The small quarters were a comfort to Yaaya Deepre. She felt as if she could sit comfortably here forever. She had been welcomed aboard with a glance and a nod. She understood. A war was on, and it had been blasting into all corners of the galaxy for the better part of a year. She ran her fingers over the symbols of her people and planet. Bile rose from her stomach. She had escaped Bajor in 2359 at age twenty-five and never returned. Her family had been appeasers to the Cardassians. It had frustrated a young Yaaya to the point she’d begun to sympathize with rebels and separatists. Her family had planned to sell her out to the Cardassian authorities.
The door chime sounded, and she startled out of her thoughts. “Enter.” A crewman nervously stepped through and handed her a PADD with instructions for opening the bar and lounge. She frowned, “The Mile High Club?” The crewman shrugged and departed, leaving Yaaya to do a quick search on the word, which she quickly laughed and then groaned as she realized humanity’s maturity at times didn’t go past middle school. She pushed off her bed and followed the path of the crewman.
She entered and found some crew at tables. The bar lights were off, and she smiled with some satisfaction. She could make this her own, in her way. She quickly went to work arranging the bottles and starting her inventory. Some of the officers at the tables gave her an odd look or two, but she kept working with the main lights off. She wanted to start this assignment right and hold the position as long as possible. She didn’t want a piece of the war; she just wanted her peace. An hour later, she had acquired what she could from operations and the quartermaster. She stepped behind the bar and tapped the console, smiling as the lights flickered on. A few of the crew slid into the bar seats. She nodded to the screen behind her. The menu was up.
It was time to serve the crew of the USS Denver.