"Brevet Lieutenant Warren, could you come in please?"
Brent came into the brig looking at Savant for a moment and then into the cell nearby, sizing up the occupant for a moment. He had been briefed a little bit on the situation at hand and wondered just why this person felt that they belonged in Starfleet. "Captain," he said looking back to Savant, going stiff at
attention before he turned back to the Yeoman in the cell. "Yeoman it seems like you've had one helluva stay here so far in the brig. Care to tell me why that is?" He wasn't even yelling. He was acting calm and
collected. If possible one should always try to figure out the answer before resorting to a sergeant's voice.
Andrus moved to the at ease position, swaying some as he stood there. "Not particularly," he answered unable to focus his mental capabilities to read the man that was now there, but at least he was a man and not a photonic being.
Savant raised an eyebrow and glanced at Brent with a grin. "You see our issue," she said to the Marine. "Lieutenant Warren, will you please take Mister Morganth into your care? He appears to have somehow skipped over basic training entirely, and needs a refresher."
Brent rubbed his forehead. "Glad to see Fleeter training is about as spot on as I imagine it is. You don't understand how this is going to work Yeoman. Either you tell me what's going on right now and tell me what you're going to do to fix it or else I am going to get very unhappy with you and we will either work you till you break and scream for a transfer off of this post or we transfer you to the janitorial section of the ship where you can scrub the halls and do no damage to this fine crew we have here. Am I making myself clear Yeoman?" he said letting out a slow breath.
Brent pulled himself up straight again his hands behind his back. "Now Yeoman, what seems to be the trouble here."
"If Miss -" he stopped himself, "If the records show, which I am sure they do, I was placed in an administrative position as to not be a liability to myself or this....crew." He looked at the three dents in the wall from where he had punched them. Now, with that being said sir," there was a slight agitation
in his voice, "why do you care what my issue is? I request you leave the rank at the door as to your answer." He responded.
"Were you taught to question orders Yeoman? Who instructed you in this art of bucking rank like it was something that you didn't have to give a damn about hm?" Brent asked the man across the threshold of the cell. "I would love to shake their hand, for they did a damn good job with you," he said leaving his
sarcasm there for a moment before let out another long annoyed breath.
"I care what your issue is Yeoman because you are going to be handling sensitive and classified documents as a matter of course. Your security clearance needs to be clean like a virgin's honey pot. Right now I'm not seeing that and I'm not buying that. If you cannot be trusted with classified data or
to not have a fit when you see or hear something you don't like then you are a liability to this crew. A crew that just went through hell and back, and I do not want to see them having more problems because you cannot control yourself or your emotions."
"You don't care about the issue you, you care about the protection of this crew. My job and duties would be handled as stated by Starfleet Duty requirements. I could care less what 'information' is or passes by my hands. I am not permitted to review that documentation as it stands. So my 'security clearance' has nothing to do with what I am supposed to be doing. Or authorized to do," he paused as he swayed from the drugs in his system, "now don't lie to me and tell me you care one damned bit about my issue. You don't. Nor am I some green blooded Vulcan. Leave me alone let me do my job, and no one has to deal with poor little Andrus Morganth's big bad mean mouth!" He stated his eyes as black as night appearing glossed over.
Savant was content to let Brent deal with the Yeoman, but having him pass out simply wouldn't do. She held out her hand again, and much to the chagrin of a certain medical nurse another hypospray dropped from the sky into her grip. She gave him an injection to counteract the painkillers she had given him earlier. Better he be in a little pain than pass out in the middle of an inspection.
Besides, she wasn't done with him yet.
Brent sighed, shaking his head. How this colossal fuck up ever managed to get out Starfleet Basic Training was beyond him. "Alright then I gave you two chances to tell me what was wrong and you flat out denied me. I will speak with the Captain and the XO and voice my concerns. I am certain they will
be more than happy to place you into the custodial staff rather than have to deal with someone with too much attitude," he said to the man as he began to come to. "Have a nice day Yeoman."
As Andrus felt the pressure of the hypospray, after he had given the photonic being ample warning not to touch him, he broke out of the stance he was in and backed onto the bed. "Do. Not. Touch. Me. For the last time!" He stated as calmly as he could. He looked at the Lieutenant, "Three rules that I follow and expect others to follow around me, when they have been told: Don't touch me, Don't buddy up to me, and don't pretend like you understand or care. You came in here under false pretenses as did that photonic being." He managed to get out.
Savant let the Lieutenant leave, noting that he bucked the odds in that case. She suspected she would take him on instead of dropping him like that. Interesting. The hologram turned to address the Yeoman blithely, "Stow that arrogance, Yeoman. You don't get to set the rules, and you have no place to say
what your job requires or what this ship requires of you. We have a lot more to worry about than your feelings. You will undergo an evaluation in three days, at which point we will decide whether to transfer you from this vessel or keep you on in some function or another. I hope that you put some thought into what you'd prefer to do." She took a set of steps backwards, and without touching the controls, the force field sprang back to life.
He looked at her, "I simply want to do what I was assigned here for, get done with my four years. Get out. That's all I want, but I cannot be treated like dirt under someone's feet. Every officer I have encountered thus far has treated me that way. Even you. Rather get rid of a person who is more than qualified to do his job entitled to him, and treat him like dirt. It all started with the Queen of..., sorry, Captain t'Rehu."
He looked at her, the new drugs kicking in as a fresh wave of pain began to pulsate. He struggled with what would be his next set of words, "I...I know this doesn't matter. Nor do you have feelings. I..." it was as if he was almost physically unable to get the words out, "Sorry." He stated quickly and almost inaudible. He closed his eyes for a second, and reopened them. He shifted his arms to reveal the scars that crisscrossed his wrists as he stretched.
Savant knew about them, as well as a history of injury that no doubt was due to some sort of emotional trauma. She would have to do more information trawling to find out exactly what had gone on and whether he would work out, or if Starfleet could sort out his problems at all. For now, though, she had to do her best to get him functional and working. But not in the state he was in, and she didn't mean his hand.
"You've said more than once that you've been treated 'like dirt' your whole life. I'd like you to consider something, Mister Morganth. What are the odds of every single authority figure you've ever met unfairly hating you, compared with the odds of you behaving belligerently or badly to those people, and simply being treated in kind? If you are having a problem, and the problem is the universe at large... well, then you haven't found the problem yet. Keep looking, Yeoman. Medical will be by shortly to tend to your hand, please comply with them. It would be nice if you cleaned your cell as well."
"Every authoritative figure I have ever encountered has treated my like scum. From Betazed on up to Starfleet. I've found the best line of defense is offense. Treat them how I have always been treated, and well I end up here," he motioned around the cell. "I would prefer to not have medical come by. Ensign Dwellon would be preferable. As she is capable of fixing my own actions to myself without touching me." He requested but had a high feeling it would not happen. "Provide me with a few rags
a towel and a waste receptacle and I will clean this cell. Not much I can do about the damage at this time. Unless you would care to provide me with the tools required to repair the dents?" He looked down and then back up, "I would also like to note for the record that at no point in time did I try to escape, even with the field down. Not that it matters, right?"
"The humans have a saying that is apt in this circumstance, Mister Morganth. You can leave a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. I'll request that the Ensign come by for you if she is available, and
the security clerk will provide you with what you need to clean your cell." She glanced at the guard, who nodded - amazing how calm he was for all the drama that had been going on. "You clearly don't want to be here, Yeoman. I hope that you spend the next days profitably." And she disappeared in a cloud of light, leaving him alone in the battered cell.
