Reporting, Duty Station

Posted on Fri Jun 22nd, 2018 @ 3:58am by Captain Charybdis MacGregor & Lieutenant Robinson Drake II
Edited on on Fri Jun 22nd, 2018 @ 3:58am

0 words; about a 1 minute read

Mission: Future Tense
Location: USS Victory, various locales
Timeline: 2285
Tags: Herod

Drake seems to doze, arms relaxed and hands folded in lap. He has relaxed back into the troop seat along the port side the shuttle, eyes closed and breathing slow while a languid mantra to embrace the uncertainty of the moment recites itself in his mind.

***
Memory swirls on the edge of the self induced meditative state, the image of Captain S'tain lying lifeless on the Valkryie's small bridge. A shard of hull sliced down in a precise diagonal across the vulcan's chest while beyond the corpse an open to vacuum breach along the starboard side of the compartment lit by flickers of shorts and surges from exposed EPS conduits..

A release of will, something about the memory calls him to re-examine past.

S'tain had been teaching him the meditation of memory on off duty time along with the techniques of Vulcan martial arts.
Drake admits to himself that the meditative exercises were deceptively simple and at first he'd spent more time on his own techniques than the vulcan's because his interest had been primarily on learning ponn-ifla.
S'tain had not been deceived and with what passed for amusement in vulcan's had boxed Drake into a logical dead end where the human had to honestly practice the meditations to learn the skills the vulcan offered.
After a few months the vulcan had shared the he also respected the Zen meditations and Drakes skills in the various human disciplines and the two, Captain and enlisted, formed a respectful friendship.

He focuses and recalls the moments, deliberately detaching his emotions.. " To Recall, Not Relive. To Look back, not Dwell."


. . He Recalls.. hearing his own breath loud in the pressure suit helmet, Hector yelling on the comm for M'lynn to route power to thrusters while he prays and returns fire to the Klingon fighters that swarm about the injured corvette.

"Step through the fear..Do what you've trained..." a mantra between heartbeats, peace had comes to quiet the panic.

In his lap fingers twitch in echoing sympathy, they'd lumbered on the controls, heavy in the suit gloves but that had made him more precise... port phaser FIRES under overload, he feels the vibration of through the deck and knows... the phaser fails but the beam hit one Klingon fighter cleanly and fatally tagged another, may their next turn at the wheel be better.

"HECTOR! Roll us 180... NOW." his voice uncanny calm, authoritative and still surprising even at a distance of months. "Damage control to Port Phaser," as he fires the last of the photon torpedoes, triggered to explode at barely over threshold range on a vector that hopefully will clear a path toward the gas giant and the Deltan station at high orbit. If Hector can get the Valkryie in range, the Deltans *might* just give them covering fire.

***

The shuttle dips and curves, jostling the passengers and making the cargo shift fractionally under the tiedowns. Drake's eyes blink open back to the present, memory dropped into it's box, blue eyes peer through the far portal to take in the visible portion of the orbital dock.

The Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards on Mars had been producing starships since before there even was a Starfleet, and it had brought into the world a number of sleek beautiful starships of the line. The latest in that proud heritage was the modified Constitution class, the USS Victory, NCC 1767. There were still scaffolds and spacedock apparatus arrayed around her as the shuttle comes in and around her, the pilot choosing to bring his passengers in on the 'scenic route' giving them a good long look at the redesigned nacelles, the sleek bright elements of the 'refit class' vessel.

Once up over the saucer section, a pass by the bridge, then down to the main fuselage, cruising past the docking airlocks and bringing the shuttle down to the rear of the vessel as the blast doors retracted into the sides of the main fuselage to present the shuttle bay. The running lights were not powered up, nor was the deflector dish, so while the white paint on the tritanium hull was still brilliant wherever work lights illuminated it, the overall effect was that the vessel was still somewhat dark in the spacedock.

"USS Victory, this is Shuttlecraft Fortuna requesting permission to land, over."

"Shuttlecraft Fortuna, you are cleared to land in shuttle bay two. You may disembark as soon as you have powered down," came the reply from the bridge. "If Lieutenant Drake is aboard, Captain Herod would like a word with him in his ready room..."

" That will be me, Pilot. " Drake calls from his seat as the shuttle floats into the launch bay on light thruster touches to land softly on the deck, sinking down through the airlock into the flight bay.

The shuttle systems flicker off one by one as the pilot runs through his post-flight checklist, powering systems down one by one until the gull-wing style hatch opens with a hum and a hiss, and the shuttle pilot swivels in his seat to shoot a sympathetic look at the tactical officer. "Good luck with the old man."

Drake raises eyebrows in a question before recalling the rumors passed in the chiefs lounge on station.
" Thanks. Hopefully it's not as bad as all that. "
Making his way through the bright, clean halls of the ship, he is struck by the smell... not only is everything clean and pristine, unused, untested, but even the smell... sure, some solder here, some adhesive there, perhaps a bit of ozone here and there. But the 'new starship' smell... that unique smell of a vessel that has not been occupied by a crew just yet, even though workers have been working on assembling her for a year and a half now.

He steps into the turbolift and calls for the bridge, and with a slight jerk it begins moving... apparently one of those systems that have not been fully installed and inspected just yet, he muses. Within seconds it carries him the length and breadth of the vessel, bringing him to the very nerve center of the mighty space going fortress.

http://arstechnica.com/civis/download/file.php?id=19396

Greys, blacks with maroon padded accents dominated the bridge. The command deck has steps of corrugated steel, while the upper wings of the bridge are covered in charcoal grey felt carpeting. All along the walls are black liquid crystal displays, black with multiple displays visible upon them. Control panels line the back and side walls of the bridge beneath the black panels, and overall the bridge is quite a bit darker than most starships he has been aboard.

The somewhat overweight gentleman with the receding hairline, human in his mid-fifties looks up from the helm console he is hovering over with a mirthless smile. "Well, look who decided to join us... Lieutenant Drake I presume?"

" Warrant officer, Sir. " Drake comes to attention, " Commission is still in channels. Sir. "

Dismissing the remainder of his statement with a wave of a hand, the captain is already moving to the doorway on the port side of the bridge. "Let's discuss this, shall we, Mister Drake?"

The door swishes open and Herod enters the ready room turned personal office, then moves around the large antique wooden desk to seat himself in the high-backed overstuffed red leather chair with a gesture to the simple unpadded wooden chair on the other side of the ostentatious desk.

He takes in the surroundings... the hand-produced oil painting of a younger much slimmer Herod which hangs on the bulkhead behind the desk, the well-stocked bar contained in crystal decanters arranged carefully on a rolling tray that is a disaster waiting to happen the first time the artificial gravity lurches. A rich oriental rug covers the deck which has no harmony with the surroundings... it has all of the appearance of having been placed by someone who knows not its value, but knows instead that someone values it, emphasized by the point where a corner has been cut out of it to fit a corner, desecrating the intricate pattern. Drake wonders who in the hell could have mutilated the fine rug before Herod speaks.

"Well? Do you know why I'm wasting my time with this conversation. Warrant Officer Drake?" The question tells him less about the issue than it does about the questioner.

Anger stirs at the commanding officer's attitude, confusion follows at why Starfleet would give a ship to someone who at first pass seems unsuited to polishing torpedo casings. Then anger fades, allowed to pass and caution takes its place. This could be a deliberately misleading presentation.

"I wouldn't begin to hazard a guess, sir. " Drake smiles warmly, feeling the hint of a game being played.

"Oh come on, hazard away. " Herod's tone layers on the patronizing inflection.

"A test. " Drake answers honestly, " You're presenting an affected facade. "

"Good guess, Mister Drake... but not quite." the remarkably self-satisfied man turned in his chair for a moment as he smiles smugly at his subordinate, studying him before speaking once more. "Fire control technician, aiming for a promotion to officer... yet all of the scenarios that you submitted for the Victory, all of the firing resolutions that you put forth are shooting to wound, aiming to cripple enemy vessels, minimizing casualties while taking them out of the fight."

"Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself, Chief?" The anger radiating off the man is still a simmer, but it won't be long before he has an explosive episode. He's looking forward to it, Rob can see it in his eyes.

A moment, a few heartbeats, Drake expression fades from warm to... calm, unaffected and then the speaks plainly.

" Are you asking me why I present scenarios that avoid violating StarFleet standing order 37.2. Sir? I am well aware that live combat will not have the niceties of planning and there will be lives lost. However, it's at least politic to try to practice a less murderous way, " he takes a beat and quotes from Star Fleet Academy courses.

"In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy's country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to recapture an army entire than to destroy it. "

"When you surround an army, leave an outlet free. Do not press a desperate foe too hard."

Sun Tzu, the art of war. Still in style after all these years, and his wisdom still stood the test of time.

"And of course, StarFleet would be happier with live prisoners to interrogate than dead ones, not to mention technical analysis of surviving disabled ships.. excepting Klingons, who don't surrender very well. "

The man seated in the luxuriant chair that had no business being on a starship chuckled, then he laughed... a barking, coughing sort of laugh that was an unpleasant sound entirely.

"Starfleet regulations aren't guidelines on the battlefield, Chief Drake... I'm surprised that you haven't realized that just yet. In real combat what is truly valued is victory, above anything else. Victory for our side, and destruction for theirs. because only in destruction of our enemies, only when we break them do we achieve true and total victory!"

The man was clenching his fists together before him and they were shaking, and Drake could see his blood pressure was obviously rising from the way that his skin was becoming flush.

"That's why she's named Victory! Because that's what we'll be out there seeking! Victory over our enemies! Victory for the Federation!" he stands quickly as his voice continues to rise and points theatrically at Drake. "And victory isn't achieved by shots to wound! All that does is create a drain on resources and enemies who are shamed and left alive to return and fight harder, and I won't have it! Not on my ship!"

He hurls the PDD at Drake. "Now get me some firing resolutions that aren't a waste of my time, that will embarrass this ship! And i expect them within forty-eight hours, Chief. Forget about Lieutenant, you'll be lucky to still be a chief when I'm done with you! Dismissed!"

The PDD hits the stunned Drake with bruising force and would have clattered to the deck except the maimed oriental rug cushioned the fall.

"Sir... " Drake picks up the PDD and simply exits, waiting on the hatch to swish closed before allowing the shakes to hit. He looks around the bridge, red faced with embarrassment and aghast at what had just passed.

"Not possible... No, " muttered under his breath before regaining composure and moving toward the turbolift. The PDD in hand used to call up the Victory's personnel index, highlighting executive officer and chief medical.

 

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