Security Tactical Navigation

Posted on Sun Jan 27th, 2019 @ 10:53pm by Commander Rita Paris

Mission: Section 31-B
Location: USS Hera, Deck 11, Security armory
Timeline: 2396

The entire Security and Tactical staff had all been called together for an assembly in the Armory on Deck 11. There was coffee and donuts provided, and all of the security officers save for Walters and k'aliO, the two on Hera duty, had been ordered to report as well. It was a sea of mustard uniforms and jumpsuits when Commander Paris strode in, jammed her pinkies in her mouth and whistled at a piercing volume that worked quite well as an attention-getter in the din of the social gathering.

"Good morning! Security and Tactical departments, for those of you who might not recognize the uniform, I am Commander Paris, First Officer of the USS Hera, and as of oh seven hundred this morning, I have assumed command of the Security and Tactical departments. In short, if you didn't think so before, you have now been personally informed that not only am I second ranking officer on this starship, I also happen to be your boss, your direct commander in the chain of command. Lieutenants Sexton and French have resigned, and I'm looking forward to seeing just how well this unit comes together."

"You," Rita pointed out a particularly beefy and neckless security officer who looked like Wreck-It Ralph. "When I give an order, when is it to be obeyed?"

The security officer blinked, as he'd been eyeing the Commander's figure since she was facing the other way, and that old golden stretch dress of hers was pretty flattering on her. "Uhhh, to be obeyed... right away, sir! Ma'am!"

"So when I order you to drop and give me twenty and tell me your name, petty officer..." Paris was still standing in the center of the room, not having moved since beginning her speech, although the personnel had backed off a bit. She eyed the beefy boy with one upraised eyebrow in an appraising sort of way.

"Drop and... what, you mean you want me to do push-ups, like in the Academy? Right here on the floor?" the security officer asked in disbelief.

"It's called a deck, I mean exactly that, and it was an order. Now, before we reach a full refusal to obey the order, would you like further clarification on 'drop and give me twenty' and 'that's an order', or do we need a counselor to process your feelings on the matter, petty officer whose name I still do not know. Computer, identify the petty officer with whom I am speaking and name their planet of origin please?"

=^= Petty Officer Third Class Kowalski, Reuben. Human, native of Mars, Sol system. =^= the computer cheerfully complied.

"The computer can do the job of identifying you to me, Petty Officer Kowalski, better than you can. And I'll bet if I asked it, I would still not be waiting for those push-ups. Here, I'll do them with you so that you can see how it works, ready?" At that, the shirt skirt wearing first officer scrambled down to the deck to hold herself level on upraised arms.

The petty officer was confused, but he saw the look in her eye that said she meant it, and he waved off. "Nah bruh, uh uh. That's not how things really work down here, 'ma'am. See, actually-" he managed to get out before she was up and cutting him off.

"Master At Arms Riley!" Paris called, and a middle-aged Andorian chief hustled to the forefront, muttering, "I told you," to his company as he stepped forward.

"Reporting, Commander."

"Mister Kowalski is refusing to obey a direct order, Master At Arms. What does that make Mister Kowalski?" Paris asked briskly, in a voice that definitely carried.

"A malingerer, ma'am," Chief Riley replied.

"What is the penalty for malingering in Starfleet, Master At Arms?" Paris asked. Although she assumed everyone in the room knew the answer, she wanted to be certain the entire assemblage was on the same page.

"Thrown in the brig until captain's mast, ma'am, to be served justice according to the article of the Starfleet Code of Military Justice."

"Wait, are you serious here? She says I need to do pushups of all things, which is a totally unreasonable order, then Commander Curves-" Kowalksi had chucked a thumb at Rita Paris as he began to protest, thinking to pass by her to appeal his case to the Master At Arms. That was when she took him in a thumb lock which turned into an arm lock which in turn became a classic judo flip.

"Never disrespect the uniform, Mister Kowalski," Rita Paris explained to the surprised security officer from his vantage point on the ground. "If you can't respect who's wearing it, at least respect the rank. Since the rank can bust you and transfer you off this ship. Enjoy your new career guarding a traffic control booth on your old home planet." Looking around at the rest of the gold uniforms, Paris addressed them.

"Discipline is clearly lacking in this department, as is competency. That ends as of today. There is a toxic mentality at work in this department, and I'm going to address it here and now."

"Mister Sexton shared a delightful little tidbit with me on our last mission. According to him, in the ranks of Sec/Tac, you consider yourselves to be 'redshirts'. Which is a nickname Security picked up back in my day. I mean, for what, a hundred and twenty-five years now, Command have been the redshirts. Sec/Tac and Engineering are gold. But I get it, referring to yourselves like that because so many jokes are out there about how expendable you are, ha ha."

Looking around the room in deadly earnest, Paris unflinchingly eyed every personnel in the room.

"Six men died on that last mission, due to poor leadership and an unwillingness or inability to follow direct orders. They had no idea how their armor worked, no idea how to arm themselves for the conflict, and they died as if they actually were expendable. And I'll be damned if I'm in command of a department of suicidal security personnel. I wear this uniform for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that I'm not command red, come to tell you how to do things because I learned it in command school. I'm coming to tell you how it's done because in my day I was Navigation, and Navigation WAS Tactical."

"In short, people, I was doing this before your grandpa was in diapers. I know how this is supposed to work. You are the strong arm of this starship- shields and phasers, torpedoes and tractors. In starship combat, the ship relies on us to defend and defeat. Onboard, out there on alien planets, every member of this crew has faith that when they call for security, a dangerous individual who knows what they are doing and who knows how to control a situation to get everyone out alive will be on the scene, fast. And if you need some incentive in this duty, remember this. Computer, transport Petty Officer Kowalski to an unoccupied standard cell in the brig, now please."

The hum of the transporter kicked in and Kowalski vanished in the standard shimmering of lights.

"Remember, starships are so advanced now, they really can run with much fewer crew. Your jobs are being automated. So if you want to be out here exploring the final frontier, you'd better start figuring out how to pull your own weight. Otherwise, your job is liable to become... automated. Thank you, Computer."

=^= You're welcome, Commander Paris. =^= the ship's computer answered solicitously, clearly illustrating the first officer's point.

"Now, Master At Arms, what just happened?" Paris called out as she paced the inner ring of sec/tac gold uniforms.

"Petty Officer Kowalski disobeyed a direct order from the XO and and was transported to the brig," the Andorian chief replied, seeing where this was going.

"Correct. As a point of reference, I prefer to be referred to as the First Officer. What was Mister Kowalski's mistake, Chief Riley?" Paris pivoted on her heel to eye the enlisted counterpart to the officer chief of security.

"He disobeyed a direct order, First Officer," Chief Riley replied, pleased that this seemed to be moving toward a teaching moment.

"Was the order an unlawful one?" Paris asked as she resumed her slow pacing in a circle.

"No ma'am it was not. Physical Training can be called for at any time by a ranking officer."

"So now that we've established that the Commander might ask something unconventional of you, it will always be a lawful order, not one that violates your rights. What are we supposed to do in the chain of command when we receive a lawful order, Master At Arms?" Paris asked solicitously.

"Obey the order to the best of our ability, ma'am," the middle-aged chief fairly swelled with pride.

"Obey the order to the best of our ability. Well put, Master At Arms, well put. So having established all of these facts, having explained to you the heroic duty that is expected of you as Starfleet Security, I ask you- is there anyone here who isn't willing to drop and give me twenty right here and now?"

The Sec/Tac goldshirts eyed one another with uncertainty, almost self-conscious.

"Drop and give me twenty, folks. Now. That's an order." Paris stated plainly. then looked around the room to see who was going to refuse to get on board. As the personnel hit the deck at varying speeds- a few right away, lots of 'well I guess she's serious', and a few foldouts who crossed their arms over their chests, shook their heads or generally made their unwillingness to comply clearly known.

"Not that I'd ever order any of you to do something I'm not willing to do myself," Paris claimed, before she dropped to the the deck to pump out twenty herself. After all, she stayed in good shape, and she could definitely keep up with the rest of the crew. About half of those who had followed her orders were finished by the time she finished pumping out the PT, but when she rose, she saw with satisfaction that a few holdouts had joined her.

"Master At Arms, do we have our defiant malingerers identified?" Paris asked. "I know the computer has them all tagged for me. Do you?"

"Aye ma'am," the chief replied briskly. "I do indeed."

"Then would you be so kind as to take a few officers and escort them to the brig as well," Paris ordered, reasonably confident that she'd found all the hard cases. Anyone whose masculinity was too toxic, who couldn't be reached, had now weeded themselves out. The rest she could now work with to forge a proper department.

"Because they're malingerers, and not fit to stand beside these fine crewmen. They have forfeited that right- they are no brave heroes of Sec/Tac, they're just selfish cowards. Take them away, Chief Riley."

"All hands, prepare to stand full inspection at 06:00 tomorrow, both barracks and stations. I'll be reviewing personnel records and meeting with department heads. If by 22:00 the change in management is not to your liking, I will be accepting transfer requests and entertaining them to the best of my ability." Paris took one more long look around the room. They might still lose people over this, but the Captain would care less than she'd wish to see an inept department on her starship.

"Dismissed. Go make some changes and some decisions, people."

"Then let's all get on with the business of being the heroic saviors of the Hera."