Chaplain's Log Chapter 1: Welcome Aboard, an orville fanfic

Author's Note: I started this story during the last weeks of Orville's first Season, then paused it because announced changes in Season 2 required alterations, so I put everything on Hold for what felt like forever.
The usual legal Disclaimers about ownership and making money apply.
In the first phase of this story's creation the real time was Christmas Eve 2018 and Season Two was to commence in a week.
Now in real time a year has passed, it's three days to Christmas 2019, Season Two is history but my story is still set in the hiatus period between Seasons 1 and 2, so throw away your calendars and your Canon books.
My previous story 'Lalaith' took place prior to the Season 1 episode 'Firestorm' while this one takes place three months after 'Lalaith' and, as I said, in the Season 1 / Season 2 hiatus months.
Lieutenant McGee, new to the Orville, serves as my audience 'POV' character, seeing everyone and everything from a newcomer's perspective rather than someone who has known everyone for a year of Planetary Union time.
Enjoy and Please Review. I live for Reviews.

Chaplain's Log
by JMK758
Chapter One
Welcome Aboard

There are few things as beautiful, Captain Ed Mercer thinks, as nebulae, the billion year birth cradles of stars. Though the stars themselves won't coalesce until far in the future as super dense conglomerations whose gaseous pressure will ignite them into nuclear furnaces that will shine for ten billion years, the energized vapors illuminate uncounted octillions of cubic kilometers with colorful fields and tendrils that will inspire artists to capture the ethereal beauty of

"Captain," Lt. Cdr. John LaMarr says from his forward port side Navigation console, a compliment to Lt. Gordon Malloy's station at his right, and his call completely disrupts the blue and black uniformed ship-master's enjoyment of the momentous beauty. "The Tesla has just dropped out of Quantum Space, six hundred meters to our starboard stern."

"Precision flying," he remarks, not voicing his true feelings about the closeness of this rendezvous. As FTL space flight goes, this is virtually up their butts.

"I could have done it in four," Pilot Gordon Malloy declares.

"No doubt, but not today please." His own friendly rivalry with that ship's Mistress, Academy classmates as they were, appears to have inspired duels among the corresponding officers, a favorable sign of good morale - at least to his thinking.

After this addition of crew, he's happy to be moving further out. Back on Earth things are gearing up for a Conference of epic - read ridiculous - proportions. Every Head-of-State in the Planetary Union is assembling for a week long summit and this is an unfavorable sign of bad morale.

He is very happy to be headed downward toward the nadir of the galaxy preparatory to a six month exploratory mission, enough to give the crew ample time for introduction, integration and shakedown. They'd picked up a tremendous supply of seed and other farming products bound for the agricultural colony on Catonis II, and once that mundane chore is done and the supplies delivered, they're off to the mysterious depths of unknown space.

Orville has netted a plum assignment. After hundreds of years the exploration of the galaxy remains, and will continue for centuries to come, a true mystery, and this next phase of the coordinated effort sends Orville not out along the spiral arm but to the generally 'ignored' nadir, a straight down course to the supposedly more limited aspect of the Milky Way.

But first they have this duty.

As blue and black uniformed Kelly Grayson, seated beside him in the port side central Executive Officer chair, picks up her attention and posture, Lt. Alara Kitan turns at her port side Security / Communications board.

"Captain, the Tesla says they are ready to begin the transfer on your word."

"Thank you," he says to the red jacketed Xelayan, the while a silent look to the woman beside him signals his knowledge of her inattention and the hidden hope that she hadn't noticed his. "On screen, Lieutenant," he says in crisp tones of extra attention.

In his peripheral view he sees he hasn't fooled his Exec.

As the main screen normally displays so very well a wide panorama of the starry decked heavens in a 140 degree span, it can make one forget that this is a projected image until a square screen appears and takes up most of the central view.

The deck-to-overhead image, a reflection of their own bridge, shows a blue uniformed and skinned Retepsian female who occupies the matching starboard center position to their left while a male Adgocehan First Officer is seated to the right.

"Captain Vasnic," Mercer greets her with the familiar tones of long acquaintance. It has been a number of years since their graduation but in the past year plus since they'd resumed an equal footing and their old competition has resumed at full force.

In truth he's only had occasional contact with one other member of her race but Darulio doesn't count and he's never felt inclined to wonder how her First Officer - or for that matter the rest of her crew - manages the fascinations inherent in that command structure.

He'd learned a few months ago how Retepsian males go through their 'heat', has no idea if females do and doesn't want to find out. Considering the quiet chaos Darulio had caused by his mere presence, even if the situation had not been a matter of intent, he thinks that a pair of them would be a fearsome thing indeed.

The Adgocehan First Officer is pretty much an unknown. He has an Adgocehan in his own crew and is glad that Dann has stopped making suggestions about elevators, music and ways of sprucing up the ship. Kelly had assigned Yaphit as the go-to guy for suggestions on how to 'improve things' and it is remarkable how quickly the input has diminished.

"Captain Mercer, we're ready to start boosting your pathetic rowboat with some adequate staff."

"You sure you want to spare so many good people? We're on our way to deliver supplies to the agricultural colony on Catonis II and that yacht of yours is," he consults the chronometer, "nine minutes late to this rendezvous." He makes a show of settling back into his seat. "I was on the verge of taking a nap."

"Sorry to make you lose your beauty sleep. Your First Officer has had most of it."

He inspects the profile of the woman at his left. "So she has." His appreciative tone drops a notch. "We're going to discuss that, Commander."

"Sorry, sir," is her rejoinder, "but the Planetary Union won't spare you the time it would take to make an appreciable difference."

Mercer, resisting the drop of his jaw, returns his attention to his counterpart while thumbing toward his subordinate. "You see what I have to contend with?"

"Your fault. When she proposed you didn't have to say 'yes'."

"Wait a – when she – I proposed."

"Captain, all Earth women propose. They're just smart enough to make Earth men think it was their idea."

Mercer casts his gaze to the overhead. "I give up."

"I sincerely hope not. You're the only Earther I know who's any fun." But then she drops the point. "I have four deliveries."

"We're ready to receive them. We'll be sure to put them to work, toughen them up after their time on that yacht. Mercer out." He gives Alara a quick hand gesture, claiming the final word for this round.

It turns out not to be the final word as the Tesla, longer and taller than the Orville, begins a slow maneuver - it could as well be quick but would be less portentous - to come up beside them and consequently move its bow further and further forward along the left side of the panorama. He knows Vasnic would say this is for the convenience of aligning the Shuttle Bays set in their sterns but it does serve to allow the huge starship a graceful and leisurely repositioning in which to dominate their view.

Mercer has no intention of calling attention to the silent one-upwomanship. It will take a minute or so for the transfer, long enough to update the ship's record before leaving to greet their new crew. He could have done this earlier rather than wool-gathering but if it will help in delaying Vasnic for a little while then all well and good. He thumbs the control on his chair's arm rest.

"Captain's Log, Stardate 42012.22" is interrupted by a snort at his left and Mercer looks to his First Officer.

"You really gonna do that?" she challenges. "Seriously?"

"What, a simple, concise method of keeping track of time; last three digits of the year, two for the month, two for the date. What could be more useful?"

"From a five hundred year old television show."

"The staying power of a Classic."

"It'll never catch on."

"It'll catch on. Now do you mind?"

"No. Go ahead, knock yourself out."

"Thank you."

She turns forward again, settles herself in the XO seat with a muttered "Never catch on."

Gordon Malloy, at the forward right helm station, looks back to assure her that "It'll catch on."

"Thank you," the beleaguered Captain says, grateful for the predictable support of his friend. Beside Gordon, Lt. Cmdr. John LaMarr is uncharacteristically silent.

"In fact I'm going to use it for my personal diary file."

"Now see what you've started?" Grayson challenges her C.O.

"Commander, if you don't mind I am trying to get this log entry done before this rendezvous is over."

"Fine."

"Fine." He settles himself in his seat. "Now I can get to this recording."

"You've been recording."

He looks at the control on his chair arm, the light is indeed on. "Damn it. Computer, delete all that feldercarb."

**Feldercarb deleted.**

"Fine. Record. Captain's Log, Stardate," he says with a steady glare at the woman beside him whose eyes are directed ahead with excessive innocence, "42012.22." He settles back. "Orville is on course for Catonis II to deliver a hundred fifty tons of seed and replacement farming equipment to the colony, but first we have rendezvoused with the Heavy Cruiser USS Tesla to take on new Personnel from Earth: Engineer Lt. George Saunders; Botanist Lt. Kevin Schaap; Astrophysicist Dr. William Harnell," he looks again at Grayson, "and Chaplain Lt. Crystal McGee."

Grayson gives him a side-wise look, moving only her eyes, and a small smile of accomplishment which he can't hold against her. He'd long ago come to appreciate the talents and abilities of his First Officer.

It had been three months ago, during the voyage from the planet Raquiel to Xelaya and the mission to transport the intended Regent and Queen of the island continent Malmoria when he'd had that conversation with Grayson and, over-stressed by the worsening situation, had said those fateful words: "This ship needs a Chaplain."

"She'd be the most overworked member of the crew," Kelly had replied.

'She? Well, that works.' he'd thought. 'But to business' "What do you think, Kel?"

"I've a name or two I could run by you."

That hadn't been what he'd meant, his focus had been upon their then mission but 'Okay, not to business, that'd be better,' he'd thought. 'If it were possible.'

"Exploratory vessels aren't assigned Chaplains," he'd told her. "Cruisers are. Battleships are. Space Stations are."

"And we handle more First Contacts than a fleet of Cruisers."

"You can't change Policy."

It had been the truth back then, but he'd reckoned without this woman's Word, Abilities and most especially her Contacts.

As she'd hinted, she'd looked into it and that look had been to Admiral Halsey who had seen her point, had consulted with his fellows and they too had seen the logic behind the proposal. Now additional berths on Mid- and Low-Level ships are opening for duly trained individuals of numerous species – and the honor of being the first such Mid-Level ship so blessed had gone to them.

He gives his former wife and now First Officer a discerning look. "In the meantime, it's hoped that the Reverend McGee will be able to assist our First Officer in dealing with having been a goddess."

Kelly virtually leaps forward, outrage leading to a near blistering objection but Mercer is grinning and she sees the 'Record' light is off.

She scores him the point.

"I hope she's not an old dog," Lt. Cmdr. John LaMarr declares from the forward port Navigator's station. The man divides his duties, for the present, between Navigation and Engineering though the newly arriving Lt. Saunders, together with Ens. Louisa Sportelli, assigned as backup from Beta shift to replace him at Navigation while he's in Engineering, will pick up some of the burden of his dual role until he can focus on a single line on the duty roster. Sportelli is nominally still on Beta but is also 'on call' for such times as he must be down below, leaving her with a somewhat chaotic duty/rest schedule until today's infusion of staff.

At the moment LaMarr's concern finds expression in his "I'd hate being psychoanalyzed by a dog."

"You kidding, man?" Gordon, on his right, enthuses. "She's gorgeous, a 23 year old Irish redhead, a seven sector call-out, a thionite dream, a holodeck goddess, a 42 on a scale of 1 to 5, a –"

'HHNNGHRKKMMM!' pulls his attention over his left shoulder to his beloved's station and glare. Even beyond never wanting to annoy her, there are some serious considerations associated with doing so. Alara would never step beyond public decorum and discipline, oh no, but private times can be made uniquely interesting.

'Then again,' LaMarr thinks, 'if Gordy's into redheads this month maybe I haven't done Louisa a favor by moving her up.'

Gordon quickly returns his attention to the forward screen with a dismissive shrug. "She's okay."

'But you're liable to visit Claire soon if you're not careful,' Mercer thinks. And while he'd enjoyed the enthusiastic man's take-down with nothing more than a simple throat clearing from his girlfriend, there's a more significant matter to address. "How do you know so much?"

"I…" he turns his seat to face his Captain and perhaps his doom, "kind of accessed the Personnel Transfer file."

"In your capacity as, what, Command?"

"Security?" Alara Kitan challenges, this time more than a throat clearing being her warning.

"Executive?" Kelly Grayson asks.

"Er, um, ah, direction?"

"Direction." Mercer is more interested. "What sort of direction?"

"You know, guidance, errr."

"You're planning upon offering our new Chaplain, what, Spiritual Guidance?"

"Well…." He'll very wisely say no more, lest there be no way to climb out of this mouth-dug hole.

"I'm supposing," Kelly observes, "that you didn't look for background on our new Astrophysicist."

"Well, he's this guy, you know."

"We'll take this up later," Mercer declares to stop the fun while leaving his best friend in no way relieved.

"Captain," Alara says, "the Tesla reports it is ready for transfer."

It is, in fact, the second time they'd sent that message and Mercer knows it'll provide Vasnic with fodder for their next encounter. He's had the pleasure of making his old classmate wait, but he doesn't want to overdo it, lest payback be a cosmic bitch.

"Signal them to proceed. We'll meet the shuttle. Commander, Alara, Isaac, John with me. Bortus, you have the Con. Alert Dr. Finn to meet us there."

When LaMarr turns he sees Louisa Sportelli waiting by the bridge door, he realizes that with his badly timed summons (he knew he'd be welcoming the officers and had sent for her When the Tesla had arrived) that she had to have heard that instruction and a renewed pang of guilt pricks him, and not only because he'll be tied up in Engineering for the rest of the shift.

As he passes her they exchange the symbolic baton and she heads toward their station, yet there's a rapid and silent exchange between them and the departing Captain. Nothing can be said here and now and that sharpens the sting.

The three had discussed, separately and jointly over the past three months, getting an additional Officer to serve as Navigator. Presently the duties of Alpha Shift have remained LaMarr's purview unless he is needed in Engineering, in which case Sportelli, of Beta Shift or Sam Harris of Gamma Shift will fill the post. If LaMarr had duties down below that required both him and A.C.E. Yaphit, if in the first half of Alpha Harris would remain at or return to the Bridge, and if after the mid-point Sportelli would start her shift early.

As always, those changes were unannounced and, in the time-honored tradition of 'Mice and Men', Sportelli would most frequently draw the extra shift.

There was supposed to have been a Navigator among the new crop arriving now but once again the mice had exerted their influence in that the Captain of the USS Freedom had snatched up that man. Therefore, history maintaining its established course, it looks like Sportelli will continue to have her days interrupted, usually in the form of being thrown out of her bed.

And since their upcoming mission is for a three month duration, the prospects of changing the situation range from slim to none.

Three days ago, when the boot dropped and they'd lost Eric Fendelman, he'd gone to the Captain with a reasonable solution. 'If we're not going to change anything, at least bump her up to Lieutenant.'

'What about Harris?'

'She's better.'

'Really…?'

'He's good, she's better.'

'I'll talk to Command.'

Command, in the person of Admiral Kincaide, had said 'no'. LaMarr had gotten LC because the position and rank were both vacant, but Orville already has a Chief Navigator and a Chief Engineer and the fact they're the same man is irrelevant; Orville uses a workable solution and can continue doing so.

In the immortal words of that worthy, 'The skills of the Officers of that ship are nearly legendary, an excellent blend of talent and coordination to produce an outstanding team and it is never wise to mess with something that works.'

In the elevator the five Officers are treated to the final dozen bars, with mingling bells providing the underscore, of an enthusiastic 'It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas' filtering in from the overhead speakers. While Mercer suspects many quarters (such as his own) make that song title true, the Holiday being only 3 days distant, the corridors and work areas retain their more utilitarian décor.

By the end of the short drop to Deck 5 the music has changed to 'Quono Maldov Trinor' from Theta Seven. Kelly knows she had not done Dann, properly Lt. Vaolastorcugrkyi, a favor in granting his initial proposal for music in the car before she'd given oversight responsibility to Yaphit, for she'd also directed him to ensure that the selections recognize the very diverse nature of the crew. On the Festival three days hence the selections will shift focus for twenty four hours; and perhaps she'll have mercy on the Adgocehan and ask the new Chaplain to select the music.

The elevator deposits the command crew on 5 and it's a short walk to the Shuttle Bay where they meet green and black uniformed Dr. Claire Finn, who'd had a shorter journey.

The large bay doors are already open and, past the atmospheric force shield, they see the approaching shuttle has completed its turn and is aligning to enter. Mercer signals Clearance with a gesture to the elevated Control Booth at the rear and a few seconds later a brief thrust moves the shuttle forward.

When the ship crosses the field the engines seem to suddenly come alive though in reality they are powering down. The small ship settles, the rear wall drops to form a ramp toward the portal and four people carrying gunnysacks file out toward the closing bay doors, immediately column right, halt and right face lined up opposite the officers aligned in Reception. From left to right the first two officers sport uniform jackets of green as does the woman on the right who had led the group, while the third jacket is orange. The four deposit their carry bags at their right sides and come to Attention. Mercer stands a pace forward between the two lines, though behind him his crew are no more at Attention than he is

The newcomers salute smartly in unison, which he returns somewhat more casually.

"Welcome aboard the Orville, I'm Captain Edward Mercer," and he introduces his five officers by rank and specialty, consults the data padd in his hand and looks left to address / announce the white haired man in the green / black jacket topped by double barred silver shoulder epaulets and the circular Big Dipper constellation with too close North Star patch in green on the left side of his chest: "Lieutenant William Harnell, our new Astrophysicist."

"Yes, sir."

"You will report to our Science Officer Isaac."

"I look forward to working with you," the Kaylonian mechanoid says, accessing his recently incorporated protocol subroutine, one that had been in much demand in his initial months aboard.

"Thank you, sir."

There are extremely few 'people' from Kaylon-1 in the Planetary Union as a whole, yet Mercer is impressed that Harnell handles the encounter without a blink.

"Your record to date, Doctor," Isaac says, "has occasionally been satisfactory."

'O-kay, that program can use more work,' Mercer decides. "Lieutenant Kevin Schaap, our Botanist."

"Sir," the younger man in the green / black jacket acknowledges. His round green and white patch at the left side of his chest displays something that could be considered the Tree of Life or some equally fanciful allusion.

"You'll work with our head of Life Sciences and CMO, Lt. Cmdr. Claire Finn."

"Welcome aboard, doctor."

"Thank you, doctor."

Mercer turns his attention to orange uniformed "Lieutenant George Saunders, our new Engineer. Welcome."

"Thank you, sir."

"You will report to our Chief Engineer Lt. Cmdr. John LaMarr but be directly under Lt. Yaphit, who is presently in Engineering." 'And who doesn't have cogwheels on his chest, if he even has a chest.'

"We're going to have great times keeping this tub afloat," LaMarr assures the younger man in his inimitable style.

"I look forward to it, Lieutenant Commander."

"John. Until you fuck up and blow all the synthesizers before Christmas dinner, then it's Beelzebub."

He grins, hard not to do with the black man's infectious good humor. "Yes, sir. I won't let you down."

"Good. You won't want to find out what it's like to cook by hand for three hundred nineteen people."

"No, sir."

"And," Mercer says with a firm tone to regain control of the conversation, addressing the red haired woman in the green / black uniform, ('why do they still make women's uniforms with the extra black sides curved to emphasize their figures?') "Lieutenant Crystal McGee, our Chaplain. Welcome aboard, Reverend."

"Thank you, sir."

Mercer takes a moment to evaluate this new Officer, one distinctly outside the normal Chain of Command, which is why he'd addressed her by title rather than rank. 'Might as well get used to it from the top. Thanks, Kel.'

Lieutenant McGee stands five foot eight, her red hair evoking the word conflagration yet it's styled at regulation length and gathered behind her shoulders. Her eyes are a vibrant green and he decides that Gordon had not been exaggerating, at least by much. Her green and white badge circles a green open book outline, a traditional non-denominational symbol for Chaplains who must, of necessity, deal with vast numbers and varieties of Faith and Tradition.

"Since your duties are Psychological as well as Liturgical," he continues in what he hopes wasn't an appreciable gap, "you come under Dr. Finn's purview."

"Doctor."

"Mother."

Finn gave an ironic lilt to her tone in so addressing a woman perhaps half her age. She hasn't checked closely any of the newcomers yet, preferring to meet them before investigating them but she has the sense that Alara, at 24, may have lost her standing as the youngest crew person. "You looking forward to this?"

"Prayerfully."

"All right. Our Chief of Security, Lt. Alara Kitan, will assign you to your quarters and then you gentlemen will be shown to your departments and introduced to your fellows and duties." Their Intake Interviews will be done first by their Department heads, but Finn will be occupied and the final new crew woman will have duties that will lead her into interaction with everyone on the ship, so "Lt. McGee, you're with us."