The main features of interest on Deck Five, if Vekal remembered correctly, were the holosuites. That was the only place on the deck they could be going, unless the Officer's Mess was located in a Jeffries tube or a storage compartment. Unlikely. But she was confused nonetheless. According to the maps she'd memorised, the only locations where group consumption of food was permitted were Ten Forward, on Deck Ten, private quarters, and the captain's dining room, which was in the forward section of Deck Two. That was where Vekal would have gone.

She didn't understand why she hadn't been told about the change, but she didn't like it.

The hallways of this deck were as wide and bright as any, but there were virtually no doors. As Ensign T'Lara led her to one of these, she took unusual care in noting the details of the route. They would all appear in her mental database later, but by the time her mind had processed them it might be too late. But try as she might, she could see nothing out of the ordinary, no inconspicuously-placed plasma traps or transport beacons, or anything at all but doors and continuous, otherwise uninterrupted stretches of wall.

The Vulan stopped in front of a wide, two-panelled door. Scrawled across one of the panels was something in the incomprehensible script of the Federation. She'd learned their alphabet, recognised the shapes, but they refused to form a meaningful pattern.

"'Holosuite One'," Ensign T'Lara read, probably noticing Vekal's confusion. She pressed a button beside the door and a chime sounded, alerting those inside.

Vekal smiled. "Thank you, Ensign." Pause. "I have been studying the Federation languages," she said as the door slid open, "but there are so many of them!" The Orion was a Terran vessel, true, but she hadn't known which vessel she'd be assigned to. It could have been any ship. "And languages are not my speciality." That was true. Her languages instructor, years ago, had proclaimed her to be worst student in the quadrant. Though she was fairly sure on statistical grounds that it wasn't true, the insult still rankled.

Through the open door, Vekal saw a holographic replication of a wooden room with a laden table in its centre. It took her several seconds to register the round windows showing seascapes outside, the ancient instruments hanging from the walls, the fact that the table was bolted down, but when all these things had been processed her mind returned the conclusion that she was on a seafaring vessel.

And surrounded by the senior staff, all wearing formal white Starfleet uniforms. This simulation was warmer than the rest of the ship, but only slightly and it was just as bright. Vekal appraised the situation, almost instantly coming to a conclusion she didn't like at all: These Federation people were trying to catch her off balance and at a disadvantage. She straightened her back somewhat indignantly and offered the room her most charming smile.

It was returned, hollowly, by Captain Hughes. "Ah," he said. "Glinn Vekal. Please, join us!" Nobody else seemed pleased to see her, though about half the room at least made the effort to seem happy.

She bowed from the waist. "Thank you, Captain." The door closed behind her and vanished seamlessly into the illusion. Ensign T'Lara was left outside. And Glinn Vekal was left alone in the midst of the USS Orion's senior staff.

Aside from the Captain, Lieutenant Chell, Counsellor Saden, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Tyreth, all of whom whom she already knew, there was only one other person present. A blond Trill wearing a blue jacket, whom she recognised from the crew manifests of the morning as Chief Medical Officer Doctor Lieutenant Commander Ezran Tal. She wasn't sure she had those titles in the right order, though. "Doctor Tal," she said simply, offering a smile and a brief dip of the head. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," the Trill said with a smile.

No doubt, Vekal thought. Certainly there was none elsewhere in the room. She made a show of inspecting the environment, taking note of the ancient maps plastered to the wall. They were crude, but from them she assumed this was meant to be a Terran environment. "Where are we?" she asked.

"We're aboard the Dragon, a sailing vessel from Earth's history. Mid-seventeen hundreds, I believe." Probably to honour the environment, Captain Hughes had donned a large black hat with a wide rim, turned up at either side and forming a triangle at the back. In any case, hopefully to honour the environment, Vekal thought dryly; the hat looked terrible.

Fashion concerns aside, she was about to ask why they were in Holosuite One rather than the captain's mess, but recalled just in time that nobody had actually told her where the lunch would be. Clever, she thought. "Are these era dishes?" she asked, indicating the buffet. On the whole, she doubted it. She recognised one or two Vulcan dishes, something that might have been Andorian ale, and several items at whose origins and function she wasn't even going to guess.

"No," Captain Hughes said. He took a plate and handed one to her. Following suit, the other four officers in the room took a plate apiece and began serving themselves. As the Captain did the same, Vekal hung back and watched the others out of the corner of her eye, trying to determine what this food was and how it should be approached. "These are fairly standard dishes throughout the Federation. Since this is supposed to be a cultural exchange, I thought you might like to sample some of the things we eat on this side of the border."

Noticing her confusion and apprehension, the Captain stepped closer and proceeded to explain, in a low voice, the nature of each food item. The intrusion into her personal space made Vekal's nerves jangle, but to step away would have been the height of rudeness. She concentrated instead on the Captain's explanations. Sometimes one of the others would step in, Lieutenant Chell to explain what Andorian redbat was and how it was best eaten, or Doctor Tal to demonstrate how to get a Trill crab out of its shell, and gradually Vekal began to relax. She hadn't offended anyone, no-one had attacked her, this was all right for the time being. She noticed that the Captain had relaxed as he spoke as well. Initially cold, he was now positively genial. "Any questions?" he asked jokingly.

"As it happens... ." Vekal hesitated. "Captain, there is something I wanted to ask you about."

"Of course," he replied, surprised.

"Crewman Octet," Vekal said. "How long has he served aboard this ship?"

"I..." Caught off guard by the clearly unexpected question, Captain Hughes appeared to concentrate. "I'm not sure, offhand. Why do you ask?"

Helping herself to a piece of sliced Terran pig meat and lying it across a slice of toasted bread as she'd been instructed, Vekal shrugged nonchalantly. "I read his name on the crew manifest you gave me. I thought I recognised it somehow." She paused. "I must have been mistaken."

"The mind can play tricks," Counsellor Saden said. The Suliban shapeshifter poured herself a tall glass of Romulan ale and took a sip. "Deja vu is a common phenomenon among many people."

"How true." Vekal dipped her head and took an experimental bite of the 'sandwich'. The toast was warm and crunchy, a wheat product, a counterpoint to the cool and juicy meat. The molten fat between the two layers added an interesting salty undertone. It was the most revolting thing she'd ever tasted. Repressing the urge to gag, Vekal swallowed the bite she'd taken. She set the sandwich down and didn't touch it again. Politely, she commented on the food's excellence.

The meal progressed, at times quickly when it was carried on the currents of conversation, at times slowly when someone stumbled on a sensitive topic. Vekal had no idea how long they lingered over the meal, but it must have been several hours. And by the time it was all over, she was fairly sure that the atmosphere had changed from one of mutual distrust and concealed loathing to one of tolerance.

All according to plan.