Small Talk

"Captain's Log, Stardate 87137.8.

The Nexus and her crew have received our next assignment, one I regretfully have to say hesitantly. We are to attend the Khitomer & Delta Alliances' Trade, Shipping, and Cargo Conference in the Delta Quadrant. A solid week of seminars on transport manifest consolidation techniques, cargo shipping efficiency, and other riveting topics such as 'How to transport more efficiently' and 'Ways to transport heavy cargo.' Alongside these thrilling sessions, we'll be treated to half a dozen social dinners and networking mixer parties. Fun.

Fortunately for my crew, only a select number of us are required to attend, while the rest of the Nexus crew can enjoy whatever amenities the USS Nexus has to offer.

Unfortunately for me, I am one of those required to attend.

Is it too late to ask T to put me back in transporter suspension for a week?"

The Nexus emerges from high warp at a space station in the Delta Quadrant, where a flotilla of ships from different factions and allegiances is docked or floating nearby.

Anzyl, Neil, Keten, and half a dozen officers from various races and factions aboard Nexus materialize on the welcoming transportation pads of the space station.

Hundreds of fellow conference attendees from all over the galaxy are mixing and mingling.

Wishing he could gauge his eyes out as an excuse to leave, Anzyl sighs heavily, "Gah, I hate conferences…"

"I thought you were an Ambassador AND a Diplomat?" Neil questions. He doesn't want to be here any more than Anzyl does. "I thought a week of mingling and small talk was right up your alley."

"Yairee was the Diplomat. Milian was the Ambassador," Anzyl explains, referencing his previous hosts. "Anzyl is a Starfleet captain who would rather be patrolling the Kobali war front than being stuck here, faking smiles and handshakes for a solid week."

"You know full well if this were a Pastry Chef convention, you'd be here in a heartbeat," Neil corrected.

"Oh, absolutely!" Anzyl adamantly agreed, "But that one's not for another month. Which reminds me, you'll be taking care of the ship while I use my vacation time for that!"

After conference registration and badge pickup, the crew went their separate ways, followed by hours upon hours of mind-numbing conference talks and seminars.

"Anzyl to Nolan," he tapped his combadge after a session ended.

"Go ahead, friend," Nolan's familiar tone chimed over Anzyl's combadge.

"Are you sure there's no time-space anomaly going on? Slowing down time or anything?" Anzyl asked.

"Um… no… not that our sensors can pick up…"

"Dang it…" Anzyl pouted as he headed to the next seminar that the Federation put on his itinerary.

"Sorry, friend, time's flowing just as it should," Nolan explained. "I believe the saying does not apply to your current situation."

"And what would that be?"

"Time flies when you're having fun. But it seems the opposite is also true." Nolan chuckled, happy about the fact he got to stay on the ship for the duration of the conference.

"...thanks," Anzyl replied.

"Oh, Captain, I do believe there is another Federation saying that DOES apply to your situation." Nolan perked up.

"Oh? Do tell."

"Sucks to be you." Nolan stated, sounds of the bridge crew bursting into laughter trailed over the comm.

Anzyl looked down, smiling, accepting he had been got. "Yup, good one. Anzyl out."

The first day continued on and ended with the event that all Starfleet officers and Captains had been dreading: the Starfleet Social Mixer. Hours of small talk, hors d'oeuvres, and non-alcoholic cocktails.

 —

In the expansive social event space, a multitude of Starfleet captains and their officers adorned in elegant dress uniforms engaged in the art of mingling. Held in their hands were glasses filled with a spectrum of multi-colored drinks. The room resonated with the orchestrated symphony of fake laughs, banal jokes, and seemingly inconsequential conversations.

Anzyl, drawing upon the wealth of memories from his previous hosts, skillfully executed genuine fake smiles and embraced diverse cultural greetings. 

First Officer Neil, meanwhile, found a captivating companion to share the evening's delights, delving into playful banter and flirtation.

For Keten, formerly Ensign Kim, the event held a special allure—an official Starfleet officer social gathering that transcended the confines of the compact Voyager. With infectious enthusiasm, he regaled an expanding audience of officers with tales from the legendary starship Voyager, narrating the trials and triumphs of its valiant crew. From his fateful demise, vented into the cold vastness of space, to the subsequent encounter with the Kobali and his "second birth" among them, Keten's narrative wove a captivating tapestry of intrigue.

—

Meanwhile, in the flotilla high above the space station, aboard a small Pakled vessel, scattered amidst their cluttered cargo bay, lay the remnants of a lone Borg drone, began to illuminate in a neon green glow. A member of the Borg Collective awakens from a prolonged hibernation.

At last within sensor range of one of its kind, it activates its internal homing beacon and distress signal, transmitting a concealed, untraceable message.

A faint green light flickers within a crate, tucked away in the cargo bay of a ship, nestled within a flotilla in the Delta Quadrant.