Chapter Text
Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 23784.5. We’re two days out from Starbase 24. A forty day voyage feels like forty years when you’re taxiing an ambassador, particular if that ambassador is Curzon Dax. I’ve asked Federation representatives in ten nearby systems to alert me if anything, however mundane, appears to be out of the ordinary. We’ll divert immediately to ‘investigate’, and I’ll draw straws with Rachel and Kal to see who has to stay behind with the cretin.
“Computer, change the word ‘cretin’ to ‘man’ and end log.” Even though no one would ever see it, Deighan felt guilty using such strong language, or even manifesting such vindictive thoughts. After all, one man’s cretin is another man’s hero, and Dax was certainly popular with many in both the Federation and the Klingon Empire. It is wrong to hold any innocent man in contempt, irregardless as to whether his moral sentiments align with yours.
Andrew Deighan was Captain of the USS Intrepid, a gracefully aging Excelsior-class vessel; sleek and elegant, if somewhat lacking in amenities compared to the newer Ambassador-class. A contemplative, occasionally aloof man, Deighan had a tall, gentlemanly figure. Ever upright, clean shaven and with his short, parted blonde hair perfectly in order, he more closely resembled an early 20th century Naval officer than a 24th century explorer. However, he was before all other things a scientist. He graduated from Starfleet Academy with a dual specialty in archaeology and geology, and would often spend planetary surveys gazing at unusual rock formations or chatting with local research teams. It was his management of an accident during an away mission that catapulted him on the path to command. He did not regret accepting the career change, but he never learned to enjoy the company of the politicians and dignitaries he increasingly came into contact with as his promotions rolled in.
Of the dignitaries, Curzon Dax of Trill was among the most difficult. He first came to prominence in the years leading up to the Khitomer Conference. He had managed to befriend several prominent Klingons, making them more amenable to participating in the talks. In the fifty years since, his diplomatic achievements continued to mount, particularly on the Klingon front. Hence, he was going to back Khitomer for a ‘party’ of a sort. The Intrepid was to take him from the Trill Homeworld to Starbase 24, and he would take a light craft the rest of the way.
Being a joined trill, Dax had three centuries worth of memories. Yet somehow, Curzon’s mental age seemed to be fifteen at the oldest. Whenever he wasn’t forced to fulfill his diplomatic duties, he would spend his time drinking and chasing skirts. He had to be removed from the bridge on four separate occasions for trying to drunkenly proposition both Commander Rachel Schultz, the ship’s first officer, and tactical officer Lieutenant T’vaan. T’vaan, with her Vulcan stoicism, never complained, but Schultz spent many of her off-hours trying to find an excuse to leave the ship until Dax departed.
A doorbell chime signaled to Deighan that one may finally have rolled along.
“Come in,” Deighan said, closing his log computer and crossing his fingers. The door opened, and Schultz and Chief Medical Officer Juanita Tavares ran in excitedly.
“Commander, Doctor, please, have a seat.”
“This is a Rach and Nita visit,” Cmdr. Schultz replied. Schultz was of a medium build. She had long, curly, black hair and very conspicuous dimples on the corners of her wide smile. On duty she was as disciplined as any XO, but on her own time she was a bundle of energy. Dr. Tavares was of Latin complexion and build. She had a reserved personality and a laconic wit. Deighan, Schultz, and Tavares all attended academy together, and had been closely knit ever since.
“Drew, you’re not going to believe this, but we finally found a good excuse,” Schultz said joyously; her cheerfulness was contagious.
“Tell me more!” Deighan leaned in.
“An old friend of mine is part of a Federation science team excavating some ruins in Gamma Aureliae IV. Apparently, they found possible evidence of shape-shifters once living on the planet,” Tavares leaned back confidently, “she convinced the planet’s government to personally invite us.”
“How’d she manage that?” Deighan raised a brow.
“Well, you know that Android ensign that just transferred here?”
Mr. Data. Seven Federation member species served together on the Intrepid; Data was by far the most unusual. A highly advanced walking computer shaped inside and out like a human. Only, with synthetic skin and a cooling system in place of a respiratory system. His positronic neural net was the envy of cybernetic researchers throughout the quadrant, and his intellectual and physical feats were nothing to scoff at, but the most interesting part of him was his almost human-like desire to emulate biological behavior. Of course, having a Vulcan roommate limited his opportunities for emotional growth.
“How could possibly I forget about Data?” Deighan folded his arms.
“Well, he has a specialty in exobiology, and has an eidetic memory. He is uniquely qualified to examine the findings,” Tavares chimed in.
“Do you think Starfleet Command will actually buy that when I ask them permission to divert?”
“It helps that Gamma Aureliae isn’t far off our course, and we’re the closest ship with sufficient lab facilities,” Schultz smiled, “it also helps that Admiral Holt owes me a favor.”
“Huh. I’ll be.”
“The thought occurs, what should we tell the Ambassador?” Tavares asked.
“Nothing,” Deighan stated resolutely, “The ship will remain on course. We’ll take an away team on a shuttle, spend a week or so on the planet and wait for the Intrepid to come pick us up… without Dax.”
“Who’s going to break the bad news to Commander Matsuto?” Schultz sighed.
Bolian officer, Lt. Cmdr. Kal Matsuto, was the ship’s second officer, and would therefore be left to command the ship – and handle Dax – if both Deighan and Schultz joined the away team. A generally tolerant and sociable man, Matsuto nevertheless was uneasy around the Ambassador.
“I’ll talk to him,” Deighan sighed, “I’ll come up with some way to make it fair. Maybe the senior staff will all draw straws.”
“If that’s what we’re going with, I'd better be exempted!” Schultz raised her voice slightly, only half-jokingly, “After all, the Admiral owes me the favor we’re calling in.”
“I agree,” Tavares said with her typical nonchalance.
“Well, we’ll see if Matsuto sees it that way.” Deighan slowly rose from his desk and the three headed back to their posts.
Data sat in the lab office, writing and rewriting his analysis on the bacterial samples from the Bajoran refugee colony on Minos Korva. His team had been working in conjunction with researchers across five sectors trying to find a cure for the plague. Dr. Tavares believed the Cardassians may have been responsible, as they had been systematically exploiting the Bajoran homeworld for over a decade, and were weary of any potential resistance activity. Dr. T’Mret from Starbase 24, however, believed the plague to be a natural phenomenon. The planet was mostly wild, and the people there seldom traveled beyond their encampments. It would not be logical for the Cardassians to poison a planet that posed no threat to them, had few resources they could mine, and that they might one day seek to acquire for colonization. Data personally sided with T’Mret, though not necessarily because of hypothetical Cardassian intentions. Vulcans were uniquely logical, and their logic cannot be uniformly applied to other species. Rather, Data considered the Bajoran mindset and living conditions to be the most likely factor. Bajoran technology had stagnated over the previous few centuries. Their civilization predated most in the quadrant, yet had not advanced beyond basic impulse technology in all the centuries they had it. Furthermore, they maintained a fierce devotion to a millennia-old, highly-superstitious belief system. It was as if they did not seek to change, or evolve in any way. Therefore, they would be unprepared for any novel infections they may contract. Perhaps the Occupation of Bajor was history punishing them for their stagnation.
The Bajoran refusal to evolve greatly perplexed Data. Most humanoids find that the purpose of existence is to improve oneself, to learn, and to seek enlightenment. For humans, this manifests in technological and philosophical development. For Klingons, in honor, and the art of combat. For Vulcans, in intellectual and scientific discovery. For Ferengi, in accumulation of material wealth. Every species seeks to improve in its own way, except Bajorans.
Data’s philosophical musings were interrupted by Ensign Solik walking in. Solik, a supervisor in the Intrepid’s Stellar Cartography department, was Data’s roommate. Being an intelligent, logical Vulcan, he was inherently more comfortable around Data than most of the other crew members, and the two had a great deal of respect for, and understanding of, one another. Moreso than the emotion-driven technicians from their respective departments had for either of them. Data considered Solik something of a friend, insofar as he understood the concept of friendship. He did wish for a greater emotional understanding so he could similarly relate to other members of the crew, but he was nonetheless pleased for the one friend.
“Good afternoon, Data,” Solik said, as cordially as could expected from a Vulcan, “How goes the analysis?”
“Greetings, Solik,” Data replied, putting his PADD down, “I believe we have made some progress, and I am eager to share our findings with Starbase 24, and eventually, Starbase 211 and Minos Korva. However, I am not satisfied with my report.”
“Oh?”
“It is my understanding that most humans, and other humanoid species, are more receptive to literature when it is colorful, and the diction invokes an emotional response. However, with scientific and academic papers, it is usually considered bad form to divert from a purely objective and logical analysis. I am struggling to find an adequate balance between the two styles.” If Data was capable of feeling dejected, that would have been his state of mind. Solik pondered this for a moment before responding,
“The humans who will be reading your report will be accustomed to the scientific method. You need not tailor it to their emotions.”
“Agreed,” Data looked back to his PADD, “nevertheless, it is a skill I wish I possessed.”
“Well,” Solik scratched his chin, “surely the humans have an ample library of poetry and morality plays. Perhaps you can draw some inspiration from them?”
“Perhaps. But which ones to choose? Plato, Shakespeare, Hemingway, Nietzsche, Simic, and Matthews each have a significantly different view on the human condition, and I do not see how they can synthesized.”
“I am of limited usefulness in that area.”
“I understand,” Data nodded.
Lt. Cmdr. Matsuto sat nervously in the Captain’s chair. Reports just came in from Deck 5 that the Ambassador was intoxicated and on the prowl again. The Bolian was a patient man who resented confrontation, but even he had his limits.
“Ensign Aemal, how long before we reach Starbase?” the Commander asked the Andorian navigator.
“At our current speed of Warp Factor 7, forty six hours, sir,” Aemal replied; his tone indicated he understood perfectly the reason behind the inquiry.
“Very good, Ensign. Bridge to engineering.”
“Tobias here,” the Chief Engineer replied through the comm.
“Commander, what’s the best speed you can give me to Starbase? Current circumstances dictate we should expedite the Ambassador’s arrival.” Matsuto was trying his best not to sound aggravated, and was failing.
“We’re at our safe cruising limit now, considering how long and far we’ve been traveling without break. At this stage, I can give you up to 9.2, but the engine will need several days of cool down and maintenance when we get there, in addition to our planned overhaul,” Tobias cautioned.
“I will consult with the Captain. Standby on any changes. Bridge out.” Matsuto considered calling Deighan to the Bridge, but was wary of putting an undo burden on him. The Captain was under enough pressure as it was. This was a personal grievance, and Matsuto would not allow it to interfere with his duties. He would wait until Deighan inevitably returned of his own volition. As Matsuto weighed these options, Dax strutted onto the bridge.
“Gooooooood evening all,” the Ambassador laughed, an empty bottle of Aldebaran Whiskey in his left hand, and a mostly empty bottle in his right.
“Ambassador, we are busy with routine realignments,” Matsuto forced a polite smile, “if you wish, I can send someone to your quarters at a later time to assist with any needs you may have.
“D-don’t feed me that nnnnnonsense! My previoussss hosst Tobiasssss...Tonias…. Torias, yes Torias was a sheeepish tinkerin’ enginneer and used that re-align-ament line aaaaaaaaall the t-time to get folks out of talkin’ to folksss.” Dax continued to speak, but soon became unintelligible. Matsuto turned to the security station.
“Lieutenant T’vann, can you-”
“Ah, the ice blue greeen-blooded Vulcann,” Dax laughed, “when’s the last time you made Pon’farr. Come now, I’ll pon you a better farr than any you’ve ever done.”
“Your obvious state of inebriation, and poor understanding of Vulcan biology and terminology aside, my physiological status is none of your concern,” T’vann rolled her eyes, “will it be necessary to confine you to your quarters?”
“Only iff you commmme with me, my dear! You’re prrrobalbly the only one on the ship whose shi- whisdf- whip wit, hose wit is worth itwit it. I need a conversason companninon who can keep up wwwit wme me.”
“The intellectual merit of any such conversation would be woefully one-sided.”
“Mmm, don’t selll yourslff short m’dear. I am-”
“Alright, that’s enough,” the Commander cut in, “Ambassador, we’ve been more than patient. Please, leave the bridge immedi-” Before Matsuto could finish, Dax threw him a right hook that sent him to the floor.
“How dare you interrrupt Curzon the Mighty! I am one of four one four sox four great warriors! Kang, Koloth, Kor and Korzom--Curz- bloo brothers til heart sucked out and eat enemy.” The Trill became more and more unintelligible.
“That’s it, I’ve had enough!” Matsuto fumed, “Lieutenant, take him to the brig. He’ll spend the rest of the voyage there. And find wherever he’s getting his real alcohol from and jettison the lot into space!”
“Pardon me commander, but would it not be more efficient to deposit the liquors in a disposal unit? If we send them into space, they may become a navigational hazard to small craft and space-faring lifeforms.” If T’vaan were not a Vulcan, Matsuto would have thought she was deliberately trying to infuriate him.
“Lieutenant, I don’t care how you dispose of it, just get it done.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ehyyy, don’t touch my- ugh,” Curzon collapsed as T’vaan gave him a nerve pinch.
“Lieutenant?”
“Yes, Commander?”
“Next time, lead with the nerve pinch.”
“Yes, Commander.”