99 problems, but computer access isn't one of them...

Posted on Tue Jun 5th, 2018 @ 6:03pm by Captain Remas McDonald

1,464 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: S1:3: Myriad Problems
Location: Gym
Timeline: MD 1 15.00

Of all the insufferable, pain in the ass, stuck up, fucking stupid...

Daani growled and slammed a solid punch into the bag in front of her. After leaving engineering she'd spent less than half a second before returning to her quarters and changing out of the uniform that had caused such a bad reaction in their charming chief engineer. With few options she'd defaulted to something familiar; combat pants, boots and a top that left her arms bare. Not her current uniform, but something akin to her original one.

She twisted, her fist leaving the bag only for her elbow to slam into it a moment later. Sand seeped from the seams into little piles on the floor below as she worked out her frustrations. Although she was focused on her routine, switching between kicking and punching, she wasn't unaware when the door to the gym opened behind her.

Measured steps. Light, but the walker wasn't, she decided. Adult male at least. She took a breath, searching for any identifying scents.

“Come to check on your newest recruit, Captain?” she asked without turning around. “Or simply waiting a turn with the counsellor?”

"I dare you say you nearly have the poor fellow on the ropes, I'd hate to steal victory from your grasp," Remas chuckled and stepped up onto one of the omnidirectional treadmills. He was dressed jogging, loose sweatpants and a shirt with a faded much-worn decal on the front: 'USS Pegasus: Bad News Travels Fast'. The controls illuminated in the air, and soon his bare feet were eating up the stationary miles.

"A wise man would wonder what has cause for you to take out so much on such a silent and unbecoming fellow," Remas commented as he jogged.

Bare feet were an unusual choice for running, but she was quickly realising that Remas was probably unusual down to his DNA.

“He’s not putting up much of a challenge but it’s infinitely preferable to taking my frustrations out on people who piss me off” she commented, launching a different combination against the bag. The rapid fire strikes tested the seams all over again and a solid kick made the bag rattle on the chain. “Usually I shoot, but rightly I’m not allowed near weaponry,” she added with a grin.

She completed her set and let the bag rest, pulling back to a guard position, then pressing her clenched fists lightly against each other, her eyes closed for a moment. A ritual gesture from a mostly forgotten religion.

Rolling her shoulders, she wandered over to the bench near the treadmills and picked her towel up to swipe at her cut knuckles. They were already well scarred but she was getting soft, normally even an extended session on the bags wouldn’t cause her to bleed.

Selecting the treadmill next to Remas, she started to run, but her gait was far different. Whereas Remas ran with a looping grace, her stride was shorter, more controlled and more like a march. A rhythm designed to keep her running for miles in full kit.

"The fallacy of weapons. A weapon is a tool, it is ultimately a thing to be broken by your opponent. They are an extension--you are the killer and destroyer. You are whole, with or without them," Remas retorted cryptically as he warmed his muscles. "Just because I play the role of pacifist, does not mean I am not versed in its means."

He let a few simulated tens of meters pass between them before he added.

"So...engineering is still standing it seems?"

She slid him a sideways glance. “I don’t need weapons. I was brought up to be one… but there is something satisfying in keeping an earned skill sharp.”

She rolled her shoulders again, feeling the left one click finally. Relief surged through her. Without that click of release, it would have tightened until she’d have been forced to seek assistance in sickbay. She couldn’t see that one going any better than earlier with the chief engineer.

“It is, although I did admit to a split second temptation to tamper with the door and leave Lt Zhuri locked in his own office.”

"If its one thing I've never seen, its Ari back down from a verbal fight. I've seen him speak rings around Tellarites before during the construction phase of the Long Jump Project," he shook his head. "But I will not abide intolerance. You made a choice, wronged someone, and now it is the past. It is a done thing that cannot be solved through hatred. You have my word, he will be treated to the tender mercies of the ships mast."

“We have a ship’s mast?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. “Being honest, I’d rather just get the access I need and leave it at that. Hatred returned begets more resentment and hatred.”

She chuckled. “Don’t I sound all fanciful and like I know what the hell I’m talking about? I don’t want to get anyone in trouble or cause issues. You gave me a chance and I appreciate that… but I will understand if you want to change your mind and throw me in the brig. Lt Zhuri's preference was out an airlock, but I really would prefer the brig, if it's all the same to you."

"He said-"

What Remas was going to say was lost to fate, as one foot landed oddly and the whole bearded arrangement was shot off the back of the treadmill in a lackadaisical style. He landed shortly and rolled until he was against the wall.

"I'm...okay," he grunted, "My pride took the hit but I'm fine. You mind telling again what he said before I became a word puzzle in a maths textbook?"

One moment Remas was running smoothly behind her, then, like a scene from an old kids cartoon… he was gone.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve heard far worse. Got captured once by the Telarian Front, their commander figured out who I was... he was very inventive with his threats. An airlock would have been far preferable.”

Neatly, she hopped off the end of her own treadmill and offered a hand to help him to his feet. “He perhaps didn’t take kindly to my assurance that I wasn’t planning on kidnapping him.” She winked. “I wasn’t, he’s really not my type.”

"You're not exactly his either," Remas said with a grunt, as he took the offered hand and was hoisted onto his feet. "But the point remains he is a Department Head, and in full view of a number of folks who require his respect, levelled a threat at a fellow crew member. That sort of rot set into a command style quickly, and it spreads. It gives licence to others to act as they ought not to."

He grimaced.

"I've seen what happens when that rot drips down from the top ranks. Seen it twist folk about until one day they open their eyes and canny fathom how they came to that point in their lives. And out here, far from home and with no recourse save ourselves, it's not as though I can assign him to another berth in the fleet," Remas eyed the treadmill. "I need to sort this out 'fore something happens."

She shook her head. “It was in his office. There were no witnesses. And he does have a point. None of the rest of the crew have any reason to trust me. YOU don’t, but you do… which I can’t figure out.”

She still had hold of his hand and refused to let go for a second. “Promise that you won’t do something that will bite you in the arse later? Not to smooth things for me anyway.”

"I make no such promise, but will temper what I say with that foreknowledge," Remas acknowledged. "And I reckon you know why I trust you. It'll be as fine a day as any when you figure it out, but I got my faith in you."

She studied him for a while but his expression gave nothing away. “Soldier, remember? You have to spell shit out to us.”

"Because, for right or wrong, out here we are all that we have to rely on," Remas said, and released her hand, stepping away with his hands raised to the side in an encompassing gesture. "Not one of us can survive without the other. Without trust, without faith in each other, might have been better to let the Clock Maker's make a meal of us."

He turned and walked towards the hatch.

"You'll have access privilege in short order, never fret."

 

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