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Introducing NPC Ensign Jean Bratton - Is this punishment or training?


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((USS ‘Oumuamua -  deck 8 - cargo bay 2))

Rows of round containers stacked upon one another. Several one meter flat boxes piled at least 4 meters high. 

The young lady, ivory skin a pleasant contrast with black hair piled into a loose bun was clad in the gold of her position. She pulled her tunic down over her rounded hips and grimaced. Losing weight was high on her to-do list but that hadn’t worked out well. 

She really liked those banana splits the mess hall made for her… every day. Low to no calorie, but she still kept the weight on.

Jean stood in the doorway keeping the opening from closing. She silently and slowly slid her phaser from its holster. A simple glance down to check the setting was all she needed. Set at stun, she keyed the control to heavy stun. 

One never knew what would pop out from between those containers. 

Her only clue as to why she was here was the vague order to “search number 2, apprehend whoever was there and transport them (or it) to the brig”. According to the tricorder, what she was looking for was four containers away. Slipping along the orderly rows of essential goods, the ensign watched the little red blip. It wasn’t moving. Was that a good thing?

Hearing the sliding doors moving when they shouldn’t be, Ensign Bratton’s hearing perked up. She spun around, phaser at the ready. 

Doors closed, no one visible. 

A whisper of cloth against cloth was her only warning. A hand came down on her wrist; the phaser clanked against the floor and skittered across the grey decking. Jean’s knee came up quickly, slamming into her opponent’s thigh. Not where she was hoping, but that was where she landed. It was enough to cause the intruder to grunt and lean to the left. The edge of Jean’s hand came up swift and hard against the exposed neck. Her opponent collapsed. 

Not bothering to ask questions - that would happen once they were in the brig and had more time. Ensign Bratton slapped her comm badge. 

Bratton: =/\= Two to beam directly to the brig =/\=

Brig Officer: =/\= Energising. =/\=

((Deck 7 - Brig))

Jean stared at her adversary. Human, dishwater blond, and cute in a pixie way. Obviously a woman, she wasn’t wearing a uniform but that could be because she was off-duty. Or she shouldn’t be on the ‘Oumuamua in the first place. 

 Bratton: Who are you?

The brig attendant had beamed her into the cell behind the force field that would hold her until Jean’s superior arrived.  

The intruder stood still with no expression. To Bratton’s inexperienced eyes, it looked like she was waiting. She didn’t seem alarmed at her predicament. Nor did she appear nervous. 

And just as Jean was going to ask another question (that probably would never be answered anyway) the woman was gone. No shimmering beam, no warning. 

Placing a finger to her lips, the ensign wondered if she should contact the chief - Kessler? Or maybe the XO. This would be his purview. While pondering, the brig officer was making his own report. 

Brig officer Alton: ::to jean as his fingers sailed over his console:: She stole an engineering toolbox. ::pause:: That could explain why we’re missing one. 

Jean relaxed, leaning against the brig controls. Shore leave was almost over and they'd be starting a new mission. That was when she could return to her normal activities: relaxing. 

 

——————————

Ensign Jean Bratton

Security officer

 

Lt. (jg) Toz

Medical Officer

USS ‘Oumuamua

T239811T14 

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