The enlisted lounge aboard the USS Cardinal buzzed with activity as the midday shift change flooded the space with crew from across the ship’s departments. Lighting here was warmer than on the corridor, lending a golden hue to the room’s khaki bulkheads and polished champagne-colored tables. Conversations hummed in overlapping layers while utensils clicked against metal meal trays. Through a set of tall forward-facing viewports, light from a nearby star cast languid shadows that rippled gently across the floor.

Crewman Vesha leaned forward with her elbows on the table as she listened to the young human seated across from her. Brown spots ran along her jawline and disappeared beneath her collar. The fair-skinned enlisted woman’s green eyes sparkled with interest as she studied the man. Crewman Tyler Gantz grinned as he mimicked a warp coil overload with a stylized explosion sound. Long fingers expanded outwards to pantomime the explosion.

“I was doing my EPS relay maintenance route as usual, you know?” Tyler jabbed his fork as he spoke. “Ensign Ferros says, ‘Don’t mess this up again, Gantz.’ And I’m like, again? That was one just time. A single conduit. One tiny containment breach, that was contained.” His last words held a defensive tone.

Vesha gasped and leaned closer, “Containment breach? You’re lucky your eyebrows grew back.”

“They’re thicker now. Rugged.” Tyler arched them exaggeratedly and winked. “It was an upgrade.”

Vesha giggled and brushed her brown curls over one shoulder. “You’re such a disaster.”

“A charming disaster,” he admitted. Tyler scooped a bite of greenish-orange casserole into his mouth and chewed quickly. “Besides. You said you liked disasters.”

“I said I cause disasters,” she corrected as her eyes danced. “There’s a subtle difference.”

Petty Officer Naz Jadi sat hunched over a small metal bowl at a nearby table. She stirred a pale yellow soup with rhythmic motions. The smell of yamok broth curled upwards, piercing the air with its tangy aroma.

Chief Petty Officer Lelasa worked carefully through a plate of raw seafood as she sat across from Jadi. Lelasa’s narrow Saurian teeth delicately picked through the bones and sinew of her dish. The pieces glistened like glass on a chilled metal plate. Her multifaceted eyes caught every movement in the room.

“I give that courtship display a four-point-two,” Lelasa said. The pine-colored dinosaur covertly motioned towards Vesha and Tyler with her tail. “Unimpressive flourishes. Poor restraint.”

Jadi grunted without lifting her gaze. “He makes her laugh. That counts for something.” The security team leader sipped a spoonful of broth. The ladies had been roommates on the Brawley in a room of four. Now Jadi and Lelasa shared a suite with their own private bedrooms attached.

“Humor is the shadow of fear. His scent is nervous.” Lelasa’s tongue flicked out briefly. “He’s either intimidated or aroused.”

“Both,” Naz said as she stirred her soup. “She has that effect on people.”

A trio of male crewmen lingered without touching their half-eaten plates. The largest among them was a broad-shouldered, squat Tellarite. Wiry brown-gold hair sprouted from his forearms and a deep scar across the bridge of his snout. He glared toward Vesha’s table with his thick fingers clenched around his utensil.

“Look at him,” he muttered to his companions. A wiry Andorian with long Thalassan antennae and a stocky human with a busted nose joined him. “He’s prancing around like he owns her.”

The Andorian’s pale lips twisted into a sneer. “I have seen his diagnostic work. I doubt he could align a phase coupler with the help of a training hologram.”

The Tellarite snorted loudly. “She talked to me first. Back on deck eight, remember? She initiated the conversation.”

“She said two words to you,” the human muttered as he picked at his sandwich. “You dropped your tools and knocked over a junction crate.”

“I was trying to be disarming,” the Tellarite said stiffly.

“Yeah,” the Andorian said as he stared across the room. “We should do something. Let’s let him know he’s outclassed.”

“Do what?” the human asked warily. “You want to cause trouble over some girl? Starfleet doesn’t exactly hand out medals for that.”

“I don’t need a medal,” the Tellarite growled. “I need her attention. She’s wasting time on him.”

Back at Vesha’s table, she was laughing once again. The Trill covered her mouth with both hands as Tyler attempted a dramatic impression of Commander Smythe.

“—and if I hear another alarm during gamma shift, I’ll personally reassign every one of you to plasma manifold duty!”

“Stop!” Vesha said through giggles. “He might hear you!”

Tyler leaned back and placed his arms behind his head. “Worth it. Your laugh is better than coffee.”

Vesha tilted her head. “You say that now. Just wait until you fall asleep during your diagnostics report.”

“Then I’ll dream of you and your laugh,” he said while reaching for his drink.

Vesha’s former roommates watched from their nearby table. Naz swept up a chunk of root vegetable with her spoon. “That poor kid is gonna get his heart broken,” The Bajoran murmured.

“Her mating habits suggest otherwise,” Lelasa said. Her scaly tail flicked lightly. “She flutters between men. It is her nature. She’s like a crimson-bellied pollensip.”

Naz smiled faintly and rested her chin in her palm. “You and your metaphors.”

“They are rooted in evolutionary truth.”

Naz turned her head slightly. “So what’s your evolutionary take on three men eyeing a single woman like they’re about to start a war over her?”

Lelasa’s lips parted in a faint grin. “Ah. Territorial posturing. That is less mating, more rank establishment. Like wild tcha lizards in the breeding canyon.”

Naz raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Lelasa slowly folded her napkin. “Someone is going to get bit.”

Tyler hadn’t paid attention to the watching eyes. He was too busy laughing at a joke Vesha made about bio-neural gel packs and dating officers. the pair got swept up in each other’s presence.

The lounge hummed around them. More crew filtered in and out. A pair of engineers argued over a diagnostic log at the replicator. A portly man spilled a tray and muttered an apology for the clattering noise. A young Vulcan ignored everything while tucked away in a corner.

The three men two tables away didn’t stop watching.

Tyler leaned towards Vesha with a twinkle in his eyes. “Wanna sneak off after next shift? Just a quick detour. I’m thinking sub-orbital stellar cartography. Romantic lighting. Plenty of stars.”

Vesha tilted her head. “Stars and stolen time. I like it.”

Tyler smiled. “It’s a date then.”

“Unless,” she said with a teasing smirk, “somebody else has a better idea.”

He blinked, caught off guard. He let out a surprised laugh. “Then I’ll just have to stay ahead of the competition.”

She winked and took a sip of her drink. She felt so relaxed and carefree around him.

The stocky Tellarite with thick wrists and a gnarled snout was Crewman Dalvok. He jabbed his fork into his barely touched meal between glances towards Tyler and Vesha. The Andorian Crewman across from him was Zharek. The tall and wiry blue man’s antennae coiled tight with irritation. He leaned forward, arms crossed.

“Look at him,” the Tellarite grunted. “Talking like he’s special.”

Zharek’s lips twitched upward. “He failed his level-four maintenance certification twice. Once he even forgot to show up.”

The third man was Crewman Jenkins. He wore look of a person who regretted every life choice that brought him to this moment. He rubbed an olive-skinned hand along the base of his forehead. “You two need to calm down.”

Dalvok turned a glare on him. “What are you, defending him now?”

“No. I’m defending common sense. This is a mess hall, not some Klingon opera. Maybe, try not to make fools of yourselves.”

Zharek scoffed. “Too late for that. Look at him, just flaunting around. He’s all toothy smiles and bad hair.” He closed his eyes and ran his palm through his crystal white hair.

Dalvok slapped a meaty hand on the table causing the silverware to bounce. “I will not let this go.” The porky man rose and started across the room. Sturdy boots stomped ahead as Zharek eagerly followed.

Tyler leaned closer to Vesha and lauged as she mimed the squishy sound of a malfunctioning gel pack. Dalvok’s shadow overtook the table. The couple looked up in shock.

“Did you get enough break time there, lover boy?” Dalvok said, voice louder than necessary. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got relay logs to finish.”

Tyler blinked, and straightened in his seat. “It’s my lunch break. I’ve got twenty more minutes.”

Zharek folded his arms as he stood behind Dalvok’s shoulder. Cerulean antennae twisted like lazy snakes. “You might have logged it wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time you did that.”

Tyler stood and tried not to look rattled. “Look. If you two want to play alpha dog around the plasma coil, that’s fine. But can you not do it during my lunch?”

Dalvok stepped closer, snout flaring through each heavy breath. “Do you think this is about lunch?”

Vesha’s voice was a melodic warning. “Dalvok, back off.”

The Tellarite turned to her with a broad, fake grin. “You know, Vesha? You don’t need to waste your time on this guy. You and I had a good talk last week. C’mon, let’s go.”

“I’m not interested,” she said firmly.

Dalvok’s hand gently clamped around her forearm.

Vesha tensed and yanked out of his grasp. “Let go of me.”

Tyler didn’t think. He pivoted on one foot and twisted back like a pitcher winding up before a throw, standing up straight to balance his power. The blonde stepped forward and swung from his core with his entire body. The punch landed with a wet thud against the side of Dalvok’s jaw. The Tellarite’s eyes rolled slightly as he slumped sideways. His bulky frame crashed into the corner of a nearby table and dragged a tray to the floor with a reverberating clatter.

“Oh hell,” muttered Jenkins as he stood and backed away from where he’d sat with Dalvok.

Petty Officer Naz Jadi was sipping her broth when things escalated. She dropped her spoon into the bowl with a clink and vaulted over an empty booth gracefully for a woman still chewing root vegetables.

Tyler stood with fists still clenched. His broad chest rose and fell as he panted. Vesha stood a few steps back in shock.

Naz stepped between them and faced Tyler. “Crewman Tyler Gantz, you just punched a fellow enlisted crewman. That officially makes this my problem.”

“He grabbed her,” Tyler said through a tight jaw. “Ask anybody. He’s been harassing me for weeks.”

“I’ll ask others later. For now,” she said as she calmly pulled a small badge from her belt pouch, “you are under arrest for assaulting a fellow crewmember. Let’s do this the book, don’t make it any worse.”

Zharek started snickering behind her. One thick antenna coiled smugly into a crescent shape to mock him.

Dalvok groaned from the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth as he tried to sit up and laid back down. “Ghhhrrr,” he rumbled. “That… that softling.”

“You might want to lie down,” Jenkins advised as he crouched beside him.

A petite Rigellian ensign with a medical kit swinging from her shoulder came sprinted in, eyes wide. “Did somebody call for assistance?”

“Right there,” Jenkins pointed. “The Tellarite. Full knuckle sandwich to the jaw. Probably some emotional damage too.”

The nurse crouched beside Dalvok and scanned his face with a tricorder. “You have a mandibular fracture. Please don’t try to speak.”

Dalvok grunted and held the side of his face. The medic took out both a dermal regenerator and osteo-stimulator after setting her tricorder back into the kit. She got to work with the second tool first to repair the bones. Dalvok could feel a cracked tooth straighten up and slink back into place with an audible click.

Tyler raised his wrists as Naz gently began to fasten restraint bands over them. “You’re really going to cuff me for this?”

“Next time,” Naz said plainly, “duck them and report it. That’s how Starfleet handles things.”

Vesha’s eyes were wide as she watched. “Dalvok just came at me.”

Naz glanced over her shoulder. “Then he’ll answer for that too. But you don’t get to throw punches in the mess, sweetheart. No matter how justified.”

Zharek leaned casually against a pillar and grinned at Tyler. “I guess this puts you out of the running, hero.” The Andorian felt especially proud at manipulating Dalvok into looking weak and obsessive in front of her. He wasn’t really the Tellarite’s friend, only using him for his own gain.

Naz raised one hand toward him without even turning. “Unless you want to be in the report, keep walking, Crewman ch’Kelpos.”

His grin slowly faded as he walked turned and walked towards a distant replicator. He could use another drink of katheka, the root-based beverage full of caffeine.

As Tyler was led toward the exit, Dalvok stared furiously. Vesha’s hands trembled as she took in the reality of what happened.

The room slowly began to buzz from the whispers that darted from table to table. Jenkins took his tray and carried it to a different table. A pensive hand poked towards his lukewarm sandwich while he tried to focus on something positive.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “that’s going to be one interesting shift report.” He was happy to see Zharek sit at a different table, this time surrounded by other Andorians. The group laughed as the shortest, thinnest-antennaed thaan pat him on the back.