Yost
Posted on Thu Dec 25th, 2025 @ 4:06pm by Senior Chief Petty Officer Jubal Yost & Sergeant Major Lachlan Barr
Edited on on Sun Dec 28th, 2025 @ 7:36am
1,614 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Episode 17 - Going Home
Location: The Snake Pit - Deck 9 - USS Pioneer
Timeline: MD002 1500 hrs
Jubal let his feet carry him through the crowd that never really seemed to diminish on Empok Nor.
At least as far as he knew.
Jubal had never spent much time on the station, but had spent shore leave here four times through the years and he was familiar enough with the layout not to get lost. Winding his way from the transient enlisted berthing to where the Pioneer was docked took him about thirty minutes. Checking in with the Officer of the Day had gotten him directions to the Snake Pit, where the OD claimed the ships COB (a marine) could be found. There was an air to the Pioneer. A...stink, Jubal thought as he saw drawn faces and slightly glazed looks.
The rumor mill hadn't had much grist about the Pioneer when Jubal had first arrived at Empok Nor three days ago. Oh, there was plenty of tales to be told about the ship and her crew. But their location when he'd asked around had been met with silence.
Apparently, no one had a an answer for that. All he'd been told was to get a quartering assignment and stand by. If he'd known that before he would have been able to spend those extra days on the front end of his travel orders back on Wayfar. Empok had it's distractions, and he'd found plenty of stories bouncing around between a Pirate Gang leaving station command with egg on it's face and the rumor of a Brigadier General gone missing.
He'd even run into a temporarily out of work dancer for a club called Neverwinter Nights...but she'd spun a story about the club's oddness that had left him wondering. She'd definitely been distracting. And the last two days had seen him run through a few months worth of credits.
Jubal stepped off of the lift and entered what could only be the Snake Pit by the marines that were lounging about and he stopped short of ...
A gift shop??
And asked, "I'm looking for Sergeant Major Barr?
A couple of Marines near the counter — one leaning back on a chair that looked far too flimsy for the abuse, the other elbow-deep in a packet of something that definitely wasn’t regulation — turned at the sound of a stranger’s voice.
The taller one squinted at Jubal’s uniform, eyes tracking the yellow division colours and collar rank with open curiosity. “You’re Fleet,” he said, as if announcing a surprise weather pattern. “Senior Chief, no less.”
He wiped crumbs off his fingers and jerked his chin toward Jubal.
“What’s a Navy Chief want with the Sergeant Major?”
Jubal looked the sergeant back in the eyes evenly, "Good to see nothing gets past you marine, though I think you missed a couple of crumbs there," Jubal said banteringly. "Most ships have a Goat Locker where the senior non-com's hang out. Since Pioneer's COB is a Sergeant Major, common sense and the OOD told me I could find him here. Gotta check in with the boss."
The Marine listened, eyebrows lifting a little — not suspicious, just taking measure of the newcomer.
“Aye, right then. He’s down in armoury. Sorting through the new rifles Starfleet just dropped off.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll hear him before you see him — man’s been complainin’ about ‘em for the past hour.”
He thumbed toward a corridor off to the right. “Head that way, first left, then follow the sound of someone threatenin’ to send weapons techs back to basic.”
Crates were cracked open across the armoury floor, their contents gleaming under white strip lighting. Lachlan stood over one of them, the new Type-4 Phaser Rifle braced against his forearm.
The rifle looked every inch the upgrade Starfleet claimed it was — matte duranium-ceramite body, slimmer power core housing, integrated micro-projector hardpoints. A beautiful bit of engineering.
And he clearly hated it already.
He rolled the rifle in his grip again, testing balance.
“Front-heavy. Of course it’s front-heavy. Who the hell builds a rifle for shipboard use that drags like a sledgehammer on the aim? Christ above…”
He cracked open the side access panel with a flick of his thumb. Inside sat a compact, delicate power regulator.
“Oh brilliant,” he groaned, leaning closer. “One good drop an’ this wee bastard’ll shatter like cheap crystal. Because that’s what you want in a firefight — a rifle that dies before you do.”
He snapped the panel shut harder than necessary and tossed the rifle into a growing pile labelled — unofficially — Fix Before Anyone Touches.
The next Type-4 came out of the crate. He glared at it first, as if warning it not to disappoint him.
“Right then,” he sighed, shouldering it. “Let’s see what fresh nonsense you’re bringin’ to my day…”
Jubal followed the directions and took in the noises and smells of the compartments and companionways that was marine country on the Pioneer. He doubted he'd be down here much most of the time so he he'd take a tour when he could get it. Stepping through the hatch, Jubal overheard the comment and said, "I just got here Sergeant Major, but I'll do my best."
Lachlan set the rifle down carefully before turning, wiping his hands on a cloth as he faced the newcomer properly. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly into something more formal, eyes taking in the yellow Starfleet uniform and the Senior Chief tabs without comment.
“Sergeant Major Barr,” he said evenly. “Welcome aboard.”
There was a brief pause, then a measured nod. “Armoury’s a bit of a mess at the moment. We’re in the middle of inventory and familiarisation.”
His gaze settled back on Jubal, steady but not unfriendly. “What can I do for you, Senior Chief?”
"Courtesy call," Sergeant Major...Barr," Jubal said easily, keeping just to the edge of decorum. He truly hoped the Pioneer's COB wasn't a spit and polish, by the book dink. "Just signed aboard with the OOD. With the XO apparently in sick-bay, I have a check in with the second Officer in an hour. That gave me time to report to you. Looks like you're busy so shooting the bull can wait till we've a drink in front of us. Tell me how I can help."
Lachlan glanced down at the rifle in his hands again, then back to Jubal, a short breath through his nose that landed somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
“Aye. Right,” he said. “That makes more sense.”
He turned the rifle over once more, thumbing at a housing seam with obvious dissatisfaction. “Starfleet’s rolled out a new phaser rifle variant. Supposed to be an upgrade. Lighter, smarter, more adaptable.” He gave the weapon a small shake. “Feels like it was designed by someone who’s never had to clear a room with one.”
He set it on the bench and stepped aside, giving Jubal a better look. “If you’ve got time before your next appointment, I could use a second set of eyes. Balance, ergonomics, maintenance access — the sort of things the spec sheets never bother with.”
A beat, then a faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“And once we’re done tearin’ it apart, we can argue about it properly over a drink. I find that helps smooth over Starfleet optimism.”
"Sure thing," Yost said, moving to the work table and looking over the rifle. "Same old same old, looks like. Kinda like how the old camel on Earth was described once as a horse designed by committee. Fleet tries to make everything a multi-use device, instead of making it good at one thing and leaving well enough alone. So yeah, lets break it."
Time blurred the way it always did when two seasoned hands got hold of a piece of kit that didn’t quite sit right.
Panels came off, went back on. A few muttered curses were exchanged with the rifle, along with some unflattering speculation about the people who’d signed off on it. Yost’s Fleet pragmatism and Lachlan’s Marine instincts met somewhere in the middle — less arguing, more nodding, the occasional aye or mm when something finally made sense.
By the time they were done, the workbench was littered with neatly arranged components, two data padds full of notes, and one very specific list titled “Things We’re Not Issuing Until Fixed.”
Lachlan straightened, rolling his shoulders and giving the rifle one last look.
“Right,” he said, satisfied in the way of a man who’d confirmed his instincts rather than been surprised by them. “It’ll work. Eventually. But not without a few changes, and not today.”
He glanced at Yost, a faint grin cutting through the fatigue. “I’ll pass the recommendations up the chain and quietly make sure nobody gets issued one of these until they’ve been… encouraged to behave.”
A pause, then he clapped his hands together once.
“And since we’ve just saved half my Marines from swearin’ at their weapons in the middle of a firefight — I reckon that earns you that drink you mentioned.”
He nodded toward the hatch.
“After 11’s this way. First round’s on me.”
A Joint Post By:
Sergeant Major Lachlan Barr
Chief of The Boat, USS Pioneer
First Sergeant, The Cure
Senior Chief Petty Officer Jubal Yost
Quartermaster, USS Pioneer
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