S.S. Fawkes - CF-142AC
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Permission to come aboard?

Posted on Sunday April 12th, 2020 @ 23:32 hours by T'maekh Hwaerianh & Gregory Alein

Mission: Safe Passage
Location: Starbase 32, S.S. Fawkes
Timeline: MD02, 1100 hours

The tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped through yet another archway, placing a hand on the metal edge to steady himself. Battered boots that showed the steel toecap in places clumped heavily on the deck as he made his way through the station. He wondered, not for the first time on this long trek, whether it would have been better to use a transporter between docking ports. The man had pointed ears, dark skin tinted green and an unruly mane of jet black hair hanging around his shoulders. His features were wide, strong and steadily neutral as he negotiated the lengthy corridors.

He raised his wrist, drawing back the tattered, brown leather sleeve of his jacket and touched a control on the device strapped there. Little more than a cut-down PADD, the wrist-display lit up with the docking port ident, which he checked against the large sign painted on the nearby bulkhead. Satisfied he stepped up to the open airlock and stood before the human lounging against the airlock hatchway. The human was dressed simply in utility pants, boots, a vest with pockets and a simple shirt. He was currently reading a PADD and sniggering at something there. The other waited, leaning on one hip, one hand on the strap of his meager luggage.

There was the briefest of side-glances as the crewman saw the waiting man, but he failed to acknowledge him, failing to even pause reading his PADD. The man with the luggage gave it a full minute, nodded to himself and stepped over the threshold of the airlock.

"Hold up, buddy," the human, a young boy, perhaps in his twenties, snapped out a hand and gripped the man's arm. There was a moment in which the younger man was briefly surprised by the muscle underneath the jacket, then he applied pressure, turning him away from the airlock, "where do you think you're going?"

"Better," the tall man responded and he gave the younger man's hand a look that contained a wealth of feeling as to the placement of that hand. The younger man let go. "Why don't you tell me what you think you did wrong?"

"What I did wrong?" The young crewman shook his head, "exactly who do you think you are?"

"I don't think I'm anyone," the man said, "but this datarod says that I'm T'maekh Hwaerianh, the Boatswain of the S.S. Fawkes."

The crewman blinked a couple of times, then stood a bit more upright and took the offered datarod. He tapped it to the PADD and studied the information.

"I'm er.. sorry... Sir?"

"Don't call me sir," T'maekh corrected, holding out his hand for the datarod. "It's Boatswain, Boats, or Chief. Sir is for officers. You on the other hand," and T'maekh raised a small folding wallet of plastic that the crewman instantly recognized, "should be addressed as Ordinary Deckhand Kyle Stetley."

Stetley's hand flew to his jacket, where he was certain the wallet with his ID should have been. T'maekh pushed the wallet against Stetley's chest and he gripped it, "I'm sorry sir, uh Chief, we weren't expecting a new Boatswain so soon..."

"So you thought you'd let the Captain down? I'll ask again, what did you do wrong?"

"I uh, should have acknowledged you immediately, I should have uh, asked you politely who you were?"

"Maybe," T'maekh shrugged, "or you could have confronted me with a more aggressive approach and convinced me you take security seriously." T'maakh leaned forward into Stetley's face, "but what do I know? I'm not even the Boatswain yet." Suddenly T'maekh smiled, startling Stetley into stepping back, colliding with the bulkhead, "it's alright kid, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to make this whole relationship incredibly awkward. In the meantime, where can I find First Mate," T'maekh paused to check his wrist-PADD again, "Alein?"

"I believe he's in his quarters, Chief," came a quick reply.

T'maekh, stepped back, giving Stetley some room, his eyes locked on the kids as if peering into his brain. Suddenly T'maekh's entire posture relaxed, he gave the kid a big thumbs up, a warm smile, then stepped through the hatch into the S.S. Fawkes. "Let First Mate Alein know I'm on the way, eh?" With that, he disappeared into the ship's corridors.

Greg looked around the room; it was small. In fact, he was sure that out of all the places he had lived, this was the smallest room he'd ever called home. He looked around at the bare walls, and the cold metal interior convinced that he was going to have too bright this space up. "All that's missing is a coffee pot," he sighed, "which I don't know." He looked at the door, as the chime sounded. "Benefit of a small ship," he looked around, "part-time quarters, part-time office."

He walked over to the door as he pressed the access panel, "yes," he stated, looking up at the Romulan, "something I can do for you," he asked?

"Alein?" T'maekh seemed unsure, "First Mate Greg Alein?" T'maekh's green/hazel eyes reviewed the room, wow, he thought, guess my room will be smaller, probably with another person in it too.

"I am," Greg gestured, "come on in and call me Greg. I am not that formal unless the situation requires it."

"I'm T'maekh Hwaerianh, but T'maekh is fine Greg," he held out the datarod he'd previously passed to Stetley, "I applied for the Boatswain position. I understand you needed one in a hurry?"

"That we do," he took the datarod, "can't really fly off to god knows where without one." Greg gave the datarod back, "I'm not really a report type of person. I prefer face to face meetings, give me a better understanding of the person. What's your background," he asked?

T'maekh nodded, "I have experience on a variety of ships. My background's piloting, but most of my postings; everyone mucked in on most roles. What kind of a ship do you want run, friendly or fierce?"

"If I'm honest," Greg replied, "this is my first posting here, only got offered the role a few days ago. So the Fawkes and I are still getting to know one another. That being said, I like to run a friendly ship. You do your part and keep things going, and we won't have a problem. The same goes for the rest of the crew. I am not opposed to fierce, but I try to give everyone a fair shake, first."

"Everyone pulls their weight; then we have more jobs. More jobs will mean more credits for all," he looked around suddenly, wishing he had coffee. He was going to have to fix that. "People who don't pull their weight affects my credits and my reputation; two things that I won't allow to happen. Hopefully, that answers your question, Chief. Tell me why the Fawkes?" He always liked what brought him here, of course being in the civilian life mainly it was about the credits. But, just maybe, it would be something else.

T'maekh seemed to be considering the response, "You want a friendly ship, but you need it efficient. Which means..." T'maekh trailed off and nodded determinedly. "I think between us; we can achieve what you want. Any jobs on the docket yet?"

"To be honest, Captain Droz hasn't informed me of any. My focus right now is to get the ship staffed and ready," he added, "and allow her to focus on contracts and jobs. So you are correct, between us, we should be able to focus on getting things tip-top around here." He folded his arms, "I am told we should be getting a few passengers, I believe the Captain is taking on some traveling guests to help supplement the income," Greg paused and grinned.

“I’ll go through the manifest and establish guest quarters, once I’ve put my kit bag on my own bunk,” T’maekh ran a hand through his hair. “Anything you need sorting first?”

"There is a kid, Ryan Thrall," Greg nodded, "let's just say he owes me, a lot. Consider him a deckhand for the rest of the trip, assign him quarters, and give him a shift. He's mouthy, arrogant, and headstrong; might be why he ended up here. But for now, let's give him a good welcome and put him to work." Greg didn't need to give too much of a detailed explanation; the grin on his face was all he needed.

“Thrall, huh? Whats Mr. Thrall’s skill set?”

"Aside from breaking into quarters, stealing, and being a general pain," Greg was a bit too honest, "I don't really know. He claims to have experience in the civilian sector and seems to have a story. He needed transport, and well, he now has a debt to work off. I believe Mercy, in Engineering, could use some grunt labor. The kid is a pain in the ash but definitely needed a break. He was desperate for travel, so here he is."

“Here he is,” T’maekh echoed, a slight grin on his face, “send him my way, I’ll get him acclimated. Which cabin is mine?”

Greg started to talk but then thought about it; he honestly didn't know. "I say toss your stuff in the form Bosun cabin, and we'll see from there. Just make sure you clean it real good, the former occupant, a Deltan, liked to mingle with lots of people if you get my meaning."

T’maekh tried not to react, but a slight grimace rippled across his face. “Great, I’ll see if there’s a caustic scrub in the supplies.” He then held up his wrist to Greg, “can I get command codes from you? Then I’ll tie my com into the ship’s net.”

Greg nodded.

“Unless there’s anything else?” T’maekh shifted his kit bag, “Send the boy over when you see him, and I’ll get him assigned.”

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Chief," Greg replied, "I will send the boy over as soon as possible. Until then, best of luck and let me know if you need anything else. Hopefully, your acclamation here won't be too challenging." Greg stood up as he walked with the man to the door; things were finally settling in. He figured his next step was the bridge, and meet with the Captain. "If there is nothing else, Chief," he looked at the man, "dismissed."

T'maekh stopped in the doorway and looked Greg up and down in appraisal, "aye, sir," he said and stepped through the doorway.

Greg Alein
First Mate, SS Fawkes

T'maekh
Boatswain, SS Fawkes

 

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