Soral T’Varan, on long-term loan to Starfleet from the Vulcan High Command, sat alone in the crew lounge beside a wide viewport. Beyond it, the muted glow of Starbase 342 drifted past in orderly silence. Before him rested a cup of plomeek tea, the spicy variant—an indulgence, if such a term could be applied to a Vulcan who embraced logic and rigorously suppressed emotion, as tradition dictated.

In his hands was a PADD displaying the specifications and crew manifest of the USS Ark Angel. He reviewed the information with methodical precision. He would be serving alongside these individuals for an extended duration, and it was therefore prudent to familiarize himself with their roles, qualifications, and command structure. As a scientist, Soral considered such preparation not only efficient, but necessary—an exercise that satisfied a quiet, well-regulated curiosity.

The lounge remained silent as he read.

“Excuse me, Ensign.”

The voice was soft, hesitant.

Soral lifted his gaze from the PADD. Standing before him was a short human female, her posture respectful, her uniform marking her as a crewman assigned to the starbase.

“Um… you asked to be informed when the Ark Angel docked.”

“Indeed, I did, Crewman,” Soral replied, his tone calm and precise.

“Well,” she said with a polite smile, “they’ve just docked.”

Soral inclined his head slightly. “Thank you. Please have my personal effects transferred to the Ark Angel.”

His delivery was formal, measured—neither demanding nor warm, but authoritative in a way that suggested absolute expectation of compliance.

“Of course,” the woman replied, still smiling. She pivoted neatly on her left foot and departed, leaving Soral once more in silence.

He returned his attention to the PADD, the knowledge that his assignment was about to formally begin registering as a simple, unavoidable fact.

Ensign Soral T’Varan
Science Junior Officer
USS Ark Angel