Punctuality and Paperwork
Posted on Tuesday July 29, 2025 @ 4:03pm by Commander Diane Westlake & Crewman Jacob Reid
885 words; about a 4 minute read
Mission:
Episode 1: A New Frontier
Location: Admin Office, Deck 3 – USS Vanguard
Timeline: 2424.06.17 0700 Hours
The admin offices were quiet this time of morning—just the gentle hum of consoles, the faint whir of a PADD syncing with the department server, and the subdued hum of the ship beneath it all. It was a quiet Jacob Reid had come to appreciate. He liked arriving early. It gave him space to breathe, settle into the rhythm of the day, and make sure the captain's briefing folder was perfectly aligned and ready before 0700.
He was reviewing today’s crew rotation changes when the door slid open with the clean hiss of someone whose footsteps didn’t falter.
“Crewman,” came a clipped voice behind him. Female. Precise. Not impatient—just incredibly focused.
Jacob turned, standing immediately.
Commander Diane Westlake had arrived.
Her uniform was as sharp as her tone—red shoulders immaculate, her hair in a flawless twist, and her gaze sharp and cool. She had a PADD in one hand and the faintest arch in her brow as she took in the office: two desks, a supply alcove, three wall terminals, and one very upright crewman.
“Commander Westlake,” Jacob said quickly. “Welcome. I—uh—I wasn’t expecting you until later this morning.”
“I wasn’t expecting to find a crewman already at his station fifteen minutes before alpha shift, but here we are,” she replied, stepping into the room and setting her PADD down on the auxiliary desk. “Reid, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Jacob Reid. Captain’s Yeoman.”
“Ah. The infamous Reid,” she said, skimming her eyes across the console next to him. “I reviewed your personnel file this morning.”
His heart stuttered for half a beat. “I… hope it was in order?”
“It was adequate,” she said. “But I don’t rely on files alone.”
Jacob blinked. “No, ma’am?”
“I prefer to assess people based on how they work. Not how they were written about.” She gestured toward the main display. “Tell me, Crewman. What’s the captain’s preferred format for preliminary reports?”
Jacob straightened. “Chronological summary first, bullet-pointed analysis second, followed by a three-line actionable takeaway. Font size eleven, sans serif.”
Westlake gave the faintest nod. “Good. And if he asks for a briefing packet but doesn’t specify how many copies?”
“Three hardcopies. One for him, one for the XO, one in reserve. I’ve started preparing them the moment he starts asking questions about a subject.”
Now, her brow lifted just slightly. “Preemptive readiness. I approve.”
Jacob allowed himself a small, careful smile. “I’m still learning the rhythm of the ship. But the captain’s easy to read. Sort of.”
Westlake stepped over to the small shelf that held the administrative resource archive—binders, padds, blank slates—and examined the arrangement without comment. She then turned her gaze on the office clock.
“You’ve been aboard less than a week.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And yet you’re already shadowing senior patterns and formatting documents to captain-level expectations.”
“I try to stay ahead,” Jacob said. “It makes things smoother for everyone. And I like it when the job runs clean.”
She regarded him for a long second.
“Good,” she said at last. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Jacob swallowed, but held her gaze.
“May I ask,” he ventured, carefully, “how you prefer things organized, Commander? I assume I’ll be assisting you as well when needed.”
“You assume correctly,” she replied. “I expect clarity, conciseness, and no typographical errors. My morning briefings are to be uploaded to my personal console by 0700 daily, with a printout waiting if my replicator is down. I prefer to be reminded of meetings only once. If I’m running late, I already know.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jacob said, mentally filing away every detail. “Do you prefer your own desk, or would you like a shared update board in here?”
“A shared update board is acceptable—as long as no one edits it without my approval. This is the brain of the ship, Crewman. Not the mess hall bulletin.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again, not flinching. He’d grown up with teachers who ruled their classrooms like empires. This felt familiar.
After another pause, Westlake tapped a few commands into the nearest console and pulled up the duty roster. Her eyes narrowed slightly at a duplicate entry on Deck 6.
“Redundant listing. Fix it. And flag it if it happens again,” she said.
Jacob was already walking over. “Understood.”
She watched him correct the error with a few swift keystrokes. When he finished, she gave a nod—not praise, exactly, but acknowledgment. The kind of nod that said: You passed this test. There will be more.
She moved toward the door, then paused just before stepping through.
“One more thing, Crewman Reid.”
He turned. “Ma’am?”
“If you ever feel tempted to call me ‘ma’am’ more than twice in a sentence… don’t.”
Jacob blinked. “Yes—uh. Acknowledged, Commander.”
Her lips curved. Not quite a smile. But not not a smile, either.
“Carry on,” she said, and exited the office with the same silent precision she’d arrived with.
As the door slid shut, Jacob let out a slow breath and glanced at the now-empty auxiliary desk.
“Well,” he muttered under his breath, “I guess we’re both early risers.”
And with that, he went back to work.
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