Act Three
Personal Log of Lieutenant (jg) Gregory Aspinall
Stardate 43410.1
I spoke with my mother by subspace yesterday. She told me that my cousin is finishing her third year at Starfleet Academy and is looking to break my flight time record on the Academy's flight range at Titan. If she only knew how much I had to practice to get my name on that damned plaque. Oh, well. Nothing lasts forever.
Victoria's been nothing short of fantastic this past week. Although we spend a healthy amount of our time together in her bedroom or mine, we do make our nightly appearances in Ten-Forward. We also managed a real date last night; we walked along the beach in San Francisco, just south of the Academy grounds, and she took me to this little dive in the Mission that I never knew about. Great food and even better drinks. Got to remember that place for when I get back to the actual San Francisco.
During dinner, she asked me why I hadn't applied for promotion to full lieutenant. It was the same question that Captain Leone asked me right before we came back from... uh... well, right before we came back. I told Victoria that I wasn't looking for more pressure or responsibility than I was ready for, and she told me that she felt like I was ready.
I told her about Tommy and what happened. She was so kind and really listened to me. I felt like I was making a fool of myself, but she took my hand in hers and assured me that I was not. I didn't know what to say, and we sat there looking at each other for a long time. She didn't have to say anything more. I'm definitely going to think about that promotion.
Things are going great with her, and I'm hoping for the best. I could see myself spending a lot more time with her, maybe even... I don't know. But I think something's there.
The doors to Greg's quarters opened and he stepped through them and stopped. When the doors closed behind him, he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The previous night with Victoria remained fresh in his memories, and he indulged in reminiscence before he reported for the morning shift on the bridge.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," said a familiar tone.
Greg's eyes snapped open to see the Andorian Spaceflight Operations Chief (SOC) Therun Amdal staring back at him. "Oh, good morning, Chief. I didn't see you there."
"You had your eyes closed. I don't think you were seeing anything."
"Right," replied Greg. With a quick nervous glance back toward his quarters, he gestured toward the turbolifts at the end of the corridor. "You on your way up to the hangar?"
"Yes, sir. I was just running a set of tools to impulse engineering, after checking up on the repairs to one of the shuttles." Amdal's left antennae twitched slightly as he took in his superior officer's appearance. "Your tunic is slightly askew, sir," he noted.
Greg looked down to see that the hem of his uniform top exposed his wine red undershirt. He snapped it back down into place. "Thank you, Chief."
"Of course, sir," Amdal replied in amusement. "Are you on your way to the hangar or to Ten-Forward for a meal?"
"The wardroom, actually," Greg said as he began to walk. "I can walk you as far as deck five, if you don't mind the company."
"Of course not, sir," Amdal answered as he followed alongside. "Are you meeting with Lieutenant Waltham or Atherton this morning?" he wondered.
The question surprised Greg, as he stammered out an answer. "W-Well, I'm going up to see Abbie. Victoria's still... er, I mean, she's not available right at the moment."
"That's where the smart money is, sir. Atherton's got a good reputation and the better career ahead of her," Amdal cheerfully offered.
Greg grimaced slightly at the advice. "I don't typically base my love life on the career potential, Chief." He turned his head to look at the Andorian. "Can I presume that my personal life is now the subject of gossip in the Goat Locker? What am I saying; of course it is."
"Oh, no, sir. We just can't help but notice you spend all your free time with one or the other. The chiefs in Lieutenant Atherton's section all speak very highly of her; same with the enlisted aboard her last ship. She ended up joining their poker game when she got kicked out of the officers'," Amdal freely revealed.
"Might I ask what the scuttlebutt is on Lieutenant Waltham?" Greg asked just before they reached the turbolift.
"There isn't any, except that she seems very focused on you, sir," Amdal reported.
Greg smiled. "That's not unusual, is it?"
"I'm not sure, sir. I'm not familiar with the mating habits of... humans," Amdal replied.
That brought out a chuckle from Greg. "Senior Chief Tallan doesn't usually call me 'human.' I'd gotten used to 'pink-skin.'" He tapped the turbolift call and waited. "But, I can see the confusion. This is not a typical relationship for me, I'll admit that much. I've never had anyone be this aggressive."
"Aggression is usually a sign of attraction," Amdal opined. "One of my wives was very aggressive; it's a good sign."
Greg took that with a thoughtful nod. The lift arrived miraculously empty for the time of the morning. As they stepped aboard and it began to move quickly up to deck five, he turned to the chief and said, "By the way, I wanted to thank you for all the work you did on the Mast list."
"Of course, sir. Most of the issues we can deal with ourselves, but a few seemed ripe for the Mast."
The lift stopped at Greg's destination and the doors parted. "It's not an easy job, but I appreciate it all the same. And not just for the Mast, Chief. The department would fall apart without you." He started for the wardroom without saying another word.
Amdal's antennae twitched again and he frowned in confusion at the lieutenant's retreating back. "Thank you, sir," he answered.
=/\==/\==/\==/\==/\=
"Mom says that Jacob is doing as well as can been expected right now. She has him seeing a counselor twice a week, but it's still a big change for him. He's got a mild case of agoraphobia, they say, because he's never been anywhere that wasn't a ship or a space station before. He's waking up in the of the middle crying every other night and half the time she finds him under his bed in the morning." Kincaid shook his head as he leaned forward in his seated position on the couch in the counselor's office.
"It's a common problem with children who are born in space and aren't properly exposed to other living situations. But he's young, he's already in counseling and he will grow past it," Isira assured him in response. She was sitting back in her own chair, regarding the commander. "Which you know. You're worried for him, as is natural, but you're confident what your mother is doing for him is the right thing."
"Yes. It just bothers me a little that I can't be there for him. But Mom is way better equipped to handle it." Kincaid forced something of a smile to come to his face. "He's taking that bear I gave him with him everywhere right now. That's something else the counselor says they'll have to work on once he's not quite so afraid of the sky."
"Did he name the bear finally?"
"Yeah. It's 'Commander Bear,'" Kincaid admitted sheepishly.
"Children often don't have complicated names for their toys. Or their pets. You can't expect a four year-old to come up with something much better than that," Isira noted with a chuckle.
"I guess so. Abbie once told me what she had named her stuffed animals - Castor and Pollux - and I was a little worried that maybe Jacob was being odd. But then, Abbie's the one who had a really odd childhood, so I shouldn't be surprised. I worry about her sometimes too. The way her family has no concept of the word is really heartbreaking."
Isira raised an eyebrow. "Now you're worried about Abbie?"
"Sometimes. She's very independent and can more than handle herself, which I guess you would have to be to survive a father like that and a mother who never gave two craps about you, but she's still human. She needs people and a family and a community, just like everyone else."
"Of course. But she's a Starfleet officer with a good career, an excellent reputation, and at least two other officers consider her family, as I am told," Isira noted pointedly. "Including yourself."
"Yeah, but she's still pretty isolated, I think," Kincaid replied.
"But that's not really something that should be the subject of a session between you and I, is it, Commander?" Isira questioned pointedly. "We've talked about your mother, your brother, and now your putative sister. Why don't you talk to me about what's actually on your mind?"
Kincaid flushed and shook his head. "The things I hear and have to do as part of the Captain's Mast shouldn't be the subject of a counseling session."
"On the contrary, my job is to help you do your job, Commander. Whatever information you feel is privileged remains so in my office as well. There's something bothering you about today's Mast, so let's talk about that instead of your family, with whom you're quite comfortable."
After a moment's hesitation, Kincaid makes a slow gesture with his hand as he spoke, "We had a pair of marine privates that engage in bare-knuckle fights semi-regularly, as well as a petty officer who tends to use her off-time to drown her sorrows overnight and then takes a nip during her shift all day." He turned to shoot a glance at Isira, "I sat there listening to the token resistance each one had for their transgressions and I was left feeling very hollow for it. Instead of doling out disciplinary action, I wanted to refer each of them to you."
"What stopped you? As I said, that is my primary job aboard a ship of the line, to help its crew members do their jobs without compromising their mental health."
He grit his teeth. "They're no longer members of the crew. We recommended general courts-martial for the privates, and the petty officer has been relieved." Kincaid let out a slow breath. "I feel responsible for this. That's why..." He trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.
"That's why...," Isira prompted pointedly.
Kincaid continued, "There was a crewman in the Mast today named Lasseter. He wasn't in there for anything felonious, which was astonishing when you consider the rest of the docket. He carried himself intelligently, and I thought to myself, 'There's a guy I can work with.' I looked him up. He went to basic out of high school, got excellent marks from his instructors. Ended up going to damage control and operations school which earned him an automatic promotion."
"And yet, here he was, at the Captain's Mast," Isira interjected.
He waved it off. "Minor problem with a questionable report from his supervising NCO. What I'm saying is that it wasn't anything that required him to be tossed in the brig over, pending charges before a general court-martial. Non-judicial punishment was necessary if only to let him know this his smart-ass attitude wasn't warranted, but I think he could be a really good petty officer if he was placed under the right guidance, the right leadership."
"You're the executive officer, and the captain's given you full discretion. What's stopping you from doing what you think is the right thing to do in this case?"
"I'm concerned with the fact that I can't move every one of merit around like this," he said with a sigh. "Do I simply go through tomorrow's Mast docket and find the troubled youth like Lasseter and shuffle them? And if I intervene on his behalf and not others, is that favoritism?"
"Is that all you can do? Is there no other option?" Isira asked. "It seems to me that non-judicial punishment isn't just changing someone's assignment. There's a whole range of things that can be done."
"No, the NJP was a warning, and the master chief left the remainder up to me, since I'd shown an interest in the matter during recess," Kincaid explained. "I intend to talk to Lieutenant Bartlet and see if maybe I could advise her. I'm also checking to see if this particular supervisor had has any problems in the past."
"That sounds like a plan. So why are you so uncertain about this course of action?"
"I'm concerned about playing favorites." He intoned, presenting her with a dour expression. "Especially aboard this ship."
"You've very concerned about appearances, Commander, but let me ask you: are you certain about your instincts in this matter?"
"I usually am, but in those other cases, I didn't have to be concerned with the appearance of favoritism... I could simply make the decision and the crew would respect that I was making a choice for the good of the ship." Kincaid paused to consider his own words. "To hell with it. It's my call, and the captain wouldn't even bother with such a low level change. If they don't like it, tough."
Isira gave him a smile. "Good to hear, Commander."
=/\==/\==/\==/\==/\=
"In spite of our finding that the records had been deleted, Lieutenant Bartlet is continuing the diagnostic," said Ariel. She picked up her ivory-colored king's knight and advanced it the two spaces toward the center of the chessboard.
Leone responded with the Ware Opening, moving her queen's rook's pawn two spaces. "I'm certain that she's intent on eliminating any mechanical failure with the replicator system."
Ariel eyed the bizarre opening, but said nothing. "Uh, of course," she said distractedly. Her king's pawn now move up two spaces. "But now that we know that the records were intentionally deleted-"
"You were able to track the deletion to outside input?" Leone asked, interrupting her. She advanced her queen's pawn in response, but only a single space. "Have you eliminated the possibility of data corruption?"
"On a computer less than six months out from drydock?"
"It's not impossible."
"It's not impossible, yes, but highly unlikely."
"I hear that as you haven't checked, yet."
"No... but I think that would be something that my team would have found right away. And it seems rather odd that only the replicator records for each of the power spikes could have been the sole data subject to this very specific, very timely corruption," Ariel said, her tone growing annoyed.
Leone smiled. "By the way, check."
Ariel looked down at the board suddenly and her eyes widened at her predicament on the board. Confusion took over, to be replaced with a sly smirk. "Oh, nice job with the distraction, Krys."
The captain grinned. "Know your enemy, right?"
Ariel stopped the conversation to reverse her position on the board until Leone finally resigned her king. "Even when you're playing your little mind games, I'll still kick your ass all over the board."
"If it weren't for that damned polite aspect of announcing when you check the king, I would've had you," Leone rose from her seat behind the desk in her ready room. She approached her small replicator and hesitated before ordering her drink. "You think I should wait for engineering to clear usage before I get a glass of iced tea?"
While resetting the board for another game, Ariel smiled. "I'd risk it. What's the worst that could happen?"
Leone replied, "I could end up with five hundred glasses of iced tea? I'm not that thirsty." She returned to the desk without ordering. "What's the next step?"
"Well, Wilson is pursuing a line of inquiry. Only a certain number of people have access to the replicator in the first place. He's checking to see who was working near that section during the times indicated by the missing records."
=/\==/\==/\==/\==/\=
Ensign Yvonne Colby entered the main corridor outside the NCO staterooms flanked by two privates from the ship's marine company. "In here," she ordered, as she pressed the door control to open it. As soon as she took a step inside, she could see some of the crew lounging in their bunks.
"Officer on deck!" screamed a petty officer to her left.
All of them got to their feet, as the call went out; the words drilled into them from basic training. Yvonne stepped forward with the two privates trailing. "Boatswain's Mate Third Class Comeau, step forward."
A dark-haired man responded to the order as soon as she said it. "Aye, aye, sir!" he replied as though he were a fresh recruit. He maintained his parade stance after taking the single step forward.
"As you were, Boats. You will accompany the marines outside, now." She followed all three out into the corridor, thereby releasing the crewmen inside from having to remain standing. "Lieutenant Nieves wants to see you," Yvonne told Comeau.
"What did I do?" he asked, not bothering to hide his surliness from her.
She ignored his tone and shrugged. "The lieutenant says he wants to see you, so you go see him."
Comeau snorted. "This is bullshit, sir."
His reward was a slap to the back of the head by the private on his right. "Watch it!" the marine growled. Nothing more was said after that, all the way to the lift and toward Wilson's office within the ship's security complex on deck seven.
When Comeau and Yvonne appeared at the doorway, Wilson was mid-conversation with Bartlet. They asked them to enter, offering a seat to Comeau. Yvonne took up position near the door, while the privates stood guard outside.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Boats," began Wilson.
Comeau sneered at him. "Oh, it was my pleasure, I assure you, sir."
"Do you know why you're here?"
"I have no fucking idea why I'm here."
Yvonne opened her mouth to chastise the crewman for speaking disrespectfully, but Wilson raised his hand slightly to ward her off.
Bartlet handed Comeau a PADD and asked, "Is this your access code?"
Comeau peered at the display briefly and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"And..." the chief engineer flipped to another screen, "... is this your code accessing the maintenance panel in Cargo Bay Five?"
"I have duties in Cargo Bay Five from time to time, sir. You know that," Comeau responded testily. "Can I ask what the hell all this is about?"
Wilson ignored his question to ask his own, "Where were you the previous evening between twenty-three and oh-two hundred hours?"
Comeau hesitated before responding, "I was in the arboretum. Why?"
"Did anyone see you?"
"I don't know. I wasn't there to find other people, sir. I go there to be alone."
Bartlet asked gently, "Without your commbadge?"
"When I don't want to be bothered, yes. I'll store it in my locker. Is that a crime, now?"
She responded worriedly. "It's not against regulation, but it would have been helpful to verify your whereabouts, Boats. I'm sorry."
"Sorry about what, sir?"
"Boats," said Wilson as he stood behind his desk. "She's sorry because your codes were used to access an industrial replicator in Cargo Bays Two and Five over the past couple of nights. Your authorization was utilized to replicate a large number of devices ranging from tricorders, PADDs, and power cells. According to Lieutenant Bartlet and your supervisors, no such order for replication was passed to you. You are aware that unauthorized use of the replicators is in violation of established procedure, yes?"
The petty officer's attitude changed dramatically as he listened. "Sir, I'm telling you; I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't access any of the replicators in the cargo bays."
Wilson shook his head. "I'm sorry, as well." He lifted his eyes toward Yvonne. "Ensign, have the marine detail confine him within the detention center pending charges."
Comeau's expression changed from fear to fury. "You can't hold me in the brig without the captain's order, sir!"
"You're right, Boats." He slapped his commbadge. "Nieves to the captain."
END OF ACT THREE.
