Inspections and Reprimands

From TFC Galactopedia

Captain James Rumsfield frowned as he walked the corridors of the USS Galaxy behind Admiral Ortegi. He was not at all happy with his current posting as Ortegi’s aid and watching this procession was not making his mood any better. He should be out in space, commanding a starship, but instead here he was a tag-along to a final inspection before launch. Captain McLoude had a rather large smile plastered across his muzzle as he ensured the Admiral that yes, they would make their launch time, and that he was eager to get the ship out of the yards into space where she belonged.

It didn’t help that he had hoped to be given Galaxy himself, angled for it actually, and to have it snatched away by this young pup. Such an important assignment should have gone to a seasoned captain, not one that was on his first command. He wondered how it was exactly that McLoude had snagged this all important assignment. A fair part of him thought he must have gotten it through banking on the capital of his name. McLoudes had been captains throughout Starfleet’s history, and it didn’t hurt that the first of the line had been a hero to the United Earth during the Romulan Wars. Rumsfield had not had such an illustrious name to bank on and he did not like it when others did.

He also did not like that he had been relegated from his normal place of honor at Ortegi’s side. Again the upstart was there smiling and showing off his ship as engineering work details put the finishing touches on the ships systems around them. Most the actual yard workers had been ‘banished’ from the ship earlier that day, only those that would be aboard for her acceptance trials remained. The final fitting out was in the paws of her chief engineer, another assignment Rumsfield thought was in great error. After all, ship designers were usually civilians for a reason; they tended not to make very good field engineers.

“An impressive ship Captain,” Ortegi said with a smile that brought Rumsfield out of his dark musings. “I’m interested to see how well you do with your acceptance trials.”

McLoude gave another one of those boyish smiles that made him look more the ensign on his first cruise than a captain. “We are too, I really want to see what she can do, my Chief says he can beat the rated specs on her first speed run.”

Rumsfield looked at the younger canine past the shoulders of the badger admiral. “Beat them? Wasn’t your chief part of the crew that laid down those ratings?”

McLoude simply smiled. “Laddire thinks they were too cautious with the Warp 9.6 estimate, he’s sure she’ll be able to clock closer to 9.7”

“Laddire?” Rumsfield gave him a look that the younger captain seemed not to realize was meant for reproach. “Awful familiar don’t you think?” He himself had decided he would never refer to any of the crews he was stations with by their first name, discipline must be upheld after all.

Apparently though, the younger canine had no such feelings. “We will be working closely together for some time Commodore Rumsfield,” he said respectful to an officer with more time in service than him, and much more time as a captain. He even used the old tradition of one-grading a visiting captain to the rank of ‘commodore,’ there was after all Rumsfield thought a bit sourly, only one captain on a starship, and on this ship, that was McLoude. “We needed, and have developed a personal relationship as well as a professional one. We both believe its made us a better team.”

“Team? He is your subordinate officer Captain not a member of a bridge club,” Rumsfield continued firmly. This pup was going to be friends with his crew? What ever happened to the dignified respect a captain needed to cultivate? “That is a rather dangerous position to take Captain McLoude, perhaps you should think more on your stance.”

“Sir, cultivating a friendship with a member of my crew is not against regulations,” McLoude said, his back ramrod straight, he seemed rather offended. “If anything the friendship will enhance our working relationship as I said, our families are already becoming close.”

Rumsfield nearly spluttered. “Your families Captain, you let your families…”

“Commodore Rumsfield,” Ortegi interrupted diplomatically, or, as diplomatically as one could in an argument between two officers of captain’s rank. “Perhaps you should see to the shuttle?”

Rumsfield looked at the admiral trying to disguise his horror, he was being dismissed, in front of a junior? That was outrageous, especially since the junior officer in question had been the one instigating the confrontation. Ortegi should have been disciplining McLoude, not banishing him. However, apparently the young pup was the golden boy of the hour, and he would not be tarnished, so Rumsfield was the one the Admiral’s ire would find target for.

With that Rumsfield marched away from the two officers, fuming about the whole situation, and make sure those in the corridors knew exactly what he was feeling as he walked past so they would keep out of his way. The ride five decks up and aft in the turbolift to the Galaxy’s main hanger bay did not make his mood any better either.

There he found the Admiral’s shuttle, which he had piloted as aglorified delivery boy he thought ruefully sitting on the prep-pad though it looked as if it had just ben moved there and was far from ready for launch while a rather young looking long haired pincher girl with Lieutenant (j.g.) pips on her uniform called her out from the majority of enlisted raitings in the bay at the moment stood nearby examing something on a PADD. The fact that she was the closest junior officer present also singled her out for his eire.

“Lieutenant!” he barked out in his most commanding voice, and touched it with some anger so she knew she was not on his good side.

The young officer spun nearly dropping her PADD. “J…ja herr Kommodore?” the young officer asked in startled moment, the fact that she had replied in German had only made things worse for her.

“What uniform are you wearing Lieutenant?” Rumsfield growled.

The girl blinked in confusion, she could be more than two or three years out of the Academy, again too young in his mind to hold her rank and she was obviously scared out of her wits. Good the elder canine thought. “Starfleet command tract herr Kommodore.”

Rumsfield stepped right up into her muzzle and she flinched at his aggressive posture. “Then,” he said dangerously low at first, the decibel level of his voice climbing higher, “I suggest you speak proper English Lieutenant, you are an officer in Starfleet and that is our assigned language!”

The girl bit her muzzle. “A…aye h…” she swallowed hard realizing she was about to continue on in her native tongue, and that would have not done her any good at all. “Aye sir,” she got out the words a bit strange on her muzzle he could tell.

“That is very good Lieutenant,” he growled then he stalked back away from her and pointed to the Admiral’s shuttle. “Why isn’t this being prepped for launch?”

“Sir,” she said trying to not sound defensive, and Rumsfield made a mental note to look this girl up and have a reprimand put into her file for this. It might be going over her own Captain’s head but it was clear McLoude didn’t discipline his people properly for not speaking properly. “We have, not been given any orders to prep the Admiral’s shuttle h….h…” she swallowed down the German she had wanted to use. “Sir, my people, they…” she was putting a lot of effort into not speaking any german, and even still her voice had a strong accent. “They have been training in preparation for our launch und qualification checks on the new shuttle types.”

Rumsfield raised his eyebrow. “Not all your people are properly checked out Lieutenant?”

“No sir, Galaxy has two new shuttle types that…”

“That is no excuse to let any of your people be out of qualification Lieutenant, I want to know your name and position.”

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Gigi von Katchner sir,” she replied automatically, “Chief Helm Officer of the Galaxy.”

He raised his eyebrow generally the head of flight control, often times still going by the archaic term ‘chief helm’ was the youngest and lowest grade department head. It was in fact often used as sort of ‘prep school’ for officers on their way to higher responsibilities, but this timid girl Rumsfield thought had not an inch of the required fortitude needed for her job. “Well Lieutenant (j.g.) Katchner…”

“Sir mien name ist…”

“You included an honorific that is no longer recognized Lieutenant Katchner, you should not include it just as you should not speak in German,” this girl really was racking up reprimands. “Now, Lieutenant Katchner I want to see you prepping the Admiral’s shuttle, and when you are done I want you to write yourself a reprimand file out and file it under your name, through my authority, is that clear?”

The girl’s eyes bulged at that and he could tell she was starting to become angry, not good he thought, another reprimand, If she kept this up, she would never make it in the fleet. “Sir! I am under the command of Kapitän McLoude and…”

“And I am still a superior officer Lieutenant, if you cannot obey simple orders perhaps a stay in the Earth Yards McKinnely brig will provide you with the proper attitude,” Rumsfield interrupted. After all, since Galaxy had not left the yards yet, this girl was still subject to the authority of officers stationed at that Yards, such as himself.

The girl clamped her jaw tight to prevent the comment she was going to utter from coming out. She was beginning to open her muzzle to put herself deaper in the brig, and find herself summarily reassigned if Rumsfield had anything to say about it when a deep, rumbling voice spoke up. “Lieutenant, Commodore, is there a problem?”

Rumsfield looked up to see one of the two Brikars assigned to the Galaxy standing behind him. Like Lieuteant Commander Gefrom Tabis, Command Master Chief Petty Officer Petre Kavee was a massive bear, his gravity compensator a silvery circle looking quite a bit like a belt buckle on his uniform, a standard issue phaser at his hip looking absolutely diminutive on his frame. The senior non-commissioned officer aboard the ship, he was also the senior NCO in the tactical section; part of Rumsfield wondered what he was doing in the shuttle bay.

“Nothing Master Chief, I’m just having a conversation with Lieutenant (j.g.) Katchner on proper discipline, and use of language.”

“Well sir, may I suggest, that we let the Lieutenant get back to her work,” the Brikar asked with all the diplomacy learned through decades of service. He gave a gentle reassuring smile to the fuming senior officer. “I can help you prep the shuttle sir, I’ve finished my duties for the moment, and I use to crawl around these things before I transferred to Tactical.”

Rumsfield frowned but nodded. No sense in making a spectacle of it. After all, he would make sure this young girl received all her proper reprimands when he got back to his office. For now, he was satisfied that he had put an upstart in their place.