“Taking the Reigns” – A USS Bluefin Short Story
Stardate 42088.6 (2 February 2365)
USS Bluefin
En route to Star Station Echo
Commander Joseph Akinola, Executive Officer of the Border Service cutter Bluefin, slid down the access ladder to deck four and made his way to the wardroom. The tantalizing aroma of bacon, eggs and coffee caused his mouth to water in anticipation of breakfast and the beginning of another day on the vintage cutter.
“ ‘Morning Commander!”
Akinola turned and smiled at the sight of Lt. Deedee Townsend, the ship’s Operations Officer. The diminutive Townsend was carrying a tray laden with seemingly enough food for the entire bridge crew.
“Good morning, yourself. Is your appetite off, Deedee? That’s not much food on your tray,” said Akinola with a grin.
Townsend stuck her tongue out as she sidled by Akinola into the wardroom. “That joke is older than you are . . . sir. You know I can’t help my metabolism – it’s my Centauran genes.”
The African XO chuckled. “That excuse is old, too, Lieutenant. Scuttlebutt is you’ve got a boyfriend stowed away in your cabin and you get all that food to keep him alive.”
Townsend smirked. “If only, sir.”
Akinola stepped into the galley and helped himself to eggs, bacon, toast and jam. He filled a thick porcelain mug with coffee and walked back to the wardroom. Inside, Lt. Townsend was seated across from the CMO, Dr. Yuri Kazamov. The ship’s Chief Engineer, Lt. Gralt sat near the opposite end of the table, eating a bowl of roots and leaves while frowning over a battered engineering PADD. Akinola sat across from Gralt.
“Good morning, Mr. Gralt,” said Akinola as he seated himself.
Gralt stopped chewing and waved a fork at the XO. “Why is it that you humans feel the need of pronouncing every thrice-damned morning as ‘good?’ It’s frakking annoying, that’s what it is! Incestuous deities, you hair-deprived types can talk more and say less than any other species in the quadrant!”
“Glad you’re feeling chipper, Lieutenant,” replied Akinola as he took a sip of coffee. “How go the repairs to the hangar bay?”
Gralt snorted. “That misbegotten son of a blood-manged Yarliq damn near took out the hangar doors and the other Stallions with his little stunt. If I were you, I’d make that brainless red-skinned oaf fix his own mess . . . without an EVA suit!”
“You do realize, Mr. Gralt, that Chief Brin’s ‘little stunt’ likely saved the lives of those Boomers, not to mention the lives of Lt. Townsend and Ensign Korltu.” Akinola referenced CPO Solly Brin’s full-throttle landing of Stallion 03 in the middle of a force four ion storm a week earlier. It had been a very near thing indeed.
“Well . . . there is that I suppose,” groused Gralt.
“There is that,” agreed Akinola. “Now, how are the repairs coming along?”
Gralt gestured to his battered engineering PADD. “We’ve patched the holes in the deck and replaced the support beams that were damaged. As to the doors – that will take at least two days in space-dock. Stallion 02 took the brunt of 03’s impact – she’s probably a total loss. Stallion 01 is operational after some repair work and 04 came through without damage, thank the petulant deities for that.”
Akinola nodded. “The Skipper has already reserved a space-dock bay when we arrive at Echo. Any other repairs or upgrades you need to make while we’re there?”
Gralt rubbed his porcine snout. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to flush the intercoolers. And I’m not happy with the performance of the impulse engines – we’re not getting enough thrust from the ion flow. I’d like to tear down the manifold.”
“How long?” asked the XO.
The Tellarite engineer looked thoughtful. “An extra three days. Four max.”
“Do it. We may be out a month or more on our next patrol.”
“A month?” By Gragnar’s mangy pelt, why?”
“Didn’t you hear? The Albacore just got moth-balled. Supposedly, they’re going to turn her into a museum.”
Gralt shook his head sadly. “Fornicating deities! What a waste of a good ship.”
“No argument there. But until the powers that be reassign another cutter to our sector, we’ve got it to ourselves.”
They were interrupted by the chirp of Akinola’s combadge. He gave it a quick tap.
“Akinola, go ahead.”
The voice of Captain Stanek, the Vulcan C.O. of the Bluefin, came over the channel. “Commander, I’d like to meet with you in my ready room at your convenience.”
“Acknowledged. I’m on my way, Captain.” Akinola stood and picked up the tray containing his partially eaten breakfast. Lt. Townsend looked up from her own plate of food and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Hey Mr. Akinola – you gonna eat that?”
* * *
Akinola stepped off the turbo-lift onto the quiet bridge. Lt. Commander Jilissa, the Deltan second officer sat in the center seat. She turned slightly and smiled at Akinola in acknowledgement. Chief Brin was seated at tactical while one of the new ensigns was manning the helm. A bored-looking Lt. (j.g.) Gilenhal sat at operations. Akinola made a mental note to speak to the latter about his attitude at a later time. Now, however, he walked around the upper level of the bridge to the Captain’s ready room and pressed the anunciator.
He heard a muted “enter” and stepped into Captain Stanek’s office.
Stanek’s ready room was neat and Spartan, almost to the point of austerity. A collection of holo-cubes of the Captain’s family were placed in an orderly fashion on a shelf and a set of Vulcan mediation candles adorned a low table. The desk was clear, save for the computer terminal.
Stanek nodded at the XO. “Commander, thank you for coming by. I hope I did not interrupt your breakfast.”
Akinola raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I was eating breakfast?”
“You typically eat at this hour. Also, you have a bit of egg on your uniform.”
Akinola quickly brushed away the minute traces of breakfast. He sometimes wondered if the CO did not enjoy having a bit of fun at his expense. Though thoroughly Vulcan, Stanek at times seemed to have a wry, almost human sense of humor. That was probably the main reason he and Akinola got along so well. The Captain was well past middle-age for a Vulcan, his dark hair now a slate gray. Akinola guessed that Stanek was over 100 standard years of age, but he never checked the personnel records to check. That would be prying.
“Please, be seated Commander.” Stanek gestured to one of the two guest chair. Akinola settled into one of the comfortable leather charis.
Stanek leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I have been informed that I am to be promoted to rear-admiral and reassigned as Commandant of the Border Service Academy at New London, effective Stardate 42097.”
Though Akinola was long used to Stanek’s direct approach to conversation, he was nonetheless caught off-guard. Stanek had been an officer on Bluefin for nearly 20 years – longer than Akinola himself had served on the cutter. The Vulcan had been XO when Akinola joined the crew as a Senior Chief Petty Officer and Darby Reninger had been Captain. When Reninger was killed during the first Cardassian war, Stanek had assumed command of Bluefin and secured a field promotion for Akinola, commissioning him as a Lieutenant. Akinola had been surprised when the promotion was made permanent following the war, in no small part due to Stanek’s recommendation.
“Congratulations, sir! You’ll make a fine Commandant for the Academy.”
Stanek raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate that, Commander. However, it remains to be seen if my experiences as a line officer will translate into an effective administrator.”
Akinola stifled a smirk. “I don’t think you’ll come across anything you can’t handle, Skipper.”
A look of amusement crossed Stanek’s face, before vanishing quickly. “Indeed,” he said, dryly. “The same could be said of you as well, I think.”
The XO looked puzzled. “Sir?”
“I have also been informed that, as of this Stardate, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Captain. In addition, you are to assume command of USS Bluefin, effective Stardate 42097.”
Akinola blinked, unable to respond for the moment. Stanek actually looked pleased with himself.
“If I recall correctly,” began Stanek dryly, “the proper Terran colloquialism would be, ‘has a feline entrapped your tongue?’”
Joseph Akinola grinned. “I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch!”
Stanek cocked his head. “From what I gather, you already are. Congratulations, Captain Akinola!”
* * *
Stardate 42088.6 (2 February 2365)
USS Bluefin
En route to Star Station Echo
Commander Joseph Akinola, Executive Officer of the Border Service cutter Bluefin, slid down the access ladder to deck four and made his way to the wardroom. The tantalizing aroma of bacon, eggs and coffee caused his mouth to water in anticipation of breakfast and the beginning of another day on the vintage cutter.
“ ‘Morning Commander!”
Akinola turned and smiled at the sight of Lt. Deedee Townsend, the ship’s Operations Officer. The diminutive Townsend was carrying a tray laden with seemingly enough food for the entire bridge crew.
“Good morning, yourself. Is your appetite off, Deedee? That’s not much food on your tray,” said Akinola with a grin.
Townsend stuck her tongue out as she sidled by Akinola into the wardroom. “That joke is older than you are . . . sir. You know I can’t help my metabolism – it’s my Centauran genes.”
The African XO chuckled. “That excuse is old, too, Lieutenant. Scuttlebutt is you’ve got a boyfriend stowed away in your cabin and you get all that food to keep him alive.”
Townsend smirked. “If only, sir.”
Akinola stepped into the galley and helped himself to eggs, bacon, toast and jam. He filled a thick porcelain mug with coffee and walked back to the wardroom. Inside, Lt. Townsend was seated across from the CMO, Dr. Yuri Kazamov. The ship’s Chief Engineer, Lt. Gralt sat near the opposite end of the table, eating a bowl of roots and leaves while frowning over a battered engineering PADD. Akinola sat across from Gralt.
“Good morning, Mr. Gralt,” said Akinola as he seated himself.
Gralt stopped chewing and waved a fork at the XO. “Why is it that you humans feel the need of pronouncing every thrice-damned morning as ‘good?’ It’s frakking annoying, that’s what it is! Incestuous deities, you hair-deprived types can talk more and say less than any other species in the quadrant!”
“Glad you’re feeling chipper, Lieutenant,” replied Akinola as he took a sip of coffee. “How go the repairs to the hangar bay?”
Gralt snorted. “That misbegotten son of a blood-manged Yarliq damn near took out the hangar doors and the other Stallions with his little stunt. If I were you, I’d make that brainless red-skinned oaf fix his own mess . . . without an EVA suit!”
“You do realize, Mr. Gralt, that Chief Brin’s ‘little stunt’ likely saved the lives of those Boomers, not to mention the lives of Lt. Townsend and Ensign Korltu.” Akinola referenced CPO Solly Brin’s full-throttle landing of Stallion 03 in the middle of a force four ion storm a week earlier. It had been a very near thing indeed.
“Well . . . there is that I suppose,” groused Gralt.
“There is that,” agreed Akinola. “Now, how are the repairs coming along?”
Gralt gestured to his battered engineering PADD. “We’ve patched the holes in the deck and replaced the support beams that were damaged. As to the doors – that will take at least two days in space-dock. Stallion 02 took the brunt of 03’s impact – she’s probably a total loss. Stallion 01 is operational after some repair work and 04 came through without damage, thank the petulant deities for that.”
Akinola nodded. “The Skipper has already reserved a space-dock bay when we arrive at Echo. Any other repairs or upgrades you need to make while we’re there?”
Gralt rubbed his porcine snout. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to flush the intercoolers. And I’m not happy with the performance of the impulse engines – we’re not getting enough thrust from the ion flow. I’d like to tear down the manifold.”
“How long?” asked the XO.
The Tellarite engineer looked thoughtful. “An extra three days. Four max.”
“Do it. We may be out a month or more on our next patrol.”
“A month?” By Gragnar’s mangy pelt, why?”
“Didn’t you hear? The Albacore just got moth-balled. Supposedly, they’re going to turn her into a museum.”
Gralt shook his head sadly. “Fornicating deities! What a waste of a good ship.”
“No argument there. But until the powers that be reassign another cutter to our sector, we’ve got it to ourselves.”
They were interrupted by the chirp of Akinola’s combadge. He gave it a quick tap.
“Akinola, go ahead.”
The voice of Captain Stanek, the Vulcan C.O. of the Bluefin, came over the channel. “Commander, I’d like to meet with you in my ready room at your convenience.”
“Acknowledged. I’m on my way, Captain.” Akinola stood and picked up the tray containing his partially eaten breakfast. Lt. Townsend looked up from her own plate of food and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Hey Mr. Akinola – you gonna eat that?”
* * *
Akinola stepped off the turbo-lift onto the quiet bridge. Lt. Commander Jilissa, the Deltan second officer sat in the center seat. She turned slightly and smiled at Akinola in acknowledgement. Chief Brin was seated at tactical while one of the new ensigns was manning the helm. A bored-looking Lt. (j.g.) Gilenhal sat at operations. Akinola made a mental note to speak to the latter about his attitude at a later time. Now, however, he walked around the upper level of the bridge to the Captain’s ready room and pressed the anunciator.
He heard a muted “enter” and stepped into Captain Stanek’s office.
Stanek’s ready room was neat and Spartan, almost to the point of austerity. A collection of holo-cubes of the Captain’s family were placed in an orderly fashion on a shelf and a set of Vulcan mediation candles adorned a low table. The desk was clear, save for the computer terminal.
Stanek nodded at the XO. “Commander, thank you for coming by. I hope I did not interrupt your breakfast.”
Akinola raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I was eating breakfast?”
“You typically eat at this hour. Also, you have a bit of egg on your uniform.”
Akinola quickly brushed away the minute traces of breakfast. He sometimes wondered if the CO did not enjoy having a bit of fun at his expense. Though thoroughly Vulcan, Stanek at times seemed to have a wry, almost human sense of humor. That was probably the main reason he and Akinola got along so well. The Captain was well past middle-age for a Vulcan, his dark hair now a slate gray. Akinola guessed that Stanek was over 100 standard years of age, but he never checked the personnel records to check. That would be prying.
“Please, be seated Commander.” Stanek gestured to one of the two guest chair. Akinola settled into one of the comfortable leather charis.
Stanek leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I have been informed that I am to be promoted to rear-admiral and reassigned as Commandant of the Border Service Academy at New London, effective Stardate 42097.”
Though Akinola was long used to Stanek’s direct approach to conversation, he was nonetheless caught off-guard. Stanek had been an officer on Bluefin for nearly 20 years – longer than Akinola himself had served on the cutter. The Vulcan had been XO when Akinola joined the crew as a Senior Chief Petty Officer and Darby Reninger had been Captain. When Reninger was killed during the first Cardassian war, Stanek had assumed command of Bluefin and secured a field promotion for Akinola, commissioning him as a Lieutenant. Akinola had been surprised when the promotion was made permanent following the war, in no small part due to Stanek’s recommendation.
“Congratulations, sir! You’ll make a fine Commandant for the Academy.”
Stanek raised an eyebrow. “I appreciate that, Commander. However, it remains to be seen if my experiences as a line officer will translate into an effective administrator.”
Akinola stifled a smirk. “I don’t think you’ll come across anything you can’t handle, Skipper.”
A look of amusement crossed Stanek’s face, before vanishing quickly. “Indeed,” he said, dryly. “The same could be said of you as well, I think.”
The XO looked puzzled. “Sir?”
“I have also been informed that, as of this Stardate, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Captain. In addition, you are to assume command of USS Bluefin, effective Stardate 42097.”
Akinola blinked, unable to respond for the moment. Stanek actually looked pleased with himself.
“If I recall correctly,” began Stanek dryly, “the proper Terran colloquialism would be, ‘has a feline entrapped your tongue?’”
Joseph Akinola grinned. “I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch!”
Stanek cocked his head. “From what I gather, you already are. Congratulations, Captain Akinola!”
* * *
I'd wondered about Bluefin's previous skipper, and I'm glad you took the time to give us a window on the moment of Joseph's promotion. 
