Paradise Present

Posted on Thursday July 9th, 2020 @ 5:11pm by Lieutenant Damian Kane

2,076 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Shakedown Cruise
Location: Deck 6, Starfighter Maintenance Bay #2
Timeline: Current

"If you are going through Hell, Keep going."
-Winston Churchill-

ON:

The duty shift aboard the USS Poseidon was starting out like many other. People were walking around, getting to their duty shifts on time. It was almost the magic hour. The hour which one shift looks at another. And for 16 hours says..."See Ya." And takes off to their quarters. Or the lounge. Or....where ever they go to do what they want to do. As for the shift that must stay and continue the "good fight," They understood that the clock in their head started ticking away the second they sat in that chair. Or took over that computer consul. Whatever the job, for most that mantra is the same...."8 more hours." But, that's life aboard a Miranda Class Destroyer.

In the Hanger on Deck 6, there was something that was just slightly unusual. 2 of the fighter pilots were standing beside their respective Razor Interceptor fighters. They were preparing for a very special ceremony. They both had requested that the Ship's Chaplin bless their fighters. Both pilots felt it fitting to wear their flight suits. to symbolic of being ready to do what needs to be done at any given moment. Off to the side of the deck was the Ship's Chaplin,Lt Damian Kane. He was wearing his orange monk's habit. And carried a staff. Beside him, was the 2 pilots Wing Commander, Lt Amelia Forsyth-Cole. This was the first time Kane had met anyone from the fighter wing that the Poseidon had. So he was excited. He stepped up to the first pilot who was beaming with pride.

"What's your name?" He asked the young human Ensign.

Her reply was joyous ans swift. "Danvers" She said.

Kane smiled. "Oh Great Bird of the Galaxy, please allow this tiny vessel to do it's job and always bring Ensign Danvers home safe and sound. Always allow it to fly true. And watch over and protect it and it's pilot. In this we ask." Kane said, as he took his staff and touched it to the wing of the craft.
After that, Kane walked over the the next pilot. He looked at the Denoblian for a second. He was a Lt jg.

"And you, may I ask your name?" He asked the pilot looking nervous

"Draibin. My name is Draibin." He replied not sure about what to do. Kane smiled. He knew Drabin was not religious. But Drabin was told, any help was good help. And well, what the Hell. Kane looked at Draibin's fighter.

"OH Great Bird of the Galaxy, Please protect this instrument of peace and protection. Please allow Lt Draibin to come home safe and unharmed after serving the Galaxy to make it a better place for all. Allow this vessel to fly true. And always keep a watchful eye on whomever flys her. In this we ask." Kane said touching the wing of the fighter with his staff. With that, Kane looked at Lt jg Draibin. He looked a little less nervous. He looked like he had just activated his shields. He had a look that almost said...I'll be fine. And with that, Kane walked over to where he had been waiting before. Standing off to the side with Lt Forsyth-Cole. Then, the pilots were dismissed

It wasn't as if Amelia disapproved: she didn't, not on a practical level, at least. She'd seen her fair share of combat, and the old adage held true: There's no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole. Now, the cockpit of a starfighter was a very different kind of foxhole than the traditional, 'literal hole in the ground', but the matter still stood.

More to the point, she'd listened with a carefully neutral expression, almost aloof: she'd already gained a reputation among her pilots as a cold, almost-domineering officer, and was particularly exacting where maintenance and flight-time was involved. When the idea was first brought to her, it was expected she'd shoot the idea down; she'd done the opposite and actively endorsed the little ceremony. Finally, the two pilots shot her an almost nervous look, and she cocked an eyebrow at them as she confirmed that they were, in fact, dismissed: the pair scuttling off away from the WCO about as fast as they could without making it entirely obvious.

"It's a pleasure to hear your speak, Lieutenant," she started, glancing Damian's way: -up- at him, since the other officer had nearly a foot on her. She held the head of her cane in both hands, added a tight, slightly-too-polite smile as the chaplain approached. "I was surprised, albeit pleasantly, to hear we -had- a chaplain aboard. I haven't had the chance to meet a man of the cloth since..." She paused, trailing off, then nodded. "Since...Lexington, if I'm remembering right." She glanced off to where the two pilots had made their exit, stage-left. "I don't think this'll really soothe Draibin's troubles, but." She sighed, heavily, and shook her head. "They're just too damn -young-."

"We Chaplains are a rare bread, its true." Kane said with his head down for a brief second. "Yes, agreed. They are young. But whatever will help them grow up I suppose. If I can offer hope and comfort...well, you never know, it just sometimes might be just enough." He said.

"It won't." Her answer was immediate, short, and blunt: and Amelia's face was unreadable as she said it, then stopped to think about how brusque she'd been, and offered the chaplain a slightly-apologetic smile. "They'll either learn, or they'll face the consequences the first time they go into combat. I'm not sure what they're teaching them at the Academy these days, but if you had any idea how loose they'd played with their maintenance tolerances..." She trailed off and let the thought hand, reaching out to run two fingers along the bleeding edge of the starfighter they stood beside. "But, I've been told I've gotten...grumpy," in my old age," and chuckled.

"No offence Lt, but I think you are sadly underestimating the power of hope. No, faith MAY not move mountains. But it's certainly the access on what does move mountains turns" He said looking seriously. Like it was from the heart.

Amelia gave the man an odd look: she wasn't -quite- disagreeing with him, but she wasn't going to outright give in, either. At least, certainly not so easily. "...if a fair bit of 'hope' does enough on them to start making them pay mind to their mechanics, then, I'll give you that," and she flashed a quick grin to take any sting out of her words.

"I've never been in combat Lt. But I do know that training is important. And in combat it's easy to forget something like training, so I'm told. Anything that gives you piece of mind to remember it...I mean, anything that gives you peace enough to do what must be done. It CAN'T be bad." Kane said like an afterthought.

"I don't know who told you that, but I'm going to have to disagree. Vehemently," though her voice was nothing but polite and conversational. "If the stress of combat makes a soldier, or a pilot, -forget- their training...whoever trained them, didn't do their job well enough," and allowed herself a frown as she shook her head. "The whole idea behind consistent training, behind the constant repetition, is to absolutely hammer home what to do in a crisis. You don't think, you don't plan, you react. Instantly. The same way, each time, every time, until it's instinct. That's proper training," and she gestured, again, to the fighter beside them. Drill, drill, drill, and drill again."

"At best, between lock-up and engagement, a starfighter pilot has in the neighborhood of a second-and-a-half to respond to an incoming ADD, and that's only because they're ballistic: if they're facing a gatling-phaser, or a hellbore, it's lightspeed. Instant. They've been blasted out of the sky before they even realize they've been lit by an enemy sensor sweep. If a pilot has to stop and -think-, they're dead. Training is the bulwark, is what you can rely on: the only thing you can rely on," and her voice grew slightly more somber, and definitely more sharp. "Rely on your mates, and that's it." She snapped her fingers. "Poof. You're space-dust," and then seemed to remember herself, face coloring slightly as she suddenly found herself wishing for her cane. Her leg was throbbing, again.

"It's all well and good to be a proponent of Faith, and you won't find me disagreeing. But anyone who forgets their -training- in the rush of combat? I'd never let them fly," and shrugged, again. "It isn't bad, having faith, or being faithful. You forget your training, and you go home to empty seats in the ready-room."

"Yes, empty seats....of people who knew the risks when they signed up. And knew their chances when they agreed to sit in those seats in the first place. You DO remember the Federation has less dangerous jobs Lieutenant. But these souls....these brave souls chose to be where they are. And they knew the risks. Still, they took the training. And they take their chances. with EVERY mission. And IF a little comfort of the spirit will help encourage them...then training is not the only thing they need to remember. They need to remember who they are. And why they are there in the first place. And THAT is what faith is for. Lets face it....ANYONE can push a button. But we must always try and be nice. We must NEVER fail to be kind. That is who we are. And THAT is why we are there. And YES, sometimes people won't make it back. That's why we remember them." Kane said looking directly at Amelia

...realizing she'd just about torn a strip off of the poor man, Amelia cleared her throat and deliberately tried to take down tension in their conversation by several notches, clearing her throat and busying herself with eyeballing the blessed fighter. "...forgive me; it's...been, ah. Stressful, lately."

Kane touched the woman's shoulder. "If I may be so blunt. I can see you are a brave woman. But I also see you are in pain. IF you ever feel the need to unburden your heart, My door is always open to you." He said looking directly into her eyes.

Amelia grunted, looking away with a mixture of mild shame, for being so unguarded with a veritable stranger, and irritation, for letting the man -get- to her. There was a reason she, as a rule, avoided Counselors and their ilk: nothing good came of rehashing the past aside from tearing open old wounds, the blood running fresh across her metaphorical, mental landscape. She twitched slightly at his touch, too, but she didn't pull away, or try pushing him off: merely fixed him with what was initially a withering glare, that she deliberately walked back into polite attention, but it's like shutters coming down over a viewport in a plasma storm: she presented a calm exterior out of practice, but it definitely wasn't genuine.

"If I ever feel so inclined as to dredge up memories and bodies I've successfully buried, I'll be sure to let you know, Lieutenant," and she can't -quite- keep the scorn out of her voice. She was reacting to his warmth with ice, instinctively, shutting herself off from another source of potential pain. She had a job to do, her tone seemed to say, and she was going to do it come Hell or high water, and bedamned is the man who tried getting in her way.

"Alright Lieutenant." Said Kane. "But call me Damian. Rank is not very important in my line of work. And you know, just because the body's are buried, it does not mean the wounds are healed. You know, I'm a big fan of walls. Walls protect. But when you build them, remember to build a door. That way, it gives you the option to let someone in. And I assure you, the human heart was designed to be a Palace not a Fortress. Look, just think about it" Damian said walking away seeing that the woman was hurt and beyond words.

OFF:

Lt Damian Kane
Ship's Chaplain
USS Poseidon

&

Lt Amelia Forsyth-Cole
Wing Commander
USS Poseidon

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