Have a seat [3/6]

Posted on Tue Sep 1st, 2026 @ 1:40am by Captain Jaro & Lieutenant Commander Riaani ek'Meru

1,107 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Episode 1: The Fissure
Location: Bridge - Deck 1 - USS Amazônia

Jaro rose maybe a tad too enthusiasticallyl from his seat on the right side of the central command well, his eyes instantly catching the rich crimson of her Starfleet uniform. A small, approving smile curled beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. In his diplomatic career, he had been involved in exchange officer programs from half a dozen powers—most notably Klingons, who clung fiercely to their textured leather and family crests as an unyielding armor of identity. For Riaani to don the Starfleet tunic on her very first day was a subtle yet meaningful signal. It showed that she had not arrived merely as a visiting observer, but was genuinely preparing to throw herself into the shared life of this ship and become part of her crew.

"Lieutenant Commander, I would consider it a splendid time, indeed. The universe appears to be behaving itself, we are under no alert status, and en route our mission in the Orellia system. So let us make the most out of this moment of relative quiet."

He paused near the edge of the command well, taking a deliberate moment to orient her to the operational hub around them. "Before we step inside my office, allow me to offer a quick orientation to your new operational environment—though I suspect you’ve already memorized the deck schematics from your briefing package."

He gestured around the room, highlighting the compact, functional layout characteristic of an Intrepid-class bridge. Directly ahead of them, positioned between the command seats and the wide arc of the main viewscreen, sat the helm station. Turning clockwise around the perimeter, Jaro pointed out each console in sequence:

"In front of us is the helm; at two o'clock, we have Engineering; three o'clock is the entrance to my Ready Room; and four o'clock houses Tactical. Sweeping past the turbolift over to eight o'clock sits Operations, while the doors at nine o'clock lead directly into the briefing room. Finally, ten o'clock houses the primary Science console."

He guided her focus back toward the center of the room, indicating the side-by-side seating in the command well. Unlike larger exploration cruisers with a singular, central captain's chair, the Intrepid-class featured twin seats separated by a shared command console mounted on a central, flip-out arm between them, granting both command officers access to tactical overlays, environmental controls, and shipwide telemetry.

"And here," Jaro said, resting his hand lightly on the headrest of the chair to the left, "is your station."

He met her expressive eyes with a look of genuine warmth before turning towards the doorway to their right. "Now, unless you have any questions, please accompany me to my Ready Room, Lieutenant Commander."

Riaani offered a slight, courteous incline of her head, following him as he stepped toward the starboard bulkhead. As they approached, the twin doors parted with a quiet pneumatic hiss, admitting them to the commanding officer's sanctuary.

Standard Starfleet ready rooms were masterpieces of functional minimalism: muted beige bulkhead paneling, sleek matte-finished consoles, and clean, geometric lines designed to project calm authority. To most captains, this sterile aesthetic was a sanctuary for focus. To Jaro, who had only recently been promoted to command and assigned to the Amazônia, stepping into his very first ready room felt more like an ongoing home improvement project.

At ninety-seven years old—though appearing to be in his mid-thirties by human standards, thanks to Denobulan longevity—Jaro had spent over six decades in Starfleet service. In that time, he had accumulated a vast personal treasury of diplomatic keepsakes and eccentric artifacts. Tragically, the vast majority of said prized possessions had gone up in atomic fire when the original Amazônia was forced to initiate self-destruct to prevent a hostile alien AI from taking over the ship. The items currently arrayed around his office were drawn from his "backup stash"—secondary crates and personal sea bags saved from previous postings. Yet, even this second-string collection transformed the cold office into a parlor of curios and anecdotes.

On the corner of his polished composite desk sat a fist-sized, irregularly shaped chunk of deep rust-red basalt from his native Denobula. It had been worn silky-smooth along one edge by the constant, meditative rub of Jaro’s thumb over years of mulling over briefings and documents. When asked about it, Jaro loved to tell junior officers that he had chiselled the stone himself from Mount Tanis during a youthful climbing expedition. In truth, he had harvested it near Mount Tanis, though it was from a gravel pathway outside a vineyard one of his many uncles helped run, rather than a treacherous cliff face. The spirit of the story—that it represented perseverance and grounding—remained intact.

Just to the left of his personal terminal sat a small, alcove-mounted shelf housing a rotating selection of miniature toys salvaged from his secondary storage. Currently on display was a hand-carved wooden Terran yo-yo, a Bajoran seed-pod spinning top, a tiny brass Ferengi counting-cube, and a soft-leather miniature targ. To Jaro, these trinkets were physical reminders that even the highest leaders of the galactic powers had once been children playing on a floor somewhere. Depending on who was sitting across the desk, he might occasionally lean into the legend that he won the counting-cube in a high-stakes game of Tongo on Deep Space 9, though he had actually traded a spare communicator casing for it with a Ferengi merchant's nephew.

Near the viewport, right beside the curved couch, rested a high-definition holographic photo frame showing a looping slideshow of group pictures of an immense Denobulan family gathering. It was a joyful, chaotic sea of eighty-six overlapping faces of his closest family—siblings, children, in-laws, and extended kin—all laughing, gesturing, and enjoying a courtyard feast.

Casual observers invariably stared at the frame and assumed that the commanding matriarch standing near the center was Jaro’s mother. He never bothered to correct them. In reality, the formidable figure in the center was his second grand-aunt, Aunt Vael. While his mother had indeed been present at the actual gathering, but Jaro had spent a painstaking evening removing every frame that included her. The curated loop was his own quiet form of therapy.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Jaro said, gesturing toward the curved couch set against the bulkhead windows, where the view of the streaking warp stars framed the far end of the room. Taking his place in the arm-chair opposite the couch, he settled in with an easy posture that invited open conversation. "How you are you finding your new home?”

[TBC]

Captain Jaro
Captain
USS Amazonia

Lt. Commander Riaani ek'Meru
On-loan Executive Officer
USS Amazônia

 

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