"End of Shift"

[Col. C.E. Harper 0]

"Thank you, Mr. Tanervrë," Harper said to the Sulamid officer who had Gamma shift this cycle, "I'll keep the watch for a while yet."

 

"Yes, Captain," Tanervrë replied, getting the rank wrong as usual. It didn't matter to him that she was a marine, she commanded the ship, so she was 'captain.' "Not overwork, Captain. Get rest soon."

 

"As soon as I can, Mr. Tanervrë," she replied, carefully hiding a smile. There was nothing quite like being mother-henned by a sheaf of purple tentacles, but there was no point in protesting. That was Sulamids for you: good natured, loyal, honest. He knotted together a few of his tentacles in a gesture of respect and shuffled off to an auxiliary console.

 

Harper settled back in her command chair, knowing there wasn't any point in returning to her quarters. She wouldn't sleep anyway, not with a battle a few thousand klicks from them and a team venturing off into potentially hostile territory. Potentially hostile? a sarcastic voice at the back of her mind piped up. These days it sounded like O'd'yl, as if the flesh-and-blood version weren't enough alone. Harper squelched it as she rarely managed to suppress the physical version. Yes, all right, they were probably heading into hostile territory, seeing as she didn't really trust the Umbara one little bit (or the Selshans, for that matter), but it wasn't as if she'd sent off a shuttle full of bluegills. The marines could handle themselves, whatever came up, and – yes, the barnacles could too.

 

This notion of going after both the general and the spy (sounds like a bad holo-novel, commented the inner Odile) certainly had merit. Stars knew she liked keeping her options open, given that she trusted both sides about as far as she could throw them. But she didn't like sending a team into the Umbara's claws. Maybe the whole ship should have gone… or part of it, at least. There was no tactical advantage to holding MVAM in reserve; both sides had seen it already. Send… hmm, Gamma section? After the spy. It was the best-armed – but then perhaps it should go after the general in the thick of the fighting. Or Alpha, the most maneuverable…

 

She cursed, realized it had been aloud, and pretended to ignore the glances of the bridge crew. The differences in sections was an old complaint, one they'd discussed to death back on the Prometheus Project, even as keel after keel was laid to the same specs. Practicalities… but she could still hear the refrain of the Strat-Tac people: "At least arm them equally!" What would happen, they theorized, if one section should be destroyed while the others survived? Of course, usually in the scenarios it was Alpha sec, weaker and slower, that was lost, comforting everyone with the 'certainty' that Beta and Gamma would simply link back up, and a new Alpha module could be built later. They'd even argued for building one or two spares to hold ready, but it wasn't like bridge modules, so easily replaced. Seven decks, three hundred meters long, warp core – as well build a Defiant-class and have done with it.

 

And why, she wondered sourly, did no one write scenarios for intact sections unable to relink? It might have made their first days out here easier. That wasn't quite fair, she knew; they had. And then they'd installed triple redundancies in the docking: mag-lock, hard-dock, umbilicals (though the last required some precision flying from the various helms). And should all of those fail – or in Agincourt's case, be slagged by weapons fire then shaken to bits as a bonus – well, no one had expected a ship to be so far from spacedock that it would be any hardship.

 

When we get home – she refused, even in her own mind, to say 'if' – I'm writing Admiral Janeway and asking if she'd be willing to collaborate on a set of recommendations for design and protocol with an eye to ships stranded outside Federation influence. Maybe enlist a few of the commanders who pulled duty in the Gamma Quadrant, too. A few things had been learned from Voyager's adventure; improved power-regeneration systems and energy efficiencies, mostly, which was why Agincourt hadn't been forced to forage for foodstuffs and ration replicator usage. Thankfully, Harper thought. I'm not sure I want to find out what the local answer to leola root is.

 

"… Captain?" She blinked and looked up. Tanervrë was standing there, one of his smaller tentacles wrapped around a padd and several large ones waving anxiously. "Not be hearing, Captain. Resting now."

 

Harper tugged her uniform straight, drawing herself up – and then sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. "Very well, Mr. Tanervrë. You have the conn; I'll be in the Ready Room."

 

"Aye, Captain."

 

Harper got up, foregoing the usual eyeroll at the usual mistitling, and walked the long way around to her ready room. The stairs were a bit of a nuisance, in her opinion; too few and too many all at once. Though granted the circular design did give a commander better line of sight than the horseshoe-variants.

 

The ready room doors hissed open, the lights coming up automatically. One of those power-saving measures; someone had figured out that it wasn't necessary to run lights in empty rooms, even a workspace, even in dayshift. Now they came up upon entry. Unfortunately, she didn't want them right now anyway. "Lights one-quarter," she snapped, passing through the open office space to the tiny space beyond, the one that was just enough to hold a 'fresher and a cot. Old-style ready room, this: the workspace might have gotten cushy as ships did, but they always found somewhere to tuck the old crash space, the place for a captain to nap for an hour or two assuming he or she could actually be prevailed upon to actually leave the bridge in a long-term crisis.

 

Harper shucked the uniform jacket and lay down, setting her 'mental alarm' for three hours. Despite her worries, her body was well-conditioned; she dropped off almost at once.

[OdileCondacin 0]

"As soon as I can, Mr. Tanervrë," she replied, carefully hiding a smile. There was nothing quite like being mother-henned by a sheaf of purple tentacles, but there was no point in protesting.

 

As all good jellyfish would agree.

 

These days it sounded like O'd'yl, as if the flesh-and-blood version weren't enough alone.

No colonel could ever have enough Xenexian!

 

Harper squelched it as she rarely managed to suppress the physical version.

 

Unstoppable!

 

...but it wasn't as if she'd sent off a shuttle full of bluegills.

... I think there's a hidden insult in here. Let me think it over.

 

(sounds like a bad holo-novel, commented the inner Odile)

 

I wonder if I can get my brand of sarcasm trademarked. The royalties!!

 

Tanervrë was standing there, one of his smaller tentacles wrapped around a padd and several large ones waving anxiously.

 

It's the tentacles. So familiar and welcoming and friendly!!!

 

Great, great log, Colonel-Captain!

Edited August 20, 2007 by OdileCondacin