the fun of it! Don’t you see, we haven’t spent any of our time together off of the Bozeman. I thought that we could spend some quiet time together. After all, there are some advantages being thousands of light-years from Federation Headquarters.”

Whitney paused for a moment, as if to think. She then asked, “Who said that?”

Brad instantly called the name to his head. “James T. Kirk, to Chancellor Gorkon and his advisors of the Klingon High Council. I-” Brad’s voice trailed off. There, up ahead, was a Cardassian warship. He picked back up, “Battle Stations! Red Alert! I’m turnin’ this baby ‘round!” The Gallimore strained and resisted as Brad slid her on her Y-axis. As she shot out once more in the opposite direction, the Gallimore lunged forward, a torpedo slamming into her rear. Brad shouted, “Return Fire!”

Lt. Gallimore replied, “Aye, aye. Firing torpedoes.” As they sped out toward the Cardassian warship, Brad knew, deep within his soul, that this fight could not be won.

Morgan Bateson smiled at the readiness of his crew. He did miss something, however. Oh, yeah, Lt.’s Foreman and Gallimore were still on shore-leave. Anyway, he glanced around, seeing Wizz Dayton at Communications, Michael Dennis at Science, Andy Welch back at the helm, Gabriel Bush at his side, and Lt. Derek Kestner manning Tactical in Ms. Gallimore’s absence. Bateson stared at the dark screen, then ordered, “Okay, boys, let’s move on! One-quarter impulse.”

Welch replied, “Aye, sir, one-quarter impulse.” As the Bozeman, still not fully repaired, slowly moved forward, Bateson heard over the speakers, “Bozeman, space doors are opened. You have the runway.”

Bateson smiled inwardly, feeling the excitement he felt every time he left space dock with a ship. It was something Bateson was sure every Captain must feel, that feeling of being in total control, yet helpless by the ship’s sheer power. As the Bozeman cleared the space doors, Bateson saw, in the distance, the Enterprise up ahead, waiting for the Bozeman to carry her to Vulcan. Bateson realized he was staring at her, then he cleared his throat, saying, “Wizz, hail ‘er.”

Dayton replied, “Aye, sir, Onscreen.” Bateson watched as the viewscreen shifted to the Bridge of the Enterprise. He said to the man he saw in the image,

“Hello, Captain Picard.”

Picard replied, “Captain Bateson. I hear you’ve come to ‘escort’ us to Vulcan.”

Bateson smiled, “You could say that. Anyway, let’s get on with it, then.”

Picard answered, “Very well, we’re ready when you are.”

Bateson said, “All right, Picard. I’ll see you later.” With that, he cut the connection. Bateson turned to Lt. Kestner at Tactical, saying, “Mr. Kestner, tractor the Enterprise.”

Derek replied, “Aye, sir.” Bateson then turned forward, to Andy Welch.

“Andy,” he said. “Set course for Vulcan.”

Welch answered, “Yes, sir.” As the Bozeman, with the Enterprise in tow, left Earth orbit, Bateson knew it would probably be the last time he would gaze upon the beautiful blue ball known as Earth.

Brad grabbed the console, trying not to be flung out of his seat as the Gallimore zig-zagged through space, averting some of the phaser blasts coming toward her, but having most of them hit her straight on. Brad noticed, through all that confusion, that a small M-class planet was up ahead. Before he could alter course, the Gallimore was swept into the gravitational pull of the planet. Whitney broke the vocal silence, by screaming in fear, “Brad, we can’t break free!”

Brad yelled back over top of the huge whine that had formed as they entered the atmosphere, “I know, keep ‘er steady with what you’ve got, I’ll try to make a soft landing.” As the shuttle exited the burning portion of her decent, Brad realized the Cardassians had broken off, probably because they thought the shuttle was doomed anyway. And they might be right. Brad shouted, “Whitney, see if you can increase power to the inertial dampers.”

She answered, “I’ll try!”

Brad pleaded with the controls, pushing every button the console had, and getting no where. He scanned the landscape. Oh, great. Rocky cliffs and gorges, not the ideal uncontrolled

landing site, he thought to himself. He shouted, “Whitney, get in your seat, forget the dampers! Strap in, and hold on!” Even as she strapped in, Brad said, “Brace for impact!” The Gallimore’s underside groaned and squealed as she hit the surface hard, her inertia propelling her forward again through the air. She landed again, her nose slamming against a huge rock, bringing her to an abrupt halt and nearly compressing the entire shuttle into a pancake. Luckily, right before Whitney returned to her seat, she managed to receive full damper power, barely averting total disaster.

After the smoke cleared, Brad managed to sit up, realizing he was on the floor. He glanced around, and, looking up on the console, he saw Whitney leaning on the console, limp. He pushed himself up, feeling blood on his head, and over to Whitney. He noticed the blood coming from her head, and realized she was still alive. He gently and carefully lifted her up,

and to the rear of the beat up runabout, retrieving the Med-pack from a drawer. He took out a tricorder, and realized that, even though she was alive, just barely. He also took out a hypospray, and gave her a stabilizing fluid. As he worked vigorously on her wounds, the last thing on his mind was the Bozeman, or Earth.

Captain Bateson paced his Bridge anxiously. He was worried about Earth. Sure, Earth had been threatened before, but this time, Jim Kirk wasn’t there to save the day. He glanced around, still missing the familiar soft tones of his Tactical Officer, and the deep baritone voice of his Engineer’s Mate. He still had his other crew, however. He was beginning to get to know the new Doctor, Dr. Alex Robinson. As it turned out, Robinson had been in the same graduating class as Kestner and Foreman, just three years ahead of Ms. Gallimore. As it stood right now, Bateson thought, turning somber, Earth was doomed. The big blue globe known as Federation Headquarters would be no more. In three days, Earth, along with its entire solar system, would be wiped out, all evidence of humankind’s first home would be erased. Just thinking this, Bateson’s thoughts suddenly returned to his Tactical Officer, yet he couldn’t grasp why. Wizz Dayton broke his chain of thought by saying,

“Sir, the Enterprise is hailing us.”

Bateson methodically replied, “Onscreen.” As the streaks of stars seen during warp flight switched to Captain Picard, Bateson realized the seriousness of this message.

“Captain Bateson, the Enterprise was running a sensor diagnostic, scanning under full power to determine the sensor’s capabilities, when we came across a marooned shuttle on Montgomery IV. It appears to be the Bozeman’s.”

Bateson heart skipped a beat with that information. “The only Bozeman shuttle out of the Shuttle Bay is the Gallimore, the Class II Runabout that Brad Foreman and Whitney Gallimore piloted, you know, the two that took the Enterprise tour?”

Picard’s face turned to one of understanding, “Captain Bateson, I suggest we alter course at once.”

Bateson replied, “We can’t, Jean-Luc.”

Picard answered, “Forget that tiny regulation about altering course, Morgan, we can’t just leave them down there.”

Bateson’s blood suddenly ran cold, “How do you know they’re still alive?”

Picard answered coolly, “We scanned two lifesigns down there. Morgan, Starfleet may have sent you to Vulcan, but it’s your duty to serve your crew.”

Bateson paused, as if to think, then said, “You’re right, Jean-Luc. Andy, set course for Montgomery IV.”

Welch replied, “Aye, sir.”

Brad was busily repairing Whitney’s wounds, when he heard a soft, yet recognizable moan, coming from the lifeless body before him. Brad said, almost whispering, “Whitney?”

A faint voice replied, “Brad?”

Brad answered, “I’m here, Whitney. Do you know where you are?”

She paused a moment, then said, “We’re on a planet, marooned in a runabout.”

“And what is it’s name?”

She smiled, as much as possible, and said, “The Gallimore.”

Brad was somewhat relieved, knowing she hadn’t had any major memory loss. But, her wounds still worried him. He asked, “Are you in any pain?”

She replied, “Yes, I’ve got quite a headache.”

Brad continued, “Anywhere else?”

She shook her head. “Brad, what will happen to me?”

Brad paused, trying to sort out the best answer. “I don’t know, but you’re a drastic improvement from an hour ago when I first found you.”

“Brad,” she continued.

“Yes?,” he answered.

“I love you. I want you to know, what ever happens, I will always love you.”

Brad smiled gently. “I know. I love you, too.” With that, he paused, then said, “Whitney, I’m going to the front, to try and get communications back online, but I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”

She smiled and said, “Can I come up there, too?”

Brad shook his head. “You’d better not move, save your strength.”

She frowned, “Please?”

Brad paused again, then finally said, shaking his head, “All right. Here, lie still, and I’ll carry you up there.” Brad bent over, and lifted her up off the floor, and up to the front of the runabout. As he sat her down, she looked at him, “Thank you, Brad.”

Brad smiled a shallow smile, “Any time, any time.” Brad sat down in the chair beside her, and proceeded to take out tools from the box already sitting on the console. He took off a panel, and started to work. Whitney watched as light came from the tools, a sonic screwdriver, a molecular reorganizer, a sonic torch, and various other things. After Brad had worked for what seemed like hours in silence, Whitney said to him,

“Let’s talk about our pasts. This is the perfect time to discuss our histories. You first.”

As Brad continued his work, he spoke, “Well, I was born in a small town called Abingdon, Virginia, in 2346. I was raised on one of the last remaining pork farms on Earth, near the town of Glade Spring, about twenty miles from Abingdon.

“In 2368, when I was twenty two, my dad was called out of Emergency Starfleet Enrollment, or ESE, to serve on the Enterprise-D. He was one of the few crew members to be killed in the crash landing of the Enterprise on Veridian III.

“I was devastated. But, like it or not, he was gone. I tended the farm myself for about 3 years, until, in 2371, I enrolled in Starfleet Academy. I guess I thought I could win over death, beat the thing that killed Dad. And, the best way to do so, was to look it in the eye, by joining Starfleet.

“Three years later, in 2374, you came to the Academy. Boy, did my life change then. Up until that point, I had not seen any other girl that I was really interested in. But, you shed a new light on my ways. I didn’t join Starfleet just to win over death, but to carry on the tradition of the Foreman family line. I was devastated when I left the Academy, so, as you know, I requested your post on the Bozeman.”

Whitney was listening quietly, when Brad paused, then said, “I’ve just about said it all, it’s your turn.”

Whitney was just about to speak, when Brad interrupted her, “I think I’ve got something.” He set down the tools he had in his hand, and tapped the runabout’s comm link, saying, “This is the Runabout Gallimore, is anyone out there, come in?” As they listened to the static, the soon heard a familiar voice.

Bateson stood up. “Increase power, repeat message.”

Wizz Dayton answered, “Already doing it, sir. Full power message increase.”

Bateson replied, “Open hailing frequencies.”

Dayton answered, “Aye, sir, open.”

Bateson continued, “This is the Bozeman, Lieutenant. We will be at your position within the hour. Can you wait that long?” The Bridge fell silent. Hearing no response, Bateson continued, “Gallimore, can you hear me?” Still nothing. Bateson yelled, “Full power!,” and then calmly said, “I’ll be in my ready room.”

Morgan Bateson sat in his ready room, deep in thought. He was worried about his crew members, Lt.’s Foreman and Gallimore. Bateson also felt another feeling, a more powerful one, yet he couldn’t say what it was. He suddenly thought of Lt. Gallimore’s soft laugh, her lovely brown eyes, her long, brown hair. He grabbed his head with his hands. Why was he thinking this? He should be worried about his crew members. He suddenly realized he was, only more so about Ms. Gallimore. He got up, went to the replicator, and ordered a cup of hot, black coffee. As he sat back down, he once again thought of Ms. Gallimore. All of a sudden, he realized this new feeling he felt. It was love. Love toward Whitney Gallimore. He then suddenly realized the consequences of making this public. It would shatter poor Foreman’s heart, and, not to mention, all of the consequences it would have on his concentration. He realized he couldn’t spend his whole life not telling her, he only hoped it would either go away, or Foreman would understand.

Brad sat in his chair, facing Whitney. he said to her, “I told you my story, now it’s your turn.”

She smiled, and began, “I was born in 2348, on Alpha Centauri IV. I grew up there, and I enlisted in Starfleet in 2374, as you were in your graduating year. Six months later, I was taking spring vacation from the Academy, on Alpha Centauri. As the vacation was just getting started, and I was with my aunt, because Dad had to go off land, I think for his job. Anyway, that night, at about eleven o’clock, I was getting ready for bed, when the communicator I had to wear on shore-leave beeped. I tapped it, and I recall these words as if you had just said them, “Ms. Gallimore, this is the U.S.S. Bozeman. We are in orbit of the planet, and would like for you to beam up, we have an important matter to discuss.”

Brad recalled that dreadful night, the first time he’d seen her since graduation day. He also recalled the even more dreadful words he had to speak to her, telling her of her father’s death.

Ensign Brad Foreman tapped the Conference Table’s room anxiously. He remembered his new captain’s words, “I think that this news could be broken to her better if it is given by one of her piers, I’m far too old for that.” He sat in the Conference Room, awaiting for Cadet Whitney Gallimore to beam up to the Bozeman. He suddenly stood, seeing her enter the room.

“Ms. Gallimore,” he said to her.

She answered, “Hello. I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

He blushed, “Oh, uh, I’m Ensign Brad Foreman. Welcome to the Bozeman.”

She smiled, “I’m Whitney Gallimore. You wished to see me?”

He sat back down, motioning her to do the same. “Yes. I’ll start out by saying thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Your welcome, I just wish I knew why I was here.”

“Well, you know your mother was stationed on Hashak III, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Indeed. Anyway, there was a small skirmish between the station your mother was stationed on and a Cardassian Warship.”

“And?”

Brad paused. His face turned somber, “She didn’t make it.”

Whitney sat there, not yet wanting to admit that her mother was not coming back. She said, “You mean, she’s dead?”

Brad nodded his head slowly. He saw the before calm, collected cadet now turn into a crying heap. Brad himself fought back tears. He reached over, grasping her shoulder. He then asked, “Is there anything I can do to-”

“Just go away!,” she snapped. Brad let go of her shoulder, got up, and silently left the Conference Room.

Whitney sat in her chair, tears running down her cheeks as she told the story. Brad grasped her hand, saying, “Whitney, I’m sorry.”

She looked at him, puzzled, “For what?”

He replied softly, “For making you tell me your story.”

She answered, sniffing, “Don’t worry about it. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Brad asked, “What for?”

She replied, “For the way I acted in that Conference Room.”

“But you were hurt, I’ve been there before, I know what it’s like.” As the words left his mouth, three people beamed into the runabout. Captain Picard, Captain Bateson, and Dr. Robinson stepped into the cockpit. Captain Bateson asked, “Are you all right?”

Brad replied, “Yes, sir.”

Dr. Robinson cut in, “What on earth happened to your head, Ms. Gallimore?”

She answered, “I hit it, sir, on the console.”

Captain Picard chimed in, “Mr. Foreman, your bravery in this matter is well above the call of duty.”

Brad again looked puzzled, “Bravery, sir? I was merely surviving.”

Picard continued, “Yes, Mr. Foreman. Clearly, you tended this lovely lady’s wounds, rewired the communications console, and, not to mention, fought off a Cardassian Warship.”

Brad replied, “Thank you, sir.”

Bateson cut in, “And so, after much consideration, and with the sanction of Starfleet Headquarters, I promote you to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, effective immediately.”

Brad was speechless. He stuttered, “Th-thank you sir.”

Picard and Bateson smiled at each other. Dr. Robinson cut in, “Uh, sirs, I hate to interrupt, but the Bozeman is requesting that they speak with the Captains immediately.”

Captain Bateson and Picard stepped into the back room, and Bateson tapped his communicator. “This is Bateson, go ahead, Bozeman.”

Derek Kestner replied, “Sir, we’ve just scanned that the energy cloud is passing within visual range of the Bozeman. Sir, until it passes, which will be sometime tomorrow, it will cloud our transporter. We can’t come down to retrieve you, the energy is so great we had to raise our shields, so we can’t send down a shuttle.”

Bateson turned serious, “Thank you, Mr. Kestner, Bateson out.”

Bateson and Picard stood there, in silence, realizing the seriousness of their situation. After all, being stranded on a planet was bad enough, but after scanning what Picard and Bateson did, you could see why they were worried.

Bateson stepped back into the cockpit. “Um, I hate to interrupt, but, when we first scanned the planet to determine where the runabout was, we also scanned a peculiar lifeform.”

Brad looked at him quizzically, “Sir, there are millions of lifeforms on this planet, what’s so important about this one?”

Bateson continued, “Well, it appears this planet was quarantined by Starfleet. It seems that there is a lifeform here that feeds by smell, namely, the smell of humanoid blood.”

Whitney glanced at her blood stained uniform, and said, “But we’re safe in the runabout, right, sir?”

Bateson’s face turned somber, “Ms. Gallimore, I’m afraid the metal components of this runabout are of no match to this creature’s size and strength.”

Brad cut in, “Then I suggest, sir, that we repair first the shields, to keep that thing where it belongs, then get to work on the sensors, to determine if we can keep it there.”

Bateson replied, “All right, Mr. Foreman. Proceed at repairing the shields. I hereby take command of this vessel as of oh-nine-hundred hours. Ms. Gallimore, I suggest you get some rest.”

She answered, “Aye, sir.” She followed Brad out of the cockpit, and to her bunk. Brad went do the rear of the runabout, to the Engine, where he called out to Captain Bateson, “Uh, sir, we have a problem.”