“Are you sure this guy remembers who he is?”

Mason stood with his arms folded over his broad chest in front of the transporter pads in the Resolute’s small transporter room. It was a bit crowded in here even before their guest arrived… what with him, Andrews, the Resolute’s CMO as well as the transporter chief in here.

“No, I’m not. He remembers his name,” he answered Andrews without looking away from the transporter pads in front of them. “I think that’s a good sign. As for anything else…”

He reached down and patted the pulse pistol holstered on his hip. While he didn’t necessarily want to shoot Murphy, he absolutely would if the man became a clear and present danger to his crew. Which was why the only people in the room, including the transporter chief, were all combat veterans. Given what Murphy appeared to have gone through, and, even though he was guessing, it was easy to tell that he’d been tortured, Mason wasn’t about to trust him as far as he could throw him. People came back from things like that changed. He should know…

”Okay, just so we’re clear. At present, Captain Murphy is compromised so has no command authority. Computer, please confirm that you have revoked Captain Murphy’s command authorisation aboard the ship.”

”Confirmed,” the computer responded in its dulcet tones. Mason suppressed his wince. It sounded way too much like his ex-wife. He’d have to talk to Bennett about getting it changed.

“How we doing there, Cooke?” he asked, glancing over at the transporter chief. Grey-haired and broad-shouldered with the same general build as a barrel, Cooke had been on his crew for years and was as solid as they came. Which, after the events of Frontier Day, to find someone still utterly unflappable around transporters was a little unusual.

A man of few words, Cooke nodded. “Ready.”

“Hit it,” Mason ordered, and the transporter pad activated in a haze of blue shimmer.

Within seconds, the outline of a man formed on the pad, which quickly solidified into the figure of Captain Zachary Murphy, Canterbury Division CO…

Only he wasn’t. Not really. Not yet.

Murphy stood here, watching them as they watched him. Still dressed in the black leather they’d seen him in before, the black eyepatch standing out against the paleness of his skin. This close, Mason could see the tension in his frame and the way he favoured one side. The slight tremor in one hand that he quickly quelled when he noticed Mason’s attention.

“Welcome back, Captain Murphy.” Mason smiled. While his body language was relaxed, every instinct he had was on high alert.

He was familiar with Captain Murphy, or, before this, he would have said he knew exactly who Murphy was. He was, as RJ had dubbed him ‘Captain Starfleet’… the handsome career starfleet officer, the admiral’s son who was basically fleet royalty and who had shot up the ranks with ease.

The man standing in front of him, watching him through one bright blue eye, was not the spoiled admiral’s son. He was not the career starfleet officer who smiled and got his way, and never put a foot wrong.

That type of starfleet officer would have given up, crumbled under the pressure. He certainly wouldn’t have taken over the ship he’d been held captive on, and then used it to help the Resolute defeat the Vaadwaur.

“Captain. That still sounds weird,” Murphy said, no hint of the smile Mason remembered as he stepped off the pad.

“You’re Mason. I remember you from the hail.” He turned his icy-stare to Andrews and Micheals. “Who are you two?”

Mason inclined his head toward Andrews. “This is Commander Andrews, the Resolute executive officer, and this is our Chief medical officer, Doctor Micheals. Given what you’ve been through…” He motioned toward the side of his face. “She’s going to give you a bit of a checkup, see what’s going on there. Then we can have a chat.”

Murphy snorted and looked at the doctor. “Sure hope you’ve got a strong stomach, beautiful. It sure as hell ain’t pretty under there.”

The CMO just smiled, obviously not at all worried about the dangerous vibes emanating from the man standing in front of her. “Don’t worry, you haven’t got anything I haven’t seen. Come on then, handsome, let’s get you checked out.”

Murphy nodded, and Mason and Andrews stepped aside to let him follow Micheals out of the transporter room. As he drew level, Murphy turned his head, dropping his gaze down to the pistol holstered on Mason’s hip.

“That worried about bringing me aboard, were you?” His gaze bored into Mason’s and even though he had to look up, Mason felt like he was looking down into his very soul. He’d seen that look before, and knew to step very carefully.

“Covering all bases, sir, that’s all,” he offered with an easy smile.

“Of course,” Murphy snorted, then sauntered after Micheals with way more sass in the swagger than he’d ever had before.

Andrews folded his arms, his voice low, “Why do I get the feeling we just let a monster onboard?”

Mason frowned. This Murphy was a completely unknown quantity. “Because we quite possibly have. Follow them, act as Micheals backup. Not that I think she needs it, the woman’s as hard as nails, but…” He shrugged.

Andrews got it though. “Better to have and not need, than to need and not have. On it boss.”

“Any trouble, let me know,” Mason said as the two walked to the door, nodding to Cooke as they passed. “Now, I’m going to call a man about getting a pirate ship towed.”