Normal, Relatively Speaking

[Cptn Swain 0]

The lift dropped Swain off at the commerce hub of Camelot, affectionately known as the Court. It was humming with activity as the Ventan Festival of Renewal kicked into full gear. Apparently in an effort to encourage cultural exchange between the Alpha and Gamma Quadrant, the Ventan and the station command staff had agreed to play host to it, not that there was any harm, it just seemed odd to see the entire Court decked in what could pass for a Cherry Blossom festival on Earth. Ventan vendors lined the walkways, selling sweet treats and traditional foods, while entertainers dazzled with tricks and acrobatics. In the distance, he could hear muscians playing as he ducked inside the Ambrosia.

Apparently also in the spirit of the Festival of Renewal, Ambrosia had been re-themed for the occasion, including their menu. Swain smiled to himself as he nodded to the maitre’d.

“You have a reservation,” the Tarkallian said, looking at Swain.

“I should, yes. Though I am not sure if the person I am meeting is already here.”

Nodding the Tarkallian opened his reservation book. “What was the name on the reservation?”

“Abronvonvich.”

“Ah,” the Tarkallian said, easing his voice. “A guest of the Admiral. He just got here a few minutes ago. Right this way.”

Swain motioned for him to lead the way and followed past several tables to a more private area of the bustling restaurant up a set of stairs to the second level that opened to balconies that overlooked the Court. At a far table in a secluded, private balcony, he saw the white hair of the Admiral.

“Captain,” he said as he approached. “Have a seat.”

Swain nodded his thanks to the Tarkallian before extending a hand to the Admiral. “This is … “

“I know,” the Admiral said as they sat down. “For a backwater planet and station, it’s not bad.”

Swain nodded as he took his seat and the waiter filled his glass with water. “Certainly not what I expected. I hear the base on Avalon is nice, too.”

Abronvonvich nodded. “It’s a nice place to get away too once and a while. A little provincial maybe, but its quiet.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, though it doesn’t look like we’ll be spending much time at Camelot anytime soon.”

Nodding again, Abronvoncich motioned the waiter to take the Captain’s drink order as he studied the long-haired human. He’d never heard of Swain till a few days ago when he’d gotten word that he’d be commanding the Excalibur and that it had been reassigned to his command. He’d reviewed his file, but that didn’t tell you much about a man. Sure it told you who he was, where he’d been assigned, occasionally what he’d done, but in his experience, Misha had found it told you precious little about the actual man behind the uniform. Granted dinner and drinks didn’t tell you much more, but it did give him an excuse.

Swain glanced over the menu for a moment before ordering a glass of blush wine. Like most people, he’d heard of Abronvonvich, but didn’t know much more than his service history. Serving as part of a task force was still a rather new concept to him, but in theory it didn’t work much differently than when you were a junior officer aboard a starship.

Wine, Misha thought as he took a drink of whiskey. To each his own, he’d decided a long time ago. “I hear they have good vintages,” he offered neutrally. “I am a spirit man myself.”

Swain nodded. “Never been big on them,” he said casually as he perused the menu, only partially aware he was being examined. “Not since the war anyway.”

“Mmm,” Abronvonvich said with a nod. “I think we all drank a little more then.”

They exchanged knowing glances. Swain hadn’t been directly on the frontlines during the Dominion War, but he’d seen his share of combat and they both knew that the war had changed everyone who been part of it.

“It seems almost strange,” Swain said, breaking the silence that had enveloped them after he’d ordered. “To imagine ten years ago I’d be parking my starship next to a Dominion cruiser in a Federation space station deep inside the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“There have been stranger bedfellows.”

Misha nodded again. He could hardly believe it himself sometimes. Ten years seemed like a long time on the surface, but at his heart, there were still days he found himself fighting a war that had been over for nearly a decade, and sometimes wars that had been over longer.

“I think,” he finally said, taking a long drink of whiskey, “that its easier for the young folks. It’s us old space fossils that have a hard time with change.”

Swain smirked. He felt rather honored for someone like the Admiral to include him in the ‘old folks’ category, even if he didn’t feel like it sometimes. “Still,” Swain said, “experience has it’s benefits does it not?”

Misha nodded. “On occasion, yes.”

“Though I find myself the newbie with my crew.”

“They’re a good crew. They had a good man for a Captain.”

Whatever he felt about Corizon’s extra-curricular behaviors, and propensity to break and bend rules, Misha respected the man as an officer and as a solider and he didn’t particularly care for the way his exit had been handled.

Swain barely knew the man beyond reading about him in briefings here and there, and he senses that even at a subconscious level, both the crew and his superior officer were going to spend a while comparing him to his predecessor. Granted, he was guilty of comparing the crew to their predecessors as well.

“They are clearly well trained,” Swain said. “I am lucky to have them.”

Misha nodded. “And from your file, I think they’re lucky to have you Captain.

“Captain Corizon was a good man, and a hell of an officer. As a commanding officer,” he said. “Well he had some room to improve. I don’t mean to kick a man when he’s not here, nothing I am going to say I didn’t tell him already -- I don’t work like that -- never have never will.”

Swain nodded. The preamble was unnecessary, but he knew that Abronvonvich was establishing some ground rules.

“Starfleet should never have put him in that situation. He’s was a hell of a tactician and an even better mission specialist, but giving him a starship... well there’s that saying about having enough rope to hang yourself with, eh? As a result, the crew took on some of his personality I think.”

Again nodding, Swain let the Admiral talk. None of this was new information, in fact he’d been briefed about it before taking on the assignment, but it was good to hear it from someone who knew the man personally.

“They’ve been through a lot. Been put through a lot, more than they should have had to endure,” Misha continued. “So we’re going to try and give them some... well I don’t want to say easy assignments. Nothing is ever easy out here, but just something a little more...”

“Normal?”

Misha nodded as their dinner came out. “Yes,” hes said. “That’s a good way to put it. Normal. They haven’t had a sense of normality for a long time. Everything that Corizon touched seemed to turn into a cloak and dagger act. Not his fault, mind you, but it’s the truth.

“I think it will be good for them to simply go on a mission where they don’t have to wonder if there’s something going on with the mission directives they’re not being told.”

Swain smirked widely. “When did standard operating procedures change?”

The comment caught Misha off-guard, but the clear levity in Swain’s tone eased what could have been a tense moment. He was going to like Swain, he thought as he forked some Ventan greens into his mouth and chewed with a grin.

“Well,” he said after swallowing. “Any more than what passes for normal out here.”

“There’s that word again...”