Leaving the mess, I kept hearing my name float up in the conversation. I made a point to ignore it. Reaching the corridor, I let out a sigh of relief as I was now out of ear shot of the damned gossip brigade. The Shingen easily had the most active and rabid gossip network I'd ever encountered on a fleet ship, which is saying a lot given the level of crap I'd heard about on Milliways sometimes.

I swung past my quarters, and checked my messages. There was something from Mouse with a note about how I should have put in a change of address with the post office, and he doesn't appreciate having to forward my mail for me. Also, when would I have some leave to come back and visit. I tossed back a quick reply that I had no intention of stepping foot on Milliways again if I could avoid it, but if he wanted to coordinate leave somewhere like six months down the road, I'd be happy to meet him somewhere. Also, I asked if he was reading my mail before forwarding it, and if so, was this anything interesting?

As tempted as I was to open the message Mouse had forwarded to me, I knew that I couldn't waste too much time before showing up down at the flight deck. Johnson hadn't had much left on his plate when I made my hasty retreat, and Cryn had stopped eating after I'd poked fun as his replicated gagh. He did claim to appreciate the real thing, so I wonder if he'd even been to Valanna's in San Fran. So I reluctantly made my way down to the flight deck.

"During her debriefing, she mentioned a program Spiegel put together for her to monitor comm channels. I'd like to get a look at it," Cryn said to Johnson. I entered the flight deck just as he was saying this, his back to me, and frowned slightly. Johnson was first to acknowledge my presence with a nod in my direction. I did the same so as to not break into their conversation, but apparently they were going to draw me into it anyways.

"Voralis was just telling me about a comm program that Lucas made for you," Johnson directed at me. I'd gotten so used to hearing everyone just call the dork Spiegel that it still throws me off to hear anyone use his given name. My face must have reflected this as the look that Johnson directed my way expressed confusion.

"He prefers to be addressed as Spiegel," I corrected, making an effort to be polite about it. This only seemed to confuse the Admiral more, as his mouth twisted into a slight frown.

"Mr. Spiegel didn't seem like the formal sort," he commented back at me, and I shook my head slightly.

"Just call him Spiegel, no mister attached." I explained, following Johnson and Cryn as they headed towards the Obama. As we reached it, Johnson stepped aside with a gesture to indicate he wanted me to go first. I awkwardly smiled as I moved past him, and darted inside without waiting for the door to finish opening. Demonstrating more patience than I was typically capable of, both men waited for the door to open all the way before they followed me in, giving me a chance to start settling in before they were there to watch and evaluate. I sat at the right front console, and pulled up the configuration I'd saved during the last trip in the Obama.

"How does the customization interface work?" Johnson asked as he settled into the chair to my left. I'd just started the preflight check, so I only spared a moment to reach over and trigger the customization mode on his console. Cryn was standing just behind me and to my left, so that he could easily look over both mine and the Admiral's shoulder, and without looking back, I could tell he was doing just that.

"For someone who complains about fleet consoles and training being so human specific, your console isn't that far off from fleet standards," Cryn observed after a couple moments observation, to which I shrugged.

"First ten years of my life were on Luna, I can't help it if I picked up some human habits," I dismissed. While I was saying this, Cryn placed a hand on the back of my chair and leaned forward to take a closer look at my console. Glancing back at him, I saw his eyes were directed to the lower left corner where I had a couple of programs displaying readings for me.

"Is that Spiegel's program?" he asked pointing it out among the group he'd been looking at, and Johnson finally turned his attention away from trying out the console customization. As I nodded, I elected to send the program to the main display to avoid having the two men move too far into my personal space. "You mentioned it would crash if someone it didn't recognize were too close, but it's running fine with us here." Cryn observed, and I glanced over my shoulder to find his eyebrow raised.

"When I opened it, it identified both of you from internal sensors, and asked if you were authorized. It gave me your name, rank and serial number," I explained, and indicated I was talking about Johnson, then turned my gaze to Cryn. "But it couldn't give me anything more than your picture and security clearances. It did list off some interesting security groups I haven't seen since my time with Delta Force and Terra Nova." Cryn coughed, then frowned, but Johnson had an amused look across his face. "I knew you were a spook," I couldn't resist ribbing him, and he retreated to the chair on the other side of Johnson.

"What would it take for me to get a copy of the program?" Cryn finally asked. I let a sly smile play across my lips and let him sit in silence a moment before answering.

"Spiegel really should give me a commission, I've spread more of his creations than he has," I quipped, not actually answering the question posed to me.

"Except for his book," Cryn corrected, and his tone of voice told me he was trying to regain an advantage in the conversation.

"I heard they're giving copies of the book to undercover agents for Starfleet Intelligence," Johnson commented.

"That'll really stroke the dork's ego." I initiated the takeoff sequence as I said this. "It tickled him pink enough when the Bastard started carrying around a copy of it with him."

"Bastard?" Johnson asked with a furrowed brow. Cryn chuckled a little.

"That's what she calls Shan," Cryn explained, and Johnson frowned.

"Therav's a good officer," he objected.

"He shot me in the back in a bar on Milliway's, sir." My statement was brisk and not without a tinge of anger.

"I'm sure he had a good reason."

"Apparently he was trying to keep me from getting into more trouble than I'd already found myself in," I all but growled. The Obama cleared the docking bay doors as I said this, and I pulled her sharply up, keeping the roof of the craft about a meter away from the outer hull of the Shingen. Johnson held onto the edge of his console, and Cryn steadied himself by holding the arm of his chair. "I don't care what his reason, there is never a justifiable excuse to shoot someone in the back. Ever."

"You turned the inertial dampeners down, didn't you?" Johnson asked as I banked the craft right and headed out to the open space just past the ship.

"Airsick bag's available from the replicator, pattern Diziara Greenhorn Four," I explained as I laid in a course. Cryn chuckled as Johnson looked back at the replicator a moment, but eventually elected to stay seated. I hardly paid him any mind, as I was laying in a course so I could focus on the holographic extension to the console.

"So, is it the fourth version of an airsick bag you've created?" Johnson asked, commenting on the pattern number. My laugh surprised him, and I took a moment before I responded, so I could display the stock holographic interface options on the main screen as I scrolled through the list.

"Do you know how to count on your hand in binary, sir?" I finally asked him as I paused on one that was labeled Stearman PT-17. Cryn smiled slyly as Johnson went through the motions to count out to four, ending up with only his middle finger extended.

"How subtle," was all Johnson had to say on that. I locked in the Stearman configuration, grinning widely as the console in front of me morphed into one that resembled the instrument panel in a PT-17 Stearman biplane. Analog gauges, switches and the control stick all laid out like I remembered it, and my hands wandered a moment without actually activating anything.

"Corey actually sent me the pattern when I'd complained about the greenhorns making messes in the shuttles I'd fly for away missions," I explained as I started actively adjusting the panel. Reassigning this gauge, adding that display, relocating the odd switch, there were so many things wrong about the preconfigured layout. Whoever had designed the adaption of the antique craft's panel to Starfleet technological needs clearly hadn't flown the biplane in question.

"Corey Waterhouse?"

"Yes sir."

"Will you stop calling me sir?"

"Yes, Sir." I felt like the Cheshire cat as my grin managed to double in size as I ribbed Johnson. Cryn chuckled softly, and Johnson looked from me to Cryn and back again a couple times.

"Waterhouse should have been an Engineer," he finally said, probably realizing that I was just needling him at this point. I couldn't help snorting in amusement.

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious to the most casual observer. It's Jack's fault he's a pilot instead."

"Figgins? How do you figure?"

"Went through the Academy with the pair of 'em." Finally satisfied with the configuration I'd settled on, I saved it and took the Obama out of auto pilot. "Corey freely admitted that he went through flight training to keep an eye on Jack and help him out, and he didn't have the time to spare to double major. I know he could have done it, if he wanted, but Jack and I would have seen almost nothing of him outside of class. It would have made my downtime horribly boring."

"Wasn't Jack in Red Squad? Why would he need looking after?"

"Corey and I shoe horned every last bit of education into him that he needed to maintain the grades for Red Squad," I explained, and tested the Obama's response to the stick by throwing her into a barrel roll. Johnson opened his mouth to object to this statement, so I continued talking. "Corey didn't care for the elitist attitude of the group, and I was too much of a trouble maker for them to let me in. Jack about had 'em sold to accept me, but then Admiral Paris went and spoiled it by making me punch him."

"Interesting take on that event, Owen tells it differently," Cryn commented with a chuckle. Before I could retort, Johnson took control of the conversation again.

"Jack's been a department head on the Monitor for a while now, he's shown no indication of needing as much help as you're implying. And Corey only recently transferred in, so he wouldn't have been able to prop Jack up into the position."

"Once you get the information into him, Jack holds onto it especially well. He had to eventually figure out what it was that Corey and I did to get him to retain information, and figure out how to do it himself. He's certainly not stupid," I explained, and started running through some of my favorite maneuvers. I tried to bite back my smile as I noticed Johnson glancing back towards the replicator.

"So, if you're not saying he's stupid, what are you saying is wrong with Jack?" Johnson finally asked. I pulled the Obama up short, and turned her back towards the Shingen.

"Nothing is wrong with him. He's just got a learning disability, and doesn't respond to the medications most people take to handle it," I explained with an annoyed sigh. Conversation came to a dead halt with this statement, and I fussed with the holographic controls a little more. "There's a little bit of a lag, but it probably wouldn't take much effort to iron it out," I finally declared. "So, are we going to get to keep the Obama for a little bit, or are we going to have to send her on to someone else soon?"

"I had to pull quiet a few strings to get you the first crack at her, but I'll do what I can to keep her here for a while. They're working to build a second one, so depending on how quickly that goes, it might take some of the pressure off to hand this one over," Johnson told me.

"They're going to upgrade the phase inducers on the second one, to the specs that Spiegel and Noelle recommended in their reports, right?" I asked, a slight frown on my face.

"As far as I know," Johnson answered. "Though knowing engineers, it's entirely possible they'll insist on not doing it and just posting a warning against playing near tachyon eddies."

"I don't know an engineer worth the air they breath that would dare do such a thing," I shot, possibly a little defensively. This brought the conversation to a halt, and I sat back in my chair, letting the Obama pilot herself from the course I'd laid in.

Eventually Cryn and Johnson started interrogating me on the ship's customizable consoles as if I was the one who wrote up the specs or built the damn thing. Even though I managed to satisfy their questions, I was wishing I'd insisted on bringing Spiegel along to field these questions. I saw some of the notations he'd made on the copy of the specs he'd been reading over in the mess earlier. At least my experience with holoprogramming helped me on fielding the questions about the holographic interface.

When they finally decided they'd had enough, and I was clearly growing weary from having been cooped up in the ship with them for so long without even my normal music to help balance things out, I laid in a course back to the Shingen. That's when they really blind sided me.

"How long has it been since you last got promoted?" Cryn asked me. His tone was innocent, but a quick glance in his direction made it clear he was up to something. Johnson's attention snapped up from his console as Cryn said this.

"You tell me. You're the one who went over my extended dossier with a fine tooth comb," I shot back.

"Nearly seven years," Johnson helpfully answered for me. Wondering what they were getting at, I turned to look at them both. Johnson had produced from somewhere a little box and had popped it open. A little gold pip, to replace my black one, was sitting in the box. "You're more than overdue."

"I think she was convinced she was going to die a Lieutenant junior grade," Cryn commented with a chuckle, and Johnson grinned at me. I was sitting in my chair slack jawed, and Johnson handed the box over to Cryn. I could tell there was more said in this gesture than I could decypher, but at the time I was still blind sided so it didn't even occur to me to even attempt to parse it out. Cryn changed out my pips for me, and Johnson told me that he had some good spirits tucked away if I wanted to celebrate later. I made a polite reply that neither accepted or declined the invitation, and the rest of the way back to the Shingen I was quiet.

Though, once I'd parted company with the Admiral and Cryn, I did hold my chin especially high to show off my new rank.

The arrival back to the Shingen wasn't too bad, given that we'd been to the mirror universe and back, and of course they had to take precautions that we really were ourselves and not our doubles. Noelle took it quietly and patiently, but it was clear she was relieved when they finally decided they could leave her alone, let her get on with recovering from the abuse Maddie put her through. Spiegel bitched and moaned through the whole process. It wasn't exactly a cake walk for any of us, but the True New Yorker came out in the dork during the ordeal. It wasn't good enough to suffer quietly through the indignities and insults of the welcome we were receiving, but he had to make it clear that he was receiving the worst of it. I know for a fact that he got the lightest and kindest touch, I think Marla likes him for some reason and doesn't realize he has a very strict no crew mates policy.

We'd written our reports on the Obama on the way back to the ship. There was a good amount of downtime with the distance we had to travel back to the ship, and without the stops at the various bars we had on the first half of the trip, it felt like it stretched out quite a while, so those are likely the best reports Spiegel and I have ever filed. It was probably pretty safe to assume that copies of the reports were distributed to everyone who had reason and authorization to read them, well before we actually made it back to the Shingen. That would explain why within 24 hours of our making it back on the ship, Admiral Johnson and his entourage arrived and noises were made about a proper debriefing.

Spiegel volunteered to go first, probably to get it over and done with, to better enable him to get back to his routine in Engineering. Since we brought him back from Andor, and his multiple year undercover assignment, Sharad had found himself tucked into Johnson's entourage. He got the task of debriefing Spiegel, which went fairly casually based upon Spiegel's mood and what he was babbling about when he got out. We didn't actually talk about the debriefing, but Spiegel had new topics for his book, and was talking about his cascade virus again, which lead me to guess that Sharad had approached these two topics during the debriefing. I had assumed that Johnson was just going to have Sharad conduct all the debriefings, so I was a little surprised when I entered the room to find a man I didn't know waiting for me. The debriefing itself was odd enough that I feel compelled to lay it out as accurately as possible so I can better analyze it later.

( Briefing Transcript )

I just got a message back from Admiral Johnson about that report I filed about the state of current fleet craft. Where most admirals would likely wonder where a lowly lieutenant junior grade who's been puttering around in the fleet for over a decade with little upward motion to show for it comes off ripping apart Starfleet's best so completely, Johnson actually said it took balls. Yeah, he used that outdated sexist term that Spiegel wouldn't even include in his book. Johnson's a piece of work, but then any human who'd embrace my insanity and violence, and so generously overlook my obvious lack of respect for brass, could be nothing else.

The man really does want to win me over. Not only did he attach a complete official copy of the tech specs for the latest craft they're currently testing out to replace the aging fleet of Danube-class runabouts, but he's also said that if I'll send him a list of who I want on the team, he'll let me go pick the prototype up from the shipyards they recently opened in the Bajor sector for in the field testing out of the Shingen. They're calling it an Obama-class, seems a strong enough name for the craft. I haven't taken the time to skim the specs yet, so we'll see if the craft holds up to the name they've selected for it. I do hope they're including some of the trick shit they've backwards engineered out of the various Dominion tech that was acquired during the war, and I'm sure they'll include some of the better borg tech now that they've had lots of time to interrogate collaborate with that former drone that Voyager brought home with them.

Of course, I'm going to suggest Spiegel to come along. He wouldn't forgive me if I got to go and pick up a new toy and he didn't get to come along. I'll likely see if Noelle's interested in coming too. The Admiral suggested that I bring a security officer along, but I don't know and trust anyone in security on the Shingen yet, and I'm paranoid given that the bastard was in charge of security until recently and likely had influence on most of the officers here. Noelle can hold her own with and without a weapon, and so can I, so I'll explain to Johnson that she and I should be able to handle any security needed for the trip. Now I just need to decide if I'm going to ask Noelle if she's interested in coming, or if I should just assume she is and surprise her when the Admiral's orders come through.

He made it sound like it'd probably be a week or so after I get back to him before he'll be able to iron out all the bits in order to give the orders. That just gives me time to get my fun brewing in the holodeck and drop the specs he so kindly provided into the program. I wonder how long it'd take someone to find the Obama-class specs if I didn't say anything about making them available in the program.

Upon returning to my quarters on the Shingen, my amazingly cunning feline owner made a break for the door. Even despite the fact that I foiled her escape attempt, she purred for me even as she attempted to trip me again. Dancing around her ankle wrapping movement, I got my bag onto the bed and had managed to shed most of my uniform as I was starting to ponder calling my littlest brother, only to have the comm chirp at me.

When I greeted him by calling him my favorite brother, a truthful statement, he returned the greeting by calling me his favorite sister. I pointed out that I was his only sister, but before I could see why he called, I launched into the reason I'd been pondering calling him. I told him of the stain on the suit I wore on the away mission, we even exchanged commentary on the federation, the fleet, Andorians, and their relationship, as well as mine, to the first two. Kang dropped a couple hints here and there that I should come home for a visit even, and the subject of our mother came up.

The woman drives me absolutely insane, she tells everyone else that she cares about me, that she's worried about how I'm doing, what I'm doing, and that she wants to be involved in my life. However, the moment she even opens her mouth in a manner that I might possibly hear it? All I hear about is what I've done wrong, how I should fix it, and why can't I be more Klingon like my two little brothers! The last time there was a civil conversation to be had with her while she was in my presence, Travis was involved. If there'd been more time, I might have eventually repaired my relationship with her, given his help, as she liked him. I have to say that the potential to repair my relationship with my mother is probably the least of concerns I had over his loss, but it would have been a nice bonus.

We shot the shit about the vagaries of the mission that I could talk about, mostly the dynamics of the team, and what little rumor and gossip had spread about what of the raid on the THA base could make it to the public. My budding "Admiral's Pet" position that Johnson seems interested in foisting upon me came up. When I explained that I wasn't above milking benefits of such a position as long as the favors expected of me in turn didn't require anything of me I wasn't interested in doing anyways, Kang seemed to understand.

I don't understand how I could have failed to mention to Spiegel about Kang, but have told Kang all about Spiegel. I suspect that Spiegel may have had a hand in this, as he seemed to be violently opposed to talking about my family given the way he met Kaith. At any rate, I've now informed Kang that I was going to have to introduce him and Spiegel. Now it's just a matter of getting the two in the same sector at once. We'll see when that'll happen.

In better news, Zia and Kang have finally decided to take the plunge and have kids. The whole genetic mess that my brothers and I got due to our parents, it usually requires some medical fussing to make us viable to breed with anyone. This has been a blessing for me, as it makes one night stands, flings, and torrid love affairs easier to handle, since there's literally a snow ball's chance in hell that an unwanted child can result. Zia and Kang weren't in any rush, they wanted to enjoy their marriage a bit before bring children into the picture. I look forward to having a niece or nephew to spoil and use as a tool to torture my favorite brother. I've already threatened dangerous art supplies, weaponry, and any number of other vagaries that would require a locking art gallery to be added to their house so that it would be otherwise child safe. I am a wicked person, and being an aunt is going to be fun.

I am curious what new toys my brother's going to send me now that he knows Admiral Johnson has interest in using me for violent bits of special projects. He's still working on the personal clocking device, he's been at that for a few years now. I'll bet Spiegel could get his hands on some of the info gathered from the Dominion after the war, and what he could pick from that would likely finally set Kang in the right direction. That would be a fun toy to have, even though I'm sure federation scientists likely are on the cusp of mass producing the damn thing for fleet use. I'm sure anything I can get under the table from Spiegel and Kang would work better, have more fun features, and still look sexy when not in active use.

I really need to teach the damn cat that my legs are not scratching posts though. She climbs into my lap at the worst times, always when I've just returned from a long day and want nothing more than to be out of my damn uniform. I should find which box I left that squirt gun in, her majesty could use some water based reminders of who's in charge.

So, at dinner with Admiral Johnson, I promised him I'd write him a report as to what's wrong with current fleet technology, what could stand improvement, and what could be done to improve it all. I suspect that he actually latched onto my suggestion to write the report because he wanted the subject change, but not one to let sleeping dogs lie, I've elected to write him that report anyways. I wasn't able to fall asleep when I got back to the Monitor last night, so I elected to hammer out the report then and send it off to the Admiral while he might actually still recall his agreement to read it.

Now that the debriefing seems to be done, I think he's off to whatever thing is to keep his attention this week, and the Monitor is to head out soon after. I'll have lots of time to kill before the wedding, and figure I'll sleep then, so it seemed like a good choice to slam out the report last night while I was still on my bar hoping high. To follow are some of the things I said in the report:

The OS needs to be rethought on the shuttle craft and runabout class ships. They start to get a little sluggish if the regular maintenance isn't run, but with all the other stuff that happens on a starship, they tend to end up at the low end of the priorities list. Talking with Spiegel and Waterhouse, it sounds like the main computer core on the starships also suffer from this problem, but because their processors and memory are much more powerful, and because their deficiencies are in the face of the engineering team day to day, they tend to get the maintenance they need. The smaller support craft, they suffer greater for their sluggishness, and it gets in the way of a skilled pilot trying to do their job.

Perhaps we need to look into scaling the OS designed for the fighter craft. I know a special system that does its own maintenance was designed for those, and that doesn't suffer from the same level of performance drop when the maintenance fails to run regularly. Why haven't we scaled this up to the other craft in the fleet?

Spiegel and I have talked about the OS used on the fighter craft before. I think he even started playing with scaling it up for shuttle craft and runabout use, though the last time we talked about it was four years ago. He's probably had other things come up that held his attention more, so I'll have to remember to remind him of the subject once we're off Andor again. He's been quite a bit distracted by Thil, though it seems to be doing both of them good.

Also, aerodynamics have been pretty much shot all to hell on craft design. Yes, in space it doesn't matter what shape the craft is, as there is no atmosphere to give resistance for the maneuverability of the craft, but the smaller craft are intended for in atmospheric use also. We need to start considering the aerodynamics for in atmosphere use much more. I know I'm not the only pilot in the fleet who's complained that bringing a shuttle or runabout into atmo is like trying to pilot a lemon wrapped brick by telekinetics alone.

I am a fan of the delta flyer, the craft designed by Tom Paris while Voyager was stranded in the delta quadrant. With some adjustments to various systems, it could be a good starting point for new craft design. I find it interesting that I so like that man, but can not stand his father. I also find it interesting that my time spent playing taxi service for the Admiral was what led me to meeting his son in the first place. I decide that waxing poetical about Tom's delta flyer might have gone over weird in the report.

If I get positive response to this, maybe I can start hinting at adjustments that could be made to the delta flyer. I do have some things hammered out in the holodeck already, it'd just be a matter of building a prototype for them. We'll see how Johnson responds to this report though. Hopefully all the tech specs don't make him go cross eyed. I would have liked it better if I'd gotten one of my engineering boys to skim it before I sent it off, but I suspect that the Admiral wouldn't know the difference and I wasn't sure how long of a window of opportunity I had on this. I know enough about ships, because I fly the damn things, that I should provide enough detail that a competent engineer could explain it to the Admiral and end up at the same points I was trying to make.

After the last session of debriefings, Admiral Johnson pulled me aside on the way out of the briefing room. Spiegel was distracted by Thil, the two of them had been spending a lot of time together since arriving on the monitor. Probably for the better, Spiegel could use a friend that he isn't so awkward around actually. When Johnson pulled me aside, I was expecting to be dressed down for something I'd done to offend, things I'd been surprised he hadn't said anything about in fact, but instead he opens up with telling me how impressed he'd been of my performance on the away mission.

He told me about how a month ago, he'd heard rumors that Owen, I suppose he expected me to know Admiral Paris' first name, was looking to offload a trouble maker with skill, which seemed a pretty diplomatic way to describe me, so Johnson had jumped on the opportunity, thus my transfer. He asked if I was glad to be away from 668, even surprised me when he called it Milliways, usually something only people who'd been stuck there do. He managed a polite laugh when I explained that that station was a cakewalk compared to the time I spent taxi-ing "Owen" around during the start of my career. He seemed to enjoy my willingness to mimic his use of familiar names instead of professional.

He kind of made small talk, and I started to get twitchy. He didn't take long to notice, something a lot of brass fail to do. This got him some points with me actually. He explained that he wanted to take me out for a nice dinner on Andor, get to know me and understand where my skills could be best put to use. No messing with uniforms, no pretense, just conversation and dinner. Seemed awkward at best, but it didn't look like something I could tactfully dodge without having to pull an encore of the performance with "Owen" during my days at the Acad. He suggested the Silver Shaysha Fork, that place the team hit when we first made it to the planet. I suggested we try something a little more authentic Andorian, and he said he'd have an aid inquire among some of the Andorians in the crew.

As a precaution, I lined up plans with Corey and Jack planet side for after dinner. I made it explicitly clear to them they were my calvary, and that if I don't contact them by the appointed time, they were to check in with me and play dumb as to who was occupying my time. Jack kind of floundered, I think he's afraid of Johnson, but Corey insisted that I could set a watch by the time they'll call and check in with me. Then came the fun of coming up with something to wear that wouldn't get me in trouble with the "this is off the record" brass, but would also be suited for seeking trouble with the boys later. I managed to find a pair of well tailored black leather pants, and a cerulean top that I could retie into something a little more fun after the dinner, but had a relatively conservative neckline until then, for dealing with the Admiral.

I met him in the transporter room at the appointed time. He was wearing olive slacks and a fine gauge cable knit sweater in a couple different tints of brown and green over a white collared shirt. As I greeted him with a relaxed salute, I noticed he took inventory of the weaponry he could see. Being Andor, and planning on getting into fun trouble later, I was wearing a couple pieces of sharp pretty in addition to my d'k tahg, He actually asked me if I was expecting trouble, and seemed amused when I pointed out that it finds me, prepared or not. When I asked him where we were headed, he admitted he wasn't sure, but told me his aid had asked Sharad's advice. I suppose that explains the look the chan had been giving me during the afternoon.

We ended up at a fancy little place, something the equivalent for Andorians of what a chique little bistro in Paris would be for a human. Sharad doesn't pull any punches when he advises on dining locations, and I'll have to keep that in mind next time I need an Andorian tour guide. When Johnson opened up conversation, I addressed him as Admiral, but he insisted I call him Zach since this was informal and off the record. To his credit, he didn't even bat an eyelash when I requested the most potent thing on the alcohol menu, as he was insisting that this dinner was both informal and off the record, even though he went with a safe non-alcoholic drink himself.

Having no idea what his goal was for this dinner, I let him lead the conversation. This resulted in a lot of questions about things like why I joined starfleet, life goals, hobbies, etc. He seemed a little dismayed when I explained that I was still trying to figure out just why I'd joined the fleet, and that so far I was just hanging around because it was something to do and kept me flying. He also picked up on my mild hostility towards the fleet, even though I didn't actually say anything about it, but when I started to explain the thing with my father's disappearance, he very quickly changed the subject. I'm not sure if that was because he just didn't want to get into the politics, or if he knew something that he didn't want to share, probably the former though.

He made the mistake of getting me started on flying though. I think I easily filled an hour of our dinner talking about all sorts of crazy things I'd done, what got me started, why I loved it so much. He listened attentively, asking the occasional question if he suspected I was running out of steam, and looked like he was mentally cataloging notes the whole time I was talking. I didn't mind, I'd happily prattle on about this and that flight related thing even if my audience didn't understand a word of the language I was speaking, as long as they pretended to be interested. I just like talking about that stuff. He did start getting a little deer eyed when I started getting into details of craft I particularly liked, and started listing off things that could stand improvement in the current class of shuttle craft in service. When he flagged the waiter down to specifically ask for the alcohol menu, I offered to put the details of my critiques into writing for him, so he could pass it along to the right people, and he gladly took the opening I provided for a subject change.

When he started dangling bits of tactical related conversation in front of me, almost as if trying to bait me, I assumed he was trying to get into Starfleet style tactics with ship deployments, ground troops on alien planets, etc, and responded accordingly. He reined in his subtlety, and made it clear he was actually looking more for my improvised bar brawl style stuff, and hand to hand combat type things. I took a moment to try to figure out how to most tactfully tell him I don't talk combat with anyone I haven't either met in combat or fought back to back with. He surprised me when he actually agreed this was a good point. A quick glance at the chronometer told me I had a good fourty-five minutes before Corey and Jack were to call and save me from this dinner, and the Admiral and I had long since finished eating, so I offered him the chance to spar, so we would have common grounds on which to speak.

This suggestion was the first time I actually saw his mask fall from his face. From the moment I first saw him in the transporter room on the Monitor, he'd been careful to keep a false face up, to appear as a stone cold and emotionless authority figure. There was clear amusement, and at least a little surprise, visible now. When he admitted he was only armed with a type I, I took the opportunity to rib him for this, which only provoked him into taking my challenge. Our tab for dinner was quickly settled, and directions to the nearest ritual dueling grounds were acquired from our waiter, who was generously tipped for this information.

On the walk to the ritual dueling grounds, he attempted to negotiate the loan of one of my blades for the duration of the sparring. Being highly amused at having an officer who clearly ranked above me at a disadvantage, I elected to be difficult and simply ribbed him for his poor tactical planning. When he threatened to order me to hand over one of my knifes, I pointed out the last Admiral who I'd had a disagreement with met my right cross in front of a roomful of my fellow cadets. He elected to take this as a joke instead of a threat, and chuckled it off. While usually not inclined towards loaning my weaponry out, I decided I approved of his sense of humor, and I'd likely be able to take the knife back by force if necessary.

His presented cold face left me unsure of his likely combat skill originally, but the time spent exchanging barbs over if he could make use of one of my blades left me with a reasonable impression of what he'd likely be like to fight. As we took to the dueling space, a group of Andorians gathered to watch, curious about the statuesque steel haired human, and the exotic red-headed hybrid. Before we started, he elected to ditch the sweater, and roll up the sleeves on the shirt under. Given that I've fought in everything from nothing but a pair of boots through full formal wear, I didn't feel any need to alter my wardrobe before starting.

We circled each other a couple times, and I could see the tiny indicators of someone who maintained his combat training. Another thing uncommon among Admirals I'd encountered thus far. When he lunged towards me, I sidestepped his attack, intending to catch him as he passed, but he compensated and avoided my reach for him. The next pass, I caught him behind the knee, and brought him down to the kneeling position. Before I could get any sort of hold on him, he rolled and forced me to jump over him to keep from being toppled myself. The Andorian crowd watching us slowly grew as we continued much like this for the next twenty or so minutes, until I finally managed to pin him for victory.

As I offered him a hand up, he asked me if I'd learned enough to properly engage in combat related conversation with him now. I demurred, and explained that while he'd shown himself to be able, it might take a couple more times of throwing him to the ground to convince me. To this he actually laughed, and said he normally wouldn't stand for a junior grade lieutenant to throw an Admiral to the ground, but he might indulge me if I'd kindly explain to him the logic behind this. Our Andorian audience quickly dispersed during this exchange, having now pegged us for fleet, and we were soon left alone in the dueling grounds. When he pressed me on the explanation for the throwing him to the ground a few more times, I admitted it wasn't often that I had the chance to toss around brass without the threat of reprimand. I received another laugh out of him as my communicator beeped, and Corey's voice announced himself.

I brushed aside the draped collar on my top, tapping the badge as I told him to go ahead. He played dumb, as agreed, as to where I was or who I was with, and asked if I was ready for our night out. The Admiral's face fell back into his cold mask, realizing his monopoly on my time was coming to an end, unless he wanted to actually order me not to go spend time with my friends. Given that the impression I'd gotten all night was he was trying to earn my trust and better understand me, possibly so he could use me on future special missions of the same sort of nature as the one we'd just completed, I believe he realized such an order would have only put a kink into his plan. He gave me a nod to give me permission to go, and I told Corey that he and Jack should beam down, and we could head out from here.

When the boys beamed down, they both saluted the Admiral as he called up to the Monitor to beam him back. He stiffly wished me a good night and disappeared in the whine and sparkle of the transporter beam. Once he was completely dematerialized, Jack looked around and dumbly asked why we were standing in a the middle of a ritual dueling ground. Corey had already guessed, and asked if I'd won, the tone of his voice indicating he already suspected the answer. During this conversation, I had been slipping my arms out of the sleeves of my top, so I could tie them so that the top became a strapless one, and I indicated I had won, and possibly would have been able to score a couple more victories, had the eating portion of the evening had taken less time.

From there, the three of us wandered to find what bars and entertainment we could. Corey and I had little trouble getting along with the locals, but for some reason, they all seemed to give Jack a wide berth. Corey accused him of reeking of starfleet, and Jack pouted for a while after that, until Corey bought the next round of Andorian Ale. Over the evening, they interrogated me over the dinner with the Admiral, and the three of us speculated as to what his goal was. Corey seems to agree with my theory he's trying to groom me for more special missions, and Jack just thinks he wants sex with me. I'm pretty sure Jack is projecting his feelings upon the man, as while it was mildly awkward at times, I did not get a sexual vibration out of it at all. We stayed out until Jack and Corey absolutely had to turn in because of their duty shifts the next day, and while none of us found any sex, we did have fun enough talking and bar hopping.

I am skeptical of the Admiral's motives, but I had a nice enough dinner, and the sparring match at the end was a nice surprise.