ten_fwd | (Open) The Stranger

Tasha hadn't want to scare anyone - or worse - have their pity. She'd been here on some nights before, but always in disguise and making it a point to watch, but not interact, with anyone. Also, she didn't like to admit it, but she loved make-up. Not the kind that Deanna or Beverly wore to bring out their features. That kind of make-up wasn't for her. It didn't feel right on. She didn't like extra attention regarding her appearance; a holdover from Turkana IV, she supposed.

But make-up to disguise? To conceal who and what you were and be able to become someone else? She had an incredible love of that. She justified her enjoyment by its usefulness as a skill, but it was more than that. It was a chance to be someone without the burden of duty or a past. Someone more normal - unless the part called for something else.

The risk of discovery also played a big part in both the thrill of the challenge and the growing irritation at her self-imposed isolation. Tasha justified it easily. She might disappear at any moment - or maybe even drop dead - because "dead" was still her official status, though Picard had assured her the wheels of bureaucracy were getting a firm push regarding all that. Starfleet's reluctance was understandable with all the strange happenings onboard the ship, but it gnawed at her patience. She didn't want to upend anyone's life, but she missed them! It would also mean opening herself up to stacks of unfinished business, too, but she was tired of avoiding her friends - even is she still thought keeping her distance might remain the best course of action.

At least her insistence on isolation had gotten her caught up on as much security information and protocols a civilian had access to. Well, a civilian and a cadet. It turned out the Academy hadn't cancelled her alumni access. There wasn't much dangerous in that, but "not much" wasn't "nothing" by a longshot. She'd have to talk to them about that.

Tasha's tired of keeping to herself and making Aggie feel like she's rooming with a crazy hermit. Tonight, she's keeping her "disguise" to a hooded sweatshirt. It's time to go Ten Forward, to stop being someone else, face what, if anything, comes of it.

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Kitt smiles to himself, nodding knowingly. "My prototype was flawed. This is something that I have some sympathy for. I may have to find and talk to him. We could compare notes."

It sounded like they already had something in common.

"I think he'd like that." She starts thinking, and when she starts thinking, she starts biting her lower lip. It's been months and, thanks to Q's involvement, people have been here - some blinking in and out like candles - but some, like Kitt stay here. She's picked up that there's been some misadventures.

But, if even the most unlikely of people were offered a chance to become Starfleet officers - and these people couldn't leave...

Background checks would be a problem. There was no protocol for something like this, but -

At this point, she starts sinking into very deep thought.

"I'll have to see about finding him." He was about to say something else, but then he caught the look on Tasha's face. She'd withdrawn into herself, making him wonder what it was he'd said. He let her remain that way for a short while, until his curiosity got the better of him.

"Tasha? Is something wrong?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry," She flushes a little. "I was just running down an idea. Something that might help people stuck here."

That gets his attention, and he leans forward with his arms on the table, an inquisitive look on his face.

"Are you going to share?" He hopes so. He flashes her a smile, hoping that might encourage her.

She sighs. "It's dependent on a lot of different factors, and I haven't been and officer in a few years." That still stings.

"But, Starfleet did have protocols for creating 'acting' officers."

"Acting officers?" He straightened back up, all of his attention focused directly on her. "People with helpful skills given duties, you mean? Being given the opportunity to actually do something for the good of the ship?"

He nearly missed the part about her not being an officer for a few years, but he still hadn't managed to get that particular story out of her.

"Yes, but -" She waves her hand. "There's not much more I know of that I could do. It would be at the Captain's discretion, and, odds are there's things we don't know about all this he does."

"But you could put in a good word, right?" Even if they didn't know what the Captain did, surely they could still help in other ways? "I met another young woman recently - Gaila. She was an acting Ensign on her version of the Enterprise, and when I spoke to her she was studying, trying to catch up to this century and its requirements. There have to be more people out there who would be interested in your idea, Tasha."

He certainly was.

"There's more displaced officers?!" She thought she was the only one.

It was an easier "d" word to work with.

"If so..." Her mind starts whirling. Committing to this life and then just sitting around was torture.

"Not exactly. From what I understand she never actually made it to graduation before she was called on for a mission. Which is why she was an acting Ensign. But I know that she would very much like to be a full officer."

It did have a certain ring to it.

"Indeed." If they could pull this off and convince Picard this was a worthwhile opportunity, their lives could become much more interesting sooner rather than later.

She bites her lip for a moment and smiles. "Every time we talk, you give me more to think about." Which she likes in a man, but her life is complicated enough, thank you very much. Plus, he's four. It would be robbing the cradle.

"You mentioned another form? A 20th Century vehicle?"

"Do I? I must say I'm very pleased to hear that, Tasha." Four maybe, but going on forty? Okay, maybe not. Late teens at the most. But very smart late teens?

"Yes, it's down in one of the cargo bays." He turned to her, enough so that she could see the device on his bicep. "It's a mobile holo-emitter. It contains my programming while in this form. Quite remarkable, really." He brushed his fingertip over it, still amazed by it when he took the time to really think about it.

(Open) The Stranger

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