Entaaro Nasz

Posted on Sun 30th Apr, 2023 @ 8:43pm by Renato Solis

1,666 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Neither Yours Nor Mine
Location: Brown Sector Boulangerie
Timeline: MD1 0700

-Start-

[Brown Sector Boulangerie}

It was a Brillig sort of day, or so Entaaro wished to believe it was. Among his favorite human authors, Lewis Carroll had a wondrous gift for nonsense words. Learning to speak English specifically had taken some time to grasp how the absurdity was in and of itself the point. Their was no solution to Jabberwocky or its meanings, it was as Elusive now as ever. A small affair, the cafe had small seats, and tables intended for the predominantly Human population of the base. Despite his heritage, the Klingon cafes only served foods for tourists, far too rich and oily for everyday consumption. A replimat was the same everywhere, however a boulangerie in the lower section had attracted his eye. a bakery in the Brown Sector one could find from the smell alone even if blind.

Entaaro preferred to take his sumptuous morning repaste here for the last few days it was lively. People were looking around and admiring the open air market, interacting like the town squares of old. It was a unique experience for a Starfleet installation to have such a bazarre. Today’s order was brioche sliders, eggs and greens swirled, a slice of cheese and tomato. Finishing it with deliberate pace, enjoying the savory combinations of flavors, the process took time, and not a crumb remained on the pristine plate. A croissant in the display availed to his senses, one which had caramelized walnut and maple glaze, and trying to think of anything else was pointless. Entaaro stood, re-adjusted his robes to a comfortable arrangement, and walked softly to the front of the shop to ask for that exact one. So intent was he on the delightful pastry that he continued only just past the counter where a brash young Human stood.

A voice to his back stopped him from taking another step. “You have to pay! … Sir.”

The waiter was only doing their job, and confronting a seven foot tall Klingon was something meager men often didnt do. Entaaro had indeed taken a step beyond the usual place most people stopped to make their transactions, but only a step. The reaction was loud and humiliating to so some perhaps, though Entaaro knew his peoples reputation often preceded them.

So... you are not a meager man then. Outwardly, Entaaro pivoted slowly on his heel to a half profile, and asked with heavy enunciation and gravitas, “I am supposed to pay at the front for the treats purchased a la carte..? Am I not?”

The significantly smaller man didnt blanche, "And the stamp padd is right there. Sir."

The hyper vigilant manager had always kept an eye but never mentioned the anxiety having a Klingon in his shop brought. Other patrons timed their day around the tall dark enigma which had never done a thing to warrant such worry. He stepped up with haste, dismissing the waiter to the kitchen to “help” the cook. Entaaro was no fool, the manager was the baker as well as the cook.

The manager stood in place of his ward, “I can help you, good to see you again sir.” He then wrapped the treat in a paper, bow tied for presentation. Were not the cafes complement staring at him this would have been a pleasant moment.

Entaaro raised an eyebrow and returned his attention to the merchant at the front podium, where a thumbprint scanner awaited. He always moved slowly, though his speed was the martial skill he relied on most of all. In a wrestling contest or one where heads were smashed against one another, he was well aware of his lesser stamina. In a true fight, he knew his ability to strike once and fell an enemy was his strength. Walking on the pads of his forefoot, so as to avoid the minor quakes that would fall on a wood floor under his weight and heelstrike, he grew weary of his life of restraint and non threatening motions.

As a lettered man of culture, Entaaro had listened to the literature of a dozen worlds with headphones, and a scrolling finger to mark his eyes progress on the corresponding page. As a Comms officer, his ability to detect language spoken through heavy interference had saved lives, and allowed missions to succeed on the thinnest of margins. As a civilian this skill had manifested into eavesdropping on the conversations within earshot.

He was being watched by a table of Starfleet officers. Four of them, off duty, but the posture alone gave it away. The whispers were like a candle in a cave to his ear, “What is this... do we need to call security?... I think they're trying to walk out of here without paying…”

The buzz from their chatter finally made the stoic man clench his teeth. Self control as one so large was a prime directive, though he was an average Klingon to these other species, he was a giant. All anyone saw was a brutal savage perched atop the precipice like a boulder seething with potential for mayhem. He would shoot himself in the foot before proving them right.

“Fleet discount?” The manager was trying to conclude the scene, and returned Entaaro to the moment, but it was in vain. The eyes of the Klingon were on the table now and one of the Humans took notice, the female.

“It’s looking over here!... Sam?!”

Entaaro faced the table of young officers and walked to them, aware his badge was in plain sight. He took no pleasure at the young Human who looked away, or the one who less than subtly began to stand in a confrontational manner.

In a palms up open handed display of universal symbolism, he showed he was not approaching to harm. He spoke deliberately, as if in a negotiation, “Fear not, we are serving together after all. I am Entaaro Nasz. What are your names? I wish to become acquainted. I only started here a week ago.”

They shared a glance, but professionalism wins out in most cases in public settings.

The one who presumed to rise spoke first, “Sam Chambliss, pleasure to meet you. We don't have a fifth side of the table, there isn't a place for you to sit, sorry nothing personal.”

Entaaro stared at the young Ktarian female closest to him, laying the words on thick, “Were I to grab a stool, would you mind if a fellow officer of Starfleet sat next you?”

Aruoar withered under his intense gaze, even though the voice was honied and without anger, it filled her head with the idea of implied harm. She would be mortified to tell him no, even though her pulse was pounding. So she made a brave face, “No, sir. I wouldn’t theres just… no place to put your food down?”

Entaaro referenced the treat he held, “I need only a moment to inhale this delightful butter bread roll made holy through a divine enchantment of chocolate and layered butter. I need no table and say thank you for your hospitality.”

The poor manager was still trying to keep peace and rushed over with a small stool he used for reaching high shelves. With a clatter and clang, it was set down before him. The small round surface would kindly be described as "for a child." The Klingon looked at the sweaty man, “Will I swap which leg rests upon this childs chair one at a time, or is it not clear I require a larger seat?”

Looking at the four of them, it was evident they wished for this scene to end, so Entaaro jumped to the conclusion, “I am not something to be afraid of. I understand my people’s reputation, but rest assured, there are more than just those who fight. you need not fear us when you see us.”

Sam spoke for the group, "Nobody is afraid here."

Entaaro saw their jaws set for confrontation, so again he applied diplomatic restraint, "I will not argue with how you feel, only observe your failed eye contact, racing pulse, passive aggressive signals for me to walk away as something other than fear."

The almond haired female across from him spoke up, “I’m not arguing, my family has fought in both Klingon wars, so excuse me if the reputation is well earned. You were about to leave here like you didnt have to pay. Sorry you got caught, but harassing us is just gonna end up in a complaint."

Entaaro smiled, "As I said, this wondrous pastry attracted my attention, I have left my possessions on the table just over there, you see?"

She didn't look over at the table but right at him, "I have family stories of great strife, because of Klingons who just cant help themselves but battle, you just have to take what you can grasp-.” She had clearly gotten a tap on the foot under the table when she stopped talking. She had no patience for Klingons, even ones in some form of uniform. Samuel gave a stern glance to reign it in.

That glance told Entaaro this was not the first time she had expressed these sentiments. “Dominion infiltration, Territorial acquisitions, Genetic plagues caused the wars between our people. Neither your parents nor mine have known those days. I regret the losses in your family, but will not bear their weight."

Aruoar was trying to be invisible, she knew the Klingon was baiting them, the way his voice was so measured and controlled gave her the outline of his emotional state, anger and hurt.

Sam tried to wrest control of the scene. "Thank you Entaaro look we didnt meant to offend you. My associate here has every right to feel the way she does her family has taken losses. we wear the uniform and will work together though. We became true allies during the Dominion war, we learned how to move past this right?"


TBC-

 

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