Milk Run: The View from Afar

Posted on 21 Jan 2022 @ 9:30pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Commander Bruce Kensforth

Mission: M2 - Sanctuary
Location: DF-11, Shuttle Ride to Kalara
Timeline: MD11 1030HRS
1135 words - 2.3 OF Standard Post Measure

“Sorry” Calliope apologized as she boarded the shuttle and looked around. “Took me a little longer than I expected to do my hair.” She had so very little of it that it could hardly be the excuse, but she didn’t want to admit how long medical was in releasing her. She had to wait for a staff member to log that she would be off station so the missing sensor vitals Mazur had the computer tracking wouldn’t raise any alarms. As long as they had her vitals again in the evening, they seemed okay with the measures. Had to make sure she wasn’t cheating.

Calliope hung her cane to one side. She’d barely leaned on it yet today, but then she was fresh and there might be a lot of walking between the port landing zone and the Cantina. She’d opted for very supportive footwear, boots laced securely to support her wobbly ankles— and non-military looking dusty-colored adventuring coveralls with two belts— a utilitarian one holding her tricorder, and a wide fashion belt playing more of a decorative role than anything else. Her pockets were packed with local currency and utility items which freed her from having to manage carrying a satchel. She put a hand over her hip pocket where she’d slipped a large folding knife and sighed as she pulled it out and turned it in her hands.

“I thought we were going for a drink. You look ready to take on the Galaxy,” Bruce deadpanned, glancing back at her as she came in.

Falling into the co-pilot’s seat she leaned back, clearly relaxing and not planning on being much help in the process. Flying from the station to the surface was routine stuff and Kensforth would have it well in hand. “Do you carry anything for luck?” she asked as she tapped the closed knife on the edge of the control board, feeling its weight.

Bruce just shook his head slowly, his smirk growing wider by the second. “I am the luck.”

“That’s smart.” Calliope approved, idly flicking the knife open and closed, getting used to the action in the spring. No one had turned up her mother's graduation gift to her and Calliope had started to try to accept that it was likely to have been discarded with her EVA suit in all the hub bub after the fight. This new tactical knife might serve the job but it certainly couldn't replace the knife she'd had with her every mission since leaving academy. She hadn't really attributed any of her sucess to carrying the thing, it just somehow seemed amiss to go on a trip anywhere without it. But Bruce was right. There wasn't anything that held any mystical juju. No magic feathers. Just whatever you brought with you. It just came down to our own wits, presence, and potential. “Hard to lose yourself.”

Chuckling to himself and feeling ready to take on whatever mysterious mystery that Calliope had planned for them (or didn’t have planned), Bruce sealed up the hatches on the Delta Flyer Shuttle DF-11 and started the take-off process, clearing their departure with station control.

“You know…” he said as they were moving through the station and passing the Ardeshir half disassembled in the dock, “Just when I think they’re making progress, I look at her again and she’s in more pieces than she was before.”

“That’s how you know it’s getting done.”

“If you say so,” he frowned, piloting them past and out into the open space beyond.

It was as much of a milk run as he’d ever had. There wasn’t really even much for him to do other than to follow the vectors OC and ground control had provided so that he didn’t crash into any outgoing or other ingoing craft. It was one of those nuances of atmospheric flight that the newbies always seemed to find soul-crushing. The great deal of the time, the pilot wasn’t much more than a button pusher on pre-determined paths.

“Heard anything about the locals opinion on the now functioning shields?” he asked just as they were about to pass through them.

“I saw an official acknowledgement letter from the Kalaran council. I think it was written by committee though. Not a whole lot of feeling in it. The sense I get from the news around the City Council is that they’ve got a lot of power plays and the Fleet being back is upsetting some apple carts. Obviously, the RSA is going to save lives, but it’s going to unravel some balance in the meantime.”

“Infinite politics in infinite combinations,” Bruce quipped, smirking over as they crossed into the atmosphere and had a brief bit of turbulence before things smoothed out on the way down.

“You know it.” Calliope gripped her armrests as she felt her breakfast being stirred in the rough atmo. Picking a point on the horizon to focus on seemed to help.

The landing process itself was as automated as anything on their flight down leaving Bruce to all but put his feet up and watch the ship land. But that wasn’t the fun part. The fun part was the people watching on the way down. Seeing the world from that altitude made it seem like a tiny miniature of real life and it was always fun trying to imagine who was going where and why. Imaging that he might pluck one of them up and move them across the board like any miniature. It always made him smile. But the pretend was over soon enough as they settled onto the ground of the Starfleet landing pad.

“Last stop. Men’s shoes,” he smirked, powering off the craft and starting the post-flight process.

Gathering her cane, Calliope stood aside and waited for Bruce to finish shut down. “Thanks for driving.” It was far shorter and less remarkable than their last trip, and Calliope was just happy to still have her stomach on the inside.

“So… drink?” he asked, grinning infectiously. He was all about trying new things and especially new alcoholic varieties. He was a far cry from his old self that was too insecure to handle this liquor and immediately went down rabbit holes of emotions. He understood his limits now. He had too much to lose to forget them.

Calliope took a kerchief out of a pocket and tied it over and around the back of her head. The do-rag would symbolically serve its purpose as a head covering while she could still tell herself she was wearing it for fashion sake. She gave the knot an extra secure tug before leading the way. "I know just the place."