Ship’s log, stardate 1015.9. The Wanderer has just entered the Sironii Sector, with our ETA at Sironii Alpha four being in twenty-six hours. All systems are running smoothly and the crew are gearing themselves up to get down to work, after five months spent with little to do it all comes down to a few days of organised chaos as we offload at the outpost. Our hails directed at the science station have gone unanswered, though given the conditions of the system that isn’t unexpected—on our last run we hadn’t received a single response until we were in orbit. I’m looking forward to seeing how far the outpost has come on since our last drop, hopefully they’ll have those extra entertainment options they promised in place for a weary cargo crew. Lieutenant Commander Jillian Ayres paused her recording as a wide grin spread across her face. The Sironii Alpha Research Station was one of the most remote outposts Starfleet had, five months away from the outer edge of Federation space the crew and scientists living and working there spent most of their time isolated from all others. They were true adventurers and explorers, people who may well not see their respective homeworlds for years, all for the advancement of knowledge. With such a romanticised view on them, it was hardly surprising that she had met someone special—which was why she’d requested the return cargo run so soon after completing their previous one. ‘So do I need to buy a hat and make travel arrangements?’ She chuckled to herself, remembering what Ray, her twin brother, had said when she’d told him she was heading back out to Sironii. Though Lieutenant Raymond Ayres was the elder of the two (by three-point-seven minutes), she was the more ambitions and had put the thought of finding a long-term partner out of her mind—not that she didn’t have dalliances, she did have needs after all—so for her to be quite as taken was a rarity. The enunciator sounded, breaking her daydream. She looked at the screen and tapped the save key on her terminal, before turning to the door. “Enter.” The metal panel slid into the bulkhead with a loud whisper, revealing Petty Officer Thelev, the ship’s Yeoman, who dealt with the bulk of the administrative work that needed done, which he carried out with a smile on his handsome, youthful face. “Good morning, Skipper,” he said, stepping into the small office adjacent to her cabin, carrying a tray with a coffee pot, a pair of mugs, milk jug, sugar bowl, and a tablet all neatly organised. “Sleep well?” “Morning Thelev. I did, thank you. Yourself?” “As well as one can when ones roommate is moulting,” he commented, setting the tray down on her desk, lifting the portable computer and handing it to her as he started pouring coffee into the mugs. She accepted the tablet and gave him a sympathetic look. “I wasn’t aware Kazarite moulted.” “Unfortunately so, but there’s nothing that can be done about it. Amyx does his best to keep it under control, but you have to let nature take its course with things such as these. Are you on a cheat day today?” he enquired picking up the sugar bowl, filled with real demerara cubes, and giving it a little shake in her direction. She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, immediately regretting her choice. “No, I should be good.” “More for me then,” he replied, dropping three sugar cubes into his mug and giving it a stir before adding cream and sitting down opposite her. She picked up her unsweetened black coffee and took a sip. Her reaction made Thelev push the bowl a centimetre closer to her. Sticking to her guns, she took another sip of the rich smoky-tasting coffee (a Rigellian blend that took a little getting used too) and started to peruse the datapad. “It’s all fairly standard, Skipper: fuel consumption and system status reports, communications and sensor logs, sickbay admission—” She looked up at him. “Nothing serious I hope.” “Crewman Xag sprained her ankle playing pahka last night in cargo hold four. She’s on the mend.” “Good.” “The duty roster for offload is also on there, as is leave rotation once completed.” She nodded as she read over some of the highlights. “As always Thelev, you’re on top of everything.” “I try,” he shrugged. “So, now that that’s out of the way, are you looking forward to getting back to Sironii Alpha?” Ayres gave him a guarded look. “Of course, it’s a beautiful world, with a very nice little outpost.” “And the people are very friendly too.” “Well they don’t get many visitors, so they’re always going to roll out a warm welcome.” “Some warmer than others.” She cocked an eyebrow. “What are you implying, Mr Thelev?” The Andorian non-com smirked. “That there must be some reason you requested this run, right after the last one we did to Sironii Alpha—it doesn’t take a genius to see somethings at play here, maybe involving a certain Commander on the research station…” “Jeez! I can’t keep anything quiet onboard this ship, can I?” Thelev grinned from antenna to antenna. “Not at all, Skipper.” “And here I thought being in command would allow me some modicum of privacy and respect from those that serve under me.” “We all do, Skipper, that’s why we want to know more—we’ve only get your best interests at heart, you know.” Ayres laughed, feeling her eyes moisten, truly touched at the sentiment. “Well you can tell the shipboard grapevine that there’s nothing to actually talk or theorise about. We got on very well and parted on good terms, nothing more than that.” “But you wanted to get out there ASAP so you wouldn’t fade from memory.” She shook her head. “Maybe,” she admitted. The yeoman beamed at her. “Well good for you, Skipper, you deserve it!” “That satisfied your curiosity? Can we go back to work now?” “Well I was going to fill you in on the latest about Lieutenant Yang and Crewman Dvorak, but if you insist.” “Wait, what about Yang and Dvorak?” Thelev set down his mug and leaned over the desk; Ayres mirrored him as he dropped his voice and started to fill her in on the shipboard gossip that had kept the crew enthralled for the last three months. * * * * * Being an Antares-Class ship the U.S.S. Wanderer was both small and vast at the same time, small in that she was a diminutive ship and vast because most of her internal space was allocated to cargo, leaving much of it devoid of crew. It was in places such as these that those onboard could go for a little privacy, away from close quarters, roommates, and eyes everywhere. Some used the holds and bays to play sports, others (such as Ordnance Specialist Saeed) took advantage of the acoustics to sing or make music, someone on the crew (no one knew who) had even taken to painting a mural of the Wanderer herself on the bulkhead of bay four. Then of course, there were those who used the quiet spaces to enjoy a little more intimacy than accommodations onboard would allow. Of course there was nothing in the regs about sleeping with shipmates, so long as such relationships didn’t impinge on duties or operations—there was however rules on the conduct and behaviour of an officer in public, especially when he was the XO. Lieutenant Luca Benitez wobbled as he pulled on his second boot and looked around for gold uniform shirt, droplets of sweat cooling on his torso in the chilly hold, which was filled with building materials and maintenance supplies. On the deck, looking up at him with a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat envious, lay Lieutenant Araan Soll, the Wanderer’s Chief Engineer. Though neither of them had been looking for any sort of intimacy during their tours on the supply ship, Benitez due to his position as second-in-command and the fact Soll had a betrothed back on Catulla, but it had just happened and now neither of them could bring themselves to stop. As two of the senior most officers onboard they were allocated their own individual quarters, though both were small and in close proximity to junior officers and non-coms, so in order to keep their ‘trysts’ private they met in the nooks and crannies few others knew about. He pulled his shirt over his head and brushed himself down, trying to look presentable once more. A chuckle from his companion drew his attention. Soll, his head braced on a hand as he watched him, remained as naked as the day her was born—not surprising for people often noted for their hedonistic ways. “Are you staying here the rest of the day?” Benitez asked, placing his hands on his hips and trying his best to give a disapproving look. “What can I say; if you look this good they why not flaunt it?” He had to agree, Soll was a very handsome man. He shook his head to clear the thought and tried to keep his eyes focused on the engineers. “The longer we’re here the greater the chance of getting caught.” “We’ve been at this for over eight months now, what would be the harm in letting others know?” “You’re forgetting about your upcoming nuptials,” he retorted and felt an icy fist clench his heart. His remark had landed with Soll as well, who sat up, shoulders slumped. “There is that, I suppose.” “Don’t you feel guilty about this? I know I do!” “You’re the one that asked to meet here.” Benitez hung his head, closing his damp eyes. “Don’t remind me.” The next thing he knew a pair of strong, calloused hands cupped his face tenderly, lifting it up so that he looked into Soll’s beautiful turquoise eyes. “Luc, if you want this to become something more all you have to do is say and I’ll call off my engagement—screw the fallout!” Soll was engaged to the daughter of a prominent family back on his homeworld; a marriage that would be a great boon to his own, calling off the wedding would be a huge loss to his family that would see them humiliated for his actions. Benitez couldn’t do that to them, couldn’t ruin people he had never met for his own happiness. With his face still held by the hands of his lover, he shook his head. “Maybe we should try to ease back on this, make things a little easier on each other. When we get back to Starbase 60, I’ll put in for a transfer.” “What if I don’t want that to happen?” the purple haired engineer asked. “It has too, Araan.” His heart heavy and legs even heavier, he pulled away and separated the contact between them. “I…I better go,” he whispered, turning away and heading for the exit before he could change his mind. As hard as it was for him to walk away, he knew he was doing it for the right reasons—even if it did mean five months together, on the same shift, without being able to be with him again. I’m doing the right thing, he told himself as he stepped into the pale grey corridor and headed back towards the habitable areas of the ship, hoping that if he said it often enough he might come to believe it. I am doing the right thing. * * * * * “Hit me!” he barked. Sweat dripping, teeth gritted, fists clenched, Ensign sh’Roor let out a roar as she launched another flurry of moves, all of them textbook and precise—which was her downfall. Chief Vett Jhuruz dodged each of them with ease, even given the Andorians natural speed and strength. Her downfall was her rigidness, adhering too closely to all she’d been taught and not trying to vary techniques—as many rookie officers were guilty of in his experience. As she lashed out in a perfectly formed roundhouse kick, he ducked under her straight leg and swung out with his own. He connected with her calf and drought her down, rather unceremoniously, on the matt. Straightening up he offered his hand to the fallen officer. Sheepishly, she grasped is and he pulled her back to her feet, before looking at the others assembled in cargo hold six, which was almost permanently set up as the crews gym. Other than sh’Roor the only other officer was Lieutenant (j.g.) Grott from engineering, whilst the other eight circling the matts were fellow non-coms or crewmen. Though the Wanderer was primarily a supply ship, they were still Starfleet and expected to be ready for any eventuality so he had implemented a series of training programmes, including hand-to-hand combat and target practice. The Ordnance Chief looked around at the group. His tongue flicked out and tasted the salt of sweat on the air. “Now, why was I able to take the Ensign down so easily?” “You have fifteen years more experience, Chief,” said sh’Roor, rubbing her left elbow. The Saurian cackled. “I guess you could say that. I’ve had the opportunity to learn that what they teach you in the Academy or at basic training are just the fundamentals, a place to begin from not solely rely upon. When it comes to real life, you have to be flexible; you have to think on your feet and, in necessary, fight dirty. It’s all well and good wanting to fight with honour, but when your life is on the line then defeat could mean death.” He looked at his shipmates, many of whom looked perturbed at what he was telling them. Jhuruz knew it was a difficult lesson to learn, but after fifteen years in Starfleet and twenty-five in the Sauria Home Guard he’d seen many occasions when opponents didn’t follow the same code of honour as his friends, peers or subordinates. He’d vowed never to let old notions see the end of others he was responsible for which, onboard the Wanderer was everyone. Glancing at the chronometer above the door, he saw that his shift would be on duty in an hour. With no new words of wisdom to impart, he nodded at the group. “Well I think that’s enough scaremongering for the day. I suggest each of you start to look at your techniques and think of how you can vary them, pair up with others who know another discipline or two and try to learn from each other. I expect when we meet up next to see some variations.” “Yes Chief,” the group replied in unison. Had his physiology allowed him, he would’ve smiled. “Dismissed.” The group began to head for the exit, but sh’Roor paused. He stood his ground, cocked his head to the side and watched the helm officer. She turned back to him, her eyes ablaze with the passion of a warrior—a not uncommon sight in an Andorian. When the last of the training group left the hold and the doors closed, he asked, “Yes Ensign?” “Chief, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience, I was wondering if you’d be able to teach me a few extra moves.” “Wondering how else I might take you down?” Her antennae drooped close to her skull. “Something like that. I was at the top of my class for combat training, my instructors were furious that I chose to be a ‘stick-jockey’ and not a security officer, so I just want to learn from someone even better what more I could do.” “A worthy goal, Ensign. Once we offload at Sironii Alpha then we can arrange a regular training slot.” She nodded at him, her antennae perking up. “That’d be greatly appreciated, Chief, thank you.” “Of course I won’t be going as easy on you as I have before.” “You’ve been going easy on us?” Jhuruz cackled again as he headed for the exit. “If I didn’t no one would keep coming back,” he called over his shoulder to the dumbfounded officer. * * * * * As she stepped off the turbolift onto the small bridge, Lieutenant (j.g.) Aeya felt almost every pair of eyes on her, something she had become very familiar with during her tenure onboard the cargo ship. Not many Deltans signed onto such vessels, so the Wanderer was unique in that regard, having two aboard but whilst Corpsman Ishia remained very resigned and private (as many Deltans did, so as to not ‘tempt’ more immature races), Aeya embraced being surrounded by so many different cultures. Of course, she would never consider violating her Oath, she had been brought up with a very narrow viewpoint so that chance to get out and see other species was the reason she’d chosen to join Starfleet in the first place. The bridge was both similar and different to most other ships in Starfleet. It was circular, with the turbolift alcove at the rear, opposite which was the viewscreen, with the CO’s chair in the middle, but what few stations there were on the bridge were all around the outer bulkhead, so helm and navigation were directly under the forward monitor. Given how small the ships control centre was it did make the most of the space available, aside from the two flight control posts there were only four other consoles: auxiliary systems, communications, engineering and environmental, though typically most were left unmanned during day-to-day operations. Aeya had the habit of arriving for her watch earlier than the rest of alpha shift, so that she would have more time to interact with her shipmates. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” Second Officer Jdai Hath’u said with a smile from the central seat. “Good morning, sir, how does everything look?” “Much brighter now that you’re here,” the Tollarian teased. “You are quite the charmer, Lieutenant,” she told the purple-skinned officer, whose mop of blond hair nearly touched the collar of his uniform. “I try.” “Quiet night?” “Other than edging steadily closer to Sironii Alpha, not much has happened.” “The calm before the storm,” she commented, remembering a saying a human roommate at the Academy had been fond of quoting. “So very true. Well, don’t let me stop you, Lieutenant.” She bowed her bald head and carried on to her console. The gamma shift Navigator, Petty Officer Vhadyn, was already rising from the chair for her. She smiled at the Rhaandarite who returned it and took her place. As always, the station was immaculate, with her settings already in place and ready to go, the navcomp display giving a clear position report and all routine diagnostics and checks logged and ready for her to review. “Anything I should be aware of?” she asked the non-com. “That glitch in the secondary navigational array still hasn’t cleared even after a reset, so it looks like we’ll need to get into the system and run a level one diagnostic once we arrive at Alpha Four.” She frowned as she looked at the maintenance report on the misalignment that the secondary array was presenting, though it wasn’t an issue that would cause problems with the primary system it was a nuisance that they’d have to compensate for if they needed to go to the backup. It had started a couple days earlier and no matter what she or the other navigation specialists had done, it had remained. “Thank you, Vhadyn. I’ll get it logged with engineering to be looked at after offload. Is there anything more?” “Nothing springs to mind, Lieutenant.” “Very well, carry on.” With a nod the navigator moved to the vacant auxiliary systems station to finish off the shift. Though Vhadyn was more than capable of the job, this was Aeya’s first time as Chief Navigation Officer; as such, she wanted to make sure that everything about her small section ran smoothly. Though the Wanderer was only a supply ship, with a crew of forty-six it wouldn’t take long for dedicated service to be recognised, which would look good on her record and could see her advance in rank and position—though she rarely spoke of her ambitions, she wanted Captain’s braids on the cuffs of her uniform. Just as Hath’u had said, other than entering the Sironii Sector there wasn’t much else that had occurred since she’d gone off shift the previous day—just as it had been for the last five months. Their course was the same as every supply ship that made the run to the research outpost, as such they were on a heading that had already been thoroughly scanned and analysed before, which meant that there was little else for her to do. Part of her had hoped to apply her degrees in stellar cartography and astrophysics, but with everything in sensor range having been scanned and catalogued before, there was little more for her to do until they reached the Alpha System. Of course, there was always the chance that they encountered something out of the ordinary, after all despite the space lane being well travelled they were still in a region that was largely unexplored. The calm before the storm, her roommates voice echoed in the back of her mind, making a chill creep down her spine. * * * * *
For a moment there, I thought you had posted my old Wanderer story from a few years ago. I'm glad that I was mistaken, sir. Anyways, this is another great story!
The thing with small crewed ships--everyone knows everyone's business. Cargo runs to outposts--bad stuff can happen. Good beginning to what I'm sure will be a great story.
I do have the entire duty roster worked out so know whose on what shift, where, doing what Its a very eclectic crew as well with only 12 humans onboard.
“What do you think this is?” Elias Holm asked his companions. Petty Officers Zelrin and Jin-Soo Rhee examined their plates, each of them trying to figure out just what the charred purple mound was. Like Holm, neither could fathom just what it was they were looking at. Though typically he’d try anything, he did like to know what it was he was putting in his mouth. Soana Jai joined the trio with just a mug of tea. She looked at them and frowned. “What’s wrong?” “None of us are entirely sure just what this is,” he admitted to the Transporter Operator. She chuckled and shook her head. “Grilled waaki.” “And this is what exactly?” asked Zelrin. “A root vegetable on Catulla, I was practically raised on the stuff. It’s like a cross between an aubergine and a sweet potato, but very high in protein and vitamins—it’s a good source of nutrients for vegetarians. Try it, you’ll love it!” “So why aren’t you having any?” Rhee pried. “Anax doesn’t make it as good as my mother did, not enough dess.” Holm skewered a chuck with his fork and paused. “Do I want to know what that is?” “Our equivalent to garlic.” He took a sniff, picked up a vague hint of garlic and cinnamon, then brought his dinner to his lips, cautiously watched by the other two men, neither of whom moved their utensils. The waaki was thick and fibrous though also very tender, had he not known it was a vegetable he would’ve sworn it was some form of meat. He nodded slowly as he munched down, which the others took as a signal that it wasn’t going to do them any harm. “Not bad.” “If Anax gave me a shot in the galley I could show you what it’s really meant to be like.” “Good luck with that, just remember she has three arms and access to a lot of knives.” The quartet chuckled. Despite her short time onboard, Anax Sa Vyr had become very protective of her domain in the galley, rarely letting anyone else in there if she could help it. She was however one of the best cooks Holm had encountered during his tenure in the fleet, definitely better than the Wanderer’s last one. “So how’s everything looking up there on deck one?” Jai asked, sipping on her beverage. Holm, the alpha shift Helmsman, shrugged. “No different than yesterday.” “With a quick wit like that I’m amazed you don’t have a boyfriend,” she shot back. “Ouch Soana,” Rhee interjected on his behalf, “that’s a little harsh.” “Thank you, Jin.” “Besides, we all know he’s too busy looking in the mirror to even glance at anyone else.” Holm shot him a look. “So much for riding to my rescue!” “You honestly think I’m going to tick off the person responsible for my atoms being disassembled, shot through space and reassembled elsewhere?” He chuckled and shook his head. Having known each other since basic training, the quartet had found themselves reunited on the Wanderer and picked up pretty much where they left off. They were three of the people he felt closest to in the quadrant, which made being on such a small ship together that much more bearable. Of course, their lives had changed since their trainee days; Rhee was married and expecting his first kid back home, Jai had gone from being a lab technician to specialising in transporters, whilst Zelrin had gained some notoriety back on Tiburon as an experimental musician. As for himself, Holm had joined Starfleet since he was at a loss, with no real idea what he wanted from life but since enlisting he’d found that he wanted more and was quietly working on getting into the officer training programme. He was waiting on the results of his last entrance exam that, if he passed, would allow him to enrol as soon as the ship returned to port. Once he received that communiqué, he could then start getting ready for the rest of his career as a Starfleet officer. * * * * * Sickbay may have been small but was efficiently formed. Comprising of just the ward (with two biobeds), a surgical suite (that doubled as an examination room), and the medlab/office, it was surprising well equipped, more than enough for dealing with all the run of the mill injuries and illnesses the supply ship faced. For Lieutenant (j.g.) Helena Matheson it was her first sickbay, having come straight from Starfleet Medical Academy to the Wanderer, so was determined to make sure that it was ready for whatever was thrown at her. Or rather she would if the damned computer worked! She had been in the middle of reviewing and logging the treatment Crewman Bheq chim Xag had received in the night, when the terminal had frozen up on her. After exhausting what little knowledge she had on computers, she’d called for help and was patiently awaiting the ship’s Data Management Technician. One thing that had surprised Matheson, especially on such a small ship, was just how diverse the crew was. Twenty-three individual species were represented onboard, most of which she had first-hand knowledge of from her studies and internship, but there were a few that she’d only ever read up on—one such individual being the man she was waiting on. The doors opened and in strolled Crewman B’s’aas, the only Shamin among the crew and the only one she had encountered during her short tenure in Starfleet. The alien was a true mystery to her, thanks to a cultural taboo among his people that prevented anyone other than immediate family from seeing what they truly looked like—even as his physician, Matheson hadn’t seen what was behind B’s’aas’ golden mask, having to rely on what her tricorder scans told her. When she’d joined the ship, she’d had to do a lot of reading up on some of the crew she wasn’t overly familiar with and was surprised to see that most of the medical files and records on the Shamin came from their own central medical database, Starfleet had very little else to go on. However, at that moment in time he was there to offer his expertise and not the other way round. “Good afternoon, Doctor, you reported a problem?” “Yes I did, thank you for getting her so quickly, Crewman.” She quickly ran through what the issue was and what she’d tried to do to resolve it, whilst B’s’aas sat down at the desk and nodded his head, the mask giving nothing away though she had to wonder if he was rolling his eyes at her. He set down his tablet, connected it with her desktop and got to work. Matheson found herself staring at the back of his head, it too was covered (as was the rest of his body) to prevent anyone from seeing any part of him. Just what could they be hiding under all that? she mused to herself, before realising what she was doing. “I have to check on the medical inventory, so I’ll be in the exam room if you need me.” “No worries, Doctor.” She picked up her own PADD and wen to carry on with her duties. Though checks on their equipment and stores of pharmaceuticals were done by the two Corpsmen under her, she needed to sign off on their work. Their journey out to Sironii Alpha IV had been quiet; as such, their stock had hardly been touched, leaving Matheson with time to carry out the full round of physicals and health and safety spot checks she needed to do—of course after Xag’s little mishap, she was going to have to put a report to Commander Ayres on low-gravity sports onboard. Barely a quarter of the way through her checks, the door to the exam room opened and B’s’aas popped his head in. “That’s no done, Doctor.” “Already?” “Yes, it looks as though you were using a lot of active memory running—” Before he finished she winced, kicking herself for the problem she herself had caused. “The analyser,” she said aloud. The Shamin technician nodded. “Yes, Doctor. It was connected up and running. Looks to have been for at least the last twelve hours.” “I’ve been running a few experiments on some moss I picked up when we were last on Alpha Four. I was going through my last batch of tests and comparing results before we reached the outpost, I wanted to compare notes with their botanical pharmacologist, see how they differed.” “Ah, I see. Well that was drawing a lot of data usage, but I’ve adjusted your connections to speed up that process and free up some more memory on your system. That should be the end of your problem.” “Thank you, Crewman.” “Don’t mention it. Is there anything more I can do for you?” “Maybe a few pointers on how not to be a complete technophobe!” “I wouldn’t be able to do what you do, Doctor—much to the chagrin of my progenitors. But issues like this is why I’m here, so don’t worry about it and comm me anytime you have an issue.” She gave him a soft smile. “You may regret saying that, Mr B’s’aas.” “It’s what I live for, Doctor.” * * * * * Although his shift had been over for eight-point-one hours and he was once again due on the bridge at zero hundred, Ensign Vaarek remained in the systems management room (commonly referred to as Sys-Man by many of the crew) determined to try to clear the interference from their attempts to hail the Sironii Alpha IV Research Outpost. Whilst his shipmates adopted a blasé manner, assuring him that it was normal for subspace communications to go unanswered, he could not accept it—after all it was his duty as Chief Communications Officer to ensure they had contact with the facility. The room he sat it was where the ships communications, computer, navigation and sensor systems were analysed and monitored, supported command functions and could be used as auxiliary control should anything happen to the bridge, so it was the best place from which he could work, allowing the on shift operators to remain at their post. He could look at all the previous data gathered by the Wanderer on their last run, as well as that of the other supply ships that frequently made the journey, so he could better understand the nature of the interference and devise some way of circumventing it. It was a something he had been working on for the last week during his off hours, but had yet to discover a solution that would work. The problem he faced was caused by solar winds from the Sironii Delta System, which passed through the Alpha System at irregular intervals and disrupted a wide number of subspace and EM signals. He had tried everything he had learned at the Academy, from narrow band burst transmissions to all frequency hails; nothing allowed him to contact the outpost. It was most perplexing. With no pattern to the solar winds, the station had to make contact when they could—sometimes not for weeks, with the longest dark period being three months, four days, sixteen hours and eleven minutes. Vaarek wondered how the communications staff assigned to the outpost passed the time unable to perform their duties sufficiently. Behind him, the doors parted and his acute hearing detected the light footfalls of Petty Officer Ceresani D’Valna approach. “How’s it looking, sir?” the K’Normian asked, standing closer to him than was necessary. “I am still collating data,” he told her. “Oh, well I’m sure you’ll figure it out, sir.” She fell silent but didn’t move. Vaarek cocked an eyebrow and looked back at the non-com, whose light blond hair hell over her shoulders. “Petty Officer, your hair is not regulation. I would advise you tend to it.” Her flaxen cheeks darkened as she hurriedly swept her hair back. “Yes sir, sorry sir.” In a fluster, she moved to her station, monitoring the ships sensors, giving them much greater scrutiny than she normally did. He frowned to himself. Even after four years around other species at the Academy, he still found their mannerisms and emotional fluctuations to be quite bewildering. The doors parted again and Lieutenant (j.g.) Haem nesch Grott stepped into the opening, his snout sniffed the air for a second before he grinned. Grott was Vaarek’s roommate, an unpleasant fact everyone except the four ranking officers onboard had to endure. Vaarek had found the concept of sharing ones living space at the Academy to be difficult, but there he had a whole planet to explore and discover for himself, on the Wanderer he was far more limited. “Vaarek, thought I’d come and see if you wanted to join me in the mess, but going by the smell of things you might be having more fun in here,” he bellowed with an exaggerated wink. “I don’t understand,” he replied, but from the corner of his eye, he saw D’Valna flinch before her posture slumped forward. The Tellarite laughed. “Come with me and I’ll explain it to you.” “I have not yet finished my analysis—” “Vaarek, we arrive there tomorrow and when we get into orbit we’ll be able to hail them, so what’s there to analyse? You can compare notes with the crew there and then do some more work on your pet project on the way back to port, so come on, let’s go grab some grub and we can leave Ms D’Valna to get on with everything she has to do today.” Despite his intention to solve this particular problem there were others, more experienced than himself, who had attempted and failed to do so. Having made multiple attempts he had yet to make any headway, and with limited time left until they were due to arrive, he could see the logic in his roommates argument. Logging off the communications station, he stood up. “Very well, Lieutenant.” “Excellent! I heard that there should still be some grilled waaki left over,” Grott said as Vaarek headed for the exit. “Good evening, Petty Officer,” he said to D’Valna. “Night sir,” she muttered, not looking around. In the corridor, as soon as the door panels closed Grott chuckled and slapped him on the back. “You sly dog, I’ve never have thought she’d be your type!” “My ‘type’?” The Engineering Officer stopped dead in his track, staring at him. “Seriously? You mean didn’t realise…?” Vaarek frowned at him. “Realise what?” Grott snorted with laughter, which echoed through the corridors. Unable to comprehend what was wrong with the other man, Vaarek stood and observed; his concern for the lieutenant’s wellbeing steadily increasing, as he didn’t seem to be drawing a breath. After almost three minutes, the Tellarite’s belly laugh decreased to a throaty chortle. “Ensign, you’ve got more to learn than what they taught at the Academy—luckily you’ve got me to help with that.” * * * * *