A Change of Plans
Posted on 07 Feb 2024 @ 8:26pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Lieutenant Commander Christophe Leblanc
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Secondary Craft Lab 13, Shuttlebay Section
Timeline: MD19 1300hrs
2045 words - 4.1 OF Standard Post Measure
It was his second full day on the job, and Chris had busied himself almost nonstop with learning the ins and outs of his department. That meant not only studying the structures, but reading reports thoroughly, referencing station maps, and doing additional research on his own, but most importantly it meant meeting the people who now worked for him. From morning until night, regardless of hours, Chris read. He read in Main Engineering behind the Engineering Command Console (ECC), he read in his office behind his desk, and he read in his quarters while drinking a glass of wine. When he had questions on any report which he couldn’t answer on his own, he would attach a note to the item with the questions included which would then be forwarded to the engineering yeomen to be answered by his senior sub-department heads in the next day’s reports. He had invited several of his key people to his office to meet them, and in fact had only just finished a working lunch at the conference table in his office with Lieutenant Zacharia and several other officers from Computer Systems Control.
Now, however, he was on a mission of more personal interest. He looked over the PADD in his hand, the requisitions he had requested from Operations, and walked through the double doors that lead into Secondary Craft Lab 13. It was one of 18 labs in use by Engineering R&D for designing and building runabouts and shuttles. Located near the bottom of the Shuttlebay section of the station, he walked passed quite a few people in command red in order to get here. The room was dimly lit, leaving the vessel in the center in shadow.
“Computer. Lights.”
Despite being in various states of deconstruction from stem to stern, the vessel was still recognizable, mostly due to the distinct Arrow Class chassis. The only original hull plating was around the rear portions of the ship, but otherwise completely stripped away. The most exposed area of the ship was easily the forward compartment, torn down to the primary struts which had been replaced with similar, but slightly different curving forms, to which a particular geometry of additional cellular supports were framed out in a very peculiar pattern, obviously meticulously chosen for some reason. The open bridge was otherwise entirely unfurnished, the deck stripped bare and all seating removed. The control panels were exposed down to the circuitry and plasma conduits behind them.
The exterior of the nacelles were open, the covers nowhere to be found in the bay any longer. Along the warp coils were a series of oblong, dark forms, which would obviously protrude from the hull in whatever finished state they might have intended to result in. Plasma conduits had been visibly routed around and to the new emitters.
From beneath, the loading ramp stood open, shrouded by noodles of hanging cables in various states of installation or rewiring.
Of the little original hull plating that remained on the rear compartment’s sides, was the one bearing the original designation of the craft, now a faded outline spelling Cassiopeia , if one squinted to make it out beyond the newer application layered over it, fitting the similarity matching letters closely, but declaring the ship, such as it was, Calliope.
“Quel bordel.” Chris said under his breath as he began a circuit around the runabout. His eyes took in the open panels, the loose cables, and the general state of order that was the vessel Calliope. He was amused by the name in a somber sort of way, and repeated it to himself aloud. Once he’d finished a full rotation around the frame, the interior doors to the hanger opened again, three personnel in gold coveralls trekking inside.
“Why is this still here?” One particularly grumpy voice bemoaned. “I thought we cleaned up all the working trash and had it ready to ship out.”
To which a more feminine voice replied, “We did, sir. I don’t understand, but it looks like the order was rescinded.”
“Can’t get rid of this cursed albatross,” said the first. “Should have been scrapped like intended in the first place. Damned senior officers and their pet projects.”
The third one of the team members cleared his throat, trying to indicate to the first that someone had already arrived in the bay before they had. All three straightened out as the Lieutenant Commander came into view around the runabout, and all three gave a simultaneous respectful utterance of “Sir,” each in their own way, the older gruffly, the younger woman deferrant, and the younger man with a tone of uncertainty.
“Bonjour.” the Chief Engineer said, approaching with a face that was unamused but not unkind. He looked at them, his cold blue eyes moving from the gruff older man, to the woman, and then, finally, to the younger man. “I am Commander Leblanc. Your newest damn senior officer. Thank you for coming, but you are late.”
“Sorry, Sir.” The younger man said. “It’s my fault. I misread the missive.”
“Had to collect him from the bay down the hall,” his team lead explained.
The lady pressed her lips together, suppressing a giggle.
“It's just that I thought this one was meant to be empty. I guess that’s why I misread it.”
“It’s best to be careful about such things.” Chris said, his eyes searching them for the space of ten silent seconds. His hands were behind his back, and he was standing up much straighter than he normally did. Formality, a Starfleet Officer’s bread and butter, revealed nothing about people. But he would see how they responded in an uncertain situation like this. Perhaps this team, unlike the others, had respect for his predecessor. Though, by the way they spoke when they’d entered, thinking they were alone, he doubted it. “I’m afraid I don’t know your names yet. Introduce yourselves.”
“Chief Petty Officer Saulis Baird,” Said the gruff man, obviously Bajoran by his nose bridge, although not sporting an earring.
“Petty Officer Third Class Ezzer,” said the woman, her spotted headtails resettling as she took a more ‘presented’ stance by which to introduce herself.
“PO2 Jorge Baker.” He was bigger by half than his team lead, but seemed smaller in his self esteem, even checking the corner of his eyes to match the smaller woman’s stance.
“Very good.” Chris said, his eyes narrowing at each of them. “Now, tell me what this…complete disaster is behind me, would you please?”
He turned his eyes to the larger one; Jorge. Approaching him, he looked directly into his eyes and held the contact quite comfortably. He hadn’t directed the question to him specifically, but the gesture, in itself, brought a certain pressure to respond.
Jorge shifted uncomfortably. He had been sympathetic to Commander Quinn’s project, hoping to be part of something very new and exciting, and one of the last to beg excuses from working on the project (along with Ezzer who had reasons all her own) when Saulis pulled the plug on their hours in the bay in an unspoken standoff with Quinn.
“It’s the prototype of the Quinn-Navine Drive, Sir,” he said simply. “Or the start of it.”
“It is also a serious hazard. Wires everywhere, loose and ungathered; components laying around. It looks like work stopped here in the middle of a duty shift.” Chris responded, moving to Ezzer and stopping in front of her. He looked at her with the same unrelenting eye contact. “Didn’t you learn to clean up after yourself, Ms. Ezzer? Or do you leave your toys wherever they fall when you are done with play?”
“I was ordered off the project, Commander.”
“Oh?” He asked, arching an eyebrow, “by whom?”
“By Commander Quinn. We returned later to clean up the rest of the bay and remove supplies and gear, but I was specifically ordered ‘not to lay a finger’ on the ship.”
“For what crime?” Chris said, a spark of curiosity flaring in his gaze. He attempted, to the best of his ability, to keep it subdued, but he wasn’t sure he was entirely successful.
Ezzer and Baker exchanged looks, as if to try to make sense of it themselves. “Uh, not contributing enough personal time to the project, lacking dedication?” She offered, trying to sum up a lot of heated words from Commander Quinn.
“I have only thumbs and a single brain cell with which to turn a wrench.” PO2 Baker gave for his own explanation. Jorge didn’t have a lot of pride to hurt in the first place, but even he knew that was harsh.
“Honestly, we did come back, off the clock.” Ezzer offered without further prompting.
Jorge softened as she got a little more talkative. “She talked me into it.”
“I know. I just felt so bad for him.”
“He still locked down the project anyway. Last day he went skipping out of here smiling.”
“Yeah,” Ezzer cringed. “That was even weirder.”
“I imagine he fancied he would be able to continue his project in Terra Firma.” The Commander said, shaking his head, “but he was wrong. This pet project of his used station resources and station manpower, making it..not so personal. Which means it stays, as far as I’m concerned.”
He looked at Ezzer again, his gaze softer; the act was weakening.
“Personal time?”
“Yeah, we did some after hours work.”
“Speaking for myself, I just never was on a research project before. I thought I might get a work reference or a shout out in a paper or something,” Baker said. “And Ezzie was going, so.”
“He just was so sad. Obviously he named it after his wife. I mean. Everyone else was getting themselves signed off the project and then all the work hours were challenged, and parts requisitions got frozen for review.”
Saulis raised his hand, proud to be the one to have challenged Commander Quinn's requisitions. “That was me.”
But Ezzer was still carrying on with her explanation. “So I volunteered! But by then, he was just so tragic. I don’t think he meant to tell Jorge all his fingers were thumbs. He was just upset.”
“That makes you very kind.” Chris said to her, a handsome half smile forming on his face before he moved to Saulis. “I read a preliminary paper on the drive being installed in this runabout and, I must admit, I either didn’t understand it as much as I thought or it is insanely dangerous. What do you make of it?”
“It’s over my head, Sir. I know how to make things to the spec given and can rework Impulse and Warp systems. We’re still training on Slip stream tech. This is something else entirely. The prelims lost me at ‘quantum foam non quantifiable locational state’. But I think that J–” he caught himself about to call a senior officer an uncouth name. “Genius believed he was going to make an every-where-all-at-once instantaneous jump drive.”
“If one goes everywhere all at once, that means one is an infinite number of places one cannot or should not be. Quantum Theorists can’t be told this.” Chris said with a smile. “This drive will be recycled and sent back through requisitions, or at least put away in storage. Our new project here will be far more conventional and, I assure you, much more enjoyable.”
“Wait.” Ezzer appeared confused. “He’s decommissioning the project?”
Saulis seemed equally confused, but for entirely different reasons. “We aren’t gonna scrap it all?”
Jorge just looked like he typically did, a couple steps behind anyway, still trying to make sense of non quantifiable locational states.
“He has not. This runabout is the property of Starfleet, under the care of the Engineering Department here on Obsidian Command. I am the head of said department.” Chris said with a full-blown grin. “And no, we are going to use it to build the most technologically innovative secondary craft in the Fleet. I’m sure we will win some awards for it.”
He looked at Baker and nodded.
“All of us.”
