![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
straightontilmorning Somehow – despite being the youngest captain in Starfleet history, despite being better at her job than most of the officers in the ‘fleet – Jim still manages to find herself in over her head. Not often, but sometimes. Today, she’s coming off a very long shift, and she’s feeling one of those situations creeping up on her.
Jim lays her hands flat on the conference table and announces, in her best deadpan, “What you’re saying is, basically, we’re being haunted.”
The room fills with the sound of awkward shuffling. Chekov stares at his boots, Scotty glances at Spock, who raises an eyebrow calmly, and Bones crosses his arms and mutters something about how the whole goddamn ship is ridiculous (and, at the moment, she’s inclined to agree). “Well, see” Scotty says at the same time Spock says “That would be an inaccurate assumption” and they both trail off into polite silence, waiting for the other to finish.
Jim feels a headache coming on. “Mr. Spock. Would you care to correct my assumption?”
He makes that expression she privately thinks of as his bitch face and glances at Scotty in a way that manages to imply smug without actually being it, as only a Vulcan can. “We have picked up a passenger – a stowaway, to be precise – who appears to be neither living nor dead, a being of pure energy. It seems to be capable of interacting with the material world in a limited capacity.”
“Yes.” Not for the first time, she wonders if her senior staff is off its collective nut. “And it is doing… what?”
“Well, sir,” Scotty cuts in, “it’s… cleaning.”
“Cleaning,” she repeats, just in case someone would like to admit that yes, she got them, this is all a hoax, and by the way we’ve got this lovely bottle of unreplicated alcohol for you to try.
“It’s a damn nuisance is what it is,” Bones says. “I can’t put a hypospray down for five seconds without it turning up back in the case.”
“Aye.” Scotty nods earnestly, like this is the most reasonable concern in the world. “And ye should see the engineering. Tools disappearing at critical moments – it’s a mess, Captain, it really is.”
Jim counts to five before answering. “Recommendations?”
“Sir,” Uhura chimes in for the first time, making no attempt to hide her amusement at her Captain’s distress, the traitor. “Mr. Spock, Ms. Scott and I think we can… communicate. If we adjust the frequencies of my equipment, we think we can hit on one the energy being will respond to, and work on explaining the situation from there.”
“Yes,” Jim says, a little too bright, and throws her arms up to encompass the entire room. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need. Hold a séance! All things considered, it certainly couldn’t hurt. I am going to take a very… long… nap.” She turns to the door. “Which I believe I’m due for, as I’m sure Dr. McCoy can attest. And when I’m done, I’d like this thing to be either off my ship or housebroken. Is that understood?”
One by one, her senior staff nods. She flashes them that too-bright grin and marches out the door. As she walks, her shirt tugs itself into place, almost as if invisible hands are straightening out its military-cut lines.
“Do ye think she’ll notice?” Scotty says, eyes glued to her captain in morbid fascination.
Bones tilts his head to the side for a better angle. “Two minutes at the most.”
Jim lays her hands flat on the conference table and announces, in her best deadpan, “What you’re saying is, basically, we’re being haunted.”
The room fills with the sound of awkward shuffling. Chekov stares at his boots, Scotty glances at Spock, who raises an eyebrow calmly, and Bones crosses his arms and mutters something about how the whole goddamn ship is ridiculous (and, at the moment, she’s inclined to agree). “Well, see” Scotty says at the same time Spock says “That would be an inaccurate assumption” and they both trail off into polite silence, waiting for the other to finish.
Jim feels a headache coming on. “Mr. Spock. Would you care to correct my assumption?”
He makes that expression she privately thinks of as his bitch face and glances at Scotty in a way that manages to imply smug without actually being it, as only a Vulcan can. “We have picked up a passenger – a stowaway, to be precise – who appears to be neither living nor dead, a being of pure energy. It seems to be capable of interacting with the material world in a limited capacity.”
“Yes.” Not for the first time, she wonders if her senior staff is off its collective nut. “And it is doing… what?”
“Well, sir,” Scotty cuts in, “it’s… cleaning.”
“Cleaning,” she repeats, just in case someone would like to admit that yes, she got them, this is all a hoax, and by the way we’ve got this lovely bottle of unreplicated alcohol for you to try.
“It’s a damn nuisance is what it is,” Bones says. “I can’t put a hypospray down for five seconds without it turning up back in the case.”
“Aye.” Scotty nods earnestly, like this is the most reasonable concern in the world. “And ye should see the engineering. Tools disappearing at critical moments – it’s a mess, Captain, it really is.”
Jim counts to five before answering. “Recommendations?”
“Sir,” Uhura chimes in for the first time, making no attempt to hide her amusement at her Captain’s distress, the traitor. “Mr. Spock, Ms. Scott and I think we can… communicate. If we adjust the frequencies of my equipment, we think we can hit on one the energy being will respond to, and work on explaining the situation from there.”
“Yes,” Jim says, a little too bright, and throws her arms up to encompass the entire room. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need. Hold a séance! All things considered, it certainly couldn’t hurt. I am going to take a very… long… nap.” She turns to the door. “Which I believe I’m due for, as I’m sure Dr. McCoy can attest. And when I’m done, I’d like this thing to be either off my ship or housebroken. Is that understood?”
One by one, her senior staff nods. She flashes them that too-bright grin and marches out the door. As she walks, her shirt tugs itself into place, almost as if invisible hands are straightening out its military-cut lines.
“Do ye think she’ll notice?” Scotty says, eyes glued to her captain in morbid fascination.
Bones tilts his head to the side for a better angle. “Two minutes at the most.”
583
Write about your daily routine.
Write about your daily routine.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-11-09 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-09 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-09 10:41 pm (UTC)This is awesome. And I adore your girl!Kirk.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-09 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-09 11:00 pm (UTC)I often browse through other people's prompts at that comm, and I've stopped over here several times!
I post with a ridiculously broad array of characters over there. ;D
no subject
Date: 2009-11-13 08:32 pm (UTC)