Board Thread:Archive/@comment-24866242-20140529215527

Ben Stinel posted October 06, 1998 12:18 AM

It was almost big enough to be a cathedral. It was so big in fact that it stood three stories high and that was all open space. Huge support columns held up the ceiling and divided the floor of the chapel into thirds. And it was only a chapel even though it had seen a congregation of almost nine hundred men and women. Ornate wooden pews were lined up in three sections between the columns and there was almost an echo of the people that had filled those pews. This had been a church, an assembly hall, a theater and an auditorium for three years. With all of those other functions its congregates had always thought of it as the chapel.

Those congregates were gone now, along with the chaplain and the crucifix that had adorned the huge window looking out into space. What a sight it must have been to see the sun dip below the horizon just before services began on Sunday morning. Now the only signs that it had been a church at all were the neatly lined pews and a bible left open on the altar. No doubt the chaplain had left it there in the hopes that some misguided soul would find the way to the truth.

In the back of the huge space a door opened and a man walked through. The man was a priest. He wasn’t the priest of this church and you couldn’t have told for sure that he was a priest at all to look at him. He was wearing a uniform to start with and the military chaplain’s patch on his Lieutenant Commander’s uniform was hidden under an insignia free New Oregon Navy field jacket. He had visited this chapel every morning for the last nine days and this would be the last. If rooms could express feelings this one might have missed him. It had been a year since it had been put to the use for which it had been intended and this priest’s prayers may have been comforting to it somehow.

The priest walked down the aisle and knelt at the alter, offering up a prayer to God for shipmates he would never see again and for the soul of the woman responsible for that loss. You see, in the same way that this chapel was without a chaplain, this chaplain was without a chapel. An outsider looking in might have thought it an ideal match. A match made in heaven as it were. Part of the chaplain would have agreed. However, he had prior engagements that required his attention.

Behind him the chapel door opened again and a second man, this one dressed in green fatigues, came marching down the aisle. He stopped a few short paces from the priest and coughed politely when he was not paid immediate notice.

“I’m praying.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the Colorado just entered sensor range. She’ll be docking in just under five minutes.”

“Our new captain takes precedence over God?”

The crewman shrugged, a movement lost on the priest whose eyes were closed. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him, sir. He sent orders ahead that everyone from our group is to be assembled at dry dock one at oh’eight hundred. That’s just three minutes from now, sir.”

The priest sighed and crossed himself, concluding his prayer with a murmured apology for cutting the conversation short. He stood up and stepped off of the dais to walk out of the chapel with the crewman.

The chapel was in one of the populated sections of Nash Station and consequently a place avoided by most of the twenty-nine New Oregonians like the plague. The thought of aliens walking the halls of this place freely was… unsettling. The day they had arrived on the station, the priest had gone straight to the command center, acting in his official capacity as the senior officer of the group, to secure living quarters for his people during their nine-day layover. He had been shocked to find an eight foot tall, naked furry… man… (all he knew for sure was that it wasn’t a gorilla) walking around like he owned the place. Needless to say, he didn’t hang around longer than he had to.

The fastest way from the chapel to the lower decks and the dry-docks took them straight through the main populated section of the base. The local merchants had turned the stations PX into a manor of space market. They were hawking wares such ship parts and some were trying to peddle cargo that they didn’t want to ferry down to the planet themselves. It was a part of the station that he would have preferred to avoid altogether but in this case it just wasn’t possible.

The crewman must have noticed him turn a particularly robust shade of green when a slimy pig snouted merchant tried to force a coolant manifold on them because he commented on it when they were alone on the lift.

“He was more disgusted by you than you were by him, sir.”

“You’re kidding. He was hideous.”

“That’s one point of view. But I think you’d have to ask a lady of his species to be absolutely sure.” The crewman frowned at that point. “Unless that was a lady…”

The priest shuddered. “Don’t even suggest that possibility. I take it you weren’t on the Sokie.”

“No, sir.” The crewman answered. “But I was posted on this station for three years. I got down to the planet every chance I got. There are a lot of weird people down there. Quite a few of them weirder looking than that fellow was.”

“You were stationed here? Twelve days ago I didn’t even know this place existed.”

The crewman shrugged. “The project was classified top secret by command before it even opened up for business. Everyone assigned here was instructed not to discuss it with anyone. I guess now that you know about the place that opens the door.”

The lift stopped and the doors opened to reveal the assembled New Oregon people in the large loading area outside of dry-dock one. The crewman who had gone to fetch the priest nodded to him before going to join the enlisted crew and the priest took his place at the head of the officers just in time to see the Colorado sliding into dock. She was an old ship, obviously a New Oregon design. There was some carbon scoring along the starboard engine that made it seem she had seen some combat recently. There were no markings on the ship to identify her as a New Oregon vessel. Only the name of the ship in bold black letters and some sort of logo helped identify her as the Colorado at all.

To his left he heard Lieutenant Little comment to her navigator, “We’re supposed to fly that bucket?”

He cleared his throat to halt the conversation before the man could answer her. The ship had come to a halt and the mooring clamps were clicking into place. This was no time for their new captain to come off the ship to find his crew talking in the ranks. Most unprofessional.

And the airlock doors did open. Less than a minute after the ship had stopped moving, two men came striding through the airlock. Neither of them wore New Oregon uniforms. One was wearing slacks and a denim shirt under a New Oregon field jacket but the other was wearing grease stained jeans and a T-shirt. The man in the jeans and T was older by at least fifteen years but they all knew who was in charge. Benjamin Lawrence Stinel’s face had been plastered all over the news reports eight months ago as the suspected assassin of King Jon and he was widely believed to be singly responsible for the civil war New Oregon had been fighting through ever since. But more importantly, he was their new CO.

The priest stepped forward to introduce himself but was cut short.

“Where is Doctor Ross?”

The large dark skinned man to the priest’s right stepped forward. He was in his late fifties and the hair at his temples was beginning to be more gray than black. He was an airforce flight surgeon and had never stepped foot into space before two weeks ago. He’d spent the entire first day of the trip out suffering from space sickness before finally prescribing himself something to combat the effects. “I’m Captain Ross.”

Stinel looked at the doctor with a frown. “You’re a doctor with the rank of captain and you haven’t landed a station assignment?”

“He’s an airforce captain, sir,” the priest volunteered.

The doctor nodded a confirmation of the priest’s statement.

“Ahh. I’m sure you’re aware that when an airforce or army captain works with the navy aboard ship they get upgraded to Major for the duration. Helps to avoid confusion. In any case it’s a moot point. There’s a patient who needs your attention now. The computer will tell you how to get to sickbay. Welcome aboard.”

Doctor Ross raised his eyebrows and stepped through the airlock. It was plain he hadn’t expected to be put to work so soon.

Stinel turned his attention to the priest. “You’re Lieutenant Commander Peterson, right?”

The priest nodded. “Daniel Peterson, formerly the second officer of the USS Sokie.”

Around him he knew that more than half of them had removed their hats or placed their hands over their hearts. Exactly as many as had served aboard the doomed ship before her encounter with a ship called Vextis.

When Stinel saw this a grim expression appeared on his face. Most took this as encouraging. Every man and woman who had survived the Sokie and been sent here was absolutely certain that they were here to hunt Vextis down and see to it that she burned in space the way Vextis had left the Sokie. None of them were as close to Stinel as Peterson was though. And what Peterson saw in Stinel’s eyes made him wonder just what Stinel was planning with regards to Vextis.

“I want the following people to report to the observation lounge aboard the Colorado,” Stinel announced. “Lieutenant Commander Daniel Peterson. Lieutenant Sandra Little. Lieutenant Jim Klick. Lieutenant Sam Tripp. Lieutenant JG Paul Sorenson. Chief Petty Officer John Richards. Lieutenant Richard Ketchem and Lieutenant Tom Brock. Everyone else, quarters assignments are posted just inside the airlock. Get your gear stowed and report to the mess hall by oh’nine hundred.”

Ben Stinel posted November 04, 1998 06:11 PM

“Okay, I want to keep this brief,” Stinel announced as everyone took their seats.

Daniel took the seat to Ben’s right, claiming his position as senior officer in the room after the Captain. The other officers filled the chairs at random, choosing neighbors that they knew or that they found mutually agreeable. The Captain didn’t sit but stood behind his chair resting his hands on the headrest. The chairs were all bolted to the floor and swiveled around for easy access but it was an awkward arrangement at best so there was a pause as Ben waited to get to the point.

All eyes eventually turned toward the tall expatriated noble as the shuffling came to an impasse. Stinel cleared his throat before continuing. “Were any of you briefed before you got on the transport from home?”

Silence. Daniel glanced around the table. He’d have been surprised if any of them had raised their hands. Daniel Peterson sure hadn’t been briefed and if God knew, He wasn’t talking.

“Okay,” Ben slid into his chair and leaned back as far as it would allow. Not very far. “What do you want to know?”

The people around the table glanced at each other, uncertain. They weren’t used to briefings being conducted this way. The Q&A usually came after the big speech by the captain.

Anxious to fill the void, Daniel thought up the first question on his mind, not sure how relevant it was. “Why isn’t your existing crew here?”

“Partly because they’re already familiar with the details of the mission, partly because it would be distracting to the rest of you, but mainly because they’re busy. Most of them are helping my engineer with repairs and my tactical officer is the reason Doctor Ross isn’t here. You’ll all have a chance to meet them soon enough. Most of you will be working directly with them.”

There was no pause this time. “When do we go after Vextis?” The question came from the far end of the table. It was hardly a question really. More like a statement that broached no argument. The crew of Vextis was going to suffer and the poser of the question wanted to be a big part of that.

Daniel turned to hear Ben’s reply. It was a question that he wanted to know the answer to as well. Outwardly, Ben’s demeanor hadn’t changed, but there was an edge to his voice when he spoke. This was an issue that Ben felt as strongly about as any at the table, it was clear.

“Sam Tripp, right?” Ben said. “Let me make this clear right now. We don’t. If New Oregon decides to send ships after Vextis that’s all fine and good, but we won’t be involved. My mission started before Vextis attacked the Sokie and that comes first. Any moves against Vextis would jeopardize that mission and I can’t allow that. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.” Daniel cut in, casting a sharp warning glance in Lieutenant Tripp’s direction.

Tripp was nothing if not overly headstrong and it wouldn’t do him good to get on the Captain’s bad side straight away by pressing the issue. Unfortunately, Tripp was just to damn dense to get the point.

“Well if we’re not here for Vextis,” Tripp demanded, “then why are we here?”

“Good question,” Ben said.

Daniel breathed a silent prayer of thanks to God that the Captain was an easy man.

“You’re here because refitting the Colorado with only five people is taking longer than Captain Ramsey had hoped and he’s getting impatient. With the extra help of thirty more people he thinks we can have the Colorado in the shipping lanes doing her real job in about two weeks instead of two months. I’m leaning more towards three weeks but he’s not far from the mark. We’ve already got most of the heavy mods done.”

Daniel looked around the table. There were eight people in the room besides the captain and four of those had been aboard the Sokie. None of them liked to hear that Vextis was going to go unpunished even a little bit longer but they seemed willing to accept it. With the possible exception of Sam Tripp.

“What is our mission, sir?” Daniel asked.

Ben got out of his chair and picked up a tray containing several yellow padd like devices. He set it on the table in front of Daniel with instructions to take one and pass the tray down. “Everything you need to know about our mission is contained on these,” he told them. “Read it at your leisure and don’t loose them. These are your communicators, tricorders and padds all in one. Something that Chaz Billith threw together for us in his spare time. He calls it an SCaDD. Sensor, Communications and Data Device.

“If you have any New Oregon Standard issue gear get rid of it. That goes for uniforms as well. If you want to hang on to your navy field jackets that’s fine, anything else put it in storage on Nash Station.” He took a breath. “We don’t wear uniforms on the ship, aside from the field jackets and you can forget about ranks. If you feel naked without titles you can use your job title but I’d prefer it if we just went by names. As far as anyone is concerned this is a civilian cargo ship.

“Most of you will be working with my current crew. Peterson, as of now you’re my first officer. Sandra Little and Jim Klick…” Ben looked to where they sat next to each other across from Daniel. “You’re both primary helm and navigation, but I didn’t need to tell you that. You’ll also be training your backups, Chico Alvarez and Jeff Cartwright.”

Sandra frowned a bit as she looked up from the padd that Jim was fiddling with. She and her partner Jim were two that hadn’t been on the Sokie. The Sokie’s navigator was dead and her pilot was in a psyche-ward on New Oregon trying to recover his wits. That’s how closely those teams were to each other. “How experienced are they?” Sandra asked.

Ben pursed his lips and counted off on his fingers real fast. “Three or four hours in the simulator every day for the last six months. Other than that no practical experience. I’ve been teaching them in my free time but I haven’t had much.”

Jim grinned. “We’ll whip them into shape for you, Captain.”

Ben grinned back. “That’ll be a trick worth paying to see.

“Okay, Tripp, you’ll be working as Jarrid Pallin’s backup at tactical. Pallin is an expert tactician and he’s my second officer. He’s an easy guy to work for as long as he gets his coffee in the morning.”

“Never heard of him,” Sam said. “What ship did you say he worked on before this?”

“I didn’t,” Ben said. “Moving on. Paul Sorenson, you’re going to be Chaz Billith’s assistant. Report to him as soon as you leave here. He wants to get a chance to brief you before the rest of the engineering crew.

“John Richards, you’re the Sokie’s Chief of Security. Since I opened up Nash Station to the general public we’ve had a couple of break-in attempts. We’ll be stopping at several open ports during the course of our mission and I bet we’ll have the same sort of problems.”

The chief nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll post a guard at the airlock at all times whenever we’re in port.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ben said. “We never had the man power before.

“Okay, Richard Ketchem and Tom Brock. You were inventory specialists at the Redmond shipyards, is that right?”

Tom nodded. “We left to join the main fleet at the start of the war.”

“At the time this ship was still docked at port three.” Rich said. “Until I saw her pull in I thought she was still there.”

“She looks like she’s in a lot better shape now though.” Tom finished.

Ben grinned. “We… appropriated her for this mission. We altered the refit plans somewhat. We changed her layout so most of the interior space is primarily cargo room now. Your job will be to keep track of the cargo we take on and maybe even to decide what cargo we take on.”

“Are we a transport ship then?” Daniel asked. The thought of spending month after month dragging goods from port to port wasn’t very appealing.

“That’s what everyone is supposed to think but it’s a lot more complicated than that. It’s all spelled out in your mission briefings. In the mean time, that’s it. Doctor Ross is in sickbay; I’m going to go talk to him in a few minutes. Your room assignments are in your scadds. You’re the lucky few that get your own rooms. Everyone else is double bunked with someone else. Most of the crew quarters were converted into cargo space along with everything else. If I told you who your direct superior is then report to them first. Otherwise take half an hour to get settled in and then report to the briefing in the mess hall. Dismissed.” 