-= Starfleet Command, San Francisco =-
Of course, not all of the sons of Zolog practised psychotherapy.
Casparo Zolog stood taller than his peers at the presentation of the
Crimson Sphere. He gleamed with accomplishment and efficiency and
grooming and all the things Starfleet officers were supposed to be. He
was command track efficiency in a uniform: he was the front of the
brochure, the one that made it advertising rather than just a
photograph.
The problem with Casparo Zolog? He was the thickest bastard you’ll ever meet, in muscle and wit alike.
This made Commander Zolog, second oldest of the seven sons of the
renowned psychiatrist, problematic for Starfleet. On one hand Casparo
was diligent, noble and persevering. On the other hand every one of his
peers was unanimous: we can take it no longer.
“They’re going to give me my own starship soon, dad!” he had effused
just that morning to his father, who had encouraged him with stony
silence. But Casparo knew that was just a part of his humour.
“I can’t wait to be a captain. If I serve another year or two under
Captain Hurn I’m sure she’ll put me forward. I’ve volunteered for the
new expeditionary service, too. I’m sure after we’re awarded the Crimson
Sphere they’ll consider me.”
It wasn’t that Casparo couldn’t do the sums, the methodology or the
execution. The man, who presented more or less as human, was quick in a
firefight and could fly a shuttle as decently as he had to. He was a
good egg, as it were.
Only he had this unfortunate way of making everyone really bored.
Lovely, but you know.
You know.
“Yes,” said Zolog Bandawi.
“Thanks, dad. Your confidence means a lot to me,” Casparo beamed.
“Medical frigate,” said his father, in an apparently unconnected way, which Casparo chose to ignore.
-= Meanwhile =-
Stubbs and Blair had been on the comms deck for the better part of four
hours. Despite the crewman-friendly support balustrades, all
polyduranide and health and safety, their head-bashing total was a fair
six against nine – unsurprisingly, in his favour.
“D’accch!” Stubbs shrieked. Una Blair, who had sidelined herself from
the physicality of this competition some time before, chuckled glibly as
her commbadge sounded, taking precedence over Lionel’s wittering.
“Crewman Blair.”
“–like a Klingon in labour,” Stubbs continued. Una swatted at him.
“Crewman?” asked their coordinator, clearly pressed for time.
“What’s your progress on the secondary communications sub-processing
relay?”
“We’re nearly there, Lieutenant Witterman!” Blair huffed, as though
toil-heavy labour were being conducted at her end. “In fact, Crewman
Stubbs is just clamping the housing back down now.”
This was a lie. Crewman Stubbs was feeling across his scalp for signs of
blood, bruising or other distress. “Good. Next up, I want you to refit
the exhaust manifold plating on –”
“Seriously, it might be bleeding,” Lionel whimpered.
“–deck at the secondary landing bay when you’re done. Witterman out.”
“Idiot,” Una hissed. “You talked over the assignment details. Was it the shuttle on C-deck or D-deck?”
“It was C-deck,” Lionel replied, with more confidence than was justified.
“Not D-deck?” Una, although naturally untrusting, was secretly relieved.
“Definitely C-deck.”
Crewman Stubbs and Crewman Blair proceeded to what they thought was the
appropriate deck. On C-deck, in approximately twenty minutes’ time, a
state-of-the-art high-warp convoy shuttle containing an assortment of
command-level officers was due to leave for Kincardine Station,
providing the nascent Omega Fleet with much needed personnel resource.
On D-deck, a lowly, forty-year-old type-two shuttlecraft, intended for a
new lease of life as a tug, rested under baleful, awaiting-repairs
lighting.
Una and Lionel diligently began to strip the wrong shuttle of its exhaust manifold.
“It barely even looks used,” Lionel Stubbs mentioned in passing, shaving through a collection of self-sealing stem bolts.
“Much like your sexual organs,” Una retorted, cheerily ripping out the
protective gauze from the invective absorption innerplate. This single,
irreversible step would mean that any further intervention toward
flightworthyness would require a full refit of the exhaust unit: in
other words, a twenty-hour operation.
As the cross-hatched material tore from its housing, the doors to the
C-deck shuttlebay floor opened to reveal no fewer than seven red- or
gold-topped officers, two and a half pips or more, all clearly excited
to be conveyed to their next assignment.
Una Blair had the kind of hair that looked greasy, stuck in something,
at all times. Lionel Stubbs’s was a Levantine afro with no water-holding
properties whatsoever.
“D-deck,” Una cursed at Lionel. “It was D-deck.”
And so it was that Commander Rhia Weir’s assignment to the Lone Star was
once again deferred by a mission, perhaps two; that Captain Hurn would
be spared the precise, unusual stupidity of the slow, fast-tracked
Casparo Zolog; and that Felix de l’Isle of the USS Lone Star would be
the next, unknowing recipient of the aforementioned.
“D-deck,” Lionel repeated. This was not a moment wherein he wondered why he was still a crewman.
-=-=-
by Commander Casparo Zolog, inbound (temporary) XO, USS Lone Star
with Crewmen Una Blair and Lionel Stubbs, probably temporary to their current location
SD201902.04 - Tail End of the Party [Burgundy/Harun/Regina]
The dinner had turned into a party. At least it appeared so to Burgundy,
though he wasn't sure when it had happened. He was, however, sure about
the fact that he was standing up, as were the others. Well, he was
reasonably sure that he was standing up, anyway. The world kept moving
no matter how still he tried to be.
There was also music. Who turned the music on? he thought idly. Another sound was there in the background, and he imagined it had been there for some time. A monotonous droning that made him want to bash his own head in.
He turned around to face his department head. "Would you please for a minute just shut the fuck up?" he asked, as sweetly as he could muster. "You've been yabbing on forever with that robot voice of yours!" He looked around for a drink, only to realise that he was holding one and he had just spillt some of it on his shirt. Damnit. He'd forgotten something, too: "Sir," he added to Perdita, before taking a couple of quick and unsteady steps away from them - and directly into someone else. Someone rock solid, as it were.
Somewhere between the champagne and the generous amount of brandy that had been poured into his coffee at dessert Harun found himself in a state of inebriation he hadn't enjoyed since his father had first introduced him to kanar. He rose, albeit slowly, from his chair and paused as he felt the room roll beneath his feet as if he were aboard a sea borne vessel rather than a star ship.
He closed his eyes, letting his natural awareness of his surroundings compensate for the fact that his eyes and the fluids in his ear canals were deceiving him. Once he felt steady he opened his eyes again and began to pick his way around people and furniture. He was just about to clear the table when he heard a noise just behind him. Turning he was just in time to catch the mouthy science officer barreling into his chest. Automatically, his arms closed around the man while he did everything in his power to remain upright.
They ended up standing there, in a quiet embrace, for several seconds while both tried their best to not tip over. It took a little time for Burgundy to understand who was hugging him. He wanted to push the man away, but that was likely to make them both fall down. "I... am not a hugger..." he mumbled. The awkwardness was palpable; he was stiff as a corpse, and had even forgotten about the drink he had held in his hand (an empty glass now, its contents spread across the floor).
"And yet," Harun said in a warm, suggestive tone that had more to do with his intoxicated state than his actual feelings, "you decided to bury your face into my chest." The Cardassian dropped his arms now and took a moderate step back before tilting his head down to look at Burgundy with sardonic smile, "I am beginning to get mixed signals Ensign."
Harun of course had no intention of making good his flirtations with the bulbous Burgundy but the man was so delightfully easy to bait. That the 'Cardy' from earlier that evening made Burgundy fair game for whatever he had coming to him in Harun's eyes.
The ensign wriggled himself loose in a bout of mild panic. He pointed a finger at the Cardassian, then at himself, then back at the Cardassian again. This to-and-fro continued arythmically while his mouth was trying to make sounds. His brain hadn't yet figured out what kind of sounds to make, leaving the mouth to move randomly in silence. "You!" he exclaimed finally, his finger pointing at himself. "I!" came next, his finger now waving about in the air. "I and signals! We don't mix!" the words came out sluddered in exasperated bursts,
He turned to face the crowd, even though nobody was paying attention and he could hardly be heard at all through the music. "You are all crazy!"
The statement felt definite. It was longer and more eloquent in his sober imagination, but had roughly the same content. Deflated, he turned back to Harun. Again his mouth moved long before he had words to say. "Why are you here?!" he blurted out. "You," his movements could indicate that Harun was in fact just a part of the wider 'you' of the room, or indeed the ship. "Are inflicted on me!" Proud of his choice of words and eager to end while, in his own mind, on top he grabbed Regina and pushed her surprisingly gently towards Harun, as if to shield himself. She had been hovering nearby, no doubt to see if the Cardassian needed another refill. She objected to his manhandling, although maybe not to its direction.
The Cardassian caught the woman, seeming to immediately sober at the prospect of a face full of hair. Much like with Burgundy, Harun closed his arms around her in an attempt not to topple over though it did nothing for the liquor that now sloshed upon his tunic. Taking a quick assessment to ensure Regina was alright his eyes once again fixed on Burgundy and narrowed.
In Cardassian culture older members of the species were revered, seen as sources of strength, wisdom and power. So for Burgundy to toss the much older Regina at him as if she were some cheap Orion slave girl struck Harun as deeply offensive. The look he gave the science officer was, to put it bluntly, murderous. “Apologize,” he said in a dark and frigid tone that held the unmistakable hint of command. “Now.”
Regina looked at the ensign expectantly, with a smug smile on her face. Burgundy looked back at the two (four, to his eyes) of them. He snorted defiantly. "Sorry," he muttered insincerely. His attention turned then to finding the exit. He'd had quite enough of the current company. As soon as he'd located the door, he walked unsteadily towards it. He didn't mean to make it look like he was escaping, but he walked quickly. It wasn't just that he wanted to get away from Harun, Regina and the rest of them; his stomach was telling him other things wanted out too.
Years of living with two younger sisters had taught Harun to know an insincere apology when he heard it and his expression darkened further. He was about to pursue the abhorrent Ensign for the purpose of dragging him back by the neck and making him apologize properly when a hand touched his shoulder and he turned his head to see Regina looking at him solemnly and shaking her head.
“Its not worth it dear,” she said and then returned her attention back to watching Burgundy’s hasty exit. Harun knew that she was right of course, strangling Burgundy in front of the senior staff would do Harun no favors, but he decided that punishment would come eventually.
There was also music. Who turned the music on? he thought idly. Another sound was there in the background, and he imagined it had been there for some time. A monotonous droning that made him want to bash his own head in.
He turned around to face his department head. "Would you please for a minute just shut the fuck up?" he asked, as sweetly as he could muster. "You've been yabbing on forever with that robot voice of yours!" He looked around for a drink, only to realise that he was holding one and he had just spillt some of it on his shirt. Damnit. He'd forgotten something, too: "Sir," he added to Perdita, before taking a couple of quick and unsteady steps away from them - and directly into someone else. Someone rock solid, as it were.
Somewhere between the champagne and the generous amount of brandy that had been poured into his coffee at dessert Harun found himself in a state of inebriation he hadn't enjoyed since his father had first introduced him to kanar. He rose, albeit slowly, from his chair and paused as he felt the room roll beneath his feet as if he were aboard a sea borne vessel rather than a star ship.
He closed his eyes, letting his natural awareness of his surroundings compensate for the fact that his eyes and the fluids in his ear canals were deceiving him. Once he felt steady he opened his eyes again and began to pick his way around people and furniture. He was just about to clear the table when he heard a noise just behind him. Turning he was just in time to catch the mouthy science officer barreling into his chest. Automatically, his arms closed around the man while he did everything in his power to remain upright.
They ended up standing there, in a quiet embrace, for several seconds while both tried their best to not tip over. It took a little time for Burgundy to understand who was hugging him. He wanted to push the man away, but that was likely to make them both fall down. "I... am not a hugger..." he mumbled. The awkwardness was palpable; he was stiff as a corpse, and had even forgotten about the drink he had held in his hand (an empty glass now, its contents spread across the floor).
"And yet," Harun said in a warm, suggestive tone that had more to do with his intoxicated state than his actual feelings, "you decided to bury your face into my chest." The Cardassian dropped his arms now and took a moderate step back before tilting his head down to look at Burgundy with sardonic smile, "I am beginning to get mixed signals Ensign."
Harun of course had no intention of making good his flirtations with the bulbous Burgundy but the man was so delightfully easy to bait. That the 'Cardy' from earlier that evening made Burgundy fair game for whatever he had coming to him in Harun's eyes.
The ensign wriggled himself loose in a bout of mild panic. He pointed a finger at the Cardassian, then at himself, then back at the Cardassian again. This to-and-fro continued arythmically while his mouth was trying to make sounds. His brain hadn't yet figured out what kind of sounds to make, leaving the mouth to move randomly in silence. "You!" he exclaimed finally, his finger pointing at himself. "I!" came next, his finger now waving about in the air. "I and signals! We don't mix!" the words came out sluddered in exasperated bursts,
He turned to face the crowd, even though nobody was paying attention and he could hardly be heard at all through the music. "You are all crazy!"
The statement felt definite. It was longer and more eloquent in his sober imagination, but had roughly the same content. Deflated, he turned back to Harun. Again his mouth moved long before he had words to say. "Why are you here?!" he blurted out. "You," his movements could indicate that Harun was in fact just a part of the wider 'you' of the room, or indeed the ship. "Are inflicted on me!" Proud of his choice of words and eager to end while, in his own mind, on top he grabbed Regina and pushed her surprisingly gently towards Harun, as if to shield himself. She had been hovering nearby, no doubt to see if the Cardassian needed another refill. She objected to his manhandling, although maybe not to its direction.
The Cardassian caught the woman, seeming to immediately sober at the prospect of a face full of hair. Much like with Burgundy, Harun closed his arms around her in an attempt not to topple over though it did nothing for the liquor that now sloshed upon his tunic. Taking a quick assessment to ensure Regina was alright his eyes once again fixed on Burgundy and narrowed.
In Cardassian culture older members of the species were revered, seen as sources of strength, wisdom and power. So for Burgundy to toss the much older Regina at him as if she were some cheap Orion slave girl struck Harun as deeply offensive. The look he gave the science officer was, to put it bluntly, murderous. “Apologize,” he said in a dark and frigid tone that held the unmistakable hint of command. “Now.”
Regina looked at the ensign expectantly, with a smug smile on her face. Burgundy looked back at the two (four, to his eyes) of them. He snorted defiantly. "Sorry," he muttered insincerely. His attention turned then to finding the exit. He'd had quite enough of the current company. As soon as he'd located the door, he walked unsteadily towards it. He didn't mean to make it look like he was escaping, but he walked quickly. It wasn't just that he wanted to get away from Harun, Regina and the rest of them; his stomach was telling him other things wanted out too.
Years of living with two younger sisters had taught Harun to know an insincere apology when he heard it and his expression darkened further. He was about to pursue the abhorrent Ensign for the purpose of dragging him back by the neck and making him apologize properly when a hand touched his shoulder and he turned his head to see Regina looking at him solemnly and shaking her head.
“Its not worth it dear,” she said and then returned her attention back to watching Burgundy’s hasty exit. Harun knew that she was right of course, strangling Burgundy in front of the senior staff would do Harun no favors, but he decided that punishment would come eventually.
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