PNPC Lieutenant Jay "Deacon" Frost - After Action Work
Martin Tucker
As Deacon stepped into the Armory, the computer beeped to indicate it was 0400. Although he arrived an hour early, he believed in the saying that being early means you’re on time, and being on time is late. It's a straightforward guiding principle. The main maintenance table sat in the middle of the room, illuminated only by a light fixture hanging overhead.
He sighed and went over to the replicator, barely illuminated by the light over the table.
Deacon: Computer, French roast, morning blend, cream sugar, extra hot.
The replicator whirred in compliance; usually, he’d make a stop at the Brew Continuum, but even at almost four in the morning, there was a line out the door as people were preparing for Alpha Shift. Jay reached in and grabbed the steaming mug of coffee. He gingerly took a sip as he set it down on the maintenance table. He then turned around and pulled his rifle from the phaser rifle locker, which was part of the mission. He set it down in front of him, took a sip of coffee, and began to field strip it.
He found stripping and cleaning his rifle to be a way to center himself and mentally review the last mission. It was a habit he developed during search-and-rescue missions. It helped him process the mission and also offered a moment of zen. It was relaxing, and besides his quarters, this was the only other place on the ship that genuinely felt like home.
Home, Deacon wondered, what truly defined home? Was it in San Diego? His quarters on the Ronin? The Armory? These were important questions, but he didn’t have answers. He never quite felt at home and enjoyed the semi-nomadic life of a Starfleet officer. Still, he felt comfortable aboard the Ronin and might even be willing to call it home.
He was still trying to understand the mission and the true nature of the Consortium's actions, which he considered beyond evil—if there was even something beyond pure wickedness evil
He hoped to visit the farm and relax eventually, among other things. However, he wanted to finish his post-mission work first before relaxing.
((0600 Deck 11, Armory))
Deke had finished his fifth rifle as the doors to the armory swished open. He turned to see who had come into the armory. This time, it was the ship's resident cranky Bajoran Senior Chief, Kiran Rork. He and Rork got along well and had never had an issue, and he’d saved the Lieutenant’s hide more than once.
Deacon: Mornin', chief.
Kiran grunted and headed to the replicator; it seemed he, too, had skipped the line at Brew Continuum. He ordered one of several raktajino he ended up having throughout the day, not that Deacon or anyone else in security was keeping track.
Kirn took a sip from his steaming mug.
Kiran: ::nodding his head:: Mornin, sir.
Deke nodded and got back to cleaning the rifle in front of him. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the Chief was looking over the day’s duty list. He raised an eyebrow, turning to Deacon.
Kiran: Shouldn’t you be hip deep in mission reports sir? This was supposed to be my job.
He pointed at the disassembled phaser rifle in front of Deacon.
Deacon: You’d be correct, Chief, but I really need to clear my head a bit more before sitting down and putting all down on paper, so to speak.
Kiran: I get that, it wasn’t so pleasant here either. Things were going fine, until they weren’t. Made doing our job damn tough, sir.
Yes, things got bad. He’d have to go over the reports of exactly what went on on the Ronin while they were off on the freighter and the Compas Rose. Deke reached over and grabbed his coffee cup, draining the last sip. He made a face as it had gone somewhat cold, and he wasn’t really a fan of cold coffee. It was meant to be hot, at least in Deacon’s opinion.
Deacon: I can only imagine, Chief. It was pretty hairy over on the Rose and the plague freighter. The Consortium has been cooking up some awful crap, and with no one to really stop them, they’re going to keep doing this shit. It’s gotta come to an end.
Rork nodded, holding his hands up as if he were surrendering.
Kiran: You’re preaching to the choir.
Deke turned and put another finished rifle back into the locker. Satisfied, he shut the cabinet and entered the designated security code, which changed with each shift. It was one of the protocols he liked, and while it’s changed with each shift, every security officer is notified., Though that might change now that they have a new Security Chief.
He sighed, knowing what was next on the work log: reviewing the EV suits worn by the security officers. They’re slightly different, as the ones for security officers had limited shields. Deacon likes to think of the shield like wearing a ‘vest’ as they used to say way back when. Deacon had a fascination with old policing procedures and practices, especially a specialized group of police called SWAT, which stood for Special Weapons and Tactics. This also made him fascinated by policing in general. He never thought he’d be where he was today. He thought about joining the San Diego Security Operations.
He was encouraged by a few friends to skip that and join them at the Academy, where he could pursue a career in Starfleet Security. Deacon saw it as something bigger than himself and jumped on the first transporter to the Academy grounds and enrolled.
Graduated top ten in his class, and bounced around the fleet before landing on the Ronin as the Search and Rescue specialist. And then he found the Ronin after a few postings; he came on board shortly after the relaunch. And while the ships have been through their ups and certainly downs, they stuck together like a family, and Deacon loved that aspect.
The Senior Chiefs' voice brought Deacon out of his reverie.
Kiran: You okay over there, Deacon? You’re awfully silent.
Deke turned as smiled at the Bajoran.
Deacon: ::distracted:: Yeah, I’m fine…
Deke walked over to the replicator and asked for another coffee. It whirred into compliance, and he returned to the maintenance table, where he picked up the PADD with the duty list. He really wanted to avoid the EV suits, but they needed to be recalibrated now that they had been through days of decontamination.
With a bit of a sigh and a sip of coffee, Deacon went back to work.
