Like a Glove

Posted on Wed Oct 21st, 2020 @ 4:10pm by Lieutenant Commander Shylow Vitari

For several minutes, Vitari stared daggers into her newly acquired console. Dealing with the back end of operations had never been her primary role and not one she had spent a great deal of time learning about, but now she had, technically, a small staff beneath her, a new pip on her collar and an, admittedly shiny, new office, name plate and all.

Within that office sat a desk and embedded terminal; its surfaces sleek and smooth, jet black as though cut from obsidian, it lay bulked like the tomb of some ancient secret in the room, taking up more space that it seemed, like some sort of phase anomaly; both large and not at the same time, and with it her own private, excessively encrypted connection to certain Federation databases not easily accessed, and a set of black listed communiques pre-addressed to her position, but not her person, or any specific person upon the ship for that matter, almost all of which were headed with ‘under X scenario decrypt this document and proceed to the best of your judgement.’ Order’s the officer had become all too familiar with over the years, to the sounds of distant chaos and whispered last words.

The desk itself, as far as she could tell was cut from a single slab of some arcane stone, it was larger than possible to have been brought into the room, rather the room had been built around it during the early formation of the ships life with its roots sinking beneath the floor panels, and likely any kind of maintenance it might require would be equally esoteric, requiring some specialist with no official rank or designation to use tools that no one else would be allowed to see, who would speak only in monosyllabic code and affirmations. She suspected the room itself was actually made of the same dark material, that it was it’s own sealed little vessel within the ship like a small vault tucked away beside other rooms, like one of those stories of a room that doesn't exist on any floor plans despite being there, a sealed unofficial bulkhead that was only talked about in murmurs and away from unknown ears.

She had done a little bit of testing, and as far as she could discern whatever the material was it interfered significantly with sensors, the room appeared to tell the main computer that whoever entered was within, but its actual internal tracking didn’t seem to exist, rather it took a vague guess and left it at that until they exited again. None of that, however, was helping her dig through the small stack of PADD’s upon its smooth surface.

The PADD’s, apparently, had been steadily growing despite the lack of staff occupation - the bureaucracy didn’t care whether someone was actually occupying a position, said positions mere existence was sufficient for the short term and sign offs accumulated regardless, sign offs for a department that could be counted upon one [standard] hand in personnel and even fewer in requests that could be so openly displayed, but nonetheless it was a department, and departments demanded budgets, requisitions and all number of minor, regular checks and balances.

At the top of her list was her current outfit, cut from silk in an ancient earth oriental style, a long thigh split up her mid length skirt all in deep purple and black. Her hair, held back with two long pins, ran down her back like a soft inky black waterfall. The clothing clung to her body and she suppressed the vague concern of what issues attempting to move strenuously would cause, but she had planned contingencies around such eventualities if worst came to worst.

She stretched slowly, running her fingertips one last time across the featureless surface of her desk, fingernails lightly tapping across its surface before she stood, straightening herself with a breath. Her makeup had been painstakingly applied, much in the same way she had donned her field kit, each thing checked and rechecked to make sure it was at it should be like armor between her and anything that may come.

Standing, her heels clicked against the hard floor as the chime informed her it was time to dine, the echo of her steps following her through the ship.