A Gentleman and a Vulcan

Posted on Sun Jul 13th, 2025 @ 3:47am by Lieutenant Nelar & Lieutenant JG Maël "Gideon" Beauregard
Edited on on Sun Jul 13th, 2025 @ 4:25pm

1,110 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: EPISODE 1: SHAKEDOWN
Location: Forward Operating Base Pinnacle
Timeline: MD036

::ON::

The corridors at Pinnacle Station were darker than most Starfleet facilities, making them considerably darker than Vulcan facilities. Her eyes had not quite adjusted to the difference despite being stationed here for several months. The Operation Base still had the sterile gray and black lines with the hint of red. The lighting and some of the exterior features seemed to be a sort of accommodation to blend into the aesthetics of Qo'noS. Thankfully sterile was non-negotiable.

She never understood Starfleet’s fascination with red.

Dr. Nelar had received word that the USS Hecate was prepared to receive the crew from Pinnacle for transfer, and more specifically that she was to report to Captain Burke on arrival, and to report to the station’s main transporter room for special transport. She was almost to the facility when she observed Lieutenant Junior Grade Beauregard, who had apparently received the same orders.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.” Nelar’s greeting was cordial, though without affect. She found the Lieutenant could often be unnecessarily talkative about trite matters and that it was best to not encourage him.

Gideon paused just outside the transporter room, thumb hooking into the strap of his duffel bag, the other hand balancing a battered coffee mug that read Ain’t My First Rodeo in chipped black lettering. He looked up as Nelar addressed him, an easy, sun-warmed grin unfolding across his face like a slow morning back home.

“Well now, if it ain’t the good doctor,” he drawled, tipping an invisible hat in her direction. “Morning to ya. You look fresher than a magnolia in April. Must be all that Vulcan meditation.”

He shifted his weight and took a sip of his coffee, eyes bright and gentle with mischief.

A gesture that Nelar missed, as Nelar had passively closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath in and exhaling slowly through her nose, suppressing a reaction to the Lieutenant’s poor attempt at a complement. She opened her eyes as he continued speaking, her face betraying none of her mild annoyance.

“You know,” he went on, as if time were not a pressing matter, “I reckon it’s a fine day to step aboard a new ship. Feels kinda like the first time you set a line in the water–don’t know what you’ll haul up, but hell, that’s half the fun, right?” He gave her a sidelong glance, his expression completely guileless, as though he genuinely believed she might share in his excitement.

With a small chuckle, he adjusted his bag and nodded toward the transporter pad. “After you, doc. Ladies first. Mama raised me to be a gentleman.”

Nelar regarded his last comment with curiosity, her right eyebrow raising subconsciously. “How is one’s gender correlated to order of procession in regards to qualifying gentlemanly conduct. Would it not be equally polite to permit other men to proceed ahead of you as well, Lieutenant?”

Gideon stifled a chuckle and grinned, almost to himself. He set the mug down on a nearby console, careful as if it were a rare artifact–to him, it was–then turned back to her with that same open grin.

“Well, now,” he said, the corners of his eyes cracking in amusement. “That’s a fair question, doc. You know, back home we have this old saying–’politeness don’t cost a thing, but it sure buys a heap.’” He tapped his temple lightly, as if knocking on a door. “Truth is, I’d offer the same courtesy to anybody–man, woman, transgendered, non-gendered, augmented; just happens the phrase ’ladies first’ rolls a tad sweeter off the tongue, don’t you think?”

“I have no comment as to how it… ‘rolls off the tongue’ as you say,” she responded, repeating the phrase somewhat awkwardly. “But, to translate your metaphor, your people see courtesies as a form of currency?” Nelar inquired. “Most fascinating. It is logical.”

“I’m glad ya think so,” Gideon replied with a smile and a nod.

She looked unfavorably on the mug that Gideon had placed on the console. “You should have your cup repaired. The broken edges expose porous ceramic which can harbor bacteria. That is not to mention the obvious fact that the structural integrity is compromised, creating a risk of injury should the mug break at an inopportune moment.”

Gideon let out a laugh that was both warm and slow. He picked up the mug again, turning it in his hand with reverence.

“Well now, doc, I appreciate the concern,” he said, his drawl slowly receding as though some sort of medication had kicked in. “But you see, this fella here’s been with me since I started at the dry dock in Corpus Christi. Lost the handle once. But cracks give it character. Little scars tell you a thing’s been loved.”

He gave the mug a tiny affectionate nod, as if it may have been listening.

Nelar stepped toward the transporter pad, settling into a spot underneath one of the circular lights and then gave the Lieutenant a sideways glare as Gideon appeared to anthropomorphize his coffee mug. Eager to move the conversation, and the interaction along, she prompted, “I take it you are to report to Captain Burke as well?” Hoping her words would urge him onto the transporter pad with her.

“That’s right,” he replied cheerily, giving the mug one last gentle pat before tucking it under his arm.

He tilted his head slightly, studying Nelar from behind as she moved onto the transporter pad. That Vulcan calm, the way she held herself as if each of her movements–each breath–were carefully rationed. He admired it in a distant, almost wistful way. It was the same way he would go outside to watch a distant thunderstorm rolling across the marsh in summer. Beautiful, but you wouldn’t want to get too close.

“You know, doc,” he added, stepping onto the transporter beside her, “you and me–we’re gonna get along just fine, I reckon.”

He clucked his tongue once at the transporter chief.

“Ready when you are, slick.”

Nelar’s head turned slowly toward the operations officer, a solitary eyebrow raised inquisitively, though she did not speak what was on her mind. Instead she turned back toward the transporter chief and provided him with their orders. “Two to transport the USS Hecate.”

The Chief grinned as he put in the coordinates and calibrated the settings. “You’re ready to go. Energizing… now.”

::OFF::

Lieutenant Nelar
Chief Medical Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant J.G. Maël "Gideon" Beauregard
Chief Operations Officer
USS Hecate

 

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