Building Bridges

Posted on Thu Jun 14th, 2018 @ 6:32pm by Commander Rita Paris & Commander Mal Xustos

Mission: Curing the Black Blood
Location: USS Hera, Deck 1, Turbolift
Timeline: Current

Since coming aboard the USS Hera, Lieutenant Rita Paris had certainly gone through a number of adjustments. But one that had disturbed her was that she didn’t seem to be connecting with the first officer. The horned and goat-legged satyr was a lifeform she’d never encountered before, which did not make him unique in her experience. Most of the lifeforms onboard the Hera were from planets the time traveler had never heard of before arriving in this future time. For all her faults, Paris wasn’t a speciesist- regardless of their planet of origin, a Starfleet officer was a shipmate, and Rita would treat them as such.

Although she suspected that it wasn’t a cultural difference that was causing a lack of a relationship with the first officer. On the USS Exeter, she shared an amazing professional relationship with the first officer, as she spent her time as second officer making the starship run efficiently, with occasional correction or guidance from the calm and logical Sonak.

This was not the Exeter, however, and this was not Sonak. This was Mal Xustos, and he seemed leary of her at best. They didn’t have to be friends, although Paris would prefer to be friends with all of the senior staff as a matter of course. They did have to work together, however, and she wanted to at least do her best to make a connection with her superior. Under ordinary circumstances, Rita would just invite the man to her quarters and cook a meal for him. ‘Emotional bonding and establishment of relationships through sharing a meal- a human tradition’ as Sonak had accurately observed.

This was a professional relationship, however, and Paris didn’t want to give the Commander the wrong impression. Calling him to her office would also send a signal that she did not want to send. So instead she just studied the watch schedule, then made sure she was in the turbolift when the executive officer’s Shift ended. In her gold uniform with her knee boots and sheer black leggings- one of a few points of contention she hoped to defuse with the Commander.

Mal handed off command to the watch officer and headed over to the turbolift when the doors opened, he found Lieutenant Paris inside. He stepped out of the way to let her off.

"I wasn't aware you were due on the bridge now, Lieutenant," he said.

"I am not, sir. I came to request a meeting, and rather than a message thought it better done in person," Paris replied with a pleasant smile.

"Alright," he said. "I have a few minutes. I've been meaning to talk to you anyway. Shall we meet in my Ready Room and share a drink?"

"Sounds like a capitol idea, sir," Paris replied with a winning grin as she strode back out of the turbolift to fall in behind the Commander.

Mal led Rita to his Ready Room and offered her a seat on the couch.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Mal said. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Scotch if you have it, sir," the throwback asked as she sat down primly in the gold minidress of which she was so fond, then crossed her black-clad legs. The three inch heel that was an available option to officers in Rita's day was most definitely part of her uniform. It made her already considerable height that much more imposing, plus they made her legs look amazing. Which the skirt showed off, of course.

"May I request your indulgence in a game of give and take, Commander Xustos?" Lieutenant Paris asked politely. "I have been reading and studying, and I am doing my best to fill in 125 years of advancements. 127," Rita corrected herself. "I still have a lot of ground I haven't covered and I will admit, you are some of that ground. Is it rude to ask what planet someone is from in the 24th century?"

Mal chuckled.

"No," he said. He thought about waiting for her to ask, but let her off the hook. "I assume you mean me. I'm from the planet known as Pomtol. Members of my race are called Pomtoli. The males are all satyrs and the females are all Nymphs, Dryads, or Naiads. We were created by Pan, a member of a race of powerful, extremely advanced aliens that once took on the roles of 'gods' in various pantheons on Earth. Much of our culture imitates Earth's Greco-Roman cultures, though we've managed to balance out male/female roles, and other gender issues that many races struggled with for centuries. While there are social and professional roles that one or the other sex tend to choose, no one relegated to a certain role because of their gender. What about you? You're Human. Were you raised on Earth or on another Federation world?"

"Earthling, sir. Born and raised in San Francisco, home of the fleet- a true California girl. I grew up there, learned to surf there, did my schooling there and attended the Academy there back in '51.... oh, right," Paris smirked a bit, chagrined. "Back in 2251. Wow, that really makes me sound desperately behind the times. But it was a great education for its day. Even if warp theory all got completely changed later."

"I enjoyed California when I was at Starfleet Academy," Mal said. "San Francisco was lovely and the California beaches and forests were a treasure. There were lots of small cafes and coffee shops where I could drop in on an open mike night with one of my instruments and perform when I had the time. I even got some regular gigs. Lots of people enjoyed listening to a real live satyr playing instruments from Ancient Greece and Rome that no one at the time knew how to play. Since then, many non-Pomtoli have come to Pomtol to study at our music conservatories to learn the old instruments."

"Impressive. So what drove you to Starfleet? Is there a large presence on Pomtol?" Paris probed, reaching for the offered drink.

"The Federation made contact with my people not too long ago," Mal said. "I wanted to get out and see the galaxy and Starfleet seemed an excellent way to do that. I also wanted to see if any of the other 'gods' had stayed behind when the bulk of them left. We knew that Pan had, of course, and there were rumors, now confirmed as this crew has worked with him, that Hermes had stayed, and when we encountered the Federation, we discovered that Captain Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise had encountered Apollo while on their first five-year mission. Unfortunately, so had Hera, which we discovered long before we encountered the Federation, when a small force of her Amazons and Harpies, and of course her Minotaur shock troops, happened upon Pomtol. We fought them off at great cost. This crew has recently discovered that even the ones who left this plane of existence have returned. While the Federation could benefit from the advanced technology possessed by these faux 'gods', so could her enemies. Even on their own, these 'deities' can be dangerous as they tend to view the rest of us as lesser beings who should worship them."

Mal repressed a shudder when he thought about Hera's Minotaurs, the stuff of nightmares for his people.

"Seems no matter how advanced we become, there's always someone else out there ahead of the curve. And they somehow never seem to be benevolent. So what's the mission at this point?" Paris asked to keep the discussion rolling along.

"At the moment," Mal said. "We're looking into these returned 'gods', checking for signs that they are causing trouble. Considering their level of tech and power, we're only going to confront the ones that represent the biggest threat. Hera is the biggest problem I can think of. Imagine a betrayed and angry wife with near god-like power, one with a long memory and not a lot of forgiveness in her heart. I don't blame her. Being married to Zeus would make anyone crazy, but we can't let her hurt innocents in her quest for revenge."

"Hera versus the Hera. I'm not sure if that's irony or destiny," Paris admitted. "So what's the plan when we find them?"

"Hopefully talk them down," Mal said. "And try to help them become productive citizens of the galaxy. They have much to offer if we can work with them. Some of them, however, will be up to no good and then we'll have to intervene in some way. But Hera..."

Mal sighed.

"She's supposed to be the 'goddess' of marriage and family," he said. "But in practice she's more like the 'goddess' of jealousy and vindictiveness. Her favorite pastime is taking out her anger at Zeus' infidelities on his illegitimate offspring. The 'god' Hermes is one of those. And wouldn't you know it, in addition to being the founder of my race, Pan is also the son of Hermes. Pan also happens to be a satyr, and, in the old days, satyrs were famous for seducing Nymphs, Dryads, and Naiads so they could take advantage of them. At least, those were the stories. In practice the seducing could go either way and while there was more than one broken heart, there were also a lot of very satisfied Nymphs, Dryads, and Naiads. Unfortunately, Hera hates us because we are descended from an illegitimate child of Zeus and because she thinks male Pomtoli run around drinking and forcing ourselves on female Pomtoli. I know it's a thin connection, but that woman is so angry she can't see straight anymore. Her hatred makes her fanatical and her army of Amazons, Harpies, and Minotaurs give her the means to cause a lot of death and destruction."

Mal took a sip of his drink, then continued.

"On Pomtol," he said. "Minotaur are the stuff of nightmares. Behave youngling, or the Minotaur might come for you! They are terrifying. Large, muscular like you wouldn't believe, tough, too. Resistant to energy weapons and even projectile weapons barely penetrate their hide. My people developed frictionless swords and daggers that can cut through a Minotaur. I have two swords and a dagger that are frictionless. Until recently, I'd never used one for it's intended purpose. Then I encountered an actual Minotaur when we rescued Hermes, as well as some Amazons and a Harpy. Thankfully the blades worked."

Mal chuckled.

"I know you know this already," he said. "But never piss of T'Pral. While we were all fighting for our lives, she calmly took down an Amazon like she was nothing and then, equally calmly, shot a Harpy out of the sky with a phaser pistol. She is truly frightening when she puts her mind to it."

"We've met," Paris replied, not mentioning that she'd brawled with, then shot the security chief while the Vulcan had been possessed by the black blood. "So we're just waiting for reports of these beings to pop up? Seems very... reactionary. Have we determined how they draw their power, from where? After all, if they won't listen to reason then it seems like facing them on their own terms is less than optimal."

"Each one can draw power from their ship's power source," Mal said. "If they are in range, and no, we haven't figured out what that range is yet, or if it's the same for all of them or not. Once they set up on a planet, they usually install at least one main generator, and if they've got the resources, they'll set up multiple secondary and tertiary generators, giving them access to a truly mind-boggling amount of power and making it difficult to cut them off from their power sources before they swat us out of the sky with a wave of their hands. The Enterprise defeated Apollo by taking out his power generator. He had only installed one, which was lazy of him. He got too into the role of Apollo and dressed the part too well. Hermes not only draws power from his ship. He also wears and carries several bits and pieces of technology that, even independently of his ship's power source, give him a lot of options when defending himself or dealing with various problems. He's another source of information for us. His ship is faster than anything we've got. It can travel at warp, but seems to also have something comparable to a quantum slipstream drive, one that is far more advanced than anything the Federation has even considered developing. You'll probably meet him soon. You might even get along. He's a pilot. After the other 'gods' left Earth and this plane of existence about 2000 years ago, he stayed behind and wandered the galaxy, working as a courier. An appropriate job for the Messenger God. He was picking up contract work for Starfleet Intelligence under the name 'Bodie'. Completely unaware of his background, SFI gave him the code name of 'Hermes', which I'm sure amused him to no end."

Mal smiled.

"Sorry," he said. "Seems I'm a bit chatty today."

"Not at all, Commander," the lost navigator offered broadly with an expansive gesture. "I wanted to get to know you, and hearing your version of current events most certainly is accomplishing that goal."

Taking a sip of her drink, Paris grimaced slightly. "All these years I drank scotch because the old boy's club of the upper ranks all drank scotch. And romulan ale for those 'special occasions'. But if they offered you a drink, you asked for scotch, because that was what they had and were probably inordinately proud of the label or vintage. So be appreciative." The leggy lieutenant took another sip and sighed. "Never liked scotch, but it seems some old habits are hard to break. So," the gold-clad cosmonaut looked up again, continuing the interview, "I understand that they draw on power sources- do we know how? Is that more application of their technology, or a natural ability? I guess Mount Olympus was one big power station for them? Or their vessel?"

"These are all good questions," Mal said. "Hermes is willing to provide some of the answers, but not all, because that would leave him vulnerable as well. We know they can channel energy through their bodies and do things like hurl lightning to varying degrees of intensity, among other things, or enhance abilities. When within range of his ship, I assume that Hermes doesn't even need his portable tech to move at blinding speeds. Essentially, they can biologically interface with their tech, wirelessly so to speak, perhaps in part like Tesla's theories on supplying power wirelessly."

"Do we have any scans? Do we know if large electromagnetic fields will interfere with their power channeling? Might an EMP affect them, aside from targeting their power source? Has all of this already been tried and it's in a mission briefing dossier somewhere?" Paris took another sip of her drink. Spitballing ideas was always a good idea, at least back in her day, and she was watching Commander Xustos, observing his reactions and getting a feel for the man's command style.

"We don't have enough data on them," Mal said. "Pan wasn't exactly going to tell my people 'hey, this is how you kill me' and Hermes isn't going to come right out and tell us how to kill them or even disable them, because whatever he told us would do the same thing to him. The only Starfleet personnel who have had direct contact with these people, other than us, are Captain Kirk and his crew back in the 22nd Century and that was with one of them, living alone, on an otherwise unoccupied planet with no worshipers and little in the way of infrastructure. My people encountered Hera's warriors, not Hera herself or one of her allies, if the jealous lunatic has any. These faux 'gods' are hardly going to give their soldiers the means to overthrow them. In our recent encounter with Danu, she was able to disable our ship with little apparent effort, and do so in such a targeted manner that we retained key systems, enough to survive, but not enough to do anything. The only weakness we know about is their power sources, which, if you can locate one, can be destroyed. As for an EMP, we've not had the opportunity or reason to use one. Hephaestus seems to be content to work his forge on Magna Roma and be adored and worshiped by his followers there...for now, and besides, we needed his help so attacking him would have been counterproductive. Same with Danu. She hardly would have helped us if we had attacked her, and that's even assuming she doesn't have countermeasures in place to protect her from an EMP. Hermes has been helpful and has presented no threat, so again, no reason to hit his ship or him with an EMP. But, I will ask Lieutenants Vaemyn, sh'Zoarhi, and Rybeena, as well as Commander Jordan to look into the possibility of developing some kind of EMP type weapon that would be effective in this case. Thank you for bringing it up."

"If we can't stop them, at least try to cut them off from their power supplies. Not the worst strategy," Those bright blue eyes lit up and Paris suddenly snapped her fingers. "I read the report! The Enterprise at what, Pollux Four! The ship's surgeon scanned Apollo, and found an extra organ in his chest that he theorized was at least part if not entirely how the being processed power. Have we any good scans of these... gods? I'm guessing there's all sorts of software to interpret scans in this day and age."

"Hermes is the only one we've met in a situation where we could actually scan one since the Enterprise visited Pollux Four," Mal replied. "And he's politely refused to undergo any kind of detailed examination. Besides, we discovered that he's done something to scramble any attempt to scan him without his permission. Again, he's a friendly, and we'd rather not force the issue at the moment."

"Ah," The excitement she'd felt at what counted as a recent report for her, which might be applicable to a modern situation, passed quickly, and Paris swirled the contents of her glass a bit. "Well, something to bear in mind I suppose, moving into the future."

"Speaking of which, we should discuss my uniform, sir. I caught your order on the bridge, but I've special dispensation from the Captain to wear my old uniform here, though she did offer me the possibility of the regular uniform or the blue and white flight suit. I won't bore you with my reasoning, but I thought it best to bring it up in private before you saw me wearing it again. You had me dismissed before I could say a word earlier... reminded me of my father," the throwback chuckled humorlessly.

"Okay," Mal said with a grin. "Well, first of all, I'm too young to be your father, secondly, I'm the wrong species, and thirdly, I apologize if you were offended. I didn't have time to talk right then and it wasn't an appropriate venue for a conversation, anyway. Maybe I should have waited until I had a moment to speak about it, but I wanted to catch you before I forgot. Enalia brought up the issue of your uniform since then. I don't agree with her decision about it and I told her so, but we agreed to see what happens. If your being about to forgo uniform regulations causes a disciplinary problem, if there's enough grumbling about it being unfair, then we agreed that we'd revisit the issue. Or if it becomes an issue on Away Teams. Until then, I won't interfere."

"Well, considering my father died of old age 64 years before you were born, sir, you are definitely too young to be my father... the orders then dismassal though, that was classic Commander Paris right there. He made absolutely sure that I learned to listen and shut up, and that lasted until the day I entered Starfleet Academy." There was a pause while Paris considered her drink, then she looked up to make an admission. "It definitely hit a button there, sir. I've served in commands where a pretty face had nothing of value to say, and orders were snapped off and subordinates dismissed like that and... well, it definitely set a tone for me, and that was part of the reason I asked to meet with you, sir. If it's that sort of command, I'd want to know up front so I could transfer out at the earliest possibility."

"And I have to say, with all due respect, if my old uniform causes a disciplinary problem, we may have bigger issues than a very old lieutenant commander wearing her very old uniform, Commander," Paris observed. "Given the current uniforms, I can't imagine that anyone would be particularly envious, and I have incorporated leggings as the Captain offered as an option. But I will certainly be aware of problems it causes and I will work with the command staff to head off any problems."

"Great," Mal said. "So, tell me more about yourself."

The sudden shift in conversation brought a suspicious look over the buxom blonde's face, but she shrugged seismically and launched into it. "I was born in 2233 at Starfleet Medical. I graduated the Academy back in 2255, and I set out to be a pilot. My father disagreed and arranged for me to be an air traffic controller at Utopia Planitia for a few years until I managed a transfer, and eventually got myself assigned to the USS Constitution, NCC 1700." Paris paused at that to see if the commander had any questions, or if this was all old news to him.

The satyr chuckled.

"Lieutenant," Mal said. "You have a terrible poker face. Get over the uniform thing. It's a difference of opinion. People have those, even Starfleet officers. Besides, it went your way. Take the win. Your father sounds like he was a bit of a control freak. I take it you had a difficult relationship with him?"

That brought a curious expression to the young woman's face, as she drew back a bit. "I... wasn't talking about that? You asked me about myself so I was going along with it...?" Paris sighed and shook her head. "I'm not trying to make this a thing, Commander. Hell, you called me out on the bridge and dismissed me like a child, which was damned embarrassing. So I sought you out off duty to try to talk to you about it, since otherwise it would look like I was disobeying an order you made sure the entire bridge heard you issue, which last time I checked would be less than positive. I thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of the opportunity to get to know you, and give you the chance to get to know me. I asked you probing questions and waited to see if you were going to ask me anything, and now that you have I'm answering. Why are we not good at communicating, sir? Where am I going wrong with you, Commander Xustos?""

Mal chuckled again.

"Perhaps you're trying too hard?" he said. "I'm sorry if you didn't like the way I talked to you on the bridge, but I hardly 'called you out'. I simply asked you to wear the appropriate uniform. Because I was on the bridge and because I was busy, I wasn't particularly interested in a response from you. I'm your superior officer. Sometimes I am going to give you orders and expect you to obey them without any input. That's called the chain of command. I give orders, you follow them. As for asking you questions, you need to understand I'm not in anyway obligated to take an interest in you personally. That said, I have asked questions about you. The first two you responded to with virtually the same information. The third question you haven't answered. I'm not sure what you want from me, Lieutenant. If you don't either, maybe we need to try this again some other time."

That stopped the blonde bombshell dead in her tracks, and she set her drink down. "I think you hit it the first time, sir. I'm used to very different communication with the first officer, I'm setting expectations in my own mind that are unfair, and projecting them onto you. My apologies, Commander. You're right, you have no obligation to take any interest in me personally- I thought it might help us understand one another and communicate more effectively. And in seeking it out I am creating a SNAFU because of those expectations."

Mal sighed.

"Relax, Lieutenant," he said. "I said I was under no obligation to take a personal interest in you, I didn't say that I didn't want to get to know you. In fact, I'm trying. I'm the XO. There is going to be a certain amount of professional and personal distance between us, but that doesn't mean we can't be friendly colleagues and even friends, if we can manage to get around, over, under, or through whatever seems to be getting in our way. You asked me questions about myself, my people, and the current situation this ship is dealing with, and I answered you. However, contrary to what you might think, I don't only want to listen to myself pontificate. I'd like to learn more about you, if you're willing to tell me. For example, it seems you had a rough relationship with your father. It must have felt very frustrating and demoralizing when your father interfered with your career plans. How did he manage to do that, anyway? If you're willing to tell me, that is."

“Yessir- give and take means just that, right?" The lost lieutenant leaned back in her chair and a snarky little smile settled on her face. "Dear old daddy was big with the boy’s club of the upper echelon. They'd all gone to the Academy together and played golf together and served together. So a few well-placed comm calls and favors called in had my career shuffling until I finally managed to pull in a favor of my own and get assigned to the Constitution. Since he was adamant about me not going on the five-year mission, 'The Commander' hired a mercenary to sabotage the transporter. The idea was to scare me into stepping down and being a good girl, shutting up and doing as I was told. What he didn't expect was that the sabotage resulted in me not reassembling after transport. The beam went nowhere; I vanished from the transporter pad, and after the investigation was declared a KIA.”

When she reached for her drink, there was a tremor in the pilot’s hand that had not been there previously. When she spoke, her voice was not as even nor confident though it was clear that she was trying to mask it with a casual tone, as if it were all academic. “Obviously I didn’t die. Instead, I was trapped by the warp field, and I spent almost the entire five year mission as a warp ghost. I wasn't alive but I couldn't die. I stepped into the dilithium chamber and nothing happened to me. I stood on the hull at warp and it was the same as standing in the mess hall. I was a wavelength of energy tied to the warp field- I couldn’t sleep, eat, talk to anyone or affect the material world. Until an engineering ensign worked out what happened to me.- Ensign Larry Wells, bless his heart. I'll never forget that crazy little engineer.”

“So yessir... frustrating is a word for it.” Raising her glass in a cheer, Paris’ hand was steadier, but still shakier than one would hope to see in a pilot. “So when throughout the course of my service, when I try very hard not to step on a transporter pad, I do have a reason. I used to have a letter from Starfleet Medical, but that was a long time ago.” Paris chuckled mirthlessly at her own little joke.

Mal smiled, raising his glass in response.

"Well," he said. "Rest assured, transporter technology has improved, and so has electronic security. It's much harder to hack a transporter now. It does happen, but that's the exception, not the rule. How long after that were you assigned to the Exeter?"

"You know those officers in Starfleet who could endure that for years, then once reintegrated into matter stand tall, offer a jaunty salute and return back to duty? I wasn't one of those Starfleet heroes," Paris admitted. "Two years in Starfleet Psych back on Earth. I learned a lot about therapy, unsurprisingly. I'm still processing what has happened to me this time around, although with some admitted bumps and bruises." Paris shrugged and gestured to the commander. "Case in point."

"So this isn't your first trip to another dimension?" Mal said, teasingly. "Are you planning on staying here long before you jaunt off somewhere else?"

That got the eyebrows up in a surprised look, then a genuine laugh burst out of the gold-clad lieutenant. Holding up a hand, Paris nodded solemnly. "I can accurately report that this is not the first time I've dimension traveled either, sir- you are more correct than you know!" Standing up suddenly, Paris excitedly talked with her hands.

"So, transporter accident in an ion storm- right, surprise. In the dimension we transposed, the Federation is the Terran Empire, who are anthropocentric conquerors, and I kid you not, every woman's uniform is a skirt that stops below the bellybutton, and a halter top, so bare midriff from here to here." Paris indicated a line beneath her bustline and below her belly button. "Apparently, there I slept my way to the top, and was the captain of the Exeter. It was all so bizarre and twisted. Captain Stuart was in engineering and Ensign Proy tried to assassinate Sonak, then I got poisoned because the officers there advance through assassination. Cheery, right?" A look of anxiety formed as Paris backpedaled. "Maybe not my best choice of topics there..."

"We've had encounters with a so-called 'Mirror Universe'," Mal said. "Not the Hera specifically, not while I've been here, but other ships, bases, and stations. You'll be happy to know that the Klingons allied with the Cardassians and I think the Romulans, though I'm not sure about that one, and over threw the Terran Empire, which had been weakened by Spock's attempts to change it from the inside. The Terrans and their vassal races were enslaved. Then, with the help of a Starfleet captain named Sisko, the Terran Rebellion struck a significant blow to the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance. That was some twenty years ago. I'm not aware of the current interstellar political situation. There are so many so-called Mirror Universes, or alternate quantum realities. A new one is created every time anyone in any of the realities makes a choice between one or more options. For example, if I have to choose between A, B, and C, and I choose A, then at least two or three or even more universes are created. There's the one where I chose A, of course, and one where I chose B, another where I chose C. That's not counting the ones where my choices or the choices of others set up a situation where I was never faced with those particular choices, or the ones where I was never born. So if you do go dimension hoping, try to leave a trail of bread crumbs or it's going to be very, very difficult to find you again."

"Turns out there are a lot of theories about parallel worlds. The explanation I like best is that it's all about vibrational frequencies and quantum signatures. That's interesting about how their politics advanced, though. Mirror Universe... that's catchy, I like the sound of that. Thanks, Commander. As for leaving a trail of breadcrumbs..." Paris paused to take a sip of her drink, her hand steady once more. "Sonak figured it all out and posted the results in a study that Starfleet clapped top secret immediately and they put the kibosh on experimenting with transporting over, which suited me just fine. I dislike the feeling of a regular transport- going between dimensions is actually painful."

A trail of breadcrumbs.... somewhere out there Sonak was trying to put together what had happened to her and where she'd gone, bit it was a needle in another haystack entirely, and given that he hadn't found her yet, it was highly unlikely that he was going to do so, ever. Traveling in time he might have solved, but that shuffling of dimensions... Rita put it out of her mind. In the here and now was where she had to live, and here and now she seemed to be making progress building a better relationship with the XO of the Hera, so she focused on that instead of the great empty place in her heart where a solemn-faced alien was no longer to be found. Change of subject, lady.

"How about you, sir? Any wacky 'you wouldn't believe me if I told you' adventures? I mean, I kinda expected you to call bull on that one about the Mirror Universe, but you've actually heard of it. Any oddball experiences like that in your career?" It had actually heartened Paris that the commander had taken her story seriously, as when spoken aloud she realized many of her adventures sounded a bit outlandish.

"Two wars in three years was strange enough," Mal said somberly before lightening the mood with a grin. "However, our the Hera's most recent 'big bad' was an extremely old Iconian demon. We defeated him using weapons made by a being that identifies himself as the Greek God Hephaestus in some places, or, specifically on the planet Magna Roma, as the Roman god Vulcan. To cure the officers infected with his blood, we were to face a 25 meter tall demonic beast that mimicked the form of a giant, fire breathing lizard from an old Earth style Japanese monster film. Apparently, the Celtic god Danu wanted us to face it with a short sword and a spear that Hephaestus had given us, the only weapons we had in our possession that could counteract an Iconian demon's rapid regenerative abilities...or so they thought. I asked Hermes to go to Hephaestus and see if he could procure something special, some kind of back up plan if things got out of hand, which they did, obviously. The 'something special' was a robot in the form of a Spartan warrior, one that could grow in size to match the demonic beast in question, which made the situation even more like an old Earth style Japanese monster film. And don't even get me started on our time travel adventure. I think you'll find that 'oddball' is the gold standard around here."

Those bright blue eyes followed the story and never once gave a hint of disbelief. "Actually, I'd be interested in the time travel adventure if you don't mind indulging me, sir. This is the first time I've become a chronal aberration myself, even in my, ah, well-traveled career. Someone mentioned there had been some time travel aboard the Hera, so I'm curious how that went. Also, is there unclassified footage of that spartan versus Godzilla battle by chance...?"

Mal laughed.

"I don't think anyone was recording that one," he said. "The time travel was a bit problematic. One of our intelligence officers, Chief Warrant Officer Daytona Ral may look young, but he's actually around 422 years old or so. He's have Vulcanoid Rigelian, and that half gives him a lifespan over two hundred years. The other half is El-Aurian and no one really knows how long they live. He joined the crew right before the mission. He was forbidden to share with the rest of the class, but he had a mission of his own. You see, we traveled back to 2160. Daytona was not only alive in 2160, but he was actually at the Orion space station we were infiltrating at the time we were infiltrating it. It's a long confusing tale, but apparently Daytona Ral is part of a time loop slash temporal paradox of some sort. We had to encounter his younger self so that he would pursue the man he was there to kill at the right time. Then Daytona 2395 had to kill the man Daytona 2160 was there to kill. Daytona 2395 had to kill this Orion gangster, who had killed his daughter back in 2160, using the knife Daytona 2160 retrieved from the dead body of the gangster 2395 killed in 2160. Try to follow this: Daytona 2160 finds his target dead and takes the knife he found in the body. He keeps this knife until 2395 and then goes back in time and kills the gangster, leaving the knife behind for Daytona 2160 to find, so Daytona 2160 can hang onto the knife and use it on countless missions, many of those for Starfleet, on which the absence of said knife could have terrible consequences for the security of the Federation, and then in 2395, he can go back in time, stab the gangster, and leave the knife behind for Daytona 2160, and so on, and so forth. There's a whole research team over at Temporal Investigations tasked solely with trying to understand where the knife came from in the first place. Needless to say, running into Daytona's past self without any warning threw the away teams for a little bit of a loops, as did Daytona running off to do a revenge killing in the middle of everything. Worse, we can't really be mad at him for not telling us, because he had orders not to from people with a lot more juice than anyone one we usually deal with. So, our time travel ordeal was a bit trying, but it all turned out in the end. Never a dull moment here on the Hera."

"Predestination paradox," Paris blurted out, then composed herself. "I mean, that's what that is, right? Where you have to go back in time to insure future events that must take place in order for you to travel back and fulfill the role you were meant to pay in the timestream? Not that they were teaching the principles of temporal mechanics at the Academy back in the fifties... wait, let me guess, we do now, eh?"

"Yes," Mal said. "Introduction to Temporal Physics and Introduction to Temporal Mechanics are both currently required courses at the Academy. The reason the eggheads at Temporal Investigations are so worked up of this particular paradox, is that Daytona first saw that knife in the body of the person his future self killed. Then, he kept the knife until his future self could use it and then leave it for his past self to find. So the question is where did the knife come from in the first place? I understand that Enalia looked as though her head was going to explode when Daytona explained the situation to her after the fact. Anyway, this has been a pleasant conversation, one we'll have to continue another time. Is there anything else you need from me?"

"Nossir," Paris rose, smoothing out the skirt of her gold minidress to tug it down a bit out of habit even though she was wearing black leggings. "I wanted to get to know you better, and to give you the chance to get to know me a bit better. I think we've accomplished that, don't you, Commander?"

"Yes," Mal said. "I think we have."