Chapter Text
The fact the words reached Lieutenant Mina McMillan's ears in Vulcan and not federation standard meant that she was not supposed to know what was being said, the universal translator responding to the speaker's intent that their words remain in the language they were spoken. A quick glance at the pips of the speaker's uniform explained why. From what she had heard of the infamous Captain Solok, the presumption that none of the humans within earshot would understand Vulcan seemed to match his reputation as an arrogant Vulcan supremacist.
"...Get our own engineers to double-check the station staff's repairs before we leave. I won't have this station's repair team's substandard work interfering with ships operations," the Captain instructed his chief engineer as they walked through the hall where Mina was currently recalibrating one of the large industrial replicators. His voice steadily became harder to ignore as the two Vulcans neared Mina's work area. "Here is a prime example; How incompetent are their ensigns if a lieutenant is required to do the simple task of replicator recalibration? A junior grade lieutenant, but still…"
Mina grit her teeth and let out a slow frustrated huff of air through her nose as they continued to walk away, eyes still fixed on the replicator's screen.
The two pairs of footsteps halted behind her. Damn that Vulcan hearing.
"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" The Captain's tone suggested that there was. He sounded even more arrogant when speaking federation standard.
Don't do it, said a little voice in Mina's head. She ignored it, as she frequently did. The opportunity was simply too good to pass up.
She lowered her tools and turned to face him, keeping her expression as neutral as she could.
"Not at all, Captain," she replied in Vulcan, pleased to note that her pronunciation was still excellent despite not having spoken much of the language in recent months.
His reaction was minor, but satisfying all the same. A slight rise of his eyebrows, and a faint twitch of the hard line of his lips. It took a lot of willpower not to blink as she met his cold stare with her own.
Captain Solok's eyes flicked to the replicator's display screen, its commands still set to the vertical Vulcan font favoured on his ship.
"You speak and read Vulcan," he stated, rather than asked, the evidence right there in front of him.
"Yes, Sir. With the current software issues the T'kumbra's computer is experiencing affecting translation, I've been assigned to any tasks that require prolonged interaction with the computer screens," Mina explained quickly. "It's more efficient. You know, instead of having someone else waiting for a laggy translation every time they make a calibration." Like our perfectly capable human ensigns, you judgemental prick.
"I see," replied Solok. "What is your name, Lieutenant?"
"McMillan, Sir," she answered. The replicator behind her beeped, waiting for her next instruction. "Do you require anything else, Captain, or may I resume my 'substandard work'?"
For a moment, Mina thought she might have pushed a little too far by throwing his own words back at him, the seconds stretching out as she waited for a response.
"As you were."
Solok turned and quickly continued his journey, this time in silence.
Gotcha! Mina thought, smugly, and got back to work.
*****
She should have kept her mouth shut.
Captain Solok was just as petty as the rumours suggested, Mina quickly discovered.
"Lieutenant, the captain wants you up in the mess hall," Commander Oksana, head of repair team alpha, informed her the next morning.
"Captain Sisko?" She asked hopefully, although she already had a sneaking suspicion that would not be the case.
"Solok. Says he has an urgent job for you. Even requested you by name," said Oksana, sounding mildly surprised.
Mina groaned, already suspecting payback for her moment of linguistic satisfaction the day before.
Walking into the mess hall confirmed her suspicions. Two of the the T'kumbra's crew were trying their best to stem the flood of purplish-gray slop that was materialising from one of the replicators at an alarming pace, using empty fresh food containers to catch it, and what appeared to be several sets of curtains to dam the small puddle at the replicators base.
"You are Lieutenant McMillan?" One of them asked as soon as he noticed her. Mina nodded. "Please assist us..." The replicator spat out another litre of sludge and a vague look of disgust passed across his face. "... quickly."
Whatever the mystery concoction was, it certainly wasn't in the recipe banks. It took 26 minutes to find and isolate the cause of the problem, during which Mina and the Vulcans assisting her restarted the replicator 4 times. Each time, the product produced would alter slightly: from purple-gray sludge, to a verdant clumpy jelly, to a watery orange broth. The smell remained the same; a mix of rotten plomeek and stale coffee.
By the time they'd finally fixed the issue, all three of them looked as though a dying unicorn had eaten an expired rainbow and then defecated on them.
"Well, I'd say it's been nice working with you, but…" Mina joked, gesturing at herself.
"Most unpleasant," agreed Sanol, the Vulcan who had spoken to her first.
"You should run a check on the other replicators. Make sure this defect isn't widespread. Last thing you want is the whole of the ship flooded with...whatever the hell this is," said Mina.
"Indeed. Your assistance was most appreciated," said T'Niw, the second Vulcan, with a slight nod of her head.
"I come to serve," Mina replied in Vulcan.
She wiped her uniform off with one of the scraps of curtain, trying to remove as much of the gunk as possible as she tapped her badge.
"McMillan to Oksana. I'm finished in the mess hall, and I'm going to need a shower. Permission to return to the station?"
"Permission granted. You have one hour," replied Commander Oksana.
Mina packed up her tools and started the long walk off of the ship and back to her quarters. She was fairly certain this uniform couldn't be saved. It would have to go into the matter reclaimator, but personally, Mina thought burning it might be a more cathartic method of destruction.
The thought brought a smirk to her face as she waited for the turbolit. The doors slid open, and her smile quickly faded when she saw who she'd be sharing a turbolift with.
"Captain," Mina greeted him flatly.
"Lieutenant," Solok acknowledged her as he stood to one side of the lift.
Mina stalked in and opted to stand a little closer than she needed to. Nothing he could draw attention to as being indecent, but not taking full advantage of the otherwise empty lift. If she had to smell the foul slop she was covered in, so did he, she thought smugly.
"Airlock 3," She ordered the computer and then stared resolutely at the doors as the lift began to move again.
Solok was engrossed in his padd, seemingly oblivious to her presence, and Mina found herself studying him covertly.
He was rather handsome, which irritated her. A firm jaw, straight nose, and the long angled eyebrows which were typical of his species, beneath which were those piercing blue eyes, which, to Mina's knowledge, were less typical. She tried to recall if she'd ever seen a light-eyed Vulcan before, and decided if she had, they hadn't been as striking as Solok.
A man like Solok didn't deserve to be attractive, in Mina's opinion. No doubt he was aware of it, sauntering around like a smug git. In as much as a Vulcan could saunter. Most of the Vulcans she knew were brisk walkers, practically marching everywhere. Still, she suspected Solok had more of a cocky stroll when it suited him. Especially with that ass...
"It was fortunate that we met yesterday, Lieutenant," said Solok, interrupting her train of thought. Probably just as well, the last thing his ego needed was to catch her checking out his butt.
"If you say so, Sir," replied Mina. She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.
"Had I been unaware of your fluency in Vulcan, I would have had to leave the replicator malfunction to whoever the duty roster assigned it to, and no doubt the repair would still be underway," continued Solok. "From the cursory report I received a few moments ago, we would have been looking at replacing over half of the hall's flooring. Your quick work has reduced it to merely a small section of carpet."
Oh, well, good for the fucking carpet! Mina grit her teeth.
"Ensigns Sanol and T'Niw did a very efficient job of limiting the mess, Sir," she replied.
"Are there any other members of deep space nine's repair crews that can read Vulcan, Lieutenant?" asked Solok.
"Not that I am aware of, Captain," answered Mina, with a sinking suspicion of where this conversation was headed.
"In that case, I shall have to keep you in mind if any other urgent repairs come up," commented Solok.
Son of a denebian slime devil. You're seriously going to be pulling this crap all freaking week over yesterday, aren't you?! Mina thought. Well, she'd had worse than one petty Vulcan bitch could throw at her.
The turbolift stopped at her destination.
"Glad I can be of help, Captain," said Mina with as much false sincerity as she could muster. She did a little sauntering of her own as she exited the lift, head held high as if she wasn't drenched armpit to ankle in rotten replicator offerings.
If Solok wanted to make this into a silent battle, so be it. She was not going to let him win.
*****
Solok watched Lieutenant McMillan leave, and raised an eyebrow. Any satisfaction he might have sought to gain from assigning her to an unpleasant task was apparently going to be hard won. Not that he was seeking retribution for her challenging his description of the repair crew, of course. Simply observing how humans responded to having a positive skill - fluency in an alien language, for example - utilised for unfavourable tasks.
McMillan had a certain adamant vigor about her that he found intriguing...from a purely academic standpoint, obviously.
He had pulled up her Starfleet records after their initial meeting, and found her to be an engineer with above average skill, and an above average number of formal reprimands. Lieutenant Wilhelmina Morag McMillan (born 2345 in Kirkcudbright, Scotland, Earth; next of kin: mother, father and two brothers; academy graduation year 2366 ) had an unfortunate tendency towards impertinence and questioning orders. It was hardly surprising that she had found herself serving in a dismal place like deep space nine.
Her reprimands had become less and less frequent over time, however. On paper, one might be inclined to think she had calmed with age, but the conversation between them the day before made Solok think otherwise; She had pulled him up on his comments about her and her co-workers without raising her voice, insulting him, or anything else that he could use as cause for disciplinary action. It wasn't that she ceased to talk back; she had simply learned to do so with more cunning.
The lieutenant doubtlessly thought herself very clever for such careful wording, but Solok had seen the flare of anger in her eyes. Like all her kind, she was emotional. And emotions lead to primitive outbursts, and sloppy mistakes.
By the end of the six days that Mina McMillan was assigned to his ship's repairs, he would have another example of the inferiority of human emotionalism to add to his research.
Solok was certain of it.
*****