-= 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equipment that did not require it, applying their outdated knowledge to –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
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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