—- Starbase 86. Senior Officer’s Lounge —

The names of the new two senior staff aboard the USS Selene were familiar to Captain Olivia Carrillo, even if she had never met them. Looking through their records she saw that Commander Doctor Travis McCleod, and Captain Doctor Michelle Mueller had both served on the USS Anaheim where much of her current crew had come from. Mueller had went on to command an Olympic-class medical ship, and the Commander had taken time off back on Earth.

Carrillo was not convinced that there would not be an issue, with two captains on one ship, particularly when Lieutenant Kolem who had served with Mueller on the Anaheim admitted that the woman had clashed with Captain Hawthorne. 

“He hated having doctors running the show, which given Mueller and McCleod were in charge of the medical contingent on a medical California-class bugged him,” Kolem explained as the senior staff of the USS Selene welcomed the Academy Staff onboard.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Carrillo said, as she changed topics as the two officers clad in Academy uniforms approached she extended a hand and smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” McCleod said with his laid-back manner, he smiled at Kolem, “And you Lieutenant, last time I saw you you were fresh out of the Academy.”

Kolem smiled, “How’d you end up together? I mean in the Academy, together?”

Mueller shrugged, “My ship was decommissioned. I had to wait for a new assignment, and Doctor McCleod had always been a mentor so I took him up on his offer of a job.”

“I took some time away from Starfleet while my father was sick, helping run the family medical practice back home. After he died, my brother stepped up and Starfleet had me teaching at San Francisco. I was needing to leave the planet, for my own mental well-being, so I took an assignment here, teaching students in space,” he explained.

“To be clear we are not together,” Mueller said, her Germanic nature almost Vulcan-like in its need for expressing the exact truth of the matter.

McCleod nodded, “She is closer to a younger sister.”

Carrillo nodded, wanting to point out that she did not care what the two Academy Professors did with their time, or their girl parts and boy parts. Instead, she once again changed the topic, gesturing around the lounge on Starbase 86, “Well I trust you know Lieutenant Commander Young, and see Lieutenant Commander Tashia if you need anything, or need help settling in.”

“Sounds like we’re back on the Anaheim,” joked McCleod recognizing most of those names. 

“The students are arriving throughout this week,” Mueller explained, “There will be four to a room in terms of sleeping arrangements. They’ll take class and do at least three duty shifts a week. Also we’d like to schedule you and some of your crew to teach classes. It’ll be two hours a week for lecture and an additional few hours throughout the semester of hands-on learning.”

Carrillo nodded, while she had nothing against Starfleet Academy students having been one herself, she did not really want to spend anytime teaching. Still she’d have to play along, as it was part of having a Lamarr-class ship.

“Send me the details, and who from my crew you’re looking at taking part,” she said.

— USS Selene, Sickbay —

Doctor Mueller entered sickbay, it was more modern than either the USS Anaheim’s or her own command has been. Still it had the familiar sterile atmosphere of medical bays throughout the Federation. Docked there were only a few nurses working and one doctor Doctor Thomas Elordi.

“I was looking for Doctor Va’Tok, I was his Chief Medical Officer,” Mueller said when asked if she needed anything.

Elordi’s face fell, “Oh, I am sorry. I thought… Va’Tok was killed months ago on the USS Luna. We had a changing onboard and he was umm… I tried to save him but I wasn’t able to. I’m sorry.”

Knowing that doctors did not get the luxury of grief the way others do she nodded. Va’Tok had been a friend, and they had worked closely for years. On her own ship it seemed that she had not gotten notice of the Vulcan’s passing or it had been one report from another ship, buried amongst dozens of such reports.

“Doctor T’Rala is the CMO now,” Doctor Elordi said, “I can call her in if you want?”

Mueller shook her head, “No I was just visiting a friend, nothing official.”

Elordi nodded, “Well I’ll see you around.”

— USS Selene, Dock —

Three years of Starfleet Academy, another six months of on the job training on the USS Dallas near Vulcan. Still Cadet William Gakor was nervous as he adjusted the strap on his duffle bag walking into the USS Selene. He’d only been on aging workhorses, this was a sleek and modern ship. These were officers with years of experience on the frontier, protecting the Federation.

“Don’t be nervous,” fellow cadet Jura Ibile said, reading his mind as she approached him from behind. Not that she being here was likely to make him less nervous. They’d briefly dated in second year and that had ended in an embarrassing event on the Golden Gate Bridge of which she had promised never to speak of.

He glanced at her, not surprised as he’d seen her on the transport to Starbase 86 the day before. Jura smiled to put him at ease, “Relax they all put their pants on one leg at a time just like you.”

“I should never have taught you that phrase,” Gakor observed. 

A woman who barely looked to be out of the Academy herself approached, she wore the yellow accented uniform of engineering, or operations.

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Tashai, can I help you get to your rooms?” she offered.

“Lieutenant Commander, how uhhh, could you be so highly ranked?” asked Gakor. As a telepath Ibile could already tell and looked slightly embarrassed.

“I’m four hundred and twenty-three,” Tashai said, “but thank you for thinking I look young. Our Assistant Chief Engineer is older than that. So don’t worry, you’ll fit in looking like you’re still a Cadet.”

“I am still…” began Gakor before being kicked in the shin by Ibile who was trying to get him to stop digging a hole for himself.

Tashai smiled, “Don’t worry about it, if I had a dollar for every one who said I was young I’d have about a hundred dollars. Which isn’t much but it’s funny it’s happened a hundred times. Oh and dollars were a form of currency on Earth in the old days. Your rooms are that way and down two decks. I’ve put signs up until everyone is aboard we’ve divided them up by male identifying and female identifying students.”

— USS Selene, Engineering —

Doctor Travis McCleod entered the engineering bay and nodded at James Young who was standing on a console tying to reach into a Jefferies Tube. Young spotted him and leapt down onto the floor.

“Commander, congratulations I heard you just got the full pip,” McCleod said shaking his hand.

“Captain went up a pip, gave me a bump. Not that it changes anything I do,” Young said, “I still herd the same cats.”

McCleod chuckled.

“Hey Young, what’s the deal with the shields, we got them back to full after the fight?” the Assistant Chief Engineer Murf asked.

“They’re back to full,” confirmed Young.

McCleod nodded at her, “And who is this young lady?”

Murf smiled, “Murf, Young you didn’t tell me you knew any guys.”

“I know men and women,” Young said tiredly.

“So what’s Murf short for?” McCleod asked.

“Murf,” Murf answered.

“Okay, are you enjoying working with Young? I remember when he was just a Lieutenant back on the Anaheim,” McCleod said.

Murf nodded, “He’s a good boss. I’ve had a few of them in past careers.”

“What else have you done?” McCleod asked.

Murf rattled off a number of jobs from being a miner to once being an actresses in holonovels.

“That’s a lot of jobs,” McCleod said.

“She’s like eight thousand years old,” Young said, “Lanthanite.”

“I am not that old,” Murf said, though her file did not actually say how old she was, and it was a question she always avoided.

McCleod laughed, “Now I feel  like the young rookie.”

“You were born old,” Young said.

“I was, that’s true. Good to see you Young,” McCleod said.

He turned and started towards the turbo lift when he noticed that Murf was following him, “Can I help you?”

“Do you want to go out and have dinner?” Murf asked.

“Do you date younger men?” McCleod asked.

“If I didn’t I’d never date at all. Do you date older women?” Murf asked, not that serious about the date, or anything really.

“I’ll manage. Eighteen hundred? There’s a place on the starbase I’ll take you to,” McCleod said.

“Eighteen hundred sounds good,” Murf said nodding.

— Starbase 86, Foundations a Trill Restaurant —

Murf speared a leaf of her salad. She did not know that many trills, but had never considered them vegetarians, so it made no sense that the entire restaurant was vegan. Perhaps, like humans, there were some Trill vegans and obviously having a belly worm might make you think of non-humanoid meat sources differently. She took a bite of the salad wishing it would become a steak in her mouth. It did not.

She did not bother to feign enthusiasm.

“You’re not liking it,” observed her date Doctor Travis McCleod, the new Academy Instructor who had just that day joined the USS Selene to oversee the influx of students they were about to receive.

Murf shrugged, “I’m more a meat and potatoes kind of gal. Arby’s we have the meats.”

McCleod looked at her blankly, “What?”

The Lanthanite frowned, most humans did not remember the important cultural achievements of their early days, such as the Golden Age of advertising. Once scarcity had been dealt with most humans stopped with the need to advertise the way that they had been. If they hadn’t they would be installing a giant Goodyear banner on the hull of the Selene right now to sell tires.

Not that tires were in use much these days, though there were still a few ground only vehicles that used them.

“Nothing, just something from Earth’s past,” Murf said.

“When did you live on Earth?” McCleod asked, taking a bite of his salad. He was clearly more comfortable with the food, a trait that he had picked up during his internship on Trill as a medical student.

“Middle age, mine and Earth’s. I landed just after all that nonsense with Joan of Arc and then stuck around until you invented warp flight. I’ve learned once Vulcans show up the party is over,” Murf said taking a sip of wine, at least Trills seemed to do wine alright.

McCleod nodded, and Murf could tell he was doing the math in his head, trying to figure out how long ago it was since they (and by they it was meant humans) lit dissidents on fire at the stake in the name of God. It was one of the many historical periods that humans wanted to forget along with the Eugenics Wars, and the whole of twentieth century German history. Humans were good at pretending things didn’t happen.

“What was your favourite part of human history, you seem to have seen a lot of it,” the doctor observed.

Murf shrugged, “I like seeing races grow up, and find themselves in the messy business of living. You see these ideas pop up, like in the American and French revolutions of liberty, and freedom. Eventually it takes a while to figure out what it means. I mean America fought a war of independence but kept a whole race of people enslaved. So it takes a long time for the ideas to kind of work itself out of the minds of intellectuals and get put into practice.”

McCleod nodded, “I think that’s being generous to us, to our rather dark history.”

Murf shrugged, “You should have seen Vulcans before logic, whoof.”

“Did you know Tashai? She lived on Earth a bit before first contact,” McCleod said, not sure he was entirely sure that the Lathanite woman and the El-Aurian woman even knew each other now.

“No, I mean I know her, she was two classes ahead of me at the Academy, but Earth’s a biggish place and we never had torrid love affair in 1950s Paris,” Murf said.

McCleod laughed, “I don’t doubt you would have if you could have, at least she would have. Just aliens on Earth at that time, sometimes end up in the same place.”

“I don’t know, the whole El-Aurian vibe is being weird and aloof. That and the telepathy was something I wasn’t a fan of. I still don’t trust telepaths, it’s hard to tell jokes when they see the punchline coming,” Murf said.

“Not everything is a joke,” Doctor McCleod said.

Murf shook her head, “When you live long enough it is. You just have what a hundred maybe two hundred years if you’re lucky and medicine helps you. When you live long enough you can look back and laugh at almost everything.”

“Have you been married?” He asked.

“One hundred and twenty times,” Murf said. Then paused, adding, “I think. Have you?”

“One time, it ended with her leaving me for my nurse,” McCleod said.

“Was he cute at least,” Murf said, “the nurse I mean.”

“She was, they’re happy and have adopted a child,” McCleod said.

He glanced at her mostly untouched plate, “Look if you want to grab a cheeseburger or something we can. I just happen to be vegan myself, but you shouldn’t suffer.”

“There’s a good place that does ballpark hot dogs, like in baseball times,” Murf said, “Hot dogs are my best invention.”

“You invented hot dogs?” McCleod said not quite believing that.
“Maybe, maybe not. But I’m sure going to eat one after you finish that salad,” Murf said.

—- USS Selene, Crew Observation Lounge Abdera —

“We’ve left Starbase 86, and are heading towards the Triangle,” Lieutenant Commander Keyana Mason the ship’s acting First Officer said. They had taken on their complement of Starfleet Academy cadets and were now off on their second official mission a sort of shakedown cruise to investigate a Underspace aperture that was rumoured to be remaining after the mass of them had been closed by the Cardassians.

Captain Olivia Carrillo tugged at her dress uniform’s collar, which she was finding constricting, and nodded, they’d departed a few hours ago and now were just crossing into unclaimed territory, as they moved away from Federation space.

Picking up a fork she clinked it against the wine glass that she was holding to make a sound, drawing the attention of the assembled senior staff and Academy cadets. This was a mixer, to get the cadets feeling more comfortable with the officers that they’d be learning from and to familiarize some of her crew with the same cadets.

“My first officer has just reported that we’ve crossed into neutral space, the Triangle. For those of you new to the ship, the Triangle is unclaimed space that effectively rests between Romulan, Klingon, and Federation space. We’ll be journeying through it and out the other side. This mission is a short one, we’ll be there for about a month. First we’ll be spending two weeks travelling at high warp to avoid pirates and other dangers and then arriving at our destination.”

Gesturing around the room she smiled, “I’d like to take this moment to welcome our first class of cadets, they’ll be here for the next year or so.Hopefully learning from all of us, both by example and with us teaching. So thank you all for your help, I know this is additional responsibility but we all benefit from the next generation being talented and skilled. I bet there was a day years ago that Admiral Picard and his crew were new, unknown, and looking to make a name for themselves.”

She then introduced some of her senior staff and wrapped up with a reminiscence of her own Academy posting to an Inquiry-class starship. She got polite applause but the real draw she new was the real liquor and the chance for the students to mingle with a real crew and to meet the people who were essentially faculty. Most of the classes would be run by Doctors Michelle Mueller and Travis McCleod, but the actual hands on learning would be ship wide.

Once she was done her husband Lieutenant Pierre Lambert returned to her side, smiling, “Speeches aren’t fun huh?”

She nodded, they were not something she’d had to do much as the First Officer back on the USS Luna. Now though with Captain Cruz still gone, she was having to step up and tackle them. She leaned her weight very subtly on Lambert and intertwined her fingers in his. She supposed that showing this kind of affection was not the way that most captains approached their jobs, but she saw no reason to conceal who she was or who she loved. For his part Lambert stood still taking on her weight, and picking up a sausage roll from a passing tray carried by one of the servers who were aboard the ship.

A young blonde woman in a cadet’s uniform came up, “Ma’am, thank you for the kind words.”

“It’s Jura Ibile right?” Carrillo asked, studying the woman.

“Yes ma’am,” Ibile said, looking around. “I have to say it’s amazing to be here on the USS Selene. I have always been a fan of Intrepid-class starships like the USS Voyager.”

Carrillo nodded, “This is a Lamarr-class, but you’re right so was the Voyager-A, commanded by Admiral Janeway.”

“She’s a personal hero of mine,” Ibile said.

Carrillo sensed Lambert wanting to ask a question about who the Admiral was and how she’d gotten such noterietay within the Fleet but held back. Janeway and Voyager’s journey home was legendary, but her husband in his catching up on history that had occurred since he’d gotten lost in the twenty-third century was still on the exploits of Benjamin Sisko and the war against the Dominion. He’d have to delve into the whole Maquis situation.

“As a cadet I was at a lecture she gave,” Carrillo said, “It was quite inspiring. You expect people like that to be far more grandiose than they actually are. It’s even more inspiring when you realize they’re just flesh and blood like you.”

“And how about you Lieutenant, sir, have you met your heroes?” Ibile asked, turning to Lambert.

“I met Admiral Archer once,” Lambert said, “He gave the commencement speech at the Academy when I graduated.”

Ibile looked at him curiously, “So you’re like what a long lived species?”

Lambert shook his head, realizing that if he was that old, which he sort of was, he should be more than a Lieutenant now. Spending well over a century in Starfleet and only making it to a Lieutenant would be pretty embarrassing.

“I travelled through time,” he explained, “Got stuck here with my Miranda-class ship.”

Ibile nodded, trying to work it out. Carrillo, who had been through this conversation nearly a dozen times after only a few weeks of being married excused herself. And having kicked off the celebrations snuck out of the party.

—- USS Selene, Bridge —-

The turbolift doors opened and Captain Carrillo stepped out onto the bridge, still in her dress uniform. Chief Flight Control Officer Pr’Nor was sitting in the centre chair, having command of the bridge as the senior officer. She stood moving out of the seat and nodding, “Captain.”

“At ease everyone, I’m just escaping a party,” she said sitting down in the captain’s chair. She looked at the Vulcan flight control officer who had taken over at the conn to watch over the ship piloting itself.

“Why didn’t you go to the party Pr’Nor?” Carrillo asked.

“I thought it was a more efficient allocation of resources to send your husband, rather than attend myself and have him on the bridge,” Pr’Nor said.

“Well I appreciate that I hope you’re not treating him special,” Carrillo said.

“I prefer not to attend the party, if anything I utilized him to get out of work I did not want to engage in,” the Vulcan said, “Celebrations are illogical.”

“But you enjoyed my wedding right?” Carrillo asked, curious.

“Your wedding did not have cadets in attendance,” Pr’Nor said.

“And we had Romulan ale,” added Carrillo.

“There is that. I find that cadets are well meaning, but expect too much from Starfleet officers. I have never met Spock, and would have no stories to tell and yet they keep asking,” Pr’Nor said.

“One of them was into Janeway, as if I could just call the Admiral up and get the kid an internship on the Admiral’s next ship,” Carrillo said.

“At least Janeway is still alive,” said Pr’Nor.

“Well we were all young and naive once,” Carrillo said.

“I was never naive,” Pr’Nor said, “I maintain realistic assessments of all situations.”

—- USS Selene, Shuttle Bay 2 —-

The students shuffled about as Lieutenant Thomas Winfield glanced over a PADD.

After days of flying at high warp the ship had slowed to impulse speeds in a barren segment of the Triangle to tweak the engines and to do some small craft assignments for the students. Some of them had handled fighters back at the Academy but this was the first chance most of them had had to launch and return from an in motion starship.

“Alright, you’ve all done this in simulations. But this will be the first time many of you have done it in real life. This isn’t the holodeck, there’s no safety protocols on so if you crash into an asteroid you die,” Winfield said, deciding not to sugar coat the potential risks. He’d been put in charge of the Luna’s small crafts months ago, and the role had transferred over to the Selene. It was a credit, he supposed, to the Captain that she had not put her new husband in charge despite being of a higher rank (at the time) and looking for a role on the ship that was more prestigious than taking the Delta Shift.

Gesturing to the shuttle craft they had sitting out on the flight deck he said, “Okay William Gakor, you’re up first. Take it out, circle that rock out there and fly back. Simple stuff.”

It was not as simple as all that of course. Though they had tractor beams assisting with the landings and the USS Selene was not taking any extensive or complicated maneuvers for most students it was the first time they’d affected a hanger landing like this. It also did not seem quite so simple to Gakor, but he waited patiently as the other students all took their time. Finally after he let them go first it was turn, and he entered the type 8 shuttle (the Horae) and took the pilot’s chair. Lieutenant Winfield settled into the chair next to him, watching as he flew them first out of the Selene and then after a trip around the asteroid back towards the shuttle bay.

“Slow down a bit,” Winfield said.

Gakor who wanted to post the best time did not slow down. Winfield uttered a small curse as the shuttle came in fast and hard, before Gakor hit the breaks trying to control its forward momentum. It hit the ground of the shuttle bay had, snapping off left side landing strut and screeching across the hull before slamming into the back wall. The Lieutenant looked like he wanted to murder the cadet, but after a deep breath he stood.

“Well, that was something,” Winfield said making a note on his PADD as he got out of the co-pilot’s chair and made his way out of the Horae. He looked at the shuttle’s exterior and made another note.

“We’ll get this fixed up for your next lesson, but maybe we could all spend a few hours in the simulation before next time?” Winfield said adding, “Don’t you think Cadet Gakor?”

Gakor wished the solid metal floor of the engine room would swallow him whole, and only nodded. The other students didn’t look at him, which was for the best as he was currently turning a deep shade of red from the embarrassment.
 

— USS Selene, Cetacean Operations —

The cadets were silent as Lieutenant Scchhttt’aaakkk spoke, his words changed from the clicks and whistles that dolphins used while on Earth’s oceans to whatever language the cadets spoke by the ship’s universal translator. Scchhttt’aaakkk spoke to them about the stars, about the experience of making sense of an infinite pool of the abyss. Though dolphins, and eventually whales had not been the first Earthly species to reach the stars, that had been humans, they had actually had their attentions on the cosmos long before humans speaking to interstellar probes while the monkey men were still working on fire.

A large blue whale also swam in the tank, a linguist he had his own projects and was not due to teach the cadets today. He ignored them, and they tried to ignore him as they focused on the smaller talkative dolphin. Of course ignoring a blue whale was not an easy task, and most of the students had not seen one up close as there were few whales on Starfleet’s teaching staff at the Academy.

Cadet Jura Ibile took notes, stellar cartography was a minor of hers, and something she might was to pursue. Although Scchhttt’aaakkk’s speech was mostly aspirational and not focused on anything that would appear on a test one day, she was the kind of student who took notes on everything, just in case. It might make it a bit harder to study later, but it was worth it in her mind.

—- USS Selene, Counselling Office 3 —

After finishing up in Cetacean Operations Ibile headed to the counselling session that she had. She’d never been to counselling and liked to think of herself as a rational and sane individual. However it seemed that everyone on the Selene had to see one of the four counsellors at least once a week. Starfleet had apparently found that on assignments it was an important part of keeping the crew healthy and performing at their best. Not that Ibile could imagine someone like Captain Kirk ever sitting down to share his feelings with someone.

A young brunette, not much older than herself was waiting in the office. The woman stood and smiled, introducing herself as Torma. 

“Is that a first name or a last name?” Ibile asked, unsure.

“It’s a name, my only one. So put it in whatever slot you want,” Torma said clearly joking around about the idea that all forms had at least two slots for names. The Gideon woman gestured to a seat and said, “Sit let’s talk. Have you ever done counselling before?”

Ibile looked around the office as she took a seat. As much as mental health was now more normalized in society she had not done formal counselling, and the closest that she had gotten was her career advisor back in high school. However, that didn’t seem like the kind of answer that would fit in this situation.
“No I haven’t,” she confessed. 

Torma nodded, “Well that’s okay. I’m Torma, as I said. On the Selene we’re all assigned to a counsellor, and we meet with them weekly during one of our assigned shifts. It’s to touch base, because let’s face it long-term space travel can be hard. Sometimes we just need to talk to someone.”

“What happens if we go ‘space mad’ or whatever?” Ibile asked, curious.

Torma nodded, “Well there was an incident on the Enterprise-D, it is in the textbooks of multiple men becoming involved with holographic women in the holodeck.”
“That’s just guys though right, guys are gross,” Ibile said.

Torma laughed, “Yes, they can be. But there’s also venting out a pressurized chamber and sending people into space to their deaths. Space can be isolating, lonely and this shell of a spaceship we’re in for all its wonder and fancy systems is still much more vulnerable than a planet. One person slipping at their job could lead to all of us dying. So my job is to ensure we’re all at work, focused and wanting to stay alive.”

Ibile nodded, “Okay.”

“So tell me how are you doing? Is this your first time in space?” Torma asked.

“I did a semester on the USS Okanagan. It’s a Reliant-class,” Ibile said, “but we didn’t go this far out. Do you know about what they’re calling the ‘point of no return’?”

“I do, it’s not a great name for it,” Torma said, “It’s what on the ship we call the point at which real time contact with Starfleet becomes impossible due to being too far away from the Starfleet communication network. We have to bundle up logs, reports and messages to be sent home on a twice-daily basis. But we can literally return, we’re scheduled to.”

“I’ve never been past that point though,” Ibile said, “I have never before been unable to call my dad if I want to talk to him. It’s sad, do you give me something for that?”

Torna shook her head, offering a slight smile, “It’s normal and expected to miss family and loved ones. ‘t I can’t cure all sadness, nor would I want to. But recognizing a feeling and giving yourself the space and grace to feel it is healthy. If you weren’t feeling something like that, I would worry.”

“So you don’t make me happier?” Ibile asked.

“It’s therapy, not magic. I make you realize that being unhappy can be normal. And that this is a limited time thing, we’re not on a Galaxy-class we’re not leaving for years. We’re gone for three months, and then back to Starbase 86,” Torma said. 

—- USS Selene, Senior Officer’s Lounge Delphi —-

Doctor Michelle Mueller was sipping a drinking watching the stars when fellow Academy instructor and fellow doctor Travis McCleod sat next to her. They sat silently looking at the stars as they went by, the ship doing a leisurely sprint at warp 8 for the moment. After awhile Doctor McCleod broke the silence.

“How you feeling?” McCleod asked.

Mueller was quiet as she considered the question. McCleod had been in her life in one way or another since almost medical school, and so she was not about to push him away by simply answering ‘fine’. She disliked when people asked her how she was doing, but he had earned that right.

“Adapting, I didn’t have ‘be a teacher’ on my career plan,” she said honestly. 

McCleod nodded, the Delphi was slow, with just a non-enlisted civilian serving drinks and a few others at other tables. They’d been friends, or colleagues for years, culminating most recently in his recruiting her to be the Assistant Chief Medical Officer on the California-Class the USS Anaheim. She’d rose to being CMO until clashing too much with their captain, and getting her own medical ship. Now they’d wound up together again, this time assigned to the USS Selene as academy instructors. It was, he thought, not the best use of her talents in medicine but at least they were going boldly where no one had gone before, not something that they’d done on the Anaheim.

“So you dating the twig in engineering then?” Mueller asked, not being particularly circumspect as to what she called the young woman he had gone on a date with before they’d left Starbase 86.

He laughed, “I don’t know. It’s hard, I’m a smart guy, did medical school and everything, but it’s hard to see what I can offer a woman whose older than… well… possibly then humans. It’s like dating a Q without the parlour tricks.”

“You always had problems with slowly aging species. You and Doctor Va’Tok never got on that well,” Mueller observed.

McCleod shrugged, “I wasn’t trying to date them. But yes, I like to be able to look at someone and roughly asses their age, and not be several centuries off.”

“We can’t always get what we want,” Mueller observed.
“But we can try sometimes,” McCleod answered picking up an old lyric from ancient Earth, adding, “you might find you get what you need.”

“I guess,” Mueller said, not following along.

— USS Selene, Unexplored Space —

Lieutenant Junior Grade William Hume opened his eyes. The room’s brightness had increased to wake him up, as his shift was approaching. Rather than an alarm it was said that slowly adjusting up the light level woke you much more naturally. He was not sure how effective that was, considering during his Academy Days he’d learned to sleep in almost any situation, which was why he had set a secondary alarm that would play an audible noise to wake him up.

His room on the Selene was not large, but rather sort of spartan and functional. He slept in it, and sometimes he invited his girlfriend over to also sleep in it, but it was not the kind of place to spend a lot of time unless you were interested in reading or another solo pursuit.

It was, he supposed, a downgrade from the USS Luna where he had last served (with mostly the same crew) and had a much more plush room. Still it was better than where he started which was in a bunk in the hallway of a California-class ship. There had been no privacy, or even real quiet, which had made it useful that he could sleep in almost any situation. 

He dressed and checked his messages, with one from his mother and another from his sister. He adjusted his uniform, ensuring that there was nothing out of place on the mostly black design that had a yellow trim. He then attached his comm badge to his uniform and ran a comb through his hair.

The walk to work was a short one, a turbo lift journey and he was entering the security office. The office was one of the smaller section offices on the ship, as the Selene was a science vessel and was mostly staffed with scientists and engineers. The Operations department, as always, had the best office because they were the ones who controlled who had what offices. As important as their job was in security, as long as everything went well they were just passengers. It was when things did not go well that they had to step up, and handle things.

Lieutenant Claudia Jara the Chief Security Officer was at a screen showing the current situation in the region to the next shift. Hume stood near the back of the gaggle of security officers and watched the commanding officer basically tell them all that there was nothing that they knew, so to be ready for anything. That was the thing with these jaunts into unknown space, though they could identify a warp-capable civilization days out, if there wasn’t one or any other ships there was not a lot to say or plan for. 

“The cadets will be shadowing us this week,” Jara said, “So if you’ve been slipping at all in your tasks this is a good time to knock that off. We don’t want to set a bad example for the next generation. I also don’t want to hear it from the captain, okay?”

The next shift broke up, heading to do patrols of the decks or do tactical duty on the bridge. Hume was not due for a tactical shift this week, so he wouldn’t be seeing the bridge unless there was a reason to. He went over to the replicator to get himself a coffee and a Nanaimo bar a favourite treat of his from growing up in Vancouver.

Fellow officer Lieutenant Junior Grade Rosa Flores was also getting a snack, likely because she to slept in and had to rush to the meeting without a proper breakfast. They were dating and had been up all night fighting. Hence Hume was running on only five hours of sleep.

“Today’s going to be long,” he said conversationally as if they’d not been yelling at each other in her quarters the night before. He was trying to move past it. She however was not, she stiffened as he touched the small of her back he moved around her. He felt the muscles tense up beneath her uniform, and withdrew his hand, “You know because I’m tired.”

Flores shook her head, “I have work to do, excuse me Sir.”
The way she said ‘sir’, particularly when they were the same rank though he was technically her boss, told William Hume that she was not over it. The trouble was not that he had called her by his ex-girlfriend’s name, though obviously that had not worked in his favour, but that he’d forgotten about a date night and gone out with friends instead. She had not even been that mad, until after it was clear he was not showing up for the date she went to the lounge and found him drinking with his buddies (who were also her friends). Then when apologizing he’d called her Yuriho the first name of Lieutenant Yuriho Kolem his ex-girlfriend and the ship’s Chief Counsellor. Even then he probably would have been okay had he not pointed out that she’d missed a date with him back on the Luna, before she’d pointed out she’d broken her arm that day and had been in sickbay.

“You really screwed up huh?” Lieutenant Yi Zhang said as he replaced the front panel on the replicator in the Enlisted Lounge. The Assistant Chief Operations officer was a mutual friend of Flores and Hume and had been one of the people Hume was out with the night before.

“Did she talk to you?” Hume asked. He was on a patrol of the decks when he spotted the operations officer working and came over to talk.

“No, but I heard you call her Yuriho,” Zhang said shaking his head, “Come on, that was bad. She knows you cheated on Yuhiro, giving her any reason to think you’d do it again is foolish.”

“You should be a counsellor,” Hume said, annoyed, not that Zhang was wrong but that he was right and had the audacity to point out the truth.

“Then I’d have to pretend to care about your problems,” Zhang joked standing and picking up his bag of tools, “Look your problems are of your own making. Always. If you’re not happy with her break up with her, if you are, then get your stuff together.”

After his tour of all non-bridge decks, he did filing in his small office, and then updated his duty log for the day before the Delta shift took over and he went to one of the holodecks to workout. He had thought about swinging past Flores’ room but had decided it was probably healthier to give her some space. After finishing up swimming laps in the virtually created pool, he was howling off when Flores came in.
“You’re a jerk,” she said as an opening. Hume nodded looking sheepish, he was not going to argue with that on the evidence of the past few days. The fact was he was pretty sure he’d mixed names up because he’d felt guilty about missing their date, and the last time he’d felt that guilty was when he’d cheated on Kolem. He still felt guilt over that, and apparently it was not yet resolved.

“Do you want her back?” Flores asked, pointedly.

“What?” Hume shook his head.

“She’s single, you could ask her if she’d take you back,” Flores said.

“What? No, look Rosa, I made a mistake. I goofed by not being there for our date and by using the wrong name, but I’m not going back to Kolem,” he said.

She considered whether to believe him and finally nodded, “Okay.”

“You want supper?” Hume asked.

Rosa nodded, “Okay.”

— USS Selene, Briefing Room 1 —

Every week the Academy staff on board sat in on the daily briefing between the Selene’s captain and its senior staff.  They talked about what they needed from the crew and got ideas about what was upcoming that would be learning opportunities for the Starfleet Cadets that were aboard. It was neither their nor the captain’s preferred way of starting a day, but it was proving to be helpful.

“We’ll be arriving tomorrow at a class m planet,” said Chief Science Officer Gabriella Miller, bringing up the long range scans of the planet on the monitor. As a science ship she often lead the conversation pointing out what it was that the science department needed to study and where they wanted to go. The other departments, particularly Security, would chime in if the location of the trip was not going to work for some reason.

Miller continued, “We’d like to orbit it, there’s a pre-warp civilization in the southern hemisphere that we want to study through blinds and long range observation.”

Captain Carrillo glanced around the table, waiting for objections. Likely Miller had already spoken with Security and cleared it, as so far out there they had not come across much in the way of hostile ships or anything threatening from a tactical standpoint. When no objections came she nodded, “Okay, how many days do you want?”

Miller answered, “Let’s start with three and go from there.”

Carrillo nodded, “Alright. Anything else?”
Travis McCleod, one of the two administrators from the Academy that were on the Selene, leaned forward, “Is the northern hemisphere occupied?”

Miller shook her head, “Not that we know of, and at their fastest I’d estimate that it would take our population six weeks to travel there. Plus there’s an ocean which they’re not seeming to cross. Why?”

McCleod looked to his right where his co-administrator Doctor Mueller was sitting. He gestured to the screen with his head, trying to send a message to Mueller. She nodded and said, “We’d like to give the students practice on planet. We’ve run holodeck lessons, but to actually get on a real planet would be great.”

The captain looked at her Chief Science Officer, “Could we do that?”

“We’ll use the runabout Zeus for our study, and leave the shuttles to the students,” Miller mused, “With supervision I’d have no problem with it.”

Carrillo nodded, looking back to the Academy staff, “We’ll send the students down in the eight type eight shuttles we have. Everyone send some junior officers down with them just to supervise. Take two from each department. Meanwhile science you do your science thing.”

— Planetside, Southern Hemisphere —

Lieutenant Óskar Erosarson activated the holographic camouflage causing the blind to blend into foliage. They’d chosen a place away from the main path and road where they’d not seen any evidence of people going so they would hopefully remained undisturbed. The anthologist next activated electronic viewing ports allowing them to see as if through a window, but in reality it was a screen similar to the large one on the bridge. With it they could zoom in, to get a better look at the lives being lived out in the village.

Lieutenant Eshita Elizabeth Das had been made the new Assistant Chief Science officer, which meant that she had to switch from being a specialist in Astrometrics to a generalist helping to lead a department.

“They’re settling in for the night,” he said, as the busy central market became much less busy. It was clearly a pre-electricity species, one where light had to come from flame as opposed to light bulbs. That however meant that there was not a lot to do until the morning when they’d have to get up to the locals’ activities. A few sentries were still patrolling on the outskirts of town, but their actions would be captured by the cameras that were hidden and pointed at the settlement.

“What kind of rations do you get on these deployments?” Das asked, setting up the perimeter alarm, so if they both fell asleep nobody could sneak up on them, at least nobody without a cloaking device.”

“Probably about what the students are going to get,” Erosarson answered, “We don’t get to bring a replicator unless we’re doing a weeks of months long study.”

Das knew why they did this, it was both to learn the specifics of a new race, one that may one day join them in space and it was also a way of learning about their own civilizations. You could not really go back to ancient Earth and observe the first humans nor could one do the same to the Vulcans, Andorians and so forth. However many aspects of early life seemed to be general. Seeing how one species developed gave you hints as to what your own past was.

Erosarson dug out a chicken in curry sauce, not sure an Indian woman would appreciate a curry that was likely packaged on a Starbase, weeks ago when she was used to the real thing. He personally found it easier to eat some Italian or even Vulcan rations than Skyr yogurt of another Icelandic dish. He offered it to Eshita, but she opted instead for a soup with Trill vegetables floating in a salt broth. The packages were constructed to heat their continents up when opened, thus you never needed a device to eat them, as they came properly reheated. They each opened their container and used the utensils that they’d brought down as part of the mobile blind setup kit.

“You still dating that guy in intelligence?” Erosarson asked making conversation. On long deployments rumours and scuttlebutt were the life blood of a ship’s social life. The tea flowed through the corridors of the Selene, one might say.

“It was the doctor,” Das said, trying to maneuver a pinkish root vegetable onto her spoon, “Doctor Elordi.”

“The Romulan?” Erosarson asked, thinking that he had always through of Eshita as someone who preferred to date men, but realizing that it was a conclusion he had no reason to jump to.

Das shook her head, “No, the guy, he was, probably still is, human.”

Erosarson made a note of that, he had been right even though his evidence for the conclusion had been too small of a sample size. He did not know the medical staff that well, having never been sick and only having dealt with nurses for minor issues. 

“What happened,” he asked.
Das finished her mouthful of soup and said, “Not everything has a big important reason, or a terrible story. We just didn’t click. Dated for about a month, but  never had that spark you know.”

Erosarson nodded and focused on his food thinking, finding that spark was important. It was hard to do, but finding someone to have fun with on an assignment even if they weren’t your ‘forever person’ was important too. Space could be isolating, it was one reason he enjoyed deployments planet side like this survey. You got to breath in non-recycled air, and see new stars from the ground.

“There’s nothing on the monitors, want to go for a walk, see the stars?” He asked.

“Don’t you see enough stars on the Selene?” Das asked.

“They look different through an atmosphere,” Erosarson said putting his bowl in the small sink, “Come on.”

They walked through the woods, away from the town and the population. Darkness kept them concealed from the locals. After a bit they knew that they could talk without the sound dampeners from the blind.

“You ever seen the Northern Lights on Earth?” Das asked.

“I’m from Iceland, of course,” Erosarson answered.

“I took a trip to the Yukon in second year at the Academy to see them, and as soon as I did, I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to see the beauty of existence, and explain it,” Das said, “How could something exist and be so beautiful and perfect. Then you find out that it’s just the tip of an iceberg.”

Erosarson looked at her and said the cheesy line, “That’s exactly what I’m wondering right now.”

Das laughed, “What a line, you’re saying I’m beautiful and perfect?”

Erosarson nodded, “If I’m not overstepping ma’am.”

Das knew that she could shut this down at any time, but just like Erosarson she was young and assigned to the USS Selene to not only perform her duty, but also define herself and build a life. “It’s a really bad line,” she said, it was so bad that it was kind of endearing. 

She took his hand, “Come on we should go back to the blind.”

Erosarson nodded, feeling her more slender hand in his. He lead her back through the forest and into the hidden blind.

— USS Selene, Senior Officer’s Lounge Delphi —

There was a quiet that had defended on the ship. Not running at full speed and with the cadets and some junior officers on the planet’s southern continent, everything seemed more relaxed. Of course, science was still occurring, the Selene had dozens of science labs and hundreds of projects ongoing on top of the study of the planet’s indigenous people. Scans were also being done from orbit and flying by non-populated areas of the planet with runabouts for a closer look. It was a good test of the USS Selene’s scientific systems since her first mission which wasn’t a milk run had been a battle against pirates.

After several weeks of running at top warp the engineering team had taken the warp engines offline for realignment and to do some work on them. They had impulse power, but they’d not moved since entering orbit around the planet, ensuring that they were unseen by populated areas.

Captain Olivia Carrillo settled into a booth in the lounge with a large hot chocolate made from thick Spanish chocolate. A plate of churros were set down by the server, one of the few non-Starfleet crew aboard the ship. With little for a non-scientifically minded captain to do, she was taking some much-needed personal time to read a book on book on the life of Ambassador Spock the Vulcan who had died trying to prevent the Romulan sun from going supernova. It had failed and their people had been scattered to the wind, and government fractured. The violence that followed particularly with the Klingons was unfortunate.

She had just gotten to his first death, the one that had eventually lead to the Enterprise being stolen and the crew being demoted, when Carrillo noticed someone standing over her table. She looked up.

“What are you eating?” asked the Selene’s Chief Flight Control Officer Lieutenant Pr’Nor. As the ship was not moving for the most part the flight control department did not have a great deal to do aside from ensuring that the ship was not crashing or being spotted by the local inhabitants. Aside from minute adjustments, it was tedious work. Carrillo knew that her husband, Lieutenant Lambert, had spent all day in training simulators rather than on the bridge.

“It’s called churros and chocolate,” Carrillo said, “it is popular in the Spain region of Earth.”

It was clear that the Vulcan was not just inquiring about the snack that the captain was having, and that a further conversation would be required. While Vulcans were known for their sometimes blunt honesty, they could also have a hard time opening up to people particularly those that were relative strangers. It had been several months that the two women had worked together, but Carrillo knew that she was still the new woman on the ship, or at least with that crew many of which had been together through now three ships.

Pushing the plate out she said, “Sit, try one. Can we get another hot chocolate, same specs.”

The bartender who was also the lounge’s only server on  nodded and went about preparing one. Spanish hot chocolate was thicker and richer than the kind that North American’s were used to and thankfully on a ship the size of the Selene they were able to use real chocolate rather than replicating it.

Pr’Nor sat and was quiet, waiting for the small cup to arrive. When it did Captain Carrillo picked up a churro and dipped it in her own cup, demonstrating how she ate it.

“So what’s on your mind Pr’Nor?” She asked, “I know you didn’t come here to ask about churros. You sought me out, and picked the lounge so what’s up, my husband being a pain in the ass.”

The Vulcan shook her head. Because of their relationship, the management of Lieutenant Lambert fell entirely on Pr’Nor, who was his section lead. It likely would have been awkward, managing the captain’s husband, for any other officer but the Vulcan did not seem to find the situation at all uncomfortable.
“Your husband has not handled my ass in any way,” Pr’Nor reported.

“Well that’s not what I meant, but I’m also glad about that. Is he causing trouble?” Carrillo said, she doubted it but she could not imagine what else was so delicate that the Vulcan had not raised it at one of the senior staff briefings.

“It is about your husband and you, are you satisfied with your marriage?” the Vulcan asked.

Carrillo had not expected that, and had no idea where the conversation was now going. Dipping her churro again she nodded, “I am happy, why?”

“I am thinking of asking Lieutenant Tashai to marry me,” Pr’Nor said, “but she is difficult to figure. She is, as you know, very old.”

The captain nodded, Tashai was one of the oldest members of the crew being born in what was once called the 1970s back on Earth. Only Murf, the engineer, seemed to be older than that. Carrillo shrugged, “If you were dating a human would you worry about then being young?”

Several well-known Vulcans had dated humans, including Spock’s father Ambassador Sarek who was likely the most famous Vulcan even now throughout Starfleet.

“I would not,” Pr’Nor said, “In fact dating a human is something I have done. During my Academy days, I dated a woman who owned a bakery near campus.”

“Look I’m the captain, but I’m not an expert. I dated, largely badly, and I found a guy in  a ship from like two centuries ago and married him,” Carrillo said, “So I don’t think my experience translates. But you’ll have to get used to being the young one.”

The Vulcan nodded, “Thank you. I understand there is very little you can advise me on in this case.”

“Just talk to her,” Carrillo said, “be open with her, and tell her. She doesn’t strike me as someone who would dump you just over a desire to marry.”

— Planetside, Academy Camp —

Doctor Thomas Elordi gave the leg another scan then nodded at the cadet, it wasn’t broken through they had taken quite a spill. He put away the medical tricorder and gave the student another shot of painkiller via hypospray and patted the young woman’s shoulder, saying, “It’ll be okay, just keep weight off of it for a day, make your classmates get you lunch and that sort of thing.”

The fifty academy students were conducting studies of the area. Mostly science students it was a chance to be on a new world and get out in a real environment and not just  a holo-simulation. The trouble is falls happened, and the young woman had taken a tumble off a small cliff and landed on her leg awkwardly. A handful of mostly junior officers were there to supervise, along with the two senior Academy instructors. 

“You’re good with younger people,” observed Academy instructor Doctor Michelle Mueller once the woman had walked off with the help of two classmates who were supporting her weight. She said, “Bedside manner was never my specialty. I had a Vulcan doctor, well Doctor Va’Tok, who was much better than I was with people.”

Elordi nodded, “Well I read your paper on Andorran flu after you first came aboard. You’re a pretty good writer, it’s obvious you care about patients.”

“Now I get to play the harass to Doctor McCleod’s jovial everyman,” Mueller observed, not better but just matter of factly. It was nothing to be angry at, or ashamed of, it was simply the roles they’d fallen into after years of serving together. It didn’t mean that she did not care, or did not feel anything when she lost patients. She’d overseen dozens of disaster relief mission, and seen thousands of dead. Eventually she’d had enough, thus when her ship was decommissioned she found this job helping the next generation of students.

“Va’Tok was good, had a nice sense of humour, even if he denied it,” Elordi said. He gathered up the contents of the small medical kit that he’d unpacked and headed towards his tent. With no intelligent life on the continent there was little worry about being spotted. What animals there were were small mammals similar to Earth rabbits, and a kind of lizard that hunted them. 

Mueller walked with him back to his tent, “I’m sorry you had to find him like that, stabbed to death. Or nearly dead, I read your medical report there was nothing you could have done. You saved your captain, that in itself was a near miracle.”

The doctor nodded, despite the differing levels of experience and rank between the two of them they  both knew the pain of losing someone on the operating table. They both knew about putting aside your feelings for someone as you rushed to save their lives. Va’Tok had been her Assistant Chief and his Chief Medical Officer. He’d been Vulcan, and still despite being older than either of them he was finding out who he was after his transition to being a male.

The interior of Elordi’s tent was spartan, a cot with a few shelves of basic medical supplies. He filed the kit that he had used back on the shelf, filling in an empty space. 

“So what’s teacher life like?” Elordi wanted to change up the conversation and get them away from talking about their murdered friend. 

“I am enjoying it for now,” Mueller mused, “A nice change from the stress of being a doctor. But I do find I miss the stress, if not the sick patients.”

Elordi nodded, “An action junkie, at least in the operating room.”

“As you rank up you don’t get to operate much anymore,” Mueller said, “but yes.”

Across the small compound that the cadets had built using their tents Cadet Sol lowered fellow cadet Jura Ibile to the cot. The Vulcan student had taken on the other woman’s full weight and helped ferry her to a resting position. Sol shook her head disapprovingly, “You should not let your romantic interest in Cadet Gakor lead you to taking risks such as that.”

Ibile shook her head, “I have no interest in Gakor, we’re just friends.”

The Vulcan was not convinced, “Your skin tone grows more flushed when he is around, you speak eight percent faster and your judgement is questionable at best.”

“Just friends,” Ibile reiterated.

“Than your judgement is questionable at all times,” Sol said.

“How about you and Cadet Ravaonirina?” Ibile said, pointing her index finger at the Vulcan.

“Cadet Ravaonirina has not indicated that he is interested in a romantic relationship,” Sol said, “I have also not hobbled myself trying to show off for him.”

“I have not hobbled myself,” Ibile said.

“You fell down a perfectly normal hill thinking he was watching you,” Sol pointed out, “You are lucky this is just a training assignment. On a real deployment I would have likely had to leave you to die.”

They both knew that this was unlikely to be true, but the Vulcan was never going to admit to being illogical or telling a fib. 

“Maybe I’m just not cut out for space,” Ibile said.

“I have observed hills on Earth as well,” Sol pointed out, “And if I can live in a dormitory with humans and trills, you can live on a mostly human starship.”

“You won’t let me quit?” Ibile said to her friend.

The Vulcan nodded, “You are not going to quit, because then you wouldn’t be able to be my first officer.”

“That’s years away,” she protested.

“Vulcans plan for years away, now rest, or I will forward your personal logs to Cadet Gakor,” Sol threatened. They both knew it was an idle threat, but Ibile nodded and set her head on the pillow and tried to relax.

— USS Selene, Main Engineering —

Ensign Vanessa Constable pushed as she tried to fiddle the bioneural gel pack into place. The Selene used advanced isolinear-bioneural hybrid circuitry, which was proving to both provide excellent results but also to be incredibly intensive in having to repair it and keep it functioning. It was a computer that could get sick, with a real virus as had originally happened on the first USS Voyager. She was the one handling this because Lieutenant Junior Grade Kv’skrkks had claws that he worried would slice through the thin membrane of the bag. He watched then as the human replaced the three bags as instructed. Constable had risen to being the Assistant Chief Engineer back on the Anaheim, Seattle and Luna, before being made just a regular engineer by Starfleet brass who did not like an Ensign helping to run a department. Still what was important to her was that she no longer had to sleep in a hallway and the number of people who thought of themselves as her boss did not actually matter too much to her.

The Pahkwa-thanh engineer watched her with unblinking eyes, then nodded, satisfied that they were in place, “We’ll power the computer back up now.”

Stationed around a Class-M world they’d been given a few days to look over everything and check that the warp core was still at its best after two weeks of running at high warp factors. This also included checking on the computer system, especially since the ship had been tasked with trying out ten holographic crew members similar to the Emergency Medical Hologram that had been the Chief Medical Officer on Voyager. After nearly every venture into Artificial Intelligence blowing up in Starfleet’s face they were being cautious. Only Data, the former officer on the Enterprise D, had ever been a non-evil artificial being. Well perhaps there was more, but none that came to Constable’s mind at the moment.

The main computer powered on perfectly and seemed to be running. Lieutenant Junior Grade Kv’skrkks began to run diagnostic programs to see that this was the case. The computer controlled basically everything that happened aboard the Selene, so having that not functioning was a potential hazard that threatened everyone on board. The work was tedious upkeep, but Constable liked it. They could work at a relaxed pace, and there was a satisfaction at making things work better. Even a one percent gain in efficiency was a success worth being celebrated. Suddenly though the engineering department, and probably the entire ship, rocked.

“What’s going on?” Kv’skrkks asked.

Constable though could tell, they were under fire, “We’ll need to power everything up, the captain’s going to need energy.”

— USS Selene, Bridge —

The Red Alert was sounded as the attacking ship had dropped out of warp and instantly opened fire. Sitting the the central chair as senior officer on the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Tashai had given the order to raise shields and go to red alert. The ship fired again, this time hitting the shields, which dissipated the phaser fire.

Captain Carrillo exited the turbo lift as Tashai stood and went to the operations conn.

“Report,” Carrillo said.

“Just came out of warp and started firing,” Tashai said.

“Our sensors are having a hard time locking in on it,” at the tactical station Lieutenant Claudia Jara was reporting.

They had allowed themselves to relax, realized Carrillo, and someone had taken advantage of that.

“Hail them,” the captain said as more officers streamed onto the bridge to take up stations.”

The main view screen was suddenly looking at the attacker’s bridge, and its crew was seemingly Pahkwa-thanh, though what they said next made Carrillo realize that they were not in fact the Pahkwa-thanh. 
“You are interfering with our food, monkey,” the other ship’s captain said, looking angrily at Carrillo, “And since when could monkey people fly a starship.”

Carrillo held up her hands, “We intend you no harm, nor do we wish to disturb your food. We’re just studying the native population of this world, and training some of our students.”

“Why study our food if not to interfere with it?” The other captain said.

Carrillo realized that their food, as he said, was the population that they were studying. Obviously the Prime Directive did not explicitly say not to eat pre warp societies, but that was sort of a given. Still they were entering tricky territory, because they didn’t want to interfere with an alien race, nor did they want to let an alien race eat a bunch of innocent humanoids. But the Selene was not going to be able to fight over this, at least it was a risk and they had their own people to worry about.

“We study developing civilizations,” Carrillo said, “Our Prime Directive prevents us from interfering with them however, so we stay hidden.”

This did not seem to satisfy the other captain, “I should just eat you. Blow a hole in your pretty little ship and eat your frozen remains.”

“Torpedos loaded Captain,” Jara said beside her.

“We have scientists and people down there,” pointed out Carrillo, “So we’ll bring them back aboard and be on our way.”

The captain seemed unconvinced but nodded, “You have one cycle, and then we hunt. Do what you will. If you remain here, we will hunt you.”

The screen returned to the view of the world below, and Carrillo glanced at Jara, “Call senior staff briefing for an hour, run a tactical assessment of that ship, and get our teams up from the surface as fast as we can.”

— USS Selene, Briefing Room 1 —

Captain Carrillo sighed, “I don’t like being told to run with our tails between our legs.”

“I do not have a tail,” Pr’Nor the Chief Flight Control Officer informed the captain.

“It’s a saying,” Lieutenant Commander James Young, the Chief Engineer said helpfully, “It means to run away scared.”

“What’s the rules here?” Carrillo asked, “Can we intervene?”

“We could,” said Commander Travis McCleod, he had come back on the first shuttle back to the Selene, as they continued to shuttle up the cadets’ camp site, and clear off the blind studying the local population that were apparently now going to be eaten.

“Tactically we’re outclassed,” Jara said, the Chief Security Officer bringing up the scans they had of the threat vessel, “If we did survive a serious fight we’d likely never make it back home. Help is at least two weeks away, that’s on top of the four days it’ll take for a report to reach Starfleet.”

“So we’re not looking for a fight,” Carrillo said, adding, “I also am not a fan of allowing sentient life to be eaten.”

“This is clearly a pre-existing relationship, for all we know these people were settled here, like humans might repopulate a river with salmon only to fish them later,” said Jara.

Lieutenant Commander Keyana Mason added, “Humans hunted whales until well into the twenty-second century. They now serve along side them, as we have two on board.”

“One’s a dolphin,” pointed out Jara.

“The point stands, we should not point fingers, as distasteful as we find it, we can not interfere,” Mason said.

There was general murmuring and debate continued to flow for awhile, but nobody said anything other than the decision felt wrong. No one had any alternatives, though there was some talk to negotiating with their adversaries, but Carrillo could tell that would not get them anywhere. The fact was that as much as they felt morally offended, eating an inferior species was not unknown to humans, or many of the Federation’s member species.

“Alright, unless anything changes we leave orbit at 18:00 tonight, I want everyone onboard and ready to ship out.

— Planetside, Observation Blind —

“Most deployments aren’t like this,” Lieutenant Óskar Erosarson said as he continued to load large pallets onto the runabout. They’d had to deconstruct the blind in record time, and take it off world unsure of what was left did not interfere with the local species. They did not know what was going up in orbit, as for security reasons it was being kept a closely guarded secret.

With the last of the observation blind stored away, the runabout took off and headed to the Selene.

“I imagine we’re not often changing out mind and packing out in hours,” Lieutenant Eshita Das said. 

“What’s that in orbit next to the Selene?” Erosarson asked, spotting the ship and bringing up preliminary readings. He opened a comm channel with the ship, “What’s going on?”

The communications officer on the other end was curt, “Just get back here.”

The cadets had been quicker at packing up, and were already on board. Closing the comm link Erosarson sighed. Then there was a crash in the back of the runabout as something knocked over a box of sensors that they’d set up. Das rose from the co-pilot’s seat and returned a few minutes later with a small child, roughly two or three years old, clearly one of the villagers.

“We have to go back,” Das said.

Swearing Erosarson contacted the Selene, “We have to return for a minute.”

“Negative, return to the Selene,” said the officer on comms.
“We have a local girl aboard,” Erosarson argued, “She’s young, we can return her with no damage to…”

“Say again?” Communications asked.

“We have a local girl, approximately three years old onboard,” Erosarson repeated. There was a long pause and then another voice, this one a stern female voice returned to the comm link.

“Return to the ship now,” the voice said, “That’s an order from your captain.”

— USS Selene, Bridge —

The two science officers and the young girl who still had not spoken, entered the bridge to see a steam of four shuttles descending from the large vessel in orbit beside them to the ground. The science team still did not know what was going on, but everyone seemed serious and upset.

“We have to give this girl something to erase the last hour or so of her memory and take her back to the planet,” Erosarson said, “She’s now seen the runabout, and our ship.”

“She’s not going back,” Captain Carrillo said. 

The Romulan Doctor T’Rala was on the bridge and approached, “Come on dear let’s go check give you a check up.”

With that she ushered the young girl off the bridge.

“What? Why?” Das asked, the Lieutenant confused as to why they were kidnapping someone against the Prime Directive. 

“Those shuttles are filled with hunters, going down to eat the villagers,” Carrillo said, “Unless we want to get into a fight I don’t think any of us will be surviving, we have to stay out of this.”

Looking around the bridge the two officers could tell now that this was something that had been argued about and debated almost the entire time they were down there. If there was any solution they’d have found it.

“The girl,” Das said.

“I’m not sending a child down to be murdered Prime Directive be damned,” Carrillo said, “We’ll have to talk about what happens to her next, but I don’t care I’m not sending her to her death. Lieutenant Pr’Nor, resume course, maximum warp.”

They were running, but for now, that was all they could do.

— USS Selene, Unexplored Space—

The crew of the USS Selene was able to relax some, with distance speeding between them and the race they knew only as the ‘Hunters’. Whether they were related to the Gorn, the Pahkwa-thanh or any of the other cold blooded races that had either joined or met the Federation, they were not sure. Their hostile attitude and desire to get the Selene out of orbit and away from their food source had not made them overly informative. As if expanding the knowledge base of the Federation’s databanks was not their chief priority. 

Aboard the ship things had settled down after the flurry of activity as the ship and it’s away teams had been forced to leave the planet. One cadet who had been injured while deployed  had healed up, and life was beginning to settle back into the natural rhythms of a  ship travelling at high warp. 

— USS Selene, First Officer’s Quarters —

Captain Carrillo was still in her quarters assuming that Captain Adriana Cruz would return to lead the ship, despite the woman’s recovery being pushed back each time they spoke. Thus her and her husband, Lieutenant Pierre Lambert, were living in the Executive Officer’s quarters. It was a good size, though it was a bit of a come down from the rather plush quarters on the USS Luna. 

She was in an arm chair reading briefings received overnight from Starfleet headquarters when the door opened and Lambert entered, the young girl who had stowed away on the runabout with him. Starfleet’s word on the situation had been delayed, and rather annoyed but they had agreed with the decision not to return her. The problem was with at least a month to go before they turned back to Starbase 86, the girl had no where to go and appeared to be non-vocal.

“I can’t get used to a kid on a starship,” Lambert said as he replicated a bowl of ice cream for the girl.

“The Selene could have families,” Carrillo said, setting down her PADD, “we just haven’t yet. Everyone is young, and other than us none of the crew are married. On ships though full families can come aboard including civilian spouses.”

“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même,” Lambert said, “Just another way to give us everything we could want in space.”

“Replicator, holodecks, wives, what won’t Starfleet bribe you with?” Carrillo teased reading about other missions going on in Task Force 86. 

Handing the child a bowl of ice cream he replicated one for himself. Later he might find a chef on board to make a proper meal, but for now ice cream from a machine would have to do. As far as his pallet could tell replicator food had gotten better from his day but was still not like eating something real. 

“Do you think she can understand us?” Lambert asked, and then “Do you understand us dear?”

Carrillo looked up from her PADD, “The communications team seem to think we had observed enough to add her native tongue to the universal translator. So she should be hearing us in her tongue, though obviously the language model is not perfect yet, not without more data.”

Of course all that the girl knew was her village and the surrounding area, and now that was gone, and she was being taken into space on a starship be aliens. 

Lambert had found himself taking care of the girl most days. He was a pilot, but he seemed to be better with kids than a lot of the crew and though since she did not speak it was impossible to tell, the girl seemed to actually like him. Of course bribing a kid with ice cream will get them to like you rather easy.

Custody of the young woman would have to sorted out once they retuned back to starbase. For now a hodgepodge of officers were caring for her, taking shifts and turns putting some nascent parental instincts to use. With the cadets now working on probes, the senior staff was more available for parenting duties than normally and the guilt of what they were forced to allow happen to the young girl’s people drove them to being extra attentive. There was, though, the fact that it was only temporary like when someone would bring a cute puppy to the Academy and everyone would shower it with love. No one really thought that this was a permanent situation.

“You can’t keep feeding her ice cream,” Carrillo said.

“Unless you’re going to pull rank on me I can feed her all the ice cream she wants,” Lambert countered.

The captain rolled her eyes but did not press the subject, it was fine to spoil the girl for awhile. Starfleet or the Federation would provide her with a more stable environment when they took custody. They had spoken about having kids, though there were no plans to particularly when the process would take time out of Carrillo’s career as captain, a role which she had just won. Lambert seemed less bothered by his career but there were biological reasons why it affected him less, even if he became the primary caregiver.

She went back to her reading, as Lambert cleaned up the ice cream bowls and then promised to show the girl the holodeck, though it was not clear that she understood all of it or any of it.

— USS Selene, Holodeck Lab 4 —-

It was impressive that the lab had taken on the aspects of space, a few buttons pressed to program everything and all of a sudden they had the view as if they were standing on top of the USS Selene itself. With a gesture Lieutenant Akane Sone could zoom in or look through another perspective. It was impressive technology, even for the twenty-fifth century. Maria Cortez a lieutenant in the science department was making notes at Sone’s side, the scientists were almost as eager as she was to be seeing new stars and a new perspective on the galaxy that they knew.

Behind them was a gaggle of cadets all looking on in awe, as such a view was not possible on earth, at least not that they’d experienced. 

“Space is infinite,” Sone said, “But the galaxy is not. We’ve divided the known galaxy up into quadrants. Now this is an easy one, you should have learned it in grade school, what quadrant is Earth in?”

A Bolian student’s hand went up, “Alpha.”

Sone nodded, “And where would you expect to find Klingons?”

“Beta,” one of the male students called out.

“And the USS Voyager was lost in the… what quadrant?” Sone asked again.

“Delta,” someone called out.

“That’s all easy stuff,” Sone said, “I’m not your instructor, so you don’t get extra marks for knowing that. But you’ll be expected to recognize elements of at least two quadrants on your test next month. You can pull up star charts in your room from your computers or these labs can be booked and used by groups. If you have any questions let me know, otherwise I’ll leave you with Lieutenant Cortez who has some questions about what makes up stars.”

Leaving Cortez in charge of the students Sone exited the holodeck and bumped into Lieutenant Lambert who was leading a small girl, likely the one retrieved from their last planet visited, down the hall. Sone knew Lambert, as he’d started off in Stellar Cartography after being found by the USS Luna, until he’s moved over to being a pilot. Mostly because ships no longer had navigation officers, which he’d been.

“Cute kid,” Sone said.

Lambert nodded, “She is, but she bites when she’s mad. We’re going to find an open holodeck and visit Paris.”

“Does she know what Paris is?” Sone asked, she’d been there once, going on vacation with her family from her home in Osaka.

“No, she also doesn’t know what a holodeck is,” Lambert said, not quite sure how he was going to explain it when she was non-verbal and the universal translator had not yet fully learned her native tongue.

“Sounds fun, is she yours now?” Sone asked.

Lambert shook his head, “I don’t know, I guess Starfleet will take her. I don’t know all the procedures for things like this.”

“Can’t say that there’s many situations like this,” Sone admitted. She then reached a turbo lift, “Well good luck, have fun.”

Lambert nodded, and he and the girl continued down the corridor as Sone stepped into a turbo lift.

—- Starbase86, Logistical Support Office —-

Captain Radak felt old. Not yet one hundred he normally would have been looking forward to a long and prosperous career even now. For a Vulcan he was young, or at least in his middle age, but his bones felt old and her felt spent and used up. He’d commanded a starship and then taken a desk job at a Starbase hoping to get away from the hustle and bustle (a human term he’d learned) of command. Now he reviewed reports and allocated fleet resources a sedate job that did not require the kind of dedication that captaining a starship did.

He was a month away from retiring. Early, but he had the forms on his desk and was ready to file them. He had entered the early stages of Tuvan Syndrome and while he still had twenty odd years left, he was feeling the effects. He could mask them, keep them hidden from his co-workers, but he knew that within five years his facial muscles would start to droop and slowly within a decade his motor functions would become impaired. Even now his joints hurt, and standing to replicate himself a glass of water might have felled another species. He kept his face neutral, placid, and looking as if nothing was wrong. He was an intensely private man, and his only friends had not been his friends but his former crew. Now he just filed paperwork (another human term) and went about his day.

He had looked at retirement options, opting for the warmth of the Vulcan desert. A home away from civilization where he could read and spend his final decades in quiet reflection. For all the advances in medicine and all the improvements in health he was going to die. Sooner rather than later. Another being might have had to grapple with that, might have gone through stages of grief. Radak just accepted it, almost looking forward to it, at least he did not have to plan for the long term.

He was not a mid-level pencil pusher (yet another human term) and spent his days looking over reports. He did not assign Task Force 86’s ships, merely took their reports and sensor logs and made suggestions as to where it might be most logical to send them. He never spoke to the captains, or was known outside of a select few who relied on his work to draw their own conclusions of the situation.

He knew it was illogical that his bones hurt. He knew that bones themselves had no pain receptors to relay their discomfort to the brain, but he felt the dull ache. He forced it to the back of his mind as he read through the latest report from the USS Selene. He paused, paging back to a sensor chart and began to write a report.

—- USS Selene, Captain’s Ready Room —-

“I don’t understand what Starfleet wants,” Captain Olivia Carrillo said sliding the PADD across her desk to her First Officer.

The former science officer picked it up and studied it intently. Lieutenant Commander Keyana Mason knew what it said, and felt ashamed that their own scientists had not picked up on the data that they had sent back to Starbase 86. It was just a minor reading, lost in the vast amount of sensor data they had sent along, but it was something.

“Essentially,” she explained, “our sensors picked up a increase in tachyon readings in this section we warped past. The build up looks artificial. Starfleet wants us to check it out.”

“Artificial,” Carrillo said slowly grasping what the situation was, “as in cloaked ships.”

“A lot of them,” Mason said.

Without looking at the situation, getting better readings, they could not know what ships where there, but that was not going to stop Carrillo from wanting to speculate, especially since it was her crew on the line if things went wrong.

“Klingons?” Carrillo asked.

“It would be a surprise staging area for an invasion into Romulan space,” Mason said, “and it would fit with our readings. That many ships, we might not know where they were but if we’re picking up radiation like this, it could be that.”

“Why didn’t we pick it up?” Carrillo asked, “Why are we relying on Starfleet to do this work for us?”

“We’ve scanned dozens of anomalies, charted a great deal of space, and been training cadets,” Mason said, “we are also still building up our science departments. So missing something isn’t a big deal, we just try to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The idea of running headlong into a sector full of cloaked ships, of any type, was not one that the captain was keen on. The two officers kicked around ideas on how they could approach it, and still be able to make a getaway if the ships were hostile. Even Klingon ships, might prove to be an issue given that the Federation was positioned firmly between the Romulans and Klingons and the assumption (perhaps correctly) would be that they would alert the other power if an armada was found. This far from Federation space it would be a simple matter to make a starship vanish by destroying it, rather than have their secret revealed.

With no satisfactory answer they resolved to bring it to the senior staff and broke up the meeting to prepare for the day’s briefing.

—- USS Selene, Unexplored Space —-

At least a month from Federation space at top warp, there was no desire to get into a prolonged engagement with a hostile ship. The USS Selene positioned itself near a binary star, two twin stars that interacted whose gravity fought for possession of their planets. It seemed that the four planets in their system would take turns, orbiting one for a year then pulled by the gravity of the other and orbiting it for a cycle until the gravity of the first sun pulled them towards it. It was enough to send the science teams into a tizzy taking readings and building models in their labs.

It was also placed in close proximity to the sector of space where the tachyon buildup had been detected. The Selene had looped back there, and now could be seen to be studying the stars while scanning the area where they suspected the cloaked ships were building up. While scientists were doing actual science, tactical and intelligence were learning what they could about the potential ships.

“Probably Klingon,” Lieutenant Commander Jake Dornall said, “There’s a distinctive emissions that we’re picking up, Romulan ships don’t have that.”

The science did not support drawing any hard and fast conclusions, but Carrillo had learned that Dornall had a tendency to be right, and likely was basing his guess on information that she was not being given.

“Why assemble so far out from either Klingon or Romulan space?” the captain asked.

“You could sneak behind Romulan lines, get around their defenses and launch attacks against their remaining core worlds,” Dornall observed.

“It could not even be cloaked ships, that’s still just a guess,” Lieutenant Commander Keyana Mason said.

Dornall shrugged, “We’ll send a probe in. If it’s cloaked ships I imagine it gets blown up. If it doesn’t, we might have to rethink the assumption.”

“A probe would alert them,” Carrillo pointed out.

“Then we run like crazy,” Dornall said, “I’d put the Selene up against any Klingon cruiser in terms of running speed.”

Carrillo did not have that confidence, but it seemed to be the best option that she was presented with, “Okay shoot off a probe, make it look like it’s doing routine science stuff. Mason make sure we’re ready to go to high speed warp at a moment’s notice.”

Mason nodded, “I’ll make sure engineering is ready.”

An hour later a probe was sent from the ship. Its scanners remained trained on the binary stars, and sent out the probe as if it was an after thought, trying to accomplish multiple science missions at once as if nothing out of the ordinary had been picked up. The crew of the ship, particularly the captain, hoped that nothing would come from their investigation.

—- Starbase 86 —-

The Vulcan Captain Radak slowly stood from his chair. He had filed his latest round of reports for the higher ups and had his therapy scheduled. Command did not know of his condition, and it would not affect his work for at least a decade or more so he did not feel like informing them. By then he would be long retired, living on Vulcan and engaged in sedate reflection away from the life he now lead. Even if he had not moved on, writing reports was not an active activity and he was sure that he could do so even while affected by a degenerative muscular disease.

The medical bay of the station was large and impressive, particularly when compared with a starship. He entered quietly and was shown to a chair where he was to receive treatment. There was some hope that Tuvan Syndrome could be slowed or cured with radiation but he was not sure, and while he did not have training as a doctor, had seen his physical condition deteriorate while on treatment. An older Denobulan man smiled, and joined him. His doctor was kind, seemed to know what he was talking about and discreet.

The Denobulan helped him adjust, he always said Vulcans made the best patients, because they took good care of themselves and it was only logical that they listen to the more informed doctors. Other species started to try to cure themselves after a few hours of reading popular scientific articles. Vulcans understood that many years of medical school was more informative than a few hours in front of your computer or pretending to be a doctor on a holodeck.

“Have you told Starfleet Command yet?” the Denobulan Doctor asked, both to make conversation and because he cared for the fate of his patient, even beyond the medical treatments that he was giving him.

The Vulcans shook his head tiredly, “No it is not yet logical to do so. They cannot assist me, and my performance is not yet affected.”

“Which is why I haven’t filed a report on your yet,” the Denobulan said, “If your performance is in question I have a duty to let your superiors know.”

Radak nodded, “I am aware of your duties and responsibilities. I would not place you in a situation. My father died of Tuvan Syndrome, I am aware of the timeline. I have at least a decade before the condition affects my service and I intend to be retired by then.”

“You’re just going off to die without telling anyone you’re sick?” the doctor inquired.

“I did not marry, my fore bearers are dead,” Radak explained, “I will inform my sister when needed, but I have no one else.”

“Friends? Even Vulcans have friends.”

“My friends were killed by the changelings,” Radak said, and if the Denobulan did not know better he would have guessed that his voice was tinged with sadness. The Vulcan captain came in for treatment once every month, and then had two days off duty to recover. Neither his condition or his therapy was affecting his work, so the doctor did not report it. Perhaps he did have a decade, or perhaps that was just wistful thinking.

For now though Radak had a few more tomorrows left, though he had no one in his life to help greet those tomorrows.

—- USS Selene, Bridge —-

At a console Lieutenant Commander Jake Dornall made a sound like he had been strangled. It broke a relative silence that had descended on the ship in the past two hours, as everyone was absorbed in their own data display. Captain Olivia Carrillo looked over at the Chief Intelligence officer with some degree of trepidation. He was generally level headed, and not prone to just making noises for the sake of making noises.

“Dornall?” Carrillo inquired.

“Probe’s done, probably destroyed. Its last transmission was of tachyons heading this way,” he reported.

Carrillo knew that likely meant that the cloaked ships had destroyed it and a number of them were heading toward the USS Selene’s place studying the twin suns. They had anticipated being able to run from any threat, but the other option seemed to be that the Selene only saw the ships right before an attack. If you were a Klingon wanting to silence the Selene, a sneak attack before it could transmit to the Federation what was happening, was a good idea.

“Yellow alert,” Carrillo said, “Don’t raise shields but get ready to run. Prep torpedoes in case we need them.”

If it was Klingon ships as shootout benefited the Klingons who likely could overwhelm the USS Selene. Their best option was to fire a few quick salvos and hit warp. They weren’t defenseless but they were not ready to take on multiple threat vessels if that was what the readings turned out to be.

Carrillo added, “Send in another probe, if that vanishes we know we’re in trouble.”

Her First Officer Lieutenant Commander Keyana Mason nodded, “Preparing a second probe ma’am. And it’s away.”

Carrillo nodded. Nothing was going to happen soon, but when the damn broke and if a ship uncloaked it was likely that a bunch of things were going to happen all at once. It might not be for another few hours, but when the time came the USS Selene’s fate would be decided quickly. The entire bridge was silent at the probe left the Selene, and followed its journey on the main viewscreen. It streaked forward at warp, and then vanished with a blip only a few hundred miles away from the ship. Then as if to put any further doubt to rest a Klingon ship decloaked, followed by a second and a third.

“We’re being hailed,” Lieutenant Claudia Jara said at the tactical conn. A Klingon’s face appeared on screen it was the former First Officer of the USS Luna, Klar. He’d betrayed the ship to kill a bunch of Romulans. It was before Carrillo’s time with the crew but most of the other bridge crew knew him quite well.

“This guy again,” muttered Jara who had dealt with him, though not when he was a First Officer.

“Starfleet ship,” Klar said, “We’re glad to see you. Allow us to beam aboard and explain the situation.”

“Answer the hail Lieutenant,” Carrillo said.

When the bridge of the Selene appeared visible to Klar Carrillo saw the recognition in his eyes. His smile broadened, as if being presented with an opportunity. He’d always shown a degree of animosity toward the ship that he’d served on as an exchange officer, and Carrillo had to imagine that defeating the crew on a different ship, would be quite a feather in his cap.

“I’m sorry Klar, we’re not currently able to accept visitors, lots of work being done on our ship. I’d say it’s unsafe,” Carrillo lied, “I’d advise you keep your distance, least one of our automated defenses fire.”

Klar nodded, “I’d engage in more clever banter but…”

There was a shudder and the ship rocked. Two more Klingon vessels decloaked and fired. While the Klingons revealed honour and glory in combat they seemed to be less interested in it at the moment, wanting to eliminate a nosey Federation vessel all on its own, far away from Starbase.

Carrillo made a gesture meant to suggest cutting the open comm, which the officer at Tactical Lieutenant Jara did immediately. Given that even if the Klingons were playing fast and loose with the treaty she was not going to open fire on her (supposed) allies, Carrillo said, “Red alert, shields up. Pr’Nor get us out of here, maximum warp.”

It did not feel good to run from a potential fight, but it was what was required at the moment. The Klingons would of course deny this had ever happened and Starfleet did not want to push it, but that did not mean the Selene had to perish in a fireball.

The Chief Flight Control Officer obeyed, and the Selene banked, turning away fro the Klingons and hitting warp speed. At top warp it was unlikely that they would purse them, on the run they were safe.

It was just when they stopped, that’s when they’d discover if the Klingons had sent a force to follow them.

—- USS Selene, Unexplored Space —-

Captain’s Log:

Now that we have some distance from our Klingon advisory Klar and his ships, we’ve dropped down to a more sustainable warp factor of seven. Starfleet has replied to our report, saying that though they believe us about the Klingons’ belligerence there’s almost no chance anything will come of it. They don’t want to risk the treaty with the Klingons, and all the Klingon High Command is likely to say in response is that it was likely a misunderstanding. While we have appropriate documentation it’s still going to come down to our word on the Selene against the word of the Klingons.

We are making our way back towards Starbase 86, though we’re still at least a month out. In the meantime the crew is continuing to perform experiments of all kinds as well as work with the cadets onboard to further their education.

As we’ve slowed our pace we’ll be able to resume small craft operations and if we don’t detect that the Klingons have followed us I might use the Captain’s Yatch to take down to a Class M planet for some rest and recreation. I figure I might as well enjoy the perks of being a commanding officer while I am one, and before the return of the ship’s real commanding officer Adriana Cruz when she returns from her injury.

Lieutenant Commander Keyana Mason, my First Officer, seems to think that my promotion will end up being permanent. I understand her point about Starfleet needing captains after Frontier Day, but I remain convinced that I need at least another year under Captain Cruz before I’m ready for this role.

Still a musician my father likes John Lennon used to say something along the lines of life was what happened to you when you were busy living it. I’ve likely got that quote wrong, though my father said it to me at least a dozen times. Lennon played rock and roll music, and once a year we used to go to Central Park where he was shot in the middle of the twentieth century.

All of which I suppose goes to speak to the unpredictability of life. I bet John Lennon didn’t know that he was going to be shot. I know Captain Cruz didn’t know that her leg was going to be eaten off, and I didn’t know that I’d be given a fourth pip and made captain and sent aboard the USS Selene.

I suppose when you get down to it life is full of surprise Klingons hiding in far off sectors of space, and all you control is how you react to them.

That’s a metaphor, most of the time you don’t find surprise Klingons.

—- USS Selene, First Officer’s Quarters —-

“Love,” Pierre Lambert said entering the room he shared with his wife Captain Olivia Carrillo. Even though she was the ship’s CO, she still had taken the First Officer’s quarters, convinced that Captain Cruz would return to take command of the USS Selene. Lambert found her sitting by a window doing her log to record what she had been doing that day.

“Are you finished, I want to talk,” Lambert said, an earnestness in his voice that was unusual for him. He tended to be playful with Carrillo, a sign that he was comfortable with her, and wouldn’t let herself take any of this seriously.

“Uh oh,” she said setting down her PADD on a side table next to the chair she was sitting in. She looked at him, “You sound serious. You know I’m the captain, you can’t dump me or I could have you walk the plank.”

Lambert smiled, “I’m serious, but it’s not bad. I know we’ve spoken about kids, but do you still want them?”

Carrillo studied him, not sure what he was getting at, “One day yes, but we have time. I’m filling in for Captain Cruz and then when things slow down we can figure it out.”

He smiled, “Yes, but maybe there’s another option.”

“I can’t take a year off my career right now,” Carrillo said, “I just made captain, at least temporarily.”

Lambert shook his head, “There’s the little girl. We could adopt her.”

Carrillo frowned, they had ended up with the young child after she had snuck onto a shuttle while they were observing her planet and civilization. They’d have returned her, but her people were wiped out by another space faring race. She had lived aboard the Selene ever since, waiting for the ship to return to Starbase 86. There she’d be handed over to the Federation who had programs for children (and presumably adults) who had lost their civilizations.

“Think about it,” Lambert pressed, “I can focus on her, and you can keep captaining. You said yourself that the Selene could embark families, and no one in the Federation will care for her like we do. She’s had to reset her life once, lost everything, this is her world now, we can’t take it away again.”

“It’s complicated Pierre,” Carrillo said, she could tell he was passionate about it. He’d been the one who had spent the most time with the girl. They’d bonded, that much was clear from the outside. “You can’t just say ‘finders keepers’ about a person.”

“I know, but if we ask, maybe,” Lambert said, “maybe the Federation will see that it’s the best not only for us, but for the girl.”

“She really needs a name,” Carrillo said, feeling bad that there were calling her ‘the girl’.

The captain looked at her husband and nodded, “I’ll put out some feelers, figure out what to do and who we’ll need to talk to.”

Lambert smiled, “Thank you ma chere.”

—- USS Selene, Unexplored Space —-

Personal Log Cadet Sol:

 

Perhaps the most notable thing that one is not prepared for outside of the Academy is how long distances can be here on the frontier. Obviously intellectually one understand that at warp seven a sizable journey like we have embarked on will take months, but for those of us who have never been out here before it is hard to comprehend. In novels and even holo-programs they compress the time so it seems that journeys that realistically should take months actually only take minutes or hours. Even in biographies, unless the author is trying to ensure you understand how great distance was a challenge to the main subject, such as in Admiral Archer’s case, they also do not mention the distances or the time it takes to travel them.

 

This seems to have been more of a surprise to my human comrades, as many of them had not been out of the Sol Solar System previously. I had at least completed the journey from Vulcan to Earth so I knew approximately what awaited us.

 

Still this is different. Life cycles between us being quite hurried and busy, such as when we were chased off a planet by Gorn-like reptile hunters, and then sedate with only our studies to occupy the time.

 

Well. Perhaps this is a misstatement on my part, me indulging in a hopeful with that focusing on one’s studies was what most of the cadets with me had in mind. It seems instead that many of my less diligent compatriots have become more focused on their romantic lives.

While all creatures who reproduce through sexual congress have needs and urges they seem to be acting as if they were in a constant state of pon farr. I am well aware that only Vulcans are forced to deal with our urges in such a manner, though it is usually done with far more dignity than what many of the cadets have chosen to do.

 

One example is Cadets Jura Ibile and William Gakor. These two humans have been constantly breaking up and getting back together only to break up again as if they wish to become a time piece that we all use to mark the days of the month. They obviously find one and other desirable in some way, but there lack of logic means that half of my day is spent consoling Ibile as she tearfully expresses remorse over some action of hers in the past.

 

On a note more conducive to education, we have recently slowed to warp five and are being 

allowed once more to fly the small craft on the ship to get experience. I do not think that I would make a good pilot, though Lieutenant Pr’Nor has expressed her support for me pursuing it. I believe it is more logical for me to enter into an operations career path, as I have a mind that I find handles logistics quite well. While I am confident I lack the pointless bravado of many pilots.

This though is not something I’ve expressed to Lieutenant Pr’Nor.

Life on the Selene is progressing in a satisfactory manner, aside from the hormones of my fellow cadets. The educators are well informed, and we are getting hands on training by acting Starfleet officers. While we have not seen as much of Captain Carrillo, she has ensured that her entire bridge crew has helped us at one point or another.

 

While many of the cadets are due to cycle off when we finally return to Starbase 86, Ibile, Gakor, and myself are some of the few that will remain. Another tour will better prepare us for our next assignments once we graduate and become ensigns.

— USS Selene, Operations Office —-

The Vulcan cadet set down the PADD, having completed her log. She had tried to be more candid, less concerned with what others thought since it was unlikely that others would ever read her logs unless she became historically noteworthy. Unsure if she balanced it correctly, she glanced at the clock with a digital time displayed on her wall. Her roommate Cade Ibile’s door was closed and she was likely entertaining Gakor who as far as Sol could recall had mended fences with her. What fences he needed to mend, or in whose yard they belonged, Sol was not sure. She had not bothered to ask, and no answer had been given unbidden.

Standing she inspected her uniform, found it satisfactory and headed to her training shift in the Operations department. An Orion crewman was the only one working at this shift, or at least the only one in the office when Sol arrived.

”I am Cadet Sol reporting for my shift,” Sol said formally.

The woman rolled her eyes, “I don’t care.”

”Are you not to instruct me?” Sol asked, unsure as to why the Orion was being difficult, this was not the behavior of someone in Starfleet.

The Orion shrugged, “Don’t know, don’t care. You can go back to doing whatever Vulcans do for fun. Reading the encyclopedia or something.”

”Reading the encyclopedia is fun,” Sol said, not quite a protest, but feeling as if this woman was not taking her job seriously and not quite sure how to proceed.

”Nerd,” the woman said shaking her head, “You’re cute for a nerd though.”

”My being attractive does not excuse me from having to report for duty,“ Sol pointed out. Being visually pleasing was not a universal truth, it was a subjective opinion.

”Oh it does for me,” the green woman smiled, “Too bad they have me chemically suppress my pheromones, I’d have fun with you.”

”Vulcans are not usually susceptible to Orion pheromones,” Sol said, not sure if that was true, but it sounded true. She was not a scientist and had not studied Orions that in depth. She raised an eyebrow, “And what is your idea of fun?”

The Orion said something lewd and Sol took a moment to recover, she had not been expecting that. Granted she’d mostly worked with officers and not crewmen, but they could not all be like this could they?

”I have finished with my latest cycle of pon farr,” Sol pointed out, “Though you are visually pleasing.”

”Well let me know if I can visually please you one day,” the Orion said, and pointed at some boxes, “I guess if you need a task move those over there.”

”Where should I move them?” Sol asked.

”What do I care, just move them about,” the woman said.

Sol nodded, and set about to working. This whole interaction illogical and curious in more ways than one. Clearly there was more to this Orion than might be clear upon first inspection. Still there was time to figure it out later. For now she had boxes to move.

— Starvase 86, Strategic Operations Office —

The human woman presented the Vulcan with a PADD. Captain Radak looked over it and restrained himself from reacting to the news and the transfer of the young keen human into his Strategic Operations section. He scanned through it, noting a sizeable jump in rank, right over the rank of lieutenant to lieutenant commander within the past year. Since nothing was mentioned he recognized that it was likely classified and not something that he wished to delve too deeply into. His eyes flickered from the page in front of him to the brunette who was watching him with excitement. She was still keen on receiving new assignments, and no longer looked upon each and every posting as a burden.

It was a trait she would get over eventually, Radak assumed.

“Lieutenant Commander Hume,” he read aloud, as if he was reading it for the first time, “I do not know what you hope to accomplish by transferring here. I work alone, there is the wider Strategic Operations department on the station that would be more suitable for you.”

Hume nodded, “I am aware of that sir. They initially tried to put me in there, but I was insistent in working for you.  Your analysis tends to be better than the broader more generalized work, and I’ve asked around and multiple people say you are the best at this.”

“Did multiple people also tell you why I work alone?” Radak said, raising an eyebrow. It was likely that she was attempting to flatter him, to build him up for both their benefits, her own so he seemed like a suitable mentor and his so he would relent and take her on. Still he knew it served nothing to have her here with him, her very human sunniness would push him into an airlock by month’s end if they were to work together.

“I have heard stories, about Frontier Day,” Hume said, she showed discretion at not delving further into the subject. It was specific enough to suggest she knew the history there, and yet she was restrained in not dwelling on the details of what had happened to his friends and colleagues under his command.

“Then you know why I work alone,” he said, and tried to go back to reading a report on Klingon activities after the closure of the underspace pathways. It was logical to assume that the Klingons were once more resorting to their natural proclivities for…

“So where do I sit?” Hume asked with a sunny smile on her face as if they had not just been talking about Frontier Day, and the attempted Borg invasion. She made her way to what was once a desk but what Radak had always thought of as a storage area for reports to read through. Ultimately they could have all fit onto one PADD, but he still liked having a separate PADD for each report, a factor of his working that drove the Operations department insane.

He gestured to the larger Strategic Operations beyond his office, “I assume they will get you a desk.”

Hume shook her head, and began to move the PADDs off the desk to a counter that ran along the wall, “I’m working with you. I used all my capital to get put under you.”

“That was not logical to do so,” he said, “given that you know why I do not take on subordinates any longer.”

“Is it logical to hide away in a cramped office and ignore the world just because of on tragedy, or more logical to live your life in the face of adversity,” she said, continuing to move things around and disrupt his workspace. It was as if she assumed that he would change his opinion if she just continued to ignore him.

“Miss Hume stop it now!” Radak shouted loudly. 

The noise did not carry though the door to the outer office, but it was enough to make her cease her movement and look at him surprised to see a Vulcan lose his cool. Radak sighed and slumped into his chair, speaking in a quieter voice, “I have Tuvan Syndrome. It affects the nervous system, I will not take you on as I am dying.”

Hume nodded, “How long do you have?”

“Twenty years maybe,” Radak said.

Hume shrugged, “So like half a human life, it sucks but you’ll deal with it. You’ve been through harder things. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Radak blinked, not quite sure how to take that. Humans seemed to have an empathy that he had expected her to stop and console him, instead she just seemed to move on. Was he feeling sorry for himself? Such an emotion was possible, even in Vulcans, but it was not one that he had considered falling victim to. 

Hume continued, “Dying in twenty years? That sucks but there’s a lot of your life left. A lot of other people’s lives you can save, my brother is out on the USS Selene, I’d rather you get back to work and maybe save his life at one point, then sit around in a dark room feeling bad that you got dealt a poor hand. My father served with you on the USS Yukon during the Dominion War. I lost him, and it was hard. But it’s not going to stop me, and this shouldn’t stop you. Now get off your fat ass and help me clean this up in here.”

He blinked, nobody had ever mentioned his ass.

“I do not believe that is how you should talk to a superior,” He pointed out.

She nodded, “No but then what are you going to do, tell everyone you’ve got Tuvok Syndrome?”

“It’s Tuvan Syndrome,” he said, adding, “Tuvok is a name.”

“I bet so is Tuvan, nothing gets a doctor excited like naming a disease after themselves,” Hume pointed out.

Radak nodded, she was likely right at least in that Tuvan was probably a name. 

He looked at her as she went back to clearing off the desk, “Are you not going to report that I am dying?”

“We’ll all dying,” Hume said, “And if I reported you they’d retire you. I’ve still got a lot to learn.”

He gestured to one of his many PADDs, “My retirement papers are here.”

“You haven’t filed them yet,” she pointed out, “because you know you’re still doing great work.”

He was quiet, she had perhaps touched on his issues well. He had written the papers months ago, and yet not filed them because he took pride in his work and as much as a quiet life on Vulcan appealed to him, he liked being right about the universe. Captain Radak was not going to welcome her to the small one-person section, but he also had given up trying to dissuade her. She would see how illogical this was.

If she did not cause him to crack first.

— USS Selene, Unexplored Space —

Commander James Young climbed out of the Captain’s Yacht, and shook his head, “Looks like at some point the last crew rerouted the EPS conduits, it didn’t get checked as part of maintenance.”

“Why not?” Asked Captain Olivia Carrillo, not mad but a bit annoyed that she was not able to use one of the perks of command. If she was going to lose command to Captain Cruz she at least wanted to have used the Captain’s Yacht at least once. 

“It’s just not a ship we really looked at,” Young confessed, “this is a big complicated ship ma’am.”

She nodded, there was no point in getting mad at Young, as it was not his fault. The station crew back at Starbase 86 were likely to blame, but they too had too much work to do and far too little time to do it in. She knew that Young could likely jury rig something in a few hours, but it would not be as good as it should run.

“Okay, add it to the maintenance scheduled when we get back to base and have it looked at and fixed,” she ordered.
“Sorry,” he said.

Carrillo shrugged, “I’ve never used a Captain’s Yacht before, why start now?

After a brief stop on the bridge for an update, nothing new was happening and there was no signs of Klingons, Carrillo retreated to the quiet of her Ready Room to pull us replies from Starfleet to the USS Selene’s various reports and personal items. Included in it was a reply to her request to for herself and her husband Lieutenant Lambert to adopt the young child they’d saved from an unexplored planet whose inhabitants were about to become food. As she had expected Starfleet and the Federation were not exactly happy that they’d ended up inadvertently kidnapping the girl, but understood the quandary they found themselves in. 

Tapping her Starfleet insignia commbadge she called her husband, “Pierre come see me in my Ready Room.”

Five minutes later Lieutenant Lambert entered and smiled, “What is going on Olivia?”

She handed him the PADD that the report had been sent on, “We’re approved to adopt the child. We just need to file some papers. I don’t think anyone in Starfleet wants to deal with a rogue kid. We’ve both presented them with and solved a problem for them.”

He beamed. He clearly had bonded with the young girl more than anyone on the Selene, and Carrillo was glad that she did not have to break his heart and send the young girl off to the Federation when they got back to Starbase. 

“We’ll have to name her now,” Lambert said, they had left her with no name, as they did not know it and she had not yet spoken. Given that the crew had assumed that the Federation would be taking her it had seemed unwise to name her. 

Olivia nodded, “Let’s think about that. Wait until all the ’t’s are crossed and ‘i’s dotted.”

Lambert smiled, “Of course.”

He glanced at the old-style clock on her desk, a replica of Big Ben in London that she had gotten on a trip with her cadet squad back when she was enrolled in Starfleet Academy.

“I should get going, I have a runabout to fly,” Lambert said, “I’ll see you after my shift, for dinner.”

“Love you,” Carrillo said as he exited and her First Officer Keyana Mason entered.

“I love you too,” Mason said smirking, deliberately assuming that the good-bye between husband and wife was for her.

She held out a report on a PADD, “New strategic operations requests. From the same officer who sent us to look into the Klingons being cloaked and hiding.”

“Hopefully these won’t almost get us killed,” Carrillo said dryly.
“To be fair it was a tossup where the Klingons would try to bluff us or blow us up,” Mason said, “It was just our bad luck that their commander happened to be a guy who had a history with us.”

“With Captain Cruz and the USS Seattle you mean,” Carrillo said, “I never met him while he was assigned to Starfleet.”

It seemed surprising that the officer exchange program was still in effect, though the Klingon officers no longer received the level of trust that they once did when assigned to exchange service on Federation posts. Carrillo assumed that when they were sent to the KDF (Klingon Defense Force) Starfleet officers were sent to guard garbage scows or whatever. Out of the way where they did not affect the operation of the KDF.

“Well, we survived,” Mason noted, a salient point, if only because they could not get new orders if they had died. 

Carrillo thanked her First Officer and sent the Lieutenant Commander back out to the bridge to sit in the centre chair and not do anything as they sat stationary, running surveys via runabouts and shuttles of the solar system. After outpacing their Klingon attackers the Selene was making their way back slowly to Starbase 86. Along the way they were continuing to log everything they came across while giving their complement of cadets onboard an education and experience. They had stopped in a solar system that while it had class M planets, had no population and had not yet been logged. The students were running tests to see if either of the two class M worlds would be suitable to future colonies, though their distance from Federation space was an issue.

— USS Selene, Security Office —

“What’s going on Hume?” Lieutenant Jara had just finished her shift on the bridge and was checking up on the security department before going to get dinner. Her Assistant Chief Security Officer was working at a desk terminal, filling the reports that had to be done. It was nothing that the security team liked but apparently, you could not just file a picture of yourself giving a thumbs up with Starfleet to assure them that things were being taken care of. 

Hume looked up from the screen and at Jara, “If we get downtime I’d like to request it off and go back to Vancouver for my mother’s retirement from Starfleet.”

Jara nodded, “Sure.”

“And my sister is now on Starbase 86,” he noted.

“There’s two of you?” Jara said, thinking that a female Hume might be more interesting than the boring young officer they currently had. 

“Well we’re not twins, but yes,” Hume said, “She’s in Strategic Operations.”

“I like her more than you already,” Jara said teasing him. Hume could be a bit of a doof, but he was alright. The nature of the security team, mostly being made up of strong personalities, meant that they spent their time being hard on one other rather than being close friends.

To the broader office, Jara said, “Alright everyone, work on your shift reports then if you’re done, have a great night. If you’re just starting your shift you get to look forward to reports too.”

A half-hearted cheer rose from those currently in the office as there was little anyone was looking forward to more was paperwork.

Other than a brief run-in with the Klingons it had been a rather sleepy assignment for the department. A first shakedown cruise they’d gotten to do little more than run their drills and train for an eventual disaster. Their fight with pirates had seemed to occupy the department before this, but now they were just shuttling around scientists, which was not what anyone wanted to do. They all wanted a dramatic fight with the Borg or something to earn their stripes, and right now all they were doing was tossing academy cadets in the brig if they got too rowdy. 

This was not an assignment any of them would have chosen, particularly when ships were patrolling the border and keeping the Federation safe in a very real and direct way.

Still perhaps, for security, it was best not to wish for a more interesting assignment, as people died when things got too interesting. For now, there was just open space, worlds to be explored and discoveries to be made. Where security fit into that, Lieutenant Jara could not say. She trusted that the captain would know what to do with them if and when the time came.

— Starbase 86 —

The USS Selene slowed to a stop and coupled with the starbase. With docking procedures underway Captain Olivia Carrillo felt confident enough in her crew seeing that aspect of their return out to relinquish control of the bridge and head to her quarters. In the next day or so she’d visit Commodore Ciffao Tharc and get her newest orders. Unlike the USS Luna which she’d served on previously, the Selene was meant to return to starbase regularly for resupply and to be given new marching orders. They would also take on more cadets, as about half their compliment rotated out to return to their Academy courses, and a new batch joined them.

The Selene would also be taking on new crew, particularly in the science department, as the crew expanded to the eight hundred and fifty that it was classified for. Rushed into service to deal with a pirate threat and then rushed back out to give their first class of cadets a taste of Starfleet they would try to be more comprehensive in their crewing responsibilities on this time in spacedock and not rush out into the unknown.

The starbase was a hub of activity, hundreds of people many fresh off their own starships. It was full of Starfleet personal, but not exclusively so. Here so near the Triangle Klingons and Romulans also gathered, though tensions had been rising between the two races for some time now. Fights were rare, as both species knew that the Federation would not tolerate such disruptions to normal business, and neither of them were (yet) ready to lost the support of the Federation or Starfleet.

Carrillo moved from the Selene to the starbase with her husband Lieutenant Pierre Lambert and the small girl they had adopted as process that had occurred while they were in flight. It seemed that neither Starfleet, nor the Federation, wanted much to do with the mess that circumstance had caused aboard the Selene, and the chance to get the girl off their hands had been leapt at.

Due to her husband’s French background they’d called her Aimée, which to Carrillo sounded exotic enough and meant (according to Pierre) beloved.

Aimée, who had seemingly gotten used to life aboard the Selene in the months they had been on assignment, seemed concerned with the crowds on the starbase. The ship had been bustling, but not overwhelming, and she clung to the pant leg of Lambert and tried hiding behind him as much as possible as they headed to their temporary quarters.

The Selene had spartan accommodations. Even the First Officer quarters were less luxurious than they had been on the Luna-class that the couple had served on before.  Starfleet still took care of their crews and it was better than Klingon, Vulcan, or many other races’ accommodations, but Starfleet’s turn towards utilitarianism was at odds with a relaxing life in space. The trade off was that life was not meant to be relaxing, but rather the Selene went places and saw things that no one had ever seen before.  Plus for the most part they were not, unlike on the Luna-class, meant to be out in space for years on end. They were not five year missions, they were quick sprints to see new life and new civilizations,on the Selene they were meant to boldly go where no one had gone before.

The temporary quarters were compact, but still larger than on the Selene. The ones on her ship had not grown when she had gotten married, and now there were three people living in them instead of just one person. She had put in requests for several improvements to the quarters to make them more suitable for a family, but there was no guarantee that this work would be done for this time in dock.

It was hard to tell how much Aimée understood about, well about anything. She was still non-verbal and had gone from life in a small pre-electricity village to living on a starship. She’d lost her world, and had had to adapt to living on what the nearest point of reference she might have was a large boat, and now she was in a spacestation.

“This is a starbase,” Lambert said to her pointing out the window at the ships journeying either to or from the base, “Those are ships. Like ours, the Selene.”

The universal translator was having a hard time with her language since she had not spoken and they had a very small sample from the survey team of her native language. It was possible that she had not even learned to speak yet, and there was not telling really how long her life cycle was, they might find that they had adopted a a child that would not age to maturity for centuries. Though given what the reptilian hunters had said it seemed unlikely that this was the case.

There was a ding and Carrillo went over to a terminal on the wall to check her messages, there she noticed that she was being requested for a meeting with Commodore Tharc in the morning. Nothing that the woman had to say ever ended up being good news. It wasn’t that Carrillo disliked her, or thought the Commodore was bad at her job, just that mostly she had assignments for the crew that broke from the exploration that they were meant to be doing.

She moaned and both Lambert and Aimée looked at her, turning their attention from the ships out the window.

“Meeting with Commodore Tharc,” Carrillo explained.

“Ah,” Lambert said, “Maybe we’ll be getting a new captain.”

Carrillo was technically the ship’s First Officer, though she was now the acting captain in lieu of Captain Cruz’s injury. She had hoped to remain in command of the Selene until Cruz had been fit to return, but from the captain’s last message that did not seem to be likely anytime soon. Perhaps Starfleet had simply moved Cruz to the reserves and called forth another commanding officer for the Selene.

“We’ll see,” Carrillo said, “but that’s tomorrow. Why don’t we go to that Trill ice cream place? Have some fun while we’re here.”