USS
Galaxy:The Next Generation Sim Log Stardate: 50208.07 - 50208.14 |
There were many things that should have been on the mind of CommanderRebecca von Ernst as she stepped off the Runabout gangplank and back onto the Main concourse of Utopia Planatia.
For one thing the upcoming maiden voyage of the newly refit Galaxy and all of her untested equipment was enough to occupy anybody’sthoughts. Add into the equation, a crew-full of untried spacers, one hard nosed Captain, and a quirky Scientific Attaché, and you trebledthe amount of things to be weighed and considered.
Fortunately under normal circumstances, all of this Rebecca was more than capable of absorbing, what with her powerhouse noggin, and Warp10 Neurons.
Of course when you throw in the rather distasteful presence of one Lysander van der Puls Hawklsey and put him on equal standing with Rebecca, then the whole house of cards goes to pieces.
All of these were very real and present concerns, and at any other time, Rebecca’s mathematic little brain would be chugging away trying to find a way to juggle them all out neatly.
Unfortunately this was not like any other time, and there was only one overriding concern on the little redhead's mind.
~~~Noodles!! If I don’t find somewhere to pee quickly, I am going to pop!!~~~
Yes ladies and gentlemen it’s a sad but true reality of life in the 24th century, that while we can fly to the stars at speeds faster than light, and remove the need for kidney Dialysis with a pill. . . ..mankind (and especially womenkind) still have to take frequent trips to the powder room.
Oh sure there were several unsuccessful attempts over the centuries to obviate the need for this messy little quirk of nature, the most recent of which being a rather aggressively marketed product by the name of ‘Pee-Be-Gone’ manufactured by a minor subsidiary of Van Der Puls Industries.
Unfortunately in the string of product liability lawsuits that followed resulting from complaint after complaint of ‘serious health side effects’ the resulting bad publicity led ‘Pee-Be-Gone’ to be known as the ‘Firestone Tire’ of the Modern Urinary Health Industry.
Fortunately for the victims, there was a rather substantial out of court settlement allowing them to subsequently found their own personal Eunuch Colony on Altair VI. (We did mention there were DRASTIC side effects?) By an odd 'quirk' of fate, this colony later was bought, along with the entire planet, after the last surviving eunuch had died. The new owner promptly built himself a 'Brothel Planet' on Altair Seven, with a 'Jungle Room' on the site of the old "Pee B-Gone" Eunuch Colony.
And what does any of this have to do with Rebecca’s problem?
Well, it was because of this distinct lack of safe reliable pee-control therapy, coupled with the short sighted decision on Rebecca’s part to consume four Mocha Latte’s on the Runabout ride back from Earth that led to the young Commander’s current predicament.
The additional fact that the Commander’s slight frame came standard equipped with a very low-capacity bladder only multiplied her difficulties.
It seemed Old Mother Nature had adopted the wisdom of the old Brylcream Commercials in respects to Rebecca’s breast size and Renal Capacity. (Just a Dab will do ya!)
Hurrying her way down the crowded starport concourse, her mathematically attuned mind calculated a precisely 97.28% chance of a personal warp core breach before she could make it all the way back to the Galaxy-X.
Gulping in frustration and whipping her crimson-haired head back and forth in a desperate search for relief, her brown eyes immediately latched onto a rather innocuous looking passageway with the name RED DWARF emblazoned above it. The muffled sounds of a happy voices, and thumping music drifted enticingly the darkness beyond.
The figuring in Rebecca’s head went something like this:
MUSIC + PEOPLE = DANCING
If DANCING then PEOPLE = THIRSTY
IF THIRSTY then set DRINKS to POSITIVE.
Let DRINKS = DRINKS + 1
GOTO Previous Line.
If DRINKS = WAY TOO MUCH then set BLADDER to FULL
If BLADDER = FULL then set RESTROOM to POSITIVE.
RESTROOM = RELIEF
All this flashed through Rebecca’s mind in an instant (along with some 6th dimensional Quadratic Variables for types of Drinks present and the Price of Tea in China) Nearing critical mass herself, she made a quick little left face off the concourse and down the smokey passageway towards the ominous sounds of laughter and music.
---<>---
A few moments later when Rebecca stuck her freckled little nose around the corner and looked out onto the heaving mass of humanity (and inhumanity) that was the patronage of RED DWARF, she wondered if soiled panties might not be such a bad thing after all.
~~~This is SO not going to work.~~~ she complained to herself as she scanned the vast shadowy smoke filled club and the multitudes of party-goers bumping and grinding, and shaking what their momma gave them.
~~~SO very not going to work!~~
Remember dear readers that while indeed this may be Rebecca v2.0 with optional ice-bitch upgrade and monotone two syllable voice interface, there still exists the shy struggling little girl of Rebecca 1.0 (Beta Release) buried deep within.
Sure she may fight off Klingons by the thousands, or face down Borg Cubes with impudence. Sure she might willingly sacrifice entire starship crews in order to gain even the slightest advantage, sending hundred to their deaths without batting an eye. . . . . .
. . . . . . but this was still shy little Rebecca von Ernst on the inside who carried a mortal fear of social situations and inappropriate exposure with the opposite gender. This was still the girl whose knees quivered with fear when forced to give her public addresses to the crew. While her whispery voice may not always break and stutter as before, and while her crew lived in mortal fear of her icy wrath, that did not mean her heart was not racing a mile a minute beneath her thin sub-standard chest.
Looking out across the press of the crowds, and eyeing the rather inappropriate attire of both men and women out on the dance floor was almost too much for her fragile sensibilities.
Sacrificing crew by the handful was one thing. Having to actually bump into some icky boy in leather parachute pants was something else.
But there! . . . . .glowing in the distance like some bladder relief version of the Holy Grail blazed the neon sign that gave new strength to Rebecca’s Mocha saturated Kidneys.
==LADIES ROOM==
Like an angelic vision from afar it called to her with its promises of clear porcelain seats, and dainty little mint bowls next to the sink.
Unfortunately the Restroom was all the way on the other side of RED DWARF, and the crowded Dance floor stretched between here and there like some disco variation of the biblical Shadow of the Valley of Death.
Like David of old she contemplated the possibilities. Dare she go there?
Unable to make a decision on its own, Rebecca’s poor brain took a quick show of hands from the rest of the internal organs.
~~~Alright everybody,~~~ announced the brain, ~~~You’ve heard the report from Mr. Ears, and seen the slide presentation put together by the Eyes. So lets put this thing to a vote.~~~
~~~For the love of God People!!!~~~ the Bladder wailed, ~~~DAMN the Torpedoes and lets get going before I pop!!~~~
~~~Uh, Bladder is out of order,~~ the brain chastised, ~~~ Parliamentary procedures please people.~~
Gritting its (teeth?) the Bladder repeated in the proper format. ~~I, Urinary Bladder Representing the great people of the Lower Abdominal Cavity hereby make a motion to forgo our usual reluctance to socialize, and vote Emergency Powers to the legs so we can get to the Potty Post Haste!!!~~~
~~~We the Kidneys second the motion.~~~ chimed in the Renal Organs, having problems of their own dealing with the Mocha Latte overload.
Nodding (as only the brain can) the brain accepted the motion, and put it to a vote.
~~~ No way!~~~ said the legs, ~~~Aint no way we’re walking into that place! We’re still in therapy from that time that Lysander saw us in Great Aunt Petunia’s Bathrobe.~~~
The Arms voted Nay as well, ~~~If we go in there, its always the ARMS that get poked and elbowed and bruised. No Way. Find some other appendage to be your punching bag.~~~
~~~Stomach votes Aye. . . .Sooner we clear the pipes, the sooner we can go for a peppermint Milkshake!~~~
~~~Hear-Hear~~~ chimed in the Tongue.
As usual the vote seemed to be splitting along party lines between the internal organs on one side and the extremities on the other.
Of course the Ovaries tried to put in their two cents worth about being 27 years old and still a virgin, and why hadn’t Rebecca married that nice Alpha Centauran boy, and how long did she think she could keep slaving away spitting out eggs. . . . .. but this was stricken from the record as being irrelevant.
Grumping in silence the Ovaries finally sided with the Pro-Potty Coalition, but for their own selfish reasons. ~~~ Oh well maybe in this club we’ll meet someone…ANYONE before my clock stops ticking.~~~
Some last minute haggling over some irrelevant Pork-Barrel Riders delayed things a bit . (ie the fingers wanted to stick in something regarding that cute pink Fingernail polish back at the boutique, and the Toes requested some sort of Flood Insurance provisions in case they DIDN’T make it to the Bathroom on time.)
Of course the vagina was not given a vote at all in this and for very good reasons. You see, unlike the male of the species where the genitals tend to dominate like some miniature Ayatollah, women tend to be much more practical and leave the thinking to a more responsible set of organs. This is why men always get in trouble when they let what’s between their legs make decisions for them.
(Mr. Winky is sorta like the Adolph Hitler of the Body. . . . . damn persuasive, but ultimately destructive)
Fortunately as mentioned, Rebecca was female and the vagina was disenfranchised from body politics resulting in a smoother decision making process.
~~~All right people.~~~ the brain announced at last, ~~~The votes are in and thanks to a last minute reversal by the legs (who realized they too would need the Flood Insurance in case of Accident) the ‘Ayes’ have it. We go for the Restroom!!!!~~~
Filled with the pride and knowledge that Democracy DID work, Rebecca von Ernst
set her jaw in a determined look, and squared her shoulders.
She took two bold steps into the club before being smacked in the face and knocked out-cold by a random fist thanks to some fight that had suddenly broken out while she had been counting butterfly ballots.
=/\=
(OOC: I'm not quite sure exactly where this post got sidetracked, but . . .. DAMN What the hell was I smoking?)
* * * * * * * * * *
"You sure the Old Man is not, gonna, you know, blow a gasket or anything?" queried Lysander for the 21904721th time that night, as he fiddled with a bar napkin and craned his neck to look around the Red Dwarf Lounge.
His companions traded knowing glances over their steins of beer.
"Positive, aren't we Chief?" replied "Betty" with a wink at her partner in crime.
"He distictly told the Gunny and I to take you out and 'explain a few things to you'" Master Chief Westwell replied.
"Urm.. if this is about the birds and the bees. . ." began a worried Lysander.
Betty choked on a mouthfull of beer, requiring the Boatswain of USS Galaxy to thump her on the back repeatedly.
"No, Commander. Although if you need remedial lessons in that area, I understand several of the female junior officers might have insights?" replied Chief Westwell, with a motherly ruffle of Lys' hair with the hand that wasn't helping her Marine Counterpart breathe again.
"Look... Sir... you're the XO. I'm a Marine, but Boats is the Senior NCO for the Nerps..." began a flushing Betty.
"Nerps? I thought you jarhead Marines called us 'Fleeties?'" querried Westwell.
"Same thing." shot back Betty with a grin.
"Smeg! I was hoping the two most beautiful women aboard were going to explain a few things in the old 'birds and bees' department" quipped Lys, hoping to cut off the squabble.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, sir. I could be your mother." replied an icy Chief Westwell.
"Speak for yourself. He's sort of cute in those Leather Parachute pants." muttered Betty.
"The Gunny has some... issues... and she's loathe to bring them before the Captain, so I suggested to her that we both approach YOU with them, as Commander Von Ernst is. . . "
"Errrr Rebecca?" asked Lysander hopefully, causing his leather parachute pants to 'chuff' eagerly as he sat upright. Truth be told, he'd been fiddlign around only paying half attention and fretting about his usual obsession.
"That geek Corgan is a fatheaded, ignorant Nerp and I'm going to smash his stupid fat face in." Betty stated with a glint to her azure blue eyes.
"Err well...Yes. Rather. Back to Rebecca. . ." began Lys.
"Nice 'diplomacy.' 'YOU do talking' you said... 'I'm just gonna sit there and nod' you said." the Chief charged the younger woman with. Betty just shrugged and downed more of her beer.
"With all due respect Commander, you know my record. I wouldn't bring it up unless I thought there might be. . ." The Chief began again.
"Err.. actually... I heard a bit about this. Purely through the grapevine. Yes, Commander Corgan is a. . . err?" Lysander asked.
"Stupid fatheaded Geek of a Nerp, even for a Yellow Assed Nerp- Monkey Security Boy." Betty supplied.
"Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. However, he's still the Chief of Security, and as soon as he gets his Department set up. . ." Began Lys again.
". . . Which will be never." muttered Betty
". . .He'll be replacing your Marines on Sentry and Security Detail." Lys finished, in a hurry to cut off any more comments from Betty.
"With all due respect SIR." Said the Chief, kicking her counterpart under the table for emphasis. "Captain Bhrode has concerns about Security as well. This ship was supposed to be secure, and some Engineer was discovered on the BRIDGE despite all regulations!" she continued, her icy tones showing displeasure, as they had through a long Starfleet Career.
"He hasn't said anything to me." countered Lys, looking puzzled.
"Lucky you, I heard enough for three people." muttered Betty again.
"The Captain was... loud.... in his displeasure at the incident. He will, no doubt, be louder if he finds out about the altercation between the Gunny and the Comamnder." The Chief replied.
"How do you hear about stuff like that, Chief, before myself or the Princess?" asked Lys.
"I'm the Boatswain, it's my job." The Chief replied, with a knowing smirk.
"Be right back. . ." said Betty, seeing trouble brewing with a knotof her Marines on the other side of the room. She used her short form to good advantage , pushing her way through the crowd with ease.
"If I were you, I'd take care of it before it came to be a problem with the Captain. Ditto for some of the 'interior design' scheme that some one shoved..." the Chief began again.
Lys held up a hand to forestall her.
"Took a tour today. Already on top of that one, Chief." he answered.
"I heard about that. Our new Security 'Deputy' get settled in okay?" the Chief asked, her face carefully neutral to keep the yonger officer from thinking she was laughing at him.
Lys let out a groan.
"I hate him... he is the most CONFUSING person in the Universe. Well, second most... after runty redheads who smeggin' well insist that they're gonna dictate how YOU feel about. . . " Lys complained.
That's when Betty stepped into the shouting match and cold cocked some Security guy. A yelling match turned into a melee scrum. Of course, later, every marine present swore Betty got hit by the Security guy, and they themselves were the first Marine to 'Slug a Nerp.' Believing a story is one thing, proving it is another.
Back to the Brawl.
Marines and Security types happily whaled away on each other. The Space Dock Crews, not to be outdone, promptly went for anyone they could reach. Laughing Klingons, from Lysander's last ship, gleefully grabbed the nearest weaklings and bashed heads together.
Curses, bottles, glasses, chairs and the occasional smaller humanoid body sailed through the air.
Like some oasis of calm, a magic eye that sensed the weight of her authority, the fight left the Chief's table untouched. She sipped her beer and looked around with an unamused eye.
"Errr....?" asked Lys, ducking a flying Tellurite.
"Shore Patrol will be here soon. And I'll have a few words with any crew members from Galaxy. I suggest you do the same with the officers present. Let the Gunny sort out the marines. I also suggest you and the Captain get this ship the hell out of this Dock before it blows up or the crew tears it up." She added.
"Oh, err. carry on then Chief." ansered Lys, rising from his chair to throw a elbow block into the punch a welder tossed at him.
"Of course Sir. I live but to serve." the Chief replied, with an inscrutable smile as as she watched PO3 Tim 'The Terror" Mirapoints from Phaser Contrrol bounce three marines into a bulkhead, without spilling his beer.
Betty collapsed back at the calm oasis, giggling.
"Worried they weren't going to start a fight?" asked the Chief with an arched eyebrow.
"Something like that." replied Betty before launching herself back into the scrum whith a whoop.
"The Gunny is. . . ." began Lys.
"Insane? All Marines are. Especially Medal of Honor Winners." answered the Chief.
Before a shocked Lysander could answer, the crowd parted like magic. A clear line between Lys and the door opened. In one of those tragic-comedic moments, Fate... fickle bitch that she is... of COURSE had to reintroduce one of the constant themes in Lys' life, right then.
Rebecca.
There she was, a tiny bewildered looking crimson haired figure dressed in slim grey and black . Her eyes seemed to find Lys' and harden. Almost as if dared, the Smegging Princess stepped into the room. . .
And got socked right in her smegging face.
Her eyes still seemed to accuse Lysander, as they crossed and she spun to crumple onto the floor in slow motion.
"NOOOOooooooooooo. . . . " He yelled, trying to climb over the sea of interlocked bodies between the two.
Whistles and shouts,(and the ZAPS of high yield, Riot Control Shield discharging) showed the Shore Patrol arriving.
A large form, coming on the Cops' heels, bent over Rebecca's supine form. A large blocky and copperskinned hand gently brushed her hair from her cheek, before slinging her form easily over one shoulder.
Then the power went out.
By the time the redish emergency lights came up, and the SP were herding people into "you here and you there" piles; by the time Lys got there, she was gone. Like the wisp of a half remembered dream or memory.
~~ Why did Lt. Darkstar take her like that?~~ Lys pondered, as the subduing of the riot around him went on.
TBC. . . .
In the cool fall day in England an very young,beauitful, and an sexy red haired Betazoidwalked out an fancy clothing store with an handful of bags heading toward her small London flat in the central in town.
The young woman was Lt (jg) Kay Elizabeth MacFarland an science office from the USS Royal who use to be on the USS Galaxy before it was discommented.
She was still one of the most beautiful women from Betazoid itself even though she half human from her father side of an family, Kay also have believe or not have an English accent from her own Betazoid mother, which is very strange.
While wearing an blue Betaziod dress Kay enter her flat, the
apartment which the English called an flat was an very big two bedroom/one bath.
It was also very beauiful and an home away from the Royal which is not in spacedock
for repairs after an battle with some
unknown race.
Kay made some Betazoid tea the young woman sat down an few minutes later she read an message which made her smile, she going back to the Galaxy...back home where she is very much need.
On an small shuttle Lt (jg) Kay MacFarland was heading towards Utopia Planitia and to her new home the USS Galaxy....
Waiting for Hugo to get back from his meeting with Bhrode, Edith sat comfortably in a chair with a drink in her hand. She looked up from the book on her lap as he came sailing in. "How'd it go?"
"Fucking awful..." Hugo replied with a voice tight with anger still as he dropped into a seat, leaning forward to hold his head in his hands.
Edith blinked for a moment at Hugo's reaction before standing up and moving to pour him a drink. "What happened?" she asked, remembering her own meeting with Bhrode with a faint smile.
"He threatened to reactivate my commission in the Corps." Hugo replied, his tense hands running through his hair.
A touch of surprise was evident on Edith's otherwise calm features as she took a cigarette and lighted it, sitting on the arm of Hugo's chair as she took a drag and placed the cigarette in the corner of Hugo's mouth and pushing the glass into his hand.
"It's fucking ridiculous!" Hugo started to rant in a raised voice. "Who the hell does he think he is? Fucking Caesar? He's...he's delusional! Some sort of fixation! I mean...he thinks he's the most powerful man since...since...Nero! Horse shit! What's he gonna do if I tell him to stuff it and go screw himself? Shoot me?" Hugo suddenly halted and his hand lifted to cover his mouth as soon as he'd said it, a hint of disbelief at his last words showing and his voice dropped to a more acceptable level. "Hell...I didn't mean that..."
"Calm down!" Edith instructed, but there was almost a smile of amusement on her features from the outburst...it had been a while since she'd seen it. "Surely he wouldn't have said it unless there was some reason...?"
"That's hardly the point!" Hugo got up and knocked his drink back before setting the glass down hard on the glass table surface.
"Yes, it is." Edith countered, watching him, slipping all the way down into the seat. "I thought you liked him anyway..."
"I do..." Hugo let out a frustrated breath before sitting down. "It wouldn't bother me this much if I didn't like and respect the bloody man."
Edith smiled slightly and moved over to him, running a hand lightly through his hair. "Well then...I can't imagine he'd say it without good reason." Her voice was matter-of-fact.
"He's...bothered by the situation." Hugo replied carefully.
"Well...then maybe his suggestion is for the best." Edith tried with a delicately arched eyebrow.
Hugo turned and looked at her. "I never want to go back to that, Edie."
"Well, it looks like you may not have any choice." Edith pointed out sternly, but running a fingertip over his ear.
"He can't make me..." Hugo was cut off by what sounded almost like a disappointed groan from the power going down. Dim emergency lights flickered on instead leaving Hugo and Edith looking at each other's almost shadowed forms. Hugo suddenly started laughing, taking a drag of his cigarette with a shake of his head.
"The power fails and you laugh...?" Edith looked at him, but a smile of amusement plucked at the corner of her mouth.
"Of course..." Hugo got up and stretched. "It's an omen." Hugo laughed again, louder this time. "A damned effective one as well...Flowerbuck must be desperate." He joked, in far better humour than he had been when storming in.
Edith stood up and moved over to him with a smile and arched eyebrow, making it look almost like a superior smirk as she did so well. "It's an omen alright, Saxon..." She took hold of his hand and dragged him away. "But not for what you think."
[OOC: Takes place during "Bar Room Blitz"
and "The Night the Lights Went Out On Star Dock Two".]
"Move," Jeremy grumbled out loud as he shoved past a pair of gabbing female ensigns. He was in no mood to have to deal with anyone being in his way -- especially anyone of the female variety.
His exchange with Erin had fused his mind in frustration and he set course for the Red Dwarf. His only objectives were to get away from her and her damn interrogations and to get something to drink. A lot of something to drink.
Arriving at the now-familiar lounge, Jeremy made a bee-line for the bar, oblivious to everything and everyone around him.
"Long Island Iced Tea and an Andorian whiskey chaser," he flatly demanded. Anytime Jeremy ordered that combination, he was serious about his drinking.
As the bartender raised his eyebrows in resigned astonishment and left to fill the angry officer's order, Jeremy glanced around. The place was packed with Fleet officers, dockworkers and an assortment of civilians from throughout the Federation. And if the crowd of people wasn't enough, the steady pulse of party tune bass ensured that everyone was enveloped in an almost tangible wall of sound.
It was exactly where Jeremy wanted to be right now.
The bartender soon returned, setting Jeremy's drinks in front of him. "You sure you want to dive right in with that mix so soon?" he asked with a little concern.
"Who the hell are you? My mother?" Jeremy quipped, glaring back at the retreating bartender. "You just bring 'em when I ask, ok?" he instructed, starting on the Long Island Iced Tea.
As he swallowed his first few hefty sips of the potent drink, Jeremy's thoughts drifted to his tiff with Erin in Ten Forward. 'You know, I've noticed there's a lot you want to talk about,' she had snapped. ~~I'll talk when I want to talk,~~ he thought to himself, taking another draught from the tall glass.
By the time he belted back the Andorian whiskey and ordered another round for himself, Jeremy was thinking about his Academy days, back when Long Island Iced Teas and Andorian whiskey saw him though many a tough situation. A difficult exam, a dressing-down by a superior, a failed encounter with some hot female cadet -- there always seemed to be a good reason to head down to his favorite watering hole and drown his frustration.
"Andorian whiskey," a rather large-framed marine ordered as he positioned himself next to Jeremy at the bar. "Good stuff," he commented to Jeremy, spying his glass of the same in front of him.
"Gets me through the evening," Jeremy casually replied.
"And as a chaser too?" the marine remarked, staring at the Long Island Iced Tea. "That combo should get you through more than an evening."
"The night's young. I'm only on my second round," came the reply, as the helmsman finished off the tall glass.
The close-cropped marine looked impressed. "Second -round-?" he chuckled. "Damn boy, you're pretty ambitious, for a 'fleetie!" he exclaimed with a slight twang as the bartender arrived with his whiskey and an automatic third round for Jeremy.
"That what you guys call us?" Jeremy asked, setting the glass from his second chaser on the bar. He could already tell he wasn't going to like this guy.
"Yeah," the marine chuckled, "if we like you."
"And if you don't?" Jeremy inquired, a barely perceptible edge to his voice.
"Well, let's just say you're better off if we like you," the larger man condescended, belting back his whiskey in a testosterone-fueled display.
"I don't think we really give a shit whether or not you jarheads like us," Jeremy retorted.
The marine seemed to be liking the verbal sparring match that seemed to be heating up between them. He signaled the bartender for two more whiskeys and looked at Jeremy like a Nobel-prize scientist might look at a first-year chemistry student at a science fair. "Now you sure y'all wanna go sayin' things like that? You don't know what kinda temper I have."
"Works both ways, don't it -pal-?" came the steely-toned reply.
Just then, the whole area around the bar went dead silent as an apparently angry and perhaps drunken lieutenant yelled into a table full of marines next to him. "THAT'S IT! I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR TIRADE, YOU IGNORANT SONS OF DENEVIAN SLIME DEVILS!!!!!!!!"
As the scene progressed and steadily heated up, Jeremy and his new 'friend' observed from the bar. Before long, a fight had broken out between the groups at the two tables. The marine's face lit up like a kid at Christmas.
"Hoo-wee!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "Don't you guys ever learn not to go divin' in the deep end 'til you know how to swim?" he asked, only partly to Jeremy. "Looks like your buddies are gonna get their asses whooped," he added, still transfixed on the fight.
"Gosh, guess you're right!" Jeremy answered, leaping to his feet. "I better get down there and help them," he said with mock concern. Instead of moving into the melee, he suddenly spun ninety degrees and landed a punch squarely on the side of the obnoxious jarhead's jaw, knocking him into a couple of concerned civilians sitting next to him.
"I'd sooner piss in your pool than swim there with one of you assholes in it!!" Jeremy yelled, as the stunned marine extracted himself from the quickly-thinning group of drinkers behind him.
"Good punch, boy," the marine said, rubbing his jaw. Then like a flash, the mountainous man hurled himself into Jeremy's mid-section, simultaneously knocking the wind out of him and hoisting him over his shoulder. The big man then flung Jeremy down onto the bar like a sack of potatoes, sending glasses crashing in every direction.
Out of nowhere, two fleet officers jumped the marine from behind, knocking him to the ground. Before Jeremy had a chance to get back into the fight, a couple of marines also appeared seemingly from nowhere, grabbing him by the uniform and sliding him further down the length of the bar, sending more glasses crashing to the ground along the way. The marines followed, eager to get at him when he came to a stop at the other end, but as he slowed, Jeremy rolled himself off and behind the bar. As the pursuant jar-heads craned their heads over the bar to see where he had landed, Jeremy leapt up with bottle of scotch and smashed it over the one on the left.
As the knocked-out marine crumpled to the floor, his friend threw a punch across the bar, Jeremy ducking just in time to miss it. Jeremy then leapt up onto the bar and took a good kick at the remaining marine, who caught him by the calf in mid-kick and yanked Jeremy down and behind him, crashing him into one of the nearby tables.
For an indiscernible amount of time, everything was simply a sea of faces, fists and fury, as Jeremy hit and got hit, threw and got thrown. He was pretty sure he was hitting only marines, careful to avoid coming up against one of his fellow officers, or worse yet, one of the ambient Klingons who were now indiscriminately knocking heads together wherever they found them.
Just as he sank his last punch deep into the gut of an approaching jarhead, everyone froze as a voice boomed over the chaos, "YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST."
~~Shit. We're all fucked,~~ Jeremy thought to himself, as he caught a glimpse of a large officer carrying what looked like the body of Commander-what's-her-name from his interview with Bhrode out the door.
Then darkness fell.
-----
-----
The pilot was having a difficult time imagining a more miserable traveling companion. The young Lieutenant to his right sat with his nose pressed firmly into a copy of Milton's 'Paradise Lost,' a rather large, dog-eared old paperback book the likes of which he hadn't seen in years.
Every time he'd broached a topic of light discussion to pass the time, the book grew closer to the lieutenant's eyes and the runabout cabin grew even quieter. He'd tried playing music, which his passenger had quickly shut off. "The words on the page are music," he proclaimed, and offered to read aloud. The pilot declined politely and scoffed privately.
He'd whistled, he drummed his fingers, and he'd spoke to no one in particular. He was starting to fall asleep.
"Look, Lieutenant," the ensign pilot said finally. "I know you don't want to talk, but I'm going to wind up flying us into a star or a barge or something if I don't have something to keep me alert."
Chester "Chuck" Copperpot, the young JG in question, slowly peeled the book from his eyes and glowered at his chauffeur.
"Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom or summer’s rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me; from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank
Of Nature’s works, to me expung’d and raz’d,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out."
He finished the verse, marked his place, and slapped the book shut with a flourish.
"Amazing, isn't it," Chuck glared, "that I'd prefer that poetry to your proseful conversation?"
"Is 'proseful' a word, sir?" the ensign ask.
"Nevermind that," Chuck said, glaring. "I'm going to get a sandwich. You want something?"
"Sure," the ensign said. "Ham on rye, if you don't mind."
"I do, terribly in fact, but no matter," Chuck said, moving back to the replicator. He retrieved two sandwiches and two large mugs of coffee. "I was considering piloting for a while. I'm not too bad at it myself."
"Oh?" the ensign asked. He knew that Copperpot was security. "Why didn't you?"
"I crashed an academy shuttle into the space needle in Seattle because I was turning a page," Chuck answered, returning with the food. "They wouldn't let me near them after that. Besides, I never liked audio books much."
The ensign chuckled a little, and Chuck looked at him sternly.
"What are you going to be doing on your new assignment, sir?" the ensign asked, creating idle conversation until the coffee's caffeine started to kick in.
"Sitting in the brig and reading books, if all goes well," Chuck said, taking a hearty bite of his own tuna salad sandwich.
"And what is your new assignment, Lieutenant?" the ensign asked.
"Honestly, I have no idea," Chuck said. "They told me there was a brig job open, and that the ship was classified. I've been waiting for a brig specialist position to open for two and a half years. They're impossibly hard to come by, so I don't care if this is the USS Towtruck. I'm taking the job."
"Brig jobs are impossibly hard to come by?" the ensign asked, incredulously.
"You'd be surprised how many slackers and bookworms there are in Starfleet, ensign." Chuck finished his sandwich quickly, and hoped the coffee would soon be kicking in so that his pilot would shut up.
"Runabout Missouri, this is StarDock Two. Respond please, and state your business," came a voice over the comm.
"StarDock, this is Missouri. I'm delivering one Lt. Chester Copperpot for a transfer per order of Starfleet Personnel. Admiral Bragg's signature is on the form," the pilot said, with an arched eyebrow. It was usually procedure that an approaching craft would notify dock once they were within a few hundred million kilometers. They were still nearly a light year away.
"Halt your approach immediately. Relay the orders electronically for approval, please," the voice came again. Chuck shrugged, and the pilot did as he was told.
"Orders sent, StarDock," the ensign spoke, bringing the runabout to a full stop.
"Orders are confirmed and approved. We acknowledge receipt of one Copperpot, Lieutenant Junior Grade Chester Charles the third. Electronic notification of the same is being relayed now. Stand by."
The pilot hit mute. "What the hell are we standing by for? I could have got us within transporter range by now."
"Runabout Missouri. Inform Lt. Copperpot to prepare for transport. A transport relay will meet you in thirty seconds. Do not approach StarDock Two. Over."
"StarDock, this is Lt. Copperpot," Chuck spoke up finally. "I have several boxes of my personal effects that also need to be transported."
"Copy, Lieutenant," the StarDock voice chimed. "We've been informed to expect you to come with a great deal of baggage."
"I hope you mean that literally and not as a psychological double entendre," Chuck grinned, satisfied with himself.
"Stand by," the voice came again. Shortly after, it resumed. "No, Lieutenant, no hidden meaning. We know you've got a lot of books. Transport will begin in twelve seconds."
"Not even a courtesy laugh," Chuck said, standing. "I'd say that it's been a pleasure riding with you," he smiled, "but that would just be a lie. Goodbye."
With that, his body and his books were transformed into trillions upon trillions of molecules and reassembled on a barren transporter shuttle relay pod. From there, he was whisked off to StarDock Two to begin his mysterious assignment.
"Lieutenant Commander, that is not a wood carving.. It is obscene trash!!"
Kay sighed,
"Excuse me, but I am sure there is some rational explaination for this. Where is the carving and I will go investigate it, ok?"
"Its outside Ten Forward.. Where that little pervert Streely used to worked."
Once the mob of angry parents left with help from a soft Klingon-like growl, K'Eytyanna left Engineering to go investigate.
*********************
Walking through the corridors of the ship, K'Eytyanna's anger boiled more and more.
After the repairs caused by that veregan d'gah's fouling of the power systems were finished, K'Eytyanna had set out on a full investigation of all additions that were made to the ship.
The major problems were not actually with systems, but more with Quick's delusional mind. Reminding herself to send the most foul and abusive message to the head of Starfleet's Engineering Corp, she continued on.
Ten Forward's doorway had been a major contention with the ship's parents, and Kay rounded the corner to view it.
Stopping suddenly, her mouth agape in shock, she blinked and rubbed her eyes. However, the pornographic carvings didn't go away.
Walking upto it, she examined the gap between the wall and the carving. She was pleased to find that it was not permanently affixed by glue and instead attached by a number of small hooks.
Grinning, she removed her d'k tagh from its holster and triggered the hidden button that caused the side blades to extend.
Shoving it hard into the gap behind the carving, she levered until some of the hooks and wood broke away.
K'Eytyanna continued until she had removed all the offending material from around the doorway.
*********************
Picking all the wood up, she headed down the corridor, waited for a turbolift and directed it to Deck 38.
When the lift arrived, she walked into the brig and spotted Mr Leo Streely, Special Investigative Security Deputy.
Spitting out in anger, she threw the wood carvings across the room, seeing him cringe as they fell around him,
"Keep your vile little mind out of my Engineering Decks from now on. And stop putting this rubbish up in public places."
Leo looked aghast. "Ya know toots, I dont recall seeing anything in the employee handbook about not being able to spruse up this dreary boat a bit. For that matter I haven't even heard ol Ahab make any ship board announcements against it!! And easy on this stuff, OK? Its priceless!!! I had to fight for months online to out bid some loopy counselor on the USS Miranda for this stuff!"
"Look pal, you can hang all the little wooden monkey penises you like in your apartment. Everyone needs a hobby, no matter how bizzare. You wanna dance nude, covered in thumbtacks and peanut butter while screaming Badda Bing! at these statues, be my guest. Keep them out of Engineering or I'll have your scrotum packed with spent dilithium crystals. Got that? Between you and that vermin Quick's lack of color sense, I am getting ready to throw people out of airlocks."
"Allright! allright! Sheesh! All you have to say is that you dont appreciate fine art! You dont have to threaten a guy. geez. You seem to have all this repressed sexual energy pent up. Ya know I would be willing to do you a favor about that.."
Racing over to the desk, she grabbed his uniform with one hand, lifted him up in the air above his chair and held her d'k tagh to his neck with her other hand, she bared her sharp fangs and growled, "Listen, you little puke! Don't even make any jokes in PRIVATE about that, or you will wish you were dead before I finish with you, got it?"
Leo gaped before muttering, "Hubba, hubba."
Twisting her hand a little, she growled loudly as he managed to choke out, "Oh, I mean yes, Maam."
Sighing loudly, K'Eytyanna dropped him back into his chair before storming out of the office.
... "Okay, people, I want it to be done before I return on my shift tommorrow. In case we have deaf ones here, I repeat - BEFORE, not AFTER. I hope everyone understands? 'Cause if not, I will have to go to The Big Guy Himself and tell him about those damned ones, who doesn't understand me..." Vladimir looked on his officers once again and added "You know who is our Big Guy and you know how cold it is in Breen embassies, where you will surely be sent if anything happens. Dismissed."
Russian doctor exited the sickbay, trying not to pay attention at not-so-pleasant comments about him, his mentality, his IQ and his sanity. ~Why, dear God? Why I have to work with such idiots, in comparison with whom, monkeys look more human-like? Give me a hint...~ With such thoughts he entered turbolift, stated his destination (Oh, I didn't mentioned, where he was moving to, dear reader? Sorry, he headed to his quarters. Disappointed that not to the bar?) and waited for doors to open.
Finally they opened. ~Whoa, God, why??? I hadn't sinned SO much to earn 'right' to be in one turbolift with HIM...~ groaned his mind, while face struggled to display standard duty smile. To his own wonder, it really looked as friendly smile. "Ahem... Good day, sir..."
Lysander looked up from the PADD he was reading (he still whistles tunelessly, in case you were the reader were losing sleep over that point!) and tried to place the face.
But first, he looked over his shoulder to make sure the Captain wasn't behind him. The he registered that he was a Commander now, and rated a 'sir' from the notorious Russian 'Grump.'
"Errrrr....." he said wittily, his neurons doing the mental equivalent of running in circles screaming 'Aiiieeee...'
"Errrrr?...." echoed Vladimir automatically. ~Very informative answer...~ he stomped his foot "Sir, aren't you going to enter turbolift, inspite of standing at the doors and 'Errrr'ing at me?"
"Oh... yes... of course... say... didn't you once call me a 'Tac Weenie' to my face, when I tripped on one of Sanchez's runs and had to go to Sickbay?" Lysander asked.
~My, my...~ groaned Russian doc's mind. "Umm... No, sir. I don't offend senior officers. This is not in my habit..."
"Oh, must be my mistake then. SAY! I remember now, you helped put my brain back together." Lysander retorted, snapping his fingers (and dropping the PADD with the same motion.)
~I guess, I made a lot of mistakes knitting it back into one piece. IQ less than 30 is my sentence... Poor guy, it looks like psychiatrists have lost an excellent test subject for their researches...~ thought doc, looking at Lysander's eyes like X-raying him. "Yep, sir, that is me. One and only and the best. SO! Aren't you going to state your destination, sir?"
"oh.. OH! Umm... errrr... where was I going again? Let's see... I rememebr that I was trying to run a binary integer solution, as I was reading about a Threat Fire Option Variant... and I was also eating a jelly doughnut... on my way to.... Deck Seven!" Lys muddled around for a bit.
~5 seconds for decision... Reaction is slowed; if he was in Russia, he would be named 'Tormoz' (It means 'Brakes', dear reader). Poor guy... Where the hell psychiatrists were?~ thought Vladimir.
Lysander eyed the Russian Doc out of the corner of his eye, and fervently hoped that the Doc hadn't used his own brain as the template when deciding the 'how' of fixing Lys'.
"So... erm. Errrr... How are you?" ventured Lys.
~Err, Cool, Beavis! Huh-huh-huh!~ Vladimir kicked away nasty thoughts "Everything is way past cool, sir. Sickbay is operational..." ~And while you won't show your ass there, it will remain operational...~ The conversation was definately stuck. "I hope great tactical department is successful?" he asked, hoping that word 'tactical' was said in proper attitude, not as always.
As Lysander was thinking of reply doors of turbolift opened. Vlad was waiting for this moment for so long. With fridnly smile he pointedat door, waiting for Lys' brains to click in acknowledgement. Without any other words, CTO exited turbolift and Vladya stated his destination. With pleasure, that he felt rarely...
"I say, that chappie DOES realize I'm the Executive Officer now? Silly forgetful bugger!" Lysander asked, surprising a passing Engineer.
Corgan was pissed. Really pissed.
You can?t imagine how pissed off he could really be. But to paint a more vivid picture, this is how Corgan gets pissed off.
On a good day, when James is only accosted by minor nuisances (such as Brhode, Lysander, and the occasional encounter with Leo Streely), he will show visible signs of agitation. A twitch, a few swearwords sprinkled into his sentences like pepper on a steak, and a few minutes of red faced embarrassment from being angry at such a small, insignificant topic. Then he would work it off in his daily workout, and leave it be until the next day.
His second phase was reserved for people who went out of their way to make his life miserable. Case in point, Leo Streely whenever Commander Corgan walked into Ten Forward. This caused James to fight back, cutting down the agitator with a sarcastic comment and leaving, always trying to keep his calm and not start a scene. But during workout time, he would punch the stuffing out of a punching bag, conveniently projecting a picture of the annoying person onto the punching targets of the bag.
(ed. note: ANYONE considering Leo an opponent in a 'Battle of Wits' deserves what they get!)
The last stage, where betrayal, hate and harm came into practice? there were no rules. Tell them off, fight them if he had to, then completely cut them off from his life. This only happened twice. The first time was with his ex-girlfriend, the second was with Rebecca and Lysander.
So, where did a brig full of Corgan?s security staff fall into under these strange but strict rules?
Being the first time that Corgan had to deal with a mass discipline problem of this gargantuan scale, the Commander wasn?t sure what to say or do yet. For the last hour, he paced from cell to cell, his stern, winter ice eyes visually scanning each and every Galaxy crewmember, with an emphasis on his security staff.
Ensign Brin Taro. His martial artist. Thrown in with a broken antennae. Lieutenant E?xch, the crewman with numerous skills, nursing Ferengi bite marks on his scalp. Shelly O?Rorke, the lawyer, had a black eye and a fat lip. Ensign Brenton was rubbing his wounded shoulder. Lieutenant Marsh grinned, happy with the results of his fight, unbothered by the penance of three front teeth. Lieutenant T?lan was unwounded and serene. Typical for a Vulcan to come out unphased. He suspected something in her.
?You guys better have f**ked up whoever did all this to you much worse than what you sorry sacks of sh*t are feeling, or I?m going to be really pissed off.? Corgan snarled. Besides the few words he spoke to Shore Patrol, he had not spoken a word, adding to the fear and tension in the room.
No answer came from the brigs. It was quiet enough to hear the space crickets chirp from the other side of the stardock?s hull. The security officers didn?t move. Some didn't even blink. All were afraid of Commander Corgan and what he had planned for them.
Fear and uncertainty was the Commander?s punishing paddle, and he was waiting for the right time to slap. Calm on the outside, he hinted at what would happen if anyone else stepped over his line of authority. He said, ?I hope you?re all proud of yourselves. On the day before you start your duties on your new assignment? your new home? you go out?? Like an enraged Setlet Beast, he paced across the cell entrance, the pitch of his voice rising in anger, ??and do something like this! I thought I was picking the best of the best, not a flock of dumbasses! Way to make a good first impression, meat trucks, cause if you wanted to be treated like sh*t, you?ve done your f**king jobs!?
Over on the other side of the force field, the security team of O?Rorke, E?xch, Marsh, T?lan, Taro and Brenton were all sharing their own cell. All alone with each other, each were contemplating their commanding officer?s words and keeping to themselves. Lieutenant E?xch was plotting a way to warm the ice-cold heart of his commander to ease up on their sentence, by way of the ass via a long nose. T?lan logically concluded that the violent, illogical actions of her crewmates deserved punishment, but didn?t see why she was involved. Marsh was paying attention to something other than Corgan?s rant. Taro was rubbing his broken antennae, complaining to himself about the lack of colors in his vision. O?Rorke and Brenton were the only two that did anything sensible. They stayed quiet and listened.
?So,? Sarcastically emulating a sh*t faced grin and a merry little voice, he asked, ?Who wants to tell me why, during an important date with my girlfriend, I was dragged away so that I could bail you people out of the klink??
Silence was his answer. None of his staff wanted to answer the question? yet. Of course, there had to be an over eager officer who had to answer, despite the better judgement of his peers. That officer was Lieutenant E?xch.
?Yes, Twink?? Corgan pointed to E?xch, who rose his hand.
The Denobulan stood up in a mockery of dignity, and answered, ?Because at approximately twenty two hundred hours at the Red Dwarf Bar and Grille on Stardock two, an incident occurred between us? and a group of Starfleet Marines. A fight broke out.?
?Which was your fault? moron.? Marsh booted E?xch in the ass lightly.
Corgan caught Marsh?s demeaning act, ?I?ll bootf**k your ass to engineering and tell them to give you an attitude alignment if you don?t seal it!?
?Yes sir?.? Marsh flagrantly flipped off an answer.
?Now Twink? tell me what happened, and for f**k sakes don?t sound like a cop.?
?Ummmmmm?.? The Denobulan coughed, ?Well? we were minding our own business. Drinking? having a good time?. When all the sudden??
?Forget it. Your answer sounds too clich? Brushing off E?xch, he turned to T?lan, ?Lieutenant T?lan, since Vulcans do not lie, I?m sure you?ll tell me the unabashed truth. Start talking. How did the fight start??
T?lan stood up and walked to the end of the cell. Speaking like an ice storm, James could have swore that she was being haughty. ?Sir, Lieutenant E?xch was speaking the truth. We were socializing, without any involvement with the marines.?
?Good? go on.?
?It was when Lieutenant E?xch decided to have an emotional outburst, we were unwillingly involved in the incident.?
?HEY!? Lieutenant E?xch barked.
?Shut up, Twink. I know a certain commander who wouldn?t mind having a new b*tch on Breen. Want me to inquire?? James snapped, ?So, are you saying that it was Lieutenant E?xch?s fault, correct.?
?A flawed, but partially correct assumption, Sir.? T?lan coolly announced, ?He was incited by their insults. Like a typical emotional sentient, he decided to??
?Call them slime devils.? O?Rorke completed.
?But sir,? Brenton, the diplomatic one intervened, ?You should have heard what the marines were saying about us folks. They don?t think none too highly of this here department. They think they can do our jobs better. Back where I come from, those kind of comments got yourself a grade A ass kickin?.?
?Maybe so, Ensign, but you people shouldn?t have been lured into an argument with the marines. It?s what they do. They put down people? get a rise from them, and then they cause even more trouble. But what troubles me.? James pointed the finger at each of his crew, ?Is that you people were suckered into it like first year cadets.?
?Sir? they insulted you.? Brenton said.
?Excuse me??
?A couple of their boys had a meeting with you? said all of things about you. Then they turned on the department. And that was when E?xch called them boys slime devils.?
?Ohhhh?? James recalled the meeting, ?That one. I remember those jarheads, but it doesn?t mean I?d walk up to them and give each and every one of them a facelift.?
?I know, sir, but that wasn?t the half of it.?
He silence the giant Midwesterner, ?I know. I still have to determine who threw the first punch. Hell, I know what happened. You, some marines, a bunch of Klingons in the mix? what set it off??
?Sir, the Klingons jumped in after the fight started. They thought it would be? fun.? O?Rorke massaged a dk?tag knife cut on her arm.
?Ok, so we rule out the Klingons. But that doesn?t answer my question. Who threw the first punch!?? The commander demanded. An object appeared in his hand, and as if by magic, it disappeared again, ?That?s the key to your freedom. Answer truthfully, and you?ll get out of this stinking cell. Bullsh*t with me, and you?ll be a marine?s b*tch on a prison colony. Who threw the first punch.?
?It was the marines sir!? E?xch argued, ?I was going to walk away and not cause any trouble, until I heard a punch? then that Ferengi officer jumped on me. That Ferengi fought like a girl! Grabbed my hair and bit me!?
?And pulling on his lobes was the epitome of masculinity?? Marsh snickered.
?Cork your ass for a second. I don?t want to hear it from you.? Rumbled James Corgan, ?Anyone else? E?xch says there was a punch. Who can add to this? O?Rorke? Did you punch someone??
?Wasn?t me, sir.? She countered.
?She really didn?t sir?.? Brenton defended.
?Or was it Marsh? Marsh, I know your type. F**king troublemaker, aren?t you? I bet you started it for sh*ts and giggles, didn?t you?? Corgan?s accusing stare went back to Marsh.
?Sorry to disappoint you sir?? The Dominion War Veteran, apprehensive about the new leader, answered, ?But my fists didn?t have any physical relations with their faces until after the fight broke out.?
?Sir?? Brenton piped.
Corgan turned his attention to the next player of the blame game, ?You did it, didn?t you Taro? Dammit boy, you?re registered as a lethal weapon. Don?t you know that you?ll be doing more hard time than the others??
?SIR! It wasn?t him either!? Brenton yelled out, defending his best friend?s innocence, ?It was me!?
Everyone was agape in surprise. The big man was singled out in the center of the cell, surrounded by his friends, the guilt on his face plain for everyone to see. His head was hung down like a Klingon who dishonored his friends, ?Sir,? His confession rode on, ?They knocked off my hat. And then that Ferengi crushed it. So, I turned around and decked the nearest person I could find. I?m real sorry sir? even if it was a good ol? boy?s hat, I shouldn?t have done what I?ve done.?
The force field shimmered out of existence. Nothing was between the imprisoned officers and their commanding officer. Free at last, they uneasily looked at the small device Corgan used to deactivate the forcefield.
?The way I see it,? Commander Corgan explained, ?The marines incited the fight. I?ve been authorized to let you all go.?
Nursing brawl wounds and breathing sighs of relief, the security officers filtered out of their cramped little cell. The doorway was nearby, and it was beckoning them to leave the brig area.
Corgan stepped into the way, ordering the staff members to halt.
?Back the f**k up?? He came on as stern, not relaxing though he let down his shields earlier, ?You people are still in deep sh*t, and if shore patrol finds out that you guys were responsible for that blackout on Stardock two? you?ll get worse. But for now, you all have a permanent reprimand on your record. Merry f**king Christmas!?
The security staff moaned and groaned. ?Sir? isn?t that a bit strict? We didn?t start the fight. You said so yourself.? O?Rorke objected.
?Lieutenant, you think that?s bad. That?s not all. Because of this stunt, Captain Brhode will expect me to come down hard. And hard I will! All of you are restricted to quarters until further notice. And if we forget about you? too f**king bad! You rot in your own room! Next time be a little more coolheaded!?
?Sir!? E?xch yelped.
?Hey. All the women I?ve been with say I?m a giving person. So, to stay true to myself, I?m going to keep on giving. From now until forever, the Galaxy?s security staff will be trained by the marines! And since that includes me and some people not involved in the fight, that will teach the rest of you to not take foolish actions that could hurt the rest of us!?
?WHAT?!?!? Sir, there is no way I?m going to work with those jarheads!? Marsh growled angrily.
?Ok, then you get to shovel sh*t in the matter re-sequencer chambers. So, unless you want to smell like crap for the rest of your life, you?ll work with the marines, and you?ll like it to the point of orgasm. Got it??
?F**k?? Marsh kicked the wall.
?Oh, and someone decided to do some interior decorating on our beautiful ship. That means you f**kups are going to clean it up for two hours each day. If you?re going to be punished, you better at least do something productive in the process. Do I make myself clear??
?Clear as crystal, sir.? Lieutenant O?Rorke answered back.
?Good? get going. I expect you all to report to security tomorrow.? James looked back at his wrist crono, ?Awww dammit. Lexa?s gonna kill me?. Come on. I don?t want to be in here for longer than I have to.?
The security officers, led out by their peeved commanding officer, left Shore Patrol for the first, and hopefully the last time. So ended the biggest barroom brawl in the history of the Red Dwarf.
Because of this achievement, the Klingons, the Marines and Corgan?s security staff were given honorary joke medallions from the Red Dwarf Establishment to commemorate their bravery and capacity for destruction.
Why not? After the brawl, the Red Dwarf?s business went over the roof. To milk the Red Dwarf?s new reputation as a brawling bar, it held all sorts of fight related events. It was now known as the Foxy Boxing mecca of the universe, and one of the favorite eateries of the ?Maquis Mauler?.
History is funny, isn?t it?
Donovan had only been on-base for a few minutes when he heard about the fight in the Red Dwarf. Donovan had simply looked at the aftermath, shaken his head disapprovingly, and watched as a slim redhead that he couldn't quite see but faintly recognized was carried off, completely unconscious. She disappeared into the crowd of brawlers as the starbase shore patrol finished sorting them out.
Donovan turn back to his wife of almost a year and picked up their luggage. "I'll never understand some people's need to be constantly fighting. This is Starfleet for the love of the Prophets. Do you remember when we were scientists?" he said to the slim Andorian woman.
Sendi sh'Soleri-Black smiled knowingly and replied, "You, Donovan Black, were never a scientist. You've been a soldier all your life in case you don't remember." She poked him in the ribs as she said this, ducking to avoid a thrown stun baton, and laughed a lyrical, melodic laugh.
"Ah, but I could have be a historian of the classics? In a perfect world I would be traveling from planet to planet learning the secrets of their past rather than their present. And I wouldn't have to be so bloody cloak and daggerish about it." Donovan said, as he lead his wife away from the now rioting bar.
"Right. Marcus Aurelius and Rome." Sendi said, carrying a small handbag containing credits and other light personal items. Donovan meanwhile hauled the heavy stuff, despite Sendi's Andorian strength. He had long ago insisted that it just wouldn't be gentlemanly to allow the lovely young lady to carry a lot.
"Well, not just them, but they are a good example." Donovan said. Marcus Aurelius was a man who one could look up to, at least in Donovan's mind. The philosopher emperor of Rome had lead an interesting life, and Donovan frequently read the writings that he had left behind.
"Did I ever tell you the story of........." Sendi started another of the Andorian myths that so fascinated Donovan. As he listened intently, he knew exactly why he had married her.
Sendi continued her story all the way to the office of Fleet Captain John Q. Bhrode, whom they had been ordered to report in to upon their arrival. Their orders had warned them that Captain Bhrode was a hard ass no-nonsense hell raiser, but both Donovan and Sendi had served under him before during the mission in the Mako Nebula that had gained the man his Hirogen-hide boots, and felt confident that they were officers of the caliber that Bhrode would accept.
Donovan and Sendi said their good mornings to the young Betazoid yeoman, and Donovan complimented her on her choice of hair styles, then they sat and waited to be interviewed. They had decided that they would be interviewed separately if that was how Bhrode would work it, since they wanted to show that they too were professionals and that their relationship would not get in the way of their work as Chief Intelligence Officer and Intelligence Analyst.
Except that the power had been out for several minutes now.
"Oh no..n 'incoming'. . . " the Yeoman whispered, flinching just a bit in the darkness as she immediately picked up on the roiling emotions of the brusk Captain. Emergency lighting had kicked in, bathing the room in an eerie red glow, and there --as if the result of a magician's stage show -- stood the infamous Captain John Q. Brhode, scowl firmly in place.
"Yeoman, would you please be so kind as to humor me and see just how many former Galaxy engineers are employed here at the station? I have been in my office in the dark for ten minutes and I can think of no other valid reason that a ship yard's power would extinguish except bumbling fools behind the wrenches.."
'Yes, sir." she said, making the proper notations.
"And Yeoman, I am officially finished with these interviews. If any other misbegotten soul, unable to read a chronograph shows up on your doorstep, you inform them that when I say report before me, there are bodies in chairs. No exceptions. Then foreword their jackets to the Federation Embassy on Breen."
"Yes, sir." She said, then motioned to where Black and Soleri sat. "They are the last two remaining, Captain."
The old man turned his spiteful gaze upon the two officers. "The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up right now. Do either of you two have any reason why I get this particular reaction to you two?"
“I can’t imagine, sir.” was Sendi’s deadpanned response.
Donovan said a simple and efficient, “No sir.”
"I get all tingly because I see yet another set of love birds looking to be a part of my ship and the legend it is sure to become. Apparently someone is circulating a goddamn bulletin soliciting couples to join the Love Boat.?Have you seen such a memo, Yeoman?" Bhrode snipped.
"No, sir.... and sir.. Station Security is reporting a disturbance in one of the Lounges aboard ..the Red Dwarf." the betazoid said.
“And this warrants my concern because?"
"Apparently some of the Galaxy crew were involved , sir. Shore patrol is sorting it out."
'Like hell they are. Well! Isn't that just goddamn ducky! Officers on my ship are acting like savages in public. Well I have just the remedy for this. Instruct Corgan to station himself in the bar. Have him bring my meat truck - Darkstar too! And tell them that John Q Brhode is en-route right this very moment!" Brhode said hustling out of the room.
Then he shouted: "You two want an interview, you have approximately 3 minutes to convince me that I should even allow you on my boat. I suggest you move now!"
“Yes sir. Because we can do the job that you need us to
do. I won’t list a list of achievements. I won’t tell you all the
wonderful things that I’ve done. I won’t butter you up, and I won’t
kiss your boots to get a job. All I can tell you, is that I feel a duty to the
Federation, to serve and protect it’s citizens, and that I can be counted
on to perform to that duty to the best of my ability.” Donovan said, quickly,
succinctly, and
seriously.
“And with all due respect, Captain Bhrode, we are not Autumn and Wilhem Quevvenson. We will not be caught fornicating on the bridge. Just because some people lack the emotional and mental maturity to do their jobs without allowing their personal lives, and I use the term lives loosely, to get in the way, does not mean that we cannot.” Sendi said, arms folded behind her back as she and Donovan stalked down the corridors of Starbase 2.
Bhrode stopped walking. He looked them over and gave them the glare. Unlike so many others, they neither wet themselves or ran screaming. Perhaps they were made of sterner stuff than he had thought. "All right. You listen and you listen well. I don't care what practiced speeches you can bullshit into my face, and I don't like spooks. Intel horse patootie makes me nervous. I'll take you on as my Chief Intel Officer only because you're who they sent. But if I catch any whiff of either of you sneaking around behind my back, or that you have your own "intel" agendas, your hienies will be on Breen so fast Ambassador Chris Kell Thomas' head will pin."
"Yes sir, you won't regret it." Donovan said, standing at attention.
"And you. As for not being the Quevvensons, I don't care. If I hear about either of you messing around on my ship while on duty, you will wish you ere off on some cushy medical frigate like Autumn and her "man root." Bhrode growled. Sendi nodded in acknowledgment.
"Now go get your department onboard and ready to move. I want an initial report on my desk yesterday! Why are you still standing there? Move!" Bhrode yelled, and Donovan and Sendi beat a hasty retreat, the sounds of Bhrode interrogating some poor shore patrolman about the brawl following them like a vengeful spirit.
Still, Donovan could get used to this.
"Seems fair enough. Let's get our personnel onboard." Donovan said to Sendi, who nodded and followed him toward their new-old home, the USS Galaxy.
On a rowdy Friday night, The Red Dwarf was the place to be for Utopia Planetia's socialization needs. Situated on the lovely and historic Stardock 2, The Red Dwarf was a busy and lively bar after alpha and beta shift was over.
True to its name, The Red Dwarf had serious overtones of the crimson color, in all sorts of shades. From burgundy to neon, all the shades of red were represented in one form or another, in the lighting, the furniture, the upholstery, even some of the drinks were fiery red to do justice the Red Dwarf's good name. To put it simply, it was the most 'Red' place in the universe. That was its claim to fame, besides the killer Black Holes the bartender loves to mix.
Federation News Service's restaurant and bar review gave The Red Dwarf a five star rating, deeming it an excellent place to dine out. It employed some of the best bartenders and cooks that a regular bar and grille could afford to hire. The decorations also spoke of taste. turned awry by a twisted, red obsessed mind that would make Leo Streely cry foul over the overuse of one color. If it wasn't so red, The Red Dwarf could have been a high class social club. The furniture was made of exotic oak and transparent aluminum, colored black in some areas, but the wood was polished to give a red cherry shine. The stereo system blended perfectly into the walls, like organic bulges in a network of veins, leading to the 'heart', a 50's jukebox of polished wood and, you guessed it, red neon tubing. The carpets were subtle grays with attention grabbing reds in each lane, as if the proprietors of the establishment were 'rolling out the red carpet'.
The crowds didn't mind the loud colors. That was the whole point of the Red Dwarf, to be loud and fun. Those who wanted to relax were welcome to go to someplace more tranquil, such as Ten Forward, but what would be the fun in that?
Secretly, James wished he picked Ten Forward as the place to go with his girlfriend, but he heard so many great reviews about the food and drink at The Red Dwarf that he had to satiate his curiosity. Little did he know about the rowdiness of the patrons. People were dancing to bass thumping beats of alien origin. Boisterous laughter competed with the music. Some of those voices sounded very drunk, and possibly quite angry.
James didn't feel to comfortable about taking Electra Reece to a place like this, but it was too late to turn back. They already paid the cover charge, and the lineup to get out was extensive.
Besides, if there was trouble, James was in the company of a six-foot tall woman, whom he saw as a rough brawler when backed up against the wall. Who would be foolish enough to mess with either of them?
"Are you ok in here Lex?" He checked to be sure, always treading carefully when talking to his girlfriend.
Lexa glanced around the bar, eyebrows raising and a small smile curving the corners of her mouth. After a moment she nodded as they continued inside, looking for an empty table. Spying one on the other side of the room, Lexa pushed her way through the crowd to it and sat down, James following and joining her.
Though very glad that James had wanted to go out and see her again, Lexa was apprehensive. She worried about what he was thinking inside. And she worried that there would be another incident and he would be disgusted once more. It wasn't something she could control and the thought of him seeing her that way again was making her feel slightly ill.
Worry was always on the mind of James Corgan. A force of habit, to be exact. The few friends he managed not to piss off he loyally served. Lexa was also more than a friend. She was his companion, his lover and his joy. But dealing with her had become an ever increasing game of high stakes. One slip, and he lost a companion, a lover, and a source of happiness.
He was in his 'torpedoes be damned' attitude. Starfleet old school curiosity got the better of him. Inch closer with his words, and he could somehow slip through the barbed wire she carefully wrapped around her mind.
"Lex." He spoke soothingly, to imply that what he was about to say wasn't going to hurt, "I know the last time we meet. well. I'm not sure what you saw that prompted you to leave, but I got your message. You don't need to apologize. Even if I don't know the half of what is going on, I don't need to know to understand that you're hurting. Hey." He eased up his voice, talking more gently, "I'm glad you messaged me. I wanted to meet you again."
As she listened to him talk, Lexa smiled softly. It was really nice being with him again and the fact that he wasn't prompting her to talk much was wonderful. Maybe he did understand. Or maybe not. But, either way, this was a nice evening.
~Still not in the mood to talk.~ James found himself losing heart. Upon seeing himself considering a surrender, he urged himself to keep up the verbal climb. It was just a matter of time before she said something.
He started, "So... what do you think of the ship? Is she something or what?"
Sighing a little as she realized that he wasn't going to let her be comfortably silent. He was so uncomfortable with silence. He always had been. But so had she. Before. She gave him a small smile. She thought of the changes she had seen since coming on board. The color scheme on some of the decks. The new weapons. The third nacelle. "Unique. Very. Wonder about its action."
Nodding in agreement, James added, "I checked over the tactical database on this vessel and it has some exotic weapons. Not to mention that security has received all sorts of toys. Problem is, my department has to baby-sit the marine's arsenal and put up with their staff. I even had to talk to one of their superior officers today. She was bullheaded and rude, but what can you do?" Commander Corgan shrugged, "Not much, I guess."
"Don't know any. Good luck with them."
"So, what do you think of the changes? Marines, huge weapons. looks to me like we're ready to go to war again." He used the words with dread. As a veteran of the Dominion War, he didn't like the idea of going on a heavily stocked warship during peacetime. It was bound to attract even more fighting, "Don't know for what, though. Who'd be insane enough to turn the Galaxy into. that?"
The ship, currently moored at stardock two, was hovering outside the portholes of the Red Dwarf. The once graceful ship was stocked with protrusions, extending out weapons batteries, hull plating and an extra stocky, upraised nacelle in the center. Not only was shuttle ops going to complain about the third nacelle being so close to the main shuttlebay, every other alien race was going to think the Federation was looking for a fight. Small problems and large ones were going to follow the ship like a lost targ, James thought. For the first time, he felt fear and dread at the sight of the 'big lady'.
Like he was staring down the blade of death's scythe.
"That ship scares me," James confessed, "She's big, overpowered, and she's just asking for trouble. I miss the stock configuration. At least it was meant to be an explorer... not like... whatever that thing is."
"Warship. War. Ship."
"Lex... when you see... whatever it is that you see, are they violent images?"
She looked down at the table, biting her lip. ~ Why do you have to probe there, James? Why? I know you think I'm a freak. Everyone who knows does except the doc. Leave it alone!!!! ~ Taking a deep breath she spoke very softly, "Usually. Or like it. Not all times."
James broke his stare away from the USS Galaxy, "That's what I thought. I'll enquire no further."
Glancing across the room as she looked for a waitress, Lexa saw an Andorian man and a Vulcan woman with a group of others, mostly humans. Next Lexa saw the Andorian - one antenna broken - throw someone over the bar. The Vulcan woman give a neck pinch to a nearby Vulcan man. There were screams and curses and crashes of glass and wood. A Ferengi growled and hissed as he grappled with a Denobulan. Klingons howled and threw people across the room.
She turned back to James and realized that he was still looking over his shoulder for a waitress. She glanced back to the other side of the room and saw a group with the Andorian and the Vulcan woman calmly toasting their glasses. Over the hub-bub a voice from a table with the Ferengi and the Vulcan man warbled, "Black velvet in that little boy's smile ... Black velvet in that slow southern style." Her eyes widened.
"Heh," James chuckled, "Alannah Myles. Black Velvet. I like that song." He held out his arm, inviting her to come closer, "A dance, my lady?"
Jumping to her feet, Lexa grabbed James' hand and pulled him to his feet. His head whipped around in surprise as she pulled him through the crowd and out the door onto the promenade. She kept tugging down the hall and around the corner before stopping.
"Whoa! That's a strange way to lead!" He helplessly kept pace, her fingers biting into his flesh. She let go as they exited the Red Dwarf, keeping a safe distance from the entrance. Her fingerprints left fine rosy imprints on his wrist. He rubbed his sore wrists, surprised at the brute strength the woman possessed. "Lex, what happened this time? What did you see?"
She looked up at him and put her fingers to his mouth in a quieting gesture. She used her other hand to point around the corner and then brought it to her ear. Realizing her intent, James nodded and listened to where they had come from for a moment. As they cocked their ears, sounds of crashing filled the air. And the unmistakable grunts and slapping sounds that come from fist-fights. Lexa sighed deeply, glad that her "vision" had born itself out and not made her look like a fool in front of the man she loved. A freak, yes, but not a fool.
"Oh my god..." He watched the ensuing chaos unravel in the bar. He rapidly smacked his comm-badge, calling for aide, "Commander Corgan to Shore Patrol. We have a situation at the Red Dwarf. Requesting immediate backup."
=/\="Shore patrol... we're already on our way. Over and out."=/\=
The 'tromp-tromp' sound of Shore Patrol boots treading on deck plates could be heard all the way from the entrance. Dozens of Shore Patrol staff, armed with shock suppression mauls, riot force shields, and type two phasers passed by Commanders Reece and Corgan.
They stood against the corridor wall and listened as abruptly the sounds ceased and a voice could be heard, arresting everyone. She smiled at him with an eyebrow cocked. "See," she whispered lightly.
Surprised, the Dominion War veteran eased his hand off his comm.-badge, "Uh huh... and I'm glad you saw it when you did. We would have been dragged into that fight if it wasn't for you. Thanks."
The Shore Patrol were in the process of dragging and leading out the rioters in the bar. First, they started with the Klingon warriors. They growled out swears and curses at the Shore Patrol, bucking and struggling despite the restraints on their arms. Next were the marines, smiling, laughing, and bragging about their tally of 'fleetie's' they beat up. They weren't the least bit worried about the Shore Patrol; to them it was business as usual. Lastly, the downtrodden Starfleet officers were lead out with various bumps, bruises, scratches and welts.
It was when a black eyed, ruffle haired Denobulan looked up at Commander Corgan's face that he recognized who the fleeties were. He saw an Andorian with a broken antennae, then a huge Terran speaking to the Shore Patrol in a Midwestern accent, followed by a Vulcan and a Terran female. Last but not least, they doubly restrained a chuckling Terran officer who spit out a Marine's Leftenant pin.
"Oh my god... THAT'S MY CREW!" James gasped in exasperated shock.
"Oh sh*t..." The Andorian muttered, "It's Corgan."
As they stood in the corridor, Lexa was caught up in her own thoughts. She had only dimly heard her escort's comments. She leaned closer to James. His questions and probing decided her. "Back to ship. My quarters. We talk. There."
"Lexa, I'd love to but..." He watched as a half dozen of his security department was led away in restraints, "...I have to bail some of my staff out of the Shore Patrol's brig. Not to mention I'm going to have to punish their sorry asses.... I'm sorry it had to be this way, but I'll see you soon, ok?"
She looked after the officers being hauled away and nodded. She understood. This was duty. She came second to it. Rightly so. Nodding, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and a push that turned him around and started him after the group. "See me after," she said to him as he smiled at her over his shoulder. When he was out of sight, she straightened from the wall and headed to the transporter area to go back to the ship.
Calvin sat at a small table in the middle of the bar with his date for the evening, Marina Rogers. Marina was a civilian scientist who worked on the ships in the process of being built or overhauled. They had met when she had directed him to the Galaxy on his arrival on Mars. She was an attractive brunette with hair in a braid halfway down her back. She was very-well built, indeed fairly top heavy. She had deep brown eyes and a ready smile which was directed at the young former tennis star who had offered to get her a drink.
"Isn't this place a hoot!" She partly yelled across the table. "I love it when its like this!" He smiled back at her.
"It's great but the waitresses get lost in the crowd!" He bellowed back, grinning at the absurdity. "This place is packed to the bulkheads! It must be the view!"
She nodded. "That and the reputation this place has for being bizarre. These two guys, Lister and Rimmer, come here a lot and tell the funniest stories! You should come back when they are here. I think they worked a little too close to a warp core, though, because they insist they are the last humans in the universe. Or were, they say, until some creatures recreated their ship from scratch. Oh! And that Rimmer ... what a jerk but wacky. He claims he's dead and is only a hologram! He even puts a big letter 'H' on his forehead!"
Calvin shook his head over the folly of the two men and rose from his chair. "Well, since I can't find a waitress in this mess, I'll go get our drinks. What do you want, Marina?"
"Just get me an Andorian ale, Cal."
Nodding, the young officer walked to the bar. After ordering their drinks, he stood and waited for the bartender to serve them up. As he waited he noticed some officers confronting a group of Marines. He sighed, knowing from experience with Marines and from experience in reading people what was going to happen. Grabbing the drinks that were plunked onto the bar, he hurried back to his date. By the time he got there he could hear the sounds of blows behind him.
Marina was already on her feet and he followed her as she made her way to the back of the bar. "This happens a good bit," she yelled over the noise. "I know a back way out." He nodded and hurried after her as she pushed through the crowd to a small alcove in the back of the bar. One of the walls was hung with a curtain which she shoved aside, revealing a Jeffries' tube. She yanked it open and crawled inside.
Calvin swiftly followed her into the tunnel and pulled the door shut behind. They crawled for fifteen meters or so before coming to another access hatch. She eased it open and heard the Shore Patrol outside. Easing it closed again she turned to him with a smile. "We'll have to wait a little or they'll collar us. Do you mind?"
The handsome young man shook his head. "Not at all. After all, now I've finally got you alone." He grasped her shoulders lightly and turned her towards him. Leaning forward, he tilted his head and pressed his lips lightly to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid closer to him, opening her mouth to allow his tongue entry.
Fifteen minutes later, they opened the hatch and slid out, both considerably disheveled and breathing heavily. With a smoldering look at her companion, Marina said, "My quarters aren't too far. Let's hurry." With a wolfish smile, Calvin agreed and they walked swiftly to her quarters where they completed what had begun in the tube, making them both much more disheveled and considerably more breathless.
The large metal doors sat at the end of the hall, or rather dissected the hall, forming an end point. Beyond them lay the Astrophysics department of the USS Galaxy. One of the newer ship design elements becoming prevalent in the newer more secure, more militaristic Starfleet was the total separation of high-tech, high-security laboratories and ship system elements. More doors were added, chopping up the long, flowing, open halls of the past, doors that kept scientists and engineers in and everyone else out, doors that could be locked and secured during invasion.
A man walked up to the large doors and began to type in a security code into the computer to their side and immediately, the gateway opened to their new master. Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin, Chief of the Astrophysics department, stepped into the gated community of laboratories, the largest such community on the ship. Astrophysics involved the charting, cataloging and investigation of all astronomical phenomena, one of the primary scientific missions of starships. This area of the Galaxy housed Stellar Cartography, a large two story room that, through the use of sophisticated holographic projectors, would project the universe outside within, Astrometrics, one of the homes of all the data collected by the sensors on the ship's hull, also equipped with holographic projectors for display purposes and used for detailed navigational as well as scientific purposes, several large labs equipped with nebular gas containment systems, fusion generators to replicate t! hat of a star, and symmetrical warp field generators used to recreate on a small scale the plethora of subspace anomalies that seem to strike starships at every turn, along with a couple dozen smaller labs that could be specialized as the need arose. Along with all the labs, several cozy offices were located here, supplied for the senior scientists.
Cutter walked down the hallway of the science department to his new office. Considering the promotion up from Federation Communications Subspace Specialist on Fruna to Starfleet's Flagship's Chief of Astrophysics, the new power and freedom to control and oversee a large area of scientific study on a starship and a spiffy new office, one would think Cutter would be more excited. Even the simple fact that he was a science officer and therefore escaped with a short, low hassle meeting with Captain Bhrode would have most Starfleet officer's jumping with joy. Despite all this, Cutter Kara'nin slowly walked forward with his eyes locked onto some PADD, taking in nothing of his grand, new workplace.
His personality had undergone quite a radical shift - a return to the stoic, impassive, reserved and quiet man he had always been at the Academy and in Starfleet from the jovial, confident, fun-loving Fruna'lin he was on his home world. Cutter was unaware of this transformation in himself, he'd make a curious study for any counselor were he ever to see one. Perhaps it was because of his career. His species, the Fruna'lin, were new members and supporters of the Federation, but disapproved of its militaristic wing, which grew more militaristic every day recently. By choosing to become a member of Starfleet, Cutter isolated himself from the rest of his species, his friends, his culture, his home. His workplace was on a starship, and despite the fact that he did not work all the time, by having to live on the starship on which he studied, Cutter could never leave his workplace. He couldn't go back home at the end of the day, to the sweet, ! open air of his world, to the music, the dancing and the parties that took place seemingly every night, to the winged lovers he could spend a night with. Like most people, Cutter had developed a behavior for the workplace and for the home. But unlike most who could simply make their home on a starship as well as a workplace, Cutter, a winged Fruna'lin born of the sky, could never be at home in the self-contained environment enclosed on a starship. His workplace and home behaviors didn't have to be maintained for only hours at a time, but rather months, or years, and so developed into two extreme behaviors, two opposite personalities - the Fruna'lin and the Starfleet.
Another set of subservient doors separated as their master approached them, opening onto Cutter's new office. It was medium sized, as far as offices went. The walls were metallic, as light silver color that reflected everything back fuzzy, like a scratched mirror. In the center was a black desk that absorbed all light that hit it, accompanied by two black leather chairs. A large viewscreen covered one wall, currently displaying four simultaneous views from the exterior of the ship. The deep, rust red of Mars that covered three of the four views unleashed an unsettling amount of color into the monochrome room.
Cutter stepped over to his desk, ignoring the breathtaking shots displayed on the view screen, and sat. He crossed his wings behind him and let them rest slightly on the ground as he set down his PADD and turned his attention to the messages on his desktop computer. Down to work.
"Randall I'm not talking to you..."
"What what did I do?"
"You got me demoted, I lost my commission."
"Oh don't blame me Dante, you didn't like being an officer anyway."
Dante just sighed and rested his head on the desk, "I'm not supposed to even be here today."
Randall looked over, "I know, and here we are on the Galaxy, again, with captain Bhrodie again, look we all know putting Bhrodieman in charge of any vessel short of a Borg cube is the worst idea since Greedo shooting first but here we are, back on this ship and having to deal with a commander with a worse temper then Darth Vader but without all the random Dark Side chokings."
Dante shook his head, "I know, but I wish Veronica was here in Engineering."
"Now you can go after Catelin."
"She's still not talking to me since that incident..."
"Well I don't blame her, I wasn't the one who tried to film her in the shower..."
Looking at Randall Dante sighed, "Yes you were and she was the one that kicked your ass...."
"Oh yea... that was me.."
* * * * *
Leo had been in the Galaxy's brig when the power kept flickering on and off. This is different from his previous visits, as he wasn't gagged and handcuffed this time. And the stuff with the power flickering on and off.
"I'm telling you , it was right there! THAT cell! Old Bhrode put me in there! And then, just before I made my escape... I felt all tingley, like when you see a nekkid girl! And then, after the tingle... I seen my whole life go before my eyes! And I tell ya, you never seen so MANY dames go past someone's eyes before. . ." he was telling a pair of Yard Technicians scurrying to finish their work. Their haste was more due to a desire to finish and escape Leo, rather than some burning desire to do thier jobs dilligently. Leo was pointing to one of the brand new Brig Cells, having had just claimed to have died and been reborn inside it. (TOS:The Hunted Part I.)
"That's a brand new unit. This whole deck module got ripped out and replaced." One of the techs said resentfully, for the tenth time.
"I'm TELLING you, it was right there! What? You saying maybe I got all discombobulated and. . ." Leo screeched.
"Is that a word? Disconwhatever?" asked the female tech.
"YEAH BABY! DISCO RULES!" Leo shouted, to everyone's confusion.
"Do you smell whale poop?" the female asked her partner with a shrug.
Leo, true to form, had taken one look at the Plaid Brig when Lys dropped him off and immediatly started scurrying around to 'take charge' and 'help out' and generally confuse and annoy everyone present.
A visit from the Chief Engineer hadn't helped. Everytime one of the Techs triped over the pile of wood carvings, Leo would screech and run over to hover around them protectively.
"There's some pervo Counselor on the USS Miranda who'd love to get his paws on these bay-bees." Leo would mutter about the 'porno' carvings to anyone who cared to listen. And to most who preferred not to and tried to ignore him, to no avail.
"Hey! what's with all the buttons? And where's my gun?" he demanded, pointing at the Central Security Duty station, with it's Internal Sensor Nnet readouts, Threat Assessment and Tracking controls, Brig Monitoring Sub-station, and Armoury Access sub-station.
That's when the power went out and stayed out. In the brief second before the red Emergency lights came up, the female Yard Tech gave a shriek and a resounding 'smack' was heard.
Leo, of course, had a handprint on his face when the lights finally came back on. It is worth pointing out that he was back on the other side of the Brig, no small distance.
"Someone pinched my butt. . . " she complained, looking at the nearest person, her partner.
"File a report, before that little tubby guy starts talking again. We are in Security." said her nonplussed partner, hands still full of their toolkits and spare parts.
"Nah, you don't wanna do that. All the paperwork. . ." Leo replied, swinging his feet up on the desk and tossing the Operation Manual for the console over his shoulder. He was careful to keep his left profile away from them, however.
"Who is this dork?" muttered the partner, as they made their way out.
"Haw-HAR! Now I have you! I am NOT a felon revisiting my old haunt. Ohhh... computer? Enlighten these people as to my true identity?" Leo said to the ceiling, an oily smirk on his dopey fat face.
Silence.
"Hey. . . Computer? What gives? I'm talking to YOU metal brain! Yooo-hoo... computer....?" Leo began again.
"It's offline." the female tech told him.
"I knew that!" Leo screeched.
"Then you know it's offline until tomorrow. Although you can certainly access the backup core in the Engineering hull. This ship has three computers aboard. Dork." the male tech said, as they left.
"Right. I knew that TOO! Backup Computer! RIGHT!" shouted Leo after them.
==Voiceprint confirmed. Streely, Leo. Special Security Deputy Investigator, Starfleet Security Division. Acting Ensign. USS Galaxy Security Detail.== the computer finally answered.
"Took you long enough! Where is my 'Intergalactic. . .Superfantastic.
. . Intergalactic. . .Man of Mystery' title?" Leo demanded, doing a little
dance to the tune of his favourite song about himself. " My "Lovemonkey?"
alias? Hows about a 'Master of Disguise' or "Jedi Master' or a... OH!...a
'Mojomeister' or a simple 'The Big Hoss' thrown in there?? Huh?" Leo demanded
of thin
air.
==unable to comply, parameters of database exceeded. Please restate in the form of a question.==
"Okay. FINE! Be like that. What does that thingyjimmbo do?" Leo demanded, pointing at the Central Station Desk.
==Unable to comply, parameters of . . == the computer began again.
"Nebbermind. . .I'll figure it all out myself. These dummies should really like... have a handbook or something. Gotta do everything myself." grunted Leo, sitting down and poking at the LCARS.
When a voice told him the Captain wanted Corgan and Raven on the Stardock, Leo waved it off with a muttered " Yeah yeah yeah...Bhrode, Big guy. Loom... got it." and continued poking at the LCARS.
When Stardock called about a Riot, Leo waved it off with a muttered "Yeah yeah yeah. Riot. Got it. Cry me a river."
When the power came back on, Leo didn't even notice.
Five Minutes after that, Leo had the internal sensor net up and running. Rather, he managed to patch the feeds from the sensor net to the offline Security Command node, the way they were supposed to do AFTER the yard techs had finished the hookups and Level 5 diagnostics. But Leo -did- manage to find the button that read 'press to engage' and of -course- he thought he did something major.
Six minutes saw Leo trying to convince the computer to give him access to the restricted sensor net inside personal quarters and public rooms.
Six and a half minutes saw Leo break off in the middle of "Because! I gotta check and make sure them girls soaping in the sonic shower is all secure and everything...it's my JOB fer crying out loud! How can I do my JOB iffen I can't SEE what people are. . . " to screech "HEY! That Big Dumb Dummy! He's working without me!" as a hallway sensor showed an unmistakable form looming behind some scurrying Marines.
"Hey Buddy! Waiiit for meeeeeeee...." Leo screeched as he disappeared down the corridor. Un-noticed, the Security LCARS began to blink it's Level One warning "THIS STATION NOT TO BE LEFT OPERATIONAL AND UNATTENDED AT ANY TIME. . . COMPUTER SENSOR NET RELAY DAMAGE IMMIANENT IF LEFT UNATTENDED"
* * * * * * * *
Leo caught up with them on Deck 35. For some reason, Raven was chasing a bunch of Marines. They were all running away from Raven, a natural instinct in Leo's book if a Six foot Six Heavily Muscled Indian starts sprinting after you for no good reason.
The Marines were in their distinctive grey and black battlearmour, everything glistening under the ship's Emergency lights. The Big Indian was jogging behind the group, identifiable only by the sheer size of his form and the braid of ebon hair behind him.
Behind Raven, a tubby figure in a cheap looking leisure suit comes pummelling, head down, fat little legs going hell bent for leather. The tiny guy plows right into the monster Indian from behind. Both forms fall to the deck, the huge one somehow twisting in midair, to land on top of his 'attacker.'
"OOF! ow ow ow ow owwwwww....Geeeze....gedouffa me you lummox!" Leo's whined from the pile. The Marines kept jogging.
The big form was silent.
"I'm serious here, I ain't playing around now. Something is poking me in my... you know......my tushie!" Leo whispered.
Silence.
"Dammit! Get ouffa me you idjit! Don't make me get all physical here, Remember the last time! And get that outta my ass OR ELSE!" screeched Leo.
"Or else what?" the female Marine NCO asked, having led her troop in an 'about face at the doubletime' manuever.
"OR what? What? me? OH! Yeah, he'd better get off me or I'll .. I'll.. do SOMETHING! COOL! I'll do something COOL!" Leo screeched.
"Ran right into my ass." The Big Guy said, untangling himself and getting an assist from the tiny and decidly female form of the NCO.
"I'm not like that!" Leo replied.
"Who is this idiot?" asked the Marine NCO.
"What? WHAT?" screeched Leo. "It's me.. ME! Leo? LEO! Leo Streeley? ME! Where you been living tootsie?"
"Reality, apparently. Never heard of you. You mind explaining what's going on here Sir? This guy's some kinda whakky Fleetie Nerp." The Marine NCO said.
The the Big Guy said it.
The only words that could crack Leo's titamium clad heart and make him show his passionate emotions that seethed under his manfully repressed, and quite studly exterior. (Ed. note. it's Leo's post, so quit giggling and realize HE sees HIMSELF that way.)
"Never seen him in my life." The Big Guy said.
His buddy.
His Kemosabe.
The guy whose life Leo had saved on more than one occassion. The guy Leo had shown 'how to be a hero' to. The poor little Big Guy who Leo let tag along with him during his (Leo's) countless death defying heroics while saving the Universe time and time again.
A million possibilities flashed through Leo's mind ( Ed. note: three. and not three million, but just three possibilities.) *ahem* whose post IS this? Thanks. But Leo settled on the BEST three of the.. dare he say BILLIONS of possibilities.
1. Raven was a big dumb pile of Steaming Monkey poop and had
let Leo THINK they were best buds because. . . well... just because he was a
bad and evil kinda guy. All the child saving and stuff had been merely cover
for hisROTTEN core.
2. Evil Aliens had stuck some kind of Alien Thingjummie in Raven's brain that
made him act like this.
3. Raven had been hit in the head going down on Leo (NOT LIKE THAT!), and was
braindamaged and would have to eat from a straw and ride the short shuttle to
school from now on.
Leo's mighty intellect raced and selected the most plausible solution. Frankly, in retrospect, the other two WERE pretty silly and farfetched.
So with a deep breath and an shout of "You don't know ME?" Leo grabbed Raven's head and tried to suck the Alien Thingjummby out of his head via his mouth. To everyone else, it still looked like Leo tried to kiss him though.
It was only when the NCO pulled Leo off, to the cheers and hoots of the assembled Marines, that anyone noticed the new guy.
A Big Guy.
A huge Indian stood there, seemingly identical to the one on the floor, busy now spitting and gagging.
"Holy Pamoll-lie! That guy looks just like you, Kemosabe Raven Old Buddy!" Leo screeched pointing at The New Big Guy.
"I know." the New Guy said.
The Marine NCO chick shook Leo (something he'd normally enjoy, but this wasn't a normal moment.) and stuck her shiny black faceplate right into Leo's face. Kinda kinky... actually.
"Why does this guy look like The Major?" she barked out over the speaker in her helmet.
"Who? What? This new guy looks JUST like Raven!" Leo said, indicating the aforementioned Raven, on the floor.
"And why did you kiss the Major?" she pressed, ignoring the hoots from her Marines.
"Kiss? ME? RAVEN? no way! I was saving his life, trying to suck...err.. something out of his... wait.. not like THAT! See.. I figure he had something I wanted to get out of his.... dammit.. I'm not LIKE that!" Leo was babbling.
"How." the New Big Guy said.
"Geeze, lay off the Indian stereotype stuff! Why does HE look just like my buddy Raven?" Leo asked, pointing at the new guy.
"How?" asked Raven from the ground, still wiping his mouth.
"GEEZE! You're gonna get us in trouble with the ICLU! Them commies are just LOOKING for an excuse to slap me into a 'Sexual or Cultural' Sensitivity class!" screeched Leo looking around.
"Yeah, how'd you get your Marines here so fast? I just left the Brig where Commander Corgan is yelling at the Security Guys some more. You just left the SD Brig twenty minutes ago and you already have them in armour and running." the new guy said.
"Oh, I thought you meant 'How is that tubby guy going to remove anything from your body?' Talent. I tell them , they do it." Raven said.
"Hey, Buddy... I just saved your life... well.. almost did... so STOP CALLING ME TUBBY! I'm big boned. Really- BIG- boned knowwhaddImean?" Leo said with a leer to the female NCO. Her exasperated sigh could be heard with her mike turned off.
"THAT is Major Laughing Horse Log you just kissed. He's the Marine Commander aboard." the Female NCO replied.
"I DIDN'T KISS HIM! I was saving his. . . . wait... that's not Raven?" at her 'no' headshake Leo looked at the New Big Guy.
"Raven. . . ?" he asked.
"Leo, shut up!" Raven #2 snapped, as the Gunny dropped Leo.
"It IS you! Buddy! Kemosabe! Sugar Tush...errr...KEMOSABE!" Leo shouted.
"You did the sacred foreskin slitting and bloodskin ritual with this outsider, that he calls you 'Blood-brother?'" The Major (Raven #1) asked.
"Hell NO! Urrrrggghhhhhh. . . . ." Leo screeched, dancing around on the ground in some minor species of fit (of disgust.) at the mere thought.
The Marines left, the Major glaring at everyone (esp. Leo) as they moved out.
"Raven, who WAS that guy? I thought it was you!" Leo said.
"Not me."
"Well? Who WAS he then? Come on, you gotta tell me!"
"Don't you ever listen? Major Laughing Horse Log."
"Never heard of him."
"You thought he was me, so you kissed him?"
"I wasn't KISSING him! See.. I thought it was you.. with this alien thingjummby up in your head, so I went to get it out. . ."
"With your mouth?"
"Shaddup! Yeah, with my mouth! Because we're buds, and I thought HE was YOU and.. if I got bit on my ass by some poisonous thing, you'd suck the venom out of me, right?"
"Nope."
"Nope? NOPE!?? I'd suck poison out of YOUR ass! I'd suck stuff out of any body part you got! Go On, Ya Big Lug! Name a body part, I'd suck poison right outta it! Right here, right now I'd suck on that body part and... " Leo was screeching when the Marine NCO pulled up again.
"You . . . dropped ...this." she said, holding out Leo's badge and trying not to giggle.
"NOT LIKE THAT! I'm not like THAT!" Leo screeched.
Betty raised her visor and stared at Raven for a good few minutes.
His obsidian eyes returned her cool azure stare second by second, neither
wavering or flinching.
"I did NOT have kissing relations with that Major!" Leo declared.
"Looked like kissing to me." said Betty, her eyes drifting over Raven's arms, with a hungry look in her eyes.
"Yep. Kissing." said Raven, somehow managing to flex muscles all over his body.
"See you around Big Guy" Betty said, loping away with a waggle to her armour clad bottom that even left Leo speechless for several moments.
"dammit... where's my gun?" pouted Leo.
"Maybe you dropped it whan you kissed my brother." Raven said, going off in the other direction.
"WHAT? That was your brother!??!" screeched Leo.
Tbc.
OOC: Holy Rusted Metal folks! Raven has a BROTHER! An identical twin? Which is the 'evil' one then? And what's the story on the Brothers? Why they have differnt names? Even Leo senses some hostility here... tune in to the Next Leo Streely episode for MORE! Oh yeah, WHICH of them kidnapped Rebecca from the brawl and WHY? Knew I forgot something. Oh yeah, and I, Leo Streely, did NOT really kiss that guy! I mean it! I DIDN'T KISS HIM!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
OOC Note: Admiral Hoth is an old and dear friend from
the TOS. Like all of your PC's.. he's had a year to change and grow. He's still
very much dedicated to saving the Federation from itself. He's still in the
"Rommel" mold of someone who'd strike a monsterous deal to preserve
his own honor, and he'd still rather keep the bulk of his plans to himself.
He's made some strange allies lately, and as always, his opinons are not those
of his writers. So before you guys start flaming about what he says, I suggest
you reflect on his 'backstory' and WHY he's saying what he says in this post.
His opinions are not those of the writers involved, or those of his original
creator, now lost in the sands of time.. -Liam
* * * * * * *
"DAMMIT Admiral, I'm a very busy and pissed off John Q Bhrode here. This is not the time to comm me again and play alll cutsey assed with me. Just say what's on your mind and let me get back to my job!" roared Bhrode at the comm, smacking his hand on his desktop for emphasis.
Admiral Jurgen Hoth compressed his lips and studied the head of the irate man on his end on the line."As you seem to be SO busy blowing the power out on the Dock and getting your crew out of the Brig. . ." Hoth began again.
A smile flickered across Bhrode's lips. "They won, didn't they? Only 79 of them got caught versus 139 non-Galaxy crew picked up in that tete-au-tete. Are you pissed that it happened, or that Von Ernst got pasted in it?" asked Bhrode.
Hoth let his glare answer for him.
"I don't consider wasting Stardock resources and. . ." began Hoth again.
"HEY! Newsflash! It was YOUR Doctor Frankenstein who blew SD-2's power grid up. You people knew he was a loon, and you turned him loose on MY ship! I don't remember his name coming up,, just a lot of 'Dr Brahams' Team' this and that. The next thing I know.. Ichabod Deadhead is backshunting a live power generator into the dockside umbilicals, just to 'see' what happens."
"That was not my decision. . ." tried Hoth again.
"ORANGE SHAG CARPETING AND A PLAID BRIG!" shouted Bhrode.
Hoth looked shiftier and kept silent.
"I know what this is about. It's VonErnst. You could give a crap if I let Quick press the button on his PPC and blew up SD-2 and Galaxy right now. But my XO gets pasted in the nose, and you start poking around my Command staff? Again? Get this through your head, Admiral. You're the Chief of Tactical and Strategic Operations. You have shinola to say about my officer selections off that Tac Arch. You knew this a year ago, when you sent her to me." Brhode templed his fingers and glared right back at Hoth.
"I am your superior officer and. . .' Hoth began again.
"TARGOTTH SHIT! You outrank me in the Fleet. Period. But on Galaxy **I** am the Fleet. In the real Fleet, I'm a janitor. I go around and clean up the messes made by other people. Lose a Cardassian spy? I'm there. Commodore getting lippy? I'm there. Big secret mission for another Captain? I'll watch his ship. But... NOT ON THIS SHIP!" Bhrode was steaming.
Bhrode's eyes drifted from the pickup and locked on something off screen.
"A year ago you told me all about this genius who was going to lead the Fleet, about how she needed to temper a tactical flair with some command responsibility she wasn't getting under Bobby Price. Then you told me about Wonder boy, who's her exact oppiosite, so damn internally empathic he can second guess alien psychologies but lacking that killer instinct. We can't explain either of them, how they do what they do, but we can use them."
Hoth nodded his rememberance.
"Then , Bobby Price pisses you off and ends up a cripple. I wonder how much of that had to do with him submarining Von Ernst and putting Karyn Dallas over VonErnst..." Bhrode ventured.
"That damn woman.. she has no business outside her Counseling office." Hoth spat.
"I agree with you on one level, But I wonder why she's so useless in your eyes!" Bhrode demanded.
"She's a cripple. She's in the way of the VonErnsts. We don't need wheelchair bound women counselors. We need fighters. Commanders. Warriors. We damn near lost the last two wars. The next one, we're going to be ready for! And we'll need ablebodied people, not cripples."
"Horseshit Jurgen. I know lots of officers messed up after the War. One of them a kid they pulled out of the Melbourne wreck. He uses him Mom's name because his old man ordered him to. Lost both legs there to the Borg, can't regen them because of allergies. Kit-Kate Jordan, that nosy reporter told me all about him, found the story buried deep." Bhrode pressed.
"Leave my son out of this." Hoth answered, his face promising trouble.
"Will do, if you leave my Command Staff out of your plans. Hands off The Wonder Twins, let them solve their dysfunctions together. Hands off Dallas, I need her skills to keep a lid on those two you saddled me with. And hands off my ship.You'll get your Fleet Commander and Captains when I damn well say you will."
"Dallas got Bobby Price damn near killed. You'd better watch your ass. Hoth out."
As the line faded, Bhrode turned to the silent observer.
"That answer your gawd-damned impertinant question?" he demanded, of his sole visitor.
The auburn haired commander shrugged, seemingly non-chalant. "You'd better do as he says, and I quote, 'watch your ass' sir."
She held his gaze for what seemed like quite some time, letting the moment hang between them. In the woman's blue eyes registered all the fire she had within. She meant so much more in those words than simple agreement, most importantly that she wasn't afraid to go to bat for her crew if the situation called for it, nor did she care whose toes she stepped on in the process. All of this was exchanged between them, and understood, in a matter of milliseconds.
Bhrode grunted his understanding of what was NOT said between them.
A split second later she added, indicating the comm terminal, "After all, who I am to question the judgement of my superior officer?"
With carefully crafted composure, Counselor Karyn Dallas, crippled Commander and Starfleet Has-Been, swallowed the lump containing all the shock, anger and hurt she'd just absorbed like a bitter pill, and did the only thing she could. Several feet behind the too narrowly spaced immobile steel chairs, Karyn waited in her hoverchair, head erect and shoulders squared in her best Fleet posture.
"Damn right. I've been all over your, and other people's reports of lanjep. Something smells worse than a Benzite's Bum. I wanna know what. Now ask me why I want to know."
Karyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. She knew even before she opened her mouth it was going to be an opening for him to stroke his own ego. *Note to self: try not to allow these opportunities too often.* "Why do you want to know, sir?" It was a question that came out more like a statement.
"Because I'm John Q. Bhrode, and I don't have to tell you WHY!" He thundered.
Karyn nodded slightly to indicate her understanding, but inwardly it was just confirmation of what she already knew. This was going to be a bumpy ride.
"All you have to do, Commander, is put little bandaids on their little egos when they come into your Office with their delicate and hurt feelings. Why will they? Because I am going to hold them responsible for their own actions. Because I am going to make a crew out of this ass-backwards monkey circus if it kills me or them. Because this ship is a big, glaring provocation to the whole of Alpha Quadrant to start something, and get smacked down BY this ship. And someone's gonna be dumb enough to do that. And those cry-baby whiny little twerps on our crew are going to have to be the ones to lay that world of hurt on someone." Bhrode declared, in a creepy flat voice.
There were a million things she could have said in response to Brohde's tirade, a million not so politely chosen phrases that would make her feel better and would get her point across quite nicely. Sure, it would result in her dismissal, but her id would be instantly and completely satisfied. But the truth of the matter was she would be wasting her breath on a man who knew jack about what it was she did everyday to ensure her crew's emotional well-being.
A man like Brohde could only see her services as an indication of the Fleet's weakness, its inability to suck up trauma and pain when she knew what it meant to be slogging in the muck that had once been some tortured soul's psyche. John Q. Brhde understood none of what it took to do her job so he could send out more killing machines, so appealing to that side of him was the equivalent of ghost hunting.
Never the less, she would not be steam rolled. "I will do whatever it takes to ensure the mental and emotional well-being of yourself and the rest of this crew, sir, and I will do so in whatever manner I deem appropriate as the Chief Counselor of this ship." replied Dallas coolly. The Counseling Department was her responsibility. It was not a job she took lightly, especially when it came to evaluating a commanding officer's fitness for duty, but she wasn't afraid to take action if need be.
"Damn straight you will. Or you'll be doing it on Breen, with my footprints all over your ass. You also have to perform duties as Second officer. I have two XOs, both of whom are young and know fuck all about anything but killing. YOUR job is going to be to help me make a pair of human beings out of them. I don't care what happened on lanjep. I don't even care what happened wherever you and Bobby Price went off to a year ago. I do care that you not get me shot in the back and stuck in a chair, though. You not understand any of this Counselor? Should I talk slower? You gonna cry?"
It was then that something in Karyn Dallas snapped, though perhaps 'snapped' was too negative a word to describe the situation, for it was not bad for her at all, but more like a reawakening. She had spent over a year of her life feeling sorry for herself over what she saw as her failure to protect R.E.L. Price on lanjep, and it was here, staring down John Q. Brohde that all of those feelings became insignificant.
"And give you the satisfaction? Reinforce your perception that women in general and me in particular are weaker than you? Why in the name of Pavlov would I do that? I am not afraid of you, Captain, and you know why? Because I have had almost every despicable thing a sentient being can do or say to another done or said to me, and I've survived. So you can ruin my career, you can send me to the Breen embassy, you can even kill me with your bare hands should you wish to, but I am done, I am done apologizing for my past actions and for my very existence in the fleet and in this universe. I will do what I want and say what I want as long as it will benefit my crew and the fleet and it feels like the right thing to do in my heart. Should you decide you want an advisor on your Senior Staff who's not afraid to tell you you're wrong when you're wrong, and won't kiss your ass just to save theirs, then you've found her, sir."
And with those words, something inside her knew she was back. A weight she never knew existed was lifted off her shoulders. Whatever the outcome, she knew she was going to be ok. Perhaps it was that sense of peace that helped her coast over the fact that she was a Second Officer again.
Bhrode continued to examine her with his cool, grey steel eyes. Nothing on his face or in his body language told her what he was thinking or feeling.
"As gold is purified by fire, thus shall I thest thee." he finally quoted from some obscure work of religious theme. "Go do your job, Counselor. If I agreed with Jurgen Hoth, I'd have never asked your commission be re-activated in the first place. We don't have to like each other, only work together. Dismissed."
Without another word, Karyn turned and left Brohde's Lair.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Computer! Time!" Curtis yelled as he sprinted down the hallway.
"The time is 0900 hours." came the stoic reply.
"20 hours..." Curtis said to himself, dodging corners and crewmen. "I won't make it much longer."
It was true. Being Kerelian, Curtis' metabolism work at a much faster rate than humans. He hadn't eaten for 20 hours, another hour or so and his body would go into shock, at about 27, he'd be dead.
Rounding anothing corner, Curtis heard a yell from his pursurers.
"Get back here, Engineer boy! You fleetie nerp!" came the familiar female voice behind him.
Risking a look back, Curtis could see them still following: Betty Goldstein and her marines of death had been chasing him for almost a full day, egged on by the occasional intercom transmition from the captain himself, offering such heartwarming suggestions as:
"Kill the engineer!"
"Make that man eat Targoth Poop!"
and
"Pull his ears!"
Curtis had been able to keep ahead of them the whole time, humans weren't very fast runners he had noticed, even the marines. But a few more hours and he'd be done for.
Thinking quickly, Curtis dodged around a corner, found a wall console and activated a transport.
"Computer! Site to Site transport, Quarters of Lt. Geluf!" he shouted and was instantly beamed away.
He re-materialized in his living room and ran to find Kiora. After searching and finding her gone, he ran back towards the door.
Too late.
They were on him, marines on all sides. They tackled him to the floor and kicked his sides for several minutes until finally, a voice came from the doorway.
"That's quite enough!" barked the foreboding figure.
It was Bhrode.
"So, mister Geluf. You've led my marines on quite a chase. But perhaps you've forgotten a vital part of your Kerelian anatomy...your metabolism." Bhrode smiled wryly and continued. "If I'm not mistaken, your body should start to go into shock any moment now. Followed by a coma and finally...death."
"Two minutes, five seconds" Said the red headed ghoul that seemed to haunt Bhrode's shadow.
"Err... I got Two minutes seven seconds, what with a plus/minus factor of two int eh error rates. Either way, though, he's one dead smegger!" crowed the other, taller, stupider shadow.
Bhrode chuckled and pointed to the wall chronograph.
Curtis just stared, the first signs of fatigue spreading across his face.
Bhrode laughed and set his left foot on Curtis' chest.
"But! I have here your salvation! Behold! Food!" exclaimed the Captain.
There, in his right hand, he held high the key to Curtis' survival. The one thing he needed most of all:
A medium sized bag of Doritoes Brand Corn Chips (TM)
Curtis reached with all his might, but Bhrode pulled the bag farther away, laughing maniacly and spitting in Curtis' eyes. Finally, the pain was too great and Curtis felt his body begin to shake. The last words he heard were:
"Captain, may I use him as target practic now?"
"Of course, Gunny......."
Several whines of Marine Issue M-4511's powering up. . . . . .
"NOOOOOOooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!"
Curtis sprang up in bed upright, panting and sweating profusely, looking around
him. He took a moment to catch his breath, closed his eyes and yelled at the
top of his voice:
"I....HATE.....MARINES!!!!!!!!!"
----
Chuck wandered into a bar that looked as though it had been hit by a small tornado. This was only after he appeared in the transporter room, led to his temporary quarters on the stardock, and told nothing more of his assignment. He was instructed to wait in the quarters until contacted, but he was thirsty and there weren't any replicators.
The sign over the door identified this establishment as the Red Dwarf Tavern, and Chuck Copperpot could not have cared less. So long as there was a quiet corner and plenty of ginger ale, he would be content.
He sat at the far end of the bar, away from the door, to the left of a large, unattractive Benzite woman. No one would bother him over there, he decided.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, wiping a glass clean with a tiny evaporator hand device.
"Ginger ale?" Chuck asked more than stated. He considered himself lucky to come across bars with ginger ale, and he'd only had one or two assignments where he hadn't had to program the recipe into the replicators himself.
"Dry or regular?" the bartender asked, and Chuck smiled. He decided instantly he'd have to consider an assignment here someday on a permanent basis.
"Dry, please," Chuck said, flipping open "Paradise Lost" to his marked page and diving right into his reading.
"You on the Galaxy?" the bartender asked, pouring the drink from a tap.
"Not anymore," Chuck said, not looking up and not thinking.
"What the hell are you doing here, then?" he asked.
"Huh?" Chuck asked, looking up now. "What are you talking about."
"The only ship here is some boat named Galaxy. I don't know you, so you don't work here. If you're not on the Galaxy, you have no business here." The bartended stared at him for a long time.
"Is there any reason in particular that *you* would know my new assignment before I do?" Chuck asked with a wry grin.
"I've got higher security clearance than you do," the bartender returned the gesture and dropped off the beverage in front of his customer. "Old bartender beats a bookworm security JG any day of the week."
Chuck nodded, and dropped a straw from his pocket into his drink. He took a long sip. "No argument from me. I don't want to know too much."
"Okay," the bartender nodded, turning away.
"You wouldn't know if someone by the name of Alia Drakely is still on the Galaxy, would you?" Chuck asked.
"What's she look like?" the bartender asked.
"Human, a little older than me," Sam said. "Tall, about my height. Short brown hair?"
The bartender shook his head. "I haven't seen her." He turned away again.
"Is commander Elaithin still the security chief?" Chuck asked, stopping the bartender in his tracks.
"No," the bartender answered. "That one I know. The security chief's a fellow by the name of Corgan. Hell of a temper. If I'm not mistaken, Elaithin's a captain now with his own ship." Assuming his customer was satisfied, he began to walk away again. A line was forming at the other end of the bar.
"Okay," Chuck sighed. "Captain Price is still in command though, right?" He scratched his chin. "I don't see how I'd have got this assignment otherwise."
"Nope," the bartender said, from over his shoulder. "You sure have a lot of questions for a guy who doesn't want to know too much."
"So who is the new CO?" Chuck asked.
"That one I don't know," the bartender said, already waiting on another customer. "Drink your ginger-ale, son."
Chuck scowled at him and suddenly didn't feel like reading, which frightened him a little bit. He sucked down his drink, slapped shut his book and decided he'd make his way to the Galaxy and try to get some more answers. There was only one thing better than a good story in a book, and that was a good story in real life. Assuming he had a fine mystery on his hands, the intrepid Chester Copperpot set out to find his ship, his supervisor, his captain, and a nice, comfy chair.
OOC: Short coz of time constraints, but neccessary.. K'Eytyanna will not hear for any more tacking decorations anywhere in public places.. Consider them ALL gone ;-) The ship is now decked out in stock-standard Starfleet greys.. oh, and Deck 6 is carpetless with black scorch marks...
After she had gotten rid of the disgusting woodwork,K'Eytyanna ran through the other items that needed tobe corrected before leaving Spacedock.
Firstly, she had ordered the Galaxy Engineers and physically threatened the Spacedock engineers into repainting the decks in standard Starfleet colors insread of garish tackiness. She had ordered Deck 4 as a priority.
**********************
Moving onto deck 6, K'Eytyanna grimanced and squinted her eyes.
"Computer, decrease brightness on Deck 6. It is hurting my eyes."
When the light dropped a bit, K'Eytyanna walked forwards out of the lift with three engineers behind her.
"We need this.. crap.. gone. And I know just the means."
Walking over to a cabinet, she typed in one of her access codes and waited for it to open. Pulling out a phaser rifle, she set it to heavy stun and spoke, "Computer, disengage phaser security locks on Deck 6, Chief Engineer's authorization 7-Y-Tango."
[Working.. Disengaged.]
Spinning, she aimed the phaser at the ground and let loose after she adjusted it to wide beam.
Grinning as the orange shag-pile ignited and vapourised instantly, leaving a large black scorchmark on the metal deck.
Letting go of the the trigger, she started handing out rifles.
"Guys, clean this deck out and let me know when you have finished. Use tricorders to make sure nobody is nearby when you do it."
With that, K'Eytyanna headed back to Engineering.
* * * * *
Sergeant Betty ran a tight ship.
When she said 'bounce' to a quarter credit on someone's bunk, it bounced. Or else.
When she said "jump" to one of her Marines, they didn't ask 'How High Betty?" They KNEW and maintained the regulation height for the regulation time.
When she said 'Get out of my way or lose it." to a Fleetie Nerp, they knew to move it or lose it. They even knew what 'it' was.
And when she told Bhrode, "Don't worry, we have the Security problems under control" she meant exactly that." Captain Bhrode, your Security Dept. is a bunch of Yellow Suited , candy assed Nerps who couldn't secure a pop-sicle in a nursery and my Marines have them under control, don't worry about it. Sir."
Thus, as Betty was lounging around Security, pointedly ignoring some short fay guy whose eyes were on level with her chest, and who kept telling her about some guy named Leo who was some sort of hero, when the alarms rang out, she was mildly perturbed.
Not that the creeps' stories and blatent leering lies were cut off, but that the alarms were set off.
She was MORE perturbed when the sensor net went off in a riot of noise, showing unauthorized weapon discharge.
Betty disliked unauthorized weapons discharge.
Intensely.
As Corgans' people dithered, Betty knew what to do. Two fireteams were already performing a classic 'pincer movement' on the site of the firing on Deck Six in under twenty seconds.
In under two minutes, a group of unauthorized Phaser-III bearing Engineers had ben disarmed and were kneeling on the deck, fingers interlaced on top of their heads, scowling Marines behind each one.
A lone female subject appeared thirty meters away, cradling a Phaser III in her arms.
Betty waved her boys to drop to"Firing position, Kneeling." Three M4511 modified Assault Phasers whined to life, their tri-dotted aiming sights tossing little red marks on the target's unknowing back.
"DROP THE RIFLE." Betty barked, voice amplified by years of screaming commands under fire.
The phaser-III dropped to the scorched and smoking deck.
"I'm the Chief Eng.." the figure began.
"Save it for someone who cares sister. Like the Captain"
Six marines guickly circled the miscreant, rifles still at the ready. Betty picked up the discarded Phaser III and went to sling it over her shoulder.
A tubby form came chuffing around the corner.
"I got it I got it I got it." Leo Streely chanted, as he plowed right into another Marine and collapsed them both into a heap.
"Dont kiss my Marine." Betty warned the tubby creep, finally placing where she knew him from.
"I DID NOT KISS RAVEN'S CLONE!" the guy screeched.
"Get your hand off my ass or I'll kill you." The Marine Private said.
"Was THAT your ass? I'm NOT like that!" Leo screamed.
He managed to extricate himself, as a group of Security people showed up on his heels.
"I GOT IT! ME! My collar, my bust. heheheheh.... 'bust!' MINE!" He told them.
"Whatever. . ." said the Andorian Security guy with a splinted antennea.
"I'm the Chief Eng..." the woman began again.
"And I'm Leo Streely, Chief Special Investigative Deputy!" The tubbster screeched.
"You are? I wondered who you were and why you. . . " ventured one of the Security guys.
"YES! I am... no autographs...EVERYONE is under arrest....You gotts da right to be silent. If you don't, I'll give you what-for! You gotta fight. . . for your right . . .to party!" Leo declared, reading off a card.
"I'm K'et..." the female began again.
"Destruction of Property! Attempted theft of Wooden Monkey Penises! Improper Canon handling of Phaser III's . . .EEEK! You ruined a perfectly good Orange Shag Rug! It had 'possibilities!' I -loved- that rug ! It had class! CLASS! Oh, the inhumanity!" Leo screeched.
"Actually, I'm not Human, I'm Half Klingon, Betazed, Bajoran and.." the Prisoner began again.
"Lotta halves. You Marines run along, Inspector Leo has it all under Contro...(urp)"
Betty had Leo's tunic in a fist and she had hoisted his not-inconsiderable girth off the floor one handed.
"You sure?" she asked.
Leo's beady eyes darted right and left, and settled back on Betty's bust, and he nodded his consent.
"Okay. It's all your problem." Betty dropped Leo to the smoking deck. (The deck was scorched and still smoking, remember? it's not like this is the SMOKING deck, with ashtrays every three meters!)
Betty tapped her combadge, causing Leo to leer at her chest again. Creep.
"Goldstein to Bhrode. All normal."
"Leaping Targgoth Turds! I'm trying to have a chin-waggle with Mister Corgan here, and all hell breaks loose?" Bhrode thundered, causing even the Marines to shift away from Betty.
"Engineers, Sir." Betty replied calmly, knowing Bhrode well enough to know his reactions.
"BLAZING BALLS OF NEPTUNE! I CAN'T EVEN SCREAM AT CORGAN WITHOUT AN ENGINEER SCREWING THE POOCH? I'LL SNAP ALL THEIR NECKS!" Bhrode bellowed.
"Mess with MY Wooden Monkey Penises, will you?" demanded Leo of the Prisoner.
"You collect Wooden monkey Pen...?" began one of the security guys.
"NO! They're.... Raven's! I'm just holding them for him! WAIT! 'm not... you know... HOLDING a bunch of wooden monkey penises.... not like THAT!" Leo screeched, as most every one snickered.
"I'm on my way. Bhrode out." was the icy reply.
"Bhrode? HERE?" Screeched Leo, eyes darting for the exits. "Umm..maybe you Marines can have it after all...."
"Gotta polish your Wooden Monkey Penises?" Betty asked, straightfaced.
=/\=
NRPG: A mostly light hearted piece inspired by what I consider a design flaw of the new ship. :-) But, like the real world, life is full of interesting challenges, and I had a blast writing about this personal one.I hope you all like it. Thanks go to Liam for his input and support.
"Need any help, Counselor?" Ok, so it was only the fifth time she'd been asked, but it was still pretty damn annoying. Didn't they know she was a liberated woman? Didn't they know chivalry was dead?
Karyn carefully maneuvered the overstuffed suitcase, determined not to drop it, over to her right hip so she could see the crewman in front of her to offer a polite rebuff. "No thanks, I've got it." she returned with a smile, as she moved gingerly in her hoverchair down the corridor toward her office on Deck 14. The Engineer waved her off with a look that that said "Have it your way" outwardly, and "You're a fruit loop" inwardly. It was a look she'd learned to perfect over the years, so she recognized it in others Perhaps all five of them were right. After all, the transporter chief could have just beamed her long lost luggage direct to her office with a minimum f fuss and muss, but after her meeting with Brohde, she'd felt the need to pull her own weight so to speak, exercise some of that self-reliance that she had been burying under guilt and self-pity all this time. Deep down Karyn knew this assignment was going to be far from easy, that much Brohde and Hoth had made quite clear, but for the first time in a long time, Karyn had the will and the determination to tackle the challenge like an adult, an adult who had nothing to lose.
There was nothing Karyn Dallas valued more than her self-respect
and using complete candor, and she knew she'd given John Q. Brohde an earful.
No matter what came down the pike, Karyn would never be sorry for speaking her
mind if it meant standing up for herself and her crew. Over the past year, she'd
come to realize life was too short to spend a moment compromising principles
and well-being, and she hoped that Brohde came to respect her for
it eventually, but she wasn't going to waste time and energy holding her breath.
She did feel some measure of pride that she had been picked by Brohde himself to head up the Counseling Department. He'd certainly gone to great lengths to ensure many of the veteran crew had reason to return, and by the look of the crew manifest, for the most part, his recruitment efforts had been successful. Of course, who wouldn't have been tempted? Even with the original Galaxy she'd not been given an opportunity to have her very own tailored workspace. Before she had always been left with remnants of counselors past. It took her a week after becoming the Chief Counselor on the original Galaxy to reorganize the department files into something she recognized, not to mention almost twice as long to get some resistant veteran counselors to stop saying, "But we never used to do it that way!"
But not this time. She would have her own office, a brand new ship, and a brand new crew. It was hers to organize to her tastes exactly. No more hodge podge leftovers or having to make do, that was for sure.
For now she savored her new home and her place in it. It was definitely harder to see the sights with the large suitcase partially blocking her view, but for the most part not much had changed from the Galaxy A's predecessor. Her office, as always, was on Deck 14, and she was grateful she wasn't going to have much trouble learning the new layout. The only real difference she'd noticed was everything was a bit bigger and a lot newer. She could still smell the new carpet. Crewmembers appeared to be walking with a little more bounce in their step and a smile on their faces. It was an exuberance that even Brohde couldn't quash apparently.
With a pang of sorrow, Karyn thought of Lee. No matter what
the place looked like, it would never be truly like it was when Price was in
command. Karyn sighed and considered the momentos she held in her arms like
priceless antiques. Perhaps they were paltry attempts at making her space seem
more familiar, but they were reminders of her past that she could not live without,
gifts from her colleagues that reminded her of times past. They
would be the first thing she unpacked when she arrived, a means of personally
claiming the space.
"Not bad, not bad at all." said Karyn to herself, while straining to get her first impressions before unloading her burden. To her left appeared to be a bathroom followed by a large bookshelf, reception desk, and replicator.
Karyn did a double take. A bathroom! The gods had certainly smiled on her this time around. No more long jaunts in search of the one bathroom on Deck 12 that accommodated her chair (aside from the custom built one in her old quarters.) Could it be that this one would meet her needs?
Deciding it was time to truly explore her new environment without obstacle, Karyn turned to her right and saw what she was looking for. The reception area couch beckoned to her, a place to throw down the dead weight in her arms, a couch that was reasonably high off the floor so that she could still retrieve her things again without straining her back.
Karyn smiled. She could make out that just beyond the couch were the department offices, not to mention the large viewports, perfect for calming anyone who gazed at them. "It couldn't hurt to do a little stargazing," she muttered, as she made her way across the room...
....for a split second the auburn haired counselor felt the ground give way beneath her, and before she knew what was happening, the "nose" of her hoverchair was pointing straight toward the ground. Like a rockclimber scrambling to find purchase she reached out for anything to hold onto, and finally she found something. *A handrail? Oh now that's convenient.* thought her brain on the way down.
Her thoughts were momentarily interrupted my the sound of metal on metal, and she realized then that in reaching for the handrail, she must have brought her chair closer to it, causing the two surfaces scratch against each other. *That'll leave a mark.* offered her brain, who despite not knowing what was going on seemed to enjoy commenting on the obvious.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was only a few seconds, Karyn hit the ground with a pathetic thump, nearly falling flat on her face. She would have hit the ground a lot harder and probably broken her nose if it weren't for the fact that she'd had the good sense to let go of the handrail and put her hands out in front of her to stop her fall.
Now in mid push up, her breath coming in ragged gasps and her
heart pounding from the shock, Karyn attempted to turn her head to see what
was behind her. Unfortunately it was then that an unruly lock of auburn hair
decided to come loose from the braid she wore and block her view. She tried
to turn her head from side to side to move it, but she quickly discovered she'd
strained her neck in trying to turn her head away from the fall. Finally after
blowing as hard as she could to send the strand out of her eyes, she slowly
turned to glance at what had so interrupted her day.
The sound started low in her throat at first, but soon it developed into a chuckle followed by almost hysterical laughter*(see below) Between gasps she managed to croak, "Stairs! There are stairs in Karyn Dallas' Counseling Department! HA! HA! Brohde is so dead, HA! HA!"
Sure enough, three steps leading down into the reception area were all that had kept Karyn from remaining upright. Everytime Karyn looked back to stare at her nemesis, she burst into more laughter until tears were streaming down her cheeks. Here she thought Brohde would be the one to kill her first. HA!
Her amusement party for one was soon interrupted by a very concerned page from her commbadge. ["Karyn? Is everything alright? Your hoverchair readings are off the chart."] It was Brooke O'Connell, the Chief Medical Officer, and someone she'd served with on the original Galaxy.
Dallas managed to shove her left hand under her chest to tap her badge, while her right hand helped to push herself off the floor somewhat. ["I've fallen, and you sure as hell don't want me to get up! Smeggin' Brohde!*(see below)"] Karyn growled, the pain in her neck and arms starting to make itself known now that the adrenaline was wearing off.
Brooke grew even more concerned. ["Karyn, are you hurt? What happened?"]
Karyn took one more look back at the stairs and the scraped and mangled handrail behind her, and spoke somberly, ["I'm afraid the banister didn't make it, Doctor."]
["Ok, just stay there and try not to move. I'm sending someone to assist now."] replied Brooke, too concerned for Karyn to dwell on her humor, before closing the channel.
Karyn snorted and giggled before she realized it hurt too much. "Don't move. Yeah, right."
While she waited for help, Karyn noticed her suitcase several feet in front of her, overturned and open from when she'd flung it in the fall. Her momentos and clothes of all types were strewn all over the floor like she was some adulterous woman who'd come home to find her husband had flung her belongings out in the yard.
She sighed, suddenly realizing this incident did not bode well in terms of the accessibility of her new bathroom.
OOC 1: For those of you who've seen the "Money Pit" with Tom Hanks and Shelley Long, picture Tom Hanks' laughter right after the entire bathtub falls through the floor.
OOC 2: Smeggin' used with permission from Liam Vanderwhasisname. All rights reserved.
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