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TRIBUNAL Part 11 - Come Home To Roost

Posted on Mon Jun 17th, 2019 @ 4:05pm by Lieutenant Mona Gonadie & Kodria Mizu & Ensign Fiona O'Dell & Ensign Briaar Gavarus & Ensign John Carrott
Edited on on Mon Jul 1st, 2019 @ 11:18am

Mission: Fractured Fairy Tales
Location: USS Hera, Deck 3, Upper Flight Deck
Timeline: 2396, Post-Tribunal

Securing the enemy starship and evacuating the crew to their cargo bays was handled without her. The small support craft followed orders, performing visual scans as well as act6ive scanner sweeps. All of this would be evidence introduced in court later, and after having acted as prosecutor, Commander Paris had muttered at the end of the orders that she'd be damned if she was going to blow the case on detective work. So Fiona O'Dell, the tiny test pilot who has mastered the Thunderchicken, followed orders, and took a long look around one messed up old junker.

"Lookit alla that crrrap oot there in space. Why would ye even have an antique like this? I dinna get it, Briaar. If I was a dirty pirate queen who'd been playin both sides aginst the middle, I'd own me a bloody dreadnaught fuir when I got inta trouble, not a bloody relic like this." O'Dell wasn't impressed by antiques.

For her part, the tubby Tellarite manning the control console at the flight deck of the Hera had a different perspective. "Screw a Dreadnaught. Those things are engineering nightmares. The Miranda class has been in active frickin' service for, like, a hundred and thirty-something years, Fee."

Working at the console, collecting and collating the data from the Thunderchicken's sweeps, The Porcine Engineer continued, "The modular construction makes upgrades crazy easy, it can run with a crew of, like, twenty-some-odd people, it's maneuverable as hell, and she's designed to be as close to idiot-proof as possible. I mean, shit. These dumbass pirates kept her flying."

On the rollbar shuttle bay the pilot with the call sign 'Leprechaun' found a warhead in Bay 2, which was filled with so much toxic waste and radioactive material that whatever the quantum torpedo driving it all outward didn't destroy, the sheer amount of hyper-radioactive materials in the dirty bomb could irradiate an entire system over time, rendering it hostile to most forms of life. A science and security team beamed over, and in five minutes, they had the thing deactivated and contained for travel Disposal would apparently be another issue.

"Score one for the visual inspection- here's ta bein' anal retentive," the midget Mariposian mused over the R&D channel as she continued her inspection, finding nothing else out of the ordinary. The Manticore moved in to tow her, which, again, O'Dell wasn't impressed. "I mean, I guess they figured oot that our configuration is superior, but lookit what they're doin ta their warp signature, aye? It's like they're aiming for the drag coefficient, but joost nae managin it."

"So long as she fits in her own warp bubble, she'll fly just fine. Plus, that drag coefficient doesn't factor for her maneuverability in ship-to-ship combat." Gavarus replied, clearly more impressed by the antiques design far more than her diminutive partner-in-crime.

The next voice to come across the line was that of Lieutenant Pacci, who ordered, "Thunderchicken, you are ordered to return to the roost."

"Aye, an' copy that, Hera!" O'Dell chirped. Calculating speed and trajectory, the pixie pilot brought up a sound file and began piping it through the R&D channel. Traditional Marisposian music blared forth, even as the small stereotype aimed the craft on a smooth flight back to the flight deck of the USS Hera.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBATrLRWySg

ENSO'DELL: Play me onta the flight deck, Briaar!

From the control console, Gavarus snorted out a laugh and rolled her eyes as she began to prep for the re-docking sequence and turned towards the ranking Flight Officer, Assistant Chief Mona Gonadie. "On your orders, Ensign Gonadie."

Mona rolled her eyes, knowing that if she didn't give permission for a little celebration, she'd hear no end of it from them and if she did, she'd hear no end of it from command. She just sighed and took responsibility, pulling out a small music deck, plugging it into the flight deck PA system for Gavarus. "Permission granted. Dance your jig and have some fun, but promise me you won't break anything at the last minute?"

Calling up the perfect time, Gavarus hit 'play' and messaged O'Dell with a grin and a chuckle. "You heard the Chief. Dance like you've got to clean up the mess, Leprechaun!"

Gliding into the flight deck, the half-spacecraft, half-armor suit took it's time, waving first to one side of the flight deck, then the other. As the music came up across the flight deck, the mech began to clap its hands in time to the simple music, which had the ability to strike a chord easily. Complex music was a matter of taste, but simple tribal music such as this was evolved enough to appeal to a sophisticated taste, yet simple enough to be accessible to anyone.

As the crew on the flight deck began to clap, the Thunderchicken ignited it's boot jets lightly, just enough to produce a bit of an energy trail, even as her engines pushed to keep her in place. With that showy effect accomplished, hovering there over the flight deck, Fiona Margaret Mary Josephine O'Dell, flush from a victory the likes of which she'd never dreamt, took up a task with which she'd once been challenged.

Inside the cockpit of the experimental starcraft dubbed the Thunderchicken, the atomic aerospace ace began to move the legs of the hunched over humanoid shaped mecha. In time to the music it began to tap it's toes and heels, as the pearlescent neon dark variable mode fighter began to dance a jig. There, in midair above the main flight deck on Deck 4, where she wouldn't damage the mech or the deck, in time to the music. As the feet moved, the left trails from the thrusters, adding an additionally surreal element to the spacecraft with arms and legs dancing a merry jig.

Likely no one would ask, but she'd even played all of the instruments, laying down multiple tracks.

Of course, while drunk in her quarters, O'Dell had played most of the instruments in question for Gavarus's entertainment, so the pilot's Tellarite bestie knew the origin of the music all too well. Regardless, though, she clapped along, tapping one of her hooves on the deck in time with the music.

The tension of the actual mission had been all but unbearable, and in the moment, this was exactly the release of that tension that the tightly wound flight crew needed as the room erupted in smiles and genuine laughter.

While everyone laughed, she kept it up for a good twenty seconds before stopping, swaying a little, then taking a few bows before cutting the thrusters and gliding smoothly to her landing pad, whereupon she turned once in a circle, then rotated back for a half circle, facing the control room. As the mech touched down, O'Dell engaged all of the safeties, locked down the weapons control and powered down the vehicle itself, leaving the left arm outstretched, hand open, palm up, nearly a meter off the deck.

As she popped open the cockpit, O'Dell's helmet was already down, and her bright red mop of curls was wet with sweat, her face was shiny with it too. But the lithe little lass clambered out of the cockpit like a spider monkey and ran toward the stern of the craft. Scrambling across the shoulder and walking out onto the arm, O'Dell stood on the palm of the hand of the mech, then began jumping up and down excitedly.

At this elevation, when Gavarus arrived O'Dell would actually be the right height to give her partner in crime a hug at her own height for a change. Or at least she would be, if she could stop jumping up and down and hooting out unintelligible gibberish.

Not giving a good god damn about protocol, the generally grumpy Gavarus was just so glad to see her best friend in the universe return unharmed that she stomped her hoof to the deck and let out a loud "WOOOOOP!"

Running over, Gavarus grabbed the tiny test pilot in a pig-sized bear hug. After all, if Mona Gonadie could get away with making out with Lieutenant Dox on the bridge, they were hardly going to get court marshaled for a damn hug. "C'mere, you dumbass genius! You frickin' kicked their mother@#$&in' ASSES, Fee!"

Knees kicked up, O'Dell squealed with delight as Gavarus swung her around, EVA armor and all and she clung tightly to her best friend. "Didye see what we did oot there, me and our baby? We joost took oot a starship! Well, wi' a security team, sure, but looka what we did! And I brought her home wi' nary a scratch! We're the dog's bollocks, we are! Chief built 'er, ye worked oot the bugs and look what she kin do!"

While a smaller person might have tried to take sole credit, O'Dell was a pilot who knew she was only good as the spacecraft and her engineers, and she had no trouble at all making her victory their victory. This was a win for Chief Gonadie, a win for Briaar and her, and a win for the whole flight deck, for the whole Hera. But the not-terribly-humble O'Dell was gracious in victory.

As Gavarus let her back down to the deck, O'Dell ran to the edge of the smaller upper flight deck. There at the edge, where the overhead of the chief flight control office met the traffic control booth, the pint-sized pilot squeaked her cry of triumph over the flight deck. Arms upraised in victory, she shouted, "Pog me thoin, ye pirate poseurs! Thunderchicken, hooooooo!"

Watching, Gavarus let out a snort of a laugh as she walked over to the Variable mode fighter dubbed the 'Thunderchicken'. She had no PaDD in hand, but instead simply ran a thick, three-fingered hand over the surface of its outer hull. O'Dell was right. The shield enhancements worked better than expected and to a lay-person, she didn't even look like she had been flying, much less in combat.

The Tellarite engineer's eyes saw minor points of stress fatigue on the joints and some surface pitting here and there. The minor wear and tear of basic operations. Walking around with her, making a similar visual inspection, was the chief of the R&D department, Ensign Mona Gonadie, who Gavarus was pretty sure was happy as well. "We'll have to run a few full diagnostics... Post-mission refurbishments... but just from that dance alone, the motor systems all look to be in perfect order, Ensign."

Mona ran her hands over the parked craft as well, a slight smile on her face. "Yeah, I think we might be about ready to come out of prototype stage. What do you think of the name Banshee? Too on the nose? I was thinking of reducing the size about fifteen percent for the production run and remove all the experimental stuff. Ah, but we can talk about that later. For now, let's be happy we won and with flying colors, right?"

"O'Dell will love the name. Though she does like it big. But if we streamline her down, we can boost efficiency by a near equal percentage up." Gavarus commented, too excited to not think about the details. "You built one beauty of a beast here, Chief."

"I just hope the other pilots aboard are able to handle the controls..." Mona mused, pulling out a PaDD and making a few post-battle notes.

"I've thought about that, Chief." Gavarus commented. "I think that if Fee... Ensign O'Dell... does a tutorial with one of the other pilots from scratch, we can record it and create a kind of... holographic, interactive training simulation. We just need to go through the process and record the steps and suss out all the potential questions."

“I know the Commander hates the name, Chief,” O’Dell chimed in from below. “But tis Starfleet tradition- whatever the name of the first production model is, that’s the name of the line. I’ve given it thought, and the Thunderchicken is what ye named her, Chief Gonadie, and me vote’s that we should keep the name, aye? Banshee is something that willnae makes fighter pilots roll their eyes, but it’ll forever stand that she’s was named that by her creator, and they can stoof it if they dinna like it.”

“At least, that’s me two pence worth,” O’Dell amended. While she was still high on adrenaline and victory, she was a bit bolder with her superior than normal, but she didn’t want to push her luck, either.

"And she is a work of love. I made her for my Minay and that name was meant for her and myself." Mona smiled that secret smile she kept for her secret projects and Dox as she ran one hand along the nose of the Thunderchicken. "But with a remodel and the experimental stuff being removed... And my cloak... Should come a production name rather than a project name. Banshee is as good as any. After all, this is the prototype and not the first production model, right? Now let's stop wasting time trying to rename her and go run those diagnostics! We've still got work to do!"

“Aye mum, yes mum, sorry mum!” O’Dell replied, looking around for where she was needed in the process. "Where should I be doin what noow? I got alla the telemetry downloaded in realtime and the sensor logs are downloadin. So... uh..."

"Get them to science, ops, and intel so they can scrub the data as well. We performed operations in hostile territory so we need to make sure everyone has access to all the logs just in case someone misses something." Mona was all business now and though she was interested in performance and analysis, the mission logs came first.

Mona then turned a bit softer as another issue popped into her head. "Also, you were in combat. I need to know if you have any signs of PTSD at any time, ok? I don't know what exactly what happened, but if you need to talk about anything at all, I'm here, Gavarus is here, Asa is here... You have a lot of friends, ok? There's no need to face anything alone. That goes for anyone that goes through anything traumatic."

Trying to Match Mona's more professional demeanor, Gavarus nodded as she grabbed a PaDD to start collecting the data from her console collected during the mission. Aye, Chief. We will, right Ensign?"

The two of them were riding adrenaline highs at the moment still, but we're both emotional messes just prior to launch, so even the generally dismissive Tellarite was giving Mona's words some thought. Though those thoughts centered mostly on how a metric ton of alcohol after the end of their shift might just be the therapy they were both craving.

“Aye mum. If I hae nightmares or canna sleep or I’m more messed oop than usual, I’ll report it. We have our own ways a’dealin wi’ stress for the most part, but if I’m nae okay I will say something, I promise!” O’Dell held up one hand as if making a pledge then held the other over her heart. But she couldn’t keep a straight face for long.

“Boot didye see it? They fired photon freakin torpedoes at us! And I fooled a torpedo, which is bloody brilliant, then I fricking dodged one by usin their own ship for cover! That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever done! And didya see me on the bridge? I was like, pchow, pchow, pchow!” As she spoke, O’Dell made gun fingers and pointed to distant points, supplying the sound effects of her mission.

“Then I booted me way in like the king of the hill and just chewed up their control panels, and didye see? Didye see? When the Commander told me ta fall back, I lied and bluffed like a Ferengi explainin’ his stolen goods to the customs officials!” Clearly, O’Dell was having no difficulty congratulating herself. In truth, this had far and away been the most exciting experience of her life, save perhaps for the time she and Gavarus had almost died when an early prototype Cyclone fighter had experienced and encounter with a quantum string that blew out most of their systems.

But this was different. This had been combat against an armed and dangerous opponent. This had been a piloting feat no Starfleet officer had ever performed. This had been a critical mission in a starcraft that was untested, and a pilot who had never been in live combat before. This was the crowning achievement of Fiona O’Dell’s life, and she was unable to contain her excitement. No experienced and jaded officer who had seen it all, the pixie pilot had never been prouder, even when she’d been accepted to the Academy, or even when she had graduated flight school. This was Big Damn Hero stuff, and she was practically on overload.

"Kin we get a holo? Of all three of us and the Thunderchicken? So's I kin hang it on me wall and tell me grandchildren aboot it someday? Please mum?" O'Dell pleaded with her R&D section chief.

"Oh, of course," Mona replied, already having made the preparations from her PaDD as the spot where the thunderchicken was parked and the trio were currently, began a slow descent down into the maintenance bay below the main shuttle deck. She pointed down at the holographic security systems she'd installed some time ago in the R&D lift and held up her PaDD that showed the live feed of them riding the lift with the Thunderchicken down. "Smile for the Camera."

In a more characteristic display of grumpiness, Gavarus rolled her eyes and sighed. "Really? Pictures. Ugggh.. I hate getting my..." But before she could even finish her grousing, she looked down at O'Dell, who had already unleashed her greatest weapon against the towering Tellarite: her big, puppy-dog eyes and a heaping helping of Irish-Catholic guilt that Gavarus was completely defenseless against. "Oh, for @#$%'s sake... fine."

What followed was a montage of holo snapshots as the hyperkinetic O'Dell jumped from one idea to the next, changing their positions, hopping up in the Thunderchicken's hand to get into the shots, and in one inspired moment moved the fingers of the mech to form an 'H' in gang sign, leaving it parked that way so that they could all look 'street' next to it.

But the best shot, and the one she would frame on her wall, was O'Dell grinning ear to ear, standing in the outstretched hand of the Thunderchicken. Which made her tall enough to lean on Gavarus' shoulder, who looked somehow put out but still complying. While beside them, Mona Gonadie lookes half long-suffering, and half proud as punch of her baby, which would revolutionize personal vehicular technology in the 25th century. The image that O'Dell liked best would be part of the historical record of the development of the craft, featured in history texts in only 20 years time.

The framed image from O'Dell's personal collection would one day hang in the Smithsonian air and space museum, immortalizing the genius who revolutionized spacecraft design.

Along with the two loose screws who helped her test the fruits of her innovative mind.

 

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