Rubbing Elbows

Posted on Fri 29th Sep, 2017 @ 5:44am by

587 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Unity Week
Location: Deck 30, Junior Officer Quarters
Timeline: MD 4, late evening

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, stuff it, Worm Drive," Logan mocked his friend. "You're just jealous because you're not going to see the bright lights of civilization for a long time to come."

"True. I can't deny it," John agreed, swirling red synthahol around in his glass. "Even the Colony would be a change of pace. Seriously, I'm missing your ugly mug. It was a huge pain to train you, and now I've got it to do all over again with some other wet-behind-the-ears Ensign."

"Buddy, I'm a long way from home," McCabe said, a little uncomfortable with his friend's emotions. "I'm telling ya, serving on a spacedock base is like living in a city - the city I never saw growing up on the farm." While Anthony had not lived in a truly large city, to say he'd grown up on a farm was a slight exaggeration. His father was a Federation biologist, though not Starfleet, and he'd researched new varieties of food to increase production and feed the billions of the Federation population.

"Yeah, well, ..." Sylvester trailed off, feeling the real pinch of losing someone he'd become close to in the last couple of years. "So ... getting that promotion along with your transfer?"

"Promotion? You kidding? If they promoted me, I'd lose the record for last promoted from my graduating class!" Ensign Engstrom shot back. He pretended it didn't bother him to graduate in the top ten percent of his Academy class only to have promotions stall. He supposed that's what happened when there was no war going on. And being a scientist, not exactly a priority department with most Starfleet Admirals. He wasn't really the last one to be promoted ... he hoped. He'd just had higher expectations for himself.

"I keep telling you, you need to make friends with the brass. You're the best Science Officer I've worked with, but you give everyone else the credit for what you do, and you won't rub elbows with the VIPs," John remarked congenially. It was a long-standing discussion, and for a moment, he felt a pang that Tony had left and they weren't likely to have it again.

McCabe shrugged. "You know me. I can't get excited about these things. All I need is a puzzle to wrestle to the ground. Your lot can have all the medals and elbow rubbing." He swallowed down the last of his lemonade and stood up. "You can beam me that message every year as I become the only Ensign with gray hair," he joked, as if reading John 's mind.

Sylvester shook his head, standing up himself. "Honestly, it won't be the same around here without you." He held his hand up in a gesture of farewell. "I hope our paths will cross again on another ship, and that Vanguard is good to you. At least, you should be able to get a date now."

Tony laughed. "Get outta here, man. I've got work to do." He saw a smile on John's face before the screen flickered to the Starfleet logo.

"Computer off," he commanded before recycling the glass from his drink and throwing himself down on the couch. Okay, that's one thing that's better here. I have my own quarters. With the base so large, even Ensigns got their own small private space. It actually felt strange to look around and not see someone else's junk littering his space.

"So ... who's elbow can I rub to get a fast track on that promotion?" he mutter aloud.

 

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