House of Cards
Posted on March 11th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

Scott was the first off the transporter pad. Down the couple of steps and out into the corridor, he was moving with intention. He stepped into the turbolift and shifted the weight of his bag onto his other shoulder. “Deck 7, Armory.” One deck down, Scott moved quickly around corners, avoiding eye contact with passing shipmates and parted the threshold into the ship’s weapons hold.

He sat on a bench and put his head down. Two other crewmen were across the room doing routine maintenance on the phaser compression rifles. It was moments like these that he kind of wished he was still assigned those menial tasks and not anchored to the bridge or on an away mission where his every move was monitored, critiqued, and scrutinized. Those were the days. He chuckled to himself; it had only been one.

Slowly removing the equipment, he opened the storage locker and began replacing what he had taken. It had been nice, he would admit, to get off the ship and onto a beach again. While there hadn’t been that much to look at or do, the fresh air had been a refreshing experience. In that moment he chided himself for internally complaining. What good would bitching do anyway?

Whispers.

Scott glanced over to the two crewmen, catching eyes with the male briefly before the crewman turned away to return to his work. They were talking about him, he knew. Scott didn’t pay any attention to it as he emptied the satchel and put the carrier back in its proper place. He took mental inventory to ensure that all of the pieces had been safely stowed, punched the record into the computer next to the storage unit, and slid the door shut.

Laughter.

Looking up at the ceiling, he took a breath. Don’t do it.

More laughter.

He bit his tongue. You don’t know what they’re going on about.

The female crewmen shushed her male counterpart. Scott looked over and caught her gaze this time, but she didn’t look away. He saw it. Disdain? Loathing? Confusion? Overall it wasn’t a good look, it wasn’t a happy expression, and definitely didn’t give off an invitation of wanting to be friends. Scott smirked at her and nodded. Perking an eyebrow she turned away and shook her head.

Moving towards the door, he was stopped by a resounding “Hey.”

Spinning on his heel he peered at the male crewmen who had stepped away from his console into the center of the room. “What?”

“Did you make sure to log the contents of that armory station?”

“Of course. Do you think I’m a second-year cadet learning tactical and security operations?”

The crewman laughed, “You could’ve left it at ‘of course’. I was asking a simple question.”

Scott darted to him quickly, getting in the crewman’s face, careful not to touch him. There was enough room between him and this ‘gentleman’ to fit a PADD, but not much more. “I could have. Then again, I don’t like being questioned about how to do my job.”

There was a stillness as the crewman narrowed his eyes, not flinching at Scott’s approach. The man took a breath and folded his arms, slightly grazing Scott’s chest as he did so, “Yeah, amazing how people don’t like that.”

His face flushed. He gritted his teeth. A slight twitch occurred under his left eye. He held his breath. Scott knew this guy had a good amount more weight, height, and poise than he did. He also was very well aware that what he wanted to do – which was attempt to put this guy through a bulkhead – wasn’t going to do him any favors. Walk. The fuck. Away. Scott. “Indeed,” he managed, before stepping back.

The female crewman tapped a PADD, “Damien, we’re almost finished, can we…?” She motioned back to the adjustment terminal she was at with a motioning of her head.

Damien’s eyes didn’t leave Scott’s, “Yeah, you bet.” He returned to her side and picked up where he had left off.

Scott stood transfixed on the back of his head, feeling defeated and riled more than ever. “In the future, you should really just say what you have to say.”

Damien didn’t turn, but kept on with the task before him. “Trust me, man, you don’t want me to say what I really have to say.”

“I really do – ”

“You really don’t.”

“What’s your problem?” Scott had to fight not to raise his voice, or lunge, or throw something.

Damien closed the terminal, looked at his colleague, nodded, and walked out the side door without another word. The other crewman lingered, tapped the console a couple of more times and followed Damien to the exit. She stopped just shy of the doorjamb and looked over at Scott. “Departments in the real world are like a house of cards. When there is one bent card, the integrity of the whole is compromised and can’t be trusted. And all the other cards feel it.”

“Are you talking about me or him?”

She moved her eyes to the door as if to look after her departing friend. When she returned her attention to Scott it was her turn to smirk, “There are many ways to be bent.”