Scientific Method
Posted on 15 Dec 2015 @ 11:39pm by Lieutenant Wilhelm Von Haeften & Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D.
Edited on on 17 Dec 2015 @ 3:10am
2,527 words; about a 13 minute read
Mission:
Episode 10 - Symposium
Location: USS Galileo, Deck 4 - Chief Science Officer's Office
Timeline: MD09 - 1100hrs
[ON]
If Oren had planned on a way to meet his new co-department head, being caught rummaging through the man’s intended office definitely wasn’t it. He’d gone in with the intention of finding out Kohl’s plans for the department to honour it, as well as pack away the few small belongings the Argelian had asked be sent to him. Half an hour into it, Oren was sitting back on the chair, legs resting on the corner of the table as he leaned back and read a paper Kohl wrote on the influence of colonization on the Argelian language and customs. It wasn’t the best thing Oren had read, but he didn’t have high hopes, considering the author’s credentials. Still, any distraction was a welcome one.
“Can I help you?” came a voice of measured teutonic staccato as a man of shined shoes and creased trouser seams came out of the front room.
LT Wilhelm Von Haeften had not seen or heard the man before him when he first arrived, nor had he bothered to announce himself; he had after all assumed the office vacant.
It was only by the grace of the gods that Oren remained in his chair as the man’s voice rang through the room. As it was, his chair had only made a short scraping sound as he pulled his legs towards him and settled them back onto the floor. Eyes slightly wild, Oren looked around the room before he finally settled his gaze on the unfamiliar figure.
“Oh...I’m sorry,” he said, standing up and smoothing down the skirt of his uniform to rid it of imaginary creases. “I didn’t know you’d arrived,” he said, looking sheepish.
“It’s ok.” the German stated. I just got in. Already met the Skipper and the TF CO.” Wil said, using the Reservist penchant for making acronyms into actual words, in this case ‘Tif-Co’.
The New Berliner reached out his hand, fingers extended and elbow crooked.
“Wilhelm Von Haeften, new CSO.”
With a smile, Oren took his hand and shook it once gently, in the usual Human greeting. “Idris Oren, Chief Research Officer. Welcome aboard,” he said kindly, letting go of the man’s hand and shrugging.
“You are El-Aurien, right?” the New Berliner inquired.
“So they keep telling me,” Oren chuckled.
<“Thank you for the greeting.”> Von Haeften said in his best, albeit limited, El-Aurien. Willie had a talent for imitating accents, but the grammar was not his forte, and was unsure if he had butchered the words.
His smile still in place, Oren nodded to him, impressed. “It’s not every day one meets a Human who speaks any of my language. Not bad,” he complimented. Shifting from foot to foot anxiously, he continued, hoping this tentative start would end better than his relationship with Kohl did.
“Though, if I’m honest, Bajoran is closer to being my first language than El-Aurian is. I was born there,” he revealed.
“My mother was a linguist, and taught me that it is polite to at least attempt to speak another person’s language if you are able; it shows interest in their culture. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never replace the Universal Translator, but I know enough of a lot of languages to at least break the ice...I’m afraid I know almost no Bajoran except “”
Wilhelm almost never got a chance to practice good Bajoran, and so was all but sure he had made a mash of the formal farewell.
“Anyway, I was actually hoping to be able to speak to you, if you have a minute.”
“For you, I have several.” Immediately, Oren wanted to kick himself for how suggestive that comment was and immediately began to try and mend it. “We will be working together, after all.”
Von Haeften looked around the room and spotted a chair nearby. Picking it up, he brought it closer to the chair the El-Aurien had once occupied and placed it about 3 meters away from it, facing it. Sitting down, Wilhelm got out a PADD of notes.
“Don’t worry, this thing is actually a grocery list; it’s just here to make it look like I know what I’m doing.” he joked.
“Firstly, I think I heard you are a doctor yes? Of what field may I ask?”
“Cultural anthropology and exoarchaeology,” Oren replied, pulling another chair closer to sit in front of Wilhelm.
“Faszinierend!*” Wilhelm blurted out, in his own native tongue.
“Sorry, I’m a German, from New Berlin, on the Moon, er, that is, the Luna Colony. I doubt you have heard of our language often; fewer and fewer people speak the language every year, but I digress. My interests run near those same lines; I’m a historian by trade and by training Doctor…”
Wilhelm stopped mid-sentence, aware that he almost committed a major faux pas.
“Being that you consider yourself Bajoran, would it be more proper for me to refer to you as Doctor Idris?”
“It would be more proper, but I’m not one for much formality. You may call me Oren too. I won’t mind, although I do understand many officers consider that overly familiar,” Oren explained understandingly. “Whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”
“To hell with me sir.” the German said bluntly. “You earned the title, and so deserve the respect it accords, which brings me to my next topic.”
Wilhelm shifted in his chair, wishing for once that he had not had his uniform coat tailored as tight as it was.
“May I be blunt with you Doctor Idris?” the New Berliner asked, using the formal title until he could get the potentially ugly business out of the way.
Surprised by the slight turn, Oren leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. A defensive gesture.
“I would prefer it,” he replied.
“Alright. You may have heard that I was a Reservist prior to my assignment here. You also probably heard lots of rumors and innuendo about the Reserve Fleet: that they are harsh, blunt, militaristic jackboots, and so forth…” Von Haeften stated, using every stereotype of the Reserves he could think of.
“...and I will admit that the culture part that you have heard is mostly true; we are trained to be more, from our point of view, military in our speech, our language, even our mannerisms. To get to the point, I have never served aboard a ship that had a separate Research Officer. To be honest, a large part of my training tells me that it won’t work, that it makes the chain of command within this ship fuzzy at best and chaotic at worst. My instincts also tell me that I may not be the only one on the science team that might think so.”
Von Haeften could see that this conversation was going to go downhill quickly unless he did damage control and quick.
“Let me clarify: Although I have said these things and admitted what my instincts as a Soldier tell me, we as thinking rational beings are not guided solely by our instincts. I do not know if every science vessel within the Active Fleet maintains a CRO…”
Wilhelm had made that into an acronym, and it sounded too close to ZERO, and so made a mental note to abandon it from later use and discourage it from his staff.
“...but I do know that the decision to split the science department in this way could not have been a decision made lightly nor without careful consideration. Therefore, let me formally tell you that I have no problem serving alongside you, nor will you get any trouble from me in regards to your duties. In fact, you have my word as an officer and gentleman that I will offer you the full and unconditional support of my department to aide you as needed to fulfill our mutual goal and defeat our common enemy: the unknown.”
Wilhelm realized he had started to lean forward, and so relaxed backward to allow the El-Aurien to rebuff or at least chew on the German’s words.
Oren listened patiently to the officer’s explanation, his mind working over each word and phrasing. Judging by the man’s body language and manner of speech, it became clear to him that this was something he’d been planning to say since being given the position aboard Galileo. His phrasing was specific and whatever he said that seemed problematic, he cleared up quickly. Clearly, Oren was dealing with a man who was much more put together than his predecessor.
When Wilhelm’s speech came to an end, Oren took a short breath and replied. Being twice Wilhelm’s age, he wasn’t a person of quite as many words, so he kept it brief.
“First off, Lieutenant, I appreciate you honesty,” he began, uncrossing his legs and resting his hands in his lap. “Second, I wish you to know that I have absolutely no knowledge of the Reserves beyond their existence, and even if I did, as an anthropologist with almost fifty years of work behind me, I’d like to think I have little prejudice towards anyone of any background.” The entire idea of it, while common in Humans and many other, always baffled Oren, who knew the struggles of being different from an early age.
“That said, I do have to say that I hope that attitude goes both ways. As you no doubt know, my rank is a field rank only and I am a civilian. My short career as an enlisted in Starfleet came to a rather abrupt end after the war ended and I knew the military life wasn’t for me.” Judging by Wilhelms description of his background, Oren knew that little tidbit would no doubt rear it’s ugly head during many of their disagreements.
“I am aware of your current status as a civilian Doctor.” Wilhelm said, still carefully using the formal title to show respect.
“I have zero problem with it. I am, after all, a professional Starfleet Officer. Your provisional rank is good currency here as far as I’m concerned. If you encounter any prejudices from my people, be sure that I will deal with them as bluntly as needed to get the point across that we are a team aboard this ship.”
Wilhelm stood up and began to walk slowly around the room, but never venturing more than five or six meters away from Idris; the German remembered reading that in El-Aurien culture as well as Bajoran it was considered rude to walk too far away from someone while talking to them, except in goodbyes.
“With that out of the way, I’d like for use to just lay out some ground rules for each other, just so you know what you can expect from me.”
Wilhelm reached out to the table and retrieved his until now idle PADD.
“Wanted to tell you all about my Klingon zucchini...if you know what I mean.” the German joked crudely.
Clearly reading a prepared list, the German went on.
“Number one: I will never without your prior consent utilize any member of your now or future staff to conduct science tasks outside of research. Number two…”
Wilhelm went on at some length; he knew he sounded like a damned bureaucrat, but he wanted to ensure that the CRO had no doubts whatsoever in his mind how Willie was going to conduct himself as his partner in SCIDEP.
“Lastly…” the German said, wrapping it up. “I am unsure if your staff and mine currently live a separate but equal existence socially or in business, but I’d like to change that, perhaps by having a joint staff meeting followed by some kind of revelry afterwards so our staffs become more comfortable with each other?”
Wilhelm’s upturned inflection at the end made sure he phrased it as a suggestion, not an ultimatum.
’Is he serious right now?’ Oren asked himself over and over as Wilhelm began to list off things from his paDD. After getting the general feel of his ‘rules’, Oren stopped listening and simply watched the man’s movements, graceful as he walked and read aloud. One thing was for certain - he and Oren had very different skills and interests concerning the department, and Oren only hoped that they would complement each other well.
At the question, Oren broke out of his thoughts and returned his eyes to Wilhelm’s.
“Um...I like that idea,” he said, smiling at the suggestion. “You know what they say, it’s not a scientist party until someone’s underwear is pushed through the chemical analyser,” he joked.
Wilhelm put his palm to his face and groaned audibly as he heard the older than old joke.
“Look, the jist is, that I am not a martinet nor a man in a high tower…”
Wilhelm was unsure if the analogy would register with the CRO. Seeing no confusion in the El-Aurien’s emerald eyes, the CSO continued.
“If you have a problem with anything I or the SCIDEP is doing, you have the right to barge through my door and slam your fist on my desk and call me a Sportaluk.” Willie stated, punctuating his sentence with the foul Bajoran swear.
“You also have just as much right as I do when it comes to running the total department.”
“So, be honest, do you think we can work together aboard this ship?” the German inquired, smiling to lighten the mood.
Halfway through Wilhelm’s words, Oren demeanor shifted slightly, but he allowed his to finish, eventually returning his smile, although there seemed to be something behind it.
“Of course we can,” he said with a nod. “As long as you don’t feel another need to reiterate things for me. I know I might give off a certain look, but I got the jist the first time. Okay?” Oren’s tone was light, matching Wilhelm’s, but he made sure to keep his words as clear and precise as the German’s.
“Alright alright.” Wilhelm started to reach out his hand again, but withdrew it quickly and thought for a moment.
“Forgive my ignorance; how do your people greet each other?” the CSO asked, using ‘your people’ as a filler for whether the good doctor considered himself El-Aurien or Bajoran.
“I don’t have a people, so I tend to greet everyone as they are,” Oren admitted, standing up and holding his hand out.
Wilhelm, feeling sheepish at the comment, took the proffered hand. Pointing to himself with his free hand,Von Haeften said “Pleased to meet you Oren. I’m Wil.”
The German smiled as he said it; in his mind at least, they were going to get along just fine.
OFF:
Lieutenant JG Oren Idis
Chief Research Officer
USS Galileo
&
Lieutenant JG Wilhelm Von Haeften
Chief Science Officer
USS Galileo
*Faszinierend - Fass-zin-ear-ind: fascinating
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