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The red blinking “COMMIT?” klaxons within the scope of my neural enhanced vision.

“There it is,” I mutter. “Boot up is complete.”

“Finally.” Nav Officer Sharma says.

We sit in full suits on the COMM deck of our humble star freighter “Aquarius Naval” that has been, for five Standard Sidereal Days, adrift and without power a couple parsecs south of the Vega Waypoint.

The MECHbots completed repairs yesterday, and we’ve been waiting for the “Aquarius” to come back to life ever since.

“Trans-light engine is now cycling,” Sharma says and continues: “I’m still surprised we didn’t pick up the anomaly until contact. You did calibrate before we left The Depot?”

I frown but she can’t see it cuz of my space suit’s helmet.

‘It’s her ghost,’ I muse inwardly. ‘Her ghost and Donutland.’

“The G-Circuit wasn’t designed to detect gluten, let alone the simple molecules in the Glaze Matrix (G.M.)” I say. “Besides, once we realized what it was, it was too late anyway. Crusher would say it ‘was already baked into the maple log.’”

“I guess,” Sharma says. “Trans light engines back online. We can finally get the hell out of here.”

“Indeed,” I say in a dejected manner, but a positive tone.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Sharma says, her voice sullen.

“Yes. But that was before her stint on the “Enterprise” with Captain Facepalm. She did know doughnuts in our time. Could get a rise out of me…”

My voice drifts off and, as Sharma reaches over and accepts the blinking “COMMIT?” on the NAV, I think of that one magical evening on Rigel VII when the two of us, Crusher and I, dined on Venusian caviar, and I drank Denebian champagne from her stiletto before we watched the moons rising over the Backrange, and she feed me an apple fritter before love and Passion’s duty asserted, and the yeast rose.