This was the first day the little Raven class corvette had been back operational since the events of ‘Frontier Day’.  Those crew members who’d been infected by the Borg despite having been through the screening process; using the new updates to the transporter scanning system, still hadn’t been cleared to return to active duty.  So with the two lieutenants’ back on Earth and Chief Lyambo currently on board the USS Chapel; that left Ensign Chad Harris as Acting Captain of the USS Jaxartes.

Half of the crew had been resigned to positions on other ships; for now that just left the young New Zealander in charge and also piloting the vessel along with Ensign Maasl C’Rren the Caitian Science officer covering communications.  They had been joined by Chief Petty Officer Thomas Lose, who despite having served in Starfleet a few years now; had never stepped on to the bridge of a starship, let allow take a seat there.

He was currently sat at Tactical, the position normally occupied by the Cardassian Tholakath.  He’d been one of the five taken over by the Borg, but hoped to be allowed back to active duty shortly.  That left only one other crew member, Albert Torf the Betazoid Engineer was now in sole charge of running Engineering and keeping all the ships systems up and running.

Their current task was a simple one, something basically any small vessel could have performed.  It was just a case of delivering a pair of replacement replicators and a shield modulator.  Plus other assorted bits and bobs.  The destination; a small research station built on the surface of Ganymede; Jupiter’s largest moon.  It wasn’t the only facility on the moon, which made Harris wonder why they’d been sent this way in the first place.  He was quite sure someone else could have helped them out, rather than send the ‘Jax’.

“C’Rren, inform Ganymede Control we are in position.” Harris asked the Caitian behind him.  A few seconds later he got the conformation from Control.  Tapping on his controls the young New Zealander contacted the ships transporter room. “Mister Torf, we’re ready to beam the equipment from the aft cargo bay when you are.”

A minute or two later he got confirmation the items had left the ship, and an acknowledgement via C’Rren of their safe arrival within the facility below.  Chad extended his arms fully, fingers interlocked stretching first out in front and the above his head; before bringing them back down to him lap. “Ok what’s next on the list, Chief?” He asked Lose.

The Chief Petty Officer picked up the PADD that had been resting in his own lap and swiped a finger across the bottom of the screen, bringing up a menu list.  He tapped the second item on the list, prompting a set of instructions to appear. “We’re to collect a doctor Phlen from the Transport Liner SS Quicksilver and deliver him to the USS Chapel.” Thomas tapped on the name. “He’s a Denobulan.”

“Ok then taxi for doctor Phlen it is then!” Exclaimed the young Ensign; as he set about tracking down the current location and heading of the Liner. “SS Quicksilver baring 018 mark 095.”

The corvette turned away from Ganymede at one quarter Impulse; only increasing to full Impulse once it was clear of Jupiter’s outermost moons.

**********

It took just over an hour to reach the SS Quicksilver, and just a few minutes to get the doctor on-board along with his luggage, which was quite extensive, much of it the Denobulan’s own personal medical gear and a collection of animal and plant from both his home world and various planets from across the Alpha Quadrant.

Torf walked around from the transporter consul and looked at the collection of cages, tanks and cylinders before him. “Welcome aboard the Jaxartes doctor Phlen.” He leamed forward looking at a reddish brown blob of a creature about the size of his hand with two eyestalks.

“Edosian slug.” The Denobulan answered the unasked question. “Rather friendly chap when you get to know him.”

The Betazoid looked up at the doctor then back and the creature; wondering if you could class anything like that as being friendly.  The container next to it looked like something blue had splattered up one side of it and was slowly running down the inside of the thin plexi-glass.

“Aeogariss Caeruleum Muci Limax” Phlen informed him with a smile. “She’s got a cold, poor thing.”

Then Torf heard an odd noise, but a noise he vaguely recognised.  It was a sound that brought smiles to young children, worry to adults and abject terror to Klingon’s! “You’ve got a Tribble.”  The engineer groaned rather loudly, standing upright and scanning the containers until he spied the seemingly cute bundle of fur, which seemed to give a squeak in way of reply. “Isn’t it illegal to transport these things?”

“Oh you mean Agnes.” The doctor announced warmly, the smile he’d had since beaming over, never leaving his face. He showed the young engineer a clearance pass to transport exotic and dangerous species; which included one Tribble.

“I actually thought the Klingons had whipped them all out.” Commented Torf handing the pass back.

“You might as well leave all this here, if it’s not an issue.” Phlen paused, then the other man realised he hadn’t introduced himself having got side tracked by the mini zoo. “Ensign Albert Torf, temporary head of Engineering, Transporter Chief and general dog’s body.”

“Well mister Torf if you could show me to where I can sit and relax until we meet up with the Chapel, that would be most appreciated.”  The Denobulan bent over grabbing a small clear tub of something green and brown.  He noticed it catch the eye of the Ensign, and waved the tub in the other man’s direction.  “Lunch.”

**********

At roughly the same time Torf was guiding the doctor towards the crew canteen aboard the Jaxartes, Lieutenant Stuart was enjoying a light lunch of her own.  The young Orion’s face still exhibited the scares of her resent ordeal; another couple of sessions with the Dermal Regenerator would hopefully clear what remained.  The scares that didn’t show would likely need a bit more work.

She was in the small slightly cramped confines of the dinning area aboard the medium freighter ‘Monarch of the Glen’ sister ship to the one owned and operated by her father; ‘Spirit of the Loch’.  Both Clyde class vessels were virtually identical but Lyanna knew every little difference.  From the shape of the deflector dish; the Glen’s being square and the Loch’s having rounded corns, the long range communications antenna being positioned differently and possible most striking the strip in Royal Stuart tartan that ran around the bridge deck, where as this one carried the plain double white lines it had left the construction yard with. She could also feel a subtle difference in the way the deck vibrated when the engines ran at any more than half power.

The man sitting opposite her had a cup of tea in his hand have just taken a sip, a half-eaten bacon sandwich on a plate in front of him.  A couple of stray crumbs clung to his medium length red beard.  Which Lyanna pointed out to him, when he sat the cup down again.

Donald McIntyre was the 56 year old captain and owner of the vessel, a man she’d know almost from birth; he was in fact her godfather, though she’d always referred to him as ‘Uncle’.  He’d just asked her if she knew when she’d be back on active service and was awaiting her reply.

“I’m seeing the Counsellor again on Monday.” And with a sigh she added. “And if I pass the evaluation, chances are, I’ll be back in action shortly after that,”

He placed his rather large rough hands over the top of hers resting on the table. “Look Pumpkin.” She half smiled and half screwed up her face. No one other that Donald had called her ‘Pumpkin’ since she was ten.  But then he knew he could sort of get away with it to.  “I can’t imagine for one second, what you went through.” He continued. “But you’re a Stuart and you’re as tough and determined as your old man.  You will be ok.  Trust me, trust those around you.”

“I know uncle.” Lyanna lowered her head. “It just the thought that so many other people died that day.  The Borg instructed Jason to kill his own Grandfather!”

“That’s got to be eating him up!” Assumed the old man. “He’ll need people like you with him, people who experience the pain and horror first hand.  Someone that understands him.”

She looked back up into his eyes. “I know; it just feels so hard right now.”

Donald scraped back his chair on the metal deck plate, before coming around behind her and giving his god daughter a big huge. “I know.” He whispered softly. “I know.” He may have spent his life on freighters, but he still understood what it was like to lose people it was never easy.