Office Space: The Next Generation

Posted on Mon Dec 24th, 2012 @ 2:24pm by Lieutenant Three of Seven & Lieutenant Tre Boid

Mission: Funzone
Location: USS Arizona, Chief Engineer's Office
Timeline: Follows "A New Home" and "Minutes..."

Considering the fact that Three had been out of commission for a total of nine days following the series of unfortunate events aboard the Arizona, the drone was content that the ship was operating at an adequate level of preparedness. In the week that it had taken for the ship to pull into Starbase 11, the major repairs to the port nacelle, the EPS grid, and the deuterium tanks had been put in place by the remaining engineering teams under the leadership of Petty Officer Frost. This left only minor repairs, replacement of damaged equipment, routine maintenance and upgrades, and the clean-up of the physical fire damage. While the latter necessitated the near total removal of Deck Nineteen, the construction personnel assigned to Starbase 11 had demonstrated an above average level of efficiency. For that, Three would recommend that a proper letter of commendation be authored to the Starfleet Corps of Engineers denoting the near-Borg attention to detail.

Admiral Cowell, at present the acting commander of the Arizona, no doubt inspired a great deal of the focus in getting the Arizona operational again. And without the use of neural links to organize a hive mind. Perhaps the Borg could learn something from that ability to exert a quiet influence over others. Or, perhaps, the day the Borg assimilated Cowell resistance would indeed be futile.

As the ship resumed a normalized schedule, there remained a vacuum in the form of the ship's Executive Officer, who had been among those lost in the course of the ship's last mission. In the absence of more qualified personnel, the junior lieutenants of Haverson's senior staff had adopted a 'round robin' style of sharing the responsibility. Yesterday, Lieutenant Junior Grade Marion had prepared the reports for Admiral Cowell's situational awareness and, where appropriate, digital signature. Tomorrow would be Lieutenant Junior Grade Akron's. Today, Three was responsible for ensuring all department reports were submitted punctually and with the proper details.

On that note, the Supply Department was somehow still confused as to the proper TPS coversheet required for departmental reports, and so Three re-forwarded the memo dictating the form, content, and requirement for including it to the attention of the responsible departmental officers.

The diminutive Ocampa drone was so engrossed in the work of organizing the data that he would be completely oblivious to the entry of someone into or out of the office, looking up periodically to discover that a padd had either been placed on, or removed from, the desk as the ship's mundane paperwork trailed in and out of the office as the hours ticked by on the chronometer.

After having been sent through at least six different people trying to find out who to report to, Tre Boid found himself standing in the doorway of the Chief Engineer's office. Three of Seven, a former Borg obvious by the name at least, but not what Tre had expected. The man, if you could call him that, was small, with a childish face, almost as if a boy, though older than that he was sure. After several seconds of silence, and being ignored, Tre cleared his throat. This would be interesting.

The method of garnering his attention worked, as the drone did look up from the padds he had been engrossed with; however, the implication behind the sound was lost on the Borg, who instead looked up at the individual and asked, "Are your respiratory passages in distress, Lieutenant?" As he made the inquiry, the Borg rose from out of the chair in a proper demonstration of respect for a superior. At the same time, Three was calculating possibilities on the purpose behind this encounter.

Lieutenant. Teal uniform indicated assignment to Starfleet's life sciences division. Darker iris pigmentation than was in the range of human eye color was an indication that the man was likely Betazoid.

Three had taken the liberty of reviewing the Bureau of Personnel issued orders on replacement crew for the Arizona. The vessel was due to receive a male Betazoid lieutenant as its new counselor. Given everything he had observed, Three surmised that it was a logical conclusion such was his reason for being here. "You are Lieutenant Boid? Welcome to the Arizona, sir."

Tre smiled, at least the man read BuPers reports, even if he didn't understand subtly like clearing one's throat. "Thank you, Lieutenant Three of Seven. I was told that you're the officer to report aboard to, so I'm reporting aboard. And no, my respiratory passages are not in distress. Clearing one's throat has been a long standing tradition for getting the attention of non-telepathic humanoids. You should try it sometime."

Now that the boy, man, was standing, he was able to look at him a little better. Definitely petite and child-like, but with a slightly stranger way of moving than usual. Boid wracked his mind for information from the quick overview he did of the crew. Ah, yes, Android body, something mind, Ocampa or something from the Delta Quadrant. That would explain the odd movement, although not the really young body they picked for him. Unless all Ocampans looked that young.

Inclining his head to one side, Three briefly contemplated the action that the counselor proposed. "It would be difficult to mimic the process your describe without respiratory function, sir," the drone remarked finally, before stepping out from around his desk to motion toward the door. "Your office has been requisitioned on Deck Seven, adjacent to the primary medical support facilities. I hope that this physical arrangement is sufficient, sir."

Motioning toward the door, the drone politely intoned, "May I show you?"

Tre listened politely as the junior officer explained where his office was. "That should be satisfactory, yes. I would love for you to show me. As for clearing your throat, I'm sure you could at least reproduce the sound. If you can't, it's not really a big issue, just helps sometimes when you don't want to be rude, but do want to announce your presence. Knocking on the door-frame can work as well."

The Betazoid thought about the drone for a moment, remembering more about his reports, then spoke again. "You were the Chief Engineer during the last mission, but injured during the mission. Were you able to attend the critical incident stress debriefing that was held?" Or at least should have been held. If it hadn't been, Tre was going to make heads roll. The last thing he wanted was to come in post-disaster with no one having a hot-wash.

"The debriefing was held on stardate 65960.9, during which time I was still in recovery at the Daystrom Research Institute," Three reported succinctly, escorting the counselor out of the engineering bay toward the nearest turbolift. "I did not resume functional capability until two days ago, and did not return to the Arizona until yesterday," the drone added, as the pair waited for the doors to open.

As the lift arrived, the Borg stepped inside and ordered, "Deck Seven, please." As the lift began, the drone returned its attention to the counselor. "If you like, I can prepare a report of my history of psychological evaluations so that an individual debriefing can be arranged."

Well, at least the majority of the crew had managed to get one. "I'm sure I can pull those from your medical file. I would like to see you, yes, for a debriefing. Make sure you are coping appropriately with the tragedy." Tre said quietly, he was quiet for a second. Many of the things he wished to say would be more appropriate in the debriefing. "Perhaps tomorrow? Or later today, if you're available."

As the turbolift arrived, the drone stepped out and waited for the Betazoid to join him. "Tomorrow would be the most logical option, after I turn over my additional duties to Lieutenant Junior Grade Akron and can devote an appropriate measure of attention to the subject," the drone remarked as the pair walked down the corridor, before finally stopping in front of a door. "Your office, counselor."

As the door popped open, the drone allowed the man a moment to survey the interior. "A crewman will be assigned to assist you with clerical duties," Three noted, mentally calculating what other needs the counselor might require. "Has Operations sufficiently met your requirements for personal space? I believe that you share quarters with one other individual, correct?"

Tre looked around the office, a desk was there, and a console. Along with a rather nice sofa. Perhaps, though, it could use more chairs. Give him a week with it, though, and he'd have it spruced up to his own unique feel. "This will do. And yes, Operations has provided us with quarters. Senior officer quarters, on Deck 3. After twelve years, Cory still gets confused going to officer quarters. But I believe he may be unpacking right now. Everything's been nice so far. Even if it's not the Zee...you know, that's...that's just because this ship is new to us. It's not anything wrong with it."

"A sentiment that I am able to relate to, having come to this vessel from the USS Comanche, sir," the Borg stated evenly, the rare instance in which the drone felt as though it could actually relate to a feeling shared by a fellow crewman. "I was able to adapt. I am certain you both shall as well. Should you require anything further, please contact me, sir."

Tre smiled and nodded. "I'm sure it will. Thank you very much, Lieutenant. I'll see you tomorrow after your shift. Have a wonderful day." He said, before sitting down in the chair. He had a lot of files to read much more closely than he had the first time. Then perhaps he should wander to sickbay for the standard medical check-in.