Marching Orders

Posted on Wed Sep 16th, 2020 @ 3:45am by Lieutenant JG Evelyn Cogley
Edited on on Thu Sep 17th, 2020 @ 8:20pm

Mission: Episode 1: New Toys to Play With
Location: Stafleet Medical Rehab - Michigan Center
Timeline: Mission Day 0 at 1300

Evelyn Cogley received a confirmation of her orders with a few scant days left in her enforced medical leave. The orders were hand delivered by an aide from Admiral Leslie's office. She didn't know much about Leslie, though the name had cropped up a few times. Not as famous as the now late Admiral Forest, but not exactly a total recluse when it came to the admiralty either. The aide wore the patch of the general staff of Starfleet command. That got Evie's heart racing. She'd been cooped up planet side for entirely too long (if you asked her) and had put in a transfer request in hopes of getting back out into space.

Of course, the orders had arrived when Evie was finishing up her most recent round of PT. Thus she had come to rest, flat on her back, pushing against a leg press. Her hair was soaked in sweat, her face flushed almost as red as the strands on her hair, and her top was drenched to boot. Easing her burning legs (the left one had been injured severely enough to necessitate the medical leave in the first place), the red headed flight operator swung herself into an upright position and then staggered into a sloppy attention, taking deep breaths to try and steady herself. The aide had the three full pips of a commander, and the name patch simply said 'Walters'. "Sir." The only answer needed.

"At ease, Ensign," the tall man had said, waving her off and gesturing back to the leg press. He had a clipped sort of accent, something that Evelyn had learned to identify as Baltic since coming to Earth, not at all like the flatter tones she'd grown up with on New Montana. "Looks like they're keeping you busy here." That got a grunt and a slow nod. The truth of it was, Evie was going crazy. She wanted to get back out and fly, but they'd kept her grounded. Even with plenty of free time to go into the near by town of Detroit, or the beaches on Lake Michigan, all Evie wanted was to get behind the stick.

The man looked the device that she had been using over, noted the weight she was using, and then looked the junior officer over in turn, seemingly impressed. His head dipped to one side and his fuzzy eyebrows rose up ever so slightly. Then it was all business. "Command has reviewed your transfer request, as well as your assigned physicians reports as to the current state of your recovery. While your progress and service to date has been exemplary, there remains one issue with your request."

That got the redhead's attention, and she felt something twist in her gut. "Sir?" She asked, an edge in her tone that she couldn't quite hide. It took an effort of will not to bite at her lip, but she was wringing her hands behind her back, just out of sight, and her weight was shifting from one hip to the other. "If that doctor is saying I'm not ready I'll wring his neck. Sir." That earned a snort of repressed laughter, breaking through the commanders series countenance.

"No, Miss Cogley. The position requires an officer of rank worthy to run a department of pilots," the commander noted. He handed over a folded piece of paper, and then fished out of his pocket, a small box that was also passed across. "Easily remedied, Lieutenant Cogley." Her eyebrows shot up at that. She hadn't banked on getting the bump in rank. With the influx of new recruits and the relative low ranks of crewmen flooding the Starfleet in the wake of the declaration of War, Evelyn had assumed that they'd over look her low rank and just slot her into the posting. Apparently the Admiralty had decided to correct in the other direction. There was a gleam in Commander Walters' eyes as he puffed out his chest a bit and addressed her in formal tones.

"Evelyn Cogley: you are hear by promoted in rank to that of Lieutenant, Junior grade, with all rights and responsibilities afforded you. Further more, Lieutenant Cogley, you are requested and required to take possession of a newly commissioned shuttle pod from the San Francisco fleet yards Tomorrow, 1200hrs, delivering it to the SS Ceres in orbital Dry-Dock, post haste. Upon delivery of the new shuttle pod, you are required to further present yourself to Commander Gregory Watney, Commanding Officer, SS Ceres, to begin your duties as Chief Helmsman. Do you understand these orders as I have presented them to you, Lieutenant Cogley?"

For a moment the redhead just stared down at the now opened box, and the darkened square pip that would denote her promotion in rank. Swallowing, she came to attention again, and gave a sharp nod, gripping the box tightly in her left hand and trying not to crush the paper copy of her orders in her right. "Aye aye, sir. I understand."

The gruff man gave another nod, as if satisfied, and cracked a smile. "Congratulations Lieutenant. The shuttle-pod will be ready for you at 1200 hours Pacific Standard time tomorrow. See to it that you, and any gear you might have, are ready to board the shuttle and transport it to your new posting. An electronic copy of your orders has already been transferred to your personal file, as well as your service account." He pursed his lips for a moment, and then, in a gentler tone, "If I may offer a personal suggestion?"

Evie blinked a few times, then nodded slowly, "Of course, sir." She didn't quite sound that confident, more confused as to what he might wish to impart.

"If I were you, I'd hit up Bakers Keyboard Lounge in Detroit to celebrate. You're doing yourself a real disservice if you don't stop by before you ship out." He flashed her a wolfish grin at he imparted his advice, and rubbed his hands together as he saw her confusion only grow. "I went through rehab here a few years back. The club has over three hundred years of history in Detroit and still has some of the best fried chicken I've ever had the pleasure to eat. They've got a great in house band. Trust me," he tapped a finger to his nose, almost like the mythical Santa Claus, about to shimmy his way back up a chimney. "If you only go to one place in Detroit, make sure it's Bakers."

Letting out a little bark of laughter, the pilot shook her head from side to side and cracked a smile. "Aye sir. Bakers it is. As long as they're not playing any Andorian Electro-Fusion, I'm sure it'll make for a lovely night." Whatever she had been expecting from the gruff looking aide, it hadn't been advice about the Detroit night life. All the same, after they'd exchanged parting pleasantries, and Evie made her way towards the rehab centers locker room (and accompanying showers), she decided she would take the man's advice and catch a hopper over to the city. Maybe this Keyboard Lounge would be just what she needed to kick off her new assignment and get her head out of rehab and back into action.

Besides, she was owed at least one wild night out on the town after snagging a promotion, right?