Staff Meeting (Part 1)

Posted on Sat Jun 17th, 2023 @ 5:39pm by Commander M'Mira & Commander Ba'zra Channe & Lieutenant Feeva Drylo & Lieutenant JG Kara Quinn-Chaim & Warrant Officer Samual Johnson

1,709 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Mission 4 - Like a Thunderbolt
Location: Briefing Room, Command and Control
Timeline: MD05 - 1300

Lieutenant junior grade Fisher Mencowicz stuck his head into the room first, muttering, "Tuesday, this should definitely happen on Tuesday." He entered the room, his hands held together while his fingers shuffled. He moved quickly to an empty seat near what he perceived to be the back of the room. However, his eyes spied a tray set with mugs and what appeared to be several pitchers, one of which he knew would be coffee. Without delay, he made sure to pour himself a mug, his hands stilled around the thick walls to help absorb some of the wonderful heat from the liquid inside.

Fee trudged in. Staff meetings, blargh. She set her PADD and personal cup down before adjusting her uniform. She didn't use communal mugs-the germs! She picked up her ceramic cup, and found the coffee, and poured herself some of the amber elixir that promised to get the gerbils in her head running on their wheels again. She settled in the chair she'd claimed-the furthest in the corner, and sat cross-legged. "What's going on?" She asked the other man.

Behind the tiny redhead, a tired-looking older man, with a mop of brown hair and unshaven face, trailed behind her. He gripped a PADD. He was the temporary CMO, but all he wanted to do is cut people open and go to lunch. He fixed himself a cup of coffee-Lucy would have his head, but he didn't care. She thought he drank entirely too much coffee. He said he'd needed it to stay awake. He settled in, quietly. "Hello, Lt. Drylo. How are you today?" He said, gently. He knew she was a bit...tense, and didn't want to contribute to it.

Feeva smiled up at Roger. "I am ok, thank you," she said, politely. She had met his daughters in the mess hall the evening prior, and she really enjoyed his family. "How are you? Are the children adjusting well?" She asked.

Ronan entered the briefing room fresh from a string of conversations, starting with the less than happy captain of the USS Cooper and continuing on to Admiral Banda who was had to be talked down from coming out to the station on the next available transport and ending up with human resources where they were having trouble finding qualified personnel for his station. He carried a cup of dark roast coffee in hand, emblazoned with the Starfleet logo on one side and the name of the station on the other, in one hand and a PADD in the other. He had learned early on to read them as soon as possible because, left unchecked, a trickle could well become a tidal wave that swept time and sleep away in no time at all. He nodded to those assembled, headed straight to the end of the table, farthest away from the door, and sat down.

Kara entered the room giving a polite smile and a nod to all present, there were a lot of new faces obviously new transfers to the station that she had yet to meet. Her mind was elsewhere as she sat down, having not long come from main medical, now Grace was awake and fit enough she’d been able to have her twins, that Kara had been carrying for her, finally transferred back. The procedure was quick thanks to transporter technology, but it delicate work. As much as they weren’t her babies, Kara was feeling the loss thanks to all the residual hormones in her body.

Ba'zra had a hunch that the 2XO would oversleep. She let her husband know that she was going to check in on her and make sure that she got to the meeting on time. M'Mira, much to Ba'zra's surprise was running on time but M'Mira took exception to being escorted to the Briefing Room. So, when the door swung open, the two of them were grousing at one another.

M'Mira reminded Ba'zra, "I was rrruning this station beforrre you got here forrr fourrr days and rrran the Base forrr longerrr. Don't you think that I know how imporrrtant it is to be on time forrr meetings?"

Ba'zra shot back, "With all that you talk about cat naps and being nearly thrilled to turn over command, I have obvious reasons to doubt."

M'Mira shot back, "Everrryone deserrrves theirrr rrrest! And besides, yourrr burrrsting in, caused me to mess up a nail." She held up her left paw and pointed to an area where the nailpolish moved off her sharp nails and onto her fur. "It is going to take forrreverrr to get that out!"

The half-Klingon one growled, "This station is much more important than your nails."

The Caitian swished her tail angrily and headed over to the replicator and said, "White Rrrusian, extrrra crrream."

The XO, however, stomped over to her husband and huffily sat down in her designated seat next to him.

"No, Commander," Mencowicz said, his eyes rolling back and forth as if reading something, his hands continuing to twine with each other. "Replicator pattern "White Russian" will not solve your problem with keratin coloring." He swirled back and forth in the seat, as his eyes were almost rolled in his head, but also continued moving as if reading. "You need replicator pattern two four seven eff gee zee em eight nine bee kay kay tee ess three one four pee eye eee five zero five zero bee bee eight why why zee pee tee four zee: ethy acetone and organic solvent which lists, among its many uses, the removal of keratin coloring." He frowned. "I am not aware if extra cream would be appropriate. As most mammalian species produce acetones naturally, it should not be harmful to your fur or epidermis but caution is always prudent."

"If you are done wasting time on manicures and whatever in blazes a White Russian is," Ronan growled, "we have more important things to discuss. So sit down and pay attention. We don't have a lot of time to pull this together."

Feeva watched curiously from her corner, having now stood up, moved against the wall, and closed into herself, as if trying to be swallowed up by said wall. What was happening? Trying to be helpful, she spoke, quietly and timidly, "I believe it is an alcoholic concoction. From Earth. Or Terra, whichever you prefer. Both are commonly accepted nomenclature," she said, her gaze on the table as she flushed a hot, deep red, nearly the color of her hair. "Sorry..."

"Commander M'Mira," Ronan said in that silkily quiet tone that went with anger, "is she correct? Did you just order yourself a cocktail?"

"That would not be possible at this time," Mencowicz said, his hands wrapped around the mug of coffee. "A 'cocktail' is generally considered to be a beverage comprised of a fermented substance in which ETOH is derived and used for the consumption by a being for intoxication purposes. As this has deleterious effects on performance, the replicator in duty stations are programmed to not dispense such substances that may have negative effects on crew performance without the request and approval of an override, which clearly the commander did not do. Therefore, she did not order herself a 'cocktail'." He finished his coffee as he spoke, his professional pride affronted by the implication that the systems on the station were not functioning as they were programmed. "In any case," he said, standing and just reaching across the table to make himself another coffee, "the ordering of a beverage with that type of alcohol would be useless in her attempt to remove the keratin coloring from her fur. Isopropyl alcohol would be a better choice. But just as useless. Acetone would be the better choice. Though not vainly coloring keratin that is purposed as defensive weaponry should also be considered." He remained standing as he devoured the second cup and then refilled the mug.

M'Mira gave a low warning growl at Mencowicz and then looked over at Ronan, transalting. "The cocktail, as you call it, has synthahol herrre, like any Federrration made drrrink frrrom a rrreplicatorrr. I cannot get drrrunk, norrr would I. White Rrrusians just happen to be my favorrrite drrrink. Some beings have coffee orrr tea. This is my drrrink."

She then looked over to Mencowicz, her tail angrily swishing in a large arc towards the floor. "And who in the worrrld arrre you?" The Caitian had never seen this person before and she certainly was not taking a liking to this person now.

Ba'zra gave a low chuckle, watching the Caitian squirm. I'm definitely going to have to befriend that odd one.

Fee kept her gaze on the table, as the others debated what she'd said. She'd forgotten that the replicators only offer Synthol-and also that what she knew of Earth things was limited. She'd only had a White Russian once, and had immediately vomited-apparently, Vissians could handle cheese but not cream. Who knew? "Sorry," she said again.

"According to Starfleet regulations, the consumption of synethol while on duty is only permitted with the permission of the commanding officer which is me, last I checked," Ronan said. "While you are on duty, the consumption of synthehol is not permitted. Let's make that a standing order. Time to get down to business."

The doctor watched the others' interactions amusedly. He was going to enjoy this posting, for sure. Well. Once he convinced his wife that this was a good idea. She'd wanted him back at one of the fancier Starbases-he understood, she'd be alone out here, mostly-but he needed the adventure, and wasn't she always telling him to live a little? Maybe he'd lived a bit TOO much, but he couldn't undo it. Besides, it'd be a good learning experience for the girls.

M'Mira sat down dejectedly, pushing her tail to the side. She was beginning to think that perhaps she should have enjoyed her command more. What was she going to do without her White Russians during the day? She needed that creamy fix. After all, who wanted just milk, cream, or whipped cream?

Ba'zra gave her best Klingon smile towards M'Mira, which looked rather strange with pearly white, straight human teeth that Ba'zra had.

 

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