Personal Log, Lt.Sr. Adele Mundy, TSN Lancer 221016-2237
Supplemental.
How does time keep shrinking like this?
Cadet Nhaima was promoted to Acting Ensign, Act.Ens. Donovan to Ensign.
Our early sims were, shall we say, high on enemy presences, to the point that the targets Capt. Jemel was requiring to be taunted didn’t show up on my Comms screen. In fact, there were so many targets to be scanned that the Comms console suffered some neglect; then I had to rush back to assist friendly ships; and then there was much use of the Voice to taunt enemy fleets into mine fields. I think it was somewhere during that shift, when the aroma of coffee came wafting through the air ducts from Engineering, that someone on the bridge pointed out that Lancer runs on caffeine; and Capt. Jemel proved our point by admitting to having consumed a stash of Red Bull. I didn’t know that stuff was still available, I thought the Interplanetary Medical Association had banned it last century as harmful to human health and poisonous to several extra-terrestrial species. It seems Capt. Jemel has access to an antique stash…
Engineering, Helm and Tactical worked so well together that other crew members on board are beginning to refer to Matsiyan, Aposine and Morlock as The Trinity…
Before we set out on our mission to explore Sector XVIII, we were briefed to look for a gas giant, and warned that Comms traffic indicated the possible presence of Hegemony ships, pirates, and perhaps even USF vessels. That’s where I always wish for stronger sensors. Dammit. And, just to make life interesting, we were also warned of a plasma storm in Sector IX. So that was not going to make sensors work any better. Dammit again.
We did indeed find a number of pirates in the sector; and during a battle with one of them, we lost both shields and maneuvres, were unable to turn to face them to shoot, and suffered severe damage, that looked so serious we were a hair’s breadth away from evacuating the ship.
And that brought to mind an oddly vivid dream I had had the previous night, about a naval battle in the Second World War: grey warships, black clouds, bright flaming explosions, and crews desperately evacuating, jumping in the water, while I… telepathically called in dolphins, who erupted from the water in gleaming arcs, and supported the humans as they swam. The subconscious is a fascinating thing.
We did find and scan the gas giant. We also found some USF ships, and ended up chasing one of them up and down the sector before coordinated action by the fleet finally pinned it down and forced her captain to surrender – much to my initial relief. But having checked the list of prisoners afterwards, it was all for nothing.
After returning to the base, we continued with standard sims, bringing in Hunter, since more crew members had reported in, with a mock patrol of the border as the exercise. For the second sim, we all moved to secondaries or tertiaries. Or, in my case, last-iaries. Shut up, Computer. I know exactly how bad it was, and the made-up word doesn’t do it justice. And after that, when my nervous system was approaching the state of a bowl of jelly with some bare wires running a high voltage through it, I was told to take command of Lancer. Dammit. So that was nearly as disastrous as being on Helm.
I can see I’ll end my career as an aged Lieutenant… I suppose things could improve. I suppose I might get blown up by a USF Xenophobe instead. In which case, Computer, you can bet your circuitry I’m taking you with me.