Banter, Served Saucy

Posted on Sun Jul 20th, 2025 @ 5:20pm by Commander Gil’an Tyris & Lieutenant JG Zinaren

660 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Bridge
Timeline: Eighteen days ago, 1132 hours

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The bridge of the Guinevere was in a quiet rhythm, the sort of humdrum interval between mission reports and duty handovers that Zinaren had come to relish. The stars outside were a slow swirl—warp factor 6 cruising toward a routine rendezvous near the Argolis Cluster. All was smooth. Many of the senior most officers had handed their stations off to Assistant department heads, at least long enough for a lunch break.

Zinaren’s fingertips skimmed their console with a practiced nearly feline ease, making minute adjustments to the internal power distribution matrix. A dull spike in holodeck three. A miscalibrated environmental damper in crew quarters. Little things. Routine things. Things they could handle with their eyes closed and one heel popped in boredom.

Instead, they watched him.

Commander Gil Tyris stood at the science station like a sculpture rendered in Federation blue. Hands clasped behind his back, posture elegant yet relaxed, his face angled toward a rotating 3D model of the nearby subspace corridor lattice. Golden blonde hair just tousled enough to be maddening. Blue eyes flicking methodically from panel to panel. Calm. Crisp. Absolutely unflappable. Captivating.

And completely, deliciously unaware—no, pretending to be unaware—of the slow grin forming on Zinaren’s lips.

“Commander Tyris,” Zinaren said, letting their voice glide like the finest Tholian silk across the quiet air. “I’ve been monitoring fluctuations in the lateral sensor array. There’s an intermittent phase bleed. Quite small.”

Gil turned just slightly, enough to acknowledge, but not enough to give away any reaction. “Magnitude?”

“Point-oh-three. Virtually negligible,” they said. Then added, lightly, “But I find the minor anomalies most interesting. The little imperfections in an otherwise flawless system.”

Zinaren let that hang in the air like a shimmer.

Gil nodded once. “You’re cleared to initiate recalibration at your discretion, Lieutenant.”

Zinaren tapped the command without looking at their console, their gaze still on him. “I’ve always admired your efficiency, Commander. It’s… attractive.”

There was a pause—a flicker of silence so delicate that only someone trained in emotional nuance would have noticed the change in energy. Gil did not turn fully toward them, but his voice responded with perfect, neutral poise.

“Remember, Lieutenant…” he said, arching a single golden eyebrow with practiced, almost Vulcan-like control, “…that I’m a married man.”

Zinaren smiled like a cat caught stretching near a sunbeam.

“Oh, I remember,” they purred, settling back into their chair with languid elegance. “But there’s no law against appreciating beauty—is there?”

Gil finally glanced at them, briefly. Calm, measured. His gaze was not cold, but clinical—like a scientist observing a rare phenomenon behind a containment field. Still, there was a flicker of amusement in those glacial-blue eyes. Barely noticeable.

“Not if it’s done in good taste,” he replied, “and without interfering with shipboard operations.”

“Darling, I am operations,” Zinaren quipped, keying in a final sequence on their console. “And I never interfere. I simply… enhance.”

Gil’s mouth almost twitched into a smile. Almost.

Instead, he said, “Then I trust you’ll enhance the deck 3 conduit diagnostics. They’re due by 1200.”

Zinaren’s hands resumed their graceful dance across the panel, the faintest chuckle escaping their lips. “Of course, Commander. Consider it done—with tasteful flair.”

Tyris turned back to his console, resuming his work as if nothing had happened.

But behind their station, Zinaren let their grin stretch just a little wider. This was the game. Not conquest. Not seduction. Just fire and ice, circling in careful and calculated orbit. A classic pas de deux….entree, variation one, variation two, and coda. Although the finale had yet to be choreographed.

And Commander Gil Tyris, married and maddening, was proving to be a very stimulating adversary. This dance would bring the audience to their feet for a thunderous ovation.

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Commander Gil Tyris
Chief Science Officer
USS Guinevere

Lieutenant JG Zinaren
Operations Officer
USS Guinevere

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