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"I am receiving a distress call, Commander." Mr. Schultz, recently returned to the bridge, announced. "Bearing three-three-zero. Space Fleet frequency."
"Number Two", Reed barked, "change course to bearing three-three-zero."
"Aye aye, sir.", came Lt. Scott's seemingly programmed response to all of Reed's instructions.
"Mr. Jeffy.", Reed said toggling his com-link.
"Lucky Seven here, Commander." Jeffy replied.
Reed sighed. "Mr. Jeffy, take us out of RF drive and proceed at one third power."
"You got it, Mark.", Jeffy said cheerfully.
"Mr. Jeffy...", Reed began.
"Yeah, pal?"
"If you ever call me by my first name again, I will order Sgt. Stauch to kill you, too!"
The crew turned to stare at their commander, stunned. "Not that I've already ordered anyone's death." He added hastily.
All was quiet for a moment, but Schultz broke the silence. "Sir, I have the signal isolated now. We should get a visual at any moment."
All eyes turned to the view port. "There it is, Commander.", Schultz stated, though Reed could see for himself.
It was a XP2000 Quadralemic Spatula-Class Fighter, a state of the art, long range, fighter that was being jointly developed by Space Fleet and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Reed, though privy to top secret information, had only seen a prototype of this ship, and was not aware of any currently being utilized by Space Fleet's, for lack of better word, fleet. How and why it had come this close to Wyzenhymer territory was a mystery, but even more mysterious was the condition of the ship. It's exo-structure was pitted and gray, indicative of severe atmospheric exposure, but found only on ships that had been in use for many years.
"I'm getting some life support readings, sir." Schultz added calmly.
"Initiate suck beam sequence, Mr. Schultz.", Reed ordered, and keying his communicator announced, "Mr. Proteau, bring a squad of your elite commandos and meet me in the docking bay."
"Number Two, Sgt. Stauch, come with me.", Reed ordered. "Mr. Schultz, you have the conn."
The trio, led by Reed, strode purposefully through the corridors of the USS Escort. They reached the bay just as Mr. Proteau's team arrived.
"Where's Spunky?", Reed asked the Security Officer.
Proteau paused, "He was destroyed on our last mission, Commander."
Reed placed a hand on Proteau's shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that, but my old dad had a sayin for just such a time as this." He smiled. "It went something like, 'Dead puppies aren't very fun. They don't come when you call. They don't come at all.'"
Proteau, smiling through tears, thanked Reed for his kind words and stepped into the docking bay. The XP2000 had just been retrieved and a flight crew was working on opening the cockpit. Steam billowed forth as the seal was broken and as the air cleared, the pilot vaulted to the floor. He strode boldly forward, helmet tucked beneath his arm, and came to a halt directly in front of Reed, saluting crisply.
"Commander, Lieutenant Elvis "Hound Dog" Schrader reportin', sir!", he bellowed.
Reed returned the salute. "As you were, Lieutenant. What brings you to our part of the galaxy?"
"Routine patrol, sir."
Reed stared at him incredulously. "A routine patrol this close to Wyzenhymer air space?!?"
Now it was Lt. Schrader's turn to be confused. "Wyzenhymer air space? We done licked those ole' boys years ago, back in the year 3056."
Reed gazed suspiciously at the pilot, "What do you mean, 'back in 3056'? It's only 3010."
Reed and Schrader stared at each other realization dawning on each of them. "That means", Reed began, "that you've travelled back through time."
"Yup", Schrader replied, "or you all done travelled forward."
