New Home, Same Crap

Posted on Fri Feb 28th, 2020 @ 10:46pm by Senior Chief Petty Officer Duran-Yeager Syal
Edited on on Fri Jan 1st, 2021 @ 5:16pm

Mission: Mission 31: The Ashes of Eden
Location: Various Locations - USS Roanoke
Timeline: 1200Hrs - April 9th, 2391

Horatio walked through the door to his quarters with a sense of relief. The room looked much different compared to the first time he was posted on a ship, at that time he wore a single pip and shared his room with another junior officer. This time he had what in comparison was a home though it was still considerably smaller than what he had back on the Frontier, you could always build bigger planetside.

Cracking his neck he moved to the bed and dropped his go-bag, something he refused to let the deck crews handle. It wasn't that it was filled with particularly sensitive items but rather it was filled with the essentials incase he was called for a deployment at a moment's notice. It hadn't been used in well over a year but it was still a habit he intended to keep, if only out of hope.

He spent the last year on what was commonly known as the 'forgotten border' as section chief of a shop in the S2 that was commonly known as a joke. Within a few months he had righted the ship, within a half a year they were good, within nine months his team was often requested by name to brief the Sector commander. As his former boss had told him shortly before he left, ships would move on his mere suggestion.

Walking to one of the cases on the dinette table he opened it up and pulled out one standard issue Starfleet Uniform with the requisite boots. He quickly stripped out of his travel clothes and put them away with some care. Just as quickly he slipped into the uniform and looked at himself in the mirror, a drastically different person than he had been a decade ago.

As a reward for his service Captain Danin Veilir had given him an operational command on a ship, something that would get him out of the office and closer to the field though he often had to be reminded that senior officers rarely got their boots dirty much less fire shots in anger. He had been warned though that the crew here could be hostile, a den of liars and criminals as it had been put to him.

With that thought in mind he went to another case labeled as 'sensitive' and popped it open. He grabbed a karambit and boot dagger from the box along with a type I. The karambit was tucked in the small of his back, the dagger into his right boot and the type I hidden under the uniform blouse. The weapons were natural to him, familiar and trusted companions.

His fatal flaw was his paranoia and inherent distrust over a smoldering pile of residual anger. For the most part it was hardly a hindrance as it was generally covered by his charm. It was useful at times, the heightened sense of awareness coupled with an a subtle aggression could be a useful asset; however, at times it could get out of hand leading to at least one closed door counseling.

Pulling out a metallic cylinder from the case he sealed it once more, leaving the unpacking for later. It had been a long flight and his desire for a cold drink and a warm bed was strong but he would rather not put off meeting with his superiors preferring to get the pain over with so he could get to work figuring out what they wanted and how far he could push them. Grabbing a beat up zippo and his PADD he made his way out the door.

He was unsure what his future held, all he did know was that he was once more on the lines in command of a section. He knew where he wanted the boat known as his career to stop off at next. He also knew that this ship was a shady as it got. It would be a good time...if it didn't kill him.