From: Jamie LeBlanc (plainsimplegarak_at_yahoo.com)
Date: Mon Jul 21 2008 - 00:47:51 PDT
"Ephemera" (Continued from "Loony Kate vs. Lt. Cmdr. Kate, Part 2")
~*~*~*~
Location: GS2
Stardate: 2.80721.0242
Scene: Airlock -> Security Offices
~*~*~*~
The ship had not even docked and she was already in uniform, ready to meet her new crew. She walked like a woman of confidence, aura of calm still radiating around her. The transporter ensign shied away a little. She shook her head a bit and headed for the airlock.
~*~
Ensign Sal Taybrim was waiting for her as she came on board GATEWAY station. The nervous young Betazoid kept shifting from foot to foot as if he was nervous. Sardra had sent him on ahead when she learned of this posting several weeks ago, and Taybrim has spent his past few weeks getting acquainted with the station, with Lieutenant Pandalora and her logs, and all the other things required to run an entire station’s worth of security. Sardra had handpicked him from the remaining crew of the destroyed USS POSEIDON to be a part of this team. He did want to let her down.
That and he wasn’t quite sure what sort of woman he would meet stepping out of the airlock. As odd as that sounded, he knew she had requested the past three months of leave in order to undergo the Kohlinar – the Vulcan cleansing of emotions. The loss of their previous ship, including their captain and the head of security, had affected the entire surviving crew. Sardra had hid it well, but slowly became withdrawn, cold. When she announced she was going back to Vulcan he had to admit it worried him. He had rather liked the hidden playfulness in the cool young woman’s persona.
As she walked in with a small clot of people she turned her face to Sal and perked a brow. “Ensign Taybrim, I trust your past few weeks have gone smoothly?”
He gave a small nod. “Aye, ma’am”
She gave a short nod. “Technically we are of the same rank, Taybrim, you may still call me Sardra.”
He sucked his teeth a little. “And you can still call me Sal, you know.” He sucked in a breath and asked the burning question on his mind. "How did your testing go?"
Sardra perked a very Vulcan brow. "I found my answers. How has the new team reacted to the training protocols?"
Sal's face fell very slightly, there was a certain coldness to the security chief that he didn't like. "They seem amenable to them, many of them are fairly fresh and unused to high combat situations."
Sardra nodded a bit as they walked through the hallway, and tapped a door panel, waiting as the doors slid open. "I understand that this Station is not used to being on the forefront of a war; but the team must learn to adapt for the conditions." She passed a PADD over to him, with a detailed schedule “I think we will start with a mild regimen, and see how they adapt."
Taybrim took the PADD and nodded slightly “There is also the marine contingent to consider." He paused eyeing his companion as they got to the security offices.
She gave a perfectly emotionless nod. “I have already fully read on the situation of martial law on the promenade and the reappearance of Colonel Hunter. I hope that clear delineation of duties will see that there are no further conflicts between security and the marine forces, while keeping checks to prevent such a situation in the future.” The chief of security walked over to the desk and took a seat, gesturing for Sal to sit as well.
The Betazoid sucked a short breath through his teeth, business done it was time to turn back to the worry in the back of his mind. "Your test went that well..." He replied rather flatly.
Sardra spun on her chair, and when she came to a stopping point in her revolution, she put her elbows on the desk. "No...." She paused, and suddenly a grin spread wildly across her face. "I failed." Sal moved backwards with a faint bit of surprise. Sardra stood and continued on, animatedly waving her hands in the air. "I didn't just fail... I failed spectacularly. I don't think in the entire history of Vulcan anyone who has attempted the primary initiation has failed as spectacularly as I did." She ended in a good smirk.
The other security officer perked a brow, and slowly started to chuckle “And this is a good thing?"
Sardra nodded “At least I know that I do not, in fact, belong on Vulcan. And I do, in fact, belong in Starfleet." She smiled and paused a bit “and hitting a priest... is emotionally fulfilling..."
"You didn't...!"
"Oh, do I have a story for you..."
~*~*~*~*~
Time Index: Several Hours Later
She had engineered it so that she was transported on board the station a day early. While a few of the security officers had dropped by and noted that something was up, the vast majority of the crew expected her to come tomorrow.
That was the plan.
All in all, Sardra enjoyed time. Time to think, time to read up on the station logs, time to settle, time to unpack.
It was the unpacking that was the hardest part.
She had been able to salvage a great deal of things when the POSEIDON was towed in. She had maintained hope, as did the bulk of the crew, that the ship would be refitted and sent back out. But with over 1/3 of the crew dead, massive structural damage and one warp nacelle missing Starfleet decided that the POSEIDON would be scrapped, its pieces used to strengthen other ships, and its crew used to strength other crews. Some day they might rebuild it. But some day was a long way away.
And so it was time to unpack, and make this new place a home. She had a great deal of things stashed away, ephemera she had kept to remind herself of her travels. Though it was illogical to keep dragging it around the universe, Sardra didn’t always subscribe to the laws of logic.
So now it was all unpacked. Bit by bit. The genuine leather cowboy hat Lieutenant Sanders had brought her from his hometown because he was amused at her obsession with cowboys. One fork, encased in a thin coating of latinum used as the award for the most boneheaded move of the mission – a gentle reminder to keep you head on straight. That came from when Security Chief Prolton got stabbed by a fork-wielding assailant on Denev II. A battered copy of Klingon love poetry from Lieutenant Commander Thrass who appreciated the fact that Sardra enjoyed his humor. She never told him she was half Romulan. She would never get the chance. The entire tactical department was depressurized. Thrass and fourteen others were killed instantaneously.
The hurt had faded, mostly. Sardra was not the type to dwell on things. But the memories lingered. She had taken the Kohlinar partially to see if she could train herself to focus better – as if she could have somehow saved the POSEIDON herself. And partially to see if she really had belonged in Starfleet. At least now she was in peace with both of those questions.
She dug into the bottom of the box, and pulled out one last memento. It was a small holophoto of herself and a tall, attractive, blonde haired Bajoran on one of the beaches at Risa. They were both wearing lovely tropical bikinis, with carefree expressions of better days and well deserved R and R. Jo’Mal. She bit her lip. Jo’Mal Na’Hel had been her best friend, a bright pilot and an eager tactician. Her loss hurt the most, not only because of the bond the two women had forged, but because of the 286 casualties the ship suffered, 8 bodies were never found.
That was the worst of all. The not knowing, the wondering. Were they blow out into space? The hull had suffered at least two major breeches. Were they captured by the dominion? Logic dictated that it was nearly impossible, and yet Sardra couldn’t help wondering if she had left a friend out there, somewhere in the cosmos, at the hands of the Dominion.
She hated the not knowing; and in the end she pushed it from her mind, delving into the task as hand, pulling up the recent station logs.
~*~*~*~*~
All thing being equal, the duty logs of Gateway Station didn’t make much sense on a good day. After their drama with the BFOV SHIV they through logic straight out the window, cruised past unbelievable and went directly for full on absurdity. After several changes of senior staff all over the station, the paperwork seemed insurmountable. Though she had known that logically it was a very bad idea, she had slept at her desk. She figured why not test out the chair to see if this new office would support such a habit in the long term?
The alarm rang at 0600 hours, beating the sound of electronic wardrums into her eardrums. Blinking blearily, the newly minted Chief of Security stretched and started her day by sending off all her various introductory to the correct departments and scheduling the scads of meetings she was supposed to attend.
"Oh by Surak's principles...," she muttered a vague curse, looking over the new reports, particularly the ones that concerned dimensional duplicates wreaking havoc and a magical explosion in the Commander’s quarters injuring her children, and promptly decided that logic dictated procrastination. And breakfast. Time to see who was hanging around the promenade. She gave a stretch before leaving the security offices, and started a stroll to clear her mind.
~*~*~*~*~
Scene: Promenade
Thomas Varn slowly stretched his wings before tucking them down and throwing on his coat. There was a certain placidity of the early morning that appealed to him, particularly on a mostly empty promenade.
He leaned back slightly and strolled past the Animal Spa, listening to the soft cooing of a pair of doves Mr. Giles had in the front window, heading towards the Illogical Eaterie.
“Lieutenant Varn?”
He spun about, blinking. The whole alternative universe duplicates caper had made him edgy, so hearing his name unexpectedly did little for his nerves. Yet the speaker was calm; albeit completely unknown.
“I will assume from your shock that I am correct.” She perked a slender black brow.
“I am afraid that means you have me at a rather uncomfortable disadvantage.” The young winged man replied, keeping said feathery features carefully still and hidden.
The Vulcan kept her face carefully neutral, a glint showing through her gaze. “My apologies, Lieutenant. I am Ensign Sardra Vol.” She paused and added, as if it was the most logical thing in the world, “I had just read your mission logs from the dominion conflict, and I thought I might put picture to person.”
“I guess I’m easy to pick out of a crowd.” Thomas groused lightly, fidgeting a bit.
“You are only one of two human males in the science department, and the other one is Daniel Johnson, who beyond being an ensign, is also black. It was not hard to pick you out.” Sardra punctuated it with a very Vulcan expression.
Thomas bit his lip, almost adding ‘and I’m sure the wings have nothing to do with it.’ Then again she wasn’t paying any particular attention to his back either. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Ensign.” He replied, half-heartedly.
“Perhaps, since we have the good fortune of meeting this morning you will join me for breakfast and a beverage.”
Lt. Varn paused a second and checked his chronometer, before furrowing his brows in confusion. “Do you mean a drink? It’s only 0630 hours.”
Sardra shook her head evenly. “No. I mean a beverage.” Seeing confusion pouring into his eyes she gave a soft sigh and explained. “A beverage is something, preferably caffeinated, to be imbibed in the morning. A drink is something, preferably alcoholic, to be imbibed at night.” Her voice had a slight tone of ‘you’re a scientist, get it right.’
The CSciO blinked a bit at that. “I wasn’t aware there was a difference.”
“I have just illustrated for you a difference. Whether or not this difference if official is irrelevant. It has been defined so therefore it exists.” She didn’t smile, though Thomas swore her eyes sparkled like she wanted to. Her face was still an even mask of Vulcan logic.
Taking in a short breath he thought about this for a few seconds. On one hand she was enigmatic and seemed to come out of nowhere in both speech and action. On the other hand she was more pleasant company than brooding about the horrors the alternative Kate had laid upon his counterpart by himself. That and she smelled good. He gave a soft sigh. “Alright, then let us get a … beverage.” He paused and resumed his previous course. “How does the Illogical Eatery sound?”
Sardra turned and started to walk beside him. “That sounds very …” she trailed off and faced him with a browperk in a perfect Vulcan expression of confusion.
Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle. “Illogical…” he finished her sentence for her.
She gave a curt nod. “Exactly.”
~*~*~*~*~
NRPG: So, here’s a slice of the new security chief. I will be taking her on as my PC. Please keep Zel as a pNPC; for I will wish to use him; but I no longer have to worry about missions and the like.
Justin: tag. ; )
~*~*~*~*~
Jamie LeBlanc
Ensign Sardra Vol
Chief Security Officer
GS2
&
Civillian Zel Rohan
Irredeemable Pain in the Ass (yes, that’s a job title…)
GS2
"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"
~Julian Beck
From HyperNews_at_youth.net
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.5 : Wed Nov 19 2008 - 03:10:54 PST