Alpha Female

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following log takes place early evening during the last day of our week long TBS…

 

New Topeka Colony

Starfleet First Threat Response Office Building

 

Captain Ashton ‘Crash’ Calestorm had been pulling a double shift – a common occurrence these last few days since the problems with the USS Enterprise and the M5 computer – when a private communication had come into the Comanche Creek from Lieutenant Riley for Cale, asking the ‘Creeks captain to stop by the offices ASAP.

 

It would seem that she was needed to deal with an...internal matter at the offices.

 

Lieutenant Kevin Riley met Cale in the lobby of the FTR office building, leading her quickly through the open lobby and up the stairs to the second floor where the bulk of the operational officers were located. As they walked, he quietly filled her in with an on-site verbal report on everything that had been happening with the administrative side of things for the last week or so.

 

Once they had entered the anteroom waiting area that bordered his office, their voices rose to a more conversational tone. “Captain, we’ve done a lot of long days here since the launch of the FTR program. It’s not that I can’t, pardon me, handle the Admiral, but the last few days after the M5 dust up has been moderately insane. She’s…”

 

“…gone into Bulldog B*tch Mode?”

 

Riley’s mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile. “Aye sir. I figured you’d be familiar with the mood. She got short with a reporter that had been in the offices earlier today for a scheduled appointment, she’s not really eating, taking breaks, that sort of thing…”

 

“How long have you and the administrative staff been here? How long has Skipper been here?”

 

The brown haired man answered promptly. “Going on about forty eight hours this last run for most of us; the junior administrative aides and I are doing tag team support for the Admiral, one or two of us filling in while the others take a quick break. It’s gotten pretty hot and heavy these last eight hours though, and I know the constant press and civilian inquiries about the whole incident with the M5 aren’t helping with her mood…it’s a PR nightmare.”

 

Cale glanced towards the closed entry way door of the Admirals office, planted her fists on her hips and blew a breath out of her mouth, the whoosh of air catching a silver blond lock of hair. “Okay. You and the others go take a few hours for yourselves, on my orders. I’ll handle the Admiral.”

 

“Captain, I—“

 

“Lieutenant—“ the older woman cut the younger man off with a mild hand gesture and held his eyes for a moment, making sure that the junior officer was really listening to her before she continued speaking. “—this whole office needs a bit of down time, and you and the rest of the staff need to give me the freedom to handle her privately.”

 

A little smile quirked a corner of her mouth and she raised a rueful eyebrow. “And besides, if the Admiral starts swinging, I need the room to move.”

 

Riley laughed softly, but his expression was also searching her expression to see if Calestorm was kidding about the reasons for needing the room and the privacy…which she wasn’t.

 

“Yes sir. I’ll vacate the offices per your orders. Thank you Captain.”

 

She gave Riley a friendly clap on the shoulder, sending him on his way. “Alright, go get yourself some sleep son.”

 

Calestorm stayed in the open entryway door to Riley’s office as the lieutenant left the area and headed towards the outer offices and partitions where the administrative officers and aides were stationed; soon, the distant sound of people quietly moving out reached her ears. Once she was sure that the FTR offices had been completely vacated, she got down to work, her current ‘mission’ now in play.

 

The captain unzipped her charcoal gray Fleet duty jacket, settled her lanky frame down into the desk chair, put her feet up on the desktop, and laced her fingers behind her head. She only had a few minutes to wait before the silence was broken.

 

“Riley.” Coyote’s voice barked out over the office to office intercom inset on the surface of Riley’s desk.

 

Calestorm ignored the intercom.

 

“Lieutenant.”

 

Still ignoring the admiral, Cale began fiddling with an electronic slate stylus pen that had been left on the surface of the desk.

 

“Lieutenant Riley?!”

 

Nope, she still wasn’t answering the Admiral.

 

On cue, Admiral Shauna ‘Skipper’ Coyote came bolting through the doorway that connected her office to her chief aides office; Cale automatically took in her appearance at a glance and though her uniform wasn’t disheveled, Coyote had dark circles showing under her eyes.

 

Annoyance and then surprise flitted across Shauna’s olive skinned features, her high cheek bones made more prominent by the current amount of stress that she was under. “What in the hell are you doing here Cale? Where’s the Lieutenant?”

 

“I sent him home, and I imagine he spread the word among the remainder of your administrative staff to call it a day -- night? -- as well.”

 

The annoyance popped back onto Shauna’s features. “You don’t have the authority to order my chief aide off duty Captain.”

 

The ship’s captain unfolded herself from her sitting position and moved to stand in front of Coyote, her movements sure and un-hurried. “Last I checked Admiral, a captain outranks a lieutenant, and everyone serving on your FTR staff are ensigns, junior El Tees, or senior grade cadets. I ordered Riley home, he ordered his subordinates home. Simple as that.”

 

“And last I checked, an admiral can order a captain confined to quarters.”

 

Ignoring the blatant threat, Cale kept right on with the issue at hand and went for the proverbial throat.

 

“You’re emotionally compromised Admiral.”

 

If the statement caught the admiral off guard, she didn’t show it. “That’s a pretty serious statement Captain; are you prepared to back it up?” Coyote’s eyes had started to glitter with anger.

 

Cale persisted. “Officially no. Unofficially, yes, and I’d rather keep it there. You’re mad as hell -- with good reason -- that the escort mission for the new FTR ship additions was fragged by some brilliant computer geek and his illegal programming. You’re pushing yourself and your staff past the point of no return, and you’ve gone into glorified b*tch mode.”

 

“I should knock you on your goddamned ass.”

 

Calestorm spread her arms, opening herself up completely. “If you think it would help Shauna…”

 

If Coyote took a swing at her, hey, maybe some of her tension would dissipate.

 

Shana went even more rigid; Cale fancied that she could hear her back muscles snap with a twang. The dark haired Native American admiral walked with stiff steps over towards the floor to ceiling picture window that ran the length of the far wall in the outer office, showcasing the buildings and residences of the New Topeka skyline.

 

The captain stayed where she was, allowing Coyote the space and the time figuratively as well as literally. The next few minutes passed in silence as the admiral got her breathing under control and allowed the muscles in her back to relax slightly.

 

Shauna’s rich politician’s voice then broke the quiet. “I’m going with you on the Dead Lands assignment Crash.”

 

Now it was Calestorm’s turn to get all indignant and prissy-fied; she took a step towards her commanding officer, but managed to keep the movement non-threatening.

 

“Like hell you are Admiral. Backing me up a few months back on an away mission in a sniper capacity is one thing, but this Dead Lands assignment is a whole other intermix matrix; I don’t need to tell you how unpredictable the Were’s are, let alone the Dead Land pirate tribes.”

 

“Be careful of your tone, Captain.”

 

“We’ve passed the rank and chain of command concerns at this point in the conversation Admiral. Beggin’ your pardon, you haven’t been an active field operative for six years.”

 

Shauna half turned from the window, showing some tooth as the corner of her mouth curled up in a slight snarl. “I’m the program director. My weapons clearances are up to date, and I run a field mission parameter training program at least once every month to keep my hand in the game. Officially, you can keep me off the FTR field team by filing a formal complaint. Then again, we’d be moving out of our current unofficial position, wouldn’t we?” She turned her attention and gaze back out the picture window.

 

Coyote had thrown Calestorm’s earlier words right back at her. Formally filing a complaint would lead to all sorts of red tape in addition to the current cluster frag situation with the pirates and the M5 program, and wouldn’t the press pounce on a perceived internal issue with the FTR offices like a Tarkathian vulture to a rotting carcass.

 

Shauna could be ruthlessly smooth when it came to politics, Cale had to give her that. Instead, what she said to the admiral was, “I outta knock you on your ass.”

 

Skipper kept her attention on the New Topeka skyline, and only answered over her shoulder with a “If you think it would help.”

 

Calestorm moved to join her commanding officer at the picture window, her gaze fixating on the hover cars and flitters as they zoomed this way and that on the mid-air suspension traffic lanes. She spent a few moments, her attention following the vehicle, as if the night traffic would give her the answers she needed.

 

Her mien changed and she turned away from the window to face Coyote’s profile; the movement and change was subtle, though direct. She adopted a parade rest stance, her jaw set, her facial expression showing she was in no mood to dicker around. “You go, with some conditions Admiral Coyote.”

 

Uh-Oh. Crash’s gone into 'your ass is mine' command mode. Shauna also took a parade rest stance, facing and mirroring Calestorm out of respect. “Aye Captain.”

 

“First; I and Commander Wesley maintain operational command. Your capacity will be as an adviser. You will maintain your rank, you will advise on the mission and personnel deployments, though the commander and I will maintain actual field operational rank over you. There will be no negotiation on the matter. Is that clear?”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Second; it’s been six years since you’ve been in the field on a real mission—“ factual statement, with no room for argument, “—and if I see you takin’ any sort of fool chances I will yank you out so fast you’ll get a hernia. Is that clear Skipper?”

 

“Yes sir.” Judging by the look in Cale’s eyes (Coyote had only seen that look directed at her twice in the years they’d known each other) the ‘sir’ just seemed the safe response if not a placation gesture, indeed.

 

“Third; you and I are partnering up for this mission; I’m gonna stick on you like a bloated flea on a Blue Tick Coon Hound.”

 

Aw damn. Now she’s in down home hee haw mode. The accent was on Level 5 Kill and Crash never pulled out the country phrases unless she was really ticked.

 

“Aye Captain.”

 

“Now, you’re gonna take a break— “ factual statement with no room for negotiation, “—and you have two choices as to how you take this break: willingly or I haul you out of here across my shoulder.”

 

Coyote was six feet tall even while Calestorm stood slightly shorter at five feet nine inches. The admiral had a few pounds on the captains one hundred and fifty, but both women were about evenly matched when it came to body type and hand to hand combat. Cale was righteously focused right now, and Coyote would probably come out the worse for wear if she went all combative with her line captain.

 

Shauna’s common sense took over before her pride could re-assert itself, and the admiral lifted a brow while a ruefully amused smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Chinese at T’Var Huangs?”

 

Her eyes hadn’t lost that hardness, but Crash’s own vocal tone had softened a bit. "I called our usual orders in already; she has a table reserved."

 

The captain ticked her head toward the office door. “Now let’s go; after you Admiral.”