Chapter Five
Lieutenant Jay Gordon ate his lunch in the aft mess, not the officer's mess. The aft mess was filled with the noncoms on board, most of the time, with occasionally the Engineering Staff, due to it's closeness to the engines. It was something Captain Morris had suggested to him when he'd been a new ensign on the Independence. According to Captain Morris, learning from the noncoms, who where older and more experienced than him, was advisable.
When Jay had entered the aft mess the day he first arrived on the Stargazer as it's new Second Officer and Fighter Commander, he'd done so right after being Marrissa's sparing partner. He'd been royally trounced, of course. Practicing unarmed defense with Marrissa could easily result in being tossed around the room. After all, she'd learned from Worf. He'd showered, but hadn't put back on his uniform, instead arriving in his extra practice jumpsuit.
Everyone knew he was Marrissa's latest practice dummy. Apparently she'd been throwing around anyone near her weight class since she arrived. Several petty officers gave him sympathy. It had given him a way into the discussion, and he'd maintained several friendships with the noncoms since.
"Jay!" a burly man with a handlebar mustache said as Jay entered the room.
"Chief Quimby, may I hope the scones and tea were at least halfway good today?" Jay asked. He noticed that Quimby was still dressed in his dress whites, as usual.
"Of course not," Quimby replied. His fork pointed out the offending scones. "We're not in England, so the scones were terrible as usual. But the replicators are making passable veal today, if you'd care to try it."
"I think I'll stick to my usual ham sandwiches, thank you," as he punched the order. "How is Pizarro working out?"
Quimby punctuated each of his points by spearing a piece of his veal. "He's not you, and he's not Marrissa," Quimby replied. He chewed his veal swiftly.
"I could tell that, he can legally order a beer," Jay replied, sitting down with his ham sub.
"That's true," Quimby said, making his point with a wave of his fork. "He at least read the technical brief, and does seem to at least have acquired a smidgen of how to use a fighter."
"Do I hear a but coming on?" Jay asked, after Quimby consumed a rather large piece of veal. Quimby's opinion was important to Jay.
"You do," Quimby said. "But he tries to micro-manage too much, like Marrissa did at first. You can't do that to a repair unit. It tends to cause people to get in each other's way."
"He'll learn," Jay said. "At least I hope he will." Jay sighed before taking a large bite of his sub. He had two more days to do something with Pizarro.
"How's your girlfriend doing on the Indefatigable?" Quimby asked.
"Don't let Marrissa hear you call her that, she's in denial," Jay said, putting down the sub. Marrissa didn't seem to recognize how her friendship with Jay had deepened. Then again, it had been a gradual thing. Still, best friends didn't kiss each other good night, especially not on the lips. They generally didn't leave each other breathless afterwards either. "I haven't heard from her. I'm not sure that's a good or a bad thing. I intend to contact her after beta shift tonight."
"Send her Fighter Maintenance's regards and tell her that between battles we've actually managed to install that enhancement she wanted," Quimby said, draining the last of his tea.
"I will," Jay said, as Quimby stood.
"Well, I must head back to the trenches, chap," Quimby said, placing a friendly hand on Jay's shoulder as he walked by.
"Try not to work too hard," Jay said, as Quimby carried his dishes to the replicator. Jay took another bite of his ham sub. It was rather good today. Virginia must have finished the upgrade and repairs on the replicators. Hopefully not Marrissa's though. He'd asked her to put that repair at the end of the line.
...
Captain T'Gwen Washington made a habit of regularly walking through every part of her ship. She had even at times clamored through the Jefferies Tubes. She generally started with the lowest part of her ship and worked up. On the Stargazer proper, excluding the generally unmanned detachable warp pairs, that meant Fighter Maintenance. The main room was only big enough for two craft, and only had a partially assembled Essex 10-B in it at the moment. It was really only used for the big repairs, with most work being done where the fighters were stored.
Over in the port side corner was a red leather high backed chair, with it's accompanying wooden table. An empty tea cup sat on a saucer on the table. On a jury-rigged shelf nearby, there was the tea kettle, always hot, with a fresh batch made at the beginning of each shift. T'Gwen made her way over there, quietly. A couple of the maintenance staff might of spied her, but they gave no indication. They knew of her preferences during such a walk through. Lieutenant Pizarro didn't notice her, and T'Gwen decided to take the opportunity to see the Lieutenant in action.
She chose one of the spare tea cups, it looked to be the last one left of the Star Fleet Academy set, a pity that, and leaned up against one of the hull reinforcement pillars to watch. The tea was rather good, much better than the stuff she had in her office, in fact. She'd have to find out what Quimby was bribing the Quartermaster with.
It looked like Pizarro was getting in the way of the crewmen on duty at the moment. He seemed to be asking what every thing they were doing was for, and why they did it that way. That was okay, to a point, and in certain environments, but not here, and not to this extent. If Pizarro continued like this, he'd never develop the skills necessary for promotion.
She eyed the red leather chair. Perhaps it was time to pass on the advice she'd gotten from her Captain during her first week as Second Officer on the Science Vessel T'Kumbra.
"Lieutenant Pizarro, a word, if you will," she called out. The Lieutenant turned towards her. He hadn't looked young beside Jay when she first met him in her ready room, but without the comparison of the teenager beside him, it was clear that he was still young. T'Gwen was willing to bet that Pizarro had no chance of growing anything like Chief Quimby's prized handlebar mustache any time soon. He swiftly made his way around to the Captain.
"Yes, Captain?" Pizarro said. "Sorry, I didn't see you enter, sir."
"That was the effect I was trying to produce, Bertin," T'Gwen said. It was the first time she'd used his first name. "It is sometimes useful to walk around your ship as unnoticed as possible. Now, Bertin, I understand that Jay has assigned you to watch over Fighter Maintenance and learn as much as possible about how it runs."
"Yes Captain," Pizarro said. "That's why I decided to spend this shift down here."
"I do like officers who take initiative, but I'm not sure that you're going about this the right way," T'Gwen said. "You seem to be getting more in the way than doing anything. Perhaps it's time that I tell you what my old Captain Pellew told me, Bertin. Do you like tea?"
"Yes, but what does that have to do with learning about Fighter Maintenance?" Pizarro asked. His expression was puzzled.
"Go, get yourself a cup of the tea, Bertin," T'Gwen said. "It is rather good down here. Select one of the blue patterned ones. Chief Quimby is rather attached to pink."
Pizarro poured himself a cup of tea and put a single sugar cube in it.
"Now, note this chair," T'Gwen said, pointing out the red leather chair. "Chief Quimby carefully placed it here for one reason. Can you guess why, Bertin?"
"I'm sure I don't know the Chief's reasoning, sir," Pizarro said.
"Sit down in it, Lieutenant," T'Gwen said. She was beginning to wonder about Bentin Pizarro. He sat down. "Now, tell me, how well can you see Crewman Ganth and Crewman Vithon's work?"
"Actually, pretty good." Pizarro sounded surprised.
"You've just learned why Chief Quimby placed the chair where he did," T'Gwen said. "Now, the question is, why did he need it in the first place?"
Pizarro was puzzled for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then suddenly, his face broke out in what T'Gwen believed was the first true smile she'd seen on him. "So he could sit here and watch his people work, seeing everything. If something goes wrong, he's right here to lend a hand, and can put his tea down on the table and jump right in to help."
"Very good, Bertin," T'Gwen said. "Sometimes you have to stand over someone to get something done right, but that should be something that you ration out. On a well-run bridge, or any other area on the ship, the Commanding Officer can spend most of their time on watch doing just this." She sipped out the last bit of her tea. "Crewman Vithon, I believe this is your design work, could you let the Lieutenant know how you designed it?"
"Certainly, Captain," the canine officer responded.
"Very good, Crewman," T'Gwen said, as she put her tea cup down in the dirty stack. "Carry on, Gentlemen. I have the reset of the ship to look in on." Behind her, T'Gwen could hear Vithon explaining his modifications to the Essex 10-B as she exited the room into the lower shuttle bay. Pizarro remained in the chair, sipping his tea.
...
Marrissa returned to her temporary quarters only when it was time for her to get ready for bed. She tossed her dress whites on a nearby chair as she took them off, stripping them off her sweating body. She'd spent the last of it demonstrating her procession sword routine, the one she'd made to "Saber Dance" when she was Chief of Security on the Enterprise. Her defense of her title in the Precession Sword Routine had been put off, due to the war, and she doubted that she'd be able to defend it, especially after today's performance.
Word had gotten around that she still held the title, and her routine had been a little bit spectacular for the category. So, when her day of showing Saavik around had ended, the First Officer of the Indefatigable had approached her about showing the Saber Dance Routine. It had been a good thing she'd kept up the routine on the Stargazer for its excellent exercise. Though on the Stargazer she used a wooden practice sword instead of the 125 centimeter long saber she'd developed it with.
It had been a mistake to use the saber. The bigger mistake was caving into the requests to do an encore. She'd chosen her routine from the prior competition for it, the one she'd come in almost last. "My Heart Will Go On" was an emotional tune for Marrissa, and it showed in her routine. This could have been a good thing, but with the stress of recent days the emotion was too much. Marrissa had cut through her left arm slightly when she'd tried to go to the more complex late middle portion. She'd managed to complete the last minute by dropping to the less complex beginning pattern. Marrissa had completed the routine, but had required mild medical attention.
Marrissa was sure she couldn't get through another minute of the day awake. It had been had been physically and emotionally draining. From the indignities of being a Lieutenant Commander pulled from her post as First Officer to serve as a visiting member of an allied fleet's liaison to its end in the less than stellar second routine, she had been on an emotional roller coaster. It hadn't helped when a Lieutenant who obviously hadn't seen her rank pips assumed she was one of the Indefatigable's dozen fresh out of the Academy Ensigns in the squadron's Captaincy Canidates usually under Lieutenant Pizarro's care, just a few minutes before.
Marrissa would like nothing more than to take a long hot water shower, but she'd been stuck with a shorter sonic shower, which did nothing to improve her rotten mood. She had even missed Jay's call. He was no doubt already asleep, and she knew better than to wake him. With her gone, Jay was the Stargazer's chief tactical resource, though the Captain was getting better, and it wasn't wise to deprive that resource of sleep.
As the ship remained in a war zone, Marrissa followed orders, putting a standard duty uniform on after her shower, only leaving off the rank pips and communicator, before sliding under the covers. Only after her head touched the pillow did the last of Marrissa's controls drop, and her eyes began to fill with tears.
Here she was in the middle of a war zone, serving, and serving well, as a Star Fleet Officer, yet no matter what she did she would still be the little girl. The little girl who was not fit for a uniform, not fit for her job, not fit stand on the bridge of a starship. She was not worthy of her uniform. No one trusted her training, her instincts, her abilities.
With her tears staining her pillow, Marrissa fell asleep, crying. Her tears would be dry by the time she was awoken, but she knew deep down that they would return again in the insecurity of the night.
...
Captain Berganmister Portinmire had watched the Saber Dance Routine from an anonymous position on the running track around the second level of the Indefatigable's ship's gym. He'd heard of the routine before. The music was a challenging piece to set any routine to, given the fast pace of the two and a half minute classical piece by Aram Khechaturian. It was an honor to win any of the Security Competitions which Starbase 13 traditionally held, but the Precession Sword Routine had a history of being considered the easiest and least demanding of them. It was, to put it mildly, the junk award of the two dozen team and personal competitions which the Starbase held annually.
Still, Portinmire did have to admit that Lieutenant Commander Picard's routine was better than all the previous ones that he'd seen. In fact, he'd had word from a fellow Captain who'd served as one of the judges that Lieutenant Commander Picard had blown the competitors out of the water, thus preserving the streak of the Enterprise's Chiefs of Security always winning at least one of the awards in their tenure for the last hundred and twenty years.
He'd been pretty sure that Lieutenant Commander Picard had chosen the Competition category because it was the only one that the then just short of fourteen-year-old had a chance of winning, and thus, he had dismissed its presence on her record, probably contributing to his personal placement of Lieutenant Commander last among the First Officers in his Squadron, initially.
Portinmire had raised that evaluation a little, after seeing her work as Captain Washington's tactical brain during the last few weeks, but in his mind she'd been an officer who had gotten her post based on who she was related to, not what she had done. However since Washington's call, could it have been just two days ago, he'd evaluated Lieutenant Commander Picard with a little more detail.
Her service jacket had the base details, rank, postings, a couple awards she'd earned, but inside it, oh that was where the story was told. First command when she wasn't even twelve, ensign's rank conveyed due to merit shown in battle by Star Fleet Command, what a start to a career. Judging by the notations, it looked like it hadn't gotten any less exciting since. It wasn't all praise. Apparently she'd once gotten into a fight with an Lieutenant while awaiting for an assignment after the Enterprise-D's crash. Then there were the troubles. She had a consistent problem with the press hounding her, and she'd apparently been beaten up when a shuttle she was piloting had been boarded.
Of all the things that Portinmire had access to in Lieutenant Commander Picard's record, however, it was Counselor Troi's evaluation that caused him the most troubling of thoughts. His first impression of Lieutenant Commander Picard had been that she was supremely confident. Underneath that bravado, was typical unsure of herself teenaged girl.
Portinmire believed Counselor Troi on this. She was a Betazoid, after all. It explained Captain Washington's request as well. The Lieutenant Commander lived in a period of prolonged stress, something that was never good for anyone, much less an officer who survived on the approval of her mentors. Picard needed someone that she respected to say she was doing well.
Confidence was a force that Portinmire was convinced flowed down the chain of command. If you trusted an officer with a duty, they would have the confidence to do their job, and trust the officers below them. He had to admit that he hadn't shown trust in young Lieutenant Commander Picard's abilities ... it was time to change that.