STORMES Stories - Chapter 1, Part 1

[FiGiN]

[This is a story I started writing the other day. As the mood strikes, I might write more.]

Chapter One, Part One: Life Is Not A Dream

“Attention all hands. Main power is still offline. Power conservation routine alpha in effect. No unauthorized use of ship’s resources without the consent of the Chief Engineer. That is all.”

Damn. It wasn’t a dream. I had the briefest of hopes that when I woke up it would have been a dream. But it wasn’t. We really did take a helluva beating yesterday. I can’t escape it. All in all, we had 27 casualties out of 111 souls on board, including 13 deaths. I know all their names by heart. The report is still in my hand. I had fallen asleep looking at it.

Escort Class USS STORMES is my third command, part of Task Force 72 and the Lucky 7th Fleet. I am not a stranger to combat, nor to the end result of it … but this hurts. 13 deaths. Not very damned lucky, huh?

The doorbell chimes softly and I quickly fasten my uniform and walk over to the desk and turn the computer display on.

“Who is it?” I bark, my voice scratchy and worn. Richardson, Patrick, Williams, Nichols, McCrickard.

“XO, sir.”

I slump back in my chair. Thompson, Lewis, Carroll, Rogers, Harris.

“May I come in sir?”

“Come in,” I sigh. Tremble, Boorstin, Michaels, Ebey.

My Executive Officer walks straight to the desk and plops down a cup of coffee.

“Thought you could use this, sir,” she says.

Now let me tell you a little bit about my XO. I met her 15 years ago even before we went to the Academy. She’s bright, enthusiastic and seems to have an endless supply of energy. She’s a helluva tactician and were she not a woman, she’d probably already have her own command by now. Her service record is exemplary and I am the luckiest CO in the Fleet to have her. We also avoid any kind of sexual tension as she’s perky enough that I know I’d want to kill her halfway through one date. Yet in our situation, we’re the perfect team … Commander Pessimist and Lt. Commander Optimist.

“Yes, thank you,” I say. I pick up the cup and take a long sip, closing my eyes. Richardson, Patrick, Williams, Nichols. Ok, maybe I need to think about something else.

“What can I do for you, XO?”

I can barely get the words out of my mouth before she starts barraging me with crew efficiency reports. This is actually a curve ball, even for her. After the battle we just went through, why is the first thing on her list crew efficiency reports? I’ve learned that she usually has a method to her madness, so I let her continue. Thompson, Lewis, Carroll, Rogers, Harris. The crew did extremely well during our encounter, which I already knew. The ones who lived, anyway. Tremble, Boorstin, Michaels, Ebey. I continue to nod and sip on the coffee, not really paying attention. Apparently, she’s trying to take my mind off some of the more negative parts of the last 24 hours. She knows me too well. She moves on from the efficiency reports to even less relevant updates on some scientific experiments and I think she said something about a diplomatic conference next month? Ok, now she’s just starting to annoy me so I have to stop her, I’m sure somewhere between what the galley is cooking for lunch and what movie will be played tonight.

“What about the repair estimates, Number One? When can we rejoin the Fleet?”

Lt Commander Sara Koepke is very easy going about lots of things. However, she *hates* being called ‘Number One.’ I asked her once what her problem with it was and she said something about if she was really number one, she’d have a much more comfortable bridge chair. I was smart enough to take it as a hint.

“Mr. Penrose informs me that main power will be restored within the next 4 hours, Skipper,” she says, “at which time we will have enough juice to get underway again.”

Touche, XO. I hate ‘Skipper’ even more. I even smirk a little. Of course it could be from the coffee.

“Excellent,” I say, “Anything from Starfleet?”

“Admiral Turner is still waiting for your report, sir,” she says.

“He was there, Sara, I fail to see the importance of sending him the goddamn report right now.”

XO always seems to know when to back off and this time is no different.

“Aye sir. Will there be anything else?”

“No,” I say, “I’ll see you on the Bridge.”

She turns smartly around and leaves. Alone again, I can’t get the names out of my mind. Richardson, Patrick, Williams, ENOUGH! I slam the cup down on the table. I sit in silence for a moment. I’ve got to get past this. I’ve seen death before, dammit, this is no different. It’s not like I did anything wrong, right? I wasn’t trying to get those people killed. The mission was a success, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

Ok, Admiral, you want your report? I’ll write you a report. It’ll be great and proper and political and full of valiant last dying breaths and posthumous decorations. The same decorations that will gather dust in someone’s drawer as their father, brother, sister or husband is turning to dust.

Did I mention I’m somewhat of a pessimist?

<end of part one>