boarding gone wrong

Posted on Thu Nov 21st, 2024 @ 1:28am by Lieutenant Colonel Savannah Sorrel & Commander Onofron Zuir

2,364 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: New Crew, New Mission

Savannah had overslept that morning, her last night on the starbase and since she had sent most of her belongings ahead the only outfit she could still find was what she wore the day before. Old faded jeans with tears in them, an old shirt and her leather jacket. She kind of fashioned her spiky black and purple hair into something a bit appropriate and forgot to take out her nose piercing and earrings. Normally she would never wear them on duty and when on board not outside of her own quarters but now she just wanted to get on board and then sort out her quarters. After that she could change and meet the crew.

So she was slightly out of breath and looking very disheveled when she finally made it on board the Iroquois.

The corridor was bustling as Commander Onofron Zuir stepped into the main passageway, his midnight-blue eyes scanning the activity with the sharpness of a hawk. He paused when his gaze landed on a figure who seemed utterly out of place—a woman in faded, torn jeans, an old shirt, a leather jacket, and an assortment of metallic adornments in her nose and ears. Her spiky black and purple hair added to the incongruity of her presence aboard a Starfleet vessel.

Zuir’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pulling into a tight line of disapproval. He strode toward her with the confident, clipped steps of a man who believed the universe would cease to spin if he demanded it.

"You there," he barked, stopping a few paces from her and folding his arms behind his back. "Civilians are not permitted aboard the Iroquois. I’ll have to ask you to return to the starbase immediately. While I understand the starbase has occasion to permit civilian tours, it is highly inappropriate for someone with your... background to wander into restricted areas."

First Savannah looked behind her to see if he was talking to someone else. It was not unheard of for personnel to be in civvies in their off duty time. "I am not a civilian." She managed to get out still totally overwhelmed by his approach.

Zuir’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing further as he leaned slightly closer, his tone sharp and unyielding. "Ah, not a civilian, you say? An ex-convict, then. I suspected as much." He gestured vaguely toward her outfit, his fingers cutting through the air with the precision of a man used to having his orders followed without question. "Trespassing in a restricted area with a criminal record. Two strikes against you already."

He briskly tapped his combadge. "Zuir to Security Team 2. Report to the primary corridor near Airlock Four. We have an unauthorized individual aboard with a criminal history to be considered potentially armed and dangerous. Escort her to the brig for questioning."

~Was this man insane?~ It took her a few seconds to take action. "I would belay that if I were you, commander. I am a fellow starfleet officer and what I wear in my time off is none of your business. If you continue this you will make a fool of yourself."

"Tell it to the Security Chief," Ono said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You are well outside of nearly every Starfleet regulation. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at the bluff, but you picked the wrong person for that attempt." Leaning forward, Ono's eyes narrowed. "I see right through your little ruse and I will further see you behind a forcefield."

"You pompous idiot!" Savannah hissed. "I am trying to help you by not making you look like a fool!"

"I've heard it all before," Ono said. "First you bluff and feign indignation. Then you'll think to bribe me with some ludicrous offer that's not worth my attention, much less my commission. In the end, you will beg." He sighed and shook his head with apathy. "In the end, they always beg, and in the end, the answer is always the same." Ono pursed his lips in order to emphasize the single word summary. "No."

Savannah threw up her hands, giving up. But this was not how she had imagined her first moments on the ship to be. "Alright, we will do it your way. Call in your troops. But don't say I did not try." She leaned back against the wall, waiting but not in the least concerned.

Just then the Security team rounded the corner, their phasers not drawn but with their hands at the ready. Two noncoms and an ensign made approach.

"Yes, it's about time!" Ono barked at them. "I shall have a chat with your chief about your response time. Had this been a boarding party by Klingon warriors or Orion raiders, the ship very well may have been commandeered by now!"

The ensign stopped to listen to the commander's tirade. "Yes, sir, sorry, sir." His butter bar rank left him with nothing but apologies due to his flimsy spine.

But the senior noncom had already checked Savannah's biometrics against the ship's records. "Name?" he asked, looking for confirmation.

"Lieutenant Colonel Savannah Sorrel." She said quietly.

Rather than address Ono directly, the senior noncom nodded at the ensign, who in turn faced Ono. "Uh, sir... she is a crew member."

"What?!" Ono's brow went into his forehead. "Check again."

"But, sir—"

"I said check again and you will check again!" Ono snapped. "That is an order!"

The ensign sighed and had the team run through the same check again. It came back the same. "Yes, she is a member of the crew," the ensign replied. "Are there any other security concerns?"

Ono glowered at being made the fool. "Not at this time," he said glibly. "Get back to your post."

He didn't have to tell them twice. They rounded the corner back the way they'd come.

Turning back to Savannah, the look on Ono's face was one of total denial. "You are out of regs, Lieutenant Colonel. See to that before you go gallivanting around the corridors from now on."

"You can't actually tell me what to do, commander." She said matter of factly. "I am not in your chain of command, and we hold the same rank as well. And a little civility goes a long way."

Ono’s expression was a masterclass in barely restrained disdain. His midnight-blue eyes burned with the intensity of someone who could not abide the chaotic elements that had just barged into his meticulously ordered worldview. Folding his hands behind his back, he squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, towering over Savannah with his precious few extra centimeters and an air of authority that practically demanded obedience.

"As would clothes on your part, Lieutenant Colonel," he said, his tone clipped and precise. "Your technical exemption from the Starfleet chain of command does not exempt you from decorum. You may not fall within my direct oversight, but you are a member of this ship’s senior staff, and as such, you are subject to the standards of professionalism expected aboard the Iroquois." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into an almost conspiratorial murmur. "I might recommend a shower before donning your uniform at any rate."

"Are you insane?" Savannah asked. "I am still off duty for another half hour. If you had not stopped me that would have been plenty of time to shower and change and meet the captain on time. There is nothing in the regulations about civilian clothing in my own time. I can do as I damn well please, commander. I do want a cordial working relationship with you for the sake of the ship but you make one damned bad first impression."

"Indeed, your first impression is a terrible one," Ono replied, turning her statement around the other way. "Your current state of appearance is unacceptable. You represent not only yourself but this ship and the ideals of Starfleet, whether you wear a Fleet insignia or a Marine Corps patch. Arriving aboard in such a..."—he gestured vaguely toward her torn jeans and leather jacket with a pointed flick of his hand—"disheveled state is an insult to the professionalism of your rank such I could not tell on first glance whether you were a common street urchin or a street walker because the sight of you speaks more to fleas and criminal convictions than Starfleet commissions and combadges. My expectation going forward is that you observe protocols on appearance, and that includes the sections on uniforms and hygiene."

"You are insane, right?" She still could not believe her ears. "There is nothing wrong with my hygiene, thank you very much. I am in my own time and I can wear what ever damn well I please and I should really punch you in the face for calling me a street walker. May I suggest that it may be time for your psych eval? Otherwise I demand an apology from you." Sav came from a highly regarded family back on Earth not to mention that her grandfather had at one time been the highest marine officer in the fleet and she came from a family of generals and admirals. Not that she would ever bring that up as she wanted to build a career on her own merits.

"Is there a better word in Earth tradition for one who reveals an amount of their personal body that is inappropriate for the time and place? If there is, then do please swap out for it." His midnight-blue eyes glinted with a peculiar intensity as he prepared to deliver what he clearly believed was an irrefutable argument. "Lieutenant Colonel, perhaps a story will appeal to the reptilian brain with what Marines govern their lives" he began crisply, his tone measured yet brimming with the unmistakable gravitas of someone about to share what they considered an essential truth of the universe, "so allow me to impart a lesson drawn from the rich maritime traditions of Earth's seafaring history—a tradition, I might add, from which Starfleet derives much of its ethos."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice ever so slightly, as though he were about to reveal a long-lost secret. "During the height of naval exploration, a galleon renowned for its discipline was lost with all hands due to one fatal oversight: improper uniforms."

Whatever Savannah must be thinking, Ono continued without a breath, his tone growing even more solemn.

"The ship's quartermaster, a man of lax standards and indecipherable personal grooming habits, failed to enforce proper uniform protocol among the crew. One fateful morning, a sailor in mismatched stockings was mistaken for a pirate infiltrator during an inspection drill. The resulting confusion caused the boatswain to misidentify the first mate as an accomplice to said ‘pirate,’ leading to an unintended mutiny."

Ono's eyes narrowed, as though daring her to challenge the logic. "As the sailors bickered over who was and was not a pirate, the ship drifted off course into the shoals of Hunter's Point, where it ran aground and was promptly seized by actual pirates—men, I might add, who were uniformed correctly, as pirates often are in stories of this nature."

He paused for dramatic effect, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "All hands were lost. The ship was burned to the waterline. And it was all because one sailor believed that ‘what I wear in my time off is none of your business.’"

Straightening back up to his full height, Ono looked down at Savannah with an air of triumph, as though the case had been closed and the verdict delivered. "Now, Lieutenant Colonel, I trust you can finally appreciate the profound dangers posed by appearing on duty in attire that could cause confusion, inefficiency, or some similar catastrophic event." His tone lowered even more to nearly a whisper if not for the brusque tone. "Do not lead my ship into the shoals, or I will decorate your service jacket with a chain of discommendations from here to the Horsehead Nebula."

"Dear god, you are insane." She realised. It did not bode well for the ship and for her role on it. One thing she hated was being at odds with her navy counterparts and she could only pray that the captain was not cut from the same cloth as this man.

"Insane, you say?" Ono began, his tone carrying an almost theatrical level of false humility. "Oh, Lieutenant Colonel, I do understand how someone might mistake competence, rigor, and an unwavering commitment to excellence for... eccentricity. But I assure you, my sanity is quite intact—remarkable, really, considering the madness I’m forced to confront."

He took a step closer, clasping his hands behind his back in a gesture of superiority. "For instance," he said, gesturing vaguely at her outfit with a subtle flick of his fingers, "it requires extraordinary mental fortitude to endure the sight of a senior officer reporting aboard a ship of the line looking as though she just rolled out of a Klingon dive bar. That alone could unnerve a lesser man."

His voice dropped slightly, taking on a tone of mock concern. "And speaking of madness, it does make one wonder—what level of... emotional turbulence compels someone to arrive at their duty station dressed like a teenager rebelling against curfew? I would argue that this failure to adhere to even the most basic standards of adulthood says far more about your mental state than mine."

Ono straightened, his smile vanishing into a look of detached professionalism. "But fear not, Lieutenant Colonel. I am here to bring order where there is chaos, maturity where there is childishness, and professionalism where there is... well, whatever this is." He gestured vaguely at her again.

Satisfied with his verbal salvo, Ono gave a curt nod. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to ensuring this ship maintains the standards of excellence that Starfleet expects and that I demand. I trust you’ll find your quarters, a shower, and a uniform in due course. Good day."

Sav just shook her head wondering if she had just entered the mad house.

 

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