“Vic, how much longer before we regroup with Enterprise?”

“I can’t say I read you, VS-6 Leader. Please make an attempt to use era-appropriate radio jargon, over.”

Tallera grinned and shook her head. “Okay, VB-6 Leader, this is VS-6. How much longer do we have before we have to circle back to Enterprise? Over,” she said, trying to add a bit of old-timey flavor to her voice like she’d seen in Vic’s historical movie nights. The science officer appreciated when his companions played along like that during holodeck escapades.

“VB-6 to VS-6, solid copy. We have twenty-two minutes before operation completion, in which time we have to return to save Yorktown, not Enterprise, over,” Vic spoke over her radio.

“Right. Sorry. …Over.”

“And remember: we gotta hit all four carriers to complete a flawless run. That means I go after Kaga with my planes, Tallie goes after Akagi with hers, Dreval hits Soryu, and Rysana hits Hiryu. Everyone copy? Over.”

“VS-6 Leader to VB-6 Leader, what happened to using era-appropriate radio jargon, over?” Tallie said with a smirk, prompting a laugh from Rysana over the radio.

“VB-6 Leader to VS-6 Leader. Shut up and bomb the boats.”

“Solid copy, sir,” Tallera laughed.

The Romulan inhaled deeply, enjoying the chill of holodeck-produced high altitude air as she gazed over the expansive ocean of Earth from the seat of her noisy little propeller-driven dive bomber. When Tallera had first discovered that Starfleet let its crews use holodecks for recreation instead of training, she thought it was rather stupid and superfluous. How she had since eaten her words.

Vic had led her and whoever else was willing to join on a wide variety of historical battle-based holodeck programs over the past three months onboard the Achana, usually adding little challenges for himself to perform better than the actual people did in history given his benefit of hindsight. The one they were currently playing was apparently based on a turning-point battle during one of Earth’s early industrial wars, where one side had destroyed four water-navy carriers at the loss of only one of their own. Deciding to up the ante, Vic had made it his mission to not only destroy all four enemy carriers in a single strike (as opposed to hitting three initially and having to launch another sortie to nab the last one, as had happened in real life), but also to prevent the loss of that one friendly carrier. Even though the concept of what they were doing was silly to the point of being arguably disrespectful to the people who’d died during this battle, Tallera couldn’t deny she was enjoying herself. Holodeck excursions were so quintessentially Federation; they were comically self-indulgent uses of technological innovation, but damn did they make her feel good.

Learning some human history was pretty fun, too. This program had taught her the namesake of the oh-so-famous Starship Enterprise, which was interesting in its own right.

“Heyo, Japanese fleet spotted!” Vic called out over the radios, seemingly abandoning his period-accuracy out of excitement. “All bombers, get in formation! Everybody get your eyes on your carrier, let’s do this!”

Having already attempted this “mission” three times now, it wasn’t hard for Tallera to pick out her target, the Akagi, out of the smattering of gray-and-brown boats beneath them. One by one, she and her friends turned the nose of their planes toward the sea and began their dives, keeping their targeting reticule focused on the center of all four carriers’ flight decks.

Tallera’s stomach flipped as she felt herself go nearly weightless in her plummet towards the Akagi. In the midst of her focus on her target, she had to hand it to Federation holodeck engineers. Being able to manipulate artificial gravity to simulate g-forces like this was no easy feat for a recreation device.

“2,000! …1,800! …1600!” Tallera’s holographic tailgunner shouted, calling out the altitude as they dived. At 1500 feet, Tallie pulled the bomb release, then yanked back on the stick, feeling that same a-grav tech simulate punishing g-forces as her bomber pulled out of its dive. 

“Hell yeah! Four carriers out of action, and Yorktown lives to fight another day!” Vic happily shouted as the quartet of officers exited the holodeck, triumphantly pumping his fist in the air. “Suck on that, Mr. Tojo!”

Tallera had no idea who that was, but couldn’t help but find Vic’s energy infectious after the exhilarating little thrill ride she’d just gone on. She took off her piloting helmet and smoothed out her hair with an excited little chuckle.

“So… everybody change back into clothes from this century, then we get in a quick pool tournament before we get back to Starbase Bravo?” Rysana inquired, the Andorian’s antennae springing back into position as she took off her own helmet. 

“You’re on,” Tallera said with a wink, then departed back to her cabin to change.

Inside her cabin, Tallera carefully took note of the fit of her uniform’s pants, and was a bit dismayed to find that they weren’t sitting any looser. Around-the-clock access to replicators with no culinary regulations was yet another thing that she’d had to adjust to onboard Federation starships. After only a single month of her service on the Achana, she’d had to begrudgingly replicate pants a size larger than she normally wore, and had been trying (and failing) to return to baseline since then.

As she adjusted her pants, a ping emanated from her combadge as it sat on her desk.

“Go for Tallera,” she stated.

“This is Commander Zelenko,” her CO’s voice responded. “All Achana crew, report to the bridge ASAP for an important crew meeting.”

Tallera raised an eyebrow. That was different. Zelenko didn’t hold many whole-crew meetings onboard their little corvette, especially not a few hours before docking at a starbase. When the Ensign was suitably groomed, she met back up with Vic, Dreval, and Rysana in the hall before heading to the bridge. That was a little system Vic had come up with; if they all arrive together, nobody looks bad for being the last to arrive.

Lieutenant Commander Zelenko stood in the center of the bridge with her arms behind her back as the four crew members stepped into the room. Lieutenant S’Geras, the executive officer, was manning the conn station.

“Take a seat, everyone,” Zelenko said to the quartet in that same aloof-yet-quietly-friendly tone she seemed to always bear. “We’ve got some important news that I think you’ll be quite excited to hear.” As the crew took seats, S’Geras stood and took up position behind and to the right of Zelenko.

“Upon return to Starbase,” she continued. “Lieutenant S’Geras and I will be receiving promotions. We received word earlier today.”

“Congratulations, Sir,” Tallera immediately spoke up.

“Thank you, Ensign,” Zelenko replied. “But we didn’t just call you in here to brag. I’m afraid that this is going to be our last day aboard the Achana.”

That statement made Tallera’s heart skip a beat. On one hand, she’d grown to appreciate the little ship quite a bit in these past three months. On the other… did that mean what she thought it meant?

“Wait, are you serious?” Vic said with a surprised laugh. “Are we getting a new ship?”

“Yes indeed, Lieutenant Travers,” Zelenko responded. “Pack your bags, Achana crew. We’re moving to a full-size starship.”

At that, Tallera couldn’t help but beam with exited delight.

“Well, don’t leave us hanging!” Vic said with that same elated chuckle. “What class is it? What’s her name?”

“Well…” Zelenko strode over to one of the unused consoles on the small bridge and picked up a navy blue hat sitting atop it, then tossed it to Vic. “We received replicator patterns for these when we got the news. Want to read aloud what it says on the front, Travers?”

“USS Shepard,” Vic said as he held up the hat. “NCC-86405. Is that us? Our new ship?”

“Yep,” Zelenko nodded as a smile spread across her lips. “Reliant-class patrol frigate. Fresh off the assembly line.”

“We’re getting a brand-new starship, Sir?” Rysana said with a hint of a gasp.

“Yes indeed,” Zelenko replied. “Starfleet has been churning out these Reliants as a way to phase out the dozen or so frigate classes it’s accumulated over the decades. And they want skilled, passionate officers like us to crew them. You should all be very proud.” Zelenko paused for a moment. “That being said, you all have a fair amount of work to do. The six of us need to be completely moved out of the Achana and have her ready to be transferred within two hours of arriving at Starbase Bravo. Achana crew: thank you for your work over these three months. Dismissed.”

Tallera was nearly skipping as she and Dreval marched back to their rooms to pack.

“Tallie, your overall energy level seems to hint at excitement,” the Vulcan stated. “Is this due to our transfer order to the USS Shepard, or is it something else I am not yet aware of?” 

“Yes, it’s due to the transfer order,” Tallera laughed. “We’re getting a Reliant-class, how could I not be excited?”

“Your attitude upon assignment to the Achana implied an aversion to smaller vessels. While much larger than a corvette, Reliant-class frigates are still quite small.”

“My aversion towards corvettes is due to their role, not size, my friend,” Tallera responded. “Nothing against our Achana, but corvettes don’t usually go on many exciting missions. We were on this ship for three months and haven’t once fired on anything.”

“Many Starfleet officers would not see that as a negative.”

“Ah, but I’m a Republic Navy Officer, remember?” she said with a smirk. “Our heritage was forged in battle, defending our new homeworld and all that. Which makes a Reliant perfect. They’re the workhorse of a new Starfleet tactical modernization program! They’ve got better firepower and shields than any ship that size to date, save Defiant. We’ll be patrolling commerce lines, fighting off pirates, maybe even taking part in fleet actions if we’re lucky.”

“Your passion for galactic peace never ceases to impress.”

“Hey, like I said, I’m a Republic Navy Officer. Nobody knows better than us that the best way to keep the peace is having a gun big enough to stop anyone from picking a fight with you.”

“A fairly rational statement, given your government’s founding and history,” Dreval nodded. “Your worldviews continue to be a source of great interest to me, Tallera.”

“As do yours, Dreval.”

With that, the pair parted towards their rooms and began to pack their things.

“She sure is pretty, huh?”

“The vessel bears a general visual hierarchy and defined silhouette that many sapient species find appealing, yes.”

Tallera shot Dreval a bemused glance, then turned her gaze back through the window of the Starbase Bravo observation lounge, where the USS Shepard could be seen undergoing final preparations in drydock. While the patrol frigate was dwarfed by the gargantuan Sovereign-class exploration cruiser sitting next to her, Tallera couldn’t help but already feel intense pride in her vessel. She looked a bit like a hybrid of a Luna-class explorer and the old Miranda frigates that she was based on; a poignant blend of two classic Federation designs from past and present that gave the ship a feeling of being steeped in the Starfleet tradition and values. Tallera wasn’t even in Starfleet and she found it a bit stirring.

“She’s named after the first Human in space, right?” she said to Dreval, still gazing at the Shepard.

“No. The second.” he said flatly after slurping up some of that odd green smoothie he enjoyed so much.

“Really?”

“Yes. The first was Yuri Gagarin.”

“Gagarin-class Yuri Gagarin?”

“The Heavy Escort class is indeed named in his honor.”

“Makes sense,” Tallera nodded. “First gets a class, second ‘just’ gets a ship.”

“Actually, there was a Shepard-class early in the early 23rd century, long before the current Gagarins.”

“Why would they honor the second human in space before the first?” Tallera asked with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a scoff.

“Because Alan Shepard was the first human from a democracy to journey into space, albeit a flawed democracy. Yuri Gagarin was from a dictatorship, although he himself is quite well-respected nonetheless. As I understand it he was a selfless man and gave his life to ensure the safety of others.”

“Wait… you’re telling me that the Humans – the quintessential Federation species – began spacefaring as a totalitarian state?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing…” Tallera said softly, returning her gaze to the Shepard and feeling a bit more kinship towards Humans than she had before.

A few meters away, now-Commander Jimena Zelenko leaned against the lounge’s bar, swirling her celebratory margarita and enjoying the playful ego-boost that accompanied a promotion party. She glanced at her padd on the bar as a notification for a message addressed to “Jimenushka” popped up – undoubtedly a congratulations message from her dad. She’d have to call him later, once she had the time – Ivan Zelenko was not a person that someone could talk with for less than four hours.

“So…” the older, rugged-looking Tellarite next to her grunted as he gestured to the window. “What do ya think of her?”

“I’m surprised you even need to ask, Captain Dellos,” she smirked as she sipped from her drink. “I never shut up about getting my own ship back when I was your XO.”

“Bahhhh, not the Shepard…” Dellos said with a wave of his hand. “No shit you’d like that; it’s brand new and defense-focused, she’s a dream ship for a Commander with your work history. I’m talking about the Romulan.”

“That’s not a very egalitarian thing to ask, Sir,” she said after another sip, her tone still light but nonetheless carrying the weight of meaning what she said.

“Screw egalitarianism, that’s a Romulan. Everyone in this damn bar wants to know how she’s getting along in Starfleet, at least the ones that don’t think she’s just another Vulcan.”

“The years haven’t made you any less Tellarite, have they, Dellos?”

“No more than they’ve made you less Human.”

“Here’s to that,” she laughed, lifting her glass in a toast to which the Captain responded in kind. 

“As for Ensign Tallera…” Zelenko continued. “She’s as fine a tactical officer as I could want. Maybe a little guarded and high-strung, but that’s understandable given where she came from.”

“‘Guarded and high-strung’… sounds a lot like my old XO on the Tecumseh,” Dellos grinned. “Maybe she was a Romulan sleeper agent this whole time.” 

“You never know, Cap’n,” Zelenko said with a wink, to which Dellos guffawed.

“Hey, speaking of the Tecumseh, I got a work question for you,” the Tellarite said as he pulled a padd from his messenger bag.

“Really, Skipper? During my promotion party?”

“Hey, it’s S’Geras’ party too, and you’re having too much fun for the two of you to share properly.”

“Oh, of course then, Sir,” Zelenko laughed.

“So, then…” Dellos continued. “You know how your Shepard comes stocked with two sets of two shuttles in the hangars?”

“Sure.”

“Well, now that the Tecumseh is getting converted into a freight hauler, she doesn’t need her runabouts anymore. I’m a sentimental old bastard, so I’m taking one of ‘em with me to the Rokossovsky since Gagarins get two anyhow. You want the other one on the Shepard, in place of two of your shuttles?”

“A runabout could be handy…” Zelenko mused. “Which one would you give me?”

“Genesee. You know I’m not parting with Saginaw, that Runabout saved my life during the incident with the Tholians.”

“Good, I always liked Genny better anyhow. Saginaw kept getting in the way of my dastardly Romulan plots to kill a Federation Commander.”

Dellos guffawed, then gave Zelenko a hearty pat on the back. “She’s yours then! Consider it a promotion gift.”

“Much appreciated, Sir.”

Dellos raised his glass. “To Jimena Zelenko, the best new Commander and worst Romulan agent in Starfleet.”

Jimena raised hers. “To Vosh Dellos, the… newest new Captain in Starfleet.”

Dellos cackled again, and Zelenko happily laughed along with him.

Jimena Zelekno stumbled along the hallway to her temporary Starbase headquarters, regretting accepting that last shot of vodka with Lieutenant Travers. She’d probably feel a bit of this in the morning, but oh well. She’s just been promoted and shown her first starship, she deserved a night of fun.

Tossing open the door and plopping onto her bed, Zelenko grabbed her padd to absent-mindedly play a stupid game to wind down from the party, then saw the message from her father. 

Shiiiiit, she thought, irritated at herself and feeling more than a little guilty about being too drunk to respond, despite knowing very well that her father wouldn’t take it personally at all. Still, she didn’t like leaving people hanging like that.

Then she saw another message pop up, this one listed as from D. Hawkins. 

Zelenko winced and her heart fluttered, feeling a much sharper stab of guilt than before. It wasn’t like him to send a message un-prompted, particularly after such an extended time with no communication between the two. She opened the message, figuring that it wasn’t a completely unreasonable assumption that he was dying or something.

Hey Jimena,

Been a while, huh? I heard you got a promotion and a ship of your own, so I-

Okay, he wasn’t dead. That meant Zelenko could deal with the message in the morning, without vodka and tequila clogging up her system so much. 

Or maybe tomorrow night, with far, far more drinks.

Dreval stacked his clothes into the dresser of the USS Shepard’s Junior Officer Room 5B9, taking care not to wrinkle any of the uniforms. As the first members on board the Shepard, the former Achana crew had all been allowed to select their rooms out of those available for their rank and department. Since the Damage Control and Medical departments were located quite close to each other, he and Rysana were able to select adjacent rooms, and were also able to nab the only two junior officer quarters with their own private bathrooms on the whole of Deck Five. 

Living next to Rysana would be agreeable. While Dreval had not grown to know her quite as well as he had Tallera during his time on the Achana, he nonetheless enjoyed the Andorian’s company. Rysana was a logical companion to assist a Vulcan in social situations, after all; she was straightforward enough to be easy for a Vulcan to understand, yet laid back and sardonic enough to be approachable by other members of the crew. Perhaps in this way she was a more strictly socially useful friend than Tallera, who’s well-known introversion and aloofness could combine with his own to create an insular environment that others would be reluctant or unable to permeate. Of course, social utility mattered little when one truly enjoyed another’s company. Dreval hoped that Tallera would venture down from her Deck Four room to interact with them.

Thinking back to Rysana, he wondered if the Andorian considered him a valuable companion in the same way. After all, her closest friend on the Achana had been Victor, who was nearly as far from a Vulcan as you could be, temperamentally speaking. Rysana had been the one to suggest the pair acquire adjacent rooms, but it was always possible that said suggestion had been fueled by social convention as opposed to a genuine desire to continue interaction. Other species could be so complicated at times.

“Holy crap, Dreval, get out here!” he heard Rysana call from the hallway, so he set down his things and exited his room.

“Is everything al- what is that?” he said with a raised eyebrow and cocked head.

In front of seated Rysana, Victor Travers was laying sideways on the floor with a wide smile on his face. Both officers’ eyes were locked on a tiny, black-furred and quadrupedal animal pawing at the carpet.

“It’s a cat!” Vic responded, eyes still fixed on the creature. “Well, a kitten. He’s only twelve weeks old.”

“Wow, I didn’t know they made stuff this adorable on Earth,” Rysana chuckled. “Look how big its eyes are! How’s there any room for his brain in that noggin?

“Why is there a baby cat on the floor?” Dreval asked.

“Because I adopted him at the Starbase pet shop,” Vic replied, finally looking up at the Vulcan. “Ship’s Cats are a longstanding tradition on Earth vessels, so I figured that our brand-new ship needed a brand-new cat.” As he spoke, he reached over and poked the animal on the nose, prompting it to let out a tiny squeak “Dreval, meet Redstone.”

“It is not red.”

“No, he isn’t,” Vic laughed. “Redstones were the family of rockets that took Alan Shepard into space. Thought it was a fitting name.”

“It is. However, would it not have better fit a red cat?”

“Cats don’t come in red, buddy,” Vic replied, sitting up and running his hand down Redstone’s back. “And I got a black cat because they’re usually the last ones to get adopted, so I wanted to make sure this fella found a good home.”

“That is an admirable rationale,” Dreval nodded, leaning in closer to look at the cat. “It reminds me a bit of a Sehlat, only much smaller. How big will it become?”

“About a foot and a half long,” Vic said as Rysana took a turn interacting with the diminutive creature. “Minus the tail, of course. So the perfect size to keep on a ship.”

“Fascinating.”

“Damn right it is,” Rysana chuckled, gingerly picking up Redstone and holding him in her lap. 

For a few minutes, the trio simply sat on the floor, watching as the kitten inspected its surroundings, before footsteps could be heard approaching them down the hall.

“Officers, why are you sitting on the floor?” S’Geras stated, the mustachioed Caitian’s tone hovering somewhere between agitation and boredom as always.

“Hey, Commander,” Vic replied, holding up Redstone and proudly displaying him to S’Geras. “Check it out, we got a new pet!”

The response from S’Geras was like nothing Dreval had ever seen before from the man. The XO let out a visceral hiss and sprung two feet straight up into the air, landing in an almost feral posture with dilated pupils and fur standing on end. After a moment, he seemed to compose himself again, standing upright and trying to relax.

“Uhhhhh… are you okay, Sir?” Rysana asked with wide eyes, her companions too flabbergasted for words.

“Why… do you have that… thing… on board?” he hissed.

“Um, it’s a pet?” Vic said in an uncharacteristically squeaky voice. “Do you, er, not like cats? I kinda figured you would, give, your… uh…”

“My species despises cats,” S’Geras said as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “We find them… horrifically uncomfortable to look at.”

“But… this thing is adorable, Sir,” Rysana asked, still as confused as ever. “Why would it make you uncomfortable?”

“Vahl, if a nonsapient animal resembled a newborn Andorian, but with legs instead of its arms, would you find it appealing?”

Rysana scrunched up her face in disgust, with Victor quickly following suit.

“Just… keep that thing off the bridge,” S’Geras growled, then turned and walked away.

“Well… can’t say I’ve ever thought about cats like that before,” Rysana muttered after the XO was far away.

“Yeah,” Vic nodded. “Y’know, I guess we didn’t need to get Redstone.” He motioned in the direction S’Geras had gone. “I forgot that we already have a ship’s cat.”

Tallera tapped away on the tactical console on the USS Shepard’s bridge, making sure that all the settings, sensitivities, and touchpad shortcuts were to her liking. She’d spent the morning running diagnostics on the ship’s phaser arrays and torpedo pod, and everything had gone swimmingly in that way that only a brand-new ship could. Hopefully these weapons would actually get a chance to make themselves useful, unlike those poor neglected phasers on the Achana. Tallera hadn’t even gotten a chance to blow up an errant asteroid.

She continued adjusting her settings, then returned to her main menu, and then slammed her fist against the armrest.

“God DAMN it!” she shouted, causing the nearby Rysana to jump. “Why does this console keep reverting back to Operations? It deletes my workstation settings when it does that.”

“Probably because a lot of Federation captains like the Ops station being there, Tallie,” the Andorian replied with a wry smile after taking a moment to recompose herself. She’d been fiddling with the Science station, making sure it was transmitting data to the Med Center correctly.

“That’s stupid,” Tallera said as she started the process of swapping it back to Tactical. “Why would anyone want the Ops guy next to the Helm Officer? They have nothing to do with each other. Helm and Tactical need to be synced up more than almost anyone else.”

“Most ships in Starfleet aren’t primarily for fighting. On a Exploration or Engineering Corps vessel, it’s good to have Ops right in front of the captain.”

“The Shepard isn’t either of those, though.”

“The software guys installing the LCARS OS probably didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, that figures,” Tallera sighed. She’d always disliked programmers back in the Academy. They always seemed to be the type to think that just because they understood one complicated thing, anything else must be simple to understand, and therefore beneath them.

“Hey, you saw Vic’s new cat, right?” Rysana asked from her seat along the side of the bridge.

“No, what’s a cat?”

“Oh, you gotta go check it out. It’s this cute little furry animal from the Human homeworld. Vic, Dreval, and I were playing with it earlier down by our cabins a few hours ago.”

“Huh. I bet that was fun,” Tallera responded, doing her best to present a carefree attitude about the situation. In truth, it bothered her enormously that none of her friends were living on the same deck as her. While she’d managed to nab some nice quarters near the galley with a private bathroom, she hated knowing that she was just far enough from Dreval, Rysana, and Vic that it would be easy for them to forget about her.

“Yeah, sorry you missed it,” Rysana continued. “I think it was when you and Zelenko were working on moving that Runabout? I’m sure you’ll have a chance to see the little guy soon, Vic won’t shut up about him.”

“Then I look forward to meeting our newest crewmember,” Tallera smiled.

After a few minutes of quiet working, the bridge turbolift swished open. Tallera turned, expecting to see Zelenko… but was met with the sight of a tall human male with broad shoulders, a dark complexion, and a goatee.

“Uh, who’re you?” Tallera asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, hey there, sorry for dropping in on you two,” the man said with a wave. “I’m Ensign Calvin Mackenzie, the new Flight Control Officer. Call me Mack.”

“Lieutenant Vahl,” Rysana said, standing up to shake Mack’s hand. “I’m a nurse, so this’ll probably be the last time you see me up here for a while.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replied with a warm grin.

“Tallera,” Tallie said with a slight wave. “What are you doing here? The full crew isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“Ah, well, It turns out I’m the only officer getting transferred here that was already working at Starbase Bravo,” Mack said with a shrug. “I’ve been cutting my teeth as a shuttle pilot for the last month, and I guess this is where they decided to put me on my first real assignment. I introduced myself to Commander Zelenko yesterday, she gave me clearance to hop on since I was already here.”

“You’re one lucky bastard, aren’t you?” Rysana chuckled. “Getting on the ship before everybody else like that.”

“Well, not before all of you!” he smiled back. “I heard y’all have been working with Zelenko personally for like three months now. That’s crazy, I’d kill for some one-on-one bonding with a CO like that.”

“Yeah, it was pretty cool,” Rysana replied. “We got to rough it out in a Raven corvette. However, you’re gonna have to let Tallie here tell ya about that, because I just finished with this console and gotta go work on crap at the health center.” She got up and headed for the turbolift. “Nice meeting you, Mack.”

“You too, Vahl!”

Nononono please don’t make me hold a conversation alone with a new person, Tallera silently pleaded to her friend as she stepped onto the lift and vanished from sight.

Shit.

“So, Tallie, was it?” Mack said as he strode in front of the Captain’s chair and took a seat at the helm.

“Tallera.”

“Ah, got it, so – oh, wait, you’re the Romulan, aren’t you?” Mack asked, his smile growing wider and more eager. 

“Yyyyyep,” Tallera said with a forced smile. She figured that she’d be greeted with this quite often in the coming days. “Romulan Republic Exchange Officer, at your service.”

“Wow. That is so cool. I can’t wait to tell my dad, he saw you guys fight during the Dominion War. Said those warbirds of yours are really something else.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty neat. My parents fought in the Dominion War too, actually.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d they see action?”

“I dunno. They died when I was young.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. Still have my Grandpa.”

“Cool. Coooooool…” Mack said, drumming on his console with the tips of his fingers. “Did you lose your parents when Romulus… uh, sorry, that’s not my place to ask.”

“It’s alright. And yeah, I did.”

“Ah.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Mack still drumming his fingers on his console as he tapped at the screen a few times.

“Hey, you like sports?” he asked. “There’s a couple cool leagues here in the Federation.”

“Not really, sorry.”

“Ah. Hey, no worries. To each their own and all that.”

“Mmmmm-hmm.”

Tallera wanted to die.

“Where are you from?” she asked, desperately trying to break out of conversational gridlock. Oh, how she wished Rysana was still here.

“Earth. City called Philadelphia, it’s part of the Northeast Corridor megapolis if you’ve heard of it. What about you?”

“I live on New Romulus, in the Vastam mountain range. My grandpa helped set up a little town there.”

“Ah. So, not much like Philadelphia then, I guess,” Mack said with a forced-sounding chuckle.

“Not really, no.”

“Hmmm. Cool cool cool,” Mack said again, then began fiddling with his Helm console. “Man, I’ve been killing to fly a full blown ship for months now. This is gonna be great.”

“Were you hoping to get a ship like the Shepard?” Tallera asked, hoping that she may have finally found some commonality between the two of them.

“Well, I try not to put all my hopes in one kind of ship, keep an open mind and all that.”

“I can respect that,” Tallera responded.

“But I have to say, this one is pretty great. Brand-new, small enough to be fun to fly… and the position of its impulse thrusters have some really cool effects on the spaceframe. I’m dying to pull a 180 by splitting the throttle.”

“What’s splitting the throttle mean? We don’t use that phrase in our Navy.”

“High power differential thrust,” Mack replied. “Y’know, cranking one impulse to max while the other idles, it makes the ship perform a sharp yaw turn. It’s great in combat, and Reliants like Shepard are perfect for it since the engines are so far apart.”

“That sounds like a great way to wind up in an uncontrolled spin,” Tallera said with a raised eyebrow. “You’d need two massive inverse power shifts one after the other at very precise intervals. That’d wreak havoc on the EPS systems, especially during combat. It would just take one conduit failure and you’re a helpless, spinning target dead in the void.”

“That’s why you gotta be a good pilot,” Mack smiled.

“Or an arrogant one. The thrusters are far apart to increase normal-yield differential thrust performance, not to split the ship in half performing a stunt.”

“I guess we’ll just have to leave this little disagreement to the Commander’s discretion, then,” Mack shrugged with a smile, not seeming to take Tallera’s remarks personally.

“I suppose so,” Tallera said, then rushed through a few final checks on her console before shutting it down. “Well, I’m done here. I’ll be down on deck four if you need me.”

“Oh. Uh, alright,” Mack said with a shrug, then continued working on his own console. “Nice to meet ya.”

“Likewise,” Tallera said with a nod of her head, then did her best to look like she wasn’t leaving in a hurry. She let out a deep sigh of relief upon entering the turbolift. 

Well, that certainly hadn’t gone as well as her introduction to Dreval. She hated meeting people one-on-one for a reason; the minute you don’t have anything in common, everything just becomes an awkward slog until one of you can find an excuse to leave. And Tallera was pretty sure that she and the new pilot had very little in common.

Tallera was exhausted. 

She slowly trod into her room and threw herself onto the bed, letting out a deep sigh of relief over not having to be around people anymore. She’d certainly seen enough of that in the past days.

48 hours ago, the full primary crew of the USS Shepard, all 130 of them, had assembled at Starbase Bravo and boarded their new home. Zelenko had placed her and the other former Achana crew in charge of handing out info to many of these new people, which Tallera had initially been honored by but had since grown to resent. Even with how horrible she was at corralling a gaggle of exuberant junior enlisted crew to wherever they needed to go, the thing she really hated was how quickly her Romulan-ness had turned her into a walking zoo attraction. She’d been absolutely bombarded with questions from curious crewmen, and before long had started trying to pass as a Vulcan by talking in a monotonous voice and wearing one of those Shepard ball caps to hide her forehead ridges. 

Thankfully, all of that seemed to be done for now. The crew was on board, Commander Zelenko had given the standard “welcome to the ship” speech to everyone in hangar bay 1, and all departments were chugging along preparing for the Shepard’s maiden voyage around Regulus and back, which should take around six days assuming nothing went wrong. 

And Tallera had four hours before she was needed on the bridge for departure; that left more than enough time for a well-deserved nap.

Tallera rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she walked down the corridor to the turbolift. She was very wrong, four hours was far too much time for a nap. Her body seemed to think that it was turning in for the night, which had made getting out of bed an absolutely herculean task. She’d munched on more than a few caffeinated snacks back in her room, and then replicated a bladder regulator pill so said snacks wouldn’t make her constantly have to piss during her shift.

Great start to your first bridge duty, Tallie… she shought with a sigh as she trod down the hall.

To her surprise, Tallera saw a woman she didn’t recognize waiting outside the turbolift to the bridge. She was rather thin, slightly taller than Tallera, and wearing the yellow uniform of the operations division. When she heard Tallera approach, she turned to look at her, revealing the telltale slanted eyebrows and pointed ears of a Vulcan.

“Oh, hey there,” Tallera said with a smile, immediately feeling more comfortable than she would have had this person been a member of any other species. Humans, Andorians, Caitians, they could all have anything going on in their heads. But based on her experience with Dreval, you always knew where you stood with a Vulcan. “I’m Tallera, bridge tactical officer.”

“Greetings…” the woman said flatly, narrowing her gaze in a way that gave Tallera pause. “Are you the Romulan that I have heard is part of our crew?”

“Er, yes. Romulan Republic Exchange Officer, at your service.”

The Vulcan looked at her for a moment as the turbolift doors swung open behind her. She slowly backed into the lift, and Tallera tentatively followed.

“Bridge,” the Vulcan ordered, and Tallera felt the lift begin to move under her feet. The Vulcan then turned her attention back to her. “I am Ensign T’vrin, communications officer. I will tolerate your presence as is necessary for the completion of any mission we may find ourselves on, but know this: I will not trust you nor interact with you in any manner beyond what is required for the operation of this vessel. Your kind have shown their true colors more than enough for any logical being to consider your very presence a threat to Starfleet security, and I am continually disappointed with the trust the Federation puts in your so-called-Republic.”

The doors to the bridge swung open behind Tallera, who was in a near state of shock by the deluge of prejudice that was thrown at her.

“Good day, Romulan,” T’vrin said flatly, then walked past her and towards the communications station.

Tallera inhaled deeply, then turned and strode across the bridge to the tactical console. She’d known she would be met with something like this for a while now, but her time with Dreval had left her more than a little shell-shocked that it had come from a Vulcan. In any case, her previous thoughts about the species weren’t wrong: you always knew where you stood with a Vulcan.

Zelenko gave Tallera a smile and nod as she took her place at the front of the bridge while Vic gave her an enthusiastic wave from the science console. She gave them both a respectful nod as she sat next to Mack. S’Geras was seated next to Zelenko, and a Saurian non-com named Krakii was manning the security station behind them. Tallera had met Krakii earlier, and had been surprised that Starfleet gave noncommissioned officers so much responsibility.

“Hey, Tallera,” the helm officer said to Tallera.

“Hi, Mack,” she replied somewhat tentatively. She still didn’t really know how to interact with the guy, and desperately hoped not to relive their staggeringly awkward first impressions of each other.

“Shepard bridge crew,” Zelenko said, sitting up to a commanding pose in her Captain’s Chair. “Run through final mission checks.”

“Ops reporting all crew as ready and prepared,” S’Geras said next to her.

“Security departments coming in green across the board,” Krakii chirped, her Saurian vocalizations far more scratchy-sounding than your average species. 

“Science and medical are ready to rock!” Vic beamed as he gave Zelenko a thumbs-up.

“All communications and sensor suites are operating at peak efficiency,” T’vrin spoke next. 

“Weapons are hot and power systems cycling, ready to be fired on-demand,” Tallera said with a nod back to Zelenko.

“Docking clamps released, impulse and RCS thrusters powered up, and warp engines purring like a charm,” Mack smiled, rounding out the bridge crew. “Looks like we’re ready to go, Commander.”

Zelenko tapped at the console built into the arm of her chair.

“Starbase Bravo, this is USS Shepard, requesting permission to leave drydock.”

“Permission granted, Shepard,” a voice said over comms. “Godspeed.”

Zelenko smiled, reclining and tenting her fingers. 

“In that case…” she turned her gaze to the starfield that covered the bridge’s viewscreen. “Mister Mackenzie, take us out, 1/10th impulse power.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The Shepard slowly cruised out of its dry dock gantry, its warp coils beginning to glow bright blue.

Here we go, Tallera thought. First voyage on my first ship.

“Drydock clear,” Mack stated as the ship passed the few defense vessels holding position around SBB. “And we are green for FTL, Sir.”

“Hit it, ensign,” Zelenko smirked. “Warp factor 8.”

With a tap of an icon on Mack’s console, the Shepard’s warp drive let out a sharp whine before it launched itself deep into the void.