Star Trek: Mayweather
Stardate: 2381.73
USS Mayweather in Deep Space
“But, sir…” Lt. Commander Tucker was saying. “Quartermaster said that you gave the order and apparently only you can rescind the order.”
O’Sullivan rubbed his temples. Given the week long trip to Deep Space 15, he decided to get to know his bridge crew a little better, but at the moment that involved settling a rooming dispute between Commander Tucker and Ensign Ford that he could not care any less about.
“Look, Commander, as I said, I gave no such order, and furthermore, the Quartermaster takes care of room assignments for a reason: so I don’t have to. Work it out with him.”
Tucker sighed. “Aye, Cap’n.”
“Now, if there isn’t anything else, send Commander Sulkhan in.”
“Aye, sir.”
Commander Tucker got up and left the captain’s ready room. For a few minutes, the captain had a bit of peace. He had already met with Ensign Ford, the happy go-get-’em ops officer. That man’s positivity could really irritate someone, that someone being Captain O’Sullivan. Not that O’Sullivan had anything against happy people, he just didn’t tend to be all that positive himself, and preferred someone who was a bit more reserved.
The door whooshed open admitting his tactical officer, Sulkhan. Someone like Sulkhan. Thus far the captain had yet to hear him say an extraneous word. Captain O’Sullivan gestured towards the chair sitting opposite his desk.
“Please, have a seat, Commander.”
The Gargoy officer sat down, carefully folding his wings behind his back. His wings had a slighty tendency to extend slightly when he was walking. Sulkhan came from a planet called Gargoria, one of the smaller planets in the United Federation of Planets. To O’Sullivan’s knowledge, he was one of only a few Gargoys serving in Starfleet.
“From what I understand, there are not many of your species in Starfleet, Commander.”
“No, sir.”
“Get lonely much?”
“No, sir.”
There followed a few seconds of silence.
“Good. Well, Commander, as we haven’t formally met, I am Sean O’Sullivan. I am pleased to have you aboard. From what Admiral Janeway tells me, you are a fine officer.”
“Thank you, sir.”
A few more seconds of silence followed. O’Sullivan was enjoying a pleasant conversation, for once today.
“As far as our mission goes,” the Captain continued, “I don’t know that there will be much for you to do. We will be one of four ships on station, though only one other, the USS Hood, has any armaments. The other two are strictly resupply craft. I do not anticipate any trouble, but we will be on the borders of the Gorn Alliance and the Tholian Assembly. Neither is too happy with Deep Space 15 being so near their territory, so they may try to take advantage of the situation somehow. I consider this to be unlikely, but possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you participated in any combat, Commander?”
Sulkhan smiled, the first overt facial expression that Captain O’Sullivan had seen him make.
“Yes, sir.” And, for the first time, he elaborated: “I was a Gargoy commando during the unification of my home world, some 50 years ago. I commanded an orbital attack wing.”
“Well, feel free to think of the Mayweather as your personal attack craft if it comes to combat. We certainly aren’t much bigger than one.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That’ll be all, Commander. You may return to your post.”
Sulkhan merely nodded before standing and exiting the room.
O’Sullivan breathed deeply. Three down, two to go. For his next meeting, the ship’s ranking medical officer, he decided to take a stroll down to Sickbay. He felt like stretching his legs a little after sitting on the bridge and sitting in his ready room. Exiting his ready room, he walked the corridor around the front curve of the bridge and down past the conference room and his quarters. Once in the turbolift he murmured “Deck 3” and waited during the short ride down. Though his ship wasn’t a monstrosity like a Galaxy or Sovereign class ship, and not afforded of all the comforts of such, at least it didn’t take forever to ride 12 decks down to reach somebody.
It was another short walk from the turbolift to Sickbay, and once there he was greeted with a small bustle of activity. His chief medical officer, Doctor Paloma, was advising a junior medical officer in the treatment of a crewman.
O’Sullivan intended to stand by and watch, but Paloma greeted him immediately.
“Captain. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, nothing much, Doctor. I am here for our meet and greet appointment.”
The doctor swept several locks her dark hair back behind one ear.
“I would have come to you.”
“Quite alright. I felt like a little walk anyway. What happened here?”
“Just a small accident in engineering. Minor plasma burns.”
“My own fault, Captain.” The crewman spoke up.
O’Sullivan acknowledged him with a curt nod and a tight smile.
“If you have a moment, Doctor…?”
“Certainly.”
They removed to a small office off the end of Sickbay. Captain O’Sullivan remained standing as Dr. Paloma took her seat behind a tiny desk.
“Finding everything you need, Doctor?”
“Certainly. The Mayweather’s medical facilities are as well equipped as any in Starfleet. We even have an EMH (emergency medical hologram) program.”
After the debacle with the USS Voyager‘s EMH program, and his subsequent battle for full rights and privileges as a member of the Federation and an officer in Starfleet, Starfleet was fazing out the EMH deployment aboard starships. The less holographic people there were, the fewer of them could develop sentience. Not that Starfleet had anything against non-biological people, but they certainly hadn’t intended to create a new race with the creation of an emergency holographic physician.
“Really? Well, we will have to keep his programming under close scrutiny.”
“No worries, Captain. I don’t intend to ever activate him.”
O’Sullivan shrugged.
“Your choice, of course Doctor. I won’t interfere in your sickbay. You are responsible for any creatures you create, Dr. Frankenstein.” He smirked and Paloma laughed respectfully at the joke.
“Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be on the bridge.”
“Thank you, Captain. Thanks for stopping by.”
O’Sullivan nodded and left the officer, nodding to the medical staff as he left Sickbay. The crewman was already gone, his burns having been treated quickly and efficiently. Utilizing the turbolift once more, O’Sullivan returned to the bridge.
Ensign Ford yelled out: “Captain on the bridge!” and before O’Sullivan could sit down, Lieutenant M’tel turned at the helm. “Turn for my meet and greet, Captain?” She smiled a feline smile, full of sharp teeth.
“No, Lieutenant. I already know you. Be about your duties.”
“Aye, sir.”
O’Sullivan walked over to ops. There Ensign Ford looked up at, eager as a puppy.
“Yes, Captain? Anything I can do for?”
“Yes, actually. Never do that again.”
Ford looked confused.
“What, sir?”
“Announce my presence. It’s unnecessary.”
“But it is protocol, sir.”
“To hell with that particular protocol. That’s an order, Ensign. I ever hear that again, I’ll have you cleaning warp manifolds with a toothbrush for a week. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Good.”
O’Sullivan returned to his seat in the middle of the bridge. Commander Zal looked up from the console on the side of her chair and arched an eyebrow at the captain.
“What was that all about?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. I just never liked being announced.”
“Careful, Captain. Some of the crew are beginning to think you are a thundercloud in boots. You are getting a reputation as a grouch.”
“Good.” O’Sullivan smiled a wicked little smile. “Wouldn’t want word to get out that I am a nice guy. Might have a mutiny on my hands.”
“Humph.”
“You disapprove?”
Zal laughed. “Far be it from me to criticize my captain’s command techniques.”
Now it was O’Sullivan’s turn to “Humph”.
He turned to Ensign Ford and gave him a noncommittal smile. “What’s our current situation, Ensign?”
“On course for Deep Space 15, sir. Warp factor 7. Current speed will have us there in just over a week. All systems nominal, sir.”
“Very good. Helm, increase to Warp 9, that should shave off a few days. I’m getting bored.”
M’Tel smiled. “Aye, sir.”
There was a slight rumble as the engines turned it up a notch.
O’Sullivan leaned back in his seat.
“And they said captaining a starship was one adventure after another. See the galaxy, they said. Meet new civilizations and new worlds, they said. Said nothing about the endless journey there, they didn’t say.”
“Careful, Captain. You’re grousing again.”
O’Sullivan retaliated on his first officer by standing up and declaring, “You have the bridge, Commander. I’ll be in my quarters if you need me,” and effectively trapping Zal on the bridge until he specifically relieved her of temporary command. She fumed silently after a curt, “Aye, sir.” Gods, but he loved sparring with that woman.
O’Sullivan left the bridge and entered his quarters. Alone with his thoughts, he almost broke down crying. He had often bantered with his brother like that, years ago. It had been years since he had seen his brother alive, and then his brother died in space. That same space sped quietly by the windows in his quarters, long lines of stars one after the other. Uncaring, unknowing, empty space. Empty like O’Sullivan’s soul.
The USS Mayweather warped on, deep into that empty space.
a simple man 