Fleet Captain John Q. Brhode
Ensign Ella Grey
USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardates: 50207.22 - 50207.29 |
Ella waited outside the ready room, the PADD in her hand lightly tapping against her thigh. Although, she doubted very much that she would be able to get one word in once the Captain started in on her, she decided that she should be prepared just in case. No use looking like a fool unless you had to.
She had thought long and hard about how to approach this man, what angle she would try to play, until her brain had simply refused to think on the matter anymore. In the end, Ella had decided to do what she did best. Shut up and see what happened. And to better prepare, she tried to think of every nasty thing that she had either heard or been told, figuring that perhaps Brhode had a limited vocabulary.
Well, Ella thought. If all else fails, I can just think about Thomas. No one can be as horrible as that whiney mama's boy.
"The Captain will see you now." the Betazoid Yeoman said, as some woman wearing Sciences Blue came out, crying.
~~Oh dear~~ Ella thought.
The Office was big, but cold and impersonal. A large window behind the desk looked out into the Hangar bay, the scale mind-boggling. The ship loomed. It wasn't like the Galaxy Class simulators she'd used at the Academy. looks like they added some new systems. Ella was practically drooling at the thought of new stuff to tinker with.
Bhrode stared at her for exactly five seconds, his steel grey eyes as harsh as the white buzzcut on his head. Ella said nothing, waited for him to speak first.
Suddenly his blocky hands danced in a pattern she knew.
~~You Sign? Understand this?~~ his fingers asked her, in Uni-Standard Sign Language. Even his signing seemed choppy and brusque.
Ella felt her mouth drop and quickly shut it again. She certainly hadn't read *that* in the report about him. She wasn't sure if she was impressed or annoyed. It was going to be easier to communicate with him but harder to keep her emotions in check.
~~Yes, sir.~~ Ella responded with a polite flick of her fingers.
"Good. Shows initiative. Then you'll understand my order to sit your ass down." He barked out, pointing at one of the chairs, bolted to the deck in front of his desk.
Ella gave the man a quick once over, wondering how and why the hell a military man like John Q. Brodhe would learn Sign Language. Then she moved to sit her ass down as instructed. She placed the PADD carefully on her lap. Wouldn't need that anymore.
"Ella Grey. Ensign. Another gawd-damned Engineer. You like to work, Ensign Grey? Tinker with stuff? Wake up with a shout for a new day of work? Enjoy what you do?" he demanded, after another one of those long and awkward silences.
~~Yes, sir.~~ She replied honestly.
"You and I will get along fine. I don't like Engineers who talk too much. I don't like Engineers on general principals. You do your job, keep out of trouble, and you don't have to say a damn word on my ship if you don't want to. Anyone gives you crapo, you send them to K'Etylanna or me. Clear?" he demanded.
Ella nodded.
"You got anything you feel the burning desire to add and bother me with?" he demanded.
Ella thought about it for a second and then let her fingers fly. She wanted to see how competent this man really was with the language. ~~ I was wondering whether or not you learned sign in your training or because you know someone that is deaf, sir. If it's not too personal a question, that is.~~
His eyes bored into her. Seconds seemed to stretch into months of silence. If there was anything that Ella understood, it was silence. There were all types of silence and this was not a happy one. Ella tried not to gulp.
"Let me make one thing clear." He finally responded.
"I don't like you. You don't like me. That's fine. Under normal circumstances, we could cheerfully loathe each other and go our merry ways. But, I have a duty to keep you alive because I need you to do a job for me. So , excuse my french here, but it's none of your GAWD DAMNED BUSINESS HOW AND WHERE I LEARNED TO SIGN! IF I WANTED TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO EACH AND EVERY, SNOT NOSED, WET EARED ENSIGN IN THE DAMN FLEET. . . " he yelled. Under the verbal barrage, his hands were signing something different however.
~~Try to pretend, at least, that you wet yourself out of sheer terror in here. In return, I won't order you to knock off this self-pity jag your record and doctors say you're on. Oh, and avoid the headshrinkers. They're more useless than Engineers.~~ he signed.
Ella bristled. Well, that answered his competency at least.Out of everything that he had said, and *said*, the most offence thing had been the crack about self-pity. And what would he know about it? Unforunately, before she realized what she was doing, her fingers had begun to angrily snap in reply. ~~And what would you...~~
Bhrode raised one finger in a 'wait' gesture as his mouth continued it's tirade.
Ella forced her fingers to stop. Probably not the best sentance to complete there, Ella, she told herself. She made herself breathe and then tried again. "Yes, sir" seemed to be safe enough so she signed that yet again.
Bhrode broke off in mid sentence and eyed her warily. His steel-grey eyes searched her face, the expression on his face clearly said "Utter and total crapola is being served to me here."
". . . NOW! You get your overly-coddled, Miss Richy-Rich little rear end to my Chief Engineer and report in. And the FIRST complaint I get about you, I'm sticking your translator PADD so far up one of your orifices, you'll have to invent a whole new transporter technology to get it out again! WELL? This isn't Mommy and Daddy's Debutante party! This is Starfleet! There's no damn engraved invitation for you to GET TO WORK!" he yelled, while pointing a finger at the door.
Oh it was tempting. It was so tempting to just revert back to the first sign she had ever learned, to flip him the bird and kiss away her career in Starfleet. He wasn't the most annoying man she had ever met but he was fast climbing her list.
You cant do that, she told herself calmly. You've worked too hard for this. Think of Thomas. Think of how Thomas would react if he were here with Brhode right here and now. Thomas Candell, the third, would probably have pissed his pants by now and then run crying from the room like that woman before, run home screaming to his mother.
Ella practically had to bite back a chuckle and, for a second, a quick flash of a dimpled smile showed. The image was too priceless. Maybe if she just could hold on to that image she could make it through what was to come.
Bhrode arched one eyebrow at the smile, and stabbed a blocky finger a the door again, an impatient look writ large on his face.
She gave the Captain a small salute of farewell and turned to leave. Before she reached the door she stopped, squared her shoulders, and put on the most miserable face she could muster, making her lower lip stick out in a near quiver and her wide blue eyes close to tearing. ~~One sheer terror and utter despaired look ready Captain,~~ Ella thought.
She considered showing off to Brhode but why waste a face like that on a man who wouldn't give a shit. She left,pleased with the reaction of the next man in line. He had turned practically white. Poor man. The Captain would have a field day with that one.
God, Im good. Ella almost smiled.
"YEOMAN! Where's the next person? Get that officer in here doubletime!" Bhrode was shouting through the open door.
Still giggling to himself, Lysander rode the turbolift car down, into the deep bowels of the Stardock.
Spanning over 500 decks, and having an upper Hangar Bay capable of holding two 'Ships of the Line' as well as a lower bay holding double that number, most of the facility had been been focused on the TOP SECRET project in the upper bay.
One ship had been refitted and worked on up there. For an entire year. Workcrews shuttled in and out of the Dock from all over the Federation. Security went from 'strict' to 'paranoid.' The majority of the base coudln't even tell you her name. Not until last week.
USS Galaxy had been a secret.
Lys sobered up and studied his crooked nose in the reflection of the LCARS in the lift.
~~Is it evil to twit Savoie like that?~~ he asked the reflection silently.
~~ Is it bad to take delight in treating another sentient as horribly as you could, for your own amusement? Am I becoming as cold as... The Princess?~~ he mused.
Then he burst into giggles again, remembering the confusion on Savoie's face.
* * * * * * * * * *
In the huge lounge, the vast expanse was lit red from Mars below on one side, and white from the reflected light off the Shipyards on the other side, giving a piny-roseish hue to the place that was unique in the entire Quadrant.
Lysander wandered through the thronging crowd, usually stopping to talk to an aquaitance or nine. The place was hopping. with both Sector 001 in and outbound crews, transients and the usual Yard Workers all 'chillin.' The Lounge on Stardock One was a dinky affair.. but the Red Dwarf was a legend. As Veteran Starfleet members told rookies almost daily 'You ain't nothing until you live through a Red Dwarf barfight.'
Finally, Lys had made his way to the massive central bar. A hurried consultation with an Andorian bartender, one of many behind the bar; and a glance to the balcony the tender indicated, brought a smile to Lys' lips. He all but ran for the starcase, dodging a group of dancing Tellurites.
Thirty long and booze sodden minutes later, Jeremy casually entered the Red Dwarf. It was only the second time he'd been here, but already, he felt right at home. He'd deliberately delayed coming in, hoping Lizzie got lost in the crowd.
Scanning the cavernous room, he tried futilely to spot Lysander.
"Never thought I'd ever actually be -looking- for the idiot," he mumbled to himself.
After a few minutes of milling throught the crowd, simultaneously hoping but not hoping to find the obnoxious bastard, Jeremy had pretty much decided to give up. Actually, he'd decided long before.
Moving up to the bar, he decided to see if a certain someone else was around instead. The real reason he'd wandered in.
"Hey barkeep!" he shouted over the music to a rather cheerful-looking Andorian delivering two large ales to some customers. "Is Erin working yet?"
Setting down the ales, the bartender came closer to Jeremy. "Erin the Terran? Red Head?. . . hmmm . . ." He looked around thoughtfully for a couple seconds, "I think she's actually serving a private party upstairs," he said, gesturing toward a large staircase near the far wall on the other side of the bar. "Go up those steps, there's a party room upstairs. Only one group tonight. Be careful though. . . "
With a quick nod and a "thanks," Jeremy followed the bartender's instructions, crossing the floor and ascending to the room above, ignoring whatever else the guy was saying.
Great night! Ditched Lizzie... girl waiting. . . nothing to do but. . .
Passing through the entrance as the doors slid open, Jeremy found himself in large, but crowded and dimly-lit room, filled with all sorts of guests. Actually one sort. Some were dancing, most were talking, but all were drinking.
Klingons.
He sifted his way into the crowd, continuing to look for Erin -- only to be unpleasantly surprised when some drunken fool walked into him, sloshing booze across the front of the helmsman's uniform.
"Hey! Asshole! Watch where you're . . . ."
Klingons glowered on all sides. Dak'leths were fingered and armored fists curled up .
It figured Lizzie would be the drunken fool.
"Smegger! You spilled my..OH! Look! It's my underling!" Lys bellowed, in a voice Jeremy had never heard before.
He should have known something was up, when they were surrounded by a crowd of grinning Klingon warriors.
"Any Underling of the hO'd Hawksley is an underling I would
be proud to stand beside and spit at death with!" Bellowed a burly Klingon,
buffeting Jeremy with a 'friendly' blow that about drove him to his knees. The
blow was repeated from the other side a moment later by another Klingon, with
the same
results.
"How many kills have you made?" asked another, splashing a efty measure of Bloodwine into a beaker and pressing it into Jeremy's hand.
"Hawksley has led our ship to many victories in the last year! No coward Federation Officer here can make a boast to top ours! He is a WARRIOR! Of the IKS FIRESTORM! Like US!" Bellowed another, glaring around the room for someone stupid enough to dispute it.
"Well.. you know.. it was mostly my underlings.. you know.... decent chappies and all.." Lys was babbling, pouring some bloodwine into the beer and drinking the awful swill without the grimace you'd expect.
"Damn sure it -was- your 'underlings'," Jeremy muttered quietly to Lysander as he downed the concoction. "You're about as much a warrior as my great-aunt's poodle."
Before the drunken glory-hog could respond, Jeremy raised his beaker of bloodwine.
"To the hO'd Hawksley!" he shouted. "May he drink deeply from the cup of death to wake up in the Halls of Stovokor!" he cheered triumphantly, throwing back the vial of thick, dark liquid. "Preferrably...*cgghhh*...sometime soon," he surreptitiously sputtered into Lysander's ear.
"Be nice or they'll kill you. . ." whispered Hawksley back,before being pulled away and disappearing in the swirl of metal and leather.
As the crowd of warriors downed bloodwine to the din of more cheers and backslaps in response to Jeremy's 'blessing', the pilot carefully slipped through the wall of leather-clad bodies and stealthily made his way toward the bar that ran the full length of the room's back wall. He still wanted to find Erin.
Lizzie could keep company with his 'fellow warriors'.
Of course, when he found her, guess who she was talking too?
"Hey sailor. . . didn't you say you were on the Galaxy also? This guy's got the funniest stories about. . ." Erin asked, with a crinkly-nosed grin for Jeremy.
"How the hell did you . . ." Jeremy said, looking confusedly from where Lysander now sat to where he was only a minute ago.
"Galaxy was supposed to be a secret! He told you?" declared a peevish looking Lys.
Erin looked from one to the other.
"Wait...You two. . . don't. . . know each other...?" she asked, looking confused.
What Jeremy wouldn't have given to say they didn't . . . .
"Oh, we're . . . acquainted," he sputtered.
"Yes, and I believe I was going to buy you a drink, Savoie. After al, it's my crew's going away party." Lysander chimed in. "Hey Red, be a dear and get us couple Romulan Ales, would you?" he winked to Erin.
She looked at Jeremy for a second, who just rolled his eye helplessly, then she went to get the ales.
Jeremy sat down, surrendering himself to being here with Lizzie for awhile. ~~Better make the best of it,~~ he thought.
He did have to fight down a wave of nausea, as Lys oogled Erin's rear end.
"Ok," he began as eagerly as he could, "so tell me all about her."
"Who? The bartender? Well, I've been here a week now... and she has red hair you now.. and... well.. I've had the old crew here every night of the week...you're not...interested in Erin, are you?" Lysander asked innocently. (too innocently!)
"No! The Galaxy" Jeremy answered with some annoyance. "What happened with the old Galaxy? Why'd they refit her? How does she actually handle with those three damn nacelles?? Everything. I want to know everything,"he declared, for the first time actually sounding interested in hearing Lysander say something.
"Oh well.. you have to go back a year. See, we were in the Empire and... errr. Price.... he... errr... I'don't know. I've been on the Firestarter for the last year. I heard Galaxy had space frame Stress Fractures, and was a write-off." Lysander observed, eyes still locked on the Red Head, who seemed to be aware of his gaze and was blushing under her feckles.
"So why didn't just repair the fractures, or write the whole ship off entirely? Why the major refit?"
"What? OH! The refit? Urmmm.. Classified." Lysander mumbled into the rim of the Romulan Ale Erin set before them, winking at her again. She winked back, and then gave Jeremy one. But she smiled more for Jeremy. Point.
"The whole base knows it's Galaxy up there, and that they modified her." Erin said, a bit too breathlessly for Jeremy's taste.
" Err.. well.. You ever heard of Dr. Leah Brahams? Of the Daystrom Institute?" Lysander asked.
"Heard of her, yeah. Saw her once too, I think, on one of the starbases I grew up on. What's she have to do with this ship?"
"MEN! you guys have NO sense of romance. Every little girl in the Federation knows all about how she helped not only design the class, but that she and Admiral Price were madly in love, and he had to set her aside, for his first love... his command..." Erin said, dreamily.
"Really? Her and Price? I never knew that. Did you know that?" demanded Lys peevishly of Jeremy.
"Sorry. Missed that episode," he answered facetiously.
"Oh well. She supervised the re-fit of Galaxy originally? Before Price took over? Well.. she had nothing to do with this re-fit." Lysander revealed.
Jeremy looked confused. "It's a secret?" he asked almost with disbelief.
"Very hush-hush. No one thought you could put a third nacelle on a ship. BUT. . ." and Lysander looked around dramatically before continuing. He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. Jeremy noticed Erin hanging on the creeps' every word. And that her head was closer to Lys' than to his own. ". . .you can!" the creep finished up with.
"Wow. . ." breathed Erin, to Jeremy's discomfort.
"Yeah, yeah. So Price's ex-girlfriend found out she could stick a third nacelle on it," he said dismissively, trying to break Erin's spellbound focus. "Doesn't mean shit if you can't fly 'er. How does she handle?" Finally Jeremy got to ask the question he -really- wanted to know the answer to.
"Handle? Like a dream. Like nothing else in space. You know that feeling you get with an AMBASSADOR's RCS rig . . that it's just NOT wanting to move?" Lys turned to Jeremy.
"Wow. . . " breathed Erin again, totally ignoring a cluster of Klingons clamoring for more Bloodwine.
It was on this level that the two mutual antagonists actually shared a common bond.
"Yeah, like trying to pull your boots out of mud," he answered enthusiastically, following Lysander's every word at this point.
"Well.. the original Galaxy lost that. You ever handled a GALAXY outside the simulators?" Lysander asked, in a tone that was a touch patronizing.
"A couple times," he answered quickly, swallowing some more ale and hoping to get past Lysander's condescenion without spitting it out in his face.
"Well... multiply that number by exactly 34.9843 and you have my total logged flight hours in ships grossing 2 million metric tonnes or more. Including GALAXY class and the Klingon Vor'cha class battlecruisers. Of course, they let the smeggin' Princess take the PROMETHEUS for a spin. . ." Lysander was mumbling into his beer.
"Wait.. I thought.. HE flew the ship!" Erin pointed at Jeremy.
Erin's statement didn't have much significance to the helmsman beyond his pride -- the jackass wasn't helping his image with Erin any -- until a split second later. Suddenly, a look of concern crossed his features as a dark epiphany settled in.
"Oh he does. When I let him. I'm the Chief Helmsman, he's my Assistant." Lysander smirked.
Jeremy froze, not sure whether to be happy or to shoot himself. ~~ I'm an Assistant Chief again . . . . but oh God, Assistant to . ... God fucking no, not to -him-! ~~
"You're kidding," Jeremy managed flatly, his tone reflecting the dichotomous mix in his reaction.
As he sat staring blankly into Hawksley's contemptible grin, Jeremy could only think of one thing to say.
"Erin, more ale . . . ."
The shuttle passed through the cluttered starscape on its way to StarDock Two. Kylan leaned out the window to assess the situation. They'd been held up due to a surge in interstellar traffic and an accident further ahead in the starlane. Some idiot had tried to skirt the traffic by darting out of the set lanes of the imposed parking lot and instead of slipping back into an offramp, clipped a weather satellite that had suddenly floated up and into the scene.
The resulting collision had sent the skiff caroming off a lane light and into a pleasure craft, sufficiently plugging up traffic for the rest of the day.
The Kelvan snorted in derision at the idiot and leaned back. He had opted not to beam down as it had the rather nasty result of being on conflict with his altered cells, giving him what can be best described as a bad case of indigestion and pounding headache.
The aged Martian next to him constantly and consistently rambled on about some family thing or other. Kylan, in his clipped nature, ignored her. For if he acknowledged her presence, she would take it as attention and assume he had taken a great interest in what she had to say. In reality, he hadn't even a remote interest and wanted to strangle her in its place.
He settled into his new reality. Captain Brhode had to have received the order labelled with his new position being assigned to the Galaxy. He calculated to a most likely result of the Captain having a rather unaccepting nature of his assignment. He likely faced persecution upon his arrival.
The shuttle jerked as its engines revved up, and inched forward in the starlane. The accident had been cleared from one of the lanes, allowing the procession to continue, albeit rather slowly. Cheers erupted from the ragged group inhabiting the passenger shuttle, and families regrouped, much to Kylar's chagrin. He only wanted silence. He reached into his armrest and retrieved a pair of airphones and carefully placed them on his head, avoiding mussing his hair by clipping them to the back of his slightly moist nape.
He flipped the dial to his left, to initiate the steady thrum of Tchaikovksy in his ears, drowning out the infidel yammering beside him. One of the rare inventions of the Terrans he enjoyed.
Approximately an hour later, the shuttle smoothed itself into its docking ring inside StarDock Two. Kylar waited for the other passengers to disembark first; he couldn't stand their stink or their touch in the cramped quarters. He lay back, enjoying the classical symphonies until he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He opened his eyes at the distraction. Beethoven was about to leap into his great Symphony No.5; one of his favourites. He peered out to the side of slitted lids to find the shuttle had been emptied of the classless fools and the stewardess was leaned over the seat aside him with one of those fake smiles. A smile that says, 'hurry up and get off so I can go do my own thing'. He could understand that. He would never smile, but he knew what it felt like to be cooped up with people you hated.
He succinctly removed the airphones and replaced them in the compartment he'd retrieved them from, then stood to inch his way out of the cramped seating compartments. The female, reeking of perfume, gladly stepped back. She was young, about 23 Terran years. Blonde, fresh lipstick. Always maintaining the appearance of freshness to the passengers. Kylar's nose wrinkled at the offensive odor, and gave himself away with the twitch of his nostrils as he stepped into the vacuum that was her presence. She caught it and the smile faded a touch, enough to give the impression of being perturbed. Her eyes gave that away. The eyes always do.
The upper compartment had already been opened by the stewardess and she handed him the only belongings he carried with him. A small brown leather satchel. He was annoyed she touched his personal items, and snatched it from her.
"Thank you." He gave her an icy stare, but she stood her ground. The interstellar personal were well-trained. She retained that stupid smile, or maybe she just didn't know better. She edged closer to him to push him towards the exit. Very subtle, but effective. Kylar pivoted on his heel and marched down the aisle to the exit. Another stewardess smiled and graced her arm out the door.
He stood at the exit of the shuttle, and stepped down the small steel ramp. The shuttle doors closed behind him. He knew they were discussing their travel this time. He was sure he was part of that gossip, but he did not care one bit.
The spaceport was bustling. Huge hangar bays housing star vessels of all shapes and sizes. Escalators led up to the next level of the dock to his left. Thousands of individuals conversing amongst themselves as they moved onto their next destination. Families across the hangar. Fathers pointing out what the starships were in the giant viewing portal across from him.
A shuttle took off to the right of him, to fly out into the red landscape that was Mars floating below him. Far in the distance, just over the vista of Mars, he could see orbit-divers falling into the atmosphere. The firey heatshields fading in a blur as the jumpers crossed into the stratosphere.
Utopia Planetia was beneath them, from this vantage point. He strolled to the rim showcasing the forcefield that separated the hangar bays from the cold death that awaited the other side. Kylar touched the field and it shimmered. Amazing how a field of energy was all that stood between the warmth of life on this side, and the vacuum of death that lay on the other side. Molecules....
Below him, the Shipyards were creating the next generation of starships to transverse the annals of the stars. The emphasis was being placed on creating ships of a military nature now, and for this, the Kelvan shared a touch of emotion. Exploration was for the weaker-minded. For those who could not and did not have a backbone. He did not denounce exploration, as it was a form of intelligence, but he did not support it in its entirety, either.
There were too many variables, and it was lax. Discipline of the mind was only worthy of itself if the body was disciplined as well, and vice-versa. The Kelvan's way of living was strict and methodical, and adherence to structure was tantamount. The structure did not include a barbaristic show of power. Without a strategic and disciplined mind to go with it, knowing when and where to use the power was useless and got yourself killed.
He clutched his satchel, and took the escalator to the next level, leaving the hangar and its tourists behind.
The Galaxy was moored on the other side of the Dock, moored as it were to an internal docking ring since its refit at the yards were completed. A long line had formed at the boarding hatch. Transferees were being processed in this endeavour. Everywhere he went in here was a wait. He wa tired of waiting.
He glanced up from the walkway to take in the grandiose view of the vessel. The power emanated off the huge glistening creature. He'd never served on a starship before, let alone been this close. From his vantage point, he could see the newest addition to the Galaxy-class vessel, making the antiquated starship seem like a warped mish-mash of parts.
Between the two nacelles housing the powerful plasma conduits of propulsion, was housed the newest addition to the offensive capabilities of Starfleet. A pulse cannon. He hadn't had to opportunity to readup on the specifications of the cannon, but under the command of Captain Brhode, the implications couldn't be good.
His gaze passed over the rest of the aged ship. Lights were shining in the various portals of lounges, quarters, and observation decks above. He could see personnel peering out up to several decks above, waving at whoever. The huge circular saucer section loomed far above, operational lights blinking, spotlights shining on the designation plates denoting the vessel's name and registry number.
"Transfer documents." A great bulking security officer blocked his access to the hatchway. He reached into his satchel to pass the Padd containing his orders to the guard. He took his time going over them. No expression gave away his thoughts as Kylar peered at him through emotionless eyes. "Your quarters are located on deck 32, aft section. The guides on the wall panelling will guide you there." He stepped aside to admit the Kelvan, who expected something of this nature.
"Crewman, I am the Chief Liaison Officer. Quarters on Deck 32 are inefficient due to the requirements of my position. I require an immediate meeting with Captain Brhode." Insufferable Terrans.
"I have my orders, Legate. Deck 32." He held firm his approach. Those transferrees behind him were getting edgy.
"Then *I* am ordering you under the conventions of the Federation Council as a member of a Liaison Corps to immediately take me to Captain Brhode. NOW." The Liaison Corps were not part of Starfleet, therefore not subject to their directives. He'd get his meeting with Captain Brhode if he to neutralize the security officer who faced him down with an equally stubborn visage.
"Wait inside." He let the Kelvan pass, who ducked inside the hatchway and to the side to let the others pass as they were processed by the burly security guard's replacement, who himself disappeared inside to make a call,he gathered.
The Kelvan stood and waited patiently for the response. Brhode can either do things the easy way, or the hard way. Either way didn't matter to Curran. If the Captain had the so-called 'balls of steel' he says he has, he'd come down personally.
So he waited, and watched.
Stomp stomp stomp.
Betty's Battlearmoured boots made the deckplates of Stardock Two ring. People heard her coming out of the Transient Shipping Offices and got out of her way.
Her Combat rig was textbook perfect, from the top of the helmet covering her delicate ears and lustrous raven-wing hair, down to the boots she was punishing the deck with at every step.
The ceramic laced duralloy armor literally glowed with a polished sheen under the lights of Stardock Two. Her armor made the perfect pair of Marines trailing her look like slovenly pigs in comparison. You'd be even more impressed, if you knew how much combat her armor has seen, and still looked so 'brand new.'
It wasn't Betty's good looks, her spic and span uniform , the rank of chevrons on the armor, or even the Bust(Impressive in scale on a woman whose head reached the shoulders of most of her subordinates) that caught the eyes of most of the passing Fleeties.
It was the fact she was a Marine.
A Marine NCO.
And she looked pissed.
"COMPUTER! Identify and locate Chief Security Officer,
USS Galaxy" she growled, in her husky voice, causing an Operations Ensign
to turn deathly
pale and shy away.
The Marines behind her, their face shields up and relaxed, caught the Fleeties movement and traded knowing smirks over her head. If they thought she didn't notice, they were wrong. She backhanded a gauntlet into the carapace of the one on her left. "Shaddup you two." she growled.
== Lieutenant Commander Corgan, James Lionel is not aboard Stardock Two. Yard records show him in Alpha One Classified location. Please state name and rank to further proceed with this secured. . == the computer was saying.
"Belay all that. I KNOW where he is. Grrr. . .! Goldstein,
Master Gunnery Sergeant Major. Serial Number SFMC-50543202 Three to transport
to Security
checkpoint Gamma Three. USS Galaxy. Authorization Omicron-Beta five."
she growled out, glaring at a passing Shore Patrolman, who found something else
to do in another direction. Fast.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Security Offices and Brig of USS Galaxy were one of the Habitat Modules that had been replaced during the year long re-fit.
At the moment, a trio of Yard Techs had the forcefield for cell Four strewn all over the Security dutystation.
When the Marines shimmered into view, 'Betty' took one look at the mess and her lip rose in a practiced sneer.
"Gentlemen." she said to the pair of Marines behind her. "Take a look at the Starfleet's finest. Observe the quality of respect they show their equipment. You won't see messes like this in a Marine Barracks, we have to visit Fleetie territory for you to see what a REAL mess looks like." she said, stirring a pile of sonic spanners with the toe of her boot.
The ship felt empty around them. Whole sections were under 'lockdown' or on emergency power only, the computer cores still offline, the engines cold and the ship on dockside support. While some of the crew was arriving daily, the ship was still the domain of the Yard Crews, who scurried around their tasks. Armed Marine sentries denied access to anyone who the Commanding Officer hadn't personally vetted, and conducted random sweeps of the ship.
"Oh man.. look.. Jarheads! Didn't we just show our ID's to the last bunch? We're gonna be here all shift with this damn unit if they keep sweeping like this! If this is what working in Top Secret, Alpha One level is like, you can stuff it...." said one Senior Field Mate, before his companion looked over and noticed Betty's chevrons.
"Shut UP! That's the Master Sarge Major!" he hissed to his stupid friend. "Need something Gunny?"
"The Chief Security Officer." she answered, after a precise two second 'look' to indicate that she found the title of respect offensive, coming from it's present source.
"His office is down that corridor."
"I know where his office is. Is he located in that office at this juncture of the time-space continuum?" she asked, with a slow and weary tone that implied she was talking to a cretin.
"Uhhh.. I guess so..." was the reply.
She turned to her fireteam.
"If either of you -ever- answer me like that, I'll kick your asses up around your ears." she snarled.
"Aye Sir." they chorused.
"Sloppy Fleeties. . ." She muttered under her breath.
Betty eyed the innards of the Brig cell, and the mess of the refurbishment of the compartment with a cultivated sneer.With a deliberate movement, she crushes a Field Coil Inducer Brush under her boot.
"HEY! Gunny! Watch it...that's... an important ..." one of the Yard Dogs began.
"Then it shouldn't be on the deck, now should it?" she answered sweetly, heading for the office labeled "Chief of Security"
* * * * * * * * * *
PADDs, PADDs, and more PADDs. All over James Corgan's desk. Starting a security department from scratch was not an easy affair. But thankfully, his job wasn't half bad. He was almost through recruiting his skeleton crew. The duty roster was prepared and already he was drawing up a schedule of tasks to do. Then it was onto inspecting security and the armory, and the Yard crews progress on those areas.
Life was good once he got past the hard work. He looked forward to inspecting what new changes they brought aboard.
But that was all about to change, at the push of a button on
the other side of the door. A soft, mechanical chirp whistled in the air, caught
into his
ear, and roused his attention.
"Come in." He casually droned.
Betty led the charge. Her eyes flicked around the compartment, taking in personnel present and fireplans, available exits and a host of other nasty things. She straightened up an already ram-rod straight posture and made an impercetable gesture that her Fireteam did the same.
He looked impassively at the three Starfleet Marines stomping commandingly into his office. Their tone was always the same. Brutish, take no sh*t from no fleeter, and always acting like they owned the very room the thought they took over, Marines often brought down the spirits of many a fighting man.
No doubt, Corgan was surprised to see Marines in the first place. What business they had in his department was irrelivant. The Marines barged in and had no business barging in like a pack of thugs. He wanted them out, and wanted them out now.
Three marines. Two were standard 'gorilla's'. Male, caucasian. Terran. Huge beasts that could wrestle a Vulcan or a Klingon to the ground. But the third one was different. Caucasian Terran Female. A shoulder length shorter than he, and if she didn't have a throbbing forehead vein or a hostile look in her eyes, she would have looked beautiful. What piqued his curiousity was why she was wearing a suit of shining, fress off the assembly line battle armor.
"I wasn't notified that I would be having visitors. Whom might you all be and how may I help you?" He used his icicle voice. He wanted to show that a show of brute force wasn't going to intimidate him. Frankly, he wasn't intimidated by the Starfleet Marines. It was all a show. Deadly in combat, but he wasn't going to let that mess with his head.
"Lots of that going around today sir. MSM Goldstein. I've been in charge of Shipyard security and the secured status of this vessel. Captian Bhrode asked me to report to you and update you on a. . . Security problem we had yesterday." she barked off. Her voice, a husky, pleasing contralto was at odds with the stone face she was putting on. Every fibre of her body language said 'Here under Duress.' She held a PADD out like a dead thing.
Reluctantly, Corgan received the security report. He thumbed the scroll button, speed reading the contents for a moment before dropping it down on his desk.
"That's it?" Commander Corgan sighed.
Her vivid blue eyes flickered to her fireteam. With an authorotative snap of her head, she ordered them out of the room.
" No, That's not 'it' Sir. Some idiot of an Engineer didn't listen to his orders. He came aboard and, instead of reporting to the Captain for his interview, he settled himself and his wifie in a cabin." Goldstein's lips curled into a sneer.
"Again, I ask you ma'am... that's all?" Corgan gasped sarcastically, "No offense, but I don't see why the hell the marines were needed to rein in a young couple. It was most likely an honest mistake on their part. They'll get a reprimand, but nothing too serious."
"I'm a Sergant, Sir. You don't address me as "Ma'm. I work for a living and know who my Daddy was. With the Ship's Computer Cores offline for a test, your security sensors were inoperative. The Captain ordered my sweep patrols to find the clown. We did. In the Old Man's Ready Room. The idiot Fleetie Techs let him not only on the Bridge, but into the Old Man's office.If you'd read that PADD, you'd see the whole Bridge is a Alpha One Security Zone. By Bhrode's orders."Goldsteins' eyes were apraising Corgan with a detached icy aplomb.
"Well..." He upraised himself from the desk. Walking in front of Goldstein, he paced back and forth across the room like an impatient Sabarian Jaguar, hoping his agitated pacing would chase them away, "This is more serious, I do admit. But if I may be frank, ma'am... we're not exactly doing too well over here. I know about the internal sensors, and I know about the security zone. Hell, I don't need YOU and your marines to tell me that. But you must understand that right now it's only me and a half dozen security officers here. BUPERS doesn't send in our next supply of fresh meat until next week, so we're hard pressed for personnel. So excuse us if a crewmember forgot to report in and we weren't on top of it. Thank you for telling me, nonetheless. Your help is appreciated." He added as a double edged comment, thankful for her telling about the incident now, but giving out the vibe that their presence wasn't welcome.
As his gravestone gray eyes meet with Goldstein's wintery blues, their personal force fields were growing in intensity. Starfleet marines annoyed the security officer, but this one, lording around on his watch like she owned the decks of the ship, was berating him and telling him how to do his job. He did not take too well to her superior attitude and mock 'cold stare'.
Her eyes hardened. "With all due respect, I suggest you
approach the Captain with that bilge. Sir. And don't insult me by addressing
me as 'ma'm' I am not an officer, much less a Fleetie." She barked out.
Internally, she was wondering if this nerp knew he looked constipated when he
tried to look
tough?
James patiently held his tongue in check, preferring to snipe at the marine instead of letting loose all his wraithful anger upon her. There was a time and place to take a marine down a notch or two. This wasn't one of them, but James was so very tempted.
"With all due respect, Sergeant Major..." The Commander curled his tongue, sounding like a brackish snarl of a being from the dark. He removed his glasses, folded the frame, and tucked it safely on the collar of his outer uniform jacket, "Ma'am is a sign of respect. Sorry if you were offended. As for your news... it's just that... bilge. I'll tell him, but you know what? He'll be pissed that I wasted his time. And as for you trying to tell me how to do my own job, I already know what the f**k I have to do. I don't need to be told by the marines that I need to talk to the principal whenever a student's been bad. I know how to do my job. Now will you let me do my f**king job?" He then sat in his seat at the desk, shocked to find that his tongue was disobeying his rational brain. ~"Let her stew on that for awhile."~
It took a lot for 'Betty' to lose her temper. But Corgan had just pushed the wrong button.
"Sir! With all due respect, I am a Marine **Master Gunnery** Sergeant Major! The day one of you Fleet pukes can get down in the mud and kill someone, instead of sipping tea and pushing clean buttons in orbit, you can use that tone with me. I am not some idiot, Fleetie security rating like you seem to be mistakenly IDing me as. My Commanding Officers have insisted that I make sure you, and your Department are adequate and qualified to do MY job in three days." Betty planted her servo-assisted armoured gauntlets on Corgan's desk and leaned right across it to get into his face.
"You can't. So if you think I'm gonna let some idiot, four eyed Border Patrol- Fleetie nerp, tell ME he's on top of things when MY ass and my MEN'S asses are on the line, you have another think. I am NOT going to Captain Bhrode and telling him that your Department is a shambles. I am NOT going to him and telling him that you want to get into some stupid male dick swinging contest with me because of my uniform. I AM going to tell him that I will do my best to make YOUR securityDepartment function, in spite of it's being staffed by a bunch of candy-assed Fleet nerps. And then I will come back here and drag your candy asses, kicking and screaming, into a training simulator, where I will kick your Department's asses all over the holodecks until they vaguely resemble something professional." Betty's tone was one of detached observation.
Now it was James turn to blow an isolinear circuit or two. Though he was well beyond wanting to bootf**k the mouthy sergeant out into the promenade, the Chief of Security held back his anger. The only sign showing his feeling was the crimson glow in his cheeks and his narrowed, assassin eyes.
She still thought he looked constipated.
The words escaped from his mouth, doing most of the venting in as calm of a manner as possible, "Seems to me that you are doing the dick swinging here, and that's quite disturbing if taken literally."
Betty rolled her eyes, and her gauntlet drew deep scratches
on the surface of James' nice shiny new desk. She opened her mouth to no doubt
say something that would result in insubordination charges being levied against
her.
Before she spoke, James cut her off and continued, "You come in here, berate me, complain about my department, tell me how to do things, say that it's your duty to do what we're supposed to do, and you expect me to slink off like a Tarkallian Razorbeast? No offence, but i'm not a regular Security weenie. I've been thought the mud, through the warzones, through hell and back, much like you marines love to brag about. I'm not going to slink away! I've paid my dues, and my department, once BUPERS decides to ship it to me, will be a damn fine unit. So until proven otherwise, shut the f**k up!"
Her blue eyes blazed. "I suggest you watch your tone of voice and your verbiage. SIR. I am merely advising you of a problem MY people encountered doing YOUR job for you. At the orders of Captain Bhrode. . ." she said, in a cool, smooth unemotional drawl.
"He didn't order you to insult the crew, did he?!? And a few ground rules, if I may!" He snapped his voice as loudly as a cracking whip, stopping the grating sound of her voice from interjecting, One, you do not barge into my office and insult anyone in this department! two, you treat us 'Fleeties' with respect, because if you're going to serve on this ship. You'll have to get used to being nice to people for a change, and it starts with being civil! Three, our jurisdiction is this ship. We take care of security here, not you, so don't you dare try to step on our toes! And number four, if you ever come in here with an attitude like this again, it will be the end of you. I don't tolerate this crap from my subordinates, much less Non-commissioned officers. Are we clear on this?"
Like slapping a saber toothed tiger on the nose, Corgan realized what he done and already regretted it. His temper got the better of him, and now he was going to have to handle the chagrin of the marines. If not handle a punch in the nose from this one.
"Since we're speaking our mainds and all. . .I've read
your Departments' files. You think this Sanchez chica was a nightmare? She'd
never make it through day ONE of Marine Boot Camp. I have riflemen right out
of Basic who
could and would fold her like a Organian Origami Scuplture. You want my respect?
You want 'nice' from me? You want me to talk to you with respect? Go earn it.
Commander. Until then, you're just another wimp in a yellow monkey-suit who's
in my way." she spat out each word with disgust.
His fists tightly balled, as he kept thinking thoughts to calm down his enraged mind. Hitting the marine wasn't top on his priority list, and though he thought he might be able to handle one, he couldn't handle them all. It was bad form to start a fight in the first place, so he let his fists go, and spoke. "Sergeant, I don't want your respect. I don't want the respect of a person who goes out of her way to demean thepeople she works with. To be honest, I don't give two targ sh*ts about earning your respect either. All I ask is that you keep the attitude to yourself and start working in symbiosis with my department, as ordered by our Captain."
"Then, with all due respect, you're as dumb as a pile of monkey poop. Sir." she murmered.
Then, he added, "I don't know why you're near this ship. I'm not thrilled finding jarheads roaming where my department should be, and you're obviously pissed off for being here. In fact, Starfleet marines aren't normally needed on a ship of exploration. But... here we are, and appearantly marines are needed. Realize that this isn't the Dominion War. You're on a starship now. So start working with the other departments, and treat them with something resembling courtesy, and maybe this long voyage will be more bareable for you. Don't do it so that us fleet weenies will quit b*tching at you, do it for yourself."
"Oh..." He added again, "You haven't read Sanchez' file thoroughly enough. Not only does she have bigger pecs than you, she walks up to Brigadier Generals and kicks them in the balls for a hobby. Needless to say, a rifleman isn't a challenge for her anymore."
"Sir. Is that all? Does the Commander have any other words of wisdom to impart? Any more verbal diarriah you wish to share with the Universe at large?" She barked out, her face a stone mask.
"Yeah..." He cockily grinned, strolling casually back to his seat at the desk. With a cheshire cat grin and his hands folded into each other, he leaned back on his chair and said, "Get out. Don't have time for people who don't listen to common sense."
As she stomped out, he could her muttering 'Fleetie Nerp. . . ' under her breath.
* * * * * * * *
Betty looked at her fireteam, waiting for her outside in the hallway and glared at them.
Wasn't their fault that the Fleet hired the emotionally and mentally stunted, however.
"Got all that via the team comm link?" she demanded.
The taller of the two Marines nodded.
"It's all on the recorder. You gonna let that dink talk to you like that, gunny?" demanded the other.
"Only long enough to tell Old Blood and Guts what a nerp he has working for him. If THAT asnine rant from that dork doesn't get him bumped down to 'Chief Replimat Wiper Third Class' I don't know what will." Betty muttered.
"I'd rather seen you bust his head open, Gunny. I got half a mind to do it mys..." began the first taller Marine.
She reached up and grabbed the rim of his open combat helmet, pulling his face down to her level.
"You DO got half a brain Nelson. Half of a Simassian slug's brain. That four eyed geek is all that's between you and your doing these nerp's jobs for them. If I busted his ignorant Nerpie head open, they'd make YOU stand double watches some more, watching these goobers putter around and break stuff." Betty let him go with a snort of disgust.
"Trust me, I have Lieutenant Commander Nerpie or whatever his name is, right where I want him. He wants *full* responsibility for Security on this ship? He's got it. Let me go talk to the Old Man." Betty led them out the Security offices towards the transporter rooms.
"I'd hate to be Commander Four Eyes..." muttered the Yard Dog to his partner.
"Shaddup. . . you think Bhrode's gonna leave either of them standing?" asked the other.
=/\=
Meanwhile, the Chief of Security accessed his PADD's display, recalling his previous task, and continuing over.
Marines walking in and taking over. What was Starfleet coming to? Already they had their first meeting, and his emotions were frayed. What was it about marines and pissing security off at the first glance. Next time, he thought, he would have to keep himself in check. Don't give her opportunities to argue, but let the Sergeant trip on her own tongue.
James shut off the PADD. The argument, whether it was his fault or theirs, was most likely going to be found out, and he was going to have a discussion with Brhode about their attitudes, and his own.
How he didn't wish to be lured into a knock down verbal fight with the marine, but in the heat of the moment, when he thought that the marines needed to be brought down a notch or two, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But there was a saying about the marines. Too stupid to know, too thickheaded to know better. Right or not, they would have never learned thanks to their self superiority.
But what about his stubborness? It was what got him into trouble in the first place. Wanting to bring them down, humble the stupid. What a silly idea!
He unfolded his glasses, and slid them onto his nose. Then, in a commanding voice, he asked the computer, "Computer, what is the locationof Captain John Brhode?"
Best to tackle the problem with the marines first, then take whatever heat was necessary.
Too bad the Computer was still offline. . . .
"Good morning, Cutter," Martin called out as the Fruna'lin entered the Communications division of the Federation Offices on Fruna. "How was the party last night?"
Cutter smiled at the human, his question bringing back pleasurable memories, "Good. Tiring. There was a percussion band and I met this very attractive black feathered woman from the Elin Asteroid Colony who liked to dance. She wouldn't let me get any sleep."
Martin laughed at this, "Yeah, you look like you're still glowing."
Cutter's smile grew larger. "You should have went. Why couldn't you go?"
"I had to fly out to Favoilo. Ujouswen just discovered their new signal switching blocks for the new relay station have a critical error and have go back and redesign certain elements."
The news caused Cutter to flinch, "I imagine O'Connell isn't happy."
"He's not. Oh, he said for you to go see him when you came in, you better go back there now."
Cutter nodded and head back through the large open work area where he, Martin and several others worked. They were in charge of the new Communications Relay being built in orbit around the Fruna system's second largest gas giant, Ochet. In the rear of the workspace was O'Connell's office, the supervising officer in charge of the construction of the relay, Cutter's boss. He walked in, casually, "You wanted to see me?"
The aging man looked up from his desk and acknowledged Cutter's arrival, but quickly returned to his work, finishing some bit of paperwork before speaking. "Starfleet Communications wants to rush the construction," he said, referring to the new relay, "They want it done in three months."
"All right," Cutter shrugged, this wasn't his responsibility. After a moment of thought, he realized a problem, "Ra'kamil'kenara is in three months. Eight weeks, actually, three months would be in the middle of the festival. They want to rush construction during Ra'kamil'kenara?"
O'Connell looked up with a frown on his face and sighed. "Oh yeah, you're right. I forgot about that. And then Chal'netidan is a couple weeks after that." Chal'netidan celebrated the founding of the first colony on Ochet's moons. "Okay, I'll tell Starfleet. You people have too many holidays and festivals, you can't get any work done."
Cutter laughed at the irony, O'Connell was a bit of a workaholic and he had been assigned to Fruna, home of one the Federation's most fun loving people. Cutter enjoyed being back home, being able to attend parties every night, the food, drink, music and entertainment, the sex. After four years at the Academy, and a year on a starship, it was good to be back home. He hadn't realized how much he missed it until he came back.
"Was that all you wanted to tell me?"
"Oh, no, here. Starfleet Communique for you," he said handing Cutter a PADD, who began reading it immediately.
=======
To: Cutter Kara'nin, Lieutenant, Federation Offices
on Fruna
From: Starfleet Command, Bureau of Personnel
Date: 50307.04
Re: Transfer orders.
You are hereby ordered, by Starfleet Command, to report to StarDock Two at Planetia Utopia Shipyards for assignment to the following ship, prior to her launch. You are authorized to use any available transit and/or shipping to report as soon as possible. USS GALAXY NCC-70637/A
In our hand, this stardate:
Fleet Admiral Nakamura, Commander in Chief, UFP-StarFleet
Commodore George Irwin, Commander, BUPERS
========
50307.04? "What's the current stardate?" Cutter asked.
O'Connell looked at the computer screen sitting next to him on his desk, "50310.15, why?"
"This is almost three days late."
"Why do you think we're building a new communications relay?" he smiled. "What does it say?"
Cutter handed the elderly man the PADD, "I've been transferred back to the Galaxy."
"Bhrode, huh? Sounds Bolian."
The Fruna'lin sighed, remembering the mission on the Galaxy during which Bhrode was captain, "Believe me. He's anything but Bolian."
O'Connell sensed the dread in the usually chipper voice of his subordinate, "I'm sorry to see you go. I'll have to pull in another subspace expert to replace you. When do you have to leave?"
"Immediately," Cutter replied, stepping over the large window of the office. The view was high up, looking down over Halakin, the capital of Fruna. It was a beautiful day and several people were flying around, completing whatever unknown business they had to do.
"Well, the orders are already three days late; could have easily been four. Maybe you can leave tomorrow, live up your last night before heading back out into deep space," O'Connell said, getting up from his desk and joining Cutter at the window.
Cutter smiled, surprised at his boss's suggestion. He was planning to recover from last night, but if he had to leave tomorrow on the long trip back to Earth, then tonight's plans probably would change. Tomorrow - Bhrode, but tonight - party.
Tim was in his office, it was nice to have an office. Inside it he had his wedding picture and of course pictures of Liam. Looking at the picture of his son he smiled. Apple of his dad's eye so to speak.
Brooke walked in, looking very happy. She was probably the only one who walked out feeling good about the meeting with Bhrode. She was all smiles when she walked in, "Nice office. I guess you survived the meeting with Bhrode."
"He's not really that intimidating, tries to be but let's face it give him a good report and he's fine."
"He's got balls. I like that. You know me, I couldn't walk out of there without challenging him somewhat. I left there thinking that he got the best of me but he didn't. I know his type, he likes to win so...I did just that." She was proud of herself.
He smiled and kissed her, "That's my wife, kicks ass with the best of em."
"As long as I don't have to deal with him for a while, the better." She walked behind him, rubbing his shoulders, "I haven't been to sickbay yet. I have a feeling that my staff is a bit on the screwy side. Probably a bunch of misfits. At least, that is the conclusion I got from Bhrode."
Tim gently placed his hand on hers then reached up to caress her cheek, "I do wonder what is his policy on fooling around in the office."
She laughed, "I know what he thinks about fooling around on the bridge and it isn't too good."
"Now that's just stupid." He shrugged, "I mean I like to fool around with you, but on the bridge ... not a chance."
"Tell me about it. I guess some just can't seem to restrain themselves. Don't you agree darling?" She laughed, "So, you want to full around and try our fate here?" She really didn't want to but it was still fun to joke about it.
Tim raised an eyebrow then kissed her tenderly, and quite passionately before he responded, "naah, I like my job and don't desire to go to the Breen Embassy."
"I thought you'd say that. So, have you met anyone here yet?" She moved to the front of him and sat on the edge of her desk.
He gently rested his hand on her hip, "only radar." The small Ferengi yeoman he had inherited had a rather annoying habit of seeming to know what he wanted, "he's a good kid."
"Well, Bhrode kept mentioning a Malgin. I have no clue who that is. I'm afraid to find out." She nodded, "Yes, you heard me, I am afraid. I know, it's hard to believe, isn't it?"
He stood up and kissed her, " No, but I think this kid will be a good doc, if he causes trouble deal with him."
"I'll have to." She started to laugh. He hugged her, "Now C'mon doctor, our son would like to see his folks."
They walked out but Brooke wasn't sure if their usual hand holding wasn't going to hit the spy cameras that Bhrode claimed he had so she chose this time not to...just in case.
Tim however didn't care, as far as he was concerned, they would still be their usual professional selves on duty but off duty he was allowed to hold his wife's hand, so he did.
She felt self conscious but went ahead and let him. Once in their quarters, Brooke picked up Liam and gave him her usual kiss then handed him off to Tim.
Tim held his son for a bit but he set him down, because he was three years old and didn't want to be held like a baby any more. Once he was off to play in whatever childlike world he was in Tim slipped his arms around Brooke.
She smiled, "Home at last. Eventually, I'll have to go to Sickbay and get things settled there but I think we need to get settled here first."
He teased her, "Like breaking things in." It was their old joke, the joy of getting a new bed and stuff.
"Exactly." She felt someone grab her leg. She looked down, "Liam, you had your chance, go play. I've got daddy now." He laughed but wouldn't let go, "I think this kid has radar, what do you think?"
Tim laughed, "I think he's psychic or something." But Liam hugged his mother then ran off to play with the computer.
He seemed to always know when they wanted an intimate moment with each other, "So, what do we want to do first?" She looked at him and grinned, knowing what he was thinking, "Besides that."
He laughed, "Howbout we make dinner then we have a family night.. then later ... that/" He kissed her softly.
She nodded and pulled him into the kitchenette, "So real food or replicated?" She got herself a glass of ice tea.
He kissed her again, just as a surprise, that and he liked kissing her. "Let's go real, we've stocked up. I'll grill tonight."
"You? Well, I certainly can't turn that offer down." She walked out, "Have fun." She laughed.
He shrugged and began to set up the coals and preparing the grill, he walked back in, "I thought you were going to help out too?"
"Who? Me? And what do I get for helping?" She was just having fun with him now.
"Well, I guess we can start with a nice back massage, then we go from there and end it with headboard shattering sex." He responded poker faced. Before he said the last though he made sure Liam was not in the room.
"You drive a hard bargain mister. Okay, I'll fix the rest. You concentrate on the meat." She pointed to the food, "Um, that meat."
Tim couldn't help it he began to laugh, "Brooke, I'm shocked you'd think my mind is elsewhere." Liam was on a hamburger kick lately so Tim made a small burger for him, and the three year old boy walked in and tugged on Brooke's pants, "momma."
"Liam." She knelt down and gave him a hug then handed him some silverware, "Put that on the table for mommy."
He puffed up with the important job and toddled out to the table and put them out there. Tim chuckled as he watched his son. then he began to go back to preparing dinner, "Give him a small job and he loves it. Wait till he's a teenager."
"Do we have to? Can't we just ship him out when he hits puberty?" She was kidding. She couldn't wait until he was able to take care of himself.
He examined her, and chuckled, "he's becoming quite independent, he even is toilet trained now. " Looking at her he shrugged. Then Liam came in and put his hands on his hips and stared at Brooke and for a brief second Tim saw a flash of his wife in his son's expression.
"All done." He showed her that she didn't have anymore silverware in his hands. She smiled, "Do you think that you can handle the plates?" He shook his head, "Huh huh." She gave then to him.
And he did handle it, put the plates out himself then instead of running back in for more he looked at the table then said to Brooke "all done momma all done."
She hugged him, "Very good. Now go sit down and we'll be eating soon." She watched him climb into the chair. He looked so small in the chair. She laughed.
Tim shook his head, and laughed, "Dinner's almost done. And he's pretty good for 3."
"Yeah, he takes after me. What can I say?" She took the salad to the table.
Tim shook his head and turned the steaks, "Takes after you I should be outraged." Winking he pulled down a plate and began to get the steaks and burger ready for transport to the table.
She didn't quite get the joke, "Why do you say that?"
He shook his head, "What was I trouble as a child?" He grinned then picked up the steaks, "So what do you want to drink?"
I have mine already but Liam I'm sure he wants juice." He nodded, "Juice please."
Tim got his son juice and they made plates, he had a glass of iced tea then they sat down and began to enjoy dinner.
They talked about the ship, the people, Bhrode and a few other things. It was all positive though. They didn't want to scare Liam thinking that a monster ran the ship even though it wasn't too far from the truth.
Well, that and Liam had a small child's habit of sometimes saying too much of the truth, so they didn't want him telling Bhrode, "you don't look like an ogre." In an inopportune time. Plus at age 3 he was off to preschool which he seemed to enjoy.
Dinner finished and they all went to the couch and sat but not before they al cleared the dishes of the table and put it in the recycler.
Tim slipped an arm around her waist and held her close as they watched some images on the screen.
Liam snuggled up to Brooke and yawned a few times. Brooke even swore that she heard him snore. She got up and hoisted the kid over her shoulder, "Come on Liam, bed awaits you little one. He was hanging partially upside down behind her. She swung him near dad for a kiss.
Which was delivered before his son went off to bed. He sure slept fast, which to him was not a fault.
When Brooke came out, she had expected Tim to be on the couch but instead, she found a trail of long stemmed red roses leading to the bedroom. Gathering them one by one as she approached the bedroom door.
Tim had surprised her and smiled, "Surprise Brooke."
She smiled as she gathered the last few roses, "Feeling a little romantic Tim?" She smiled as she smelled them, "Just like a true O'Connell."
He walked over and kissed her softly, "What if I am feeling romantic, some wine, light some candles, a sexy nightie, is that so wrong?"
"Oh no, I wasn't complaining. It's nice to see you haven't lost your touch. She noticed a package at the foot of the bed. She smiled at him and opened it, "A nightie? This leaves very little to the imagination but I'm game."
He smiled and kissed her, "besides you know our record at keeping nighties on."
"I know. On one minute, off in ten seconds." She smiled, "I'll go put it on but first I'd like to take a quick shower. You can join me if you want." She didn't need to tempt him long.
He smiled and kissed her, "We may not even make it to ten seconds." They walked in and he continued to kiss her gently as they began to get ready for the shower.
She stepped into the shower and he followed. She loved the way his skin felt next to her. They traded roles and she was washed his hair and back, etc. Usually, he gave her the attention first but she was feeling that a new ship required a new approach.
Once she was done Tim took the soap and began to wash her body, his touch was gentle and more sensual. He then began to kiss her softly. What had started as a shower had turned in to so much more..
They stopped before going all the way. It left some excitement between them. She helped dry him off as he did the same for her. While he was finishing, she put on the nightie and waited for him to come out. She was lying on the bed, modeling it off.
Tim walked out and smiled, "Wow..." His eyes roamed over her body, "It looked better then I even imagined."
"Thank you. I think so too. Not bad for a mother of one." She prided herself on staying in shape.
Tim kissed her, "How would you feel about being a mother of two?"
"I don't think that is such a good idea right now. We should wait a bit before we try testing the wrath of Bhrode."
"He seems to be more 'wrath' is an image, besides the last people who had your job got pulled out because they were stupid." Tim was reasonable, "Even when you were pregnant you not only did your job but kicked ass at it." He kissed her again and began to softly run his hands along her body.
She smiled, "Ask me again in a couple of months." She had already thought about it but didn't ant to discuss it until they were settled and could see what kind of a ship it was.
He kissed her and then resumed their foreplay, discussion of children would wait....
Every little touch...kiss excited her. He even had a few new moves that he had only now just tried to keep their lovemaking new and exciting.
Not only had he learned some new moves but she had some new ones as well. The nightie didn't last long as expected but they spent the evening sharing their love and enjoying the enticing new pleasures of their lovemaking.
Once again, as usual, she laid beside him, just continuing being close. She laid her head on his chest as she liked the sound and feel the beat of his heart. It was a doctor thing with her.
He kissed her, "Brooke, where did you learn some of those new things there... I liked em."
She smiled, "I could ask you the same thing. Okay, you caught me, I read a few old books on the subject. Actually, some of them are quite sensual."
He smiled, "We'll have to get some of those old books and videos on the subject. Keep our practice up. "Gently he kissed her lips then her jawline, "They do say practice makes perfect."
"I think we get plenty of practice and an A plus to boot." She joked, "So when does the real session begin?"
Tim kissed her and his hands began to caress her body, knowing what excited her and then smile, "How's right now?"
"You need to ask?" She straddled him and playfully bit his nipple. Looking up, she grinned. She moved her kisses up, once in a while, grabbing his earlobe gently with her teeth. She was merciless this time, making this one night he wouldn't forget.
Normally she didn't take control like this or she would sometimes but now he let her do what she wanted so he returned her kisses and caressed her body, taking each breast separately in his mouth to suckle them, their intense passion began to bubble up to the surface and manifests itself as hot lovemaking.
...Exploding into the ultimate satisfaction beyond each other's expectations. She was breathing quite heavily as her heart rate began to slow down. She kissed him once more before collapsing face down on the bed.
He softly ran his hand along her back, "Have I told you that I love you lately."
She looked over at him with a smile, "About 10 times so far but I never get tired of hearing it."
"I do love you Brooke." He softly caressed her cheek as they laid together, "shall we get ready for bed?"
She agreed, "Maybe we should. I don't think I can go another round."
He looked at her and kissed her softly, "Even if we could, we do need to sleep if we're up all night.. We won't be able to work in the morning."
"Oh no, not the "w" word. I have to work? Then good night. I'm staying right here."
Tim slipped an arm around her and kissed her lips, "Let's go to bed.."
She finally moved from the spot, "Oh all right." She scooted over, "Good night."
He nibbled on her neck some, "Night dear.
Just as the sun peeked its yawning head lazily above the horizon, a solitary small shuttlecraft streaked through the sparkling orange-gold light of the early morning East Texas sky.
Ignoring the tiny shuttle, the sun went through its typical morning routine of yawns and stretches, trying to work up the motivation for another full day of nonstop Nuclear Fusion Reactions.
It was not a proposition the star looked forward to.
~Another day, another dollar.~ thought the star wearily until it woke up enough to realize that the pesky little humans had long ago done away with 'dollars' and other forms of monetary exchange.
~Frazzing little humans.~ Grumped the sun, ~Work my blazing ass off for millennia to warm up their sorry little world and this is the thanks I get? . . . . Not a 'hi how ya doing', or a 'hey sun, thanks for existence`, or even a friendly scratch on that itchy spot under my photosphere....~
~Oh no,~ the sun sneered sullenly, ~All I get after eons of non-stop dedicated work is to have the ungrateful little snots hop into their little starships and zoom off to see OTHER stars!! Oh sure, leave the poor old dowdy sun behind on go traipsing off with some hot little white dwarf, or some red-corona system with big binaries!!!~
The sun was a particularly self-conscience star as most adolescent stellar bodies tend to be.
~People don't even look at my Sunrises anymore either.~ It thought, ~Not since that slut of a star Risa showed up with her frilly cloud patterns and rather immoral use of purples in her ionasphere. Now everyone goes on and on about -oooh what a pretty sunset on Risa- . .. or -wow did you remember that sunset we saw on Risa last year- .. . .Bah. ~
The sun sniffed sadly, and a single molten tear of blazing plasma rolled it's way down old Sol's fiery corona.
~Ingrates....~
Meanwhile, (as mentioned) as the sun was slowly making it's unhappy way up into the sky, a solitary sliver of metal in the form of a Starfleet Type 6 Shuttle slipped quickly through the early morning light.
Adjusting the small craft's heading with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other, Ensign Dan Moore carefully nosed his craft out of the annoying glare.
~Dang sunlight,~ Moore grumped, ~Always shining in my eyes at the wrong time.~
The fact of the matter was, ANY suborbital flights before 0600 local time was the `wrong time` as far as Moore was concerned.
His co-pilot Ensign Rather could not have agreed more.
"We`re gonna miss morning chow-call by the time we get back." noted Rather.
"Dumb VIP chauffer missions." Moore grumped. "It was supposed to be Pancakes this morning too."
"Sunrise is sorta pretty though," Rather offered.
"Bah....I`ve seen better on Risa. Earth's sun is overrated."
It was rare that the two grumpy pilots were required to schedule such an early morning jaunt, and indeed it was rarer still that said trip would bring them out to a rural suburban community about an hour outside of Houston, Texas.
Usually it was jaunts to and from Starfleet administrative offices, where there was at least the chance of snaring a decent cup of coffee from a replicator.
Not so on this trip.
There were no official Starfleet facilities in the area, and indeed the nearest starport of any sort was the old NASA facility itself closer in to the coast. This pick-up wasn't even in a proper urban neighborhood, but rather some obscure rural enclave on the wooded outskirts of town.
"Where the hell is this place anyway`s?" Moore mumbled as he put the shuttle into a slow banking circle. "All these little homesteads look the same to me."
Rather merely shrugged and re-consulted the PADD detailing the days mission. "Dunno man, This should be the place...." he paused to crane his neck out the window, "...there. That little cul de sac at 2 niner 5. That look right?"
"Copy." Moore grated before adding "Freaking, Little House on the freaking Praire. . .. " to himself.
This whole jaunt was nothing more than a wasteful VIP errand: Up before dawn for briefing and pre-flight, 30 mind numbing minutes of suborbital tedium out from San Francisco, and now the rather irritating circling above the Texas landscape while the blinding morning sun flashed into the large forward window......
And for what?
"Dr. Jebediah Quick, age 42," Rather was reading aloud as Moore maneuvered for final approach, ". . .onetime .Professor of Botanical Psychology at Cambridge University, and current Senior Consultant at Utopia Planatia Advanced Starship Design Bureau."
"So what's that mean?" Moore asked in a half distracted manner as he watched the digital altimeter roll off its data.
"It means..." Rather concluded as he returned his attention to the scene outside, "...that we are playing chauffeur to some egghead who was too lazy to schedule himself a civilian shuttle."
The much maligned sunlight glinted off the smooth polished surfaces of the shuttle as it settled in over the sleepy little neighborhood with a soft humm.
The area was a combination of light woods and pastures sub-divided amongst half a dozen quaint homesteads shaded by stately old oak trees. A single unpaved road bisected the cul de sac neatly, and from the air Moore could make out a scattering of small children playing games and riding bikes all up and down the block.
~School must be out.~~ he mused to himself.
With a muffled 'thump' the shuttle settled itself on the street near the end of the block, its smooth metallic form a seeming anachronism against the quiet suburban surroundings.
The small group of young children quickly peddled their bikes up the street, their faces full of eager curiosity. Soon after more arrived on roller blades or on foot all alight with excitement. After all, it wasn't everyday that a Shuttlecraft landed on your block.
Wait until the kids at school heard about this!
''Hunh.'' Moore breathed in appraisal as he and his copilot stepped out onto the street. ''Welcome to Green Acres.''
Rather merely shrugged and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. '' I dunno Danny,'' he mused, ''seems kinda nice in a Tribble sort of way.''
''Right, whatever Tom.'' Moore sneered. ''Let's just see if we can ask some of the 'natives' where this Quick guy lives so we can get to Mars and back before lunch.'' He inclined his head to indicate the assembled throng of youngsters on bicycles.
For their part, the gathered kiddos noted the two officer's interest, and nearly fell over themselves in an effort to get even closer to the shuttle.
"Hey kid," Moore nodded towards the seeming oldest of the group, a scrawny crew cut lad of about 10 years of age. He was attired in stringy blue jean cut offs, and no shirt at all, the warm Texas sun making the ensemble quite practical "Can you guys help us find which house belongs to a Dr. Jebediah Quick?"
A startled look of recognition flashed across every child's face from the aforementioned shirtless lad on down to the wobbly four year old girl on plastic roller skates. One kid even giggled.
It was obvious that EVERYONE knew who the good Doctor was.
Pointedly ignoring the query however, 'shirtless' leaned back on his bicycle seat, and cocked his head to one side. "How fast can yah go mistah?"
"Excuse me? How fast.?" Moore repeated, a bit off balanced.
"Yah." The kid bobbed his head, "In yah spaceship. How fast can yah go?"
Moore and Rather exchanged quick amused glances at the query. "Well.uh..son, we pretty much go as fast as we want. In space anyways..in the air we keep it down to about Mach 3 or so."
"Why?"
"Well uh. . . .mostly air resistance, and sonic booms, and stuff like. . . "
" So can we go fo' a ride?" the boy interrupted, and indeed the whole gaggle leaned forward in anticipation.
"Well ah. . . " Moore stole a quick glance over to his copilot who was smothering a grin while trying to read the addresses on the houses nearby. "Well. . .uh.sorry but we have to take Dr. Quick to a very important meeting first, and . . .. uh . . . .. we sure could use your help finding the right house."
The lad made a melodramatic show of scrunching up his face in concentration and scratching his chin. "Doctah Quick. . . Doctah Quick. . . . Dunno Mistah if I evah heard o him."
The other kids giggled and snickered, with the sole exception of the aforementioned wobbly four year old, who's little pudgy mouth dropped open in shock at the deceit. "Ummmmmmm Billy, I gonna tell mommy that your lying and. . . ." The girl was quickly cut off by one of the others, and once again the Starfleet Ensigns squared off against a unified front of children.
"Of course . . . ." The shirtless kid continued, "I mights maybe be able to see his house from the air." He trailed off hinting desperately.
" 'Mights maybe'? " Moore sighed at the grammar. " So if I take you for a ride, you can find the house of the man you 'never heard off' "
Shirtless shrugged and beamed a gap-toothed smile. 24th Century or not, kids were still kids.
Wearying of the exchange however, Tom Rather snapped shut the tricorder he had been quietly scanning with, and walked back over to his partner. "Forget the rug-rats Dan. I got a bounce off a GPS satellite, and am pretty sure I have a good fix."
Moore turned his head as Rather nodded off towards their left in the general direction of a quaint little cottage about 30 meters off the main road. A homey little pickett fence surrounded a well tended lawn of lush green grasses and adorned with a scattering of soft bluebonnet wildflowers.
"Hunh." Moore grunted again. "This Quick fellow must do pretty well for himself. Nice house, nice lawn. . ."
"And nice BMW-6000P Aeroskimmer in the driveway!" Rather excitedly interrupted his partner. "Dang! I always wanted to ride in one of those."
"Yeah, well dream on swabbie. Not on a Starfleet salary anyway."
". . . . .Yeah. .STARFLEET: The best people money CANT buy." Rather finished off the oldest joke in the business. Maybe the Ferengi had the right idea with this whole 'money' thing.
"Right. . . . Well thanks but no thanks kids. I think we found our man."
The two pilots turned left off the street, and started to head up towards the little pickett fence, when suddenly a shrill little voice from behind them called out. "Dat'd not da right one silly spacey-men!"
Turning in surprise back to face the small throng of kids, Moore and Rather saw that everyone was glaring at the little four year old on plastic skates.
Shirtless was especially upset. "Aw geez Molly. . .what's ya have ta go and tell them for?"
Ignoring the contempt of the older kids, Little Molly wobbled unsteadily on her skates and stuck out a chubby lower lip in defiance. "Dat's not da right one." She repeated as the pilots drew nearer. "The Klingon-Tubbies said ta be helpful and po-wite ta peoples. . . .And ya'll is being meanies!"
~The Klingon-Tubbies? Is that old kids show still on?~~ Moore wondered. "Really?" he sighed, "Where is his house hon?"
Averting her gaze shyly, little Molly quietly jabbed a pudgy finger to the RIGHT, directly across the street from the house with the picket fence.
Following the indication the two Ensigns almost groaned as one as they took in the new (correct) objective.
Whoever this Doctor Quick was. . . . he lived in a dump!!!
While sitting on a fairly large plot of land ,as were the rest of the homesteads, the House that Quick Built was fairly questionable so far as it's structural integrity went. A seemingly haphazard arrangement of mortar and bricks the house's only openings seemed to be the several irregular windows totally covered over with Aluminum foil.
Whatever mysteries lay within obviously never got a bit of sunlight.
The yard in and of itself was a seemingly wasteland of large rotting machinery parts. Over here sat a gutted hulk of and old Type 1 Shuttle pod up on cinder blocks, over there what looked to be a collection of old transporter circuitry and beyond that an ancient large block Internal Combustion Engine sat swaying slightly on a chain mount.
Reluctantly taking leave of their short compadres, Rather and Moore carefully picked their way across the lawn, with as much care as if they were threading a minefield. Every step brought them closer and closer to the ramshackle homestead, and also across ever more obscure rusting junk.
An odd collection of old rubber tires leaned against a very sick looking oak tree, and when Rather paused to flip over a large metal sheet with his boot, he could barely make out the word NASA on the exposed side. ~No wonder this guy is so well known by the children of the neighborhood. . . . .this place is a regular Techno-haunted house.~ he thought.
Finally arriving on the front porch, (and nearly tripping over a pile of old newspapers) the Ensigns exchanged glances and politely knocked on the door. Hopefully this 'Doctor' would be awake and ready to go. They were due at Utopia Planatia within the hour, and mucking about with the kids had eaten into their schedule too much already.
While the first knock didn't produce any results, a second louder series of raps did elicit a quick muffled 'crash' from inside the house, followed by some incoherent arguing in garbled voices. Apparently the Doctor had company.
Rather carefully looked back over his shoulder towards the street where their shuttle. . . .and the neighborhood kids sat watching from a safe distance. ~I wonder what they know that we don't. . .~ he mused before a sudden jangling at the door lock interrupted his thoughts.
The noisy sound of several old-fashioned chain locks being fooled with from the other side of the door caused Rather and Moore to exchange glances again. Who in this day and age messed with chains? Any half-competent burglar with a pocket phaser could make short work of such precautions.
It was only several moments later when the clattering stopped, and the rickety old door was thrown wide that the true extent of this mission's horror became apparent.
"Great googly-Moogly!!" sputtered Moore, "He's frazzing NAKED!!"
"I hate marines." mumbled Curtis, sitting on a chair in his quarters.
His interview with Bhrode had not gone well at all. It seemed that Curtis had been given bad information about his orders and ended up inside an off-limits ready-room with several rifles pointed at his sternum. The ensuing scream-a-thon in Bhrode's temporary office was quite unsettling.
"It's not so bad dear, it wasn't your fault you know." Came Kiora's voice from the next room. She had been trying to cheer him up for over an hour now.
"You think that matters one bit to Bhrode?" asked Curtis. "That man LIVES to patronize and demoralize. He practically wrote the book on post-20th century Nazism. And on top of THAT, now this 'Gunny' or whatever her name is has me on the top of her 'to do away with' list."
Kiora crossed into the room, looking slightly worried. "Are you afraid?"
"Hell no. These stupid marines, I can't stand 'em. Think they're God's gift to the universe just because they can fight. But they've got the intellegence of space dust. Not a half a brain between them all. You go into the marines because you're not smart enough to do anything else! Besides, she's a non-commisioned officer, she can't touch me." Curtis said with confidence.
Kiora wasn't satisfied. "You just be careful around those guys. Horrible people, marines are."
Curtis said nothing and Kiora continued her work. With a blank stare and no emotion playing across his face, Curtis concluded that the only way to beat the marines, was to avoid them all together. Bhrode liked them too much for Curtis to be able to get away with anything.
"Oh, Curt!" came Kiora's voice. "This arrived while you were out!"
She handed a PADD to Curtis, who looked at it, contorted his face into a look of rage, and threw the PADD across the room. Kiora picked it up and read:
To: Curtis Geluf, Lieutenant, Starfleet
Academy Professor
From: Starfleet Command, Bureau of Personnel
Re: Transfer orders.
You are hereby ordered, by Starfleet
Command, to report to StarDock Two at Planetia Utopia Shipyards
for assignment to the following ship, prior to her launch. You are authorized
to use any available transit and/or shipping to report as soon as possible.
USS GALAXY NCC-70637/A
In our hand, this stardate: Fleet Admiral Nakamura, Commander in Chief, UFP-StarFleet Commodore George Irwin, Commander, BUPERS
Kiora watched as Curtis stormed off toward their room.
"A little late, starfleet." She said, and followed after him.
By the time Starfleet Ensigns Dan Moore and Tom Rather knocked on the rickety old wooden door to Dr. Jebediah Quick's ramshackle home. They already had a good idea that things were a bit on the odd side.
After all, the house in itself was a good indication of the Doctor's eccentricity....Out of all the quaint little homes present in this rural Houston suburb, the house that Quick built was by far he most dilapidated. In contrast the neat little gardens and white picket fences that predominated, Quick's lawn was haphazard junkyard of flotsam and jetsam where stripped down warp nacelles sat side by side with ancient large block Internal combustion engines, rusting together in the early morning sunlight.
Th house itself was random arrangement of mortar and brick that seemed on the verge of implosion.
Despite these indicators, and steeling themselves for the worst, Ensigns Moore and Rather were shocked to the core when the rickety old door was shoved aside to reveal the good doctor in all his glory.......BUCK NAKED!!!
Doctor Jebediah Quick could be described as a tall thin man whose pale skin indicated a distinct lack of sun exposure. His hair was a jet black mop of wild stringy locks that seemed to have a life of its own, and his youthful brown eyes belied his 39 years of age.
The naked Quick seemed to hold his gaunt body in a half stoop, (the way tall people often do), and his long angular limbs jerked about in random quirky motions as he moved.
Most disconcerting of all however, (other than being a naked white guy) was the odd looking scientific contraption the aforementioned nude dude wore strapped to his head.
"Can I be of assistance to you gentlemen?" the Doctor asked nonchalantly as a jumble of wires and springs atop his head jiggled and wiggled in unison with his movements. Tiny LED lights imbedded in the mess winked in some mysterious pattern as they did so.
Ensign Rather was the first to recover enough to speak as his partner cast a nervous glance back across the lawn to their waiting shuttle.
"Uh....Dr. Quick I presume?" he asked, half hoping this was a bad case of mistaken identity. "I, uh think we better talk inside sir."
The doctor scrutinized the pair in quick jerky succession, bouncing his head (and attached wires) back and forth between the two.
"Inside? Whatever for," he asked lazily.
You're FRAZZING NAKED!" Moore sputtered still overwhelmed by the strangeness of his current assignment.
To this the good Doctor recoiled several inches as if mortally insulted, and it was several seconds before he could correct in gentle tones. "Naked? Not a day in my life." He said waggling a long finger back and forth, "I, in actuality, am nude."
"What's the flipping difference?!" Moore argued despite his partner's attempts to calm him. It would not do to ininfuriate the very VIP they were assigned to deliver to Mars.
"The difference?" Quick repeated, "The difference? Why all the difference in the world! 'Naked' is a term denoting exposure and vulnerability, while when one is 'Nude' one is at the pinnacle of artistry, and at one with the cosmos!! It's the difference between humans and homo sapiens.it's the difference between carnivores and meat eaters..it's the difference between Klingons and large, lumpy ill-tempered aliens!! The difference between limey South African Professors and Steaming Piles Of Monkey..."
Moore interrupted, "Uh. . .arent all those pretty much exactly the same thing?"
Quick halted his speech in mid-comparison and blinked. "Oh yeah. . . .I guess you're right dude. I suppose I ought to put some shorts on instead of standing here with my dork hanging out. . . .come on in."
He pushed the reluctant door open a bit wider and gestured for the pair to enter.
As the door creaked shut behind them, it took Rather and Moore several moments
to adjust their eyes to the low light of the house's interior. As they had noted
from the outside, every window in the place was completely covered over with
sheets of aluminum foil creating a dark cave-like environment.
When they could see again unfortunately they immediately wished they hadn't. If the lawn outside was a junkyard of discarded technology, the interior was more like a warzone! Piles upon piles of assorted disassembled machinery and technical components lay strewn from floor to ceiling, creating towering golems of metal and plastic trinkets. Transtator circuits lay side by side with Vacuum tubes, and odd bits of wiring snaked its way out from every nook and crazy in the room.
The vague lumpy outlines of standard chairs and couches could barely be recognized under the various heaps, and the odd overwhelming odor of burnt solder was quite noticeable. Lighting the room was a series of multi-hued liquid Lava-Lamps that cast strange lumpy shadows hither and yon across the flotsam and jetsam. Old Black-Light posters depicting obscure musical groups, and various illegal pharmaceuticals adorned what little could be seen of the walls. As a matter of fact, Moore could almost make out dusty old CORGAN-LIVE tour poster behind a rusty old hot-water heater near the back wall.
The door now safely shut behind him, the still naked/nude Quick dusted offhis hands and turned to greet his 'guests'
"So then my rather prudish, un-artistic, comrades. Who are you and what can I do for you?"
"Well, " Rather began licking his lips and eyeing the bouncing spring nervously, "I'm Ensign Rather and this here is Ensign Moore, and we're here to....."
"No no no." Quick cut him off with a sharp jiggle of his head which sent the springs and wires on his head a jangling, "I'm sure you kids mean well, but I'm not interested in joining your church today."
"Wha- huh?" The Ensigns blinked in confusion. "Join our wha-- oh, I get it." Realization dawned suddenly. "No, no, no..... It's ENSIGN Rather ...not ELDER Rather. We`re not Mormons."
"Ensigns?" Quick asked with a jiggle as he leaned nonchalantly against an old , "Well that's a relief, I really didn't feel like eating the body and the blood today."
"Uh...whatever sir but I think.....,"
"Although I think they had something going with that Polygamy thing." Quick interrupted, "Don't tell me the Baptists wouldn't be diddling half a dozen wives if they had thought of it first."
The officers exchanged confused glances for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. "Ah, if you say so Doctor. . . ." Rather added at last.
"Well then, now that we got that settled," The lanky scientist declared, "I'll thank you for your time, and let you know if I decide to renew my subscription. Good Day Gentlemen, and don't let the Rhododendron give you any guff on the way out."
With a jiggle of wires, and a wiggle of exposed body parts, Quick turned to force the hesitant door back open again before either of his confused chauffeur's could react. This exposed his (still) naked/nude derriere to the frustrated pilots adding insult to the injury of their present situation.
~Good Lord!~ Moore gaped. They were due to deliver Quick to Utopia Planatia within the hour, and they still hadn't gotten a word in edgewise. And now he's trying o shufle us back out the door!~
Rather meanwhile was attempting to shift his feet without tripping over the odd collections of junk piled about his feet. He was equally anxious to be on their way. At this rate they would be missing not only morning chow call, but lunch as well.
Meanwhile Quick succede in pushing the door back open again, allowing a dusty shaft of sunlight to pierce the lava-lamp gloom. Outside the tiny curious figures of the neighborhood children could barely be seen.
"Look Doc, "Rather quickly interrupted as he attempted to push his way forward through the household junk, "Could we maybe stay inside, considering. . . .uh considering your state of undress and all?"
"Undress!?" Quick cocked his head to the side sending his springs a rattling, "Great Googly Moogly what is it about the artistry of the human body that you cant understand?
Point of fact,Rather did not know much about art....but he was sure Quick`s skinny ass did not qualify.
"Uh well, "Rather fumbled for a reply, and fortunately his partner was able to pick up the assist.
"It's the kids, Doc." Moore explained, jerking his
thumb out the door towards the clustered knot of neighborhood children that
waited on their bikes by the shuttle. "Wouldn't want to needlessly expose
them
to anything."
Quite unimpressed, the thin scientist lazily crossed his arms in unconcern and looked down his long nose as if to 'lecture' this upstart. "This is the 24th century," he announced, "I'm not sure how you boys do it back in Utah, but out here the age of consent is 14, and Sex-Ed starts in pre-school. Progress is progress my boy."
Moore briefly wondered if re-explaining he was NOT Mormon would help matters, but decided it wouldn't.
"I'm sure I wouldn't know anything about that." He said instead, "I was just wanting to point out that. . . . .that. . . . ." he began to falter in confusion. Why was he here again?
"The Galaxy Doc." Rather explained. "We're here to take you to the Galaxy."
The words seem to shock Quick t the core, as his jaw dropped, and his lean body slumped hard against the duty doorframe.
"Take me to the galaxy!" he breathed, slapping a hand against his forehead. "Good Lord man what a heavy concept!" The scientist's eyes seemed to fog over n concentration s he contemplated the significance of Rather's words. "Oh course it all makes sense now. . ." he mumbled. "We're not really IN the Milky Way Galaxy, but rather in a deluded pre-galactic state of immature stellar envy. . . .We need to be 'Taken to the Galaxy' in order to grow up into a state of cosmic significance and thus join the 'Galaxy' as members of her eternal children!!"
Quick rolled his eyes about the room in awe of this sudden (nonsensical) revelation. "Take me to the galaxy! Take me to the galaxy! " he babbled, "Ye gods but what a concept! Do you realize lad that you have unraveled the great mystery surrounding Fozster's Fourth Law of Deluded Tranquility!! This is the greatest thing since. . .since...oh what's that thing that Zephram Cochrane guy invented?"
"Warp Drive." Offered Moore.
"FTL travel." Supplied Rather.
"SALAD SPOONS!!" declared Quick, "The greatest thing since Salad spoons my man!! Think about it! Imagine the days of yore when humanity grubbed about in the salad bowl with their own wormy little hands! Why the Great Plague of 1842 in Toledo, Ohio was traced to inproperly cleaned Salad Spoons!! "
"It was?" Rather asked, instantly regretting the reflexive statement.
"Of course you nonsensical Mormon!" Quick fussed, "That's what I'm trying to convey here. Think of where we'd be if you hadnt realized the root cause of our need to be 'taken to the galaxy of enlightenment!'"
In near tears of euphoria The raving lunatic of a scientist sank tohis knobby little knees and clasped his hands before him in adoration."Oh great Ensign from the Ocean-side state of Utah. . .. tell me oh tell me where you gleaned this philosophical discovery of the millinea"
Totally straight-faced and fed up with the naked guy's antics, Tom Rather merely reached into his pocket and produced a PADD. "Captain John Brhode. . . .Starfleet Command." He answered, "He gave us orders to 'Take you to the USS Galaxy' docked at Utopia Planatia. Get your damn things together and lets go Doc."
There was a brief moment of silence as Doctor Quick blinked in confusion before his brain kicked back into gear. "Oh. . . .right then. . . . Uh, Let me find some shorts first ok dude?"
Ensign Marga'ri'ta Tan'we sat at the reception desk and regarded the eight people at their ease lounging in the reception area. The members of the department that had not yet been to check in with the department head were here. Marga decided to give her boss a break and make this a group meeting. After clearing it with Lieutenant Commander Reece, she directed them to the conference room and told them to sit down around the table, by rank. She notified the chief and let the door slide closed on the room.
Lexa gathered her thoughts together and sent a message to Lieutenant D'Neer to report to her office. He appeared within a few seconds. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"
She stood and motioned to the conference room. "Rest of them here to check in. Do your job. Smooth it."
Calvin nodded, understanding her meaning. She would be there, the silent type, he would smooth her way with the department, allowing her to be more comfortable and to gather impressions of the men and women under her command to determine the places to put them on the duty roster.
They entered the conference room from her office and she sat at the head of the table with him on her right. On her left was a Vulcan woman, Lieutenant jg T'rehn. On Calvin's right was Lieutenant jg Cameron Bartlett, who stared at Lexa with a smile. Seated next to the Vulcan woman was a green skinned half-Orion, Lieutenant jg Katrin Youngblood. Filling out the seats around the table with the higher ranks nearer the head were Lieutenant j.g. Drystan Ufreenit (an Andorian), Ensign Pierce Tangrin (a former Angosian soldier), Ensign Satook (a Vulcan man), Ensign Filip Parks, Ensign Dionne Lannow, Petty Officer Second Class Janeilla Cantrea (a Bajoran woman), Chief Mate Jacian Maro (a Bolian), and Chief Mate Melinda Tracey (a Ventaxian).
As Lexa regarded them, some shifted uneasily at the silence, others -- most notably the Vulcans, the Bajoran, and the Angosian -- sat quietly and regarded her in return. After several minutes, Lexa stood. Placing her hand on her chest, she stated, "Lieutenant Commander Electra Reece, Chief of Operations. Welcome aboard." Motioning to her right, she sat down as her assistant rose.
Calvin stood comfortably under the scrutiny of the table. "I'm Lieutenant Calvin D'Neer. I'm the assistant chief for this department. There are a few members who checked in earlier and you'll meet them as time goes on. For now, this is an informal meeting for us to meet you and learn about you. We have a very diverse department and I hope we can work together well. If you need anything, 'Commander Reece and I are always here. Feel free to contact us. Now, I'd like to go around the room and have everyone say a little something about their experience in this department or why they chose this area or what type of OPS they prefer." He sat down and motioned across the table for Lieutenant' T'rehn to begin.
The Vulcan woman glanced at the superior officers and nodded. "I am best working Mission Operations. It is the area in which I have the most experience. Of course, I can handle any job I am given but you requested my preference. It is logical to place people in the situation where their knowledge is greatest."
As the Vulcan fell silent, the Orion next to her began, "I like working with ship's power systems allocation. It is where I have worked since I came to OPS." The short speech ended, the green-skinned young woman sat back and glared at the human across the table who leered at her (in her mind).
Around the table went the buck as it was passed from person to person. Lexa watched each person carefully, slotting them into the duty roster and various departmental sections as they spoke. When Cameron's turn came, he leaned forward to look earnestly at Lexa.
"I don't really have any preference as to what OPS section I am in. I like the department because it is a good department with good people. I don't care where I am placed but I want to serve this ship well." He tried to catch Lexa's eye but she kept her head down and looked steadily at the PADD. In recent years, Cam had always made her feel uncomfortable and she couldn't understand why he had transferred out of Medical where he did so well to a lower OPS position.
Lexa looked up and glanced around the table. "Th