Rush Job.
Posted on Fri Nov 28, 2025 @ 9:54pm by Lieutenant Commander Curtis Thibideaux
1,589 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Things Past
Location: Thibideaux's quarters.
Timeline: A couple days after Chicken Run
Curtis came awake to thudding and a chime sounded, letting him know someone was at the door to his quarters.
Mumbling curses in half a dozen languages, he pushes himself up enough to roll onto his hip, then get into a sitting position as he gathered a robe from the foot of the bed and pulled it around himself as he headed out of his bedroom and into the main living quarters. Lights came on automatically at his presence. Stopping just before the door, he activated the keyhole function and the door flashed to a one-way mirror that showed him a blonde caucasian human woman in a Fleet uniform waiting, arms crossed as she looked at the door like she could see through it.
While he knew she couldn’t, Curtis was equally sure that if Ainsley wanted to, she probably could have figured out a way to hack his door and make the one-way functionality reverse itself.
Sighing, he turned away and headed toward the kitchenette while he said. “Lights to sun-up mode.” He’d checked the time and he had to be up in an hour anyway. Might as well get going early. “Door. Unlock.” Curtis ordered as he activated his now happily functioning replicator to brew up a morning coffee of his preference.
“Come in, Ainsley,” she heard as the doors began cycling and the Intel officer’s lips spread into a grin as she caught site of Curtis in the kitchen, one hip against the small island that separated the large living room. “Good morning, Curtis,” she said, stepping through the door and making her way across the soft carpeting to one of the stools across from where he stood. “Sorry to wake you, but I bring greetings from an old friend.”
The smell of coffee spread through the living quarters as he pulled the carafe from the replicator and a brace of mugs from where they were racked near a sink. Pouring both full, he retrieved creamer and sugar from the refer and slid them onto the counter before saying anything.
The phrase ~Greetings from an Old Friend~ was code.
He sipped at his coffee carefully and then said, “Nice. So it’s not only the replicator brewing coffee at about three degree’s below lava, despite how many times I’ve tried to change it isn’t the only thing going to burn my…”
“Oh,” Ainsley said, cutting Curtis off. “It’s not that bad. But I do need the Command presence on a rather urgent matter on behalf of Captain Froyce, among others. You’re looking good. How’s life aboard this moon you call a Space Station?”
As his coffee cooled, Curtis regarded the slim blonde and said, “This moon is bigger than most…nearly a planet. And what the drahk does Tesha need that can’t go through channels and that she can’t get you in your big girl admiral’s aide panties to handle?” He’d noted the Aiguillette she wore on her uniform.
Curtis himself had worn one for a handful of years. He also knew Ainsley from their first tour together when she’d been the Chef aboard the USS Valiant.
He nearly mumbled something about spies, but covered the with another cautious sip of coffee.
Curtis also knew she was a Nul. A rare human that couldn’t be read by telepaths, nor sensed by them either.
The coffee was almost down to magma temps and he set the mug down with a click on the counter top and rearranged his robe. “Right, so it IS to thraggling early for pleasantries. What’s up.”
Cheekily, Ainsley grinned at Curtis and said, “IF I’d wanted to go through the pleasantries, I’d have shown up last night, but word didn’t come up till a couple of hours ago. Admiral Th’Keliss needs you to expedite Valiant. Get her sealed up and ready to lift off by twenty-four hundred hours, local time. Recall the crew and get Yards personnel to button her up post haste.”
Curtis stared at Ainsley and smirked, “Is that all. Last I heard, they had most of her hull off and had the photon mortar’s installed, but not much past that. Shoe horns not withstanding…”
“Can’t be helped. These caught everyone flat footed.” Ainsley paused for a moment. She knew Curtis had worked for a brace of Admirals and was generally considered to be in the know. And she needed him to understand that this was one of those times that he could bitch later.
She’d even join him..
“As in, VOTP kind of urgent,” she said quietly, testing her own mug finally and half recoiling as the heat resembled that of a sun having just gone Nova.
Still.
She eyed the mug and said, “Somebody might not like you…does it always come out that hot?”
“I blame the otters, somehow,” Curtis said as his mind adjusted.
VOTP…Verbal Order of the President. Drahk. “Right,” he said. “I’d better go start stirring problems.”
“Please, and I am sorry Curtis. It’s politically messy,” Ainsley said as Curtis moved toward his bedroom
“When isn’t it,” he asked rhetorically, as he half shut the door and began stripping out of his bed clothes and activated the shower. “I’m probably going to have to use the Commodore’s authority on some of this, so I’ll have to read her in.”
“Lightly,” Ainsley said as she slipped to her feet and moved to stand near the doorway, giving him his privacy.
Silly, since they were both adults and of the same Commander-ish persuasion.
“You don’t know that much anyway, but you can tell the Commodore that this was a Presidential taking and politically motivated. Leave out the intel hooks and don’t mention the Department of Operational Analysis.”
“What is that,” Curtis asked, having to raise his voice as he shut his eyes and stepped into the sonic shower. The system cycled four times before beeping to let him know it was done and he stepped back out. His skin had been exfoliated and held a reddish tinge from the battering the waves had given him. He began fishing for small clothes and a fresh uniform as she spoke.
“You only,” Ainsley said cryptically, humor in her voice. “Need just enough to know that you don’t need to know anything about it. You can mention the Admiral, but not Captain Froyce, or me really. No one needs to know me anyway. Aides are supposed to be seen and not heard.”
Snorting as he stepped into socks then grabbed trousers, Curtis said “I know how that goes…kinda miss those anonymous power trips.”
Stepping to the replicator, Ainsley called up a small bowl of ice cubes that had were made of coffee themselves and added three to each of their mugs, trying to cool the beverages. “I get it, but I actually miss just being a chef. Times were simpler when all you had to do was cook…and monitor your crew for security risks.”
Pulling on his tunic and running his thumb up the seam, Curtis stepped back around the half closed door and walked up to the island, working to seat his feet in his boots. “You spooks and Intel should have better things to do than mess with a small escort ship,” he remarked as she slid his mug to him.
“Try coffee ice-cubes,” she said, tapping her own mug as it warmed her hand. It was drinkable now and the coffee cubes were laced with her own personnel taste: a touch of cream and hint of sweet.
Sipping, Curtis was surprised to find the temperature adequate and her addition actually having improved the coffee selection. Raising his mug in toast, he said, “Thank you for this. I’ll have to remember the ice-cube trick.”
“I’ll message you it,” Ainsley said as she sipped more and said, “And next time I’m aboard, I’ll make you supper. Unless that cute doctor is taking up your time, that is,” she said with a grin.
Eyeing her, Curtis drank more of his own coffee and said, “Yeah right. No idea if that will go anywhere. But food and catching up sounds good.” He checked the time and moved his coffee mug to the replicator plate, touching coding the system to remember the mixture before he turned back.
“As much as I’d like to talk old and new times, I suppose I’d better get after it,” he said regretfully. Feel free to finish your coffee and use my quarters if needed, Ainsley. See you next orbit maybe.”
Smiling fondly at him, Ainsley watched him out the door then eyed his quarters speculatively and went to sit in a large air lift recliner and cycled the viewer to give her self a view of a length of station, Pangaea, the Dyson Yards peaking past the planet’s shadow and the systems star starting to edge beyond.
She DID miss having a small space to call home, but there was too much work to be done everywhere for anything like that.
Finishing her coffee after a few minutes, she stood and tidied up, then headed through the hatch herself.
END
A cross SIM update solo post by:
Lieutenant Commander Curtis Thibideaux
Strategic Operations Officer
Deep Space 5
Lieutenant Commander Ainsley Shaw
Admiral's Aide
Federation Intelligence
(written by Thibideaux)
RSS Feed