Stag

The Plaza Hotel where Jim was staying had the beauty and extravagance of a luxury hotel back on Earth. In fact, after a thorough study of human tastes and wants, was built by the Redexians to exacting Earth standards. The only concession to the alien location being the slight hum of the air purification system struggling to filter out the fine green dust that was constantly floating through the arid atmosphere of Redex Prime. The ever present dust came drifting through the front door in miniature wave fronts, taking the luster from the highly polished marble floors and giving it a slight green tint.

The owner and staff were from Redex, therefore the place had a lingering aroma of the protective gel the Redexians used to prevent the sores that would spring up on their skin when they came into contact with human skin oils. Other than this peculiar allergic reaction, the Redexians exhibited no negative reaction to humans and seemed perfectly willing to be gracious hosts to all of the human space farers who want to spend some time in their hotel.

Jim strolled through the front door, knowing that he would not be able to get any junk food to soothe the growling creature that is forming in his stomach from a night of too much drink and not enough eat.

It was not all bad. He did get the data link number of that cute Lieutenant from the Constitution.

“Although” glancing down at the three stripes on his sleeve, “I wonder if she felt compelled to give me the information because I out ranked her, rather than pure interest”. He said to no one in particular.

Such was Jim’s mood since being ‘beached’ waiting for a new assignment. His previous ship being dry docked for the next six months to repair damages caused in the battle with the smugglers last month. As bad as the damages were, Jim knew the smugglers paid a more costly price in both lives and ships.

Due to Captain Wallace’s actions, he was promoted out of the frigate Essex where Jim served as his First Officer, and into a brand new Apollo class Heavy Cruiser.

It was Fleet Command policy not to allow First Officers to be promoted to Captain in ships where they served as First Officer. Jim was left with a choice: stay with the Essex and continue as First Officer under the new Captain whoever that may be. Or solicit the Fleet Command for a ship of his own.

He decided on the latter and was promptly rewarded with orders to proceed to Redex Prime and await further instructions.

Lord knows he has been patient waiting for his own command. His record was solid, and his abilities held in high regard. It’s just that he never had the good fortune to serve under a Captain who gave credit to his junior officers, but rather took the credit for all ship’s success on themselves.

As a result, other officers from around the fleet that were behind Jim on the seniority list, got promoted into their own commands ahead of him. They were, for the most part, able officers and solid leaders. Jim could not begrudge them their good fortune, it is just that Jim felt it was more than past his time.

His ever present cynicism has taken over his personality. He has been on Redex for a two weeks with no further orders. His ‘links’ to Fleet Command have gone unanswered except for the usual ‘orders pending, be patient’ response from the ‘pissy’ little Commander answering the link at Fleet Dispatch.

As he sullenly moved to the elevator, he barely heard the Redexian concierge calling him:

“Commander, Commander!”

He looked around to see the wonderfully, curvaceous Lexi trotting up to him. It was Redexian custom to make their younger employees work the off hour shift where they would have little chance of annoying a guest with their lack of polished courtesy and high energy level. The usual Redexian seen during regular hours was quite reserved and extremely polite.

Jim acknowledged her with a polite smile and a quick glance at her firm, full cleavage.

“Commander, this came for you earlier in the evening” she chirped while thrusting the data chip at Jim.

Jim took the chip and watched as Lexi bounced back to her desk with all the energy and vigor that youth provided her.

Emerging from his momentary fantasy, he glanced down at the chip, knowing what it meant, but failing to acknowledge the anxiety that was building in his chest. He thrust the chip into his tunic pocket and proceeded up to his room.

Jim did not trouble with the chip right away, but tossed it on the desk and threw off his tunic and removed his boots.

He eyed the chip warily from his seat on the edge of the bed. Frowning, he pushed himself off the bed and picked up the chip. It was addressed to him, and he turned the chip over to see who sent it.

He frowned “Damned fool” whoever inscribed the return address on the chip apparently was either a prankster or had no idea what department this chip was coming from. All the inscription said was “Fleet Command”.

After a pause, Jim dropped the chip into the reader and watched the screen light up.

As the logo of Fleet Command popped up, Jim’s chest tightened, ‘This is it Jimbo’ he murmured as the image of Fleet Admiral Crosby replaced the Fleet Command logo and he began to speak:

‘James Arlington Grant, you are hereby required and directed to proceed on board the destroyer Beaver and take upon you the duties of her Captain; requiring all officers and company to treat you with respect and obedience as their new Captain; likewise, you are to observe orders and directions you may receive from your superior officers’

There it was, the message he had been waiting for since the first day he filed his application to enter the academy, 19 years prior. He gazed at the screen as the message continued:

‘Captain Grant, you are to report on board the Beaver at Redex Docking Port 5 by Tuesday 0200 Earth Fleet Standard Time and await my orders. Captain Allen, the officer you are replacing, has been assigned to Fleet Headquarters. He took most of his senior staff with him.

Jim knew of Captain Allen, a capable, if not talented commander. He had a reputation of playing it safe:

I will link over personnel records of the individuals we feel qualified to serve as your senior staff and fill the open positions. Commander Dillon will be your First Officer, he has recently served on the ‘Laughlin’ in Beta Sector, so he has more diplomatic than combat experience, but his Captain assures me that he is quite capable.

Jim smiled at this irony…

Good luck on your new command. Crosby out.’

His mind took all of this in within a single second, yet he refused to believe it. His face went red with excitement and listened to the message again.

It did not change.

As he listened, his smile grew wider and wider. He laughed out loud. He paced his room from one end to the other. He wanted to celebrate, he put on his tunic, took it off again realizing the time of night and his present lonely condition. He began to utter disjointed thoughts:

“The Beaver, a fine little ship …fast…agile…what was I worrying about…damn I am hungry…I think she has her own Captain’s Ready Room…she’s all mine…Dillon eh, never heard of him…0200 Tuesday…need to get new uniforms…have to eat…

With that Jim lunged at the link to the Concierge and opened the link. Lexi appeared, as eager to help as earlier.

“Yes Commander? Is there a problem?”

“Not Commander Lexi, Captain” boasted Jim, then remembering her inquiry, “No, no, no Lexi, no problem. What can you bring me to eat? I am positively starving, what can you send up to eat? Oh, and a bottle. I need a drink. Do you have any champagne? If not, some spirits off some sort. I am having a celebration!”

“I’ll see what I can find Commander”

“Not Commander Lexi, Captain” He laughed as he closed the link and spun around in his chair, “Captain Grant of the Beaver, I like the ring of that!”

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"I want to do a motorboat on Shatner's manboobs" - Sam Cogley

Arik

The Beaver? Nice.

So, is there more?

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The writers of this post apologize for you being too stupid to understand it.

Stag

Yeah, that was a little tip of the cap to the people who inspired me here.

There will be more. One of my job functions is to write procedure and training manuals, so alot of my writing is directd towards that and to write something for myself, sometimes just seems too much like work.

But I thought I'd give it a shot. So, I will try the next chapter this weekend and see how it goes.

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"I want to do a motorboat on Shatner's manboobs" - Sam Cogley

Cymro

Erm, I like that you called the ship "The Beaver", but I'm just thinking to myself here, wouldn't something more along the lines of "E.S.F.S. Busy Beaver" sound better? I mean, I work at a Marina, and that's more of the sort of name you'd tend to see on a boat, and a ship as well.

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"Let me tell you something about humans, nephew: They're a wonderful, friendly people - as long as their bellies are full and their holosuites are working.

"But take away their creature comforts, deprive them of food, sleep, sonic showers, put their lives in jeopardy over an extended period of time and those friendly, intelligent, wonderful people...will become as nasty and as violent as the most blood-thirsty klingon."