Subtle Worries

"Please, nothing weird.  Please, nothing weird..."

Jordan Rampart whispered the words to himself, watching the gray Flammarion hover in the layers of the Oniiri Vortex... realized he was whispering, then continued silently – reciting the words without really meaning to, like a mantra.

He had briefed himself on the Arc's past missions since taking captaincy, a prerequisite to which he had subscribed since his first officer days, when he started on the command track.  In the holosphere, the away team's runabout showed as a small blip, on top of the science vessel.  They had intercepted.  Hopefully everything would proceed smoothly – the rescue, and retrieving the ship's data, if they could not retrieve the Flammarion itself.

Except, bad luck... or at least bizarre occurrences... shadowed Arcadia, in her mission logs.  Rampart hoped to break that record.

Despite his concerns, Rampart didn't know why he felt so... content.  Happy?  Happy.  This wasn't exactly where he wanted to be, and he had never expected, let alone wanted, command of the Arcadia.  As well, the Vortex severed communications with the runabout.  Rampart had assigned a runabout.  They would need the extra internal volume for crew-survivors from the Flammarion.

He should have felt worried.  And he did, as much was due.  But he also felt strangely good.

But perhaps it wasn't a mystery, recalling the map of his life in recent years.  Rampart had been through hell, as much as was realistically possible for a human being... personally, physically, professionally, psychologically.  But he had survived the gauntlet, and came out on the other side smelling like roses.  He didn't have the family he once thought he had, but he won 'back' his wife, and learned to deal with the 'loss' of the rest, with her help – helping her out of her own mental living nightmare at the same time.  The angst, anguish and depression didn't plague him as they once did.  In the back of his mind he wondered what his former Cadre comrades were doing nowadays – Avi, Sterling and Verasqos.  For some reason, Mala Hendriksson reminded him a little of Avi na-Ki'tiki.  He would have liked to see Avi again.  Rampart thought she would have enjoyed this.

Unauthorized personnel weren't allowed on the bridge, but he wanted to share this, and the rare sight in the holosphere, with someone – one special person.  He spoke to the air, verbally activating the intership communications system:

"Rahn... I'd like you to join me on the bridge."

Minutes later, Vor'ana Rampart stepped off the lift.  Those who had seen Roms before – or had not seen her in particular – did double-takes.  It wasn't just the fact that she was Romulan.  Another Romulan had been onboard for over two months now, and since the peace treaty, Romulans were becoming a regular sight inside Federation facilities.  It wasn't solely her looks – although they noticed that too.  It was the fact that the Romulans they had seen before had always looked so... officious.  Usually Romulans wouldn't be caught dead in anything other than a military uniform, or something militaristic in flare.  Even Vronak, one of the civilian scientists assigned to Arcadia – coincidentally, the father of the striking brunette winding towards the command ring – wore the familiar checkered-pattern design of clothing currently fashionable on Romulus.

The woman wore a white, low-cut dress, shoulder-strapped with frilly decorations down the front, revealing evenly complexioned shoulders (and only that – she displayed a touch of modesty).  A thick mane of black hair spilled around those shoulders, halfway down her back.  She had perfect lips – not too thin, not too thick, with a quirk to the corners... dimples... that suggested a voluptuous smile.  Slightly parted, they revealed two rows of pristine white teeth.  She wore a hint of makeup, as well, just enough to accent her natural features without drawing too much attention.  She was sultry, without being seductive... simple, yet elegant... and simply gorgeous, that was all there was to it.  Rampart was a lucky man.  The accented brow, lent weight by the V-shaped forehead ridge, heightened her allure.  The long dark hair hid her pointed ears, but the slanted eyebrows and slightly olive skin, along with the cleft ridge running along her collar-bone – a distinctly Romulan feature, visible over the cut of the dress – made clear that she was indeed Romulan.

She was Romulan, after all, Rampart mentally justified.  The Oniiri Vortex sat in Beta Quadrant, on the other side of Romulan territory from Federation boundaries.  Vor'ana had been a Tal Shiar agent, at one time, offering possible insights or perspectives on this monstrosity which he, as a Federation man, mightn't have.

With a smooth, even stride, dress swaying, female hips swaggering only very slightly with each step, she made her way around the rail separating the central bridge area, into the command ring.

"Sit down, Jordie," she addressed Rampart.  "You're making your crew nervous."

Rampart realized that he had not realized he had been standing, looked at the command chair – which he had resisted sitting in, as much as possible – and sat, having no reason at the moment to stand.  The woman took the empty chair to his left, reserved for special guests.

"So this is the bridge," she said, dark eyes taking in the control center.

"What do you think?" Rampart asked.

"I believe I expected it to be bigger."  She grinned.  "However it isn't the size, it is what you do with it.  Is that not so?"

Jordan gave a sheepish look, intentionally focusing on the holosphere.  "You'd know."

Vor'ana's grin spread into a smile, enjoying his discomfort.  Jordan glanced at her again and couldn't resist smiling, himself.  That smile made his heart ache.  He was in love with her smile.

Sunni Moon came in from the access junction, carrying a PADD as she had done for Captain April, stepping up before the couple.  Studying them with a brief glance of blue eyes, she didn't display her usual perky demeanor.  Sunni had been a bit depressed since April left.  Seeing a new captain in his place, and a Romulan woman next to him, unsettled her – a reminder of the changing times.  She had always had a 'thing' for the captain.  That wouldn't work with this one.  But then she wasn't attracted to Jordan Rampart like she was to Stephen April.

Rampart noticed her.  "Hey, Sunni.  Met my wife?  This is Vor'ana."  Pronounced vorr-ah-nuh.  "Vor'ana—" he started.

"Petty Officer Moon," Sunni said, with a forced smile.  "Captain's Yeoman."

Vor'ana didn't miss the frigidity – regarding Sunni with a careful expression.  She gave a slight nod.  "Petty Officer."

Sunni held out the PADD.  "The latest reports, Captain."

Rampart took the PADD and glanced at the arm-PADD he wore on his left arm.  "You could have just relayed it to me, you know."  He had a thought: A 'yeoman' seemed a pointless position, with all of the new amenities.  "How would you like a new job?"

It was Sunni's turn to do a double-take.  "Captain?"

"How are your tactical skills?"

"I've rated A-two.  I also have command support training," Sunni said.  "That's why I'm assigned to Command Ops."

"All right.  As of this moment, you're no longer the Captain's Yeoman," Rampart decided.  He hooked a thumb at the tactical console behind him.  "Take over."

Sunni recovered from a momentary shock, nodded – "Yes, sir" – and walked around the hand-rail, stepping in as the other noncom moved out of the way.  Well, this came as a surprise.