Dawa was in a rare dour mood as she marched through the promenade. Her normally casual pace was quickened and her easy smile was nowhere to be seen.

It was just one of those days: meetings stacked on meetings, a backlog of forms and reports, and more appointments than could reasonably fit in a workday, at least one of which would have to be postponed now that she’d been summoned to Promenade Security. As if she hadn’t spent enough time answering questions already. Perhaps there really was a goat-trafficking ring on the station?

The doors had barely enough time to slide open as she zipped through the entrance and made a beeline for the front desk. She could feel her polite smile fraying at the edges as she nodded at the receptionist and made her way to the nearest waiting room.

Only at the sight of one of her newest acquaintances, already seated, did she finally lose a bit of tension. She caught his eye and smiled at him as she sat down a few seats away in the otherwise-empty room. “Ensign Topaz-Smythe! They dragged you up here, too?”

Caaral sat with the posture of a man who found himself contemplating the nature of existence itself. He made the mistake of arriving early. Time had melted into a forgotten haze. He found himself examining the same stained speck on the carpeted floor for over eleven minutes. “Dragged?” His voice sounded almost puzzled. “I would not have said that when I arrived. It sure feels that way now.”

He turned his body towards Dawa in his uncomfortable chair. “I was told Lt. Godot would arrive at 1300 hours.” The Trill hybrid scratched his spotted neck impatiently. “It’s so far past that now that the time must be approaching somewhere between 1500 and the fall of Cardassian civilization.”

Caaral huffed a quick breath before adding, “They told me to wait, so I wait. The last time I asked, they said Godot should be right out. What do you think, Commander? Is there a chance there really could be something behind the talk of goat trafficking?”

“There had better be!” said Dawa. “Otherwise why call me up here in the middle of a busy day? It certainly wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen on this station.”

She drummed her fingers anxiously on the chair handles before adding, more quietly, “I mean, I hope the goats aren’t in any danger, at least. I don’t actually wish such unfortunate circumstances on any goats.”

Dawa eyes roved over the surfaces of the room, starting with the stain (stains) on the floor, the slightly mismatched chairs, the nondescript artwork on the walls. She craned her neck and saw an eerie painting of a leafless tree hanging behind herself and the ensign. “1300, huh? It’s certainly not that late, it’s only—”

There was not one single clock, chronometer, or time-keeping device of any sort on the walls, Dawa realized with a start. She hurriedly scanned the room once more just to confirm. “Well, it’s not quite that late, anyway.”

Caaral tried to stay positive. “I’m sure he’ll be right out.. Any moment or second now.” A hesitant smile crossed his spotted face.

The doors whisked open with a hiss reminiscent of steam escaping a pressure cooker. In strutted Glazmar the Klowahkan. He wore a scarlet cloak that matched his feathers. One winged arm curved behind his back, the other held a leash made of kellic fiber.

An indifferent dark brown Torothan goat clopped dutifully behind him. Glazmar stopped and turned towards the two officers dramatically.

“I believe you are both early”, Glazmar declared. “You remind me of bread that has risen too quickly. Or perhaps trying to toast Tellarite rolls with an open flame.”

“We were just sitting and waiting”, Caaral said apologetically. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

Glazmar turned and tugged on the goat’s leash. “Steady, little one. They do not yet understand your worth”, he cooed dramatically. “You will help produce a line known for the best milk and tastiest roasts on this side of the quadrant.”

The crimson-feathered man turned back towards Dawa and Caaral. His eyes fixated on the bomber pilot as he moved closer.

“You’re simmering, I see”, Glazmar said to Dawa.  The goat chewed on the leash as he tugged. “You must feel like a broth waiting to boil.”

An awkward, bubbly laugh rose from the depths of Dawa’s bile duct. The thought of roasted Torothan goats was nearly enough to bring her simmer to a boil, but the rest of the Klowahkan’s similes and metaphors sparked a realization in her mind.

“I haven’t had lunch yet,” she said through a clenched jaw. Her stomach punctuated the statement on her behalf with a loud gurgling.

“All I’ve had today is–”

Before she even spoke the word, she felt the consequences of her over-consumption manifest. She crossed her legs and adjusted her position.

“Lots of coffee,” she finished with a grimace.

She watched Glazmar out of the corner of her eye and thought about behaviorists who said that the color red provoked aggression in humans.

Caaral leaned back in his chair. “Coffee suddenly sounds appealing.” He didn’t seem to notice its effect on her. “I feel as if my energy is being sapped by the wait. Caffeine might replenish my patience, even if only for a moment.”

The Trill hybrid fought with an inner restlessness that made him want to get up and leave. “Commander. Time has broken its leash and is frolicking with the goat.” He gave a small nod toward the animal. The dark animal chewed indifferently.

“Soon,” Caaral continued as he clasped his hands in his lap, “we may not remember why we came. Only that we are here. Waiting… Perhaps just this paperwork to clear so that our lives could continue.” He offered Dawa a sympathetic smile. “It helps to pretend the waiting is part of the assignment. It gives a sense of purpose. This is like a performance review… only with goats.”

Glazmar drew himself up, chest feathers flaring in self-importance. “Purpose is like saffron,” he replied dramtically. “Expensive. Unnecessary. But it gives flavor to the blandest dish.” He paused and looked into each officer’s eyes. “Do not let the absence of sauce lead you to despair. The stew is still simmering. And in time… Ah, in time! The chef shall return with spoons.”

The Klowawkhan reached down and plucked a basil leaf from the goat’s shoulder, sniffed it, and frowned. “But first, we must endure the garnish of bureaucracy.”

Dawa’s gaze darted from Glazmar to Caaral to Glazmar again. She sucked in a deep breath, rubbed her temples, tried counting to ten… Her bladder interrupted her at eight.

“Augh!” She shot up from her seat. “Too many rhetorical figures!” And she ran out through the waiting room doors.

Not three seconds later, a Bolian in operations gold and an ensign’s pip came rushing into the room. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Godot says the wait will just be a bit longer. He’s still dealing with our most recent crisis, but he’ll see you just as soon as that’s sorted.”

Without waiting for a response, the ensign darted back out the doors.

Two minutes later, Dawa returned. The relieved smile on her face faltered only a little when she saw Caaral and Glazmar still waiting. “So it seems I didn’t miss anything,” she said as she retook her seat.

Caaral tilted his head with the solemnity of a philosopher mid-thesis. “No, Commander,” he replied. “You missed precisely the amount one always misses in a timeless place such as this. Which is to say nothing, and yet everything. Your seat remained warm in spirit.” He gestured vaguely towards the same uncomfortable chair. It sat just as uninviting as before.

Glazmar gave a grand sniff. “Nothing missed, but much unprepared,” he groaned as he fluffed his feathers aggravatedly. “This goat grows impatient. I confess, so do I. We cannot stew in this stagnant broth any longer.”

He reached into a hidden fold of his cloak and withdrew a small, metallic card. “I shall retrieve something hearty. From Betazed, no less. Pelrin spirals, yes? The kind with melted root cheese and a touch of fig oil. Each tasty morsel is wrapped in leaves the color of yearning vegetation. These finger-sized comfort foods are soft enough for a broken spirit to chew.”

The goat gave a long snort, as if in agreement.

Glazmar turned to the door with a dramatic sweep. “Wait as dough waits. Yeasty, uncertain, and full of potential. I shall return with sustenance, and perhaps a bite of clarity.”

With an elegant tug on the kellic fiber leash, the birdfolk and the goat trotted out. The swish of his cloak echoed faintly behind them like a whispered recipe.

Caaral leaned toward Dawa with a subdued expression. “I envy that goat,” the Ensign murmured. “At least he knows what he’s waiting for.”