When conversation had just about resumed to the ordinary Perdita turned
to Burgundy. “You know the fate of Lone Star-D,” they said. It wasn’t
clear whether it was a question or a statement. “I saw your name on the
paper two years ago.”
Burgundy looked up. “Hm? Oh, yeah, I led a group in my science class
when we helped our professor prove his theory. We built a pretty
advanced simulation to test it all.” He left it there, fully focused on
trying to get some dessert down. The chocolate was overwhelming.
“Well what was the theory, young man?” inquired Regina impatiently after a few moments.
“Oh! Sorry, Uhm. They crashed into a telescope,” the ensign offered. “I
mean, it was a little more to it than that, but basically they… uh,
crashed into a big damn telescope.”
“Expound,” said Perdita Animo. It was clear that the inebriated scientist needed some nudging along.
Burgundy cleared his throat. “It was a big mystery for a really long
time. The ship was a Constitution refit on a survey mission back in
2321. They flew through a nebula and just bam! Exploded.” He took
another couple of bites of the chocolate cake, but swallowed it down
with a full glass of champagne, while holding up a finger to indicate he
would continue soon.
“So, here’s the thing. The thing we proved, or at least proved to be
very, very, very likely. The ship hit a big glass lens. Right at the
edge of it. According to our calculations the ‘lens’ so to speak was
about a kilometer in diameter, but only about half a foot thick. Coming
at it at full impulse from an angle where only the side of the disk is
visible… it’s pretty much invisible. It would show up for a
couple of seconds and look like a glitch in the forward sensor array,
just a thin vertical line. And if you hit the disk at that speed two things happen.”
Felix winced. He wasn’t the galaxy’s finest mathematician but the
physics of torsion, shear and acceleration were no stranger to him. He
hated this story.
“The first is that the disk cuts straight through your deflector shield.
It almost doesn’t matter how powerful your shield is: the sheer
physical force of the lens is just too hard and too narrowly focused. It
slows you down like a hammer, which would save you if it weren’t for
the second thing. The disk loses structural integrity and explodes. The
tension inherent in the structure causes that explosion to spiral out
along the sides of the disk, sending dust particles out like a saw blade
at up to two per cent of light speed. It cuts through your ship like a
hot knife through butter. When that hits your warp core… You know the
rest.”
He finished his story with a shrug and tried to pour himself more
champagne, but the bottle was empty again. de l’Isle wafted an
instructive hand towards Edie to pull the open bottle, of red, a hint
further from his reach.
“What they found afterwards was a dust pattern that didn’t match up with
previous scans of the nebula. It makes more sense with this theory. As
for that disk? We think it’s part of a telescope, probably left
somewhere else by an ancient civilisation and drifted over millions of
years. We’ll probably never know.”
“Chopped to death,” whimsied Monkfish, somewhere near Touvoy’s shoulderblade. “Obliterated. Quite literally.”
“Thank you for your contribution, Mister Burgundy,” Felix intoned
grimly, while Lester developed a sudden and intimate fascination with
one of his rear heels. Checking the faces of his primary staffers, he
double-checked that the forcefield between his balcony and the Arboretum
was absolutely, certainly intact. “Shall we take a break with coffee?”
Coffee and a reasonable amount of brandy replaced the dessert. Expectant
eyes turned to the lithe blond at the head of the table.
Felix surveyed his bridge crew. Anticipations, expectations and
antagonism had all laid themselves bare this evening. He commanded the
room silently for a tick longer. His way to command was through unspoken
authority: it was often through their manner, gait, speech or calm that
the best captains, in his observance, took the space to claim that
command.
And, anyway, it was one of his favourite stories.
“Computer. Display file de l’Isle, ell-ess-kay-twenty-three.”
Above the dinner table, as the waiting staff moved away, a
three-dimensional representation of the Kappa Upsilon system manifested.
It rotated alluringly, designed to present to, and then attract the
attention of, the company. Tendrils representing traffic lanes, spacial
aberrations, known elements and quantum stringing took different colours
on the map.
“The year is 2368. Picard’s been at the tiller of the Enterprise for
four years. Voyager’s just fucked off to the delta quadrant for a few
years’ holiday and the USS Lone Star-K, under the command of Captain
S’tep, sets course for the Mostade Cluster. It takes them 17 days, four
hours and 51 minutes to reach the phenomenon, where it will study for
covert fleet build-ups by the Romulans, the Breen, the Maquis – and the
Cardassians.”
The see-through screen shimmered. The same lines appeared, magnified:
varicose strands in the Milky Way’s infinite and confusing muscle. When
Commander Animo had said there were 87 dimensions, how could that be?
Where were those planes?
“Meanwhile, in 2370, NCC-28513-L turns out of spacedock into the hands
of Captain Ursula A’nat’na. Wasn’t her first command; she’d led patrols
across the frontiers of Typhon, Romulus, survived Wolf 359; every
powerhouse of that era you can think of. Their first mission? To fix a
node on the Argus Array. A’nat’na’s helmsman, charted an innocent enough
course bisecting the eastern cluster of Dranten Prime, here in sector
771.” Knowing it by heart, Felix drew its waves with its finger. “And
then, something extraordinary happened.”
Burgundy, who had already helped himself to a second brandy, snorted
loudly. “‘Meanwhile in 2370’ is wrong,” he explained to a waiter who
wasn’t listening. “2368 and 2370 are two different years.”
From the head of the table the Prepondrian received the shut the fuck up glare. Felix continued, otherwise unperturbed.
“The LS-K never filed a flight plan and was officially declared lost in
2369, assumed to have been destroyed by whichever aggressor it found at
the other end. But the fate of a mid-range science vessel wasn’t much on
A’nat’na’s mind as she took her spanking new Galaxy-class ship out for
its maiden voyage. The helmsman, one Lieutenant Commander Wu, plotted
the following course. I might have done the same myself, using the
scanners available at the time. A course that drags the Ell through this
minute cluster of baryon radiation – here.”
The captain’s audience adjusted along with the display. “Except it’s not
a cluster of baryon radiation. It’s a dichromatic spacetime shear with a
very precise causal calibration point.” In the bottom right hand corner
a hysterical list of numbers processed rapidly.
The science chief was focused solely on that list, for the moment. Time
was just one of the four most simplistic dimensions in its experience.
”The shear’s pivot point around its temporal axis appears to be centered
around a radiation frequency common to Starfleet sensory and
communication instruments,” they noted without emotion.
“Exactly. This near-impossible numerical catalyst is struck because an
administrator at Starfleet Command failed to advance the Lone Star
marker along the board. The transponder for the K and the L therefore
give off exactly the same latent carrier wave. So, when Captain
S’tep orders a level-three scan using an anti-baryon beam and Captain
A’nat’na orders a level-three subspace pulse using a positive baryon
wave to stabilise it, the two accidentally incubate a singularity within
the shear.”
”Fascinating. That event would close the integral circumference of the
axis. Time ceases to be in a normal manner; those ships are either
looping through a repetitive pattern, frozen in place or a variation of
the two. Forever.” Animo tilted their head, taking in the full imagery
for the first time.
“Theoretically for ever.” Felix wasn’t often in the habit of
correcting scientists. “Computer, provide live telemetry from grid
nine-delta-four-beta.”
As sure as the dinner was long, two Starfleet vessels ignited the point and began to encircle one another.
“The two ships are examples of four types of temporal paradox
simultaneously. Starfleet’s tried everything: we’ve sent in ships,
appealed to twenty-ninth century temporal specialists, infiltrated both
vessels. Even just asked the Klingons to blow it to shit in the late
2380s. Nothing has worked.”
“Do we know why?” came a query from the assembled company.
“Because neither captain is in the habit of listening. It’s a causal
distortion that will simply never end due to its mathematical perfection
and dimensional integrity. And it remains one of the great scientific
mysteries of our time.”
-= [to be continued] =-
SD201901.28 - Captain's Table, Part Four: In the Main. [Felix/Regina/Lester/Edie/Harun/Tonx/Burgundy]
The Cardassian eyed the canine a moment and the two shared eye contact
for a brief moment before the dog lowered its muzzle in acquiesce of the
more dominant creature. Harun, satisfied, began his story.
Animo and Lester maintained a look thereafter and the dog harrumphed quietly. What, if anything, was shared between them in that moment remained unsaid.
"I read the official report of what happened to the Lone Star-F, that a malfunction in its navigational array led it to careen off course into a plasma storm where it was reportedly torn apart." Harun's tone was light and conversational, holding an excellent cadence for storytelling as he helped himself to a bit more champagne, "But I heard from a friend of my father's that it wasn't the whole story. In fact, it is a story of betrayal, jealousy, and a pair of surgically altered Cardassian Voles."
Regina, seeing that the Cardassian couldn’t quite reach the bottle, picked it up and poured its contents into his glass. Harun nodded his thanks and continued, "It all started on Cameron Station when a young Petty Officer decided to pick up a gift for his lady love. He approached a merchant who offered him a pair of mated Risian ferrets; little did the Ensign know that they were surgically altered Cardassian voles. "
Harun paused to take a sip of his drink, his eyes lingering on the glass a moment and admiring the bubbles that rose to the surface of the golden liquid before he returned his attention back to his audience. "Now the lady in question was not actually in love with the smitten young man. You see he worked in engineering and she discovered with a little smile here, a small flirtation there, he would do her repairs faster. To my knowledge she was in a relationship with the ship's executive officer."
"Well," Harun paused a moment for dramatic effect, "when the Petty Officer had the voles delivered to the woman's quarters as a gift her lover was the one who answered the door. Deciding to teach the Petty Officer a lesson he released the voles into the air ducts." At this Harun shrugged a bit letting his gaze drift down the table to eventually land on Regina who was seated next to him, "I suppose he thought they would die, cause an odor and the Petty Officer would be the one to end up doing the repairs. Rather cruel really but a solid plan."
"However, the voles did what Cardassian voles do best and after a month or so the systems on the ship began to malfunction. Cut wires and destroyed components led the crew to suspect a saboteur." Harun smiled a little bit as if he enjoyed the idea of everybody turning on each other aboard a ship. "Yet, with no definitive evidence and more systems beginning to fail the crew began to blame each other."
"Eventually, the voles got into the navigational array and the ship careened off course. All the while the crew accusing each other of treachery, a paranoia that only escalated when a shuttle went missing.” He now raised his glass as if in salute, “And so Lone Star-F drifted into the storm and was never heard from again. Though, there is rumor that it was found and taken apart for scrap by an enterprising group of Ferengi."
Edie could feel her blood pressure rise at the thought of such damage being done to her own beautiful Lonie. She had heard horror stories over the years from many of her colleagues in Starfleet, about the chaos created from these creatures. “That poor starship…” The wires, the eaten conduits, the bits of isolinear chips – it all came together in one convoluted thought which led to a single tear being shed. The CEO quickly dabbed it away with the provided cloth napkins each guest had received with their table setting.
“And what of this shuttle?” She composed herself before looking up at Harun once more, this time pickle-less.
“Oh, that,” Harun was now draped back into his seat looking a bit more relaxed than he had been when he’d first come into the galley. He knocked back the rest of his glass of champagne and smiled at Edie, “There was an agent of the Obsidian Order on the ship. She recognized exactly what was doing the damage and decided to abandon ship before she was compromised or killed.”
Around the table people were nodding, smiling and chuckling appreciatively at the Cardassian. They were all interrupted by a string of curses mumbled a little too loudly and slurrily. “Where’d it go?” said Burgundy to the table, and to Lester. Just as the Prepondrian had found himself drunk enough to regain his appetite his food has disappeared. He looked under the table, for reasons that weren’t entirely clear even to himself.
When his head came back to an upright position his plate had been replaced with a new one. The dessert had arrived. It was a cake, essentially made of seven layers of different chocolates. The coating was made from a type of cocoa that had been crossed with a Risian bean, gaining extraordinary culinary qualities. It smelled sweet, full, a little smokey, carrying a promise of aphrodisiac.
Burgundy looked at it in horror. He just wanted something simple and plain.
“That agent is reputed to be Gul Beza, who became chief administrator to Enabran Tain,” Felix said, primarily to Tonx. Around them the senior staff had started to slither. They’d once laughed about it as a conditioning measure: he had to know that, if incapacitated in any way, the siren could sound and the ship could respond to any order.
Someone, likely Regina, had refilled Harun’s glass and he blinked at it stupidly as if the champagne had replicated by magic. He sipped at it and pondered the mystery of regenerating alcohol. It was in this revery of magically appearing champagne that the Cardassian actually noticed the arrival of dessert. Not one for sweets his nose wrinkled a bit at the overwhelming smell of sugar.
Yet, somehow, a piece of the cake appeared on a plate in front of him and not wanting to be rude he ate some of it. The cake was, as the Cardassian had already surmised, unbearably sweet but yet he found himself eating more of it. Surely it cannot be this awful, he thought taking another bite and before he knew it he found himself pondering the nuances of how awful the cake was.
Felix was considered an aphrodisiac in his own right by four separate cultures. He spooned his way into the mixture happily. His eyes looked to the right at Tonx, probably for a second too long. Her three months’ penance were nearly up. And they were due to be on tour for far longer than that.
And, adding grist to his own mill, Omega Fleet command training manuals were being written up on the bridge the next morning and he’d be damned if an inspection of the Arboretum wasn’t more important. The captain purred under his breath, pleased to have found a way to abuse his privilege.
Tonx met Felix’s gaze, and smirked ever so slightly, “Gul Beza? Had quite the reputation from what intelligence reports I’ve read, and had quite the career if she became chief admin to Tain.” She glanced briefly towards Harun before looking at the chocolate cake before her. The dessert was a work of art in her mind, though she had a weakness for chocolate second only to her weakness for... well, extracurricular activities. Since said activities had been sidelined by her ‘house arrest,’ she had to settle for the cake, but what a cake it was. Taking a bite of the overly decadent desert, she closed her eyes as she savoured the taste. “Oh my word. Whoever picked the desert, I love you.”
“Who’s a good boy,” Felix whispered across the table to Lester, missing Tonx’s declaration.
-= [to be continued] =-
Animo and Lester maintained a look thereafter and the dog harrumphed quietly. What, if anything, was shared between them in that moment remained unsaid.
"I read the official report of what happened to the Lone Star-F, that a malfunction in its navigational array led it to careen off course into a plasma storm where it was reportedly torn apart." Harun's tone was light and conversational, holding an excellent cadence for storytelling as he helped himself to a bit more champagne, "But I heard from a friend of my father's that it wasn't the whole story. In fact, it is a story of betrayal, jealousy, and a pair of surgically altered Cardassian Voles."
Regina, seeing that the Cardassian couldn’t quite reach the bottle, picked it up and poured its contents into his glass. Harun nodded his thanks and continued, "It all started on Cameron Station when a young Petty Officer decided to pick up a gift for his lady love. He approached a merchant who offered him a pair of mated Risian ferrets; little did the Ensign know that they were surgically altered Cardassian voles. "
Harun paused to take a sip of his drink, his eyes lingering on the glass a moment and admiring the bubbles that rose to the surface of the golden liquid before he returned his attention back to his audience. "Now the lady in question was not actually in love with the smitten young man. You see he worked in engineering and she discovered with a little smile here, a small flirtation there, he would do her repairs faster. To my knowledge she was in a relationship with the ship's executive officer."
"Well," Harun paused a moment for dramatic effect, "when the Petty Officer had the voles delivered to the woman's quarters as a gift her lover was the one who answered the door. Deciding to teach the Petty Officer a lesson he released the voles into the air ducts." At this Harun shrugged a bit letting his gaze drift down the table to eventually land on Regina who was seated next to him, "I suppose he thought they would die, cause an odor and the Petty Officer would be the one to end up doing the repairs. Rather cruel really but a solid plan."
"However, the voles did what Cardassian voles do best and after a month or so the systems on the ship began to malfunction. Cut wires and destroyed components led the crew to suspect a saboteur." Harun smiled a little bit as if he enjoyed the idea of everybody turning on each other aboard a ship. "Yet, with no definitive evidence and more systems beginning to fail the crew began to blame each other."
"Eventually, the voles got into the navigational array and the ship careened off course. All the while the crew accusing each other of treachery, a paranoia that only escalated when a shuttle went missing.” He now raised his glass as if in salute, “And so Lone Star-F drifted into the storm and was never heard from again. Though, there is rumor that it was found and taken apart for scrap by an enterprising group of Ferengi."
Edie could feel her blood pressure rise at the thought of such damage being done to her own beautiful Lonie. She had heard horror stories over the years from many of her colleagues in Starfleet, about the chaos created from these creatures. “That poor starship…” The wires, the eaten conduits, the bits of isolinear chips – it all came together in one convoluted thought which led to a single tear being shed. The CEO quickly dabbed it away with the provided cloth napkins each guest had received with their table setting.
“And what of this shuttle?” She composed herself before looking up at Harun once more, this time pickle-less.
“Oh, that,” Harun was now draped back into his seat looking a bit more relaxed than he had been when he’d first come into the galley. He knocked back the rest of his glass of champagne and smiled at Edie, “There was an agent of the Obsidian Order on the ship. She recognized exactly what was doing the damage and decided to abandon ship before she was compromised or killed.”
Around the table people were nodding, smiling and chuckling appreciatively at the Cardassian. They were all interrupted by a string of curses mumbled a little too loudly and slurrily. “Where’d it go?” said Burgundy to the table, and to Lester. Just as the Prepondrian had found himself drunk enough to regain his appetite his food has disappeared. He looked under the table, for reasons that weren’t entirely clear even to himself.
When his head came back to an upright position his plate had been replaced with a new one. The dessert had arrived. It was a cake, essentially made of seven layers of different chocolates. The coating was made from a type of cocoa that had been crossed with a Risian bean, gaining extraordinary culinary qualities. It smelled sweet, full, a little smokey, carrying a promise of aphrodisiac.
Burgundy looked at it in horror. He just wanted something simple and plain.
“That agent is reputed to be Gul Beza, who became chief administrator to Enabran Tain,” Felix said, primarily to Tonx. Around them the senior staff had started to slither. They’d once laughed about it as a conditioning measure: he had to know that, if incapacitated in any way, the siren could sound and the ship could respond to any order.
Someone, likely Regina, had refilled Harun’s glass and he blinked at it stupidly as if the champagne had replicated by magic. He sipped at it and pondered the mystery of regenerating alcohol. It was in this revery of magically appearing champagne that the Cardassian actually noticed the arrival of dessert. Not one for sweets his nose wrinkled a bit at the overwhelming smell of sugar.
Yet, somehow, a piece of the cake appeared on a plate in front of him and not wanting to be rude he ate some of it. The cake was, as the Cardassian had already surmised, unbearably sweet but yet he found himself eating more of it. Surely it cannot be this awful, he thought taking another bite and before he knew it he found himself pondering the nuances of how awful the cake was.
Felix was considered an aphrodisiac in his own right by four separate cultures. He spooned his way into the mixture happily. His eyes looked to the right at Tonx, probably for a second too long. Her three months’ penance were nearly up. And they were due to be on tour for far longer than that.
And, adding grist to his own mill, Omega Fleet command training manuals were being written up on the bridge the next morning and he’d be damned if an inspection of the Arboretum wasn’t more important. The captain purred under his breath, pleased to have found a way to abuse his privilege.
Tonx met Felix’s gaze, and smirked ever so slightly, “Gul Beza? Had quite the reputation from what intelligence reports I’ve read, and had quite the career if she became chief admin to Tain.” She glanced briefly towards Harun before looking at the chocolate cake before her. The dessert was a work of art in her mind, though she had a weakness for chocolate second only to her weakness for... well, extracurricular activities. Since said activities had been sidelined by her ‘house arrest,’ she had to settle for the cake, but what a cake it was. Taking a bite of the overly decadent desert, she closed her eyes as she savoured the taste. “Oh my word. Whoever picked the desert, I love you.”
“Who’s a good boy,” Felix whispered across the table to Lester, missing Tonx’s declaration.
-= [to be continued] =-
SD201901.28 - Captain's Table, Part Three: Fishy Fables. [Felix/Regina/Lester/Edie/Harun/Tonx/Burgundy]
Tonx listened to Perdita as she rotated her champagne flute. Every so
often she'd look around the table to observe her fellow crew members.
She was always observing. It was a trait she couldn't just turn off,
much to the annoyance of some of those who knew her. The dynamics
between their newest crew member and the ensign were curious and
somewhat amusing. She realized Animo had finished their story, and the
Chief Security Officer flashed an amused smirk, "While Lt. Commander
Animo might have one of the more unusual stories of a previous Lone
Star's demise, I might know the tale of one of the most amusing
reasons."
Pausing to take a long draw of her champagne, McKenna set her glass down and looked around the table before looking to Felix, "The year was 2319, if I recall correctly, and if you read the official reports, the ship was on a diplomatic mission. If you dig a bit deeper and have the proper clearance, you would learn that all was not as it seemed.
"The relationship between the Federation and the Klingon Empire was anything but peaceful. The official report shows our illustrious crew was off to try and mediate a conflict around resources between a Klingon outpost and one of our Federation colonies in territory that was. . . well, disputed. As the ship neared the location of the colony and the outpost, it received a distress signal from the Klingon outpost. The official report says there was an outbreak of a virulent strain of some type of flu. The report is partly true," Tonx paused to take another sip of her champagne.
Her smirk grew, "The flu, though, jumped species from tribbles to Klingons. Now. . .the cute, fury pests are not known for their love of Klingons, and if you find the unofficial report, you'd find that some of the Federation colonists were. . .rat bastards, really, and snuck into the outpost so they could drop off about 20 or 30 of the fur balls. They apparently left their colony with two, and that is how fast the things multiplied.
"Now it was bad enough our colonists infected the outpost with tribbles, but the tribbles were more than a typical plague on the world. They carried an odd strain of flu that jumped species. The strain of flu was bad enough that it was deadly to the Klingons. They hadn't gotten vaccinated against different flu strains," Tonx explained. "When the Lone Star-C arrived, they found the outpost had been decimated. They found two survivors who were close to death, and beamed them aboard. One of them wouldn't let go of a bag. . .it contained their father's bat'leth or some otherwise important weapon. The bag also contained a couple of tribbles.
"This was the beginning of the downfall of the Lone Star-C," Tonx let her smirk turn to a grin as she looked to Edie. "These rat bastards can breed faster than Edie can run a level 3 diagnostic, and somehow. . .don't ask me how, some of the critters managed to get into the manifolds and antimatter chamber. They set off a chain reaction the engineers could not stop, and the Lone Star-C went off like a roman candle," she started to wrap up her story. "Now, we had two Klingons aboard when this happened, which created a massive headache for the Federation, never mind the paperwork. Though the two Klingons were celebrated for their bravery... in facing death by tribble." As she finished her story, servers came in carrying what looked to be the fish course of their five course meal. Tonx licked her lips and smirked, "Mmm, time to eat!"
“Edie,” Felix suggested, hoping to lighten the mood. “You’ve heard most of the ballads of Lone Stars past. Is there a tale you’d like to share?”
Edith cleared her throat, slightly caught off guard by the Captain’s gentle verbal prod. She welcomed the distraction from the whirlwind of her own mind, if only for a brief time.
“Oh yes… Captain.” She gave Felix a wicked grin before taking a large gulp of champagne.
“Ladies, gentlemen... gelatinous beings.” Edie took a moment to make brief but awkward eye contact with each of the guests. “What I am about to reveal to you is the long lost story of the Lone Star-J. It must never be repeated. In fact. This conversation never happened in the first place.” She looked around once more, making sure to receive some sign of agreeance from each of the participants. A large holographic image of an ugly Oberth-class vessel appeared above the dining table.
“The year the Lone Star-J went missing was 2367. Over fifty-two years ago now. I was a third year cadet at the Academy. The Federation had received a devastating blow from the Borg at Wolf-359. The Klingon Empire had entered a state of civil war. Even with all that going on, I still remember hearing the rumours that plagued the hallways of the Academy about its disappearance. Some said the ship had been lost to the Borg, others suggested that there had been a fatal warp core breach in some remote sector. The official reports, however, state that the ship is simply missing in action.”
Edie had gone against her promise and successfully hacked through the classified protections that hid the true events behind the Lone Star-J’s disappearance. What she had found was both perplexing and disturbing.
“The Lone Star-J never existed.” She gave pause for a moment, to allow her peers to react to the blatant and cryptic statement.
The captain, who had heard this one before, allowed his eyes to gleam and his lip to curl, but gave nothing else away. Others in the crowd reacted with suspicion, surprise or – in Regina’s case – glee.
“You see. People remember there being a Lone Star-J. On paper, there are reports and crew logs from apparent members of the Lone Star-J, but in actuality the fictitious ship and crew were all part of some Federation wide social-black-psi-ops program. It never actually existed. It was an elaborate ruse which has fooled all of Starfleet to date. Until now that is. There are apparently several other vessels and events that never took place either but I dare not get into those. I may already be marked for death by exposing this.” Edie’s eyes shifted across the room. She had been ruthless in her attempts to make her hack untraceable and could only hope her efforts were not in vain.
“Seventy years old and my undoing may be due to a dinner party.” Her facial expression was rather serious but only for a brief moment. “There’s worse ways to go I suppose.”
A few of them chuckled. “Life hasn’t caught up with you yet, Edith Freelove, and experience tells me that it won’t today, either. Who was the captain of that fated vessel?” Felix asked.
“Captain BJ Cobbledick. Not a very convincing name, is it?” Edie stated this rather flatly and then turned her attention to a lonely dill-pickle on her plate. She picked it up with vigour and took a loud bite off of the tip. As she did this, her eyes made contact with Harun and she gave him a playful wink before chewing, enjoying and savouring the crunch of her pickle.
Harun watched with a sort of morbid fascination as Edie bit into the pickle. To Edie’s credit Harun had to admire the technique although he personally could have done without the biting. He merely favored her with a raising of both his eyebrow ridges in a silent question he wasn’t certain if he wanted answered.
Burgundy chuckled and poured himself some more champagne, from a new bottle as he’d already emptied one. “Good story, at least,” he mumbled. He didn’t believe it for a second, of course. The old lady was clearly a bit off the rails.
Felix had ripped through his plate – seared tuna on a bed of alpha quadrant sea foliage, something dessicated and a pleasing but not perfect foam sauce – rapidly during his engineer’s story. His senior staff, while incomplete at this gathering, was coming together. No doubt the non-human members of his top team might struggle with enforced society, but the others would know the importance of cohesion and familiarity when the chips were down.
The plates were cleared and the bubbles switched out for a choice of delights from the wine cellar. In one corner Lester, who had been hitherto unnoticeable, stirred slowly in Felix’s old hammock. The smell of its accompaniment, a goulash that had been cooked over several days, began to fill the dining room of the apartment. The captain’s able-bodied but aged terrier jumped calculatedly, before strolling demurely toward the table.
“Petty Officer third class Lester on deck!” giggled Regina Monkfish into Harun Touvoy’s ear. The availability of champagne had a tendency to make the Chief of the Boat’s abnormal defensive system fall by the wayside.
It was impossible for Harun not to notice the canine with Regina practically shouting it into his ear. The Cardassian tilted his head away from the Chief’s lips with a slight hooding of his eyes while a grimace touched his lips. “Lester?” he inquired at a more reasonable tone.
Lester, quite apart from this, took his place next to Ensign Burgundy, where a place setting had been provided. The dog glanced once at the Prepondrian before ignoring him and turning to the source of his name. Around them, the bustle began and the new course laid out as the helmsman took over the story-telling.
-= [to be continued] =-
Pausing to take a long draw of her champagne, McKenna set her glass down and looked around the table before looking to Felix, "The year was 2319, if I recall correctly, and if you read the official reports, the ship was on a diplomatic mission. If you dig a bit deeper and have the proper clearance, you would learn that all was not as it seemed.
"The relationship between the Federation and the Klingon Empire was anything but peaceful. The official report shows our illustrious crew was off to try and mediate a conflict around resources between a Klingon outpost and one of our Federation colonies in territory that was. . . well, disputed. As the ship neared the location of the colony and the outpost, it received a distress signal from the Klingon outpost. The official report says there was an outbreak of a virulent strain of some type of flu. The report is partly true," Tonx paused to take another sip of her champagne.
Her smirk grew, "The flu, though, jumped species from tribbles to Klingons. Now. . .the cute, fury pests are not known for their love of Klingons, and if you find the unofficial report, you'd find that some of the Federation colonists were. . .rat bastards, really, and snuck into the outpost so they could drop off about 20 or 30 of the fur balls. They apparently left their colony with two, and that is how fast the things multiplied.
"Now it was bad enough our colonists infected the outpost with tribbles, but the tribbles were more than a typical plague on the world. They carried an odd strain of flu that jumped species. The strain of flu was bad enough that it was deadly to the Klingons. They hadn't gotten vaccinated against different flu strains," Tonx explained. "When the Lone Star-C arrived, they found the outpost had been decimated. They found two survivors who were close to death, and beamed them aboard. One of them wouldn't let go of a bag. . .it contained their father's bat'leth or some otherwise important weapon. The bag also contained a couple of tribbles.
"This was the beginning of the downfall of the Lone Star-C," Tonx let her smirk turn to a grin as she looked to Edie. "These rat bastards can breed faster than Edie can run a level 3 diagnostic, and somehow. . .don't ask me how, some of the critters managed to get into the manifolds and antimatter chamber. They set off a chain reaction the engineers could not stop, and the Lone Star-C went off like a roman candle," she started to wrap up her story. "Now, we had two Klingons aboard when this happened, which created a massive headache for the Federation, never mind the paperwork. Though the two Klingons were celebrated for their bravery... in facing death by tribble." As she finished her story, servers came in carrying what looked to be the fish course of their five course meal. Tonx licked her lips and smirked, "Mmm, time to eat!"
“Edie,” Felix suggested, hoping to lighten the mood. “You’ve heard most of the ballads of Lone Stars past. Is there a tale you’d like to share?”
Edith cleared her throat, slightly caught off guard by the Captain’s gentle verbal prod. She welcomed the distraction from the whirlwind of her own mind, if only for a brief time.
“Oh yes… Captain.” She gave Felix a wicked grin before taking a large gulp of champagne.
“Ladies, gentlemen... gelatinous beings.” Edie took a moment to make brief but awkward eye contact with each of the guests. “What I am about to reveal to you is the long lost story of the Lone Star-J. It must never be repeated. In fact. This conversation never happened in the first place.” She looked around once more, making sure to receive some sign of agreeance from each of the participants. A large holographic image of an ugly Oberth-class vessel appeared above the dining table.
“The year the Lone Star-J went missing was 2367. Over fifty-two years ago now. I was a third year cadet at the Academy. The Federation had received a devastating blow from the Borg at Wolf-359. The Klingon Empire had entered a state of civil war. Even with all that going on, I still remember hearing the rumours that plagued the hallways of the Academy about its disappearance. Some said the ship had been lost to the Borg, others suggested that there had been a fatal warp core breach in some remote sector. The official reports, however, state that the ship is simply missing in action.”
Edie had gone against her promise and successfully hacked through the classified protections that hid the true events behind the Lone Star-J’s disappearance. What she had found was both perplexing and disturbing.
“The Lone Star-J never existed.” She gave pause for a moment, to allow her peers to react to the blatant and cryptic statement.
The captain, who had heard this one before, allowed his eyes to gleam and his lip to curl, but gave nothing else away. Others in the crowd reacted with suspicion, surprise or – in Regina’s case – glee.
“You see. People remember there being a Lone Star-J. On paper, there are reports and crew logs from apparent members of the Lone Star-J, but in actuality the fictitious ship and crew were all part of some Federation wide social-black-psi-ops program. It never actually existed. It was an elaborate ruse which has fooled all of Starfleet to date. Until now that is. There are apparently several other vessels and events that never took place either but I dare not get into those. I may already be marked for death by exposing this.” Edie’s eyes shifted across the room. She had been ruthless in her attempts to make her hack untraceable and could only hope her efforts were not in vain.
“Seventy years old and my undoing may be due to a dinner party.” Her facial expression was rather serious but only for a brief moment. “There’s worse ways to go I suppose.”
A few of them chuckled. “Life hasn’t caught up with you yet, Edith Freelove, and experience tells me that it won’t today, either. Who was the captain of that fated vessel?” Felix asked.
“Captain BJ Cobbledick. Not a very convincing name, is it?” Edie stated this rather flatly and then turned her attention to a lonely dill-pickle on her plate. She picked it up with vigour and took a loud bite off of the tip. As she did this, her eyes made contact with Harun and she gave him a playful wink before chewing, enjoying and savouring the crunch of her pickle.
Harun watched with a sort of morbid fascination as Edie bit into the pickle. To Edie’s credit Harun had to admire the technique although he personally could have done without the biting. He merely favored her with a raising of both his eyebrow ridges in a silent question he wasn’t certain if he wanted answered.
Burgundy chuckled and poured himself some more champagne, from a new bottle as he’d already emptied one. “Good story, at least,” he mumbled. He didn’t believe it for a second, of course. The old lady was clearly a bit off the rails.
Felix had ripped through his plate – seared tuna on a bed of alpha quadrant sea foliage, something dessicated and a pleasing but not perfect foam sauce – rapidly during his engineer’s story. His senior staff, while incomplete at this gathering, was coming together. No doubt the non-human members of his top team might struggle with enforced society, but the others would know the importance of cohesion and familiarity when the chips were down.
The plates were cleared and the bubbles switched out for a choice of delights from the wine cellar. In one corner Lester, who had been hitherto unnoticeable, stirred slowly in Felix’s old hammock. The smell of its accompaniment, a goulash that had been cooked over several days, began to fill the dining room of the apartment. The captain’s able-bodied but aged terrier jumped calculatedly, before strolling demurely toward the table.
“Petty Officer third class Lester on deck!” giggled Regina Monkfish into Harun Touvoy’s ear. The availability of champagne had a tendency to make the Chief of the Boat’s abnormal defensive system fall by the wayside.
It was impossible for Harun not to notice the canine with Regina practically shouting it into his ear. The Cardassian tilted his head away from the Chief’s lips with a slight hooding of his eyes while a grimace touched his lips. “Lester?” he inquired at a more reasonable tone.
Lester, quite apart from this, took his place next to Ensign Burgundy, where a place setting had been provided. The dog glanced once at the Prepondrian before ignoring him and turning to the source of his name. Around them, the bustle began and the new course laid out as the helmsman took over the story-telling.
-= [to be continued] =-
SD201901.28 - Captain's Table, Part Two: For Starters. [Felix/Regina/Lester/Edie/Harun/Tonx/Burgundy/Perdita]
-= Felix’s Quarters, USS Lone Star =-
The captain looked at the assembled company, now seated and engaging with their starter: a selection of charcuterie from across the quadrant with freshly-baked breads, home-made chutneys and a paired Bajoran ice wine. While Monkfish chewed his ear off about alternative theories regarding the demise of the Lone Star-A, he glanced down the table and winked at Edie who, as the next most senior officer, sat opposite him at the long end. That would’ve been Tonx’s seat if she hadn’t screwed up to the extent of demotion.
Burgundy noticed that the avatar of his department head wasn't eating at all. The hologram emitters in the ship could handle replication and de-materialisation the same way the emitters in old holodecks could; if Perdita would eat anything it would cease to be normal matter and turn into photons, just as most of the avatar was only photons until it was about to interact physically with its surroundings. The technology was quite frankly a marvel, but so old and tested by now that nobody thought about it. As for why the science chief wasn't eating? Probably because they didn't understand the point of it, thought Burgundy.
As the commotion settled down the synthetic voice of the science chief was heard over the crowd. "Have I told you how truly sorry I am about the Lone Star-O, Captain?" it said, flat but loud enough to carry through the room. The avatar was seated a few feet from the wall where Felix had placed all the models of earlier Lone Star incarnations. They were transfixed; their non-blinking gaze falling upon the Akira class model whose real counterpart was lost in 2400, almost to the day 19 years earlier. "It still haunts me." Despite the unnatural character of their voice a deep sense of loss and regret came through.
Trust Perdita to come up with a tale of doom, Felix thought, well aware the gelatinous being was liable to be able to read his inner mind. That said – or, rather, thought – it was unusual to find Animo in reflective mode. “Her end was ignominious, even for a Lone Star.”
“Before Thalev,” Regina uttered to Harun at her side. “A most unscrupulous man. A psychologist. A lieutenant. And, I believe, a hairdresser.” She whipped an antibacterial cloth from about her person and wiped fastidiously around her place setting. “I forget the tale of the O, Commander.”
Animo was quiet long enough for everyone to start wondering if they were going to divulge the story or not. "The Lone Star was fleeing a battle when their sensors picked up an irregular singularity that was about to form. In an attempt to shake their pursuers they decided to slingshot around it, and tried to fire quantum torpedoes just around the event horizon hoping that the enemy sensors wouldn't see them coming. The singularity interacted with the forces at play near it, warped out of shape and exploded in 87 dimensions."
The lieutenant commander turned to eye everyone around the table, unblinking and slowly. There was more to the story, of course. Everyone recognised that an event like that would leave no survivors, yet the scientist wasn't in the habit of peddling stories as fact. So how did they know?
Regina was about to speak up – maybe to ask just that , or maybe to hit on Harun – but was interrupted as Perdita Animo continued.
"I was the reason for that singularity. It was a ceremony among my peers, in which I was supposed to transcend to higher planes. There was no way for me to know that an event in the minor four dimensions would so interfere; they are usually as invisible to us as bacteria are to you." For the first time since the food was served the hologram paid it some attention, poking and prodding it absentmindedly with a fork. "As it so happened I did not ascend. Instead I was transposed into a most rudimentary existence. Barely a fragment of what was once me remains; my physical shape in this plane was hastily thrown together from organic debris around my point of entry, as I quickly lost functions my consciousness has always taken for granted."
Felix nodded silently. He had promised Animo long before that he would not divulge their origin story without their permission.
A moment passed as that sunk in, but then Burgundy couldn't hold his curiosity. "Wait a minute," he said, "Are you saying you're composed of the bodily remains of former Lone Star crew?"
The avatar turned to face him, expressionless as always. "Only the useful grey matter," they said, "But mostly neural gel packs, to be honest. You humanoids have precious little brains." They turned to face the captain. "I believe the incorporation of humanoid memories in my being is the reason I have such a keen understanding of the humanoid condition," they said flatly, before putting their fork down and resuming to look placidly at the room decorations.
Before Felix could respond with an observation about the calibre of that understanding – its lack of respect for interpersonal boundaries, say – Regina had intervened on his behalf. “Do you remember each of the crew’s memories up until the point of the accident?” The CoB was suspicious, as ever, of foul play. Felix shot her a look imploring sensitivity. “I assume you do not hold yourself responsible,” she added hurriedly, primping a lateral clump of her hair back into position.
Perdita didn't bother to face Ms Monkfish as they replied. "Only bits and fragments. As neurons were rearranged in my formation most was lost. Some is clear as day, still. Like the fact that Captain Yanu was planning her wedding while cheating with her yeoman on a regular basis." The gelatinous being considered this a fact as easily shared as, say, someone's favourite colour. They looked at the different Lone Star models again. "And no," they added, "I am not responsible. But it is a loss nonetheless, and one in which I played a part."
Burgundy thought about splattered brains assembling into a gelatinous thing as the looked at his food. Jelly-like. A little like the chutneys. He put his cutlery down with a grimace of disgust, deciding that he'd lost appetite for the time being.
If Harun was bothered by the fact the science officer was made of the pulverized remains of the crew of the Lone Star in one of its former incarnations he gave no outward sign of it. He merely cast a sideways look to to watch Burgundy squirm, an activity the Cardassian was finding very enjoyable. When the Ensign inevitably looked over Harun very carefully popped a bit of food into his own mouth and chewed with an expression of Cardassian intestinal superiority. The ensign tried to hide his abdominal reaction at the sight, but couldn’t quite suppress a shudder.
Edie eyed the holographic avatar of Perdita and absorbed the tale of the Lone Star-O. Unbecoming of her own self, she remained quiet and reflective as she played with the food on her plate. There was one particular and most-disturbing thought that kept creeping its way forward into the forefront of her mind:
What does Perdita taste like?
Indeed. The disturbing thought was one even Edith Freelove knew was best kept to herself; unexpectedly even the flighty and most-forward CEO of the Lone Star-S was capable of some proper etiquette at the dinner table.
At that moment Animo looked at Edie, fixated for quite some time, before again resuming their survey of the room.
-= [to be continued] =-
The captain looked at the assembled company, now seated and engaging with their starter: a selection of charcuterie from across the quadrant with freshly-baked breads, home-made chutneys and a paired Bajoran ice wine. While Monkfish chewed his ear off about alternative theories regarding the demise of the Lone Star-A, he glanced down the table and winked at Edie who, as the next most senior officer, sat opposite him at the long end. That would’ve been Tonx’s seat if she hadn’t screwed up to the extent of demotion.
Burgundy noticed that the avatar of his department head wasn't eating at all. The hologram emitters in the ship could handle replication and de-materialisation the same way the emitters in old holodecks could; if Perdita would eat anything it would cease to be normal matter and turn into photons, just as most of the avatar was only photons until it was about to interact physically with its surroundings. The technology was quite frankly a marvel, but so old and tested by now that nobody thought about it. As for why the science chief wasn't eating? Probably because they didn't understand the point of it, thought Burgundy.
As the commotion settled down the synthetic voice of the science chief was heard over the crowd. "Have I told you how truly sorry I am about the Lone Star-O, Captain?" it said, flat but loud enough to carry through the room. The avatar was seated a few feet from the wall where Felix had placed all the models of earlier Lone Star incarnations. They were transfixed; their non-blinking gaze falling upon the Akira class model whose real counterpart was lost in 2400, almost to the day 19 years earlier. "It still haunts me." Despite the unnatural character of their voice a deep sense of loss and regret came through.
Trust Perdita to come up with a tale of doom, Felix thought, well aware the gelatinous being was liable to be able to read his inner mind. That said – or, rather, thought – it was unusual to find Animo in reflective mode. “Her end was ignominious, even for a Lone Star.”
“Before Thalev,” Regina uttered to Harun at her side. “A most unscrupulous man. A psychologist. A lieutenant. And, I believe, a hairdresser.” She whipped an antibacterial cloth from about her person and wiped fastidiously around her place setting. “I forget the tale of the O, Commander.”
Animo was quiet long enough for everyone to start wondering if they were going to divulge the story or not. "The Lone Star was fleeing a battle when their sensors picked up an irregular singularity that was about to form. In an attempt to shake their pursuers they decided to slingshot around it, and tried to fire quantum torpedoes just around the event horizon hoping that the enemy sensors wouldn't see them coming. The singularity interacted with the forces at play near it, warped out of shape and exploded in 87 dimensions."
The lieutenant commander turned to eye everyone around the table, unblinking and slowly. There was more to the story, of course. Everyone recognised that an event like that would leave no survivors, yet the scientist wasn't in the habit of peddling stories as fact. So how did they know?
Regina was about to speak up – maybe to ask just that , or maybe to hit on Harun – but was interrupted as Perdita Animo continued.
"I was the reason for that singularity. It was a ceremony among my peers, in which I was supposed to transcend to higher planes. There was no way for me to know that an event in the minor four dimensions would so interfere; they are usually as invisible to us as bacteria are to you." For the first time since the food was served the hologram paid it some attention, poking and prodding it absentmindedly with a fork. "As it so happened I did not ascend. Instead I was transposed into a most rudimentary existence. Barely a fragment of what was once me remains; my physical shape in this plane was hastily thrown together from organic debris around my point of entry, as I quickly lost functions my consciousness has always taken for granted."
Felix nodded silently. He had promised Animo long before that he would not divulge their origin story without their permission.
A moment passed as that sunk in, but then Burgundy couldn't hold his curiosity. "Wait a minute," he said, "Are you saying you're composed of the bodily remains of former Lone Star crew?"
The avatar turned to face him, expressionless as always. "Only the useful grey matter," they said, "But mostly neural gel packs, to be honest. You humanoids have precious little brains." They turned to face the captain. "I believe the incorporation of humanoid memories in my being is the reason I have such a keen understanding of the humanoid condition," they said flatly, before putting their fork down and resuming to look placidly at the room decorations.
Before Felix could respond with an observation about the calibre of that understanding – its lack of respect for interpersonal boundaries, say – Regina had intervened on his behalf. “Do you remember each of the crew’s memories up until the point of the accident?” The CoB was suspicious, as ever, of foul play. Felix shot her a look imploring sensitivity. “I assume you do not hold yourself responsible,” she added hurriedly, primping a lateral clump of her hair back into position.
Perdita didn't bother to face Ms Monkfish as they replied. "Only bits and fragments. As neurons were rearranged in my formation most was lost. Some is clear as day, still. Like the fact that Captain Yanu was planning her wedding while cheating with her yeoman on a regular basis." The gelatinous being considered this a fact as easily shared as, say, someone's favourite colour. They looked at the different Lone Star models again. "And no," they added, "I am not responsible. But it is a loss nonetheless, and one in which I played a part."
Burgundy thought about splattered brains assembling into a gelatinous thing as the looked at his food. Jelly-like. A little like the chutneys. He put his cutlery down with a grimace of disgust, deciding that he'd lost appetite for the time being.
If Harun was bothered by the fact the science officer was made of the pulverized remains of the crew of the Lone Star in one of its former incarnations he gave no outward sign of it. He merely cast a sideways look to to watch Burgundy squirm, an activity the Cardassian was finding very enjoyable. When the Ensign inevitably looked over Harun very carefully popped a bit of food into his own mouth and chewed with an expression of Cardassian intestinal superiority. The ensign tried to hide his abdominal reaction at the sight, but couldn’t quite suppress a shudder.
Edie eyed the holographic avatar of Perdita and absorbed the tale of the Lone Star-O. Unbecoming of her own self, she remained quiet and reflective as she played with the food on her plate. There was one particular and most-disturbing thought that kept creeping its way forward into the forefront of her mind:
What does Perdita taste like?
Indeed. The disturbing thought was one even Edith Freelove knew was best kept to herself; unexpectedly even the flighty and most-forward CEO of the Lone Star-S was capable of some proper etiquette at the dinner table.
At that moment Animo looked at Edie, fixated for quite some time, before again resuming their survey of the room.
-= [to be continued] =-
SD201901.26 - Captain's Table, Part One: The Amuse-Bouche. [Felix/Burgundy/Edie/Harun/Tonx/Regina]
-= Felix’s Quarters, USS Lone Star =-
The captain’s table: never had it looked so full, so lush. Rarely had it happened when the Lone Star had been in port. And historically, it never ended without some sort of incident.
For a flashpoint, photograph’s breadth of a moment, the captain stood alone at the head of what was, putatively, his table. Not the tallest, no longer the youngest and by no means the smartest, Felix de l’Isle nevertheless made a poster-boy captain. Wearing a thin-lapelled marine jacket over a plain white shirt, the thumb of his right hand hooked into the pocket of air-force blue flannels. Behind him the arboretum began its convenient simulation of the start of evening. The windows had been removed temporarily, allowing the appeal of autumnal freshness into his apartment. A heron passed at window level.
“Ah, Heracles.” Regina Monkfish sidled along the length of the table. Despite her idiosyncrasies – they were many – Felix had softened to her batshit madness over the last decade. Even the puce toilet seat she appeared now to be wearing as a hat. “Always did like to fly high.” She sniffed the air. “I –”
“It’s clean enough, Chief.” Felix’s look read like a brief warning. I know you’re doing you, but don’t do that. Anyone who’d served with him knew it was a one-time peace offering. Wafting over one of the catering team, he drew two flutes from their plate and forced one into Regina’s hand. “This is off-duty time and this time, I haven’t cooked. As you know, it was a fire in the captain’s private galley that caused the destruction of the Lone Star. Cheers.”
None of them noticed how the server averted his face when they turned his way.
Their crystal clinked. Over his glass, Felix watched Regina watch an influx of ensigns feed burning wood coals to the Pakled elephant, which considered these a treat. But the concentration on her face was not dedicated, as it might normally be, for a list of contraventions for the newcomers.
“Forgive me, Captain, but the Lone Star-A was pulverised by a Klingon battalion after catastrophic computer failure.” The elephant squawked, below. “The survivors were coursed through the sector. Litres of blood and gore, I imagine.” Monkfish shook her head. “Blood is so hard to get out of the upholstery. And the gristle makes its way into unusual places.”
“That is conjecture, Chief. And even so, does not preclude an ill-fated captain inadvertently flambéing his senior staff.” The door chimed. “Come!”
The door opened to reveal an androgynous, slender being in a teal suit. Their hair was white, cut at jaw length, and skin was olive, but there was something rather off with the creature. They strode in slowly, with a stiff step, and looked around vacantly. "I am not certain this holographic avatar suits my personality, Captain," they said in an obviously synthesized voice, "Lieutenant Karien suggested that it might be suitable to project myself in a more humanoid manner for social occasions." The hologram turned to Felix. Disturbingly, they never blinked. "It is I, Lieutenant Commander Animo."
“Who else,” said Felix, with a joviality he had learned to project, over the years. It often made others think him vapid, or simple, which served frequently to his advantage. His lead scientist had made that mistake once. He revisited the memory briefly. “Welcome to my quarters.” Legitimately, this time.
The hologram didn't appear to react to the captain's reply at all. Instead they just said in their usual, toneless, voice: "I can not hear your thoughts from this far away, Captain."
They turned to the nearby server. "Ensign Burgundy. I am glad that you accepted the honour of representing our department at this traditional affair." Their expression as toneless as their voice, yet somehow the sarcasm was not lost on anyone present; while it was true that the catering staff comprised members from all departments, all the others were NCOs on their first tour.
Burgundy flushed and sneered. I hate you, he thought, as loudly as he could.
"I know you do," said Animo, despite just having proclaimed an inability to read minds this far from their physical being.
The door chimed again but this time it was a tall Cardassian bearing a bottle of kanar that entered the room. He was dressed casually in a tunic of Sacramento green embellished with embroidery of lighter green and black along the sleeve, paired with black trousers. The outfit had been a gift from his mother and sisters who reminded him that not every social occasion called for military dress and wouldn't it be nice if he wore something that brought out his eyes.
Harun wasn't entirely certain the reason behind the gathering of the senior staff to the Captain's Galley but he assumed it was the Captain's attempt to get the senior staff to bond. Humans, Harun thought as he crossed the threshold, as if mandatory ‘fun’ made anyone closer. Harun resolved to suffer through forced social pleasantries in this ice box of a room until he could feasibly leave. He spotted Felix and the tall humanoid and was just starting to walk towards them when his eye caught another familiar face.
He stopped, his eyes fixing on Burgundy as his eyebrow ridge lifted in an unspoken question though it didn't take long for the young Cardassian to figure out that he had been lied to. Now why would the gullible little Ensign lie about his assignment? Given the way Burgundy was staring daggers at the tall humanoid Harun had a few guesses. The Cardassian changed his mind; this evening might actually be worth his attendance after all.
Somewhat unwittingly the captain found himself caught in a trilateral exchange of glares that was not, altogether, friendly. “Mr Touvoy. And with a gift, no less.” He extended his hand to claim the bottle, which, when forthcoming, he studied. Was kanar a digestif? He assumed so. “From Cunat province. I hear the jevonite in the soil there gives the kanar a particular kick.” He’d do his damndest to be welcoming, despite the Cardassian’s interpersonal lack of flexibility during their first meeting.
The science ensign was still locking eyes with the Cardassian. His emotions were in turmoil; most of all he was angry and embarrassed, but for a multitude of reasons and in several competing ways. He had been made a ridicule of, and in trying to be less of a failure he had now instead been revealed to be even more of one.
And on top of that the Cardassian looked at the ensign with disdain and accusation, as if Burgundy's dismay had somehow affected him. The Prepondrian stared at him, feeling his anger and resentment rise. He wanted to yell 'Grow up!' at the man, but had to settle for eventually averting his eyes. Thankfully he had catering duties to attend to, which provided him with a perfect excuse. He tried not to sneer yet again as he turned away and filled up more glasses of champagne on a tray.
"Good eye Captain," the Cardassian said evenly as his eyes slid from Burgundy to the Captain, giving no hint to if he was pleased Felix recognized the province the kanar came from or was simply being polite. As he spoke, Harun could feel the daggers being burned into the side of his face by the young Ensign but in the Cardassian's mind it was Burgundy's own fault his deception was discovered. If one was going to lie best be good at it and cover one’s tracks or not bother.
Tonx had been looking forward to the evening since Felix told her about it. Given she was restricted to the Lone Star while they were in port, she wasn't going to miss the chance to socialize. Did she miss her chance to go out on the prowl? Absolutely, but Felix promised a hell of a feast and an open bar. Who could pass that up? She tugged on the bottom of her deep blue double-breasted tunic and flicked off a speck of flint away from one of the silver buttons. She bypassed the dress uniform for the deep blue pant-suit with its banded collar. She had considered wearing her utilikilt and her knee high boots, but thought that was more appropriate for a night on the prowl and not a night at the Captain's table.
Running a hand through her hair, the CSec rang the chime and entered the Captain's quarters. She couldn't help the smirk as she entered, seeing how Felix had it decorated and things laid out. There were those there she hadn't yet met, though she'd read their personnel records. She figured she’d get a better feel for the new crew members as the evening went on. Someone handed her a flute, which she gladly accepted, "Evening, Captain, Chief, Commander, and Ensign." She looked to Felix, "I like what you've done with the place.”
Thank the heavens for Tonx: albeit not without her moments, she passed for normal in their present company. “Tonx. Time for you to meet the latest addition to the Lone Star family.” She’d be able to read the clue of relief in Felix’s smile as he turned to their surly ingenu. “Lieutenant McKenna, meet Glinn Touvoy, our new conn officer.”
The Chief Security Officer arched a brow ever so slightly at the Captain and flashed a small smirk his way before looking to the Lieutenant. She didn't look him up and down, but she didn't have to as she'd already studied him when she first arrived. Tonx offered a warm smile, "Welcome to the Lone Star, Lieutenant."
Harun's attention had shifted to the human woman he was being introduced to and he inclined his head in a polite nod, "Thank you Lieutenant McKenna." He supposed he could have said more but his eyes were irrevocably drawn to the woman that everyone referred to as 'Edie' and immediately his lips compressed into a thin, puzzled expression as his brow ridges drew down to the bridge of his nose. He was both horrified, and fascinated.
Edie seemed to almost bounce off the deck plating as she strode to her own beat down the lengthy corridor of the Lone Star. She was humming some incomprehensible tune to herself in time with the clicking of her lime green suede cuban heels. She simply adored social occasions of any sort and given the fact it was the Captain that was hosting such a thing, it seemed even more thrilling.
She had worked tirelessly on her outfit for the evening and was tremendously happy with it. It was reminiscent of a tacky prom dress from old Earth. From the chest down to the waist, it was tight fitting, decorated with what seemed to be the neck of a creature. From the waist to her mid-tibial area was a vast array of feathers which ranged in various hues of greens, blues and purples. One might have to guess which animal she was attempting to channel, until focusing in on her large fascinator. There was no mistaking the shape and definition – it was the head of a bird, a peacock to be precise. Of course, to top things off, she had also donned some oversized and mismatched jewelry and an obscenely large peacock purse.
Edie smiled even wider to herself as she reached the entrance of Felix’s quarters. As she stepped through, she took in the various faces of the guests. Some were very familiar, others not so much. “Hello lovelies.” She announced herself rather loudly and then continued to stride over to where Felix was standing.
The voluminous auburn coils atop Regina’s head shivered with joy. It was not often, and not recently, that she had been called a Lovely. Although usually disposed to like the engineer, Regina found herself gazing at her headgear.
“I do hope that is a simulated Javan peafowl,” she hissed to her neighbour, who happened to be the chief science officer. “Taxidermic headdress is simply unsuitable when the captain’s privilege is being extended.”
The chief science officer's holographic representation turned to Regina and looked at her, utterly expressionless as always. A long moment passed, in which it was impossible to tell whether Perdita was going to say anything or not. Just as Ms Monkfish was about to open her mouth to clarify her statement the hologram spoke: "It is synthetic," they said simply. "I checked the replicator logs."
“Captain. I do apologise in advance. I spent so much time on this dress that I forgot to bring you a proper hosting gift.” Edie reached into her obscenely large purse and dug around some before pulling out an antique candle holder. “Here. For you.” She passed it to him with haste.
The smile the captain wore was more related to his veteran CEO’s avian attire than her latest offering. As sure as Tonx would seduce anything with a heartbeat and any newcomer would leave the science lab frayed and insulted, so would his fragrant spanner-monkey produce gifts that were batshit illogical.
“Edie,” Felix beamed. “You shouldn’t have.”
Tonx turned her attention to Edie and the Captain. Her eye was drawn to the antique candle holder, she gave a soft laugh and shook her head. Edie was being Edie to the 'Nth' degree, "Perhaps she shouldn't have, Captain, but it will look perfect with the rest of the decor tonight." She smirked.
Behind and to the side of the captain a sigh was heard from the most senior of the hospitality staff, who accompanied the sound with a roll of his eyes.
Harun stared at the object Edie had given the Captain and was uncertain of how to react. Was this a gift or a curse? Everyone was smiling but their words suggested they wished Edie had not presented the Captain with the gift. The puzzled expression now became a frown as he heard the sigh and his eyes snapped back to Burgundy. He decided to drown his confusion in alcohol and another being's discomfort, he reached for a flute of champagne. "Tell me Ensign, when did you leave the Lantern? Don't tell me it was on my account."
Burgundy snorted and put the now empty tray down on a table beside him. He placed a few glasses on it and started filling them, half turned away from Harun. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked rhetorically. After filling three glasses he decided to give up for the moment; the rest of that bottle was his, damned be the horrid taste. "We're all in the same boat, Cardy," he said quietly, leaning in to address only his new foe. A swig from the champagne later he continued: "For one shit reason or another." It occurred to him that he didn't know the man's name. Mostly because he didn't care enough to listen when the pilot had been introduced.
There was a brief expression of surprise on Harun's face as Burgundy used the slur and when no one appeared to notice or care the Cardassian took that knowledge and filed it away in the organized system of his brain. He smiled at the pudgy Ensign but there wasn't the slightest bit of pleasantness in the expression, it was the smile a predator gave to prey right before they bit off the unfortunate creatures face. He raised his glass slightly in a mock salute, "Noted."
Burgundy shrugged, took another swig and started turning to walk away. It was clear that he didn't want to talk about it. His manner was a threat and a promise at once: ‘don't go there’ and ‘if you don't pry in my pile of shit I won't pry in yours’.
His attempted escape was inevitably interrupted.
“Mister Burgundy,” the captain called, pacing to the middle of the table. “When you’ve made sure everybody’s glass is refreshed, replicate some candles for this – delight. And at the end of the night you can pop it on that stand, over there.” He gestured to a recessed shelf, replete with mad and weird objects: a library of Commander Freelove’s generosity over the last seven years.
"Oh for f... Absolutely, Captain," he managed to correct his muttering just in time, and the affirmative answer was louder – emphasized by a very theatrical smile as he accepted the piece. "Shall I put it next to the horrid backpack that says 'Hello Kitty', or is this more of a 'goodbye b-, uh, dog' kinda piece?" he asked in an overly friendly manner.
“The backpack is a charming 21st-century antique which is much sought after at auction,” Monkfish chirruped. “And pink pleather is underrated as a material.”
Edie did not let her face crack at the Ensign's comments. She was not the most socially adept person, especially when it came to registering the smaller nuances and sarcasms that some individuals insisted on using in conversation. There was something in particular about the comment though, that rubbed her the wrong way. "Dear. It's best to not overthink such things. Particularly when there is so much to do. Wouldn't you agree?" She asked this in a most rhetorical manner.
“So much to do,” Regina agreed, sliding in beside the engineer. “I rather covet it.” She, Edie and their headgear were unusually startling.
The science officer raised an eyebrow at the pair of odd women. He popped the candle holder on the table next to the backpack unceremoniously. “Looks great,” he proclaimed unconvincingly. With the champagne bottle still in one hand he waltzed over to the replicator and produced a few candles. Ugly pink ones.
Felix grinned. One, or other, or all of the senior staff was likely to grill and skewer Burgundy this evening. Those who came to the Lone Star lofty often found themselves disbarred before long. That was a part of the ship’s charm: the interlocked friendships, rivalries and antagonism that made her exceptional were more honest than other ships, which made them more humanising, more healing. He manoeuvered his way to the head of the table and, as many times before, glanced a silver teaspoon against the side of his glass.
As his senior crew assembled, Felix eyed the spaces that remained at the table. Although an XO had been assigned, they had not yet made their way to Kincardine. Time was ticking as to whether she would even make it on board before the next mission. He was about to deliver his toast when the ship-board comm system interrupted.
"Lieutenant Vaughn to Captain de l'Isle."
Felix slapped his chest. “Yes, Doctor.”
There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to the meal tonight. There's been..." Another audible sigh. "...an incident. Do you recall the report that Chief Whittems threatened to put his boot up Ensign Carter's, and I quote, flower-sprouting backside?"
Stifling a chuckle, Felix replied in the affirmative. His senior crew, and most of the waiting staff, appeared to have heard the same tale.
"Well… he did it."
“Literally? He –” Blessed with an unfortunately graphic imagination, Felix stuttered. “He did?”
"Yes, he did. So now I've got to remove it. He did one hell of a job." A pause. "Although I have to admit that I'm a bit impressed by it too –” A muffled voice from the other side. "Oh, he's prepped. I need to go. Vaughn out."
“Chief Whittems has notoriously large feet,” Regina whispered to Harun Touvoy. None of her husbands had, yet, been Cardassian.
Before a hubbub arose again, Felix cleared his throat.
“Senior officers and bridge crew of the USS Lone Star. To some of you, welcome home.” He beamed to Monkfish, Freelove, the avatar of Animo, and Tonx. “To others, welcome to your new home.”
It was a speech he had given before. The first set of officers he’d addressed glanced between themselves with a knowing smile, except for Perdita.
“Ensign Burgundy,” he said unexpectedly. “You are relieved of your serving duties. Will you take Doctor Vaughn’s seat, please.”
Surprised and slightly shocked, Burgundy could only mutter a “yes, sir,” and sit down before the captain changed his mind.
“Every person has their tale, and every ship its song. See.” de l’Isle gestured to the display case containing the ships of the line, temporarily seconded from his ready room. “For all the Lone Stars whose songs are lost, it falls to us to write them anew: to tell our tale by her tiller, and to set straight the record about their good name, and ours.
“They are linked, those two destinies, unchangeably so. And so, unchanging, we say again...”
The five old-serving officers repeated the ship’s slogan in unison.
“Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.”
“May we go far together,” Felix concluded, holding his glass aloft. “Cheers.” The word repeated as a cheerful murmur. “Please take your seats. And, Chief, if you wouldn’t mind –”
Monkfish moved, briefly, to shoo away an uninvited heron.
-= [to be continued] =-
The captain’s table: never had it looked so full, so lush. Rarely had it happened when the Lone Star had been in port. And historically, it never ended without some sort of incident.
For a flashpoint, photograph’s breadth of a moment, the captain stood alone at the head of what was, putatively, his table. Not the tallest, no longer the youngest and by no means the smartest, Felix de l’Isle nevertheless made a poster-boy captain. Wearing a thin-lapelled marine jacket over a plain white shirt, the thumb of his right hand hooked into the pocket of air-force blue flannels. Behind him the arboretum began its convenient simulation of the start of evening. The windows had been removed temporarily, allowing the appeal of autumnal freshness into his apartment. A heron passed at window level.
“Ah, Heracles.” Regina Monkfish sidled along the length of the table. Despite her idiosyncrasies – they were many – Felix had softened to her batshit madness over the last decade. Even the puce toilet seat she appeared now to be wearing as a hat. “Always did like to fly high.” She sniffed the air. “I –”
“It’s clean enough, Chief.” Felix’s look read like a brief warning. I know you’re doing you, but don’t do that. Anyone who’d served with him knew it was a one-time peace offering. Wafting over one of the catering team, he drew two flutes from their plate and forced one into Regina’s hand. “This is off-duty time and this time, I haven’t cooked. As you know, it was a fire in the captain’s private galley that caused the destruction of the Lone Star. Cheers.”
None of them noticed how the server averted his face when they turned his way.
Their crystal clinked. Over his glass, Felix watched Regina watch an influx of ensigns feed burning wood coals to the Pakled elephant, which considered these a treat. But the concentration on her face was not dedicated, as it might normally be, for a list of contraventions for the newcomers.
“Forgive me, Captain, but the Lone Star-A was pulverised by a Klingon battalion after catastrophic computer failure.” The elephant squawked, below. “The survivors were coursed through the sector. Litres of blood and gore, I imagine.” Monkfish shook her head. “Blood is so hard to get out of the upholstery. And the gristle makes its way into unusual places.”
“That is conjecture, Chief. And even so, does not preclude an ill-fated captain inadvertently flambéing his senior staff.” The door chimed. “Come!”
The door opened to reveal an androgynous, slender being in a teal suit. Their hair was white, cut at jaw length, and skin was olive, but there was something rather off with the creature. They strode in slowly, with a stiff step, and looked around vacantly. "I am not certain this holographic avatar suits my personality, Captain," they said in an obviously synthesized voice, "Lieutenant Karien suggested that it might be suitable to project myself in a more humanoid manner for social occasions." The hologram turned to Felix. Disturbingly, they never blinked. "It is I, Lieutenant Commander Animo."
“Who else,” said Felix, with a joviality he had learned to project, over the years. It often made others think him vapid, or simple, which served frequently to his advantage. His lead scientist had made that mistake once. He revisited the memory briefly. “Welcome to my quarters.” Legitimately, this time.
The hologram didn't appear to react to the captain's reply at all. Instead they just said in their usual, toneless, voice: "I can not hear your thoughts from this far away, Captain."
They turned to the nearby server. "Ensign Burgundy. I am glad that you accepted the honour of representing our department at this traditional affair." Their expression as toneless as their voice, yet somehow the sarcasm was not lost on anyone present; while it was true that the catering staff comprised members from all departments, all the others were NCOs on their first tour.
Burgundy flushed and sneered. I hate you, he thought, as loudly as he could.
"I know you do," said Animo, despite just having proclaimed an inability to read minds this far from their physical being.
The door chimed again but this time it was a tall Cardassian bearing a bottle of kanar that entered the room. He was dressed casually in a tunic of Sacramento green embellished with embroidery of lighter green and black along the sleeve, paired with black trousers. The outfit had been a gift from his mother and sisters who reminded him that not every social occasion called for military dress and wouldn't it be nice if he wore something that brought out his eyes.
Harun wasn't entirely certain the reason behind the gathering of the senior staff to the Captain's Galley but he assumed it was the Captain's attempt to get the senior staff to bond. Humans, Harun thought as he crossed the threshold, as if mandatory ‘fun’ made anyone closer. Harun resolved to suffer through forced social pleasantries in this ice box of a room until he could feasibly leave. He spotted Felix and the tall humanoid and was just starting to walk towards them when his eye caught another familiar face.
He stopped, his eyes fixing on Burgundy as his eyebrow ridge lifted in an unspoken question though it didn't take long for the young Cardassian to figure out that he had been lied to. Now why would the gullible little Ensign lie about his assignment? Given the way Burgundy was staring daggers at the tall humanoid Harun had a few guesses. The Cardassian changed his mind; this evening might actually be worth his attendance after all.
Somewhat unwittingly the captain found himself caught in a trilateral exchange of glares that was not, altogether, friendly. “Mr Touvoy. And with a gift, no less.” He extended his hand to claim the bottle, which, when forthcoming, he studied. Was kanar a digestif? He assumed so. “From Cunat province. I hear the jevonite in the soil there gives the kanar a particular kick.” He’d do his damndest to be welcoming, despite the Cardassian’s interpersonal lack of flexibility during their first meeting.
The science ensign was still locking eyes with the Cardassian. His emotions were in turmoil; most of all he was angry and embarrassed, but for a multitude of reasons and in several competing ways. He had been made a ridicule of, and in trying to be less of a failure he had now instead been revealed to be even more of one.
And on top of that the Cardassian looked at the ensign with disdain and accusation, as if Burgundy's dismay had somehow affected him. The Prepondrian stared at him, feeling his anger and resentment rise. He wanted to yell 'Grow up!' at the man, but had to settle for eventually averting his eyes. Thankfully he had catering duties to attend to, which provided him with a perfect excuse. He tried not to sneer yet again as he turned away and filled up more glasses of champagne on a tray.
"Good eye Captain," the Cardassian said evenly as his eyes slid from Burgundy to the Captain, giving no hint to if he was pleased Felix recognized the province the kanar came from or was simply being polite. As he spoke, Harun could feel the daggers being burned into the side of his face by the young Ensign but in the Cardassian's mind it was Burgundy's own fault his deception was discovered. If one was going to lie best be good at it and cover one’s tracks or not bother.
Tonx had been looking forward to the evening since Felix told her about it. Given she was restricted to the Lone Star while they were in port, she wasn't going to miss the chance to socialize. Did she miss her chance to go out on the prowl? Absolutely, but Felix promised a hell of a feast and an open bar. Who could pass that up? She tugged on the bottom of her deep blue double-breasted tunic and flicked off a speck of flint away from one of the silver buttons. She bypassed the dress uniform for the deep blue pant-suit with its banded collar. She had considered wearing her utilikilt and her knee high boots, but thought that was more appropriate for a night on the prowl and not a night at the Captain's table.
Running a hand through her hair, the CSec rang the chime and entered the Captain's quarters. She couldn't help the smirk as she entered, seeing how Felix had it decorated and things laid out. There were those there she hadn't yet met, though she'd read their personnel records. She figured she’d get a better feel for the new crew members as the evening went on. Someone handed her a flute, which she gladly accepted, "Evening, Captain, Chief, Commander, and Ensign." She looked to Felix, "I like what you've done with the place.”
Thank the heavens for Tonx: albeit not without her moments, she passed for normal in their present company. “Tonx. Time for you to meet the latest addition to the Lone Star family.” She’d be able to read the clue of relief in Felix’s smile as he turned to their surly ingenu. “Lieutenant McKenna, meet Glinn Touvoy, our new conn officer.”
The Chief Security Officer arched a brow ever so slightly at the Captain and flashed a small smirk his way before looking to the Lieutenant. She didn't look him up and down, but she didn't have to as she'd already studied him when she first arrived. Tonx offered a warm smile, "Welcome to the Lone Star, Lieutenant."
Harun's attention had shifted to the human woman he was being introduced to and he inclined his head in a polite nod, "Thank you Lieutenant McKenna." He supposed he could have said more but his eyes were irrevocably drawn to the woman that everyone referred to as 'Edie' and immediately his lips compressed into a thin, puzzled expression as his brow ridges drew down to the bridge of his nose. He was both horrified, and fascinated.
Edie seemed to almost bounce off the deck plating as she strode to her own beat down the lengthy corridor of the Lone Star. She was humming some incomprehensible tune to herself in time with the clicking of her lime green suede cuban heels. She simply adored social occasions of any sort and given the fact it was the Captain that was hosting such a thing, it seemed even more thrilling.
She had worked tirelessly on her outfit for the evening and was tremendously happy with it. It was reminiscent of a tacky prom dress from old Earth. From the chest down to the waist, it was tight fitting, decorated with what seemed to be the neck of a creature. From the waist to her mid-tibial area was a vast array of feathers which ranged in various hues of greens, blues and purples. One might have to guess which animal she was attempting to channel, until focusing in on her large fascinator. There was no mistaking the shape and definition – it was the head of a bird, a peacock to be precise. Of course, to top things off, she had also donned some oversized and mismatched jewelry and an obscenely large peacock purse.
Edie smiled even wider to herself as she reached the entrance of Felix’s quarters. As she stepped through, she took in the various faces of the guests. Some were very familiar, others not so much. “Hello lovelies.” She announced herself rather loudly and then continued to stride over to where Felix was standing.
The voluminous auburn coils atop Regina’s head shivered with joy. It was not often, and not recently, that she had been called a Lovely. Although usually disposed to like the engineer, Regina found herself gazing at her headgear.
“I do hope that is a simulated Javan peafowl,” she hissed to her neighbour, who happened to be the chief science officer. “Taxidermic headdress is simply unsuitable when the captain’s privilege is being extended.”
The chief science officer's holographic representation turned to Regina and looked at her, utterly expressionless as always. A long moment passed, in which it was impossible to tell whether Perdita was going to say anything or not. Just as Ms Monkfish was about to open her mouth to clarify her statement the hologram spoke: "It is synthetic," they said simply. "I checked the replicator logs."
“Captain. I do apologise in advance. I spent so much time on this dress that I forgot to bring you a proper hosting gift.” Edie reached into her obscenely large purse and dug around some before pulling out an antique candle holder. “Here. For you.” She passed it to him with haste.
The smile the captain wore was more related to his veteran CEO’s avian attire than her latest offering. As sure as Tonx would seduce anything with a heartbeat and any newcomer would leave the science lab frayed and insulted, so would his fragrant spanner-monkey produce gifts that were batshit illogical.
“Edie,” Felix beamed. “You shouldn’t have.”
Tonx turned her attention to Edie and the Captain. Her eye was drawn to the antique candle holder, she gave a soft laugh and shook her head. Edie was being Edie to the 'Nth' degree, "Perhaps she shouldn't have, Captain, but it will look perfect with the rest of the decor tonight." She smirked.
Behind and to the side of the captain a sigh was heard from the most senior of the hospitality staff, who accompanied the sound with a roll of his eyes.
Harun stared at the object Edie had given the Captain and was uncertain of how to react. Was this a gift or a curse? Everyone was smiling but their words suggested they wished Edie had not presented the Captain with the gift. The puzzled expression now became a frown as he heard the sigh and his eyes snapped back to Burgundy. He decided to drown his confusion in alcohol and another being's discomfort, he reached for a flute of champagne. "Tell me Ensign, when did you leave the Lantern? Don't tell me it was on my account."
Burgundy snorted and put the now empty tray down on a table beside him. He placed a few glasses on it and started filling them, half turned away from Harun. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked rhetorically. After filling three glasses he decided to give up for the moment; the rest of that bottle was his, damned be the horrid taste. "We're all in the same boat, Cardy," he said quietly, leaning in to address only his new foe. A swig from the champagne later he continued: "For one shit reason or another." It occurred to him that he didn't know the man's name. Mostly because he didn't care enough to listen when the pilot had been introduced.
There was a brief expression of surprise on Harun's face as Burgundy used the slur and when no one appeared to notice or care the Cardassian took that knowledge and filed it away in the organized system of his brain. He smiled at the pudgy Ensign but there wasn't the slightest bit of pleasantness in the expression, it was the smile a predator gave to prey right before they bit off the unfortunate creatures face. He raised his glass slightly in a mock salute, "Noted."
Burgundy shrugged, took another swig and started turning to walk away. It was clear that he didn't want to talk about it. His manner was a threat and a promise at once: ‘don't go there’ and ‘if you don't pry in my pile of shit I won't pry in yours’.
His attempted escape was inevitably interrupted.
“Mister Burgundy,” the captain called, pacing to the middle of the table. “When you’ve made sure everybody’s glass is refreshed, replicate some candles for this – delight. And at the end of the night you can pop it on that stand, over there.” He gestured to a recessed shelf, replete with mad and weird objects: a library of Commander Freelove’s generosity over the last seven years.
"Oh for f... Absolutely, Captain," he managed to correct his muttering just in time, and the affirmative answer was louder – emphasized by a very theatrical smile as he accepted the piece. "Shall I put it next to the horrid backpack that says 'Hello Kitty', or is this more of a 'goodbye b-, uh, dog' kinda piece?" he asked in an overly friendly manner.
“The backpack is a charming 21st-century antique which is much sought after at auction,” Monkfish chirruped. “And pink pleather is underrated as a material.”
Edie did not let her face crack at the Ensign's comments. She was not the most socially adept person, especially when it came to registering the smaller nuances and sarcasms that some individuals insisted on using in conversation. There was something in particular about the comment though, that rubbed her the wrong way. "Dear. It's best to not overthink such things. Particularly when there is so much to do. Wouldn't you agree?" She asked this in a most rhetorical manner.
“So much to do,” Regina agreed, sliding in beside the engineer. “I rather covet it.” She, Edie and their headgear were unusually startling.
The science officer raised an eyebrow at the pair of odd women. He popped the candle holder on the table next to the backpack unceremoniously. “Looks great,” he proclaimed unconvincingly. With the champagne bottle still in one hand he waltzed over to the replicator and produced a few candles. Ugly pink ones.
Felix grinned. One, or other, or all of the senior staff was likely to grill and skewer Burgundy this evening. Those who came to the Lone Star lofty often found themselves disbarred before long. That was a part of the ship’s charm: the interlocked friendships, rivalries and antagonism that made her exceptional were more honest than other ships, which made them more humanising, more healing. He manoeuvered his way to the head of the table and, as many times before, glanced a silver teaspoon against the side of his glass.
As his senior crew assembled, Felix eyed the spaces that remained at the table. Although an XO had been assigned, they had not yet made their way to Kincardine. Time was ticking as to whether she would even make it on board before the next mission. He was about to deliver his toast when the ship-board comm system interrupted.
"Lieutenant Vaughn to Captain de l'Isle."
Felix slapped his chest. “Yes, Doctor.”
There was a long-suffering sigh on the other end. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to the meal tonight. There's been..." Another audible sigh. "...an incident. Do you recall the report that Chief Whittems threatened to put his boot up Ensign Carter's, and I quote, flower-sprouting backside?"
Stifling a chuckle, Felix replied in the affirmative. His senior crew, and most of the waiting staff, appeared to have heard the same tale.
"Well… he did it."
“Literally? He –” Blessed with an unfortunately graphic imagination, Felix stuttered. “He did?”
"Yes, he did. So now I've got to remove it. He did one hell of a job." A pause. "Although I have to admit that I'm a bit impressed by it too –” A muffled voice from the other side. "Oh, he's prepped. I need to go. Vaughn out."
“Chief Whittems has notoriously large feet,” Regina whispered to Harun Touvoy. None of her husbands had, yet, been Cardassian.
Before a hubbub arose again, Felix cleared his throat.
“Senior officers and bridge crew of the USS Lone Star. To some of you, welcome home.” He beamed to Monkfish, Freelove, the avatar of Animo, and Tonx. “To others, welcome to your new home.”
It was a speech he had given before. The first set of officers he’d addressed glanced between themselves with a knowing smile, except for Perdita.
“Ensign Burgundy,” he said unexpectedly. “You are relieved of your serving duties. Will you take Doctor Vaughn’s seat, please.”
Surprised and slightly shocked, Burgundy could only mutter a “yes, sir,” and sit down before the captain changed his mind.
“Every person has their tale, and every ship its song. See.” de l’Isle gestured to the display case containing the ships of the line, temporarily seconded from his ready room. “For all the Lone Stars whose songs are lost, it falls to us to write them anew: to tell our tale by her tiller, and to set straight the record about their good name, and ours.
“They are linked, those two destinies, unchangeably so. And so, unchanging, we say again...”
The five old-serving officers repeated the ship’s slogan in unison.
“Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.”
“May we go far together,” Felix concluded, holding his glass aloft. “Cheers.” The word repeated as a cheerful murmur. “Please take your seats. And, Chief, if you wouldn’t mind –”
Monkfish moved, briefly, to shoo away an uninvited heron.
-= [to be continued] =-
SD241901.24 - Take Your Station. [Felix/Harun]
-= Main Shuttlebay, USS Lone Star =-
Plenty of captains, upon captaincy, had an unfortunate tendency of meddling with parts of their vessel that had, in their previous career, been under their purview. Much to the distress of Petty Officer Lilipago, first class, Felix de l’Isle was one of them. Said captains tended to have the knack of optimising, fixing or disembowelling equipment that did not require it, applying their outdated knowledge to – in this case – fresh-off-the-line, otherwise flightworthy craft.
Lil watched from the shuttlebay’s mezzanine gallery, its background a room-sized screen speckled with spacial objects from the local area. The Araucana, one of the compact flight wing’s recon birds, had launched without warning, which meant an interloper, the captain or the chief helm. With the latter position unfilled, to her knowledge, the shuttle’s return and the appearance of an unusual face, simultaneously, divided her attention. She hadn’t seen a Cardassian since – well, for a while.
“Can – can I help you, sir?” she quizzed, the Araucana coming in hot, even by the skipper’s standards.
Harun had arrived on the Lone Star half an hour prior and was surprised to have no meeting party. After all, wouldn't everyone want to get a good gawk at the big-bad Cardassian that was joining the crew? He found that he was pleased by it because it meant that he could drop off his things at his quarters before he began looking for his commanding officer. Everyone was so helpful, Starfleet as Starfleet could be, in giving him directions to his quarters and then to where the Captain might be found.
He met the Petty Officer's eyes as he approached her, noting the slight bit of discomfort in her expression. Ah, now here was the reaction he was used to. He smiled at her in a way that seemed both menacing and pleasant. "I'm looking for Captain de l'Isle, I was told he could be found here." He turned his head now to the vessel making their approach and noted the angle and speed. Interesting, was the pilot practicing for combat? He folded his arms across his chest and just watched.
Lil matched his smile warily, jogged her head nonchalantly, and joined the direction of his gaze. The Araucana might have entered the bay like she was being chased but ended up square on her station. A crew sprung into action around her as the side hissed open. The captain emerged, grinned, slapped the shank of the vehicle and moved up to the control area.
Which contained a Cardassian: a meeting Felix had been expecting for three days, since his orders had come through. Given that both he and his XO were former pilots, the boots this man had to fill were sizeable. Adjusting his swagger to introductory mode, he stepped up to the mezzanine. A sideways glance was enough to dismiss Lilipago, who scuttled across to the Araucana to inspect it for the captain’s prerogative.
The air of confidence, or rather arrogance, that the Captain displayed as he strutted out of the vessel was not lost on Harun. Having been groomed to be a pilot since he had shown aptitude for it at the tender age of five Harun had spent a lot of time around pilots of every flavor and all of them, regardless of species or service, had a certain amount of imperiousness that seemed to radiate from them like an aura. Harun's oldest sister Seiji claimed he also displayed the same swagger at home, he supposed he did but when one was naturally gifted it couldn't be helped.
If Captain de I'lsle had been just a fellow pilot and not his commanding officer Harun would have made some complimentary but sarcastic remark, maybe even suggested he take a turn in the vessel to show the man how it was done. However, since de I'lsle was the captain and he was representing his government he had to mind his, as Kenji termed it, p's and q's. So he dropped his arms from his chest and held them to his sides at attention, clicking his heels together as he straightened and lifted his chin, the paragon of Cardassian military formality.
"Captain de I'Isle," he said by way of greeting, his voice a warm baritone though flattened by the rough edge of formal address, "Glinn Touvoy reporting."
“At ease.” Felix bypassed the rank for now. “That’s got to be a first: a Cardassian in the union’s uniform saluting a Starfleet captain.” He allowed the quip to float, but only for a moment. The captain scanned his new charge, reminding himself that his new helmsman likely thought very little of him. “And my new conn officer, no less.”
No open-ended questions; not just yet. Touvoy had a few inches over him, but Felix’s human imperiousness held its ground for the test of respect that was, inevitably, in progress.
Harun relaxed but barely and the eyes that originally faced forward to graze on the top of de I'Isle's head now slid to the man's face. The Cardassian's expression remained passive giving no hint to if he had been offended by the quip though a slight twitch of his brow ridge suggested it hadn't gone unnoticed. "You are my commanding officer," he said flatly, "Is it not Starfleet custom to render proper courtesies when one comes aboard?"
It was a rhetorical question. Both of them knew that it was. Just as it was custom to render those courtesies on the bridge rather than having to go hunting for one's commanding officer in a shuttle bay. Harun decided de I'Isle was one of those humans who was informal until it was personally convenient to flex the chain of command, Harun had no desire to be lulled into a false sense of security only to be ambushed and shamed later. Harun would stick to the formality.
Proper courtesy. While the young Glinn had passed his Starfleet acclimation training, the reality of humanity and its emotional flexibility had clearly not been a part of the course.
“The Lone Star isn’t a ship where everything happens by the book, Glinn. And every ship’s captain has the privilege and imperative to assert or discard formalities as they please.” Felix finally unlocked his gaze, returning it to the working floor of the main shuttlebay. “As a former pilot myself, I figured I’d chuck some of that courtesy out of the porthole and give you a tour of relevant facilities myself. Main shuttlebay, astrometrics, your departmental offices, and the bridge. Pretty rude of me, I suppose.”
While the Cardassian didn’t roll his eyes in frustration there was this sense that he wanted to, badly. He saw very clearly what Felix was trying to do and had already decided he wasn’t going to play the game. The last thing he needed was to let down his guard and have a result like San Francisco all over again. Inwardly, Harun sighed, it was going to be a very long three years.
“Your prerogative, Captain,” he said in that same tone though he let his gaze drift from Felix to the shuttlebay. He had taken the time to read and memorize the schematics of the Lone Star so in theory he would be able to find all those areas himself but he supposed he could indulge the human.
There were several reason that the problem cases came to the Lone Star: de l'Isle reminded himself that he was, allegedly, one of them. Over his ten years at the tiller no Cardassians had alighted onto his manifest amongst the myriad misfits, megalomaniacs and maddening geniuses. If he'd acclimatised a megalomaniac Tholian to Starfleet culture, a jumped-up Cardassian wouldn't be much of an issue.
"On board a starship it usually is," Felix said, his voice thinner of patience. "Come."
The CO changed pace rapidly, springing up the ladder into the observation gallery. "You'll have read and memorised the specifications of the Lone Star and her shuttlecraft. Petty Officer Liliipago runs the main shuttlebay and by extension all other launches, which she likes to come back in one piece. Your simulation scores were excellent on standard craft," Felix noted. "Slipstream is a different matter. With me."
Harun seemed almost to relax at the sudden shift in gears and he fell easily in step with Felix's pace. The truth was the Cardassian didn't trust it when people attempted to be overly friendly with him; two years of sideways glances and murmured racial slurs had led Harun to believe that when a member of Starfleet was being pleasant it meant they were being false. The one exception was his roommate at the Academy, Kenji Sato, but that was because the young engineer had been equal parts brutally honest and endlessly patient.
He stood just a step behind and to the left of Felix when they came up on the observation gallery, his hands clasped neutrally behind his back as his gaze slid from Felix to the shuttlebay. There wasn't a moments hesitation of complaint when Felix decided to move again, "I have read what was allowed to me about the slipstream at the Academy but they have not implemented any simulations in the curriculum yet. Apparently I was three years too early."
"Or three years ahead, depending on which way you look at it." The captain provided no destination as they marched along, but Touvoy would expect their next stop to be astrometrics. "Slipstream was removed from general training on stardate 2412, just before the launch of the second-generation drive. Our CEO, Commander Freelove, can talk you through the technical specifics. I've freed up holosuite six for your exclusive use from now until we get the go order from Admiral Stanton. Use it."
Anything the Cardassian might have said in reply died when they entered the astrometrics lab. Once he got over the initial dazzle of lights and technology, however, Harun observed that its layout was very... human. He had been in labs similar to this one both on Cardassia and on Vulcan, enough to give him the sense that every species had their own preference in terms of placement of equipment and flow. The Vulcan flow was logical, the Cardassian flow was efficient, the human flow seemed to be all about aesthetics.
He had shared his observation about space once with Kenji and the young Japanese man had laughed, telling him that he might have been a feng shui master in a past life. Harun had appreciated the ancient earth thought process of ordering the room even if the idea of it harmonizing the individuals within it as superstitious pseudo-science. He looked back at Felix, "I intend to, Captain. Though, I doubt it will substitute for the real thing."
Dry as a fucking stone, de l'Isle mused, although having an improviser at the conn was only useful in some situations. The man was in the finest known ship-board astrometrics lab in Starfleet, possibly the quadrant – better even than the Enterprise's. Not only that, he appeared completely unappeasable. He hadn't had the chance to practise at the Academy; now he was to be given unlimited opportunity, all he could do is complain. With no small amount of experience in tricky personalities, Felix understood rather suddenly why Harun Touvoy had been sent to the Lone Star, and how, precisely, he would create conflict.
"It won't. Slipstream has a unique feel to it. You'll need to log a significant number of hours over the coming week to handle the opening and closing shifts, and to master the mathematics, which constitute much of the accuracy of the leaps. Most of the middle of the journey will be left to engineering until you're deemed fully competent." By me, the captain resisted adding.
It hadn’t been said but Harun had picked up on it readily enough, his eyes slid to his commanding officer in a sideways glance. de I’Isle really expected it to take him that long to get a handle on the slipstream? It was on the tip of his tongue to inform the human that he had been groomed to pilot starships since he was four but Harun remembered himself.
“Of course,” he said evenly while his gaze went back to one of the displays, “I would expect it no other way, Captain.”
Felix's eyes gleamed. He had the handle of him now. A decade ago he'd been a fraction as arrogant. One hundred percent, even, one hundred and ten. And yet benign compared with a Cardassian whose birthright was to be the best: particularly, to be better than every other species. To dominate them in talent, strength and every other career. Despite the war and the magnanimity of the Federation, officers he knew felt deep injury from the Dominion War. Felix didn't remember it; friends, like Grey McArnh, did. His older friend's generation had lost their parents, their aunts, their extended family; colonies had been decimated and, when Cardassian colonies were decimated by the Dominion, that generation had rebuilt the quadrant. For a Cardassian to wear his own uniform at the conn of a Starfleet vessel – an experimental one at that – was no small earning.
Harun would have to learn; but he would have to learn by his own hand. Only that hand could not compromise the safety of the ship. As easy as the accomplished Glinn seemed to think it would be, it nevertheless took an exceptional pilot.
Later – down the corridor, passing crewmen familiar with Felix who nodded an 'aye, Captain', and in the turbolift – the human turned to the Cardassian.
"Which will it be? Glinn Touvoy?" His pronunciation was amateur and Felix knew it. "Or Lieutenant Touvoy?"
There were four seconds left until the doors would open to the bridge.
"I'll need to know," Felix emphasised.
Harun met the human's eyes with a slight narrowing of his own. Was this some sort of test? The only conclusion the Cardassian could draw as that Captain de I’Isle wanted to see if he would integrate with the crew or insist on remaining true to his origins. In the end Harun merely lifted his large, leather-clad shoulders in a shrug. “I will respond to either Captain, though I’ve noticed it makes others more comfortable if they use the Starfleet rank. Perhaps it makes the fact that they have a Cardy on board less intimidating.”
The slur slid off his tongue as if ice wouldn’t melt in his mouth. With the Dominion War still in recent memory Harun was perfectly aware that by virtue of his species he would be looked upon with hatred and suspicion. He had decided before he had even set foot in Starfleet that he wouldn’t let it bother him. In the old Earth vernacular, haters were going to hate.
The doors slapped open with the efficiency of a starship that had just had a refit.
"I won't have that term used on my ship," said Felix, with the hiss of the mechanics.
The Cardassian stared at Felix a moment, the ridge of his right eye raised as if he didn’t quite believe the Captain’s words. Not used? Was Captain de I’Isle really that naïve or had he slept through the part in his history lessons about the Dominion War? Or the Cardassian War for that matter. After what seemed like a longer moment than it actually was Harun nodded, “Of course, Captain.”
It was a shorter moment. Chief Monkfish was nothing if not prompt.
"Captain on the bridge," she asserted, her first word dovetailing with Harun's last. Felix bounced to the command centre's central platform, addressing his company with a nod. As quick as he'd arrived he turned to face his newest officer, then gestured to the seat he'd occupied as a helmsman.
"Take your station, Mister Touvey."
The captain's emphasis was deliberate: an invitation to one conclusion, or another.
-=-
by Captain Felix de l'Isle and Glinn [Lieutenant] Touvey
Plenty of captains, upon captaincy, had an unfortunate tendency of meddling with parts of their vessel that had, in their previous career, been under their purview. Much to the distress of Petty Officer Lilipago, first class, Felix de l’Isle was one of them. Said captains tended to have the knack of optimising, fixing or disembowelling equipment that did not require it, applying their outdated knowledge to – in this case – fresh-off-the-line, otherwise flightworthy craft.
Lil watched from the shuttlebay’s mezzanine gallery, its background a room-sized screen speckled with spacial objects from the local area. The Araucana, one of the compact flight wing’s recon birds, had launched without warning, which meant an interloper, the captain or the chief helm. With the latter position unfilled, to her knowledge, the shuttle’s return and the appearance of an unusual face, simultaneously, divided her attention. She hadn’t seen a Cardassian since – well, for a while.
“Can – can I help you, sir?” she quizzed, the Araucana coming in hot, even by the skipper’s standards.
Harun had arrived on the Lone Star half an hour prior and was surprised to have no meeting party. After all, wouldn't everyone want to get a good gawk at the big-bad Cardassian that was joining the crew? He found that he was pleased by it because it meant that he could drop off his things at his quarters before he began looking for his commanding officer. Everyone was so helpful, Starfleet as Starfleet could be, in giving him directions to his quarters and then to where the Captain might be found.
He met the Petty Officer's eyes as he approached her, noting the slight bit of discomfort in her expression. Ah, now here was the reaction he was used to. He smiled at her in a way that seemed both menacing and pleasant. "I'm looking for Captain de l'Isle, I was told he could be found here." He turned his head now to the vessel making their approach and noted the angle and speed. Interesting, was the pilot practicing for combat? He folded his arms across his chest and just watched.
Lil matched his smile warily, jogged her head nonchalantly, and joined the direction of his gaze. The Araucana might have entered the bay like she was being chased but ended up square on her station. A crew sprung into action around her as the side hissed open. The captain emerged, grinned, slapped the shank of the vehicle and moved up to the control area.
Which contained a Cardassian: a meeting Felix had been expecting for three days, since his orders had come through. Given that both he and his XO were former pilots, the boots this man had to fill were sizeable. Adjusting his swagger to introductory mode, he stepped up to the mezzanine. A sideways glance was enough to dismiss Lilipago, who scuttled across to the Araucana to inspect it for the captain’s prerogative.
The air of confidence, or rather arrogance, that the Captain displayed as he strutted out of the vessel was not lost on Harun. Having been groomed to be a pilot since he had shown aptitude for it at the tender age of five Harun had spent a lot of time around pilots of every flavor and all of them, regardless of species or service, had a certain amount of imperiousness that seemed to radiate from them like an aura. Harun's oldest sister Seiji claimed he also displayed the same swagger at home, he supposed he did but when one was naturally gifted it couldn't be helped.
If Captain de I'lsle had been just a fellow pilot and not his commanding officer Harun would have made some complimentary but sarcastic remark, maybe even suggested he take a turn in the vessel to show the man how it was done. However, since de I'lsle was the captain and he was representing his government he had to mind his, as Kenji termed it, p's and q's. So he dropped his arms from his chest and held them to his sides at attention, clicking his heels together as he straightened and lifted his chin, the paragon of Cardassian military formality.
"Captain de I'Isle," he said by way of greeting, his voice a warm baritone though flattened by the rough edge of formal address, "Glinn Touvoy reporting."
“At ease.” Felix bypassed the rank for now. “That’s got to be a first: a Cardassian in the union’s uniform saluting a Starfleet captain.” He allowed the quip to float, but only for a moment. The captain scanned his new charge, reminding himself that his new helmsman likely thought very little of him. “And my new conn officer, no less.”
No open-ended questions; not just yet. Touvoy had a few inches over him, but Felix’s human imperiousness held its ground for the test of respect that was, inevitably, in progress.
Harun relaxed but barely and the eyes that originally faced forward to graze on the top of de I'Isle's head now slid to the man's face. The Cardassian's expression remained passive giving no hint to if he had been offended by the quip though a slight twitch of his brow ridge suggested it hadn't gone unnoticed. "You are my commanding officer," he said flatly, "Is it not Starfleet custom to render proper courtesies when one comes aboard?"
It was a rhetorical question. Both of them knew that it was. Just as it was custom to render those courtesies on the bridge rather than having to go hunting for one's commanding officer in a shuttle bay. Harun decided de I'Isle was one of those humans who was informal until it was personally convenient to flex the chain of command, Harun had no desire to be lulled into a false sense of security only to be ambushed and shamed later. Harun would stick to the formality.
Proper courtesy. While the young Glinn had passed his Starfleet acclimation training, the reality of humanity and its emotional flexibility had clearly not been a part of the course.
“The Lone Star isn’t a ship where everything happens by the book, Glinn. And every ship’s captain has the privilege and imperative to assert or discard formalities as they please.” Felix finally unlocked his gaze, returning it to the working floor of the main shuttlebay. “As a former pilot myself, I figured I’d chuck some of that courtesy out of the porthole and give you a tour of relevant facilities myself. Main shuttlebay, astrometrics, your departmental offices, and the bridge. Pretty rude of me, I suppose.”
While the Cardassian didn’t roll his eyes in frustration there was this sense that he wanted to, badly. He saw very clearly what Felix was trying to do and had already decided he wasn’t going to play the game. The last thing he needed was to let down his guard and have a result like San Francisco all over again. Inwardly, Harun sighed, it was going to be a very long three years.
“Your prerogative, Captain,” he said in that same tone though he let his gaze drift from Felix to the shuttlebay. He had taken the time to read and memorize the schematics of the Lone Star so in theory he would be able to find all those areas himself but he supposed he could indulge the human.
There were several reason that the problem cases came to the Lone Star: de l'Isle reminded himself that he was, allegedly, one of them. Over his ten years at the tiller no Cardassians had alighted onto his manifest amongst the myriad misfits, megalomaniacs and maddening geniuses. If he'd acclimatised a megalomaniac Tholian to Starfleet culture, a jumped-up Cardassian wouldn't be much of an issue.
"On board a starship it usually is," Felix said, his voice thinner of patience. "Come."
The CO changed pace rapidly, springing up the ladder into the observation gallery. "You'll have read and memorised the specifications of the Lone Star and her shuttlecraft. Petty Officer Liliipago runs the main shuttlebay and by extension all other launches, which she likes to come back in one piece. Your simulation scores were excellent on standard craft," Felix noted. "Slipstream is a different matter. With me."
Harun seemed almost to relax at the sudden shift in gears and he fell easily in step with Felix's pace. The truth was the Cardassian didn't trust it when people attempted to be overly friendly with him; two years of sideways glances and murmured racial slurs had led Harun to believe that when a member of Starfleet was being pleasant it meant they were being false. The one exception was his roommate at the Academy, Kenji Sato, but that was because the young engineer had been equal parts brutally honest and endlessly patient.
He stood just a step behind and to the left of Felix when they came up on the observation gallery, his hands clasped neutrally behind his back as his gaze slid from Felix to the shuttlebay. There wasn't a moments hesitation of complaint when Felix decided to move again, "I have read what was allowed to me about the slipstream at the Academy but they have not implemented any simulations in the curriculum yet. Apparently I was three years too early."
"Or three years ahead, depending on which way you look at it." The captain provided no destination as they marched along, but Touvoy would expect their next stop to be astrometrics. "Slipstream was removed from general training on stardate 2412, just before the launch of the second-generation drive. Our CEO, Commander Freelove, can talk you through the technical specifics. I've freed up holosuite six for your exclusive use from now until we get the go order from Admiral Stanton. Use it."
Anything the Cardassian might have said in reply died when they entered the astrometrics lab. Once he got over the initial dazzle of lights and technology, however, Harun observed that its layout was very... human. He had been in labs similar to this one both on Cardassia and on Vulcan, enough to give him the sense that every species had their own preference in terms of placement of equipment and flow. The Vulcan flow was logical, the Cardassian flow was efficient, the human flow seemed to be all about aesthetics.
He had shared his observation about space once with Kenji and the young Japanese man had laughed, telling him that he might have been a feng shui master in a past life. Harun had appreciated the ancient earth thought process of ordering the room even if the idea of it harmonizing the individuals within it as superstitious pseudo-science. He looked back at Felix, "I intend to, Captain. Though, I doubt it will substitute for the real thing."
Dry as a fucking stone, de l'Isle mused, although having an improviser at the conn was only useful in some situations. The man was in the finest known ship-board astrometrics lab in Starfleet, possibly the quadrant – better even than the Enterprise's. Not only that, he appeared completely unappeasable. He hadn't had the chance to practise at the Academy; now he was to be given unlimited opportunity, all he could do is complain. With no small amount of experience in tricky personalities, Felix understood rather suddenly why Harun Touvoy had been sent to the Lone Star, and how, precisely, he would create conflict.
"It won't. Slipstream has a unique feel to it. You'll need to log a significant number of hours over the coming week to handle the opening and closing shifts, and to master the mathematics, which constitute much of the accuracy of the leaps. Most of the middle of the journey will be left to engineering until you're deemed fully competent." By me, the captain resisted adding.
It hadn’t been said but Harun had picked up on it readily enough, his eyes slid to his commanding officer in a sideways glance. de I’Isle really expected it to take him that long to get a handle on the slipstream? It was on the tip of his tongue to inform the human that he had been groomed to pilot starships since he was four but Harun remembered himself.
“Of course,” he said evenly while his gaze went back to one of the displays, “I would expect it no other way, Captain.”
Felix's eyes gleamed. He had the handle of him now. A decade ago he'd been a fraction as arrogant. One hundred percent, even, one hundred and ten. And yet benign compared with a Cardassian whose birthright was to be the best: particularly, to be better than every other species. To dominate them in talent, strength and every other career. Despite the war and the magnanimity of the Federation, officers he knew felt deep injury from the Dominion War. Felix didn't remember it; friends, like Grey McArnh, did. His older friend's generation had lost their parents, their aunts, their extended family; colonies had been decimated and, when Cardassian colonies were decimated by the Dominion, that generation had rebuilt the quadrant. For a Cardassian to wear his own uniform at the conn of a Starfleet vessel – an experimental one at that – was no small earning.
Harun would have to learn; but he would have to learn by his own hand. Only that hand could not compromise the safety of the ship. As easy as the accomplished Glinn seemed to think it would be, it nevertheless took an exceptional pilot.
Later – down the corridor, passing crewmen familiar with Felix who nodded an 'aye, Captain', and in the turbolift – the human turned to the Cardassian.
"Which will it be? Glinn Touvoy?" His pronunciation was amateur and Felix knew it. "Or Lieutenant Touvoy?"
There were four seconds left until the doors would open to the bridge.
"I'll need to know," Felix emphasised.
Harun met the human's eyes with a slight narrowing of his own. Was this some sort of test? The only conclusion the Cardassian could draw as that Captain de I’Isle wanted to see if he would integrate with the crew or insist on remaining true to his origins. In the end Harun merely lifted his large, leather-clad shoulders in a shrug. “I will respond to either Captain, though I’ve noticed it makes others more comfortable if they use the Starfleet rank. Perhaps it makes the fact that they have a Cardy on board less intimidating.”
The slur slid off his tongue as if ice wouldn’t melt in his mouth. With the Dominion War still in recent memory Harun was perfectly aware that by virtue of his species he would be looked upon with hatred and suspicion. He had decided before he had even set foot in Starfleet that he wouldn’t let it bother him. In the old Earth vernacular, haters were going to hate.
The doors slapped open with the efficiency of a starship that had just had a refit.
"I won't have that term used on my ship," said Felix, with the hiss of the mechanics.
The Cardassian stared at Felix a moment, the ridge of his right eye raised as if he didn’t quite believe the Captain’s words. Not used? Was Captain de I’Isle really that naïve or had he slept through the part in his history lessons about the Dominion War? Or the Cardassian War for that matter. After what seemed like a longer moment than it actually was Harun nodded, “Of course, Captain.”
It was a shorter moment. Chief Monkfish was nothing if not prompt.
"Captain on the bridge," she asserted, her first word dovetailing with Harun's last. Felix bounced to the command centre's central platform, addressing his company with a nod. As quick as he'd arrived he turned to face his newest officer, then gestured to the seat he'd occupied as a helmsman.
"Take your station, Mister Touvey."
The captain's emphasis was deliberate: an invitation to one conclusion, or another.
-=-
by Captain Felix de l'Isle and Glinn [Lieutenant] Touvey
SD201901.18 - What the ship needs [Harun/Burgundy]
Representing the Science Department at the Captain's get-together was
not, Burgundy had started to learn, a simple affair. He had been given
very precise instructions on what to do and where to be. A lot of it
sounded to his ears like chores, but for once he gave it the benefit of
doubt. His department head had offered an olive branch, and if it came
attached to ludicrous traditions then, well, he'd only do this the one
time.
Presently he found himself in a bar. While he would normally consider that a good place to be the grocery list of liqours in his hand reminded him that it was for [i]work[/i] this time. He sighed as he went through the items in his head. Was "Refikian Spirit Spirit" even a real thing? A liqour for souls? Made of souls? A soul who listened to soul? The ensign snorted and sat down at a bar stool. He would allow himself some wallowing in self-pity for the arduous task placed upon him. A short respite. And a beer.
He turned to look for the bartender and found himself facing a Cardassian in full uniform and a martini glass in hand. Before he could stop himself he stared in surprise, turned away and looked back again. The man was still there.
"I'm hallucinating, and I haven't even started drinking yet," he said, not fully realising that he voiced that thought out loud.
Hazel eyes that looked darker in the shadows of Harun's eye ridges fixed on the little Star Fleet officer, raking over the teal-blue highlights of the man's uniform before narrowing with annoyance. He supposed someone was going to say something eventually but he hadn't expected it quite so soon and from a little medical officer no less.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the ensign where to put his hallucinations but he stopped remembering the last time he'd shot his mouth off at a bar to a member of Star Fleet. No, he had learned his lesson, he supposed Kenji would be proud. So, shoving down his annoyance he smiled and said, "No hallucination, just a good martini."
He raised his glass to emphasize the point and took a sip of his drink. "You look like you could use one," he said and raised his hand to flag down the bar tender.
Burgundy snorted a short laugh. "I've never tasted a 'good martini' in my entire life," he said, smiling defiantly and emphasizing with air quotations. The ensign was too self-absorbed to understand that he had just insulted someone, and a Cardassian at that. Ever since waking up, every day had offered surreal moments to him. Most of the time because of his department head, whom he was starting to suspect had made it a personal mission to drive everyone around them insane. Compared to most of those moments this one felt like an innocent and welcome distraction. "Nah," he continued, "humans have weird tastes in liqour. And they have no Prepondrian beverages in the replicator databases, because of some stupid age old imperial edict. Poor me have only found one alcoholic drink to be passable." He turned to the bartender, briefly wondering if it was a hologram or if it would purse its lips rudely like all the real bartenders did to him. "A Warmpess beer, luke warm and with a big splash of white wine vinegar."
The bartender pursed its lips rudely, but didn't say anything. Hologram or not? Burgundy wasn't sure. He eyed its back suspiciously for a moment before turning to his new company. "So, what's a Cardassian military officer doing here? Have we been occupied? Because I know a few people who'd be great prisoners and a lot of fun torturing," His smile was quizzical and not entirely sincere as he thought about the many officers on the Lone Star who had already offended him in his short time here.
Harun couldn't help but give a sympathetic glance to the bar tender, poor man probably dealt with fussy Star Fleet officers and their fastidious tastes every day. Cardassians were rarely so demanding when it came to drinking, so long as it wasn't overly sweet and had enough alcohol to pickle the liver. However, he recalled when Kenji had introduced him to a warm liquor called Plumb Sake. Harun had wanted to claw out his tongue for the sweetness until the alcohol hit and then it wasn't half bad, especially when the grilled and salted cephalopods were brought out.
Taking another measured sip of his martini in order to keep himself from saying something equally insulting back at the little Prepondrian, Harun quirked an eyebrow at the mention of occupation. "Why?" he inquired letting his eyes drop down into the glass as it left his lips. His eyes lifted slowly to the ensign's as his head tilted, "Are you looking to be occupied?"
Harun felt no real attraction to the Prepondrian but the suggestiveness of the comment could potentially get the man to shut up. Few people really knew what to do with themselves when hit on by a Cardassian. Harun waited to see if his gamble paid off.
The Starfleet officer blinked at first, confused. He couldn’t tell whether his impromptu drinking company was being serious or not.
Then again, being liked was the best thing in the world, wasn’t it? Why question it?
He sat up a little bit straighter and beamed at the Cardassian warrior. ”Why not me, personally, but thank you for the show of interest!” he offered enthusiastically. ”I’m Burgundy. Science officer at the USS L-” he hesitated, suddenly aware of his ship’s, and by extension his own, reputation. ”Lantern,” he finished then. ”Just here for a very short errand.”
Just then the bartender handed the ensign his ordered drink. Burgundy eyed it a little, noting the beads of condensation forming on the glass. The beer was cold. It was his turn to purse his lips, but instead of commenting on it he took the opportunity to hand his list over, asking the bartender to provide him with an anti-grav trolley with all the items. Then he turned back to the man he now saw as an admirer. ”What brings you to a Starfleet station?”
"The Lantern," Harun repeated in a thoughtful tone while his eyes never left Burgundy, "I don't believe I've heard of that ship." Back when he had his pick of assignments he had taken the time to study the Federation Fleet in its entirety but he didn't recall a Lantern, given his excellent Cardassian memory he doubted he'd overlooked it. Perhaps it was a science vessel? Made sense since Burgundy was a science officer.
Harun resumed sipping his martini as the Ensign handed his grocery list to the bartender who looked none to happy to receive it. He decided then he would leave the man a tip, after all given the Lone Star operated from the station it would be good to make friends with the bartender. He set down the nearly empty glass as Burgundy asked his question, "I'm assigned to a Starfleet vessel. Why else would I be here?"
The exchange program between Starfleet and the Cardassian Union was no great secret. Four of his compatriots were either on or headed to Space Stations just like this one to start their assignments. The initial agreement was three years with an option to extend into five. Harun didn't know if he would be given the option or if he would want to spend two more years away from Cardassia, he was certain his father would have opinions on the subject.
"It's new," said Burgundy of the fictitious USS Lantern. He proceeded quickly to the other topic, unwilling to dig himself deeper in that particular lie. "Assigned to a Starfleet vessel, you say?" the ensign only paid a small amount of attention to the Cardassian at this point, as the bartender came over with an anti-grav trolley with what he assumed was his order. "That's not nearly all the things I ordered! What is this? Eight keggs of beer, two crates of champagne and a box with -" he opened it and peered inside, "- four other odd liqours! I had a list of nine!"
The bartender gave him an indifferent look and handed back the list. "There are no drinks called either 'Pheromones', 'Hades Delight', 'Orthodox', 'Odd Nog' or 'Litterbottle'." Burgundy wasn't given a chance to reply, as customers called for attention farther away. Instead he stared at the last five items on the list. For the first time he saw the alliteration of the first letters: PHOOL. Strange way of spelling it, sure, but the meaning was obvious.
Annoyed the Prepondrian turned to Harun, "Let me give you a piece of advice, mate; Starfleet is shit. Utter. Fucking. Shit." He stopped for half a breath to let that sink in, feeling rather good to have someone listen to his truthtelling - albeit someone who hadn't exactly volunteered for it. "It's full of stuck up idiots who love nothing more than to screw up your life. Take a page from the playbook of the arch-Cardassian Gul Dukat and kick some ass to let them know their place," he finished his tirade off by taking his beer and pourig it out in the sink on the other side of the bar.
The Cardassian merely nodded acknowledgement but said nothing further in regards to his assignment since Ensign Burgundy was preoccupied. When the bar tender turned to go, he raised his glass, tipping it back and forth so that the motion caught the man’s eye. “Another one of these if you please,” he said and then returned his attention to Burgundy, rather his list.
Phool. A little hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but was quickly gone as soon as the exasperated Burgundy turned to him. Years of having two nosy younger sisters had taught Harun the value of hiding his emotions behind a mask of indifference. He listened to the Prepondrian rant, nodding and making polite, sympathetic noises in the appropriate places. Ultimately, he found it very amusing that the little science officer was letting himself get flustered over a mild prank. Then again, Burgundy had fallen for the prank so Harun supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.
Harun’s expression froze a little at the mention of his grandfather but he recovered quickly and simply smiled. He knew the name Dukat was infamous beyond the boarders of Cardassian space but he hadn't expected to be met with it. He only hoped Burgundy didn't notice the slight lapse. “I will keep that in mind,” he said and decided to add a little flattery to soothe the man, “I appreciate your candor.”
Burgundy was about to go off on another rant, but caught himself. Politeness was a bit of a mood killer, in that regard. It's hard to stay mad when someone's being nice to you. He settled for a shrug instead. "You're welcome," he acknowledged. "Have a good day," he added then, as he started steering the anti-grav trolley out of the bar. He paid little attention to the reciprocrate adieu from his new Cardassian aquintance, expending his focus instead on composing a mental list of predators that could be convinced to eat a lump of jelly.
Presently he found himself in a bar. While he would normally consider that a good place to be the grocery list of liqours in his hand reminded him that it was for [i]work[/i] this time. He sighed as he went through the items in his head. Was "Refikian Spirit Spirit" even a real thing? A liqour for souls? Made of souls? A soul who listened to soul? The ensign snorted and sat down at a bar stool. He would allow himself some wallowing in self-pity for the arduous task placed upon him. A short respite. And a beer.
He turned to look for the bartender and found himself facing a Cardassian in full uniform and a martini glass in hand. Before he could stop himself he stared in surprise, turned away and looked back again. The man was still there.
"I'm hallucinating, and I haven't even started drinking yet," he said, not fully realising that he voiced that thought out loud.
Hazel eyes that looked darker in the shadows of Harun's eye ridges fixed on the little Star Fleet officer, raking over the teal-blue highlights of the man's uniform before narrowing with annoyance. He supposed someone was going to say something eventually but he hadn't expected it quite so soon and from a little medical officer no less.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the ensign where to put his hallucinations but he stopped remembering the last time he'd shot his mouth off at a bar to a member of Star Fleet. No, he had learned his lesson, he supposed Kenji would be proud. So, shoving down his annoyance he smiled and said, "No hallucination, just a good martini."
He raised his glass to emphasize the point and took a sip of his drink. "You look like you could use one," he said and raised his hand to flag down the bar tender.
Burgundy snorted a short laugh. "I've never tasted a 'good martini' in my entire life," he said, smiling defiantly and emphasizing with air quotations. The ensign was too self-absorbed to understand that he had just insulted someone, and a Cardassian at that. Ever since waking up, every day had offered surreal moments to him. Most of the time because of his department head, whom he was starting to suspect had made it a personal mission to drive everyone around them insane. Compared to most of those moments this one felt like an innocent and welcome distraction. "Nah," he continued, "humans have weird tastes in liqour. And they have no Prepondrian beverages in the replicator databases, because of some stupid age old imperial edict. Poor me have only found one alcoholic drink to be passable." He turned to the bartender, briefly wondering if it was a hologram or if it would purse its lips rudely like all the real bartenders did to him. "A Warmpess beer, luke warm and with a big splash of white wine vinegar."
The bartender pursed its lips rudely, but didn't say anything. Hologram or not? Burgundy wasn't sure. He eyed its back suspiciously for a moment before turning to his new company. "So, what's a Cardassian military officer doing here? Have we been occupied? Because I know a few people who'd be great prisoners and a lot of fun torturing," His smile was quizzical and not entirely sincere as he thought about the many officers on the Lone Star who had already offended him in his short time here.
Harun couldn't help but give a sympathetic glance to the bar tender, poor man probably dealt with fussy Star Fleet officers and their fastidious tastes every day. Cardassians were rarely so demanding when it came to drinking, so long as it wasn't overly sweet and had enough alcohol to pickle the liver. However, he recalled when Kenji had introduced him to a warm liquor called Plumb Sake. Harun had wanted to claw out his tongue for the sweetness until the alcohol hit and then it wasn't half bad, especially when the grilled and salted cephalopods were brought out.
Taking another measured sip of his martini in order to keep himself from saying something equally insulting back at the little Prepondrian, Harun quirked an eyebrow at the mention of occupation. "Why?" he inquired letting his eyes drop down into the glass as it left his lips. His eyes lifted slowly to the ensign's as his head tilted, "Are you looking to be occupied?"
Harun felt no real attraction to the Prepondrian but the suggestiveness of the comment could potentially get the man to shut up. Few people really knew what to do with themselves when hit on by a Cardassian. Harun waited to see if his gamble paid off.
The Starfleet officer blinked at first, confused. He couldn’t tell whether his impromptu drinking company was being serious or not.
Then again, being liked was the best thing in the world, wasn’t it? Why question it?
He sat up a little bit straighter and beamed at the Cardassian warrior. ”Why not me, personally, but thank you for the show of interest!” he offered enthusiastically. ”I’m Burgundy. Science officer at the USS L-” he hesitated, suddenly aware of his ship’s, and by extension his own, reputation. ”Lantern,” he finished then. ”Just here for a very short errand.”
Just then the bartender handed the ensign his ordered drink. Burgundy eyed it a little, noting the beads of condensation forming on the glass. The beer was cold. It was his turn to purse his lips, but instead of commenting on it he took the opportunity to hand his list over, asking the bartender to provide him with an anti-grav trolley with all the items. Then he turned back to the man he now saw as an admirer. ”What brings you to a Starfleet station?”
"The Lantern," Harun repeated in a thoughtful tone while his eyes never left Burgundy, "I don't believe I've heard of that ship." Back when he had his pick of assignments he had taken the time to study the Federation Fleet in its entirety but he didn't recall a Lantern, given his excellent Cardassian memory he doubted he'd overlooked it. Perhaps it was a science vessel? Made sense since Burgundy was a science officer.
Harun resumed sipping his martini as the Ensign handed his grocery list to the bartender who looked none to happy to receive it. He decided then he would leave the man a tip, after all given the Lone Star operated from the station it would be good to make friends with the bartender. He set down the nearly empty glass as Burgundy asked his question, "I'm assigned to a Starfleet vessel. Why else would I be here?"
The exchange program between Starfleet and the Cardassian Union was no great secret. Four of his compatriots were either on or headed to Space Stations just like this one to start their assignments. The initial agreement was three years with an option to extend into five. Harun didn't know if he would be given the option or if he would want to spend two more years away from Cardassia, he was certain his father would have opinions on the subject.
"It's new," said Burgundy of the fictitious USS Lantern. He proceeded quickly to the other topic, unwilling to dig himself deeper in that particular lie. "Assigned to a Starfleet vessel, you say?" the ensign only paid a small amount of attention to the Cardassian at this point, as the bartender came over with an anti-grav trolley with what he assumed was his order. "That's not nearly all the things I ordered! What is this? Eight keggs of beer, two crates of champagne and a box with -" he opened it and peered inside, "- four other odd liqours! I had a list of nine!"
The bartender gave him an indifferent look and handed back the list. "There are no drinks called either 'Pheromones', 'Hades Delight', 'Orthodox', 'Odd Nog' or 'Litterbottle'." Burgundy wasn't given a chance to reply, as customers called for attention farther away. Instead he stared at the last five items on the list. For the first time he saw the alliteration of the first letters: PHOOL. Strange way of spelling it, sure, but the meaning was obvious.
Annoyed the Prepondrian turned to Harun, "Let me give you a piece of advice, mate; Starfleet is shit. Utter. Fucking. Shit." He stopped for half a breath to let that sink in, feeling rather good to have someone listen to his truthtelling - albeit someone who hadn't exactly volunteered for it. "It's full of stuck up idiots who love nothing more than to screw up your life. Take a page from the playbook of the arch-Cardassian Gul Dukat and kick some ass to let them know their place," he finished his tirade off by taking his beer and pourig it out in the sink on the other side of the bar.
The Cardassian merely nodded acknowledgement but said nothing further in regards to his assignment since Ensign Burgundy was preoccupied. When the bar tender turned to go, he raised his glass, tipping it back and forth so that the motion caught the man’s eye. “Another one of these if you please,” he said and then returned his attention to Burgundy, rather his list.
Phool. A little hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but was quickly gone as soon as the exasperated Burgundy turned to him. Years of having two nosy younger sisters had taught Harun the value of hiding his emotions behind a mask of indifference. He listened to the Prepondrian rant, nodding and making polite, sympathetic noises in the appropriate places. Ultimately, he found it very amusing that the little science officer was letting himself get flustered over a mild prank. Then again, Burgundy had fallen for the prank so Harun supposed he shouldn’t be surprised.
Harun’s expression froze a little at the mention of his grandfather but he recovered quickly and simply smiled. He knew the name Dukat was infamous beyond the boarders of Cardassian space but he hadn't expected to be met with it. He only hoped Burgundy didn't notice the slight lapse. “I will keep that in mind,” he said and decided to add a little flattery to soothe the man, “I appreciate your candor.”
Burgundy was about to go off on another rant, but caught himself. Politeness was a bit of a mood killer, in that regard. It's hard to stay mad when someone's being nice to you. He settled for a shrug instead. "You're welcome," he acknowledged. "Have a good day," he added then, as he started steering the anti-grav trolley out of the bar. He paid little attention to the reciprocrate adieu from his new Cardassian aquintance, expending his focus instead on composing a mental list of predators that could be convinced to eat a lump of jelly.
SD241901.17 - "The Beep Chronicles" [Edie]
“Come on Edie. You can do it!” It was an encouraging voice, but it may
have well of been the incomprehensible ramblings of some boring
academic.
Edie was drenched in sweat as she attempted to maintain her momentum running across the room. It was a sight to anyone lucky enough to be in the gym/workout area of the Lone Star. She was wearing bright and tight neon leggings with fluffy pink leg warmers - her oversized grey tarty sweater was drenched in sweat as well. Her headband was a hunter orange. Of course, she wore a pair of large oversized plastic hoop earrings too.
Several days prior, after having finished their run around the galaxy testing Lonie’s engines, one of Edie’s officers had suggested they have a work out together. Edie knew she was out of shape and could probably use the training, so she gleefully accepted - naive to her own vast incapabilities in any type of aerobic demands.
The moment this ‘beep’ test had commenced. Edie had contemplated the very meaning of life itself. A few more minutes into it and she was looking around the room for the nearest med-kit, convinced that this would cause a coronary event of some sort which would be the end of her.
“I…. Oh my child…. I can’t…” Edie’s momentum slowed now. The young Rigelian officer, Lieutenant Brail continued onwards, Edie could swear she heard an audible chuckle from the woman.
“Why.. Who would subject themselves to this… Willingly?” She stopped now, panting for breath as she managed to spit her words out. Edie’s idea of a good work out was carrying two margaritas around the room instead of one.
“You.. Go on… I’m going.. To go lie in the corner.. Over there…” The CEO gave a dramatic point to the nearest corner of the room and waddled her way over, happily falling into it on her behind with a satisfying sigh.
It took a few minutes but she managed to gain hold of her breath again. “Lieutenant. As far as you’re concerned. I ran circles around the room. Understood?” She looked up at Bail with a stern grandmotherly approach.
“Of course Ma’am. Circles. Lots of them.” Bail grinned and continued to run back and forth.
~~ Some time later ~~
Edie lie in a tub full of hot water and bubbles. She figured her hard work earlier in the gym warranted a good soak. To her right on the ledge of the tub was a cold and fresh margarita and several PADDs, filled with unfinished reports. She would get to those eventually but she had a much more pressing issue to address.
Felix had tasked her with telling the story of the Lone Star-J during his upcoming Captain’s table event. She was looking forward to the evening and had already started patching together her most fabulous and flamboyant evening-wear dress to date. She grabbed the largest of the three PADDs with her left hand and began tapping away on it with her right, browsing through the available records.
“Oh….” She raised a brow. There were several redacted entries regarding the J. This certainly wouldn’t be as a easy as she had thought. Edie had made a promise to her Captain several years prior that she would not hack into classified files anymore, it had been a former past-time of hers.
It seemed as though that promise was going to need to be put on pause.
=/\= End Log =/\=
Commander Edith “Edie” Freelove
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Lone Star
Edie was drenched in sweat as she attempted to maintain her momentum running across the room. It was a sight to anyone lucky enough to be in the gym/workout area of the Lone Star. She was wearing bright and tight neon leggings with fluffy pink leg warmers - her oversized grey tarty sweater was drenched in sweat as well. Her headband was a hunter orange. Of course, she wore a pair of large oversized plastic hoop earrings too.
Several days prior, after having finished their run around the galaxy testing Lonie’s engines, one of Edie’s officers had suggested they have a work out together. Edie knew she was out of shape and could probably use the training, so she gleefully accepted - naive to her own vast incapabilities in any type of aerobic demands.
The moment this ‘beep’ test had commenced. Edie had contemplated the very meaning of life itself. A few more minutes into it and she was looking around the room for the nearest med-kit, convinced that this would cause a coronary event of some sort which would be the end of her.
“I…. Oh my child…. I can’t…” Edie’s momentum slowed now. The young Rigelian officer, Lieutenant Brail continued onwards, Edie could swear she heard an audible chuckle from the woman.
“Why.. Who would subject themselves to this… Willingly?” She stopped now, panting for breath as she managed to spit her words out. Edie’s idea of a good work out was carrying two margaritas around the room instead of one.
“You.. Go on… I’m going.. To go lie in the corner.. Over there…” The CEO gave a dramatic point to the nearest corner of the room and waddled her way over, happily falling into it on her behind with a satisfying sigh.
It took a few minutes but she managed to gain hold of her breath again. “Lieutenant. As far as you’re concerned. I ran circles around the room. Understood?” She looked up at Bail with a stern grandmotherly approach.
“Of course Ma’am. Circles. Lots of them.” Bail grinned and continued to run back and forth.
~~ Some time later ~~
Edie lie in a tub full of hot water and bubbles. She figured her hard work earlier in the gym warranted a good soak. To her right on the ledge of the tub was a cold and fresh margarita and several PADDs, filled with unfinished reports. She would get to those eventually but she had a much more pressing issue to address.
Felix had tasked her with telling the story of the Lone Star-J during his upcoming Captain’s table event. She was looking forward to the evening and had already started patching together her most fabulous and flamboyant evening-wear dress to date. She grabbed the largest of the three PADDs with her left hand and began tapping away on it with her right, browsing through the available records.
“Oh….” She raised a brow. There were several redacted entries regarding the J. This certainly wouldn’t be as a easy as she had thought. Edie had made a promise to her Captain several years prior that she would not hack into classified files anymore, it had been a former past-time of hers.
It seemed as though that promise was going to need to be put on pause.
=/\= End Log =/\=
Commander Edith “Edie” Freelove
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Lone Star
SD241901.13 - Strange Company [Harun]
"Gin-Martini, dirty"
Rune settled himself on the bar stool and kept his eyes firmly on the bartender, ignoring the stares he received from just about everyone in the bar. Two years among the Federation, Rune was used to being the lone Cardassian in the room but still he could feel the irritation creeping up his neck ridges and causing his jaw to tighten. As if they didn't have anything better to stare at.
The bar tender, an older human who looked as if he'd been around the quadrant a few times, stared at him calmly before turning towards the back of the bar to get Rune's drink. Rune wondered if the bar tender expected him to order a Cardassian drink, he supposed he could have but ever since his roommate Kenji Sato at the Academy had introduced him to gin martini's he found himself ordering the drink more often. Besides, the sour-salty taste reminded him of a drink he used to enjoy in childhood though he couldn't remember the name of it.
He had been on Kincardine Station only a day but that was long enough to decide he didn't want to stay any longer than he had to. Not that the Station wasn't without its charms but he desperately wanted to get behind a comm and actually -do- something. He was due to board the Lone Star in a few hours but he couldn't help but feel bored.
"Here you go"
The click of the glass upon the glowing top of the bar brought Rune out of his thoughts and he bowed his head gratefully to the bartender. Reaching for the glass he picked up the slender spear of olives and brought it to his mouth, biting off the first one. He chewed thoughtfully as he let his eyes now drift around the bar and saw mostly humans. He found himself missing Kenji.
Rune settled himself on the bar stool and kept his eyes firmly on the bartender, ignoring the stares he received from just about everyone in the bar. Two years among the Federation, Rune was used to being the lone Cardassian in the room but still he could feel the irritation creeping up his neck ridges and causing his jaw to tighten. As if they didn't have anything better to stare at.
The bar tender, an older human who looked as if he'd been around the quadrant a few times, stared at him calmly before turning towards the back of the bar to get Rune's drink. Rune wondered if the bar tender expected him to order a Cardassian drink, he supposed he could have but ever since his roommate Kenji Sato at the Academy had introduced him to gin martini's he found himself ordering the drink more often. Besides, the sour-salty taste reminded him of a drink he used to enjoy in childhood though he couldn't remember the name of it.
He had been on Kincardine Station only a day but that was long enough to decide he didn't want to stay any longer than he had to. Not that the Station wasn't without its charms but he desperately wanted to get behind a comm and actually -do- something. He was due to board the Lone Star in a few hours but he couldn't help but feel bored.
"Here you go"
The click of the glass upon the glowing top of the bar brought Rune out of his thoughts and he bowed his head gratefully to the bartender. Reaching for the glass he picked up the slender spear of olives and brought it to his mouth, biting off the first one. He chewed thoughtfully as he let his eyes now drift around the bar and saw mostly humans. He found himself missing Kenji.
SD241901.13 - "Logs and Legends." [Felix]
-= Felix’s Ready Room =-
Of all a captain’s regular chores, this was Felix’s least favourite.
The importance of logging was not lost on the Lone Star’s life-tousled captain. In the black boxes he’d excavated, the crews overboard he’d rescued and the last-people-standing he’d interviewed rode the nearest version of the truth as there’d ever be. A ship's logs could be the fingerpost that highlighted a genuine history; fate’s wake scrawled across a threadbare tapestry.
But, as an assembly of objects or array of furniture didn’t necessarily constitute a home, neither did an armada of words simply become a log. A captain’s, no less. Stare as he might at the 14th-dynasty Citimaic vase, no particular sense of occasion was forthcoming. He was yet to master the art of addressing an inanimate crowd, or the future.
“Computer, erase entry and restart.”
Felix might have heard a sigh, and prayed to deities he didn’t believe in that Edie hadn’t introduced behavioural subroutines to the EPS relays. Again.
“Captain’s log,” began the human male, providing the stardate and, unnecessarily, his location. “While the remainder of Starfleet has celebrated the festive period, the Lone Star has dotted herself around the immediate vicinity of Kincardine Station, our current operational HQ.
“Testing the slipstream drive and bringing her up to speed has been our main concern, as has shaking the crew out, preparing them for a mission agenda that includes the long-range, the tactical and the downright strange. If our first big jump’s taking us most of the way to the Delta Quadrant, then being ready for all that is breakfast. Nevertheless, the crew is nearly complete and knows what’s likely to come at them.
“All that remains,” continued Felix, after a minute, “is to fly.”
That was the reflective introduction sorted. From a corner, Lester’s bored, indiscernible eyes judged him. Captain de l’Isle looked back, requesting moral support. His faithful, venerable dog suddenly found preferable interest in his bedding.
“Of the hundred or so new crewmen we’re still waiting for some key characters to rock up. I believe an XO’s supposed to be handy out in the cosmos, and a helmsman. Time and experience have taught me I can’t be both for myself.” The vase remained unchanged. “Starfleet wants me to take on a communications officer, and have given me a shortlist of three yeomen to choose from. I haven’t had a desk-jockey of my own since Lewis Onara became CoB of the USS Lalibela, and I’m not convinced by any of their options. We’ll see which of them copes.”
Someone, when they found the LS-S’s black box in however many years time, could decrypt whether he’d meant with the anomalies inevitable to interstellar travel – or to him.
He recommenced, still transfixed by the vase: his audience.
“With slipstream confirmed and most of our supplies now on board, I’ve turned my attention to matters of morale. My senior staff, as they stand at the moment, are invited to my quarters in three evenings’ time. Lieutenant Commander Amino has already sent their apologies and will select a departmental envoy in their place: probably the science department’s inbound bridge officer. With luck, the good commander won’t have a sense of humour about them on that day.”
He would remove the vase, Felix decided. Give it to the Admiral, or send it to the Archaeology Council. In any case it looked more like a collapsed shoe than an emblem of pre-Ionian spiritual exploration. Above it, in a receded mahogany dresser, sat an exhibition of starship models: effigies of vessels that had borne the name Lone Star.
Every six months or so he loosened the translucent frontage, rolled it to one side and tweaked the orientation of a couple of the vessels. But they had returned from the refit all entirely parallel, each keenly and vigorously pointing due east, by the board. Felix stroked the glass, underlining the Lone Star-A as he moved past. Starfleet, despite its credo of individuality, had a banal way of trying to make everything uniform.
“About four years ago I heard a story that the Lone Star-A was the first vessel to visit the Galactic Core. The crew was lost in a fit of hallucinations, having experienced the central point of all known universal outcomes simultaneously. But two months after that I met a Tellarite whose grandmother was the A’s helmsman. She told me the Lone Star was ambushed on the Klingon border after system-wide computer failure. The Klingons allowed them to escape in their pods. Five minutes later they released a detachment of trainees to hunt them down.”
de l’Isle bristled, taking his eyes off the Oberth-class momento. “The truth is, nobody knows what happened to the A. Most Lone Star events have no primary source, seeing as most of its witnesses went down with their ship. I guess that’s the fun with you, isn’t it, Lonie.”
Felix patted the vase. His future listener would think him a rambler. His inbound yeoman would see a log entered against the day’s stardate. And he would have completed a captain’s log and could continue with his day.
“Who knows what’s legit? What’s the letter of history; what’s a half-truth, what’s a lie and what’s a bit of poetic licence between an officer and their imagination?"
Unexpectedly, the ceramic pot shone and twinkled, reacting to the heat of his fingers. Felix smiled, illuminated by the glistering exothermic projection initiated by his touch.
“What is the legend of the Lone Star,” he queried, “and how will we ever know?”
After a further five minutes the computer closed and committed the log itself. Felix, deaf to its prompts, adjusted each previous Lonie to its correct, higgledy-piggledy, unique course.
-=-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle, CO
Of all a captain’s regular chores, this was Felix’s least favourite.
The importance of logging was not lost on the Lone Star’s life-tousled captain. In the black boxes he’d excavated, the crews overboard he’d rescued and the last-people-standing he’d interviewed rode the nearest version of the truth as there’d ever be. A ship's logs could be the fingerpost that highlighted a genuine history; fate’s wake scrawled across a threadbare tapestry.
But, as an assembly of objects or array of furniture didn’t necessarily constitute a home, neither did an armada of words simply become a log. A captain’s, no less. Stare as he might at the 14th-dynasty Citimaic vase, no particular sense of occasion was forthcoming. He was yet to master the art of addressing an inanimate crowd, or the future.
“Computer, erase entry and restart.”
Felix might have heard a sigh, and prayed to deities he didn’t believe in that Edie hadn’t introduced behavioural subroutines to the EPS relays. Again.
“Captain’s log,” began the human male, providing the stardate and, unnecessarily, his location. “While the remainder of Starfleet has celebrated the festive period, the Lone Star has dotted herself around the immediate vicinity of Kincardine Station, our current operational HQ.
“Testing the slipstream drive and bringing her up to speed has been our main concern, as has shaking the crew out, preparing them for a mission agenda that includes the long-range, the tactical and the downright strange. If our first big jump’s taking us most of the way to the Delta Quadrant, then being ready for all that is breakfast. Nevertheless, the crew is nearly complete and knows what’s likely to come at them.
“All that remains,” continued Felix, after a minute, “is to fly.”
That was the reflective introduction sorted. From a corner, Lester’s bored, indiscernible eyes judged him. Captain de l’Isle looked back, requesting moral support. His faithful, venerable dog suddenly found preferable interest in his bedding.
“Of the hundred or so new crewmen we’re still waiting for some key characters to rock up. I believe an XO’s supposed to be handy out in the cosmos, and a helmsman. Time and experience have taught me I can’t be both for myself.” The vase remained unchanged. “Starfleet wants me to take on a communications officer, and have given me a shortlist of three yeomen to choose from. I haven’t had a desk-jockey of my own since Lewis Onara became CoB of the USS Lalibela, and I’m not convinced by any of their options. We’ll see which of them copes.”
Someone, when they found the LS-S’s black box in however many years time, could decrypt whether he’d meant with the anomalies inevitable to interstellar travel – or to him.
He recommenced, still transfixed by the vase: his audience.
“With slipstream confirmed and most of our supplies now on board, I’ve turned my attention to matters of morale. My senior staff, as they stand at the moment, are invited to my quarters in three evenings’ time. Lieutenant Commander Amino has already sent their apologies and will select a departmental envoy in their place: probably the science department’s inbound bridge officer. With luck, the good commander won’t have a sense of humour about them on that day.”
He would remove the vase, Felix decided. Give it to the Admiral, or send it to the Archaeology Council. In any case it looked more like a collapsed shoe than an emblem of pre-Ionian spiritual exploration. Above it, in a receded mahogany dresser, sat an exhibition of starship models: effigies of vessels that had borne the name Lone Star.
Every six months or so he loosened the translucent frontage, rolled it to one side and tweaked the orientation of a couple of the vessels. But they had returned from the refit all entirely parallel, each keenly and vigorously pointing due east, by the board. Felix stroked the glass, underlining the Lone Star-A as he moved past. Starfleet, despite its credo of individuality, had a banal way of trying to make everything uniform.
“About four years ago I heard a story that the Lone Star-A was the first vessel to visit the Galactic Core. The crew was lost in a fit of hallucinations, having experienced the central point of all known universal outcomes simultaneously. But two months after that I met a Tellarite whose grandmother was the A’s helmsman. She told me the Lone Star was ambushed on the Klingon border after system-wide computer failure. The Klingons allowed them to escape in their pods. Five minutes later they released a detachment of trainees to hunt them down.”
de l’Isle bristled, taking his eyes off the Oberth-class momento. “The truth is, nobody knows what happened to the A. Most Lone Star events have no primary source, seeing as most of its witnesses went down with their ship. I guess that’s the fun with you, isn’t it, Lonie.”
Felix patted the vase. His future listener would think him a rambler. His inbound yeoman would see a log entered against the day’s stardate. And he would have completed a captain’s log and could continue with his day.
“Who knows what’s legit? What’s the letter of history; what’s a half-truth, what’s a lie and what’s a bit of poetic licence between an officer and their imagination?"
Unexpectedly, the ceramic pot shone and twinkled, reacting to the heat of his fingers. Felix smiled, illuminated by the glistering exothermic projection initiated by his touch.
“What is the legend of the Lone Star,” he queried, “and how will we ever know?”
After a further five minutes the computer closed and committed the log itself. Felix, deaf to its prompts, adjusted each previous Lonie to its correct, higgledy-piggledy, unique course.
-=-=-=-
by Captain Felix de l’Isle, CO
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