Misattributed
Posted on 07 Feb 2024 @ 8:36pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Lieutenant Commander Christophe Leblanc
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Chief Engineer's Office, OC
Timeline: MD19 afternoon
1624 words - 3.2 OF Standard Post Measure
Lance was more than ready to leave behind the mistake that was Obsidian Command and his being on it. He strode the corridors down to Engineering with all of that irritated energy emanating from him, working like a repelling field as junior officers and maintenance staff parted for his warpath down the middle of the walk. He was a recognized figure, for all of the reputation he had accrued while serving on OC, and although he knew that personnel drew their own conclusions about him, he cared very little what they might be whispering behind his back. That they were wrong about most anything was a given conclusion and not worth his trouble to correct.
It irked him slightly that he had to ring at his former office door, but he did so nonetheless, waiting in unamused silence.
Inside the office, the new Chief Engineer sat on one of the newly installed comfortable red sofas with a PADD in his hands and a long dark cigar between his lips. The device he held had a lengthy report full of as many details as he dared to ask about the Radiation Shielding Array which provided much-needed protection for the capital city below. The concept wasn’t foreign to him, of course, but he was an avid and curious learner and he preferred to understand everything he could, even if he would never repair even a single component on one of the associated devices. Amid muttered phrases about nadion emitters and access panels, he heard his doorbell ring. Through a thick cloud of smoke, and the butt of the cigar he had in his teeth, he called out a response.
“Entrez”
The doors admitting him, Lance took a few strides inside and then paused. The furnishings had been changed around, some replaced with gaudy red upholstery. Besides this affront to the senses, Lance’s first breath picked up cigar smoke. Not that he was averse to it. He’d just never indulged in the office. Lance blinked and shook his head mildly as if to say to himself, ‘well, but anyway.’ It mattered very little to him what Leblanc wanted to do with the office.
“I’ll keep this brief. I believe there’s something of a mix-up and seeing as your name is associated, it would be most expedient to address you directly.”
“Bonjour.” Chris said, insistent but not angry. He felt it was very rude not to say hello, and he had a hard time not forcing that view on others. He was sure he knew what this was about, but there was certainly no need to start off this confrontation, or conversation, with disrespect. “Commander, welcome. Please, have a seat. Can I get you a drink? A cigar, perhaps. Navarre; my favorite.”
He smiled, and it was charming for most anyone else. He seemed perfectly at ease, not at all minding the frustrated and hurried energy of his predecessor.
Lance circled the sofa and did accept the offer of a seat, although not at all making himself comfortable, but more perched on the edge, leaning forward in a posture of control. He waved off the cigar, hardly intending to share any camaraderie. “I am finalizing manifest items for my transfer to Sol, and I believe there has been an error in one of the move requisitions.”
“Oh?” Chris asked, puffing the cigar again and placing the PADD down on the sofa next to him. In opposition to the man across from him, he leaned back and was quite relaxed. Despite his somewhat casual demeanor, his cold blue eyes were attentive and focused.
It was all Lance could do not to grind his teeth looking at the man, languid and disaffected.
“I haven’t the time to deal with operations forms in triplicate and go pounding my feet between one little administrative tyrannical kingdom and the next to have the attribution disentangled. But seeing as it’s been filed under your name, I believe you can clear up the matter in short order. There’s a modified Arrow class runabout meant to be transferred with the rest of my projects and materials. Shall I read you off the requisition order number?”
He puffed silently for the space of several seconds, his eyes locked and steady, but his lips moving expressively on the cigar. Trails of smoke danced into the air and evaporated into a cloud, slowly dispersing. It wasn’t clear if he was thinking, or disinterested in producing a quick answer. He waved his hand through the cloud, dispersing it and disregarding the suggestion.
“I don’t think that is necessary, Lance. May I call you Lance?”
His eyes narrowed. Such familiarity was not especially appealing to him, and seemed designed to goad him rather than to mark any kind of shared personal affection. “I am commonly identified as such. Do as you will.”
“Right, Lance. I’m certain I know which requisition you’re referring to. Forgive what is, perhaps, my ignorance, but that was an R&D Special Project, was it not? I assumed it belonged to the station and, more directly, this department.”
Truly Leblanc was ignorant, though obviously flippant about claiming to be such. “You’re mistaken.” He said slowly, so as to give Leblanc a chance to keep up. He was clearly of the impression that he could lay claim to things far outside of his own intellectual grasp. “The Quinn-Navine Drive was conceived and developed under my supervision. There is no one remaining on this station qualified to oversee the project.” Least of all, you, said his leveled eyes.
“The department has several engineers who can likely grasp the concepts, if given the chance.” He countered emphasizing the last part. “One might be surprised what even basic minds can achieve with opportunity and a bit of assistance. This is not the point, however.”
Chris put the cigar down on a holder over an ash tray and leaned forward, a look of concern on his face.
“This project used station resources and department manpower. If it is, as you say, yours, you seem to have broken several regulations in offloading the work onto others; on their off hours, nonetheless.”
Lance thought of plenty of ways to explain and justify the work put into the Drive— a design that if successful would make even distant galaxies accessible. Men like Leblanc had such small vision and, to Lance’s mind, were often what restrained the greatest of scientific advancements. There was no use explaining to him what a pittance such resources were in the face of what potential there was to be gained. “Are you saying then that you did file the claim, directly?”
“No, but it was filed on my request.” Chris said honestly, “you may recall our first meeting when I tried to ascertain the nature of current projects, including this one. You were…less than forthright in explaining the situation in terms I would understand. So, of course, I had no choice but to go with what I know. And I know that Arrow Runabout is under the authority of the Engineering department here at OC. The transfer was scheduled at the request of the former Chief Engineer.”
Leblanc was taking this altogether too personally, in Lance’s estimation. He hadn’t been deserving of an explanation then, and he no more needed it now. “Seeing as you now know better, you may release my project back to me. In no case will she remain in your oversight.”
Chris smiled and looked at Lance, but said nothing. Gradually, the smile got wider, it was clear that something amusing was playing in the man’s mind, but still he didn’t speak.
“And…you have made that determination as..the former Chief Engineer?”
There was a long sigh as Lance felt Leblanc only capable of stating the obvious, as if there were no other recourse than the chain of command left to him. His head tilted, tiring of Leblanc's smugness. “Are we then at an impasse? Have we wasted both of our time?”
“You have not tried to convince me, so convinced are you that I must simply bend to your will and your assumed superior intellect.” Chris said, leaning back again. “The department has plans for the vessel. I’m afraid I won’t be accommodating you. If you want it back, you will have to go toe to toe with me for it. See if the station administration sees it your way, perhaps?”
“Well.” Lance came to his feet, dusting his hands of this entire attempt. “I had hoped to find this all a simple mistroke in the database. But as you seem to have need of staking claim to all that is not yours, you needn’t expect further such assumptions on my part.”
Chris nodded and picked up his cigar again. He was talking to the sort of man who couldn’t bend from his own way. The plight of his newly-met neighbor was now completely understandable in his mind. Sure, the man could have explained his point of view on the ownership of the runabout and convinced Chris it should go with him, but he was too smart for that. Too smart to do what worked.
“Try not to miss your shuttle, Lance.” He said.
“You may be certain I shan’t.” With little else to say to Leblanc, Lance saw himself out of his former office once more.
Chris watched as the man stomped out, puffing his cigar again. He found himself quietly wondering what he would do next. He didn’t seem the kind of man to give up an ego battle without a fight.
