“You are no warrior.”  J’Klast spat out as he stood before the cell that held Dragr’al.  Once a preening warrior filled with ego and arrogance, he sat slumped in the corner, hands and feet manacled tightly by the Vorethi.

Dragr’al sniffed the air, as if smelling something foul. “I do not wish to hear your voice.  Selling out to the Federation has made you soft.  You do their bidding.  You follow their lead.  What has it gotten you?  A comfortable chair at their table?  They’d just as soon poison you when your usefulness no longer fits their needs.”

The older Klingon chuckled deeply as he stepped closer to the bars. “What did your path get you, old friend?  A cell, a trial, and piles of denials from our government?  You have no friends to save you this time.”

Dragr’al rolled his eyes.  “I always have friends, J’Klast.  I’ll survive.”

“Unlike the rest of your group.”  J’Klast walked out, a smile on his lips as the shouts of his old friend echoed out of his cell.

“You saved me, Jordan.”  Ada Josephs was sitting up, her eyes clearer than they had been in days.

Reid pushed her chair closer.  “You made it pretty damned hard, Ada.  The Constructor killed you.”

“I know.  He knows.”  She wiped a quiet tear away, composing herself.  “We saved lives.”  She let out a long sigh.  “At the risk of my own, I know.  I’d do it again if it meant we could save the Vorethi people from the awful future the Crimson Foundry had planned.”

Jordan leaned forward, taking Ada’s hand in hers. “You can’t do something like that again.  Your heart won’t take it.  We did intense repair work when we got you back here.  You’ve got follow-ups scheduled with specialists on Montana Station and monitoring on Zephyr when we head home.  None of it will be enough to fully repair the damage.”

Ada squeezed the hand of her friend and senior officer. “I promise I won’t take that kind of risk again.”

Reid narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to get that in writing, Doctor Josephs.”

The large screen filled with damage reports, repair status updates, and a scrolling stream of updated damage that was still being found across the squadron.  Standing in front of it, PADD in hand, was Cadet Natalie Harris.  She’d volunteered to help manage the main squadron repair board on the Zephyr yesterday, and Haris had taken a few breaks.  A fresh cup of coffee was in her other hand.  So focused on updating the details, she missed the door opening.  She turned at the movement in her periphery and stared at Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana.  She abruptly stood at attention, and he waved it off.

He took a seat at a nearby console. “Cadet Harris, you’re impressing all the right people with this dedication.”  He turned to face her, curiosity filling his features.  “Why?”  He gestured to a chair near him, and she awkwardly sat her PADD and coffee cup down before turning back to him.

“I wanted something to do.  I checked Captain Crawford’s reports and ensured they were filed on time, and he’s taken to working on the repair work on the Franklin D. Roosevelt.  Not a lot of responsibilities for a yeoman to do on a ship where the captain is halfway up a Jefferies tube.” She paused.  “Did that sound rude, sir?”

Fontana shook his head.  “Peter is an operations officer with a side of engineering in there for good measure.  I would have been concerned to find him in his ready room recording a supplementary captain’s log.  You’re studying to be an operations officer, cadet.  Yet you volunteered to handle coverage here.  Why?”

Natalie studied the fleet captain.  She asked, “You knew my brother, sir.”

“I did.  We did not start out well, but I made it right.  I’m still sad he’s gone.”

She blinked back the sudden rise of her heart to heart throat.  “Me too, sir.”  She gathered herself before continuing.  “He was an engineer first and a commanding officer second.  Captain Crawford sometimes reminds me of him sometimes.”  She snagged her coffee, taking a long pull.  “Damn good coffee.”  She held the pause long and hard as her mind collected her feelings.  “I’m here because Ambrose would have been here.  I feel like…I get to feel him in these moments.  That sitting here, doing this work…helps me stay connected to his memory and him.”  She fell back into silence.

“I understand, Cadet Haris.  We’re only human…and our emotions sometimes need that extra thing to help us cope.”

She peered at him.  “It sounds like you’ve been there, sir.”

“A few times.  More than a few, if I’m being honest.”

She asked, eyes wide with questions, “Does it help to remember?”

“I think it does.  Remember the songs you shared, the love you shared and the memories you made.  That’s what helps me.  Taking the time to write them down so I can sit on my couch at the end of a long shift and fall back into that warmth.”

“It’s good to know even a fleet captain has long days, sir.”

“One of these days you can come follow me. My yeoman, Ensign Porter, would love you.”

“That a serious offer, sir?”

“Tell you what.  As soon as we get back to Montana, I’m ordering you on a field experience cycle with me and my team.”

His reward was the wide smile on the face of Cadet Harris.

These were the things that made his job worth it, he realized.