How to Make Friends and Alienate Your Superiors

Posted on 11 Jan 2015 @ 10:56pm by Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D. & Commander Andreus Kohl

2,727 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Episode 07 - Sojourn
Location: USS Galileo - Deck 4, Chief Research Officer's Office
Timeline: MD08 - 0800hrs

[ON]

After the events of the night before, seeing her after so many years, the anxiety Oren had felt building during his weeks long solo trip from Bajor to the base felt like it was reaching its peak. Just waking up and greeting the day had made him more than a little irritable and he was happy the his temporary quarters didn't allow for a roommate. No other person should have to deal with him when he was like this, snapping one moment and then hating himself and wanting to cry the next. It was Oren at his least glamorous.

But life had to go on and the first thing on Oren's to-do list was to report back in with his superiors. Considering what a fool he'd made of himself during his last meeting with Pendleton, Oren decided to go back and see the man once more, this time taking a little something from Bajor with him. The trip to the Galileo and, ultimately, the CRO's office went by in a blur as he tried his best to not rattle the contents of the box he was carrying.

Behind the doors of the CRO's office, and behind the desk of said Chief Research Officer, Lieutenant Commander Andreus Kohl was sitting comfortably in his new chair. There was nothing especially notable about the chair itself. It was the standard-issue office chair made available aboard Galileo. All Kohl had done was make a couple of ergonomic adjustments to convince the chair to better fit his slighter frame, rather than that of his predecessor.

Kohl preferred a clear desk. All he kept on his desktop was a widescreen LCARS display and the tea set his mother had sent. He had found it waiting for him at Starbase 84. Kohl had tucked away the excess PADDs into desk drawers, and he managed to toggle between reports on his desktop display and the LCARS display set into the bulkhead. On this morning, Kohl was reviewing the most current Starfleet Command guidelines and priorities for scientific research. Basically, it was Research 101 scrolling across his wall. Kohl looked away from the display when his office was intruded upon by the door chime.

Maneuvering the box in his arms into a more manageable position to free up his left hand, Oren pressed the chime a few times and awaited an answer.

"Enter," said a voice that was muffled through the door. In response, the computer pulled the double doors apart.

Oren walked into the office only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of who was behind the desk. For a brief moment, Oren wondered if he'd somehow gone into the wrong office, but considering it was Kohl, Oren knew he'd never be that wrong. He gave the room a once over with his gaze just in case. No, this was definitely the CRO's office, he concluded, then looked at Kohl.

"Has there been some rearranging of offices? I'm looking for Pendleton."

Kohl immediate response to Oren's question was nothing but hesitation. He shifted his posture in his chair and squared his shoulders, as he considered the other man. "He's... probably enjoying his shore leave," replied Kohl. Genuine uncertainty gave way to flippancy, when Kohl added, "I don't know, I'm not his yeoman."

Oren sighed, but decided to not react to Kohl's tone. He was the elder one in the situation, after all. "Great..." he just said, looking around awkwardly. He didn't want to really stay there and actually converse with Kohl but it seemed incredibly rude to just turn around and leave. He was stuck, it seemed.

"Do you know where Stace is, then, I'm supposed to report in to either her or the CRO."

"Ah," said Kohl. All of a sudden, his cup and saucer appeared to fascinate his attention greatly. He poured himself another cup of tea, and he cleared his throat as he did so. "You're in the right place, Oren," said Kohl. "I have been promoted to Chief Research Officer."

Blinking, Oren stood silent, stunned one might say by the expression on his face. He waited patiently for Kohl to break into his charming laugh and tell him it was all a ploy and give him Stace's location, but no such laugh came. Finally breaking out of his state, Oren said the first thing that came to his mind now that it was functional once again.

"You're joking."

All Kohl could think to say, at first, was, "Ohkay then." In silence, Kohl stared down Oren, assessing his face and then his body language. Kohl took hold of his cup and sipped at his tea, and only then did he say, "Now I wish I were joking. Alas, I'm not. Where does that leave us?"

"I don't know where it might leave you but it's leaving me very confused," Oren admitted and then, realising he might have to stick around here for longer than he'd thought (or would like to), he placed the box he'd been carrying on a nearby clean surface. "I thought I had a relatively good idea of how Starfleet worked, but now I imagine I've completely missed the mark."

Interlacing his fingers atop his new desk, Kohl leaned forward. His gaze upon Oren was sharp. "Now tell me," Kohl said, "How did you used to think Starfleet worked?"

"I thought promotions in position went to people according to a combination of qualifications and time served. Apparently, it's just time served," Oren explained, looking genuinely confused with the prospect of having Kohl as his CRO. "I mean, let's be true to ourselves here, you're not exactly Esther Lederberg."

"Oren, I'm not claiming to be a microbiologist," Kohl said with no small insistence, and a shake of the head. "I'm not even a Starfleet Researcher. I'm a Chief Research Officer. That's an officer first. My qualifications are as a leader, and a bureaucracy navigator, and, yes, in the sciences too. I may not be capable of the research you perform, but I can understand it. Give me that much credit, if none other."

"I am giving you credit for being an officer, I'm just saying being just an officer seems to limit you from being anything else. I mean, what's the point of being just an officer? By your logic, the Chief Engineer should be an officer with just a rudimentary understanding of engineering. The Chief Medical Officer is just someone playing at medicine without actually being a licensed physician." Oren shrugged, baffled by Kohl's attempt at logic. Even looking at it from the point of view of grammar, being the Chief Research Officer didn't mean being an officer first.

"Now tell me," Kohl asked, and now his voice was hard, "How have you reached your conclusion that I have only a rudimentary understanding of scientific research? Have you spent hours reading the fine print of my service jacket? Have I forgotten warming heart-to-heart talks between us?"

"You just said you can't do scientific research like two minutes ago," Oren retorted. "Understanding something means you should be able to do it. If you can only understand it but are unable to do it, then your understanding qualifies as rudimentary," he explained. Unlike Kohl, Oren's own tone remained steady, which was usual for him when he was irritated. "Don't misunderstand, I firmly believe you know all the bureaucratic nonsense that goes along with getting research done, I'm just saying that, in my personal view, knowing the administrative side of a field doesn't qualify you to run a whole department dedicated to it. But like I said, that's just my view of it which, in the end, means very little."

Halfway through Oren's statement, Kohl shrank back in his chair and he sighed. "You misunderstand," Kohl said. His tone had deflated; his timbre was nearly flat and lifeless. "I conducted research at the Academy, and in my last days serving as a diplomatic officer. In Sickbay, when we have no patients, research is how we pass the time. The computer can keep the shelves stocked. What I said-- what I meant to say is my research may not compare to the research you perform, but I didn't say I'm a stranger to research and experimentation."

"Well then you need to speak more clearly. I'm afraid I'm a very literal thinker when it comes to listening to people," Oren admitted with a small shrug. He still felt irritated though, having to answer to Kohl of all people. That being said, the El-Aurian was sure to disagree with any direct superior if experience was any indication, but he ignored that and decided to focus completely on how unqualified he found Kohl to be.

"Well," he finally shrugged, "no matter. You're my superior either way, qualified or not." Oren looked down at the box in his hands, not unsure of what to do with it. "I got something for Jacob, but I suppose since this is your office, you should have it." Putting the box onto the nearby desk, Oren opened it and took out a glass container with a small model of what appeared to be an ancient steam locomotive inside. Knowing of Pendleton's interest, he'd gotten it from storage back on Bajor. With the man himself gone and Oren's own interests lying elsewhere (hence putting the thing in storage), giving it to Kohl for an 'office warming' gift seemed appropriate, if unplanned.

Starting to reach a hand out to the glass container, Kohl said," What is--? Oh, it's lovely. Such fine craftsmanship." Kohl's sapphire eyes drilled into the model locomotive, as it was far more desirable to study than Oren's snide words and irritated air.

"It's quite ancient, though by no means unique. It's two hundred years old; Bajoran," the archaeologist supplied, taking the moment to join Kohl in his admiration. "You can take it out of the container, it's really not as fragile as it seems. The only reason I've kept it in a container is to keep the dust off it." To prove his point, Oren took the lid of carefully before reaching inside and taking out the locomotive with just as much attentiveness. He held it out for Kohl to take.

"It truly is a thing of beauty," said Kohl in an obvious sense of awe. He took the model and laid it in the palm of one hand. "Look at those colours, and the texture of its construction materials. You just don't see design sensibilities like that aboard a Federation starship."

"You can say that again," Oren said in agreement. Despite his feelings towards Kohl as a colleague, he was glad that the artifact was appreciated. "It's hand painted and that shade of red is unique to the small company that made them," he explained. "I'm glad you like it," he said honestly.

"Really though," Kohl said. There was a naked skepticism as he began to speak, but it gave way to an open sense of wonder --almost childlike in delivery-- when he continued. "You'll let me keep it?"

Oren returned Kohl's question with an expression of confusion first. Did Kohl actually expect him to let him look at the artifact and then take it away? Maybe he truly had been giving the Argelian the wrong impression. He couldn't imagine anyone thinking him that callous.

"Of course," Oren said, carefully watching the man with the artifact. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but be charmed by Kohl. The almost innocent way he eyed and handled something that Oren considered incredibly mundane made him feel old. While he didn't consider himself cynical in any way, Oren found himself oddly envious of Kohl's youth and ability to find pleasure in something so simple.

"Thank you, Oren," Kohl said with enthusiasm. "Thank you," he said again. He placed the model down on one side of the desk and then he moved it over to the other. Kohl's head pivoted left and right, as he eyed the shelves around the room. "Where do you think it would look best?" he asked, as he considered the options available.

Turning his back to Kohl, Oren looked around the office critically. "If you move those to the opposite shelf," he began, pointing to one of the shelves on their right. "You could put it there, and maybe something green behind it for contrast."

Kohl stood up from his chair and he crossed over to the shelf Oren had indicated, taking the model with him. He set about emptying the shelf and placing the model in its new place of pride. As he did, he asked, "How was Bajor this time of year?"

"Hot," Oren said simply, watching Kohl's back. "Luckily I didn't stay there too long. Just picked up my parents, saw an old friend, got the antique and left," he explained, leaning against the other man's desk. He wasn't one to be suspicious of others, but he did wonder if Kohl was genuinely interested in his visit or if he was simply looking for a way to fill the silence because Oren had overstayed his welcome.

Raising his hands up again, Kohl fiddled with the model up on the shelf. He turned it this way and that, and then back again. He glanced back at Oren over his shoulder, but then returned his eyes to his fiddling. "Oh?" asked Kohl, his voice raising up. "What brought your parents to Bajor?"

"Nothing," Oren said, surprised with his honesty. "They died there during the Occupation, when I was a child. Their remains were recently discovered and I was required to go back and claim them." His voice was casual to his own ears but Oren felt strangely casual about it all. It was clear that the situation was emotional for him despite his tone but the hurt wasn't fresh.

Mortified at how casually he had asked about Oren's dead parents, Kohl took a moment to breath. It took some time for Kohl to recognized that Oren had set the tone to the conversation, and Kohl had only followed along that same path. Kohl allowed his hands to fall to his sides, and he took some time in silence to stare straight at the bulkhead ahead of him. Without turning --he couldn't meet Oren's eyes, not yet-- Kohl asked, "Have you chosen what you will do with the remains?" His voice broke at first, but he steadied as he asked the whole question.

Ignoring the small hitch in Kohl's tone, Oren shook his head but, realising the Argelian couldn't actually see him, he said, "Not yet," which felt generous. In reality, he was slipping through phases of ignoring the boxes his parents were stored in and feeling completely lost over what to do. His parents were El-Aurian, so, by default, their remains should be taken care of in traditional El-Aurian customs. Except Oren had absolutely no idea if El-Aurian's even had funeral customs. He'd never actually even heard of them, or an El-Aurian dying by natural causes as a matter of fact. The entire idea just made him feel all too aware of just how distant his own culture was to him and that just made him all the more bitter at his parents. That bitterness made him want to ignore them even more.

It was an endless cycle.

"I suppose," Kohl said, and he shook his head in a back-and-forth movement that mirrored his indecision, "there's no pressing need to rush to a choice." Having composed himself, Kohl turned away from the shelf, and moved to return to his desk. "How does that aphorism go? You can decide not to decide."

Oren nodded. "Something like that," he said, tapping his fingers against the desk he was leaning against. "Well, I should leave you to your work. I'm sure you have lots to do." With that, the El-Aurian pushed himself forward from the desk, taking a few steps towards the door.

"I wish you luck, I guess," Oren said casually, walking backwards for a moment before giving Kohl a small nod, a glance at the locomotive and then he was gone.

"Thank you," Kohl said to the empty room, "I guess."

[OFF]

Lieutenant Commander Andreus Kohl
Chief Research Officer
USS Galileo

Oren Idris, Ph.D.
Archaeologist/Anthropologist
USS Galileo

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