Pardon Me
Posted on 28 Aug 2025 @ 6:02pm by Ensign Lucas Scott & Gareth Rhys
1,858 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Fractured Accord
Location: USS Arawyn
=/\= Corridor, USS Arawyn =/\=
"Fifty two meters....." Luke muttered to himself, looking down and making another note before he resumed walking. It had been a long day and while he should have been in bed hours ago his mind had refused to relax enough for sleep to even be a possibility. The day had not gone well, not well at all. While he'd done fairly well at the readiness drills and exams, while the CSec had even been fairly complimentary, Luke was pissed about how he'd performed. "Acceptable" was one of several key words that would always push a certain special button in his mind, a button that took it personally and wouldn't let go until such an insult had been wiped clean from the slate. The first step was to find the exact spot on Arawyn that had been replicated for training and find every little detail he could, information to be filed away for later use that the other new Ensigns might not consider relevant. Luke needed an edge, a way to separate himself from the pack and earn those chances at more challenging assignments. Big Boy missions. Luke was not going to ever be satisfied with simple guard duty, making sure this corridor or that corridor was "secure" even when he was the only one there.
Luke counted the doorways again, a critical mistake he'd made during the earlier training drills. A boarding simulation gone wrong as he and the other ensigns had gotten pinned down. There'd been no communication, no focused response. Seven new security officers had just gotten their asses handed to them and Luke blamed himself. Just as they'd started to regroup he'd lost track of one of the doorways to the rear, which had opened to reveal another enemy squad that quickly ended the day's training. If he'd been paying attention Luke would have been at least able to return fire, providing cover for the other ensigns to regroup. But his thoughts stopped as quickly as he did, smacking right into what felt like a wall until he realized it was somebody and not something. Luke's head snapped up from his notes in embarrassment. "My apologies Sir....." he said, nodding slightly to the notes in his hand. "Wasn't paying attention." His jaw clenched a bit as he said it, this was the second time today he'd made that mistake.
Gareth caught the collision by reflex, palm out, a half-step back before momentum became incident. The ensign’s PADD bumped his vest, and the young man froze, apology already forming on his lips. Night cycle had wrapped the corridor in a resting amber glow; the ship breathed like a great animal asleep.
Gareth took in the details without heat: the frantic scribbles on the PADD, a jaw wound tight enough to creak. He saw the ghost of another young face, years ago, trusting a schematic right up until the moment it got him killed.
“I’ve been hit with heavier ordnance than a PADD, Ensign,” Gareth said, his tone dry. He nudged the device back with a knuckle. “Counting doors is good work. The problem is, you’re counting the doors the computer already knows. The sim is a map of a place that doesn't exist anymore.”
“Sir—”
“Gareth,” he corrected, easy but firm. He started down the corridor at an unhurried pace. He kept his voice low, so it didn’t bounce off the bulkheads. “When the mission speeds up, you have to slow one thing down on purpose. Your breath. Your angle of approach. Your partner. Pick one. The rest of the universe tends to follow that lead.”
At a lazy curve in the corridor, he crouched, tracing a hairline misalignment between deck plates, nothing worth a repair ticket, but everything to a man looking for the truth. “I got flanked on Tarkis V because I tracked a hatch that was on the schematic and missed the man hiding next to a panel that wasn't. The ‘official’ story got us home in bags. The real one taught me that ships, like people, have secrets. You just have to learn how to listen.”
Warm light feathered into existence at his shoulder. Tara resolved in low-lumen lines, her presence a quiet counterpoint to the ship’s hum. “Your pulse is running hot, Ensign,” she said, her voice calm. “Try a box breath: four in, four hold, four out.” Her glance at Gareth was a silent check-in.
“Tara keeps my map honest,” he said simply.
“If you want a second set of eyes on the unedited ship schematics, log a request to Annex A,” Tara added. “I file fair notes.” She dissolved back into the ambient light.
Gareth straightened up and nodded toward the long run ahead. “There’s a beverage nook around that bend. We can conduct a survival exercise: drink the ship’s worst synth-coffee without making a face.” He saw the tension in the ensign’s shoulders ease a fraction. A thread of humor, enough to loosen the coil.
“While we’re there,” Gareth continued, shifting from tactic to strategy, “try this. The real drill isn’t chasing doors. Before you rack out tonight, write three lines on your PADD: What you wanted from the patrol. What actually happened. What you’ll change next time. Thirty seconds, that's it. Then tomorrow, learn two names on this deck you didn't know today. Your scanner can’t tell you if a crewman is having a bad day, but their face can. People first, Ensign. Always.”
Luke nodded, coffee sounded good as he already knew sleeping tonight was off the table as his thoughts were filled with the new information Gareth and his companion had offered. His Uncle had often joked about Luke being a sponge, determined to absorb as much as possible, and the slight scrunch to his lips as Gareth spoke was the smallest of signs that the back of his thoughts would be processing Gareth's advice for hours to come. Locked in his thoughts for the moment he simply followed along; coffee of any variety sounded delightful now that he'd slowed down for a moment.
Ten Forward was mostly empty, the starfield a silent, unblinking sheet of diamond dust beyond the viewport. Luke took a sip of the synth-coffee and managed not to recoil. It tasted like a molecule’s memory of a coffee bean. Across the table, Gareth seemed completely unfazed.
“Fuel, not a drink,” Gareth said, setting his own cup down with a note of finality. He let the quiet of the room settle around them before he spoke again, his voice calm and direct. “That walk we took… that’s step one. Seeing the ship for what it is. Now comes the hard part: deciding what to do about it.”
Luke waited, his own PADD resting on the table, the screen dark. He’d been replaying Gareth’s advice in his head, the words a stark contrast to the performance-at-all-costs mindset of the Academy.
“You’re driven, Ensign. That’s good. But right now, you’re driving with the emergency brake on because you’re trying to process everything alone.” Gareth leaned forward slightly. “That three-line debrief I mentioned? It’s not just an exercise. It’s how you choose what to keep and what to drop. For tonight, keep the methodical way you broke down the problem. Drop the idea that you have to be perfect at speed. Speed comes from practice, not pressure.”
Luke nodded, processing. It was simple. It was logical. “And the part about… people first?” he asked, the words feeling foreign. At the Academy, it was always mission first. <>
“That’s the most important part,” Gareth affirmed. “Competition sharpens you. Isolation gets you killed. I want you to start a table.”
Luke frowned. “A table?”
“A figure of speech. Find two other ensigns you trust, or at least respect. Meet for fifteen minutes once a week. No ranks, no critiques. Just a simple question: ‘What did you learn this week that the rest of us should know?’ Share what you see out there. The real map.”
Light softened at the edge of the table as Tara resolved into her night-cycle form, a mug held in her hands as if she’d been there all along. She slid into the third chair, her presence calm and unobtrusive.
“I can create a secure, private channel for that table,” she offered, her voice soft. “Your invitation list. Your rules. The notes would be encrypted and accessible only to the members you designate.”
It was definitely an idea he'd never come up with on his own, Luke was sure of that. He'd been used to being on his own every since his mother had passed. Sure his Uncle had been there to go to in tough times but for the most part he'd always felt separated from those around him. Present but detached. The idea of having some backup was novel to say the least. "And that'll help me get beyond being the quote unquote newbie?" he asked.
Gareth’s expression didn't change, but his eyes held a formidable weight. “The fastest way to a command chair isn’t climbing over the people next to you. It’s building a team so damn good the Admiralty has no choice but to give you a ship to run it on. It’s a habit that will pay you back for the rest of your career.”
He leaned back, taking another sip of the terrible coffee. “Your choice, of course.”
His thoughts were already coming up with a couple candidates that would possibly be interested, he'd struck up a few idle conversations during the last training session. The next morning was going to be a heavy classroom day, lots of reading and instruction on the Arwayn which might make the perfect time to suggest such an idea.
“Send me the names when you’re ready,” Tara said, as if sensing his decision. “I’ll open the channel.”
“Alright then,” Gareth said with a hint of a smile. “We have a plan and terrible coffee. That’s a good start.”
Luke felt better unexpectedly, all the effort in the world was futile without some vague sense of direction and now he had that. The slightest of smiles, more than he usually allowed around people he'd just met, tugged at the corners of his lips.
"And rest assured Sir, I can resolve any future coffee issues." The first sip was indeed terrible, acrid and almost devoid of any flavor, but it did give him just the slightest suggestion of energy. Enough to keep his thoughts going, particularly now that he had a hazy concept of where to get started.
"Grew up in the woods, Uncle Tim wouldn't let me make bad coffee." He chuckled a bit just thinking about it, for the first time feeling just how far he was from the only family he had left. "Bad coffee means splitting logs later."
End Log
Gareth Rhys
Intelligence Contractor
Tara
Intelligence Specialist
Ens Lucas Scott
ASec
USS Arawyn
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