Sketches of Sparrow 1: They Also Serve.
by SpockLikesCats
Suggested by Tales of Captain Sparrow: UVA by Linstock
Tales of Captain Sparrow started by HopefulAddict
An orange tomcat, master of all he surveys at Starfleet Academy, makes a positive contribution to the lives of cadets – and not a few civilians onboard. [A tribute to those valuable civilian experts who serve the military services in so many ways, and to stalwart defenders of good engineering, as my Dad was during WWII.]
Dedicated – To All the Cats I've Loved Before – and to all cat-lovers.
Thanks to Linstock for careful reading, suggestions and comments!
Characters: Captain Sparrow, Commander Christopher Pike, son Sam, and featuring OCs and felines.
Disclaimer: Written purely for the joy of exploring the world and personalities of Star Trek. I receive no profit – except reviews by readers. Everything here is original except ST and ST characters.
~/\~
Mike Raymond was exhausted. I don't know how Fleeters do it, zipping around the galaxy for months and years. I've only been out for three weeks and I'm beat. Maybe it was the fact that he couldn't use the supplements routinely administered to officers who spent most of their time travelling the stars in the warped space necessary to FTL speed. Mike could take them but he had certain "deleterious reactions," according to the Fleet physicians. They could just call them "migraine headaches." At any rate it was hard to concentrate on the matters at hand with a headache that couldn't be relieved with medication. The only people who didn't need supplements were Vulcans. Their bodies easily adapted to many conditions, something Mike envied.
Kinda cool bunch, but damned good engineers.
He had a great deal of respect for Vulcans and had learned that not only were their engineering skills supreme, their usual sense of tolerance and generosity was greatly welcome in the stressful time of space trials. And they didn't shout like he did, except in times when volume was absolutely required.
We build these beautiful ships, and we're pretty damned sure we have everything right, and then we take 'em out on space trials and find defects, sure enough. He shrugged, coding open the old wooden door of his little house just off the Academy grounds. That's what trials are for. He smiled as the door swung wide, hoping the kids were home. They always revived his spirits.
"Poppa! Hi! How's Commander Pike? Mom's not home yet. Are you doing okay? Can I make you some coffee?" His eleven-year-old daughter Aubrey ran to hug him.
"It is so good to see you, bambina," he said, rubbing her sturdy back, enjoying the warmth of her slender-muscled arms around his waist, the press of her springy hair under his chin. Aubrey was short like her dad, but unlike him, slender, small-framed, and solid muscle – she had started studying martial arts as a little girl. Her mom, after all, was an expert. Michelangelo, "Mike" or "Raymie" to his military pals, was short and a stocky guy, not like those lean, tall Starfleet types. He had awkward proportions, like his Italian family's peasant ancestors – long torso, short legs. Sturdy. All the Fleeters, though strong and sturdy, seemed tall and lean, except the Redshirts – some of them tended to be stocky like he was, but they were usually blessed with a full head of hair much longer legs. Which meant most of them couldn't travel the Jeffries Tubes like he could, so there.
"So how did the electronic navigation systems test out?"
"I'll tell you all about it after we take a break out back. How're the roses doing?"
"Look," she answered, flourishing her hand as they entered the kitchen. A cut-glass pitcher full of freshly cut yellow roses sat in the center of the big table there.
"Ohhh, that is one gorgeous welcome!" He leaned in and appreciatively inhaled the rich scent.
"Kevin's been tending the bushes every day, just like you asked. He brought these in after school today."
"Where is Kevin?"
"Uhh … I'm not sure."
Mike Raymond knew damned well that when one of his children began a sentence with "uhh", there were likely to be some shaded truths in his immediate future. He leveled a skeptical look in his daughter's direction, and she saw it. Her light-caramel skin got the prettiest blush. Yep, something's up all right. "So, want some coffee, Pops? You never told me how Commander Pike is doing."
He kept his level (but indulgent) gaze on Aubrey as he answered, "No coffee, thanks. Maybe some lemonade. And Commander Pike is just fine, still can't sing opera as well as I can, and before we parted ways today, he asked me to tell you … and Kevin … hello."
"What is it he says about his singing, Pop?"
"He makes up for his poor talent with his good looks."
"He's so funny! By the way Mom says he has an open invitation to dinner, he and Sam and Christy. I hope they come over, or … maybe we could … could we go visit them this afternoon? Sam – " She buried her head in the stasis unit as she ordered a glass of ice and fetched out lemonade and poured the cool pale-yellow treat. "Here ya go, Daddy-o."
He gratefully accepted and took a long draft. Looked at her, raised an eyebrow, and said, "What about Sam?"
"He, uh, invited us over and there're …" She emitted a sigh and 'fessed up. "There're kittens, and two really cute ones I really love. Can we please, please adopt them?"
"Let's go out in the back yard and talk about it, cara."
The yard was bright with afternoon, and Mike flopped into a lounger and settled back, enjoying the kiss of the sun on his skin, and how it lit up his daughter's curly reddish-brown hair. Birds sang in the trees and hopped in the grass and the air smelled wonderful – a little salt from San Fran Bay, roses in the yard … God, I missed this. Warped space screws the hell outta my circadian rhythms, even with artificial day and night on board the ships. I'll sleep well tonight.
"So can we get the kittens? The black and white one and the auburn one are really friendly. They purr so loud!"
"An auburn one?" He reached a hand across to where his daughter sat cross-legged on the grass and flipped one of her kinky reddish-brown strands of hair through his fingers. He never failed to marvel at the structures of nature, and curly hair was one.
"Well, buff and cream too, Pop, but auburn along the top of his back and a pattern on his sides. And in his stripes. And on his tail."
"And how is it that there are kittens? Didn't the Pikes get their young lady cat fixed?"
"They were just about to."
Just like ships. Man plans, God laughs.
"Well, how about we wait till Mom gets home, and we'll go and visit. You and Kevin and your dear mother, and your babbino caro here, will make a contract for care of the cats … don't give me that look. Your mom is a full-time Academy instructor so she can't take all the responsibility and let you skate off enjoying the cats when you want and ignoring them other times. And I know how you get when I'm off on trials."
She made a face. "C'mon, Pops, I quit fooling like that a year ago. And Kevin would never ignore an animal and its needs."
"Mmmm-hmm. So you will make the contract with Mom, Kevin and me." He took a judicious sip of lemonade. "Where is he, again?"
"He's over Sam's house!"
Mike held up his hand parallel to the floor. "How high over?"
~/\~
"This is Mrs Sparrow, the mom cat," said Mike's son Kevin. "Isn't she a beauty?"
And she was, a lovely black and white long-haired cat, patiently lying on her side while various kittens nursed and climbed over her. Her big golden eyes surveyed Mike's wife as she leaned over the brood. "Mrs Sparrow, you've done a lovely job. Oh they are so cute, Kevin!" Sylvia Wise-Raymond said, scooping up the "auburn" kitten. She turned to Mike, who grinning, shrugged. "What do you think?"
"I think you're speaking about an octave higher than usual." Sylvia made a face and Mike winked. "But you and Kevin and Aubrey are very perceptive judges of kittens."
Kevin, at sixteen a master of gardens and animals, said, "Look at this one, too, Pops."
Mike held out a hand and Kevin put a little black and white kitten in his palm. Mike had big hands, and one was sufficient for the little fluffy girl. Actually, she wasn't fluffy, more like … kinda raggedy. Short fur with long hairs sticking out here and there. Mike cocked an eyebrow at Kevin.
"Her fur'll fill out, see, look, her ears have tufts…" – they were very big ears; Mike thought they might actually pick up subspace signals – "and here, where some of the hairs are longer? She's gonna have a ruff, and her tail is going to be plumey, and see the longer hairs all over, and on her back legs? The 'britches'? They'll fill in long and she'll be gorgeous like her mom, wait and see. And she is a sweetheart. Look how calm she is."
"I have this effect on all creatures, my son."
Chris Pike came into the room, eyes crinkling with his soft laughter upon hearing Mike's claim. The den's walls were covered with awards and plaques Pike had earned while serving on various ships and dirtside commands.
"Kevin, is your dad trying to tell you another sea story? Because he does not have a calming effect on Starfleet construction contract managers, let me tell you."
Kevin snorted.
Pike glanced around. " … Where's Sam?"
"He's out back copying a program for our replicator so we can make the perfect kitten food."
While Kevin was Mr. Animal-Vegetable, Sam was Mr. Mineral, normally ensconced in the shed out back – where he could be free of the sound of Aubrey and Christy's giggling girl talk– designing programs. He was all about computers; hardware, programming, designing, you name it. His ardent wish was to join Starfleet and follow in his dad's footsteps, though into Engineering vice Command. Or to learn piloting and follow in his mom's, wherever the heck she was. Adrianna Walesa-Pike, former Starfleet lieutenant, was now simply Adrianna Walesa, cruising the stars as a merchant pilot, where speed was all. And missions from planet to planet could take years and years, as her ship "hopped" from pick-up point to delivery point and on to another pickup; she preferred to be unencumbered" by family ….
"Hiya Chris," Mike said to their host, gently scratching the kitten's sturdy little skull – her eyes closed in perfect ecstacy – "I tell no tales … See? See this effect I have? And yet, Chris, I see all these plaques." He gestured around. "Not one of them is for singing. Not … one."
"Yeah, yeah. Can't keep up with you in the Jeffries tubes, either." Pike reached to pet the kitten in Sylvia's hands and said, "God, it's good to be back home. You guys come for dinner tomorrow, 1800 hours, okay?"
"You bet, Chris, it'll be a pleasure," said Sylvia in her husky alto voice, which rose considerably higher as she re-commenced speaking nonsense syllables to the orange kitten.
Pike softly clapped Mike on the shoulder and said, "Got a comm from Procurement, must've been while you were walking over. They're approving 18.3M credits for the changes you recommended in impulse drive systems."
"That's about a million more than the initial authorization. Wow."
"Ehh … A million here, a million there … that's nothing to the Federation bureaucrats." Pike grinned at Raymie. "Actually I think they approved it because they have faith in you."
"Huh. Imagine that. Wish they'd just let me design them from the ground up."
"Well, if they ever get a start on the flagship, you know whose expertise I'll be calling on."
"We should be so lucky! Keep your nose clean, Chris, ya never know, huh?"
A loud slam of the back door announced Sam's presence, and he came slouching in, handing a data chip to Kevin. "Got the whole life program of feline supplement for you. Let me know if you need any changes."
"Yeah, you know I'll want the optimum for these little ones," Kevin said, grinning.
By way of greeting, Sylvia grinned at Sam and gently cuffed his shoulder. "Stand up, young man, I've never seen a fleeter who slouched, have you?" Sam rolled his eyes and straightened his posture. He now loomed above everyone.
An orange cat wandered in, a male a couple of years old, by the look of him, muscular, long and large. "Ahhh, Captain Sparrow," Chris said. "Meet the Raymonds."
"Yaao-ou-u," said the Captain, in a none-too-attractive voice.
"My God, Chris, is this the father?" blurted Sylvia. "He's enormous!"
"Yeah. Seven and a half kilos if he's a gram.1 Incorrigible fellow."
"Have you, maybe, thought of fixing him?" Sylvia looked at Sparrow, who narrowed a judging look at her. Apparently she was found wanting; the cat went to twine around Kevin's ankles.
"Well, as I understand it, Mrs. Captain is now scheduled for her hormone control injection, and we have yet to hold onto the Captain long enough to give him a shot. Maybe Sam can rig some sort of hypodermic rifle."
"Hypodermic air tube," corrected Kevin.
~/\~
The kids were so excited to bring the kittens home, they had stayed up too late, and were now dead asleep in their beds. Mike and Sylvia had looked in on them: Kevin lay on his side; the black and white kitten curled in by his chest. In Aubrey's room, their daughter was, as always, on her back, covers thrown off, pajamas awry, snoring with her mouth open. The auburn kitten was lying on her stomach, little front paws "milk treading" in deep relaxation and contentment, eyes beginning to drift shut. Sylvia laughed softly as she and Mike went to their room. "Kevin was so excited – he's been acting so grown lately, it was fun to see him act like a kid."
"Yeah – he loved walking around with her riding on his neck – didja see that big grin of his? And Aubrey's beside herself, huh? I'd forgotten how much fun it can be to have kittens in the house."
Sylvia and Mike's first cat, Mao Tse, had decided he was terribly neglected after baby Kevin had arrived home, and had yowled almost constantly in his loud Siamese way, "WaAUGHH! WAO! WAAO! WAUGHHHHHHHAOW!" waking the baby and generally disturbing the peace. Mao had been with Mike and Sylvia since he'd been a kitten and was very upset by Kevin's presence in "his" home. Not to mention all the attention the baby needed and got. Eventually Mike had found a wonderful home for Mao with a Vulcan engineer of his acquaintance. Sokar and his family appreciated – and inexplicably calmed – the excitable Mao.
"Yeah … we've all been pretty busy. Now Aubrey's old enough to be responsible." Sylvia moved into Mike's arms and he nuzzled her brown, smooth cheek, and kissed her temple.
"She'd better be. She signed the contract. And not that I think he'll fall down on the job, but Kevin signed it too."
"And all I have to do is wave it under their noses if they neglect their duties," said Syl. "Meanwhile … I have a homecoming present for you!" She brandished a wrapped package and shook it.
"Well … it doesn't rattle," he said. "What could it be?" He accepted the gift and carefully unwrapped it. "Wow …" he said, running his fingers over the antique paper score for Mozart's opera "Don Giovanni." He paged through it happily, humming a little.
"You owe me a recital!" she teased, her black eyes dancing.
"Yeah, I'd love to sing the aria I've been practicing … I'll drive the kids crazy so they know I'm really home."
"Hmph! … they have no appreciation for the art of singing," Sylvia sighed. "They like that stupid electronic stuff."
"Isn't it a pity."
"Can't wait to hear you. I love your voice." She gently kissed his throat.
"And I love you." Mike squeezed her waist as they hugged. He motioned toward the bed and raised his eyebrows.
Laughing, she nodded.
Later, having shared wine and some private connubial bliss, Mike and Sylvia sat in their bed, holding hands, listening to Puccini and talking in low voices. After a while Syl yawned and Mike shut off the music. He snuggled down under the covers, and his wife wriggled down next to him. The afternoon had been warm, but evenings were chilly at this time of year.
"So, M'angelo, d'you think they're ever going to contract that Constitution-class flagship? My students asked again today."
"I heard when we came in from trials that they're starting work on the support structure in the Iowa shipyard. Why they don't build that big mother in space is beyond me."
"'Starship Enterprise'. Imagine that. I hope you get to be in on the inspection and approval process." She kissed him. "Better yet, in on the design process."
He sighed a little, smiling, imagining. "If Chris has his way, I will be, Sylvie."
"Yeah, sweetie. Ya' never know," Sylvia murmured. She patted his leg and settled in to sleep, rubbing her left ear on the pillow and making a tiny grunt of satisfaction. Eventually her breathing deepened.
Mike watched her sleep, internally hearing "Fin ch'han dal vino," the Don Giovanni aria he'd worked on in his free time during trials. It was speedy, and challenging, and he moved his foot, gently keeping the beat as he mentally ran through it.
Just as he drifted slowly into sleep, Mike heard a distinctive cat voice in the yard beyond.
"Yaao-ou-u," said the Captain.
=^..^=
1: Sixteen pounds if he's an ounce
A/N: Sea trials are a chance to "de-bug" and evaluate the performance of ships before they are fully manned and sent out on official military missions. "Space trials" is an update for Starfleet. This would be why the USS Enterprise was a star performer on her first official mission [although I think Raymie would have a thing or two to say about those glary lights in the Bridge workspaces, Mr JJ Abrams].
Let me know what you think!
(Don't worry, there won't be so many OCs in the next one.)
