"Commander Eiriani. Care to explain why I have so many Gorn and Leathan on my ship? I specifically requested more orions! I could do with more entertainment around this joint... and get me a better cook than that Gorn working in the galley! Have you seen the slop he calls food?"
The tall Orion sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. "I swear it's like the Klingons are toying with me... I knew I should have remained a pirate..."
"You could always go back to being a pirate, sir." Eiriani smiled and blushed, but kept at attention.
"Perhaps... Just see about getting me a decent crew. I dont think I could take another replicated meal."
The more I read this, the more it feels like someone out of one of those "Hitler finds out....etc" videos haha.
You mean the ones that use the Hitler freakout scene from the movie "Downfall?" Those are freekin' HILARIOUS.
I understand that the studio is upset about them but doesn't think it's worth the effort to stamp out every one of them on the internet. But I've heard the director has personally seen a lot of them and that he thinks it's great -- he likes that his work is being leveraged to create a cultural meme.
The most useless duty officer on the USS Beauregard has to be its new Entertainer, the stubborn, aggressive and unruly Tellarite, Zupa. I'm assuming he's an insult comic, but I have yet to find a mission that called for an entertainer that didn't have one of his traits as leading to disaster. If it were a KDF ship, at least I could execute him for incompetence.
Jinx looked down at the two unconcsious bodies in her sickbay. With a rather puzzled expression, she turned to her first officer, Mat.
"Mat, weren't these two officers in charge of the squad I sent out for some R&R?"
"Yes Captain," replied Mat.
"And the rest of the squad carried these two back already unconscious?"
"Yes Captain," replied Mat.
"Where are the rest of the squad now?"
"I sent them to quarters to recover. They were mostly intact, Captain, so I felt it best not to trouble the Doctor's time with them."
"Recover? But that was why they were sent on shore leave in the first place. But that still doesn't explain why I have my best diplomat, and one of my top traders lying in sickbay, when all they did was go out on the town for a couple of drinks. At the Academy no less. They don't even serve alcohol. So, who did they lose to? Please don't say cadets."
"No Captain, not cadets. Civilians."
Jinx turns and walks out of Sickbay, shaking her head in disgust.
USS Kindjal, Engineering, Somewhere in the Beta Ursae Sector...
Abuzz with activity, two engineers from the Kindjal's fabrication workshop stare down what was, an hour ago, a random assemblage of freshly replicated parts. Now it was a fully functional plasma turret, but as of yet it was not working. Both have a rather puzzled, but determined look on their faces. The older and more experienced of the two slowly starts to smile, as if a plan is forming in his head. With his plan growing in clarity by the second, he starts to furiously launch himself into his task.
"So, you're the new guy?" The experienced fabrication engineer said as he begins to put together the tripod assembly.
The new guy, nervous as ever, responds, "Yeah. I just transferred to the Kindjal yesterday."
"Ah! Welcome!" The older fabrication engineer extends a greasy hand, "I'm Crewman Bubba Sadir Amandeep Gunderson. How do you do?"
The new fabrication engineer shakes the other's hand, "Hiroko Dewey Chen Gonzales. Nice to meet you."
"Heh... we're just too generic, unflavored humans!" Exclaiming loudly, Bubba slaps a large power cell into Hiroko's hand, "Here, I want you to plug this in."
Hiroko looks down at the power cell. He scrunches his face. "Ummmm... what the hell is this?"
Bubba snorts as he grabs a long power cable, "It's a large weapons battery. Geez... they don't teach you kids anything at the academy, do they?"
Hiroko looks around at the partially assembled platform, "Ok.... where and how do I plug it in?"
Bubba groans and facepalms himself, "Christ kid! Just look for the large weapons battery slot on the damn thing and plug it in. Positive to positive, negative to negative. It's real easy. Now do it."
Thought it takes a minute for Hiroko to find the proper battery slot, he double checks the weapons battery, properly identifying the positive and negative polarity symbols on both the battery slot and the battery itself. With a smile, he slots the batter in, affixed with a satisfying snap. Lights start to turn on. The device starts to whir, click and swivel around.
"Hey Bubba! It works!" Hiroko cheered.
That was when the plasma turret's twin barrels whirl and stop in front of Hiroko's face, as the whine of a power buildup sets the barrels to glow an unholy green.
"Ummmm.... sir?" Hiroko gulped, "Is it supposed to do that?"
Laser pointers track and glide over Hiroko's forehead. The turret starts to make the universal 'lock on' sound effects, as its robotic audio kicks in. "Target identified. Human, Starfleet enlisted crewman. Designated hostile! DIE pe'taQ!"
Starfleet Academy Lecture Hall #37
"And that..." Captain James L Corgan taps the lecture hall viewscreen with a pointy stick, as images of a plasma turret blazing green death inside the Kindjal's engineering section while crewman run for the exits, "Is why you must always be careful with stolen or contraband enemy electronic components when experimenting with new turret builds."
He continued, to the gazes of horrified academy students, "Enemy salvage can be fun to tinker with, but sometimes it can turn on you. In this case, somebody didn't check out the Identify Friend or Foe programming code in the targeting chip we recently stole from the Klingons."
"Now..." James added, "I'm not trying to discourage you from being Fabrication Engineers. God knows, these accidents happen to way too many of you guys. However, we ship captains don't like it when things malfuction... especially on a ship using one of the few Black Hole creating Red Matter Capacitors available to Starfleet. So that's lesson number two. Don't assemble death machines near pieces of equipment that could kill us all if it's ever damaged or destroyed."
Then, he remarked mirthfully, "Lesson three... positive to positive, negative to negative. Just like the remote control to your holovid player."
OOC: My latest foul up. One dead fabrication engineer, one injured and in sickbay, for doing a simple weapons test. He was a common, so who cares, right? I do. I just got him that day and fabrication engineers don't grow on trees. *L*
Captain Dan Hayden sat at his desk in his quarters, staring at the man currently displayed on the viewer. It took almost a full minute for him to find his voice.
"ALL of them, sir?" he asked, horsely.
On the screen, Admiral Decker nodded sobberly, "I'm afraid so, Dan."
Hayden sighed and leaned back in his chair, putting both of his hands to his now throbbing head. A particularly viscious disease had broken out on some nearby Federation colonies. In order to help combat the growing epidemic, Starfleet Medical had established a research base from which to study the virus and hopefully generate a cure. Unfortunately, with so many Federation vessels suffering casualties along the various borders, experienced medical personnel were in short supply. As a result, Medical was asking for any and all volunteers any starship in the sector could provide.
The Excalibur had sent five of its people, all of them doctors.
Decker continued, "We don't have the full report yet, but preliminary data suggests the research personnel were accidentally exposed to the virus somehow."
Hayden dropped his arms to his sides. "There were no survivors," he repeated, "All personnel were lost."
Decker shook his head, "I am sorry, Captain. For whatever its worth, I hate being the bearer of news like this, Decker out." And with that, the Admiral's face faded from the viewer.
For a moment, Hayden sat there staring at the blank screen. Morbidly, he wondered how many more of his crew would likewise fade away into oblivion. Angrily, he punched the comm toggle that connected him with the rest of the ship.