Appraising the fit of his newly purchased, tailored and pressed, brown over white dress uniform, Roger Kennison cast a critical eye at his reflection in the full length mirror. He scanned slowly from head to toe, tilting his head this way and that slightly as he did so, taking note of his haircut and shave, the placement of the name plate, sharpshooter ribbon and rank insignia on his tunic, the alignment of his belt line, the rich, high luster of his cream-polished boots. Everything looks good, he complimented himself mentally, an easy smile accentuating his satisfaction. I'm ready. He then placed his cap on his head at just the right angle, picked up his keys from the dinette table and sprang light footed out the door.

     Roger Kennison, holding his cap in his left hand, reached up with his right hand and pressed the door chime. Melanie Sencindiver opened the door mere seconds later and caught his gaze, a smile illuminating her face. "Good evening, Roger," she greeted cheerily. "It's good to see you. Please, come in."
     "Thank you, and good evening to you." He entered and shut the door behind him, his eyes on hers. "It's good to see you as well."
     "I'm ready to go," she informed him. "I just need to get my clutch and my wrap." She turned to leave the room.
     "Wait," he interrupted. "Let me look at you."
     She stopped and turned back around, looking again into his eyes.
     Roger knew nothing of fashion but, looking at her, he could see that her full length, strapless, golden-rose colored, sequined silk evening gown contrasted perfectly with her chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes, complemented beautifully her golden tan skin, and conformed to her figure as if it were an extension of herself. Around her neck she wore a gold medallion necklace with matching gold earrings, completing the ensemble. "You look so elegant, so regal," he enthused, "positively stunning!"
     "Why, thank you, Roger," she effused in reply. "You cut quite a handsome figure yourself...and your uniform adds just the right amount of dash!"
     "Thank you, Melanie! Nature was generous and I was fortunate," he confided. "Shall we go?"
     "I'll get my things," she said, and then, turning, Melanie disappeared into another room. She returned a few seconds later carrying a small, flat, reddish brown purse in her right hand, and a reddish brown, silk lined, fur wrap in her left, the purse's and wrap's colors matching the reddish brown of her as yet unseen smooth-toed pumps. Handing the wrap to Roger, she turned half around. He draped the wrap over her shoulders, then she turned back around and their eyes met again.
     "Ready to meet the brass," Roger teased in query.
     "I'm more ready to dine and dance," Melanie countered with a wry smile.
     "Dining and dancing are more to my liking as well," he agreed. "I hear there's a good swing band playing, so what say we go cut a rug?"
     "Swing's the thing," she declared. "I'm with you!"
     At that, Roger put his cap back on his head, held his left arm up slightly and said, "MacArthur Hall isn't far, so there's really no need to drive."
     Taking hold of his arm, Melanie replied, "Walking suits me just fine."
     So, the two of them strolled together out of Melanie's quarters, out of the building, and into the fresh evening air.

     The MACO Academy is a selective institution. Its corps of cadets is small, so its campus is small. Situated at its center, running east to west, staggered in two rows of three, are the cadet dormitories, long-sided, H-shaped, three story buildings. To their north sits the base exchange, mess hall complex. Cadre parking to its west, cadet parking to its east. Scattered about just beyond and to either side is cadre housing. Furthest north are the academic buildings, the libraries and the study halls. The baseball diamonds, the football and soccer fields, the parade ground, the running track, the archery range and underground rifle ranges all lie just to the south of the dorm block. The medical complex lies directly to its east, and, finally, to its west lies the athletic complex, MacArthur Hall: gymnasium with Olympic sized indoor swimming pool, assembly hall, and Ballroom.
     Roger Kennison and Melanie Sencindiver, her right hand holding his left arm, strolled leisurely west across the MACO Academy campus toward MacArthur Hall. The sun had not quite set, the air was still warm, there was a gentle, soothing off shore breeze.
     Roger took deep breath in through his nose, expanding his chest, held it, then let it out quietly through his mouth. "Ah, that sea air smells so good," he exclaimed. "Looks like the weather gods are watching over us, Mel."
     "I couldn't have asked for a nicer evening myself," she replied, a buoyant lilt in her voice. "I had my umbrella ready just in case though," she added through a chuckle.
     "You don't mind being early," he asked.
     "Not at all," she replied. "I have no need to be fashionably late. I don't care much for slow moving receiving-line queues either. Early's good."
     "I feel the same way," he told her. "And getting there early means getting a good table," he added.
     "Looks like we're on the same page," Melanie observed.
     "That we are, Mel." Roger concurred. "That we are."

     No one else was arriving when they approached the front entrance to MacArthur Hall. Roger opened one of the half dozen east facing doors and held it. Melanie let go of his arm and stepped into the narrow foyer. Roger stepped in right after her and she again took hold of his arm. Signs guided them to the right, then left just around a corner to a side entrance through which they entered the main hall. Several high ranking officers, including generals and an admiral, were standing by their tables along the east wall ready to receive guests. The first to greet the couple was Brigadier General Tambul, the commandant of the academy.
     "Lieutenant Kennison, it is good to see you again," the five foot two inch brigadier, beaming, said as he reached out his dark chocolate hued hand.
     Shaking the brigadier's hand, the young lieutenant, matching the brigadier's smile, responded, "The pleasure is entirely mine, Brigadier. You taught me many valuable lessons and I am grateful."
     "I learned much from you as well, light footed one. You will be a great leader one day."
     Then, still smiling, he turned his attention to Melanie. She, in turn, let go of her escort's arm and held out her hand to the Brigadier, looking into his eyes.
     Taking her hand and shaking it, he said, "Lieutenant Sencindiver, you are an extraordinarily skillful soldier-leader. You are one of the highest scoring women ever to grace this academy with her presence. Your skill with a bow is unmatched. You are an asset to MACO."
     The young woman smiled and said, "Why, thank you, Brigadier. Your words are far too kind."
     "Not at all, Lieutenant. Not at all."
     Moving down the line, Roger and Melanie began greeting and were greeted by some of Starfleet's and MACO's most prestigious senior staff officers.
     Lieutenant Kennison looked into the eyes and shook the hand of a Vulcan Starfleet officer and said, "It's a rare pleasure to meet you, Admiral Verek. You blazed many trails in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants."
     "Yes, it's an honor to meet a genuine pioneer, Admiral," Lieutenant Sencindiver said next, shaking his hand.
     "Why, thank you, Lieutenant, and you, miss," he said, looking from one to the other. "I am quite pleased to meet you as well. May you live long and prosper."
     "Peace and long life, Admiral," the young woman said as she and her escort returned his Vulcan salute.
     "Good evening, General Harkness. That ploy you came up with at Auriga Seven was inspired and brilliant," Lieutenant Kennison praised, shaking the older man's hand. "Saved a cruise liner and its passengers as well as a minor population on the planet."
     "The source of ideas is frequently a mystery, Lieutenant. I was fortunate that day."
     "There's no mystery, General," Lieutenant Sencindiver countered. "I believe it was Karma."
     "Ah, but what is Karma if not itself a mystery," he challenged. Then he said, "Enjoy the festivities."
     "Thank you, General," the two said in unison.
      To the last officer in the receiving line, Lieutenant Kennison said, "Good evening, Colonel."
     "Good evening, Lieutenant, miss."
     Upon hearing the colonel's voice, Lieutenant Kennison looked closely into the colonel's eyes and asked, "Colonel, have we met?"
     "We've not met face to face that I'm aware of, Lieutenant," he replied. "And I'd certainly have remembered this young lady."
     "Allow me to present Lieutenant Melanie Sencindiver. I'm Lieutenant Roger Kennison." And yes we have met before, he added in his mind. I'll remember the circumstances sooner or later.
     Shaking first her hand, then his, the colonel said, "Colonel Max Trautman. It's good to meet you both."
     "Likewise, Colonel," Lieutenant Kennison replied.
     "Pleased to meet you, sir," Lieutenant Sencindiver added.

     As Melanie was checking her wrap, Roger looked around the enormous room. The walls were hung with Persian print tapestries interspersed with shields and crossed swords; the ceiling was draped with fish nets filled with subtly hued transparent glass globes. The indirect lighting was soft amber. At the front of the room was an upraised stage where the band would play. Below and in front of the stage was the dance floor, a rectangular area that could accommodate thirty to forty couples. Between the dance floor and the rear of the hall were four place dining tables. Aisles ran up and down both sides of the hall, up the middle of the seating area from front to back, and laterally across the same area from side to side. Small curved booths were set up along the walls on either side of the room. Except for two couples sitting at a table just left of the center of the room a short distance from the dance floor, the few officers in the receiving line at the back, and themselves, MacArthur Hall was empty.
     Her wrap checked, Roger once again held out his arm to Melanie. "Shall we?"
     The young woman took his arm, smiled, and said, "Let's."
     Roger led her to a booth on the left side of the hall not far from the center cross aisle. Taking her hand, he assisted her to her seat, then went around the table and slid into the booth beside her on her right. The curvature of the booth allowed for ease of eye contact, thus fostering conversation. It allowed for closeness as well.
     "Amazing décor," Roger said with a sweep of his hand.
     "Definitely medieval," Melanie responded. "Like a castle of old. I like it. It's better than I expected."
     "Can I get you s…" he began but paused when a waiter, an underclassman, walked briskly up to the booth. "Sir, ma'am, dinner will not be served until seven but perhaps I can get you an aperitif?"
     Roger looked at Melanie, an eyebrow raised slightly.
     "A glass of rosé would be nice."
     "Bring us a bottle of vin rosé please."
     "Would you like bread sticks to go with that, sir?"
     Another look at Melanie, then, "No, thank you."
     "Very good, sir," he said, and strode off.
     Roger returned his attention to Melanie. "The brigadier mentioned your prowess as an archer. I've seen what you can do. No man or woman can outshoot you. You're a regular Robin Hood."
     "I wanted to learn to draw a bow since I was a very little girl, so my father taught me. He loves the sport a lot. He's also half Cheyenne. I've seen what you can do too, Roger. You're far better with a rifle than I am with a bow. I bet you could outshoot Annie Oakley. I've watched you run as well," she continued. "You're an astonishing distance runner. I'm surprised you haven't run in the Boston Marathon or the one in Los Angeles."
     "Thanks, but I'll leave the championship stuff to the Kenyans and Ethiopians. I prefer not to be in the spotlight. For that matter, you could be a champion in gymnastics quite easily. I've watched you perform on a number of occasions. You're so limber, you impress me no end! You're an amazing athlete!"
     "I'm not interested in winning a medal in gymnastics, or in archery for that matter," she explained. "What I am interested in is being the best MACO officer I can be. My athletic skills are simply additional abilities I can apply to that end. And, like you, I prefer to avoid the public eye."
     "We're on the same page again, Mel," Roger commented. "We think alike. We would do well working together."
     Melanie's eyes widened a little. "You're right, Roger," she agreed. "We would do well working together."
      "Hold that thought, Mel," he said, his attention suddenly diverted, "Our wine's arriving."
     The waiter returned right then with their bottle of rosé and two wine glasses. He set the glasses down, removed the cork and handed it to Roger. Roger sniffed the cork, nodded his approval and handed it back. The waiter poured a little wine into each glass and set the glasses in front of them.
     Roger took a sip of wine. Then he smiled at the waiter and said, "Thank you, Cadet,"
     The waiter smiled in return and said, "Very good sir!" Then, he bowed slightly, turned and strode off again.
     Roger, his full attention now on Melanie, raised his glass.
     Melanie, gazing at Roger, raised her glass in response.
     "To possibilities, Mel," he proposed.
     "To possibilities," she echoed.
     They touched their glasses together. Then, holding each other's gaze, they each drank a sip of wine.

     As seven o'clock arrived, soft music started to play. The room was filling rapidly. Waiters and waitresses, in abundance, were scurrying about hurriedly taking dinner orders. Meals were soon being served with military efficiency, and animated dinner chatter was echoing across MacArthur Hall. Roger and Melanie talked about everything and nothing as he dined on an "excellent" T-bone steak and she dined on "scrumptious" breast of chicken.
     Ted Ballard's orchestra began playing at eight o'clock sharp. Roger went around the booth, took Melanie by the hand and led her to the dance floor. He took her into his arms and they began swaying to the strains of "Moonlight Serenade." They continued dancing to "String of Pearls," "At Last," and to half a dozen other such slow romantic numbers. Then the tempo changed from sway to swing.
     "All right," he exclaimed. "That's 'In the Mood!'"
     "Yeah," she effused, her eyes alight.
     Roger put his right arm around Melanie's waist, took her right hand in his left, she put her left hand on his right shoulder, and they both locked eyes as they began tapping their feet and "swingin' to the beat." He'd dance with her in close, twirl her under his arm, pull her in close and then twirl her again. Absorbed in each other, they were in perfect unison as they jitterbugged all around the dance floor, their movements going from bold to subtle to bold in sync with the music. Blissfully unaware, they were dancing alone, their eyes on each other while all other eyes were on them. As the last notes played, he twirled her around several times, pulled here in close, then concluded their dance in a dip holding her securely in his arms and looking into her smiling eyes.
     There was immediate applause. Roger and Melanie, startled, straightened up, looked around wide eyed at the myriad onlookers, looked at each other, then looked again at their audience. Hand in hand, they made a sweeping bow, then hurried back to their booth. They danced only to slow numbers after that, holding each other closely. They capped the evening dancing to "Goodnight Sweetheart."