Disclaimer: I own nobody. Paramount does. I don't own the uniforms, either. Again, Paramount. sigh
A few days ago, Archer had been talking to Admiral Forrest via comm. link, and had a big grin on his face the whole time. He said new uniforms and regulations were on their way and should be delivered within the next few days by an Earth cargo vessel. The Horizon was arriving today.
Archer rounded a corner in the silver-walled corridor, and was met with people bustling around the transporter pad. Malcolm was on the platform, taking shiny containers off of the pad for more to be transported aboard. Trip was operating the transporter, Mayweather was stacking the cases in half a dozen tall rows against the corridor wall, and T'pol and Hoshi were checking the name tags attached to the container's handles and were delivering them to the crew.
"Captain," Hoshi called as he approached. "This one's for you." She handed him one of the large containers she had been balancing in her arms.
Archer took it from her, and found that it was heavy. "Thanks Hoshi." He glanced at the other containers Mayweather was stacking, and shook his head in confusion.
"Any idea what's going on?" Trip asked, glancing over his shoulder at the captain.
"Not quite." Archer said, sharing a grin with his engineer.
Moving over to Mayweather's stack of containers, Archer took a couple from the top and checked the name tags. T'pol and Hoshi could probably use some help delivering these things to the crew.
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Archer tossed his container onto his bed gratefully. After an hour of delivering those blasted, heavy things, his arms felt like jelly. He bent down and petted an eager Porthos, rubbing his head and scratching behind his ears, and he barked at him contentedly.
Sitting down on his bed beside the container, he carefully pried up the lid and peered inside. A few layers of bubble wrap kept him from seeing anything past it. Taking it out, and popping some of the bubbles as he went, he could see something brightly coloured nestled in the container. He pulled it out, unfolded it…. A shirt. It was a bright yellow shirt, with gold rank bands around the wrists, and a black neckline. A three-pointed star was embedded on the top right of the chest. It had a design in the center, symbolizing command. There was more in the box. Black pants, and new boots. A new uniform.
There was a padd in the container as well. Archer put the clothes down beside him and read what the Admiral had written.
Jon, Starfleet has come up with a new uniform for all personnel to wear. For whatever reason, HQ believes it better represents human clothing. Women wear skirts, men wear pants. Though I believe the uniforms could do with slightly less blinding colours.
I've included in this note instructions on how the uniform is to be worn, appropriate hairstyles for the ladies, etc. Dress uniforms and others will be delivered on your next stop to Earth.
Archer noticed there were several more "pages" to the Admiral's note, and flipped through them. There were drawings of the uniforms, all of them. The dress uniforms, duty uniforms, the ladies mini-skirts…. Archer raised an eyebrow at the sight of them.
Porthos barked at him eagerly.
"Sorry, buddy. Nothing here for you."
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With the dim golden glow of meditation candles still burning, T'pol placed the layers of padding on her desk beside where the heavy container sat. She could see the dim form of folded fabric inside, and pulled out a form-fitting mini-skirt. T'pol blinked, the Vulcan equivalent of gaping. It was bright blue, and the skirt would hang high above her knees. She held the skirt close to her body, sizing it up and getting an idea of how it would look.
She glanced back in the container, seeing what other surprises awaited her. There were a few sets of pantyhose and a pair of black boots. At the bottom of the box lay a padd, which the Vulcan picked up. She sat down on her bed as she read it. How the uniform was to be worn, what sorts of hairstyles the women should have… but of course, T'pol's hair wasn't long enough to put up in something such as a beehive.
At that moment, the door chime rang, startling the soft quiet in her quarters.
"Come in."
Trip entered, wearing his own new uniform. A bright red shirt seemed to glow in the light that spilled in from the corridor. Black pants were hung just above fresh-smelling black boots.
"What do you think?" He said with a grin.
"It's.…" T'pol hesitated to find the right word. "Dashing."
Trip chuckled. Not a word T'pol usually said.
"Where's your uniform? Have you tried it on yet?"
T'pol raised an eyebrow and nodded to the blue mini skirt she had left on the desk. Trip picked it up, held it out in the air for a moment, before holding it to himself.
"Looks good on me, dontcha think?" Trip joked.
"No." T'pol said truthfully.
With a disappointed smile, he put the uniform down and sat down beside T'pol on the bed, looking over her shoulder at the padd, showing images of different hairstyles.
"That one would look good on you." He said, pointing to a particularly intricate style.
T'pol glanced at him, a slight hint of annoyance in her eyes.
"It's true!" Trip said. He smiled at her, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.
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After relaxing for half an hour, Malcolm put his book down on the arm of the grey leather couch in his brightly-lit quarters. Putting his feet down from where they rested against the lid of the metal container, he leaned forward and pried it off. He set aside the bubble wrap, eagerly popping bubbles as he went.
What he took out of the container disappointed him. A bright red shirt, with a black neckline and gold three-pointed star on the chest. He had never seen a uniform such as this before. Wearing this, he'd look like a cherry! Red really was not his colour. Or an apple. Apples are even worse. No, he thought, shaking his head. A tomato.
He plopped the shirt onto the couch beside him and pulled out the next item. Black pants. They looked handsome enough. Setting the pants aside, he pulled out boots, and a padd.
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Mayweather smoothed the yellow fabric down across his chest, admiring the strength of the colour and the gold bands that ran along the ends of his sleeves. He inspected himself in his bathroom mirror, flashing grins at his reflection.
Propping his booted foot up onto the counter, he ran a hand over the smooth leather. He wriggled his toes. Lots of room in these boots.
These uniforms were better than the others, in his opinion. They weren't jumpsuits, they weren't covered in zippers, and there was more room at the neck. This uniform made him look important.
With a final wink at the mirror, he left his quarters and headed for the bridge. He was late for night shift.
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Doctor Phlox turned around at the sound of the sickbay doors opening. His eyes twinkled at what he saw.
"The new uniform looks very lovely on you, ensign. And I must say, your hairstyle is quite interesting."
Hoshi smiled at the Denobulan's comment on her new blue mini skirt. She could feel her hair, twisted into a beehive, weighing down on her head. She really didn't like beehives at all.
"I couldn't get here without half the men whistling at me." Hoshi said, blushing slightly.
"They had very good reason to, Hoshi." Phlox noticed the ensign's blush and changed the subject. "What's this?" He motioned at the tray of foods Hoshi was holding.
"For the animals." She said, putting the tray down on the counter.
Phlox began to feed the animals and allowed Hoshi to help. She was one of the very few members of the crew who knew what and how to feed his pets.
"So how does it feel to be the only person on the ship who isn't wearing a new uniform?" Hoshi asked.
"Oh, I doubt those uniforms would fit me." He grinned.
"Really? I think you've slimmed down some." Phlox beamed, as Hoshi knew he would. "Anyway." Hoshi said, after giving the last creature the last scrap of food. "I should go. My shift starts soon."
"Alright. Don't forget your Denobulan lesson at 1800 today."
"Aye sir!" Hoshi smiled. She left sickbay and headed for the bridge, followed by a trail of whistles and winking men.