“She really did a number on him.”  Jordan Reid stood cautiously at the glass, her eyes staring at Ambrose Harris’s body.  He had become her commanding officer when she’d been assigned to the USS Erigone, a cramped Raven class.  That had been almost a year and a half ago, in March of 2400.  It felt like a lifetime.  They had soon fallen into a friendly and then romantic rhythm.  The memories and moments were washing up against her consciousness as the tide of time rose against her.  The deck shuddered slightly as the battle continued.  Reid had been tracking the fight and was thankful to see one of the Bird of Preys had been disabled.  The second ship was proving to be more stubborn than the first.  “You said there was another set of DNA intertwined?”

Halsey pulled up the report on the glass, “Computer’s running through records.  It’s not Pandora Crawford’s, that’s for sure.  It makes up 25% of his genetic structure.  It looks like she used it to rebuild his body at a molecular level.”  He didn’t mention the problem with a body, even in a modern casket, decaying over time.

Reid tapped at the glass, pulling various reports and sensor details, “She didn’t take her time.  Whatever work she did, it would require a pretty high-tech system to restore and maintain the body over time as it’s used.”  Jordan oriented the scans and shifted the data around, her heart growing heavy as she connected what she saw: “You can see here…and here.  The body isn’t able to maintain its integrity over a long period – certain parts of the cardiovascular and neurological systems are starting to fade and get closer to failing.” She continued by putting the scanning equipment back to work as her eyes searched further into the life sign readings, “If we do nothing, the body will go into multiple organ failure within forty-eight hours.”

Leopold stared at the data—the slight changes in Ambrose Harris’s body were minute—and yet Jordan had found them after digging just a little more under the surface. He felt his pride in her surge, yet it was restrained by the current situation—her boyfriend was alive again…but he wouldn’t live without specialized care, never mind deciding to open up the shunts that had been crudely jammed into the man’s brain.  “The decision rests with the captain.” The deck shuddered for a second time, “And we’ll need to wait on her to get rid of our Klingon problem.

“Target their impulse engines.”  Helena Dread had disabled one and was working on knocking the second Bird of Prey out of her way.  The ship shook as the blasters and torpedoes impacted against the hull.

Athena stood at the right side tactical station, her hands working to put an end to this fight.  Whoever was at the helm knew their way around a Bird of Prey.  She had to begrudgingly admit that they were pushing their helm officer, Prentice, to the limits.  “Targeting and firing.”

William Prentice wasn’t having fun anymore.  He’d discovered the Klingon helm was adept at guessing his course corrects and changes nearly when he made them, costing them several attack runs and giving the Bird of Prey more time to pick at their shields.  It was frustrating and embarrassing at the same time – whoever it was was showing him up.  He pitched the Douglas into a swerve and then reversed course, watching with some satisfaction that the weapons fire from the Klingon ship went wide.  I’ll show you yet. He thought and added another yet to his internal monologue.  He watched as Ensign Athena unleashed a fierce volley of phaser and torpedo fire in the space he’d created.  The Bird of Prey slowed and turned to face them.

Lieutenant Atega alerted from communications, her voice cautious. “Signal from Kolm, Captain!”  Dread stood from her chair and nodded. The bridge of the Bird of Prey filled the screen, and an older Klingon captain was in the middle. The command center looked like it had taken a good hit or two.

“Captain Dread.  I am Captain Lkang.”  He looked at each face on the opposing bridge, “I do not have much honor to gamble with…and I tire of this battle.  Your Constitution III class ship proves the Federation still has some warrior left in them.”  He settled on Prentice, “My niece wished me to extend a compliment to your pilot, Captain.  She thought she had him…and he managed to surprise her.”  he leaned in, “If he is looking for a marriage, she’s available for a small dowry.”  An angry shout of ‘UNCLE!’ followed by a string of unintelligible Klingon curse words from across the bridge drew a smile from Lkang’s face.  “I am mostly kidding…but if you know of someone…she needs a warrior to rule her home with.”

Dread wasn’t sure what to say.  A marriage proposal in the middle of a detente discussion was new.  She found her words eventually, “Captain Lkang, I agree this battle is tiring…even if I, theoretically, would have won.  As for Lieutenant Prentice, he is otherwise attached to someone else.”

The eyebrows of the captain on the screen went up, “Ah, we could always arrange a battle for his honor!  We could host a dinner of sorts before…”,

“Uncle!” a young Klingon woman hip-checked him out of the way. She lamented, “I am sorry—my uncle is entering his, what you humans call his…twilight years.  Ignore him.  We’ll take our leave.”  She turned in a huff and stalked back to the unseen helm station.  

Lkang stepped back into the frame, a wry smile plastered across his lips, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”  The channel closed as the already-in-motion Kolm jumped to warp speed.

Dread stared at the screen, mouth open.  She looked around the bridge at the other’s stymied looks.  Ataga asked the obvious, “Do we report all of this?”

Helena answered, “Are you kidding?  Every last detail – including the marriage proposal to Lieutenant Prentice to a Klingon helmswoman.”

Prentice turned in his chair, annoyed.  “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Dread cackled, “Not as long as I’m captain, Mr. Prentice.  And request for reassignment denied, in case you were considering it.”  She checked her chair console and saw the updated report regarding their guest waiting for her.  “Return us back to our course to the abandoned colony.  Mr. Tir, you have the CONN.  I’ll be in sickbay.”  She stood and entered the turbolift, a thousand thoughts at once erupting from within.  Harris was alive?  His brain was locked?  His body was going to kill him again eventually?  

There were more questions than answers, and she hated all of the possible solutions that would be asked of her.