Meeting the Tactical Officer

Posted on 24 Feb 2020 @ 3:02am by Lieutenant Yam Prat & Commander Kristiana Petrova
Edited on on 24 Feb 2020 @ 3:03am

2,908 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Past Prelude
Location: Storage section

=/\= Begin Log =/\=

In truth, the briefing had done little to quash Yam’s uncertainty about the Odin crew’s position in this timeline’s galactic landscape. Fingers absently, but nimbly sliding his PaDD’s inventory reports of the SKU’s in the ship’s storage his mind pondered their chances of survival should the environment turn hostile on all sides.

Bak’rikan – no surrender was the only word that blazed brilliantly in Prat’s mind before his thoughts were cut into by the taciturn and informal announcement of Lieutenant Commander Petrova.

"Hey, Lieutenant Prat?" Her voice was matter-of-fact, with a hint of a Russian accent to it. Not that Yam would be likely to be able to pinpoint it. She stood in the doorway, auburn hair cascading, steel blue eyes focused on the Cardassian officer before her. "Got a moment? Just wanted to touch base, introduce myself, see how you're doing." she offered.

Lowering his handheld the glow of the displays receded from his blue tinged facial features, but the eyes that fell upon the woman retained their icy blue glow. “Kiba'avzayn -- Good tidings, Commander Petrova,” Yam greeted warmly though the heat never touched his eyes. “I am not currently involved in any critical initiatives. I have several moments; I believe is the human saying.”

Striding to the entrance and exit of storage inclined his head politely indicating that Petrova take the lead in deciding where they would conduct their conversation. Only a concentrated effort kept his mind from evaluating the physical prowess and mental acuity of the higher-ranking officer.

Kristiana chuckled softly at Yam's reply, stepping inside fully. She motioned to a nearby briefing table - close at hand and convenient. She carried herself with the confidence of someone who was comfortable where they were, her physicality showing through in her firm yet graceful, purposeful movements, the tone of her soldier's physique on display underneath the form-fitting fabric of her uniform. Here was a fighting fit woman who took pride in keeping herself at the peak of her form.

Kristiana Petrova, Lieutenant Commander on the Odin, XO in the event the captain isn’t present. Little is known of her history, but her reputation as competent and dutiful is general knowledge aboard the ship. Yam’s review of the lieutenant commander’s biography was lacking, yet as he watched her move with a warrior’s predatory grace the ever-present grin riding his lips became slightly more genuine in its appearance. A formidable woman; perhaps there will commonality with this one.

Minding his manners, he paused an appropriate length of time before seating himself giving Petrova ample opportunity to exercise her right as the senior officer in this situation.

Once seated the questions began—as expected. It would’ve been unnatural for anyone not to be curious if not suspicious of his presence of the aboard the Odin. Cardassians did not have the most stellar standing even in their natural timeline. Still answering inane questions was not Yam’s idea of time well spent.

"Good to hear. How are you settling in?" she asked, eyeing him curiously. It wasn't a common sight, a Cardassian serving onboard a Starfleet vessel. There was story here, and she was curious. "Finding everything ok?"

“My accommodations meet all Starfleet naval standards if in an austere sense,” Yam responded. His grin had been muted out of deference but was not entirely absent during their conversation. “CIC is usually informative of where utilities and personnel can be found in most cases, so I haven’t yet experienced any difficulty locating anything.”

Cocking his head slightly it dawned on Prat that there was another meaning in the questions, “These are things I imagine you already know Commander Petrova.” Not an accusation; a factual statement. Laying his PaDD on the briefing table, Yam allowed both palms unused. “I hope there isn’t a problem with my performance as Chief Tactical Officer. Operations has done the best we can with the limited resources available to us.”

Something just short of tension brought Yam’s muscles to life. There was a strange physical resonance that he felt sitting across from this woman. A chemical reaction, yet not the indications signaling physical attraction. Instead it was a thrill that came with imagining engaging in an unrestrained life-or-death struggle. Again the grin deepened in appreciation.

"This is not a performance review, Lieutenant." She leaned back, still eyeing him closely. She was only half lying - this was not a review of his work, but sort of one of him as a person. She hadn't had the chance to meet with him yet, and she wanted to know what kind of person was helming the ship's weapons in case of a life-or-death situation. She knew the reputation of Cardassians as warriors, but what they were like as a people was equal parts based in truth and in prejudice.

"But, I was more curious to how you're finding serving on a Starfleet vessel, from a personal standpoint." she mused, relaxing a bit, shoulders slumping some. "Are your quarters satisfactory and comfortable from a personal viewpoint, that of a Cardassian officer. Do you find your offices satisfactory in function and comfort. Are there things you miss from Cardassian service that you wish this ship offered. That kind of thing." A rare, faint smile played on Russian features. "We aim to provide a comfortable living and working space. Promotes officer well being and improves performance, we believe."

Suspicious then, Yam noted. It met his expectation without arousing any dislike for the prejudice towards his people; he did not care for what he remained of Cardassia Prime all that much anyway.

“Speaking frankly then,” Yam began without breaking eye contact, “, there is not much point complaining about quarters. They meet requirements and therefore are good. In Cardassia space, personal perspective is an…alien concept. It divides and weakens the whole. I believe the Odin would be best served if the wilder elements were reigned in and focused towards the good of ship as a whole; not their personal interpretations of what is right. Only the captain has that right.”

A feverish light glowed in Yam's eyes as the memories of his upbringing brought forth lessons seared into his existence since birth. He loathed the lessons, yet logically could not find argument with their veracity so he obeyed them.

Still Petrova’s question made him curious. Head still cocked to one side Yam posed his own inquiry, “Would you say that Odin meets your personal standards? Does her performance? If they do not, what would you recommend the remedy to be?”

"I find that difference in culture fascinating." Kristiana mused, pointedly ignoring Yam's question for now, his attempt to turn the subject of conversation away from him and his people. "Without offering judgment - or, at least, attempting to minimize doing so, it's interesting that two cultures could have such different views. You say personal perspective is an alien concept and weakens the whole, but wouldn't the opposite be true, that a warrior is more likely to give more of him or herself if they've actively chosen to fight for what they believe in, rather than being told to?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"I find my life onboard quite comfortable. I have good food, personal space I can customize - within limits of course, a warm and soft bed, space to explore my own creativity and individuality, and my own personal weapons to practice and spar with." she ventured, watching his reactions. "As for the ship, the Nebula class is an aging design, but she's got it where it counts and can still dish out. Sure it might be nice to serve on a more powerful or modern vessel like an Excalibur or Sovereign, but the ol' girl has her charm."

Among Cardassians there is a saying, “Serhokt’oçekse sot’oçeks bizad oste ghengu’ulouç nou.” Now mimicking his counterpart’s posture Yam dispensing with all pretense of casual, polite conversation; a small part of him wondered what the lieutenant commander would think of the emphasis place on debate in Cardassian courtship rituals. Yam had no doubts she would make a good showing with many male—or female—suitor. “It means ‘let the unit that shares a drink together band together’, Commander.”

Bringing his hands together in front of him in demonstration he clarified his example, “A unit that is divided against itself whether in harmony or discord cannot be said to operate at maximum efficiency,” he explained emphasizing each individual element of the metaphorical unit with each hand. “It is only when they come together as one, complete in their loyalty and belief in leadership that their effectiveness in any capacity can reach its true potential.”

The demonstration ended with both hands clasping together tightly in a show of solidarity.

“Cardassian culture is limited with its restrictive paradigm, it can be argued that most other races have not seemed to harness the latent initiative of their species as we have hence the need for alliances such Starfleet or the Terran Union of this dimension. Other races are usually too much weakened by their notions of individuality to accomplish great feats befitting their true powers so they must come together with others not of their kind to break through their limitations.”

Yam’s words were said coldly without pride or disgust. To his mind they were simply statements of empirical evidence. The room tremored as one of the engines turned over allowing another unit to rest; they were maintaining coasting speed. Given how close storage was to engineering it wasn’t a surprise that the feedback wasn’t entirely suppressed by the ship’s internal emission sinks.

Flashing his teeth in a smile he added, “All things aside, the Odin has a fine combat simulator that I confess I spend time on even during my on-duty hours.” Shrugging he allowed his shoulders to drop in mock defeat, “It helps keep the edge from rusting if that makes any sense.”

"You make very good points." Kristiana had to admit, leaning back and folding her arms over each other, brows furrowing in contemplation. She enjoyed a good debate, but unlike the subtleties of Cardassian culture, it had nothing to do with courtship for her - rather just a battle of wits, the exchange of viewpoints. "I'm not that familiar with Cardassian culture, but the system you describe reminds me of Totalitarianism and Fascism, systems of government we have - experimented with on Earth, back in the day. Didn't go very well."

Pausing for less than a breath’s span of time, Yam retrieved the bit of history pertaining to the governing styles Petrova was referring to from annals of his photographic memory. His father had gone to great lengths in pointing out the flaws in most of alien species, however there were brief instances that the harder-as-tungsten man had actually spared a word of praise for another race and this was one of two such instances in memory. “Yes,” Yam agreed without hesitation. “The regimes you mention were failures on your home world, however the failure can be laid at the feet of human error rather than a conceptual failing.”

She gave a rare smile. "Probably just a difference in culture. We're completely different people from different backgrounds with different values. What works for us might not work for you and vice versa." the Russian woman mused.

Frowning immediately after saying Yam shook his head, “No, you are right. Differences in culture must be factored in when considering rulership…or representation as you would have it.” While difficult to understand there was some merit for species fraught with in-fighting and clashes of ideologies. Even the facsimile of a collective governing structure would allow for peace to ensue long enough to get things accomplish. After years of bloodshed, wasted resources, and scarring slaughters, Yam thought, but did not give voice to his contemplation. Instead he brightened visibly at the apparently shared interest in combat.

"You like the combat simulator? I use it to keep my body honed and wits sharp. Unarmed and bladed combat against bots, sparring. Keeps the blood flowing and senses keen." she said.

Breaking decorum he found himself guffawing before catching himself and ruefully apologizing with a slight lowering of his head, “Pardon the impropriety sir, Lorhoc çadav-ra edek - I honor you.”

“It’s just that we call women like you zerayd,” Yam explained. “It is a hunter that lives off both live prey and carrion—a survivor. Indeed, you one worthy of your rank and the respect you command. Perhaps sometimes it would be possible to watch you during one of your sessions?” Quickly feeling abashed an added, “If it is allowed that is,” was all that was offered as apology for the implied familiarity of his tone.

"Ah, little tip, human women, and I think those of most Federation races, consider it a bit creepy if you watch them, or ask to. I mean, it's good that you ask and you did so respectfully, it's just something we can take ... issue with." Kris explained, her voice calm to show she was not upset. "But you're welcome to join in if you want. Beat up on some holograms. Or, if you think you can handle it, test yourself against me." she flashed a challenging grin. "All in the name of cultural exchange, of course. See if HEMA matches against Cardassian fighting styles."

Zerayd indeed, mused Yam internally. Overtly he acknowledged the earnest advice given. Shame nearly broke the placidity of his countenance, but the emotion was quickly stifled and sequestered for further examination later. It had been foolish request he’d known, but an opportunity to evaluate Petrova firsthand was worth the potential rudeness. Fortunately, apologies were set aside as an even more favorable proposal was made.

“For the sake of cultural exchange joining you—particularly in direct contest— in the combat simulator would be educational.” Unable to bite back the bared teeth smile on his face Yam allowed the jarring appearance to dominate his features even allowing his eyes to express excitement without moderation. “It may even promote as you put it, lieutenant commander, ‘officer wellbeing and improved performance’.”

Surprising himself with how emotional a reaction he’d had to the idea of combat with this human woman, Yam quickly collected himself going through very human gestures of fidgeting with his uniform sleeves, clearing his throat, and running a hand through slick, jet black hair; his father would have been appalled—most Cardassians would have been appalled. “Lieutenant Commander, unless there’s something else…” Yam implied, his hand falling to the PaDD laying on the table in front of him, “There are few matters I intend to look into before the next shift starts.” The question hung in the air between them as both inquiry and a request for dismissal.

Kris pondered for a brief moment, then shook her head. "Nope. I think that's all for now." as she rose to her feet. "I should probably get back to my rounds, too." Then a nod in acknowledgment. "Nice talk, Lieutenant." as she moved away. She really had enjoyed the talk.A Cardassian onboard a Starfleet vessel was always a curiosity. They were a proud race with a strong culture. And although she didn't agree with the near fascist belief of state above everything and everything for the state, she could respect it. It seemed to work for them, after all.

Kristiana Petrov was a formidable woman. It was the only conclusion that could be formed from the brief interaction Yam had with her. A few mysteries were clarified now that he’d parsed the illustrious second-in-command’s persona; at least what he’d managed to glean.

Watching her slink away, power and precision, emanating from her movements like infrared waves Yam considered that he’d met the second person who made him feel uncomfortable. Cardassians do not fear. Justice always triumphs over evil, a part of his mind whispered to him from a place in his childhood rarely heard from in his adult life. Though there were disagreements with his family—with his father the mantra had an immediate effect in smoothing away the fleeting unease that had held Yam in his seat at the briefing table.

Commander Petrova had long departed from storage leaving him alone with the metallic chorus of ship humming all about him. Flowing to his feet, emotions encased in ice, the Chief Tactical officer assumed control and attentions were directed to the PaDD already in hand with fingers dancing across the handheld’s surface to draw up munition volume records previously closed out. His mind was already to task—part of it was—yet Yam was acutely aware of the excitement that lurked beneath the detached focus on his duties. It was very un-Cardassian of him, but he anxiously anticipated his next run-in with Lieutenant Commander Kristiana Petrova.

“Joy is a vulnerability.” It was Voc Prat’s word spoken through his son’s lips, but this time there was little of the patriarchal tyranny that inspired guilt for untoward behavior; there was only curiosity.

=/\= End Log =/\=

Lieutenant Commander Kristiana Petrova & Lieutenant Yam Prat

 

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