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Left Behind: "Captain" O'Dell

Posted on Thu Oct 10th, 2019 @ 7:10am by Captain Enalia Telvan & Ensign Fiona O'Dell & Ensign Briaar Gavarus
Edited on on Mon Oct 28th, 2019 @ 9:56am

Mission: Family Detention
Location: USS Hera, Deck 1, the Bridge
Timeline: 2396 - Meanwhile... on the Hera

Before she left to transfer, along with the entire senior staff, to the Artan-loaned Bird of Prey the Golden Ghost on their rescue mission to Romulus, Captain Enalia Telvan left a young male Efrosian lieutenant named Willaby in command. And so far, it had been an uneventful command.

All the Hera had to do was sit and wait near the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone. She didn’t have to go anywhere or do anything. The other Intel ship, the Persephone was handling the official Federation negotiations with the Star Empire. The Captain’s primary standing order to the young Lieutenant was simply to keep the ship in good working order for her eventual return.

So far, so good.

Nothing of particular interest had occurred, and all seemed well on the half-staffed bridge. Petty Officer Liu was working the security and tactical console and looked like she might fall asleep at any given moment. A young Bolean named Ensign Torm was at the Engineering station looking exceedingly busy. Ensign Rando was cooling his heels at the Ops station monitoring communications and general sensor data from the unusually quiet Neutral Zone. And at the helm, was the red-headed spitfire, Ensign Fiona O’Dell.

The pint-sized pilot was an ace in the Cyclones and the only pilot rated to fly the experimental Banshee craft, the successor to the Thunderchicken prototype on the Hera. She was a test-pilot at heart and generally worked in the R&D department, but today, with the Hera somewhat short-staffed, she had been assigned to Bridge Duty. Which of course she found to be a colossal bore as there was no piloting to be done, just sitting… and watching… and struggling to remain awake. So there she sat, as quietly as was possible (at least for the loquacious loudmouth) for her. Meanwhile, she typed away on the console, text chatting with her partner-in-crime and life, the irascible junior Engineer, Ensign Briaar Gavarus, who was down in Main Engineering holding down the fort for the ship’s Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Thex sh’Zorathi.

Which was when she noticed the Lieutenant returning from yet another break, looking pale and ashed and not at all well. Debating, she chose a course and followed it.

“Lieutenant Willaby, are ye alreet? Ye look a bit green at the gills, if you’ll pardon the expression and with all due respect, sir.” O’Dell had turned in her chair to review the sweaty white-haired officer who looked like he was liable to collapse at any moment.

“I’m fine, just… must have been something I ate…” the Erfosian officer began before his cheeks bulged as his mouth filled, and he dashed off to the reclamator.

“Fine me Aunt Petunia, that man’s sick as a dog,” O’Dell muttered under her breath, texting to details to her porcine partner 23 decks below. When the officer in question returned a few moments later, he looked even worse, a large sweat stain running down the front of his uniform tunic. Or at least what she hoped was sweat, as the faint whiff of vomit accompanied him- a scent the professional drunkard knew all too well.

“Lieutenant, sir? Nae ta be tellin ye yuir business, but might ye consider checking into the medbay? Ye dinna seem to be getting better and… ach, there he goes again,” O’Dell remarked as the Efrosian hurried to the reclamator again. In text, she debated contacting Medical anyway, but the advice of her more cautious partner reigned in that initiative, as she advised not to get involved.

Which was already too late, as the Efrosian appeared on the bridge once more, pointing to O’Dell and uttering five nightmarish words she had hoped she would never hear. “Ensign O’Dell, you have the conn.”

“What?!?” she burst out to the back of the retreating Lieutenant in disbelief and denial. “Surely someone else must have seniority sir…”

Reaching the turbolift, Willaby shook his head. “Not now, not at this hour. You’re the line officer, so the conn is yours until I return or you are relieved by the next shift.” The turbolift doors hissed shut at that, ending any other protestations that the tiny test pilot might well have voiced in argument of those facts.

With all eyes upon her, O’Dell stood up, tugged down her tunic over her flat chest and strode to the command chair. Briefly, she looked to see if it was adjustable, which it did not appear to be externally. So with what grace and dignity she could muster, O’Dell climbed up into the command chair, her feet dangling quite a few inches off the deck, looking to all the universe like a child sitting in the Captain’s chair.

Which was, coincidentally enough, precisely how she felt.

Logging into the chair’s armrest control panel, she noted her relieving of Willaby and spelling him in the command rotation even as she called for a replacement flight control officer, which she wondered just who might fill that slot on the roster. Meanwhile, she realized there were odd looks from all around at the sight of her in the big chair, and her face went flush.

>>Gavarus, can you come up here and maybe figure out how to lower the chair so I don’t look quite so much like a ten-year-old sitting in the Captain’s chair? Bloody Willoughby’s sick and the bastard left me in command of the bloody starship, and now everybody’s staring at me, and it might be a little easier if me feet touched the deck.<<

Meanwhile, IN Engineering, Gavarus all but spit out the spiked coffee she was drinking to get through the particularly long, particularly painful shift. The engineering crew had been putting in extra hours to get the Hera's engines back to inspection-ready condition after spending a solid week or so at maximum warp. And for reasons only the gods knew, Gavarus was put in charge of the repairs.

So suddenly, the least liked most obnoxious engineer on staff had to tell her co-workers... that privately cheered when her hours were split with the R&D department... what to do. Looking down at the message, Gavarus let out a sigh of relief. Going to the bridge meant not being the temporary Chief and she was thrilled as she typed in her reply, a smirk on her face as she couldn't resist a little dig at her partner and best friend.

Moments later, Gavarus' reply came through at the command station. >>Aye Captain Leprechaun. :D<<

>>Har de har fookin har. Keelhauling works great in space, so think on that, ye great rump roast<< O’Dell fired back. While she was mildly irked at the captain crack, internally she was already relieved that her partner in crime was en route. Not that she anticipated any actual emergencies. And if there were, she would take over the helm and pilot the bloody starship herself, great space whale though she be compared to the light and maneuverable fighter craft in which O’Dell was specialized. So as her anxiety amped down, the bridge replacement showed up, and her mood immediately soured again.

Ensign Edgar Mulligan Trelawney VII came from a long line of Starfleet officers, and naval officers before that. Crisp, polished and efficient, he was practically the polar opposite of the ragamuffin with the mop of unruly crimson curls that had been pulled back for bridge duty, yet still managed to make her look somehow sloppy. Perched in the oversized (to her) captain’s chair, she looked like someone who absolutely did not belong there.

Ensign Edgar Mulligan Trelawney, effete, polished and oh so very British, looked as though he was born to sit there. Polished appearance, not a single blonde hair out of place, uniform crisply pressed and shoes polished to a gleaming shine, he looked spot on. Which of course meant that seeing the slovenly O’Dell in the command chair made him bristle, even though he said nothing aloud. After all, he was nothing if not an officer and a gentleman.

Taking his seat at the helm, Trelawney tsked as O’Dell was still logged into the station, and that was not procedure. Which of course O’Dell heard, understood, and immediately caused her to fume. Bloody Tory git…

A few seconds later, the turbolift doors wooshed open and the two-meter tall Tellarite came on the bridge. Turning to the Engineering station, she smirked as the officer at the chair rolled her eyes. "Hey Tormy, take over in Engineering. McNally has some questions for whoever's temporary chief at the moment. And If I'm here, guess who that is?"

Shrugging, the Bolean who clearly didn't like Gavarus any more than the rest of the engineering crew did got up, logged out of the station and left the bridge in a huff. The bizarre display garnered a few raised eyebrows from the rest of the crew and an almost audible eye-roll from the helm. But Gavarus was, as usual, almost happy with the attitude she projected as she smiled widely and walked over to the center chair and proclaimed loudly, "Eeeeensign Briaar Gavarus reporting as ordered, Ma'amsirma'am."

She offered a cartoonish salute standing just to the side of the chair that caused most everyone to turn away, annoyed. But while she did, she leaned down enough for her other hand to casually tap in instructions on the command chair's console. And quietly, the chair began to lower ever so slowly. And thanks to her irritating entrance, nobody was paying any attention to that.

The wee O'Dell, on the other hand, was surprised when her feet came in contact with the deck, in what she deemed the smoothest ride of her life. "As ye were, Ensign. we'll have nunna yer tomfoolery on the bridge today. We have to be aboot the serious business of sittin' here starin' at this particular patch a' space, so's we're in position to receive tight beam transmissions joost in case innyone wants ta talk to us. Otherwise, these are the non-voyages of the starship Hera. Her indeterminate length mission- to go nowhere. To scan the surrounding space. To boldly go nowhere!"

Turning from the helm with a frown, his left hand trailing along the console, Ensign Trelawney frowned at the midget in the command chair, which now looked a bit more like a throne, with it lowered to her height. "Ensign, is that the sort of information you should be bandying about the bridge? Our mission is classified, is it not?"

Tilting her head, O'Dell adopted a pitying expression. "Truly, Mister Trelawney? Is there innyoone here who dinna know that was the current mission after we bin sittin oot here for night a tenday now?"

Petty Officer Liu did not, in fact, know that, nor did the knowledge make that much difference to her. However, she rather liked the obnoxious O'Dell, and she wasn't particularly willing to throw the little lass under the bus. So she sat with her game face on and waited, like the rest of the bridge crew, to see how this was going to play out.

"Also... it's the frickin' bridge, Trembley. We all kinda gotta know what we're doing." Gavarus added, walking around to the engineering station with a sarcastic sneer for the arrogant pilot that she had only ever seen once or twice, but hated on the basic principle of his being a jerk to her partner. "What, is Rando there supposed to be all secretive if he picks up something at opps?" Then she put on a fake, deep voice impersonating the opps Ensign, "Captain, the scan I'm not doing didn't pick up any signals that we wouldn't know anything about if they existed, wink wink."

“Regardless of your personal views on the situation, information is to be parsed out on a ‘need to know’ basis, particularly on the bridge. It’s in the General orders, after all, if anyone bothered to examine or heed them,” the stiff upper lip of the Englishman managed to make it sound scornful and condescending, all at the same time.

“Well, yuir more than welcome to write it oop as an incident report and submit it to the Lieutenant when she returns, and I’m sure it’ll all result in a loverly conversation I’ll forget in the grand scheme of things. So meanwhile, how aboot ye do yuir job, leave everyone else to do theirs and in the meanwhile, maybe try not to pick apart everything I say and dinna be so snarky because yuir nae the one sittin in the center chair, aye?” With a fighter pilot’s instincts, O’Dell raced through the logic, then scored a direct hit with her final shot. Clearly it was jealousy over the ‘slacker’ office being in the center chair instead of Trelawney. But then, she also had time in rate on him, having been an ensign for well over two years now.

From behind the captain’s chair, Gavaris made her eyes wide and held up both hands in chubby fists. Then, in one motion, opened them both up wide miming an explosion as she looked at the irritable Ensign at the helm and silently mouthed: 'Boom!'.

And not waiting for a reaction, she leaned over and whispered, "So... What should I be doin' over here, boss lady?"

“Dina ye start wi’ me or I’ll bring you non-alcoholic beer all night. The devil ye askin me for? I dinna even know how to lower the chair, forget aboot what the devil yuir supposed to be doin at the Engineering station. I barely know the list of duties for bridge duty at the helm, forget aboot yuir station,” Fiona hissed in a whisper that didn’t carry well at all. But she knew the ears of the irascible engineer were particularly sensitive, and she took advantage of it to communicate nigh silently with her best pal on the bridge.

Whispering back, Gavarus shrugged. "Okay. it's just... I've never actually worked this station before. Actually, I've never been on the bridge before. The chairs are sweet comfy. We only have shitty ass stools in engineering. And I don't like sitting on stools when I can't get drunk. I guess I can... I dunno... run diagnostics on shit."

As the hours passed, so too did the problems. There was the call from Yeoman Dedjoy for security to the Pod, to which O’Dell sent the Klingons since they had been quarreling in the gym earlier that morning, and Fiona reckoned that if there was an emergency, they seemed like the ones to send. Then came the call for power allotments from two different departments, and since the warp core was down for maintenance, they could only supply one. After a heated debate, O’Dell split the difference and they both got half of what they wanted, making neither party happy but shutting them up for now.

Then the core issues resulted in a brownout on the Bridge, leaving them in the dim emergency power, and unable to perform most of their duties. Once it was established from engineering that the power would be on standby until past the end of their shift, O’Dell did what came naturally, illustrating why she was most definitely not command material.

“Looks like we’ve need to kill time, then, aye? Alreet, we’re playing the Penis game. Take a vid title and substitute one word for Penis to make it funny- like f’rinstance, ‘Last Penis in Paris’. Next…?”

 

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