“Commodore’s log, stardate eight-zero-zero-zero-two point one. The squadron, minus the Destiny and Ithaca, is currently mapping a large plasma storm that the Talaxian traders from Talveya told us about. The Talaxians call it the Gilded Discontinuity. It is three times the size of the Bajoran Badlands. Starting the new year off and doing some exploring is a welcome change for many of the ships in the squadron. For most of last year, we spent trying to stabilise the area after the Vaadwaur incursion. This has also given some of the squadron’s crew time to relax from the constant diplomatic functions we’ve engaged with.”
“Slow your kicks,” Flemen said, voice calm and encouraging. “Long strokes. Let the water carry you.”
S’Tem paddled forward with intense concentration, arms cutting through the water in careful, practised motions. His dark hair clung to his forehead, ears slicked back, lips pressed into a determined line. Flemen moved alongside him in the shallow end, one hand hovering just beneath S’Tem’s elbow, ready but deliberately not touching.
The Odyssey’s swimming pool was alive with soft echoes and motion. Light from the overhead panels fractured across the water, scattering ripples of gold across the bulkheads. A few off-duty crew drifted at the far end, laughter carrying faintly, while the shallow lanes were given over to quieter routines like this one.
“That’s it,” Flemen said. “You’re floating.”
S’Tem reached the edge and grabbed hold, pride flickering across his face. “I didn’t sink.”
“You absolutely did not,” Flemen replied with a grin. “That’s a win there!”
“After this,” S’Tem said solemnly, “we go on the flumes.”
Flemen checked the chronometer on the wall. “Five minutes left.”
S’Tem sighed, long and dramatic.
“…and then we go on the flumes.”
S’Tem brightened instantly. “Okay!”
A sudden, heavy splash sounded from the deep end, sending a low wave rolling across the pool. Flemen glanced up as Counsellor Benris surfaced and began swimming toward them.
Benris moved through the water with effortless control. Every stroke was smooth, powerful, economical. Broad shoulders and a sculpted chest broke the surface cleanly with each breath, muscles shifting under taut skin in a way that made it clear he didn’t just work out for form. He lived in his body comfortably, confidently. The water seemed to part for him.
Flemen looked away a second too late and focused very deliberately on S’Tem.
Benris reached the shallow end and stood, water barely reaching his waist. Droplets traced down his arms and torso as he pushed wet hair back, an easy grin settling into place, dimples appearing as if by design. The assistant chief counsellor seemed confident in what he was doing as he approached Flemen and S’Tem.
“Afternoon,” Benris said lightly.
“Hello, Counsellor Benris,” S’Tem replied politely.
Benris’s smile softened. “Hello, S’Tem. Still enjoying your swimming lessons with your Uncle Craigen?”
“Yes,” S’Tem said. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, “You are very muscular.”
Flemen froze.
Benris blinked, then laughed, clearly delighted by the young boy’s candid remarks. “Well. Thank you.”
S’Tem gestured between them. “You are more muscular than Uncle Craigen. And my dad.”
Benris crouched slightly and ruffled S’Tem’s wet hair, unbothered and amused. “That’s very observant of you.”
Flemen cleared his throat. “S’Tem—”
“Why don’t you have muscles like him?” S’Tem asked Flemen, genuinely curious.
Heat rushed to Flemen’s face. “I—well—I do exercise,” he said quickly. “Different routines. And—”
Benris stepped closer and draped an arm around Flemen’s shoulders with easy familiarity. Flemen stiffened for half a heartbeat before Benris gave his chest a friendly squeeze.
“Hey,” Benris said, still smiling. “Your Uncle Craigen is pretty fit.”
Flemen’s blush deepened.
“He swims regularly, he keeps active,” Benris continued, squeezing once more for emphasis. “Strong where it matters.”
S’Tem considered this very seriously. “Okay.”
Benris straightened, grin widening. “See? Expert consensus.”
Flemen exhaled and very deliberately redirected his attention back to the lesson. “All right. One more length.”
Benris rested his hands on the pool edge. “Speaking of swimming,” he said, glancing at Flemen, “have you reconsidered the league that I mentioned last month?”
Before Flemen could answer, S’Tem spoke up. “He can’t.”
Benris blinked as he wiped his face one more time with his hand from the water that had dripped down from his wet hair. “Oh?”
“He teaches me,” S’Tem said firmly. “Every week. If he joins the league, he won’t have time anymore. This is one of the things that Uncle Craigen and I always do.”
Flemen smiled apologetically. “That’s the issue. I’d love to, but this comes first.”
Benris nodded, understanding. “That’s fair. Commander Tomaz did warn me you’d say that.” He smirked. “I heard he teased you mercilessly about it, actually.”
Flemen groaned softly. “He most definitely did.”
Benris chuckled. “I won’t poach your instructor, S’Tem. I promise.”
S’Tem nodded, satisfied.
“I may not be able to join the swimming league,” Flemen added, “but I’ve been thinking about one of the soccer teams you’ve been trying to set up.”
Benris’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“It’s a shame the cadet unit isn’t around,” Flemen said. “Alfie and Jordan were excellent players.”
S’Tem’s expression softened. “I miss them.”
“I didn’t know they were your friends, S’Tem?” Benris asked quietly, then smiled again.
The young Romulan boy nodded. “They used to babysit me.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky to have so many people looking after you?” Benris said.
S’Tem nodded again. “I am. Do you have many people looking after you?”
Benris rubbed the back of his neck before answering. “A few, maybe more soon.” He looked to Flemen. “I’d love to have you on one of the soccer teams. Maybe you could even convince some of the other senior staff to join?”
“I can try,” Flemen said. “Let me ask Tomaz, Elddie, Samwell and Rosle. I may even be able to get Brianna.”
“Fantastic!” Benris pushed off the wall. “Will I see you in the gym later?”
Flemen nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got to work on my muscles, apparently.”
“I’ll be happy to lend a helping hand!” With an easy wink and a powerful kick, Benris slipped back into the water and disappeared toward the deep end.
S’Tem watched him go, then looked up. “Is Counsellor Benris your new best friend?”
Flemen blinked. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t want you to stop being best friends with my dad.”
Flemen’s expression softened immediately. “That will never happen,” he said gently. “Your dad and I are solid.”
S’Tem nodded, reassured. “Solid like that ice planet you crashed on last year?”
“Absolutely!” Flemen said, smiling, “Now, let’s finish up so we can hit the flumes.”
S’Tem kicked off eagerly, laughter splashing up around them as the quiet, ordinary life of the Odyssey carried on.
Captain Duncan’s ready room felt less like his private space and more like a living room that afternoon.
Duncan sat on the central sofa, one arm draped casually along the backrest, a PADD resting forgotten beside him. Hunsen occupied the opposite end, long legs stretched out, posture relaxed in a way that only came when the door was closed, and the bridge was several meters away. Around them, armchairs had been claimed with varying degrees of formality: Tomaz lounged comfortably, Keli sat upright and attentive, while the two newest department heads took their places with measured care.
Lieutenant Rythorn sat straight-backed, hands folded neatly in his lap. His blue skin and pale antennae marked him unmistakably as Andorian, but there was nothing sharp or aggressive in his posture. Calm, composed, and quietly intense, he listened with the focused stillness of someone who absorbed every word and filed it away with care. Years of mastery showed not in bravado, but in restraint.
Across from him, Lieutenant Commander Grethan Wrenth occupied his chair like an observer more than a participant. Light blue eyes, along with his bleached blonde hair, gave him a reserved look. The Apergosian’s gaze moved subtly between speakers, tracking tone, cadence, and intent. He spoke rarely, but when he did, it was with precision. Even at rest, he radiated a sense of mental motion, as if several analytical processes were running just beneath the surface.
“All right,” Duncan said at last, trying to wrap up their discussions. “Let’s make this official.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “As of tomorrow, Tactical and Security will operate as separate departments. Lieutenant Rythorn will assume command of Tactical while Keli remains in charge of Security.”
Rythorn inclined his head. “Aye, sir.”
“That’s the plan!” Keli approved with a smile.
“Intelligence,” Duncan continued, turning his attention slightly, “will now stand independently from Strategic Operations. Lieutenant Commander Wrenth will oversee it.”
Wrenth nodded once. “Understood, Captain.”
“I want to make this clear. This isn’t about distancing departments,” Duncan said. “It’s about focus. About sustainability. We’re a large ship, with a wide remit, and I don’t want anyone carrying more than they should.” His gaze settled briefly on Tomaz.
Tomaz smiled knowingly. “You mean me?”
“I mean you,” Duncan said, unapologetic.
Tomaz shifted in his chair. “In all fairness, sir, Strategic Operations was already being run by Wrenth and Grant most days when I was off with the commodore. When I was there, I was mostly there to nod gravely and pretend I was indispensable.”
Wrenth’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.
“And,” Keli added, folding her hands, “Wrenth looks better in gold than red.”
Wrenth glanced down at his uniform, then back up. “Statistically unprovable, but I accept the compliment.”
A ripple of quiet amusement moved through the room.
The captain looked over at his chief security officer. “I don’t want anyone thinking they can’t handle two large departments.”
Keli showed her appreciation of his concern. “I promise you, sir, I am more than happy to see less paperwork so I can focus more on my department. Plus, Rythorn likes playing with the torpedo launchers more than I do!”
More chuckles filled the office.
Duncan exhaled, the tension easing. He turned to Hunsen. “Are we sure we’re ready for this?”
Hunsen nodded confidently. “Tobias issued the proposed updated duty roster to all department heads and deputies earlier this week. Everyone’s had time to review it. No one has raised any concerns. I don’t foresee any issues. You just need to give me the final nod, and I will confirm the changes fully.”
“Good, then consider this me giving you the final nod,” Duncan said with a singular nod. “I’d like one structural change in my career to go smoothly.” He straightened. “I appreciate all of you being flexible with this. I want Commodore McCallister to see that this reduces work overload, not creates it. We’ll review the effectiveness of the changes in one month, alongside the rest of the senior staff.”
Rythorn spoke then, voice calm and steady. “I intend to honour Commander Keli’s trust, Captain. Tactical will remain tightly integrated with Security.”
Keli inclined her head toward him, approval clear.
“And Intelligence,” Wrenth added, “will maintain close coordination with Strategic Operations. Separation does not imply isolation.”
Duncan nodded. “Exactly. All of you must ensure you remain working closely together for the sake of the ship and the squadron.” He rose to his feet. “All right. You’re dismissed. Lieutenant Rythorn, Lieutenant Commander Wrenth, I look forward to seeing you both at tomorrow morning’s senior staff briefing.”
“Looking forward to it, sir,” Rythorn said.
“Likewise,” Wrenth echoed.
As they stood and gathered their padds, Tomaz paused near the door. “Since we’re reorganising,” he asked lightly, “are we planning to restructure any other departments?”
Duncan chuckled. “No. Though I was half-expecting Craigen to ask for separate Diplomatic and JAG offices.”
Tomaz snorted. “He doesn’t have enough work to justify it, sir.”
Keli arched an eyebrow as she approached the Barzan man. “Is that why he’s always babysitting S’Tem for you?”
Tomaz nodded solemnly. “Do you blame me? I lost my two best babysitters when Alfie and Jordan joined the Astra.” He smirked towards Duncan’s direction.
Duncan rolled his eyes. “Out. All of you. I am not responsible for my son’s career or discussing my son’s former exploits now that the Astra is on the other side of this plasma storm. And don’t go quoting that to Tobias either!”
Laughter followed them into the corridor.
“Tremt,” Duncan called after his first officer.
Hunsen paused, turning back.
“I thought we were grabbing a bite and going over Brianna’s latest scans?” Duncan quizzed.
Hunsen sighed and lightly smacked his forehead with one of his hands. “I may have double-booked myself.”
Duncan folded his arms. “Engineering?”
“Yes,” Hunsen admitted. “Tierra asked for a second opinion on problems with the secondary deflector.”
“Should I be worried?”
Hunsen shook his head. “No. Probably residual effects from finally stripping out the last of the quantum slipstream hardware. A similar thing happened when the Odyssey first launched. Resetting it to the standard specs has caused a few issues that I had resolved over the years. Instead of her spending ages reading my reports and trying to duplicate the changes I made, I offered to do the work with her. Save her time and cause us any more issues later on.”
Duncan studied him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in engineering lately.”
Hunsen shrugged, almost sheepish. “I do miss it, Max.”
Duncan nodded slowly. “I appreciate the honesty. Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with being my first officer.”
“It won’t,” Hunsen said immediately. “I promise.”
“Good,” Duncan said. “I’ll review the scans later with Tobias. You focus on helping, Tierra.”
“Are you sure?” Hunsen checked.
Duncan nodded. “Tobias could do with the experience of it. Go, help Tierra.”
“Thanks, Max, I appreciate it!” Hunsen said before leaving.
Left alone, Duncan looked around the ready room. New departments. New leaders. A ship too large to command by instinct alone.
He hoped, quietly, that he was getting it right. He tapped his combadge and called his husband to join him.
The administrative department occupied a vast, open stretch of deck fifteen, a carefully ordered landscape of workstations and data alcoves that hummed with quiet purpose. PADDs passed from hand to hand. Wall displays scrolled duty rosters, personnel records, and long-term projections in muted colours. Holographic displays monitored schedules, reminders and incoming daily reports. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was essential. It was the place where the Odyssey’s vast complexity of data and reporting writing was translated into something manageable. If the bridge was the brain of the ship, and engineering was its heart, then the administrative area was the nervous system. Relaying signals, coordinating responses, and ensuring every part of the ship and every crewmember knew what to do and when.
Lieutenant Commander Beanna stood at the central coordination console, calm amid the motion. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, framing a face that carried warmth without softness, composure without distance. She moved with practised grace, fingers dancing across the interface as she cross-checked assignments, her posture relaxed but precise. Around her, yeomans, record officers and administrative assistants worked efficiently, guided as much by her presence as by her instructions. All of them were a well-oiled machine that had established this department since the ship’s launch.
Beanna hailed from one of the many cloud cities of Ardana. She liked the chance to remain among the bureaucracy of the Odyssey. It grounded her, and everything seemed so logical.
She was midway through updating a when she sensed someone waiting.
“B, can I borrow you for a second?”
Beanna looked up when Lieutenant Commander Colbie Grant called her by name. She was standing just beyond the console’s edge. Grant didn’t interrupt immediately. She watched for a moment, observant and patient, her expression thoughtful as Beanna completed her task and dispatched it with a flick of her fingers.
“Hey Colbie, how can I help?” Beanna said, turning fully with a smile.
Grant stepped closer, a PADD tucked neatly under one arm. Her uniform was immaculate, her hair pulled back in a clean, deliberate style that emphasised her steady gaze. There was a quiet confidence to her bearing, not rigid, but unmistakably assured.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Grant said.
“Not at all,” Beanna replied. “What can I do for you?”
Grant held out the PADD. “I was reviewing the updated duty roster. Everything looks solid, but there’s one small detail you may want to adjust.”
Beanna accepted it, eyes scanning rapidly. Her brow creased just slightly.
“Commander Tomaz,” Grant continued evenly. “He’s listed as present for the next two days. I believe he’s just been scheduled to depart with Commodore McCallister tomorrow for a visit to the Concordia.”
Beanna nodded at once. “You’re right. That’s on me, I forgot to issue the update when we heard. Thank you for catching it.”
Grant smiled, warm but unshowy. “It’s nothing. With the department reorganisation, it would’ve been easy to miss. Honestly, the work that’s gone into smoothing this transition shows.”
Beanna inclined her head in quiet acknowledgement. “It’s been busy, but it’s been a collective effort.”
Before Grant could reply, a nearby office door slid open, and Commander Court stepped out, adjusting the line of his collar.
“Colbie,” he said pleasantly. “Good to see you.”
“Likewise, Commander,” Grant replied.
Court turned to Beanna. “The old ball and chain has summoned me.”
Beanna’s lips curved, just barely. “Let me guess, Captain Duncan needs someone to have lunch with him?”
“Precisely,” Court sighed. “I’m never living down telling him if he doesn’t like eating alone during duty to call me, am I?”
“Nope,” Beanna said calmly, still smirking at her superior. “You’re not, but you love him, and you love spending time with him.”
He chuckled. “You’ve got this?”
“I’ve got it,” she replied without hesitation.
Court took a step away, then paused. “And don’t forget you’ve got the next bridge duty watch. In ten minutes, I believe.”
Beanna froze.
Her eyes widened a fraction. A sharp inhale, then her fingers were already moving across the console. “Yes,” she said, just a beat too quickly. “Yes, I did remember that.”
Court smiled, reassured. “It’s been a busy few days, Beanna. It’s okay to forget things.”
Beanna smirked. “Thanks, sir.”
Court gave her one more reassuring smile before he headed out and down the corridor, leaving Beanna finalising the assignment with crisp efficiency.
Grant watched, amused. “That was close.”
Beanna exhaled. “Too close. I need to be getting to the bridge.”
“I need to return to Strat Ops.”
They stepped away from the console together, the steady hum of the department continuing behind them.
As they stepped out into the corridor, the two officers nearly collided with someone moving briskly in the opposite direction.
“Sorry—!”
Lieutenant Dannik skidded to a halt, one hand clutching a PADD, the other tapping his commbadge. The Vissian’s uniform bore the operations colours, worn comfortably, his movements energetic but controlled. His light eyes were bright with focus, his expression open and alert, as if his mind were always half a step ahead of his body.
“All good,” Dannik said quickly, ending the comm. “Sorry about that.”
“Lieutenant Dannik,” Beanna said with a faint smile.
“Lieutenant Commander Beanna,” he replied easily. “Lieutenant Commander Grant.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “Running ahead of the ship again?”
Dannik grinned, unapologetic. “Only by about thirty seconds. Linguistic routing issue in subspace traffic. Sorted now.”
“Of course it is,” Beanna said dryly.
Dannik glanced at the PADD in Grant’s hand. “Roster changes?”
“Minor,” Grant said. “Everything else looks good.”
He nodded, already shifting his weight back toward motion. “Glad to hear it. I’ve got to get moving, or I will be late for Commander Dalen’s briefing.”
“Give the commander our best,” Beanna replied.
Dannik flashed a quick smile and was gone, momentum trailing behind him like wake turbulence.
Grant watched him go. “He always seems to be on the go! I never had that much energy when I was his age.”
“He makes it look fast,” Beanna corrected.
They reached the junction where their paths diverged.
“By the way,” Grant said, pausing, “I’m starting a book club. Nothing formal. Once a month.”
Beanna’s interest was immediate. “What are you reading?”
“Classics,” Grant replied. “Earth literature. We’re starting with The Great Gatsby. Are you interested?”
Beanna gave it a moment to consider and then just nodded. “Sure! Why not! Count me in.”
Grant smiled and gave a thumbs-up. Before she could say anything more, the intercom went off, followed by Captain Duncan’s voice.
“Yellow alert, all hands report to your stations. Medical teams stand by for multiple incoming traumas. Emergency search and rescue teams report to the transporters.”
