A/N: Hello, nothing to see here! Just junior officers behaving badly and my lame attempts at humor! One thing that slightly irks me about TNG especially is their insistence that the crew only consumes high-brow entertainment (smooth jazz concerts, opera, Shakespeare, etc). I feel like if any crew is gonna enjoy the low-brow, bottom of the barrel stuff, it's definitely this crew. Furthermore, as a twenty-something myself, I gotta say that there's only one result you can expect when over half the crew is below twenty-five with limited life experience.
This chapter introduces the beta cast for the rest of the season. It's low stakes and it's not really related to the rest of the plot, but I love a good crack episode. Kelby, Hess, and Novakovich will be joining the main cast following commissioning. Rostov and Kelly were the two engineering crewmen trapped by the life form in Vox Sola. Hutchison is the guy who's always sitting in the pilot's seat when Travis isn't there. Westminster, Bennett, Nguyen, and the Rosners are all OCs.
Crewman Galloway is another OC from a short ATP story that I posted a long time ago here called A Day in the Life of Crewman Galloway. The plot points of this fic are referenced here. I also riff off of Shattering Stone Tablets Redux, which was a fic where I created the fictional ten commandments of ENT fics and tried to break them all. Also snuck in a John Mulaney reference in here, because it just fit way too well.
Another note about the Rosners-I grew up Jewish, and never saw myself in the media as a kid. For me, it's important to write a story that's reflective of the diverse world we live in.
Cut for time: a subplot about the MACOs trying to complete a ridiculous scavenger hunt. Maybe later in the season. Ch11 will be another funny episode. I'm also excited for next update, because it's a Troshi episode, but also Travis-centric.
Season Five
Episode Seven: The Long Haul
Petty Officer Michael Rostov's personal log, November 2nd, 2155: We've been on course for the Coridan system for the past month solid without any stops. If what Hutchison says is true, we've still got about two and a half weeks to go. I think I speak for myself and the rest of the crew when I say that I'm sure I'll go insane long before then.
A few minutes into the start of alpha shift, Ensign Rebecca Westminster strode through the corridors of the Enterprise on a mission, her arms laden with PADDs.
Sometime in the middle of the night, they'd passed Echo Seven, a subspace amplifier that had been dropped months before by the NX-03 Cochrane, and were inundated with letters from home. Lieutenant Sato, who'd had the conn at the time, spent hours organizing them, sorting them by priority and by deck, but had left the actual work of distribution to the next shift. Rebecca was loath to admit that these days most of her duties included sorting mail, running diagnostics on the UT, and twiddling her thumbs at the communications console. It had been a slow couple of weeks of continuous travel, and they hadn't so much as crossed paths with anyone, not even an ECS freighter.
She was going on her fifth month on board, and had yet to see very much action, which she was secretly grateful for. All of the new crewmen had heard stories of the horrors of the Expanse, how a quarter of the crew had died, how they had gone months feeling as if their doom was waiting around every corner. If they were anything like her, they'd known the bare bones of it from watching the news, but once they sat down for their first protocol briefing at STC, it had suddenly become real.
There were so many new rules. In the absence of an alternative, always sacrifice your life to save that of a more senior officer. In a hostage situation never negotiate with a hostile party. Only begin a tactical engagement when all avenues to peace have been exhausted. Choose to die rather than reveal privileged Starfleet intelligence. All of these were situations she prayed she'd never have to experience as a communications officer.
That wasn't to say she didn't know the risks of a deep space assignment; in fact, that had somewhat factored into her decision. Rebecca had been just short of being awarded her xenolinguistics tenure at Princeton when she realized that something was missing. By and large, she'd never taken a chance, she'd never gone out of her comfort zone, she'd never done anything memorable. So she'd decided to go for a career change, contacting Admiral Gardner directly in San Francisco.
She was enjoying herself so far; their department was small and tight-knit, being just herself, Ensign Singh, and Lieutenant Sato, each rotating through the shifts in the day. Quickly, she learned the habits of the crew: the Captain received biweekly encrypted transmissions from the High Command, which were routed directly to her ready room; their resident Denobulans, who were part of the same obscenely large family and probably received the most correspondence out of anyone on board, preferred to have their messages sent to their headsets so they could talk while they worked; and Ensign Keeley needed her video messages backed up because her baby was just now learning to walk back on Earth, and she wanted to save them for posterity. She knew everyone's face and everyone's name, their comm habits, and where they usually were during any given part of the day.
All of these things made tracking people down on mail day easier.
"Crewman Bennett!" She cried out as she rounded the corner, catching the gamma shift armory lead by surprise. Rebecca skidded to a halt, tightening her arms around the mountain of PADDs she was carrying, striving mightily not to drop any of them. "Go ahead, it's on the top."
Shelby blinked slowly, no doubt exhausted from having been on her feet all night. "Who's it from this time?"
"Your sister in San Juan, and Admiral Houghton asking if you'd reconsider joining the armory team for the Daedalus design project."
She retrieved the PADD and began to scroll through the messages. "Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards. Did you know they've been trying to get me over there for years?"
"I didn't," she confessed, shifting from foot to foot. "I'd look into it if I were you. It could be an amazing opportunity, even if the hull design for this next class of ships is ugly as homemade sin."
They both laughed at that, and Rebecca moved off, slowly divesting herself of PADDs as she worked her way further and further into the lower decks. She would pass them into people's hands, leave them propped up against closed doors, slide them into work stations, slowly leaving a trail of correspondence all over the ship. Eventually, she found herself with just a handful left, standing in front of the hatch that led into the engine room. She could hear the rush of conversation from inside; engineering was always chaotic no matter the time of day, and it was hard enough to hear over the drone of the machinery, let alone get anyone to stand still for more than a couple seconds. Taking a deep breath, she hit the button and stepped across the threshold into the room.
The first person she saw was Lieutenant Commander Hess, leaning against the railing of the warp engine console, shouting orders to someone in the upper level. She was frustrated, waving her hands, having to repeat herself multiple times to be heard over the sound of a welder working somewhere in the room.
Anna was easily the tallest woman on the ship at a touch over six feet, with a close crop of red hair and an explosive temper. She was known for being a little rough around the edges, but her work was immaculate and her supervisory skills unparalleled, so she mostly avoided a reprimand. At first Rebecca found her intimidating, but they bonded over the fact that she could speak German, Anna's first language, and soon they were fast friends.
Eventually the object of her disdain reached over the railing and tossed a hyperspanner through the air, which she caught with one hand, barely sparing a glance in their direction. Two figures cut through the smoke on the upper level to reach her; the first slid down the ladder with practiced ease, barely making contact with the rungs, while the other was incredibly careful, taking every step on the way down. She immediately recognized Rostov and Kelly; as they stepped up to their CO, she shouted, "I swear, you two must be sharing one brain cell! Get it together, and rotate the plasma injectors correctly this time!"
The overpowering grinding noise stopped, and Rebecca could now hear music coming from the overhead speakers; some country singer of Earth's bygone boomer era was wailing away about being a rhinestone cowboy, clearly a piece from Commander Tucker's selection of music. Even so, the man of the hour seemed markedly absent, so she wondered what was going on. Slowly, she approached them, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of Hess's wrath.
"Anna, you know as well as I do that the tuning parameters will shift continuously while we're at warp. The best I can give you is an educated guess, and if we're even a decimal place off on our initial calculations, there's only a one in one hundred and twenty chance we'll be correct," Rostov explained, hurriedly rolling up his sleeves. It was always hot in engineering no matter how hard the climate controls worked, and Rebecca was already sweating.
"Then find a way to make a better guess. I can't sit around all day waiting for you." She took a step off the platform and leaned over, pressing the end of the spanner into his chest. "And that's Lieutenant Commander Hess to you."
"But only when you're angry," Janelle said, and she could hear the smile in her voice. Anna shrugged and held up her hands in silent acquiescence.
"How can you all stand to listen to this music all day? It sounds like a Nashville honky-tonk in here," Rebecca called out, looking from side to side to confirm that Tucker was nowhere to be found.
The three of them finally seemed to notice she'd been standing there and turned to face her. Anna leaned heavily into the railing and assured her, "That's what I said! A couple weeks ago, I asked Chief about playing some music in here, just to keep the crew occupied during the long haul. I had no idea we'd hear the same twenty country songs on repeat several times a week."
Michael narrowed his eyes at her. "So it was your fault."
"In my defense, the other day I asked him if we could get a little more variety."
"Is that what you actually said?"
"I told him that the crew could only listen to Big Iron so many times before they went ballistic. And by the crew, I meant me," she explained. "He told me I needed a little more culture, that we weren't just going to listen to europop all day."
"Anything would be better than this," Crewman Kelly complained. "And I thought it was bad the day he let Ensign Almack play his originals."
"That man should not be let anywhere near a synthesizer." Anna stepped around them and reached out to Rebecca, accepting the PADD she was offered. Her partner Max was a warp drive attendant aboard the Columbia and wrote with dependable frequency, in spite of the fact that they were presently poking around the Melona system looking for potentially habitable worlds in deep space for colonization. Switching on the screen, she confirmed who it was from and smiled to herself, if only for a passing second. She pointed to her companions. "Don't listen to them. They secretly love this playlist. They do a pretty good rendition of Islands in the Stream."
Rebecca had to laugh at that. "Really? Who sings Kenny's part?"
"I'm Kenny," they both said at the same time, then dealt one another nearly identical annoyed looks.
"I'd give just about anything to have a bit of excitement on the bridge right now. It's just the sound of people pushing buttons and the Captain and the Commodore bickering."
Janelle raised her eyebrows. "Don't jinx us like that, Becca. I'm serious."
"Boring is better for us," Anna confirmed, "I don't know if you've heard, but engineering is the first thing to go up in smoke during a firefight. We've got about a hundred fire extinguishers stashed in here."
"She's not kidding." Michael gestured towards the stack of PADDs she was carrying. "Anything from home for me?"
"Sorry, not this time. We'll be passing Echo Eight in about a week. Should have a better chance then. I do have one for Kelby, though, have you seen him?"
Anna turned her head and nodded in the direction of the far corner of the room. "He's in there talking about contingency plans with the Chief. There's talk about the Captain ordering us up to warp six to make our rendezvous at Coridan. We keep having to tell her that it's a warp six engine on paper."
She grimaced and tucked the PADD underneath her arm. Kelby was likely to be in there for a while. "Guess I'll be swinging by his quarters a little later."
Rostov stepped up to her, sweeping his hair out of his eyes, leaving a giant stripe of grease across his forehead. Michael was a short, stocky man with expressive eyes and a perpetually goofy manner about him. He was constantly joking around and having a good time, and Rebecca would never tell him for fear of giving him a big head, but she counted him among her favorite crewmen aboard. He was perhaps the ship's most accomplished poker player, the best drinking companion, the most salacious gossip. He was loved by most, if not tolerated by all. And at the moment, he had an extremely pressing question for her.
"Have you been hearing any whisperings of the armory's next move? Or navigation? Or those nerds down in the sciences?"
Rebecca shook her head. "You know communications is a neutral third party."
"What does that have to do with it? Aren't you pulling for engineering?"
In a manner of speaking, she supposed he was right. Over the past month, the various departments of the ship had been locked in a seemingly unending prank war. It was petty, it was juvenile, but it was keeping them sane.
The entire ordeal had kicked off when Lieutenant Novakovich, for reasons unknown to all, greased every single barbell and piece of exercise equipment in the MACO training room. Apparently, Sergeant Cole had gone to do a pull-up on the bar and wound up on the floor with the wind knocked out of her. A quick check of the security cameras had revealed their culprit, and it was only a matter of time before Ensign Taxa mobilized her forces to move everything in the science laboratories about five centimeters to the left, including the countertops and pictures on the wall.
Acting on false information fed to them by Travis Mayweather, sciences retaliated against engineering by filling Commander Tucker's office with hundreds of balled-up cloth napkins from the mess hall, leaving about a half meter of space between the top of the pile and the ceiling. Engineering had naturally assumed the culprit was their long-term rivals in the armory, and the rest, as they say, had been history.
Even a loose coalition of operations staff had been formed, made up of representatives from maintenance, the mess hall stewards, and the quartermaster's domain. They had committed some of the more devious pranks, shortening the hems of the navigators' uniforms by a few centimeters every week until they were all wearing high waters, serving Commander Tucker decaf, and rigging doorways to close only partially or not at all. As the communications department only numbered three, Hoshi had determined that it would be a horrible idea for them to participate, and so they acted as silent observers, and occasionally judges, informally deciding who had won the week.
That didn't stop spokesmen from various departments from making personal appeals, however.
"I'm sorry, Misha. You know I can't tell you that the MACOs are planning something big tonight."
His eyes lit up with recognition, and he opened his mouth to thank her.
"Nor could I tell you that the armory is planning to move against navigators sometime in the near future."
"So much for impartiality," Anna said, "I wish I could be a fly on the wall for half the communications on this ship."
"Trust me, I've seen some crazy stuff."
"Why don't you come to poker night at 2000 hours? Janelle's hosting." He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I managed to come into possession of some Andorian ale."
"That stuff burns like hell," Crewman Kelly protested. "It probably takes a year off your life every time you take a sip."
"We're here for a good time, not a long time. What do you say, Becca?"
She wasn't so sure. She'd heard rumors of engineering's poker nights, how wild they could get, and the misadventures that often ensued. Since joining the crew, her sleep schedule had been way out of whack. She felt ancient, when in reality she was still quite young. Still, a little fun never hurt anybody...right?
"I'll be there. Anything I should bring?"
"Some snacks," Janelle said at the same time Michael said, "More liquor."
With a laugh, she bid them farewell and retreated to the exit, with a few more stops to make before her rounds would be complete.
Rebecca swept into the science laboratories on E Deck a half hour later with just one more PADD to deliver. It was sometimes difficult to track down Lieutenant Cutler's brigade, as they were more often than not studying the sensor array, lurking around the situation room, or hiding in some far-flung corner of the ship trying to catch up on their technical journals. Most of them were non-commissioned scientists working on their Ph.D.'s, but a few were officers who split their time between the bridge and the lab space.
The room was long and arc-shaped, making up the bottom left aft curve of the ship. Lab benches were arranged in rows, each laden with instruments, measuring tools, and the odd piece of machinery. Crewman Marceline, their resident exobiologist, had staked her claim to the entire section of the wall nearest the door, including a large computer display and an old school whiteboard. As she walked past, Rebecca paused to admire her newest charge, a large toad with multicolored spots and a half dozen eyes.
Ensign Farrokh, a meteorologist by trade, had built a miniature tornado inside a fume hood on his desk, studying how funnel clouds formed when exposed to the varying wind patterns they'd come across on different worlds during their mission. She'd had lunch with him once, and listened as he excitedly described the planetary dust storms on Vulcan which spanned entire continents. When they'd visited Andoria, he had nearly created a blizzard at his station trying to mimic the weather patterns from his scans, knocking out power to half a deck.
Towards the end of the room, she passed Crewman Carvalho's desk, which was laden with countless textbooks and notepads and entire reams of paper covered with equations relating to quantum mechanics. Susana's preference for working the old fashioned way was a continued point of contention between her and Lieutenant Cutler, who had difficulty procuring enough paper to stay ahead of her studies.
At the far end of the room, several crewmen were gathered around the hermetically sealed test chamber, which was known to host vaccine trials and armory blast tests. As she drew closer, Ensign Jack Hutchison turned from where he sat on a bench, waving.
Mr. Mayweather's second was fun-loving and easygoing, with a crooked smile and a heavy upper midwestern accent. He never seemed to take anything too seriously; he reminded her of a couple neighborhood burnouts she'd known back in her hometown. Second to Rostov, he was probably the most well-known member of the junior staff, and most if not all called him by his nickname.
"What are you doing all the way down here, Hutch? Get lost on the way to the mess hall?"
He scoffed and shook his head, gesturing to the scene unfolding before them. "Schadenfreude."
Lieutenant Novakovich turned at that moment to face her, one hand pressed against the access panel leading into the test chamber. He leaned into it, striking a casual pose. "Good morning, Becca! Any news from the homefront?"
"A letter from your aunt in Belgrade," she replied, holding out the final PADD in her round of deliveries.
Ethan didn't so much as move from where he stood. "Oh! Um...leave it there. Right on the table."
She gave him a curious look, but complied, stepping closer to get a sense of what kind of experiment they were running at the moment. The keyhole window was completely frozen over, obscuring her view of the inside.
"We're freeze drying some plant specimens for Dr. Phlox that we picked up from Betazed. Apparently they've got some kind of medicinal properties. Anticoagulation, or something like that. I wasn't paying that much attention."
"We?"
"We were, until this happened," Crewman Rosner appeared from around the corner, toting a cup of water. She came to stand between them and placed her hand on her hip, tapping her toes on the deck plating expectantly.
Miriam was one of the newest additions to the science team; she along with her husband, Joseph, were computer scientists charged with upgrading the mainframe to the next generation of sub-processors. They'd both left prestigious teaching positions to join the Enterprise; technically, they were the first married couple to serve together in Starfleet, and to that effect, had become parental figures to many younger members of the crew.
That had to make Novakovich's situation all the more embarrassing.
"Wait," Rebecca interrupted, suddenly putting two and two together. "Is your hand stuck?"
Ethan nodded ruefully. "Has been for the past couple of minutes. I tried to pull it off and I'm pretty sure I lost the outermost layer of skin."
"I told him he needed to use cryogenic gloves while he programmed the cooling sequence. The outer walls freeze first, including the controls." She paused. "I should know, I just rewired the chamber into the shipwide auto-sanitization protocols."
"And I told her that I've done a hundred experiments using this chamber before. My hands were wet, and I guess I wasn't expecting it to get this cold this quickly. There's not a lot of surface area on these sample containers." He sighed and attempted to pull his hand out once more, only to be overcome by pain a few seconds later.
"And what are you doing here, Hutch? Surely it doesn't take two people to get a man's hand unstuck."
He shrugged. "Just doing my rounds. Seeing what kind of trouble I could get into."
Rebecca laughed, making a big show of using her hand to shield the side of her face from him. She pointed in his direction, then to Miriam, whispering, "Is this guy bothering you?"
"Not at the moment," she replied, "Come back in an hour and that might change."
"Come on, Rosner. I know you love when I visit. Can't say the same for Westminster here. Every time we're on bridge duty together, I just know she turns down her hearing aids so she doesn't have to listen to me."
"I definitely do that," she assured him with a smile. Rebecca had lost her ability to hear due to a childhood sickness, but regained it as a teenager due to recent advancements in technology. She'd had to endure some ableist abuse during her academic career from people who apparently found the idea of a deaf language specialist amusing, but in reality, her life was perfectly normal and she had no complaints.
"So what do you say about Shabbat dinner tonight?" Miriam asked, looking between the three of them. "I have it on good authority that the Captain and the Commodore will be there."
The Rosners had taken to hosting a weekly meal in the mess hall in accordance with their religious observances; because everyone on board worked six days a week in a staggered schedule, they thought it would be a good idea to remind the crew to use their time off to relax, to spend it in quiet contemplation and in the company of good friends. Rebecca always enjoyed it. She found it was the closest thing to spending time with her family that she could achieve out in deep space. Tonight, though…
"I'm sorry, Miriam. I'm afraid I've got plans." Beside her, Hutch was nodding.
"Poker night," she said sagely, already guessing where their night was heading. "I understand. Don't get into too much trouble."
"What do you define as too much trouble?"
"Probably call things off just short of being court martialed," she replied with a wink.
"I'll be there," Ethan reassured her, "I'll even help set the table if you get me out of here in the next few seconds. I've lost feeling in my fingers."
She laughed and stepped forward, starting to dribble warm water over his hand.
"Could be worse, right Novakovich?" Hutch called out.
He glanced over his shoulder, delivering him a reproachful glare. Ethan had nearly been the first casualty of Enterprise's mission four years ago, having almost met his demise while on an away mission to a planet which held a particularly lethal strain of psychotropic pollen. He still bore the scars to prove it where the twigs and leaves had become embedded in his skin. Even after he'd formally commissioned, he was still ribbed about it, and occasionally grew tired enough of it to snap back.
"Wait until I'm outta here, I'll come over there and make it worse," he threatened, curling the fingers of his free hand into a fist. The two of them laughed.
"I think that's my cue to leave," Rebecca said, retreating back to the main entrance, shaking her head with amusement.
Rebecca arrived in the engineering non-com block at precisely 2000 hours, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. She struggled a bit to activate the doorbell, but eventually hit it with her elbow, causing all conversation inside to momentarily cease.
Crewman Kelly greeted her at the door, dressed casually, with her hair loose around her shoulders. During duty hours, Janelle was usually all business, so it was a welcome change of pace to receive a warm hug from her.
The second creature she came across was her Boston terrier, Bruiser, with his comically squished face and round belly from constantly receiving treats from the crew during their walks. Apparently, during their six months of leave, Janelle's parents had moved into a condo which didn't allow pets, so she'd had to take him with her, easily making an emotional plea to the Commodore based on the fact that there was already another dog aboard. Bruiser and Porthos became fast friends, however, and it wasn't unusual for them to meet in the mess hall for a play date.
Janelle took the goods off her hands while she leaned down to pat Bruiser on the head, calling out to Rostov, "See? Rebecca knows how to class this place up."
Misha held up his hands in mock surrender, gesturing to the collection of beer bottles, wine coolers, and alien liquors spread across the floor. Serving on a starship meant everything had to be rationed, so nothing could ever be procured in large quantities. "I'm afraid classy isn't in our vocabulary."
"Where's Lucia?" She asked, referring to Janelle's bunkmate, Crewman Rossi.
"Gamma shift," she replied, sitting on the floor with some difficulty. "Glad that's not me. Middle of the night is when all the weird stuff happens."
"And none of the senior COs happen to be awake," Anna called out from the top bunk, where she was shuffling and reshuffling her cards. She wore a visor, and was seeming to take her role of dealer with as much formality as a professional in Vegas. "Been there, done that."
Jack Hutchison sat across from Janelle, seemingly already a drink or two in. "Hey there, Hutch," she said, sliding into an opening in the circle beside him. "Did Novakovich finally get unstuck?"
He laughed. "Took him about ten more minutes, all the while Rosner was bugging him. I ask you, what's the point of pranking the science department when they already do it so well to themselves?"
At that moment the door chimed and Janelle stood to answer it, ushering in James Nguyen, their resident torpedo specialist. He looked unsure of himself, but lit up when Kelly wrapped him in a hug, nodding to each of them over her shoulder.
She was surprised to see him there; in all of their previous interactions, the only impression she'd really gotten from Ensign Nguyen was that he was very quiet, very serious, and very focused on his work, all qualities that had allowed him to rise through the ranks of the armory fairly quickly.
"Jimmy, you made it! I gotta say, I didn't think you would," Rostov admitted, passing him a beer as he joined them on the floor.
"Me neither. We're doing a complete overhaul of the tactical alert system. I didn't know how many alarm tones existed in the universe until today. Mr. Reed was determined to go through every single one and discuss their merits. I swear to you half of them sounded identical," he confessed.
"I'll never understand that man," Anna said wistfully as she climbed down from the top bunk. With one hand, she overturned a cloth bag, sending poker chips scattering across the floor. She settled in beside Rebecca, dealing out two cards to each player face down.
"Few do, and I'm not sure he even understands himself," Jimmy admitted, proceeding to count out his chips. "What's the game tonight?"
"Plain old Texas hold 'em to start, no tricks, no twists. We've got new players tonight. No need to get too crazy." Anna glanced towards Rebecca.
"Actually-" Misha held his arms out and everyone ceased moving around the circle for a moment. "Why don't we start with an icebreaker?"
"What do you have in mind?" With some effort, Janelle uncorked the wine bottle and took a long swig, handing it to Rebecca.
Now that was something she hadn't done since college. She took a drink and passed it back to her.
"Fancy a game of never have I ever?"
"What is this, high school?" Anna asked indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly dismayed at the thought of her poker game getting delayed.
"Tell me, Hess, have you always been this deathly allergic to fun?" He uncapped the flask of Andorian ale and raised it towards the group. "The rules are simple: say something you haven't done, and if anyone here has done it, they have to drink. No explanations necessary, unless they feel the need to share."
Rebecca shrugged. It seemed harmless enough, and she had been looking for an opportunity to bond with more of the crew. "Why not? I'm in."
There was a chorus of nods around the circle. Michael elbowed Jimmy in the ribs and raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to go first. He nodded, taking in a slow breath, appearing very deep in thought for a moment. Finally, he spoke: "Never have I ever gotten suspended ten feet up in the air by a gelatinous life form trying to suck the consciousness out of me."
Michael rolled his eyes. "That's a low blow," he protested, but he and Janelle drank anyway. Rebecca hadn't been there, but she'd heard stories about a particular run in with the Kreetassans during the first year of their mission. Somehow, an alien creature had snuck aboard and taken up residence in the cargo bay, and had proceeded to capture every crewmember it could until Lieutenant Sato had found some way to communicate with it. Both of them had nearly died, but that was years ago, and these days they wore it like a badge of honor, though they were the target of many jokes among the junior staff because of it.
Janelle was next. "Never have I ever faked being sick to get out of a duty shift."
"Does it count if you were called out for faking it?"
"If you have to ask, you have to drink, Misha."
He complied. "It was my fifth gamma shift in a row while we were in the Expanse, and I was practically asleep on my feet. I told Tucker I had a migraine, and he sent me to Phlox. I think the doctor understood what was going on. I got a lecture about getting enough sleep and managing stress, but he gave me the approval."
"Good old Phlox," Hutch mused, studying the contents of his glass. "I've got one. Never have I ever broken into the kitchen to sneak something extra while Chef wasn't there."
This time more people drank, in fact everyone but Hutch and Nguyen. Pointing at him from across the circle, Rebecca accused him: "You're lying. Not even a second helping of dinner? Not even an extra slice of cake?"
He shook his head. "I eat what gets put in front of me."
"Very pragmatic. I respect that." Anna finally set her cards aside. "Never have I ever caught the senior officers in a place they don't belong."
"Meaning what?"
"You know what I mean."
"Oh, now it's getting interesting," Rostov mumbled. For one long moment, they all looked between one another, waiting for someone to make a move, until finally Jimmy and Janelle drank.
This time the group erupted in laughter. Anna reached towards Ensign Nguyen with her palm open, encouraging, "Jimmy?"
"Absolutely not," he replied impassively, avoiding eye contact with the group. "I won't reveal who I'm talking about."
"I think we all know who it is," Hutch said with a rather obvious wink, reaching into the bowl of chips at the center of the circle.
It was the worst kept secret on the ship that their senior tactical officers were romantically involved. As their second, Jimmy was the one people usually came to seeking to confirm the rumors they'd been hearing, but he'd always shot them down, saying there was no truth to them. After all, he'd never seen them so much as touch, and though Ensign Taxa did flirt rather shamelessly, she did that with most of the senior staff. He understood it to be a characteristic of her species. They were both too duty-oriented, too focused on protocol to ever cross that line.
He had gone on believing that until the week before, when he'd come into the armory at a stroke past 0200, seeking to catch up on some work that had been keeping him up that night. He entered through the upper level in the far corner and turned his attention to the console which housed the targeting array.
Ensign Taxa was there, her headset in, hard at work on the electrical housing unit at the base of one of the torpedo launchers. It wasn't the first time he'd found her here late at night; typically, she'd be wearing one of their standard issue NX-01 baseball caps, and her coveralls would be unzipped halfway, the sleeves tied around her waist in a knot. More often than not, she would have the sleeves to her black thermal undershirt rolled up and be covered in grease up to her elbows. She would be singing quietly to herself, moving from side to side, entirely focused on her work. He suspected that this was the time she reserved for experimentation, for her own personal projects, when she wasn't focused on training the MACOs or making sure the Commodore didn't run into trouble during the day.
He heard the doors open, and he was expecting to see Crewman Bennett, who often split her time on gamma shift between there and the bridge. Instead, Lieutenant Commander Reed entered the room, and he could hear them talking, but couldn't quite make out what they were saying. He glanced back over his shoulder only to see him step up behind her, encircling her waist with his arms, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. Taxa was laughing, pushing him, breaking free and moving away. In one swift motion, he caught her hand and drew her in, pulling her close.
Jimmy realized they didn't know he was there and began to plot his escape. They'd surely hear the hatch open into the corridor, but he couldn't stay where he was for risk of being caught. As he sank down behind a pillar, he caught a glimpse of the two of them disappearing into a weapons locker, and he seized his opportunity to get the hell out of there.
The next few days had been awkward to say in the least. If his CO's knew they'd been caught, they were making a rather impressive effort to carry on as normal. He knew he had to keep their secret, and would continue for as long as possibly could, but that didn't make the situation any less odd.
"Speaking of which, have you made up your mind yet about which way you're going to go?" Anna's question interrupted his reverie.
"Maelstrom all the way," Rostov interrupted, gesturing towards himself. "You're looking at the beta shift engineering lead. Chief's already confirmed it."
"I'll go wherever Travis goes," Hutch said with a smile. They were very close friends and had been for years, and everyone knew they were kind of a packaged deal.
Jimmy shook his head. Truthfully, he had no idea which vessel he could choose to continue his commission. Both of his CO's had made it clear that he was welcome to join their brigades as their second, but he was torn. He'd been working with Lieutenant Commander Reed for four years, and they had a great rapport, but he also was attracted by the idea of having the next generation of photonic torpedoes and phase cannons to play around with. There was also the fact that Ensign Taxa scared the living hell out of him; she was a full head taller and had at least twenty pounds on him, she didn't suffer fools lightly, nor did she let any BS fly past her radar. He respected her, but was also terrified of her. It was a delicate balance.
"Guys, I think we're missing something," Rebecca reminded them as she finished off the wine bottle, letting it roll into the center of the circle. She was already feeling a comfortable buzz, so she suspected she was done for the night. Bruiser trundled over to her and sat down, placing his head on her knee. She gave him a well-deserved scratch. "Janelle, what did you see?"
"Oh…" She shook her head and reached for another bottle. "I'm sure it was nothing."
Rostov took it out of her hands and popped the cap, handing it back to her. "If you thought it was nothing, you shouldn't mind sharing."
She shrugged and leaned back against the wall, setting the scene. "You know how the Captain and the Commodore have been inviting all of us to have breakfast with them in their private mess, three or four at a time?"
Rebecca smiled. The communications department had accepted that invitation last week, and it had been a great time. She'd never so much as had a conversation with either of their seniormost COs, but she'd found the Commodore to be charming and an excellent conversationalist. Though she knew he couldn't be older than forty-five, he reminded her of her father, and soon felt very comfortable telling him about her childhood, her previous career, and the work she'd done so far aboard Enterprise. The Captain was a woman of few words, but cordial and welcoming in her own way. She knew they were slowly working their way around the different departments of the ship during their journey, and she supposed this meant they finally made it down to engineering.
"Well, Monday they finally invited the EPS grid expansion team down there. I was the first to show up. I was so excited I forgot to hit the chime. The door opened, and I saw them there holding hands."
"Holding hands?" Anna repeated, raising her eyebrows. "Sounds practically x-rated to me."
"You don't understand," Janelle insisted, scooting over to Jimmy. She held out two fingers and seized his wrist, forcing him to open his hand. Gently, she began to stroke his palm in a way that somehow seemed perfectly innocuous and incredibly intimate at the same time. "It looked a lot like this."
He pulled away from her and crossed his arms. "I'm not sure what that is, but I guarantee you it's not that deep."
"They moved away from one another like I'd caught them doing something a whole lot worse."
"Whatever you say, Crewman." Anna reached over and picked up Bruiser, kissing him all over his scrunched-up face.
"No, no, that checks out," Rostov said, "Crewman Galloway once told me he caught the Captain sitting in the Commodore's lap in the private mess."
"When was this?" Rebecca asked incredulously.
"Oh, like two or three years ago. She was straddling him, well, like-" He set his drink aside and crawled across the circle into Hutch's lap, placing a knee on either side of his hips. All the while, the girls were laughing, and their amusement only compounded when Misha placed his hands on his chest and whispered, "Has anyone ever told you that you're a beautiful man, Hutch?"
"You wouldn't be the first," he replied, seizing his face with two hands and kissing him on the forehead.
Rostov slid to one side, clutching his stomach, his entire body wracked with laughter. Everyone else seemed equally amused, except for Jimmy, who appeared thoroughly mystified.
"I thought the Captain was interested in Commander Tucker. Is that old news?"
"Way old, Mr. Nguyen. He's about someone else these days. I may not be the gossip king of engineering, but even I know that," Anna answered, nodding towards Misha.
"They're senior officers though. You would think they'd have more discretion than that." He sounded unconvinced. "We have a no fraternization policy for a reason."
"That doesn't do too much good. Here, I'll prove it to you." Rebecca paused, making eye contact with everyone in the circle. Then, she declared, "Never have I ever hooked up with someone on this ship in an unusual place."
"Define unusual."
"Somewhere other than someone's quarters."
Everyone drank except for Jimmy, who looked visibly disgusted. "Didn't your protocol professor at STC lecture you about how you'd be serving on a professional vessel and not some pleasure cruise? Are you kidding me? All of you?"
Rebecca shrugged. "Most people on this ship would say they have, I'd wager. I'm in the minority because I've only been here four months. No one's caught my eye yet."
"Space is a lonely place, Jimmy," Rostov added with an overly dramatic sigh.
"Maybe I've been doing this all wrong," he mumbled regretfully, finishing his drink.
Suddenly Anna cleared her throat, reaching for the deck of cards sitting abandoned in the middle of the circle. "As much as I'd love to sit here and help you navigate this newly discovered existential crisis, I'd like to get this game started eventually."
"By all means," Hutch said, reaching for his cards and looking at her over the top of them with a conspiratorial grin.
A couple hours later, Rostov and Hutch stumbled out of Janelle's quarters, laughing and tripping over their own feet. Unfortunately, they'd been trounced by the likes of Jimmy and Anna during the game, but they'd had plenty of laughs and more than enough alcohol, so both considered it a pretty successful night.
Halfway down the corridor, Rostov slung an arm across his companion's shoulder. "Hey, let me crash at yours. Crewman Fletcher hates when I come home past midnight."
His roommate was like Janelle in that he was supremely duty oriented and prioritized his rest. Really, Michael could count on one hand the number of people on Enterprise who had actual healthy sleep patterns. The near darkness outside and inside really threw off his circadian rhythm, and he knew he wasn't alone. After four years, things hadn't really gotten any better.
"Of course, man. Anytime." Hutch said, slapping him on the chest. "Before we go, though, I've been thinking about our next move on the armory."
Michael hit the recall button on the lift and turned to face him. "What about it?"
"I think it's about time engineering and the navigators team up. Nothing too elaborate. Just short and sweet. I'll be needing your expertise, though."
The cabin arrived and they stepped in. Even though no one was out and about at the lateness of the hour, he waited for the doors to close to ask what he had in mind.
Hutch fished a vial full of clear liquid from his pocket and held it up to the light. "Do you know what this is, Misha?"
He shook his head. From the look of pride on his face, it had to be something brilliant.
"Methyl mercaptan in suspension. We use it to dose canisters of poisonous gas so we can detect leaks if they make it past the sensors. I stole it from sciences this morning. It'll be the perfect cover."
He was sure it was fairly obvious by now what his intentions were, but his brain was having trouble putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "What's it for?" He asked dumbly.
"I tracked the air regulators for the armory back to cargo bay two. It's where the vent line breaks off from the recyclers. If we hook this vial up to the diffuser and set it to a timed release-"
"We can stink bomb the armory." Michael didn't need to hear any more. He hit the button that would take them to E Deck and the lift began to move.
Hutch nodded. "And it should be dissipated by the time Reed and Taxa come on for the afternoon and evening shifts."
"You're a genius. We should have partnered with you guys ages ago. We'll win the week for sure."
"You can thank me once the armory smells like an elephant cage at the zoo."
Rostov jolted awake to the sound of the comm going off across the room. His head was pounding, his stomach was in knots, and he had to pause for a moment to fully remember where he was.
The lights were on in Hutch's quarters; apparently, after last night's escapade, they'd returned to his quarters and fallen into a deep sleep, not even bothering to remove their uniforms or boots. Hutch was laying face down into the pillow above him on top of the covers, snoring to beat the band.
He sat up on the floor and rubbed his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being in the turbolift, conspiring to enact revenge on the armory. Everything from the time they entered the cargo bay to now was completely a blur. He wasn't even entirely sure they'd managed to follow through on their plan.
He glanced at the chronometer. 0630. He would need to be on duty in an hour and a half. Rostov was already looking forward to a shower and a strong cup of coffee when he answered the comm, and was greeted by someone sounding entirely too forceful for the early morning hours.
"What is wrong with you?"
"I'm sorry, who is this?" His mouth felt like he'd been chewing on cotton balls. He stretched this way and that, feeling the ache that had settled into his muscles. There was no way of denying it. Already at the age of twenty-five, he was getting old.
"This is Galloway. I can't believe the stunt you pulled in the cargo bay. Chef is going to kill you, and then he's going to kill me."
"Andy? I'm sorry, did you say the cargo bay?"
Crewman Andrew Galloway was Chef's right hand man, and the primary steward for the Captain's mess, a job which he took incredibly seriously. At some point, the man had aspirations of opening a restaurant, before getting caught up in the apparently exhilarating world of delivering the senior officers' meals and whipping up fettuccine alfredo for one hundred and fifty. Still, Rostov counted him as a good friend, and at some point they'd bonded over the ridiculous experiences their mission had provided them over the past few years.
"That's what I said. I found your hyperspanner down here, the thing's got your damn name on it. The entire room is flooded up to my ankles. Chef's shipping container full of bread for french toast is ruined and all soggy. If I'm not back in the next ten minutes with a full loaf, he's going to have my hide. I can't believe that-"
Holy hell. There was no way.
"Hutch, wake up!" He called out, noting with dissatisfaction that his friend wasn't moving. Quickly, he seized a pillow from a chair at his end of the room and hurled it at him, hitting him squarely in the head.
He started, opening his eyes by a fraction of an inch. "What the…"
"We'll be down there in five minutes. Stand by." Rostov swiftly ended the transmission and rushed towards the door, stopping at the threshold.
"What's going on, Misha?"
"We made a mistake, Hutch."
"A big mistake?" He questioned dumbly, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Huge," he replied, dashing down the hall without a second thought.
Michael rushed down to cargo bay two in record time, crashing through the doorway and almost immediately coming to a halt.
Andy had completely undersold it. The pool began right at the toe of his boots and stretched all the way to the hull plating at the back of the room, becoming deeper in the middle where the deck sloped down. Several cargo containers were floating and had drifted from their assigned positions, blocking the predefined pathways that traversed the cargo bay. In the distance, he could hear water running from some point along the wall, but Crewman Galloway was nowhere to be found.
He quickly kicked off his boots and removed his socks, doing a haphazard job of rolling up his pant legs, then waded into the makeshift pond, bristling at how frigid it was.
He knew that cold. It was the same temperature of the showers in the non-comm community bathrooms when he tried to use them during peak hours. Every time he encountered it, it was enough to make him want to commission just so he could have his own place to bathe. It was unbearable.
Suddenly Andy appeared out from around a blind corner, his uniform rolled up to his knees, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked exhausted, harried, with a marked undercurrent of anger in his expression. As Rostov drew closer, his friend declared, "This cargo bay's got no business looking like this."
"You don't need to tell me twice." As they reached the center of the room, the water crept up to his mid-calves. "Tell me there's not much damage."
"There's no way to know. It's worse around the far wall where Chef keeps his dried goods. I'm telling you, he's going to-"
"Let's see what we've got here," Michael interrupted, pushing past him and rushing towards the sound of rushing water. The panic was starting to rise in his throat as he finally understood the severity of the situation. It was starting to look more and more like he and Hutch had made a fatal, career-ending, court-martial-warranting mistake.
He had to do a little bit of acrobatics to reach the wall, climbing over multiple crates and almost falling into the water more than once. Unknowingly retracing his steps from the previous night, he arrived at an open panel labeled Facilities Access Point 37J, from which a great deal of water was spilling out.
Off to one side, he retrieved his hyperspanner, stashing the evidence in the pocket of his coveralls. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a test tube and bent down to collect it, all the while having a flashback of Hutch waving it around in the turbolift.
Methyl mercaptan in suspension could mean the end of his time on the Enterprise. Silently, he made a desperate plea to the powers that be that he would never hang around Hutch again provided they could somehow cover all of this up without the senior officers getting wind of the situation. He would swear off pranks altogether. He would never play poker again.
The test tube was empty, bone-dry. He cursed and came around to the other side of the panel, aiming his penlight into the darkness.
He could barely make out two piping relays running the length of the section: Armory Air Regulator Line and E Deck Water Supply. The control terminal for each of these lines was housed in this cabinet, constituting a small computer screen and an injector port. Rostov had helped the doctor insert an ampoule of antibiotic at this location only a couple weeks ago when a particularly virulent strain of parasite had infected the water supply, giving a great deal of the crew the runs. He knew the function of the device, he knew how to use it, and he certainly could tell the lines apart.
At least when he was sober.
Almost completely out of sight, the water line curved and doubled back in the opposite direction, separating into a T to service the two ends of the deck. He could see now that the water was leaking around the sides of the butterfly valve, which was partially open, struggling to hold back the force of the rushing water. With some difficulty, he reached into the wall and turned the handle ninety degrees, effectively shutting off the deluge.
From the opposite end of the room, he could hear the door open and people shouting, then water splashing as they rushed in his direction. For a fleeting moment, he was terrified that one of the senior officers had uncovered their mistake, but reality was far worse.
Hutch and Galloway came into view, followed shortly by Lieutenant Commander Hess, who looked for all the world like she wanted to throttle the both of them.
"I'm guessing this is all a part of that damn prank war," she began, then when he opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off. "Actually, don't tell me. I want to have plausible deniability just in case they court martial you idiots."
"Hutch, what are you doing? We don't need more people knowing about this!"
"You told me it was a big mistake, so I figured we needed some extra help-"
"So you called Anna?"
"What, would you rather I called Kelby? Could you imagine?" He leaned against the nearest cargo container and pretended to stroke an imaginary cat, affecting a heavy Italian accent momentarily. "We've known each other many years, but this is the first time you've ever come to me for counsel."
He was right in his assessment that it would make Kelby's ego go through the roof, and it was large enough as it was. Suddenly feeling powerless to change the situation, Rostov exhaled quickly, running his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes tightly in frustration.
Anna pushed past her companions and came to his side to survey the situation. Within seconds, she'd completed her evaluation. "Looks like you hooked up the test tube to the wrong injection port. The osmotic filters were able to riddle out the molecules, but you sent the system into overdrive in the process. It's sending water through faster than the recyclers can handle it. You should be able to clear the decontamination sub-routines if you shut down then cold start the filtration system." She paused, taking a step back to survey the damage, absently hiking the legs of her trousers back up. "This is impressive. It takes effort to screw up this badly."
"I'm sure we would have been able to figure that out on our own," Rostov cried defensively.
"Really?" Anna replied in mock surprise, eyes wide. "Because it looks to me that the two of you couldn't find your own asses with both hands."
Alright, he probably deserved that one. With a sigh, he turned away from her and looked towards the center of the room, the floating crates, the water running in rivulets towards the opposite wall. "So that solves our first problem. How do we get all this water out of here? I'm open to ideas, people."
"Buckets. Lots of buckets," Hutch replied immediately, then at the incredulous looks being dealt towards him by his fellow officers, followed up: "You asked for ideas. You never specified good ones."
"There should be a vent line in the floor somewhere that would allow us to jettison the water out into space. It's built for gas leaks, but I know for a fact it's been recalibrated to deal with liquids from time to time." Leaning forward, Galloway confided in them: "We had a massive olive oil spill in here a couple weeks ago."
Rostov clapped his hands together. "Great! Is this something we can do ourselves?" He was dearly hoping the answer would be yes.
Anna, as usual, was there to throw a wet blanket over his celebration. "All critical computer systems have been locked against modification while the upgrades are made. You'd need someone with Alpha-Four security clearance or above who can enter their override codes."
"Who would that be?" A few names popped in his head, including the Captain and the Commodore, but he was thinking he'd rather cut off his own arm than involve either of them in this mess.
"Either of the Rosners. Joe's fixing to go on duty, but if I remember correctly from this week's bridge roster, Miriam has the science station during beta shift tonight. She should be available."
"Perfect!" He turned to Andrew, not feeling proud enough at this point to avoid asking for help. "Galloway, we need you to stand outside the door and keep watch. Make sure no one else comes in here. It takes about half a second for news to travel around here, and we really need to keep this among the people in this room."
He shook his head. "Absolutely not. Whether I get involved or not, I'm still getting chewed out by Chef. You're on your own, man." He began to wade away from them towards the door, but turned to deliver his final riposte: "You realize this means war, right? Watch your back, engineering!"
Rostov's mind was racing; he was too preoccupied to consider for a second what unholy retribution the operations department was about to unleash on his brigade. Hutch pushed past him and Anna heading in the opposite direction, churning up the water and causing both of them to become soaked up to the waist.
"Where are you going?" Anna called out.
He finally reached the comm at the far corner of the room. "I'll do the honor of calling Miri." Hutch leaned forward and pointed towards them, and the Italian accent was back. "I'm gonna make her an offer she can't refuse."
Fifteen minutes later, Crewman Rosner rushed into the cargo bay, toting a case full of instruments and scanners. She looked like she'd just stumbled out of bed, and was notably out of uniform, wearing a hoodie and baggy sweatpants. Her headscarf had been tied haphazardly at the nape of her neck, and she was still blinking sleep from her eyes. As she approached them, she demanded, "Tell me there's a good reason you woke me up. I've got duty tonight, and I'm trying not to fall asleep at my post."
"We need to get into the mainframe and modify an environmental control sub-routine."
She inhaled slowly, striving mightily to keep her expression neutral. "I think I might already know the answer to this, but may I ask why?"
As Rostov and Hutch explained their predicament, they watched her expression change from one of confusion to frustration to surprise. When they were done, Michael asked, "Can we count on you, Miri?"
She shrugged. "As long as I get five engineers all next week to help me upgrade the neural network, I'll do just about anything."
Michael turned on Hutch, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. He supposed he'd been in conversation with Anna at the moment he'd called in reinforcements, so he hadn't been privy to what exactly his companion had offered her in exchange for her help. At first Hess had recoiled at the thought of having to stand watch, but had acquiesced and said something to the effect of: Do you ever have those days where you think stuff might as well happen? Life on a starship is already so damn weird…
He knew there was no way they could spare that many of their brigade across all three shifts. He wasn't sure what had possessed Hutch to make such an outrageous offer. But as things stood, Rosner was the only thing standing between them and an almost certain court martial. He rolled his eyes at Hutch's shrug and apologetic look, then turned back to her.
He mustered the most cheerful smile that he could given the circumstances and together they stepped back to allow her to access the panel. "Of course! Where would we be without your help?"
"Probably the brig," she replied nonchalantly, opening her case and balancing it against the wall. She donned her headset and the optical attachment, disappearing into the panel within a matter of seconds. "It feels like I'm constantly putting out fires these days," she added, her voice slightly muffled.
"Oh yeah, Hutch told me about Novakovich," Rostov recalled, and then in spite of the dire situation, laughed.
From somewhere across the room, he heard a loud pop, then a rush of air as the water began to be sucked into the containment reservoir beneath the floor. Slowly, the levels began to decrease, quickly reaching their ankles. "Sometimes I wonder about the crew. Everyone is so brilliant, so ambitious, so brave, yet a majority of them lack even basic common sense."
She leaned back on her heels and looked at them. "No offense."
Rostov held up his hands in acceptance. "Hey, you won't find any disagreements here."
"Sounds like the two of you are the new disaster twins. Spanner, please." She reached out and caught the tool that was tossed at her, then disappeared back into the cabinet.
Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Commander Reed were notorious for getting into trouble when they worked together, to such an extent that the Captain largely avoided sending the two of them on the same away mission. The crew had more than a few laughs at their expense, but neither of them thought they would ever enter the zeitgeist of such notorious incidents.
"I suppose we deserve that," Hutch mumbled.
"I don't know about you, but I'm never drinking again," he whispered back.
"That's what you said last weekend."
The moment the pool disappeared underneath their feet, the vent line slammed closed, and they heard the slight rumble of the containment chamber opening to empty space below them.
"With how fast we're going, our sensors shouldn't even pick up the ice cloud," Miriam explained, standing with some difficulty. She removed her headset and tossed it into her case, slamming it shut. "I've redirected airflow to the ground level ports. It should revert back to normal within the hour. That should help you resolve any issues with water damage, though to what extent, I couldn't say."
There were still a number of small puddles, and a majority of the storage crates had shifted at least a couple inches from their orderly rows laid out on the floor, but it was a start. Rostov checked his chronometer: 0735. They just might pull this off.
"You're a miracle worker, Rosner." Hutch assured her. "We owe you our lives. Maybe literally."
She laughed, pushing past them and beginning to retreat towards the door. At the moment before she was about to round the corner, she turned and tossed Rostov's spanner back at him, which he only narrowly avoided dropping on the floor.
"Tell your engineers to meet me in the science laboratories at 0800 Monday morning."
"Of course."
"Oh, and one more thing…" From this distance, he could barely make out her smile and the glint in her eye. "My Shabbat dinners usually don't end in these kinds of incidents."
"Usually?"
"Most of the time," she answered cryptically, and disappeared around the corner.
Rostov burst into engineering with mere seconds to go until his duty shift was due to begin. He hadn't managed to shower, but he'd at least changed his uniform, brushed his teeth, and picked up some coffee to go, making him appear at least somewhat presentable to his coworkers.
Janelle and Anna cut him identical furtive glances as he rushed in, taking his place beside them in front of the warp engine for the morning briefing.
The entire contingent of alpha shift had gathered and were talking excitedly about the day off they'd just had or the day off they were about to go on; the yearly shipwide chess tournament was to be held tomorrow, Lieutenant Sato's weekly girls' night was upcoming, and there was rumors that Crewman Zhao had set up a ping-pong table in one of the storage lockers on C Deck. Michael, however, was already feeling like he'd had enough excitement for the weekend.
Commander Tucker emerged from his office followed shortly by Commander Kelby. It was still up in the air whether it would be Kelby or Hess who would come over to the Maelstrom to be the Chief Engineer of the new warp seven engine, but he was secretly hoping Kelby would remain on the Enterprise. He was too big for his boots as it was. A couple of weeks ago, Janelle had confided in him that she thought he had an extremely punchable face. Michael wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but he was inclined to agree.
Tucker rushed past them and headed towards the exit, handing the PADD he'd been carrying to Kelby. He stopped in his tracks, made an about face, and returned to the front of their huddle, reading from the screen in a somewhat awkward, stilted manner: "I'm sure you all have heard talk about us increasing speed to warp six to make the rendezvous on Coridan in time. That's true, and we'll get to that later. For now, we have important business to attend to."
Michael took a long swig of coffee from his thermos, rocking back and forth between his heels and his toes. Across the way, he saw Ensign McFarlane mimic this gesture.
"It has come to my attention that for the past couple of weeks there's been a prank war being waged between the departments of the Enterprise…"
Beside him, Anna stiffened slightly, no doubt wondering if they were about to be called out and reprimanded.
"I became aware of this because this morning, operations spiked the coffee blend they usually prepare for our department with blue food coloring."
He reached forward and seized a PADD from Janelle's hands, checking his reflection in the darkened screen. Sure enough, his teeth and lips were now thoroughly blue. Looking up, he discovered that McFarlane was in the same predicament.
"Now, I don't know what you all did to provoke them, and I definitely don't care. I've gone to formally declare war on operations, as well as the MACOs, the armory, the sciences, and the navigators. What matters to me now is that we band together and put this matter to rest once and for all. I want to see some real teamwork and ingenuity come out of this. Engineering never backs down from a challenge."
Anna was struggling mightily not to laugh, covering her face with her hands and pretending to cough. She wasn't the only one amused by this sudden declaration. More than a few of them were overcome with renewed determination.
Kelby cleared his throat and continued: "And now on to this engine somehow being able to pull out warp six…"
End of Episode Seven
Next time on Enterprise...
Episode Eight: Butterflies and Hurricanes
Enterprise's decision to enter a sub-light speed shuttlepod race leaves Travis, Liz, and Trip trapped in an alternate reality where the rescue attempt during Shadows of P'Jem ended in disaster. Welcome to the Andorian War.
(Don't worry-it's a one-off, then back to our regularly scheduled Romulan shenanigans!)