Ride-Along: Uncertain News
Posted on 26 Oct 2022 @ 7:49pm by Chief Petty Officer Ozanna Isuri
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 8:16pm
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: The Dockyard Bar
Timeline: MD06 0940HRS
1504 words - 3 OF Standard Post Measure
Ozanna Isuri left the Security Chief's Office and stood in the reception area for an extended moment, just deflating from the cool pressure of Commander Sikan's steady gaze and direct questioning.
Since she first was assigned to Obsidian Command immediately following its recovery from the Void, the station had been so understaffed and overwhelmed with massive rebuilding and defense activities that she'd been hurriedly appointed one of the most interesting assignments of her career— leading a little investigations team on her own assigned support vessel— even if it was a scrappy little number. On the one hand the activities of the Wasp were easy to overlook by comparison to the larger Fleet organizational movements. The Was was tasked to examining curiosities related to safety concerns and local investigative matters. Even so, in the couple of months they had been running the Wasp, its operation had begun to suit her and her little team. Was it too good to last?
Suddenly it felt like everything had caught up to her. As the big wigs settled in and the big chairs in all of the upstairs offices were getting filled, she was afraid that was going to mean shake ups. She'd end up where most others in her department were- guard rotations, foot patrols, brig watch— augmented by eyeball drying reports and meetings to droning on and on. If it came to that, she knew she'd be begging for a colony beat where at least she'd have the dignity of a hoverbike and maybe some weather cycles to keep life from turning to gray lukewarm porridge repetition.
She'd only been directed to Obsidian Command in the first place because she happened to be between assignments and conveniently in the region when they'd needed to staff the station in a hurry. But now that they could afford to be picky again... It was sounding to Ozzie like Commander Sikan needed the man hours of the department aboard the station, and her little team looked like they were just joy riding and avoiding mall duty. On the one hand, she needed him to see the value of the unique assignment into investigations that the Wasp was able to carry out. On the other hand, if she was too successful in demonstrating the application for the Wasp as an investigations ride was needed, it was possible her team might be replaced with Officers. She might talk herself and her friends out of this sweet new gig.
It was in this state of internal conflict that Ozzie found herself after a trudge from the Security Office back up the central lifts to the Dockyard's little bar. They'd done a nice job on the recent install of the place, and it had become a regular dive for the crew of the wasp when they finished the shut down and tucked the girl in for the next ride. She could see the guys were already setting down at their regular table in the back, where there was a panoramic viewing window over the dockyard.
Their figures were all backlit and she took a moment to appreciate the silhouettes of her teammates. It was funny how a simple outline could convey so much about a person. Stillwell's mountainous, relaxed shoulders, his elbows draped over the back of the bench. Boltri's pile of curls and his way of propping himself against the table and leaning in to push his point. Oswalt, talking with his hands all over the place, almost as loud with his gestures as he was with his mouth. And Roth, ever the exasperated one, establishing himself slightly apart from the rest so he could sit in judgement as he observed.
As Ozzie wove back through the tables she motioned to one of the staff. "Can I get a basket of wings and a pint?" She didn't have to get further into the specifics. The wait staff took her order a few times a week. Ozzie knew she was only voicing it at all as a formality at this point.
“Look,” Oswalt was saying. The young Bolian was talking, like he always was talking. Fast, and about something that deeply interested him and few others. “All I’m saying is that the Defiant-class is too heavily-armored to really compete in the kind of maneuvers you can pull in a modified runabout.” He grabbed his drink to wet his throat for more talking.
Roth rolled his eyes, the medic unable to keep from rising to the bait. “But who would even want to take a runabout on maneuvers like that? They’re not designed for any kind of serious long-term activity. So you’re fast and maneuverable. You’re also as vulnerable as wet tissue paper.”
“But when you’ve got a pilot—a real pilot at the helm? It won’t matter, because you won’t get touched, anyway.”
Roth shook his head, arms crossed. “I seem to recall a real pilot almost warped us into an asteroid field two missions back.”
Boltri chuckled. "For future reference, deflector dishes can't handle boulders super great. Nice little feature the Nav computer's got there," Boltri switched to a nasally feminine computer voice— "'navigational hazard detected, please confirm course.'"
Oswalt was looking a little brow beaten with embarrassment and obviously stewing some kind of retort, so Stillwell smacked him across the shoulderblades encouragingly. It was a casual motion for Stillwell, but Oswalt whiplashed under the force as if Stillwell had tried to get him to cough up something dislodged in his throat. "Kid still got us there in one piece." It was important to encourage the young ones. "Finesse'll come in time."
It was then Ozzie took a seat, making everyone shift around. Dylben ended up pushed to the end of the bench and went to go grab another chair.
"Hey Ozzie." Boltri re-ruffled his hair so it would be properly out of place. "So what's the deal? New orders or something?"
"No, not really new orders. Keeping the flight plans we've already got in the Ort cloud, for now." She winced at her slip of the phrase in the last.
“When we going out again?” Oswalt asked, drumming his fingers on the table. He’d seconded to security from flight control, and getting the opportunity to fly a ship of his own the way he was hadn’t seemed doable. Most crewmen at his level and experience were stuck flying shuttles at best. The Bolian was always eager to get back behind the controls of the Wasp.
“We just got home,” Dylben said, carrying his chair over and sitting down. The Bajoran/Cardassian had greyish-tan skin and dark eyes, his black hair slicked back and trimmed short.
“Man, I know,” Oswalt replied. “And it’s so boring!”
Roth ignored the Bolian to look at Ozzie. “So how’s the new boss?”
"Commander Sikan?" She blew her fringe out of her eyes as her drink was set down. "Uh, very... Vulcan. Sensible." She took a sip off the top.
"Sensible. Excellent." Roth seemed relieved.
"Yeah. Sensible. He's running an audit on our operations."
Roth frowned. "Whatever for?"
"Sensible reasons. He wants to come on our next run."
"You know what I'm thinkin, Oz?" Boltri said, gesturing with his nearly downed beer in hand and his pinky making the only pointing motion.
"Don't tell me the idea for the negative speed impulse drive again."
"Hey, no," Boltri said defensively as if wounded in the heart. "My Neggo impulse drive concept is the greatest idea in a century."
"No, it's a terrible one. There's a reason you're not lecturing at Daystrom. There's no such thing as negative speed. We talked about this. "
"No such thing in *this* universe." Boltri put down his now empty stein so he could draw two parallel walls in the air with the thin side of his hands. "But in a parallel universe—"
"What was the first idea, Boltri?" Stillwell tried to bring his friend back on track.
"Oh right, yeah. If we're being audited, I just think we should skip the search grid pattern. Go for broke with Chief Ride-along and take him to see the hidey hole that's likely to be the biggest boon."
Roth snorted. Theatrics. "And if it's a bust?"
"Actually, isn't that what we want?" Dylben smirked, looking around. "I mean that's what we're after. A bust."
Calling to mind a list of spots on the search plan, Ozzie looked thoughtfully out at the view of the dockyard as her hot wings made it to the table as well. Without looking down at the basket, she slapped Oswalt's blue fingers as he teasingly reached to steal one. It was a running joke with the team. Ozzie could sense anyone coming and no one to this day had ever been able to get so much as a stray peppercorn off her plate. Someone still tried every time. "Okay, yeah... I think I have a certain rock in mind."
