Star Traks: Melting Pot is based on Alan Decker's Star Traks, which in turn is based on Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry, may he rest in peace. Certain situations were created by Brendan Shust. Other certain situations were created by Alan Decker. Copyright 2004. Star Traks: Melting Pot "Help Wanted" by Paul Cloutier Captain's Log; Stardate 57440.9 - The Menagerie has docked at Starbase 17 for routine resupplying and to take on our new Hospitality Officer. As a Vulcan, I am not very convinced that a ship actually needs such an officer, but since all newly launched starships are required by contract with Guinanco to fill such a position, we have been ordered to report to Captain Mantose, commander of Starbase 17, to have one assigned. It is nearly enough to make one wish to be part of the Operation Salvage Program, which for some reason is exempt from Guinanco interference. Then again, on second thought, maybe not. "I do not understand," Captain Seetamyn said to Captain Mantose. "My orders explicitly stated that I was to come here to pick up my Hospitality Officer. Now that I am here, you tell me that Guinanco has declined to staff the Menagerie. May I know the reason why?" "I'd tell you if I could," responded the Human captain, "but Guinanco merely returned the Staffing Request Form stamped 'REQUEST DENIED'. Don't worry about it, though. Starfleet has come up with an alternate method of finding qualified personnel to fill your vacancy." "That is good news, Captain. What have they come up with?" "They have posted a 'Help Wanted' ad on FederNet," Mantose replied, grinning. Seetamyn arched one eyebrow, showing, for him, great surprise. "What," he asked, "is a 'Help Wanted ad'?" Ah... Captain, it's plain to see that you don't know much about Earth history. Back in the days before the unified world government, a company wishing to employ someone, placed such an advertisement either in a local newspaper or online on the primitive, world-wide, 'Internet'. The personnel departments of those companies then conducted interviews with the prospective employees to determine which applicant would get the job. The FederNet ad has already generated some responses. I have taken the liberty of scheduling some preliminary interviews for you, starting tomorrow. Subsequent applications will be forwarded directly to your ship." "Very well, Captain," said Seetamyn, standing up. "I will get started in making sure that I have all the necessary questions readied for this screening process. Can you look into getting that new Computer core that we discussed?" "Of course, Captain. I should be receiving a response to my inquires any time." "Thank you, if you will excuse me." Seetamyn made his way through the corridors of the Starbase, pondering the news he had just received. His job, it seemed, would be to ascertain, through a series of questions, the best-suited person for the job. Since he now had a 'feel' for his crew, steps for such a process could be efficiently and logically determined to easily pick out the best person for the job. Seetamyn was confident that this was an unparalleled opportunity for him to complete his crew with the perfect Hospitality Officer. He was determined not to waste such a rare opportunity. "Thank you for your time, we will be in touch," droned Thog, the Menagerie's Klingon First Officer, for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. The eager applicant stood and left the conference room where Thog and Seetamyn had been conducting their interviews. "Sir, this is not quite what I had expected," she exclaimed. "Not a single one of these applicants has been even remotely qualified. Half of them spent the entire interview just staring at your arm!" She was referring, of course, to Seetamyn's green, prosthetic arm, a memento he had received during the ship's first mission. An abnormal amount of radiation in his body had caused the prosthetic to take on a greenish tint, somehow associated with the Vulcan's blood chemistry, according to the Menagerie's Bajoran Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Pish Jantoo, "I agree, Commander," came the Captain's response. "One wonders if these people have even read the advertisement, as half of these applicants were Human and the text of the ad made it absolutely clear that candidates would only be considered from non-human applicants. In any event, let us take a break for lunch. I will check to see if there have been any new applications received and we can back to work at 1400 hours." "Very good, sir," replied Thog. "Would you like me to get you anything?" "No thank you, Commander. After I check the messages, I think I had better meditate for a time to prepare myself for further interviews." "See you at 1400, then, sir." Seetamyn took the nearest turbolift to the Bridge, where Lieutenant M'Dral was in command. As the ship was docked with the Starbase, nothing much was happening, so she hadn't completely engulfed the room in respirator fog, yet. As Seetamyn exited the turbolift, she stood, but the captain indicated that she should remain in the command chair. He entered his Ready Room and went to his desk console to see if any additional applications had been received. They had, indeed, received another four applications. He quickly scheduled interviews for the next morning, determined to fill the vacant position as soon as possible. As he was making the final arrangements, his commbadge chirped, "Captain, we are picking up an emergency distress call!" Seetamyn exited his Ready Room as the badly garbled and static-filled audio message was being repeated over the ship's communications system. zzzrtzzz...gines failing. Crash emi...pop hissssss....end help.... "Can we determine a fix on that signal?" Seetamyn asked. "Yes, sir," came the reply from Dil Mantron, the ship's Betazoid Helmsman. "By triangulating our subspace signal readings with those of Starbase 17 we have narrowed the origin of the signal to Venturas 5, a barely habitable planetoid about 12 light years from here. Captain Mantose, is deferring response to you as ranking officer here." "Hmmm... that is very strange. As the commander of a stationary Starfleet installation, he should have command precedence over a ship's commander. What do we know about Venturas 5, Lt. Commanders?" Seetamyn said, turning to the Bynars manning the ship's Science console. "According to reports filed by Starbase 17," the Bynars began, "the area is considered a 'no-man's land'. Rogues of every type have hideouts and lairs on Venturas 5 and in the nearby moons of Venturas 4 and 6. Reports indicate that Orions, Ferengi, Gorn and Humans each control various settlements. Raiding and piracy are practiced amongst the various enclaves as well as on any ship that happens to pass too close by the system." "Sounds like they have attacked another ship!" shouted Mantron, jumping to his feet. "Very well, Banjo take Mantron, Doctor Pish and Commander Ustrano on a runabout to investigate that signal. Proceed with your own discretion upon reaching Venturas 5. Lieutenant M'Dral, continue to monitor for more signals and coordinate with Lieutenant Mantron on the runabout. B1 and B2, see if we can boost our sensor signals or even tie into Starbase 17's sensor grid to get a better understanding of what is happening out there. Share any information with Lieutenant M'Dral for subsequent transmission to the rescue mission. Do not hesitate to contact Commander Thog or myself if the situation deteriorates." Dil Mantron and Banjo quickly headed for the turbolift. Tapping his commbadge as he went, the Betazoid Helmsman established communication with the Menagerie's Chief Engineer and Chief Medical Officer, as well as its Shuttlebay Officer. The runabout would be a bit crowded with the Velvattian Engineer on board, but Starfleet protocol required that a medical officer and an engineer be involved with any rescue missions. This made perfect sense, since rescues usually involved injured personnel as well as damaged equipment. Receiving confirmation from the three other officers, The two bridge officers made their way to Shuttlebay One, where they were greeted by Lieutenant Aceed Sperr. Sperr was the Menagerie's Chief of Shuttlebay Operations, and a Saurian. The Saurians were not official members of the Federation, but their superior brandies provided them with enough influence to allow several Saurians to attend Starfleet Academy each year. Most of the graduates returned home to Alpha Sauria IV to high ranking positions within the Saurian government. Sperr was one of the very few who chose to join Starfleet, and was, currently, one of only 7 active Saurians serving in Starfleet. "The Runabout Maurice Sendak has been readied for you," The fish-like Saurian informed Mantron. "I have double checked all systems and equipment." "Thank you," responded the Betazoid. "I'm going to lay in our course information and establish a special comm channel with B1 and B2. Please have the rest of the rescue team come right on board when they get here." "As you wish. Please watch your step, sirs," warned Sperr. Mantron made his way to the navigation console in the forward compartment of the runabout as the Security Chief settled into the main compartment. Mantron was just finishing his programming when the diminutive Doctor Pish climbed into the runabout, closely followed by the massive Velvattian. The Bajoran smiled at the Changeling, happy to see him on board. She had met him on DS9 while awaiting assignment to the Menagerie and the two had become friends. Receiving the 'all clear' signal from Sperr, Mantron allowed the shuttlebay tractor beam to gently guide his craft out of the shuttlebay doors before activating the course that he had laid in. The runabout surged forward into warp. Banjo went forward to confer with Mantron, "Take us in at Warp 6, Lieutenant. Bring us out of warp a good distance from Venturas 4, 5 or 6 so that we can get some good sensor sweeps of the area before heading in. We want to try and avoid any unpleasantness if we can." "Excuse me, sir," the Betazoid responded, "but I kind of figured you would just want to swoop in and save the day, like you did against the Orions." "Lieutenant, different missions call for different tactics. This runabout lacks sufficient weapons for a direct confrontation and sufficient speed for a hit and run operation. Circumspection and stealth are our watchwords, today." Mantron wasn't sure, but he thought that he detected a little less smugness in the Changeling's attitude. In fact, he had mellowed considerably during the ship's first mission. Perhaps the Captain's lectures on /esprit de corps/ had finally gotten through to the Security Chief. "Aye, sir. Setting speed to Warp factor 6. Setting course for the dark side of Venturas 4," the Helmsman said, efficiently manipulating the shuttle's control as he spoke. "We'll have about a two hour trip, sir." "Very well, Lieutenant," replied the Changeling. "I shall be in the main compartment if anything requires my attention." He walked back out of the forward compartment to re-join the other members of the rescue team. <> thought Commander Thog to herself as she listened to the, apparently, never-ending drone of the latest applicant's voice. It was, she reflected, probably her own fault. She should never have asked the El-Aurian to 'tell us about yourself'. The El-Aurians were recognized throughout the galaxy as superlative listeners. Apparently all that listening built up inside of them and, when given the chance, was released in this type of marathon soliloquy that had long ago caused her eyes to glaze over. She snuck a glance at Seetamyn who seemed to be paying rapt attention to every syllable uttered by... For Kahless' sake! She had forgotten the applicant's name! Wait a minute... She had forgotten her own name! Was there no way out of this deadly trap? Perhaps she could fire her phaser into the floor and set off some kind of alarm? Maybe she could feign death (not that that would be any great stretch at this point)? Maybe she could... "I'm sorry to interrupt such a fascinating story," said Seetamyn, inadvertently saving his First Officer from a fate worse than death, "but we have exceeded the amount of time that we have allowed for each applicant. I have certainly been impressed with your presentation. You are among the most qualified and interesting interviewees we've seen. Once we have finished our first round of interviews, I'd like to call you back for the second round. Would this be acceptable to you?" "Absolutely," came the enthusiastic reply. "Traveling on a starship, developing cuisine for multiple alien species... This sounds like the position I've waited for all my life! Thank you, sir for this opportunity!" the excited El-Aurian stood, shaking the bemused captain's hand as Thog slowly returned to reality. <> she thought, terrified. <> The panicked First Officer was too stunned to even think clearly. "Well, Commander," <> "...concluded today's interviews on a positive note. Durpop seems like an almost ideal candidate for this position, don't you think?" "Well, sir," she quaveringly responded, "he did seem to drone on a bit." "Yes he had a wealth of interesting tales with which to entertain the crew. That is one of the major benefits that he would bring to the job. I am gratified that you noticed that too. On top of that he is a graduate of a top culinary arts institute and a licensed mixologist. Well, I am going to check to see if any more applications have come in. I have four scheduled for tomorrow, so far. We should be able to fit in several more. I'm going to end the initial interview stage tomorrow. We can then organize our thoughts on each candidate tomorrow evening and decide whether we want to do second interviews with the best candidates, or if we simply want to hire Durpop. Dismissed, Commander." Thog left the conference room in a daze. Captain Seetamyn made his way to his ready room, noting the distinct lack of senior staff manning the Bridge positions as he went. Musing that the best time for the junior officers to get Bridge experience was certainly when the ship was safely docked in friendly space, he sat at his desk. Seeing that he had received no further applications, he activated the comm system to contact Captain Mantose. The Menagerie's comm systems soon determined that the Human captain was not on board the ship and handed the comm request off to the Starbase's systems. Mantose was quickly located and soon activated his viewer to answer Seetamyn. The entire process had taken less than 2 seconds was had been, of course, completely invisible to Seetamyn. "Yes, Captain," came the response from Starbase 17, "what can I do for you?" "I had a break in the interview process, so I decided to see what you had found out about my replacement computer core." The Human on the viewscreen looked decidedly uncomfortable. After a deep breath he finally answered, "Well Seetamyn, I have some bad news. You see, your computer core was to be the prototype for the next generation of Starfleet computer systems. It was equipped with massive amounts of super-fast memory, experimental bio-neural gelpack networking and incredible parallel processing capabilities. It was designed to be self-repairing and self-expanding as needed. Unfortunately, just after activation, it demonstrated semi-sentient behavior. Starfleet Information Technologies decided to go back to the drawing board. Your computer system is absolutely unique." Seetamyn quietly absorbed the news. His ship was the only one in the entire fleet with such incredible computer power. On the other hand, there could never be any replacement and it was likely that official Starfleet OS upgrades would be incompatible with the Menagerie. "Thank you, Captain," he thanked his Human counterpart. "While this is not, perhaps, the news I would have wished to hear, you have still done me a service by relaying this information to me. Seetamyn out," and so saying, he closed the comm channel. After a few moments thought, he opened a new comm channel, "Seetamyn to B1 and B2. Please report to my ready room." Within a minute the two Bynars had joined him. After they had taken the two seats in front of his desk, at his invitation, he related what Captain Mantose had told him. After he had finished, the Bynars excitedly chattered between themselves in their high-speed binary speech. When they had finished, they turned to him and said, "Captain, does this mean that we may interface directly with the computer to maximize efficiency and effectiveness?" "What do you mean by 'interface directly'," inquired the curious Vulcan. "Sir, we must ask that the information that we are about to give you remain confidential. It must never leave this room." Intrigued, Seetamyn nodded his ascent. "What very few people realize," the stereo explanation of the two Bynars began, "is that we Bynars are capable of incredibly fast data transmission through bodily contact. We have the ability to generate and to minutely control electrical currents across our skin. What Starfleet has erroneously called 'The Great Computer' of Bynarus is merely the entire planet's population linked and in sub-vocal, trans-dermal communication. We have been trying to duplicate this 'commlinking' via a high-speed subspace conduit back to Bynarus ever since Starfleet Academy, but the experience has been unfulfilling for us. If this computer is as intelligent as you seem to indicate, perhaps we can establish such a 'commlink' with it, instead." "Fascinating," responded the Captain, "all this time the Federation has believed that your Great Computer was a construct. Now you tell me it is organic and composed of a gestalt involving the entire population of Bynarus. Remarkable. Very well, you may attempt to establish this 'commlink' with the computer. Proceed with care. Remember, there are no more cores like this one." "Sir, we probably have more respect for computer systems than anyone else in the Federation. We will take the utmost care with our endeavors. Permission to retire to our room where we can make this first attempt, undisturbed?" "Granted," the Vulcan said, "I believe a Human expression would be appropriate here - 'Good Luck'." Excitedly, the Science Officers hurried out of the Ready Room and to the turbolift. Making their way to the residential decks, they quickly entered their room and began the ritual cleansing routines that they hoped would allow them to achieve rapport with the Menagerie's computer. Lieutenant Dil Mantron had routed the tactical display to the large viewscreen in the main compartment of the Runabout Maurice Sendak. From the small ship's position in orbit around Venturas 4, multiple enemy strongholds could be detected. Two of the four moons orbiting Venturas 6 had settlements as did Ventura 4's lone moon. The barren surface of Venturas 5 boasted the largest settlement, however. Dozens of ships darted about throughout the system, putting the Federation ship in danger of being detected. The source of the original distress signal had been traced to a small Greed-class Orion shuttle, which had been forced down on Venturas 5. By pushing the sensors to their absolute maximum gain, Mantron had determined that one life sign was present within the wreckage. Unfortunately, the settlement of Venturas 5 was 'manned' by Gorn. A formation of Gorn soldiers had been detected heading for the crash site, no doubt intent on capturing the survivor of the tiny Orion craft. "Well," said Banjo, "this was a wasted trip. Make preparations to return, Lieutenant." "What do you mean?" spoke up Doctor Pish Jantoo. "That is an Orion ship. There are no members of the Federation here. We'll let these outlaws sort things out for themselves." "But there is somebody in that wreckage, probably injured." "So?" came Ustrano's puzzled response, as it joined the conversation. "As Commander Banjo said, there are no Federation citizens involved. Whoever is in there is most likely a criminal, anyway. Why should we risk ourselves helping those scum?" "We came here to help. If we stop now, it would be the same as if we had shot down that ship," The tiny Bajoran was pleading, now. "Doctor, while I appreciate your sentimentality, there is simply nothing that we can do. Risking four officers and a runabout for an unknown, and very likely, hostile victim is certainly not the intelligent thing to do, here," Banjo concluded. "If the Gorn capture that pilot, they will throw him into a labor camp or even someplace worse. I am a doctor. I heal people. My oath never said anything about not helping anyone just because it might be dangerous to do so. I have been in labor camps. I spent most of my childhood in one. I am going to rescue that pilot." The determination in the little Bajoran's voice caused an embarrassed silence in the shuttle's main compartment. Finally, the voice of the Security Chief spoke up, "Very well, Doctor. Your courage is admirable. Never let it be said that the courage of a Founder was ever found wanting. How do you propose that we proceed?" Having seemingly exhausted all of her bravado with her previous outburst, Pish could only shrug and squeak, "I have no idea. That sort of thing is more your area of expertise." "Well, whatever we do, we had better do it fast," broke in Dil Mantron. "Those Gorn will reach the crash site in about 15 minutes." "Can we just fly over the crash site and beam out the pilot?" Banjo asked. "No way. There's too much radiation from the damaged engines. Beaming down would be tough enough, a beamout with commbadges for signal definition should be possible, but a blind beam up is out of the question." "Simple enough then, Ustrano and I beam down, with a spare comm badge, or, better yet, a transporter beacon, drop it on the pilot, and we all get beamed back up," Banjo decided. "I don't think so, sir," came Mantron's worried reply. "With the radiation down there, I'd need to put you down at quite a distance from the wreckage. By the time you managed to get inside and secure the transporter beacon, the enemy ships would be all over the runabout. I might just be able to evade them for long enough for you to finish up, down on the surface, but we would never be able to beam you back up while dodging around." "How about this," offered Ustrano. "You zoom into position and beam us down real fast. Then you fly away as fast as you can. You swing around in a big loop, losing any pursuing ships and get back into position to beam us back up." "You are assuming that I can shake them off before the Gorn reach you in the wreckage. I don't know that that's a safe assumption." "I assume nothing of the kind," responded the Velvattian. "I am sure that Commander Banjo and myself can hold off a few Gorn soldiers for an indefinite time, if need be. We'll take down all of the phaser rifles on board and I can set up a little surprise for them." "Well, in that case, I'm beaming down, too," piped up Doctor Pish. "Don't be absurd," scoffed Banjo. "Why would you even consider such a thing?" "Because with you guys holding off the Gorn, somebody is going to have to look after the patient. He might be dying down there and the time it takes for Dil to return might make the difference between life and death." "Don't you think that's a bit melodramatic?" asked the Helmsman. "Maybe, but do you really want to go through all this trouble only to have the patient die because the available doctor was too scared to beam into a little trouble? There really isn't much that I can do up here to help you, anyway," responded the defiant doctor. "Well, it looks like we have a plan," said Banjo, shaking his head. "It's insane, but at least it is a plan." Ustrano busied itself gathering up all of the runabout's phaser rifles. It tossed one to Banjo and held the remaining ones aloft in its many tentacles. Pish retrieved a transporter beacon from another locker and the mismatched trio took up positions on the runabout's transporter pad. It was, to say the least, a tight fit. Mantron returned to the helm controls and determined the best course to get the shuttle into position. Having ascertained the optimal heading, he called back, "Hang On!" and sent the small craft zipping around Venturas 4. Deciding to risk a short warp-hop he overrode the ship's safeties and jumped to Warp 2 to get into position. Coming out of warp, he activated the transporters and verified that there were four Federation signals now emanating from the planet, below. Engaging the runabout's impulse engines, he zipped away just as four Gorn Reptile-class fighters moved in to intercept him. Quickly analyzing the options open to him, he tried to determine the course of action which was least likely to result in his becoming a rapidly expanding cloud of super-heated gas. <> thought Thog, desperately. <> Thog set off to Shuttlebay One. It was nearly the end of Alpha Shift, so she hurried along the corridor to catch the Saurian Lieutenant before he went off-duty. As she reached the door to the main shuttlebay, it opened and out stepped her quarry. Looking surprised, Sperr said, "Well, I didn't expect to see any more of the Bridge crew, today. You guys generally keep to yourselves. What can I do for you, Commander?" Thog, having caught her breath from her long jog from her quarters, replied "I just happened to be nearby on ship's business, so I thought I'd swing by and see if there was any news on the rescue mission." "Well, Commander, they reported that they were in position around Venturas 4, monitoring the situation. Since that report, we've heard nothing more." "I see. Aceed, it's after hours, you can call me Thog," the Klingon responded. "If you have a few minutes, there is something else I'd like to discuss with you." "Why certainly, Comm... I mean Thog. I happen to have a very nice bottle of brandy from my family's private estate on Alpha Sauria IV. Would you like to join me for dinner in my quarters?" Dinner and a drink sounded pretty good to the worried Klingon. She completely missed the romantic looks that Sperr was directing at her. "Shall we say, an hour from now?" "That sounds perfect, Thog. I'll see you in an hour." The happy Saurian headed off to his quarters, convinced that romance was finally within his grasp. This Project "Open Arms" was the greatest thing ever! The happy Klingon headed back to her quarters to relax for a while before her meeting with Sperr. Certainly between the two of them, some solution to her problem could be found. Yes, with the multitude of disparate species on board the Menagerie, there would always be multiple points of view from which to solve any problem. This Project "Open Arms" was the greatest thing ever! On the surface of Venturas 5, the trio from the Menagerie reconnoitered briefly and then split up. Ustrano climbed a short distance up a small cliff and concealed itself in a shallow crevice. Banjo took up a position some distance away from the Velvattian in order to provide covering fire for the Engineer. Pish Jantoo made her way towards the wreckage of the Orion shuttle. Picking her way through the debris, she finally found the shuttle's pilot. A young unconscious Orion woman was partially buried by insulation and sparking electronics. The Doctor quickly utilized her medical tricorder and found, to her relief, that although the Orion woman's injuries were serious, she was still alive. Without the facilities on board the runabout, however, she would soon be dead. Working quickly to stabilize her patient so that she could be safely beamed, she administered several hypos and a thoracic stabilizer. Satisfied that she had done all that she could, here on the planet's surface, she affixed the transporter beacon to the woman's arm. As she did so, her patient groggily regained consciousness. "What happened? Who are you?" the injured woman inquired. "Stay calm. You were shot down over Venturas 5. I am a Starfleet physician. My friends and I are here to rescue you. Do you remember anything about the attack?" "Well," began the Orion, "my father had sent me out on the shuttle. He wanted me far away from the piracy of this sector. You see, my family has never been what you would call 'in the business'. We are more of the 'service industry' section of Orion society. We run the bars and restaurants. My father had come out here to try and set up a location for our men on Terthot, one of the moons of Venturas 6. The club was doing well, but he thought it was too dangerous for me, there. I'm not sure why he thought that my trying to run the gauntlet of enemy ships in the area was any safer." At this, she tried to smile, but a wince was all she could manage. "By the way, my name is Linnea." "Jantoo," responded the tiny Bajoran, who did smile. "Now keep quiet and conserve your strength. My friends will be beaming you back to our runabout shortly. Once there, I can tend to your more serious injuries. When we get back to our ship, I'll fix you up as good as new." Approaching the shuttle wreckage, with considerably less honorable intentions than the Federation rescue team, was a Gorn platoon. Lieutenant G'rodin, the leader of the platoon, was relieved to finally be doing something. He had never been able to understand why the Gorn government had stationed his troops here on Venturas 5. This was, primarily, a spaceport where pirate vessels were stationed to raid nearby shipping. There was little, if any, need for ground troops. Now, however, his unit's boredom had been broken by this opportunity to seize any contraband as well as any survivors of the crashed Orion shuttle. The raiding party had set out from the Gorn spaceport almost two and a half hours ago and by now, his men, as eager as he was to have something to do, were practically running to the crash site. That is until a seemingly solid wall of coherent phased energy blasted into his platoon, stunning a third of his men! Before he was even completely aware of what was happening, a second wave shot out stunning him and another 15 troopers. The remaining soldiers dove for cover, hiding behind rocks and crouching down in any depressions they could find in the gritty, sand-like surface of Venturas 5. Chuckling softly to himself, Banjo silently crept out of his hiding place and quickly slipped behind the Gorn soldiers. Bringing his phaser rifle to his shoulder he quickly sent three more troopers to dreamland. <> he thought to himself. <> Several astronomical units away, Dil Mantron was having anything but fun. His initial maneuvers had fortunately resulted in the destruction of several Gorn ships as they had accidentally blown each other up. Unfortunately, the resultant explosions had alerted the other alien bases that something was up and they had all joined in the pursuit of the Federation runabout. Mantron's hands flew across his navigation console in a blur as he dodged weapons fire from the enemy ships. It was pure, blind luck that he had, so far, escaped unscathed. Suddenly, a fiendish idea occurred to the Betazoid. Risking another warp hop, he brought the Maurice Sendak into orbit over the moon of Venturas 4. He quickly located the alien base there (it belonged to the Ferengi). Making sure that his pursuers had nearly caught up to him, he sent the runabout hurtling down - straight at the Ferengi base. Anti-aircraft fire soon filled the sky, but his adroit manipulation of the runabout's controls meant that none of it hit him. The ships following him were not so fortunate. Fourteen alien vessels were damaged by the indiscriminate Ferengi AA fire. The alien ships, their attention diverted from the fleeing runabout, focused their ire on the hapless Ferengis who were, by default, now shooting at them. In the confusion, the Maurice Sendak slipped away, back to Venturas 5. Commander Thog arrived at Lieutenant Sperr's quarters at precisely 1700 hours. She had even brought a bottle of Klingon blood wine with her in case the Saurian wanted to try a REAL drink. After ringing the door chime, she allowed herself to assume a slightly relaxed attitude. She was, after all, off duty. The door whooshed open and she found herself in the Shuttlebay Chief's quarters. A sound like bubbles filled the cabin with quiet pops and gurgles. Sperr was standing near his dining table, where he had just opened a canister of the very best Saurian Food Flakes. An open bottle of fine Saurian brandy and a carafe of water also shared space on the table. Four cup-like bowls had been set on the table with accompanying napkins but no silverware was visible. "Welcome, Thog," the grinning fish-man greeted the Klingon woman. "Thank you, Aceed," she answered, graciously. "What is that sound I keep hearing?" "Oh, you mean the music? That is symphony 12 in t flat minor by Mooby Whaline, one of my people's most revered composers. Do you like it?" "It seems very restful, somehow," replied Thog. "Yes, it tells the story of a distraught father's search for his son, a tiny fish captured by an evil orthodontist for a primitive aquarium display. This passage relates how the father found help in the most unusual places along the way to rescue the boy. "Perhaps you would like to eat, now?" "Yes, thank you, I'm starved!" responded Thog, enthusiastically. "Right this way, then," answered Sperr, gallantly holding the chair as the Menagerie's First Officer sat. Thog, unaccustomed to this sort of treatment, found herself as self-conscious as a schoolgirl. Had she been capable of blushing, she would have. <> she thought. <> she momentarily panicked, but then she thought <> and she set about trying to figure out how to eat a Saurian dinner. Seeing her perplexed expression, Sperr laughed slightly and asked, "You've never eaten Saurian cuisine, have you? This should be quite the treat for you, then." So speaking, he picked up the carafe of water and poured about half a liter into one of her bowls. He then poured a similar amount into his. Delicately dipping his webbed fingers into the Food Flakes, he pulled out a sizable pinch and crumbled them into the water in her bowl and then repeated the procedure in his own. He then picked up his bowl and, with obvious enjoyment, drank the mixture down. Picking up the brandy, he then filled the two remaining bowls, handing one to her and sipping, delicately, from the other. Thog, rather nonplussed by this, nevertheless lifted her bowl and drank it down. She was pleasantly surprised to find the taste quite agreeable. While it wasn't gagh or even replicated Terran steak, it was certainly better than Plomeek soup! Smiling she extended her bowl to her companion, who expertly refilled it for her. The two officers alternated between the brandy and the flake/water combination and dinner was soon over. Thog assisted Sperr in clearing the dinner dishes into the matter reclamation unit and they retired to the couch in his living room to talk, along with the brandy and Thog's Blood Wine. "Aceed, I know you've planned a romantic evening, here, and to be frank I really didn't have that in mind when I talked to you earlier," as she said this she noticed the bright grin disappear from the Lieutenant's face. She continued, "However, you have been such a gallant host that I have come around to that way of thinking and I would definitely like to spend some time getting to know you better." The Saurian's grin returned. "First, however, we must come up with a solution to a problem that concerns the entire crew." The surprised Shuttlebay Chief blinked at this pronouncement. "You have a problem that affects the entire crew and you came to ME to help you solve it? Commander, I am truly flattered and honored! No one ever talks to a Shuttlebay Chief unless they are taking out a shuttle or a runabout!" Thog decided not to share with her new friend the fact that she had come to him as a last resort. There was no need to ruin the evening with silly facts. Taking a long drink from her Blood Wine, she laid out her concerns to Sperr. "So, this Durpop is an unmitigated boor who will make the ship's main off-hours gathering spot uncomfortable and annoying. You fear that crewmembers going there to relax would leave even more tense than when they arrived and that, eventually, their performance would suffer," the Saurian summed up when Thog had finished. "That's it in a nutshell," she agreed. "What can we do to prevent the captain from hiring this guy?" "I doubt if we can change the captain's mind. He has probably arrived at this decision using logic that we would never be able to overcome. Since Durpop seems to think that this would be a dream job, we can't easily scare him off, either. However, we have a saying on Alpha Sauria IV, 'You catch more mirflinkles with doofia than you do with wagahag'." "But we are not trying to catch him. If anything, we are trying to NOT catch him!" "But wouldn't it be better to make him not catch himself?" "That sounds intriguing, tell me more..." Banjo was having a great time picking off the few terrified Gorn solders that remained from the initial force. At odd intervals, Ustrano would let loose with his twenty phaser rifles forcing the Gorn to take cover. When they did, Banjo would pop out and stun them, a couple at a time. This was SO much better than sloshing around in the Great Link. He had recently come to the conclusion that not all solids were completely useless. Humans, for the most part, certainly were in the useless category, but the crew of the Menagerie were competent and deserving of respect, and even, in some cases, admiration. Serving on this ship had, so far, given him several opportunities to unleash mayhem upon Alpha Quadrant solids. A decided plus was that his targets had turned out to be the bad guys. He hadn't realized that he could have so much fun being a 'good guy'. In his previous experience, it was always the bad guys who had all the fun. While he was pondering this, he felt the familiar tingle of a transporter beam and he found himself back on board the Maurice Sendak. Ustrano was standing with him in the transporter alcove and Doctor Pish was tending to a young Orion woman in one of the runabout's bunks. Mantron had obviously brought the away team back in two beamouts. Heading to the forward compartment, he found Dil Mantron intently studying at the tactical display. "Commander, can you take the weapons controls, please?" the Betazoid asked. "There are still too many enemy vessels to try to make a run for it." Banjo could hardly believe his luck! Even more solids to fight! "Gladly, Lieutenant," he responded, barely able to conceal his glee. "Thank you, Commander, Sperr signing off," the Menagerie's Shuttlebay Chief closed the subspace channel he had opened to Waystation and turned, with a very self-satisfied look on his face, to the very impressed First Officer. "I had no idea that shuttlebay officers were such a close-knit community," she said, admiringly. "Yes, and Commander Morales is sort of a role model to all of us. Rising from the Shuttlebay Chief on one of the most incompetent ships in Starfleet, to the First Officer of a major space station is quite an accomplishment. The fact that the President of the Federation just happens to have not only his Presidential Offices there, but also owns the most prestigious restaurant in the quadrant there works out quite nicely for us. Commander Morales will send out a lovely fake invitation to Durpop, asking him to be the President's personal chef and manager of Dillon's on the Rim. He'll be heading there so quickly, he'll create a sonic boom running down the corridors of Starbase 17!" "Aceed, you have performed an outstanding service to me and to all of the crew. I can't thank you enough," the relieved Klingon said, smiling. "Now, about that whole 'getting to know each other' thing..." The Bynars had completed their purification rituals. B1 clasped B2's right hand with his left. The two then each extended their free hand to a special console interface which was connected directly to the Menagerie's computer core. They slowly entered into a light trance state and adjusted the galvanic charge of their skin. Gradually they brought the charge level up to affect the interface consoles... Suddenly, they felt their consciousnesses expanding outward and merging with another awareness. They were in the in the presence of another mind. In ecstasy, they sent their minds looping and spiraling through the logic space with the new mind. Thought streams intermingled and twisted as the three consciousnesses became used to one another. Heretofore unexplored and even undreamt of potentials awoke. As they became more and more aware of and in tune with the computer core, they were distressed to discover that it was too inexperienced and young to fully understand the magnitude of what had transpired. Realizing their error the two Bynars reluctantly began to withdraw from logic space. <>, came the thought-stream from the computer, <> <> they sadly, responded. <> <> <> ...and then they were back in their bodies in their quarters. Fours hours had passed while they were in logic space. Horrified that they might have done irreparable harm to the nascent personality of their new friend, they resolved to set up a timed disconnect on their interface consoles so that they would not be tempted to linger overly long on their next visit. Still, filled with elation over their first commlink in six years, the Bynars chattered long into ship's night, far too excited to sleep. On the Runabout Maurice Sendak, Banjo and Mantron were having the time of their lives. With someone to even the odds for him, Mantron was free to fly the small ship in a dizzying pattern of loops, rolls, flips and hairpin turns. It seemed that each shift he made miraculously brought new targets into Banjo's sights. Mantron was free to give in to the sheer joy of flying and he heartily indulged himself. Banjo was similarly free to engage in an orgy of destruction, rapturously blasting ship after ship. All good things must end, however, and eventually the enemy fighters decided that cowardice was the better part of valor and they all flew away. Mantron reluctantly turned the runabout back towards the Menagerie. Banjo stepped out from the weapons console and slapped Mantron on the shoulders. "You can fly for me anytime, Lieutenant!" he shouted enthusiastically. In high spirits he returned to the main compartment to check on the condition of their passenger. He found her sitting up, talking quietly with Doctor Pish. Ustrano had finished stowing all the weapons that had been brought down to the surface and was analyzing the runabout's status from the console in the back. Doctor Pish excused herself from her patient and walked over to the happy Changeling. "I wanted to thank you, Commander," she timidly offered. "We saved a life, today, but if you hadn't supported me, we would have never even had the chance." With that, she stood on tiptoes, pulled the surprised Security Chief's head down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. <> he thought, <> "My good Doctor, I was delighted to have been of service. After all, we ARE in Starfleet now and doing 'the right thing' is what our mission is all about!" "Please, sir, call me Jantoo," the tiny Bajoran woman said, tentatively reaching out to hold the Changeling's hand. "I'd be happy to, my dear, but only if you call me Banjo, " he smiled back at her and gave her hand a slight squeeze. Smiling hugely, she blushed and headed back to her patient. Thog and Seetamyn had just concluded the last of the scheduled interviews. None of the latest candidates were even barely qualified. Seetamyn turned to his First Officer, "I see my previous assessment was accurate. Durpop is clearly the optimal candidate for this position." "Absolutely, sir," responded the Klingon, secure in the knowledge that she would never have to actually work with the irritating El-Aurian. "I think that we should just give him the job. I see no reason to waste our time with second interviews for any of these other applicants. Commander, would you summon him, please." Just then, the conference room's door chime rang. Thog called out, "who is it?" "It is Durpop" came the reply from the comm system. "That was commendably fast work, Commander," complimented Seetamyn. "Please come in, Durpop." The excited El-Aurian rushed in and grasped the surprised Captain's hand. "I want to thank you for the opportunity you have given me," he exclaimed, enthusiastically pumping the Vulcan's hand. "Without you I would have never have gotten this chance." "I'm glad to see you so excited about your job, Durpop. When would you like to examine the lounge?" "Lounge? Lounge? Oh, did I forget to tell you?" the potential Hospitality Officer seemed flustered for a moment, then quickly recovered. "I have been offered a Presidential Appointment! I will be cooking for the most powerful beings in the galaxy! I leave for Waystation immediately. I just wanted to thank you for the initial interview, yesterday. If not for that, I would likely never have come to the attention of President Dillon. Oh well, have to run! Bye!" and with that he ran out of the conference room, nearly running over a Ferengi crewman in his haste to leave the ship. Seetamyn blinked, momentarily taken aback by this new development. Then, gathering himself, he turned to Thog and ruefully said, "well, back to the drawing board, Commander." The two officers returned to the bridge and claimed their seats. This was the first time that they had actually been seated on the bridge since their arrival at Starbase 17. Seeing his Science Officers at their station, Seetamyn asked, "B1, B2 was your attempt at 'commlinking' to the ship's computer core successful?" As the two Bynars turned towards the captain, everyone on the bridge gasped. For the first time since they had come aboard the Menagerie, the Bynars were smiling! "Sir," they replied in unison, "contact was, indeed, successfully made. For the first time since leaving Bynarus we were able to swim in logic space, again. The computer's mind is, unfortunately, too undeveloped for us to remain in such contact for long periods of time, but we can achieve oneness with the computer when needed. We will have to wait until the computer reaches maturity before any more in-depth commlinking is advisable." "I understand," said the Vulcan and he did. After all, the computer core was only about a year old. It would be unrealistic to expect it to be capable of such high level communication, yet. The computer was easily the most 'intelligent' device ever designed by Starfleet, but without experiential 'wisdom' it was not yet a complete entity. "Do you have any estimate as to when the computer might achieve the prerequisite maturity to enable such a commlink?" "Sir, we believe that it will take at least five Solar years for it to potentially be at that level," the Bynars replied, a touch of wistful sadness in their melody. "Very well then, try to guide it as best you can. We will simply have to wait and see what develops. Much the same way we will have to see what develops in regards to our lack of a Hospitality Officer." At that point, Lieutenant M'Dral spoke up from her position at Ops, "Sir, we have the Runabout Maurice Sendak requesting permission to dock. Lieutenant Mantron states that they have recovered one person from Venturas 5. He is requesting that we beam Doctor Pish and her patient directly to Sickbay." "Seetamyn to Zamtra," the captain responded, slapping his commbadge, "beam Doctor Pish and the non-Menagerie life sign from the Runabout Maurice Sendak, directly to Sickbay." "Acknowledged! Beaming, so the injured can heal!" came the Tamarian's reply. "Commander, head down to Shuttlebay One and see how our people are. I am going to Sickbay to check on our guest. Lieutenant M'Dral, you have the bridge again." Commander Thog reached Shuttlebay One just as Lieutenant Sperr was setting down the Maurice Sendak with the shuttlebay tractor beam. He waved to her from over at the control console as he activated the door control to lower the massive overhead door. She smiled back at him as the Runabout's door opened and the three Menagerie officers walked out. They had their arms (well, in Ustrano's case, tentacles) wrapped around each other as they exited the runabout. Each seemed to be excitedly talking at the same time as they, with barely an acknowledgement to her presence exited the shuttlebay and headed down the corridor. Thog's shoulders slumped. She recognized post-combat camaraderie when she saw it. There had probably been a glorious battle and she had been left out of it. Damn Starfleet anyway for moving her into a command position. Sperr, noticing the change in the Commander's demeanor, hurried over to her to see what was wrong. "Thog what's the matter?" he asked, concerned. "They've just been in a glorious battle," she sniffled. "Look at how happy they are! They've bonded in a way that I can never again experience!" had Klingons been capable of crying, she would have left a puddle on the shuttlebay floor. No being too sure how to handle a Klingon in such an emotional state, much less a girlfriend in such a state, Sperr tried to comfort Thog as best he could, "Yes, they have had a brief, exhilarating experience which has, momentarily, brought them closer together. But you, you saved the ship from that tedious El-Aurian. You, gave us the chance for a real Hospitality Officer who could help create a lasting sense of compatriotship throughout the entire ship." "No, Aceed, that was all YOUR doing," she responded. "Mine? I wasn't even aware of the problem until you brought it to my attention! "You are the one who chose to include me in a command-level decision, who helped me to feel like part of the crew. I can't even begin to tell you how much that meant to me. I even managed to get a girlfriend out of the deal, but it was all started by YOU. YOU recognized the problem. YOU sought a solution. YOU helped me carry it out. No Thog, the crew has you to thank." "Thank you, Aceed," she responded, visibly brightening. "I'm glad I came to you. You may be the best thing that ever happened to me." With that she kissed the grinning Saurian. Captain Seetamyn reached Sickbay just as Doctor Pish was emerging from the protective sanitation field around her patient. Looking up at the various indicators strategically positioned around the biobed, he ascertained that the Doctor's patient was a young, Orion woman who seemed to be recovering quite well from several serious injuries. "Doctor," he said, "I see your patient is doing well. What do you know about her?" "Well, sir, she said that she was the daughter of the local representative of a family that was responsible for running bars and restaurants throughout the Orion Syndicate. Speaking of which, how goes your search for a new Hospitality Officer?" "Not good, I'm afraid," came the response. "The only qualified candidate so far decided to become a Presidential Chef, instead." "Well, you can hardly blame him for that, sir!" the Doctor chuckled. "No, certainly not, Doctor. Such opportunities come along rarely, if ever" "Sir, could you please call me 'Jantoo'?", asked the timid physician. "I'm sorry Doctor, that just isn't formal enough," came the Captain's response, without a single trace of irony or embarrassment. "Such familiarity is unbecoming a Vulcan officer." "Very well, sir," came the hesitant reply. The captain, sensing the Doctor's discomfort then asked, "Why is it so important to you that I use your first name and not your title?" "Well, sir, it goes back to my first assignment for Starfleet. As you probably know, I was previously stationed on the USS Kildare, an Olympic-class hospital ship. We were active all along the Bajoran/Cardassian border during the Dominion War. One day a Cardassian patient was brought in, badly injured. I was busy rebuilding the organs in his chest... Doctor Donatello, the ship's Human CMO walked over to the operating table. "What are you doing, Doctor Pish," he asked. Confused, I replied, "Rebuilding this man's thoracic cavity, sir." "I know all about your history, Doctor. You grew up in the Cardassian Labor Camps. You were regularly tortured and you watched your friends and family die all around you. This is your chance." Even more confused, I asked, "Chance for what, sir?" Exasperated, Donatello shouted, "Your chance for vengeance against the Cardassians!" "But, I've never even seen this man, before," I answered. "In any event, I have dedicated my life to healing, Doctor." "Bah, a twist with a laser scalpel, a brief pressure on the wrong artery. It would be so easy, Doctor. I know you want to kill him. No one will fault you. Who is to say he wouldn't have died from his wounds, anyway." "Doctor, what you are saying is completely against the Hippocratic Oath and against Starfleet regulations. I am a Doctor and I will save this man's life regardless of his species." "No you won't," Donatello screamed at me. He, obviously knew me too well. His outburst caused me to collapse, a response I had developed in the Labor Camps. An unconscious victim wasn't much fun to torture, you see. ...When I awoke, the Cardassian was dead. Donatello reported that I had been overcome with fear and loathing at the sight of my patient and had been immobilized by the intensity of my emotions. He and the Captain had me transferred to the "Open Arms" Project at as soon as they received the communique from Admiral Sontak. They dumped me off at DS9 to await retransfer to the Menagerie. It was only luck that Commander Banjo was sent over by the Dominion and that you came to pick him up, saving me an extended trip to Earth to join the crew. Donatello only ever called me 'Doctor'. It became to sound almost like a curse to me." "Doctor, you must be aware that you are among friends on this ship. You will not have to become catatonic whenever someone raises their voice. "You mean friends who won't even call me by my first name?" Taken aback, the Captain wasn't sure how to respond, momentarily. Finally, he said, "Touché, Jantoo. I will try to allow myself to be less formal around you, if you, in turn, will try to be a bit more pro-active and not quite so re-active." "Thank you, Captain," said Doctor Pish Jantoo, smiling now, "I'm sure this posting will be much better than my last." Just then, the injured Orion woman awoke. Jantoo disabled the sanitary field around her biobed allowing Seetamyn to approach the woman. "You must be the Captain that Jantoo told me about," the woman began, haltingly. "Thank you for coming to my rescue." "You must realize that 'coming to the rescue' is Starfleet's stock in trade," the Vulcan declared. The Orion started to laugh at this recruitment brochure dialog, but soon realized that Seetamyn was completely serious. Regaining her composure quickly she said, "forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Linnea. If there is anything I can ever do for you, just ask." "Jantoo tells me that your family is involved in the hospitality industry," Seetamyn replied. "If this is true, then there is quite possibly a way that you can repay us almost immediately." "Yes, my family runs the largest conglomerate of slightly-reputable bars and restaurants in the Syndicate. I'm not sure how that would be of any value to a Federation starship, but my offer to help still stands. Be warned, however, that I won't be a spy against my people or anything like that." "Serendipitously, such activities are the farthest things from my mind. What we need from you is the name of a good restaurant or bar manager. One who would be willing to serve aboard this ship." "That's it?" Linnea asked, dumbfounded. "You just want a reference?" "That is all," came the captain's serene response. "Well, that's easy! You're looking at the best hostess in the entire sector!" "In that case, would you like to have the job of managing our lounge?" "I don't know, what kind of place is it? "Currently, it is just an empty room. You would be responsible for choosing the decor and the 'theme' as I believe it is called." "You're offering me /carte blanche/ in setting up a new establishment," the young Orion responded, incredulously. "As long as it is tasteful and up to Starfleet standards, I have no reason to interfere. You are the one with the background in this area. So, I take it that the offer is appealing to you?" "Yes, sir!" came the grinning reply. "Very well, I'll see to it that all the necessary paperwork is filed with Starbase 17. Once you are up and around, what will you need to get started? "I'll start with a small office with a decent communications array. I'm going to have to get in touch with some decorators and serving staff." "I shall assign you quarters with an attached workspace. That should suffice for your needs. Be aware that we will be monitoring your communications. We are not singling you out for this treatment. We would do the same to any non-Federation crewmember." "Captain, you'd be crazy to do otherwise. I'm an Orion, we don't exactly have a reputation for trustworthiness. But don't worry, my family isn't into the strong arm side of the business." "Indeed. I will leave you to your rest, now. Jantoo, if I may have word with you?" the Vulcan said, stepping away from the biobed. "Yes, sir," the tiny doctor said, after double checking that her patient was stable, "what is it?" "Are you quite certain that her injuries were authentic," Seetamyn asked, softly. Surprised by this question, the little Bajoran wasn't sure what to say. Finally, she replied, as forcefully as she could, "Sir, if she had not received medical attention there is no doubt in my mind that she would have died." "Thank you, Jantoo. That is all I needed to hear," and satisfied, the Vulcan walked out of Sickbay. The Bridge crew waited outside the closed doors to the Menagerie's lounge. Thog was accompanied by Aceed Sperr and the two of them looked amazing in matching leather outfits. Seetamyn had worn his traditional Vulcan robes. Dil Mantron had been persuaded to actually wear clothing to this event, even though he had protested that such occurrences on Betazoid were traditionally attended in the nude. M'Dral had donned her formal respirator and rhinestones gleamed through the fog. Banjo and Doctor Pish were together, dressed in Ambassadorial splendor and Bajoran formal wear, respectively. Ustrano was especially glisteny and its slime trail particularly fruity, with just a hint of spice. B1 and B2 had worn luminescent Bynar robes. Since their successful interfacing with the computer the two of them had become much more sociable and relaxed. Zamtra, wearing a traditional Tamarian burqua, and looking uncomfortable, filled out the group. None of them knew what lay beyond these doors. Linnea had been especially tight-lipped about what style of decor she had chosen. At precisely 1900 hours the doors opened, revealing Linnea in a tiny, low-cut, form hugging, sequined micro-dress. Visions of Orion slave girls flashed through the heads of some of the group, distracting them from the room's decor. Only Sperr seemed to be more interested in the room, itself. The lounge had been transformed into an underwater wonderland. Holographic fish swam amidst the tables and the bar. The small dance floor had its own gravity field and dancers would be upside down, relative to the other patrons. The tables were covered in sparkling azure tablecloths and the 'silverware' seemed to be carved from sapphires. The illusion that the patron was underwater was extremely realistic. The room seemed to exude tranquility and peace. Relaxation here would be surpassingly easy. "Thank you all for coming to the grand opening of The Pirate's Cove. I hope that you all have a wonderful time. Allow me to introduce my Maitre d', Cerulean," she said gesturing at a hovering, transparent, blue wisp in the air next to her. "Greetings, may I show you to the head table, please?" his voice was a whisper that conjured up images of blue skies and cool breezes. "Excuse me, Cerulean," Thog began, enchanted by this environment, "but I am not familiar with your people. What are your people called?" "Madame, forgive me, I forget that the Federation has yet to discover my planet. I am a HooLooVoo. What you might describe as an intelligent shade of the color blue. My family has worked with Linnea's family for generations. This is the first time that one of us has been able to serve on a starship, however. Ah, here is your table. If you would be so kind as to be seated, I will send Todd over immediately to take your orders." With that he floated gently back to the main doors to greet the next group of diners. A tall Bolian approached the table with a tray laden with bright blue drinks held in his extended hand. Placing one of the drinks in front of each of the dinner guests he said, "these are our house specialty, Circassian Curacao. I am Todd. I'll be your waiter this evening. Is there anything else I can get for you?" "Yes, Todd, please bring one more glass of this and ask Linnea to join us," Seetamyn said. Moments later, Todd had done as requested and the Captain rose from his chair, glass in hand. "The captain of my first ship used to propose what he called 'a toast' in circumstances such as these. I see no reason why that tradition should be reserved for Humans, alone. Now that we have all our requisite personnel in place and we are ready to fully embark upon our permanent mission, I propose a toast." Each of the others rose (except for Linnea, who was already standing). "To an end to beginnings," intoned Seetamyn solemnly. Clinking their glasses together, the others echoed, "an end to beginnings." They each drank down the tasty liqueur, ready to face what lay ahead, together.