She hated her post.
Her superiors might have called the station a construction outpost, but she didn''t see it that way. All she saw was an old, broken-down piece of junk. Ready to crumble into the orbit of the world it circled above, not that the planetoid deserved that title either. Always more problems than it was worth.
She didn''t mind the slow days at the helm. Didn''t mind it when nothing happened for weeks on end. She didn''t even mind the accommodations or poor food selection. In fact, the lack of paperwork and the lack of excitement was a good thing in her mind. Nobody wanted an exciting day on a military ship.
No, what she hated the most was that Command insisted that she keep appearances up. That morale was important. She could certainly see the use when fighting pirates. But those were few and far between. The things she had to deal with most on a daily basis were unruly transport captains. But even while they always insisted on being difficult, they were still law abiding citizens.
They never needed more than a stern warning.
‘I hope something breaks up this dull shift. I think I drifted off there.’
Despite her better sense, she sometimes gave in and wished for something to brighten her day. A little something that didn’t need more paperwork but broke up the tedium.
What she didn''t want was a massive ship bristling with weapons to drop out of the void.
“Commander. No identification markings and no hails.”
Maybe she wasn''t the only one looking for a little excitement. Her crew hardly needed to be told what to do. Already working on all of the things that she would have needed to tell them.
“Hail them on all frequencies and open the channel.
“Yes, ma''am. Contact when ready.”
“Unidentified ship. This is Security Officer Krikra. Respond with clearance or be targeted as a hostile.
“Navigation. Bring us around, weapons officers bring the weapons online."
“Receiving a signal, ma''am.”
She listened to static come through the radio. The static was broken only by rumbling. Clearly a language, but one she didn''t recognize. It certainly wasn''t one of the recognized galactic common languages. And it definitely wasn''t something designated for ship communications.
“Unidentified ship, transmission received but unintelligible. Please respond with a galactic recognized communication format.”
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“Ma’am, we''re having trouble keeping an open channel.”
This was quite the strange encounter. She didn''t really know how to proceed. None of the manuals ever really trained for something like this. Large ships with weapons usually attacked. She wasn''t used to them trying to talk but not being able to. She couldn''t exactly be aggressive if they weren''t.
“Do we have any more information or identification on the ship?"
“No ma’am, we are trying to request ship logs now.”
“Ma''am, incoming communication.”
“Spe……..t words? No………..good.”
“Can we clean that up?”
“We''re trying ma’am, but it''s not going well.”
Now what was she supposed to do. It was clear something was wrong with the other ship. It was also clear that they weren’t being aggressive. Yet. But there was nothing she could do while they were having trouble communicating.
“Are we still transmitting?”
“Yes ma’am. You have control.”
“Unidentified Ship, transmission received. What’s no good? Please switch to a galactic recognized communication format.”
She had never needed to stress that before. Even the pirates were considerate enough to use standard communication formats. Was this an uncontacted species? If this was a first contact scenario, she was far outside her depths.
“I want anyone not doing something important to prepare for possible first contact or lost ship protocols.
“Communications, do your best to clear that signal. You have full resources.”
Several ‘Yes ma’ams’ proceeded a flurry of activity. She wanted nothing more than to go back and chastise her earlier self for wanting ‘excitement’. Or maybe chastise the universe for way overestimating what excitement was supposed to be.
“Line connected ma’am. Communications should be cleared!”
Before she could take a breath to do anything the line crackled to life.
“Umm, hello?”
“Unidentified ship. This is Security Officer Krikra. Identify yourself and send communication protocols.”
At least the use of galactic trade mostly ruled out a first contact scenario. It was a language used by pretty much all spacers, something simple that most lifeforms could use and was easily translated for those that couldn’t. The unprofessionalism was something else entirely.
Some more rumbling came across the line.
“Uh, I don’t know how to say that word. What are protocols and how do I send them?”
That….. wasn’t good.
The girl on the other side of the radio didn’t sound that old either.
“Young lady, please find someone who knows what they are doing and have them come talk to us alright?”
She waited, listening to the static.
“I um, I don’t think I can do that.”
That really wasn’t good.
“Young lady, are you alone on the bridge right now?”
She might be able to handle unruly transport officers, but she was woefully unequipped to coach a girl through ship communications when it sounded like she shouldn’t even be on the bridge to begin with.
“No.”
Oh, good. That scared her for a moment.
“I don’t think anyone else can talk to you though.”
She felt her organs drop out through her legs.
“Get me a status on those weapons.”
She now had an unconfirmed girl in charge of something that looked like it could be a ship-of-the-line. If she was the only one capable of moving on that ship it would be a disaster. Especially if they needed to get close.
“Weapons are powered ma’am, but they seem to be in standby.”
A disaster then. This was not excitement, this was torture.
‘I am never wishing again.’
“Young lady, have you ever seen them bring the ship into dock? Or have any experience on the bridge?”
“Um, No?”
There it was.
Her last hope shot down.