Grand Designs

by Dayton Ward

  At least this place has free snacks, he mused as he used a finger to flick a path around what appeared to be seasoned, toasted bits of purplish grain in a bowl. I’m assuming this stuff is edible. Of course, I assumed that on Kharzh’ulla, and spent three days in sickbay for my trouble.

  A clatter of sound from the establishment’s front door made Stevens look up to see a trio of Rhaaxans, burly laborers from the look of them and ones who obviously began their evening revelry much earlier than Stevens had, making their way through the dining area. They were laughing, one reeling a bit after a hearty backslapping from another, as they settled at a table near Stevens.

  One of the trio, an older male judging by the harsh lines etching his orange face, made eye contact with Stevens and stiffened a bit. Stevens smiled and raised his water glass in reply, but the Rhaaxan loudly scooted his chair to face away from him. He leaned in to his fellow diners and said something in a low voice that elicited a derisive chuckle at the table.

  The assembly’s dictum meant Starfleet personnel faced much more frequent contact with the populace of Longon than they had in other locations. Stevens was quick to note that the residents of the capital city seemed more attuned to the political nuances of the da Vinci ’s mission than the general public elsewhere on the planet. Not that the situation had led to anyone being in danger, but he felt that the general air of tension had been ratcheted up in the city. Stevens took another sip from his glass as his thoughts led him to one inexorable conclusion.

  Duff would have hated this place.

  Even with the unwelcome feelings he had been getting from the locals of late, Stevens did not waiver in his support for the da Vinci ’s mission on Rhaax III. In his time on the planet, he saw that the Rhaaxan society would reap many benefits from Federation membership. While being warp-capable for only a few years, the Rhaaxans’ general enthusiasm for learning and for accepting offworld cultures was obvious to him, politics aside. He also understood the tactical advantages that a starbase or outpost of some sort in this system would afford the Federation given its proximity to the Romulan border. It seemed on the surface to be a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  With that, it was obvious why Federation leaders wanted these people and their planet thoroughly checked out by Starfleet personnel. The idea that the Rhaaxan Assembly would threaten its own colony with compliance or destruction obviously went against the grain of Federation thinking, and the thought of colonists being strong-armed by leaders on another planet rankled Stevens. Growing up in the Rigel Colonies and assisting with his parents’ shuttle service there, he had a great appreciation for the struggles of a burgeoning colony and the drive and goals of the people who lived there.

  Okay, too much thinking and not enough eating, Stevens thought as he felt his stomach grumble. He toyed with the idea of trying the purple stuff before him, when a clear voice rose above the surrounding background noise.

  “Mr. Stevens, you are in violation of a direct order,” said a voice from right behind him. “No one is to be in a civilian area without a security escort.”

  He smiled in recognition as the speaker made no attempt to disguise her voice. “I don’t pay much attention to orders like that, Commander, since my girlfriend runs secur…”

  Stevens’s voice trailed off as he looked up to see Sonya Gomez accompanied by her escort, Domenica Corsi. “Uh, hi,” he said, fumbling a bit at the appearance of the very girlfriend he had just glibly mentioned. “I didn’t expect to see you both down here.”

  Gomez laughed as she slid into the booth seat across from him, and he shot her a glare in return. She obviously enjoyed seeing him embarrass himself in front of Corsi, whom they both knew continued to be unsettled by mentions of her personal relationships while on duty. The da Vinci ’s security chief was known among the crew for her strict, professional demeanor, something she had told Stevens many times would not change where he was concerned no matter what their personal connection might be.

  “The commander asked me to accompany her for dinner,” Corsi said, allowing a slight smile as she slid into the seat next to Stevens. “At least she’s mindful of a standing security order.”

  “I guess my request for an escort got lost in the shuffle,” Stevens replied. “Mind pulling double-duty for us?”

  “It depends on what they’ve got to eat in this… place,” Corsi said, running a fingertip along the tabletop and scoffing at the greasy streak it created. “What is it you see in these bars? The foo—”

  “Oh good, more Starfleet,” came a loud voice from the nearby group. “Guess we’d better behave, boys. We have guests tonight.”

  Making eye contact once again with the aged laborer, Stevens tried to smooth things a bit by laughing along with the man. “And here I was the one trying to behave,” he said, but the man returned only a deadpan expression. Turning back to the table, Stevens said in a lower voice, “They’ve been drinking.”

  “That’s obvious,” Gomez said. “We ought to leave.”

  Shaking his head, Stevens replied, “This is the first time they’ve said anything all night, and if we get up and go, it’ll look like we know we don’t belong here. It’ll be fine.”

  Gomez looked at Corsi, who shrugged in reply. “Okay, but at the first sign of trouble, we’re out of here.”

  “Promise,” Stevens said as he searched the dining area for their server. “So, how go the inspections?”

  Gomez sighed and slumped a bit in her seat. “Nothing new, if that’s what you mean.” Both engineers knew better than to talk in public about the one key find they had made several weeks ago. In fact, Gomez had not wanted to talk much about that discovery at all, even in the relative privacy offered aboard ship. She claimed that Ambassador Marshall had ordered her not to discuss the subject, a directive that, so far as Stevens could tell, was not sitting well with her.

  “Sometimes,” Gomez continued, “I get the feeling they’re trying to hide something from us, but damned if I know what it would be.”

  Stevens shrugged. “There’s some discomfort from my Rhaaxan escorts, kind of like they’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop on their admission request. But I’m not getting a feeling of anything underhanded going on, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m not sure what I mean, but they seem to be watching us pretty closely for people who claim they’ve got nothing up their sleeves.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she added, “We can talk more about it later. I’m just glad to be sitting for a change.”

  “Fine by me,” Stevens replied. “I haven’t seen a menu yet, but I’m sure we’re in for a taste treat to please the senses.”

  “Or assault them,” Corsi said. “I think I smell some sort of petroleum by-product coming from the kitchen.”

  Stevens laughed. “That’s gravy, my dear. I saw someone eating an open-faced sandwich smothered in the stuff. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to try it.”

  “Then maybe you could eat somewhere else,” Corsi retorted.

  “An excellent suggestion,” announced a baritone voice. “Then I can take his seat.” Stevens turned to see a smiling Mor glasch Tev standing alongside Carol Abramowitz.

  It was not long ago that Stevens would have refused to yield his place at any table to Tev, the da Vinci ’s recently added Tellarite second officer. His haughty and self-important demeanor rubbed Stevens wrong, especially since Tev now occupied the position once held by his deceased best friend, and Tev fit into the shoes of Kieran Duffy like a square stem bolt in a round socket. Still, Stevens knew he played an equal role in the two of them getting along as shipmates, so he had done his level best lately to set any raw feelings aside and be civil.

  “Pom glittathay na,” he said, gesturing to the seats opposite his.

  Tev gave Stevens a look of genuine surprise. “That’s as close to a proper intonation of my native tongue as I’ve heard from a human other than Bartholomew in quite a long time. And with a southern-continent accent, I might add. Gradunk,
merchubo.”

  “Uh, sure, I think.” Stevens smiled. “It’s been a while since I’ve practiced my Tellarite language skills.”

  “Especially in a bar,” said Abramowitz, smirking as she slid into the seat next to Gomez. “Come to think of it, I remember the last time you—”

  “Moving right along,” Stevens blurted to cut her off. “May I ask, before the lieutenant commander here does, just where is your security escort?”

  “Why, I brought her,” said Tev with a nod toward Abramowitz. “But I hardly expect any trouble.”

  Stevens was about to point out that Abramowitz was a cultural specialist, not a security guard, but he froze as he watched Tev turn and approach the table with the vocal Rhaaxan laborers. “Pardon me, might I make use of this empty seat?”

  The elder Rhaaxan turned from his conversation to look up at Tev. “Oh, be my guest, Starfleet,” he said. “Take it and go home.”

  “I’ll just take it over here, thank you,” Tev said. “There’s no need to cause a problem.”

  As Tev returned to the booth with his chair, the man called back, “We had no problems until you arrived here.”

  “We are here by invitation of your own assembly, sir,” the Tellarite replied. “Perhaps you might do well to pay closer attention to the dealings of your leaders.” He smiled to his companions as he slid his seat to the table. “So, what’s for dinner?”

  Stevens moved to put a lid on what he thought could brew into a conflict with the locals. “Tev, those three look like they might have had a bit much to drink, so it might be a good idea to…”

  “Please, Specialist,” Tev said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t want a problem either, but I’m hardly one to shy away from a civil conversation.”

  Stevens looked to Gomez with wide eyes. A civil conversation in a Tellarite’s opinion typically included name-calling, slurs against one’s appearance and heritage, and a good deal of shouting. “Uh, Commander?”

  “He’s right, Tev,” she said. “Those guys—”

  “Hey, Starfleet!”

  Stevens winced. It looked as though the shouting would begin from the Rhaaxans’ table, after all.

  “Perhaps you might tell us what our leaders are doing?” the elder Rhaaxan asked. “Maybe you could also tell us how to run our colony and our businesses, as well?”

  Tev turned toward the shouting man. “By Kera and Phinda, I might have quite a number of good ideas for dealing with your colony,” he said, “starting with your letting it develop rather than making empty and cowardly threats.”

  The Rhaaxan bolted from his chair, which tipped and clattered to the floor. “I do not make threats that I cannot back up.”

  Tev rose as well, but in a calmer manner that Stevens hoped might not translate to the Rhaaxan as a challenge. “There’s no need to show off for your friends when it is obvious you are in no physical condition to best me in a fight.”

  Knowing this was not the time for Tellarite candor, Stevens got up and put a hand on Tev’s shoulder. “Look, why don’t we all just agree to respect each other’s positions and eat in peace.”

  But the idea did not slow the approach of the Rhaaxan worker, who staggered a bit as he stepped forward. “I have a better idea.” He took a swing at the jaw of the stocky Tellarite, who easily dodged the drunken punch. The worker followed with a second swing, which found Tev’s paunchy gut but was not enough even to make the stocky officer waver from his stance.

  Tev stepped forward, drawing a breath and sucking his large belly inward before huffing and throwing out his chest and stomach. The impact knocked the Rhaaxan to the floor, but before he could scramble to his feet, the two other laborers were up and heading over to the brawl.

  Corsi squirmed in her seat in an effort to reach her phaser while sitting in the cramped booth. Stevens saw that Gomez also caught sight of the weapon now coming up in her hand.

  “No, Domenica!” she shouted as she slapped the combadge on her chest. “Gomez to da Vinci. Five for emergency beamout. Now!”

  As Stevens felt the telltale sensations of being grabbed by the transporter’s energy beam, he wondered what Captain Gold’s reaction would be.

  I can just hear it now, he thought. “This is just what I was hoping to avoid down there, and I’m…”

  CHAPTER

  5

  “…very disappointed in all of you,” Gold said, pacing the floor before the quintet of his crew assembled in the da Vinci’s observation lounge.

  The last thing the captain expected to be doing before bed was hearing a report on a planetside bar brawl and meting out punishment to his highest ranking officers. It was not that word of an altercation on Rhaax III took him completely by surprise, but were he to have made a list of likely candidates for that first blowup, the names of the five persons before him would not have been at the top.

  “Commander Tev, I understand the need for self-defense,” he said, sizing up his second officer, “but knocking down a Rhaaxan, and a drunk one at that, is unnecessary in the least.”

  Returning his gaze, the Tellarite said, “It seemed to be a civil conversation to me, sir. I will not make that mistake again.”

  “I’m sure that you won’t.” Turning to Corsi he said, “Commander Gomez was right to bail you all out of that place before someone saw a Starfleet officer with a phaser draw down on some drunks. I’m sure there were alternatives, Commander. Let’s explore them next time.”

  As Corsi offered no answer, he continued, trying hard not to sound like a lecturing parent. “People, we need to be sensitive to the situation on Rhaax III. The assembly, as I see it, is having second thoughts about inviting us here, and we aren’t leaving until we can straighten out a mess that we as the Federation had a hand in creating. Those folks on the planet, the ones we deal with as inspectors or chance upon as civilians, have all sorts of conceptions about our presence here. The accuracey of those conceptions is not something we should debate in public—not among ourselves, and especially not with the Rhaaxans. Am I clear?”

  A round of affirmative answers came from the crewmen as the door to the briefing room slid open and Ambassador Marshall entered. Gold deliberately did not look in the man’s direction, intent on continuing his talk with the crew. “Now, regarding future contact with the Rhaaxans, our best—”

  “Captain, if I might interrupt,” Marshall said, drawing a quiet sigh from Gold. “I think it would be best for us to discuss how we should handle contact with the Rhaaxans before giving new orders to the crew.”

  Us?

  “Ambassador, I am very certain about how we ought to proceed,” Gold said. “How I direct the crew won’t affect your mission or your discussions with the Rhaaxans.” “Why, of course it will, Captain, if riots break out every time someone on the planet is spotted in a Starfleet uniform.”

  “What happened down there can hardly be described as a riot, Ambassador.”

  “Nevertheless, Captain,” Marshall replied, “I just think you and your crew would be more effective on this mission by staying on task and being more sensitive to our hosts.”

  Drawing a breath to keep from snapping a retort at the ambassador, Gold instead turned to his officers. “We will continue this later. You are dismissed.”

  “Not Commander Gomez, please,” Marshall said. “I have need of her right away.”

  Gold watched as the other four left, with Abramowitz flashing him a sympathetic look that helped take some of the edge off the slow burn he was feeling toward Marshall. Once the door slid closed behind her, he turned to the ambassador. “I had hoped that even you would show me some respect in front of my own crew.”

  Marshall stepped closer, and the move fired up a surge of defensiveness that the captain himself wished had not come so quickly. “For this mission, the crew is in essence as much mine as it is yours, Captain.”

  “Only the S.C.E. detail is under your authority,” Gold said, reminding himself of that nuance as much as Marshall. “I still run this shi
p.”

  “Then please tend to it,” Marshall said. “I need Commander Gomez to review these reports with me before my meeting with Prefect Randa.”

  “I wasn’t done debriefing the commander.”

  “Yes, but my meeting is in less than an hour, so I must take precedence,” Marshall said as he took a seat, Gold’s own seat, at the briefing table. “I’m sure you understand. It might be easier if you allowed me to speak with the commander in private, please.”

  Gold squelched an urge to say anything more to Marshall once he saw the expression on Gomez’s face. He could tell from her pained look that she hardly relished the idea of working with the ambassador but was bound by orders from Starfleet Command, and was equally certain she would come to him for guidance if she felt conflicted by her duties or responsibilities.

  Realizing that his scuffles with Marshall were not making things easier on her or the rest of the crew, Gold decided at that moment to rein himself in. He felt sure that, should the situation deteriorate to the extreme, he could count on Gomez and the others to follow his lead and not be second-guessed by the ambassador.

  He had intended to leave wordlessly, but Marshall spoke just as Gold stepped into the corridor. “One more thing, Captain: Please restrict the crew’s off-duty activities to the ship, given the circumstances.”

  The captain closed his eyes for a moment to ensure his bearing remained in place, then turned back to the ambassador. “My crew is working hard on this assignment, Mr. Marshall, and I believe they merit a little down time when they can find it.”

  “Given the current climate in the capital city,” Marshall replied, “it might be wise to remove the potential for repeats of tonight’s incident. It would also help if you went down and apologized in person to that bar’s proprietor. Pay for the broken glasses or whatever.”