“Welcome aboard the Nyx, Chief.”
One of the two guards at the top of the ramp greeted him with a smile, as they stepped aside to allow Gavon access through the starboard airlock leading into the main corridor of the vessel. It had been several months since he’d seen the inside of a
reaper-class starship, as most dropships he was accustomed to were bulky, heavy-armored, and designed for provisions and soldier transport during relief runs throughout most of Europe and the Americas. But the Nyx was more his style; a lean, sleek, and sexy force to be reckoned with, that when things got rough, would sail you through all hell and back again without fail. It’s stealth technology -one of the best Martian engineers could muster up- would certainly lessen the risk of them being caught unaware in the dead of unknown space or an undiscovered planet. He didn’t find the otherwise cold grays and blues of the interior too remarkable, but still practical in it’s low-key aesthetics and design.
A triple beep on his wrist’s datapad indicated an incoming message, which he reluctantly pulled up on the small screen.
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[ From: Doctor Melanie Larson, Ph.D - Clinical Psychologist ]
[ Subject: Prognosis related to case#11-A2 ]
Mr. TreVayne,
With regard to the currently detained cyborg, I’m informing you that I can be available to meet with her any time after 3:00PM for the next couple of days. Also, my current professional opinion on the subject was favorable, and that it wouldn't impede her chances of getting the job as long as she was willing to meet a few times a week. However, aside from my own opinions, I understand that you or Admiral Locke may still discover other reasons that would negate her acceptance into Ark Security. In either case, please advise at your earliest convenience so I may schedule her appointment.
Regards,
M. Larson----------------------------------
“Hm, let’s hope you’re right Doc…” He muttered to himself, before forwarding the message to
William Locke, with a notation of:
Admiral, this looks acceptable to me, and I’m on board with the idea, barring your blessing of course. -TreVayne”“May I help you?” A smooth female voice -off to his far right- broke the relative silence as Gavon found himself walking past a large spacious area that seemed about mid-point within the ship, and from the looks of it, would be considered the
Mess Hall. The Chief looked up from his datapad and found the source, seated cross legged at one of the round tables nearest to the main corridor, dressed in standard military fatigues, with an insulated mug in one hand and her other arm resting on the table. Dual-toned blonde hair was neatly and systematically tied back in a tight bun, and the intrigued, yet concerned expression on her well-defined face gave the impression that he was an unknown to her eyes.
“Eh, yeah, I was on my way to the bridge to see Captain Anderson, but also looking for Captain Eccleson, as I was told he would be on board now.”
A slight grin formed across the young lady’s lips as her blue eyes briefly assessed the man standing in front of her before responding. “Well yes,
she is in fact on board, and you’ve come to the right place.”
Readjusting the camo rucksack slung over his shoulder, he stepped forward a few paces and extended his hand out in greeting. “Excellent. Gavon TreVayne.” He said, returning a friendly smile, and noticing the remnants of what appeared to be scar tissue from a burn partially along the right side of her face and down her neck.
“Ah yes, the Chief of Ark Security?” A subtle but otherwise noticeable rigidness hit the woman’s previously casual pose, as she pivoted and rose from the bucket-style chair, extending her hand to meet his in a firm grasp. “I’ve heard good things about you, and the officers under your command hold you high regard.
Captain Bryenna Eccleson at your service.”
Gavon truly had been caught off guard, as his first mistake was assuming that the military ground force detachment’s squad Captain was male. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Captain.” He finally responded after a few moments, doing a poor job of covering his surprise. “But-eh, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage as I didn’t have the time to go over your dossier.”
“It’s quite alright, Chief, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time during the trip to play catch-up.”
----------------------------------
The bridge was clear of any personnel save for one man seated at the helm whose attempts at off-key singing would have been better left to a dying warthog. As Gavon approached, walking past the center command consoles and load-bearing beams that obstructed his view, he noticed the source of the terrible voice.
“Captain Anderson.” He finally said after a few moments of watching the man sway side to side in the seat as though an endless song was playing in the Captain’s chaotic head. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
“Hmm?, eh..yesh…” Anderson’s response was low and barely audible. “Imma ready...fer...duty Ad-amiral.” His hand slapped against his forehead in a mocking salute as he swiveled the chair to the right facing no one but an empty seat. Gavon took a few paces and stopped within a meter from the man, his nose quickly assaulted by the overwhelming smell of bourbon and sweat permeating the area, and the Chief’s otherwise friendly demeanor went cold at that instant. “You son of a bitch.” He grumbled, crossing his arms. “Just couldn’t help yourself.”
“Hey!” He stuck an accusing finger out and, again, pointed it at no one in particular. “Don you shjudge..meh Amiral fancy pansss…”
“Shit” Gavon mumbled under his breath, as he activated his wrist communicator. “This is Chief TreVayne. Code 10-35, bridge of the Nyx. I need two Agents immediately.”
“Copy that Chief, en route now.”
Anderson, slumped over in the chair, was shaking his head and muttering to himself as beads of sweat trickled down his face onto the floor and incomprehensible words became more like sobbings.
“You need help.” The other finally said in a matter-of-fact tone, as he called into the Vitae’s bridge, requesting to be patched over to Admiral Locke, and explaining the sad state of the Captain and dire need for a new pilot ASAP.
“He WHAT?!” There was a sigh from Locke on the other end of the communicator.
“Send him to the brig and let him cool his heels off in there, I’ll deal with him later. Though you can assume that he won’t be flying anything for a long long time. I’ll send down Lt.Colonel Sawyer to lead the mission, good fellow.”Two Sec Agents emerged from the corridor and stood at attention near the Chief, awaiting instructions. Gavon nodded to them and turned his attention back to Anderson, who was leaning against the console, propping his head up with his arm, and struggling to keep his eyes open and focused.
“And Chief” Locke continued in the Chief’s earpiece. “I don’t need to tell you how important it is for you to protect the interests of the civilian personnel during this mission. Allow them to do their job, but keep close tabs nonetheless. Locke out.”
“You need to go with these men
now, Anderson. And without incident.” He said, motioning toward the two Agents, one of which was pulling out a pair of cuffs, which seemed to get the Captain’s attention. “You’ll spend a day or two in the brig, and no doubt Locke may pay you a visit.”
“Locke! Hah!...dah lightweight.” Anderson scoffed. “...Fine...I’ll do it ‘is way...” Anderson said in a gruff voice, shaking his head. “Juss...no cuffs, no cuffs. I don wanna draw an-y unwanned atteshion tah mah-shelf…”
“You’re doing a fine job of that on your own.” Gavon pressed his lips into a thin line, visibly upset with the whole ordeal but keeping his composure professional enough not to beat the shit out of the man who was initially given the responsibility of navigating the reaper-class ship and holding several lives in his hand. He glanced over at the lead Agent and nodded for them both to escort the Captain away, watching the sullen expression of Anderson as they both exchanged a look in passing. The Chief let out a long-awaited deep breath, releasing the tension of the situation, and relieved that it hadn’t escalated into anything worse. He found himself staring out passed the bow’s view ports and into the busy hangar bay, as the last of the supplies were being carried and loaded into the underbelly of the ship.
Fuzzybootz,
Heat