From: Jerome McKee (parakeety_at_hotmail.com)
Date: Mon Aug 20 2007 - 09:20:02 PDT
"ROCKING THE BOAT"
(Continued from "Questions With No Answers")
"O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!"
- Shakespeare's "Hamlet", Act 1, Scene 5.106
-------------------------------------------------
Location: GATEWAY, Promenade
Stardate: [2.7]0820.1715
Scene: Impulse Drives, Interior
Professor (Retired) Maury R. Tee, and his ever-present droid (well, droid on
the *outside*, anyway) H.W. were collating a series of ancient manuscripts
at a desk near the door to the back room. Tee was hunched over the work
counter like a deformed Parisian bell-ringer, pince-nez spectacles balanced
precariously on the edge of his nose, flipping carefully through the papers.
H.W. was dangling like a silvered snot from one of the ceiling rafters near
Tee's head, glinting in the desk's lamp.
{{What's that you're looking at?}} the droid inquired. A hatch on it opened,
and a miniature camera rose from within, zooming down at its master's hands
with a mechanical whir.
"Poetry," Tee murmured distractedly. "Ancient poetry from planet EARTH."
{{Humans cannot write poetry,}} stated H.W. definitely. {{They are too base.
Their intrinsic nature is negative, not positive.}}
"I've told you before," said Tee, standing upright against his creaking
bones, "you cannot generalise about any sentient species, least of all
Humans. They are as diverse as snowflakes. As if they were birthed by the
maelstrom of Chaos itself," he added as an afterthought.
He held up the papers in his gnarled hand. "These documents are centuries
old, and they represent the original works of several of Humanity's finest
poets, written in their native languages and many with the poet's
hand-written notes in the margins. They are very valuable, primarily as a
history of Humanity's cultural identity, but also for their sheer literary
value. Here we have the original folios of many illuminated works."
{{Such as?}}
Tee rifled through the papers. "The Italian maestro Albertini's 'Shaddap-a
Your Face'."
{{I am not familiar with it.}}
"Of course you're not, you bucket of bolts. How about the American writer
Fields, who wrote most of his greatest stuff in his later years, including
his magnum opus 'I Ain't Dead Yet, Motherfuckers'?"
{{Again, no.}}
"Grosic's 'Ich Bin Ein Sauerkraut'? MacAoidh's 'Póg Mo Thóin'?"
The droid stayed silent. Tee shrugged. "It matters not. In any event - " He
seized the papers between his hands, and in an instant, began to tear.
Quickly and efficiently he shredded centuries of artistry between his nimble
fingers, leaving scraps of torn papers floating on the zephyrs, falling like
feathers to their lonely end on the floor.
{{Why did you do that?}} inquired H.W.
"Because, my metal minion, permanency disgusts me. Change is what feeds the
universe, what drives it on through swirling galaxies and powdered nebulae.
The souls of all the trillions of people on all the thousands of settled
worlds in this ephemeral galaxy are as candles guttering in a gale - they
are extinguished by an uncaring void, their legacy as impermanent and futile
as their meaningless lives. All this fuss over secession, of electing a
leader, of worrying about their place in federations or empires or dominions
- what would it matter if all these people on this backwater space station
were here, or gone, or never here at all?" He raised a knowing eyebrow. "And
so we tinker, we prod and poke, and we effect change for change's sake.
Nature abhors a vaccuum, my unliving underling."
H.W appeared to consider this. There was no way to know if that was what the
droid was doing, although Tee like to think it was somehow considerate.
Finally it responded. {{That does not compute. Perhaps I should reboot.}}
Tee rolled his eyes. "You see? You're a poet and you didn't even know it.
Now stop wasting my time and fetch Zane Rixx for me." He rubbed his hands
together gleefully. "The game is afoot."
-------------------------------------------------------------
Scene: CO's office
Michael Turlogh Kane sat in the gloom of his office, awaiting the arrival of
Cadet Crichton for his appointment at the top of the hour. He sat back in
his seat, looking out of the small viewport, out into the sea of stars that
drifted lazily past.
It didn't used to be the starfield. It used to be the wormhole, hanging open
like a hinged maw at the edge of the system, an enormous tunnel - the
space-worm's gullet - linking two quadrants seventy thousand light years
apart. The wormhole had seemed Constant, a northern star that was always
reliably *there*. Nobody knew why it was there, but that had not stopped
uncounted millions of travellers passing through it in the half-century it
had been open. It had been an amazing gift by whatever powers deign such
things to exist, so when it was taken away, at the blink of an eye and
without much warning, it made its loss all the more difficult to bear.
Seventy thousand light years yawned out like the gulf of eternity. There was
nothing neighbourly in the heavens anymore - they were so far from home that
no familiar constellations could be seen. If Humans had moved into space to
be closer to God, then they had failed - the vast emptiness of the cosmos
was bleaker and more profound than any wasteland, more lonely than any lost
soul.
Almost a quarter of a million people were isolated here, hope dwindling down
daily as the wormhole remained closed. Many of the people who lived on
GATEWAY had deliberately moved there, had made it their home and put down
roots on the station, but it was still a wrench in the heart to see the
wormhole close, severing the last tenuous link with the Alpha Quadrant.
The doorchime sounded, breaking his reverie.
"Come." Kane swivelled his chair around as Cadet Jake Crichton entered the
ready room. The young man looked decidely nervous, probably due to his worry
at breaking the chain of command yesterday. As a Cadet, being summoned to
see the Commanding Officer was not necessarily a good thing.
"Cadet Crichton reporting as ordered, Captain."
Kane activated his desktop terminal and scrolled through his documents until
he found what he was looking for. "Stand at ease, Cadet," he ordered, noting
how Jake moved into the oddly-named formal position crisply and cleanly. Not
long out of the Academy, but didn't seem so green - the GATEWAY had been a
real baptism of fire for him.
"I'm ready to deliver you the results of your Cadet Cruise," continued Kane.
"Your tenure as a Cadet has ended, one way or the other. We might not be
official members of Starfleet anymore, but at least we can continue the
protocols, and this meeting is to inform you whether or not you have been
deemed ready to advance to active service with an officer's commission. Do
you understand?"
"Yes, Captain."
"These results have been made with the input of all your superior officers,
including Lieutenant Salor and Commander Potter. Have you anything to say
before I proceed?"
If Jake was feeling any emotion, he didn't show it. He paused for a moment.
"I want to thank you all for permitting me to go through this experience
here."
Kane frowned. "Are you sure about that?"
"Captain?"
"You arrived here two days before the wormhole closed. You'll likely never
see home again. And I'm about to give or take away your commission in a
rogue military service. How do you feel about that?"
Jake's eyes flickered. "I understand the reasons for secession, sir."
"And do you support them? Do you support *me*?"
Jake's jaw set. Kane watched him intently - the question was irrelevant, but
the Cadet didn't know that - right now he was being put on the spot by a
senior officer. A Starfleet officer *could* refuse to obey an order for
conscientious reasons, but if Jake was going to do so, he would have
resigned or raised an objection long before this. Still, this was as good a
moment as any to test the younger man's resolve. Even though they
technically weren't in Starfleet anymore, everyone was still wearing the
uniform and displaying the delta communicator.
"I admit that I have had some misgivings, sir, but they are not enough
reason for me to abandon my naval career. I am determined to serve the
elected government of the station in whatever form it takes."
"Assuming you haven't failed your Cadet Cruise."
"Yes, sir, assuming that."
Kane stood up, and then did something that Jake Crichton had never seen him
do before - he smiled. It was a genuine one too, that creased his
oddly-coloured eyes and made him look almost human. "Well, you haven't. It
is the considered and sincere opinion of your commanding officer, based on
advice both positive and negative from your immediate superiors, that you
have and do display sufficient aptitude to perform the duties expected of
you without further supervision." He took a small, black velvet box from a
drawer and opened it. Inside gleamed something small, round, and golden. "I
hereby promote you to the rank of Ensign as of this stardate, with all the
responsibilities and privileges of that rank. Furthermore, in recognition of
your exemplary performance of your duties in Engineering since your
assigment to this command, I am also awarding you a Commendation Ribbon.
Congratulations." He passed over the box, raising a laconic eyebrow. "You're
a proper officer now, Mister Crichton. How do you feel?"
Jake acceped his new rank pip. A ghost of a smile was at his lips. "Good,
sir. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," shrugged Kane nonchalantly. "Starfleet still have to
ratify it, if we ever get home."
"Yes, sir," chuckled Jake.
Kane looked forlornly at the mountain of PADDs he still had to look through.
"Well, that's it. You're on the road to the centre seat."
"Yes, sir."
"But not this one," Kane deadpanned.
"No, sir," Jake smiled. "Not yet, anyway."
Kane raised an eyebrow. "One more thing," he said, motioning to Jake to sit
down. "While I suppose I should reprimand you for breaking the chain of
command, you were probably correct to send me a message regarding Lieutenant
Salor's... behaviour." He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. "I never
get enough time to properly liaise with my department heads - in an ideal
world I'd tour the station on a daily basis, but I can't. So I have to rely
on regular written reports from the various department heads informing Ops
of their status. I trawl through these reports like a fisherman through the
sea, noting any problems that require Command's intervention and then
prioritising them. Commander Teague deals with most of them, but sometimes
bigger problems arise that need special attention."
He idly rubbed his chin with his fist. "The Dominion has been quiet since
their annexation of ANDARA - perhaps too quiet. They've had several years to
gather Intel on GATEWAY, but we know next to nothing about them or their
fleet capabilities in this area. That's why a stealth fighter project has
gained a measure of importance from a military point of view. Do you think a
redesign of the Auroras is possible?"
"Anything can be redesigned," nodded Jake with suitable gravitas, "but
whether we have the capabilities to construct that new design is another
matter. We certainly can't replicate more than a couple of the new designs
before putting our power network under severe pressure. We need raw
materials for manual construction, especially raw tritanium, but there's no
trade coming into the station."
Kane made a helpless gesture. "You see our predicament? We're manning the
battlements, yes, but we have no pickets outside the walls to warn us of the
enemy's approach. What's Lieutenant Cannon's input?"
"He agrees that a design is possible, and has ideas about how to implement
it, but Lieutenant Salor's rejection of the idea has left us unsure of what
to do."
"I'll talk to Salor," said Kane. "I'll tell him to assign you a team to work
on a stealth fighter design. I'll tell him that it's *only* theoretical at
this stage, and that the decision will remain in the hands of the Chief
Engineer - "
"But, Captain - "
"Whoever the Chief Engineer is," said Kane significantly.
Jake paused. "Are you - " He frowned. "Are you going to replace Lieutenant
Salor?"
"There's no reason to, is there?" said Kane. "After all, I just have your
word that he's behaving oddly. It's not affecting his day-to-day work, is
it?"
"No, sir."
"Then Salor stays. I'm noting your concerns though, Mister Crichton, and if
you have any more... incidents with him, then be sure to keep a note of them
yourself. When you feel you have enough, come back to me."
Jake nodded. "Aye, Captain."
Kane levelled a finger at him. "Vulcans don't often go off the deep end,
though, so be careful. Salor's been in that job quite a while now, and
you're still wet behind the ears in the eyes of many. If you rock the boat,
it won't be him that ends up swimming - understand me?"
Jake nodded again, slowly. "Yes, sir."
"Right." Kane stood up. "You're dismissed, Ensign Crichton."
Jake perked up at the sound of his new rank. "Thank you, Captain."
Kane watched him go, trying to recall how he had felt on his own promotion
to Ensign. It seemed a long time ago now, a great distance away. Seventy
thousand light years distant, perhaps.
Then, with a sigh, he turned back to the PADD-mountain and got back to
reading.
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NRPG: The dastardly Maury R. Tee's plan is put into action as the station
enters a period of political vaccuum.
SHAWN: Congratulations on your promotion to Ensign, and welcome into the
FRPG proper! Don't forget to update your bio and signature ;)
Jerome McKee
the Soul of Captain Michael Turlogh Kane
Commanding Officer
GS-2
the Soul of Lieutenant Solomon Arn
Senior ACT Instructor
Starfleet Academy
"He speaks an infinite deal of nothing!"
- Shakespeare's "The Merchant Of Venice", Act 1, Scene
1.113
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