IC: So Say We All

James awoke to the usual feelings of the last two years of being refreshed and no time having passed since he had just closed his eyes. 0500, huh? My 'standard' three dreamless hours. Then again, I did dream for almost thirty-eight years... He quickly changes into in his PTs and straps on his gunbelt. And all I have to show for it is a three-hour dreamless sleep cycle, freezerburn, my history being so classified that almost everyone who reads my file wants nothing to do with me, a life amongst a population the majority of whom don't understand--or care--about 'The War', and a suitable callsign, courtesy of the infamously-snarky ELINT Raptor crews. He expertly tunes a hand-held military wireless tranceiver to the squadron frequencies, attaches it to his gunbelt, and slips an earbud in his left ear. Let us see what is going on this morning, shall we?

The halls are quite deserted as he steps out of his quarters. Half-crew, and my Senior Instructor/Master Trainer/Liaison orders, got me a birthing compartment to myself. Of course, if I didn't sleep as little--and deeply--as I do, sharing the left compartment wall with Electronics Shop 1, the right with the largest head on the deck, and the back wall with the Armory would make my quarters a great deal less pleasant. Still, no surprise that in a ship with space to spare in berthing that no one wanted to bunk in it besides me. He walks into Electronics Shop 1--a common haunt of his compared to the hangar-dedicated Electronics Shop 2--and performs a quick inspection to make sure everything was still in place. He stops as he notices something--two somethings--that are pink, frilly, and definitely not shop-issue on top of one of the cabinents. Again, Dargien? Is that girl trying to shake the tree of everyone not legally forbidden on this ship? Of course, given that she keeps it out of work, within the regulations, and is competent, I can't really fault her...and during the war, I was the only one not doing the same damn thing. Maybe the recruiters need to try 'The Fleet, Where ALL of the Action is Fast, Hot, and Heavy'? He shakes his head as he closes the shop hatch behind him, then turns towards the rest of Crew Berthing and begins a slow, steady jog.

I do miss being able to actually run, though. He passes through the majority of Crew Berthing, taking 15 minutes to do what he knew the Marines did in 5...and feeling the familiar mild pain in every fiber of his being. As he approaches the boundary between the Fleet and Marine sections of the Meleager, he spots a familiar Electronics Specialist trying to very quickly and discretely place boots back inside the quarters she was leaving. James smiles slightly as he sees the compartment number, then stops a short distance behind the still-groggy Specialist Lacy Dargein and composes his face in its normal neutral 'glare'. This is going to be slightly entertaining. His deadpan voice--quiet although stern--suddenly coming from behind her causes her to jump a little and quickly spin to face him.

"Specialist, I believe you have personal property in the shop. Try to make sure you retrieve it before everyone else is on-shift; I run a professional shop." He looks her in the eyes, letting none of his inner humor show, and gives her points for levelly meeting his gaze...despite the blush on her cheeks. "Carry on, Specialist." He resumes his steady jog, although he hears her mutter a few quiet, choice oaths as her footsteps quickly accelerate back towards Electronics Shop 1 once he is around the bend. Let the little embarassment to be a lesson to her; after all, I am not going to let anyone under me suffer public embarassment without a damn good reason. He shakes his head as he finally reaches Marine Berthing, then stops as he realizes that none of the Marines were out finishing their morning run with the sprint and cooldown laps he normally joins them on. That is odd...

He hears the sounds of a familiar thick Aerelon accent faintly echoing from the open door of the Troop Bay. Wonder what has SSGT Burke going? As he walks up to the open door, he begins to make out what the Staff Sergeant was saying. An inspection? Did one of the Marines somehow draw the XO's ire on them...again? As he looks inside, he both clearly understands exactly what Burke is saying and sees that every single one of the Meleager's small Marine Contingent were inside. They are carefully checking over each others' full kit as SSGT Burke strolls amongst them, his corrections and admonishments easily carrying throughout the compartment in a thick Aerelon drawl. James quickly withdraws, snapping an abbreviated but respectful salute to the veteran NCO. Thankfully only Burke saw me, what with all of his Marines facing away from the door. Good thing I took efforts to get to know him as soon--and with as much respectf--as possible. Another lesson of the war: make sure the Marines like you enough to take decent risks saving your ass. James shakes his head as he resumes jogging; he had accomplished that goal by spending time on the range with the Marines, teaching them several tricks they could use, and always buying at least two beers for all them when possible. With no Marines to wear me out, looks like I am going to have to do a long lap. Hell, it's only 0533; I have plenty of time. I feel for those Marines, although I can't blame Burke for having them already starting his notoriously-thorough 'pre'-inspections. Damn, I thought that Third was arriving tomorrow...

James then hits one of the major passageways around the ship's perimeter and heads aft at his highest sustainable jogging speed. He tunes out the slightly increased pain coming from his body by focusing on the Meleager around him and the wireless traffic coming through his earpiece. Let's go see what the snipes are up to this morning...And if they need anything computerized worked on today...

A half-hour later, right after passing the Missile Magazines, James finally hears the announcement that heralds the start of most of the actually interesting--and usually entertaining--wireless traffic he has listened to since being assigned to the 24th Viper Training Squadron. He recognizes the tired voices of both--relatively attractive--communications operators on both ends as Constallation-shift personnel; he has worked with--and given a few tips--to both of them during his two months in 'exile'.

Echidna Flight Control, this is Meleager, request clearance for Flight Operations in Erebos Flight Range.

Meleager, Echidna Flight Control, you are Cleared for Flight Operations in Erebos Flight Range. Break. Two-Four Training Squadron, Echidna Flight Control: Be advised that Meleager is now conducting Flight Operations in Erebos Flight Range. Break. Erebos Flight Range is now Status Red and Release is Granted for training munitions. We say again, Erebos Flight Range is now Hot and Flight Operations are now Active; all ships contact Echidna Flight Control for additional flight clearance, weapons release, or range status changes. Echinda Flight Ops clear.

Copy, Flight Control.

James briefly smiles as he starts jogging his return path, choosing to wind through the center of Meleager. Well, let us see what fun message traffic we have today... Fifteen minutes later, he casaully salutes a groggy Lieutenant suddenly exiting CIC as he dodges around her. "Morning Ma'am!" Her reply was lost as he rounds the bend and runs as hard as he can through the relatively 'bendy' passageways between him and the long hallway in front of his quarters. I think I startled her; and if she is that new Lieutenant we got last week, than she must be the Constellation Officer of the Watch at the moment. It certainly looks like she had a long night from how worn out she looks. Of course, if she was relieved, that means either Captain 'More Frakkin Discipline' Fenq or The Major have the Watch; wonder which one was up first today? James slows to a moderate walk, carefully taking long strides to cool down AND stretch his muscles, as he enters the corridor in front of his quarters. Hopefully The Major will be up by the time I stop by CIC to report, since if not, I will end up sharing the CIC with 'More Martinet' Fenq until she gets there. I know we had our share of needlessy hard-assed leadership during the war, but I swear that man is aiming to be the Fleet definition of 'Hard-Assed Mother-Fracker'. At least I do not report to HIM every morning. James shakes his head, then checks his chronometer as he steps back into his quarters.

0643. I think I managed to shave a couple minutes off of my 'perimeter run' time; still makes me wish for when I could still seriously run. I'm only thirty; I am sure the frack not supposed to feel this old and worn. He pauses momentarily to listen as 'Riptide', 'Killer', and 'Artemis' launch from the Meleager. Oh, as usual, that is going to be fun to listen to. James quickly grabs his tolietry kit and a towel, and then heads into the head next door. He nods to a few 'early-risers' from Alpha Shift, and then quickly performs his personal hygiene. I am probably the only person in this entire Squadron who regularly wears a gunbelt over my towel to walk less than five meters from the head to my room because they refuse to be more than an arm's reach from their sidearm. Of course, I am not having a repeat of when the fracking Cylons cut through the Chiron's hull right into the head I happened to be showering in. Thank whichever Gods, God, or Whatever that they didn't think to check the showers...that time, at least. Those poor pilots on the Warden were not as lucky as me...I was fracking lucky during the war. He quickly and efficiently changs into his flight suit, re-securing all of his gear over it before grabbing his clipboard and leaving for CIC. 0658, Damn. As he re-traces his run route towards the CIC, he finds his way blocked by a detail shifting supplies. These guys won't have the cross-traffic cleared for another ten to fifteen, minimum. Damn!

He turns around and quickly passes through Marine Berthing, noting that all of the Marines are absent; he shrugs, and proceeds through into the passage that will eventually take him to Hangar Deck Hatch 2. He rapidly ducks down the first available cross-corridor as he notes the passageway's occupants and hears the transmissions to and from Raptor Two-Zero-Four. I get along as well with SSGT Burke as an extremely senior Fleet Petty Officer can with a senior Marine Staff Sergeant, but if I disrupt the welcoming inspection of his new Lieutenant, he is going use me for target practice...and I could not even blame him. James takes a right and heads down the passageway to Hangar Deck Hatch 2. Wonder if we should just let 'Killer' and 'Artemis' go at each other with live ammunition NOW, or keep seeing if they will ever get past their damned rivalry and focus on the important mission of DEFENDING THE FRACKING COLONIES. I really, really miss the days when all such issues were forgotten about--in public, at least--by almost everyone...of course, I don't wish another desperate defense against genocidal robots to come back. I just wish this generation would notice the fact that the Cylons are not gone, just quietly sitting in their own corner! I would use the normal 'Pilots!', but since I have Wings, I know that is not fracking true. He passes through the hatch onto the hangar deck of the Meleager, and quickly assesses his surroundings as he continues towards the hatch on the far side of the hangar that will allow him to continue to CIC.

He passes around the crowd of Nuggets, showing no outward notice of their curious looks at his flight suit's patches and insignia. The instructing senior pilot catches sight of the flight-suited figure passing to his left and turns towards James. He thinks I am a tardy Nugget. I keep forgetting that since I arrived in the middle of Constellation shift two weeks ago, almost none of the crew has seen me in my flight suit. He stops, turns towards the pilot, and snaps off a smooth, well-worn salute. "Good morning Sir, Ladies and Gentlemen." The senior pilot answers James' salute with a surprised, somewhat sloppy, salute and a dawning light of recognition in his eyes.

"Good morning, First Class Mundy." The senior pilot looks notably confused. "Are you here to join the class...?"

"No sir. And by all means, call me 'Morpheus' when I am in the flight suit, Sir. Sorry for momentarily disrupting your class." James resumes walking, only to be stopped by a deckhand as a Raptor--Two-Oh-Four, if I am reading its markings right--trundles out of an airlock and directly across his intended path. It is 204. I might as well see the new Marine Third anyway, since his arrival has delayed me. Maybe my damned Portable Cyberwarfare Suite will have finally gotten shipped out here and be aboard as well. At least it is not my ass, since it was in Depot Storage, if they lose it. And deities know that I don't need the 4-million-plus credit bill if they have lost it. He shifts to just within hearing distance as he spots SSGT Burke standing at parade rest, and then quickly starts 'inspecting' a handy piece of targetting electronics from a Viper Mk.VIa4 sitting nearby that still allows him a discrete line of sight on the Raptor and the Staff Sergeant. He watches as salutes and greetings are exchanged, and manages to catch part of their conversation as they duck through a hatch and towards the waiting Marines.

Smart enough to relegate formalities to their appropriate place, seek his senior NCO's advice, and have done at least a little information collection before arriving. There is potential there. And, alas, no Portable Cyberwarfare Suite aboard that Raptor. Time to get to the CIC. "Sir?" James turns towards the understandably confused Senior Deckhand that had just walked up behind him. "Is there a problem with this component, Sir?" James narrows his eyes at the Deckhand. Given the rarity of Enlisted Flight Crew--and especially Enlisted Flight Wings--these days in the Fleet, I should not be surprised...but when did the Fleet stop teaching crew to read a person's FRACKING RANK before addressing them?

"First Class, Senior Deckhand, First Class. I actually work very, very hard for a living, and would like to be addressed as such." At the deckhand's clear confusion, James continues the educational lecture. "See the patches?" James rotates each should in sequence so that the deckhand can see both patches. "I am a--very--veteran Cyberwarfare Specialist who is-" James points to the rank and Enlisted Flight Wings on his caller "-both an NCO and Flight-Qualified." At the young woman's look of comprehension, James continues speaking in a level tone of voice. "Any questions on this quick instructional briefing, courtesy of Petty Officer First Class Mundy, Senior Deckhand?" James slightly raises his left eyebrow at the deckhand, internally amused at the sudden drop in traffic passing behind the young woman.

"No, First-Class Mundy!" James drops the eyebrow, widens his eyes to a slightly sympathetic look, and nods at her.

"Good, Senior Deckhand. And since we have established that, you will--and pass it along--call me 'Morpheus' while I am in a flight suit. It is quicker, less officious sounding, and much, much easier for you all to remember admidst all the other people you have to deal with on a daily business. Carry on." James spins on his heel and resumes his travels to the CIC. As he walks, he can hear the deckhands quietly start discussing his actions as they continue working. Not quiet enough, but I see no reason to bust their chops any further. That deckhand only got 'The Speech' because it was the quickest way to get the message out across the ships' enlisted and to--hopefully establish that I am exacting but reasonable. Now if I can just get to the fracking CIC, not have to deal with Captain fracking Fenq, and get his planned EVA training-and-maintenance operations for today finally approved. It is definitely time to get some time 'in the black', since it has been a good six weeks since I last was in microgravity OR death pressure...and I need the peace.

He shakes his head as hears the two nearest deckhands comparing him to Fenq. Really? I am pretty sure Fenq never killed anyone accidentally due to a difference in protocol--or intentionally, for that matter--and I am consistently diappointed in large chunks of the modern Fleet. Next one of the senior pilots--or better yet, the CAG--WILL actually mistake me for a Nugget and attempt to order me to take a Raptor out for combat maneuvering practice. James shook his head as he finally arrived at the CIC hatch. And now we REALLY start my day going...

Hector walked with a purpose down the corridor to the lifts as his hair finished drying. He had left the Meleager early so he could catch a game of pyramid with the Echidna XO. Even at 52 and on his last assignment before retirement, the man was one of the best challenges in the squadron. He stepped on the lift and punched in his destination. It opened on the busy flight deck and Hector got that at home feeling he felt every time he stepped onto an active hangar bay. The smell of the place was reassuring and he smiled as he crossed to his Raptor and tossed in his gym bag and looked around for his second, Lt jg Terry Brogan, and Chief Belar. You gotta take the bad with the good, he thought the loss of Chief Patrick. He was a good man. At least we're getting someone who knows what we do out here and not a frakkin' idiot out to change the fleet. Terry was across the deck talking to one of the nuggets, a tall brunette, and Hector gave a shrill whistle that could be heard over the deck noise to get his attention. When Terry looked up, Hector gestured to his wrist chrono. When he turned around, he spotted the new Chief carrying his duffle across the flight deck. There were calls and shouts of good luck and a few backslaps as he made his way to the Raptor.

The only word that could describe Joran's current mood was 'excited'. Being transferred to the Deck Chief billet on the Old Mel was a sign that perhaps his career was starting to look up again. Who knows, during this next testing cycle, he might actually pass the Chief's board for once.

After shaking hands with Chief Dax, the Echidna base Deck Chief, Joran hefted his fleet-issue duffel over his left shoulder and picked up his violin case. Quickly straightening out his like-new enlisted greens, he reflected on them a bit. To think, this is the uniform I joined in. The one I joined for. And yet, it's the one I've worn the least. Frak, I've worn my dress greys for command level reprimands more than I have these. At least they've got all the patches in the right places and they look crisp. This short ride might just be the most I wear them on this trip too. Though the gods know I love my jumpsuit, rips, stains and all.

As he walked away from the Chief and his former deck rotation, their cheers and well-wishing were uplifting. Maybe I didn't do such a bad job after all. They were never this happy to see me on duty. I'll have to remember with this posting to be more like Chief Dax. Let them have some of their fun. Laugh with them. Joran mentally kicked himself around a little more before looking up towards the Raptors. It doesn't ALWAYS have to be about duty, about the work. I can do this. I can be more of a people-person. That's what I need for my next Chief's board...

Catching sight of LT Jansen, Joran shifts his violin case to his left hand as he approaches. Coming to a crisp stop at attention a few paces from the Raptor, he snaps off a sharp salute.

"First Class Belar, reporting for transfer to the Meleager, sir!"

Hector threw up a salute in return. "Glad to have you, Chief. Throw your gear on board. We'll get going as soon as Terry gets done smooth talking the nugget." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to where Terry has taken the nuggets hand and lifted it to his lips. Climbing up into the ship, he starts his preflight as Terry hurries over.

"Hey, Chief," the ECO says to the passenger as he takes his seat.

As he finishes the pre-flight checklist, Hector turns to the new chief. "Old Mel's at the Erebos Flight Range, so we'll have to forgo a short jump and spend the next half hour enjoying each other's company." He turns back to the controls and thumbs the mic button.

Echidna Flight Control this is Raptor two zero two. Request departure clearance enroute Meleager.

Raptor two zero two, you are cleared for departure. Good luck, first class Belar. Echidna Flight Control clear.

He lifted the Raptor clear of the deck and turned it to the launch point. Once clear of the hangar bay, he banked around easy and headed off toward the Erebos flight range.

As the Raptor takes off and glides out of the hangar, Joran fidgets a bit with his violin case, trying to compose himself a bit. It's not like he was doing it to be rude, or mean, he thinks to himself. As his fingers trace the Caprica Symphonic logo on the old leather of the case, he seems to relax some. At the same time I'm going to be taking a much bigger leadership role on the Meleager than I ever have before. I have to own up to that level of responsibility, and now's as good a time as ever.

Clearing his throat a little, he shoots a brief look at LTjg Brogan intent on his station before leaning forward into the cockpit a bit.

"LT Jansen, um, sir? I realize that I'll be the Meleager's Deck Chief and all. But I am still only a First-class. I'd, um, appreciate it if you reserved 'Chief' for the time I'm actually acting in the capacity? I mean on the hangar deck and all."

He leans back, feeling proud of himself for being able to speak so earnestly with an officer, even a 'junior' one without it being something that gets him into trouble, or an argument, or reprimand. But before Dragon has a chance to respond, the doubt creeps back over Joran's face and he leans forward again, eager to explain himself. The same childhood reflex to over-explain so that no possible meaning could be left out.

"I mean, I just don't expect someone like the Department Head, or the XO or gods forbid the CO to call me 'Chief', you know? Well, maybe if they're in the hangar for some reason, and I'm on duty, and it's in front of junior enlisted or officers or pilots or something. But not off duty, like if they called me to CIC or a meeting. Not that I expect to be in CIC, or be called there because as the Deck Chief, I'll obviously be on the hangar deck most of the time."

Satisfied, he sits back again, only to feel that he's left something out. Again, before Dragon can get a word in edgewise, he leans forward.

"Unless of course the Department Head, or the XO, or the CO actually choose to call me 'Chief' at those times. Because then I would expect everyone else to, considering their example, and they way they do it. Or gods above if they decide to try CAP'ing me to Chief officially, and then I have to change my uniforms and there's no excuse for me not to be 'Chief', and I'll have to remember that I'm not a First-class anymore and have to keep the standards up. Not that I wouldn't, I mean I have to keep them up anyway, between the billet, and that's what a good First-class is supposed to do..."

Joran trails off as he notices Dragon shaking gently in his seat, trying to muffle his urge to laugh out loud at the flustered engineer.

"I, um... I did it again, didn't I?" he asks sheepishly. "Well sir, what do you think I should do?"

James hears interesting message traffic as he steps through the CIC hatch, steps out of the way of traffic, and starts scanning the faces inside the CIC for the CO, XO, or--failing either--the current Officer of the Watch. Raptor 202 is...Jansen and Brogan. But why do I know 'First Class Belar'? As he continues to look around for his target(s), he thinks hard about that last name.

First Class Belar...the only PO1 Belar currently aboard Echidna Base is PO1 J. Belar. But he is with Special Projects, Viper Mark 7 Refinement/Enhancement Project; why is he coming aboard the Old Mel? Given, the man is brilliant with small ship design and maintenance--he was a junior but vital member of the Viper Mark 6 Design Team--and it is why he is with Special Projects, but...Ah, frack. I should have known the universe is going through a 'frack with Mundy' phase when I was exiled out here, but making him the replacement for that the last unfortunate Deck Chief is 'logical' from a Squadron standpoint...this should be fun. He continues looking around the CIC, taking a moment to glare a curious Specialist back to work, as he considers the ramifications of Belar as the new Deck Chief. Well, it means that Captain Fenq is going to have someone he hates more than me someone to butt heads AND lock horns with...and it means that working with Deck Division is going to be 'fun'. I mean, I would have been just as pissed in his place if my two Mark 7s I was testing 'refinements' aboard were suddenly hijacked--with comm silence from one test pilot and frantic calls of 'Krypter!' and 'My plane is flying itself!' from the other--but I would have at least listened to everything someone who was both apologizing and explaining the honest frack-up. I get, I cracked open his telemetry feed and used it to 'assume direct control' of his pair of Vipers, but I sent all the--approved--training request--and accompanying memo chain--to all concerned departments. I get, his boss failed to tell him that there was going to be an approved attempt to crack the Mark 7's ELSEC; he is good enough to have used proper encryption on all communication and telemetry links. I even get that I look like I am younger than him--damned cryoprocess--but still, a little 'peer' respect. And when someone asks you to 'Walk with me' and hands you their Fleet bio, you generally walk with them. But he just crossed the line when he suggested that I variously 'frack' myself and/or other objects, people, vessels, and intellectual concepts in front of his entire team...At least after I glared at him like he was an idiot he looked at both the memos and my 'clean' personnel file, then walked with me to the XO's office.

James shakes his head. Am I going blind? Even I should be able to spot the Watch Officer by now. His eyes narrow as he continues visually scanning the CIC. So now our most likely candidate for new Deck Chief blames me for yet ANOTHER official reprimand in his file. But, for the love of all the Lords of Kobol, what do they teach the Fleet these days? If he had just walked with me, we could have avoided that reprimand for 'Unprofessional Conduct'; I am not holding the swearing at me against him, given what I found in his record, and talked the Echidna XO into dropping the charges for 'Disrepect'. Maybe I should have had that conversation with the Echidna XO dropping the 'Disrespect' in front of Belar; if he thinks he got chewed on--again--entirely for swearing at me...frack. I would hate me in those circumstances... James continues to intently look around, ignoring the growing number of quick glances from the CIC staff. And where the frack is the Major so I can give my morning report? He growls subvocally, then finally gives up and walks over to the closest member of the CIC staff. Maintaining his neutral expression despite having a sinking feeling about 'looking like an idiot', he looks the same Specialist he glared at earlier directly in the eyes and speaks.

"Who and Where is the Officer of the Watch, Specialist?"

As Mundy turns on, and approaches the young Specialist, she attempts to look busy. Then when he addresses her directly, she swallows and looks him in the eyes. Before she even has a chance to answer, a throat clears behind the Petty Officer, and her eyes move to look over his shoulder.

"I am currently the OW, Mister Mundy."

Turning, Mundy comes face to face with the XO.

"And just what are you doing in the CIC in a flight suit?"

Artemis flashes around the corner of a largish rock and fires off the last of her training missiles, hardly bothering to check for the aiming indicator as she does, and the simple ballistic projectile slams into the target rock seconds later as she zips past at incredible speed. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Killer has just launched another missile, meaning that she has finished first, and she knows very well that her accuracy was spot on.

Riptide speaks out over the wireless, having remained silent during the exercise, Good work, both of you, but Artemis wins by about three hairs. Looks like you get to fly the new bird next time, Gorgo. Riptide forwards the computations through the CNP and tabulated results flare up in both Trainees' cockpit displays. According to the computer, Artemis did indeed win by a narrow margin, but narrow margins are what fighter piloting is all about.

Come around to three one zero, carem eight. Let's take it home.

The silence from Killian is thundering. She acknowledges Riptide's order with a single mic-click.

"You think of all that just since I called you 'Chief', Chief?" Hector asked without mirth but with a smile. "You're going be the Chief Of the Deck. That means people are going to be calling for you on the flight line, in the hangar, and in the mess, and when they call, they're not going to call for 'First Class Belar'. They're going to call for the 'Chief'. I think you should just get used to it. I don't think that the Major is going to leave you a first class too long." The new Chief seemed a bit unsure of himself. That wouldn't translate well with the rest of the deck crew. If he didn't instill confidence in them, he was going to have a hard time with discipline. There were some good people but they needed a firm hand sometimes, too. "Why don't you just answer to both untill the Major makes it official?"

James spins around at the sound of the XO's voice from behind him, snaps to attention, and snaps his hand up in a smooth, graceful, and nearly parade-ground-perfect salute, making sure to hold it until after the XO returns it. Frack, I forgot that Fenq is the 'floater' on the Old Mel and double-frack, it's FENQ. This is going to be ugly. Concurrently with his salute and his thoughts, James speaks in his usual neutral tone to the closest thing he has to a personal nemesis aboard. "Morning, Sir! Cyberwarfare Technician First Class Mundy reporting for the CO's standard morning Intelligence briefing, Sir."

After Fenq returns his salute, Mundy continues to speak while looking Fenq directly in the eyes. "And I am in a flightsuit in the CIC because unless the scheduled flight operations have altered significantly, my next stop immediately after the CO's morning intelligence briefing is to link up with two of Melegear's Raptors in order to conduct Electronic Intelligence, Electronic Security, and Electronic Warfare training, Sir. Otherwise I would be in my greens, Sir." James maintains a level, neutral voice and a poker face as he speaks to one of the most enthusiastically/incompetently micromanaging officers he has--in his opinion--EVER met in the Colonial Fleet. It is still a little trying on his self-discipline, though. "When will the CO be in, Sir?"