The Uniform Code: A Short Story
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Join Date: Jul 2012
The Uniform Code: A Short Story
01-30-2013, 05:51 PM
Actually an application piece for Star Trek:Borderlands, but I enjoyed writing it so much, I decided to share it here as well, as it will also impact my crew
As always, feedback is always appreciated and welcome
For ease of reference/visualization, here're the actors I would cast if I was filming this tomorrow...
Todd Mitchell - Thomas Dekker
Rynar Lambert - Stephen Moyer
Bellic Chanos - Vin Diesel
Amanda Palmer - Courtney Cox
The bulkheads of the transporter room came into focus, and Ensign Todd Mitchell found himself facing a tall, muscular man with black hair and eyes, and a neatly clipped goatee beard. At first glance, he appeared quite Human, but immediately obvious, was the vintage Klingon Commander's baldric, which he wore over the jacket of his Starfleet uniform, and Mitchell realized that he must be Rynar Lambert, the first officer of the
, who was one eighth QuchHa Klingon. To Mitchell's left, was Lieutenant Commander Bellic Chanos, the new tactical officer and chief of security.
"Welcome aboard, gentlemen," Lambert said, as the two officers stepped down from the transporter platform. "I'm just about to beam over to station Ops, but the Captain will meet you in her quarters on deck one, I'm sure you'll have no difficulty in finding your way."
"Aye, Commander," responded both officers, acknowledging the order, before leaving the transporter room.
Captain Amanda Palmer looked up from her desk top terminal as the chime to her quarters sounded.
"Come in," she replied, before draining the last of the cola in her glass. The door to her quarters opened, and two officers entered. Both men were tall, and clearly in excellent physical condition, but that was where the similarities ended. The older was Bolian, and with a musculature barely contained by the Xenylon jacket of the latest issue fleet uniforms, where the younger was Human, with a shock of dark hair. His uniform undershirt and jacket piping was the new cinnamon color of flight operations.
"Lieutanant Commander Bellic Chanos, and Ensign Todd Mitchell, reporting for duty," Chanos said formally.
"At ease, gentlemen," Palmer replied, picking up a data PADD and scrolling through the files. "Commander Chanos, I'm afraid I'm going to have to skip the pleasantries and put you to work right away. Please report to deck three, where the cargo bays are being reconfigured to allow the new rearward torpedo launchers."
"Aye, Captain," Chanos said, before turning and leaving the austere quarters, leaving Palmer and Mitchell alone.
Through the viewport behind Palmer, Mitchell could see the armatures of McKinley Station as it embraced the Nova Class starship.
"Ensign, while we are in drydock having our long overdue Rhode Island nosejob, I would like you to familiarize yourself with the layout of the conn. As the new helmsman, I also expect you to wear the appropriate uniform."
"Captain, this is the appropriate uniform for an officer with my qualifications," Mitchell replied.
Brushing her bobbed black hair behind her ear, Palmer raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me, Ensign?"
"Captain, the Ensign is correctly dressed in the uniform for his qualifications and area of expertise," Mitchell replied.
Palmer leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.
"Ensign, I appreciate that this is your first assignment upon graduating from the Academy, but I think you miss-understood my tone. I was not asking you a favor, but giving you an order.
"Permission to speak freely, Ma'am?" Mitchell asked, resolutely staring at a spot above Palmer's left shoulder.
"Always," Palmer replied, tabbing the replicator control to her side, and then sipped the effervescent liquid.
"I am a Starfleet officer," Mitchell stated. "As such, I will take the assignment I am given, and perform my duties to the best of my abilities. But with the greatest of respect, while by nature of my training I am defacto a navigator and pilot, by qualification, I am a fighter pilot. I have logged more hours in the cockpit of a fighter than any cadet in thirty years, as well as consulting on the control interfaces of the next generation fighters. I did not simply gain my wings at the Academy, I have earned the privilege to wear this uniform which distinguishes me from a starship flight control officer."
Palmer lowered her glass.
"And you think that entitles you to special treatment?"
"No, Ma'am, but it is appropriate for me to wear the departmental uniform and insignia most reflective of my skills. If I may, by virtue of Starfleet tolerance for cultural values, Commander Lambert wears the baldric worn by commanders of Klingon battleships, even though it reflects a rank above his Starfleet commission. Members of my family have been combat aviators since the late 20th Century. Piloting fighters is as much in my blood, as the Commander's Klingon heritage. My training and qualifications attest to that, and I wish only to reflect that."
Palmer tilted her head in acknowledgement of the point Mitchell presented.
"In case you had forgotten, Ensign, this is a Nova Class vessel. We don't have any fighters in the shuttlebay," she said, a note of amusement in her tone.
"Indeed, Captain," Mitchell agreed. "The
is, however, in spacedock for retrofitting and upgrade. What better time than now to requisition a fighter for the ship's compliment of auxiliary craft?"
Unable to repress her amusement any longer, Palmer smiled broadly.
"You make an interesting point, Ensign, and a very convincing case," she admitted. "With regard your transfer orders, I'm going to flag this as in progress, and we'll see how things go. Should things not go smoothly, then you can always request transfer to another posting."
Mitchell nodded silently, and Palmer continued:
"Report to the bridge and take your station as you are."
Last edited by marcusdkane; 02-10-2013 at