A Quick Fare
Posted on 31 Aug 2022 @ 9:08pm by Commander Bruce Kensforth
Edited on on 27 Sep 2022 @ 11:41pm
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Shuttlebay - Obsidian Command
Timeline: MD07 - 1341HRS
1957 words - 3.9 OF Standard Post Measure
It was an all hands on deck affair, there was no doubt about that. Captain Hawthorne had called for him unexpectedly with the instructions to assemble the remainder of the Ardeshir’s crew in the environmental ring. Of their usual compliment of three-hundred and fifty, only seventy-four remained. Everyone else had transferred to temporary duty stations, taken much needed (and long ago earned) shore leave or simply transferred to other commands. As their refit completion date drew nearer, those losses would be replaced.
Markus has informed the remaining crew that the threat we were dealing with was the same one that they had faced before and that each of them was to take that expertise and experience and apply it where they could throughout the station. Hawthorne had been asked by Admiral Sepandiyar (now in command of the station) to take command of the Alexander while he handled the situation on the station. The Captain had already determined the best place for all the remaining staff and left Bruce to hand out the orders to the crew, after he gave his best wishes and expectations that his crew was the best on station.
Bruce had been assigned to assist in the shuttle bays. Markus was still more than a little peeved at him for his previous extracurriculars so had assigned him to assist with the ferry service as needed. That was what found him in the shuttle bay babysitting an Arrow-class Runabout. Considering the level of activity at the moment and the sheer number of craft needing to come and go compared to the relatively low headcount, it made sense for him to be on the rotation too. Besides, it was a good chance to bone up on his flight training for that class of craft. If he got to actually get airborne then it was just extra hours.
He stood at the back of the runabout by the replicator pad, his forearm on the bulkhead with his head resting against it as he watched his fifth cup of coffee materializing on the pad. His fun had faded three hours ago. Now it was just boring as all hell sitting around, effectively waiting for a fare. Another three hours and he’d be more coffee than water. As he took the cup off the pad and put it to his lips there was commotion at the front of the shuttle and he nearly spilt the coffee down his front.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, pulling the cup away and brushing himself off.
“PIlot!?” An extremely loud voice boomed.
“I’m here,” he called back, muttering to himself as he wiped a bit of coffee off his face and shirt front. “Hang on,” he added.
“We’re in a fecking hurry. Get your ass up here,” the man’s voice boomed again.
Bruce rolled his eyes and smirked to himself, wondering how stupid this guy was going to feel when a Commander walked up front and corrected his tone. He took a sip, then walked forward from the aft compartment into the cockpit.
Just to the right was a man in Marine utility fatigues, but not a face he was familiar with. In the moment, as he was just about to comment on his sharpness, he noticed the stars on his collar and his throat went dry. Any thoughts of correction vanished in the glint of the silver stars.
“Where we headed?” He asked, now walking smartly past the man towards the cockpit. The copilot station was already manned as was the auxiliary station by a Starfleet Officer and Marine NCO respectively. The Marine, a Master Sergeant, just nodded as he passed and went to sit down, but the blonde-haired woman at the co-pilot station was turned to her left working the panel and didn’t look to him until he had.
“Marine station Cerastes. Quickly,” Lieutenant General Kinghorn declared, taking the seat behind Bruce.
“Right,” Bruce said, looking back to him. “Cerastes it is. Quickly,” he answered. The blonde woman turned slowly to look at him as he was turning back to his station but he was focused on prepping the shuttle, starting with the hatch. He pointed without looking at the central panel, “Power up the auxiliary dampeners please, there’s lots of traffic in th-,” he said, stopping short as he glanced over at her.
Elise Rochambeau looked back at him with a slight smile. “Bruce,” she nodded quietly.
“Hi,” he replied softly, aware that Kinghorn was glaring at him. “A-aux power, please,” he repeated gently.
She did as he asked and they lifted off the deck and headed out, Bruce’s normal snark and need for sarcastic commentary gone in a flash as he’d laid eyes on Elise.
It’d been the better part of four years since he’d seen her, since she’d taken the transfer off the Ardeshir. Last he’d heard she was doing well on the Toronto but he’d purposely stopped checking on her. It hurt to much to keep thinking about her, and the thought of looking her up and finding her married to another man was too much to bear. He was happy to see she’d been promoted to Commander and he wanted very much to ask her how she was, how life was, and what had been going on in the four years since they’d split, but he couldn’t find the words. So he focused in on his job and pushed the throttle more than he really should have.
“You’re exceeding the in-bay velocity limits,” Elise offered formally.
“The General said quick,” Bruce answered.
“Aye. Don’t slow down,” Kinghorn chimed in.
Bruce powered it up a little more, braving a brief glance over at Elise. The look on her face wasn’t irritation, it was concern. She knew damn well that she had him off kilter and he was doing what he always did, focused in on what he was best at. Flying.
The runabout cleared the inner bay and Bruce hit the throttle up again as they came out of the station on the far side and banked around towards the planet moving quickly as he dared.
“Finally, a damn Fleet officer that knows the meaning of ‘now’,” Kinghorn grunted.
“Well, you’re not the first Marine I’ve worked with, General,” Bruce replied, not resisting the urge to be a smart-ass back.
“That right?” Kinghorn asked a bit icily. “I don’t fly with Fleet. I prefer to let the better pilots take the helm,” he fired back testily.
“Oh those Marine boys?” Bruce grinned, glancing over at Elise who was shaking her head slightly. “When I meet a better one, I’ll let you know, sir.”
Bruce could see Kinghorn lean forward onto the console in front of him, “That a challenge, Commander?” He hissed.
“Not a challenge when its proven fact, sir.”
Kinghorn guffawed, “You’ve got a mouth, Commander,” he growled. He pointed to Rochambeau, “You should advise your colleague on how deep he’s digging his hole. My Marines will fly circles around any fleet pilot.”
Elise sighed slowly as she stared at her console, then looked slowly to Bruce and finally around to the Lieutenant General. “With respect, sir. I really doubt that.”
The man in the secondary console sat up slowly, a slight smile on his otherwise patently stoic face. The General bristled like a cat fluffing its tail and sat up a little taller in his seat. “You’re going to die on that hill, Commander? That my Marine’s can’t out fly Fleet’s bus drivers?”
“No, sir. I’m not saying that,” Elise shook her head.
“That’s what I thought,” he snapped back.
“Just that Commander Kensforth can,” she declared confidently.
Kinghorn stared daggers back at her.
“Passing through the defense grid,” Bruce declared, “Pay attention to the harmonics,” he said, gesturing to Elise’s panel.
“Got it,” she replied, turning her attention to it.
“And we’re clear,” Bruce said after a moment, adjusting angle and the internal dampeners a bit to compensate for now having gravity. That first few moments it was always a bit off. It would be settled now.
“Are you rated on the Peregrine, Commander… Kensforth was it?” Kingshorn asked.
“I am, sir. All three variants,” he replied conversationally.
“Then I say we have a little test in the Gryphon’s. Keep you on your toes,” Kinghorn declared.
“I’m also rated on the Gryphon’s, sir. Both the two active and the one retired variant,” Bruce answered.
You could hear the Lieutenant General grinding his teeth, “I see.”
“The M1?” The Master Sergeant offered quietly to Kingshorn. He might not have been as outspoken as the General but he was certainly game to see the Fleet boys get knocked down a notch or two.
“Nah,” Bruce answered, banking the runabout to port and leveling out their descent a bit. “Best Mimi pilot is Lieutenant Hunsall, on the Alexander and he’s Starfleet.”
“Last I checked you still have the highest technical marks,” Rochambeau chimed in.
“By a hair,” Bruce grinned back, glad for the support but it wasn’t helping his emotional state regarding her in the slightest.
Kingshorn brooded quietly in answer, tapping his fingers on the terminal in front of him and didn’t say anything else as Bruce completed their descent onto the landing pad of the Marine base Cerastes. It wasn’t his first time to the station, but his first time there consciously. The last time he’d been here was after he’d crashed the Delta Flyer with Commander Zahn, so he was in considerably better condition than he’d been before.
As they settled to the ground and powered off, he turned in his seat. “Should I wait for you, sir?” He asked politely.
“Yes,” Kinghorn answered. “Commander Rochambeau is going to need your help securing the gear while I deal with Colonel Rutland,” he grunted, “Let’s go,” he waved for them to follow.
“I’ll be here,” Bruce answered brightly, turning to Elise as she passed.
She paused a half step, looking back like she was going to say something and then seemed to think better of it and walked on, leaving Bruce once more to watch her walk away. He watched her disappear through the side door and then through the glass as she walked along the tarmac with the General and Master Sergeant before vanishing into the building. Part of him hoped she’d look back, but she never did. She just walked on as if he wasn’t there. Once she was gone he bowed forward and put his face in his hands and let out a low moan of pain. Of all the passengers to have to ferry, why did it have to be her?
He sat that way for a long minute, just collecting his thoughts, and then finally broke down. He turned back to his station and brought up the database looking for Commander Elise Rochambeau. He found her quickly and read: Elise Rochambeau, Commander, Chief Security and Tactical Officer, USS Casablanca, Inquiry-class, currently undergoing extensive QSD refit at Obsidian Command. He reread: refit at OC. She was going to be on station while they were there since she was senior staff. That meant six months of trying desperately to avoid her, but knowing damn well he couldn’t. Knowing damn well that he didn’t want to.
He stared a while longer then let out another low groan and thunked his head on the console.
