“Morning,” Rebecca greeted, her voice muffled by a yawn as she cradled a steaming cup of coffee. She stifled another yawn, her eyes half-closed as she navigated around a group of officers moving in the opposite direction. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the metallic tang of the starbase’s recycled air. Conversations hummed around her, occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter. Outside the expansive windows, Starfleet, Vulcan, and merchant ships glided past, the orange glow of Vulcan casting a warm hue over the scene.

Riandri smiled as Rebecca dodged the group of officers. “Morning. Looks like you could use more sleep.” She fell in beside her as they made their way down the promenade. “How’s the coffee? Been debating getting a raktajino if you can spare a minute.”

“I broke into my private stash,” Rebecca grinned. “So it’s excellent. I might have to take a quick trip to Earth for more.”

Riandri let out a short laugh at that. “I should have thought of packing a private stash last time I was on Earth. I had a wonderful tea blend I spent the better part of two decades perfecting.” As they approached the Klingon coffee house, Riandri quickly popped inside and returned a moment later with a cup of her own. “So, any idea what this meeting is about? I haven’t heard anything from my contacts.”

Rebecca shot her XO an amused expression. “As the Intel officer too, shouldn’t you be telling me?” Taking a sip of her coffee, she shrugged, conceding to the question. “I don’t know. Probably the same boring intel briefing as they always are. ‘For your eyes only,’” she quoted the Vulcan in charge of the sector’s intelligence. “Always look, but don’t talk about it or act on it.” She sighed with a hint of frustration. They had been assigned to Vulcan for over a month now, and the events on the Luphirian homeworld were becoming a fleeting memory.

Riandri rolled her eyes at that and shrugged. “I know what you mean, though this briefing has been kept under wraps. None of the intel officers on the other ships have mentioned anything of note.” She continued in silence for a moment before taking a sip of her drink. “So much nicer than the replicated stuff. Anyway, my only thought on the complete lack of information is that something is up. Maybe a new deployment; we have been sitting here for too long.”

“Maybe, but I’ve never known Fleet to be so cagey. It’s always orders sent via subspace: ‘Go here. Do this. Signed Admiral Stiff-shirt.’” Then the realization hit her. “There was one time… just like this… Tyra.” Rebecca felt like a ball of lead had landed in the pit of her stomach. Denver was just one of 14 ships that had survived that battle. She lost a captain, and they all came way too close to dying. “There’s a major offensive about to take place,” she said softly as if the noose was already around her neck.

Riandri was about to make an off-hand remark about ‘Admiral Stiff-shirt’ but stopped at the mention of Tyra. “Well, shit…that makes perfect sense actually.” Riandri almost reached for her combadge and stopped, taking a deep breath, “Let’s see what they say, no point getting Jeter to start doing combat pre-checks yet, especially after all the drills he has had the crew running through of late.” She glanced over at Rebecca as she felt a sense of apprehension grow within her. She was trying to get a handle on some of her more innate abilities this one she was pretty confident on.

“Are you ok Captain? I know that Tyra was,… difficult for you and the Denver.” Riandri said calmly. 

“I’m fine,” Rebecca said not sounding very convincing. “We’ve been in battle since.”

Riandri looked at her, her head cocked to the side with a knowing look on her face, “True, but none of them were Tyra. That battle saw you promoted to Captain.” She paused for a moment, “Sorry if I am pushing.”

Rebecca sipped her coffee, giving Riandri a sidelong glance. She took a deep breath and shrugged. “You’re fine. It’s not a great feeling, but that’s war, right?” She rounded a corner, and the turbolift doors hissed open as they approached.

“Deck fifty-six,” she commanded.

The computer beeped in acknowledgement, and the car whirred to life, descending deeper into the station. Lights on the wall flashed, indicating the turbolift’s direction of travel, and air whistled around the car as it sped to its destination.

“Down we go…” Riandri muttered before taking a sip of her drink and finishing it off. “With luck, this war will be over soon and we will have time to process what has happened,” she commented, linking back to Rebecca’s earlier statement. As she did the Turbolift stopped and opened. After a quick walk down the hall, they stopped before the door to one of the large briefing rooms. “Guess it’s time to find out what all the hush-hush is about.”

Rebecca stepped into the auditorium-style briefing room.  Four rows of seats were in a semi-circle around a platform backdropped with an expansive viewscreen. The three hundred seats were filled with captains and their XOs or Intelligence officers.  The conversations of hundreds of overlapping officers created a dull roar and Rebecca gritted her teeth and touched her hand to her temple.

Scanning the auditorium, Rebecca located a pair of empty seats along the back row near the middle. She sighed and gave Riandri a half-hearted smile and shrug before carefully weaving around the knees and stepping over the feet of her fellow officers. She slid into her seat and picked up the provided PADD from the armrest holder. Entering her command codes, she marked her attendance at the briefing and accessed the materials to be discussed.

Riandri slipped into the seat beside her, quickly signed into the PADD and began to scan the executive summary. “Let’s see what they have given us here…,” she said half-jokingly. After a moment, she put the PADD down and looked over at Rebecca, “Even the official briefing summary doesn’t say much.”

“No… it doesn’t.”

A hush spread over the auditorium as a Vulcan with four gold pips on his collar exited the office behind the viewscreen. Stepping up to the podium, he entered commands, and the blank screen behind him flashed the Starfleet logo before switching to a quadrant map showing the current battle lines between the Dominion and the Federation, Klingon, and Romulan alliance.

Rebecca frowned, her heart aching for those stuck on the wrong side of the line. There was far too much Federation territory on the Dominion side of the border. A surge of heat ran through her veins, and she clenched her fists, feeling a mix of anger and helplessness. She glanced around, noticing similar expressions of concern and determination on the faces of her fellow officers.

Riandri shook her head as she looked at the map, none of it was new to her one of the displays in the intelligence office presented this map and any updates continually. “God, how I hate that map,” she muttered as she scanned it for any new updates. As she did she started to flip through the files on her PADD to see what this was about.

Rebecca gave Riandri a sympathetic nod. There was no reason to say anything. What was there to say? That damned map was representation of the lives lost and failures the Federation and endured.

“I extend my gratitude for your prompt attendance,” the Vulcan’s voice echoed through the auditorium, amplified by the comm system. He stood with his back rigid, and his face expressionless in the harsh light of the stage lighting that illuminated him. “I am Captain Kerval, the sector intelligence officer. The content of today’s briefing is classified and strictly restricted to the present audience. Do not share any details with your personnel unless it is necessary. Should there be uncertainty regarding necessity, the default position is to withhold information.”

Rebecca leaned closer to Riandri, her voice barely audible over the hushed murmurs of the audience. “So far, this briefing seems no different from the others.” Her gaze shifted to the view screen taking in the dispositions of the various combat groups operating in the many theaters of operations.

“So far…” Riandri said in agreement, “But something isn’t sitting right with me. I am waiting for the hammer to fall.”

Kerval enterd commands into the podium and the map zoomed in on the Betazed System. “Intelligence reports from various resistance cells on the planet have been indicating a build up of Dominion forces in the area that includes the 9th and 12th Cardassian Orders along with elements of the 5th and 7th Orders.  In addition we are aware of a significant Dominion presence of between fifty and 200 fighters and cruisers.”

An eruption of hushed murmurs rippled about the auditorium. There was a tension in the air that was so thick you could almost feel it. Rebecca didn’t respond. She simply stared at the icons on the map representing the enemy disposition as dread creeped into her core being.

Riandri exhaled knowing what it meant. Without thinking about it she softly said, “An offensive…”

As she looked at the map she once again thought through all the possible targets. The loss of Betazed had opened a massive gap in the Federation lines, the potential targets were too numerous. They could if they were bold enough strict into the heart of federation but would they think the risk was worth the reward? As she thought further, she knew the answer: the Dominion didn’t care about the Cardassians or the Jem’hadar. If they thought they could hit the core of the federation they would.

She looked over at Rebecca for a quick moment, “I don’t think they intend this to be a knife to the heart.”

“There’s a dozen core worlds and significant colonies within striking distance.”

“That is my concern,” Riandri said with a shake of her head.

Kerval’s placid tone continued.  “Intelligence believes the most likely target for their attack is Vulcan, but Andor with it’s weapons manufacturing is also highly probable.”  He entered more commands into the podium, and all the PADDs beeped as the new classified orders were issued. “On your PADDs your ship will be assigned into three ship squadrons.  Half of you will take up positions at the poles using the magnetic interference to disrupt enemy sensors.  As we speak our ships in the Bajoran Sector are deploying buoys that will be transmitting your ship’s transponder signal and warp signature. For the rest of you, it will be business as usual.”

Rebecca scrolled through the PADD, “We’re the lead ship with the Andromeda and the Texarkana.”

Riandri glanced over at Rebecca and nodded as she came across the information for herself. “The Denver is a good choice, we have systems for Fleet operations. That said a possible attack on Vulcan is concerning but we will stand our ground,” she said though there was a slight waver in her voice.

“Texarkana is an old Excelsior-class.” Rebecca bit her lower lip. “But we aren’t one of the squadrons in hiding. The crew will be happy about that.” She smirked and gave Riandri a conspiratorial grin, “They just won’t know about it. We need to start recalling our out of system crew though, and we’re going to need to schedule battle drills to coordinate with the rest of the squadron.” 

Riandri smirked, “That’s another way of saying, We’re the bait.” She glanced back down at the PADD and then nodded, “I will send out the recall notices as soon as we are out of here and I am sure Jeter will be overjoyed to ramp up the battle drills. He was saying the other day that we need to get them planned and underway again.”

Everyone was putting in long hours. Arin’s teams were no exception. Helm seemed like a cushy assignment. They also had maintenance duty, logs, and reports to do like everyone else. Driving through her performance reviews, she received a message that perhaps a bit of unwinding for Lavender might be a good idea. The message was anonymous.

For about 90 seconds. Filing away the nugget of information later in case it was needs, she replied it would be taken care of and thanked the receipt without letting them know she knew.  Oddly, on that messages heels, was a second from Senior Staff, announcing rotating extra day off. Looking at the schedule, she and Lavender had the same slot starting at tomorrow’s duty shift. 

Thinking about how best to do that, she decided it was time for Lavender to see behind the curtain on her life a bit. Not exactly meet the parent moment but still part of who she was.  A set of closely coordinated instructions were planned and she sent a message to Lavender. 

“You are hereby informed that starting 0800, we have an extra day off. Dress casual, but bring a bikini and sunglasses. Holodeck 3.” Arin wrote, then added a teasing photo before sending it to Lavender. Feeling like the cat that ate the canary, she refilled her coffee and drove towards parity in paperwork, chasing the elusive ever-moving target. “I’ll pack a lunch and extra napkins.”

A distance away the recipient of Arin’s message was in her office doing reports. It was one of the things Lavender hated about being C.M.O. There was way more ‘paper’ work as head of department. But will some coffee and determination she could get through, usually in the quiet before the main shift started. 

Lavender saw the message arrive and by virtue of her boredom was unable to avoid opening it instantly.

“Casual, huh?” Lavender drawled and with an amused smile canned her paperwork and, making sure her staff knew where she was going headed for her quarters.

A short time later Lavender was walking the corridors of Denver in civvies for the first time since coming aboard. The requested bikini was strappy, triangular and somewhat Saint-Tropez in nature and black (of course) and was covered in a strappy black summer dress with a fitted waist and a flared a-line skirt that finished half way down her thigh. The black lipstick she tended to only wear when off duty was present and her makeup was gothic (naturally) and more intricate than her toned-down work looks. On her feet, black Mary janes with an extra double ankle strap and a gothy platform toe and block heel. A black choker completed the look which certainly drew some attention from passers by as Lavender made her way to the holodeck. Checking the controls she found a program was already running, owner Arin Jones. Lavender entered.

As the doors swished open, the tarmac opened up with a tan metal hangar to her right, next to it was a ramp that led down for access to the waterway, or onto the long runway. Nearby was a dock, and an old PBY Catalina seaplane was tied up with a few other vehicles. Off in the distance, piano music could be heard.  To her right a tall glass of something rimmed with salt and had ice, lemon slices, and a few peppers. The note read “Jalapeno Margarita-low sugar. Hard to stop drinking.”

Lavender surveyed her surroundings. It seemed tropical. Warmth and bright light radiated around her and spilled out into the corridor. The sea was Azure, the Sky Cerulean, and the grass Emerald surrounded with creamy outlines of sand.

“Excellent.”

With a smile the doctor slid the large black sunglasses that were resting on her head down and obligingly took the drink. It was salty, sweet, bitter, fiery, and delicious.

“Mmm… excellent.” Lavender sauntered onwards hearing the doors close behind her and, taking a drink every twenty feet or so went in search of the piano-player. The hangar had a small door on one side. Lavender opened it as she swallowed a gulp of Jalapeno and coughed a little. Inside the hangar was relief from the brightness. The music reverberated around like being in a Cathedral. The space was huge. There was an office to the right, a few aircraft on the floor. A Beechcraft Staggerwing, a rare Supermarine Spitfire trainer two-seat trainer, and lastly a McDonnell-Douglas F-15E Strike Eagle. Of course Lavender didn’t know what any of these were, but she did recognise Arin, who was wearing sneakers, black cotton shorts, and vee neck low cut tee shirt. The sound of Lavender’s footsteps would have bounced about the space were they not drowned out by the music.

Approaching the instrument Lavender necked the rest of the cocktail and placed the empty glass on top of the piano with a grin to its’ maestro.

Without lifting her hands, she did meet Lavender’s gaze. Playing a few more licks of Linus and Lucy before setting the piano to autoplay, she got up, admiring the view. Spinning her index finger, she motioned for Lavender to model the dress for her. Approving with a wider smile, she hugged Lavender, kissing her for a moment. “Not much finer than a pretty woman in a sun dress. Though you are out of uniform.” She said with a wink as she slid a purple Bolian Peonia above Lavender’s right ear to highlight her eyes, face, and hair. “That’s better.” 

She refilled Lavender’s glass and topped over her own. “Welcome to my Arin’s Laboratory. Far too many hours in here as a teenager, especially after we moved from Earth to the colony farms.” Grabbing Lavender’s hand she walked slowly. “Hundreds of things to ride, swim, or fly in.” Lavender’s heels clicked along as they walked with the occasional sneaker squeak from the highly polished light grey floor. “The piano has nice acoustics in here.”

Turning to face Lavender. “I know to most these are just trinkets. But this is also my job, and hobby. I would like you to feel comfortable enough to be here. I obviously don’t expect you to stick around if I am puttering around or flying, but perhaps you can discover the joy I do in something simple to operate that can be fun even at low speeds. It doesn’t always after to be Warp nine with our hair on fire.” Arin said. Then added, “a nice leisurely drive in a convertible maybe. Go see some music. Driver gets to select the tunes.” She said teasingly.

“A convertible what?” Lavender asked. “Oh and just so you know, my hair isn’t usually on fire but when it is it burns purple…” she added with a sly smile.

“Computer. Add my 1966 Beetle convertible.” The copper-colored car had blackened rims and a black cloth roof. appeared. “Though I would change those shoes.” Arin reached into the vehicle popping both sides of the cloth top, and folding its mechanism to the rear in a few seconds. ”Viola. Open-air fun.”   Pulling her copper-framed sunglasses from her cleavage, she jumped into the driver’s seat and cranked up the radio. “Little Duece Coupe” by the Beach Boys started from the speakers in the vehicle. 

“Oh, shiny” Lavender commented looking around the vehicle. “So what does it convert into? And why do I need to change my shoes? I like these shoes…” she pouted.

“It’s a good thing you are so hot for a doctor.” She teased with a smile. “These old ground vehicles had solid roofs so they cut it off and added a cloth top. Hence converts to an open-top. As for your shoes, I guess, I’m driving.  Arin hands Lavender a padd of destinations on the island. There was a pilot bar, and Arin had a list of concerts they could attend. ”Picnic lunch on the rear seat. Sandwiches. Cold watermelon. Nothing heavy. However, I did bring popcorn if we wanted to go see a ‘drive-in’ movie. They would have larger screens and people would arrive after dark to see movies. Though according to the lore, it was also a traditional play to be with that special someone. Hmm. Computer. Replace the Beetle with a 1970 Cutlass hard-top power blue, white interior. Bench front seat.” 

The larger two-door sedan replaced the smaller compact car. “I wanna be comfortable after all.” She opened the door for Lavender so she could step in. Gesturing with her hand as she held the door, Arin waited for Lavender to sit down. 

Lavender flounced past and gracefully deposited herself on the front seat.

“Yep you’re driving,” she said with a cool smile, faux-stretching lazily. “Us hot doctors have a reputation to uphold you know. Besides, I’m a doctor not a chauffeur.” She patted the seat next to her on the driver’s side for Arin to get in and took a slug of her cocktail. “You decide where and what, I’m tired of making decisions. I could try operating a thing or two. However if I’m operating anything then you will be patient or I’ll tell you the same thing I told my piloting instructor at the academy.”

Do tell.” Arin said smiling.

“I told him to be patient,” Lavender responded with a smirk.

Arin then added, “If I am driving, computer. Change it to the W30 model. Automatic transmission and make it a convertible. Top stored please. Might as well get all the sound and fury And make it the white model with dark bronze trim.” 

The car changed once more. Arin smiled. This is the one. 

After getting in, she pecked Lavender on the lips, before moving around to get into the driver’s seat. The door closed with a solid thunk. The keys were in the ignition. The four-leaf clover keychain appeared on all her vehicles somewhere if they had an ignition. “It’s loud at first but she’ll settle in. This is a bit of a treat for me and as a pilot, a slight adrenaline junkie. It has the all-mechanical feel, nothing digital except the radio.  That slice of cheesecake kind of moment and I’d like to share that with you. In control, but hanging onto the horse a bit as you fly like the wind, of that makes any sense. 

Turning the key, the large Oldsmobile big block fired up with gusto. Arin let the healthy V-eight motor warm up as she fiddled with the radio. Radio had been pre-programmed to search out songs that fit the location and vehicle. ‘455 Rocket’ by Kathy Mattea started playing. 

Smiling at Lavender she tipped down her sunglasses and looked at Lavender with a smirk. “Ready? If it’s too much just say something. She placed a warm hand on Lavender’s and squeezed it gently. 

“Engage?” Lavender offered with a cute smile, then returning the squeeze as she downed the second Margherita with her other hand.

“About two hundred years too early, but this is comfortable and fast.” This was the origin of the road trip for fun. Computer, add light traffic, no heavy trucks. The perspective changed slightly. The car was now in the turn lane ready to pull. “Hold off on the refill briefly until we start moving,” Arin added about sixty percent power as it turned to the right. The back tires slid for a second, Arin easily adding counter-steer to keep them moving in the right direction and then straightened out the metal beast as the engine hit mid-growl. 

Once up to speed, Arin’s head bopped with the music as the car reached cruising. An old microbus was up ahead, loping along as the family dog had its face out in the wind. Long ears flapping. 

The rubber tires bounced softly as the suspension easily soaked up the minor road imperfections. The plastic steering wheel provided a tactile feel that starships most spacecraft lacked. She liked the manual controls versus pressing buttons. The vinyl bench seat was soft and easy to relax in. Rhythmic pulses in the motor would come to the forefront when Arin feathered the throttle to pass slower cars.

Next to her Lavender was soaking up the experience. The first time she had been in a vehicle of any kind was leaving M’talas Prime at fifteen. Since then, other than village-sized starships that didn’t really feel as if they were moving her only experience of small vehicles was learning to fly a shuttle at the Academy. This was different. This was loud, jiggly, bumpy and windy. The wind whipped her hair behind her and Lavender leant forward after a mile or so to pop her hair up into a bun. Wind, she knew, would tangle it all up and that wasn’t a great look.

The miles passed easily. It wouldn’t be a long trip but enough to help clear the head, and get in the moment. Enjoy the scenery and each other. 

Lavender was enjoying being in Arin’s mind. It was an interesting experience. Being in Arin’s comfortable place said a lot about her. Lavender was working out what these machines meant to her. It seemed like a different existence from her own, almost a different universe. The idea of controlling a machine the size of a room was daunting to Lavender, a starship even more so. Arin did it with such ease. It was a moment the doctor realised as she watched another car zoom by how much she respected Arin. How they were so different in a lot of ways. How they had a lot to learn about one-another. Lavender decided she would show Arin her safe space. But that could come at another time. For now she smiled at the woman beside her and enjoyed the odd calm that came courtesy of the show reel of the scenery flying past.

Looking over, she saw Lavender struggle with her hair. She used the power windows to put the glass up, reducing the wind substantially.Arin even had to lower to the radio. “Sorry, kind of in the moment. Like being one with the horse you ride and trust. It’s quite different than flying through space. Plus you can slide next to me. Bench seating does have advantages over shuttle chairs.” She said, placing a warm hand Lavender’s.

“I can even remove the traffic if you ever want to learn. I respect if you don’t, but I like the feeling of being in control and spending enough time that the vehicle feels like it is hooked to your spinal cord. Trust me, not all vehicles feel that way. Especially anything with shuttle in the description.”

“I’m good,” Lavender replied, still watching the world go by. “Small steps ay?” She added, looking across to Arin and spying something on the rear bench.

“Do me a favor. Please open the basket in the back seat. Fresh-made strawberry muffins. The batter is replicated but the strawberries are mine. I could use one.” We are almost there, we have fresh popcorn, sandwiches, and a fresh thermos of regular margaritas.” Arin said, pausing.

 “Almost there. It’s an ancient movie but if you want to understand a bit about the Irish people and laugh at the same time, I have a good one picked out, I never get tired of watching, especially when I get homesick.”:

“What my Da and I used to was a trade-off. One of mine and one of his. That way we got to a mix. Whatcha think?” Arin asked Lavender.  

“Sounds fair,” Lavender said as she reached back and acquired two muffins. One she passed to Arin, the other was broken into sections and Lavender chewed on it thoughtfully, still taking in the new sensations of wind-in-the-hair motoring.

In the distance, the drive-in came up as the sun started to dip closer to the horizon. An oversized billboard with electrics, and flashing lights showcasing the movie title. The Quiet Man featuring John Wayne and Maureen Ohara pictured in the center of the billboard.

Lavender nearly said something about the “Da” chatter. But it wasn’t Arin’s fault that her father wasn’t murdering scum like Lavender’s was. She obviously had good memories and experiences she wanted to share. Lavender ordered herself to be cordial and interested.

“The Quiet Man,” she mused as they drove past the sign and into the drive-in, the tires starting to kick up some dust. I’ve not watched screen stories since my Mom was alive…”

As she pulled up the gate, the attendant asked, “How many? Really, this time. Don’t screw around and have 4 kids in the trunk, Arin. I almost had to pay for those tickets.” 

“Come on Fred, you know I’d be driving the Plymouth for that. Besides, I am on a date, thank you very much. Two adult tickets please” Arin countered.

Fred laughed out loud, then canted over on his seat to see Lavender in passenger seat. “Well, she is a looker. Heartbreaker, like you I see.” Then added. “Don’t mind me, I’ve known this girl since she wasn’t large enough to see over the steering wheel. Watch it missie, this one can be a tiger by the tail. Pleased to meet ya.”  The white-haired gentleman said from the window. “On the house tonight, ladies. Enjoy the show.” 

Lavender grinned. 

“Thanks and … I noticed,” she replied with a glint in her eye.

Fred picking up the glint smiled, “You shoulda picked the Thunderbird, Thelma. Or is that Louise?”

They drove through. It was slightly early. Arin got a choice spot in the center where the windshield nice framed the whole screen. Young children were romping around on the playground equipment area underneath the large over-sized billboard movie screen. 

Sliding the car to an easy stop, Arin placed the transmission into park, and turned off the ignition, but left the accessories on so the radio still played. Adjusting the volume down, you could barely hear the rhythmic tick of the motor beneath the large metal hood cooling. Arin turned slightly to face Lavender, her back against the door of the car.

“And whose imagination is Fred from?” Lavender asked as she unbound herhair again, her features the model of entertainment. Muffin dispatched she reached back for the sandwiches.

“Fred was a friend of the family. Why I spent so much time working or flying airplanes. Escape. Exhilartion. Call it what you will. So yeah, Fred knows me. I wanted to take you here so share my safe place. I have friends here, Fred still checks in online occasionally. So does Dad. When we didn’t have the holodeck, the side of the barn would do on nice summer nights for the movie screen and simple projector. So this became kind of an homage as well as a good place to stash good movies to watch.”

“Satan bless you for feeding me, Arin Jones.” Lavender took a bite of one, not much caring what was inside and offered one to her driver.

Arin took the paper-wrapped roast beef with bacon jam and swiss cheese from Lavender. “Hey, as much as you clamor about not gaining an atom, I am not about ta go fer a hug and get rib-stabbed by the likes o’ you,” Arin said in jest, her Irish brogue getting thicker in the excitement as she snickered.

“Hey, I can’t go completely unarmed,” Lavender replied after she’d finished snickering herself. “Now I can’t have my black talons,” she added, wiggling her gingers to indicate her black fingernails which were sensibly short. “Very impractical for doctoring… and other things…”

Opening the door, Arin got out, gesturing for Lavender to stay put. Placing the basket of goodies on the ground, she laid out a few blankets and asked the computer for a short ottoman section, extending the rear bench seat forward, now ending at the back of the front seats. It created an area with plenty of room to recline. ” 

Placing some of the snacks and drinks to one side in the back seat, she walked over, opened Lavender’s door, and knelt, slowly unsnapping the shoes. “Shame, those are cute on you,” Arin said, taking the time to massage her foot before repeating the procedure on the other. Since she was already down there, she pulled Lavender to her, cradling her, as she transferred her to rear seat.

“Fuck me, you’re strong,” Lavender commented as she snuggled into her new position, wiggling her toes which were similarly black-nailed. “Wanna see me try to pick you up? Would probably look and sound like a Chihuahua trying to top a Border Collie.” Normally she would have protested vehemently about being picked up but Arin had earned some leeway after the ‘rib-stabbed’ comment which Lavender had found excessively entertaining. Plus she was slightly and rather relaxingly tipsy.

“My chores were all farmwork, however, I could lower the gravity for ya.” Arin countered. She said, taking a moment not nuzzle their noses. Arin caught Lavender’s scent as she lingered for a second. Making sure everything was secure, she started back towards her side of the car.

By now the sun had nearly set, and the kids were settling with popcorn, candy, and soft drinks in nearby cars. Other cars had other young lovers.” Arin paused. “Dad used to take me here. Especially after Mom was executed and you find out your cousins, though distant, were in on the plot. I wasn’t expecting to grow up one half-murderous pirate slut. So I channelled the energy, thanks to my dad and Fred into other pursuits.” Reaching to the side, she popped open a bag of potato chips. “Engines, welding. Anything to keep busy and distracted. By the time I was sixteen, I had my pilot’s license for eighteen months and had finished my first hand-built airplane. Though I had some help.”

Sliding onto the other side, she pulled up the cotton waffle blanket over her legs and bit into her sandwich, savoring the sweet and balsamic punch mixed with the roast beef and creamy Swiss cheese. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get morbid. It’s not something I like to think or talk about unless needed. And know, it doesn’t bother me you brought it up. These are the things that make us closer. Knowing I really should feed you, cuz you’ll only eat that repli-slop without me or you’ll get hangry. I know enough to not get between a woman and her food.”  Arin said with a smile. 

“Just like you know my first cup of coffee should be before you talk to me and it should be like you, strong, full of flavor, and just a bit sweet when needed, maybe just a bit of bite,” Arin said, winking at Lavender. Lavender had just polished off the first sandwich and swallowed, chuckling and smiling at Arin. It was a kind of smile one didn’t often see. There were layers of bravado with Lavender, but sometimes, when she was a bit drunk and a bit happy and she felt safe, all artifice was lost, for a while at least.

“I didn’t know your cousins were in on it,” she said solemnly, removing her now extraneous sunglasses and chucking them into the front seat. “If there’s anyone who gets that kinda betrayal it’s me. Not that this is about me, just…” Lavender paused. “Ugh I don’t know how to finish that sentence without being crushingly banal. You get what I’m saying.”

Arin nodded, pushing her mind to more pleasant places as she settled in. “I’d worry about you if you did. That’s psychotic level stuff.” She blew out a heavy sigh, as she pulled Lavender into her side. Cartoons started to roll on the movie screen as the radio swapped to the movie channel.

“This really reminds me of Mom”, Lavender observed as she cuddled in with Arin a bit. “She used to love watching the channels on M’talas. Mostly documentaries about other planets and cultures. When I started thinking about that as an adult I started to think maybe it was her way of escaping. Escaping District Seven, escaping my Dad…” Lavender leaned over and swiped a bottle of water from the food and drink pile and necked half of it, wiping the black lipstick off the top so it left a black circle on the bottom of her hand.

Leaning over, she kissed Lavender on the forehead, leaving her lips and face there for a moment. “Then, I like to think we have guardian angels, karma, fortune, whatever you want to call it somewhere.” Arin said doubling the kiss then adding, “Only you have an extra one now, one who is an excellent cook, free maintenance checks, loyal, though she can’t bloody sing a note.” Taking a sip of a newly opened soda, Arin added “Though I heard she can be a bit selective, in who she lets into her inner circle.”

Lavender smirked. “Well we wouldn’t want just any old riff-raff in there now would we…? I Don’t hold with Guardian Angels though.” Lavender looked past Arin to the saturated dancing images on the screen outside. “Everything good in my life I made for myself. I got myself off M’talas Prime. I got myself to Earth. I managed to get into Residential, School, Starfleet Medical. I worked my ass off to be shit hot. I chose a Trauma speciality because I saw the writing on the wall when all that shit kicked off in the Bajoran sector. Pretty sick gamble but it worked. Four years out of the Academy and I’m a two-and-a-half-ringer and C.M.O. of a Nebula. That was me. I learned when I was a kid ain’t nobody looking out for me. Well, ’til now.”

Lavender sighed and looked back at Arin.

“Sorry. Claws in.”

“Clearly, this was a bad idea,” Arin said with finality as her face dropped. She hadn’t moved her arm back but thought about it. Instead, she watched the movie. 

“No, it wasn’t,” Lavender replied, looking at Arin pointedly. “But if you want me to be someone I’m not just to help the mood then I’ll call the arch right now.” Lavender sighed. “Computer, freeze programme.” The movie and all of the people and families around them became statues. The wind stopped moving the trees which froze mid-buffet. From the myriad sounds about them there was total silence. Lavender lifted her legs and swivelled on her rear so she was facing Arin, her knees bent and legs together by her side so she was half sitting, half leaning on the side of the car, her right arm running along the waistline of the vehicle.

“Okay. I’m twenty nine, I can do this like an adult,” she said, her expression serious but free of any other negative emotions. “I’m here to learn what makes up Arin Jones. Seems to me you really want to take care of me, so irrespective of how badly I’m dealing with that, why is that? What is it about you that really makes you want to look after me? No judgment, no accusations, just talk to me. Help me understand.”

Arin took a breath and paused as much for effect as for her thinking processes. “As a shuttle pilot, like you as a trauma surgeon, I get to see the gruesome side of life far too often. At first, I just wanted to ensure you were okay after flying back from the prison. The whole ‘Mercy’ thing.”

Lavender nodded with comprehension. That’s where the name came from. Arin continued.

“The longer I stayed, the more interesting you became. Kindred spirits in some respects. I saw myself in you. Back then, it was all I could sometimes do to get from one day to the next. So I may not get the particulars, but I know pain when I see it. My intention was not to smother or mother you. Perhaps I overdid that. I’m sorry.”

Then she added, but beyond that. “I fecking like you, you giant pain in my ass. Freaking cool make-up, a brain that can match me barb for barb, and….easy on the eyes.” Arin said trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe my type of support needs to change. I just wanted us to have a good time today. Watch people more neurotic than we for a change.”

Lavender snorted.

“Here’s the dirty secret, boo,” she drawled, “doesn’t exist. And the mothering thing is a good call, I’m just not used to it and I’ll push you away. But we can talk about how or why later. Right now I’m gonna wind my fucking neck in and enjoy Arin land. Deal?” Lavender scooped up the thermos of Margheritas and waved it at Arin with a smile. “Oh and I fecking like you too,” she added, aping Arin’s Irish accent.

“We can watch the movie later. Computer. Bahia Honda State Park, and resume” The scene changed to a white sand beach, a soft breeze from the ocean, and water clear enough to see the bottom of the ocean floor. She shed her t-shirt, revealing a yellow and lime green string bikini top. Against her green skin, it left little to the imagination,  Kicking off her sneakers, she wriggled out of her shorts, revealing the matching bikini bottom.”Ta da!” Arin laughed as Lavender’s face lit up.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Nice opening round Jones!” Lavender nodded with an approving grin. The open Margarita thermos was shoved somewhere it would’t fall and Lavender pushed off her seat to sit on the side of the car. “You pack a powerful punch. Good technique. But I think…” she slid the straps off her dress and let them fall down her shoulders, “…round two…” the zip was now within her grasp and she reached around and slid it down, “…will go to me!” Lavender stood and the dress fell revealing her own black Bikini. She sat again to grab the thermos quickly, necked most of what was left and threw it over her shoulder then swiveled her legs off the side of the vehicle. “The Orion can talk the talk but can she swim the swim?” She asked, looking over her shoulder, her features given to pure joyous mischief before she vaulted off the side and sprinted for the sea.

Arin laughed as she chased Lavender to the water, tension from the previous moments evaporated. The sand slightly hot and impeding progress as she chased the dark-haired raven. With great effort Arin managed to reach Lavender’s hand as they touched the ocean at nearly the same time. Spinning her around, they slammed into each other with a slight slap, Arin grinning from ear to ear. “Now whatcha gonna do, Bunkie?” Said teasingly to Lavender, her vision slightly glazing over.

If Lavender’s grin before she ran was mischievous, it was nothing to this one, her lips pursed, eyes narrowed and cheeks high. “Oh a challenge…” Lavender said in a manufactured as-alluring-as-possible manner, sliding her arms around the other women and going in for a kiss before suddenly throwing her entire weight backwards and dragging them both off their feet and under the water.

Riandri sat in the captain’s ready room and held her cup of freshly replicated tea before her, letting the warmth of it warm her hands. “Thanks for the drink, Captain.” 

She took a quick sip before she leaned back into the chair and looked over at Rebecca, “Your message said you had a possible new Head of Security, I thought Milo was going to fill that role for the time being?”

“He is, but he’s my husband… and that opens the door for problems and accusations.” Rebecca set her coffee down and flexed her fingers to release the tension. Standing, she moved to the window, her eyes narrowing as she tried to peer past the station obscuring Vulcan below.

She let out a long sigh, fogging the transparent aluminum barrier between her and the vacuum of space. The stars beyond twinkled with a promise that there would be a tomorrow. Her shoulders sagged as she rested her forehead against the icy surface, feeling the vibrations of the ship’s systems humming through her bones.

“Are you ok Rebecca?” Riandri asked as she stood and made her way to stand beside the captain.

“Yeah. We’re all fine right?”

“I cannot remember the last time we were all fine in fairness,” Riandri said with a shake of her head. “This damn war is putting an impossible strain on us all.”

“I had read somewhere that soldiers in the old US Army would often remark that ‘fine’ was a very flexible definition,” Rebecca said in a dry tone.

Riandri snorted, “I think that flexible definition worked everywhere in fairness.” As she said it, her tiredness could be heard in her words.

The door chimed and Riandri turned her head slightly towards it, “Shall we?”

Rebecca lifted her head from the window, the glass leaving a ghost of a chill on her skin. She turned, stood ramrod straight, and clasped her hands behind her. “Enter.”

Upon hearing the reply, Gus walked through the doors as they swished open. Large padd in hand, and tactical uniform, he stopped in front of the desk. “You wanted to see me, Captain?” Gus offered. 

“Lieutenant,” Rebecca greeted.  “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Gus turned taking a nearby chair opposite the desk. Once seated, Gus offered, “What can I assist you and Commander Nalam with today?”

“How are you settling in as the assistant chief of security?”  Rebecca slid into her seat with no hint of her earlier turmoil and fatigue. “

“Tolerably well, Captain. The transition hasn’t been as smooth as I had hoped. However, the roles aren’t completely alien to each other. Security of the ship is the same luckily in both jobs, just added administrative duties and personnel shifts so far Captain.” Gus replied.

Riandri smiled at his response, “I am glad to hear that Lieutenant.” 

Gus nodded in appreciation. 

The door swished open without a chime and Milo stepped and glanced around, “Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.”

“It’s alright Commander,” Rebecca said making sure he knew that this was an official meeting but simply addressing him as his rank.

The corner of Milo’s lip curled upward partially concealed behind his walrus of a mustache.  He sat next to Gus and gave him a polite nod.

Returning the nod, Gus said “Commander Talon, I am glad you made it back. Hopefully, my sword came in handy during your recent adventure on Betazed.” 

“Tried not to get too close and personal,” Milo remarked, but yeah, I used it once or twice. I’d return it,  but the Jem’hadar seized it when I was captured, and when we escaped I wasn’t looking to recover lost property.”

“Ah. The trade was worth it.” Gus offered genuinely.

“Lieutenant, we have reviewed your performance running security and the XO and I have agreed that in light of Starfleet having no one else available to take over the Chief of Tactical and Security we would like to work you into taking on that role.  Commander Talon will hold the position while he gets you prepared to take over.”

“Quite acceptable. Something I wondered if Starfleet would see, in their infinite wisdom, of course.” Gus offered, completely deadpan, though it wasn’t meant that way. Then Gus couldn’t resist a small but wry smile. “Thank you, all, for the confidence in my abilities. So….no changes?” He added, that smile small but back. 

“Commander Jeter has been doing the duty rosters for you and T’Val. I want you to take that over,” Milo said.  “Chief positions are less about doing the work, and more about all the paperwork and delegation of tasks. You came in from the enlisted ranks. Your crews will respect you by default, and I know it will be hard for you not to want to jump right in the middle, but you have to resist the urge to do your crews work for them. They have their jobs, and you will have yours.”

Gus nodded in agreement, “Understood Captain.” He paused, then added. “Unforeseen circumstances aside, this should be a smooth transition as I was Master Chief.” Gus reminded her. Their old friend Micah popped into his head. Mimicking Micah’s tone he said, “This is far from my first rodeo.” 

Rebecca nodded and turned to Riandri,  “You have anything you want to add?”

Riandri shook her head, “Not much. I just wanted to say that you have Commander Talon and Commander Jeter who can provide support as needed. Additionally, if anything comes up my door is always open. As you know they are a good team but there are always challenges with any team.”

“Thank you, Commander, I will keep that in mind.”

“Very well. You are all dismissed.  We got work to do,” Rebecca announced. 

Gus got up and walked out the door, heading for his office.

Riandri turned to Rebecca, “I think that went well. He could be a good fit.”

Rebecca nodded,  “I hope so.”

Jeters stood in the strategic operations office and looked over the large holographic display of the system before him. As he did he made notes on his PADD while he thought through various possible simulations he could run for the crew. He stepped forward, about to start programming the first simulation, a surprise attack from behind one of Vulcan’s moons on the Denver, when he heard the door open behind him.

Commander Talon entered, tugging at his collar. After months out of uniform, the infernal thing still felt like it was strangling him. With a wry smile, Milo greeted Jeters, momentarily distracted from his discomfort. “Commander.”

“Milo,” Jeter said with a slightly distance expression as his attention stayed on the display before him. “The Captain mentioned you would be acting Security Chief for the time being.” He turned and faced Milo, the slight shock of seeing him in a Starfleet uniform showed on his face for a moment, “Hm, not sure why but wasn’t expecting you to be in uniform; though it makes sense. How’s it feel?”

Milo smoothed his mustache, dropped into a seat across from Jeter, and crossed his legs. “When I was on duty I always wore a uniform, but I admit it is my least favorite part of the job.  And yes, Becca asked me to fill in and train up Collins’ replacement temporarily, and since my last post is currently in Dominion hands, so I guess I’m available.”

Jeter nodded at that, “Yeah, still cannot believe what happened there.” He turned to look back at the display as he continued, “I am glad you were able to make it out and join us we could always use the help.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the new crew,” Milo remarked with a smirk.

“With everything happening I want to increase the number of drills that are underway. I have some ideas but would really use your take on it.” Jeter said as he started to pull up files on several possible drills.

“Sure, I can do that.” Milo shrugged and leaned forward resting his arms on his crossed legs. 

“Perfect,” Jeter said with a smile. He opened the first file and passed it over on the display so Milo could see. “To start I want to run some readiness drills starting at random times throughout the day to test each shift’s readiness. From there, I want to test the bridge crew in several combat situations including acting as the flagship,” he said as he gestured at several over files.

“Flagship?” Milo raised an eyebrow in an almost perfect imitation of a Vulcan.

Jeter shrugged at that, “We are already going to be the squadron lead, if things go sideways I want the bridge crew to also be ready if we find ourselves in a position where we need to lead all three squadrons.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at the map of the Vulcan system before them, “Best to be prepared I figure.”

Milo picked up a PADD on the desk, noted that it was empty, and made notes.  He sat silently for a long moment, tapping the PADD’s edge on his knee.  At last, he spoke, “You know what this means right?” Milo studied Jeter’s expression and shrugged.  “One: we are invading Dominion space. Or two: Starfleet is afraid the Dominion plans to attack here.”

A grin flashed across Jeter’s face at the remark, “I hope it is the former but with our luck, it will be the latter. The Dominion have been quiet lately but I expect they are making plans. Given the cryptic message from Commander Nalam, I think we might be expecting visitors here sooner rather than later.” He paused for a moment, “Not that she actually said anything but that is what I read between the lines anyways. Hopefully, I am wrong.”

“You aren’t,” Milo replied flatly.  “I knew something was up, but now that we’re here talking about battle drills.” He sighed.  “Well, we best get on them wouldn’t you say?”

“I didn’t think I was, sadly,” Jeter said solemnly. “I agree, though, we’d best get started. Shall I run through drills with the bridge crews to start and you work with security on boarding actions?”

Milo scrolled through the PADD.  “I’ll run Alpha and Charlie shifts and leave drills for Bravo up to Lt. Viat.”

“Perfect, let’s get those started in the next 72 hours and see how it goes, I’ll leave the details up to you,” Jeter said as he entered a few details into his PADD. “Once complete we will need a full report to the Captain and XO.”

“We should have shipwide battle drills, possibly with other ships here at Vulcan as well.  I am confident Security and Tactical will be up to the task, but everyone else should also be up to speed as well.  Also ship to ship formation tactics is a perishable skill.” 

Jeter nodded, “I completely agree, it’s a skill set that the fleet let slip for too long. Let’s get these booked in on the Denver and have the Captin and reach XO out to the other ships so we can start running drills with them.”

Milo closed the screen of the PADD and smoothed his mustache and let out a long sigh. “I hate this. I look forward to the day the Dominion is gone and I can go back to my ranch on Terra Alpha.  Becca… this is where she belongs.  In the center seat of a starship. That’s where she’s the happiest.  As for me, I just need a horse between my knees and wide open spaces.”

Jeter nodded slowly in understanding, “I think we all feel that way to some degree. Not so much the ranch for me, I was born in space and will die in space. It’s my home but this war has taken a toll on everyone and everything. The sooner we end this the better.” With that, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “The crew won’t like these drills but with luck, they will save our lives.”

“They can deal with it,” Milo said with  touch of gravel in his voice.  “It’s Starfleet,  not shore leave.” Milo stood and sighed. “Anything else Commander?”

“Nothing for now,” Jeter said.  

“If you need anything you know where to find me. Until then… the captain and I are going to spend some quality time together.” He smirked at his joke and walked out of the office. 

“Ah, well you two deserve it,” Jeter said with a smirk.

Ensign Aoife  McKenzie leaned over the master situation “pool table”.  She still wasn’t one hundred percent after being shot on Lupheria, and she tired quickly. Sighing, she dropped onto one of the stools and started entering commands as red, orange, and yellow dots began to populate all over the diagram of the ship.  There was always more work to do.  Job security,  she reminded herself.  But, in reality, at this point, she does with a little less of that.

Imal had yet to meet the CO, she wanted to take a tour of the area where she was working. She had been on the ground for what seemed like for years, when in reality it was only months. Guerilla warfare takes its toll on the best officers. Behind her she heard a console explode. She jumped, and immediately drew her phaser. 

“Sorry…” she said, holstering her phaser, ashamed that she was so frayed from the Houdini mines. 

“Bloody hell!” Aoife exclaimed as she grabbed a plasma extinguisher from under the console. “Jackson, lock down those EPS relays!”

A young crewman sprinted across engineering and swung onto the ladder and scrambled up to the next level.  Aoife brushed past a strange Lieutenant and ran to shattered bulkhead the burning plasma conduit bright in hues of white and blue.  She pressed the trigger on the extinguisher and in a cloud of white she discharged the contents as Jackson had cut off the supply of plasma leaving a black burned hole of melted metal and plastics.

Aoife turned to the stranger, looking pale with pain etched across her furrowed brows.  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.  I know Sector Command wants that engineering report, but there’s not enough of me to go around.”

“Than Sector Command is going to have to wait, the welfare of the crew comes first, let me introduce myself, I am Lt. Imal, but you can call me Dia, what are we working with here?” Dia asked. Trying to alleviate the stress of the Ensign before her. “In other words, what can I do to help?”

As her words stopped there was another spark, the Lieutenant held up her finger, and used her foot and kicked the computer, it stopped causing a ruckus. Pressed a few buttons and it still worked. 

“I’m Ensign Mckenzie, acting chief engineer. Now, Lieutenant Dia,” she said, too tired to stand on courtesy, “you’ve said who you are, but not why you are here?”

‘Why am I here?’ she thought to herself, “I am the new Chief Engineer, so tell me, what do you want me to take over, Ensign Mckenzie? Perhaps better asking, what is the status report here?”

This was Dia’s first command on a Starship, this was nothing like being in the trenches, she was ran ragged down on Betazed, shuttled between camps and troops. She was tired and wished this war was over. She went to reach for her earring that dangled around her neck but stopped herself. It was a habit that she had picked up while on Betazed. 

Aoife looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She wanted to break down and cry. Ever since the departure of the old Chief Engineer, she had been running engineering, and she was drowning. 

“Ma’am… you are the life raft I’ve been praying for.  We lost most of the engineering crew at Tyra when a coolant tank burst. That’s when I got the battlefield commission.  You are looking at the sole officer in the engineering department, and I only have two years at the Academy and eight months in the fleet. What do I want you to take over? Everything.”  She picked up a PADD, downloaded the department’s roster, duty tasks, and system summary, and handed it to Dia.

Aoife stared down at the screen in front of her, gripping the console’s edge until her knuckles went white.  “Are you sure you want this assignment, ma’am?  This ship is cursed. Lt. Jackson and Ensign Selor were killed over there when that console exploded.  Lieutenants Harper and Rosecrans were killed with Captain Fitzpatrick when deck five exploded. Ensign Davies was leading damage control on deck 23 when a Cardassian phaser ripped open the hull. And, of course, all of our senior chiefs and the rest of the officers…” She hesitated and let out a ragged breath. “They were… their organic components were just gone…  I didn’t get this stupid pip,” her voice had shifted from sad reflection to bitterness and resentment, “I didn’t get this pip because I earned it. I didn’t do something great.  I was the highest-ranking survivor other than Commander Berkley, who was in deflector control. Hell, even the XO came out of the intelligence department, and she’s still leading it. It’s a bloody catastrophe around here.”

“Ensign Mckenzie, everyone on this ship deserves medals of honour in my opinion. As this war wages we have been taught one thing, we each have our journeys. You finish the report for the brass, I’ll tend to the rest of the list.” She looked around, “Guess I’m borrowing from Operations and their home departments for their own repairs. First things first, I am going to inspect the engines, and make sure they are not damaged in anyway, than we will go for a drink. Deal?”

Aoife sighed, looking a bit ashamed. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.  I don’t know where that came from. Not very professional of me, I know.” Aoife shrugged and looked away.  “For the first time in almost a year, Starfleet has sent me help. Real help. Not the raw recruits right out of basic training and pressed into the service. It takes over a month to get them up to speed, which takes time and energy, which I don’t have.  And you want to know the kicker? I get them trained up and going, and they bloody get themselves killed. Yeah, I’ll do the report. My condolences on your promotion to Chief Engineer.”

She snickered, “It is okay, I want to make sure that we have the type of working relationship that you can come to me for anything.” She said working on the console opposite the Assistant Chief Engineer, “Just remember you are not alone anymore, and I am not going anywhere. I have been through the worst the past little bit in the trenches. I understand the loss too.”

She hadn’t really had the time to mourn the loss of the comrades she had loss on the planet, but there wasn’t time… “After….”

She was interrupted by a Petty Officer with a padd, “Looks like the Secondary Containment fields had problems in the last test, I am going to check it out.” She didn’t want to walk away from the conversation but she really wanted to make sure the secondary systems were up to par before being caught with their pants down. 

“The  compression coil needs replaced,  unfortunately those are harder to find than Chief Engineers apparently.   I have been rebuilding it for the last six months,  but it really needs replacing.” She gathered up her PADDs. “Go take care of it.  If you’ll permit it I would like to use your office one last time.”

“Alright, we will find one I am sure of it. Go ahead.” she said. 

Aofie entered the office and sighed letting her shoulders slump as the scents of stale coffee and lubricants assailed her nostrils. The desk was covered in discarded PADDs and littered with a dozen empty coffee mugs… No, that one was from this morning.  I never finished it, she told herself.

The floor was littered with broken components in various stages of repair or salvaging sitting directly on the carpet staining it with various liquids and filth. Empty shipping containers for new parts were haphazardly piled along the far wall the packing peanuts littering the floor like white balls of leaves in fall.

Aloud she spoke,  defeat in her tone, “Mckenzie what have you done?”

Ensign Elana Thompson preferred the honorific “Doctor” Thompson over her rank. Not that anyone on the Denver cared go ask.  She was just a teal uniform on ship that never did any science things. As such she never got to flex her microbiology PhD from John’s Hopkins University, but perhaps that was for the best.  Being forgotten meant you also didn’t have to do things that she was uncomfortable with… like shooting Jem’Hadar. 

She sat back from the microscope and frowned before entering information into a PADD.  Adjusting the resolution on the microscope on the key pad next her she leaned forward and peered in again.  “Computer, increase theta radiation dose by 10… no make that 15 percent.” The computer beeped and there was a zapping sound followed by a “hmm” from Elana.

Farl had entered the biology lab 5 minutes ago, and apparently gone unnoticed. He was here to check in on his latest transfer. Technically, his first new officer on the Denver. He had walked over to the workbench, trying to shuffle his feet so as not to startle the Ensign, but she was clearly engrossed in whatever was under the microscope. Farl looked at the terminal display, saw nothing he recognized other than radiation, and cleared his throat politely.

“Good afternoon Ensign.”

Elana looked him her brow furrowed in confusion.  The intruder in the lab was the first sentient lifeform she had seen since entering.  She glanced at the microscope one last time and finally gave into military decorum and stood to greet the senior officer.   “Commander.”

“I am Lieutenant Commander Ferrus. If we aren’t on duty, or in the thick of it, you may call me Farl. Are you all settled in onboard, or did you skip straight to research?” Farl smiled. He recalled his first assignment. He hadn’t unpacked his bags for a week, living out of his footlocker in order to maximize his time in the astrometrics lab.

“Doc… uh Ensign Elana Thompson sir.”

Farl adopted a relaxed stance in what he hoped was a signal for the Ensign to do the same. “Look, I’ll be straight with you. I just came from the Academy too; just on the teaching side, obviously. Protocol and proper military conduct are enforced there, for good reason. And while I’m not suggesting we completely throw protocol out the window, I’m fine with slightly relaxed communication within my department. You’ll have to get a feel for the rest of the crew though, I’m doing the same.” Farl remembered how he’d already been addressed by his first name while on bridge duty. “You can call me commander if it makes you more comfortable, but I’m also fine with Farl. How should I address you?”

Elana relaxed, “Everyone that knows me calls me Lana.”

“Works for me,” Farl nodded. “Care to fill me in on what you’re working on? I probably can’t help you, looks outside my wheelhouse, but I like to keep abreast on my team’s projects. Also, at the very least, I can probably get you additional resources you might need.”

She shrugged,  “It’s nothing too exciting.   I found this bacteria in isolation.” She picked up a PADD and handed it to Farl.  “It seems the ship’s doctor found it on a bullet she extracted from one of the engineers.  Somehow it survived the transporter biofilters. I wanted to see what else it could survive.  It might give me an idea of its life cycle and thus potential threat. We don’t need a transporter resistant version of the black plague spreading throughout the ship do we?”

Farl grinned. “I can’t think of a good use for that, no.” He looked over the data on the PADD quickly. “I assume we’ve had the ship scan for more of this bacteria?” 

“It was limited to the bullet and transferred to our engineer’s wound.  I hadn’t bothered to check the medical team’s work.”

“Sounds good. Please forward your results to Commander Haigh when you have finished. Also, again, if you need anything, let me know. Welcome aboard, Lana. See you at the next department meeting.”

Elana raised an eyebrow and shrugged before sitting down behind the microscope again.  “Sure.  I’ll have the bacteria’s DNA sequenced within the hour. That will make the ship’s internal sensors more accurate  in locating the pathogen.” She looked up and turned to Farl,  “When I went to the Academy I got a degree in Xeno-anthropology.  Not my strongest subject I admit, but it was fun.”

Farl turned back towards the microbiologist. “…That sounds awful to me, ha, but I’m glad you enjoy it.” Farl chuckled to show he wasn’t trying to yuck her yum. “Team diversity is good. I kind of avoided studying anything to do with life forms… I’m very much a ‘space and energy’ scientist. But part of why I transferred here was to see if I could apply my work towards helping the war effort. Preserve our way of life, save lives, that sort of thing. Sounds cheesy saying it out loud, but I just felt like I was sitting on the sidelines at the Academy.” Farl shuffled his feet a bit, feeling awkward after that. “Well… ” His voice trailed off, and Farl turned for the door.

“Until next time,” she finished and turned her attention back to her microscope trusting Farl could find his way out of the lab.

Tag if you want

Waking up early, Arin made a cup of coffee after Lavender had taken an emergency call. Leave was planned, but sometimes things happen that throw all that out the window. They both understood whether it was a medical emergency or something that required the finesse of a skilled helm officer.

Beaming down to the planet, she had a couple of hours to kill before Lavender would catch up. Walking around the area near the Earth embassy on Vulcan, she headed toward Starfleet Academy’s flight training branch. She hadn’t had any dogfight practice in far too long.

Many of the fighter pilots were naturally aggressive in the cockpit. They soon learned her nickname “mercy” meant asking for is when she was in attack mode.

Hotel Room 0730
ShiKahr Central District

He opened his eyes, his information source lay beside him in what met a twist of bedsheets and legs. “Leaving so soon Nico?” asked Tomaz, Nico’s information broker for the Alpha Quadrant.

“One’s gotta do what one gotta do. I mean, after all, that’s the name of the game Tomaz.” he smiled the only way he could at Tomaz. He tried not to develop feelings for Tomaz, but that was hard to do, his olive skin and brown eyes sucked him in.

“Is that all I am to you, a ‘job’?” Tomaz got out of bed to find his clothes.

“Of course not!” Nico walked over grabbed his face and gave him a deep kiss, “I just have to get to Starfleet Central here, the Denver is arriving.”

“I love it when you get all fleeter.” Tomaz smiled.

“K… bye!” Nico called out rushing out the door.

USS Denver

Riandri sat in the crew lounge and slowly nursed her morning coffee after yet another night of very little sleep where she spent too many hours running through various intelligence reports that SFI kept sending through. At least she thought she had been able to order Ensign Hsera to bed at a half-way decent hour otherwise the Caitian would likely be in the same state.

Slowly taking a sip of the coffee she watched several other ships slowly orbit the planet of Vulcan below before turning slightly to look over the lounge. She knew pretty much everyone there and exchanged a silent nod with Commander Robert Jeter while he grabbed his morning coffee (see assumed) though he rarely slept so could have been anything. She pulled out her PADD and quickly looked through her schedule for the day and smiled quickly at the first entry:

08:00 – Crew Transfer: Intelligence Officer – Ensign Nico Kalogeropoulos

“That should hopefully help things along,” she said out loud before she finished the drink. With a quick look at the time her smile widened. As she scanned through the rest of the day her combadge chimed.

“Commander Nalam, we have been contacted by Starfleet’s Vulcan HQ. An Ensgin Kalogeropoulos is ready for transport. There was a note saying you wanted to be present.”

“Thank you, I am on my way.” Riandri stood up and quickly straightened her uniform. Though she didn’t bother adjusting the messy ponytail her hair was in, “Time to go Ri..”

Five minutes later she found herself standing in the main transporter room, with a look at the crewmen meaning the console she said, “Energize.”

08:00
ShiKahr
Transporter Hub
Having enough time to grab an Iced Macchiato on the way, he stepped onto the Transporter Padd. “USS Denver.”

“Awaiting Orders Ensign.” said the crewman manning the station.

He stood there at attention, not sure what the protocol was, but his nerves were getting the better of him. They knew I was coming right?

“Everything okay over there?” Ensign Kalogeropoulos asked.

“Yes Sir, I am sorry, beaming you up now.” the crewman said.

As the blue beams surrounded the man, he blinked and clinched, he hated the transporter, and he opened his eyes, he was standing in what he assumed was the Denver’s Transporter room. Stepping off the pad he made his way to the woman standing there, as he handed her the PADD with his orders, his bag lurched forward and his Macchiato spilt on her.

“I am so sorry Ma’am,” Nico said.

Riandri started to welcome Ensign Kalogeropoulos onward the cold coffee of the Iced Macchiato caused her to inhale sharply, “Wel..ahh!” She stepped back on reflex and brushed at her top. She cursed inwardly but was thankful that the uniform fabric was water-resistant.

She looked back up at Ensign Kalogeropoulos and smiled, though her voice was stiff, “It is fine Ensign. Accidents happen.” She looked down at her top and then back at the new ensign, “Welcome aboard the Denver, I am Commander Riandri Nalam. The XO and Chief Intelligence Officer, as such I wanted to be the first to welcome you to the ship.”

He was really looking forward to drinking his Macchiato as it was something that he very seldom was able to drink. Wait… XO… CIO… DAMNIT.

“First impressions gotta love them. I am glad that our uniforms are waterproof,” he said handing the empty cup to a crewman with his personal belongings. “I am glad that I was able to meet you, I picked up some information during my stay on Vulcan, about Dominion Activity. I would like a chance to casually talk about it.”

He wasn’t sure of the protocol or if they knew that they were amassing massive amounts of materials to continue building the oversized Capital Ship. So far, according to Tomas, they had enough for four of them…

Riandro cocked her head to the side and took in the Ensign before her. Most would be mortified after what just happened but he seemed to be very nonchalant about it. “Right down to business, I see. Well first, though they are waterproof I need to go change. The crewman here will see you to your bunk. Met me in the Intelligence office in thirty minutes. I expect a full run down on this information you have uncovered.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Nico acknowledged.

He was nervous and when nervous he talked about something that was on his mind. This was… He followed the Crewman to the bunk that he was assigned. He jumped up onto the top bunk and put a pillow over his head to muffle to scream.

“OH MY GOD!” he let out a scream or two. He made a complete fool of himself with the XO and CIO. What was he going to do next? Offer irrelevant information? He was worried. He let out a loud sigh and looked at the Chronometer.

Walking towards the turbolift, he called out for the intel suite. “Deck 8…”

Intelligence Office

Riandri stepped into her office after quickly swinging by her quarters to grab a new top. As she did she let out a slow exhale and looked around, “Computer, one Raktajino.”

She picked up the drink and look a slow slip before she sat down and opened her console. Moments after she opened the latest status report the door chimed, “Enter.”

Being new to the ship, he was not sure how formal the XO was, but he made sure to stand at attention when he arrived. He was sure his decorum would make up for the Macchiato. “Hello.” he paused, waiting for instruction.

“Grab a set Ensign,” Riandri said with a nod towards the chair across her desk. “Oh, and grab a drink if you want one.”

Making his way to the replicator, he ordered his steeped tea and sat down in front of her. He paused for a moment, and presented her with a PADD of information, in it, contained information about the additional battleships being constructed at various shipyards in Cardassian and Breen Space.

“I forgot I had placed it all in a report prior to this Ma’am. here you are.” he offered.

Riandri nodded and took the PADD without a word and quickly scanned through the report. After a few moments, she looked up. “Well, you do like making an entrance Ensign and bringing gifts to boot. I will pass this report on now. As you know there is a good chance SFI has already come across this information to some degree or another. I am not surprised to see that they are stock-pilling materials but the fact your contact had locations is something for sure. At the very least it will further confirm the data SFI already has, but it could itself be actionable. Good work.”

She leaned back in her chair and took a long sip of her Raktajino, “So, let me welcome you again to the Denver. With anyone in my department I like to get to know them a bit, the stuff not on the record. Tell me a bit about yourself. You clearly have a knack for courier work, I guess my question is, why the Denver?”

That was the question of the hour, why the Denver, he was selected out of all the Candidates… “I am not sure M’am. I rather enjoy the challenge and well, I feel this was the best place with my knowledge and experience,” he said.

He took a swig from his Macchiato.

Riandri nodded in understanding. “I am glad to hear that. We can definitely put you to use here. You have the day to get yourself acclimated to the ship and your first shift starts at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Report to Ensign Hsera when you get here and she will show you the ropes. Dismissed Ensign.”

A few days had passed since their trip to ‘Arin Land’, the holodeck program that Arin Jones had created to fly, drive and generally enjoy herself with hobbies varied and interesting. Lavender had spent some time after the visit wrangling with the thought that it would be cool to do something similar, and yet she didn’t have a similar program, in fact other than some work related things, holo-encyclopedias, simulations for practicing medical skills and the like, Lavender only had one complex programme. It was time Arin saw it. The pair had arranged to meet after their shift, after some food. Lavender sent a text note to Arin saying she had the holodeck booked and sent her some pictures and ideas of what to wear to fit in where they were going. Something cool, but practical. She didn’t tell Arin what the pictures were. They were of M’talan gang members. Lavender gave only one other instruction: ‘wear quiet shoes’.

Lavender’s long hair about her shoulders whipped from side to side as she peered both ways down the corridor waiting for her girlfriend to arrive. She sported a long sleeve black dress, the arms, shoulders and neck line of which were all a sort of black lace-like weave, connecting into a solid black main body in a straight line just above her bust and descending to a flippy a-line skirt that went half-way down her thigh. With it, flat-soled leather knee-highs, and some sort of fake leather jacket with a hood. Again, her makeup and jewelry were gothic, intricate, and individual.

It took a bit of time for Arin to pick out what she wanted to wear. Finally, she hit on the combination. Color-matched camel-toned jeans, tan combat boots, a white tight t-shirt, and a sports bra. White pearl earrings, red lipstick, eyeliner, and she was ready to go grabbing a color-matched sherpa-lined jeans jacket.

Tying her past-shoulder-length hair back in a red ponytailer, she walked off the turbo-lift and around the corner. You wouldn’t need to be an empath to see there was some agitation as she watched Lavender fidget slightly, then relax as she saw Arin walk up. “My fault. I had trouble getting this right. Was I worth the wait?” Arin said, as gave Lavender a quick hug and kiss. Lavender returned them and nodded. She seemed troubled.

“Always. A refined more higher end version perhaps, but you could pass for all number of things, a gang boss perhaps. Or a wealthy off-worlder.” She continued after a short pause, staring slightly unfocussed at the lapel of Arin’s jacket, choosing her words.

“I don’t really have fun programmes. I have work ones… and these. It isn’t going to be a laugh riot,” she explained looking up into Arin’s amber eyes. “But I think it’s important I show them to you.”

“Of course, Love. If it is important to you, then yes. Absolutely.” Arin said, gazing back at Lavender’s now purple eyes. Contacts. but it did enhance her nonetheless.

“Come on.”

Lavender waved Arin forward and they entered the holodeck.

Slightly unexpectedly perhaps the room was almost completely empty, the familiar yellow holomatrix grid spanning every surface. Standing in the middle of the empty-holodeck was a static, unmoving woman. She looked a lot like Lavender, but was taller, fuller of build, with darker skin and brown eyes. Her clothes were plain and somewhat less stylised than Lavender’s, simple trousers, bare feet and a v-neck tee in a faded red tone. Her dark hair was full and wavy. Around her neck was a simple silver chain with a small teardrop pendant crafted from some purple gem or stone. If Arin was observant she might realise she had seen the pendant before.

“Arin, this is Sofia Agnelia Garcia Reyes De la Mora. Mom, Arin.” Lavender walked up to the static woman and regarded her for a moment before looking back towards Arin. “She doesn’t have a personality matrix, I don’t remember enough to make it accurate and I’ll burn in the fire of a hundred stars before some computer algorithm starts guessing shit about my Mom.

Knowing it would be important when she heard Mom, Arin lightly curtsied and said “Wonderful to meet you, Sofia.” Her brow wrinkled and the elevens showed up on Arin’s forehead. “Where have I seen…that photo cube in your quarters.”

She walked around assessing Sofia for a second. “So that’s where the hotness comes from.” Arin offered genuinely.

Lavender smiled the smile of a child, watching Arin.

“Yeah, that’s right. When I left M’talas I had the clothes on my body, a makeup bag, my papers, and that holo image. She’s beautiful isn’t she? She’s twenty-nine there, the same age as when she died. The same age as I am now. Bet you wouldn’t have guessed I’m a quarter Mexican. Mom was half American and half Mexican, and Dad half English and half Bulgarian. That plus the melting pot of M’talas is where my weird accent comes from.” Lavender took her in for a moment.

“Sometimes I come here just to be with her. I miss her so much. I spend time sometimes wondering how she would be now if she’d managed to escape from Dad.” Lavender took a deep breath and her lower lip trembled slightly, as if she were thinking something but not saying it. Lavender and her mother stared at one another head-on, one very much alive, the other the only holo-image of a woman many years passed.

“My middle name is Sofia,” Lavender went on, steeling herself. “I was supposed to be Lavender Sofia Haigh Garcia de la Mora, but Dad wouldn’t have it. I should change it, it’s what Mom would have wanted, but I didn’t when I first came to the Federation, it would have made things more complicated and I just wanted to accept my citizenship and move on.”

Trying to elicit the response Lavender wanted Arin asked, “Do you want to change your name?” Then paused waiting for a response, when her brain blurted out, “Hmmm….Arin Haigh Garcia de la Mora.” She said adding a cheese-eating smirk, knowing it would bug Lavender, but hoping to break the tension.

“Seriously, if that is something you want and it’s irritating you, make a few changes. Reinvent yourself a bit.” Arin said, changing her tone “From what you’ve already told me, it’s something you should consider.”

“Heh, bullshit. It’s Lavender Jones or ye can get te feck, Lavender countered in Arin’s Irish accent. She continued normally, still staring at the visage of her mother.

“I could. Although if I wrote out darling father it’d be Lavender Sofia Garcia Reyes de la Mora. Just as if he didn’t exist. But that’s besides the point. Say goodbye to mom, we have a journey to take. Computer, end programme and load programme Lavender Haigh two, latest version.”

Sofia disappeared and the uniform yellow grid melted into a vibrant city street. It was dark, that is to say, it was night time, yet darkness never truly fell. The many lights that made up district six of M’talas Prime saw to that, lighting up the clouds in oranges, purples, pinks and greens. Arin and Lavender stood on a pedestrianised thoroughfare lined with darkened but well kept buildings. A few people made their way along the rows, dwarfed by the buildings alongside which were a minimum of four storeys but most quite a few more. For all its splendour the street gave a vibe of iniquity and filth. The glass fronts of some of the more extravagant erections were spotlessly clean and shone the reflections of the hundreds of light sources around them and yet something felt dirty about the whole situation. Perhaps it was the way the inhabitants shuffled quickly about their business, heads down, eyes elsewhere, perhaps the splendor of construction was cheapened by the gaudy neons and discarded refuse that littered the paving, perhaps it was the dubious fashions of passers by that were modern and stylish yet smacked of greed and corporate servitude. The atmosphere was warm and sweet like a soda pop designed to hook the drinker into a lifetime of sugar addiction for profit with no scruples of the human cost.

“Welcome to M’talas Prime!” Lavender said with faux sickly enthusiasm and hopped up idly onto the rim of a planter containing the galaxy’s sturdiest plants (they would have to be) and balanced on the edge like a child making a plaything out of whatever was around them.

“Now, you tell me. You said dress cool. I was thinking temperature.” Arin said, chuckling. “I’ve read about this place.” Her anxiety shot up a bit. She didn’t mind being around other people. Other Orions she didn’t know were another matter. “They are only holograms.”  Arin thought to herself. It took her a second to force a genuine smile.

“Computer. Stow the jacket.” Arin said, peeling off the jacket. “Add the following, taser collapsible baton with holster, combat knife, and bomber jacket. Change my appearance. Give me a pixie-cut hairstyle. Don’t forget the cigars this time you glorified toaster.” The scene shifted as the items appeared. Strapping the small baton to her right leg. the knife cross-draw and donned the bomber jacket.

“My people, remember,” Arin said. “Scum of the sector.” Arin said matter of factly. She wasn’t mad. “NOW, I’m ready.”

Lavender stopped her balancing game and rolled her eyes at Arin.

“Okay, cancel Red Alert, Lieutenant, it’s not the whole planet just this one block, and most of the characters aren’t really interactable. Chill.”

“Yeah, I’m the only one with issues in this relationship,” Arin said sarcastically then stuck out her tongue. Making sure to bump her shoulder against Lavender as a love tap. “Lead on MacDuff.” She said, winking at her girlfriend.

Lavender blinked back, the reference entirely lost on her but did as she was told and hopped off the planter and set off down the street.

“Not being part of the Federation getting an accurate recreation of M’talas Prime took some time, especially for someone technologically challenged like your favourite gothic pain in the ass over here,” Lavender explained as they walked. “I didn’t model District Seven, not sure why I would model that shit hole.” After only thirty seconds or so of walking they arrived outside the most prominent and glass-ridden of the large skyscrapers that dominated the area. The frontage was composed of a wall of glass (or more likely transparent aluminium) that was probably thirty feet high and at least eighty across and afforded the passer-by an intimate view of the plushly appointed lobby filled with high end furnishings and perfectly kept flora in expensive looking pots. At the long and imperious reception that spanned much of its width sat three security guards watching a bank of monitors hidden from view by the top of the marble-fronted desk-fortress they held. The rest of the tower was slightly smaller in footprint than this gargantuan entrance and jutted out of the centre in a perfect square that rose hundreds of feet into the smoggy air.

Arin turned to Lavender, sticking out her hand. “Hi. I’m Arin Jones, your techy girlfriend.” She said waiting for the light bulb moment to happen. “All you have to do is ask. We can modify it eight ways to Sunday. Goof.” She bumped her shoulder playfully again adding a wink.

“Heh.” The sound Lavender made was derisive but wasn’t aimed at Arin per se. “Thanks but I don’t want to model anymore of this dump. The main point of the program is over here. You’ll see.”

Arin followed her girlfriend, wondering what was about to be revealed. Hangar Island, what Arin called her program had been an interesting date, this could be an equally enlightening moment. There was still so much to learn about each other.

Lavender set off for an alley between this skyscraper and the one it dwarfed on its right side. Unlike the impressive front facade, this wasn’t all glass, but it wasn’t a seedy back alley either. It was quite wide, perhaps twenty to twenty-five feet, and served more as service access. There were a few items of building infrastructure built into the walls but another entrance to the building soon appeared beyond, much, much smaller than the one they had already seen, a solid transparent sliding security door, ceiling height and about four feet wide flanked by a similar-sized window on each side. Lavender popped her hood up and looked about them furtively checking nobody was around to observe. “Keep your head down, away from the cameras,” she told Arin before walking to the wall next to the door and pressing a particular spot on the wall. A cloaked biometric hand-scanner appeared and Lavender flattened her palm onto it. Oddly enough it accepted her and the door whirred open.

“C’mon, quick,” she said to Arin. “Head down. Stay silent.” Once inside Lavender entered Meerkat mode again, scanning the hallway in front of them. While obviously a service corridor with doors leading from it with an assortment of very dull but essential-sounding labels such as ‘facilities’, and ‘ventilation control’, it was still lavishly appointed. The walls and floors were seemingly finished with the same or very similar stone, a cream marble style, each piece three feet across and perhaps four high. The lights were bright compared to the dull alley they had come in from, recessed somewhere near the ceiling, their white light bouncing everywhere on the polished stone. Lavender moved quickly but suddenly halted, holding her hand up to signal the stop. Everything about her was at full alert.

“Okay,” Arin whispered, flipping the collar up on her bomber jacket. Sticking close to Lavender, she crouched and moved as quietly as she could, mimicking her girlfriend’s path as she would know the dangers far better. She gave Lavender a look with a head tilt and a look of confusion. Frozen in her tracks, Arin’s senses were heightened, similar to those of her partner.

What it was seemed to be a guilty pleasure and Arin was intrigued that she would program something she had to break in to enjoy, but so far, she was interested, that was for sure.

Lavender grabbed Arin and flattened the pair of them into a recessed doorway as a security guard walked past the far end of the corridor.

It was a sudden move that sent Arin’s mind to pause. She held her breath, as much to keep silent as to enjoy the closeness.

When all was safe again Lavender waved her partner forward and the two padded quietly up the corridor. With furtive glances toward the Lobby Lavender shoulder-pushed a large manual door that led into a stairwell. This area wasn’t as nicely appointed in shiny cream marble, instead being mostly concrete and metal. Hardly anyone saw the stairs these days, they were purely for fire codes, everyone used the clutch of Turbo lifts in the lobby instead. As Lavender moved into the space lights under the cold metal railings came on automatically with the motion, bathing the steps that wound both upwards and downwards from their floor.

“Up for a workout?” Lavender asked quietly once the door had closed, putting a foot on the first stair on the ascending case.

“All in girl. You’re my ride or die.” Arin added with a genuine smile.

The two women climbed for a few minutes, storey after storey all melting into one. As they did Lavender explained how she’d gained access to the real version of the building on M’talas Prime some fifteen years before.

“One of our regulars tried to rip us off,” she told Arin in between puffs. “A guy called Stewart, ratty dude but he could talk some talk. I found out and he begged me not to tell the bosses. So I traded silence for this. Access to an eighteen-storey skyscraper. He worked here in some menial tech job, and added my palm-print to security in the name of some ancient shareholder or board member or something who never came here anyway. If anyone asks I’m eighty three and my name is Rufus Lin…”

“Well Rufus, tell me your secret. You don’t look a day over twenty-three. ” Arin quipped and added wink.. “So mystery building. Got it.” Arin let Lavender tell the story in her own way.

“You’ll see why in a minute,” Lavender replied with a smile.

Eventually and after a good few more floors the stairs ended abruptly as if sliced in half by a wall and sat in the middle of that wall, another manual door. Lavender’ thumbprint released the women from the stairwell and another shoulder barge of the heavy door deposited them into the bright night air. Lavender took Arin’s hand and like an excited puppy tugging on a lead dragged her to the edge of the roof space dodging vents and HVAC units until the whole of district six was visible, sprawled out below them like multicoloured fire flies dancing in the glow of a camp fire. The roar of the city was present but muted, far away and unimposing. Shuttles emerged through the swirling clouds a few blocks away landing on pads that encircled a giant tower, the only one thereabouts taller than the one on which the women stood.

She tried to keep up, Lavender insistent and impassioned as she led both of them to the edge. Arin instantly saw the appeal. Mesmerized by the sight, they stood in silence taking in the ambience and moment. “It’s like closing the door on the noise and Christmas all in one.” Arin said looking at the city below and hive of activities muted in sound but not sight.

“This was my only escape,” Lavender explained, looking over the familiar view, the winds aloft blowing her hair like a star in a music video until it changed direction and whipped into her face. “Teej probably would pounded on me if he found out I made this trade rather than ratting on Stewart. But he never did. I needed this. I had no space, little autonomy. Up here I could find some sort of beauty, relief from the constant vigilance, people always watching me. It’s like…” Lavender took a deep breath. “Have you ever been in a place where you’re just surviving, you hate pretty much everything, you hold on to the small good things that you have in a sea of shit and when the sea is gone and you’re on dry land years later… Sometimes the only way you can cope is to be back at sea again? Do you get what I mean?”

“I think I do. No judgment or scrutiny up here. Whether you want to rage against the machine, or decompress after a long day. Almost meditative.”

Arin watched the view the same way Lavender was. Becoming the big spoon, Arin enfolded Lavender in front of her as they enjoyed the moment. “Thank you for sharing this with me.” Arin wrapped her arms around Lavender’s torso, with her head resting against Lavender. The doctor closed her eyes feeling her fake lashes rest on her cheeks and, for a short while existed only in the moment, the feeling of Arin’s arms grounding her, shielding her from letting her mind truly run free to places of trauma that existed behind her eyelids. A change on the wind had her hair whipping against her face again and the moment was broken.

“I’d like to share something with you. Something I don’t really share even with people who know about my childhood. It’s kind of what motivates me, makes me such a workaholic, such a loner.”

Brushing the lock of hair from Lavender’s face, Arin said. “Of course. You always have a safe space in me. Though you might need to keep a shillelagh handy for the rocks in my head.” She added with a gentle smile, looking at her friend and now lover with warmth.

Lavender nodded, steeling herself for what was ahead.

“I know this is fucking intense,” she started. “I know. It’s not fun like Arin land. But shit, if you want the real me, nothing held back, here it is so strap in. I was confused for fucking years, right? On the night my Mom died…. was killed, she kinda provoked him. Dad. It took me a long time to piece together exactly what happened but I remembered after the Manitoba was destroyed and I was trying to unpick that glorious pile of trauma in my head, I remembered somehow that Dad was coming for me. Mom got the brunt of his abuse, but I got some too. Before then I had always been focused on the actual trauma of her dying in my arms and… the events leading up to it were cloudy, but somehow being actually faced with mortality shook a couple of things loose. Don’t ask me how ’cause I don’t fucking know. I remembered that he came home, he was drunk, broke, nothing new there and I already knew that my Mom scolded him which was fucking dangerous and I could never quite work out why. I thought it was poor judgement, I thought somehow despite years of his shit that she had misjudged. But she hadn’t.” Lavender’s lip started to tremble and she turned, breaking Arin’s hold a little to look up at the Orion. Her voice went higher than its normal sultry drawl, it was the sound of pain, of hysteria.

“I remembered that on that night he was coming for me. For some reason he was set on bouncing me off the wall. And Mom gave him something he couldn’t back-down from, she challenged him, she made him sound stupid, he had failed, he had let us down and his ego couldn’t take that and she knew that.” Tears started to run down Lavender’s cheeks, happily free of black due to Lavender’s foresight in using waterproof makeup. “I remember thinking at the time why was she doing this? Why was she provoking him and that surely she knew better. She did! Of course she did! She did it on purpose Arin.” The falling tears turned into a flood and Lavender wiped some from her cheek with irritation.

“She did it on purpose. She was protecting me. I… I don’t think she expected him to take it that far. I’ll never know if she saw something particularly dangerous in him that night or if she was just trying to save me from another beating, save the family from more scrutiny… she was protecting me. She sacrificed herself for me. And all I have of her is this locket and one damned picture!” Lavender buried her head in Arin’s shoulder and started to sob.

Arin held her while she cried, shushing her as she held her tightly. It brought back so many feelings her mother and how her father had protected her. Sympathetic tears fell as the years came rushing back. It wasn’t about her right now though, as she rocked them tightly.

A few minutes later when they had both recovered, Arin lifted Lavender’s face with both hands, looking straight into her eyes. “Yes, she was protecting you. The mysteries are the worst of it I think—the suspecting but not one million percent knowing. ” She paused.

“Well know this Lavender Haigh. I am your protector now.” She said, planting a quick kiss on her nose for effect before adding, “I like knowing I have a kindred spirit in my foxhole as it were. No one will fight harder for you. That, I can promise. Especially since I see the fighter in you. This is something you won’t face alone.” Arin said, her hands still on her face.

Lavender nodded, the waterproof makeup having mitigated some but not all of the onslaught. She opened her mouth to say something a few times but didn’t quite formulate anything for a moment or two.

“I hate what happened to you,” she said. “But, given that it did happen and there’s nothing I can do about that, the fact you understand some of this… It’s sad that there are probably more people out there who are beginning to understand now that we’re at war, it’s not all space phenomena and resupplying colonies anymore in Starfleet, but losing your mum hits different. Especially when you’re a kid. You get it… I… I close my eyes and I don’t know if I’ll see Sofia… (Lavender swallowed) …with her face smashed in… or the Emergency lights of the sickbay on the Manitoba blinking out and I’m trapped, a Jem’hadar locking me in solitary or worse opening to door to give me a beating… or maybe I’ll see my friend Tanya having been stabbed and bleeding out on the floor in our crib… I still see their faces, one, or the other, every time I close my eyes, the Jem’hadar cold and brutal, Tanya, my Mom, the life gone from their face, just staring. Every. Single. Time. That’s why I’m so angry Arin, that’s why I snap. That’s why I hate on the prissy fleet types so much. It’s not fair. I don’t want others to be unhappy but I can’t help hating them for not going through all of this ridiculous shit that I’ve seen, shit they can’t even imagine. They seem so oblivious. You can tell the ones who’ve seen shit, they’re just different, there’s this instant bond, this kind of unspoken understanding that we’re not going to cause each other shit because we know the other has been through it, been through something.”

“Lavender.” Arin said, pausing for effect so she would listen, and looked directly at her. Arin watched the gray flecks in her green eyes. “The difference is when you get to those dark places, I’ll be in your corner to share the pain, wipe the tears, and fight the damned monsters with you.”

Lavender smiled.

“You know when is always, right?” She asked, quietly. There was a new softness about her expression, Arin saw it sometimes when the bravado and the front were forgotten about and Lavender’s walls were down. “Are you okay with that? I won’t blame you if not. And I’m going to try not to take shit out on you I really will. I promise. It’s so hard not to just let it all explode out at someone…”

Arin smirked, “Do you see me running in horror?” Then chuckled. “Damaged goods are how you see yourself. I.  don’t.” Arin said, pausing for effect, and to squeeze her just a bit tighter. “You’re hurt. What my goal is, is to give you love, comfort, support, and friendship.” Arin said, now that all the cards were on the table for both of them.

Arin held her breath without realizing it.

Lavender looked up into the half-Orion’s unique yellow eyes. She felt like with all this exposition and explanation Arin’s response had always been the same, some form or other of ‘I’m here for you and I’m not leaving‘.

“You don’t care why I’m such a dick sometimes, do you. You were all-in at ‘Black lipstick suits you’.” Lavender’s thoughts shifted to sickbay and what Arin had said in her office.

“You really do love me,” she continued with bewildered realisation. It doesn’t matter how much of a handful trauma-riddled pain in the ass I am, does it.”

Arin smiled and chuckled at the lipstick joke finally blowing out her held breath. “It was a bit more than that, but yeah. Came for the beauty, stayed for the attitude. Plus I have to say it’s about time.” She added with a wink. “Yes, Lavender Haigh, I am smitten, gobsmacked, besotted, and a hundred other twisted-up emotions. They all lead back to the inescapable.” Arin paused gathering her thoughts.

“This is not how I wanted to do this by the way. I had plans, dammit.” Arin added, with a smirk “Yes, I love you. It started as a semi-innocent mental wellness check. I wasn’t expecting to find my soulmate.”

“I’m still just surprised you don’t want to blow me out an airlock,” Lavender admitted, her expression still free from its usual artifice. “‘I love you‘ is something Dad used to say the morning after he’d drunkenly beat on mom or me to try to make things better. I never expected when you said it it was actually true. Wow. I wasn’t expecting to find someone who actually likes me. The odds were stacked against, fucking two hundred to one. You go through the same thing so many times, you get to believe you’re just not a person people actually like then you wall yourself off from everyone and just expect isolation. At least I do.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short there, purple Penelope.” Arin quipped. “I have those moments when I would like nothing better than to love and simultaneously choke you. But that is what love really is. Knowing yeah, you are a massive pain in the ass. My pain in the ass. The distinction is important. I don’t give up.” Arin said, looking Lavender straight in the eyes.

“This is easier than you think. Don’t lie to me. I won’t lie to you.” Arin said with finality. “Besides wait until I get to tell my dad I am in a relationship with a doctor.”

“Imagine what he’ll be imagining when you say that and then show up with Purple Penelope over here.” Lavender couldn’t help but smile. “I wanna see that look on his face. Shit, I actually like Purple Penelope. Fuck. What are you doing to me?”

“Not what I’d like to be doing with you,” Arin shot back with a smirk. “Mwa ha ha. My sinister trap worked.”

Lavender smirked.

“Alright, wanna get some dinner after? Computer, end programme.” The neon-lit clouds of M’talas Prime were replaced with a yellow grid on black walls.

“After?” Arin said teasingly. “After what?” She added, picking up Lavender’s hand, and kissing it, as they headed out.

Marcus finished making the meal he planned.  He was sad that Nina didn’t like mac and cheese but he pivoted.  Two medium / medium-rare beef steaks, two twice-baked potatoes with all the fixings, a small number of green beans for each, and two Caesar salads.  He put all in a portable food stasis chest (about the size of an old-fashioned cooler) before heading off to Holodeck 2 which he had reserved for the next four hours with a sixth-hour option.  He had a smaller container holding several bottles of chilled hard apple ciders.

He tapped his com badge on his dress uniform and said, “Ensign Ming to Petty Officer Chasu.   Meet me in Holodeck two, please….Hopefully, you are dressed to kill pretty lady.”

At the moment, Kannina was arm-deep in a shuttle console. Tapping her comm badge, Kannina said, I will be a few minutes late sweetie. One of your compadres shorted out the impulse thruster controls. Please keep it on simmer.”

“I’ll keep the hot items hot and the cold items cold pretty lady.  I and the venue will be ready,” Marcus said with a slight smile.

She paused, then added, “Just make sure I’m not the only one leveling up. I won’t disappoint.” She tapped out to close the link, deftly pulling the last clip on the relay board she was working on, tossing it into a nearby recycle bin. She placed the new part into place and closed all the connections, then tested the board.

Climbing out, she logged the repair. With purpose, she made it to her quarters and sonic shower. Scrubbing off the grime took a bit, however now clean, she used a light body spray, then moved to her clothing.

“Computer, ‘playing for time’ by Acoustic Alchemy, volume 50%. The lively mix of light rock and Spanish guitar flooded the room and she started getting dressed. Selecting a form-fitting knee-length black cocktail dress, that had a emerald border near the bust. She added complimentary matching earrings. Finally, she added a 4-inch heel. She had It still would barely make her 5 foot 5. Finally, she added a tiny amount of perfume on her wrist and neck veins. A final pop of red lipstick, then she checked her appearance in the floor-length mirror. “You lucky bastard.” Kannina sent through her mind to Marcus, and slipped her comm badge into a red clutch bag, along with a few accessories.

A minute later she was in front of Holodeck Two. “Program running. Enter when ready.”

Kannina walked in taking the ambience of what had been created. “Crash and burn or did I get the tail hook this time?”

Ming had recreated a large cabin that his parents owned.  It was two stories with a dining area, kitchen, living area and study off a hallway by the front doors. The other direction held a laundry room and a garage that had been converted into a transport reception.  The lights were dimmed and a trio of tapered candles alite on the table with various sized  pillar candles lighted around the ground floor as well as the loft style walkways and sitting area of the second floors.

One thing he loved about this home was the warm scent between woody and faded incence. It also had the scent of the candles and warming food.  He looked over from the dining room over to the front entry way (where the archway was for the moment, while the doors closed, and vanished) revealing heavy oak doors with artfully etched glass.

Marcus gazed at Kannina for a moment in pure admiration before he thought, “The tailhook caught the arresting wire for sure.  I thought you were beautiful dressed as a greasemonkey.  You’re beyond breathtaking in that outfit for sure.”

As if to prove a point, his heart literally chose that moment to skip a couple of beats as he blushed somewhat.  He ran around less than his fellow pilots however this was far from his first rodeo.  She was making him feel like it was the first time though and that wasn’t flattery.

Making a bit of an effort, she let him watch her walk across the room. When she saw the uniform, she made a face briefly. “Computer overlay a silk pinstripe suit on top of the dress uniform. Main color black, red pinstripes, charcoal grey shirt, and a red tie.” She placed a hand on his chest. “I just left a warzone. Uniforms are the last thing I want to see right now.” Looking around the room, she offered, “Nice place. Does it still exist? Who does a lady have to kill to get a drink around here?”

Ming went to the wood and brushed metal fridge and pulled out two bottles of a dry hard cider he liked.  He talked as he deftly opened the bottles and carried them to his dazzling looking date.  He thought to her (more to practice since he almost never could with normal humans), “It is.  Forrest Highlands started as a high end golfing community.  It’s just south of Flagstaff, is next to Fort Tuthill Nature Preserve, and is something of a place that time left behind as a historical community.  Aside from a few 24th century upgrades here and there it’s largely the way it was when it was built.  I found out the story behind that too if you want to hear it later on.”

Marcus handed Nina one of the bottles and thought, “Hopefully you like hard apple cider.  This one is a dryer version rather than sweet.  I found I like this kind better with most meals while the sweet seems to be better with desserts.”

Taking the bottle, she thanked him and then thought back. “I am starting to wonder about your manners, though.” She said playfully. Pointing to the dress, she said, “Hard cider glasses, 500ml size, two.” She poured about three-quarters of the bottle into the glass and then sipped at the bottle before upending the contents. Handing him back the now empty bottle, she thought, “I don’t mind beer in bottles, make sure I am wearing jeans please next time.” Ending with a wink.

“I like it, it has character.” I bet it’s great on a cold night in front of that fireplace.” Kannina added, walking around the room, and examining various things.

“Hmmmm.  Certain things taste better in bottles, I find.  This is one.  If you’d prefer it in a glass you’re welcome.  This place was built in the late 20th century before the wars so jeans would be appropriate.  Someday the house will be mine and it’s currently in the family so I am sure we could visit before too long.  It’s a relaxing and enjoyable place to be I promise.  I look forward to taking you there,” Ming said with sincere honesty.

She set the glass down. “Are you okay? All this juicy goodness and I get quiet resolve. I haven’t even gotten a damned hug or asked how I am?” Kannina offered. “I know this is our first date, but I just survived more levels of hell than I ever want to go through again. Can you show some interest?” The color in her face reddened slightly.

Ming quirked an eyebrow in an almost Vulcan-like manner.  He grinned and replied, “I was about to ask those questions inside the next moment or so.  I was beaten to the punch, so they say, but I digress.”

He stepped closer sliding his arms around her and smiled.  “I hope you have had a good day so far pretty lady,” he said as he gazed into her eyes.

Actually, it’s been pretty shitty. Until right now.” Kaninna said, sliding into the embrace, savoring the warmth. When Marcus attempted to break the embrace, she let him get almost away before forcefully pulling him back in. They shared a glance. “Now what’s for dinner?”

The human man’s violet eyes met his female companion’s beautiful black eyes as he pointedly did not let her go.  He smiled and said, “Two steaks done medium rare to maintain the quality of the meat with a little salt and cooked over mesquite wood which I find to be one of the most perfect ways to cook such meat.  Two twice-baked potatoes with all the very delicious usual fare.  Some steamed green beans as another side and an appetizer of Caesar salad.  Dessert is up for discussion though I have a few options in mind that we could discuss after dinner if that would be acceptable to you.”

“Good. I’m starving. Real food sounds amazing. As does dessert.” Kannina said looking back. She did like the color of his eyes. She also didn’t move but merely smiled widely back at Marcus. “Go ahead. Let’s see who blinks first.”

As if to accentuate the moment, she reached out to Marcus’ mind. Letting the general sense of wonder and awe take time and become intimate. She needed to connect emotionally to anyone she considered worthy of mating with. Otherwise, as nice as it would be, it would just be meaningless energy expenditure to her. Not what she wanted. Spark had to exist.

Ensign Ming didn’t flinch.  He admired the Petty officer’s beauty and her spirit.  He also sensed other things too. An opportunity he rarely got from women who caught his eye.  He felt the touch of her mind and let her in, touching hers in return but not pushing.  He had nothing to hide.  Yeah, he had a fling here and there, but he knew that he wanted more.  Companionship and romance had allure all their own.

Gazing into her eyes he noticed a few things that he could get used to as he picked up things about her likes, dislikes, and personality.  Something else he picked up was that she might well be hungrier than he was and that said a lot.  He grinned at her and thought, “Perhaps we can pick this back up afterward however we may wish to eat before there’s a risk of starvation?”

It was still early, but Kannina so far was interested. She was glad to see Marcus had more layers in his psyche, a good sign. She could tell he was but then he was a man. She found she had to be in the mood, while typically they just needed to be in the room. Men could be such needy creatures, she found.  That didn’t bother her.

Her appetite for emotional intimacy along with biological affection was something she had to learn over the years. It taught her to become more selective in her partners, since she shared so with her lovers. Since the thoughts and emotions were more shared, there could be more risk, as Kannina found out with someone in the past.

Sex was only the frosting without the cake to support it. Interesting and fun, but not what she wanted. Hoping Marcus felt the same was a given at this point, as was her now grumbling stomach.

“I like a man that knows when to give in,” Kannina said. “Are you giving in?” She said, her smile widening even more as she looked and touched his mind, and then a spark from the carpeting as she took his hand.

Ming tilted his head and smiled impishly, “That I do.  However this is a temporary course adjustment.  We can discuss terms for giving in afterwards….Though I’ve feeling I might forgo terms.  -chuckles- Keep it up, dear lady.  You may convince me that I never want to leave your side.”

The sincerity of that last statement surprised him.  While he did not fear commitment like some of his fellow pilots, he’d never been afraid of commitment as a teen or adult.  He wasn’t a teenager and hadn’t been so taken with anyone so quick since…Hell, it even took more than a couple dates when he was a teen.  This one seemed like she was a keeper.

“Then we have the same expectations. Let’s see where this goes.” Offering her arm. Marcus took it. Another good sign. Walking to the table, she was about to sit, when she said. “Let me help. While I like to be waited on, any food not wrapped, canned, or otherwise shelf-stabilized sounds amazing.” She killed her cider, then retrieved a second for herself and Marcus.

Marcus smiled and said, “Please take those over to the table.  You can chose the set place you prefer.  I’ll grab dinner.”

Since the table was large for family gatherings, she asked the computer to split the table into two so that she and Marcus could sit across from one another. More intimate. It was a first date after all.

 The pilot went over to the oven range and then the fridge…Both were acting as a hot/cold stasis range.  He pulled out two plates with steaks paired with twice-baked potatoes from the hot then two salads from the cold.  Utilizing the bit of waiter experience he had, he carried all four plates to the table.  He then placed a main dish and a side salad at each setting.

He then pulled out a chair for his companion with a smile.  Marcus couldn’t help but notice, once again, how beautiful she was.  It’d been quite a while since he’d been this smitten.  Even with that in mind, he was happy to take it step by step and not rush some special.

“Stop broadcasting so loudly. Inside voice.” Kannina said, touching Marcus’ cheek.”This looks amazing, and thank you. Nice to have a dashing man in a suit across the table, too.” She said. “Now, let’s eat.” she said with a wink.

Marcus blushed.  He walked to one of the chairs with the settings and held it out for Kannina and smiled.  As he mentally invited her to sit he also thought appologetically, “Sorry if I am broadcasting loudly.  I haven’t been around many telepaths in my life.  Most of THOSE have been strangers, most of THEM have been Vulcans.  I suppose they were being polite and/or just used to us noisy humans.”

That last part he added a bit of self depreciating humor to…Kidding on the square as the old human phrase went.  As he pushed her seat in then moved to take his own seat he continued, “It doesn’t help my case any that I am quite drawn to you.  Beautiful, talented at your work, a personality that I can’t help but admire, and interests that mostly match my own rather closely.  The best and possibly worst part is that it’ll be tough to hide any of that from you nor would I wish to.”

The two ate and talked into the night.  The rest was history.

Ming’s Quarters

Marcus had packed a duffle bag with plans to head back to sector 001 to see his folks and his unofficial brother Joel.  He zipped it closed and walked over to the wall with an exterior view.  He tiled his head and watched the planet Vulcan rotate under the starship Denver.  He slowly inhaled, held it for approximately a second before an equally slow exhale.  He did that a few times relaxing both his body and mind.

He continued to watch the motion of the planet below (and the ships motion he knew) as he did his version of a on the fly meditation.  He still had an odd feeling which he could not shake.  That, in and of itself, was a worry point. While this kind of relaxation didn’t always clear things out that weren’t true there was a better than 65/35  chance it was based in reality.

He continued to stare at the planet below for a long moment trying to decide on his next move.  After a long moment, he tapped his combadge and said, “Ming to XO.  Commander, do you have a moment?”

Riandri was making her rounds of the ship when her combadge chimed and Ming’s voice came over the coms. She tapped the device and quickly responded, “I do, shall we meet in my office? I will be there in about five minutes.”

“Sounds good.  I’ll head over immediately.  See you in a few moments,” Ming replied.

Riandri turned and started to make her way towards her office in the intelligence suit. She couldn’t help but wonder what Ming wanted to talk about.

Marcus left his quarters and made way for Cmdr Nalam’s office.  He wondered how he was going describe his reasoning for the decision he made but he’d have to think fast for that.   A moment or two later he was there.  He activated the chime hoping he hadn’t beaten her there.

Riandri had just grabbed a coffee from the replicator when the door chimed. As she sat at her desk she activated the door, “Come on in Ming.”

Marcus entered as bidden and offered the XO a lopsided smile.  He made it to the front of the desk, stiffened to attention for a brief moment, after that moment passed he relaxed and said, “Thanks for seeing me.  XO is a title that fits you I think.  You seem to fit in well, temporary role or not.”

Riandri sipped her coffee and returned a genuine smile, “Thank you. I appreciate that. The role was unexpected but one that I am enjoying.” She waved her hand towards the replicator, “Would you like a drink?”

“I have to say you piqued my curiosity with your message, what was it you wanted to speak about?” Riandri asked.

Ming gave the XO something of a lopsided grin as he regarded her momentarily.  He then said, “I am cancelling my leave plans to return to Sector 001 due to one of my ‘hunches.’”

“Oh,” Riandri said with curiosity.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly, then said, “I feel like I need to stay close to home, as it were, so I will remain on Denver or visit Vulcan. If there’s anything that requires escort or interception, I, T’Kown as well as any remaining Knights will be on it.  I trust that is ok with you.”

She nodded as she spoke, “As always your leave is yours to take but with the current state of the Federation having you close to the ship is appreciated. I have not heard of any intel to make me think anything may be happening but I am curious about your hunch. Anything in particular you are concerned about?”

Marcus looked thoughtful for a moment, picking his words as he did so.  He said, “My first assignment out of the Academy was on the USS Churchill.  Within the first few days I met a half Betazoid / half Denobulan member of the flight crew.  It was love at first sight.  Her natural talent being half Betazoid managed to mesh well with my Esper abilities.  It’s not something I can often use with non-telepathic species outside of emergency or high stress situations.  It’s also not very long range most of the time.  Despite that I’ve been feeling …. something of a psychic pressure over the past day or so.  It’s generic enough I can’t say what it means but it feels like Nina.  I know her psychic embrace better than the back of my hand.”

Riandri listened patiently and could understand the agitation she felt within Ming, “So you think she is on the Vulcan? Though I gather there is a bit more to this, what happened between the two of you?”

Ming tilted his head a bit and said, “What happened?  The needs of the Federation Starfleet.   We met on the USS Churchill when I was a wet behind the ears pilot and she was a Petty Officer pretty much running the flight bay.   Unusual given our roles but I think it was love at first sight.  It’s the relationship I compare all relationships to.  Once I hit a year in the service the USS Tucson was short a pilot and they were rotating another fresh pilot from the academy.  She was transferred not long after and I can only assume it involved black ops because I got a message saying she’d be out of touch a bit and I lost all track of her.”

The Knight’s CO sighed and continued, “I’m not bitter.  The Dominion was a growing threat, she’s one of the best mechanics in the fleet on top of being half Betazoid and Half Deobulan with the telepathic ability of a full blooded Betazoid…I didn’t say that by the way….”

Marcus gave Commander Nalam a lopsided smile as he added that last part.  He then continued, “While I have a strong ESPer gene for a human it’s irratic as hell.  Extreme stress or fear is usually how it manifests.  An occasional mostly vague preminition.  I can easily connect with telepaths.  Vulcans, Betazoids, often enough other strong human espers in my experience.  It’s rare and I’m grateful for it. It saves complications I’ve felt.”

“Anyway, I don’t think she’s on Vulcan yet….She’s hyper focused on the planet leading me to believe she’s inbound.  And for her to be broadcasting as loud and far as she is something is fantastically wrong.  I think it’s our link that is particularly amplifies the feelings.  That is the ONLY excuse for something that couldn’t happen within my other experiences.  Our Vulcan pilot, T’kown, hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary which makes me suspect what I do on that matter.”

Riandri nodded in understanding, “Telepathic abilities do have their fun quirks and can make things complicated for sure. I have had to deal with them myself.” She leaned back and pulled up the schedule of ship that were inbound to Vulcan, “There are a number of ships, including several fleet carriers, that are currently scheduled to arrive in the next couple of days.” She paused and looked back up at Ming, “I get the sense this is more than a leave request. If it were it would been approved by your CO without issue as we have told everyone to get some R&R…..” She left her thought unfinished, curious as to what Ming was after.

“As a department head, even a smaller department, I may be able to take it up with Captain Talon, however, I am coming to you, as the intelligence officer as well as executive officer and….well, you being whom you are…You would be most likely to understand where my reasoning comes from,” Ming said probing as much as explaining.

He continued, “It’d also be useful to know if any ships are inbound either from Betazoid directly or else harbouring passengers who’ve managed to slip through enemy lines.  T’kown is with family on Vulcan but has agreed to fly with me if any such circumstance arises.  The rest of my squadron is headed toward sector 001 or else Andoria.  I’d not mind exploring Vulcan a bit more either way.  Having lived nearly if not directly adjacent to the four major deserts of the North American Southwest I have developed a bit of a fascination with similar environments.  Not quite an ideal vacation spot for me but an educational foray can be entertaining either way just in case it’s hurry up and wait.”

After a pause of a heartbeat, he added, “The passenger in question would be Kannia Chasu…She’d be a Petty Officer by now at least.  Just over a meter and a half of Denobulan/Betazoid no nonsense attitude I’d wager to bet.”

Riandri nodded, “Let me see what I can find out for you. Given the mess of things, I wouldn’t be surprised if several ships have passengers who made it out from Dominion-held territories. If you give me a few hours I will send out some messages.”

Marcus’ features softened some and he even smiled slightly as he nodded.  He said,”I’d be grateful.  I’ll be close by if needed.  Ens. T’kown has agreed to remain on standby as well.  McPherson and Abara opted to return to Earth and Mars respectively.  Sh’iv and Ms. Murphy haven’t submitted any plans to me but irregardless I think T’Kown and I will be up for any escorts deemed necessary.   If Sh’iv and Murphy are on board even better.”

“I cannot see there being any issue for the time being. The local defence fleet is handling most of the escort missions but if you like I can add those on your team still here onto the rota,” Riandri remarked.

Ming’s face adopted something between the look of a predator and the cat that ate the canary.  He said, “Understood. If it okay with you I would like permission to request priority on any queries that are more anomalous over the other fighter teams.  If there is something that is uncertain but potentially friendly I want it.  Most of the time I am happy to not be overly picky.  This an exception to the rule if that is alright.”

Riandri nodded, “I will see what we can do about that though I don’t think it will be an issue.”

Nodding, Ming replied, “Thank you.   I do very much appreciate your assistance on the matter.  I do not have anything else for you at the moment I don’t think.”

Riandri nodded, “The door is always open. I will get back to you shortly with any information I can find.”

Maveren 5 stood at the window, her hands clasped behind her back, staring into the inky black of space. The hum of machinery filled the cold, sterile observation lounge of the former Federation station, now a Dominion stronghold. Betazed lay before her, its people silenced under Dominion rule, a testament to the Founder’s strength and glory and more proof of the inevitable fall of the Federation and its allies.

Before her, separated by a single pane of transparent aluminum, the vastness of space stretched out indefinitely, broken only by beetle-shaped Dominion fighters or the brown-yellow hulls of Cardassian warships. This was her fifth life, and like all the others before her, she was devoted to the Founders and their cause… In this case, the cause was the complete annexation of the Alpha Quadrant and subjugation of its people… Well, no, the Humans or the Klingons.  If there were a rebellion, it would come from Earth, and the Klingons would never submit. Best kill them all and use it as an example to the remaining aliens living here that the Founders were their masters now.

The door to the observation lounge opened, and a tall Cardassian walked in. “Ah, Maveren, the Fifth, the Jem’Hadar said you would be here.” The figure of Gul Tarbac stepped up beside her and looked out at the planet below for a moment before continuing, “It is beautiful but far too green and blue for my liking.”

Without looking over at the vorta, Tarbac continued, “One of our patrol ships came across a civilian vessel entering the system. The occupant hailed asking to speak with ‘Someone of Importance’. The ship beamed them to the station’s brig ten minutes ago. I think you may want to speak to them.”

She turned from the window, half her face bathed in shadow, cutting harsh lines across her features.  The usual insincere smile was gone, replaced by a look of steely resolve. “Why should I concern myself with a mere civilian? If you cannot handle these menial tasks, what use does the Dominion have for you?  I’m sure the Founder could find someone… more capable.”

Tarbac let out a low chuckle at that, “I am sure they could try and find someone.” He paused for a long moment before continuing, “This individual matches the appearance and genetic makeup of Captain Rebecca Talon of the USS Denver. I believe you have made her acquaintance before. Interestingly, though, they claim to be from a different universe and have knowledge we would find of use. Given your previous interactions with Talon, I thought you might want to speak to her, though I am happy to interrogate her myself and present my findings to the Founder if you are indisposed.”

The fake smile returned as she stepped out of the shadows.  “Your job is to deal with local matters.   My job is to report to the Founder.  I’ll decide what information is important for her,  not you.  Take care of the interrogation and report back to me.  I believe your people pride themselves in their interrogation techniques.”

Tarbac’s smile held as he nodded, “Very well Maveren, the Fifth. You can expect a report shortly.” With that, he turned and made his way to the door.

The interrogation room was dark except for a single light shining like a spotlight upon the seat where the prisoner would sit. It would effectively blind them, leaving the interrogator in shadow.

Bellitor had stood and slipped into a dark corner after those Cardassian brutes had dragged her in here. Careless fools, she thought to herself. “It’s no wonder these Spoonheads never conquered the galaxy in any of the realities I’ve been in.”

But who is truly the fool here? The fool that didn’t secure a prisoner or the fool that allowed herself to be caught?

Bellitor growled under her breath. This reality had been one series of failures after another. Now, she was stuck 60 years in the past, where there was no Terran Empire. Not that Julie Lei was a particularly good empress, but Humans dominated at least this quadrant, not the Dominion and their Cardassian lapdogs.

How did I end up here? She knew the answer. She hated to admit it, but the answer was easy. She could blame Rebecca Talon or even her former lover Dominus, but it all came down to the fact that she had gotten too greedy, and in her greed, she got careless.

The door opened to her cell and in stepped two Dominion soldiers, a Cardassian and a Jem’Hadar. Once they had moved into the room a tall figure entered the cell and spoke, “Greetings, I am Gul Tarbac Commander of the Cardassian forces here.” He stepped forward into the light beside the chair, “I wanted to welcome you to our newest station.” With a gesture of his hand towards the chair he continued, “Now, we both know how this goes so if you would take a seat I have several questions I would like answered.” At that the two soldiers each took

She stepped out of the inky blackness of the corner and stood before the Cardassian, hands on her hips. In one of the alternate realities, her counterpart had telekinetic powers. She had tried to infuse that trait into her own DNA using her pet Vorta, but to no avail. Oh, how she wished it had worked—she could have snapped the arrogant Gul’s neck by now. No more fake pleasantries. The thought made her smile.

“No, I don’t think I will. And no, you don’t need to resort to torture, drugs, or whatever else you think will make me talk. Have you heard the phrase, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”

Tarbac smiled at that, “Interesting, I am familiar with the expression. Do tell me then, who is our mutual enemy?” He was fairly confident about who the prisoner was referring to but curious about how this was going to play out.

“Rebecca Talon and the Federation.  Though I suspect for you it’s the other way around in the list of priorities. I am good with either since the Federation’s downfall is also Captain Talon’s downfall.”

She stepped forward, placing her hands flat on the desk, and leaned in, letting her coppery hair fall around her face as the harsh artificial light illuminated her delicate features. Her green eyes pierced Tarbac’s own with curious intensity.

“You don’t know who I am?’  She scoffed at the absurdity of her statement, shaking her head.  She straightened and crossed her arms before her, looking down at her seated interrogator.  “Of course, you don’t,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.  “Why would you?”

“I take it that there is more to you than meets the eye,” Tarbac said with a shrug. “I know for that you are not Captain Talon though you match all of our details on file bar a slight irregularity. As for the our enemy we would clearly prioritize the Federation over a single Captian but they are not mutally excluzive.”

Bellitor smirked,  “I am Rebecca Talon… and I am not. I was born in a parallel universe as Rebecca Sandoval. I arrived here from the 2420’s ”

Tarbac took the information in with little change to his expression. After a moment he simply nodded, “Interesting. So what support can you provide us in our mutual objective? Insight into a single Captain’s way of thinking doesn’t give us much.”

“Oh, Gul, you think so little of me,” Bellitor replied, amusement dancing in her voice. Finally, she took her seat, locking eyes with her captor as a sly smile crept across her face. With deliberate movements, she reached into her red hair, fingers tracing the strands until they found a hidden data chip pressed against her scalp. She placed it on the table between them, then slid it toward Tarbac with the index finger of her right hand. “A taste. I can’t give you everything… not just yet.”

Tarbac raised an eyebrow and made a mental note to remind the Jem’Hadar to search prisoners, “And what is it on here that is just a taste?” He reached out, picked up the small data chip, and looked at it with interest.

“Troop positions and tactical information on Vulcan.” Bellitor gave the Gul her most disarming smile, leaning forward slightly as she drew her elbows in, accentuating her chest and the low neckline of her top. The playful glint in her eyes suggested she was fully aware of the effect she was trying to exert upon Tarbac.

Tarbac smiled at that and leaned back in the chair, “You had my curiosity before, now you have my attention.” With that he flicked a finger and the nearest Cardassian hard came over. “Check the data on here and verify what you can. Then,” he said with without taking his eyes off the prisoner, “we can discuss the next steps.”

“So Ms Sandoval, if I may call you that. What now?”

Bellitor’s smile vanished, and contempt crossed her face. “You may not,” she replied, voice clipped and cold. She straightened slightly, arms crossed, as if bracing herself against the mere mention of the name. “Rebecca Sandovals are weak… cowards. In my reality—” She cut herself off, the smile returning, “That is irrelevant in the here and now. I go by Bellitor.”

Tarbac cocked an eyebrow, “Well, Bellitor it is then. And the question remains.”

She stood again and started to pace the tiny interrogation room; the sole directed light fell across her face, waxing and waning.  There was a tinge of agitation in her now, like a clock wound too tightly.  Absently, she ran her hand through her coppery hair, and in the dim light, it exposed a long, jagged scar running from her ear to wrap around her jaw and end under her chin. This imperfection was the only visible error in her appearance.  Even after being manhandled by the Jem’hadar, her makeup and outfit were immaculate, finely tailored in black and grey wool.  No seam out of place. No unintentional wrinkle.

“Now is the time to strike.” She halted mid-pace, her face half-lit, casting her expression in sharp relief. “The longer you linger in this system without acting, the more time you give the Federation to rally its forces, to plan an offensive.” Her voice held a cold certainty. “One thing I’ve come to understand about this reality: The Federation is weak. It has no hunger for conquest or drive for power. It prefers diplomacy over defending itself.  But press them hard and long enough, and they’ll lash out—and in doing so, you’ll find yourself an enemy with a terrible resolve.”

Her gaze hardened and tightened her jaw. “If you fail, I fail,” she continued, voice low and clipped. “And that, certainly, will not do.”

She allowed a brief, almost imperceptible smile to slip as she reminded herself, I have never been known as an honest woman, but Tarbac doesn’t need to know that.

“If the data is accurate then we might put it to use,” he said with a slight shrug before adding, “If the Founders deem it important.”

“Of course, but she will be,” Bellitor said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Vulcan

Arin walked out to the flight simulator. Her civilian clothing returned as she exited the holo-grid, her comm badge chirped. She had set it to do not disturb during flight time. A notification that she was needed at the Earth embassy on Vulcan came in, and no uniform was needed.

It was an odd message but had all the proper authentications. Since the building was literally around the corner, Arin walked over. Walking in, she headed for the yeoman at the desk. In front of her was another person, getting information.  When the man stood up she was surprised to see her father.

“Dad?!” Arin said, going in for a tight hug. “What are you doing here?” She asked.

“It’s a crime to want to see my daughter?”  Riordan said.

“Of course not, just a surprise is all. You also aren’t answering the question.” Arin shot back.

“I got bored.” He answered. “So I took on some side work. Clerical stuff, I assure you.”

She hadn’t decided whether or not he was being straight with her, but Arin let it drop. She knew he couldn’t always tell her everything. Captain’s prerogative, he would say, knowing that he wasn’t able to talk about it.

“Your timing is accurate as usual,” Arin said. “I met someone. She’s in surgery right now but she should be done soon. We had plans for lunch here anyway. This is will be so cool. You’ll love Lavender, Dad.”

“If you picked her, I’m sure she is amazing,” Riordan said. The pair caught up and headed to a local cafe. Getting coffee, Arin sent Lavender a meeting link, so that she could find them. Though she did add “look nice for company, please. Maybe a sundress?” It was all the hint she was giving Lavender. Ending the message with a sickening amount of X’s and O’s she sent she was having coffee with her dad.

U.S.S. Denver

Aboard the Denver Lavender had finished her surgery a while before and had received a missive from her other half informing her of her leave. Finally being off the hook was something the M’talan couldn’t just accept, not without double checking. She pressed her badge.

“Haigh to Captain Talon, Jones says you consider me on leave. Is that true?”

“Talon here. Doctor? Of course Doctor.  If anyone needs medical attention there’s the station’s hospital.   Relax, this might be the last opportunity we get.”

Lavender felt the weight of responsibility lift from her shoulders in an instant. It wasn’t until then that she realised quite how afraid she was of screwing up.

“Thank you, Captain, I will,” she returned. “Haigh out.”

So. Leave. What the hell was she going to do with leave? Lavender lived to work, partly because of her personal drive to do her best for her mother, but partly because it kept her distracted from the train crash that was her state of mental health. Arin wasn’t even aboard to keep her focus. She didn’t want to be alone, but there was hardly anyone on the ship. Lavender rose from her office chair and headed for her quarters at pace. There was a bottle of Grappa there with her name on it and hopefully a few hours of oblivion free of nightmares.

It didn’t take long for a bottle of Grappa to become significantly less than a bottle of Grappa. The stars outside her window swam. Lavender’s bleary eyes watched them and she wondered how fast the ship was going. It wasn’t, of course, but it felt like it was.

The computer terminal in her bedroom bleeped and the puppeteer controlling the Doctor yanked a string that pulled her to sitting. Swearing liberally she read another message from Arin.

“Company huh? Hmmm…”

Vulcan, twenty five minutes later

Fortunately for the somewhat inebriated Lavender her makeup from work that day was still good, she was far too far gone to do a decent job with it now. It was only plenty of experience with being intoxicated that allowed her to walk with any real semblance of normality. She wore one of her many gothic black dresses with some heels, her usual array of necklaces, and a clutch-sized shoulder bag of whatever crap she could find to put in it, mostly makeup. Doing a really quite convincing impression of sobriety Lavender made a quick scan (Mk 1. eyeball) of the seated clientele… Arin wasn’t hard to spot, this was one advantage of her green skin. Lavender sauntered over.

Riordan sat with coffee, Arin had ordered a pitcher of mimosas for her to share with Lavender. Knowing she was a physician, Arin knew times would happen when she would be called upon to be elsewhere.

As Lavender got close, Arin stood up to greet her, teasing her a bit, she noticed a misstep and offered, “Heels being a bitch? I was starting to wonder about you. Dad, this is the woman I was chatting about. Doctor Lavender Haigh, meet Riordan Jones, my dad.”  Going in close she, kissed Lavender while allowing her a moment to mentally adjust to her dad being there. “I didn’t know he was here.”

“Well I didn’t know either!” Lavender said with excitement, the alcohol on her breath becoming ever so apparent. “Your Dad! Pleased to meet you, sir. Lavender left Arin’s side to shake Riordan’s hand and cover him in alcohol breath instead. “Lavunda Jones. Haigh! Shit.”

Riordan took the offered hand. “A pleasure to meet you. Arin has told me a few things. All good I assure you.” He paused, “I can see why now. She’s a beauty. ” He took her hand and guided her to the chair ignoring the obvious drunken behavior, and managing a bit of charm in the process, as he walked up and hugged Lavender briefly, to gauge how bad she really was.

Drunk officers weren’t a new thing to him. The inhabitants of Vulcan had seen drunk aliens before as well, so he wanted to assess if she was okay for being out and around or just a sloppy mess.

Arin’s face fell at the realization of Lavender’s condition. She wasn’t mad. Just disappointed. She also understood better than most. Had Arin been older, she could easily see it becoming an issue. It nearly had for her. Sneaking whiskey at early teens just to dampen something and not feel.

“Oh very kind,” Lavender observed as she managed to navigate the cluster of table legs and chair legs with ber legs and become seated without falling over. Her gaze swirled over to Arin. Arin knew, that much she could tell immediately just by the look on her face. But would she call Lavender out? She held a convenient glass towards the pitcher of Mimosas.

“Fill me up, Scotty!”

Arin smirked, far be it from her to get in the way of anyone’s thirst. She knew it was more trying to drown the brain from feeling anything since then it would not be bad. “How’s the patient?” Arin asked. “Someone important enough to warrant your talent or just the luck of the draw?”

Filling Lavender’s glass,  drained hers, refilled it, then asked for two coffees. So far she wasn’t pissed enough it would cause a scene, just a bit boisterous. Arin knew she was going to have to play nursemaid. That didn’t bother her. Her dad, aunt, and other relatives did far more for her when she was in trouble decades ago. Now it was her turn.

“By the way, where is my sugar?” Arin teased leaning over close to Lavender.

“Oh sorry…” Lavender leaned over and placed a 120 proof kiss firmly on Arin’s lips. It was probably somewhat more intimate than she would have deemed appropriate for such surroundings were she not fairly wasted.

“Luck,” Lavender then replied, watching her glass fill up eagerly. “Fine, Captentalon said if there was any emergessy the station could handle it. So I’m free! Free to spend time with my girlfriend.” She smiled drunkenly at Arin. “And her Dad!” She added suddenly, holding out a hand towards Riordan. “Sorry Dad…”

“Oh she’s sauced,” he said, taking her hand.”Riordan said, then added, “If she gets much more tanked, we might wanna consider a place more private or at least, less trafficked.

Arin grabbed a coffee, “Can you drink this first, please Lavender?” Risky since we would be a wide-awake drunk, but Arin thought it was worth a shot.

“Oh hell no,” was Lavender’s immediate response, waving her hand in a drunkenly imprecise manner in Arin’s direction. “You wanna add caffeine to this level of dehadrashen? Who’s your Doctor? She’s shit. Water. And Steak fries! Like when we first met…” Lavender smiled sweetly at the fond memory of that day in the lounge on Denver and laid her head on Arin’ shoulder. The room started spinning alarmingly and Lavender sat upright again quickly.

“No! No, bad idea. Heh.”

Arin set the water glass closer to Lavender. “Ok then, as your girlfriend. Hydrate, Purple Penelope. I’ll even match you so we both get fluids. Deal?” She said knowing it would trigger a response. It was a nickname she would have to use sparingly, but she was with her family—hardly open criticism in general public.

Picking up her glass, she handed Lavender her own ice water. “Down the hatch. Then we can see what shenanigans we can get into,” she got close to Lavender and finished the sentence, “Luv.”

Riordan watched with interest his daughter coming into her own. The struggles they had been through had tempered who they both were and mostly better on the other side of the conflict. She looked back over and he must have had a stupid expression on his face and hers furrowed slightly watching him.

They had thier own shorthand. “Just proud to be your dad, String Bean.”

Arin stuck her tongue out at the old no longer true nickname in mock defiance then smiled.

“Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait. Wait.” Lavender leaned back a little on her chair to get a wider view of Arin. Her eyes were sparkling with the joy of new hijinks, her smirk making her lip rings stick out a little. “String Bean?”

Reaching into a pocket. Riordan pulled out what looked like a pocket watch, complete with chain. Placing it on the table, he brought up some old pictures of Arin in her early teens. Tall, almost lanky, very tomboyish, but the unmistable eyes and smile were right up front as usual. “That almost seems like another life.” He added. They shared glance and recognition.

“Hey, don’t even, old man. I have pictures of you with a mullett. We can shock the world.” Arin teased her dad.

Riordan was nonplussed and went back to his coffee as Lavender looked through the images. “She did clean up nicely.”

“Ahhhhhhhh, look at the little String Bean! Lavender said, scrolling through the pictures with a huge shit-eater grin on her face. “So cute!”

“Ohh, bite me.” Arin said, as she reached for the watch but it was a bit too far out of reach and Lavender had it in her hands.

“So what about you, Lavender? No fond memories of home?” Riordan said. Arin visibily winced shooting him a look instantly. To be fair, she hadn’t had time to unpack everything between them so she hadn’t told her father about Lavender’s mom. The tension in Arin’s body was apparent, Luckily, Lavender was engrossed with the pictures. The doctor visibly gripped the watch and stopped scrolling, but she didn’t look up. Her mouth tightened and her shoulders tensed and she swallowed, hard. A deep breath followed through pursed lips.

“Some,” she replied, still looking at the watch. “None since my Mom died.” And with that she went back to scrolling.

Noticing Arin’s body language too late, he prepared for the worst. When that didn’t happen he paused. Grabbing Lavender’s hand, Riordan squeezed it waiting until she looked up and knew she was listening. “Then it’s time to make a few new ones, don’t ya think? It’s a fine soft day, walking around the city with two gorgeous women, what’s not to love?”

Lavender looked up at him, and then to Arin.

“What about my Steak fries?” She asked, almost sorrowfully.

Arin smiled at Lavender, Riordan laughed a hearty belly laugh. “Now you’re talking. I could go for a good breakfast. Luckily, I know just the place. Say what you want about the Tellarites, but they know how to eat.”

The trio got up, thanking the staff, and headed back towards the Embassy. Past it were small shops, selling trinkets and snacks. They kept walking. Rounding a corner, was an old Ad0be building. Seemingly out of place, it was busy. The outdoor cafe was busy with laughter, food, and life as people enjoyed the day.

Riordan walking in, found a table to the side that was empty. They sat down and a large tellarite woman saw him, and squealed with delight. Hugging, she said, Arin, been a while. You look great.”

“Thanks Bella.” They kissed hello.  Turning her attention to Lavender she said. “And who is this? Too young for you I think, Riordan.” She said, “Oh, and wasting away, I see. Sit, I know just what you need.” Bella said thinking Lavender was far too thin.

“Yeah, I know what you need too lady,” Lavender retorted, her drunken swirling a step reduced by the exercise. “I know what this place needs too; a lick of paint. Or just get it over with and go straight for the Plasma bomb…”

Lavender was of course wishing to greet the Tellarite in her traditionally accepted way of complaining. Whether she’d hook-in was another question but Lavender was willing to risk that for the prospect of a good sporty argument.

“Scrape some off of your face, we’d be able to do a couple of rooms. Or is Batman your next target?” Bella shot back without waiting. Her customers were well known for coming in for the food and staying for the banter.

“Well deduced,” Lavender responded, with an amused grin. “This place could use Wayne kinda money for the back to brick renovation it needs to shift that school lunch-hall smell.”

Putting her arm around Lavender, she pulled into a tight hug. “Now we feed you till you pop.” Bella said laughing. Her keen nose picking up the Grappa. “The school lunch smell is caused by that solvent you’re drinking. It has melted your brain.”

Lavender chuckled, not seeming to mind about the hug.

“Well you know how when you’re wasted even mediocre food tastes amazing? Necessary precaution before coming here. The Doctor winked a fake-lashed eye at their Tellarite host and gave her a jovial pat on the shoulder before turning to Arin.

“She’s fun,” she grinned.

Out of the back, a young boy, obviously her child came out carrying a basket of fresh rolls from the oven.  A few hands shot up before he even shouted. “Incoming.”

Setting the basket on a table, the rolls started flying as if the kid was a major league baseball pitcher. Someone dropped one, instantly catclaw and jeers filled the room for a few seconds. Looking sheepish, he headed back to the kitchen.

Arin with a huge smile, turned explaining, “He has to help out for a minute for wasting food.”

Bella’s attention turned back to Lavender. “And yet, here you are…at my doorstep. Asking for my food. What’s the magic word?”

Lavender looked Triumphant.

“Aha! I know that one,” she replied. “It’s ‘Grappa’.”

Bella shook her head. “You have some?” She asked.  When Lavender shook her head, she added, “So I have to feed your ungrateful drunken self. So far, I do not see the advantage for me.” She paused for a second then, smiled, but these guys are family. You get a pass, this time. Next time, you might be doing the dishes. Dress appropriately.” She said with a wink.

Reaching over she aggressively hugged Arin and Riordan, kissing them both, then turned and said, “No, you’re not ordering. First, we bring you some food. “Go sit.”

Arin mocked wiping tears of joy from her eyes in anticipation of a good breakfast as Bella laughed at her.

Walking over, they found empty seats at the larger farmhouse-style tables. Rustic, serviceable, and the atmosphere was jovial. A hidden gem just off the beaten path, children ate with their parents, even a Vulcan or two could be seen. Pancakes, fresh bread, coffee, and other scents filled the air. Ceiling fans added an antique city feeling.

A few minutes later, food arrived. A cinnamon roll-monkey bread with several dipping sauces for the table to share. Then two plates of red and green chilaquiles arrived. Each topped with shredded deep-fried beef bacon, several cheeses, and sliced avocado.

Bella placed a large sandwich in front of Lavender. Chunks of deep-fried something covered a large sourdough bun, peaking out were two eggs, at least the sandwich was two pieces for easy access. “Never heard of steak fries so, here is my take. Lean over. This is messy, but you need something to stick with you. More like steak tater tots, but you have a choice of gravy though to me it needs that punch of horseradish in the cocktail sauce, which goes with,” She also placed a large tall glass of red fluid marked in increments from deckhand to pirate captain.  “One plasma bomb” She then placed a small red shot next to it. “And the ignitor. It’s policy for newcomers to be graded. There is no shame. Might be some good-natured ribbing, but you’re a big girl. You can take it. So. Think Tequila shooter. Hot sauce, then the Bloody Mary. Plus, the fluids will do you good.”

Riordan profusely thanked Bella as he eyed the food. Arin watched Lavender with interest. When Bella got called away, Arin offered. “The hot sauce isn’t that hot, she wouldn’t do that to you. Plus it actually makes me hungry. I think you’ll be a fan considering those jalapeno margaritas recently.” Arin said, giving Lavender’s leg a gentle squeeze.

Lavender tore her eyes away from the smörgåsbord in front of them and gave Arin a slightly drunken chuckle.

“Oh guess we’ll see,” she toyed, “but if I hurl, I’m hurling on you…”

Ten years ago, when the children had been old enough to be in other activities, Gus had studied and got his counseling degree. It was something he saw in his comrades as well as himself, more than he would have estimated possible.
Recent combats had taken their toll on the ship and crew alike. While the ship was able to be repaired, bodies were one thing. Rebuilding or breaking down the mind to a place where it could find peace and heal, was a responsibility to his friends, crewmates, and patients when he had them.

Medical was overwhelmed with cases, so Gus had been assisting where his duties allowed. The pain, misery, and heartache could only be patched for so long. Downtime was needed. Long-standing tradition held no favorites on leave unless you have congruent circumstances. The roster came up and he was on it. Cia had been thrilled of course, agreeing to meet him there. Seeing her would do a tremendous amount for his psyche, whether he admitted it or not.

Arriving back on Vulcan, the planet was the same as the last time he left decades ago. Gus was not. Far more mature, sure of himself, and at peace with who he was and had become. No slums existed on Vulcan, but some areas were spartan.

He found it interesting how his fellow Vulcans now treated him. Once nearly an outcast for a series of decisions that led his parents to take up a colonization effort off the planet. Now, it was deference and respect, he even got a few bows.

Securing quarters, he made a stop by the local market. Cia loved his vegetable lasagna, though she did insist on real cheese. Upon arrival, the suite they had given him was an obvious status symbol. Overlooking the nearby bay, the water was clear, and a cool, for Vulcan, breeze blew from the ocean.

Once dinner was in the stasis unit, and the quarters were squared away properly, Gus went for a run, nearby foothills provided enough variation that he had done a ten-kilometer run, before realizing it. A quick swim in the bay, followed by a real shower. Gus lay down for a moment, knowing Cia was due sometime later, and unwittingly, he fell asleep.

Cia had been delayed by arriving ships. Having to wait her turn, it was two hours later by the time she had reached the port city, it was dark. Proximity made her smile as she read a dream Gus was having. A new Vulcan female, T’Leya. She could tell he liked her as a friend, there was enough shared heritage, and she was attractive. One advantage of being married to Gus was he wasn’t reluctant to share himself freely. She didn’t have to wonder how he felt, she knew. T’Leya was no threat. Their shared existence during mind melds brought a closeness to her that she found very comforting.

In an aircar for the final leg of the journey, she felt his dream shift. At first, it was quiet. She thought he was back asleep. The sound was coming from Gus’s mind, but it wasn’t a familiar noise, to her. Gus knew, then so did she. “Incoming!”

She could tell his heart rate shot up. Night terrors. Humans were not the only race that had that condition. By then she was in the front door and let herself in. She tried reaching out to Gus through their link, but he was in too deep.

Finding her way to the bedroom, she turned the lights on and said his name aloud. Still no response and he was clearly in the middle of a firefight with someone.

Getting close to him she reached out and pulled on the blanket. Immediately, his eyes shot fully open and he looked right at and through her at the same time. Reaching out he grabbed her arm forcefully, the instant contact made him fully conscious and he relaxed.

“You are here,” Gus said, overstating the obvious.

She decided to tease him. “Wow, not much gets past you. Good thing you are Chief of Security.”

Gus glanced over, “And it’s a good thing you are here.” he pulled her into a hug. Melting into her, Gus inhaled her scent as he held her tight, his head against her dark hair. When the embrace broke, she felt the stubble under his neck. It didn’t bother her, though sometimes poked her. She said, taking his hand, “Clean up on aisle 1.”

She learned that it was something Gus liked. He could do the grooming, but the act felt inclusive.

Gathering the supplies, she sat him down in a chair outside. They were fully clothed, and she straddled him, brushing out the beard before starting to shape it. Since they were touching it was an easy way to reconnect. Cia smiled as she took care of the final edges, not having to look knowing that Gus was looking at her.

That left the rugged stubble. Sharpening a straight razor, she lathered up his face and took several minutes slowly cleaning him up. While it wasn’t entirely non-sexual, it was intimate. The act of caring for the other person.

“Assisting in medical has affected me, as you have noticed. A short time in meditation will help me correct it.” Gus offered.

“Can I meditate with you or is it a solo?” Cia asked, her eyes casting a twinkle as they locked eyes.

“Your presence is always welcome.” Gus offered with a gentle smile. “There is even a Baby Grand Piano in the other room. Nice touch.” He told her, knowing she had changed a few details.

A hot wet cloth left him feeling refreshed, clean, and more energized. Even before she said it, Gus started to smile wider as Cia jumped up and excitedly said, “Do me.”

Trading places, he found her brush nearby. Instead, he gathered her silky dark hair in his hands and started to work it back and forth almost like a rope. It was similar to a neuropressure, but it allowed him to find and relax certain nerving endings, while at the same time, the action was nearly automatic, freeing Gus’s mind. It was therapy as much for him as it helped her.

“You are a good counselor. Unconventional sometimes, but getting people out of their comfort zone is as you know the needed thing on occasion. Seeing you working office hours you know is a dream.” Cia offered as Gus continued the conjoined therapy. She didn’t need to say it. Countless wives of soldiers, law enforcement, or any other first responder, from countless worlds, Gus needed to be there, he was good at what he did, and Cia needed him to come back alive, not take needless risks, was at the heart of her anxiety.

Comfort in knowing their oneness allowed a rather unique aspect to their marriage. The separation war brought had tempered Gus. Seeing the ugly in him again wasn’t something either of them wanted to see.

They ate dinner. They swam together in the moonlight, reuniting as couples should. The next morning, Cia awoke to fresh Chai tea, and the smell baking.

As she sipped her tea, Gus’s comm badge trilled insistently, as did the system suite. “USS Denver personnel. Priority one. All Senior staff report to the briefing room in two hours. All leaves are hereby canceled. This is not a drill.”

Cia quipped, “Your timing, not your fault, sucks mister.” Her dark eyes smoldering like hot black steel. “Now, grab those,” Cia said, indicating the scones that were cooling nearby, “and follow me.” She replied unwilling to relinquish her grip on the tea. “I don’t get you often enough as it is.” Cia said, Gus hearing the unsaid, ‘due to this damned war.’

“Grandpa!” Aimee shouted as she and her sister, Livvy, shot down the corridor, their footsteps echoing along the deck. An elderly Hispanic man with hair the color of snow kneeled, bracing himself just in time as the twins collided with him at full gallop.

“Easy, girls!” Jonathan Sandoval exclaimed, laughter in his words as he wrapped his arms around them. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Jonathan laughed and tussled Aimee’s red hair, fingers ruffling through the strands with a familiar, loving motion. The sisters might have been twins, but they were as different as two siblings could be.

Aimee inherited her mother’s fine bones and Celtic complexion, complete with striking green eyes and a coppery red mane that seemed to catch the light with every movement. Olivia, on the other hand, took after her father. Dark brown hair framed her soft face, and her puppy-dog eyes, deep and full of warmth, shone with a tan thanks to his French-Saxon heritage.

Jonathan extricated himself from the girls, stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around his daughter. “It’s good to see you, Becca.”

Rebecca smiled and hugged him back. “Me too, Dad. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

Jonathan pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing. “These kids have no business on a starship in the middle of a war,” he said in a mild rebuke.

Rebecca winced, knowing he was right. She wanted the girls with her; she felt empty and hollow without them as if a piece of herself had been ripped away. Deep down, however, she knew it was a selfish desire. As their mother, it was her job to protect them and keep them safe—putting them in Denver in the middle of a war was the opposite of that. Her chest tightened as the reality of the separation set in. Guilt clawed at her resolve, but she forced herself to swallow it. This was the right thing to do, even if it broke her heart.

Seeing his wife’s expression, Milo stepped forward and extended his hand. Jonathan took his son-in-law’s hand in his hand, and they exchanged a firm shake. “It’s good to see you, sir. Thanks for taking the kids in for us.”

“It’s my pleasure, Son.” The old man grinned, “Look at it as my contribution to the war effort. I can take care of them, so you two can take care of the Dominion.”

“This is my son, Ethan, and his girlfriend, Trinity,” Milo added, keeping the conversation on him so Rebecca could collect herself.

Jonathan greeted the teens, and they exchanged pleasantries. As they did, Milo’s thoughts drifted to his wife. She was one of the most level-headed, rational women he had ever met. You didn’t become a starship captain if you weren’t, but when it came to those girls, all bets were off. He loved that dichotomy in his wife and smiled with pride, knowing he had found his soulmate. Who would have thought he would marry a woman thirteen years his junior?

“When is your transport for Earth?” Rebecca asked.

He pulled back his black suit coat sleeve and checked an ancient wristwatch, “Uh, 13:00.”

Rebecca smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “We should have enough time to grab lunch. There’s a decent Bolian cafe on the station’s promenade.” The clearing of a throat pulled her away from her father, and she turned to see Jeter standing there with a PADD in his hand.

“Captain,” Jeter said with a short nod, his face expressionless. He held out his hand with the PADD, “We have just received a communique from fleet. Highest priority.”

Taking the PADD, Rebecca pressed her thumb to the biometric reader. The display blinked to life, and classified orders from Starfleet Command filled the screen. Her expression darkened as she read. The smile faded completely, replaced by a determined frown.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said. “Lunch will have to wait. Get to Earth as fast as you can.”

Jonathan’s brows knit together in concern. “Becca, what’s going on?”

“I can’t say,” she replied, her voice firm but tinged with regret. “It’s classified.”

Turning to Jeter, she snapped into action. “Go to yellow alert. Recall the crew immediately and assemble the senior staff in the conference room in—” she hesitated briefly, calculating—“ten minutes. Anyone not on board in an hour gets left behind.”

Jeter smirked at that, “The XO took the liberty of recalling the crew moments ago, after I spoke to her on the way here. They should all be here within the hour.” He paused for a moment as his eyes cast over the Captian’s family, “I will contact the senior staff right away.”

Jonathan started to speak again, worry etched on his face, but Rebecca touched his arm, her gaze softening momentarily. “I’ll explain everything I can when this is over. For now, I need you and the kids safe. Please.”

Jonathan nodded and wrapped his arms around his grandkids. His joyous expression was replaced with concern. “Be safe, Pumpkin.” He turned and placed a firm hand on Milo’s shoulder, his eyes locking with his son-in-law’s. “Keep her safe. That’s all I ask.”

“I will, sir,” Milo replied, his voice low but resolute.

The finality of the moment hung heavy as hugs and farewells were exchanged. The civilians were guided through the airlock and down the gangway. Jonathan paused at the threshold, turning back to give Rebecca one last lingering look, his expression a mix of pride and sorrow. Then, he was gone, swallowed by the station’s bustle.

Rebecca stood motionless, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if holding herself together. Her mind churned with the conflict between duty and family, the weight of Starfleet’s orders pressing against the ache of separation. After a moment, she exhaled a long, shaky breath and turned on her heel. Milo silently fell into step beside her, and together, they made their way to the observation lounge.

Rebecca entered the observation lounge with Milo on her heels. She glanced around and noted that her senior staff were already there waiting for her.  She remained standing as Milo slid into his seat next to Gus. “Computer seal off this room security level 1.”

The computer obediently beeped in response, “Room secured.”

Riandri glanced over at Jeter as she waited for the Captain to speak. Following the arrival of the message and the movement she had observed in the nearby ships, she had a pretty good idea as to what was about to happen.

Gus resisted the urge to raise one eyebrow, preferring to sip his Vulcan-Chai tea mix, setting his padd to off. He turned all his attention to the Captain.

“Morning,” Rebecca greeted as she leaned over and entered commands into the inlaid keypad on the conference table. After entering her command codes, the computer released information, which she displayed on the monitors on either side of the room, which displayed tactical maps showing Dominion ship placements and current courses.

“This meeting is strictly ‘need to know.’ Share only essential details with your departments to ensure the mission’s safety and effectiveness,” she said, tone firm. She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in before continuing.

“As you’re all aware, we’re at yellow alert. Here’s why: At 02:00 this morning, a Dominion fleet comprised of the Cardassian 8th, 12th, and 17th Orders, several squadrons of Jem’Hadar fighters, and three Dominion Strike Groups broke orbit of Betazed. Intelligence reports place them on a direct course for Vulcan.”

She straightened, her expression grave. “This operation is codenamed Helm’s Deep. Vulcan is one of our most critical Federation worlds. Its fall would destabilize our alliance and give the Dominion a significant tactical foothold. The loss of Betazed was a significant blow; the loss of Vulcan puts Earth, Tellar, Andoria, and countless other Federation worlds in the crosshairs.  It is likely this is a blow we would not recover from.”

Farl raised his eyebrows in concern – a human expression he had picked up during his time at the Academy. Leaning back in his chair, he absent-mindedly tugged on his ear while considering this news. “Well, sounds like there’s only one course of action then: hold Vulcan.”

“Mr. Farl, this cannot be another Betazed disaster.  We hold this world with our lives.  Thankfully, Starfleet was expecting an assault.” She entered commands, and a map of the Vulcan territories appeared.  “Command has hidden half the fleet behind the magnetic poles of the planets. Those ships have decoy transponders set up all over the quadrant.  Mostly the Sol sector. Vulcan should look pretty tempting and undefended.”

Riandri sat silently and listened, taking in the expressions of those around her before she spoke, “We knew this day was coming, and it won’t be a repeat of Betazed. The ship and crew are ready, Captain.”

Rebecca gave Riandri a curt nod. “We’ll be leading a three-ship formation stationed near P’Jem. The Andromeda is one of the new Intrepid-class ships, and the Texarkana is an aging Excelsior-class. The Denver is the best fit to operate as the shield in this formation. We’ll need to draw fire away from the other two ships with our heavier weapons and more powerful shields. The smaller, more maneuverable ships can position themselves to attack the enemy’s vulnerable points. That means we’ll be taking the brunt of the damage.”

She paused, her eyes locking onto Milo. “Milo, we’re down a chief engineer. With your secondary background in engineering, I’m assigning you to that department. Hopefully, we’ll find a replacement before we depart, but it might be on you.”

Milo swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “Understood, Becca.”

“Mr. Viat,” Rebecca continued, her gaze shifting. “You’re now Chief of Security and Tactical. I trust you’re ready for the challenge.”

“Yes, Captain. The two disciplines of security and tactical are far more intermixed during wartime. My teams are ready.”  Gus replied.

Time was slipping away, and every second felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford. “There’s a good chance some, or all, of us won’t survive this battle. I want all non-essential personnel off the ship. If they have secondary specialties in damage control, security, or triage, have them report to those departments. Mr. Ferrus, as head of science, I’ll leave the decision of staying on board up to you. But your science officers need to depart—they’ll be safer elsewhere. Riandri, the same goes for your intelligence team. There won’t be much need to sensor the mail on this mission.”

“Yes captain. I will stay aboard. I have some ideas for modifying the sensor grids at P’Jem… With their permission, of course, but a detection system that powerful should be able to provide us an edge. If I can focus their scanners, I can provide an extremely detailed analysis of enemy ships that tactical might be able to exploit.” Farl had barely finished speaking before he began drawing up some plans and subroutines on his PADD to implement upon arrival.

“Granted,” Rebecca replied.  “I can’t promise the Vulcans will accept the upgrades, but any edge could be monumental.”

Viat turned his padd back one. “Commander, transfer the data to my padd.” Gus said to Farl. “The data can be sent through proper channels and tagged with special interest. The Vulcans will bring the fleet to bear. As a member of a sect that does not repress their emotions, it’s personal.  We will be there.” Gus added with a note of surety.

Lieutenant Jones piped up. “Hey, wait. I like sensor upgrades! Don’t leave out the Helm.” She countered.

Farl raised both eyebrows in surprise at the requests. “Whoa there, let me write the subroutines and detail the modifications first. I still need to take a look at the records of the array in order to know how to implement them properly. I am unsure if the additional data will be relayed fast enough for Helm to find it useful, but I’ll make sure you aren’t left out.”

Farl then paused to look up at Ensign Viat. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to horde the information just for the Denver. If I’m allowed to make the modifications, we’ll tie the data feed into fleet-wide communications. I just want to save some lives, not add notches to my belt.”

“Noted.   We will need to be in position of P’Jem with the end of the day.  Get your departments ready, people.  Ms. Jones, signal the Andromeda and Texarkana to form up on us. We may have to deploy quickly.  Any questions?”

Lieutenant Jones shook her head and started making basic calculations on her padd for the flight plan.

Riandri followed the captain’s gaze around the lounge. She could sense the apprehension bubbling under the surface mixed with excitement. This wasn’t the crew’s first engagement, and she knew they would do what was needed.

“Okay, let’s get to work. Dismissed,” Rebecca said, her voice steady. As the officers filed out to their respective tasks, she waited until the room was nearly empty before finally sinking into the cushioned chair at the head of the table. She exhaled slowly, the weight of leadership settling over her shoulders once again.

For a moment, she let her mind drift. P’Jem—a vital yet vulnerable waypoint. The mission ahead promised no guarantees, but she trusted her crew. They would rise to the challenge, as they always had.

The corridors of the Denver brought in Lavender an uneasy mood. They were familiar and cosseting and yet somehow alien and wrong. It was a feeling of such familiarity that one supposes one has never been away and yet the opposite is painfully true. For Lavender, the opposite was true. She walked them cautiously, alertly, watching the eyes of those she passed. Had they heard things? What had they heard?

Lavender had spent most of the time the ship was at Vulcan at Starfleet Medical receiving emergency counselling and some intensive therapy. It seemed showing up to a café on Vulcan with other officers totally wasted got one noticed. But Lavender admitted the therapy had to happen. It should’ve happened years ago. She had been a wreck. Now, she was somewhat of a new person. The same humour was lavished over a plate of feelings like gravy, hiding the reality of the food laying beneath, but now those feelings were not just neurosis, anger and pain. The doctor still had a lot of work to do, but she had made good progress. She now was no-longer a risk to those around her, the last thing a doctor would want to be. Lavender had always espoused the importance of counselling and how the process of striving for good mental health should not be a taboo, yet she haven’t been able to put that into practice herself, not until now. Lavender turned the last corner and found herself outside the door to her quarters. It hissed open.

Lavender surveyed her surroundings with a sinking feeling. No, this wouldn’t do. This place was all bad memories. She had some nice ones of Arin’s quarters but this place was all pain, nightmares and alcohol. The nightmares had subsided a little now, but when she did have them, as she did regularly, her response to them was much more positive. Her appearance had changed now too. Her makeup was softer. She no-longer felt the need to wear armour. C.B.T. had told her that the fleet were not her enemies, her colleagues were not judging her (too much) and that to try to integrate was a better idea than forcing herself into isolation. Her striking eyeliner struck out with sharp points of black. Her hair was still purple and black with whisps of white. Her rings remained around her lips but her lips were clad in a soft, pretty pale pink, not black. Her hair was up, professional. Her demeanour open, her perpetual frown eliminated. Lavender dumped her bag on the floor.

“Computer, send the following text message to Riandri Nalam. New quarters required at earliest possible convenience. Hope your leave was enjoyable. Yes it really was me who sent this. Lavender. No, replace the word Lavender. Doctor Haigh.”

“Sending.”

Doctor Haigh. This was part of her therapy. She was a doctor. She was an officer. She had to stop bringing the streets of M’talas prime to work. She’d just done that. Lavender scanned the room. In terms of possessions she didn’t have much, what she did have needed to be devoid of issue. She looked at the orchids that littered the room. They were mementos of her mother, who had loved them. But did she love them herself or was she just growing them to hold on to something of Sofia? Even as she began to ask herself the question Lavender knew the answer. She scooped them up and bundled them into the replicator in an untidy mess of soil and roots.

“Love you, Mom. Recycle.”

And they were gone. Lavender set about replicating more bags and started to pack up her various dresses, boots and makeup. Some of it went in the replicator. Some stayed and was packed. The sooner she was out of here the better. A handful of minutes saw her laden with three duffle bags in an otherwise empty space.

“Computer, send the following text message to Arin Jones. “I’m back.”

“Sending.”

Lavender took a deep breath and walked smartly out of the room, the doors closing on her time as an alcoholic.

Elana sighed, staring in disbelief at the sample before her. She had bombarded it with every known form of radiation, soaked it, burned it, and exposed it to a range of chemicals—yet it still survived, seemingly untouched.

The specimen defied the laws of biology as she understood them. Thankfully, it hadn’t yet shown signs of reproduction—but how did it reproduce? Normal bacteria were asexual, dividing through binary fission, but this thing… She shuddered at the thought. If it split, if it began replicating, there would be no stopping it. It could consume the entire lab, and then on to the entire ship.

She considered the idea of running the sample through molecular dematerialization, turning it into pure energy, eliminating the potential threat once and for all. But something stopped her. What if someone else encounters it, and does it trigger growth? What if this was the discovery of a lifetime?

Visions of a Nobel Prize danced in her head. She was no longer thinking objectively, and she knew it. That was one of the greatest enemies of a scientist. Sighing, she downloaded all her data to a PADD and headed for sickbay. The CMO needed to be informed.

Farl flexed his wrist again, wincing in pain. He regretted his whims now, and it was time to get it fixed. He tossed aside the PADD he’d been working on, and stood from his desk with a stretch. He straightened out his uniform, then set off down the hallway to sickbay.

“Excuse me commander, do you or a member of your staff have a moment? I have a minor injury, nothing urgent.” Farl addressed doctor Haigh. He recalled having been instructed to call her Lavender, but to be honest, he couldn’t quite tell if it was a command, or the opposite, a warning not to do so. She was on duty, so he figured rank was safe for now.

Lavender paused a second to look Farl up and down.

“I think the Chief Science Officer warrants my getting off my rear and doing some work, as long as he calls me Lavender like I asked”, Lavender observed. “I don’t like titles. Take a seat and I’ll check you out.”

Farl made his way to a bed and took a seat. “I uh, I made a foolish decision. Laugh if you must, I deserve it. I have been reviewing and approving a lot more departmental reports than I’m used to, so I decided to try and change things up. Instead of approving them with a thumbprint, I’ve been signing them. As in, literally signing them. With a stylus.” Farl winced slightly, preparing for a reaction. “I guess I’m so out of practice with actual handwriting that I strained something in my wrist.”

“Mmm… creating unnecessary work for the Medical Staff. Very irresponsible, Mister Ferrus,” Lavender mocked him very mildly as she positioned her medical tricorder probe over his wrist.

“There are inflammation markers in your blood. Humans and Caitians have a similar reaction to too much gripping and compression of the wrist nerves. I can give you something for the pain, but I do suggest you stop,” Lavender said to her Tricorder screen, before looking up at Farl, a somewhat unamused look on her face. But for all her lack of amusement, there was no annoyance in her manner.

Farl sighed. At least she hadn’t laughed. “I will resume thumb-printing everything, Lavender.” So much for his minor entertainment. Oh, who was he kidding; the novelty of signing his name had worn off after the third signature. Farl had signed up for this job, and he’d be damned before he’d let something as trivial as approving reports get in the way.

Farl met the doctor’s eye. “Ah, yes, please, to whatever will help with the pain.” Then he looked away as the sick bay door swooshed open to let in a familiar face.

“Nothing too crazy, but I can make things more comfortable. I’ll just grab a hypospray…” Lavender left the bedside to acquire one.

Elena entered sickbay with her face buried into her PADD. As the doors parted, she strode into the brightly lit medical facility, a hint of antiseptics and cleaning solutions hanging in the air. Looking up, her eyes fell into the CMO, and the juxtaposition of her Goth appearance contrasted with the clinical setting. She was treating someone. Tufts of fur sprouting from the Starfleet uniform ending in pointed cat-like ears. She hesitated and swallowed, and her palms started to sweat. Was this a mistake? Farl was the Chief Science officer. Of course, he would be following my progress, she thought. Heat flushed her cheeks; it was her discovery, not his.

“Greetings, Ensign.” Farl called out to Elena. Something looked off, but then again, that was usually the case when people report to sick bay. He decided not to mention it. “Have you had a chance to meet our doctor yet? Lieutenant Commander Haigh, though she prefers to avoid titles. I believe you expressed a similar sentiment to me the other day.”

“Call me Lavender,” the Doctor confirmed with about as much cordiality as she ever really mustered, and she approached Farl again brandishing a hypospray. “But only when I’m not annoyed with you. Then it’s ma’am, Doctor, or please, no, please stop, why are you hitting me with that PADD?” This was intoned with a wry smile. “Never call me sir,” she continued as she adjusted the setting on the hypospray, “unless you want to experience the last one of those.” She gave Farl an injection just above his wrist. “That should feel better momentarily,” she told him.

“That is an odd tradition, isn’t it?  Calling a female officer, ‘sir.’ And titles I don’t mind, it’s rank I find frivolous,” Elana said.

“That’s an interesting stance, Ensign,” Lavender observed dryly. “I’ve heard the occasional female officer referred to as ‘Mister’ whatever. That’s just weird. But anyway.” She turned to Farl. “If this gives you any more trouble pop back for a top-up. Take regular rest breaks, even from your normal duties, until you’ve had a chance to heal. ‘kay?”

Farl rubbed his wrist where Lavender had jabbed him with the hypospray. As promised, the pain was already starting to subside. “Will do, thank you for the healin’.” Farl looked to Elena. “I suppose within a science department if everyone is just sciencing away, rank doesn’t mean much. At least, it doesn’t necessarily need to. But on a starship, especially in battle… A clear chain of command is important. Rank helps delineate that chain. Anyway, not trying to make this a lecture, but it does have value in Starfleet.”

She shrugged, acknowledging the point, “Let’s hope I am not needed in the chain of command during a battle. I am far more comfortable with a microscope than acting a leader…” She smirked, “Especially in a tactical situation.”

Lavender turned from Farl to Elena at hearing this, her features rather less empathetic than they had been speaking to the Scientist’s department head a moment before. “We all have our specialities, but the Academy should have prepared you to lead, even if that’s just asking your specialists for options and making the correct decision with their input,” she told Elena in her typical no-room-for-disagreement sort of manner. “You don’t have to have all the answers but you do need judgement, which I’m going to guess you have, doing what you do. Imagine a C.M.O. trying to remove a Captain of a Nebula class vessel like this one from duty on medical grounds and they’re three or four ranks lower than them. It doesn’t fly, even if the rules are in the Doctor’s favour. Like it or not, rank matters, even if I don’t choose to be called by it. Now, I’m guessing you came here for something other than to debate the significance of rank in Starfleet with two Commanders, Ensign.”

“Uh… yeah… Yes, ma’am.” She handed the doctor a PADD, “I discovered a bacteria as part of routine post-away-mission screening. Somehow, it was missed by the biofilters when Ensign Mackenzie was beamed aboard.  Possibly because of the nature of the site-to-site from the older, less sophisticated transporter on Lt. Ming’s uh… auxiliary craft.”

“Lieutenant Ming’s what?” Lavender said rather severely. “That it?” She asked, gesturing to the PADD.

“It seems uninterested in us. It enters the body and just… well, for the lack of a better term, ‘chills’ there, but I have not figured out a way to kill it or filter it out through the biofilters of the transporters.  If it were to mutate as bacteria are apt to, especially in an environment that doesn’t allow it to replicate, we could be looking at a significant outbreak on this ship.”

Lavender scrunched up her lips into a thoughtful pucker, her brow furrowing with decision-making. There was no obvious threat to this, but random space bacteria had a habit of doing unpredictable things. It wasn’t something she could leave alone. She tapped her badge.

“I’m not taking any chances. Haigh to Talon.”

“Talon here.”

“I’m putting the ship on medical lockdown due to an unknown bacteria brought aboard that evades the bio-filters. It’s not a threat right now but I’m not waiting for something unpredictable to happen. Transporters taken offline and all returning crew via shuttles to be scanned by my teams.”

“Understood, I’ll inform the crew.”

Farl stood up from the biobed he’d been sitting on and tapped his badge. “Farl to science department personnel. Follow the lockdown as ordered, but anyone currently in the labs, standby for instructions from sickbay. Redirect your research to assist in any way possible.” Farl then turned back to the doctor.

“I am not a medical doctor, but research is my specialty. I can sit quietly out of the way, or you can put me to work. I defer to you.”

Lavender looked pleased and slightly amused by this.

“I’m a Surgeon, not a researcher,” she explained. “Sure I can handle some epidemiology, microbiology, I know the basic strokes of course but if you want to let your teams loose on this please, I’ll take any help I can get. I’m happy with a workaround, even if we can just get a configuration of the transporters that’ll weed the sucker out I’m good. I’ve done my part as C.M.O. and minimised damage to the ship and crew, but if we’re gonna nail this sucker it’s going to be a team effort. So I think I’ll defer to you, Chief Science Officer.”

Lavender smiled, offering Farl the challenge.

“What you got, Ferrus?” She asked.

Farl nodded and tapped his badge again. “Farl to science team. Ensign Thompson is about to transfer copies of her research to you.” Farl gestured to Elana to do so, then continued speaking. “Personnel in lab 1, re-examine what she’s done so far. Personnel in lab 2, I want fresh ideas only. Coordinate through me. Direct questions about the bacteria can go to Ensign Thompson. She discovered it, she’s been working on it. It’s her project.”

Farl then turned to Elana. “Tell me what you haven’t tried yet. I assume you’ve already investigated the basics, the standards… Give me something wild.”

“I haven’t tried nanites,” Elana realized, inspiration sparking. “I know nanites get a bad rap because… you know, the Borg. But we’ve had much less sophisticated versions in the Federation for a long time. If we can sequence the pathogen’s DNA and identify unique markers on its fimbrial adhesins, we can program the nanites to bind specifically to those proteins. That would stop the bacteria from attaching to host cells and allow us to disable or destroy it.”

She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “The downside is, without precise sequencing, the nanites might not distinguish this pathogen from beneficial bacteria. That could disrupt the patient’s microbiome entirely. To mitigate the effects, we’d need to prepare cultures of beneficial bacteria to reintroduce afterward.”

Lavender didn’t look too excited by this prospect.

“Seems like torpedoing a shuttle just to kill a Mosquito that’s on board,” she commented, dryly.

Farl chuckled. “Hey, if you only ever use phasers, you get phaser-resistant strains flying around.” Farl then approached a console and began reviewing Elana’s notes. “I can begin work on the nanite programming. I think I can narrowly define their targeting scanners.”

“Try to limit the collateral damage?” Elana muttered, half to herself, half to Farl. “It’s an alien bacteria, maybe there’s something unique about it we can target without needing to sequence its DNA.” She tapped her fingers against her chin, mind racing through possibilities.

Farl’s fingers slowed a moment, as he started trying to solve both problems at once. Then he rolled his eyes at himself.

“Lavender, this sounds like your wheelhouse, or close enough. Can you take a look at our little invader and identify something specific to target that wouldn’t be shared by any of the DNA of the crew?” As he spoke, Farl gained access to the nanites’ sensor subroutines and began manipulating their targeting algorithm.

Lavender nodded and turned her back to them, her fingers moving swiftly over the terminal as she entered commands. Elana lingered for a moment, still puzzled by the doctor’s aloofness. Lavender always seemed strange and anti-social, but who was she to judge? Everyone had their quirks. Rumor had it that one of the first things Lavender had said to the captain was, “You’ll get complaints about me.” Elana could easily believe it.

Shaking her head, Elana turned her attention to Farl. “Come on, Boss. We’ll get more done in the science labs.” Without waiting for a response, she headed for the exit, already planning the next steps.

Farl nodded to nobody as the sick bay door whooshed shut behind Elena. He saved his progress and saved it for easy access from the lab, then dashed out the door behind her.

The medical office had been reclaimed from subordinates in the name of the Lavenderian Empire and the raven Empress who sat upon its throne deposited her duffle bags in a pile on the floor and set to work.

“Computer, locate Captain Talon.” She asked the ether.

“Captain Talon is in the Ready Room,” it replied.

“Figures.” As quickly as she had arrived in sickbay Lavender left again, glances and some chatter following her. Old Lavender might have glared. New Lavender just let people be people. She couldn’t actually resume her duties until she’d been cleared by the Captain. Her counselling records and clearance to return transferred to a PADD clutched in-hand, she made the journey across the ship from her office to Rebecca’s, smiling at passing crew and finding their confused responses quite amusing.

“Was that Doctor Haigh?”

“Did she SMILE at us?”

The Bridge crew were more used to seeing the extraordinary, and Lavender’s smiles were returned as she crossed the buzzing expanse and pressed the chime of the Ready Room.

“Enter.”

The door slid open with a faint hiss, revealing Rebecca seated behind her desk. The terminal in front of her displayed split screens, each showing the face of a captain—one from Andromeda and the other from Texarkana.

Lavender moved into the room as she had been told to enter, but seeing the Captain was in the middle of it hung back quietly, just far enough into the room that the door would close behind her.

“We’re going to need you running at full capacity,” Rebecca said, her voice steady despite the chaos around her. She shuffled through a stack of PADDs, the plastic edges clicking on the black glass surface of the desk. With a quick swipe of her thumb, she activated one with a trill of electronic sounds. Scrolling through the data, she nodded. “I can have Ensign MacKenzie and a repair crew over there in two hours.”

“Thank you, Becca,” a male voice replied from the terminal.

Becca, Lavender thought. She’d never heard the Captain referred to as ‘Becca’ before. It made sense though. Whoever was on the other end of the line must have known the Captain well, or so Lavender supposed. She waited patiently with PADD in hand.

“I’ll be right with you, Doctor,” Rebecca said, briefly glancing over the top of her computer terminal before returning to the screen. “Okay, captains, I think that wraps things up for now. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am,” a soft feminine voice replied.

“That’s everything,” the male voice confirmed.

Rebecca smiled faintly. “Good. I’ll see you both at P’Jem. Denver out.” The comm chimed as the connection closed, and Rebecca turned her attention to the table, her hands moving absently to organize the clutter of datapads and notes.

“Thank you for waiting, Doctor,” she said, her voice carrying a practiced calm as her gaze met Lavender’s. “What can I do for you?”

“Cleared for active duty again,” Lavender explained as she took a couple of steps forward, hesitating slightly at the pile of PADDs Rebecca was already dealing with. She nearly added, If you still want me, but decided not to at the last moment, largely because, no, fuck that. If Rebecca wanted to bin her she’d have to do it the hard way. She was probably, no, definitely, a better doctor now than before.

“I can just show you this and take it with me I don’t think you need any more PADDs,” Lavender added, looking from the pile to the Captain herself.

Rebecca sighed, reaching for the coffee pot. Steam curled upward as she topped off her mug, the rich scent filling the small room. With deliberate care, she set the pot on the desk with a soft clink, leaning back in her chair. She cradled the cup in both hands, her gaze steady but unreadable.

The silence stretched, heavy and expectant, until finally, Rebecca said, “The Denver needs her CMO.” The words were just vague enough to blur their intent, leaving Lavender unsure if they were a welcome back or merely an acknowledgment that the department lacked its leader.

Lavender’s heart sank a little and a mixed feeling of  perturbation, dread and annoyance took root in her sternum and started to spread. So that’s how it was. Lavender couldn’t be sure, Rebecca was hard to read and she’d always been somewhat distant. But Lavender got enough of the picture, or so she thought in her own mind. She would have preferred a dressing down, at least then she would know where she stood. Surely if Rebecca was happy to see her she’d have said so, in some form or another. She’d even offer some sort of concern over what the doctor had been through? Ambiguity was the worst. Another silence filled the room, one in which Lavender grappled with all the feelings of rejection and humiliation she had dealt with in the past, trying to deal with them now in the manner she had recently been taught rather than how she used to, by loosing both barrels and cementing herself as a disturbed trouble-maker. Despite her best efforts to remain more upbeat and jovial and be less in her own head about things she couldn’t stop her expression taking a cold, hard edge.

“It does,” she responded eventually. Everything else she could think of to say would have been a bad idea.

“If there’s nothing else.” Lavender retracted the padd with her new-gotten clearance. And stood smartly before the Captain waiting to be dismissed.

The captain leaned forward, setting her coffee down gently. “Would you like a cup?” she asked, her tone warmer now, an olive branch extended after her initial coldness. Rebecca couldn’t entirely shake her mild annoyance with herself, she wasn’t sure her earlier response had been fair, nor was she certain how to handle the doctor in this moment.

The change of tack caught Lavender totally off-guard. The hard-set jaw softened and her feelings of dread subsided. All the scenarios that had been running in her head about avoiding the Captain ended abruptly. The change in emotion was almost euphoric. As for coffee, actually she was dying for a cup. She had plenty to get through and, with due diligence engaged not to substitute one substance for another, she did still love a coffee, good and bad alike. Lavender wasn’t sure what her from a few weeks ago would have done in this situation. It occurred to her also that it didn’t actually matter.

“Actually, I’d love one. Thanks.” The Doctor replied with a brightness of countenance only Arin had seen thus far. “It’s been a hot minute.”

Rebecca smiled as she turned over a cup from the tray on the desk and poured a stream of aromatic liquid. She pushed the cup towards Lavender, gesturing to the tray where a decanter of cream and a small container of sugar sat. Rebecca didn’t use them herself but kept them on hand for moments like this.

Once again reclining in her chair Rebecca took in Lavender, studying the doctor. Her manicured index finger tapped softly against the porcelain mug, the rhythmic sound melding with the soft hum of the environmental system.

She hesitated before speaking, carefully choosing her words. “Did you—” Rebecca began, then paused, trying to find the right phrasing. “Have you figured things out?” She didn’t want to pry, but as the Captain she wanted to lay the foundation for Lavender to open up to her if she felt comfortable.

Lavender also was unsure how much to say and looked at the hot, dark liquid in the cup she cradled as if searching for answers in the bitter depths. There was a line between being open and being too open that perhaps was hard to walk sometimes, especially when it came to mental trauma. She looked up again, the overhead lighting of the ready room catching the pale skin of her forehead and making the purple half of her hair almost fluoresce. She was careful not to catch the Captain’s eye. Rebecca was pretty fearsome.

“I’m… on the right path,” she replied, the words carefully assembled. “I should have taken leave after the whole Jem’hadar prison thing but you offered me everything I wanted right there and then. It was… I was careless.”

Rebecca sighed and rose, coffee still in hand. She turned to the window behind her, staring out into the expanse of space, Lavender’s reflection faintly visible in the glass. When she faced the doctor again, her expression was clouded with sympathy. “It’s not easy for a captain to admit a mistake. The crew needs to trust her, to believe in unwavering decisions. But I should have seen that you needed time, recognized the demons you still had to excise. Perhaps the responsibility is mine as much as yours.”

Lavender’s right eyebrow rose slightly. She took a step forward, but maintained a respectful distance.

“I appreciate that Captain, but you’re working under the assumption that I’d let you or anyone else see what I was going through. And I wouldn’t. My staff didn’t, how would they know the difference between between my normal behaviour and something more sinister when they didn’t even know me before? How would you? And let’s face it I look how I look and I am how I am and people are scared of me. Only Arin knew, she saw the P.T.S. in me first hand and what’s she going to do, betray her girlfriend and go up against a superior officer and the C.M.O. to boot? Especially one with a reputation like mine. I’m as much an open book as your typical Vulcan. And that’s… that was part of the problem.

Rebecca sighed and gave the doctor a sympathetic nod. “You don’t exactly have a cuddly reputation, but a prisoner of war camp isn’t something you just pop back from. I should have insisted you take it slowly and talk to the counselor.”

Lavender took a drink from her mug, her eyes visible over the rim staying on the Captain as she did.

“I did talk to her ma’am. Given my responsibilities on-ship there wasn’t time to work through everything we needed to. Now I have.”

It felt really odd to be this open with the Captain. And yet Lavender felt it was probably the right thing.

“Look, Captain. I hate twee little phrases like everyone learned a valuable lesson” (Lavender intoned this in a rather mocking childish voice), but I’m Admiral Picard if I haven’t. If you want to take some responsibility that’s up to you, I’m putting it on myself. I’m a Doctor for Pete’s sake. I should know where the line is. I should know to follow the advice myself that I dole out to the crew and scare them into complying with for better or for worse. My ambition overrode my better judgement. I know the cause of that now. No, I already knew. I just know where the line is now. And I’m less of a pain in the ass. I told you when you offered me the job that you’ll get complaints about me. You’ll get less now. Happy days.”

Rebecca shrugged, “Well, I won’t tell you how to feel, and I could care less about complaints as long as you keep the crew healthy and alive. You aren’t a counselor.  You aren’t their friend.”

Setting her coffee down she sighed,  “After my mom died my abuela came to live with my father and me.  She served for decades in Starfleet as a doctor.” Rebecca had a warm smile as she stared up at the ceiling thinking back. She once said, “Mija, remember this: healing isn’t just physical. Sometimes, listening and showing compassion is the best medicine you can give.”

Lavender responded to the anecdote with a slight smile, imagining the scene. But her face fell suddenly and for a moment, she was somewhere else. Her brow furrowed and her mouth opened slightly, the perceptive picking up a partially masked look of realisation, as if a bombshell had just dropped in her mind and the evidence quickly hushed up. Lavender gathered herself. Something had just occurred to her. Something big. This was when her years of covering up how she was feeling served her and a new tack was sailed quickly and deftly.

“I know that’s not your point, but as you mention it I’m working on my bedside manner. I’ll never be open and cuddly, but I’ll try to be a bit more… warm…?” The synonym was experimental, as if Lavender wasn’t sure she was capable of it but mooted it anyway. Things turned more serious for a moment. Lavender and the Captain had way more in common than she’d ever thought and not just some Latin or Spanish family. “My mother died too,” she admitted after a brief pause for consideration. “When I was eight. That’s one of the things I was working on while I was away. I never did properly before I joined up. I’m sorry it happened to you. It’s…” she shook her head. “I can’t imagine anything more indescribably shit.”

Rebecca sighed, the weight of shared pain drawing her gaze downward momentarily before she spoke. “It was.” Her voice carried the edge of old anger not yet dulled by time. “It took me a long time not to hate a Cardassian, and if I am being brutally honest…” She hesitated, unsure if she should reveal such a deep-seated secret to a relative stranger and subordinate. At last, she shrugged and finished her thought, “I still do. I know, not very Federation of me, and we were at war, but…” The captain shook her head as if to free herself of the emotion bubbling under the surface.

For a moment, the silence between hung heavy in the air.  Unspoken pain between them. Then Rebecca straightened, her demeanor shifting to something steadier. “Welcome back, Doctor,” she said, the change in tone clear as she pivoted the conversation. “My door is always open.”

Lavender would have loved to continue the conversation. She felt in that moment there was a chance that she and the Captain could even be kindred spirits of a sort. But that door had just closed, for now, and it was the Captain’s to close. She had opened it. Lavender finished the coffee in one and placed the cup down neatly on the tray from whence it had come. Then she stood smartly in front of her C.O.

“Thank you, Captain,” she responded with a respectful smile, waiting to be dismissed. “So is mine.”

Rebecca nodded, “Get your department squared away.  We are about to see action you should expect high casualties.  I hope no fatalities,  but I fear that is too much to hope for.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lavender responded, simply. “We’ll be ready.”

With a final  nod, “You are dismissed Doctor.”

Padd in hand, Lavender left the ready room. She didn’t stop to consider what had just happened until she was safely closed in the turbo lift and heading back down through the ship’s many decks. This was not for gossip. This was big. And not even including her duties now, given the realisation she had had and kept to herself she had a lot of work to do. Lavender exited the turbolift and headed back towards sickbay, wondering if she’d have a message waiting from Arin when she got there.

Pings coming from the console, comm badge, or something else wasn’t anything new. This one however had a distinctive ringtone and her stomach started to twist in apprehension. Making the effort, she actually sat down and opened the message. Simple and to the point. Arin knew better that it was anything but that simple. I’m back.

A hundred things went through her mind, heart, and soul simultaneously. That the relationship would change was inevitable even if nothing had happened. Very little in life was static. How was the question?

She started constructing a reply. “Yay. I would love to see you. Name the place.”

A few minutes passed before a reply came. This one had been sent from sickbay. My quarters off-limits. Lounge? Or yours. Not the holodeck. You decide.

Taking the time to look at the message. Her quarters were off-limits. Time to pivot, Arin thought, then replied Let’s start in my quarters and we can always move to the lounge or arboretum. Maybe something is in bloom?

The next reply was only three letters. OMW. Another popped up after a moment. Taking care of a thing on the way. Call it ten minutes.

That gave Arin time to change a few things. She swapped fresh roses into the vase in the living room. Filling a kettle she set its temperature. A few beefsteak tomatoes were just ripe, so she picked them adding contrast to the small kitchenette island. She closed the door to the spare room just as much for the alcohol as the scattering engine parts around the room for the project that kept her mind and hands busy.

Brushing out her hair, she changed into black striped overall shorts and a burgundy vee neck t-shirt as the chime rang.

Answering the door, she nervously stood to the side.

Lavender, or someone who looked almost exactly like her stood outside, the harsh lighting of the corridor illuminating the changes in her. She seemed together, more calm and there were warm, pink tones in her makeup which was a lot less severe than Arin was used to. A smile crept onto Lavender’s face and she took a couple of steps inside and wrapped her arms around Arin, laying her head on the taller woman’s shoulder and ignoring everything and everyone else, including the open door behind her that wouldn’t close until the pair moved further into the room.

Arin dropped her jaw. “Oh my God, you look amazing.” Not caring that the door was open, she enfolded Lavender in her arms, hugging her tightly. After Lavender tried to pull away, Arin let her get about arm’s length away before pulling her back in for a few more seconds. Lavender chuckled. “Thanks.”

Leading her away for the door finally, it closed. “You really know how to scare someone, ya know.” She commented with smirk. “Let’s sit. Tea, coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Lavender replied, having just had one with the Captain. She sat as instructed and looked around the room. It was familiar, cosy. There were memories there. She looked back to Arin. Damn she was pretty.

“How have you been?” She asked. Boy, this was awkward.

“On pins and needles if I am honest.” Arin said, plainly. “My concern was always you, Lavender.” Something wasn’t being said. “If you are going to do something, just pull the bandaid, don’t torture me. That isn’t your style.”

Lavender smile-snorted. It wasn’t, Arin was right.

“I’m not doing shit,” Lavender said. “No difficult conversations, no feeling sorry for myself, no skipping meals and definitely no alcohol. Nothing except gaining a little weight. A little. So I will allow you to feed me. My relationship with food is messed up, apparently. I can go into it but it’s long and boring. I don’t want to use words like disorder and alcohol and dependency, I want to use words like snuggle, delicious, and undress. M’kay?”

Arin let out a huge sigh of relief. Without a word, she led Lavender to the overstuffed couch. She placed a strawberry between her lips, the red fruit contrasting against the burgundy lipgloss. Around the fruit she managed, to offer, “Like this?” Her eyes glossed over as she gazed at the familiar and new woman before her.

The edges of Lavender’s mouth rose and in a moment she was grinning. Her eyes sparkled with joy, but in her lips was the slightest purse of mischief.

“I thought more like this,” she said, undoing her uniform jacket. It, her shirt and her vest were quickly discarded to the floor.

“It looks far better in the new location, I must say,” Arin smirked in reply. A mischievous smile came over her. Pulling Lavender in tight. She guided her lover’s hand to the top snap of the overalls. Lavenders’ fingers rested on Arin’s chest as she started to work the fastenings.

“I missed these. I mean you,” Lavender grinned.

Arin watched the greed in her lover’s face. Taking Lavender’s hand she led her to the bedroom. “You aren’t the only one.” Barely able to speak as she kissed Lavender hard, “So glad you’re back. Your front is nice too.”

“Nice…?” Lavender grinned and pushed Arin over on to her back as she sat on the bed.

Later

Lavender considered what time it might be. She knew what time she’d arrived at Arin’s, but that was a while ago. She didn’t want to move from her happy place under the warm sheets snuggled up to the pilot, but she knew she had to. She had to eat something. It didn’t have to be too much, but Lavender was determined to do things right from now on. She wasn’t fourteen and on the streets anymore. But this would give rise to an inevitable conversation and it was one she was worried to have. She knew Arin loved her, or at least the old her, but would she love the updated Lavender? The one who was less of a rebel? Less of a wise-cracker? Less of a complete mess… her head rose from Arin’s shoulder and she scooped a handful of black hair from in front of her eyes.

“I need to eat something, Arin,” Lavender said looking at her partner with slight worry as amber eyes darted toward the movement. “I promised to keep to a meal schedule and I don’t wanna slip on day one.” Lavender sighed internally.

Fuck it.

“I’m not… anorexic or anything… but I could be, if I’m not careful… or… well that’s what the counsellor said. It doesn’t have to be much but, well, something balanced and healthy.”

Lavender heard the words she had just said.

“Yes it’s really me, before you ask,” she added with a slight smile.

Blinking the sleep away, she yawned as she stretched exhuberantly. “Okay, okay, I’m up.” Arin said smacking Lavender on the hip. She retrieved a dark blue plush robe from the back of the bathroom door, and grabbed a  hunter green oversized pullover. It was long on Arin, so on Lavender, it would be nearly a dress.

Padding out to the kitchenette, she retrieved a few items from the static cabinet. A nice piece of gravlax, and fresh light roast coffee beans.  Pulling out a cutting board and sharp knife. “Can I make you my souschef or a moment and slice some tomatoes? Some lower fat cream cheese on a bagel, with a fresh tomato slice and some salt, or did you have something else in mind?”

Lavender had retrieved that which was to go under the pullover dress from the floor and donned both, organising her hair after in a convenient mirror. She noted with some satisfaction that while, clearly, her lipstick application was resting in peace from having been purposefully removed earlier with a wipe, the rest of her makeup was doing okay.

“Sounds great,” she replied with enthusiasm. “Don’t make it low fat on my account though. I can have some saturated fat, probably do me good to be honest. Just in half? She asked as she moved to the kitchenette and inspected the tomatoes.

Arin nodded. “Oh,  I get it. You need some fat for flavor too.” Looking over, Arin suggested, “Um. Slice them like you are putting one in a burger. It’s going to be the topper to the sandwich. Plus the Omega3’s in the salmon are good for us. It is why I store a few kilos when I can get it. Some things the replicator doesn’t get quite right.  “Computer, a hundred grams of Nuefchatel cheese, two pairs of toasted muffins, fork-split, and four pieces of crispy bacon.”  Looking over she grimaced. “It sounded so good right that second.”

“It does!” Lavender agreed and sliced the tomatoes burger-style with a deftness of hand brought by being a surgeon.

Spreading the cream cheese over the hot muffins, Arin added a couple of thin slices to the top and carefully moved the tomatoes to the top of the sandwich. A ramekin of kosher salt finished the plates, sprinkling a bit on the tomato. “Now kiss the chef,” Arin said, looking happy at the well-finished large plate between them. Lavender regarded the plate too. It looked delicious.

“Alright,” she replied and stood on tip-toes, placing tomatoey hands on Arin’s cheeks and gave her a long, slow kiss.

Reaching over, Arin grabbed a small dish towel, took a corner, and rat-tailed Lavender’s left leg lightly before wiping her own face, smirking as she did so. Then pulled Lavender into a hug. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’d say clean living, but I was brought up to believe that God struck liars with lightning,” Arin added. Taking one of the loaded muffins, she bit into the food. The rush of fresh tomato, mingling with the salty bacon, smooth cream cheese, and toasted bagel hit in waves.  “Damn, that doesn’t disappoint.”

“Damn, that doesn’t disappoint.”

“Mmm, it doesn’t,” Lavender agreed, taking the time to finish her mouthful before doing so, just for Arin. “You’re damn good, Arin. And I’m the lucky one, especially with all the shit I’ve put you through recently.”

Arin listened intently, “You needed help, it started as simply as that. I wasn’t expecting to lose myself to you in the transaction. I also regret nothing.” Arin smiled and winked.  She said, taking another bite and enjoying the time together.

She let Lavender nourish her body. Her psyche would be another matter. Looking at Lavender, she marveled at the woman before her. “Do not underplay this win,” Arin said.

Seeing the look of confusion on Lavender’s face, Arin added, “I wish you could see how I see you right now. The strength and courage it took to face this. Smart, fierce, and determined. You are a damned doctor. Holding people’s lives in your literal hands. I can fly through a black hole easier than some of the things you do, from my perspective.”

“So yes, be proud of yourself. I sure the hell am.” Arin said, taking another bite, while she admired Lavender. Yes she was pretty, but beauty of spirit was something Arin believed in.

“Heh.” Lavender made a noise of surprise, using all her willpower to put down her food for a moment, it was so good. “Other way around for me. I pray you never see me piloting. Thing is, doctoring I can do. I can fix people. I may not make them feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but if there’s a mess of blood, guts and miscellaneous human innards if anyone can get them back functioning again it’s me. If there’s someone you want to suck up to an Admiral? Not me. Definitely not me. You probably wanna post me to a different planet for the visit. That’s the hard part. That’s what I’m working on. Stuff I just see as being so boring and pointless and banal, the socialising and the schmoozing and the happiness. Seems so odd when there’s such barbarity happening. Hypocritical, to me. But I guess we have to find the happiness or we’ll go insane, right?” Lavender’s grey-green eyes moved past Arin to the window in thought.

“I can’t keep pushing everyone away with my anger. I’m not angry with them. I’m angry with everything. With existence. For dealing me such a shit hand. And… I need to find a way to get past that. Not be angry with the people around me for all the bull and injustice in the galaxy. Hell it’s not their fault, is it?”

Lavender surrendered to the food and took another bite.

“Shorry that wash heavy,” she said as she chewed, covering her mouth with a hand.

Arin smiled and shrugged. “Thing is, I get it. That broken road and I are…used to each other.” She took a bite letting the seed of that thought process through the woman before her. Sipping her coffee as she gathered her thoughts, Arin added, “though some of the bumps and holes are going to be different for you to complete the imperfect analogy. Why I am so good with THINGS. I can fix stuff. That’s the easy part. People can be hard.”

“Life isn’t always supposed to be warm and fuzzy. Be nice if it was. So I grab the cookie, take the orgasm, smoke the cigar, and get up and go to work. But that is me. Moderation was a trick I had to learn and…what to stay away from.” Arin commented.

“Which for me is alcohol, right now,” Lavender said, finally addressing the elephant in the room. “I’m the same. Take the happiness where you find it ’cause that shit is rare. I’m not a full-blown alcoholic, it was a temporary medicinal dependency but either way, I need to not use it to drown my issues and deal with them properly, no matter how scary that is. And it fucking is, trust me.”

“Why I plan on sticking around as your wingman, guardian, personal chef. Whatever you need. Finding creative outlets, and channeling that energy into something if not positive, at least not negative. Stabilize the patient, then cure them. Baby steps if that is what it takes.” Reaching for Lavender’s hand, she guided her to the spare room. “Now, this is the place I have the stuff, but not what I need to show you. I can hear my grandmother now, ‘Idle hands of the work of the devil, Arin.’ and she’d make me do chores. So I decided hobbies were a better idea and…”

As the door slid open, a mostly complete flat-four internal combustion motor sat on an engine stand. Tools and other accessories lie around the room. “I tried meditation. I tried therapy. Turns out, I needed horsepower.” Closing the door, she added, “Point is if I can help you figure out what your next steps are. Let me know. We never did work on that smaller beauty station idea.” Arin added.

Lavender nodded, walking about the motor, taking in all the various attachments and bits and bobs, none of which meant anything to her. She looked up at Arin, in time.

“So that’s where all this driving flying vehicles stuff comes from. I get what you’re saying. I need a hobby. Well fuck if that isn’t a good idea. Now then. I like to eat and I like music but actual like stuff? With things? Hmm. What do I… like… to do?”

It was a real question she was posing. Of course Arin wouldn’t know. Lavender didn’t know herself. But she hoped she would in time.

“Let’s see how good she is at cleaning the kitchen with me first.”  “Arin teased.

“I mean… grab stuff, put stuff in the replicator, press recycle. Hardly needs a degree in Warp Theory, Arin…” Lavender grinned back, inspecting some part or other attached to the motor.

“And yet here you are.” Arin teased. “Not cleaning. I offer a counter-proposal. We finish the muffins, I could use more coffee, and then maybe work off some of that, what do you do for cardio besides me? Bicycles, swimming, yoga?”

Lavender’s hand went to her hip and the Latin part of her accent came out strongly, her index finger raised, moving with attitude as she spoke.

“Ohhh, I get you. Because my mom is Mexican I’m your cleaning lady now?” She joked. “Well while I’m cleaning up for you Irish, why don’t you find a pot of gold and lucky charms at the end of the nearest rainbow to pay me with, hmm?”

Lavender swaggered past her girlfriend back into the other room and picked up her coffee mug.

“Well now,” she said, after a sip, “I used to work fifteen hours a day and climb that holo-skyscraper every day too, neither of which I’ll be doing from now on, so the post of exercise routine is currently open. Biking is too happy families, yoga is very yummy mummy and girl you know I can’t swim. Yoga isn’t out though. I like the idea of all the balancing and poise. And you’ll like the idea of me being flexible. More flexible. But I’m open.”

“Hey,” Arin said, quickly pecking her on the lips to break her focus.  “Yoga is fine. Gymnastics is out as these puppies, don’t promote balance.” She said pushing her arms together making her cleavage pop out a bit.  At least you have a shot at balance. Not giving up my road bike. You think once around the park. My brain goes, let’s upgrade the bike and see if I can break my record time for the 100km.” She paused.

“So yoga for starters, maybe some weight training?” Arin asked. Moving back the kitchenette, and placing the plates stacked into the replicator.

“Sounds good,” Lavender replied. “Hey, I thought I was clearing up?”

Earlier

Yay. I would love to see you. Name the place.

The reply blinked on her office screen as Lavender returned from seeing the Captain and plonked herself on the chair. Lavender’s heart-rate quickened and she tapped out a response with the long and gothic nails she was holding on to dearly until she had to take them off when she resumed work. Where was good?

My quarters off-limits. Lounge? Or yours. Not the holodeck. You decide. She wrote and sent it, realising that both she and Arin had told each other to decide. Oh well.

Let’s start in my quarters and we can always move to the lounge or arboretum. Maybe something is in bloom?

The message came in after Lavender had barely had time to do anything, not that she was going to. She was waiting for the response, her eyes glued to the part of her screen where messages popped up. Arin’s quarters. That worked.

OMW lavender wrote quickly and sent it before considering that Arin might want some time to prepare. It also occurred to the doctor as she tapped out another line of text that there was something she also should take care of. She had the bottle to do it, so now was a good time. Taking care of a thing on the way. Call it ten minutes. Lavender checked the holodeck usage and rising, she departed quickly without a word to anyone.

Mercifully still empty as she arrived, Lavender told the holodeck computer to start program Lavender Haigh Two and entered. The familiar high-rises of M’talas Prime greeted her as she moved into the space, the familiar smells, the glass, the roar of crowds and shuttles, the blaring neon lights. It was so familiar. At one point it had been a comfort to Lavender, but now… the Raven Empress regarded the scenes with an annoyance of past pain remembered.

“Computer, delete program and all backups on all servers on this ship and across the Federation.”

“Please confirm full deletion, this command cannot be undone,” the computer responded.

“Confirm, delete them all.”

“Program deleted.” The holodeck shimmered to emptiness once-again. That had been easy. Saying goodbye to M’talas Prime and her childhood properly had been one small part of the intensive counselling she had been receiving. Far too much looking back, not enough forward. Too much existing as who she was in the past, not who she was now. But next came the hard one. Hard didn’t properly begin to describe it.

“Computer, load program Lavender Haigh One.” The image of one body shimmered into being, static in the yellow-chequed space. It was her mother, and besides a photo cube in Lavender’s, well, in her bags as of that moment but usually positioned in her quarters, it was the only image of her, one constructed from the afore-mentioned photo cube. Lavender stared into her face. It was her own face, largely. They looked so similar. Sofia’s eyes were brown and her skin was darker than her daughter’s was, but the resemblance was striking. Lavender moved closer, staring into the taller woman’s eyes, regarding every little feature of the image so faithfully recreated. Her heart thumped.

Deep breath followed deep breath. Lavender remembered phrases her Psychiatrists had said. How she wasn’t moving on and couldn’t until she left her childhood behind. How she had to establish who she was as an adult besides a rebel and a gobby mess. How she couldn’t do that, she couldn’t integrate into any crew properly and how she couldn’t find pride in herself and love herself, how she couldn’t make peace with what had happened to her, her father, her mother and her uncle until all of that was behind her. Academically, she knew it was correct. There was logic and wisdom in all of those assertions. But still, moving on from the life denied and accepting the life that is can never be easy. But what is should not be overshadowed by what could have been.

“Computer…” Lavender’s lip started to tremble. Her chest rose and fell in another deep breath. Her jaw muscles flexed and her lips pursed in anguish as she willed herself beyond any other will in her twenty nine previous years to do the right thing and, in doing so, not to cry. Her talonesque nails dug into her palms with ferocity. “C… computer…”

There was no sound in Lavender’s ears but the thumping of her heart.

“…delete program and all backups on all servers on this ship and across the Federation.”

“Please confirm full deletion, this com…”

“JUST FUCKING DO IT!” Lavender screamed. “Confirm!”

“Program deleted.”

There was nothing where Sofia had stood. Nothing but yellow lines and black voids. Lavender gained control of her breathing, in time, and shook her head out vigorously before turning and walking straight out of the room, without looking back.

Captain’s Quarters…

Rebecca stood before the mirror in her quarters. The steady thrum of the engines and the soft hum of the environmental systems played a familiar, almost comforting soundtrack in the background. Behind her, the green and blue orb of P’jem was framed in the windows, its soft glow bathing the room in tranquil shades of blue.

The quarters felt empty now, quieter without the girls. The twins’ laughter had been replaced by a hollow stillness that darkened the space. But they were safe, and that’s all that mattered. Sending them to live with her father had been the right decision; she told herself that every day, but the ache of their absence was more difficult to ignore than she’d anticipated.

She tucked a loose strand of coppery hair into place, taming the unruly mess into a sleek, regulation-style bun. With a practiced motion, she swiped her index finger across the corner of her left eye, erasing a faint eyeliner smudge. She took a deep breath and studied her reflection, ensuring every detail was in order.

“You’re looking sharp,” Milo said with a slight grin beneath his Walrus mustache, holding her dress uniform jacket open to help her into it.

“Thanks,” she replied earnestly, sliding her arms into the sleeves. “You’re looking good yourself, but how quickly you can get ready is infuriating.”

Milo chuckled as he settled the jacket over her shoulders. Grinning, he ran a hand through his neatly combed hair. “I don’t have to wrestle with my hair or makeup. The hardest thing I do is shave, which I took care of this morning.”

Rebecca scowled, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Men. You wouldn’t last a day as a woman.”

Her fingers worked up the front of the crisp white uniform, finally fastening the upturned collar after several attempts. Facing the mirror, she tugged at the bottom of her uniform, adjusting it with a frown. For a moment, she was that little girl again, standing in her mom’s uniform, dreaming of one day becoming a captain like Kirk, Garrett, or Sulu.

“I reckon you’re right,” Milo agreed. “Are we ready now?”

“Of course, I’m right, my dear,” she said with a smile, turning to fix her husband’s haphazard appearance.  She straightened his collar and reached up to smooth an errant strand of hair.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he groaned, brushing her probing fingers away lightly with the back of his hand. “You’re acting like we’re meeting the president. We’re just having dinner with some fellow captains and their XOs. How do you know Captain Anderson?”

Rebecca frowned, her expression darkening. She sidestepped Milo, crossing her arms as she stared out the windows, watching P’Jem slowly rotate below them. A heavy silence hung between them before she finally spoke. “He was the Assistant Chief Engineer of the USS Missouri .”

Milo’s mouth fell open, his eyes wide as he blinked in surprise. Steeling his expression, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume and the soft floral notes of her shampoo. “Your mom’s ship.”

“The same one.”

Twenty-eight Years Earlier…

A console arched sending a shower of sparks streaming across engineering.  The steady thrum of the warp core made a strange vibration for a second before falling back into the familiar heartbeat like rhythm.

The Missouri shuddered violently, the deck plates beneath its crew groaning under the strain. Each impact rippled through the venerable Excelsior-class starship, a cacophony of creaks and pops echoing through its stressed hull. The high-pitched whine of the inertial compensators, straining to counteract the onslaught, rose to an almost unbearable pitch.

Lieutenant Michael Anderson picked himself up off the deck giving himself a cursory damage assessment.  After a quick examination he concluded that he had suffered nothing more than a few bumps and bruises.

Again, the ship bucked and jumped under another volley of enemy fire, the hull groaning as phaser blasts and torpedoes hammered the shields. Mike stumbled, grabbing the edge of the engineering “pool table” to steady himself, narrowly avoiding a fall onto the littered deck.

The acrid smell of burning electronics filled the air, and alarms blared in the background. As he regained his balance, his eyes fell upon a silent form half buried under a charred pile of debris, the red of the “monster maroon” uniform barely visible beneath the fractured bits of bulkhead and console.

“Chief!” Mike shouted, dropping to his knees beside the injured man sprawled on the deck. Frantically, he shoved debris aside to reveal the Chief Engineer, lying on his back and struggling to breathe. His face was scorched, his eyes wide with shock. A jagged shard of a console’s touchscreen jutted from his chest, blood pooling around the wound and soaking into the wool of his uniform.

“Bridge to engineering,” Commander Rachel Sandoval’s voice cut through the chaos over the intercom. “Chief, we need those shields!”

“Stay with me, Chief,” Mike urged, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. He lightly slapped the man’s cheek, trying to keep him conscious. “Hang on.” Rising, Mike slapped the intercom button. “Stand by Commander. Engineering to Sickbay! Medical emergency; beam the Chief Engineer directly to sickbay!”

“Stand by, engineering,” came the reply.

A heartbeat later, the shimmering light of the transporter enveloped the Chief Engineer, and he was gone, leaving behind only the blood-streaked deck. Mike exhaled sharply, pushing the knot of worry deep down. There was no time to dwell. It was the next man up, and that man was him.

“Johnson, Kelly: get on the shield generators! Salok, you’re with me on the warp core. We have to stabilize the reaction, or we’ll lose antimatter containment!”

Slamming the comm button, Mike shouted, “Lieutenant Anderson to bridge. Chief Cooper is injured. I have teams on the shields. Give us a few minutes if you can.”

“We’ll do what we ca─”

A massive explosion tore through the hull, cutting off the bridge mid-sentence. The deck bucked violently, throwing Mike to the floor. Consoles erupted around him in showers of sparks, and the already smoke-filled room plunged into near-darkness, illuminated only by the pulsing red emergency lights and the steady blue glow of the warp core. The acrid smell of burning circuitry stung his nostrils, and the crackle of arcing electricity filled the air.

“Damage report!” Mike barked, coughing as smoke seared his lungs. Stumbling to his feet, he made his way to the engineering console, where Salok stood. The Vulcan’s serene countenance was unsettling amidst the chaos.

“Shields are offline,” Salok reported with a momentary hesitation. “Hull breaches on decks one through five. I— Emergency forcefields are offline and emergency bulkheads are in place.” His normally serene expression faltered, his eyes widening ever so slightly in alarm.

So, they do feel something after all, Mike thought grimly as he joined Salok at the console.

The diagram of the ship glowed faintly on the table. The Missouri was a sea of red and orange, nearly every system marked as damaged or destroyed. Yet, to Mike’s surprise, the warp engines were still functional; damaged but operational. They wouldn’t exceed warp five, but it was enough to get them out of danger.

Mike pressed the intercom again. “Engineering to bridge.”

Silence.

“Engineering to bridge,” he repeated, his fingers racing over the controls.

Still nothing.

“Are the comms down?” he asked, his voice tight.

Salok shook his head. “Communications are operational.” He glanced at the console, his voice lowering slightly. “However, I am not detecting any life signs from the bridge.” He paused, his tone even but grave. “Lieutenant, I believe you are now the highest-ranking officer aboard. You are in command.”

A chill swept over Mike, cutting through the heat and smoke. He gripped the edge of the console, steadying himself. Command? That was never his dream. He was an engineer. His job was fixing the ship, not leading it. The thought of stepping into the role now, amidst this devastation, was suffocating.

“Lieutenant, what are your orders?” Salok asked, his firm tone grounding Mike in the immediacy of the situation.

Mike took a steadying breath. “Okay, let’s get out of here. Hopefully, the other ships can keep the Cardassians off us as we retreat. Johnson, convert your console to tactical. Salok, you’re a certified pilot, right?”

“I am,” the Vulcan replied, his fingers already moving across the console to reconfigure the situation table into a helm. The computer obediently adjusted, displaying the ship’s course. “Impulse engines are offline, but warp and maneuvering thrusters are responding. Course laid in for Starbase 238 at warp five.”

Mike braced himself against the damaged inertial dampers, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the console. “Engage.”

The next day, life aboard the Missouri was slowly returning to a semblance of normal. Systems were being restored one by one, but the scars of battle lingered. An EVA spacewalk confirmed the worst: the bridge had taken a direct torpedo hit. It was gone—torn apart by the explosion. There was nothing to salvage, not even biological remains. The only small comfort was that the crew’s deaths had likely been instantaneous.

Mike had moved command to auxiliary control, promoting Salok to acting chief engineer. Technically, Chief Cooper was now the captain, but he lay unconscious in sickbay. The doctor estimated he would remain there for at least a week, long after they reached Starbase 238.

There was one thing Mike had been avoiding—something he could no longer put off. He’d buried himself in work, using the ship’s extensive damage as an excuse. But now, with repairs stabilizing, he had to face it.

His pulse quickened as he walked the corridors, a PADD clutched tightly in his hand. The information it contained seemed to burn through his palm. When he reached the closed doors, he stopped, staring at the gold nameplate:

Commander Rachel Sandoval, Executive Officer.

Mike swallowed hard, his throat dry as ash. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the mustard-colored undershirt of his uniform, stalling for time. He adjusted the maroon jacket that suddenly felt several sizes too small. Sucking in air through his nose he filled his lungs before slowly blowing it out through his teeth. Steeling himself he pressed the door chime.

The silence stretched, each second feeling like an eternity. Mike tugged at his collar, the fabric suddenly feeling like a noose tightening with every beat of his racing heart. The corridor around him felt oppressively narrow, the harsh artificial lights casting long, distorted shadows deepening his dread. His palms were slick with sweat, and he could feel the subtle tremor in his hand as he clutched the PADD tightly against his hip. He considered turning away for a moment, retreating to the safety of the chaos of auxiliary control. But no, this had to be done.

Finally, the soft hiss of the doors broke the oppressive quiet, sliding open with a deliberate slowness that felt almost mocking. A faint breeze from the air recycling systems stirred the tension, brushing past him as though urging him forward.

A young girl no older than ten stood before him. Her bright green eyes shone with anticipation, freckles scattered like stars across her nose and cheeks. Wild curls of red hair framed her small, hopeful face. But the hope didn’t last. Her expression fell, her wide eyes dimming, her lips trembling in a way that made Mike’s chest tighten. She looked so much like her mother.

“Rebecca,” he rasped, his voice breaking under the weight of her name.

The girl’s expression contorted, her face struggling to keep the tears at bay, the sorrow etched in every feature. She hadn’t needed to hear the words. His very presence at her door spoke louder than any confirmation. The familiar, unspoken realization hung heavy in the space between them; her worst fear had come to life. And yet, despite the depth of that heartbreak, she held herself together in a way Mike couldn’t have imagined. She stood there, her slight frame tense but remarkably composed, considering the devastation that lay in wait.

Mike’s throat tightened as he knelt before her, his knees protesting. He looked into her eyes, green like polished jade, gleaming with innocence. They held a pain that was meant for someone beyond her years. He could not fathom how a child would persevere after this.

“Rebecca, dear,” he began, his voice faltering as the words failed to come, “your mom—”

And that was all it took. The dam broke.

She collapsed into him, her sobs tearing through the silence that had lingered between them. Her tiny body trembled violently, pressing into his chest as though she could somehow bury herself within the safety of his embrace. Mike immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close with the full force of his desperation. If he could shield her from this pain, if only for a moment, he would.

Her cries were guttural, ragged breaths that rattled in his ear, each sob seeming to cut deeper into him. He could feel her tears soaking into his uniform, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but holding her, trying to absorb some of the unbearable loss. His knees burned from the prolonged kneeling, his muscles screaming in protest, but he refused to let go. No matter how much it hurt, he would let her have her grief.

USS Andromeda…

The youthful face from the Missouri was now gone, replaced by deep wrinkles, a reminder of his years in service with Starfleet. His beard remained mostly unchanged, though streaks of grey ran through the light brown, mirroring the streaks in his hair. Even the uniform had changed; it was no longer the gold jacket of operations but the red of command. More than the grey hair or the wrinkles, that was the hardest adjustment. He’d spent years dodging promotions, content to bury himself in the hum of an engine room, where he didn’t have to be in that center seat again. He would never have to tell another child her mother was dead.

But Command didn’t care about his preferences. Starfleet needed experienced officers, and war left little room for personal hesitation. First, it was a promotion to first officer aboard the Shenandoah during the Klingon War. Then, when the Dominion War broke out, there was no escaping the center seat. He took command of two ships in quick succession, both lost in combat. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to save the USS Ft. Morgan, ambushed by Dominion fighters in a skirmish near the Badlands. The second, an Excelsior-class starship, was destroyed during Operation Return, though at least he managed to get the crew to safety.

He had always escaped without a scratch. He always got most of his crew home. There were always the inevitable casualties. It was war, and the faces always stuck in his mind—a smile or a laugh that he would never experience because of a crew member’s untimely demise. So far, his luck had held, though he didn’t trust it. The crew, however, did. They’d taken to calling him “Lucky Mike,” a moniker he was not keen on. Luck, after all, had a way of running out.

Mike adjusted the collar of his uniform as he studied his reflection. Broad-shouldered, long-legged, narrow-hipped—a figure Starfleet uniforms flattered, he thought. The new white and black dress uniform was no exception, though the four pips on his collar felt more like an anchor than a badge of honor. With a heavy sigh, he tugged the bottom of his jacket down, straightened his shoulders, and stepped into the corridor.

Mike blinked, mildly startled by the Denobulan officer standing outside his quarters. “Commander.”

“Captain,” Commander Anari replied, her voice as calm and measured as ever. Her hands were clasped neatly behind her back, her expression unreadable.

“You know, there’s this thing called a door chime,” Mike quipped.

Anari’s brow arched slightly. “I was early and did not wish to disturb you.”

He chuckled despite himself. “Punctual as always, Commander. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a Vulcan.”

She inclined her head, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “It’s what you expect of me, Captain.”

That much was true. Anari always exceeded expectations, never settling for anything less than perfection. She was, by all accounts, an exceptional first officer. But waiting silently outside his door? Jesus that was unsettling. Professionalism is one thing, but this? That’s just plain creepy, he thought, keeping his expression neutral.

Walking down the corridor, their footsteps fell into an easy rhythm, muffled by the carpeted deck. The ship’s steady hum filled the quiet moments between them. They turned right at a “T” junction, heading toward the transporter room. The doors parted with a soft pneumatic hiss as they entered.

The transporter operator glanced up from his console, setting down an open tricorder and snapping to a sloppy version of attention. “Captain. Commander.”

“Relax, Charlie,” Mike said, flashing an easy grin.

“Yes, sir. The Denver has indicated that Commander Nalim is ready to receive you.”

“Not the captain?”

“No, sir.”

Mike frowned. It wasn’t unheard of for a captain to send the XO to greet guests, but the omission felt odd. Don’t read too much into it, he told himself. Still, the history he shared with the Denver’s captain lingered in his thoughts. Surely if she were avoiding me, she wouldn’t have invited us to dinner. Right?

He shook the thought away and forced a smile as he addressed the transporter operator. “Thank you, Charlie.”

Stepping onto the transporter pad, he caught Anari giving him an odd look as if she’d read his mind. This wasn’t the first time someone could read his thoughts like an open book. He had a girlfriend tell him he had a glass face once, which is probably why he was terrible at poker.  Taking a steadying breath, Mike squared his shoulders. “Whenever you’re ready, Chief.”

“Aye, Captain. Energizing.”

The transporter hummed to life, enveloping them in shimmering light. The room dissolved into a blur as the transporter beam whisked them away.

The Starbase auditorium was packed with clusters of officers, some in red-trimmed uniforms, others in plain grey flight suits. A buzz of hushed conversations filled the air, thick and tense as if any louder word might disrupt the fragile calm.

Junior Lieutenant Sh’iv sat close to the center, next to her flight CO. She hadn’t spoken a word, her lips pressed tight as her Andorian antennae flicked subtly, sensing every shift and murmur around her. Her gaze drifted toward the broad steps leading to the twin exit doors, an instinctual glance that betrayed her tension. She could feel the weight of anticipation pressing down on the room, thick as smoke, as everyone awaited what was coming.

Lieutenant Marcus Ming sat next to his Andorian XO, quietly observing the room.  He could feel the press of excitement, anticipation, and anxiety in the room despite his mental shields being up.  He was a weak telepath but in a group this size a collective press like this was still impactful.  Sh’iv’s discomfort was damned near palatable.

The Knight’s CO knew that a gathering like this meant one thing.  The Fleet was making a damned big push.  It was about time, in Ming’s opinion.  The disaster at Betazed was a debacle in the kindest sense.  This huge gathering signaled at least something in the way of better planning whatever they were doing.  The lieutenant leaned toward his XO and murmured, “Whatever is going on, I’m certain that we’ve got this.  Try not to stress too much, XO.  No help ”

“I can’t help feeling a bit nervous,” she replied with a frown. “I’d be nervous regardless,  but with these antennae sensing everyone else… Well, all I can say is I’m glad I’m not Betazed,  but I do long for the blissful ignorance of a human.”

Ming paused for a moment and gave his XO a sad smile.  He said in a hushed tone, “Sadly, not all of us have the pleasure of a low to non-existent ESPer rating.”

A pair of Starfleet officers emerged from the back of the auditorium, and a hush fell over the assembled officers. Leading the way was a tall, slender man in a gray flight suit trimmed with red; his Lieutenant Commander pips glinting above his right breast. His close-cropped hair, now streaked with salt and pepper, had once been raven black.

Beside him walked a slight woman; her gold-trimmed duty uniform was pressed and perfectly tailored to fit her curves. Her bright blue eyes scanned the room with sharp precision, framed by hair the color of sun-bleached straw, pulled back into a severe ponytail.

Stepping to the podium, the man spoke. “Good morning.  Some of you may know me, and others may not. Unfortunately, I see a lot of new faces here. I am Commander Jeperson of the 335th Fighter Squadron, and beside me is Commander Margaret O’Hara. She is the Intelligence officer for the 7th Tactical Wing.”

Stepping aside, Jeperson allowed O’Hara to step up to the podium, “Thank you, Commander. Now that introductions are over, let’s get down to business.”

She entered commands. The vast view screen illuminated, displaying a tactical map of the area with Federation and Dominion dotting it. “As of 02:00 this morning, our operatives on Betazed informed us of a massive redeployment of enemy assets.  The Dominion fleet comprises the Cardassian 8th, 12th, and 17th Orders. Several squadrons of Jem’Hadar fighters and three Dominion Strike Groups are accompanying the Cardassian forces. Based on their current course, they are heading here.”

Ming blinked a couple of times as he processed the information.  Yet another Dominion push.  He had hoped that the news would be about a Federation offensive, but that hope just died for now.  He murmured, “Well shit…Things just got way more interesting.”

Sh’iv felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a wave of nausea clawing its way up her throat. She clenched her fists, forcing the sensation down, her mind spinning. Why am I reacting like this? she thought. I’ve been in combat for over a year. This isn’t new. But it felt different, and that unease lingered.

O’Hara’s voice cut through the low hum of the room, steady and commanding. “As of now, you are all detached from your ships. Report to your squadron commanders immediately for further orders.”

The announcement sent a ripple through the auditorium as officers exchanged hushed whispers. Conversations buzzed with speculation and uncertainty, but they quickly fell silent as Jeperson returned to the lectern. Clearing his throat, he projected his voice over the room.

“The following squadrons will proceed to their designated briefing rooms: 27th to 302, 96th to 301, 104th to 300, and 335th,” he said, his gaze settling on them. Remain seated. Your briefing will take place here. Dismissed.”

The stadium-style seats creaked softly, their spring-loaded cushions flipping up with muted thumps as bodies shifted and rose. Across the rows, the members of the four flights that made up the 335th exchanged glances—some curious, others wary—while the departing squadrons filed out in uneven clusters. The rustle of boots on concrete and the low murmur of conversation filled the air, blending with the faint metallic tang of the room.

Ming felt a mix of both curiosity and wariness; however, some of that was the press of the 335th who surrounded him and his XO. There was something else.  A cold fury.  It was past time for the Federation to enact some better tactics.  He’d routed some suggestions to a mentor who was now serving in Starfleet command, but there was no sign of any sort that there was any implementation, whole or in part.  He wasn’t an Admiral quite yet, so he was likely to stay disappointed.

He leaned over and whispered to Sh’iv, “This is getting more and more interesting.  We could stand a major win right about now.  I believe we are very much past due.  Personally, I have a lot more Dominion Jem’hadar and Vorta to start making up for things.”

Sh’iv glanced at Ming and arched an eyebrow. He was right; they were overdue for a win. It hadn’t been this bleak since the fall of Betazed, though it wasn’t precisely sunny either. Despite the Romulan alliance, progress had been slow. Their victories had been… well, she smirked, recalling a boyfriend from the Academy, a self-proclaimed “Good ol’ boy” from Alabama. He’d probably say their victories were “as rare as hen’s teeth.”

O’hara stared across the auditorium, “Okay, 335th, you will escort a formation of ten heavies led by the Sovereign-class USS Oklahoma as they assault the Dominion battleship dispatched to this fight.”

The mention of a Dominion Battleship sent murmurs through the crowd. Everyone remembered the USS Valiant‘s encounter with one, as reported by Jake Sisko. True, the ship had been crewed by cadets intoxicated by their own legend, led by the arrogant Cadet Waters. Still, the fact remained: the battleship had destroyed a Defiant-class ship, taking little to no damage in return. Sh’iv swallowed hard, her throat as dry as Andoria’s ice deserts. Would ten ships be enough?

Ming listened to the briefing and chatter with interest.  He didn’t realize his outer demeanor seemed much more serene than he felt.  This was going to be interesting.  The Jem’Hadar battleship was a monster around 52.5% bigger than the Sovereign class.  They had more firepower as well.  Marcus hoped it would be 10 Sovvies; otherwise, this was likely to be another “L’ for the Fleet unless the brass hats had a major ace up their sleeve they were not talking about.  He took a slow breath in, followed by a slow breath out.  There had to be more to come.  The Knight’s CO looked over at his XO.

Taking over from O’Hara’s overall briefing, Jeperson broke down squadron-specific assignments. “We’ll split the squadron in two,” Jeperson said, his tone firm. “I’ll lead Alpha and Delta flights. Mr. Ming, you’ll take Bravo and Charlie.”

He paused, tapping a command into the console. The main screen lit up, displaying a list of ten starships. With a subtle hum, the display separated five ships, expanding them into detailed profiles: three Galaxy-class vessels, a Nebula-class, and one of the sleek, new Prometheus-class ships. Starfleet was pulling out all the stops. Letting a Prometheus-class leave the Sol system meant they were deadly serious.

“Mr. Ming,” Jeperson continued, his gaze steady, “these ships are your responsibility. Keep Dominion fighters off them at all costs.”

Marcus took a brief moment to commit the ships in question to memory.  He had not expected to see his responsabilities grow so suddenly but then this was war and this was something that he’d been training for.  Letting his poker face slip into a mask of quiet confidence focusing his attention fully onto Jeperson and projected his voice, “Understood.  We’ll keep our Dominion counterparts busy and out of their hair, sir.”

The lineup he saw wasn’t quite what he had envisioned but it had potential. The magnitude of the Prometheus Class being involved was not lost on him.  The Galaxy Class had solid merits even if they were a bit older than the Soveriegn Class and he knew quite well how the Nebula Class starships were smaller powerhouses that were starship sized Swiss Army Knives.

There might be some hope after all.  Marcus knew better than to get cocky however.

Jeperson entered commands, and the screen displayed a single ship, slowly rotating and tilting to reveal its form from all angles. It was an unusual assembly of salvaged Excelsior and Miranda-class components, forged together into what was known as the Curry class. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is USS Sternbach.  This ship will be our support base for replenishment and emergency repairs.”

Ming studied the screen as the commander spoke.  He studied the image as he considered the briefing.  His hand went up, and he said with a soft tone that he projected with respect, “Query, sir?”

Jepperson straightened and leveled his gaze on Marcus. “Yes, Mr. Ming.”

Ming spoke as he processed everything he could, “Respectfully, I am not as familiar as I would like with the Curry Class.  What are we talking about regarding the replenishment rate?  Can I presume this ship will be replenishing fighters as well as the primary ships, or will it be limited to one versus the other?  Who gets priority, assuming the answer is both?”

“The Sternbach is here for us. It is not to supply the larger fleet. It may respond to the recovery of escape pods, but that should not impact your ability to return for resupply. You should be aware that it will likely not be stationary, and you should have your computer or weapons officers maintain continual tracking.”

Ming nodded and said, “Understood.  Thank you sir.”

The Knight’s CO settled into his chair once again doing his best to give the Commander the right cues that he was done.  Once the speaker’s eyes focused elsewhere, he gave Sh’iv a subtle sideways glance.  She was his right hand, and he suddenly felt a little self-conscious for reasons he was unsure about.

Sh’iv’s antennae twitched, sensing the unease radiating from her superior officer. She offered him an encouraging smile, though it felt hollow. Ever since the briefing had been called, an overwhelming sense of dread had settled over her. The revelations shared moments ago hadn’t eased her fears; if anything, they had only made them worse.

An ugly realization clawed at the edges of her mind: there was a real chance she wouldn’t return to the Denver. The thought lingered, heavy and oppressive, like a stormcloud she couldn’t escape. Taking a steadying breath, she held onto the smile. One of them had to believe they’d survive this, even if it was only for show.

Ming sensed his XO’s gloomy mood.  He leaned a bit closer and said softly, “I’ll have your back XO.”

“If there are no further questions, you are all dismissed until 03:00 tomorrow. I’ll see you at the rendezvous coordinates,” Jeperson concluded, stepping away from the podium.

The assembled pilots rose, their tense whispers buzzing like nervous bees. Sh’iv stood with them, glancing around at the faces in the room before letting out a deep breath. “I need a drink,” she muttered.

“I like that idea, XO.  Points for a brilliant command level suggestion,” Marcus said softly but lightly to Sh’iv.

“Mr. Ming, a moment, please,” Jeperson called over the rising hum of voices.

Sh’iv shrugged and gave Marcus a faint, forlorn smile. “I’ll save you a seat at the bar.” Without waiting for his response, she turned and trudged up the steps, weaving through the dispersing pilots.

The corridor outside felt no less oppressive, the sterile lighting doing little to soften the weight of her thoughts. Following a pair of chattering female pilots, she walked toward the lift, forcing herself to focus on the small promise she’d made. She’d save Marcus a seat. If nothing else, it was something to hold onto.

Lieutenant Ming gave Sh’iv a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Commander Jeperson.  He made his way through the exiting pilots until he reached a spot near his CO for this mission.  He stood at attention, “Lieutenant Marcus Ming reporting as ordered sir.”

Jeperson chuckled, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as he sat on the edge of the auditorium’s stage. “Relax, XO, before you bust a gasket.”

Marcus grinned and chuckled as he loosened up a little.  He said simply, “Yes, sir”

Jeperson leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something more curious. “Are you ready for this? You haven’t done much squadron work lately, stuck out there on the Denver. Probably used to being the one in charge, huh?”

Ming looked thoughtful for a moment before he answered.  He nodded, “Am I ready for this?”

The Lieutenant chuckled lightly though his violet eyes were confident, “I don’t think I have much choice. Lives will be on the line and we need to tip the balance of this war in our favor.  It’s a case of coming home victorious or on my shield as it were.  I have no intent to get a ride home on a shield, sir.”

The junior officer continued, “The scale is bigger, sure.  The machine may have more cogs but it’s a matter of being aware.  Regards to the being in charge I know I have autonomy within my flight and I am aware of my having operational command.   In the end I still had to report to my commanding officer and either take the pat on the shoulder or a kick in the ass.  Either way at the end of this mission I’ll have a doozy of a sore butt or sore shoulder.”

Jeperson shook his head and sighed. “You’re a good pilot, Marcus. I wouldn’t make you my second in command, and I wouldn’t have assigned you to the Denver if you weren’t. You are ready for your own squadron, but that ship you are on cannot accommodate a full squadron, and I need you there for now.”

Marcus nodded with a small smile, “Understood, sir. Denver is a good ship and a good crew with a solid command staff which has made it a good vessel to work out of.  Even so, I am a Starfleet officer and I will go wherever you and the fleet order me.  That said if I am to stay where I am for now I can’t really complain.”

Jeperson paused, shifting gears. “Oh, by the way, Starfleet still needs that operational and tactical report on the Valkyrie fighters. They want to roll them out fleet-wide, and our pilots need to understand their strengths and weaknesses.”

Marcus nodded, “Yessir.  Overall they’re very damned fine fighters.  They are a very decent balance of weapons versus agility / speed.  We’ve had a few damaged however the crews survived intact with much fewer losses as I’d expect compared to the Sparrows and Peregrines.  Having trained on the Sparrows I know they have metric tonnes of speed and agility but they’re very comparitively weak on armorment.  The Peregrines are for all intents and purposes the polar opposite.  The Valkyries are a solid balance between the two and I belive quite strongly that they’d be an asset to the fleet when put into full production.  They’re damned good assets AND their performance in the live fire missions has been, ultimately, very successful in my professional opinion.”

“Good. I need that full report to send it up to Command.” He slid off the edge of the stage and placed a massive hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I’ll see you out there, Marcus. Now, go take care of your flight, they need you.”

“Yessir.  I will get on that in short order.  But for now, with your permission, I have my pilots to look after,” Marcus said with a growing grin.  Once he got a nod from his senior officer he nodded his respectful gratitude before he headed out of the auditorium exit.