Flashback -Stardate: 79505.4 4th July 2402 – 13:00 – Transporter room 3

Stepping out of the Turbolift, Wallace immediately bumped his head on some loose conduit as he failed to pay attention whilst in mid-conversation with his CO

“Sorry, Sir!” a young voice cried out as a young crewman stepped in to pull the conduit out of the commander’s way. The ship was certainly rough around the edges, but a symphony of combined effort was well underway to bend Fairfax back into shape after an eventful shakedown cruise.

“See what I mean?” Wallace pointed out. “She’s falling apart at the seams, at this point. If she were a horse, I’d shoot her!”

Alex stepped out behind his first officer and paced two steps back as they made their way down the corridor, “Point taken, Number One, and I have already gone over this with Starfleet Command.”

“I just don’t see what sending us an advisor is going to accomplish, feels kinda like putting a band-aid on a bullet-wound!” said Wallace.

“Notwithstanding, our orders still stand, so at this point it’s about getting Fairfax ready to fly; everything else can be managed when we get underway.” Alex understood the situation; Their shakedown cruise nearly tore the ship apart. Ideally, he would have preferred a six-month layover to get the ship back into prime condition. But with the fleet’s resources still recovering after last year’s catastrophe, compromises had to be made.

“I hear most of the engineering crew are hot-bunking to try and keep on schedule. K’vagh is pulling his hair out over the amount of health and safety infractions, and don’t even get me started on the medical staff!” Wallace stopped outside the transporter room and turned to look his CO in the eye, “The point is, this ship is a powder keg waiting to blow, and this ‘advisor’ might just be the spark that sets it off!”

Alex sighed. He couldn’t disagree with the Commander’s assessment; stress levels were through the roof, and morale was low. The workload was bad enough, but being docked at port and having to deny shore-leave requests was the cherry on top of the cake. On the other hand, he’d hand-picked most of his senior crew, and he was confident in their capabilities.

“Sometimes, you just gotta trust the team to kill the long penalty,” said Alex as he stepped through the doors into the Transporter room.

“You know I can’t stand ice hockey, right?” replied Wallace, completely missing the sentiment of the message.

“Even the best teams face difficult situations, Number One. How we overcome them is by sticking together, sharing the load, and holding our resolve until the clock runs down and the ice tilts in our favour.” Alex nodded to the Transporter operator and turned again to face his XO.
“The point is, things will improve. And when they do, we’ll be stronger for the efforts we put in now—”

“Sorry to interrupt, sir’s, but Starbase 93 is waiting to initiate transport.” Seizing a brief pause in the discord, the Transporter operator interjected.

“Energise!” Alex ordered, and he then observed the petty officer initiate the transport sequence, sliding his fingertips across the display.

The Transporter pad hummed into life as their guest’s pattern began to materialise. Gradually, the figure of a somewhat older gentleman employing a cane to help him stand began to take shape. His hair was tidy but began to take on shades of grey as he began to coalesce. His attire was simple and comfortable, with no visible signs of an insignia or uniform; this was a civilian.

As the gentleman fully materialised and the transporter hum subsided, he ran his finger and thumb across his well-groomed moustache and took an initial, tentative step onto the deck.

“Good afternoon, Welcome on board. I’m Captain Alexander Dubois, and this is my first officer, Commander Wallace Jones.” Alex extended his hand in greeting the gentleman as he stepped off the pad, noting a firmness to his handshake.

Wallace, on the other hand, first noted the course texture and the calluses of the man’s palms; this was not a person who sat behind a desk all day, making him curious as to just what kind of advisor Starfleet was providing them with.

The gentleman seemed in awe of the room he was standing in, taking a moment before returning the pleasantries.
“My apologies, Captain. Been a long time, Commander Jorel Trask, retired. Former Fairfax Chief Engineer,” he said, drawl slow and smooth, to the point he could only seem more like Texas if he were wearing an obnoxiously large bone colored stetson.
“Starfleet said you boys needed a hand getting this ol’ girl back into shape? Must admit, didn’t expect her to still be flyin’” It was a softer accent, probably more east coast than your typical cowboy.

“She doesn’t right now,” Wallace added, realising that the texture of the hand he shook was that of a fellow engineer.

“Might could be we oughta change that,” Jorel smiled, his accent and idioms seemingly laid on thicker when he was excited.

“If you’d like, Commander Jones can show you to your quarters.” Alex offered. It was a standard gesture whenever inviting a guest aboard.

“If it’s all the same with you, I’d like to get to work.” Jorel requested, eager to get started.

Alex nodded and instinctively pushed out his bottom lip; he couldn’t help but admire the old timer’s work ethic. “In that case, Number One, would you accompany the retired Commander to engineering and introduce him to Lieutenant Commander zh’Shaleth?”

Wallace gestured towards the door and followed behind Jorel. It was obvious he still knew his way around as they rounded the corner and headed directly for the turbolift.

“As you’ll be sailing with us, I took the liberty of assigning you a communicator,” explained Wallace, taking the delta out of his pocket and handing it to the old man.

“Thanks, Yer’know, I’d have at least reckoned that they’d have swapped out the carpets in the last thirty years,” Said Jorel, poking at some of the wear marks with his cane. His voice had a kind of cadence, worn smooth by decades of use.

Present Day – Main engineering, 21st August 2402 10:00 hrs (Stardate: 79636.6)

T’Lira took a rare moment to rest her feet by sitting down at the reactor workstation to run some field simulations. Sometimes she felt like she had the most job security of any officer aboard the ship. Where phasers could be targeted by a computer, and courses could once be plotted by androids, tuning a Matter-Antimatter reactor was more like an art form that required patience, skill and a little creativity. It could never be effectively managed without a personal touch.

Fairfax presented a particular challenge; originally, she was designed with an older generation Warp Core, similar to those already installed on the Ambassador class. However, not long after entering service, the Niagara class was recalled to be refitted with the much more powerful ‘Brahms type’ reactors, originally designed for the Galaxy class.

This brought about a significant improvement in the vessel’s performance, along with some quirks that required constant adjustment to manage.
Part of this was due to the unique geometry of the Niagara’s warp drive, with a measure of having to adapt the vessel to a power core well beyond her original specifications.

To T’Lira, this was a welcome challenge. It meant getting some time to lose herself in the technical manual and play around with Snowfire’s settings as she perpetually pursued greater efficiency.

She scanned over her technical manual, chapter 5.3, specifically the specifications for the Plasma Injection system. After a few minutes, she found what she was looking for: the injector operating frequency. She scanned some more, finding the specifications for Fairfax’s current velocity; warp 5 – 40 to 50Hz – pulse duration; 30-40 nano seconds

“Got it,” she said out loud to herself as she punched in the parameters for her simulation. She had managed to stabilise Fairfax’s flight whilst towing, just like the Captain asked, now she wanted to look at boosting the efficiency as high as possible.

With the Fairfax, this was easier said than done. It was going to be a constant battle making the injector frequency as low as possible and then balancing that with the reaction rate of the core and about two dozen other variables, but it was an interesting challenge.

“Ma’am.” A voice timidly manifested behind her. She turned her chair to see one of her ensigns standing there, looking a little concerned. “Ensign, what’s the matter?” she asked, her antennae picking up on changes in the young woman’s breathing and heart rate. She was anxious.

“Please don’t shoot the messenger, but I thought you should know… Mr Trask already did those adjustments to the plasma injectors.”

Like a crashing wave preceding a storm, T’Lira’s mood changed. “And you let him!” she snapped angrily.

“He said you’d approved it, it wasn’t until I just saw you working on them—”
“Oh, did he now! Ensign, he’s not the Chief Engineer… I am. You check with me before anyone not on this team so much as picks up a hyperspanner!” T’Lira was furious, the audacity of the situation.

The Ensign began to quiver; she knew she’d made a mistake but had hoped to be spared the brunt of her superior’s rage.

Upon seeing her reaction, however, T’Lira tempered her tone, took a breath and made her amends. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t be angry at you… Where is he?” T’Lira asked, softly with a sort of sympathetic undertone.

“He said he was going up to Matter Reactant Injector to work on some calibrations to the preburners.”

T’Lira immediately called out to verify, “Computer, Locate Jorel Trask!”

“Retired Commander Jore Trask is on deck thirteen, M.R.I. Maintainance”

T’Lira lept from her seat and headed straight for the turbolift with an intentful and purposeful gait. He’s gone too far this time, she thought to herself, contemplating having the old man arrested and thrown in the brig for the rest of the trip. She understood that the Captain had granted him a relaxed security clearance, but he was still a civilian and no longer entitled to play about with the ship’s systems – especially not without her approval.

The Turbolift ground to a halt, and T’Lira stepped forward so fast she had to slide through the gap in the doors as they opened. Her rage was fueling her pace, the fire of her frustration growing with the anticipation of confronting him.

As she arrived at the Jeffries tube junction, she commanded the hatch open and crawled inside. It was only a short distance along the tube to the next junction. From there, she could access the Maintenance room.

Jorel was kneeling on the floor next to an open inspection hatch, both his hands busy with a tricorder in one and a flux coupler in the other. He took note of the readings on his display and prepared to make some adjustments,

“Stop what you’re doing!” T’Lira yelled as she climbed out of the hatch. Jorel was startled by his counterpart’s sudden entrance, though he had considered she might find out about his escapade.

“Now just one minute, lemme explain!” Jorel began to plead.
“Save it! Just who do you think you are, going about making changes without my authorisation! I ought to march you right in front of the captain!”

Jorel opened his mouth to speak, but was again curtailed by another barrage of understandably justified anger. “You should know better than to go playing about with things without consulting me. This isn’t the wild west out here, you make a mistake, it could cost—”

“Would you pipe down just a damn minute and lemme speak!” Jorel came in, raising his voice above T’Liras. For the first time, she felt the unbridled power of his voice. It came unexpectedly, like he’d been keeping it in reserve for just such an occasion.

“I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. I’m sorry about that. But I know this ship… We got an understandin’… She talks to me…”

T’Lira scoffed, “You’re certifiable! Something else!”
“Aint no different from that thing you got goin’ on with the warp core… Snowfire, is it?”

T’Lira was taken aback by Jorel’s comeback, maybe a little embarrassed. “That’s different!”

“Is it?…. How?… You talk to a machine, I talk to a ship. Reckon the only difference is your Aenar abilities might actually have some scientific basis… Me?… I trust my gut,” Jorel tossed his flux coupler back in his kit-bag, snatched his cane and hauled himself to his feet with a satisfying crunch from his kneecaps.

“Forty-three years of grease monkeyin’ around starships, and my gut never led me wrong… not once. Fourteen of them on this very ship, where I never needed to run anything by nobody, so yeah… I ignored protocol, went behind your back, fixin’ to do the work that needed doin’… guess ol’ habits die hard,”

For the first time, T’Lira began to see Jorel for who he really was: a sad old man who couldn’t let go.

“Starfleet asked me to tag along and help bend this ship back into shape… I done that. She flies. But I’d be remiss if I just left it at that and didn’t try goin’ the extra mile for a ship that saved my life!”

T’Lira had heard enough. Whatever Jorel’s explanation, it didn’t excuse his actions. She had every right to have him arrested for potentially endangering the ship, but she had a small measure of compassion. “Consider your assistance no longer required. Engineering is off-limits… I’ll speak to the Captain and insist your security clearance be suspended.” She sighed and explained herself further.

“While I find your pride in this ship admirable, I really do… We go by the book in my engine room, and most of all, we work as a team. There’s no place for a cowboy with a cavalier attitude in that team. You meant well, and that is the only reason stopping me from taking this matter further!”

Jorel nodded in acceptance, “Fair enough,” he said, making his way over to the hatch. He paused for a moment, a thought entering his mind. Turning back, he looked T’Lira in the eye.

“Final piece of advice. Ditch the technical manual.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Ships like Fairfax… they weren’t constructed… they were born, handcrafted with blood, sweat and passion. Back when Starfleet still looked up at the sky and dreamed about what was out there. You can’t operate her from a textbook like one of your fancy new ships of the line… That dog won’t hunt!… She’s got just as much personality as you or I, and if you listen, she’ll talk to you.”

As the Commander climbed into the Jeffries tube, T’Lira took a moment to digest his parting words. Maybe he had a point.