Transmission #3
Greetings. Three's a charm. Captain Jack Pitt here and I want to talk about my crew. Probably the best crew in its own unique way ever to man a starship in the Fleet. Yeah, yeah, I know about that crew, too. We can explain that. But not with today's transmission.
Well, first I guess we should begin with Number Two, my Second-In-Command. Away missions are traditionally the purview of the First Officer and mine won't let me leave the ship unless we're talking diplomatic functions. He's hungry to be a captain but not of this ship. He wants to be a captain of the Enterprise herself. Commander Sebastian Hunter is on the young side for a Commander. He's hands-on as a leader and I'm not looking forward to recruiting for his replacement when he gets promoted into his own command. Commander Hunter is my Star Fleet-issued Second-In-Command. Now understand something, where I come from it is generally common knowledge that dogs canines are sentient in every way that counts just like humans. I have every confidence in this premise: my personal First Sergeant is my dog. He acts as my personal security and courier for sensitive hard copy orders delivered to key personnel.
I cut mock Battle Field Promotion orders to the rank of First Sergeant effective immediately. Not everybody in the internal chain of command is taking to the idea with anything resembling respect for the rank. Especially my chief engineer.
My chief engineer is top notch; a Vulcan, full-blooded she claims, but I have suspicions. So does my First Sergeant, Mr. Kolchak. Her name is Xirza Spon and not only is she as coldly logical as a computer, she's got honeypot assets that could definitely be exploited...exploited if she were really a Romulan by nature.
I've conferred with the ship's Doctor on this matter. Is there any way beyond a direct confession to detecting her possible true identity as a Romulan and not a Vulcan? Doctor Lono Mackenzie is Chief Psychiatrist and Ship's Surgeon on board the Lovecraft. Dr. Mackenzie has medscanned LT CMDR Spon on numerous occasions and found nothing conclusive. She appears to be a perfectly normal Vulcan. Insensitive and rude as hell with no sense humor.
She doesn't ever act like it annoys her but I know it does. I postulate that the female of any species is still the female of the species. So it must annoy her, Vulcan or not. I've made a habit of delivering her orders to her on hard copy rolled up and put in a clearcite tube that I clip to Mr. Kolchak's body harness and I order him, "Take the orders to Engineering, Mr. Kolchak."
He makes a little howl and off he goes, disappearing on the turbolift.
Soon the intercom whistles loudly. It's engineering on the line.
I click the appropriate button on the arm rest. "Yes, Mr. Spon."
"Sir, your canine is in engineering emitting shrill canine exclamations."
"He's delivering my orders."
"The orders have been delivered. The canine is preventing the orderly execution of my staff's engineering duties. Please fetch your canine, Captain."
I pushed the One Emcee. "Mr. Kolchak, return to the bridge please."
I heard the acknowledgment bark.
Oh, it's fun being the Captain.
My chief of security is a Gorn, ZZZizzbeethh. He's not too fast on the uptake but in the close-in battle, if he gets his arms wrapped around you, he's like Moby Crocodile. Things won't turn out well if he gets his teeth into you, either. Could be fatal. Everybody must carry a Universal Translator Unit on their magbelts because that's the only way the Gorn can communicate verbally to any of us. Z's security agents are much more swift of foot – humans and the feline Kzintis make up the bulk of my security section.
My chief communications officer is a snappy Andorian. She looks great in the red Star Fleet uniform with that turquoise blue skin and snow white hair. Her antennas have attitude, too. LT Artemis has a gift for learning alien languages. She can listen to and answer back in reasonable Russian now. It took her about eight months monitoring and listening to Russian State broadcasts. I think she secretly admires President Putin.
My best helmsman is the daughter of a liberated Orion slave woman who now works in the civilian section of Star Fleet Command Headquarters in San Francisco, Earth. Her name is Loloni Teth. Ensign but to be pinned LTJG at the next promotion board. She doesn't know it yet. It is a bit early by regulation but we're 200 years away from anyone who could raise an official fuss about it. Out here, where and when we're at – it's Captain's privilege all the way on administrative matters such as these.
On the other hand, my best navigator should sometimes get demoted but you can't go lower than Ensign. It probably has a lot to do with his Irish heritage and fondness for Lucky Charms Irish Whiskey. His shenanigans have always been off-duty in nature. He'd never bring that on the bridge. Smart boy. I sometimes look the other way when it comes to my problem navigator ENS Iain Blaine.
I have to always remind myself: I was the equivalent of an Ensign, too, at one time. He's a navigator that needs a little navigational tutoring in his personal life.
These individuals are my Command Cell officers. There are 418 additional crew members performing their vital watch-to-watch duties on board the Federation battlecruiser Lovecraft. I have been blessed and honored to lead them as the captain of this ship.
May we find a way back home.
JACK PARSONS PITT
CPT/O6, COMMANDING
USS LOVECRAFT NCC-1888
Stardate: 2202.28 (local)
