The Calm After The Storm

Posted on Tue Jul 2nd, 2019 @ 8:43am by Ensign Varnok Jahal & Commander Rita Paris

Mission: Fractured Fairy Tales
Location: USS Hera, Deck 4, Main Flight Deck
Timeline: 2396, Post-Tribunal

While she had her own perfectly good office up on Deck 2, Commander Rita Paris had a habit of hanging out in the chief flight control officer's office. Partially for the magnificent view that it offered of the flight deck and the incoming and outgoing traffic that was quite impressive when the USS Hera was in port, as she was at the moment. Docked at the Artan family orbital fortress while her mistress and commander Captain Enalia Telvan dealt with family business, it was a time like most others- either leading up to or coming down from some sort of excitement. It was the pattern of life in Starfleet, and there were a great many constants involved that paid no heed to such missions and adventures.

Onboardings were one of those constants, and thus, 04:23 hours saw the ship's First Officer savoring an early morning cup of coffee as she watched the transport shuttle winging its way in. At warp five that trip form Starbase DS-72 would have been a long and likely uncomfortable trip for Ensign... Varnok Jahal, a... what was a Cardassian, they sounded familiar...

As Paris brushed up on the Cardassian involvement with Bajor and the Dominion War on Fedepedia, she finished her coffee and strode out onto the flight deck, PaDD in hand as she confidently strode toward landing pad number 9.

As the shuttle started landing procedures, Varnok gathered his few belongings anxious to stretch his legs. Nervous excitement started to creep up his spine as he wondered about the new assignment, and where it would take him. The shuttle landed with a muffled thud on the flightdeck and Varnok stood as tall as he could in the cramped craft, gathered his thoughts and straightened the grey tunic of his Starfleet Intelligence uniform. After a moment the rear hatch descended to the deck of Landing Pad 9 as he stepped into the opening and addressed the Officer awaiting his arrival.

“Ensign Varnok reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard.”

Before him stood... an anachronism, but one rife with curious modern inaccuracies.

The uniform was reminiscent of the period of the five-year missions when the tricolor uniforms held sway for a good decade. Amongst the various fashion flubs and faux pas of the mid-twenty-third century, this one was only known to history because of the missions of Pike and Decker, of Tracey and of course, Kirk and Spock. The uniforms were synonymous with the five-year missions of exploration that established so much of the alpha and beta quadrants.

But the black hosiery was absent, replaced by solid black leggings. The knee-high boots were there- with an 8 mm heel and a 2 mm platform, he noted, wondering if those were actually regulation, but they did make the tall woman even taller- she nearly looked him in the eye. On the loose angular black collar were three gold pips, which he noted, if he recalled his Starfleet history correctly, would correspond to the two solid banded braids that encircled the wrist of the gold uniform. Ideally, that denoted Security or Engineering, but in the era of the uniform itself, gold was the color of the command track.

The uniform clung to significant curves, that were displayed but not aggressively so- more of a fact of life. The short, functional haircut was another indication that she wasn't compensating for anything in regards to her femininity- rather, she cared more for form to follow function. The woman's casual pose belied her internal process as she displayed a sardonic smile and nodded at the new officer.

"It used to involve coming to attention and saluting back in my day," the old-fashioned officer observed. "But times change, right? At least you know protocol, so that's half a positive. Mister Varnok, I'm Rita Paris, first officer of the Hera. So what do you say, let's see your orders, shall we?"

He was still standing at the bottom of the gangplank of the shuttle, where she'd stepped up to meet him and apparently wasn't planning to let him pass just yet.

“Aye Commander Paris.” he replied coming to attention and handing her the PaDD with his transfer orders from Starfleet Intelligence. The observant Ensign was intrigued by her unusual uniform and awaited further review.

Reviewing the orders, Paris nodded in agreement to them, handing back the PaDD. Stepping to the side, she inclined her head slightly to the large pressure doors at the exit from the flight deck that entered into the starship proper. "All right, Ensign, permission granted. Let's walk and talk, shall we?"

Without awaiting a reply, Paris turned and was moving at something of a march, talking over her shoulder, apparently expecting the Intelligence officer to be there. "So why intelligence, Mister Varnok, I am curious."

With his bag slung neatly over his shoulder he kept pace with his Commanding officer. “I like solving puzzles. When I first entered the Academy, my focus was Science- thinking I would follow in my parents' footsteps as an Environmental Scientist. My instructors quickly determined, however, my skills with focus and memory would be better suited elsewhere. After some consideration, I found I agreed. Some view Intelligence work as living in the shadows. I view it as pulling the truth from the shadows. “

"Wringing truth from falsehoods and deceptions. An interesting perspective, Mr. Varnok. There aren't many Cardassians in Starfleet- why do you suppose that is so, Ensign?" The question was open to interpretation, as the era from which the Commander was apparently attempting to emulate with her uniform choice was one of markedly humancentric attitudes within Starfleet.

“In my experience, most Cardassians are xenophobic and single-minded in their advancement of Cardassia. That leads to a narrow view of other worlds, that Starfleet and I do not share. When I petitioned for entrance to the Academy, I knew I would have to prove myself, as my predecessors had. Starfleet represented reason and sanity to me, during and after the Dominion War.” Varnok briefly scanned Commander Paris’ face for signs of objection, but there was none. It seemed she'd asked the question for his answer, not fishing for an answer she expected.

"Well, we do strive for reason and sanity in our explorations. So what do you know about your current assignment, Ensign?" The curvaceous commander stopped at a turbolift, pressing the button as she conversed. As they waited for the turbolift, the Cardassian Ensign answered somewhat matter of factly.

“To be honest, Commander, very little. I was not even told the name of the ship I was assigned to until I was on route.”

"Then what have you gleaned thus far?" Paris asked as the turbolift arrived and they stepped aboard. "Deck Two."

Smiling slightly, Varnok turned to Commander Paris.”On my last posting on the Varyss I heard rumors, whispers of the Hera." The turbolift ride was short for only two decks, and as the door opened, he didn't have to offer, she strode out of the lift in the lead. "In my line of work, rumors and whispers are pieces of the puzzle to be solved. There was nothing I was able to substantiate, as the ship does not seem to officially exist, or at least as far as my clearance level was concerned. Several of the rumors mentioned that the Hera might have some connection with deep space pirate factions. Considering where we are currently docked, that offers some degree of corroboration.”

Smiling broader he continued “I am very intrigued by your uniform, it is not quite regulation for this time. The pips and braids indicate command, but the color indicates security or engineering. Do you perform multiple duties on board other than First Officer?"

"You tell me, Mister Varnok. You see, that's what intelligence is all about, is it not? Gleaning the facts from the evidence at hand?" The commander stopped before the door where the LCD display declared it to be: CDR Paris, R First Officer

"So tell me what you've learned, Ensign." Placing her palm to the panel, the door lock cycled open and the curious commander stepped inside.

The sight that awaited them inside was a conference room that had been converted into an office. Except that it looked like no modern construction nor furniture, but all throwback antique furniture from the previous century. A large 4-meter triangular table sat off to port, with three plastic chairs gathered about the outside, each sporting mushroom bases and pleather pads. Another of the same style chairs was parked at the point that was clearly the seat behind the desk, the other two facing the broad flat edge of the triangle.

The surface of the desk was cluttered with piles of PaDDs with flimsiness jutting out from between, on top of, below and all over the desk like oil in strata. There were also a few models of ancient starships on the desk, of the Columbia and the Phoenix, of the Eagle and Vostok 6. All of who apparently lived in fear of demolition by a PaDD avalanche. Additionally, there were more than a couple of alien artifacts of some sort or another stacked on the desktop, with tags on them but still clearly between destinations.

There was nowhere in Starfleet in which this compartment could pass inspection.

On the walls were various bookshelves covered with actual books and bric-a-brac interspersed with pictures and images as well as awards and honors. One entire shelf held a collection of children's toys that were a uniform greenish-yellow color. There were a number of images featuring a somber Vulcan in science blue, the Commander and a handsome dashing fellow in command gold and a complex pattern of ribbons on his sleeve that probably made him the captain, given the ones on Rita's sleeves.

Images of the trio on what looked like a sailboat during a breathtaking sunset, the trio on the bridge, each flanking that handsome fellow in the center chair. The three of them in the odd formal uniforms of the period at what looked like a trial. A photo of a young man who looked like he could be her brother, with the same blonde hair and bright blue eyes as the human girl, but with a smug smile that gave the impression that he might just be a jackass. Just over her shoulder was a picture of a modern crew, with the Commander in the mix. And directly behind the desk was the autographed image of Admiral Jonathan Archer himself, smiling benignly.

On a shelf to her right as she took her seat, were a number of action figures, all of whom appeared to be her in various alternate uniforms, although there were a few others scattered amongst the sea of small-scale Starfleet sirens. To her left was a viewport that looked out at the front of the starship. Which was not much of a view when the Hera in port, as she was currently. Gesturing for him to have a seat in one of the not-terribly-comfortable-looking retro chairs, the Commander finished her point.

"You've had time for a lengthy visual inspection of the outer hull on your way in- certainly enough time at that speed. You know where we're docked and you've had a chance to hazard a guess. You've seen the rather large and active flight deck and a bit of the corridors of the ship. You've been in my company for at least four minutes, so you should have a reasonably extensive psych profile or at least a good cold read of me. The Intelligence field is not unlike science, is it not? Focus and memory you mentioned as your calling cards, as I recall."

"But to be a proper detective you must observe, analyze and deduce."

"So demonstrate. Impress me."

"Instead of me telling you about my uniform, why don't you tell me about it?" The cheerful commander crossed her legs at the knees in a practiced scissored movement and steepled her fingers before her, eyebrows up and an angelically patient expression radiating beatifically from her face. A pretty face she was, but a dumb blonde she most certainly was not.

Sitting in the chair Commander Paris had offered, Jarnok smiled broadly and sincerely back at the cool, collected blonde. "To elaborate on what we discussed earlier, the rumors of a pirate connection to the Hera seem to be substantiated as we are currently docked at… I believe… the Artan orbital fortress."

"On my shuttles approach, I was able to see the Hera's beautiful pearlescent black finish that appears to be some kind of stealth paneling, which is not common even for an intelligence ship." The Ensign continued.

"Now, concerning my questions regarding your uniform, what I have inferred from our brief time together is that while your uniform has certain modern concessions such as rank pips and a comm badge rather than a patch, the rest harkens back to a style most commonly seen in…" Varnok paused to think for a second, "...the 2260's I believe."

"Beyond your uniform, the way you have inhabited and curated your office space would lead me to believe that you were once a part of that era."

"While it is not impossible that there could be other reasons for this, the raw number of anachronistic elements and the fact that Starfleet history is filled with instances of people moving from one era to another, it is not outside the realm of possibility that you are, in fact, from a different era entirely." The Cardassian Intel officer concluded.

"Concluding that you are from that era, your behavioral patterns, such as referring to 'your day', wearing lifts to appear taller, and stepping up to meet me on the ramp of the shuttle in an authoritative way, could be interpreted as someone who has had to deal with a decidedly more misogynistic command structure than is prevalent in modern Starfleet. An attitude I assure you I do not share."

Adding a small personal detail, he continued. "In Cardassian culture, gender is regarded equally. My own Mother outranked my Father."

"To conclude, in observance of your desk, I would venture to say that you are very work focused as evidenced by the piles of PaDD's" he said, gesturing to Paris' desk. "And the raw amount of work does suggest that you serve in more than one capacity on this ship." Varnok stopped speaking and sat respectfully to wait for his new Commander's response.

As he had been speaking, she’d been a sphinx- not a trace of emotion, no sign that he was doing well or poorly. She dropped away all emotion as if she were a Vulcan; face neutral and impassive, body language betraying no clues. But as he finished, a broad smile spread across the face of the Starfleet siren. The smile was a genuine one, not meant to light up a room, then she inclined her head toward him at a slight angle before politely clapping.

“Very well done, Mr. Varnok. Observe, analyze and deduce are clearly watchwords you can adhere to, and you have a flair for accomplishing it. You notice and note the nuances, you understand to look for the underlying motivations and reach for the conclusions they lead you to, however illogical that may appear. I suspect you will have the capacity to do well here if you can perform consistently in that manner.” Pausing to consider, Paris leaned forward, clasping her hands before her on the cluttered desk.

“As a confession of my own- I am not a speciesist, nor am I sexist. I am also blissfully unaware of a considerable chunk of the last century or so of history, and I carry none of the prejudices which those who fought against others may choose to carry. I fought Klingons and Romulans across the galaxy in my day; yet now, I have both serving within the command,” the ancient astronaut gestured broadly in an encompassing expression.

“In truth, those officers are amongst some of our finest of our crew. Two hundred and forty-five years ago, Jonathan Archer shoved off from Earth to the stars with 2 aliens from other worlds on the crew of his starship. Today I'm one of 32 humanoids classified as human, and 2 of them are from Earth," the old-fashioned officer chuckled. "I'm in the minority on a Starfleet vessel. That dream of inclusiveness really came true, and humanity proved the be the melting pot for all of those other cultures. The Earth and our message of peace was meant to spread and it did, and we created a galactic society with true equality of the species. As did gender equality and expression, or lack thereof..." The cagey commander trailed off at that before refocusing.

"At least, for the most part."

"I want to make it clear to you, Ensign Varnok, that whatever prejudice you may have faced in getting here, on this starship you will be judged by your words, your deeds, your actions... and your devotion to duty. That’s how Captain Telven runs the ship, and that’s serving in Starfleet works on this ship." Leaning back in her chair again, the first officer adopted a casual breezy tone. "I don’t expect you to take my word for it, though- I’ll be interested in hearing your perspective on it after you’ve had a while to settle in. I'll be expecting Intel briefings, and when something needs the captain's attention, bring it to me if you aren't certain or it isn't her eyes only, and I will always help you plot a course.” The cheerful commander raised her eyebrows, then her smile settled into a prim expression of bemusement.

“So, give and take being what it is, have you any questions for me, Mr. Varnok?” While it might be a trap, it seemed that despite her evasiveness in some instances, the woman was rather forthright. Thus far, he’d yet to detect a shred of falsehood in anything she said. Either she was honest, a magnificent liar, or she believed strongly in what she was saying. "I am officially the first crew member you've met so far, so now's the time, ask away. Uh, I got here through a transporter accident in a splinter timeline that doesn't exist anymore in a desperate gamble from a brilliant mind. They reconstituted me here, and here I've stayed."

Reaching over, Paris ran her hand along the pale blue bulkhead. "The Hera saved my life, and I've served her ever since." Turning to look at the onboarding officer, Rita Paris brushed the hair of her somewhat short but rakishly untidy haircut out of her face, in a practiced gesture. "That's usually the first question. Oh, and the female officers asking if they have to wear this uniform," The easygoing executive volunteered with a laugh.

"All right, you ask and I'll ask. Twenty questions is a good game for an intelligence analyst to play to get to know someone, right? Okay, question one, yours. Go."

"Thank you. I was understandably curious as to how you arrived in this time, although I do have another question that has been weighing on my mind, which I wish to ask first. How did I get assigned to the Hera? I was resigned to the idea that I would be spending the rest of my career on the Varyss," Varnok sighed.

His last post had been tedious at best. Captain Bormir was a veteran of the wars with Cardassia and as much as Jarnok's skills had helped him excel at the academy and the Captain considered him a feather in his hat of the Varyss, never once did Bormir let Jarnok forget that he was Cardassian.

As much as he tried to earn the Captain's respect and, dare he say, friendship, in the many long years he had served on the Varyss, he only really had one true friend.

Carnac was one of the ship's Klingon security guards, and they had both started in the Academy together. Worlds away from their respective homes, with unusual ideas for their respective races, eventually they clung together in friendship, both eventually being assigned to the Varyss.

He sighed deeper, missing his friend. Turning his mind outward again, he prepared himself for his new Commander's response. He liked her straightforwardness and her analytical questions and the smile his observational skills told him was genuine. He decided that he liked her, and was looking forward to this new assignment. Maybe, just maybe, he had found a kindred spirit, one step to the left of the universe.

"You, Mister Varnok, found a way to communicate with a technological entity by discovering and learning it's language, which was algebraically based, if I read the report correctly. I'm not much of a scientist- I just know a lot of very smart people," the first officer freely admitted. "You were in four altercations in the Academy that went on record. You've been in seven on your first assignment. Reported," Paris intoned again, clearly implying that she knew plenty of skirmishes had gone unrecorded. "Two sexual harassment charges. You have been cleared of every incident because you were attacked and defended yourself, but never with violence. The attacking party walked away from the encounter each time."

"You, Mister Varnok, were Valedictorian in your class at the Academy solely on drive and achievement, and there were hecklers as you gave your commencement address. You pressed on, didn't take the bait, and walked away. When you joined the USS Varyss, every quarterly departmental report showed a marked improvement in efficiency and output, both of which were average before that. Yet after more than a year in service, with average evaluations- which seems curious as they are only average because they cite 'disciplinary problems', all of which you were exonerated. Because of those facts, you have not been promoted." Paris looked over the desk at the Cardassian with those big blue eyes and shook her head, a frown on that pretty face.

"You've deserved better all your career, Ensign Varnok. Starfleet should have been better to you, and it hasn't. You are motivated, driven and you can't catch a break worth a damn." The Starfleet recruitment poster model for 2257 tilted her chin up at the intelligence analyst, and told him the truth. "I look for the misfits. The square pegs trapped in the round holes. The ops tech who'd make a brilliant engineer. The shy pilot who could be great if she'd come out of her shell. The class clown who's actually an amazing doctor. The intelligence officer who is a victim of racism."

"Racism. In the near 25th century. I cannot believe it, I will not stand for it, and I'll have none of it. I requested you, and the transfer paperwork was on my PaDD before I put it down. I didn't even know what a Cardassian is, I looked it up while I was meeting your shuttle. For all I knew you were a gelatinous tentacle monster. But you," Paris pointed at the Cardassian ensign, "the officer, that brain of yours, the guy who joined Starfleet to get a fair shake- you are the officer I wanted."

"You've time in rate, and I'll take my own evaluations," When she spoke like that it was actually easy to picture the throwback officer back in the days of the space cowboys roaming the galaxy. "Once you're checked into the command, your first priority is to test for Lieutenant Junior Grade, on my orders. Understood?"

"Aye, Commander. I will endeavor to prove myself worthy." The Cardassian transfer officer replied.

"Good. That was my question. Your turn," The commander offered. "Water? Coffee? Help yourself, if you are getting dry mouth. No matter how much I try to make this a relaxed interview, it's still a stressful experience for you. I get that." Tapping a disc on her desk, a cup slowly replicated itself, bearing the logo and line art of the USS Hera NCC 79010. Once it was built, the cup then slowly filled with coffee.

"Thank you, Commander." Quickly, he went to the replicator for a Ginger Tea before returning to his seat to continue. Taking a deep draw off of the warm, spicy liquid and gathering his thoughts, he put his cup down and replied, "So, why exactly is the Hera docked at a pirate way station?"

"Funny story. Captain Telvan was once Enalia Artan, heir to the matriarchal throne of the Artan pirate family, a fleet of interstellar privateers- they hunt pirates and slavers, making most of their way fighting the Orion syndicate. Her mother, the Queen regent, recently retired, and the Captain is filling out paperwork, assigning duties and generally recreating her family business to make it a better force in the galaxy. I'll let you read the reports." The buxom blonde picked up her slowly replicated coffee cup and took a sip, with a smile spreading in its wake. "Wedding present from the chief engineer. It's a slow cup of coffee, but worth the wait. And charming, I think."

Raising her coffee mug to the Intelligence officer, Paris asked her question, in a surprisingly blunt maneuver. "I read that the Dominion savaged your home planet. Do you hold a grudge?"

Varnok sat for a moment, looked at his cup and considered his words before he replied. "I did once... you see Commander, I was 15 when my parents were killed in the war. I blamed the Dominion, I blamed my parents... and mostly, I blamed myself." The Cardassian Ensign had a faraway look as if remembering a dream.

"The Dominion was at the top of that list, for it was their fault, their choices in my young mind as to who started that war. As I grew older, I blamed my parents, for not leaving Cardassia when we entered the treaty with the Dominion. And now, in the end, I blame myself, for not being old enough, clever enough or strong enough to save them all.”

"So no, I do not hold a grudge. I have dedicated my life to solving the puzzles put before me. Because soldiers win wars. Diplomats can end them. But Intelligence can prevent them... if applied correctly."

"That's a hard life, Ensign. I must say, I respect the resolve that came of it. I'm sure lesser men would become embittered and selfish, but you chose service." Offering a nod, the human girl from a long time ago, who relied on her guts and intuition to guide her through the universe, brought her explanation full circle. "There's an expression in the Paris family, that in a crisis, you'll see the true character of a man. When you see that face, believe it."

"You," the idealistic graduate of Starfleet Academy, class of 2255 wagged a finger at the Cardassian officer in the charcoal grey uniform. "You lived through those times, and chose to let it drive you to spend your life outsmarting those who would oppress and disrupt, within a stricture of just and fair intergalactic law."

"Someone who sees that and chooses a better way? Is someone who'll fit in just fine here on the Hera. Your question," Paris took a sip of coffee as she handed it back off to the intelligence agent. She was enjoying the exchange, they were both being honest with one another unless he was an amazing liar, which she couldn't tell but Cardassians were very oath oriented, she thought she'd read? Eh, seventeen questions to go, I should ask for a summary of their society from the native...

Looking directly at his new commanding officer and taking another sip of the spicy warm brew, he posed the question. “What exactly is the Hera’s mission and purpose? In my experience, it is quite unusual to have a ship so completely devoid of record in Starfleet. Even our covert operations ships we tend to keep track of- but not this one.”

Quickly Varnok was finding the sharp mind and direct questions of this intriguing blonde woman quite engaging. It pleased him that she saw past all of the false accusations, and it gave him a sense of pride that he had not felt in years, to be judged on one's merits and chosen for them. If she was the first officer, he could only imagine what the rest of the crew would be like. The thoughts of joining this ship swirled like a tornado he had once seen on Earth. This was turning into a grand adventure after all.

"We're the starship they call in because the situation is too unrealistic for most vessels to comprehend, or we're called in to make a precise strike. That all sounds very recruitment poster gung ho, so I'll break it down," Paris admitted, then gestured somewhere out the front viewport. "We have a Commodore out there with a penchant for finding trouble and a knack for getting to the heart of it. She investigates, figures out what's wrong, and we're the cavalry she calls. Mad gods, extradimensional beings, ancient summoning rituals, abandoned basis with relevant data... one never knows."

"Suffice to say, not a lot of first contacts nor diplomatic missions would be a safe assessment of our assignments. Again, I'll let you read the reports. You already got a significant clearance being assigned to the Hera. So nothing is off-limits, you can read about any of our past missions and our personnel files are all available for you as well." The fulsome first officer paused to consider, then went for a standard. "Aside from xenophobia in others, what's your greatest weakness, Mr. Varnok? And we can come back to that one if you need to- some need a moment with that one."

“Commander Paris," Varnok stated earnestly, "we all have weaknesses. Sometimes they have yet to reveal themselves. This is a question that does not deserve a quick and glib answer. I could say I have no weaknesses, but that would be a lie. I find concentrating on my strengths more worthwhile than dwelling on my weaknesses." The Cardassian hoped the commanding officer would understand his point of view. “I will need time to consider the question further, to give a proper answer.”

"Entirely fair. It's a trap question, really- if you have a quick answer then that usually means you are giving a prepared answer, or you haven't thought it through. One of my favorites was 'I've heard it said that I can be... aloof. At the Academy, I went out of my way to avoid unnecessary social interaction. I suppose some people could see that as a weakness, Sir.' Far and away the most arrogant answer I'd ever heard. It did certainly speak volumes about the officer, though." Paris looked off into the distance for a few seconds, lost in contemplation before she refocused on the officer in the here and now who was getting his first feel of his new assignment.

"Your question, I believe?"

Glancing over at the row of pictures Varnok cocked his head slightly, "Do you miss these people that are in the pictures with you? You seemed quite close."

"Captain Michael Stuart, commander of the USS Exeter, 2268." The officer of another era chucked her thumb at the handsome young man in the captain's chair. "Ronald Tracey went nuts and got tied up with the Talosians as well as the Omegans. Got most of the crew killed, but Stuart was the chief engineer, and led a mutiny. Captured Tracey and brought her home, and was given a few jumps in rank and command of the vessel. I was part of the 'clean sweep' of crew as chief navigator, and we boldly went from there. He was a good man- impetuous, rash and not the best starship commander nor leader of men, and he did have a fine Irish temper. But he had a good and noble heart... and yes, I miss him a bit. Like you miss all old friends, no?"

"Mister Sonak was quite simply the best man I ever met. We were on a mission to Ajilon Prime, evacuating the science colony there when the transporter malfunctioned, and he gambled with the universe. I ended up here, one dimension over and a century and change away. I don't miss him, though," Paris offered with a smile that was wide, genuine and happy. "We managed to send him my coordinates, and he came after me. Took some time on Vulcan to establish his bonafides, then took a year at the Academy to brush up on what he'd missed, and got himself assigned to the Hera... a month after I'd arrived here. He's the chief science officer now, and my husband."

"The rest... some I miss, some I keep the images around to remind myself. And that one," She chucked a thumb to the sad-eyed admiral in a uniform even older than her own. "He reminds me to uphold the principles of Starfleet, to remember where I came from and be open to new experiences, new cultures and to boldly go. I met him when I was eight years old, and he was a very old man by then. But he still shook my hand, and when I told him I wanted to frow up to be a starship captain, he signed it 'to Captain Rita Paris, Admiral Jonathan Archer. A great explorer, and a great man."

When she spoke of the founder of Starfleet, she spoke with a reverence that was because it was expected or a matter of decorum, but instead, it was an honest and genuine respect for the great pioneer that had preceded her into space, laying the foundation for her life amongst the stars in Starfleet.

"How about you, Mr. Varnok?" Paris returned the question in kind. "Anyone special out there in your past that you miss?"

Varnok smiled slightly, thinking back on his academy days and then he time served on the Varyss. He was painfully aware that he was completely alone in this new venture.

"I miss my friend, Carnac. He's a Klingon that I came up in the Academy with. Since I was Cardassian and he Klingon, people tended to mistrust me, and were afraid if him. So we gravitated to each other- first out of need, and then friendship."

"We were both eventually assigned to the Varyss with Carnac going into security and me into Intel. I do hope we will meet again and now that I am no longer on the ship, he can excel further, no longer feeling the need to step in on my behalf and deal with those repercussions."

The stoic Ensign then resolved to himself, this was a new start. In light of what this new Commander had expressed. he was going to strive to excel as never before. He couldn't believe he was being so open with her. She did have a way about her, though. He found it almost cathartic to talk to someone who seemed sincerely interested.

Shifting in his seat to a more comfortable position, the Intelligence Officer shook off some of the encroaching melancholy and continued. "And I do miss my parents. I would like to think they would be proud of the man I've become." He stated wistfully. "Though if they were still here, my life may have taken on a whole different direction."

"Parents can be hard to please- after all, they usually have the idea to mold their children in their own image. Which could be good or bad, I suppose. But in the here and now, you're just making yourself proud." Pausing, the mod mini-dressed mariner of the stars cocked her head curiously, and her eyes narrowed. There were a few long seconds where she seemed to consider her actions, then she said, rather quietly, "You've led a very lonely life, haven't you, Mr. Varnok? Not another question, just a realization."

'‘I apologize if I said too much Commander, I do not usually share this much about myself.” the Ensign stated. Varnok looked slightly uncomfortable as he continued. “I hope I have answered any questions you had and I have not changed your mind regarding my assignment to the ship.” The Cardassian's stomach growled slightly, he hoped he would be allowed to his quarters soon he had not eaten since he left the Varyss.

"You haven't said too much, nor anything you should regret, Ensign," the curvaceous commander reassured him. "Rather, I apologize for my last comment- as insights go, perhaps not one to make in an initial meeting. I have nothing but confidence for you in this assignment, Mister Varnok, and I am certain that you'll do well on the Hera.

"For now," she chose a PaDD from her desk, inspected in, put it down and selected another, then another before she had the one she apparently wished to hand over, which she then did. As she expertly flipped it around, it was clear that Commander Paris spent a considerable amount of time with one in her hand, as well as delivering them to others.

"Here's your welcome aboard package, including your quarters assignment, maps of the Hera, limited computer access and some appointments to keep. You need to check into the command in order to have full access, so that means a meeting with the first officer, a meeting with the Captain, a meeting with your department head, a physical, and a session with the ship's counselor. Once everyone signs off, you'll be checked into the command, and be granted full access for active duty. Would you like me to show you to your quarters, or would you prefer to fins your way there yourself?" There was no guile, no undercurrent of this being a test somehow- but then, he realized none of this had felt like a test so much as a discussion.

Taking a moment, Varnok looked over the PaDD in his hand, contemplating the decision. Looking up, he gave his new Commander a genuine smile, perhaps hard won, and replied. "While I am sure I could find my way, I think I would… appreciate for you to show me. Thank you."

He had locked up only moments ago, but realizing that it was a pattern that had been a part of the loneliness Rita Paris had picked up on, the Cardassian Ensign was committed to being better and giving this new ship and her crew the opportunity to surprise him.