Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, this is for entertainment purposes only.
A little violence here, don't read if you don't like that sort of thing, but I did rate this thing R.
Don't Mess With A Messy Hess
Okay, I got nailed on that one. The classic 'keep 'em worried, and have nothing happening but them getting worked up' ploy. Not used too much nowadays, mainly because it's so hard to properly pull off. But nobody suspects innocent, proper, Malcolm Reed[1], which makes it so effective. I came in prepared for anything, and he hits me with nothing. Ouch.
It takes about a minute for him to get himself under control, to stop laughing. "If you could've seen your face. I couldn't have asked for anything more than that." Seeing the new look on my face, he sobers. "Don't worry about it, Nic. When I woke up this morning, all my underwear was switched with Ensign Caine's.©" He indicates a small woman who definitely needs garments that if Malcolm were wearing… no, the thought is too ridiculous even for my mind. And when you take into account what a legendary light sleeper Malcolm is…
"Lemme guess. You're thinking…"
"The incorrigible housebreaker, the immortal five-year-old…"
"…Commander Charles Tucker the Third." We make a good chorus. And though a great many people may have thought of the idea, only Himself has the wherewithal to pull it off. If it had happened to anyone else, I wouldn't be so sure, but with Malcolm as the victim (and being in his quarters while it happened), well, only one person we know is that gutsy.[2]
"You know, one day he's going to push it too far, and even that sweet, baby-face innocent smile won't save him."
"Yeah." Malcolm nods, but I can tell he can't see exactly where that point is going to be. "Problem is, he'll just find some other way out of it. He always does."
I know. So far, his best trick is taking responsibility. I know what you're thinking, how does he get out of it if he says he's at fault? Well, people assume it's all okay, then. That revenge would be somehow wrong at that point. This leaves a girl like me frustrated and out of sorts. Other women lust over the possibility of going to bed with Commander Tucker, I lust over the possibility of knocking him off his little pedestal. Though if he knew he was on one he'd probably just jump. I hope when he does, he breaks a toe.
I pack up my things and get ready to head out, when a thought occurs to me. I may not be able to nail Commander Tucker just yet, but even a mild revenge has its charm.
"Oh, Malcolm." I blink innocently, which should give him a big clue. "I hope you used a washable ink on that door, otherwise Captain Archer is going to pitch a fit when he sees it."
His face congeals; I can see he didn't think of that detail. He looks back at the door, and I can see his stomach heading towards his boots.
"Good luck with that, then." I make sure I'm well down the hall before grinning. Don't mess with the master.
Yeah, I know, given what I'm planning I should listen to myself. But pause for a moment and look at all the great dynasties of the past: Greece, Rome, the Montreal Canadiens, they all have one thing in common. None of them are so great anymore. Sure, they had their day, but then someone younger and hungrier than them came along and took over. Problem with number one is that everybody's gunning for you, and given my performance in last year's Great Watergun War[3] Mr. Tucker should be one very worried number one indeed.
Item number three: plasma conduit cleanout. This should be a job for maintenance, but it looks like the commander tried to handle the paperwork himself again, because it doesn't look like anyone's worked on it in a while. Plasma is technically defined as energized matter, which simply means that it is constantly on fire. And anyone who deals with fire on a regular basis will tell you that where there's fire there's residue. Consider a plasma conduit like a giant chimney. If you let that residue build up inside, it's like having a heavy creosote coating on the flue. Sooner or later it's going to ignite, and it's a bitch to put out, if you even can. Remind me to have a word with him, again. I swear, if it were up to him, there would be no paperwork, no requisition orders, nothing. And while that makes a nice fantasy, the reality is that someone has to do the record keeping. The truth is, Commander Tucker is a wonderful leader, but he's a lousy manager. Every now and then though, he makes an attempt at it (probably thinking that he's doing me a favour) and it takes me days to sort out the damage.
Yeah, I know. I should do something absolutely evil regarding the paperwork, right? Well, allow me explain to you why evil people will always be superior to the nice ones: we understand it's not a good thing to screw ourselves over. Sure, it would be pleasant to see that look of helpless desperation on his face as he stares at a bureaucratic snarl, but I'm going to be the one that ends up unsnarling it. I know I am, because I always do. The SIC's job is largely paperwork, so that the CIC doesn't have to be bogged down in it. Take Admiral Forrest for example. Do you think he really spends his days drawing up duty rosters and ordering repairs on Starfleet Headquarters? No. His aides do that stuff for him, leaving him free to do whatever it is that Admirals actually do, like inspiring the troops and looking good for the news cameras.
No, what I have in the back of my mind is far worse than that. With the paperwork scam, people would just feel sorry for him. The whole point of this is for people to laugh at him. Or the very least for him to laugh at himself.
Maybe though… paperwork does have a certain charm. Not paperwork in general, but what it represents. Or rather, what comes through in the paperwork. Hmn… I'll have to consider this.
In the meantime, I have to shut down this conduit, and clean it by hand. It's easier to do while the walls of the pipe are still hot: it reminds me of a job I had back in high-school. Crawling head-first into a still cooking-temperature oven and scrubbing the sides with a combination of noxious, corrosive chemicals that tend to vaporize on first contact, requiring a third and fourth application. Now you can either follow all the safety protocols (filter-mask, heavy gloves, chemical-resistant overcoat), and rotisserie yourself, or you just go in and risk a few burns and a whiff or two of noxious fumes. Conscientiously I have to recommend the first alternative, but tend to default to the second.[4] I think Freud referred to it along the lines of the death-wish, taking risks to prove you're not afraid. Myself, I think it's a case of immediate comfort versus possible future consequence. I'll take mild chem burns over heat-stroke any day. And if Phlox ever hears that, he'll kill me. Get in line, Doc.
It takes about two hours, and when I finally emerge, sweat-soaked and covered in gunk, I am not in a good mood. Which means Corporal Cole has a really lousy sense of timing.
"I don't know what you assholes think you're up to, but I want it to stop. I'm going to Major Hayes, and if necessary Captain Archer, do you understand?" She's covered in something herself, looks like whipped cream with sprinkles. On any other day I'd wonder what she'd been up to (and why she'd head out in public without a shower afterwards) but this being April Fools the explanation is probably a lot more complicated. "In case you haven't noticed this is a serious mission…"
"Look. This is not a good time, and I am not a good person." Right now, I don't give a damn if she is doing the Commander, my opinion of him is not at its highest right now. My temper doesn't have a long fuse at the best of times, and now I'm tired, hot and dirty. I've just spent two hours on a job that should have been done weeks ago, and isn't really my responsibility anyway.
She steps forward in a clear attempt to intimidate.[5] I know her reputation, I've heard all about those training sessions Malcolm and Hayes are working on together, but haven't felt the need to show up. If attacked, it's not me I'm worried about. "I'm sick and tired of you half-assed Starfleet…" Her shoulder tenses and drops slightly, looks like she's getting ready to throw a punch, she's mad enough to do it.
I flick my eyes upward, just over her left shoulder.[6] Reflexively she starts moving that way to see what it is I'm looking at, at which point I nail her with a mae geri (front snap kick) to the shin. Remember the boots I mentioned earlier? Do I need to mention I'm still wearing them? And that all that reinforcing is a nasty thing when it connects at high speed with someone's badly braced shin bone? And that if someone does that to you, 'crack' is not a good thing?
I give her credit for being tough. Air hisses between her teeth, but not much else. On the other hand, her body automatically collapses to protect the injured limb, putting her head in precisely the right place for hiza geri (up), a kick that involves my knee and her nose. Just in case she's stupid enough to keep going, I sweep her now unresisting feet from underneath her, and drop her on her ass. From there, she falls easily enough to her back, and I take the opportunity to plant my foot on her throat. Lightly.
"Like I said, not a good time. I am in a very bad mood right now, and I don't think you'll find a person on this ship who'll back you up at this moment." Commander Tucker won't, his first loyalty is always his own people, and I don't think Hayes will be too happy about the way she went down, either. Personally, neither am I. I should have been able to handle the situation without getting violent, but there are times when brain shuts down and pissed off takes over.[7] If you ever see me getting very, very calm and using small and very simple words that even an idiot could understand, run.
Oh, did I mention I'm black-belt rated in three different martial arts? That while Hesses become lawyers, the VanHelsings off my mother's side tend to be cops? On the ERT squads? That I have five older brothers who wanted me safe, so taught me how to take care of myself? Commander Tucker may have shown up at his sister's school, my brothers made sure they didn't have to.
"Don't say anything. Don't nod, don't shake your head. If you understand me, just blink."
She blinks twice, slowly. The smart, bravado move. Smart, because it shows an understanding that she's beaten. Bravado because she doesn't want me to think she's scared.
"And don't be thinking about getting even. The reason I haven't shown up at your little playground sessions is that I don't want anybody getting hurt. You guys are good, I'll give you that, but I don't think fighting is something you play at. Come at me again and you're going to be a lot more than simply inconvenienced like you are now. Understand?"
She blinks again, this time with a little less sarcasm.
"Good." I take my foot off her throat and page sickbay to come pick her up. I'm not taking her, I've got too much work to do. Right after I shower.
[1] Okay, so I said that I didn't trust him. But I also didn't expect him to pull something like this.
© Thanks to Exploded Pen for this one. You gave me the basic idea. And you thought it wouldn't work…
[2] Or maybe just that stupid. Or impulsive. We're talking a fine line here.
[3] Which is a story for a later time. I promise. No fooling.
[4] However, it comes with a caveat: Anything happens, and you're not compo covered. They don't pay for stupidity.
[5] Not a good idea when you're covered in foodstuffs. Just a hint. ( At least mine is good honest gunk.)
[6] Recall I said stupid? Never ever watch the eyes. A good opponent can fake you out with the eyes anytime. Watch the centre. Once that commits, the body has to follow.
[7]At the same time, when faced with a threat from a well-trained enemy, it's also not a good idea to just stand there and let them take a crack at you. Never start a fight, but that doesn't mean you have to let them hit you.