Repartee

[Cptn Swain 0]

Part of Asher Swain had never stopped being marveled by transporters. It was amazing to him that humanity (such a racist word) had advanced themselves sufficiently that they could play god on an everyday basis. The mystery of creation, he’d reasoned, had eluded society and culture for generations, and yet over the course of a day Starfleet transporter operators played Shiva, both as creator and destroyer, dozens of times over. It was fascinating.

 

As he stepped onto the pad of the Excalibur and nodded to the transport officer, he felt the

familiar tingle of his atoms being disassembled for transmission to Camelot Station.

 

“Afternoon, Captain,” the operator said, trying his best for cheer. “Welcome to Camelot Station. If you don’t mind though, I’ve got a busy schedule of transports to keep.”

 

Swain smirked ever so slightly. The traditional chain of command, ridged as it sometimes could be, had the darnedest quirks. “Not at all Chief. Have a nice day.” Without much thought the operator nodded and began preparing for his next beam out as Asher shuffled into the hallway.

Camelot Station was still unfamiliar to Asher and he paused just outside the transporter room doorway to ascertain how far he’d been deposited from his eventual destination, the office of Vice-Admiral Misha Abronvonvich. Running his hands over the LCARS panel, he quickly found the layout of the station with the sign reading ‘you are here.’

 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the bigness of it all. Excalibur still felt very foreign to him, and Camelot even more so. On the Cassini and the Idrisi he’d known every soul under his command, yet on Excalibur he was still trying to get down the names of the bridge crew. For a man who prided himself on knowing his crew, it was fairly disconcerting.

 

Swain paused for a moment as the corridor he’d be following dumped out into an open promenade looking over the ‘Courtyard,’ the commercial market area of the station. Transporter room Three-Gamma had been on the exact opposite end of the sprawling station from the Admiral’s office, but at least it had afforded him a chance to stretch his legs, and apparently, a birds-eye view of the bustling civvie scene. He could have stood along the railing, watching the commotion below for at least an hour without any thought of boredom, but he reminded himself of his appointment with Abronvonvich and continued on after a few moments.

 

Just as the transporter found a way to bring him wonderment, so too did the sheer force of humanity’s (there was that word again) will to thrive. The thought, just a mere decade ago, of a bustling Federation outpost deep in the Gamma Quadrant would have caused just about anyone sane to laugh, and yet, here it was, strong, vibrant and ever growing.

 

Growing up on a colony world, he’d always wondered what had made his ancestors want to leave the safety and security of their homes to set out on the frontier and carve a new life for themselves, and not only that but to eschew the trappings and comfort of modern technology for ways of antiquity.

 

Sighing he continued along the railing and into a lift that carried him up to the command levels of the station. Finally coming to Abronvonvich’s suite of offices, he was shortly shown inside. The long floor-to-ceiling windows, with their panoramic view of the planet below held him captive for a moment, just as they done during his first visits to the office. He wondered, silently, if it would continue to hold such an allure on subsequent visits – as did the Admiral.

 

Misha Abronvonvich filed the thought away, chiding himself. Perhaps, he considered, he was too judgmental of the new commander of the Excalibur. Perhaps, he considered, he unfairly continued to compare him to the prior master of the Excalibur; which also led him to the rather uncomfortable conclusion that, despite everything that had occurred, he missed Ah-Windu Corizon.

 

It wasn’t that he disliked Asher. Not at all. From everything he could see, he was a capable, dedicated captain who didn’t seem to have Corizon’s knack for blowing things up – nor did problems follow him wherever he went. Still, Corizon and himself were of the same mind on many issues and he’d come to value the unique perspective and contrast that the Dameon often brought to any issue. Swain, on the other hand, was a different breed from either himself or Corizon. Swain was a scientist first and foremost. How they’d ever got him in the Captain’s Chair eluded Abronvonvich. Still he seemed to do well enough..

 

“Captain,” he said, breaking his mental repartee. “Welcome back to Camelot.”

 

Swain, for his part, had thought little about the Admiral, due largely to his continued fixation with the giant, blue-green-and-wispy-clouded orb hogging the window behind Abronvonvich. Breaking himself away at the sound of the coarse, accented voice of the Admiral, Swain turned his attention to the craggy-faced Russian.

 

“Good to be back, sir.” Swain said tipping his respectfully and coming to an easy attention on near the edge of the large desk. “I would be lying if I said I was unhappy that mission is over.”

 

Misha grinned widely. Part of him enjoyed the breaking in new captains got to the Gamma Quadrant. He’d found that even fairly seasoned ones likes Swain found the adjustment from the relatively controlled chaos of the Federation and the Alpha Quadrant to the rough and tumble frontiers of the Gamma Quadrant to be rather … trying.

 

“If it’s any consolation,” Misha said with as close to a comforting voice as the burly Russian could manage, “You did a very good job.”

 

Swain shrugged. He certainly didn’t feel that way, but he wasn’t going to dispute the Admiral.

 

“It’s comforting to know I have a commander I can trust not to escalate a situation.”

 

“Thank you, Admiral.”

 

“Well, I am sure you’re anxious to get back to your ship. I expect a full report by tomorrow.”

 

“Of course...”