The Lone Star was by now fitted out with key personnel, most of whom
were working fluidly as an ensemble or had been persuaded to do so
through frights and threatenings. There was one niggling, colossal,
overly smooth exception to this fluidity: Casparo Zolog.
Weeks after the man had boarded the Lone Star for the first time, all
grinning inanity and hairspray, Felix was still not accustomed to his
vapid do-gooder of an executive officer. He wasn't the type that Felix
wanted to call Number One and he couldn't see how he'd live up to Paxan,
Zim or the other illustrious officers he'd given than title. Sure, his
scores were well above average in every field and yes, he completed his
tasks with efficiency and aplomb. But there was something missing.
Personality, imagination, inventiveness, defiance, wit: actually, there
were a few things missing. de l'Isle tried to concentrate on Edie's
latest level-three diagnostic report of the slipstream drive -- my recommendation is that we let Lonie out of the system and get on with it -- but found his focus drifting to a conversation at the back of the bridge.
"That will be just great, Ensign. You're doing a great job," Casparo
intoned, to someone that might have been Ensign Burgundy. "You can turn
in the report tomorrow morning at 0700."
Felix's eyebrow curled. The configuration report for the lateral sensor
arrays had been due -- two hours ago, the Captain noted. And he'd said
the word 'great' twice, within two sentences. Zolog was unlikely to
outwit a door, let alone a Ferengi marauder or a Romulan scout.
Before he could develop the thought of his XO being outfoxed or indeed
eaten by a fox, an eyes-only transmission arrived at his chair. It was
the one he'd been expecting: it was brief, high priority and contained
no small amount of colourful language, and it came from the fleet's head
diplomat:
Captain, report to me the instant I return from clearing up your kneff-tih {fuck-up}.
"Commander Zolog?" The offending, slightly green face appeared in front of the Captain's chair with unwarranted immediacy.
"Yes, Captain. Did I do something wrong, Captain?" Casparo's perfectly tended eyebrows made a V of concern.
~Yes. You joined Starfleet,~ Felix refrained from saying. Instead he
stood and batted Zolog's upper arm with his open hand. The first officer
was confused by the gesture but, having not worked out any of his
boss's extensive range of facial expressions just yet, assumed it wasn't
a bad thing until otherwise indicated.
"I'm going to take a walk in the Arboretum and I'd like you to join me. Mr Touvey? You have the bridge."
Casparo bumbled along behind the Captain, looming over him silently like
a not unpleasant spectre. They remained in silence in the turbolift,
Zolog waiting attentively for orders while de l'Isle drummed the fingers
of one hand along the vertical of his thigh muscle. There was truly
very little room for manoeuver in this particular kneff-tih. The
lift shunted imperceptibly to their right before offering them an
entryway to the ship's most luscious feature: its arboretum.
Somewhere between a carefully maintained zoological garden and an
outdoor resort, the Lone Star's environmental feature regularly
astonished Felix in a small way each time. In the night he'd walk down
from his quarters, usually with Lester, and discover some flora with an
unusual seasonal effect, or a tonal resonance amongst some of the
space's louder trees. Before or after his shift he'd take meditative
strolls along the subtle, winding pathways that led to differing
sections of the bioscape. Today, two of the Pelibasjan Sonar Monkeys had
begun the physical part of their four-day reproductive display. The
audible element of their procreation sounded like the first day of the
month at a Risian love hotel.
"They -- are they?" Casparo squinted, hypnotised by the rainbow-coloured
aura their sexual sweat created as it hit the air. "Wow, he's really
taking a hiding --"
"Speaking of which, Commander, we're slightly fucked ourselves," Felix
interjected. "I'm not sure if you have heard about our diplomatic
mission to Taybid Six, except that it happened." Casparo shook his head
emphatically. For his faults, Casparo retained information well and was
incapable of bluffing. The former pilot studied his newish charge for a
moment, then continued.
"There was an unfortunate sequence of events along the way that led to
our not delivering Admiral Quarish in the usual manner. To be more
precise, the Admiral was delivered to the red carpet opening of the
conference packaged in food hygeine film.""Film? That sounds disgusting.
Why did he want to wear that?"
Felix shook his head. "He didn't exactly pick it from potential outfits.
It was an accident. One that we're still investigating. But one that
the head of the Omega diplomatic mission is vocally unhappy about. The
monkey isn't the only one who's ballsed up and we're about to come in
for a pasting."
"They were indeed facing skywards, Captain," Casparo replied, with a
tone that betrayed genuine concern about the primate's testicular
orientation. Some long-abandoned rapidity of wit forced him to continue
before the other man had the chance to reply which was, unbeknownst to
him, to his benefit. "What do you think happens next, Captain? How can I
help?"
The human chose to answer the first of those questions only. "Admiral
McArnh wants to run me as a creditor or I'd already be polishing Sadie
Stanton's boots."
"I had no idea she was so barbaric," Casparo whispered quickly, and in horror.
"Notoriously so. Practically mirror universe, eats four lieutenants a
year, that kind of thing. Anyway." Felix pulled them up next to the
pond. A double scull from the rowing team was manoeuvering rapidly
around a sedge of heron. Various of the sentient algie glanced up to
witness the spectacle. "We're in some kind of shit. I'm going to need
you to get word around to the crew. Tell them to look like they're
prepping for launch as best they can. Best we can do is wind up the
drawbridges from Kincardine Station --" The Captain reconsidered.
--"withdraw all current requisitions and appointments on the station to
make it look like we're primed for departure. Or, I'd say, the
likelihood is that we'll be grounded. And frankly I'm not sure I can be
kept cooped up in this sector for much longer."
Casparo recorded all of this, point by point of the two points, to
memory, accompanied by a nod for each part of the order. "And tell them
to keep quiet," Felix added. "The less that McArnh hears through word of
mouth, the better off we'll be."
"I won't let you down, sir."
"Good," Felix grumbled, not without gravity. He led on through the
arboretum. "I should get to the bottom of this before I see him, but
there's no guarantee he won't pull in the senior staff, too."
"I had heard Chief Monkfish talking about a gate this morning.
Admiralgate, I think she said? And I was wondering what gate which
admiral had been stuck in, or unable to pass. A cosmic gateway, or a
literal gate, or -- have I missed something, maybe, Captain?"
It was not in his heart to crush this particular Zolog's eager face,
Felix thought, as they swept around the outskirts of the sprawling,
irregular green lawn. Not verbally, and not this time.
"When something's got the word 'gate' at the end, Commander, it's a
reference to a political event from Earth's mid-twentieth century. A
president of one of the nations, Nixon, was removed from his post for
improper conduct. From then it became shorthand for indicating a
controversial and usually negative situation. It's appropriate in this
case because a large number of us -- meaning the entire crew -- is
implicated."
Felix found his shorthand of jokes and quips sucked disproportionately more than they should when they had to be explained.
"Got it, Captain," Zolog announced, when he had. "So by recalling the
crew to stations and having them departure ready, we can contain the
situation from becoming any worse, which includes by people gossipping
about it."
The addressee found himself pausing a couple of metres away from the
arboretum's aft exit. "That's exactly it, Commander. In a shitstorm you
batten down the hatches and make it work for you as best you can.
Minimise risk to any positives you can capitalise on and to eliminate
the chance you'll make it worse. The rest -- well, that's up to the
powers that be."
The gateway had materialised in front of them, releasing itself from the
holographic projection that obscured it when not needed.
"You have the bridge for the rest of this shift. I'll be in my ready room trying to get a timeline together."
Casparo Zolog was mercifully quiet for the remainder of the ride and for once, Felix didn't want to hit him.
"Shouldn't it be the powers that are? In Standard?"
Oh, but now... now he did.
-=-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l'Isle, CO
and Commander Casparo Zolog, XO [NPC apb Felix]