Author's Note: This delicious tidbit was written by laloga. The name for the female lead, however, was my modest little contribution.
Annoyance
Kase didn't need to check his chrono to know the delivery was late. Thirteen...no, fourteen minutes, to be exact, and he was expected on the bridge in another ten. Even if Pilot Jota arrived immediately, he'd still be late for his rotation, and would have to make up the time at the end of his shift. Which would cut into both the training sim he had planned for Elix that afternoon and the time he'd set aside to deep-clean his kit. In short, the pattern of his entire day was already thrown wildly off-kilter, and there had been no word from the freighter pilot who had never been late before.
He stood at modified parade-rest with two other clones in one of Stalwart's cargo hangars. It was a slow morning; aside from Kase and the men assigned to assist him, there were only a handful of other clones on maintenance duty, tending to a few larties that had accumulated some damage on their last run. Notwithstanding some idle chatter and the occasional clatter of a dropped hydrospanner, the hangar was quiet. Orderly. The broad expanse of space spread before him, behind the energy-shield that kept the vacuum out and breathable air in.
There was no sign of the freighter.
It was illogical to assume that the GAR could accommodate every element needed in the intricate process of supplying its soldiers and other personnel. Therefore, it made sense that private companies who could perform this function, like Rendia Freight, sought contracts with the army, and, naturally, utilized their own labor. However, sometimes – like right now – Kase would have preferred that things be different.
Clone pilots were never tardy, and if they were, Kase could deal with their tardiness in an acceptable manner. There were, after all, regulations to cover every contingency...but only when dealing with GAR personnel. Kase was not certain what, if anything, he could say to a civilian pilot that would adequately convey the extent of the disruption to his duties without overstepping his bounds.
Like all other Venator-class Destroyers, the Stalwart regularly received shipments of the various supplies required for Blazer Corps' day-to-day functionality, and it was one of Kase's duties to see that the supplies arrived intact and that they were disseminated to the proper areas. Commander Gaff, personally, had assigned him to this task, and Kase found it to his liking. Generally.
For a civilian, Pilot Jota, was punctual and professional, and Kase had never known the Bith pilot to be tardy. Such reliability somewhat mitigated the fact that Jota was overly fond of t'bacc and off-color jokes that Kase would hear trickling through the ranks for days after one of Jota's deliveries. But, Kase often asked himself, what more could be expected from civilians? They lived by their own set of rules; each individual either completely unaware of or deliberately recalcitrant towards - he didn't know which was more disturbing - the set laws and regulations the Republic had devised to govern their lives. Erratic, even in the best of circumstances, civilians were a mystery to him, one that he did not think he would ever solve.
Fifteen minutes.
After ensuring his comm was not set to broadcast, Kase let out a long, slow exhale beneath his bucket. Behind him, standing as he was in parade-rest, Ziv and Neely were speaking quietly about the latest modifications Ziv had made to his Deece. From what the captain could tell, the mods were within allowable parameters, so he only half-listened while he scanned the black stretch of space beyond the Stalwart hangar's energy shield.
A light in his HUD began to flash, signaling an incoming transmission from the bridge. "Captain," the comm-officer said. "We've just received word from the delivery pilot. She should be arriving within moments."
She? Before Kase could request clarification, the transmission ended and the captain frowned. He had no knowledge of a new pilot, though he was somewhat gratified to know why the delivery was late. Unknown variables. He shifted into full parade rest, prepared to direct what needed to be a hasty - but tidy - offloading.
"Incoming vessel, sir," Neely said suddenly, drawing Kase's attention.
Sure enough, a ship had appeared at the hangar's entrance, angling for a landing. It was a heavy freighter that looked as though it'd reached its prime decades ago, judging from the chipped paint and the patchwork of different-colored durasteel plates at various points along the hull. Flat and round, like a Corausian manta ray, the freighter settled onto the hangar floor with a hiss of hydraulics, and the boarding ramp began to lower.
Kase signaled his men and all three clones proceeded with brisk steps to the ramp. The pilot was now sixteen minutes late, which meant he had eight minutes until he was supposed to be at the bridge. Kase ran some quick mental calculations and with no further disruptions to the schedule, he would be able to take his place on the bridge not in a timely manner, but certainly punctual enough so that he would not have to cancel any one item on his agenda.
He saw no one at first, and paused at the base of the ramp to peer within the ship; in the past Pilot Jota would generally be waiting with an already-loaded gravsled, which Kase's men could then ease onto the Stalwart. Another of Jota's civilian quirks was that he did not want any others aboard his vessel, which Kase could, in a way, understand. In any case, he was unused to boarding a civvie ship for any reason, and was therefore reluctant to do so now, uncertain as he was of the proper protocol. He had learned enough about civilians by now to understand that GAR regulations could not so easily be adapted to their situation.
A feminine voice called from within the vessel. "Little help, here?"
"Sir?" Neely asked via the comm.
Kase exhaled again. "Proceed."
The ramp shivered with the clones' body-weight, which he filed away for future reference. Rendia Freight often requested surveys be taken of its personnel, to better serve their customers; he would ensure someone knew of the potential safety hazard. Within the main body of the vessel, the cargo bay was, to his relief, neatly organized, with Stalwart's supplies clearly labeled in one corner. There were supplies for the other ships of Blazer Corps, too, and he memorized their relative number and volume in a single sweeping glance, to collate his findings with Quartermaster Braxx's greater manifest later.
Something clanged, and the feminine voice swore. Kase looked over to see a young Human woman bent over a gravsled with Rendia's logo emblazoned on the side. A messy mop of red-gold curls bobbed with her movements, and her skin was the color of milky caf. "Kriffing thing," she muttered, jabbing at the control panel a few times. "Come on...come on. Don't do this again."
Perhaps this, too, accounted for the tardiness. Hoping to speed the situation along, Kase cleared his throat. "Do you require assistance, Pilot?"
Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Damn thing worked the last time," she said, kicking the gravsled with the toe of her boot. "But I keep getting an error message saying it's overheated, even though it hasn't even been on in hours. I would have had your stuff loaded, otherwise."
Her tone was apologetic, but it meant little at this point. Kase glanced at his men. "Fetch a gravsled from Quartermaster Braxx."
Neely turned to go, but Ziv hesitated. "Sir..."
"Is there a problem, trooper?"
"Braxx doesn't like lending out his gravsled," Ziv replied. "Last time we asked, he got a bit..."
"Uppity," Neely supplied.
Ziv nodded quickly. "He said we were going to break his sh–"
An elbow from Neely cut off whatever profanity Ziv was about to utter, but Kase was hardly in the mood for any of this. "Though the gravsled may be assigned to him, all equipment aboard the Stalwart is property of the GAR. Per Regulation thirty-seven point five of the Manual of Operations and Procedures, Quartermaster Braxx is required to lend said property if doing so will facilitate the ship's functionality."
Both men exchange glances, but it was Ziv who spoke. "Uh...what was that reg, sir?"
Neely let out a sigh and Kase narrowed his eyes beneath his bucket. "Thirty-seven point five."
"We've got it, sir," Neely said quickly, nudging his companion again.
As they darted off, Kase looked back at the pilot, who'd straightened. "We'll take it from here, ma'am," he told her as politely as he could, given the circumstances. "If I could just have the manifest...?"
Huffing a little over the malfunctioning gravsled, she did not turn. "The what?"
"The shipping manifest," Kase said slowly, in case she had not heard him correctly. When she only stared at him, he elaborated. "The itemized list of all supplies provided by the GAR, scheduled for transport aboard the Stalwart."
Rather than reply immediately, she wiped her hands on her dark gray flightsuit, a thoughtful look on her face, and Kase had to withhold a surge of irritation. "Oh, that manifest," she said at last. "I think I left it in the cockpit. Do you really need it? I thought it was just a formality. Jota told me you guys always get the same stuff."
Kase shook his head. "Per the arrangement between Rendia Freight and the GAR, all incoming items are to be verified by both pilot," he indicated her, "and a representative from the GAR, in this case, myself."
It was SOP, and, in his mind, the most logical way to handle a business transaction. Kase wondered if she'd slept through whatever sort of training Rendia was supposed to have given its employees, and made another mental note for the survey.
"Kellan," she said.
The word was unfamiliar, and for a moment Kase was too taken aback to do more than blink at her. "I beg your–"
She stepped around the gravsled toward him, hand extended. "My name. It's Kellan L'loga. Not 'pilot.' What's yours?"
Pilot Jota had never introduced himself. The only reason Kase had known the Bith's name was because it was written on the manifest, and it was a system that had served him well. But this, too, was apparently going to change. From this close, he could see Pilot L'loga had applied artificial colorings to her face in the way of some sort of electric-blue around her eyes, as well as something pink on her full lips. Her fingernails, too, had been painted an obnoxiously bright shade of blue. At least, Kase had to assume that it was artificial, for he was unaware of any Near-Human species that possessed such distinctive color traits. A vaguely floral aroma clung to her, though it was mixed with scents of caf and engine coolant.
The overall impression she left was at once wholly feminine and completely, utterly foreign to Kase.
Caught off-guard, he straightened his spine reflexively rather than accept her hand. "CC-9770. Captain Kase."
"Nice to meet you, Kase."
Kase took a deep breath, schooling himself to patience. At this point, his bridge rotation had officially begun two minutes ago, but his commander would not reprimand him for tardiness if the situation was out of his control, which it clearly was. Still, he did not care to have his schedule thrown into disarray, and certainly not due to a lengthy and, in his mind, unnecessary exchange of civilian pleasantries.
Heedless of any of his thoughts, the civvie pilot indicated a nearby doorway. "I'll see if I can hunt down that manifest for you. It should only take a second."
Hunt down? That did not bode well. Kase glanced around the cargo bay; he could see Ziv and Neely approaching with the gravsled, which set him a little bit more at ease, so he looked at the pilot again. "Do you require assistance in locating the manifest?"
"It can't hurt," she said easily. "The cockpit's kind of a mess. I could probably use a second pair of eyes."
On that ominous note, she stepped away from him and began to make her way through the ship, toward what he assumed was the cockpit. Kase glanced at Ziv and Neely, already loading the gravsled. "I will return momentarily," he told them. "See that those supplies make it to the hangar – we will verify them against the manifest when I return."
"Sir, yes, sir," Ziv replied, with far more eagerness than was warranted. Such a tone often signaled sarcasm, but Kase had other, more pressing issues on his mind, so he chose to ignore the potential insubordination. For the moment.
He followed Pilot L'loga through the door at one end of the cargo hold, and found himself in another world. The freighter was not a large vessel, and though he was not familiar with the exact specifications, he knew that most of the Rendia pilots lived aboard their ships. Which would, he supposed, account for the stacks of plasti-baskets set at intervals throughout the corridor that led to the cockpit. The baskets were filled with clothing, more kinds than he'd ever seen in one place. He could not tell if it was clean clothing, the uncertainty of which unsettled him greatly.
In addition to the baskets was a line of filament strung parallel to the corridor's wall, hung with various padded and lace-covered garments that Kase identified as feminine in nature before quickly looking away, lips pursing in quiet disapproval at this unseemly display of personal garments. Ahead of him, striding like she didn't have a care in the galaxy, was the pilot. She reached the cockpit door and cast a look back at Kase, who stood frozen.
"Sorry about the mess," she said, though she didn't sound particularly regretful. "It's laundry day."
The words meant nothing to him. SOP dictated all soiled clothing be processed through a sanitizer stationed in the refreshers, and, circumstances permitting, all clones were to attire themselves in fresh clothing at the beginning of each day cycle. As such, no appropriate response came to his mind, so he shook away his surprise and continued forward, joining her at the cockpit door, albeit with a larger degree of wariness than before. He had the uncomfortable feeling he was not going to like what was on the other side, though the way she'd said 'laundry day' made him think – hope – that perhaps disarray was not the corridor's normal state.
That notion was, unfortunately, eliminated by Pilot L'loga's next words.
"It's a little cluttered now," she said, palming the door open. "But I have a system."
Within was...chaos.
Kase had no other way to quantify the sight that met his eyes. Everywhere he looked was mess; stained and crumpled caf cups were piled beside an overflowing garbage bag that held all manner of plastifoam containers, most with various business logos that Kase figured were food-related. More clothes were draped across the pilot's seat, with the co-pilot's chair almost completely obscured by another basket, this one filled with bottles and tubs of what he realized were toiletries and all manner of cosmetics. A damp towel hung over the arm of the chair, and a toothbrush rested beside the steering column.
Along the floor, surrounding the pilot's chair in a crescent, were stacks upon stacks of datapads, flimsies, and holo-zines, many of which began to slide out of their stacks at her approach. She didn't seem to notice.
"A system," he repeated.
She gave a light chuckle and made her way to the datapads upon the floor, taking a knee and swiping a few errant curls out of her face before she began to rifle through the 'pads. "Yeah. I guess it only makes sense to me, though." Without looking at him, she indicated in the direction of his feet. "Your manifest might be with those flimsies; I keep a lot of work-stuff in the gorg."
Kase glanced down. A ceramic, amphibious gorg sat a few inches from his boots, mouth hanging open and stuffed with flimsies while its webbed feet were splayed, presumably for balance. Though its presence aboard a small freighter was inexplicable, the replica was rather accurate – assuming one did not take into account the garish purple paint. The gorg was also covered with dust and other substances he did not attempt to identify.
"The manifest is generally on a datapad," he said, edging away from the statue.
Pilot L'loga was now seated in the chair, a stack of 'pads in her lap as she scanned each one. "Are you sure?"
There was actually a reg for this, too, but at this point, the only response he could manage was a curt, "Yes."
She did not look up. "Then I guess you should help me look over here."
An icon flashed in his HUD, with an incoming message from Ziv. All the supplies had been unloaded, and were ready for his inspection. That was a relief, at least. Kase checked his chrono and noted with dismay that five minutes had now passed since the beginning of his bridge rotation. He considered sending a quick message to Gaff, but before he could do so, she made a noise of triumph.
"Nevermind; I found it," she said, waving one of the 'pads, which caused several others to clatter to the floor. "Kriff," she swore, placing the manifest back in her lap and bending to retrieve the others.
It took him a moment to mentally plot a course between the piles of detritus to her side, in order to get the manifest out of her possession as quickly as possible. In his haste, he accidentally knocked into one of the stacks of holo-zines, causing them to slither to the floor, slipping under his boots and rendering his footing dangerously unstable. Only by virtue of his honed reflexes was he able to catch himself on the back of the chair and prevent his body from joining the clutter. Gripping the chair lest he nearly fall again, it was an effort for Kase to right himself without slipping. But he managed. Eventually.
When he straightened at last, the pilot was watching him, mouth strangely pursed as if fighting back a laugh. "Are you okay, Kase?"
He most certainly was not. He was past ready to be done with this assignment, and was not about to spend any further time with civvie pleasantries. And she should have addressed him by his rank, not his nickname, when he had extended her the same courtesy.
However, the details of this experience would be reported to Rendia Freight, which meant that any reprimand on his part, now, would be unnecessary and out of order. Hopefully Pilot Jota would return next week and Kase could put this incident behind him.
So instead of answering her, he held out his hand. "Give me the manifest. Please."
Silently, she passed over the datapad, which he tucked into his belt without a glance. "Sorry, again," she said as he stepped – carefully – for the cockpit door. "About the mess, I mean. This was my first run. I'll have your manifest ready next time."
Kase's mouth twisted at her words. Next time. So this was not a single occurrence. He fought the urge to sigh again as he regarded her, considering how best to head off future inconveniences. Gaff had often told him that civvies were more agreeable if they could see one's face, so Kase removed his bucket and tucked it neatly under his arm before he addressed her again. Kellan L'loga was still seated, the detritus scattered around her in a way that would be forever seared into his memory.
"That would be," he searched for an appropriate word, "appreciated."
Nodding, she stood up. The movement was slow and a little halting, and he wondered if she was also trying to avoid a fall. "Need anything else?"
"My men have unloaded our supplies," he told her. "However, I recommend having a tech from Rendia Freight repair your gravsled, to prevent future delays. I would also request that from now on you arrive at your scheduled time," he added, slanting her with a toned-down look of disapproval. She was just a civilian, after all.
Heedless of any annoyance on his part, or perhaps just unconcerned, she smiled. "Will do, Kase. Thanks for the tip."
"Captain," he corrected, unable to help himself.
"Right." She nodded solemnly. "Thanks for the tip, Captain. Take care. See you next week!"
This was said with a smile and a wave, and Kase had the sudden, inexplicable urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was too much, right now, and he was nearly nine minutes late for his bridge duty. Without another word, he slipped out of the cockpit, studiously ignoring the dangling undergarments that decorated the corridor, and hurried for the cargo bay.
Only when his boots touched Stalwart's hangar floor did he allow himself a sigh of relief. Ziv and Neely were busy organizing the crates in order of where they needed to be taken, and Kase approached them, eager to complete this task and proceed with the rest of his day.
Behind him, the freighter's ramp was pulled back into the ship and the engines began to whine. Kase allowed himself another measure of relief to know that the disarray of Pilot L'loga's ship would be far, far away from him – at least for another week.
He withdrew the datapad and activated the screen, and began to scan the information within. Except...
- mascara
- atomically aerated cream if it's on sale
- jerba cheese
- toilet paper
- ion batteries, preferably rechargeable
- namana-scented soap
- toothpaste
- that shampoo that smelled like jaquira fruit
Unfamiliar with most civilian matters he may have been, but even Kase could identify this as a grocery list, and there was nothing else on the 'pad. He shook his head in disbelief.
Kase glanced at the freighter. The repulsors had activated and the vessel was angled for the hangar's entrance, and he realized he didn't have Pilot L'loga's comm-frequency. By the time he comm'd the bridge and got them to contact her, likely she'd be in hyperspace. Maybe he could contact Rendia and have them transmit another manifest, but that would take time. Which was in short supply today.
He could not help himself, and exhaled. Loudly.
This caused both of his subordinates to glance his way. "Everything alright, sir?" Neely asked.
"Fine," was his swift reply. He tucked the datapad in his belt and faced them. "There was no manifest this week, so make a list of all the supplies we received."
Ziv and Neely exchanged looks. "There's always a manifest," Ziv said, glancing between Neely and Kase. "Right?"
Neely nodded sagely. "Always."
"Not this week, trooper."
Kase was now eleven minutes late for bridge duty; likely it would be another half-hour before he made it, given the added burden of cataloging the supplies.
"What happened, sir?" Ziv asked.
There was really only one answer that Kase could give. He shook his head, still unable to comprehend what he'd just witnessed. "Civilians."
Note from laloga: Many, many thanks to impoeia for letting me take Kase out for a spin. I don't think he had fun, but I sure as heck did. ;) Thanks for reading!
