3.6 - All the Fun of the Fair

[Zhukarak Hrisvalar]

Zhuk was sitting in the command chair as the Nevada crew was on it's way for some well deserved furlough. They were being sent as the Federation's representatives to Beta XXIA to participate in their New Year's Festivities.

The Nevada, having been lost for months on end, was thrown into a joint mission when they finally did return home. The crew had already been on edge, and then the virus spread, causing rampant madness and other illogical effects amongst them. This mission ended resulting in the destruction of the alien artifact known as the Pacifier.

All of the doctors and their medical crews had been heavily tasked to ensure that no one was suffering from the ill effects of the Pacifier any more. Dr. Lorre was thankful that Healer T'Val and Dr. Mercy had been on hand to help.

During the quick resupply of the Nevada, their orders had come through, more as a thank you from Admiral Lin, than a tasking. This new mission would give the crew the chance to visit one of the inhabited planets in the sector, and get involved with the local population while participating in one of their local customs and festivities. It would be a nice change from the normal R&R on Starbase Assailant.

Zhuk wanted to know more about the new Marine officer they had just received. Not what he could read from his personnel file, but what made him tick. He remembered the first meeting the two of them had already had, back on Starbase Conqueror. He was one who challenged authority, even when he was just a cadet. Yet Zhuk had the feeling he would turn out to be a good marine. He just sensed it about him.

Zhuk went ahead and tapped his comm badge.

=/\= Lieutenant Cyle Johnson, this is Colonel Hrisvalar. Would you please report to the Ready Room. =/\=

<Cyle>

After stating he'd be on his way, Zhuk got up and headed to the Ready Room as well. He was sure that Captain Jira would want to witness this as well.

Grace wasn't on the bridge. She was making rounds checking on latent after effects of their last mission, helping some of the crew who were still disturbed by what had happened. Zhuk knew that she didn't relish the chair anyways.

"Commander Thelev, you have the bridge."

<Frek>

The actions on the bridge were always smooth. Zhuk could see how the Commander checked his navigations console to ensure that it was at the right settings before he called in his replacement on the comm to take over. Then he moved towards the command chair, albeit with a little stumble. Zhuk mused at that sight before disappearing into the Ready Room.

Zhuk went ahead and called for Theel'zhiin in his thoughts. Theel'zhiin appeared within a few seconds to land on Zhuk's shoulder. Zhuk wanted him by his side as well to help read the new marine.

Harrias looked up at Zhuk with an inviting look, awaiting to hear what was going on.

"Captain. We're well on our way to rendezvous with the Klingon Battlecruiser to pick up their representative. I suggest that we have Grace be our liaison officer for him when he arrives."

"Sound like a plan, assign them to our Grade 2 Diplomatic Quarters. We don't want them too comfortable, it might offend them."

"I agree. I've asked for Lieutenant Johnson to meet us here in the Ready Room. An informal get to know him type of thing, if you will. I'll forwarn you, I trust he's a good marine but we'll have our hands full."

"Oh?"

"I've already had a little run in with him on Conqueror. You'll see, just watch."

Zhuk and Harrias discussed the state of the crew and how these festivities would be the perfect distraction for them, while awaiting the arrival of their new SMO.

<Cyle>

OOC: Harrias, I hope you don't mind, but I was just itching to get started on this mission. Hope I didn't mess up a good start that you migh have had.

Everyone else...let's do it!

[Deleted]

I sickbay Melain was finishing up the last of her report on the virus. Rachel and Tom had managed to clean up all signs of the Dradrian refugees and things where over all returning to normal.

The doors to her office slide open and Melain looked up to see Toledo Javel, the Bajoran pilot who worked the night shift at the helm. His cat was curled up in his arms

"Something wrong Javel?" She asked, a few weeks ago she'd helped his cat deliver a good batch of kittens, she had not taken to pregnancy very well.

"No, It's just that you asked me to come by and get her neuterd, I meant to come sooner but you were..." He trailed off

"Busy, and so where you I'm sure. It's no trouble unless she rendezvoused with a Tom cat." Melain gently picked up the cat. "how are the kittens?"

"Just weaned, I'm afraid they've all been claimed. I tried to hold one for you but you didn't confirm if you wanted one." Toledo apologised, following Melain into Sickbay.

Melain set the cat down on one of the biobeds and picked up a hypospray. "That's alright, I've got my own responsibilites now. would you pass me the subdermal scalpal."

"I heard about that, you've got yourself a tag-a-long." Toledo asked as he fumbled through the medical instruments. "This one?" he asked holding up the scalpal."

"Yep" Melain replied. It didn't take long for her to finish the surgery. "There, now keep her calm and avoid touching her underside for at leats a week. If she starts acting oddly just bring her in aagin. Oh, and let the kitten's owners know that they should be visiting me within the next couple weeks a as well, the last thing we need is a cat pandemic on board."

"Alright, thanks doc." Toledo replied as he picked up the heavily sedated cat and headed out the door.

[gracemitchell]

Grace was in her office going over some records of the crew that had been to see her and checking over her appointments to see how many were left. During this process, as was her habit when she was alone, she began to hum and failed to hear her door chime. Then she heard a chuckle behind her, and she turned to see who was there.

"Lani! You gave me a fright. Haven't you ever ehard of knocking?"

"I did but you were humming a little too loud."

"Was I? I'm sorry. What can I do for you? Do you have anything you need to discuss?"

"I'm not here for you to help me. I am here to help you. I think you could use some good food and some good company. You've been so busy with the crew, you haven't taken anytime for yourself."

"You are right. I could use some time away and as I haven't any appointments for a couple of hours, perhaps I could interest you in some home cooked food!"

"As much as I enjoy your cooking, I think you shouldn't work at all. How about if we go to one of your favorite restaurants."

"And how do you intend to take me to my favorite restaurant when it is not onboard ship. And how do you know what my favorite restaurant is, I don't remember telling you, did I?"

"Don't look as if you are loosing it, Grace. You never told me, someone else did?"

"And who would tell you that?"

"An old shipmate of ours, but don't ask me anymore questions, let's go eat. I'm hungry, I just hope this place serves Martian food."

"Don't bet on it, my favorite restaurant can't even make Vulcan food. Hang on, I bet I know who told you, now I'm going to keep you guessing?" Grace said with a giggle, then Lani and Grace left her office intending to go to a holodeck and a restaurant that serves the best pizza around!!!!

[romanvicente]

Morning had broken, or so the alarm-clock spoke, not with words, only with a beep more annoying than any other that had fallen on his ears in all of his thirty years alive. Wishing for just a minute more of sleep Roman got up and about before his eyes could close again and not withstand the temptation of the promise of that extra minute.
When he looked in the mirror after having showered, he remembered how he had done so only some three weeks earlier, yet, the face he stared at was a different one as back then, when his worries and doubts had been penned down by the arrival of bad news, with his being the book from it which it could have all been read. Now, when he set loose a gentle sigh, the guide of his reflections on what had happened, the sigh was one of relief whereas three weeks earlier, it had been a heavy one, painful to the chest that gave it life. His heart had felt heavy, burdened by a bad conscience that had prevented him from walking head up, tall and proud, not even a hint of joy left.

Three weeks earlier

The news of his uncle lying on his death-bed, the man who was supposed to have taken care of him after his parents hadn’t made it through the war, was something he had once vowed to greet with enough tears of joy to allow an entire field of roses to come to bloom, one for each cheerful second he held within, however, the news sank heavily to his heart, driving away all sense of optimism that had thrived when the Nevada had finally sailed unto more familiar celestial shores. The man who was to have taken care of him after the war was also the man who never got the opportunity to do so and Roman knew clearly who was at fault for that: he was and not even the strongest denial endured for the foundations upon which he had built them were flawed, something he well knew. It was he who had run away from Idara IV, not even letting his uncle know until he had been on a transport leading to places he hadn’t heard of, places that didn’t even appeal, but Roman thought, for better of for worse, only the subsequent years would answer that, he would find a good life in a fair and honest universe. Of course, he should’ve known better as the war should’ve served as the stone to break this glass house of ideals that never could endure, but almost as if a miracle, it failed to fall down upon him and so he made what he, in retrospect, regarded as a grave error by his part at some occasions and as a blessing at other times. And his uncle, he was the one left out. Sporadically they had contact, depending on whether or not Roman had access to some sort of communication service and every time he had, he regretted making contact, for the first message was one of bad blood, ill-natured as both sought to lay the guilt at the feet of the other, a graciously presented gift neither of them envied having. Bemusing perhaps, ironic even more true: don Oliver, the member of his family he had adored as a child was the maelstrom into which all disappointment turned anger vanished into. Unjustifiable, that’s what it was and he would’ve been a fool not to recognize it as such, in the light of Oliver’s fading candle he finally saw everything that had been. The pieces Roman had kept apart by a will not to be blamed, came together at last. That first time they had talked to each other Oliver had opened the conversation with words that expressed anger alone, a facade Roman was eager to reflect on and not break, for he responded by claiming his innocense and immediatly attempted to chain down his beloved uncle with gauntlets of blame: he had not been there in time, he had not come after him, he had not ever shown true responsability. And so, he drove a wooden stake into Oliver’s already wounded heart that was leaking tears before Roman painfully stung it: if Roman had only not been blind with his opened eyes he could’ve seen the remnants of tears disgracing his uncle’s face. The absurdity of Roman’s accusations shone through long before he accepted his part in this tragedy just then: there was no transport, there was no communication when Idara IV was still in ashes and Oliver, though he tried relentlessly and dedicated, couldn’t find where Roman was staying. Irony had it that one October morning, when Roman looked out the window of his temporary residence, the house of a friend better than he had ever had or possibly would have, he saw a small convoy with food supplies going in the direction of Nueva San Sebastian, where his flattened parental house lay in ruins, carrying Oliver, who had paid a great deal to travel along. It was the closest they would be to each other for almost fifteen years to come.

His aunts video message played again: “Roman, dear,” his aunts voice trembled, interupted by a sod, “I’ve got some bad news, although you may not find it bad at all, I hope you’ll come to terms with your uncle before it’s too late.” Aunt Lucia looked around, her uncertainty not capable of giving her directions. “Oliver is sick, very sick. Last month we went to a doctor and he...” A moment of silence came through the speakers. “He said Oliver’s body is failing on him, Oliver is dying Roman! I can’t tell you all the details now, but it’s serious, Oliver doesn’t have much longer to live. He can’t even come out of bed anymore. Even if he could, I doubt, I’m certain of it that he wouldn’t contact you even though he should. Roman, despite all the bad things that happened between you after the war, he still cares. I know he does, he talks about it, but never to you directly. You have to come back home to Idara, you have to. I can’t bare to see him pass away when he is still troubled by everything that happened between the two of you. He needs to see you though he won’t admit. He needs to be told it’s all alright. Please Roman, come home, I know you and I know you care. You and your uncle were so close once, it can’t all have disappeared. If it’s pride, set it aside for this one time when it really matters so much. Come home, it’ll be your last chance. Just let me know what you’re going to do. I love you, take care.” The message ended with Lucia kissing the fingertips of her hand and placing it on the screen.

“Captain,” Roman said on the bridge, some twenty minutes after his shift had started, some twenty minutes in which he had been thinking only of his uncle. “Could I talk with you in private?”
Harrias looked somewhat surprised by this request, but simply nodded. “Let’s go to my ready room.”
Inside and seated behind his desk, Harrias gave Roman a glance: “So, what is it that’s bothering you?”
“This morning I received word from my aunt back home and she ehm... she told me my uncle is dying, he hasn’t got a long time anymore and I was hoping to get a leave of absence to see him one last time.”
“We are in quite a precarious situation where we need every pair of hands we can get, I’ll have to give this some serious thought. Normally it would be alright, but the problems we’re facing now...”
“Sir! Please! I’ve had a troubled relationship with the man ever since I left home and this is the last chance we’ll be getting to put things right. I need this and more importantly, he needs it. I don’t want to let him die without even offering a chance of reconciliation.”
After some thought, Harrias looked up: “How long do you think you’ll need?”

Stardate 2391.1031

Stepping onto the bridge again felt comfortably familiar. Taking his place at the science console and letting his eyes go past the overwhelming flood of data, Roman looked around the bridge he had been away from for three weeks. After some while his mind was ready again to step up against the flood of numbers and not be swept away as it had at the first instant. It was akward in a way, after the emotional weeks back home, and it got more akward when Harrias Jira’s eyes met his: cautiously asking if things were alright. Roman smiled faintly and gave a slight, single nod. It was all Harrias needed.

[fthelev]

Frek let himself plump down in the command chair. He let his eyes glide over the bridge and grinned happily. This was more like it. A nice easy mission. How often would you get paid to participate in some New Year festivities on a nice exotic planet? Frankly quiet often or at least that was what Frek hoped. After all, it was a hell of lot better then getting shot at or threatened with a sword by one of your best friends. Okay, perhaps it wasn’t entirely her fault. He was reasonable enough; Melain wasn’t exactly herself at the moment. It was a strange thing, he thought, since he came onboard a couple of months ago, basically everyone had gone a bit cuckoo one time and one way or another.
“I might be the only sane person onboard,” he muttered staring at the main viewer. While he said it, it actually didn’t sound completely that illogical. He wondered what Counsellor Grace’s view on that matter would be.
He grinned to himself and took another careful sip of his triple espresso. Still a bit too hot.
A satisfied sigh escaped from his as he positioned himself in more comfortable position.
“Sir?”
Frek still absorbed with his own thoughts didn’t notice.
“Sir?” Somewhat louder this time, no reaction.
When Frek felled the unexpected tap on his shoulder he jumped up in a reflex spilling the contents of his triple espresso down to the volume of single one over his uniform jacket and his lap. One didn’t require a universal translator to be able to understand the stream of words that slipped out of Frek’s mouth. Someone on the other end of the bridge chuckled.
Apparently the coffee was still a bit too hot.
He spun around to see the source of all this mayhem.
“Who are you?” he demanded to know while he tried to cool the coffee down. He was reasonably sure the burns would leave him scarred for life. He should sue the replicator firms for producing too hot beverages.
A guy in a marine’s uniform and first lieutenant’s insignia stared up to him. Frek might have found his expression amusing, it was clear the lieutenant didn’t know how to look, if it wasn’t for the fact he was boiled alive.
“First Lieutenant Cyle Johnson sir,” Johnson replied, “Are you okay sir?”
“I’ll live,” Frek said, hoping he sounded as convincing as he was not. “Can I help you with something?”
“Uhm yes…I was told to report to the ready-room?”
“Ah yes,” Frek pointed towards a door, “The Colonel and the Captain are in their waiting for you.”
“Thank you sir.” The marine hurried himself away. Before he entered the ready-room he glanced over his shoulder towards the Andorian navigation officer.
Frek was too busy trying to clean up his uniform and ignoring the pain to notice.
“This sucks!” he wailed. “This was my last clean one, the others are still in laundry.”
“You shouldn’t wait to the last moment before doing your laundry,” someone pointed out philosophical.
“You’re not my mother, Danara. Shut up!”
“Have it your way,” she said indifferently as she walked back to her console, “Just a piece of kind advice.”
Frek groaned something unintelligible and sagged down into the command chair again.

A soft whirl of the opening door and Johnson appeared on the bridge again, followed by Colonel Hrisvalar and Captain Jira. Hrisvalar and the new Chief Marine Officer disappeared in the turbolift while Captain Jira made his way to his chair. “I’ll take the bridge commander. How long till we rendez-vous with the Klingon vessel?”
“Approximately in fifty-three minutes Captain,” Frek replied as he got out of the chair.
“Thank you comma…” Jira stopped mid sentence. Frek felt uncomfortable; the Captain had noticed the coffee stains on his uniform. From the corner of his eye he noticed Danara followed the development with interest. As did most of the people on the bridge.
“Mr Thelev,” Jira started, “What the hell did you do? You are aware we are picking up a Klingon diplomat in, as you just said, fifty-three minutes?”
“Uhm…yes sir.”
“I don’t think that,” Jira pointed at the stains, “Is entirely appropriate when receiving an important guest.”
As if the Klingons have a sense for hygiene or fashion to write home about, Frek thought. “It was, uh, a slight accident sir.” Someone in the back started coughing.

<Jira>

[Deleted]

"That was Lieutenant Toledo wasn't it?" Melain heard Rachel's voice behind her. 'Well, he is cute."

Melain rolled her eyes, "Don't start playing matchmaker Nurse, it just doesn't fit you."

Rachel laughed. "Maybe not, but it is fun. I think Massaly wants to see you, and you're probably wanted on the bridge to welcome the Ambassador." Rachel had taken on the role of reminding Melain about things a more experianced officer would find unforgetable."

"Have we recieved the Ambassador's medical file?" melain asked, as she headed over to where the Dradrian girl was working at a consol.

"Finaly, although I think they left a few things out. A klingon of his age should have arthritis, but in typical honourable fasion it's not mentioned. A few battle scars are given a great amount of intrest, but that's all." Rachel replied. Melain was praying hourly that she wouldn't have to treat the Klingon.

Massaly wanted to show Melain that she was learning English, a few simple words like cat and dog etc. but it was a start. She was hesitant to even try to speak them since she had no idea what she sounded like. But with anyluck Melain would soon find a way to solve that.

Just as Melain was leaving to go to the bridge rachel called out, "Don't forget to change into your dress uniform, and you may want to remind mr Thelev of that as well." Melain changed course and headed to her quarters where she redressed.

The Bridge was relativly busy, Danara was manning the Tactical station, the new Marine whome Melain had not met yet was stabding beside Zhukarak and the Captain. Frek was a mess, with a brown stain down his uniform.

Melain strolled up to him, "You may want to get changed, I heard from a reliable source that we should be in our dress uniforms, but so far I seem to be the only one."

<tag Frek>

[fthelev]

Melain glanced around the bridge before resting her eyes on Frek again.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when she noticed the look of horror on his faces. “I don’t have any swords on me this time,” she said with a little smile, “And I promise I won’t hit you again.”
“Huh?” he looked at her a bit bewildered as if he didn’t know what she was talking about, “No, it’s my dress uniform! Don’t you remember Melain? It was destroyed when that bloody turbo-lift on the Hanson chewed up my bags.”

Melain raised an eyebrow. “But Frek, that was month’s ago. You still haven’t replaced it?”
“I know,” he groaned, “I only got regular ones, I didn’t got around getting a dress uniform.”
He stared at her helplessly. “How was I supposed to know we were going to get lost for months?”
“If you hadn’t left it to the last possible moment you wouldn’t have this problem right now,” Melain said somewhat conceited.
“That’s what Danara said earlier,” Frek mumbled hardly understandable.
“Hmm, what?”
“Well, whatever. Nevermind.” Frek sighed pathetically.
“You should at least change.” Melain pointed at the stain. “You can’t go walking around like that.”
“All my uniforms are in the laundry. I guess I have to replicate one,” Frek said sourly, “This is gonna cost me half a month’s replicator credits. Guess I have to.”
According to the chronometer on the bridge there was still plenty of time to get it all done.
“I don’t think we’ve worn a dress uniform since our graduation,” Frek mused, “Anyways, you look good in it. How’s your little weird guest?”

<Tag Dr. Lorre>

[Deleted]

"She's not weird Frek, she's deaf and in time I hope to fix that ." Melain replied, "Tell you what, I'll let you have some of my replicator credits for food this month, so you can get a new uniform, otherwise you'll embaress the whole crew."

"What's the catch?" Frek asked suspicously.

"I get to choose what you eat." Melain laughed.

"NO, I can't do it Melain I can't live off health food!" Frek protested.

"But you also can't live off nothing. Come on we haven't got much time." Melain said, leading Frek by the arm to the Bridge replicator. "Computer one navigation class dress uniform size..." she looked him up. "medium?"

Frek changed in the bridge washroom and came out looking a fair bit better then he did going in. "I don't suppose you'd do my laundry for me would you?"

Melain shook her head "I'm afraid not, you might want to ask Danara though."

"I wouldn't do his laundry if it meant saving the galaxy." Danara called out from the tactical station. "I say he eats Ghak for lunch, what do you think?"

"I was leaning toward vegetarian but I geuss in sprit of our geust that would be appropriate." Melain replied, she planned on making her friend squirm as much as possible, it was cruel but amazingly rewarding.

[gracemitchell]

Grace entered the bridge in time to hear the exchange regard Ghak. "I do hope we will be serving Ghak. I developed a taste for it after I was on the first Nevada."

Frek gave Grace the strangest look then asked "You like Ghak? I never would have thought that of you Grace!"

"Never judge a book by it's cover, Frek! Seriously, Ghak is one of those Klingon dishes I never quite got used to. I'd rather eat grubs."

"Counselor, are you teasing me?" Frek asked.

"Yes, I am afraid I am. A little levity never hurt anyone. Now, when do we expect our distinguished visitor? Do I assume my usual role on the welcoming committee? And what is our visitor's name?"

Before anyone could answer, Grace turned to the new officer "You must be Mr. Johnson. I am Grace Mitchell, Ship's Counselor. Welcome aboard."

[romanvicente]

A witness to Thelev’s unspectacular fall from grace, or, better said, his coffee’s unspectacular fall to his uniform and all events and exchange of words that followed, Roman was left bemused. He drew a few steps closer to Zhuk.

“Sir, for your species’ sake: I do hope he’s a not a stereotype for all Andorians.”

“Rest assured, he sure isn’t,” Zhukarak said with a tone warranting reassurement. “Sometimes though I think he deserves the be his own, unique species.”

Roman nodded understanding his first officer’s contemplations.

“It might just become a very, very long reception,” sighed Roman.

Frek’s next utterance was even more extraordinary in nature:

fthelev said:

“No, it’s my dress uniform! Don’t you remember Melain? It was destroyed when that bloody turbo-lift on the Hanson chewed up my bags.”

“And I thought we were supposed to be Starfleet,” Vicente said, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head with the following: “not the merry boy-scouts...”

[Harrias Jira]

Jira looked around his bridge. It was a jolly band of people that he had got together as his crew. Somehow they managed to make the current scene seem like something from a holo-vid Christmas special. But maybe as they were celebrating the coming of a new year for the people of Beta XXIA, that was a good thing. He just hoped this wasn’t the blooper reel. Another thing that he noticed was that everyone else had changed into their dress uniforms. Actually Frek hadn’t yet, but he had overheard Lorre mentioning something along those lines to him.

The trill CO tried to recall the last time that he had worn a dress uniform, and failed. It was something he tried to avoid, but something that he suspected he would be doing all too much over the next week or two.

- “Right everyone, as great as it is to see that you are all ready.” He watched the departing Frek. “Well almost all ready, but I would point out that we are not going to invite a klingon diplomat onto our bridge. As friendly as we are with the empire these days, we are still not quite at the level of bringing them to our centre of operations.” He looked about as nobody moved. “Okay, that means get your asses down to a transporter room in forty minutes!”

He laughed as everyone looked a bit shocked at his language. But, slowly, and with a lot of chit-chat, they started to disperse. He smiled, and stepped back into his ready room to change into his dress uniform. Once inside his ready room, Jira got out his dress uniform and inspected it. It was stiff and starchy, and almost totally unbearable. Just as the designer had intended it, he was sure. He scowled at the uniform, before realising what a useless action this was, and resigned himself to the hell of wearing it.

He stepped back out onto the bridge to find it entirely manned by the back-up staff. It was a sight that he saw everyday at the start of his watch, but it still caught him slightly off guard to see it at this time of the day. Lani smiled at his surprise. The martian was still seeming to work every shift, something that amazed, and slightly worried Jira. But still, the man was efficient, and a good guy.

After grabbing a mug of hot chocolate, which the trill made certain not to spill down himself, Harrias made his way down to the transporter room to meet the klingon representative. What he had not yet mentioned to anyone was that this particular representative was female. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t make any difference, but people still had a way of thinking of all klingons as male, even in this day and age of sexual equality. Of course, the other thing that he wouldn’t be mentioning was that he had met Vekra before. He laughed at himself. He wasn’t even willing to say it to himself anymore. He had had a relationship with her, and a damned fun one at that.

[Deleted]

Melain waited patiently beside Frek while everyone stood around waiting. Frek insisted on flinching, itching and over all failing to stand still

"Are you sure the computer replicated this thing right?" he asked, pulling at the collar.

"Yes, you just have to break it in a little." Melain replied, her uniform was itchy as well, but she made a point of not mentioning that.

"Is there going to be a formal dinner or something?" Frek asked, his mind always on food.

"A standing affair mainly, and I'm not sure you'l like much of what is served." Melain said, giving him a nudge as a figure began to materialize on the transporter pad.

The Ambassador was, much to Melain's embaressing shock, a female. She hadn't even botherd to ask rachel what gender was listed on the medical file. She was dressed in Klingon finary with a firey look on her face, and sharp pointed teeth.

"Welcome to the U.S.S Nevada Ambassador Vekra." Harruas Greeted, interupting the uncomfortable silence that had engulfed the crew.

[Deleted]

OFF: sory fot not posting, hadnt been reading much for the last few days, kinda sick at the moment too

ON:

Cyle was busy unpacking a few things from his bags, and reading the PADD that introduced the new missions to him. "A New Years Festival, great" Cyle said with a bit less then expected enthusiasm, party's were not his thing.

He was looking over his dress uniform, Black pants with a royal blue tunic top, folding down from the top to the middle, the folding fabric was also black.


=/\= Lieutenant Cyle Johnson, this is Colonel Hrisvalar. Would you please report to the Ready Room. =/\=

=/\= on my way=/\= Cyle said as he left his room rather quickly. He remebered the Colonel from before the academy, and he was rather surprised to be stationed with him.

He went to the bridge and looked around, trying to find the ready room. failing to do so he tried asking the acting commanding officer, and ended up starteling him, spilling if coffee.

When he reached the ready room, he pressed the chime and walked in.

" 1st Lieutenant Cyle Johnson Reporting for duty" Cyle said as he stood at ease. He waited for a response and quickly looked around with his eyes still.

OFF: oh for anyone who will for some reason post for me, i dont say "sir" to anyone who hasnt gained my respect, its just they way i am, i dont care what color your uniform is, or what rank you have. earn it and you will have it for life

[fthelev]

The Klingon ambassador stepped of the transporter PADD and shook Captain Jira’s hand. The two of them exchanged the usual greetings before the senior staff was introduced to Vekra.
“This is even worse than I expected,” Frek whispered softly to Vicente who was standing on his other side.
“How come?” Roman Vicente asked curiously, not knowing what to expect.
“Well,” Frek said softly with one eye on Melain making sure she wouldn’t hear him, “Not only Klingon and old, but also female. What’s worse than that?”
He felled a stinging pain in his foot.
Melain had buried the heel of her shoe in it.
At least three inches deep. Frek made an effort not to cry out in pain.
“I think she heard you,” Roman pointed out needlessly.
“So I’ve noticed Einstein.” He clenched his teeth and managed something that had some resemblance to a smile when Ambassador Vekra passed with the Captain.
The whole procession headed for the officers lounge for the welcoming reception, while the Nevada and the Klingon destroyer parted ways. The Klingon vessel took a heading towards their own space while the Nevada said course for Beta XXIA.

The lounge was pretty crowded. Well, it was compared to a regular day. Most of the tables had been removed and replaced by those high tables where people tend to lean on. Frek stretched his neck in the hope of finding an empty one.
He turned around to Melain. “Just a sec. I think I see an empty table over there.”
He wrestled himself through the crowed and looked around. He spotted a table occupied by only two junior officers. He vaguely remembered seeing them in engineering before.
“Excuse me, Ensign?”
One of the young officers looked up to the serious looking Andorian.
“Sir?”
“I think T’Fat is looking for the two of you,” Frek said and pointed somewhere at the other end of the lounge. “She’s somewhere over there.”
The two ensigns looked at each other and shrugged as they picked up their drinks. “Thank you for notifying us sir.”
“No problem,” Frek said as innocent as possible, “If I can help.”

As they left Frek turned around and waived to Melain to indicate he found an available table.
He managed to fetch two glasses of a tray when a waiter passed by and handed it to Melain, who by now had reached the table.
“Quite amazing this one wasn’t taken,” she said while taking a sip.
Frek suppressed another attack of itches. That uniform was killing him. “Yes, isn’t it? I was quite surprised myself.”
He took a swig from his drink and took a look around.
“I can’t see anything to eat,” he remarked.
“I’m sure they’ll serve some snack later,” Melain reckoned. “Perhaps even Klingon ones.”
Frek made an ugly face. “I hope not. Take your look away from your plate for more than a few seconds and all your food escapes. Unless they knock every worm unconscious before serving them.”
He emptied his glass and started looking for another one. The itching made him thirsty. “I’d rather eat one of your vegetable dishes.”

<Tag Melain>

[Deleted]

Melain rolled her eyes. "There's nothing wrong with vegtables, If I ever meet your mother I'm going to have to ask her how she kept you healthy throughout your youth."

"Meats, and sweets" Frek grinned. "Andorians thrive on meats and sweets."

"Are you sure, maybe I should ask the colonal..." Melain looked around dramatically for Zhukarak.

"Oh, you don't want to bother him with something like that." Frek blurted.

Just before Melain could reply she was interupted by an all too familiar voice. "Hogging an entire table, how very selfish." It was Danara.

"I thought you where on the bridge covering for tactical." Frek groaned.

"I just got off, You can't expect me to avoid a party." Danara smiled. "Besided I don't want to miss the look on your face when they serve the entrees."

"You must be the ship's CMO and.. Navigation officer." A harsh, yet indistinctivly female voice sounded. "I am Ambassador Vekra." She seemed to look right over Danara who visibly seethed at the gesture.

"Welcome to the Nevada Ambassador, I am honoured to meet you aquaintence." Melain replied dutifly, praying to the Prophets that Frek wouldn't say something stupid.

[Harrias Jira]

--- Earlier, Ready Room ---

- “1st Lieutenant Cyle Johnson reporting for duty.” The marine in front of the desk said, standing lightly at ease.
- “Welcome to the ship Lieutenant. You come highly recommended.”

The trill paused, waiting for a response, but none was forthcoming. He turned to look at Zhuk, who simply shrugged lightly.

- “We are receiving a klingon diplomat in a few hours. Although it is on the ship, and therefore a security matter, we are currently lacking a security chief. If you could arrange the security detail?”
- “I can do that.” The answer was curt, but not rude.
- “Dismissed Lieutenant.”

The marine turned and left. Harrias turned to his first officer.

- “What was that all about?”
- “I did tell you that he was a handful sir.”
- “Aye, that you did. Still, I wasn’t really expecting quite that.”
- “I don’t think he is ever what you are expecting. The security detail will be perfect, I have little doubt.”

--- Now, Lounge ---

As Vekra wandered around the lounge, Harrias noted that she was particularly cool around Danara. Of course, klingons and cardassians had never really got along, but he hadn’t thought that it would be so tenable. He sighed internally, it just went to show how little you could know people that you thought incapable of such actions. He was currently watching Frek, wondering if he would manage to fall off his seat, or otherwise embarrass himself in front of the klingon ambassador. He had overheard the young andorian comment on the age of Vekra earlier, and he was slightly surprised, and indeed offended. Vekra was no more than a few years older than Harrias himself, and the trill certainly didn’t think of himself as old. But then, he was almost double the age of the navigation officer, so perhaps he was older than he thought.

- "You must be the ship's CMO and.. Navigation officer." A harsh, yet indistinctively female voice sounded. "I am Ambassador Vekra."
- "Welcome to the Nevada Ambassador, I am honoured to meet you acquaintance." Dr Lorre replied with a fixed but warm smile.
- “I agree completely. It is an honour to meet someone of your experience.”

Harrias cringed. It was meant as a compliment, it even sounded quite complimentary, but it was also an obvious play on ‘age’, and he wasn’t sure if Vekra would react well to it. However his worry was misplaced, the klingon wasn’t a diplomat for nothing.

- “I am sure of it. I do recommend the ‘qul Dir’ Commander. I had it brought across with me specially. Federation chefs never seem to get it right.”

Before Frek, or indeed Lorre, could reply Vekra moved on to the next table, and Harrias followed her, after firing a sour glare at his helmsman.

[Deleted]

Cyle was intent on making a good first impression about his work with his new captain. He received the security details on PADD and went about his work. He had limited marines, and more security personnel then he needed, he would have to cut some people off the list.

He started with the most experienced people, putting the marines and security together as one. He separated the officers into groups of 5, each with at least one veteran, he had 3 experience officer and one newbie, much like himself.

After he made his lists he called all of them to meet in the armory. When everyone had arrived he immediately began issuing orders.

"OK, listen up, My name is Cyle Johnson, don't call my by my rank cause i don't care. Call my Cyle or Mr. J."Cyle said with a small smile. He looked at the faces of the officers and noticed who were uptight, and who were a little more flexible, he had arranged his teams quite well.

"alright, i will call you by name, not rank. and i want you to step forward. Steve Harris, Matt Lort, Geoff Forges, Heather Allison, and Tom Kite" Each person stepped forward, and he looked at them. "You will be Team Alpha, under Heather's lead, understood?" The team looked at him for moment, with a bit of shock, Heather was the newcomer to that group, and they naturally were wondering why her. "I said, Am i Understood?" Cyle said with a bit more force

"Yes Sir" they all replied in unison, this was going to be his main team, if he needed anything, he would call them first, for away missions, or anything else.

The other teams were split up and put under leadership of one of the veterans, and he made sure to have the newbies taught well and made to understand the regulations.

"You are dismissed, your duty times will be sent to your quarters within the day" he said, and he watched as all but Heather turned to leave. "Mr. J" she said as she stepped forward to speak with him. "yes Heather, what is it?"

Heather looked down at her feet and shuffled for a moment, "i wanted to ask you a question." Cyle looked at the human girl and smiled, " you want to know why i chose you to lead the team?" she nodded at him and he smiled to himself once more.

" I read your file, and i trust that you will do just as good here as you did in the academy, you came with good regards and personal references. I know you will do a good job."

[Zhukarak Hrisvalar]

OOC: Thought I'd go ahead and introduce two of my marine NPC's to you, Cyle. Feel free to sim with them as you wish.

*****Marine Deck*****

Gunnery Sergeant Jason Carrera was sitting behind his desk looking at PADDs and doing reports. Since his promotion this was more of the norm for him. Requisitions for marine supplies, status reports, readiness profiles, it was never ending.

He had briefly met with the new SMO, 1LT Johnson. It was obvious that the Lieutenant was going to be more hands on with the troops, and leave him be with these reports. Someone had to do it, and Jason knew they would get done right.

Just as Jason was about to look over another PADD, SSG Stephanie Stevens came rushing in, and not all too happy.

"Gunny, I don't know about this new wet behind the ears Lieutenant. He just compiled some of the marines into two new teams, and he insists that we call him by his name or Mr. J. And if these teams are any indication on who is going to be on away missions, he didn't even include me. As a matter of fact, he's got Heather Allison leading it, one of the newbies. Now I don't have to lead, but we all know I'm your man, or woman, when it comes to scouting and sniping."

Stephanie was clearly upset about all this. Jason had a bit more experience than she, and he had dealt with a few new Lieutenants in the past. He was going to have to talk to him, but first he needed to calm Stephanie down.

"He may have seen something in your file that he didn't like, or maybe he completely overlooked it. Either way, I'll have a talk with him as soon as I get a chance. As far as calling him by name, I'll remind him about military customs and courtesies. By all rights he has earned the rank and we, as enlisted, are to respect it. If nothing else, we can call him El-Tee. It's not too formal and yet respectful."

This seemed to appease the Staff Sergeant for the time being as she turned around to storm back out the door.


*****Ten Forward Lounge*****

When the Klingon Ambassador arrived and was introduced to everyone, it became apparent to Zhuk that there seemed to be a sense of familiarity between her and his Captain. Zhuk wondered if Harrias knew her. He was going to have to wait until they were in private to ask.

Zhuk left the Captain and Ambassador to stroll around the lounge and have her introduced to some of the other crewmembers. The kitchen staff had outdone itself with the preparation of the food. Of course the Ambassador had brought along a few of her own delicacies for everyone to try.

Klingon food was hard on any other species pallet. Zhuk could just imagine the horrors going through Frek's mind at the thought of stapling such food. Zhuk realized that Theel'Zhiin would have loved to have been here. He was always fond of human food, and some Klingon, especially the raw meats type. Zhuk made it a habit to ensure that Theel'Zhiin did not make an appearance during such formal occasions, especially the ones with foreign dignitaries. He would have to remember to bring him a doggie bag.

~Doggie Bag?~ That was another one of those weird human expressions that would not leave Zhuk's head. Something to do with bringing food to a human pet...a dog. Perplexing.

Zhuk went ahead and grabbed a glass of Andorian Ale, synthesized with Synthahol, and strolled on over to the table where Frek and Melain were standing. Zhuk noted how the uniform on Frek seemed to be just a tad tight and he was squirming in it every now and then. As Zhuk arrived he raised his glass up.

"To the makers of dress uniforms."

Zhuk took a sip and gave a slight wink at Melain who, with her own slight smile, knew that this toast was at the expense of Frek.

<Frek, Melain>

[gracemitchell]

Grace noticed that everyone looked just alittle uncomfortable in their dress uniforms. She also felt a bit guilty, because her own uniform looked Star Fleet issue on the outside but was made of a softer material. None of the crew knew that her uniform had been tailored for her. As Counselor, Grace knew that she was going to be required to be around visiting dignitaries more often than some of the rest of the crew, and she preferred to be comfortable not 'scratchy'.

Grace was happy to see some of the delicacies the Klingon Ambassador Vekra had brought. Grace put a couple of her favorites on a plate, got a glass of Blood Wine and walked over tot the table Melain and Frek were at. One look at Grace's plate, seemed to turn Frek's face a paler shade of blue then a tinge of green after he watched Grace take a bit of one of the delicacies.

"How can you eat that, Grace?"

"Frek, how do you know how something tastes if you don't try it? I am always willing to tryanything once so I know, most times, it won't kill you. Well. on second thought in your case it might!"

Melain gave a little chuckle as Frek said "I'm glad someone finally sees reason. Things like that could happen to me."

Grace gave Frek a consolating smile then said "I understand completely about your accidents, Frek, and I believe you should avoid those things which may cause you harm. But, if you avoid things, perhaps you may miss out on something you may enjoy? Just a thought to leave you with, and forgive me if I offend you Frek. Perhaps I have spent too much time around Vulcans. I should join the Captain and the Ambassdor."

The Captain and Ambassdor Vekra were near anough to their table that Frek and Melain heard Grace speak to the Ambassdor in Klingon. The Ambassdor seemed impressed that Grace could speak Klingon or impressed that Grace was eating the Klingon food.

Melain commented to Frek "Another reason Grace is a counselor. A born diplomat"

"You can say that again" Frek replied.

[Deleted]

"Well I think I'm ready for a snack, want me to get you anything?" Melain asked Frek, who was still recovering from his view of Grace's plate.

"Ummm.... I'm not really that hungry right now." Frek replied, punctuated by his grumbling stomech.

"I'll find you something that doesn't bleed or squirm on the way down." Melain laughed.

The table was set with Klingon food on one end, and the regular party things at another. Melain didn't like the idea of ingesting something's blood so she passed over most of the klingon food. She did collect herself a cup of Bahgol and a bowl of Glagst, but then headed over to the tested and tried food for some bread and dairy. A well balanced meal was the key, she'd have to teach Frek this.

When she arrived back at the table Frek was recounting his visit to earth with the Colonal.

"...And then this Camal spit on me!" He exclaimed wildy, gesturing with his hands, nearly hitting Melain upside the head. "opps, sorry."

"I'll accept your apology if you try this." Melain scooped a bit of Glagst off her plate. "It's a seaweed, it won't bleed or squirm."

<tag Frek>

[Harrias Jira]

After they had left Frek and Melain’s table, Vekra turned to Harrias with a raised eyebrow.

- “You have an interesting crew here Captain.”
- “They are good at their jobs.”
- “Their jobs don’t include diplomacy?” Harrias laughed at this.
- “No, that’s only part of my job. They are here to insult important foreign diplomats.”
- “Oh, now I wouldn’t call me important.”
- “You kid yourself. A seat?”

The klingon graciously accepted the offer of a seat, and the pair were soon met at the table by Grace, who spoke quietly in klingon to Vekra. A few seconds after she spoke, the universal translator made it understandable to Harrias’ ear.

- “I must commend your choice of menu Madam Ambassador.”
- “It contains many of my favourites. That’s the best thing with these to dos. I always get my favourite food.”

The klingon smiled, showing he pointed teeth to Grace and those around her. Frek shrunk back into his seat slightly as he noticed them. Harrias had to exercise great self-restraint to prevent himself from laughing when Melain punched him lightly on the forearm and he jumped almost out of his seat.

- “So tell me Ambassador, have you been to BetaXIIA before?” Grace pre-empted the question that Harrias had been meaning to ask. For a couple of seconds, the trill wondered if she had read his mind, but dismissed the thought.
- “I went there once, many years ago. It was my first diplomatic mission. They are a very boring race, I must admit.”
- “Not enough weapons for you?” Harrias asked in jest.
- “That is correct. They have very little use for the arts.”
- “No poetry? Painting? Writings?”
- “Oh yes, that is all there is. But I forgot your definition of the arts varies from ours. My apologies, it was a poor slip to make.”

Harrias leant back in his seat and let Vekra converse with his counsellor, while he looked around the room. It hadn’t been ‘fancied up’ as it would be for some dignitaries. Klingons never tended to be a fan of that kind of thing. The trill thought back to the last time he had seen Vekra. They had both been a lot younger, and it was before she had become a diplomat. Back then she had simply been another exchange officer. She had come aboard the colony on Foran a few weeks after Harrias had been assigned there.

At first, they hadn’t worked well together. They had different ways of doing things, and they kept arguing, and both seemed to think they were superior. Slowly Harries came to see that Vekra’s way of doing things was actually better, and once they were working better together, they got much closer. He was wrenched away from his thoughts by Grace’s quiet questioning.

- “Captain?”
- “Sorry Grace, I was away with the fairies.”
- “The chef wants to know if we will require any more food.”
- “Tell him what he has served was great, but we won’t need any more.”

[fthelev]

“It looks kinda fishy to me,” Frek commented while he picked it up and examined it.
“It’s not bad,” she said, “Try it. Besides why did the camel spit on you? I thought only lama’s did that.”
Frek looked at her thoughtful, as he nibbled on a piece of the seaweed. “I’ve heard about the Dalai Lama, but I never heard he spit on people…”
Some humans at another table stopped talking for a moment and stared at him. They shook their head and continued their conversation.
Melain sighed. “Never mind. How’s the Glagst?”
“A bit squishy, but fine otherwise.”

The Klingon ambassador seemed to chatting happily with Counsellor. Frek couldn’t help wondering what would happen if the Klingon bit on her own tongue. He noticed the sharp teeth when she flashed a smile. If the French had teeth like that they certainly would’ve thought of a different way of kissing. Stick your tongue in there and it comes back out in shreds. He looked away when Melain punched him and he noticed Captain Jira looking at him.

“They had these great snacks on Earth,” Frek started telling Zhuk and Melain, “They these meatball things and something they called nuggets.”
“What’s a nugget?” Zhuk wanted to know.
“Who cares, it was all deep fried and greasy. That’s what counts.”
“Nuggets are pieces of chicken fillet,” a waiter said overhearing the conversation as he brought some fresh drinks.
“Chickens?” Frek asked with raised eyebrows.
“Aren’t they those fat, feathery birds who can’t fly?” Zhuk said.
“You mean the ones that make such an awful noise every morning at daybreak?” Frek remembered, “With the amount of noise they produce when every sane person is still sleeping it’s no wonder they’ll end up as food.”
He ate the rest of his Glagst and washed it down with his drink. “I brought some packs of mixed snack with me from Earth. I’ll let you try some.”
“How many pack did you took with you?”
“Not much, just about twenty.”

[romanvicente]

All faces with familiarity to them seemed to have vanished that night in the eyes of Roman Vicente: each time he took a moment to attempt and recognize the people he worked with day in day out, none were around to reveal themselves and in this company of strangers, although they all inhabited the same ship, it was only unkind boredom that took him under its wing. Not knowing many people only served to unveil the short amount of time, weeks easily counted on the fingers of two hands, he had effectively spent onboard the Nevada, even if, officially, his stationing as science officer had been a great deal longer. Not finding any comfort or solace in the cuisine presented in honour of the ambassador’s visit and, equally so, not having any colleagues to exchange a word with, Roman walked another lap around Ten Forward, not harbouring more people than he could have imagined it ever would, such were the miracles and splendours of revered diplomacy. Before time had had a chance to pass with a lengthy spell, he found the senior staff gathered around a single table, the group containing Grace, Frek, Zhuk and Melain, which he was to join.

“Good evening all,” Roman introduced himself. “Doctor, counsellor... hot-shot pilot... If seeing you spill coffee over yourself wasn’t impressing enough, then seeing you managed to keep your dress uniform clean so far definately is. Cheers.”

Despite the tone at which Vicente spoke, giving away his intent to stay far from the serious side of his words meanings, Frek looked anything but amused. ‘

“Ah cheer up, at least you’ve got a delicious banquet to make those nice antennae of yours twist and turn in joy and rapture.”

Still Frek didn’t look amused.

“Hmm, I guess you’re not a fan of Klingon food then huh?”

Melain’s interference saw her offering some of the food to Vicente: “Would you like to try some, it’s really good.”

“I’m afraid I have to decline,” said Roman, his face expressing his dislike for what was on offer, “and in anticipation I already had some civilized dinner in the mess-hall. You’re on your own on this one, but thanks anyway, I appreciate it.”
He gave Melain a smile of kindness, while to himself he though: “I can only imagine what a great sacrifice it must have been to offer some of that future indigestion...”

“So counsellor, any first impressions on the ambassador? I must say I was kind of taken by surprise to see it was a woman... in my book Klingon’s aren’t exactly known for there high level of emancipation, not to mention diplomacy... I’ll have to make a chat later on, still haven’t done that...”

<Tag anyone out there>

[Jamey Gaz]

Back posting to jump on ship before leaving base …

Jamey had been assigned new quarters on the Nevada just seconds after receiving his new orders. He had thought he would have some time to spend on the star base; but that didn’t matter to him, it was good to have a new home. Walking across the gantry to the Nevada, a security officer stopped him and asked for his clearance. Jamey handed a PaDD to the officer … and after a few glancing looks over it, the officer gave it back to him. You will be on the officers’ deck. Thanking him, Jamey turned and walked onto the ship. ‘Wow’, he thought, ‘a bit stiff.’ I wouldn’t be until later he would understand that the ship was due for some R and R and everyone was a bit stressed.

Finding his quarters, he unpacked and did as he always did after unpacking … he transferred his best dishes into the replicator. He also logged into the computer so all of his communiqués would know where to find him and then reviewed the ships decks and systems to prepare himself for his new job.

A beeping sound from the message center of his desk computer signaled that he had a message waiting from Trill … he opened it.

>>>I hope this letter finds you well … the symbiosis commission has just learned of your last mission and that there has been some type of separation from your symboint, Gaz. It would be this commission’s recommendation you find time to return to the pools here on Trill for rest and to allow our physicians an opportunity to study what has happened. If you notice any unusual physical or emotional problems with your symboint … contact us at once.<<<

Jamey thought to himself, ‘what would be classified as unusual?’ With a smirk on his face he acknowledged the message with just a simple yet broad “understood”.

*****Ten Forward Lounge*****

Jamey didn’t line up with the rest of the crew but found his way, in dress uniform, to Ten-Forward just in time to see the entrance of the Ambassador. Jamey, not having even talked to Harrias Jira since the joint mission, found a table in the back-corner and sat trying to take it all in before jumping in feet … or maybe head first.

He could see all the apprehension that people were having about the Klingon food and understandably so; it was hard to eat something you had to fight to swallow. Jamey too found his way to the … normal … food, fixed a plate, and sat with his drink saying hello to people that passed. Seeing the Captain and the Ambassador sitting at a table across the room, he noticed Grace … about the only other person he knew from this ship. However, it was only by sight … he never remembered meeting her formally. He had hoped to receive his shift report time from someone here at the reception before turning in for the night … all this change had happened so suddenly; in fact he was still in dress reds … he hadn’t had the time to get any gold uniforms.

The reception went on … as Jamey watched and took it all in ….

[Harrias Jira]

Harrias was wondering if the chef would be offended by his request for no more food, but he came to the conclusion that the guy wouldn’t have asked the question if he had been afraid of a negative answer. He wondered if maybe Grace had a decent job. Psychology was definitely interesting, although the unease that it caused when you were around was maybe a disadvantage. The trill added it to the list of things he would ask the counsellor one day.

He let his gaze wander around the room once more. The crew were relaxing, and although none looked entirely comfortable in their dress uniforms, other than Grace maybe who spent most of her life in one, they were getting over the stress from the previous few missions. His eyes finally came to rest on an officer who was looking slightly out of place and uncomfortable. He rose to his feet, offering a small apology to the ambassador and to Grace.

- “Mr Parker so great to see you here, I wasn’t expecting to see you around so soon. I was told you had things to sort out before you made your move.”
- “I managed to sort them out a bit quicker than expected. I realised it would save a lot of effort if I could get aboard before you left Assailant.”
- “The dedication!” Harrias spoke in mock adoration. “It will be great to have you on the crew, your work in the recent affair was excellent.”
- “Thank you sir. Are the crew aware of my transfer on board yet?”
- “No, I haven’t had a chance to tell them yet. To be honest, it was all rushed through a bit, I have hardly had time to process it myself. But I am definitely glad you are here, although I was expecting to get an operations officer.” He smiled at Jamey, who looked in slight horror at his red uniform. “Don’t worry about it. As I said, it was all a rush.”

The younger trill stopped looking so worried, and Harrias smiled again. He could sense it was going to be one of those mission where he would be smiling quite a bit.
- “Have fun Lieutenant. Have a few drinks, chat with the crew, mingle. It’s all good at the moment. I, on the other hand, have to accompany our guest for the rest of the evening. Excuse me.”

He left the newest member of the crew, and made his way back to his table, making his way around the collection of tables, and picking up some more drinks on his way.

- “Madam Ambassador, care for a refill?” He asked with panache.
- “Some more blood wine wouldn’t be amiss Captain.” Vekra almost growled back at him.

Grace glanced at her captain. Harrias wasn’t sure if she was surprised at his jovial manner, or whether it was something else. To be honest, he was surprised with his attitude. Although he had known this mission would help to relieve a lot of pressure, he hadn’t expected it to have effect quite so quickly. Then and again, he had drunk a couple of glasses of wine already.

- “Was that Lieutenant Parker I saw you talking to Captain?” Grace enquired politely.
- “Indeed, he has transferred aboard as our new operations officer. I was going to introduce him in tomorrow’s briefing.”
- “About that Captain…”
- “Oh come now Grace, Harrias.”
- “Harrias. I think it would be beneficial to the crew, well, the senior staff if you rescheduled the briefing for a later hour, 1000 maybe?”
- “Indeed, I couldn’t agree more Grace.”