Marching Orders

Posted on Sat Aug 19, 2023 @ 12:54am by Lieutenant JG Anson Lee & Captain Maritza Soran

1,144 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Si vis pacem, para bellum
Location: Utopia Planitia Shipyards, Security Office

[ON]

The thing they didn't you at the Academy when you opted for the Security track was how much paperwork was involved. And why was it still called paperwork when it hadn't involved paper in centuries? The latest was an incident report for teenagers trying to sneak into the construction yards to see if they could get a look at the latest developments in ship design. Lt. Anson Lee didn't get the appeal, but it was a common dare among the local kids. Sooner or later, one of them would end up squished under the very large, very heavy even under Mars' gravity, ship parts and that would be terrible.

At least the forms would be different.

Anson leaned over and called out to Ensign Hobart, "Hey, did they sneak in through sector three or four?"

"Four. I put in the request with Operations for closing that hole."

"Great. Saves me the trouble." Anson noted down sector four as the issue on the form. He was double checking his spelling and his details when he felt the rest of the room come to attention.

There was a gentle cough from behind him, polite but expectant. "In your own time, Lieutenant," rumbled the familiar baritone of Commander Riley Hall, the XO of the Shipyard's security force.

Anson's eyes went wide and he scrambled out his seat. "Sir."

The PADD nearly tipped off the desk in his rush, and he slammed a hand down on top of it to stop its slide. "What can I can do for you, sir?"

"At ease, everyone." Hall beckoned to Lee. "Except Anson. He gets to come with me and sweat a bit." The other security officers gave a mocking cheer, and the XO gave a very theatrical bow to sarcastically indicate Anson should head out of the bullpen and towards the small room that Commander Hall used as a private office.

Anson pulled a quick face at the the others behind the Commander's back, while trying to remember if he'd done anything recently to warrant a dressing down. It couldn't be the usual complaints about Security, because everyone got those complaints and they were mostly ignored unless it was a complaint about something like use of force, and that didn't cover anything he'd been involved with.

His reports had been fine. It had been months since the time he'd shown up with a sock stuck to the back of his uniform, so it couldn't be that. And now he was sweating, just like Hall had mentioned. He stood at attention in front of Hall's desk. "Commander?"

Hall gestured to the chair in front of the desk with its five pads, and a fixed screen terminal, and three used coffee cups and a half dissassembled type 2 phaser, and pictures of his wife, his kids, his parents, and Commander Pregzornik from Propulsion Testing who was Hall's best friend/chief enabler/partner in crime. "Sit down, Anson. You're making the place look untidy."

"We can't have that, sir." He had to move a PADD from where it sat on the chair to the stack on the desk. His innards unclenched. If he was in trouble, he wouldn't be sitting down. Hall enjoyed messing with them entirely too much.

"How much do you follow the news? Are you following the DS5 thing?, I mean, beyond the increased patrols and sensor sweeps we've got going on."

Anson hesitated. "Well, I mean, there's the stuff on on the news. The official, confirmed stuff. And then there's the rumor mill. Not that I give it much weight. I have serious doubts that a Betazoid-Changling hybrid has seized control of parts of the Cardassian military in an attempt to overthrow the Federation."

Hall snorted, "Is that what they're saying? I guess it beats Lizard people. Anyway," he fixed Anson with a look. "Do you remember what I said in your last review, about you being better than a glorified security guard. Well, Starfleet isn't taking the situation lightly. They're looking for candidates for the recapture force. I put you forward."

He bit back his first thought, which was Are you sure? Because of course Hall was serious. He'd joked about plenty of things, but not something like this. "Sir, I.... I don't know what to say. Thank you. For thinking of me."

It wasn't that Anson thought he was going to spend the entirety of his career at Utopia Planitia, but this was much bigger than anything he'd ever expected.

"Don't thank me too soon. You won't be chasing off teenagers with more daring than brains, or looking for signs of espionage. You're going to be under fire for a large chunk of it. Either on ship, or directly from opposition forces if you get aboard that station. I can't guarantee this isn't demotion to corpse. But nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"If the priority were personal safety, I would have picked a career other than Starfleet." Live phaser juggling, maybe. Anson's first year at the academy, a third-year Engineering cadet had died when a plasma conduit had exploded on a training cruise. He'd never met her, but had gone to the memorial service along with his whole class.

Hall grinned. "Well, since I've not scared you off, sign here. " He checked a couple of padds before finding the right one and holding it out. "Transfer orders, effective immediately. And you'll be catching a lift on Thursday's Paris class test flight, so take a sick bag."

Anson looked up from PADD where he'd just finished signed. "Sir, you intentionally waited to mention the test flight thing after I'd signed, didn't you?"

"Well, there's always a downside to every opportunity," Hall snorted, "No pain, no gain, no guts, no glory."

"I don't think that's referring to throwing up. Agreeing to be shot at is not the same thing as agreeing to a test flight." Anson hands back the PADD. "So do you want me to finish out my shift, or am I free to start in on my goodbyes and my packing?"

"Part of me really wants to make you finish the paperwork for that." Hall grinned. "But you might as well get started. There's bound to be an all hands crisis before you go if you don't."

"No tempting fate, huh?" Anson rose from his seat. "And, seriously, sir. Thank you. I've learned a lot here."

"I'll get confirmation wired to HQ. Good luck, Anson, don't get dead." Hall said. "I hate funerals."

Anson grinned. "Sir, you don't like anything that requires your dress uniform. But don't worry, I don't plan to die. My parents would want to plan the funeral, and I won't stand for it."

Hall grinned. "I'll tell them your instructions were for everyone to dress up as clowns. That should put them off." He held out his hand. "Good luck, Anson."

"You, too, Sir."

 

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