Yet another change of plans. Saffiya couldn’t help but wonder if this mission – well, this journey from one space station to another – was cursed. Or if she was simply unlucky.

The idea of being escorted by the USS Johnston had been a hard pill to swallow, but her conversation with Sand had put her at ease. Now, things had changed. With a new destination, they were to be escorted by the USS Meridian instead and Saffiya didn’t know the first thing about her commanding officer, Captain Rattler.

Which would change sooner than she liked. Because the other woman had insisted on an in-person meeting before departure.

“Captain.” Saffiya said, and offered a polite incline of her head as the other woman materialized on the transporter pad in front of her.

As soon as she was released from the annular confinement beam, Captain Esthero Rattler looked down at Saffiya with a wry smile. Despite the humour in her expression, there was a sharpness in her eyes suggested she was already planning three moves ahead.

“Permission to come aboard, captain?” Rattler asked in her formal timbre.

“Granted.”

Stepping down from the transporter platform, Rattler’s otherwise confident gait stopped suddenly. Like someone walking into a forcefield. Her eyes widened in question and she frowned at Saffiya.

“Okay…” Rattler remarked, “This lighting is aggressive.”

“… Excuse me?”, Saffiya asked. It was hard to pretend that she wasn’t taken aback by the remark. The lighting seemed just fine to her – warm, bright, and barely qualifying as ‘clinical’ until one stepped into sickbay.

No one in their right mind would describe it as anything but inviting, unless… Oh. Right.

“I imagine the Meridian might be a little less… spacious. And bright.” she said after an awkward pause.

Raising an eyebrow at Saffiya, Rattler nodded. The sculpted volume of her blonde bob hardly moved when she did so.

“We keep overhead lighting to a minimum aboard a Defiant-class,” she remarked. Rattler breathed out a silent ‘heh’ of a laugh and then followed Saffiya again. “After three months on escort duty in the Nacene Reach, it doesn’t serve anyone to remind the crew that the bulkheads are so close together.”

“I get that.” Saffiya nodded, and led Rattler out of the transporter room, and into the even brighter corridor. She had meant to lead the woman to her ready room and get this over with, but…

“Would it be entirely unprofessional to invite you to the senior staff lounge rather than the ready room? The replicator makes a passable cup of coffee, but…” her voice trailed off. Mostly because she didn’t know how to end the sentence other than ‘… you could probably use some sunlight, even if artificial, and a fresh vegetable.”

Rattler narrowed her eyes at Saffiya’s moment of hesitation, and that wry smile never went anywhere. Her expression brightened at the talk of anything approximating sunlight.

“Lead the way. Please,” Rattler said. She swept one hand left and one hand right, uncertain which way Saffiya was about to choose. “Can’t say I stand on ceremony much, captain. I grew up in the operations track. There’s a lot to admire about an artful maneuver of resource allocation.”

Saffiya offered a careful smile. “I still consider myself an Engineer on some days. What made you choose a Defiant-class? If you were able to choose, that is.” A pause “And if it’s not too forward to ask.”

Whether it was or wasn’t, Saffiya was discovering she had the potential to enjoy playing hostess. Her own grievances with the Olympic aside, it was likely luxury compared to the Meridian, and the least she could do was to make sure that the meeting with Rattler was a positive experience. For both of them.

“You can’t offend me with questions, captain,” Rattler replied, holding eye-contact until she was satisfied she could see that Saffiya understood. “Meridian is my first time in the centre seat. I never would have chosen it from a line-up, but I’ve learned never to say no to an opportunity like that. Even if it’s not as prestigious a posting as an Olympic.”

Saffiya swallowed the need to let Rattler know that the Olympic was nothing compared to the Valkyrie, and that prestige was in the eye of the beholder.

Not because she had changed her opinion,  it because she didn’t want to be a complete jerk.

“On the bright side – no pun intended – I am happy to host your off-duty crew here. We can set up a transporter schedule, if you like” she said instead.