The New Chief

Posted on 04 Nov 2016 @ 7:51pm by Master Chief Petty Officer Daytona Ral & Captain Nathan Cowell MD

Mission: Prelude; Breakfast at Curmudgeon's
Location: Captain's Ready Room
Timeline: MD -2: 1100 hours

Master Chief Master-At-Arms Daytona Ral checked himself over in the mirror. Everything looked in order. His quarters were sizable for an NCO. As the 'more equal pig' he was afforded better quarters than he would have assigned if he was just Chief Master-At-Arms. His belongings had been transported over and delivered. He sorted through everything and got everything situated, then showered and put on a fresh uniform to go and meet the ship's captain. After that, he'd go and meet his other boss, the Chief Security/Tactical Officer, a lieutenant named, of all things, Claire Annette. Go figure. Deciding that staring at himself in the mirror wasn't going to make him any better looking, he walked out the door of his quarters and headed towards the Captain's Ready Room. Arriving there, he hit the door chime.

"What?" came the gruff voice from within the room, belonging to what could only be assumed was the Captain of the ship.

Daytona entered the Captain's Ready Room, grinning from ear to ear.

"Master Chief Master-At-Arms Daytona Ral reporting for duty as Chief Master-At-Arms and, as I understand things, Chief of the Boat," he said. "I'm glad to find you in such a good mood, and not affecting the stereotypical grumpiness of men, women, and others of your advanced years. Mind if I take a seat?"

Captain Nathan Cowell stared at the man for a good few minutes before waving at the chair in front of his desk rather apathetically, "Don't care either way. So Starfleet sent me a Master Chief. That's new. Figured Merriweather would be the only senior enlisted running around this tour. So how'd you wind up here?"

"They have these things called transporters," he said. "You step onto one of the pads and the transporter technician 'beams' you from his, or her, or its location to the location of your choice, provided that location is within range. More specifically, Starfleet said, first, 'Go to Command Chief/Chief of the Boat School' and then, after I completed that, Starfleet said 'Go forth and become the Chief Master-At-Arms and Chief of the Boat of the USS Arizona.' and lo, I went forth and came here, and all was good."

Daytona relented, deciding that he'd yanked the old man's chain enough for the moment.

"Actually, it's been kind of a long road," he said. "I went from lusty farm boy, to being a civilian police constable on patrol, to SWAT, to being a detective, all of that took about fifty-four years, to joining Starfleet back in forty-six after the Cardassian attack on Setlik III and the start of the Cardassian Border Wars. Starfleet tried to make me a master-at-arms the first time over forty years ago, but I got bored with that right quick. I made it into and through SEAL selection and I was special ops all the way through the end of the Dominion War. I'd still be special ops but that I had a... disagreement with a marine colonel."

Nathan's standard look of disinterest didn't budge while he listened to the man ramble on. It wasn't overly interesting information, especially the attempted joke right at the beginning. The Old Man could tell that the man sitting in front of him was the 'talking' type, which meant that his heritage leaned heavily toward the Vulcanoid side of his peerage.

"So you're a field sailor, like to get your hands dirty. Known a lot of your type in my time. I'm sure you'll have your fill of action by the time we get settled in the Delta Quadrant. Might even get shot at a time or two. Think you're still up for that kind of thing?" Capt. Cowell asked while leaning back in his chair.

"I can handle it," Daytona said, keeping it short just to mix things up. "Risk is our business, after all."

Nathan grunted at the comment, "Well, we risk plenty on this ship, so you ought to keep busy. You got any questions for me, or are you ready to hit the ground running?"

"I think I'm all set," Daytona replied. He made a mental note that, if he turned out to be an old grump at 600, he should shoot himself in the head and end it once and for all. He stood up and came to attention. "Permission to withdraw, Captain?"

"Granted," Nathan said, waving the man toward the door.

Just for fun, Daytona executed a picture perfect, parade ground worthy, about face and exited the Captain's Ready Room. Once he was clear, he chuckled and shook his head. The last captain he'd said 'Permission to withdraw?' to was naked at the time and she'd grabbed him and screamed 'DON'T YOU DARE!' She'd been nice, if a bit clingy. Lucky for him she'd shipped out a few days later. Pulling himself out of 'stream of consciousness' mode, he took off to meet Lieutenant Claire Annette, his boss. Maybe she'd be more interesting than the crustacean he'd just dealt with.