Ensign Amelia Semara - You're a Lieutenant, Harry!

[Max]

((Conference Room, Deck 1, USS Khitomer, at warp))

With all the questions going around the room about the metaphorical boogeyman showing up when they were quite some distance from his known territory in an astronomically convoluted region of space that would make them rather hard to find, it made Amelia wonder.  Just what happened to these people to make them this way?

In her opinion, the experiment at hand had enough variables and risks without having to reach for the spectre of battle interrupting their tests.

Semara: S'posin' things don't work as advertised...  What's our emergency shut-off procedure for the probe's emitter?

The whole room seemed to shift to her at the question.

T’Dara: The probe’s interface is directly tied to the ship’s mainframe. Without a constant feed from our uplink computer, it is utterly non-functional. Multiple safety access points for the probes, and for the upgrades themselves, exist on bridge terminals, the deflector deck, engineering, and due to the specifically telepathic disruptions caused by Sencha waves, an additional emergency cut off exists in Sickbay.

Amelia mulled it over for a moment.  It wasn't an unreasonable design, but there were any number of ways a circuit could get fused in the switched-on position with the amounts of energy they were playing with.  And then there was the itty-bitty little issue of her paracortex making her liable to be one of the first officers to black out if they did get dosed with radiation.

Semara: And if I can't do that owin' to bein' unconscious?  Or radiation from the stellar nursery interferes with our uplink to the probe?

T’Dara: For the latter I would recommend greater faith in the Corps of Engineers. For the former, I would suggest greater faith in yourself.

Faith!  A Vulcan espousing faith?  She was relatively certain a violent disruption of near-subspace tearing through her synapses would not care about her faith.  How was that a logical variable in a scientific experiment?  But she wasn't prepared to criticize the Commander or her design.  Not here.  Not now.

R. Matthews: So, no timer setup to shut off the device if it’s left on for too long?

Her science buddy stole the words out of her mouth.  She nodded.  Good question.

Hobart: It’s a dead-man’s switch, a timer shouldn’t be necessary.

R. Matthews: Maybe we could add the timer? Just to be safe?

T’Dara: Response

Hobart nodded.  Thank goodness he seemed on board with the idea.  Even if the timer somehow added an extra variable, the experiment could be rerun or the probe could be replaced.  This crew could not be.

R. Matthews: :: Turning to Dewitt, the one whose name started with a C :: This resonance field, when you say fine-tuning, does that mean we couldn’t just set a program to have it cycle through different frequencies? Like the program we use to compensate for enemies whose shields adapt to our phaser fire?

C. Dewitt: Hmmm… ::pause:: I’d say it is a similar problem. The fitness function you are using for the tuning process is different. We have to avoid a beat that can occur when the resonance field is not precisely tuned to the Sencha Waves. That wave frequency can change over the pulse depending on the environment. That’s why the tuning is inevitable. Maybe,… ::another pause:: If you use the the right set of sensors and tuning goal… It might be similar.

R. Matthews: If it’s something we can look into, I’m all over it. I just need to run back to the labs and grab my...

Amelia watched him fiddle with his tricorder.  She was already regretting that she hadn't finished working on hers back in the life sciences lab.  She'd have to grab one from a locker somewhere along the way and hope it had the right configuration.

R. Matthews: Ah, never mind, I don’t need anything else.  

Croix: Response

C. Dewitt: Then I guess, we’re ::looking at Nolen:: ready to get to work, Sir.

Amelia mentally filed through the list of people she needed to talk to already.  There was Michaels and Cain, of course.  Get them started, then talk to the chief engineer.  Maybe see if she could get any answers about the Captain from Ohnari... Oh!  And don't forget to ask El'Heem about his work with Matthews around "time cancer."  Maybe he'd have some ideas on how not to black out from radiation.

That was quite a list.

Hobart: You all have your assignments. Once Ensign Cain is back to his post and inputs the final coordinates, we should be arriving at the nebula in about six hours. Coordinate with your team leads. Let’s get this done and go get our Captain. Mister Semara, please stay behind. The rest of you? Dismissed.

Stay behind?  Now what?  A lecture?  She could already hear it, and cringed on the inside: "I'm watching you after that spectacular silliness on the simulator..."

Semara: Aye, sir.  One moment sir.

First things first.  She signalled Michaels and Cain to one side of the conference room, and put on her best face.  Of course she knew what she was doing.  She lowered her voice to address just the two of them.

Semara: Alright.  We got a big assignment.  Take some time first, maybe twenty minutes, get some food, clear your heads, finish any chores, whatever you need cuz we're gonna be busy.  We'll meet in Main Engineering in one hour.

Michaels / Cain: Response

She turned to the helmsman, considered what she knew of his skills, and quickly formulated a plan.

Semara: Ensign Cain, put on your overalls.  :: A grin. :: No, not actually.  Though you could make it work.  I want ideas on how to deal with the long turn-over time between firing the deflector dish and how to deal with the structural integrity problems.  Think shuttle pit crew procedures.  How do we lessen the wear and tear, improve cycle time, and minimize risk to the ship?

Cain: Response

Then she turned to Michaels.  She smiled softly.  Amelia was glad to have the sharp Vulcan engineer on her team, and hoped the woman knew it.  If anything, she was a breath of fresh air compared to the stoic and classically contradictory Vulcan T'Dara, even if the two of them had never really found their vibe together last mission or over shore leave.

Semara: Michaels, you're our specialist here.  You have two jobs.  First, I want safety protocols for anythin' that can go wrong.  Start with the interconnect between the main power grid and the deflector dish.  Last thing we want is to blow somethin' out.  Second, I want you to start readin' up on everythin' there is to know about the theory behind Sencha Waves and how the dispersion array works.  I'll do the same.  If things go sideways, we'll wanna work from first principles.

Michaels: Response

Semara: I wish I could answer your questions, but I gotta answer some for myself first.  Main Engineering.  One hour.  Go.

She knew it was a somewhat ridiculous timeline for everything she'd just asked for, but hopefully it would keep them focused on their jobs rather than the fact she was pretty sure she was making it all up as she went along.

Michaels / Cain: Response

Watching them scurry off to their tasks, she smiled for a moment.  Maybe she could do this.  It wasn't so different from planning a charity gala.  The stakes were a little higher, sure, but now that she'd given her first orders, it wasn't so bad.

The smile faded as she realized the room was now empty except for her and Hobart, and that he was staring at her.  He cleared his throat, and she suddenly felt the tingly nerves creep back in under his watchful gaze.

What more could he possibly want from her?

Hobart: Ensign, when Captain Shayne… departed, it fell to me to review his in-progress tasks. Some of that was personnel-related, and your file was top of the list. Do you have any idea why that might be?

She folded her hands behind her back, trying not to fidget at the sudden turn in topics.  Thoughts came tumbling over her like loose rocks off a cliff she was trying to climb.  It was all she could do to tuck in against the rock wall and hope nothing hit her on the head.

Semara: My file?  I dunno... We didn't talk much 'bout personnel-related issues.  We talked more about :: choosing her words :: cultural topics.  Why?  Is somethin' wrong?

He just nodded and dodged the question.  A maneuver he seemed to have perfected into an art form.

Hobart: I couldn’t say, and I won’t speculate. What the Captain chooses to share—and what not to—is his prerogative. By intention or oversight he put this off, and now that it falls to me to command this ship in his stead, I see no reason to put it off any longer. ::firmly:: Stand to attention.

It was a mercy she'd carefully attended to protocol at the Academy.  She squared up, even as her heart pounded.  Goddesses, she wasn't getting reprimanded for something, was she?

Then a small wooden box came out of the Commander's pocket like a ship leaving spacedock.  Her brain scrambled wondering what was happening.

Then he opened the box, revealing a half-pip.

Hobart: Amelia Semara, under the authority granted to me by Starfleet, I hereby recognize your service and leadership and award to you the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade, and all its incumbent rights, privileges, and responsibilities. Computer? ::chime:: Register the time and date of the promotion of Amelia Semara, Science Officer, USS Khitomer, to the permanent rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade. ::chime::

What?!!!

Her lips parted.

oO Say something say something say something....Oo

Semara: Thankyousir.

The one blurred, drawling mash of words was about as much as she could manage.  He was still watching her.

She put the new half-pip on her uniform because what else was she going to do with it?

It felt like she was on a shuttle spinning out of control with failed inertial dampers.  She grabbed onto the first cohesive thought that entered her mind.  She had to start somewhere.

Semara: :: Quietly :: Is the Captain okay?

Hobart: Response

Semara: I don't get it... I'd have thought this would'a been important.  You're sure he didn't say somethin'?  Leave a note?  Anythin'?

Something like, "Hey, I know you basically failed that test on the simulator, but I believe in you."

Or, "Hey, I don't think you're ready for this, but some bureaucratic windbag in command made me."

He'd already given the answer, but she had to check to be sure.  It was hard to believe after they'd finally gotten a bit closer.  Literally nothing.  Was she even supposed to have this?

Hobart: Response

Amelia looked into Hobart's black Betazoid eyes, expecting him to know what she was really feeling, like any of her kind would even though he was a hybrid.  She didn't shield her feelings.  There was no reason to.  She didn't know what to do with the things she was feeling just yet, and she could really use his guidance right now.

Why didn't it come?  Why didn't he address the wind-swept storm hiding under her practiced smile and prim composure the way any other Betazoid would?

A singular, galling thought tugged at her.

He couldn't.  Or wouldn't.

Just like at the wedding, it was plain he didn't feel her.  At the time, she'd written it off to the alcohol, but what was it now?  Was he simply born that way?  That wasn't it - she remembered that Ohnari had mentioned Hobart as one of the empaths aboard.

She used the momentary lull to change topics, hoping for a chance to connect with the man.

Semara: If I may, how are you doin', sir?

For a Betazoid, the question was not to ascertain an emotional condition, because it was already known.  For instance, she already knew the abstract surrealism of the situation and responsibility he found himself in, and the subtle but constant pressure he felt - like his shoes were a size too small.  She already knew there was even more from a momentary whiff of a stagnant, rotting, peaty sulfur that tickled her paracortex in the wake of the question.

Instead, the question was an offer to share and commiserate and lift each other up.  He ought to know that even as a half-Betazoid.  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she had just been placed into a miniature version of the situation he found himself in.  Sudden responsibility thrust onto their shoulders without much to guide them...

Any moment now, she should feel his thoughts knocking at the door of her mind, and she would let him in...  Finally, an opportunity to understand and be understood the way she was accustomed to all her life before Starfleet.  She'd been missing that old familiar intimacy of telepathic touch ever since she'd come aboard, and maybe now there was finally an opportunity to change that.  She was under no illusion didn't know Hobart that well, but that was besides the point.  They were going through a similar experience, and could lend each other strength.

Hobart: Response

Amelia gave a pleasant smile.  It wasn't because she felt like smiling for herself, but because it seemed like he needed one.

In the ancient Betazoid epics, even mortal enemies would speak telepathically - often deeply before their final, tragic battles - and here was a man who did not do so even when the moment could not have called for it more.  Vulcans calling for faith.  Betazoids who would only talk.  If he couldn't project, why wouldn't he say so?  She could have bridged the gap for him, easy as that.

It was bizarre.  No, more than that.  The telepathic experience was perhaps the greatest treasure of the Betazoid species.  There was a reason many still thought of it as a gift bestowed by goddesses.  Perhaps it took until this moment for Amelia to understand just how much she took for granted the simple pleasure of truly knowing another person, and living with them in that moment.  How badly she missed it.

The question she'd asked herself at the wedding came screaming back to her.  How had Hobart missed Shayne's use of telepathic blockers for so long?  How many meetings did he have with the man, and never once thought something was off?  Why was she the one most likely responsible for kicking off a chain of events that lead them here?

She responded as politely as she could.

Semara: If you say so, sir.

And why was he so intent on acting like this when he had to know better than almost anyone else aboard what she could sense in him, if only just?

The questions were too much.  Over the last three hours, they had been piling up one after the other, and now she simply couldn't carry on adding to the pile.  Besides, he either lacked the means or the inclination to answer any of her questions, so she hardly saw any point in continuing on like this.

Semara: Well, if you need anythin', you know how to find me.  :: A more genuine smile. :: If that's all, sir?

Hobart: Response

Semara: Aye, sir.  :: Grabbing the empty box. :: And thank you, sir.

With that, she ducked out of the conference room wondering just how, exactly, she was supposed to get any work done with what felt like a whole stellar nursery's worth of racing thoughts inside her head.

Tag / End (of conference scene)

Ensign Amelia Magnolia Semara

Science Officer

USS Khitomer - NCC-62400

A239710MA0