Four
San Francisco Shipyards, Earth Orbit
The Yorktown was the most advanced starship that Doug Mason had ever commanded, let alone served on. Her warp engines could propel her faster than any ship in known space. Her phasers, photon torpedoes, and deflector shields were state of the art in defensive technologies. Her main computer was so fast that Mason barely got a request out of his mouth before it gave him what he wanted. And shortly, the captain would take his new pride and joy out of dock for the first time. However, there were a few “antiquated” amenities that he couldn’t live without, namely the water shower he was standing within in the bathroom of his quarters. It seemed inconceivable to him that the sound waves of a sonic shower could clean him and he never felt cleansed and refreshed at all whenever he exited from it the few times he tried it. But, as opposed to smaller vessels with fewer creature comforts, the captain of the Yorktown didn’t have to deal with all aspects of so-called “progress.”
His thoughts turned to a report he had received before turning in the night before concerning the latest situation along the Klingon border. Sightings of Klingon warships had been on the rise though thankfully nothing bad had happened yet. But Mason knew all too well that sooner or later a simple encounter could turn into something worse. All it took was for a simple skirmish to escalate into something that could cause everything to explode like a super nova.
After he finished his shower, the captain quickly shaved and brushed his teeth before putting on his uniform for the day, a green wraparound tunic reserved for captains, though upon inspection in the mirror, Mason wondered if the rank stripes would have been better on the sleeves than where they were now near the low collar. Once he was satisfied with his attire, he exited his bathroom into the main part of his quarters, finding one drawback of being captain of the Yorktown standing by his desk that had a recently delivered tray on it looking like it contained his morning coffee and breakfast.
“Good morning, Captain,” Yeoman First Class Angelica Santiago, a very young (no older than nineteen by Mason’s judgment) and very overeager girl. He had been under the impression that a yeoman was nothing more than a captain’s personal secretary; Santiago seemed to think the role was akin to being a babysitter. “Huevos Rancheros and coffee, just as you like it.”
“Thank you,” he grumbled as he sat down to eat. Aboard the Charger and the Forester, ships with less than half the crew of the Yorktown, Mason didn’t have a yeoman and frankly had no need for one. He was bright enough to keep his schedule for the day straight and for a time was willing to concede that he’d need help keeping things organized on a starship this vast, however Santiago’s “assistance” had gone well beyond that ever since she reported for duty two days ago.
“Are you sure that you wouldn’t prefer something more…healthy, sir?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with my breakfast?” Mason countered.
“It’s just that Doctor Gertch keeps nagging about nutrition, sir.” Santiago was petite; the top of her head barely came up to the captain’s chest. She wore her dark hair up clear of her red uniform and her round, olive face always seemed to have a cherubic smile on it, oblivious to whatever discomfort she was inflicting on Mason.
“Captain’s prerogative.” The first day she was aboard, Santiago had shown up in the captain’s quarters before he had even gotten up. She laid out his clothes for him (there was something about having someone young enough to be his daughter arranging his uniform and underwear that made Mason feel uneasy to no end), got him breakfast as she had just now, and repeatedly drilled his daily schedule into his head until he was able to parrot it all back on cue. The yeoman was starting to use up the last of Mason’s patience and tolerance.
“Remember sir that you have a meeting with the phaser technicians at fifteen hundred,” she stated. “And the cargo master at sixteen hundred…”
“Yes, I know,” he said in exasperation.
“And then you need to interview members of the galley crew to select a new chef,” she added, which caught Mason off guard and he spun around to glare at her. Her usual smile quickly disappeared when Mason’s eyes narrowed angrily.
“What do you mean we need a new chef?” he asked tersely as he shot out of his chair. “What happened to the one we had?”
“He transferred last night, sir,” Santiago explained. “Said he got a job as the head chef at headquarters. I hear that’s the top assignment for…”
“Why wasn’t I told about this?” Mason snapped, his irritation with his yeoman getting the better of him.
“It…it happened while you were sleeping, sir,” she answered meekly. Her entire body tensed up as if she was recoiling from him and her gaze went straight to the floor. “You…you told me not to wake you unless…”
“It was important, I know,” the captain finished sternly, “but this certainly qualifies, doesn’t it? This ship is about to leave Earth for the next five years and now we’re short a chef?”
“I…I guess I screwed up, sir,” Santiago confessed nervously.
“You’re damn…!” Mason started to shout before stopping short. Ease up on the kid, said a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like a former CO of his. He backed off and started to pace around the main area of his cabin. He turned back to Santiago, whose face was flushed in embarrassment. “Let’s zero the counter for a minute, Yeoman.”
“Sir?” she asked in confusion.
“Let’s start over,” he said in order to explain the obscure naval parlance he had just used. “How long have you been a yeoman?”
“Over a year, sir,” Santiago answered as she finally glanced up at him. “Right out of Basic.”
“That’s it? How old are you, anyway?”
“I just turned eighteen.”
“Eighteen,” he repeated in frustration. She really is just a kid. “And how did things work out between you and your last CO?”
“He…didn’t really need me around that much, sir. He was really quite organized. He knew about everything he needed to know before I did. I just thought that since you’re…you’re…”
“That because you think I’m new here you need to…nursemaid me?” he questioned. “Hate to break it to you, but I’ve been in command of one ship or another since you were in elementary school.”
“I’m…I…I was just trying to be helpful, sir,” said Santiago. Now she looked like she was on the verge of tears and the last thing the captain wanted with the Yorktown about to embark on a potentially dangerous mission was for his yeoman to come apart on him.
“Maybe we should lay out some ground rules,” Mason said in a calm tone. “I know this is a big ship and that there’s a lot of stuff for me to sort through and I need you for that. What I don’t need is for you to…baby-sit me. I can get myself up in the morning, I can feed and dress myself; that I don’t need you for. Just keep my logs, messages, and schedule straight and inform me if there’s any critical personnel decisions I need to deal with. Other than that, I can take care of myself. Clear?”
“Yes sir,” she replied. “So…when you don’t need me, where should I go?”
“Anywhere; just try not to get lost in case I need you,” the captain said. “Is there anything else?”
“No sir,” Santiago answered dutifully.
“Then schedule a series of meetings with the galley staff tomorrow starting at, say,” Mason added, trying to think ahead that far, “ten hundred?”
“Aye, aye sir,” said the yeoman before checking her notes on her data slate. “Wait, sir, you have a meeting with Dr. Gertch and the medical staff at nine forty-five.”
“Reschedule it,” he said as he sat down behind his desk and activated his monitor. “As my mother used to put it, food comes first, the rest can wait.”
“Understood sir,” answered Santiago, though she sounded a little nervous at the prospect of being the bearer of ill-tidings to the chief medical officer. “Do you want me back here for your lunch, sir?”
“I said I can feed myself, Yeoman,” Mason said irritably as he returned to his desk to finish his breakfast. “Dismissed.”
“Aye sir,” she answered crisply and started to exit the captain’s cabin. While eating, he pulled up a summary of news and events from the night before. Not a lot had changed in the last six hours save for more warnings of Klingon sightings near the border. Other than that, there wasn’t much of note, so Mason next turned his attention to his messages, which seemed to pile up exponentially during the night shifts. Most were of the usual and routine type, from status updates to ship-wide notices to messages accidentally sent to every member of the crew including the captain by people who clearly didn’t understand the “Reply to All” function. Again, none of it was of any particular concern, so he spent a few minutes going over the latest hockey scores, dismayed to note that his favorite team had been thoroughly pummeled once again.
After finishing his breakfast and checking a few more messages of minor importance that had shown up in his file since he last looked a few seconds earlier, he noted the chronometer and the fact that the departure time was closing more rapidly than he thought, so Mason shut off his monitor and exited his quarters. The corridors were empty, since during launch every watch was on station in case there was a problem. The turbolift was a quick walk away from his room and he entered, finding it likewise empty.
(Continued below thanks to the character limit again...)
), but it's neat to see here and really helps flesh out the world.
