Fan Fiction
TITLE: Good Times, Old and New
AUTHOR: John Morales
RATING: PG-13
CODES: C/T
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The latest copy of this can be found at my webpage (www.compqna.com/fanfics), along with my other flights into fandom. Please send any feedback to jamorales@compqna.com - I look forward to hearing from you.
DISLCAIMER: Sir Gene created this future, and the characters and situations are property of Paramount. No infringement is intended, nor any profit made.
SUMMARY: Takes place a few weeks after Persistence of Vision. Former Liberty crewmates explain Maquis command structure and other mysteries to some of the 'Fleeters.
"I guess I'm just surprised." Jenny frowned for a moment. "I don't know why, really. Maybe because she's always called him 'Old Man.' Usually, when I've heard people say that, they're talking about their dad. I knew they were close, but I just figured they were like family." Ayala looked across the room to hide his grin.
"Actually, we all called him 'old man,' back on the Liberty. It just confused B'Elanna a little when she first came on board. I think the nickname was an accident."
"Why did you call him 'old man,' then?" Harry asked. " He's not that old."
"No, of course not. It was just a tradition."
"Really?" Jenny seemed taken aback. "That doesn't sound like any tribal tradition I've ever heard of."
This time he couldn't help it. Several people turned at the sound of Mike laughing out loud.
"No, not a tribal one, but a tradition all the same. How much do you really know about the Maquis?"
"Well," Sam piped up, "I've heard Tuvok talk about his time on the Liberty."
Everyone noticed Mike's face sour a bit. Chakotay had made it clear from the start that no one was to hold Tuvok's actions against him, just as the Starfleet crew were not to show any lingering disrespect to the Maquis. Also, Ayala had worked closely with Tuvok for years now, and didn't seem to have any problem with him. Still, he obviously didn't like to be reminded of Tuvok's role on the Liberty.
"Yeah, well... let me see if I can explain it to you. Rank didn't... Well, it wasn't an issue for us."
"But you have rank bars, unless Chakotay just invented that so he didn't have to wear the pips." Jenny's smile belied the suggestion.
"No, we had rank, but it didn't mean much, at least not on the Liberty. You see, we had some ex-'fleeters, but not many of them. Most of the people in the Maquis only had merchant marine experience. You know, commercial shipping. To them, what matters is position, not rank. On a merchant ship, you have four important positions -- the captain, the first mate, the engine chief, and the cook, who was also usually the doc. Chakotay ran it that way, but simplified it a bit -- we didn't have a first mate or a cook, but he added a weapons specialist who was in charge of both tactical and small arms - that was me." He couldn't help a small, proud smile. "But it always came back to him. B'Elanna or I might be in charge when he was off-ship, but that was about it."
"But," Harry interrupted, "he couldn't be in charge of everything. The crew was too big for him to oversee everything, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, but when he needed someone else to take command of a mission or project, or just be in charge while he was off the ship, he just said so-and-so's in charge, and we all took our instructions from them."
Harry's interest in the command structure persisted. "So it was the three of you that made the decisions, like we do in a senior staff meeting here? I mean, it's the captain's decision, but you know, the way we have some input."
"In some ways it was much broader input, and in some ways, there wasn't even a senior staff." He paused to swallow some of his drink. "If there was a major decision to be made, and there was time to think about it, everyone who could get away from their stations for a few minutes would get together. The old man -" he paused as he realized he had slipped into talking like he was back aboard the Liberty. A few of the others took notice as well. "He thought it was important that we all know as much as we could, that way we knew what targets we could walk away from and what ones we had to be willing to put it all on the line for, even if he died. So most everyone would have the ability to make a suggestion, he'd listen to everyone, and then decide how we'd proceed. Then there were the days when there was no time to think about it, and he just told us how it was going to be. It was a lot like we have it here, really."
"But, without a chain of command..." Harry frowned as he tried to make his point. "What if several people disagreed? How did you resolve..."
"Like I said, it all came back to him. That's where it was different. There were no reports. Once he made a decision, he gave you your orders, you did what you could and let him know it's done, or maybe this is as good as we can do, or it's not gonna happen. There weren't many discipline problems, and those we had he solved with a few quiet words or a haymaker, whichever was appropriate."
"And what does all this have to do with him being an old man?" Jenny prompted.
"Right, the main positions on a merchant ship. Well, the positions had nicknames that dated back centuries in the merchant marines, just part of the traditions. The engine chief was just called the 'chief,' but the the captain was different. You addressed him as 'skipper' to his face and the 'old man,' if he wasn't in the same room. If someone called him 'captain,' it usually meant the shit was hittin' the fan -- sorta like Janeway and crunch time. Maybe it's like you said, Jenny, it was like the captain was the head of the family. Anyway, that's what we called him. You didn't say it to his face, but he knew."
"And B'Elanna?" Sam asked. "How did she end up calling him 'old man' to his face?"
"Well, she had been with us a couple of months. Our previous chief had just been killed in an explosion. The old man hadn't named a replacement yet, but B'Elanna had both the knowledge and the right cross to make her chief for the moment...
****
"Any life signs?"
"Scanning now, Skipper." The young Bajoran took a moment to gather the data. "No life signs. Looks like that hull breach spaced the last of them."
"Any other targets?"
"Clear for the moment," Ayala answered from the weapons station.
"We've got a problem down here," squawked a voice over the intercom. "Plasma leak."
"Can you control it?" Chakotay asked.
"I'm working on it," the voice responded briefly. "Give me a minute."
Work progressed around the bridge with a subdued spirit. Chakotay quietly surveyed the group, his eyes lingering on an individual just enough to verify that the necessary tasks were progressing, then moving to the next station. As he finished, he spoke again to the intercom.
"Engine room, we need a status."
Silence was his only response.
****
Ayala paused to take a drink.
"We didn't know until later that B'Elanna had evacuated the rest of engineering before she notified the old man. We just sat there waiting to see if we had won only to be no better off than the cardies we had just spaced. In fact, I wasn't even sure whose voice we were hearing over the intercom -- like I said, she was still new.
"Chakotay, on the other hand, knew exactly who it was."
****
This time his pause was shorter before he prompted again.
"Torres! What is your --"
"Shut it, old man, I'm working here!" came the response before he could finish.
Chakotay's lip twitched just a bit.
"If you're going to talk to me like that, you better at least have good news."
Another long pause before a scratchy voice sounded over the intercom.
"Here's your good news -- no more leak! That good enough for you?"
"Hmph," he responded with a hint of a grin. "If that's the best you've got, I guess it will have to do."
"The best I've got! LISTEN, old man --"
The intercom went dead with a muted beep, and Chakotay dropped his hands from the controls.
"Well," he speculated out loud, "I guess we have our new Chief."
****
"That was about fourteen months before we got grabbed by the caretaker. Doesn't seem like much time now, but under war conditions it was a lifetime -- several lifetimes, in fact." He looked across the mess hall to the sight that had prompted several Maquis to think back to their days on the Liberty.
As a group, those at the table looked with him.
There, sitting at a table in the corner, was the couple in question. A bit earlier they had created a stir, and certainly stirred up conversations, when B'Elanna had calmly walked up to Chakotay at the height of the alpha shift's dinner rush.
****
"I need to talk to you, old man."
Chakotay raised an eyebrow, and calmly returned B'Elanna's steady gaze. She had been rather distant since that damn alien had invaded everyone's subconciousness and highjacked their fondest dreams. That had been okay with him, as he had been too busy dealing with crew counseling to even deal with his own fantasies, which came to mind all too easily as she stood before him.
"Yes?" he prompted.
For her part, B'Elanna almost sneered at his peaceful expression. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. As uncomfortable as she had been recently, reliving her dreams every night, looking at him now just made her feel silly and immature. She had planned out what she wanted to say to him, knew exactly how this conversation should go, but suddenly her mind was a blank. Her indecision seemed to drag on for hours, but it was really only a second or two later when, for lack of something better to do or say, she lifted him out of his chair, and kissed him -- hard. Neither noticed the silence that fell over the room.
The bewildered expression on his face was quite satisfying, even if he did recover quite quickly.
"Ah," he started, but his jaw hung slack for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Why don't you sit down - I think we need to continue this conversation."
And they sat, but they actually remained silent. The rest of the room, however, seemed to have a lot to talk about.
