Think You've Seen Everything?

Ria held out the padd she had received.  "My name is Ria Stavros.  According to this... I'm the diplomatic officer.  Technically, yes... I am a civilian.  But someone offered me the position anyway."

Duty officer Driana Zakova took the padd, confused.  "Well, this lists you as lieutenant."  Inwardly, she made a face.  A diplomatic officer, but... full lieutenant?  Without attending Academy?  No Starfleet training, experience, credentials?  Something was wrong with this picture.  "Is that correct?  Yes?  Okay, you have clearance, but... Oh, I see... first posting.  Well this is Starfleet, ma'am.  We have rules and procedures.  Someone should have covered this with you.  Reporting for duty, you need to be in service dress.  If you need custom tailoring, you can see the ship's purser, Lieutenant Bullard I think, or request help from the computer."  Studying the padd, before Ria could speak, it struck her.  "Ohhhh... your rank is honorary!  Okay, hold on."  That changed the rules a bit.

Holding the DO with an upraised finger, Zakova tapped her com-badge.  Complants were available, but protocol occasionally required open communication.

On the side, she wondered, still, how... she checked the name again – Stavros – got here without going through this in training.  How did anyone board a starship or starbase, without some kind of orientation?  Obviously she had clearance, or sensors would not have let her in.  Someone approved her.  But who?  Why?  Did anyone just throw anybody into a new job, a new workplace, without acclimating everyone first?  "Frisk, do we have quarters for a Rita..."

"Ria," Ria supplied.

"Ria... Santos."

"Stavros," Ria said.

Zakova grinned in apology.  "I'm terrible with names," she said.  Stavros: Wasn't that Greek?  "Related to Dmitrios?"  The padd caught her glance.  Betazoid.  "Oh.  Guess not."  To her com-badge she said, "Frisk, Ria Stavros."

"Just ask the computer, Dree," a voice replied; Frisk's, presumably.

Ria didn't have to be Betazoid to see hers was not the only patience on trial.  Zakova lifted her chin.  "I'm not asking the computer, Ensign Frisk.  I'm asking you."

Ria sensed Zakova guarding her thoughts, addressing the other officer – something she didn't want known.

Zakova's scream cut him off.  The duty officer jumped, staring upwards, wide-eyed.  "Ohhh, get it!  Get it!"

Over their heads, a small mouse-like creature clung to the ceiling, scampering across the light panel.

"Dree?!" Frisk said.

"I'll call you back."  Zakova slapped her com-badge, cringing.  Hideous thing!  The damn mice were spreading, from the new science module installed on deck seven.  Pocketing the padd, she pulled off a shoe, aiming to throw it – then screamed again, as the thing dropped on her head.  Flailing with her hands in a panic, she dropped her shoe, trying to knock it off.

"Help!" it cried in a tiny voice.  In a bound, it leapt to Ria's shoulder, wriggling into her hair.

Ria couldn't sense its thoughts – she wouldn't, a creature with such a different brain – but in close proximity, thought she detected a hint of sentience.  It seemed intelligent: It spoke.

More mice appeared, flooding into the section of corridor where they stood, over walls, ceiling and floor.  Zakova tensed, a hand over her mouth, containing another scream.  Some people were deathly afraid of mice.

Most of the corridor had emptied, officers finding their quarters before Ria showed.  One other stood in the corridor, further down; he froze, nervous, looking back and forth as the mice circled him, moving towards the women.  These appeared subtly different from the house variety rodents; an alien breed, perhaps.  As the creatures massed, the impression of thought and sentience grew stronger in Ria's mind.

"No mice!  No mice!" they squealed in unison, producing a high-pitched wall of sound.

The one on Ria's shoulder crept out of hiding, stood on hind legs and pointed a tiny claw.  "Listen us!  Intelligent!  Starfleet we!  Lieutenant commander!  Officer, respect!"