WHEN SESSIK MET RAWLINGS (DAY 2)

It was the second day of the USS Sagan’s maiden voyage.

As a newly commissioned vessel and one of research and development, Sessik was unsurprised that the lighting and interior were different than his previous Starfleet assignments. The lighting was blue-white and bright, unlike some ships that employed a dimness or a warmer hue. It seemed obvious to Sessik that it was in an effort in experimenting with its effects on the emotional health of the crew. 

Though they don’t all react the same to similar conditions, emotionally-charged beings were, after all, easily manipulated by the colors and light around them. He could hardly fault Starfleet for such tactics and exploration. The two years since the war had not been easy. After years of brutal combat, the number of personnel lost was staggering and many of those who had survived bore psychological scars. Even for those few who had stayed out of the fray, there was all but none among them who had not lost someone. 

If Sessik were to guess at the purpose the interior designers at R+D were attempting to invoke, it might be considered calming or therapeutic. It was more on the blue side of the spectrum than Sessik might have preferred, but not insufferable.

Prior to his first meal of the day, Sessik was up before his bunkmates to get in his first run on the Sagan. The size of the ship became more apparent as he started to map out a course. It required numerous laps to achieve the desired distance. 

After completing his run and dressing for the day, Sessik found a seat at a small table, in the ship’s small crew mess. He was part way through a meal while idly doing some reading when he was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. 

“Ey, this seat taken?”

When Sessik looked up, he found a very typical looking Caucasian human man, likely a bit younger than himself, standing over him. He had his teeth bared in a wide smile and a tray of food in his hands.

Though Sessik knew perfectly well that there were empty tables in the mess, the seat was not taken and to lie about it would be illogical. 

“It is not.”

That was all the human needed to hear to set down his tray and seat himself across from Sessik. He had a hot meal of meat, tubers and bread.

“Ensign Kit Rawlings,” he introduced himself. The facial expressions Ensign Rawlings used seemed rather feral to Sessik but he knew them to convey friendliness.

“Petty officer, first class, Sessik,” the Vulcan responded evenly.

This garishly blond human’s manner was not unfamiliar to Sessik, though he’d most often seen it in the adolescent examples of the species. In particular, the sort of boy Sessik would have steered clear of during his primary school years. 

“Hey, didn’t I see you jogging in the hallways this morning?” 

Sessik gave the barest nod of confirmation. “It is my routine.”

“Don’t that get boring?” Rawlings asked with innocent curiosity.

“What would be the purpose of developing an emotional dissatisfaction to the accommodations?”

“So why not just run on the treadmill then?” 

“I find that the gait one employs on a treadmill to be unnatural and see better results when I run on a flat surface.”

“No kiddin? I’ll be honest, I ain’t much for runnin, but I never tried doing it through the ship. Maybe I’ll give it a try some time.”

It was an opportunity for Sessik not to respond. Judging from this man’s personality, it would most likely be an exercise in futility to object to the implication that he might invite himself on one of Sessik’s runs. 

 “So what’s your department?”

“Communications.”

“Bridge crew! I’m security, ground troops mainly. Lookin forward to this assignment, might have the chance for some scientific away mission work. I got in the middle of the War, took some time off then got stuck station-locked for a bit since then. Never had the chance before to do some of that Captain Kirk and Picard stuff.”

“Congratulations.” As much as it risked the invitation for more small talk, his experience with navigating a largely human culture could require some amount of manufactured candor so as not to be labeled as rude. 

“Thanks! This much like your experience?”

“This assignment is unique to my career thus far.”

“Real tight quarters here, huh?” Rawlings seemed to have an endless supply of non sequitur small talk subjects which he used rapid-fire.  “Whadya think of your bunkmates?”

“I have only briefly interacted with my bunkmates. And barely over 24 hours is an illogical amount of time to assume to surmise an individual’s character.”

Ensign Rawlings had a laugh that was jarring and expressive and uncomfortably loud. “That’s some legitimate Vulcan wisdom right there. You’re not wrong! So far, everybody seems ok in my grouping. Ya get top, middle or bottom?”

“Middle, though I don’t see how this is a point of conversation.”

“I got bottom, which ain’t my favorite but whateva.” Rawlings’ eyes darted to Sessik’s breakfast as he occupied himself with eating. “Strahberries!” Rawlings exclaimed with more volume than Sessik would have preferred. 

“It pairs well with Andorian oatmeal.” Placing the sliced strawberries over the oatmeal, Sessik waited for the typical remark about him eating a fruit from Earth and a dish from Andoria.

But instead Rawlings said, “I never had Andorian oatmeal but I love strawberries, aw man, strawberry shortcake and all that, damn good.” It was at that moment that the ensign’s stomach growled and it seemed to remind him that there was a meal that was nearly cool in front of him.

There was a blessed silence as Ensign Rawlings used the remaining time before the shift started to hurry to consume the meal he’d neglected in lieu of small talk. When his plate was clean, he rose and said, “Seeya round Petty Officer Sessik.”

Sessik had little doubt that he would, in fact, see Rawlings around.