Minor Insubordination

The Federation was a strange place to live these days. Think about it. Over the last decade there’d been several wars, biological threats, alternate universe incursions and a version of Vger that made the Borg look like schoolyard bullies in comparison. Whatever comparison that was. Even now however, in a utopia of acceptance, schoolyard bullies were still something that you had to keep your eye on. Impolite? Absolutely. World ending? Not exactly.

That said, Sharon, I’ve still not forgotten about that time you told our entire year in junior school that I regularly ate garden snails. Your time will come.

The clatter of eight stompers made its way across the promenade of DS13’s semi-distant neighbour, Starbase 157. Their little legs blurred as they dodged and weaved through the built up crowd before the gigantic viewing pane of the observation lounge.

“Come on- We’re going to miss it!”

“We’re not going to miss anything T’ka, it’s old people talking.”

“But it’s famous old people talking, George!”

“They not old George, they just grownups.”

“… they’re not famous…”

Overlooking the shipyard the view of the Galaxy class vessel occupying the external drydock was mostly obscured by an ocean of tall Starfleet uniforms and engineering overalls, the crowd was a pretty dense obstacle that only the elite of the elite would have been able to overcome.

“Excuse me!” the tiny Andorian exclaimed, she was leading the courageous charge of the four outnumbered troops. “Coming throu- hey, ‘scuse me! Thank you, sorry!” The three behind her had linked hands, dragging the littlest at the back in effort to keep up with her.

As their zig-zag battle plan reached its objective, all that remained now was to bypass the impenetrable wall of stiff officers who took up defence at the very front. It was all that stood between the young task force and the speaker’s stand. The Andorian was taking no prisoners, maintaining her momentum- until she wasn’t, she struck straight into the wall with an inaudible thump.

The black pressed uniform trousers hadn’t budged, now T’Ka was face to face with the enemy. A pair of blue human eyes loomed over the Andorian’s head arming their in-built phaser banks as the officer’s brow furrowed, now coming to a crouch to meet his opponent on their own level.

The man’s voice was deceptive. It was calm, it was soft. “And where do you think you’re all going?” Too soft, the younger human George thought from behind T’Ka, it sounded like a trap in the making- and they’d walked right into it.

T’ka’s blue face grew stern, her own brow furrowing to the match of the starfleet officer. “We’re going to be late! Let us through, we want to watch! …” but she yielded to a visually superior foe rather quickly, “… sorry.”

Deployment of the tactical puppy eyes was a risky manoeuvre against an unknown combatant, but they apparently worked. The officer looked at the four of them squeezed into the crowd single file and grew a small, faint smile as he reached a hand into his pocket and withdrew a small notebook. “Well, you aren’t going to see anything from down here, are you? Do you see…” the man pointed through a thin gap in the gathering, a staircase to the upper promenade flanked by two of Starfleet security’s finest. “… up there? Tell them you’ve been tasked with…”

The officer paused, sucking in his lower lip with a squint as he did his best to come up with some shenanigan worthy excuse. “- tell them you’ve been tasked with aerial reconnaissance for the Vice Admiral’s speech. Hand them this, and uh, tell them I want it kept safe and I’ll retrieve it after the ceremony.”

The human removed the slid-in pen, scribbling into the first available page and tearing it out; he began folding the page tightly then offering it forward.

The Andorian minor snatched the folded paper out of the man’s hand, cradling it now with both her palms and staring intently at it. The thought of opening it hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Yessir.” releasing her right hand to perform a rather practised salute. In correct fashion, he just nodded his held small smile and turned back to the formation of the wall.

The crowd was a lot harder to pass back through now they were in technical retreat. A tactical retreat really, their new objective was the staircase. First T’Ka had to pass George, his face was of mild annoyance at the prospect of moving away from the viewing window- then she had to pass the mini-Bajoran lad, “Sorry Serais, you’ve- you’ve got to mooove~” as she squeezed past him. He was the muscle. At the rear, or now technically the front until the Andorian storms through, was the smallest of the four.

Her ears held the smallest of points and her forehead had faint ridges that were just starting to come through fully, though above her large eyes the sharp eyebrows were the final clue in uncovering her Romulan origins. Clutched in her hands was plushy, neon blue with four legs and a long snout.

“Come on Commander,” T’ka began, “… you’s gotta keep up!”

“Teeekaaa, I no want-” before the tiny Romulan could finish the brash Andorian was already heading the backwards advance through the crowd. George followed suit, but the Bajoran took hold of her hand and nudged her in the direction of the other two, himself now taking the rear section.

Fearlessly the group made it to the open railed staircase complete, no casualties, but were stopped by a sidestepping pair of guards. They both held weaponised smiles, the female Trill lowering herself some into a crouch as the task force arrived at the perimeter.

The Trill spoke cheerfully, “I’m sorry guys, it’s only grownups allowed up there.” in simple terms. The upper promenade didn’t look restricted by any means, but the translation was likely only Starfleet officers permitted for this occasion. Afterall it’d be daft to have a group of schoolkids running amok really, wouldn’t it.

“We’re on special assignment!” T’ka produced, proudly. The four of them had taken a bunched formation for defence.

The security officer grinned, “Oh is that right? Well that might be the case … but, I have strict orders, I’ll get into a lot of trouble if I let anyone up there, even groups on special assignments. I’m sorry- you can watch from here though, if you’re here for the ceremony!”

Andorian’s don’t exactly give in all that easily, another frown. “NO. We’ve been sent here on special assignment, we’re going upstairs. Stepaside!”

There was a pause, the Trill eye’d the four of them and was clearly making some quick calculations. Diplomacy. They’re children after all, they didn’t warrant any drop kicks or palm strikes, nor did they do anything wrong. Her motherly instincts would suffice. “- where are your parents, sweetheart?”

The little Romulan peaked from behind George’s left leg, prodding T’ka’s hip with a tiny extended index finger. “Give… paper!” she whispered, loudly.

T’ka, while clutching the folded piece in her hand the entire time, had already forgotten what the officer had said when he’d given them their new assignment to provide overwatch on the Vice Admiral’s speech. Her eyes widened, offering forward the note.

Without too much hesitation, the security officer plucked the note from the Andorian’s palm and began to unfold it until the paper was back into full form.

The taskforce of four stood and watched carefully as the Trill’s eyes went over whatever was written on the small sheet, her lips pursing as an eyebrow arched inquisitively. Coming back up to a stand she turned to face her colleague on the opposite side of the stairs, leaning over as she spoke softly.

George nustled forward, himself now leaning towards the Andorian’s ear. “What’s she saying?”

“I don’t know George, you’re talking too loudly!” T’ka retorted.

“I’m not being loud, you’re being loud! We should just make a run for it! She can’t catch us all!” He muttered, getting himself ready.

The Bajoran chimed in, “Guys we could get into a lot of trouble, why don’t we just-”

“WANT ICE CREAM.” the Romulan called out, hugging tightly her stuffed toy with a scowl that would have made Jean-Luc Picard think twice about making any sort of manoeuvre against her.

It was that request that caught the Trill’s brief glimpse once again, she smiled softly, “- yeah, I’ll take my break, call up Adderson for a few.” and she quickly returned to a crouch, folding the piece of paper and sticking it into one of her cargo pockets. “Okay you four. Ground rules first. You have to listen and do exactly what I tell you, you’re not to run off, and most importantly- you’ve got to be super duperly quiet when the Vice Admiral starts talking. It’s of utmost importance~. Those are your orders, if you choose to accept them.”

Taskforce leader T’ka turned a look over to the three beside her, them all nodding in unison as she returned to the Trill; “We accept this new mission, of utmost importance. Your support will be appreciated.” spoken eerily sternly.

“Alright then. Come with me.”

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Starbase 157 wasn’t Deep Space 13, but it had certainly been around the block a few times. Having been rebuilt following its destruction in 2381 it had a pretty rough time during the Federation-Klingon war that had taken up the earlier stages of the 25th Century. Though Morton would never admit such to Mister Gaal, the promenades milkshakes were certainly pretty desirable on this side of the sector.

But that wasn’t why he was here. The USS Oswestry wasn’t a particularly renowned vessel; the Galaxy class ship had served through the latter stages of the Dominion war, fought the Borg advance, defended the Federation against the aforementioned Klingon war and finally served as flag for the 4th Fleet in defence of Sol during the Iconian war. Outside of conflict the vessel itself had had a rather unremarkable service.

Of course he missed his favourite Trill, the man always did. While he’d elected to stay aboard Deep Space 13 and assist Admiral Bishop with the logistical soup that was ensuring the fleet’s tactical vitality following the Romulan conflict, he’d still had three days mandatory leave to use up.

During his down time Coby had kept himself busy offering his dated-services as an engineer to Lieutenant Commander Carter’s teams, but had received a communique from a Rear Admiral Brownen who was an ex-Commanding Officer of the Oswestry; she’d invited the Captain to the decommissioning ceremony of the vessel, one of which Morton commanded during the later stages of the Iconian war and was told that a number of previous crew would be in attendance.

It’s not that he didn’t want to go, it’s just that Coby had never really had that much of a connection with the vessel itself. The crew performed their duties, but there was so much rotation during that time period that he’d hardly had the opportunity to bond with them before he was ordered to return to the 38th Fleet and take command of the USS October once again. But, with that said, it’d be rude to turn down an invitation from a senior officer. Even one outside of your own command structure, not least to mention the attendance of most available legacy crew.

Just past the observational lounge window the small gathering was slowly growing, there was still an hour to go before the ceremony commenced. Coby stood staring out at the even-now still unfamiliar ship in the drydock, his thoughts elsewhere, as a pair of black uniformed officers approached.

“Thank you for coming, Captain. As with most of Starfleet currently, I understand most have their hands full.” Vice Admiral Thompson was a stoic man, he was tall, slender and the grey ponytail the man possessed was really the only aged part about him, his olive skin betraying next to no age related marks.

Coby wasn’t startled. He just realised the sight of a starfleet officer at an official gathering holding the pinkest of pink beverages, now being addressed by two flag officers, was quite ridiculous. “Admiral, - Admiral.” he nodded to the pair. “It was an honour to have received the invitation.” The latter directed to the shorter woman beside Thompson.

Thompson resumed, “It’s rather fitting to have the first, and the last, commanding officer of the vessel present for its decommissioning; least to say all of those in between.” The Admiral gave his colleague a knowing smile.

“And all of those in between.” Brownen added, raising her small fluted glass and stepping aside to another small group.

“How’re the 38th holding up?” The Vice Admiral continued straight.

“Rather well, sir.” Coby started, he didn’t know the man well at all. “We’re among a rotation of shore leave while the fleet replenishes itself. Thankfully we suffered rather light compared to what could have been.”

“Good to hear, I don’t believe I’ve met Vice Admiral Aluk formally. I believe we may have been present at numerous round tables, but not socially at any rate.” The ponytailed man took a very measured sip from his own flute he’d been in custody of.

The Captain nodded once, he wasn’t actually sure what to say to that. “He’s a very dedicated Starfleet officer, certainly proud to serve under an officer of his calibre, and with his service record. Rear Admiral Bishop was certainly a key driving force in our victory in his decisive Operation Edelweiss.”

“Fantastic effort, certainly one to commended Captain.” the man turned a look through the viewing pane, raising his glass to the Galaxy class vessel before the both of them. “She was certainly a fine ship, got me out of a number of scrapes back in the day. I would almost call them simpler times, but that wouldn’t exactly be an accurate depiction.”

“Temperamental.” was the first thing that came to Morton’s lips.

The Admiral frowned a glance to his left, “I’m sorry?”

“- Sir,” Coby paused, himself looking over the ship once again as he racked his brain on whether he’d just offended a superior officer or not. “… I found her to have a, uh. Bit of a personality, by the time I came aboard. Sir.”

“She was straight off of the assembly line when I first took that seat. Absolutely nothing temperamental about her. Finest ship in the sector.” Thompson straightened somewhat, almost as if someone had just explained to him his ‘57 Bel Air had the wrong wheels for its year. “You had her at Sol, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Keep dropping those sirs, Coby, you’ll be fine. “We held the line with the fourth.”

“I’ve seen a fair few conflicts in my time, that was… truly something else. I was at Qo’noS.” The older man paused softly, “I’d have done anything to have her there with me. I hope she did you proud.”

Oof, “It- She… certainly did. The crew were exceptional, I’m hoping to bump into a few more faces a little later. I know Commander zh’Ronnao is taking on her first full command later this year, if I’ve heard correctly.”

“I’ve met her once or twice, yes, I’ve not heard but any crew of the Oswestry should go far.” The Admiral took another small sip, “Anyway, I shall leave you to it, Captain. Please, mingle. Perhaps we can talk more after the ceremony.”

“Sir.” the ex-skipper offered, standing straighter until the man had departed. He really wished Neema was here now, actually. She’s a diplomat.

The ceremony itself was the usual fanfare. Speeches, thankfully Coby hadn’t been asked to partake, fireworks and false laughter at the half-time comedy show. It wasn’t that funny. The Captain stood firm in the front of the gathering. It was made up of a mixture of Starbase personnel and guests invited to attend, surprisingly a small number of the previous crew. Thompson was up next, he was concluding the session. His slot was scheduled for roughly an hour, so Morton was preparing to bunker himself in once again after getting another pink fluffy beverage from the nearby stand.

There was a sudden dull thud against the back of his right leg.

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