force of my love was strong/sea lion laying down long
Location: Delphini Amphitheater
Timeline: February 2390
The skeleton foundation for Prometheus University was underway, and all of the station's Academic Council were gathered in the Amphitheater putting up flyers for a social gathering along the artificial Lake Cygni near the aforementioned Cygni Complex, a festival promising lanterns and lights, and food provided by the nearby Bajoran bakery-all intended to raise awareness and funds for the completion of a lecture hall on campus.
The leader is a tall scruffy man in civilian clothes wielding a clipboard and a deep scowl. The dossier gives his name as Dr. Ganna, but he doesn't notice when Starfleet officers finally flood into the area, his attention fully on the educational aspect of this fundraiser and not the militant. He's barking orders at groups of similarly-attired teachers and students from the high school, while the sky spits angrily above them. The atmospheric systems have been malfunctioning all day, sending the whole area into turmoil and threatening the event, which leads Lieutenant Ryan to be assigned to take a look around the area.
Unfortunately, as Callum shows up, one of the long columns dedicated to plastering molecular-themed artwork from the kids in the elementary school tips over after the embedded panel hits a spark likely ignited by increased, sweeping humidity in the air and it's headed straight for the station's chief of science. By the time Callum looks up it's too late and he's just about to be crushed by a two-tonne yield of plaster and concrete-right up until the moment that an incredible electric boom! sounds above him, cracking the column into two and allowing it to smash down around Callum's feet, leaving him untouched.
Before him, Dr. Ganna's standing there, steel blue eyes widened in concentration and his hands crackle with still-leashed static energy, everyone abuzz in the aftermath. He takes a step forward, holding out his hand to help Callum to his feet. "Alright?" his brows bounce up to his hairline, and then he's assessing the scene. Well, there goes their display, but at least no one was injured-hopefully.
Callum was in a state of shock. He had no sooner walked in than a column was coming crashing down towards him, only stopped by...something. "What the hell just happened?" He asked, putting voice to his confusion.
"The fucking humidity warped the structure of that column," the man mutters back, kneeling to retrieve his clipboard-PADD that had gotten abandoned during the shuffle, only for his hands to sizzle and completely fry the thing clutched in his fingers. He throws it on the ground, rolling his eyes almightily. "We can't operate in these hazard conditions. If you'd kindly fix it before we have to package this event with child-sized coffins, I'd appreciate it." No just doing my job, chap from Alan Ganna, folks.
Ordinarily and easy going, friendly person, Callum took issue with the civilians tone and decided to give as good as he got. "Listen up, skippy, others may tremble in front of you when you use that tone but I'm not going to. I've come face to face with scarier than you. Now, I'm no engineer, but since you were gracious enough to save my life just now, I'll see what I can do about your atmospheric problems." He'd only been onboard DS12 for three hours and already this assignment was rubbing him up the wrong way.
"Straight from the mouth of jackbooted babes," Ganna gestures facetiously-(it's not the first time Callum's encountered such strong anti-military sentiment from a Federation citizen, but it is the strangest occurrence; after all, the installation is run by Starfleet)-and whirls on his heels in a very literal about-face-turn; but he does cooperate insofar as to lead Callum to the likely source of their issues. It's a panel buried under the amphitheater's staging, and the wires have been deliberately cut in the environmental unit. "Somebody's messing with us and I don't like it. You're a science officer. You're the lesser of two evils, so will you help me figure this out or not? I've got classrooms of kids out here and I can't go around destroying every wayward column that might crush their skulls like watermelons."
Callum would have been more sympathetic towards Doctor Ganna if the educator weren't such a bellend. The Chief Science Officer pulled out a tricorder and activated it, pointing it at the environmental unit in question. Sure enough, as Doctor Ganna had told him, several wires had been cut. There was no way it had been an accident or the result of a faulty part. "You know, Skippy, it seems like an odd choice to make your home on a Starfleet Starbase when you dislike us 'jackbooted babes' so much. What's up with that?" He would be able to bypass this environmental unit. It would only be a temporary measure until a new unit could be fitted by a proper engineer, but it would solve the educator's problem in the short term.
"I'm an economist. This is the most unique economic system to crop up in the Alpha quadrant since the War," Ganna answers with a shrug, plucking one of the isolinear rods out of the data spire and plugging it into a spare PDA slotted into the system. It lets him read the same output as Callum's, only he's just server-side, not client-side like the chief engineer. He can't effect changes, he can just see the code. Not that it means anything to him, but as is becoming apparent, Dr. Ganna has a bit of a control issue. He leans against the amphitheater stage, regarding Callum coolly over the device.
Still. Lesser of two evils. Whole Federation government's built on the system, you can't go wrong with a majority vote, and the Quorum of Emo Voices in Alan's sizzling brain-pan (meet Leonard of Quirm, he's the most dangerous man in all the land and he's never harmed a single soul-well, Alan can't say the same) all heartily vote for the guy in blue over the fucking thugs in yellow. The blue ones are all right. They like their little beepy things and they can be pretentious and stuffy, but they're not going to throw him in a brig because he didn't salute and say yes, sir, right away, sir.
"This station also happens to service 600,000 civilians, all of whom need an education. We can't all protect and serve." His head tilts, a challenging expression flitting across his features. With the statement his German accent pokes through, riled up as he is by both the situation and the infuriating gentleman before him.
Callum didn't look up from his work. "You don't have to tell me that. My father's a civilian researcher and lecturer, mom's a doctor, also a civilian. I'm the first member of my family in two generations to enter the service." He glanced over at what Ganna was doing and shook his head. The more time Callum spent with his guy, the less he liked him.
"Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" Ganna's eyebrows twitch together, making a furrow in the center of his forehead. "Your family are all regular, normal people and you're the guy who decided to get the buzz cut and put on the uniform. Does that mean you're going to prioritize Kalayla?" He pronounces the Romulan refugee zone planet's name a little oddly, not like a Romulan word but perhaps something reminiscent of his own native language. "Or do you only feel good calling me Skippy while those people are dropping dead of starvation? I'm Starfleet and I'm here to help doesn't have the same ring to it on the tail end of an epidemic typhus outbreak, does it?"
Callum exhaled audibly. "Oh man." He stopped his work and turned to face Doctor Ganna. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He sounded sincere. "Look, I called you Skippy because I thought you were a pompous windbag with an inflated sense of self-importance and self-worth. I had no idea you were out here trying to help these people. What's your specialty? Epidemiology? Xenobiology?"
Alan's eyebrows creep up again. That response is... unexpected. He'd gotten all puffed up and righteous, and now all that energy has nowhere to go, and he peters out a little. "It's-" he starts to snap, but then his voice calms at the end of it. "It's economics," he murmurs. "I'm on the Academic Council. We're setting up outposts on the colony, studying financial trends, establishing a market. Giving the kids something to do, and working to create viable departments on Prometheus for the university. That is if we don't burn the place down first." He rolls his eyes, and finally ducks his head and holds out his hand. "Alan. Ganna. You're Ryan, right?"
Callum had to work hard not to laugh loudly in Ganna's face. Part of him was tempted to berate the civilian educator for his self-righteousness. But in puncturing that, Callum had already shamed him in the most effective way. Instead he grabbed the civilian's hand. "That's right. Callum Ryan. I'm the new Chief Science Officer." After shaking hands, Callum turned back to his work. "Now, how about I finish up here and let you folks get on with your work. Once I'm done, I'll log a report and an Engineer will be out as soon as possible to replace this environmental unit."
If his time with River had taught him anything, though, it was how to spot someone attempting to conceal their amusement at his expense and he just snarls under his breath. "You do that," the doctor replies coldly after he's regained his bearings, smacking the PDA down onto the open top of the environmental relay unit. "And don't worry about the engineer. I'll find someone to fix the rest of it myself." Preferably someone who didn't wield a fucking uniform and a Starfleet-typical authority kink.