The transporter room of the USS Shepard disappeared from Tallera’s vision in an orange glow before being replaced with its counterpart on the RRW Demorax. Before her stood a pair of security officers and a man she recognized as the Warbird’s Commander, all three of whom snapped to a Romluan arm-across-the-chest salute.

“Commander Zelenko, Ensign Tallera,” the Commander began, a slight but friendly smile on his face as he greeted the two officers. “Welcome aboard the Demorax. Commander Veraka, at your service.”

“We appreciate the welcome, Sir,” Zelenko responded, stepping off the transporter pad with an outstretched hand. Veraka looked at inquisitively for a moment before shaking.

It had been about a day since the battle against the Hazari had concluded, and the convoy, Demorax and Shepard included, had finally arrived at Virinat. As the freight haulers made way for an orbital station to unload their cargo, Shepard had been transferred from the Demorax’s tow to a pair of maintenance tugs, making sure the craft kept stabilized during repairs. The Warbird’s commander had requested his counterpart on the Shepard meet him in person, and had extended the offer to the Shepard’s resident Romulan Republic junior officer as well. Tallera had eagerly accepted, despite feeling more than a little uncomfortable with such special treatment.  

After shaking Zelenko’s hand, Veraka turned his gaze to Tallera, who saluted.

“At ease, Ensign,” he said. It sounded odd for a Republic officer to call her the Federation term for O-1 instead of the Romulan equivalent rank of Ulhan. “Look at you, a Romulan citizen in a Starfleet uniform. You certainly are a trailblazer.”

“Just doing my duty to the Republic, Sir,” Tallera replied, transitioning from salute to a proper reverse-arm-fold. 

Veraka nodded approvingly, then turned back to Zelenko. “Well, officers, if you would care to join me, I’ve arranged for a stateroom for us to discuss your operations.”

A few minutes and a turbolift ride later, and Tallera was watching with barely contained glee as an officer that technically outranked her poured her a shimmering blue glass of kali-fal.

The officer offered the same to Zelenko, who politely declined with a wave of her hand. 

“No offense intended, Sir,” she said as she looked to Veraka. “Your species’ ale is just a bit more potent than mine. I wouldn’t want to embarrass my forefathers by appearing to be a lightweight.”

Veraka laughed as he received a glass for himself. “And they used to say Starfleet Officers act like soulless politicians. Another lie of the old Empire.” He took a swig from his glass, and Tallera did the same. Damn, she’d missed quality ale.

“So, Commander,” Veraka continued. “How go repairs on the Shepard?”

“Slowly but efficiently,” Zelenko responded, sitting up a bit straighter and more formal in her seat. “EPS systems aren’t necessarily hard to repair, they just take time. Our impulse engines are nearly ready for testing, but it will take longer for a combat-sustainable number of phaser strips to come online.”

“And the damage to the rollbar?”

“That will require time in drydock to fully repair. And as much as we appreciate your offer of engineering assistance, I’m afraid it’s simply not Starfleet policy to allow foreign militaries access to our latest weapons systems, allies or not.”

“Fully understandable,” Veraka nodded. “To be honest, we would have been shocked if you’d let us help. I only offered because most of our senior officers grew up with the Tal Shiar gazing over our shoulders, so we really aren’t sure what information democratic states are comfortable sharing with each other.”

“How have your officers adjusted to life in a more liberalized military, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Veraka shrugged. “The shadow of the old regime looms heavy over the Republic, and it may for a very long time. There’s been a lot of figuring things out as we go. Some commanding officers cling tight to Star Empire operating procedures, others are a little too eager to shed any and all regulations we’re used to.” He gestured to Tallera. “Which is why you’re doing what you’re doing, Ensign.”

Tallera smiled somewhat awkwardly, and had to resist the urge to say I’m just doing my duty again. It had far too frequently become her refrain when met with people waxing poetically about how important her task was, and she had yet to find anything more accurate and respectful to say.

“And on the topic of Ensign Tallera,” Veraka continued, looking over to Zelenko. “I’d like to request that the Republic borrow her for a few hours tomorrow. We’ve been taking inventory of the supplies sent over, and I’ve got a few officers planetside who are scheduled to inspect the weapons your people have sent. Tallera’s experience with this hardware could prove useful to our fighting men and women, and I’d also like the existence of a Republic-Federation exchange program to get a bit of boots-on-the-ground publicity. I think it’d be a big morale boost.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” Zelenko replied. “As long as it is with Tallera.”

“Absolutely,” Tallera said with a smile, inwardly a little uncomfortable with the word publicity but nonetheless excited to work with her people again.

“Fantastic,” Veraka nodded. “I’ll send you an itinerary for your assignment, Ensign. Commander, feel free to send an entourage of other officers as well, particularly medical, logistical, or engineering. The more people who see Federation officers on Republic soil, the better.”

“I’ll arrange a list of such officers immediately,” Zelenko responded. “Any questions from you, Tallera?”

“Well… should I wear a Federation or Republic uniform?”

Veraka smiled. “Definitely Federation.”

Tallera inhaled deeply, enjoying the natural air of a garden world as she strode through the humble streets of Virinat’s capital. The planet’s status as the breadbasket of the Republic was obvious wherever she looked; the “city” was clearly little more than an expanded-upon farming settlement, and much of the industrial equipment scattered about were converted agricultural tools. The citizens’ fashion was utilitarian and a bit rustic, and most seemed to carry themselves with a sort of rugged purposefulness that Tallera felt a pointed kinship towards. Even better, they weren’t scrambling to pepper a Romulan in Starfleet uniform with questions like so many Federation citizens were – that trademark Romulan understanding of what was one’s own business was alive and well here.  

Tallera could see herself perhaps retiring to Virinat someday. Farming seemed like a useful, noble profession.

After hopping up a few cobblestone steps to a farmhouse-turned-warehouse with the Republic Navy insignia emblazoned upon its side, Tallera pressed her hand into the palm-reader next to the building’s door, which chimed and unlocked. She cracked the door open, and was met with the sight of a sole Romulan Navy officer standing in front of perhaps two dozen weapons crates. He turned and flashed her an excited smile. 

“You must be Ulhan Tallera,” he said, striding over, looking her up and down, then saluting. He was a fairly average looking fellow, roughly Dreval’s height, of pale complexion, and sporting a quintessentially Romulan pointed bowl cut. “Ulhan Tovan, at your service.” 

Tallera raised an eyebrow. “Why are you saluting me? We’re the same rank.”

“Well, I figure exchange officer has to account for something worth saluting,” he said with a shrug. 

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t,” Tallera smirked. “At ease, Ulhan. I’m just here to help you inspect some military hardware. You’re Virinat’s Junior Security Officer, correct?”

“Suit yourself,” Tovan shrugged again, then beckoned her over to a crate he’d already opened. “And yes, I am. Recently graduated from the Academy, actually. So I think I’m one year your junior.”

“That checks out,” Tallera nodded as she stepped over to his side and placed her hands on her hips. “So, what’re we looking at here?”

“You tell me,” he said, motioning to the contents of the open crate.

She shot him a playfully heavy lidded stare. “I’m pretty sure these are guns, Tovan.”

Tovan chuckled and rolled his eyes, then lifted up one of the firearms and inspected it. “Yeah, I know that. I’m asking how these are different from our guns, Exchange Officer.”

“Good, I was worried that we were slacking off with our Security Officer training.” Tallera lifted one up as well and pressed a few buttons on the receiver to activate the weapon in standby mode. “These are Model-2373 phaser rifles. Introduced during the Dominion War, more durable than the old 60s version, and has an automatic frequency variator to help get around Borg energy adaptation. You can turn that off to extend the battery life.” She deactivated the weapon, then sat it back down in the crate. “They’re not standard issue anymore, so I guess the Feds are offloading some of their old stock to us.”

“Sure is a good thing you’re here,” Tovan chuckled, then looked back at the gun he was holding. “You’re going to have to give me a demonstration of how to use this.”

“I’m sure we can find a firing range somewhere.”

“Absolutely.” He shouldered the rifle inquisitively, then nodded with approval. “It’s more comfortable to hold than our guns are.”

“Yeah, the Federation is pretty good at ergonomics. They like their crews more comfortable than we keep ours.”

“If their guns are this comfortable, I’d kill to see their officer quarters.”

Now Tallera couldn’t help but chuckle. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what they were like.” 

“Try me.”

“For one, I have my own bathroom.” 

“Bullshit.”

“Told you.”

“Come on, you’re only an O-1,” Tovan scoffed. “No way they’d give that to every Ulhan in their fleet.” 

“I don’t know about their fleet, but there are a few junior officer quarters on my ship that do indeed have their own bathroom. I managed to grab one because I got to know the Commander ahead of time, but there are other O-1s that have them, too.”

Tovan let out a brief whistle. “They really are as decadent as the old Empire propaganda said they were, huh?”

“If not moreso,” Tallera smiled, enjoying the catharsis of finally having someone to dish about this towards. “Even if not every O-1 has their own bathroom, they’re sharing it with one other person at most. But they do all have their own private bedroom, complete with a desk and matter replicator.”

“You’re going to have a hell of a time coming back to our fleet, you know that?” Tovan said as he shook his head.

Tallera shrugged with a chuckle, brushing off his comment so as not to go into detail about how uncomfortable a life of such luxury made her.

“How long are you staying with the Feds, anyways?” he continued, placing the rifle back in its crate and moving over to another one.

“Two years, with options for contract renewals at the Federation and Republic’s discretion. Based on what I’ve heard, I’m pretty sure I’m getting renewed at least once.” 

“Well, you’ll certainly be getting a Fed Education. Speaking of which,” Tovan continued as he popped open the next container. “Please educate me as to what these are.”

Tallera cackled as she saw the contents of the crate, then hefted out one of the bulky, underslung-carried weapons. “This is a Model 2380 man-portable phaser assault cannon. It’s built with internal stabilizers to make aiming on the move a little easier, but still better to keep mounted on a tripod. I’ve heard Humans nickname it the ‘chainsaw,’ which I think is a reference to how you can hold it in the portable configuration.”

“That thing is crazy,” Tovan said as he shook his head. “What’s its power output?”

“If you actually manage to hit something? Anything with our body plan is going to be vaporized on even the lowest setting. It was designed to deal with vehicles and fortifications. Since the Federation hasn’t been in a war necessitating ground troops since these things were designed, I guess they don’t feel bad parting with a few dozen of them.”

“And Republic Security Forces don’t feel bad taking them, whatever they are,” Tovan said as he gazed at the stack of massive firearms within the crate. “I think I’m going to need extra time on the range to figure out how to shoot them.”

“Well I’m here all week, so I’ll be happy to provide a tutorial.”

“Good to know,” the security officer said as he shut the crate, then leaned against it and looked at Tallera. “At the risk of prying,” he began, “I’m very interested to know more about what life in the Federation is like.”

Tallera smiled ever-so-slightly, glad to be back around people who communicated like she did, even if only for a short time. Tovan had engaged with her professionally, then built up a personal rapport before cautiously asking a direct question about her life and experiences. That was how Romulans talked to each other, and ironically, the only Federation species she’d met that behaved even remotely similarly was the Vulcans.

“What do you want to know?” she replied, figuring that if Tovan was comfortable taking a pause on work to chat, she had no reason to feel otherwise.

“What’s… well, different? They were our enemies for nearly two and a half centuries, and all we know about them is propaganda.”

“Honestly…” Tallera rapped her fingers against one of the closed crates’ tops. “The thing that really sticks out to me is how many choices they have.”

“Choices of what?”

“Anything. Food, media, sports, there’s just so much of all of it. And it’s not just because they’re a collection of many species while the Republic just has two; Andorians or Humans alone have way, way more films available to watch on-demand on Federation personal devices than Romulan films that have been made, well, ever.”

Tovan seemed to contemplate this for a moment. “Why do you think that is?”

“They kind of approach media in the opposite way than the Star Empire did. We controlled everything that was made and who could watch it, while the culture of the Federation seems to encourage controlling nothing and sharing everything. They believe that exchanging ideas makes them all stronger.”

“That doesn’t… dilute species’ individual cultures?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t think they would care if it did,” Tallera shrugged. “They would probably think it’s a good thing.”

“Weird…” Tovan said, nodding his head as he tried to wrap his mind around what he’d been told. “Now, why are they even interested in other species’ media? Wouldn’t it all be contradictory patriotism, or does the Federation make media for everyone using, like, styles from all their different member states?”

“The species’ states don’t make the media, and neither does the Federation. Their governments don’t really even control it, at least none of the more powerful governments do.”

“Then who makes films?”

“Whoever wants to, I think. Most of their important worlds are post-scarcity, so if someone wants to be, say, an animator, nothing’s stopping them from just learning how to do that at their leisure and then making a movie. If it’s good, people will watch it, and maybe one of the big animation groups will choose to circulate it to give it more publicity.”

“Well… how does the government stop people from subverting it, then? If anyone can make art, couldn’t an angry dissident make a film criticizing the Federation?”

“They could and they do. The Federation encourages that. I think they believe it keeps them accountable to their citizens, or something.”

“That doesn’t seem like a civilization that would be very good at doing anything.”

“It’s a civilization that we’re begging for hand-me-down weapons so we can kill people who used to be members of our civilization, so I think it’s safe to say they’ve done some things better than we have,” Tallera said as she flipped open the next crate, revealing a selection of newer, current-issue Model 2399 phaser carbines. 

“That’s fair enough, I suppose,” Tovan said as he picked up one of the smaller weapons. “Oh, different topic, but I have to ask: how’s Federation booze?”

“Absolutely awful,” Tallera groaned. “The only decent drinks I’ve had are Vulcan Port and Saurian Brandy.”

“Really? Vulcans make good alcohol?”

“Good to our sensibilities, at least. It makes sense that we’d like it since our physiology is so similar. But yeah, if you ever wind up on a Federation ship, don’t bother with human booze. Most of it looks like pee and has such terrible alcohol content that you could drink a whole case and only get a buzz.”

“Eugh. Good to know, I guess. Have you been able to get good Romulan drinks from your replicators?”

“No, unfortunately. They have very, very basic samples of some of our stuff, but I would kill for more regular access to good Kali-Fal or Melshat.”

Tovan shot Tallera a mischievous and knowing smirk. “I think I can help with that.”

“So, does that cover all the new stuff?”

“Yes, I believe so, Lieutenant,” the Romulan medical intern replied to Rysana, placing boxes of Federation-made non-replicable medications in the surgical bay’s cabinet as she spoke. “I’ll log these new drugs and make sure the instruction manuals for the new tools are properly distributed.”

“Great. Need anything else?”

“No, I can handle the rest from here. Thank you for your assistance.”

“In that case, I’ll get out of your hair,” Rysana said, picking up her medical bag and heading for the door. “If I don’t see you again, best of luck with med school, Satra.”

“Thank you,” the intern replied with a slightly weary chuckle. “I do believe I’ll need it.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason I went with nursing instead of a doctorate,” Rysana said with a smile and wink. “Four years of university was more than enough for me.”

With a casual wave, Rysana left the surgical bay and headed towards the cold storage room, where another medical staffer was awaiting her tutorials on Federation gear and drugs.

Three hours later, the Andorian nurse was resting at a picnic table in the Virinat capital’s town square, happily filing some reports on her padd in the pleasant afternoon sunlight.

“Fancy seeing you here, Nurse Vahl,” the distinctive voice of Vic Travers called out, and Rysana looked up with a smile to see the wiry human science officer take a seat across from her.

“Hello hello, Chief Science Officer,” Rysana replied, echoing his sarcastically-formal greeting as she set down her padd. “How goes your day of Chief Science Officer-ing?”

“Fascinating,” he replied, his expression even more energetic and crazy-eyed than normal. “Working with Romulan science and ops teams to integrate our communications and sensor suites set up has been a very educational experience.”

“And what have you happened to learn of our hosts?”

“Romulans are very dedicated workers. Very admirable discipline. On the other hand, well, they’re not exactly the most… animated people,” he shrugged. 

“That’s most people compared to you, though.”

“More so than normal, then,” Vic said with a smirk, his hands gesticulating slightly as they so often did. “They’re a little stiff on the surface, but they get better once you get to know them. Kind of like Tallie, but… well, y’know… less prone to brooding.”

“That’s been about my experience too, more or less,” Rysana chuckled. “Tallie’s honestly been a great trial-run on interacting with Romulans. If we go in with the expectation that they’ll be a bit like her, there’s no way we’ll overestimate how… familiar we can be before we get to know them.” She shot Vic a jesting glance. “Well, I won’t, at least. I assume you spent the day operating under the assumption that everyone is as much of a chronic busybody as you are?”

“Yep,” he smiled proudly. “Come on too strong, then work your way back to a happy medium. That’s my SOP.”

“And somehow, you are a department head.”

Vic playfully raised his water bottle in mock-toast before taking a swig.

“I do feel for these folks, though,” he said after wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “At the risk of sounding patronizing, this is… not exactly Federation core world standards of living. And that’s not even getting into the reasons why they need us to give them weapons.”

“I feel for them too, but in some ways I kind of envy them,” Rysana said as she gazed at a pair of security officers walking by across the square. 

“Oh?”

“Well, I know it sounds incredibly privileged to say such a thing in our position, it must be nice in some ways to be part of a whole society with a unified goal, where everyone is working together to build something for future generations. They just seem to have such… clarity of purpose. I dunno, maybe it’s some old Andorian militarism in me that just wants something to struggle against.”

“No, I get it,” Vic nodded along with her. “Why do you think some of my species’ most popular holodeck programs are recreations of human wars? I think it’s the nature of most sapient species to yearn for some kind of good fight, no matter how irrational it is.” He followed Rysana’s gaze to the pair of security officers. “The difference is that these people never get to turn the program off.”

“Very true,” Rysana admitted, her expression growing melancholy.

“Hey, there’s our own neighborhood Romulan now,” Vic said, his tone changing from serious to lighthearted as he gestured to an approaching Tallera, who was carrying a small supply crate.

As she grew closer, it became clear that the crate was full of bottles – most of them containing liquid of a telltale light blue coloration.

“Hiya Tallie,” Vic greeted her as she gingerly placed the crate on the table before sitting down by his side. “Are you… bringing us some samples of the local spirits?”

“Touch these and die,” Tallera laughed, patting the crate affectionately. “These are for scanning into the Shepard’s replicators so I can actually have something decent to drink after work. One of the local security officers knows a bartender, and he hooked me up with a few ‘thanks for the weapons’ drinks.”

“That looks like more than a few drinks,” Rysara said with a sly grin.

“Hey, I need some variety beyond the shockingly-generic ‘Romulan Ale’ that comes default in Federation replicators. Oh, and, uh, Vic…” She turned to the science officer. “When I said ‘touch these and die,’ that wasn’t really a joke for you. Some of these might literally kill a human. Rysana, you’ll probably be okay.”

“Probably, great,” Rysana snorted. “I think I might leave those to you. And Dreval, if you can convince him to partake.”

“Fair enough,” Tallera shrugged. She wished Dreval had been allowed to come planetside instead of being stuck up in space with the rest of the Damage Control teams. She would have enjoyed introducing him to Romulan culture.

“So, what are you guys talking about?” she continued, shifting her weight on the bench slightly  as she settled in. 

“The Romulan Republic, mostly,” Vic said as he gestured around him. “Getting to see it first hand is interesting.”

“Well I hope we’ve given you a… ‘warm’ Romulan welcome. What do you think?”

“Your people are a tough breed, Tallie,” Rysana spoke up. “Although I sort of expected them to be ornery shut-ins. I can’t imagine why…”

“Ha ha. I suppose all Andorians are caustic bastards?”

“Only the good ones.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Tallera said, rapping her finder on one of the glass bottles in her crate. “Well… I will back on the ship.”

Reclining on the couch of her ready room, Jimena Zelenko was hard at work organizing her task list for the days ahead upon her personal padd. Repairs were nearly complete, and based on her estimates, it would be 24 hours at most until they would be able to depart. That meant that the crew would need to get back onto normal operating schedules.

While she was able to spread around and allocate duty shifts, much of the tasks in the upcoming days were likely to hinge upon a meeting that Fleet HQ had arranged with her, scheduled to take place in about an hour. Apparently, they had a ship close enough to the Shepard’s current location to relay off Republic subspace stations, allowing for instantaneous face-to-face communication. Whether the brass had opted for this sort of meeting instead of the usual long-range text-based message out of importance or simply convenience, she couldn’t be sure.

Her combadge pinged, and she sat up from her reclined position and gave it a tap.

“Zelenko here.”

“Commander, this is Dreval. I have news concerning repairs.”

“Go ahead, Ensign.”

“Damage Control Team 2 has completed their testing of the EPS systems leading to the aft ventral phaser arrays. No issues were reported, and as such, all possible repairs tests have been completed. Full phaser and impulse power are now available, although the torpedo tubes obviously remain out of order.”

“Excellent job, Ensign. Please give my commendations to Commander Merin and the engineering teams.”

“Yes, Sir. Dreval out.”

Zelenko sat back again, nodding as she began drafting up a departure announcement to the crew. With repairs completed quicker than expected, they’d only need perhaps twelve hours to get underway  – she’d add in some buffer time and make it sixteen.

A little over an hour later, Zelenko sat at her desk, absent-mindedly cracking her knuckles as she awaited the call from Fleet Command. After a few moments of waiting, her desktop pinged, “receiving transmission” popping up in large block letters. Zelenko tapped accept, and was greeted with the visage of a familiar Tellarite.

“Captain Dellos,” she smiled, surprised to see her old CO again. “I wasn’t told you’d be dropping in.”

“Yeah, well, the Rokssovsky is patrolling pretty close to the old neutral zone, and since you and I have a shared history, the Brass thought they’d have me relay the message,” the Captain replied in his trademark gruff, almost guttural voice. “So I get to be your go-between.”

“Always glad to have a Captain acting as my personal secretary.”

“Keep it up, and I’ll have you acting as a Lieutenant Commander’s secretary.”

Zelenko chuckled, unable to keep up the belligerent front any longer. Talking to Tellarites was always equal parts amusing and poker face-testing.

“So what’s the news, Captain?” she said after regaining composure.

“First of all, how’s the Shepard doing? I heard you banged her up pretty well during her first combat showing.”

“Repairs and testing to our EPS systems have just finished up, we’re preparing to leave as we speak. We’ll be beading back to Starbase Bravo for a more comprehensive fix-up in less than a day.”

“Fantastic. I come bearing news about what you’ll be doing after that.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm,” Dellos grunted, then pulled up a star chart on the monitor. “You’re being reassigned, Commander. Enjoy the former neutral zone while it lasts, because you’re going to the Tholian border.” A small icon blinked on the lower-left hand corner of the map, deep in the spinward side of Federation Territory.

Zelenko narrowed her gaze and cocked her head in confusion. “That’s clear on the other side of Federation space from our current position. Why are we going all the way out there?”

“It’s not a pretty story, unfortunately. Ever since the Federation pulled back to secure its core worlds after the Utopia Planitia attack, the region has become economically isolated. That made it all too easy for people like the Orion Syndicate to fill the relative power vacuum.”

“I’ve heard as much from colleagues working in the area.”

“Yeah. Thankfully, that’s starting to change. The task groups operating in the area are trying to rectify this mess by helping jump-start local economies and public works programs in the area to knock out the appeal of what syndicates can offer. That being said, there’s still a lot of illicit activity happening, and we’ve had multiple high ranking officers request the presence of more patrol ships. Both protect the humanitarian vessels and to go off hunting leads that intelligence finds. And there aren’t many better patrol boats than Reliants.”

“Understood, Sir,” Zelenko nodded. “I’ll notify my crew that we have a long voyage ahead of us after SBB repairs our rollbar.”

“Good to hear. You’ll receive more details when you get back to the Starbase, but as of now you’re going to be reporting to Captain Talen Varis at the Avalon Fleet Yards before heading out into the border regions. The Shepard was constructed at Avalon, right?”

“Indeed she was. Looks like our girl is due a homecoming.”

“Absolutely.” Dellos pursed his lips and diverted his gaze for a moment, then looked back at Zelenko. “There’s another reason the Brass is moving you, too. You’re getting hit by politicking, Jimena.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that, due to the political situation of the former Romulan Empire, the Admiralty is now of the opinion that a Republic exchange officer shouldn’t be anywhere near it. They’re worried that her presence will cause a diplomatic issue if you end up running into some Free State folks or Klingons.”

Zelenko sighed and massaged her temples. The Commander knew that Tallera would be absolutely mortified if she was aware of how much her very presence on the Shepard was affecting its deployment. 

“I can’t say I’m a fan of that, but that does make a modicum of sense,” she said.

“Yeah, it’s no slight on her or you. Just the nature of the galactic situation.”

“I understand. In that case, you and the Rokossovsky make sure to stay safe while we’re off playing with gangsters and Tholians.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dellos smirked. “Take care, Jimena.”

“You too, Sir.”

With that, the Dellos’ image blinked away and the screen went dark.

Tallera trudged down the residential hallways of Shepard’s Deck Four, arms full of small shipments she’d received of various Republic knick-knacks from people back home. Once word got out that the ship she was serving on was inside Republic space, the exchange officer had been bombarded with calls and care packages from friends and family. She’d chatted with her grandpa, a few aunts and uncles (both genetic and honorary), friends from the academy that could get away from their duties, and even her old professor Commander Ayenak. She’d had to get special permission from Zelenko to take time off to answer them all.

Stepping into her personal quarters, Tallera sat her stack of packages down on her bed and plopped herself down next to them, taking a moment to sort through what she’d received. Most were small snacks or mementos, a few contained personal items like toothpaste that her people wouldn’t be aware that she could simply replicate for herself.

Flipping open the last box, she was greeted with a folded mass of royal blue fabric, patterned with the triangle-checkered design common to Imperial Romulan uniforms from over a hundred years ago.

Raising an eyebrow, Tallera lifted up a note sitting atop the fabric and flipped it open.

Hey Tallie-girl,

Thanks for taking some time to talk with your grandpa. I know you’re busy, so I won’t bother repeating everything I said on the vid call – just thought you might like to take this with you on your travels. It’s my old service sash from my time on the IRW Noradex. It seems fitting that it’d take another trip out into the void.

Stay safe out there, Tallie. I’ll see you soon.

Love Gramps

Tallera smiled wistfully, unwrapping the sash and holding it for a moment before opting to wrap it around her neck like a scarf, not sure how else to affix it to her clothing. She doubted she’d be able to wear this on duty, but even still, having it in her quarters made her feel a little closer to home. Which would be especially relevant now, since she was soon to be heading further from home than many Romulans ever ventured. The Tholian border was not somewhere her people were overly familiar with.

She was taken out of her inner musings by a ping from her combadge.

“Tallera here,” she said after giving it a tap.

“This is Zelenko,” the badge pinged back. “Would you mind reporting to my office at 1900?”

“Of course, Sir. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, no need to worry. Just a standard check-in.”

“Understood, Sir. I’ll be there.”

Well, it looked like Tallera had one more meet-up to attend before leaving the Republic.

“Ensign Tallera, reporting as ordered, Sir,” the Romulan said as she stepped into Zelenko’s ready room, snapping to attention.

“At ease,” Zelenko replied with that same ever-so-slight smile she often wore. Tallera still hadn’t quite figured out how to read it. “Have a seat, Ensign.”

Tallera did as she was told, taking a seat across from the Commander at her desk. She couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to the trio of starship models hanging on the wall behind her commanding officer – one was the lead ship of the Shepard-class from the 2250s, the other was the Miranda-class USS Shepard, and the last was the familiar form of the little Achana.

“So, Tallera,” Zelenko began. “Did you enjoy your time back amongst your people?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s a great reminder of who I’m serving out here. Not, um, not that I often forget, or anything.”

Stupid. That was a stupid thing to say.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Zelenko continued, not seeming to dwell on Tallera’s stammering. “Now, before we set out on the long journey ahead of us, I wanted to run a suggestion by you.” 

“By all means, Sir,” Tallera nodded.

Zelenko nodded in kind. “Given that we’re going to have a fair amount of time with not much on our hands, I want you to take Basic Piloting II and Helmsman I academy courses. Both can be accessed on personal computers and the holodeck.”

“Um, piloting?” Tallera asked with a cocked eyebrow. “But I’m a weapons officer.”

“Indeed you are. But, as seen in our recent conflict with the Hazari, helm and weapons stations on smaller or more maneuverable vessels often go hand and hand. You and Mister Mackenzie performed very well together, but by studying each others’ disciplines we can push that synchronization even further. Additionally…” Zelenko smiled wryly. “I’m familiar with your affinity for the Defiant class tactical escort vessels. Should you ever find yourself serving on one of those, having both helm and weapons training is essentially mandatory. It’s the helm officer who fires the phase cannons on that class.”

“Are we… looking to transfer to a Defiant, Commander?”

“No,” Zelenko shrugged. “But it’s still up in the air as to how long you’ll be serving in Starfleet, and a Defiant could be perfect for your skill set one day. Additionally, and this is a bit of an assumption, but given that you were selected as an exchange officer, I think it’s safe to say that the Republic sees a future for you in either a command or instructor role one day, so more classes under your belt certainly couldn’t hurt.”

“Understood,” Tallera said after chewing on her cheek for a moment. “I’ll… go ahead and register for those online classes ASAP.”

“Fantastic. I’ll send the links to your personal computer, feel free to get started once we’re underway. Out of curiosity, have you given any thought to what future you would like yourself to have?”

Damnit. Tallera hated these questions.

“All I want to do is my duty to the Republic. And Starfleet, of course, while I’m here.” 

“That’s a very politically correct answer. But I’ve also heard that before from you. If you give me a little more, I’d do my best to help you get to that future.”

Tallera chewed on her cheek again. Her response had not, in fact, been a simplification nor vapid boss-appeasement. But given her past interactions with Zelenko, she doubted that the Commander would fault her for elaborating, even if the why wasn’t as much of an “ideal officer” soundbite.

“To be honest, Sir,” Tallera began somewhat uneasily. “I don’t really have any plans for my future. I want to serve on starships, preferably on the bridge, but that’s as far as it goes. I’m not an ambitious person, I’m not dying to sit in the CO’s chair like so many others seem to be. I don’t even think I’d be good at being a Commander. When I say all I want to do is serve the Republic… that really is about it. I believe in what we’re doing, and I’m just uncomfortable with the idea of not pulling my weight.”

Zelenko seemed to mull this over for a few moments.

“Why don’t you think you’d be a good Commander?” she finally asked.

Damnit damnit. It seemed like whatever she said, something hard to answer would come back her way. Were all Federation Commanders so nosy?

“I’m not good with people, Sir,” Tallera replied. “I don’t think I’d be inspiring, or be any good at making a crew into the best version of themselves. I prefer just being another cog in the machine.”

“Thank you for your openness, Tallera,” Zelenko nodded. “Your thoughts are noted and respected. I’m not going to try to push you to a path you don’t want to go down. But, it is worth noting, you’re still very young. Twenty… three, correct?”

“Twenty-four in a month.”

“Exactly. Just because you aren’t good at something now doesn’t mean you won’t improve over the next ten years. I like that you aren’t blinded by ambition or delusions of grandeur, and how dedicated you are to duty. My biggest suggestion for someone like you is to simply keep an open mind.”

“Understood, Sir.” That was only partially a lie.

“Good. Are you fully prepared for our departure in three hours?”

“Yes, Sir. My belongings are stowed and my station is ready.”

“Good. You stand dismissed.”

“Shepard to Escorts,” Zelenko spoke as she pressed a button on her Command Chair armrest, signaling to the flotilla. “Final check in before departure.”

“Ushaan here, we’re ready to proceed.”

“Same goes for Rapier. Ready for FTL at your leisure, Commander.”

“Copy that.” She pressed another button. “ComEscort to ComConvoy, final departure check-in. Everything alright?”

“Affirmative, Shepard. This is Ranek, convoy reports all systems green and warp controls synced with yours.”

“Understood, Captain. Departing at warp 6 in 30 seconds.” She released the coms button, then gave a nod to Mack, who began running final pre-warp power cycling.

Tallera took one last look out at the empty expanse, with the glowing green and blue edge of Virinat just managing to poke into the viewscreen’s peripheral. 

Goodbye, Republic… she thought, letting out a small sigh.

“Warp drive in 3…” Mack began counting. “2… 1.” 

With the tap to the helm console, Shepard, Ranek, and all surviving vessels of Convoy RN-775 launched themselves into deep space.