(no subject)

I'm having trouble with undercurrents lately. I don't know if it was that damned jaunt back to the bad old days of commie hunting or what but I feel like I've been missing things. It could be having to fix Junction 403 twice a day for a month.

Is it wrong to feel offended every time some wet behind the ears ensign thinks he has a better fix for communication network? Like I don't know better than Ensign So-Green-He-Pisses-Grass how to maintain a secure communication system.

The next one I catch fiddling with it I think I might use for some experimental tattooing.

Now I'm doubling with my interrogation and investigation skills. I knew Diz was part Klingon, but I think I missed something. Maybe several somethings.

I'll have to check my files.

  • Current Mood
    annoyed annoyed

(no subject)

I suppose they could possibly have been nice enough. Honestly I have never had anything to do with time travel until now. But I’ve never had good results from debriefings. Even the friendly debriefings.

So I stonewalled them. It wasn’t hard.

“Could you tell us some more about the statue?”

“Is all in report.”

“Yes the report was very thorough but we wanted to know more about your concerns about Lieutenant Therav and Sub-Commander Rhianna.

“Is all in report.”

“We wanted you to elaborate on a few points. Maybe there was something you didn’t feel comfortable putting in the report?”

I said the best thing to say in that kind of situation: nothing. I really did put it all in my report. It’s so much easier when they realize I mean it when I say that.”

Later I ran into D as she was on the way to the holodeck. My toolbot had to scuttle pretty fast to keep from getting stepped on. We talked for a minute but she was really busy with her flight certifications and I was overdue on the bridge. She did ask me something that made me smile.

“So if you can drop your accent whenever you want why don’t you?

“Is making my throat itch to be honest. Very uncomfortable. Also my mother is telling me when I was being very little, ‘Svetlana you can say more when other people put words in your mouth than if you put your words in their ears.’ Simply put, the more they have to extrapolate, the more likely I am to make them happy.”

“And that works?”

“Up to a point.” I hadn’t really meant to say that much. I guess I’m not used to having someone around who is so easy to talk to. Hell, I’m still not used to having people around. “So what are we doing when we get to Earth?”

  • Current Mood
    relieved relieved

Home At Last

We're back. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see the inside of a turbolift in my entire life. Who would have thought it would have been as simple as putting the stupid figurine back together. Come to think of it I'm pretty sure we tried that. I guess we had to put it back together at the statue. Who the hell knows, I'm back in my own time period and I can get my life back to normal.

Well there was this one little problem.

(no subject)

I watched the sun rise, feeling a knot of anxiety loosen in my gut as the sky lightened. Normally I can function as well at night as I do during the day. On a starship, or even on a communications buoy night shifts are much the same as day shifts and with my years of covert training actual night on a planet is just a different environmental situation to adapt to.


I hate to admit it, but the prospect of time travel has thrown me completely off balance. There seem to be thousands of problems here, in this time that I don’t have to think about normally. I hate to admit how little I know of this period but I’m pretty sure if I’m not careful I could catch botulism or plague. They probably had almost no sanitary procedures for food preparation. God knows what state medical science was in.


Then there are the people I am stuck here with. Diz seems to be in her element. Thank goodness someone is because the Romulan and the Andorian were on the verge of killing each other and possibly the local boy we have befriended. From all that I have seen this Therav is paranoid, erratic and violent. He would probably make a better Klingon officer than a Starfleet officer. I could be judging him too harshly. He could be just as off balance as I am, with many of the same concerns. Then again I found some of his bugs in my quarters. I can’t say I have ever been a stickler for ethics but I have never put surveillance cameras in someone’s bathroom unless I was specifically assigned to spy on them.


Then there is the problem of getting back. Or forward. Or whatever. I’m not a specialist in quantum physics, or meta-physics, or whatever physics is involved with a broken statue causing time travel.


For now I am determined to treat this as a deep cover infiltration. That means we have no contact with handlers, no help if our cover is blown and we have to find our objective and extract ourselves with no help from our superiors. There is just the added complexity of not touching anything.


Once we get home I believe I will undertake an investigation of the circumstances behind our little trip. Once I find out who contrived to dump us here I think I will beat them to a bloody pulp.

(no subject)

Things have taken a turn. Not for the better. I had a couple of nice days of shore leave, managed to involve myself in a few refreshing bar fights and I think I was about to get an actual assignment aboard the ship when it all went wrong.


We appear to have been catapulted back in the past, somewhere on earth. Aunts and Uncles know why or how we ended up here, much less how we are going to get back some way other than cryogenic stasis.


This place is incredibly primitive. I'm making log entries by hand for pity's sake.


Worst of all, we are all conspicuously odd in one way or another. Diz has spots and Rhiana is in full Romulan uniform, apparently my accent drives Americans into some kind of unrestrained rage and Therav is BLUE.


Worse than that, worst of all, they're not spies. At least, they're not Family spies, or even Federation spies. None of them are sending signals and trying to send signals of my own is like trying to talk to a plant. We're behind the lines here and I feel like I'm trying to read the manual for a sensor array upside down and backwards.


Something tells me we're going to spend the rest of our lives here. And we don't even know where "here" is.

(no subject)

The party was not so bad as Starfleet parties go. It does not compare to parties with my cousins but then few ever do, There was less loud music, less dancing and no brawls. All good parties have at least one brawl. That’s never the case with Starfleet parties, but then that’s why Starfleet parties are almost universally boring.


I have to say I am relieved to be rid of that carving. Having it in my quarters, even for only a few hours gave me a serious case of the creeps. If anyone else in The Family had seen it I would have had to explain, and even just being the messenger is, well, uncomfortable. That little carving has a large black cloud over it. Much better to be rid of the thing. The Admiral took it with him too, I made sure of that.


The Pakora turned out to be quite a hit. I think I might have sent that boy, Spiegel I think his name was, to sickbay but I’m sure he will be fine.


Looks like we are docking for re-supply tomorrow and they are giving us 72 hours leave. I’ve barely worked at all on this ship and already they are giving me leave. I wonder if that Lt. Diziara would know of a place to get into a bar fight. I haven’t had a good bar fight in a long time.

(no subject)


 

Lieutenant Svetlana Nadhezda Cherneshevsky reporting for duty."  I said formally as the door to the captain's ready room slid shut behind me.  She blinked, confusion clouding her otherwise authoritative features.  A small part of me found her confusion quite funny but I suppressed it.  This was not the pace such feelings and it would be bad to start an assignment by laughing in the face of my commanding officer.

She frowned at me.  "I find myself somewhat at a loss Lieutenant.  You're not supposed to be here for more then a month.." She tapped a few commands into her console and said, "Perhaps you could explain why you're not serving temporary assignment aboard the Shazrah?"

I allowed myself to look slightly confused.  "Captain I did receive orders to serve temporary duty on the Shazrah after having leave on Deep Space Nine.  However when I arrived at the station I received a new set of orders stating that I was to take command of the Runabout Trafalgar and rendezvous directly with the Takeda Shingen.  If the captain will allow me to speculate I heard from one of the workers the Trafalgar had finished its refit early and someone in the chain of command there took the opportunity to clear the birth ahead of schedule?"

She fixed me with a penetrating stare, "Starfleet prides itself on efficiency. However I have never seen it be quite this efficient."  She paused, "It is, in fact, suspiciously efficient."  Her gaze intensified.

Someone, probably Cousin Yeli, had once told me that Starfleet Captains were a special breed.  They had to be independent thinkers to handle the number and variety of problems that cropped up on a starship.  But they also had to follow orders, maintain and uphold regulations.  They had to be strict to enforce discipline on a ship that could hold thousands of people.  But they also had to be personable to encourage good working relationships and a tightly knit crew.  They had to be capable of commanding a ship not only through months and years of routine patrols but also through catastrophes that could, in space, take any form.  They had to be able to command obedience.

Unfortunately for the captain I had been stared down by far more intimidating people in my career, my mother chief among them. Years of training allowed me to meet the captain's stare with the appropriate blank expression while in my head I counted.

The count reached fifteen before the captain leaned back and said, "Well whatever the circumstances you are here and we shall have to find a place for you."  She turned to her console and I smiled to myself as I took a seat.  Whatever the runabout's original name and number the captain wasn't going to press me further on the subject.  I had to admire her a little.  Fifteen was above average.  "I can see from your file that you specialized in both warp and impulse drives in the academy. Unfortunately we're already over crewed in engineering."

"That is unfortunate" I agreed.

"Your record is remarkably incomplete; you appear to have done quite a bit of classified work.  Can you elaborate at all?"

I shifted in my seat.  "Engineering projects mostly." Social engineering was still engineering. "As related to my specialty."  I gestured vaguely.  "You understand I cannot go into detail."

"Of course not, I understand."  She said.  "I see you have a secondary specialization in sensors and communications."

"Ah yes." I nodded.  "It is not uncommon where I come from to learn such systems.  Though when I was at the academy I found drive systems to be much more interesting."

"Indeed."  She said.  "Well, we have had an upgrade packet for our sensor array gathering dust since our last stop.  We haven't had anyone capable of properly installing it."  She winced, possibly recalling a botched attempt.  "While you install that I'll have a talk with my first officer and if it works right I believe I'll put you at ops."

I stood.  "I'll begin at once sir."

"Dismissed."  She turned back to her console.

            Installing the upgrades was simple enough though it took the rest of the shift. In fact it was so easy that I suspected it had been specifically designed for me to install as there were a number of occasions that my toolbot had to provide a third and fourth hand in tight spaces.

            The toolbot attracted its fair share of attention. Six legs, two arms with three opposable fingers each and a “head” full of sensors on the front. It followed me around like a pet and responded to a range of commands. It also carried a number of useful tools not limited to engineering applications.

            After that it was simply a matter of unpacking my few personal belongings. There was the Icehouse set that had been a graduation gift from my mother. The jewelry box from my aunts. The toolbot’s charging station. My spare and dress uniforms and civilian clothes. My cipher kit. Three sealed containers of Premium New Siberian Ice Wine, two of which were new vintages I had picked up the last time I had visited home. The third was old and had been a gift from my great grandfather before he died. “For emergencies.” He had said. Ice Wine was a rather amusing name for the stuff which was actually a byproduct of the phosphorus extraction and refinement process. As it aged it became volatile.

            Last was the little wooden carving of a ballet dancer. Unpainted but otherwise intricate down to the smallest detail. Uncle Gregorov himself had given it to me with instructions to give it to the Admiral at the earliest opportunity. “You are to place it in his hands.” He said, his weathered hands closing mine over the dancer, “You need not say anything at all.”

            I had scanned the carving several times and found it to be completely benign. Still I was certain it was connected to the upgrades I had just completed and my resulting access to everything being picked up by a communicator anywhere on the ship. Judging by the schedule of upgrades I had seen I would probably be able to hear the entire fleet before too long. It would make for a lot of noise to listen to, I was sure, and no one had told me what to do with the records when I got them. If I read the program files correctly they were automatically being compressed and sent to Starfleet Headquarters.

            It was tempting to open a file and start listening right away but I resisted. I wasn’t a snitch. Not yet anyway. And I hadn’t been assigned to the Takeda Shingen as a spy.

            I looked at the clock. There was a party in one of the holodecks and if I hurried I could make it. I showered and changed into some normal clothes. I hesitated before leaving, opened the jewelry box and took out the necklace Aleksi had given me. A star sapphire the size of my thumbnail on a silver chain. I put it on and headed for the turbolift.

(no subject)

Just once I wish they would decide what to do with me before they write the orders. But no. Instead it is Svetlana go here. No Svetlana go there.


I suppose it would be too much to ask. Certainly it is too much to ask that they spell my name consistently. If not correctly then at least consistently.

Orders

Lieutenant Svetlana Nadhezda Cherneshevsky

Disregard previous movement order.

Report to the USS Shazrah for temporary assignment in transit to Deep Space 9. You are permitted three days personal leave.
Upon conclusion of personal leave take command of Runabout Trafalgar.
Proceed to rondezvous with USS Takeda Shingen.
Report to Captain Feruke R. Henriksen for permanent assignment.

Orders

Lieutenant Svetlana Nadhezda Chernishevski.

Report to the USS Shazrah for temporary assignmet in transit to Deep Space 9. You are permitted personal leave until the arrival of USS Thatcher for Temporary assignment until rendezvous with the USS Chalmers.
Transfer to USS Chalmers until rendezvous with USS Proust.
Transfer to USS Metzen en route to rendezvous with USS Takeda Shingen.
Report to Captain Feruke R. Henriksen for permanent assignment.