MIKEYVERSE: Season’s Greetings.

[Poohbah]

It would seem that Captain Mantell might want to update his resume.

[jemhouston]

Bigger smile

[Johnnie Lyle]

It would seem that Captain Mantell might want to update his resume.

More likely his mental health coverage.

[MikeKozlowski]

STAR EMPIRE must have been kept in service a long while after Khitomer.

...Khitomer is only a couple years after TLS, and given the expense and trouble taken to build the two DNGXs (plus the issues with the Serapis class), it's reasonable to believe that the first few Dreadnaught flights may have been decommed pretty quickly, but the DNGXs would stick around for a while. Holding on until 2300 seems reasonable to me.

Mike

[Craiglxviii]

Did someone mention TLS? My Trekky senses are tingling!

[Johnnie Lyle]

STAR EMPIRE must have been kept in service a long while after Khitomer.

...Khitomer is only a couple years after TLS, and given the expense and trouble taken to build the two DNGXs (plus the issues with the Serapis class), it's reasonable to believe that the first few Dreadnaught flights may have been decommed pretty quickly, but the DNGXs would stick around for a while. Holding on until 2300 seems reasonable to me.

Mike

Is it only 2300? The stardate indicates it’s more than that, though I think you’re off by an order of magnitude with a six digit stardate. TNG used five digit ones in the 40000s, while Khitomer was a 9xxx star date.

[MikeKozlowski]

STAR EMPIRE must have been kept in service a long while after Khitomer.

...Khitomer is only a couple years after TLS, and given the expense and trouble taken to build the two DNGXs (plus the issues with the Serapis class), it's reasonable to believe that the first few Dreadnaught flights may have been decommed pretty quickly, but the DNGXs would stick around for a while. Holding on until 2300 seems reasonable to me.

Mike

Is it only 2300? The stardate indicates it’s more than that, though I think you’re off by an order of magnitude with a six digit stardate. TNG used five digit ones in the 40000s, while Khitomer was a 9xxx star date.

John,

I will freely admit to not understanding the Stardate system, so thank you for catching that. FWIW, SG takes place about two years after Khitomer, so that puts it at (I think) 2295. The Orion War, BTW, happens not long after this.

Mike

[Johnnie Lyle]

...Khitomer is only a couple years after TLS, and given the expense and trouble taken to build the two DNGXs (plus the issues with the Serapis class), it's reasonable to believe that the first few Dreadnaught flights may have been decommed pretty quickly, but the DNGXs would stick around for a while. Holding on until 2300 seems reasonable to me.

Mike

Is it only 2300? The stardate indicates it’s more than that, though I think you’re off by an order of magnitude with a six digit stardate. TNG used five digit ones in the 40000s, while Khitomer was a 9xxx star date.

John,

I will freely admit to not understanding the Stardate system, so thank you for catching that. FWIW, SG takes place about two years after Khitomer, so that puts it at (I think) 2295. The Orion War, BTW, happens not long after this.

Mike

The stardate system is pretty whacked, given the rough 35,000:70 ratio, implying 500 star dates per year, but TOS star dates much smaller. It’s possible that stardates were restandardized during the Lost Era.

11,000 or so might be plausible for 2295.

[Johnnie Lyle]

John Lyle sat, quite still and well behaved, as he watched the transmission from SFHQ on the monitor before him. On said monitor, FADM Karyn Cleavely, CINC Star Fleet, was slowly going through the hard copy of his report on the Christmas Eve Incident aboard Star Empire. He remembered that she was reportedly a bit old fashioned, liking her reports in hard copy with classic half-round reading glasses perched on her nose, and indeed there she was, looking more like an old-time school marm than the ferocious strike pilot she had been. The occasional 'hmm', 'ah', and 'I see' came through, and one 'ooooh', followed by her looking up disapprovingly, then going back to the report.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Cleavely closed the report, folded her hands, and looked into the screen. "Captain Lyle," she said, "I have served StarFleet for more than thirty years. I have flown attack shuttles, I have commanded strike squadrons and ships of the line, and I have served as StarFleet's IG."

"NONE of that prepared me for this," she said quietly, placing her hand on the report.

Lyle's smile was as wide and friendly as he could possibly make it.

"I can explain," he said.



Later - much later, of course - John Lyle would say that in hindsight, there were a few things that should have raised red flags: the cargo containers, the malfunctioning clothing replicators, and the distinctly...well, increasing twitchiness of Captain Mantell, who was seen mostly careening to and from Kapek's quarters and a storage bay nearby. The cargo containers weren't that big, only about a meter to a side, but the duty transporter officer had been leery about bringing them aboard without inspection. When asked, Kapek would only bare his canines in what they were sure was intended to be a genuine expression of happiness and bark, "It is a SURPRISE!!" There was a brief consultation, but it had been made clear before they got to Q'onos that though the LO was there on a military assignment his posting came under diplomatic rules...and unless they could come up with a damned good reason, the containers were off limits.

Well, fair enough, but the clothing replicators were another matter. Commander Tomai, his CHENG, had sat down with the reports and repair tickets.

"Three days in a row, Boss. And not just his replicators, but the ones on either side of him. I had to completely trash the one in his compartment, and one next to him is on life support."

Lyle leaned back mystified. "Any idea what he's doing?"

Tomai shook his head sadly. "I asked as politely as I could, but all I can get out of him was, 'It is a SURPRISE!!"

But what really got Lyle's attention was a tiny, really quite insignificant matter in the forward chow hall.

"Well, Captain," Groza explained, Gunny Ben Sidh and I were getting chow, and we saw Captain Mantell."

"Eating chow, I take it."

"Aye, sir - but he looked....well,...nervous."

"If they were serving the spaghetti and meatballs, that's understandable."

"Beggin' the Capn's pardon," Gunny Ban Sidh spoke up repectfully, "but this was a lot worse than a gooned-up Bolognese sauce. Th' lad was spooked."

"And you determined this how, exactly...?"

"I snuck up behind him an' whispered, 'Surprise'. Poor bastard jumped six inches out of his seat, parmesan everywhere."

Lyle looked at Groza with considerable disapproval, but before he could say anything Groza said, "Already counseled the Gunny, sir." Ben Sidh simply smiled beatifically.

"Look," Lyle said, "today is the 22nd. I don't know what Kapek is planning, and I am sorry that Mantell may be getting a crash course in Klingon weirdness - but all we have to do is hold out two more days, Kapek gets this out of his system, you can give Mantell a three day pass, and all is right with the world again. Understood?"

The two Marines stood, came to attention and saluted, and left Lyle's cabin. He looked at the paperwork that the last three days of this had generated, and wondered why, oh, why couldn't he have been a public heath worker like his mother had wanted...


TO BE CONTINUED...

It’s all fun and games until you have to check out a bat’leth and serve a quarantine order, do a syphilis interview using the SWAT team (the good old days in LA) or close down a bar as a public nuisance based on the beer they’re replicating.

But hey, chewed out by a Fleet Admiral none-the-less. Moving up in the world!

[Poohbah]

Inside you are two wolves.

Sorry about the transporter malfunction.

[MikeKozlowski]

Inside you are two wolves.

Sorry about the transporter malfunction.

Mike

[MikeKozlowski]

...Quick update, hopefully more to follow tonight.

Lyle checked himself in the mirror one more time, making sure every seam was aligned and in place, shooting his cuffs to make sure the white turtleneck sleeves were just so. At least in theory, they should have been wearing the full dress Alpha Four uniform with the knee-length coat, but Lyle wasn’t going to put his crew through that on Christmas Eve. The maroons were probably the best uniform StarFleet had ever come up with, and it was hard not to look good in it - no need to complicate it.

Now, down to the Empire Room, the big all-hands wardroom forward where the festivities were going on for the next two days. Services Division had pulled out all the stops to make the place as festive as they could, and the food - my Lord, the food! Cookies, cakes, a hundred different pastries, mulled cider and punch, enough chocolate to feed a cruiser squadron of Klingons and have some left over. And from what Lyle understood, the feast the next day would be even better - when he’d gotten the word they had been extended, Lyle had put his foot down ever so slightly and told Ops that by God, there had better be some turkeys on the way for his crew and they had better be here immediately if not sooner. Damned if the Mercury hadn’t shown up four days later with seventy turkeys, all tucked nicely in stasis boxes, and accompanied by a note from Jim Kirk, who was holding down a desk at Ops these days, apologizing for the things that had gone wrong (!) and letting him know that if he needed anything else to call him directly.

He’d also included his mother’s stuffing recipe.

Lyle nodded smiling to the memory. If you can’t be home, this is the next best thing. Six hundred beings who were, if just for a little while, the biggest, strangest, and most loving family somebody could ask for. The Westminster chrono on the wall behind his desk showed 1850. Out the door now, into the Empire Room at 1855 to smile and wave along with a couple of suitable words, then eat until we can’t -

-BEEP

The security alert tone on the combadges was distinctly different than the standard incoming message tone - not jarring enough to raise concerns among the uninitiated, but enough to let you know that something unusual may be going on, and perhaps it’s best that you look into it?

“This is the Captain.”

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Tattaglia in Security Central. We’re seeing…well…begging your pardon, sir,…but I don’t know what it is we’re seeing.”

“Send it to my monitor.”

Lyle’s desk monitor glowed into life, showing the feed from an area a few frames forward of him, all quarters of one sort or another. And what he was seeing….something very tall and black, a misshapen lump on its back, and it had -

- antlers???-

- and in trail behind it was a smaller shape that looked to be wearing…an elf hat?

- An elf hat and antlers

-An elf hat…..

-AN ELF HAT

A feeling of cold dread shot down John Lyle’s spine, and it all made sense. Thundering out the door at full gallop, Lyle barked into the combadge, “Tattaglia, I need a security detail standing by to get to the Empire Room, but only, repeat ONLY on my order, copy?"

“Aye aye sir, response team is standing by now!”

The first clue that the evening wouldn’t be going exactly according to plan was when Lyle came through the doors of the Empire Room, and the usual sounds of a few hundred happy people were nowhere to be heard. Instead, there was dead silence and directly ahead of him was the reason for said silence: standing in front of the Christmas tree was what looked to be an eight-foot high figure, clothed all in black, with a huge sack in one hand, and perched on his head a sincerely, but poorly made Santa hat.

With antlers.

Beside him, in a green elf hat with antlers and - a red rubber ball on his nose? - was Captain Mantell, who looked Lyle dead in the eyes and mouthed, ‘Help.”

Lyle was still trying to get his head around this apparition when he realized that there were about three hundred beings in the Empire Room looking between him and Kapek, silently imploring him to not just stand there but DO something. With that realization, Lyle strode carefully up to Kapek and came to ‘at rest.’

“Commander Kapek.”

Kapek’s voice rattled the room as he answered, “Captain Lyle, my friend! I wish you a Merry Christmas!”

“Thank you, Kapek, and a Merry Christmas to you. What the hell are you doing?”

TO BE CONTINUED...

Mike

[jemhouston]

He's trying

[MikeKozlowski]

He's trying

<GROUCHO/on>

"You bet he's trying; he's very trying."

Mike

[Poohbah]

Mantell's internal thoughts:

"What was the name of that truck driving school? Truck Masters?"

[Johnnie Lyle]

Mantell's internal thoughts:

"What was the name of that truck driving school? Truck Masters?"

I’d avoid the back seat of a fighter or Workerbee for a while.

[Johnnie Lyle]

Next Christmas, Johnnie, write a goddamned memo.

[Craiglxviii]

Mantell's internal thoughts:

"What was the name of that truck driving school? Truck Masters?"

You owe me a new settee cushion

[Johnnie Lyle]

Mantell's internal thoughts:

"What was the name of that truck driving school? Truck Masters?"

You owe me a new settee cushion

Check your copy of the Rules of Acquisition there.

[MikeKozlowski]

Kapek leaned down, his grin literally ear to ear as he bellowed, “I AM SANTA KRAMPUS!!!”

Lyle blinked several times as he processed this, then carefully touched Kapek’s elbow, gesturing for him to step off the platform and join him. Kapek complied happily enough, followed glumly by Mantell - who only got a couple steps away before Major Groza caught his attention and gently directed him back onto the stage. More out of reflex than directive, Mantell dropped his sack and came to ‘at rest’.

The crowd parted for Lyle and Kapek until they stopped a few strides away. Lyle looked conspiratorially to either side and said, “Kapek, I may be wrong - and I will cheerfully confess to error - but it is my recollection that Krampus is, in fact, not a nice mythological being and quite likely not one to be handing out gifts.”

“I know!!! But did not Scrooge become good after a visit by spirits?”

Lyle nodded. “True that.”

“And can not one reform to value the spirit of Christmas?”

“Strictly by the book, yes.”

“Then it seems quite reasonable to me, friend Lyle, that if someone would just give him the chance, he would SEE!! He could help Santa - who is extremely busy - AND perform his duty of convincing children to behave in the coming year!”

Lyle exhaled slowly. “Kapek, I may regret this, but how would he do this?” By way of answer, Kapek grabbed Lyle and hustled him back to the stage, where the Klingon sat down on an undersized seat that looked almost as uncomfortable as Lyle felt, then patted his knee as an invitation to sit. Lyle, in turn took a deep breath and sat on Kapek’s lap.

“Now - have you been a good child, friend Lyle?”

“Why, yes. Yes, I have.”

Kapek’s response was a bellow unlike anything Lyle had ever heard before, a roar that bowed Plexisteel viewports and literally seemed to blow his hair back.

“I do not entirely believe you, so you must do better next year or I shall do something remarkably unpleasant! Friend Mantell!” With that, Kapek snapped his fingers and Mantell quickly bent down to the bag, pulling out a small but beautifully molded bat’leth about three inches long.

“Merry Christmas,” Mantell muttered, handing it to Lyle while keeping an eye on Kapek, who was giving him a slightly disapproving look. “Not quite quickly enough, friend Mantell. We have discussed this.” Mantell gulped audibly, and replied, “A thousand pardons, Kap-”

-One bushy Klingon eyebrow shot up, followed by another gulp -

“...A thousand pardons, Santa…”

- And the eyebrow settled back down.

And at that point, Lyle looked up to see nothing but a solid wall of smiles on the faces of his crew, grins he hadn’t seen since they’d been extended. The room was in a joyous uproar as everyone jostled for position to get into line next, and Kapek was grinning from ear to ear and laughing uproariously. With that, Lyle said, “I should let everyone else have their turn”, and stood up only to have Kapek grab his arm and say, “Wait! Before we start, we must have music! Friend Mantell!” With a slightly pained expression, Mantell pulled a small remote from his pocket and pressed a button. What came out of the overhead was…theoretically…music, which led to confused looks once more among the gathered crew. Gunny Ban Sidh looked up at Groza and whispered, “Sar…what the bloody Hell is that?”

Groza was doing his best to hold in the laughter, and he was losing the battle as he wheezed, “Ah, Gunny….it’s…ah…dogs. Barking ‘Jingle Bells’.”

Ban Sidh never even blinked. “Sar, you people are weird.”


“All right - that’ll do it then.” Pause. “Hold on a moment….” Clavely tapped her desktop screen, peered at the results then looked back up to Lyle. “You screening for Commodore this cycle?”

Lyle shook his head. “No, ma’am. Not quite enough seniority.”

More tapping. “Well, you are now,” Cleavely said.

Lyle was slightly stunned, but recovered enough to ask, “Admiral,..ummm…thank you, but…can you do that?”

Cleavely looked at him like he had just grown a second head. “For the record, Captain, I’m the CINC. I can do anything I want. But as a matter of explanation, the fact is that we lost more than a third of our flag officers after Cartwright and Chang pulled their little stunt, and almost everybody in Second Fleet. Sorting it out after the drawdowns, I’ve got Commodores commanding task forces, Rear Admirals commanding sectors, and there’s no way there’s ever going to be another Fleet Admiral except for the one who gets this chair. It’ll take years to replace them, but I need people out there now who know what they’re doing, who can think not only outside the box but find new damned boxes entirely. In your case, you got the right result - the Klingons now want to think more like us, even if it’s putting on a weird hat once a year and yelling ‘Merry Christmas.” Christ, I’ve got messages here from the Klingon Admiralty thanking us - thanking us - for including them in our cultural celebrations, and the Chancellor herself wants to know about this delicacy we call ‘turkey’. Whatever their LO told them, it worked.”

“Now. You guys are headed back January 15th, I’m sending Star League out to relieve you. I want you to get Star Empire overhauled in record time, because I fully expect you to be a Commodore on March 1st. You’ll be taking her back to Q’onos along with a small TG - CA, CG, CL, a couple of small boys, and a replenishment ship.”

“That’s not small, Ma’am.”

“By Klingon standards it is. You will, after all the diplomatic niceties are dispensed with, begin work up exercises with the DSF. We need to start working together with them, because when the next war starts, we’re going to need them.”

Lyle gave a look of respectful skepticism. “Next war, Ma’am?”

Cleavely looked down over the top of her glasses. “Captain, remember - we’re always at war. We just don’t always realize it. Anyways - consider yourself counseled; good results but let’s double check the methodology next time. Go forth and sin no more.”
Lyle couldn’t hide the grin. “Aye aye, Ma’am.” Cleavely, in turn, gave a vague gesture of dismissal and replied, “CINC out.”

Hadn’t expected that[/i], Lyle thought with a grin, but before he could celebrate the monitor popped back to life, and he scrambled back to a more or less respectful position as Cleavely peered out at him one more time.

“One last thing - New Year’s is right out. If Kapek sees anything on New Year’s Eve parties and balls dropping in Times Square, God alone knows what he’ll do. Cleavely out.”

THE END