“We confirmed the Oskoid arrived on location?” Maze stated, not looking at the ensign at his flank. The two walked with purpose down the corridors of the USS Typhon, both of their noses in their Data PADDs. “Yes, sir, a fresh bushel was delivered to the coordinates given by the captain before his departure.” The ensign responded diligently. “Good. Any luck on that cask of Lidashk?” he continued, not missing a beat. “No, sir, the Ferengi transport was supposed to check in at 1300 hours, but has yet to make delivery.”

Maze gave his yeoman a side eye, “Make sure payment is not processed until we have confirmation of delivery. My guess is their going to try and make a grand showing of things, and peddle more party favors.” He finished, handing off his PADD to his junior officer and approaching the turbolift. “I’ll need to get changed and head down to the planet to assist with set up. Please see that the rest of the supplies are ready in Transporter Room four.”

As the turbolift doors opened, and Maze made his way in, he turned, giving the ensign a warm smile. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, with a glint of parental concern. The yeoman couldn’t have been older than 18 by the looks of him. Maze swore Starfleet Academy was pushing them out younger and younger every year. But the eager Ensign just smiled brightly, confidently, clutching the PADDs to his chest, “I got this, sir! You enjoy the dinner with the Captain!”

With an approving nod, Maze stepped away from the doors and issued the command. “Deck 17!”

The USS Typhon, the namesake of her class, was less of a starship and more of a mobile space station. Sure, several other starships boasted 25 decks, but none had all of them span the entire length of the ship like the Typhon Class did! A Frontier Forward Operation Base and full Flight-Wing Carrier required constant coordination of personnel, supplies, and maintenance, and that’s what Commander Maze Heinz specialized in. Yet for someone who helped manage the logistics of a nearly 300-crew and 170,000 square meter vessel, helping orchestrate a simple dinner party behind the scenes at the behest of his captain was the highlighting stress point of his career.

As Maze exited the Turbolift, he reached across his lapel and undid the clasp of his uniform shirt, letting the front fall down across his chest, the clear sign of ‘I’m off duty, don’t bother me’ as he made his way to his quarters. Once inside, he slid out of his uniform top and discarded it on one of the chairs, making his way to the sonic shower. He didn’t have much time afforded to him, but presentation was key. “Computer, Play ‘Cara Mia Addio’,” he said as he finished disrobing. He always found such arias were enhanced by the thumbing metrics of the sonic shower’s acoustic inverter.

As the music and vibrations filled his senses, he could take a moment of pause to contemplate what he was walking into. It was a great honor to have been invited by the captain to this gathering of Task Force senior officers. He only hoped this wouldn’t end up as a prelude to push him into a command of his own; he had turned down 3 already in the last 4 years. Ever since his conjoining with his partner Six-Five, he had ‘hit the brakes’ on his career track to focus on a more stable family life and better integrate into Bynar culture, much to the dismay of many of his commanding officers.

He was still somewhat disappointed Six-Five could not make it to this, but some tasks had to be endured alone. As quickly as the Aria he was listening to ended, so too did his moment of respite. Stepping out of the shower, he reached for his towel to pat dry any residual perspiration and readied himself for the trip to the planet below. He prepared an attire in dark slacks, a short-sleeved button-down, and a form-fitting vest. Formal enough to be presentable, but not too fancy to work in. That was reserved for the dinner jacket he had hanging up by the door, which completed the ensemble.

As he crossed his quarters yet again, he took the coat by the hook and draped it over his back, taking one more glance at the empty dwelling. Six-Five should be returning from Deep-Space 9 in a few days; only in her company would he finally be able to relax once again. Until then, he had a job to do. Help the Captain host a dinner.

Heading down the corridors once again, he reached into his vest pocket and gave his neck and exposed wrist a small spritz of a light cologne. Mentally, he was going over all the supplies he was asked to acquire, but there was one glaring conundrum that was nagging him. ‘Who was preparing all this food?’ When he inquired of Captain Varen, he only got a chuckle and was told, ‘It’ll be taken care of.’ Whoever this mysterious caterer was, he hoped he had everything they needed.

As Maze stepped onto the Transporter Pad and amusingly thought to himself, ‘Gods, I hope they don’t expect ME to cook…’ he chuckled to himself as he nodded to the Transporter Chief, who verified if he was ready for transport.

‘That would be a nightmare!’

“Energize.”