Forthcoming

Posted on 01 Mar 2019 @ 10:26pm by Lieutenant Commander Atven Dantarno & Lieutenant JG Kijirra Adhaferra

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Mark Miller
Timeline: Day One

ON:

Two shuttlecraft. The Mark Miller had two shuttlecraft.

In fact, no, that was being generous. The Mark Miller had two Type 9 shuttlecraft. That was like being told to expect two guard dogs, only to turn up and discover an overweight corgi and a chihuahua with a limp. The Type 9 was, Kijirra supposed, a perfectly serviceable shuttlecraft. It was fast, sleek, manoeuvrable - all praiseworthy traits for a spacecraft to have. Under the right conditions, and in the right circumstances, they could be exactly the right craft for the job. But they were only part of the puzzle, only a fragment of the equation. The Type 9 was small and cramped, not even spacious enough for most Starfleet officers to stand up straight. You could barely fit a standard away team inside, let alone any useful amount of passengers or cargo. Need an emergency medivac? Too bad, because there's barely enough room to lie a patient on the floor.

The Type 9 was fine, as long as it wasn't the only thing you had. Pair it with the Type 8 it had been designed alongside, and you were off to the races. But alone? They'd have been better off with shuttlepods, or filling the same space with a single Type 11 or Argo. Sure, maybe they'd need to park the thing in sideways, but Kijirra was confident she could manage to manoeuvre one in and out of the shuttlebay none the less.

A sigh escaped her, as she slid herself out from under Shuttle 2's port nacelle strut. "The Waverider had better have a star-damned cargo bay," she muttered to herself, balancing the hyperspanner in her hand on her midsection as she reached over towards the open toolkit for a flux coupler.

"You realise we have engineers for that, right?" a voice asked out of nowhere.

Kijirra wasn't phased or startled in the slightest. "Don't fly it if you can't fix it," she countered, slipping back under the shuttle, and reaching up towards the open access panel and into the bowels of the propulsion system. Her head shifted slightly, her peripheral vision catching sight of a pair of legs somewhere above her that corresponded with the newly arrived voice. "Can't call for an engineer if you've crashed on a rock in the middle of nowhere."

A smile formed on Dantarno's face at that response. A foot stepped up onto the port nacelle, hands grabbing onto the pylon and lifting himself on to it, perched more or less comfortably upon the shuttle's superstructure, back reclined against the side of the hull. "You could always not crash," he challenged, one leg swinging idly as it dangled off the edge of the strut.

"The sage wisdom of someone who doesn't know what it's like to be a pilot," Kijirra fired back, her words a criticism, but her attention too focused on her maintenance check to reinforce them with any sort of fire or accusation. "Let me guess: you're some sort of Ops Officer, right?"

Atven quirked an unseen eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm an officer?"

"Your pants are new," she replied, straining a little to angle her arms just the right way to aim the flux coupler at the circuit that her diagnostics had identified as causing an intermittent short, "But your shoes aren't. That rules out a rookie Crewman, or an Ensign fresh out of the Academy, and folks with a technical or tactical background tend not to go switching division colours all that often, so there isn't much need for them to go replicating new uniforms all that often. Besides, you referred to engineers as if they are a them, not an us. That makes me think you're probably someone who switched disciplines when they transferred here, and since people don't usually become science or medical officers after the fact, my guess is that you've been stuck behind a desk for a while, and you transferred to Ops in order to stretch your legs."

Dantarno chuckled softly, at the example of intellectual posturing that was being played out beneath him. "That's an interesting theory, I'll grant you, but you're ruling out some obvious possibilities. Maybe I got shot in my last uniform, and it needed replacing. Or maybe I had to tear it up to make bandages for all the orphans I bravely rescued from a fire."

"Ha." The sound that escaped Kijirra sounded neither amused nor enthusiastic, and might have been more to do with success in her repairs than anything Dantarno had said. "If you were that sort of person, I somehow doubt that this is the assignment they'd give you."

"Better not let the Captain overhear a hot take like that," Dantarno countered, with another chuckle, "But I suppose that's fair. I certainly wouldn't think of myself as that sort of person, that's for sure. I'm more of the recently returned from retirement, had to replicate new pants because Starfleet has redesigned the uniform since the last time I wore one, sort of guy."

Kijirra frowned slightly at that particular string of exposition, it taking a little longer than she might have liked to mentally connect the dots. Her eyes widened, but she buried the reaction, allowing herself a moment to regain her composure before replying. "If that were true, then that would make you my new boss, and this would be a particularly underhanded way of introducing yourself."

"That it would, Lieutenant Adhaferra," Dantarno agreed with a grin. "That it would."

OFF:

Lt. Commander Atven Dantarno
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Mark Miller

Lieutenant JG Kijirra Adhaferra
Flight Control Officer
USS Mark Miller