Disclaimer: These are not my characters, at least not most of them. This story is for entertainment purposes only. I hope it works. Please R&R.
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I'm doing it. There is no match for that man when it comes to stubbornness; if ever his head's knocked into the wall, we first look to see how much damage has been done to the wall. Not only that, but he's drinking out of thermos mug today, just goes to show how much he trusts us (okay, probably me). Honestly, if you don't go to bed if you want to beat me… well, you might consider never ever even sitting down if you want to put something past him. While there may be varying opinions as the intellectual capabilities of our beloved leader, let me tell you this: he misses nothing. Unless, of course, you get a beautiful humanoid female (species optional) in front of him. Then you could parade a circus, an army, and an entire cadre of werewolves playing bongo drums past, and he won't notice a thing. Until the day you try it on purpose. Bastard.
Meanwhile, there's me, sitting here in an access conduit, trying to track down a phantom power glitch that never pops up in the same place twice. Item number two on my never ending list (an extra shift? Who is he kidding? I could be here until I mummify and still not get finished) that supposedly is no joke. About partway through, it occurs to me. Slimy son-of-a-bitch is using me to check for traps. Rather than take the risk of running into something himself, he's found a stalking horse that no one else will complain about. Ohh, the nerve of that guy, the insensitivity of that guy, the brains of that guy. As much as I'd like to bash them in, I have to admit I admire his strategy.
This only makes me more resentful, because I didn't think of it first. I of course would have used Bryson and Higgens, which only makes me wonder: what did I do to piss Commander Tucker off? There's nothing I can think of, unless it's my suggestion a few weeks back that we leave him out of it this year in deference to his recent loss. Like Ensign Mayweather, he probably took it as an insult.
Well sorry for respecting you sir, I'll remember not to do that again in the future. Sheesh. Try to do somebody a favour, and look how they repay you. I should've gone for the black mark, it's not like they can send me home now.
Down below I can hear MACO Major Hayes exhorting his men to be faster, tougher, and (given some of his instructions) stupider. If you're questioning the wisdom about holding a practical jokes contest in the middle of a war, I recommend M*A*S*H*. Either the Altman film or the television series will provide sufficient explanation.
I finish up my current task (well, kind of. I don't actually track down the phantom, but I know it's not here anymore), and move on. If His Majesty questions, I'll remind him just who wrote the list and expected it to all get done, and the folly of wasting time on impossible questions when easier ones wait on the test. Actually I'm kind of glad if he's putting himself in the game, because we were worried about him for a bit. Rostov and I actually took turns with a twenty-four hour watch before the Commander finally started sleeping again. People can say what they want about how he did it, but if he sleeps, so can I.
Next stop takes me by the armoury. I'm not quite sure what to expect: technically Lieutenant Reed's people don't qualify under the engineering label, but there's enough overlap in modern weapons systems and modern engineering to make that a very big technical. And honestly, I don't trust Lieutenant Reed too much. It's always the quiet ones that get you, the ones you never think to check. Add in the fact that as Chief of Security he pretty much has access to every part of the ship… Let's just say I'm a little cautious.
Doesn't seem like much here, a door that's not closing properly, but as a veteran of many prank days I've learned that non-closing doors are a very bad thing. Needless to say I'm armoured to the teeth on this one: heavy gloves, hard-hat, rain-slicker (people always forget the basics), and well, my boots.
If you want to identify the engineers[1] on any given ship – Starfleet or no – don't look for any insignia or colour-code on their uniform. Colour codes change all the time, and insignia really don't mean anything. Nope, the dead giveaway is the boots. Most crew wear general-issue boots, you may find security in a combat version. But an engineer's boots… an engineer would rather part with their dominant hand than their boots. Reinforced past the point of apparent practicality with the toughest metal going (simple steel toes went out with the last century), heavy duty slip-resistant, shock-resistant, chemical resistant soles, unbreakable laces with lace-locks, and generally a custom moulded fit. We spend our lives in these boots[2], they've got to be comfortable. Mine have got cage style reinforcing all around the foot with built-in shock absorbers, custom orthotic insoles, lined with the latest in temp controlling moisture wicking fabric, and are definitely water, acid, alkali, and oil repellent. There's mini electromagnets in the outer soles in case of accidental gravity loss. Oh, and they're scuff resistant too. I want to be buried with these boots, I don't even intend to will them to my (future) children.
"I'm sorry, Nic. Given the day, I'm sure you can understand why I'm a little leery about working on this myself." He may be apologetic, but that doesn't make me inclined to trust him.
"Yeah, but why me, Malcolm? I thought we got along okay. Is there any particular reason you figured I should be doing this?"
He looks at me, puzzled. "I didn't pick you. I just sent Commander Tucker a work order. To be honest I'm a little surprised he sent you."
I'm not. "To be honest with you, our esteemed leader is his normal freaky self today. I think he's being passive aggressive and getting back at me for something I said a long time ago. Take my advice, don't insult the man, he saves up."
"Surely not," I can see a smile twitching at his lips. Clearly he's trying to put the aggressive-aggressive image he's got of the Commander and match it up with my more accurate depiction. "I've never once noticed…"
"Believe me. I've got a ten page to-do list, and that's not counting the details. And it's all stuff like this. Prank bait." So far I haven't touched the door, haven't even scanned it. Things like this, it's best to go slow.
The com system chimes. "Hess." Speak of the… "Are you still in the armoury? There's stuff piling up here if you haven't noticed." Coward, he stays hiding on the far side of the intercom. He's not the one in danger of… well, I certainly don't know what.
"I'm working on it, sir. If you would like things to move faster, perhaps I might have some help?" Perhaps you would like to come down here and give me a hand sir? And something a little more than clapping? Futile thoughts, because if he had any inclinations that way he would be here, little control freak that he is.
"I'm sure you can handle it just fine, Hess. That's why I picked you as my SIC."
"You picked me as your SIC because I'm the only one who can understand your handwriting." Malcolm grins again at my mutterings. One good thing about Lieutenant Reed is that I have an ally in keeping Mr. Tucker's ego in check. He'll skewer the Commander first chance too.
"I heard that, Hess. I think I said something earlier about a union ship…" How come he always sounds so reasonable when he's not? How come he always comes out looking like the good guy?
"Well sir, I don't like to bear false witness. But like I said, if you'd like to give me some help here, sir, it's greatly appreciated." Because right now your SIC is starting to feel a little SICK, if you catch my drift.
"I don't think there's anyone more capable of handling it than you, Lieutenant." That voice could smother a legion of flies, it's so honey thick. It's all I can do to keep my hands from heading back to Engineering and strangling him of their own accord. Honestly, sir. I didn't do it intentionally. My hands were completely out of my control. No sir, I don't know how that happened. I'm going to go to my quarters and take a nice rest now, sir. Yeah, like they'd buy that. Well, maybe. They work with him too.
Well, there's not a lot more prevaricating I can do. Carefully I peer around the edge of the door, looking for a problem.
There is none. Nothing holding the door back, no reason why it shouldn't close. I run a quick scan of the software. Nothing. This is going to be one of those days… I close my eyes, trying not to think bad thoughts. There's a slight hiss…
The door closes fine. And on the part that was hidden is written in an impeccable script: April Fools. And Malcolm is laughing his ass off.
[1] Or at least the competent ones.
[2] And occasionally dropping things on them.