—- Pernod, Gamma Quadrant —-

It’s almost noon when I wake up, the latest I’ve been up since my first year at the Academy when I’d consistently sample Earth’s social life and awaken later in the day thanks to a logical arrangement of course scheduling that allowed for such nocturnal activities. Humans often do not think that Vulcans find value in late night activities, but as an anthropological and sociological experience one can not attend advanced schooling without doing at least one year observing humans as they go through their ‘college years’. So much of modern holonovels revolves around this seminal age for humans, that now even Andorians have adopted the wild years of ‘sewing wild oats’.

Not that there are any oats that are sewed, but it is the human expression.

I glance at the other bed in my quarters that the Pernod have assigned, to see Ensign Jura Ible still asleep. Due to inter-human romantic dynamics we have been avoiding our friends particularly fellow Ensign William Gakor, to as the couple is to again use a human phrasing ‘currently on the outs’. The unstable nature of their relationship is illogical.

So far out of rang of Starfleet eliminates my need to send a message to Commander Sok who is back in the Alpha Quadrant and too far to receive communications from the USS Hood in a timely manner. I resolve to send him a summary message in a few days. It is however a reminder to me that as messy as human relationships can be, Vulcan ones are no more straight forward. Like my non-Vulcan friends we are not exactly a couple. That would have been inappropriate when he was a Commander and I a cadet when we had both served together on the USS Andromeda. Now though, it is to use a phrase ‘it is complicated’.

I don a swimsuit and exit the room leaving Ible to sleep off last night’s libations. I find a still empty pool and engage in the completion of laps along the length of the pool. After one hundred bidirectional lengths I exit, my heart rate slightly elevated from the activity.

A human male in a security uniform with pips indicating that he is a lieutenant, is watching me. He smiles in the way that humans do. I believe they intend this to be friendly, but they often actually want something at the same time. The man proves this true when he attempts to engage me in conversation.

“I didn’t know Vulcans like to swim,” he said.

”I find it a more efficient way to travel in the water than walking on the bottom,” I observed dryly. I understand that this was not what he meant, but humans often waste time by making annoying observations like ‘Vulcans don’t like swimming’.

He laughed and shook his head as if I had been attempting to amuse him and succeeded. “I meant swimming for fun.”

”It is an effective exercise,” I pointed out, “Using a number of calories while being less strenuous on the body than others options.”

”Well you don’t look like you need to burn off any excess calories,” he observed. Then when I was silent, he added, “That was a compliment.”

I nodded, “I understand you are complimenting my physical appearance as a method of courtship. I do not particularly find appeals to my physical appearance particularly effective.”

He winced, “Ouch, well you’re quick witted too, that was a cutting reply.”

”I did not mean to cut you lieutenant,” I said.

”Hume, Lieutenant Hume, Assistant Chief of Security,” he introduced himself.

“Faciniating,” I said, and without another words because there was no more to be said, I headed back to the room and Ensign Ible.

—- Counselor’s Office, USS Hood —-

With a fourth of the crew down on Pernod for their leave, I had another block of hour long sessions cancelled. A quick review of my schedule revealed that I had the rest of the day off. The only thing on my plate for the rest of the week was a few sessions with crew still onboard and collecting all my crew evaluations to send back to Starfleet Medical by the end of the week. Since we were out of direct contact with Starfleet now we batched messages up and sent one large data packet a week, to cut down on things being lost or worse intercepted.

My excursion to the surface of Pernod was not scheduled for three weeks, until the last batch was allowed to go. My Assistant Counseling Officer was currently on leave, and hopefully he was enjoying himself. I know he had a list of men that he’d wanted to hit on, so hopefully that went well for him. Even us counsellors had difficulty with romance. So it was good to see one of our own succeed.

It gave the rest of us hope.

My own history had been rocky. An engagement called off had lead to a rather fallow period. My ex-fiancé Hume had cheated on me and I’d ended it. It had not helped that I’d felt how sorry he was, I couldn’t let myself be that woman who gets cheated on then puts on a brave face and forgives and forgets. I had to stand up for my own self-worth and my own mental health.

I replicate myself a sugary carbonated beverage and take a stroll through the arboretum. I didn’t grow up on Earth, or Betazed, so I don’t have a lot of affinity for the selection of trees that they’ve chosen to plant. Mars, back when there was trees on Mars, hadn’t really been a leafy world. It had not been lush and green. Still it’s nice in the arboretum and while it’s not getting off the ship, it’s a neat way to trick yourself into feeling as if you’ve been outside when all you’ve done is go to another deck.

I spot the Chief Diplomatic Officer Diya Acharya similarly wandering the wooded portion of the deck. I offer her a wave, “Lieutenant, how goes it?”

Acharya shrugs, “There’s not a lot to work on with the Pernod, they’re pretty set in their ways with how they deal with crews. Commander Ryaon has also worked out most of everything with us taking shoreleave and all that.”

I nod, sensing boredom. This far out from the Federation most of her job is handling meeting new races and new civilizations. Over the course of two months we’ve met one, and the Hood‘s first officer handled most of it.

“Any sense they’d be interested in trading or in joining the Federation,” I asked.

Acharya shook her head, “Not likely. They’re a vacation destination. They’ve been clear that that’s their purpose and what they’d like to do. I’m sure I can negotiate rates for future Federation stays, but I’m not looking to book hotels for all of Starfleet.”

”I guess that doesn’t sound like you’re job,” I agreed.

Gesturing to the now empty glass that I had in my hand she said, “Did you want to fill that up and join me for a drink in one of the lounges?”

I nodded, “Sounds more useful that what wandering around the ship.”