Duty Calls

Posted on Tue Sep 11th, 2018 @ 8:40am by Commander Rita Paris

Mission: Holographic Horrors
Location: USS Hera, corridors of Deck 8
Timeline: 2395, in drydock at Artan Fortress, Kabul system

Paperwork. There was just so darn much paperwork. In the more than a dozen decades since she had served on a starship, Lieutenant Commander Rita Paris would have expected that by this point the paperwork required to run one would have become more streamlined and less complex. Wishful thinking, it seemed, because that certainly hadn’t come to pass. Working in the home office she had set up in her quarters, on a replica of the triangular conference room table that she used to use as an office on Deck 3 of the USS Exeter back in the 2260’s, the anachronistic astronaut dropped yet another PaDD on the table, another report outstanding that she had to keep track of, another item on the list waiting for a response from someone else.

While it had been a very good night of exercise of her favorite kind with her guy, the frustration of too much paperwork was on her nerves today. Stress needed release, and she just plain needed a mental break. As Sonak was still on duty about the Hera, she decided it was time to indulge one of her other passions. Walking away from her desk, the pretty pilot headed for the bedroom.

One zip front vest compression sports bra, check. Good running shoes with cushioned vented socks? Check. Short shorts, which were not her old Academy workout togs, check. Loose gray tank top with an obnoxious white #1 printed front and back? Check. A few quick stretches in her living room so that she wasn’t causing traffic accidents, and the curvaceous chrononaut stepped out into the wide curving corridor of Deck 8, and began to run in a clockwise direction.

Given the layout of the starship, the ideal place to run would be deck 12, because it was the widest section of the saucer, with an uninterrupted ring of corridor near the hull which made for a perfect running track. But at least half of deck 8 was circular, and dodging around corners and weaving her way about the ship was a bit of a challenge for the lost navigator, and she welcomed it.

One foot after the other, she pounded the deckplates at a surprising pace. Rita carried surprisingly little body fat at the moment- she was usually a few pounds heavier, but she was still recovering from having to adjust to the local dimension. Part of that had been her taste buds being so out of synch with the local dimension, and part of it had been caused by her overwhelming stress. Being afraid of the captain, feeling so very lost and rudderless, and mooning over the loss of Sonak had all combined to strip her full figure down to a somewhat more athletic build, but Sonak had found her, and she was eating regularly now. Since all of her previous stressors were mostly dealt with, she was working on regaining what she had lost. Which meant that she would need to carb load after all of this cardio, but she could live with that.

The only stress she was experiencing these days was due to the paperwork load of being the first officer, the ‘Number 1’. But that was actually welcome to her, as it was both familiar and somehow comforting. Sure, she needed a break, but it wasn’t like it was going to cause her a psychotic break.

Running the corridors like this, depending on the time of day, could be a traffic hazard. But with the majority of the crew on shore leave and the skeleton crew being the only people on board, in addition to Deck 8 being primarily quarters for VIPS and senior staff, there were very few people she had to dodge about as she encountered the front rounded ring. So she picked up the pace, pushing herself to get better speed and burn a bit more. Throughout her life, running had been Rita’s solace. It was time alone, with no one else, just her and her breathing and her body responding to her demands of it.

On more than one mission, being a fast runner had saved her life. Sonak could keep up with her- hell, on Braxis 2 he had actually put her on his back and run piggyback for eight miles to get them away from angry natives who mistook Sonak as the personification of a local legendary demon. But when trouble arose and her fight or flight instinct kicked in, Rita was far more prone to run than to fight. After all, it was easier to convince the natives of your positive intentions when you hadn’t mowed down half their relatives. In the Academy Rita had been on the cross-country team, and once assigned to starships she had taken up the habit of running the circular decks.

While the USS Exeter had been quarantined and drydocked on Lexington Station, she had actually taken a run on the outside of the saucer section, taking advantage of the circumstance and bonding with the starship in her own inimitable way. That made her think of Michael Stuart, the young captain of the Exeter.

While he was brave and prone to rash decisions, Stuart had a good heart. As a lieutenant jumped up to captain for heroism, he lacked command experience. Thus his rash decisions often needed tempering, which was where Rita came in. While Sonak could provide logic and structure, Rita was often the captain’s counsel and moral compass. She knew how to deal with the brass- hell, she knew half of them as ‘Uncle So-And-So’. She understood command, both the demands and the concessions required. And when crisis came as they inevitably did, Sonak offered Stuart the facts and she offered the voice of his conscience.

The three of them had made a great team, and done great things. But that was another life, another universe. She hoped that he had given up the Exeter when he lost them, or at least that someone had come along to fill the voids left by them, otherwise by himself Stuart might make some poor choices that could cost lives. But he was being promoted to Admiral just before she had been lost, so perhaps he had taken that desk job after all. Idly Rita wondered if he had listened to her one last time and taken her autographed image of Admiral Archer. She hoped so- despite his foibles she had cared for her friend and captain a great deal, and she wished the best for him.

Likely he would not have enjoyed this future. As a hard-charging maverick, he likely would have chafed at the restrictions from Starfleet Command in this more diplomatic Starfleet, and she suspected he would have hated the uniforms just as much as she did.

But Sonak had come for her, which was what she needed more than anything, as it had made her whole again. She likely would have learned to live without him, and adapted and gone on with her life. But she would forever have borne the wound of his loss, and likely she would have died alone. For no one could replace her t’hy’la in her heart, her One.

Now one would need to, because Sonak was here, having crossed time, space and dimension to return to her. In the process he had regained his homeworld as well, and rejoined a Starfleet a dozen decades more advanced than the one he had left behind. In pursing his lost love, he had gained far more than just a lifemate. He was no longer the last Vulcan master of pure logic, he had restored a katra thought lost to the Vulcan people, and he had rejoined Starfleet to explore the cosmos with her by his side.

On the scale of romantic gestures, she was thinking no one would ever be able to top him with that one. By her usual dumb luck, somehow combining the good with the bad, Rita had stumbled into a reality that was so much more improved to his mindset as to be practically paradise. But then, he had always claimed that the universe behaved oddly when it came to her, and in this instance he was certainly correct.

When Captain Telvan had offered her a promotion, Rita hadn’t hesitated. The compassionless XO she had been amazed to encounter had been transferred, and apparently counting her experience and time in rate back home made her the second senior officer behind the captain. Starfleet had taken a heavy toll on the crew with transfers, but would theoretically insure that they had crew enough to sail.

Now Rita would set the tone for the onboarding crew- well, the officers at least, although she'd greet as many of the crewmen as she could. They all needed to know that the command staff was listening, that they cared, that they were welcome. That they should make a home for themselves aboard the mighty starship Hera.

A firm believer in leading by example, Rita would choose to set that new tone, being encouraging and cheerful to the crew. Approachable. Shaking her head, she chuckled between her timed breaths. From the moment she'd met the goat horned XO she’d known she and he were going to lock horns. Which now wouldn't happen, for which she was actually glad.

The Trill captain, on the other hand, had earned the bombastic bombardier's respect. Mishandling Rita and offering casual explanations to a woman desperately lost had caused considerable problems between them. But when she had realized that Paris was planning to run, the Captain realized her mistake. Taking accountability for it all, she had laid out the truth and cleared the air after a sincere apology, and when she was finished, the ancient astronaut had understood the spotted spacfarer well enough to consider them friends. Their relationship had grown from there, and she rather liked the smirking pirate princess who sat in the center chair of the starship Hera.

With another lap completed, the sweat glistened all over her skin. But Paris wasn’t finished yet, and planned to get in a few more miles when her comm badge, attached to the waistband of her shorts, chirruped. Staggering to a halt, Rita tapped the communicator. “Lieutenant Commander Paris here.”

“Chief, we’ve got a little problem on the flight deck… you think you could get down here?” came the answer from her comm badge.

“Is this a yellow alert situation where I need to show up now, uniform or not?” Paris replied, trying not to pant from the exertion and her hammering heartbeat.

“Sooner would be better than later I’m thinking, Lieutenant,” came the reply, and Rita stifled a sigh.

“I’m on my way,” she replied, then started running for the turbolift. Duty called, and it didn’t always wait for a uniform.

Besides, the boys on the flight deck were already familiar with the pulchritudinous pin-up officer’s rather pronounced figure. Showing up hot and sweaty with her hair slicked back in running clothes probably wasn’t going to change anyone’s opinion of her at this point.

Because duty calls.