A Blast from the Past

Posted on Tue Feb 23rd, 2010 @ 5:47pm by Commander Dietrich Reinhart & Captain Alexander Gunning

Mission: Commissioned
Location: Torpedo Magazine Room
Timeline: Mission Day -1 (Day Before Launch), 1122 Hours

[ON]

The first thing he noticed was the smaller decks. It was not much of a difference, really, than the older Carthage with it's smaller corridors, but it reminded him much of the holo-museum tours of World War Two vessels. Tight spaces, spartan facilities.

Ages ago, it was a step into the future when mankind circumnavigated the Earth using only magnetic compasses (which were inaccurate to maps at the time), astrolabes, lead weights, measuring speed by counting knots in ropes hung off the fantail. Then to dive below the sea and withstand the pressures of the crushing blue oceans. Then when the Wright Brothers first launched from their train-track rails on the beaches of Kittyhawk, humanity touched the sky in a new way and light. When Kennedy put in motion a space program that landed America on the moon, and soon space stations were put in orbit to study zero-g environments, the pinnacle of human advancement was reached. Four hundred years ago, when mankind first left the Earth, they left on cramped and spartan vessels that were beyond the technology of their day. Faster than light travel, impulse drives, transportation devices, and holotechnology proved that Human's still were learning and advancing.

But the Klingon, Romulan and Cardassian wars did, indeed, prove that there was still a call to arms. And with that call to arms came the need for flying shotguns. The Jackal was both a testament to human ingenuity and it's history in the universe, but it was a vessel with a purpose. And Dietrich was climbing through it's hull and heading forward to the Torpedo Magazine, where Commander Gunning could be found yelling at engineers. It seemed very natural, to explain to engineers what was the difference between theoretical and real, and it was turning out to be a joy telling them about it. Reinhart walked through the hatch to look at an amazing thing: racks full of torpedoes crammed one next to the other, leading both port and starboard through the ship, with two parallel lines heading aft. towards the rear tubes. A flying shotgun, he thought once more.

The only other Red-Shirt in the room was standing not far from him in the center of the cramped storage space. He approached him, and opened with something very different from the "Reporting for Duty, sir."

With a wry smile, the cocky german tapped the man's shoulder and declared, "I heard you needed some help."

Alex held up his hand without turning round or making any other motion toward the other presence in the room. "Look!" He shouted at the collection of yellow-collared engineers clustered around. "You've spent three weeks going over and over this design. I'm telling you now that if you don't recalibrate the loading arm then it's going to need maintenance every three weeks."

It took most of the control he had available to stop himself hitting the lead engineer over the head with the PaDD he was holding. "The way I've been proposing for weeks would mean that the system would only need serviced once every two months. I mean, far be it for me to be touchy about this, lads but I'd rather not have the loading arm fail leaving my crew sitting on top of a pile of armed Quantum torpedoes!"

The engineer took the PaDD and began to read through it, seemingly becoming more and more confused with each passing second. He span on his heel to face the person who had tapped him on the shoulder. Seeing the face of Dietrich Reinhart served to make his mood slightly lighter.

"I could always use some help, Commander." Gunning said, "Good to have you aboard."

"I am glad to see you are always the chipper one towards Yellow-Collars. I just spent the last two hours recalibrating the thrusters. I couldn't hold back a few times, and I am glad that I didn't. Things would not get done without direction." He looked around the stacks of torpedoes. "I think we're about ready to do some fly-swatting."

"Yeah, well it's not like it was due last week or anything." He replied, loud enough for the engineers to hear. "What do you think of her, Dietrich?"

He looked around and shrugged before narrowly missing a conduit as they walked towards the door. Shimmying around one of the racks, he gave a smile. "I've heard this thing does wonders. Takes out Breen cruisers, knocks the hell out of the Borg." He stopped in his tracks and looked at Gunning, "it is a hell of a lot smaller than the Galaxy, though."

"Isn't it just? I'm surprised there's enough space to fit in two transporter rooms but I suppose we have to count our blessings. This isn't going to be the most comfortable assignment ever but I've put in to double all replicator allowances for the crew. Would hardly be the end of the world if they were all spent on Synthohol, would it?"

He shook his head. "Back in the day of iron men and wooden ships, the Constitution, the real Constitution, left Boston to raid British ships with with full of water, full of food, full of gunpowder, and 79,400 gallons of rum. Six months later, when she returned to Boston, she was out of food, out of gunpowder, out of rum, and full of water." He shrugged, "I guess it's in a sailor's blood."

"Too true." Alex pondered the point for a moment. "Luckily we've got a bit more to go on technologically. Speaking of which; have you seen the bridge yet? I can't guarantee we won't run into more engineers who will want to talk about the exact angle of the Captain's chair but it's worth running the gauntlet."

"I've been there the last two hours. It looks like they managed to finish it before anything else," he commented dryly. "But I guess we should take a look before the rest of the crew has to put up with the yard dogs," as he started to call the construction engineers.

"Yard dogs," Alex repeated as they entered the turbolift. "Very appropriate. Deck 1. How did you find your last assignment, Dietrich? I was very impressed by what I read."

"The Old Cart?" He had nothing bad to say about it, honestly. "It was a tight knit crew and they worked great together. I had my run ins with the science officer, and I had a little too,"--- He cut himself off when the turbolift doors opened on the starboard side of deck one, revealing a gaggle of the Engineers carrying out one of the station chairs. "You know, you just can't take souvenirs from everything you build."

"I know exactly what you mean." Came the reply from the commanding officer before his tone suddenly changed. "Where the hell are you going with that chair?! It's a brand new chair! How can it need replaced already?! This project is already overdue and here you two are pissing about moving chairs in and out of the bridge. I mean really, with people like you on the project I wouldn't be surprised if the whole ship decompresses straight out of drydock!"

The blonde haired commander put his hand on the black haired commander's shoulder, "Calm down, Alex. I am sure they'll figure out what they are doing. They still have eighteen hours to launch." He did not add to the fact that most ships would have already been finished, and that they would only be fixing glitches and calibrating. But today, they were ripping out chairs apparently. They moved around the chair and three crewmen, and rounded the corner to the Bridge. Having already been around to see it earlier in the day, Dietrich had already lost the magical feeling of being on a fresh bridge. But another dry smile rose on his face when he was that it was not his chair that was missing.

Alex stared at the gaping space between his two command consoles in disbelief. He felt as though if his mouth had been open any wider then some science bod would have declared it a wormhole but he couldn't bring himself to be anything less that shocked. "You've taken my chair?! What the hell was wrong with it?!"

"The lumbar support failed, sir. You wouldn't have been able to adjust it. We're bringing it to the station's shop to put a new pump in it," one of the yellow-shirts called before disappearing behind the turbolift door.

"Looks like you'll be standing for a while, Commander," Reinhart said, not able to hold back.

Alex positioned himself just behind the circular space in the floor and started waving commands to the uninhabited consoles. "I don't know, Dietrich," he said, "it doesn't have quite the same feeling to it. It's as though I'm conducting an orchestra."

"It should. And you look ridiculous doing it." He laughed, "it looks almost as ridiculous as you did that time I ran into you heading down the corridor during the Battle Group Omega Operation."

"Yeah, well that was hardly my fault was it? I'm rushing to the bridge and the last thing I expect to run into is a load of flight-suited pilots all running in slow motion with their hair sweeping in the wind. Or am I remembering it too fondly?" He responded with a chuckle.

"I think you've got the painting picture perfect. Now look here," he wanted to point out a few things on the bridge to help his new Captain out. And his experience before with the ship's control interfaces gave him a wealth of information he didn't necessarily know when he first qualified to fly Defiant classes. Everything from the way the deflector would react in certain situations to when to expect the thrusters to fail. Dietrich wanted to teach the man all he knew, if only so that he wouldn't surprise him mid-mission when he said we can't do that. "We've got to go back to propulsion 101 to learn the things I just learned."

Alex looked blankly at his new First Officer. "Great. There was me thinking a career firing phasers would be enough."

[OFF]

Commander Alex Gunning
Commanding Officer
USS Jackal

Lieutenant Commander Dietrich Reinhart
Executive Officer/Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Jackal