fearson's follies

Captain Jack Fearson stepped off the transport, busily trying to smooth out the five days of wrinkles in his purple uniform. His nose wrinkled at the slight smell of sweat that radiated from him, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. It had been a long trip but he was finally at his destination: Tranquility Station 1.

While waiting in line, Jack looked back into him memory about the past thirty years. ‘It’s almost hard to believe that things have changed so much. I remember being a buck Ensign, right out the door of the League for Extraterrestrial Exploration and Defense. The crime went to nil, people all the sudden had jobs, the military scooped us up and the private sector followed. It only took the discovery of the Tachyon drive to change the world for the better.’

He gave up on the uniform and glanced around the receiving area, looking for a familiar face. His old buddy, Admiral Stein had promised to meet him when he arrived. There were purple and gold uniforms sprinkled throughout the waiting area and it took him a while to find the one that he was looking for. Their eyes locked and they both began to grin.

Stein hurried towards him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, “JACKY!“**

Jack winced at the nickname, “Hi, Tommy. How are you, old friend?”

“Don’t start with old,” the admiral eyed him evilly, “I’m two years younger than you.”

Fearson’s eyebrows rose jokingly, “You wouldn’t believe that with those 5 pips on your collar.”

“These were well earned, just like my premature graying hair,” he smiled, “Come on, Jack. We can talk on our way to your meeting.”

Fearson rubbed at his rough chin and grimaced, “Do we have any time for me to clean up? I smell like 5-day old laundry.”

Stein glanced at his watch, “I think we can do that. There’s a day rental place just around the corner. You can shower and shave before your meeting.”

They started down the crowded hallway, weaving around slower moving crowds. As they walked, they talked quietly.

“What is all of this about, Tom? What did I do this time? That look on your face tells me that my bad karma acting up again. It had to be something major to pull me off of duty on Transient Station.”

“Look, Jack, you’re an excellent officer. If every officer was as outstanding as you are, my job would be very easy.”

Jack raised hand, “Ah, but you’re forgetting about my bad luck.”

“Of course...your bad luck. You can’t seem to stay out of trouble. You’ve pissed someone off again, Jacky.”

He sighed a deep, dramatic sigh, “I’m always upsetting some bigwig in LEED.”

“2 words: Rachel McIntosh.”

Fearson made a face, “Oh. Her.”

“Yes, her. Did you know that Albert McIntosh is her father? Admiral Albert McIntosh?”

Fearson’s eyebrow went up, “Admiral, huh?? I knew that he was in LEED somewhere.”

“He’s not happy about the breakup.”

“Wait a sec,” Jack stopped, “The breakup was between Rachel and me. The Admiral had nothing to do with it.”

“You never told me the whole story about that. All I heard that was that you needed to get away from a hot relationship and begged me to transfer you. Want to talk about it?”

There was a long sigh before Fearson spoke, “You know how it is, Tommy. I was in it for the sex. She was looking for marriage. When she began to talk about rings and dresses, I got antsy. That’s when I called you. Nothing major.”

“It is to the Admiral. He’s not happy that you broke his little girl’s heart.”

Jack waved him off, “She’ll be OK. Anyway, that was almost a year ago.”

“Her father’s not over it,” he reached into his pocket and extracted a Portable Computer Terminal (PCT) and hand it to Jack, “He pulled some strings and had you transferred under his command. He’s your boss now.”

“MY BOSS!?!?!?!” he snatched the PCT from his hand and read it, “Wha...what happened? I’ve served under you for years!”

Tom could only shrug, “I know, Jack. I’ve put my butt on the line for you too many times. I can’t do anything about it this time. The admiral has placed you in a ship under his command. I think he’s out for blood. I’d watch your back, if I were you.”

“Holy shit!” Jack gasped, “A ship? I’m a base man. I’ve been on bases for my entire career!”

Tom stopped him, “Except for that science ship bit.”

“That was my first assignment. All of us have to serve ship time some time or another. But the rest of the time, it’s been bases.”

“I’m sorry, Jacky-boy. I’ve tried my best but he’s done everything he can to keep you in his claws.”

Jack tossed the PCT back at the admiral, grumbling, “The next time I’m at Earth Station, I’m returning that god-damn rabbit’s foot.”

Lieutenant junior grade Lyle Hernandez hurried down the hallways of LEED’s Research and Design Department, his mind whirling and heart raced over the possibility of a promotion.

He had been hard at work in his lab when the computer had beeped with a demanding message. He was to report to his commanding officer immediately. Three exclamation points next to the message emphasized the importance and made him drop everything and run.

‘Maybe this is it,’ he thought, ‘Maybe I’ve finally been promoted to be a regular, plain Lieutenant.’

He skidded to a stop in front of a purple door with a nameplate on it, announcing “Captain Robert Carter, Head of Ship Design”. He smoothed out his uniform, took a couple deep breaths to calm his nerves and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” a muffled voice called from within.

He opened the door tentatively and stepped in, “Hernandez reporting as requested, sir.”

The short, black man nodded curtly and motioned towards a seat, “Have a seat, Lyle. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Lyle sat down in the chair that was offered and smiled nervously across the desk at Carter. His boss turned back to the computer screen and scowled at it angrily, which made Lyle even more nervous. He began to count back over the previous few days, trying to figure out if he had done something wrong.

Finally, his boss turned off the screen with a wild flourish of the hand and mumbling, “I hate bureaucracy.”

Lyle smiled sympathetically, hoping that was what had angered his boss.

“Lieutenant Hernandez, when you were assigned here right after the Academy, I was hesitant about it, even after reviewing your record. Most officers are required to spend their first two years at LEED on a ship. But the Admiral at the Academy felt your schoolwork made you more valuable to the Research and Development Division. And the truth is . . . you haven’t let me down. You’ve developed countless technologies and scientific techniques that have advanced our society greatly. But-” he paused, his face filling with a scowl.

“But, what sir?”

The captain made a heavy sigh and pounded his fist angrily against the desk, “Those pencil pushers down in Staffing are ordering me to give you up. They are complaining that you haven’t done your ‘time’ aboard a ship.”

Lyle’s heart suddenly dropped into his stomach, “T-Time on a ship? But sir, I belong here!”

The Captain raised a hand to silence the young man, “Now Lyle, I know what you mean. It’s going to kill me to let you go. You’re one of my best officers and a damn good engineer. I know that, someday, you’ll be sitting behind this desk.”

Lyle could only shrug. He didn’t want to manage people. He only wanted to design.

“Sir, I don’t mean to sound superficial but,” he paused before rushing on, “Does this mean that my promotion didn’t go through?”

The captain shook his head, “Lyle, I understand that you’ve watched your classmates from the Academy get their Lieutenants bars. You’ve been held up by the technicalities that allowed you to be stationed here in the first place. The admiralty has placed stringent requirements on promotions. For anyone to get their Lieutenants bars, they must have had a tour of duty on a ship.”

“When you first came to us, you were automatically given the rank of Lieutenant, Junior Grade well before your fellow classmates. Now, you have to play catch up,” Carter stopped and eyed Hernandez warily, “I don’t know if you have put much thought into your rank and career. But you should keep in mind that the most desirable and prestigious posts are awarded to the highest ranked first. Despite how good your engineering skills are; a less brilliant engineer may get the post you want just because they know someone and have a higher rank. That’s the way bureaucracy is and you will have to play by their rules.”

Lyle slumped in his seat and groan, “OH MAN! It’s always the Hispanic that gets screwed.”

The captain snickered, “Your disappointments do not go unnoticed. My hands are really tied. I wish that your work here at R&D could continue but look at it this way, you won’t be confined by the sterile conditions that exist here.”

“Still, sir. I like it here. I’ve created my own little niche here. I work well with all of the personnel. To start all over again-”

“As I said,” the captain interrupted him, “I have orders, just like you do. No matter how much I may complain, they don’t go away. Now don’t be discouraged, Lyle. I know, with your skills and talent, it won’t be a problem to get you on one of the flagships. To be sure, I’m going to walk your assignment through Staffing myself. I promise.”

The Cosmos Bar was the only place to get a decent drink on Tranquility Station and because of that, it was almost always crowded. A short, stout man by the name of Lars Benny was the general owner, barkeep and bottle washer of the joint. He kept the place dark and the liquor constantly flowing, which kept his clientele happy and complacent. Any form of violence was outlawed in his place and Lars was well known for physically tossing instigators out of the place when fights develop.

In the last few weeks, Lars had noticed a new face in the line of regulars that passed before him every day. The man was very, very tall, with large, bulging arms and legs. He had tired blue eyes and bright red hair, which continued from his sideburns, seeming to wash down the man’s face into a bright, bushy mustache. The red hair wasn’t the only thing that stood out about him; his unique uniform was one of a kind. The typical LEED uniform top was supplemented by a matching purple kilt that had bright yellow stripes running wild all over it. Knee-high purple and yellow striped socks complimented the whole outfit, which seemed to light up the dark bar whenever he walked in.

Lars couldn’t figure out how the officer had got the uniform approved, but he had a feeling that his bulging muscles had something to do with it. The bulging muscles, combined with an angry look, always stopped a smart-alec commenting about his “skirt”. Lars wasn’t too worried about the man lashing out anyway. He believed that anyone in a purple uniform was not the type to start bar fights, as long as he kept the liquor flowing. Either way, there was no way he would be able to physically eject the red-haired man from the bar.

One day, the officer in question entered soon after the bar opened at ten hundred hours and took his normal seat in the back of the bar, his back against the jukebox. He pulled a Portable Computer Terminal out of his pocket and began to read. Lars poured the man his usual drink, a tall glass of tequila, and walked around the bar to place it in front of him. The man didn’t even look up, just grunted a thanks at him and down the glass in 1 swallow. Lars winced, knowing that it was a harsh drink, burning all the way down, but the officer didn’t even flinch.

“Another?” Lars asked, retrieving the glass.

There was another grunt, which he took as a yes. After forty years of tending bar, he was almost fluent in grunts.

He reached across the bar for the bottle and poured another one. Just as he was turning around, a grumble came from behind him, “Bring the bottle, keep.”

The Scottish accent, with its trilling r’s, startled Lars. With the kilt and all, he knew the man was of Scottish descent, but he didn’t expect the strong accent.

He grabbed the bottle and noted it on the man’s bill before placing the bottle and glass in front of him. Lars quickly returned to washing glasses behind the bar, leaving the Scot alone in his corner.

After a few minutes, Lars heard the officer grumble. He glances up in time to see a PCT sail across 2 tables, bounce off of the back of a chair and clatter to the floor.

“Oh, bloody hell!” the Scot grumbled loudly, “Transferred again. Son of a-” he stopped when he saw the bartender looking at him, “Sorry, keep.”

“Not a problem,” Lars patted the bar in front of him, “Wanna talk about it? Everyone says that the next best thing to a diary is a barkeep,” he winked, “The counselor complains that I keep taking all of her patients away from her.”

The tall man stared at him for a moment before grabbing the bottle and taking a seat at the bar.

Lars stuck out a hand, “Lars Benny.”

“Mal O’Toole” the man answered in his strong Scottish drawl.

The two shook hands.

“So, what’s up?”

The man sighed, “Bloody LEED. Don’t know why I took that transfer years ago. I could a’ been a security chief on some ship sailing the 7 seas. But nnnnooooo. I had stupid dreams of being in space,” he took a slug of the tequila bottle, “God damn bloody LEED. Should be called LEAD. They just weigh you down.”

He slammed the bottle down on the glass counter, “I’ve been transferred from one ship to another in the five years I’ve been in this damn organization. Five bloody long, long years. You know, I haven’t been under a commander for more than four months before I get transferred off again.”

He stood and quickly crossed the room to pick up the discarded PCT, “And now, I’m being transferred again. Do you know what my last captain did?”

The bartender shook his head as he scrubbed a glass clean.

“Captain Thermodor just up and dumped me here. One ’ittle run in with a diplomat and he has my own security team kidnap me, toss me into an escape pod, and chuck me towards this damn station. Took five days for bloody LEED to pick me up and tow me home. You ever spent five days in an escape pod? Ugh!”

He jugged down the last of the tequila and slammed the bottle down on the counter, “What a disgrace. Have my own security team attack me in broad daylight on a peaceful ship. I didn’t even get a chance to pack my own belongings. They got shipped to me. Who knows when I’ll see them? And I

had a blooming great stash on that ship. Better than this shit,” he motioned to the empty bottle and then smiled apologetically, “Sorry, keep.”

Lars shrugged, “I understand.”

“I had some great aged Mexican tequila from the twentieth century and quite a collection of Russian Vodka. It was great stuff. Now it’s tooling around the universe with that ass of a captain, not even being used. It’ll be found when they finally junk that ship in 100 years. Some bloody dock worker’s going to have a fortune in old alcohol.”

Lars tried to change the subject, “Where did they reassign you to?”

“Finally! Got my orders today,” he waved the PCT in his face, “After sitting on my ars for four weeks, Those bloody bureaucrats finally decides to reassign me.”

“Which ship?”

The officer glanced at the screen of the PCT and grumbled, “The USS Golden Phoenix.”

At the mention of that name, the keep almost dropped the glass, “What? Did you say the Golden Phoenix?”

He nodded, “The Phoenix.”

“Hmmm. I thought they mothballed that ship decades ago”, the barkeep commented.

O’ tool’s eyebrow’s went up, “Mothballed?”

Lars nodded, “The Golden Phoenix was one of the first ships built for space exploration. From what I remember, the Phoenix had some sort of accident about 30 years ago. They retired it a short time after that,” he turned to put a glass away and caught the Scot’s perplexed look in the mirror. He tried to sound reassuring, “Maybe it’s a new ship that they just named after the Phoenix. They do that sometimes.”

The officer shook his head in despair, “Not bloody likely. Not with my luck. Ah, bloody hell!”

Lieutenant Francis Stevens stomped his feet in anger, “Demoted again!” His temper tantrum almost got legendary before he regained a measure of control.

He stood in the middle of his temporary quarter in Tranquility Station and steamed at the message in his PCT. He wanted to toss it across the room, he wanted to throw a tantrum, but mostly he wanted to find the admiral that wrote the order and cram it down his throat.

“I was captain of my own ship!” he screamed, his voice echoing back at him, “Losing those ships weren’t my fault!”

He slumped down in a chair and groaned, “I mean, yeah, I lost five ships but It wasn’t my fault!” He almost cried after repeating himself as if saying it again could make it change.

He began to tick them off on his fingers, “The Nimbus had problems the moment we left the space dock. It wasn’t my fault that the hyper drive overloaded. It was new technology that wasn’t tested, what did they expect? And the Rampart disappeared on its own. I wasn’t even on the damn ship at the time it disappeared from space-”

He stopped and cursed at the PCT, “five screw-ups get me demoted to Lieutenant. . . . It’s just NOT fair!”

He stood and hurried to his computer console. He quickly scrolled through his phone book until he found the entry he wanted, an old family friend, and instructed the computer to dial it.

A young woman answered the phone and visibly grimaced when she saw who it was, “Rear Admiral Charleston’s office. Good afternoon, Commander Stevens.”

“Actually, it’s Lieutenant, now,” he said, grimacing also, “Is the Rear Admiral in?”

“Yes he is, Comm- Lieutenant but he left orders to not be disturbed by anyone,” she paused, “Especially you.”

“But I’m an old friend-”

“I believe, Lieutenant, that you’ve overstayed your friendship. The admiral is not interested in talking to you. I would suggest that you take the assignment given to you and do your best to improve your record. Good day.”

The screen went blank. Francis stared at it for a moment before screaming and punching the wall. Then pulled his hand back and nursed his bruised knuckles.

* * * * * * *

Admiral Albert McIntosh sat at his desk and stared out at the planet below him, his mind filled with thoughts of the job in front of him.

The transport that carried his prey had just docked and he waited patiently for him to arrive in his office, as ordered. He had thought of sending a troop of security guards down to get him but then thought that would stand out a bit too much. He drummed his finger together and smiled evilly.

“Just wait, Captain Fearson, just wait. I’ll show you,” he mumbled at the window.

The computer on his desk chimed loudly, interrupting his thought. He turned to see the Com. line blinking. He hit the answer key and sat back.

The smiling face of his secretary came onto the screen, “Sir, Commodore Raleigh is on the line, wishing to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Cyndi. Patch him through.”

There was pause before the face of a grey-haired dark brown man came onto the screen.

Admiral McIntosh smiled and happily greeted him, “Hello, Adam.”

The man’s face lit up, “Good day, Albert. It’s been a long time, old friend.”

“Yes, it has. We should set up another golf day soon. I could use some practice.”

“And the extra money,” the commodore snickered, “I don’t know why I golf with you. You cheat.”

“And you’re a sore loser. But I know you didn’t call up here to talk about golf.”

Raleigh sighed and shook his head, “No, I didn’t. I need your help in placing two graduating students.”

“My help? Why? Doesn’t the outsourcing department at the academy do that?”

“Yes but they have had no success in placing these two ensigns. Seems that no one wants them.”

“Troublemakers?”

The commodore let out a long, lengthy sigh, “Let’s just say that they’ve been in my office more than they’ve been in class. Both are pranksters; practical jokesters. For the last year, they seem to have been competing on who would elevate my blood pressure the most. Any captain that’s read their record won’t even talk to me about them.”

“Seems that you’ve got a problem on your hands. How can I help you?”

“I was told that you’re in charge of the re-commissioning of some older ships. I was hoping that maybe you could find places for these two on one of those ships. I know that with some time under a strict commander, these two would be excellent officers. They just need time to grow up.”

Admiral McIntosh began to tell his friend that he couldn’t help him with his problem but he suddenly stopped and smiled a wicked smile, “Adam, I think I can help you. My staff and I are currently wrapping up the personnel of one of these re-commissioned ships. I believe that I have a few positions still open. At the least, I can move some people around to accommodate your troublemakers.”

Adam Raleigh’s eyes widened, “Oh no. No no no no. I didn’t mean for you to put them on the same ship. Oh god, Albert. They will drive any captain up the wall. You can’t-”

McIntosh raised a hand to silence is friend, “Not this captain. He likes a challenge. I think both of your ensigns will be a welcomed addition to this ship’s compliment.”

Raleigh began to speak but the admiral interrupted him again, “Now, don’t you worry. Just give me their names and I will do what I can to place them on this ship.”

Adam sighed and glanced at a PCT in his hand, “Ensign Rebecca Barnes. She’s a gunner. Not one of the best but with practice, I think she will be fine for a non-combat vessel. The other is Ensign Thomas “Massy” Garrison. One of our better science officers. Bullshits a lot, believe me,” he rolled his eyes; “I’ve heard every story possible out of that boy but he’s as smart as a whip.”

Admiral McIntosh made a note of the names and smiled at this old friend, “Don’t worry, Adam. Let me review my staffing records and see what I can do. I’ll call you back this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Albert. You’re saving my ass. If I don’t find them an assignment; they’ll have to stay here at the academy and I’m really not looking forward to that. Neither is my doctor.”

“Not a problem. But you owe me dinner next time I’m on Earth,” he paused, “And a 10 hole handicap.”

The commodore rolled his eyes, “As if it would do you any good. You have a deal. Raleigh out.”

The screen went blank. The admiral stared at the blank screen for a few more minutes, his mind whirling a mile a minute.

Finally, he sat back and smiled a wide, happy smile, “Oh, you just wait, Fearson, my collection is growing.”

Dr. Lynda Phillips was buried up to her elbows in paperwork, trying to write a paper on trans-functional devices used in medical practices when one of her colleagues walked nonchalantly into her small office.

She jumped, surprised to see him. She rarely had visitors. For some reason, everyone stayed away from her.

The young male doctor dropped a Portable Computer Terminal in front of her, which skidded off of the messy desk, taking a pile of research data with it.

“Hey! Watch it!” she yelled grabbing for the papers.

As she bent down to pick on the PCT, her long black hair cascaded off of her shoulders and around her face. She grimaced and quickly pulled it out of her way.

‘Damn Asian hair,’ she always mumbled to herself in the privacy of her mind, ‘Why did I have to be cursed with this hair?’

‘Because you’re half Japanese, dimwit,’ her conscious always answered back, ‘Remember Genetics 101?’

Ah, the joys of a logical mind filled with scientific facts.

“Good morning to you too, Dr. Death,” her guest greeted, “Killed anyone lately?”

Lynda sat up and shot a look at her fellow doctor, “Don’t call me that, Steven. As you know, the court marshal proved that those deaths were not my fault. They were badly wounded when they got to me and I tried-”

The man put on a hand, ” OK OK OK. Enough. I know. I know. I’ve heard it a trillion times. Admiral Ronald asked me to deliver that PCT. Said that it was very very important.”

As she retrieved the PCT, the man hurried from the room, slamming the door behind him. Her dark green eyes glared after him, wishing for the ceiling in the hallway to fall down on him.

“Smart ass,” she grumbled, “Everyone’s got to be a smart ass.”

She flicked on the PCT, entered her code and began to read. Halfway through the text she jumped to her feet and screamed in happiness.

“YES! I’m back on a ship! HOT DAMN!”