Capt. Shayne: Faces
Randal Shayne
((Deck 1, Bridge, USS Khitomer))
PADD mountain had dwindled, but he doubted it would ever be fully defeated. For every issue he addressed, another arrived, and the rotating cast of fearful-eyed junior enlisted messengers had started to show their trepidation with the haste of their departure. The captain’s glare was not something they wished to contend with, especially on instructions from someone else- the middle was an ugly place to be caught in bureaucratic tizzy.
But it was the last arrival that had ground Shayne’s gears into a fine ash. She’d stepped in, and almost fell backwards, as if a gust of wind had blown her askance. She eyed the captain as you might eye a sun, blinded by the glory of, in his case, grumpy obstinance. He grit his teeth in fury as he noted her black eyes.
She’d placed the PADD down, and left without a word.
Thirty seconds of tight-toothed grimacing later, the rage and fury and violation left him, and he was almost consumed with an exhaustive despair. His whole life, he’d struggled with feelings that were more than feelings. They were physical sensations, often ailments, indistinguishable to him from lacerating pain, or stabbing sharpness in the chest. The anxiety, the doubt, the anger… all of it boiled. And all of it stayed hidden. Out of sight. Out of mind. Out of judgement.
He could fool the onlooker, the subordinate, or the passerby. But the telepathic Betazoid, or Deltan, could not be so easily assuaged. They felt it. All of it. Whether they wanted to or not. He was naked before them. The violation was unintentional, and absolute.
And unacceptable.
Red-tinged eyes blearly gazed at the bottom drawer. The exhaustion that had built up, physical and emotional, could be blamed on the difficult mission. It could be blamed on Ash’s leaving. It could be blamed on simply being in Starfleet. But he knew deep down what his normal exhaustion looked like, felt like. It was a tinging of everything, into a muddled grey haze that left nothing but overwhelming distress with anything colorful or vibrant.
What he was experiencing was not that. Bloodshot eyes were the least of his problems. Fury… fury he couldn’t swallow… had tinged his entire stymied interaction with the last damned messenger. That wasn’t right. Paranoia, a sensation of stuckness, of threat, loomed in the horizons of his brain.
The medication was taking its toll.
Not for prolonged use, the file had read. The “why” of that equation was coming into focus.
He had to lay it off. But the effects, the teeth-gnashing strain, would last for days, certainly. And now, of all times, he couldn’t afford to be that vulnerable around people who needed him.
The door chimed.
He bit his lip. It might be nothing. Another messenger with another PADD, and bearing with him a distinct lack of telepathy.
Then again…
Grudgingly, promising to make amends later, Shayne grabbed the hypospray, and strained as he braced for the sudden depletion of energy that rolled across his psyche. Muscle memory found him putting the hypo away where conscious thought wasn’t interested. A moment later, the familiar thickness in his head told him it was safe. For now.
Shayne: Come on in…
The doors opened, and the smiling, open features of Ensign Semara vindicated his paranoia. The delight of knowing his guess had paid off clashed with what it had cost to be right.
Semara: Ensign Amelia Semara, reporting as ordered, cap'n.
And she was not alone. The captain noticed the smell before the sight- a tray of what looked to be fresh baked tarts, living up to their names with pungent aromas of sour-sweet glory. His mouth nearly drooled. The medication was taking the higher reasoning and dismissing it- along with the overthinking. Why was he so afraid of this? Accept the gift, try one, offer to share, move on.
He stood to greet her.
Shayne: Ah, Ensign Semara! Excellent, thank you for coming. Do have a seat.
He reached for the tarts only as they were offered, and allowed himself to breathe in the flavors; after three months of replicated adequacy, the biting notes of… something unfamiliar but mind-blowing washed over him like a sea breeze.
Semara: :: Passing the tarts. :: I'm sorry to say the peaches I brought with were a casualty of the shuttle trip here, and cobbler just ain't the same without the real thing. I still owe you a tray, but hopefully these tarts will make up for it in the meantime... I took a little inspiration from Lieutenant Jacin's contributions, and combined lemon with Bajoran Kava.
Shayne: You are an original thinker…
Against all convention, all comfort, everything he knew to be himself, upon placing the tray down, he carefully chose the one nearest to him and bit into it. He stopped and let his eyes cross ever so slightly.
Shayne: …and a singular baker. Thank you for this, Ensign- won’t you sample your hard work with me?
He turned behind himself, and retrieved two nondescript plates and a small stack of napkins from the replicator. “Dainty” was not how he’d describe himself, but in the company of others, he had learned the hard way to show diligent table manners.
Unless they were Klingon. Then they cheered him on as he hoovered up more food than should ever be at one place at one time.
Semara: :: Passing the report padd. :: I also thought I'd deliver my scientific report in person since we were already meetin'. I did my best to transcribe the telepathic conversation I had with Junior, but thoughts don't always translate perfect. I also took the liberty of puttin' together a scanning protocol from the readin's we got, so we'll be able to detect these entities in the future. Once the techs look it over, it might even get put in the next round of fleet sensor updates. Might save some folks some trouble.
Shayne accepted the PADD, leaned back, dabbed at the corner of his mouth, and took another bite of tart. This required both hands working in concert- a concert he did not know how to conduct until it happened. With warm flaky crust sticking to the roof of his mouth, he worked his tongue around as he considered the transcription, and then, in due course, the protocol.
Shayne: This is remarkable. A transcribed telepathic communication, and a recursive incorporeal sentient computation. With a side of tart.
He lowered a pair of non-existent glasses.
Shayne: You’re outdoing yourself, Ms. Semara.
Semara smiled with practised ease, but… under it, something hid. Something, perhaps small and insubstantial, was bothering the young woman. He subtly dabbed at his mouth again to ensure that he wasn’t making her discomforted with his slovenly ways.
Semara: I'm just happy to be a' service, sir. :: A soft smile :: May I say what a privilege it is to be here? I've been quite impressed by everyone I've met so far, and, well... What a mission!
Her words would normally chasten the man, force him to grumble some appreciative platitude. But with the help of his… assistance, he was able to accept that she spoke for all, not just him- and he inclined his head graciously.
Shayne: I feel much the same, and I know I’m not alone. Frankly I’m not sure what we’d do without you; certainly Junior would have been worse off…
And, he didn’t say, we would have lost more than one person.
Shayne: How are you settling in?
The answer was in front of him, and it was delicious. Still- polite to ask and all that. And it was the innocuous questions that often led to the greatest insights.
Just because he was mildly under the influence did not mean he stopped being the captain.
Semara: I've been findin' everything pretty well so far. Took a bit of time yesterday to find most things aboard, or at least all the important spots. Still gotta set up proper down in the labs, but that's gonna take time. I haven't met everyone yet, either, but I'm workin' on it. :: Beat :: I filed all my paperwork into the computer, so my record's available for you to read whenever if you haven't already. But I'm happy to answer any questions you might have, sir.
Shayne: I’m afraid I haven’t had much time to skim oncoming dossiers; I will say that yours is among the more unique I’ve glanced at. Betazoid- with a touch of Suthun’ twang, and a penchant for pastry perfection?
Semara: Response
Shayne sat back in his chair, appreciating that it allowed him to recline- his go-to movement for processing new information.
Shayne: Unique and a half. But here’s a question no dossier can ever truly answer- why Starfleet?
Semara: Response
He looked at her as he spoke, gazing into her eyes without fear or need to shirk. He listened, and could focus on what was said. But beneath it all, there was a smugness, a satisfaction of turned tables. For the moment, he could read her better than she could read him.
And this was starting to get to her.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault. She’d done nothing wrong.
And it didn’t matter.
At least, it wouldn’t until the dose began to wear off.
In… who knew how long? Minutes? Hours?
Shayne: Is there anything I can do to help you achieve your goals for now?
Goals- in life? Or just to address whatever was bugging her, on the very slightest edges of perceivable manifestations. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he was wrong.
Only Semara could say.
Semara: Response
Tag/TBC…
Captain Randal Shayne
Commanding Officer
USS Khitomer
NCC 62400
G239202RS0