It is a beautiful spring day in San Francisco, and the gulls are calling over the bay. The Starfleet Academy graduating class of 2262 is assembled outside on the green in their dress uniforms, and though they should be on their best behavior, waves of excitement run through the newly-minted Ensigns like wind through a stand of trees, making them chatter quietly.

The instructors would hush them if they didn’t understand. They smile expansively at the graduates, as they hold their commissions tight and chatter quietly as Admiral Barnett takes the podium one last time in his dress whites. Behind him the captains of the Starfleet ships currently in Spacedock around Earth come to attention, and the graduates hush.

“Newest members of the Officer Corps of Starfleet, it has been my distinct honor to welcome you into our ranks. The Federation has had trying times recently, and Starfleet has provided the strength to protect the Federation and accomplish its goals.

“The decision each of you has made: to put your life in the service at in protection of the Charter and Constitution of the United Federation of Planets is the most important decision most of you has made at this point of your lives. I will tell you this: though I am many years your senior, the decision to put on the uniform you wear today is still the most important one I have made in my life, and the best. I would not be the man I am today if I had not, and I cannot think of another man I would rather be.

“You have decided to join us, and we made you work hard for the right to do so before you were accepted. And I will not tell you that things get easier now that you have received your commissions. Only four years ago young people like yourselves who had not even been commissioned gave their lives for the Federation, and I can only expect you to honor their sacrifices by surpassing the dedication they showed on that day.”

Barnett pauses for a drink of water, and to his right, a gray uniformed instructor wearing the braids of a full Commander speaks in a carrying voice.

“Attenshun!”

Barnett’s expression becomes steely and he seems to look every Ensign in the eye.

“On behalf of Starfleet, and the entire United Federation of Planets, I welcome you, and I congratulate you.”

“Dismissed!”

The young fresh officers cheer, and the instructor-officers arrayed at the perimeter of their group all smile happily. Behind Admiral Barnett some of the starship Captains smile, others remain dour. They know what awaits these young people amid the stars. They begin to break up, and speak to old shipmates or colleagues. Some of them even have new subordinates down there, still wearing Cadets’ red for the last time today. Other ships are represented by their Executive Officers, if the ship was on patrol, but every Starfleet vessel to which a graduating officer has been assigned has someone there to meet them.

At the back of the green, keeping to herself, Lieutenant Commander Tallas, First Officer of the USS Molotov waits. She has not been to San Francisco for some time, and is in no great hurry. She has days to return to Mars, and the tradition that Cadets meet their first ship’s representative is an unwritten one.

Allura takes a moment to catch her breath. She lays a hand against a pillar, staring a moment at her naked flesh before lowering her head to centre herself. It was a long time getting here - ten years of work, labour, and effort, with nothing but her own internal drive to keep her going. Little support from Xelos, little sympathy from Earth - those that joined Starfleet earned their commissions.

She didn't even have the support of family and friends, like most did. Oh, she got along with the Cadets well enough, but none here had ever seen her face: there were none she would trust with such. No one really knew her; the only Xelosian in Starfleet, she was truly alone.

But she had done it. She had graduated, was made a citizen of the Federation and - most importantly - would now be serving on a ship. A ship!

She checks her PADD, double checking her assignment. Nodding to herself, she located her ship's contact in the crowd, cross-referencing against public records to be sure it was the right officer. Certain she's picked the right Andorian from the crowd, she approaches Commander Tallas, then salutes. Her wispy voice is dulled further by her Xelosian mask, but she speaks with a force belied by her weak voice. "Ensign Allura, reporting for duty, sir."

As the ceremony comes to an end and the crowd begins to disperse, Johnson peers through the crowd of his fellow Ensigns until he spots the person he is looking for, the representative of his new ship, the USS Molotov. Going over in his head the details of the assignment he has since memorized, Johnson is relatively certain that he's got the right person.

That's who they sent to meet us? She doesn't look like much. Oh well, I'd better go pay my respects, Johnson thinks as he makes his way over to Lieutenant Commander Tallas. Standing in front of her, Johnson snaps off a moderately lazy salute. "Ensign Johnson, Engineering, reporting for duty, Sir." Johnson's lips part in a frosty grin as he greets the superior officer before him.

Lieutenant Commander Tallas is a slight Andorian woman with pale blueish skin. She looks practically doll-sized in her uniform, and if she were to smile she would probably be very attractive. Instead she pauses, Johnson's cocky introduction came right as she was opening her mouth to respond to the Xelosian Ensign, and she fixes the human with a gaze that puts him in mind of nothing so much as the training where the Cadets were repeatedly stunned with hand phasers to demonstrate their effects, combined with a dip in a liquid nitrogen bath.

"Ensign Johnson, your presumption that your course of study at the Academy is the sole factor deciding your duties aboard the Molotov is immature, unwise, and incorrect. If you are to be an officer of Starfleet you should learn to carry yourself as one, and behave appropriately. Captain Stevenson is God, but He can not help you, because as far as your fate is concerned I am the sole arbiter of your fate."

The small-statured, slight Andorian woman looks the Ensign, still dressed in his Cadet's uniform up and down once more, before disregarding him.

"Hopefully this will be the last instruction you require. Once you are wearing the uniform of a Starfleet Officer I will be much less understanding."

Tallas turns from the human Ensign to the willowy and masked Xelosian, and she smiles.

"Ensign Allura, allow me to be the first of the crew of the Molotov to congratulate you on your accomplishment. I spent three months stationed on the Resolute while she was in the Xelos system, and I was very pleased to see that the first of your people to join the Federation would be serving on the Molotov."

Tallas clasps her hands in front of her bosom and nods to slightly for it to be called a bow, in a common Xelosian greeting and sign of respect, in lieu of offering a handshake.

Tallas speaks up to the pair, and to the other new officers making their way over.

"Here are your first orders as officers of the USS Molotov. First: You have a week of leave; see your families, or send them a letter. Settle your affairs here on-planet. Report for duty at Spacedock Three in Mars orbit in ten day's time. You will have travel vouchers for a shuttle or to use the Inter-system Transporter at Spacedock One. I recommend a shuttle, the Scott Equations need to be reworked, there is too much pattern degradation for my tastes.

Allura returns the gesture. "It is likewise my pleasure to serve aboard the Molotov, Commander. Fresh from Utopia Planitia, isn't it? I look forward to see first-hand how the Federation has adapted Xelosian shields for use on their vessels."

Johnson stiffens up and shuts his mouth, a chill running down his spine. A formidable adversary. I'll have to be extremely careful around this one. Johnson gulps, attempts to readjust his breathing so that it doesn't look quite like he's been scared half out of his mind, and recomposes himself in a manner much more appropriate.

Tallas smiles again, but just barely, at the mention of the Molotov.

"She is currently undergoing her final fittings at Spacedock Three. Your classmates will be the final members of the Crew to be added to her rolls before the shakedown cruise. The Corps of Engineers are working doubletime to meet schedule. Your shield assemblies were already installed when I left for Earth yesterday, but I don't think they will have been tested before you all arrive."

Now she addressed Johnson again.

"Chief Engineer Gav is supervising everything at present, but he certainly does need more Officers to assist him during the cruise. He asked me to extend his welcome to yourselves and to Mister Pyrok."

The Andorian peers out at the still-dispersing crowd of Cadets until she spots a knot of the few Vulcan Officers who did not withdraw from Starfleet Academy after the Narada Incident. Indeed this class will have the last Vulcans to graduate for at least two years.

"I'm grateful that the Chief Engineer extends his greetings, and I am pleased that I may be of assistance," Johnson's personality shifts almost immediately from a cowed rebellious element to someone showing cooperativeness alongside genuine delight and gratitude. "My passions have always been amongst the machinery. I will be glad to offer any use my skills might provide, Sir."

Pyrok turns aside from the small knot of Vulcans, and marches directly towards the Andorian officer. His salute is crisp and his back is as straight as a board. "Ensign Pyrok reporting for duty, Sir."

Among the medical class, a gaunt, extremely pale woman finishes exchanging congraduatory wishes with the friends she's made during her time in the academy, and heads over to the Andoran officer, who already seems to be gathering a bit of a crowd around her. She raises a hand to her head in a salute, and says, in a high-class London accent, "Doctor Grace Tristoram, at your service, sir."

Mark turns to the two cadets he had been standing with, shaking the man's hand and giving the girl a swift, brief hug. They step back and talk for a moment. Mark raises his datapad in acknowledgement to something the man says, grinning slightly, then lowers it, turning serious, and looks at them both in turn. He turns away with a smile, saying "I'll see you both later," and striding off, knowing full well that he may never do so...

He joins the growing number of recruits around Commander Tallas in time to hear her reprimand Johnston, then waits as Doctor Grace introduces herself, nodding to the others that he recognizes. He then draws himself up to his full height and says, in a voice only slightly accented by what seems to be Welsh, "Ensign Roberts reporting for duty, Sir. I've trained in Tactical on squad based combat, although if the situation warrants otherwise, I'll be there." His hand comes up to the brim of his cap in a swift salute.

A small cluster of Andorian males gather after the Admiral's speech to discuss their postings. "I bet Shar's father pulled some strings and got him a posting on the Enterprise." "I heard that he's been posted to a garbage scow in retaliation for eschewing a diplomatic position with the government." The Andorians also discuss their own postings, of course, but Shar is always a topic of conversation among the cadets.

Shar watches the cluster from a distance for a short while, peering over them to Lieutenant Commander Tallas, whom he recognizes from a few diplomatic functions where she seemed almost as uncomfortable as he felt. He starts to make his way over to his new Executive Officer, passing deliberately close to the gaggle of gossips as he does. "My father does not pull strings for me, either way. What I do, I do on my own. You'll all do well to remember that." He frowns at the other Andorians as he steps past them, reaching the group clustered around Tallas just as the British ensigns are introducing themselves.

"Ensign Shar reporting for duty, Sir. I've been looking forward to serving aboard the Molotov since I learned of my assignment. I am sure you have no need for a recitation of my qualifications." He offers a crisp salute, only slightly less perfectly-executed than the Vulcan's.

Lieutenant Commander Tallas greets the other young officers coolly. She already knows who they are, and what they are supposed to be capable of, but clearly she is going to need to see proof before she will lend any credence to their diplomas. Aside from the orders she already gave to Ensigns Allura and Johnson (report to Spacedock 3 in ten days to joint he ship's company) she has a personal message for Doctor Tristoram from the Chief Medical Officer along the lines of the one from the Chief Engineer to Johnson, Allura and Pyrok.

Tallas answers a few questions about the ship in a perfunctory manner, this is not a tour after all, and the young people are already technically on leave. After a half hour the Andorian spots someone she needs to speak to and excuses herself, leaving the new shipmates to get to know one another.

After the Commander excuses herself and leaves, Johnson turns to Allura.

"A Xelosian, huh? Then that must mean you're Allura. You're quite infamous among the cadets of the Academy, you know that? I'm rather surprised that you're here at all. I thought you were going to fail a seventh time as well." Johnson grins as he speaks, as though he finds the idea rather amusing. "Oh well. Since you're here, that must mean you're qualified for the job. I look forward to working with you."

Allura is hard to read behind her mask; it doesn't give any insight into her expression at all. "Despite its rich deposits of heavy metals, Xelos is much smaller than Earth; we only have point-seven-five the gravity. Even just moving around takes a great deal of effort." She motions vaguely around the Academy grounds. "It took years of practice on gravity plates to get used to it, and I still feel like I'm sleeping under a gold-thread blanket at night."