"Parting Words"
by Ensign Ethan Storm - Security Officer
Crewman 1st Class Shyla Lynn Moreau - Astrometrics Technician
Lieutenant Benedict T'Kal - Chief of Security
and Ambassador Serek [NPC]
Location: USS Sulu, Shuttlebay and Runabout Jemison Cockpit
Stardate: 57907.23, 07h51
***
Shyla Moreau leaned over the flight console of the runabout Jemison,
beaming a smile as she worked. Her long auburn hair was down and spilled
onto her arms as she punched program code into the ship's memory. Ethan
Storm sat in the seat next to her. It was swiveled in her direction and he
regarded her with a warm smile.
The console gave a satisfied beep and Shyla gave it a nod in return. "Okay,"
she
began, still looking down as she double-checked the code she had just
entered. "I've put together a performance evaluation program so by the time
you get to the Spector, you should know your exact pilot level." She
looked up at Ethan and smiled bigger. "I also added a subroutine that will
pinpoint your specific weaknesses. It'll help Operations develop a formal
instruction schedule for you."
Ethan said nothing but smiled back at her.
"What is it?" she asked, curious about his strange silence. He only
continued to smile cryptically.
Her expression became one of wide-eyed concern. "Do I have something on my
face?" she asked, as she brushed her chin and cheeks with her hand in an
effort to remove something that wasn't there.
Ethan didn't stop smiling but he did say, "You're beautiful."
Shyla dropped her hands and resumed both her beaming and her work. "Thank
you," she said, putting the final additions on the programming. "And so are
you."
Storm glanced towards the back of the cockpit and thought about the decor
beyond. The Jemison's living quarters at the rear of the ship had been
converted into fairly
luxurious Ambassadorial cabin while the midsection module contained a
Spartan rest area for the runabout crew. In this case, lone pilot Storm.
Ethan would only be able to engage the autopilot when the runabout
was within distress range of at least one Federation starship. Fortunately,
the area between Risa and Sector 11-G was fairly heavily trafficked.
"Do you want to fool around in the Ambassador's cabin?" Storm asked, only
being a little facetious. He was going to be off the Sulu for more than a
week.
"Yes I do," Shyla answered, blushing only a little. "But we would get caught
and then we'd both be in trouble." Shyla looked over at him. "And I still
have a career to consider, sir," she finished with a giggle.
Storm chuckled at her joke. "If you get in trouble, maybe they'll send you
with me and we can both get a pep talk from Captain Waverly."
Shyla's giggle fell away and her eyes grew concerned. "You're really worried
about that, aren't you?"
"I'm not looking forward to it," Storm admitted and for a moment looked
somewhat like a frightened boy. When Shyla blinked the vision drifted away,
and she was looking at the brooding man she had always known.
Moreau rose from her seat, walked over to his, and sank down into his lap.
"You'll be okay, Ethan.
Storm tilted his head to look into her eyes. "You think so?" he asked,
sounding unsure.
She smiled and ran her hand over his cheek. "I know it." Her head sank down
to his shoulder. "It's all going to change from here on out."
***
Storm and Shyla emerged hand in hand from the side door of the runabout just
in time to see Lieutenant T'Kal and Serek coming towards them from across
the Sulu shuttlebay. The Ambassador was dressed exactly the same as he'd
been last night; his staff made loud rhythmic clunks on the deck as he
approached.
Benedict was back in his beloved SOBs yet he didn't look at all happy about
it.
"Last chance," Storm whispered to Shyla. "We can go back inside and blast
our way out of here."
"Hush," Shyla said, smiling. She reached over and gave his hand a gentle
squeeze. "I'll be here until you take off." Shyla hesitated a moment, as
if debating just what to say. "Be careful, Ethan," she finally advised, going
with the safer choice.
"I will," Storm said, knowing that he should say more but instead he only
squeezed her hand back and held on a beat longer than she. Her hand
stayed with his even as her body moved forward before finally her fingers
slid off his own and she was gone, walking away without a glance back.
Storm wanted to call out to her but she soon passed T'Kal and Serek. Even as
they closed in on him, Storm kept his eyes on Shyla until she reached the
shuttlebay bulkhead and stopped without turning back
around. From the gentle rocking of her shoulders, Storm guessed that she was
crying.
T'Kal kept his distance while Serek walked right up to Storm and planted his
staff on the deck with a metallic thunk. "Ensign Storm," he greeted
obviously with a glance back to Shyla's position. "I trust you are ready to
get underway."
Storm took his eyes off Moreau and placed his hands behind his back. "Yes,
sir," he said crisply. "Your cabin has been prepared and we're ready to
launch." Storm pivoted towards the Jemison and gestured with a tilt of his
head to the open door which Serek began doddering towards with a new set of
staff-thunks. Before disappearing inside, he glanced around the shuttlebay
and ended by resting his eyes on T'Kal.
Benedict nodded to the Ambassador as the Vulcan stepped into the runabout.
It left him staring at Ethan Storm. The flight deck was empty save for the
two Security officers and Shyla now watching from a fair distance away. The
cavernous space of the shuttle bay echoed as he walked over to the Ensign.
"A word, Mister Storm, before you leave." He gestured away from the shuttle.
He didn't want the Vulcan over-hearing, and he knew from experience just how
sensitive their hearing was.
He walked a little way from the craft with hands clasped behind his back.
Ethan followed and as Benedict turned to face him the junior officer stood
erect and at attention. Benedict smiled, but the expression never touched
his eyes. Keeping his voice low and level the Sulu's Security Chief said,
"This little jaunt to the Spector will give you some time to consider your
position on the Sulu. I want you to think seriously about where you belong,
Ethan. I have to build a team on the Sulu. We're going into the Gamma
Quadrant - all we'll have is each other. I need to know that every man and
woman wearing security gold on my ship is in my team. Go-it-alone heroes get
themselves killed - and while we're in the Alpha Quadrant we can always
bring another warm body on board to fill your shoes. Once we're gone from
here - you cease to become expendable.
"Last night you stepped out of bounds again. In a diplomatic detail. You
embarrassed me. In front of the captain and the First Officer, you
demonstrated that a member of my team lacked proper respect. Whether you
like it or not, I am your superior officer and anything you may have to say
under any given circumstances will be addressed to me. As far as I'm
concerned you have two problems - a lack of trust and a lack of patience.
Both of these things can be learned." He turned slightly and cast him a
sidelong look as he surveyed the shuttle bay.
Storm said nothing. T'Kal knew that while standing in such a detail,
protocol insisted that you address the highest-ranking officer present. If
they had been apart from the assembled officers then what he was suggesting
would have been completely appropriate but to address T'Kal in what was the
essentially Captain's detail would have been disrespectful to the commanding
officer. Benedict wasn't demanding trust; he was asking for fealty.
"When you get back here you'll be standing post for your shift until further
notice. Deck fifteen, corridor six." All of the security detail on the Sulu
knew that spot. In fact every security officer on every Intrepid Class ship
knew it - it was an access hatch into the landing gear spaces. A small
corridor three paces long with a door facing the blank wall of a cross
corridor. No one went down there. There was nothing to guard. It was silent
as a grave even on Alpha shift. It was punishment detail.
"You have the option, Mister Storm. Think about what it is you want - and
where you belong. When you set foot on this ship again it will tell me that
you've decided to play in my team, and it will be to face punishment detail.
I hope you come back in the right frame of mind, Ethan - you might learn some
patience and along the way you might learn to trust your fellow crew. You
have a great deal of promise as an officer - I think in time you'll be a
good one. I already respect your abilities - I just have to learn to respect
you." He gave the man an even stare. "Only you can teach me to do that..."
Storm met T'Kal's gaze evenly but with respect. "I look forward to
instructing you, sir," he said with no humor.
Benedict had to smile. "I bet you do, Mister Storm - I bet you do." He nodded
toward the lone woman some distance away, waiting for them to finish. "I'll
let you say your goodbyes," he said with a straight face once more and left
the flight deck to the two obvious lovers.
Storm continued to stand where T'Kal left him, looking at Shyla's back
until
she finally looked over his shoulder at him. Her eyes were reddened and the
edges
of her nose and cheeks were flushed pink but she managed a wan smile and a
small wave through stifled tears. After mouthing the word "goodbye", she
turned back to the bulkhead and began to cry anew.
"Goodbye," Storm said, too softly for her to hear.
***
Shyla only turned around again when she heard impulse engines come online.
As
she watched, the large runabout used its maneuvering thrusters to pivot the
cockpit towards the force-fielded shuttlebay door. On the gentle arcing
turn, the large forward portholes passed in front of her and she could see
Storm inside at the controls. He was diffracted by the light passing through
the transparent aluminum but she thought he regarded her with a gentle smile
as the Jemison moved into final position for launch. A second later, a
long thruster blast sent the runabout towards the open shuttlebay door where
it was briefly ringed by crackling blue force-field energy and then was
in the vast void of space.
Moreau watched through red-rimmed eyes as the ship kept its course straight,
growing slowly smaller and smaller but staying torturously in her sight. So
intent was she on the watching and the wishing that the runabout would just
go to warp and end this long goodbye, she actually startled when her
communicator made a soft chirp.
"Crewman Moreau. Incoming message for you from the USS Jemison."
She tapped her communicator, her face somewhere between a grin and grimace
as she watched the ship get further and further away. "Go ahead Jemison,"
she said with a lump in her throat.
There was a slight pause, an equally slight crackle, and a voice made tinny
by the comm link but that undeniably belonged to Ethan Storm:
"I love you, Shyla."
Shyla hesitated in her surprise just long enough for the tiny USS Jemison
to stretch into infinity and make the jump to warp speed. Her communicator
made a dissatisfying beep, indicating that the sudden change in the
runabout's location had severed the connection.
"I love you too," she said quietly to a dead communicator and an empty
shuttlebay that reverberated with the sound of her own heartbeat.
"Turnabout is Fair Play"
By: Ensign Ainsley Chambers; Counselor
Ensign Mason Farrell; Operations Officer
Location: Cafe Kjot, Risa; Operations Office, USS Sulu
Stardate: 57907.23 15h27
***
Ainsley looked over the hand written note one more time, running her hand
down the edge of the paper. She'd picked up the small pad of writing paper
on Risa and was now sitting in a little café writing and rewriting her short
message to Mason. She'd written it at least four times before she was happy
with the style of her writing, and that didn't even include the amount of
times she'd gone over and over the actual wording of the damn thing.
Finally happy with it, she folded it up and placed it in the accompanying
envelope and tied the tiny purple ribbon that would keep it closed.
Smiling, she took one final sip of her tea and then stood from the table.
She had about half an hour before Beta shift started. She needed to get
back up to the ship and leave the note with the PADDs and messages that
Mason would need to read as he came on shift. Hopefully he wouldn't be in
the office too early.
She went off grinning slyly as she thought about all the fun she had
arranged for him.
***
He almost missed the note. It was between two padds, and fell to the floor
when he shifted the pile. Mason caught the flutter of the cream-colored
envelope from the corner of his eye, and leaned forward in the chair to pick
it up. It had fallen beneath the desk. Grumbling he got out of the chair
and onto all fours to retrieve it.
"Who writes notes on paper?" he asked himself absently.
Not just paper. Nice paper. Thick and heavyweight, in an envelope tied
with purple ribbon. This was no official communication. What was it doing
in his in-stack?
A thought he'd hoped to have but didn't expect wandered through his mind.
It hit him hard, and he shot up, banging his head on the underside of the
desk. He swore at his desk, then snatched the note from the floor and
climbed back into his chair. The ribbon had come loose when he grabbed it,
and he quickly pulled the note from within.
"Ciao, Mason," the note began. The rest was unintelligible. He could make
out words here and there, but nothing that made sense. Ciao. Wasn't that
Italian? The note was in Italian? It had to be from Ainsley, the Rome
native. And why not in Italian? He'd sent her a puzzle, after all.
Farrell smiled at the note, and turned to his console. It wasn't much of a
puzzle, but it was interesting just the same.
"Computer, access language database."
"Unable to comply."
He frowned. "Explain inability to comply."
"Access for Ensign Mason Farrell has been restricted."
"Explain reason for restriction," he was incredulous.
"Psychological evaluation."
He paused to think, and a smile started to creep across his face. "Identify
evaluating officer."
"Counselor Ainsley Chambers."
Of course. He'd gone to visit her officially. She could claim to be his
counselor and control his computer access as a function of doctor's orders.
Nice. He could get used to this sort of challenge.
But a challenge it was. She surely must want him to decode the message. But
without the database, how could he?
"Computer," he said, "connect via subspace to Earth planetary public access
network."
A signaling chirp told him it was done.
"Locate and link to Italian public access dictionary."
"Unable to comply."
He shook his head and sat back, smiling as he tapped his chin. "I cannot
access any language databases via the ship's computer?"
"Affirmative."
"Computer, do any standalone copies of an Italian to Standard language
dictionary exist on board?"
"Affirmative."
"Identify location of said dictionary."
"Unable to comply."
He laughed out loud. She'd certainly covered the bases. He could feel his
mind engaging, and it felt good. This was going to be fun.