Joint Duty Log - Cmdr Grant, LtCmdr Neyes, & Noah Waterhouse - "Within You and Without You"

Posted on Thu Oct 16th, 2014 @ 4:27am by Commander Logan Grant, PhD. & Commander Tristan Neyes PhD.

2,634 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Are You Touched?

Pond had been kind enough to get his pirate hat back from Freckles, the little alien with the cluster of brown spots across where his nose would have been on any other humanoid — these guys had slits there. Noah straightened it as he walked down the corridor towards where she'd said he'd find counseling. The large feather with the hand painted skeleton fish on it pointed where he had been, and one of the three points of the hat's brim pointed to where he was going. He really didn't feel it was a formal enough occasion for the pirate hat, but somehow the colander that was his informal hat had gotten misplaced somewhere between the man handling by that Frenchman and when that cute little ensign had let him out of the brig. At least his wrist band wasn't lost, Uncle Spiegel would have been annoyed having to make him another one... and getting it off Earth would have been difficult currently.

As he walked, he tapped the wrist band and a holographic display popped up. A couple flicks of his fingers and a pair of lenses projected from the barbell through the bridge of his nose. A little time shooting the breeze with his sister had allowed him to recharge the wrist band enough that it could function again, as the time stuck on the planet had drained its battery quickly, even when he'd tried to use it sparingly. In the lower left corner of the left lens was a small compass, and it spun occasionally to keep him headed the right direction. A couple more flicks of his fingers and along the top edge of the lenses was a ticker tape with a summary of Federation and Fleet news over the last couple of months, to help him get caught up on what he'd missed.

When he finally arrived at the room Pond had firmly directed him to go to, he pressed the chime and stood waiting as he continued to read his news in his HUD.

Along the lines of leading the counseling department for the Vindicator, Tristan had been kept busy. As it turned out, being the chief in the department meant not really providing much care at all to the majority of the crew. Logan had been especially helpful in that regard, when he wasn't busy with side tasks of his own, and the rest of the counseling staff took over the rest. Aside from the command team, Neyes had barely spoken to the general population on board the ship.

Now, the door chime rang to the lobby of the counseling suite, where both Tristan and Grant were trading reports. The doors across the room slid open to reveal an odd looking man, who wore some kind of ancient hat. "Mr. Waterhouse," Tristan said as he took the last PADD from Logan, "thank you for stopping by."

"Whatever I can do to help," Noah insisted with a broad smile, even though it was mostly because Pond told him he had no choice. His holographic glasses helpfully identified Tristan Neyes and Logan Grant by overlaying their names across them about level with their clavicles. He carefully avoided doing a double take, the Witchdoctor looked much different cleaned up in uniform. Sure, Noah had seen him much in this form when the Pelican had departed whatever starbase it was he'd found him on, but quarters had been cramped on the ship, then they'd crashed; Dr Grant hadn't been able to maintain the prim properness that Fleet expected. He tapped at the interface on his wrist band, and both the lenses and the interface shimmered out of view.

"I believe you've met Commander Grant?" Tristan looked to Logan.

"We've had the distinct pleasure, yes." Logan responded from where he leaned against the edge of the Chief's desk, his green eyes taking in the sight of a much different Noah Waterhouse. The feeling of surprise was somewhat mutual now that they'd both enjoyed the luxuries provided to them by the overly posh starship. Hot showers, a good shave, clean clothing, good food... It did wonders for the body and soul.

Tall and elegant became the operative words as Logan stood before Noah not as a refugee, but as a full fledged Commander with an impressive Starfleet pedigree to boot. Without his 'winter woolies', Logan was an upstanding sort of creature. His face had once again regained its chiseled boyish charm, highlighted by his combed back hair. The eyes, however, remained the same. Ever glittering, ever scrutinizing, ever learning, they were the gateways to his valiant soul.

It would seem most of the former Griffin crew held that same speculative look about them, the suspicion and intrigue always riding second fiddle to their psyche. Some could argue that it was a beautiful thing, to see the survivors of such Hell come together and band as a family. Andrea would always be their beloved matriarch, but Rochelle... Rochelle had steamed forward and claimed leadership of that particular band of wild ponies. For her alone, Logan set aside his irritation to work honestly with Noah even when all he wanted to do was smack the man-child upside the back of his head and have a good long talk about wasted lives.

"Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?" The brusque Kiwi asked, pushing away from Tristan's desk with his hip.

Noah's lips parted to ask for Rum, as their supply had run out about a week before Vindicator's arrival, but considering the look behind the sharp green eyes of the witchdoctor he thought better of it. It wasn't Friday, but he felt the Flying Spaghetti Monster deserved thanks. It would have to wait. He shook his head and settled down where indicated.

Neyes took a moment to sit back and observe the two. They had already spent a lengthy amount of time together on the planet's surface, and Logan knew best how to interact with Noah. Having no prior experience with the XO's brother, Tristan had decided to follow Grant's lead as he gently nudged Noah into assisting them with their mission.

"I would like to remind you gentlemen that I am here of my own free will, as your regs do not apply to me, and in fact your prime directive protects me as a Federation citizen," Noah insisted, looking to Neyes as he did. He and the witchdoctor had many conversations about the prime directive on the planet, it was like spinning wheels with him.

"Yes yes, you're here on your own free will." Logan nodded, obtaining an extra glass of iced tea for the man-child just in case. "But you're wrong on the prime directive," he countered as he sat the glass on a coaster in front of Noah. The sharpness of his wit shone brilliantly through those piercing green eyes and Logan sat in the chair beside the young man, resting the side of his ankle on the opposite knee. "We're only obligated to offer you aid, and we have. We can't make you come with us and we can't force you to do anything regarding the species you ran into. The moment you refuse to come with us, however, that's when things become really interesting for you and somewhat heartbreaking for your sister."

Logan looked to Tristan with a nod of silent understanding being passed between the two of them and the witchdoctor narrowed back in on Noah. "That's a nice hat you have there." The subject was switched, the bait had been dispensed and now it was all about waiting and fishing within Noah's ramen-like brain to see if he was quick enough to catch onto that particular train of thought.

"It's the same hat I had on when you met me," Noah observed, eying Dr Grant. "Though I suppose it would be easy to forget, what with Freckles having absconded with it not long after we established communication." The commentary about the prime directive didn't sound any different than what he'd heard before, but Pond's passing mention earlier of a representative from the high council being on the ship made him start to think about it again where he'd been letting it go in one ear and out the other for a while yet on the planet.

"Freckles?" Tristan queried.

"Spotted alien." Logan responded to Tristan, tossing a baleful look his way. "Short, has freckles over what should be a nose. Noah named him Freckles." He added and steepled his fingers over his chest. Noah was on high alert, so much so that Logan could practically see the steam rising from his ears as the gears worked on over time trying to figure out just what was going on. The man-child had spunk, the counselor would give him that, but spunk was liable to get him and everyone else killed.

"So it is." He nodded, gesturing to the hat, "somehow I doubt the Klingons appreciate your sense of style, Noah, too whimsical and all that." He waved his hand almost dismissively, "but Amelia... Amelia gets it. Heck, I'm sure even Captain Ivanova could come to enjoy it's allure even if she is more of a Givenchy girl, but the Klingons? They're a different sort. More utilitarian."

"I suffered through enough visits with my grandmother, got scared under enough pub tables as a boy when my uncle Kaith started talking about where all his scars came from... I know what Klingons are like," Noah insisted with a grumble. "They need the Fleet right now though, they're not going to make a mess of things by pissing off the crown jewel of the fleet." He crossed his arms as he insisted this.

"The crowned jewel will play by the books because the Klingon Empire is strong enough to kick our ass right now, or do you forget that we owe them for coming to our rescue now?" Logan asked, his head canting to one side as he challenged Noah's sentiments from the comforts of the posh chair that sat in front of Tristan's desk. "Your sister is your sister, but even she can't stop the Klingons from forcibly removing you from the planet. It's only natural and the Vindicator, nor Starfleet, will bat an eye because we're in their territory and dealing with their policies which make the prime directive look like a lullaby."

Tristan nodded, "That is true," he said matter-of-fact, "The Federation will no doubt appease any diplomatic wrinkles, such as this one, in the most expeditious way they can. Starfleet is included in that, and we are here on their behalf. Once it reaches the point where the Klingons demand we remove anyone on the surface, either they will take action or we will." His words were truth, and there was no malcontent to them whatsoever. The Klingons had already demanded a time frame be placed in the mission, and a week was short-work compared to the effort they would need to remove the Pastafarians without their consent. "The longer this goes on, the more danger the indigenous peoples of K3 are in."

"I'm a little behind on current politics," Noah pointed out with an eyebrow raised at the witchdoctor. "Being stuck in the brig since beam up, because of cheese for brains that's man handling security of this fine ship, put a bit of a spanner in the works for me to read the news. Even skimming the headlines in the walk down here probably leaves me at a disadvantage, I don't have any security clearance and civilian headlines are designed to entice the reader, not inform." He punctuated this with an eye roll and a sigh. "Regardless, my concern is for the well being of my crew — both those who crashed with us, and those of the natives who've come to embrace their inner pirate. Are the Klingons going to leave Freckles and all the others in safety and peace if I'm not there to speak for them?" He crossed his arms, looking between both men. His eyes did momentarily consider the glass of iced tea left for him by Grant, but he felt it would be giving the man a small measure of victory to accept it, so Noah left it sitting on its coaster.

Logan looked to Tristan again and shrugged, "The way I see it, the only reason they have any interest in the planet is because you have a few people refusing to leave. That's a challenge to the Klingons and they'll meet it with hostility and, as you know, they'll win." His head lazily tilted to one side, and his eyes followed until they landed back on Noah. "I don't think I need to tell you just how bad that would be and, since you're refusing the only aid we can give you by helping you leave, we're powerless to do anything but watch the carnage."

"If I help bring my wayward pirates up to the Vindicator, will you advise Captain Ivanova to try and convince the Klingons to leave little guys on the planet alone? I know the Klingons don't have anything like the fleet's prime directive." Noah's had tilted in such a way to mirror Dr Grant's as he asked this. "You and I both know that if the Klingons decide they want that planet for something now, those guys stand even less of a chance than my crew would against seasoned Klingon warriors... And that's even assuming they decide to hunt then for sport, they could also just drop something from orbit instead." Noah wanted to invite some of the beings to join his crew, but he knew that neither the fleet not the Klingons would allow it. Both for entirely different reasons. So he would settle for doing the noodley work, and trying to help protect these little pirates.

"We will convey your request to the Captain, Mr. Waterhouse. I will let her know you've decided to cooperate." Tristan nodded to Logan and started for the door. Neyes turned on his way out, a look of sincere gratitude on his face, "Thank you."

The Kiwi nodded along with what the Chief had to say, "You've made the right choice, son. I'm sure in a few hundred years the descendants of Freckles will wind up chasing the stars with us and they'll have you and this decision to thank for it." He smiled genuinely. "Feel free to take your tea for the road. It's quite good, the Captain and your sister wouldn't allow for anything less than perfect and, you know, thirsty kids in Alabama and all that." Logan winked and moved to perch at the edge of his seat in preparation to stand.

The doors slid shut as Tristan was already through into the corridor.

"Alabama, right," Noah murmured with a head shake. Despite being more of an iced coffee drinker himself, he suspected refusing the witchdoctor at this point might undo this compromise they'd reached, so he finally reached out and wrapped his hand around the glass. Pond had certainly inherited gran'dad's tea snobbery, so there was no doubt that if she approved of it, it was good. "If I'm free to go, I'm going to round up those of my pirate crew who haven't tried to drop root on the planet below, and make sure they're not finding too much trouble. Thank you." He stood up, and held out his hand to shake.

"Perfect idea." Logan took the man-child's offered hand and gave it a good firm shake. "If you need anything, you know where to find Commander Neyes and myself."

=/\= End Log =/\=

Lt. Commander Tristan Neyes
Chief Counseling Officer
USS Vindicator

Commander Logan Grant
Counselor
USS Vindicator, NCC-78213-E

Noah Waterhouse
Pastafarian Minister and Artist
abp Pond

 

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