The first person Krikri saw was Burnham.
"Good morning, Krikri," Burnham greeted him.
"Did I lose anything?" Krikri asked.
"Your feet were amputated," Burnham said. "They were replaced by prosthetic."
"Prosthetic legs. . ." Krikri felt along his new found feet. His toes wiggled. He looked up with awe toward the woman.
"We have come a long way with prosthetic in Starfleet," Burnham said.
"This is the most magical thing I ever experienced," Krikri said. "I wish my co-workers were here to see this."
"They are here," Burnham said. "The captain would like to speak with you in his office."
"There is captains in space?" Krikri asked, sitting on the edge of the biobed.
"In space, anything is possible even space life," Burnham said. "Have you ever seen a space turtle?"
"No," Krikri said. "How large is it?"
"It has been recorded to be the size of your vessel," Burnham said.
"Take me to your leader," Krikri said.
Krikri landed to the floor. And that is when Burnham noticed that Krikri was four feet tall. His bat like fur was layered. The two piece patient outfit seemed rather small on his figure and frankly long. The pant legs had been rolled up, folded, and pinned. The helmet was laid on his head with two large holes that had his ears stick out. He didn't seem to notice that he was wearing a helmet at all. Burnham tilted her head raising a brow then lowered it.
"Let's go," Burnham said.
Burnham and Krikri exited the private medical quarters.
Merkin was purring loudly as Lorca was reading a padd. Landry was manning the bridge, as usual. He spent most of his time behind a desk rather than on the bridge. His complete failure at bringing his entire crew back, alive, from a Klingon ambush still lingered. In the past five months, he had only been on the bridge perhaps one hundred to two hundred times spending only four hours. He saw the ghosts of the officers who once served him at their stations. Figments of his imagination that were solid as he was. The ones that he had to leave behind. It should have been him staying behind and his crew evacuating. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. His mind drifted off to Merkin. Merkin was a very comforting pet. A support pet, his former second officer called it, that needed regular vaccinations.
The doors to his quarters opened.
Perhaps, his survivors guilt could help him with to relate with the newcomer.
Lorca placed Merkin onto the table across from the bowl of fortune cookies then placed his communicator on to the center. He set it down into automatic translator mode with a few taps on the colorful screen. He looked up to see Burnham with her hands linked behind her back. A large pair of ears sticking up from over the desk. Lorca looked over to observe Krikri. He gestured over toward a chair at the corner. Burnham turned then walked over toward it. She slid behind Krikri to the point that he fell into it.
"The last time you were there, what kind of civilization are they?" Lorca asked.
"They were just getting out of the fossil fuel era," Burnham replied, over the shrieking tribble. She looked down toward the silent newcomer then back toward Lorca. "Krikri's judge how a leader can be trusted off how they eat a fruit."
"Fruit," Lorca said, raising his eyebrows.
Then Krikri started speaking, the translator started working immediately.
"Yes, captain," Krikri said. "Fruit." Krikri looked down toward the device.
"It is a universal translator," Burnham said. "automatically begins translating for those who do not speak Federation Standard."
"Everyone uses it?" Krikri said.
"It is a very handy feature," Burnham said. "there are people who learn languages and speak them."
"Even your language?" Krikri asked.
"It is not a easy language," Burnham said.
"Very confusing," Lorca said. "you can say we rob other languages and apply it to our own."
"So you assimilate them," Krikri said.
"In a way," Lorca said. "Commander Burnham, you are dismissed."
"Aye, captain," Burnham said.
Lorca seemingly relaxed, opening a drawer as she left. He slowly took out a square yellow, flat disk.
"What is that creature?" Krikri asked.
"Merkin," Lorca said.
"Merkin is very. . ." Krikri said, gently stroking the shrieking tribble.
"Fat," Lorca finished, warily.
"No," Krikri said, turning his head toward Lorca. "I was going to say. . . round and fluffy."
"Do you happen to have any connections to a species called Klingons or have some kind of forehead crests?" Lorca asked.
"Oh," Krikri felt along the helmet. "This? It's just a recessive characteristic of my species."
"How recessive?" Lorca asked, as Krikri lowered his hand toward his lap.
"A minority," Krikri said. "Most of us have flat foreheads. Theory goes back in the day when we were five feet tall, a species with forehead crests with pericings came from the sky and tried to conquer us. But they failed."
"Why?" Lorca asked.
"Because we thrive in the dark and silence. They don't," Krikri said. Lorca slid the shrieking tribble toward Krikri. "Anyway, there were survivors." Krikri gently stroked the tribble as the shrieking lowered and lowered into a familiar purr. "These survivors decided to stay and start a life on Krikrinessa," he looked up toward the human. "we had nasty spells in our history for that afterwards."
"That must have been a cruel time," Lorca said, earning a nod.
"They called people like me, hybrids," Krikri said. "Our crests are barely visible."
"How tall is your species?" Lorca asked.
"Three feet," Krikri said.
"So you're tall for your species," Lorca said.
"Yes," Krikri said. "I think that must be part of the Klingon side of my ancestry."
"And is there anything else?" Lorca asked.
"Yes. Recently, there has been calls to ally with them. We called them the Rusty Cresters. Before this first contact mission. . . There have been sabotage, heckling, protests, and nut cases," Krikri said. "We thought they weren't real. Can you imagine. . . Tall monkey like beings without a tail that had elaborate forehead crests with piercings and locks of hair existing? That is-" Krikri cut himself off with a fond laugh. "was ridiculous."
"And yet, you're taller than most," Lorca said.
"We thought it was part of our evolutionary trait," Krikri explained.
"Turns out you're wrong," Lorca said.
"I feel shame to be associated with them. Not by alliance but where my ancestors came from," Krikri looked down toward his lap in shame. "I told them not to add me to the mission."
"Look," Lorca said. "you're here now," as Merkin loudly purred. "and you are with people who accept you for who you are. Not for what you are."
Krikri looked up toward the captain.
"Do you accept yourself, captain?" Krikri asked.
Lorca came over to the replicator. He slid the device in. Afterwards, he opened the door taking out sliced watermelon. Lorca placed the fruit onto the center of the table with a long look at the Krikri.
"I did once," Lorca said, picking up the fork on the plate as he seated down. "long time ago." his eyes looked over toward the fruit then toward Krikri. "Eat some before Merkin hops out of your lap. They do tend to do that."
"Respectfully," Krikri said. "I decline."
Krikri's mind was very unique but it was bubbling with worry and concern, so much so that it was giving her a headache. Burnham made her way down the corridor. Without being near Krikri, the headache ceased to exist in a minute of minutes. She came into the mess hall. Culber and Parchi waved off toward Burnham, grinning from ear to ear. Burnham came to the replicator doors. She picked up one of the disks then slid it inside a small hole. The disk slid out then she put it back into the small cubby listed under Plomeek tea. She opened the door then gently picked up the plomeek tea. She joined the two medical officers.
"Did the Krikri walk normal?" Culber asked.
"He walked normal for a Krikri," Burnham said.
"How does a Krikri walk?" Parchi asked.
"A bit clumsy and wobbly," Burnham said. "otherwise, fine."
"Good job, Culber!" Parchi and Culber shared a loud high five. Burnham sipped from her glass with a flinch.
"Any complaints?" Culber asked.
"None," Burnham said.
"You're having a good day," Parchi said.
"A good day is helping people I can," Culber said. "If he has long term damage that I didn't find I am going to be not surprised."
"So, how are you liking being on a beta Crossfield, Commander Burnham?" Parchi asked.
"My station's flat screen needs to be cleaned," Burnham said. "My fingerprints make it difficult to look."
"In seven days you managed to completely cover your view screen," Parchi said. "That is impressive."
"Why?" Burnham asked.
"It takes two weeks for a newcomer to reach that," Culber said. "Me included."
"We got view screen cleaner back in the lab," Parchi said.
"Paul claims its for scientific probabilities but he is just hiding it," Culber said. "I have to use it three times a month. I can get you some."
"That would be appreciated, doctor," Burnham said.
"You can call me Culber," Culber said. "we are off duty."
"Isn't funny we have two doctors with last names that are almost identical if not for the beginning of their last names?" Parchi asked.
"No," Culber said.
"It is a amusing coincidence," Burnham said.
"-Parchi report to sick bay, Doctor Soval requires your assistance," came over the intercomn.
"See you later," Culber said, with a wave.
Parchi was out of the mess hall.
"You are the veterinarian?" Burnham said.
"No, that's Gollard," Culber said. "What was it like living among Vulcans? Is being the ward of a Ambassador have any pros or cons that most Starfleet officers would not have?" He chewed a piece of bread looking curiously at the woman. Burnham was caught off guard and did not how to reply. "Let's start with the first. I never met a human who grew up among Vulcans."