Sightseeing - part 3

Posted on Fri Jan 11th, 2019 @ 9:16pm by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox & Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Asa Dael
Edited on on Fri Jan 11th, 2019 @ 9:17pm

Mission: Section 31-B
Location: USS Hera, Deck 11, Holodeck 7
Timeline: 2396

Walking as briskly as was possible in the short, gold velour mini dress and virtual platform boots of the 23rd century women's officer uniform, Lieutenant Melanie Dox was mortified.

Herself, Commander Rita Paris and Chief Medical Officer Asa Dael had somehow become trapped in the holodeck of the U.S.S. Hera in a functioning replica of the Starship Exeter and incorporated against their will into a scenerio that was now playing out. The trio had determined that the scenerio would have to be seen to the end for the program to release them and they all had tasks to complete.

The young part-Romulan pilot was making her was to the main Shuttlebay to try and wrangle the first of their mission objectives: the phalanx of Tribbles reproducing on the simulated starship. Rita Paris, a native of this era, had warned her to expect a level of sexism and pushback from the Holographic crewmembers, which would have been bad enough if she had been in her real uniform.

Instead, the short, rotund officer found herself in the low cut minidress that Rita wore like a warrior goddess but fit Dox like a too-tight body sock that rode up her more than ample read end with every step.

"Imirrhlhhse." She muttered to herself, cursing in Romulan as she stumbled down the corridor towards the nearest turbolift. She had only passed a handful of faux-crewmembers but each had either a smug smirk at her size or a cruel sneer at her appearance as a Romulan.

Of course, since within this simulation nobody even knew what a Romulan looked like, the sims all assumed she was Vulcan. And for their plans to work she would have to at least try and act the part. So she resisted the urge to sneer back at them as she walked past.

At the turbolift, the doors wooshed open and she stepped in to see another simulated crewman. A young looking human Ensign in a red uniform top, apparently from engineering based on the symbol on his service patch. As she tugged down awkwardly on the hem of her skirt, he tilted his head and chuckeld out loud.

Running out of patience, Dox stood ramrod straight, arching her upturned eyebrow towards the artificial officer that at least she outranked and shouted, "WHAT?!

As the lift went awkwardly silent, she grabbed the handle on the side of the wall and loudly spoke. "Shuttlebay." She desperately hoped her friend, Asa Dael wasn't dealing with the same nonsense.

Humming to themself, hoping to successfully play the part of the vapid girl, Asa exited the hallway to engineering. There they found another crew member in a minidress and approached, "Um, can you help me? I need some parts to repair my station... I hit my head on it, and the Captain thinks I will learn to behave in emergency situations better if I make the repair myself, and I dint know where to look. I can't get in any more trouble, I just cant!"

It didn't take much for the crew member, one Ensign Blackwell, to agree to help the beleaguered doctor. Soon they were bustling around engineering acquiring all the needed parts.

Meanwhile, Commander Bhattacharyya arrived at the Deck 3 office of Rita Paris. While her initial plan had been to work her seductive wiles, first she had to endure a five minute dressing down about how slovenly her office was kept and how the Commander was going to recommend to the Captain that her privilege of an office this size was a waste of resources squandered on an officer who was clearly undeserving of such accommodation. Taking it all meekly in stride, Paris nodded wide-eyed, seeming to take it all in as she bustled about trying to tidy her perennial hurricane of an office. When he had run down, she asked him about the tribble problem, and confirmed that they were multiplying faster than even tribbles tended to breed.

That was when she suggested that maybe they could pump something through environmental controls to neuter them, and he laughed at her. When she suggested the humane thing to do would be to beam the tribbles down to the planet instead of venting them to space, he laughed at her again. When she asked if he could at least get her the current number of tribbles, he logged into her desktop station and showed her, and she thanked him for listening to her crazy ideas and she promised to clean up her dirty, dirty office even as she invaded his personal space, getting a little too close for a tantalizing second as she slid past him to get to her desk. Tugging at his collar, the hot and bothered first officer beat a hasty retreat.

Leaving his open login on her workstation. Which Rita Paris went to work to use, issuing a few orders in the Commander's name.

Meanwhile, standing a few feet from the doors to the Exeter's Shuttlebay, Dox adjusted the hem of her skirt one last time before she knew she had to step forward. She had been standing there for what felt like an hour but had only really been seconds, stalling.

Tugging on the end of her pointed ear, she bit her lip and took a deep breath to regain her composure and began to stride towards the door as it wooshed open. She folded her hands behind her back, arched an eyebrow and tried her level best to seem as commanding as possible.

The room was chaos, as a team of ensigns scurried back and forth, each with armfulls of cooing tribbles as they tried moving the generally harmless creatures near the rear doors of the shuttle bay. 'Rita was right.' she though, watching the young men scrambling as another with a bundle of Tribbles in his arms shoved past her from the corridor to add to the pile. ' That Hhakh of a Captain is going to open the doors and let them be blown into space.'

Clearing her throat loudly in spite of her fear, Dox shouted over the chaos. "ENOUGH!" Startled, the young crewmembers stopped in their tracks and jerked towards the front of the room where Dox stood as straight as she could.

"It... appears I've arrived just in time as you all clearly require assistance." She paused, trying to mimic every Vulcan she had ever known to the best of her ability. After a moment of confused looks and smirks from the assembled men, they quickly went back to work, Ignoring her as Rita Paris had predicted.

Irritated, but doing her best to channel it into action, she walked briskly into the middle of the group, stopping directly in the path of the crewman who snickered the lowest. "I apologise for disrupting your labors... Ensign." Tilting her head to look at the rank bands on his sleeves. "But I believe that when being addressed by a superior officer, the correct protocol is to listen... Intently."

She then raised her voice for the room to hear fully. "We are reorganizing our effort here to contain the... expanding threat. I have been assigned to oversee this effort by Commander..." Suddenly Dox went blank trying to remember the name of the Exeter's First Officer. "Bacharah." She bit her lip realizing that she butchered the pronunciation of his name.

From behind her, one of the crewmembers called back. "I think we can manage here by ourseves without any female interference, Vulcan or not." He stepped up to Dox, looking a full head taller, smirking smuggly. "So, why don't you go back to flying where the Captain tells you and we'll..."

Without blinking, Dox snapped back, interrupting him. "I am not here as a pilot. I'm here as a LIEUTENANT and BRIDGE OFFICER with orders from the First Officer of this vessel to manage this situation to a level you are eirher incapable or unwilling to do properly." The ball of anxiety that lived permanently in Dox's stomach tightened as her face went flush green, but she pushed past it.

"Now, as these creatures are reproducing at an artificially accelerated rate..." She scooched her foot away from a cooking Tribbles that had wandered on to it. "And your current strategy of piling them in a corner is hardly any effective means of containment, this is what you're going to do..."

Suddenly, another crewmember interrupted. "Look, lady. The captain is just going to dump them out into..." At which point, deciding she had had enough and being angry enough to push past her anxiety, Dox cut the young man off.

"I am to be addressed by one of the following, Only: Lieutenant. Lieutenant Dox, Ma'am, or Ms. Dox. Address me as anything else again and I will have you put on report. HAVE I ELOQUTED MYSELF CLEARLY ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

Turning away from the young man and towards the pile of tribbles, she continued. "We are collecting the creature for humane relocation to Omega IV. I will be overseeing the transportation protocols, while all of you will be emptying the cargo containers along the port wall to place them inside. These orders are from Comm... The Commander." Skipping over his name, Dox pushed through. "If you feel so inclined to question those orders with HIM, you may do so when your shift is over and hope he will be more lienient with your insubordination then I am."

One of the crewmembers stomped over to the control panel and began pushing buttons as Dox's stomach began doing cartwheels. After a moment, the crewman looked up with an irritated expression. "Orders confirmed from Commander Bhattacharyya... Ma'am."

Silently swallowing with relief that Rita Paris has succeeded in running the necessary interference in time, Dox began walking as briskly as possible, desperately trying to ignore that the skirt was beginning to ride up her wide hips as she spoke again. "You have your orders. Snap to it. I will be in the Cargo Transporter Room."

As she exited the room and the doors wooshed close behind her, she stopped, bent over with her hands on her knees and let out a muffled chuckle. "Hnaev, I can't believe I pulled that off."

With a sincere word of thanks to Ensign Blackwell, Asa carried the engineering supplies towards the lift. They saw a communication panel and paused briefly, contemplating calling Paris, but continued on as ordered.

Soon enough, the doctor was approaching Sick Bay, arms full of parts, and hoping they would know what to do when the doors opened.



Meanwhile, Rita Paris was having a reunion of a sort in Sickbay.

That sandy brown hair, with those piercing blue eyes. That shy smile that was somehow hangdog yet hopeful. That self-depreciating chuckle, those eyes, ever alert, ever seeking the horizon. That innocence that somehow the universe was going to be all right. Rita Paris hadn't seen him in a few months, but there he sat. Just as accident-prone and foul-mouthed in this universe than he had been in hers. Apparently he'd gotten a plasma burn, ans he used to complain of in his captaincy.

Clad in the crimson of Engineering instead of the gold of Command didn't suit him as well, as she saw him that way every day on the wall of her quarters, alongside her old uniform and a holo of an Exeter that was like theirs, yet was not. Seeing him here made her heart pinch in her chest, and her pretty face furrowed unpleasantly as he called after her.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Lieutenant Commander!" He'd do that so often- call her by the lesser rank, then correct to the full rank. That just irritated her more, and the dimensionally displaced dame kept on walking as behind her his uniform shifted to gold. The shift charge nurse confirmed the orders then offered to show her to Med Lab 4, but Rita Paris declined, explaining that she knew it well. After all, the sickbays of the Constitution and the Exeter were identical. And on the Constitution, Med Bay 4 is where Nathan Lang MD had worked on her case, fervently trying to find some shred of hope in it.

Which, four years later, Ensign Larry Wells had run across while repairing a holoscoping anatomical imager. Seeing in the doctor's notes the final piece of the puzzle, he had solved the mystery of the 'ghost' of the USS Constitution, NCC 1700. Thus had Rita Paris returned to the world of the living, only slightly worse for the wear. When the door to the lab whooshed open, the socially awkward yet brilliant engineer who had saved her life turned to stammer at her.

"OUT!" she fairly roared, pointing to the door with all the commanding presence she could muster, and the engineer scampered out the door. Eyes pinching shut, Rita Paris inhaled, her breath hitching a few times before she got a good lungful. As she fought of the wave of emotion, the kolinahr's wife focused on what was really going on here.

"You may not understand it, but this is cruel. Showing me all of these pieces from my past, these people here in this place- I didn't ask to see them. It damages me emotionally to encounter these sights, these people. They are lost to me, and I have accepted that. Please, if you have to study us then know what is a kindness and what is torture." It was the best way she knew to explain it to an alien intelligence that was studying them, so she offered it now, alone, so she might not freak out her shipmates stuck in this scenario with her. Stepping out of the lab, Rita went to fetch Dox and Dael from the Sickbay waiting area to show the doctor to their lab.

There was no way to be sure that her words had reached whatever was behind this. But as always, Rita Paris had hope.



Hopping from foot to foot in the Sickbay waiting area, Asa lit up when they saw Rita, but then immediately tampered that emotion when the stormcloud on Rita's face was apparent. Sensing silence was the better part of valor on that front, the doctor attempted to waive at Rita, and promptly dropped half of what they were holding in their right hand.

In the process of bending down to pick everything up, the awkward El-Aurian lost their footing even more and wound up falling face first on to the floor, all the parts from Engineering being dropped in the process. Dael quickly bent to pick everything up, and completely missed the breeze that had infiltrated their hind quarters, so by the time Rita approached Asa, the doctor was standing ass in the breeze from their too-short dress hiking itself up during the proceedings.

Never one to hold onto anger for long, the curvy chrononaut squatted, knees together, to help the anxious physician pick up the collection of parts and chemicals they had gathered. “Maybe squat when you ben over if you don’t want to advertise your scants, Do-“ Rita whispered, then paused, catching herself before amending, “Myx Dael. Come on, I’ll get you to the lab so you can get to work, and I’ll fetch Miss Dox when she arrives.”

With an armload of components, Paris turned to smile at the assemblage of Sickbay personnel who had gathered to observe. Smiling that cheery million-watt smile, Paris giggled mindlessly and flounced forward in a manner designed to draw attention to the giggle collection of curves, and ignore the person in Engineering red following her.

Ears bright red, Asa scuttled in behind Rita, allowing the door to the lab to close behind them.

“Thanks for that, I, um, well, I’m not very good in this getup I don’t think. I don’t know how you did this every day,” Asa said. They deposited their supplies onto a nearby table and began bustling about the lab looking for the needed medicines.

“I still do, remember?” Paris quipped, then explained. “Back in these days it was actually something that you made peace with early on, and I always wore it as a badge of honor. The fact that it was so sexist and demeaning just made me work it harder- anyone who was distracted by it was a win for me. One of the reasons I fell for Sonak was, honestly, the fact that he saw me as a person, not a collection of sexually desirable parts. Not that he didn’t gain an appreciation for the rest of the package eventually…”

“So, mission success for you too?” the doctor inquired.

“So far so good. If Commander Bhattacharyya follows traditional protocol, he won’t even notice orders were issued in his name until the end of his duty shift, so we should be clear to operate under his authority so long as no one argues too strenuously and seeks him out over it.” Looking around the medical lab, Paris sighed as the large wall of Nathan Lang MD’s notes on her disappearance and his subsequent studies and hypothesis were still on the wall. “Other than the simulation messing with my head a bit, I’m fine.”



Meanwhile, just outside of the Cargo Transporter Room, Dox had climbed up into a bizarre, diagonal Jefferies tube of the era , working on rerouting power from non-essential systems to make a transporter that wasn't designed to perform a site to site beaming on hundreds of small lifeforms do just that. And to her surprise, the technician on duty was remarkably accommodating. He stood nearby with a bag full of maintenance tools.

"Mr... Fitzsimmons. If you would please hand me the splicer." She held her hand down as far as she could out of the tube, struggling to keep her thick thighs together as her rear was mostly sticking out into the corridor.

Quickly, she felt the correct tool placed into her hand and she continued to work. "Here you go, Ma'am. And if you don't mind me sayin', I never woulda imagined a transporter could be rigged like this. You may be a helmsman, but you sure do know your way around my systems."

Not thinking much of his overly friendly comments, Dox tried to focus on her work, but felt the need to provide him with something of an answer so as to not raise any suspicions. "As a child, growing up on a... on Vulcan... I regularly worked on remarkably similar technology. I was not afforded the... luxury... of a single dicipline."

Growing up on a virtually antique smuggling ship, the statement was true and she knew jist enough to be useful in this situation. Reaching back down, she handed off the splicer. "Phase variance sequence converter."

"Uh... that must be some Vulcan tech I ain't heard of, Ma'am." He spoke with a mild southern twang that reminded her of the ever shifting accent of the HERA's own Intel chief, Clemens. However, she rolled her eyes realizing she was asking for a tool that didn't yet exist.

"Fvadt!" Without thinking, she let out a harsh 'damn' in Romulan before wincing to herself at the slip. "Uh... Hand me the tricorder, needle nose players and some wire cutters, then."

Handing her the items without delay, he responded in a way that was most unexpected to Dox. "If you don't mind my sayin', Ma'am, Vulcan sure is a pretty language. I had a cousin that served with a Vulcan diplomatic delegation for just about ten years, an' he would tell me all about it growin' up. A beautiful culture, really."

Burried in the tube, disassembling the tricorder to rewire it into the transporter systems, Dox rolled her eyes. "That's... Facinating, Ensign." Which seemed like an appropriately Vulcan response.

Suddenly, she heard the footsteps of two crewmembers approach in the corridor, then quickly pass. As they did, her sensitive Romulan ears picked up cruel snickers. As she winced at the sound, she heard Fitzsimmons shout back.

"As you were, gentlemen!" He sounded angry for a moment and Dox was simply relieved it wasn't security there to stop her.

"You'll have t' pardon our shipmates, Miss. Dox. Not everyone on this boat c'n... appreciate... th' beauty of the Vulcan culture." Confused, Dox stopped for a slight moment and looked down the tube incredulously at what she could see of Fitzsimmons, whose head was out of view.

"My... culture... Is focused on our task at the moment." Twisting the wires from the tricorder into the wall with the players, Dox tucked the equipment into the tube, securing it to the wall with sealant tape. "Please reactivate the system power, Ensign."

With a flick, power was restored and Dox saw all green lights flash on the tricorder display. "It appears our efforts were successful, Mr. Fitzsimmons. I thank you for your assistance."

"Aye, Ma'am. It appears we made quite th' connection here." There was a strange lilt to his voice as Dox shimmied back down to her feet. To her surprise, the young Ensign was standing remarkably close to her as she turned around.

"I don't mean t' be too forward, Ma'am. But word around th' ship is that you've been... uncharacteristically emotional... today. Something's about this bein' some kinda' special time f'r Vulcans." He placed his arm against the wall over Dox's shoulder as the awkward young pilot pushed her back against the bulkhead behind her, not understanding what was happening.

"My brother, he tol' me all about what happens t' Vulcans every seven years..." Dox's eyes went absolutely wide as her cheeks flushed green with embarrassment. 'Imirrhlhhse! He's... He's hitting on me?!?' Dox thought, mortified.

As her mind raced, she reached up to rub her ear nervously, as the Holographic ensign grabbed her wrist swiftly, but still gently. "N' I just wanted t' say that I'm a man that c'n... appreciate that kind of a need, if you understand, Miss. Dox."

Desperately wishing she was dealing with another room of sexist assholes, Dox pulled her arm free and slowlt pushed his shoulder away from her as she slid out to the side. "Mr. Fitzsimmons, whatever you may think you know of Vulcans, allow me to assume you, is insufficient to prepare you... for such a transaction." She stammered slightly as she struggled to think of what to say. But her protestations seemed to only spur him on more.

"Oh, I know Vulcans are was stonger than Humans, Ma'am. But you should know that I'm not afraid of playin' a little... rough." At which point, Dox had had enough. In her time at the academy she had had run-ins with cadets that wanted to check 'Romulan' off of some kind of horrible list of sexual conquests and the experiences left Avery bad taste in her mouth that lingered in this moment as if a fresh wound.

Spinning around, she realized that in this instant, however, harshness wasn't going to work. She thought of how Rita Paris seemed to have such a powerful control over her sexuality and it's influence over others and had a thought. "Mr. Fitzsimmons..." She said with a slight smile forced across her face.

"When this mission has concluded, I may..." She swallowed bile rising in the back of her throat as she put a finger on his chest in as seductive a manner as she could imagine. "Examine just what kind of stamina you can muster, Mister."

Then, pulling back, adjusting her I'll fitting skirt and taking on a very professional and stern demeanor, finished. "But until such a time, we will both remain focused on our duties, is that clear?"

The holographic ensign stood at attention with a slimy smirk on his face. "Aye, Lieutenant. Understood. Very understood."

Gesturing into the transporter room, Dox allowed him to walk in before her. As he passed, she shuddered at the thought, praying that the program would disengage and allow them to leave once complete as Commander Paris had theorized.

Back in Sickbay, Asa arched an eyebrow at Rita, knowing that "messing with her head" was likely an understatement from the time traveling temptress, but also knowing Rita would say more when she was ready. The doctor followed the commanders gaze to the notes on the wall and read them silently without comment.

Well, that would do it. Still, the inconsistency this would cause if the appearance of the Commander was remarked upon might be an avenue we should discover later, if all else fails. Perhaps we can force a logical shutdown or something.

By the time Asa had finished bustling about, there were four cannisters of various medicines on the work table, and the doctor realized they were in need of a hypo to withdraw precise amounts.

"OK, we need a hypo or an eyedropper or something, a pressurized beaker for mixing gases with liquids, and a solution of type H progesterone. I can't find any of that in here. What are our chances of finding it out there?" they asked Paris.

“Awesome. You are an engineer on assignment down here to cook up a contraceptive delivery device, so your requests will be met with agreement or they can check the orders from the first Officer. But since we’re a team, you chase the shopping list and the stupid pretty blonde will run interference.” It was easy for Rita to slide back into expecting sexism and underestimation in the surroundings- after all, it had been most of her Starfleet career before she had been assigned to the Exeter. A vapid expression slid into place on her face like a mask, which was mildly unnerving to the El-Aurian physician who knew her far better than that.

Stepping into Sickbay, Paris plucked a tribble out of the arms of a passing crewman who was bearing an armload of the furry cooing menaces out of Sickbay, and idly began petting it as she turned to the disguised doctor and ask, in a tinny high-pitched voice, “What was the first thingie on that list?”

"A hypo that can measure liquids when extracted, please," Asa replied in their best impersonation of the Commanders voice. The effect was offputting, not quite high enough, but also lacking in tenor notes, providing a noise like a confused balloon.

While Rita was procuring the hypo, the doctor opened the doors to the nearest cabinet to the gynecological biobed, assuming birth control would be stored there. Their suspicions were proven correct and they secured the needed amounts. The final item....that would be harder.....Asa was not sure it existing or not at the moment.

The doctor placed the birth control with the other supplies in the lab and began to look around for the pressurized beaker. Upon receiving dirty looks from a nearby male officer, Asa said, "Um, maybe you can help me? I was looking for something to complete a project for the Commander and I need a pressurized beaker to mix the gas and liquids together in a controlled, sterile environment. Point me in the right direction?"

The officer, a doctor perhaps?, snapped, "If you don't know where to find things, why are you even here? Don't waste my time, I have a tribble infestation to worry with, I don't have time to give the grand tour!"

Feeling unsure and mightily pissed off, Asa replied levelly, "Perhaps you did not hear me. I. Am. Here. On. Orders. If you will just point at the cabinet, I will be happy to do everything else myself," With that, the androgynous doctor crossed their arms, met his gaze, and waited for a response.

Sliding in smoothly and practically interposing herself between the doctor at the end of their patience and an annoyed Sickbay jerk. “Hiiiii, I’m so sorry, this is a project that Commander Bhattacharyya ordered us to work on and you know how engineers are with people skills. Is there somebody maybe that we could ask where we might find what they’re after?”

The most winning smile of 2257 didn’t faze the grumpy doctor in the least. “Find a nurse,” he snapped, making to snatch the tribble from Paris’ hand as her hand moved out of his range and the smile froze and became something else entirely.

“Well, since we’re working on that problem ourselves, perhaps-“ she started before he cut her off.

“I neither know nor care what your problem is, but either help with the situation or get out of Sickbay!” With that he stomped off in a huff, even as a nurse tapped Doctor Dael on the shoulder, holding a self-warming pressurized beaker.

“Is this what you’re after, sweety?" the nurse asked solicitously even as she threw a subtle dirty look the gold-clad commander’s way.

With relief palpable on their face, Dael replied, "Yes! Thank you! You are a life saver!- literally!"

After an awkward side-arm hug to the nurse, Dael returned to the lab and began tinkering away. They grabbed a pair of safety goggles (considering the impromptu nature of the equipment in use, an extra precaution best used), and placed some out for Rita as well.

Muttering something about "if I spill anything, this so-called dress will burn right off" the doctor began slowly extracting liquid birth control and mixing it with a wide-dispersal gas in the pressurized beaker. The beaker made a few groans of protest, but soon enough was allowing the liquid and gas to mix.

“I call it a uniform, myself,” Paris muttered to no one in particular. She knew the minidress was unpopular, but the good doctor had asked to wear it and been quite game until they experienced the practical reality of it. Which led her to realize the third member of their trio was still absent.

"OK, that has to cook as it were for about 5 minutes, it will turn green when it's ready. Let's keep our heads down till then?" the doctor half inquired, half asked.

“Understood. You stay here and keep an eye on this, if you please, and I’ll see if I can’t hunt down our Miss Dox- hopefully she’s in the waiting room by now and I can get her back here without incident,” Paris slipped off the goggles and stepped out of the lab. With a little luck, this plan was going to come together and they would be able to successfully complete the scenario and escape the holodeck.

Good luck was usually not the kind that accompanied Rita Paris, in her experience.

Making her way down the corridor, Dox was finally feeling like she was getting the hang of walking in the elevated heels of the knee high boots of the uniform of the period, though every few steps she had to resist the urge to tug down on the dress. She was still embarrassed and still fighting down her anxiety, but she was managing it better in spite of the amorous attentions she had just escaped.

Stepping into the waiting area of the main sickbay, in a remarkable coincidence, Rita Paris was just arriving from the lab. Sighing in relief at the sight, Dox smiled. "Commander. Unless something else goes wrong, the Tribbles are being organized up in the Shuttlebay and the transporter has been reworked for a site to site."

"The chief on duty, Fitzsimmons, is on board and is prepped and ready to lock on and move them on my orders." Dox followed up, trying to mask the revulsion on her face for what had just happened.

The curvaceous commander did a double-take at Dox' expression, as that revulsion played out across it clearly, but being the professional on a schedule, the first officer of the Hera pivoted with Starfleet military precision and began leading the chief helmsman of the Hera back to Med Lab 4. "Excellent work, Lieutenant. Myx Dael is just finishing cooking up the contraceptive and so long as the tribbles are actually in the bin, we should be golden. See!"

The ancient astronaut who hailed from this era pointed to their uniforms. "Fire tests gold, good as gold, we'll be golden. All of these and so many more more were prideful points of the gold uniforms. I'll never understand why they went to red. I STILL miss this uniform," the pretty pilot pouted.

The pout told Dox it was okay to take the moment to speak a bit more casually. "I like the red. But, I guess it's all I've ever seen. Command and helm has been in red as long as I've ever known, but I think... I kind of understand why you own this uniform so well." Dox tugged down on the skirt a bit as she spoke. "Gold, blue or red... you had to own it to be taken seriously."

Taking a moment to smile at her friend from the future visiting her past, Rita Paris nodded. "Quite astute, Miss Dox. But the gold does suit you, for what it's worth. Rank hath it's privilege though- no one's asked about my communicator nor my pips"

Stepping into the laboratory, the far-flung first officer nodded in approval. "Myx Dael, are we green?"

Popping their head up, Asa replied, "Green means go!! Yes maam. "

"Then let's get this to Deck 7 to Life Support, get the tribbles to stop reproducing so fast. Then the locals can get the existing tribbles ready for transport, and we can call this mission to an end." Leading the way out of Med Lab 4, Paris ran squarely into Commander Bhattacharyya, flanked by two rather neckless gentlemen in red shirts.

"Just where do you three mutineers think you're going...?"