The comm channel open with the face of his acquaintance. Traan wasn’t even rally sure why he called Aloran and not on his buddies from Luna or another friend that he knew longer and better.

“So, I guess some congratulations are in order Commander ” the Andorian said.

The older Vulcan inclined his head. “Some congratulations to share, I see, commander.” Aloran stood and disappeared off-screen, followed by some muffled sounds accompanied by the distinct tenor of glass. His voice rose from the distance, disembodied. “Give me a moment, my friend!”

“Sure thing.”

Aloran reappeared, clearly satisfied with himself. He sat back down and straightened his positioning to be centred and visible over the transmission. “I have been saving this for many years.” He reached behind the screen and his right hand reappeared with a small glass of brightly coloured blue liquid. “Andorian ale. An apt celebration for our unexpected rise, no?”

“Indeed. Looks like a pre-2378 bottle if I know my corks at all. So, I’m having a bit of what the humans call a mid-life crisis I think, thats probably why I called you I think, Vulcans aren’t usually known for gossip. The reason for the extra pip is because of yet another promotion, ugh, don’t get me wrong, I love working in the shipyard and all, and I appreciate the promotions. But each promotion takes me further and further away from the yard itself in an operational sense…” He chuckled and briefly considered granting the bottle and forsaking his teetotaling instincts from a few moments before.

“If you do not want to leave ‘the yard’, then why not just decline the unwanted positional promotion? As a Starfleet officer that is always a right that you may exercise.” Aloran said.

“Yeah, I get what you are saying, and I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind today. The Director called me in and asked me to dual hat between my current job and becoming his acting Deputy Director. My Andorian sensibilities wouldn’t let me actually refuse at the time. From what I can tell he had 3 choices, it was either me, someone who is wholely unqualified, or leaving the position unfilled. The guy works 18 hours a day 6 days a week, I figured my personal preferences were secondary to the needs of the service…and not to mention I would feel a touch like a Tarkalian Tundra Weasel if I declined, we just don’t have the staffing options that many other departments naturally have. Shipyard duty has always been a bit of niche trade, and we’ve been hit harder then others in the wake of the events of the last few years, because we get our best people routinely raked away to fill Engineering and Operations billets on frontline starships.” Traan shrugged.

“Well, what you just said indicates to me that the Director has likely chosen the best of the 3 options you have described. An old earth idiom comes to mind that may be apt if your situation. Though leadership is the art of influencing human behavior to achieve a desired result or outcome, usually while wasting or expending the minimum amount of leadership capital, and retaining the maximum amount of trust and morale…the styles, forms, types, themes, approaches, strategies and practical application of the art itself is often more intuitive and variable then we realize.” He paused for a moment and took a sip of his drink.

“Are you trying to tell me to just become a better artist then?” Traan replied.

“In a manner of speaking. What I am relaying to you is, that the more authority you have, the greater the liberty you are granted in how to apply the art itself. Therefore should you feel you are at your best when you are in the yard – and the director obviously trusts your abilities – then devise a way to perform as many of your new duties from the yard as possible.” Aloran stated and took another sip of his drink.

“Incisive advice my friend. That’s a great point, and its already given me a great idea.” Traan chuckled.

A brief silence fell. not uncomfortable, but reflective. The kind that lingered between two men who had known triumph and loss, each in their own ways. Aloran’s gaze wandered beyond his screen for a moment, eyes unfocused in thought.

“When I accepted my own promotion,” he said quietly, “I believed it would allow me to affect the broader picture. To exert influence where it mattered most. Yet I discovered something unexpected.”

“What’s that?”

“That the broader picture is painted with broader strokes. Less precision. Less contact with the material itself.” His fingers lightly tapped the rim of his glass. “I found myself missing the smaller brushwork.”

“Wow, if our ancestors could see us now my green blooded friend. A Vulcan and Andorian suffering from the same affliction. The Vulcan with the potent potable, and me without a drink. Trading war stories about our personal organizational and hierarchical challenges.” Traan couldnt help but snort in derision and then chuckle.

Aloran let another pause linger for a few seconds, expecting Traan head off screen and grab himself a drink.