Unusual Maneuvers
Posted on Tue Jun 25th, 2024 @ 8:36pm by Lieutenant JG Callin Mastrel
Mission:
Take My Hand
Location: 100,000 km Outside Esquimalt Space
2051 words - 4.1 OF Standard Post Measure
"C'mon, team, you can do better than that!" Callin's good-natured sounding taunt over the comms was met with a few grunts and groans of frustration. As his fingers moved across his controls without so much as a glance at his readouts, the Betazoid pilot grinned at the sight through the forward port of his vessel the shuttles banking to come around for another pass. The other shuttles looked like they were being flown by frustrated pilots to his eyes, or maybe that was his mind picking up on how they were feeling. In either case, there was no need to double-check his shield readouts, he knew they'd still be above 90%. If this were a real fight, he'd be in trouble; the Type-7 shuttles had limited shielding, and this one had no weapons installed at the moment either. That wasn't the point of this exercise, though.
It all started back on Esquimalt earlier that day...
"Look, I don't want to start things out by being hard on people, but I did schedule the meeting for 0800 hours," Callin tried his best to sound reasonable. It wasn't that big of a deal, right? The two officers that had been nearly half an hour late though didn't seem to think he was being fair. "But the rest of the crew is almost back, the Vesta will be ready to go, so let's not get into the habit of-"
"Who's getting into habits?" Ensign Walter Casey cut him off. Callin's mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth, he was so surprised. One didn't need to be a telepath to pick up on the rancor in the man's tone. The human looked tired too, maybe he'd been up too late as many pilots were wont to do when they had too much free time. "And it's not like we have anything important to do while the ship's still in dock. Bloody waste of time-"
"Alright, let's not be too hasty," Petty Officer Garth Macy chimed in, trying to raise his hands and offer a smile to defuse things. "Let's hear what the L-T has for us maybe?"
"Do you believe it is logical for a person of your rank to be giving such suggestions to officers?" Ensign S'yet quirked a disapproving eyebrow in the PO's direction. Macy sighed and took a step back, and there were some grumbles from the other enlisted personnel clustered behind him. It also set off further comments from the officers, more direct responses from the enlisted, and the murmur of conversation began to rise in volume. Given that the entire Flight Control department was here, the noise rapidly increased.
"You shouldn't-"
"I think we should-"
"You're just here to keep the shuttles clean while we do the real-"
"It's way too early for-"
"Don't speak to him like that!"
"What's the point anyway-"
"Logic dictates that-"
"My aged grandmother can show you what you can do with your logic, you green-blooded-"
Callin felt himself rapidly losing any kind of control of the situation. He took a deep breath, told himself silently not to panic, and thought back to the Executive Officer of the Aries, and his mom, the tone of voice both women would use to take charge.
"ENOUGH!" Callin's snap cut right through the rising tension and noise in the room (and might have managed to get through the sound insulation into the next door conference room as well). Over a dozen faces turned to look at the, up until that point, soft-spoken lieutenant. He wasn't particularly tall, or large, he looked young, maybe even soft, to many of them. Betazoids were supposedly known for being empathic and accommodating, so understanding of others; Callin could sense that coming from a number of them as he gave them a cold stare, knowing too how much pure-black eyes seemed to disturb some of the humans.
Silence reigned for all of three seconds before he continued, "Report to the Shuttlebay on the double. I want every auxiliary craft launched and on a course out from the station in under ten minutes for a dogfight. If any of you are still on board this ship after that, I'm volunteering you for waste extraction duty on the station until our CO gets back! You can ask him to let you back on board, if he can stand the smell of you."
Callin tried not to smile, that would spoil the effect, but he was sure he could almost feel his mother's approving nod behind him for his use of the tone of command; he was absolutely certain that Commander Drennor of the Aries would have laughed at him, but slapped his back in approval too. The flight control personnel stared longer, shocked. A couple of mouths opened to protest again. "Nine minutes, fifty seconds...forty-nine, forty-eight." They'd learn when he was serious.
It helped that he wasn't joking about his threat either...
"And things had started out so well," Callin joked softly, to himself, as he hit what the slow shuttle called its full impulse speed, and sent the craft into a spiral. The dog-fight had seemed like a great way for the Flight Control department to blow off some built-up steam. One didn't keep pilots cooped up for long without expecting some rebellion, it just wasn't generally in their nature to sit around doing nothing. Whether Human or Vulcan, Betazoid or Benzite, these were people of action.
"Remember the terms," he said more loudly, so the comms would pick it up, and wiped his sleeve over his brow to get rid of some sweat that had formed due to his own stress, after narrowly avoiding a phaser beam (on lowest possible settings, of course). The pilot of the Danube-Class runabout, Ensign Casey, had just missed him for the third time, and forced two of the Type-11's to scramble to get out of his way. "We all buy the winner a round back on the station. You can keep trying to come at me one at a time or..." Once again, Callin reacted fast, sent his vessel 'up and over' from his point of reference, while the bright orange of a phaser beam passed through the space he'd been in just moments before.
It seemed like a good idea at the time! Let them take out some frustration on their department's new XO. He was coming from outside of the Vesta crew, and with Callin being new there might be some hard feelings that one of "their own" didn't get the promotion, let alone scheduling an early morning meeting. When he'd laid out the plan and told them he'd fly the Type-7, often referred to Starfleet pilots as "the brick", there had been sniggers and sneers from some of the officers. Easy pickings, so they'd believed.
Yet Callin's shuttle had only taken glancing hits so far at best, and the flight timer had them at this for over ten minutes already. The bulky shuttle danced and jigged under the Betazoid's direction in a way they hadn't thought possible. Over and over, he'd dodged their attempts, presented the lowest profile when he couldn't avoid a target lock, weaved in and around the more maneuverable Type-8's, 11's, and the two runabouts. The Betazoid lieutenant's reaction times seemed a little uncanny to all except perhaps Ensign S'vet, but to Callin this was just how he flew - with all his senses.
It wasn't really a conscious thing on his part. His mind picked up on the presence of others around him, the same way people used sight, hearing, touch, and so on to navigate through life. Callin's spacial awareness had the added benefit of being able to add in a sense that worked over distance, and even in a vacuum. He anticipated some of their attacks, or pulled evasions that put him into the best positions to avoid the disjointed attacks that came his way. The officers were out to put him in his place, they were just having a hell of a time actually doing it, though he kept his voice light and didn't clue them in on how much it was taking out of him to keep this up.
As he dodged another attack and sent his shuttle into a large, lazy loop that almost taunted the Delta Flyer Class' pilot, Callin peered out into the distance. The three other Type-7 shuttlecraft seemed to group up in formation a few kilometers away. The sight made Callin smile. He hadn't heard anything over the comms, so they must have opened their own channel to one another to get organized. They moved together, forming a V-shape pointed in his direction, then increased speed to intercept him. That pattern would make it hard for Callin to evade; if he avoided the first attack, the other shuttles coming behind the first would have more time to respond and adapt.
With a wild grin on his face, the Betazoid increased his own speed and began to jig and trace a random pattern, closing the distance fast, and leaving the Type-8's pilots that he'd sensed coming up behind him in his proverbial space dust. The first shots of the low-powered phasers from the lead Type-7 couldn't keep up with Callin's dodging, and they flashed past each other so fast that the duranium hull of the other vessel was a blur to his eyes. Just as he'd expected however, the other shuttles were waiting for him.
One. Two. Three direct hits and the onboard computer reported, "Shields are down. Engines are offline. Simulation parameters complete." Callin laughed as he powered down his shuttle. "That's the game, people!" There were some surprised sounds over the comms now. The flying bricks had won the contest. "Great job. Shake out any nerves - Vulcans notwithstanding - and rendezvous back at the Vesta for debriefing in thirty minutes. Petty Officer Macy, that was you in the lead, wasn't it?"
Silence ruled the comms for a very long moment. Eventually, however, a sheepish voice said, "Yes, sir, that was me. I missed you, though."
"That you did," Callin agreed as he wiped his hands on his uniform trousers to settle his own nerves. It had all been practice, of course, but it had gotten his blood pumping fast. He hadn't been there when the department had loaded into the Vesta's compliment of shuttles and launched, but Callin was certain he knew how things had sorted out in the shuttlebay. "I'd also guess that your fellow shuttle jockeys and bay personnel are in the other 7's? The officers wanted the faster, stronger shuttles for themselves?"
The pause was even longer this time. The silence spoke volumes, stretched on for an uncomfortable half minute.
"That's alright, Macy," Callin relieved the man of having to gain any more ire from the officers by agreeing with the lieutenant's assessment. "I also don't need you to tell me that you got your bunch working together. I could see it in how you all were flying. We all could. That was some stellar teamwork! Before we leave Esquimalt, all the officers are buying all the enlisted a drink."
The comms erupted with a chorus of cheers from the Type-7's, which made Callin's mad grin return as he powered up again and set course back to the Vesta. At the same time, he could hear congratulations coming through from the other shuttles. Grudging, at first, but lead by Ensign Casey soon the others were speaking up, and soon the accolades were more heart-felt. Boasts and bets crowded in on the channels as all the pilots, shuttle crews, deck hands, the lot, got over their morning grumpiness, or their stir-crazy from being cooped up, or even, at least for now, feelings of jealousy over Callin's appointment above them. Flying together in combat, even simulated combat, and win or lose, had a way of cutting through the tedium of the rest of life, to wake people up, to give them an appreciation of each other's skills.
Regulations technically said they should keep their main comm channel open for official purposes only, but Callin didn't interrupt them once on the way back.
