Why So Serious?

Some people, as somone once said, needed to 'get a life'.

In the conference room off the bridge, lighting dim, a lone figure sat at one end of the long black table, humming to empty chairs.  He liked it here... the feel, the atmosphere.  A row of large windows to one side showed a spectacular view of the heavens.  Standing, he could glimpse the blue outline of the planet, Arcadia, below.

At that instant, the holoprojection over the table had his attention.  Miniature recreations of the crew went about their business, in every room and corridor of the ship... checking in, preparing their sections, meeting people, getting everything ready.

Of course, there were problems.  What was a first day without technical difficulties?  Latches on a science module didn't align with the moorings.  The new crew lounge came infested with a nasty breed of mice.  Replicators on deck seven kept spitting out soup.  Cargo transporter number two was acting glitchy and had to be taken offline, doubling the load on number one.

Technical difficulties.  Part of the initiation ritual.  No first day was complete without them.

Dominic Gray randomly rotated the view, jumping from deck to deck, section to section, utilizing visual sensors to familiarize himself with faces.  He could have spent a few minutes, or hours, reading personal profiles and service records.  Instead he watched them in action, live.  How people comported themselves, especially faced with difficulty, taught much more.

Case in point: The mild confrontation taking place on the bridge, at the moment he happened to peek in.  The diplomatic officer had boarded, beaming into the transporter room on deck 3, behind the bridge.  Naturally, she went out... onto the bridge – and, there, got it right between the eyes from – speak of the devil – that stuffy... turtle-faced... Axanarian.

"I'm the ship's chief diplomatic officer," she said.  Chief? Gray thought.  For now, she was the ship's only diplomatic officer.

Opportune moment to study this Ria Stavros.  Her first lesson in diplomacy on board.  He thought she handled it well, watching her calmly explain herself then head out.

Aliens.  Stavros, despite human looks and a Greek name, was alien... as alien as any alien.  Not the first alien on board, nor the last.  With the Hosch revelation, the news that humanoids, indeed all aliens, originated from ancient humans, perhaps it was no surprise, so many having human-like names.  Did that mean he should feel more sympathy... or less?

Gray rolled his eyes, when he wanted to cover them.  It was almost too painful to watch.  Boy.  Talk about needing to lighten up.  Memories swam through his brain, of working with the alien from Axanar since retrieving him... "hir", though s/he definitely seemed more male... in Andromeda.  "Shuzo Zatsu Nakencha": It sounded vaguely Japanese.  Was that Axanarian for "stuffed shirt"?

And I thought I was a party-pooper.  Definitely needs to stop taking himself so seriously.  Maybe he would slip the Mothball something.  The mental picture of the 200-year-old Axanarian, swinging from a chandelier, singing... in lingerie... brought a guilty smile to the man's face.  In Gray's experience, only the young took themselves so seriously... in which case, this Shuzo wasn't acting his age.  Maybe in a couple hundred years s/he would learn to loosen up... if s/he lived that long.

At least the turtle... he mentally cleared his throat – Axanar, he reminded himself... was efficient... thorough... dedicated.  No doubt there would be times such service would come in handy... and be demanded.

Except how did anyone live so long, so serious all the time?  Gray shuddered at a private thought.  People thought the same about him, once.  He shuddered again.

"Mmm-hmhm-mhmmhm..."

He hummed when faced with confrontations.  People getting snippy with each other made him uncomfortable.  Humming made him feel better.  Well, okay, no, it didn't.  But it was a habit.  Why was that?  Maybe it was the politics, the intrigue and infighting he'd had to deal with... people smiling to each other's faces, while hiding proverbial knives behind their backs.  Sometimes it seemed like everyone was out to screw each other over, or would if given the chance.  Made it difficult to trust anyone, or not be suspicious.

Still, he doubted that was the case here.  Someone Nakencha's age didn't get this far without doing something right.  For all his stiffness, the Axanar was following the rules... rules someone else laid down... and did what he believed to be in the ship's best interests.  Quite right, and proper.  Without that kind of attention, discipline would break down.  A look at this ship's previous tenure, the previous crew's conduct in Andromeda... letting rules slide... said something about that.  Couldn't have that again; oh no.  So, this crew needed to be kept on their toes.  Maybe the turtle—the Axanar, could provide that.

The spacedock supervisor called, a bit miffed.  By the time the call ended, she was furious.

The ship's hull had shown incredible wear.  She had no idea where the ship had been, but a report... filed by Gray himself, two weeks earlier... indicated entire sections of plating needed to be replaced.

When the dock workers descended, it was all, magically, pristine, like brand new... not even the typical scarring from micrometeorites that got through when shields were down.  The supervisor, a stout blonde named Donna White, accused Starfleet of taking advantage of the treaty... testing its limits already, on top of her patience, indulging themselves, squandering precious resources....

"I don't have time, money or material to waste, fixing what doesn't need fixing," was how she put it.

All of this without Gray even saying anything.

"Too bad you're a Humanist," he quipped.  "There's an Axanar here you'd just love to meet."

If looks could kill.

The stunned glare made Gray realize: He had another, very bad, habit of sticking his foot in his mouth.  Not all Arcadians were Humanists, but this one was.  The worst insult was to insinuate an interest in non-humans.

Gray fought an urge to grin... and lost.  "I'm sorry," he quickly added.  "I shouldn't have said that.  Should I."

"You can say that again," she said, cold as ice, hard as nails.  "Where did you get it done?  The hull.  Whoever does work that good... I'd like to talk to them.  The seams are perfect."

Gray wanted to say something smart and snappy.  Instead he came out with, "That's classified."

Not placated, White slapped the comlink off.  Probably wouldn't have believed him if he told her, anyway.

The moment she vanished, so did his grin.  He sighed at the table.  Obviously he had not the most diplomatic touch – partly the reason for requesting a diplomatic officer.  And where was the diplomatic officer, anyway...?

Gray roved through the holo, switched it off and looked around at the empty room.  His first shift as captain didn't start for a while yet... and if he was late, who was going to tell him?  Nakencha?

Minutes after dismissing Stavros, Shuzo turned to find the captain before hir.

"Hold out your hands," Gray said, in a tone that made it clear, this was an order.  The Axanar offered hir hands.

In one Gray placed a cup of thick, aromatic yellow liquid, and in the other, a green-frosted confection.  "Enjoy.  Oh, and Shuzo... by the way... lighten up, for Garth's sake."

Crewmembers nearby grinned at sight of the Axanarian, standing there holding a Christmas cookie and egg nog.

Except for Lieutenant Fairchild... one of a small crew handful who stayed on since the return.  Both had served with Gray over recent months.  Gray used to be more like Shuzo: Serious.

Joining the tactical specialist after the captain left, Fairchild said, "He seems different from the Gray I remember."

"Captain Gray?" he asked, noting four pips on his uniform.

"Nope.  I'm just covering for him while he sleeps it off in the drunk tank."

The new first officer, Dante Winters, didn't seem to know what to make of that.  Or maybe it was the long red hat on Gray's head.

Ria stopped the first crew member she saw.  "Excuse me... I'm trying to find the duty officer.  Perhaps you could be of assistance?"