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Prax receives a new posting, but it's far from glamorous...

And thus begins my love letter to Star Trek.

"It's the Doctor's world, you're just living in it."

---

The exhausted looking General poured himself another glass of water, the only break Prax had gotten in the past twenty minutes of yelling. Prax had been yelled at before. A lot. Some well-respected members of the military even believed that Prax’s habit of getting screamed at was what made him such a good Fleet Commander. Others, specifically those of higher rank than Prax, believed it made him a liability. This is something Prax was now learning as the General resumed the spiel. “I gunned for a court martial. Hell, if I had it my way, I’d have you summarily executed!”
Responses from the now wind-swept Prax were gone, and he just nodded. “Of course, your admirers up in the chain of command squeezed every last ounce of credibility you have left into reducing your punishment to a demotion.”
“I understand, sir.”
The General took another drink, coming back from his glass smiling. That was never a good sign. “However, I still have a little pull with the Admirals, and I convinced them to reassign you to my spatial grid.”
A stack of data pads, seemingly pulled out of nowhere, appeared in the General’s paws. He slammed them onto the desk. “I have a mission for you, Captain.”
Shaking slightly, Prax took the first pad. “An… Escort mission? For an ASD ship?!”
“Ought to be smooth sailing, eh? Just you, a bunch of neurotic scientists and the endless expanse of space!”
“But-”
“Report to your new ship, The Phosphorescence, at 34:00 tomorrow. From there you are to proceed to an outpost in grid 17A and rendezvous with the ASD Amber.”
The General raised a paw before Prax could respond, waving slightly. “Goodbye.”
Prax collected the mess of data pads and retreated.

The sky over the Atriean Military Headquarters had turned the color of gruel since Prax had been inside. He glanced back up the steps as streams of military personnel passed him on their way to or from the building. “Goddammit!”
He stormed away from the crowd and walked a little way down the street, snow beginning to fall in fat flakes. One landed in his ear. He growled at it.
Once he arrived at an unassuming parking lot, frost had formed on his winter coat, and he was somehow angrier than he was while getting chewed out by the General. He entered the main office and yelled at a sleeping clerk. “Attention!”
“AH! Yes sir, Fleet Commander sir!”
“Take me to Port Tanaka.”
The short little man looked Prax up and down, smiling weakly as he pushed his glasses up his face. “Well… There are no pilots on duty right now. You’ll have to wait thirty minutes or so.”
Prax reached behind the desk, plucked a set of keys from a hidden rack, and pressed them into the clerk’s paws. “Take me to Port Tanaka.”
“...Yes, sir.”

Port Tanaka was the third spaceport ever constructed in orbit of Atriea, making it the oldest currently running spaceport in the entire empire. Care had been taken to ensure it ran smoothly and with all the perks modern technology afforded the newer spaceports. At that time, there were thirty-seven ships docked there, laid out in neat grids of equally sized ship births. As Prax rode the small shuttle, the view from above the port was stunning, even if he had seen it hundreds of times before. Ships of all different sizes and states of repair were docked in rows, some putting on what looked to be light shows as weapons were tested or hulls welded. As the clerk approached, arguing with the spaceport Chief about landing during lunch, Prax got a good look at a docked carrier. This class of ship had always been Prax’s favorite. It was handsome, lacking the awkward, egg-like hull most Atriean ships were afflicted with. Sleek lines led the eye to a cut-off nose where, during battle, the carrier could launch dozens of fighters in mere seconds. As they dipped towards the port, the carrier’s guns came into view. The gaping muzzle of Atriea’s biggest mass-produced particle acceleration cannons never failed to fill Prax with something approaching patriotism tinged with fear. They flew past, docking in one of the empty births. “Here we are, sir. Bay forty-seven.”
Prax leaned into the front seat to confirm this. “I don’t see a ship here, crewman.”
“Oh, it’s… uh… oh, there.”
Unlike the awe-inspiring carrier, The Phosphorescence was puny. It was so small that, from above, it blended in with the equipment around the primary docking airlock. It barely qualified as deep-space capable, being big enough to hold thirty-five crew members comfortably. Prax stepped off the shuttle and watched the clerk fly off from one of the portholes. He let his gaze fall to his new ship once more. It was ugly. It lacked the elegance of larger ships, and still managed to look bloated despite the size. It was a common ship in smaller fleets, serving as protection against small threats, and outfitted to carry extra supplies and weapons. Typically called a “support vessel,” it was nothing more than an overblown, overpowered cargo ship. The underside was elongated slightly to fit a vehicle bay, but Prax didn’t know what types of ordinance the General had given him. He shuffled through the data pads in his paws and skimmed over the ship’s specifications. “L^5? Hm… Left gun port permanently removed to fit additional cargo?! Damn! Outdated fighters, but at least I have the full two…”
Groaning, Prax tucked the material under his arm and made his way towards The Phosphorescence.

“Now, don’t move.”
Chief Petty Officer Viks and crewman Isran were upside-down and hanging headfirst into the drive chamber. Viks secured a thick pair of goggles to his face. “Goggles?”
“You told me not to move, sir.”
“Put on your damn goggles.”
“Okay, okay…”
“Now, look at that.”
Reaching to the side and fumbling around, Viks found a lever and pulled on it. It moved only a fraction of an inch, but the effect was dazzling. Plasma poured into a chamber far below them, visible through the many feet of transparent shielding. “Wow…”
“That’s not the best part. Hey! Start her up, Gratly!”
The plasma began to channel into the drive sphere. Viks grinned as Isran’s jaw dropped… or rose, thanks to his position. “It’s beautiful! Look at those colors!”
The entire visual spectrum of colors was playing along the cylindrical wall. Viks laughed. “Isn’t it? Come on, let’s get this hatch closed…”
Isran stood and helped the slightly older Viks to his feet. “Thanks. So, what did you think?”
Isran was grinning wildly, so Viks already knew the answer. “It was so cool! What causes those colors?”
“I’m not sure, probably something in the sphere shielding! Ask a drive specialist.”
Viks patted him on the back and cut him off before he could respond. “Back on duty, crewman!”
“Yes, sir!”
Viks stretched his back and gazed across the engine room. It was to be his final tour of duty, and he wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other assignment. Viks was an extremely experienced engineer. He had served through multiple breakthroughs in drive and ion propulsion, and he could look at any ship and tell you it’s inner workings down to the last inch of wire. His long and illustrious career had come to an end, however. With his memory and eyesight already starting to diminish (and his once golden fur had turned white), he chose his last tour to be on a small ship that wouldn’t give him too much trouble. The floppy-eared canine watched his staff as they brought the ship up to code, systematically checking everything from the ovens in the kitchen to the ship’s main powerplant. It was all good fun, but Viks was unsatisfied with how much space the engine room had. There was only one floor, and a good quarter of the space was filled with the ion engines. There was space to work, but no more than ten people could do so at once without hitting someone in the face with their elbow. His staff was fifteen people. At least his office was spacious enough, even having room for a worktable for repairing components. His surveillance of the room was cut off as a nervous young officer entered the room. He waved. “Lieutenant!”
She made her way over. She looked far too young to be a Lieutenant, but Viks was far too old to be an engineer, so he decided not to judge. She was slim (unlike him); a fox with unusually red fur. This contrasted with her deep, almost cartoonishly large eyes. As she drew closer, her name tag became completely legible. Her name was Sella. “Sir, the Captain is here…”
“He is? Have I been up all night?”
“No, he’s just a day early. He’s on the bridge… yelling.”
Viks squinted at her name tag. “Weapons officer, eh?”
“Yes sir. Since the First Officer isn’t here, I thought you could…” she trailed off, not sure what to say.
Viks laughed. “Alright, I’ll talk to him. I’ll give him the tour, too, though I doubt he’ll be impressed.”
Sella nodded. “Sounds good…”
He waited for her to go ahead of him, but she just crossed her arms. “I’ll… meet you there.”
Viks laughed again and headed for the elevator.

Prax was sitting in the captain’s chair, trying to ignore the squeaks. Every time he shifted slightly to better see a screen or to look at someone, the chair made an ear-splitting, fur-raising scream. After demonstrating his temperament earlier by yelling at Lieutenant Sella, not a single member of the bridge crew wanted to say anything. The current period of silence between squeaks was broken by the elevator. It opened, and a grinning Viks sauntered out. “Captain, I- Aah!”
As Prax turned to see who it was, his chair cried out in agony once more. Viks hit the side of his head. “Sir, I can fix that chair if you want.”
Prax stood. “Finally, some good news. So, you’re the Chief engineer, eh?”
“Yes, Captain. Viks is the name.”
The rest of the bridge crew had stopped working to watch how Prax would react to Viks’ friendly tone. “Is there something on the bridge you need?”
“Er, yes. You, sir.”
There was a pause, then Viks stammered. “Uh, I mean, I’m the ranking officer on duty, so I figured I’d welcome you aboard, maybe get you acquainted with the ship?”
Prax considered this. “I think I’ll take you up on that, Chief.”
Both stepped into the elevator, leaving a silent bridge (to everyone’s relief). This didn’t last long, however. “What a prick.”
“Bregman!”
The pilot swiveled his seat and grinned at the Lieutenant that had barked his name. “What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
“If we’re all thinking it, there’s no need to say it.”
He swiveled back. “Fair point, Zia.”
“Lieutenant!”
“Lieutenant Zia!”
The short mouse that sat at the ops position poked his head over the console, which was too tall for him to see over normally. “Hey, can it, will you? He might come back and hear our unprofessional chatter.”
As if on cue, the elevator opened, causing everyone to scramble to put themselves in the most busy-looking positions possible. However, it was only Sella. “Hi guys.”
“Sella, what the hell! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry, Ozzy. So, the Captain is gone?”
Bregman jammed his thumb towards where Sella was standing. “He left with Viks. For a tour.”
She took her station, looking only slightly less nervous. “Oh, okay…”
The only other crew member on the bridge was the communications specialist, who had opted to ignore all the chatting around her and instead scowl into her blank screen.

The elevator opened and Viks stepped out before Prax, sweeping his arm dramatically. “Here’s where I work.”
Prax took two steps into the engine room, glanced around the cramped space and groaned. “It’s worse than I thought…”
“Eh? Worse? This is a support ship, captain, not a Sanyo.”
Instead of answering, Prax folded his arms behind his back and strolled into Viks’ office. Some of the crewmen were looking over, but Viks waved at then and scurried into the office, closing the door behind him. “So, this is… my office.”
“I’ll level with you, Chief. I don’t want to be here. Up until an hour ago, I was a highly decorated Fleet Commander. Now, I’m the Captain of the least important ship in the fleet.”
Viks waited for the ‘no offence,’ but it never came. Prax turned around and leaned on Viks’ desk. “They gave me a derelict with a crew of either green officers that have been promoted too high too early, or officers that were very nearly on a prison ship, and not mine.”
“Seems to me someone doesn’t like you very much.”
“Understatement of the century. This is a personal hell of mine, and all of you are just along for the ride.”
He folded his paws in front of his face for a moment, as though he was trying to hold something back. “What I want to know is why you’re here.”
The question took Viks off guard. He shrugged. “I requested this post. I’m on my way out, you know. Up for retirement next year.”
“They’d give you any post you want, you know.”
“I know.”
Prax narrowed his eyes, then went for the door. Viks took a second to realize he was supposed to follow. Back on the elevator, Viks hummed. “I do know who you are, Captain. Hero of Eden? Some people still call you that, you know.”
“I know.” Prax nearly spat the words.
“You still command respect with most people. I count myself among those people.”
Viks said this rather nonchalantly, and so Prax nearly dismissed it as an offhand compliment, before realizing something. “You took this post because of me?”
The doors slid open once more, and Viks stepped out. “And here’s the computer core…”

Prax took the rest of the tour seriously. As Viks took him from one key system to another, introducing him to a few crewmen and making sure to stop by the mess hall for a late lunch, Prax began to notice a few common design themes in the ship. Its halls were shorter and squatter than any other ship he’d been on. He even found himself having to duck slightly under some of the doors, thanks to his above average height. After bumping his head on a pipe and getting an uninhibited laugh from Viks, Prax finally grumbled about it. “This ship seems to have been designed for children.”
“Well, it is compact, that’s for sure! Probably needed to fit everything in, so the engineers shaved a few inches off all the halls. And before you ask, yes, this is a wartime design.”
“Of course.”
They shared a small laugh before entering the elevator once again. They headed down to the bowels of the ship. When Prax stepped out, he noticed a slight, familiar scent wafting through the hall. He sniffed deeply. “Someone’s smoking.”
Viks grimaced. “Well, Captain, we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow and what with being stuck in dry-”
“I don’t want excuses. We’re near security, right?”
“Combined security and brig.”
“Of course.”
They brushed by a large pipe that was only half hidden by the wall and entered a hazy room. There was an empty cell occupying one side of the room, while the other had a row of lockers and a desk. A white-speckled man was sitting there with a pipe between his lips, writing something on his console. Prax decided to stand in the doorway and try to use his captainly presence to grab the man’s attention. It didn’t seem to be working, so Prax coughed loudly. Instead of shooting up and standing to attention, the man glanced lazily up. His eyelids were half-closed, partially concealing a pair of intense red eyes. “Captain, welcome.”
“Thank you. I see you like Bajiseed.”
“Tobajiseed, actually. Home grown.”
Prax pulled up a chair, sizing the man up. Those red eyes held on Prax for a few moments, before returning to the screen. “You’re Lieutenant Walf?”
“Sargent Walf, Special Forces.”
“What are you doing on my ship?”
Walf’s eyes moved again. Prax wasn’t sure his body was capable of moving. “I was posted here. General what’s-his-name ordered me to fill in as Security Chief, thought you might need some real military experience.”
Prax reached out and took the pipe from Walf’s lips. “If I ever smell anything other than recycled air down here again, I’ll have Lieutenant Sella toss your pipe into the particle accelerator cannon and run a diagnostic.”
That seemed to get Walf’s attention. He sat up. “H-hey, captain, there’s no need to disintegrate my-”
“Apparently there is. I don’t know what kind of lax rules your last CO had, but I won’t be running a loose ship here, understood?!”
“Yes, sir!”
Prax stood and took a look around the room. “Tell your staff they keep clean stations. Good work.”
He walked out, and Viks almost forgot to follow him. Walf waited for a few minutes before relaxing back into his previous position. However, he quickly increased the ventilation in the room, put the top back on his pipe and slipped it into his pocket.
Viks couldn’t help grinning as the two headed further down the hall to their final destination. “You enjoyed that a little too much, I think.”
“Special Forces soldiers need a firmer hand than us regulars. And yes, I did.”
They entered the largest room on the ship, the hanger. As they stood on the broad catwalk, Prax couldn’t help feeling relieved that there was such a spacious room on the ship. Although he wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, being bottled in small ships for long tours of duty made him nervous. He briefly wondered how the General knew that. Two technicians that were leaning on the rail nearby stood to attention. “Captain on deck!” one of them hollered, a little too loud.
“At ease. Are the Pilots around?”
The overenthusiastic technician nodded. “Yes, sir! They’re on standby. Playing sacrifice, I believe.”
“I see.”
Without acknowledging the two further Prax jumped on the ladder and slid to the hanger floor. He took a few steps, then glanced around. “…Viks?”
Viks hopped off the ladder and had a little huff. “Whew. Yes, Captain?”
“Which door is it?”
“Oh, er, that one.”
Prax nodded, but looked up at the ceiling before moving. Two fighters hung there, in their launch slings. They were pre-war interceptors, with standard shields and retrofitted particle accelerators. Prax scratched his chin. “The one thing I like about this ship.”
“These old things?”
“These old things have saved my ass more than a few times. Sleeker made them, you know? Luxury fighters, they used to be called.”
Viks furrowed his brow. “Well, to each his own. They are fast, I’ll give you that, but limited. No advanced heat-dissipation, limited battery life. Forty-five minutes of fighting and they need to be recharged and cooled.”
“Fine, but… look at those curves. I’ve only ever seen curves like that once before, and they were on a woman.”
“Haha! Style over combat effectiveness! Bold choice.”
“Hm. Come on.”
The ready room for pilots was, as many of the other rooms were, cramped. However, there were two sofas in the center of the room. One had a flight suit draped over it. A young man and an older man sat facing each other on opposite sofas, playing cards. Both were arctic foxes with thin fur and almost unsettlingly hungry looks in their matching green eyes. The older stood casually to attention, the younger following after. “Captain, sir. You’re early.”
“Nearly everyone has said that to me. Pilots… Jolan and Carril?”
“That’s us.”
“Have you completed your drills for today?”
The older, Jolan, nodded curtly. “Yes sir, before lunch. I filed the report directly after.”
“Good. Is that your suit?”
“No, sir.”
Prax turned to Carril, who seemed to lack any sort of emotions regarding the situation. “Both of you were transferred from the low-g moon base on C4X-554. They probably didn’t care much about neatness.”
Jolan stepped in, literally, before Carril could speak. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
“You haven’t done anything, Pilot.”
“Er, right. Carril?”
The man (Prax would have believed he was still a boy if he hadn’t read his personal file) cleared his throat slightly, flatly stating: “I’ll clean it up right away, Captain.”
Satisfied, Prax turned, but hesitated. “Oh, Carril?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you shift your point card three slots to the right, you can win in six moves.”
Carril glanced at the game for a moment, before looking back with a slight smile. “Thanks.”
Jolan didn’t look too pleased, but he wasn’t about to get mad at his Captain. After the two left, he grumbled. “I suppose we might as well clean up the game, then.”
They sat back down, Carril shifting one of his cards a few inches. “No, I want to see how it plays out.”
“Fine.”

After that, Prax expected Viks to lead him somewhere else, but as soon as they got back to the elevator, Viks clapped and grinned. “So, that’s the ship and crew. Motley bunch, yes, but I can see some raw talent!”
“We’re done? Where’s the infirmary?”
“Oh, that…” he laughed nervously “They turned it into a cargo bay. There’s medical supplies in there.”
“They… gutted the infirmary to store medical supplies?! Is there even a doctor on board?”
“No, not really. I think Lieutenant Galya has some first aid training. The ASD Amber has a surgeon on board, and a medical lab, so we should be fine.”
Prax grumbled. “I would have liked to have some real medical staff… Fine. I’m going to my office.”
“Well, combined office and living space.”
“Of course.”
The elevator doors shut.