LtCmdr Connor Dewitt - Prepared and Ready
Tim
((Observation Lounge, Top Deck, PanRisa Cruise Line vessel, Indulgence of Chocolate-Coated Jama'haron))
The lounge’s energy had softened into something looser. Connor heard aughter from one corner, the low hum of conversation from another. He leaned back slightly in his chair, watching Morda over the edge of his glass.
C. Dewitt: My first week in the Isles wasn’t exactly what the Academy had prepared me for.
Morda: Bit of a trial by fire?
Connor let out a faint breath through his nose.
C. Dewitt: That’s one way to phrase it. ::pause:: The Academy prepares you for procedures. Which is important. Without procedures, the Khitomer would sink into chaos. But the Isles… The Isles test what you do when the procedures don’t apply.
He did not elaborate on the specifics. He had been in Morda’s shoes and he knew that he had been eager to get out here. They all had been. And while Connor believed that their work was contributing to a greater good, he was not sure he would take the same path again. All the burn marks, the sealed bulkheads, the faces that didn’t come back from away missions. Those weren’t theoretical exercises anymore.
Morda: I used to be in my homeworld’s security force. I keep thinking about preparedness versus readiness -- and how after basic training, I had no idea and hadn’t been trained that there was a difference. Starfleet, to its credit, points at that gap and does a good job bridging it -- but there are some corners of space so fraught or perilous, I wonder if the readiness gap can’t be bridged until you’ve been there a minute. And I wonder if the Isles is such a spot.
Connor studied him for a moment.
Morda did not sound like the kind of ensign Connor had been. There seemed to be no restless edge to him, no impatience disguised as confidence. When Connor had first arrived in the Isles, he’d been all forward motion. Solve it, patch it, move on. Reflection had come later. Sometimes maybe too late.
Morda, by contrast, seemed to start with the reflection. He weighed things before stepping into them. There seemed to be less of the blind charge Connor remembered in himself, and more care in the way he framed his questions.
Connor was not sure if that meant the young officer would fare better than he did. But it surely was not a weakness.
C. Dewitt: You’re not wrong about the gap. ::leaning forward, forearms on the table:: The Isles won’t wait for you to feel ready. It throws you into it and lets you figure out the difference the hard way. ::a pause:: But reflection like you have it is good. It calibrates you. Just don’t let the thinking paralyze the doing.
He sat back again, expression steady.
C. Dewitt: But I’ll have the feeling you’ll bridge the gap faster than I did.
Morda: I hear what you mean, sir, and I’ll consider it. ::Tipping back the last of his drink:: Beg your pardon, Commander, but I’m still recovering from a Klingon haircut. That’s, uh, not a euphemism. It’s about time I find some clean clothes and scrub the bloodwine out of my pores.
Connor chose a quiet nod as the lounge lights shifted slightly for the night. Morda stood and extended his hand. Connor raised up and offered his hand firmly.
Morda: Thanks for the talk, sir. I’ll see you ‘round the cruise, and I look forward to serving with you back on the Khitomer.
C. Dewitt: Likewise, Ensign.
He released Morda’s hand and watched him disappear into the flow of guests. Connor remained standing a moment longer, gaze settling once more on the stars beyond the glass. Talon Morda seemed to ask the right question. A thin smile went over his face.
Prepared. Ready.
He was not entirely certain which one he was supposed to be right now.
NT/End
LtCmdr Connor Dewitt First Officer USS Khitomer A239901CD3