Gonna Fly Now

Posted on Fri Apr 19th, 2019 @ 10:31am by Ensign Briaar Gavarus & Ensign Fiona O'Dell

Mission: Detours
Location: USS Hera, Deck 11, Gymnasium 2
Timeline: 2396

At 05:02, Ensign Fiona O'Dell had gotten up, peed, jumped into workout clothes and run to the door of Ensign Briaar Gavarus. Her insistent door chime ringing produced no effect, sop she ran back to her quarters, grabbed her comm badge and clipped it onto her oversized grey t-shirt. Tapping it, she bolted out into the hallway again.

"O'Dell to Ensign Gavarus. Wake up ye snorin' boar, we got to git oot and goo to the gym today! Ye promised ta be the Mick ta me Rocky, aye? Get oop!" Arriving back at the door to Gavarus' quarters, the persistent poppet pressed the door chime again.

After a long moment, the sound of thumping around could be heard from inside. A few seconds later, the door wooshed open revealing Ensign Briaar Gavarus on the other side. She was wearing a long, baggy purple nightshirt and her mane of wiry platinum blonde hair was standing up in every direction as she looked at the pixie test pilot with a half-lidded expression of disgust.

"What the frickin' hell time is it, Fee?" Gavarus grumbled, wiping her eyes.

"It's oh five hundred, Briaar! Time when the fit an' healthy people goo hit the gym so they have time to lie doown and die afterward, peel themselves outta a puddle a' their own sweat, get a shower then report on time fuir duty at 07:00. Ye promised to help me get in shape, so drivin' the Thunderchicken won't kill me, remember?" The merry Mariposian beamed up at her Tellarite companion with wide pleading eyes. For an alien born on a distant world far from Earth, O'Dell sounded and even looked exactly like one would expect an Earth girl from Ireland to sound, complete with the mop of red hair that was pulled back into a high poofy ponytail. A style favored by her porcine partner.

"Ugh..." Gavarus grunted. "Whoever invented oh five hundred hours should be shot. With punches. A phaser that shoots angry fists. Fists with spikes on them."

"Okay. C'mon. Let me throw something on." The grumpy Gavarus flumped back into her room to pee and get dressed, not bothering to close any doors behind her. As she did so, the little lass began picking up clothes and sorting them into a clean and dirty pile, most of which were dirty. Catching the grunt from the room's occupant, she shrugged.

"Today's also room inspections, so we might want to clean oop this pigsty joost a tetch if'n ye dinna want ta go on report, aye?" There was no rancor in the statement, just the reminder as she picked up a stack of plates and cups to take them to the replicator to be recycled. In fact, the wee woman was humming happily to herself as she did so, as rather obnoxiously, O'Dell was a morning person.

"That's today? Frickin' hell." Gavarus replied from the reclamator, clearly and audibly peeing. After a moment, she washed up, brushed her teeth, pulled her unruly Brillo pad of hair into a ponytail and emerged, throwing on a pair of baggy sweat pants and a sports bra.

"Okay. Let's go kill ourselves to ensure you don't die driving the Thunderchicken." The towering Tellarite said as she tossed a baggy black T-Shirt that simply read 'HERA' in the front in blue.

"Hey! Twinsies!" O'Dell held out the oversized t-shirt that was approximately the same size as the one Gavarus was wearing, also emblazoned with the simple HERA logo.

Rolling her eyes, Gavarus chuckled as the headed out to the ships gym. "Indeed. How will anyone tell us apart."

After a few minutes of O'Dell bounding about tidying up the messy quarters in an effort to help the sloppy spanner jockey’s room pass inspection as Gavarus dragged ass, the unlikely pair made it to the ship’s secondary gymnasium on deck 11. As the doors opened, two of the ships titanic security Amazons walked out, glistening with sweat and laughing to themselves about whatever it was they were talking about. As they passed, Gavarus' neck craned to watch them leave, in not-too-subtle awe.

“Ye do like ‘em thick, doncha Briaar? Well, ye sure picked the right ship fuir that, dincha,” O’Dell chirped quietly where Gavarus could hear, as she was getting used to keeping an ear cocked for Fiona’s high-pitched lilt. “Ah picked this gymnasium because the Security gals tend to train in the other one. Aaaand there’s the boss over there in the ring with… izzat one of the Klingon girls…?”

"Yeah. The security team are all built like frickin' goddesses..." Gavarus commented, still half-watching the two Amazons as they walked down the corridor before bringing her attention back to O'Dell.

"Huh? Shit, yeah. Uh... I don't remember with one, though. The angry one?" Gavarus tilted her head as the duo watched Lieutenant Dox and Petty Officer S'Rina fighting in the ring rather intensely, trying not to be noticed. "Damn! That is way too much energy for this early."

“Sweet Mother Macree, I dunno, I thought all Klingons counted as ‘the angry one’? Pog me thoin, lookit the Lieutenant go… she’s bloody murder!” O’Dell watched the Lieutenant bring a knee up into the Klingon's midsection, only to have the musclebound warrior woman grab her into a hold and slam the ace pilot into the mat. "Ouch. So accordin’ ta the manual, I should start off by establishin’ me capabilities so's we have a watermark ta start with. Ye with me on this one?”

"There's a manual? Go fig." Gavarus said, with an expression of mock surprise, bringing her attention back to the diminutive pixie. "So, does it say how we do that? Do I have to chase you or throw medicine balls at you or something?"

“Nae, tisn’t a game of dodgeball,” O’Dell shook her tousled red head of curls. “I hafta see how far I kin run, how many pushups and situps and that rot I can do, so we can figure oot how outta shape I am. So, ye g’win ta do this wi’ me or joost make me do it all and record the results?" O’Dell fetched out a PaDD from a rack of them, tapped up the checklist of exercises and handed it over to Gavarus.

A short snort of a laugh was the rotund engineer's initial response. "Ha... yeah, no. I'm here to help. But this luxurious temple likes to avoid..." The porcine woman gestured with her fingers to the room with a sarcastic smirk, "... all this crap unless absolutely necessary. That and since I literally can't sweat, no. But hey, I'll cheer you on."

"Dinna worry, I'll sweat fir the both of us!"

A flurry of activity followed, in which O’Dell found both strengths and weaknesses. While she could do a dozen sit-ups, she managed twenty squat thrusts, seven entire pushups, a full 25 jumping jacks, and she decided to try again later after her full minute of struggling failed to produce a single chin-up, as the petite pixie lacked the strength to lift her own weight with her arms. She couldn't curl the 20 kg bar more than twice, her stick arms giving out in muscle fatigue on the third. Now she was struggling to run on the treadmill, already exhausted and dripping with sweat.

"How far... have Ah gone... izzit a few kilometers already?" she gasped.

Walking over and taking a bite out of a cream filled chocolate donut that she somehow acquired, Gavarus was partly distracted watching Dox and S'Rina continuing to go at it as the massive Klingon got a lock on and threw the portly pilot down to the mat with a loud slam. "Damn, watching those two is frickin' painful. And... I think they're smack talking each other IN Klingon while they go. Huh?"

“Ye speak Klingon?” O’Dell wheezed in surprise as she staggered on.

"Me? No. It's all yelling and phlegm. Like listing to a really angry rabbi." Gavarus scoffed. "Which is exactly what they sound like in there. So I guess Dox speaks it. Weird. But they look like they're having fun. Go fig."

Looking down at the PaDD in her other hand where she was monitoring O'Dell's progress, Gavarus took the last bite of her donut and muttered with filled cheeks. "Yeah, no. You are at... point five three kilometers. But you're making good time."

“Great… that’s great… lemme know when I make it... to 3K… so Ah kin throw up on ye…” O’Dell gasped, but the plucky pilot persisted, pushing herself as she was wont to do when it came to her job. While Fiona O’Dell was reasonably easygoing otherwise, her job now required far more strength and endurance than ever before given the nature of the experimental mecha that she was involved in testing. There was always someone smarter, faster, better-connected or just more desirable for the posting in her experience.

So while Chief Gonadie had assured her that she was the pilot for the job, O’Dell felt obligated to validate that faith by pushing herself, improving herself and ensuring that she could go further, work faster, perform higher to confirm the chief’s faith in her.

Even though the training might kill her first.

"I'll get you a bucket if it comes to that. I might even hold your hair if I'm feeling generous." The tall Tellarite commented sarcastically.

“Ain’t you a pal… Aren’t ye… worried aboot… yuir physical quals… in a few months… Gavarus?” the little leprechaun wheezed as she trotted on the treadmill, encouraged by the report that she was making good time.

"Unless worry burns calories, I don't see the point. I'll hit the pool later, maybe. I dunno. I'm a frickin' engineer. Unless I get too fat to fit in a Jefferies tube, it all feels like too much of a pain in the ass." the portly porcine shrugged. "I passed last quarter. I'll suss it out."

“Size ya are… I’m surprised ye fit… in one noow…” O’Dell snarked back, reflexively running a bit quicker as if to get away from potential danger despite the fact that the treadmill wasn’t going anywhere. “It couldna hurt ya to… get in shape a little… oh laird jaysis I take it back… it does hurt. Save yuirself, Briaar! Git… another donut and… tell Chief Gonadie I died well… chained to a treadmill…”

"Well, get off the damn thing and take a rest." Gavarus remembered how hard O'Dell pushed herself in the Thunderchicken simulation, almost to the point of literally killing herself just to not appear weak, and she got a little more serious. "This is going to work over time. You do a little bit more every day, building up stamina, pipsqueak. Cool down."

As she spoke, she pushed the controls on the treadmill to begin the cooldown cycle as it began to slow on O'Dell, not waiting for her to respond or object. Picking up a squirt bottle from a bench to the side, she put it in the cupholder on the railing of the treadmill. "Slow down of I'll hose you down with that."

“Okay… alreet… but I gotta… make a whole… 3K today… goals!” O’Dell picked up the water bottle to suck down a few mouthfuls of water while she ran, taking the hint to hydrate and staggering along a little slower. “Ah know the chief… said I got it, but… I worry, ye ken? I canna… let everybody down… gotta get me tiny arse… in shape…m’a test pilot! We canna… proper test the Thunder… chicken if the pilot… canna keep oop!”

"Okay, enough. Now you listen to your trainer." Gavarus walked around to the front of the treadmill and leaned across the top, holding up her PaDD so O'Dell could see. "See this graph. This is every pilot in the flight control department. See this line up here at 92%? That's Chief Gonadie's average sim rating over a two-month curve. Right below it at 86%? That's the crazy lady over there punching a Klingon in the throat."

Looking up, Gavarus winced slightly as she caught a glimpse of the ongoing sparring match across the room. "And guess where you rate?"

As O'Dell opened her mouth to speak, Gavarus cut her off. "Shut it, rhetorical. You're here. 74%. And the next line... all the way down here is MacNielle at 54%>"

Swiping her finger across the screen a different graph came up. "This is the three pilots that have sat in the Thunderchicken so far. That line at the top ain't freakin' Gonadie, Leprechaun. That's you at 18.7 minutes. Down here is Dox at 6.1 minutes. And Gonadie at 3.8."

Picking up the water bottle, Gavarus plopped the tip in O'Dell's mouth as she ran. "Hydrate. Your job is exactly as secure as your ability to survive trying to kill yourself to impress them. So calm your tiny tits. You've got this."

Stopping the treadmill, O’Dell sucked down a few more mouthfuls of water, then leaned on her knees while she caught her breath. “I dinna… have any tits a'tall, so I… canna calm ‘em… but alreet, yeh win, I’ll nae… kill meself tryin ta measure oop… joost don’t feed me to the crazy ladies. I dinna… think me Starfleet judo is g’win ta… help me aginst one ‘a them…”

Turning to peer at the sparring duo, O’Dell winced visibly as she saw the Klingon take a punch to the ribs that staggered her back, before she snarled and whipped out a sidekick. Which was followed by a flurry of kicks designed to drive her attacker back. Which in turn resulted in the redheaded Romulan catching the foot and twisting it, to slam the Klingon warrior to the mat.

“Ach! That all looks so painful… why would be people do that on purpose…?” she mused, crossing her arms to hold herself as the brutal display continued. It was clear that while she had no trouble merrily murdering from the cockpit of a war machine, watching humanoids physically brawl with one another in person intimidated the short starfighter.

"Gaah..." Gavarus scrunched her face watching for a moment as well. Shaking her head, she replied, "I... do not think I want to know, Fee. More power to 'em, I guess."

"Seriously, though. You've got this. And if you were just using regular, manual controls in the Thunderchicken, this wouldn't even be an issue. I mean, you're trying to keep up with an experimental neural rig and you're still kicking it's designers ass on stamina. We keep at this, you'll be writing fickin' aviation history." Gavarus snatched the water bottle out of O'Dell's hands and squirted some in her own mouth before tossing it back, which the midget Mariposan caught handily.

“Okay... a wee bit further then… I’ll walk, I’ll walk, I joost need ta…” Seeing the expression on Gavarus’ face, O’Dell stepped up onto the treadmill so she could get close to eye level with her tall trainer.

“No O’Dell’s ever amounted to a hill ‘a beans in the history of anything,” Fiona whispered. “I dinna want to stay and tend goats and sheep an’ shaggies and a poochine still for some drunken sot of a husband on Mariposa, so I joined Starfleet. I passed the test to be a pilot, so they let me train ta be a pilot… mostly because I think they figured I’d be a mascot or somethin’. But I finished the program- dead last, but Ah finished it!”

“So this… this is me big chance ta do somethin' real, ye know? Somethin’ that could make a difference, like ye said, make avionics history. Little people like me, they dinna get big chances like this. So it’s… it’s important ta me, Briaar. I think it might be the most important thing I ever do, so it’s… Ah hafta do good. Better’n good. Ye ken?” O’Dell eyed the dubious designer with wide, trusting eyes. It was a large admission for the little lass, and she’d only been willing to say it aloud in whispers.

"And to think, you've done all of that and only have to tend to one pig to make it happen," Gavarus smirked, looking down at her PaDD that was keeping a tally of Fiona's vitals, which were consistent with someone working out, but otherwise fine. Pushing the button on the treadmill, it started back up.

"Two point five kilometers to go, then. Chase the chicken, Rock."


Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioE_O7Lm0I4