Watch Your Step

Posted on Sat Oct 15th, 2022 @ 8:55am by Captain Kelly O'Connor

1,049 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Mission 8 - A Blast from the Past
Location: Mess Hall
Timeline: 2296/03/11 1200

Natalya was in the mess hall. Having arrived in the middle of the lunch hour, she had decided to grab some lunch before reporting in. Of course, it was always a good sign when the galley staff didn't understand what she wanted when she specified a "butterbrod sandwich," and after much fruitless explaining; Natalya finally asked to just go back there and make it herself. But alas, she finally had the chance to enjoy her sandwich; some generously-buttered bread with some doctor's sausage, tomato, cheese, and of course; a generous helping of mayonez.

Natalya had assumed her preferred squatting position to enjoy the sandwich in; conveniently positioned between two empty tables, with her last jar of Kompot within easy reach of her right hand. Natalya knew she couldn't be greedy with the beverage, and that she would likely have to brew some more once she was assigned quarters. But for now, it was eating time for her.

The silence hit the room before O'Connor's footsteps did. The Captain rarely dared to enter the Mess Hall, preferring to eat her meals alone in her own quarters. So the fact that she was here, increased the tension in the hall exponentially. O'Connor was not tall. Quite the opposite, she was five feet tall on a good day. However, the way that she walked and carried herself, made her seem larger than life. What appeared to be a permanent scowl was etched upon her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her red hair cascaded over her shoulders.

Searching over the room, she spied the person she was seeking, her new Assistant Chief Engineer. Walking up to her, the Captain asked, "Do you want to do this here, or in my quarters?"

Natalya looked up from her sandwich at the woman who had rudely interrupted her; something which was only possible because of her current squatting position. Apparently, someone had yet to learn not to stand between a hungry Slav and her meal...

Natalya had taken the liberty to read over a few random personnel files of her future fellow shipmates before coming aboard; and it was evident that there weren't too many Eastern Europeans on board the America; and now some credence was being lent to the idea that perhaps some rumors had sprung up about how long an Eastern European could go without basic things like eating or sleeping: Rumors Natalya was prepared to dispel.

"I'm sorry, is Slav eating offensive to you?" She calmly asked as she took a sip of her kompot. Her somewhat improper use of Federation Standard was evident that the language was not Natalya's strong suit, and that she only knew the language out of necessity.

The eyes of the mess hall suddenly looked away and people whispered in urgent hushes. The room started to empty surreptitiously. The Captain's brows furrowed, as she looked down upon the junior lieutenant. "First, Ms. Chornovil, I do not care what you do or do not eat. Second, Ms. Chornovil, when you address me, you shall address me as Captain, or Captain O'Connor. And, finally, Ms. Chornovil, can you explain to me why you chose to ignore all protocol and not report into my XO or myself." The last statement was spat out like a dare, the Captain's eyes narrowing further, as she waited a response.

Natalya set her Kompot down.

"Oh, I am so sorry, captain;" She responded in a bitingly sarcastic tone. "For assuming I had time to grab lunch before reporting in: I was told when I came aboard to report in by 1435 hours: It is currently 1235 hours, two full hours early, and I made sure to synchronize my chronometers with ship's time." Natalya held up her wristwatch, which read the time as Natalya had said. "Here's a thought: If you want your crew to report in the instant they step aboard, why not have yourself or the XO there to greet them when they come aboard?"

The more that the new Assistant Chief spoke, the more that O'Connor disliked her, and her face reddening told the entire story. "Or," she started in a very dangerous tone, "I could just give you a personal tour of the brig. How's that for a thought? I hear that they serve three square meals a day in there."

This time, Natalya rose to her full height of five foot eight. While not excessively tall by any stretch of the imagination; when standing in front of O'Connor at only five foot, however, it was evident that she definitely held some height on the other woman. As Natalya glared down at O'Connor, the mischievous gleam in her eyes from before was gone.

"You know;" She said in a more stern tone. "Back where I come from, there once lived a man who promised his opponents 3 square meals a day in Gulag: A couple of my ancestors died in those camps. I learned about these things as a child, and thought it impossible that, almost 350 years after he died, there could exist someone who looked up to him as a role model. Yet today, such a specimen stands before me; threatening to throw me into her Gulag for what? A simple misunderstanding?" Natalya scoffed. "You know, for a ship called 'America,' you sure run it like Soviet Russia."

Natalya didn't intend for her last sentence to come off as a joke, but rather her honest opinion of the vibes the captain was giving off.

O'Connor continued to stare down Natalya. "IF you do not like the way I run the ship, you're free to transfer. I expect my officers to set an example for everyone else. This is not it. Officers are required to report into the Captain when arriving on the ship. Instead, you ignored protocol. That won't work here." In O'Connor's direct, but deadly discussion, a hint of an Irish lilt entered her voice. "Perhaps before trying to insult your Captain, you should look up her record and how she got in this seat."

Her tone became more dangerous. "So, before you make another accusation that you will regret, you may want to take a moment to remember the position that you are in and behave in a manner more befitting a Starfleet officer."

 

RSS Feed