The planet Casperia was absolutely trying to murder him. Of this, he was certain. The shuttle crash, the forest full of dangerous fauna and four ungrateful Zaldans, and the cave that had come crashing down nearly on his head were ample evidence of the fact. Holiday or not, Sanjiv Anand was not leaving the lodge again unless it was on a transport shuttle.

That’s what he’d told Saffiya, at least, but their spa day plans had been compromised by an overbooking, and the only spot left available clearly had to be awarded to the heavily pregnant woman with ankles the size of tree trunks. Without his new vacation bestie, he’d become restless, and after a conversation with the concierge, a solution had presented itself: small, fluffy animals. (The kind that couldn’t maul or envenomate him.)

The Perritown Petting Zoo, less than a kilometer from the lodge, delivered on everything it had promised: Denobulan lemurs, Organian blue goats, guinea pigs from Earth… Sanjiv found himself reluctant to let go of the fluffy orange one he had cradled in his arms, so he glanced idly around while he scratched its rump, soothed by its purring grunts.

He did a double-take when he spotted a grey hoodie. Granted, it was far from the only grey hoodie in the zoo that day, but this one he recognized as the instrument of concealment utilized by undercover operative Cressida Brennan during the mixer on their first night at the lodge. This time, however, the hood was down and the blonde ponytail was out for all the world to see. Either she’d let her guard down (socially, a positive development!), or she’d let her guard down (accidentally, the spy had blown her own cover!). This warranted further investigation.

The truth was something in between those things–Cressida had opted to wear the comfy civilian clothing because, well, she was visiting a petting zoo. She didn’t need to look fancy. She also wasn’t anticipating any of the visiting Starfleet officers to come here. As far as shore leave activities went, this one was comparatively boring. And soft.

Cressida didn’t have enough of a death wish to explore caves or go skydiving, and she didn’t frequent the gym often enough to justify spending her vacation eating desserts and lounging by the pool.

She looked up from the purple bunny she was currently trying to entice to come closer when one of the zoo’s employees arrived.

Retrospectively, Cressida would admit that she had no idea why she was assuming he was an employee, but that’s what happened.

“If you need any help disposing of those feed pellets, my associate Maanav offers his services,” said Sanjiv, sounding very formal for a man currently scratching guinea pig rump. He wasn’t sure why he’d decided to name the guinea pig, aside from the fact that business associates deserved names.

“Oh, hi there.” Cressida smiled. Not at the man. At the guinea pig. Obviously. She extended a pellet-bearing hand towards the tiny creature.

The newly-dubbed Maanav lifted his head from where it had been burrowed against Sanjiv’s coat and sniffed at Cressida’s hand with a quivering nose. Satisfied, he began delicately nibbling away at the pellets.

“I was trying to find a carrot or something, but apparently these are ‘nutritionally complete’. You could make them more appetizing, though.” Cressida remarked, probably talking to Sanjiv, but petting the guinea pig instead.

“Uh,” said Sanjiv intelligently. He looked left and right for any sign of an employee that she might be addressing. Or did she mean ‘you’ in the general sense? Or did she think that–

Come to think of it, he’d left for the Delta Quadrant long before she’d even joined the task force command staff. Unless Cressida Brennan was very good at memorizing faces based on rare, brief glances at personnel files, she’d have no reason to recognize him. And he had called the guinea pig by name, even if it was one he’d made up on the spot.

Which meant that he was now the one (accidentally) undercover as a zoo employee.

Well, being a zookeeper would give him more leeway than being a Starfleet officer, so he’d neither confirm nor deny his identity.

“The thing is, if they were too appetizing, the smaller children with pellets would get absolutely swarmed by mobs of ravenous, fluffy animals. Seems dangerous, don’t you think?”

“True.”

Time to play tour guide. “Have you seen the guinea pig village?” Sanjiv asked. “They’re much less skittish than the Casperian rabbits. Plus, Maanav has a penthouse there.”

The guinea pig wheeked as if to confirm the statement.

Cressida raised an eyebrow at his jaunty demeanor, but more out of confusion than judgement. Truth be told, it was a nice change of pace if you compared it to the stiff professionalism of most Starfleet officers on duty. It still left her in a bit of a quandary.

“Sure…” she said cautiously, and motioned for him to lead the way.

“It’s just around that hedge, there,” said Sanjiv. “You can spot the spire on top of their tiny town hall from here.”

Once they rounded the hedge, Sanjiv noticed that in the short time he’d been away, the employees had laid out a tray of diced fruits and vegetables in the middle of town, and its tiny denizens were swarming. “Well, something besides pellets,” he said, as he stuck his hand into the swarm and pulled out a piece of fruit for Maanav. He wasn’t ready to part with the scruffy little creature just yet. “You strike me as a melon man,” he said, as Maanav began gnawing on the fruit.

“The zoo’s usually quiet this time of year,” Sanjiv said to Cressida, repeating what another employee had told him earlier. “School’s in session, and the tourists don’t exactly flock here, either.”

“Hm, I understand that it might not be the most popular destination.” Cressida nodded as she looked around, noting the relatively young and sparse patronage. “Some people frown upon zoos and the like–but that’s usually the same people who frown upon pets.”

“Do you have any pets?” asked Sanjiv. It would make sense for someone who seemed to like animals more than people.

“I wish,” Cressida admitted. She had owned a cat once–sort of. Not one of those highbred creatures her father had wanted to buy her when she was younger, but a spicy ball of fluff she had bought from a Ferengi. It had ruined more than one carpet, enjoyed sending coffee mugs on shattering journeys towards the floor, and generally seemed to dislike everyone–including her.

Remembering the thing–yes, she had called it exactly that–still tightened her throat and misted her eyes.

Continued in Part Two.