A Bitter Pill
Posted on 05 Nov 2020 @ 10:45pm by Major Declan Finn
Edited on on 05 Nov 2020 @ 10:48pm
Mission:
M1 - Emergence
Location: Command and Control - Obsidian Command
Timeline: MD05 - 1300HRS
1672 words - 3.3 OF Standard Post Measure
Declan had never wanted to be based on a starship. To him, it made the most sense to be on the move, to be moving to the next mission and the next challenge. His job as a Recon Marine kept him at that raggedy edge so that the only time he was shipborne was when he was on his way to the next engagement. Any time he wasn’t actively working, he was based on some Marine outpost. He’d done a few months at Thunder Ridge when he’d broken his left leg in an orbital jump, just as a means of reconditioning and he’d refused multiple different officers of a ship based command. He didn’t want to sit fat and lazy on a starship, running drills and otherwise living the life of leisure while trolling space on a pleasure cruise. That’s what made this job so much harder.
Finn didn’t want command, prestige or responsibility. He wanted to be on the front lines. Declan wanted to be in the field, rifle in hand, boots on the ground doing the dirty work the Starfleet pacifists couldn’t. The last thing he wanted to be doing was babysitting an entire contingent of Marines on some backwater Starbase that didn’t even have functional replicators. About the only thing he did like about this particular shit posting was the fact that his Marines got to be the savior’s. Without them, this station would be powerless for weeks and without any kind of security contingent. That’s why MacTaryn had jumped on the opportunity to send them here. Not only was he making good with Fleet command, but he was putting them in his debt. He was saving their hides; there would come a time real soon when the Major General would cash in that chip. Declan certainly hoped he was there to see it.
When MacTaryn had called him in to his office to tell him about this assignment, Declan had assumed the worst. That after an entire career in the field, he was going to force him to take a command position. Part of him knew that the conversation was coming sooner or later. He was forty, and still a Captain. By rights, in any other unit, he’d have been a Lieutenant Colonel at least. He was by all accounts two grades lower than where he should have been, but he hadn’t wanted that. Ever. So when MacTaryn had said he was sending him to Obsidian Command to take charge of the emergency unit, he’d framed it as if Declan was the only choice. That every other officer capable was needed for active commands and being that he was a recon Marine, he wasn’t in urgent need on Falkirk right now. He hadn’t argued. On the one hand, the General was right. But Declan knew that it was a ploy. A convenient excuse to get him out of the field until and into a command spot. He had little doubt that when this was over he was going to get stuck here on Obsidian Command or forced into a ship-based command somewhere else in Starfleet. He honestly wasn’t sure which was worse.
The Marine facilities on Obsidian Command were on decks that didn’t have atmosphere at the moment so putting his feet up somewhere a little more comfortable wasn’t an option. He was stuck hanging out with the Fleet staff in the CIC, as he’d exhausted every conceivable excuse he could think of to lurk near the MP staff or with the Engineers. Declan knew Doctor Mazur well enough to steer the hell clear of the Infirmary unless he was actually injured. It’s where he’d been for the past three hours, compiling the report that the Major General had requested (though he knew it to be more of a demand). It was hardly his strong suit, but he had managed to get it all put together coherently and had just sent it off to Falkirk.
Declan dropped into a stool in the CIC by one of the auxiliary comm stations that he’d used to send the report and sighed. He hated this shit. Absolutely hated it. Just sitting around, on his ass staring out at space and sending reports. How did people actually want to live a life like this? He looked behind him at the nearby station personnel toiling away at their stations as if this was all just fine and shook his head. They were crazy. Simple as that. He let out a slow breath and was about to get up and find some kind of physical activity to do, even if it was just doing laps around the lobby of the CIC, just to have some kind of distraction, when the terminal he’d just used to send the General’s report began chirping softly. He got up to look at it, tapping the display that was flashing. He heard the activation of the holo-emitters and turned about to see Major General MacTaryn’s holographic form on the deck behind him. He turned sharply about and snapped to attention.
“Sir!” He declared.
“At ease, Captain,” MacTaryn answered.
Declan moved sharply to a rest position, watching the General’s hologram and feeling a knot growing in his stomach. “Sir. I just transmitted the situational report you requested,” he declared.
“I see that,” MacTaryn answered, “I’d rather hear from you than read a damned report,” he added. “What is the situation?”
“Sir,” Declan replied quickly, “We arrived at approximately sixteen hundred twenty hours station time yesterday and immediately deployed throughout the station. 5th Medical reported to Major Mazur and have made significant progress in bringing the stations medical facilities online. The Engineering company has joined with the stations small engineering team, as well as the units from the Caeliar, which was already docked here and the Vesta. It’s my understanding they should have main power back online sometime tomorrow,” he explained. “The station was completely without a security force, other than a Chief and a few personnel. 1st Battalion's MP’s have deployed throughout the station and have secured all critical areas.”
The Major General just watched quietly as Declan gave his report, all of which was in the data he’d just transmitted, but didn’t say a word until the man was finished. Even then, he let silence sit between them before he finally spoke up.
“What about the Marine facilities?” He asked, “OC’s contingent and resources should be considerable.”
“They are, sir. I’ve seen them myself. I took a squad of Engineer’s EVA to those decks to ascertain the situation. The armory is stocked, and the decks seem to be in genuine order. Once power is restored, we should be able to restore atmo to those decks and redeploy to proper bunks,” he explained, trying to remember if he put that in his report. “Right now, we’ve set up field kit in the Cargo Bay.”
“What?” MacTaryn colored up quickly, “I send the better part of a regiment to assist and they put you in the Cargo Bay?!” He fired off hotly. Declan could see that vein in MacTaryn’s forehead starting to pulse and knew that it was bad.
“Sir, that was my call,” he replied firmly. He wasn’t generally scared of officers in command. He’d pissed off his fair share of Majors and even a few Colonel’s. But Major General’s were another sort, especially this one who by all rights should have been (and most likely was about to be) a Lieutenant General. You didn’t want to be on his bad side.
“What?” He hissed.
“Sir, they don’t have bunks or housing where we’d all be together. We’d have been scattered throughout the station. It was my call to kip out in the Cargo Bay so we could have some order and be all in one place to support each other. Just as we would were the Marine decks operational,” he said. Part of him wanted to offer to change his mind, but he brushed that off as Starfleet pandering. He was sticking to his call. He knew it was the right one.
MacTaryn just glared back at him for a long minute before finally nodding, “Alright,” he said, rolling his jaw with frustration, or maybe he was trying to cool his temper. Declan wasn’t all that familiar with the Major General; it could have been either, or something else entirely. “I want you to comm me as soon as you reoccupy the Marine decks. I don’t want you or anyone in your detail returning to Falkirk until the Marine decks are fully functional and ready to be manned. Understood, Captain?”
Declan stood up a little straighter, “Understood, sir!”
“Good. I expect your next report to be followed by a holocomm in forty-eight hours, or as soon as you get the Marine decks online. Whichever is first,” he ordered.
“Aye, General!” Declan barked.
MacTaryn looked the man over one more time, as is formulating something else to bark at him about but instead just lifted his chin and said, “MacTaryn, out.”
The holocomm vanished and Declan let out a long sigh, drawing his hand over his face to try and wipe off the frustration. As he did he glanced over at Petty Officer Darwayne working his terminal nearby. The dark-skinned man tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it didn’t help. All it did was make Declan feel even more like he was being railroaded. Why him? Why send him here? He let out another sigh headed for the stairs. Maybe a hot cup of emergency ration coffee and a few minutes on his bunk would settle his mind. It certainly couldn’t be worse, right?
Right?
