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 Post subject: Night shift post 2
PostPosted: Fri September 5th, 2014 6:39 am 
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Um.. Sir.” The young Lieutenant was nervous but began to ask anyway.
“Yes, Brooks.”
“Sir, permission to speak candidly.”
“Granted at all times the view screen is off Lieutenant.”
“What exactly do we do?”
“Well,” Commander Walker looked up from his pad, “Mostly, as I said earlier, we read. For some odd reason it seems the Captain schedules all planned maintenance and well, mostly all external encounters happen on day shift.” He lounged in the Captain’s chair in way only the second in command could, “If we are to arrive say at Vulcan, she’ll have us slow down or speed up to ensure she is in the chair when we get in normal transporter and subspace range.”
“Okay, so what about attacks or planned defensive posturing?”
“Oh, well we, lucky us, get to pull 20 hour shifts and basically we fix everything they break. Valmont and I often have lead boarding parties and what twice now?” Walker leaned his head back looking even more relaxed.
“No sir.” Valmont didn’t glance his way but held up his fingers, “Three.”
“Oh, right the Jem'Hadar fighter, I don’t really count that one, you did all the work. Well, we have taken command of three attacking ships. A rogue Raptor not associated with the now docile Klingon Defense Force, thought they could hijack a Caitian freighter in route to Delta IV. Little did they know we had a crewman who was speaking to his sister aboard the freighter when they attacked. And then there was the time we captured the Ha’apax Warbird. The god damn Tal Shiar kept killing themselves before we got a chance to kill them. But don’t worry nothing like that is going to happen while you’re at the helm.”
“You know I use to pilot the, “Sparrow?” Brooks thought he would miss almost dyeing every day and was confused about the lack of excitement.
“Yeah. And now you’re are aboard the Ronin. Welcome to the suck.”
Not wanting everyone to go back to their reading Brooks continued questioning, “So what happened with the Jem'Hadar, we always ended up either limping back to DS9 or just managing to scrap a victory.”
“I think I’ll let Valmont tell you about that.” He leaned back again at his direction, “If you would enlighten the boy…”
“I am uncertain if you are aware of the traditional Ngaj'etlh. It is a Klingon short sword used by very few. The Brotherhood of the Sword does not honor many with them. It will cut through Jem’Hadar armor as if it was not there and can take a full blow from a tritanium Bat’leth.”
“As you are well aware, the Jem’Hadar have been placing dampening fields’ throughout their ships requiring hand to hand combat only. After only one direct hit from our pulse cannon I was beamed directly aboard their bridge alone.” Valmont stood up from his chair and slipped the Ngaj'etlh out from his sheath. “The Vorta’s head was removed before I fully materialized.” He spun on the spot with grace and allowed his short sword to extend from his hand seeming part of him, “Ensign Gregg really does need a promotion for his expertise.”
“I knew there would be twelve or so warriors for me but sadly only four were still alive, well for a brief moment anyway.” The sword evaporated in a ritualistic re-sheathing. “Commander Walker took the helm just as we were about to bounce of the Ronin’s shields. We still don’t know why they thought fifteen of their small mosquitoes could have taken us.”
Brooks felt more relaxed knowing his new commanders had seen similar action, “So, you do have fun from time to time.”
“Fun is a few too many drinks on Risa and a story you’d be embarrassed to tell a Caitian in heat.” Walker sat up a little and adjusted his Comm Badge. “Fun is participating in the Antarian Trans-stellar Rally only to come in third because you forgot to recalibrate the gravimetric sensors after you pass by the Möbius Inversion. Killing people, is..” Walker sat forward now and interlaced his fingers in thought, “We kill to save the guy next to you. We spare those we can, and we heal those we have hurt.”
“Sir, I didn’t”
“I know. We have to make it a game to stay sane, but please don’t belittle life.”
“My apologies sir.” There was a long pause and no one seemed able to break the scilence Brook’s voice cracked and then he asked, “Caitian’s go into heat?”
“Every 53 days. We have to schedule them all for isolation for at least two days or they end up making love in the coridorrs.”
“Really…”
“Have you never served with one?” Ensign Gregg questioned.
“No. we didn’t have any in my class at the academy either.”
“An influential Federation species and you know nothing about them?” Gregg had to know each species and their individual quarks as he disassembled them atom by atom on a regular basis.
Petty Officer First Class Pillar shook his head in disapproval as he glanced up from reading about Transwarp integration procedures. “Where were you born?”
“I grew up on Vacca III mostly among Grazerites.”
“Ah, you ever head butt one of them?” Pillar was mocking him a little as Grazerites have protruding horns they often hide from outsiders.
“Look, so I am not a doctor nor a science officer. I am a pilot.”
“Sir.” Chief Petty Officer Neman spoke with noticed formality.
“Yes Neman.”
“Away team Omega is reporting in.”
“Put them through.”
“Lieutenant VaiYon to the Ronin.”
“This is Commander Walker what can we do for you VaiYon?”
“The Terrains on my squad are requesting warmer accommodations.” His cool monotone voice seemed to echo his Vulcan discontent for people from Earth, “Could you replicate two female subzero suits and one male. Crew support should have their dimensions.”
Walker began to laugh in response. “Did they forget where they were going… I’ll send down some Klingon cold weather survival gear.”
“That should be, most amusing. Thank you sir.”
“Need anything else?”
“Happen to have a Breen sound nullifier?” VaiYon was obviously accustomed to Walker’s jovial style.
“I’ll send down some Arcadian hot chocolates, they have a way of putting Terrains in a meditative state.”
“Thank you. VaiYon out.”
“Chief Neman, did you..”
“Yes sir! And Ensign Gregg if you would beam the uniforms now in Cargo Bay One’s replacator and the canister of Arcadian hot chocolate in the Main Mess replicator.”
“On it and..” he whisked his hands about the screen unnecessarily, “Beaming.”
“Sir, are you not human?” Brooks asked.
“Didn’t you notice the eyes? I am surprised by your lack of knowledge. Who briefed you on our mission when you boarded?” Walkers tone became serious.
“When I relieved Ensign…” he struggled to remember the name he was always bad with the small details. “Marcos. Marcos Aralias.”
“Ah, and thus the reason for his demotion is earned yet again. I am one of only three registered Chameloids. This is not my natural state. Everyone who I serve with should know.”
“Chameloid? Aren’t they just a myth?”
“When referring to another’s people, especially your commanding officer, respect should be shown.”
“Sorry it’s just my dad told me fairy tales about Allasomorphs and such.”
“You know stellar cartography, tell me where is the planet called Arc?”
“Sure it is an M-class very much like Andor sixth planet from a white main sequence star named Doq’Chis just outside of the Kahless Expance in the Omega Leonis Sector of the Alpha Quadrant.” He spit the words out so quickly he knew he was right. One had to memorize all of the M-class planets, their sectors and their stars before graduating in the piloting program at the academy.
Walker stood up with verve and nearly broke the captain’s console, “She is called, Vackra Mor, for she is our mother.” Walker adjusted his uniform jacket, “There are so few of us left. The Klingons were not kind to my people.” He sat back down in a heap of himself and suddenly his uniform looked oddly loose.
“Sir, may I ask you a personal question?”
“I have always been candid, you may ask.”
“What do your people naturally look like?”
“Well that depends on where we were born, and who we grew up around.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I grew up on an uninhabited area of Qo'noS, but patrols often disturbed our little settlement and before I turned three I was a slave to the House of Targesh. After living with them for ten years I began to look like them, even after I was freed that same year. My natural state is akin to Klingon, but my sister was sold to a Vulcan trader and so she appears to be mostly Vulcan when in her natural state.”
“Oh, thank you.” He had no idea how to respond to the new information and looked to the others, but they weren’t even paying attention as if they had heard the story before.
“Pay attention to the eyes.” Walker rose back up and morphed into a light skinned looking Klingon from the northern highlands of Qo’noS. His nose grew twice in width and his skull grew smooth fish scale like ridges. Brooks noticed how sharp his ears were as if almost Vulcan or Romulan.
“I have never seen a Klingon like you sir.”
“Then you have never seen a member of the House of Targesh. They often pierce their ridges and they wear many earrings. Their skull protrudes down more than most, almost blocking their eyes from seeing above them. You should swing by my quarters and see my family’s armor and my ‘alngegh.”
“Your family?”
“Yes, I was a slave, until I took control of the Vor’cha commanded by the Kozak scum. Their house claimed our lands and they were only interested in Latium, not honor.”
“At thirteen...”
“Nice to see you paying attention for once. Yes, I assumed the form of an Orion Salve girl and I easily killed…” Walker shrank back down to Terrain proportions and quieted his voice, “Their head of House…” He paused for a long time and interlaced his fingers in the same way he had earlier, “Death is a way of life for Klingons; I do not embrace it.” Another long pause was followed by quick questions, “How was growing up on Vacca III? Grazerites are a peaceful people, are they not?”
“That’s for sure. But you should see their harvest festival. It lasts for three weeks.”


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