Posted by Lieutenant Commander Alex Cross (Chief Counselor) in Reporting in: Counselor’s office

Posted by Lieutenant Hegush Falz (Chief Operations Officer) in Reporting in: Counselor’s office

Posted by Lieutenant Commander Alex Cross (Chief Counselor) in Reporting in: Counselor’s office
Snip
The first thing that stuck Hegush was how the space wasn’t sterile. He’d been in many Counselling Offices across his lifetime, seen his fair share. Sterile offices that felt like he was on display. Then there were the overdone offices, all fluffed up to appear comfortable but put him on edge instead. If it looked too nice it probably was. He’d even seen an office full of fluffy pillows that he was supposed to cuddle… or something.

This office though had a more personal feel to it, like the Counselor had put something of himself into the space. Made it more than just an office workspace but a place with soul. He could imagine it would be quite effective in allowing someone to let their guard down without realizing they had done so.

And then there was the Counselor himself. Hegush’s eyes drifted over as he took a step into the office.

Cross rose from behind his desk as Hegush entered.

Tall, composed, he carried himself with quiet control. His eyes took in the lieutenant in a single, measured pass—bag over shoulder, posture steady, gaze alert. No hesitation. No performative ease either.

He’s assessing everything, Cross noted internally. Not just the room… the ship.

Good.

“Lieutenant Hegush,” he said, voice low and even. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you Lieutenant Cross,” Hegush nodded his head in acknowledgement no sign of what he was thinking on his face, his eyes watching the Counselor, analyising his movements and his size.

He didn’t gesture to the chair in front of his desk.

Instead, he stepped away from it, angling naturally toward the left side of the office—the recessed seating area.

Hegush’s eyes followed.

“Bring your bag,” he added with a small motion of his hand. “No need to keep it staged for a quick exit.”

It was a simple line, but intentional.

Hegush’s hand tightened just a little bit around the strap of his back and subconsciously hitched it a little higher on his shoulder. “When you are young time never moves fast enough, but when you’re old it moves too fast to catch it,” An image of a young Bajoran male speaking firey words, soundless, lost to time, flicked briefly in Hegush’s mind. A young man who had tried to rush time as if he knew it wouldn’t last. Then as quickly as it appeared it was gone and Hegush focused on the man in front of him.

Focused on the time that was now.

Cross stepped down into the conversation area first, setting the tone without forcing it, and moved toward the sectional. He didn’t take a central or dominant position, instead leaving the space open—allowing Hegush to choose where he sat, whether the sectional or one of the armchairs.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing lightly. “Wherever works for you.”

Hegush followed Cross and slotted himself into the armchair closest to the door, swinging his bag down next to his side.

As the lieutenant settled, Cross crossed to the small replicator console set into the wall just above the steps.

“Can I get you something?” he asked, glancing back. “Coffee, tea… something stronger that insists it’s neither.”

A trace of dry humor—subtle, deliberate.

For most crew a simple question like that was just that, but for Hegush it was different. Was Cross teasing him or was the question simply what it was, innocent. It was probably the former he decided sticking to his philosophy to never assume. “An Irish coffee could be nice, or maybe I could upscale to a Sazerac?” He joked, picking that Cross would almost certainly pick up the second alcoholic beverage he mentioned was commonly associated with New Orleans. “Just a jest of course,” he added quickly so Cross wouldn’t mis interpret his humour.

He’d learnt through past mistakes how seriously some Counselors, generally the ones with the rainbows and puppy dogs rooms, would take such a comment too seriously. It was as if they couldn’t comprehend that he knew what his vices was and was comfortable enough to joke about them. He was already forming the impression that Cross was not that type.

It never hurt to be sure.

“Bajoran tea will be fine,” selecting a common Bajoran vice, not that it really was. Although, given how much his sisters used to drink he believed he had enough of a case to argue his reason.

At the response, Cross keyed it in, retrieved the drink, and returned, offering it before taking his own seat along the sectional. One arm rested along the back, posture open, relaxed without losing presence.

Grabbing the drink Hegush gave a nod of thanks and took a sip, letting its warmth slip through his body as he relaxed back into the armchair.

For a moment, he simply observed.

Not clinically. Not detached.

Grounded. Self-contained. Not here to be impressed.
He’ll decide what this ship is on his own terms.
Good. That kind of officer keeps a crew honest.

Cross felt a quiet approval settle beneath the surface—unspoken, but there.

“This isn’t a formal evaluation,” he said after a beat, voice calm. “You’ve already cleared those hurdles.”

His gaze remained steady, present without pressing.

“This is just a welcome… and a chance to make sure what you walked into matches what you were told.”

A brief pause—space left intentionally open.

“I’ve learnt long ago not to mark what others say.” Hegush replied, “No Admiral wants to admit they’ve backed the wrong horse, no Captain will say their crew are lazy or cowards, traumatized or otherwise when they’re trying to sell you a role, nor do I expect them too.” He took another sip, the tea wasn’t too bad, “The question isn’t if it matches,” he cocked his head slightly looking at Cross, “but how close it matches,”

Cross leaned back slightly, at ease but attentive.

“So,” he continued, tone even, conversational, “first impressions.”

His eyes met Hegush’s.

“Ship. Crew. Atmosphere.”

A faint shift at the corner of his expression—something thoughtful, quietly perceptive.

“Where does it land for you so far, Lieutenant?”

Counselor Alex Cross

Hegush had been anticipating the question coming. Still, he didn’t rush to answer it just left it there and reached forward and lowered the cup of tea placing it on the table. So far is not that far,” he said. He leaned back on his seat and met Cross’s eyes. “It is possible to interpret but not observe, but not to observe without interpreting.”

“I do not presume that I have observed enough yet to have a full idea of the ship yet. I will say my current perception is that if I were to compare it to a place I believe it would be a vineyard.” He thought to the young Vulcan cadet that was there for his physical and the NE’s that greeted the new arrivals to the ship, how fresh and young they were “It’s not wild like jungle or a meadow, it’s not rigidly controlled like a field or an orchard, it doesn’t judge like a mountain, and it doesn’t burn like a desert or freeze like a snowscape,”

“Of course,” He gave a good-natured grin, “I haven’t ruled out Volcano yet.”

He deliberately left out any mention of lakes and oceans, the borders of the two kinds of life.

“I saw in Sickbay how the Cadets were allowed to learn through experience and experience educates the soul. In the same way a good keeper of the vineyard knows that the difference between a good wine and a bad one is more than the grape itself but everything from first seed to the last knot in the barrel. The NE’s I’ve met were all hospitable, as I’d expected them to be, the ones who I observed were relaxed in what they were doing. Good sign for moral I presume, good for a higher stress situation remains to be seen. Nothing reveals more of an officer’s ability than an emergency. Not even they do,”

He quirked an eyebrow, “I’m not the one who has been here the longest, what sort of atmosphere and impression do you have of this vessel?”

Lt. Hegush Falz, COO

Cross listened without interruption. Not just to the words—but to the structure beneath them.

He watched the way Hegush handled silence. The way he didn’t rush to fill it. The way he chose his seat—closest to the exit, back guarded but not defensive. The bag placement. The humor—tested, then clarified. Not uncertainty… calibration.

He’s measuring reactions as much as he’s giving them.

Good.

When Hegush offered the jest about the Sazerac, Cross’ expression shifted—subtle, but there. A flicker of recognition.

“Careful,” he replied dryly as he turned to the replicator, fingers moving across the panel. “You start throwing Sazerac around in here, I might think you’re trying to negotiate something.”

There was no edge to it. Just enough acknowledgment to let the reference land. When Hegush clarified and settled on Bajoran tea, Cross gave a small nod.

“Bajoran tea it is.”

He retrieved the drink and handed it over without ceremony, then returned to his seat along the sectional, settling into the same open posture—one arm resting along the back, attention steady.

As Hegush spoke—about Admirals, Captains, expectations—Cross didn’t interrupt. But there was the faintest shift in his gaze. Not disagreement. Recognition.

“You’re not wrong,” Cross said evenly once the lieutenant finished that thread. “Reputation tends to be… curated.”

A brief pause.

“But it’s also not always fiction. Sometimes it’s just incomplete.” He let that sit, not pressing it further. Then he asked his question—and waited.

The vineyard analogy unfolded, and this time, Cross allowed himself the smallest shift in expression. Not amusement—appreciation. Not for the poetry itself, but for what it revealed.

Observational restraint. Pattern recognition. He’s not filling gaps with assumption unless he has to.

When Hegush finished—and turned the question back—Cross didn’t answer immediately.

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to rest his forearms on his knees for a moment, gaze drifting briefly toward the low table before returning to Hegush.

“My impression?” he repeated quietly, taking a breath before speaking. “I think ‘vineyard’ is closer than most would get this early.”

He leaned back again, settling into the sectional.

“It’s a ship that allows growth,” he continued. “Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes because it doesn’t know any other way.”

His tone remained calm, measured—no performance in it.

“The Captain…” he added, choosing the words rather than reaching for them, “creates space for people to step up. He doesn’t micromanage that process. That can look like freedom… or lack of control, depending on who’s standing where.” A slight tilt of his head as he finished wth,

“Both interpretations have been correct at different times.” He let that land without dressing it up.

“As for the crew—” Cross continued, “you’re seeing what I’ve seen. There’s a baseline level of ease here. People are allowed to be competent without being constantly pressed to prove it.” Another small pause before he added.

“That works… right up until it doesn’t.” No alarm in his voice. Just fact. His gaze returned fully to Hegush.

“Emergencies don’t create capability,” he said quietly. “They reveal it. Same as you said.” He shifted slightly, posture still open.

“So far,” Cross added, “this crew has more depth than it shows on the surface.”

A beat before he added. “But you’re right not to decide that yet.” There was a trace of approval in that—not spoken outright.

Then, just slightly, his tone shifted—not sharper, but more focused.

“What I’m more interested in,” he said, “is where you think you fit into that vineyard.”

His eyes held Hegush’s—not pressing, not invasive, but intentional.

“You don’t strike me as someone who just observes the environment.”

A faint, almost imperceptible hint of dry humor returned. “You adjust it.”

He let the question sit there—unforced, but very much present

Counselor Alex Cross

As Cross spoke about his own impressions of the ship Hegush found himself quietly agreeing with the points he made. He was impressed that the Counselor was able to not only speak of the how the ship operated, but he had been able to talk about the pros as well as the flaws that could come with it. Where most would continue the glossed over sales pitch Cross had given him the honest one.

Hegush felt a quiet sense of respect for the Counselor grow. Respect that was for more than just his role.

There were no disillusions there and Hegush liked that.

He reached out and grabbed his tea and took a long sip as he listened.

The question about his role in the vineyard made him pause. He tilted his head while he thought about where he would be. Cross he could imagine was either the soil that provided the nutrience that nourished the vine, or he was the barrel the wine went into, the one that added the subtle different taste to each bottle of wine, the subtle touch that marked the difference between a good wine and an exquisite one.

“I don’t know about adjusting it. I just open my big mouth and say what I think. Leave it to others to decide to listen to a simple Bajoran Lieutenant or not.” Hegush gave a good natured chuckled “Maybe I’d be the Pigeaghe, the person who stands on the grapes and crushes them”

Lt. Hegush Falz, COO

Cross let out a soft laugh at that, the sound genuine and unforced as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

“The Pigeaghe?” he repeated, eyebrows lifting with clear surprise and interest. “Now that’s not one I’ve heard before.”

There was curiosity in his expression now, the kind that came naturally to him whenever someone revealed a piece of culture or language that mattered to them.

“You’re telling me there’s an actual title for the poor soul standing barefoot in a vat crushing grapes?” he asked with amused disbelief. “That feels oddly specific… which usually means there’s a good story behind it.”

He lifted his mug again but did not drink yet, watching Hegush carefully.

“And honestly?” Cross added, his tone turning warmer, more thoughtful. “I think you’re underselling yourself a bit. People who ‘just say what they think’ usually end up shaping the room more than they realize. Especially on a ship like this. A crew can survive without polished speeches. Harder to survive without someone willing to say the thing everyone else is dancing around.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Besides, every vineyard probably needs someone willing to stomp the grapes. Otherwise everybody’s just standing around admiring the vines while nothing actually gets made.”

Counselor Alex Cross

“There is a story behind the Spring wine,” Hegush said and leaned forward adapting a well-developed storyteller voice, “Once Upon a Time, in the days before the Prophets when evil walked the land, there lived a small simple village. There lived a girl,” Hegush chuckled, “but she was born ugly, so her parents kicked her out and left her to beg on the street. Believing her ugliness to be a sign of a curse villagers would avoid her and so she was left to scavenge the town and countryside to find food.”

“What the villagers didn’t realise was that her beauty was on the inside, in her heart and it was more beautiful than any of theirs. Despite being afraid of the villagers because of how they treated her, she would help them out when they weren’t looking. Watching stock at night, finding lost items and leaving them on the doorsteps of their owner. The foolish visitors believed they were blessed.”

“One winters day a man came to town in the middle of the night, but the Inns were all shut. The girl instead found him shivering in a doorway and took him to the small dwelling she had made for herself where she lit him a fire to keep him warm and shared the last of her food with him, including a small cup of grapes she had saved away for winter. The man’s hands were shaking from the cold and while he was eating the traveler accidentally knocked the grapes over and crushed them. Desperate not to waste them she gathered them back up into the small cup and put them aside. “

“The next day the traveler left. Without any more food the girl returned to begging for food on the street hoping for the same kindness. However, as they had before, the villagers only scorned her and left her to starve. One day, as the girl lay dying, she reached out to the cup of the fermented grapes and believing it would hasten death along, drank it. Unbeknown to her the traveler had blessed it and instead of dying she turned into a grape vine and all the villagers were cursed to crush her grapes forever as a punishment, the traveler came back took the wine they had made and gave it to those who were good and kind just as she had been.”

“Perhaps the name comes from the name of that village, and it has been lost over time.” Hegush suggested, coming out of his story-telling zone “But it is a fable, I would not put much stock in it.”

He leaned back in his seat and took another sip of his tea again listening to what Cross had to say.

“I’m not so sure about that point,” he said when Cross made the comment about him underselling himself. “I knew someone who could do that, he could captivate an audience with just his breath, and I could swear he could talk the wings off of a bird if he wanted to. He was passionate and proud. He never failed to tell the galaxy what he thought. He is the one who could shape a room better than anyone I’ve ever know.”

A flicker of memory passed across his mind a distorted almost ghostly image of a proud, attractive, golden-haired young Bajoran male speaking passionately in a pub, just as he had when Hegush had first met him. Hegush gave a good-natured laugh, “I used to annoy him I think, I like to challenge him and play the devils advocate,” then his voice changed, almost wistful, so much had changed since those days. “That was a long time ago now. Before I even joined the Academy. Well before I rejoined it,”

He nodded thoughtfully as Cross spoke again. “You are right though, someone is needed to stomp the grapes, there is no point wasting a grape that could make a perfectly good wine.”

Lt. Hegush Falz, COO