A Modern Starfleet Officer

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Star Trek: Short Treks: Q&A

Copyright: CBS

/

"Una, you didn't."

Enterprise's First Officer was a strong woman, but nothing unsettled her quite as much as Captain Pike's disappointment. When he'd asked her for advice about young Ensign Spock, because his more-Vulcan-than-Surak behavior didn't seem to match up with his Academy records or family background, she had told him the truth about what had happened in the broken turbolift during Spock's first day on duty. She'd been uneasy about that day for weeks, but when Captain Pike shook his head at her in appalled disbelief, her unease grew exponentially.

"I was only giving him the same advice I'd give to any junior officer," she argued. "He needs to learn to stay professional - "

"Bullshit," Pike snapped. "It's not unprofessional to smile, for God's sake."

"It is for a Vulcan."

"He's half human. Do you honestly think I, or my crew – our crew – would be backward enough to hold that against him? We signed up for a five-year deep space mission to explore the unknown, and you think we'd keel over if we saw a guy with pointy ears smiling?"

He was using reductio ad absurdum, but it was working. Behind the exaggeration, she could hear his genuine hurt. She knew – who better? – how committed he was to the Starfleet ideals of diversity and mutual understanding, and how hard he worked to nurture those ideals in every member of his crew. She herself was a living example; she knew she could be difficult, but he'd promoted her anyway, and never once had a problem with who she was.

"I assure you, sir, that what I said to Ensign Spock in no way relates to you or your command methods."

"Then to what does it relate?" Pike sighed. "All these years, and I still sometimes feel like I don't know how your mind works. Talk to me, Number One."

She looked away from his worried blue eyes and around his ready room, where every centimeter reminded her of the man he was. They were sitting diagonal to each other in a pair of cushioned chairs, because he always insisted that his ready room be a comfortable place to talk. A wooden cross his father had carved for him hung on the wall, directly opposite a shimmering star chart. A framed photograph of the Enterprise's bridge crew stood on the table. In it, the Captain and First Officer stood side by side. It wasn't visible, but he'd placed his hand on the small of her back; to keep her from bolting, he'd joked, because she didn't like having her picture taken, but their fifth anniversary as a team deserved to be recorded, so could she stay in the picture just this once?

He knew her better than anyone in the galaxy, and she knew him. That was just the problem.

"Spock was … he was asking too many questions," she confessed. "I encourage that in a scientist, but I wasn't expecting him to get so personal. He asked about you, sir, about our working relationship, and I … "

She'd rattled on about everything from Pike's command ethics to his love of horses, as if she'd memorized the man, and of course the bright young Ensign hat noticed. She'd been so afraid of what else he might notice about her, what other weaknesses he might find, that she'd said the most cutting thing she could think of … but she couldn't seem to forget the pain in the boy's black eyes.

"And so you thought you'd launch a preemptive strike to keep him at a distance?" Pike concluded. "I understand that, I do … but we both know that's not the Starfleet way."

"Something like that." She bowed her head. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I'm not the one you owe an apology. Don't you think the kid's heard words like freak too often already? Don't you remember what that feels like?"

"Of course I do."

She did more than remember. She knew what that felt like, in ways Pike for all his good intentions would never understand. Even on a Starfleet ship, the world could be cruel to people like herself and Spock, unless they learned to put up a mental force field.

On the other hand, it was Pike who'd taken that force field down around her, and she was so much better for it. Didn't Spock deserve to find people who would do that for him as well?

"There's one obvious way you could make it up to him," said Pike, beginning to smile a little despite himself. "You see it, don't you?"

"Captain … "

"Come on, Number One." He raised his salt-and-pepper eyebrows in challenge. "You're the bravest woman I know. You've gone through any number of crazy situations without batting an eyelash. Don't tell me you're scared of a little karaoke."

/

" … But still in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
I am the very model of a modern Major-General!"

One week later, Una clutched a microphone in the ship's mess hall, singing her lungs out to a background of roaring laughter, and it was every bit as embarrassing as she had feared.

It wasn't so much the Gilbert and Sullivan per se. Some of her shipmates had hobbies she found even stranger; Pike's horses, for example, or Upjohn's bagpipes. It was the fact that she'd never once let them see her as anything but their cool-headed First Officer, who kept her personal life securely under wraps. Would they lose respect for her if they saw her being this silly?

As she took a bow, however, the sounds of the audience shifted. The rows of people in front of her were not only laughing anymore. They were … clapping.

She couldn't see most of them clearly, thanks to a glaring spotlight on the stage, but Captain Pike was in the first row. He rose to his feet, applauding until his hands were a blur, and turned to say something to the man in the blue science uniform next to him. That man was Ensign Spock, his Vulcan ears and pudding-bowl haircut unmistakable. He nodded to the Captain, applauding as well.

Spotlight or no, she could have sworn that was a smile on the young man's face.