Ship’s Log, Starship Arcturus, Saucer Section. Stardate 76705.7. Captain Iro Rakan, Reporting.

 

After nearly a week separated, we will rejoin the stardrive section within the day in deep space. While confused about the reason for the separation, crew morale has remained high as we continue to examine discoveries from our first contact with Thalruatania. The saucer section’s warp drive has performed above expectations, and I believe it has been good to allow this section of the ship to ‘stretch its legs,’ borrowing a Human idiom, as I believe it is a proof-of-concept for future extended separations. There is, however, something unsettling about being in the Delta Quadrant with only half of a starship, and I look forward to returning to what passes for normal in this part of the galaxy.

 

End log.

Captain Rakan finished what she hoped was her last official log entry in command of the saucer section. What she didn’t say in the ship’s log was that she was deeply troubled by the course of action the admiral and Captain Lancaster had taken: leaving 80% of the ship’s crew behind while their captain went on an extended, secretive mission was not the sort of thing that Starfleet captains were often asked to do. She was intensely curious to figure out what was happening, even with the unambiguous instructions she’d been given to bury her concerns. Over the past few days, they’d picked up most of the runabouts that Admiral Hayden had sent out across the sector, with a few still just out of range. With most of their support ships back in the hanger and the stardrive nearly at their position, Rakan hoped this strange episode was over.

Despite being entitled to use the ready room on deck one, Rakan had continued to use her own office on deck two for her short stint in command. There was a lot to admire about Captain Lancaster, but she just didn’t think she could ever be comfortable in what was emphatically his space because of how private and particular he was, nor did she think he’d particularly relish the idea of her sitting behind his desk. The office she now had also once belonged to Lancaster when he was first officer himself, but Rakan had nearly completely transformed it, lowering the lighting and humidity to levels more comfortable for her and filling the shelves with mementos of her diplomatic career. As a nod to her Cardassian sensibilities, she’d also moved the desk, so it faced the door rather than the window, leaving room for two chairs in front of her display of trinkets.

The first officer spent most of her waking hours in that room when she wasn’t making her regular walks of the ship’s decks to directly interface with the crew—she got the sense that Lancaster had preferred to deal only with the department heads, who he expected to keep tabs on their subordinates and so on, but she liked to make sure she was getting a real picture of what was going on amongst the junior officers and enlisted members aboard the ship.

Just as Rakan was contemplating ordering tea, the door chimed. It was odd that someone had gotten to her door without being announced by her yeoman, which piqued her curiosity.

“Enter!” she called.

Rakan scrambled to her feet when Rear Admiral Hayden entered. They hadn’t yet interacted much, but before whatever this crisis was, Rakan had only ever seen her in a more casual command bomber jacket or the softer, less formal cowl-necked uniform available to flag officers, either with her signature gold earrings, but since the stardrive section departed she’d consistently been wearing a standard duty uniform sans jewelry.  She’d also drawn her medium-length blonde hair back into a bun, rather than leaving it to frame her face like she normally did. As a Cardassian, Rakan would never claim to be a master at reading Human sartorial and cosmetological decisions. Still, her gut response to the change was that she intended to convey seriousness and solemnity.

“At ease, Captain,” Hayden said with a smile. “I was hoping to talk with you before the ship reconnected.”

“Of course, Admiral. If I’d known, I would have been happy to come to your suite instead,” Rakan asked, moving out from behind the desk and gesturing towards the pair of armchairs.

“I don’t summon Michael while he is in command, and I won’t do that to you either, Captain,” Hayden replied firmly as she took one of the offered seats. “You’ve redecorated since his time here.”

It was a little jarring to hear the admiral use the captain’s first name, but Rakan was aware that he had also served as her first officer aboard the starship Lafayette for several years, long before he’d sat second seat for her on the Arcturus for the first few months of the year. Rakan had also gathered through her diplomatic sources that Hayden had even presided over Lancaster’s wedding to Dr. Sheppard. Their relationship was one of long-standing trust and mutual admiration, if not affection, which made Rakan a little envious, as she was still getting the cold side of cordial from Lancaster.

Hayden was a famous name, known not just for her recent command of Task Force 9 against the Breen but for a storied career as an explorer, diplomat, and scientist. While others in the class of 2354 had moved on to flag rank decades earlier and included at least one full admiral already, Hayden had resisted promotion to spend nearly twenty years in the center seat. Though Rakan knew relatively little about her personality, she would still bet heavily that this was a woman who would have rather quit than be stuck behind a desk back on a starbase and was the sole reason the Arcturus had finally been sent back out into deep space as her base of operations.

“I thought it was important to put my own touches on the space to help the crew see the change in first officers was more than just a new face behind the desk, sir. And, admittedly, it’s always too bright on Starfleet ships for my taste, so I’ve indulged myself with the lighting. I can make it brighter if you wish?” Rakan replied with a smile.

“No, thank you,” Hayden replied, studying Rakan. “One of the reasons that Michael and I worked well together is that I’m a diplomat, and he’s a technical expert. Well, to be frank, he could be the demanding stickler while I could be the popular figurehead. I’m sure the crew has sensed a reversal without your very impressive Kurlan naiskos.”

Rakan turned to glance at the ceramic object. “An artifact uncovered by my father. I’m impressed you identified it, sir. As for the crew, I respectfully believe they could use all the hints they can get that although Cardassian, I am on their side,” she said, feeling as though she’d become more pointed the more she said.

“From what I can see, you’re doing a remarkable job, Captain,” Hayden said. “That’s more or less what I came here to talk to you about. Sidelining you for this mission was not Michael’s choice.”

That statement seemed conciliatory, and it made Rakan smile, but not for the reasons Hayden had surely hoped. It didn’t take a genius to work out that there had to be an excellent reason for Lancaster to break protocol and leave her behind. Under any other circumstance, the third officer would assume command of the saucer section during extended separated flight. In this case, that was Doctor Anjar, who also happened to be a captain by rank. This ‘Omega Directive’ seemed to give Lancaster full authority to override any standard protocols. Still, Rakan knew he wouldn’t do so unless there were a very compelling reason to do so: Anjar, as a former starship commander, was briefed in the necessities of their mission and would therefore make a compelling choice for first officer, while she was not and so would only get in the way. It was logical that she be left behind, even though it did sting personally.

“I’m fully aware of that, Admiral,” Rakan replied, with a characteristically Cardassian smirk.

Hayden chuckled. “I’m sure you’ve worked out part of it, anyway,” the admiral replied, studying her. “I don’t like to meddle in shipboard affairs because I wouldn’t like it if I were on the other side of it. I don’t want Michael to feel like he’s not the captain. In this case, though, I ordered him to leave you here with me, beyond any considerations he might have made to fulfill the mission.”

Rakan blinked. Now that was slightly unexpected.

“I believe he would have selected someone else so that he could have his full team with him, so I cut that thought off at the pass. I also realized that if he did make the decision himself, there would be resentment, no matter how valid that order was,” Hayden explained. “The directive we are operating under right now is abnormal. Secrets can strain working relationships, and I want to ensure that any frustration is directed towards me or our orders, not to him. I don’t want you to be wondering if there was anything more to this decision than the realities of the mission.”

Rakan nodded. “I was about to have tea, Admiral. Would you like some?” she asked.

“Please,” Hayden replied.

Rakan stood up from her seat and went over to the replicator. She swiped through the menu and selected a red leaf tea service for two. She could, of course, have had the computer produce it for them where they were sitting, thanks to the Arcturus‘s modern replicator grid, but she wanted the moment to think through her next verbal move. She had asked Lancaster if being left behind had anything to do with her being Cardassian, which he had flatly denied, but she had been used to suspicion based on her heritage for her entire career. A teapot and two cups along with accouterments materialized on a tray, which she picked up.

“I do think the pattern for red leaf tea found on Starfleet replicators has improved substantially since I entered the academy in the 2370s. On Starbase 72, we were fortunate enough to get regular shipments of the stuff from the Union. Of course at the embassy in Cardassia, one could just walk down the street to a tea house, so I’ve probably been spoiled,” Rakan said, with a smile, as she crossed the room and set the tray on the small table between her chair and Admiral Hayden’s chair.

After negotiating who needed milk or sugar and then pouring both cups of tea, Rakan sat back in her seat. “Admiral, I do appreciate your concern, and in fact, whether I am Cardassian or not did factor into my thoughts, but I am also fully aware that I do have something to prove, still, if not to you and to the captain but to Starfleet,” she said. “I hope that’s not out of turn.”

Hayden took a sip from her cup and shook her head. “I’m never going to tell someone on their own turf not to be candid with me. I would disagree with you about how much you have to prove, though. You are a captain and the executive officer of the largest ship in the quadrant, after all.”

“I was also a tactical attache at the Federation Embassy to the Cardassian Union for five years, before serving as the executive officer of a Sovereign-class ship for another four. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for this assignment. Still, I was offered a promotion to captain without an actual captaincy, which can only lead me to believe I have something to prove,” Captain Rakan replied before taking a drink from her own cup.

Rakan was well aware that Lancaster was younger than she was and had started his career several years later than she had, while still reaching command before she had. He had seemed to luck out with prime assignments, too, serving under at least two captains who had gone on to flag rank shortly after serving with him. He was also Human. Brilliant, yes, but also of the correct species.

The first officer cleared her throat. “I believe I may have just expressed more… displeasure… than I intended, Admiral. I mean only to say that I do not take this decision personally,” she offered.

“I gave Michael three choices, and he picked you, so you have the confidence of both of us. Don’t ever forget that, Captain,” Hayden said, setting her tea down. “Beyond assuaging any feelings you were having before, I did also want to let you know now that our mission isn’t over. We’re not reconnecting the ship because the danger has passed but because we will need the full facilities of this vessel to proceed. You may get strange orders or be left out of briefings, and I want to know if you’re prepared for that.”

Rakan had always assumed that Hayden had selected her directly, so it did fill her with a small amount of confidence to know that Lancaster had picked her from among other candidates, even if he had yet to show her much in the way of comradeship.

“I will fulfill my duties to the best of my ability, Admiral,” Rakan confirmed.

“Good. I have faith that you will, Captain. But I want you to know right now that there would be no shame at all in taking leave time or requesting temporary reassignment. This is not going to be easy,” Hayden offered.

Rakan arched an eyebrow. “With all due respect, Admiral, whether I have something to prove or not, going on a vacation when this ship is about to embark on something so serious that you feel the need to come to speak to me seems like a way of proving that I am, in fact, not ready for this,” she replied. “Cardassians have a … unique capacity to set aside our emotions long enough to do our duty. As well as a unique ability to create complicated conspiracies about why people don’t like us,” she added with a chuckle.

“Well, I hope this has stomped a conspiracy out for you rather than adding fuel to one,” Hayden said, smiling again.

“It has, thank you, Admiral. If I may make an observation, though?”

“Of course.”

Rakan cleared her throat. “Captain Lancaster is fortunate to have you looking out for him in this regard, but I want you to know that I am looking out for him, too. I’m assuming any moves he makes are in good faith.”

The admiral nodded. “I believe that you believe that, but darker days may lay ahead. Thank you for the tea, Captain,” she said before leaving the office with a polite nod.

Chief Operations Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 76705.7. Encrypted.

 

Nothing about this mission has been normal or expected, but I can say that our journey to rendezvous with the saucer section has at least been free of incident. We picked up one of the runabouts, the Ausable, a few hours ago. Initial reports show extensive damage to the hull from Kazon weapons fire, which my teams are now fixing with support from Engineering. Luckily there were no casualties, but I have no doubt that their presence in the area is a complication to our current mission rather than being its focus. Captain Lancaster has, as always, remained tight with the details, but despite the lack of communication he seems as pleased as it is possible for him to be with our progress.

 

End Log

The secondary hull’s shuttle bay was tiny compared to the one in the saucer section, but it was still more than large enough to service the compact Volga-class runabouts detailed to the Arcturus. At two-thirds the size of the older and more versatile Danube-class runabouts, they were usually deployed on the smallest starships, but the thinking with their mission was that it was preferable to have a larger number of slightly smaller support craft than fewer large ones. Since the Volga didn’t have hot-swappable modules, that also saved additional deck space for extra shuttles. Some of this loss in versatility was made up by amidships compartments that had been fitted with holographically configurable mission bays to swap out configurations in the field, at the expense of being less capable than “real” equipment.

The runabout Ausable had left the Arcturus a week earlier in perfect, factory-new condition. It had come back covered in blast marks. While there were no casualties, an operations team would take a week to get the tiny ship back into its original condition. As there was little to do on the battle bridge while they cruised to their rendezvous, Commander Alesser had taken it upon himself to meet the runabout in the bay, which the Arcturus had dropped down to impulse for less than a minute to pick up before jumping back to its maximum speed.

Besides boredom, the reason he wanted to meet the runabout himself was that its crew fascinated him: Lieutenant Junior Grade Cooper Robinson was leading a small team consisting of Ensign Cody Knox-Stanton at the helm and Ensign Matthew Belvedere serving as a science specialist. A flag officer’s aide with the son of a vice admiral and the nephew of a rear admiral. That was beyond coincidental, and he wanted to see what they were doing when they managed to catch Kazon interest.

The runabout rotated in the bay before it landed, pointing its ramp towards the shuttle bay’s forward bulkhead. Alesser waited with his arms crossed as the small vessel powered down and the aft hatch opened. The three junior officers were in good spirits, apparently teasing one another as they walked out of their vehicle. Robinson was taller than Knox-Stanton by just a hair, and both of them had athletic builds, and both were a head taller than Alesser himself was, while Belvedere was quite slim and Alesser’s own height. All three were the commander’s type, of course, but the blond lieutenant’s green eyes had a glint of defiance in them before he could even open his mouth to castigate them for the condition of their vessel, so he already had the commander’s attention.

“You three are awfully jovial for bringing this runabout back in a significantly worse state than it was when it was issued to you,” Alesser noted.

The three junior officers came to a halt at the foot of the ramp, the two ensigns looking towards Robinson. As a ‘flag lieutenant,’ i.e., a trumped-up yeoman, the yoke of Robinson’s uniform was operations gold, and he wore a silver aiguillette over one shoulder, attached to a small epaulet to signify his status as the admiral’s personal aide. It was an unusual choice for him to be sent out into the field.

“That tends to happen when you survive a Kazon attack, sir,” Robinson replied his tone barely within the bounds of decorum.

“Why didn’t you send out a distress call, Lieutenant?”

Robinson shrugged. “Because we won?”

“Sir.”

The lieutenant’s eyes flashed with annoyance and he clenched his square jaw. Being an aide to a flag officer had likely made him quite used to having the run of the ship, evidenced by the clear aura of arrogance he was radiating. He seemed to be a hair’s breadth away from insubordination, which Alesser would have welcomed if only for the entertainment value.

“Because we won, sir,” Robinson repeated. “It’s all in the report I’m going to deliver to the admiral, and if she sees fit to share it with you, then you’ll have all of the juicy details, Commander Alesser, sir.”

Now that statement was much less amusing. For as much as it was clear things were abnormal under the mission parameters they now found themselves with since when did operational reports from one of the Arcturus‘s own runabouts go straight to the admiral? But putting her own man in charge of the mission was one way for Hayden to keep everyone else out of the loop.

“Are you always this sarcastic, Lieutenant?” Alesser asked.

“The admiral seems to like my sass, Commander. I’m sure it’ll grow on you, too,” Robinson quipped. “Begging the commander’s pardon, but we do need to get our reports filed.”

“Well, I do hope it’s not too hard to settle back into fetching the admiral’s coffee after your thrilling sojourn fending of Kazon attacks,” Alesser drawled.

Robinson shot him daggers in return, which just made Alesser smirk. “Is that Ardanan for ‘dismissed,’ sir?”

“Yes, it is,” Alesser replied, staying where he was to force the three of them to move around him to get to the exit.

Sparring with someone who had the ear of the admiral wasn’t the wisest thing that Alesser had done, but it was at least a diversion. He pulled his tricorder off of his belt and began doing an exterior inspection of the runabout, noting in great detail where the blast points were and if they’d impacted any systems. The more data he collected, the stranger he found it that the admiral’s gopher had been placed in charge. Granted, he likely did have higher security clearance than even Alesser or the other department heads on the Arcturus did. Still, surely there were tactical officers to be spared if combat was likely? In fact, Alesser was sure that Hayden would never risk those three, let alone risk them all on the same mission, especially when it was common knowledge that she was close to the Knox-Stanton family and Admiral Belvedere’s cachet was increasingly important at Starfleet Command. Belvedere was also listed on the manifest as an anthropologist, which only got Alesser’s mind working as he put his team to work. What were they looking for? More importantly: did they find it?

***

About twenty minutes later, when the appropriate orders had been doled out to his team, Alesser was still contemplating the mystery of the Ausable‘s mission as he made his way to one of the lounges for a meal which was only a few decks up and forward. Just four decks from the bottom of the ship, there were two large lounges just forward of the secondary arboretum which normally didn’t see all that much use except for engineering crews between shifts, but with the ship separated they were now the nicest place around to relax.

On a whim, Alesser picked the starboard lounge. After ordering the special of the day from the replicator—Bajoran hasperat—he found Commander Benjamin Walker eating the same thing near the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows on the edge of the room. His pale skin was quite red, which made Alesser smirk imagining it was too spicy for the Human to enjoy, as he was an especially bland Human even among Humans.

“May I join you?”

“Oh, of course,” Walker replied, looking mildly surprised. That might just have been his face, though, as he always seemed slightly startled. “What have you been up to this afternoon?”

“Runabout repairs,” Alesser replied, sitting down opposite the science officer. “The admiral sent her yeoman out with two ensigns on some classified mission. It came back in pieces.”

“I hope they were all alright?”

Alesser nodded. “Not a scratch on their very pretty heads,” he confirmed. “Ensign Belvedere was on that team. What’s it like having the nephew of an admiral in your department?”

“I’ve never met him, honestly. He’s never been mentioned for better or worse in any reports sent up from the Social Sciences division, either,” Walker replied, with a shrug. “Given the size of the crew and the number of Starfleet flag officers, there is a greater than zero chance someone within your own department has that sort of relative, too.”

There were in fact seven people in the Operations Department who had some connection to a flag officer, as Alesser had checked on that. You never wanted to be the one responsible for assigning an Admiral’s son or daughter to waste reclamation maintenance or to clean the biofilters of the holodecks, after all. No one was within three degrees of separation, though–a great uncle or second cousin were the closest they came.

“Not as closely related as that, no. I don’t let facts like that go unknown,” Alesser replied.

“What possible use could that information have?” Walker asked, beads of sweat running down his face after his latest bite.

“You never know. Better to have information and not need it than the other way around,” Alesser said. “Are you quite alright?”

Walker nodded, though the gesture looked a little labored. “I didn’t think that the special of the day would be quite so spicy.”

“Well, it’s hasperat. That’s like expecting caviar not to be salty,” Alesser reminded him.

“Your sympathy is simply overwhelming,” Walker replied, reaching for his water.

Alesser reached out to grab his wrist. “Don’t. You’ll make it worse. You need something basic. Computer, get the commander a glass of milk,” he said, with a Cheshire smirk.

Walker didn’t seem to mind the contact, and Alesser didn’t mind that he didn’t mind the contact, even if he was a little boring. He let him go when the milk materialized next to Walker’s tray, though. The scientist looked at it skeptically, but took a drink anyway, a cautious sip that turned into more of a gulp after a moment when it seemed to help.

“You know, growing up I always thought it was one of my species’s strangest habits that we consume the milk of other mammals. I was shocked when I learned it was a phenomenon that was common to other worlds as well. Of course, it’s almost all replicated, now, but I just wonder who was the first person who looked at a cow’s udders and decided ‘I’d like to drink what comes out of that,'” Walker said, with a laugh.

Alesser shared the laugh, as that was a genuinely amusing (surprisingly so) thought to come out of Walker’s mouth. “Well, aren’t you the exologist? Don’t you have some answer to that question?”

“‘Why do you consume substances coming out of that creature?’ is generally not one of the questions that we’re trained to ask in my field, no,” Walker replied, shaking his head.

“Evolution on Ardana followed some relatively peculiar paths compared to other worlds. We’re the only mammals on the planet, and there are few varieties of other land-dwelling vertebrates, so we didn’t develop that same habit. There’s a plant, though, that produces a substance that is chemically similar to milk that’s designed to lure animals in to drown them. Of course, once you have opposable thumbs, the threat is pretty minimal, so we cultivated it for the juice.”

“Fascinating! Carnivorous plants are also a feature of Earth’s ecosystem. Parallel evolution is fascinating, isn’t it?” Walker replied, with a grin.

The other man’s enthusiasm was endearing, even if it came across as a bit… sacchrine for Alesser’s taste. He studied the Human for a moment across the table, wondering which would provide more sport: the glaring flag lieutenant or the doe-eyed science officer, but before he could contemplate that much further the bosun’s whistle sounded.

“Set condition blue. Prepare for starship reintegration. Senior officers to the battle bridge,” the computer reported crisply. They were early for the rendezvous, which was generally not something that happened in interstellar travel—the saucer must have picked up speed along the way.

“I guess you’re saved from finishing the rest of that, Walker,” Alesser said, grinning as he hopped up and clapped the other man on the shoulder before the two of them rushed to the turbolift.

***

Alesser relieved the ensign at the operations station a few moments before Lieutenant Tellora took her seat next to him. Despite the long-standing alliance with her race, it still took him a moment to get used to sitting next to a 6’7″ Klingon woman at the helm of a Federation starship. Captain Lancaster was in the center seat and the other stations were quickly filled with the rest of the senior staff who had come along for the jaunt on the stardrive section. Alesser was still very curious at the absence of the ship’s first officer, but he doubted he’d get any answers on that anytime soon.

“Now approaching the saucer section, Captain,” Lieutenant Tellora reported.

“Slow to one-quarter impulse,” Lancaster ordered.

Alesser felt the tell-tale shudder as the ship dropped from warp to impulse power, as the stars on the viewer went from moving streaks to stationary lights. The saucer immediately showed up on sensors and he brought it up on screen. After a week in temporary quarters, Alesser was looking forward to being back ‘home.’ Their logistical processes were also more complex with half of the ship disconnected, so he was relishing being back to standard procedures across the board.

“Ready for reintegration at the captain’s discretion,” Alesser announced.

“Signal to the saucer that we will begin as soon as we are in range, Commander,” Lancaster ordered. “Tellora, plot a course to these coordinates. We’ll engage as soon as systems are synced,” he added before the helm console beeped with the receipt of new information. No rest for the wicked, it seemed.

Alesser sent the message via text through his console, which the saucer section immediately confirmed. The wedge-shaped upper hull of the stardrive section got closer and closer to the matching flat surface on the bottom of the saucer section, its tiny impulse engines going dark as they approached to avoid scorching the hull with plasma as they reconnected.

“We’re in range for automatic recoupling sequence,” Alesser said.

“Execute sequence,” Lancaster replied.

Alesser noted that Lancaster rarely used the friendlier ‘engage’ that most officers did, preferring the blunter, more aggressive ‘execute,’ for no reason that he’d ever shared. The operations officer voiced his acknowledgment of the order and then handed control over the ship’s systems to the main computers in both hulls. They watched on the viewscreen as the two halves of the ship drew closer and closer together before contact was made with a thud. Magnetic latches from the stardrive section extended upwards into the matching sockets on the saucer section before expanding horizontally and pulling back down to assure a complete and total lock, while umbilical ports all around them reattached and resumed the flow of life support gasses, power, and information between the two sections of the ship.

“Reintegration sequence complete. Synching inertial dampening and structural integrity fields,” Alesser reported.

“Course plotted for your coordinates, Captain,” Tellora reported.

“Execute at maximum warp, Lieutenant,” Lancaster ordered.

They’d been at sublight for less than three minutes before the engines roared back to life, sending the ship at tremendous speeds to yet another unspecified destination with no explanation. Alesser was sure that Captain Okusanya would be fuming in the engine room at the stress and mileage they were putting on the ship’s engines, an argument with Lancaster he’d love to be a fly on the wall for.

“I need to see the admiral. Commander Alesser, transfer command back to the main bridge and then provide Captain Rakan with any relevant information you two will need to synchronize operations,” Lancaster ordered, leaving the battle bridge before Alesser could even get out an ‘Aye, Captain.’

“Welcome home, I guess?” Alesser muttered, after the doors had safely closed behind the captain.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Arturo Hidalgo’s Personal Log. Stardate 76705.7. Encrypted.

 

We’re close to docking with the stardrive section. I’ll feel a lot safer with the rest of the ship—and the rest of our crew. We’ve been busy in engineering, which has helped me keep my mind off of whatever it is the other half of the ship was doing, but I hope everyone there is ok. I don’t know whether it’s just because we haven’t seen each other in a week or not, but I’m also really looking forward to seeing Nate again, if he still wants that. He seemed pretty eager before he left, but a week’s a long time in the dating life of a twenty-something. Would I say any of that if this weren’t encrypted? That’s a definite ‘no.’

 

End log.

While much of the process was automated, it still took a lot of work from flesh-and-blood engineers after every separation and reintegration to make sure that both halves of the Arcturus fit back together to once again serve as one united vessel. Some of these procedures were simple, like servicing the redundant components in either hull that served in the place of a primary system in the other, but making sure the power systems were perfectly aligned was a much more involved and crucial task. From Secondary Engineering on Deck 5, Commander Noah Slater began overseeing that work as soon as the docking latches were locked into place. It was a chore made even more important—and that much more difficult—as the captain had immediately jumped the ship back to high warp.

Lieutenant Hidalgo was standing across from him at the main workstation, glancing up occasionally as the commander gave orders. It was a lot to keep up with. During the three years he served on their sister ship, the Verity, the ship didn’t separate even once, so he wasn’t exactly sharp on the procedures they were doing. Granted, he also only skimmed the manual the night before, as he knew that Slater would keep him on a pretty tight leash anyway. Hidalgo had met him first as Professor Slater at Starfleet Academy, where he’d taken two advanced warp field dynamics courses from him, never earning more than a high “B” on anything with Slater’s extremely high standards.

“Starboard warp plasma manifold secure, sir,” Hidalgo reported, once he’d verified that the starboard coupling joining the saucer’s warp coils to the main power transfer conduit had been physically separated. It wouldn’t do to have power accidentally flowing into those coils while the ship was connected, as it could rip the ship apart if a warp field were created.

“Port warp plasma manifold also secure,” Lieutenant Commander Nayar reported from the other side of the workstation.

Nayar was probably Hidalgo’s favorite of all of the shift engineers, as she never seemed to be stressed out about anything. Well, not until they’d spent a week away from the rest of the ship. Her husband was a security officer, and he’d been part of the 500-person skeleton crew that had gone with Captain Lancaster. She seemed more like her bright, cheerful self once they’d reattached, though. Hidalgo hoped that meant she’d be back in the mood to bring homemade laddoo to engineering when they ended up back on delta shift.

“Secondary engineering to main engineering. Preparing to sync EPS flowthrough rates,” Slater said, glancing at the status board to confirm his two subordinates had given accurate reports.

“Van Dorland here,” came the reply from engineering.

A moment later, the disembodied head appeared of Lieutenant Commander Jack van Dorland appeared floating over the console to join his disembodied voice. He ran the ship’s dedicated Starfleet Corps of Engineers team, added after the ship’s campaign against the Breen in the Alpha quadrant to help rehabilitate damaged outposts along the border, and retained for their trip into the Delta Quadrant to service the other ships in the area and maintain the nascent subspace relay network they were building. He was easily the most popular member of the engineering department, not just because he was pleasantly blond and blue-eyed but because he was probably the least egotistical officer in the fleet, willing to help anyone with any problem, no matter how small.

“Oh, Hi!” Slater said with a smile that Hidalgo hadn’t seen before. “I didn’t realize you’d be running this from that end.”

“We’re pretty swamped. Captain’s already taken us past 9.9 again, so most everyone else is focused on keeping the ship from flying apart,” van Dorland replied. “Confirming EPS flowthrough sync. Reduce saucer intermix ratio to minimum standby, please.”

Slater tapped a few commands in, and the warp core’s pitch lowered dramatically, the swirling blue plasma inside the reaction chamber slowing to a comparative crawl. The saucer warp core was never turned completely off while they were in space, as the ship could separate with very little warming and often without the full day necessary to bring the core online from a cold start, so it was left at minimum output. For a warp core, though, ‘minimum output’ was still in the order of hundreds of megawatts, so it still provided supplemental power through the ship’s EPS grid.

“Confirmed,” Slater said. “It’s good to see your face.”

“Aww, shucks, Noah,” van Dorland replied, which made both of Hidalgo’s eyebrows shoot straight up. “Glad to see you, too. It’s been a weird week.”

“Here, too,” Slater agreed.

There had been no word from the stardrive section except whatever official communiqués were being sent directly to the Admiral’s office, so they’d been totally isolated from their shipmates. Hidalgo could only wonder what had prompted the captain to leave the rest of them behind. Still, nothing that involved this most fundamental use for the ship’s separation ability—keeping non-essentials and the bulk of the crew safe from harm—could be good.

“Are you free later? Dinner?” Slater suggested.

Hidalgo’s jaw dropped. Were those two dating?

“I’d kill for a glass of bourbon and a steak dinner. Arcturus Prime at 1900?” van Dorland replied.

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then, assuming we don’t get into another crisis before then.”

Van Dorland chuckled. “I’m not sure we’re out of the current crisis yet, Noah. Main engineering, out,” he said before closing the holo call.

“Did you just ask Jack van Dorland on a date, Commander?!” Hidalgo exclaimed as soon as van Dorland’s face vanished.

Slater turned scarlet. “What’s so surprising about that?”

“Oh! I mean, nothing? It’s more like ‘wow, good job,'” the lieutenant replied with a chuckle. “Are you two a thing?!”

The more senior engineer just chewed on his bottom lip for a moment.

“Leave him alone, Ship,” Nayar chided.

Hidalgo’s first name was Arturo, and he’d been aboard for about fifteen seconds when his fellow engineers had decided that they really had no choice but to bestow the nickname ‘Ship’ upon him. He had almost not taken the assignment in the first place because of some murky feeling of there being some bad karma at sharing a name with the ship itself, but who could resist going on a Delta Quadrant expedition?

“Though, the good Commander did open himself up to speculation by having that conversation in front of us,” the lieutenant commander added, a grin growing. “Aren’t you a vegetarian, sir?”

“We don’t have to eat the same thing,” Slater replied. “Besides, replicated meat has a very tenuous relationship with actual animal flesh. I have no ethical qualms with him eating a steak dinner if he wants one.”

“Well, if you ever do develop any qualms about that, I’d happily go in your place. I am very willing to jump on that grenade for you, sir,” Hidalgo teased.

The commander rolled his eyes. “Don’t you already have one?”

“Have one what? A grenade?”

“No. Someone to eat steak dinners with,” Slater replied. “I thought I recalled hearing you’ve been spotted with that tall command lieutenant. Hapsburg or whatever.”

“Windsor,” Hidalgo corrected, a split second before realizing that answer left him no room to deny the assertion.

Hidalgo had indeed been seeing Lieutenant Nate Windsor for several weeks. Maybe. Well, they were sleeping together anyway, while Hidalgo tried to figure out if he had genuine affection for Windsor or if he just enjoyed how much Windsor seemed to like him. Admittedly, Windsor was well within the top ten hottest men on the ship, beating van Dorland in not only that but also even in sheer niceness, but Hidalgo’s experience with long-term relationships was limited by his short attention span and capacity for self-sabotage, so he wasn’t holding his breath.

“How did you know about that, Commander?” the lieutenant asked.

Slater smirked at him. “Lieutenant Commander van Dorland is an excellent source of gossip because he’s apparently friends with literally everyone.”

“If you’re going to be ‘eating a steak dinner’ with him, maybe call him Jack?” Hidalgo shot back, using finger quotes to make that phrase seem like more of an innuendo.

“I can no longer figure out what you two are teasing each other about,” Nayar interjected with a laugh. “But unlike Slater and van Dorland, you and Windsor were hardly a secret, Ship. If you want a secret lover, you’ll need to pick someone a little less conspicuous than the 190-centimeter tall man in a red uniform.”

“193, actually,” Hidalgo replied. “And can I just say ‘ew’ to the word ‘lover’? It’s just so… ew. And it wasn’t a secret. It just… I don’t know if it is an ‘it’ yet. I’m not even sure if we’ll see each other anytime soon.”

Hidalgo’s badge chirped. “Windsor to Hidalgo.”

The two senior engineers shared a glance and then turned to stare at the lieutenant. The timing could not have been worse to support any point Hidalgo was trying to make about their relationship not being serious yet.

“Hidalgo here.”

“I just got back to my quarters, and the replicator doesn’t seem to be working. Could you come and take a look… if you’re free?” 

Hidalgo blushed. That was not a compelling ruse when he had two superior officers listening in on the call.

“Hold that thought,” Hidalgo said, pressing and holding on the badge to mute his end. “Well, it… you know, with the EPS reset, it could have short-circuited the… Maybe I should go check it out?” he said, fully unable to spin that into a working narrative.

“We’ll have to run a level one diagnostic on all of the replicators in that case,” Slater said, looking down at the controls again.

“Commander… That’s… do you really not understand what’s happening?” Nayar asked.

“Apparently not?”

“Well, I’ll explain it to you sometime, but you can hold off on that diagnostic. Go, Ship. It’s five minutes to shift change, anyway,” she said with a laugh.

“Be right there,” Hidalgo said, releasing the badge to speak and then tapping it to end the call.

Hidalgo’s heart was racing as he made his way out of the engineering bay, partially because he had so clearly been propositioned but had still somehow gotten away with it, but also because of his growing anticipation about seeing Windsor again. The lieutenant’s quarters were on the deck above the promenade on the edge of the saucer, so they were just a short turbolift ride away. Less than a minute after he’d hung up, he chimed Windsor’s door. Just about as he was to wonder if he’d shown his hand too much by dropping everything to answer his summons, the door opened, which meant they were both a little over-eager to see one another.

After catching a glimpse of the other man’s blue eyes, Hidalgo launched himself at Windsor, grasping him in a tight hug and burying his face in his chest. Windsor squeezed him back and kissed him on the top of the head. While height was definitely not the only reason Hidalgo was attracted to Windsor, he very much liked that the other man was 23.1 centimeters taller than he was because it meant their bodies interlocked in interesting and enjoyable ways such as Hidalgo fitting in perfectly under Windsor’s chin in a hug. He knew their precise height difference because Windsor had initially downplayed how tall he was, so Hidalgo had taken his exact measurements with a tricorder to prove him wrong.

“I missed you, cielo,” Hidalgo blurted.

“Missed you too. What’s that word mean?”

Oh. He hadn’t meant to say that part. He really liked how Windsor was too insecure in his linguistic talents to even attempt to repeat the word back to him. The other man could be very provincial about those sorts of things, especially when it came to culture because he was from Penthara IV, a sleepy agricultural colony. On the other hand, Hidalgo was from Mexico City, one of the largest cities on Earth. He was streetwise and cosmopolitan, and ergo someone who shouldn’t let such lovey-dovey language slip out like that.

“Um. Well, it’s a term of endearment. It means ‘heaven,’ like ‘you’re my slice of heaven’… Or ‘sky’, because you’re so fucking tall, Nate,” Hidalgo admitted, trying to smash his face even further into Windsor’s pectoral muscles to suffocate himself and avoid further embarrassment.

“I like it,” Windsor replied, running his fingers through Hidalgo’s thick black hair. “Are you alright?”

A fair question, as Hidalgo had previously not demonstrated anything quite so clingy in Windsor’s presence.

“I’m not sure,” Hidalgo admitted, stepping back a little so he could look Windsor in the eye. “I know before you left, I was being a little… weird? Trying to play it cool, that sort of thing. But I think I just realized that I’d be really bummed out if you hadn’t come back from that mission.”

Windsor smiled and tightened his grip on Hidalgo’s hair. “Just ‘bummed out,’ huh?”

“Very, very bummed out,” Hidalgo admitted. “You can’t hold me to any of this because I am obviously feeling a little shaken because of this whole secret mission thing, but I do like you quite a lot.”

“A non-binding declaration of ‘quite a lot of like.’ Romantic,” Windsor said with a sly grin. “I like you quite a lot, too.”

“That’s all you’re gonna get, for now, farm boy,” Hidalgo shot back. “Cielo.”

Windsor pulled Hidalgo back in for a kiss, which lasted a lot longer than Hidalgo expected. When they broke apart, Hidalgo noticed out of the corner of his eyes that the access panel on the bottom of Windsor’s replicator had been removed.

“Wait. Did… did you break your replicator so I’d come down here?”

“What? No, it’s actually broken,” Windsor said, going over to tap at a completely non-responsive control panel.

“Oh. I thought you wanted to see me,” Hidalgo said, feeling a little letdown.

“Well… that’s why I called you instead of putting in a service request. I thought it was really good luck that I’d have a reason to get you out of engineering a few minutes early,” Windsor replied with a bright smile.

Of course, Mr. Goody Two Shoes wasn’t going to lie over the comm; the fact that he had thought he had done so at all was suddenly ridiculous when Hidalgo thought about how eager Windsor was to get the arch rule enforcer himself, Captain Lancaster, to like him. The replicator having broken for real was far too coincidental for Hidalgo’s taste. It seemed too much like the universe conspiring to put them together when there was no such force that could do such a thing.

“You don’t have any tools with you,” Windsor noted.

“Yeah… Well, we didn’t think it was a real call?”

“We? Did… all of engineering hear that and think I wanted to hook up?”

“Oh, no, just Commanders Slater and Nayar,” Hidalgo replied. “Slater didn’t get it, but she thought the same thing I did… I guess I’ll have to go get a toolkit, now, if that’s not what you meant…”

Before Hidalgo could turn to the door, Windsor curled his fingers behind the shorter man’s bicep and held him firmly in place.

“Later,” he said.

A while later, indeed, Hidalgo was able to solve the problem in the replicator pretty easily: the EPS equivalent of a circuit breaker had been tripped, so it was a simple matter of resetting it. He celebrated that minor victory by replicating two glasses of mezcal, taking them over to the bedroom where Windsor was dozing.

“Thanks,” Windsor said, blinking back to consciousness when Hidalgo set one of the drinks on the nightstand. “Wish you’d’ve just stayed with me, though,” he purred, pecking Hidalgo between the shoulder blades when he sat down on the bed.

“This way, I was able to log the repair in the computer without too much of a delay, in case anyone wants to check the records,” Hidalgo replied, taking a drink and setting the glass down before he was swept up into the other man’s arms. “I wonder how many other couples are doing this right now.”

“Lots of people had partners or… boyfriends… on the wrong half of the ship, so, I’m betting a lot,” Windsor replied. “It’s tough not knowing when the other person will be back.”

It was hard not to notice Windsor trying that word out, and for as much as Hidalgo wanted to think it was premature, it really wasn’t. He liked Windsor quite a bit, and being away from him for a week was just what he needed to realize that. Or maybe it was premature, but who’s to say they wouldn’t all end up dead at the end of this unending secret mission, anyway? After a split-second of thought, Hidalgo pinned Windsor’s wrists to the pillows and kissed him.

“Well, your boyfriend is right here, Nate, if you want him to be.”

Windsor grinned. “Definitely, Arturo,” he agreed.

“Good,” Hidalgo replied while he tried not to think about his heart doing unseemly fluttering things. “How about you tell me all of the hot gossip from your side of the mission over a steak dinner now that your replicator is working?”

Chief Communication Officer’s Log, Stardate 76705.7. Encrypted.

 

I am continuing to analyze the linguistic data that was provided by the Thalruatanians during our first contact mission to improve our universal translation software. There is reasonably clear evidence that the dominant Thalruatanian language, which descended primarily from the Thal language, shares features with languages from other nearby worlds in this quadrant, something that is indicative of interplanetary contact long before the Thalruatanians were themselves aware of it. I am consulting with Lieutenant Eirell in Cetacean Operations to see if she can offer any insights that might enrich my analysis.

 

End Log

Computer access within Cetacean Operations was provided at a number of consoles attached to the bulkheads along the sides of the vast tanks as well as at the many viewports that allowed aquatic crewmembers to interact with their terrestrial colleagues, but there were also a number of free-floating spherical computer terminals that could hold station at any level within the water. Lieutenant Galan allowed himself to float in the saltwater, with one hand on the console’s circular railing to keep from drifting off. His jet black hair flowed freely past his face in the currents as he studied the screen. The goggles he wore corrected for the refraction of the water and a standard breathing mask allowed him to work just as comfortably underwater as he would in his own lab.

“I agree that these morphological similarities are too similar to ignore, Lieutenant,” Galan said.

“It is, however, confusing why the Thalruatanians would not be aware of alien influence on their world,” Eirell replied, her language of clicks and squeaks translated a moment later through the Romulan’s earpiece.

Eirell was nearly three times as large as Galan was, but in the water she was able to move just as gracefully as a humanoid would on land, floating around the console to look at what Galan was seeing in the data. She didn’t wear a uniform, but instead a sort of bib with the rank pips of a lieutenant on science blue next to her commbadge, which was larger than standard to allow her to activate it more easily. Eirell oversaw the whole of cetacean operations, which included both fully sentient species like Xindi-Aquatics and semi-sentient, intelligent species that had duties ranging from linguistics to navigation to research and development. Beneath them, one of her colleagues swam with a pair of Terran dolphins towards the navigation lab.

Galan had almost learned enough of the Xindi-Aquatic language to understand basic words, but his proficiency wasn’t quite to the level of having expanded theoretical conversations without assistance. Growing up near Central Station on Vashti, he was used to malfunctioning universal translators and the full width and breadth of Romulan linguistic diversity on display, so he prided himself in being able to get at least the basics of most languages down pretty quickly. Given that the Xindi-Aquatic past tense was in frequencies used for SONAR, he was willing to give himself a pass on being able to ask where the bathroom was in Eirell’s native tongue.

“From what we’ve learned about the Thalruatanians, meticulous historical recordkeeping has never been a feature of their culture. They pave over things to make way for the next greatest technological advancement,” Galan noted, as he scrolled through some of the information. “As no visual records from that time period now exist, I suppose it’s not certain that the Thal and the Rua were actually the same species in antiquity.”

The Xindi made a face that Galan couldn’t quite interpret, before swimming around to the other side of the console.

“There’s no evidence biologically that Thalruatanians have any genetic material from outside their biosphere.”

“Well, co-habitation for extended periods–on the order of centuries–would be necessary for linguistic influence at this level. Once function words–pronouns, simple imperatives, and the like–it’s very difficult for them to change over time the same way that content words do,” Galan replied.

“I agree,” Eirell said, after several long moments.

Xindi-Aquatics had a cultural reputation for being slow, deliberate thinkers and Lieutenant Eirell was no exception to that rule. The conversation they were having around the display was much faster-paced than most of the others Galan had in the past with her, which must mean that the discoveries they were making were exciting at some level.

“I’m going to start a broader corpus analysis. Maybe the computer will find something we haven’t seen. Of course, until we make more detailed contacts with the surrounding systems, we can’t confirm alien influence anyway,” Galan replied, pressing a few sequences in on the holographic controls.

It took the Romulan a few attempts to hit the right buttons, even with the goggles he was wearing, which made the Xindi laugh, a series of low clicks.

“While I appreciate the gesture, it’s not necessary for you to enter the tank for you to interact with me,” Eirell reminded him.

“I don’t mind. The best way to learn a language is immersion, is it not?” Galan quipped.

That earned him another laugh.

“Vashti is a very arid world, so I am always fascinated by how much water is in this compartment,” Galan noted, idly.

Cetacean Ops took up a portion of the center of the saucer section, between the hanger and the computer cores, offering aquatic crewmembers portions of five decks in unprecedented comfort. Species like the Xindi-Aquatic who were water-breathing had their own private quarters towards the bottom of ‘the tank’ (which was actually a series of interconnected tanks) while air-breathing species tended to float closer to the top. At the center was a sort of ‘tower’, a half-cylinder structure projecting into the tank with different labs and control rooms for terrestrial crew members to interact with their shipmates from, while the top level was a flat deck that offered surface access. What Galan found most intriguing, though, were the large viewports in the area that served as the cetacean mess hall and lounge. Being underwater while also looking out into space was something that never got old for him.

“I served on a California-class starship early in my career which was not uncomfortable, but the facility on this vessel is a true wonder,” Eirell replied.

“I can only imagine what aquatic species we might encounter on this voyage. I’m eager to see how well the cetacean diplomatic area functions,” Galan said.

There was a chirp from Galan’s badge

“Lancaster to Lieutenant Galan. Report to my ready room on the double,” came the order.

“On my way, Captain,” Galan replied, but the channel was already closed.

The Xindi laughed again. “A benefit of not being able to leave this room is never being summoned anywhere. Good luck,” she said, before swimming off.

Galan had only met the captain once before, one-on-one, but he knew that when he said ‘on the double,’ that meant that he was already late. For a Human, Captain Lancaster had ideas about punctuality and obedience that were almost Romulan in their exactingness. The lieutenant made one last glance at the analysis materials on the console before transferring the ongoing process to his own lab. He swam to one of the wet-dry locks on the side of the cetacean ops tank. As he passed through the forcefield there, he squirmed slightly at the uncomfortable sensation of pushing through, as that field was just strong enough to squeeze the water off of one’s body to avoid leaving sopping wet pools there. Given that aquatic crewmembers were fully immersed in their habitat at all times, it also had the effect of wringing off any of the unavoidable biological detritus that one might have picked up along the way. Galan’s barely-regulation-length black hair was still quite moist, though, and the scent of brine hit him as soon as he took his mask off and clipped it to the belt of his wetsuit.

He made a beeline to the nearest turbolift, which whisked him up through the saucer section to the antechamber between the bridge and the captain’s ready room. When he approached the door, the yeoman, a young human, hopped up and looked at him quizzically.

“I have been summoned, Yeoman,” Galan said confidently, before walking up to the door and pressing the chime.

Galan’s sensitive hearing picked up the sound of the locks on the door disengaging. It was unusual for a door to be locked like that on a Starfleet ship, which piqued the lieutenant’s curiosity.

“Come!” the captain called from within.

When Galan entered the ready room, Captain Lancaster was facing away from the door studying several scrolling data feeds projected over the conference table. From the door, the communications officer could see Thalruatanian script on one side and an unknown script on the other side of Federation standard in the middle.

“What’s your progress on updating the universal translator with the information we received from the Thalruatanians?” Lancaster asked.

“I believe it’s proceeding well, sir. I have so far been unable to identify what alien influence is present within their language, but it is clear that there was likely extraterrestrial contact at some point in their history,” Galan reported. “Isolating what we believe to be the foreign elements to their language will make it easier for us to translate that second language, should we ever encounter it.”

“I think I know at least partially where that influence originated from, Lieutenant. Are you familiar with the Tkon?”

Galan cocked his head. “Yes, sir. I didn’t discern any of their influence from the data we received, though.”

“It’s a hunch based on a… larger mission I’ve been given,” Lancaster said. He sniffed and turned around, taking his eyes off of the data for the first time in that meeting to look at Galan. His blue eyes glancing “You’re wet and you stink, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Captain,” Galan replied, blinking at him. With such bluntness, the Galan was now positive that the captain had been a Romulan in a previous life.

“And barefoot.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Lancaster pinched the bridge of his nose. “As a linguist, I would expect you to understand the implied question I am asking.”

“I am still in uniform, sir. I interpreted your order to report ‘on the double’ to mean there was no time to change,” Galan replied, reaching up to brush a strand of briny hair off of his face.

“Fine,” Lancaster replied, visibly shaking off the absurdity of the situation. “But in the future, there’s always time to grab a towel, Lieutenant,” he said, gesturing for the Romulan to join him at the information display.

When Galan got closer, he could tell that the Federation Standard translation was some sort of greeting. There were phrases about peaceful exploration, hope, and friendship, among other things, along with a fragmented set of coordinates. He had no idea where the text had come from, as it wasn’t part of the package he had been given from their previous mission.

“I have definitive proof that Thalruatania was contacted by an outside species a few thousand years ago,” Lancaster explained. “We recovered an ancient space probe from far beneath the surface of the planet, and it was covered with these markings,” he said, pointing to the screen with the language unfamiliar to Galan.

“During your follow-up mission to the planet,” Galan noted. “If I may, though, sir, the Tkon were destroyed over 600,000 years ago. They are far to ancient to be the source of this probe.”

“I’m aware of that, but I believe the probe has been partially constructed out of salvaged Tkon technology. I need to know where the probe originated. There appear to be a set of coordinates, but they’re useless until we can figure out the frame of reference. Until you can, that is,” Lancaster said.

“Me, sir? Would someone in the social sciences section not be a more appropriate choice?”

As a communications officer, Galan was highly skilled in linguistics and the operation of communication devices, but this was much more in the vein of archaeology. Surely someone in the science department proper would be a better fit for the assignment. Lancaster rarely made capricious decisions, though, so there had to be a reason.

Lancaster shook his head. “No, you’re already working on the updates to the translator. I want as few eyes on this as possible, and you don’t have time to read someone else in,” he said, firmly. “The science department is otherwise occupied, and I want someone from the senior staff on this. Someone I can trust.”

“It might help to examine the physical artifact as well, then, sir,” Galan replied, though he was slightly surprised to hear that the captain trusted him. He’d assumed some level of trust to be granted a position of the importance his held, but they hadn’t interacted much before.

“I’ll grant you access to the secure cargo hold. Use whatever resources you need, but figure out where it came from. Understood?”

“Perfectly, Captain,” Galan replied.

“Good. Dismissed,” Lancaster replied.

Galan gave the human a short bow, before retreating from the ready room, lest he further be taken to task for his appearance. For all the talk on the ship, he had never found Lancaster to be unreasonable, but any small violations of protocol were enough to get him quite irritated. He had many more questions about why this new task of his was such a secret and where the probe he was going to examine really came from—as in how Lancaster was allowed to remove the historical patrimony of another culture. When he exited the ready room, the captain’s yeoman stood up again and cleared his throat.

“Lieutenant Galan, I’ve taken the liberty of replicating you a new uniform and a towel,” the young man said, gesturing to a neatly folded stack of cloth on the desk.

“Were you listening to my conversation with the captain, Yeoman…?”

“Yeoman Second Class Connor Kaplan, sir, and no, I was not. I just know the captain well enough that he would not have been pleased about you tracking water into his ready room,” Kaplan replied.

“Which you would have probably told me had I not brushed past you earlier,” Galan replied, with a smirk, as he picked up the clothing.

“Yes, sir.”

“You know who I am?” the lieutenant asked.

“I can recognize officers down to the assistant section head level by name and face, sir. But as the only Romulan aboard, you stand out,” Kaplan replied, with a smile that Galan interpreted as flirty.

In the lieutenant’s experience, most yeomen were friendly if not flirty because it made their jobs easier. Getting a thumbprint or verbal approval for some requisition was much easier when the officer you were approaching was in a good mood. He wondered how much they all talked, though, as the senior officers’ yeomen and other floating support staff were a natural information-gathering network on the Arcturus.

“Well, that’s first-rate yeomanry, then. First-class yeomanry, even,” Galan replied, with another smirk at his own pun.

Returning the flirtation was often a good move, he found. It also wasn’t unpleasant to do so. His own yeoman was a Grazerite. Though excellent at paperwork and keeping things off of his desk (metaphorically) that did not need to be there, she’d rarely offered to get him a meal, let alone replicate a uniform for his guests. All and all, her administrative prowess likely outweighed her unwillingness to be a gopher.

“There’s a head on deck two between the two conference rooms, if you’d like to take the stairs down, sir,” Kaplan replied, gesturing to the spiral stairs past his desk, and then sitting back down.

“Thank you, Yeoman Second Class Connor Kaplan,” Galan replied, giving him the same short bow he’d given the captain.

Taking the indicated route down the spiral stairs to deck two, Galan found the head, where he used the small sonic shower there to quickly purge his hair and skin of any remaining salt water, before pulling on the new uniform Kaplan had given him. In the mirror, he made sure that his hair was laying the way he liked, covering the points of his ears just enough so that he didn’t get too many second looks while walking the decks. When possible, he avoided letting on that he was, in fact, Romulan, given mixed feelings towards his race among Starfleet: either hostility or pitty were usually what he got, hostility for being the cause of the destruction of Utopia Planitia and pitty for likely being a refugee, which he was.

Galan ordered the nearest turbolift to take him to the secure cargo hold, which was located deep within the bowels of the stardrive section, forward of the secondary hanger. Meant to store sensitive, valuable, or dangerous items, the whole bay was lined with extremely rare and hard-to-produce neutronium armor, the same substance that the infamous planet killers were clad in. This allowed it to contain nearly any explosion short of a warp core breach. The entire bay could also be ejected through the keel of the ship, should the need arise. Within it, there was a large, roughly cylindrical object supported by several cradles. It had to be at least forty meters long, and from the dust and dirt on one end, Galan could immediately tell it had been found partially buried.

There was a small team already in the room examining it, including Lieutenant Commander Matarna Al-Noom, the ship’s historian. As an Aurelian, he was able to fly around the object, hovering to allow his handheld scanner to catch up with him as he did so. It wasn’t a standard tricorder, but rather a sophisticated holography device which he was likely using to record a detailed copy for the ship’s archives which would eventually be delivered to Starfleet.

“Commander Al-Noom, Captain Lancaster has asked me to take charge of the translation of this object,” Galan announced in a loud enough voice that the flying historian could hear him.

Al-Noom looked at him and finished his pass around the object with the scanner before flying over to him and dropping to the deck in front of him. His three-meter wide wings folded behind his body as he approached. Unlike Galan who had earned his doctorate directly through Starfleet Academy before being commissioned as a lieutenant, Al-Noom only held a provisional rank, granted to him after a very long service in the Federation Archival Service, working on Memory Beta and Memory Alpha. Long-lived like Vulcans, Aurelians often had many decades-long careers in their lives. Galan had read the commander’s file in preparation for his service on the ship, because of how unusual the Aurelian language was.

“Hmm. I wondered when he would send someone. This is very unusual. Very unusual, indeed, to have an artifact of such importance recovered from an inhabited world,” Al-Noom replied, looking the Romulan up and down, and as he came closer his full 2.5-meter height was very apparent. “Why you, little Romulan?”

Galan smirked. “Because I’m already upgrading the universal translator based on what we learned from the planet. I hope that’s not a problem?”

Al-Noom cocked his head. “Problem? No problem. You were simply not expected,” the Aurelian noted, gesturing for Galan to follow him over to a free-standing computer console, where he connected his scanner through a direct interface port. “You didn’t need to come down here, though. I have now fully digitized the object.”

“I thought that would be the case, but I find that the physical presence of a culture might provide… inspiration, no?” Galan replied.

“Well, you better get inspired fast. I’m not that used to starships yet, but I’m guessing these sorts of archaeology projects do not usually happen under classified directives and secret orders,” Al-Noom replied, with what Galan thought must be the avian equivalent of a chuckle, before flying to the other side of the room.

“No, they certainly do not,” Galan agreed, before delving into the analysis.

Assistant Chief Medical Officer’s Log, Supplemental. Starship Arcturus.

As we reintegrate the crew between both sections of the ship, it’s been a little bit of a headache resuming our regularly scheduled medical routine, especially when it comes to patients who receive regular treatment for any number of chronic ailments. We’re also reconciling medical and pharmacological records, and ensuring that the medical department heads are up-to-date on all patients’ conditions. What this means, unfortunately, is that we’re going to have an abnormally long staff meeting.

End Log

Not including his two deputies and the ship’s counselor, there were ten department heads under Doctor Anjar as Captain of Medicine, meaning every single seat in the medical department’s briefing room was filled. It had been nearly an hour by the time of them all ten of them had given their general reports, starting with Dr. T’Rai in surgery and ending with Master Chief Corpsman Alistair Watson in medical support. Luca Sheppard generally considered himself to be a very patient person, but it had tested even the limits of his attention span and patience when they moved into reports on individual patients, alphabetically of course.

Even with all of this information in the computer, all of them needed to be fully briefed on the details because in an emergency situation with the computer down, any one of them could be put in a position where they would need to render treatment. Not knowing the patient’s history or ongoing treatments could lead to mistakes. As much as Sheppard ruefully wished for a torpedo to hit the conference room to stop the interminable meeting, it was ironically when the medical department had its most eggs in one basket. He glanced across the table at Dr. Larc, the ship’s pathologist and epidemiologist, wondering what the reports of bedside manner would be if the Tellarite were forced to deal with living patients, should the worst happen.

“I do have one patient to report on,” Dr. Aeyrn Quinn said, with a smile.

As head of reproductive medicine, she was often not very busy aboard the Arcturus at least in her capacity as helping families through the birthing process. While Starfleet didn’t impose any policies restricting crewmembers from having children, it was encouraged to avoid having children if culturally acceptable or biologically possible while on a deep space mission.

“Commander Nehal Nayar has been trying for several months with her husband, Finn MacRory, to conceive a child. I was able to confirm a short while ago that she is now pregnant with twins,” Quinn announced, after a short pause for suspense, leading to applause around the table.

“I do love babies,” Commander Vircar, Head of Nursing, noted. “What a lovely surprise for Mister MacRory to come back to.”

“Absolutely,” Anjar echoed. “Just like the surprise we all came back to: your completion of the bridge officer’s exam, Commander Vircar,” he added, causing the room to give another round of applause at the third pip on Vircar’s uniform.

“Thank you, Doctor, and thanks of course to Luca for helping me study,” Vircar replied.

Sheppard had helped her study for several weeks, while she worked with Captain Rakan to prepare for the exam, so he’d been pleased to see she’d passed once they returned. Nursing was often a field that had rank roadblocks because most ships were just too small to need a nurse of that rank when many CMOs were mere lieutenants, but the Arcturus presented a unique opportunity for her.

Luckily there were only about thirty crew members who needed to be discussed directly. There were many more with chronic conditions under treatment, but only a handful had gone along with the stardrive section.

“Doctor Anjar, I noticed in the logs that a substantial amount of theta radiation medications were administered during the mission, but there are no corresponding notations of any diagnoses that would warrant their use,” Dr. Tenesh noted, once all of the patients had been discussed.

Tenesh was the senior of the two assistant chief medical officers, the one left behind during the saucer separation. An Orion, she was meticulous, forthright, and near-desperate to prove that she was the model of rule-following and Starfleet decorum, or at least that’s how it came across. Despite being married to him, Sheppard suspected that Lancaster preferred her to him, at least professionally, as the two seemed so eerily similar sometimes. Sheppard glanced at Anjar to see how he would field that question, the first they had received about their classified mission.

“It was administered prophylactically. All impacted crewmembers have been monitored and the drugs have left their system. Ideally, we won’t need to do that again but the Captain wants us to increase our stocks and make sure all personnel are trained in its administration,” Anjar replied, levelly.

“That’s highly irregular, Doctor.”

“Sure is, but that’s the Omega Directive for you,” Anjar replied, with a shrug. “Alright, let’s get back to work,” he said, as a way of dismissal.

As the medical team started filing out of the conference room, Sheppard was momentarily surprised when someone clapped him on the back and put his arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, buddy. Are you on duty this shift?” Austin Carver asked.

Sheppard and Carver had been roommates at the academy and then reconnected a few years prior when they were both serving on Earth. Carver was essentially a human golden retriever, full of energy and affection at all times. It had taken Lancaster a little bit to get used to how tactile he was with his old friend Sheppard, but along with Jack van Dorland, they’d developed a tight-knit friend group that they were happy to get to restart when Carver and van Dorland left Starbase 38 to join them on the Arcturus mid-year. Carver was a counselor but also had a medical doctorate, while the head counselor did not, so he held a dual role as Head of Psychiatric Medicine.

“If you were listening during the briefing, you’d know that I’m not, Austin,” Sheppard replied, with a chuckle.

“Hey, I saw you about to fall asleep a few times, so no lectures. Want to hit the gym? Tell me all about your secret mission,” Carver suggested.

“You’re not getting any details out of me, but sure,” Sheppard said.

“Don’t underestimate me, Luca,” the counselor reminded him, as they walked down the corridor, forward towards their favorite of the ship’s many gyms.

They stopped first in the adjacent locker room, which synthesized appropriately-sized athletic apparel for both of them when they each put their thumbprint on a vacant locker. When they returned the clothes, the locker would dematerialize them and sanitize the compartment. Apparently, it was less energy-intensive than having a ship’s laundry or asking everyone to walk around with their own gym bag, but it still made Sheppard marvel at how much power the ship produced if they had enough to spare for this indulgence.

“I hope you didn’t slack this week,” Carver chided, as the two of them got changed.

There was little shame between the two of them, as they’d lived together and seen each other in the buff many, many times, so much to the point that their relationship was brotherly. They were about the same height—Sheppard was a little taller—and the same build, though he considered himself to be in slightly better shape than Carver was. He was positive the other man thought the same thing about him, though, and they were very competitive with one another when it came to fitness.

“You wish,” Sheppard replied. “I’m on chest day, so I hope you haven’t been skipping any yourself.”

“Nope. Things were pretty sedate here. I’m still on my routine,” Carver confirmed, as they left the locker room and went to the weight area of the gym, which was only sparsely used. One of the reasons they liked that particular gym besides its proximity to the medical department was that it seemed to be less popular than the others.

“Sedate sounds nice. Isn’t that what we were all supposed to get this week anyway?” Sheppard noted as he configured the weights on the bench press machine. The bar itself was capable of changing its own weight with a gravity generator so it no longer needed plates on both ends.

“Hey, you’re the one with an ear—or more—with the boss,” Carver teased.

“He’s as annoyed as anyone, I think. It interrupted vacation on the holodeck pretty early,” Sheppard said.

“Must’ve been some vacation if Michael didn’t want to leave the holodeck.”

“Greek isles. He had me pick this time.”

Sheppard put his hands on the bar as Carver got behind him to spot. While the computer should automatically stop the bar from crushing him, it wasn’t worth leaving that to chance. Once he was sure of his grip, he picked the bar up off of the rack and began his workout. Exercise was one of the things in life that he was most passionate about, a trait he shared with his friend Carver. He felt that he could truly lose himself while in the gym, focusing just on his form and improving himself, and he always left feeling stress-free and refreshed.

Once Sheppard had done his set, they traded places, not really talking as both of them used settings that were quite close to their maximums. That happened more often when the two of them worked out together than when he worked out alone because either of them would be quick to accuse the other of not giving it their all at the slightest opportunity.

Once they were done with the benchpress, Carver swung around on it to face Sheppard, resting his forearms on the bar itself as he took a breather.

“Do you think Michael will want to hang out tonight… or… is he still in stressed captain mode?”

“Maybe. Being around friends might help him out of that mode. We could ask Jack, too,” Sheppard replied.

It was about 50/50 whether or not Lancaster would want to see other people, as he had been so intent on his mission that Sheppard sort of doubted whether he’d be back in their quarters before midnight anyway, but what could they reasonably do in the middle of open space? They were at least a day away from anywhere, so he had to relax at some point.

Carver frowned. “Jack has a date tonight, he said.”

“Oh, with Slater?”

“Yeah. The two of them are getting serious.”

“You don’t seem very happy about that,” Sheppard noted. “Have we reached the part in the cycle where you want him but he doesn’t want you, again.”

“It’s hardly a cycle,” Carver replied, shaking his head. “But, yeah, I guess so.”

Carver and van Dorland’s on-again, off-again relationship had gone on for as long as the two of them had been friends with Sheppard and Lancaster on Earth. They were very close friends, even closer than Sheppard and Carver were, but they never worked as a couple, not for more than a few weeks at a time before one of them would do something short-sided, or they’d realize for the umpteenth time that they’re not what either man is looking for.

“For a counselor, you’re kind of a mess,” Sheppard replied, with a small smile. “Can’t you just be happy that he’s seeing someone?”

“I’m trying to be. But it’s cuffing season.”

“What does that mean?”

“It basically means that everyone’s finding themselves to shackle themselves to right now. Jack and Slater. Windsor and Hidalgo. Those two Trill in Stellar Cartography…,” Carver listed, ticking off on his fingers. “We’re in the middle of a dangerous mission, so people are looking for a port in the storm.”

“You’ve only listed three couples, though.”

“Three that I know for sure about,” Carver replied. “I’m telling you, everyone’s going to end up coupled up by the end of the week.”

“Well… stop complaining and go find someone of your own, then?” Sheppard suggested, before glancing around the gym and following a number of sets of eyes back to Carver. “There are at least six people of three different genders checking you out right now.”

“That’s not really what I’m saying… but he’s cute…,” Carver said, glancing off towards the cardio area, and then shaking himself out of it. “What I mean is that I’m worried they might be rushing into things because of the danger.”

“They’ve known each other for months, Austin.”

“I know, because I was there the first time they met, and the three of us went out the night he came to the starbase,” Carver reminded him. “Go ahead and lecture me about being jealous.”

“I don’t think that’s an unreasonable concern, but have you tried talking with Jack about it?” Sheppard said.

“Of course not. He’ll assume that it’s because I’m trying to wreck things,” Carver said. “And… maybe I would be? It’s not like we’ve got a great track record.”

Sheppard sighed. He was almost positive that van Dorland would feel a little put out if the situation were reversed, but Carver’s most noticeable flaw—and the one that most often got him into trouble—was one that he shared with Sheppard, a sense of possessiveness. He was the same way towards Lancaster, though in that case their relationship was very stable, while in Carver’s case it wasn’t. They both either needed to be single or dating other people at the same time for either of them to be happy, it seemed like. Counselor, counsel thyself.

“It’s ok to be sad he’s seeing someone. But please don’t get worked up about this. You know how you get,” Sheppard pleaded.

“Yeah,” Carver agreed, looking off to the side. “Let’s move on before I start to spiral on this.”

They moved onto incline presses, then the incline fly, pullovers, cable flies, and dips, before pushups to complete their workout. The whole time, Sheppard noticed Carver pushing himself harder than usual, forcing him to struggle to keep up by the end.

“You really think I’ll feel better if I find someone else myself?” Carver asked, as the two were cleaning off in the communal sonic shower attached to the locker room.

“For a while anyway. You’d probably feel even better if the two of you worked out your issues, though,” Sheppard replied. When he turned, he caught a towel square in the face from Carver.

“Is it lonely up there on your pedestal?”

Sheppard picked up the towel. “Sometimes,” he said, flashing Carver a smirk. He went over to start pulling his uniform on when his badge chirped.

“Lancaster to Sheppard.”

“Go ahead. I’m with Austin, just for reference.”

“I should be free this evening if you want to bring him along to dinner. Bring Jack, too.”

“Jack has a date,” Carver volunteered from the background.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I see. I guess it’s a three-bottle night, then.”

“At least,” Sheppard agreed.

In Carver’s opinion, Lancaster had always acted significantly older than he actually was. Now at 35 and in command of one of the largest ships in Starfleet, he had an even more serious aura to him, with the clear weight of command settled in heavily on his shoulders. He did seem pleased to be around Carver and Sheppard, but he was pretty quiet for most of the night.

Apparently, Lancaster had put up a fight when the admiral insisted he move to the captain’s cabin on the forward end of decks two and three, saying that their original quarters were more than spacious enough, but Hayden had wanted there to be no doubts about who was in command. She’d taken the flag officer’s suite down on decks six and seven, which was a little larger but didn’t have quite the same view and was farther from the bridge. Carver hadn’t been aboard before Lancaster took command, but he could only imagine what the first officer’s quarters were like if he’d not felt the need to rush into the two-deck suite they were sitting in then.

From the seating and dining area on the lower level, the view out into space was magnificent. Above there was the sleeping loft, connected to a spacious en suite on one side, complete with a two-person jacuzzi tub. The lower level had a separate dining room (redundant, as the official “Captain’s Dining Room” was on the forward end of deck four) with a real kitchen on one side and a den on the other side. Carver’s own quarters had great views, too, but from the captain’s cabin, you really felt like you were on top of the universe.

“I can’t believe you still socialize with me, living up here in your palace,” Carver noted, looking around the room and settling back on the white leather sofa.

“It’s good to keep the little people around so one is aware of one’s own ascension,” Lancaster replied, smirking as Sheppard sat down and put his arm around him. To anyone else, they’d probably take him at face value, but Carver knew that Lancaster didn’t actually think quite so highly of himself.

They were pretty much the ultimate power couple in Carver’s imagination, both at the top of their fields. Attractive, well-matched in personality, and a natural fit together. For quite a while, Carver had imagined that he and Jack van Dorland would eventually figure out how to make a relationship work, and then the friend group would be two couples.

“Little people like you, Austin,” Sheppard added.

“Yeah, I got that, Luca,” Carver said, laughing. He put his head back on the sofa for a moment and then looked back over at them. Being the third nacelle wasn’t all that uncommon for him, but most of the time they’d spent together had been in a group of four, so he found himself wondering if he was going to get kicked out sometime soon. “How are you two doing?”

Lancaster looked at his husband. “It’s tough not being able to say much. For both of us.”

“I hope your plan isn’t to ply classified details out of him with alcohol,” Sheppard chided. “Because I’ve tried and it doesn’t work.”

“Nope, just a gentle nudge for Michael not to do that ‘I am an island’ thing,” Carver replied pointedly.

“Noted,” the captain replied. “I’ve got good people around me. On staff, and… otherwise,” he added, gesturing to the room around him to indicate both his friend and his husband.

“That’s about as emotive as you’re going to get on bottle one,” Sheppard noted. “Ready for the second, while we look through the crew manifest and find Austin someone for ‘cuffing season’?”

“Absolutely. Let’s give him the one thing he’s never ever needed before in his life: love advice,” Lancaster enthused.

“Using me as a distraction from your own problems isn’t healthy, Michael,” Carver quipped.

“Captain’s prerogative. I’ll use you how I see fit, Commander.”