Commander Evans checked the names of the officers present in the makeshift parade square that was normally Starbase Twelve's cargo bay. He had already sorted out the transfers to the Lexington, the Rutherford, and the Takamori. Now, all that remained was the group of four new officers he'd be transferring to the Enterprise. Their group was smaller than the other three, despite the larger size of the ship they were transferring to. It was difficult for officers, even reasonably decorated officers, to secure a spot on Starfleet's flagship. It was an honor, and it was something to aspire for.
He was going to be giving the transfer orders, today, to four officers - one command, two engineering division, and one science. A bridge officer, a couple of technicians, and a historian. He glanced over the list one more time as the group stared back at him, apprehensively, realizing at about the same time that he did that they had a very large problem.
The command-level candidate was nowhere to be found. His gaze fell first to the historian in blue, the senior officer of the group.
"Lieutenant Drake!" he snapped, tartly, "You appear to be missing something."
"I left several messages for our command candidate while we were on the Rorshach, and I've tried to reach him since we arrived on base for shore leave. All I know is that wherever the Lieutenant spends his evenings, it's definitely not in his own quarters - "
"I made it!" a voice called. The assembled officers glanced behind them, spotting a young man in a dishevelled red, command uniform tearing across the parade square, a duffel bag in hand.
"You're late!" Commander Evans scoffed, glancing at his chronometer. "Captain Picard won't look kindly on tardiness, Lieutenant."
"Then I guess I'm very fortunate, Commander," the command candidate smiled smoothly and sarcastically, patting Evans on the shoulder, "That we've got a reasonable fellow like you running the show here on Starbase Twelve instead. And thank you, as well, for that concerned and heartfelt warning."
Evans scowled. The way that the officer was grinning back at him smacked of wise-guy attitude and confidence, the sort that fit a starship commander well. On just a Lieutenant, such a demeanor, however, was only just annoying.
"Remove the hand," Evans snapped, and the command Lieutenant quickly complied.
The Commander glanced over the group, and passed each of them a PADD indicating their transfer orders, new assignments, and numerous other details. Something seemed to be amiss, though. The command candidate didn't even bother glancing over his PADD, before he pocketed it, and the historian in the blue uniform couldn't stop glancing over at the command candidate, as if he'd seen that same young man somewhere else before. There was something eerily familiar about him...about his appearance, about the way he stood...something just didn't feel right.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Evans called out, moving to the front of the room and addressing the parade square, "You have your orders! Proceed to designated transporter rooms, and embark on your designated ships. Good luck, and godspeed!"
The rank-and-file formations broke into a rabble, each group headed towards their own, respective, transporter rooms. Lieutenant Drake, a historian who had studied early spacefarers and piracy his whole life, and who knew 22nd and 23rd-century Starfleet like the back of his hand, knew that there was something very, very odd going on here. It was something about the command officer in their group...something about the way he looked, and talked, and walked.
It was the sort of thing he knew he'd realize later on, and feel like a fool for. Now was a good time to stop staring, though. Aside from his work as a historian aboard the Enterprise, he had a beautiful wife waiting on Jupiter Station, who he told he'd call as soon as he got aboard. He already had so much to tell her - between the time he'd disembarked from the Rorschach and now, he had already experienced quite an adventure. He'd met officers and new friends from different vessels, different races, even an old historian working as a science officer onboard the USS Lexington. He'd seen a ship leave its dock for the first time, and the celebration that accompanied it, while the Rorschach had been on final approach.
His eyes were tired from the wide-eyed optimism and excitement he'd experienced over the last few days, and he was looking forward to unpacking his gear, calling his wife over subspace, listening to a few minutes of the lectures from the Daystrom Institute on the role of Kirk's five-year mission on exploration into the late 23rd century, and their influences on relations with the Klingon and Romulan empires. Scholarly stuff. Now, they just had to reach the transporter room.
Within minutes, the group had reached their destination, the winding corridors leading to a set of doors that whooshed open as the group destined for the Enterprise stepped inside. The command candidate took a deep breath, sighed, and glanced around the inside of the cylindrical room as if he'd never seen a 24th-century transporter pad before.
"Some things never change, I guess. At least they've got good taste," he mused, glancing at the displays, the glowing walls, and the room in general. He stepped onto the pad itself, motioning to the rest of the team. "Lieutenant? You coming along?
Drake glanced at him, still not quite certain why his face seemed so familiar.
"Of course," Drake answered, "Erikson, Gallant, let's go. We don't want to hold up the Enterprise, do we?"
They stepped onto the pad, and the officer posted at the transporter controls smiled at them, waving a quick farewell salute.
"Enterprise, this is Starbase Twelve. We are prepared to initiate transport. Standing by for further instructions."
