Damage Control (Calestorm Log)

[Crash Calestorm 0]

Crash Calestorm -> ::enters TurboLift:: Marine firing range! ::barks out the order:: - 08.31.15 Chat

 

The following log takes place immediately after our 08.31.15 Sim…

 

Captain Ashton Calestorm made short work of every target that popped up on the stationary course section of the firing range. One headshot, two head shots. All her frustration was being channeled into blowing away the inanimate objects; a dummy head disappeared in a spray of synthetic ooze. She assumed the MARDET was giving her space considering the course had emptied out quickly as soon as she had started going to town on the hapless targets.

 

Rumors, facts and untruths traveled the same speed on a Starfleet ship and that was much faster than you’d imagine. Therefore, the Executive Officer and resident Mission Specialist regressing to the level of five year olds were the top priority – and topic – right now.

 

Hell, word had already leaked back to Coyote! That really ticked her off. The Admiral had commed her personally regarding the matter. Really?!

 

Calestorm had been Hell on Wheels - or maybe a more appropriate description was Hell on Wings? - during her piloting days, this was true, so perhaps this fight snafu was karma coming back to bite her in the ass.

 

Crash understood that ships had always had an active gossip line, from the wet Navy of years past to the first interstellar launch of the Enterprise NX-01. Talk among crew was a natural reaction during missions in space that lasted for months at a time. This Rust Belt Mission was no exception and her people needed to let off steam by talking about this and that, who was hooking up with who in a relationship since ‘Creek employed a relaxed policy in that area.

 

Or who had beaten who senseless during a brawl…

 

In some ways, the ‘Creek was a throwback to the NX-01 Enterprise. Not that Cale would ever compare herself to one of the first true explorer captains of the pre-Federation era, Jonathan Archer. But from what she could gather from the historical texts and recordings, there had been a relaxed relationship policy among his crew as well. And while doing some research on their current mission she’d also stumbled across a log recording by the former line captain regarding Lieutenant Reed, his Security Chief and Major Hayes, the MARDET commander, getting into a full on brawl.

 

She felt a little better that she’d not been the first Captain to have two senior members get into a ruckus with one another. The point was that tempers could flare on long missions as a hazard of the profession.

 

Another similarity with the NX-01 was that the ‘Creek would be on their own for long durations; the arrival of the Reluctant and Washington’s Crossing to assist with the planetary base refurbishments would help, but for the most part she and her crew had been on her own as per usual with the inspections of abandoned listening posts and bases scattered across the Federation Border

 

The rumors about this particular cluster frell had to be waylaid and she needed to deal with Wesley and Byblos; she just didn’t trust herself right now.

 

If those two hadn’t beaten each other senseless…she scored three direct hits on one target head – again, maybe a little overkill there – and was reloading her cell clip when a cleared throat undercut by purring caught her attention.

 

She turned to the direction of the sound and just off the edge of the firing range stood Lieutenant Honor-Scar, Comanche Creeks Commander of the Aero Wing. The golden furred Caitian wore her usual flight suit as well as protective eyewear and ear plugs on her overly sensitive ears.

 

“Yes, what is it El Tee? Everything okay with the flight rotations? Are those newbies that the EX Oh cleared for status doing okay?”

 

Honor-Scar waved a paw in respectful dismissal of the question. “Aye Sir, the rotation is fine. But I’d like to know why I’ve not seen your name lately. You’re usually off this ship faster than a slippery mercenary at an illegal flight hop.”

 

As a former mercenary herself, the young cat had a way with words, yep. “You came all the way to Marine Country to ask why I’ve not been out and about lately?”

 

An ear flipped back. “I represent the joint venture of Honor-Scar and Vega, Captain Trackers at Law.”

 

Cale shot an accusatory glance around the area for said Vega, the MARDET's Staff Sergeant, but of course he was nowhere to be seen; smart man.

 

She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Vega had been worried when she blew a gasket upon finding out what had happened between Wesley and Byblos. They’d been out in the field and it had been just her and the Staff and one unconscious pirate. The Security and Marine teams that had arrived to assist them had been too busy securing the scene to notice.

 

It’s really hard to worry a Marine - and Security, and Medical - but Crash seemed to excel at these talents thank you very much.

 

The silence that settled was companionable, and the captain did a quick spot check on her weapon. When it was obvious the older woman wasn’t going to answer the initial question of her flight plans, Jumper spoke up again with her purring lilt.

 

“Sir, I’ve noticed you get this, ah, predatory vibe when you get really angry. Maybe some flight time would relax you.”

 

Crash gazed at her CAG. To be called predatory by a predatory species – even though the Caits were of course felinoid and somewhat removed from their ancient forebears – she did find that amusing.

 

She smiled. “So…I get all predatory?”

 

“Yes, Captain. Staff Sergeant Vega described it that you get kind of Earth wolf-ish looking.”

 

Her smile went crooked. “Did he infer I’m a werewolf?”

 

“Wait, what? What’s a werewolf?”

 

Calestorm sighed, “Never mind, Honor-Scar,” then then gave another smile for the felinioid’s benefit. “I’ll sign up for the next patrol I’m available for, ‘kay?”