They’d finally got him back in the big chair. 

Brennan Zale walked through the corridors of Deep Space 17, although stalk would have been a better way to describe it. The instant he clocked that the rhythm of the heartbeats around him had altered, he moderated his movements and made them more human-like so he didn’t trigger the deep-rooted hindbrain survival instincts of the crew around him. 

The last time he’d forgotten, he’d started a stampede on the promenade at… he wanted to say Starbase twelve, but he couldn’t remember now. He’d spent a lot of time in a lot of different places. But, seriously, what genius decided to make up an entire organization mostly of prey species? But, it was not his to reason why… so he just concentrated on making sure they thought he was one of them. 

That lasted as long as it took him to reach the turbolift. It was full, which irritated him. At this rate he was going to be late for his meeting with the TFCO, Captain Varro. Which irritated him even more. He disliked being late. For anything. 

So he growled as he walked into the lift, taking a position at the back. It was nice and low, under the level of humanoid hearing, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t sense it. He hid his smile as at least four people decided to wait for the next lift, and three others decided that this was, in fact, their level and exited the lift. At speed.

Nestled comfortably in the lounge area of the corridor, Callen Varro was fully immersed in the holographic display of his PADD. The device illuminated his face as he delved into the intricate details of Captain Zale’s service record. It had been a considerable span of time since Callen last encountered a Ract’l, and officially – the records claimed that no such meeting had occurred. Intrigue etched across his features as he discovered Captain Zale’s journey as a nomadic Ract’l to the bridge of the Resolute.

Leaning back in the comfortable lounge chair, Callen couldn’t help but mull over the peculiar nature of this revelation. The holographic display flickered with snippets of Captain Zale’s accomplishments and assignments, creating an ethereal dance of light on Callen’s face. His mind wandered, contemplating the enigma of a Ract’l assuming a prominent social role, particularly one as prestigious and caring as a Starfleet Captaincy.

A subtle smile played on Callen’s lips, a testament to the curiosity bubbling within him. The Federation’s ideals of diplomacy and cooperation seemed at odds with the Ract’l’s very nature. Yet, he was about to meet a Captain who defied those stereotypes.

The lift ride was short, thankfully, but was marred by seven ensigns trying to pile into it as he reached his floor, almost knocking over an older crewmember in their haste to get aboard. 

“Manners!” He chided them, already between them and the–he tilted his head and took a breath. The scents clinging to the woman’s uniform proclaimed her as an engineer–engineer they’d almost crashed in. “Allow others to disembark the lift before entering.”

There were muted ‘Yes, captain’s from the group and he shot them a look before smiling down at the engineer. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“Not at all, my pleasure.” Zale inclined his head and, civic duty down, headed off down the corridor in the opposite direction. He had been expecting the location Captain Varro’s office had provided to lead to his actual office, so he was surprised when he found himself in a lounge area instead. 

For a moment he stood, scanning his surroundings, until he spotted a face that was familiar. 

“Captain Varro?” he said, as the man looked up from his pad. “Captain Zale, the Resolute. Reporting as requested.”

Callen’s focus lifted from the luminous screen of his PADD, catching the entrance of the man under his scrutiny. The choice of the lounge over the rigid formality of his office was deliberate, a subtle maneuver Callen intended to unravel at a later time. With a practiced yet warm smile curving his lips, Callen welcomed the approaching Captain Zale.

“Ah, Captain Zale, welcome! How was your trip?” The genuine curiosity in Callen’s voice resonated in the casual air of the lounge. He gestured toward invitingly arranged chairs, bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the lounge’s lighting.

“It was…” Zale paused for a second to search for the right word. “Uneventful. Pleasant,” he tacked onto the end as he took a chair, inclining his head in thanks. Each species had its little social rituals. Humans often tended toward small talk. Thankfully, he was used to that. His brother was fascinated with humanity and had adopted a lot of their traits, which meant he never shut up. 

“I was expecting an office,” he said, looking around. “Unless Starfleet has decided they are now unnecessary and have done away with them…”

“They haven’t,” Callen replied, his eyes meeting Captain Zale’s with a subtle gleam of intrigue. “I just thought it would be interesting to observe you in a different setting, you know, amidst all this…” His gaze drifted toward the cluster of junior officers engaged in animated conversation near the replicator. 

He conjured a sly smile on his lips as he said “…prey.” 

Zale didn’t show a reaction, his expression calm and level as he regarded Varro with interest. The fact that the other captain knew what he was didn’t surprise him. His species was, after all, listed on his record. But there was a great deal of difference in reading a word in a file and knowing everything that entailed. Knowing that he could hear the heartbeat of every person in the room and how long it would take him to get to them.

He leaned further back in his chair, in something close to a comfortable lounge. “If I couldn’t control my baser instincts, captain, I wouldn’t have made it through the academy, much less been able to serve on a starship for so many years.”

“Yet, it must be hard, working for an organization whose main objective is to protect when your primal tendency is to destroy,” Callen mused, his expression thoughtful as he leaned forward, creating an air of intimacy. His eyes locked onto Zale, probing and searching for a reaction.

“Have you ever been in a situation that was hard to control?” Callen’s voice dropped, a conspiratorial tone underscoring his words. “Maybe that tasty teal-clad cadet in a moment of pain during a medical procedure, or that meaty engineer in the confined shadows of an abandoned Jeffries Tube?”

“My species are apex predators, rather than opportunistic scavengers,” Zale replied. “So no, I’ve never found myself in a situation that was hard to control. Maybe if the ship were infested with Gorn, I would let those instincts out to play, but otherwise, no.”

He understood where Captain Varro was coming from, he’d had variants of this conversation more than a few times over the years, so he took it as professional interest and maybe a little fascination, rather than a black mark against him. 

“I wouldn’t say my primary instinct is to destroy. It’s to hunt and bring down worthy prey. And,” he added. “Most of the time when I hunt, which is always when I am on leave, and on planets where I have gained permission to do so, I will let my quarry go after it’s been caught.”

Pleased with the response, Callen stood up and motioned for Zale to accompany him to his office, remarking, “You’re unlike any Ract’l I’ve encountered before.”

“Oh?” Zale tilted his head slightly in curiosity as he walked alongside the Captain. “There aren’t many of us in this region of space. Who have you met?”

“I can’t reveal that information, but I’ve encountered multiple individuals of your species, Captain Zale,” Callen remarked, hearing the soft whoosh of his office door sliding open.

Zale’s lips quirked. “You do realise that we’re all related, right? I can just ask around.”

Callen’s gaze held a cryptic depth as he spoke, “go ahead, I may not be able to disclose it.” 

“But I won’t prevent you from discovering it on your own.” The calm in his voice was matched by the deliberate grace of his movements. 

 He reached for a PADD on his desk and extended it to Zale, “Anyway, you seem to be the right person for the job.” 

Casually leaning on his desk, he divulged nothing, inquiring, “What do you know about the Hirogen?”

Zale frowned. “Not much to be honest. They’re a nomadic species much like my own. They hunt and consider most other species prey.”

He sat back in his chair, studying Callen as much as the other captain was studying him. “Do we have a hirogen problem?”

Callen leaned forward, his expression grave, as he carefully laid down his cards on the table. “One of our diplomatic convoys,” he began, his voice tinged with concern, “embarked on a diplomatic mission to one of their ‘bigger’ tribes. 

But since then…” He paused, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air. “We haven’t heard a peep. Not a single transmission.”

His gaze bore into the Captain standing across from him, “I reckon there ain’t a Captain in Starfleet better suited than you to unravel this mystery.”

Zale raised an eyebrow but he didn’t comment on the wisdom of such a mission with the hirogen involved. There were too many permutations that would affect the outcome, such as what ship… what captain… 

“Okay. I’m going to need all the details on the original diplomatic mission,” he said, a frown creasing his brow. “We’re ahead of schedule with resupply and crew reassignments so we’re ready to go on your order.”

Callen’s finger hovered over the button on his PADD, a silent pause before he finally pressed it, sending a stream of data over to Zale’s. He glanced up at the Captain, a nod of affirmation accompanying his words. “Well, consider this ‘my orders’,” he said, his voice steady, carrying a weight of concern. “Godspeed, Captain.”

Zale inclined his head as he rose. “The Ract’l have no gods, sir, but if I find that the Hirogen have been hunting Starfleet personnel, then they’d better pray to theirs for mercy, for I will have none.”

He gave a final nod, and then, turned and left the lounge, heading back to the Resolute, and, hopefully, a new hunt.