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     Cpt. John P. Farrell IV |
If there was one constant about space, it was that any given corner of it looked much like the other visually. Despite the distances travelled, stars were always stars. Those bound on planets had constellations that were familiar, but to the average space-goer, the only real interest in stars was for the occaisional science study and as fixed navigational references. The Captain's Ready Room on the Nova-class starship was dark, the only light entering being that from the stars and the planet below, and from a PADD sitting on the table. It had gone unread - the Captain knew full well the contents of said PADD, given his personal interest in the project so far. Instead, he had decided to spend some of his time gazing at the planet below. It wasn't among the nicer planets he had seen in his time, but it was home to the descendants of the USS Churchill - which, in a distant way, made the people below a part of his family, even if the relation was stretched, unlike his relationship to certain people onboard, and the father-children relationship he fostered with his crew. The purpose of the lights being out however was not related to his contemplative mood, but more to the necessity of the system upgrade ongoing throughout the ship. The USS Parsons - named for a Terran engineer who developed the steam turbine - had been ordered to deploy to this planet after taking on as many supplies and other resources its cargo bays could fit, and there had simply been no time or room until now to begin fitting this new form of communication to the ship. The idea of instant communication - rather than the minutes or even days it took subspace to get around, much less if it even got there due to jamming or interference - appealed to the captain, and he had been involved in its implimentation along with half the crew from stage one. The Parsons wasn't a cutting edge vessel - its design was just over three decades old - but they had served so reliably and with so few problems that it remained one of the fleet's most reliable small multi-purpose ships. In the case of the Parsons though, she had been built with a singular purpose in mind. The logo of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers - an old Terran-style castle imposed over the old Enterprise NCC 1701 arrowhead - dominated the one wall of the room, painted on the bulkhead. Created in the early days of Starfleet, the SCE had degraded and been virtually wiped out as Starfleet left the SCE's duties to its vast fleet. When Captain Montgomery Scott had stepped in, he found a program lacking ships and resources, but quickly revitalized the failing program. The Parsons had been one step on that long road, and the captain one of the few people who had been lucky enough to be allowed to be a part of the new beginning. A new beginning that had now reached M64. Just as much as the Reorsans were helping to get ansibles set up onboard, just as many of his crew were down on Reor. The rebuilding efforts so far had been well directed judging by the difference seen from the orbital data that had been sent via the Catapult and what data they had now. There were still improvements to be made, and while he was sure the Reorsans might take offense to their offer of help - he was positive these people would have the same sort of frontier mentality he had seen in the Milky way, the stubbornly-independant streak - it would at least help some of his crew acclimate to their new home. There was no way back, and for some of the crew, that was fine. For the Parson's captain, there were no family ties - his father, mother, and sister had all died during The War. Others in his crew had expressed interest in joining the efforts on the 'new frontier'. A few were escaping their problems in the Milky Way by running - people who he had been hesitant to allow on his ship, but who he had recruited nonetheless. The glow of the system's sun, just peaking over the horizon of the planet illuminated the captain's form in a surge of light. Gone was the black gray-streaked hair of his youth, the gray having become the dominant color. His tall figure stooped a little from hunching over panels and crunching into tight access tunnels, and his face had grown more gaunt, with a wiry beard dominating his chin. The light from the sun glinted from his gray eyes briefly before his hand flew up with an almost unnatural speed to shield them against the glare until the light-reducing agents in the transparent aluminum window could adjust. The new light shone around him into the room, revealing a few scattered personal belongings. Models of starships - an old Excelsior, an Akira, and a Norway class - hung on the walls. A framed photograph in the center of the ships showed pictures of people gathered around warp cores or shuttlecraft, the captain's face present in each one in some younger state. A weathered tapestry - a gift from the Seraikeans. And hung behind the desk on the other side of the room a long heavily-damaged structural girder that looked to be from a starship. The annunciator to the room's doors rang once, then twice as the figure standing in front of the window finally gave up his watchful stance and took a seat at his desk, easing himself into the seat. While the thirty-year-plus old ship had survived its service well, the captain's body had a few complaints it aired every now and then, with today being no exception. The voice that ordered the doors to open, however, was still as strong as it was years ago when he had first stepped into main engineering on the Potemkin. Commander Horbale Koben stooped as he walked into the ready room through the open doors, the orange-yellow light from the star paled his orange scaled skin. A Frunalian, he was one of only a handful serving the fleet and at the moment the only one of his kind in M64. "They've finished the comm upgrades and brought the new equipment online. Everything's tested out, though Chief Hawkins is muttering about having to 'delouse' the ship when our Reorsan friends have left." Inwardly the captain rolled his eyes, but outwardly he showed no sign of his reaction, merely leaning back in his chair a bit. At one point in his life, he might have said the same thing and had the same attitudes about lifeforms like the braids, but a lifetime spent among the stars quickly taught most people that such oddities weren't as odd as one would think. The commander took the seat on the other side of the table, his long auburn braid dangling over the back of the seat. "Eric's going to power up the mains for the upper decks in five minutes. After that, we'll be able to do a full power test, and then we're off to wherever the locals need us..." The change of discussion was a not-so-subtle hint that the Captain had not reported in with any authorities in M64 aside from the Reor civil authorities, and only then to discuss the disposition of relief supplies and equipment. It wasn't unusual for an SCE ship to have its own agenda and even persue its own missions, but they were still part of the fleet and still under orders. Now that they were separated from the rest of the SCE - unless they managed to come up with a way of opening a two-way system - regulations generally stipulated that they were under the command authority of the senior-most officer present. "That won't be a problem, number one," the captain said, grinning slightly at his first officer's reaction to the nickname he so hated. "The fact of the matter is that without this ansible equipment, it would be hard to fit in with ongoing operations anyways. Rest assured, we'll be contacting them as soon as possible." Captain John Phillip Farrell the Fourth leaned back in his chair, glancing out the window as the light spread over him again. "After all, to be a miracle worker, you have to be good at last-minute entrances and miracles." He smiled. In a place like M64, miracles were sure to be abound. --- OOC: Seeing as Aggie is having fun with some old characters, I decided it was high time to bring in an old character of mine. 'sides, it wouldn't be a good year without at least one dalliance with the Farrell clan. ::grin:: |