Vekal was slightly nervous as she stepped onto the Orion's bridge. The bright lights, the unfamiliar species, the expressions on the faces that met hers... She shook her head to clear it. This is the USS Orion, not Keltok Nor. That was decades ago. So she put her nervousness aside. This would be difficult enough.
"Acting First Officer Glinn Vekal reporting for duty," she said to the bridge at large, and then saluted the captain after the human fashion.
"Welcome to the Orion," he said. "I'm Captain Patrick Hughes." Vekal widened her eyes in slight surprise. She recognised the name: Hughes, Patrick James, serial number SP-936-231,third-most decorated captain in Starfleet, seventy-four years of age, assigned his first command at twenty-six, made first contact with eighteen races, student of botany and history, diplomat, tactician. Played a central role in four battles against Cardassia and probably prevented many times that number against other races. An impressive man. Practically retired, now. She bowed at the waist. "It's an honour to meet you, sir." Absolutely true.
Captain Hughes smiled without any warmth and looked around. "You've met my first officer. Allow me to introduce the rest of my crew." Vekal nodded.
"This is Lieutenant Chell." An Andorian, blue-skinned, white-haired, male, six-one, grim. "Ensign T'Lara." A Vulcan, female, blonde, five-seven, equally grim. "Security." Vekal nodded.
Either the Andorians and the Vulcans had made peace during the Apartheid, or hers was not the only pioneering project on his ship. Certainly the two had still been bitter foes when Cardassia had formally closed her borders, but much could happen in eighty years and everyone already knew that their knowledge of external affairs had lapsed a bit.
Captain Hughes continued: "Lieutenant Junior Grade Hadal." At first, Vekal assumed he was human, but then she noticed his eyes and the expression on his face and revised her conlcusion. A Betazoid, black-haired, black-eyed, male, five-nine. "Communications," the captain continued. Telepath, Vekal thought, instantly on high alert. She nodded, however.
"Lieutenant Junior Grade Reeva." An Arcadian, gloved, brunette, female, four-eleven. "Our pilot." Vekal nodded.
"Counsellor Saden." A humanoid with textured red-and-yellow skin, bald, surprisingly beautiful, not in uniform, female, five-six. Those were Vekal's initial impressions. But as she watched, the alien's textured skin turned grey and scaly, and Vekal took a step back in surprise. She was staring at a Cardassian version of the alien beauty. It was a perfect replica, down to the pale blue tinge on the inside of the imposter's crest. It took Vekal a full second to formulate a response. "A changeling?" she asked neutrally. She didn't add one of the those who destroyed Cardassia three hundred years ago. It wasn't needed.
Counsellor Saden shook her head and reverted to her former appearance. "Genetically enhanced," she said with ice just under the surface. "I'm Suliban."
And not a counsellor. That was Vekal's guess. Or maybe she was, but this woman was also and primarily something else. And whatever she was, Vekal didn't like her. But she was here to make friends, not enemies, so she simply gave the Suliban woman the same nod the others had received. Yet Vekal felt a tingle in the back of her skull. To assuage it, she consulted her memory:
The Suliban were hardly any more advanced than the humans, perhaps less so, but they were a people torn by whatever the nomadic equivalent of a civil war was. And the last Vekal had heard, only the wrong side had genetic enhancements. She narrowed her eyes.
Maybe the captain sensed the tension in the room, because he cleared his throat and held out a PADD. "I've prepared this for you. A list of protocols and courtesies to be observed on this ship, as well as a roster and some technical specifications. But first I'd like to speak with you. In my ready room."
Vekal dipped her head. It was easy enough to assume that he wanted to be assured of her loyalties, capabilities, et cetera. "Yes, sir." She paused. Looked around discreetly. Four doors led off the bridge, not including the two turbolift exits. A twenty-five percent chance, which wasn't good. "Ah... Which is your ready room, sir?"