Posts of The Month 2006:
September 2006
Debacle #41
“Training is a Blast”
By: SGT
Owen Hatch and SGT Hudson
On:
== USS Swiftsure, During arrival at Balin System ==
== Class Room, Marine Barracks Area, Deck 34 ==
The training for Marines wasn't restricted to fire and maneuver or
search and rescue. Just as common, were classroom sessions to cover
familiarization with weapons, equipment or general military knowledge.
After the brief friendly firefight between 1st and 3rd squads in the
holodeck, 1st and 2nd platoons were sent into the classroom, while the
others did their ongoing training in the holodecks and corridors of
the ship.
The class room was set up with rows of portable tables, parallel to a
slightly raised stage area at the front of the room. This allowed for
maximum use of the space. The marines, approximately eighty of them,
were sitting behind the tables facing the stage waiting for the
instructor to begin. The squad leaders remained standing so as to be
able to move about the room and provide additional instructional
assistance. The Gunnery Sargeant, or Gunny for short, in charge of 2nd
platoon took the stage.
"Good afternoon!" he said to the assembled marines. The response was
staccato of `Good afternoons' and mixed volumes.
"I said, Good Afternoon!!" the Gunny said again. This time the reply
was in unison and loud.
"Good afternoon, Gunnery Sargeant!!" the group answered.
"I thought you all were Starfleet crewmen for a minute," the Gunny
said. "Okay, listen up!" he said, starting off in the familiar loud
instructional tone made famous by NCO's through history.
"This class will cover the overview and familiarization of the Mark
13A2 Charge, Demolition Plasma and the Mark 6 Detonator, General
Purpose with it's companion piece, the Mark 6RS, Switch Remote!
Demonstrator, post!" One of the Squad leaders trotted up onto the
stage, came to attention, then did an about face to face towards the
class. "Demonstrator, at ease!" The Gunny ordered, allowing the squad
leader to assume that more relaxed position.
"Now, with the help of my demonstrator, we will conduct the overview
portion of the training. Demonstrator, secure the demolition charge!"
The squad leader complied by picking up the satchel on a small table
on the stage.
"For this section of the demonstration, you will not need to perform
any tasks except to watch myself or my demonstrator!" The Gunny
instructed. "This is the Mark 13A2 Demolition Charge! It is personnel
portable," the word personnel replacing the old term `man portable',
"and will produce a point four seven five isotone explosion of kinetic
and thermal energy! It is used for the destruction of military
fortifications or structures, transportation systems such as roads or
rail lines, vehicles or equipment or essentially anything else you
want to blow up! In short, it will ruin somebody's day."
The demonstrator held the satchel out for the class to see, even
though they one similar to it on their tables. "On the tables in front
of you, you have the Mark 13A2T training device. In other words, yours
will not produce a point four seven five isotone explosion! But it
does have a flash bang simulator in it, for training purposes!"
The Gunny continued his instructions as Sgt. Hatch moved over to where
Sgt. Hudson, the 3rd squad leader, was standing.
"One, three, this is one, one, duck, over," Owen said with a grin.
"F#@^ you, Hatch," Sgt. Hudson replied good naturedly. "But we
had you
guys dead to rights."
"Considering I was doing a walk through without a programmed enemy,
you guys did okay," Owen replied.
"Pansies," Hudson chided.
Owen looked away from Hudson for a moment when he noticed a marine
picking up the detonator on the table in front of him. Owen leaned
down over the marines shoulder.
"Did anyone tell you to pick that up?" Owen said hushed, but
forcefully.
"No sargeant, but I've worked with these before," the marine replied
in his own defense.
"I don't care if you invented the damn thing, put it down," Owen
answered. The marine did so. "Now pay attention."
"Yes, sargeant."
== 1 hour later ==
"We will now begin the familiarization with the Mark 6 Detonator!"
the
Gunny said. "What is the first function mode of the detonator?!" He
held up one finger.
"Timed!" came a response from the class.
"Second?"
"Proximity!" the class responded.
"Third!?" the Gunny asked.
"Remote,"
"Fourth?!"
"Manual!" the group replied, except for one marine, the one Owen had
spoken with replied with "Hero!"
"Knock it off," Owen told the young marine.
"Alright, where's my smartass?!" the Gunny asked. The marine
sheepishly raised his hand. "Yes, another term for that mode is `Hero'
mode. That is because when you operate the detonator and charge in
that mode, the only thing that will be left will be fond memories of
your heroic self sacrificing deed. This is because you will be well
within blast radius of the point four seven five isotone explosion."
"Safety reminder! Do not transport the demolition charge with the
detonator attached! Can anyone tell me why?!"
A few marines sounded off with, "Preventing accidental detonation."
"Correct! To prevent accidental detonation! If you were to have an
accidental detonation it will ruin your day and that of the marines
around you. They will not like you and they won't invite you to their
social gatherings and parties anymore!"
More training on the detonator continued.
== 45 minutes later ==
Suddenly the ship's loud speakers came to life.
<All hands, brace yourself!>
The ship rocked, knocking almost everyone to the floor also scattering
tables and training devices. There was a suddenly bang in the area
near Hudson and Hatch. As everyone in the class got to their feet, the
young marine that Owen had scolded, stood up. His uniform shirt was
shredded and smoking from the flash bang device that had gone off
under him. His face had stunned look on it as he slowly felt his chest
and arms for any injury.
Sgt. Hatch quickly got to the marine to see if he was injured. Owen
looked down at the training charge and saw that the detonator had the
manual mode safety tab removed from it. Owen picked up the device from
the floor.
"And that's why they have a Safety Tab on the manual switch, so you
don't do what you just did!"
"Come on, let's get you up to sick bay," Hudson said in a perturbed
tone.
Off
Sgt. Owen Hatch
1st Squad Leader/1st Platoon
Marine Detachment
USS Swiftsure
&
Sgt. Hudson (NPC)
3rd Squad Leader/1st Platoon
Marine Detachment
USS Swiftsure
August 2006
Debacle #6
“War”
Written By: COMmodore Matthew Wayne
ON
==Bridge, USS Texas==
=Klovan System, Following Post #5=
"Keyworth Green Leader to group," crackled the Bridge
speaker again. The interference in the communications
relay was from the same solar fluxuations that were
plaguing Tom's sensor suite. "Here they come."
"Ten seconds to engagement range," said Commander Bixton
quietly. The Bridge of the Texas was deathly silent as
everyone focused on the visual display on the Main View
Screen. At this range the fighters appeared as small
dots approaching each other. The Federation ships were
easier to spot, their grey hulls reflecting the nearby
system primary's rays. The Vanderian fighters were a
dark brownish green and only their wall like formation
made them visible. Tom found himself dry mouthed and
nervously checking and rechecking his readouts. Admiral
Hill watched silently with Captain Pavlenko standing
next to him at the center of the Bridge. Both men had
faced combat before, but neither of them had been present
when the hostilities had started.
"I have a bad feeling about this," muttered Commander
Bixton from Tactical.
"Green six to Keyworth lead," crackled the bridge speakers
as they relayed the Fighter group's tactical frequency,
"they're locking us up."
"Hold formation," came the terse and tense sounding reply
from Commander Parks. "Steady…"
"Five seconds," said Commander Bixton. The silence on
the bridge of the Texas grew to intense levels as each
of the officers began the silent count in their heads.
Tom felt a bead of sweat run down his spine, despite
the best efforts of the Bridge environmental system.
=Klovan Space=
The two opposing fighter forces crossed into weapons
range. The Federation Peregrine Class fighters, their
pilots nervously handling their controls waited. Each
pilot ran through a last minute mental checklist. They
knew that the Vanderian fighters were about to open fire,
but they didn't know when. To a pilot, they all wished
that they were weapons free, however they were not and
for now had to play the role of sitting ducks. The
helplessness was not something any of them were used
to, but orders were orders.
The Vanderian pilots, with clear orders, depressed firing
buttons on their control columns. The dark vastness of
space was momentarily lit up by the near simultaneous
discharge of one hundred plasma disruptors. The beams
raced across the gap of space towards their targets,
death had been unleashed and the grim reaper waited
with a smile.
The only thing that saved the Federation Fighter group
was the distance between them and the Vanderians. The
Plasma Disruptor beams traveled at velocities near to
the speed of light, too fast for human or even most
species reaction times. The computers aboard the
fighters were not restricted to chemical impulses
however. Their processors worked at near light speeds
as well, and for some of them, were able to avoid the
incoming wave of death by initiating last minute evasive
maneuvers. Even with the computer's help forty of the
seventy Peregrine fighters disappeared in brilliant
orange blossom like fireballs.
==Bridge, USS Texas==
The bridge crew stared at the view screen in disbelief
as it suddenly lit up in a brilliant fireworks display.
Where the fighters had once been was now a convulsing
region of orange and yellow expanding and contracting
balls of fire. Their brain's tried to comprehend what
they had just seen and move on with their duties. The
surviving Peregrine Fighters broke formation and
desperately tried to evade the incoming wall of Vanderian
Fighters. Tom's jaw was wide open with a silent scream
as he stared in disbelief. On screen a small portion of
the Vanderian wall of fighters broke off to follow the
scattering Federation fighters while the rest continued
on.
"Stick with your wingmen and engage," crackled the
Bridge speaker breaking the silence. Someone had
survived the opening volley, thought Tom as he realized
his mouth was open. The voice sounded calm and collected,
the even reaction of an experienced combat pilot.
"Hothead close it up."
"Sweet Jesus…," uttered Commander Bixton.
==Keyworth Green Leader==
Commander Parks had indeed survived the opening volley
of the Federation-Vanderian War. He didn't know how,
but training immediately kicked in. He threw his fighter
into a series of violent maneuvers designed to throw off
targeting computers and took a quick glance at his status
panel. Where there had been seventy green emblems a
second earlier only thirty remained. He had to get his
fighters organized or they'd be wiped out.
==Keyworth Green Twenty-Three==
Lieutenant Junior Grade J'alen "Hothead" Gorner didn't
need to comprehend what was going on. His job was to
protect the aft, or six o'clock of Keyworth Green
Leader's fighter. He fought with his controls as he
tried to follow his Group Leader through a series of
evasive maneuvers. He didn't need to know that over
half of his Group had just been wiped out in a single
volley. All he knew was that battle had been joined
and that he wanted revenge.
==Bridge, USS Texas==
"Status report," requested a somber sounding Adian Hill.
He hadn't actually thought that the Vanderians would
attack. He gritted his teeth as he thought about how
they would pay for their arrogance. No one attacked
his Task Group and got away unscathed. When there was
no response to his request he turned to look at the
tactical station. Commander Bixton stood staring at
the main view screen, open mouthed with a look of shock
on his face. "Commander Bixton I said Status Report,"
he repeated, this time more forcefully. Bixton seemed
to shake himself out of his shock and looked down at
his status panel.
"Break Gonzo, break damn it," shouted an unknown voice
on the bridge speakers as the Fighter's tactical channel
continued to be broadcast. The speaker momentarily
screeched as a transmission was cut off, it's source
more than likely just having been killed.
"Uh…," stammered Bixton as he looked over his displays.
"Twenty four of our fighters remain and are engaged
with a like number of the Vanderian Fighters. Seventy
five Vanderian fighters inbound."
"They're going to attack us with fighters," stated
Adian Hill triumphantly as he slapped his leg. "What
are their frigates doing?"
"The main Vanderian fleet is holding its position,"
replied Bixton as he continued to try and get a hold
of his emotions. Two minutes until the Vanderian
Fighters are in range."
"Someone get that bastard off my six," yelled an unknown
voice over the bridge speakers.
"Sweet maker they just got Commander Parks," announced
another voice.
"Shut that racket off," demanded Adian Hill. He didn't
need to listen to the fighters anymore. The Vanderians
were making a tactical blunder sending in their fighters
without the frigates. He'd tear them apart before they
got into range.
==Keyworth Green Twenty-Three==
"Sweet maker they just got Commander Parks," shouted
Hothead into his helmet's communications pick-up. He
hadn't been able to move fast enough to cover his
leader's six and the Vanderian Fighter had roared in,
firing it's beam of death. Keyworth Green Leader's
Peregrine had shuddered then exploded as the beam tore
it nearly in half.
"Now you're mine you feathered bastard," cursed Hothead
to himself. He pushed his fighter into a side-slip and
turned to get on the Vanderian's six. Just as his
targeting computer was locking up the enemy fighter it
did something that no space bound fighter should have been
able to do. "What the hell?"
The Vanderian pilot instantly killed his velocity and
rocketed straight up, placing him squarely on Keyworth
Green Twenty-Three's six o'clock. Hothead cursed again
and put his fighter into a hard impulse turn. His
sensors screamed a warning as the Vanderian Fighter
locked up its weapon onto his craft. He suddenly
thought of home, and how he'd miss the planting season
on his father's hydro reef. It was the last thought
he'd ever have as the Vanderian's Plasma Disruptor beam
tore his fighter apart. There was a brief sensation of
intense heat and then nothing but empty blackness.
==Bridge, USS Texas==
"All ships this is Admiral Hill," began Adian after
opening up the fleet tactical communications net. "They
may have gotten our fighters, but we'll show them the folly
of their actions. All ships prepare to engage."
OFF
COM Matthew Wayne
CO
USS Swiftsure
With help from LCDR Moira O'Bannon.
July 2006
ON
==Main
Concourse, Starbase 285==
Anderson
walked slowly around the Starbase's main Concourse. He was enjoying the
brief leave
that the Master Chief had given him. The Starbase was crowded and the
concourse
jammed with officers and enlisted. He'd never seen such a spectacle
before
and didn't
think he'd see one again. After a further several minutes of walking he
found
himself
standing in front of a tavern and decided to go in. A slight pang of
guilt crossed
his mind as
he entered the busy estabolishment, it wasn't O'Mallys, but then they were in
port and Darby
would forgive him for the transgression.
He stepped
into the Tavern and let his eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting. Just like
the
concourse
the place was packed with off-duty personnel and seating was at a
premium.
A loud din
pervaded his ears as he walked towards the bar, looking for a seat. As
was his
luck a bar
stool become open as he approached and he quickly sat down.
Bartender
(NPC): *Walking over to new customer* What'll it be?
Tigert: *Looks
over a bar taps* A pint of Detrian Lager please.
The
bartender nodded and a minute later there was a dark mug of foamy beverage
before
him. Anderson picked it up and took a big sip, savoring the strong flavor
of the
brew as it
hit his tastebuds. The noise level of side conversations and chatter was
slowly
increasing in volume and as he took another sip of his lager he made up his
mind to
find someplace else to drink. He finished off his beverage in a single
gulp
and made to
get up from the stool. As he moved he bumped into some unseen
person
behind him.
Tigert:
*getting his balance* Sorry about that *sees pips on collar* Sir.
Officer(NPC):
No problem... *looks at Tigert for first Time* Anderson?
Tigert:
*Looks at stranger and smiles in recognition* Mike? What are you doing
in an
officers uniform?
LT (JG)
Te'mrel: They sent me to officer training after I made Petty Officer First.
That
was a few
years ago though. *Looks at Tigert's rank insignia* It looks like you've
done well
Senior Chief.
Tigert:
*scratches head* I thought you did like officers, that's why you
enlisted.
Te'mrel: I
was wrong, and fortunately someone allowed me to overcome my error.
Why haven't
you gone to Officer School, they obvisouly think highly of you.
Tigert:
I've never really thought about it. *shrugs* Actually I kinda like where
I'm at.
So what
ship are you on?
Te'mrel:
The Franklin, and you?
Tigert:
Swiftsure. I'm not familiar with the Franklin, that part of the task force
orbiting
around this
place.
Te'mrel:
Yeah, and if scuttlebut has it correct, then we'll be leaving soon and maybe
even seeing
some action. You going with us?
Tigert: I
don't know, not high enough in the food chain for them to keep me apraised
of things
like that.
Te'mrel:
Even officers get left out of the information chain. I thought I'd be
more in the
loop when I
made grade, but if anything I'm more out of the loop now than before.
Tigert: The
enlisted rumor mill you mean? If I paid attention to that, I'd be a
nervous
wreck by
now.
Te'mrel:
Yeah, but at least you had an idea what was going on, especially if you were
good at
finding the common threads between all of the gossip. *looks at
chronograph
on tavern
wall* Hey I gotta get back to my ship. It's been great seeing
you. Maybe when
we get back
we can get together and tell some tall tales about boot.
Tigert:
Sounds good to me.
Anderson
walked with his boot camp classmate and saw him as far as the closest
transporter
pad. The short walk allowed little time for any further conversation and
after a
quick goodbye he watched his old friend disappear in the transporter
beam.
He turned
and walked away, headed for O'Mallys. Something in his gut told him it
was the
last time he'd ever see Mal'rek "Mike" Te'mrel, but he quickly put
that feeling
aside and
wished his friend a silent good luck.
OFF
SCPO
Anderson Tigert
Security
Guard
USS
Swiftsure
June 2006
Yesterday’s
Swiftsure #119 “Anatomy of a Murder”
By: LCDR
Peter Jansen & LT Martin Paulsen
ON:
<< CMO's
office >>
==
continuing from Part 1 ==
Martin
ordered a coffee from the replicator when he was finished dealing with
reports and
noticed an odd sight. He had a multipurpose, non standard issue
PADD
carried from his days before the Academy. It contained some of his favorite
reads,
photos and short videos, and scientific data his cousin William had sent him.
This was a
PADD he often took with him to his quarters or the Mess Hall. Now it was
lying on
the ground, partly hidden under his desk, and active.
He bent
with a frown to retrieve it and checked on the most recent entry. It was a
video,
recorded
that very day whereas he had not touched it since the last of their shoreleave.
His frown deepened.
The considerable memory storage was full, as if someone had
forgotten
it was on and the video had recorded until the PADD went on standby.
Wondering,
he touched a few keys to set the visual interface and play the entry.
"Oh
boy" Martin chuckled as he viewed the beginning of the video. Peter had
been
stuck in
his office for a while, and when he had slept off _some_ of the tranquilizers
Martin had
shot him with, he had obviously grown bored and got hold of Martin's personal
PADD. This
was about as bad as someone filmed on an evening out in a bar, and Martin
decided to
save it for some later fun at Peter's expense. His thumb moved to stop the
display.
Then he sat
down slowly and watched, the smile fading from his face.
<<Video
record, CMO's office>>
*Chaotic
views of Martin's office sometimes show on the visual interface as Jansen moves
around in
fits of agitation alternating with long silences. For most of the recording,
Jansen
speaks in
Dutch. The only times he uses Standard is when his drug-induced drowsiness
leaves
place to false lucidity*
JANSEN:
"voice only over a music composed by Martin from Jupiter's radio
noise" You know
mate, I
don't mean this in a bad way but that music of yours is bloody painful...
*laughter* Bloody...
awful if
you get my drift... I'm drifting alright, right out at sea...
*Drowsy
laughter and more silly comments followed by silence. A weird sound, like a
wordless
complaint,
or maybe a harsh sob*
JANSEN:
*plaintive voice* I didn't mean to do this you know... She MADE me!
*The PADD
is propped on the desk. He looks into the visual interface now, he stares hard
with a
defiant look, then his face crumples again as his rubs his head repeatedly. It
is a
gesture that
reminds of penants of old, remitting themselves into another's hands for mercy.
The drug is
lifting all previous inhibitions, leaving the door open to memories. His eyes
start
shifting,
left and right, ceaselessly. His voice rises again. He has a story to tell. And
somewhere
in time,
the story unfolds again.*
<<Xenobiology
lab, several days ago>>
::::::::::
Savet finishes calibrating the new equipment in the Xeno lab. Jansen
has been
hovering
around her all along, obviously unhappy at the disturbance. Scientists,
engineers,
you name
them, keep asking for upgrades and can never wait for them to be finished. She
is
a patient
person but she can't help thinking, if it was Sharon, surely he wouldn't be so
obnoxious.
"There
you go," she says lightly, "I'll leave you to work on your little
beasties now." Her eyes
go over to
a glass container prominently displayed in the lab that day. Frogs from Laeya
III, he
said. She
tries and get them to move, but they do nothing interesting she can see.
"It must be
hard for
you on a starship. Studying small animals all the time, I mean, there's no room
for the
really
interesting ones around here. That's too bad they didn't take you on the
submarine the other
time."
Saying the
wrong thing is almost second nature for Lisa. Jansen says something banal
before
turning
back to his frogs and she leaves the room, oblivious to his slightly stung
expression. Her
shift is
over and Sharon will likely be off somewhere having fun, as usual. Lisa seldom
has much fun..:::::::::
<<
Peter Jansen's quarters, on the day of the murder>>
::::::::::
Peter has been sitting in his quarters for ages it seems, dull pain throbbing
under his skull
like a
living thing, holding a medipad to his head. Nobody, not even Paulsen, seems to
give a damn
whether he
is alive or bleeding to death in his quarters. His thoughts drifts, gathering
an angry edge
as all the
slights endured in his existence seem to replay in his mind. The smallest of
which has not
been Sharon
waking up in this very bed and smashing his nose for thanks! Getting restless,
he sheds
the medipad
and leaves his quarters.
So trivial,
that’s what she must have thought about his work. She must even have wondered
what he
was doing
aboard the Swifsture, taking up valuable space that could have been taken up by
something
worthwhile,
something that actually brought something positive to the ship. Well, no more.
He is not
going to
just stand around and accept her complaints. Who the hell is she, thinking she
can talk to him
like
that. He knows her, he knows she
dislikes him and will often say so to Sharon. He loves Sharon
and in
time, he knows she will love him as well. He will see to it. He also knows
Savet will disagree with
such a
relationship. He knows she often tells Sharon there are far more suitable, far
more deserving
candidates
on the ship. Anyone but Peter... certainly not Peter. But that is going to
change. Lisa Savet
has to be
taught a lesson. Even if it doesn't work, it will bring immense pleasure to
him. A game of
chance –
after all, he is so very fond of them – albeit with higher stakes than usual:
Savet’s life.
The
idea is so simple, yet so brilliant. He feels good, for the first time in
ages. He feels in control. The
toxin the frogs
secrete present a perfect opportunity. He replicates a number of old-style
Terran chewing
gum pieces.
It is hardly used these days anymore, but often enough, such a nostalgic
gesture proves to
be
irresistible to most people. And he is certain it will prove to be irresistible
to Lisa Savet.
He injects
two of the pieces with the frog’s toxin. The odds aren't exactly fair, but
that's not his problem. She
had this
coming. He will show her how 'insignificant' he is. She will think differently
if she realizes he has
her life in
his hands... she will realize he is perfect for Sharon. And if she doesn't...
well, then at least she
won't have
the chance to stand in the way any longer.:::::::::
<<Lisa Savet's quarters, Murder minus 15 minutes>>
:::::::::: Lisa
made sure Sharon won't be back for a while. She has had a shower, borrowed
Sharon's
makeup for
a few discreet touches, and now she is holding the dress at arm's length. It
looks rather
innocent
that way, but it clings tight enough not to allow any but the most flimsy
underwear. Not the
kind she
would buy for herself, but... who will know, if she tries it in her quarters?
She closes Sharon's
closet and
leaves her room, almost fleeing to her own.
She puts the
dress on over bare skin and looks at herself in the mirror, from various
angles, for several
minutes. It
looks surprisingly good on her, and the woman in the mirror smiles back. Life
could be a
different
place for you, she seems to say. All it takes is the right dress.
The door
chimes and her heart stops for a second. But it can't be Sharon. She
walks to the door, no,
moves to
the door as if the dress itself is confering her a different carriage. Her
impromptu visitor
presses the
chime once again. Lisa hesitates and touches the key, an embarrassed blush on
her
face as she
sees the man standing there. Watching her with a slight smile, Sharon's
one-night date
is standing
in the doorway. "Oh. Sharon is... Sharon is not here."
"I
know" he says, and his eyes take in the sight. She is too
troubled to be sure, but he looks
appreciative.
"Can I come in for a moment? I realized I never thanked you for your hard
work in
my lab. I
won't be long." He takes one step, and Lisa takes a step back, her face warm,
her heart
in a
flutter. He takes another, moving into her quarters with perfect ease. The door
shuts and Lisa
turns
around, feeling the softness of the dress caressing her legs as she does so. Is
this really
happening?
JANSEN:*in
a low voice* That dress looks great on you, it really does. You look stunning.
Are
you
expecting someone?
Being well
aware if isn't her dress, Lisa accepts the compliments gracefully, noticing she
is
even
blushing. Another would spin a convincing lie about an evening out or a date
about to
arrive, but
she is artless and doesn't even try.
SAVET: Not
really, I... I was just trying it on. I’m sure Sharon will be back shortly. Is
there any
message you
want me to relay to her?
JANSEN: *smiling*
I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I was about to bring her this *holds up
a small
box* I know Sharon is a fan of nostalgic gestures. This is a box of old Terran
chewing gum.
SAVET:
*confused* What do you do with them?
JANSEN:
*grinning* You chew on them, of course.
SAVET: And
what’s the use?
JANSEN:
They taste good... they taste oh so good. Seeing you’re obviously a woman of
good taste
*gestures to the dress* would you like to try one?
SAVET:
*waving her hand* I’m not sure. They’re for Sharon, aren’t they?
JANSEN:
*nodding* They are, but it wouldn’t hurt you to try one. Come one, give it a
try. *opens
the box*
He keeps
his eyes fixed on her, the dress, her curvaceous figure. She notices him
staring, yet
doesn't
seem to be bothered by it. She acts so much different than she usually does
around him.
A charade,
he knows, but that doesn't matter. Not anymore.
SAVET:
*picking up one of the pieces of gum* I don’t eat sweets usually, bad for my
figure *jokingly*.
JANSEN:
*smiling* I doubt you could do anything to waste such a naturally perfect
figure.
SAVET:
*smiling* I suppose I could give it a try. *bringing the gum up to her mouth,
hesitating*
JANSEN: Go
ahead.
SAVET: *shrugging
and putting the gum inside her mouth, starting to chew* This doesn’t taste so
bad.
JANSEN:
*licking his lips* Does it taste as good as yourself?
SAVET:
*accidentally swallowing the gum* You really are strange, you know that?
*starts to cough*
Look what
you made me do.
JANSEN: I
have more if you want to try.
SAVET:
*shaking her head and growing uneasy* No thanks, I’ve had enough... of the gum,
and
of you. I
think you should leave.
JANSEN:
*smiling broadly* I think I’ll stay around a bit longer... the best part might
yet be to come.
Lisa opens her mouth to answer but she can't say a word. She tries moving but
loses her balance.
Jansen
catches her shoulders and supports her failing body. She cannot breathe, cannot
cry for
help as he
takes her up in his arms and moves across the room without a word. It dawns on
her
that he did
this to her. Drool slowly gathers in her mouth. In the midst of the horror and
panic that fill
her mind,
she has the time for one last thought as he puts her on the bed. Why is this
happening to
her? Then a
dark veil descends on her eyes. Lisa Savet is no more.
Jansen
waits a moment more to be sure, looking upon her with a smirk. At least she had
an
interesting
death, and that was more than she deserved. His eyes go down the blue dress. He
remembers
it all too well, and a certain evening when too many men were watching Sharon.
She
will wear
it again, he thinks, but this time I will be the only one she cares about.
<<Video
record, CMO's office>>
JANSEN:
*tired voice, still so slurry that it is difficult to get his words sometimes*
I... I put her on
the bed and
of course I knew the dress was Sharon's. I removed it and I put it back in her
closet.
I had to
move quickly, I wasn't sure she wouldn't be back early. And then I left. I
thought I'd feel so
good but
instead I had... this horrible headache and after that it was... I couldn't
remember a thing,
I had this
weird feelings that something terrible had happened... And I couldn't remember
a thing...
*He puts
his face in his hands with a harsh sob. Slowly, his stance changes to that of a
man
overcome by
sleep. He folds his arms on the desk while his head goes down to rest on them.
The PADD
records its own clatter on the floor, confused images as Peter moves his legs
to be
more
comfortable and the PADD slids under the desk. The recording from that point is
all heavy
breathing
and darkness, while Peter's mind skillfully buries once again the unbearable
memories.*
<<CMO's
office>>
== present
ship time ==
Martin was
hunched forward on his seat, arms resting on his thighs, holding the PADD and
staring
blindly at
it. He was particularly aware of how close his thumb was from the DEL key.
There was
no end to
the human misery buried beneath the surface, he thought gloomily. Lisa Savet
had been
another
casualty of their misadventure. Her agony had been terrible but brief. One way
or the other,
Peter would
suffer greatly in the years to come. Suppression of traumatic memories came
with a
price.
Martin moved his thumb away from the key. People don't have a "RESET"
button.
But what
about time?
His eyes
widened slightly, and he straightened up on his chair. They WERE going back in
time
after all.
How would it affect the timeline... their timeline? There was a chance, a tiny
chance
maybe that
none of this would ever have happened. There were also definite odds
stacked
against the
Swiftsure surviving the trip. In which case there was no purpose in dragging
Peter
through
such an ordeal - again.
But if they
did make it, to a time and place where Lisa Savet had been murdered...
"Computer,"
Martin said while opening an uplink between his PADD and the console.
"Begin
recording. Medical log, CMO Martin Paulsen. Encoding: confidential patient
data.
Stardate..."
He went on
talking while transferring the video and encoding it as well. When he was done,
he purged
the PADD and threw it aside. He needed a shower on the Antartica side of
"cold",
a fresh
uniform and finally to attend to his general duty of ensuring they all remained
sane
long enough
to push the button marked "home".
OFF
A Joint
Post by
LtCdr Peter
Jansen
Xenobiologis
&
Lt Martin
Paulsen
CMO
USS
Swiftsure
May 2006
“Devil in a
Blue Dress Part 2”
By: LCDR DJ
Nelson
DECK NINE
USS SWIFTSURE
After Post #96
Chief Drake briefed Commander Nelson on the failed mutiny, the
firefight with The Wayfarer and the strange behavior being observed
among the Swiftsure crew. Coupled with a possible murderer running
around loose on the ship, and the unknown state of the Federation
years in the future definitely posed serious security threats to the
Swiftsure.
Nelson stepped from the turbolift onto deck Nine and turned to face
Drake. “Schedule a meeting,” Nelson ordered. “Section leaders only.”
The chief of the boat
gave a small nod as the turbolift doors closed.
Daniel had just ordered
a meeting between himself, Drake and Chiefs
Tigert and Blakesley,
the senior enlisted within the security
department. This type
of meeting was usually an informal session
where the senior NCOs bitch about things to Nelson while he clarifies
specific orders and issues. Since the NCOs had the pulse of the men
and considering the chaotic nature of what was going on, such a
meeting would help stabilize the security department. He would fill in
the officers later. Daniel had young ensigns and junior grade
lieutenants in his department and had no delusions about who really
ran things.
The out of place piece of the puzzle from his meditation trance led
Daniel back to Lt. Savet's quarters. The doors closed behind him
leaving him in the semi-darkened common room barely lit by passing
stars. The couch, which earlier held a lifeless body, looked larger
and ominous from the play of shadows. Pictures on the walls held no
details but seemed a mush of black, white and gray.
After waiting a few more seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim
light Nelson made his way to the living area, softly bumping into a
chair or table on the way. Turning on the light ask he entered the
bedroom of Lt Macintosh the squinted his eyes from the light as he
took in various articles of clothing strewn everywhere. Apparently
Macintosh grabbed some personal items and is staying someplace else.
Having your roommate and friend to die within these walls, I don’t
blame her, thought Daniel. According to her file Savet had been a
laid back, quiet, bookish and generally well like and easy to work
with. In contrast Macintosh was engagingly talkative, intuitive and
exuded a quiet sexuality that seemed to interfere with most men's
ability to think straight. Daniel found himself staring at several
articles of racy undergarments and wondered how long he had been
daydreaming. He became angry with himself for not keeping a level head.
Nelson left Macintosh's room and crossed the short hallway to Savet's
room aided by the faint light from across the hall. Turning on the
light revealed a spotless room completely devoid of any personal
items; the bed tightly made with a standard Starfleet blanket with
hospital corners. "Damn" Nelson mumble to himself. He had forgotten
that the science teams had packed Savet's personal effects. Knowing
the closet would be empty Daniel stepped into the room and opened the
closet door. None of the duranimum hangers held a blue evening dress.
Daniel sat on the bed and thought things over. He knew that he has
seen the dress in the crime scene recordings, but the dress did not
seem to fit the personality of Lisa Savet. With a low back and a slit
clear to the ceiling it seemed something that Macintosh would wear.
Since he never really stepped into Macintosh’s room, Daniel decided to
look for the dress in her closet.
Stretching as he stood Nelson palmed the lights off and walked into
the hallway where he stopped when he met total darkness. Knowing that
he left the light on in the room he stood for several seconds puzzling
over the matter when he was suddenly pushed back into the wall, the
back of his head thudding against the bulkhead. As he crumpled to the
floor Nelson felt the movement of air as someone ran past him.
Shaking his head to clear the stars in his eyes Daniel saw a shadow
moving into the common room. Adrenaline took over and he was up on
his feet in no time. After a few running steps he leaped at the
shadow, but instead of catch a waist or a shoulder Nelson's arm got
tangled in legs.
This was just enough to bring the owner of the legs down on the floor
with Nelson, who was now being subject to kicks about the head and
face. Shielding his head with his right arm he frantically groped
around until his gripped a leg.
"Computer, secure this door, security authorization Nel-oooff!" A
kick
caught Daniel square in the mouth. Sensing a loosening of grip the
shadows kicks now concentrated on the offending arm that bound its
leg. A few missed and pounded the top of his head.
The computer happily chirped. "Unable to comply with request. Please
Restate authorization."
"Damn it computer, you know who the hell I am!"
A thoughtful chirp this time. "Voice authorization verified, Nelson,
D.J., Chief Security Officer. Voice stress analysis shows distress.
A security team has been dispatched to your location."
Nelson thanked God for the computer wienie who added stress anaylsers
to security queries, but dissapointed that he had to get the brake
beat off of him for the damn thing to work. A reprieve in the boot
stomping did not surprise Daniel, figuring that the shadow heard the
announcement too. Taking advantage of the shadow's possible
indecision he was on his knees driving forward. Expecting to fall on
the shadow to smother him he was surprised to find that the shadow had
sat up. The top of Nelson's head caught the shadow's chin and his
head exploded with stars. Both combatants were knocked senseless,
spending the little energy and consciousness they had left crawling
away from each other. Daniel crawled behind a couch as blinding light
filled the room and the doors flew open and Chief Tigert, flanked by
several security guards swooped into the room.
Nelson spent a full ten seconds in a fetal position waiting for the
pounding in his head to abate. During that time he heard the sounds
of breaking furniture, grunts and the occasional phaser blast. Nelson
stood up and was quite surprised to see one of his men, the tall beefy
crewman Ryan Wynn, holding off Tigert and the security team using a
broken piece of glass as a makeshift shiv. With a crazed look in his
eye and drooling blood and spittle from the mouth Wynn waved the shiv
menacingly. “You can’t have her!” he screamed pointing the shiv at
on and then another guard. “She’s mine! Stay away!”
Tigert looked over to
Nelson, as if a plea for help. Wynn was one of
his men and had come a
long way from the big limbering kid who always
got lost during red
alert. Both Drake and Tigert spent time mentoring
the boy. It was clear Anderson did not want to hurt Wynn even if he
was now a stark raving maniac. Nelson slightly shook his head to
indicate that there would be no quarter given. He spoke two words.
“Take him.”
The beating that ensued
was horrendous. Feet hands and elbows lashed
out at the overwhelmed Crewman Wynn who was still in a fighting rage
but tiring quickly. “I’ll meet you in the infirmary.” Nelson called
out to anyone who
cared. His head still pounding he staggered to the
door he and took one last look at the bull Ryan Wynn struggling on the
floor with two other security guards while the other pounded on him
mercilessly. Nelson was content to see peeking from Wynn’s torn
bloody mustard tunic the distinct sight of the hem of a blue evening
dress.
OFF
Part 3 to come in a day or two.
LCDR D.J. Nelson
CSecO
USS Swiftsure
February 2006
“Yesterday’s
Swiftsure” – Setting the Stage
By: COM
Wayne, CDR Wilde, LCDR Lynch
ON
==Bridge,
USS Swiftsure==
=Enroute to
SB 285=
"Captain
on the Bridge," announced Tom as Matt stepped
out of the
Turbolift and strode towards the center seat.
He shot Tom
a questioning look at the sudden use of
protocol,
and shook his head.
"As
you were," Matt said with a dismissive wave of
his hand.
His Exec was already standing to the right
of the
Center Chair, and turned to face Matt as he
approached. "What have we got Ex-Oh?"
"We
began picking up a distress call roughly two
minutes
ago," began Daren. "We've
located the source
of the
signal and I was about to give orders to alter
course.
We're the closest ship in this sector.
The
signal is
pretty weak and distorted, but Lieutenant
Brown was
able to filter it… somewhat."
"Let's
hear it," said Matt as he sat down in the
Center
Chair. Daren turned and looked over at
Steve who
instantly began entering in commands on
one of his
station panels.
"Th…
…s freig… …mar. Nee… …ediate assis…," began a
very
staticy and frightened sounding voice over the
Bridge
speakers. The transmission went on to
give
broken coordinates
and then repeat itself. Matt
looked up
at his Executive Officer.
"That's
the best we've been able to get so far.
There is a
lot of interference from something close
to the
transmission's source, possibly an ionizing
radiation,"
offered the Exec with a quick look towards
Tom.
"Do we
have them in sensor range," asked Matt, even
though he
knew the obvious answer. His Exec would have
included
that information in his report if he had it.
"No,
not yet," answered Daren. "If
we alter course
now we can
have them on long range in ten minutes.
We can be
at their position in half an hour at maximum
warp."
"Send
a message to them; tell them help is on the way.
Also send a
message to Starfleet, inform them that we
are
investigating a distress call and diverting," ordered
Matt. "Helm alter course, maximum warp."
"Aye,
sir," replied Moira. Her fingers
moved quickly
over her
controls and the ship shifted course.
The
quiet hum
of the engines increased as the ship pushed
her warp
limits to the edge of tolerances. Matt
leaned
back and
waited. It would be several minutes
before they
would know
anything else.
The
chronometer ticked away slowly as the distance between
the two
ships decreased. The troubled freighter was not
replying to
their messages and Matt had begun to fear the
worst. He drummed his fingers on his armrests as he
waited.
The fear of
every spacefarer was to have an emergency and
be far from
help. In the early days this had
occurred all
too
often. Even today ships disappeared
without reason or
explanation.
It was something they all lived with, a risk
they
accepted.
"Coming
into sensor range now, Captain," said Tom from the
Sciences
station. Matt stood and walked around to
the back
of the
Bridge. He stopped and peered over Tom's shoulder at
the
displays as Tom worked to refine the incoming data.
Tom was
intently working his controls, trying to glean every
last ounce
of information from them. He knew the Captain was
standing
behind him, but ignored his superior for now.
The
data was as
garbled as the distress signal. He started
running
variations of filters, anything he could think
of to
undistort his information.
"What
can you tell me," asked Matt as he continued to peer
over Tom's
shoulder. The displays, at least from
his angle,
appeared to
show the freighter in the center of some sort
of energy
field.
"I'm
having trouble resolving the freighter on our sensors,"
replied
Tom. His fingers continued to move
across the sensor
controls as
he spoke, his eyes never leaving the screens.
"If I
had to forward a guess, and it is just a guess at
this range,
I'd say that their ship is encased in some
sort of
energy bubble."
"Energy
bubble," repeated Matt questioningly.
The image
on the
sensor displays did look like the Freighter was in
the midst
of a `bubble' of some sort. The bad thing about
bubbles was
that they had a nasty tendency to break at the
most
inopportune of moments.
"I'll
know more as the range closes and I can refine the
data,
but," and Tom hesitated, "it almost seems as if the
Freighter
is caught in some sort of temporal rift or tear.
It's as if
the Freighter is holding open a singularity."
"Wouldn't
it be crushed under the singularity's gravity field,"
asked
Matt. The images didn't make a lot of
sense to him.
He had the
basic knowledge, with years of exposure and
experience,
but the finer points still escaped him.
"That's
what's peculiar about this," replied Tom with a nod.
"The
Freighter should be ripped apart, but it's not.
I can't
get any
sort of refined readings inside that energy field."
"Keep
me posted," said Matt. "Time
to rendezvous?"
"Fifteen
minutes," answered Moira without turning around.
"Have
Doctor Paulsen ready sickbay for any casualties, and
bring the ship
to Yellow Alert," ordered Matt.
"Until then
we
wait."
"Aye
sir," answered Ethan as the Alarm Klaxon blared the
change in
their operating status.
"Slow'n
tae impulse," said Moira as she brought the ship
out of
warp. The change in velocity drastically slowed the
rate of
closure. It would provide them with a
larger
safety
margin and allow Tom more time to analyze his
readings;
which were still giving him problems
"Freighter
in visual range," said Ethan. His fingers moved
over his
controls and the viewscreen image shifted.
A
resounding
inhale of breath went around the Bridge as
the crew
absorbed the image.
The
Freighter appeared to be an older design and it
appeared to
be breaking up, but in extreme slow motion.
The image
was blurred due to an energy field that shimmered
and
pulsated around the Freighter. The
energy field gave
everything
inside of it a bluish-yellow tint. Every so
often a
tendril of energy would lash out and then retract,
pulled back
as if on a leash.
"My
god," Daren heard someone at the back of the Bridge
mutter. He
felt himself nodding unconsciously in agreement
with the
unknown speaker. The image was both awe inspiring
and
frightful.
"I' be
prettah if ther' wer'nt any'on o'er there," said
Moira as
she stared at the image.
"It appears
that they're caught in some sort of micro time
loop,"
said Daren aloud as he too stared transfixed at the
image.
"Any life sign readings from that ship?"
"It's
hard to say Commander," replied Tom from his Science's
station. "There is too much interference from
that energy
field. I can tell you, however, that it's growing in
intensity,
as if it's
feeding off of something."
"Let's
keep our distance," said the Captain.
"Moira hold us
back, say
Twenty thousand klicks."
"Twen'y
thousan' aye," she replied as she continued to slow
the
vessel's approach.
"Getting
some strange energy readings in the theta and eta
bands,"
said Tom aloud as he furrowed his brow at his
displays. "The computer seems to think that it's
some sort
of decay
loop. I'm cross referencing the readings
with our
database, I
have a nasty suspicion. The life form readings
appear to
be in a state of flux, almost as if they are phasing
in and out
of existence."
"Hold'n
stat'n at twen'y thousan' klicks Cap'n," said Moira as
she brought
the Swiftsure to a complete stop.
"What's
your suspicion Tom," asked Daren and the Captain in
unison.
Daren walked quickly to where the Science Officer
was busy
reading his displays.
"The
slow time decay got me to thinking about a recent article
I was reading,"
began Tom. "We were going to be
stuck for
awhile so I
decided to get caught up on some of the latest
journals
and…"
"Cut
to the point Mister," interrupted Daren. They didn't have
time for a
drawn out explanation.
"Sorry,"
said Tom running a hand through his hair.
"Anyhow
a scientist in the Vrendezi cluster has postulated
that a
plasma stream, when directed at a refined concentration
of
Gallimide, can be used to create a disturbance or rift in
the cosmic
fabric, thereby creating an event horizon and gravity
well. The
graphic displays of that energy field out there
remind me
of the ones I saw in the article."
"Uh,
in Standard for those of us playing along at home," said
the Captain
as he turned around and looked at Tom.
"If
the Freighter was carrying a load of Gallimide ore and
their warp
core breeched it could, in theory, cause the
formation
of a black hole. I think that's what we
are
seeing
here. I'm having the computer compare
the energy
signatures
of our Freighter with those of the Vrendezi
Scientist's
report," answered Tom.
"That
doesn't explain the apparent slow motion breakdown
of the
freighter," said Daren as his brain tried to
comprehend
the scientific theory that was being put
forth.
"Or
why they'd be carrying Gallimide ore," chipped in
the
Captain. "It's highly unstable and
illegal in this
region of
space."
"If it
was right at the beginning of the event horizon,
then the
strong gravity field could be warping time and
space. It would in essence slow things down for
them,"
offered Tom
with a shrug as he waited for the Computer to
perform its
analysis. "As for why they are carrying it, I
have no
idea."
"Shouldn't
we be trying to rescue the crew," asked Ethan.
His comment
caused everyone to look his direction.
"A
good point Mr. Spencer," said the Captain, "but if I
comprehend
what our Science Officer is saying, we're
already too
late to help them."
"Correct
Captain," replied Tom as his computer chirped and he
smiled to
himself. "The computer confirms
that we are seeing
a similar energy
wave to the predicted Vrendezi pattern.
The
Freighter
could have started breaking up several hours or
several
days ago."
"Transporter
Room is unable to get a positive lock on anyone
on the
Freighter," reported Steve dejectedly and in answer to
Ethan's
train of thought.
"Captain,
I don't like just sitting here and watching this
happen,"
said Daren as he walked back to stand to the right
of his CO.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
"Agreed
Ex-Oh," said the Captain. "There's nothing we can
do for that
crew, and I'm not about to jeopardize our
safety
either. Helm move us back to a saf…."
"Energy
spike," cried Tom as his readings began to go off
the scale.
"Captain the bubble is expanding rapidly and
becoming
unstable."
"Moira
get us out of here," shouted the Captain.
"Get
the shields
up!"
"On'
it," said Moira as her fingers began to move quickly
across her
controls.
"Bubble
expanding rapidly, destabilizing as it expands,"
said
Tom. "We're going to be engulfed in
a matter of
seconds,"
he said looking up.
"No'
gonna mak' it," said Moira grimly as her fingers
continued
to fly across her board. The image on the viewscreen
shifted as
she put the ship into a hard turn, desperately
trying to
get the ship outside of the expanding ball of
energy.
"The Freighter
is detonating," said Tom. Onscreen
there
was a
brilliant flash and a rapidly expanding energy wave.
It expanded
with incredible speed, engulfing everything in
its path.
"Moira,
get us turned back into the wave," shouted the
Captain. The Bridge began to shake as the outer edge
of
the energy
bubble impacted against the Swiftsure's still
strengthening
shields. The shields held and they were
engulfed
within the bubble. Then the shock wave of the
Freighter's
exploding warp core slammed into the
Swiftsure's
shields.
Daren found
himself being tossed to the floor as the
lighting on
the bridge went out. Everything seemed
to
be
happening in slow motion. He heard several yelps as
others were
tossed to the floor. He felt as if he
were
floating. The sensation lasted for what seemed like
several
seconds before a sudden, hard impact with the
floor
knocked him senseless.
To anyone
viewing the scene from a distance the Swiftsure
appeared to
be enveloped by an expanding bluish-yellow
ovoid ball
of energy. A sudden flash made the
energy
ball and
the Swiftsure vanish from view. Sixteen
years
later, in
the exact same spot a sudden flash of light
marked the
return of a ship Starfleet had written off.
The
Swiftsure hung limp and powerless in space, listing
slightly to
Starboard. Her running lights flickered
briefly as
the emergency batteries tried to kick in.
A probe,
which just happened to be in the region, detected
the
event. It had lain dormant for fifteen
long and cold
years, but
now its systems began to come alive. The
probe
confirmed
its data and then began transmitting a signal
towards a
prearranged relay beacon. The relay took
the
probe's
signal and boosted its strength then sent it further
along to a
prearranged address.
OFF
A Post By:
COM Matthew
Wayne
CO
USS
Swiftsure
&
CDR Daren
Wilde
XO
USS
Swiftsure
&
LCDR Tom
Lynch
CSciO
USS
Swiftsure
January 2006
ON
==Moira’s
Quarters, Deck Five==
=Following
Holodeck Party=
There was a
trail of water following them down the
corridor. Moira had walked in silence the entire way
back to her
quarters with Tom walking quickly to keep
up with the
petite red-head. He had given up trying
to
apologize
and now tried to figure out how best to get back
on her good
side. It wasn’t something that he had
ever
been able
to figure out.
“Look,”
said Tom for about the hundredth time, “how
many times
do I have to say I’m sorry?”
Moira
continued to ignore him and instead of answering him
stepped
into her quarters and waited for him to follow her.
She was
enjoying his groveling, well she had been, she told
herself. Tom’s pleas were beginning to garner on
pathetic,
but she’d
string him out a little bit longer. She
entered her
bedroom and
began to remove her soaked through uniform
and kilt.
“It was a joke,”
repeated Tom as he watched her undress
from her
bedroom doorway. He was beginning to get
the
impression
that she was letting him wallow in his sense of
regret. If she had really been mad at him, he
wouldn’t be
standing
here watching her. “I’m the one who went through
the window,
remember?”
“Aye, an ya
be deservin’ everythin’ ya goot,” she retorted.
She was
down to her underwear and walked over towards
her
dresser. A new uniform and dry
underclothes were
quickly in
hand and she walked back towards the sonic shower.
“So wha’
shoul’ I try tae forgiv’ first? Th’ pie
or th’ fact ya tried
to mak’ me
thin’ ya was droun’n?”
“It was a
food fight, I was just having a little fun,” said Tom, glad
that she
was finally talking to him. “Look maybe
the drowning bit
was a
little over the top, but you have to stop throwing me around.”
“Aye, I’ll
giv’ ya tha’ much,” she said with a nod as she stepped into
her sonic
shower and removed the rest of her clothing.
“But ya nae
goot hurt
this time.”
“Dumb luck
if you ask me,” muttered Tom as his wet uniform
continued
to drip onto her floor.
“Wha was
tha,” she asked amidst the hum of the shower.
“Nothing,”
said Tom quickly. “Look I need to clean
up myself, and I
doubt you
have anything in my size. So if you don’t
mind I’ll be off.”
“Nothin’ in
yer’ size,” she said with a laugh as the sonic shower
finished
and she exited. “Did ya check?”
“No why,
did I leave something here,” he asked wondering if he had
a spare
uniform lying around her quarters that he’d forgotten about.
“I swear
tha’ you canna be so dense,” she said with a shake of
her head as
she got dressed. “Och, me floor ya daft
man, pu’ a
frigg’n
towel under ya feet. I nae wanna hav’
Loch Lynch in me
quarters.”
“Oh,
sorry,” said Tom as if noticing the puddle forming beneath him
for the
first time. “So do I have a spare uniform here or not?”
“Aye, tha
ya do,” she said with a nod, “middle draw’r.”
“Thanks.
You mind if I use your shower,” he asked without
taking a
step forward. He still wasn’t sure about
her mood, but
it was
better than when they’d left the holodeck.
“As if ya
hav’ tae ask,” she said rolling her eyes as she pulled on her
uniform
tunic. She walked over to the mirror and
opened the small
black box
the Captain had given her. Inside was a
third pip to add
to her
collar. She reached down and picked up
the gold and black
circle and
stared at it a minute before attaching it to her collar.
Lieutenant
Commander O’Bannon, it had a nice ring, and now that
she was
equal to Tom in rank, he couldn’t attempt to order her
around. He could try, but it would be even more
difficult for
him now.
“Sorry, I’m
just never sure about when I’m going to be tossed
into a
bulkhead,” he said dryly as he began removing his costume.
“Do I even have
to bring up the last time?”
“Ya canna
quit rubbin’ it in,” she retorted as she turned to face him.
“No’ hurr’y
up an’a get changed. We’re a leav’n in
under an hour.”
“Where’d
you hear that,” said Tom as he stepped into the sonic shower.
“I swear ya
ar’ daft, dinna ya overhear the Cap’n n’ Ex-Oh,” she asked.
“No, when
was this,” he asked.
“I giv’
up,” she said throwing her hands into the air.
She walked
over to a
small cabinet and pulled out a towel to put down and
sop up
Tom’s and her own water puddles. She
laughed at the
memory of
her ‘floating’ kilt and turned to say something to
Tom about
it when she realized that he had already exited the
shower and
was standing, naked, staring at her.
“So… you…
uh….,” he asked eyeing her and then the bed.
“Is tha’
all ya thin abou,” she heard herself saying for the millionth
time. “No, ya need tae get dressed so tha’ we can
get tae th’ bridge.”
“Yes, and I
haven’t gotten any messages saying that we’re leaving,
have you,”
he asked slyly.
“No ya goot
me…,” she paused as her desk terminal chirped.
“Get outta
view,” she added as she activated the terminal.
The last
thing she needed was for some poor watch officer to
see Tom in
all that mother nature had given him.
“Commander
O’Bannon,” she said to the image on the screen.
“Commander,”
began the Lieutenant, Willis… or was it Wilkins
(She could
never remember), “We’ll be leaving in thirty-five
minutes,
ma'am.”
“Aye, than’
ya’ Lieutenant,” she replied. The face
on the
screen
nodded and then disappeared. She turned
to find
Tom already
half-way through dressing.
“Saved by
the messenger, eh Moira,” he said with a devilish
grin as he
tucked in his tunic and checked his appearance in
her mirror.
“Aye,” she
said sounding a little disappointed.
OFF
A Joint Post
By:
LCDR Tom
Lynch
CSciO
USS
Swiftsure
&
LCDR Moira
O’Bannon
CCO
USS
Swiftsure
