TAC Ensign D'Mera

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Doc in a Bottle - Joint Log with GM Aoibhe

Postby Jack Lucas » Sat Mar 15, 2014 12:30 am

"Doc in a Bottle" - Joint Log with GM Aoibhe

Stardate 11403.14

D'Mera watched as the drunk Doctor tried to communicate with his team about the transport of his equipment to the ship. He had apparently spent the last few hours drowning himself in some sort of green alcohol at the Klingon bar.

That didn't seem to be the only green thing he was interested in, either. D'Mera crossed her arms and debated whether to go disengage him from his men, or to just wait. Her orders were clear, she was to shadow McKinnick while he was out of his quarters. She hoped he was ready to take a nap after this, as she was eager to explore the station... But she still had to get him back to his room, which, at this point, seemed like it might be quite an adventure in itself.

McKinnick's laugh boomed and echoed as he crossed from one crate to the next, supervising and commenting as he went. "Just like the Galick moons, boys!", he roared and slapped a worker hard on the shoulder. "Aye, but this time, we get to save 3.2 billion people into the bargain! Ha! Tell Doctor's Lye and Zebco to put that in their pipe and smoke it!"

D'Mera rolled her eyes. This guy was a wreck. She crossed her arms and gave him a minute. It occurred to her that the fate of an entire planet rested on this man's shoulders. How could that be remotely responsible on the part of Starfleet? Supposedly, he was the quadrant's foremost authority on planetary regeneration. D'Mera quickly decided she wouldn't leave him unattended near a replicator, let alone sharp objects or an endangered planet.

"Penny for your thoughts, dear?", he drawled, rolling his r's like only a Scotsman could when he was at his most charming, and surprising D'mera out of her daydream. "Were ye thinking about me?" Before she could answer he interrupted her with a loud laugh. "It's OK, pet, I know what you're thinking. How can anyone be so handsome and so intelligent at once, aye, I wonder the same myself!" At that moment one of his team came up, flashed D'mera a look of apology and handed McKinnick a PADD. McKinnick read it over, then looked around. "Where the blast is Lorego?" he stomped off.

"He's really quite brilliant", the scientist said, directing his quiet voice at the Tactical officer.

"Brilliant or not, he's a mess right now, and should really sober up", she said firmly to the scientist. She left her arms crossed and gave her best disapproving face. She was content to let McKinnick do what he needed down here, but she was quickly growing tired of his attitude.

"He... needs to blow off steam now and then," the scientist attempted as an explanation, "he's not as equipped as some people to a life off-planet, and he's been on stations and ships for near a month, now." The scientist looked over at his boss standing by a rack of atmospheric probes, shouting for Lorego. It was clear to D'mera that his team was dealing with McKinnick's noise far better than she would have expected. "We er, had our orders before we set off..." the scientist glanced at D'mera's collar "...Ensign. Everyone knows what to do. He's just enjoying himself."

The scientist's explanation only infuriated D'Mera even more.

"Need I remind you," she began, "that an entire planet is counting on that man." She pointed at him, and let her voice raise itself. "How much longer is he needed down here?" She put her hands on her hips and stared down the scientist. She could be intimidating, when required.

The scientist swallowed hard at the look on the Orion woman's face. Something about her green skin made the whites of her eyes seem brighter in anger. He shook his head dumbly before finding his voice. "He's not. We have it all under control. We're mostly just unloading right now..."

She called to the Doctor from across the bay, "Doctor McKinnick," regretting her words as she spoke them, "Why don't we retire for the evening."

"Ahhhh! Smart and beautiful, I see!" he called over, following his words quickly on foot. "We have a lot in common I see..." He stepped up beside her and offered his arm. "And please, call me Thadeus..."

She pursed her face as she realized her best bet towards getting "Thadeus" to take a nap was to oblige him. She took his arm and began leading him towards the turbolift, craning her neck and head as far from his as she could.

"What deck... er... level are your quarters on?" She asked, trying her best to avoid his foul breath.
Last edited by Jack Lucas on Sat Apr 26, 2014 4:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.


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Re: TAC Ensign D'Mera

Postby C. J. Short » Sat Mar 15, 2014 12:37 am

I'm really hoping he's like this on the ship so Henry can rub it in Dremel's face. And stick up for his crewmate... but mostly the face-rubbing thing.
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Re: TAC Ensign D'Mera

Postby James Greenman » Sat Mar 15, 2014 5:08 am

C. J. Short wrote:I'm really hoping he's like this on the ship so Henry can rub it in Dremel's face. And stick up for his crewmate... but mostly the face-rubbing thing.

Let us see how well that works out for Henry. :clint:
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Re: TAC Ensign D'Mera

Postby C. J. Short » Sat Mar 15, 2014 5:16 am

Nothing ventured...
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Re: TAC Ensign D'Mera

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Sat Mar 15, 2014 9:49 am

He's a professional guy who had a few too many "something green's" while he waited for the Hooke to arrive.

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Re: TAC Ensign D'Mera

Postby Jack Lucas » Wed Mar 19, 2014 2:56 pm



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A Means to an End

Postby Jack Lucas » Sun Apr 27, 2014 5:37 pm

"A Means to an End"

Stardate 11404.27

D'Mera rounded the corner in the narrow corridors deep inside Spacedock. Here in the sensor array, atop the glistening station, it was quiet and dark. There wasn't even a turbolift to this level, and in fact, this level didn't have a designation beyond "sensor array." The only access was from a Jefferies Tube and several ladders and ramps, or from a direct beam in - which Engineering rarely had time for.

She held her diagnostic PADD against her chest as her narrow, bored eyes glazed over at the sight of another burned out sensor coil. She laid the PADD on the tritanium plate floor and pulled her tricorder from her belt.

The coil had burned out, same as the last three. This was her glorious new assignment, Engineering Assistance at Spacedock. Not exactly the tactical post she'd been hoping for when she requested transfer off of the Hooke. She didn't exactly regret her decision, especially considering what she'd heard of the Hooke recently. She considered asking for another transfer, but her superior had made it clear she wasn't going to get another move, at least not right now.

She set down her tricorder and gripped the coil spanner from her belt, she began prodding the input of the sensor coil. Mindless work, she thought.

Life on Spacedock was different from life at the Academy, or even the Hooke. She'd felt at home on the Hooke, despite being lightyears from Earth. Now, in high orbit, she felt even further away. She had quarters on the station, and elected not to go down to San Francisco but once a week to see her parents. Her Father had reminded her that she would not always be posted so close to them, and that she should seize the opportunity to spend as much time with them as possible. She felt guilty not visiting them, but even guiltier that she was here at all. She had "potential" - everyone told her so. Red Squad, honors at the Academy, a prestigious first posting... But now she was answering to an enlisted man on a short term assignment.

She felt this was beneath her - and rather than being humbled by it all, she was ashamed.

"A means to an end," her Father had told her. This was just another "step on the path," he was full of cliche's.

The burnt out sensor coil popped out of it's placement and clattered to the floor. She kicked it aside with her boot and pressed a button next to the interface screen.

"D'Mera to Engineering - I need a new sensor coil, series 6... A, 6A." She repeated.

A voice on the comm responded, "Damn... Another one? Alright, incoming."

A moment passed as she itched at her nose, her arms on her hips in impatience. A new sensor coil materialized with the rings and tones of the transporter. She picked it up from the floor and placed it into the socket.

A means to an end, she thought. She'd spent the last 5 years preparing for a strategic tactical post. She'd studied Borg defense strategies, the battles of the Dominion War, she was an expert in multiple forms of hand to hand combat and she had held her own in training against Klingons and Nausicaans... Yet here she was, replacing a burnt out sensor coil on the safest space station in the Galaxy, as far from the explorers and protectors of her people as she could possibly be.

The sensor coil snapped into place, and lit up with a faint glow. The hum of the sensor array kicked in, filling the air with a light static charge. D'Mera's dark hair lifted a bit with the energy around her. She replaced the coil spanner and tricorder in her belt, and picked the PADD up off of the floor. She tapped her commbadge with a heavy sigh.

"D'Mera to Engineering - all finished up here." She scoffed.

"Alright - feel free to hit the hay early, we're done for tonight." The Engineer responded.

"Any chance I could get beamed back down?" She tried to add some flirtation to her voice, but she was too tired to sound convincing."

A short laugh erupted from the other end, "Not tonight. Enjoy the climb."

Her eyes rolled so far back in her head, her pupils disappeared. She rounded the narrow corner again as the voice added one more comment... "It'll be good for you." He chuckled as the communication ended. She found the Jefferies entrance lifted the bulkhead door. She dropped to her knees and docked the PADD at the entryway in its slot.

She crawled, seeing the faint light in the stairwell at the end of the tube. "A means to an end," she said softly to herself.


D'Mera braced herself against the turbolift wall. Her back was aching. She could make a stop off at sickbay for a quick hypospray and a heat pad, but she was too tired and too sore to bother. The turbolift beeped as it reached her level. She stepped through the doors as they whisked open, and took a sharp right towards her quarters.

Her quarters. Another jab in the gut. As a Starfleet Officer, she was entitled to her own personal quarters, however, due to the overwhelming number of new assignments to the station, she had yet to receive her own. She was in a suite with 3 other women. Two cadets from the overflow barracks at the Academy, and an enlisted woman in the sciences division. They were all perfectly nice ladies, and friendly, but D'Mera couldn't help but feel superior to them. This attitude had erupted in several fights between her and the enlisted woman, Beverly. The two cadets had steered as clear as they could of D'Mera and Beverly, as the feud had lit up their suite on more than one occasion over the last few weeks.

D'Mera huffed as she stepped to the suite's main door. It whisked open, revealing a quiet shared living space. There was a single lavatory off the backside of the living space, and two identical bunkrooms on either side. D'Mera was stuck in the bunkroom with Beverly, and despite her pleas, the cadets had refused to switch with her.

Beverly sat at the round dining table in her night clothes.

"Well if it isn't 'Captain' D'Mera." Beverly said, in the bitchiest tone imaginable.

D'mera pursed her lips, looks like they were going to go right at it this evening. It was mostly her fault, she had tossed Beverly's uniform in the replicator and set them as "waste" while Beverly was in the sonic shower, this morning. A reprisal for Beverly's tampering with the replicator to meter all of D'Mera's orders out in pre-chewed form.

It was an ongoing thing, between them.

"I just don't have it in me, tonight." D'Mera admitted, defeatedly.

Beverly narrowed her eyes, "Oh, is it tough out there for the other half?" She faked a pouty face. "Welcome to 'working' for a living."

D'Mera rolled her eyes again. The cadets were in their bunks, but were peering out of the open doorway, waiting to see what would happen next.

"You know what, I'm over it. I don't care anymore." D'Mera admitted. "Can we just go back to ignoring each other?"

Beverly tilted back in her chair, "You know what? No." She flattened her expression in all seriousness, "Since you got here, it's been nothing but constant reminders from you of how 'I'm a graduate of Starfleet Academy-'" she'd adopted a mocking, high-pitched voice, "and 'on the Hooke, we did it like this...' - Do you realize how you sound? Some of us weren't fortunate enough to get into the Academy, let alone serve on a starship. And then you pout around because you REQUESTED a transfer off of one. Don't expect me to have any sympathy for you, I spent all day scrubbing dilithium out of the excess chamber in Engineering, but do I come home and cry about it?" Beverly crossed her arms and let the feet of the chair find the floor again.

D'Mera deposited her engineering belt and duty jacket on the rack near the doorway. "I don't care what you think, Beverly. Soon enough I'll be in my-"

Beverly cut her off, "That's right, soon enough you'll be in your own quarters and we'll be rid of you." She pointed into the open bunkroom occupied by the cadets, "You know, they can't stand you either, and they talk about how when they graduate, they don't want to 'be like D'Mera' - all callous and full of themselves. Maybe you should get over yourself and realize that the galaxy doesn't revolve around D'Mera. We all want something more than what we have, and you should be grateful for what you've got." Beverly stood, pulling at her nightgown. "We're done with the pranks and back and forth. You pull anything like this morning again, I'll file a report."

D'Mera said nothing, but put her hands on her hips and stood her ground.

"You know, when you first showed up, I felt sorry for you. That Doctor friend of yours on the Hooke wanted to help you get out of that... thing," she motioned towards the inhibitor cuff on D'Mera's arm, "but the more you opened your mouth, and regaled to us how great you were, the more I realized that you need to wear that thing."

D'Mera was bubbling over with anger. She felt her sharp nails dig into her hips, she was going to slap the shit out of this bitch.

"You know why?" Beverly motioned towards the cadets, "we're all on the same side... But you..." Beverly pointed to the duty jacket D'Mera had discarded near the door, "You don't even belong in one of those... Because you don't appreciate it. You may have 'won' it in the academy, being all as impressive as you are... But you haven't earned it." Beverly shoved the chair into the table and stomped into her bunkroom, the door swishing closed behind her.

D'Mera was fuming, but now she was angry with herself.



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Re: Ensign D'Mera

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Mon Apr 28, 2014 1:49 pm

Great to see D'Mera still alive and kicking, Jack. Fantastic writing, as always, and lovely to see her stint on the Hooke had affected her.
Nice one!

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Postby Jack Lucas » Thu May 01, 2014 2:49 am


NOTE: this is a sequel to this log and you might want to read it first.

Stardate 11404.30

Spacedock looked pristine from orbit, or through a telescope on the surface. It shimmered with the light it reflected from the moon, and the glistening lights and windows on its exterior were tiny beacons to the starships and shuttles and runabouts that whizzed around it, coming and going. It was arguably the busiest spaceport in the galaxy.

Every bit of trade goods, every traveler or diplomat, every ship and crew all filtered through the enormous station in orbit of Earth in Sector 001. But it wasn't without its problems. Deep in the bowels of the station, things broke from time to time, and the Engineering crew was short staffed due to a surge of work at Utopia Planetia.

D'Mera coughed as she reached between the two pylons in the narrow Jefferies Tube and reached for her interphasic compensator. The arm-length of tube was supposed to span the gap between the transporter buffer computers, where the previous compensator had failed. But she dropped it. Most Federation technology was relatively clean, with little waste or pollutants, unfortunately, not every culture was as enviornmentally cautious as the Federation and its members. The waste valve that directed pollutants from the docking bays into the replicator buffers to be dematerialized ran right above her head, and with a good knock, she had bumped her head into it, shaking loose some grease from the perimeter of the ducting. Her head stung, and the grease dripped down over her shoulder.

"Uggggghhhh noooooooo." She quietly squealed in displeasure.

She reached up to pull her hair back out of her face and caught a handful of slime and what she was sure looked like moss.

"Are you KIDDING?" She shreiked, knowing no one could hear her.

She glopped the slimy handful against the Jefferies tube wall and tapped her communicator badge, smearing it with black smeg and dusty gray particles.

"D'Mera to Engineering!" She huffed, impatiently.


"Get a cleanup crew down to Jefferies Tube 86 in Section 8. The Recycling... duct... thing spilled a bunch of crap all over down here." she didn't bother letting him finish.

He sighed, "You didn't touch it, did you?"

"Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head, "Y'THINK?"

The Engineer on the other side stifled what might have been laughter, "You're going to need to hit decontamination immediately... Did you get the interphasic compensa-"

"NO." She interrupted him again.

The silence remained for a moment, as she knelt there, perfectly still, the black goop in her hair and all over her uniform. The stiller she was, she thought, the better. She could feel the warm blob above her ear dripping over her skull towards her left eye.

"Ok, arranging for site to site transport, standby." The Engineer updated her.

The tingling sensation of her molecules being scrambled and transported began as the chimes in her ears rang. She disappeared from the tube and was reassembled in a small closet sized decontamination chamber. She felt the goop from her head had been removed during transport, she stood, examining her uniform for any more blobs.

Through the glass window of the door she spotted a Doctor sporting Federation Blues.

"Welcome to D-Con." He smiled from the other side of the pane, his voice muffled through the speakers. "Just give us a second to scrape what we can with the transporters.

She stood with her arms poking out at her sides, despite the majority of the black mess being gone, her uniform was still stained, and she still felt dirty.

The Doctor tapped at his console just beyond the door as she heard the chimes of tiny transporter bells all over her body. Tiny pieces of her uniform were clipped on her shoulder.

"Grabbed a bit too much there, my apologies." The Doctor seemed earnest. She didn't suspect him of any foul play, despite the infuriated look on her face, it was just the back of her shoulder that the transporter had clipped off. "Ok, we're gonna hit you with 'the hose' now."

"The Hose?" She shot back, in her usual tone, (an unpleasant one).

"Oh, just a wide spectrum phaser sweep. It won't hurt, it'll just tingle a little bit. Will kill any microbes living on your skin or in your hair. Hold your arms out?" He motioned with his own arms, straight out at his sides.

D'Mera rolled her eyes as she shifted her weight and spread her legs, extending her arms out to her sides. the Doctor looked at his PADD before doing a double take. Her hair was tossled and still dirty, and as the phaser swept over her, she could feel strands dropping to her shoulders.

"Are you serious, right now?" she shouted at him through the glass, here she was, at her most vulnerable, and he had the audacity to ogle her. It was just a split second, and normally she wouldn't have even been mad, but as she felt her split ends falling out of her head from the phaser sweep, looking like her animalistic ancestors with her jet black hair mussed and her face covered in soot and dirt, she was as mad as she had been in a long, long time.

He waved at her, as an apology, she assumed, as the phaser sweep ended. She stood there, her arms dripping with sweat, still extended out to the sides. The Doctor disappeared for a moment from the window. She gritted her teeth. She put one foot forward and swung her arms around, one in front of her and one behind, she leaned forward into her left leg. Yoga. It was calming, empowering. This was the Warrior Pose. She inhaled deeply as she began to monitor her breath.

A few moments passed, as she held the pose, her arms feeling heavy, but her anger fading. She gripped her forward leg with her arms, and stretched downwards... The Triangle. She inhaled again, deeply. Her breathing under control, her anger fading even more.

She heard the whoosh of the decontamination door as the pressure inside the chamber equalized with sickbay just beyond it. She held the pose for a moment longer before swinging her head up sharply, her greasy matted hair flying over her head and behind her shoulders. Before her, stood the Doctor, looking apologetic. She brushed past him and pressed him into the archway with her fingers, he stumbled backwards, dropping the PADD onto his chest as she passed.

"Thanks, Doc." She calmly dropped the bomb on him as she swaggered away, out of the enormous sickbay that accommodated the entire station.

She passed through the exit doors and rounded the corner into the corridor towards the Turbolift. Back to her quarters to get cleaned up. Her uniform was missing a piece of its shoulder, and her face and hair were a hot mess. She felt something warm inside her ear as she walked and stopped to pull a hairy glob of black goo from her lobe.

"Yeaauch!" she said to herself as the crewmen passing by looked at her with twisted faces of disgust. She glopped the blob onto the floor and wiped her hand on her jacket, she was so beyond giving a shit, right now.

Her communicator beeped and she stopped.

"Ensign D'mera, please report to level 19, Briefing Room 8."

She tapped her badge, still smudged with goo, "I'll need a few minutes to-"

"Urgently, Miss."

Miss? Who the hell was this guy? She was ready to go off on someone, and if it wasn't going to be Beverly, or that Doctor, it might as well be this asshole.

She squeezed her hair back, what was left of it anyway, and headed towards the turbolift. "Level nineteen" she said as she continued pulling at her hair. A tall Andorian woman in the turbolift smiled at her, seemingly knowing D'Mera wasn't having the best day.

"Rough day?" The Andorian woman offered a look of condolence.

"You don't know the half of it." D'Mera said, her lips pursed. She let the mess that sat atop her head rest as she wiped her hands on the front of her jacket. She didn't exactly look half put together. She stepped off the turbolift as the doors opened into the main hallway on the diplomatic level. She passed a few aliens and Officers, who were all surprised to see a crew member in this level of disarray.

She rounded the corner and started counting down the rooms. Two, four, six, Briefing Room Eight. She whisked through the door to find an empty conference room and a long table. She shrugged as she saw a few PADDs scattered at the far end, and something else... Another shape. She continued walking towards the far end of the table when she realized what that shape was, an American Football.

From the corner, another door whisked open, and in walked Lieutenant Commander Harlow. He had been liason to the Academy for Red Squad when D'Mera was a candidate just a few years ago. He was a mountain of man, tall and wide. His rocky face smiled, his enormous jaw flexed as he gave her an enormous smile.

"D'Mera!" He said, happily, as he grasped the Football from the table and tossed it in his hands, "It's great to see you, how are you?" he carried the ball towards her and extended his arms out for a hug. Noticing her tattered uniform and dirty face and hair, he squinted, "whoa, what happened to-"

With little hesitation, and before he could finish his thought, D'Mera leaned back and fired a shot directly across his bow. Her fist landed square on his jaw, the thundercrack of her right cross against his five-o-clock shadow was as loud as her grunt as she recoiled in pain. She'd definitely just broken her hand.

Harlow cradled his face as he stood there, stunned.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to hit someone with a closed fist?" He offered a joke as they both were rattled with pain, he tilted his jaw side to side as he stood back up straight. "That glad to see me?" His deep bellowing voice was like a cannon.

"Asshole!" D'Mera managed to squeak out as she gripped her right hand in pain.

"You're not still mad about that, are you?" He tried to smile, as he reached for her hand wit his enormous mitts. "Looks like you broke it."

She pulled away from him, her green skin bruising darker green and purple. It was already starting to swell. "Don't touch me."

"You're literally the expert on hand to hand combat..." He started to laugh, unintentionally, "not to mention stronger than a human, across the board..." His chuckles were overwhelming, the large bulky man was reduced to giggling at the scenario, "-and you know I could have you in the brig for striking a superior officer." His chuckles dimmed as he saw her demeanor unchanged.

"What's the statute of limitations on being romantically involved with a cadet?" She posed to him, without blinking.

"Alright, so you're still mad." He rubbed his jaw as he stepped back towards his seat, retreiving the football as he walked backwards towards his end of the table. He motioned with the ball for her to take a seat. "It's funny, that this is how we started off."

She remained silent, sitting down. "I should really report to sickbay." She cradled her hand in her lap.

"Go, if you like." His face turned back to stone, his eyes serious. "I was going to say, it's funny that you hit me, because I've been telling the brass that your attitude won't be a problem on your next assignment."

She wasn't taking the bait. "I don't care." She said plainly, tilting her head upwards so there was no misunderstanding.

"Fine, if you want to keep doing..." He pointed the ball at the goop on her uniform, "whatever it is you've been doing, that can be arranged too." He looked down at the PADDs in front of him, "A permanent transfer to Operations, I think I can handle that."

She rolled her eyes up in her head, "Fine. What." It wasn't even a question, she couldn't be bothered with inflection.

"It's a special assignment, can't share too many details right now, it's need to know." He leaned a bit in his chair, "But... I've been talking you up for it. It's tactical, a lot more responsibility than Spacedock, or the Hooke."

She sat there, gripping her broken hand, without responding.

"And you'll finally get your chance to go out there and punch the galaxy, if that's still on your scanners." He falsely smiled, briefly, as he looked back down at the PADD.

She offered nothing, again.

He smirked, "Report to me in San Francisco, tomorrow, 1400 hours."

She stood, letting the chair drop on its back behind her. She started for the door.

"Oh, and D'Mera... Lose the attitude, will ya? I don't want to regret this."

D'Mera stopped, short of the door, and spun on her heel to face him. She looked at him quizzically, still babying her hand. "Tell me the truth... If I hadn't gotten involved with you, would I have made Red Squad?"

"No, Nil wasn't a fan of your attitude." He sat back in his chair, spinning the football between his sausage-sized fingertips.

She let her brows rise in disbelief, waiting for him to recant.

He smirked and smacked the table with the ball, "You know, I'm sorry, ok? If I had put you on Red Squad and we'd been found out, I would've lost my career. Hell, being involved with you at all could've cost me everything!"

D'Mera smiled, realizing she had been right all along. "1400 hours..." She turned towards the door, realizing she finally had the upper hand, and an opportunity she'd been waiting for.

"Seriously, lose the attitude... And don't get cocky!" he called after her, continuing to spin the ball, and jilting his jaw back and forth. "And clean yourself up, damn." He whispered to himself as she shot through the doorway.


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Re: TAC Ensign D'Mera

Postby Jack Lucas » Mon Jun 02, 2014 6:51 pm

Guilt, Part One

Stardate 11406.02

D'Mera sat quietly outside the conference room. She itched at her pheromone inhibitor under her dress uniform jacket. Harlow's promise of a special new assignment had initially excited her, but as time went on, she realized it was likely nothing but another one of his empty promises.

She was still assigned at Spacedock, but out of the extended Engineering detail and back on security. Not the bump she had expected, or as prestigious as the one Harlow had promised, but still, roaming the station with a phaser and being posted to secure doors was slightly more appealing than replacing burnt coils and replicator units. Harlow's visit had been almost two weeks ago, and his promise to get her back into the black had never come to fruition.

Returning to her life the way he did, after such a long absence, and confirming her suspicions that he had intentionally kept her out of Red Squad at the Academy had festered with her. He had wooed her, and their secret romantic endeavor had cost her dearly. He'd kept her out of Red Squad, for fear of his own career being spoiled. His recent return and attempt to make the situation right hadn't sat well with her. Security detail on Spacedock at Earth was as boring as it sounded. She had boiled over on her roommates again and again, finally settling on filing a report with Starfleet.

Initially, she'd worried about reprisal. Waiting four years to file a grievance might have been looked down on, however the Counselor she'd been assigned to convinced her that Harlow's impropriety in having a relationship with a cadet wasn't her fault, but rather made D'Mera afraid to say anything. It wasn't how D'Mera actually felt, and she was more than willing to face the music herself, if just to see Harlow go down, but she wasn't about to argue with the Counselor. Harlow goes down and she gets a "get out of jail free" card. Win-win.

The inevitable mark it may leave on her own career was moot, to her. She wasn't going to be moving up anytime soon anyway... If. Ever.

The doors to the conference room slid open and the Counselor stood in the archway.

"Come in, Ensign." The counselor half smiled, overly concerned with the feelings of the Orion.

D'Mera stood and pulled at her dress jacket, following the Counselor into the conference room. Admiral Nil and Counselor Franklin sat around the small meeting table. Another man sat at the back, taking notes on a PADD.

"Have a seat, Ensign." The Admiral smiled brightly. The Andorian was old, but eager still.

"After discussing your report with Mr. Harlow, Starfleet has reached a decision regarding your complaint." The Admiral turned to the Counselor.

The Counselor leaned forward. "Since the relationship was mutual, and there was no complaint of assault, Mr. Harlow will not be arrested. He will, however face a court martial regarding his behavior in regards to your Red Squad applications and engaging in behavior unbecoming of a Starfleet Officer."

The Admiral opened his arms, "And that's that. You may be called upon as a witness remotely for the proceedings, but beyond that, your nightmare should be over... Unless you have anything else?"

D'Mera wet her lips and thought... Was there anything else? The jerk would pay. "No, Admiral. I'm sorry to have been a bother."

The Admiral shook his head, "It's no bother. We reviewed his most recent application for your transfer, and we didn't find any signs of further impropriety. You seem like an excellent candidate for the Sentinel."

D'Mera's face twisted with confusion. The Sentinel? What was the Admiral talking about?

"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm a bit confused..." She huffed accidentally.

Nil looked at the man in the back of the room for a moment. "I'm sorry, Dear, I suppose the orders may not have gone through yet. Lieutenant Commander Harlow had nominated you for the Tactical position aboard the Sentinel."

D'Mera was stunned. Oh no. He HAD put her in for a new assignment... This was all a mistake!

The Admiral continued, confused himself, by the silence, "If this is truly the first you've heard, then let me be the first to congratulate you, Ensign. The Sentinel is a shaping up to be a fine ship."

The Sentinel. The brand new Sovereign at Utopia Planetia. She was vastly considered the best assignment in the fleet right now... And Harlow had landed her the Tactical post, and in thanks, she'd gotten him court martialed...

"Sir, there's been a mistake." D'Mera started, time to own up... She'd acted out of spite, not fear...

"No mistake, Ensign. Now move along, these old bones have some holosuite time in half an hour, and I'll need all of them just to get there." The Admiral stood and D'Mera followed suit, her mouth still agape in shock... What was happening?

Before she knew it she was out the door and into the turbolift, her mouth still drooping. The Sentinel. He'd put her on the Sentinel... Her reputation was suddenly important again, as she pondered what the crew would think of her, for getting Harlow, a decidedly popular officer, court martialed... What would the Captain think?

She whispered to herself, "I've made a huge mistake."



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