A Graves Encounter, Part 1

Posted on Sun 27th Oct, 2024 @ 6:16pm by Captain Gordon Francis & Commander Paul Graves PsyD

1,794 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: The Phoenix Gamble
Location: Brown Sector, near Graves' Office
Timeline: MD 1, 1130

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” --Sir Winston Churchill

ON

Captain Gordon Francis felt like he had to earn the command of Starbase 109. Of all his assignments, this was already his favorite. He almost never visited his ready room in Ops, and time in his massive quarters was almost as rare.

But now what he saw as he walked through Brown Sector was that not everyone here was making a good living, and many of them looked like they didn't even have jobs. Almost no one was wearing a Starfleet uniform, which made Commander Paul Graves stick out like a sore thumb.

Graves was the kind of gorgeous male every bully on the playground wanted to punch in the face but didn't dare because Graves' dad would fire their dad. Francis had a deep-seated disgust for those boyish good looks that were fiercely denied a simple farm boy from Missouri in favor of someone like the son of a wealthy executive. Francis hardly even liked looking at Graves' record. The man had been born with a silver spoon and, of course, an impeccable education with every luxury practically handed to him.

Worse yet, he was a goddamn Betazoid... or at least half of one, which was bad enough. How convenient for him that he could just feel everyone's deep anguish and emotions, without any kind of consequence to himself! And of course he was a counselor! Having those empathic abilities was practically cheating!

Francis knew these were the thoughts of a nineteen-year-old whippersnapper, fresh into the Academy and unimpressed by such privilege. Francis had no actual distaste for Graves, or even people like him. He knew the Commander didn't get to where he was because of his money. That wasn't how Starfleet worked. Plus, Francis had over forty years of experience on that whippersnapper, some dumb-but-don't-know-it teenager thinking he was all that 'cause he knew how to break in a wild steed on the first try. How wrong he had been at that age, Francis thought.

Captain Francis approached Commander Graves with a genuine smile. "Hello Commander," he said. "I was just coming to find you."

"Hello, Captain; good to see you," Paul said after giving Francis a momentarily perplexed look. Was the guy disgruntled with him or not? He shook it off, though. Observe now; question him later, he decided. "I'd meant to meet you at the turbolifts but wasn't sure when you'd be down. Thank you for coming to tour this area. You're only the second CO I've worked with who's taken a direct interest in Brown Sector. I'm very glad you're here."

"As am I, Mr. Graves," Francis said. "Y'know, ever since I got here I've felt like I've done nothing but gain weight. My last command was a Defiant-Class with no galley and several malfunctioning replicators. So naturally it's a huge difference when there are shops, businesses, and a bevy of restaurants. Seeing as this is my first time here in Brown Sector, I was wondering if you and I could find some spot and get some chow, my treat. Something we can hold and walk with at the same time. I haven't had a chili-dog in forever, or maybe a Dentrassi hagro biscuit."

"Is that a hint that weight-gain misery would like some company?" Paul asked. "If so, I'm game, and thank you. Much of the food down here is Bajoran, though. There's a hole-in-the-wall restaurant called Mapa Per Moba that sells Bajoran street food you wrap in a piece of their flatbread. There's also Qaraq's original place. He started with a casino and buffet down here before he took over the Orchids & Jazz spot in the Promenade. Some of his snacks are Earth food."

"Qaraq?" Captain Francis said with a laugh. "I know a Qaraq. He's a Broot from the Delavi system. Couldn't be the same guy, though..."

"Big, tall, blue guy who serves a beer called Korfmager? Horny protrusions around his jawline and face? If so, that's him," Paul said.

The Captain's eyes lit up. "Holy smokes! That's the guy! You're telling me he's here? What the devil for? The man's a bazillionaire!"

Paul blinked. "He is? Then why start in Brown Sector?" The counselor shrugged. "I guess he wanted to be low-key and get the lay of the land, first. Well, I'm glad you'll get to see someone who's an old friend." He gestured toward a corridor. "The casino is this way."

Captain Francis waved a hand. "Let's try the Mapa place. I'll catch up with Qaraq later."

"All right. It's farther down the corridor we're in," Paul said, and they continued walking. As they walked, Paul pointed out areas that might interest Francis, particularly places where improvements or repairs had been made and where they still needed to be made. He showed Francis the Romulan doctors' clinic, the main bazaar area, or souk, a community garden, and an area where housing had been rebuilt after a faulty cooling system had been repaired and cleaned.

Soon, the smell of baking bread, along with sweet and savory aromas, filled the air. Paul didn't need to show Francis which way to turn; the smell of cooking food and the sounds of cooks calling out orders were clues enough.

The restaurant had expanded from the standing-room-only place it had been, the first time Paul had eaten there. Now there were several more tables where guests could sit, but you still got your food by walking along a cafeteria line and selecting the fillings you wanted. To Paul's intense relief, the place wasn't packed with the lunch crowd yet, but he knew they were coming.

He ordered a flatbread roll-up filled with soft Bajoran cheese, bits of roasted meat in a tangy sauce, and mesto lettuce.

Francis ordered the same, and the two found a nice bench outside the place where they could get a better look at their surroundings.

"Mr. Graves," the Captain said in between bites, "what improvements do you think can immediately be addressed in Brown Sector? What's something we could start on say, in the next few days?"

Paul thought about that as he munched on his food. "The most immediate need is remedial education for the children. Qaraq has assisted with that by letting out some of his casino space for classrooms. However, finding teachers has proven difficult. There are qualified teachers in Brown Sector, but at least one or two I know of escaped their homeworlds while having criminal records, so they aren't considered acceptable instructors by Federation standards and weren't allowed to form an official school here. Teachers from elsewhere on 109 have been unwilling to come down here; Brown Sector has had an unsavory reputation for so long, and the people living here can't afford to hire them.

"The children who were born here during the FCDA period have only a very basic education, by normal Federation scholastic standards. They can read, write, and do basic arithmetic. They know their Federation history and their homeworlds' history, but little beyond that. Higher math and sciences are beyond them. Literature and the arts are things students simply don't take time for, down here. It is possible to study one's way out of such a disadvantage--I know of at least one Starfleet officer who's done it--but it's very difficult. Most of those children turn to trades for employment as they reach adulthood--thus the brown maintenance uniforms they wear and the reason the place got its nickname."

"'Brown Sector' is not a flattering moniker," Francis admitted. "It sounds like what the children need is a library. The children who don't have a solid access to things like PADDs would have free access to books. It wouldn't be a school, so there would be nothing mandatory for the kids, and our so-called 'unacceptable teachers' could be hired as librarians, instead. I know this will be difficult financially, but we can figure that out. I believe that all children want to learn, whether they realize it or not. We can give them a place where they can do that on their own terms."

Paul stopped eating and stared at Francis. "That is genius! I'm embarrassed that I never thought of it, myself. And funding might not be as big a problem as you think. I can write grant proposals. There are foundations and charities that will fund grants for educational and literacy projects like this." Paul shook his head. "Thank you for thinking of that, sir. The teachers will be delighted. And yes, Brown Sector needs a name change."

Captain Francis grinned. "I surely hope so. As for the name of this place... this may surprise you, but I don't want to change it right now. To bring about real change, we need to get the right people offended, and to do that we need something we can exploit... something that'll grab 'em immediately. What better than a drab, demeaning name like 'Brown Sector?' Three hundred years ago the term would be considered a slur! The idea might be a little unorthodox, even controversial, but I hate thinking inside boxes."

"Ah," Paul said, nodding. "Don't propose a change, get enough of the residents to demand a change. When the way they think of themselves changes, the name will change naturally. I'm with you on that."

"Not exactly," Francis said. "The residents here are already demanding a change. I heard there was some kind of outbreak down here in the last year. This sector has been ignored a little too long. I think people here are motivated. Now we need something simple, a buzzword if you will... something easy for everyone to understand. What better than a crummy name?"

"Yes, it has been ignored for too long," Paul agreed. He restrained himself from giving Francis an earful of his frustrations with trying to persuade an alcoholic, grieving CO and an extremely busy sector commander CO to approve the needed changes on the station; he was just glad Navarra had and Francis was making it a priority now.

"The advantage of the virus and a dangerous criminal incident in Brown Sector a while back were that they had enabled the people down here to finally see and believe that Starfleet wanted to help them and would help them. Until that point, they were very resistant to interference from us."

"Well I don't want to give them anything they don't want," Francis said. "But I sure as heck don't want to see them suffer either.

"Now," he continued, "what else is happening on the station that could use a little attention from the CO?"

To be continued...

 

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