Doctor Avery Quence held the cup of coffee beneath his nose, taking a deep whiff, and letting it out. “Ah, perfect as always,” he beamed. “Nothing like it in the galaxy.”

He placed the second cup in front of Valdes. The Olympics First Officer had previously expressed a fondness for black tea. Naturally, Quence – as the consummate host he considered himself to be – he had made it his mission to dissuade her from her erroneous ways.
His strategy: ask if she ‘cared for something to drink’. Then make her a cup of coffee.

Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that Valdes lacked the decorum to express her appreciation sufficiently. Her reply came as a simple ‘Thank you’.

“How is it?” Quence asked curiously, eager to see if his plan had succeeded.

Valdes brought the cup to her lips, sipped from its content… and made a face. Disappointing. “It’s… coffee.” she said politely.

“Oh, my dear. This isn’t just coffee!” Quence said exasperatedly. “It’s single-origin Yirgacheffe, medium roast. I’m using an 18gr dose, bloom time 45 seconds, and 94C extraction water. The secret – well, one of them – is a pulsed pour. I finished it with 90ml non-homogenized jersey cow milk, steamed to exactly 58C for lactase enzyme retention, microfoamed using a three-hole wand tip at a 20 degree tilt.” He paused, just enough to catch his breath before he continued. “I also added 7,6gr of demerara sugar crystals – coarse grain, unrefined, harvested pre-monsson from the south-facing plots of an Berbice Estate. But, of course, they have to be added post-pour, no earlier than twelve seconds.”

Quence leaned back, self-satisfied. He loved giving lectures – well, lecturing people.

“I’m not your dear, Doctor Quence.” Valdes replied with a slight hiss. “And I would very much like to get started.”

“Of course.” Quence nodded, hiding the faint sting of wasted effort beneath his practised smile.

Valdes gave a nod. ”While Captain Nassar has left for Casperia Prime, her instructions were clear. You are to join the rest of your team in the retreat.”

This time, Quence did make a face. “I understand the need to prove yourself.” he tried. “But surely you must acknowledge that I have much more value here, in the lab. I could make strides in our research. Thousands, no, billions, would benefit!”

“That’s unlikely when your team isn’t present.” Valdes remarked. Quence wondered if Valdes was born with such contrarian tendencies, or if they had crept up over the years.

“And, as a matter of fact” Valdes continued “It is the captains way to address the several complaints we’ve received.”

“Complaints?” Quence asked incredulously.

“Yes.” Valdes glanced at the PADD in front of her. Aha! So she had planned to bring that up. Not a surprise his coffee couldn’t win her over – the woman clearly had it out for him. “It was noted how you are trying to take the lead of the team. Refused to share your office despite it being meant for at least two individuals, claimed your own lab despite the theoretical nature of your research…”

Quence flicked his hand dismissively. “My colleagues are overexaggerating” He said colleagues like other people say ‘plague rat’.

“Why would they claim something that isn’t true?”, Valdes asked calmly,

“I…” he paused, searching for the right way to phrase it “…prefer to maintain a professional standard. If that registers as superiority to them, well, that’s hardly my fault .”

And until now, no one ever had. He could tell that their new Captain – Saffiya Nassar – disapproved of him, but he had chalked that up to pregnancy hormones. Hearing such baseless accusations from Valdes was disappointing, to say the least.

Vades blinked slowly. “According to what Commander Thompson said, you referred to them as puerile.”

“I am sorry if my being correct fractures their ego.” Annoyance tightened his lips.
Experts, he scoffed internally. Jalloh flinched at constructive input, and Zantett couldn’t put together two coherent thoughts without one dying in the process. How they had ever made it onto his team was something he’d never understand.

Valdes looked at him like he was being the unreasonable one.

“Right.” she sighed “Well, you will attend the retreat. It’s a weekend. That’s final. I’m sure you can manage.”

“But…” Quence started, then closed his mouth again. Valdes didn’t make the impression that she was interested in his explanation – ignorant woman!

“But?”

“But….” He exhaled. Arguing further would only exacerbate matters. “But you are mistaken. I was already planning to join them. I have already gathered my accoutrements and will be ready upon departure.”

Valdes’ glare was as much intimidating as it was demoralizing. She clearly wasn’t buying it. “Good.” she said. “That is all.”

She rose from her chair,  abandoning the cup of coffee that could have been the start of a beautiful friendship. Or at least a useful alliance.

Quence winced. He would file a complaint – even if he wasn’t sure with whom yet. But that could wait. For now, he needed to take steps to ensure this ‘retreat’ would be tolerable.