Required Quarterly Evaluations

Posted on Fri Feb 7th, 2025 @ 9:47pm by Captain Malcom Llwyedd & Lieutenant Owen Woodhouse & Petty Officer 3rd Class Keith Potter

1,644 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Interlude 1 Gamma Quadrant
Location: USS Firebird, Deck 3, Operations Lab, Chief's Office

[ON]

Keith Potter ambled into the Operations Lab, nodding at Ensign Dove as he did so. He didn't pause because he knew that she was a talker and he wanted to get this over as soon as he could. He'd received a request, which was just an officer's way of saying show up or else, for his quarterly evaluation check-in with Lieutenant Woodhouse. He wasn't sure what the point was since they probably were all going to die or just be stuck in the Gamma Quadrant. But the "or else" part of the request bothered him. He'd even put on a clean uniform and tried to fix his hair. He saw that the door to the Chief's small office was open so he stopped outside and rapped the door frame with his knuckles.

"Petty Officer Potter, reporting, sir," Potter said.

Lieutenant Owen Woodhouse looked up from whatever report he was reading, took a second to soak in Potter's unnaturally fresh appearance, and then motioned him inside. Woodhouse was maybe two or three years older than Potter, but there was a world of difference between them. He stood up to greet the Petty Officer, "Mister Potter. Have a seat."

Woodhouse rarely offered any visitor a drink, preferring instead to a more direct and concise conversation, and this case was no different. He waited until the door had closed and Potter was moving toward a seat.

"You've been around long enough to know these evaluations are required. I was surprised I couldn't find one on file for you in the last six months," Woodhouse offered with all the warmth of a cold sushi platter.

Potter slouched in his seat. "Uhh, yeah. Not sure what happened there, sir. I guess time just kinda blended together with all those supply runs. Constantly beaming the same cargo to the same places. Makes all the weeks blend together," he said, avoiding eye contact.

Woodhouse held Potter in an icy, unwavering gaze from behind those almost unnaturally green eyes. It probably felt like a full minute but was closer to five seconds.

"I was also surprised to see that transporter maintenance logs haven't been updated on the cargo transporters in nearly the same timeframe." the Operations Chief added.

There was not a question in that statement but the ensuing silence that engulfed the room practically shouted for an answer.

Many people underestimated Potter because of his general attitude towards his duties. But he wasn't stupid. He understood where the conversation was going and he'd been here before. There was only one way to get out of this without dire consequences.

"Yeah that's my fault completely, Chief," Potter said, sitting up straight and looking Lieutenant Woodhouse in the eye. "It's not that I haven't been doing the maintenance. You can go and check. All the transporters, Cargo Bay 1, Science, and even the Diplomatic Suite. They are all in perfect working order. I just hate doing the logs. They are so tedious and nobody ever reads them anyway." He paused a beat and then added. "Well, until now."

"Oh, I know they've been done," Woodhouse answered, his tone measured, almost serene. "I’ve checked the buffer defragmentation rates, biofilter integrities, annular confinement emitters… and they’re flawless. Every single one. That doesn’t happen by accident. Given how much we rely on these systems, I half expected to find a catastrophe in the making. So, I’ll give credit where it’s due -- you do the work, and you do it well."

Owen's brow furrowed slightly as he leaned forward. "But here’s the problem, Potter -- if it’s not logged, it might as well not exist. People will assume you’re lazy, that you cut corners, and that you can’t be trusted to follow procedure. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but it should because, at some point, it won’t be me checking your work. It’ll be someone who assumes the worst -- and they’ll act on it."

Potter let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "But what's the point, sir? What are they going to do? Demote me? Make me do something else even more boring? I'm probably going to die on an away mission or on some random starbase where teeth and claw rip me in two. Do you know how many times I've almost died in the past couple of years? Ten. Ten times. So I do my job and I do it to the specs because I don't want someone else to die because of me. But the rest of it? What could happen? No, I don't worry about that. So if you gotta write me up or something, I understand completely."

Woodhouse studied Potter for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose -- something that wasn't quite a sigh, but close.

"You think you're the only one who's almost died out here?" Owen's voice was quiet, steady. He'd actually died once. Dead. Cold. And then... not-dead, parts of him replaced by the alien DNA that killed him. The experience was agonizing and traumatic, but the scars -- both physical and mental -- shaped who he was on so many levels.

"We all have our count, Potter. But if you're really just waiting for the end, why are you still here?" Woodhouse leaned back slightly, folding his arms. "It's not for the pay and it’s certainly not for the luxury accommodations. So what is it? What made you sign up in the first place?"

Woodhouse let the question hang for a beat, giving Potter a chance to sit with it before adding, "Because I refuse to believe you went through all that training just to be another name on a casualty report."

Keith Potter frowned and folded his hands in his lap.

Nobody had ever asked him why he stayed. He'd had plenty of people harass him, ignore him, even look down on him. But nobody had asked him why he stayed. He never talked about it.

"You know something that's weird? You know how when everything goes wrong some people react a little slow? Some people don't react at all? That never happens to me. Everything slows down. It feels like I am moving at warp and everything else is happening at impulse. It's the only reason I am still alive. But I haven't always had that. Years ago, during the Firebird's first mission we ended up on this planet... Quinor something. It was a wildcat Cardassian colony and they needed help so we went. But it all went wrong and I ended up on an away team. Bad guy came out of nowhere. I didn't react. I froze. And someone died. So, to answer your question, sir, I'm not here for me. I'm here for him. We were friends. I know he loved Starfleet. So I'm here, doing my best to fill his shoes and waiting. In the interim, I'm saving some lives too, which isn't bad at all," Potter said. He felt tired all of a sudden as if he'd just worked a double shift.

Woodhouse regarded Potter with a slightly softer look in his eyes. "I know what it’s like to have someone die because you weren’t fast enough," he admitted. "And I know what it’s like to carry that weight. But you’re wrong about one thing -- you’re not filling his shoes. You never will. What you are doing is standing in your own, making sure no one else gets left behind. That will be your legacy. Don't rob yourself of that."

Owen took a deep breath, ready to put a final underscore on this point and then kick Potter out of his office because, yeah, it was exhausting and necessary work and he certainly was not a counselor. "You want to save lives? Then do all of it -- including the damn logs. Because one day, someone will need those, and I won’t let your guilt be an excuse for ignoring the details, even if they seem tiny and insignificant to you."

Potter nodded. Maybe Lieutenant Woodhouse wasn't like most officers. Maybe he did know what he was talking about. Which meant that maybe doing the logs was important. He shrugged.

"Alright, Chief. I'll do the logs. I'll even do them correctly so that you don't have to worry about me," he said and stood up. "Was there anything else?" He didn't realize it but, he wasn't slouching as much when he stood.

Woodhouse stood as well, nodding once in acknowledgment of Potter's turn-around. Only time would tell, though. "Good," he said simply. "See that you do because if I have to chase you down over this again, I'll personally assign you to cleaning duty in the waste processing center. And those logs will make these seem like a vacation."

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk ghosted across his face as he added, "But I'm hoping that won't be necessary. See you again in three months, Potter."

Potter grinned. "Sounds good, sir," he said and turned and walked out of the small office. He was pretty sure that it was the first time he'd ever walked out of one of these quarterly evaluation meetings and not felt terrible. He was still going to try to find a way to make filling out the logs easier though.

Maybe I should try to get promoted he thought and immediately laughed.

[OFF]

Lieutenant Owen Woodhouse
Chief Operations Officer
USS Firebird NCC-88298

Petty Officer 3rd Class Keith Potter (NPC by Llwyedd)
Transporter Specialist
USS Firebird NCC-88298

 

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