Keepin' her together

Posted on Sun Sep 25th, 2011 @ 8:14am by Lieutenant JG Andreus Kohl & Captain Nathan Cowell MD
Edited on on Sun Sep 25th, 2011 @ 3:13pm

Mission: Tomorrow's Arizona
Location: Deck Five Section Seven, USS Arizona
Timeline: Concurrent with the end of 'What waits beyond...'

Deck five of the Arizona appeared to stretch on forever, as far as Andreus Kohl could see. Door after door, intersection after intersection, the passageway felt as if it might be an infinite Mobius strip of deck plates to run across. As soon as the ship had started to get hit hard by the Species 8472 bioships, Lieutenant (JG) Andreus Kohl had been assigned to one of the damage control teams. While Kohl was hurrying across a passageway, he kept his right hand gripping the shoulder of an Engineer as guidance, because his eyes were mostly concerned with the PADD in his left hand.

The display on the PADD was a colourful kaleidoscope of action menus. The Operations software was overwhelmed by mismatched priorities and possible safety concerns flowing from the demands on ship resources. With one series of forcefields keeping Arizona's insides from falling out, and another series of forcefields keeping the weapons-fire from bursting in, allocating energy between the two was critical. The most critical of decisions were being routed to the Operations Manager position on the Bridge, but there remained overflow of secondary decisions to be made by the other Operations officers as well. While Kohl's eyes and thumb were occupied with selecting routes of power distribution, his ears were concerned with the voice reporting over his commbadge.

"--starting to get the hull breach on deck three under control," said the baritone voice of an Operations Officer over the communications channel.

"I don't--" Kohl interrupted his own statement with a scoff "--I don't care. The forcefields are holding. Those'll do for now. I asked you about the Bridge. How is deck one? My future, my entire career, depends on the physical state of the ceiling on the Bridge!"


=Bridge, USS Arizona=
=Two weeks ago, almost=

He shifted his weight from foot to foot from where he was standing in the turbolift. One moment, Andreus Kohl wasn't totally certain if the turbolift was moving at all. He considered asking the Computer about it, or offering his destination louder this time. The next moment, the doors were pulling away and the Bridge of the Arizona was revealed to him. There was a corner in Kohl's mind that supposed this moment should have held some meaning to him. The Arizona was meant to be his new home, and the Bridge was what made his home work. But instead, Kohl simply visualized the room as a schematic, recognizing the specific bridge module that had been installed into the ship.

A mere skeleton staff was scattered around the Bridge. The Arizona was sleepily docked at Starbase 900, which meant there was little need for a full complement of officers. The forward Operations console, though, that one was taken. As he strode onto the Bridge, Kohl eyed the occupied Operations position enviously. In his second career as an Operations Officer, Kohl had spent most of his shifts supporting every area of the ship other than the Bridge. A handful of gamma-shift Bridge postings had been assigned his way, but Kohl had always been relieved as soon as there had been the slightest deviation from routine.

Kohl had been sure to arrive on the Bridge a few minutes before his appointed time. He stationed himself at the Mission Operations console and he familiarized himself with the LCARS interface aboard Arizona. His thoughts turned inwardly and he wondered if his uniform fit right. He had replicated his uniform three times that morning, tailoring the fit differently, trying to make it comfortable and attractive, without looking so vain as to wear a painted-on uniform. In the very next moment, he wondered if all that meant he was insane.

And then he was standing at the door to the Commodore's Ready Room, his finger pressing the touch pad for the chime.

A brief pause followed, a silence prevailing until suddenly a voice barked, "Come!" The doors of the Ready Room seemed all too eager to comply with the order, as if delay would result in some manner of punishment. Beyond the threshold of the door, Lt. Kohl beheld the half-asleep form of Commodore Cowell, feet propped against the desk with a book resting spine up on his chest.

"What?" the old man demanded with a frown as he watched the man garbed in the mustard colors of the Engineering profession walk into his office.

"A Yeoman advised me to meet you, sir. ...Here. ...Now," replied Kohl. He trailed off at the end with some uncertainty. The Argelian man had stepped only a few paces into the Ready Room, and he folded his arms across his chest. His posture managed to express both diffident discomfort and imperious impatience at the same time. "I am Lieutenant Junior Grade Andreus Kohl, newly assigned to your Operations department, sir."

Sweeney... That detestable man normally did have his hand in ruining his quiet time. Nathan pushed his feet off the desk and sat up a bit straighter, the book finding a home on the surface of his desk. The Commodore gave the man a once over before motioning to the chair before his desk.

"Welcome to the Delta Quadrant," the old man offered as cordially as he could muster, "And to the Arizona as well. Where'd you come from before us?"

"From the USS Atrius, sir; thank you," said Kohl. He lowered himself into the proffered furniture and pressed his shoulders against the chair-back. Laying his hands to rest on his knees, Kohl said sheepishly, "We were on extended assignment to the relief efforts on Bactricia. I hadn't seen a sonic shower or a working 'lift for a couple of months before my transfer orders came in."

"Months? Is that all? Back in WWII, I spent almost three years bathing out of a bucket. Any time we were dug in somewhere and it rained, we'd all strip naked and washed our asses right under the rain gutters. Most of the time we'd have mud in our ass and blood on our clothes and that was the way it was. Didn't worry about fancy showers and turbolifts and all that fancy mess. Simpler times..." Nathan ranted rather abruptly.

Kohl nodded at the significant moments in Nathan's story, his eyes widening as it became more and more profane. Kohl said, "yeah," when the reverie trailed off, but his smile twisted lopsidedly and he added, "Yeah, I was making conversation, not competing, sir." Kohl frowned thoughtfully, then, and he asked genuinely, "What does W-W-two mean?"

"World War II, back on Earth... 1940s. Where were you in history class, son?" the old man answered with a frown.

"On Argelius II, sir. Studying Argelian history," Kohl replied. There was a touch of defensiveness in his tone at the slight implication, but his response was too matter-of-fact to be labeled any one emotion. Becoming lost in reverie of his own, Kohl remarked, "I believe I elected for Bajoran and Vulcan history when I could have been studying Earth history at the Academy."

"Kids these days..." Nathan muttered and brushed it off, "So what questions do you have about your new assignment, or is this mostly a show your face and flee visit?"

After a couple of heartbeats of stillness, Kohl tilted his head to the left and crossed his arms over his abdomen. He breathed in and he asked, "How would you, personally, define success for your Operations department, sir?"

"The ship doesn't fall apart around my ears," the Commodore replied bluntly, "As long as I never have to worry about the ceiling falling on me or the floor caving in, I'm happy. How you go about keeping this ship going is your business."

He nodded at the Commodore's words slightly to express understanding, twisted his lips in consideration as he continued to stare at the Commodore seriously, and then Kohl nodded again. "Yeah," Kohl said, finally, with quiet conviction. "Yes, sir, I can manage that much. ...Do you think that will be a going concern once we head out? What I mean is: what is the nature of our mission?"

"Getting the hell out of Dodge," Nathan responded, "After that, we're flying by the seat of our pants until something demands our attention. So yeah, I'm sure the roof will eventually try to fall down around our ears... always has since I got this command."

"--And --and what do you suppose will pique our interest, our attention?" Kohl asked, evidently not entirely following the Commodore's explanation and still digging for the sort of answer he had been looking for. "Are we providing aid, winning hearts and minds? Protecting the starbase? Exploring for the sake of exploring?"

"Nothing so grand, we just need to get the hell out of this system... long story..." Cowell half-explained, "We're just going with the flow until we get orders."

"I see," Kohl said immediately, but uncertainty crept in just as quickly. His nod of understanding slowed to a halt, his smiling eyes took on a puzzled squint, and he clapped his hands onto his knees. "No," he said bluntly, "Actually, no I don't, sir." --Kohl shook his head, as he gave up on trying to understand-- "Uhm, are there any questions you would like to ask of me, sir?"

"Not that I can think of son," the old man said with a shrug, "Might as well get to it, plenty to do, never enough time to do it all."

"Oh-kay," replied Kohl. In a sudden motion, he was out of his chair and on his feet, supposing that was the closest he was going to get to a formal order of dismissed. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, kid," Nathan said before turning back toward his book.