He'd barely gotten to sleep with the door chime sounded.
Scott Reynolds opened his eyes, the last vestiges of the dream already fading from memory. It had been a good dream too, one involving Cole wearing nothing but a smile and those sexy black stiletto boots she wore on ... special occasions. Pizza had been involved somehow - real pizza, not that crap the Chef called pizza - and there had been frictionless bedsheets. He wished that he could remember the particulars; it was a damned sight better than most of the dreams he had.
The door chimer buzzed again, incessant and more than a little annoying. Reynolds shot the door a pissy look as he rolled into a sitting position on the narrow slab of plastic Starfleet called a bed. Across from the bunk, the semi-holographic wall hanging that he'd bought on Risa flickered into an endless starfield, suddenly making it appear as if the entire room were suspended in the hard vacuum of space and not buried somewhere on E Deck. Even before she had rotated back Earthside to begin pre-Med courses, Amanda had refused to stay overnight; though she'd never admit it, Scott knew that waking up to nothing but a starfield had freaked her out. She had liked it at ... other times though.
Not for the first time, he reflected that the woman was absolutely insane.
Again the buzzer sounded and Reynolds contemplated throwing a boot at the door. He glanced at the chronometer: 0036 Local. Sonuvabitch, he thought to himself, is it too much to ask for some sleep? Trying to rub the grit from his eyes, he glanced around the clutter that dominated his quarters without noticing much of it. A rack of hardback books covered the port side wall; nearly all were history texts, but a couple of the newer ones were treatises on tactics. Dirty uniforms were piled in a corner, awaiting laundry day, and his personal pulse rifle hung next to the door along with the rest of his combat gear. The rifle's presence always made him grin; according to Starfleet regs, it was supposed to be stored in the Armory along with rest of the weapons aboard.
That regulation had been tossed out once Commander T'Pol had assumed the position of First Officer aboard Endeavour.
One of the Vulcan's first actions was to implement new security policies originally drafted by Lieutenant Commander Reed prior to his death. These policies, now unofficially referred to as the Reed Protocols, required security personnel to be billeted throughout the ship, hence his own quarters here on E deck instead of D Deck where he would normally be. All security personnel were further required to have immediate access to firearms in the event they had to repel unexpected boarders, which explained the presence of the rifle in his quarters. The only lingering concern regarding the Protocols involved unsecured weapons and sloppy security crewmen, but Scott had aggressively combated that by severely punishing anyone who left a weapon unmonitored.
Clambering to his feet, he muttered a curse at whoever was at the door as they buzzed it a fourth time. He smacked his foot against a discarded boot halfway to the door and barely kept himself from falling on his ass in the ensuing near-stumble. Fatigue still clung to him as he staggered the final half-meter to the door; in the fraction of a second after he hit the 'Open' button but before the door moved aside, two things occurred to him.
First, his sleep-starved brain reminded him that he hadn't even tried to find out who it was at the door; for all he knew, it could be the captain dropping by to shoot the shit or possibly Dan Hsiao looking for a stinking card game at oh-dark-thirty. Second, and quite possibly more important, he realized that he was stark naked.
The door slid open.
"Did I catch you a bad time?" Lieutenant Commander Eisler asked coolly after a shocked moment passed. Scott rubbed his eyes, trying hard to think of a reason not to punch the senior officer.
"It's nearly one in the morning, sir," he snapped in response, crossing his arms in defiance to his unclothed condition. "I was asleep." Reynolds frowned as he tried to identify a familiar smell that seemed to hang over the TAC. "Is there something I can do for you, Commander?" Eisler's face hardened further ... if that was possible.
"I want your team on a combat footing in thirty minutes." He turned away.
"What squad, sir?" Scott asked.
"All of them," came the cryptic response as Eisler stalked toward the nearest turbolift. Reynolds shot him a frown and started to back into his quarters when he noticed Gunny Karanja lurking nearby. She gave him one of her patented smirks and he felt himself flush.
Technically she held the rank of Senior Chief Petty Officer, but Anita Karanja had been a Gunnery Sergeant in the MACOs before the integration and anyone who tried to call her anything other than 'Gunny' usually learned first-hand how bad a mistake that was. Standing nearly two meters in height, she was the biggest, blackest, meanest woman Reynolds had ever met; her temper was legendary among the ex-MACO contingent aboard Endeavor, and it was said the only thing worse than pissing her off was amusing her.
She looked pretty damned amused right now, and the cold air on his lower body reminded him why.
"Get the team squared away, Gunny," Scott said with as much authority as a naked man could muster, and retreated into his quarters before she could respond. The door to his quarters slid shut and he leaned his forehead against the cool metal. Please, let me wake up, he prayed silently, knowing it was futile. Let this all have been a bad dream. His eyes abruptly snapped open as his tired brain finally recognized the smell that had covered Eisler.
Blood.
He dressed quickly and was out of his quarters in under five minutes, the rifle slung but loaded and ready for use. Karanja was already in the Armory when he entered, her gear primed for action. She gave him another smirk as he approached.
"Roughnecks should be assembled in another five minutes, sir," she informed him and he nodded. Already several of the senior non-comms were drifting in, their faces betraying no hint of fatigue. Scott felt a flicker of surprise at how quickly they were responding to the alert as he glanced at his senior NCO.
"Any idea what's going on?" he asked Karanja, and she shook her head.
"COB said Eisler and the XO beamed aboard." She replied as Ensign Hayes entered the Armory. "Both were beaten up, XO's in the sickbay." Reynolds frowned at that – he rather liked T'Pol and hated the idea of her being injured. The memory of Captain Tucker's face at Elysium when he thought the Vulcan wouldn't survive still haunted Scott's dreams sometimes.
Lieutenant Commander Eisler breezed into the Armory minutes behind the last of the team, fully geared up and carrying a battered pulse rifle that had clearly seen a lot of use. At a glance, every member of the SecForce – the Roughnecks, as they called themselves – could tell that he seemed more comfortable in the combat armor than he ever had in the Starfleet uniform.
"Five hours ago," the lieutenant commander began without preamble, "the XO and I encountered a rogue Vulcan on the station." Eisler paused briefly as his eyes swept over the silent members of the SecForce. "He injured the commander and came damn close to killing me before escaping." Aside from the newly transferred members of Hayes' Second Squad, the Roughnecks visibly stiffened; despite being Vulcan, T'Pol was well liked for her no-bullshit policies. "Captain Tucker has authorized me to bring him in, so we're going hunting."
"Rules of engagement, sir?" Scott spoke up immediately. He didn't care for the unspoken hint that Eisler would be commanding the Roughnecks when it was Reynolds' job. The TAC gave him a brief feral smile.
"We will be utilizing ... MACO diplomacy," the lieutenant commander said in response.
"So that means set your weapons to stun," Karanja interjected and several of the senior non-comms snickered at the old joke. Eisler nodded briefly to her before continuing.
"The target is in the Orion Quarter." That caused some brief ripples of surprise. "So bio-masks are to be worn at all times." He locked eyes with Scott as he finished. "We leave in ten minutes."
"Sir, we'll need a CQ," Karanja abruptly said from Reynolds' side, her voice soft, and Scott nodded absently. Having someone stay aboard Endeavor and be 'charge of quarters' wasn't entirely necessary but he suspected she had an ulterior motive, one that he agreed with.
"Recommendations?" he asked, using his official 'I know what you're up to' voice, and she smirked again.
"Ensign Hayes isn't checked out with all of the gear, ell-tee." It wasn't exactly a lie. Unsaid was her concern that the green ensign wasn't yet field-tested.
"Agreed," Scott said in response. The symmetry of it all felt weird to him: Major Hayes had looked out for him in the Expanse out of respect for Scott's dad, and now Reynolds was doing the same for the major's son. "Get everyone squared away, Gunny."
"Hoo-rah, sir." Moving with that frightening grace, Karanja turned away as Scott crooked his finger at Hayes in a clear 'come here' gesture.
"Drop your gear, Hayes," Reynolds told the ensign once the younger man responded. "You're on CQ."
"Sir," Hayes started to complain and Scott pinned him with an unyielding look.
"That's an order, Ensign." Hayes very nearly snapped to attention.
"Yes sir," he said sullenly. With a slight frown on his face, Reynolds watched him march away.
"What about the commander?" Karanja asked suddenly, her voice so close to Scott's ear that he jumped before giving her a glare. For someone her size she could move entirely too quietly, and the crooked smile on her face told him that she had sneaked up on him purposely.
"I was just about to ask him before you tried to give me a damned heart attack," he hissed as she flashed her predatory grin at him. Without another word, he approached the TAC.
"From your gear," Reynolds said without a trace of emotion on his face, "can I assume you'll be joining my team, sir?" Eisler gave him a look, recognizing the not-so-hidden meaning. For a moment, Scott halfway expected the senior officer to declare his intent to lead, thus interfering with the team's chain of command.
"That would be correct, Lieutenant," Eisler replied. He paused for a fractional moment before continuing. "What squad do you recommend I attach myself to?" Scott nearly sighed in relief as he recognized the olive branch being offered: there would be no pissing contest after all.
"Second squad, sir." Scott nodded to the appropriate group. "Ensign Hayes will be pulling CQ duties, so Chief Gray is senior."
"You know your team better than I do, Lieutenant," the tactical officer said as he turned toward the waiting Second Squad. Hefting his rifle, Eisler readjusted his tactical vest, then said without turning, "Let's go hunting."