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Captain's Log, USS Hephaestus NCC-91748.
Commander Grunt recording.
Starfleet has informed us that with shipbuilding activites hampered by the Klingon raid on the Utopia Planitia yards at Mars, there are currently no ships available to us to replace the Bastogne; however, we were allowed to keep the wreck of the Hephaestus, and even given three weeks in drydock at Deep Space Nine to make her spaceworthy. Mr. Vovonek didn't sign off on anything until almost end of shift on the last day, so I'm pretty sure he's gotten her in shape. Our shakedown cruise was a run from DS9 to Risa; we've been authorized a one-week shore leave, in conjunction with something the locals call a "Lohlunat Festival". Gydap's taken a civilian transport to Andoria, of course - we'll be picking him up there after we're done here. We'll be expanding our crew roster while we're here too, as a Dakota-class needs a few more hands on controls than an old Constitution-refit. There are some personnel requests we can fill internally, as well - some more surprising than others. It's like my dad's accountant always said, though - resources are everywhere, the key is to exploit them profitably.
Grunt looked again at the PADD in his hand. "Are you sure about this, Vov?"
The half-Pakled engineer nodded. "We got that one part for the warp matrix that they stopped making about fifteen years ago - you know, the bit we swiped from our old ship, to sub for the Herpes' dead field stabilizer. No way it'd fit, no way the drive would work without it, and no such thing as a replacement field stabilizer inside sixty parsecs. Fitzsimmons got it in and functioning in two hours. He didn't stop talking the entire time, of course, but I'll take babbling as long as it comes along with that kind of talent."
"Okay, I'll grant you that - but as your second in Engineering? What about Jazerad? Isn't he the one that saved those three men when one of the compartments lost pressure on the way back from Gamma Quadrant?"
"Yes, sir, he was. He was also the one who welded that patch in the first place. And he's the one who tried to fix the replicators to give you tube grubs for dinner that one night."
Grunt shuddered. "I take your point. Didn't get that taste out of my mouth for days. I'm still not sure what a 'strawberry' is, but a tube grub shouldn't taste like one." He touched the PADD, then stretched. "Okay, Fitzsimmons is all yours. Good luck with him. As for me, I'll be heading down to the resort to meet our new crewmates.”
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Grunt surveyed the crowd. At least here he wouldn't stand out that much - he could see the distinctive multi-lobed bare heads of at least seven Ferengi from the arrival pad. Lots of others, too - Humans, Trill, a few uncomfortable-looking Andorians, several Vulcans (managing to look cool even while wearing robes in the afternoon heat), and even a handful of Klingons in fur-lined armor (and how could they stand that, he wondered). He knew two of his new personnel, both bridge officers, were somewhere in the area of the Festival grounds, and he wanted to meet with them in a semi-informal setting, to gauge their reactions to being under a Ferengi's command. He knew from experience that there were quite a few, even in Starfleet, who had trouble adjusting to the fact.
First, he'd look for his new Tactical Officer trainee, Ensign Zoex. This, Grunt decided, would probably be fairly simple - Zoex was Ferengi too, so he would just look in the places he'd have been when he was a brand-new, wet-behind-the-lobes ensign. In the distance, he could make out the clatter of a dabo table. Grinning, he made his way toward the sound, emanating from deep in the recesses of the nearby hotel.
He paused in the entranceway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness inside. None of the people clustered around the dabo table looked like the holo in Zoex's file; Grunt moved past the table, and finally spotted his quarry, huddled in a corner with a shadowy-looking hominid in a cloak and hood. He moved a little closer, cocked his head, and could finally hear the whispered conversation between the two. Zoex appeared to be negotiating for black-market weapons. Grunt shook his head and smiled to himself, then stood up, polished his commander's pips, put on his best stern look, and marched up the the pair.
"Mr. Zoex!" he announced in tones of mock outrage. "I'm surprised at you!"
Zoex whirled guiltily. "Commander!! Um, this, uh, isn't what it looks like, sir--"
"No, Mr. Zoex, it's exactly what it looks like! You're trying to buy illegal weapons from an obviously fake salesman!" He turned to the being in the cloak. "You'll have to forgive my young friend here - he hasn't my experience at spotting real salespersons. Are you an informant, or just a scam artist?"
"What? Why, I'm an honest--"
"You're an 'honest' nothing. No real black-marketeer goes around looking like you, especially on Risa! The resort world of the galaxy, with heat like this during the day, and you're dressed like an escapee from Rura Penthe? Far too obvious." He turned to the younger Ferengi. "A real black-marketeer would no more advertise his calling like that than a Ferengi Trade Authority Enforcement Squad would wear T-shirts reading 'We Take Bribes'! Really, what are the schools on Ferenginar coming to?" He shook his head. "Now report to Ms. Shelana aboard the Hephaestus for your assignment. If she's not there, report to your quarters until you're sent for - it's far too dangerous to let you wander loose on this planet with so much as a slip of latinum in your pockets."
Zoex stood at attention. "Yes, sir!"
"Dismissed." At Grunt's waved command, Zoex began marching quickly toward the transporter pad. Grunt looked around, and saw that the supposed black-market salesman had slipped away while he was distracted. He chuckled, and turned back to his second quarry, a Human named Ruben Manalang. This search was rather longer, and eventually led him back out to the beach area. Eventually, he spotted Lt. Manalang, lounging on a beach chair with a Caitian female beside him, twining her tail about his legs in a rather suggestive fashion.
Grunt walked up to the two. "Mr. Manalang?"
Ruben looked up. "Ah, you must be my new skipper, Commander Grunt," he replied. "As long as we're off-duty, sir, please feel free to call me Ruben. Is this a formal occasion?"
"Are there formal occasions on Risa?" Grunt wondered aloud.
Ruben chuckled. "Not that I'm aware of, sir, but you are in uniform, on the beach."
Grunt looked down. "So I am. I suppose it's a bit of a habit by now."
"If you say so, sir," Ruben said agreeably. "I recieved the roster on my PADD earlier - I understand that I'm scheduled to report to your office at 0800 local time tomorrow. While we're here, though, sir, why not relax a bit? I've spoken with your first officer, and he seems to believe that you could use some time off."
"He's been talking to Brel again, I see. Where's Roclak at?"
"He and a striking lady named Shelana heard there was a mok'bara master here, and wanted to go speak with him."
"Striking?" Grunt said, amused. "I've heard Shelana described a number of ways, but 'striking' has never been one of them - except maybe 'striking a fellow officer', but honestly he deserved it." He squared his shoulders. "Very well, Mr. Manalang, I'll have to come right out and ask you. Is your assignment going to cause you any difficulties?"
"Difficulties, sir? I have no idea what you mean. I have no personal entanglements to get in the way, except perhaps this young lady," and here Ruben caressed the arm of the Caitian beside him, to which she responded with a trill, "who might want to entangle with me this evening. I mean, I've heard about your other ships - half the fleet's heard about them - but from the reports I saw, it was amazing you and your crew managed to keep them flying even half as long as they did. I look forward to this assignment, sir, and it'll be an honor to serve with you."
As far as Grunt could tell, and with formal training from the Trade Authority he could tell pretty far, the young man was completely sincere. "That's good to hear, Mr. Manalang."
"Please, sir - Ruben."
"Ruben," Grunt acknowledged. "And make that meeting 1000 - 0800's a little early, since technically we'll all still be on leave."
"Thank you, sir," Ruben said, smiling. "And if I might suggest, sir - that Trill over there has been looking at you for several minutes now, and she has a horga'hn on display beside her. This might be a good opportunity to, ah, strengthen interspecies relationships, sir."
"You have a point, Ruben. I'll see you tomorrow morning aboard ship."