Previous Next

We're never going to get out of spacedock...

Posted on Sun Aug 25th, 2019 @ 10:24am by Captain Tharia sh'Elas & Commander Raiycaz “Caz” Atherton & Lieutenant JG Wyatt Spencer & Petty Officer, 2nd Class Fyn Wihone
Edited on on Sun Aug 25th, 2019 @ 10:31am

Mission: Favor the Bold
Location: Main Bridge
Timeline: Day 234 at 0700

He was rapt. Soft red light crept like a hazy fog about them, an ember in what was, to Ennani eyes, true black. To Fyn, it was a different creature. True black was rare to a tetrochromat. Pinpricks of what were white were not just white but understood in shades of: "warm" or "cool" white. And upon Fafa Navoa, the Eye of the Goddess of Fortune had a great nimbus of fluctuating red, and deeper, purpler still red.

Fyn Wihone, all eleven years old of him, hugged preadolescent, lanky legs to his chest as equally weedy arms wrapped about them. His dark eyes glowed with a cat-like ring of copper, shifting once or twice like a cat's eye flicker watching movement in the dark. He smiled softly, a personal pronouncement of the utter beauty of the universe. Tonight he picked a new patch of sky as he stared out in the copper and bronze colored, sectioned dome observatory of the space station. In his ears, he could hear the soft sculling sound of a computer, and the fingers that input the data. They had minute corrections.

"Wihone," it was not the cold tendency of a coach to call someone by their last name, but a warm purr of what the word meant in Ennani: the smile of a child. Long, cold fingers screeched in his wooly, newly shortened hair. He beamed at the word, looking up as a plump woman moved to sit behind him and wrapped herself in him like a blanket. She pet his eyebrows- it was an odd Ennani custom like a secondary affection, not quite a kiss. "You should be in bed."

Fyn twisted and shook his head, "No, I'm n-not tuh-tired." He protested in a high boy's boy. She pet his eyebrows again.

"Remember: think about what you want to say. Picture the word as you speak." Shiveli was his language tutor and immediately had noticed Fyn's stutter. She understood why he did it, but it was her charge to try and scaffold around it. In the background sculled the computer again. Fyn turned to study the heat nimbus that came off the female shape, easily distracted. "Where are you tonight?" She asked, touching her cheek to his. Fyn pointed at the section of the sky.

"Ahh," Shiveli said. She pulled the boy back into her, her calming voice began to leave story. She drew lines to stars and formed pictures, "The great dragon of Vondem reared it's head and snapped at the sword of Tellar..." she began as Fyn moved to snuggle into her. He reached for one of her thick, honey-smelling dreadlocks and fidgeted with it.

"Wihone," a crisp voice said. The heat nimbus turned with a datapad. Fyn could see her features in the darkness. She was utterly bald, pale and had a severe sharpness to her face. When she smiled, she showed teeth. But she was not wicked, even if she looked it. Fyn pushed off Shivelli gently and scrambled to his feet. He brushed himself off and took the data-pad. He held it against his chest. "Take that to Patra in the central archives. Then you will go to sleep."

Fyn's eyes strayed to Shiveli and then the stars. "Bed, is that understood Wihone?" Eshiba was a stricter sort, and one did not cross the Matron.

Fyn nodded once. He turned a little reluctantly and waved at Shiveli before he walked down the long corridor toward the data archives.



"Main Bridge."

Fyn settled against the bulkhead of the turbolift and yawned against his fist a soft lion's sound. He held a data-pad against one of his pecs, tucked thereby an arm. It was hard to sleep in new places. The ship smelled new. Everything about it suggested it wasn't broken in. Ithemba, by comparison, was a relic: like walking into something mid-century before one entered an ultra-modern home. The bones were similar but inexorably different. And like it or not, they compared each other.

The turbolift hummed under him and Fyn rubbed crust out of the corner of his eye, then massaged along one side of his cranial ridge. He stifled another yawn. The turbolift crawled to a stop- Fyn's ears popped and he stepped out. He didn't wait for the turbolift doors to completely open but sidled through like an agile ferret. He paused to look about the Bridge: it was easily twice the size of Ithemba's Operations center. He was rarely up there, but it did. Fyn looked up at the dome of starry light flickering with warm and cool nimbuses.

He told himself to focus and stepped cautiously forward. "Can someone tell me where to find the Captain?"

The Ulysses Chief Communications Officer was laying flat on his back looking underneath the communications console. He could curse in nine languages and he had used most of them as he tried to fix, once and for all the problem with the intraship system. The answer kept eluding him.

He'd just put down a mini-spanner. When he heard a voice he'd never forget. A voice he hadn't heard in almost three years. He raised up quickly, too quickly, hitting his head, causing a sharp explosion of pain and a new expletive, this time in Standard, to come out of his mouth. It wasn't quite a shout, but it almost way.

The newly minted Executive and Chief Navigation Officer of the Ulysses was posted at his console. He had tinkered away with the controls for the past hour or so. Caz knew full well that many Engineers had run several sets of diagnostics on his navigation and tactical systems but he had been in Starfleet long enough to not trust brand new technology. As beautiful as the Ulysses was, several crew members had already encountered bugs and corruptions in various different systems across the ships. Mind you - nothing had been severe enough to bring any significant harm to members of the crew or the ship itself.

A voice had pulled him from his focus. Part of Atherton was glad for the distraction, as the LCARS panel was on the verge of meshing into one colourful abstract had he stared at it any longer. "Petty Officer.....?" It was an acknowledgement of the small stature male who stood looking like he was taking in the space. He was unsure of the officer's name but could identify the rank on his uniform.

The youth was looking for a friendly face on the cavernous Bridge when he heard one at the Helm speak. Fyn focused on it, gripping his data-pad at the hip with both hands. He smiled. When Fyn smiled, it always looked a little... bashful. The way the upper bow of his lips did its work. "Oh. Wihone, sir. Pretty Officer Wihone," he smiled at the green-skinned man.

"Welcome on board." Caz moved over to Fyn and extended his hand in greeting. "I'm Commander Atherton. Chief Navigation and Executive Officer." The taller and more muscular frame of the half-orion was an amusing juxtaposition to the young yeoman's. "I'm sure the Captain will be glad to have you here." Things were anything but quiet on the Ulysses as the crew prepared for departure in their maiden voyage.

Fyn knew many Orions in passing but the Commander's lighter coloring was new to him. Fyn extended his hand as well, shaking the Helmsman's with a broadened smile. "Nice to-to meet you, Sir." His hand naturally eased back down to his data-pad and he looked around. The Bridge was massive- and also cacophonous with the sound of "fine-tuning", "Um, Ki tusim ko i Ori'ana bolade ho?" He asked in Orionese. Do you speak any Orion, sir?"

Wyatt hadn't needed to hear the name to know who it was that had just entered the Bridge, he was just wondering why he was doing here/

There was a perplexed look on Atherton's face a moment. It lasted only a few seconds before he grinned. The sudden change in dialect had caught him off guard. "Very little." He replied warmly. "Sirapha na kujha jō mā'uam ne mainuu sik'hāi'a," his replied slowly, having reached into the depths of his mind to recall his mother's native tongue. "Only what my mother taught me."

"I'm half Orion. My mother escaped the slave trade before I was born. That side of my culture is lost to me... Well... Mostly..." It did not phase Caz to speak of this, he had accepted that his human side and culture would remain dominant in his life many years prior. "You speak it well though Mr. Fyn."

Fyn nodded, the bow of his mouth in a silent, Ahh, of understanding. "Th-there were a lot of Orions around the Jetsam. It was required learning if you w-wanted much. Good music though. They um, ran most of the clubs." He smiled at the compliment that he spoke well. "Thanks. Um. S-so where should I report to the Captain, Sir?" He looked back, naturally at the vacant center chair. Nearly vacant. A technician seemed to be tinkering with one of the armrests.

"She just went into her ready room less than ten minutes ago." Caz gestured casually across the bridge with his arm extended in the direction of Tharia's office. "Go ahead... She doesn't bite... Too hard..." He gave the Petty Officer an ominous expression.

"I-I only worry when people start ch-chewing," Fyn jested back. He followed the finger the XO pointed him toward. Fyn breasted his data-pad again and moved for it. He tapped the call button and waited.

"ENTER!" came the call from within the room, a tone that suggested that perhaps, just perhaps, entering the room would not be advisable at present.

Fyn looked down at his feet. There was harshness through the door speaker. But he still had a duty to perform. And whatever was wrong, it was not his fault. Fyn sniffed and put his hands clasping the data-pad behind his back. And he walked inside. The doors parted and he stepped inside. With a quick glance, he determined the situational setting of the room. "Good morning, Ma'am," he stated. "I'm Yeoman Wihone. I've been assigned to you." He looked at the Andorian woman, and he stood at a feet at shoulder's width apart attention, bringing the data-pad in front of him, clasped in his hands at his front.

"Finally, someone who can help with this mountain of PADDs," the Captain let out an exasperated sigh as she walked over to him and offered a hand. "sh'Elas," the Andorian smiled sheepishly, "Tharia sh'Elas."

Fyn shook it, right after he did a quick pivot of his own data-pad to his left. "Fyn, Ma'am. Nice to meet you." The youth looked at the near-literal mountain of data-pads the Captain had been contending with. Fyn had always suspected that launching a starship was a bureaucratic nightmare. The confirmation was unsettling. Fyn's bonding and security clearance were on file as of 0630 but he hadn't expected to give it a spin some thirty minutes in.

"Right. So what were you working on and where can I take the pressure off?"

"Honestly," she sighed as she collapsed onto the rooms sofa, "I've not yet begun. This is all from yesterday," she groaned as she gestured to the mess. "Status reports from all departments, transfer logs, requisition updates, updates from the yard engineers, sector security reports. Hell, there are even updates on the Klingon and Romulan situations in there somewhere..."

"Right," Fyn's mind processed the enormity. He moved for the data-pad pile. It was his job to prioritise what the Captain saw first, second and third, and what was simply background requests. And some of this was naturally supposed to go to the XO, Fyn bet. But he aimed to start chewing through it. Fyn decided to thin the herd of chaff first. He sorted sorting, lips moving silently as he read opening subject matter. His hands began to sift through, forming piles. Captain's eyes only, stuff better suited to the XO, requests that needed to go out.

Fyn walked over to the Captain and smiled at her his unusual smile. The Farian boy had double sets of canines and he had a tendency to smile with lips slightly parted. "OK these'll really just need y-your thumbprint OK." He whipped the first to his face, "Ok... a request to puh-pull from the deuterium supply depot on 12 Aten near Mercury since our shipment from Proxima Colony is delayed," he held it out for her to thumbprint. "And request to swap out a the secondary hull's backup sub-processor for a newer model." He held out both for her to thumb, a third tucked under his arm.

Tharia gladly gave her thumb print to both items and gave him a smile that signalled she was happy to have someone else deal with the chaos. "No one ever tells you about the paperwork until it's too late," she chuckled as she gestured for the next task.

Fyn was quick, switching one data-pad from under his arm to his hand. He gave it a quick perusal, "They'll try and sneak stuff by you knowing you're buh-busy. I saw it uh-on Ithemba a few times. It's not usually outright duh-dishonesty, it's just something they know needs to be buried in a requisition because it'd stand as superfluous on its own. But..." He chuckled, "I knew a guy on Ithemba who tried to req a live Vulcan Sehlat as a prank." His nose wrinkled, "That didn't guh-go over so well for him." He held out the third datapad, "This one's to replace the 23-gamma-starboard warp coil segment, it's duh-defective."

"We're never going to get out of spacedock..." the Andorian frowned as she signed off on the replacement of the warp coil. It was then that she looked at the chronometer and smiled. "Right, I'm going to leave you to this lot Fyn," she smirked happily, "because I can do that now!" she laughed, not directly at him or in any sort of sadistic way, just out of pure happiness that she had someone else to share the mess with at last. As she made for the door, she turned back briefly to give a last "I'll be on the bridge if you need me."

Fyn watched the blue Shan leave her ready room. He looked at the data-pads and decided to bring them over to the small seating area. He dumped them on there, sat on the floor and started to work through it.

 

Previous Next

labels_subscribe