Wonder

Chance peered over the shoulder of the runabout pilot, as the craft neared the space docking facilities that berthed his new assignment.  He had tried to ferret out information on this Arcadia during his trip out from Gamma Trianguli VI.  Either the ship was so new, or so classified, or both, that he had next to no clue even to its type, let alone its mission.

"We're cutting it close, Lieutenant," the pilot said.  "According to the flight plans posted with station controllers, Arcadia is prepping to depart in just under an hour."

"Not a problem," Chance told the pilot, smiling.  "I've been transported from one carrier to another in mid flight, before.  This is going to be a picnic."

The pilot grinned back, and settled into the task of settling the runabout into its designated place.

Chance eyed the new ship from close up.  Intrepid class, he thought, but, with modifications.  Intrepid-classes did not usually pull diplomatic or cultural assignments, from what he could recall.  He wondered what the new ship would be up to.

Once docked and cleared, Chance lifted his flight bag out of its storage compartment, slung it over one shoulder, and made his farewells to the four runabout crew who had pushed their ship to its limits to get him here on time.  He wondered about that, too.  There were always rumors about political or cultural fires needing put out, but, he had heard nothing of dependable note in this sector which might need speedy attention.  Why the rush?  He had been expecting to stay on Gamma Trianguli VI for some time.  His orders had been sudden, and the need for haste had been a surprise.

Chance proceeded directly from the runabout to Arcadia's docking area.  There were others ahead of him, queued up to report in.  He paused near the end of the line, and let the atmosphere wash over him.  There was an almost tangible sense of excitement, curiosity, and anxiety in the air.  That was common enough for a crew that would be mostly new to one another, coming together on a new ship.  He felt much the same as the others ahead of him.

"Name, sir?" the harried-looking man at the boarding lock asked, giving Chance a curious look.  "Are you in the right place, sir?"

Chance supposed the man had a right to be confused.  Everyone else was wearing standard Starfleet uniforms.  Chance was wearing a uniform, but it bore the insignia of the Office of Interplanetary Relations.  The OIR was a branch of Starfleet, but, again, Intrepid-class ships rarely saw uniformed diplomatic corps types coming aboard, especially as crew.  Further, Chance was deeply tanned, from his outdoor work of the last year, where most of his colleagues were fairly pale of complexion.  And, where most of those before him had practically staggered under their duffels and baggage, Chance's single small flight bag did not seem denote a person who was here to stay.

"I think I have it right, Ensign," Chance said, passing the PADD with his orders over.

"According to this, you do," the ensign said, scratching his head.  "I don't have any orders about where to put OIR types, sir.  I'd expect you'd bunk in with the sciences people."

"This ship has a sciences section?" Chance asked.  This, too, was different from standard Intrepid models.

"Coming out the ears, this time, sir," the ensign said with a shake of the head and a rueful smile.  "I think you'll find a lot new and different, here, sir.  Welcome aboard.  Can you find your way?"

Chance had the man give him directions, thanked him, and stepped aboard.

It even smelled new.

It took him twenty minutes to find his berthing, and only a few seconds to toss his bag into a locker.  He then decided it would most likely be best to look up the sciences section head, and make introductions.

Which might prove difficult: He did not have a clue about the crew roster.  He wondered who he should even be looking for.  Common sense seemed to dictate that he find the science section's offices.  Someone there might be able to help him.