Nivor stood in his temporary quarters on the station, leaning against his raised arm on the bulkhead strut, staring at the arc of Leviathan just visible from the window. His blue eyes swept the few arcseconds he could see, meshing it with his study of the schematics. “Time,” he called out.

=^= The time is 13:37 hours. =^= the computer returned. He nodded to himself, straightening. He finished tucking in the loose undershirt then grabbed the uniform jacket, the front sealing as he pressed it together. He fingered the three solid pips at his collar lightly, recalling the journey on Ark Angel that had earned him the third solid pip - a trip to a distant galaxy, meeting a civilization the Federation would likely never meet again for many lifetimes, if ever, and dealing with burgeoning intelligent energy patterns. The latter attracted the attention of the ARI when he returned, and his desire for new experiences, for new opportunities, nearly made him jump at the prospect.

Of course, he hadn’t expected that to mean riding a desk working on designing new containment devices and protocols, but they needed engineers and his… unique background brought an interesting viewpoint to many of the discussions. Still, he’d never regretted seeking amnesty in the Federation more than those few months. Separated from his people and still not doing what he wanted to be doing was torture. Finally, they had to scramble to find replacements for the lost crew of this ship, and turned to him in desperation.

A small smile quirked his lips. I might still be at that desk, he thought, mentally wishing godspeed to the lost crew. He reached for the bedside table, lifting one of the two metallic devices there. He hooked the narrow end into the corner of his mouth, then affixed the larger round pad to his cheek. He worked his mouth open and closed, assuring the fit was good before repeating the process on the other side.

“Atmosphere remix to Fed standard,” he called out, the computer already alerted to be prepared for this command. He heard the subtle whisper as the air handlers began shifting the air contents about. He walked to the small lavatory, washed his hands, and watched his eyes slowly shift to green. That will never not be strange, he thought for the thousandth time.

=^= Atmosphere remix complete. Now at Federation standard. =^= He nodded, grabbed a bag, and swept through the door.

The young officer who greeted him as he stepped onto the deck of Leviathan glanced at his breathers only briefly, a small tic of the eye that Nivor was more than used to as one of the few species who did not breathe Federation standard (or near-standard) atmosphere. Nivor nodded to the young Vulcan and handed over the bag he was carrying. “The captain is expecting me,” he told the officer. “Please store that in my quarters and I will be there after my meeting.” The Vulcan nodded and proceeded down the corridor.

Rhansi watched him go for just a moment before he turned and headed to the nearest turbolift and headed for the ready room on deck 23. He paused as he stepped off onto the CIC, taking in the large space, larger than any bridge he’d been on. He’d get used to it, he assumed, and continued his walk to the ready room doors, thankful again he had reviewed the schematics - the engineer in him coming out once again, one reason the desk rotation had actually been good for him.

He didn’t pause though before pressing the door chime. He hadn’t hesitated in leaving his people; it would do him no good here.

XO Rhansi