241912 - An Hour In the Life

Posted on 14 Jan 2020 @ 12:04am by Lieutenant Talrian Bran

1,756 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Tyr's Hand
Location: Solaris Station

Talrian had a few bites left on his plate, the food mass cooked and yet somehow comforting. It was something he didn't realize he missed since he was pulled away from the Corps and put into Fleet security training. Across from him, having just finished his own meal, Muldave gave a look around the room. Despite it being a large station with many dining options, Muldave guided the two of them to a messhall frequented by many of the military members of the station's staff.

There was a simple, low wave of whispered conversations. Even that was something missed. It showed that the people around them were engaged with their dining partners – be it a single other person or larger groups – but not so into themselves as to forget they were part of a larger whole. It was the way he grew up eating in a mess through the Corps and far more comforting than that of a civilian place. The noise level there would be such that it would grate on his nerves and make enjoying his own lunch near impossible.

“You would have stayed there all day and not known it wouldn't you?” Muldave asked as Talrian chewed.

“Probably,” Talrian said with a verbal shrug. “I still haven't found the divergence yet.” He meant where the histories diverged but he'd only been at it for about an hour before he realized he was being selfish and his host was bored out of his mind. Fortunately for him, they were considerated enough to make a copy of the archives for him. He could take it back to his ship and pursue it at his leisure. “If I knew how fascinating history would be while I was in school, I'd have less exasperated teachers.”

Muldave smiled, “Mine were just happy when I stayed in my seat during class. I was always destined for the military life I think.”

“Is that what you wanted to do?” Talrian asked, washing down the last bite of his lunch. “Join the military?”

Muldave put his hands together in front of him. “Not really, but my family didn't have a lot and I figured it would be a way to ensure I had a good job and stayed fed.”

There it was again, another reference to a form of socioeconomic classism that Talrian had never experienced first hand. He'd seen it on missions, with less advanced worlds that still considered monetary gain to be the ideal end goal. He knew it was the same on Earth prior to the third war, but since Cochrane's flight and First Contact with the Vulcans, Earth moved to a more egalitarian utopia and put material gain to the side.

Though he wasn't the biggest fan of Earth and the Terran conceit they were the center of the galaxy, he also didn't like the idea of them remaining more akin to the Ferengi than what he was used to seeing. But then again, as they moved around the station, Muldave acting as tour guide, he saw much in the way of their remaining dedication to military readiness. They seemed to place value on science and exploration as well, but didn't pretend their service was about such when it was clearly military minded.

“What field did you obtain your degree?” Talrian asked.

“Degree?” Muldave asked. “I don't have a degree.”

“You...” Talrian trailed off. The idea seemed completely anathema to him. Every officer in the Federation obtained a degree. The Academy was a glorified college at its base.

Fortunately for him, the awkwardness of the conversation was quickly broken when he noticed his security officers making their way toward his table, their own guides following in tow. He wondered about their experiences on the station and what it is they'd have to report when they returned to the ship, but at the moment they approached like a gaggle of school boys seeking permission to do something they were sure the answer would be “no”.

It was Johnson who seemed elected to speak for the group. Not surprising, Drago was taciturn and Kawolski still didn't like him much and didn't want much to do with him. Johnson slipped into the chair next to him and took a breath. “They have a shooting range and they've invited us to give it a try,” Johnson said, the obvious glee at the idea lighting his face.

“We have a shooting range on the ship,” Talrian pointed out, not unreasonably. They didn't have a lot of time on the station and he wasn't sure that was a valuable use of their time.

“Yes,” Johnson said, as if he practiced against this very objection. “But we don't have their weapons on our ship. This would be a chance to check out their tech.”

Talrian considered.

“And it's not just a shooting range, it's a whole system. Shooting alleys and scenarios. And it's both simulation and life fire. We can compete in teams, work with our guides and learn how they do things.”

Talrian looked at the others. Drago had his arms cross and was scowling at him – which, in the short time Talrian was assigned to the ship, Talrian learned was the man waiting expectantly for an answer. Kawolski didn't seem to care either way, but even the two enlisted Alliance soldiers seemed excited at the idea. “Alright, fine,” Talrian finally said after receiving a slight nod from Muldave. “But we're not going to waste half the day on this activity.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Johnson said, standing and giving Drago a high five. Talrian rolled his eyes at their exuberance. Was he ever so young and easily amused with diversions? Probably. Well, to be honest, it was most definitely true. He really hadn't changed much until he agreed to take in the Bran symbiote.

It didn't take the group long to make their way from the messhall to the Range. Despite the station not having turbolifts but some rudimentary form of lift that only went up or down, they made good time. Once there, however, the newcomers had to sit through a 'safety briefing' that bored Talrian beyond tears. Despite his rank and position on the station, since Muldave didn't carry a 'range safety card' on him that day he was forced to endure the lecture as well.

It lasted less than forty minutes but seemed to stretch each day of the diverged four centuries. But, finally it was over and the staff issued safety gear, including a heavy, thick vests and lenses they were to wear over their eyes. Weapons were issued as well – sidearms in drop holsters worn strapped to the thigh, rifles with three point slings and were given the option for a 'backup' weapon worn strapped to the ankle.

“What are these?” Talrian asked, feeling the weight and heft of the pistol in his hand. It had a strange mechanism where the top half seemed to slide. During the safety brief he was taught the sliding part would eject the previous shell and insert a new one as long as the 'magazine' had 'ammunition' inside it. Magazines were interchangeable so different ones could be worn in pouches on the vest or the belt.

“I understand your sidearms are completely energy based?”

“Mostly,” Talrian said. There were other weapons that he'd been told about but never used that were called 'gauss'.

“Gauss, we have those as well. You could give one of them a try if you'd like,” Muldave said. Talrian found himself liking the captain the more time they spent together. Despite some disturbing differences in their respective organizations, Muldave, Talrian felt, would find himself right at home in the Federation. Could Talrian say the same about himself and the Alliance?

In the end, he did opt to go for a gauss gun. Kawolski did as well once he learned about the 'recoil' of the other weapons. Drago considered it a professional challenge to do well with such an inelegant weapon and Johnson didn't want Drago to have bragging rights over him.

“We're going to start with the range,” their instructor said, “then we'll let you lot loose on a few scenarios.”

[Later]

“I still think you cheated somehow,” Johnson said as he stripped the weapons and gear to place on the counter for cleaning and sterilization.

“By Apollo, cheating was not possible. He didn't even know about this activity.” Drago scowled. While he might be willing to speak the truth in Talrian's defense, he didn't have to like it. “If it were possible, I would say the medic was far more likely to have done so.”

“Beginners luck,” Johnson grumbled, giving a sideglance at Kawolski.

“Probably,” Kawolski said, having already removed his gear. “I mean, I'm not the best at this am I?” Yet his tone was just slightly smug. Drago came back in the end and scored a few points on riskier shots but otherwise Kawolski did much better than anyone could have expected. Except, for whatever reason, the Lieutenant remained quiet on the entire matter.

“Nah, I still think the Lieutenant cheated,” Johnson said, putting the gear on the counter. “No one can have done that well on their first time.”

“Your Lieutenant knows how to shoot,” Muldave said, standing next to Talrian. “The basics are the basics, no matter the type of weapon. Master those and you can do well.”

“That's what I tried to tell you,” Talrian said, distracted. They were near the entrance again and Talrian was distracted, watching troops move across the station in precise, ordered movements. “You're at war?”

“Not exactly,” Muldave answered. “But there's always another conflict. We need to make sure we're ready.”

There was something else, something Talrian knew was there but couldn't grasp, yet. Something he knew existed in societies such as that of the Alliance but...it eluded him.

“And I'll give you a week,” Talrian said to Johnson, “to practice, then we'll go again and see who's still better.” He gave a slight smile. “Maybe you can do as well as Kawolski. If you practice. A lot.”

Johnson wanted to retort but figured it would cross a line and get him in trouble. “You'll help me out, right, Sergeant?” he said, dragging his unwitting host into the fray without a second thought.

“I can try,” the sergeant said with a barely concealed smile on his face, “but sometimes you can't teach dancing if the student has two left feet.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Johnson said, “side with the officers. You NCO traitor. What's next on the agenda?”

 

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