“She sure is pretty, huh?”

“The vessel bears a general visual hierarchy and defined silhouette that many sapient species find appealing, yes.”

Tallera shot Dreval a bemused glance, then turned her gaze back through the window of the Starbase Bravo observation lounge, where the USS Shepard could be seen undergoing final preparations in drydock. While the patrol frigate was dwarfed by the gargantuan Sovereign-class exploration cruiser sitting next to her, Tallera couldn’t help but already feel intense pride in her vessel. She looked a bit like a hybrid of a Luna-class explorer and the old Miranda frigates that she was based on; a poignant blend of two classic Federation designs from past and present that gave the ship a feeling of being steeped in the Starfleet tradition and values. Tallera wasn’t even in Starfleet and she found it a bit stirring.

“She’s named after the first Human in space, right?” she said to Dreval, still gazing at the Shepard.

“No. The second.” he said flatly after slurping up some of that odd green smoothie he enjoyed so much.

“Really?”

“Yes. The first was Yuri Gagarin.”

“Gagarin-class Yuri Gagarin?”

“The Heavy Escort class is indeed named in his honor.”

“Makes sense,” Tallera nodded. “First gets a class, second ‘just’ gets a ship.”

“Actually, there was a Shepard-class early in the early 23rd century, long before the current Gagarins.”

“Why would they honor the second human in space before the first?” Tallera asked with a raised eyebrow and a bit of a scoff.

“Because Alan Shepard was the first human from a democracy to journey into space, albeit a flawed democracy. Yuri Gagarin was from a dictatorship, although he himself is quite well-respected nonetheless. As I understand it he was a selfless man and gave his life to ensure the safety of others.”

“Wait… you’re telling me that the Humans – the quintessential Federation species – began spacefaring as a totalitarian state?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing…” Tallera said softly, returning her gaze to the Shepard and feeling a bit more kinship towards Humans than she had before.

A few meters away, now-Commander Jimena Zelenko leaned against the lounge’s bar, swirling her celebratory margarita and enjoying the playful ego-boost that accompanied a promotion party. She glanced at her padd on the bar as a notification for a message addressed to “Jimenushka” popped up – undoubtedly a congratulations message from her dad. She’d have to call him later, once she had the time – Ivan Zelenko was not a person that someone could talk with for less than four hours.

“So…” the older, rugged-looking Tellarite next to her grunted as he gestured to the window. “What do ya think of her?”

“I’m surprised you even need to ask, Captain Dellos,” she smirked as she sipped from her drink. “I never shut up about getting my own ship back when I was your XO.”

“Bahhhh, not the Shepard…” Dellos said with a wave of his hand. “No shit you’d like that; it’s brand new and defense-focused, she’s a dream ship for a Commander with your work history. I’m talking about the Romulan.”

“That’s not a very egalitarian thing to ask, Sir,” she said after another sip, her tone still light but nonetheless carrying the weight of meaning what she said.

“Screw egalitarianism, that’s a Romulan. Everyone in this damn bar wants to know how she’s getting along in Starfleet, at least the ones that don’t think she’s just another Vulcan.”

“The years haven’t made you any less Tellarite, have they, Dellos?”

“No more than they’ve made you less Human.”

“Here’s to that,” she laughed, lifting her glass in a toast to which the Captain responded in kind. 

“As for Ensign Tallera…” Zelenko continued. “She’s as fine a tactical officer as I could want. Maybe a little guarded and high-strung, but that’s understandable given where she came from.”

“‘Guarded and high-strung’… sounds a lot like my old XO on the Tecumseh,” Dellos grinned. “Maybe she was a Romulan sleeper agent this whole time.” 

“You never know, Cap’n,” Zelenko said with a wink, to which Dellos guffawed.

“Hey, speaking of the Tecumseh, I got a work question for you,” the Tellarite said as he pulled a padd from his messenger bag.

“Really, Skipper? During my promotion party?”

“Hey, it’s S’Geras’ party too, and you’re having too much fun for the two of you to share properly.”

“Oh, of course then, Sir,” Zelenko laughed.

“So, then…” Dellos continued. “You know how your Shepard comes stocked with two sets of two shuttles in the hangars?”

“Sure.”

“Well, now that the Tecumseh is getting converted into a freight hauler, she doesn’t need her runabouts anymore. I’m a sentimental old bastard, so I’m taking one of ‘em with me to the Rokossovsky since Gagarins get two anyhow. You want the other one on the Shepard, in place of two of your shuttles?”

“A runabout could be handy…” Zelenko mused. “Which one would you give me?”

“Genesee. You know I’m not parting with Saginaw, that Runabout saved my life during the incident with the Tholians.”

“Good, I always liked Genny better anyhow. Saginaw kept getting in the way of my dastardly Romulan plots to kill a Federation Commander.”

Dellos guffawed, then gave Zelenko a hearty pat on the back. “She’s yours then! Consider it a promotion gift.”

“Much appreciated, Sir.”

Dellos raised his glass. “To Jimena Zelenko, the best new Commander and worst Romulan agent in Starfleet.”

Jimena raised hers. “To Vosh Dellos, the… newest new Captain in Starfleet.”

Dellos cackled again, and Zelenko happily laughed along with him.

Jimena Zelekno stumbled along the hallway to her temporary Starbase headquarters, regretting accepting that last shot of vodka with Lieutenant Travers. She’d probably feel a bit of this in the morning, but oh well. She’s just been promoted and shown her first starship, she deserved a night of fun.

Tossing open the door and plopping onto her bed, Zelenko grabbed her padd to absent-mindedly play a stupid game to wind down from the party, then saw the message from her father. 

Shiiiiit, she thought, irritated at herself and feeling more than a little guilty about being too drunk to respond, despite knowing very well that her father wouldn’t take it personally at all. Still, she didn’t like leaving people hanging like that.

Then she saw another message pop up, this one listed as from D. Hawkins. 

Zelenko winced and her heart fluttered, feeling a much sharper stab of guilt than before. It wasn’t like him to send a message un-prompted, particularly after such an extended time with no communication between the two. She opened the message, figuring that it wasn’t a completely unreasonable assumption that he was dying or something.

Hey Jimena,

Been a while, huh? I heard you got a promotion and a ship of your own, so I-

Okay, he wasn’t dead. That meant Zelenko could deal with the message in the morning, without vodka and tequila clogging up her system so much. 

Or maybe tomorrow night, with far, far more drinks.