Ensign Talon Morda: Getting to the core of the matter
Eston Melton
((Cargo Bay 2, Deck 15, USS Khitomer, in orbit of Alpha Trionus II))
Starfleet customs and courtesies occasionally vexed Cadet Morda. Not because they were hard or that the deferential hierarchical mindset clashed with the Federation’s ostensible “we’re all equals here” aura. Rather, it was because it meant unlearning or at least setting aside his own culture’s customs. In the OSF, an officer would announce a destination, and then enlisted personnel and junior officers in the cadre walked ahead of the seniors, an honor guard harkening to that time with the thing at the place no one quite remembered. OSF cruiser bridges took that custom into orbit, situated as they were at the rear of the ship and nestled in the mid-decks. Starfleet, anchored in old Earth traditions, meanwhile expected juniors to follow a step behind and to the left of their seniors -- leaders “lead the way” and all that. It’s one of the reasons starship bridges sat where they were: Starfleet captains were visible, daring, and literally on top of things. (Compared to Klingons, with their forward-mounted command centers and readiness to act, and whose martial culture just screamed “Follow me!”) It hadn’t been a challenging un- and re-learning, but it was … different. Which in the end is why Morda had joined Starfleet in the first place.
So there they were: a Kerellian ensign a step behind and to the left of a Vulcan lieutenant, exercising an ancient Human courtesy on a starship named for a Klingon world.
They entered the cargo bay, the reinforced hatch sealing with a slight echo in the mostly empty space. Aside from a few pallets, someone seemed to have left a pair of legs in the room. Oh: they moved, and were attached to someone.
Michaels: Hard at work I see. Excellent.
Lacy: Yess— I mean, yes, Lera. The increased resolution will mean a greater power draw, but as long as we’re not in combat, it shouldn’t make a difference. And the cargo transporters will be safe for lifeforms.
Morda thought that sounded like good news, though “not in combat” sounded like a caveat not to overlook.
Michaels: That is good. We have assistance here. This is Ensign Morda. Is there space down there where we could make productive use of him?
Lacy: It’s a bigger ship than Arrow, you would think that they would have room to design for easier access.
Morda got a quick head nod from Lacy as she adjusted position to at least make eye contact; he jerked his chin up slightly in a return gesture, one of few relatively universal greetings in Federation space. He was relieved that the service area’s confines didn’t permit him to be “productive”: his engineering acumen was rather narrow, with fluency in facilitating rapid, high-intensity exothermic and kinetic energy release. He could make almost anything explode good, but not do much else. “I am a graduate of Starfleet Academy,” the instructor -- a former counselor who’d changed career tracks -- had instilled as a mantra. “I can blow up many things.”
Michaels: ::To Morda :: Do not take this personally. Ensign Lacy tends to be highly focused when assigned a difficult task with a tight schedule. :: Lacy. Where do we stand on the power connection and high resolution interface task?
Lacy: That’ll be next. Fortunately, data line access isn’t down here.
Michaels: All right. Mr. Morda and I will take care of that. Keep me informed when you're finished here.
Lacy: Response
Michaels: :: to Morda:: It appears that we are going to continue your grand tour of the ship.
Morda now quickly nodded his chin slightly down toward Lacy, the Federal universal head gesture for “This interaction has concluded satisfactorily, and we need say nothing more,” then followed Michaels back to the lift.
Morda: At least it’s not the Jefferies tube.
The turbolift door opened again and they entered.
Michaels: Deck 4. :: slight smile to Morda:: Computer Core master control. And coincidentally the transporter room typically used by individuals. ::beat:: And the ship's lounge. Not that we have time for a drink. :: beat :: Just a matter of curiosity, is this what you expected when you joined Starfleet?
Morda: ::A pause:: I'm on my toes. Knowing that I don’t know all the details, trusting in leadership -- that was old news before the Academy. But the overall idea of having a mission, of a diverse set of smart people working together to serve others, and maybe meet some new people along the way? Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for. ::Eyeballing the dwindling deck numbers on the turboblift display:: You, sir?
Michaels: Response
((Deck 4, Computer Core Antechamber, USS Khitomer, in orbit of Alpha Trionus II))
The turbolift halted, depositing them on a corridor only slightly different than the one they’d been on at the opposite end of the ship. The central turbolift tube ran parallel to the main computer core; it was a few quick steps to the anteroom. The computer core was a critical ship’s system, and in the vessel’s state of heightened alert, he wasn’t surprised to see an armed security crewman at the hatch. He’d reviewed the enlisted roster, and the crewman in front of him was… definitely someone whose picture he’d seen and whose name he’d forgotten. They clearly recognized Michaels, allowing them unabashedly to eyeball the unknown ensign. Morda considered deferring and letting Michaels introduce them--
oO Ah, hell Oo
Morda: :: Repeating the Federal universal head-gesture greetings for "hello" :: Ensign Morda, security. Just arrived. Here to help the lieutenant in the core. Need us to authenticate in, Crewman?
The guard could’ve affably waved them through on the engineer’s recognizance. Morda would’ve been disappointed but not necessarily surprised. But the crewman was no rookie, calling up the unfamiliar ensign on his console to verify his credentials. After a few moments:
Beaumont: XO stamped you into the roster; you’re authorized, sir. Welcome aboard. I’m Beaumont, sir. Still need you to authenticate. ::Gesturing to a digit scanner on his console; Morda presses his thumb to it.:: And you, too, Lieutenant. ::Gesturing for Michaels to likewise authenticate into the secure space::
Michaels: Response
Morda: Thanks, Beaumont. Be seeing you. Be safe.
Beaumont: Aye, sir.
((Deck 4, Computer Core Master Control, USS Khitomer, in orbit of Alpha Trionus II))
The pair of officers stepped into the computer core workspace. It reminded Morda of some engineering areas, though perhaps with fewer obvious potential improvised explosives. A gantry ran around the core, which they stood at the top of; over the nearby railing, the computer stretched down to deck 7. The bulkhead behind them was occupied with various console and data exchange ports; a few hatches led to offices and labs. Morda remembered the weird shuttle pilot’s bizarre comment about gel packs, but he set aside his follow-up wonderings for another time.
Morda: Okay, Lieutenant. How can I help?
Michaels: Response
Tags/TBC