Hi there, apologies for the delay, but here, at long last, is the second episode from Star Trek: Daedalus. Please enjoy USS Daedalus, Galaxy Class, NCC-74310 Sickbay, January 24, 2376, 0800 hours “You are a science officer, representative of the finest education this organization has to offer, and you had forgotten about Newton's second law of motion?” James Maxwell, ship's chief medical officer, scolded as he looked down at the prone Caitian cadet on the biobed, though his tone was mostly of disbelief rather than any sort of scolding. Keli H'Lanna looked nervously to her crushed hand as the doctor slowly mended each tendon, muscle, and bone with his dermal regenerator. “I know, I know, I forgot that momentum was focused on mass, not weight.” she admitted fully. “And that I never should have tried to stop that box in the micro gravity cargo bay.” She was, thankfully, the only negative incident to occur during the entire aid mission to Cardassia Prime, considering the potential danger that stood from piracy and civil unrest. The security provided by the Daedalus ensured that nothing happened to any of the freighters or engineers that assisted in the building efforts. “And just what were you doing playing catch with a 200 kilograms of replicator stock?” Medical Technician Z7 Red joked as she replicated a new uniform top for the cadet. Z7 was a member of an insectoid species called the Nasat, whom were noted for their thick, pillbug-like bodies. “I'd have expected some engineer or security grunt to pull that sort of stunt, but you science officers don't seem to be the physical type.” “Easy, Zee...” Maxwell smiled as he manipulated his dermal regenerator, carefully tracing it over the bruised fingers. “She is just a cadet, she doesn't have the experience working in low gravity environments. Call it a lesson taught in hard knocks 101, something you can only learn with experience.” H'Lanna slunk a bit into the biobed, quite embarrassed as she stared up to the ceiling, trying hard not to flex her numb hand as the doctor performed the surgery. “I was just trying to keep up with the rest of the crew when someone slid me that box,” she admitted. “And I tried to stop it with my hand instead of my forklift. I shouldn't have even been there, but Polera wanted all hands to help, and it beats the heck out of staying in my room.” “Too bad you'll be staying in your quarters the rest of the day. Doctor's Orders.” Maxwell ordered as he put the cap on his dermal regenerator, politely taking another instrument from the tray Z7 held. “I don't want you to do any work with that hand for the rest of the day. No typing, no lifting. Understand?” “Yes sir... “ she spoke in a defeated, soft tone. And just as H'Lanna thought things couldn't have gotten worse, someone dressed in a faded, scuffed up brown leather jacket and black civilian slacks drifted into view. She'd think him to be some officer's husband or a civilian on contract if it weren't for that Starfleet badge and four bronze dots on his collar... of all the people to see her in this state, it had to be the captain. “So this is the girl who turned her hand into hamburger!” he joked as he walked up to her side. “They say you howled loud enough to hear you from Ten Forward! Glad to see you you weren't as hurt as some of the rumors suggested.” “And what makes you so curious about her, Christopher?” Maxwell asked as he used his osteogenic stimulator to finalize the bone repairs. “It was nothing serious thankfully, just a crushed hand.” The captain took a moment to study the Caitian, eying the cadet's gray uniform, her golden-yellow body fur in particular. “I just wanted to see the Caitian that we have aboard, they aren't too common around these parts.” he explained before looking down to H'Lanna. “You should be thankful for Dr. Maxwell here, he was part of the team that helped double your species' lifespans.” “Trickle-down medicine at its finest...” H'Lanna muttered under her breath. Her race was a member of the United Federation of Planets for over a hundred years, and had only just begun to benefit from Starfleet Medical's talent in genetics and life-extension in the past 20 years. “Sir... I'm sorry that you had to see me like this, I'm not normally this clumsy.” “I'm sure Theleth will be relieved to hear that when he gives you your Phaser certification test in a few weeks.” the captain smirked, before looking up to Maxwell. “As for you, doctor, I was curious if I could borrow you for a few minutes. I would have paged you, but you were on the way to the bridge. You do know you're a senior officer now, right? And I don't mean your age, old man.” “I haven't been a senior officer in over twenty years, Christopher, and meetings aren't one of the things I miss about the job.” he insisted. “but I might as well sit in and earn my keep on this ship. Zee, can you discharge this patient for me?” He asked politely of the insectoid. “Sure thing, boss.” she hissed playfully as she handed H'Lanna her uniform top. “And little one, I'd suggest you get a Safe Working in Low-Gravity Environments primer from your nearest crewman. I swear, some of those guys get a month's worth of work-study before being given a uniform, but I see them coming in less then a tenth of a time that I see officers coming in. All brains, no common sense, the lot of you!” “Oh, har har...” she whimpered, closing her eyes as she shifted her legs over the end of the bed, sitting upright so she can tuck her uniform in. “Can I just get out of here?” she asked as she watched Mackenzie and Maxwell leave. “I feel like I'm on display in here.” Red grabbed a nearby PADD and haste-fully tapped in a few figures. “Well, cadet, you're free for now, you heard the doc's orders, take it easy on your hand.” “I plan on it, ma'am.” she insisted with a polite nod.
Observation Lounge, Deck 1, 0832 hours Mackenzie knew his senior officers were the top of his ship, a mix of those whom survived the Breen assault on Earth and those whom he had hand-picked to serve at his side. He knew that each were specialized in very useful fields, and that, grudgingly, he would have to respect their knowledge. “Last night I received an order by Admiral Newton to help mediate a territorial dispute between the Romulans and the Klingons, it seems that they have gotten into a little argument about a solar system in the newly reclaimed territory of space. Kind of a big deal, for those not in the know.” “I agree, Sir.” Lieutenant Theleth explained. The Andorian, roughly 40 years of age, was the current chief security officer aboard the Daedalus, fresh from his own brief break from serving with the Andorian Defense Force during the Dominion war. “To a point. This isn't important enough to warrant dragging the flagship Enterprise–E into it, or send some Admirals over to negotiate. At worst, I predict negotiations to turn violent, resulting in the loss of a handful of one of the Klingon or Romulan ships before either yields.” “Makes sense... our goal, therefore, would be to make sure that they don't kill themselves in the squabble. Alison, how would our ship hold up in case things go south quick?” “She will hold.” Alison Hughes, a human of New Zealand - Irish descent in her early thirties, beamed with pride. She hailed from Earth, where she had spent her career maintaining the runabouts that ferried people about in the busy federation home planet. It was a nice career as any, and she was good at it, but Hughes needed a break from hearing admirals and ambassadors complain about the slightest discomfort in the runabouts' seats, and Mackenzie's offer came at just the right time. “I'm still not sold about some of the structural integrity bulkheads, but I've rewritten our structural integrity field from scratch to compensate.” “And the crew will hold too.” Siram Elbry confirmed. As the newly appointed counselor of the Daedalus, she had spent the past few nights reading up on the profiles of every single individual aboard the ship, and she knew that she had her head cut out for her. This crew was on the diverse side, with most having served directly in various Dominion War battles. “They are eager to resume normal careers, and a diplomatic mission would do wonders for restoring their faith in Starfleet.” The captain paced by around the table as he listened to his crew, weighing each opinion. “What are our options, people? We're the only ship around, so we can't exactly wait for someone whom would be better equipped for this job.” “The Daedalus has sufficient accommodations to host negotiations, I'd advise you to host the negotiations aboard here.” Selok recommended. “And by keeping them aboard, it keeps them, to use a human expression, away from the fire button.” Theleth raised an antenna in concern. “It can be done, and it makes me thankful I have a pair of Gorns to help guard their quarters. A husband-wife team, Crewmen Garon and Likka Nakomis, both of whom I trust completely to keep their cool, and one of the few species whom can be on par with the Klingons strength wise.” “Sounds wise. Jessica, can you go coordinate with Theleth on getting everything organized?” Mackenzie asked of Lieutenant (JG) Jessica Cruz, the ship's chief operations officer. She nodded politely, typing a few things into a PADD she is always seen with. Jessica Cruz was almost always seen with her PADD, and it was always the same one. While normally, PADDs are rather disposable, and end up cycling thought a ship from person to person, this one had been in use by her almost exclusively for her impressive four year career. While some worried that she was too inexperienced for the post, Mackenzie sought her out for her pure drive and expertise at the craft of keeping a ship at top efficiency. “Aye, sir. We've got two VIP rooms for use, with auxiliary rooms for their staff available for their use on Deck 9. Theleth, let's walk and talk after this meeting.”
Junior Officer's Quarters #0067, Deck 8, section 1, 0903 hours Keli H'Lanna slumped into the couch, relieved that the whole sickbay ordeal was done. Her hand still tingled annoyingly from the nanites that were finishing up their job of mending her tendons and muscles, but at least here she could be safe from surprise visits from the captain while she's stuck on a biobed wearing just her uniform bottom and undershirt. “Computer, play me some Bolian Rock, low volume.” she asked, shifting her body over to lay down, weary eyes staring up to the ceiling of the four-person quarters. The room was divided into three primary sections, a main living room bracketed by two bedrooms, each having a bunk-bed and bathroom. The main room entertained the group with two couches, a table, Replicator, and two chairs. They haven't had much chance to decorate it either, save a plain blue throw-rug and a painting of an old Constellation-class vessel that one of Jikra Lar's former hosts had drawn. “Computer, belay that order.” Cadet Sam Newton yelled out as he peeked his head from the 'mens' bedroom of the quarters. He was one of the three other people she shared the room with, the others being Ensign Jikra Lar, a joined Trill, and Ensign Steven Rose, a human.“Kells, I thought we had been over this, no music without asking.” he explained, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “Especially when I have a headache. I've been slaving over this dossier for the captain giving a summary of recent Romulan and Klingon relations, five hours of work for something I'll be lucky he spends five minutes reading.” H'Lanna gave her roommate a glaring look before staring back up to the ceiling. “At least your work is for something... for me, it is just busy work, school-work, and tests. Last week I flunked an exam on first contact species communication protocols, and I had to spend the next three duty shifts running simulation after simulation in one of the holodecks until I got it right. I don't know what Lieutenant Polera has against me, but she seems resistant for me to get in any relaxation time.” “Look... you're a senior! Of course you have a huge workload! I'm just here on training for my command schooling, and the ONLY reason why you are here as a senior is because you were sick with the Ankaran flu the week when you were going to take your normal internship.” Newton explained, gesturing with his PADD. “And you're just a junior... you still got three more semesters of schooling, I just have this one... I screw up any more, I'm either repeating a year, or I don't become an officer and I'm sent home to run corn between star stations with my parents.” She rolled over to face away from the fellow cadet. “Unlike you, I didn't have an Admiral for a mother, my folks are just blue-collar working folk, running a freighter that is older than 99% of Starfleet's fleet. Your instructors are probably afraid of your mom reassigning them to some deep-space science post to fail you.” Sam was taken aback at that last comment. Her mother was an admiral, yes, but he struggled in keeping enrolled in the academy due to academic problems. . He even had to take the entrance exam three times before he was finally accepted. And his father had been aboard the USS Cotterill when it disappeared in 2362. It was the exact wrong subject to bring up. “You have no clue who I am, Keli, what I have been put through, so I'd advise you stop now.” “Kids, kids!” Ensign Steven Rose scolded as he entered the room. The pilot's well-built frame glared at the two cadets with his sky-blue eyes. “I could hear you two arguing from the hall way. They don't soundproof Jr. Officer's quarters, you know. Totally ruined the mood when I was trying to say goodbye to Ensign Copeland. You're better than this, cadets, apologize right now.” Normally, Steven Rose was not one to scold, but the past two weeks were filled with this sort of constant sniping between each of the roommates, and it was wearing at every one's nerves. Yesterday, it was Jikra Lar yelling at Keli H'Lanna about getting her body fur on her bunk, then before that, it was H'Lanna yelling at Jikra Lar for shoving her favorite pair of underwear into the uniform disposal bin. And last week, Sam Newton got after him too for playing his music too loud. “And Sam, go see Lieutenant Endis, the assistant Counselor, see if he has any advice on how we can get some peace in here.” The two stayed silent for a moment, then looked with worry to each other. Both of them hated being referred to as Kids, with Newton being 20, and H'Lanna being 21, but he was their superior officer, and both hated the idea of yet another bad mark on their records. “Er... I'd better get going, then...” Newton admitted. “Sorry about bugging you when your hand's messed up, I should have shut the door.” “Sorry about the parents comment, I didn't know about your dad...” she sighed, shifting up to sit upright. It wasn't the best apology in the world, but she was still feeling a lot of stress from the whole accident. The two watched as Sam left, before Steven sat down by H'Lanna's feet. “I heard about the accident, anything I could do?” he asked with what seemed like genuine concern. “Nah, just gotta ride it out, I suppose.” she admitted. “It isn't a big deal in the wrong run. Both the argument and my hand, actually. Seemed more important at the time, though.” “Everything seems important at the time, Kells.” Steven simply added, gently patting her leg. “It's just important to figure it out quickly after that.”
Bridge; Deck 1, 0915 hours Lieutenant Ted Visser, a rather quiet human of mixed heritage, yielded the chair for Captain Mackenzie as the meeting dismissed. Among having the occasional bridge watch, he was the quartermaster for the Daedalus. “We're about 2 hours from the conflict zone.” He reported. “The bridge is yours to command.” “Thank you, Lieutenant, and can you prep VIP rooms 1 and 7? Have Cadet Newton assist you, he needs to learn the trade. Anything on long-range sensors?” The captain ordered as he eased himself into the captain's chair, gesturing over for Selok to take his side. “Nothing big yet.” Ensign Jikra Lar answered as she pulled up various sensor logs. “Other than the three ships that are waiting for us. The IRW Sawkti, the IRW Bloodied Talon and the IKS Sword of Kahless, in particular.” “Two Romulan Warbirds and Chancellor Martok's flagship, if I am not mistaken. A lot of firepower in one place.” Theleth warned. “These aren't scout ships that we are talking about. These are machines on par with the Daedalus.” “The Bloodied Talon is Admiral Sela's ship too... this is worse than we thought.” Elbry commented. “How So?” “If we botch these negotiations, this won't be blamed on hot-headed war hawks still riding off the adrenaline of the Dominion War... this could drag the Klingons and Romulans into war.” “Oh yeah, that'll make it a lot easier on me, takes the pressure right off my shoulders, thanks Elbry.” Mackenzie muttered in frustration. “Anyone else want to give me a confidence boost?” The crew remained silent, only the faint chirp of computer displays could be heard on the normally bustling bridge. “Well, let's get to work, then, team. Elbry, Selok, you're coming with me, welcoming the the Klingons and Romulans. Jikra, you look up what the Treaty of Bajor says about how Starfleet allocated this solar system, Polera, you have the bridge.” “Aye sir...” Polera replied, waiting for the Captain to leave before taking the command chair. She had just recently gotten her bridge certification during the layover of the Daedalus reconstruction. She has served aboard the ship for about 2 years, before this, she served aboard the Buran as its chief science officer. Science was in her blood, it was her passion, as much as a Vulcan can allot, that is. “Ensign Lar, status report on our forward sensor array.” she asked. A few short moments later, Lar replied back. “Seems to be 100%, ma'am, why do you ask?” “You seem tired. You're usually quicker than that.” Polera asked in slight suspicion. “I was merely trying to judge your fatigue level. She paused a moment, then sighed. “Haven't been getting much rest to be honest. I've been having trouble getting settled into this ship.” “This is your first posting, if I remember your personnel file correctly.” Polera commented. “However, I am not familiar with your prior hosts. Your test scores at the Academy suggest that you are familiar with Starfleet.” “Three hosts were officers, and one did crewman work off and on.” she explained. “Tracing all the way back to the Kirk era Starfleet.” “Then you'd know that the first three years of an officer's career are uniformly the hardest. More officers resign in their first three years of their career than the following decades.” “Ten bucks says Kells won't make it past her second year.” Jikra Lar smirked as she pulled up the Treaty of Bajor. “She's always complaining about her workload, the frivolity of her assignments...” “...The very things every cadet complains about.” Polera interrupted as she stood up, walking over to peer over the trill's shoulder to study the treaty. “If I were you, I'd invest in a pair of ear muffs... that, or get promoted and get your own room.” Jikra Lar smirked and just shook her head, though she knew that only Polera would tolerate any sort of 'sass' from her charges. “I'll try for the former.” she teased before looking back to work, scanning through the document. “Hmm... this is odd...” she whispered, looking up with confusion to Polera. “I'm not seeing this system referred to anywhere in the treaty. I see solar systems plotted out all around it, but nothing indicated about this system in particular.” “It would be illogical for the Federation to simply forget about the system, let's keep looking, check for assumed references, references in passing.” After a few minutes of scanning the rather long document, Jikra Lar rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Nothing.... every rock in this sector has been allocated except for this system! Maybe it was just forgotten about, but nothing else was.” “Maybe it was deleted.” the Vulcan suggested. “Computer, display change log.” They scanned through countless typo fixes, last minute bargaining, and cosmetic reformatting, thumbing through each change, watching the subtle change of flow. It would take hours to find it, but finding even a vague mention of it can mean the difference between a united Federation Alliance, and a shattered alliance.
Transporter Room 3, 1100 hours Chancellor Martok had much more of a presence than one would initially assume, but that is what could be assumed of all Klingons when met for the first time. Of the modest crew assembled, consisting of Captain Mackenzie, Commander Elbry, Commander Selok, the two Gorn security guards with Ensign Reece Myers leading them, and a rather tired looking human crewman named Hugh Bowman manning the transporter, only Elbry had experience with Klingons. “A fine ship you have here, Captain, looks similar to the old Enterprise–D I've heard so much about.” “Born of the same stock, but I assure you, the gal's got a spirit of her own.” Mackenzie smirked as he offered a firm handshake to the Chancellor. “She survived the raid on San Francisco, even when its bridge blown out.” Martok shook his hand warmly as his two officers took his side. “I've read the reports, Captain Janice Stenton was a fine warrior, she died with honor.” “And I thank you for agreeing to this arbitration, Chancellor. We had just finished bringing aboard the Romulans. When would you like to begin negotiations?” “How's 1800 hours?, we have just arrived, and I wish to take a look around, visit this Ten Forward of yours!” He laughed, motioning for his guard to follow. “Besides, I know it pisses off the Romulans to have to wait.” The counselor just smirked as she lead the Klingons out, Christopher subtly staying behind along with Ensign Meyers and Crewman Likka Nakomis. “Klingons give me the creeps...” he muttered to no one in particular. “Bad experience, sir?” Ensign Myers offered. “You could say that... got buzzed by a few Klingons while I was running cargo to Hraus VII, spooked me something fierce.” he explained simply. The Gorn raised an eyebrow in slight curiosity as she listened in. “Are you spooked by me, then?” She asked. “We are just as violent as any Klingon when provoked.” “It isn't that...” the Captain countered. “Though I am freaked out that you, in your six-foot ten frame reports to pretty-boy Myers here.” Likka glared at Ensign Myers a moment in slight confusion. “He's pretty? Sir, his face is all flat and boring, and the hair is just all wrong... now you, Captain, the wrinkles on your brow and cheek suit you well, and grey is a very calming color to Gorn.” She gave a polite nod to the captain before looking away to check a few things with the transporter chief, honestly believing she had given a complement to the captain. “I can't be old, I just hit 41...” he muttered to himself, nervously glancing at his reflection in a nearby LCARS panel. “Mr. Bowland, how much longer until the Romulans arrive?” “One minute, sir.” he relayed as he worked with the Romulan ship's transporter technician in scheduling the transfer. “Same as the Klingons, Admiral Sela will be arriving with two escorts.” “Roger that... Myers, you'll be in charge of keeping watch over the Romulan's rooms and report in to Theleth, who is watching over the Klingon's rooms. There shouldn't be any trouble, but, you know... stuff happens.” Mackenzie shrugged. “Not that we'd need it, coming off the Dominion War and all.” “I know what you mean...” the ensign replied. “We really could use the breather, I don't know what it is like for you, but for us younger officers, we've grew up with a Federation in turmoil with the Borg and the Dominion, I couldn't imagine how it had to have been for someone who lived through the period of peace before it, probably makes it seem ten times worse.” “It does... can't have those naive times back.” Mackenzie replied in disappointment. “Gotta move on, you know.” “To better times, or worse?” The captain paused a moment to think it over. “Ensign... let's hope the former.”
Ten Forward, Deck 10, 1300 hours “Do they HAVE to eat so loud? I'm regretting my decision on this public meal service.” Admiral Sela muttered to Christopher Mackenzie over plates of Romulan Mollusks over Alfredo sauce, referring to the boisterous Klingons on the other side of the room. “As well as the Empire's decision to end our self-imposed isolation.” “It's good PR.” Mackenzie countered. “Look, Admiral, you know as well as I that this piece of land isn't worth going to war over. You know it, and I know it.” “They don't know it...” she motioned to the Klingon. “And the Senate doesn't know it. They'll just see me as the one who had yielded to the Federation and the Klingons.” She rolled her eyes as she slowly ate with utensils she had brought aboard. “I don't particularly care about this solar system. All it'd be good for is perhaps an observation post or two, maybe at most a colony. It's the fact that it could be ours that is what is getting the senate so upset.” “I can't promise you anything in the negotiations, I got to do this by the book. I'm being watched just as much as you are. I'm still not convinced that me getting this assignment wasn't just some cruel administrative typo, so I got the privilege of having nothing to gain, and everything to lose.” “Hence the lack of your Starfleet uniform. You aren't doing this for the Federation, you're doing this for you.” She observed. “Bingo, Admiral.” Admiral Sela thought on that for a moment before smirking slightly. “When choosing between an egotistical officer and a quiet officer, I choose the egotistical one every time, for I know exactly what their motivations are. In your case... I know you better than to screw any of us, both Klingon and Romulan, in the name of the Federation.” “I'll do my best on that.” the captain stated weakly. “I don't owe Starfleet any favors, though they sure owe me plenty, in my opinion. I was set to retire, resign even, but they forced me into this gig due to the lack of surviving officers of command caliber. Why they considered me command caliber should be a sign of just how desperate they were.” “It just shows how disconnected they are from the way things are done day to day... You, me, and Martok are different, we still have dirt under our fingernails, the smell of burnt plastic still stuck in our noses from our own ships being half-destroyed in the Dominion War. No admiral was out in the fronts like we were.” Technically, this wasn't all that true, but Mackenzie was focusing more on establishing some sort of connection with Sela, so that he could have someone who doesn't hate his guts at the bargaining table. “You are correct, Mackenzie. Let us hope you keep that in mind later today.”
Assistant Counselor's Office, Deck 12, 1520 hours “Sam! Glad to see you, I haven't had a chance to meet you in person yet!” Lieutenant Endis greeted as he motioned the cadet to a nearby chair. “Please, sit down! I believe you came to me about roommate problems?” The Risian officer was an assistant to Counselor Elbry, his office literally being next door to hers. “Yes sir...” Newton admitted as he took a spot on the couch. The assistant counselor's room was rather spartan, with only standard issue furniture serving as decoration, almost identical to some rarely used dusty office tucked away in some forgotten corner of the ship. “Seems like we just can't find ways to get along.” The Risian nodded with understanding as he sat down at the Cadet's side. “Sam, should roommates always get along?” He asked with slight curiosity. “Well... how do you mean?” he replied with suspicion. “We sure aren't supposed to bicker like we do.” “Well, what would be your ideal roommate?” he asked again. “Tell me, if you could have your ideal set of roommates, what would they be like?” Sam Newton thought a little, staring down at his shoes. “Well... I'd guess they'd be quiet, keeping to themselves, rather tidy.” “And what about your roommates? What would their ideal roommates be like?” He added. “That's a hard one...” the cadet chuckled shyly. “Well... I'd imagine for Keli, she'd prefer people who didn't mind messy environments or were big chatters, Jikra would prefer Vulcans or other people who do meditation or are rather old, and Steven? Well, he'd just want some privacy and someone to talk shop with.” “Sounds like a lot of people to find to make everyone happy.” Endis stated in a positive tone. “Let's see, four people, averaging 1 or 3 other people to pair with them, that makes 4 to 12 additional people to match up. Quite a bit of work for us to psychoanalyze everyone and fit them into rooms.” Newton laughed a little at the realization, though was quite humbled as his concerns were seemingly trivialized compared to the effort that his solution would take. He looked back up to Endis with a slight bit of nervousness in his voice. “I suppose... but how do I get along with these people?” he asked in worry. “They're nothing like me at all.” “The first thing I'd recommend, Cadet, is to realize that you are never going to meet anyone like you. I remember hearing of how Commander Riker of the Enterprise–E once met a duplicated version of himself, and even then he was startled at the differences that were between the two versions.” Endis stood up, walking over to his desk to pull up the roster of his room. “How about this... what do you have in common with your roommates? Perhaps we could start there? And no... I don't mean that both you and Ensign Rose are human.” This was a hard one for the cadet, as in the past month, he had spent little time actually getting to know his roommates. It wasn't just him, though, none of them have. “Well... Keli and I both know how to play musical instruments...” he started. “Jikra and I both like quietness, and Steven... well, he and I ended up having a lot of the same teachers.” “That's a start!” Endis smiled, patting Newton's back. “I think the lot of you need to figure out ways to accept your differences rather than just wishing you have more ideal roommates. In the future, you'll find yourself working with those whom you don't like, and we all just have to sort of put up with it, you know?” Newton exchanged a nervous smile before offering a handshake. “Yeah... I think I do now, sir... this talk honestly has helped. I'll see what I can do into talking the rest of my roommates into easing up on each other.” “Please do... I much prefer meeting just one of you rather than all four of you.” the counselor joked as he stood up, stretching out his back. “Check in with me soon, allrights? Let me know how it works out for you.” “Will do, sir.” Newton smiled, giving a polite nod. “I'll see ya in a few weeks if all goes well.”
Ready Room, Deck 1, 1730 hours Commander Selok paged the door of the Ready Room. “Half hour till the negotiations, sir.” he spoke softly, entering only when prompted. He was greeted by what he considered strange music, an old earth opera that the captain was relaxing to. “I've never heard this before.” he admitted. “I must admit, your music taste is hard to predict.” “It's 'The Flower Duet' from the opera, Lakmé I think it was.” the captain replied. He sat at his desk, his hands repeatedly shuffling an old deck of playing cards he had gotten from his first career post on the USS Republic, the edges grayed from time and frequent handling. “One of my favorite operas.” “I can see how it could be relaxing.” Selok noted before taking a seat by the captain's desk. “I was curious if you needed any assistance in the negotiations. Your plans state that you will be doing this alone.” “I'll be fine, Selok, trust me...” Mackenzie replied, though he was visibly uncomfortable with his upcoming task. He was untested as a captain, and he felt the whole ship's eyes seeming to stare at him. “Though... I would appreciate a bit of advice. When I go in there... do I act like my training tells me to, like all those classes and lectures have told me to act, or do I just be myself, where I am most comfortable?” “It is most logical, in sensitive negotiations like this... is to be yourself.” This wasn't an easy answer for the Vulcan to admit to, but it was the most logical. While Christopher Mackenzie was annoyingly egotistical and definably non-regulation, he knew that if Mackenzie were to hold back his instincts and confidence, he'd be taken advantage of by the much more experienced Admiral Sela and Chancellor Martok. “We need you to be in control of this as much as possible, and we can't have you held back even a moment.” Christopher paused a moment, then dealt out a handful of cards in front of him, as if he was trying to discern some sort of obscure meaning from their layout. “Selok... I guess this is something that I'm gonna have to force myself to do. I don't know how I am gonna keep the peace when I tell them what the treaty's history said about this system, but somehow, I'll find a way. I have to.” he closed his mind, slightly more confident. “It's like a quote from this old 21st century video game one of my old shipmates was talking about. 'We do what we must because we can.' If I were not to do this, who else?” “Elbry and Polera are trained in negotiation, as am I.” Selok stated plainly. “But would pull the same respect out of both the Klingons and the Romulans than I would.” “That is correct. You are in a unique position, Captain, where your misplaced frustrations against Starfleet is seen as a positive to the other parties. Your negotiations will appear more honest.” He explained as he took one of the cards, a king of hearts, and studied its worn print with Vulcan curiosity. “You'd be wise to take full advantage of this to avoid either party from backing out of the agreement.” “With this new information Polera got me, I'll need any advantage I can get.” Mackenzie admitted as he waved over to a nearby PADD. “I'd better get packing, though, you have the bridge, Selok.” “Aye, sir. Before you go, sir... I'd like to say that you have the full support of the crew.” The captain paused mid-stride, then turned back to look at the Vulcan. There was a lot that he didn't understand about him yet, both of whom were kept busy from the pain of touring and debugging a ship when it was in its first month of refit. “Thank you, Selok.” he answered. “I appreciate your advice. Now, let's see if I can make use of it, worst comes to worst, you'll have full command of this ship in a hour or so when Martok rips out my neck and Sela stabs me in the back for the possible insult of this offer.” he added with a smirk. “Lucky you, getting a win-win out of this situation.” “I'll hope for my command to come through more... favorable conditions.” Selok concluded as he followed the captain out.
Observation Lounge, Deck 1, 1800 hours The Captain gave a polite nod to each party before he sat down at the head of the table. As well as Admiral Sela and Chancellor Martok, Cadet Sam Newton stood in a corner, taking notes for his class. “Showtime, boys and girls. Let's see what we can do.” “I've studied the career of your Grandfather, Admiral Scott Mackenzie.” Sela commented as she took a chair opposite of Chancellor Martok. “If the texts have not been exaggerated, this negotiation would be very... entertaining, to say the least.” “You don't know the half of it.” Mackenzie confirmed as he paced in thought at the head of the room. “I've been studying this whole mess with the help of my crew, and it seems that there indeed has been a mistake in the treaty.” “Starfleet admit to a mistake? That's a first.” Chancellor Martok smirked, before glaring over to the other two. “Unless somehow it is in their best interest to cover themselves in the cloak of procedures and legal 'gotchyas'.” “Unfortunately, it is far, far worse than that...” the captain admitted as he rose up to activate the LCARS screen displaying the contents of an old version of the treaty. “It appears that the system stipulation in question was accidentally deleted.” “And that is our problem? We aren't the one who drafted the treaty, you and the Dominion are responsible for it!” “Maybe if the Klingon Empire gave a damn about the finer points of diplomacy, you wouldn't be in constant war with whomever happens to glance at Qo'noS wrong.” Admiral Sela scoffed. Martok started to rise up in protest, but a sharp crack of a cue stick against the table alerted the members back to the head of the table. “Hey, chill, folks, I don't have my goons in here out of good faith. Don't make me regret that decision.” Mackenzie warned, the frustration clear in his voice. “Now look, I don't like being here either. And you aren't going to like what the treaty says, but either way, you are going to have to take it, or leave it...” he paused a moment, fearing the reaction he would get before finally admitting “The draft of the treaty stated that we were to share the solar system.” The room was silent for a solid minute as the reality sunk in... Sela just stared at Mackenzie in disbelief while Martok rubbed his ridged brow in frustration. “What you are telling me, Mackenzie, is that ALL of us own this system? Not as in splitting the planet in thirds, but in actual joint ownership?” “This is outrageous! If you expect me to share that planet with those treacherous Romulans, then you are just as much of a fool as the rumors said!” Martok growled in added protest. “We would never have agreed to this!” “Fair enough, none of you want it?” Mackenzie simply replied with a slight smirk. “You guys already signed the document, we can't really change it now. If you refuse to use the planet in protest, it's purely your loss. I'm sure the other two people who are still on the deal would be eager to take up what you don't use.” The Klingon pulled back on that statement, deep in thought. “It is a big planet... I suppose we didn't have to deal with the Romulans if they stayed at their own bases. Spending a war with them on the same side of us was bad enough. But.... times change. It's possible to hate people, but not have to go out of your way to kill them, as the Dominion War proved between us and the Romulans. There is honor in that, at least.” Admiral Sela thought a moment, before nodding in agreement. “The planet itself does not contain much in exploitable resources, but it would serve useful as a stepping stone for other systems and bases.” she admitted. “A task that would not interfere with the Klingon's usage of that planet.” “Exactly, folks. It is vital that we work... not necessarily work together, but work alongside each other, if we are going to make this work.” Mackenzie added. “And that's what I urge you to tell your superiors. This isn't about allying with former enemies, this is about simply working somewhere without actively trying to kill the guy next to you. You did it during the Dominion War, you can do it at this tiny, unimportant solar system.” The Romulan stood up, dismissively dusting off her shirt sleeve before glancing over to Martok. “To borrow a phrase from the Ferengi, I'm sold. It's just... a handful of planets.”
Ready Room, Deck 1, 2347 hours “I don't know how you do it, Admiral.” Christopher Mackenzie grumbled as he stretched back in his chair while debriefing with Admiral Newton. “It took every bit of my focus not to lose control of my anger or compromise my beliefs. I just pray I don't have to do it again anytime soon.” “I'm stuck with it too... but I appreciate you sticking through with this.” She admitted. “Trust me, you've nipped a fire in the bud.” Mackenzie looked with slight worry out the window, letting out a frustrated sigh as he cast off his brown leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor. “Being a captain is a pain and a half, Admiral. I'm still not happy about being assigned, and I hope you realize that.” “I do, Christopher... but you will realize that being a captain will be the highlight of your life. I found that out almost too late for myself. You see, there was once a time where I loved being an admiral. The negotiations, the huge offices, the decision making.” she smiled, then her tone shifted to that of disappointment. “The paperwork, the meetings, the pointless debates... do you know that I once had to sit through a five hour argument about what type of fabric we would use for these new uniforms, and that's AFTER we eliminated any fabric that provoked allergic reactions in certain species.” “Harsh...” the captain admitted. “So what did you do about it?” “I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to be in the action again, to see the direct consequences of my actions. I wanted to see more than downtown San Francisco. Starfleet relented and gave me command of the Cavalier, rather than hearing the whooshing sounds I made as I sat, bored, behind my desk, wishing it flew at warp speed. It's good to be out in the stars again, and Mackenzie, it feels really good.” “I just hope your son can have just as successful as a career, though I do worry about him. He's been having difficulty fitting in on this ship.” the captain admitted. “But I have a report from the Consoling department that he is making improvements, thankfully.” Admiral Newton nodded solemnly, shifting back in her chair in relief. “Keep me updated on him, Christopher. And please... take it easy on him. I love my son, but he never had any structure in his life. It's my fault, to be honest.” “Once you get 3 or more pips on your collar, your job becomes a second or third spouse.” He admitted. “Fifth if you are Andorian. Raising a son all on your own while still working full time as an admiral takes guts. Don't blame yourself for Sam being a bit rough around the edges, we'll help him out.” “I'd appreciate it, Captain. And one more thing before you go.” “Ma'am?” “Next time you contact me, can you at least pretend to wear a full uniform instead of that ugly jacket?” Mackenzie just smiled, leaning over to pull at his collar. “See? Pips on the jacket, doesn't that count, at least?” The admiral just rolled her eyes as she shook her head in disbelief. “I'll contact you again soon with further orders. Admiral Newton out."