Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

Posted on Wed Nov 2nd, 2011 @ 12:45pm by Lieutenant Jasad Broca & Captain Nathan Cowell MD

Mission: These are the voyages...
Location: Various
Timeline: Pre-Launch

Shimmering lights fell away, and Jasad was standing in the transporter room. The first thing he noticed was that the interior of this ship was not covered in brightly polished metal. Not that he had any cause to fear reflections anymore, but the relief flowed through him nonetheless. He looked towards the transporter chief and nodded, "Permission to come aboard?"

There was a brief hesitation. Jasad's teeth clenched. Anger and shame began to rise up in his chest. But then those emotions were shattered by humor. The chief wasn't staring at him in hesitation because he was a disfigured burn victim. The man was staring at him because he was a Cardassian. Racism. He'd almost forgotten about it. Oddly pleasant when compared to utter revulsion. Now he wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Permission granted, Sir," the transporter chief said finally.

Jasad took no more notice of the man, hefting his duffel bag and heading out the door. The corridor beyond was positively dull. Oh, it was a very fine 24th century design. Wide, spacious, geometric, and carpeted. But it didn't gleam... and that was good. He'd eventually sit down with a counselor to talk about his new aversion to bright spaces, but for now he just enjoyed the basic utilitarian feel of the vessel.

Utilitarian.

The designers of the Sovereign would doubtless cringe at the concept of someone thinking this ship utilitarian. It had been built with top-notch diplomatic facilities and an eye towards comfort. All of Jasad's perceptions were clouded by six months of living on a chromed star palace. He'd adjust to the new reality soon enough.

Coming to his assigned room (as indicated by his helpful PADD interface) he laid out his sparse belongings on his bed and put his clothes in drawers. Most of his belongings had been lost with the previous Arizona. He'd once been a Spartan man, making do with few possessions. Now he'd learned to live with even less. The remainder of his duffel was filled with tools. His spare toolkit from the Arizona was one of the few artifacts he'd been able to rescue from the old bird. Now they were one of the few remaining monuments to that ship. Each one of them carried dozens of memories.

Once his room was in order, he made way for the Captain's ready room. The ship was still in dock, still being fitted and finished. A dockside commander would technically be in charge of her until she was ready for launch. Still, Jasad would bet good money that a certain grizzled old coot had claimed his proper due.

When the doors opened, he stood at attention. "Lieutenant Jasad Broca, reporting for duty, Sir."

Commodore Nathan Cowell looked up to find the Cardassian who had become a staple part of the crew over the last year that the crew had spent in the 27th century. He had done a great many things that had saved the crew from utter destruction... along with most of the crew who had made it out alive... and that made him stand out as far as the old man was concerned. The fact that the man was a Cardassian had long since left the Commodore's mind, he was just a man wearing the uniform like so many other men had done before.

"Mister Broca... come on in, sit down," Nathan said from his chair in the newly furnished ready room. The room, compared to the one on the old Arizona, was far more empty. The only thing that survived, and perhaps fittingly so, was the dedication plaque that had been on the wall of the bridge of the lost ship. It had been mounted just behind the Commodore's desk, displayed prominently for all that walked into the room to see.

Jasad glanced around the room briefly, his eyes lighting on the dedication plaque. Some said that so simple an object was really the soul of a ship. If so, they had preserved the soul of the Arizona. Jasad wasn't sure he believed in such notions. To his mind, the soul was in the blood. Blood spilled on the decks, and blood carried in the veins of her crew. And so, the soul of the Arizona lived on through them. As long as one creature lived who had served on those decks, her soul would be intact. Now they would bleed for a new Arizona, and that blood would christen this new ship and commingle the essence of past and future.

He took the offered seat, and considered the Commodore briefly before asking, "Did any of them survive the court-martial, Sir?" With those words, he allowed himself the smallest smile. It might as well have been a grin.

"Yeah, I think they did. They weren't happy I rolled in there with all the forward guns a blazing but they got over it," Nathan chuckled, "Heard from the grape vine you turned down a transfer, that true?"

Jasad's gaze shifted almost imperceptibly from the Commodore's. "Well, Sir, you can't believe everything you hear. I've always looked out for my own interests. If a more promising assignment had come along, I'm sure I would have taken it."

The CO of the Horizon had been quite put out by Jasad's refusal, in fact. Jasad could remember their conversation as though it had taken place an hour ago. They had met the day after Jasad's reconstructive surgery had been completed. "You do realize that the Commodore's career is coming to a close, don't you," Captain Bannister had asked him.

"It's time to think about your own future," he'd said. "We need a subspace expert to help test our new engines, and your work at the Vulcan Science Academy makes you perfect for the job. But you're far from the only expert in the fleet, and these sorts of opportunities don't come around very often. You need to consider what might happen to you if the Commodore... retires."

This last bit had been said with a sneer that Jasad wanted to wipe away with his knuckles. The truth was that he would have served under the Commodore even if it was as an Enlisted Technician on a Merchant Marine garbage scow. That kind of sentimentality was doubtless abhorrent to the old man, and Jasad's capacity to express such notions had slipped away over the past year anyhow. So, the truth would have to exist as a silent agreement between men. His gaze shifted back, a subtle movement of a single geometric degree. "But it's hard to beat a Sovereign, so I guess I got lucky."

Nathan eyed the man for a moment before issuing a resounding, "Bullshit..." It was followed swiftly by a smirk from the old man. That was a gesture Nathan had seldom been seen partaking in over the last year. There had been little to me merry about. A new ship, a new lease on life... those were all fairly positive things to come of one long chain of less than wonderful things. Only one thing made it better...

"Well, my boy, since you're sticking around, you need to look the part of a damn senior staffer. Can't have you running a department of hundreds with that damn blacked out pip," Nathan declared finally as he tossed a box right at Broca's chest, "Put that on, tell me how it fits."

Jasad had not entered the Commodore's service with much in the way of combat reflexes. So, when his hand shot out and snatched the box out of the air like a raven's claw, it was yet another sign of how things had changed over the past year. He looked down at the small container, opening it gingerly. Stainless brass alloy gleamed at him from within the box.

It was customary in the service to call a junior Lieutenant merely 'Lieutenant.' It was the same protocol that dictated that a Lieutenant Commander was spoken of as a Commander. But there was a difference between a Naval courtesy and a fact. The black pip was akin to the training wheels on an Earth bicycle. Every child was glad to get a bicycle, but eventually if they didn't get the extra wheels off, their peers started to notice.

Jasad had been an Ensign for so long that he thought he'd never be promoted. Then, thirteen months ago, he'd received the black pip. It was a new rank and it earned him a courtesy 'Lieutenant' from the Service. Still, he had to have been one of the oldest junior Lieutenants in the fleet. It did not take long for the black mark to chafe, and he'd vowed to do everything possible to climb the ladder of advancement.

Over the past year, such ambitions had dwindled. They'd been sublimated to concerns like, "Not letting his mates down" and "living another day." Fire and pain and blood and sweat had leeched the cheap ambition from him and replaced it with a sense of duty. And now, when he'd surrendered all such aspirations... now the brass had finally come. He reached up to remove his current pip, replacing it with the one in the box.

Then he opened his mouth to speak. His voice cracked, and he swallowed, trying again. "Thank you, Sir. This-" He remembered his family on Cardassia, so ashamed of him that they'd refused to acknowledge his existence. Even after the Dominion war, their feelings hadn't changed. His father, who had once held him aloft as an accomplished son, now refused to even look at him. He was a traitor in their eyes, and no son of theirs.

Was that one of the reasons he'd come to feel such loyalty for the Commodore? Was the old man a surrogate for what Jasad had lost? Perhaps. "This means a lot," he finished. He deposited the black pip into the box and closed it. Only then did it occur to him that he had no idea which department the Commodore meant for him to command. Would he want Jasad to continue on at Ops, or did he need an Engineer? Or was it to be something else entirely? Just who else had refused transfers in order to stay with the Commodore? What 'holes' were there in the senior staff? "Incidentally, Sir...which department would that be, exactly?"

"You manned the Operations department on the old ship damn well... probably better than some other people could have. I don't see the point in messing with success. You've proven you can do it, you might as well stay put. But a ship this big, there's a lot more Operations officers and crewmen to oversee. And I promise you something right now, not all of them are going to like you. But you know what?" Nathan said, waiting for the Cardassian to inquire as to what before he continued, "I don't give a shit. A man that can keep my boat afloat longer than it should have been, and who didn't let death take him out of the game before I gave him permission... That's a man worth having around. They don't like you because you got grey skin... send them my way. I got no problems making sure they can't see anything but black and blue for a month."

Nathan leaned back in his chair finally, "Get settled in, show your face, then meet me in the lounge at 1900 hours. Liz wants to have some dinner and I figured it was high time we had a little company. Sound good?"

Jasad stood up, feeling somehow taller than he had when he'd walked in here. "Yes Sir," he said with vigor, "I'll look forward to it."

"Outstanding..." Nathan said before he grabbing a book that had been sitting spine up on the desk.