Captain's Log, 6-02-210 FE: It's been four days since the death of the Caretaker and we must now begin the process of working together to make our way home. Integrating the two crews has proven to be more difficult than I anticipated. Chakotay assures me he'll do his best to ease the process and I've no choice but to agree. The friction between the renegades and Seafleeters is high. Nobody trusts each other and tempers are flaring over minor disputes. These problems need to be settled, and quickly, if we're ever to resume our journey.
The midday sun filtered into the windows of the captain's office, shining on the table where Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Tuvok stood gathered around it. The table was covered several sheets of paper, all of which bore names. They had been discussing the best way to further integrate the two crews. So far, it wasn't progressing as smoothly as Janeway hoped. Chakotay kept suggesting his people be put in key positions that she wasn't sure they could handle, especially since several of them had never even finished at the academy.
"The next officer in line for the position of bosun is Lieutenant Carey," said Tuvok, bringing her attention back to the moment.
"Is he ready to take on that position?" asked Tuvok. "His service record says he was a gunner for many years before becoming a deckhand. He has comparatively less experience in that division."
"I know," said Janeway. "But he has seniority. Hopefully, he can build on what he knows with field experience."
"Captain," said Chakotay, "If you aren't certain, maybe you should consider someone else. There are several people on my crew who have been riggers for many years – they're bound to have the skill you need in a good officer."
"Seafleet protocol is clear," she said. "If an officer is killed in action, the next senior officer takes his place."
"With all due respect, Captain, you might consider being more flexible in interpreting those rules. Experience will keep us out of trouble, not seniority."
Janeway felt her stomach grow tight at his suggestion.
"Commander, the rules are in place to maintain discipline and, with this ship so far from home, now is not the time to reinterpret them," she said. "Your time as a Seafleet officer before you joined the renegades makes you uniquely qualified to be my first officer. Many of your comrades don't the have Seafleet experience necessary to function as officers."
"Then maybe you need to look beyond just Seafleet experience," he said.
Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," called Janeway, grateful for the pause in the tense discussion.
Ensign Kyoto, looking nervous for walking in on a meeting of the ship's highest officers, gulped and stepped inside. Janeway nodded at her, giving her permission to speak.
"Sorry for the interruption Captain," Kyoto said, "But a fight's broken out in the mess hall."
"What?" Janeway said, stunned. She gave Tuvok a glance of disbelief, then bolted out the door, with him and Chakotay on her heels. Together, the three officers dashed down the ladder into the chaos below decks. There, two men pummeled each other, crashing over benches and tables, sending food and drink flying in every direction. No one was doing anything to stop the fight. In fact, the rest of the crew stood in a circle around them shouting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Some of these people were pushing and shoving as they yelled and Janeway knew it would turn into a full-scale brawl if she didn't act immediately. She and Tuvok shoved their way through the crowd, trying to get at the combatants.
"Crewmen, that's enough!" she shouted. She tried to pull the fighters apart and nearly caught an elbow in the face for her trouble. Tuvok appeared and shoved his way between them. There was a brief moment when they struggled to strike each other again, but another push from Tuvok convinced them it was a bad idea. They straightened before the captain; still shooting each other dirty looks. It was then that they realized they were in serious trouble and both of them came to attention, looking properly guilty. Water dribbled down Dalby's face and onto his chest, while a slice of meat slid down Harrison's arm and landed with a splat on the floor. In another time and place, Janeway might have laughed at how ridiculous they looked, but right now, she was furious with them.
"Crewmen Dalby and Harrison," she said, planting her hands on her hips, "I expected better from you. There will be no brawling on my ship. From now on, you settle your personal problems like civilized people. You're both restricted to half rations for three days. Report immediately to the pumps."
Harrison protested. "But Captain-"
"Four days." She waited to see if either of them would protest, but both had the sense to keep their mouths shut. "Dismissed."
As they turned and headed for the ladder, Dalby mumbled something darkly.
"What was that, Crewman?"
Dalby turned and looked at her. "Nothing, Captain." She glared at him and he descended. Then she turned to face the rest of the crew.
"As for the rest of you, this is completely unacceptable. You are all Seafleet officers now and I expect you to act like it! No more encouraging brawls for fun and sport, do you understand me?"
"Yes, Ma'am!" they answered.
"Good. Lunch is over. Get this mess cleaned up, then report topside. You'll all be swabbing the deck until it shines and Mr. Tuvok will be supervising. Tuvok, if any one of them refuses to cooperate, their punishment is up to you."
"Understood, Captain," said Tuvok.
"And if I ever have to break up another fight on this ship, it's 0500 drills for everyone until further notice. Dismissed!"
Janeway turned and climbed the ladder, listening to the sounds of everyone moving to clean up the mess hall. Chakotay followed her.
"Don't you think you're being a little harsh?" he said.
"Not at all. A little mutual hardship has a way of bringing people together. I'm hoping it will give them some common ground."
"I meant Dalby and Harrison's punishment. Putting them on half rations is pretty serious."
She stopped and turned to face him. "Would you prefer for me to use corporal punishment? I'd rather not have to resort to flogging the crew."
"Of course not."
"Then what's your suggestion? How did you deal with crewmembers who refused to cooperate?"
Chakotay thought for a moment, then shrugged. "With a right hook. That was just how we did things. I assume that's not going to work with the Seafleeters."
"Certainly not," she said. She continued on into her office, leaving Chakotay on the deck to collect his thoughts.
The rest of the day passed, thankfully, without incident. Tensions ran high, but the crews were attempting to be civil to each other. There were still setbacks, despite their best efforts. Seafleeter crewmen refused to follow orders from renegade officers without getting the approval of the commanding officer first, while drills and some procedures were slowed by the renegades' unfamiliarity with Seafleet protocol. Chakotay finally had to pull all the renegades aside and give them a crash course in saluting, coming to attention, forming ranks and what each of the piped calls on the whistle meant. There was more to protocol than knowing how to stand in order, but that would come later. Chakotay made a mental note to draw up a list of all the things he'd need to catch them up on. Come to think of it, he might need a refresher or two of his own. He decided to consult with the captain after his watch. In the meantime, he was needed on deck to supervise repairs. Carey and the Seafleeter deckhands were as proficient as he remembered Seafleeters being from his time as an officer. But his time as renegade made him realize just how wasteful Seafleeters could be. The crew was using line as if they were going to find more in a few weeks, instead of months. Chakotay knew from experience that they were going to have to find a way to conserve their resources and quickly. With a sigh, he added that to the mental list of things he had to speak to the captain about. Maybe she'd consider adopting some of Torres' ideas for conservation – B'Elanna was a genius when it came to improvising something out of next to nothing.
He stayed to watch a little while longer and to see how Carey was dealing with the crew assigned to him; Torres in particular. She had little patience for anyone who didn't do exactly what she told them to back on their original ship, and now that she had to answer to someone else – well, it was a good thing he was here to keep an eye on her. Oh, Carey was a fine deckhand and a good replacement for their late bosun, but whether or not he and Torres would be able to work together without fighting was another question altogether. Carey was shooting her dirty looks when he passed her. Normally, Chakotay would have ignored it, were it not for the hate he saw in the other man's eyes. Anyone else might have ignored it, but Chakotay recognized that look. It was the same one the renegades gave the Cardassians. Maybe he was over thinking the whole thing, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He called Carey over.
"Mr Carey," he began, "I won't pretend to know you well, but if I had to guess from the looks you keep giving her, I would say you aren't fond of Lieutenant Torres."
"With all due respect, sir-" Chakotay didn't care for his sarcastic emphasis on 'sir,' but kept silent "- I don't see how my attitude toward that woman concerns you."
Chakotay bristled. "It concerns me because you don't seem to have a lot of respect for her."
"Respect has to be earned, sir," Carey replied, again sarcastically emphasizing his words.
"Maybe so, but I don't appreciate your attitude toward a fellow officer. At least have some respect for her skills and experience."
Carey's eyes hardened. "I'm sure I will, when she demonstrates that skill."
Chakotay narrowed his own eyes. "As you were, Lieutenant. And keep that attitude of yours in check."
"Yes, sir," said Carey, turning away. As soon as he was gone, Chakotay rubbed his face with his hand, trying to chase off a headache. Carey's attitude was going to get him in trouble. But, the only thing to be done at this point was to wait and see. Chakotay turned and went back to work.
At dinner, the crew headed to the mess deck, looking forward to a good meal after a hard day's work. There was now no evidence of a brawl at all, which impressed Chakotay. Dalby and Harrison had managed to fling food almost everywhere, even up into the support beams. The fact that nothing remained spoke highly of the crew's attention to cleanliness or said much about Tuvok's stern supervision. Now though, the crew sat around three or four tables, unenthusiastically picking at their food. Paris sat at a table by himself, which didn't fill Chakotay with sadistic glee like he thought it would. He had expected the renegades to steer clear of him, but he thought at least one or two Seafleeters might have felt sorry for him. Paris had never told him exactly what he had done to get himself kicked out of Seafleet during the time they worked together, but judging by the way the others treated him, it must have been pretty terrible. He knew from rumors and gleaned information that someone had been hurt or possibly killed, but that was it. It had happened some time ago, too. By the time Chakotay had found him, Paris had been out of Seafleet for three years. People in the Federation didn't forgive and forget very easily, it seemed.
Dismissing his musings, Chakotay looked up to the serving counter, which separated the galley from the rest of the deck, and it was there that the cook stood arguing with Neelix.
"Look Neelix, I appreciate all the food you gave us," said the cook, "But I can handle this myself."
"But you don't know how to prepare it," whined Neelix, making a grab for the knife the cook was holding. "You're mixing the wonderful leola root with those nasty red squishy things – they don't go together! You're ruining it!"
The cook yanked the knife out of reach, hardly difficult due to Neelix's short stature. "That leola root is too bitter to eat on its own," he said. "I have to mix it with something or else no one will be able to stomach it. The tomatoes compliment it – really, they do."
"I will have you know I used to be head chef for the Ankarin trade caravan for two years and I know what I'm talking about. And I say you're ruining it!"
The cook elbowed Neelix out of the way and went back to chopping tomatoes and the root on the back counter. "And I'll have you know that I was trained for this while I was at the academy for four years. This is my job- would you just let me do it in peace?"
Kes, who had been serving soup to the crew at the front counter, put a hand on Neelix's arm.
"Neelix, just let him work," she said gently. "If he wants your advice, I'm sure he'll ask for it. Why don't you chop up some more ingredients? We need to make some more stew."
The cook nodded at her words and Neelix threw his hands up.
"Fine! Do what you like with ingredients you know nothing about, but don't come crying to me when the crew is up in arms about how awful it all tastes."
By this time, Chakotay had reached the counter and Kes served him a bowl of stew.
"Have they been arguing like this all day?" he asked her.
"No, just since he started cooking dinner." She smiled and he returned it. Neelix saw them talking and came over.
"Commander, I hope you plan to punish this man for the outrageous abuse he is subjecting my foodstuffs to. This culinary mistreatment is nothing short of criminal!"
"Neelix, it's just food," said Chakotay.
"Just food?" Neelix looked aghast. "Commander, food is the very essence of life itself! The manner in which it's prepared matters just as much as it's nutrients. Any chef worth his cooking pot will tell you that a meal prepared with care and attention has a certain indefinable quality that adds to the wholeness of the meal, making it that much more enjoyable. The way he's throwing these ingredients together suggests he doesn't care at all! It's terrible!"
"Well, I'm sorry you're so upset, but as much as you probably don't want to hear this, the crew probably won't notice. Most of us don't really care how our food is prepared, so long as it's nourishing and tastes good."
Neelix scoffed and folded his arms, obviously taking the whole thing personally. The cook took no notice and got back to work. Chakotay suddenly realized he didn't even know the man's name. He opened his mouth to ask just as Crewman Harrison walked up.
"Can I get some more?" Harrison asked.
"You're on half rations, Harrison," said Chakotay. "Whatever he already gave you is all you get."
"But that's not fair," said Harrison. "I was never punished like this on any other ship. The captain's being too harsh! How am I supposed to get any work done on an empty stomach?"
Neelix turned with pleading eyes to the commander. "Commander Chakotay, he's right. How could anyone be expected to do any work without any strength?"
"It's not like you're not getting any food, Harrison," said Chakotay. "The more you complain, the harder you make it on yourself."
Harrison ignored him and turned back to Neelix. "Just give me another serving of hardtack. I promise I won't tell the captain!"
Neelix turned to the cook, but before he said anything, the cook interrupted him. "Forget it, Neelix. I'm not going against the captain's orders. Either make yourself useful or get out of my galley before I throw you out."
Neelix, finally outmatched, slumped over to the stove and stoked the cooking fire.
Harrison, unable to believe how little anyone cared about him, turned to address everyone sitting there.
"Don't any of you care that I'm suffering?"
From the table with one occupant, Paris spoke up. "Harrison, nobody likes a whiner."
Harrison tossed his dish on the counter and walked away, defeated. Chakotay sat down at another empty table. He didn't give a damn if the Seafleeters liked him or not, but they were supposed to respect his authority. Granted, he hadn't explicitly given Harrison an order, but he should have at least listened when Chakotay told him to stop. The fact that he had only backed down when Paris said something rankled even more. Chakotay consoled himself with the idea that being called a whiner was what made Harrison stop, not Paris. Yes, that was more acceptable, he thought to himself as he sat down at another empty table. He took a mouthful of stew and grimaced. The cook must have done very poorly in his classes if this was any indication of his academy training.
Paris watched Harrison slink away down the ladder. He stirred at the stew without interest, waiting for the hardtack to soak up enough liquid to become soft enough to chew. Harrison, a Seafleet officer, should know better than to whine about his punishment. Maybe they just weren't toughening them up at the academy like they used to back in his days. Had some of the powers that be decided to do away with hell week? Paris winced inwardly. Just mentioning the name brought back the harsh days of traversing grueling terrain while trying to cope with three hours of sleep and one meal a day. He would have been grateful for three half meals in those days. Hell week separated the children from the adults. No Seafleet officer who had survived hell week would have whined about half rations.
You mean a Seafleet officer like you? a sarcastic voice in his mind sneered. You, who got yourself thrown out, staining the family name?
Paris ignored it. He had been a pretty decent officer in his day. For a while, he imagined his father might have even been proud of him.
Until you ruined everything when you –
Paris mentally took the voice by the throat and strangled it. There wasn't anything he could do about the past. Besides, he had his hands full dealing with the repercussions of his mistake these days. He wasn't surprised that the renegades hated him for betraying their location to Seafleet, but he was annoyed by how much the Seafleeters seemed to resent him. He looked up from his bowl to see several people giving him wary glances. They all immediately turned back to their food when they saw him looking.
At least the captain trusts me, he thought, but it was cold comfort. He forced another bite down with a grimace.
Later that night, well into gamma shift, Captain Janeway came down to the mess deck to get out of the night wind. Other crewmembers must have had the same idea, because all the tables were filled. The Seafleeters occupied the port tables, playing card games or sipping drinks. The renegades likewise filled the starboard tables, repairing their worn out clothing and playing somewhat rowdier dice games. Janeway frowned at the sight. She hadn't expected them all to be friends right from the start, but no one even made an effort to break up this segregation. Well, then perhaps it was up to her. As captain, it was her responsibility to set a good example and demonstrate how they should all get along.
…Or was it? She had been taught at the academy that, as captain, she was expected to maintain a distance from her crew. A kind of professional detachment. Getting friendly with the crew might undermine her authority and since they spent their days at each other's throats that was the last thing she wanted. Fine, then. She'd maintain her distance, leading the crew with a firm, if aloof, hand. She cared about them, and wanted them to know it, but for now, she would just have to treat them fairly and hope that was enough. Personal relationships could wait until they were more unified.
A die, too enthusiastically shaken, flew across the hall and smacked Ensign Ashmore right in the face. Janeway looked up at the yelp of surprise that followed.
"All right, whose is this?" Ashmore shouted, jumping up.
"It's mine," said Crewman Henley, on the other side of the hall. "Guess it got away from me. Toss it here."
She held out her hand, but Ashmore didn't move.
"Where I come from, it's considered good manners to apologize," said the ensign. Henley shrugged.
"You're not hurt. It was an accident. Can I have it back?"
"Not until you apologize. Wouldn't want you to have another 'accident.'"
Henley frowned at Ashmore, who stood with his arms folded.
"Fine, keep it," Henley huffed, turning back to her game.
"Fine. It's probably stolen anyway," Ashmore mumbled. At that, Henley jumped to her feet.
"Say that again," Henley growled, pacing out to the middle of the mess hall. The room had gone quiet and every eye was on them.
"I said, it's probably stolen," said Ashmore. "Everyone knows the renegades are thieves and hoodlums. Going around stealing from civilians, capturing ships, raising hell-"
"Don't talk about it like you know what it's like!" said Henley. "You have no idea-"
"Hey! Calm down!" said Crewman Jurot, stepping between the pair before they could exchange blows. "There's no need for this. We're all on the same side here." She turned to Henley. "Maria, you'd want him to apologize if the same thing happened to you. And Mike,-" she looked at Ashmore - "don't get so bent out of shape next time."
"Fine," said Henley. "I'm sorry."
"Accepted. Here," he said, handing her the die.
"Thank you," she said very pointedly. With one last glare at each other, they walked away and sat at their respective tables. Now that the crisis averted, the conversations in the room broke out again and Jurot let out a sigh of relief.
From her vantage point, Janeway felt the tension in her stomach dissolve. The fact that they could work out their problems was a good sign indeed. Hopefully, becoming unified wouldn't take as long as she thought. She turned and headed back up the ladder.