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Post by pscotty90 on Mar 6, 2019 2:06:44 GMT
So while thinking on CJ’s new forum based game that is still in development I got a little over excited and created a whole new ship, character and crew which I wanted to start writing about straight away. Therefore I introduce you to Lt. Commander Samuel Murphy, newly minted Commander of a ship which is a bit of what you might call a labour of love.
To Lt. Commander Samuel Murphy, Stardate 11903. You are hereby requested and required to take command of the U.S.S. Shakespeare as of this date. Signed Admiral S’rendar, Starfleet Command.
Day One
Starfleet Salvage Yard – In orbit of Oberon, near Uranus, Sector 001 ESD Runabout “USS Nile” approaching
“Is this a punishment detail?” Kurt asked.
“What makes you say that?” Samuel Murphy didn’t look up from where he was seated in the back of the runabout. He was reclined with his feet outstretched across the panel next to him, a series of PADDs scattered over the work station and nestled in his lap as he read through them.
“We’re out here, literally in the Uranus end of nowhere and you’re saying this is where we’re picking up your ship?”
“Our ship.”
“I haven’t agreed yet.”
Murphy didn’t argue. Kurt Muller was his best friend since their time at the Academy. He knew him well enough to know that one way or another he’d join him on his first command, particularly when it presented the kind of engineering challenge that the Engineer thrived on. At least, that’s what he had hoped. Kurt had spent the last two years working as the Chief Foreman of a Utopia Planitia drydock and building some of the most advanced starships in the fleet… He might have become a little pretentious. For that reason he’d not told Kurt why they were on a runabout with a dozen other engineers aboard until they were getting close to the yard.
Kurt was staring out the front window as the various pieces of strewn debris and hulking wrecks that were coming into view as the light from Oberon shon behind them. Murphy couldn’t help but crane his neck up and try to spot his ship among the masses of discarded vessels from centuries past.
The Oberon Salvage Yard had been in use since the earliest days of Starfleet to break down and recycle their vessels. Some ships would be disassembled piece by piece and their contents used as spare parts throughout the fleet, while their hull plating would be cut apart and their alloys melted down to be used in new ship construction. It often took a while and in some cases some ships became so obsolete that even their hull composition was no longer useful. For that reason there were still some entirely untouched ships among the wreckage from as far back as the 22nd Century. Occasionally a historical society or some such would try to petition Starfleet to save one of the wrecks to be turned into a museum piece, but the fact was that many couldn’t be towed away without their hulls breaking apart. Murphy was fairly confident that his ship wouldn’t be in that bad a state though.
The Runabout had entered the debris field and was heading around the bare structure of an old Walker Class when The Shakespeare first came into view. It’s hull was dark and completely lifeless like the rest of the ships around her, yet the unmistakable four nacelles of a Constellation class were evident as the ship eclipsed the light grey of the moon behind it.
Murphy clattered the PADDs he had with him onto the console and leapt to his feet, leaning his elbow on Kurt’s shoulder as they approached.
“There he is.” Murphy said with awe in his voice.
“You have got to be kidding.” Kurt replied, “What else did the Admiral offer you? Was it a garbage freighter? Because I would have strongly considered the garbage freighter.”
“Oh come on. There are older ships. If he was an Oberth or a Miranda you wouldn’t have given it a second thought.” Murphy tapped the Ensign at helm on the shoulder and waved for him to circle around the ship.
“No I wouldn’t. Because they were designed to last a couple of centuries. This thing was designed to last a few decades.”
He wasn’t wrong. The ships that had really lasted the test of time, the Excelsior, Miranda and Oberth classes, had been designed from day one to be easily upgraded. All their major components and sections were modular. You take off the hull plate, slide out an old section and replace it with a brand new one with all the latest tech. You could do that over and over again with almost every system. It was only a matter of making sure the new computer core or warp reactor you were using was the right size to fit. Starfleet had taken a lot of time over the last century making sure that they could keep those three main classes the back bone of their operations, and it worked so well that an Excelsior class built in the 2290’s was still a favoured choice among some of the top Captains in Starfleet. Even if the ships eventually became a little like an old broom. You change the head, and you change the handle, in the end do you still have the same broom?
The Constellation Class by contrast was designed as a testbed for new technology. The technology introduced in its construction was instrumental in the development of almost every class that came after it for almost sixty years. Unfortunately, the ship itself was never intended to stay in service much longer beyond that. Most Constellation class ships were taken out of service about forty years after their launch with a few notable exceptions. They were sturdy ships for their day, but you couldn’t just swap out components like you could with the longer lasting Starfleet designs, the one exception being that the entire Warp Reactor and Engineering housing could be slid out from the rear of the ship and replaced… The one thing that made Murphy’s plan possible.
Shakespeare had been laid up and abandoned since before the Dominion War, but had never even been touched since, until two weeks ago when Murphy first saw him while teaching some Cadets the finer points of EVA operations, and instantly fell in love with the old guy.
“I’ve been looking into it,” he said, “It’ll take some work but I think we can bring him up to modern specs. We’ll get the computer back online first and start general repairs, then tow him back to Spacedock with the runabout.”
“Him?” Kurt interrupted.
“It’s the USS Shakespeare, I’m not about to call it ‘she’. This one was definitely a he.” Murphy said, Defensively, “Anyway once we get him back to Spacedock I have a team waiting with a new Engineering module which I think we can get back into good working order. Might even be able to get a little more power out of the new warp reactor.”
“New?”
“Well… Renovated…” he corrected.
The shuttle bay at the front of Shakespeare’s saucer was already open to space as the Runabout made it back to the forward section. It was empty except for a few spare cargo containers but was still smaller than a lot of modern bays.
“Sir,” the helmsman began, “The Nile is too long to land as standard. I’m going to have to bring her sideways on strafe her in.”
Murphy patted the Ensign on the shoulder reassuringly.
“Do what you have to, Ensign.” He turned to the rest of his staff. An assorted range of engineers from a variety of backgrounds, but all wearing the same gold uniforms. “Everyone else get your gear together. Muller and I will suit up for an EVA to bring life support and the bay forcefield back on line.”
“Uhm, excuse me?” Kurt said incredulously. “When did I agree to this?”
“You didn’t, I’m ordering you, Commander.”
“Murph, we’re the same rank.”
“Ah,” Murphy grinned, “We are, yes, but I have been given command of Shakespeare, under orders to bring her back online. As his Captain I have superiority and therefore your Uranus is mine.”
Murphy took his friend by the shoulders and began escorting him out of the cabin.
“I’m gonna hate this,” Kurt said.
“You’re going to hate me,” Murphy corrected, “You’re going to love Shakespeare.”
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Post by pscotty90 on Mar 7, 2019 23:25:03 GMT
When one of you kind admins see this can you do me a favour and correct my spelling mistake in the title so it says ’Adventures’ instead of ’Adeventure’. It’s doing my head in.
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Post by pscotty90 on Mar 17, 2019 3:24:44 GMT
Day 2
They were underway, albeit slowly. The Runabout’s tractor beam strained as the little ship dragged the old war horse out of its pasture and they were on a course back to Earth.
The whole endeavour had already taken longer than Murphy had originally intended. It took three hours for both he and Kurt to re-establish life support and turn on the lights, followed by another twelve to get some of the computer’s tertiary systems up and running with the help of the rest of his team.
Kurt, with some gentle persuasion, was able to divert some power to an impulse reactor which provided a quick burst of thrust to fight inertia and help the Runabout get up to three-quarters impulse. But that still meant a twenty-six hour trip back to Earth.
The salvage team was taking it in turns to beam back to the Runabout and grab a hot meal when they could, with most of them also opting to get a few hours sleep in one of the few bunks. Much like Kurt though they couldn’t quite understand why their commander had become so obsessed with the beaten up old ship, who had himself taken to exclusively spending all his time on Shakespeare, forgoing replicated meals for ration packs.
When Kurt found him he was crawled half-way into a Jeffries tube with a ration bar held in his mouth while both his hands were busy yanking out a burnt out plasma relay. His uniform sleeves were rolled up and there was a layer of grease all over his arms.
“Well you certainly know how to make being Captain look glamorous,” he said sarcastically as he peered into the tube.
He grunted something inaudible as the relay gave way from its mounting and came away with a clunk. His hands now free, he reached up and grabbed the ration from his mouth while taking a bite out of it. Kurt saw as he emerged from the tube with the relay in one hand and the ration in the other that his face was beaded with sweat and covered in even more grime.
”Yep. Right there. That’s going to be your portrait for the Command School Cadets to look at as they walk through the doors on their first day. ’Study hard kiddies or you’ll end up like this guy.’”
”With an attitude like that I could write you up for insubordination,” Murphy said while chewing.
”That before or after the Admiral writes you up just for looking like shit?” he retorted.
That prompted a chuckle from Murphy as he picked up his case of tools and slung the relay under his arm. He suddenly realised how awkward it was going to be to get out of the maintenance shafts when he looked over to the ladder that Kurt had climbed up a minute ago and realised he didn’t have a hand free. Kurt offered a friendly gesture by reaching over and grabbing the relay from him. It was covered in grease too but in all honesty Kurt had been aboard the ship long enough that his hands were just as dirty as Murphy’s.
“So is he as bad as you thought he was going to be?” Murphy asked as he climbed down the shaft with Kurt above him.
“Worse,” Kurt said, “I’ve checked over the EPS grid, the main ODN hub and the primary power batteries.”
“And?”
“And I’m pretty sure I could get this ship back up and running for all of about two minutes before its internal systems collapsed and the power grid blows out four decks.”
Murphy side stepped at the bottom of the ladder to squeeze through the inactive, half-open door and back into the corridor. Kurt did the same as he stepped down just behind him.
“Yeah sounds about right.” Murphy said, with a hint of exhaustion but no melancholy in his voice.
The pair made their way through the darkened corridors of the ship, only dimly lit with emergency lighting. With the other members of the engineering teams scattered around the inner workings of the ship there was no one to be seen as they reached what they’d set up as half crew lounge and half workshop. There was a few comfy chairs and sofas still around from Shakespeare’s old glory days and a few tables that they’d now used as makeshift work benches.
When given half a chance, engineers would turn their own living rooms into workshops so it was hardly unusual for any of them.
Murphy took the old power relay from under Kurt’s arm and set it on one of the tables. Though the light was still dim in the room Kurt was able to get a better a look at it. It was a fairly standard piece of equipment from the turn of the century with four conduits intersecting with a bulky, circular dome in the centre. The conduits were tipped with connectors that could latch it into place and redistribute plasma to other parts of the ship, while a set of indicator lights would have normally shown its status under normal circumstances. In this case however, the status indicators were completely blown out while the connections looked blackened and scorched. Despite this Murphy had taken to fussing over the piece of equipment, scanning it with his tricorder and taking precise measurements with a micro calliper.
Kurt couldn’t help but compare the relay to the rest of the ship. A perfectly well made piece of technology for its day but now just an outdated and completely useless piece of junk that will never work again. Yet there Murphy was caring for it like he could breath new life into a set of dusty bones.
“Murph, what are you doing here?” Kurt asked as he pulled up a chair, “You said you got offered a command, and that’s great, I’m happy for you. But you said you chose this ship. Why?”
Murphy put down his tools on the table and took up a seat across from his friend.
“Starfleet has a problem.” he began, taking on a rare air of seriousness that Kurt wasn’t used to, “It’s suffered a lot of losses over the years.”
That was certainly true. Between the Dominion, Borg, Tzenkethi and Section 31 Starfleet had been suffering repeatedly, but Kurt was aware from his own work that the problem was a shortage in crew members and less so the ships, which they could roll off the production line in a matter of months now. Still, he sat and listened as Murphy continued.
“Whenever we build a new ship class it’s designed to pack some punch, but our losses keep mounting.”
“But the Galaxy is more dangerous than it was a century ago,” Kurt interrupted, “The Fleet’s taking on far more than it ever used to.”
“That’s what I would’ve figured too. And that’s what Starship designers have been telling themselves for years now. But what if we’re wrong? What if they literally just don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
Kurt looked around the dingy room they were in, as though he was surveying the whole ship in a glance.
“Bit of a stretch don’t you think?” he said.
“Have you ever looked at the designs specs of a Constellation? Or even a Constitution or Soyuz Class?” Murphy replied, going to where he’d stacked up the PADDs he had on the Runabout and passing one to Kurt, “Look at how the superstructure is built. The intersecting cross beams, and the compartment configuration.”
He was over Kurt’s shoulder and pointing out on the PADD what he was talking about.
“These things could take a beating. The only thing that took them out of service was that they couldn’t keep up with the advancements in shield and weapon technology.”
“And computer systems. And Sensor development.” Kurt added, “I don’t doubt the resilience of these things. But they’re outdated. There comes a point when you just can’t refit a ship to modern specs any more. Either their power systems can’t handle the extra energy consumption or better tech comes around that can’t be designed for both newer ships as well as older ones without holding the rest of the fleet back. It’s a waste of resources when we could just build a Nova Class brand new in less time and man power than it takes to update one of these.”
“That’s more or less what Command told me.” Murphy said. “Specifically, six months ago when I first gave the recommendation that we shouldn’t scrap the USS Republic”
The Republic had been the Academy’s main training vessel for close to eighty years. An old Constitution class that was good for very little other than teaching cadets how to point a ship in the right direction and do short warp jumps around the Solar System. But it had a certain level of sentimental value to the Academy and indeed with many members of Starfleet. Yet ultimately Command opted to retire the ship in favour of a still old, but not ancient frigate that could teach cadets how to run more modern ship systems and not necessarily be constrained to running laps around Sol. Murphy had been all in favour of giving the cadets a more modern ship to train in, but thought it was a shame to scrap a ship which had been a Starfleet institution for close to a century by that point.
“I admit, I was just being sentimental. There’s no way the Republic could be brought up to the kind of specs Command wanted. But while I was looking into saving her I did a lot of research into what it would take to refit her. And when I saw the Shakespeare out in the junkyard I suddenly realised that while the Republic was too old to modernise, it was possible to do it with him.”
“So how did you then convince Command to let you try?” kurt asked, while starting to get bored of the conversation.
“Ah,” Murphy returned to his grin, “I bet Admiral S’rendar that I could bring Shakespeare online and have him ready for a mock battle with the USS Erik in in less than two months.”
Kurt suddenly felt fairly engaged in the topic at hand again. The Erik was his ship. Or at least the ship his crew were currently building back at Utopia Planitia. Erik was a Norway class. Certainly not the most powerful ships in the fleet but they were armed as heavy frigates. Designed to be among the fastest and most manoeuvrable ships in the fleet with enough firepower to bombard an enemy quickly into submission. Despite the Federations usual protestations, it was designed as a warship. It had also begun construction almost five months ago, with just over another two months to go before completion.
“You can’t be serious.” Kurt said, “Shakespeare wouldn’t have a chance.”
“Like I said, I’ve been thinking on this for more than six months. I am confident we can get it refitted in time.”
Murphy gave him another PADD, showing a new diagram of the Shakespeare. It had the engineering compartment highlighted, which Kurt tapped on, revealing a schematic of a modern class seven warp reactor crammed into the relatively small engine room. It was the same kind of engine which was fitted inside Defiant class vessels.
“And with the extra power output of that warp core we might just stand a chance against the Erik.” Murphy concluded.
Kurt stared at the PADD for a second and thought about it. It was still a ridiculously stupid plan. But, he had to admit, it was an interesting idea…
“Well… You’d have enough power in the weapon system. Class Seven was designed to boost power output to phasers. But it’s still meant for a much smaller ship. I’m not sure how you’ll keep the power online across sixteen decks.” He said after a moment, leaning over as he looked over the plans, “And there’s no way the higher energy plasma will be compatible with this ship’s EPS grid.”
Murphy smiled and he seemed to relax as Kurt began to slip into a more problem solving mode.
“I figure the ship may have to operate in grey mode during battle conditions. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But you’re right, my biggest problem is the EPS grid. That’s why I needed the relay. I want to augment the system. Maybe reinforce the relays.”
“That might do it,” Kurt said, “But we might be back to blowing up half the ship again.”
“We?” Murphy asked, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
“Forget it. This sounds like an interesting idea. Call it a subject of study. But I’m not going to be a Chief engineer on an Academy training ship.” He replied.
“Oh, well that’s good. Because it’s only going to be a training ship if we lose the battle with the Erik. If we win the ship is all ours. Returned to full active status in the fleet.”
“That was the bet?” Kurt said incredulously.
“S’rendar was pretty certain I’d lose all together… But she had to either agree to the bet or put up with me pestering her about it forever.”
“Still sounds like a fairly safe bet for her.”
“Yes but just think of it, Kurt,” Murphy said, slapping his friend on the shoulder, “Working to meld together the old and the new. A real challenge for an engineer. Proper problem solving, not just piecing pre-fabricated ships together on a production line. We can prove that we are the best engineers in the fleet while pioneering Starship restoration and fly around in this old classic”
He made it sound like working on an old 20th Century ‘Hot Rod’. It was actually a nice thought…
“Need some help with that relay?” Kurt asked, fixing Murphy’s smile to his face for the rest of the day.
“Always love working with my Chief Engineer.” Murphy said as he handed Kurt a set of callipers.
“Only if we win the battle.” He said. But as doubtful as beating the Erik sounded, he began to hope they would.
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Post by pscotty90 on Mar 23, 2019 2:25:47 GMT
Day 5
Angela Stiles groaned as she heaved her overburdened suitcase off the transporter pad. It was everything she owned that wasn’t back at her parent’s house at Alpha Centauri, and she had been adamant that it was going to come with her and avoid it going into storage. Unfortunately she hadn’t taken into account that it weighed far less under Lunar gravity.
She’d all but been evicted from her apartment on Luna with her job being reassigned to another officer only the day before. It had come to a pretty big shock to her, and with space at a premium she was required to vacate the colony and return to Earth for her next assignment. It wasn’t like she was homeless. As a Starfleet Officer she could requisition an apartment just about anywhere, but it still felt like a gut punch to be told to up and leave her job with twenty-four hours notice. Still, that was the nature of being in the Fleet. You go where you were sent.
Where she was being sent was the only question. Her orders had only told her to report to Earth Spacedock and speak to a Lieutenant Commander Murphy. Beyond that she had no idea what she was doing there.
She nodded at the transporter operator as she stumbled off the pad. She had hoped that it might prompt the Ensign to assist her, but he merely nodded back and returned to his console. As his superior she thought about calling him on it for a moment but as a transporter controller for Spacedock the kid was likely pretty busy.
She set down the case with a huff and had a mind to grab an anti-grav lifter when the doors to the room hissed open, signalling the arrival of her apparent escort.
“Lieutenant Stiles?” he asked.
Angela nodded as she looked quizzically at the gold shirted man standing before her. He was tall, at least six-foot-two with a spindly build and silvery hair. The lines on his face told her that he was at least in his mid-seventies but his eyes looked sharp and alert as he stood to attention in front of her. At the age of twenty-seven she found it odd to have a man of such years stand bolt upright at her very presence until she noted the rank on his collar. He was a Master Chief Petty Officer. No wonder he was so old. It took a life time for an Non-com to achieve that level.
“I’m Chief Donnelly, Ma’am. I’ve been ordered to escort you to the Captain. May I take your bag?”
He began to reach down for it and she was almost about to nod again before she stopped herself. She grabbed her case handle firmly, thinking of the Master Chief’s less than prime appearance.
“That’s fine, thank you. I think I can take care of it.” she said as she guarded it from his grasp. She attempted to lift it again but found her arms were still too tired from her last attempt. “I think I’ll just grab an anti-grav and take care of it myself.”
She took her hand away for a second and couldn’t stop him in time from picking up the case regardless of her protestations. She held her breath as she expect to hear him gasp out in pain and see his hand reach to his back to nurse a slipped disk or something similar, only to find that he lifted with ease. There was no sign of any effort on his part, and despite his thin and gaunt appearance his arms seemed to take the strain without any issue.
He smiled warmly to her, and she found herself reminded of the kind of smile her grandfather used to give her a long time ago. Then his back straightened, and he returned to his posture at attention.
“It’s no problem, Ma’am. Please follow me.”
He all but marched out of the transporter room, Angela rushing to keep pace as the entered Spacedock’s main Promenade deck, looking out of the huge bay windows onto the the star filled sky and surrounded by dozens of starships. In the background was the moon, which she had just transported from only a minute ago. She followed in his wake down the promenade, with a crowd of people making way for him as he stepped through them with her case doubling his width. She attempted to catch up with him. Almost taking two full steps for every one of his strides. She had just about caught up when he stopped next to the turbolift, and motioned for her to step inside first, following closely after.
“Offices. Section 4C,” he ordered.
As the lift whirred into action she still couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t put the case down which she suddenly found to be the most bewildering part of her day. Not just because of his age and the sheer weight of the case but because of his rank. It was normal for crewmen, or maybe an Ensign to greet a Lieutenant at the start of a new assignment, but the likes of a Master Chief were reserved for Fleet Captains and Admirals.
“Uhm, do you mind telling me where we’re going, Master Chief?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Captain’s office is here on station. And If you please Ma’am, it’s just Chief,” he said, looking straight ahead at the lift doors, “They gave me Master Chief right before I retired. I never quite felt like it fit.”
“But a Captain? I was ordered to report to a Lieutenant Commander Murphy.”
“So you are, Ma’am. That is his rank. He was made Captain of the USS Shakespeare at the the beginning of the week.” Donnelly replied.
She nodded in comprehension. The Shakespeare didn’t ring a bell with her, certainly not as one of the newer starships to roll off the line. In her work she tended to be fairly familiar with the latest ships built at Mars and Luna, but the fleet was vast enough that she didn’t give it a second thought.
There was a long silence between them. The lift had been travelling for what seemed like minutes. Certainly not unusual with a transit system that traversed a station the size of the ESD but long awkward pauses were something that Angela could not stand.
“So…” she said, elongating the word, “You’re retired from the service, Chief?”
They both were still staring forward at the lift doors but she could sense that his body had shifted ever so slightly at the question.
“I was. I retired fifteen years ago. But Commander Murphy convinced me to sign back on. It didn’t take much convincing.”
“Too bored?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Too lonely.” he said, and Angela shut up after that.
Fortunately the lift only took a couple more seconds to reach its destination and Chief Donnelly once again marched out into the corridor with the Lieutenant close on his heels. With the size difference between them she vaguely felt like a small dog trotting to keep up with its owner.
As Angela could feel herself almost working up a sweat, Donnelly stopped outside a door a few dozen metres away from where they had started and rang the chime. A male voice asking them both to enter sounded out from the small panel almost immediately, and Donnelly once again gestured for her to go in first.
As the doors slid open, Angela was at first struck with the level of mess festooned around the spacious office and lounge area. The office itself was fairly standard for those reserved for senior officers on the ESD; a lengthy room with a conference table on one end, a more comfortable seating area with a couple of sofas and a coffee table, and a desk. Someone had made few additions to the room, however. Three large, clear display screens had been erected around the conference table, displaying various design schematics of engine and power systems. Both the conference table and the coffee table were littered in PADDs of various sizes, while a stack of dirty food plates and assorted coffee mugs were dotted around random surfaces in the room. The desk to the far right was the only surface that was relatively tidy, with only a standard work terminal resting atop it.
Commander Murphy waved them both in, and Donnelly set her suitcase down next to one of the sofas. The Commander was in mid conversation and was pacing back and forth behind his desk, as he spoke to whoever was displayed on the terminal in front of him.
“All I need is two more days…” the Commander said. His uniform jacket was tossed over the back of his desk chair while the sleeves of his red tunic were rolled up to the elbow and his collar was unzipped to a more comfortable position away from his neck.
“And I need the cargo bay you’re storing it in,” responded the faceless voice, “Murphy, do you realise how much freight I have coming through the station every day? I need every cubic metre of storage space I can get, and your equipment is taking up thirty of them”
“Sir, you know this is a special project for me and the Admiralty. I can’t move it until I get the air seals on the Shakespeare’s cargo bay fixed, after that I can move most of it to him.”
“I can give you one day. That’s all. For all of it.” The other man sounded increasingly frustrated, not that Commander Murphy sounded much different.
Commander Murphy leaned on the desk to put himself face to face with the screen.
“Dan, help me out here. I have a vintage bottle of Tranya I can throw your way…”
“Trying to bribe a superior officer, Murph?” Angela heard the screen sigh. “I’ll see if I can get a deck crew to give you a hand. Maybe they’ll be able to get your cargo bay up and running again faster. But I want you to start moving that junk of yours now. Fill up the crew quarters with it if you have to.”
The Commander broke out into a large grin and let his shoulders relax.
“Thanks, Dan. We’ll do what we can.”
The two men shared parting pleasantries and Commander Murphy tapped the console, a corresponding bleep indicating that he had cut the connection.He made a long bellow of air escape his lips as he sat down in the chair. He momentarily glanced over to Donnelly as he punched some commands into a PADD.
“You hear that Chief?”
“Yes sir,” he responded, at attention, “I can start transporting some of the smaller items over to the ship right away.”
“Thanks,” Murphy said, “I’ll trust that you know what to prioritise first. Don’t worry about the big stuff. If need be I’ll sweet talk my way past Commander Hitchins for the time we need later. Do me a favour and tell Commander Mueller that the seals in the cargo bay are to be his top priority today and that he can expect a Starbase crew to report to him sooner or later.”
“Aye aye, Skipper.” Donnelly stepped towards the door, before stopping and turning back towards Murphy. “Sorry sir, Lieutenant Angela Stiles, please allow me to introduce, Lieutenant Commander Samuel Murphy…” He nodded respectfully at her and smiled in that same grandfatherly way before making his exit, leaving Stiles and Murphy alone in the cluttered office.
As the doors hissed closed behind the Chief, Commander Murphy got up to his feet walked around the desk to greet her. He offered his hand as he gestured his other towards the sofas.
“Pleasure to meet you Lieutenant,” he said, smiling as she returned his handshake and the pair sat down across from each other in surprisingly comfortable seating. “I’m sorry you were reassigned so abruptly but as you might have gathered from the conversation from the Station Commander a second ago, I’m in desperate need of personnel.”
“Yes sir. I admit it was a bit of a shock. Though my orders didn’t say anything beyond reporting here to meet with you.”
“Well your orders are now to help me get the Shakespeare ship shape and ready to sail.”
He took a minute to explain everything to do with the Shakespeare. How it was his first command and keeping it was reliant on him proving that it was still space worthy and a match for Starfleet’s modern vessels. Through the windows in the office, which faced inward towards the cavernous inner dockyard of the Starbase Murphy pointed over to the ship. It’s thick saucer, boxy nacelles and bulbous sensor mounts made it look so outdated compared to the newer starships docked alongside it; but Angela still felt it had a certain charm to it. Though, as Murphy explained, with its power still largely offline, the lack of running lights made the ship look sad and neglected. Commander Murphy also had a continuing tendency to refer to the ship with male centric pronouns which Angela found to be slightly distracting.
“I needed someone else who knows about his old Avidyne engines.” Commander Murphy said at last, turning back to Angela.
Avidyne was a civilian manufacturer located on Luna that Starfleet contracted to build mass produced warp nacelles during the late 23rd Century. At one point almost eighty percent of the fleet were fitted with Avidynes, and while they were obsolete, so many ships, both Starfleet and Civilian, were still fitted with them that Avidyne continued to produced replacement parts. Up until a day ago Lieutenant Stiles was assigned as pilot aboard a transport fitted with the same engines. She knew well enough that they could occasionally be a bit finicky and a good helmsman and engineer were required to nursemaid them through some tricky spots.
“My Engineer is a good friend and he knows starship systems better than anyone I know, but he’s never worked with these engines. Even with a modern Warp reactor which we’re in the middle of retrofitting we need someone who understands Shakespeare’s moods. I have Chief Donnelly already. He served on a Constellation back in his day, but I need you as well. You have have the most recent practical experience.”
Angela genuinely felt quite complimented. Even though he was effectively telling her that she was needed because she had working knowledge of some of Starfleet’s most outdated technology, it had been a long time since someone made her feel relevant in any way.
“Thank you sir. Though I have to warn you that it’s been a couple of years since I served aboard a real Starship.” She said cautiously. She still wanted the job of course, but the prospect did suddenly give a her a touch of anxiety.
“Which brings me to the second reason why you’re here,” he said, causing Angela go from feeling a touch of anxiety to it forcing its way to her throat, “Let’s talk about your time aboard the Edison.”
Angela wanted to leave. She most certainly didn’t want to talk about the Edison. It had been her last posting before her happily uneventful transport job on Luna and quite possibly the hardest thing she had ever had to do.
Two years earlier Angela had served aboard the USS Edison as helmsman. It was a small science ship assigned to perform routine survey missions. Generally it was a pretty boring job, but Angela was different then. Still only a few years out of the Academy and hungry for more adventure. Unfortunately she got more than she bargained for during one mission when an away team was taken hostage by a group of Kasselian renegades, including the first and second officers. With limited staff aboard the fifty man ship, Captain T’Ran gave Angela command of the ship while he beamed down to attempt to negotiate. Of course, it was a ruse, and not only did the Kasselian’s take the Andorian Captain hostage as well, but also moved a heavily armed raider to attack the Edison. Angela simply couldn’t see a way out, and ordered the Edison to withdraw, leaving most of the command crew on the planet’s surface.
To Angela’s shame, Starfleet gave her a promotion to full Lieutenant for quick thinking and ensuring the safety of the ship and rest of the crew. But she couldn’t help but feel like the loss of seven officers were on her shoulders. It wasn’t helped by many of the crew of the Edison being against the decision and blamed her for abandoning the Captain and others. After that she made sure she was assigned to one of the quietest postings she could find and ended up piloting light warp ferries from Luna to the outer Solar System.
“I… I’d rather not talk about the Edison, sir,” she said shakily.
“I understand,” the Commander said, with clear understanding in his voice, “Nevertheless the second reason why I want you here is that I need a First Officer and I think the Edison demonstrates quite nicely as to why you fit the bill.”
“Sir I can’t do that. I can’t handle that kind of responsibility.”
“I think you can,” he said, “Lieutenant you’re under orders to be my helmsman, but I would ask that you be my First Officer as well. I read your record. Once upon a time you took every opportunity you could to show your chops for command. You’re good pilot, but I think you’ll make a great commander.”
She was trying very hard to keep her breathing under control as she fought back a panic attack, the memory of giving the order to warp away, knowing full well that the officers she was leaving behind were about to be killed was in the forefront of her mind.
“Please sir… I’ll fly, happily, but don’t force me into this…”
He smiled at her. It was warm and reassuring and she got the sense that he was trying to help her.
“I’m not going to force you into anything, Ms. Stiles.” He got to his feet and ordered a cold glass of water from the replicator, handing it straight over to her. “Right now we can barely get power to the ship let alone go anywhere dangerous. The only thing we have planned is a simulated battle and some Space trials to see if he still has some life left in him. I need a First Officer and a pilot and you have the experience and skillset I need. After the testing is done and the Shakespeare is cleared for general service you can decide if you want off this ride or not…”
He watched as she gulped down the water, and she felt at least a little more at ease when she was done.
“Until then, just think of this as a change of pace and a chance for you to stretch your legs a little,” he finished.
She set the glass down on the coffee table and took a moment to think it over. The thought of taking command in a life or death situation terrified her, but she did miss being in command of something more than a clunky, old personnel transport. Granted the Shakespeare was still clunky and old but at least it was a proper Starship.
“I guess I can try, sir.”
His grin returned. The same one he gave to Commander Hitchins on the comm line when he had got his way with him. Angela wondered for a second if he was even aware he did it.
“Excellent,” he said, “Thank you Lieutenant. Let me take you down to your quarters for the time being and then we can head over to Shakespeare and I can introduce you to the rest of the team. Of course you know Chief Donnelly now. He’s my Ops Chief, so you two will be working quite closely. He’ll definitely be able to teach you a thing or two about command. He was a terror of a drill instructor when I was at the Academy. Of course that was right before he retired…”
Angela thought for a moment about the kindly old man she had met in the transporter room and tried to imagine him screaming at a squad of cadets. She just couldn’t picture it until she remembered the strength he demonstrated in carrying her suitcase through the Starbase without any sign of strain. It made her almost laugh as she pictured a Cadet shaking in his boots as the Master Chief lifted a shuttlepod clear above his head. It made her lose track of what Commander Murphy was telling her entirely. She snapped back to reality as she realised he had put his uniform jacket back on and was heading for the doors.
“Shall we go,” he asked.
“Ahh, yes sir,” she said, hurriedly turning around and grabbing her suitcase from where Donnelly had left it. She had to pick it up with both her hands and she waddled towards the doors with the Commander looking on. He smiled at her again and indicated to her that she should put the case down.
“I know it’s not exactly proper etiquette, but just this one time, Lieutenant,” he said, “Allow me…”
She watched as he grasped the handle and pulled it upward. The strain on his face was apparent almost immediately as it weighed him down. After managing just three steps he dropped the bag and turned back towards her, huffing.
“What the hell did you pack in this thing?”
What the hell was Donnelly she thought.
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