Holy crap! Jerimiah Johnson is the CMO?!!
Is his handle 'Liver-Eatin' Johnson' by any chance?
I think I have no clue what you mean here. I just pull random names outta thin air sometimes. Sometimes other places.
For now, I think small tidbits are working the best, so I'll keep to that.
“Secure the maneuvering watch, Miss T’Sala,” said the captain smartly. “Station underway watch section three.”
“Aye, sir,” the tall and slender Vulcan replied. She made the required announcement, and in short order the bridge’s relief crew stepped silently onto the bridge to assume their postings. Her relief, a small human male, studied her panel quickly, and after a brief exchange of words, she simply said, “I stand relieved.” She walked from her panel and towards her captain in the center seat. “I am ready to relieve you, sir,” she said calmly.
“Your first time in the big chair?” the captain asked her.
“Yes, sir, it will be.”
“Then we’ll go gentle on you. I stand relieved, you have the bridge.” He stood up and quickly made way for the waiting turbo car. He watched her try to ask him what he meant as the door closed. He sighed, letting the weight of the day fall from him. “Deck two,” he ordered the car, and it promptly sent him on his way. As the car traveled, he felt eyes on him; somehow he’d missed that someone was in the car with him. He studied the individual for a moment without turning to see who was there. “XO,” he said, still not turning to face his guest, “we begin drills in one hour. Be in the observation lounge in ten with all off watch department heads.” The door to the lift opened and he strode out, down the narrow passage towards the observation lounge.
Startled with the new order, his exec paused in the car and before she could follow him the door shut. “Destination?” the computerized voice rudely asked her. She paused, forgetting where she was actually going. “Destination?” the car demanded of her again.
“Hold,” she simply said. She moved over to the wall communications panel and opened a line to the bridge.
“Bridge,” the male voice on the other side of the line responded.
“Bridge, XO, contact all off watch department heads and have them meet me in the observation lounge in five minutes.”
“XO, bridge, aye,” the young officer simply replied.
“Computer, here is fine, open the door please.” The car’s single door slid open, and she made her way to the lounge.
“Fire in the galley was a drill for training, secure from drill,” Lieutenant Perkins said over the 1MC. “Restow all damage control equipment.” T’Sala looked over at the JG who had relieved her. “Next one’s warp core breach in progress with auto-jettison failure,” he informed the bridge. “Simulation ends when either the core is dumped or breach is averted; and it should be the last one.” Six drills in four hours, and he had known correctly the first five. It was a fair bet that the sixth would be accurate as well. She was unwilling to pry into details of how he knew, but she did know that it put others more at ease knowing what was next, and that generally improved reaction times and performance. It wasn’t an accurate assessment of how the crew would honestly react if the same situations happened unsimulated, but even with that flaw, it was good practice.
His com panel beeped, demanding his attention. “Bridge,” he said calmly. The voice on the other side of the line was indistinct even with her Vulcan hearing. “Acknowledged,” Perkins said to the mystery voice. He pursed his lips before making his announcement, “Secure from ship’s drills. Damage control petty officers take inventory and make report to the DCPO by twenty-three hundred. All drill monitors muster on the mess decks for debriefing. All hands, turn-to, clean up ship.” T’Sala looked at him with a raised eyebrow; her head slightly tilted and allowed some of her long, dark hair to fall over her left shoulder. “Guess I was wrong.”
“Indeed. Helm, resume course and speed for way point one.” There was but the slightest pause before she could relax her posture from rigid to Vulcan relaxed before an alarm went off. "Report!" she ordered.
"Klingon cruiser has just been detected on long range scans, bearing three-one five," Perkins reported to her. "At present speed and course, we will cross their line of travel in two minutes. They appear to be heading towards the main shipping lanes off of New Alexandria."
"Have they detected us?"
"Unable to determine at this range, however not very likely."
"Helm, match speed to target, plot a shadowing course. Mister Perkins, yellow alert." The ship decelerated without much hassle, no one really noticed anything was amiss until yellow lights started flashing from everywhere. There was a momentary hum as the phaser capacitors began their warm up routine, but this too went largely unnoticed.
"Course plotted and laid in, sir," Michaels reported from the helm. "We should be maintaining range outside of their sensors."
"Very good; Mister Perkins..." She was interrupted as McDougal entered the bridge.
"T'Sala, if you please, continue," the tall man said. Ever present at his heels was the XO, nearly a head shorter than he, and her flame red locks a sharp contrast to his short, dark hair.
She's like a lost puppy with no self esteem, always seeking approval both the captain and the tactical officer shared the same thought.
"Mister Perkins, rig ship for silent running, and reduced electrical. Captain, we have detected a Klingon warship on long range scanners, his course indicates a possible convoy or supply point raid. We are shadowing him to verify."
"Very good, T'Sala, I relieve you. Take your post and see what you can learn about our friend."
"Aye, sir," she said as unemotionally as any Vulcan would have. Despite her emotional repression skills, she still felt depressed deep down about not finishing her first watch. She stood and walked away from the command chair towards her station where Perkins stepped back and allowed her access. Having no where else to go for the moment, he stayed by her side to assist if needed. "Our range is closing, staying outside assumed sensor range of Klingon vessel. Hull class is Delta-six or seven battle cruiser, unable to verify more specifics at this range."
"Very well," the captain said, taking his seat. His exec stood beside his chair, watching the screen. "Miss Jones, man the aux panel, set it for sciences and aid tactical in identifying that ship." She looked at him, disappointed, silently nodded and took a seat at the port station and began to run a parrallel scan with tactical.
"Sir, target has accelerated," T'Sala reported.
"Compensating," Michaels said.
"Picking up a priority one distress signal from U.S.S.
Pensacola and several freighters. They are under attack by a Klingon drone cruiser, type seven hull, messages repeat."
McDougal pressed his 1MC button, "Red Alert, all hands to battle stations, this is not a drill." He paused a moment after closing the line. "Helm, best speed to target, try to keep us on his six when we arrive in weapons range. T'Sala, set phasers four and six through eight to defensive, proximity load photons one and three, full overload tube two, drain the batteries if you have too. Coordinate high warp kick down to occur at best range for proxies and keep us going at best combat speed."
He didn't wait for a response from his crew, nor did he hear it. The words rang in his ears as did the bitter taste of 'DEFEAT' had hung on his tongue. It was a Drell-seven drone ship that had fired the last salvo that destroyed
Apollo, one that had a notorious history of attacking trade convoys on this side of the neutral zone. McDougal didn't seek revenge, just survival.
Czar "Jerimiah could have been a bullfrog" Mohab, who notes that corpsmen often go with the frogmen, too