Holding Up Commander Sutherland
by Chaz, Erin and Maureen

Nicolas was sitting on the pool deck of the rec area.

The seagulls that fluttered by were fascinating him more than should be allowed. In fact too much to be exact. So much so that he didn't hear the private's cracking voice trying to get his attention.

"Commander?"

Nicolas was remembering a song from his youth and was starting to hum it, "Irridescent eyes of the seagulls rise, treasure she loves", when the funny little man in the funny little uniform interrupted him.

"Excuse me sir?"

"Oh, my apologies dear lad. What was your query?" Now kids, Nicholas is American, but he speaks with a British accent...Not even his daughter knows why.

"They're boarding sir."

"Thank you, sailor," he said with a salute.

Standing with his bags and in minimal uniform (he hadn't had time to sew his insignia on yet and he'll be damned if he's going to let some ugly machine do it for him) he gazed down at the seaHawk. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Like a shark...although the angles are somewhat askew and..."

"COMING THROUGH!" was all Nicolas heard as a porter nearly trampled him with a cart of supplies.

"How utterly dreadful," he muttered while reaching down to wipe the dust off of his shoes that he had so diligently polished for about a half an hour.

Getting up, he gathered the resolve to walk down the gangplank and set foot on the Hawk.

"And you are...?" a nasal voice belonging to an equally nasal kid was very firm in his determination to not let Nicolas on board.

"Commander Nicolas Sutherland."

"We don't have an XO yet."

"Well, you do now, and it's me. Now please, step aside and let me through." This was very taxing on him and starting to cause him stress that he was actually trying to avoid by taking this job in the first place. Retirement was peaceful, yes, but damn if it wasn't boring as all hell. This was his vacation.

A young, dark haired woman was passing by and saw the scene that Nicolas was about to start.

"Excuse me? Sir, can we help you?" Her bar said Piccolo.

"Yes, I'm Commander Nicolas Sutherland and I'd very much like to come aboard." He reached into his duffle bag as the guard reached for his gun.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! Now slowly back out and put your hands behind your head." Obviously this was the first time this kid had done this as it sounded like he was reading it from a script.

"Oh Gawd! I was reaching for my name bar and rank insignia! There right there at the top in the plastic baggies if you'd like to see them." He pointed with his finger even though it was behind his head; poking around his ear like a small pink worm.

While the overzealous guard held his gun on the threatening old man, Piccolo rummaged through his bag. A look of disgust came across his face as he was forced to watch while what took him several hours to pack was now tossed about. She finally pulled out a plastic bag with his name and rank inside. She held it up for the guard to see and then turned back to Nicolas.

He looked relieved and started to lower his hands. "Thank you. Now can I-" He was quickly interrupted by the guard taking an even more defensive stance!

"Where's your ID? How do we know you are really Nicolas Sutherland?" Now the guards paranoia had spread to Piccolo.

"In my wallet," was all he felt he had to say.

"Pat him down," the guard snapped at Piccolo.

"What!?" she snapped right back, "Hell no. You do it! I'm not security around here. I'll go get Sucara, she'll handle this."

The Captain looked around his bunk, finally satisfied. In his opinion, one of the greatest things about being a captain was the size of your quarters. Not huge, mind you, but sizeable. Large enough so that with careful (read: tediously close) placement, he could fit into it his desk, his desk chair, and in addition to them the two pieces of furniture he could never feel at home without: his arm chair and ottoman. In recent years he had watched the armchair- with-attached-ottoman fad with curiousity, thinking that this might offer him more space in his quarters. But as each new model of these "Lay-Z-Boys" came out, they grew more and more outlandish, coming with phones, mini refrigerators, computers, and countless other things he couldn't recall. They certainly must be lazy, he thought to himself of the users of "Lay-Z-Boys". He was quite happy with his armchair and ottoman, thank you very much. So what if he was being old fashioned. He wasn't born yesterday. And he liked it.

He pulled out his current novel, The Hunt for Red October, settled into his chair, proped his feet up on his ottoman, pulled out the bookmark, and let his eyes rest on the page. His piece was immediately interrupted by the incessent call of his PAL.

"What's the problem," he said. It's loading day. There's always problems.

"We have some wacko claiming to be the XO. Name of Nicholas something- or-other."

"Okay. I'll be right there," Adrian said.

The loading dock was a mass of confusion, so he went to where it seemed to be the greatest. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The man in his late middle ages saluted, extended his hand and with that "Hello, thank the gods you came" tone in his voice said; "Commander Nicolas Sutherland. Reporting for duty [inhale], sir [exhale]."

"We were told not to expect to pick you up until we landed at Guam," Adrian said.

"Well sir," Sutherland began, "to tell you the truth sir I just happened to be in the neighborhood and figured hat 'well, may as well get it over with.' So I came down to board and, mind you, I am not going to have some silly machine sew my name and rank onto my uniform when I.."

"Okay, okay, I believe you." It's good that the captain shut him up when he did, otherwise he'd have been in for a long and very meaningless banter.

"Glad to have you aboard," Adrian said. "Piccolo, could you show him to his quarters?"

Well, that wasn't too bad, Adrain thought exiting launch bay. No, correct that. It went a lot better than it could have gone. But that's just one more day in the Navy.

Nicolas sighed and tried to stand comfortably. This was going to be a long day. With a groan, Piccolo began stuffing the contents of her Commander's bags back in so she could help him to his quarters. So much for the swimming idea.

"Sorry about that sir," she said, ignoring his look of near defeat as his neat, precise packing was shoved into the bag.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much dear." He kneeled down and arranged everything as she put it in. Yeah, he was weird, but there was a system to it. To quote one famous line "it's like a Monet. When you look at it really close, it's just a mess. But when you step back, it's a painting!"

"If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters," Piccolo replied stiffly, not wanting to excite or anger her superior any more than she inadvretantly had. It wasn't her fault that he tried to come aboard at the wrong port without his ID!

She silently thanked the gods that protected the enlisted in the military and dumb children that she had memorized nearly all of the key places in the ship, including the captain and commanders cabins.

Piccolo led him down the slightly curving corridors deep into offcers territory. There was a marked difference here than in the enlisted bunks. For starters, the hallway was wider and the rooms were suite style instead of common showers. Also, here all the doors to the rooms were closed and it did not appear to have anyone running between rooms to check on things or people talking. Azra thought that she prefered the enlisted bunks if for nothing else then the liveliness and community that tended to occur. There was always something to do and someone to do it with if you wanted to.

She stopped in front of a door with the words "Cmdr Sutherland" on the nameplate. Opening the door for him, she briefly wished that this was her cabin. While not exactly spacious, it could easily twice the size of her bunk and he did not have to share it!

"Piccolo, could you run down to the cartography section and get me a ruler, a compass, and level?" Why the hell did he want these things?

"Yes sir," she replied, heading across the room.