Pilot Episode, Act II

The scene opens in the captain's ready room, which still looks more room than ready as the camera slowly pans to survey the wreckage. The moving containers that had been neatly stacked around the room are now in disarray.

Sounds of someone muttering in frustration are punctuated with a tossed item passing in front of the lens, and then we see Capt. McCurry, pushing aside one opened container and starting in on another. From the looks of things, she's already rifled through most of them.

At the sound of the door chime, she barks, "Come in!"

Blakeney enters, smiling cheerfully until he takes in the scene. For a fleeting second, we see what might, might be outrage at the rampant disorder, but that quickly dissolves into pure concern.

"Can I... help you with something, Captain?"

McCurry looks over her shoulder at the new arrival, the motion causing her hair to fall over her eyes. She lets out a short growl, and tucks it behind one ear with a perfunctory gesture that suggests she's getting tired of doing it.

She breathes out an audible sigh of frustration as she turns back to the crates, hands on hips as she glowers at the unhelpful crates.

"Oh, it's nothing," she says, a little bit of snap in her voice. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts again. "My apologies, Lieutenant. I shouldn't take it out on you," she says, shaking her head. "I'm looking for a souvenir. I decided long ago that when I received another command, it would be the first thing I put in the ready room."

She flashes a brief, almost apologetic smile. "For good luck," she adds, then claps her hands together. "But! I can't find it, and you're undoubtedly here with something more important to tell me, so please. Go ahead."

Blakeney nods and says, "If you'd like some help with the unpacking, sir, I'm a whiz at organization. It's sort of a gift."

He smiles, then continues as instructed. "I'm here to tell you that Admiral Hamilton sent a new text file with detailed instructions regarding the Inphirian diplomatic protocols. I've routed a copy to your station for review."

The comm interrupts him. "Altok Leya to McCurry. Admiral Alvarez is on the comm for you."

Blakeney raises an eyebrow. "Guess it's raining admirals, huh, sir?"

The captain smiles gratefully at Blakeney's initial offer but declines with a wave of her hand. As she moves to take a look at the diplomatic protocols file at her station, the message from Altok Leya sounds.

She purses her lips in thought, and flashes Blakeney a sardonic smile. "And me without an umbrella. Maybe it ran off with my souvenirs."

Drawing and releasing a deep breath, she nods to her visitor. "I'd better take this. I'll contact you if I need anything regarding the protocols file, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

As Blakeney nods his understanding and departs, McCurry raises her voice slightly to say, "McCurry to Altok Leya. Please route the Admiral to the ready room. Thank you."

The camera settles over McCurry's shoulder as she sits at the desk, focusing on the computer screen. The image of Admiral Sonia Alvarez appears. She isn't smiling.

"Hello, Captain McCurry. I just got an earful from Atlas Hamilton. Seems you were 'borderline insubordinate' during your first face-to-face with him on Gaia. Just what the hell were you thinking?"

"I had a feeling that was why you were calling, Admiral."

McCurry sighs. "The answer is that I wasn't thinking clearly, sir. I apologize to you, and I will be apologizing to Admiral Hamilton just as soon as this mission gets underway and I have a moment to do so. "

To her credit, she maintains a calm, contrite expression. It might even be sincere.

Alvarez gives McCurry an appraising look. "That's not bad. Very convincing." She smiles to show that she is (probably) kidding. "Make sure you give Hamilton both barrels of that when you apologize to him."

She leans back in her chair, looking less formal. "How's the ship and crew? I hear you're being sent out earlier than planned."

McCurry chuckles quietly. "I would of course tell you all about both barrels of what I'd like to give instead, Admiral, but I know better than that. You have taught me a thing or two, after all."

She draws a long breath, and responds to the question as she releases it. "The ship is a retrofit, and feels like it's only about 80% complete, but... it's gorgeous. The uncertainty drive alone warms my cold, bitter heart," she says, her smile suggesting that's an old joke between them.

"The crew..."

She trails off, uncertain how to proceed.

Alvarez raises an eyebrow. "The crew...? Don't tell me you're already having personnel issues. Hamilton drove Central Command up a bulkhead with his insistence on handpicking every person on that ship."

"Their personnel files are all excellent. They’re all highly qualified. I have no concerns about their abilities, Admiral."

The wry smile and the way she trails off toward the end practically screams, ‘on the other hand’.

"We’re all adjusting to one another’s style and manner. It will take a little time, and patience. She rubs at one cheek with a tired look and adds, "After my... unfortunate encounter with Admiral Hamilton, I’m afraid I was more on edge than I thought. In my defense, my head engineer did call me a dumbass before she realized who I was. Again... it will take time. And I think we’ve made some progress since then."

The admiral displays slight shock at the revelation of the "dumbass" incident, but visibly makes a decision to ask about that later. Her expression becomes more of personal concern.

"Tabby, it's not like you to ruffle feathers right out of the gate like this. Over the last four years, you've worked harder than anyone I've ever seen to overcome a setback that would have ended the command track for most other people. Now that you've finally gotten that shot at redemption, you seem to be sabotaging it. What's going on?"

McCurry frowns, and opens her mouth clearly intending to protest. Something seems to click in her head, though, and she closes her mouth again before saying anything at all.

Her eyes tighten, and drop away from looking directly at the Admiral on screen as she thinks on the question. After a moment, she slowly raises a hand to cover her mouth. As her hand slowly slides away and falls to rest in her lap, she looks back at the screen.

"I... don't know, Admiral."

That admission escapes her lips as though it had to be drug from the depths of her gut.

"And that bothers me. A lot."

Alvarez looks concerned, but also a little relieved. "Well, at least you're able to admit you don't know. We can work with that."

She leans forward on the screen, her expression kind but intense. "Tabby, this is the first time you've been anywhere near the Tangle since that last mission of your previous command. I think, if you're honest with yourself, you do know why you're acting this way."

The camera lingers a moment on Captain McCurry's face as she reacts to Alvarez's statement, then cuts to a closeup of a computer screen. It displays colorful graphics (meaningless to the viewer) as a pair of hands tap various buttons. The camera pulls back and we see that the hands belong to security officer Zuto Hiromaka.

He looks over his shoulder and says, "I've loaded the Inphirian algorithm, commander. Ready to begin the work to integrate it with our navigational systems."

Hamilton nods, following along diligently on a datapad.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Hironaka. The transcoder's online. Go ahead and engage."

"Yes, sir." Zuto taps a couple of buttons, frowns, and mutters, "Wait a second... Oh, right." He punches more buttons, more decisively.

At a questioning look from Hamilton, he gives an apologetic smile. "It's been a while since I did this level of code work. I'm a little rusty, I guess."

"Rusty won't do when we engage the Vruxil, Lieutenant Hironaka. You came highly recommended. Be sure to stay up on your training, and you'll remain highly recommended."

She's not condemning him, just reminding. But it still comes across as cold.

Zuto's smile vanishes at the rebuke and he looks back to his screen with a serious expression. "Yes, sir."

After a moment or two, he says, "Transcoder engaged. System is beginning to process the algorithm."

He steals a quick glance at Hamilton.

Hamilton nods, apparently unaware that she just kicked a bunny.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Hironaka."

She tends to the progress report on her PADD, and things progress in awkward silence for a few moments. Until Hamilton catches Zuto glancing at her again.

"Do you need something?"

"Sir?" Zuto looks both surprised and slightly guilty.

Hamilton replies quite patiently.

"You keep looking my way, Lieutenant Hiromaka. Is something wrong?

"No. Sorry." He returns to his screen and works in silence for a few seconds before saying, oh-so-casually, "It's just that I was noticing that you're wearing your hair differently than you were a few years ago."

Hamilton's face freezes and droops into a pointed scowl.

"You don't have clearance to read that far back in my file, Lieutenant."

Zuto looks vaguely affronted. "Commander, I didn't read anything in your file." His expression softens into a sad smile and he turns back to his computer readout. "Cal used to show me pictures of you. We had lunch together three or four times a week when we served on the Tesla."

Something in her deflates slightly.

"Well....I unfortunately cannot speak to your haircut. Lieutenant. And......well, I am certain we are both very different people than when you served on the Tesla. So this is an inconsequential detail."

She turns abruptly and begins checking data logs that could just as easily be looked up on her PADD. The camera shows Zuto in the background over her left shoulder, and she lets out a steady breath.

In the background over Pleiades' shoulder, Zuto's expression is one of sadness and compassion. As he returns his eyes to the computer, he says, "Navigation system has run into a problem. Seems to be choking on that weird Inphirian syntax. Compensating."

He moves to another part of the console, bringing him closer to where Hamilton is working.

"That helped. Keep an eye on it on your end - I'm not sure the compatibility bridge is sufficient."

With a task to distract her, she tries not to acknowledge that Zuto moved closer.

"Good catch, Lieutenant. Compensation protocol insufficient. Transitioning to protocol delta."

She stares at the screen for a moment, then leans in closer toward the symbols.

"Delta seems to be more efficient, but this" - she points to an image like a pair of triangles - "is still stalling the code. Do you recognize the error?"

Squinting at the display, Zuto shakes his head and returns to his original part of the console. "Running the debugger step-through."

A warning chime begins to sound. "Well, that can't be good. Discontinuing step-through." The warning chime ends as he punches a sequence of buttons.

Zuto turns around and leans against the console, frowning. "Looks like we'll need to find another way to diagnose this one. The debugger can't wrap its mind around it."

Apparently Hamilton does enjoy using her Academy training. Her eyes light up with concentration as she examines the screen intently, absentmindedly pulling her deep red hair back into a short ponytail. She sticks her tongue out slightly and looks nothing like the uptight First Officer from a few seconds ago. Tapping at the console, she narrates.

"According to the database, this symbol has several meanings in Inphirian culture. Mostly, they refer to grain.....ah! It's referring to the field in the code, but our translators default to "farm."" She cross-references to her PADD. "Lieutenant Hiromaka, please run a substitution protocol changing all instances of "farm" to "field.""

She shows him the Inphirian dicitonary on her PADD. An almost identical symbol shines on the screen, only instead of keeping the lines where the triangles overlap, the image is one continuous stroke. She looks at him for confirmation, and her face falls back into "First Officer" stoicism.

"You are staring at me again, Lieutenant."

She steps back and sighs. "Is it because I look like First Officer Calypso with my hair pulled back? Technically we both look like our mother."

Zuto's expression is complicated, hard to read. "Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. It--" He takes a breath and turns to the console.

After a few seconds, he says, " All substitutions completely. Running code again." Watching the screen, he flashes a smile. "It worked. The error code is gone. Brilliant idea, commander." Looking at her, he adds, "Only forty-seven more modules to go."

"Alright Oobadek, this is your first time down here with me so I'm going to lay down some ground rules. Everything here-" she stretches her arms out, as if to encompass the entirety of the room. "Is under my command. That means no one should be touching any of the equipment without my authorization, understood?" She briefly looks at the drive itself, a grimace on her face which she quickly wipes away while awaiting Oobadek's response.

Oobadek watches Avery, his alien body language responses easily interpreted as stoic patience. Except his chin tendrils which narrow slightly.

"Of course, I am only here to help. I will endeavour to comply with your instructions. I am also well versed in Star Fleet operations. How may I assist you, Lieutenant."

His voice is calm, soothing. His eyes also dart to the Vruxil equipment when Avery looks at it, eyes widening slightly. When she looks back at him, he is watching her again.

"Great. Excellent." Avery sounds relieved, and begins to scan the room for something to delegate. "How about....this." She walks to one of the monitors, pointing at it. Onscreen are various charts which are rising and falling ever so slightly, but overall maintaining consistency.

"You can oversee the temperature readings of the uncertainty drive. If any of the metrics start rising too high and turn red, that constitutes a problematic issue which will need to be fixed on the fly."

Avery doesn't expect actually needing his help, the camera rises to show Avery's PADD detailing the percentages of the Uncertainty drives systems, with temperature only at 9%.

Oobadek familiarizes himself with the uncertainty drive using the wall screen. His fingers tap over the screen tentatively, uncertainly.

Avery moves off, her concentration on her PADD. Something grabs her attention, and after leans closer, eyebrows narrowing.

The Inphirian liaison officer see something and behind flipping through screens more rapidly. He looks around anxiously, but sees Lt. Avery clearly preoccupied with her own emerging issue.

He looks around wildly, spots a junior engineer, waves at her.

The engineer, a young handsome Andorian female comes over. "Crewman, what is the flux density of the power conduit, here," he stabs the display with a dark finger. "J47."

She looks at the display, and says, "Fifteen Tesla, sir. And call me Pyri."

"Fifteen. I'm Oobadek. And the variance, Crewman Pyri?" His tendrils begin to wave agitatedly.

Pyri taps another screen, bringing up amother display. Jagged spikes mar the fluid beauty of a power curve. "Oh, less. This is... Ummm, oh no." She begins frantically tapping the screens.

Oobadek reaches out, grasps her hand gently. "Check the feedback circuitry, I'll monitor this and yell if it worsens."

The camera cuts back to Avery busily tapping away at her Padd. She grimaces at what she reads, looking up at a monitor she taps at it, her expression only worsening. "Why is this..."

She looks around for someone to explain this mess, only spotting Oobadek...and Pyri? At once she approaches the two, not quite hearing what they are discussing. "Pyri, these readings are becoming erratic, why hasn't..." It is at this point Avery notices what exactly the two are looking at, looking between their monitors. "What the hell is happening?" She practically whispers. "Why doesn't anyone keep me updated?" She sounds upset, not exactly angry.

Oobadek places a hand behind his back, and looks squarely at Avery, ignoring the escalating power variances on the screen. His tendrils have gone rigid and his eyebrow ridges lower. Behind his back, his fingers curl into a claw. His voice, however, remains schooled.

"I am sorry, Lieutenant, we are attempting to identify the source of these power fluctuations. I believe Crewman Pyri is about to tell us that the feedback circuitry is cutting in and out. The temperature has not increased to this 'red zone' as you call it. You seem distressed. Would you like for me to continue my explanation? Or bring you a chair?"

"What I need is for you to stop talking and hold this! Everything's supposed to be fine, Pyri status report, now!" Avery practically shoves her PADD towards Oobadek's chest, now dedicating both hands to navigate the screen.

Oobadek holds the PADD for her against his chest, clearly alarmed by this turn of events. "Ma'am? My specialization at the Inphirian Institute was integrating alien technology into Inphirian equipment. We have to purchase many of our advances. This sort of feedback problem occurred when we began attempting to use Romulan disruptors. Please let me help you?"

"That means the sensors should be re-calibrated, damn. I'll have to..." Avery has been muttering under her breath, taking mental notes of the situation. This comes to a halt at Oobadek's request, and she just stares at him for a second. "Help me?" Apprehension, irritation, fear; all flash across her face as she tries to process this. At last her body language relaxes, if only slightly.

"...Fine. Oobadek, what do you suggest?" She manages to grumble out, clearly not happy about asking.

The camera cuts to a reaction shot of Oobadek's face before cutting back to the captain's ready room. McCurry is shifting in her chair and looking slightly exasperated as we hear Admiral Alvarez's voice on the comm link. "Don't give me that look, captain. I know you know what I'm talking about."

Cut to a shot of Alvarez on the screen. She's looking pretty exasperated, too, but she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. When she looks back at McCurry, her expression is almost maternal. "Tabby, I'm probably the only person in the universe who knows exactly how being back at the Tangle is affecting you emotionally. If you can't be honest with yourself, at least be honest with me."

Captain McCurry grows increasingly fidgety in her seat, until finally, she pushes herself up out of her chair with a sudden, exasperated movement. She turns away from the screen, and draws in a deep breath. Her facial expression is hidden, but she tilts her head back to look toward the ceiling as she lets out the breath. She touches her fingertips to her temples and continues to breathe deeply for a moment.

"I can't stop thinking about them, Admiral," she says finally, and as she turns back around to face the screen, it's a very different Tabitha McCurry. She looks... small, somehow. Haunted. Embarrassed.

"All of them. Jackson. Verrit. Adayis. All the others. I look out at the Tangle, and I hear their voices. They died because of my poor judgement, Sonia. I've hardly slept in days."

The camera shifts back to the screen, where Alvarez nods, looking gratified. "Okay, now that it's out in the open, we can talk about it. Sit down, Tabby."

When McCurry sits, she continues. "We didn't know Entanglement Psychosis existed back then. Now, we do. We can't go back in time and diagnose you then, but we can acknowledge that your behavior certainly bore many of the hallmarks of EP. If you're going to insist that those people died because of your poor judgment, you must also allow that your judgment was impaired by the then-unknown neurological impact from the Tangle."

McCurry folds her hands in front of her mouth, and lets the Admiral's words sink in before replying. She releases a sigh and chooses her words carefully. "You might be right. I don't know that I agree that EP is the answer, but I'm willing to entertain the possibility," she says. "But if you are right... should I even be here? How can I be in command if a voice at the back of my head is constantly questioning whether it's me making that decision, or the Tangle?"

Her hands fall and grip the arms of her chair as she searches Alvarez' face for her reaction to the idea.

Alvarez looks stern. "The time for asking that question, captain, was before you accepted the promotion and the assignment."

She huffs a sigh. When she speaks again, it's with less impatience. "Your ship's counselor is the leading authority on Entanglement Psychosis in... well, in the known universe, so far. There are diagnostic protocols in place, and all members of the crew, including you, will have regular sessions and examinations. Frankly, you're in a much safer neurological position now than you were four years ago."

She smirks. "But if you do hear a voice at the back of your head, I suggest you report that to Counselor Mitsk and Dr. T'Shen immediately."

"Admiral, I always hear a voice at the back of my head," says McCurry.

She lets that admission sit for a moment before she gives Alvarez a slightly impudent grin and adds, "It's yours."

Alvarez returns the grin. "You're damn right it is. And I expect you to listen to it. Good hunting, Captain McCurry. Alvarez out."

McCurry leans back in her chair, looking truly, honestly relaxed for the first time as she ends the comm and looks for a long while at the empty screen.

She looks out over the debris littering the ready room, and pushes herself up and tries to summon up the energy to tackle more unpacking. She opens a crate and takes a couple of odds and ends out; as the camera closes in, they're revealed as books. One is a copy of Newton's Principia Mathematica, another a collection of Stephen Hawking's academic publications. This brings a fond smile to her face, as she runs her fingers over the spines of the books. She sets them on the corner of the desk nearby, and starts to poke around in the crate. Gradually, her interest clearly wanes, and she looks back over her shoulder at the door to the bridge.

Her lips twist in thought, glancing at the door again, and then she waves a hand at the still-packed-up crates and walks out to the bridge.

Cut to the interior of the bridge. As the captain heads toward the command chair, we hear Security Chief Iron Eyes, her voice raised in exasperation.

"I have told you three times, authorization was sent by Lt. Blakeney last week."

A voice over the audio comm is heard responding, "As I have repeatedly explained, lieutenant, Mr. Blakeney was then acting as Chief of Operations for Gaia Station, not for the U.S.S. Hodgkin."

Iron Eyes punches a button - the mute button, one presumes - then slaps the console and utters a short howl of frustration. It is just after this that she finally becomes aware of the captain on the bridge and looks prepared to endure a reprimand.

The poor timing -- well, poor depending on who you ask -- is exquisite, that's for certain.

As the captain exits the bridge to the howl, she turns a mild smile on Iron Eyes, though it's easy enough to see the twinkle in her eyes as she says, "I didn't think I'd done anything particularly controversial in the past hour that would warrant a frustrated scream, Lieutenant."

She tilts her head slightly, eyebrows raised, with an unspoken question, letting Iron Eyes explain on her own time.

Iron Eyes allows an expression of relief to flash over her face so briefly that one might question whether they'd even seen it. She takes a breath and straightens up, saying, "Sir, Hazard Control on Gaia Station has issued a denial of clearance for the Hodgkin to leave when we're ready to depart. They say that we have not submitted the proper paperwork authorizing the ship to carry certain dangerous substances contained in the uncertainty drive."

She leans forward and lowers her voice slightly. "The manager of Hazard Control is a Strynian, captain. I don't know whether you've dealt with any before, but they are born bureaucrats - all about the letter of the law, uncompromising on matters of strict protocol. The problem is that Gaia operations submitted the paperwork on behalf of the ship last week, because the ship technically had no operations personnel at the time."

"And the Strynian is refusing to accept it because it wasn't ship personnel that filed the paperwork," says McCurry. Clearly she's dealt with Strynians before.

She shakes her head. "The trick, Lieutenant, is to cite Starfleet regulations chapter and verse. Would you mind if I spoke to our Strynian friend?"

That twinkle in her eyes is still there, and that mild smile grows just a little bit more devious.

Iron Eyes raises an eyebrow at her captain's devious smile, a tiny smile of her own just barely perceptible. She raises her arm in invitation to come back to the console. "His name is Lieutenant Vreyy, sir."

McCurry reopens the comm to the hazard control manager.

"Hello? Lieutenant Vreyy? This is Captain Tabitha McCurry of the USS Hodgkin. I understand you've uncovered some irregularities in our Hazard Control authorization?" she says, standing relaxed and calm with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Could you please fill me in on the situation?"

With clear confidence, Captain McCurry smiles back at Vreyy. "Yes, Lieutenant, I am aware of that regulation, and under the circumstances, I'm sure you will understand why the paperwork by necessity was filed in such a way."

Before Vreyy can protest, though, she holds up her hands to fend off any immediate arguments. "Not that I am asking you to go against this regulation, not by any means." She flashes what might be construed as a winning smile, "I certainly believe in regulations, I assure you. However, I believe that Starfleet Regulation 617-gamma, section 42, article 3, paragraph 25, in which emergency orders from any Starfleet officer ranked above Captain supersede all routine hazardous transport authorizations."

Indeed, her response sounds perfectly legitimate, spoken smooth and calm without hesitation.

"Given that we do indeed have emergency orders from Admiral Hamilton himself, I would like to request that we be allowed to depart Gaia Station as soon as we can. I'd be happy to forward our orders to you, Lieutenant. I'm sure you'd like to have official records."

The way McCurry's expression goes from pleasant to flat suggests that it hadn't been a veiled threat, but it's about to become one. "Lieutenant Vreyy," she says with exaggerated calm, "the ship's operations officer did file the proper paperwork. Lieutenant Blakeney is the Hodgkin's operations officer. I politely request that your office grant us the necessary clearance so that we may avoid a potential diplomatic disaster with a new Federation ally."

She rests her hands atop the back of the captain's seat as she fixes Vreyy's image on screen with a brittle smile.

"With all due respect, Lieutenant," says McCurry, "the impediment is a needless emphasis on the letter of the law, rather than the intent of the law. Lieutenant Blakeney was clearly in the process of transferring to his position as the Operations Officer of this starship when the hazardous material paperwork was filed. To jeopardize the timely commencement of our stated mission from Admiral Hamilton on a technicality is unconscionable."

She grips the back of the captain's chair hard enough to turn her knuckles white and stares back at Vreyy's likeness on the screen with burning intensity.

As the captain is addressing Vreyy's image, we hear the sound of the turbolift door opening and closing. Vreyy's mouth is just opening to deliver what promises to be, judging by his expression, a response sure to send McCurry's frustration level even higher when a voice on the bridge says, "Captain, if I may?"

Blakeney steps into view, holding a padd and crossing to stand to the right of the command chair. He smiles amiably at the viewscreen. "Hello, Lieutenant Vreyy! Your attention to detail in matters of regulations and protocol is, as always, beyond reproach."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Blakeney." The words are civil, the tight smile is technically agreeable, but the tone suggests that a different statement ending in "---k you" would be more heartfelt.

"You're quite right that submitting the paperwork as Gaia operations officer was technically against regulation Four-Twenty-One Alpha, Section 122, subsection 3, Article 17a, paragraph 27, and you have every right to insist that I resubmit them as Hodgkin operations officer. This would then require a seventy-two hour delay while the paperwork made its way through the requisite checks and approvals."

"Yes, it would," Vreyy agrees. "I regret the impact to the Hodgkin's departure schedule, of course, but obviously, this could have been avoided by not filing the paperwork too early."

"Of course," Blakeney says cheerfully, "but then, it is common practice in situations like this for departments to accept paperwork from the officer being transferred before the transfer is fully complete. Otherwise, it can cause a lot of delays." His good-natured smile is positively radiant.

"It may be common practice for some departments, Mr. Blakeney, but it is not my practice." Vreyy's smile is not radiant. Curdled would be a more evocative descriptor.

Blakeney makes a placating gesture with the hand not holding the padd. "No, you're absolutely right, Mr. Vreyy. I couldn't ask you to shortchange protocol for my sake, or to ensure that the Hodgkin can leave on time for its scheduled mission. We couldn't expect you not to strictly adhere to the letter of the regulation."

He glances down at the padd, frowning slightly. "Of course, your insistence on strict adherence will require me to resubmit the paperwork for the other fourteen - check that, seventeen - other requests I filed last week while I was still Gaia operations officer. That will mean that all the departments who already approved those requests will be questioning why they have to approve them again. That includes, I'm afraid, Lieutenant Commander Bordeau."

He looks up at the viewscreen, all innocent concern. "She's your direct superior, I believe, isn't she? Now look, she will almost certainly ask why you held up this one request when all your counterparts in twelve other departments approved all my requests without issue. But you stand your ground, Mr. Vreyy. You are clearly within the letter of the regulation on this matter. The fact that Admiral Hamilton will probably contact your commander within the hour demanding an explanation should not influence your conduct in the slightest." Blakeney places the padd over his heart and folds his hands over it with an air of reverence. "After all, without protocol, Starfleet would surely fall into chaos."

Vreyy's reptilian features stare out through the viewscreen. Without much actual change in expression, they somehow manage to convey a fervent negative interest in Blakeney's continued good health. "I do not wish to seem inflexible. If all other departments have agreed to such lax regulatory enforcement, I will not stand as the sole bastion of protocol propriety. The Hodgkin's hazardous substances transport authorization is approved. You have clearance to leave Gaia station."

Blakeney's smile could probably power half the consoles on the bridge. "Thank you, Vreyy! You're the best. Hodgkin out."

When the transmission has ended, Blakeney turns to McCurry. "I'm sorry for taking over like that, captain, but Altok Leya sent me a comm as soon as this whole thing started." He steps closer and says, "Vreyy kind of has this rivalry with me. He wanted the Gaia ops position, and I got it. Then he wanted this position, and I got it. That's the whole reason he tried this stunt."

Zuto smiles. That is, his lips part, the corners stretching outward and more or less upward, the teeth displayed. If you judged the expression solely by the dictionary definition of the word "smile," you'd have to accept it as one, but you'd be very confused about what a smile is supposed to convey.

"You have checked the translator," he says. It sounds like his upper and lower teeth are stuck together. "You've checked it twice already. If the glyphs are the problem, that means we don't have the necessary translation matrix in the database. Checking the translator again isn't going to solve that problem, now is it?"

She returns his "smile," though does a far worse job hiding her frustration.

"You're right." she says in a sharp staccato. Her pitch and intensity ramp up slightly, but clearly, as she speaks. "If only we had someone on the crew who graduated top of her class and could handle code the Federation has never had access to."

Sudden mortification flashes across her face, which she barely controls before forcing her expression back into stoicism. She takes a deep breath.

"I apologize, Lieutenant Hiromaka. I should not take my personal failings out on you. It is....unprofessional, to say the least."

She takes another deep breath.

"What course of action do you suggest?"

As the pitch of her voice rises, Zuto's frustrated expression changes to surprise and he turns to look at her. He watches her face searchingly, and when she apologizes, he looks as though he's about to say something, but stops.He looks thoughtful, clearly considering the question. Instead of answering directly, he says, "Computer. Analyze glyphs not in the translation database and compare to the rest of the glyphs for which the database has matches. Extrapolate from values of the matched glyphs and assign likely values to the unmatched ones."

He flashes a smile and shrugs. "It's worth a shot."

As they wait for the computer to finish the task, he turns back to the console and says, "She always said you were too hard on yourself."

Over Zuto's shoulder, we see Hamilton freeze.

Hamilton sighs.

"Yeah, she told me that a lot. But being hard on myself is how I got to where I am today."

If it were possible for a facial expression to stammer, this would be it.

"I didn't realize you and Calypso were so close."

The camera is facing Zuto as he sits at the console. Pleiades stands just behind and to his left, so she can't see his expression briefly reflecting pain before flattening into neutral professionalism. She can certainly hear that shift in his tone of voice, though, when he says, "Like I said, we had lunch three or four times a week on the Tesla. We also spent a lot of recreational time climbing in the holodeck."

A few seconds pass before he adds, "I gather she never mentioned me."

Before she can respond, the computer interrupts. "Analysis complete."

Zuto punches some buttons and they both survey the results on the screen. "Well, that's more like it," he says.

Hamilton smiles in relief when he confirms success.

"Nice work, Lieutenant."

She taps away at her PADD to get the next system started, but stops suddenly. She sighs and shakes her head, realizing something.

"She never mentioned people by name. But she always talked about her lunch dates. I think....I think they kept her sane."

She taps away again furiously. Apparently something is very interesting.

Zuto smiles. "Cal certainly had a knack for keeping things interesting. And fun. I think I laughed more during my eighteen months on the Tesla than I did in the previous five years put together." He laughs at some memory, but then his smile fades slightly, becomes sadder. "I miss her. A lot."

As if suddenly realizing that he's talking to Cal's sister, he clears his throat and busies himself with the console. "It looks like the algorithm is fully translated. Running a full-scale test for compatibility with the nav system."

As Zuto speaks, Hamilton takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. "Many people miss her, Lieutenant Hiromaka. One does not often receive a posthumous high honor without making a positive impact."

Her eyes blink open and her expression is blank. "Her sacrifice will be remembered by the Federation, and it is our duty to move on and continue our work to the fullest."

She passively scans the computer deck and nods in approval.

The camera captures Zuto's reaction, which is... complicated. We get the feeling that he's moved, offended, and shamed by Pleiades' coolly delivered lecture, all at the same time. He turns away from her, reaches for the console, turns back with his mouth open to say something, but thinks better of it and turns back to the console.

"Loading algorithm into the navigation system." He punches some more buttons. He looks strangely miserable.

As Pleiades starts to move away, he appears to come to a decision and gets up to face her.

"Lieutenant commander, there's something I'd really like to talk to you about. Not now, of course - sometime when we're off duty. Maybe we could grab lunch?"

Hamilton’s face sets like steel.

"You may find a luncheon meeting to be an insufficient replacement for those you experienced with Lieutenant Commander Hamilton." There is only as much venom in "replacement" as she can manage without being unprofessional.

She turns to look at him and her face softens. Maybe now it’s just set like stone.

"But, seeing as I am your commanding officer, you are well within your right to request a meeting. If you still choose to schedule one, I will be in prompt attendance."

Zuto seems both alarmed and bewildered by the accusation, trying - and failing - to stammer a protest in response.Now the alarm is gone, leaving even more room for the bewilderment.

He begins, "Okay, um... Then I guess--"

The doors to the computer lab slide open and Lt. Blakeney enters. "Hi! How's the algorithm coming along? I'm on my way to check on the progress in the engine room and wanted to give Lt. Edison the status."

Zuto grabs onto this opportunity as though it's an escape pod. "Your timing's perfect - we just got it integrated into the nav system."

Blakeney grins. "Perfect! I'll spread the good news."

As Blakeney turns to go, Zuto says to Pleiades, "I should be getting back to my post. It was..." He hesitates. "It was a pleasure working with you, commander."

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Back in engineering, Lieutenant Avery, Crewman Pyri, and Liaison Officer Oobadek madly tap at displays and PADDs, sometimes in concert.

"I was unable to isolate the cause of the Romulan-Inphir energy incompatibility. Before being reassigned, I was going to catalog the isotopic variations within the feedback circuitry, but that would require disassembling the offending components."

He looks at Pyri. "My superiors were against taking it apart if I couldn't put it back together afterwards." His tendrils waggle jauntilly.

Pyri shows Avery and Oobadek the results of her analysis on J47. "I bypassed the junction and it operates normally with Federation equipment on either side."

"The best I could manage was to program a monitor to reset the feedback circuitry when the resonance exceeded thresholds. I loathe to think what would happen if that occurred during escalating usage."

"Not good enough, we would either need redundancies in place should the monitor fail or something more consistent altogether." Avery pulls her face from the monitor to study Pyri's findings, shaking her head at the results.

"We can't isolate it either, it's likely not going to remain fixed for every occurrence. Say, I bet if the junction was set to a variable frequency depending on the current energy output it would stabilize. Pyri get my the specifications of- never mind just pulled them up."

Oobadek watches the displays showing the encroaching failure and attempts to program an algorithm to compensate for the uncertainty in the energetic hand shaking between the disparate hardware. He sees Avery every bit as concentrated on her task, and Pyri monitoring her own PADD.

They already think we're lesser than them in technological know how. Show them what we can do. The unknown voice rings in his ears' memory.

He taps faster, then apparently satisfied, begins, "Lieutenant, I believe that I-"

"Got it!" Avery suddenly shouts triumphantly. Her frantic nature relaxes, and the warning signals dissipate as the activity on the monitors steadies.

"A range of 5-10 kilo-volts should more then suffice for the current operation. I'll want a full diagnostic report every half hour for the next three hours, afterwards only hourly should suffice." She visibly relaxes, but her face is still glued to her PADD.

The camera lingers a moment on Oobadek's face before cutting to the interior of Counselor Edgar Mitsk's office. He's multitasking, alternating between looking at the computer screen on his desk and poking around on his padd when the door chime sounds. He gives permission to enter, and the door opens to admit Dr. T'Shen.

She says, "I hope I'm not disturbing you, counselor," then after looking around his office calmly, says, "My compliments on your office."

Edgar is deep into a statistical analysis on the effects of the Tangle on the amygdala and nerve impulse latency, when he hears the knock on the door. He looks up, slightly irritated at being disturbed.

"Ah Dr. T'Shen. Uh, no, it's fine. I was ironically working on some analytics concerning the amygdala. Please come in," Edgar says and gestures with an outstretched hand to the chair across from his."

As soon as he says this he realizes that there is a stack of padds strewn about on the chair and hurries out from behind his desk to clear them off. He places them unceremoniously on the nearby workstation with a clatter. One slides off onto the floor. He stoops to pick it up. One might almost think he was nervous.

"Uh please... do sit."

As he goes back around the desk to his chair, his initial bewilderment at Dr. T'shen's remark about his office turns into one of amusement when he realizes that she is just trying to be polite. He tries to fight the smile that is starting to form.

"So. How can I help you today Dr T'Sen?" he asks as he peers over his large monitor. Realizing that it's blocking his view of Dr. T'Sen, he slides it to the left a few inches. There is an uncomfortable moment of silence as the two just look at each other.

T'Shen waits, imperturbably, for Edgar to work through his response to having a visitor in his office. Once they've both been seated, she hesitates, appearing to be choosing her words thoughtfully.

"Counselor, I wanted to follow up on what I mentioned to you at the end of the staff meeting, and to perhaps make clearer to you what I am asking you for."

She shifts in her chair. It's not a huge change, but there's something calculated about it rather than natural. It takes Edgar a second to realize that she is slouching. But when she resumes speaking, her calm tone is unchanged, resulting in a strange dissonance.

"I am a very capable physician, having trained fully first on Vulcan and later graduated from Starfleet Medical School. I've also served on two Starfleet ships prior to the Hodgkin. My skill at diagnosing and treating medical conditions is exemplary and has earned me commendations. However, I have come to realize that for some species - humans, especially - the emotional detachment of a Vulcan is frequently a barrier in a doctor-patient relationship. Many of my past human patients reported finding my manner too clinical. Some have even found it... distressing."

T'Shen inhales, holds for a second, then exhales fairly deliberately. Edgar recognizes this as the most artificially constructed sigh he's ever witnessed. "I've made the study of human psychology a special project, counselor. I am actually quite good at deducing what emotions patients are experiencing by their facial expressions, body language, and other behaviors. The problem I haven't been able to solve is how to interact with my patients in a way that forges trust between us. In a word, I seem unable to bond with my patients. I would like you to help me find a way to mimic, or at least suggest, emotional responses that would help me to bridge that divide."

She stops talking, then quite deliberately sets one elbow on the armrest of the chair and rests her chin in her palm. It's a bit like watching a very basic android run through a subroutine called "Relaxed and hopeful."

With a slight nod of acknowledgment, Edgar replies, "Well...I think I can help you with that. You see I have this program"....Edgar stops in mid sentence....gets up, goes over to the workstation, and flips noisily through the padds..."Ah! Here it is." Handing the padd to Dr T'Sen, he goes back to his chair and continues, hands waving about enthusiastically. "You see a bunch of thumbnails there with a description below, Yes? Now... open any one of them. You will see photographs of humans, wearing various expressions along with a detailed description below the photos describing what those facial expressions mean. I am still working on cataloging all of this but it is almost complete and certainly more than enough to get you started. Think of them..... like flash cards. I even included an option to hide the descriptions so you can test yourself."

Edgar is very pleased with himself and this project and his pride shows. He allows Dr. T'Sen a moment to flip through the photos.

"Now, If you go back to the thumbnails, you will see a drop-down menu where you can select species. "Edgar waits a few seconds letting Dr T'Sen find the menu. "I have just started work on Inphirians and parsing those most expressive tentacles! And don't tell anyone this but I find some of the tentacle "expressions" as it were, to be quite amusing. Sometimes it is difficult to maintain my professionalism."

Edgar instantly regrets sharing that tidbit about himself and wonders why he did it.

T'Shen takes the padd as Edgar hands it to her, following his instructions and browsing through the captioned photos. "This is a quite exhaustive collection of emotional expressions, counselor. Although I feel very confident in my ability to interpret human facial expressions and body language, I do see some cataloged here that I haven't considered. And the inclusion of other species, especially Inphirians, is equally helpful. I appreciate your giving me this tool."

She looks up to meet Edgar's eyes. "It has been my observation, counselor, that when a human has difficulty maintaining an appropriate professional demeanor, that one of two things is often true. The first is that the human feels a lack of respect for a person, group, or institution. The second, that the human feels uncomfortable or insecure."

She tilts her head to one side slightly, a movement that appears far more natural than her clunky attempts to act out human responses. "I do not know you well enough to judge your attitude toward Inphirians, but I have seen you display an outsized emotional reaction to what you appeared to perceive as a professional insult when Lt. Iron Eyes used the slang term for Entanglement Psychosis. To me, this suggests an element of insecurity on your part. If that interpretation is correct, it would be logical to extrapolate that your 'difficulty maintaining professionalism' is rooted not in disrespect, but in your own feelings of insecurity."

There is a beat of silence, during which T'Shen simply watches Edgar. Then she says, "This is generally the type of observation that prompts humans to express that they find my manner unsettling."

Edgar takes a deep breath. He knows that Dr T'Sen doesn't mean to be obtuse, but he also knows that she might be right, causing an alarming amount of discomfort on his part, which leads him to do a 180 in his chair and start rummaging through his bookshelf. He squeezes his eyelids tight for a millisecond and resolves to recover gracefully from his faux pas. He fingers through the data sticks that are neatly arranged label side out on the shelf until he finds what he is looking for, an old data collection from his college psych classes.

Swiveling back to face the doctor, a bland expression on his face, Edgar says, "You know... the photos are not just for learning how to identify non-verbal cues that you might not be familiar with. They can also serve to help you practice the facial expressions yourself. Humans at least, like to see empathy from their doctors. If you want to bond with them, you should mirror their emotions or at least approximate some form of empathy."

Edgar hands her the data stick realizing that his tone of voice might have been a bit harsh. So much for graceful, he thinks.

"So this series of videos is from a class I took back in college. We were being challenged to act out the whole array of human emotions. The videos could be very useful to you. As for the other...uh....perhaps we can work on that. Learning to filter what you think into something less....um...." Edgar couldn't finish the sentence and shrugged, offering a tight smile.

"...Into something less blunt, I think you are trying to say," T'Shen finishes for him. There might be the barest hint of a glint in her eye as she says it. "I have been told that I should not share every observation in full detail. My desire to help sometimes overrules my successful application of that advice. I apologize if I was too direct, or even rude."

She looks at the data collection he has handed her and asks, "Do you think that it will be possible for me to credibly approximate human emotional facial expressions? And if so... do you think it is advisable? I have been told by a few people that it might appear disrespectful. Even mocking. Obviously, I don't wish to make interacting with me even more stressful for humans than it might already be."

Edgar starts to get frustrated and the crease of a small frown begins to form on his forehead. He is offering the tools he has but clearly they aren't adequate for the dilemma at hand. But he dances around Dr. T'Sen's observation of herself and her apology because it causes him embarrassment.

"You are probably right about people reacting badly to your attempts at human facial expressions. Uh...I should have realized that wouldn't work."

Edgar hesitates for a moment, tapping his forefinger on the desk, feeling totally inadequate to the task at hand.

"But the collection from my college class should still be helpful in giving you examples of what to say and...uh... perhaps what not say in various situations. But having said that, saying the appropriate thing without the accompanying relevant facial expression might not help in having good rapport with your patients either."

T'Shen takes Edgar's lack of a clear solution impassively. "I understand, counselor."

Standing, she says, "I do appreciate your attempt to help me. I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Although I will probably find it useful to study this library of human facial expressions. Thank you."

She turns to leave.

"Uh...," Edgar clears his throat and stretches out an arm, "Wait...Dr T'Shen. How about I, we ... practice? I can pretend I am the patient and you can be...well... you. How does that sound?"

T'Shen turns back toward Edgar. She tilts her head, thinking. "I have sometimes heard a human expression - 'Practice makes perfect.' I suppose it is possible that engaging in practice with a human coach could produce better results than my own unassisted efforts have yielded so far."

She appears to come to a decision. "I accept your offer. How shall we proceed?"

Edgar's mildly startled expression at Dr' T'Sen's acceptance would almost suggest that he has forgotten his offer. "Well...uh I haven't figured that part out yet."

Edgar swivels around to the bookshelf again. "Let me find the.....," and his voice trials off into clatters of data sticks and padds beng shuffled about. The camera cuts to Edgar's face, wearing the frantic WHAT have I done!? look.

Feeling a modicum of composure come back, Edgar faces Dr. T'Sen again.

"I...suppose we could act out a scene. You react the way you normally do and I will critique your response....try to warm it up, if you will."

"You say you already know how to read people, it's just a question of knowing what to say for the most part. So...let's say, you are at a patient's bedside. I am the patient." Edgar's demeanor seems to suddenly lose the uptight nervous posture from before and relaxes into a more comfortable, contemplative one. Then the faintest of devilish smiles creeps across his lips and is gone in a flash.

"Ok." He clears his throat and assumes the posture of a sick patient the best he can while sitting at a desk. "Let's try this....."

"Do you mean to say, doctor, that I will need to have my entire hand amputated? You said it was a pinched nerve! I neeeeed my hand. I can't bear the thought...." ....and Edgar the "patient" clutches his hand, pretend fear in his eyes...

Edgar nods at the doctor, an expectant glint in his eye, hinting that now is the time for her to respond. He is clearly having fun now.

T'Shen raises an eyebrow slightly at Edgar's melodramatic performance, but seems to settle into the fiction of the doctor-patient enactment. She moves to stand at Edgar's fictional bedside and pats him twice on the shoulder.

"There, there. You must calm down. You have clearly misheard my course of treatment. In no circumstance would a pinched nerve result in amputation. Although even if amputation were indicated, a cybernetic replacement would enable you to lead a full life with minimal restrictions, if any. So you see, there is no reason for histrionics." She hesitates, then adds, "Perhaps you would like a glass of water."

"See now, you had it in hand until you mentioned histrionics. Well actually... I take that back. A few word choices could be amended. So let's go though it shall we? Firstly the tone is too clinical. You need to soften your delivery. But we already know this is the issue. Perhaps in this case, if you could put yourself in the patient's shoes, knowing what you know about human psychology and think about what it means for a person to lose a limb in terms of how they would be perceived by human society. Human beings are often uncomfortable around people that are different. Then there is the additional stress of learning how to use a new prosthetic and the lack of total independence in the meantime.

"There there" was a good start at attempted empathy but you ruined it with "You must calm down". You are negating the patient's emotional reaction by being a little condescending. And using the word histrionics would be considered insulting. This is a genuine response and should be respected for what it is, heartfelt and serious. And the glass of water. Let me ask you Dr. T'Sen. Why would I want a glass of water?"

T'Shen tilts her head slightly. "My research has indicated that in times of physical and emotional distress, humans frequently offer water to sufferers. It often seems to have no medical value in the situation, so I concluded that it must offer some sort of emotional comfort.

"As to your suggestion of putting myself into the patient's shoes, perhaps that would be best accomplished if we traded roles in this exercise. It might help me to gain the necessary perspective."

"Of course! That sounds like a grand idea. We can replay the same scenario we just did with our roles reversed. How does that sound?"

"All right," T'Shen says. "Perhaps I should sit down and you should stand up."

When they have physically reversed positions, T'Shen looks up at Edgar and says, "Doctor, I am experiencing an irrational fear that you will amputate my hand to treat a pinched nerve. I require you to comfort me and disabuse me of this erratic notion."

This time Edgar moves to stand at Dr. T'Sen's fictional bedside but before he starts his acting routine he says, "I'd like to point out that the patient probably won't say that he or she requires comfort. This is sort of a given and can usually be picked up the doctor based on posture and facial expressions. In addition, the patient likely won't criticize themselves, using phrases like erratic notion."

"Now then... let's begin the scenario."

Edgar pats Dr. T'Sen twice on the shoulder.

"Now there, not to worry. There will be no amputations." Edgar puts on his sweetest smile and his kindest voice. "Your fear is a normal response to stress. You can feel perfectly at ease now."

Edgar's posture and expression change back to his normal serious self.

"Do you see how I did not mention a prosthetic or anything that would cause undue worry? The best course of action is often to offer the minimum information concerning something bad, and to talk up the positives."

T'Shen lifts an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that human patients prefer to have medical truths presented in such a manner as to unduly stress positive information and projections over the negative ones? Does this not constitute a violation of medical ethics?

"In answer to your first question, Yes! That's exactly what I am saying and nooo, how could it constitute a violation of ethics? Why would it be helpful to point out every possible doomsday scenario?"

Not so subtle irritation is starting to creep across Edgar's face.

"What I mean is, the outside possibilities are not necessary to discuss because they probably won't happen. What would be the point? I am not in any way, suggesting hiding any real and concrete information, Dr. T'Sen. The mind also takes part in healing. A positive patient outcome is influenced by their state of mind. In fact, I would go so far as to say it is essential to realizing a positive outcome."

And as an afterthought Edgar continues, "I would also argue that medical projections are not necessarily truths."

T'Shen ponders this a moment, then says, "Perhaps we should try a different scenario - one that does not begin with the patient erroneously restating the projected treatment. If you deliver a 'diagnosis,' I will attempt to respond with the type of response a human patient might give in return."

"But, don't you see, that's exactly the kind of thing a patient might do? These quirks are human. You said yourself that you can read human facial expressions well enough, right? Then no matter the illogical nature of the response, you could see that the patient...uh...me... I... was clearly panicked. You react to that, and not analyse the why. They are sick, or hurt, or scared. They want to be reassured.

T'Shen looks unconvinced and, indeed, about to call off the exercise, but she settles back into the "bed" and fixes her gaze on the ceiling. When she looks at Edgar again, her eyes are wide. To the viewer, they probably call to mind an image of automobile headlights. When she speaks, her voice contains no actual emotion, but it is loud.

Quite loud.

"DOCTOR." She seems to be using volume as a stand-in for human feeling. "DOCTOR, I BELIEVE YOU JUST TOLD ME YOU INTEND TO AMPUTATE MY HAND. THE DIAGNOSIS WAS A PINCHED NERVE. AMPUTATION SEEMS AN EXTREME TREATMENT OPTION."

She grips his wrist. It feels more or less like a vise custom-made for the purpose. "DOCTOR, I NEED MY HAND. I CANNOT BEAR THE THOUGHT OF LOSING IT. PLEASE TELL ME YOU WILL NOT MUTILATE MY LIMB UNNECESSARILY. PLEASE."

Diving into character again Edgar responds, "Now, now, no need to be alarrrmed..... AGGHHH you are going to break my wrist!! Please let go this instant Dr. T'Shen!

Edgar's face is contorted in pain. He reflexively reaches for Dr. T'Shen's arm...

T'Shen immediately releases her grip on his wrist. At first, she seems about to apologize, but then Edgar can see her clearly re-committing to her role. "I'M SORRY, DOCTOR. I AM JUST SO DISTRAUGHT OVER THE PROSPECT OF LOSING MY HAND. PLEASE DON'T REMOVE MY HAND, DOCTOR."

Relieved that his wrist is free, Edgar throws up his hands, palms on both cheeks, forgetting about his wrist for a moment. But a jagged pain reminds him of the grip from Hell. He grunts, grabs his wrist and massages it. His facial expressions cycle through horror, pain and embarrassment.

Stop! Stop! This is NOT working Dr. T'Shen! You are getting far too carried away with this exercise.

T'Shen rises from the chair. As Edgar is about to unleash more abuse on her, she very calmly and deliberately...

Slaps him.

It's a relatively light touch, bringing more sound than force, but he feels a definite impact.

"Forgive me, counselor. But you seemed to be losing control, and I have observed from human literature and entertainment that a slap in such a situation is considered to be an effective way of restoring a person's self-possession."

Edgar is stunned. Did she really just slap me in the face? was written all over his countenance.

He raises a hand to his stinging cheek and says "ouch!" and collapses onto the other chair. Contradictory emotions are vying for prominence. Pain, embarrassment, and even amusement, flit across his face. Then a smile starts slowly appearing, followed by a heartfelt burst of laughter at how preposterous the current situation had become.

"Oh Dr. T'Shen.... my self-possession has been truly restored." More laughter, followed by a few tears.

Once his fits of laughter pass, Edgar sighs and takes a deep breath.

"Ok Dr. T'Shen. I know you are only doing your best and perhaps I did rather overreact. You hit a few nerves too and...true to human behavior I responded as one generally does under those circumstances."

"Do you think we could reset and perhaps try a different approach? But on another day? I have to confess I am exhausted."

T'Shen watches Edgar's turbulent emotional journey with keen interest."Of course, counselor. If I have caused you distress, I offer my apologies. I only hope that my... hitting your nerves will yield some positive results for you. I will leave you now."

She walks toward the office door but stops just short of triggering its automatic opening and turns back to Edgar. "As counselor, you will be responsible for the mental well-being of the entire crew. But there is no role designated to support your own mental health. While this incident may have proved that I lack some of the necessary sensibilities to provide emotional support, I am still capable of listening, and if desired, providing an alternative perspective."

She pauses, then adds, "In other words, as you humans say, my door is always open."

Nodding, she turns toward the door and leaves the office.Fan Mail Awarded: 1
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Camera angle from outside: the Hodgkin recovers one last shuttle craft, the shuttle bays closing. It is facing slightly away from the station.

The view shifts to the view to the bridge, where Liaison Officer Oobadek watches the bridge crew continues to execute the disembarkation maneuver in progress.

The helmsman starts with, "Course laid in, Captain."

Captain Tabitha McCurry raises a hand and points, saying, "Ahead one-quarter impulse."

The view again from the outside shows the Hodgkin's engines glow brighter. The ship elegantly, smoothly moves forward.

The view again shows L.O. Oobadek facing the main viewscreen on the Bridge. Gaia station slides away to the ship's right, as it moves into space. All around him, station operators all turn, taking a moment to let the momentous occasion sink in.

The helmsman reports, "We are underway, sir."

Lt. Altok Leya lets out twin cheers, and L.O. Oobadek glances at them, eyes widening. He looks at the Captain, but she only smiles. To Oobadek, it looks like a grimly bitter smile.

The Inphirian officer bows his head lightly, in deference to the event.

"There's nothing quite like that first departure of a new mission," says McCurry to no one in particular, watching the whole scene unfold with no small amount of awe and excitement. Leya's whoops draw her attention, and she gives a quick, tight smile of recognition -- the joy she can't quite express so openly in her position of command.

She gives instructions to continue on course under standard Starfleet operating procedures, and addresses Edgar and Oobadek in turn. "We've got some time before we arrive at our destination. This would be a good opportunity to discuss Inphirian diplomatic protocols, so that we don't suffer any misunderstandings. Let's convene in the ready room, shall we?"

Turning to Pleiades, she says, "Lt. Commander Hamilton, you have the conn."

Without waiting for assent from the others, she calmly goes into the ready room. It now bears significant signs of having some degree of organization and decorative scheme: Early Modern Sparse. The captain clearly loves dusty antique books, that much is clear, but for the most part, there is little clutter, and everything is neatly arranged in a very specific place. The only significant item on the captain's desk is a gleaming scale model about a foot long of the USS Vega, which was the captain's first command.

As the others enter, she says, "Liaison Officer Oobadek, would you please start by giving us some general principles that we should make sure our crew is aware of regarding communicating with your people?"

Oobadek moves to a free wall, faces McCurry, and says, "Thank you for allowing me to witness the departure, Captain. I'm sure protocols were stretched to accommodate, and I appreciate it that." He pauses for a moment, then continues.

"In our first encounter, what went wrong was the order of precedence. Inphirians believe, at our core, that one approaches, the second acknowledges, the first states intentions, the second responds. There are of course,a multitude of variations, but that quartet serves as a baseline."

He shakes his head. "It is terribly rude for me to proceed this way, and I only do so as my experience with Starfleet has taught me that you should not find this uncouth. I am doing my best to fit in."

He looks at Edgar. "Am I fitting in, Counselor? Have the complaints continued unabated? I do wish to do be of use."

"Oh of course you are of use Officer Oobadek! But uh...people ...humans...at least...will always complain about something. It's part of human nature I suppose. Add to that a natural impulse to be wary of someone different and....well...there haven't been any complaints of late....no."

Smiles graciously, in the human style. It's something about looking like you are sleepy in the eyes.

"Excellent. I've prepared a number of steps to walk you through how that basic quartet applies in modern attraction and interstellar communication. The informal had been sent to your PADDs. If we can all begin at the top of the list, you'll see that..."

The shot blurs, the background him of the starship in operation grows louder as the meeting continues but muted to the viewer.

A short while later, or a lengthy one given the frazzled state of the three occupants, Oobadek is still continuing. He's taken to sitting cross legged on the floor, reviewing the protocols of his PADD aloud.

"Next, we're likely to run into an Inphirian cruiser, perhaps either the Cerium or the Yttrium, as you would call them. When approaching an Inphirian ship, it is recommended that you..." he begins to read slower, "Lower shields so as to demonstrate..."

Oobadek looks up and sits straighter. He continues. "Sorry. ... to demonstrate peaceful intentions. This is recommended particularly due to previous misunderstandings for which the commodores remain rightfully suspicious."

He flips through the material further without speaking.

McCurry, never one to stay stationary even under the best of circumstances -- which these are not -- is slowly pacing about the ready room, following along on her PADD as Oobadek reads.

"Is this common protocol toward all allied species, Officer? To request that they lower their shields? Are there exceptions to this guideline -- for example, if there is a current state of alert or emergency in the sector?" says the captain, frowning just slightly. "I understand the desire for trust, and lowering one's shields does provide that impression. There are situations, however, where it's not likely to be practical."

Oobadek stands straight, his tendrils hanging rigidly. "I'm sure that is the case. I don't have any... statistics, or history. It's a... very new regulation."

Edgar nods his head in agreement.

"Yes agreed. I think the exceptions need to be hammered out so there is no misunderstanding when the shields should be lowered. I would imagine there should be some common sense built into it as well. Not every situation will be black and white."

Then as an afterthought Edgar offers, "Maybe a flow chart?"

"While we might wish for there to be room for interpretation," says the captain, a faint smile playing about her lips, "under the circumstances, I think Starfleet would prefer that we strive to follow protocol whenever possible. A flow chart, however, might actually be useful. An operations manual, so to speak."

She glances toward the door to the bridge, where their protocol-focused first officer currently holds the conn. "We have little room to risk creating a diplomatic incident under the current atmosphere," she says, and turns to Oobadek. "Do you have a sense of how precarious the relationship between our people is, from the perspective of the Inphirians?"

"Yes, that would be important information for the flow of the chart! A level of precariousness perhaps, which would funnel the reaction into various responses based on that level."

Edgar is visibly excited at the prospect of a scientific project. One that he can squirrel himself into his office to work on.

"We can set up a relationship chart with all potential beings we are likely to come across. Maybe on a scale of excellent, total mistrust, and points in between."

McCurry's eyes widen at Edgar's sudden enthusiasm, and she holds up her hands as though fending him off. "I appreciate your energy, Counselor, but Starfleet does have regulations for these things with regard to races we've encountered and established relationships with. As well as standard protocols for first contact, of course," she says. "What we need to focus on is negotiating through this particular relationship."

She turns back to Oobadek, awaiting his answer to her earlier question.

Edgar bows his head, thoroughly cowed.

Oobadek uses the brief exchange between the two Starfleet officers to compose himself. "As to precariousness, I would suggest that it is a very fluid situation. My people have learned that trust given too freely is rewarded with treachery. As such, one might be asked to excuse an interlude between being entirely unknown to each other's to becoming steadfast allies. Still, please consider the strides the Federation has made. They gave you me, a valued senior scientist. This is unprecedented, I assure you."

He lowers his voice. "You may be able to negotiate the shield protocol. As the counselor says, perhaps a guideline for exceptions?"

McCurry's response to this question is prevented by the voice of Altok Leya over the comm. "Captain, Admiral Hamilton wishes to speak with you urgently. We told him that you were in the meeting, but he says that he wants to be put through to talk to all of you."

The captain's features don't reveal how truly surprised she is; normally, an admiral would expect the room to be cleared for an urgent message. She gives the communications officer the go-ahead, and Hamilton's stern face shows up on her desktop viewscreen, which she adjusts to allow Oobadek and the counselor to both see and be seen.

"Greetings, Liaison Officer Oobadek," Hamilton says heartily, greeting Oobadek like a favorite son-in-law. "I'm sure it comes as no surprise that Starfleet has analyzed the content of the most recent transmitted file on Inphirian diplomatic protocols. It was merely a formality, of course, given that the original document was agreed to by both Inphirian and Federation diplomats after extensive diplomatic negotiations. However, the analysis uncovered a troubling and undoubtedly accidental discrepancy: an expectation that all Starfleet vessels will lower shields before approaching and making contact with Inphirian vessels, regardless of circumstances."

The admiral's fatherly smile continues. "I'm sure that the liaison officer has noted that this is an unexpected alteration to the protocols. I just wanted to reassure Captain McCurry that, despite this error in the current version of the document, Starfleet's regulation giving her absolute discretion regarding the use of her ship's shields has not suddenly been revised." He chuckles.

Returning his attention to Oobadek, he says, "Of course, L.O. Oobadek has no doubt already pointed out that his people almost certainly made a clerical error in this document and have not unilaterally altered the agreement signed by both our peoples."

He pauses, still smiling, and waits for Oobadek to respond.

Oobadek chews on his words before speaking. He stands tail, graceful, lithe. "Admiral. My own information packet on these protocols did not include explanatory notes, so I will not attempt to explain. If the Inphir Institute has made this change, I trust that they have good reason to have done so. I will not suggest that the Federation has provoked this request. However, sir, will all due respect, allowing your officers to flagrantly violate protocol without first attempting to negotiate will be undoubtedly seen as a sign of weakness within the Federation, and a provocation."

He looked at Captain McCurry briefly, unease showing in his deepset eyes.

Admiral Hamilton remains silent for a moment, his expression still pleasant, but there's the suggestion of flint in his eyes and in the set of his mouth. After a while, he speaks, his voice calm and cultured.

"Oobadek, I believe that we all want the same thing: for this partnership between our peoples to succeed. We fully intend to fulfill the commitment we made when we signed that original agreement."

There is a subtle but perceptible emphasis on the word "original."

"The Federation takes diplomatic agreements very seriously, as I'm certain your people do, as well. I will as you, as our liaison to Inphir, to contact your people immediately to ask if this... discrepancy truly constitutes a unilateral change in Inphirian expectations from the negotiated and signed agreement. If it is a simple mistake, we will of course proceed with this mission as planned.

"However, if this is a new requirement that your people expect us to observe, then we will happily return to the negotiating table."

Sitting back in his chair, Hamilton smiles again. "The mission can proceed again once both parties have signed the new agreement."

Oobadek also takes a moment, but smiles. "Of course. Thank you for understanding the situation so clearly. I will discuss this change and your understandable concerns with my people immediately." He looks at Captain McCurry with an appraising look. "I'll report to Captain McCurry as soon as I have a response."

He pauses before continuing. "One further question, if you'll indulge me. There aren't any other Federation starships in this sector, are there?"

"As per the original agreement," Hamilton says, "Starfleet vessels other than the Hodgkin have clearance to travel no closer to Inphirian space than Gaia Station unless special dispensation for additional ships is requested by Inphir.

"Under the current circumstances, however, I'm not convinced that it is advisable for the Hodgkin to proceed any further until we receive word back on this discrepancy. Captain McCurry, please bring the Hodgkin to a stop and hold your position until further notice."

Oobadek nods. "Thank you. I'll take your indirect answer for the evasion that it was." He leans closer to the view screen and shakes his head, speaking in a conspiratorial manner. "You really are giving the conservative elements in my government everything they could wish for. We are both being evaluated by our actions, but I will use what diminishing resources I have to advocate for this relationship to continue. Still, those who push for continued isolation despite the current crisis will grow emboldened."

If Hamilton is surprised or flustered by this unexpected posturing, he certainly doesn't look it. "Liaison, I am well aware that Inphir has unmanned observation probes installed throughout Inphirian space. If there were any Starfleet vessels in this sector other than the Hodgkin, your superiors would already have informed you of them."

He leans forward, his face betraying sincere concern. "Oobadek, I have no choice. I can't allow your people to unilaterally change the agreement, and I can't restrict my captain's ability to use her own judgment regarding threats from other ships. It violates Starfleet regulations, and it violates common sense."

"May we go off the record, sir?"

This time, Hamilton does look surprised. "Of course."

Oobadek asks Edgar to have the computer cease recording the transmission, then says, "Sir, Inphirians believe, at our core, that one approaches, the second acknowledges, the first states intentions, the second responds. This is the core of all polite communicating. In this instance, the unilateral action, this provocation can only be taken one way: a direct insult. Please allow me the time to get to the heart of this matter before taking such an understandable action. This change to the agreement isn't an excuse to weaken the defenses as a prelude to fire upon the Hodgkin. It is a test, intend to provoke a specific response. We need you, sir, desperately, even if more than a minority of the Inphir Institute believes otherwise. Give me time to privately root out the perpetrator and arrange for their public humiliation. Publicly, I will have to strongly object."

Hamilton considers this. "I see. Well, this certainly complicates things."

He looks at Tabitha. "Captain, it's your ship, your crew that's at risk. How do you feel about continuing the journey with this shield issue still unresolved?"

Keeping her features calm and composed, McCurry looks from Oobadek to the Admiral with a show of impassively considering the options.

"I believe, sir," says Tabitha, "that at our current speed and course trajectory, it will take a couple of days before we enter Inphirian space and have to make a decision about the shields. I think we can only gain by allowing Liaison Officer Oobadek some time to work whatever back channels he has to get to the bottom of this change."

The corners of her mouth lift slightly in a suggestion of a smile. "LO Oobadek has given me no reason not to trust him to pursue this avenue in good faith. My preference would be to continue on course while he does so."

Hamilton sits back in his seat, clearly thinking it over. He appears to reach a decision and says, "Very well. Proceed to the colony. Maintain a reasonable speed, but don't be in too much of a hurry. Give Oobadek as much time as possible."

Looking at Oobadek, the admiral says, "Benificent auspices, liaison. Hamilton out."

The Starfleet insignia replaces the image of Admiral Hamilton on the viewscreen.

Oobadek slumps after the message ends. In a soft voice he sighs, "I hope that this hasn't made your job harder, Tabitha. I suppose the next two days will be the decider of that. So, how do you feel about doubling my replicator rations?"

He smiles weakly at his attempt at a joke.

Edgar darts a glance over at Oobadek, surprised by his joke, but trying to hide it.

"You haven't made my job any harder than I already have," replies Tabitha, a sharp laugh wrenching its way out from between her lips. She too seems to have lost some tension from her shoulders as the message ends.

That moment of vulnerability ended, she gets back to business. "I will be honest, Oobadek, I also don't like the idea of dropping my shields upon entering Inphirian space. Not because I don't trust your people, and not because I don't understand your expected hierarchy of events when making contact, but because I don't particularly trust what else might be out there," she says, pacing slowly as she speaks. It's a familiar habit of hers already -- she does not stand still well.

"We know the Vruxil may be out there. In Inphirian space, even. Going in without shields is an invitation to a party I don't want to attend. I'm very willing to go in with weapons powered down. That we can recover from quickly, but no shields?"

She comes to a stop and pivots on her heel to look at Oobadek seriously. "If you can get to the bottom of this request and help us resolve the issue, doubling your replicator rations is the least I can do."

Oobadek laughs. "I would never have let that recommendation stand. If the Admiral hadn't forced my hand, I was going to demand an explanation from the Inphir Institute before it came up in practice. I'll go make those inquiries."

He looks at Edgar, his eyes narrowing and his tendrils vibrating. "Doctor patient privilege?" he asks.