| Author | Message | ||
     Cdr. VelornaTal |
"Ma'am?" The young human male cleared his throat. His eyes darted about the lab, and he swallowed hard. It was clear that the poor Science crewman was intimidated by Tal's presence, but wether because of her rank or her current status, Coronado's first officer wasn't sure. "Yes, Crewman... Fosbee, was it?" "Yes, ma'am. Jacob Fosbee, Science Technician, Crewman second class." Tal nodded and glanced back at her work. "I am aware, to a greater or lesser degree, of all basic information on every Starfleet and Marine member of this crew." She paused while she frowned over a reading. When Fosbee failed to respond, Tal glanced over at him. His skin was very pale, and nervousness was firmly etched into his face. The boy - for he could not be more than 19 or 20 years of age - stood in the entryway, a padd in his shaking hands. "Is there a problem, Mr. Fosbee?" "No - I mean, yes - I - " He stuttered. "Please. Take your time, Crewman," she whispered serenely. "Take a deep breath. Hold it and count to five. Let it out." As she uttered each instruction, Fosbee carried it out stiffly and nervously. "Now, repeat that twice more." As the science tech slowly got himself under control, Tal reflected on the day she herself began instruction in the k'ratar, the Vulcan focusing ritual, of which these breathing exercises were just the beginning. She had been far younger than this human. But she had also been forced to study under some of the toughest Vulcan Kohlinar Masters in the past two centuries. Fosbee took considerably longer than two repetitions of the breathing exercise. But once he had finished, it was clear that he was calmer. His breathing was more regular, his skin coloration had returned, and his hands were no longer shaking as badly. "Please. Continue." "Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." He straightened his back and stepped into the science lab. "I just was - um - wondering - ma'am, that is, uh, if you're not supposed to be on duty - as we were informed this morning, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave this facility. Um. Ma'am." Tal cocked her head to one side and a bemused smile flitted across her lips. "That's okay, boy. She's with me!" A third voice came from behind a bank of equipment near the back of the lab. A moment later, a tall, slightly-built Andorian slipped around the various displays and recording equipment that had been brought up from Xanadu's Fourth Chamber. "Dr. ch'Garen!" Fosbee breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't see your name on the schedule." Dr. Rhosan ch'Garen, formerly of the Daystrom Institute, nodded, his antennae quiverring slightly. "They had me assigned Cargo Bay Two. I got there and found nothing but some idiotic security guards insisting that their orders were to watch that Bay. And none of my equipment was there!" Fosbee blinked and glanced at Tal. The Romulan shrugged and went back to her data. "I'm not sure what it was about either, Mr. Fosbee. However," she looked up and met ch'Garen's cold blue eyes. His antennae twitched ever-so-slightly. "However, we would appreciate any help you could be in deciphering the data Dr. ch'Garen and his team obtained on Xanadu." "I - um - yeah - uh - I mean, sure. Uh, that is, yes, ma'am." Tal chuckled. Ch'Garen snorted. "At ease, Jacob. In here, we are all seekers of the truth." She smiled quirkily. "So, stop with all that 'ma'am' business. You may call me, Commander, if you must use title. I prefer Ms. Tal. The Doctor is simply 'Doctor.' He hates sirs almost as much as I hate ma'ams." "Um, yes, ma - I mean, yes, Miss Tal." A heavy sigh came from the back of the lab. Ch'Garen had vanished again. "If you two are quite finished," the long-suffering doctor's voice seemed came from all about them. "We have a lot of work to be done." |