Middles
Lieutenant Jonathan "Jace" Wright, wearing a standard black-and-yellow Engineering jumpsuit, sifted through the innards of the third Jeffries tube in Environmental Controls that he'd patched together so far today. The Rorshach, as usual, was doing everything within its power to spite him. He was right in the middle, right now, of restoring life support and somewhat normal heating to the lower decks, as the computer had seen it fit to cut both of them out as soon as he'd managed to bring the power relays in Engineering back online. She was a temperamental old girl, the Rorshach was...but Wright wasn't the sort of fellow to give up a fight easily. Especially when his quarrel was with such a stupid, stupid machine.
He slammed his spengler-wrench against the innards of the conduit he was working on, and, as if on command, the little patchwork of new circuits, isolinear chips, and the new gel packs that Maddox had procured sprang to life. Wright flipped the lid for the panel down, grinning victoriously, and kicking out against the plating of the Jeffries tube itself. He glanced up, as if addressing some unknown deity...though, in all actuality, he was simply addressing the ship itself.
"You like that, don't you?" he sneered, "Rotten little masochist, you are, girl. Now, behave yourself, or I'll strip you down for holodeck parts. You hear me?"
As if in direct reaction to his words, the console that Wright had just repaired sparked, exploded, and knocked him down about ten feet back in the tube. He brushed soot and ash from his eyes, and glowered at the now-smoking panel, which the ship's automatic fire controls were putting out. With water. Lots of water. Before Wright knew it, he was drenched, and the console was still spitting sparks, as if in defiance of him.
"Damnit," he spat, inching his way back towards the conduit, "Don't you make me get my belt..."
Before his threats were allowed to persist, his commbadge trilled, and the light, normally cheery, and heavily accented voice of the Rorschach's acting First Officer, and chief Tactical Officer, echoed through the inside of the Jeffries Tube.
"Bridge to Lieutenant Vri...Wr...Wright," she called out, sounding a little concerned, and struggling through her thick Russian accent to get his name right.
"I'm in the middle of something!" Wright responded grumpily, tearing open the console, unleashing another stream of sparks that kicked up into his face, "Can this wait just a few more minutes?"
"The Rorschach," the good Lieutenant explained,"Is scheduled to depart in less than vun hour. The keptin will be aboard in sewenteen minutes, vith our new First Officer, to tour the ship. Vould you like me to diwert another damage control team from security to assist you?"
Wright took a deep breath. The console he approached, for the fourth time that day, sparked its malicious, vindictive guts out in what could be perceived, given the right temperament - or the Wright temperament, as the case was - as laughter, at the Chief Engineer's efforts. Wright smacked it smartly with the wrench in his hands, and sneered at it.
"And there's a lot more where that came from, you impossible little harlot..."
"Impossible little vhat?!?" the Tactical Officer recoiled, the alarm in her voice evident.
"Not you!" Wright snapped, glaring down at his commbadge, and silently mouthing the words I hate machines. His assignment to the Rorschach following his duties as a junior Engineer on the Phoenix must have the means of been some ancient deity of vengeance, poetic justice, or comedy entertaining itself immensely. Whatever god was out there watching him was having a good belly laugh over this right now. Bastard. Wright sighed, and glanced back down at the communicator.
"Lieutenant," he continued, "We're fine down here. I just need a minute to finish overriding the lockout that crewman James triggered by mistake on Deck Four, on his job, switching out a couple control chips, and re-connecting one of the relays, and the stardrive section will be inhabitable again."
"The keptin vill be arriwing shortly," she sighed, "Do you think you'll have it fixed by then?"
"Just give me two minutes!" he snapped, slapping his combadge and cutting the signal.
He had no qualms with Tatiyana, nor with her dedication to ship, captain, and crew. She was possibly one of the most driven, ambitious, and occasionally annoying officers on the ship, but Wright had no problems with her whatsoever. What he couldn't stand were uncooperative plasma conduits that triggered life support shutdowns, computer lockouts, routine system maintenance, sparking consoles, and combadges that chirped and trilled every five minutes, to the point where he could hardly hear himself think.
He switched a few of the control chips in the console itself, smacking one of them into place with the spengler wrench. He lifted his tricorder, transmitting a signal and entering the manual override code.
"Override codes are incorrect," the ship's computer snapped, "Please ensure the Capslock on your tricorder's interface is disengaged."
Wright opened his mouth, about to scream out another string of obscenities, when he realized that the Capslock light was, indeed, on. He must have pressed it by mistake.
"Stupid thing," he snapped, entering the code a second time.
"Access granted," the computer responded.
Lastly, Wright levelled his phaser, fixing the severed relay that was the cause for the environmental controls knockout. When it fused into place, the console hummed one last time, and lit up brilliantly. Wright chuckled triumphantally, and slapped the panel back down over his work.
"That's what I like to hear," he snapped, "Now, behave."
He turned to leave and got about twenty feet when the panel dropped, spewing forth the guts from the whole panel, along with part of the relay from the ship's main power grid, effectively knocking out lights in the Jeffries tube, leaving Wright's path illuminated only by the displays of his tricorder. He growled, and glared back at the mess of wires and chips.
His commbadge trilled again.
"Bridge to Lieutenant Wright!" the Russian lieutenant called again, "Ve seem to have lost main power on Decks twelve through sewenteen. Are you sure you don't vant me to diwert another damage control team to assist?
Wright closed his eyes, sighing deeply.
"I hate machines," he snapped, "Oh, God, do I ever hate machines..."