On The Record

 Episode Name:  On The Record

   Written By:  Starfleet

         Cast:  Edwards, Ghorev, Lace, McAnally, P'Trell and Whitehorse.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Starfleet

     Aired On:  Thu Jun 13 03:20:24 2002

     Stardate:  52408.6

Time: Wed Jun 12 21:03:21 2002

Stardate: 52408

Whitehorse's standing by himself as the crew enters for the senior meeting, peering out of the window and looking over the darkened hull of the USS Aegis. As the door parts, he looks over his shoulder and nods to each in turn as they enter.

Ghorev moves to his seat, but doesn't yet take it. "Admiral," is his simple greeting, but there's the slightest up-turn of tone to suggest a question as he stands behind the chair.

P'Trell stands behind his seat as well.

Edwards masks his emotions, as he inclines his head toward the Admiral respectfully, and makes his way toward his usual seat.

Whitehorse gestures to the table. "Please, have a seat," he says quietly.

P'Trell takes his usual seat.

Ghorev does so, then. "I'm gathering this is not going to be our usual meeting, then."

Edwards drops into his chair, once permission has been granted, and remarks, "I'd say not."

Whitehorse moves to the head of the table and sits down after tugging at his jacket. "In that you would be correct, Lieutenant." He pulls himself to the table and folds his hands together on its surface.

Edwards doesn't react. Instead, he waits silently, for something to occur.

P'Trell settles into his seat and waits for the Admiral to explain.

The old Admiral's eyes follow around the table to each crew member. Once he has locked their faces into his memory, he begins. "I have to say I'm displeased about making this trip. I thought that this had been hammered out before this round of senior officers was promoted into their current positions. But I suppose every knife needs to be edged at some point, so I have taken leave of my duties at Dulcais Command to pay you a courtesy call, and to clear several things up."

Ghorev says "'Taken leave', sir?"

Edwards, for once, seems to realize that it might be best to just keep quiet and listen.

Whitehorse nods several times, and replies slowly, "In a figurative sense only, Lieutenant." His voice is deep and resonant, his inflection carrying a soothing, methodical pace. "We're going to go over the orders as given to Ensign Wendy Tyler and the responsibilities that she has been saddled with. Before I open the floor to discussion, there are several points I'm going to make."

P'Trell nods

Ghorev listens intently.

Edwards flexes his jaw a little as he listens to the Admiral, with all due attentativeness, of course.

"Ensign Tyler, when dealing with the Artifact, or dealing with any 'special project' such as the Lithians, or temporal incursions, or the like, has full control of the project. When it relates to these special projects, she is in charge, she is in command. Having Command staff present during these special projects is a courtesy to the command staff of this station. She can, at her discretion, consider a project too classified in nature to divulge it to the Command crew. This is a problem that we have had in the past; too much secrecy. So a compromise was made. Senior officers of 419 were to be included in such projects, as observers, as a courtesy. Any time young Mrs. Tyler feels the project is at risk, she can indeed relieve the observing senior officers." Whitehorse pauses in his methodical speech for a moment and catches a breath. "Because of the nature of her work, she has a wide range of security codes. She can do things with the security system on board the Aegis that even I do not have. And if it relates to her projects, she is fully vested to use those security codes - Starfleet Command expects nothing less from her."

Ghorev frowns, but listens.

McAnally steps into the ward room, and the door slides shut behind her.

McAnally has arrived.

P'Trell's face remains expressionless.

Somehow, someway, Edwards maintains his silence.

The old Admiral glances to the door briefly as McAnally enters, but continues speaking. "Now, whether you agree with these orders or not is beside the point. Commander Balin files at least three reports a week protesting them, so please trust me when I say you have someone in your corner, working on behalf of your concerns." He looks at each officer in turn again, his gaze finally studying McAnally for a long moment before continuing. His eyes go back around the table. "Your orders are simple. You are to give Ensign Tyler the latitude she needs to accomplish her job, to fulfill her duty. When relating to the special projects, you are a subordinate, but only in that regard. The rest of the time, she's your subordinate. If you are asked to observe a special project, you will observe, not command, unless Ensign Tyler asks for more help. You will follow your orders, or you will be relieved of duty. Do I have your complete understanding in this regard?"

Ghorev says, simply, "Yes, Sir."

McAnally takes her seat, meeting the Admiral's gaze non-confrontationally, then remains silent.

Edwards inquires, "And if we'd rather be relieved?"

Ghorev eyes Edwards.

Whitehorse gestures to the table. "Then you can resign your commission and save me a lot more paperwork than your ignoble act is worth."

P'Trell says "With all do respect sir, I'm a little unclear as to what exactly falls under the umbrella of "special projects", when it comes to the Artifact her role is clear but the line seems rather fuzzy as to her role elsewhere."

Ghorev then eyes Whitehorse. And then P'trell. "Since the floor has apparently been opened for comment, I would have to concur with the Chief Science Officer."

Edwards states tersely, "If you wanna see ignoble acts, look toward Earth, sir."

Ghorev taps the table between himself and Edwards, a simple gesture of simple warning not to go there just yet, but says nothing more.

McAnally listens, wisely not adding something to a subject she doesn't fully understand.

Whitehorse replies to P'Trell, "Ensign Tyler's field of expertise is temporal physics and a silicophysiology. If it falls within those two realms, I'd say that it qualifies as a special project." The Admiral's eyes fall on Edwards. "Commander Edwards, I think your statement is rather ironic coming from someone whose own crew would say the same of their senior officers. In any case, you are dismissed, and confined to quarters until the two of us can talk directly."

Ghorev shakes his own head at Whitehorse's initial answer, pausing only for his orders to Edwards. He frowns, but waits for a moment or two further.

Edwards doesn't fight that order. Instead, he rises to his feet, and just heads toward the exit silently.

P'Trell gives Edwards a sympathetic look as he leaves.

McAnally watches Edwards go and clasps her hands in her lap so as not to do something foolish with them.

Edwards heads out of the ward room, the doors sliding shut behind him.

Edwards has left.

Ghorev takes advantage, then, of the continued moment of silence, to respond at last to Whitehorse: "Admiral, permission to speak freely?"

Whitehorse looks at Ghorev, his hands still folded there before him. "Permission denied. This is not a subject open to debate. I have my orders, and now I have clarified yours. I suggest you follow them." He pushes himself up from the table, then. "If you have a concern about whether or not a project of Ensign Tyler's is considered a special project, then contact Dulcais Sciences. Lt. Commander Accolon will be glad to answer any and all questions for you. Now, if you will excuse me."

Ghorev's jaw sets in a line.

P'Trell says "One last question sir?"

Whitehorse straightens his jacket, slowly nods once to the assembled crew, and heads for the door. He pauses at the door. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Ghorev shakes his head, but says nothing. The implication is clear, however: If Admiral Whitehorse wishes to leave, of course, it is his right, both as a free man and ranking officer, but is most certainly not, at least, with the consent of at least one officer present. He says nothing, however.

McAnally continues to do little more than warm her seat.

P'Trell says "Sir, even the best laid plans of mice and men can have bugs in the system. If starfleet command gives Tyler this sort of clout then so be it, I'm in no position to question their orders during wartime but the system as it stands now doesn't seem to have any safety measures in place for ensign Tyler. Now she erroniously believes that I have some sort of personal vendetta against her but regardless of her dislike of me she is still an officer on my team. An officer I might add that is under a great deal of stress. Should concerns for Tyler's physical or mental health come into being, how should those be dealt with? With all do respect sir, had I been in her position when I was an Ensign I wouldn't have admitted negative stress effects to myself let alone my superiors."

Ghorev continues to sit quietly.

"Your concerns are noted, Lieutenant. Counselor Park, I believe, is in charge of her mental health." Whitehorse turns on his heel and exits.

Ghorev waits until the door shuts behind Whitehorse. "Oh, if his blood were only cobolt, I'd have called him out for that."

Ghorev rises from his own seat.

Ghorev heads for the replicator.

P'Trell watches the Admiral exit but says nothing. A cool, menacing look, a radical departure from his usual good humor resides in his eyes.

McAnally finally exhales. "I'm not sure I even want to know what that was about. I know Edwards made an order Tyler was unhappy with; I've gleaned that much from the reports. They didn't say /what/, though."

Ghorev says "The problem, Gretchen, is that it doesn't matter what. That's why this problem still exsts. The Admiral's answer about the delineation of Wendy Tyler's authority would be admirable if it were true, if it held atmosphere, and if we could rely on it." He shakes his head. "But it's not, it doesn't, and we can't. I've half a mind to go before the Kethni myself with this and ask for their backing in bringing all our dirty laundry before the Federation Council. All of it."

P'Trell says "I'll stand by you if that's your call Akeen Ghorev."

"What I don't understand," says Gretchen, not responding to Ghorev's comment about airing dirty laundry just yet, "is why all this is laid on an /Ensign/? And we all must walk on eggshells to avoid irritating an /Ensign/."

Ghorev says "That's exactly my point, yes. And I assure you" -- he gestures with his mug of hot liquid at the door -- "that my half-a-mind is better than some officer's full ones. Damn them. They wonder where this whole problem starts? It starts *here* -- it starts the minute they give a girl who doesn't deserve her uniform an open-ended writ of authority they refuse to close and refuse to acknowledge is flawed, then phaser us out of orbit when we try to bring up the issue as an issue. 'It's being handled'. 'I hope I've clarified matters.' 'You now have had it explained to you'. No it's not, no you don't, and no we haven't."

Ghorev takes his seat back.

Ghorev says "There's an old Earth joke my father Kolex taught me, when I was trying to learn Federation Standard. I was ... five years old, I think. He told me I'd know I'd learned the language well enough when I got the joke, when it made me laugh."

Ghorev leans forward. "Gretchen, how many legs does a sheep have if you call its tail a leg?"

P'Trell says "I cut that girl an huge amount of slack based soley on my knowledge that had I been in her shoes as an ensign I'd have been 10 times more insufferable. Hells she has special security clearance because of her unique temporal situation fine, but I'll be damned if I won't point out ethic violations when I see them...(he listens to Ghorev's joke)"

McAnally looks a bit perplexed and says, "Five?"

Ghorev says "Four. Because you see, my friend, calling a tail a leg doesn't make it one."

P'Trell roars with laughter at this one.

Ghorev says "And Kolex was right, and he was wrong. I know I understand that joke. But now it makes me *cry*."

P'Trell says "It depends on who's calling it a leg my friend."

McAnally grins a bit. "Figured you'd say that, but provided the set-up." As the conversation gets metaphorical again, she waves a freckled hand, "Wait a second, please. What's the leg here?"

P'Trell says "Tyler"

Ghorev says "They can put her in a uniform. They can give her pips. They can give us orders. But they can no sooner make Wendy Tyler a Starfleet Officer than they can male a sheep's tail a leg just by calling it so. And if it's insubordination to point that out, then I'll gather my things and resign my commission *tonight*."

McAnally says "/Why/ is she given so much leeway? Does anyone truly know?"

Ghorev takes a long pull of the browndubble, and then says, "Yes, of course we do. But, you see, it's classified."

Ghorev says "And do you know why it's classified?"

P'Trell sighs. "don't do that Akeen Ghorev. You'll drop the IQ of the station by at least a third." he looks to McAnally. "Yes we do."

P'Trell says "So, is anybody up for heading up the officer's deck and trying to cheer up Edwards?"

Ghorev says "No. I was ready to kick him, myself. I *might* have been able to make Admiral Whitehorse see reason if he hadn't jumped in that way."

P'Trell says "He's Edwards."

Ghorev says "He's the First Officer now, though. There comes the responsibility to be a litlte less yourself."

McAnally lifts an eyebrow. "It's true, then. Who she'll become? But why do we coddle her now? It's not going to change anything."

Ghorev makes a noise under his breath. "Because there are real consequences of danger that go beyond Starfleet Command to making Wendy Tyler mad." He himself is furious now, though quieter. There's more of a strength to his voice as he speaks, sipping at his mug.

McAnally says derisively, "So all of Starfleet quails in fear of her temper? I never thought we'd be cowed by a tempermantal scientist."

Ghorev says "In an airpocket, the problem is twofold:"

P'Trell says "I concur, I've been a tempermental scientist for much longer than she has and I don't cow starfleet command. Annoy them sure, but cow, never."

Ghorev says "There's the matter of the Artifact. It reads into her displeasure, and seems to react to it. The nature of its sentience or non-sentience aside, it is clearly psychoreactive in some way. It doesn't like when Wendy Tyler is upset, and it shows its own displeasure by, oh, hurling people a few light years into deep space, without support systems."

Ghorev says "Or, at least, that's the fear."

Ghorev says "Then there's the matter of Starfleet Command."

P'Trell makes a questioning trilling noise.

Ghorev says "Starfleet Command either doesn't know, or doesn't care, how broken the orders regarding Wendy Tyler are. It's all well and good to say that the orders are simple and only to be regarded insofar as 'special projects' .... but it's another to really look at the consequences." To P'Trell: "Yes?"

McAnally winces at the consequences of upsetting the Artifact, but also turns towards P'Trell instead of commenting.

P'Trell says "I thought that the problem with Command and Tyler were one and the same."

Ghorev says "Not as such."

Ghorev says "Two related, separate issues."

Ghorev says "You see .... it's like this:"

Ghorev says "They don't quite *grasp* that the nature of her orders aren't as clear-cut as they passionately insist that they are."

P'Trell says "That's because her other self has them spooked."

Ghorev says "I don't think that's the case, really."

Ghorev says "That's why I call it a separate issue."

Ghorev says "I think it's more that Starfleet Command doesn't wish to admit it can make mistakes."

Ghorev leans in over the table, towards both the other officers. "Tomorrow, if you assigned Wendy Tyler to a project that would take her away from the artifact for an *hour*, she'd refuse, on the grounds that her authority over her project gives her the right to countermand yours. On the day that happens, I assure you, I will send Admiral Whitehorse my pips in a parcel with a note that says "I tried to tell you, you ignorant buffoon, but you refused to listen."

McAnally sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So what do we do? We can't allow her to run this station."

P'Trell says "Am I the only person who's afraid that the Artifact might be having a negative effect on Tyler?"

Ghorev says "No. You're not. We all are afraid of this, and Counselor Park really *is* handling the matter, or trying to."

P'Trell sighs and looks downright pissed.

Ghorev says "If you all wish to go see Michael, I suppose we could, of course."

P'Trell says "It's either that or kill holograms. I have a bottle of home brewed ale for him and you as well Ghorev, I just haven't gotten around to running it over to you yet. I always brew too much and like to share."

McAnally shakes her head. "I missed whatever outburst transpired, but I'm not sure I ought to go, since I don't know him personally all that well."

Ghorev says "It depends on you, Gretchen. Now's the time to *get* to know the man, I think."

P'Trell says "and I'll be bringing him ale so he'll be meeting you under good circumstances."

Ghorev says "Then let's go."

P'Trell says "Lead on Ghorev."

McAnally shrugs a bit, and stands up.

Ghorev does, as well, and makes his way for the door.

Ghorev heads out of the ward room, the doors sliding shut behind him.

Ghorev has left.

McAnally heads out of the ward room, the doors sliding shut behind her.

McAnally has left.

P'Trell heads out of the ward room, the doors sliding shut behind him.

P'Trell has left.

Ghorev heads out of the ward room, the doors sliding shut behind him.

Ghorev has left.

Ghorev emerges from the lift and rounds the arc a bit. "Did you fetch that ale?" to P'Trell

P'Trell holds up the large clay bottle.

Ghorev nods and waits by the door.

McAnally looks somewhat uncertain about paying a visit to the first officer's quarters.

Nearby, someone shouts, "Come in."

P'Trell enters quarters number 302.

P'Trell has left.

Ghorev enters quarters number 302.

Ghorev has left.

P'Trell stands in the door with Ghorev and McAnally. He holds a large earthen bottle towards Edwards. "We thought we'd see how you were doing sir. We brought you a bottle of home brewed ale. We figured if anyone could use it right now it would be you."

Edwards sits, with his trademarked slouch, on the sofa in the living. He glances toward the entrance, preparing to stand, but since it isn't Whitehorse, he doesn't. "I'm not sure alcohol would be a good idea right now." he comments.

Ghorev says "You can save it for afterwards, I'm sure. Just remember, if you must throw it, ot do so at this particular wall over here, as your neighbor on that other side is said to be a stickler about noise."

McAnally comes in from the corridor.

McAnally has arrived.

P'Trell leans his scarecrowlike frame in the doorway until he is officially invited in.

Edwards flashes a wry smile at Ghorev, after that. "How did it go after I left?" he inquires.

Ghorev says "It lasted for about 30 more seconds. We tried to inquire further for clarification, were denied permission to do so, and then Admiral Whitehorse excused himself." He comes into the room further. "We've mostly been gossiping amongst ourselves."

McAnally steps in, looking around a bit, and hanging back.

P'Trell says "And complaining, lots and lots of complaiing."

Ghorev says "Yes. Leave us not forget the complaining."

Edwards nods slowly and pauses. "I'm not sure how much longer I can do this." he states.

Ghorev says "Nor I, frankly."

The door chime sounds from the direction of Out.

McAnally steps away from the door and turns towards it as it chimes, glancing back towards Edwards.

Edwards frowns faintly, at the new chime, and raises his voice.

Edwards shouts, "Come in."

Ghorev takes a step or three forward, himself.

Whitehorse comes in from the corridor.

Whitehorse has arrived.

P'Trell looks up at the Admiral as he enters.

Whitehorse steps into the quarters and straightens his jacket. "Commander."

Edwards comes up to his feet, having been seated on the sofa, and pulls himself to attention. "Sir." he greets.

McAnally blinks in surprise, and straightens her own posture as well.

Ghorev, who had been standing straight to begin with as he spoke, for lack of any better posture, simply turns his head to regard the Admiral in his entrance.

Whitehorse glances about, taking in the room. He's a man who appears to keep in tune with his environment. "At ease," states the old Admiral. "I didn't realize that you had company. Perhaps we should do this another time."

Edwards falls into a formal 'at ease' posture and replies, "No time like the present, sir."

P'Trell says "Should we leave Commander?"

Edwards glances around at those assembled, and looks to Whitehorse, raising an eyebrow. The question has been deferred.

Whitehorse replies, "If Commander Edwards has no problem, then I don't." He straightens his shoulders and levels his gaze at the other man. "Your career is commendable, Commander. I've watched you progress from a Junior Lieutenant to being the first officer on this station, and I have to say that I am impressed with all of the stories I get out of Four One Nine." He glances around to the others before returning his gaze to Edwards. His voice is gentle, and soothing as he speaks. It's not admonishment, but truly a great deal of respect. "I've watched all of you. And among those exploits recently, I've watched as you've had to explain some things to your junior officers, in order to regain their trust. I approved of Commander Balin's approach, because sometimes, honesty is the best policy." He reaches up and tugs the badge off of his uniform, and tosses it with a clatter to the coffee table. "So now is the time to speak to me."

Edwards does his best to hide the surprise that he's feeling. "Fair enough." he remarks, as he removes his own combadge and tosses it onto the coffee table. "We can't work like this."

McAnally blinks at this and turns a mute. questioning gaze to Ghorev.

Ghorev makes a gesture for patience in McAnally's direction. A 'wait a moment' kind of thing. and listens.

P'Trell folds his arms and listens.

McAnally nods, and turns back to the two badgeless men, looking curious and expectant.

Whitehorse nods once. "I know. Your badges. On the table, please. Or you'll have to leave. This is off the record, for all of us." He glances around to the others.

Ghorev takes off his badge, wordlessly. "In a way, Admiral, that makes it part of the problem, but for now..." And his own badge falls on the table, as well, an underhanded lob bringing it skittering to rest.

P'Trell drops his Combadge.

McAnally delays a moment, then plucks her badge from her chest and drops it among the rest.

P'Trell chimes the door to Quarters.