Captain’s Log, stardate 77547.8.

 

I’d always been taught and told that the Badlands were a particularly rough patch of space, something to seriously consider alternatives to before entering, even for the most stalwart of crews and ships. Turns out Atlantis is a bit of a badass. Our initial plan however to sprint through the Badlands as fast as we could hit a snag in the form of two freighters, encountered heading to DS47, so I opted to provide an impromptu escort. 

 

The Captains Franklin were a delightful pair and I’m glad circumstances let me meet them, but more importantly swap a few stories with them over dinner. Their daughter, Zoey, was a delightfully engaging young girl we played host to for two days after she asked if she could be my assistant for a couple of days over dinner. She just about exploded when I made her an acting junior officer for her stay and her fathers have informed me she won’t stop talking about joining Starfleet when she’s older. I may have created a monster! She’ll make a fantastic officer one day with her determination to, and I quote, visit every star in the universe. 

 

I think Lieutenant Fightmaster isn’t terribly happy with me making him her escort aboard the ship, but he frankly did an amazing job. I’m still struggling with the concept of a yeoman, but with the amount of paperwork this ship generates, Stirling has become fundamental to getting it all done. We arrive at DS47 within the hour and I’ve given orders for a few days’ leave to the crew to give everyone a chance to breathe before we set off. I’m frankly looking forward to hogging one of the holosuites aboard the ship for a few days and spending some time with Lin.

“Answering all stop,” T’Val said from the helm, bringing Atlantis to a dead stop relative to the Narendra-class station, Deep Space 47. T’Val had brought the mighty ship to just over one hundred meters from one of the station’s many circumferential docking ports, but Atlantis’ length would preclude the use of at least one of the others. Though with the light traffic present at current, it didn’t seem like it would be that big an imposition.

“Inform station ops Rrr that we’re ready for docking,” Mac announced from his seat and waited as the Gaen went through their motions. Before he could speak a series of polite alarms let T’Val and Adelinde both know the ship was now under a tractor beam, just enough to pull the ship in close and precise to the docking port.

“Starboard saucer docking port is reading hard capture. Seals are good and umbilicals are connecting,” Rrr announced from Ops. With a polite chirp from their console, Rrr smiled, then tapped the button to open comms to the station.

“USS Atlantis,” the same dry male voice that had greeted them when they dropped out of warp came spilling from the bridge speakers, “Deep Space 47 welcomes you to the Thomar Expanse. All facilities are open to your crew for the duration of your stay.”

“Thank you DS47, a pleasure to be here.” Mac smiled as he got to his feet. “Looking forward to seeing what you people have to offer.”

“Tastes of home and afar Atlantis. 47 out.”

And with that, the line went dead and Mac was left with a bridge of eager folks all looking at him for his words. “Hey, don’t look at me, Rrr made the leave schedule.” That bought him relief as all eyes shifted to the Gaen who kept their rocky expression perfectly still.

“Oh, you wanted that done today?” Rrr asked, waited a moment, then another, a few faces went from expectation to bordering on exasperation, perhaps ready to figure out how to strangle a silicon life-form to death, before they tapped a single button.

The main viewer switched over to the leave schedule for the immediate bridge staff, and then everyone’s consoles started to chirp as well, informing them of new documents sent through the ship’s mail routing to each of them – their departmental schedules. “You may all wish to start informing your departments,” Rrr spoke. “Commander Velan and I both agreed we’d need all hands for at least six hours to secure the ship before we start cycling personnel for leave. Everyone has two days leave, staggered to maximise what crew remain aboard the ship, giving Atlantis a total of four days here at DS47.”

“You didn’t break up any of the budding relationships we have aboard ship did you?” Mac asked, not wanting to have to deal with complaints that could, no, make that would arise if the handful of couples were broken up.

“While my intelligence of such matters is not all-encompassing, I have worked with Counsellor Hu and other discreet resources to learn about what relationships I could and minimise any fall out from staggered leaves.”

“What Rrr means to say,” Gabrielle said from Sciences, “is that they spoke with the serving staff in Port Royal and learned all the gossip.”

“And such juicy gossip too,” Rrr said, smiling to the best of their ability. “Oh, the things I know…”

“Alright, alright, keep it to yourself,” Mac said, taking centre stage. “Everyone who needs to, get your relief people up here, then go take care of your departments, those who are just awesome, get started on it from here I guess.” With a series of acknowledgements, he then set off for the Ready Room.

The door did not impede the man, who entered to find a rather common sight the last few weeks even – Tikva in her chair, Fightmaster across the desk opposite her, back to him, and a pile of padds on the desk. From the looks of it though, smaller than the last few days.

“Do I want to know?” he asked tentatively, stepping in to let the door close and cut off the commotion of a bridge trying to see how quickly they could secure a starship and get leave started.

“Hmm?” Tikva asked, looking up. “Oh, we’re done with the reports. Stirling and I have been going over every report of every previous scout ship into the Expanse, what Central Command was willing to give Starfleet and even a few star charts bought from Ferengi Commercial Intelligence.”

His left eyebrow had been rising as she spoke and soon enough he’d taken the other seat, collected a padd and looked at it. From the nature of the tidy stack he had removed it from and the less tidy one beside it, he figured he’d taken it from the unread pile. Fightmaster would have corrected him otherwise, yes? “USS Bamako? Missing since 2377? Heightened Breen provocations? Cardassian military factionalism regarding Starfleet?” He scrolled through the padd before setting it down. “I can see why we got sent out here then.”

“I get to speak softly and carry the big stick,” Tikva said, with far too much glee in her smile. There was no denying from the current force composition he’d last seen that theirs was the premiere combat vessel if called to it, but they weren’t a slouch either on pure exploration.

“The captain however has been considering our exploratory options past Ultima Thule,” Fightmaster finally spoke, his tone precise, calm and quiet, like he was reading a lecture with the intent to put a class to sleep.

In response to his questioning look at her, Tikva set her padd down and relaxed some. “Yes, Atlantis is a big stick. We’re probably a provocation to any and all who even get a whiff of our warp signature. I’m going to speak with this Fleet Captain Sudari-Kravchik about running us along the length of the Expanse and then letting us disappear out of sight into the Unknown Regions. Everyone gets a good look at the brand-new ship on the block, she gets to use us as a bargaining chip, we’re not that far removed if we have to sprint back, but we’re not in the immediate area winding everyone up.”

“Out of sight, out of mind?” he asked for clarification.

“Until the Fleet Captain throws our name around and reminds everyone that she’s got Atlantis in reserve. But heck, she’s got Nobel by herself, plus I hear another Galaxy-class is making its way out here eventually. Then a gaggle of lighter ships too.” She smiled at him, then shuffled three padds on the desk around, adding a fourth when Fightmaster pushed one towards her without looking up from his own. “Pick one.”

Each had been placed screen down on the desk, so all he had to go on was his gut. No hint as to what was on any of the padds, what secrets would be revealed. So, he reached out and pointed at one, then picked it up when Tikva indicated he should, turning it over and turning the device on to look at what was before him.

“Oh, this could be fun.” He handed it over when his captain just held out her hand for it.

She nodded appreciatively at the padd’s contents before handing it over to Fightmaster, who reviewed it, gave a single nod, and then returned it to Tikva, all without a word said.

“Well alright then, that’s the start of the list.” The padd got put down in a very specific clear part of her desk, face down once more. “Want to help sort the rest?”

“All of this?” he asked, waving a hand over in the direction of the pile.

His response was a cheeky smile from Tikva and Fightmaster just grabbed another padd and handed it to him.

Captains Log, supplemental.

 

With Mac’s help, Stirling and I have selected four points of interest past Ultima Thule we’d like to visit, all of them only imaged so far via subspace telescope. I have a meeting with the Fleet Captain in the morning over subspace as apparently the USS Nobel is away undertaking some routine survey work nearby. Then a meeting an hour after that with the station commander who wanted to make some introductions. Our first shore parties left the ship a few hours ago on leave and I’m already hearing gossip of fine eateries, a few bespoke drinking establishments and a variety of other entertainments to partake in upon the station.

 

I’m going to meet Lin in the Captain’s Mess shortly and we’ll start our exploration of the station tomorrow after my meetings. Still have the holosuites lined up starting tomorrow evening. Two days of Mediterranean spring sounds absolutely delightful at the moment.

Blake thought to herself that the beauty of earbuds was how she could listen to what she wanted, when she wanted, where she wanted, without angering, annoying or imposing on anyone else around her. They allowed her to have her own personal soundtrack as she went through the universe.

The only problem she really had with the ones she possessed though, was that in order to achieve that state of not annoying those around her, they did a fantastic job of blocking outside noise from getting to her, allowing people from time to time to sneak up on her. Like right now.

She’d found herself a spot on one of the upper levels of the Galleria, a terraced garden itself part of one of the larger terrace sections, with a decent view of the open levels below and a decent angle around the curves of the station. The tree she’d opted to sit under must have been imported, its size and apparent age a giveaway, but it gave the place a lived-in feeling that other parts of the station currently lacked.

She’d not even heard anyone approaching, much less been looking, opting to look out the expansive windows. The Badlands were present, a small orange smear reduced to no larger than her hand held at arm’s length. The dorsal curve of Atlantis’ saucer peeked up over the bottom edge of the gallery windows, running lights blinking gently, marking the passing of time. Those distractions kept her from noticing the man that had approached and sat himself down beside her cross-legged. She’d only noticed him when the aroma of coffee assailed her nostrils as he held the covered cup in front of her.

A slightly startled gasp and the removed her earbuds, pocketing them with her right hand while accepting the coffee with her left. “Hmmm,” she intoned, taking in the aroma, popping off the lid that only served to limit how much could pass from the cup at any time and taking her first sip, luxuriating in the taste before deciding to re-join the realm of lesser beings, those not living on the Caffeinated Planes.

“Where did you find a proper San Fran mocha on this station Chuck?” she asked finally, then saluted him with the cup as she saw him enjoying his own cup. “And where did you get that god-awful Hawaiian shirt from?”

“The coffee shall remain a mystery, mine to perhaps show you before the end of the day, in order that you keep me around,” Charles MacIntyre said with a grin. “As for the shirt, I’ve always had this thing. Serves a purpose,” he said, pulling at the fabric slightly, looking down to inspect it.

“What, scare people off?” she asked mockingly.

“If you can’t handle the shirt, you can’t handle me,” he answered, then winked as he took a sip from his coffee. A sip moderated by that useless lid she noted.

“So, it’s date-filter. If she doesn’t get scared off by the shirt, she’s can handle the worst you’ve got to offer?” She leaned away from him for a moment, to take in the whole effect of the shirt, shorts and sandals he’d opted to wear today, the first of their two days of holiday.

“I thought you said this wasn’t a date?” he asked her, his gaze going to the windows just like hers had been before he arrived. “Or is it?”

“It’s a not-date date,” she announced. “Besides, you’ll need worse than a Hawaiian shirt to scare me off. I said it’s god-awful, not hideous or terrifying. I’ve got worse than that shirt.” She opted to shift from leaning against the tree to leaning against Charles. “So, you bring me offerings off coffee, a shirt that brings dishonour to the people of Hawaii, what else have you got planned for today oh Mr MacIntyre?”

“Walk around the Galleria, find somewhere for lunch, a bit of shopping, dinner perhaps?” He sounded to her like none of his plans were entirely set in stone, that he was just offering a vague outline of the day to her, which suited her just fine. Meant spontaneity could grip them and off they’d go.

“How about some brunch first?” she asked. “I saw this charming looking place about three sections spinward that declared themselves home to the best eggs benedict this side of Bajor.”

“You know that means they could be terrible right?”

“You found damn good coffee, maybe we’ll get lucky twice, right?”

What had turned out to be a delightful brunch became a comfortable walk, browsing the station’s wares, going nowhere incredibly slowly. Then lunch from a vendor that neither she nor Charles had recognised their species and neither of their universal translators wanted to work correctly with. It didn’t stop them from understanding what either of them had said lunch had actually been surprisingly good. But somewhere between that and dinner, things had gotten remarkably side-tracked.

Like either horrible, colossal and career-limiting side-tracked, or fantastic and wonderful, possibly career-limiting side-tracked. The answer to that question wouldn’t be obvious for some time, but right now, it wasn’t on either of their minds.

“So,” Charles said as they were both lying on his bed, modesty only provided by a bedsheet.

She blinked, trying to force her brain to process the single word he’d just said. It was language, wasn’t it? Yes. One she knew even. “Wow,” she muttered when she figured out a response.

“Yeah,” he responded. He sounded out of it, which was a remarkable thing to think about someone when she could barely think herself.

“That,” he said after another minute of them both just staring at his ceiling, catching their breath, “was not part of the plan.”

“Don’t hear me objecting,” she responded. The bedsheet was pulled up just a touch as she rolled onto her side to face him. “Though, uh…this going to cause problems?”

He looked like he was mulling it over for a moment, then shrugged his bare shoulders. “Don’t know, is it?” he asked her.

“We’re two professional individuals, just having a bit of fun, right?” He nodded in agreement with her. “And as long as we don’t let feelings get in the way, shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Right,” Charles said, smiling. “What we do outside of work shouldn’t impact our professional lives at all.”

They both managed to keep a straight face for about three seconds before bursting into a small fit of laughter. How many times had she told herself that particular lie? How many times had he? The laughter lasted only a moment before they both settled down. “But seriously,” she started, “this isn’t going to cause problems?” she waved a hand between the two of them. “I mean, this was just a bit of fun right?”

“You said you didn’t want to put labels on anything,” Charles said. “Sounds like a label to me.”

She rolled back onto her back, sighing. Logic, being used against her? How dare he.

“Blake, you’re the one that’s asked me out, every time so far I might add.” It was his turn to roll onto their side and talk to the other. “You don’t want to be serious, just have some fun, I’m happy to. If you want to label this, go ahead. But,” he trailed off, his gaze lifting from hers to somewhere in the middle distance.

“But?” she asked, to refocus him.

“But I’m enjoying this, whatever this is.”

Their not-a-relationship had started just about the time that Atlantis had been commissioned, with her coming on to him at one of the captain’s parent’s dinners. Getting a drink together from time to time, dinner occasionally, just hanging out and shooting the breeze after work. But lately, it had become a little bit more and she couldn’t quite place the trigger for what had happened today that had her pulling him in for a kiss, or exactly how they’d ended up here, but they had.

He was fun, not bad to look at, gave a good massage, knew how to mix a drink and was proficient in matters best left undisclosed going by how her whole body still felt right now.

“Dammit,” she muttered, looking at him with a smile. “Are you being patient with me and letting me set the pace of this relationship?”

“Did you just call this a relationship?” he countered right away.

“Answer the damn question.”

“Yes I am,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of wrecked relationships from being an idiot, might as well try a different approach this time.”

She sighed, hands coming up to cover her face as she mulled things over. Charles wasn’t just going to be some fling, not with her relatively recent assignment and Atlantis’ new mission. At least not a fling that could poison the ship’s atmosphere. But could she stop her own self-sabotage? Why did relationships have to be so hard and why did she have to keep falling for the ones she just wanted to have fun with?

“Ugh, stupid totally reasonable and patient man, why must you be so?” she asked.

“I just am.” Charles smiled at her, then past her at the clock on the far side of his bed. “Still got time to put dinner back on the plans for the day.”

“You’re supposed to buy dinner first you know.” She reached up and hooked a hand behind his neck, pulling him close once more.

“Oh, my bad.” He was silenced by her kiss.

They never did get dinner that evening.

“Seriously, how did we all end up with all of our shore leave days lining up together?” asked Kelly as she sat herself down next to Matt in the collection of seats and couches their group always ended up assembling.

Port Royal, a name which seemed to be sticking for the ship’s primary lounge, never kept seats clumped together for a group of eight, but that never stopped the group of friends when they were able to line up schedules for socialising that wasn’t gaming. And so, while a good number of the crew were station-side enjoying leave and some others were stuck aboard keeping the lights on, like the collected officers assembled here after their shifts, there was no one to complain about seats and couches being moved around.

“Somethings up, but it’s not ours to question why,” Matt said as he accepted the pint from his girlfriend, giving her a quick peck on the cheek for it. “I’m just going to take it as it comes. Two days of not working, a chance to wander around a new station and unwind before we’re all launched head first into the great unknown.”

“You know that last part is like the primary part of the job description when you signed up right?” Chuck asked. He and Hito were the only non-coms in their group and things had been said from time to time about that, but no one else in the group worked in Engineering and the rule of the group was ‘rank means nothing’.

“I think it said ‘boldly go where no one has gone before’ actually,” Kelly responded, “but launched head first into the great unknown is pretty much what lower deckers are for right?”

“Might be for you lot, but I’m a valued and respected member of the Engineering detail,” Chuck said, earning a snort of disagreement from one Hito Tanaka. “Something to say, funny man?”

“Chuck, buddy, pal, friend,” Hito said, padding for time, “you and I just spent a day recalibrating and cleaning the secondary impulse exhaust manifolds. Not the primary, but the secondary. If you were valued and respected, you think you’d get the secondary?”

“Ah screw you Hito,” Chuck answered.

“Maybe later you two,” Nerys spoke up. “I’m looking forward to just having a few days off and being able to do whatever. Seriously, there’s a bar on the station, real alcohol, not this synthehol stuff. Who’s with me for cocktail hour?”

The seat of hands did include everyone at the table.

“One more shift each and then we’re all on leave,” Wy’run said, then looked to Matt. “Aside from a night out getting drunk, it seems,” he said with a salute to Nerys with his cider, “big gaming session or one-off?”

Everyone’s attention immediately shifted to Matt, who just stared them all down while sipping his beer. He took his sweet time, enjoying the focused attention, and would have taken longer if Kelly hadn’t reached over and pinched him in the side with a viciousness ranking on assault. When he tossed an aggrieved look all she did was wink at him and smile. A moment more, shaking his head, he turned to the table. “I’m not running anything. Does someone else want to perhaps?”

Everyone looked around at their fellows, trying desperately to spot the one face giving away hints of something brewing behind the scenes. Or just steam coming from ears or fires from gear grease catching alight.

“I’ve got a one-odd idea,” Kelly finally said after nearly half a minute. “Day two perhaps? Nothing serious, just some light-hearted fun perhaps?”

“What system?” Nerys immediately asked.

“We need characters?” Jessica asked.

“What type of dice?” came from Tanaka.

Kelly raised a hand and a few unasked questions died on people’s lips. “Character creation will be done and it’ll literally take like ten minutes at most. Just bring all your dice, but you’ll only need three of them at most, usually two, so Chuck will be able to cycle most of his dice through jail as we go.”

“Setting?” Wy’run asked.

“Its turn of last millennia Earth, middle of nowhere monster hunt. You’ll be playing Lieutenant!” Kelly’s last sentence made little sense to everyone until those who could see them registered the presence of Lieutenant Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr, which then dragged everyone’s attention to the hulking Gaen in his uniform.

Before anyone could even make efforts to put drinks down and get to their feet, the Gaen had waved a hand, indicating they stay seated. “No need to stand Ensigns, Petty Officers,” they said with their characteristic rumble. “I’ve come to make an inquiry actually.”

“Of who sir?” Matt asked. He’s always been the quickest off the draw with the group after all, hence why he was the normal GM.

“The entire group actually, but primarily yourself Ensign Williams, as I understand you are the master of ceremonies within your social group. Do you mind if I join you?”

A chorus of ‘No, not at all’ or similar erupted around the table and Chuck was offering his seat in quick order, before finding and dragging an empty seat over, forcing his way between Nerys and Wy’run. “Uh, how can we help Lieutenant?” Jessica then asked, breaking an awkward silence.

“Your particular form of group entertainment is…intriguing. I’ve seen plenty of people participate in re-enactments or games on the holodeck, but you all seem to prefer this more primitive form. You don’t even rely on holograms for your little models,” Rrr said, their clasped hands coming to rest on the surface of the table.

“That’s part of the charm actually,” Matt answered for the group. “No technology, no fancy tricks. Just some models, some paper, dice and a set of agreed-upon rules. Then it’s all creative storytelling, dice rolls and imagination.”

“So as the master of ceremonies, you are responsible for creating the story then?” Rrr asked directly of Matt.

“In the hobby, it’s called Game Master, but yah, for the most part. I come up with the broad strokes ahead of time, then finer details as we progress. Need to be able to improvise a lot as well since I honestly have no idea how this lot will respond to anything I lay in front of them.” He glared directly at Hito who just gave the perfect ‘Who me?’ look, hand to his chest in mock indignation as well.

“So collaborative storytelling within set rules? Surely that must result in some undesirable outcomes occasionally?” Rrr asked.

“Rule zero – all other rules are merely suggestions,” Matt answered.

“Other rule zero – Matt cheats all the time in favour of the story,” Chuck followed up. “But yeah, sometimes the rules aren’t nice. Or the dice. Mostly the dice.” He nodded sagely as if he had just spoken the most profound piece of wisdom ever uttered.

“But to circle back a bit, Sir, we mostly avoid technology because it’s a slippery slope. Holographic characters, next it’s maps, then we might as well just play on the holodeck. But then we’re at the mercy of a program that may or may not have contingencies in place for decisions we make and you’re not so much free to do what you want, but to act within the scope of the story someone else wrote.” Matt’s explanation earned a series of nods from around the table.

“I see.” Rrr took a moment to look the entire group over, then nodded their head. “I hope you all enjoy your shoreleave together. It was an interesting logistical challenge to organise.” Rrr then made to stand before Kelly leaned forward, halting when they noticed the Ensign, and settling back down.

“Sorry, Sir, did you arrange for all of us to have leave at the same time?” she asked.

“I did. I understand your gaming sessions are a group activity and are arranged for when all of you have suitable periods of off-duty time. So, I arranged for all of you to have leave together in case you wanted to indulge in your hobby.”

A series of ‘Thanks’ issued around the table, but Kelly had something different to say. “Would you be interested in learning a bit more about our hobby sir?”

Silence settled over the table for a few moments, before Rrr spoke. “I am not entirely sure that would be appropriate Ensign.”

“A one-off, educational experience sir, where you indulge your curiosity,” she countered. “Four, maybe six hours, right here, day after tomorrow.”

“I have no dice, or understanding of the rules,” Rrr replied.

“Don’t need to. We’ve got plenty of dice and I’m running the session for once, just a single session, with rules no one here knows, but are super simple.” Kelly smiled at them. “There’s only one big rule at the table: no ranks.”

Rrr’s head tilted to the side in thought for a moment. “I shall consider it Ensign.” And with that, they did stand. “Thank you all for indulging my curiosity. Carry on.” And then they turned and departed.

And just as quickly everyone was leaning forward and whispering.

“Why did you do that?” Hito asked.

“Seriously Kelly?” Wy’run asked. “They’re senior staff!”

Solan merely tssked at her as they shook their head.

“No, it’s a great idea,” Kelly answered back. “Make a friend with the Ops chief and maybe, just maybe, we can sweet talk them into giving us a proper, dedicated gaming session time.”

“You want to befriend a bridge officer, to get them to reorganise schedules, to give us a proper gaming time?” Chuck challenged. “Madness. You’re mad. This is mad.”

“Mad like a fox,” Matt finally spoke. “Besides, you heard them, might not happen at all.”

“Well, I for one, welcome the idea of the Lieutenant joining us,” Kelly said, sitting back in her chair properly, then dragged Matt back so she could lean against him. “It’ll be fun either way. Now, serious question, pizza or tapas for the table?”

And that is when the real friendly arguments started around the table that night.

Chief Medical Officer’s Log, stardate 77550.8

 

Atlantis’ crew are making the most of shore leave aboard Deep Space 47, which hopefully will provide some mental fortitude in the face of our upcoming mission into deep space. I have decided I shall take the next few days off duty, once Doctor Pisani returns, to catch up on some recreational reading of my own and to enjoy freshly prepared meals at the various eateries aboard the station.

 

Before I go on leave, however, I am undertaking numerous medical reviews of particular crew members to ensure we will not have any medical emergencies while we are in the Expanse and beyond. A majority of these reviews will require interviews and exams of a personal nature, so the absence of a good number of the crew is advantageous for maintaining privacy.

With the primary sickbay essentially being the only one left active aboard the ship at the moment, the one near Engineering was reduced more to an over-equipped aid station due to staffing levels, it was no wonder it was relatively busy at the moment. Not emergency levels, just busier than normal as anything beyond first aid was referred to the only sickbay staffed by doctors. Of course, with a ship like Atlantis there were numerous doctors, even with shore leave, so instead of dealing with the injuries that were pouring in, Terax had referred those duties on to his subordinates.

“Doctor, Lieutenant T’Val is here to see you,” Nurse Wren said as he leaned in through the open doorway.

His middle hand was held up, a finger raised to single ‘just a moment’ as he finished typing away on his current report. “Send her in please,” he finally said, closing the report down and waiting as the tall, dark-skinned Vulcan woman entered into his office, the door closing behind her as he tapped a key to release the lock that had held it open.

“Doctor Terax,” T’Val said, “you asked to see me.”

“Please, have a seat, Lieutenant. This should only take a moment in your case.” As she sat, he tapped another few commands on his computer, the window facing into sickbay frosting over instantly, the door locking, ensuring doctor-patient confidentiality. “I have a few medical questions for you before Atlantis departs Deep Space 47. Of a somewhat personal nature that does not seem to have been documented in your medical records.”

“Ah,” she replied. “Suffice to say Doctor, that my health is in excellent condition and any medical conditions that would require my return to Vulcan, or to my mate, have been dealt with in recent years and should not be a problem for the foreseeable future.”

He nodded, taking a few notes down, saving the changes to the Lieutenant’s medical notes. “Do Vulcans always dance around the subject of Pon Farr?” he asked, keeping his tone clinical. “I don’t see a reason to be embarrassed by a biological imperative.”

“It is the abandonment of Logic that is embarrassing Doctor, and therefore by extension the biological imperative that brings it about.” Her reply was, he noted, a bit more pointed than he usually expected. “And it is a deeply personal matter I would prefer we didn’t discuss outside of what I have already said.”

“As your doctor, and the doctor to all aboard this ship, it is my duty to ask such questions, to ensure we don’t have any issues while deployed.” He wasn’t apologising, there was in his opinion no need. But an explanation for why he was asking such questions wasn’t beyond him. It would do to mollify concerns. “Any lapses in memory, concentration or emotional control?” His attention was on her as well as the extended list of questions before him.

“Scans for the likes of Pa’nar Syndrome are part of my most recent mental and neurological health tests when I visited Vulcan last. I will submit to examination again Doctor if that will ease your concerns.”

The joy, Terax had decided, of dealing with Vulcan patients, is that they didn’t hide many things from their doctors. It was, after all, illogical to hide or conceal issues from those charged with their wellbeing. The frustrating thing was that they were very good at deflecting in a perfectly reasonable manner or agreeing to things they knew would be time intensive to get out of doing them in the first place. Which is why right now he sighed.

“Your records are in perfect order Lieutenant and your reassurances about matters not well documented are sufficient for me at this time.” He tapped once more on his computer, saving the notes he’d just added. “Of the twelve Vulcans currently aboard ship you are the senior most ranked. Have you by any chance taken arrived at some sort of position of trust amongst your fellows?”

“If you are asking if others have taken me into their confidence Doctor, I have to say no at this time. You would perhaps be best to ask Lieutenant Gerin. He is after all thirty years older than I am and a practitioner of Kolinahr.”

He nodded in understanding. “In that case, I thank you for your time, Lieutenant and wish you a productive day.”

She stood, nodding her head once in acknowledgement. “And to you Doctor,” she replied before departing.

Lieutenant Ch’tkk’va was easily one of the more unique crewmembers aboard Atlantis, Terax thought to himself, as he reviewed the Xindi-Insectoid’s medical records. They mostly took care of themselves, only attending to sickbay for periodic medical check-ups and nothing more. There had been a momentary challenge when he’d called Ch’tkk’va down to sickbay, but the drone had conceded upon the doctor’s authority quickly enough.

“Before we depart for the Expanse and the realms beyond,” he said, looking up from the records and to the still standing insectoid before him, “is there any medical conditions that I should be made aware of that might be exasperated by our distance from Federation medical resources and knowledge?”

“None,” Ch’tkk’va replied, the hiss, clicks and pops just audible over the universal translator’s workings. “I am capable of tending to the majority of my medical requirements. All others that are survivable are recorded in the medical database.”

“Survivable?” Terax asked, his outer arms crossing, while his middle tapped the padd in hand edge-on against his desk.

“There are a multitude of medical conditions that drones do not survive.” Ch’tkk’va’s tone, or so it was translated at least, wasn’t concerned, just stating facts. “They are listed in the medical database, as well as methods for painless termination should they present and symptoms progress to a point where efficiency has been impaired as to be a detriment.”

He set the padd down finally, sighing once more at that. It wasn’t something he liked the idea of one little bit. “Well let us hope then Lieutenant that it does not come to that, yes?”

“That would be preferable Doctor. I still have many years left to me and I wish to experience much more of the universe before returning to my home-hive and relaying my discoveries.” Ch’tkk’va’s head tilted slightly to the side. “Doctor, are you asking such questions of all of the crew or just those whose medical requirements lay outside of the normative care you can provide?”

“The latter,” he admitted. “I’m wanting to know if I need to procure additional supplies or download additional medical journals and information before we depart so I can provide the best treatment for the entire crew.”

“Admirable.” Ch’tkk’va’s clicks continued before the translator caught up. “As the preservation of the Atlantis-hive is a priority for the both of us, I do have a question for you as well Doctor Terax.” Ch’tkk’va waited until he made a ‘continue’ motion with his middle hand. “Commander MacIntyre and I are working to establish a Hazard Team, with selection to commence after departing Deep Space 47. We are however lacking a medical specialist.”

“You want my opinion on who might make an acceptable member?” He mulled the question for a moment. “A have a handful of nurses that would suffice I believe. I’ll review my staff and forward some names along to you and the Commander.”

“That would be appreciated Doctor. Preservation of soldier-drones is beneficial to the hive after all.” Ch’tkk’va said. “Is that all Doctor?”

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll review the Xindi-Insectoid medical journals. If I have any follow up questions, I’ll be in touch.”

“Your species is,” Terax said, looking up at the young woman before him in his office, “very rare within Starfleet.”

“That would be becaussse most are not explorers, Doctor Teraxxx,” W’a’le’ki said with a smile. “Mossst are content to remain at home and ssstudy the universsse vicariousssly through the Federation.”

The Lieutenant’s sibilant way of speaking paired with her slight reptilian or snake-like features, even if those were more evolutionary hangovers now. Her purple skin paired with a smattering of pink tinged scales around the ocular sockets and forehead, disappearing into her hairline, which was not exactly something seen on many reptilian species. From what he’d read though, evolutionary pressures from planetary cooling had set her species on this particular evolutionary path, along with perhaps some genetic programming triggers buried in their genomes by galactic forerunners.

“Well, it does mean that Starfleet medical records are somewhat light on what to do, concerning your species. I have downloaded the full collection of records I can and made them available to the EMH until I am up to speed, but before we departed Deep Space 47, I was hoping to ask you if there were any medical conditions I should be made aware of before we depart?” He had his computer ready to record, as well as two hands on the keyboard, ready to take notes as he asked the question.

“Oh, cccertainly Doctor Teraxxx,” W’a’le’ki said with a smile. “Firssst there is…”

It was at this point that Terax realised perhaps he should have done his reading before speaking with the Lieutenant as she launched into a full expose on every medical condition she had ever experienced in her life.

Chief Medical Officers log, supplemental.

 

After two hours spent with Lieutenant W’a’le’ki, I’m fairly certainly certain I’m now an expert in maternal care for her species, including multiple folk remedies handed down from parent to child across at least a few millennia. Let us hope I don’t have to exercise this newfound knowledge any time soon.

“Okay, wait, what?” Mac asked, a beer held short of his mouth. “Three of them? No way.”

In a rather quiet and unpopulated Port Royal, a total of 6 people all sat around one of the larger tables, drinks in hand or before them, the table populated with snacks or light meals as individuals wanted.

Five of the people seated at the table all wore black turtle necks with vivid sleeveless jackets of different colours over the top. Mac in a light blue, Gérard in an ochre, Gabrielle sporting a brilliant magenta, Samantha in green and Gavin with a grey jacket he’d taken off and thrown over the back of his chair. The sixth, Blake Pisani, instead wore a white flight suit and was grinning as she answered Mac’s question with a waggle of her eyebrows and a sip of her glass of wine.

“It’s true,” Gavin Hu, ship’s counsellor and man busy demolishing a pizza, supplied as he nodded to Blake. “Saw it myself, she shot down three of them without any help.” He pulled the slice of pizza away from the plate, immediately coming to strife with the cheese before Gabrielle jumped in to help, then help herself to a slice.

“How though?” Mac continued, nudging Blake’s foot with his own under the table. “The story shouldn’t have let you until the rest of the fighters show up to help.”

“Well unlike you folks on the ground, I’m just that good,” Blake answered. “Best pilot on the ship!” she announced jokingly, though her entire audience was those at the table, a few patrons spread around the lounge, far more interested in their conversations and partners than a bunch of senior officers in funny costumes, and a few lounge staff who knew when to ignore their patrons. Especially those coming down off an adrenaline high from the holiday.

But not when they were making claims that shouldn’t be ignored.

By the time Mac had managed to slap his forehead, Gabrielle and Samantha both wincing in unison, a bell had started to be rung at the bar, its origins dating back to the previous ship to bear the name Atlantis. The one lounge staffer behind the bar rang the bell a handful of times, though not very loudly, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Oh crap,” Gavin squeaked out around his pizza.

The barkeep, obviously someone in the Operations division somewhere, grinned wickedly as he pulled out a bottle of a liqueur from under the counter, the substance inside seeming to glow green in a very unhealthy fashion. “Someone,” he said, setting a shot glass down next to the bottle, “just declared themselves the best pilot on the ship.” The man’s attention went straight to Blake. “Unless you are the top gun, you drink.”

And with that, he filled the glass with the glowing green substance and beckoned Blake over to accept her punishment for a rule she hadn’t been warned about and had been instituted more as a way of shutting cocky pilots up in the lounge.

“You’re dead when she gets back,” Gérard said to Mac, nudging his elbow with his own. “By the way, nice catch.”

“It’s a not-a-thing thing,” Mac answered as he watched Blake march over to the bar, stare the barkeep down and take her punishment without hesitation. She lasted a whole second before gagging at the vile drink, accepting a generous chaser set down to wash away the taste. “Seriously, why is there a bottle of malört aboard this ship?”

“It’s not just a bottle. There’s a whole crate of it in cargo bay three.” Samantha shuddered at her own words. “Luke over there insisted on bringing more along. Can’t have the bar running out of the real stuff and forcing shuttle jocks to drink replicated malört now can we?”

“Fair, fair,” Mac answered, attention turning to Blake as she returned, still trying to clear the taste from her mouth. “Sorry about that, I should have warned you about the lounge rules,” he said, accepting the glare of death from her, attempting to buy forgiveness with a proffered basket of fries from the table. “Turns out senior staff are subject to the drinking games and punishments as much as everyone else.”

“That stuff is a biohazard. I’ve never drunk something so vile and I’ve drunk Romulan hooch made using a repurposed life support system,” Blake spluttered. One final attempt at reducing Mac to ashes with her eyes and then she accepted the peace offering of fries before scooting in to sit next to him. “Seriously, why is that stuff on the ship?”

“Can’t punish folks with buying a round for the bar like in those turn of the millennium dramas,” Gabrielle said. “So instead, it’s horrific drinks and no service at the bar until you do. As for the whole best pilot rule, I think it was agreed upon rather loudly in the lounge on the old Atlantis just before the top gun competition.”

“It was one of the benefits of winning actually,” Gavin said. “Bragging rights and punishment for any who attempt to claim the title. It honestly cut back on most of the hotshots boasting about their skill. At least at flying.” He collected his glass and held it up in a toast. “To no more cocky bragging!”

“To the best pilot on the ship,” came an answer from the starboard door to Port Royal. All eyes in the lounge turned on the person who spoke, Luke’s hand even reaching for the bell cord before he recognised the captain, though not as most would have been expecting.

While those at the table were in parodies of uniforms with their bright colours and retro-futuristic designs, Tivka was standing there in a short chiton, sandals that wrapped up her legs somewhat and looking like she’d been in a fight. A split lip, some light bruising, and a few scraps and abrasions on her arms and legs were evidence of that and supported by similar on the larger woman standing beside her in similar apparel.

“Okay, that’s hot,” Blake whispered as she watched Tikva and Adelinde enter and make their way to the bar like two victorious Greek heroes fresh from the fight.

“As someone who’s comfortably straight, I’ll agree to that,” Samantha said. “Just look at Gantzmann. That muscle tone is magnificent.”

“Maybe less gawking at a fellow officer and the captain’s girlfriend?” Gavin suggested quickly as the subjects of discussion approached. “Captain, Commander, care to join us?” he asked Tikva, who was carrying two drinks, Lin behind her with a couple of bowls of salad.

Unspoken agreements caused everyone to move around the table, making room for drinks and food to be set down and two chairs dragged over to join the group. “You all look like you’ve been on the holodeck too,” Tikva said as Lin set a salad in front of her and she slid one of the beers over, earning her a brief kiss on the cheek. “So, who claimed to be the best pilot?” she asked.

“Blake did,” Gavin answered. “How’d you know?”

“Set up an alarm with the computer. That bell rings,” she indicated over her shoulder with her thumb, “I get notified. Don’t tell anyone though, but it adds to my mystique after all. So, what were you all up to with those technicolour uniforms?”

“Spectrum, defenders of Earth from the Martian menace,” Gérard answered. “Retro-futurism at its…most colourful?” He plucked at the ochre jacket over his otherwise black clothing. “Corny dialogue, contrived sequences, heroes being big damn heroes.”

“Threw myself off of a flying aircraft carrier at thirty thousand feet without a parachute,” Mac said, stating a true act of heroism deserving of a medal if it had been real and not pure fiction. “Never let a Martian get away I say.”

“You’d have gone splat if I hadn’t rescued you,” Blake challenged with an elbow into Mac’s side. “Maybe we could get you and the Commander in one day?” she asked of Tikva, and with that all attention went to the two warriors retired from the field.

“Only if I get to be Scarlett,” Adelinde answered without missing a beat, spearing a piece of grilled chicken in her salad, examining it briefly and then popping it into her mouth.

Tikva on the other hand went from looking at her meal to her crew, then her partner and back to the others, settling on Mac. “What are you all talking about? Am I missing something? I’m missing something. I don’t think this.” Then she turned back on Lin. “Seriously, how do you know about what madness they’re talking about?”

“Because I know almost everything on this ship,” Lin answered. “Someone keeps putting me on the same shift as Rrr and they are a prolific gossip who somehow knows everything.” Then she looked straight at Mac. “Who’s Black based on?”

“Marsh Chapman, an actor on Earth who leant his likeness and voice to the program developers. Gives a decently hammy villain vibe.”

Lin nodded, not speaking with the next mouthful of food she’d put away.

“Wait, if we’re all here and I know I left Lieutenant Manfred on bridge duty, where’s Rrr?” Tikva asked.

“We asked them if they wanted to join us,” Blake answered, “but said something about a group problem solving and conflict resolution workshop with some of the lower deckers.” She shrugged the quizzical looks off, not having anything further to add.

“They’re spending shoreleave doing course work? With lower deckers? I hadn’t seen any disciplinary notices that would warrant cancelling shoreleave and forcing folks to do workshops,” Mac said. “Anyone else?” The chorus of ‘no’ around the table had everyone looking at each other in a conspiratorial manner. “What is our Operations chief up to?”

“We’re fucked,” Wy’run said, looking down at the map on the table, to his character sheet, back to the map.

“I’ve got two flares, two shells left and a knife,” Matt said, looking at his own sheet with a large number of crosses through bits of information on the paper.

“Well I’m deader than dead,” Nerys said, pushing her character sheet away from her and grabbing at her glass. “Prophets be with you suckers.”

“How far away are we?” Jessica asked, looking to Kelly who was seated in Matt’s normal spot at the head of the table. The only difference was it wasn’t their normal table in Port Royal.

“Call it,” she rolled a dice behind the screen, “five minutes for you and Chuck and get there. Ten for Hito and Solan since you two were on the other side of the village harassing the gas station attendant.”

“Hey, he was suspicious!” Hito snapped in his defence.

“No he wasn’t!” Jessica snapped. “Geez, this thing is going to kill us all because you had a stupid vendetta with a fuel tech.”

Kelly cleared her throat to steal attention back and stop the intra-party bickering before it spiralled out of control. “So, there you are, a mile out of town, it’s bitch black save for the moonlight filtering through the clouds and the hulking, towering form of the furry monster stalks out of the woods at you.” She leaned forward, looking down the table, locking eyes with everyone whose character was present in the current circumstance. “It rears up, standing on its hind limbs, its forelimbs you realise are heavily muscled arms. Its mouth, dripping in blood, teeth glinting in the light of the moon and your red road flare. What do you do?”

At the far end of the table, a much more realistic towering and hulking mass leaned forward, a smile on its rocky face. “I step forward,” Rrr rumbled confidently, “smiling at the werewolf and raise my own shotgun at it, then ask ‘What do ghosts and werewolves have in common?’ in as loud a voice as I can.”

Everyone went silent at this, including Kelly from behind her screen. She looked down at her notes for a moment, then back up at Rrr. “The werewolf cocks its head to the side, clearly confused at your lack of fear, and through a mouth clearly not intended for speech somehow manages to ask ‘What would I have in common with the dead?’”

“This better be good,” Matt said from beside Rrr.

Rrr turned to Matt, winked at him, and then turned back to Kelly. “’Silver nitrate,’ I say, then pull the trigger.”

“Yes!” Kelly exclaimed from behind her screen. “Thank you so much for picking up on that! I had hoped that clue hadn’t been too obscure. Roll to hit!” she ordered down the table, the sound of dice soon preceding a joyous uproar that could be heard on the opposite side of the reasonably well-soundproofed walls of a senior officer’s quarters serving as host for a very, very long gaming session.

Captains log, stardate 77558.8

 

We’re about to cast off and head into the Thomar Expanse. We’re going to be heading roughly for Alrakis, around the coreward aspect of the Rolor Nebula and then along the Breen border with the intent of disappearing out past Ultima Thule. I’m going to order warp seven to give us a bit more time to see and be seen so the Breen at least understand we’re not too far. Frankly, I’m looking forward to charting some truly unmapped territory, at least as far as the Federation is concerned, and not just following up on someone else’s previous discoveries.

 

To boldly go right?

Stepping out onto the bridge, Tikva noticed the combined faces of her senior staff, all on a single duty shift due to the circumstances of their departure and some black magic of organisation that Mac was responsible for. A power granted when one becomes an executive officer, but taken away cruelly when made a captain. The door closing just behind her, she took one deep breath and then another step, raising a finger to point directly at Lin while her other hand effortlessly caught the keys lobbed in her direction by Mac.

“Gantzmann, status,” she said in as cheerful a demand as she could muster to her tactical chief, looking ever so serious at her position behind the arc that rose behind the trio of command seats.

“Weapons nominal, torpedoes fully stocked, shield systems have passed all diagnostics, all defensive systems in good order,” came the reply from her tactical officer. “We’re good to go.”

“Excellent. Ch’tkk’va, status,” she continued to her now clearly delineated security chief, having decided to split the usually combined role on her previous command and keep it as such here. They were at one of the consoles on the starboard side of the bridge, the seat removed in preference for their stated desire.

“All personnel have been accounted for and no station personnel remain aboard ship,” the Xindi replied. “Commander MacIntyre and I are still working out the details for our own Hazard Team however we have sourced equipment for a team from the station armoury and industrial replicators.”

“Looking forward to seeing your plan in action,” she said, offering them a thumbs up before her finger moved over to Gabrielle at Sciences. “Camargo, status.”

The young woman smiled with a confidence that was becoming more and more common. “Probes restocked and all labs report ready. All sensor pallets have had diagnostics completed and brought within specifications. We’re good to go and keen to start exploring ma’am.”

 “You and everyone else on the ship,” Tikva said in response, giving an honest smile to her science officer. “Velan, status,” Tikva next turned on her Chief Engineer, very rarely on the bridge, but here for this at least.

The Efrosian stroked at his bread in thought, trying to pull off some wise philosopher look before cracking a smile from the Engineering station on the port side of the bridge next to Gabrielle’s Science station. “Enough fuel onboard for a couple of years if we wanted, engines passed all checks. We’ve even primed the pumps and Atlantis is clear all the way to warp nine ma’am.”

“We’ll be back before we run the tanks dry Ra, but good to know we could do our best at a five-year mission. Doctor Terax, how’s sickbay?” she asked of the Edosian doctor, who wasn’t at any given station, instead opting for the third seat in the trio of command seats. She wouldn’t begrudge him that for how little he visited the bridge, or the lack of a medical station up here after all. And with his seniority, he was the third-ranking member of her crew currently so the seat was his if he wanted it.

“All sickbays and medical stores replenished,” he announced blandly. ‘This meeting could have been a memo’ vibes radiated off of him strongly. “We’ve confirmed the software updates for the EMH as well, not that I’ll be using it unless I need to.”

“Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr,” Tikva said as she walked in front of the helm and ops stations, taking the time to pronounce the Gaen’s full name. “Status of my ships please.”

“Everyone’s aboard, we’re loaded up with everything we need, and the engines are running I hear,” they said, confirming details on their own console that everyone else had already said. “All pebbles, stones and boulders accounted for,” Rrr said, then turned to look to Ch’tkk’va, “all members of the hive safely aboard.” With that Ch’tkk’va nodded their head, a twisting of pincers on their own face that Tikva was pretty confident was the closest to a smile the Xindi-Insectoid made.

“T’Val, all set?” she asked, stepping in front of her helmswoman.

“I have the most update-to-date star charts for the Thomar Expanse and the regions beyond at my disposal captain. I’ve also overseen the exchanges in small craft we made with Deep Space 47, including transfer of naming to the new craft,” the Vulcan woman said. “I am as prepared for the journey as I can be.”

“Fantastic,” Tikva said, slapping a hand along the leading edge of the helm console in joy before walking around and taking her own seat.

Sitting down she briefly looked at the status display panel on the right arm, tapped at a few keys and brought up the ship-wide channel, but didn’t open it just yet, just had her finger hovering over it as she looked at Mac. “Commander MacIntyre, your report?”

“All hands accounted for and we’re good to make sail captain. All department heads have given you their reports,” he said, as official and proper as he could. “Eager in fact if I dare put words in the mouths of the crew.”

“Fantastic,” she answered with a smile, then jabbed her finger down, waiting for the whistle to finish, piped throughout the ship in every nook and cranny big enough for a person to be in. “All hands, this is the captain. I know you’ve all been waiting for this, so let’s cut to the chase and skip any flowery speeches. The order is simple – Atlantis is to set sail into the Thomar Expanse at once. All departments rig for departure.” Her finger lifted off the button and she saw Mac’s smile, giving him a shrug of her shoulders. “Ready?”

“It’s not the Delta Quadrant, but I think we can make it,” he answered.

“Lieutenant Rrr’mmm’bal’rrr, get me the station master please.” She waited for Rrr to action her command, their head nodding when the channel was open, confirmed with the whistle of any open comm channel on the bridge. “Control, this is Atlantis, requesting permission to depart.”

“Atlantis, this is Control. You are clear to depart. Maintain thrusters till five kilometres from the station, cleared for one-quarter impulse to the inner boundary after that. Manoeuvring at your discretion.”

“Roger that Control. It’s been fun,” she replied.

“Safe travels Atlantis, look forward to seeing you again.” With that, the channel was closed.

“Clear all moorings, one-quarter thrusters to port to move us away from the station, then full thrusters when you’re ready T’Val. Velan, make ready for impulse and warp drive at Lieutenant T’Val’s order.”

“Aye aye,” came three separate responses as Rrr, T’Val and Velan all answered. Moorings were cleared, the ship soon sliding sideways away from Deep Space 47 on thrusters barely able to move the mass of the ship until subspace drive-coils could be brought online to circumvent the laws of physics. Then Atlantis truly began to move, but still not at proper speeds until the more powerful impulse engines could be brought to bear.

“Rrr, give the station a farewell flash with the navigation lights will you please?” she asked.

“Thought you wouldn’t ask,” they said, a quick command to the computer forcing all the navigation lights across the mighty Sovereign-class ship to blink slowly three times in unison at nearly double brightness before resuming their normal pattern. To her own credit, T’Val had played along, taking the ‘manoeuvring at your discretion’ statement to heart as she swung the ship around the station slowly, giving everyone in the galleria a good look before Atlantis broke for the boundary line.

“Departure angle please,” Tikva ordered and the stars ahead were replaced with a view of the rapidly shrinking Deep Space 47 and the ship’s docked or orbiting around the station. “Take your last looks folks, I don’t plan to be back here for a while if we can help it. You’ve got the course plotted T’Val?”

“Course laid in ma’am,” came the response.

“Well then, warp seven Lieutenant.” She waited a moment, then raised her right hand, pointer finger raised, the key loop around her finger, and swirled her finger lightly, the keys chattering as they circled about. “Páme,” she said in her native Greek.

For the people of Deep Space 47, by the time Atlantis jumped to warp she was just a particularly bright pinprick of light in a sea of them, save for a momentary flash of blue and a quickly fading streak of light as the ship made a mockery of the classical laws of physics.

To boldly go…