02-06-2026, 10:08 PM
== Post-Mission ==
== Ensign T'Varen - NRC ==
Ensign T’Varen arrived at the Yeager’s science labs with quiet precision. The doors parted as she approached and sealed again behind her with a muted hiss.
The compartment was compact and purpose-built: workstations laid out for efficiency, equipment strapped down for shipboard motion, displays streaming diagnostic ribbons and sensor summaries in steady, unemotional lines.
Vulcan—unmistakably, at a glance. The restrained geometry of her features. The controlled neutrality of her expression. Ears tapering to a disciplined point—neither exaggerated nor softened for human comfort. Her dark hair was practical, pulled back and secured with nothing loose enough to catch on cabling or instrumentation. Nothing ornamental. Nothing accidental. Even stillness, in her case, had purpose.
She wore the sciences division uniform as regulations intended—pressed, precise, unadorned. Yet there were tells that didn’t belong to the lab.
She moved like someone who respected blind angles.
Not theatrics. Not paranoia. Habit—subtle and ingrained. She paused at the threshold just long enough to register exits, lanes of movement, the placement of bodies and equipment, then committed deeper into the room without ever obstructing an active station. It was the kind of awareness that came from a primary track that hadn’t started in research.
As she stepped in, a smaller deviation surfaced.
Midshipman Riley Wright hadn’t appeared in the corridor, nor at any junction T’Varen had passed. The last assignment record she’d reviewed placed Wright here. Under normal circumstances, a greeting would have been… probable.
She filed it away without allowing it to touch her expression.
Deviation from expectation noted. Cause undetermined.
Lieutenant Commander Arwen Qi was easy to identify as the senior presence. Not by volume or performance—by the way the room subtly arranged itself around his workstation. He occupied the primary console at a slight angle to the displays, posture balanced in the particular way of someone long accustomed to cramped workspaces: comfortable, not careless.
Trill—unmistakably. Dark brown spots traced along the sides of his face and continued down his neck, briefly visible above the uniform collar when he shifted. And there were other markings too—ink rather than pigment—glimpses of tattooed script along his forearms when his sleeves rode back with movement. The sciences uniform was worn correctly and kept neat, but it read as working attire, not something curated for inspection.
T’Varen approached without cutting through anyone’s active lane and stopped at a respectful distance. Hands folded behind her back, spine straight without stiffness, gaze steady.
“Lieutenant Commander Qi,” she said, voice calm and precise. “Ensign T’Varen reporting as ordered.”
She let the silence stand—acknowledgement on his terms, not hers.
Then, with a smooth, minimal motion, she produced a PADD and extended it. The display had been arranged with clinical efficiency: transfer orders to the USS Yeager, current clearances, departmental acknowledgements, and a concise service history—most recently the USS Erebus, a small-crew posting where adaptability wasn’t optional.
Security qualifications sat prominently among the entries, flanked by secondary certifications that made her placement in a lab less anomalous than it might first appear.
T’Varen did not comment on any of it. She simply offered the documentation and waited, expression unchanged.
Authority acknowledged. Parameters pending.
“I am prepared to receive department orientation and begin any assigned priority,” she added. “If calibration work is pending, backlog triage is required, or there are irregularities needing initial review, I can start immediately at your direction.”
She fell silent again—attentive, composed, ready to move the instant she was tasked.
== Tag Qi ==
== Ensign T'Varen - NRC ==
Ensign T’Varen arrived at the Yeager’s science labs with quiet precision. The doors parted as she approached and sealed again behind her with a muted hiss.
The compartment was compact and purpose-built: workstations laid out for efficiency, equipment strapped down for shipboard motion, displays streaming diagnostic ribbons and sensor summaries in steady, unemotional lines.
Vulcan—unmistakably, at a glance. The restrained geometry of her features. The controlled neutrality of her expression. Ears tapering to a disciplined point—neither exaggerated nor softened for human comfort. Her dark hair was practical, pulled back and secured with nothing loose enough to catch on cabling or instrumentation. Nothing ornamental. Nothing accidental. Even stillness, in her case, had purpose.
She wore the sciences division uniform as regulations intended—pressed, precise, unadorned. Yet there were tells that didn’t belong to the lab.
She moved like someone who respected blind angles.
Not theatrics. Not paranoia. Habit—subtle and ingrained. She paused at the threshold just long enough to register exits, lanes of movement, the placement of bodies and equipment, then committed deeper into the room without ever obstructing an active station. It was the kind of awareness that came from a primary track that hadn’t started in research.
As she stepped in, a smaller deviation surfaced.
Midshipman Riley Wright hadn’t appeared in the corridor, nor at any junction T’Varen had passed. The last assignment record she’d reviewed placed Wright here. Under normal circumstances, a greeting would have been… probable.
She filed it away without allowing it to touch her expression.
Deviation from expectation noted. Cause undetermined.
Lieutenant Commander Arwen Qi was easy to identify as the senior presence. Not by volume or performance—by the way the room subtly arranged itself around his workstation. He occupied the primary console at a slight angle to the displays, posture balanced in the particular way of someone long accustomed to cramped workspaces: comfortable, not careless.
Trill—unmistakably. Dark brown spots traced along the sides of his face and continued down his neck, briefly visible above the uniform collar when he shifted. And there were other markings too—ink rather than pigment—glimpses of tattooed script along his forearms when his sleeves rode back with movement. The sciences uniform was worn correctly and kept neat, but it read as working attire, not something curated for inspection.
T’Varen approached without cutting through anyone’s active lane and stopped at a respectful distance. Hands folded behind her back, spine straight without stiffness, gaze steady.
“Lieutenant Commander Qi,” she said, voice calm and precise. “Ensign T’Varen reporting as ordered.”
She let the silence stand—acknowledgement on his terms, not hers.
Then, with a smooth, minimal motion, she produced a PADD and extended it. The display had been arranged with clinical efficiency: transfer orders to the USS Yeager, current clearances, departmental acknowledgements, and a concise service history—most recently the USS Erebus, a small-crew posting where adaptability wasn’t optional.
Security qualifications sat prominently among the entries, flanked by secondary certifications that made her placement in a lab less anomalous than it might first appear.
T’Varen did not comment on any of it. She simply offered the documentation and waited, expression unchanged.
Authority acknowledged. Parameters pending.
“I am prepared to receive department orientation and begin any assigned priority,” she added. “If calibration work is pending, backlog triage is required, or there are irregularities needing initial review, I can start immediately at your direction.”
She fell silent again—attentive, composed, ready to move the instant she was tasked.
== Tag Qi ==