A Chief Expedition
Posted on 20 Jan 2025 @ 8:01pm by Chief Petty Officer Afthinam Naime & Chief Petty Officer Katja Becker & Chief Petty Officer Lysander Octavio & Master Chief Petty Officer Toren Vral
Edited on on 21 Jan 2025 @ 1:42pm
3,955 words; about a 20 minute read
Mission:
Episode 20 - Reconstruction
Location: USS Galileo-A - Deck 2, Transporter Room 1
Timeline: MD 06, 0400 Hrs
[ON]
--
Chiefs,
Transporter Room 1. 0400. First day of shore leave. Heavy cold-rated gear only - leave the frilly bits for the real vacation. This is a three-day jaunt, assuming no one does anything particularly stupid.
No excuses. No exceptions. If you're late, I'll have you beamed down without the gear.
You’ll still have some shore leave left when we’re done - probably.
MCPO Vral
--
Toren stood in the transporter room, arms crossed and antennae twitching faintly as he surveyed the empty space. The soft hum of the transporter pads was the only sound, a soothing rhythm against the backdrop of the pre-dawn silence. In front of him, a bulky duffel bag sat unceremoniously on the floor. A respirator hung loosely from his belt, ready for use once they hit the surface of Remidia.
Andorians didn't need layers of insulation against the cold; the chill was as much a part of his being as his electric-blue skin. The others, though - he snorted softly. If they showed up without the gear he'd mentioned, they'd find out the hard way why his orders weren't suggestions.
He shifted his weight, his electric blue gaze fixed on the chronometer. 0358. Close enough to their arrival that he felt the stirrings of anticipation, but far enough out that he'd started mentally laying bets on who would show up last - or worse, not at all. His impression of the ship's senior NCOs wasn't exactly glowing. Not yet. Too many moving parts, too much unnecessary friction. It was one thing to have a crew full of personalities; it was another when those personalities couldn't seem to row in the same direction.
He exhaled sharply, mistaking it for a sigh until he realized it had been accompanied by a faint twitch of his antennae. Starfleet was full of rules, regulations, and ideals - none of which meant a damn without a team that trusted each other. This trip wasn't just about exploration. It was about finding a rhythm.
Toren glanced at the screen nearest the transporter controls, running a finger down the environmental data readout for polar Remidia. Sub-zero, high winds, and patches of magnetic interference to make the transporters unreliable outside of specific coordinates. Perfect.
The transporter operator gave him a polite nod but wisely said nothing. The tension in the room was subtle but palpable, as though the air itself recognized the gravity of the moment - or at least Toren's insistence on it.
The chronometer ticked over to 0400. He straightened, his antennae flicking slightly as the doors hissed open.
Katja walked through the sliding doors, looking as if she had put the cold weather gear on in a wind tunnel. Her wavy platinum hair was skewed everywhere. Every single chronometer had been set in her quarters to give her more than enough time to get here. She might not have much respect for herself anymore, but she at least had a survival instinct. She unconsciously checked her pocket for the small container of Romulan tobacco. It would keep her warm when nothing else would, probably. It was always good to be prepared. "Master Chief." She called out in required greetings.
Toren tilted his head slightly as Katja stepped into the transporter room. The first to arrive. That was a start, though her somewhat chaotic appearance told him plenty about her state of mind. At least she'd followed the gear instructions. He gave her an appraising once-over, his antennae twitching faintly, then straightened.
"Chief Becker," he said, acknowledging her greeting with a firm nod. He pushed off the console, stepping forward just enough to let the weight of his presence fill the room without crowding her. "This isn't the usual shore leave picnic, but you'll manage. If not-" he allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smirk, "-you'll figure out how, or you'll wish you had."
Katja barely kept the venomous retort between her clenched teeth. Wish she had? Where the hell did they dig up this bastard chief?! "Consider me suitably inspired, Master Chief." Katja settled on. She even managed to make it sound mostly sincere.
Toren's antennae twitched faintly, catching the undercurrent of Katja's tone. That edge of sarcasm wasn't entirely unwelcome - sometimes a sharp tongue kept the blood warm - but it wasn't going to carry her through what lay ahead.
"Suitably inspired, huh?" he said, his tone dry as a bone. "Good. Let's see how long that inspiration lasts when the wind's tryin' to peel the skin off y' face."
Katja started saying the lines of her favorite poem from Robert Frost learned in childhood before even considering her audience,
"Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."
Toren’s antennae stilled as Katja recited the lines, his electric-blue eyes fixed on her with a rare glimmer of interest. He let the silence hang after she finished, weighing the words like a man testing the sharpness of a blade.
“Fire and ice,” he said, his tone quieter, almost thoughtful. “Never heard it before, but it’s got teeth. Suits the day ahead.” A faint, approving nod followed, and the ghost of a smirk returned. “Let’s hope y’ don’t have to taste either on this trip. Or at least, not too much.”
His keen eyes flicked to the chronometer. Still a few minutes till the others were truly late. He folded his arms and leaned back slightly against the edge of the console, his posture relaxed, but his gaze sharp. "Let's hope the rest of the team doesn't leave us standing around," he added dryly. "Clock's ticking."
A bleary eyed Naime walked into the transporter room with a conspicuously non-standard fur lined cap and a face that betrayed her desire to be anything other than awake. As a child of the tundra Naime had been looking forward to the opportunity to show up her colleagues with her cold weather survival skills. Last night's Naime had been filled with pride and bluster but as a much more sober Naime had realised this morning: Andoria is very cold, she wasn't going to be showing up anyone.
"Morning everyone." she clapped her gloved hands together and glanced around the others readying for the expedition. "Exciting, eh?"
Katja studied Chief Naime for a moment. She was well-versed enough with 'the morning after' to recognize one who suffered. "You look like you need Konterbier, Chief." It was said in good cheer. "Nothing like a brisk walk to clear the head. It's going to be outstanding."
Toren's antennae flicked toward Naime as she entered, and his sharp gaze immediately landed on the fur-lined cap. A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, rare and fleeting, but unmistakably there.
"Chief Naime," he greeted, his voice carrying an edge of approval, "that's a fine choice o' headgear. Practical and sensible. Not the kind o' thing you'll regret halfway through the day."
He was about to continue when the door slid open and a wash of colour entered the room. Lysander swept in, every inch of him an affront to the drabness of practicality. Over his standard-issue cold-weather gear, he had artfully layered a vibrant crimson cloak lined with shimmering gold trim, its hem embroidered with an intricate pattern of Betazoid glyphs - purely decorative, of course. His gloves were pristine white, with matching boots that gleamed as though they had been polished by starlight itself. Perched on his shoulder was an iridescent scarf in hues that shifted between violet and turquoise with his every movement, giving him the air of a flamboyant explorer rather than a Starfleet officer preparing for a frigid expedition.
Lysander paused in the doorway, letting the visual spectacle of his entrance sink in before advancing into the room. He nodded to Katja and Naime with an effortless smile, his manner that of a seasoned performer greeting his audience. "Ah, the vanguard of bravery," he declared, his voice rich and theatrical. "You've already begun the most arduous of tasks - waiting for others to show their faces." His gaze alighted on Naime's fur-lined cap, and he gave her an approving smile. "A bold choice, Chief Naime. Practicality is the hallmark of wisdom, after all."
The door hissed open again and in strode the newly minted Chief Octavio, of the forbidden wine stash. A low whistle escaped her mouth as Katja took in the sight of his resplendence. "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Octavio. You look like one of those Risian tropical birds!" It was ridiculous. It was delightful. Man, this was gonna be such suck. "Never let it be said you are not without any sense of style."
Naime had been just about to launch into a little explanation of the cultural significance of the intricate interior embroidery of her headwear before Lysander's bold entry completely threw her off. The bombast, the bright colours, the loudness of the whole thing: what was a poor little hungover engineer to do but gawp in stunned silence?
With a graceful stride, Lysander moved toward the console where Toren stood, his every step deliberate, his presence commanding. "Master Chief," he said with a flourish that was as much a bow as it was a greeting, "I trust the weather on Remidia will provide an appropriate stage for tales of survival and camaraderie. Naturally, I stand ready to assist with any logistical or morale challenges that might arise."
Toren stood still as Lysander approached, waiting out the theatrical bow with a measured silence. His antennae angled forward slightly, giving nothing away except a faint trace of curiosity. When the Betazoid finally straightened and offered his poetic musings, Toren let the moment hang in the air just long enough for it to become uncomfortable.
Then, with deliberate care, he spoke. "Chief Octavio." His voice carried no overt warmth, but neither did it bristle with reprimand. "I see y' took the 'cold-rated gear' note and... made it your own." His gaze dropped briefly to the shimmering embroidery, then flicked back up, his tone as dry as the tundra of his homeworld. "Reckon the wildlife'll appreciate the effort."
Lysander's smile widened, mistaking Toren's remark for a sincere, albeit gruff, compliment. "Why, thank you, Master Chief. I do aim to set a standard, even on the farthest frozen wastes. If the wildlife is to witness our presence, let them understand they're in the company of Starfleet's finest - both in spirit and in style." He gave a flourishing gesture toward his cloak. "Besides, morale is half the battle, and I daresay nothing lifts spirits like a touch of panache."
"Wildlife?" A slightly concerned question came from Naime, she did not want to have to deal with wildlife this morning. Did Toren know something the rest of them didn't or was she just being an idiot? "It's just plants, right? Nothing else, right?"
Toren's antennae angled forward, catching Naime's rising concern, though his expression didn't shift. "Just plants," he said, his tone as level as a horizon on calm seas. Then, after a deliberate pause, he added with a faint smirk, "Plants that sometimes like to take a snap at ya if y' get too close."
"Dangerous plants, alright." Naime was not reassured. She was the opposite of reassured. If there was one thing she was even less interested in than dangerous wildlife it was carnivorous plant life. She glanced around at the others, why did nobody else look as worried?
"Alright, listen up," he began, his voice carrying the steady authority of someone who'd been here - and colder places - before. "This trip's not a vacation, and it's not just a hike. We're headed a few degrees off the South Pole of Remidia to establish a marker for the Federation. It's not flashy, but it's the kind o' thing that matters - first steps in uncharted territory. The kind of thing that makes history in it's own small way."
He crossed his arms, his gaze cutting to each of them in turn. "This is a three-day trek. First two days, we'll push through harsh conditions, setting up checkpoints and running scans to confirm our route. On day three, if all goes well - and you keep y' heads on straight - we'll plant that marker and stand as the first Federation crew to reach the pole."
Toren paused, letting the significance hang in the chilled air before adding, "Gear's been calibrated for the conditions, and I expect each of you to keep it operational. You've got one another to rely on. That means no lone-wolf nonsense and no unnecessary risks. We're not just representing Starfleet; we're testing whether we can work together as a team when it counts."
He straightened further, his tone hardening slightly. "You follow orders, you stick to the plan, and you keep moving forward. Do that, and we'll make it through with time to spare for what's left of shore leave. Screw it up, and you'll be too frostbitten to care about the beach when we get back."
His antennae twitched as he took a breath. "Questions?"
Naime raised a hand, perhaps she needn't have worried so about the plants. "Is this going to be just polar desert or do you anticipate tundra as well?" Her mind whirred through a bunch of questions, lots of whys that all seemed to suggest that this was not as the chief has said: the kind o' thing that matters, and was perhaps more the kind of thing that mattered only to him. These were not the kind of questions to be vocalised directly though. "We should take some time to study this route you've planned before we actually beam down."
Katja watched the fancy-hat chief as she raised her hand like she was in primary school. The questions in her eyes...the suggestion for temperance. Oh, Gott, the next three (or so) days were going to suck.
"I don't need to know where we're going to know this enforced fun time is going to be...great." Katja glanced to Toren hoping her flippant response would be more memorable than fancy hat's desire to tease apart his plans. That was the problems with groups of people. They inevitably had a way of increasing the level of suckage exponentially.
Toren's antennae twitched faintly at Naime's raised hand, though his expression didn't shift from its usual stoic calm. He let her question hang for a moment, considering how best to cut through the preamble of hesitation he suspected lay behind it.
"It's not polar desert, tundra neither," he said flatly. "Closer to a polar jungle, if y' can picture that. Dense, humid, full o' colors and cold enough to freeze the sweat on yer back if y' don't keep movin'." He paused to allow his words to sink in.
"As for studying the route, Chief Naime," he continued, locking eyes with her, "you'll get the lay o' the land once we're boots down. Field conditions tend to throw the best-laid plans into a snowdrift anyway. Adaptation's half the job."
Toren shifted his gaze to Katja, his antennae angling slightly in her direction. "Chief Becker, since y're already so sure this'll be 'great,' I'll expect you to set the tone. Keep the team focused and moving. Think y' can manage that without gettin' too inspired?" There was the faintest edge of a smirk, but his tone carried the weight of expectation.
He was going to get them all killed. The morning fogginess that had been enveloping Naime suddenly began to dissipate, the mild fear of carnivorous plants replaced with the much or pressing issue that this man intended to lead them on a dangerous expedition through nightmarish terrain without any preparation. Adaptation is all well and good but going into this with no plan at all was more than just inadvisable. Was it just an insane ego? She glanced at the other two chiefs: Lysander would look more at home in an opera theatre than a polar expedition and Katjia's response seemed completely oblivious to any danger.
How quickly would this be going wrong? How soon before she had to save her two compatriots from their leader's egomaniacal ambitions? If Naime couldn't pause or delay this trip then she definitely couldn't abstain from it. To leave those two with Toren would go against all her instincts. She would have to steel herself to shoulder the burden of these lives. When she spoke again her voice held none of its previous trepidation. "Alright then, we'll study the route once we've made it down and established our basecamp."
Lysander's reaction was, predictably, a polished blend of optimism and obliviousness. "Ah, a polar jungle!" he exclaimed, his tone a peculiar mix of genuine excitement and dramatic flourish. "I've always believed that the most challenging of environments bring out the best in us. The vibrant clash of cold and life - a perfect stage for resilience and ingenuity." He glanced between Naime and Katja with a beaming smile, entirely unconcerned with the growing unease in the room. "And adaptability, Master Chief Vral, is where we shall shine. After all, no great adventure begins with a clear path!" With a flick of his iridescent scarf, he turned back toward the transporter pads, clearly prepared to face this as though it were a gala rather an arduous trek into freezing, carnivorous chaos.
"Aye, Master Chief." Katja replied quickly. Inspire? Keep them focused and moving? She wasn't that kind of person anymore, and these other chiefs...well, needless to say she wasn't inspired. This was going to be a disaster...
Toren's electric-blue eyes settled on Naime, his antennae tilting slightly forward as her tone shifted. He didn't miss the steel that had crept into her voice, nor did he seem perturbed by the underlying tension. In fact, the faintest trace of approval flickered in his expression, gone as quickly as it came.
"Good," he said simply, nodding once. "We'll set the basecamp quick and solid. You'll have plenty of time to get your bearings then, Chief Naime. Just keep in mind: a plan's only as good as the people following it. The terrain here doesn't care much about maps."
His gaze flicked briefly to Lysander, watching the flourish of his scarf with the same calm he'd reserve for a shuttle launch. The Betazoid's unshakable optimism might've grated on someone else, but Toren let it roll off. Lysander could prance and pontificate all he liked-if things went sideways, Toren knew the man would either rise to the occasion or be yanked there by someone else.
Katja wondered in the moment just how much trouble would she be if she refused to do this? Time in the brig? Captain's mast? Court martial? All of those would be better options than what they were going to go through currently. She didn't know much of the other chief's backgrounds, but this was going to be a gauntlet; an endurance test. Her leg spasm as she winced, rubbing her angry thigh as if this time it would alleviate the discomfort. Damn. What she wouldn't do for a drink. Just one...to warm the insides.
"There's a saying where I come from about going out into the cold without at least two plans." Naime didn't feel like she needed to actually invoke the phrase, the context was enough to divine her meaning. She also didn't think the metaphor would translate all that well, the nested ironies would be lost. As lost as the fool without a plan. "Well if we're going to go then let's get on with it." She gave a gesture in the direction of the transporter. Her dissatisfaction was clear.
Toren gave Naime a long, level look, his antennae twitching slightly at her remark about plans. His lips curled into a faint smirk as he gestured toward the transporter pad. "Two plans, huh? Sounds practical. But where I come from, plans last about ten minutes into a real fight. After that, it's just grit." His gaze flicked over to Katja, noting her discomfort, then swept to Lysander, who stood preening like he was preparing for a gala.
His eyes narrowed slightly, and with a fluid movement, he stepped toward the Betazoid, snatched a spare respirator off a nearby case, and slapped it into Lysander's chest with a decisive thud. "You forgot this, Chief. Unless y're plannin' on charming the air into bein' breathable." His tone carried a dry, almost teasing edge, though the intent was serious enough.
Straightening, Toren turned back to the group, jerking his head toward the pads. "Alright, on the transporter. We've got ground to cover and daylight doesn't wait. Let's see how far y' 'plans' and panache take you."
Lysander caught the respirator against his chest as gracefully as he could, his eyes widening in theatrical surprise before his winning smile returned. "Ah, of course, Master Chief," he said, making pains to keep his tone light and unbothered. "Though, I dare say, the air itself might’ve been enraptured by our collective resolve."
With a deliberate sweep of his crimson cloak, he strode toward the transporter pad, boots clicking softly against the floor. As he ascended and took his place, he turned slightly, offering the others a gesture as grand as any actor inviting his cast to join him on stage.
Katja glanced to Toren momentarily as Lysander bounded up the transporter pad bandying around like the great bird of the galaxy. She was not looking forward to trying to keep this guy alive, whether he had 'festive beverages' in his possession or not. With an air of resignation, Katja plodded forward, stepping up onto the transporter pad and positioning herself over the primary energizing coil and solemnly awaited her fate. "Time to embrace the suck."
Air does not get enraptured by collective resolve! Naime did her best to shake the thought, the last thing the group was going to need for Master Chief Petty Officer Toren Vral's Death March was discord. But if Lysander had forgotten the barest minimum of breathing apparatus then what else could they all be forgetting? What hadn't they packed? She didn't know of course because this expedition seemed to be completely unplanned and so she had no ideas what kind of other dangers they might be facing. She wordlessly stepped up to the transporter pad and made a private gesture with one hand invoking her ancestors to look over her. It was indeed time to embrace the suck.
Toren stepped onto the transporter pad last, his movements calm and deliberate, antennae flicking as he surveyed the group one final time. Katja looked resigned, Naime determined, and Lysander - well, Lysander still had the flair of someone mistaking an ice storm for opening night.
He adjusted the strap on his duffel bag, giving a curt nod to the operator. "Energise."
The familiar hum of the transporter filled the air as the team began to dematerialize. Toren's sharp gaze lingered on the group until the shimmer of light overtook them all, and they vanished into the cold unknown.
[OFF]
--
Chief Katja Becker
Medical Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC by S'Ers-a M'Lyr'Zor]
&
CPO Afthinam Naime
Engineering Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Ullswater]
&
MCPO Toren Vral
Chief of the Boat
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Montgomery Vala]
&
CPO Lysander Octavio
Security Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Montgomery Vala]