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Dressed to (Not) Kill

Posted on 14 May 2019 @ 4:45am by Captain Abigail Rhodes & Lieutenant Gabriel Walker
Edited on on 14 May 2019 @ 10:48am

Mission: Gremlins
Location: Bridge

To say the security chief wasn't happy would cause Vulcan to explode from the understatement.  Even this far away, the psychological vibrations from that level of understatement would be enough to cause an actual physical effect, damaging the planet and all that lived upon it.  

He thought his day started this morning, before he woke to go on a run of the decks, but as he considered it through the morning, he realized it actually started yesterday when he ordered his dinner and got what, he believed at the time, was a crossed order.  Somewhere, he hoped, someone was enjoying his burger and fries while he got some sort of...salad like thing.  Without dressing.  Yet it still found a way to wriggle.

But it was this morning when he returned from his run and went to prepare for his duty assignment when the 'fun' really got going.  Whatever it was that the replicator gave him, calling it unsweetened black tea wasn't unsweetened black tea.  He wasn't sure it was edible.  He wasn't sure it was safe to even have near him on the ship.  It was already melting through the vase it was replicated into rather than the normal mug.  Which, he considered, should have been his first clue to stop using the replicator.  His morning breakfast burrito of eggs, sausage, onions, peppers and cheddar cheese was mostly correct.  If one considered almost hatched ktarian waterfowl eggs, hot dogs, leeks, peppercorns and feta goat cheese to be 'mostly correct'. 

Naturally he put in a maintenance call to Ops.  And was told he would be 'put on the list'.  His expected wait time was given at thirteen hours, forty-seven minutes and eighteen seconds.

Maybe it was the eighteen seconds that did it.  Just the idea that he'd have to wait a second longer than just thirteen hours, forty-seven minutes for Ops to come fix his replicator malfunctions just seemed to be too much.  It set off his mood.

Which was not improved when he tried to get cleaned up so he didn't spend the day smelling of old sweat and nearly hatched ktarian waterfowl.  Except some joker decided to reprogam the 'clean' settings on the sonic shower for what was - he later discovered - Andorian pop 'music'.  He'd taken quicker showers in his life, but none that would be as mentally traumatizing as that one.  How Andorians could call that 'music' was always beyond him.

At least, though, he could get dressed for duty, stop by the mess for whatever was on the line and a large mug of tea.  He frowned at the idea of eating at his station, but sometimes exceptions had to be made.  The eighteen seconds was intersecting with the mental trauma of being subjected to 'Andorian Pop Music' and just the general disruption to his schedule.

He opened the refresher to take out his uniform.  Which had been starched to the point it ripped at the seams as he tried to unfold it.

"Damnit!" he swore loudly as he stood in his bedroom clad only in the work t-shirt, underwear and socks.  The chronometer told him time was wasting and he was cutting close to get to shift briefing and relief the gamma shift on the bridge.  Surely the replicator wasn't completely broke, right?  He ordered a new uniform.

And got a ballet tutu and slippers with sheer hosiery.

A Klingon ceremonial baldric and spiked athletic supporter.  (he didn't even want to think who programmed that into the system)

A Starfleet uniform.  All in pink.

One half teal, the other half blue.

All black with Section 13 written on it.

Baseball uniform (which he kept, he thought it looked decent)

A Jonglarian gymnast workout attire

Seething by this point, he called supply.  They had security uniforms, yep.  None in his size.  They didn't stock any because he was an officer.  If he were enlisted they'd have three or four sets for him as necessary.  But officers got higher replicator rations and so less space was dedicated to their needs.

He called Ops.  As much as he hated doing it, he used his rank and position.  He was told they'd move him  higher up on the list.  He would save a whole four hours, twenty three minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

At this point the only clean clothes he had, other than the undergarments he was already wearing, were his Academy PT gear.  Which he never reclaimed because he was quite fond of the look and material.  Additionally, time was wasted.  Stopping by the mess by now would mean he would be late for briefing and cutting it a few minutes early for the start of shift.

What choice did he have?  He tried the replicator again.

A Starfleet uniform.  From an alternate future timeline in the game "Call of Honor: Future Imperfect" gamepack.

Grumbling curses along the way, Gabe dressed in the PT gear and left his quarters, rushing - mindfully this time - toward the mess.  Last thing he needed was to wind up in Sickbay again.  He wasn't sure Dr. Faust would be happy about that.

He entered the bridge, his mood more foul than ever. The replicators in the mess were being worked on, but the serving line was there.  Only the controls were mess up somehow and the only food available were deli sandwiches.  Dry.  Gabe grabbed a few and headed for the bridge, stuffing sandwiches into him as fast as he could and washing it down with something extremely sweet referred to as "sasparilla".  The only beverage other than coffee available.

While he was still two minutes prior to the official start of his duty shift, it meant that briefing would delay the gamma shift tactical officer from leaving on time.

It also meant he had to try to find some way to explain to the Captain why he decided he was special enough to just show up so casually dressed for a duty assignment.  On a starship.  When there was no real reason to be on duty, so casually dressed.

To top off his foul mood:  he had no clue was to why any of this happened.

Abby, however, had a slightly less eventful start to the day.  Remembering her own issues with the replicator systems, she had the presence of mind to save her uniform.  She had almost recycled it on autopilot like she had done thousands of times before, but she managed to stop herself and fold it neatly on a chair.  She had even recorded a reminder to her officers to do the same, but the computer reported an "unspecified error" and the request failed.

Breakfast consisted of an unordred plate of chocolate cake sauced with kanar and a garnish of octopus.  It was... surprisingly palatable.  She managed not to throw it up again, though that was certainly a challenge.  Washing it down with water that happened to be Vulcan spiced tea actually helped.

Now on the Bridge, she was monitoring their scans of the planetoid.  It wouldn't be long until they had enough data to calculate an optimum position to observe the collision.  She nodded in greeting to each of her Alpha shift officers as they reported to duty, her attention primarily on the data scrolling across her small armrest display.

The appearance of Lieutenant Walker, though, caused her to pause.  The look of the man in non-standard uniform in the process of forcing the last of a sandwich through his maw was certainly unexpected.  She debated suppressing her amusement, but he would be able to tell anyway.  She had the presence of mind and prior experience to understand what he was going through.  Rather than draw everyone's attention, she stood and took a lazy stroll around the Bridge to ostensibly check on each officer.  Upon reaching Walker she said in a low voice, "Lieutenant.  When will Ops have your replicator repaired?"

"Nine hours, forty seven minutes and twenty two seconds," Walker growled, then realized it was the captain he was speaking too and took a deep breath.  "I apologize, Captain.  It has not been a...good...morning."  He began running level three diagnostics on the security systems.  "Provided no other emergencies pop up on priority systems."

She glanced over to the Ops desk and the officers scrambling there.  Almost their entire board was red, and she knew the repair teams were being put to the test.  "No much chance of that, it seems."  she shook her head, "The ship performed flawlessly on our trip out here, and now everything goes to hell?  If it gets any worse we may need to abort the mission."  She was clearly disappointed, with a note of worry coloring the emotion.  She just couldn't figure out what was going on.

"As much as I hate to say it, Captain," Gabe whispered, looking up at Rhodes, "but the frustration level on the ship is rising.  I may have to put the entire department on emergency standby."

Abby nodded, "It may have to come to that.  Keep your eyes open, Lieutenant."  She turned to walk away but paused, "In Cago Bay Two there's a container that has emergency uniforms.  There's not many, and the sizes are... limited, but it could be be an option."

"Thank you, Captain," Gabe said, recognizing the suggestion as less than a suggestion and more a rebuke of his attire.  "As soon as I've made sure things are under control, I'll go check it out."

Abby simply nodded, understanding any further pressing wouldn't do any good - Gabe would look into a new uniform in good time.  She wasn't too concerned; as long as he did his job, of which she had no doubt.  Instead, she continued to her Captain's Chair to look over the latest status reports with a frown.


Captain Abigail Rhodes

Commanding Officer

USS Mark Milller

Lieutenant Gabriel Walker

Chief Sec/Tac Officer

USS Mark Miller


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