“It happens every time.”, sighed Alcyone, offering Eshrevi a light shrug as she slumped down on the sofa. “It’s nothing to do with you, really. I am just a little disheartened that the shore leave request wasn’t approved.”

Eshrevi knew that Alcyone had requested a short leave of absence to return back home to Colludia, but with all that had recently happened – and the fact that she was relatively new to her position as Executive Officer – it hadn’t been possible this time around. 

Eshrevi dipped her antennae in a slight nod of acknowledgement, before settling beside her friend. She could understand the ache of missing home, but for her, that was a constant. A dull throb in the back of her mind. For Alcyone, it seemed to be sharp and acute. 

“Every year, around the same time.”, she probed gently. “Is it because of that celebration your family holds?”

Slowly, Alcyone nodded. And then she shook her head, which did nothing to help the Andorian understand the range of emotions felt by the other woman. 

“It’s not just a celebration my family has. A lot of people have that same celebration – actually, the whole of Colludia does.”, she tried to explain, while Eshrevi tried her best to recollect every piece of information Alcyone had ever divulged on the matter.

It was both commercial and religious – she knew that much. 

“So we can have it here too?”, wondered Eshrevi. 

“I mean… yeah, we can. But it’s about family, and-…” 

The tips of Eshrevi’s antennae angled forward, moving in an almost tentative slowness. “I thought I am family, too.”, she said, tilting her head to the side. Alcyone had stressed this frequently, and early on in their relationship, while Eshrevi herself was less liberal with those declarations.

After all, Andorian culture had clear guidelines as to what constitutes a family unit, and they had yet to meet those requirements. 

For humans, that was different, but now she wondered if there was a difference between “family” and “family”. 

“You are.”, Alcyone insisted. “Just… well… you don’t follow that tradition.”

“But I can follow it if it’s important to you. What’s it about?”, Eshrevi asked, not yet ready to let this go. 

Alcyone grabbed the nearest pillow, and stifled a frustrated sigh, to which Eshrevi reacted by looking at her and waiting until she was ready to continue the conversation. “We celebrate the birth of a saviour.”, she said eventually, but it was one of those rare moments in which curiosity got the better of Eshrevi, and she interrupted. 

“What did he save you from?”

“Not important.” 

“Okay.” 

“There are pine trees, and they are decorated with ornaments of things that are significant. Snow is a big part of it too, though a lot of places make it artificially.  There is… hot chocolate and spiced wine, and my mother makes the best kind of food for the occasion. Gifts are exchanged, special music plays everywhere, and families come together to celebrate.”

“So it is really about warmth and connection?”, asked Eshrevi. 

Alcyone nodded. 

“We can be warm and connected.”, argued Eshrevi, once more switching into problem-solving mode rather than ‘emotional support Andorian’. “I can get these things, the pine and the gifts. We can make our own thing.”

“It wouldn’t be the same…”

Eshrevi’s antennae gave an animated nod. Of course it wouldn’t be the same. 

“But it can still be good.”

Alcyone gave a slow incline of her head. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Now a whole lot more in her element, Eshrevi probed further.  “What’s it called again?”

“Christmas.”

“Krismis. Got it.”, she beamed – one of those rare times her emotions translated to her face “I will look it up in the database, improve it a little, and I’ll decorate and cook and-…”

“Please don’t cook.”

“My cooking is delicious. Just let me handle it.” 

It was rather that Humans did not always appreciate Andorian cuisine, which was owed to the fact that they liked to be squishy and soft and didn’t know what was good for them. A diet of roots and protein had never not benefited anyone.

“Fine.”, relented Alcyone, and gave a careful smile. She tossed the pillow to the side, and cuddled up to Eshrevi instead, a gesture which the other woman did understand, and liked just as much. 

Alcyone had almost forgotten about Eshrevi’s promise of their own Christmas celebration. With reports of their last mission still awaiting completion, her mind was occupied elsewhere, and she had neatly tucked away her homesickness into a tiny, manageable corner of her mind. 

That changed within a split second as she entered her quarters, and was greeted with blaring music, a cold chill in the air, and a very smug looking Eshrevi. 

“Happy Krismis.”, said the Andorian,  who had taken the “ugly Christmas Sweater” tradition to a whole new level and wore something that could best be described as a festive catastrophe. 

“Wow.”, said Alcyone as her brain scrambled for a more appropriate reaction, and she opted to buy herself some time by embracing Eshrevi and very subtly surveying the room.

At first glance, everything looked oh so perfect, and not so different from what would await Alcyone at home. At second glance, it was slightly different – probably that improved version Eshrevi had spoken about. 

She appeared to have decorated the living area with tree branches – not pine, but apparently any kind of tree she could find – with a large plant at the centre of the room, decorated with what could only be described as ornaments if one was being kind.  

“This looks fantastic.”, Alcyone said once the hug got awkward, and walked a few steps towards the approximation of a Christmas Tree. 

“Just be careful with that one.”, warned Eshrevi, and upon Alcyone’s confused look, explained: “I think that one is mildly sentient. It tried to throw stuff at me.” 

“Oh.”

Alcyone continued her approach, this time a little more carefully. And she could very much relate to the tree throwing things. The lights on the tree flashed so rapidly and brightly that they resembled a warp core breach alert, which probably explained why the plant was feeling upset. 

True to Alcyone’s earlier description of “things and symbols that matter”, Eshrevi had decorated it with her own, very practical, interpretation. The ornaments included objects like tricorders, hyposprays, what appeared to be a beetle in a glass ball, and something that looked like an emergency ration pack. 
And atop the tree, instead of a star or angel, she had placed a miniature replica of Callen Varro, DS17’s Commanding Officer, complete with a tiny phaser and stern expression.

“Is that a blowtoch?”, asked Alcyone as she regarded the array of ornaments. 

“Yes. You need it for the presents.”

“Right… how could I forget.” 

“Oh, I found some music too.”, announced Eshrevi, pointing upwards to indicate her friend to listen. The song was “Last Christmas” – an ancient piece of music that had somehow managed to persist through the centuries and crept up once a year on any ship or colony that contained as little as a single human.

Giving an approving nod, Alcyone continued admiring the decorations, which all seemed off, but were clearly assembled with a lot of care. Instead of a sleigh figurine, Eshrevi had replicated a model of a shuttlecraft, complete with blinking navigation lights.

And the nativity scene, something of religious significance to Alcyone,  had a bearded, red clothed little figure in the manger. 

“Santa doesn’t go there.”, Alcyone remarked without thinking about it. 

“Sure he does. He’s the saviour of Chrismis.” 

“That’s not… “, Alcyone sighed, and then decided that he might as well be. “Sure.”

In the background, the music shifted to a playlist of Andorian ice-mining shanties, and Alcyone once more turned around to her friend. 

“It’s really great. Thank you for putting so much effort into it.” 

Eshrevi offered a wide grin. “Just wait until you see the food. I couldn’t find spiced wine, but Klingon Bloodwine has some spices in it. That works, right?”

She evidently didn’t notice, or ignored, Alcyone turning a little pale. “Yeah… that works.” 

Maybe it would alleviate the near-hypothermia experience owed to the cold room temperature. 

And maybe this – all of this – was okay. Even if it wasn’t the same as being home.

Nichelle felt her heart skip a beat, and her breath catch in her throat as the computer finally yielded a clue regarding her mystery patient. 

Arys Turunen. A name. 

She mouthed it to herself, lingering on each syllable as if they were the most valuable piece of information she had come across in a long time. And in a sense, they were. 

For nearly a week she  had been looking through the recovered log files, and tried to reconstruct the woman’s medical history piece by piece. It was an agonisingly slow process, but it also wasn’t without its successes. Broken leg at the age of nine. Exposure to Xenozym-17 three years ago.

The discovery of the latter had led to a breakthrough, because it tied her patient to a specific sector. Nichelle had contacted the closest starbase on little more than a hunch, despite knowing her request might irritate the staff. And it had.

But now, staring at the result, she knew it had been worth it. 

Arys had been a Starfleet Academy graduate. One who had been at the peak of an impressive career before she… disappeared.

Or rather…

“Classified?”, Nichelle said to no one in particular, her voice breaking through the silence of her quarters. This was odd, not what she had expected at all, and it had Nichelle’s imagination run wild.

She pictured a lost undercover agent, a woman who had been so deep in the shadows that even Starfleet had forgotten her. Almost sentenced to crimes she did not commit. She imagined dramatic reunion and triumphant vindication, all made possible because she didn’t give up on her. 

Or maybe it was something darker. A Starfleet officer who had abandoned her principles, and crossed over to the dark side. 

Nichelle frowned at that thought. She liked the first story better.

It would mean a happy end for Arys – and for her. Her mind returned to Keller, who still refused to speak to her unless it was absolutely necessary. And whenever they did speak, the interaction was a silent battlefield.

Perhaps that was why it felt so good to finally focus on somethng else. 

She shook her head, trying to banish the thought. This wasn’t about Keller.  It wasn’t about her either. This was about Arys.

Right?

A few minutes later, her search yielded another name. Solaris McLaren.

Nichelle leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen. McLaren’s service record was a lot more accessible, and impressive. 

The woman had, for years, served as Director of Intelligence on the same starbase that had provided the match. Then, after another few years as in Starfleet Intelligence Headquarters, she had been given command of the USS Yamato. 

That name rang a bell. 

When the crew of the USS Cupertino had split up after Jurev’s departure, Nichelle had requested a transfer to the Callisto. A friend of hers, she remembered, had transferred to the Yamato. The connection was faint, but it was there.

Her lips curled into a small smile. Perhaps it was time to rekindle that friendship. 

Seta Jinean had just put her daughter Leothera to bed. The little girl had been fussy all day, requested one story after the other, and still complained when Jinean had eventually left to catch up with some work. 

The evening was her time to breathe. The real work was already done, happening earlier in the day, when Leo was in class. Managing schedules, talking to patients, writing recommendations. But her notes always waited for the quiet hours, when she was unlikely to be interrupted. 

She was halfway to her desk when her console chimed. Frowning, she leaned over and tapped the screen, her eyes widening as she saw the request. Nichelle Trova.

Her stomach tightened. She had thought of Nichelle a lot in the past months, replayed their past conversations in her head, and wondered how their relationship had changed so quickly. The one day they were friends, the next, they simply didn’t speak any more. 

Nichelle had left the Cupertino without as much as a goodbye. 

She hesitated before she accepted the call, straightening as Nichelle’s face appeared on the screen in front of her. 

“Doctor.” she said stiffly. “It’s been far too long.” 

She couldn’t quite banish the bitterness from her voice. 

Nichelle’s initial smile faltered. “Yeah, it has. I’m sorry, I should have reached out. It’s just.. lots to do. You know how it is.”

“I understand.”, Seta said with a sigh, her voice softening slightly. “The Yamato has been busy, and the impact of our last mission still has my schedule fairly full.”

“It’s the same here.”, Nichelle nodded eagerly. 

“Where are you again?”, Seta asked, not thinking anything of it. “I think you never told me where you transferred to.”

Nichelle hesitated. “The… USS Callisto.”

Seta’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened against the desk. The Callisto. Jonathan’s ship. 

“Did you get assigned there, or did you request it?”, she asked carefully – as if that would make a difference. If she had been assigned there, she should have declined. 

“I requested it. I wanted to… be there for Jonathan.”

Seta inhaled sharply. Her composure slipped for a moment, “And you don’t think Jonathan deserves some space after what happened? You know I don’t blame you, but we both know he certainly does.” 

“I… know.”, Nichelle said defensively. “Look, I am not calling for a lecture. I have a request.”

Of course, Seta thought bitterly. When she said something Nichelle wanted to hear, it was advise. When it was something she didn’t want to hear, it was a lecture. 

Somehow, Seta regretted having taken the call.

“Let’s hear it then.”, she said sternly. 

“On our last mission, we came across someone. A Starfleet officer with a classified record.”

Seta’s gaze narrowed. “And you think I can help with that?”

“Your new Captain classified that record. I was… hoping you could get me in touch.”

Seta hesitated for a moment. She didn’t at all feel like helping out, but it seemed the easiest way out of this conversation.  “I suppose I can.”

“Thank you…”, smiled Nichelle, and Seta could see a  flicker of relief on her features. “It.. really means a lot. I’m sorry we didn’t speak much…”

Seta’s smile was thin, and strained. “It’s fine. I’ll speak to McLaren.”

“Thanks,” Nichelle said again, hesitating. “So… how are you-…”

“I actually have to go now.”, said Seta, her tone more brisk than she had intended. “Leo’s restless tonight.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“We’ll talk later.”, she nodded, and ended the call. 

Or never, she thought, as she closed her eyes. She would help Nichelle, but she would also keep her distance, and let Nichelle sort out her own mess. Seta had enough of her own.

Solaris McLaren rocked her head gently in time with the soft jazz music playing throughout her ready room as she browsed through one of the various reports her department heads prepared for her on a weekly basis. Thankfully her XO fielded most of them, and only let through the most critical of them. She sighed quietly, setting the PADD down, taking a sip of her tea and letting her head hit the back of the chair, just letting the music flow through her for a moment, before the beep of her terminal drew her back to reality.
The cryptic message from Lieutenant Seta had been just that; cryptic. She wasn’t opposed to speaking to Doctor Trova, but she found herself curious as to what she could shed light on for a vessel that specialized in telepathic studies.

She quickly paused the music and answered the call, setting her tea back down on the desk. For a moment, she studied the face of the doctor on the other end of the call, seeing if she could glean anything from her facial features. Frustration. Worry. Doubt. Each had signs, and she could see the telltale hints of them all on the Doctor’s face, a furrowed brow, creases at the corners of her eyes.
Her time in Intel let her read most of them. She gave the woman a sympathetic look.
“Doctor Trova. How can I be of assistance?” she asked, leaning forward some.

“Thank you for meeting with me.”, Nichelle said and tilted her head. For a moment, she hesitated, and then evidently decided to dive right into the matter at hand.
“Captain, a few weeks ago we came across a vessel connected to harvesting Borg implants from ex drones. We were able to rescue the surviving prisoners and take the crew into custody.” She paused. “Most, if not all of them, blamed their Captain, and claimed they had been forced into those crimes. It all fits very neatly. I just… don’t believe them.”

Sol’s gaze soured for a moment. She had a friend who was ex-Borg, and the thought of a group of people harvesting their implants was disgusting to her. She nodded to the doctor.

“I’m glad you were able to stop them…” she said, considering the rest of the information for a moment. It did seem unlikely that they all would have been forced into it, but it wasn’t impossible. She frowned slightly. “While it’s improbable that the entire crew was forced… it’s not impossible. I’ve read several reports of criminal enterprises where much of the grunt work was done that way.” she said. She had also written several reports like that in her time.

“The story is that the right hand of the Captain and most guards left when the captain was injured. It fits – there was a warp signature of a shuttle departing, and most of the retrieved tech was gone.”, Trova explained and leaned in. “I am coming to you because we found a match for the Captain in Starfleet’s database. We have a name, but the rest is classified, and connected to your own time in Intel. Arys Turunen.”

Solaris had been about to reach for her tea when she was stopped dead in her tracks. Her normally collected facade was momentarily broken by that name. Surely she had misheard the name. Surely. She took a moment to recompose herself, then fixed the Doctor with a look that was probably far more fierce than she meant it to be. “Say that again? Who was it?”

“A woman called Arys Turunen. At least what I found referred to her with that name.”, repeated the Doctor. For a moment, she remained quiet. “She’s alive but… well, she’s physically healed. She just doesn’t talk. I can’t defend her if she doesn’t talk.”

No. Solaris hadn’t misheard the name. She had held out hope that Arys was alive, but as the months had worn on, she had resigned herself to the possibility that she wasn’t. Just another nameless star on a wall. She took a breath. Then another, listening as the doctor outlined her status. None of it sounded good. None of it sounded right. She hated every bit of it. For not only had her friend suffered, she had suffered because of a failure on her part. Her looks softened almost immediately, as she tapped in a few commands on her terminal, securing the channel. “Is this a secure channel on your end?” she asked.

The doctor nodded.. “Intel console. I… don’t think they overjoyed with me using it, but I didn’t see any other way.” 

“They’ll live…” she commented, not caring if the Callisto’s intel staff didn’t like the Doctor using their equipment. She nodded. While she composed herself a bit more she sent a quick text message to her XO, rescinding her crew’s shore leave on DS17 and telling her to prepare the ship for launch as soon as possible.

“First of all… thank you for calling me. Arys was–” she paused, shaking her head, “–is a friend and I thought she was dead.” she began. She felt a small weight off her shoulders.
“Second, most of what you’re about to hear is classified, but I was classifying authority, and I’m effectively reading you in right now.” she added. She still held her intel clearances and it was for reasons like this.
“She was doing some work for me, trying to track down someone.” she began. “Another friend… who disappeared.” she started. “The who isn’t important… but it wasn’t exactly the safest place to send someone.” she said.

Less so if they weren’t trained, more of Sol’s failure. “The last contact I had with her was her requesting someone to retrieve her. Someone had been asking questions about the person she had been sent to track down. When the extraction team reached her last location… she was gone.” she finished, sitting back.

“I’m sorry.”, Doctor Trova said quietly. “Can you tell me when that was? The vessel’s logs link her back to the operation for the past two years. If you could confirm that she has still been working for you and been in regular contact with you, it would make me able to advocate for her release from… “, she sighed “the brig.”

“Two years?” Solaris asked, shaking her head. “No no… not possible. That last contact was six or seven months ago, and I had contact with her for months before that.” she continued, tapping a few controls. “I’m going to send you the relevant files, which you can safely share with your captain. They will contain what you need.” she added.

She frowned, thinking of Arys alone in the brig, unspeaking, with no one but the Doctor advocating for her. “Thank you Doctor… for digging deeper.” she said. “I’d like to come see my friend… if you could clear it with your Captain as well.” she said. Maybe her presence would help Arys. Or maybe she just wanted to assuage her guilt. Maybe a bit of both.

“Of course, I will let Captain Ceix know.”, Trova nodded. “If there is anything you can think of that can help her… please let me know”

Solaris sat quietly for a few moments. What could she say that could possibly help Arys, beyond giving Doctor Trova the information she needed, especially after half a year as a prisoner doing goddess knows what. She looked up at the Doctor. Arys was strong, she knew that. She wouldn’t have done it willingly and she would have found a way out if she could.

“Tell her…” she paused, playing on a hunch. “Whatever she did to survive… she did the right thing.” she said quietly. “And tell her I’m on the way… maybe she’ll react… maybe not…” she said trailing off.

Solaris wasn’t a master of the mind. She had seen agents come back from much longer missions and be able to handle it. And then she had seen others, who had spent much less time away, and did not handle it in the slightest.

 If Arys could, she didn’t know. But she had to believe she would.

Shore leave on the Callisto rarely involved setting foot on any actual shores.
While there certainly was the option to visit a nearby planet, most of the crew preferred to remain aboard. It wasn’t entirely surprising – the Callisto was a ship designed with the realities of long-term missions in mind, and offered accommodations and leisure activities that rivalled some smaller starbases and outclassed most other vessels of the same size. 

Aldris Ceix considered the mission-free time an opportunity to unwind, and sort through his thoughts. Presently, he was seated at the desk in his ready room, methodically wrapping up a few pressing tasks that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, before planning to retire to his quarters. 

One of the previous host of his symbiont had harbored an appreciation for Klingon opera and Terran wine, and Aldris found that he had developed the same fondness. 

The past days hadn’t been stressful, but now he was very much looking forward to some peace and quiet. 

He had just completed the last of his tasks and was mustering the will to get out of his comfortable chair, when the soft hiss of the door interrupted his resolve, revealing Doctor Trova.  

For a split second, Aldris regretted his open-door-policy, but the thought faded as quickly as it had come. Remembering why he had established it, he offered the Doctor a friendly nod. 

“Doctor Trova?”, he said, and gestured for her to take a seat opposite of him. 

“Captain.”, acknowledged Trova with a nod, and moved over to the offered chair. Ceix studied her for a moment. They had worked together for mere weeks, but he noticed a weariness etched into her features that hadn’t been there when she arrived. 

“I meant to speak to you as it were.” said Ceix, reaching for the cup of long-cold coffee on this desk. “Specifically, about your role in the last away team.”

In truth, he felt that her involvement had been an oversight on Brennan’s part.  If he had made the decision on this, he would have kept Trova off the Asklepios – not for a lack of trust or ability, but simply because she lacked the routine of someone attending those teams on a more frequent basis. 

“I’ve not been part of an away team in quite some time.”, admitted the Doctor, gaze dropping to the PADD she was carrying. “It’s not something a Chief Medical Officer should be doing, unless absolutely necessary. And on the Cupertino, it rarely was.” 

Ceix gave a slow, understanding nod. “That’s perfectly reasonable.”, he agreed. “At the same time, the things you have encountered there would be unsettling even for the most seasoned officers. It’s natural to need some time to process it.” 

The Doctor looked up at Ceix. “It still haunts me. Not what I saw, but the … idea of it all. The name of the ship, the sickbay that had been turned into a… into that room. I always knew these things were possible, but it was always at an abstract level. That…  that the so-called evil is out there. But I’ve never had to face it directly before.” 

“There is no shame in speaking to a Counselor. As a medical professional, you know that.”, Ceix reminded gently. 

Nichelle shook her head, and cleared her throat. “No.. I don’t need that. I need solutions. I-… actually that is why I am here. I contacted Captain Solaris McLaren of the USS Yamato. She will be arriving shortly.”

Ceix blinked. He had expected a lot, but certainly not that. It was not only a surprise, but a distinctly unpleasant one. He didn’t know McLaren, but he knew the Yamato. He kept track of it whenever time allowed. 

“You contacted the Yamato?”, he asked. His voice was measured, trying to find the reasoning behind her actions first, and judge later.

Doctor Trova nodded. “Yes.” She placed the PADD on the desk between them. “I was trying to identify my mystery patient – and I finally did. She’s a Starfleet Officer – or at least she was. Her file is classified. McLaren was the one to classify it, and I reached out for answers.” 

“Classified? What did you find out?”, he asked. He was curious.

“That woman… her name is Arys Turunen.” Trova began, her voice steady but charged with excitement. “She worked for Intel, undercover. She asked to be extracted, but by the time they tried, she was already gone. Sir, I don’t believe she did any of the things she was blamed for doing – and if she did, definitely not willingly.”

Ceix leaned back in his chair. “Or she has changed her allegiances. It is possible…”, he pondered. He didn’t like any of this, though he wasn’t entirely sure what it was he didn’t like. 

Was it that the woman they had cast into the role of villain might be a victim after all?

Was it the fact that Doctor Trova had gone over his head and contacted McLaren?

Or was it the idea of the Yamato’s impending arrival that put him on edge? 

“I don’t believe that.”, Trova interjected firmly. 

Aldris inhaled deeply, allowed himself a moment to ground himself. His voice was controlled as he spoke. 

“Thank you for informing me, Doctor.”, he began. “I wish you had discussed the matter with me – or with your department head rather than making these decisions on your own.”

“Sir, I-”

He held up a hand, cutting her off. “I understand it might be difficult to transition to a position where you are no longer Chief Medical Officer. But it is an adjustment I expect you to make.” 

The Doctor frowned. Clearly she hadn’t anticipated his reaction – perhaps she had not even considered that her initiative on this wasn’t welcome. 

“I have been with Starfleet for several years now. I have never encountered a situation where acting in the best interest of my patient is considered overstepping.”, she replied sharply. 

Ceix was too old to meet fire with fire, and instead, allowed his expression to soften. 

“I am worried about you, Doctor.”, he said. “Your genuine interest in your patients is one of the many things that make you an excellent medical officer, but this seems to become something almost obsessive. And I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with Commander Keller.”

“What would it have to do with him?”, Trova frowned. 

“He seems convinced that your patient is guilty. You, on the other side, seem determined to prove him wrong.”

“No.”, Trova shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Ceix studied her for a moment before he gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I would like you to discuss the matter with him. Not to change his mind, or yours, but to keep him in the loop. We will know more when Captain McLaren arrives.”

“But Sir, I-…”

“That is an order.”

Ceix flinged inwardly. He hated the need to pull rank. 

The doctor gave a curt nod and rose from her seat, leaving the PADD on his desk.

As the doors finally slid shut behind her, he exhaled. 

So much for relaxing, he thought. As if he could relax after receiving such a message.

He wearily turned to his console and pulled up the Yamato’s crew manifest. For a few moments, his fingers hovered over Captain McLaren’s service record. Then, they moved to the one belonging to Lieutenant Seta. 

Perhaps it was fate that they were to meet again. 

Solaris paced back and forth quietly in her ready room. The Yamato was cruising through warp, on her way to rendezvous with the Callisto. The crew was curious why their Captain had suddenly recalled them back to the ship and launched in a hurry. It was only natural, she supposed, given she hadn’t told them why the ship was launching again so soon after their last mission. Perhaps that had been a mistake. Perhaps not. They carried out her orders either way.

That she had left her crew in the dark wasn’t why she was pacing. The box on the small coffee table was why she was pacing. She knew what the contents were. They hadn’t left her side, figuratively speaking, in months. They traveled with her. Buried in the deepest darkest part of her closet. Like a skeleton taunting her. She didn’t want to face its contents, but couldn’t bear to let them go. They had been a final connection when all the rest had seemed to fall away. Now? Now they were a source of hope rather than a constant reminder of her own failure and carelessness.

She took a breath and turned to face the black box, regarding it like a predator. Across the top was a simple label, emblazoned with the Starfleet Intelligence seal and a case number: ‘9347-AT-SFI’. She walked over to the couch and took a seat in front of the box, gently popping the latches open. The seal released and she lifted the top, observing the contents for the first time in months.

When the retrieval team had arrived at the station where Arys had been working and realized she was nowhere to be found, they had gone right into cleanup mode. They had carefully gathered anything that could be linked back to Arys or the operation and put it into the crate for storage. When Sol had first seen it, she had removed most of the sensitive intelligence material and filed it away elsewhere, and left the rest in the box.

She reached in and pulled forth a series of drawings, clearly made by a young child. She leafed through them gently, careful not to damage the paper or smudge them. Drawings of family, animals, flowers. All good in a way only a child’s drawings could be. She smiled, remembering having seen some of them when they had been new and freshly drawn.

She set them aside and pulled out a plushy toy. The same child had had this toy and it was well worn, but still intact. Maybe Arys had used it for comfort when she had been undercover. Memories of a better time.

She set the toy down, leaning it against the box so it could stare at her and pulled out a small thin case. The kind one might present a necklace in. She flipped the top open and observed the simple engagement necklace. It was pretty and she had seen Arys wearing it with pride. Until that had come crashing down around her. Now the necklace was just a reminder of a different path not taken.

Items from her past life. A life she could never have again. Had Sol known about them, she might have told Arys to be rid of them. Not because they were identifying… but because clinging onto that sort of past never lead anywhere good. Then again maybe they had kept her sane when she was alone. She never had the chance to really find out.

She peered into the box again, where more items still awaited her. A leather bound journal, aged with time and a Bajoran earring. Family heirlooms. A brother’s earring and a grandfather’s journal. She held the earring up for a moment watching it dangle between her fingers. She let it rest on the cover of the journal, not daring to open it for fear she might damage it. Still more items awaited her in the box, but she had found the one item she wanted. Another plushy toy, a mugato to be specific.

She pulled it out and held it up to the light. Arys had told her that a friend of theirs had made it for her when they had served as roommates on one of her first assignments. Like the other it was well worn, but had also been well cared for and repaired a few times. She gave it a little squeeze, causing it to roar. She smiled. This was what she had been looking for. The rest of the items were special, but only this one was hers and hers alone. Not mementos of family, or reminders of paths not traveled, but something that had been given to her.

She set the little mugato on the couch next to her where it flopped over and lay eyes staring across the room at nothing in particular and carefully repacked the rest of the items back into the box. She would transfer it to the Callisto and into the care of Doctor Trova when they arrived and she had sorted things out. But for now, she had the item she wanted. She looked up as she gently closed the box’s lid, hearing the shift in the Yamato’s warp engines. She stood, and grabbed the little mugato, cradling it in her arms and strode out on to the bridge before anyone called. She was almost sure there had been a few confused looks when the bridge crew saw the little plushy in her arms, but she did not care one bit.

The view screen showed the Luna-class ship she had been expecting, hanging in space. Months ago she never would have expected she would be going to see Arys. Not alive anyway. She looked down at the little plushy and smiled again. It wouldn’t make up for her failure, but she hoped it would bring comfort to Arys.

“Message from the Callisto, Captain. Captain Ceix is expecting you.” an officer reported. Sol nodded her thanks, and headed for the turbolift. She would meet with the Callisto’s captain first, as was polite, as much as she wanted to rush to her friend’s side.

She would gather the files she needed to present to Captain Ceix then beam over to the Callisto before making her way to their sick bay. She gave the little plushy a squeeze again, causing it to roar once more as the turbolift doors closed.

Sol’s transport over to the Callisto had been routine. She had with her a set of PADDs detailing all of Arys’ work for her, with time frames. It should have been enough to clear her of whatever charges she was facing. She also had a stuffed mugato plushy, which was maybe less dignified than she wanted to look when meeting another Captain, it did clash with her uniform after all.

She thanked the young ensign that had escorted her to the observation lounge and entered, unsure what to expect. She sized up the captain as she approached the table.

“Captain… Thank you for meeting with me and under such circumstances.” she said, remaining standing.Captain

Ceix was experienced, and despite all that happened, didn’t have any emotional involvement in the matter at hand. Of course, he wanted things to be cleared up, but he was a lot less invested in the outcome – which was why he was alone, and had neither taken Trova nor Keller with him. 

“Of course.”, he nodded, and gestured for Solaris to take a seat. “I wish the circumstances were better, but it intrigues me that you changed your plans to come here and speak to me – and the patient. It says a lot about you.”

Sol moved to a chair and sat placing the PADDs on the table, the mugato in her lap. She stared at the PADDs for a moment.

“It’s not often that someone you thought was dead turns up alive.” she said. She still held shame of the position she had put Arys in. “Not often someone presents you the opportunity to fix a mistake long since made…” she added.

She slid the PADDs across the table toward Ceix.

“Those PADDs contain my notes and logs, unclassified, unredacted versions. Detailing the information I shared with your Doctor.” she said.

Ceix gave a nod, and then reached for the PADD. He carefully assayed the information held within, but his face remained unreadable. 

Eventually, he looked at Solaris. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”, he said softly. “I think this answers many of the open questions. It does, however, not absolve your friend of any guilt she might carry. I am wondering… do you believe it impossible that she left willingly?”

Sol knew all too well the feeling of guilt.

“Willingly left with whomever took her in the first place?” she asked. She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe she would have gone with them willingly.” she continued. “Further I fully believe that the only reason you found them was due to her actions… though I have no way of proving that.” she added.

“Having read this service record and the information you provided, I am not surprised you think that.”, Ceix said neutrally. “There are… claims that she had been the Captain of the vessel, and the instigator of this whole operation. Your records prove that the logs we found on the ship were manipulated.”

“I’m glad they prove that at least…” 

“At the same time, one thing added up in the testimonies given by crew and prisoners – she was the head surgeon leading the extraction procedures.”

Solaris nodded. She was quiet for a few more moments. Searching for the right thing to say.

“I can not dispute that she did do such things.” she said.

“Perhaps she was coerced..”, he mused. 

“She is a brilliant surgeon… she never would have caused harm willingly.” she explained.

“It would… help… if she were willing to communicate her side of the story. But so far, she hasn’t spoken to anyone.”, Ceix explained and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Perhaps Captain McLaren could make her talk. 

“I’ve seen others like that… after long assignments undercover… It is not easy.” she acknowledged, while being acutely aware this wasn’t, exactly, the same.

“She has been given quarters – guarded quarters. There was the fear that she would do something to herself, but so far, she hasn’t tried. Doctor Trova tells me she prefers to sit in a corner and does not interact with anyone.”

More than anything else, that pained her to hear. She didn’t know what would happen.

“I hope I can help her.” she said. “I never should have put her in that situation in the first place…” she added quietly. She let a hand drop to her lap, checking that the plushy was still there. Of course it was, it couldn’t just walk off, but it was still reassuring.

“I think you made the choice you deemed best.”, said Ceix. “And sometimes that still doesn’t end well. But…”, he paused, considering for a moment. “It hasn’t… ended yet, I suppose. She might not be doing well, but she is alive. As long as she is, there is the hope that she will get better. Perhaps that is what we should focus on.”

She nodded.

“It might be all we can focus on now…” she said.

“I will ask Doctor Trova to take you and see her.”

Sol nodded, holding the mugato plushy. It roared quietly as she squeezed it a bit too hard. She looked just a little sheepish.

“Thank you, Captain.” 

Sol didn’t know what to expect when she was shown to Arys’ quarters. The Doctor has been kind enough to explain everything that had occurred, and it pained her.  She stood quietly outside the doors to the quarters, the guards paying her no mind until she addressed them. The little mugato plushy sat perched in her arms, staring blankly at the door, much as she was. She reached out to press the chime then hesitated.  According to everyone, Ary’s didn’t seem to want to move or speak, so the chime would just be a waste of time, but Arys was still a person entitled to the respect of the attempt. She pressed the chime and waited a few moments, before nodding to one of the guards who actually keyed open the door. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect inside and took a step in, looking around.

She found quarters that were as neat and tidy as they were impersonal and untouched, despite them being in use. Quarters like these were reserved for patients that couldn’t occupy normal ones, but could benefit from an environment that wasn’t as clinical as sickbay.

A padded cell by Starfleet standards.

“Arys?” Solaris asked quietly, taking a few more steps into the quarters, receiving no response. She glanced around the space again, soon spying Arys. She seemed so small, sitting huddled in a corner, arms holding her legs tucked to her chest, chin wedged between them.

There was no reaction.

Sol frowned slightly. She had been told about this, but that didn’t make it easier to see. She approached slowly, kneeling next to her. She tilted her head to the side a bit.

“Arys?” she asked again, struggling with the desire just to scoop her up into a hug.

Painfully slowly, Arys loosened the grip around her legs and relaxed her posture just enough to raise her chin a little.

Sol smiled a bit, waving just a bit.

“Hey…” she said. Surely the most eloquent greeting she could muster. She hadn’t exactly planned her words, and even now she wasn’t sure she would have stuck to it if she had..

There was, again, no response, though she felt like she was being observed, and if Arys was still trying to figure out what to do.

She quietly took a seat on the floor. She held up the little mugato plush, giving one of its arms a little wave.

“Remember this?” she asked, offering it to Arys.

Arys’ eyes flicked down to the plushy, then back up to Solaris. She gave a small nod.

Sol smiled, letting Arys set the pace of the interaction. There was no point in trying to force something. She set the plushy on the ground between them for now.

“I…”, Arys said slowly, straining to speak, as if forming the words took immeasurable effort. “I… didn’t tell them where they are.”

It took Solaris a moment to register what she had actually meant and who ‘they’ were. When it did dawn on her, it was the furthest thing from her mind. She gently reached out and placed a hand on Arys’ shoulder. No pressure, just a reassuring touch.

“I know…” she said. She hadn’t truly known, but she knew Arys and how she would have handled herself. There was never a doubt.  “Arys… I…” she began only to have her own voice falter. There were so many different words trying to force their way into existence. She worked her jaw some, trying to get something to come out, only to close her mouth and regard her friend sadly.

“I… I put you in a position I never should have…” she started again, voice almost a whisper. “And when I should have been there… I wasn’t…” she continued. The guilt was plain in her voice.

Arys seemed to consider that, and perhaps it would grant her some measure of peace to blame what had happened on someone else. But all Solaris got in response was a subtle nod of acknowledgement.

Sol took a breath. She couldn’t get trapped in that spiral yet. There were more important things to focus on. There would be plenty of time for her to blame herself later, not that she had ever stopped.

“Arys… you need to tell this crew what happened to you… defend yourself.” she stated. “I’ve shared what I could… but there’s still–” she paused, eyes searching for the right words, “-things to sort out.” she finished.

“Why?”, Arys asked. There was no defiance in her tone. It was a simple question, asked dispassionately and with at the very most a mild interest.

Sol wanted to say ‘Because that’s just what you do when someone tries to frame you’ but knew that wasn’t exactly the most helpful of suggestions.

“Arys…” she started, only to stop. She realized she actually had no good answer to that question. She blinked, looking at Arys before speaking again. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“It won’t bring anyone back.”, Arys responded quietly. “It doesn’t… change… my part in it.”

Sol frowned. Arys was right, it wouldn’t change her part in it. She shook her head.

“No. It won’t. But if that were reason enough… you wouldn’t have sent the message to attract someone in the first place.” she said quietly. She was betting that she still knew Arys, because the logs on the ship showed someone else had.

“Even in the darkest moment… you still wanted someone to know… for it to end.” she continued. Maybe even more than Sol actually understood.

Arys closed her eyes and shook her head. If she had been the one sending the broadcast and making Starfleet aware of what was happening, she didn’t appear eager to claim credit for it – despite surely understanding how that would improve her situation.

“If your Doctor hadn’t dug deeper… hadn’t found me… you’d have been shipped off with the rest of them. And then what? Rotting in prison for eternity? Or worse? That doesn’t change your part in it either.” she said. “I don’t even think it soothes the guilt you’re feeling.” she continued.

She looked up at the ceiling, eyes tracing invisible paths on the ceiling for a few moments. “Nothing is going to change it… but it isn’t about changing the past… this is about the future.”

“I… don’t think there is one.”, Arys admitted after moments of silence. “I can… tell you what you want to know. So the story is told in the way it should be told. But then, I want to be left alone.”

Sol sighed. She held up her hand gently.

“Arys… I wish I could say there was a future. Even in my current position… I can’t… but what I do know is your silence ensures there isn’t one.” she pointed out. Her gaze softened. “Don’t do this because I want it… do this because you want it. Fight for yourself, like I know you can.” she said.

Fighting for herself. The concept seemed to appear so alien to the other woman that it didn’t even get a reaction.

Sol frowned, seeing there was no use in continuing down that path. She stood carefully and sought out a PADD. She tapped a few controls, returning to sit with Arys. If she was going to do this, she was at least going to get it in Arys’ own voice.

“Ok… ok…” she said gently. “After you called me to get you out… what happened?” she asked, setting the PADD between them. Its screen was also reading out a transcript of their conversation now.

Arys opened her eyes, finding even the dim light uncomfortably bright. Solaris’ presence here felt oppressive – yet another interrogation, yet another individual who didn’t permit her to rot away and find some measure of peace. 

She barely registered how much the other woman had changed since they last met. The memories of their past friendship were vague and distorted, and utterly irrelevant. Right now, she was simply something that stood between Arys and the quiet she so desperately craved. 

“We looked for you for months… and I looked longer than that…” Solaris said almost hesitantly. “You were gone without a trace.” 

Arys didn’t respond right away, and the silence seemed to stretch with every passing second. She had asked to be picked up from Miranda VII when the situation there had become volatile. But Starfleet hadn’t come – or rather, not on time. 

For a while she had felt angry about that. Now, she felt nothing. 

“There were… people asking about Nestira and Alasafor. I didn’t tell them.”, Arys said. The words came slowly, her voice steady despite the effort it took to speak. “They… left.  Then they came back. They said they had more questions. They took me with them. They… kept asking. I kept not … telling.” Her lips trembled before pressing into a thin line. “They got frustrated.”

“What did they do then?” Solaris asked.

Arys felt her heart pounding faster, as if her body wasn’t able to differentiate between a painful memory and actual danger. She inhaled, doing what she could to keep her voice from cracking. “They found out anyway. They were wondering what to do with me.” A bitter laugh escaped her.  “They… said it would be a waste to.. dispose of me.”

“What happened then? What did they have you doing?” Solaris asked softly.

“I was brought to a…  a … freighter, I think. People were injured. I was told to help. I didn’t want to, but… they made me stand there… And… I couldn’t not help…” she said carefully, not looking up to see Solaris’ reaction. Her words stumbling like a child learning to walk.

“So you helped them?” Solaris inquired further, and Arys gave a small nod. 

“I knew they wouldn’t go into the galaxy and do good but… they were people…  it didn’t seem so bad at the time.” Her voice grew more quiet with each word she spoke, and then, there was a long pause. “I worked, I was good at it. I got to have my own quarters and pick my food.” She shook her head, banishing the ghost of a bitter smile. “I wanted to get out. But…”

“But?”

“You… get used to it, you know?”, Arys confessed heavily. “After a few months. You stop fighting. You adapt. I stopped hating it there.”

It had kept her sane. But it wasn’t meant to last. 

Solaris nodded quietly.

“That’s how people cope…” she said. “We find something decent to hold on to no matter how small.” she added, and looked down at the PADD before she returned her gaze to Arys. “But that didn’t last… did it?”

“No…”, Arys whispered. “It didn’t..”

“When did things start to change?” Solaris asked. “Did they start bringing ex-Borg? Or take you someplace else?” 

“I was … sold.”, Arys whispered, shifting uncomfortably as they neared the territory that steeped even her days in nightmares. 

“Then what?”

“I came to the other ship and.. I was told what they expect me to do. I refused.”, Arys answered, and pulled her knees closer to her chest. 

“Did they force you to do it?” 

“They tried.”, Arys’ laugh was brittle and without joy. “I didn’t do it. I thought… maybe they will get angry enough to kill me. But they didn’t. They did worse.”

“What did they do?”

“The same thing they did before. They made me watch. Over and over again.”, she said, her hands clenching into fists, fingernails biting into her palm. “They said if I hated it so much, I could make it… better. At least I could sedate them.” 

Solaris couldn’t mask the slight amount of horror on her face.  “So… you started to…” she trailed off.

Arys felt her chest tightening as her own shame mingled with Solaris’ reaction. The disgust she must feel . “Yes.”

“Did you start to like it?” Solaris asked, and very carefully so. 

Despite being prepared for difficult questions, Arys found that this one hit differently. Did Solaris really think that of her? 

“Of course not.”, she said, her voice sharper than she had intended, barely able to believe that Solaris – or anyone for that matter – would imply such a thing. 

“What was different about it?” 

“Before, I was helping people. Even if they weren’t good people. Then, I was… just helping someone make latinum off body parts.”, Arys insisted, and her breath hitched. “But I…”

“You what?”

“I thought… I… I wanted to make it better.”, she murmured. “I thought maybe if I could get good enough, people wouldn’t have to die… it would still be awful but they wouldn’t be dead. We could just… ditch them on some planet…”, she said.

She knew that it had been a stupid hope, but it was something she had clung to. 

“So you held on to that? But something didn’t go according to plan?” Solaris asked.

“They killed him anyway.”

“They killed them even when they didn’t have to?” Solaris asked, and Arys nodded.

There was a long moment of silence.

“By that point you had already been going for so long… What changed? What made you call for help?” Solaris continued eventually.

Abruptly, Arys shook her head. No, she didn’t want to remember that part. 

She didn’t want to remember the young man, and how he had insisted on being alive and aware for as long as possible, even if those last moments of his existence would be painful and miserable. 

She didn’t want to remember what he had told her about being part of the collective, and the small voice inside him that had urged him to reclaim his humanity to … do something. 

And how she had ignored that own voice inside her for far too long.

Solaris waited patiently, but eventually gave a nod and tried another approach.  “How did you get help?”

“I injected one of the prisoners with adrenaline rather than the sedative. Then I sent the broadcast.” Arys paused, and her hand brushed over her side as if soothing an injury that was no longer there. “Then I was shot.”

“Do you know what happened between the point you sent the message and being taken into custody?” 

“Only fragments. One moment I was in the operating suite, and… I was cold. I thought it would be the end. I was glad for it.”

But then she woke up, and the nightmare continued. “I… remember I was in someone’s quarters, and there were.. Bailey and Foster, arguing.”

She called them Bailey and Foster because she didn’t know their real names. And because she had spent so many hours imagining herself back in s sickbay, with the team of colleagues she valued and trusted. 

Sol raised an eyebrow. 

“Two people were arguing? Could you tell me about what?”

Arys shook her head, an almost desperate gesture. “Only fragments.”, she repeated. “A man interrogating me. A doctor asking questions. I just… I just want to be left alone.” She looked up at Solaris, barely registering the hot tears against her cold cheek. 

“Arys, I need to know who-…”

“Please.”, Arys whispered. “It’s too much.” 

Solaris paused for a moment, then nodded quietly, and stopped the recording on the PADD. She picked it up and looked at it for a moment before setting it aside.

Then she sat up on her knees and gently drew Arys into a hug. Not a tight, constricting one, but it still had Arys tense up. 

“I made a mistake a long time ago… one I don’t intend to repeat now…” she whispered. “I have to go… I’m not leaving you alone again if I can help it… I’ll make sure you get the support you need.” she said quietly. “I have the rest of your things too… I’ll bring them when I come back…” 

Arys didn’t respond, and didn’t move. When Solaris finally left, a comfortable silence settled over the room, like a heavy blanket that offered a suffocating kind of safety. 

And for what seemed like hours, Arys stayed frozen. Then, her gaze fell on the plush Mugato sitting on the floor beside her.  A reminder of simpler, happier times – her first posting aboard the USS Juneau, and Tito’s grin as he gifted it to her.  

Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and drew it onto her arms. It was a small comfort, but for now, it had to be enough.