Star Trek: Starbase 777 - etd-mess-hall

After cauterizing his hand, Tavek had practically collapsed into a chair in the mess hall. He’d replicated himself a glass of ice water, which he was trying to sip slow enough to cool him down without shocking his system. His burnt hand was on full display, he hadn’t bothered putting on a bandage or glove or something. He’d turned on his pain receptors partially. Pain was penance. He’d made so many mistake. He had nearly killed Ato, even if he’d survived it. He’d almost crushed someone to death.. there was no forgiving himself for that if Tavek hadn’t been injured and felt pain later. Borg Ato blasting his fingers off made it even in a way. Now all he had to do was feel it for a moment now that he wasn’t in the line of fire, and then all would be done with.. right? He wouldn’t let this eat at him forever. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t.

He was also in here; after taking a quick shower to get rid of the various smells and liquids on him, the next stop was to get a bite to eat. Ah. Tavek. His partner in crime in the Ato incident. He sat across from him, drink out of some kind of potion-shaped glass he'd replicated. "He-llo, amigo."

Ah. Serin. Tavek’s partner in crime in the Ato incident. And, on the lighter side of things, his fellow engineer who had helped with the vinculum! He loved chilling with his fellow engineers, so he could chat for a bit. He waved with the hand that still had all five fingers. “Good to see you out here in one piece. I like your potion- I have to admit.. your whole wizard vibe is one of the only non horribly depressing things I’ve seen in a bit.” He said, and he was genuine with that.

He laughed. "Ha. That's the point, isn't it? It kept me sane in there." For a time, anyway. The thing with Ato had compromised that whole persona bit. Nary a single wizardly word until he'd found out Ato was alive again. (edited)

“It’s a good strategy. I hate how things went in there.. but what’s done is done. Anyhow.. I’ve seen you around Engineering, but I don’t get out of the repairs bay much. So.. what’s your specialty?” He asked, wanting to drive the topic away a bit from the doom and gloom. The doom and gloom would come later, behind closed doors. Not in public, as with some others. Tavek did not suffer when other people were present. His own visible pain, to him, was still weakness that could be targeted, and that belief could not be shaken from him so easily.

"The source of magical energy! The beating heart of the mechanical form! The center of the leylines, where all points converge, through which that valuable lifeforce gives function to the interconnected web of arcane devices, big and small!" Warp core engineer. He was a warp core engineer.

“Hey, the warp core! My favorite part of a ship! Hey- did you know Eventide’s warp core sounds ranked 25th on the top 50 warp core noises poll on Space Twitter a couple months ago?” He remembered Shinji telling him that- Shinji was way more chronically online than he was. Tavek’s main social media platform was the Romulan version of SpaceTok and all he ever did there was lurk. “I’m a roboticist myself- I doubt I could dress up my job title as fancy as yours, I’m not very good with words.”

Was that a challenge? "Oh, so you're a steward of that which was invented by organics who made material the stories of men molded from clay, playing gods, tinkering with metal and energy until we made magic into man? That job?"

His eyes widened- he had certainly been proved wrong. Serin was very gifted with words- it certainly made conversations more fun. Tavek, who sometimes buffered mid-conversation due to being slightly too hot or too tired for his faulty body to take, was not gifted with words. “I.. stand corrected. Being.. not organic, I come with, what I hope isn’t too presumptuous to say, a different understanding of non-organic matters, when it comes to Engineering. An understanding that’s beneficial a lot of the time. Who better to understand machinery than other machinery?” He said. And honestly, he didn’t just mean other android or a non-sapient robot. He meant ALL machines. Engineering came easier to him than literally anything else. In his Resistance days, he’d had to learn many disciplines in it on the fly in order to keep his ship alive. Besides when he was mid-operation on himself or a fellow android, Tavek felt most at home deep in the guts of a ship or station, tools in hand, artificial eyes sometimes not needing any flashlight at all.

"A different understanding? How so? I suppose it's not as magical to you than it is to me, then? That's how I've always thought of technology, ever since I was a child. Tell me, Tavek - what do you run on? What powers you?" That was a lot of questions, but Tavek probably only needed to answer the last one.

“I.. I think it’s.. kinship? Technology is all.. kind of family, to me. I know what I am. I know I’m more like the machinery I’ve worked on than I ever will be to someone.. uh.. fleshier, than me. It’s easier to diagnose problems with things when you’ve also experienced some of those problems. For me.. it’s less like magic.. and more like something I’m part of. I’m a cog in the grand machine that is our collective technological capabilities. Just like you are as a fellow engineer, I suppose.” He said, trying to parse his strange connection to machines in a way that someone other than him could understand. He was a person, yes, but he was also a machine. He didn’t dress anything about himself up in more.. fleshy.. words, in the way he knew some androids did like to do for their own comfort. To him, he was engineering. As a piece of engineering.. it was only right that Engineering seemed so natural to him. “But.. magic is another valid way of seeing it all. Maybe it’s a way that comes more naturally to you, considering your brain is made of.. whatever brains are made of, and not wires. To me.. *that is magic, organic things.” He took a moment to think. “As for what I run on.. hah, if I wanted to be boring, I’d say electricity, bio-lubricant for my joints, and coolant. But that’s boring as all get-out, and I have my reasons for waking up and doing things every day that are much more interesting than that. I.. I wasn’t around when my fellow androids were being hunted down. In a way.. I feel bad that I missed it, that I wasn’t at risk of death for existing. Now.. I want to help my fellow androids.. some of whom have been through things I don’t, and hopefully will never, understand. Hah… damn, that’s dark. I also have a very clingy cat who would miss me if I never activated myself again.” (edited)

"Well, there you have it! Thousands of years of evolution to create us flesh-creatures that run on plants and water and we made you, our echo, running on an energy we harness by strange runes and complex rituals. That's magic. You're magic." Kind of a compliment. In a way. It wasn't every day one man called another magic. That was just the kind of unashamed enthusiasm he had for the concept, though. He stretched, cracking his limbs and back. Crck-crck-crck. Oh, to have a steel spine! "But even we organics have electricity in our brains, and evolution is a convoluted ritual over a long, long span of time, so maybe everything's magic, technically? But I'm interested in the kind of magic that lets us defy the laws of physics and do things thought impossible, like create androids and heal people and teleport. To me, technology is not particularly kin as it is an esoteric force I grew to understand as I got older, but in all fantasy stories, they all grow to understand magic like it's their version of science, so it's the same thing as far as I'm concerned." (edited)

“Whoa.. thank you..” You could tell he was surprised by that, buffering for a moment just to parse the meaning. He didn’t often consider himself very magical. More often, he considered himself defective. Not built for the things he had been through before, and not built for the things he was doing now. A faulty piece of engineering, even Silver was built better than him and she was 20 years older. It was hard to believe that he was magic too. “I like that way of seeing things. Seeing magic in everything around us.” He said simply- and it was true, he did like it. Tavek rarely lied unless it was about his own past, maybe it was the residual Vulcan-ness in him but he never liked lying. “Oh yeah.. I forgot you guys run on electricity too.. I never did good at biology. I suppose.. if we brought someone from like, the 18th century, forward in time to now.. they would think it’s magic, wouldn’t they? Until they learned enough to understand it.”

"I mean, they'd be right. Magic is just science we don't understand yet. We take these things for granted only because we're used to them, but consider this: how many non-engineers really understand any of it? Teleportation, hyposprays - most people only have a basic understanding of how they work." He pointed at the two of them. "We enlightened few are the wizards of the world."

“I guess you’re right.. I’ve certainly had rough times explaining things about my work or myself to non-engineers, even if I think they’re simple concepts.. our perceptions might get a bit warped after years of working with it though!” He said with a small laugh. The funny thing about this was, he had said all of this without actually moving his lips very much. He never did that much- habit after years of not engaging many non-vital functions such as that in order to save battery. His voice did not come from lungs and a larynx, and he saw no need to conceal that, even if it could seem strange to others. “I can get behind being a wizard.”

Khamlet had stowed the armour and had finally showered and changed following the visit to med-bay - an unexpected place for him to visit after a battle, and certainly the experience had proven unexpected and strange. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. However, he was glad to know that at least once they docked he could expect something more like what he was used to after a battle - drinking, feasting, and singing! Nothing like what was happening on the Eventide right now, which felt positively monastic in its still air albeit far too grieving and maudlin for any monastery that Khamlet had been too. Perhaps Federation monasteries were sad places? He ruminated on that thought as he walked into the mess and made for the replicator. He decided to order Pipius claw - it was a tame meal so he hoped the Federation replicators might manage to not completely do it a disservice - and then some Bahgol - again avoiding more complicated beverages. It smelled alright, he thought as he sniffed the tray and the cup, a growl of anticipation and he turned and looked about for a free spot. There was one not too far from the engineer De-Sieth and another that they were talking to, ah! The warrior that had lost fingers! He grinned excitedly at the memory. It did not take him long to close the distance to the table, he took up a seat, and decided to try the bahgol first.

Oh, hey! It was.. fuck, he didn’t know that Klingon guy’s name.. He probably should pay attention more. But, either way, he’d fought with the guy, so at least there was that. If he was being honest, the one who had the least issues after this would probably be this guy. He’d seemed quite eager to fight, after all. Tavek looked over at the food he’d replicated- it didn’t smell horrible, so there was that. Tavek was only drinking something to cool himself down, eating and drinking and then processing it drained battery and so he didn’t do it while away from 777. He nodded to the Klingon, swapping his glass to his damaged hand so he could wave with his intact one. “Good to see you’re in one piece. At least, from what I can see.” He commented.

Khamlet had only just lifted the cup to his lips when the maimed but defiant warrior greeted him with a nod and a wave. Contrary to being annoyed at his meal being interrupted he grinned wide and eager for the chance at company. “Sadly there were no blows that struck hard and true enough…” He said, sounding quite disappointed that the fight hadn’t left him bleeding and battered, and that was because he was indeed disappointed. It had been a fair enough fight, he supposed, but he would have enjoyed it more if he had been able to face more serious danger. “… Ah but there will be more fights to come.” He grinned excitedly at the prospect. “But! I saw you fight on though they took your fingers, glorious!!” He roared the compliment, bold and alive, not seeing any reason to commiserate or to ask if they were alright or if it hurt. Of course it hurt! That wasn’t the point! It had been a worthy thing to fight through and in defiance of! Sharp teeth showed as he spoke, his voice shifting its tenor, no less guttural but more filled with a musicality that hinted he might wish to truly sing. “The foe’s blade struck true but you did not let them take your honour, ‘take my fingers for victory isn’t counted on a hand but in blood spilled and fire in the heart’ you cry!” He thumped the table and his dishes and cutlery rattled.

“Not fierce enough for you, was it? Trust me, on 777, there will be plenty more opportunities. I’ve only been here less than a year, but these months have been eventful.” He said with a slight laugh. Though Tavek was not one to invite danger, he certainly didn’t hesitate to run towards it if he had to. It was an instinct of his that had been written into him long ago, one that his friends weren’t always fond of, but one that he appreciated. “Hah! I only need one hand to shoot a rifle, and I certainly didn’t need all ten fingers to disconnect the Vinculum with my fellow engineers! Plus, I’ve enough grip strength with three fingers anyway, if you caught what I did with one of those tentacle arm things.” He laughed- maybe he seemed boastful, but he didn’t care. The battle at the Vinculum was absolutely insane, he was allowed to be a bit proud of his own bravery in it. “My honor’s intact here, and yours?”

Khamlet certainly did not mind the laughter and joy of the maimed but victorious Federation engineer, if anything it was like a breath of fresh air! Finally! Here was someone who understood that you celebrated a battle’s victory, and didn’t sit around bemoaning it! The way some seemed to be saddened and mourning you would think it was a defeat, Khamlet thought at least. He grinned and nodded, “Then I eagerly await the battles to come, a warrior is a blade, we aren’t meant to sit idle collecting dust, we’re made for blood!” He was clearly extending the term and view of the world with that ‘we’ to include who he was speaking to, an easy and honest openness to him. ‘I only need one hand to shoot a rifle…’ At that Khamlet burst out laughing in approval, “A worthy answer!” He lifted his cup and drained it dry, it wasn’t a bad bahgol actually, but the mood called for Bloodwine or anything stronger than bahgol. He hadn’t expected a warrior to manifest next to him, such luck! He chuckled, “That it is, that it is.” He admitted freely when they claimed that their honour was intact, and when the question was directed his way he sat up straight and thumped his chest, “You missed me in the fight?! I’ll forgive you for you fought well!” His eyes danced with mirth and joy, he was enjoying himself. “I was at the front of the advance, a warrior would be nowhere else, when others wavered I gave them a Klingon warrior to witness and to fear more than the pathetic drones.” It wasn’t a boast, Khamlet had been at the forefront of the fight, and as others were confused, overwhelmed, or battered, he continued to advance endlessly forward, always. A warrior that yielded not an inch and took every inch ahead of him with blood and phaser fire, it had been a sight to see. His smile was dangerous and wild. “Khamlet, son of Eral, of the House of Jorn.” He introduced himself to the fellow warrior. (edited)

“In my usual line of work, you’d regard me more as a non-combatant- a medic, even, but the skills of my actual work weren’t exactly relevant then! In fact, all I really needed was enough know-how to dig around a console, and enough guts to charge with a rifle! It does help that I don’t feel pain, though.” He said with a shrug. He kept his pain receptors off at all times, considering he didn’t really need them. Tavek enjoyed a successful mission- and honestly, this reminded him of the gatherings to celebrate his cell’s survival after a successful raid on a Tal Shiar base that were common in his first years of life. It was a feeling he rather welcomed. It was a warm glow of success after knowing there was one less threat in the galaxy, be that Borg or fascists. “They could’ve blasted the whole hand off at the wrist and it wouldn’t have stopped me, honestly- it probably just would’ve made me more pissed off if anything! But yeah, I did miss a bit of what everyone else was doing, too busy looking for openings to make a break for the Vinculum proper. But from what I saw, you fought well!” Honestly, Tavek enjoyed the Klingon fighting spirit. It was different than how he’d always operated, but it was a welcome sort of difference. In his mind, Tavek simply did what he had to do, and that was that. Survival at the end of the day was what was celebrated, not the fight itself. But.. maybe he could celebrate everyone’s collective bravery in the face of horrors some others could never understand without experiencing, just this once. “Tavek tr’Lleihn here- it’s good to meet you.”

Drezoz entered the mess hall with a heavy look and his hands behind his back in thought. He had just finished his report, and he has a lot weighing in his mind. His seemingly bad first impression on the Chief Tactical officer, his seemingly initial refusal to follow the command to restore his findings, and his staying on the Runabout rather than joining the Vinculum assault team and now the officer he had "butted heads with" was in sick bay the most injured of the whole crew. "Water, room temperature, and a plate of Gladst" He ordered from the replicator and waited as it was materialized and when it did he took it and looked for a open enough space. He sat at a open table but didnt eat or drink but just stared at the food. It felt like back when he was in his early twenties after a large gladiatorial event. The feeling made him sick, but also crave the food.

Khamlet had an understanding that the Federation understood that there could be warriors in the battle that weren’t ‘warriors’ - non-combatants as they called them, but it was a concept he had yet to truly comprehend. He could understand civilians, those who weren’t warriors, but those who were amidst the battle aiding warriors and yet weren’t warriors? That confounded his understanding of things. So he simply let out a rumbled ‘mhm’ and soon had his attention pulled to the statement that they felt no pain. He was aware that the sheer range of species in the galaxy must have different bodily experiences, but the notion that one could feel no pain? That was new. Still the conversation was on the battle, and he happily let it stay there. “HAH!” He barked out a laugh as they mentioned not even losing a hand would stop them. That was the spirit he wanted to see in his fellow warriors! What matter wounds, who cares if they die, honour and victory that is all they should look for! He looked at the bahgol and again lamented it wasn’t stronger, but he left his bloodwine in the med-bay and though he was missing it now he didn’t regret the decision. The warriors there deserved to celebrate. “Well met, Tavek tr’Lleihn!” He grinned welcomingly - in an albeit threatening way for what about a Klingon wasn’t? - and joyful, and it was then he noticed the other Klingon entering. They sat alone and looked almost dejected, Khamlet chuffed out an annoyed huff of air, and shouted over, “SuvwI’!” ‘Warrior!’ He said nothing more than that, just growled and nodded to the empty seat at his table. It was a rather open and warm invitation, for a Klingon.