Inspection: Fighters

Posted on Sun Feb 4, 2018 @ 2:26pm by Commodore Michael Aravan & Lieutenant Marisa Cheshire

Mission: Falling Star
Location: Flight Deck
Timeline: MD 32 || 1130 Hours

Commodore Michael Aravan stepped out of the turbolift and into a hive of activity on the Flight Deck. He had inquired of the whereabouts of Lieutenant Cheshire of the computer and was informed she was here. Now to find the blonde haired woman who commanded the group of fighters assigned to the Triumphant.

He stopped a passing corpsman who looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. "Hold on a moment," he started to say.

"I can't, I can't, I'm really running late," the man replied before his eyes landed on the boxed in pip on the tall green eyed man's collar. "C-c-commodore!"

"Relax," Michael said. "I'm looking for Lieutenant Cheshire."

"She's in the Flight Officer, Sir," the man responded and pointed towards it across the hangar bay.

"Thank you," the Commodore said, wondering what had the man late as he was as he headed for the Fighter Commander's office and pressed the chime.

A moment passed with no response, however the CAG's voice soon became audible from the corridor the Commodore had just come from.

"Can you not?" She said in an exasperated tone. "It's a weapons platform, not a poster."

"Hear me out, I'm just running it by you." A male voice replied "So this character is supposed to be a washed up singer. And you said come up with something that reminds you of the person."

"Don't think I won't beat you up Larry." Marisa responded, her inflection becoming more and more annoyed.

"Hey, you should be honored. The Vocaloid were the first generation of melodic voice synthesizers." even if the man wasn't visible yet his cheeky grin permeated his tone.

It didn't last long however as he let off a sharp muffled breath as all the air was forcibly evacuated from his lungs.

"I told you not to spend so much time with Garthond. He's made you weird." Marisa replied, back to her normal exasperated tone.

"Well" Larry's voice was pained "You know how I can sense emotions. When he goes into one of his enthusiastic explanations he gives off really good, euphoric vibes."

"So talking to the weirdos on the patrol routes is like heroin to you?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Okay, so what's your empathy telling you will happen if you deface my fighter with this particular brand of weird?" Marisa inquired as she rounded the corner.

She was dressed in a red jumpsuit with the top half hanging around her waist. Her upper half was covered by a white tank top with a picture of a Valkyrie overlaid with a peace sign. Around it was the words Pax Superiore Vi Telarum. Her face, hands and jumpsuit were marred by splotches of green, red, black and purple paint.

"That I'll be spaced." Larry replied with a shit-eating grin. He then looked down the corridor and caught sight of the commodore. "Anyway." He continued, pivoting on his heal to do a 180, "I had better get back to it."

"There's a lot of paperwork if you get spaced," She said, turning to him with an annoyed inflection. "But it's difficult to prove waterboarding."

When she turned back she noticed the Commodore standing at her door and jumped a little. Her feet snapped together and her hand went to her dirtied forehead.

Michael had listened to the rather interesting if eccentric and erratic conversation and had an amused look on his face when Lieutenant Cheshire rounded the corner. The look turned into a broad grin and he laughed at her jump. "Relax, Lieutenant," he said. "I don't stand on that kind of formality. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Old habits sir." Marisa replied, lowering her hand. A smile crossed her lips as she considered refusing the flag officer, but as friendly as he appeared right this moment she knew about his limited tolerance for bullshit. "I can always spare a few minutes for you boss." She said, stepping towards the door. Recognising her biometrics it slid apart with a hiss and she raised a sullied hand. "After you, sir."

He entered her office and went to stand near one of her seats and turned to look at her. "Have you had any problems with anyone in the squadron that I should be aware of?" he asked her without preamble.

"There are always problems skip," she said plainly, shrugging slightly, following the commodore through the threshold before diverting to walk behind the desk. "Nothing you need to concern yourself about though."

One of the draws in the desk opened and Marisa pulled out a small device. It hummed like a sonic shower and emitted a blue light. "Any reason why you ask?" she said as she passed the light over her hands and the paint evaporated.

"Everything on this ship is my concern," Michael said. "But as long as it doesn't bleed over into the open, I'm satisfied that you have it under control. Have you began work on Yellow Two?"

"Yes sir." She said, switching to the other hand. "We're going with a shark paint job, call sign for the operation will be Akula."

"Have you taken any steps to disguise your communications outside of Starfleet frequencies?" He asked as he took a seat.

"Nothing set in stone. I need to get some new beacon codes from intel, and I need to talk with the Victorious crew about what protocols they're comfortable with." Marisa said, putting her device away. "But we've got a wide array of civilian and criminal encoding protocols to choose from." She reached for her terminal. "I've got the sensor operators compiling a short list of protocols as secure as Starfleet's if you'd like to go through them."

"Not at the moment, but send the report to Captain Weisz," Michael said. "The Victorious will be able to adapt to anything that you come up with and carry it out. She has a cloak and won't be seen until it's too late, if at all. In the meantime, how about a tour of what's available?"

"Of course sir." Marisa said with a slight nod "Do you have a preference on what you wish to start with? We can look at the mech bay, armory, traffic control or launch deck."

"Let's go to the launch deck," Michael decided. "I've seen them flying around the ship, but I haven't seen them on the deck yet."

Marisa nodded and stepped towards the door. "Very well, if you'll follow me sir."

The Commodores choice was probably the best as it was the closets to Marisa's office; it was only a few paces before they were standing on the red line that would guide them around deck without interfering with traffic. The deck was immense, with much of the ships skeleton exposed; only a white coat of paint covered up the Tritaininm beams and inner hull, any more aesthetic consideration would limit the size of craft they could service. Support pylons zigzagged between the ceiling and the floor either side of the deck, forming alcoves where the fighters could be loaded into their launch tubes. If the Commodore was to look behind him he would see a wide bay window over the doorway he had just exited, which the logistic operations both on the deck and in the air were organized.

As there was still some time before the ship left Federation Space the area wasn't being used for it's traditional function, instead a couple of the fighters, new ones, were resting on the deck, waiting to be transferred to the mech bays below. A couple of the pilots were standing around them, admiring the shiny new craft. A few of them had deck crew wandering around them with spray cans, giving those fighters the mercenary look the Commodore had requested.

Marisa was about to open her mouth when she stopped in her tracks, instead she turned to face Michael. "You said you don't stand on formality sir." She said with a slight grimace, "But half of that if for their sake. So they know not to do anything that might piss off the boss out of the proper context."

Michael took a look around and looked suitably impressed. "Unlike some CAG's I could mention," he said with a slight smirk. "But even I have to agree that you know where the line is. I heard you fighter types love to toe the line, but all I care about is all of my people coming back in one piece."

Marisa only smiled in response.

He gestured towards the fighters being painted. "Is their transponders and warp signatures changed already?" he asked.

"Yes sir. The navicomps on board came uninitialized so we can write any transponder to them without having to gut the electronics." Marisa said with a nod. "The Akula is going to need a little more time, but we should be done before we reach the AO."

"We're still taking on supplies due to an administrative error," Michael replied. "So you'll have enough time to get it done. Do you have any needs in particular that I can help with?"

"Feeling a little useless Boss?" Marisa asked with a slightly lopsided grin as she cast a glance at the commodore. "I can find you something to do if you're looking for something to keep you busy, but we've got everything in hand."

"If you want something to do, I could promote you and then let you run amok all over the ship like I'm currently doing. The Victorious should be ready on schedule as well. Do you anticipate the Romulans being able to detect our ships for what they really are?"

"I've got pleanty on my plate as it is sir." Marisa replied with a grin "Infact I already am doing the job of a Lieutenant Commander without the recognition, so if that's a threat than it's a poor one."

"As far as them figuring it out." She continued with a thoughtful sigh. "At range it will fool them, though if they make visual they'll get suspicious. The important part is if they can prove we're Federation, which they shouldn't be able to. But that also means if we're captured we're classed as mercenaries and not protected as Prisoners of War."

"As far as rank goes, you don't want more PADDwork," Michael said. "Those are the chances that we all take on missions like this, but with the Romulan Republic, I'm not taking any chances. The Victorious will be there cloaked in case there's for trouble."

"Well, since you brought it up." Marisa started a new track, her voice taking on a grave inflection as she stopped close to the first fighter, shielded against the prying eyes of her crew for a few moments longer. "I'm not a big fan of operating outside of official channels. Its always rubbed me as unethical."

"Unfortunately, since we can't trust that a ship on a mission of mercy won't be left untouched, we have to do what we can in order to get the mission accomplished," he told her. "Besides, it is official. They requested aid, we came up with a plan and now we're doing what we need to do to make sure that aid gets through."

"I understand that sir." Marisa said with a diplomatic cadence, folding her arms defensively with a somewhat tepid expression as she looked down, though it was more to buttress herself against her own feelings than any perceived repercussions from the Commodore. "It's why I'm not making a big song and dance about it." She looked back up at Michael, and though her expression was superficially that of a confident officer, her eyes wobbled as though pleading. "I'd appreciate it if this didn't become a regular thing."

Michael recognized the signs and gave her a smile. "I wouldn't worry too much about that, Lieutenant," he said. "I have no plans to step into the shady areas often, but the area that we're going into has a lot of it and we have to adapt. After this, I promise not to ask it of you unless we absolutely need it."

"I would appreciate that sir." She said with a slight smile, though there was something forced about it, like she didn't believe him, or that his definition of absolute necessity didn't line up with hers. "Anyway, want to sit in the cockpit? Or ride shotgun while I do a high speed pass of the station?" Marisa said, the warmth returning completely to her voice.

"I think there may be time for that," the commanding officer said with a smile. "I've only been in simulations. I'll contact the station for permission, though. We wouldn't want to be blown out of space."

"While you do that I'll grab a couple of portable inertial dampeners. We don't want to end up as a smear on the seat either." Marisa replied with a similar smile, though her's was more exuberant.

Giving a Flag officer a ride along basically gave her leave to do whatever she wanted in controlled space, providing the flag officer in question was okay with it. The only other instance in which there wouldn't be normal restrictions is during combat, and getting shot at takes some of the fun out of it.

Michael went over to the nearest terminal and put his authorization in, then sent a message to Admiral Breckenridge. A few minutes later, he laughed and looked up. "We're clear for a fly by with no promise at them taking a potshot or two at us."

By the time Michael was done she had already opened the external locker on one of the brand new Gryphons and pulled out the back up inertial dampeners and headsets. "Tell them to go for it. I've yet to put this girl through her paces." She said, running her hand across the port leading edge control surface.

He laughed. "I really hope they were kidding," he said. "Do I need a flight suit?"

"We won't be wandering outside of the stations transporter range and we're not in combat." Marisa as she stepped down off the ladder. "You have as much chance of breathing vacuum as you would in open space." She tossed the device in a high arc, and it moved just that little bit to slowly as it sailed through the air.

"That's reassuring. Now to survive." Michael said as he caught the device and attached it to his belt.




The little ship darted in the tight gap between two large freighters, locked in traffic, collision alerts and proxy warnings blaring all the while. Marisa pulled back on the flight stick and hit full throttle, deftly redirecting the main drive to maneuver on her desired vector. The more efficient engines and higher power to weight ratio made her over correct too much which caused her to click her tongue in a moment of frustration. She had to use the reaction control systems to avoid collision, which violated a rule set that existed only within her own mind. Once that was done she pointed the nose towards the civilian craft whilst cutting thrust, as though strafing it. She picked a point on the frighter's hull and did her best to track it with the phaser crosshair, again, overcompensating ever so slightly.

Were it any student of hers she would have given the control she just displayed the highest grades, but being in the seat with the stick in her hands gave her the opportunity to be overly critical of herself. Despite her minor gripes, she giggled exhuberently.

"I'll miss some of the countermeasures, But I don't know if I'll need them." She said back to the Commodore.

The thrill of being in the fighter reminded Michael of all the excitement that used to happen to him when he was in Security. Now he maintained a desk, filled out and reviewed endless PADDs and the only real excitement he got was when the ship entered battle. Sadly, it was his job to avoid battles if he could for the sake of the ship and crew.

"Is this all that she has?" he asked.

Marisa giggled again, this time a little more subdued. "You're covering the fine if we get a ticket boss."

With the nose still pointed down she punched the throttle. The reactor's noise elevated itself above the background hum of life support as it spooled up to maximum power, then the roar of the deuterium/tritium propellant being ejected from the impulse drive as the fighter hit maximum power. The acceleration was enough that despite the inertial dampeners, for a moment they experienced a g and sunk back in their seats. Marisa shot down the port side of the freighter before pulling up to fly parallel with its underside. That one pushed it to 9 g, this time down into the seat, and the on board computer vocalised "Over G" 3 times before Marisa was able to level out. Her own vision had dimmed somewhat during the maneuver, a greyout, though quickly returned, but for someone not acclimatized to high g they might be a little more disorientated.

"How was that one boss?" she asked back with a giddy tone, though a concerned eye glanced at a display with their life signs.

"Exhilarating!" Michael declared as he hoped against hope that Admiral Breckenridge wouldn't take them up on the offer to be used as target practice. He hung on so tight as they had gone into the high g's and been pushed into his seat despite the inertial dampeners and was glad he worked out a lot.

When she leveled out, he grinned. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he nearly shouted as the adrenaline flowed through his veins in a way that coffee never could.

Marisa pulled the ship back to run parallel with traffic and flew along the ventral side of the freighter, dodging and weaving her way though the various structures poking out of it until she hit open space. She brought the ship up to the next one in line, an Akira class coming into dock. She rolled inverted and passed over it's saucer section, narrowly missing the bridge before diving down in between its large struts and under it's battle module.

"You know, if you enjoy this you should check out Beggars Canyon back home." Marsia called back.

"Have you made a holodeck program for it?" he asked her as he watched the bridge of the ship she rolled around.

The comm squawked. "This is Rear Admiral Breckenridge. Would you mind not making my Captain's crap their pants by buzzing their bridges, if you could?"

"Err." Marisa uttered nerviously. She swallowed some saliva and composed herself before opening the channel. "Delta Serra 1 0 actual. Alice. Maintain reasonable distance from friendlies. Will comply." She said, managing to do so clearly and concisely. She'd had to communicate in combat, getting a call from the boss wasn't too much more difficult than that.

"Thank you," the Rear Admiral said before he laughed. "It was worth hearing the shock when I told the Akira Captain that a Commodore was in the fighter. I need to get back out more. Breckenridge out."

Marisa breathed a sigh of relief before looking over her shoulder at the Commodore. "You asked if I had a holodeck program of Beggars canyon?" She asked rhetorically before turning her head back towards the ships vector. "No, but it's a geographic feature on Earth. The computer has enough to make a facsimile I would assume, but I don't know." She shrugged. "Never seems the same to me. Beggars Canyon has a special place in aviation history" She explained with a slightly wistful inflection "You don't get the same feeling as flying the same sky as your forefathers in a simulation."

"This is a first for me," Michael told her. "And I appreciate the right, Lieutenant. Now that our fun is over, we should get back to the ship."

"Aye aye commodore." Marisa said with a chirpy tone before opening the comms once more "Alice to Delta Serra 1 0 approach, requesting vectors to November Niner Niner Two Four Five aft hanger."
=^=Roger that Alice. Wait The ACT officer said, a deep loathing was in his inflection. =^=Set heading 65 mark 15, speed 100. listen out for updates. Be advised that any deviation from instruction will result in a report being lodged with the FCSA.=^= He said with a deeply assertive voice.

Marisa chuckled, though made sure her channel was closed while she did so. "Message received approach. My fun pass has expired. I'll be a good girl."

She then pulled back on the stick and flipped the ship 180 in the direction she was instructed to go. She used the main drive to "slow" their speed until they were gaining momentum in the correct direction.

"We'll have to do this again sometime," Michael said as they headed back to the ship. "That was fun. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Any time boss. Set some time aside when we make it back to Earth and I'll show you a few places." She said, looking over her shoulder with a smile.

Looking back down the line Marisa's face became more grave. "If we make it back." She muttered almost inaudibly.

As softly as she had muttered, the comm picked it up. "We always come back and we will always be triumphant," Michael responded. "Now, let's go home."

Marisa chuckled. "It's said that those who survive long enough on the battlefield begin to think they're invincible. I wonder if that's the case for you, boss."

"Nobody lives forever," Michael told her. "We may spend a lot of time on the battlefield, but we're smart enough to do it in a sane manner."