JP: LT Cmdr Lhandon Nilsen & Ensign Kansz JoNz - Ghosts of the Past
Lhandon Nilsen
(( Transporter Room Three, Deck Seven, USS Octavia E Butler ))
What a shift cycle. What a day. What a close call. Kansz adjusted her helmet in her grip and thought back to her rather unlucky decision.
After being verbally obliterated by the Flight Ops Chief at the I-Kiyo ring for the unauthorised action, Ensign JoNz had extricated herself as quickly as she could off the station and back home to the Butler.
She'd already promised herself never to do something that crazy ever again. But, there was also a part of her that enjoyed that she'd gotten away with - mostly - the flyby. Right then, though, she wanted nothing more than some food and a stiff drink…maybe two drinks, after that snafu.
The Caitian dragged herself off the transporter platform and nodded her thanks to the console operator before turning to exit the transporter room.
JoNz: ::jumps a bit:: Ah! Ah…Sir?!
Nilsen stood at the door, his tall frame acting as a second wall. His face was static, no smile, no quip or joke.
Nilsen: Ensign, with me.
He didn’t raise his voice; he just gave an instruction and turned around to lead JoNz through the corridors, to the turbolift - and it was a very quiet ride - and then down to deck six and his office.
And not a word was spoken.
(( Nilsen’s Office, Diplomatic Suite, Deck Six, USS Octavia E Butler ))
The only thing that brought any joy to Nilsen today was that all the work on the refurbishment of the diplomatic suite that had been taking place over the previous few months was complete. The staff were moved in, Shyvo was in place, Lukin had made himself at home, and finally, those boxes in the waiting area had gone.
The area was clean and crisp. And purple. The purple of the carpet was offset by the rich, deep greys of the faux curtains over the ‘windows’; the decor said what everyone thought, that this was where diplomatic things happened.
The doors to his office opened with a hiss, and Nilsen’s office was very much him, with sporting medals and trophies hanging on the walls and sitting on the shelves, a rugby ball taking pride of place on a desk and a new addition, a harmonica, also on the desk. There were photos too: images of his old crewmates, his group of friends he had as an ensign, his JOPA group, his family. All of it warm.
Except today. JoNz felt none of that warmth.
Nilsen: Please explain this morning's events, starting from 08:12, as your fighter left the bay.
He did not tell her to sit; he only pointed for JoNz to stand before him at the desk. Nilsen sat down in his chair but did not angle himself to look straight at her. Rather, he just took a sideways angle, looking towards the wall where the top part of his purple uniform, with a large burnt hole above his heart, hung in a frame. This served as a reminder for Nilsen. He held his PADD, reading the report from the Flight Ops Chief. His left hand gripped the device, while his right hand seemed to grip the arm of the chair. The rest of Nilsen was stoic and quiet.
The Caitian made a small noise that may have been a mrrowl, but then cleared her throat and started to speak in what she hoped was a clear tone.
JoNz: Sir, if this is about what happened with my starfighter training, I-I can explain—
Nilsen: Yes, it is. Explain everything
The Cait cleared her throat, very uncomfortable, and tried again.
JoNz: Aye, Sir. I was assigned to fighter number…
She did indeed explain every detail from when she was assigned the fighter to when she launched out into the black. Then came the flight checks for oxygen, lidar and such. But when she began her recount of her bringing the fighter into the bay, that’s when the junior officer paused slightly.
Lhandon listened to what was said; each sentence brought more and more disappointment to the second officer, he felt the frustration bubble below the surface, and he recognised and acknowledged it, and took a moment, as there was a pause in the explanation to follow through with what he had learned, he was grateful for the anger, for what it had told him and mentally he thanked the anger for its input, but he didn’t want the anger to take control.
JoNz then filled that silent gap with the final nail in her coffin, so to speak..
JoNz: And it was at that moment I decided to do a flyby of the FOPS tower. Which, ah, didn't work out the way I envisioned.
Nilsen: It did not, then what happened?
He asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
JoNz: Erm…I misjudged…and as I buzzed the tower, the larger ship was suddenly there.
He repeated her words back to her, slower, ensuring that he was understanding everything.
Nilsen: You misjudged, as you buzzed the tower, and the larger ship was suddenly there?
JoNz: And I may have, uh, dinged off the nacelle strut. Sir, I know what you're thinking—
He held his hand up to stop the explanation and then read the facts coldly, like he was reading a maintenance list in ops.
Nilsen: Do not try to wrangle out of this, you’ll only make it worse. You did a lot more than just “ding” off the nacelle strut. Do you know what damage you caused?
JoNz: It requires repair?
Definitely a rhetorical question.
Nilsen: And what was “the larger ship” that was “suddenly there”? Do you know the name of the ship?
JoNz: ::slight sigh::I know it was an Olympic-class as the frame was hard to miss. I mean, miss is a poor choice of words. Oh gods…
Nilsen: Yes, the USS Joseph M'Benga is an Olympic-class hospital ship. It was returning to the ring for a brief resupply, and it was due to leave again this evening, to go to Korelli IV to assist with the Federation's commitment to Danni as their protectorate. It now has to be sidelined for repairs and inspections. We have had to reshuffle the ships in the flotilla, and I’ve had to explain to the Danni council member why the expected hospital ship had been delayed. What do you have to say for yourself?
JoNz: Commander, what I did was reckless, I know that. L-let me…I mean…forgive me, I’m trying to put this into words. I love being here in the Fleet; there is no doubt of that.
The Cait’s gaze looked anywhere but at Nilsen for a few short moments; it eventually settled on a decorative bauble on one of the shelves, obviously a souvenir from one of his many travels and missions. The gaze in her golden eyes was faraway, looking at something that only she could see.
JoNz: Souvenirs were never really a high priority…
Nilsen: I’m sorry? What?
JoNz: ::attention back on the Commander:: Sir, I come from a line of merchant marine service. I was a civilian pilot, going from job to job and scrabbling by as best I could. It was never about…exploring for the sake of exploring. Or discovering an ancient civilisation on some back-planet ruins. There was always the desperate who couldn’t afford the trip fare or choosing between port supply fees, putting food on the table or fuel in the tanks.
Nilsen remained quiet; he listened to the story, his anger still bubbling, but the context - while not needed in that moment - softened his heart just a little.
JoNz: And then there was the attack. It was…It’s in my file. I’d rather not go into the details. But it was time for a change. I joined the Fleet and I haven’t looked back. Today was…me showing off. There! I said it. I’m good at what I do, and I feel good about being here. I mean, not being in your office right this second. In Starfleet. And I wanted to show off a bit, but it most definitely did not work out that way I wanted.
The grey-furred Cait looked out the large picture window at the black of space.
JoNz: ::quietly:: And I could have ended up mangled on a pylon.
Nilsen: You are damn right, ensign.
She had said part of the words.
Nilsen: Your moment to show off, sidelined a hospital ship, and you are damn lucky that it’s just basic repairs and no one was seriously hurt.
Then he brought his hand to his mouth, and his thumb scratched his chin. He thought for a moment, the mind wrestling with the body, his heart was pounding with anxiety and worry, but his face was stoic.
Nilsen: 2347.
JoNz: Commander?
Nilsen: My mother was born in 2347; you’re five years younger than her.
JoNz: Oh.
Nilsen spoke again, quietly, not yelling or screaming but instead with a slight stutter for a moment before he regained control at the end of his statement.
Nilsen: T-This is the kind of behaviour I would expect from an 18-year-old, heck even a fresh ensign in their 20s, but not…::shaking his head:: someone nearly the same age as my mother.
JoNz: Yessir.
Nilsen: You need to understand, Ensign JoNz, that given your experience and your age, the expectations on you are vastly different; the other ensigns look up to you as their example and guide, and I can’t believe I’m even having to have this conversation with you.
Nilsen: I have every right as second officer to call the Judge Advocate General and have them deal with you for damage to the Joseph M'Benga.
JoNz: ::ears flattened:: That is well within your purview. I know I screw---
He held up the palm of his hand to stop JoNz from digging a hole, then, seemingly fitting, he for a moment became Etan, but whereas Etan roared, Nilsen whispered. For a moment, he felt as if the Bajoran was behind him, guiding his words and a hand on his shoulder, and Lhandon finally understood.
Nilsen: But I am not going to do that. Consider this your first- and last- warning, Ensign. ::beat.:: If you ever do anything like this again- or even put a toe out of line, I will have you stripped of your commission and on the first prison shuttle back to the Alpha Quadrant. You won’t know what has hit you. Do I make myself crystal clear?
Both Nilsen and Etan’s tone was just above a whisper but also filled with a steely edge that he hoped left the pilot in no doubt that she was lucky to still be wearing a uniform.
JoNz: ::low tone as well. Clears throat: Yes, Commander.
Nilsen: Here’s what will happen…You are going to be the model Starfleet officer. “Yes, sir!”, “Right away, sir!”, “Of course, sir!” - all of that and more. :: beat. :: The minute someone asks you to do something- you do it, with no complaints. You’re also going to retake your pilot’s exam- at a time and place of my choosing. Until then, I don’t want to see you anywhere near the helm. You’ll also report to Cargo Bay 3 every morning for the next month to help scrape carbon off the carbon filters.
As Lhandon began delivering the consequences, he could feel in the back of his mind, and standing behind him, guiding his words, a red-clad Bajoran with dark black hair and the smell of deka tea.
JoNz was doing everything in her power not to puke from her nerves. It would not go well with the purple carpeting.
Nilsen: And if I tell you to jump, Ensign- the only question I want to hear pass those lips is “how high? I won’t tolerate anybody on this ship putting this ship, or any other, at undue risk for nothing more than cheap thrills. You should have been the bigger person. You have a responsibility to this ship and to Starfleet- and you forgot that all because you wanted to show off. You showed yourself up, and you embarrassed every single gentle being on this ship. You have a lot of work ahead of you to get back in my good graces, Ensign - and until you do - I don’t want to see you in this office.
Nilsen: Do you understand?
JoNz: Yessir, I do understand.
The Cait’s ears had remained flattened against her skull as the Second Officer had laid down the law.
Nilsen: Good. Dismissed!
Left alone in his office, Lt Commander Nilsen sighed to himself and leaned back in his chair. He turned it a few times, just from side to side, as he waited for his blood pressure to decrease and the ringing in his head to stop. o0 I’m sorry, Commander 0o was the thought he offered Etan, the most sincere form of apology. o0 I understand now! 0o
[End JP]
((OOC: Tom here, obviously, Marge herself isn’t actually in trouble, only the character. It’s what we call *sparkle* roleplay *sparkle*. Marge came to me, Erik and Tony a little while ago with this idea, and it was the perfect chance for me to close a plot hook from ages ago, so Marge, I want to thank you for this! All the credit for this JP and the planning and execution should go to Marge!))
((OOC: Marge here, I want to say a big thank you to Tom for the guidance, allowing me to explore this arc, and turning in a great performance as ‘serious Lhandon’))
= = = =
Lieutenant Commander Lhandon Joseph Nilsen
Second Officer & Senior Diplomatic Officer
USS Octavia E Butler
O240007LN1
He/Him/His (Both player and character)
&
Ensign Kansz JoNz
Helm/Comm/Ops Officer
USS Octavia E Butler NCC-82850
E240208KJ1
“Imagination will take you everywhere." - Albert Einstein.