A Conversation on the Bridge (Wesley/Granger/Shalin)

[STSF_Scooter 0]

Click. Click. Click. Click. The sound of an adjustable metal cane bearing weight had become a recent background sound in the past month, as the owner of the cane walked through the corridors of the ship. It couldn't be called stalking, since the cane takes away the body language needed. Of course, the cane also improved the Commander's reach. Some pros, some cons. Both sides of the coin to be considered.

Audraya made her way, stalking as best as she could with the cane, towards the lift that would take her back up to the bridge. Crash had yet to be seen, but the XO just chalked it up either a really late night down in the back alley establishments of New Topeka, or wanting to sleep in. Of course, the Orion's mind wasn't on what was going on with Crash, but how efficient the grapevine on the Creek was—especially with the small size of the crew, they were more family than bureaucratic organ. She'd heard whispers of rumors about her and Tifa in the open mess. Normally, she was above such rumors, but after the disaster on Wei, she really didn't need such grief. With Tifa, Audraya had found a sense of contentment that had been lost since the Battle of Vulcan; her nightmares about that disaster had been diminished. Of course, there were also rumors abounding about Commander Spock and Lt Uhura on the fleet flagship, but it was interesting that it wasn't James “Tomcat” Kirk that wasn't factoring in them. Other than he'd been busy with a girl in every port.

The lift doors opened, Ens. Philips still at the communications station, which was to be expected, since Tifa was still getting ready in Audraya's quarters. The Orion's eyebrow quirked up when she saw two new officers sitting at the navigation console.

One officer, a tall female human Marine warrant, had turned at the soft swoosh of the lift door opening. As soon as the commander stepped out, she snapped to attention, eyes front, but her peripheral vision brought home the damage that what some casually called a “hit” could do. Cass put her bets on a mine, given the area and extent of the damage.

At the helm sat a young man who was cheerfully whistling while reviewing the controls. The tune was known as either ‘Whistle Stop’ or the ‘Hamster Dance’ tune - depending on who you asked. Ensign Shan Shalin had come across this old song during his time at Starfleet Academy, and he had never quite been able to let it go. At least, he couldn’t let it go without taking hold of another song, such as ‘Merry-Go-Round Broke Down’. Perhaps it was his Argelian heritage, but if he wasn’t wholly occupied with some task he couldn’t help whistling, humming, or otherwise finding some way to amuse himself. That was, after all, the point of life for an Argelian - to enjoy one’s self as much as possible.

Click. Click. Click. Click, went the cane against the deck of the bridge, as Audraya limped her way to the command pit. Her eye quirked. An Argelian, who appeared to be humming, and a Marine warrant occupied the nav console. Audraya sighed internally. Well, new crew was always appreciated, considering they’ve lost more than they gained in the past year. Somehow it seemed to her that Starfleet was beginning to consider Creek a ship of fools. Let’s hope they last longer than our last four officers. She turned, and limped her way towards the front of the bridge, she could feel the eyes of the blond Marine tracking her as she made her way around the command pit.

As the Commander made her way about the bridge, the tapping of her cane eventually caught Shan’s attention. Stiffening quickly, he made a point of checking his status board: phaser charge, torpedo chamber status, impulse and warp engines, thrusters, auxiliary reactor output, battery charge … the works. They were still docked, so everything was on standby and nothing was happening. It was best to be ready for launch, though, just in case a squadron of pirates warped in out of nowhere.

The thought gave Shan a shiver. While it was true that he was far too ambitious for life as just another Argelian, it was also true that he had never actually targeted a ship with living beings in it before. He occasionally excelled in the Academy, but everything in the Academy was a simulation: he had never killed, and he didn’t know if he had it in him or not. He did his best to calm the shake, remembering a mantra Sadun had taught him. Starfleet does not kill - it defends. That lives may be lost in the process is regrettable, but the lives saved by our actions shall certainly outnumber them. The needs of the many must always outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. The memory was reassuring; Vulcans always had a practical way of approaching problems. Maybe not the right one, but always practical.

Looking over the readouts on the main screen, and noting that everything was in proper order, including a note that one of the ship’s Tomcats was back, she turned, and fixed violet eyes on the new officers. “Welcome aboard the Comanche Creek. I’m Commander Audraya Wesley, the executive officer. I’m not one for long winded welcoming speeches, but I will let you know that we tend to run into some rather...unique situations in the Border Patrol. Its to your advantage to be able to be flexible...to have an anything goes approach to the situations we may encounter.”

Shan listened intently, stifling his own internal dialogue. ‘Anything goes’ was an approach he would most certainly not take, because for a helmsman that wasn’t true. Training for ship piloting in the Academy took two separate branches. Attack ship pilots were trained to push their ships and themselves beyond their limits; they were to do the impossible. For shuttle and starship pilots, on the other hand, everything was about grace and elegance. Technique was about getting the feel for subtly maneuvering 900 kilotons well enough to stop it all on a dime. Weapons control had one purpose: to fire at what the Captain wanted, when she wanted it. Shan was a helmsman - his job was to follow all legal orders, not to come up with his own clever way of solving a problem.

“The Chinese have a saying, that is both curse and blessing--’May you live in interesting times.’ Since Nero, we have, indeed, been living in interesting times.” Especially on this ship, she added mentally. Her eyes twitched to the blond sitting at the Nav station.

Cass waited patiently for the commander’s eyes to fall on her, letting her know an introduction was in order. “Warrant Officer Cassidy Granger, ma’am. Navigation.” To the rest she reserved comment.

“Welcome aboard, Ms. Granger.” Marine...joy. Here’s to hoping Crash and I aren’t bailing her out of Wiley E’s brig every shoreleave. Or any brig for that matter. Memories of her time with 2d/Bravo, 3/113 Marines flashed behind her eyes...and usually having to bail out her platoon members on the Fed controlled towns on Sherman’s Planet. “I hope we won’t be having any problems while you’re under our command.”

Taking that to mean problems with navigation, she replied, “My hope as well, ma’am.”

Audraya noticed that Tifa had just entered the bridge and relieved Philips. She withheld her grin, and shifted her gaze to the Ensign at helm.

Shan shifted uncomfortably, suddenly realizing that the commander’s eyes were locked on him. His attention had been drawn to the Navigator when it dawned on him that she was a Marine. It had been the one compensation that he thought a starship bridge assignment would give him: not having to work with Marines directly. He had encountered more than enough of them during his shuttle and patrol ship assignments, and still bore a bruise from his last encounter with one.

“Ensign Shan Shalin, Ma’am.” He didn’t bother identifying his assignment - the fact that he was brash enough to sit at the Helm station of a starship should have made the fact that he had orders to do so. Otherwise his next seat would be a nice, smoothly polished bunk in the ship’s brig.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Shalin. Again, let’s hope your tenure aboard will be free of problems aboard.”