Blue flashed throughout the small Engineering Lab next the Engine Room, pulsating and filling the tiny space. Shane's massive bulk was hunched over over the workbench at the back of the lab as he worked the quantum welder expertly with the object on the counter. Parts of the stolen Klingon disruptor was strung out in front of him, along with several sizes of force-field emitters. The cyborg's brow above the welding goggles was furrowed in concentration. Pher quietly entered the lab, noted male humanoid at work, and settled in quietly for a pause between welds. Pher sighed. On more than one occasion she'd wished she had skills vaguely useful towards operating a spaceship. Oh, driving an underwater jet rig had taught her enough basics that she could sit down at a bridge console, and she'd ad-libbed enough that people were starting to trust her. Should she trust herself? As Shane paused to examine his work, she spoke his name just loud enough to be heard over his equipment. "Shane." The cyborg stiffened slightly at the sound of his name, then let out a sigh as he recognized Pher's voice. When the word of the new first mate had reached his ears, Shane had been...less than enthused. He knew there had been no chance in hell that he would get a position like that on the Qob; nobody trusted him. He felt most of the time that the only reason Joe kept him on board was because he was good with a wrench. "Making friends" hadn't been an interest of his for quite a while, he tolerated the annoyances that some of the crew members caused him. But now the one that irritated and mist-trusted him the most out-ranked him. Life had a way of jyking with you. Slowly, Shane straightened up and turned his shoulder to cast his cold grey eyes on the green-skinned Orion at the door. "What?" he asked with slight impatience. "What? We haven't been on the same page, Shane, not since you came aboard. When you were engineering and I was security, wasn't my job to straighten things out. Now that I'm playing at XO, I've got to. I'll start with a congratulations. You got away with something our other down on leave, working with Byblos rather than thumping him, though somehow he wound up thumped anyway. Just seeing you play one of your games more or less with a partner left me reluctant to crash it. Still, I'm curious. Just what was it that you took apart afterwards, before you headed out?" Reaching back behind him, the big man picked up the object he was working on and held out. It looked the elaborate handle of a cutlass with a thin meter long pole instead of a blade, yet bigger and interlaced technological components. Thumbing a switch on the wire wrapped handle Shane held the object away from himself as the pole swiftly lit up and a glowing blue sweeping blade flashed into existence. "A force sword, built usin' components from the Klingon disruptor we "recovered" and spare force-field emitters for the Qob's impulse engines. The fields are altered and shaped to create a blade that's cool to the touch with a molecular edge." Shane rotated the humming blade, inspecting it with an appraising eye. De-activating the blade, he tossed it to Pher while he continued, "Its a replacement for Byblos's sword." Pher caught it smoothly, felt the weight of it, then performed a brief dance. Her moves weren’t quite right for the blade. It was an edge weapon, while Pher worked primarily with the tip. Her movements would also look wrong to a practical fighter who learned in the military or on the streets. She looked more like a dancer, or perhaps a religious fighter who treated swordplay as a form of discipline or prayer. But it wouldn’t be a celibate religious order. “Nice,” she said, reversing the blade and presenting the hilt to Shane. “A bit heavy for me, but I imagine Byblos will be quite pleased.” She hesitated. “Is it built for abuse? Would you want to bash down doors with it, or should I be careful in what I ask Byblos to do?” Grabbing the hilt with his good hand, Shane swung the flat of the blade hard against the green bulkhead behind the workbench. The sword fizzled in protest, but remained sturdy and strong. The big man de-activated it and set it back on the bench. "The only limiting factor is the power pack, which will last over 24 hours with constant abuse. He'll just need to carry extras." Shane look back to Pher and leaned against the bench, which creaked under his weight. "Did you have something else to say or were you just being nosy?" “I’ve a problem in cultural perspectives, in etiquette perhaps.” She paused briefly, considering. “I’m no expert in The Klingon Way, but as I understand it they’re not so much into law, logic, or latinum as other races. They care about honor. If they have a problem, they don’t expect any government or security force to handle it for them. No, they’ll handle it themselves, if necessary with the support of comrades and clan. Anyway, if some Klingon encounters someone who might be consider from their particular perspective to be a cowardly lying thief who besmirches one’s honor and strikes, what was that phrase, ‘with hidden face,’ I believe it would be a big deal for them. So, anyway, a question. Did you get the name, clan and ship of the individual you acquired parts from? I suspect we might be hearing from him again, him or his clan. I thought being prepared might be nice.” Shane held up the fingers of his good hand, counting off. "One, he was drunk. Two, he was the only Klingon in the bar. Three, he never saw my face only Byblos's. And what egotistical ridge-head is going to admit that a Naussicaan got the better of him? Not any one I've ever met." The big man straightened back up and walked towards the door directly behind Pher, stopping just short of the Orion woman and looking down at her. "I've got engines that need lookin' after." “Shane? I know about pain. I know about anger. I grew up into a difficult profession. You do the best you can, and you’re treated like some crawling thing that lives under a rock. If you object, you find yourself living under a bigger rock. Had to learn to smile while keeping the customer happy. Had to learn to do others favors so you could collect them in return. Had to learn patience, teamwork, discipline. Had to learn to choose enemies carefully, and to make it look like an accident. “It’s clear enough you’re hurting,” Pher continued. “It’s clear enough life has taught you different lessons. I’m sure you’ve got a tale to tell, and no desire to tell it. Thing is, most everyone on the ship carries a gun, and too many think they’ve been appointed security chief by the First Energy Being, with the right to start whatever trouble they like, for whatever reason they like, whenever they like, not caring what consequences might fall on the head of anyone else. “This can’t continue.” Shane's cold, grey eyes narrowed slightly as they stared down at Pher, as though he were about to give an angry reply. But after a moment, the emotion was gone. The cyborg brushed past the new First Mate roughly as his low voice rumbled, "What I do on leave is my own business." With his bionic whirring and hissing, Shane left the lab and stomped heavily through the double doors to the Engine Room. "Everyone on this ship is a jykin' psychologist..." “Not a psychologist,” Pher yelled at the rapidly closing door. “Whore!” She turned, heading back to talk to Joe. Did first officers have a say in making up shore leave schedules? “Psychologists are far too over specialized.”