"Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 35276.61, Captain Esek Hrelle, Commanding: the Surefoot is currently engaged in a maintenance and upgrade cycle of a series of automated subspace communications and surveillance buoys within our sector, an opportunity for our cadets to gain practical experience in an extravehicular environment, so we're getting them to suit up and head out there rather than tractor the buoys into our shuttlebay and do the work inside. They all sound keen to get out there in suits, though I suspect that enthusiasm will dampen after they start cleaning the vomit out of their helmets.
On a personal note, I'm feeling... I'm feeling a little..."
Hrelle sat behind his desk, silent, until the computer prompted him with, "Do you wish to continue recording?"
"Yes." He stopped and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scratched at the fur on his muzzle and throat before actually continuing. "I'm feeling a little distant from my stepdaughter Sasha. I took this post mostly for the opportunity to participate in the Academy's Advanced Work Experience Program, which I knew she was in, in order to make up for the years I'd spent as a captive. And we do see each other, every day, have lunch, talk.
But it's not been the same of late. I'm sure it had something to do with my meeting Barbara - Professor Gianopoulis - on Luntanu last week, and though she said she was happy that I found someone of interest since her mother died, I can't help but feel that this development has distanced us. Sure, she's my stepchild, will always be my little Runt of the Litter. But she's also an adult, living a life of her own, separate from mine. She has friends, goals, interests, opinions, ambitions that I have not helped shape or given her. And I'm happy that she has.
But there'll always be a selfish part of me that wishes she was a child again, riding on my shoulders to get a better look at the Universe, and letting me sing her lullabies at night-
Oh, screw this! Computer, end recording!"
He breathed out, What maudlin, self-pitying nonsense! If Kami were here, the Counselor would be smacking his snout for this! Sasha was a hard-working, ambitious young woman, juggling her duties as a cadet, a crewmember of his ship and leader of Alpha Squad. What did he want her to do, devote all her free time to making him feel less of a dunsel?
His stomach growled as if in agreement, and he comforted himself with the thought of his imminent breakfast. He grabbed his PADD and left for the mess hall, determined to get a start on his daily admin work before his shift started. He might even get a chance to suit up and head out with one of the squads - not to keep an eye on them, and certainly not because he enjoyed the experience, but to maintain his own EVA qualifications.
But that was later. Now... "Two helpings of Terran French toast with cinnamon, side order of crispy bacon, and strawberry-flavoured maple syrup," he told the replicator wall panel happily.
"Unable to comply," the machine responded, sounding just a little too smug for Hrelle's liking. "There is an override from Chief Medical Officer Doctor Juliet Ling regarding your food choices. You are restricted to one of the following: one half-grapefruit, Terran or Rigelian origin; two slices of toast; one assorted fruit cup selection; corn flakes-"
"Shut up." The blush he felt beneath his fur was compounded by the crew and cadets, waiting in line to use the replicators and hearing the conversation. Dr Ling had threatened to limit his choices if he didn't make an effort to reduce his weight, but he barely had time to do something about it! It had only been... well, eight weeks, but still... "Computer, the French toast and bacon isn't for me, it's for a friend, he's caught in a dimensional rift and can't come to get it himself. So provide it. Now."
"Unable to comply."
Hrelle growled.
"Excuse me? Captain?"
He stopped growling to look behind him at Cadet Chaudri, the Flight Conn member of Beta Squad. "Yes, Rina?"
The impossibly-young and slim Terran girl with almond-coloured skin and eyes smiled slyly. "If you order a fruit cup, Sir, I'll order French toast and bacon and we can switch at the table."
"Why, that would be-" But he bit back the rest of his initial response. He had to set an example, after all. "That would be *wrong*, Cadet. The good doctor obviously had reason to put me on a diet, and I must accede to her... wisdom. But thanks for the offer, anyway." To the replicator, he asked, through clenched teeth, "One half-grapefruit, Terran."
"You are allowed eighteen grams of cottage cheese as an accompaniment with this selection. Would you like this included?"
"WHAT?" he proclaimed loudly, sarcasm as thick as how he imagined the syrup on his desired breakfast would have been. "A whole eighteen grams? Oh Bubulah, you would be spoiling me with such gastronomic extravagance!"
To the laughter of those around them, he then proceeded to tell the computer exactly what it could do with eighteen grams of cottage cheese.
A plain half-grapefruit and spoon materialised on a tray before him.
He took his tray to an empty table, grimacing before taking even his first bite. After all he'd been through, you'd think they'd offer him some dispensation to have a bit of a belly. It may not appear too flattering, especially in the current uniforms, but it wasn't as if he was in the Diplomatic Corps or a model on recruitment posters.
The taste of the grapefruit was exactly as he expected, and he cursed Dr Ling with each subsequent spoonful, as he lifted up his PADD and began skimming through the unread mails: further intelligence reports on the Galen Border Conflict, with consequent instructions to increase tactical exercises for cadets and crew, effective immediately; General Orders requesting any available intelligence on some race known only as the Ferengi, who until recently had only been sporadically reported; Signatures required for authorising warp core component replacements when they arrive at Starbase 156 next month-
He stopped at a mail with an unfamiliar Origin address; after a moment, he found it was relayed through the buoys from outside of Federation space. He opened the mail and began reading. He quickly forgot the rest of his breakfast.
And he never heard his first officer approach, tray in hand. "Good morning, Captain."
He grunted, not looking up from his PADD.
Commander T'Varik took his response with typical Vulcan stoicism, taking the seat opposite him, her own tray sporting an identical grapefruit but with cottage cheese. She indicated his rejected breakfast. "Dr Ling had warned me of your dietary change, and instructed me to inform you that I am unable to have her orders rescinded."
He never answered.
"If you are reading about the Galen Conflict, rest assured I have already added the holodeck exercise programs and altered the Squads' training schedules to accommodate them with immediate effect."
"I'm not," he said distantly. "I've received a personal message from the... the Nist Justice Hive."
The announcement almost provoked a discernible reaction from T'Varik. "The Nist? Why would the law-enforcement agency of a non-aligned world be contacting you?"
