"I have one final item to discuss." The captain looked around the table at her senior officers. "Monthly reports are due in two days."

Heads nodded and murmurs of agreement circled the table.

"The reports I've received from my senior staff have been deteriorating steadily in recent month and last month they reached a new low. Any first year cadet could do better."

The captain met the eyes of every officer at the table. Without exception, they all turned away first.

"I'm not talking about the content of the reports. I mean the writing itself. You all are starting to write like a semi-literate paramecium." Her glare circled the table again. "I expect to see some improvement in three days. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." "Aye, Captain." The phrases tumbled over each other as the officers around the table assured their irate captain that they fully understood her expectations.

"Good. Dismissed."

The room cleared in record time, including the first officer. As the door closed, the captain's face turned to a smile. She had certainly shaken them up a bit. She leaned back to enjoy the moment. Life was good.

"Bradford!" Chakotay ran down the hall the next day to catch the young crewman. "I'd like you to look over this report. Make sure it has the right degree of formality. Check for typos and style issues, too. I need it back by 08:00 tomorrow. Thanks."

Chakotay was gone before the young crewman could do more than open his mouth. He stood looking at the padd in his hand shaking his head slowly. Officers. Go figure.

"ThreeB! Just the man I needed to see." Tom Paris grinned at Brad like they were long lost friends. For the life of him, Brad couldn't remember the last time Paris had spoken to him.

"I need a favor, Buddy. Could you go over my report and spruce it up a bit? I don't know why but content isn't enough. It has to be a literary work of art. What I need is for you to fix it up, make me look good and all that. It's really important. That paper you wrote about maneuvering bulky equipment in Jeffries tubes had the exact style I need. It was perfect! I don't need it until first thing tomorrow morning." Paris grinned at Brad. "Thanks! I owe you one."

"Crewman Bradford. A word if you please." Tuvok stopped Brad as Brad was hurrying toward sickbay.

"Yes, Sir?" Brad slid to a halt in front of the chief of security.

"I have been instructed to improve my writing style. I was trained to use formal Vulcan phrasing and styles but the requirements for Starfleet reports are more informal. Please review this and make appropriate suggestions."

"Yes, Sir." Brad stammered. "When do you need this, Sir?"

"By 08:00 tomorrow, Crewman."

"Yes, Sir."

"Thank you, Crewman. Dismissed."

"Aye, Sir." Brad had to think for a moment where he had been going, then remembered.

 He was going to have to cancel his plans for the evening.

"You wanted to see me, Doc?" Brad asked the EMH.

"Ahhh, Crewman Bradford. Indeed I do." The EMH walked toward his office. "Come in and sit down."

Brad sat down cautiously. He had no idea why the doctor has asked him to stop in sickbay. Then he saw the doctor's hand reach for a padd and hold it out.

"I've been told my writing is stilted and grandiose. I'm sure you'll agree that this is completely unfounded. I certainly do. However, it is necessary that my report be revised to suit a lower standard. Please review this and return it to me before breakfast tomorrow." The doctor grinned cheerily at Brad. "Dismissed."

"Lieutenant Torres wants to see you pronto, Bradford." Joe Carey interrupted Brad's concentration. 

All the interruptions and the trip to sickbay had put him completely off schedule. Stopping now meant he would have to restart the entire recompilation that had only reached 87% after nearly two hours. He'd be lucky if he finished before he went off duty. Brad sighed.

"There something wrong, Crewman?"

"No, Sir. Nothing at all." Brad assured Carey. Brad shut down the diagnostic and moved toward the chief engineer's office. He stopped at the open door and knocked once. "You wanted to see me, Lieutenant."

"Come in, Bradford." Torres held out a padd to Brad. "I've been impressed with the reports you've turned in lately. I'd like you to look this over and soften it a bit so it flows smoothly. I need this back tomorrow at 08:00. You can work on this as soon as you finish your current assignment. Any questions?"

"No, Lieutenant."

"Good. You'd better get back to work now." Torres turned her attention to her screen.

Brad took that as his dismissal and turned to leave whispering. "Yes, ma'am."

"Crewman Bradford, I require your assistance." Brad looked up from his dinner to see the cool blue eyes of Voyager's resident drone staring at him. "This report is too impersonal. Please review it and make suggestions to improve it. This assignment should be completed by 08:30 tomorrow. You may bring it to me in Astrometrics." Seven turned away but stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Thank you."

Brad closed his mouth slowly. He had not been focusing on her words but it was a safe bet that she needed her report proofread just like the others. He was still watching her disappearing assets when he heard a voice.

"Mind if I join you, Bradley?"

Brad looked up to see the young Ops Officer.

"Of course not, Sir. Please sit down."

"Thanks." Harry sat down and picked up his fork. "So what have you been doing lately?"

"Helping realign the warp core mostly. Lieutenant Torres was insisting on getting it well above minimum specs for some reason, probably because she's writing the monthly report for engineering."

"Speaking of monthly report. Could you look over my report and make sure I didn't make any errors in spelling or grammar?"

"Well," Brad prevaricated.

"I'd really appreciate it." Kim sounded desperate.

"All right, Sir." Brad gave in. He'd be up all night as it was. He might as well help out the one person who might have taken "no" for an answer. "Will tomorrow at breakfast be soon enough?"

Kim sighed with relief. "That would be great! Thanks!"

Brad straightened and stretched stiff muscles. He was exhausted… and for a good reason. He had been rewriting reports for nearly twelve hours. He yawned. Only one more to go but it was the shortest. He had two hours before he had to report for duty. He was never going to stay awake if he didn't move. Quickly he made a decision.

Fifteen minutes later, armed with a stack of padds, a freshly showered Brad entered the mess hall and headed for the replicator.

"Coffee, black."

"Is that for me or for you, Crewman?"

Brad nearly jumped out of his shoes.

"Captain?"

"Relax, Crewman. I was joking." The captain smiled. "It's not often I find someone in the mess hall this early."

"I wanted to finish something before I go on duty, Captain." Brad wished he could fall through the floor or that the captain would leave. Neither happened so he picked up his coffee and stepped aside. "May I be excused, Captain?"

"Of course, Crewman."

Brad hurried to the corner as far from the captain's usual table as he could get and hoped it was far enough. He drank half the coffee in a single gulp and pulled the monthly helm report from the stack. 

"Mind if I see that report, Crewman?"

"Uh…," Brad wasn’t sure what to say as the captain stood next to him with her hand outstretched. Having no reason to refuse her request and feeling doomed no matter what he did, he placed it in her hand.

"Very interesting," The captain sat down and continued reading. She looked up at Brad then at the stack of padds on the table. "Could I see the others?"

Brad obligingly pushed the stack to her side of the table.

"Were you working on these all night, Crewman?" The captain's soft tone conveyed her compassion.

"Yes, Captain."

"Get some breakfast then bring all of this to my ready room. You can finish that last report there." The captain stood to leave. "And use the entrance from the hall, not the bridge. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

As the captain walked away, her voice carried back to Brad. "It probably is crunch time, just not for you, Crewman."

The captain watched the faces of her senior staff as they entered the briefing room… all without reports. Irritation was the dominant expression on their faces but a few were clearly nervous and one looked almost terrified. Whatever the expression, it changed to chagrin as each person saw who was seated next to the captain. After they sat down, the captain could see them becoming progressively more nervous, hands twitched, feet shuffled and no one said a word. The captain's face remained passive but she was enjoying every disgruntled look and every darting glance in her direction. When the last of the officers had been seated for a good three minutes, she started the meeting.

"I want to congratulate you all. Not only was there significant improvement in all your reports, but you all had them completed well ahead of schedule." She paused for a moment allowing them all to consider what she had said. "Not only that, but you had them delivered directly to me in my ready room. It was very considerate of you."

The officers around the table turned various shades of the rainbow, except the EMH. The captain just stared waiting for someone to comment. As her eyes moved around the table, each and every officer looked anywhere in the room but at her… or Brad.

Paris cleared his throat nervously. Tuvok studied his folded hands. Torres shifted uneasily in her chair. Chakotay tugged his ear but finally broke the silence.

"It seems we all had the same idea, Captain."

"So I gathered."

"Look, I'm sorry, Captain." Kim rushed to speak as if he had to say it before he lost his nerve. "I had no idea anyone else needed help with their reports much less asked him to go over them last night."

"I didn't know either, Bradford." Torres was sincere. "It won't happen again, Captain."

"You're right. It won't happen again." The captain looked around the table. "I'm sure you're all going to want to compensate Crewman Bradford for his efforts on your behalf."

Guilty, if reluctant, nods were the only answer the captain received but she seemed satisfied. "I've given Crewman Bradford the rest of the day off since he spent the night working on your reports."

"Captain, why not have a party for him tonight? We could call it Bradley Bradon Bradford Appreciation Day." Paris suggested.

"It's nice of you to offer to throw him a party with your own rations, Mr. Paris," Paris blanched, "but I'm sure the others will want to contribute. Let's just call it BRAD Day. It's a little easier to say."

In his chair, Brad was trying to sink under the table. All the attention was too much for him. He was tired. His eyes hurt. He was tired. He wasn't thinking clearly. He was tired. He was confused. Most of all, he was tired.

"Crewman, I think you can leave now," the captain spoke, "but I think everyone has one more thing to say before you are dismissed."

"Thank you, Brad! You're the greatest!"