"The USS Lone Star!" The exclamation preceded Ensign Burgundy into the
Science Department; it didn't have to wait almost a second for the
sliding doors to part. All heads turned towards the door in time to see a
furious science officer entering. "I've been on the fucking Lone Star
for five fucking days and you've all let me believe it's the fucking
Enterprise you fucking twats!" The Prepondrian Ensign possessed a wide
vocabulary. His decades in the gaming community had taught him more than
a thousand curses and insults in several different languages, and he
prided himself on using many of them quite fluently and fittingly. This
time his rage was too severe to recall any but the most basic and
adolescent varieties, and he found himself settling for only the most
versatile.
"We are all surprised that you didn't figure it out until now," said the
static voice of the speech synthesizer. A few metres from the tank a
handful of senior officers failed to suppress their giggles, which soon
turned into loud laughing. "Captain Paiján has an excellent sense of
humour, Ensign. And a healthy self-distance, unlike yourself," the
synthetic voice continued, commenting Burgundy's unspoken thoughts about
taking his complaints elsewhere.
Burgundy's red face didn't match his science-blue collar very well, but
it did communicate his mood effectively. Most of the other newcomers to
the department actively moved away from the confrontation. The
atmosphere in the large room was thick and tense; the laughing officers
in one corner only made it more so. "This is workplace harassment," the
Ensign said between clenched teeth.
"It's also really funny," countered Lieutenant Commander Animo through
the speech synthesizer. They knew what the Science Officer was thinking,
after all, and to file a complaint into the bureaucratic black hole of
Starfleet against misconduct on the part of a whole department and the Captain of the USS Lone Star was not among those thoughts. "One day you will see it that way too, young one."
"Young?! Have you read my file? I'm more than a century old, you
gelatinous misfit! Not some dumb child!" Burgundy was more than a little
flustered and frustrated. Only his family ever spoke down to him like
that, and that was one of the reasons he'd found it agreeable to leave
home in the first place.
"Potato potato," replied Perdita. The two instances of the word sounded identical through the speech synthesizer. Did you finish the tissue analysis?
they sent the question telepathically, because it was easier to set a
relaxed tone of voice that way. Even if it did come through as tinny and
echoing. And intrusive, of course.
Burgundy instinctively turned around to find the source of the voice,
before recognizing it for what it was. He walked briskly over to the
tank that housed his department head, and proceeded to pound the glass
while yelling “Stop being in my head!” a few times. “I will fucking kill
you if you keep doing that, jelly brain!” he finished off, apparently
tiring of the exertion and in general starting to calm down. “No you
won’t,” answered the flat voice from the speaker nearest him. I can hear your thoughts, remember? added the tin-can echo in his head.
A few moments passed in silence, which the ensign spent on thoughts of
filling the tank with acid, transporting Perdita Animo into space,
boiling the amniotic fluid, drying the gelatinous shape out, pressing it
through a mesh, and otherwise causing its demise. His meticulous train
of thought was interrupted by a loud intermittent squeaking through the
speakers.
“That didn’t sound like a laugh either. It was meant to,” the Lieutenant
Commander explained. “Telepathy is easier than this device.”
The Ensign felt defeated for the moment. He sat down with his back
against the tank and sighed. “Yes, I finished. It’s not a tribble. Just
as I said after reading the initial report; had it been a tribble that
whole colony would have been overrun by them. It was a trooble. A
relative to the tribble, but much slower to reproduce and a lot more
sensitive to the environment. The air on that colony wasn’t humid enough
to allow it to spread rapidly,” he picked at an imaginary dust mite on
his trousers while speaking. “Why did you even assign me to that? The
conclusion was foregone, the junior lab assistants had already checked
it and my speciality is mathematics, physics, and simulations.”
“The pathologists were least likely to accidentally reveal our little
ruse,” Perdita explained. “They are a seclusive bunch, on this ship.
Half of them don’t care which ship they’re on and the other half don’t
small talk at all.”
Burgundy’s pulse started rising at this, and his thoughts betrayed his
anger resurfacing. Not only had they plotted to pull his leg; they had
gone to great lengths to make the conspiracy last.
“Would you like an apology?” his chief asked. “The captain is having a
social gathering for senior officers soon. I have been asked to bring
someone from the department. Would you like the spot?”
The ensign blinked. “Are you asking me to be your plus one? Like a
date?” he asked, perplexed. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“No, not a date. Just the representative of this department, apart from
myself. It’s not a plus one thing. The captain has requested that each
department send a representative of the crew.” As always, it was
impossible to tell what, if anything, the electronic voice implied.
Burgundy almost wished that the offer had been communicated
telepathically. Of course, when he for once wanted that, the gelatinous being didn’t offer it.
“Sure, why not,” he said, shrugging. Some socializing couldn’t hurt.
SD241810.22 - Meanwhile, Aboard The Enterprise. [Perdita/Felix]
Perdita: the lost infant in Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. Captain de
l’Isle wasn’t as much of a Shakespeare buff as some of his peers and had
even been, somewhat ill-advisedly, chastised for this at a formal
dinner some years ago. He’d misquoted some Andorian thrash punk in
return.
Perdita Animo: literally, the lost inspiration, the misplaced life-giver. Perdita Animo was the Lone Star’s chief science officer and forever a mystery to its commanding officer. Why were they here? What inspiration or life were they supposed to be providing? Generally, the gelatinous Lt Commander provided conflict and the occasional invasion of privacy.
It had taken until the ninth time that Felix had been interrupted, fully naked in his quarters, to explain that using the computer’s optical and holographic cortices in this way was not acceptable.
de l'Isle looked on, crossed-armed, as Animo was lowered into their adapted tank at the centre of the Lone Star’s copious science department.
The Science Department at the Lone Star housed two sorts of people nowadays. There were the few veterans who'd stuck around and adapted to their strange chief, and the newcomers. The latter category was often rotated. Among many of the older guard there was a saying: "You don't do two tours in here," meaning that if you hadn't gotten used to the privacy-invading non-empathic jelly lump with short-distance telepathic powers after one tour you were already on your way out, by transfer or on medical grounds. If you had found a way to cope, you were likely to stay for a long time. That sort of environment does things to a person.
When Lieutenant Commander Animo had been submerged in synthetic amniotic fluid, the life support harness was gently removed and a technician put the finishing touches on the updated speech synthesizer attached to the tank. Lieutenant Karien - having served 8 years mostly within 20 metres of said tank - smiled and rested her forehead on the glass. The conversation taking place in her head was like a missing half of her mind had just come back after a vacation and had much to talk about. "Try it out," she said, conveniently leaving out about 90% of the actual dialogue.
"I do not understand the meaning of this," came a synthesized, genderless, voice. The new software was capable of reading the emotional state of the speaker and adjusting intonation and volume accordingly to make the vocal exchange more natural. At least according to the brochure.
The gelatinous shape currently making use of it didn't, in any discernable way, have emotional states.
While Lieutenant Karien explained, perhaps mostly to the new crew who may overhear, how the synthetic voice module was meant to be less intrusive and feel more "normal" than a voice injected into ones head, Perdita Animo had shifted their attention to the Captain.
You are thinking about me looking at you while you're naked in your quarters, said a voice in Felix's head. It sounded like he was in a tin can, and the voice surrounded him.
“Delighted to know you still care, Commander, but that’s a piece of research that doesn’t require repeating, hm?” Felix approached the tank, with teal-topped juniors parting around him. Karien remained where she was, acknowledging the captain with a knowing look. “I say this with specific reference to the various misconduct issues I have fended off on your behalf in the past.”
”You brought it up,” Animo said through the synthesizer. Even after all these years they had yet to grasp the fact that not all thoughts were willingly conjured. ”But I agree, there is no need to revisit the subject.” Lieutenant Karien smirked and raised an eyebrow at the Captain; no doubt she had just been informed what it was about.
Ignoring the gelatinous being’s audible and inaudible snark, de l’Isle linked his fingers. “How was your research trip?” he asked, idly. “I have received only four complaints, none of which serious, so I assume we can call this a success.”
”It was a disappointment,” the gelatinous being admitted. Not because I didn’t cause more offence, Captain, but because of a lack of results. The explanation was added in the same echoing telepathy as before. They hadn’t yet gotten used to speaking through the synthesizer exclusively.
Then, because so many newcomers apparently thought that their chief wanted to cause a maximum of offense, the explanation was repeated through the synthesizer. ”The anomaly lacked sufficient subspace distortions,” they added. ”Not enough data to verify my theories.”
Perdita heard how Felix’s thoughts travelled elsewhere. ”You believe this new Ensign will cause trouble,” it said, once again leaving thoughts unspoken.
“That is a theory with considerable supporting data.” Leaning against the tank, Felix scanned the remaining crew, most of whom busying themselves with Perdita’s orders. The science department revolved around the individual, quite literally; over the past eight years the space had become customised around their needs. “I am considering what to do with him. He seems to believe his age and nonchalance gives him some kind of tenure he has not earned.” Felix paused. “He may also believe he has been posted to the Enterprise.”
A weird cackling came through the speakers. "That did not sound like a laugh," said the Science Chief with their flat synthetic voice. "I meant for it to sound like a laugh. Will have to practice that." Humour wasn't one of Perdita's strengths, but they had learnt to understand when humans intended something to be funny. It helped that surrounding crewmembers thought of something as a joke.
Lieutenant Karien turned to the Captain with a smile. "We'll make him work, Sir. Count on it."
"The USS Enterprise," Perdita said. The voice almost carried a tone; an afterthought, maybe. "Who runs the Enterprise these days, Captain? Should we continue making him believe he serves there?"
After eight years Felix was just about able to insinuate when Perdita meant mischief. It usually started with a leading question – something his lead scientist would have known, as now. “Captain Cassa Paiján. A formidable Argentinian with a mean left hook and a specialism in tactical weapons systems. Also, about half a foot taller than me and distinctly female.”
Almost in unison all the veteran crewmembers nodded their heads, some snickering or smirking as they did. The speech synthesizer was installed mainly for the benefit of new crew; those not used to mind games. Orders had been given, and they would trickle down to new crewmembers by word of mouth in smaller groups later on.
"A lot has happened in the last year, Captain," the gelatinous being offered. They had heard about Ensign Burgundy's long sleep from de l'Isle's thoughts. "I believe Commodore Paiján is serving at HQ for the time being. Congratulations on heading the Starfleet flagship, Captain de l'Isle." The synthetic voice was as devoid of intonation as before, but Lieutenant Commander Animo managed to place dramatic pauses effectively to convey the sarcastic sentiment. "Ensign Burgundy will have to step it up a few notches, lest he be the laughing stock of the fleet."
“That might not be off-putting to him. He seems to think that divinity alone has brought him to the fleet, and that divinity will have to answer to Ensign Burgundy for reasons that are not, in any lateral of space or time, deserved or obvious.” de l’Isle had never been entirely sure where Animo’s eyes might be, or even if they had them. He knew better, also, than to linger on the matter for too long, and patted the tank affectionately. “Let’s see how long we can keep it up. I’ve a mind to assign him to the bridge for a while. Put him through his paces.”
Suddenly Lieutenant Karien turned towards the doors, right before they swished open to reveal a young Lieutenant JG. "A new face," Karien said with a smile. "Please don't scare her off, Commander. I'll show her the ropes." Communicating by speech rather than thought would require getting used to for her as well. This much was clear from the delay between her two statements.
“Captain,” the Lone Star novice – a botanist, he believed? – squeaked in his direction. The owner of the title turned to leave, not mentioning to his latest junior officer that he was not the one, in this room, to be afeared of.
“Welcome to the Enterprise,” Felix uttered, catching her by surprise as he decamped, and leaving Perdita and their department to disambiguate for the newcomer.
-=-=-=-
by Lt Commander Perdita Animo, Chief Science Officer (apb Björn)
and Captain Felix de l’Isle, Commanding Officer
USS ahem Enterprise
Perdita Animo: literally, the lost inspiration, the misplaced life-giver. Perdita Animo was the Lone Star’s chief science officer and forever a mystery to its commanding officer. Why were they here? What inspiration or life were they supposed to be providing? Generally, the gelatinous Lt Commander provided conflict and the occasional invasion of privacy.
It had taken until the ninth time that Felix had been interrupted, fully naked in his quarters, to explain that using the computer’s optical and holographic cortices in this way was not acceptable.
de l'Isle looked on, crossed-armed, as Animo was lowered into their adapted tank at the centre of the Lone Star’s copious science department.
The Science Department at the Lone Star housed two sorts of people nowadays. There were the few veterans who'd stuck around and adapted to their strange chief, and the newcomers. The latter category was often rotated. Among many of the older guard there was a saying: "You don't do two tours in here," meaning that if you hadn't gotten used to the privacy-invading non-empathic jelly lump with short-distance telepathic powers after one tour you were already on your way out, by transfer or on medical grounds. If you had found a way to cope, you were likely to stay for a long time. That sort of environment does things to a person.
When Lieutenant Commander Animo had been submerged in synthetic amniotic fluid, the life support harness was gently removed and a technician put the finishing touches on the updated speech synthesizer attached to the tank. Lieutenant Karien - having served 8 years mostly within 20 metres of said tank - smiled and rested her forehead on the glass. The conversation taking place in her head was like a missing half of her mind had just come back after a vacation and had much to talk about. "Try it out," she said, conveniently leaving out about 90% of the actual dialogue.
"I do not understand the meaning of this," came a synthesized, genderless, voice. The new software was capable of reading the emotional state of the speaker and adjusting intonation and volume accordingly to make the vocal exchange more natural. At least according to the brochure.
The gelatinous shape currently making use of it didn't, in any discernable way, have emotional states.
While Lieutenant Karien explained, perhaps mostly to the new crew who may overhear, how the synthetic voice module was meant to be less intrusive and feel more "normal" than a voice injected into ones head, Perdita Animo had shifted their attention to the Captain.
You are thinking about me looking at you while you're naked in your quarters, said a voice in Felix's head. It sounded like he was in a tin can, and the voice surrounded him.
“Delighted to know you still care, Commander, but that’s a piece of research that doesn’t require repeating, hm?” Felix approached the tank, with teal-topped juniors parting around him. Karien remained where she was, acknowledging the captain with a knowing look. “I say this with specific reference to the various misconduct issues I have fended off on your behalf in the past.”
”You brought it up,” Animo said through the synthesizer. Even after all these years they had yet to grasp the fact that not all thoughts were willingly conjured. ”But I agree, there is no need to revisit the subject.” Lieutenant Karien smirked and raised an eyebrow at the Captain; no doubt she had just been informed what it was about.
Ignoring the gelatinous being’s audible and inaudible snark, de l’Isle linked his fingers. “How was your research trip?” he asked, idly. “I have received only four complaints, none of which serious, so I assume we can call this a success.”
”It was a disappointment,” the gelatinous being admitted. Not because I didn’t cause more offence, Captain, but because of a lack of results. The explanation was added in the same echoing telepathy as before. They hadn’t yet gotten used to speaking through the synthesizer exclusively.
Then, because so many newcomers apparently thought that their chief wanted to cause a maximum of offense, the explanation was repeated through the synthesizer. ”The anomaly lacked sufficient subspace distortions,” they added. ”Not enough data to verify my theories.”
Perdita heard how Felix’s thoughts travelled elsewhere. ”You believe this new Ensign will cause trouble,” it said, once again leaving thoughts unspoken.
“That is a theory with considerable supporting data.” Leaning against the tank, Felix scanned the remaining crew, most of whom busying themselves with Perdita’s orders. The science department revolved around the individual, quite literally; over the past eight years the space had become customised around their needs. “I am considering what to do with him. He seems to believe his age and nonchalance gives him some kind of tenure he has not earned.” Felix paused. “He may also believe he has been posted to the Enterprise.”
A weird cackling came through the speakers. "That did not sound like a laugh," said the Science Chief with their flat synthetic voice. "I meant for it to sound like a laugh. Will have to practice that." Humour wasn't one of Perdita's strengths, but they had learnt to understand when humans intended something to be funny. It helped that surrounding crewmembers thought of something as a joke.
Lieutenant Karien turned to the Captain with a smile. "We'll make him work, Sir. Count on it."
"The USS Enterprise," Perdita said. The voice almost carried a tone; an afterthought, maybe. "Who runs the Enterprise these days, Captain? Should we continue making him believe he serves there?"
After eight years Felix was just about able to insinuate when Perdita meant mischief. It usually started with a leading question – something his lead scientist would have known, as now. “Captain Cassa Paiján. A formidable Argentinian with a mean left hook and a specialism in tactical weapons systems. Also, about half a foot taller than me and distinctly female.”
Almost in unison all the veteran crewmembers nodded their heads, some snickering or smirking as they did. The speech synthesizer was installed mainly for the benefit of new crew; those not used to mind games. Orders had been given, and they would trickle down to new crewmembers by word of mouth in smaller groups later on.
"A lot has happened in the last year, Captain," the gelatinous being offered. They had heard about Ensign Burgundy's long sleep from de l'Isle's thoughts. "I believe Commodore Paiján is serving at HQ for the time being. Congratulations on heading the Starfleet flagship, Captain de l'Isle." The synthetic voice was as devoid of intonation as before, but Lieutenant Commander Animo managed to place dramatic pauses effectively to convey the sarcastic sentiment. "Ensign Burgundy will have to step it up a few notches, lest he be the laughing stock of the fleet."
“That might not be off-putting to him. He seems to think that divinity alone has brought him to the fleet, and that divinity will have to answer to Ensign Burgundy for reasons that are not, in any lateral of space or time, deserved or obvious.” de l’Isle had never been entirely sure where Animo’s eyes might be, or even if they had them. He knew better, also, than to linger on the matter for too long, and patted the tank affectionately. “Let’s see how long we can keep it up. I’ve a mind to assign him to the bridge for a while. Put him through his paces.”
Suddenly Lieutenant Karien turned towards the doors, right before they swished open to reveal a young Lieutenant JG. "A new face," Karien said with a smile. "Please don't scare her off, Commander. I'll show her the ropes." Communicating by speech rather than thought would require getting used to for her as well. This much was clear from the delay between her two statements.
“Captain,” the Lone Star novice – a botanist, he believed? – squeaked in his direction. The owner of the title turned to leave, not mentioning to his latest junior officer that he was not the one, in this room, to be afeared of.
“Welcome to the Enterprise,” Felix uttered, catching her by surprise as he decamped, and leaving Perdita and their department to disambiguate for the newcomer.
-=-=-=-
by Lt Commander Perdita Animo, Chief Science Officer (apb Björn)
and Captain Felix de l’Isle, Commanding Officer
USS ahem Enterprise
SD241810.21 - "Everything's Normal... Until It's Not" [Felix]
-= CO’s Offices, Fleet Headquarters =-
“The Admiral will be ready in a moment.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” Felix said, not quite able to help himself. In truth, he wasn’t concentrating. Outside the lobby window sat the Lone Star, its strange modular hull tapering to its top, which was just below the level of his feed. Some thought the Insignia wasn’t a particularly pretty ship, but those people were no longer welcome in his general vicinity.
Felix entered when called, busting out a cavalier salute as soon as he entered. “Seems you just can’t get rid of me, Admiral.”
"No matter how hard I try, Captain," Sadie replied in good nature. "Welcome aboard Kincardine." Her face sobered and she waved vaguely in the direction of her computer console. "I saw your report from your way in. Finding what was...left of the Dumas. Thank you for the extra thorough look.”
Felix waved his head from side to side in an arbitrary way. “It never gets easier, boss,” he confessed. “There was nothing there but alloy and organic matter.” Federation officer code for the remains of people. “We’ve put a planter in the arboretum for Doctor Sovanae and the missing crew of the Artemis. And now, I suppose, we’re moving on.” He regarded her questioningly.
Sadie smiled faintly. "It's what we do, Captain." She stifled a sigh. "It's what we do." She waved at the chair in front of her desk. "How's the Lone Star after the recent visit at Utopia Planitia?"
Felix took the seat, casually. "She's handling like a charm, Captain, and she's ready to venture out. I know Commander Freelove nearly drove most of the base to the asylum, but she gets results. All I need now is an XO and some orders."
"I'm afraid the assignment for your new first officer remains pending," Sadie said, glad that this captain wasn't any sort of telepath since he would be unable to miss her amusement at their lack of ability to find anyone suitably crazy to second chair the Lone Star this time around. "However, I can make that up to you." She slid a PADD across the desk to him with maps regarding what she was about to tell him. "You're going to go find out what the Romulans are up to in this area." She nodded to the PADD. "Discretely, of course.”
“Of course,” de l’Isle replied, with a petulant face full of feigned offence.
The admiral just gave him the dry, slightly-raised-brow look that she'd give one of her children, then nodded at the PADD without a word.
He took up the device greedily and scanned it over. The first detail he saw was that the sector didn’t have a name: Beta 420. Straight over the top of Romulan space and some way the other side, it sat at the outer boundary of what had been Borg space thirty years before. They would also be the first actual Federation presence in the area. de l’Isle looked up and straight at Sadie.
“What’s the gig, boss?”
"Frankly, we want to know how far into this space the Romulans have gotten and, if necessary, how they did it," she said simply. She had never been one to mince words, after all. "And perhaps the why of it." She paused and then gestured around here. "This base and this fleet has been formed as part of the Sal'kiiran people joining the Federation, but it's more than just a new protectorate. The fact is, the Sal'kiir were not just accepted, but they were wooed. They have been creating propulsion technology far beyond our current technology, and we want to be part of that."
She smiled wryly. "But we weren't alone, and them choosing us has not made either of us any friends. The Romulans were among the other...suitors, so to speak. And now suddenly they are stretching further than previously known. We want to know more, and we want to know if they have someone gained a foothold on the propulsion technology ahead of or around us." She met his gaze with a level look. "This information is only need to know below captain ranks, so you're aware.”
“We’re just heading out for a routine tour as far as my staff are concerned,” Felix confirmed, mulling the admiral’s words. “It’s a mapping mission, right? Until we find a warbird, or some evidence?”
"Basically," Sadie replied easily, then smirked a little. "Everything is perfectly normal...until, you know, it isn't.”
“Le plus ça change,” Felix suggested. “Is there any direct evidence for the Romulans having extended that far out? Do we know if they’ve executed any subterfuge here on Sal’kiir itself – yet?” With the Empire, it was usually only a matter of time. It also began to make sense of r’Anverok’s appointment to Omega’s fleet intelligence position – which reminded the captain that there was a tall, Romulan bone to pick in that department.
"Evidence of their expansion into that sector? Yes. Evidence of subterfuge here on Sal'kiir? No," Sadie replied. "But, well, never assume anything, as they say. Let's take a look and be as sure as we can be.”
“You’ve got it, boss.” Felix’s eyes widened. “Excitement just about starts to cover how I’m feeling about it. We’ve been sitting on this capability for years. I can’t wait to push the boat out. As it were.” His grin, then, matched his look.
Sadie eyed him for a moment then chuckled. "I'd like to tell you to behave yourself, but... Well. I know better."
=/\= End Log =/\=
Vice Admiral Sadie Stanton, OFCO & Captain Felix de l'Isle, USS Lone Star CO
“The Admiral will be ready in a moment.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” Felix said, not quite able to help himself. In truth, he wasn’t concentrating. Outside the lobby window sat the Lone Star, its strange modular hull tapering to its top, which was just below the level of his feed. Some thought the Insignia wasn’t a particularly pretty ship, but those people were no longer welcome in his general vicinity.
Felix entered when called, busting out a cavalier salute as soon as he entered. “Seems you just can’t get rid of me, Admiral.”
"No matter how hard I try, Captain," Sadie replied in good nature. "Welcome aboard Kincardine." Her face sobered and she waved vaguely in the direction of her computer console. "I saw your report from your way in. Finding what was...left of the Dumas. Thank you for the extra thorough look.”
Felix waved his head from side to side in an arbitrary way. “It never gets easier, boss,” he confessed. “There was nothing there but alloy and organic matter.” Federation officer code for the remains of people. “We’ve put a planter in the arboretum for Doctor Sovanae and the missing crew of the Artemis. And now, I suppose, we’re moving on.” He regarded her questioningly.
Sadie smiled faintly. "It's what we do, Captain." She stifled a sigh. "It's what we do." She waved at the chair in front of her desk. "How's the Lone Star after the recent visit at Utopia Planitia?"
Felix took the seat, casually. "She's handling like a charm, Captain, and she's ready to venture out. I know Commander Freelove nearly drove most of the base to the asylum, but she gets results. All I need now is an XO and some orders."
"I'm afraid the assignment for your new first officer remains pending," Sadie said, glad that this captain wasn't any sort of telepath since he would be unable to miss her amusement at their lack of ability to find anyone suitably crazy to second chair the Lone Star this time around. "However, I can make that up to you." She slid a PADD across the desk to him with maps regarding what she was about to tell him. "You're going to go find out what the Romulans are up to in this area." She nodded to the PADD. "Discretely, of course.”
“Of course,” de l’Isle replied, with a petulant face full of feigned offence.
The admiral just gave him the dry, slightly-raised-brow look that she'd give one of her children, then nodded at the PADD without a word.
He took up the device greedily and scanned it over. The first detail he saw was that the sector didn’t have a name: Beta 420. Straight over the top of Romulan space and some way the other side, it sat at the outer boundary of what had been Borg space thirty years before. They would also be the first actual Federation presence in the area. de l’Isle looked up and straight at Sadie.
“What’s the gig, boss?”
"Frankly, we want to know how far into this space the Romulans have gotten and, if necessary, how they did it," she said simply. She had never been one to mince words, after all. "And perhaps the why of it." She paused and then gestured around here. "This base and this fleet has been formed as part of the Sal'kiiran people joining the Federation, but it's more than just a new protectorate. The fact is, the Sal'kiir were not just accepted, but they were wooed. They have been creating propulsion technology far beyond our current technology, and we want to be part of that."
She smiled wryly. "But we weren't alone, and them choosing us has not made either of us any friends. The Romulans were among the other...suitors, so to speak. And now suddenly they are stretching further than previously known. We want to know more, and we want to know if they have someone gained a foothold on the propulsion technology ahead of or around us." She met his gaze with a level look. "This information is only need to know below captain ranks, so you're aware.”
“We’re just heading out for a routine tour as far as my staff are concerned,” Felix confirmed, mulling the admiral’s words. “It’s a mapping mission, right? Until we find a warbird, or some evidence?”
"Basically," Sadie replied easily, then smirked a little. "Everything is perfectly normal...until, you know, it isn't.”
“Le plus ça change,” Felix suggested. “Is there any direct evidence for the Romulans having extended that far out? Do we know if they’ve executed any subterfuge here on Sal’kiir itself – yet?” With the Empire, it was usually only a matter of time. It also began to make sense of r’Anverok’s appointment to Omega’s fleet intelligence position – which reminded the captain that there was a tall, Romulan bone to pick in that department.
"Evidence of their expansion into that sector? Yes. Evidence of subterfuge here on Sal'kiir? No," Sadie replied. "But, well, never assume anything, as they say. Let's take a look and be as sure as we can be.”
“You’ve got it, boss.” Felix’s eyes widened. “Excitement just about starts to cover how I’m feeling about it. We’ve been sitting on this capability for years. I can’t wait to push the boat out. As it were.” His grin, then, matched his look.
Sadie eyed him for a moment then chuckled. "I'd like to tell you to behave yourself, but... Well. I know better."
=/\= End Log =/\=
Vice Admiral Sadie Stanton, OFCO & Captain Felix de l'Isle, USS Lone Star CO
SD241810.21 - The Sass Gland. [Burgundy/Andraste/Felix]
Time felt stretched and slow. In the back of his head thunder was
rolling. The calcium shell, which had grown thicker over the months, was
cracking. He was shedding it, along with the old tepid air inside of
it. As his nostrils registered a higher level of oxygen his lungs
rebelled, emptying themselves of the last vestiges of carbon dioxide and
inhaling spastically anew. Light, reaching his now wide open eyes for
the first time in almost a year, felt like a hammer of photons against
his skull. He cramped and convulsed, too busy breathing to be able to
scream.
Felix raced through into the ship’s gleaming sickbay. “They got the blood out pretty well,” he murmured to himself, coming to a halt next to the fusty, rattling biped. The last half an hour had been a whirlwind of personnel logistics and an earful of Monkfish; he looked across at his new CMO, who had received the full Lone Star treatment in the space of about seven minutes.
“Doctor Vaughn. We’ll do the niceties later. What’s his condition?” de l’Isle pulled the face he normally reserved for Ferengi cuisine. “And is that smell meant to be happening? He smells like a Klingon necropolis.” Sickbay also now featured a smattering of dead skin.
"Unfortunately for all of us, this is apparently natural to his species when they come out of the torpor," Andraste said over the noise of the bucking body on the biobed. She'd done a very brief brush-up on said species in the time it had taken to get from there to here. "It should calm down momentarily on its own."
As if in response, the male figure on the biobed stopped convulsing and sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes and let out an impressively long tirade of curses in several different languages. Loudly. After that he took a short breath, sighed and said - mostly to himself - "They say it gets easier every time. Fucking liars. Can't believe Burgundy's gone trough nine of these..."
His surroundings finally started to register; at first the beeps from consoles and the talk of orderlies some way away, then the figures surrounding his own biobed. Speaking of which: "Hey, I'm on a biobed!" His glare turned suspicious when he surveyed his company. "Who are you?"
Not known for his authoritarian approach, Felix de l’Isle had a reasonably simple, rules-based approach to captaincy.
Number one: what the boss says, goes.
Number two: respect the rank, even if you don’t respect the person.
Number three: don’t be a dick. Felix warned Vaughn back from the biobed with a look. He realised he’d probably have to undo this later lest she think him a right shouter, but for now, it had to be thus. His look asked her: is he, technically, all right?
She stepped back with a raised brow and the silent question, naturally unanswered, as to what he intended to do. When he looked at her, she looked at the man on the biobed and then offered a nod. Yes, he seemed fine...
Upon what he thought was confirmation, the captain executed his plan. “Get on your feet now, Ensign!”
It was reasonably clear that, should Burgundy reject the invitation, he would be hoisted there by his new commanding officer.
The Ensign in question didn't so much hesitate as evaluate his choices. Within about a second he had located Felix's collar and identified the pips thereupon. He rose, just about fast enough that he couldn't be accused of being disrespectful. "Am I on duty, Captain?" he inquired flatly. "And what ship is this, by the way?" He glanced around the area swiftly. "Or station, or whatever..." While his words were inquisitive in nature, the tone by which they were delivered revealed an innate disinterest. A chasm of indifference.
Starfleet had done nothing wrong towards the Science Officer. It just, by his count, hadn't exactly done anything right either. It was boring. It was tedious. It was filled to the brim with people demanding things from him. The work never ended: as soon as he was done with one task they just gave him another one. A despicable tradition that - he was sure - the young Captain in front of him was keen to continue.
“Doctor Vaughn,” Felix intoned, rabidly unimpressed with Burgundy’s lackadaisical approach. “Are you quite certain that the ensign here is – well – well?”
de l’Isle was well versed with this kind of personality. He had worn it himself, for a time. This one appeared to think he was the first to don the garment. Felix caught himself before he smiled.
“To my untrained eye,” the captain suggested to the doctor, “it looks like our Ensign Burgundy is suffering a personality disorder brought on by his hibernation.” Felix’s non-specific American drawl came into its own. He stepped closer to the Prepondrian’s presence, and face. “Are there precautions we should take, Doctor Vaughn, to ensure he is – let’s say – safe to the crew?”
Or he could just have a personality disorder, the good doctor reflected, but she didn't say aloud. "To be honest, Captain, I have more research to do on his species as it is, but frankly, I don't see it reasonable to release him from sickbay immediately until I can be sure that all is well."
Ensign Burgundy smirked a little. The doctor, he thought, was an ally. "Doctor Vaughn is absolutely right, Captain," he said enthusiastically. "I'm really not myself and I need rest after my long rest – I mean ordeal. Light duties and short shifts are in order." He tried to look sullen and tired, but acting had never been his strong suit. When he found that smugness was surfacing again he decided to shift the Captain's attention elsewhere. "You concur, Doctor Vaughn? Right?" he demanded.
Andra lifted a dark brow, immediately disliking his tone. "Let's not put words in my mouth, shall we?" she said, a tad archly. "I said I wanted to keep you here for a short period of time for assessment. You may be just as likely ready to return to full duty when I'm done." She really had no idea if that would be the case, but she didn't care. It would be up to her to decide and not the snappish stranger sitting in front of her.
Burgundy looked at her. His judgment had apparently been a little off; she was not an ally. Resigned, he sat down on the biobed again and sighed. "Fine," he said, some of the petulance now toned down. "Run your tests. You'll find that all is as it should. Just give me a couple of thousand calories of something that doesn't taste like shit and I'll be out of your hair." He looked at the Captain again. There was defiance in his eyes, but acceptance in his posture. "I'll find the Quartermaster and get myself settled in. And I'll report in for duty tomorrow – if the kind Doctor approves," the last added with afterthought and sarcasm. He'd find a way to weasel out of things eventually. Just not today.
She smiled politely. His tone was not missed, but it was unacknowledged. "I suppose we'll see what the tests say, Captain." Andra turned her dark eyes to Felix.
“Won’t we just.” de l’Isle’s own countenance had turned somewhat brooding as he met the doctor’s eyes with his own. “Ensign Burgundy. With your permission, I’d like to clear something up.”
Burgundy raised an eyebrow. "You need my permission? Go ahead, Captain. It's your ship. Or station." It occurred to him that he still didn't know where he was at all. Except that it wasn't the USS Maine.
“Indeed, that was part of the irony,” Felix replied flatly. “You see, Ensign, on board a starship such as the USS Enterprise here, junior officers do not allocate themselves to shifts, or suggest to the ship’s doctor the outcome of a medical investigation. Perhaps this was not the case at your previous assignment. However, I am certain that between Commander Animo and myself, this misunderstanding of yours will be ironed out rapidly.”
Enterprise? The thought was jarring. If he was placed on the flag ship of Starfleet, it must mean his family had done some hard diplomat leg work. It also meant a much tighter cage, for now he would be watched with interest by all the royal families of Prepondria. Fuck. "I understand, Sir," he said, this time his insubordination had been replaced with apprehension.
de l’Isle returned his attention to Vaughn. “Oh, kind doctor. When you have determined that our recruit’s sass gland isn’t going to rupture and kill him before someone else does, would you report to me for a debrief that isn’t a festival of ego for a jumped up Ensign who’s forgotten he’s on remand for a dereliction of duty charge?”
Andraste's lips twisted into a half-a-smirk that was probably not all that professional, but oh well. "Certainly, Captain," she replied easily. "I'll also make sure that the members of sickbay have their hazard suits available in case the sass gland does erupt. We can't have all of sickbay being sassy, sir, right?"
“Just me, and when you feel it appropriate, you. It’s your sickbay. But let’s contain it before it becomes an epidemic.”
Ensign Burgundy watched the exchange with distaste. He was being made a joke of, he was sure. It was just that he couldn't quite understand how. And this 'sass' thing, was that an ongoing internal thing or was it only at his expense? A little confused he muttered, inaudibly, "Prepondrians don't have a 'sass' gland..."
Rounding on Burgundy, de l’Isle eased over-comfortably towards the Ensign’s personal space. This one had spunk: perhaps too much, and only time and attention would determine which variety of irritation he would become.
“You’ll report to Lieutenant Commander Animo when you’re called. In the meantime, some advice. We’ve seen officers of all talents and persuasions here. On the Enterprise,” de l’Isle added, sewing a sardonic lilt into the ship’s title. “It’ll make or break you, this ship. The ice is thick, but you can be easily kicked off the edge into the unknown. Especially where we’re going.”
Felix winked, in a manner not entirely unfriendly, and smacked Burgundy on the arm with an open hand, in a manner not entirely chummy. Then he waggled a finger back and forth between Vaughn and his chest, indicating ‘you and me’.
“Don’t let the sass roam free, Doc,” de l’Isle imparted turning to move away. “Report in when you’ve got it locked down.”
The Science Officer - or patient, as it were - lay down. He looked suspiciously at the other two, but refrained from saying anything more, lest he'd be even more made fun of. I'm the right amount of sassy... Right? he thought to himself, still confused.
Andra nodded once towards the captain. "Of course, sir," she said easily. So far, she appreciated that this commander had far more sense of humor than her last one did. Turning back to the now-silent ensign, who resembled a sulking teenager laying on the bed, she said, "Things will be kept well contained, I assure you."
"I'm holding you to that!" Felix called, the sickbay doors drawing tight behind him.
-=-=-
by Ensign Burgundy, Science Officer
Doctor (Lt.) Andraste Vaughn, Chief Medical Officer
and Captain Felix de l'Isle, Commanding Officer
Felix raced through into the ship’s gleaming sickbay. “They got the blood out pretty well,” he murmured to himself, coming to a halt next to the fusty, rattling biped. The last half an hour had been a whirlwind of personnel logistics and an earful of Monkfish; he looked across at his new CMO, who had received the full Lone Star treatment in the space of about seven minutes.
“Doctor Vaughn. We’ll do the niceties later. What’s his condition?” de l’Isle pulled the face he normally reserved for Ferengi cuisine. “And is that smell meant to be happening? He smells like a Klingon necropolis.” Sickbay also now featured a smattering of dead skin.
"Unfortunately for all of us, this is apparently natural to his species when they come out of the torpor," Andraste said over the noise of the bucking body on the biobed. She'd done a very brief brush-up on said species in the time it had taken to get from there to here. "It should calm down momentarily on its own."
As if in response, the male figure on the biobed stopped convulsing and sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes and let out an impressively long tirade of curses in several different languages. Loudly. After that he took a short breath, sighed and said - mostly to himself - "They say it gets easier every time. Fucking liars. Can't believe Burgundy's gone trough nine of these..."
His surroundings finally started to register; at first the beeps from consoles and the talk of orderlies some way away, then the figures surrounding his own biobed. Speaking of which: "Hey, I'm on a biobed!" His glare turned suspicious when he surveyed his company. "Who are you?"
Not known for his authoritarian approach, Felix de l’Isle had a reasonably simple, rules-based approach to captaincy.
Number one: what the boss says, goes.
Number two: respect the rank, even if you don’t respect the person.
Number three: don’t be a dick. Felix warned Vaughn back from the biobed with a look. He realised he’d probably have to undo this later lest she think him a right shouter, but for now, it had to be thus. His look asked her: is he, technically, all right?
She stepped back with a raised brow and the silent question, naturally unanswered, as to what he intended to do. When he looked at her, she looked at the man on the biobed and then offered a nod. Yes, he seemed fine...
Upon what he thought was confirmation, the captain executed his plan. “Get on your feet now, Ensign!”
It was reasonably clear that, should Burgundy reject the invitation, he would be hoisted there by his new commanding officer.
The Ensign in question didn't so much hesitate as evaluate his choices. Within about a second he had located Felix's collar and identified the pips thereupon. He rose, just about fast enough that he couldn't be accused of being disrespectful. "Am I on duty, Captain?" he inquired flatly. "And what ship is this, by the way?" He glanced around the area swiftly. "Or station, or whatever..." While his words were inquisitive in nature, the tone by which they were delivered revealed an innate disinterest. A chasm of indifference.
Starfleet had done nothing wrong towards the Science Officer. It just, by his count, hadn't exactly done anything right either. It was boring. It was tedious. It was filled to the brim with people demanding things from him. The work never ended: as soon as he was done with one task they just gave him another one. A despicable tradition that - he was sure - the young Captain in front of him was keen to continue.
“Doctor Vaughn,” Felix intoned, rabidly unimpressed with Burgundy’s lackadaisical approach. “Are you quite certain that the ensign here is – well – well?”
de l’Isle was well versed with this kind of personality. He had worn it himself, for a time. This one appeared to think he was the first to don the garment. Felix caught himself before he smiled.
“To my untrained eye,” the captain suggested to the doctor, “it looks like our Ensign Burgundy is suffering a personality disorder brought on by his hibernation.” Felix’s non-specific American drawl came into its own. He stepped closer to the Prepondrian’s presence, and face. “Are there precautions we should take, Doctor Vaughn, to ensure he is – let’s say – safe to the crew?”
Or he could just have a personality disorder, the good doctor reflected, but she didn't say aloud. "To be honest, Captain, I have more research to do on his species as it is, but frankly, I don't see it reasonable to release him from sickbay immediately until I can be sure that all is well."
Ensign Burgundy smirked a little. The doctor, he thought, was an ally. "Doctor Vaughn is absolutely right, Captain," he said enthusiastically. "I'm really not myself and I need rest after my long rest – I mean ordeal. Light duties and short shifts are in order." He tried to look sullen and tired, but acting had never been his strong suit. When he found that smugness was surfacing again he decided to shift the Captain's attention elsewhere. "You concur, Doctor Vaughn? Right?" he demanded.
Andra lifted a dark brow, immediately disliking his tone. "Let's not put words in my mouth, shall we?" she said, a tad archly. "I said I wanted to keep you here for a short period of time for assessment. You may be just as likely ready to return to full duty when I'm done." She really had no idea if that would be the case, but she didn't care. It would be up to her to decide and not the snappish stranger sitting in front of her.
Burgundy looked at her. His judgment had apparently been a little off; she was not an ally. Resigned, he sat down on the biobed again and sighed. "Fine," he said, some of the petulance now toned down. "Run your tests. You'll find that all is as it should. Just give me a couple of thousand calories of something that doesn't taste like shit and I'll be out of your hair." He looked at the Captain again. There was defiance in his eyes, but acceptance in his posture. "I'll find the Quartermaster and get myself settled in. And I'll report in for duty tomorrow – if the kind Doctor approves," the last added with afterthought and sarcasm. He'd find a way to weasel out of things eventually. Just not today.
She smiled politely. His tone was not missed, but it was unacknowledged. "I suppose we'll see what the tests say, Captain." Andra turned her dark eyes to Felix.
“Won’t we just.” de l’Isle’s own countenance had turned somewhat brooding as he met the doctor’s eyes with his own. “Ensign Burgundy. With your permission, I’d like to clear something up.”
Burgundy raised an eyebrow. "You need my permission? Go ahead, Captain. It's your ship. Or station." It occurred to him that he still didn't know where he was at all. Except that it wasn't the USS Maine.
“Indeed, that was part of the irony,” Felix replied flatly. “You see, Ensign, on board a starship such as the USS Enterprise here, junior officers do not allocate themselves to shifts, or suggest to the ship’s doctor the outcome of a medical investigation. Perhaps this was not the case at your previous assignment. However, I am certain that between Commander Animo and myself, this misunderstanding of yours will be ironed out rapidly.”
Enterprise? The thought was jarring. If he was placed on the flag ship of Starfleet, it must mean his family had done some hard diplomat leg work. It also meant a much tighter cage, for now he would be watched with interest by all the royal families of Prepondria. Fuck. "I understand, Sir," he said, this time his insubordination had been replaced with apprehension.
de l’Isle returned his attention to Vaughn. “Oh, kind doctor. When you have determined that our recruit’s sass gland isn’t going to rupture and kill him before someone else does, would you report to me for a debrief that isn’t a festival of ego for a jumped up Ensign who’s forgotten he’s on remand for a dereliction of duty charge?”
Andraste's lips twisted into a half-a-smirk that was probably not all that professional, but oh well. "Certainly, Captain," she replied easily. "I'll also make sure that the members of sickbay have their hazard suits available in case the sass gland does erupt. We can't have all of sickbay being sassy, sir, right?"
“Just me, and when you feel it appropriate, you. It’s your sickbay. But let’s contain it before it becomes an epidemic.”
Ensign Burgundy watched the exchange with distaste. He was being made a joke of, he was sure. It was just that he couldn't quite understand how. And this 'sass' thing, was that an ongoing internal thing or was it only at his expense? A little confused he muttered, inaudibly, "Prepondrians don't have a 'sass' gland..."
Rounding on Burgundy, de l’Isle eased over-comfortably towards the Ensign’s personal space. This one had spunk: perhaps too much, and only time and attention would determine which variety of irritation he would become.
“You’ll report to Lieutenant Commander Animo when you’re called. In the meantime, some advice. We’ve seen officers of all talents and persuasions here. On the Enterprise,” de l’Isle added, sewing a sardonic lilt into the ship’s title. “It’ll make or break you, this ship. The ice is thick, but you can be easily kicked off the edge into the unknown. Especially where we’re going.”
Felix winked, in a manner not entirely unfriendly, and smacked Burgundy on the arm with an open hand, in a manner not entirely chummy. Then he waggled a finger back and forth between Vaughn and his chest, indicating ‘you and me’.
“Don’t let the sass roam free, Doc,” de l’Isle imparted turning to move away. “Report in when you’ve got it locked down.”
The Science Officer - or patient, as it were - lay down. He looked suspiciously at the other two, but refrained from saying anything more, lest he'd be even more made fun of. I'm the right amount of sassy... Right? he thought to himself, still confused.
Andra nodded once towards the captain. "Of course, sir," she said easily. So far, she appreciated that this commander had far more sense of humor than her last one did. Turning back to the now-silent ensign, who resembled a sulking teenager laying on the bed, she said, "Things will be kept well contained, I assure you."
"I'm holding you to that!" Felix called, the sickbay doors drawing tight behind him.
-=-=-
by Ensign Burgundy, Science Officer
Doctor (Lt.) Andraste Vaughn, Chief Medical Officer
and Captain Felix de l'Isle, Commanding Officer
SD241810.18 - Animal Magic [Andraste/Regina]
-= Cargo Bay 4, Kincardine Station =-
“Doctor Vaughn to cargo bay four.” The voice was beyond impatient.
"On my way," Andraste replied more by rote than by actual acknowledgement. When a doctor was called on, it was pretty much always an emergency, so one didn't refuse it or even question it...
...until one realized that they were just a guest on this station, and there was literally no reason that anyone would call her to do anything. And yet. Someone had. So, she put her PADD aside and made her way out of her guest quarters and down to the cargo bay, only taking one wrong turn on the still-mostly-unfamiliar station.
The voice was attached to a particularly sour-faced Bolian male who, upon her arrival, thrust a padd at her. “You’re Doctor Vaughn, yes?"
"I am, yes," she said, eyeing him suspiciously as she took the device and read through...a list of animals?
“Good.” Behind the man, within the recesses of the cargo bay, a squawk sounded. Some kind of rumbling – snoring, possibly, or the pacing of a large mammal – followed, although it could have been a passing construction bee. It wasn’t likely. Not with the cross-species choral intervention that happened straight after.
“Sign here.”
In a very un-officer-like way, she replied, "What the hell am I supposed to do with these?" She of course had not read the entirety of the PADD. This was hardly a medical emergency, so why was she here?
"Not my circus, not my monkeys." The Bolian shrugged, his crossed arms indicating that there was a zero-percent chance of his taking the PADD back. "The monkeys are in the container behind the Kevolian cow. By the way." The squawk intensified, matching the tone of the door as it squeaked closed in his wake.
"Sure as hell aren't my monkeys," Andra said irritably, reading the information and manifest on the PADD again. This time, she saw the reference to the Lone Star's arboretum. A ship that didn't happen to have docked at the station yet. So, now she understood. With a sigh, she signed off.
With absolutely no clue what to do with this, she read more of what she'd just signed and saw a name. CPO Monkfish, USS Lone Star... And she was already on the station? "Lieutenant Vaughn to CPO Monkfish?" She gave it a shot.
There was no immediate response. After scuffling and what could have been an unfortunate person or other mammal, a shrill voice arrived on the line.
“This is Monkfish!” it exclaimed. “I expect you are calling to tell me that Hieronymus and Herodotus have arrived. I assume they are in excellent health, Lieutenant. If not, someone will have to be held personally responsible. What is your location?”
Upon hearing their names, two of the heron began a chain reaction amongst their sedge of wild guffawing, which did nothing to endear them to the Andorian geese in the transport pen next door – to nor the Kevolian cow, whose multiphonic rasp set off, well, whatever that was in the closed cage that sounded like fourteen chainsaws and a backed-up drain.
It took no less than five tries at varied pitches with varied cursing accompaniments before Andra was able to be heard shouting "CARGO BAY!" over the cacophony. The truth was, all the animals quieted down entirely just before her fifth shouted interlude so she ended up screaming hoarsely to a silent bay.
Groaning, she rubbed her temple. "Cargo Bay Four," she said, quieter but no less hoarse. "I'm in the cargo bay. Come do something about this. I'm a doctor, dammit, not a zoologist!”
“Ah!”
Regina Monkfish entered the cargo bay not long after; her mass of stark orange-red curls moved like a separate entity behind her.
“You must be the zoologist,” Regina didn’t ask, confidently. At one with her own loose appreciation of command structure, she snatched the padd from Vaugn’s hand and scanned it forensically. “The Intogi Fighting Beavers. Where are they?” Monkfish marched ahead into the space. “And what is this?”
"How in the hell should I know?!" Andra exclaimed in exasperation. "I'm the chief medical officer, not a veterinarian. I have no idea why I was called down here in the first place except for some loose affiliation between me and these animals in both being directed to the Lone Star.”
The words penetrated Regina’s ears and while their point was, technically, lost, the most vital of the information was retained.
“Our new doctor! As the ranking medical practitioner our animal contingent is now in your, I am sure, capable hands. We did ask the scientist once but she – it – had an unfortunate encounter with a Benzite gull that practically did them both in.” Monkfish, whose wedding rings now counted nine, glanced over the padd. “We will need to count the animals in and sign them off together, so shall we begin? Chief Regina Monkfish, chief of the boat. A pleasure.” She extended a hand. Fronds of overspilling russety hair leaned forward with her.
Andra blinked her dark eyes at the woman. "You clearly missed my negative," she said. "I'm not a veterinarian--"
“Do hush,” said Regina, although it was not entirely clear to whom she was talking. “Tell me, did you oversee the transport of the animals? The flock of Denobulan parakeets are more sexually agitated than usual.” This appeared alarming to Monkfish, who tugged at her collar for air, before circling briskly. She approached a flatter, more oblong box and pried at its edge. “Do keep up, doctor––EEEEEE!”
Until the scream, Andra had really had no intention of keeping up with anything, nor following the orders of some insane lady who thought she was involved in all this.
However, instinct took over at the scream itself and she immediately rushed around all the big boxes, strange snorts, ghastly grunts, freaky frolicking, and hangry hoots until she found the woman standing over yet one more large box. "What is it?!" she demanded, not seeing any obvious sign of injury although neither could she see in the box just yet.
Regina huffed with excitement, fear and, possibly, the after-effects of copious quantities of hairspray. Wobbling to one side, she reached for her satchel, steading herself with an unusually large bottle of antibacterial spray. She raised it and aimed it toward the glass-fronted box.
“It – he – death is unsanitary!”
Andraste spared the other woman the barest moment of "are you kidding me" looks before leaping into action at the...whatever this was before her. As a doctor, she was rarely without her medical tricorder, so she unclipped it from her belt and began scanning. After a moment, she announced, a tad testily, "He's not dead. Calm down."
“Calm!” Regina sprayed the not-cadaver, as if to make a point. “Whether dead, nearly dead, undead or not quite dead, the closeness to death is perturbing. Doctor.” The last word was a bare hiss. “Surely, you must appreciate the importance of this.”
But a new phenomenon had begun to overcome Regina Monkfish. Was this her prince, frozen in time? The tenth and, herons willing, final episode in her chronology of husbands?
“Tell me,” Monkfish intoned, her voice changing, “that he is alive.”
"He's in a dormant state." After a moment, she saw something else pop up on the screen. "And he's apparently assigned to the Lone Star. Hence his presence in the shipment of fauna.”
“Alive!”
Regina’s hand, containing the spray, retreated. She scanned the doctor, and the doctor’s device, with opprobrium.
“If he is of our crew, Lieutenant, you must ensure he is looked after. The Lone Star is now docked. You must look after him, forthwith! I will take care of the safety of our animal crew.” Through thinned eyelids, she seemed to say: ‘in case you won’t’.
"So all we had to do to get you to cover your own duties and leave me out of it was find a seemingly dead crewmen, noted," Andraste muttered in a way that really wasn't all that reminiscent of a ship's senior officer...
Monkfish ignored this last response and raised her head, and hair, haughtily.
“I am Chief of the Boat,” she declared, before moving away to polish a heron.
=/\= End Kerfluffle =/\=
Lieutenant Andraste Vaughn & CPO Regina Monkfish (apb Felix)
“Doctor Vaughn to cargo bay four.” The voice was beyond impatient.
"On my way," Andraste replied more by rote than by actual acknowledgement. When a doctor was called on, it was pretty much always an emergency, so one didn't refuse it or even question it...
...until one realized that they were just a guest on this station, and there was literally no reason that anyone would call her to do anything. And yet. Someone had. So, she put her PADD aside and made her way out of her guest quarters and down to the cargo bay, only taking one wrong turn on the still-mostly-unfamiliar station.
The voice was attached to a particularly sour-faced Bolian male who, upon her arrival, thrust a padd at her. “You’re Doctor Vaughn, yes?"
"I am, yes," she said, eyeing him suspiciously as she took the device and read through...a list of animals?
“Good.” Behind the man, within the recesses of the cargo bay, a squawk sounded. Some kind of rumbling – snoring, possibly, or the pacing of a large mammal – followed, although it could have been a passing construction bee. It wasn’t likely. Not with the cross-species choral intervention that happened straight after.
“Sign here.”
In a very un-officer-like way, she replied, "What the hell am I supposed to do with these?" She of course had not read the entirety of the PADD. This was hardly a medical emergency, so why was she here?
"Not my circus, not my monkeys." The Bolian shrugged, his crossed arms indicating that there was a zero-percent chance of his taking the PADD back. "The monkeys are in the container behind the Kevolian cow. By the way." The squawk intensified, matching the tone of the door as it squeaked closed in his wake.
"Sure as hell aren't my monkeys," Andra said irritably, reading the information and manifest on the PADD again. This time, she saw the reference to the Lone Star's arboretum. A ship that didn't happen to have docked at the station yet. So, now she understood. With a sigh, she signed off.
With absolutely no clue what to do with this, she read more of what she'd just signed and saw a name. CPO Monkfish, USS Lone Star... And she was already on the station? "Lieutenant Vaughn to CPO Monkfish?" She gave it a shot.
There was no immediate response. After scuffling and what could have been an unfortunate person or other mammal, a shrill voice arrived on the line.
“This is Monkfish!” it exclaimed. “I expect you are calling to tell me that Hieronymus and Herodotus have arrived. I assume they are in excellent health, Lieutenant. If not, someone will have to be held personally responsible. What is your location?”
Upon hearing their names, two of the heron began a chain reaction amongst their sedge of wild guffawing, which did nothing to endear them to the Andorian geese in the transport pen next door – to nor the Kevolian cow, whose multiphonic rasp set off, well, whatever that was in the closed cage that sounded like fourteen chainsaws and a backed-up drain.
It took no less than five tries at varied pitches with varied cursing accompaniments before Andra was able to be heard shouting "CARGO BAY!" over the cacophony. The truth was, all the animals quieted down entirely just before her fifth shouted interlude so she ended up screaming hoarsely to a silent bay.
Groaning, she rubbed her temple. "Cargo Bay Four," she said, quieter but no less hoarse. "I'm in the cargo bay. Come do something about this. I'm a doctor, dammit, not a zoologist!”
“Ah!”
Regina Monkfish entered the cargo bay not long after; her mass of stark orange-red curls moved like a separate entity behind her.
“You must be the zoologist,” Regina didn’t ask, confidently. At one with her own loose appreciation of command structure, she snatched the padd from Vaugn’s hand and scanned it forensically. “The Intogi Fighting Beavers. Where are they?” Monkfish marched ahead into the space. “And what is this?”
"How in the hell should I know?!" Andra exclaimed in exasperation. "I'm the chief medical officer, not a veterinarian. I have no idea why I was called down here in the first place except for some loose affiliation between me and these animals in both being directed to the Lone Star.”
The words penetrated Regina’s ears and while their point was, technically, lost, the most vital of the information was retained.
“Our new doctor! As the ranking medical practitioner our animal contingent is now in your, I am sure, capable hands. We did ask the scientist once but she – it – had an unfortunate encounter with a Benzite gull that practically did them both in.” Monkfish, whose wedding rings now counted nine, glanced over the padd. “We will need to count the animals in and sign them off together, so shall we begin? Chief Regina Monkfish, chief of the boat. A pleasure.” She extended a hand. Fronds of overspilling russety hair leaned forward with her.
Andra blinked her dark eyes at the woman. "You clearly missed my negative," she said. "I'm not a veterinarian--"
“Do hush,” said Regina, although it was not entirely clear to whom she was talking. “Tell me, did you oversee the transport of the animals? The flock of Denobulan parakeets are more sexually agitated than usual.” This appeared alarming to Monkfish, who tugged at her collar for air, before circling briskly. She approached a flatter, more oblong box and pried at its edge. “Do keep up, doctor––EEEEEE!”
Until the scream, Andra had really had no intention of keeping up with anything, nor following the orders of some insane lady who thought she was involved in all this.
However, instinct took over at the scream itself and she immediately rushed around all the big boxes, strange snorts, ghastly grunts, freaky frolicking, and hangry hoots until she found the woman standing over yet one more large box. "What is it?!" she demanded, not seeing any obvious sign of injury although neither could she see in the box just yet.
Regina huffed with excitement, fear and, possibly, the after-effects of copious quantities of hairspray. Wobbling to one side, she reached for her satchel, steading herself with an unusually large bottle of antibacterial spray. She raised it and aimed it toward the glass-fronted box.
“It – he – death is unsanitary!”
Andraste spared the other woman the barest moment of "are you kidding me" looks before leaping into action at the...whatever this was before her. As a doctor, she was rarely without her medical tricorder, so she unclipped it from her belt and began scanning. After a moment, she announced, a tad testily, "He's not dead. Calm down."
“Calm!” Regina sprayed the not-cadaver, as if to make a point. “Whether dead, nearly dead, undead or not quite dead, the closeness to death is perturbing. Doctor.” The last word was a bare hiss. “Surely, you must appreciate the importance of this.”
But a new phenomenon had begun to overcome Regina Monkfish. Was this her prince, frozen in time? The tenth and, herons willing, final episode in her chronology of husbands?
“Tell me,” Monkfish intoned, her voice changing, “that he is alive.”
"He's in a dormant state." After a moment, she saw something else pop up on the screen. "And he's apparently assigned to the Lone Star. Hence his presence in the shipment of fauna.”
“Alive!”
Regina’s hand, containing the spray, retreated. She scanned the doctor, and the doctor’s device, with opprobrium.
“If he is of our crew, Lieutenant, you must ensure he is looked after. The Lone Star is now docked. You must look after him, forthwith! I will take care of the safety of our animal crew.” Through thinned eyelids, she seemed to say: ‘in case you won’t’.
"So all we had to do to get you to cover your own duties and leave me out of it was find a seemingly dead crewmen, noted," Andraste muttered in a way that really wasn't all that reminiscent of a ship's senior officer...
Monkfish ignored this last response and raised her head, and hair, haughtily.
“I am Chief of the Boat,” she declared, before moving away to polish a heron.
=/\= End Kerfluffle =/\=
Lieutenant Andraste Vaughn & CPO Regina Monkfish (apb Felix)
SD241810.14 - Old Friends; Bookends. [Felix/Grey]
-= Arboretum, USS Lone Star =-
Atop a four-storey country cottage – with both a thatched roof and a roof garden – overlooking the largest known flying arboretum aboard a starship that could go anywhere, two old friends sat and considered the end of the day.
The ship’s captain had given the former spymaster a tour. Long ago, the latter had locked the former’s prison cell at night. At present they surveyed the greenery below them quietly. They had been talking all day: exchanging professional experience and making recommendations to one another. Now they were alone various conversations were brewing but not yet steeped.
Felix’s laugh came out of nowhere. He rolled his drink around its glass and served his friend side-eye.
“You know what?”
Grey had learned not to trust this look on his friend’s face: expert mischief with helping of whipped don’t-give-a-fuck.
“What.”
“For the first time ever I outrank you, Commander.” Felix’s expression was beyond smug. They were both in their uniforms, after all.
“Good luck with that, Captain,” said Grey. They both knew he could break Felix’s arm in 2.8 seconds if necessary. It had happened once, a while ago. “You know –“
“You could break my arm in 2.8 seconds if necessary,” Felix finished. “I do know. But I reckon we’ve more important things to talk about, don’t you?”
Quite deliberately, Felix pulled the face when Grey had first started seeing Adevian. Any kind of romantic engagement was a deal for his Keraxi friend; his people didn’t attach themselves lightly. The grapevine had informed him that Grey was seeing someone before he’d learned of it first-hand.
“Dr Cohen Bram,” said Felix, as Grey said: “Cohen Bram.”
A metallic silence hung between the two men. “Hot, clever and about a quarter of your age,” Felix suggested.
“I will break your arm,” Grey confirmed.
“Still.” It wasn’t insistence, but Felix wanted an answer. Grey could tell, and he knew Grey could tell.
Felix was unusually patient. Grey waited, even knowing he was not on his home turf; this was his counterpart’s domain. In the main he did not know what to say, but he couldn’t deflect, either.
“I’m changing, Felix.”
A flotilla of ducks moved across the arboretum’s lake, slower than they appeared to. Grey stared at his hands; behind them, the greenery of the artificial space blended into itself. He had never felt more present, nor more alone. He closed his eyes.
“If I close off every other sense, I can attune myself to your mind and I can hear you in ways you have not imagined.” The aspect of McArnh’s vision did not change. He did not need to ask if de l’Isle trusted him.
“I can hear every thought of yours. Your concern, for example. What has happened to me, these past years? There is love in my life; what is he to me? You are yet a friend –“ Grey talked in his own language, allowing the translator to do the work, for once. “–but a starship captain, trained to isolate every difference. When I tell you that I have changed: I have changed.”
Felix scanned his friend’s eyes. They weren’t often steelier.
“Go on.”
Intrepid though he was, the captain of the pair felt less secure as the moment continued. Felix listened as his friend explained in detail how they had met and interwoven, about the intensity of their time together.
“But what about him?” Felix interrupted.
Grey’s breath, which had never juddered, juddered.
“He is quite miniscule,” the counsellor admitted, making a size with his hands.
“I –“
“Uyt’frn’n {shut up},” Grey continued, with a muted bark. “I –”
A bird neither of them recognised made its way perpendicular to the column of the Lone Star’s 13th deck. Felix drummed his fingers against one another. He’d dedicated himself to the fleet, somewhat improbably, when Paxan had died. There was no part of him that wasn’t happy his mentor had found love.
“–found myself seduced by his looks; his intellect, guile, presence.” By this point the Artemis’s counsellor was lost visually in a point well elsewhere. His langauge began to slip into colloquialisms. “Then we became close. Now I cannot imagine my life without such a presence: he prolot m’zubin {fills in my blanks}.”
“You haven’t said that since 2413.”
Since Adevian.
“I am not the same man as in 2413,” Grey offered, after a while.
It was entirely possible that a man could change beyond possibility. Felix considered his friend closely.
“You’re really feeling a change within yourself that isn’t just – well – infatuation?” Grey’s look corrected him. “Fine – love?”
“It is both,” Grey asserted.
Felix blinked into the arboretum’s artificial evening sun. Extracting information from his polymath friend, who was too smart, most times, was always a complex manoeuvre. Before he could ask his next question his studied friend, unusually, offered an answer.
“There are complications, his being my doctor. But the result is a collaboration. He can occur the frontier medicine that is required; he respects my rights as a patient while helping me explore. Give me your glass.”
Felix obliged, glaring at his friend curiously. McArnh took it and breathed, subtly but in some way profoundly. The captain couldn’t see the exhalation.
“Your balance is between excitement and concern. Somehow, you were bored with your travels; you craved a return to the Lone Star, and to your crew.” Through thin eyes, Grey counted the railings on the balustrade ahead of them. “You are concerned about me, but you know, as ever, I will be fine. You wish to meet this person that evens me out. You are considering if you will ever meet such a person. But primarily, your concerns are operational. What will become of your mission? They will send you somewhere far-flung, you are sure. Your crew will have to become accustomed to you once again. You are confident but reticent.”
Felix exhaled exhaustedly, then extended his arm and reclaimed his drink from Grey’s hand.
“You got that from a two-thirds-empty glass of scotch?”
“My ability has developed into the psionic. Apparently, I can now read from objects that have occurred some contact with an emotional state.”
de l’Isle grimaced. “Isn’t that going to be – I mean, tiring? If everything you touch carries an emotional weight you’re going to be worn through.”
“Cohen is my constant,” Grey suggested, a minute later.
“Then you have to let him be that. But don’t pile too much on him, G’rei.”
It wasn’t often that Felix used his pal’s Keraxi name. He pronounced the rolled ‘g’ perfectly; not quite like a native speaker but not far off. He was also correct: Felix had no advice to give about long-term relationships but he didn’t need to. His choice had always been to avoid them. Grey, who had not opened himself to anybody in some 70 years, had two in rapid succession.
“You have a question,” Grey deflected.
Felix made an indiscernible grunt.
“Someone is on your tail,” Grey didn’t ask. “That’s not an empathic reading; a logical one. You are haunted, somehow.”
“Intel spent the last year trailing me, Grey. It’s fuckin’ tiring.” Felix sank his beverage. Birds he didn’t recognise – an innovation of Regina’s, possibly? – flocked from one side of the space to another. “I get that I’m a career officer. But I deserved a year’s break and I didn’t get one because there were spies in the shadows. Then I get back? And I’m firefighting.”
McArnh wasn’t entirely unaware; his previous status gave him some relevant access information, if not full disclosure about active operations.
“Edie nearly drove Utopia insane. All of them. All the time. Two of theirChief Ops moved onto other assignments because they couldn’t cope. Tonx entered the wrong admiral’s quarters – literally. I’ve still got that damned selfish gelatinous mess in the science chair, no decent helmsman and, apparently, a novice counsellor.”
“Kn’zhk {friend}: you built your career on being a liability. Why would they treat you as else now, hm? It is your captaincy and your talent. Do you not see? It is your lot.”
“I can’t tell whether you’re irritating as a jailor, an empath, an admiral, a captain or a counsellor,” Felix grumbled. “But yes. I see.”
“It is all that can be suggested.”
“I understand,” Felix agreed. Grey saw his look become captainly; focused and in a rare way academic. “There’s one thing that bothers me.”
“Go on,” Grey invited, even though he knew, making it incumbent upon Felix to talk through it.
“If it’s such a high-profile mission, such a capable ship – why do they shunt the mentalists over here? There’s a notch on the roster for every personality disorder and badly interfaced freak in the Federation. Me included,” Felix insisted. “Nymphomaniac, anti-authoritarians, contrarians, frustrated geniuses, megalomaniacs and egotists – any type of difficult person, we’ve got them, and not just one. A few. What makes Starfleet think we’re the job to take the first slipstream job out into deep space? This is a Picard job. I mean, I’m not going to say I don’t want it, but – why the Lone Star? Why is there still a Lone Star, even?”
For a while his counsellor friend considered a response – one that came from various angles of his experience. He was about to launch into a categorical answer that covered most of these concerns. But then Grey felt the call, shortly before the soundwave collided with his comm badge and the recall to the Artemis came.
“I must go,” explained Grey. “You’ll work it out.”
Felix beamed, a CO soon to be left alone with an unfinished thought.
“u’varl kn’skit vo nm. {Go well, brother-friend.}”
Grey managed a knowing look before the transporter lifted him out, leaving Felix to simmer and stare.
-=-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle, CO, USS Lone Star
and Commander Grey McArnh, Counsellor, USS Artemis
Atop a four-storey country cottage – with both a thatched roof and a roof garden – overlooking the largest known flying arboretum aboard a starship that could go anywhere, two old friends sat and considered the end of the day.
The ship’s captain had given the former spymaster a tour. Long ago, the latter had locked the former’s prison cell at night. At present they surveyed the greenery below them quietly. They had been talking all day: exchanging professional experience and making recommendations to one another. Now they were alone various conversations were brewing but not yet steeped.
Felix’s laugh came out of nowhere. He rolled his drink around its glass and served his friend side-eye.
“You know what?”
Grey had learned not to trust this look on his friend’s face: expert mischief with helping of whipped don’t-give-a-fuck.
“What.”
“For the first time ever I outrank you, Commander.” Felix’s expression was beyond smug. They were both in their uniforms, after all.
“Good luck with that, Captain,” said Grey. They both knew he could break Felix’s arm in 2.8 seconds if necessary. It had happened once, a while ago. “You know –“
“You could break my arm in 2.8 seconds if necessary,” Felix finished. “I do know. But I reckon we’ve more important things to talk about, don’t you?”
Quite deliberately, Felix pulled the face when Grey had first started seeing Adevian. Any kind of romantic engagement was a deal for his Keraxi friend; his people didn’t attach themselves lightly. The grapevine had informed him that Grey was seeing someone before he’d learned of it first-hand.
“Dr Cohen Bram,” said Felix, as Grey said: “Cohen Bram.”
A metallic silence hung between the two men. “Hot, clever and about a quarter of your age,” Felix suggested.
“I will break your arm,” Grey confirmed.
“Still.” It wasn’t insistence, but Felix wanted an answer. Grey could tell, and he knew Grey could tell.
Felix was unusually patient. Grey waited, even knowing he was not on his home turf; this was his counterpart’s domain. In the main he did not know what to say, but he couldn’t deflect, either.
“I’m changing, Felix.”
A flotilla of ducks moved across the arboretum’s lake, slower than they appeared to. Grey stared at his hands; behind them, the greenery of the artificial space blended into itself. He had never felt more present, nor more alone. He closed his eyes.
“If I close off every other sense, I can attune myself to your mind and I can hear you in ways you have not imagined.” The aspect of McArnh’s vision did not change. He did not need to ask if de l’Isle trusted him.
“I can hear every thought of yours. Your concern, for example. What has happened to me, these past years? There is love in my life; what is he to me? You are yet a friend –“ Grey talked in his own language, allowing the translator to do the work, for once. “–but a starship captain, trained to isolate every difference. When I tell you that I have changed: I have changed.”
Felix scanned his friend’s eyes. They weren’t often steelier.
“Go on.”
Intrepid though he was, the captain of the pair felt less secure as the moment continued. Felix listened as his friend explained in detail how they had met and interwoven, about the intensity of their time together.
“But what about him?” Felix interrupted.
Grey’s breath, which had never juddered, juddered.
“He is quite miniscule,” the counsellor admitted, making a size with his hands.
“I –“
“Uyt’frn’n {shut up},” Grey continued, with a muted bark. “I –”
A bird neither of them recognised made its way perpendicular to the column of the Lone Star’s 13th deck. Felix drummed his fingers against one another. He’d dedicated himself to the fleet, somewhat improbably, when Paxan had died. There was no part of him that wasn’t happy his mentor had found love.
“–found myself seduced by his looks; his intellect, guile, presence.” By this point the Artemis’s counsellor was lost visually in a point well elsewhere. His langauge began to slip into colloquialisms. “Then we became close. Now I cannot imagine my life without such a presence: he prolot m’zubin {fills in my blanks}.”
“You haven’t said that since 2413.”
Since Adevian.
“I am not the same man as in 2413,” Grey offered, after a while.
It was entirely possible that a man could change beyond possibility. Felix considered his friend closely.
“You’re really feeling a change within yourself that isn’t just – well – infatuation?” Grey’s look corrected him. “Fine – love?”
“It is both,” Grey asserted.
Felix blinked into the arboretum’s artificial evening sun. Extracting information from his polymath friend, who was too smart, most times, was always a complex manoeuvre. Before he could ask his next question his studied friend, unusually, offered an answer.
“There are complications, his being my doctor. But the result is a collaboration. He can occur the frontier medicine that is required; he respects my rights as a patient while helping me explore. Give me your glass.”
Felix obliged, glaring at his friend curiously. McArnh took it and breathed, subtly but in some way profoundly. The captain couldn’t see the exhalation.
“Your balance is between excitement and concern. Somehow, you were bored with your travels; you craved a return to the Lone Star, and to your crew.” Through thin eyes, Grey counted the railings on the balustrade ahead of them. “You are concerned about me, but you know, as ever, I will be fine. You wish to meet this person that evens me out. You are considering if you will ever meet such a person. But primarily, your concerns are operational. What will become of your mission? They will send you somewhere far-flung, you are sure. Your crew will have to become accustomed to you once again. You are confident but reticent.”
Felix exhaled exhaustedly, then extended his arm and reclaimed his drink from Grey’s hand.
“You got that from a two-thirds-empty glass of scotch?”
“My ability has developed into the psionic. Apparently, I can now read from objects that have occurred some contact with an emotional state.”
de l’Isle grimaced. “Isn’t that going to be – I mean, tiring? If everything you touch carries an emotional weight you’re going to be worn through.”
“Cohen is my constant,” Grey suggested, a minute later.
“Then you have to let him be that. But don’t pile too much on him, G’rei.”
It wasn’t often that Felix used his pal’s Keraxi name. He pronounced the rolled ‘g’ perfectly; not quite like a native speaker but not far off. He was also correct: Felix had no advice to give about long-term relationships but he didn’t need to. His choice had always been to avoid them. Grey, who had not opened himself to anybody in some 70 years, had two in rapid succession.
“You have a question,” Grey deflected.
Felix made an indiscernible grunt.
“Someone is on your tail,” Grey didn’t ask. “That’s not an empathic reading; a logical one. You are haunted, somehow.”
“Intel spent the last year trailing me, Grey. It’s fuckin’ tiring.” Felix sank his beverage. Birds he didn’t recognise – an innovation of Regina’s, possibly? – flocked from one side of the space to another. “I get that I’m a career officer. But I deserved a year’s break and I didn’t get one because there were spies in the shadows. Then I get back? And I’m firefighting.”
McArnh wasn’t entirely unaware; his previous status gave him some relevant access information, if not full disclosure about active operations.
“Edie nearly drove Utopia insane. All of them. All the time. Two of theirChief Ops moved onto other assignments because they couldn’t cope. Tonx entered the wrong admiral’s quarters – literally. I’ve still got that damned selfish gelatinous mess in the science chair, no decent helmsman and, apparently, a novice counsellor.”
“Kn’zhk {friend}: you built your career on being a liability. Why would they treat you as else now, hm? It is your captaincy and your talent. Do you not see? It is your lot.”
“I can’t tell whether you’re irritating as a jailor, an empath, an admiral, a captain or a counsellor,” Felix grumbled. “But yes. I see.”
“It is all that can be suggested.”
“I understand,” Felix agreed. Grey saw his look become captainly; focused and in a rare way academic. “There’s one thing that bothers me.”
“Go on,” Grey invited, even though he knew, making it incumbent upon Felix to talk through it.
“If it’s such a high-profile mission, such a capable ship – why do they shunt the mentalists over here? There’s a notch on the roster for every personality disorder and badly interfaced freak in the Federation. Me included,” Felix insisted. “Nymphomaniac, anti-authoritarians, contrarians, frustrated geniuses, megalomaniacs and egotists – any type of difficult person, we’ve got them, and not just one. A few. What makes Starfleet think we’re the job to take the first slipstream job out into deep space? This is a Picard job. I mean, I’m not going to say I don’t want it, but – why the Lone Star? Why is there still a Lone Star, even?”
For a while his counsellor friend considered a response – one that came from various angles of his experience. He was about to launch into a categorical answer that covered most of these concerns. But then Grey felt the call, shortly before the soundwave collided with his comm badge and the recall to the Artemis came.
“I must go,” explained Grey. “You’ll work it out.”
Felix beamed, a CO soon to be left alone with an unfinished thought.
“u’varl kn’skit vo nm. {Go well, brother-friend.}”
Grey managed a knowing look before the transporter lifted him out, leaving Felix to simmer and stare.
-=-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle, CO, USS Lone Star
and Commander Grey McArnh, Counsellor, USS Artemis
SD241810.12 - Boxed In [Burgundy] (Backlog)
Ensign Burgundy didn’t look quite as usual when he entered the Science
Department of the USS Maine on that particular day. The lumbering walk was a little off;
considerably less lumbering than usual. Also, he emitted no grumbling
and spent no time at all glaring at everyone he passed.
While odd, this did not alarm anyone at first.
Meanwhile, in the Ensign's quarters, someone looking exactly like Ensign Burgundy was getting ready for bed. He lumbered over to the replicator and ordered a thick, durable cotton pyjamas. While it materialised he muttered and grumbled, swearing at officers who weren’t present.
While the Burgundy in his quarters was lying down on his bed, focusing his breathing and slowing down bodily processes, the one in the Science Department was attending a daily briefing. The latter was asked a few questions, all of which were replied to with nonsensical queries, delivered with a tone that could be considered sarcastic. Or stupid. For example, when the Chief Science Officer asked about the status of the Petri dishes set the day before the not-quite-himself Ensign Burgundy snorted non-committally and answered "Yeah, what is the status of the Petri dishes?"
The meeting proceeded, although the level of irritation was palpable at this point in time. Still, nobody had quite caught on to what was happening.
A light started blinking on a console in Sickbay. This was something that had not been included in the plan that was currently in motion. The orderly who checked it immediately called a doctor over, who proceeded to call Ensign Burgundy.
“Ensign Burgundy, this is Dr Aberknack. Are you currently feeling okay?”
A staff meeting full of officers turned to the Ensign, who tapped his comm badge and said, rather theatrically, “I don’t know, are you feeling okay?”
Now, some level of suspicion was awakening among the assembled scientists. Most of all with the Chief Science Officer, who inquired the doctor in question about what was going on.
“Our scanners are indicating that Ensign Burgundy’s life signs are dropping, Sir. Rapidly,” was the reply given.
“Your life signs are dropping,” said the Ensign who didn’t quite look like usual.
The conference room was quiet. Everyone stared at the Ensign. The Ensign did absolutely nothing. Not even, the Chief Science Officer noticed after a while, blink. Commander Drooq had seen a lot in his days, and the look on his face conveyed that this, too, would be analysed and explained. He rose slowly and walked around the long table towards the Ensign. “Dr Aberknack,” he asked, “Where is Ensign Burgundy located according to internal sensors?”
“In his quarters, Sir.”
At that precise location, the person – the real Ensign Burgundy, as it were – had just stopped breathing. His body was now covered in a thin calcium shell. His pulse had slowed and weakened so much as to be indiscernible.
In the Science Department conference room, Commander Drooq reached out and removed the comm badge from the imposter, who swiftly faded out of existence as he did so. On the back of the comm badge the Chief Science Officer found a simple holo emitter. He sighed. “Dr, I think you better beam Ensign Burgundy to Sickbay. I’ll go see the Captain about a transfer...”
While odd, this did not alarm anyone at first.
Meanwhile, in the Ensign's quarters, someone looking exactly like Ensign Burgundy was getting ready for bed. He lumbered over to the replicator and ordered a thick, durable cotton pyjamas. While it materialised he muttered and grumbled, swearing at officers who weren’t present.
While the Burgundy in his quarters was lying down on his bed, focusing his breathing and slowing down bodily processes, the one in the Science Department was attending a daily briefing. The latter was asked a few questions, all of which were replied to with nonsensical queries, delivered with a tone that could be considered sarcastic. Or stupid. For example, when the Chief Science Officer asked about the status of the Petri dishes set the day before the not-quite-himself Ensign Burgundy snorted non-committally and answered "Yeah, what is the status of the Petri dishes?"
The meeting proceeded, although the level of irritation was palpable at this point in time. Still, nobody had quite caught on to what was happening.
A light started blinking on a console in Sickbay. This was something that had not been included in the plan that was currently in motion. The orderly who checked it immediately called a doctor over, who proceeded to call Ensign Burgundy.
“Ensign Burgundy, this is Dr Aberknack. Are you currently feeling okay?”
A staff meeting full of officers turned to the Ensign, who tapped his comm badge and said, rather theatrically, “I don’t know, are you feeling okay?”
Now, some level of suspicion was awakening among the assembled scientists. Most of all with the Chief Science Officer, who inquired the doctor in question about what was going on.
“Our scanners are indicating that Ensign Burgundy’s life signs are dropping, Sir. Rapidly,” was the reply given.
“Your life signs are dropping,” said the Ensign who didn’t quite look like usual.
The conference room was quiet. Everyone stared at the Ensign. The Ensign did absolutely nothing. Not even, the Chief Science Officer noticed after a while, blink. Commander Drooq had seen a lot in his days, and the look on his face conveyed that this, too, would be analysed and explained. He rose slowly and walked around the long table towards the Ensign. “Dr Aberknack,” he asked, “Where is Ensign Burgundy located according to internal sensors?”
“In his quarters, Sir.”
At that precise location, the person – the real Ensign Burgundy, as it were – had just stopped breathing. His body was now covered in a thin calcium shell. His pulse had slowed and weakened so much as to be indiscernible.
In the Science Department conference room, Commander Drooq reached out and removed the comm badge from the imposter, who swiftly faded out of existence as he did so. On the back of the comm badge the Chief Science Officer found a simple holo emitter. He sighed. “Dr, I think you better beam Ensign Burgundy to Sickbay. I’ll go see the Captain about a transfer...”
SD241810.10 - He Did What?! [Edie/Tonx]
Edie strode through the corridors of the Lone Star with a tad more stomp
in her step than usual. There was a certain glare in her eye, a mixture
of anger and disbelief. It had not taken long for word to get around on
the demotion of Greer McKenna, her dear friend and colleague of the
past four years. She wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, as there were
several different stories that had disseminated through the lower ranks
of the crew. So, the old Chief Engineer had elected to pay her friend a
visit in person and get the story directly from her – with several hard
liquors in tow, tucked away securely in a satchel.
A few moments later, Edie arrived outside of Greer’s quarters. She tapped the entry request indicator, “Tonx... it’s Edie. I come bearing gifts.”
Part of Tonx wanted to tell Edie to go away, but the CSec knew the CEO well enough to know Edie wouldn't be refused. She was more stubborn than Tonx, but only just, which meant she’d stand there and keep ringing the chime, or banging on the door until McKenna acquiesced and let Edie in. “Come in, Edie.”
Edie walked in to the quarters and directly over to Tonx. She could tell immediately just by looking at her that the ‘talk’ around the ship wasn’t just that, this demotion had certainly taken place. “Oh my dearest.” Edie walked straight over to the taller woman and embraced her, in a sisterly-motherly-grandmotherly way.
Tonx was still amazed that Edie was in Starfleet, much less on the Lonie. The older woman had become a matriarch of the ship, of sorts, and for Tonx, a dear friend and mother figure. She welcomed the hug, and melted into the CEO’s arms . . .in a mother/daughter or grandmother/granddaughter sort of way. “Thanks for coming and checking on me, Edie,” she said, sounding somewhat defeated.
“What the hell happened?” Edie stepped back now, contemplating the various scenarios she had running through her head. “And wait. Who the hell even demoted you? I can’t imagine Felix would go for this!”
Tonx motioned for Edie to follow her to the ‘den’, which offered the best view of the arboretum. The den was roughly 20 feet by 20 feet and had windows from floor to ceiling, giving a 9 foot but 20 foot view of the arboretum. There was one very large sectional, two chairs and numerous beanbags for sitting and taking in the view.
Tonx collapsed on the sectional, motioning for Edie to follow, “Truth be told, without Felix, I’d likely be in jail. Apparently, sleeping with an admiral’s wife, when said admiral ignores his family for that job is a dangerous career move. . .at least when that admiral is deputiy JAG or whatever the fuck the prick was.”
The CSec smirked after a bit...her wicked smirk, “His wife was amazing, though, and she sought my company twice more after our first encounter.” She rolled her eyes playfully, “I should have known better, I guess, but no regrets. According to Felix, he saved my arse.”
Edie plopped down on the sectional as well, curling her feet behind her. "I see." She had been ready to go give Felix a piece of her mind over this but was even more glad now that she had waited to speak to Tonx directly. "So let me get this whole story right. You slept with someone. Who happened to be married. And some Admiral, some man, used their rank and position to ensure you paid for it?" The woman had always been rather impressed with Tonx's escapades and sexual drive in general, Edie couldn't quite comprehend where all the energy came from.
Tonx laughed softly, “Yes. . .some man used his rank and position to punish me because he couldn’t keep his wife happy.” She loved Edie’s easy manner of seeing things as black and white when it came to abuse of power. In many ways, Edie was a woman out of place in time and space given she would likely have fit in with the hippy generation of the late 1960’s from Earth. It was that, and Edie’s warm spirit that drew Tonx to her in forging the close friendship and kinship the two women shared.
"What a pig." Edie threw her hands up in the air. "What right does he think he has to muck up your career because his own relationship has issues?" It wasn't right - it was an abuse of power and position in her viewpoint. "Oh my dear Tonx. I always knew your tastes would get you in trouble some day. What a bastard." Edie kept going back to the thought of this Admiral.
Flashing her characteristic smirk, Tonx shrugged, “No regrets, Edie. No regrets. My tastes will likely get one in trouble again, but I love my life. You told me Karma is a bitch, and so I expect the admiral to get his in the end. It may well mean I ask if a person is married before just jumping in the sack. Perhaps a little caution would be good.” She wiggled her brows, “You mentioned you had treats?”
"Perhaps a little." Edie gave her an empathetic look before jumping to her feet and grabbing the satchel she had brought with her. After reaching in briefly, her hand revealed a neat bottle of scotch. "I was saving this for a special occasion. I guess a demotion and not going to jail is a just cause?" She tossed the bottle at Tonx using a light under throw.
The CSec caught the bottle, her smirk growing, “Oh you know me so well.” She pushed herself off the couch to move to a small bar she had set up off on the side, and grabbed two glasses. Sure, they could have sipped directly from the bottle, but good scotch deserved a glass. Setting the glasses down on the table, she poured out a goodly amount for both of them before sitting back down and offering one glass to Edie. She cradled her own glass as she sunk back into the comfort of her couch.
"So. Do tell me who this Admiral is? And what exactly he does?" There was an apparent innocence to the question but Edie had already set the wheels of motion in her head. Karma would be getting a little help and one way or another, the pig that did this to her friend would pay.
Tonx snorted, “You know, I wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t made such a big deal of this. He is Admiral Theo Rosignal, and he happens to be Deputy chief honcho type of the JAG Corps. You’d have to ask the Captain to find out exactly what the schmuck wanted to do with me before he was talked off the edge. According to our dear leader, I was a stone’s throw from prison, as I’ve mentioned, and likely a dishonorable discharge.”
She paused to take a slow sip of her Scotch, and closed her eyes as she savoured the peaty flavor, “Oh my, Edie. This is amazing.” She licked her lips and looked back to her friend, “And yeah, so I can’t leave the ship thanks to that jackass, and I can’t itch that itch. . .all because of one jackass of a man and a loser of a husband who doesn’t realize he has a gorgeous wife who is dying for attention.”
"Like you said. Karma." Edie raised her own glass and the two shared a toast. For the next several hours, the they shared in some laughter and general banter. If anything, Edie was glad to have helped relieve the distress of the overall situation some, in her own way.
~~ Some time later...
"Commander Harlow. It is so good to see you again." Edie gave the old bald man a wide smile and an enthusiastic wave through the comm channel. She remembered a time when he had been rather dashing and handsome - age, children and the stresses of running logistics for multiple sectors had clearly gotten to him over the years.
"Edie Freelove." There was a twinkle in the man's eyes as he acknowledged her. "It's been what. Eight years?"
"Probably closer to ten. One decade seems to just roll into the other now. Listen.. Henry... I wish I was calling for pleasure but I need a favour. I'm cashing in for Genova IV." During her description, Edie had encrypted their channel and moved it to a safe and untraceable realm. She had also sent him some brief and encoded instructions.
Henry looked over the limited details - simple, effective and rather cryptic but he got the overall meaning of the instructions. "Edie. You seriously want me to go through with this?" He raised a brow as he looked back up at her.
"Without a doubt in my mind. Make it happen Henry. And make it untraceable. I'll make sure to stop by for a drink next time I'm near. Freelove out."
As the channel went blank, the screen reflected the wrinkled and grinning face of Edie. "Karma."
~~ Some time later...
"Did you hear what happened to Admiral Rosingal?" A young Bolian officer with a rank of Ensign talked to her junior counterpart with a lowered voice as the two worked on scrubbing some plasma manifolds.
"No? What happened?"
"Somehow his uniform got laced with denobulan itching powder... He had welts and everything. I heard he scratched his balls so hard he gave himself testicular torsion!"
"No way!" There was an abundance of laughter in the corridor now. "The guy deserves it. He is a prick!"
A few moments later, Edie arrived outside of Greer’s quarters. She tapped the entry request indicator, “Tonx... it’s Edie. I come bearing gifts.”
Part of Tonx wanted to tell Edie to go away, but the CSec knew the CEO well enough to know Edie wouldn't be refused. She was more stubborn than Tonx, but only just, which meant she’d stand there and keep ringing the chime, or banging on the door until McKenna acquiesced and let Edie in. “Come in, Edie.”
Edie walked in to the quarters and directly over to Tonx. She could tell immediately just by looking at her that the ‘talk’ around the ship wasn’t just that, this demotion had certainly taken place. “Oh my dearest.” Edie walked straight over to the taller woman and embraced her, in a sisterly-motherly-grandmotherly way.
Tonx was still amazed that Edie was in Starfleet, much less on the Lonie. The older woman had become a matriarch of the ship, of sorts, and for Tonx, a dear friend and mother figure. She welcomed the hug, and melted into the CEO’s arms . . .in a mother/daughter or grandmother/granddaughter sort of way. “Thanks for coming and checking on me, Edie,” she said, sounding somewhat defeated.
“What the hell happened?” Edie stepped back now, contemplating the various scenarios she had running through her head. “And wait. Who the hell even demoted you? I can’t imagine Felix would go for this!”
Tonx motioned for Edie to follow her to the ‘den’, which offered the best view of the arboretum. The den was roughly 20 feet by 20 feet and had windows from floor to ceiling, giving a 9 foot but 20 foot view of the arboretum. There was one very large sectional, two chairs and numerous beanbags for sitting and taking in the view.
Tonx collapsed on the sectional, motioning for Edie to follow, “Truth be told, without Felix, I’d likely be in jail. Apparently, sleeping with an admiral’s wife, when said admiral ignores his family for that job is a dangerous career move. . .at least when that admiral is deputiy JAG or whatever the fuck the prick was.”
The CSec smirked after a bit...her wicked smirk, “His wife was amazing, though, and she sought my company twice more after our first encounter.” She rolled her eyes playfully, “I should have known better, I guess, but no regrets. According to Felix, he saved my arse.”
Edie plopped down on the sectional as well, curling her feet behind her. "I see." She had been ready to go give Felix a piece of her mind over this but was even more glad now that she had waited to speak to Tonx directly. "So let me get this whole story right. You slept with someone. Who happened to be married. And some Admiral, some man, used their rank and position to ensure you paid for it?" The woman had always been rather impressed with Tonx's escapades and sexual drive in general, Edie couldn't quite comprehend where all the energy came from.
Tonx laughed softly, “Yes. . .some man used his rank and position to punish me because he couldn’t keep his wife happy.” She loved Edie’s easy manner of seeing things as black and white when it came to abuse of power. In many ways, Edie was a woman out of place in time and space given she would likely have fit in with the hippy generation of the late 1960’s from Earth. It was that, and Edie’s warm spirit that drew Tonx to her in forging the close friendship and kinship the two women shared.
"What a pig." Edie threw her hands up in the air. "What right does he think he has to muck up your career because his own relationship has issues?" It wasn't right - it was an abuse of power and position in her viewpoint. "Oh my dear Tonx. I always knew your tastes would get you in trouble some day. What a bastard." Edie kept going back to the thought of this Admiral.
Flashing her characteristic smirk, Tonx shrugged, “No regrets, Edie. No regrets. My tastes will likely get one in trouble again, but I love my life. You told me Karma is a bitch, and so I expect the admiral to get his in the end. It may well mean I ask if a person is married before just jumping in the sack. Perhaps a little caution would be good.” She wiggled her brows, “You mentioned you had treats?”
"Perhaps a little." Edie gave her an empathetic look before jumping to her feet and grabbing the satchel she had brought with her. After reaching in briefly, her hand revealed a neat bottle of scotch. "I was saving this for a special occasion. I guess a demotion and not going to jail is a just cause?" She tossed the bottle at Tonx using a light under throw.
The CSec caught the bottle, her smirk growing, “Oh you know me so well.” She pushed herself off the couch to move to a small bar she had set up off on the side, and grabbed two glasses. Sure, they could have sipped directly from the bottle, but good scotch deserved a glass. Setting the glasses down on the table, she poured out a goodly amount for both of them before sitting back down and offering one glass to Edie. She cradled her own glass as she sunk back into the comfort of her couch.
"So. Do tell me who this Admiral is? And what exactly he does?" There was an apparent innocence to the question but Edie had already set the wheels of motion in her head. Karma would be getting a little help and one way or another, the pig that did this to her friend would pay.
Tonx snorted, “You know, I wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t made such a big deal of this. He is Admiral Theo Rosignal, and he happens to be Deputy chief honcho type of the JAG Corps. You’d have to ask the Captain to find out exactly what the schmuck wanted to do with me before he was talked off the edge. According to our dear leader, I was a stone’s throw from prison, as I’ve mentioned, and likely a dishonorable discharge.”
She paused to take a slow sip of her Scotch, and closed her eyes as she savoured the peaty flavor, “Oh my, Edie. This is amazing.” She licked her lips and looked back to her friend, “And yeah, so I can’t leave the ship thanks to that jackass, and I can’t itch that itch. . .all because of one jackass of a man and a loser of a husband who doesn’t realize he has a gorgeous wife who is dying for attention.”
"Like you said. Karma." Edie raised her own glass and the two shared a toast. For the next several hours, the they shared in some laughter and general banter. If anything, Edie was glad to have helped relieve the distress of the overall situation some, in her own way.
~~ Some time later...
"Commander Harlow. It is so good to see you again." Edie gave the old bald man a wide smile and an enthusiastic wave through the comm channel. She remembered a time when he had been rather dashing and handsome - age, children and the stresses of running logistics for multiple sectors had clearly gotten to him over the years.
"Edie Freelove." There was a twinkle in the man's eyes as he acknowledged her. "It's been what. Eight years?"
"Probably closer to ten. One decade seems to just roll into the other now. Listen.. Henry... I wish I was calling for pleasure but I need a favour. I'm cashing in for Genova IV." During her description, Edie had encrypted their channel and moved it to a safe and untraceable realm. She had also sent him some brief and encoded instructions.
Henry looked over the limited details - simple, effective and rather cryptic but he got the overall meaning of the instructions. "Edie. You seriously want me to go through with this?" He raised a brow as he looked back up at her.
"Without a doubt in my mind. Make it happen Henry. And make it untraceable. I'll make sure to stop by for a drink next time I'm near. Freelove out."
As the channel went blank, the screen reflected the wrinkled and grinning face of Edie. "Karma."
~~ Some time later...
"Did you hear what happened to Admiral Rosingal?" A young Bolian officer with a rank of Ensign talked to her junior counterpart with a lowered voice as the two worked on scrubbing some plasma manifolds.
"No? What happened?"
"Somehow his uniform got laced with denobulan itching powder... He had welts and everything. I heard he scratched his balls so hard he gave himself testicular torsion!"
"No way!" There was an abundance of laughter in the corridor now. "The guy deserves it. He is a prick!"
SD241810.07 - Papa's Home. [Felix]
-= Captain’s Quarters, USS Lone Star =-
Kreik hadn’t been delighted there was nothing that the Lone Star could do, and Felix wasn’t, either. He had left his ready room in sullen mood, a reflection of his native, even childish impetuousness. He didn’t like it, didn’t appreciate situations that didn’t go his way. He stalked the lifts and corridors back to his quarters.
Before the door sensor sought him he paused, holding his hand to a bulkhead. Hello, Lonie. Papa's home.
Every inch of the ship had been forensically cleaned. It gave Felix a bizarre combination of feelings, being somewhere so familiar that had that out-of-the-bag smell. He closed his eyes to listen to Lonie’s hum. It was brighter, more capricious than other vessels; not inconsistent, but a bit more musical. Perhaps that was why only Edie could really run him.
Lester beat him to the door. Felix followed obediently behind him.
The senior officers’ quarters on the Lone Star were a far cry from the cramped, if homely, cupboard-rooms of the Artemis. He remembered the first time he’d set foot in them, provided the tour by his first chief engineer, Aiden Derin, and been gobsmacked by its grandeur.
Since then he’d changed the entire configuration: this floor was now open-plan, with soft purples and greys stretching through the space. As always, the view over the Arboretum struck him first. With a high and central vantage point over the space, Felix had selected these quarters when Paxan Brey, his first officer and one-time girlfriend, had forced him to ten years ago.
The hammock he’d slept in until his captaincy, and sometimes during, hung next to one of the windows: a tight, colourful knit from Earth, reinforced battery-operated anti-grav stabilisers. These days he took the gratuitously large bed, upstairs, leaving the hammock for Lester. The entertaining space extended to his right, with a fully functioning island kitchen and bar gently separating the room.
Collectibles from his time around the fleet, cherished gifts, and photographs of the dear and departed interspersed his bright, eclectic furnishings. He caught the eye of a couple as he sauntered through the space, reacquainting himself. The eyes followed him back. Simon Finn. Various of his first flight outfit, the BobCats. Paxan Brey. Adevian Brey. Desiree Taliano, wherever and whoever she was now. And now, Desdemona Sovanae. There were, and had always been, too many of these names.
The wall of windows let atmosphere and quasi-natural light cast beams across both decks of his apartment. Even some of the flooring upstairs was transparent, where the bedroom met the cloud level of the ship’s inner woodlands space. Felix’s feet took him up the stairs, at the top and bottom of which was a door to his exclusive turbolift – a recommendation made after the time, three years ago, when he’d been held hostage in one for four days by a non-corporeal teenager.
Upstairs, Felix passed his guest room – an over-decorated bazaar of paraphernalia, some of which originating from non-Federation dignitaries whose cultures did not incorporate, say, taste – and the bathroom, whose wall could be made transparent to see the Arboretum. (Only once had the technology on both glass windows failed, providing late-night bird-watchers below an unexpected view of Felix’s ablutions.)
The captain’s bedroom was his creative joy – not that he saw it much. Ten years ago de l’Isle had started collecting textiles that appealed, like a magpie, before realising he had nowhere to put them. He had left instructions for the ship’s interior designer at UP to hang them, up- and down-lit to create a billowing, frozen wave around the room. This was the first time he’d seen it in person. As requested, there were gaps for the future.
The colours graduated around the space, some enhanced by the natural dye or sparkle of that artisan’s, or people’s, weave. Their scattered prism enhanced the neutrality of the space within – especially the crisp white sheets of his bed.
Felix found himself making a beeline for them. As he had when he was a kid, he splatted face-first into the bedspread. The air pushed itself out through the covers like a subspace detonation. At the centre of it, a depleted captain found himself reminded of his position: its challenges and sadnesses.
Tomorrow, he reminded himself before sleep took him, was another day.
-= The next day =-
“Captain on the bridge!”
Felix breezed back onto the nucleus of the ship as though he’d never left. The Lone Star’s strange pre-mission interruption was concluded. He’d woken early, readopted his running route around the Arboretum – although with a much slower time – and cooked himself breakfast over a few reports. Literally, in one case; the new counsellor’s personnel file had been liberally splashed with bacon.
“You bet he is. Did someone say we’re near Kincardine?” He took his spot in the centre chair. With none of his senior staff on the bridge Felix had a chance to take it all back in again.
“Yes, sir,” Ensign Willis called from the front. “Coming into the system now.”
The station, planets and their accumulating traffic came into view. “Slow to impulse and take us in, Ensign.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Better warn them what’s coming. Comms, signal Kincardine Station and let them know we’re coming in.” Felix paused, frowning. “Does anyone know whether it’s pronounced kin-kar-deen or kin-kar-dyne?”
Variously, they confessed they didn’t know.
“I’ll ask Admiral Stanton. Which reminds me. Get a message to her yeoman and ask her to remind the Admiral that she owes me a beer.”
He wasn’t entirely sure that she did. But the message would be right, anyway: that Captain Felix de l’Isle and the USS Lone Star were back in town.
-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle, Commanding Officer
Kreik hadn’t been delighted there was nothing that the Lone Star could do, and Felix wasn’t, either. He had left his ready room in sullen mood, a reflection of his native, even childish impetuousness. He didn’t like it, didn’t appreciate situations that didn’t go his way. He stalked the lifts and corridors back to his quarters.
Before the door sensor sought him he paused, holding his hand to a bulkhead. Hello, Lonie. Papa's home.
Every inch of the ship had been forensically cleaned. It gave Felix a bizarre combination of feelings, being somewhere so familiar that had that out-of-the-bag smell. He closed his eyes to listen to Lonie’s hum. It was brighter, more capricious than other vessels; not inconsistent, but a bit more musical. Perhaps that was why only Edie could really run him.
Lester beat him to the door. Felix followed obediently behind him.
The senior officers’ quarters on the Lone Star were a far cry from the cramped, if homely, cupboard-rooms of the Artemis. He remembered the first time he’d set foot in them, provided the tour by his first chief engineer, Aiden Derin, and been gobsmacked by its grandeur.
Since then he’d changed the entire configuration: this floor was now open-plan, with soft purples and greys stretching through the space. As always, the view over the Arboretum struck him first. With a high and central vantage point over the space, Felix had selected these quarters when Paxan Brey, his first officer and one-time girlfriend, had forced him to ten years ago.
The hammock he’d slept in until his captaincy, and sometimes during, hung next to one of the windows: a tight, colourful knit from Earth, reinforced battery-operated anti-grav stabilisers. These days he took the gratuitously large bed, upstairs, leaving the hammock for Lester. The entertaining space extended to his right, with a fully functioning island kitchen and bar gently separating the room.
Collectibles from his time around the fleet, cherished gifts, and photographs of the dear and departed interspersed his bright, eclectic furnishings. He caught the eye of a couple as he sauntered through the space, reacquainting himself. The eyes followed him back. Simon Finn. Various of his first flight outfit, the BobCats. Paxan Brey. Adevian Brey. Desiree Taliano, wherever and whoever she was now. And now, Desdemona Sovanae. There were, and had always been, too many of these names.
The wall of windows let atmosphere and quasi-natural light cast beams across both decks of his apartment. Even some of the flooring upstairs was transparent, where the bedroom met the cloud level of the ship’s inner woodlands space. Felix’s feet took him up the stairs, at the top and bottom of which was a door to his exclusive turbolift – a recommendation made after the time, three years ago, when he’d been held hostage in one for four days by a non-corporeal teenager.
Upstairs, Felix passed his guest room – an over-decorated bazaar of paraphernalia, some of which originating from non-Federation dignitaries whose cultures did not incorporate, say, taste – and the bathroom, whose wall could be made transparent to see the Arboretum. (Only once had the technology on both glass windows failed, providing late-night bird-watchers below an unexpected view of Felix’s ablutions.)
The captain’s bedroom was his creative joy – not that he saw it much. Ten years ago de l’Isle had started collecting textiles that appealed, like a magpie, before realising he had nowhere to put them. He had left instructions for the ship’s interior designer at UP to hang them, up- and down-lit to create a billowing, frozen wave around the room. This was the first time he’d seen it in person. As requested, there were gaps for the future.
The colours graduated around the space, some enhanced by the natural dye or sparkle of that artisan’s, or people’s, weave. Their scattered prism enhanced the neutrality of the space within – especially the crisp white sheets of his bed.
Felix found himself making a beeline for them. As he had when he was a kid, he splatted face-first into the bedspread. The air pushed itself out through the covers like a subspace detonation. At the centre of it, a depleted captain found himself reminded of his position: its challenges and sadnesses.
Tomorrow, he reminded himself before sleep took him, was another day.
-= The next day =-
“Captain on the bridge!”
Felix breezed back onto the nucleus of the ship as though he’d never left. The Lone Star’s strange pre-mission interruption was concluded. He’d woken early, readopted his running route around the Arboretum – although with a much slower time – and cooked himself breakfast over a few reports. Literally, in one case; the new counsellor’s personnel file had been liberally splashed with bacon.
“You bet he is. Did someone say we’re near Kincardine?” He took his spot in the centre chair. With none of his senior staff on the bridge Felix had a chance to take it all back in again.
“Yes, sir,” Ensign Willis called from the front. “Coming into the system now.”
The station, planets and their accumulating traffic came into view. “Slow to impulse and take us in, Ensign.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Better warn them what’s coming. Comms, signal Kincardine Station and let them know we’re coming in.” Felix paused, frowning. “Does anyone know whether it’s pronounced kin-kar-deen or kin-kar-dyne?”
Variously, they confessed they didn’t know.
“I’ll ask Admiral Stanton. Which reminds me. Get a message to her yeoman and ask her to remind the Admiral that she owes me a beer.”
He wasn’t entirely sure that she did. But the message would be right, anyway: that Captain Felix de l’Isle and the USS Lone Star were back in town.
-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle, Commanding Officer
SD241810.06 - All Hands Lost. [Tonx/Edie/Felix]
-= Bridge, USS Lone Star =-
“Get Lieutenant McKenna up here now. Put it on the viewer. Patch Freelove in when she’s hit the engine deck. Let’s go.”
Felix’s words entered the bridge before he did. Striding in from the aft turbolift, he took a vaulting shortcut over the metal bar that part-surrounded the command podium. Lester followed him, settling into a seated, but alert position on the XO’s chair. The captain was at the room’s centre when the viewscreen illuminated a second later.
“Captain.” Kreik, the admiral who’d given him the Lone Star’s latest orders, had no time to waste. “The Argus Array received a distress signal from the USS Dumas in the Nebari sector fifteen minutes ago. We lost her transponder moments later.”
de l’Isle’s brain did the recall and the calculations. Captain Kosuemo. Two hours after her scheduled departure from Kincardine. A sudden, violent attack that took out comms and main power – possibly life support, too – in one go. Desdemona Sovanae. His heart sank further. Desdemona. His first CMO on the Lone Star. A friend, as it were, of the family.
“Are there any early indications, Admiral?” he managed.
“None. First responders are the Curie and the Vigilant, but they’re a few hours away. All they’re reading is debris. It’s not looking hopeful.”
Tonx arrived on the bridge just as the news about the Dumas came in. She saw something change in Felix. He knew someone on that vessel, and it was someone he cared about. She frowned as she moved to her station, relieving the ensign who’d been on duty.
Edie had been patched in and had visual and audio of the bridge. She could see the reactions of the staff there but was sure her own was quite readable to those in Engineering too. "Such a terrible loss..." She said this too herself quietly as she shook her head. A quick and silent prayer for those who were presumably lost followed.
“Take the Lone Star and get a full sensor sweep before the scene dissipates.” If he didn’t know better, Felix would have said that Kreik hesitated, the briefest of shudders in front of her impersonal, burgundy and deep grey surroundings. “Take her at slipstream. Make chase if you find who’s done this. If not, I want your full report before you hand over to the Curie."
Felix blinked. The V3 drive hadn’t been tested in the field. Edie would protest, but be delighted. Tonx would chew his ear off. They didn’t have a full staff. It wasn’t, really, the most sensible choice. But that was probably why she was asking him.
“Will do, boss.” Wisest not to question it further, he reckoned. Kreik didn’t think so, either.
The comm line closed, there being no more to say. de l’Isle spun to face his chief of security.
“All hands, this is the Captain. Black alert for slipstream. Man your stations. This is not a drill.” Felix repeated it for good measure. Most of the onboard crew weren’t even assigned to the Lone Star; it was unlikely they’d served on a V1, let alone a V2. “All ship’s operations come into – Lieutenant McKenna on the bridge. Commander Freelove, I need Lonie ready to jump as soon as you can get him there.”
"I'm already on it. He'll be ready..." She said this with confidence through the COMM panel but then muttered under her own breath, "I hope." Her hands glided across the control panels in front of her with precision. She jumped back and forth between a few stations and shouted out several orders to her engineering crew.
Felix closed the comm. He still hadn’t broken his look with Tonx, as though transmitting to her what needed to be done. “Get interim department heads in place. Weapons to ready. Full sensor intake when we get there in the shortest time. And a damned good tactical sweep the second we arrive.” There were more besides that she’d know, instinctively, after all these years. It also assumed they'd arrive in the right place. “Capiche?”
The Captain realized Tonx was on the bridge moments after he requested her presence, and locked his gaze on hers. He was on high alert, and not messing around. He’d either explain when he was ready, or he wouldn’t. . .an explanation didn’t matter. Right now she just had to do her job. Giving him a nod, she replied, “Capiche. Consider it done.” She didn’t like they were going to put the new drive through its paces without adequate testing, but sometimes, it was trial by fire. She turned her attention to her console and started sending out alerts to those who would be the interim department heads.
The joy of being captain was that you didn’t have to be polite to everybody. Secure with Tonx’s reply, Felix turned and marched up to the conn. A Bajoran man sat under the dim, flashing monochrome, for a moment unaware of his CO’s presence over his shoulder.
“Ensign.” Felix tapped his shoulder. “You’re relieved.”
Now, he thought. How did this work again? His fingers stroked the air, millimetres above the console.
“Oh lord, you’re flying Lonnie? Freelove know this?” Tonx teased.
The captain’s fingers spaced out, each fluttering to find its position on the control. “She will when I start flying her,” Felix grinned.
-= Main Engineering =-
"Edie. I'm not happy with these alignment parameters for the deflector dish." One of her technicians brought her a PADD with several diagrams on it, and various matrices. She politely took it from him and looked it over. As she did, her mind went a fury with several possibilities and algorithms - her hand moved over to the console and used the computer to verify some corrections.
The computer chirped back. "Just what I wanted to hear. Contact operations and coordinate these modifications. I am almost done with the core matrix adjustments, that in itself should improve those parameters by at least zero-point-four percent." The technician took the PADD back and swiftly made his way back to his station.
Edie shouted several more orders and received verbal spouts of data from some of her crew. Overall - things were going well, considering the immediate change in atmosphere. "Freelove to Bridge. You sure you want to use the Slipstream core?"
Felix looked at Tonx. He was fairly certain she shared his apprehension. “It was a direct order from the Admiral, Edie. It’s not too big a jump.”
There was several simultaneous beeps and confirmations from various areas in Engineering, all of which seemed to coincide with the proper activation sequence of the quantum slipstream drive. "Very well then. The drive is active." She was about to verbalize some joke about not being to blame if they were pulled apart and their atoms scattered across the quadrant. Her better judgment held her tongue as the thought of the Dumas came to the forefront of her mind.
"Time and place, Edie... Time and place..." She nodded to herself.
-= Bridge =-
Quantum slipstream wasn’t new technology, but this system was new on the Lonnie. Tonx found her heart was pounding a bit harder than she might otherwise expect, and she chalked it up to apprehension and anticipation. She teased Felix for flying, but she knew he was more than a capable pilot. She trusted him more than she’d trusted some of their previous helm officers.
“Engaging in five,” Felix called. On the few occasions he’d piloted the Lone Star at slipstream he’d realised at this point precisely why ‘slipstream mode’ called for a greyish lighting. It neutralised the visual effect: a streaking rainbow of glitter and pattern that often made novice travellers nauseous.
Every helmsman who’d flown the ship – Lonnie, Loner or Lonie, depending on who you asked – in the stream had told him that being cross-phase was a surreal experience. Felix felt it, too. He seemed to be physiologically in union with the vessel and perhaps something beyond it; like going too fast down an icy slope on a tray and realising you had no brake.
Down in Engineering, the crew continued working away from their respective stations. Edie had entered several phase variant corrections in by hand and adjusted the computer algorithms as needed to follow up on future changes automatically. The tension was thick but thankfully, the drive was working and the stream was holding.
This was a short jump. The coordinates were precise and the physical experience didn’t last too long. It was still damned weird, Felix thought, to feel his body stretched out behind him, pulling together at the end like rubber. He realised that Lester had been unbothered throughout, even pulling off a silent yawn as the ship began to settle again. The dazzling streaks started to settle.
“Report,” Felix called behind him.
Finally, the ship dropped out of slipstream, and as soon as that happened, Tonx was scanning the area. It wasn’t long before she started relaying her findings. “Picking up debris.” She punched buttons on her console, “I’m picking up a transponder. . .looks like it belongs to the Dumas.” She furrowed her brows, “We’d need a metalurigical scan to confirm, but I’m picking up evidence of phaser fire and explosives.” Her head snapped up, “Captain, I’ve found very faint evidence of a warp signature traveling away from here. It does not line up with the flight path of the Dumas.”
de l’Isle sprung from the conn. An Ensign – Willis, he remembered – slotted himself into the chair after him. “Are there any survivors?”
Tonx shook her head, “No, Captain. I am not detecting any escape pods. There is . . . There is organic matter mixed in with the debris.”
Not willing to accept the answer at face value, even if it were true, Felix swung into his central position on the command platform. He often tended to stand in front of his chair on the rostrum, as he did now.
“Push our sensor aperture to full,” he called to the ops officer. “We want as much data as we can. Lieutenant.” Felix rounded his upper body toward the security panel. “Any trace element matches on the weapons, or the warp trail? How far have they gone?”
They'd already pushed the sensors, but pushed what she could even further. Tonx was looking for something, anything that could be good news. She’d seen things like this before, and the news was never good. She shook her head again, “We’d need more than my sensor sweep to get trace element matches. The warp trail is too degraded, and I’m not picking up anything on the end of what I can see.”
Licking the inside of his cheek, Felix did the maths. On that general heading but with no fixed coordinates, the Lone Star couldn’t just jump to the location. Besides, this jump had been a risk. A second on a virgin drive without analysis would go beyond unwise. That meant that the Starfleet sensor net was their best bet – then dispatching a ship to follow up. But that ship wouldn’t be the Lone Star.
“Survivors?” Felix asked Tonx, hopefully.
Looking from her console to Felix, Tonx shook her head, “I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t see how it is possible. The Dumas. . .it was obliterated.”
Returning to his chair, de l’Isle paused for a second, his hand spreading slowly on the armrest. Everyone knew what that particular kind of dust cloud meant. Every Captain would grimace, if internally, as they hoped never to be found like this – with all hands lost.
“Bridge to Engineering. How’s he doing, Edie?” Felix’s voice could never hide its sadness, not totally. He needed good news, and a bust-up experimental slipstream drive would not be it.
"Surprisingly well. Must be happy that his Captain is home." Truthfully, the jump had gone better than even she had thought it would. Sometimes things just worked out and it was wonderful when it did. "I'd recommend giving us some time to analyze the core and analytics before we make another attempt go at it, if possible."
“Understood, Commander.” Felix looked back to Tonx, whose station chirruped that the advanced sweep of the area was concluded. Although by preference the Lone Star would have continued the research on this one, the crew had only a fraction of its proper complement and other fish to fry. This one would have to be finished off by the Curie – which was just arriving in the sector.
“Lieutenant. Send all our sensor data to the Curie. When we’re underway, get Admiral Kreik on subspace and patch her through to my ready room.” de l’Isle took a couple of steps back, lowering himself into his chair. He’d considered Desdemona Sonavae a friend and, as with many former Gamma Fleet officers, he had tracked the news on the Artemis closely – perhaps more than most, as he’d been the ship’s XO.
“Ensign Willis. Set a course for Kincardine Station, warp 7.” Felix blinked. “Engage.”
After slipstream, warp barely seemed like a change of speed from stationary.
-=-=-
by Commander Edie Freelove, Chief Engineer
Lieutenant Tonx McKenna, Chief of Security
and Captain Felix de l’Isle, Commanding Officer
“Get Lieutenant McKenna up here now. Put it on the viewer. Patch Freelove in when she’s hit the engine deck. Let’s go.”
Felix’s words entered the bridge before he did. Striding in from the aft turbolift, he took a vaulting shortcut over the metal bar that part-surrounded the command podium. Lester followed him, settling into a seated, but alert position on the XO’s chair. The captain was at the room’s centre when the viewscreen illuminated a second later.
“Captain.” Kreik, the admiral who’d given him the Lone Star’s latest orders, had no time to waste. “The Argus Array received a distress signal from the USS Dumas in the Nebari sector fifteen minutes ago. We lost her transponder moments later.”
de l’Isle’s brain did the recall and the calculations. Captain Kosuemo. Two hours after her scheduled departure from Kincardine. A sudden, violent attack that took out comms and main power – possibly life support, too – in one go. Desdemona Sovanae. His heart sank further. Desdemona. His first CMO on the Lone Star. A friend, as it were, of the family.
“Are there any early indications, Admiral?” he managed.
“None. First responders are the Curie and the Vigilant, but they’re a few hours away. All they’re reading is debris. It’s not looking hopeful.”
Tonx arrived on the bridge just as the news about the Dumas came in. She saw something change in Felix. He knew someone on that vessel, and it was someone he cared about. She frowned as she moved to her station, relieving the ensign who’d been on duty.
Edie had been patched in and had visual and audio of the bridge. She could see the reactions of the staff there but was sure her own was quite readable to those in Engineering too. "Such a terrible loss..." She said this too herself quietly as she shook her head. A quick and silent prayer for those who were presumably lost followed.
“Take the Lone Star and get a full sensor sweep before the scene dissipates.” If he didn’t know better, Felix would have said that Kreik hesitated, the briefest of shudders in front of her impersonal, burgundy and deep grey surroundings. “Take her at slipstream. Make chase if you find who’s done this. If not, I want your full report before you hand over to the Curie."
Felix blinked. The V3 drive hadn’t been tested in the field. Edie would protest, but be delighted. Tonx would chew his ear off. They didn’t have a full staff. It wasn’t, really, the most sensible choice. But that was probably why she was asking him.
“Will do, boss.” Wisest not to question it further, he reckoned. Kreik didn’t think so, either.
The comm line closed, there being no more to say. de l’Isle spun to face his chief of security.
“All hands, this is the Captain. Black alert for slipstream. Man your stations. This is not a drill.” Felix repeated it for good measure. Most of the onboard crew weren’t even assigned to the Lone Star; it was unlikely they’d served on a V1, let alone a V2. “All ship’s operations come into – Lieutenant McKenna on the bridge. Commander Freelove, I need Lonie ready to jump as soon as you can get him there.”
"I'm already on it. He'll be ready..." She said this with confidence through the COMM panel but then muttered under her own breath, "I hope." Her hands glided across the control panels in front of her with precision. She jumped back and forth between a few stations and shouted out several orders to her engineering crew.
Felix closed the comm. He still hadn’t broken his look with Tonx, as though transmitting to her what needed to be done. “Get interim department heads in place. Weapons to ready. Full sensor intake when we get there in the shortest time. And a damned good tactical sweep the second we arrive.” There were more besides that she’d know, instinctively, after all these years. It also assumed they'd arrive in the right place. “Capiche?”
The Captain realized Tonx was on the bridge moments after he requested her presence, and locked his gaze on hers. He was on high alert, and not messing around. He’d either explain when he was ready, or he wouldn’t. . .an explanation didn’t matter. Right now she just had to do her job. Giving him a nod, she replied, “Capiche. Consider it done.” She didn’t like they were going to put the new drive through its paces without adequate testing, but sometimes, it was trial by fire. She turned her attention to her console and started sending out alerts to those who would be the interim department heads.
The joy of being captain was that you didn’t have to be polite to everybody. Secure with Tonx’s reply, Felix turned and marched up to the conn. A Bajoran man sat under the dim, flashing monochrome, for a moment unaware of his CO’s presence over his shoulder.
“Ensign.” Felix tapped his shoulder. “You’re relieved.”
Now, he thought. How did this work again? His fingers stroked the air, millimetres above the console.
“Oh lord, you’re flying Lonnie? Freelove know this?” Tonx teased.
The captain’s fingers spaced out, each fluttering to find its position on the control. “She will when I start flying her,” Felix grinned.
-= Main Engineering =-
"Edie. I'm not happy with these alignment parameters for the deflector dish." One of her technicians brought her a PADD with several diagrams on it, and various matrices. She politely took it from him and looked it over. As she did, her mind went a fury with several possibilities and algorithms - her hand moved over to the console and used the computer to verify some corrections.
The computer chirped back. "Just what I wanted to hear. Contact operations and coordinate these modifications. I am almost done with the core matrix adjustments, that in itself should improve those parameters by at least zero-point-four percent." The technician took the PADD back and swiftly made his way back to his station.
Edie shouted several more orders and received verbal spouts of data from some of her crew. Overall - things were going well, considering the immediate change in atmosphere. "Freelove to Bridge. You sure you want to use the Slipstream core?"
Felix looked at Tonx. He was fairly certain she shared his apprehension. “It was a direct order from the Admiral, Edie. It’s not too big a jump.”
There was several simultaneous beeps and confirmations from various areas in Engineering, all of which seemed to coincide with the proper activation sequence of the quantum slipstream drive. "Very well then. The drive is active." She was about to verbalize some joke about not being to blame if they were pulled apart and their atoms scattered across the quadrant. Her better judgment held her tongue as the thought of the Dumas came to the forefront of her mind.
"Time and place, Edie... Time and place..." She nodded to herself.
-= Bridge =-
Quantum slipstream wasn’t new technology, but this system was new on the Lonnie. Tonx found her heart was pounding a bit harder than she might otherwise expect, and she chalked it up to apprehension and anticipation. She teased Felix for flying, but she knew he was more than a capable pilot. She trusted him more than she’d trusted some of their previous helm officers.
“Engaging in five,” Felix called. On the few occasions he’d piloted the Lone Star at slipstream he’d realised at this point precisely why ‘slipstream mode’ called for a greyish lighting. It neutralised the visual effect: a streaking rainbow of glitter and pattern that often made novice travellers nauseous.
Every helmsman who’d flown the ship – Lonnie, Loner or Lonie, depending on who you asked – in the stream had told him that being cross-phase was a surreal experience. Felix felt it, too. He seemed to be physiologically in union with the vessel and perhaps something beyond it; like going too fast down an icy slope on a tray and realising you had no brake.
Down in Engineering, the crew continued working away from their respective stations. Edie had entered several phase variant corrections in by hand and adjusted the computer algorithms as needed to follow up on future changes automatically. The tension was thick but thankfully, the drive was working and the stream was holding.
This was a short jump. The coordinates were precise and the physical experience didn’t last too long. It was still damned weird, Felix thought, to feel his body stretched out behind him, pulling together at the end like rubber. He realised that Lester had been unbothered throughout, even pulling off a silent yawn as the ship began to settle again. The dazzling streaks started to settle.
“Report,” Felix called behind him.
Finally, the ship dropped out of slipstream, and as soon as that happened, Tonx was scanning the area. It wasn’t long before she started relaying her findings. “Picking up debris.” She punched buttons on her console, “I’m picking up a transponder. . .looks like it belongs to the Dumas.” She furrowed her brows, “We’d need a metalurigical scan to confirm, but I’m picking up evidence of phaser fire and explosives.” Her head snapped up, “Captain, I’ve found very faint evidence of a warp signature traveling away from here. It does not line up with the flight path of the Dumas.”
de l’Isle sprung from the conn. An Ensign – Willis, he remembered – slotted himself into the chair after him. “Are there any survivors?”
Tonx shook her head, “No, Captain. I am not detecting any escape pods. There is . . . There is organic matter mixed in with the debris.”
Not willing to accept the answer at face value, even if it were true, Felix swung into his central position on the command platform. He often tended to stand in front of his chair on the rostrum, as he did now.
“Push our sensor aperture to full,” he called to the ops officer. “We want as much data as we can. Lieutenant.” Felix rounded his upper body toward the security panel. “Any trace element matches on the weapons, or the warp trail? How far have they gone?”
They'd already pushed the sensors, but pushed what she could even further. Tonx was looking for something, anything that could be good news. She’d seen things like this before, and the news was never good. She shook her head again, “We’d need more than my sensor sweep to get trace element matches. The warp trail is too degraded, and I’m not picking up anything on the end of what I can see.”
Licking the inside of his cheek, Felix did the maths. On that general heading but with no fixed coordinates, the Lone Star couldn’t just jump to the location. Besides, this jump had been a risk. A second on a virgin drive without analysis would go beyond unwise. That meant that the Starfleet sensor net was their best bet – then dispatching a ship to follow up. But that ship wouldn’t be the Lone Star.
“Survivors?” Felix asked Tonx, hopefully.
Looking from her console to Felix, Tonx shook her head, “I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t see how it is possible. The Dumas. . .it was obliterated.”
Returning to his chair, de l’Isle paused for a second, his hand spreading slowly on the armrest. Everyone knew what that particular kind of dust cloud meant. Every Captain would grimace, if internally, as they hoped never to be found like this – with all hands lost.
“Bridge to Engineering. How’s he doing, Edie?” Felix’s voice could never hide its sadness, not totally. He needed good news, and a bust-up experimental slipstream drive would not be it.
"Surprisingly well. Must be happy that his Captain is home." Truthfully, the jump had gone better than even she had thought it would. Sometimes things just worked out and it was wonderful when it did. "I'd recommend giving us some time to analyze the core and analytics before we make another attempt go at it, if possible."
“Understood, Commander.” Felix looked back to Tonx, whose station chirruped that the advanced sweep of the area was concluded. Although by preference the Lone Star would have continued the research on this one, the crew had only a fraction of its proper complement and other fish to fry. This one would have to be finished off by the Curie – which was just arriving in the sector.
“Lieutenant. Send all our sensor data to the Curie. When we’re underway, get Admiral Kreik on subspace and patch her through to my ready room.” de l’Isle took a couple of steps back, lowering himself into his chair. He’d considered Desdemona Sonavae a friend and, as with many former Gamma Fleet officers, he had tracked the news on the Artemis closely – perhaps more than most, as he’d been the ship’s XO.
“Ensign Willis. Set a course for Kincardine Station, warp 7.” Felix blinked. “Engage.”
After slipstream, warp barely seemed like a change of speed from stationary.
-=-=-
by Commander Edie Freelove, Chief Engineer
Lieutenant Tonx McKenna, Chief of Security
and Captain Felix de l’Isle, Commanding Officer
SD241810.02 - Gypsy. [Felix/Edie]
-= Platform Two, Utopia Planitia =-
She was a curious looking vessel, the Insignia class, but Felix loved her. “Every time I see her, I still get a bit of a boner. Even after ten years.”
“Yarwg,” Lester moaned. The Bobcat swung around underneath the insect-like metal structure that mounted the Lone Star at present. Captain de l’Isle performed a Perelli Flip, bringing the yacht around 180 degrees and bouncing on thrusters a good way upward. She sat a dozen kilometers from the Lone Star’s hull. Here they were: home.
She was a beast. A hugely versatile one, with interchangeable modules for different mission profiles. Felix hadn’t seen her gleam like this since he’d first taken her out, ten years ago. As he guided the vessel in, he noted the early signs that many of their structural requests had been granted: regenerating shield emitters, reinforced sensor housing, vents that weren’t accessible from the outside. Someone had been winning the battle with Operations – and he was on his way to find her.
“Edie.” Felix grinned. He couldn’t wait to see her.
Edie was standing in the Lone Star's sizeable arboretum, bare foot and swaying back and forth to some old earth music. She wore a comfortable summer dress, clad in large clashing floral print. There were several large work boards set up vertically around her, which she used her finger to write on - its translucency not taking from the atmosphere of the work space. There were pages and pages of hand written equations and various diagrams. The most prominent being a break down of the current slipstream core.
"And her memory is all that is left for you now... You see you're a gypsy, oh... You see you're a gypsy... Ooh ooh, oh oh, oh oh oh." Her singing voice was much to be desired but as she did so, her hand glided across the surface of equations, making small adjustments and completely redacted other parts. There was an almost artistic flare to it.
It took moments for the captain to sweep his way past the various personnel stationed between the Bobcat and the Lone Star’s access hatch. An officers manager had attempted to engage Felix but, as far as he concerned, he needed three things. He needed his encrypted orders; he needed an update from his Chief Engineer; and he needed the helm.
“Where is she?”
There wasn’t much question about who ‘she’ might been. “Deck 11. The Arboretum.” The speaker sounded exasperated, with a hint of relief. An entourage shadowed Felix to the turbolift.
Edie leaned down now, lifting a small cylinder like paper which had a little stream of smoke rising from it. She put it to her mouth and took a large puff, dancing in a circle to the chorus once more as she embraced the sweet tasting exhale. There was a rush of thought now, on one of the previous equations she had worked on. Turning directly around she used her finger to backtrack on that string of numbers some and modified the equation several times.
Squeaking with personnel, the turbolift hissed its way silently through the Lone Star. Felix assumed they were staff from the shipbuilding facility because nobody dared speak. Facing forward, and at the front of the column, he started to chuckle. Lester gave him a tempering look.
“Stay. Not you, Lester,” Felix said, once they’d reached the Arboretum door. The crocodile paused. He and the dog strode forward into the largest shipboard park space in the fleet. Sure enough, it was unoccupied – save for a smoke signal emanating from its centre.
Every so often, during one of these 'idea' sessions she had. Her mind came up for air, and she would tune in to what was around here. One such moment took place when she had realised that Felix de l'Isle was standing near her. She gave him that stiff, deer in the headlights type of look.
“At ease, Commander.” Felix chuckled broadly at the lit cigarette in between her fingers. “You’ve been around normal people for too long.” As Lester battled for her attention, he gestured to her thinking space. He could recognise most of the quantum navigational physics and slipstream equations, but the rest was lost on him. He’d learned, over the last four years, not to ask. “How’s Lonie? Have they been good to her?”
It was certainly too late to pretend that she was not smoking. The woman took another puff before setting it down in a small tray, in which the remainder dissipated. "Him. Or have you been away that long?" She grinned and waved her exhale around to try and make the smoke dissipate quicker; its skunk-like scent would still fill up the space around them. "Purely medicinal." The woman seemed the float in her dress as she made her way closer to Felix and Lester.
It had been some time since Felix had partaken but the scent still appeared. Cannabis still wasn’t approved of on most of Starfleet’s vessels. But, as he’d once explained to a befuddled Commodore, where there was an arboretum, there was a way. These days he couldn’t to afford to fail a medical – not unless the doctor could make it go away, anyway.
“Purely medicinal,” de l'Isle agreed, beaming.
"See. That's what I always liked about you. Now get over here!" Edie pulled the man in for a friendly hug and patted his back several times, then knelt down to give Lester the attention he was demanding. "How is Lonie? Depends on the day, the hour... Even the minute these days." The old woman sighed a breath as she stood back up.
"You know, I had this ship working to peak efficiency before we brought him in for upgrades and repairs. Hell. I know I fought for half of these upgrades myself." She clasped her hands behind her back and took the grass between her toes as she walked closer to her workspace. “But, Captain. Lonie was happy just the way he was. I haven't convinced him otherwise yet."
Felix had rationalised Edie some time ago. Most captains anthropomorphised their ships; why shouldn’t an engineer? Hell, as she might say, she knew how to talk to them. Lonie not being happy represented, to him, a concern. “He doesn’t always take change well. But he does like a good upgrade,” Felix suggested, quickly. “How’s he getting on with the V3 drive?”
"The new slipstream core?" Edie groaned and dramatically threw her head back. "I designed the bastard myself! And I told Starfleet it wasn't quite ready yet. At least not this variation. I needed more time. Yet here were are." She continued to rant for another few moments before stopping for air.
“You need to leave that here at UP, Edie.” Felix touched her shoulder sympathetically. The Commander was a genius and a perfectionist. “At least your baby’s here where you can see him.” The captain clapped twice, loudly. “Tell me more.”
"It's not all bad. He likes his new weapons systems. His teeth are certainly a little sharper than they were before. You lot and your toys!" She grinned at Felix before continuing to pace some and artfully wave her hands about as she talked. "Not just that. The sensors have been upgraded too and he does like his new eyes. It's not all bad but don't be surprised if he sours your coffee some! All this commotion and fuss has made him quite the grump."
At the top of the arboretum, sunken into the ceiling, was Felix’s quarters. Already he could see the few additional fittings he’d requested – not visible, nor ostentatious, but he could tell from the skirting and venting what had been fitted. Edie hadn’t let anything slip by her.
"And don't get me started on those twits from Utopia. If they had just followed my instructions to the letter, a lot of time and pain could have been avoided. One Lieutenant got Lonie's wrath in the form of a third-degree burn from a feedback loop." She shook her head. "Poor guy. If only he had listened.”
“Ouch,” winced Felix. He had started to glaze over. Being with his veteran chief engineer had made him breathe the air properly and realise where he was. He was on the Lone Star. He was at home.
"Indeed." She sighed briefly once more but followed that with a big-bright smile. Before continuing to speak she dusted her hands off on the sides of her dress. "It's nearly done though, thankfully. Until the next round that is." Truth was - Edie didn't know if she would even be around the next time the Lonie would see an overhaul such as this. Her future in the fleet was never a solid one these days, given her age.
Correcting himself, Captain de l’Isle’s bright blue eyes locked onto their mirror image in the Commander’s. He’d said it before: she was the youngest commander in the fleet. And there was a sparkle in them, presently, that suggested their meeting was not yet over.
"Well. I have figured out something I need to do with the programming matrix. I should get that in and done before I forget. My memory isn't as good as it once was, you know." Though she was technically off-duty, it wasn't uncommon for Edie to show up to her engineering area dressed casually - especially if a thought had come to her and she needed to act. "Care to join me Captain? You too Lester." She strode past the Captain and gently tugged on his shirt sleeve - clearly, not giving him much of a choice in the matter.
All Felix wanted to do was explore the ship, inspect every rig and panel. He figured that Edie had been alone amongst the normal for nigh on a year, though; the only one of his senior officers not to have received any shore leave. He could find some time for the old girl.
Before he could acquiesce, the comm pounced. Felix had learned to guage its tone. This didn’t seem like a good one.
“Bridge to the Captain. Sir, I’ve got an Admiral Kreik on a priority line. She wants you up here.”
de l’Isle shared a forlorn look with his chief engineer.
“I think you need to get to engineering,” he told her, on a hunch.
It was if a switch went off in Edith's mind - she knew all too well when something was amidst and this certainly had that feeling. "Right." She gave the Captain a light touch on his left shoulder, a final gesture to say 'welcome back' before she made her way to Engineering.
-=-=-
by Commander Edie Freelove, CEO
and Captain Felix de l’Isle, CO
She was a curious looking vessel, the Insignia class, but Felix loved her. “Every time I see her, I still get a bit of a boner. Even after ten years.”
“Yarwg,” Lester moaned. The Bobcat swung around underneath the insect-like metal structure that mounted the Lone Star at present. Captain de l’Isle performed a Perelli Flip, bringing the yacht around 180 degrees and bouncing on thrusters a good way upward. She sat a dozen kilometers from the Lone Star’s hull. Here they were: home.
She was a beast. A hugely versatile one, with interchangeable modules for different mission profiles. Felix hadn’t seen her gleam like this since he’d first taken her out, ten years ago. As he guided the vessel in, he noted the early signs that many of their structural requests had been granted: regenerating shield emitters, reinforced sensor housing, vents that weren’t accessible from the outside. Someone had been winning the battle with Operations – and he was on his way to find her.
“Edie.” Felix grinned. He couldn’t wait to see her.
Edie was standing in the Lone Star's sizeable arboretum, bare foot and swaying back and forth to some old earth music. She wore a comfortable summer dress, clad in large clashing floral print. There were several large work boards set up vertically around her, which she used her finger to write on - its translucency not taking from the atmosphere of the work space. There were pages and pages of hand written equations and various diagrams. The most prominent being a break down of the current slipstream core.
"And her memory is all that is left for you now... You see you're a gypsy, oh... You see you're a gypsy... Ooh ooh, oh oh, oh oh oh." Her singing voice was much to be desired but as she did so, her hand glided across the surface of equations, making small adjustments and completely redacted other parts. There was an almost artistic flare to it.
It took moments for the captain to sweep his way past the various personnel stationed between the Bobcat and the Lone Star’s access hatch. An officers manager had attempted to engage Felix but, as far as he concerned, he needed three things. He needed his encrypted orders; he needed an update from his Chief Engineer; and he needed the helm.
“Where is she?”
There wasn’t much question about who ‘she’ might been. “Deck 11. The Arboretum.” The speaker sounded exasperated, with a hint of relief. An entourage shadowed Felix to the turbolift.
Edie leaned down now, lifting a small cylinder like paper which had a little stream of smoke rising from it. She put it to her mouth and took a large puff, dancing in a circle to the chorus once more as she embraced the sweet tasting exhale. There was a rush of thought now, on one of the previous equations she had worked on. Turning directly around she used her finger to backtrack on that string of numbers some and modified the equation several times.
Squeaking with personnel, the turbolift hissed its way silently through the Lone Star. Felix assumed they were staff from the shipbuilding facility because nobody dared speak. Facing forward, and at the front of the column, he started to chuckle. Lester gave him a tempering look.
“Stay. Not you, Lester,” Felix said, once they’d reached the Arboretum door. The crocodile paused. He and the dog strode forward into the largest shipboard park space in the fleet. Sure enough, it was unoccupied – save for a smoke signal emanating from its centre.
Every so often, during one of these 'idea' sessions she had. Her mind came up for air, and she would tune in to what was around here. One such moment took place when she had realised that Felix de l'Isle was standing near her. She gave him that stiff, deer in the headlights type of look.
“At ease, Commander.” Felix chuckled broadly at the lit cigarette in between her fingers. “You’ve been around normal people for too long.” As Lester battled for her attention, he gestured to her thinking space. He could recognise most of the quantum navigational physics and slipstream equations, but the rest was lost on him. He’d learned, over the last four years, not to ask. “How’s Lonie? Have they been good to her?”
It was certainly too late to pretend that she was not smoking. The woman took another puff before setting it down in a small tray, in which the remainder dissipated. "Him. Or have you been away that long?" She grinned and waved her exhale around to try and make the smoke dissipate quicker; its skunk-like scent would still fill up the space around them. "Purely medicinal." The woman seemed the float in her dress as she made her way closer to Felix and Lester.
It had been some time since Felix had partaken but the scent still appeared. Cannabis still wasn’t approved of on most of Starfleet’s vessels. But, as he’d once explained to a befuddled Commodore, where there was an arboretum, there was a way. These days he couldn’t to afford to fail a medical – not unless the doctor could make it go away, anyway.
“Purely medicinal,” de l'Isle agreed, beaming.
"See. That's what I always liked about you. Now get over here!" Edie pulled the man in for a friendly hug and patted his back several times, then knelt down to give Lester the attention he was demanding. "How is Lonie? Depends on the day, the hour... Even the minute these days." The old woman sighed a breath as she stood back up.
"You know, I had this ship working to peak efficiency before we brought him in for upgrades and repairs. Hell. I know I fought for half of these upgrades myself." She clasped her hands behind her back and took the grass between her toes as she walked closer to her workspace. “But, Captain. Lonie was happy just the way he was. I haven't convinced him otherwise yet."
Felix had rationalised Edie some time ago. Most captains anthropomorphised their ships; why shouldn’t an engineer? Hell, as she might say, she knew how to talk to them. Lonie not being happy represented, to him, a concern. “He doesn’t always take change well. But he does like a good upgrade,” Felix suggested, quickly. “How’s he getting on with the V3 drive?”
"The new slipstream core?" Edie groaned and dramatically threw her head back. "I designed the bastard myself! And I told Starfleet it wasn't quite ready yet. At least not this variation. I needed more time. Yet here were are." She continued to rant for another few moments before stopping for air.
“You need to leave that here at UP, Edie.” Felix touched her shoulder sympathetically. The Commander was a genius and a perfectionist. “At least your baby’s here where you can see him.” The captain clapped twice, loudly. “Tell me more.”
"It's not all bad. He likes his new weapons systems. His teeth are certainly a little sharper than they were before. You lot and your toys!" She grinned at Felix before continuing to pace some and artfully wave her hands about as she talked. "Not just that. The sensors have been upgraded too and he does like his new eyes. It's not all bad but don't be surprised if he sours your coffee some! All this commotion and fuss has made him quite the grump."
At the top of the arboretum, sunken into the ceiling, was Felix’s quarters. Already he could see the few additional fittings he’d requested – not visible, nor ostentatious, but he could tell from the skirting and venting what had been fitted. Edie hadn’t let anything slip by her.
"And don't get me started on those twits from Utopia. If they had just followed my instructions to the letter, a lot of time and pain could have been avoided. One Lieutenant got Lonie's wrath in the form of a third-degree burn from a feedback loop." She shook her head. "Poor guy. If only he had listened.”
“Ouch,” winced Felix. He had started to glaze over. Being with his veteran chief engineer had made him breathe the air properly and realise where he was. He was on the Lone Star. He was at home.
"Indeed." She sighed briefly once more but followed that with a big-bright smile. Before continuing to speak she dusted her hands off on the sides of her dress. "It's nearly done though, thankfully. Until the next round that is." Truth was - Edie didn't know if she would even be around the next time the Lonie would see an overhaul such as this. Her future in the fleet was never a solid one these days, given her age.
Correcting himself, Captain de l’Isle’s bright blue eyes locked onto their mirror image in the Commander’s. He’d said it before: she was the youngest commander in the fleet. And there was a sparkle in them, presently, that suggested their meeting was not yet over.
"Well. I have figured out something I need to do with the programming matrix. I should get that in and done before I forget. My memory isn't as good as it once was, you know." Though she was technically off-duty, it wasn't uncommon for Edie to show up to her engineering area dressed casually - especially if a thought had come to her and she needed to act. "Care to join me Captain? You too Lester." She strode past the Captain and gently tugged on his shirt sleeve - clearly, not giving him much of a choice in the matter.
All Felix wanted to do was explore the ship, inspect every rig and panel. He figured that Edie had been alone amongst the normal for nigh on a year, though; the only one of his senior officers not to have received any shore leave. He could find some time for the old girl.
Before he could acquiesce, the comm pounced. Felix had learned to guage its tone. This didn’t seem like a good one.
“Bridge to the Captain. Sir, I’ve got an Admiral Kreik on a priority line. She wants you up here.”
de l’Isle shared a forlorn look with his chief engineer.
“I think you need to get to engineering,” he told her, on a hunch.
It was if a switch went off in Edith's mind - she knew all too well when something was amidst and this certainly had that feeling. "Right." She gave the Captain a light touch on his left shoulder, a final gesture to say 'welcome back' before she made her way to Engineering.
-=-=-
by Commander Edie Freelove, CEO
and Captain Felix de l’Isle, CO
SD241810.02 - For every action... [Felix/Tonx]
-= Temporary Quarters, Starbase 01 =-
“For fuck’s sake, Tonx.”
The first three words came out as a portmanteau: a series of words slung together with syllables missing. Normally they combined meaning to create a new word. In this case Felix de l’Isle was swearing at his security chief so rapidly that they merged.
“What did I tell you on Ballis Nine? What did I tell you?”
Tonx folded her arms across her chest and looked at a small stain on the carpet as Felix bit into her. On the one hand, she deserved the chewin’ out, but on the other? It’s not like she went looking for trouble. Trouble just had a way of finding her. Letting go a frustrated sigh, she sort of shook her head as she replied, “What didn’t you tell me, Felix? Don’t shit where you sleep. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. . .and what was the last one? Someone else’s spouse makes bad grouse. But. . .”
The Lone Star CO cut her off. Irritatingly, all of those were things he’d said.
“And you laughed.” Felix raged, nodding angrily, “and we had a long… exchange over the matter. It was a good laugh at the time and this isn’t about that night.”
His words piled onwards, anticipating any smart reply she might have. “This is about banging the spouse of a fucking flag officer – not just any fucking flag officer but the deputy chief JAG – and getting caught red-handed and then doing it twice more. Twice, Tonxs.”
‘Twice’ seemed to offend Felix in particular. The Commander had served with him for nearly five years by now. It was that word for which he seemed to want particular explanation as he slammed his open palm loudly on the bulkhead. The noise ricocheted around the empty brig and Felix growled, rolling over the permutations.
“If you want me to pull you out of the pile of crap that’s coming in your cards, this answer had better be the best that’s ever come out of your mouth, Tonx.”
Tonx gave Felix a flat look, “I thought you knew me better than to jump to conclusions, Felix.”
For a nanosecond they were both naked, only a few light years away from Utopia Planitia, and she had him pinned against a bulkhead. “I knew you well enough to jump you where Starfleet wouldn’t be able to see.”
The Commander couldn’t help the short laugh, “Ah. Right. Look, Maddie came on to me. I didn’t know she was married, much less to a fucking flag officer. Had I known, I probably would have run the other way.” Probably. Not definitely. Maddie was damn near a ten, after all.
The woman’s lips twitched and she couldn’t help but smirk, “OK, so the first time, I didn’t know she was married. She came to me the second time. And the third time. As far as she’s concerned, her marriage with the admiral is on its last legs. He’s not touched her in like. . .six months?” At this point, Tonx closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, “No way I was turning her away. I couldn’t make the most of my leave by going out and pulling someone, but then I didn’t have to. She pulled me. All. Three. Times.” She had no regrets. And she would have done it again.
“Come in, Felix. You know what it’s like. . .a piece of the forbidden fruit, and all that? It’s not like I actively chased her. She chased me. I. . .just let her catch me,” Tonx replied. “Three times.”
Felix groaned, at least partly in sympathy. He knew exactly what it was like. He also, as she’d pointed out, knew her. Other COs hadn’t been able to put up with her proclivities but she’d shone on the Lone Star. She kicked ass but, more crucially, she picked up on everything. As a result she’d saved the ship’s bacon more times than every previous holder of her position put together.
“Surely – you must have asked. Or noticed,” de l’Isle emphasised. “The first time was in the Admiral’s damned house. You aren’t telling me she slipped every pictureframe over while you were busy finding where in her pants she keeps the magic? That he isn’t the kind of self-important son-of-a-bitch who’s got a giant watercolour of himself in the hallway so he can rub one out on the way to work?”
This was, to him, the point. Felix crossed his arms.
Tilting her head, Tonx arched a brow, “Hello. My name is Tonx. I’m the chief security officer with a reputation for picking up on the obscure and using it to my advantage.” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, “You know me, Felix, and I know I’ve said that once, but it bares repeating. If there was any hint that she was married, I wouldn’t have gone there. I may get around, but I don’t fool around with married people unless the spouse is aware and gives the all clear.
“The quarters she took me to looked like temporary quarters. I didn’t see anything in the way of decorum to suggest otherwise,” she added.
Frustration wasn’t going to take him much further. “You still should’ve done your due diligence. You’re a big girl now. You ask. You find out, in case it compromises security. What if next time it’s a spy?” Felix figured he’d tell her about his Intel stalkers at another time. “Don’t answer that.”
To this, Tonx rolled her eyes, “If it’s a spy, then they gotta be damned good to get around my radar. Maddie. . .look, Felix, you gotta give me the first time. You would have walked out of the party with her as quick as I did. I take full on responsibility for the second and the third time.” She folded her arms across her chest and let go a sigh, “Can you honestly tell me you’ve not found yourself on the wrong side of such a trist?”
A rhetorical question. She knew full well that he had been in a serious relationship with his CO, Captain Desiree Taliano, when he’d been her XO on the Artemis. Felix cocked an unamused eyebrow. This wasn’t about him.
“My due diligence? Make sure she’s consenting with me. She was. Whatever is between her and her husband isn’t my business. She clearly didn’t want anything to do with him and everything to do with me. . .at least for those two nights.” She couldn’t help the smirk.
There was a beat of silence. He was going to have to break the news to her. A ship moved outside the quarters, blocking a light source into the room. As it re-established Felix was glaring at her with accusation and regret. “I’ve done all the damage limitation I could, Tonx. On your feet, now.”
The security officer couldn’t recall a time she’d seen Felix this hot under the collar, and she couldn’t understand it. He had a tendency to play just as fast and loose as she did. Pushing herself to her feet, she wondered what he meant by limiting damage, and realized the fallout was likely about to be more than a simple slap on the wrist. “What is it, Felix?”
Although sulking, Felix had a decently captain’s face these days. She’d be able to read the frustration, or something further, in his eyes, and that it wasn’t his style to be immovable or dispassionate. “Lieutenant Commander Greer McKenna.”
Oh shit.
Tonx knew that expression, and Felix was not Felix in that moment, but Captain. She met his gaze. She would not look past him, would not look away him. She was a big girl, and she’d accept the repercussions of her actions, even if she didn’t think those actions represented a serious offense.
“You are hereby demoted to the rank of Lieutenant. Your free time and relaxation privileges are rescinded for a duration of three months. You will attend a schedule of mandatory counselling appointments and character rehabilitation exercises on the holodeck.“ Felix, even, wondered what short hell those might contain. The next was, for him, the worst.
“Finally: as of now, you’re suspended from the Starfleet command track and are out of contention for the Lone Star’s 2XO.” The reason for his anger now loose, Felix stepped forward and pulled the third pip, perhaps a little roughly, from her collar. When he returned to his original spot his glare was intense with disappointment.
Each statement felt like a gut punch. Her blood drained from her face when he told her she’d lost a half pip, and she closed her eyes when she learned she’d not get any R&R for three months. Her eyes snapped open when she learned about the counseling and rehabilitation. What the hell did she need to rehabilitate from?!
What got the strongest reaction, though, was the last one. It wasn’t just a punch to the gut, but a sucker punch followed by a gut punch. “WHAT?!” She’d been working towards 2XO for ages, taking on added responsibilities, finishing the required course work and getting the last few things lined up before formally applying for the post. “Come on Felix. . . Captain. You can’t be serious?!”
There was probably a good word in another language that summarised ‘professional heartbreak’. Whatever it was it summarised Felix, too. He had no other card to play. Tonx had been his friend and his unabashed project for years: proof that the Lone Star could achieve things no other ship could. That bring weird wasn’t out of the ordinary. That rabid smarts could lead to more than impetuousness. That being a bit Kirk wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
“Fair or not fair, you’d be at Yakasi Mai if I hadn’t wormed you out, Lieutenant.” Felix had spent six months at Starfleet’s finest penitentiary. Sometimes, he wondered if it wouldn’t do Tonx a pinch of good. “When I say this was the best deal I could get out of them, I mean I saved your bacon. Pulled the favours, sweetened the talk. The best I could save was your career.” He mirrored her petulance. “I hope that was okay.”
Yakasi Mai for sleeping with an admiral’s wife? A bit extreme, ain’t it? Tonx nearly asked the question, but the thought slipped from her as Felix continued. He saved her career. It was ridiculous the admiral was looking to end her career, but the green-headed monster could cause people to do crazy things. Finally, she looked away as she let go a defeated sigh, “Yeah. Okay. The admiral can go fuck himself, childish bastard.” She was deflecting. Right now, she just wanted to get lost in a bottle, and find someone to help her forget the evening, but that wasn’t likely to happen, was it?
That was about as good as he was going to get, and Felix knew it. “C’mon.” He smacked her arm. “Three months of good behaviour and we’ll take it from there. As for the rest, I’ve made my point.” There wasn’t much point in telling Tonx that he’d drive the getaway shuttle. She should’ve known that already.
His hand rested on her arm for a second longer than it should have. Felix looked at the replicator, then back at Tonx.
“Whisky?” It was the first cure he could think of. For both of them. Even if it wasn’t the only one.
He was trying to get her to see the upside, and it was only for three months. There was a petulant child screaming within, throwing the biggest tantrum she could, but outwardly, the woman gave her captain and friend a flat look, “That the strongest you got?” Her lips quirked up into her characteristic smirk.
Felix snapped the commbadge off his uniform. Captains were decisive, he reminded himself. They wouldn’t have this chance again for a while. He flipped the badge onto a table and stepped into her personal space. She was taller than him by a couple of inches. They weren’t touching, yet. Her smirk was still a breath away from his lips.
“Nah. This is.”
The smirk broadened as she met his gaze with hers. Part of her noticed how his breathing changed the moment he stepped into her personal space. Her own breathing had deepened in anticipation and her voice went a bit husky, “Works for me. You’re top tonight.” Her brows wiggled.
Lt. Greer “Tonx” McKenna
&
Captain Felix de l’Isle
“For fuck’s sake, Tonx.”
The first three words came out as a portmanteau: a series of words slung together with syllables missing. Normally they combined meaning to create a new word. In this case Felix de l’Isle was swearing at his security chief so rapidly that they merged.
“What did I tell you on Ballis Nine? What did I tell you?”
Tonx folded her arms across her chest and looked at a small stain on the carpet as Felix bit into her. On the one hand, she deserved the chewin’ out, but on the other? It’s not like she went looking for trouble. Trouble just had a way of finding her. Letting go a frustrated sigh, she sort of shook her head as she replied, “What didn’t you tell me, Felix? Don’t shit where you sleep. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. . .and what was the last one? Someone else’s spouse makes bad grouse. But. . .”
The Lone Star CO cut her off. Irritatingly, all of those were things he’d said.
“And you laughed.” Felix raged, nodding angrily, “and we had a long… exchange over the matter. It was a good laugh at the time and this isn’t about that night.”
His words piled onwards, anticipating any smart reply she might have. “This is about banging the spouse of a fucking flag officer – not just any fucking flag officer but the deputy chief JAG – and getting caught red-handed and then doing it twice more. Twice, Tonxs.”
‘Twice’ seemed to offend Felix in particular. The Commander had served with him for nearly five years by now. It was that word for which he seemed to want particular explanation as he slammed his open palm loudly on the bulkhead. The noise ricocheted around the empty brig and Felix growled, rolling over the permutations.
“If you want me to pull you out of the pile of crap that’s coming in your cards, this answer had better be the best that’s ever come out of your mouth, Tonx.”
Tonx gave Felix a flat look, “I thought you knew me better than to jump to conclusions, Felix.”
For a nanosecond they were both naked, only a few light years away from Utopia Planitia, and she had him pinned against a bulkhead. “I knew you well enough to jump you where Starfleet wouldn’t be able to see.”
The Commander couldn’t help the short laugh, “Ah. Right. Look, Maddie came on to me. I didn’t know she was married, much less to a fucking flag officer. Had I known, I probably would have run the other way.” Probably. Not definitely. Maddie was damn near a ten, after all.
The woman’s lips twitched and she couldn’t help but smirk, “OK, so the first time, I didn’t know she was married. She came to me the second time. And the third time. As far as she’s concerned, her marriage with the admiral is on its last legs. He’s not touched her in like. . .six months?” At this point, Tonx closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, “No way I was turning her away. I couldn’t make the most of my leave by going out and pulling someone, but then I didn’t have to. She pulled me. All. Three. Times.” She had no regrets. And she would have done it again.
“Come in, Felix. You know what it’s like. . .a piece of the forbidden fruit, and all that? It’s not like I actively chased her. She chased me. I. . .just let her catch me,” Tonx replied. “Three times.”
Felix groaned, at least partly in sympathy. He knew exactly what it was like. He also, as she’d pointed out, knew her. Other COs hadn’t been able to put up with her proclivities but she’d shone on the Lone Star. She kicked ass but, more crucially, she picked up on everything. As a result she’d saved the ship’s bacon more times than every previous holder of her position put together.
“Surely – you must have asked. Or noticed,” de l’Isle emphasised. “The first time was in the Admiral’s damned house. You aren’t telling me she slipped every pictureframe over while you were busy finding where in her pants she keeps the magic? That he isn’t the kind of self-important son-of-a-bitch who’s got a giant watercolour of himself in the hallway so he can rub one out on the way to work?”
This was, to him, the point. Felix crossed his arms.
Tilting her head, Tonx arched a brow, “Hello. My name is Tonx. I’m the chief security officer with a reputation for picking up on the obscure and using it to my advantage.” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, “You know me, Felix, and I know I’ve said that once, but it bares repeating. If there was any hint that she was married, I wouldn’t have gone there. I may get around, but I don’t fool around with married people unless the spouse is aware and gives the all clear.
“The quarters she took me to looked like temporary quarters. I didn’t see anything in the way of decorum to suggest otherwise,” she added.
Frustration wasn’t going to take him much further. “You still should’ve done your due diligence. You’re a big girl now. You ask. You find out, in case it compromises security. What if next time it’s a spy?” Felix figured he’d tell her about his Intel stalkers at another time. “Don’t answer that.”
To this, Tonx rolled her eyes, “If it’s a spy, then they gotta be damned good to get around my radar. Maddie. . .look, Felix, you gotta give me the first time. You would have walked out of the party with her as quick as I did. I take full on responsibility for the second and the third time.” She folded her arms across her chest and let go a sigh, “Can you honestly tell me you’ve not found yourself on the wrong side of such a trist?”
A rhetorical question. She knew full well that he had been in a serious relationship with his CO, Captain Desiree Taliano, when he’d been her XO on the Artemis. Felix cocked an unamused eyebrow. This wasn’t about him.
“My due diligence? Make sure she’s consenting with me. She was. Whatever is between her and her husband isn’t my business. She clearly didn’t want anything to do with him and everything to do with me. . .at least for those two nights.” She couldn’t help the smirk.
There was a beat of silence. He was going to have to break the news to her. A ship moved outside the quarters, blocking a light source into the room. As it re-established Felix was glaring at her with accusation and regret. “I’ve done all the damage limitation I could, Tonx. On your feet, now.”
The security officer couldn’t recall a time she’d seen Felix this hot under the collar, and she couldn’t understand it. He had a tendency to play just as fast and loose as she did. Pushing herself to her feet, she wondered what he meant by limiting damage, and realized the fallout was likely about to be more than a simple slap on the wrist. “What is it, Felix?”
Although sulking, Felix had a decently captain’s face these days. She’d be able to read the frustration, or something further, in his eyes, and that it wasn’t his style to be immovable or dispassionate. “Lieutenant Commander Greer McKenna.”
Oh shit.
Tonx knew that expression, and Felix was not Felix in that moment, but Captain. She met his gaze. She would not look past him, would not look away him. She was a big girl, and she’d accept the repercussions of her actions, even if she didn’t think those actions represented a serious offense.
“You are hereby demoted to the rank of Lieutenant. Your free time and relaxation privileges are rescinded for a duration of three months. You will attend a schedule of mandatory counselling appointments and character rehabilitation exercises on the holodeck.“ Felix, even, wondered what short hell those might contain. The next was, for him, the worst.
“Finally: as of now, you’re suspended from the Starfleet command track and are out of contention for the Lone Star’s 2XO.” The reason for his anger now loose, Felix stepped forward and pulled the third pip, perhaps a little roughly, from her collar. When he returned to his original spot his glare was intense with disappointment.
Each statement felt like a gut punch. Her blood drained from her face when he told her she’d lost a half pip, and she closed her eyes when she learned she’d not get any R&R for three months. Her eyes snapped open when she learned about the counseling and rehabilitation. What the hell did she need to rehabilitate from?!
What got the strongest reaction, though, was the last one. It wasn’t just a punch to the gut, but a sucker punch followed by a gut punch. “WHAT?!” She’d been working towards 2XO for ages, taking on added responsibilities, finishing the required course work and getting the last few things lined up before formally applying for the post. “Come on Felix. . . Captain. You can’t be serious?!”
There was probably a good word in another language that summarised ‘professional heartbreak’. Whatever it was it summarised Felix, too. He had no other card to play. Tonx had been his friend and his unabashed project for years: proof that the Lone Star could achieve things no other ship could. That bring weird wasn’t out of the ordinary. That rabid smarts could lead to more than impetuousness. That being a bit Kirk wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
“Fair or not fair, you’d be at Yakasi Mai if I hadn’t wormed you out, Lieutenant.” Felix had spent six months at Starfleet’s finest penitentiary. Sometimes, he wondered if it wouldn’t do Tonx a pinch of good. “When I say this was the best deal I could get out of them, I mean I saved your bacon. Pulled the favours, sweetened the talk. The best I could save was your career.” He mirrored her petulance. “I hope that was okay.”
Yakasi Mai for sleeping with an admiral’s wife? A bit extreme, ain’t it? Tonx nearly asked the question, but the thought slipped from her as Felix continued. He saved her career. It was ridiculous the admiral was looking to end her career, but the green-headed monster could cause people to do crazy things. Finally, she looked away as she let go a defeated sigh, “Yeah. Okay. The admiral can go fuck himself, childish bastard.” She was deflecting. Right now, she just wanted to get lost in a bottle, and find someone to help her forget the evening, but that wasn’t likely to happen, was it?
That was about as good as he was going to get, and Felix knew it. “C’mon.” He smacked her arm. “Three months of good behaviour and we’ll take it from there. As for the rest, I’ve made my point.” There wasn’t much point in telling Tonx that he’d drive the getaway shuttle. She should’ve known that already.
His hand rested on her arm for a second longer than it should have. Felix looked at the replicator, then back at Tonx.
“Whisky?” It was the first cure he could think of. For both of them. Even if it wasn’t the only one.
He was trying to get her to see the upside, and it was only for three months. There was a petulant child screaming within, throwing the biggest tantrum she could, but outwardly, the woman gave her captain and friend a flat look, “That the strongest you got?” Her lips quirked up into her characteristic smirk.
Felix snapped the commbadge off his uniform. Captains were decisive, he reminded himself. They wouldn’t have this chance again for a while. He flipped the badge onto a table and stepped into her personal space. She was taller than him by a couple of inches. They weren’t touching, yet. Her smirk was still a breath away from his lips.
“Nah. This is.”
The smirk broadened as she met his gaze with hers. Part of her noticed how his breathing changed the moment he stepped into her personal space. Her own breathing had deepened in anticipation and her voice went a bit husky, “Works for me. You’re top tonight.” Her brows wiggled.
Lt. Greer “Tonx” McKenna
&
Captain Felix de l’Isle
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