Ensign Doz Finch - Caught in a Dream
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Doz Finch
Jan 5, 2023, 5:18:18 PM1/5/23
to sb118-...@googlegroups.com, Doz Finch
((Main Engineering, USS Gorkon))
Faint smells hung in the air like wayward dreamcatchers, with the promise of triumphant repairs. Almost–though not exactly–like sulphide, compounding inspiration with her suspicions; driving all three of them, Finch, Bendyn and the circuits to some sort of long-awaited conclusion. And it was indeed long-awaited. Not in the literal sense, but more so metaphorically.
It had astounded her how something as primal as circuitry had sent her on this zany quest for solutions. How she had been outsmarted by a wired fandangle; its miniature components, tasting of charred foods long gone-off, laughing at her through their imaginary mouths. A confederacy of electric comedians, with no intention of ever repairing the ship, and instead on a mission to give an older engineer–and an even older woman–a headache that would put Mount Vesuvius to shame.
And as her almond-shaped eyes, still squinting without use of her grey-tinted oculars, looked deeply into the hardware that she had plucked all too excitedly out of the replicator, the absurdity of the situation made her caterpillar brows squirm. If her theory was right–and wasn’t simply conjecture–then she really had been stifled by a piece of equipment she had been repairing these last forty something years, in all its many incarnations.
What did that mean? Was she losing her touch? Surely not; Ernie, her even rosier-cheeked brother, was in his seventies and as sharp as ever. So sharp that Starfleet hadn’t even warned him of retirement. Hadn’t even brought up the possibility of it; hadn’t even wished him a happy birthday on the big seven oh, which he found odd, and Doz found rude. Funny, but rude. Sharpness was part of the bloodline, and she’d be damned if she started to lose her marbles before he did. She’d be damned if she lost any marbles at all. No; her marbles were super-glued in, thank you very much.
Then she laughed. In her scratchy and quick voice, lilted under the veiled sounds of tapping, typing and tinkering, and the teasing aroma of sizzling repairs–and disrepairs–she laughed, tickled by the thought of what Murphy would have said. You’re losing it, old girl. Better retire that old spanner, buy a shack on Risa, sleep in a hammock and fish everyday—in his voice. That teasing, warm, buttery voice of her oldest friend and anointed nuisance. Infusing and peppering her, so that he could later say something deep and profound in the way that only Murphy knew how. Something like, you aren’t losing it, Doz. You’re just unfortunately human.
Suddenly something clicked–literally, and mentally–reverberating from the equipment in front of Doz and Meg.
Finch: I bloody knew it.
Bendyn: What did you find?
Lieutenant Bendyn circled the table as Doz scrutinised a flashing red light, imbuing its ruby hue upon both of their faces, accompanied by the dancing of their shadows silhouetted nearby. She let out a noise–too quick to be a laugh, too hard to be a gasp–just a noise, pulling her face back immediately to look at Meg with an expression of a wild and almost contradicting mix of perplexed victory.
Bendyn: That does not look good. You did not activate the ship’s self-destruction by accident, did you? I can vouch for you with the Admiral, that you did not mean that to happen.
Finch: What did I say?
Bendyn: You said something about the buffers of the replicator not working correctly.
Finch: Exactly! ::She drummed her fingers along the table and shook her head, smiling widely, eyes shimmering almost violently under the luminescence of the core:: …and would you look at that. Just as we thought, Lieutenant. It was the replicators' buffers this whole time. What a lark! What a goosechase. I'll be needing a strong cuppa after this.
Bendyn: So it is an easy fix? What is the next phase on how to remedy the error? I am sure it is something I can learn from you.
Finch: As easy as fried scallops—here, look at that, Lieutenant. See that? gravimetric misalignment. I should have known better really.
Faint smells hung in the air like wayward dreamcatchers, with the promise of triumphant repairs. Almost–though not exactly–like sulphide, compounding inspiration with her suspicions; driving all three of them, Finch, Bendyn and the circuits to some sort of long-awaited conclusion. And it was indeed long-awaited. Not in the literal sense, but more so metaphorically.
It had astounded her how something as primal as circuitry had sent her on this zany quest for solutions. How she had been outsmarted by a wired fandangle; its miniature components, tasting of charred foods long gone-off, laughing at her through their imaginary mouths. A confederacy of electric comedians, with no intention of ever repairing the ship, and instead on a mission to give an older engineer–and an even older woman–a headache that would put Mount Vesuvius to shame.
And as her almond-shaped eyes, still squinting without use of her grey-tinted oculars, looked deeply into the hardware that she had plucked all too excitedly out of the replicator, the absurdity of the situation made her caterpillar brows squirm. If her theory was right–and wasn’t simply conjecture–then she really had been stifled by a piece of equipment she had been repairing these last forty something years, in all its many incarnations.
What did that mean? Was she losing her touch? Surely not; Ernie, her even rosier-cheeked brother, was in his seventies and as sharp as ever. So sharp that Starfleet hadn’t even warned him of retirement. Hadn’t even brought up the possibility of it; hadn’t even wished him a happy birthday on the big seven oh, which he found odd, and Doz found rude. Funny, but rude. Sharpness was part of the bloodline, and she’d be damned if she started to lose her marbles before he did. She’d be damned if she lost any marbles at all. No; her marbles were super-glued in, thank you very much.
Then she laughed. In her scratchy and quick voice, lilted under the veiled sounds of tapping, typing and tinkering, and the teasing aroma of sizzling repairs–and disrepairs–she laughed, tickled by the thought of what Murphy would have said. You’re losing it, old girl. Better retire that old spanner, buy a shack on Risa, sleep in a hammock and fish everyday—in his voice. That teasing, warm, buttery voice of her oldest friend and anointed nuisance. Infusing and peppering her, so that he could later say something deep and profound in the way that only Murphy knew how. Something like, you aren’t losing it, Doz. You’re just unfortunately human.
Suddenly something clicked–literally, and mentally–reverberating from the equipment in front of Doz and Meg.
Finch: I bloody knew it.
Bendyn: What did you find?
Lieutenant Bendyn circled the table as Doz scrutinised a flashing red light, imbuing its ruby hue upon both of their faces, accompanied by the dancing of their shadows silhouetted nearby. She let out a noise–too quick to be a laugh, too hard to be a gasp–just a noise, pulling her face back immediately to look at Meg with an expression of a wild and almost contradicting mix of perplexed victory.
Bendyn: That does not look good. You did not activate the ship’s self-destruction by accident, did you? I can vouch for you with the Admiral, that you did not mean that to happen.
Finch: What did I say?
Bendyn: You said something about the buffers of the replicator not working correctly.
Finch: Exactly! ::She drummed her fingers along the table and shook her head, smiling widely, eyes shimmering almost violently under the luminescence of the core:: …and would you look at that. Just as we thought, Lieutenant. It was the replicators' buffers this whole time. What a lark! What a goosechase. I'll be needing a strong cuppa after this.
Bendyn: So it is an easy fix? What is the next phase on how to remedy the error? I am sure it is something I can learn from you.
Finch: As easy as fried scallops—here, look at that, Lieutenant. See that? gravimetric misalignment. I should have known better really.
She adjusted her position next to the table and shook her head with a grin.
Finch: It’s a funny thing, working on ships. You spend so long on them, that everything around you runs the risk of becoming invisible. Mundane. And it's not that the ship becomes quieter, it's just that you aren't listening to it anymore. You get complacent. Little errors hide in plain sight, like that one. Something I really should have looked at first.
Her voice was almost airy, as if collecting memories from her past and projecting them outwards into thoughts—into analogies and wisdoms. As Meg looked, she proffered Finch with another question, that Doz took a moment to properly think over. It had occurred to her that Bendyn’s earlier question meant more than hobbies or activities; the Betazoid wanted to know who Doz was. Under the sliver of her skin, those tiny details and specs of a Human whose existence was made up of likes and dislikes, habits and rituals, stories on the surface, and those buried deep—even fix feet deep.
And it didn’t surprise her, not in the slightest. In the Officer Candidate School, her age was a subject of curiosity for some, and even contention for others. Most aliens thought nothing of it. It was her human counterparts who had questions. Didn’t she want to retire? Didn’t she want to enjoy her life? Didn’t she have a family?
…didn’t she have a family.
Bendyn: Do you not miss the outdoor life, if you spend so much time on the ship? Perhaps you could do your power walks on Palanon. I heard a group of the crew went camping there a few months ago. It might be a welcome change for you.
Finch: I’ll tell you what I do miss. ::she paused, the corner of her mouth twisting up only a touch:: I miss watching the sunrise in Birmingham. I thought about this recently, actually. Oddly I don’t count the academy as being back on Earth. You know, it’s just so– ::she scrunched her hands together to emphasise her point:: –not at all like home.
Bendyn: Response
Finch: It’s where I’m from. Not originally, of course, I was born on the Falkland Islands, which is out in the Atlantic Oceans, not that you’d need to know that. No, I wasn’t born there, but I spent a big part of my life there. Of course, we’re talking decades ago.
Her voice was almost airy, as if collecting memories from her past and projecting them outwards into thoughts—into analogies and wisdoms. As Meg looked, she proffered Finch with another question, that Doz took a moment to properly think over. It had occurred to her that Bendyn’s earlier question meant more than hobbies or activities; the Betazoid wanted to know who Doz was. Under the sliver of her skin, those tiny details and specs of a Human whose existence was made up of likes and dislikes, habits and rituals, stories on the surface, and those buried deep—even fix feet deep.
And it didn’t surprise her, not in the slightest. In the Officer Candidate School, her age was a subject of curiosity for some, and even contention for others. Most aliens thought nothing of it. It was her human counterparts who had questions. Didn’t she want to retire? Didn’t she want to enjoy her life? Didn’t she have a family?
…didn’t she have a family.
Bendyn: Do you not miss the outdoor life, if you spend so much time on the ship? Perhaps you could do your power walks on Palanon. I heard a group of the crew went camping there a few months ago. It might be a welcome change for you.
Finch: I’ll tell you what I do miss. ::she paused, the corner of her mouth twisting up only a touch:: I miss watching the sunrise in Birmingham. I thought about this recently, actually. Oddly I don’t count the academy as being back on Earth. You know, it’s just so– ::she scrunched her hands together to emphasise her point:: –not at all like home.
Bendyn: Response
Finch: It’s where I’m from. Not originally, of course, I was born on the Falkland Islands, which is out in the Atlantic Oceans, not that you’d need to know that. No, I wasn’t born there, but I spent a big part of my life there. Of course, we’re talking decades ago.
Decades ago—as if it were in fact a dream, gently brushing against her mind like an old and loosely moored boat.
Bendyn: Response
Finch: I’ve never been a good sleeper, so me brother Wallace and me used to run out to a woodland and watch it. We’d take something to play music on, and a bite to eat, and we’d just sit there and watch it come up. Of course, it’s not a seaside place, Birmingham, so it was a different sort of sunrise. ::she simpered:: We had some cracking parties n'all. Sometimes inviting our friends to join us. Dancing and laughing. Till he went off to Mars and joined the Tech academy, like the others, and left me behind with nothing but a miserable mother and earache. Anyway, the less said about that!
She sharply shook herself out of it, as if ridding herself of a swarm of ants that had clambered over her during the conversation. Then, she leaned closer in to see what Meg was seeing, bringing the subject back to the repair.
Bendyn: Response
Finch: Now hold that there, and I think it should be hunky dory in about thirty seconds.
Bendyn: Response
Finch: It’s an expression, love. Sort of like saying, everything will be right as rain. Or just dandy. ::she blinked at Meg and then lines appeared on her face again:: In other words, everything will be just as it's supposed to be.
Bendyn: Response
((Some moments later))
After comparing the usual circuits with the faulty batch that Meg had efficiently laid out on the table for viewing, the hardware had finished its repair and had now been reinserted back into the villainous replicator, or Miss Tricky as Doz now considered rebranding it. Reemerging from underneath, the replicator hummed into life, sparing no eyes its warmth or light, beckoning those engineers daring enough to try using it again, if they had enough of a sense of humour.
Finch side-eyed Meg, and gestured to it with her outstretched and small palm, as if to say you take the honours.
Finch: I dare not try it.
Bendyn: Response
As the circuit was replicated, in a dizzy fuzz of magnificent sparkling beams, the likes of which imitated the razzle and dazzle of astrological wonders; Finch, holding onto Meg’s arm, slowly approached it’s precipice, as if about to discover something the Federation has never seen before. A moment of trepidation and unease and (ever so slight) delirium.
And there it was. Perfect in all its components. Plain, wired, and ready to go. They had done it.
Finch: ::punching the air:: Thank god for that, Lieutenant! Aha! And the mystery is solved. All it needs is a little testing, a little pinch of the hyperspanner to make sure it's all in order, but I think it’s fair to say that we can turn our backs on it at last. And in good time. There’s a party down on Palanon with my name all over it. Yours too, I hope?
Bendyn: Response
Finch clapped then squeezed Meg's arm proudly. The ship had put her through the ringer, but with the help of officers who already knew its innards, its grooves, how its ritualistic behaviours, maladies and more, she had started to make genuine progress with some repairs. Ultimately, that was the lesson in it; not even forty odd years of experience can fully prepare an engineer for a ship they've not befriended yet.
End for Doz.
--
Bendyn: Response
Finch: I’ve never been a good sleeper, so me brother Wallace and me used to run out to a woodland and watch it. We’d take something to play music on, and a bite to eat, and we’d just sit there and watch it come up. Of course, it’s not a seaside place, Birmingham, so it was a different sort of sunrise. ::she simpered:: We had some cracking parties n'all. Sometimes inviting our friends to join us. Dancing and laughing. Till he went off to Mars and joined the Tech academy, like the others, and left me behind with nothing but a miserable mother and earache. Anyway, the less said about that!
She sharply shook herself out of it, as if ridding herself of a swarm of ants that had clambered over her during the conversation. Then, she leaned closer in to see what Meg was seeing, bringing the subject back to the repair.
Bendyn: Response
Finch: Now hold that there, and I think it should be hunky dory in about thirty seconds.
Bendyn: Response
Finch: It’s an expression, love. Sort of like saying, everything will be right as rain. Or just dandy. ::she blinked at Meg and then lines appeared on her face again:: In other words, everything will be just as it's supposed to be.
Bendyn: Response
((Some moments later))
After comparing the usual circuits with the faulty batch that Meg had efficiently laid out on the table for viewing, the hardware had finished its repair and had now been reinserted back into the villainous replicator, or Miss Tricky as Doz now considered rebranding it. Reemerging from underneath, the replicator hummed into life, sparing no eyes its warmth or light, beckoning those engineers daring enough to try using it again, if they had enough of a sense of humour.
Finch side-eyed Meg, and gestured to it with her outstretched and small palm, as if to say you take the honours.
Finch: I dare not try it.
Bendyn: Response
As the circuit was replicated, in a dizzy fuzz of magnificent sparkling beams, the likes of which imitated the razzle and dazzle of astrological wonders; Finch, holding onto Meg’s arm, slowly approached it’s precipice, as if about to discover something the Federation has never seen before. A moment of trepidation and unease and (ever so slight) delirium.
And there it was. Perfect in all its components. Plain, wired, and ready to go. They had done it.
Finch: ::punching the air:: Thank god for that, Lieutenant! Aha! And the mystery is solved. All it needs is a little testing, a little pinch of the hyperspanner to make sure it's all in order, but I think it’s fair to say that we can turn our backs on it at last. And in good time. There’s a party down on Palanon with my name all over it. Yours too, I hope?
Bendyn: Response
Finch clapped then squeezed Meg's arm proudly. The ship had put her through the ringer, but with the help of officers who already knew its innards, its grooves, how its ritualistic behaviours, maladies and more, she had started to make genuine progress with some repairs. Ultimately, that was the lesson in it; not even forty odd years of experience can fully prepare an engineer for a ship they've not befriended yet.
End for Doz.
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