Ensign Joan Basilone -- Surf's up

[Alice Zim]

((Cochtois Lagoon, Deluvia IV))

::Joan was playing hooky.::

Basilone: o O Okay, let's be honest. I'm not playing hooky. I'm pouting. And I'm pouting because the rest of the world isn't doing exactly what I want it to do. And so I'm blaming one person for that. O o

::Joan wasn't sure what she was expecting from a Starfleet career. She understood that, as a junior officer in the Science Division, she'd be doing a lot of the 'scut work' until she got more experience and seniority. Yes, she was an imminently qualified scientist, but so was every other Academy graduate who had majored in Science.::

::She hadn't expected her first 'mission' to consist of scrambling for her life with officers she hadn't met yet, as they were chased by giant crabs and multicolored poisonous gas while a starship fell apart around them. At first, Joan was convinced her Pomare Syndrome was making her a liability in their escape. But afterwards, when she had time to reflect, she realized she had more than pulled her weight in assisting the Commander in getting the four of them off of the Njörðr. As usual, she realized, she was using her Pomare Syndrome as a catch-all excuse.::

Basilone: o O But was I really that effective? Anybody who had been staying awake in Physical Chemistry Two would have figured out how to ignite that poisonous gas. And if I had really been on the ball, I could have predicted what would have happened to those crabs in the middle of the gas when I tossed my 'nickel bomb' into the mix. O o

::And there were a lot of unanswered questions about that whole thing. Or at least there were in Joan's mind. For example, that complex electromagnetic pattern emanating from the gas that was actually two simpler patterns overlapping each other, both of which bore a resemblance to primitive artificial intelligence algorithms. If Joan was actually a scientist, she'd be involved in the follow-up research on the whole incident.::

::Instead, she was here convalescing in a tropical paradise, pouting because her friends had had fun in social situations that Joan couldn't enjoy because of her Pomare Syndrome. Her catch-all excuse again.::

::So Joan didn't want to think how badly she had probably acted last night, when everyone else was laughing and having fun, and she definitely didn't want to think about Aleksandra heading back to the Gorkon with the ship's chief surgeon. And she didn't want to sit through a lecture on innovations in studying oceanic bodies from orbit. Joan didn't want to think at all today.::

::So she had put on a shorty wet suit, headed down to the beach, got a board, and decided to give her brain a rest and let muscle memory take over for the day.::

Bell: You don't want to surf here.

::Joan spun around at the sound of the deep, gravely voice addressing her. The owner of the voice was a male human, dark haired with one of those weird handlebar moustaches that Joan could never understand anyone wanting. There was some gray streaks in the man's hair, and possibly a few on his bare chest (he was wearing just swim trunks). Joan estimated him to be in his forties, but he still looked to be in good shape.

Basilone: Ex---excuse me?

Bell: You probably don't remember me, but I remember you. You were the fifteen year old auditing my course when I was a visiting professor at Adhyapanaya.

Basilone: Dr. Bell, of course. Sir, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you.

::The older man laughed.::

Bell: Since I'm not wearing my professorial attire, I can understand. So what brings you to Deluvia IV, Ms. Basilone? The New Horizons Conference, I presume?

Basilone: ::Nodding:: I'm attending with the rest of the crew of the Gorkon. I'm in Starfleet now. An Ensign. ::For some reason, Joan felt the need to hurriedly add her rank.::

Bell: Well, good for you, Ensign Basilone. I was here to arrange the tour of my research facility to the north of here. We've made quite a few updates to our facilities, using the technologies they're touting at the conference. Anyway, I got done early and decided to come down and have breakfast with a friend on the waterside. And, as you can see, the beach isn't a place for professorial attire either.

::Joan found herself laughing, feeling at ease with the professor she hadn't seen in almost eight years.::

Bell: I spotted you on my way back to my transport and thought I'd recognized you.

Basilone: I'm very glad you did, Dr. Bell. It was very nice seeing you again.

::Joan thought that would be the end of the conversation, but instead her old professor continued.::

Bell: As I said earlier, you don't want to surf here. Cochtois is a great place for beginners, but I know on Lolagi IV, you people learned how to surf before you could walk. There's a place near the edge of the tropical zone, we call it The Point, where a lot of us locals go. Right now the swells are running four meter high, and the forecast is calling for forty kilometers an hour winds from the northeast all day. It's the kind of place that Whoever is turning the crank of the universe designed for kiteboarding. Interested?

::Joan didn't have to be asked twice.::

Basilone: Absolutely!

Bell: Let's get your board turned in, then. We'll get you set up with a better one once we get to The Point. On the way, you can catch me up on the career of Ensign Joan Basilone. And if you're interested, I'll set you up a spot on the tour tomorrow. It's standing room only right now, but I can get a spot for on old student.

::Joan heartily agreed, and as they headed for his transport, she felt more relaxed than she had in quite a while.::

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Ensign Joan Basilone
Science Officer
USS Gorkon
G239603JB0