“A table for four, but only three place settings?” the restaurant host asked skeptically, an eyebrow raised and glaring at Malakai Spencer like he’d just disrespected the man’s entire family line.

“Last I checked, holograms don’t eat,” Malakai answered with a cheeky grin, an elbow on the podium at the front of the restaurant as he leaned against it nonchalantly. “Unless you have something for them that is?”

The sigh from the host could have filled volumes with its subtext, but the keynote was resignation. The restaurant was only half full, and there was no clamoring line to give credit to the concept of denying entry. So he looked down, tapped at the screen, and then spoke again. “Inside, or outside?”

“Oh, outside of course,” Malakai answered promptly, looking past the man to the small but well-manicured garden off to one side of the restaurant. Surrounded by hedges on all sides for privacy, it afforded more the idea of outside dining being open to the grand space of DS47’s Galleria above.

“And your name?”

“Captain Malakai Spencer, USS Bismarck. Canopus Squadron.” The name drop was followed by a wink, which the host ignored.

It didn’t escape recognition, though. “We hope you have a lovely experience and do inform Commodore Theodoras of our establishment.” A server was waved over, a declaration of a table number, and then Malakai was being led to the patio promptly enough.

“Water,” the young woman said as she set a carafe on the table, coming back after guiding Malakai to it. “I’ll bring your guest out as they arrive. Would you like to look at the wine list?”

“Oh, no need,” Malakai said confidently. “A bottle of the house white will do as a start.”

Deep Space 47 was not as grand as Starbase Bravo, or Starbase 38, but after weeks aboard the Fox, it might as well have felt that way. The Galleria was the recommended go-to spot on the station when asked by the docking crew, as most of the social niceties were nestled along the station’s promenade. 

Michael took it all in, the sights, sounds, the emotions coming in from all directions. A telepath might have thought themselves powerless after weeks of isolation, and even if it was all coming at him at once, the rush of background noise was more of a relieving welcome to him than overwhelming. 

“I think this is the place, Commander,” Trixie revealed, the pair stopping before a posh Italian restaurant with a small garden attached. Michael snapped himself out of the attention stupor he allowed himself to be in to focus on where they stopped. “Oh, right. Thanks. Wow…” He commented at the bistro. “Good to know they have good taste.” he smiled.

“You sure you want me to come along?” Trixie inquired, looking to her commanding officer with a look of hesitation. “I don’t want you to get weird looks like you got when we went through security.” 

“Of course you’re welcome. I mean, if you don’t feel comfortable, that’s fine. But I let them know who was coming with me, so there should be no surprises.” Michael assured as they approached the podium. Trixie gave a deep breath, nodding in acknowledgement at Michael’s affirmation. 

They had barely reached DS47 when Michael was offered a welcoming invitation from a few Captains from the Task Force. Eager for socialization and networking with his new comrades, he had excitedly accepted. It was nice to have received such a warm welcome, as he knew all too well that in some circles, hazing and skepticism could easily run rampant within the ranks. 

“Commander Michael Angelus. USS Fox. I’m here meeting with others.” Michael addressed the restaurant host. The man behind the podium looked up at him for a moment and back down at his list. His eyes shot back up again, flickering over to Trixie with a knowing glance. “Ahh, yes. Welcome, sir.”

The Host snapped his fingers, and a waiter appeared, “If you’ll please, they will guide you to your party. Please enjoy your stay!” he directed, giving another glance over at Michael’s companion. 

Michael and Trixie were escorted into the outdoor garden dining area, which was sparsely populated but for a few patrons. “There is water and white wine at the table presently, but is there anything else I can get you while you wait for the rest of your party?” The waiter asked as they continued to walk. “A butter pecan cremosa would be nice, if you serve it.” 

The server gave a warm smile, “Ahh, an Italian aficionado? I’ll warn the chef to be on his A-game”, the hostess teased as they approached Captain Spencer.

“Captain Angelus,” Malakai greeted the newcomer as he rose to his feet, offering a firm handshake. “Malakai Spencer, and please, call me Malakai. Ranks and last names seem so formal.”

“Because they are,” another voice spoke from behind Michael. Carmen Torres had made her way across the restaurant without a guide. And from how she carried herself, she hadn’t bothered with even stopping at the host, spotting the only other uniformed personnel in the restaurant and making her way there with the inevitability of an unstoppable force of nature. She looked at the server, offering the slightest of smiles. “Another bottle of the wine and a starter of the garlic flat bread.”

“Right away, Captain Torres,” the young woman said, before scurrying off.

“She knew your name?” Malakai asked.

“Yes,” Carmen answered, then turned to Michael. “Carmen Torres, pleasure to meet you.”

“Michael Angelus, a pleasure,” he introduced, taking Malakai’s handshake. Michael could feel the jovial emotions from the other captain through their contact; it was a refreshing wave of reassurance that almost energized him.

“This is my Chief Engineering Officer, Trixie,” he announced. Trixie sheepishly nodded her head to the other captains before joining them at the table. 

“The frontier doesn’t look too shabby.” Michael complimented as he took his seat. He had worried that being separated as they were, the accommodations out in the expanse would be more operationally focused; thankfully, he had been overly pessimistic. 

“That’s the Federation for you,” Malakai said with a slight chuckle. “Bringing civilization, as we know it, wherever we go.”

“The station was mostly built in the core, then shipped out here and assembled.” Torres’ statement was delivered flat, as if just regurgitating a dossier. “The Galleria is still being populated, but it’s lively enough.”

“Give it another major discovery in the Expanse, or some settlement prospects, and you’ll have this place crawling,” Malakai chipped in. “And word of warning, DS47 is the last, best place for coffee heading out into the Expanse.”

“Last, best place for coffee heading back into the Federation, too,” Torres added as she started to peruse the menu. “Do not order any dish with seafood. The carbonara is to die for, though.”

“We will probably need to stockpile some grounds then,” Michael mentioned to Trixie at the comment of coffee, before turning his attention back to Captain Torres. “I was always taught to judge Italian places by their lasagna as a starter. But chicken carbonara does sound good.” He added, picking up a menu and glancing over it.

To not appear too awkward, Trixie poured herself a glass of water. “Since it’s just you aboard the Fox, we could probably turn one of the living quarters into a hydroponics bay, and grow you coffee beans.” she added with a smirk.

“Hey, that cute little cafe around in the blue sector might sell you some grounds, but honestly, my opinion, best coffee is Beans’d It.” Malakai set his menu down after only a quick look over. “But I think you’d have better luck robbing the banks of Ferenginar.” Then he leaned in, smiling. “All of them.”

Torres’ eyeroll was almost audible. “Don’t listen to him. He wouldn’t know good coffee if it hit him. There’s a place in Green sector, upper level of the Galleria. They sell beans to Starfleet captains. You’ll be fine.” She too set her menu down, then looked straight at Michael. “So you seem less,” she paused to consider her words for a second, “excitable than the only other half-Betazoid I know.”

“Tactful,” Malakai muttered.

Michael smirked at Torres’ words. “Well, I can’t speak for my half-blooded brethren, but I’d wager to say they might have grown up ‘normal’ for my kind.” He began to explain. The waitress returned to the table with drinks in tow, setting down a tall glass in front of him, filled with a dark, honey-colored liquid that had settled to the bottom, and the top half filled with a white, frothy cream. “Although I did inherit the species’ genetic disposition to a sweet tooth.”

As Michael reached for his glass, taking the initial sip of the butter-pecan flavored beverage, Trixie quickly muttered to him, “Much to your doctor’s dismay.” 

This made Michael chuckle for a moment as he set the drink back down. “You could almost consider me a Human with telepathic powers. I never really got to know my Betazoid heritage all that much growing up. In fact, my little stint over on Starbase Bravo was a huge culture shock for me. Never been around that many Betazoids in my life.” He admitted. 

“Yeah, that sounds like the boss,” Malakai chipped in as he poured a glass of wine for himself and Torres almost as soon as the two bottles were set down. “Don’t be surprised if Commodore Theodoras tries to avoid you. She uh…”

“Makes other Betazoids nervous,” Torres chimed in. “Well, the few who’ve ever met her in person. So, is the crew of holograms because you like the quiet, or some sort of Starfleet experiment?” Torres continued, still with the deadpan tone as she spoke. “Not to be rude, but it’s just personality constructs for interacting with the main computer.”

“Geez, Carmen.” Malakai shook his head in disbelief. “Could you be more blunt?”

“Yes,” was all the answer he got.

Trixie once again shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She gave an apologetic nod to Captain Spencer before taking another sip from her glass.

“To be honest, at this point, I’d say someone at Starfleet PsyOps is probably having a field day with me. When the Fox was given to me, she had no crew. She had gone in for a refit just before the whole under-space invasion, and at that point they already had her lifted in drydock with the engine on the floor.” Michael began to explain. 

“So everyone was reassigned to frontline starships as needed. They had just gotten around to finishing her refit about a month ago. I think the initial plan was for me to fly her here under automation and fill in the ranks once we arrived, but I ended up activating the whole array of Emergency Hologram Programs. Made the trip more tolerable.”

“Silence in moderation is welcoming, but for that long a period, it’s almost intolerable. With them as my crew, I have all I need. We even executed a successful recovery mission outside of the Arachnid Nebula on our way here, so I figure why fix what isn’t broken,” he finished, giving Trixie a reassuring smile.

“You’re one computer malfunction from being all by yourself,” Torres commented. “No offence,” she said to Trixie, offering perhaps the warmest expression she’d mustered so far. “Or one bad software update from killer holograms. I’d suggest reading up on CR-718. You want other people around.”

“What Carmen means is a varied crew is a strong crew. Mixing it up gives you more strengths to work with.” Malakai waved a passing waitress over, made a brief mention of being ready to order, and in quick succession, the menus were gone and lunch was promised not to be too far off.

“Well, I have a meeting with Commodore Ch’Thobar in about 5 hours…or do I discuss this with Captain Wyll? The communiqué was unclear on that. In any case, I am aware of the potential risks associated with an all-holographic crew, but given it’s my first command, I’m leaving the particulars to administration. For all I know, making due with what I have may be my initiation trial as a Commanding Officer. I don’t want to muddle that up by making crew demands.” Michael admitted, taking another deep swig from his glass.

“Speaking of strength, how is your crew faring? I haven’t read the full report yet, but rumor has it the Bismarck went toe-to-toe with some Breen raiders? Are they really causing a problem out here?” Michael asked Malakai, quickly changing the subject as the garlic bread came to the table.

Malakai’s bark of laughter was as loud as it was genuine. “Toe-to-toe is right! Gave them a good showing and, well, ran away as fast as we could.” He then leaned over the table, grinning like a schoolboy. “We were chasing down some rumors and pilfered a relic the Breen missed in a raid on a local species a few hundred years ago. They didn’t take to kindly to it, least until the Old Lady showed up.”

Torres cleared her throat. “The Confederacy are, officially, not sending ships into the Expanse and have arranged for lines of communication with Task Force Forty-Seven command. Though I suspect they’ve only ever used it to complain about Starfleet ships being to close to their border. And by too close, they tend to mean where able to get a faint warp signature at extreme distance and therefore presume it was either us or the Cardassians.”

“Well, I’ll make sure to mask our energy signatures if we’re ever 5 light-years from their border, then…” Michael remarked sarcastically, grabbing a piece of garlic bread and savoring the taste of the first bite.

“Have there been many expeditions past Ultima Thule? Or is the Task Force primarily engaged within the Expanse itself?” he asked after finishing his first piece of bread. “It sounds almost like a full-time job, with the Breen/Cardassian cold war, Bajoran colonies, and privateers or raiders to look after.” Trixie added in.

“Wouldn’t you know that already?” Torres asked of Trixie, an eyebrow raised. “Atlantis went past Ultima Thule, but only just. And then there was the time when her warp core had to be ejected. It took weeks to get a replacement to DS47, then another few weeks just for Perseus to deliver it and they weren’t that far along the Expanse.”

“If someone manages to talk Command into a five-year mission, heading out past Ultima Thule might not be a bad idea. But you’d be well and beyond past the edge of the commonly accepted map out there.” Malakai cleared a space to let the server, recently arrived with the first dishes, set them down. “Okay, enough work talk, more social talk, yeah?”

“Well, if you all will excuse me, I think I’ll go check out that Cosmos Repair. I’d like to see what the locals have cooked up for this region of space.” Trixie announced, setting her glass down and rising from her chair. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Captain, Captain, Commander.” She nodded to each of them respectfully before heading back towards the entrance of the restaurant. 

The rest of the evening passed casually as the dishes and drinks flowed aplenty. Michael thoroughly enjoyed the warm welcome from his fellow commanding officers and their points of wisdom on taking his first command. 

[To be Continued]