After working a double overnight shift, an interesting week of births, and life generally rearing its ugly head. Hilea retreated to her quarters. A few weeks of decorating had made it a relaxing space. Natural fabrics, throws, and soft furniture were in the living spaces. Plants with natural accents added scent and sight to help the senses decompress. She loved the modern conveniences but sometimes life should be softer than it was. Hilea had had to be hard everywhere else for nearly seven decades.

Her transition into Starfleet itself was not without the pain of a rebirth of sorts. Humans had been so alien during her initial encounters. During her time in the Dominion War, she had even met a few but of course, had not had time for any pleasantries.  Waking up in the late afternoon, she walked to the replicator, “Scottish black tea, sweet with a splash of cream. Half liter in an insulated mug, temperature, eighty Celcius.

Inhaling the steam from the hot beverage, she allowed it to help wake up her lungs as well as her mind. Taking a tentative sip. it was hot. Perfection. Moving to the spare room. Hileas started tending to plants. Picking a few choice strawberries from a lighted growth chamber, she set the fruit aside and tended to the rest of the plants, as she snacked.

A few minutes later, she sat in on a heavily cushioned mat in the clear center of the room. A holographic fireplace display crackled lightly nearby as Hilea started to meditate. Her mind unwinds the events of the day. the nearby now cooler tea, a drinkable temperature.

Ten minutes into the session, the walls of the room started to reverberate. She could hear unfamiliar stringed instruments and rhythm throughout the room, the conduits acting like an echo chamber. Strangely it wasn’t immediately annoying. Sipping her tea, she allowed the song to finish, the person playing the instrument clearly talented, even through the wall distortion.

As the player launched into the solo, Hilea got up. Realizing the moment was over for meditation, she changed into line dark blue Karate Gi, she liked the warmth, freedom of movement, and warmth it provided. Picking up a tricorder, she used it to make sure her senses were accurate enough that she would be pinging the right door for the disturbance.

Getting to the door, she stabbed the chime. Probably a bit too hard.

After Beryl’s enlightening session with Counselor Black, he’d decided some regular distraction might be in order. Too much time to brood was not going to help him out of his blues. A second realization came to Beryl: he hadn’t been lifting in months! He’d been so engrossed in his new career path that his usual exercise routine had been left by the wayside. Maybe that was why his uniform was feeling a little tighter than usual…

Changing into some workout clothing, Beryl decided he wasn’t ready to be seen in a Starbase gym. Maybe it had been more than a few months… Patting his belly, he turned away from the door to his room and returned to the bench in the corner of his living room. “Computer, give me some music… I’m thinking Dire Straights. Randomize the playlist, but make sure it’s upbeat.”

The computer chimed in acknowledgement of the request and began blasting a driving guitar riff. Beryl nodded, pleased the computer still remembered he liked volume. Excess volume? No, ridiculous. Just enough to fill the space.

Beryl only got about 2 sets in before he was sweating profusely. 3 sets in, he was considering calling it quits. Not seriously, of course, but man, he needed to build that stamina back up. Fortunately for him, the door chimed. Beryl racked the bar and walked to the door, wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel. The door slid open to reveal a face Beryl didn’t recognize. His first guess would’ve been Vulcan, but a hint of irritation on her face made Beryl think again.

“Ah, hello. Good evening, I mean. How can I help you?” Beryl shouted, then immediately winced as he realized what the problem likely was.

Hilea was about to speak when it occurred to her that the volume inside the human’s quarters wasn’t as high as she initially thought the volume was excessive, but her brow furrowed ever so slightly as her head tilted slightly in curiosity. The music was loud, but it should have been several decibels louder to get into her adjoining room.

She allowed a disarming smile to cross her face. The human reaction to realization seemed as universal as her own. “Jolan Tru, I am your neighbor Hilea. May I come in? I have questions, and now, we have a mystery to solve.  I would like to check something if nothing is on your side of the wall between our respective rooms. The volume levels between our side of the same wall are louder than should be.”

“Plus I would like to know the name of that musician or group playing through the walls.” She added, waiting to be let in.

Beryl tapped the wall console near the door to lower the volume to background noise, then stepped to the side. “Please, come in. I’m Beryl, and I love a good mystery.”

Beryl gestured towards the ‘living room.’ It wasn’t much, as he was only a Lieutenant, but it was better than the quarters he had been sharing as an Ensign. “Feel free to take a seat, or investigate away! Oh, and I’m listening to a 20th century band called Dire Straits. Got anything like them on… Romulus?” It wasn’t too risky a guess, given the pointy ears and her greeting, but Beryl still didn’t like to assume.

She found that if the person she greeted actually used their brain matter for something other than bipedal loc0motion, they didn’t just assume, and Hilea offered a  genuine. “Thank you. ” then added. I would say that that Rihannsu music is a bit more, technical, much of the time.

Walking in,  Hilea got her bearing and stepped into the center of the room. She wasn’t going to just barge into someone’s room.

“I can’t say I listen to anything modern, actually. My mother listened to an old genre called ‘rock and roll’ when I was young and impressionable, so it stuck with me. Sometimes I dabble in jazz from the same century as well. I like to dabble on the piano sometimes.” At the second use of the word ‘dabble’ in two sentences, Beryl realized he was babbling and closed his mouth. “Oh, ah, sorry about the workout gear in the way. I didn’t expect anyone to come knocking.”

A smile that time. “Dabble.” The word was unfamiliar and the UT had an odd congruent of lightly mashing paint on paper, but she got the intent. “Then perhaps we should play together, I do play keyboards as you call them. Please escort me to the room in question.” Hilea added.

The music now at a normal volume and listenable, Hilea was impressed as the human artist launched into a tune called Expresso Love. The complexity of the stringing techniques thwarted her efforts to decipher them, so she decided to simply enjoy the music. The electric guitar was loud yet undistorted, an impressive achievement.

“Well, if your quarters are just aft of mine, I guess we’re headed to the bathroom.” Beryl lifted an arm, gesturing towards the closed door to his left. “I believe the sonic shower unit is up against the adjoining wall. Maybe maintenance forgot to reinstall something?” Beryl wondered out loud, chuckling at the thought of maintenance just walking off with a panel of sound isolation without realizing where it came from.

When Hilea just stared at him, Beryl dropped his arm and led the way. As the bathroom door slid open, Beryl let out a quiet sigh of relief. He was generally a tidy individual, though if he were being honest, his standards had loosened slightly since moving into his own quarters. Still, the room was clean. He’d been caught pre-shower, so his grooming kit was still neatly stowed in the drawer, instead of being strewn about the countertop. Beryl remained in the doorway, so as not to crowd the tiny room while his next-door neighbor performed her inspection.

Feeling along the wall in a practiced manner, she reached in, loosening the panel, removing the inner seal making the bathroom water-tight. It was empty. “I will log the repair. At least it’s an easy fix.” She replaced the parts, making sure the seal was intact. Setting the panel to the side, Hilea said, “Mystery solved. Happens more than you think.”

Hilea walked back to the main room, as it was only polite. She listened to the complex rhythms the artist was making on the electric Stratocaster. Being exposed to some music, she knew the difficulty it took to play like that. It was almost banjo-like, loud and distortion-free. But the feel was very much a blues tune. Incongruent to her, but the tune impressed, not an easy fete.

“Perhaps since you are more versed, something complex like this but less about love?” Hilea asked. “Romance isn’t something I have time for at the moment anyway. Perhaps something different?”

Beryl shuffled through his mental library of rock and roll tracks. “Well, if you don’t mind changing artists, how about this one… Computer, play Locomotive Breath by Jethro Tull.” After the computer beeped acknowledgement, Beryl looked at Hilea again. “It’s another blues. Which is about as simple of a musical form as it gets, but the flute soloist plays some very cool riffs in the middle.”

The piano intro passed, and the lyrics began. Then Beryl turned a little red. “Oh, I guess there is that throwaway line about his woman and his best friend,” Beryl admitted sheepishly. “But it’s one line. Clearly not a love song. Here’s the solo. Let me know what you think.”

Hilea walked around until she found the acoustic center as the song start slow Building in tempo, it was a lively and interesting tune. She also had not expected the rock flute solo. “An excellent choice. With all the music in the database and sometimes the selections chosen to display human talent can be so shallow.”  She observed.

“For example. One of the songs chosen was by the musical group REM called ‘The one I love.’ Universally the worst song of the entire album considering songs like ‘Welcome to the Occupation’ and ‘It’s the end of the world as we know it.’   Yet humans choose it far more on average.” Hilea commented.

“Ha, yeah. I would guess the fact that you’re a musician biases your opinion of the quality of music. There’s just too much music on the market now to do this, but back when this song was released, there were ‘charts’ on which songs were rated by the general public. The public had a strong tendency to just rate songs based on stuff like catchiness. Artists who were more interested in making money than making quality music figured out there were certain chord progressions, for example, that the public tended to gravitate towards, and popular music would often just follow these very simple formulae to stay at the top of the chart. Anyway, what I’m trying to say with all my rambling is that maybe the computer’s selection-bias has to do with general human bias. We want to hear some complexities, but maybe the majority of listeners are asking the computer for some basic I-vi-IV-V progression with catchy lyrics?” Beryl caught his breath after ending his monologue.

“That helps more than you know. I can filter out some of the love songs.” Hilea thanked him as algorithms popped into her head. She involuntarily shuddered for a split second thinking about the music. “Popular music charts suggest alternative sides exist. Interesting.”

“Maybe there are some Romulan tunes you could introduce me to?” Beryl questioned. “I admit I’ve never even considered checking out Romulan music, but I’m open to it.”

Hilea laughed at that. “Oh, I don’t think I want any parade marches today. Music that doesn’t support the state?” Her head twisted, “I shall be right back.” She walked out with purpose. A minute later she had her instrument. A meter long and slightly thicker than a double-wide guitar neck, Hilea took a seat. “I am not quite ready for my recital. This will have to do until I get something more inspiring.” 

She starts playing “Ghost Riders in the Sky”

Beryl watched and listened as his new neighbor started jamming out. He started bobbing his head a bit with the beat. Not wanting to interrupt her playing, he waited for the song to finish before speaking up. “Nice playing! Also, good song choice. I’ll have to dust off the ivories and maybe we can play together sometime. Although, fair warning, don’t ask me to sing unless you develop a sudden urge to claw your ears out.” Beryl grinned. “It’s funny, I feel like most musicians develop at least some vocal abilities, but I just can’t sing to save my life.”

Hilea nodded adding a thin smile. “Perhaps I will expand my musical inventory. The ivories, as you call them, can be more intricate, but the aptitude to play at more than an amateur level requires dedication and practice. There was much I had to relearn during an enforced hiatus from access to any keyboards. As for the voice, thanks for the forewarning. Will I need noise-cancelling headphones?” She said with a rare wry smile.

“Have you taken sustenance? As a neighbor, Mnhei’sah demands I look after my neighbors, and I would be remiss if we didn’t at least attempt to share a meal. Perhaps one attuned to the kind of food one serves before the concert?” She asked with genuine interest.

Beryl nodded his head, excited about food, then realized his mistake. “I mean no, I haven’t eaten, I nodded because the mention of food suddenly made me very hungry. I’d be happy to get a pre-concert meal, haha. Let me think…” Beryl tapped his chin. “Well if I were going to a Dire Straits gig, I’d probably get something simple like a hot dog, and pair it with something my dad called ‘captain ‘n’ diet.’ It’s rum and a soft drink, if you aren’t familiar. Let me just change my shirt real quick…”

Emerging from his bedroom with less-sweaty attire than he had entered, Beryl clapped his hands together. “Alright, shall we find a galley? Or would you like to eat here?”

Hilea thought about the question, then countered. “An interesting idea. I accept. At the risk of being overly familiar, using the small galley in my quarters would be easier, and I do not need to change clothing.”

“Fine by me, lead the way.”

Walking back to her quarters, Beryl followed. Walking in the heat was welcoming, but she knew it would be too hot for Beryl. “Computer, lower the temperature by five degrees Celsius and increase ventilation by twenty percent.  Welcome to my House, as it were.”  In one of the corners, Hilea looked up various hot dog variations, and how things were traditionally prepared. Seeing the sheer number of choices, she asked, “Perhaps some assistance? I can cook them, but let me get us something appropriate to accompany them.”

A small refrigerator gave up a large pitcher of lemonade with a few jalapeno slices. Retrieving two large tumblers, she rimmed the glass with a sugar-salt mix, added ice, and then pulled out a half-empty blue bottle. Pouring two fingers of the blue fluid into each, she added the lemonade, turning the whole mixture slightly green.

Handing one to Beryl, she apologized, “I am sorry the vintage of ale isn’t spectacular. Getting harder and harder to find anything drinkable.” She said, then raising her glass,  “Ale, like love and politics burn, but life would be cold without them.”

Beryl raised both eyebrows. He liked that toast, and raised his glass in kind. “To ale.” With a grin and a chuckle, Beryl took a sip. He rolled the liquid over his tongue, appreciating it, before swallowing. Then took another.

“So, I think grilling is the best option for hot dogs. I’m not convinced the grill marks actually do anything flavor-wise, but I like how they look. Presentation is important. My father used to host little grilling competitions when I was young. He’d haul an old, gas-powered contraption out of the shed, spend three hours cleaning it, then spend the next few hours drinking and ‘manning the grill,’ as he called it. I think it was an excuse to just be alone with his thoughts, which I can appreciate now that I’m older. Hopefully a little wiser.” Beryl paused a moment. “I don’t know what that last bit has to do with grilling hot dogs. Old memory resurfacing, I guess.”

The brain can be triggered by so many responses, that sometimes I think it doesn’t happen often enough.” Hilea said. She sipped the spicy green lemonade, the sour and sweet going back and forth as the heat left seconds after swallowing. Walking back to the kitchenette, she changed out the small tile on top to a ridged cast iron plate and turned it on. A light glowed red nearby. Setting the grill to medium-high, Hilea placed three pairs of hot dogs on the grill. One beef natural casing. Something called a Coney, it was also natural casing but was white. Lastly, something called a bratwurst. The meat sizzled on the grill-plate.

Hilea commented, “I will need to visit the training room today. Especially if these ‘dogs’ are as succulent as they smell.” The small filter unit above the grill removed the toxic fumes, leaving a lingering scent that tempted her tastebuds. She saw Beryl retrieving some items from the replicator.

Beryl returned to the kitchenette with an armful of small bowl. Setting them on the counter, he arranged them in a line. “So here are some typical condiments. There are no required toppings for a hot dog – it’s all personal preference. I believe, centuries ago, some classic hot dog arrangements had specific names, but I couldn’t tell you what they were.”

Beryl proceeded to load up a bun, explaining as he went. “So I put some mustard along the bottom, with onions. I think putting them underneath the dog helps maintain its structural integrity.” Beryl chuckled to himself, then shuddered at the thought of all the condiments spilling out. “I admit it’s a little neurotic, but I absolutely hate when sandwich components fall out while I eat. Anyway, the options I have laid out are ketchup, mustard, onions, pickles, and relish. Feel free to experiment, but again, no requirements.”

She duplicated what Beryl had done but added the topping last. Ketchup was far too sweet.  The mustard was pungent and tasty, adding a few fresh dill pickles spears to her plate. “In my case, I can opt to change the toppings. ”  After the long shift, Hilea inhaled the beef natural skin hotdog. The snap of the casing, no matter whether the item was replicated, was satisfying.

The next one was called a Coney, the white hotdog picking up nice grilled marks. This time she added relish. Pungent but interesting, she finished half before putting it down and adding mustard. “So far, I am a convert. Nice choice.”

Beryl nodded while chewing, his mouth full of Louisiana hot-link. He swallowed quickly. “I’m glad you approve. It’s embarrassing to recommend a favorite food to someone, only to see a look of disgust on their face as they take a bite.” Then he had a thought. Should he brush up on Romulan cuisine? He certainly didn’t want to be a source of Hilea’s disappointment for their next meal.

“I do think, however, this food was fairly polarizing back in the day. People either loved ’em or hated ’em. Also, they were often served alongside burgers, and were typically an ‘either-or’ situation.” Beryl thought on his own little historical tidbit for a moment, as he took another bite. “Of course, I could be sensationalizing them a bit. For some reason, history books don’t seem particularly heavy on the topic of hot dogs.” Beryl smirked.

“The snap of that Coney is particularly satisfying.  Perhaps nex…” Hilea offered before being interrupted by the comm system. “Rodrigues to t”Rehu. Missus Noisago is dilated to 7.1 centimeters.”

Tapping her commbadge, Hilea offcred. “I will be there shortly. Thank you, Anna. t’Rehu out.” Turning to Beryl, she asked, “Will you tidy up here while I change? I would be grateful.”

Beryl gulped down the last bite and nodded. “Of course! Do what you need to do.” He began stacking a few plates to bring to the replicator.

Walking into the next room, she shed the Karate Gi she was wearing, slipping on a thin base layer of silk thermals. Her immaculate teal uniform went on next, then black socks. Finally her boots. It only took a few moments to brush out her hair, pull it into a teal ponytail, and added a pop of red lipstick.

Hilea moved with purpose, walking out of the bedroom and sealing it. At the other side of the room, she popped open the spare room. It was an eclectic mix of warm woods, soft and hard furniture, several large floor-to-ceiling plant chambers, and her instrument collection in front of the wall display. An acoustic guitar, keyboards, a steel guitar, and two that were alien.

“Feel free to play around in here, this might take twenty minutes, or it could hours. I can share of bit of this, I remember how small some of those quarters can be.”

Beryl gawked at the collection, almost spilling the food remains onto the carpet. “Wow, nice gear. Maybe I’ll take a pluck or two at the steel guitar after I clean this up.” He fed the plates in, watching the replicator reclaim them with a twinkle of light. “And thank you.”

“Instruments unplayed are just pretty rocks.” She said.

After Hilea had left, Beryl cleaned up the kitchenette to the best of his ability, hoping it would be satisfactory to his newfound neighbor. He strode over to the instruments then, stopping to admire the pair of unfamiliar, alien devices. Reaching out, Beryl barely brushed his fingers against one, before he thought better of it.

“Probably shouldn’t break something while she’s away.” Beryl said to the empty room. Abruptly, he decided it was time to leave, and exited her quarters. He took Hilea at her word that he was welcome to stay and play some music, but he still felt awkward hanging around here without her. Maybe that was a human reluctance that Romulans didn’t share. At any rate, Beryl had enjoyed hanging out. He’d be back.