Avery Quence had been silent for most of their visit to the Cobb and the entirety of the walk from the transporter room to the ready room.
It was an unnatural state of affairs. More grotesque still: No one had yet had the decency to remark upon it.

​Quence’s lips curved downward in increments. First, at the immediacy of the debrief and the prospect of having to explain to others what he was still trying to figure out himself. Then, more definitely, when Brennan sat down beside him and set a cup of replicated coffee on the table.

Not because it was Brennan. He had nothing in particular against her. The coffee, however, was a different matter entirely. It emitted the sort of smell replicated coffee always did – not offensive enough to be honest, merely close enough to the real thing to insult it.

One had to pity those who accepted approximation so readily.

​“The Cobb is in surprisingly good shape.” Brennan began. A statement of such determined vagueness begged for refinement. Naturally, Quence was about to provide it when Valdes, with her gift of trampling worthwhile contributions before they were made, spoke over him.

​“I’ve reviewed the damage report and the repairs done. I would prefer not to delay our return.” Valdes said, then turned to her Chief Engineer. “Is there any reason we cannot expedite returning?”

​“None. Not from an engineering perspective.” Vargas shook her head. “The repairs have been conservative – I’ve run a full system check. No new technology has been added, and modulations are all congruent with our own standards.”

​“Very good.” Valdes inclined her head.

​Quence nodded his agreement. And, finally, found that he had something to add.

​“I would note, however…” he said, pausing just long enough to suggest that the room ought to prepare itself. “that the other vessel appears to have downloaded the Cobb’s database.”

​Brennan blinked. “So that’s what they meant by ‘having integrated the experience’?”

​Quence gave her a look. “Well, yes. That much was the implication. Obviously.”

In truth, it had not been obvious at all. Which was precisely the problem.
He had spent the better part of their visit, and their prior encounter with Burkhard, listening to these people speak in phrases that resembled Federation Standard only in the most charitable sense. They used familiar words, certainly, but arranged them in a logic he didn’t quite grasp.

“I didn’t find it entirely clear.” Sh’shiqil cut in.

Vargas nodded. “There is something unsettling about talking to them.”

Quence’s posture stiffened. Internally, he relaxed. Good. So he wasn’t the only one.

“I noticed the same,” Brennan said. “Though I cannot quite put my finger-…” She stopped and glanced at Valdes. “… on what it is.”

“They repaired the Cobb,” Valdes said. “And were nothing but accommodating.”

Her eyes lingered on Brennan for a moment too long. Quence remembered overhearing Brennan saying something about a comment being made, before she’d rudely excluded him from the conversation by lowering her voice.

Valdes turned to Doctor Trovek. “What was your impression?”

Trovek was staring at a PADD that looked subtly wrong to Quence. She looked up a beat too late.

​“Doctor Trovek.” Valdes repeated, more sharply. “What was your impression when interacting with the alternate Federation personnel?”

“I’ve only interacted with Doctor T’vor,” Trovek said carefully. “And he was not unlike any other Vulcan I’ve encountered.”

​“So you didn’t feel anything was off?” Brennan asked incredulously.

​Trovek shook her head. “No, not in the interaction itself. More in regards to…” She paused and considered her words. “While most of the crew has sustained only minor injuries that have since been treated, Captain Corrin has sustained severe neural injuries that are currently being treated in a local medical facility. I visited said facility to confirm the extent of the injuries and projected recovery time.”

​Quence turned to look at her. That, at least, was new.

The doctor had offered to accompany her to the Cobbs’ sickbay. He had declined on entirely reasonable grounds. After all, his medical expertise was better suited for higher-order inquiry than bedside hovering.

She had not mentioned the possibility of visiting another medical facility.

​“You might have thought to ask me to accompany you,” he said, more pointedly than intended. Trovek didn’t respond. And Valdes cut in again.

“But treatment is underway. Is it working?”

“That’s the problem, Captain,” Trovek said with visible discomfort. “The injuries would, by our standards, be classified as severe. We have treatment approaches, but this Federation is medically more advanced than we are.”

Quence disliked that statement on several levels. Most obviously, because it was irritating to hear aloud when he’d personally made strides in his research, and several improvements to the Shadow’s sickbay.

“Will there be lasting damage?” Brennan asked.

“I am not sure yet,” Trovek said. Then, after a pause, “Or rather, I am not sure which it will take. From a purely biological standpoint, the treatment is successful. But the methods chosen do not align with our standards. They have implanted a cognitive assistive device to repair the injuries.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Valdes’ expression hardened first. “You are saying the technology we should not bring back is not embedded in the Cobb’s system,” she said, “but in Captain Corrin?”

​Trovek gave a nod. “Yes. The device is meant to be temporary, but I am still reviewing the data they shared with me.”​

“They just shared it?” Quence asked.​

Trovek nodded. “The medical staff was… very open about it.”

Very open. There it was again.
The local generosity that felt just a little too smooth.

“If it’s temporary, the question is how soon it can be removed. Because that determines when we can leave.” Brennan argued.

​“Yes.” Trovek agreed.  That’s what I am worried about.”​

Quence sat both hands lightly on the table. This was terrain he was comfortable with: a body of research, a questionable medical framework, and a group of people in need of someone better equipped than they were to interpret both.

​“I will assist you in reviewing the material,” he declared.

​Trovek looked at him. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

​Of course, she didn’t. That was her problem.

​“I think that would be useful,” Valdes said before Trovek could continue. “I would like the assessment sooner rather than later.”

Trovek lowered her gaze. “Understood.”

​Quence allowed himself the smallest possible smile. At least, something had resolved into a legible shape.