S.S. Fawkes - CF-142AC
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Arriving at J19

Posted on Monday May 13th, 2019 @ 23:19 hours by Mayterial Droz & Alexandria Farron & Canaan Serene & Langar Tarn

Mission: Pixie Dust
Location: Bridge, Deck One, S.S. Fawkes
Timeline: MD04 - 0830 hours

It was always going to feel early after the past few days with a minimum of sleep. The cocktail of drugs had cleared Mayterial's system and with the vaccine provided by the doctor she was feeling a lot better than the past few days, despite the lingering dry mouth and dull headache. She made her way over to the captain's chair at the centre of the bridge. She'd never gotten used to the elevated position of the chair but it was something so integral to the Cardassian design that she never had the heart to change anything about it. "Miss Farron, how long until we drop out of warp?"

Alexandria was feeling quite... unwell. Whatever it was the ship's medic had administered had allegedly cured her hallucinations, but she wasn't convinced that she ever had been hallucinating in the first place, even if everyone else had. No one had admitted to ever seeing a cat aboard, but that didn't mean that there weren't any, either. What she did know for certain was that whatever it was she'd been given, she now felt worse than she did before. She was even twitchier, to the extent where she had her hands hidden up the sleeves of her hooded sweatshirt in order to hide the tremors. She was also battling nausea, and felt bloated to the extent that everything in her footlocker now felt three sizes too small instead of just one. And then there was the gas mask... that awful thing she'd been made to wear. It had been so dusty and germ ridden that it had given her the sinus infection from hell. "Five...min... ugh--" She barely got her handkerchief up in time as she had another sneezing fit. The handkerchief was a gooey mess, but better that than the helm controls.

"Five minutes." Alexandria said sullenly, all but convinced that she was soon going to get fired.

"I think it's human custom to say bless you." Mayterial paused a moment, thinking that maybe she should respond further, but instead she folded her legs and turned a bit to face Langar on the other side of her chair, "Mister Langar, we're going into an area known to be used as a practice range, make sure to keep our sensors piqued and make sure the shields ready to raise." She was rather safe than sorry. She really couldn't take having to actually have extensive repairs done to the Fawkes' superstructure.

"Understood Captain" Langar replied, a little subdued and still with a bad headache. "I'm powering shield generators now, that will get the shields up quicker if we need them and bringing the tactical sensor online" The ship was designed for transport not battle, but the shields were robust enough and the tactical sensor was better for tracking potential adversaries at close range.

With that sorted she leaned forward a bit to address the youngest and least experienced of her bridge crew, "Mister Serene, let's knock on their door politely so they know we're coming in and don't have a reason to make us space debris."

Although relieved the hallucinations had passed, they cut deep swaths into Canaan's memory, vivid recollections that he was finding difficult to process fully. It would take time to understand the meaning behind the visions. Canaan was young and impatient, yet this was an experience he was desperate to compartmentalize and revisit at a later time. Glancing over a shoulder with tired eyes, the signaller cast an affectionate smile at Mayterial. "Aye, ma'am." His fingers danced across the control interface of the communications station as he depressed a series of commands into the biometric display, its glossy surface reflecting the subdued lighting overhead. "Station J-19, this is the civilian freighter Fawkes, registration Charlie-Foxtrot-One-Four-Two-Alpha-Charlie on final approach, t-minus five mics to your coordinates and awaiting transmission confirmation."

The communications array crackled to life with a response from the J-19 outpost, "Charlie-Foxtrot-One-Four-Two-Alpha-Charlie, this is Juliet-One-Niner, you are confirmed and cleared for approach. We have cleared airlock three for your arrival. When dropping out of warp, contact docking control to get directions and authorisations. Juliet-One-Niner, out."

May let out a sigh of relief. It was good to feel that they could take a moment to stand on solid ground, repair the damages that were done to the ship and the personnel and hopefully get some other wandering souls to replace the vacated positions due to the whole ordeal. Deck Hands were always rotating in and out, that was to be expected, but these events sometimes also made it clear to more senior personnel that the challenges of space travel aren't for the faint of heart. "Miss Farron, are you up for docking us with the outpost?" There still was some lingering concern about the wellbeing of her navigator.

Alexandria had had another sneezing fit while Canaan had been doing his thing with the communications, a job she didn't envy. Conversing with people she knew was awkward enough; she would never excel in any position that required interpersonal skill as a core function. She was a good navigator, however, and that job didn't require as much talking--mostly just listening and doing. In fact, in the Aerospace Corps, pilots were strongly encouraged to keep their mouths shut over comms at all times. With all that in mind, Alexandria almost looked over her shoulder and glared at the captain in response to her question. She'd kept the ship safe and on course traversing a veritable minefield of uncharted subspace distortions. Asking if she was up for docking with an outpost parked in an L4 Lagrange point orbit was... insulting. That was flight cadet level stuff.

"Sure, why not." Alexandria said between sniffles, deciding not to take what she saw as bait. Staying cool and unfazed was what she needed to be.

Mayterial cocked an eyebrow at the remark. Something was definitely up. Perhaps she was a bit tense or ashamed because of the whole ordeal with the none existent cats. She slowly shook her head, "Alright then Miss Farron, at your own speed. Take us in."

Canaan glanced between the two women, chuckling at their peculiar behavior toward one another. Whether they noticed it or not, others had recognized a resistance between the two that was almost competitive. He may have been wrong, however, primarily with Alexandria given her peculiar tendencies and antisocial personality. Although polar opposites, the pair complemented one another nicely.

There was an unmistakable shake when the old Cardassian freighter dropped out of warp, properly this time. It was a familliar sensation for Mayterial. It was always a nice feeling. It was normally always the moment they had some time to stretch their legs. To get some more contracts. Fresh faces to join them as crew and passengers. With what just happened this was probably going to be the exception. Several, if not all of their passengers would leave, and with an outpost like this there was a very small chance of them actually getting any new takers. Word travelled fast.

There was very little traffic at the outpost, but somehow they were still made to wait. It seemed unnecessarily long. Did they not have an airlock compatible with their ship? Was flight traffic control taking lunch? Or was it simple incompetence to blame? Someone like Alexandria couldn't fathom the logic behind flexing one's authority for the hell of it by making people wait, so that thought didn't cross her mind. Even at slow impulse enough time had passed for the station to loom very large in the view screen before authorization was granted and approach and docking procedures were sent her way. Alexandria switched over to maneuvering thrusters, and engaged the autopilot to handle most of the adjustments. Or rather, to see if the autopilot could handle most of the adjustments. The Fawkes immediately started to drift out of its approach lane. With a heavy sigh she switched over to manual controls, and somehow willed her hands from shaking.

Some pilots liked to narrate their every move, either to keep people updated, or whatever. Alexandria wasn't really one of them. At least not today. Certainly not with what felt like a liter of snot leaking from her nostrils. It felt like the more she talked, the more she wanted to sneeze, and piloting did often require two hands. In any event there really wasn't much to narrate. Except for the busted auto docking, everything was totally routine.

"We're docked..." Alexandria began, and trailed off as it looked like she was about to get sucked into an epic sneeze. Either it never came, or she managed to will that away too, as the only noise she made into her handkerchief was the most pathetic squeak.

Langar leaned forward over his panel, eyes tracking over the tactical sensor readout as the ship moved into the range.

They had arrived, back in reality, back into civilisation. Mayterial sighed softly, now she needed to get started on damage control. Among her personnel, that was, there was no damage sustained to the Fawkes, except maybe her pride. She was sure they'd lose all the passengers and a couple of deck hands, probably a hand full of the more senior personnel as well. The nagging headache made her wish she would've chosen synthehol last night.


Mayterial Droz

Alexandria Farron

Canaan Sereen


Langar Tarn

S.S. Fawkes


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