Contingencies Never Hurt

Posted on Fri Nov 30th, 2018 @ 2:56am by Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Delilah Dauntless & Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox

Mission: Escaped Pantheons
Location: USS Hera, Deck 1, the Bridge
Timeline: 2395, en route to the Galactic Core

While her duties as First Officer took her all over the ship, Commander Rita Paris still served bridge duty, usually on Alpha shift and usually while they were in transit at warp and the Captain was elsewhere, taking meetings, talking to Command, dealing with pirates and a myriad of tasks which kept her day occupied.

While she had no prohibitions about sitting in the captain's chair, Paris was currently in the starboard subsidiary command seat, the one she preferred because it was off the Captain's right shoulder, which was where the first officer was suppose to be- the Captain's right hand. When she had been second officer, she was always at port, if she left her station to confer with the captain. But now she was the first, the 'number one', the Executive Officer, the XO. She'd had a lot of luck expressing to the crew that she was the first officer. Some still used XO, but for the most part she seemed to be known as the first officer, or as she was hearing, 'The Commander'. Which was still settling in on her.

There was a certain degree of pride in the fact that her father's prized and deeply impressed with itself rank had been commander. She was eight years old when he had been promoted to Lieutenant Commander. Before that, she was allowed to call him Daddy. From that moment on, he was Commander. At the time, little Rita hadn't thought much of it, imaging it was like this in lots of Starfleet families. Albert called him Commander as well, and mama was gone, so it was just the three of them.

Nowadays she chuckled at how the regimentation of their lives made her ideally adapted to Starfleet life. Yet after instilling all of that discipline he still fought her tooth and nail on going into Starfleet. Now here she was, 150 years after Clifford Paris had been promoted to commander, now it was Commander Rita Paris.

It surprised her how easily she had let go of the fact that her father, along with everyone she had ever known but Sonak, had perished through the passage of time. Maybe it was all one big ball of grief that she dealt with all at once, adapting to the future. Or perhaps it was that even were he alive today, she wouldn't bother calling him to tell him about her promotion. It would be rubbing it in to him, then he'd only be a jerk about it, as he always did. Words of praise were reserved for the man following in his footsteps.

Tapping up a Starfleet record, it turned out the Albert Paris of this universe had hit a career achievement of commander as well, and seemed to have ended his days as the CO of Starbase 23, near the Klingon and Romulan borders.

In the here and now, Paris was tinkering with the tactical systems, setting up some presets on her console so that at a moment's notice, she could enact strategies or take over the tactical panel in an emergency. At which point she spied Lieutenant Junior Grade Dox at the helm, tapping away at the subsidiary console, likely doing some experimentation with the spectrum analysis helmet invention Gonadie had pulled out of her feathery plumed behind.

Creating a channel to the helm, she attached it to the station itself so that she would easily be able to transmit firing ranges and sequences and expectations. After all, putting a photon torpedo in the flight path of the starship was not a game for amateurs, and it required coordination with the helm. Once the channel was established, Paris verified that it transmitted data and would remain secure, she punched up the messaging system.

= What's the side project while you watch the stars streak by? = Paris sent over.

By now, Dox should be acclimated enough to the concept of teamwork on the bridge that she shouldn't freak out, Paris reasoned, unless she was actually working on something she was not supposed to. Which, given that all of the logs of the bridge were kept forever and every action you took through a monitor was recorded, she sincerely doubted that an officer like Dox would be goofing off on a bridge shift.

Buried mentally in her task, Dox was taken slightly by surprise by the message that flashed across her helm control. Looking up for a moment with a quizzical look on her face, she typed in her response.

= I've been running simulation experiments with the helmet that significantly reduce the negative feedback and nausea. I'm recalibrating the helm interface with the revised data from the Flight Control Office computers so that the systems will be compatible. = Dox sent her written response but turned back to smile at the first officer as she did so.

= Expect some coordination from Mr. Sonak soon, as she's planning to work the sensors in to give you greater chances of success, as well as a chance to really study this phenomenon =

There was a brief pause, then another message came through.

= Are you excited? =

Pausing for a moment to process the question, Dox replied. She was learning that she could trust Rita Paris and be honest with her about her ever-turbulent emotions. = Excitement is in there somewhere. Along with anxiety and stress and second guessing myself. It's easier once we're in the mission and all of that goes away. As strange as it is to be calmer when the stress is REAL, I find I can focus past it in the moment if that makes any sense. =

The reply wasn't long in coming through- Rita Paris was a quick typist. = No, absolutely. In the moment you don't have time to think, just react and make your choices. Thinking about in advance gives you a million 'what could go wrong' scenarios that you have to consider, because one of them might be right. Nope, totally real thing =

Feeling relieved with the response, Dox continued. = Thank you, Commander. I'm hoping to at least have options for all of those scenarios now so that if we need them, they're ready. I'm almost done with the recalibration here and can consult with Lieutenant Sonak whenever he wants to, or if you need something. =

Apparently finishing whatever project she was working on, Paris looked up at Dox. "Miss Dox, if you could forward your current reports to Mr. Sonak so that he can familiarize himself with them, he'll likely reach out to coordinate with you. Keep me posted on the calibration trials, please."

Turning now, to face Rita Paris as she had been addressed directly, Dox replied. "Aye, Commander. I'll copy you on the reports and keep you posted regularly." Turning back to the helm controls, Dox removed a small isolinear chip from the data entry port of the console on the side, as the recalibration was complete. Pulling out a small PaDD at the side of her duty station, she plugged the chip into the PaDD's data port to upload the revised information to forward to Sonak and Paris as requested.

Seated at the Operations console on the Hera's bridge, Lieutenant Delilah Dauntless seemed only nominally aware of the goings on around her. Since the crew's latest encounter with the deity called Hera, the diminutive 20 year-old had found herself increasingly preoccupied. The young quantum theorist's every other thought was engrossed in trying to determine how the goddess and her cohorts were able to do the things they could. With every hour that went by, it seemed that the pretty, petite Operations Chief was becoming more and more consumed with trying to solve what had, up to now, remained the ultimate unsolvable puzzle. As she sat at the Ops station, her elfin features a mask of intense focus, she would temporarily spare a glance at the console's LCARS readout, to ensure that all systems were nominal. Without realizing it, Delilah softly muttered aloud a sharp series of rather interesting swear words under her breath, as yet another train of thought derailed in her head.

Only a few feet away sitting at the helm, going over her flight data, Dox heard the muttered curses and smiled ever so slightly, glad that she wasn't the only officer to let the occasional swear word slip out.

It was so rare that anything actually come out of Dauntless on the bridge, that Paris rose from her seat, swinging her display off to the port side of her chair. Taking a few careful steps toward Dauntless, she debated looming over her from behind, but instead began speaking as she slowly covered the distance. "The difficulty at hand must be vexing indeed for you to share it with the rest of us, Miss Dauntless. Might I inquire as to what has you so frustrated as to risk interpersonal contact?"

Delilah froze at the sound of her name being spoken by Rita Paris. The young girl's ice-blue eyes widened in embarrassment. Had she... had she actually been talking out loud? Dammit. The young operations lieutenant suddenly felt like the eyes and ears of every person on the bridge were trained in her direction.

"I... didn't realize I had spoken out loud, Commander," Dauntless sniffed quietly, somehow managing to sit up even straighter in her seat. Her fingers were now suddenly busy across the console's sleek surface. "Just working on a couple of ideas in my head. It's nothing."

“Au contraire, Miss Dauntless. I am a line officer on bridge duty of a Starfleet starship moving through the galaxy at warp 9.2, and everything that transpires on this bridge is of concern to me.” Stepping around in front of the ops station, Paris cocked her head slightly and raised an eyebrow even as she folded her hands behind her back.

“Hypothetically we are a crew, all in the same boat- a very old phrase that is somewhat applicable in Starfleet, though we are of course aboard starships and not open air boats. But the thrust of the phrase remains valid. While I am certain you feel there is no way that I could conceivably have anything to contribute given my comparatively inadequate mental faculties and lack of modern education, try me.” Leaning in, Paris added in a whisper, “Pretend to be a member of the crew for a moment. I promise not to tell anyone, and I can even swear the rest of the bridge crew to secrecy.”

"Just still thinking about their tech," Delilah offered, quietly. "Trying to figure some things out... about how these entities - how their abilities - work." Delilah glanced around, first at Melanie, seated next to her, then at some of the other officers who appeared to be busy with other tasks. Dauntless imagined them hiding their smiles at her misfortune. Somewhere, her grandfather was shaking his head in disapproval. "I am sure I will figure it out, Commander."

"In that I have the utmost confidence, Miss Dauntless. Let me see if I might possibly be able to offer you some assistance," the cheerful commander chimed. "Have you studied the probe data from the ones we had in orbit, which measured her exercising her power, laid out the grid system of her underground generators and gave a rather comprehensive overview?"

Delilah winced noticeably at the volume of Rita's cheery voice. The young woman's greatest fears were being realized. A very public conversation about a very private shortcoming. Kill me now, she thought to herself. "I have," came Delilah's flat answer, feeling her ears reddening despite her dusky, mocha complexion. "And thank you," she added, "in making some of that data available to me personally. I feel like I have everything I should need to be able to 'solve for x'." The 20 year-old sighed and shook her head as she spared another glance at the readouts on her console. "There's something I'm just not seeing."

“I made it available to you professionally, Miss Dauntless. While I realize we are all just fodder for your own projects, research and advancement, the rest of us like to pretend we work together toward common goals. Have you studied Dr. Dael’s in-depth scans of Hera herself from her evaluation here on the USS Hera, when her energy levels were mostly depleted, yet she still was absorbing local psychic energies?” The commander gamely continued in that same cordial tone. She had literally half a dozen of these examples and possibilities to run through, and so long as Dauntless was going to insist on being solitary and resistant to teamwork, Paris was going to happily torment her by being a nice, polite and helpful teammate.

"...I have..." Delilah answered with a frown. After a beat, Dauntless turned and looked up to regard Paris for the first time since their conversation began. "You know, if it bothers you so much that I like to work alone, you could always just order me to work with someone else. So, why haven't you?"

"Mmmm, just shy of insubordinate, and on the bridge no less." Paris sighed and shook her head, then considered the arrogant young officer. "I'll indulge your impertinent question, only because I think you deserve the truth. Frankly, no one wants to work with you, Miss Dauntless. Your own staff file a number of reports featuring your horrendous lack of social skills and your curt and dismissive manner, which they unsurprisingly find alienating. I don't dislike anyone sufficiently to force them to attempt to work with you. The interplay of ideas might eventually produce improved results from you over time, but the toll on the other officer would far too great. No, I rather prefer that you seek out help on your own. So I keep making the attempt to teach these lessons, hoping one might stick."

"Mostly I just seem to receive a good stiff verbal rejection from you for my efforts. But I've endurance, so I persist. Perhaps you may yet learn the value of being part of a crew- stranger things have happened. Did you read the science department's summary of the readings and their crossover report on the physiognomological physics involved? Some of their interpretations and extrapolations were very intriguing- well, to my unsophisticated eye, at least." Paris, throughout her diatribe, maintained that annoyingly cheerful tone and a smile on her face. Truth was, since Dauntless was so determined to be such an insufferable ass in every interaction, Paris was determined to be as cheerful as possible in response waiting for that moment Dauntless would take that step too far.

On the bridge and she'd already gotten under her skin. This might just be it. Paris grinned somewhat idiotically awaiting her answer.

Meanwhile, Melanie Dox was extremely happy to have her project to be engaged with as she continued to refine the interface between the HERA's systems and the flight control helmet sitting in her lap.

Not working well with others was a Hallmark of her career prior to her assignment on the HERA and while Melaine had barely had any interactions with Lieutenant Dauntless, she couldn't help but feel a little empathy for the younger superior officer. And as the helm and ops stations were right next to each other, ignoring the exchange between Paris and Dauntless was functionally impossible. So she kept her focus on her work.

Meanwhile, Dauntless' face was a mixture of rage and a struggle for self-control, and she distrusted herself to speak, because she suspected that if she began, she might just be facing a court martial in the morning, and a black mark on her record could damage her chances and disrupt her career arc. Instead, she simply smoldered at the throwback with the archaic ideas and an idiot's cheer.

"Why Miss Dauntless, have you no answer for me?" Paris took a pair of small slow paces before the ops station, chatting as she turned and paced. "Is perhaps your reasoning to 'run out the clock' on our discussion? The funniest part of this entire exchange, at least to me, is that I'm really trying to help you solve the problem. It's my overarching goal in all of this. While you work so very hard to give me no reason to continue trying. I hear you and the ship's surgeon have had delightful interactions where you've dazzled them with your charm and logic."

It was then that Paris stopped directly before Delilah to lean in slightly. The first officer's normally animated face was deadpan for a change. "You asked me your little question a moment ago. Now I'll pose you a better one, Miss Dauntless. Is there a single solitary reason I shouldn't have you transferred off this ship? You are unpleasant to every shipmate and situation you encounter. You show no signs of growth as a person or an officer. You are secretive and blunt to the point of insubordination. I'm sure in whatever world that spawned you, the very definition of 'winner' is undoubtedly here before me. But frankly, you make a lousy shipmate. And I must admit, I'm a bit weary of you."

At that, Paris stood, haughty and arch. "Miss Dauntless, you stand relieved. You're off duty until the captain's come to a decision about you. In the meanwhile?" Paris leaned in again, eyes cold and narrowed at the frosty young officer who worked so hard to be so unpleasant.

"Get off my bridge."