-= Four months ago, after the Captain's Table =--
Only three of them looked set to make it to the hot tub. Felix had
intended to surprise his senior staff: it was an innovation he had put
forward with the latest refit under the catch-all title of
'complimentary recommendations'. It was his chief engineer – last seen
near Regina, Harun and the gin cabinet – who had made sure each one of
them was incorporated.
Regina Monkfish, who refused to immerse her feet in any water whose
filtration system she had not personally overseen, continued to amuse
the present company with recollection of her latest passion: atonal
Yridian sea shanties. Mercifully they were more fable than warble.
Her audience had dwindled to one: Crewman Flarcess. A Yridian.
Tonx looked to Regina and then to Felix with a smirk as she lowered
herself into the hot tub until the water came up to her neck. It seemed
compulsory to let go a content sigh as she sunk into the hot water, and
leaned her head back as she closed her eyes. "This… this was a fine
idea, mon capitan." There was no way the cheeky Chief Sec was going to
miss out on something so decadent, nor was she entirely surprised that
Felix had something like this in his quarters.
Felix reappeared with two Corsaic spritzers. "Good team building, I
thought. We'll all see one another naked out in the field. A certain
someone already does."
As he passed Tonx her drink and chintzed the remaining glass together
with hers, he shot a look at the nearest console. It blinked off almost
shamefully.
"Enjoy your evening. Captain. Chief. Lieutenant." Perdita Animo's voice prickled. "And others."
"They're gone," said Felix, a moment later, with some confidence. He
started to peel off his upper clothing slowly, releasing a similar noise
to Tonx's as his jacket slipped. "Thank Edie for the hot tub. She
insisted the apartment was too good not to have one, and she designed
the schematics for the extension herself. I corrected some design
elements, but... I've got the most luxurious captain's quarters in the
whole o' the fleet." Rarely, when both inebriated and at ease, his
accent slipped. Became a bit further away from town than expected; was a
bit less varnished. "Far be it from me to question why."
Taking a sip of the drink Felix had given her, Tonx's gaze lingered on
Felix's torso, her eyes drawn towards some of his scars. The man had a
past, but didn't they all? "Does no good to question. Just be grateful,
Cap," she replied with her characteristic and charismatic smirk.
"Though. . .when you say the whole of the fleet, do you mean our new
fleet, or the greater fleet?"
With drunken objectivity Felix sunk himself into the broth, replying in a similar vein.
"The greater fleet. We're not attached to Omega. Not officially –
although I'd rather be," Felix added hastily. "I don't really know why
that is, apart from the drive, and where they're sending us. Perhaps
there's hope on the other side of the Beta Quadrant," he suggested.
Tonx laughed softly, "I shouldn't have asked the question because it's
led us down the path of talking shop." She took a slow draw of her
beverage, and closed her eyes as she savored the moment, "People don't
know what they are missing by not being here." Resting her head back
against the side of the tub, she then let her head flop towards Felix to
look at him, "I might have to beg you to let me have a soak in here
after each mission."
"You'd be welcome, Tonx. When you're not confined to quarters, that is."
Felix spoke in a friendly way and dodged good-naturedly the resulting
flick of water that headed towards his face. He settled, his glass only
splashed on the outside by the dappled foam of the bath. As he did, his
face seemed to reflect that he was somewhere else: relaxing his body
while his mind chewed over something new. Oblivious, even, to his pal,
protegé and, twice, lover and her advances.
Felix's teasing caused her to laugh again, and she shook her head,
"Smart arse." She knew he'd take it as the jest that it was, and she was
about to say something else when she saw him get a far-away look about
him. She'd seen him with that look before, and tilted her head ever so
slightly, "Where's that mind of yours gone, boss?"
Where had it gone?
"Slipstreamed to far away, it would seem.” His gaze came back to her. It
was tricky not to; many people he knew had found themselves just drawn
to Tonx. As his chief of security he’d seen her use it to her advantage,
and as a barfly, more. “Do you think I’m becoming too serious in my old
age? Ten years ago, we’d be on round three already and I’d not have
cared who found out. Now, my head’s telling me that those boundaries
exist for a reason. That you could’ve lost your commission lately, and
that people even talking about this would screw up your career.”
-= Four months later =-
“Stop it,” someone said, and Felix wasn’t entirely sure if it was him or Tonx.
He was certain that, a number of months previously, he’d said it would
screw up their career. And although he'd never tell her, the fact that
they were now on the other side of the galaxy and well away from
Starfleet jurisdiction had assuaged some of his worries, albeit not all
of them. He and the Lone Star had been sufficiently chastised of late;
he had no interest in losing his command.
But every good CO deserves a fuck every now and then, right? he mused to himself.
“Starfleet must never find out,” he said by accident, rolling onto his
back and kicking something – whatever it was – off his desk. "My turn."
Tonx gave a sing-song laugh, "They won't hear about this from me." She
placed her hands on his chest, giving him a knowing look coupled with
that charismatic smirk of hers, "Besides, what else are we supposed to
do when we're away from port for so long? Nothing wrong with scratching
an itch, right? Just so long as we don't let it interfere with our
duties."
"Correct." Felix winked. "Speaking of duties..." Neither of them heard
the door chime when Zolog rang it. Lonie provided him with the customary
'the Captain is unavailable' chant and sent him on his way.
-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l'Isle and Lieutenant Greer 'Tonx' McKenna
CO and CSec, USS Lone Star
SD241909.03 - "What Goes Up." [Felix/Casparo]
The words emerged only stubbornly from the captain’s mouth, loathe as he
was to speak them. Each one seemed to crush Zolog slightly further,
compacting his vertebrae individually until he was only as tall as
Felix. For the first time, the CO felt pity for the man.
“Do you have any official response, Commander?” It was the last time in a while he would be addressed by that rank. Felix did his best not to emphasise it.
Casparo was crestfallen. It felt as though a singularity had nested in his chest, pulling into it every screed of positivity. Everything he had achieved, everything he’d worked for was suddenly not there.
“I was trying to protect the crew, sir.” His dignity was disintegrating but not just yet. “Collective responsibility. I…”
Not unkindly, Felix closed down any further comment. “That’s enough now. We understand.” As though the first person plural would somehow make it better. That it would, inexplicably, absolve him of some of the awfulness that was about to reach its full assault.
The captain was silent as he approached Casparo. Technically he should have uttered the words: confirmation of the unfairness. Instead his hands managed the deed wordlessly. Zolog looked baleful as the full, hard-won pip was plucked from his collar.
The two men stared at it. After a minute Felix closed his hand.
“What happens now?” Casparo asked.
“Now,” Felix said, “I’m going to get you very, very drunk.”
“Is that an order, Captain?”
“You bet it is.”
Casparo stood and watched his CO skulk toward a blank panel. He was rooted. As soon as he took a step away from this spot he would no longer be the same person. He neither knew how nor wanted to be anybody else.
“There are two saving graces to your situation, Casparo. Sit down. Sit,” Felix insisted, when he didn’t, and at last Zolog moved, retreating without looking to where the captain had pointed. Within moments a glass of something green and foaming had been delivered to his hand. “Drink it.”
The fair-haired, dark green humanoid studied it stupendously for a moment. It looked suspiciously like Romulan Ale: while now synthesised across most of the Federation, it didn’t smell much like the beverage he’d seen once, on a holodeck, in training. Looking up, he found the captain’s eyes on him, waiting for his command to be met. Casparo took a tentative sip and coughed wildly, waving the fumes excitedly from his face.
“First time’s always the hardest.”
Immediately quite intoxicated, Casparo blurted: “Is that demotion or this stuff, Capt’n?”
“Both. Saving grace number one.” Felix swigged from his own before refilling both as he spoke. “You studied xenolinguistics and communications science at the Academy, did you not?”
Casparo dredged through his rapidly diminishing active memory. “Yeah Cap, I–”
“Good. Part of the orders were not to let you lead a department, but I’m overruling that. We need a communications officer. You’re it.”
More time on the bridge looking at his old chair. Casparo’s head dangled, staring into his drink. “Comms,” he repeated, in a dull, fragile tone. His green-brown face reflected in the pool of ale, providing only a silhouette. “Great. What’s the other one?”
Felix leaned forward, but Casparo seemed to pay this no mind. “You just did the one thing that might finally make the crew respect you.”
Without looking up, Casparo asked: “They didn’t respect me?”
“Drink,” Felix insisted. “We have some talking to do, you and me.”
Casparo necked the rest of the glass and promptly fell back into the sofa.
“Although possibly not today,” the captain acknowledged, settling back into his chair and pouring himself another half.
For the first time, he almost felt sorry for him.
-=-=-
By Captain Felix de l’Isle and Lieutenant Casparo Zolog
“Do you have any official response, Commander?” It was the last time in a while he would be addressed by that rank. Felix did his best not to emphasise it.
Casparo was crestfallen. It felt as though a singularity had nested in his chest, pulling into it every screed of positivity. Everything he had achieved, everything he’d worked for was suddenly not there.
“I was trying to protect the crew, sir.” His dignity was disintegrating but not just yet. “Collective responsibility. I…”
Not unkindly, Felix closed down any further comment. “That’s enough now. We understand.” As though the first person plural would somehow make it better. That it would, inexplicably, absolve him of some of the awfulness that was about to reach its full assault.
The captain was silent as he approached Casparo. Technically he should have uttered the words: confirmation of the unfairness. Instead his hands managed the deed wordlessly. Zolog looked baleful as the full, hard-won pip was plucked from his collar.
The two men stared at it. After a minute Felix closed his hand.
“What happens now?” Casparo asked.
“Now,” Felix said, “I’m going to get you very, very drunk.”
“Is that an order, Captain?”
“You bet it is.”
Casparo stood and watched his CO skulk toward a blank panel. He was rooted. As soon as he took a step away from this spot he would no longer be the same person. He neither knew how nor wanted to be anybody else.
“There are two saving graces to your situation, Casparo. Sit down. Sit,” Felix insisted, when he didn’t, and at last Zolog moved, retreating without looking to where the captain had pointed. Within moments a glass of something green and foaming had been delivered to his hand. “Drink it.”
The fair-haired, dark green humanoid studied it stupendously for a moment. It looked suspiciously like Romulan Ale: while now synthesised across most of the Federation, it didn’t smell much like the beverage he’d seen once, on a holodeck, in training. Looking up, he found the captain’s eyes on him, waiting for his command to be met. Casparo took a tentative sip and coughed wildly, waving the fumes excitedly from his face.
“First time’s always the hardest.”
Immediately quite intoxicated, Casparo blurted: “Is that demotion or this stuff, Capt’n?”
“Both. Saving grace number one.” Felix swigged from his own before refilling both as he spoke. “You studied xenolinguistics and communications science at the Academy, did you not?”
Casparo dredged through his rapidly diminishing active memory. “Yeah Cap, I–”
“Good. Part of the orders were not to let you lead a department, but I’m overruling that. We need a communications officer. You’re it.”
More time on the bridge looking at his old chair. Casparo’s head dangled, staring into his drink. “Comms,” he repeated, in a dull, fragile tone. His green-brown face reflected in the pool of ale, providing only a silhouette. “Great. What’s the other one?”
Felix leaned forward, but Casparo seemed to pay this no mind. “You just did the one thing that might finally make the crew respect you.”
Without looking up, Casparo asked: “They didn’t respect me?”
“Drink,” Felix insisted. “We have some talking to do, you and me.”
Casparo necked the rest of the glass and promptly fell back into the sofa.
“Although possibly not today,” the captain acknowledged, settling back into his chair and pouring himself another half.
For the first time, he almost felt sorry for him.
-=-=-
By Captain Felix de l’Isle and Lieutenant Casparo Zolog
SD241909.01 - The Humiliation of Casparo Zolog. [Felix/Kreik]
Three months at slipstream hadn’t quite given the disgraced crew of the
USS Lone Star cabin fever, but it had come close. Even her captain and
motivator-general was starting to grind at the gears, changing between
them with the tired monotony more familiar to a miner or a hauler.
“The time is 0500 hours,” the computer declared again. The first time that day, although the days had started to become the same. Earlier in their journey Felix had held out against it until, say, ten or quarter past the hour, when the ratchety voice became truly intolerable. These days – whichever they were – he tended to rise before it, chiselling out a little victory from the monotony of voice, travel and repetition.
Slumberous, de l’Isle went about his morning stretches, eyed by Lester. Tonx hadn’t stayed the night that night. He stretched, only clad in his boxer shorts, overlooking the false sunrise over the arboretum below.
“Bridge to Captain.”
Felix didn’t bother to move himself from his stretch. “De l’Isle.”
“Incoming call from Admiral Kreik.” Tonx cut a great tone of bemused when she wanted to, and this was one of those times. “She says she’ll wait for you to get dressed.”
Orders. At last.
“Put here through to my ready room. I’ll be there in three minutes.”
-=-
The emblem of Starfleet Command lingered holographically in the corner of his office, taunting him as Felix arrived. He swiped to accept the transmission, the pixels sweeping into the three-dimensional image of the half-Klingon woman.
“Admiral.” He nodded. “I was expecting Admiral Stanton, perhaps Admiral McArnh.”
“They’ve still had enough of you and your crew, by all accounts. Besides, this one’s from Chief JAG and she asked me to relay it directly.”
Felix remained at attention: a forcible cruelty for a man who insisted upon it from his own crew only because his rank demanded him to. Behind him, one display tinkled with the influx of mission orders.
“It has been determined by the office of the Judge Advocate General that the Lone Star’s lack of discipline did indeed disrupt the conference on Calapina Four and bring the service into disrepute. It is her judgment after consultation that every active officer interviewed during the investigation, your chief of the boat and your chief science officer included, is found guilty under section 4B of the military justice code and sentenced to three months’ suspension of privileges.”
Kreik raised a hand, expecting Felix to object. He held his face and body mutinously still: an officer experienced both at the bluff and the hold. She appraised him for signs of poker, finding none.
Perdita? Why Perdita? For doing nothing, he supposed. Felix deferred the thought in case his expression betrayed even a hint of what was going through his head.
“In this case,” she continued, her own voice flattening, “that is deemed to have been served. A marker will be placed on the permanent record of all crew, except for yours. The Admiralty gave up on that some time ago.”
Felix’s mouth quivered open but Kreik intercepted his words in a flash.
“And don’t bother volunteering to take responsibility. That won’t work, either.”
It slumped shut.
“Furthermore, in the case of Commander Casparo Zolog.” What? Something within Felix’s torso became hot. “This case was brought to court martial and heard by the Chief JAG with participation from Commander Zolog via a quantum subspace channel. He declined the use of an advocate and represented himself.” Kreik seemed to find this both unintelligent and impressive, given the contortion of her eyebrows. “He was found guilty of gross negligence in this matter with the penalty being demotion and the discharge of all previous awards and medals.”
The heat became white and boiled Felix’s shoulders two inches higher. “That’s out of line, Admiral!” he exclaimed.
“Maintain your stance!” she roared back. Her gaze became a laser that bore into his. The captain’s chest rose and fell like a tango dancer’s. “It is not for you to declare what is appropriate or inappropriate in this matter, Captain. This has gone to the top and been appealed on Lieutenant Zolog’s behalf.”
“Lieutenant?!” Felix gasped. That made Casparo Zolog only the third officer he had encountered to receive a double-demotion. The first two were him.
“As the officer on duty for the majority of this catastrophe he must bear the consequences of his actions. It is only because you are in deep space that he was not reduced to Ensign, or decommissioned.”
Despite travelling at slipstream, flames of azure and russet and teal licking the windows of the ship thirstily, the Lone Star seemed, for once, very still.
“The JAG has shown leniency in this case,” Kreik continued. “You are to inform him of this outcome and assign him a new role aboard the Lone Star, effective immediately.”
“I require an executive officer and you have removed my only two candidates,” Felix growled.
“Not so, Captain. A slipstream carrier shuttle is already on its way to you. It contains your new two-eye-see and other supplementary officers.”
There was a pause.
“Try not to let your damned ship ruin their careers. Kreik out.”
-=-
On the bridge, Lieutenant Skrillo jumped a little from her place at the helm as a violent sound emanated from the Captain’s ready room. Then another, and the sound of something breaking.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” said Casparo Zolog. At last, his demeanour began to collapse; the joy flooded from his voice as his shoulders tightened in anticipation.
“I have a feeling I know what that is.”
-=-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle
“The time is 0500 hours,” the computer declared again. The first time that day, although the days had started to become the same. Earlier in their journey Felix had held out against it until, say, ten or quarter past the hour, when the ratchety voice became truly intolerable. These days – whichever they were – he tended to rise before it, chiselling out a little victory from the monotony of voice, travel and repetition.
Slumberous, de l’Isle went about his morning stretches, eyed by Lester. Tonx hadn’t stayed the night that night. He stretched, only clad in his boxer shorts, overlooking the false sunrise over the arboretum below.
“Bridge to Captain.”
Felix didn’t bother to move himself from his stretch. “De l’Isle.”
“Incoming call from Admiral Kreik.” Tonx cut a great tone of bemused when she wanted to, and this was one of those times. “She says she’ll wait for you to get dressed.”
Orders. At last.
“Put here through to my ready room. I’ll be there in three minutes.”
-=-
The emblem of Starfleet Command lingered holographically in the corner of his office, taunting him as Felix arrived. He swiped to accept the transmission, the pixels sweeping into the three-dimensional image of the half-Klingon woman.
“Admiral.” He nodded. “I was expecting Admiral Stanton, perhaps Admiral McArnh.”
“They’ve still had enough of you and your crew, by all accounts. Besides, this one’s from Chief JAG and she asked me to relay it directly.”
Felix remained at attention: a forcible cruelty for a man who insisted upon it from his own crew only because his rank demanded him to. Behind him, one display tinkled with the influx of mission orders.
“It has been determined by the office of the Judge Advocate General that the Lone Star’s lack of discipline did indeed disrupt the conference on Calapina Four and bring the service into disrepute. It is her judgment after consultation that every active officer interviewed during the investigation, your chief of the boat and your chief science officer included, is found guilty under section 4B of the military justice code and sentenced to three months’ suspension of privileges.”
Kreik raised a hand, expecting Felix to object. He held his face and body mutinously still: an officer experienced both at the bluff and the hold. She appraised him for signs of poker, finding none.
Perdita? Why Perdita? For doing nothing, he supposed. Felix deferred the thought in case his expression betrayed even a hint of what was going through his head.
“In this case,” she continued, her own voice flattening, “that is deemed to have been served. A marker will be placed on the permanent record of all crew, except for yours. The Admiralty gave up on that some time ago.”
Felix’s mouth quivered open but Kreik intercepted his words in a flash.
“And don’t bother volunteering to take responsibility. That won’t work, either.”
It slumped shut.
“Furthermore, in the case of Commander Casparo Zolog.” What? Something within Felix’s torso became hot. “This case was brought to court martial and heard by the Chief JAG with participation from Commander Zolog via a quantum subspace channel. He declined the use of an advocate and represented himself.” Kreik seemed to find this both unintelligent and impressive, given the contortion of her eyebrows. “He was found guilty of gross negligence in this matter with the penalty being demotion and the discharge of all previous awards and medals.”
The heat became white and boiled Felix’s shoulders two inches higher. “That’s out of line, Admiral!” he exclaimed.
“Maintain your stance!” she roared back. Her gaze became a laser that bore into his. The captain’s chest rose and fell like a tango dancer’s. “It is not for you to declare what is appropriate or inappropriate in this matter, Captain. This has gone to the top and been appealed on Lieutenant Zolog’s behalf.”
“Lieutenant?!” Felix gasped. That made Casparo Zolog only the third officer he had encountered to receive a double-demotion. The first two were him.
“As the officer on duty for the majority of this catastrophe he must bear the consequences of his actions. It is only because you are in deep space that he was not reduced to Ensign, or decommissioned.”
Despite travelling at slipstream, flames of azure and russet and teal licking the windows of the ship thirstily, the Lone Star seemed, for once, very still.
“The JAG has shown leniency in this case,” Kreik continued. “You are to inform him of this outcome and assign him a new role aboard the Lone Star, effective immediately.”
“I require an executive officer and you have removed my only two candidates,” Felix growled.
“Not so, Captain. A slipstream carrier shuttle is already on its way to you. It contains your new two-eye-see and other supplementary officers.”
There was a pause.
“Try not to let your damned ship ruin their careers. Kreik out.”
-=-
On the bridge, Lieutenant Skrillo jumped a little from her place at the helm as a violent sound emanated from the Captain’s ready room. Then another, and the sound of something breaking.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” said Casparo Zolog. At last, his demeanour began to collapse; the joy flooded from his voice as his shoulders tightened in anticipation.
“I have a feeling I know what that is.”
-=-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle
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