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Erica had spent enough years on the bridge to recognize the sound of an argument about regulations brewing in the ready room. This time, the argument didn’t even make it through the door.
Erica didn’t turn around. She absolutely listened.
“I’m simply saying,” Pike said with more sympathy and grace that the situation required, “that you can’t keep stolen artifacts in your quarters. Even if you didn’t steal them yourself.”
“I never said I didn’t steal them,” Pelia explained unhelpfully. “I said that this particular one was a gift. Probably.”
“Probably?” Una’s voice sharpened just enough to cut through the hum of the bridge. Erica was sure she was not the only one keeping an ear on the discussion. There was only so much you could ignore in a space meant to carry the commanding officer's voice. “Commander, there is a galaxy of difference between ‘gift’ and ‘acquired through illegal means’.”
“Semantics,” Pelia replied. “And for the record, I always assumed it was a fake.”
Erica had to bite her lip to not react. How she wished Mitchell was on the bridge this shift. Instead Una had been there and was over with Pike part of the conversation.
She needed someone to just share a look with.
Pike explained, clearly struggling against frustration to find calm, “Pelia, we found a stolen Vermeer in your storage crate, did you not think to check that it could be real? A simple scan should have revealed the age.”
“Well, I misplaced the painting,” Pelia explained, “for a century. Hardly a crime.”
“A century?” Pike asked, bewildered. “You’ve had it for a century?”
“Give or take, maybe two or three, possibly since 1990 or so,” Pelia said. “Time is fuzzy when you’ve had so many birthdays.”
Una was quiet for a moment, as if it was taking all her diplomatic skills to decide how to proceed, “There are protocols for the return of missing cultural heritage items.”
“I know,” Pelia said brightly. “You keep telling me.”
“And you keep ignoring them,” Una countered.
“I prefer the term ‘reinterpreting’,” Pelia said.
Pike sighed. To Erica he sounded like he was questioning every life choice that put him in this exact moment. “Okay. Fine. Best-case scenario: what were you planning to do with a stolen masterpiece?”
“Hang it,” Pelia said simply. “It really ties a room together.”
Erica choked back a laugh and turned it into a cough.
Frustration clearly apparent, Una explained, "Commander, you need to file a formal declaration of possession, arrange transfer to the proper authorities, and notify—”
“Oh, perhaps I’ll just mail it,” Pelia said, not really listening. “It doesn’t really matter what the bulletin says. The statute of limitations passed decades ago. I checked.”
“Is there a statute of limitations on plundering antiquities?” Una asked, questioning the claim.
Pike started to say something, Erica suspected it was to launch into a speech about ethics and duty, but the turbolift doors swished open.
Behind the crew the turbolift doors opened and La’an stepped out onto the bridge, not in uniform.
The argument crashed to a halt.