Morning Meeting

by justok

Mandatory meeting on the Enterprise, bored people pass the time in different ways.

Morning Meeting

Hikaru

Hikaru Sulu watched the chrono on the wall. When it switched to 0817, he slowly began to tense the muscles in his right leg. He held the pose tightly, counted silently to ten, and then released it. He sighed deeply, and then, starting at the ankle and working up, began to tighten the muscles in his left leg. This meeting is never going to end. He thought. I am trapped here forever.

He shifted in his seat. He was seated at the far end of the table in the largest meeting room on the ship. From the opposite end of the room, as he had for more than an hour, Mr. Spock discussed planned upgrades to the computer programs throughout the ship. Like everything Spock did, the speech was well prepared. It was carefully researched, and quite thorough. It was also dull as dirt, and Hikaru had stopped listening half an hour previously.

It is ironic, thought Hikaru, months, mere months, after leaving Earth; the ship would require a system wide upgrade. It would have been so much more logical to have just programmed the computers with the upgrades before it left orbit in the first place. They had to have been in the works for years. That is something I wouldn't mind listening to, Mr. Spock discussing the logic of Starfleet sending its flagship out with outdated programming.

Hikaru looked around the table. In the original memo announcing the upgrades, Mr. Spock had stated that all personnel deemed essential, and all department heads or their adjutant were required to master the information presented and be able to explain the changes to their subordinates. Attendance at this lecture had been greatly encouraged. The talk had originally been scheduled for 0500, something, or more likely someone-Hikaru suspected the captain, had convinced Spock to reschedule for 0700. He had also arranged for Gamma workers to extend their shifts and provide coverage while alpha crew members attended, which had effectively eliminated Hikaru's last excuse for missing the talk.

The table could hold forty uncomfortably, but there were empty seats. Hikaru guessed there were maybe thirty people in the room, so some people had found excuses. Looking around he saw many faces he knew he had seen, but he couldn't give them all names yet. He had been too busy settling into his own responsibilities.

At the very front of the table sat the captain, James T. Kirk, and he did not look happy. He had many talents; in the few months they had worked together Hikaru had already learned that sitting still was not one of them. This morning, the captain looked as bored as Sulu felt. He shifted in his chair, rolled his head, and tapped the table. As Hikaru watched, Kirk thumbed his PADD, he was so obviously counting the pages left to cover that Hikaru had to bite back a laugh. Next to the captain was his yeoman, Janice Rand. She sat at attention and listened attentively as Spock spoke. She was very young, in her twenties, but seemed to have mastered her lecture face early. Periodically she would glance at the captain with a hard, uncompromising look and he would briefly sit still.

Hikaru turned and looked down the table for more people he knew. He saw Lieutenant Commander Azeala, from botany. He had already spent some time with her, and she been very generous in offering him supplies and time in the labs. Perhaps sensing his scrutiny, she looked up, and smiled at him. She didn't appear nearly as frustrated as he felt. Probably all the positive energy she absorbs from growing things. Maybe I need to spend more time in the greenhouses and less in the gym.

Next to Azeala was Giotto, from security. Sulu smiled looking at him. He looked tense enough to make Sulu feel laid back and calm. He's probably thinking about having to explain any of this to his division. I wouldn't even bother to try if I were him. Past Giotto there were several people Sulu didn't know. On the other side of the table was the typically unhappy looking CMO, Doctor Leonard McCoy. As Sulu watched, McCoy leaned over to whisper to the man seated on his left, Lieutenant Commander Scott, from engineering. Mr. Scott was reclining comfortably in his chair and actually seemed to be interested in the talk. But this is after all kind of his area of expertise, and it has the potential at least to be his responsibility to fix if something goes wrong. He should be interested. Really having us all here is overkill. They should have just had technical and engineering come. They'll be fixing any problems anyway. And realistically, there shouldn't be any problems. They already did all the smaller ships and everything went fine.

He arched his back, sighed, and looked at his own end of the table. There were two empty seats to his right. On his left was Lieutenant Uhura. She too seemed to be listening to the lecture, watching Mr. Spock carefully. Her expression was unreadable, but if she was bored she gave no indication. Hikaru had always admired her powers of concentration. Next to her was a young woman. Uhura had introduced him before the lecture began, she was apparently a historian. Who knew they had a historical department on board? Next to her was a xenobiologist, whose name he had also already forgotten. He made a note to himself to ask Uhura again, because it was good to know one's shipmates. Next to the biologist was an empty seat. Chekov, the alpha shift navigator, sat in the chair after that. I didn't see him when I came in, I should have asked him to sit by us. Next time. The navigator leaned over his PADD, tightly gripping a stylus and scribbled furiously. His leg bounced as he wrote.

Hikaru wondered,. Doesn't he ever just stop? Of course he doesn't, what am I thinking? I wonder what he is working on. He couldn't be taking notes? Seriously? What could he possibly find to take notes about? Bored enough now to appreciate any distraction, Sulu watched the younger man for a few minutes. Mr. Spock had sent them all an outline of his talk, with important sections highlighted, and space left for individual notes. Chekov seemed to have filled every empty area with small, careful writing. Surely even he can't be that interested in this? He's just trying to impress Spock by pretending to be interested. But that didn't seem right, the ensign was reserved, not a show off. Maybe Mr. Spock asked him to take notes? That doesn't seem likely, but he does give him lots of side jobs. Hikaru craned his head to get a better look.

His movement disturbed Uhura and she looked over at him questioningly. He nodded his head past her, and whispered, "Look at Chekov, do you think he's taking notes?"

Uhura glanced in the ensign's direction. She looked back at Sulu and quietly replied, "Maybe he's interested. I don't know. Ask him."

"Interested in this? Is that actually possible? You think so?" Hikaru asked.

"Anything is possible Hikaru. Maybe it helps him sit still. You know, some people have great difficulty doing that. They disturb everyone around them by sighing, and moving, and moaning, and looking at the chrono every thirty seconds." She kept her expression impassive but and gave him a significant sideways glance as she spoke. Hikaru smiled guiltily.

"Sorry, I get it. I'll try to stop bothering you." He turned and tried to refocus on the speaker, but after only a few minutes looked back down the table again towards the navigator. Uhura elbowed him and frowned. He glanced down at her, then conscientiously set both hands on the table, and straightened his back. He looked up at Mr. Spock. After a few seconds, and being careful not move his arms, he began again to slowly tighten the muscles in his left leg.

Nyota

From the corner of her eye, without turning her head, Nyota watched Sulu doing isometric exercises for a few minutes, and then smiled to herself. Hikaru is interested in everything. That is why he is always so fun to talk to, but he cannot just sit still, she thought. She glanced one more time in the ensign's direction. He had stopped writing and was now staring at his PADD, with a pensive, almost sad expression.

He's not taking notes, thought Nyota, I don't know what he's doing, but it doesn't have anything to do with this talk. Disinterested, she attempted to return her attention to the front of the room, but Marla, next to her, leaned over and whispered, "He's cute isn't he?"

"Sulu? I guess" Nyota was careful to keep her tone disinterested. Marla was fond of, and Nyota didn't like to encourage, 'who was cute' conversations.

Marla nodded in the ensign's direction.

Nyota frowned and said, "That is a skinny teenager rewearing yesterday's uniform. Honestly Marla, just let me listen to the talk."

"Oh, no, not like that. Gross. He's little brother cute, not like boyfriend cute. I meant like isn't it cute he takes this so serious?" Marla laughed, watched the ensign some more and then added, "I always want to comb his hair."

"Someone ought to." said Nyota firmly, and redirected her attention to the lecture. Spock was simply listing departments, but what he said didn't matter. She could listen to him speak forever. Maybe not on this particular topic, but his voice was perfect. Each word enunciated carefully, and the formal, lovely word choices. His tone was solemn, deep, perfect. She thought, What are other words for perfect? Sublime? Too esoteric, Peerless? Too competitive. Smiling gently, she thought with some satisfaction, My Spock is perfect.

As Spock spoke, she let her mind drift to the night before. He had surprised her with a visit. It was not like him, to be unscheduled. He was careful with every minute, always concerned that time be used in the most efficient way. It had made it more of a joy, opening the door and finding him unexpectedly there. She had asked him in, and started to make tea, but they had forgotten about it. She had found the pot later, it had turned itself off when it boiled dry. When she added water to the pot to clean it, the smell had frozen her. She had stood in front of the tiny sink, and just breathed the scent of overheated metal and thick tea. It had permeated the room as they made love, she hadn't been aware of it then, but recognized it in the pot. The scent made her feel loose, and happy, and made her heart beat harder in her chest.

She sighed happily, remembering. She looked toward the front of the room, and allowed herself the pleasure of just watching him. Spock was gesturing toward an equation on the screen. His hands were beautiful, with long elegant fingers. Last night, every time, every place he touched her, the warmth of his body lingered for a few seconds. She thought of his skin, against her sheets. He was so fair she could trace the veins below his skin with her finger, and she remembered the way he whispered her name as she did.

"Ny, Hey, Nyota, Did you hear what I said?" Marla whispered.

"What?" snapped Nyota, turning to her friend in frustration.

"I said, do you actually understand what he is talking about?" Marla asked with a smile.

"Of course I understand it. It isn't complicated." Nyota tried to return to her musings, but the mood was broken.

"I just really hate when they say, "Here's some important information you need to read, but first let me tell you what it says. It's such a waste of time."

"I don't disagree, but the instructions accompanying these orders said staff was to receive direct instruction on the upgrades. Mr. Spock felt this was the most efficient way to fulfill the expectation." Nyota whispered.

Marla glanced at her and laughed, then replied, "Oh is that what he feels? Great to know the first officer is checking in with you on how to do his job. How would you know what Mr. Spock feels?"

Nyota felt herself begin to blush, but turning her head to watch the lecture, answered firmly, "I don't obviously, it's a figure of speech. But in this case, I am very interested in what Mr. Spock has to say. Please let me concentrate on it." Marla sighed and picking up a stylus, began to doodle in her PADD. Nyota settled into her seat, kept her eyes on Spock and attempted to return her thoughts to her room, and last night, and her lover.

Pavel

Pavel tapped his stylus against his PADD and tried to think. He was writing a letter to his great grandmother. He did it every week, and it never got easier. But he did it, because he had promised that he would, and he was always conscientious about his commitments. The rest of the family he sent communication cubes, like normal people did. It was much faster to just talk, and have the cube record it, but the old woman didn't like machines in the house. She wanted him to take the time to write her, even though it was expensive, and even though it would take months for her to receive the letters. He did it, because he loved her, and felt he owed her, for always being happy to see him when he slipped away from the chaos and ran up the road to her quiet home.

He was actually feeling happy, and was grateful for the lecture, because for two hours no one could ask him to do anything. It was rare for him to have that much time to himself, and letter writing was very time consuming. They had stopped at a starbase since his previous effort, which meant he actually had things he could write about. Life on the ship was usually very routine. The few interesting things that happened to him were not topics he wanted to share with a frail old woman. But this week he could talk about the leave. He had described the shops, and the people he had seen. He had repeated several funny things he had heard the captain say. When he reread what he had written, he didn't think it was horrible.

He glanced up at Mr. Spock appraisingly. If the lecture lasted the entire scheduled two hours (and nothing about Mr. Spock made him assume it wouldn't) he should be able to finish the rough draft on his PADD. Later he would re copy it on to actual paper, making sure his letters were large enough for the old woman to see. And he could add some pictures. She liked it when he drew for her, and he liked that the drawings took up space he didn't have to fill with words. But drawing took time too; even though he didn't sketch anything complicated, no people, just parts of the ship, or sometimes scenes from her garden, so that she knew he remembered.

He wrote, 'We picked up new crew at the starbase, so I have another roommate. That makes four of us, the room is full. The new one is named Nick Lee. He is serving a rotation in the surgical division as part of his medical degree. He is a big man. You should have seen his face when he realized the only empty bunk was the top one by the door. It is very poorly designed, and I do not think he could get up there without hurting himself, so I offered to switch. I didn't mind. If I remember to keep my head down while climbing in, I fit easily and it is actually more private, but he was very grateful. That night they played poker and he asked me to join them. It was fun. I remembered what you said and didn't beat them. But I couldn't make myself completely lose either, I finished in the middle. I am still too competitive; I guess I always will be.' As he reread the paragraph he had an idea. He erased the last line and changed it to, 'I couldn't let myself lose either, because by the grace of God, I am who I am.' The old woman was very religious. She loved it when he quoted the Bible for her, especially the apostle Pavel, who she insisted, against all evidence, he was named for. The quote will make her happy, he thought, maybe so happy she wouldn't notice the letter is short. Maybe I could be finished?

He reread everything carefully. It was short, but not too short. Then another thought occurred to him, Now I am someone who uses scripture to avoid taking fifteen minutes more to write a lonely old woman that loves me. He felt badly, and resolved to write at least two more pages as punishment. And if I can find another place to quote the Bible I will erase the first one. It is flippant. He reread the paragraph again, and added, but quite true.

He took a break and looked to the front of the room. He arranged his face into his interested expression, just in case anyone was paying attention to him, a likelihood he very much doubted. He had a long history of attending lectures he didn't listen to, and felt confident he was not missing anything. He had read all the materials this morning, when Mr. Spock had asked him to prepare the slides. Two hours seemed to him a very long time to present so very little information.

The vast majority of the crew would be unlikely to notice the upgrades anyway. Commands should execute more smoothly, some programs run a little more quickly. There were upgrades to security and it was possible to reboot the whole ship in a staggered manner now. It might mean a few new colors on screens, but for most crew members nothing would be significantly changed. The ship was only a few hours from Starbase 15. In the worse possible scenario; if the old programing was eliminated and the new wouldn't upload they would be rescued before life support failed. He thought it was clever of Starfleet to practice upgrading the computers in such a secure way. Eventually the Enterprise would be in out in space, much too far for physical support. The computers would still need periodic upgrades. It was good to see how well the process worked before they did it entirely by remote.

Satisfied that he given the appearance of having listened, he returned to his letter, searching his mind for something else he could add. 'I am not enjoying my meeting this morning, because I didn't get to shower after I ran. Mr. Spock called me to do some work for him, and I didn't have time. You remember Mr. Spock Pra Babushka. I told you about him. He is the first officer, and the science officer. He is very, very smart. He is a Vulcan, the only one on our ship. He is remarkably strong. If I had lost all of you I would still be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. His whole planet was destroyed, everything he ever knew, but he works admirably every day, with all his attention on his duty.' He paused again and looked up to watch Mr. Spock. The Vulcan, who was looking at his own notes, neatly ticked off whatever point he had just finished, and began to lecture on the next one in the same calm voice he always used. Watching him, Pavel felt a hot wave of guilt start to crawl out of his stomach. The ensign dropped his eyes to the PADD.

He wrote, 'You remember Mr. Spock, it was his mother I killed the first day we were in space.' He stared at the words for several seconds then erased them. He continued to rub the page after the words were gone. He hadn't told her about the transporter accident. He hadn't told anyone, although everyone on the ship knew. Dr. McCoy had talked to him about it. More accurately, the doctor had talked at him about it, several times actually, in a very kind manner. But Pavel hadn't been able to reply, and he certainly hadn't said anything about it to anyone else. He didn't think he could.

Living with guilt was hard, because he never knew when it would surface. He could be working next to Mr. Spock for hours, with no problem, and then the first officer would say something that had nothing to do with the planet or the family, something like, 'Are you certain that is the correct formula?" and for no reason Pavel would remember the way Mr. Spock's hand had lingered in the air after the transport, grasping for the nothing that Pavel had made of his mother. It would be all he could do to not collapse to the ground and beg for forgiveness. Sometimes he bolted to the bathroom and was sick. Often he couldn't even do that, and would stand gaping at the first officer, desperately trying not to cry while the Vulcan waited expressionlessly.

Pavel stared at the PADD for a few more seconds, tears blurring the screen. He took a deep breath and bit his own lip hard. He told himself fiercely, I can't do this now and I can't do this here. I have to calm down. He took another deep breath, and then pushed his shoulders back. Looking up, he again assumed his interested face. He looked towards Mr. Spock, but not at him, and concentrated on breathing. He sat perfectly still and waited for the grief to pass.

Scotty

Montgomery Scott was enjoying the lecture. It wasn't necessary, and two hours was a ridiculous length of time to sit at anything. Still, it was nice to step out of the hole from time to time, and there was nothing so big brewing down there that the staff shouldn't be able to handle it. Good for them actually, to have some independence, provided they didn't go so far as to mess anything up. And it had to be said; Mr. Spock demonstrated an admirable grasp of his subject. He had planned for catastrophic scenarios Scott would never have considered. A nice big cup of tea and this wouldn't be half bad at all, he thought. He looked around the table but saw nothing in the way of pitchers or pots.

He nudged McCoy in the chair beside him. The doctor turned to him with a surly expression. "Do you see any tea things?" Scott asked.

"You drink too much of that stuff. You'll give yourself kidney stones." replied the doctor.

"I didn't ask you about my kidneys, I asked you about locating a pot of tea. Do you see one or not?" Scott replied. He was used to the doctors cranky ways, rather enjoyed them, to tell the truth. It was nice to have friends one didn't have to be careful with.

McCoy looked down the table, he said, "I don't. That's funny; it's not like Jim to forget the food."

"Not like his yeoman to forget what he likes you mean." laughed Scott.

"You're right about that." admitted McCoy.

Scott looked at Yeoman Rand, perched so rigidly next to their captain. There were yeoman in engineering of course. He could never have run the place without them. Keeping the books was complicated, so many files, and instructions, and schedules. He was grateful for their organizational skills, but he was infinitely more grateful that only the captain was assigned a personal yeoman. He was a little afraid of Rand, always with that scowl on her face, handing the captain this PADD and that form, and never a hair out of place. He shuddered, and considering trying to keep some yeoman happy and the ship running at the same time. A man can only serve one master. I'd rather mine come with instructions, he thought.

Mr. Spock had come to the bottom of a page; there was a soft noise as everyone in the room thumbed their PADD to the next one. Mr. Spock paused, his face was of course impassive, but his raised eyebrow suggested he was surprised by what he saw. Scott looked down; the new page was completely blank. He looked at McCoy in surprise; it was not like Spock to have poorly prepared materials.

"Ensign," said Mr. Spock. There was no response. Scott looked down to the opposite end of the table where the younger officers had congregated. He recognized the helmsman, Sulu, and Uhura, the communications officer, and several others he knew he'd seen. They were all looking at the navigator, Chekov. He was sitting holding his PADD against his chest, looking for all the world like he was hanging on Spock's every word, but was clearly not really listening. He hadn't responded at all to the commander.

"Ensign Chekov." Mr. Spock tried again, more firmly.

That caught the young man's attention, his eyes came into focus. "Sir?" he replied hesitantly. Scott felt badly for the boy, who did fine one on one, but always seemed rather overwhelmed speaking in front of a group. Unless he is talking about formulas, Scott reflected, and then he basically has to be ordered to stop.

"Ensign, it appears a mistake was made when you created the program guide to accompany my presentation." Mr. Spock gestured toward the empty screen.

The ensign nodded. "Yes sir, it is because of the transmission, Mr. Spock." He rose as he spoke and stood self-consciously at attention next to his chair. Mr. Spock cocked his head, not understanding. The ensign explained, "The original transmission was garbled, it wouldn't download. I notified the originator to resend, but it has to come from Starfleet through Starbase 15. I knew it would take too long, so I used what I could and left space to add the information when it arrived." He paused and then added guiltily, "I sent you a comm."

"Do you think the information will have arrived by now?" asked Mr. Spock in his usual placid tone. Scott thought, maybe his mouth was a little tighter, but that was the only outward reaction he had to the error. He thought Chekov noticed too, the poor boy looked very anxious.

After a pause Chekov managed to say, "I am sure it has."

"Would you please upload it to the PADDs and to my screen so that I may continue my presentation, which is now four minutes behind schedule because of this unplanned pause?" asked Spock.

The ensign mumbled something in reply.

"I beg your pardon." said Mr. Spock, finally beginning to sound a little testy.

The ensign looked up and said, "I would do so happily sir, but they will wish to use the same line they plan to use for the program tomorrow. I don't have clearance for it. It must be downloaded by you or the captain, and you will have to do it from a secure location." He looked down again and added miserably. "I am sorry sir, it was in the comm."

"Thank God." said the captain, rising from his seat. "I'll go."

"No you won't" snapped McCoy. "If you go you won't come back and we'll all be trapped in here forever. Spock can go." The Vulcan apparently agreed, without another word he turned and left the room. The doctor called after him, "And hurry up Spock, we all have lives you know."

The captain flung himself sulkily back into his chair. "Thanks Bones." he said, "You know that if I left he would have eventually had to give up and let you all go."

"If he did we would have all had to do this again tomorrow. And I am not planning on doing this again tomorrow." said McCoy.

"You know what would help everything?" Scott interrupted, "a nice cuppa. Why don't you send out for snacks Captain Kirk? I think we would all benefit."

"Excellent thought as usual Mr. Scott!" said the captain with an enthusiastic grin. "See now Bones, that is a helpful idea. You should try to have helpful ideas." He turned to his yeoman. "Rand. How bout you get us some snacks? Make sure there's plenty for everyone, and make sure there are sprinkles on the donuts."

Yeoman Rand rose without responding. Scotty did not think she was pleased to be running an errand for the group, but he gave her credit. She was already typing an order onto her PADD before she reached the door. She might be a bit of a harpy, but she is an efficient harpy, Scott thought.

"Jim it isn't even 0830, we ate less than two hours ago." said McCoy.

"I am having some coffee Bones. If you want me to stay in this room, it better come to me." The captain leaned back in his chair and gazed expansively at his crew. "Good time for bathroom breaks people." he added. There was light laughter and several beings got up.

"I wonder how many of those will bother to come back." McCoy muttered to Scott.

"Who cares, none of this is really going to affect most of them anyway." Scotty replied. "What looks like a good idea to some paper pusher back on Earth seldom has anything to do with what we experience out here."

"Maybe you and I should slip out to the bathroom and not come back." said McCoy.

"Well the problem with being you and me doctor, is we're too big to go unnoticed." said Scott.

"The curse of being competent." agreed McCoy.

Rand reappeared shortly with an anti grav cart floating smoothly behind her. The cart was laden with coffee and tea urns and cups, and several large plates filled with cut fruits and some dry looking breads. Behind the cart were two more yeomen, they were perhaps even younger than Rand, but equally blonde. Rand stopped next to the captain, and stared at her coworkers with her arms crossed. Without a word the younger yeomen began to serve the food.

Scott happily awaited his turn. With less people in the room he could hear more conversations. From the end of the table he clearly heard Uhura hiss, "Watch her." Scott saw Sulu turn to look as one of the fair haired women poured the captain a coffee. She swayed over the table while reaching for the urn, and moved her hands gracefully in front of the captain. Truthfully, she did remind Scott a little of dancers he had seen in bars. It was an image strengthened by the openly covetous glances she gave the captain. Scott grinned at Uhura, who shook her head and shared a knowing look with him.

Scott thought Rand had noticed too, she gave the young woman a disapproving look, which the younger woman completely ignored. Rolling her eyes, Rand turned her attention to the captain. "I went through your morning communications. You have several messages from Starfleet; I sent them to your private PADD, marked blue for 'important'."

"Perhaps I should leave now and take care of them." The captain said. He started to rise from his chair with an eager, hopeful expression.

"They're not urgent. If they were urgent they would be marked red for 'urgent'." Rand said in a tone that implied this was not the first time they had discussed the color coding system. The captain sighed and returned to his seat. He reached for the plate closest to him, and grabbed a toast. He took a bite and immediately dropped the bread to his plate.

"What the hell is that?" He asked Rand.

"Today there are fruit and rusks platters available for meetings sir." Rand replied.

"Rusks? What are rusks?"

"Dried flavored breads. They are kind of like flat biscotti."

"They are nothing like biscotti. They are like old bread, which is in fact, what they are. Where are the donuts?" asked Kirk.

"The replicators aren't making donuts this week, this is rusk week. Next week is Danish week. And there was a bulletin from medical last month outlining recommended changes to non-meal nutritional supplements. At all meetings where snacks are requested, generous servings of fruit and vegetables are to be provided." Rand replied.

"Very sensible." interjected McCoy.

The captain sputtered, "When did this happen? I didn't hear anything about there not being donuts for meetings. I am the captain of this ship. I should be informed when there are major policy changes announced."

"You received a copy of the memo; I forwarded it to you and flagged it yellow for 'of interest'. Perhaps it slipped by you." Rand said tartly.

"It's a good idea Jim, some weeks we get half our calories from these meetings. The food available ought to be better quality than it sometimes is." McCoy added reflectively.

"We don't need better food at the meetings Bones. We need fewer meetings." Captain Kirk snapped.

"Hear, hear." Scott said, his voice muffled by the rusk he was chewing.

"Pour half a cup of sugar in your coffee." Rand said quietly, in the general direction of the captain. "You'll feel better."

"I won't feel better until I get a donut." Kirk said crankily. "I have certain expectations at these things. I ask for basically nothing, I don't..." He stopped abruptly and throwing both arms down on the table, barked, "Why do you get a plate for yourself?"

Scott shifted to see who the captain was looking at. At the opposite end of the table was the other little yeoman. She dropped a large plate of food in front of Ensign Chekov, who stared timorously down the table at the captain. Scott thought, Buck up lad, you look for all the world like a fawn caught in the lights of a deer blind.

"I don't know." Chekov finally stammered.

"Oh," said Rand. "That is apparently his breakfast. The supervisor of the main mess said to bring it up to him."

Still watching the captain nervously, Chekov said, "Do you want it sir? I didn't eat any."

"Is it donuts?" snapped the captain.

Chekov studied the plate and then looking up, shook his head. "No sir. Eggs and sausage, and…yogurt with….some sort of berries." he said.

"Then no, I don't want your breakfast. Eat up ensign." said the captain.

Scott saw Sulu smile encouragingly at the navigator. Good man Sulu, he thought. Chekov smiled back weakly, and then glanced up at the yeoman still standing next to him. She offered him ketchup, which the younger man took with a happier smile. He shook some on to the plate and dipped a sausage in it. The yeoman continued to stand next to him, and watched him appraisingly. Well, Scott thought, she looks rather like she enjoys the view. Chekov looked up at her uncertainly, and then said something as he pointed to the plate. She smiled and reached down for a sausage. Interesting, thought Scott. He could tell by Sulu's expression that he thought so too. He looked over at Uhura to see if she had noticed. Instead she was watching the captain, and Scott turned to see why.

Yeoman Rand had begun again to update the captain on his responsibilities. Kirk did not appear to be listening. Frustrated, the yeoman stopped, noticing the other two women still in the room, she gestured them out. The two young women left, taking the antigrav cart with them. They both turned back to smile a good bye before they left, to opposite ends of the table Scott noted. Once they were gone Rand tried again to engage the captain. He was continued to stare unhappily at two of the dry breads, which he tapped together over his plate. He looked down the table again and frowned. Finally he barked, "Did you order that to go?"

Yeoman Rand stopped speaking and stared with narrowed eyes at the captain. She scowled and tapped her foot with frustration. At the other end of the room, Ensign Chekov froze again, and looked up from the breakfast plate. "No sir." he said softly.

"Well, how did you get it?"

Chekov looked around like he was considering an escape plan. Seeing no way out, he finally answered. "Lieutenant Oliver usually makes me a plate of whatever they are cooking for themselves."

"Oliver?" asked the captain.

"The chief of the mess hall sir." The ensign continued, "Mr. Spock only received the specs for his talk early this morning. He asked me to create the visuals for it while he reviewed the information. He called me before the food was finished." He paused and then added, "The staff of the main mess is all older ladies sir. They are always very kind to me. I guess they just didn't want me to miss breakfast."

. "I miss breakfast all the time. No one ever sends me plates of sausage." said the captain.

"You have a personal yeoman assigned to assist you every shift." said Rand.

"Who never brings me donuts." snapped the captain.

"It isn't donut week." said Rand tightly.

The captain and yeoman glared at each other with narrowed eyes. After a few tense seconds, and without breaking the stare the captain called, "Scotty?"

Mr. Scott said, "I can't do anything about the replicators in the mess halls Captain, but I will add donuts to the menu of the replicator outside engineering. You can eat them to your heart's content. You can even send your yeoman after some. It will be there whenever you want."

"Thank you Mr. Scott." The captain said with a triumphant smile at Rand. He turned away and gazed out at his crew around the table. Arms crossed, shoulders back, and head high, he clearly considered himself victor of whatever battle they were having.

Rand scowled and continued to glare at him. She calmed herself quickly, and in a sweet voice said, "If you are ready Captain, there are a few more things we should go over before Mr. Spock returns."

"There's more?" asked the captain with astonishment.

"There is always more." Rand said with some satisfaction, and returned to her subject.

Scott looked over at Chekov who had shoved his food away. He said, "I'll eat those sausages for you if you're finished." The boy pushed the plate towards the engineer, who got up and walked to the junior officer's end of the table. He sat in an empty seat, took the plate and dug in. After a few bites he said enthusiastically, "These are great. They cook for you every morning?" The ensign nodded. "That's a sweet deal. How did you work that?"

"I go in early, after I run. There is usually no one else there. They got used to seeing me I guess. Sometimes I help them with things, and now they say I am part of their team. When they make their own food, they make a plate for me." Chekov said. He paused and then added, "They don't like that I am so skinny. I think it makes them happy to see me eat."

"What sort of things do you help them with?" asked the engineer.

The ensign replied slowly, "Sometimes I do little repairs for them, things that don't need parts. I built them a yogurt maker. It's simple, but the yogurt is better than the replicator's. It only works with real milk though, so they don't always use it, only after we stop at space station. That's probably some of it there." He said, gesturing towards the breakfast.

"Let me taste," said Uhura. She leaned over and spooned some of the yogurt into her mouth. She swallowed and added, "It's good. So sometimes our cook makes things from scratch! I am surprised. That doesn't fit with my image of her. I think of her as essentially the chief programmer of the worse replicators I have ever experienced."

"That's the truth." agreed the engineer. "I've tried several times to improve the quality of their output, but they just aren't well made."

"Last night I had rice and spinach. It was horrible, and that makes no sense, because essentially everything that comes out of a replicator is made of rice and spinach. How is it possible for it to not combine that correctly?" added Hikaru. Uhura and Scotty laughed.

"It isn't Lieutenant Oliver's fault though." the ensign said shyly. "She's has a Masters in nutrition, and she is a good cook."

"She does?" Uhura sounded surprised.

Chekov nodded. "It took her years to get it because she had to work the whole time. She finished only a few months before we left. She was excited to get her job; she never had benefits before and she is happy with her pay grade. Ten years and then out she says, and she is saving it all to retire." Scott tried not to laugh. The young man was usually very formal when he spoke, but had unconsciously slipped into the cadence of the less skilled workers when he quoted them. And it was funny to hear him discuss retirement plans. Scott could tell by Uhura's expression she enjoyed it too. Sulu smiled as he listened, but it was impossible to tell what was thinking.

The boy continued, "Before this she cooked in lots of hotels. She wasn't the chef, but she worked in Paris at the same time I was in school there. I never got to leave the campus, so it isn't like I knew her or anything, but I remember it was the same time."

Chekov stopped speaking and looked at the others. After a brief pause Sulu said, "Wow, Paris huh?"

Chekov nodded and then continued, "She gets frustrated because she has to follow all the rules from Starfleet, and she has limited resources. She tries to write good menus and then the replicators make everything taste wrong. Sometimes she cooks samples, and she has me try them. I like that; I like almost everything she makes. But sometimes they have contests, and all cook the same thing using their own recipes. They ask me to judge. It is hard, because often I don't like any of it. But I try to be fair."

"So why didn't Lieutenant Oliver come to the meeting?" asked Sulu. "She's a department head. She should be here. She sounds interesting; I would like to meet her."

The ensign shrugged and said, "Breakfast is their busiest shift. There isn't a gamma shift in the mess to cover, and Mrs. Bauber and Mrs. Nguyen are both out sick, so there wasn't any way she would come. I told her I would listen carefully and show them everything they need to know."

"You know them pretty well." Uhura said kindly.

Chekov looked at her thoughtfully and then said, "I like to listen to them. Every day they talk about their bad husbands, or their talented children, or how so many people are rude to them, and how the beta shift leaves the messes for them to clean." He smiled a little wistfully and added, "I feel like I am at home, and can hear my aunties in the kitchen. It is the same stories, exactly the same. That is a good way to start the day, to feel like you are at home."

As he spoke he glanced over at the main door. He sighed and said, "Mr. Spock is back, he will want me to help him. Probably he will want me to add more pages to our guides. Sorry." He stood up and walked over to the commander, who put him to work immediately.

Uhura looked at Sulu. "Okay, how sweet was that? I can just see them fighting to make him little treats."

Hikaru said, "When we are working I forget how young he really is. It's probably good he has a bunch of old ladies looking out for him." he paused and dropping his voice added, "Actually; I think he might have a young woman interested in looking out for him too. Did you see the way the little yeoman looked at him?"

"No, I was too busy watching the one with all the hair ogle the captain. Just the kind of encouragement James T. Kirk doesn't need." Uhura said.

"Well, don't feel bad, he pretty much missed it too. Chekov, not Kirk, no way Kirk missed that performance" Sulu said with a chuckle.

"I saw it all," laughed Scott. "I think you're right, on both counts. But the little one has her work cut out for her. I think she would have had to write, 'I have a crush on you' with the ketchup to get him to notice."

"He's pretty oblivious." agreed Uhura, "But I'll talk to Janice, and maybe we can put him in her path again."

"Hey! Do you think if he put in a good word those old women they would start to look out for me?" asked Scott, still chewing on Chekov's breakfast. "I'd like to get in on those contests, and more of these sausages obviously. If they're replicated I'll eat my hat."

"Did you know there were actually cooks in the mess halls?' asked Uhura.

"I knew there were people that worked there, but I thought they all just cleaned, and loaded the machines. I never really thought about them being in charge of actual food." said Sulu.

"Well sure, you got to have people who actually know how to do, and what to do, in every department." said Mr. Scott. "When the machines break you got to have someone who can carry on without them. And you do know the machines always break." He added cheerfully.

McCoy

The screen relit, and McCoy watched as crew members returned the room and settled back down into their chairs. Judging by their expressions, most people had benefitted from the break. McCoy resented the additional time it had taken. More time spent away from his actual work. There are people in sick bay who need my attention. Well, he corrected himself; there could be people who need my attention. He knew that strictly speaking, there were not actually any patients in sick bay this morning, but there could be at any time. Accidents happened regularly on the ship, and besides, there had been no way of knowing how many patients there would be when his attendance was demanded for this lecture. Just like Spock to decide something is important without consideration of anyone else's schedule or needs. That Vulcan would put endless discussions of computers above normal human compassion for the sick every time.

He glanced down the table where Scotty was now happily sugaring his tea, then looked to the front of the table where a smiling Captain Kirk was doing the same to a huge mug of coffee. Half the time these people are no different than pigs after truffles, he thought. Give them a snack to distract them and they are perfectly happy no matter how many sick people suffer. Potential sick people, he corrected himself.

"Well Mr. Spock, remember that most of us have only arranged coverage until 0900. You are going to really have to hit it hard to finish on time." said the captain happily. "Let's just touch on the highlights and trust everyone to read the rest for themselves, shall we?"

Ignoring his commanding officer, Mr. Spock cleared his throat and began to speak. Chekov finished whatever he was doing with the projector and looked around uncertainly, searching for a place to sit. From the corner of his eye McCoy saw movement as Sulu and Scott both patted the chair between them. McCoy was still feeling irritable and grunted when Chekov bumped into his chair while trying to slip by. The young man stopped to murmur an apology. McCoy nodded but didn't respond, because he knew in his current mood nothing he said would sound polite.

Clutching his PADD to his bony chest, Chekov stumbled on his way. I wonder if that boy has any idea how awkward he looks doing, well, basically everything? McCoy wondered crankily. He watched the young man slip into the offered chair. The hesitant expression in his intelligent eyes gave McCoy pause. He does, he thought. He knows exactly how awkward he looks. At his age he probably doesn't think about much else. I know I didn't. McCoy considered his own youth. At seventeen he had known everyone in his little country school. He had been related to half the town. People had been tolerant of the silliness he and his friends got up to, and his father had always seen he didn't go too far. He thought, Poor kid, he's really pretty alone.

Ignoring Spock completely, the doctor continued to watch the end of the table. He thought, I don't care what Jim says about competency not being a matter of age, that child is too young to be up here away from home with no one looking after him.

Chekov sat down but didn't move his chair up to the table. The older men on either side began to whisper to him. McCoy guessed from their expressions and gestures to their PADDs that they were teasing him by thanking him for the additions to the lecture. Chekov hung his head, but smiled in a pleased way. Uhura reached past Sulu and grabbed the boy's hand. She laughed as she said something and in response he gave his chair a halfhearted push forward. Sulu shook his head, waited until Chekov relaxed, and then quickly reached behind the boy's chair. He shoved it up to the table hard; it struck with a crash and enough force to shake the whole unit. Most of the heads in the room turned toward the source of the noise. Spock continued to speak, but even he turned his head at the unexpected sound. Sulu acknowledged the looks with a mischievous grin and a cocky wave of his fingers. Chekov had managed to arrange his face into an angelic expression, looking like he could hardly wait to hear Spock's next word. Beside him Scott blotted at a large puddle of spilled tea with a napkin. When he looked up and saw so many faces staring at him, he mouthed "What?" Somewhere behind him McCoy could hear the captain start to snicker.

Despite himself McCoy began to smile too. That was nice, he thought. The little vignette made his whole mood lighten andhe turned back to the lecture happier than he had been all day. Fine Spock, continue to talk, he thought, but without his earlier bitterness. Ten minutes more, and then we can all go back to real life despite you. Feeling better than he had all day, he began to consider all the ways he could spend a shift free of patient care.

Spock

"Resources then, are available in the glossary." concluded Mr. Spock. He glanced up and watched the chrono on the wall switch to 0859. Satisfaction at a task well accomplished is not inappropriate, provided of course the response is tempered and that there is no external acknowledgement of the emotion. Around him PADDS thumped shut and a remarkable number of beings exhaled.

"Well Mr. Spock you did it!" said the captain. "And with a minute to spare!"

Spock did not respond, but thought to himself, the task was completed in 62 seconds less than was allotted. He had learned humans seldom appreciated precision when discussing time, and so did not bother to correct the captain.

Attendees began to stand and make their way from the room. Some of them hurried off to rejoin shifts in progress, but many were slow to leave, opting instead to spend time in discussion with their peers. Spock knew this to be not atypical behavior, but still found it baffling. Several called their thanks to the lieutenant commander as they left. Spock nodded, but did not otherwise acknowledge the unnecessary praise. As was appropriate, Nyota left quickly to resume her duties on the bridge. She met his eyes as she left, surrounded by her crewmates. It took a conscious effort on his part not to allow his own eyes to linger as she walked away.

Mr. Sulu walked beside Nyota, and Ensign Chekov followed closely behind. Spock made a mental note to mention to the young man that using electronic technology to relay vital information in the manner that he had today was not acceptable. Spock experienced a moment of concern, quickly extinguished, about the conversation. The ensign was a competent worker, and often able to demonstrate a grasp of his responsibilities unusual in the junior staff. Occasionally however, he would respond to instructions or statements in a profoundly emotional manner that Spock found… disquieting. More than once they had been engaged in conversation, the young man responding appropriately to Spock's instructions, when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, his entire affect would change. He would appear agitated, and have difficulty speaking, but not breathing, which he would do in a rapid, noisy manner. Offered medical attention, the ensign would shake his head and look horrified. As the periods always passed in a few minutes, Spock had begun to simply ignore them, standing calmly and awaiting the ensign's return to sensibility. On occasion the young man simply left the room, a decision Spock both supported and appreciated.

It was difficult for him to interpret the emotions of humans he did not know well. He understood the young man to be unhappy, perhaps evenly profoundly sad, but could not deduce why. Careful consideration had failed to illuminate any discernable cause. Spock had done some research, which had confirmed that immature humans were prone to rapid swings in their emotions, but he considered the young man's response to be excessive.

With an interest to avoiding these occurrences, he had attempted to gain insight into them. He had considered discussing it with the CMO, which ordinarily would have been the logical course of action. However, all prior experience with the chief surgeon of the Enterprise suggested he would respond to any queries with a folksy tribute to human emotion that Spock had no desire to endure. When several sessions of meditation had failed to provide him the serenity he felt he needed to even begin the conversation with Doctor McCoy, Spock had decided to seek assistance elsewhere.

He had asked the Captain Kirk if he had ever experienced inappropriately strong emotional responses from Ensign Chekov. The captain had replied "Strong emotion? Let me see. I always pick up on lots of really strong feelings of admiration from him, but you can't call that inappropriate." Spock had refused to discuss the issue further.

Although ordinarily he made it a practice to avoid discussing his subordinates with her, he had at last asked Nyota for assistance understanding the ensign's behavior. She had listened carefully but had very little insight. She said that most crew members considered the ensign to be unusually cheerful, and then, speaking carefully, seemed to inquire if perhaps Spock had been too harsh with the young man. Spock did not consider any conversation he had with the ensign to be chastising, but had rather been only attempts at clarifying the ways in which the ensign could be more useful. She had sighed, and said it was difficult for her to interpret behavior she had never seen, but promised to watch for it. She had said that it would be appropriate for Spock to ask the ensign what had upset him, a scenario that Spock had difficulty imagining himself participating in. Finally she had recommended attempting to avoid situations that seemed to provoke the response.

As he reconsidered Nyota's advice, Spock had an insight of his own. The ensign has never failed to respond appropriately when I address him on the bridge, perhaps I can make use of that fact. It had been explained to Spock while he was still teaching at the academy that most humans preferred to be corrected in private. While he had found that illogical, he had always attempted to honor the cultural imperative. But perhaps today, in an attempt to assist the ensign in developing some self-control, he should ignore it. I shall explain the gravity of Ensign Chekov's error to him on the bridge, in front of all his coworkers. It is likely the presence of so many will assist him in maintaining an appropriate decorum. Pleased with his idea, Spock allowed himself the brief satisfaction that always accompanied the solution of a difficult problem. He paused too and acknowledged his Nyota, a remarkable woman. Tonight he would join her for a meal, and thank her for her assistance. She would be pleased to have been of such help to both Chekov and himself. Perhaps the ensign would be grateful enough that he too would wish to thank her.

"Spock" said the captain, interrupting his thoughts. "You did good. Are you happy with how it turned out?"

Confused, Spock attempted to clarify for the captain. "I was able to impart the required information in the allotted time, as per the orders outlined by Starfleet Command."

"So you're ecstatic then." responded Kirk with a grin. "So let's go to work, shall we?"