veronica_rich (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
veronica_rich) wrote2007-01-14 10:50 pm
veronica_rich) wrote2007-01-14 10:50 pm
"Breaking Command" Part 2
Hunched over ship schematics, a lukewarm cup of latte at his elbow, Reg searched for the source of his newest problem, having little luck even after half an hour of concerted effort. “How did they put this thing together, anyhow?” he voiced aloud, waving a hand for effect, even to himself.
“I suspect a complex combination of spit and baling wire.” Reg started at the voice and turned, surprised to see Janeway standing behind him in the doorway of the engineer’s office. “You know, it’s never a good idea to position your chair with your back to the only opening in the room; gives your enemies an advantage.”
“Are you my enemy?” He surprised himself with the retort, nothing like the “yes, Captain” he would normally reply.
A smile quirked Janeway’s lips as she uncrossed her arms. “Well, I could’ve been, and that’s the important thing.” She crossed to where he was sitting and took a chair nearby. “What’re you looking for, anyway?”
“Um ...” He looked back at the blueprints, searching for his handwritten note scrawled in the corner. “Power grids for the coolant systems. They’re not where they’re supposed to be — or at least not where they’d be on an older model ship.”
“Deck fifteen,” she immediately answered.
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “How’d you know-” Then he cut himself off. “Oh, you’re the captain, of course you’d have to know all your systems.”
Janeway shook her head. “I’d like to take that much credit, but the truth is we had to access them one other time and I happened to remember, is all. Pure luck of the draw. You’re probably better-versed with this ship by now than I am.”
He smiled at her briefly, then turned his attention back to the schematics, feeling suddenly uncomfortable for having been friendly with a superior officer. “She’s a wonderful hobby to have.”
“I bet you were the kind of little boy that took everything apart in your dad’s garage and in the house just so you could see how it worked.”
Reg shook his head. “Nothing doing; my father would have been furious if I’d stuck my head under the hood of his Rolls Royce. Or the Bentley.”
“Your father owns antique automobiles?”
“Collects them, to an extent. Doesn’t have many, but the ones he owns are fine pieces of machinery.”
“Ah.” He looked up at that, puzzled by her reaction. “Like father, like son, hmm? He collects autos and you ‘collect’ ships, in a sense. Does your mother have a fondness for boats, by chance?” Her eyes twinkled with humor.
“No, she really likes flowers. Planting them, and tending them, and such. Has a really big garden out back, with a hedge maze and everything, and a couple of little fountains inside, another larger one outside the maze.”
Janeway nodded. “I see — love of mechanical things from your father and from your mother, the desire to tend and fix them, keep them well-oiled and beautiful.”
He fell quiet for a moment, thinking something was expected of him at this point — her words really hadn’t left any opening for a reply, but neither did they close the matter and say, “Okay, nice talking, see you later!” He cleared his throat. “So, um ... what did your parents do?” He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous to inquire into her personal life.
“Daddy was a writer, and Mom was a sports star. Women’s soccer; Intergalactic
League.”
“A writer? Really?” Reg racked his brain, trying to remember why that was so familiar. Then it hit him. “Not Colton Janeway? A Thousand Suns and One Dying Moon? Colton Janeway?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“I read that book for a college course!” Reg enthused, turning his chair a bit to face her. “We were supposed to pick something not on the general list, and explain how it relates to Starfleet. The idea was to pick something so far off the mark, to make it more of a challenge. And I picked A Thousand Suns.”
“I’ll be damned. I haven’t even read that book. And nobody’s ever heard of it; you can’t even find it in electronic library databases.”
“It was ... interesting. Very stimulating, mentally. Gave me a whole new appreciation for the works of Hawking and Brenner.” He kept grinning. “So you’re his daughter. I ... I never put the two together.”
“Well, Janeway isn’t exactly an uncommon name.” She cocked her head and eyed him for a few seconds, as if puzzling something out. “You mentioned college. Didn’t you attend Starfleet Academy?”
“I did; that’s how I became an engineer.” He dreaded what she would ask next; people always made such a big deal of his degrees, either expecting more than was humanly possible of him now, or deriding him for not putting them to use and working in Starfleet, instead, as a minion.
“And?”
He sighed. “I attended college before I went into the Academy. Oxford.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Impressive, Mr. Barclay. Graduate?” He nodded. “Well ... in what?”
“Psychology and physics.” She laughed out loud at the combination. “I know, I know,” he hastened to explain. “It sounds ridiculous-”
“No,” she shook her head, still chuckling. “Just very onomonapedic.”
“I was interested in them. And you’d be surprised how much they have in common, really. Especially in practical application.”
“So how did you manage to attend both college and the Academy? Were you in your twenties when you entered the Academy?”
“I was seventeen, almost eighteen,” he rushed to add. “I ... I graduated high school when I was twelve. Believe me, given the choice if I could go back, I’d tell my younger self to stay put. Would’ve done my social skills a world of good.”
“I would hesitate to let a preadolescent into college,” she agreed. “So, did
you whip through the Academy in like five weeks, or what?”
He could tell she was teasing now. “Actually, it took closer to five years. I was really sick one semester and spent the better part of it in sickbay, recovering from the Andorian flu. Nasty, terrible stuff.” He made a face at the memory.
“And after graduation?”
“Was stationed on the Kennedy, then the Lawrence ... then a couple of other places, briefly, then the Enterprise. That was my longest single assignment.” He pointed toward the ground. “And now here.”
“Do you prefer deep-space assignments, or what you’re doing now?”
He thought it over. “It’s not really a matter of deep space versus stationary work, so much, as it is particular assignments. I really liked the Enterprise — made friends, got into some fun activities there. And it was always a challenge, traveling at the edge of the quadrant, facing problems no other ship had. But this is rewarding, too.” He remembered the look of relief and wonder on the Voyager crew’s collective faces upon disembarking; some had started sobbing, from either relief or the sense of a great adventure coming to an end. “Or I should say, it was rewarding. Now it’s work.” He flashed her a smile to let her know he was kidding, but only by half.
“I know what you mean.” The captain leaned back and crossed her arms reflexively, a troubled look passing over her features. “The things we do ...”she trailed off. “Sorry.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” he encouraged her. “Go on; I’ve prattled on about myself enough, the least I can do is listen to whatever you have to say.”
She raised her eyes, but not to him; to some distant, unfocused point just off to the side of his line of vision. Beginning with a deep sigh, she said, “You ever done something because it was good for a lot of other people, but you could care less about doing it for yourself?”
“I think we all have. Maybe not as much as a starship captain sometimes, but ...” She glanced at him briefly and gave him a smile, before resuming her gaze outward. “Is something bothering you, Captain?”
“I don’t want to do these publicity appearances.” She stated it firmly, with conviction, and Reg watched her breathe again; apparently this was something she hadn’t yet said out loud. “It’s good for the rest of the crew who want the limelight, but I know they won’t get as much attention if I’m not willing to go along with it. I know how arrogant it sounds, but it’s the way things are.”
He nodded sympathetically; he knew what it was like to be expected to fall in with the crowd, the stomach-wrenching fortitude it took to resist popular opinion. “Maybe you should do what’s good for you.”
She looked at him sharply, and he started in surprise; he hadn’t expected that reaction to a sympathetic comment. “Don’t you think I would’ve stopped by now if I could’ve?”
“Maybe n-not.” Again, his mouth wasn’t obeying his brain. “Not if you have some misguided notion that in this case, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. It’s not like you’re in l-life or death, Captain.”
“The principle holds true in any situation, Reg.”
“Does it?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Reg shook his head. “I’m s-sorry, Captain, but I have to respectfully disagree with you there. I think any principle is only as good as the situation testing it. But that’s just my opinion.” He shrugged and went back to his schematics, figuring discretion was now the better part of valor. Translated — he’d shut up while he was ahead.
To his surprise, Janeway leaned closer and started inspecting the schematics with him. “What’re you looking for now?” she asked, clearly dismissing the earlier conversation and ignoring his commentary. Thank Hera!
He explained what she was looking over and what he needed to find. “Right here, Captain,” he pointed at a spot on the grid.
“Reg,” she corrected, “you don’t have to call me Captain. I’d like to think we’re friends by now, after all you’ve done for the ship and the crew. Call me Kathryn.”
He lifted his head and turned his face to hers, only about a foot away. “Kathryn,” he tested, rolling it around. “All right ...” He turned back to the drawing and pointed again. “Right here, Kathryn ...”
*****
Part 1
Part 3
“I suspect a complex combination of spit and baling wire.” Reg started at the voice and turned, surprised to see Janeway standing behind him in the doorway of the engineer’s office. “You know, it’s never a good idea to position your chair with your back to the only opening in the room; gives your enemies an advantage.”
“Are you my enemy?” He surprised himself with the retort, nothing like the “yes, Captain” he would normally reply.
A smile quirked Janeway’s lips as she uncrossed her arms. “Well, I could’ve been, and that’s the important thing.” She crossed to where he was sitting and took a chair nearby. “What’re you looking for, anyway?”
“Um ...” He looked back at the blueprints, searching for his handwritten note scrawled in the corner. “Power grids for the coolant systems. They’re not where they’re supposed to be — or at least not where they’d be on an older model ship.”
“Deck fifteen,” she immediately answered.
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “How’d you know-” Then he cut himself off. “Oh, you’re the captain, of course you’d have to know all your systems.”
Janeway shook her head. “I’d like to take that much credit, but the truth is we had to access them one other time and I happened to remember, is all. Pure luck of the draw. You’re probably better-versed with this ship by now than I am.”
He smiled at her briefly, then turned his attention back to the schematics, feeling suddenly uncomfortable for having been friendly with a superior officer. “She’s a wonderful hobby to have.”
“I bet you were the kind of little boy that took everything apart in your dad’s garage and in the house just so you could see how it worked.”
Reg shook his head. “Nothing doing; my father would have been furious if I’d stuck my head under the hood of his Rolls Royce. Or the Bentley.”
“Your father owns antique automobiles?”
“Collects them, to an extent. Doesn’t have many, but the ones he owns are fine pieces of machinery.”
“Ah.” He looked up at that, puzzled by her reaction. “Like father, like son, hmm? He collects autos and you ‘collect’ ships, in a sense. Does your mother have a fondness for boats, by chance?” Her eyes twinkled with humor.
“No, she really likes flowers. Planting them, and tending them, and such. Has a really big garden out back, with a hedge maze and everything, and a couple of little fountains inside, another larger one outside the maze.”
Janeway nodded. “I see — love of mechanical things from your father and from your mother, the desire to tend and fix them, keep them well-oiled and beautiful.”
He fell quiet for a moment, thinking something was expected of him at this point — her words really hadn’t left any opening for a reply, but neither did they close the matter and say, “Okay, nice talking, see you later!” He cleared his throat. “So, um ... what did your parents do?” He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous to inquire into her personal life.
“Daddy was a writer, and Mom was a sports star. Women’s soccer; Intergalactic
League.”
“A writer? Really?” Reg racked his brain, trying to remember why that was so familiar. Then it hit him. “Not Colton Janeway? A Thousand Suns and One Dying Moon? Colton Janeway?”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“I read that book for a college course!” Reg enthused, turning his chair a bit to face her. “We were supposed to pick something not on the general list, and explain how it relates to Starfleet. The idea was to pick something so far off the mark, to make it more of a challenge. And I picked A Thousand Suns.”
“I’ll be damned. I haven’t even read that book. And nobody’s ever heard of it; you can’t even find it in electronic library databases.”
“It was ... interesting. Very stimulating, mentally. Gave me a whole new appreciation for the works of Hawking and Brenner.” He kept grinning. “So you’re his daughter. I ... I never put the two together.”
“Well, Janeway isn’t exactly an uncommon name.” She cocked her head and eyed him for a few seconds, as if puzzling something out. “You mentioned college. Didn’t you attend Starfleet Academy?”
“I did; that’s how I became an engineer.” He dreaded what she would ask next; people always made such a big deal of his degrees, either expecting more than was humanly possible of him now, or deriding him for not putting them to use and working in Starfleet, instead, as a minion.
“And?”
He sighed. “I attended college before I went into the Academy. Oxford.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Impressive, Mr. Barclay. Graduate?” He nodded. “Well ... in what?”
“Psychology and physics.” She laughed out loud at the combination. “I know, I know,” he hastened to explain. “It sounds ridiculous-”
“No,” she shook her head, still chuckling. “Just very onomonapedic.”
“I was interested in them. And you’d be surprised how much they have in common, really. Especially in practical application.”
“So how did you manage to attend both college and the Academy? Were you in your twenties when you entered the Academy?”
“I was seventeen, almost eighteen,” he rushed to add. “I ... I graduated high school when I was twelve. Believe me, given the choice if I could go back, I’d tell my younger self to stay put. Would’ve done my social skills a world of good.”
“I would hesitate to let a preadolescent into college,” she agreed. “So, did
you whip through the Academy in like five weeks, or what?”
He could tell she was teasing now. “Actually, it took closer to five years. I was really sick one semester and spent the better part of it in sickbay, recovering from the Andorian flu. Nasty, terrible stuff.” He made a face at the memory.
“And after graduation?”
“Was stationed on the Kennedy, then the Lawrence ... then a couple of other places, briefly, then the Enterprise. That was my longest single assignment.” He pointed toward the ground. “And now here.”
“Do you prefer deep-space assignments, or what you’re doing now?”
He thought it over. “It’s not really a matter of deep space versus stationary work, so much, as it is particular assignments. I really liked the Enterprise — made friends, got into some fun activities there. And it was always a challenge, traveling at the edge of the quadrant, facing problems no other ship had. But this is rewarding, too.” He remembered the look of relief and wonder on the Voyager crew’s collective faces upon disembarking; some had started sobbing, from either relief or the sense of a great adventure coming to an end. “Or I should say, it was rewarding. Now it’s work.” He flashed her a smile to let her know he was kidding, but only by half.
“I know what you mean.” The captain leaned back and crossed her arms reflexively, a troubled look passing over her features. “The things we do ...”she trailed off. “Sorry.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” he encouraged her. “Go on; I’ve prattled on about myself enough, the least I can do is listen to whatever you have to say.”
She raised her eyes, but not to him; to some distant, unfocused point just off to the side of his line of vision. Beginning with a deep sigh, she said, “You ever done something because it was good for a lot of other people, but you could care less about doing it for yourself?”
“I think we all have. Maybe not as much as a starship captain sometimes, but ...” She glanced at him briefly and gave him a smile, before resuming her gaze outward. “Is something bothering you, Captain?”
“I don’t want to do these publicity appearances.” She stated it firmly, with conviction, and Reg watched her breathe again; apparently this was something she hadn’t yet said out loud. “It’s good for the rest of the crew who want the limelight, but I know they won’t get as much attention if I’m not willing to go along with it. I know how arrogant it sounds, but it’s the way things are.”
He nodded sympathetically; he knew what it was like to be expected to fall in with the crowd, the stomach-wrenching fortitude it took to resist popular opinion. “Maybe you should do what’s good for you.”
She looked at him sharply, and he started in surprise; he hadn’t expected that reaction to a sympathetic comment. “Don’t you think I would’ve stopped by now if I could’ve?”
“Maybe n-not.” Again, his mouth wasn’t obeying his brain. “Not if you have some misguided notion that in this case, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. It’s not like you’re in l-life or death, Captain.”
“The principle holds true in any situation, Reg.”
“Does it?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Reg shook his head. “I’m s-sorry, Captain, but I have to respectfully disagree with you there. I think any principle is only as good as the situation testing it. But that’s just my opinion.” He shrugged and went back to his schematics, figuring discretion was now the better part of valor. Translated — he’d shut up while he was ahead.
To his surprise, Janeway leaned closer and started inspecting the schematics with him. “What’re you looking for now?” she asked, clearly dismissing the earlier conversation and ignoring his commentary. Thank Hera!
He explained what she was looking over and what he needed to find. “Right here, Captain,” he pointed at a spot on the grid.
“Reg,” she corrected, “you don’t have to call me Captain. I’d like to think we’re friends by now, after all you’ve done for the ship and the crew. Call me Kathryn.”
He lifted his head and turned his face to hers, only about a foot away. “Kathryn,” he tested, rolling it around. “All right ...” He turned back to the drawing and pointed again. “Right here, Kathryn ...”
*****
Part 1
Part 3