"Captain's log, stardate: 2821.5. We've just left Risa, having retrieved- hey, are you sure this thing is on?" Swiveling his chair around, Jason questions his communications officer.

"Yes."

"Super sure?"

Cassandra levels him with a deadpan stare.

"Well, last time it wasn't and I had to re-record like, thirty minutes of this pointless shit. So could you please double check?"

Keeping her eyes on Jason, Cass reaches over and flips a switch off. Then back on. "I'm sure. Sir."

Well at least she said "sir" this time. Jason narrows his eyes at her. She smirks. Mumbling, "Thank you," he turns back around facing the massive viewing screen. The only things to be viewed are stars. A clusterfuck of stars and more stars and hey, even more fucking stars. Jason had no idea he would ever get tired of stars.

"We've left Risa, having picked up Admiral Wayne for transportation to Andoria, where he will advocate for something, I don't know what. Wasn't really listening. I like those Andorians, though. The antennas are cool and they make really good ale. It's blue. Turns your tongue blue when you drink it. Those fuckers really love the color blue."

"Not all of us," Stephanie intones. "Honestly, they make everything blue. Every-fucking-thing. Hate it."

"Really?"

Her antennae twitch irritably. "Yeah. And I can't get away from it." She motions to her very blue skin.

"Huh." He will have to return the birthday gift he already purchased for her. The very blue gift.

Jason hears a sigh and turns to his right.

"Drake, got something to add?"

Shaking his head, Tim continues entering figures into the computer. "I'm just not sure Andorian ale turning your tongue blue is what Starfleet wants you to be reporting on."

"Please," Jason huffs. "Like they actually listen to this. I know for a fact these are filtered through lower levels first, and anything important gets sent up. But this boring and irrelevant waste-of-my-time recording will only be heard by some Starfleet Academy cadet working for credit off their tuition. I used to work in that department."

"You did work study, Captain?"

"Not everyone comes from a rich family, Drake."

"Testify, Sir." Steph pumps her fist in the air. "I did that too. Worked in the mess kitchen. You do not want to know what goes on back there."

"Keep your hands on the helm, Brown."

Steph waves her hand flippantly. "Please, I got this. Could fly this ship in my sleep. Done it before."

Sighing again, Tim says, "Maybe that's something you shouldn't be telling the captain."

Stephanie turns around, looking between Tim and Jason, eyebrows raised. "Right. Okay."

Jason doesn't completely appreciate her sarcasm. "So anyway. To you, poor bastard sitting in a dark room without proper ventilation and that squeaky chair they refuse to replace, I'm sorry you have to listen to my voice. And my disrespectful crew."

Finally pausing his work, Tim straightens and asks incredulously, "You didn't pause it while we were talking?"

At Jason's unconcerned shrug, Tim's tone turns reproachful. "Captain, logs are important. The Starfleet code book clearly states that-"

"Tim, you're such a geek," Cass chimes.

Casting her a nod of approval, Jason agrees, "Thank you, Cain."

"As your first officer I really-"

"Calm down, Drake. Get back to work. Input all that fun sciency stuff."

"Fine," Tim grumbles and goes back to leaning over the display.

"And why the fuck do you not have a chair?"

"Sir?"

"You're always hunching over that panel."

"They never gave me one."

"Are you kidding me? And you never asked?"

Tim shakes his head.

"Dammit, Drake, go down to the supplies locker and find yourself a chair. It hurts to look at you."

Tim leaves and Jason heaves a vexed sigh. "So we're going to Andoria. End log entry."