Tea, Sympathy, and Phasers
It is one of the graveyard shifts on the USS
Courageous at the moment, a time when on most ships the bridge is held down by one of the more junior officers, say a Lieutenant-Commander with ambitions. However, Victoria Eaton, all signs of bandaging hidden beneath her crisply pressed, splendid crimson uniform, was relaxing in her command chair. Relaxing, of course, is a very relative term, especially with Captain Eaton. Her back is ramrod straight, posture so perfect it could have stepped forth from the pages of a 19th Century grammar school manual. In her hands, however, sits a fine china teacup on a saucer, and the only motion that betrays that she is not an automaton, or perhaps a particularly straight-laced Vulcan, is the small curl to her lips and the slightly lusty flutter of lashes as she savours each sip of tea.
Her faithful first officer, Commander Rosalea McAdams, is at her side, presentation no less immaculate, with every Starfleet regulation observed and in compliance. Around her the bridge, even in the middle of this drudgery shift, is a hive of calm and concise activity. Blonde hair curls into a neat bun. She simply stands at her captain's side. She has followed Victoria through every assignment her old friend has ever had, moving heaven and earth if needed.
Victoria notices the young helmsman of the shift, a surprisingly twitchy Andorian with an Ensign's rank device on his uniform, continually glancing over his shoulder at her. After this has continued for a few minutes, she cocks her head at her subordinate. "Is something the matter, Ensign na'Mashaar?"
"N-no, Captain," the Andorian officer stammers, quickly burying himself in the helm console. The Vulcan Ops officer snickers - or at least, does that eyebrow
thing that Vulcans do when they no doubt wish to snicker but feel that such an emotion would lead to spontaneously becoming a Romulan.
"Very well, Ensign na'Mashaar," Victoria replies.
A moment passes, another sip warms the Captain.
"Except...," the Ensign slowly voices. Victoria allows herself a tiny smile. The Andorian squirms in his seat, but finally gets out, "What was it like on the
Bronze Sky?"
"What was it like?" repeats Victoria.
The Ensign nods. "The Tac officer, he, uh, said it was very, uh, sporty, over there."
"Sporty... Well, I suppose you could term it that," muses Victoria. She glances up at Rosalea and hmm's.
===
The damaged corridor is dark and smoke filled. Plasma burns scar the twisted walls. Torches stab beams of light through the gloom, gleaming off the exposed wiring. The turtle-like Rigellians are there, staring at the ruins of the plasma conduit while Victoria's engineer, a grumbling, porcine Tellarite, makes his assessment. Victoria watches on with Rosalea, hands clasped primly behind her back.
"It's not possible," the Rigellian complains. "There must have been some secondary fault you're not seeing. There's no way for this plasma to angle like that."
"Now look here, I know more about plasma than you've ever forgotten," the engineer snaps. "This conduit took out both by itself."
Victoria steps away and begins to make her supplementary log while the engineer argues with the Rigellian. But all the while, her mind is racing. There is a way, she realises. A properly treated steel plate would survive just long enough to redirect a deadly jet of plasma into the secondary impulse power conduits on the deck below, before being vaporised itself, leaving no trace. Yet, that would also imply...
The Captain glances up and sees a shadow detach from the murk, a limb telescoping towards the engineer. "Look out!" she cries.
Her phaser leaps forth like it rides lightning to her grip, and spits death even as the return fire strikes a Rigellian officer, who goes down in smoke and gurgles.
The shape disappears back into the unpowered Engineering area. "He's heading to the warp core!" Victoria's voice is a booming thunder that cuts through the tumult. "Chief, stay with the Rigellians. Security team, on me!"
She issues no order to her first officer; she already knows where Rosalea will be.
The Captain rushes down the corridor, phaser out and firing. Her eyes burn like coals and her lips snarl. A shape lurches out at her, swinging a heavy club overhead. Her free hand snaps out to catch her foe on the elbow, spoiling the strike, just before her heel slams through the side of his knee. A crack like a splintering tree trunk echoes in the corridor, just before Victoria twists to put her phaser pistol in the Rigellian's face and dispatches him. She disregards the ozone and cooked meat smell.
Rosalea is firing past her like a woman possessed, covering her commanders charge into the teeth of danger.
Within minutes they have pushed through, cutting down another foe as they head into the heart of Engineering.
Victoria springs up onto a console and vaults onto an overhead catwalk, scrambling to her feet. She has got the drop on two Rigellians huddled over the mechanism that would feed anti-matter into the warp core if it were running. One jerks upright and begins to train a phaser and then drops nervelessly when Victoria's fire lanes through his face. The other saboteur pauses, glancing at his weapon on the casing next to him, glancing up at the Starfleet officer standing above him.
"A bloody cook!" cries Victoria for a moment before her visage hardens like the armour of the
Courageous. "Step back."
The Rigellian reaches for his phaser, and Victoria sends him to join his conspirator.
Captain Victoria Eaton takes in a deep breath and holsters her phaser. A brief tug at the hem of her uniform straightens it out. She turns and walks away.
"Captain Telsk, I believe that concludes that matter," she says aloud as the rest of the officers catch up. "Commander McAdams, please arrange for transport back to the
Courageous, I am in dire need of some fresh Lady Grey."
"Of course, Captain," says Rosalea as she holsters her phaser and removes her communicator. "And perhaps while we're there, you might consider getting those two serious looking
phaser burns looked at?"
Victoria glances down and blinks in surprise. "Oh. Well, if you insist." They don't hurt, and she knows that isn't a good sign. But no helping it now, the doctor will just have to see what he can do about it.
"McAdams to
Courageous, two to beam, directly to sick bay."
The blue light flashes and the next thing that the two officers know, Victoria is sagging to the ground in the sickbay as doctors and nurses react in shock. Before she can hit the floor Rosalea is there, catching and cradling her. Soon a multitude of hands are on her, pulling her up onto a gurney.
"You, Captain, are going to be the death of me," whispers Rosalea amidst the babble of doctors.
"Lady Grey, hot, spot of milk, one lump," whispers back Victoria as an anaesthetic hypospray is pressed into the side of her neck. "Have it waiting..."
===
"Sporty," repeats the Captain as she glances down at her tea, Lady Grey, hot, spot of milk, one lump.
"Well, yes, I suppose it was a bit sporty," she agrees at last. "But overall it was dark, gloomy, and not terribly much to write home about. Do not concern yourself with it, Ensign."
"Aye, Captain..."
===
Or alternatively...