Ensign Talon Morda: Reading interruption
Eston Melton
(( Deck 4, Crew Mess, USS Khitomer ))
Be seen, be present: that was from about the second week of “how to officer.” It didn’t come easy to Ensign Morda, but his forced habit was gradually becoming an everyday routine as he took most meals in either the officers’ or crew mess.
He planted himself, a tray, a coffee mug, and a PADD on a table against the deck 4 mess bulkhead. He’d be visible, yes, but today he wouldn’t seek out meal companionship; instead, he carried tactical specs and SOPs for the Lafayette class in anticipation of training after shore leave. Naturally, he sat facing the mess hall entrances. There was a fleet joke about security conferences always looking half-attended because all the participants sat on just one side of the conference tables, but the joke was apparently only funny in Bolian.
He read, and raised his head with each sip and clocked comings and goings.
::sip:: - Alamenda from Beta Shift came in, and they exchanged universal-head-nod-of-recognition #3.
::sip:: - Lieutenant Semara in quarter-profile, joining Commander Valeris.
::sip:: - Alamenda leaving, holding two mugs. Coming in, a red-head, human-ish, sciences blue, lieutenant j.g.
::sip:: - Ensign Matthews standing-- no, now sitting with Semara and Valeris. He hadn’t met Matthews yet, but recognized him from the profile on a bridge screen while he’d been captured.
::sip:: - Red-head leaving with a meal to go. Orion engineer on his way in, chatting with Bechtel from Gamma Shift.
::sip:: - Valeries leaving.
He set the mug aside as he approached a dense section of the primer. Halfway through, though, the edge of his hearing snagged on something: past a table of enlistees discussing a lost bet, but before a guffawing Tellarate, was a burst of tension. That voice he didn’t recognize, but the lighter voice was easy to peg: Lieutenant Semara. oO Something up with Matthews? Oo Morda willed his focus back to the reading, conscientious not to eavesdrop. Someone was out of sorts, but no hazard.
Eyes on the PADD: “--Nominal deflector system total output is 1,837 MW graviton load. Peak momentary load of a single generator can approach 673,000 MW for up to 215 milliseconds, with significant buildup in energy dispersal channels. During Alert status, up to six generators can be operated--”
That tension reached a crescendo, and Morda looked up to catch Matthews’ back. He wasn’t running out of the mess, but he seemed urgently not to want to be there. Morda eyed Lieutenant Semara, whose expression was inscrutable.
He leaned back, put his hands on the edge of the table, and did some quick emotional math. Then he rose and left the mess hall.
(( Deck 4, Corridor, USS Khitomer ))
Morda spotted the receding ensign, and he paused to wonder if it was wise to butt in. He hadn’t, after all, actually met Ensign Matthews. But he’d heard anger or pain in his colleague’s voice, and that seemed unusual and potentially unhealthy for a colleague. He registered that probably Lieutenant Semara was likewise upset, and maybe he should’ve instead slid over to her. But he wasn’t going to get buried by maybes: leadership meant making a decision, and not perseverating.
He walked forward, exceeding Matthews’ pace, and almost called him out by rank. But, no: that might seem like someone had stuck security on him, and that probably wouldn’t help.
Morda: Richard!
Matthews: Response
Morda hastened his pace and caught up to the ensign.
Morda: Hey. Richard. Talon Morda. ::Extending a hand::
Matthews: Response
Morda: Well. oO Clear is kind. Oo :: Pointing to his ear :: My people: we have really good hearing. And in a busy chow hall, I heard you upset, and your body language matches. :: Shrugging :: Emotional security usually wears blue, but I saw a colleague in distress and thought I’d see if a total stranger only a few weeks out of the Academy might be able to help you out.
Matthews: Response