Getting Revved Up!

Posted on Fri Jan 31st, 2025 @ 4:39pm by Lieutenant Sayori Summers & Commander Onofron Zuir

1,949 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: New Crew, New Mission
Location: Main Engineering

A cacophony of people speaking over each other, sometimes in small groups trying to be heard over other nearby groups or yelling to a group across the compartment. A mind-bending maze of footsteps as mechanically-minded people in gold crossed the large space and never colliding with their teammates in a way that would make a holodeck programming pathing algorithm writer weep with envy. A symphony of tones as fingers of all shapes, colours, and sizes typed commands into touchscreens.

All of that to say: the engine room was busy.

And among them, one purple-haired pixie was taking charge. Shorter than many of them, she flitted among the crowds, making sure each group was on track and on task, offering help and guidance as needed.

Ono stepped into the bustling engine room with the hard look of a man entering a hostile battlefield rather than a workspace, his sharp gaze sweeping over the chaotic scene. His midnight-blue eyes narrowed as he took in the sheer frenzy of movement and noise—technicians crisscrossing paths like fire ants, fingers drumming commands into consoles, and voices overlapping in what could only be described as organized bedlam.

Organized, he thought grimly, but barely.

And then—her.

The Chief Engineer, all but materializing out of the chaos, her vibrant purple hair and impossibly cheerful demeanor clashing with the very concept of Starfleet discipline.

Out from the corner of her eye, she saw the main engine room door open, revealing a blue man in a red uniform that she recognized from the staff meeting. “Konbanwa, shikikan! Or rather, good evening, Commander!”

Ono blinked slowly, as though trying to process not only the greeting but the manner of its delivery. He stepped forward, his posture ramrod straight, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his gait deliberately measured as he moved further into the room. When he finally spoke, his voice was as crisp and even as ever, though there was a distinct undertone of closet disapproval.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Summers," he replied, his pronunciation of the words clipped and formal. "I see that your... domain is abuzz with activity. A commendable level of energy, though I would note that enthusiasm alone is no substitute for competence."

"Good thing we have both then, Commander!" Sayori replied cheerfully.

He stopped a few paces from her, his gaze flicking briefly to a junior technician who seemed to be sprinting between stations like his life depended on it. "I trust this... kinetic display of yours is conducted with due oversight. Starfleet Engineering guidelines do recommend a decibel level conducive to clear communication, but I can only assume the noise is an innovation of your particular leadership style."

Tilting his head slightly, Ono looked down at her with a mixture of skepticism and practiced professionalism, as though unsure whether to commend her for controlling the chaos or reprimand her for allowing it to flourish. "Tell me, Lieutenant Summers," he added with deliberate slowness, "does this apparent festival of movement yield results, or do you simply find comfort in the illusion of progress?"

His tone was not quite accusatory but held the distinct weight of a challenge, as though daring her to justify the madness unfolding around them.

Sayori wasn't entirely oblivious to his challenge and her grin shifted slightly into a smirk. "The Captain's original schedule was that we depart four days from now. We're on track to have the slipstream drive fully operational and safety tested to within an inch of its life in about fifty hours. And that includes an allowance for potential problems so it might be as soon as...forty-two hours."

She turned to stand beside the tall blue man to look out her domain. "You see chaos. I see the beauty of a well crafted machine. All of these gears are turn-turn-turning perfectly, and today my job is realigning them when they fall out of sync."

"Lieutenant!" an ensign called from a nearby console. "We're ready to bring plasma line three online."

"Good work, Benson!" she called back. "Do it, but slowly, monitor every step of the way. If there are peaks of three SDs or more call me right away." She turned back to Ono. "They're good engineers. Whoever picked up them knew what they were doing."

One shifted in his stance, folding his hands neatly behind his back as he addressed her, his tone droll and almost bored as if addressing a precocious child.

"Lieutenant Summers," he began, "while your metaphor of gears and synchronization is... poetic, I would remind you that the ideal state of any machine is one where the gears do not fall out of sync in the first place. Realignment, while vital in its own right, is inherently reactive. A more proactive approach—ensuring the gears remain aligned through preventative measures—would reduce both the workload on your team and the likelihood of cascading failures."

He glanced toward the bustling activity around them, his gaze lingering on a particularly animated group of technicians. "It is commendable that your team operates so efficiently under pressure. From where I stand, though, the presence of such pressure indicates a lack of adequate preemptive discipline."

Ono turned back to Sayori, his brow raising slightly as though offering her an opportunity to refute his point. "In short, Lieutenant, I would suggest that true excellence lies not in reacting to problems but in preventing them altogether. As the saying goes, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

He paused, tilting his head slightly as his voice took on a faintly sardonic edge. "Of course, if your approach is to thrive amidst chaos, then perhaps such turbulence is, in fact, your chosen method of operation." His voice rose in pitch, making his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "If so, I hope your gears are as resilient as you claim, for the entire ship will soon depend upon them."

"Admittedly I only just took over, Commander," Sayori observed. "You gotta cut me some slack, sir. I inherited an engine room that didn't work and was told to make it work ahead of schedule. There was no time to be preventative. An ounce of prevention only works when you're already healthy. So we work reactively now, until it's all straight and true, and then can work proactively at keeping it that way."

Then she bobbed on the balls of her feet and smiled. "And I do thrive in this environment, sir. When chaos rules, and even with all the prevention in the galaxy chaos will have its day, you can find me in the middle, pulling strings and nudging gears and keeping us afloat. This room might be on fire as some new threat beyond the veil torpedoes us and I'll be here, probably giggling manically, as we engineers make sure our ship survives, nay, thrives amid the entropy!"

Ono’s expression didn’t waver as he listened to Sayori’s spirited defense, though the slight twitch of his brow hinted at a mixture of disbelief and mild irritation. When she finished, he regarded her with a cool, measured gaze, his posture rigid as though carved from stone.

"Lieutenant Summers," he said, his tone as dry as Vulcan sand, "your enthusiasm for chaos is... noteworthy. I suppose there is a certain romantic appeal to envisioning oneself as the maestro of entropy, conducting an orchestra of disaster. However, such romanticism has never kept a ship afloat."

He clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head slightly as though he were about to impart some ancient, esoteric wisdom. "Do you know why 19th-century Terran mariners banned juggling aboard ships? I imagine not. You see, on those quaint sailing vessels, a poorly timed misstep by an overconfident juggler could send an entire cargo hold of oranges rolling about, tripping sailors and sinking the ship before they even realized what had happened."

Ono paused for effect, his gaze piercing. "The lesson here is simple: indulging in chaos—even when one feels adept at navigating it—does not excuse the risk it poses to the entire operation. And while I appreciate your assurance that you will be laughing manically in the midst of flames, I find myself wondering whether such laughter will inspire confidence or abject terror in the rest of the crew."

His tone grew quieter, but no less cutting. "I trust, Lieutenant, that your metaphorical juggling act will not result in oranges—or, in this case, a quantum slipstream drive—scattering dangerously across the deck. For all our sakes, I would prefer not to find out whether Starfleet Command has an equivalent rule banning it."

The jab about juggling didn't faze her, but the comment about abject terror gave her a second of pause. Most of the engineers who worked for her in the past had taken her excitement during chaos with a degree of comfort (for surely she would be panicking if the situation were truly out of hand). Those that did react badly to those circumstances often didn't last long in the fleet. But this was a new ship and new crew. People didn't know her yet. Would a second of hesitation to trust the orders of what might objectively appear to be a batty madwoman put lives at risk? She didn't have an immediate answer to that one.

She could only hope that her few seconds of thoughtful pause would communicate that she was indeed taking him seriously.

"Trust takes time, Commander," she finally said, calmly. "We're getting into a working groove here. We'll soon have a working quantum slipstream drive, ahead of schedule, and we'll be establishing proper working methods and building that trust that will get us through any challenge, even the most chaotic ones."

"I'm hearing a lot of future tenses in your assurances, Lieutenant," Ono said with his chin up and brow furrowed. "I suppose the proof will be in the galooki." Knowing the Universal Translator still did not have a translation for that word, Ono's tone turned droll as he added, "I am told humans would liken it to jam."

"And this galooki will show all the proof you need, Shikikan!" Sayori said with a cheer. "I plan to inform the Captain that we're ready to proceed no later than fifty-two hours from now, and maybe as early as forty-two hours from now. We won't fail. You have my word on that, sir."

"The value of your word remains to be seen, Lieutenant," he said, his tone cool but cutting. "However, given our current position, I suppose we have no choice but to rely on it."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "I will return in twenty-one hours to assess your progress. I trust we won’t find ourselves in... a 'jam'." He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk as he added, "Or a galooki, as the case may be."

The chuckle he gave at his own pun was quiet but unmistakable, and while he seemed thoroughly pleased with himself, the petty officers nearby exchanged knowing looks and subtle eye rolls.

Ono, oblivious—or perhaps entirely indifferent—to their reactions, clasped his hands neatly behind his back. "Carry on, Lieutenant," he said with finality, turning sharply on his heel and marching out of engineering, leaving Sayori and her team to their chaos.

And as she watched him leave, Sayori let out a stifled giggle. The Commander is punny! Utterly delighted, she got back to work with her team. They had a lot to do in twenty-one hours. Better have someone put on a fresh pot of coffee.

 

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