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Unofficial Literary Challenge #44: "Worst Captain Ever"
starswordc
Member Posts: 10,963 Arc User
Welcome to Unofficial Literary Challenge #44: "Worst Captain Ever". Experimenting with two prompts this month.
Prompt 1: "Why Your Captain Is the Worst Captain Ever" by @proteusrex
Inspired by some of the threads on the forum and meant to be a tongue-in-cheek examination of your own character (no offense intended). Write a log where your Captain does something that violates the 'spirit' of the Federation. Do they do it by accident? Ignorance? Arrogance? Or does it have to be done for the greater good? And what happens when they get called out?
Prompt 2: "Are You Trying to Tell Me Something?" by @masopw
Comms from Starfleet get 'lost'. Orders are 'misplaced', then found once you can't do anything about it. Supplies to your ship never arrive, or are incorrect, or consist of obsolete equipment. You get invited to meetings after the meeting occurred, or when it's in a sector that's so far away you'll never make it. Your suggestions to the brass get ignored.
Is somebody trying to tell you something? Is an Admiral very displeased at something you did? Or did the person who thought they'd be in command of your ship find themselves at HQ with a lot of time on their hands and a big grudge against you?
As usual, no NSFW content.
The discussion thread is here.
The LC Submission thread is here.
Index of previous ULCs (click ULC 31 for earlier entries):
Index of previous ULC Annuals:
Prompt 1: "Why Your Captain Is the Worst Captain Ever" by @proteusrex
Inspired by some of the threads on the forum and meant to be a tongue-in-cheek examination of your own character (no offense intended). Write a log where your Captain does something that violates the 'spirit' of the Federation. Do they do it by accident? Ignorance? Arrogance? Or does it have to be done for the greater good? And what happens when they get called out?
Prompt 2: "Are You Trying to Tell Me Something?" by @masopw
Comms from Starfleet get 'lost'. Orders are 'misplaced', then found once you can't do anything about it. Supplies to your ship never arrive, or are incorrect, or consist of obsolete equipment. You get invited to meetings after the meeting occurred, or when it's in a sector that's so far away you'll never make it. Your suggestions to the brass get ignored.
Is somebody trying to tell you something? Is an Admiral very displeased at something you did? Or did the person who thought they'd be in command of your ship find themselves at HQ with a lot of time on their hands and a big grudge against you?
As usual, no NSFW content.
The discussion thread is here.
The LC Submission thread is here.
Index of previous ULCs (click ULC 31 for earlier entries):
- 31. There Are 31!
- 32. New Year, New Changes
- 33. What Happens on Drozana...
- 34. Moreau
- 35. Rhyme Directive
- 36. Past, Present, and Future
- 37. Witchcraft and Spycraft
- 38. Stardust
- 39. Back to Basics
- 40. Redux IV
- 41. Fates Unknown
- 42. Winter of Doom
- 43. Deadly Alliance
Index of previous ULC Annuals:
"Great War! / And I cannot take more! / Great tour! / I keep on marching on / I play the great score / There will be no encore / Great War! / The War to End All Wars"
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
— Sabaton, "Great War"
Check out https://unitedfederationofpla.net/s/
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Starbase 39-Sierra
Office of Adm. T'nae, Sector Command
“You've got to be joking!” the Andorian shouted, almost throwing the PADD onto the Admirals' desk. “You want me to go on an undercover assignment with him? He has to be the worst captain in Starfleet history!”
Admiral T'nae's eyebrow quirked momentarily. “Indeed? What are your supporting data for this contention?”
“Look at his record! His very first command was destroyed by a single Borg – not even a Borg cube, or a probe, but one Borg! His second was involved in some very questionable shenanigans that wound up with a civilian science outpost being destroyed, then he lost it in a simple astrophysical anomaly. He came back with a ship he claimed to have built himself from other wreckage, then used it to somehow... acquire an artificial intelligence from a secret Starfleet installation, which he subsequently refused to release to your office! His actions during the Undine destruction of Earth Spacedock were so questionable that he and his entire command staff were cashiered, and accepted back into Starfleet later only because they were extremely short on ships and personnel during the Iconian War. He and his ship vanished unaccountably during the height of the Second Battle of Earth – I strongly suspect because he acted like a typical Ferengi coward and ran away! - and since that time, I can't find any record of his ship accomplishing anything of note! And you think this is the person to help lead an investigation into Delta Quadrant piracy? He'd likely sell us out to the pirates at his first chance!”
“I will forgive your outburst on this occasion, Commander,” T'nae replied frostily, “as I understand that as a representative of Andorian Imperial Intelligence, you may be unfamiliar with Starfleet protocol. I shall caution you, however, that any such further displays of blatant prejudice – against any of the personnel under my command – may result in your being returned to your superiors, along with a record of your behavior. The simple fact that I have recommended Grunt as a suitable assistant for your investigation should have proved sufficient. I see now that I may have given you too much credit.” She touched her desk. “Captain, you may enter.”
The door to Admiral T'nae's office slid open, and a medium-sized Ferengi in a Starfleet uniform, collar adorned with a captain's rank pips, entered. He nodded toward the Vulcan. “Good afternoon, Admiral. I take it this isn't a social occasion?”
T'nae's eyebrow slid upward again. “Indeed not. Before we proceed, please place your hand on the verifier.” A slab slid from the top of her desk, a handprint outline glowing next to a small display screen.
Grunt laid his hand in the outline, then jerked back. “Ow! It bit me!”
“Yes,” the admiral replied imperturbably. “In light of the frequency with which shapeshifting species have infiltrated secure locations in Allied space, we have incorporated tissue-sample analysis along with the usual standard identification procedures.”
”Identity verified,” an emotionless voice reported from the air. ”Special Agent Grunt, admiral, Starfleet Intelligence, Field Operative division. Subject is cleared for all information regarding current assignment.”
The Andorian exploded in outrage. “What? How?”
The Ferengi shrugged. “Just kind of happened,” he said. “One thing led to another, as they tend to, and the next thing I knew, I was dragooned.”
“But – but this record!! You lost your first ship! And what were you doing during the Second Battle of Earth?!?”
Grunt smiled thinly. “What's his clearance?”
“Commander th'Taren is an operative with Andorian Imperial Intelligence,” T'nae replied. “He is cleared for information up to Top Secret, Type Red.”
Grunt shook his head. “Sorry, son,” he said to th'Taren, “I'm afraid I can't tell you that.”
The Office of Requisitions was busy. Staff shuffled from one station to other delivering PADDs or giving verbal assistance. Others were quietly sifting through data and various logs at their consoles. “The “Hive”, as personnel affectionately referred to the office, was efficiently handling the procurement and delivery of material and supplies within the Federation. In times of conflict, The Hive is electrified with activity as the need for Starfleet’s resources become stressed and strained.
Captain Hassid Alexander Ricol strolled into the buzz of beeping consoles and muffled chatter. Part of his daily routine was to visually inspect the team once every shift. Occasionally he would interact with them to check on special projects, but mostly it was a way to reinforce the notion that leadership was always nearby. For Ricol, it was more about using his physical stature as a tool for intimidation; a scared worker bee works harder and results speak for themselves. Standing two meters tall and barrel-chested, Ricol was a large man. His beard and moustache added girth to his muscular neck and further complimenting his already threatening composure. Finally, his baritone voice created a sense of gravitas when cordially greeting someone.
Ensigns and Lieutenants stopped to salute Captain Ricol, while higher ranks tended to nod affirmation of his presence. Otherwise, officers gave him respectable distance and deference as he calmly walked between consoles. Sauntering up to a particular console, Ricol noticed the male Benzite sense his presence, stiffly turned toward the giant human and then awkwardly saluted.
Hassid raised a hand halfway in response. “As you were, Lieutenant. I just want to look at recent supply delivery routes.”
The Benzite looked confused and the wisps from the chest regulator puffed with his exhale of breath. “Certainly, would you prefer I send the information to your PADD?”
Hassid’s smile was mischievous. “No thank you, Ensign. If you don’t mind, I’ll just watch you work.”
“Not at all, sir.” The officer seemed reluctant to return to work.
As information scrolled on various screens, Hassid’s attention stopped on one revealing manifest lists, locations and other details. Leaning closer, some information piqued further interest.
“Lieutenant, pardon my intrusion, my eyesight is not what it used to be, is this a supply chain transit declaration?”
The Benzite turned and recoiled a little from Hassid’s proximity. Looking at the screen, he confirmed, “Yes, sir.” He pointed to one entry. “For example, due to inconsistent Terran incursions near the Bajoran Wormhole, Captain Kate Ashland and the USS Alaska will be delivering repulsor technology and colonial marines to Deep Space Nine. The Borg continue their attacks of Defera, and Captain T’Tan with the USS Endeavor is sending updated refrequencers, medical and combat logistics, as well as orbital support.”
Hassid raised a hand to stop the Benzite, who dutifully refrained from explaining further, and then pointed to a part of the report that looked like text was covered by a solid block of color. “These are classified routes, correct?”
“Yes, sir. I do not have clearance to review that infor-“, the Lieutenant stopped when Hassid reached onto the console and activated a security bypass code, revealing the covered information. The Benzite looked away as if seeing the text would damage his soul.
“Have no fear Lieutenant. Captain Jones and the USS Kingsport are going to the Alpha Quadrant to teach time-jumping Krenim a lesson or … two.” He noticed other routes revealed by his override and stared at the words.
The Lieutenant shifted in his chair to look back at the screen.
“Look away Lieutenant,” Hassid warned and the Benzite complied. Entering more codes, information shifted and was locked. Satisfied with his work, Captain Ricol stood straight. “As you were.” He then turned and strolled to his office.
Again, the Lieutenant turned with more caution. Seeing the console looked to be in order, he confidently straightened in the chair and continued his work.
+++
Back in his office, Hassid sat at his desk and pulled the secure records.
Both Captains were to ferry supplies to Thoran VI and as both ships were Excelsior-class, their Transwarp speeds being essential to the mission. Looking at the current Stardate, Hassid calculated their start transit time would be within a day so he had to work fast.
With fingers flying on his console, Hassid dug deep into the stored data code. Shifting a few numbers and letters would make subtle changes, yet he was making sure to hide his tracks. Double-checking along each step, the digital trail had to be hidden. He smiled to himself as this procedure was getting a little easier with “practice”.
He looked at the final product.
Proud of the work completed, Hassid’s smile widened, This would be the fourth time Solaris would be “late” to the party. Hopefully someone somewhere would stop sending the invitation.
So to Speak.