“Of course I can be on an away team.” Brennan peered at Kellin, displeased at the fact that he had just tried to tell her how to do her job. Granted, staying safely on the bridge instead of joining the away team was probably wiser – but also a lot less interesting.

Like the obedient toy-soldier he was, Kellin chimed back with, “All possibilities are good possibilities.” He flashed a smile, but only briefly, while he continued to fuss with the fit of his leather field jacket. “It’s only that I’d be remiss in my own duties if I didn’t at least consider section twelve, paragraph four…”

“Well.” Brennan considered, then shrugged.  “If it makes you feel better, I will be having Simmons with me.”

The young man’s head appeared from behind a nearby supply cabinet, his saucer-like eyes turning into large toady orbs by the pair of goggles clutched around his temples. Large jug-like ears flared outwards as the tight bands compressed his head slightly, lending the man an inhuman visage.

“Actually, captain I’d be inclined to agree with-” a sharp look from Brennan stopped his train of thought, sending his lips flapping like a marooned fish.

“-the fact that plants are notoriously slow-moving, and I’ve seen the captain on the race track,” Simmons continued, his unexpected assignment as captain’s bodyguard already filling him with anxiety. A verbal waterfall was an inevitable side effect and one only accentuated by the snickering sound secreted between Hey’xet’s chattering pressure valve. “She’s very fast, is all I’m trying to-”

“I’m sure you’re both very fast,” Kellin said to Simmons, clapping him on the shoulder.  The insistent words of encouragement were slightly less convincing when Kellin opened a special equipment case.  Aside from the tricorder and phaser on his hips, he clipped a hatchet to the harness on his back.

Simmons eyed the honed edge of the axehead as it glistened in the bright lights of the transporter room, it’s <dark/bright> edge twitching with a restless energy.

“Are you expecting triffids commander?” He joked, clutching at the air in front of his goggled face with his fingers to form pretend bulbous blooms.

Hey’xet swiped a tentacle across their PADD and activated the search feature. “What was that word, Lieutenant? ‘Triffid’? Could you repeat it for me?”

“T-R-I-F-F-I-D.” Simmons replied. Announcing each letter as if under spotlight of a some surreal spelling bee. “You should absolutely watch the film, it’s crazy.”

Simmons stomped across the room with massive steps in his best attempt at the horrifying fictional creatures, his long arms writhing above his head playfully. As he made it to his assigned glowing circle he slung his arms to his side and flapped them in ever increasing arcs until bursting forth with imaginary seeds onto his waiting audience.

“Just don’t breathe in the spores!” He announced in a dramatic tone that would make pulp science fiction narrators jealous.

Hey’xet’s eyes were still glued to their PADD as they glided up to the transporter platform. Or the slit in their mask was glued to their PADD, at least. Their vocalizer managed to convey a distracted tone of voice: “There is a degree of efficiency in having our commanding officer directly on site in the company of our chief science officer. And I shall be grateful to have our executive officer on hand. Certainly in a worst-case scenario, our second officer is more than capable of following protocol and directing the Spartan to the nearest Federation outpost in the event of our away team’s demise.”

Raising his palms, Kellin pleaded, “No one is going to demise,” with no apparent recognition of the misplaced word.  He shrugged sheepishly.  “That’s what our combadges are for.  …And the hatchet.”

As the slender form of Ensign T’Shrin stepped up onto the transporter padd alongside the growing group, her athletic form at odds with the massive backpack slung over her shoulders, Simmons was adamant he caught a flash of a very un-Vulcan smirk spreading across her face.

“I will endeavour to ensure that the Commander is correct. No unplanned demises,” she announced matter-of-factly to the room.

“You’ll endeavour?” Simmons probed, a furry eyebrow wiggling up onto his forehead.

“I cannot possibly account for every triffid,” she replied coolly before turning her attention to her belt, where a long machete hung in its sheethe.

Brennan looked at the assembled officers. Two teams, three members each. And Kellin far away from her.

After offering Brennan a nod, Kellin moved even farther away as he stepped onto the transporter pad.  He followed Ensign Pipedo, the Bajoran science officer, and subtly eyed that she had equipped herself with a phaser in addition to a tricorder.

Only when Kellin was standing there, did he think to ask, “Uh, we’re sure we can breathe in the dome, yeah?”

“There’s still atmosphere inside the geodisic dome despite the containment ruptures. It was… ” Simmons looked across at the golden face plate of Hey’Xet, imagining the cephalopod officer shrugging behind their self-sustaining pressure suit in return. Their earlier scans had definitely confirmed there was an atmosphere. The quantity and quality of the air, however, might have slipped their mind between musings of overland trees and sea ferns. “… suitable?”

“Suitable suits me,” Kellin affirmed.  “Let’s energize!”