Air Mail: The Arrival of Jack Mantell

Posted on Sun Dec 23rd, 2012 @ 4:18pm by Lieutenant Jonathan "Jack" Mantell
Edited on on Sun Dec 23rd, 2012 @ 4:19pm

Mission: Funzone
Location: Shuttle Bay 11-A6, Starbase 11
Timeline: One day prior to mission start

"Tensions continue to mount along the Federation-Romulan border, while the Senate remains in session over the weekend to draft a formal response to the Hobus Crisis. Sources close to the palace indicate that a tripartisan plan is being considered, but the President has not indicated whether it will be signed. In other news, Camor V is experiencing an upturn in agricultural exports this year, which some experts have suggested are the results of..."

From its place on the wall, the newscast drone on, embellishing the mindless buzz of noise that filled the waiting room of Shuttle Bay 11-A6. A Benzite couple in the corner spoke in hushed tones while puffs of grey atmosphere clouded over their faces. A small, old Bajoran woman sat hunched over in her seat facing the bay windows, staring silently with a broad grin on her face. Several Starfleet marines were grouped together, boasting loudly of their shore leave plans and making sure that all of their backs were covered with as much reddened skin as possible.

The boy was sitting in a chair that was far too big for him, so much that his swinging feet just barely brushed the floor on each pass. Ignorant to the noise around him, his eyes were focused squarely on the metallic device in his hands, which was falling victim to quick jabs and pokes by his versatile thumbs. The boy's concentration was easy to read. His tongue was poking out of his mouth as he concentrated, a bright red that almost matched the collar of his grey-black uniform, and the forehead just below his spikey blond hair creased every time his thumbs picked up the pace for a few short, furious seconds.

He didn't look up as a large man approached him, and the boy barely blinked until the man's shadow loomed over him. It was then that the child finally noticed the man, enough to flash his eyes upward and state quickly, "You're in my light."

"Kid, your ride's here," came the gruff voice of the bigger man. The boy could see the man's hands through his peripheral vision, big, meaty hands. He could see all the way up to the man's broad chest. This was clearly not someone to mess with unless it was vitally important.

"I'm almost done," the boy protested, "just a sec." He waved his hand as if to shoo the man away.

From the corner of his eyes, the uniformed boy could see the man cross his hands. The man's face was nowhere to be seen, but it was possible to imagine how it looked at the moment. "Listen, I've got a full day of flights in and out, and if you're not moving out then you'd best-"

"Done!" the boy exclaimed, and stood up. He started to put the device away, before the man stopped him.

"What was so important about that scanner program anyways?"

"Oh, it's not a scanner program" the blond-haired boy explained as he looked up at the man for the first time, noticing the gold collar of operations and a Chief Petty Officer's rank pin. He held the device up to the Chief, showing him the screen. "It's the 47th level of Vulcans vs Borg. I hacked the tricorder's bootloader and loaded my own custom software on. Now it's educational and fun!"

The Chief was still shaking his head as the boy headed down the stairs to the shuttle bay floor. Parked on the deck was an Arrow-class runabout, with the letters USS Flagstaff emblazoned on the side. Wide-eyed in excitement, the boy walked around the ship once, then scampered up the ramp, setting his bags down as he took in the interior layout.

From one of the forward-facing chairs, a voice came floating back, "You Lieutenant Jonathan Mantell?"

"It's Jack, but yeah," Jack muttered in reply, too absorbed in the layout of the cockpit. It was bigger than a Danube's, even adding a chair to the middle for some mission commander or consultant to sit without taking up console space. A corridor lead to the rear of the craft, obstructed in part by a small transporter platform, prompting the boy to venture forth. He called back, "Mind if I take a look?"

"No problem, sir," the disembodied voice returned. It continued, "If I might ask, sir, why did you request a shuttle? The Arizona is docked, you could have walked onboard."

"Sure, I could," The boy stepped around the transporter pad and continued into the hallway beyond, raising his voice as he stepped out of range. "But where would the fun be in that?"

Some reply might have come from the front, but Jack didn't hear it, he was too busy absorbing the layout of the craft as he walked the hallway, observing and feeling it all. The new runabout was generally laid out the same as its Danube-class predecessors, but clear efforts had been taken to maximize space and efficiency. The Science Lab had an extra bank of output monitors built overhead so that multiple tasks could be run at the same time, while the lounge had extra seats tucked right into the walls. The thick, double-doors and small access panels on the floor and ceiling of the sections betrayed their modularity, another design feature that seemed to be improved from the Danube class, whose interiors had to be stripped down and rebuilt with every new configuration. The voice from the front came again, and this time Jack's ears picked it up, "I was told to fly something spiffy, is this spiffy enough, sir?"

"Oh, yes," Jack whispered, then caught himself. He repeated it louder, then made his way up to the front.

The pilot of the runabout was turned around now, obviously eager to see who his passenger was. As Jack stepped around the transporter once more, the man peered at the child. "You sure you're old enough to be in Starfleet?"

"Dunno," the boy shrugged, his face betraying the casualness of his actions, "You sure you can fly this ship?"

"Well, I-" Now the man's face turned as red as his collar, on which Jack noticed the insignia of a Petty Officer Third Class.

"Great, now we're both uncertain about each other," Jack said as he plopped down into the co-pilot's seat. He started scanning the controls on the panel before him. "Huh, they changed the default loadout. The sensor array readouts are there, and the..." The child mumbled for a few seconds before looking up at the Petty Officer, "Where'd they move the magnetic clamps to?"

The pilot seemed taken-aback, "You a pilot?"

"Yep, that's me. Pilot, handyman, officer extraordinaire. What's your gig?" the boy chirped in response, still scouring the panel for his elusive mechanism.

"Petty Officer Third Class Garth Macy, sir! And you're, you're the new Chief Flight Controller, aren't you, sir?"

"Whoa," Jack clapped his hands to his ears, "Easy on the 'sirs', there." He glanced back to the panel and then exclaimed, "Aha! Found it." Punching the controls, a loud whirring was heard, then a click, followed by a quiet hum. "Wow," the boy remarked, "That's pretty nice."

"Uhh, sir?" Jack gave Macy a sidelong glance as the Petty Officer asked, "You sure you want to drive?"

The boy pilot just blinked once at the Petty Officer. Then he grinned. A bubble of excitement was building inside, bubbling up from his stomach to his throat, coming out in an "Oh, hell yes. Now hang on!"