Word to Your Mother
Posted on Wed Sep 7th, 2022 @ 2:03am by Commander Ayanja Tusalo & Lieutenant JG Stanislav Finch
2,356 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
The Song Of Silver Wings
Location: Starbase 842
Timeline: 2404
Six Months Ago - USS Wyncroft
Starbase 482 was the station that Starfleet forgot. Much like the Wyncroft itself. That didn't bother Finch so much. He liked being overlooked in the real world. It allowed his cyber dalliances to thrive all the better.
A quick parse of the local sector database pulled up the name of one Commodore Stanley Winston Smithe. Middle-aged man of middling performance in nearly every way, likely resigned to spend out his waning years in the ass end of nowhere until senescence finally claimed him with her merciless grip.
The fact he was a fellow Stan was all the more perfect. Finch grinned even wider than before as he ran his usual mirror spike.
Step 1: Sync transmission with the Commodore's office.
Step 2: Delay transmission. Bypass transmission to the residence of Mother Smithe.
Step 3: Piggyback subspace transmission with hidden autho-logger protocol.
Step 4: Wait.
Finch sat back in his office and crossed his arms with a smug, satisfied smirk spread over his face. It was in stark contrast to the obscene images of various fluids--condiments or otherwise--being spread across the face of assorted sex workers posed in scenarios that were as creative as they were awkward. Such were the traits of handicap porn.
"Stanley? Stanley!" cried out the shocked and horrified elderly voice dialed in from Earth.
"Mother? Oh, God, Mother!" That would be the commodore.
"I am so ashamed of you, Stanley!"
"There must be some mistake, Mother!"
"I should say so! The first time you call your mother in ages and... and you show me this filth!"
"But... but you called me!"
50% embedded. Finch covered his mouth to hold back the cackling.
"I most certainly did not! I had to pause my stories in order to take your transmission. Now I'm sorry I did!"
"Mother... Mother, now is not a good time..."
Uh oh. Only 72% embedded. Finch decided to make it more interesting. He interjected clips from a notorious Klingon-Vulcan slash fiction called Pon Farr quvHa’. It was banned in some sectors, and now it was linked to the commodore's personal subspace frequency.
"STANLEY!!!"
"It's not mine, Mother!"
88% embedded. Almost there. Finch leaned in at the screen and grinned at the exchange.
"GOD DON'T LIKE LIARS, STANLEY! NOT ANY MORE THAN PERVERTS!"
Finch gave a mock frown. "Now that can't be true..." he muttered.
"Who said that?" Smithe cut in.
"God did!" his mother retorted.
"No, not that!" said Smithe. "I heard someone else on this channel."
OH SHIT, Finch mouthed silently. 97%...hurry, hurry!
"Yes, it was probably your grandmother rolling in her grave," said Mother Smithe. "I'm so horrified I won't be long joining her!"
Smithe sighed with resignation. "Mother, listen, I think we have a Security breach at the station. Let me look into this and I'll call you later and make it up to you somehow."
"Not if you intend to share more of your pornography..."
"It's not mine!" Smithe shouted.
"Don't you take that tone with me!"
100% - embedding complete.
Finch dropped the connection and pumped the air with his fist. "Yes! Command level access! And it's all mine!"
Of course it wouldn't last long. Depending on how long Smithe's mother kept him busy, Finch would only get a couple of authorizations to classified intel before Security reset the credentials. That's fine. His data-mining bots would clean up well enough before then.
Leaning back in his chair, Finch closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh of contentment.
"Computer," he said, "forward all personnel files of incoming crew to this office and read them off to me in ascending order of commendation status."
The computer warbled its acknowledgement. "Data transfer complete. Beginning file review."
Finch put his feet up on the corner of the desk and closed his eyes for a quick forty winks. If there was anything important, he trusted his parsers to catch it.
Present Day - Starbase 842, Commodore's Office
The two gold-shirted Security officers stood like Grecian statues on either side of Finch. While he technically wore a Starfleet uniform, it was far from neat and pressed. The maglock manacles binding his wrists did nothing for his presentation either but even hands-free there was something distinctly and ubiquitously oily about the man.
"Lieutenant Stanislav Finch..." The name rolled out like retching and boasting all at the same time.
"Commodore Smithe," replied Finch with a wan smirk. "Always a pleasure."
Standing up behind his desk, the commodore took a deep breath and exhaled so gleefully that a Polaroid should have materialized. "Today is quite the pleasure indeed. You have been a bur in my saddle for a long time, but finally you're mine."
"Surprised you could feel anything underneath all those saddlebags..." Finch muttered.
Smithe stiffened, but he wouldn't give Finch the satisfaction. "Like all malcontents, you were done in by your own devices. Now I'm going to string you up for good."
"Whoa, sir, I like you and all, but I don't like-you-like-you." Finch grinned wickedly.
Though growing visibly hot under the collar, Smithe nonetheless continued without a retort. "Abusing your clearance on a starship is one thing, but did you really think that would fly on my station?"
Finch shrugged as best he could while restrained. "I thought they were prostitutes."
"That doesn't make it better!" Smithe shouted, but then regained his composure. "But, by all means, keep talking. Self-incrimination will make this an open-and-shut case for JAG."
"JAG knows me well," Finch boasted with a snide, nasally tone. "I got a standing deal with them. So long as I do the clickity-click for SFI, then none of you brass ballbangers can touch me."
"Oh, I know that quite well," Smithe said, "but the Wyncroft has been at warp for hours. Seems they had their fill of your disgusting behavior. You are here, on my station, with no advocate or ship captain. That means your 'deal' is suspended and that you will become very well acquainted with my brig. Rest assured that as much as I am delighted by present circumstances, I will see that JAG does not consider this a priority anytime this decade. What do you have to say to that?"
Without missing a beat, Finch smirked and said, "Say hello to your mother for me."
Smithe's eyes bulged from his face like the vein in his forehead. "GET HIM OUT OF HERE!"
Starbase 842, Detention Center
"Get him out of there."
"Ma'am I can't," The Security Officer at the brig reception station said, the nervous young Ensign was already on the backfoot. Aya had caught him unaware, feet up, uniform unbuttoned at the neck. It was clear that the bases Detention Facilities weren't commonly used, and even more rarely visited. "Orders from Commodore Smithe, I can't let him out of..."
"Get Finch out of there. Now." From the description of the man she wasn't surprised he'd found a way to end up in solitary confinement. Nor was it really a surprise that the Station's commander would resort to such an outdated form of confinement, but that wasn't her concern. She had orders, ones that superseded any aboard Starbase 842 and she was eager to get it all over with.
It was less than a minute for the brig officer to disappear into the cell block and return with Finch in tow.
"I got bored and left some bodily fluids in places you would find impressive," he said to the ensign over his shoulder as he walked away. "Hopefully you have a black light and a lot of towels."
He nearly walked headlong into Aya before he saw her standing there. "Well, helloooo, Commander." His shit-eating grin spread across his face below his waggling eyebrows. "Did I die and go to PornHub or is my lifelong fantasy of being ravaged in a brig cell by a stern but sexy officer finally about to come true?"
"No, and keep up that lip and you'll never be able to be ravaged ever again." Aya said sternly, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "Now, come with me we need to speak, hopefully briefly and for the last time."
Finch grinned widely. "There are many things I can do briefly and only once. Lead the way!"
Rolling her eyes Aya led Finch to one of the adjacent conference rooms. "Sit." She ordered, moving around the large conference table, setting up near her PADD and linking to the room's systems. "Stanislav Finch, formerly of the USS Wyncroft, the USS Santiago, the USS Cerritos, and a dozen others. You certainly do get around... must have something to with being brief." She gave a somewhat disdainful look up and down the man across the table. "Now you're currently, defacing a jail cell on a nowhere Starbase. What an auspicious career."
"Career, shmeer," Finch scoffed. "Since you know so much, you already know the only reason I ever put on a uniform was something called 'deferred disposition,' an arrangement where I pled Nolo Contendre to all the bullshit I could otherwise acquit myself of in exchange for being left alone while occasionally doing dirty deeds on Starfleet's behalf."
Clapping his hands, he perked up with mock excitement. "Now here is the part where you read me the riot act and try to bust my balls before finally appealing to whatever shred of honor I might have deep down inside."
He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval. "No such luck, sweetheart. What you see is what you get. I'll do whatever you need..." His eyes roved Aya's body up and down, clearly and shamelessly undressing her in his mind. "...and I do mean anything. I'd love to skip the part where we pretend you can do anything to me but suck my dick." He shrugged and spread his hands. "Shucks, amirite? Don't worry. Just tell me what boat to have my effects sent to and we can get this show on the road."
Curling her lip in disgust at the the suggestion that he'd ever get to see her in anything but her uniform or that she'd consider the idea. "Cute, although I doubt any woman has debased herself enough to regard such a bantam offer with anything other than contempt." Taking a seat she indicated for him to take one of the several on the other side of the small conference table. Not bothering to wait for him to move Aya continued on, sliding a PADD across also not caring if he bothered to read it.
"You're right, I can't do much of anything to you, nor do I really believe that you have any honor to appeal to. But you do have self-interest. Because while at worst I can assign you to waste disposal or holodeck filter maintenance, you are only safe from those who can if you're doing what we need of you." Aya pressed several buttons bringing up the profile of the Icarus. "If you work with us and do what is required to complete our mission, you will remain relatively free to live out your pathetic life in service of Starfleet and Federation. If you don't, I will file my report with Starfleet Intelligence, and you can take your chances with find out how useful they find your services since you were uncooperative when a top secret assignment was added."
"So up to you, do your job like a good little boy, or risk being thrown in the deepest darkest hole SFI can find without Trial or even consideration."
Finch put his hands up and waved for mercy. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, save your sermon, preacher." He leaned forward with one cheek pressed out. "Not that I didn't enjoy your mean talk. You're a strong woman, probably shaves nothing and has no safe word, but I'd still do you." Then his hands turned into a shrug. "But I already said I'm your man. Anything to get the hell away from Smithe. Such a small, petty man. Tell me which boat you want me to rig and pop goes the weasel."
Aya nodded, regarding Finch a moment. "You're to report aboard the Shadowfax by sixteen hundred for our trip to the Daedalus. Once there you will stay out of trouble and report to either myself or the Captain. The specifics of the Assignment are on that PADD, I advise you to study them. Particularly the section on what constitutes staying out of trouble and the consequences of failing to do so."
"Sweet petite!" Finch made a little bunny of excitement and then raised his hand in the air. "Up top! No? Alright, then." He walked past her and gave her hip a slap. "Catch ya on the back side." And then he ran toward the door with the pitter-patter of baby feet and a mischievous giggle in his wake.
"Son of a bitch." swiping at his hand Finch was already out of her arm's reach. On instinct she picked up the abandoned Padd and whipped the device at the back of Finch's legs. She was beyond caring if she actually hit him, but wouldn't allow him to touch her or anyone else without reproach.
Finch fell down with a squeal. "Brutality!" He got back to his feet and pointed a finger in Aya's face. "You are a bad woman!" But his angry face split into a lascivious one. "And I love it! This ship is gonna be great!"
"You don't know the half of it, Lieutenant." She "pointed" back, stalking over to him, the knife of ger hand pointed squarely at Finch's face, hovering inches from his nose. "You want brutality, you'll get it if you ever touch me or any other officer on this ship person aboard ship in an unwelcome manner. Understand?"
"Yes, Mami," said Finch before quickly correcting himself. "I mean Ma'am. I'll just go and get my things now..." And with that he fled the room as fast as his feet could slither him.
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