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Old March 19 2012, 05:16 AM   #57
MasterArminas
Commander
 
Re: Star Trek: Republic

Chapter Twenty (cont.)

Mister Shrak. It appears that this conversation was just broadcast throughout the entire ship—with the exception of the bridge loudspeakers.”

I must have accidently activated it, Captain Dahlgren.”

And with that, the ship’s intercom cut out down in Deflector Control. Chris turned his chair around and looked over the men and women of his section, and then he stared at Chief Bronson, who was chuckling and shaking his head.

“Damn,” the burly NCO said. “I thought that the Old Man was tough on us! Guess he meant what he said about going to bat for us—and we aren’t going to let him down are we?”

“No, Chief,” came back a chorus of voices. To which Chris added his own.

The Red Alert klaxon sounded, and the lights in the compartment automatically dimmed. Chris turned back to his station. “Bring the main deflector on-line, deflection set to automatic, secondary and tertiary systems engaged,” he ordered sharply.

The replies came fast and furious and Chief Bronson took his seat beside the Ensign. He examined his panel and touched a series of controls. “Dish is on-line and ready, Mister Roberts. Warp engines are warming up.”

“Mister Roberts?” one of the techs called out from his station.

“Yes, Thompson?”

“Mister Roberts, we aren’t going to let Arrogant get away with saying those things about the ship, right, Sir?”

Chris glanced over at the Chief, who was struggling to control his own laughter and shaking his head. “Warp engines are on-line, bring the deflector to standard power,” the Ensign said as Republic began to surge forward, and then she shot past light-speed.

The Ensign watched the readings settle down and he nodded.

“Thompson,” he said, “rest assured that Arrogant and Jupiter Station both will get what they deserve.” Chris smiled. “I heard a rumor that Senior Chief Callaghan has been working on getting back at the Jupiters; I imagine that his fiendish mind went into overdrive upon hearing that broadcast.”

“Damn,” the deflector tech whispered. “Siccing the Senior Chief on them? Man, it almost makes you feel sorry for them. Almost.”

“Atrias, watch that intercooler temperature—it spiked last time we had to go to Warp in a hurry,” Chris cut in, bringing his crew back to their jobs.

“On it, Sir.”

************************************************** **********

Mister Shrak. It appears that this conversation was just broadcast throughout the entire ship—with the exception of the bridge loudspeakers.”

I must have accidently activated it, Captain Dahlgren.”

“Well, he really isn’t fit for duty,” Robert Woolsey said as he worked at the medical research station opposite of Quincy.

“Star Fleet Medical says he is, and I say he is. Does he need a good leg to sit in a damn chair?”

“Technically no, but he can’t pass the physical in his current condition. So technically, he should be relieved and reassigned . . .”

“Robert, there are times when we go by the book and there are times when we use our own judgment. This is one of the latter. As long as he sits down, he can do his job. Would you rather than SOB Myers in charge? I mean you are now part of this ship—from a certain point of view, he called you a piece of garbage.”

The hologram looked up in alarm. “Perhaps I should report him for insulting a fellow Starfleet officer. Doctor Talbot, if they scuttle the ship—will they remove me?”

“Matt won’t let that happen.”

“He’s only a Captain! He’s doesn’t get to decide these things.”

“He won’t let that happen.”

“Tell me again, why are we preparing this solution of Golian Fireseed Extract?” the hologram asked. “Ninety-eight percent of the races in the Federation have a mild allergic reaction to this substance; and it has no medical use. In fact, it can cause severe skin irritation and itching if even a minute effect is ingested.”

“It’s a special project for Senior Chief Callaghan.”

“Oh,” the hologram replied. And then he stopped and looked up again. “What does he need this solution for?”

“Trust me, Doctor Woolsey,” the ship’s surgeon answered with broad grin, “you don’t want to know.”

************************************************** **********

Mister Shrak. It appears that this conversation was just broadcast throughout the entire ship—with the exception of the bridge loudspeakers.”

I must have accidently activated it, Captain Dahlgren.”

Gustaf Vasa reclined back in his comfortable seat, and he twisted the hairs of his thick blonde mustache. Finally, he nodded to himself. “Computer, load the physical profile for Matthew Dahlgren, commanding officer, USS Republic.”

Loaded.”

Vasa, Lieutenant and Crown Prince of a small Nordic political province on Earth, tapped the console and brought up data patterns on a variety of different instruments. Selecting one he added it to the physical profile of the Captain.

“Computer, adjust specifications on Replicator Program Vasa 8934-Tau to ergonomically match the physical profile of Matthew Dahlgren. Adjust length, mass, width, and grip to conform to his profile.”

Adjusting . . . complete.

Vasa smiled and he sat up and began typing in additional data. No, this ship wasn’t boring by any means, and if his Captain, if Gustaf Vasa’s Captain, was going to vow to fight another Starfleet officer in a duel, then Gustaf Vasa would make certain that the Captain had a sword fit for a King.

“Computer, commence replication.”

Replication underway . . . seventeen minutes will required to complete the program.”

Gustaf leaned back in his chair and he smiled. A sword fit for a King.

Last edited by MasterArminas; March 19 2012 at 07:36 PM.
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