The Chair
Posted on Mon May 11th, 2015 @ 9:57pm by Captain Julius Whitlam & Lieutenant Commander Alexander Gunning
Mission:
Prelude to War
Location: Main Bridge [Deck 1, USS Manoora]
Timeline: The night before 'Last Ordinary Day'
They'd changed the chair.
Gunning shifted uncomfortably in the seat as he watched the latest tactical readiness briefing from Starfleet Command punched up on the main viewer. The Manoora, although she was an Akira-class, wasn't really built for combat and he doubted that he would see much in the way of action if all this crap came to pass.
They've definitely changed it- done something to it.
There was still peace, at least for now, but it never hurt to be prepared for whatever life might throw at them. As the briefing's voiceover started again, he found himself out of the seat and hunkering down underneath it.
Is this a new chair?
The voice of the briefing Admiral- Admiral Thurley?- punctuated the silent bridge. He was the only one on the bridge and even he was completely unnecessary with the ship sitting docked in one of the myriad docking stations above Sol-III. Above earth. Somehow it hadn't felt right to Alec, being home among his family, kicking his little brother Jordan's arse up and down the football pitch with scant regard given to the rules of the game, it had all seemed much too idyllic, knowing what was coming but the Federation News Service kept telling civilians was "far from inevitable".
He looked up from under the chair to see a series of Fleets moving back and forth across a tactical layout. The Admiral's voice sounded grave. Far from inevitable my arse.
Standing behind the tactical console, Captain Julius Whitlam had been silently watching the feed on the main viewscreen while the gold-collared officer had been examining the chair - his chair. Whitlam had entered the bridge from the rear ramp access and it was clear it's sole occupant at this hour had not noticed his arrival.
"They're doing everything they can to keep people calm about this," Whitlam said suddenly, his tone conversational and a crooked smile twisting his face. "Aren't they?"
Gunning ducked his head back under the chair, looking for any signs of tampering by those idiotic shipfitters. "They sure are. By the looks of these reports though, we'll be up a creek without a paddle before too long."
It took the Security Chief a second to realise that not even he was supposed to be aboard the Manoora at the moment. Who the hell is this? He heaved himself out from under the chair and stood up, brushing a little dust off the knees of his trousers as he did so.
It took a moment for the pips on the man's collar to register in his mind. He had been up for what felt like days.
Whitlam nodded slowly as he started to walk around the tactical console and down the ramp to the centre of the bridge. He had seen those reports and he was worried. The Dominion worried him. Their strategy worried him. The five convoys of warships they had sent through the Bajoran Wormhole in the past five weeks worried him most of all. What could they possibly mean to do with those ships if not to continue their expansion into the Alpha Quadrant?
He approached the lieutenant commander in gold and sized him up with a contemplative expression, as though reading his meaning into what he saw. There was a confidence about this fellow and he didn't seem at all fazed by the surprise entrance of a senior officer. He came across as the type to remain cool under pressure and possessed a kind of calm that suggested something more combustible beneath it.
"If they keep going this way they'll be able to overrun us within the first few days of any conflict." Gunning had his own opinions on Starfleet's apparent lack of concern regarding the Dominion. They had been receiving reports from the station in the vicinity of the Bajoran Wormhole for weeks regarding the skirmishes on the edges of Cardassian space and the Federation seemed content merely to 'voice concern' rather than take decisive action.
"Commander Gunning, I presume?" Whitlam said after a moment of silence passed. He had read the security chief's service record only a few hours before and knew exactly who he was. "Julius Whitlam. Good to meet you."
"You too, sir." Gunning replied with a nod, still captivated by the viewscreen. "I'd hate to be in one of the border systems. After what the Cardassians and those Jem'Hadar did to the Maquis? They won't stop in the Demilitarised Zone. They'll be next."
"There are a lot of folks in the news who are still convinced there won't be any conflict," Whitlam said as he too gazed at the viewscreen and the strategic snapshot it displayed. Of course, he didn't believe those particular talking heads. In his view, they were at best commenting with no appreciation of the situation and at worst dangerously negligent in their role.
"They don't have the benefit of seeing what we see." Gunning thought of one particular aide to the Federation President who spent most of his time speaking out of turn on FNS talk shows. "Best to let the good people of the core worlds drift on in blissful ignorance."
"They'll get the picture soon enough," Whitlam said, then shook his head. "In a way, I can understand wanting the bliss of ignorance. I think you and I both know that any open war between the Federation and the Dominion won't be a home by Christmas affair. It'll be a grind out, system to system, bloody mess with a death toll like nothing we've ever seen." He paused and turned back to Gunning. "Knowing that, I can see why denial is so in vogue right now."
"Sure, it might seem like a good idea to sit around with your thumb up your arse and pretend nothing's happening." Gunning's usually non-descript accent broke into a distinct Scottish one around the word 'arse'. "That's not going to do you any good when a Jem'Hadar's shooting up Ketrasel White at your favourite restaurant."
The captain let out a mild chuckle at Gunning's vivid description. "Then it has to be up to people like you and me, Mister Gunning, to keep the Jem'Hadar out of that restaurant."
"You don't think we'll be winging our way to Lomax Three by the end of tomorrow, sir?" The Lieutenant Commander asked with a half-mocking tone. He had read the initial briefing and watched as Starfleet personnel filled the Manoora's holds with panels and replicator packs but was absolutely sure they would never see Galactic South.
Whitlam sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "I do try to keep positive about these things and I really hope we will be," he said before pausing, remembering. "It's a beautiful planet, Lomax Three. I chartered it back in sixty-seven when I was captain of the Fairfax. It has the most vivid green water I think I've ever seen, which makes sunrise and sunset pretty spectacular."
He paused and looked back at the viewscreen and the decidedly unspectacular story it told. "But I doubt we'll get there." Gesturing to the viewscreen he said, "It just feels like we'll get sucked into that before too long. We might start out tomorrow night, but I wouldn't be surprised if we get recalled soon after." He looked back to Gunning. "You're my Tactical Officer, Commander. What do you think? Will I get to see Lomax Three again?"
"Permission to speak freely?" Gunning replied as a new layover appeared on the screen, positing the likelihood of Romulan incursions into Federation space in the event of war breaking out. They showed Federation forces split between a war on two fronts with some academic minds from the University of Andoria- who probably remembered the Earth-Romulan War, let alone studied it- suggesting that it would only be a matter of time before the Romulans became part of the Dominion and launched their own attacks.
Whitlam gave a curt nod, granting permission.
"You don't stand a snowball's chance in hell, Sir."
The captain smirked and allowed himself an amused grunt in place of a chuckle; he instantly enjoyed the security chief's abrasive frankness. "I think you're probably right, Mister Gunning," he said, then turned his back on the viewscreen. He peered down at the command chair and cocked his head slightly to the left as he examined it.
"Is there something wrong with the chair?" he asked.
Gunning too found himself staring down at the vacant command chair. "Not wrong, per se. Just different."
Whitlam nodded and grunted in response. As long as the chair worked, he was happy. "Well, I'm heading back planetside," he said after a moment. "I'll be back aboard at eighteen hundred tomorrow, unless all hell breaks lose. Good to meet you, Mister Gunning."
Alexander Gunning seemed lost in the display. "You too, Sir."
Captain Julius Whitlam
Commanding Officer
Lieutenant Commander Alexander Gunning
Chief Security Officer
USS Manoora
