Left to his own devices, Johnny probably would have left his quarters standard Starfleet issue. In fact, he probably would have preferred something somewhat more austere. A bed, a wardrobe, a desk and chair were pretty much all anyone needed as far as Johnny was concerned. Until coming aboard the Virgo Johnny had mainly served in primitive planetside camps or on small, cramped attack ships and considered himself lucky to not have to share his bunk with two other men he didn't know on other shifts.
The Marine commander's quarters aboard the Virgo, like many of the other senior officers' quarters, would have been considered nothing less than extravagant by the standards of an earlier time. There was enough room to entertain several guests if he so desired. Many of the other officers routinely had gatherings for various events; a few months earlier Jenara had helped him improve the decor somewhat with some replicated reminders of home: a sand painting of the Holy Rainbow People perched above the sofa, with another rendering of the Sacred Plants on another bulkhead across the room. The sofa itself was covered with a replicated Navajo blanket in shades of black, red, blue, and white. Shelving held pottery of various designs (most of which Johnny vaguely remembered seeing at the tourist shop at Oraibi Village), and a few photographs of family gleaned from his personnel file: his mother and father, his sister with her husband and child. On the third bulkhead, just before the entrance to his bedroom, hung a replicated sketch of John Wayne (as Sgt. Stryker in "Sands of Iwo Jima") and a genuine parchment scroll of the Nine Sacred Glyphs, a parting gift from the High Mage Glybothar upon leaving Xenon III. None of the decoration was extravagant, but it was somehow more cluttered than Johnny really liked.
He was contemplating either rearranging or removing some of it when the door chimed.
"Enter," he responded. The door slid open to reveal Kalmar, the mysterious Protector who had accompanied the Virgo since its intervention at Xenon III.
"Good evening, Johnny. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by. How have you been lately?" he asked.
"Oh, fine... never quite sure what to do with myself when I'm not working. Up until now, I've pretty much been on duty 24 hours a day. The concept of leisure time, outside of shore leave, is still new to me. I'd go to the Day's End Lounge, but the last thing I want to be is a barfly. And I'm practically in the holodeck every day for training simulations, so that really doesn't have any allure to me."
"Read anything interesting lately?" Kalmar asked, looking at an actual hard-copy book on Johnny's coffee table: Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott.
"Oh, that! One of my favorites. Usually I read them, then recycle them, but that's one I can never quite bring myself to recycle. Somehow I feel guilty with all this... stuff around me," Johnny responded.
"If you're worried about exhausting your replicator allowance, the quartermaster assures me that you've set a record aboard the ship for lowest personal replicator usage!" Kalmar laughed. "Don't feel guilty about having a little color in your life, my friend. There was a time in Human history when work defined what a man was. Men and women would literally go insane at the prospect of losing a job! Yes, work is important, but it's not all you are, anymore than the alternate personality you engaged in the holodeck a few weeks ago is."
"How... how did you know about that?" Johnny asked, astounded.
"It's my business to know, particularly about you. One of these days, soon, I'll elucidate that statement. But for now, learn to relax and cut loose a little! You do know that tomorrow is Jenara's birthday, don't you?"
"She never told me," Johnny replied. "I always expected her to let me know, but she never did..."
Kalmar sighed. "Definitely need to work on those communication skills. I've just the thing for it! Perhaps you could have a party for her. Invite a few people over... you've got nice quarters, why not show them off?"
"A party? Here?"
"Oh, don't worry; your credentials as an all around manly-man won't be hurt! Besides, she'll love it! I've already drawn up the guest list, and Dweezle's on standby for catering. All I need is for you to say yes," Kalmar chided.
Thinking for a moment, Johnny finally decided. "You're probably right. With the exception of that god awful shore leave I've not interacted socially with any of the crew save Jenara since coming on board. On a big ship like the Virgo things like that count for a lot more than they do in the places I'm used to. Go ahead and send the invitations."
As Kalmar left, Johnny hoped he wouldn't regret this...
Outside his quarters, Kalmar gave a nod to Sergeant Barek, who had been discreetly waiting just down the corridor. Barek then went to his own quarters, a private room just off the quarterdeck, and began his research.
The party was at 1800 hours. It was 1630 and Dweezle had just called to announce he was on his way with the refreshments. By 1730 the guests would arrive: the Captain and his wife, Benton and Francesca, the Lataros, Kalmar, Barek, and a few others. At 1800 Johnny would summon Jenara to his quarters to discuss something. Then the surprise would be sprung!
The door chimed. "Enter," Johnny called, a little more agitated than usual.
Barek Nim entered, clutching a PADD in his hand. He was not in uniform but rather in traditional Bajoran costume: a multicolored tunic with dark leggings, the costume of the mountainous Dajur Province. So rarely had Johnny seen his adjutant in civilian clothing that he almost didn't recognize him.
"Don't tell me you haven't even gotten ready for the party yet!" Barek scolded. The man, in addition to being a hardened veteran, was also old enough to be Johnny's father, and, quite possibly, the only other person besides his father who could speak to him that way without benefit of superior rank.
"But I am ready!" Johnny protested. "Everything here is in order, the refreshments are on their way..."
"No, no, no! I mean the way you're dressed! This is a purely social occasion. It's after hours; there's no need for you to be in uniform!"
"But I really don't have anything else to change into right now!" Johnny replied. In fact, it was the truth: his entire wardrobe consisted of his dress uniform (very rarely worn), five changes of duty uniform, and four changes of camouflage utilities.
"That's where I thought I'd help out. Take it from me, I've been there: an officer has to know how to entertain on purely social occasions if he wishes to get anywhere in the ranks! It doesn't matter whether you're in Starfleet, the Bajoran Defense Forces, or even..." Barek grimaced as he said it "...the Cardassian forces. Image counts! Now, I took a bit of time last night upon the advice of a friend and researched Human fashion. I've picked out a few things which would probably suit you well." Barek handed Johnny the PADD.
Johnny scanned the images. There was a rather outmoded form of dress called a tuxedo which Johnny vaguely remembered was more appropriate for extremely formal occasions: the civilian analogue of a dress uniform. Several business suits, most of which looked a little plain for a festive occasion. A suit with an antique cut and a hideous plaid pattern Johnny seemed to remember had been around in the 1970s was definitely out. Then, a picture of a Bajoran in a dress uniform: Barek, about fifteen years younger, wearing the insignia of a colonel in the Bajoran forces!
"Uhhh... have you been holding out on me, Sergeant? Or should I say Colonel?" Johnny replied, startled.
"Yes, that was me. Colonel Barek Nim, Fifteenth Planetary Defense Wing, Bajor Aerospace Defense Force. Now you know why I always insisted on flying the shuttle during combat insertions," he replied. "I had over four hundred successful missions against the Cardassians."
"Hell, what are you doing as a sergeant? And a grunt sergeant, at that? You should be running this platoon, not me!!!" Johnny exclaimed, flabbergasted.
"Why? You've been doing a good job so far. You and I are a lot alike: technically competent yet often completely oblivious to the bigger picture. As a pilot and a leader of men, I did well. But when it was time for me to move into the general staff, I failed. I didn't know how to make the right friends. Consequently, I made more than a few of the wrong enemies, including a Vedek or two. They trumped up charges against me and drummed me out of the forces. I know no other line of work besides fighting, and there was nothing left on Bajor for me, so I signed up for an enlisted grade with Starfleet. I've always liked it better in the field anyway..." Barek replied. Something told Johnny that Barek wasn't entirely happy with the way things had turned out.
"I was never meant to be an officer, but you are! You just need a little more of the right polish to you. And you'll do a lot better if you learn to relax once in a while! Now, pick something out and get ready; the rest of the guests will be here soon!" Barek rushed Johnny back to his bedroom with all the poise of a barroom bouncer.
Moments later, Johnny emerged, a changed man. Black boots with a high Western heel, polished to a brilliant shine. Dark blue denim jeans with a replicated snake skin belt buckled by a silver and turquoise buckle. A white dress shirt with a bolo tie fastened by a silver and turquoise slide.
"Definitely you," Barek nodded. "It had to be either that or the leisure suit!"
"At least I pick my anachronisms well! Those leisure suits were never popular even in their own time!" Johnny laughed. His costume was not really so anachronistic, however: many people back in the Homeland and on several colony worlds still dressed that way.
The door chimed again, to reveal Dweezle with the refreshments. "Okay, now, let's get on with the show!"