Lt. Cmdr. M’kath cradled a small ceramic mug as though it might quiet the unease in his chest. The thick, bitter beverage known as baghol was a drink warriors used to settle themselves after battle. It could also help steel one’s nerves before tough times. No battlefield stood before the mahogany Klingon during this morning’s upcoming shift. Yet some battles had nothing to do with blades or phaser fire. Some fighting clawed at the heart instead.

The lounge called Ten-Hut was a place designed to help officers connect. The newly christened space was tucked along the portside of deck ten, close to the observation windows. The room’s decor bore the Federation’s touch of order. Red carpets were scrubbed spotless daily by cleaning programs. Sharp-edged metal tables reflected stark blue-white lighting. Metallic gold chairs with rigid frames were softened only by firm padding. A massive mural of the Starfleet insignia dominated the back wall like a reminder of duty. The encircled celestial bodies wrapped by a wreath formed a banner no one could escape.

It was not duty that filled the room this morning. It was companionship.

M’kath noticed it first as a minor distraction. He soon realized that every table was occupied by pairs of two, four or even six. All sat with faces drawn close together. Laughter and whispers slipped into the air like an irritant. There were no other lone officers here. Nobody else ruminated upon their own thoughts as the sandy-haired warrior did. All eyes were turned toward the windows as the Cardinal banked into a sweeping turn.

Beyond the glass, a massive red star soon came into view. It was the reason the ship had dropped from warp. Its ruddy light bathed the lounge in crimson fire. Luminous arcs of plasma whipped against the surrounding obsidian void along lifelike paths around the scarlet sun. M’kath thought the star deserved silence. Yet for the others, this was nothing but an excuse to lean close or murmur sweetness to their partner within the glow.

He took another long swallow of baghol. His jaw tightened as bitterness spread across his tongue.

At one table sat Ensign Kian Harol. His fair-hair and brown Trill spots vibrantly reflected the cherry light. Beside him, Ensign Jenna Eaglesen pressed into him. They spoke gentle, reassuring words as they looked deeply into each other’s gaze.

A table away, Counselor Sohjeg Prun’s dark-gray eyes were locked on Dr. Binedra Dowa. The pair had grown closer since attending an Orion heavy metal concert on Janoor III. His deep voice carried a weight of warmth. Hers showed how happy she was to share the moment. Even from across the lounge, M’kath could barely hear exchanged words of comfort and need.

The drink did not soothe him now. He could not enter their world. He could not imagine himself in such whispers. His heart had been forged through trial in steel. The chief tactical officer felt most out of place during times like this.

He tried to focus on upcoming duty as he tore his eyes away from the couples. The lounge doors opened with a hiss that almost made the tense Klingon leap.

Captain Raku entered, dark hair neatly drawn back, brown eyes sharp even at this hour. At his side walked a newly arrived civilian specialist. Black hair framed her face. M’kath felt suspicious of the murky expression carried by the woman’s dark eyes.
M’kath’s hand tightened on his mug.

Greta Lazio. He knew the name well enough. He had reviewed her record when Starfleet approved her civilian team’s presence aboard. Racketeering. Extortion. The charges were dismissed years ago. The prosecutor lost the trial after a key witness failed to appear. Officially, she was clear. M’kath had never trusted such endings. He trusted his instincts. They told him she had teeth and wasn’t afraid to use them.

Now she leaned close to the captain as though she had never stood accused. Greta seemed to smile as if the shadows of her past could not touch her. M’kath was frustrated that Captain Raku had given her this opportunity. Even worse, he seemed to welcome her into his chambers.

The sight gnawed at M’kath painfully. It was not jealousy of Raku, nor distrust alone. Greta had a fire that reached beyond her smile. The Captain had someone to temper and challenge him. M’kath had no such presence in his life. There was no strong woman at his side to support him. It left him feeling hollow and unable to relate.

He drank the last of the baghol in a single swallow. The burn of the hot drink was rough in his throat. He pushed back from the table and rose. He would not sit here under the weight of others’ companionship while the red star glared in mockery of his silence.

He left Ten-Hut in a flurry, his thoughts unsettled.

It was almost time for his duty shift to start. The first place he would check would be the ship’s stockade. After a short turbolift ride, he found himself entering the rehabilitative space.

The brig’s atmosphere was cool and sterile. The only warmth here reverberated from the low hum of forcefield shielding.

Chief Petty Officer Naz Jadi stood watch, arms stiff at her sides. Short brown hair was freshly buzzed into a pixie cut. The diminutive woman’s Bajoran ridges marked her face. Aggressive brown eyes fixated on the prisoner with fury. She gave M’kath a quick, formal nod as he entered. The anger in her face did not waver.

The prisoner was Crewman Zharek Angh, a stocky Tellarite with a bad attitude. He sat cross-armed on the bench inside his cell.

“He started it,” Zharek grumbled the moment M’kath drew near. “Gantz broke my jaw once. You can’t expect me to just move on.”

“Silence!” M’kath’s voice snapped loudly and faded into the distance like thunder.

CPO Naz shouted next.

“Enough!” Her shout cracked through the brig like a disruptor. Her entire stance radiated fury. “Crewman Gantz paid for that. He spent his time here. He took his punishment. Do you think you’re above it? You think you can spill blood without cost?”

The Tellarite froze. His bluster drained as his shoulders shrunk alongside a lowered head. “I don’t know”, he muttered without the defiance in his voice.

M’kath stared, not at Zharek, but at Jadi.

He had known her as capable and reliable. But this was fire, unrestrained. Her words had shattered the Tellarite’s excuses in an instant.

When Zharek finally sat cowed, M’kath motioned for Jadi to follow him toward the corridor.

“Chief Naz,” he said almost reverently. “That was well done. You carry steel. Not many could silence that Tellarite so quickly. I have seen your efforts before, especially on the deserts of Eldor III. You kept the research team safe. We have not forgotten.”

Her expression barely shifted. She shook her head, eyes forward. “It was my duty, Commander. Nothing more.”

“Perhaps,” he said as warmth crept into his tone, “but it was also a sign of strength. Today, I saw it again.”

She dismissed him with the faintest shrug. “Thank you, Sir. I try my best.”

“It appears you have everything under control here”, the Klingon said proudly. “Call me if you need anything.”

M’kath had left Ten-Hut burdened by the sight of Greta Lazio getting close to his Captain. The hollow ache that came with seeing every officer paired and content had overwhelmed him. He had thought of himself as destined to stand apart in his isolation.

The baghol had promised to soothe him. It had not. M’kath did not realize he needed the fire of a strong partner to spark warmth into his soul. Only time would tell if that potential lady would be Klingon or not.