Names, Games, and Fame
Posted on April 6th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

Torpedo tube alignment. Ignition parameters. Phaser arrays. Targeting sensors. Arc patterns. Scott’s hands were sluggish on the console. Starship weapon systems weren’t his forte by any stretch of the imagination. It was too much at once. Too many variables. He found trying to balance his focus with anticipating helm movement, volatile and non-volatile targets, and the power at his fingertips was something he was uncomfortable with.

It was simulation seventeen. His success rate was hovering in the near-negative digits. Zero, his success rate had been zero. Granted, he had upped the difficulty to force him into a higher level of action, but there wouldn’t be a gold star on his record for his performance. Cardassian warships and Bajoran refuge shuttles filled his screen. He couldn’t move his hands fast enough to do it all.

Friendly fire happened. Maneuvers from the enemy he would never have anticipated continually threw him off his game. If this had been real life he would have single-handedly given the entire planet of Bajor to the Spoonheads. The failure alert sounded and the simulation reset – again. “Son of a bitch…”

Smaller ships with simpler functions had been how he had learned the basics. Working with the tactical superiority of one of the finest ships in the fleet was proving… troublesome. What was he doing wrong? Hitting a button a centimeter to the left of another spelt disaster for the Atlantis. It was instant death for Bajorans. It was bad press for the Federation. It was ridicule for Scott.

“There’s a schedule for a reason.”

Scott looked up at a 2^nd Lieutenant standing before him. “Uh, I’m sorry?”

“I’ve got this time booked.”

“No, it’s set aside for tactical training.”

The man smiled, “Yeah, but you sign up through our department for time. It’s not just come as you are.” The marine was late twenties, taller than Scott, and his uniform fit like a glove. “I’m 2^nd Lieutenant Rodney Styles. And, you’re using my time.”

“I apologize, I didn’t know.” Scott took a step back from the console and motioned to it, “Be my guest.”

“What are you working on?”

Scott ran a hand through his hair, “Tactical capabilities in combat. I have been assigned to the bridge and I haven’t worked a tactical console of this magnitude since the Academy.”

“And you’re scared as hell.” Rodney flashed a smile. Not just any smile, but one of the most perfect Scott had ever seen. It wasn’t just the whiteness of his teeth, but rather the full and radiance of it. The perfect amount of teeth-to-mouth ratio, the slight upturn in the left corner, and what could only be described as a ‘twinkle’ that completed the trifecta.

“Not at all. Being scared implies inability. I’m more than capable. Brushing up on latent skills, you could say.” Scott hated that word: scared. Fear wasn’t something he entertained as being a trait he possessed frequently. Was this fear? Maybe, probably, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that to a guy he had just met three and a half minutes ago.

“You would rather be in Sickbay where you feel more comfortable, but less accepted?” Rodney’s eyes, green seas of emerald, narrowed on Scott. It was becoming blisteringly apparent that word traveled at warp speed on this ship, across departments, and straight into the all-encompassing book of character judgment for all the crew to see.

Scott tilted his head sharply to his right, popping his neck. He smirked, and slid his tongue behind his front teeth, parsing the words he wanted to say into oblivion. A momentary breath happened and he stared down Rodney trying to figure out what to say. It seemed like an eternity, but had only been a moment, when Rodney laughed and shook his head. In that moment Scott’s anger vanished. He was being ribbed. “Word travels fast around here.”

“Especially when it comes to Scotty Short-fuse.” Rodney said, peering at the console Scott had stepped back from.

Scott exhaled sharply. He didn’t know what it was: exasperation, bewilderment, resentment? He wasn’t quite sure, but he leaned back onto the railing behind him and dropped his chin onto his chest, chuckling again. “Nicknames already, huh?”

“Ammora-the-Horra.”

His head snapped up as if he’d been told that Earth had just been destroyed, “No!?”

“Actions speak louder than words. Nicknames are bred half through presumptions and observation.” Rodney moved over to the panel Scott had been at prior to being interrupted. He changed a couple of logistical things, locked the console, and turned back to Scott. “You stepped in it, my friend.”

“Friend? I’m sure.”

Rodney hit the end of Scott’s sentence like he was launching on a 400 meter sprint. “You got assigned to the bridge so Grey could watch you. You’re tactical station number two. Do you really think in a million years that she’d put you in control of the Atlantis’ weapons system? If she leaves the bridge during a firefight, which is rare anyway, someone way more qualified than you is going to take her place. You’re second fiddle. Well, probably like the triangle in the orchestra given what I saw of your last simulation.”

Nodding absently, he had kind of already guessed, but still Scott wanted to help should the situation present itself. “I figured. I think finding out I have horrible nicknames is more of a punishment.”

“My favorite… Scotty-too-Hotty.”

“I’m pretty attractive.”

“While I don’t disagree, it pertains to your inability to hold your temper.” 2^nd Lieutenant Styles laughed outwardly. He moved over to Scott and put his hands on his shoulders. “This is going to pass. You fucked up. I mean, hardcore – don’t get me wrong – and you’re paying for it, but what I know of the Atlantis crew is they don’t hold grudges. Well, except for Lieutenant Travis. That dude was bad news.”

He doesn’t disagree? Scott smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a long time. “This Travis guy a murderer or something?”

“Never cleaned his table in the mess. Slob.”

“Oh, come on!”

Rodney’s guffaw echoed around the holographic bridge. “You’re young. And dumb. But you’re letting this get to you way too much. Did you apologize to the medical staff?”

“Yes, well no. Kind of.”

Rodney put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “You. Are. So. Screwed.”

“Your vote of confidence is reassuring.” Scott couldn’t make heads or tails of this guy. He seemed nice enough, but also was a bit pointed in his criticism. But was he? Scott liked to think he was a good judge of character… or at least the intentions of said characters, but he couldn’t read Rodney. There was something there, but he didn’t know what. And that was a whole new level of disconcerting.

Rodney moved to the primary tactical console and tapped it a couple of times. “Confidence, my friend, is a tricky thing. I can have confidence in you, of course, but if you don’t have it in yourself than what I give you is worthless.”

It was Scott’s turn to laugh, “Security officer and philosopher?”

Rodney bobbed his head absently, continuing his manipulation of the control station he was at. “My favorite past time is thinking about all the things that people don’t think about. The root of social interaction, of the human spirit, of… perceived fallacy and strength.”

All of a sudden things had gotten serious. Heavy. Scott’s grin faded and he dove into the tumultuous nature of his mind as he comprehended the words just spoken. There was a fiery spiral of indecision in that moment; self-doubt had crept in and started to spread like wildfire, his brain struggling valiantly to put it all together. And, in true Scott fashion, he snapped back to reality with sarcastic wit. His true defense mechanism: “Wow, you must be the life of the party on your off hours.”

“Rodney, the Wise.”

“More nicknames?”

“Too many to count, man. We all have them. When you go through life where the connections you make are continually challenged by experiences and hardship, as we all face, those around you that are your closest confidants and supporters tend to give you monikers that sometimes you like and sometimes you hate.” Rodney looked up, resting his elbow on the edge of the console, “Sometimes they’re endearing, sometimes they’re not, but they both have meaning and are a good indication of status, perception, and judgement.”

How had this gone from a private training exercise to discourse on philosophical observation? Scott was over it, to be honest. He spun on his heel and headed to the holodeck entrance. “Thanks for the chat, Rod…”

“Don’t call me that.”

Scott stopped and turned, “Ah, a nerve?”

“That’s a story for another time.”

Folding his arm, Scott found his confidence. It wasn’t confidence, per se, but more that he felt he was in a place of control. “I thought we were friends?”

“Friend…” Rodney let it linger in the air, his eyes never leaving Scott’s. “-ly acquaintances. Now, I have about twenty minutes left of the time here. Since you’re here and hijacked my time, why don’t I teach you a thing or a dozen about how to handle this baby properly?”

“Serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Scott didn’t know what to say or do. He’d usurped this guy’s holodeck time, had bantered back and forth with him, and taken some profound criticism, and had been exposed to some mental ambiguities that hadn’t been fleshed out. And here he was going to accept tactical training from him? “I think I’m fine.”

Rodney looked up into nowhere and nothingness, “Computer, analyze the previous scenarios since this holodeck session started. What was the success rate?”

“Zero.” The computer automatically chimed. If Scott hadn’t known any better he would have assumed there was a dig in there somewhere, but the professionalism and technological bluntness held.

A side-eyed look came to Scott from his new-found ‘friendly acquaintance’. “You sure?”

There was a sign. Scott would never admit he’d been bested, but that was a punch there was no way he could dodge. He hadn’t been doing a stellar job, or a successful job, or any job that he’d like to share with anyone. He sighed openly, nodding and moving to the console, “What am I doing wrong?”

“Besides everything?” Rodney stepped out and approached Scott, motioning to the tactical console that Scott was in front of. “Remember your hands.”

“Hands?”

Rodney grabbed Scott and pushed him in front of the terminal. “Right hand is targeting, both phasers and torpedos. Left is interface with helm and tactical station one. You have to work this with the other.” He grabbed the young 2^nd Lieutenant’s hands and put them in the right place. “Here.”

Lightning. The electricity in that moment as Rodney stepped up behind him, guiding his hands to the proper location – a position Scott hadn’t been doing before – made Scott reel. But he saw it. The inter-connectivity of the console, the way the other stations interfaced, the way he felt in control blew his mind. This was new. “Okay.”

Rodney moved behind Scott, reaching around his body and putting his hands on top of Scott’s. “Everything reacts. Everything is connected.” Rodney mimicked the procedure one would take to arm torpedoes, charge phaser banks, and connect to helm for evasive maneuvers. He was doing all this while standing behind Scott without visual access to the actual controls. “It has to be second nature.”

Scott enjoyed the touch, but was paying fierce attention. He was seeing for the first time in a long time how it was all a part of the greater operations of the tactical scheme. The closeness of Rodney wasn’t lost on him either. “I get it, I get it.”

“Put your hands on mine.”

“Uh…”

“Trust me, just do it.”

Scott hesitantly flipped his hands’ position and put them on Rodney’s.

“Computer, start simulation.” In an instant the ships appeared on screen. There was disruptor fire, all ships bobbed and weaved, and Rodney’s hands – with Scott’s firmly anchored to them – danced magically across the controls. “The right and the left, the perfect balance, the understanding of each supporting the other.”

Within a couple of minutes all ships but one were disabled or destroyed. The lone Dominion assault fighter remained, its agility showing its prowess as Rodney’s hands continued to dance. Scott’s eyes couldn’t keep up. Eyes on the console, gaze to the screen, this display and that display, it was almost sickening… but he was paying attention. The thing he got most out of it was the connection to helm, but he couldn’t anticipate the moves… yet. He was getting it, he thought, but he was more amazed that Rodney was doing this from memory. Okay, the occasional look over Scott’s shoulder showed Rodney saw something, but he was operating almost blind nonetheless.

The Dominion fighter broke to port quickly, and Scott about lost his lunch as Rodney saw the simulated chase the navigation computer was giving. In a quick one-two-three, Rodney fired three phaser banks, launched two torpedoes, and secured the station. As the ship on the viewscreen exploded, the tremor that resonated on the holographic bridge sent both of them falling back into the tactical two chair – Scott into Rodney’s lap.

“And that is how you do that.” Rodney said.

Scott exhaled with exhilaration, “Wow, some masterful control.”

“Practice, that’s it.”

There was a brief moment of pause, the excitement diminishing, and then Scott realized he was still sitting on Rodney in the chair. “Oh, sorry.” And, just as quickly, Scott was on his feet. “Thanks for the tutorial.”

Rodney remained seated, looking at Scott. Leering? He smiled that flashy smile and finally stood. “Any time. Just not when it’s supposed to be my holodeck time. Have a good day Ammora… the Horra. Computer, end program.” There was a wink, Scott was sure of it. And then he was gone, the holodeck arch appearing, opening, and closing.

Scott was alone, contemplating and assessing the events that had just transpired. He looked at the closed doorway, offering a goodbye to no one. “You too… Rodney the Wise.”