Russell: Poolroom Meeting

Scene: Starbase Epsilon, Officer's Club

The din of the Officer's Club poolroom crawled across the dusty hardwood floor like a heavy fog. It fell onto the feet of each patron, and whether there to drown a sorrow or celebrate a success, every denizen of that dark room knew the weight the fog would carry away from them, and allowed their passions to be swept up like those of all the others.

Zachary Russell was no different. He played alone at one of dozens of tables, a bright lamp forty inches above the slate, each table lit like so many islands in the sea. He looked at the table as he chalked the cue stick, then took a final drink from a tall lager glass before setting it down next to three empty glasses.

The crack of the cue ball sounded like a .45 as it hit the yellow one ball square. The exchange of momentum sent fifteen balls scattering across green felt in every direction. The four and twelve balls dropped into corner pockets.

"Mind if I play?"

Zach heard the voice, but didn't look to acknowledge it for a moment. He hoped his distance would intimidate the intruder into finding another table. But when he looked up, he saw the owner of the voice standing opposite him. It belonged to a young man of dark complexion. His build and bearing showed an officer of considerable experience, and the simplicity with which he carried himself betrayed a hidden complexity. The cool look on his face showed wisdom beyond his apparent years.

"Sure," Russell replied. "You're stripes."

He leaned in for another shot, sinking the red three. The cue ball came to a stop directly in line with the side pocket and the seven ball. He hammered it in easily. As Russell walked around the table for chalk, the stranger spoke.

"Name's Hilani." He stuck out his hand. "Jason Hilani."

Russell finished with the chalk and shook hands with the man. "Zach Russell," he said simply, then leaned in for his shot. It was a difficult bank, but with enough left english, the cue ball would take a sharp turn off the rail and hit the one, dropping it softly into the corner pocket. Russell took a deep breath, and succeeded.

"Nice shot," Hilani complimented. But by the time he finished speaking, Russell had sent the cue ball crashing into the five, knocking it squarely into a pocket.

Russell looked up. "Thanks," he said. He moved quickly around the table and slowly took aim. Looking down his stick, he could see the cue ball, six, and two in a nearly perfect lineup with the corner. He pushed the stick forward. The cue ball hit the two, which hit the six, which fell into the pocket. The other two balls still in line, Russell leaned in again and shot. The six rolled toward the corner, bounced off one, then the other, side of the pocket, and rolled back toward Russell.

"Hmm," Russell said, and walked to a high round table. The waitress had left two clean glasses next to the half full pitcher. Russell filled both with the foaming amber quaff and drank from one.

He offered Hilani the other. "Your shot," he said.

Russell: From Operations to Communications

Scene: XO's Office

Ensign James entered the office just as Commander Hilani finished up one of the many reports he was due to submit before departure. He looked up as the door chime called. "Enter," he said.

"Ensign Daphne James, reporting as ordered Sir!" the young woman saluted and stood firmly at attention. Jason forgot how it was to be fresh out of Academy.

"As you were, Ensign. Please, take a seat," he asked. She did timidly.

"I won't keep you long," the XO began, "I just wanted to let get your opinion on something."

"Anything, sir," Daphne replied quickly.

"I've been looking through your service history and aptitude scores..." Commander Hilani glanced up as Ensign James shifted nervously in her seat, and continued. "...and I'd like to recommend to the Captain a change in your position, from Operations to Communications Officer. What do you think?"

Ensign James was obviously very uncomfortable at this level of casual chat between a junior officer and an XO. Her efforts at looking comfortable made it even worse.

"Of course, sir, whatever the ship needs!"

Jason sighed. "Ensign James...look. Captain Russell and I want the officers on Arapaho to do the work that will not only serve the ship best, but satisfy their own ambitions. Based on your past work and skills, we both feel it would both fill a gap that would make you much more valuable to the ship and Starfleet in the future, but give you a chance to learn something new, that you'll probably be very good at."

The Commander's rather long explanation left the already nervous Ensign in a mild state of bewilderment. After a moment, all his words managed to sink in. "I understand, sir," she said, "I'll accept the change." She smiled, indicating her confidence in the decision.

Commander Hilani smiled back. "Very good, I'll notify the Captain and make the appropriate changes. Dismissed."

After Ensign James left, Jason hit his combadge. "Commander Hilani to Captain Russell, she agreed. We have a Comm officer."

Russell: For Better or Worse

Scene: Starbase Epsilon

The bleak neutral grey walls of Starbase Epsilon's guest officer's quarters threw a dull light all around. Even in the small office nook, ambient sounds and natural light coming from local system's sun were cast down and disregarded before reaching the senses of the occupant. The brightest spot in the room was a small potted plant hanging from the ceiling, struggling to survive.

Captain Zachary Russell sat oblivious amidst the barrenness. Feet propped on the edged out desk drawer, he sat back in the grey chair with a large PADD, reviewing its contents for the nth time. He skimmed over dozens of pages of personnel reports, schematics, service updates, technical data sheets, flowcharts, and logic diagrams. He'd seen most of it before; he'd even written some of it, having once been considered an expert on Akira class tactical systems. But that was years ago. What he wanted was at the end, only a few hours old.

Finally he reached the Poseidon's logs. Captain O'Banyon's report on the incident in the Crosant system, a savage, pirate-infested region of the Neutral Zone, was painfully detailed. Holoimages were professionally and technically rendered in blinding 56x128k resolution, showing even the minutest hull fractures. The engineer's report on Arapaho's condition was sterile but impressive. Repairs were underway, and she would be operational upon arrival at Epsilon. Good enough...for now.

Russell sighed inaudibly and set down the PADD. He reached for a stark white coffee mug bearing a faded Starfleet emblem and put it to his lips, only to find that it was empty. He cursed quietly and set it back on the desk, next to another PADD. Eyeing this with a sidelong glance, he scowled and stood. On the display, the face of a middle-aged man stared back at him, a summary of his service record running in a slow-rising column at the left of the picture. As it scrolled, Russell watched until the last item was displayed:

Memories of Gene Cook flooded back into Russell's mind. They had graduated from Academy together. They shared their first assignment on the USS Tiberius. They got matching tattoos on Risa. Their careers were almost mirrors of each other. Until the accident.

Gene's injuries kept him from duty nearly a year. He'd even considered retirement before being offered a sweet spot on a Nova class. By then, Zach was XO on the Deltron. Eventually the war brought them together again. Afterwards, Gene went on to Arapaho as COO, while Russell was in recovery.

Russell picked up his orders, a few weeks old now, and read.

[As of Stardate 30401, Captain Zachary Russell is hereby assigned as Commanding Officer of USS Arapaho. Lieutenant Commander Eugene Gook is hereby promoted to full Commander and is assigned as Executive Officer. (Signed) Fleet Admiral Douglas White.]

But now Gene was dead.

Russell rubbed his temples and stood. The reports would wait. The messages would wait. The dispatches and requisitions and decisions would wait. At least a little while.