Stardate 2393.8

Cadet Paulo Costa had spent the majority of his life in Chicago on Earth, other than occasional trips up to Spacedock with his fathers. For the prior two years, he’d been at Starfleet Academy’s flagship campus in San Francisco, which had been something of an adjustment for his Midwest sensibilities—Lake Michigan was for all practical purposes an inland sea, but living on its shores was completely different from living on the banks of the Pacific Ocean—but Mellstoxx III was an entirely new world with strange smells, sights, and textures to experience. After a grueling en-route training cruise aboard the starship Ramilles, he had just a few hours to explore before his entire cohort was expected to report in for their inspection at the beginning of their service with Cadet Squadron Bravo.

Costa knew about half of the cadets he’d travelled with well, but he decided to strike off on his own. The Mellstoxx III campus was situated on a wide plain that abutted an amethyst sea on one side and the foothills of mountains on the other three sides, which gave it perfect natural boundaries that kept it separate enough from the rest of the Betazoid colony that the cadets would stay contained. Naturally, Costa headed up straight into the hills. It wasn’t long before the paved pathways of the Academy campus became less and less paved and he stumbled onto one of the obstacle courses used to test physical fitness. After flight training, running and jumping through courses like that were probably Costa’s favorite part of the academy curriculum because it gave him a chance to show off.

As luck would have it, he’d have a chance to show off right then and there.

“Hey! Can you help us?” came a shout from the top of one of the wooden towers that comprised the obstacle course.

Costa jogged over and saw four Andorians on the top of the fifteen-meter structure. Unlike the rest of the wooden structures in the area, it seemed like it was more for observing the rest of the area and not meant to be something that cadets would interact with, let alone climb.

“Are you okay?” Costa shouted up to them.

“We’re fine, but we can’t get down. The ladder fell off and we don’t have any safety equipment to climb down,” one of the Andorians, a man, replied.

Glancing around, Costa saw the remains of a metal ladder that had not only fallen off of the tower but slid down into a training trench. It still looked more or less intact.

“I see it. Hold on!”

Without waiting for a response, Costa charged down into the trench, scrambling down over the embankment and getting his boots and uniform dirty in the process. He found the ladder, which he quickly noticed seemed to be cut rather than simply broken; the connection points were cleanly separated from whatever had held them onto the tower. There wasn’t time to think about that, though. He grabbed it and it was a struggle, even with the light-weight alloy it was made of, given its length. He managed to manhandle it up over the bank without bending it and got it up to where the Andorians were waiting.

“I’ll hold it from here,” Costa volunteered, once the ladder had made contact with the top of the tower.

The Andorians proceeded down one by one, providing more stability with their combined grip on the ladder as they did so. The show of cooperation gave Costa a slight tingle in his heart, as it meant that he was participating in one of the truest beliefs of Starfleet: that we are stronger together. Not wanting to confuse others, they took the ladder back down and laid it next to the tower when all four Andorians had been rescued.

“Thanks for the assist, Cadet—?”

“Cadet Paulo Costa. Just transferred today from Earth. I’m starting my third year,” Costa replied.

“Our Andorian names are complicated, so I go by ‘D,’ and he’s ‘C,’ and the two ladies are ‘A,’ and ‘B,’” one of the Andorian men said, with a grin. “We’re all fourth years. And before you ask, no, we’re not a bonded quadrad. We’re just good friends,” he teased, with a wink.

“I wasn’t gonna ask, but that’s good to know,” Costa replied, biting his lip slightly. He pointed to the ladder. “That didn’t fall off. It was sheered off.”

“The Human is right,” ‘B,’ said, scanning it with her tricorder. “Plasma cutters.”

The five of them looked up to the top of the tower and saw two small cylinders near to where the ladder was supposed to join with the observation platform.

“Makes sense,” ‘D,’ said. “They sent us up here to suggest revisions to the course. So, they cut off the ladder to make us figure out how to get back down. That was the real test.”

“So, did I just help you cheat?!” Costa asked.

“Doubtful. We inspired a younger cadet and spurred him into action. That was our solution,” ‘D,’ replied, with a chuckle. “Thanks for the help. Want to walk with us back to campus?”

Costa walked, talked, and flirted with (all four) of the Andorians on their way back to the Academy. By the time they passed into the main campus, it was nearly time for the inspection. He said his good-byes (and exchanged a few comms frequencies) and then jogged off to the parade field where the rest of his fellow third-years were waiting for him. He was regaling his friends with his story of triumphant rescue when he noticed someone he’d never seen before out of the corner of his eye.

This creature had tawny blond hair coiffed perfectly and ocean-blue eyes that shone even from ten meters away. Patrician cheekbones and pouty lips completed the package of someone that Costa immediately regretted not knowing much earlier in his life. He was drop-dead gorgeous. The pout turned into more of a snarl without warning, though, and the blond cadet marched up to their Vulcan squadron leader and said something that Costa couldn’t hear before tromping back to his spot with a glare. Costa interpreted it as just a coincidence—or maybe a reaction to his staring—and went about his business.

Once the inspection proceeded, Costa quickly found himself under the appraisal of the Vulcan captain, Solek.

“Cadet, your boots are scuffed and your uniform is duty. Remain here after the other cadets are dismissed,” Solek said, not waiting for Costa’s explanation before passing on.

A few minutes later, Costa heard, “Cadet Hawthorne, your uniform is immaculate. Your collegiality uses something to be desired. Remain here after the other cadets are dismissed.”

Once the other cadets were dismissed, it was just Solek, Costa, and Hawthorne. The Vulcan made a motion with his hands and the two cadets moved to stand at attention right next to one another.

“Cadet Costa, you are in a state of undress and will run ten laps around the parade field as disciplinary calisthenics,” the captain said. “Cadet Hawthorne, you have subjected your fellow cadet to punishment for an offense that neither impacted you nor required a report. You will run five laps around the parade field as disciplinary calisthenics,” he added. “Dismissed.”

Costa and Hawthorne looked at each other in shock, before starting out on a run along the perimeter of the parade field. Ten laps would be something like nine thousand meters or nearly ten kilometers. It wasn’t exactly a fun run, but it was a little bit short of a death march. Costa considered himself to be in excellent shape, so he was a little surprised that Hawthorne could keep up with him. What kept him running at top speed, though, was the knowledge that this blond cadet had tried to get him disciplined for absolutely no reason. The two of them didn’t know each other, and yet Hawthorne had violated the basic tenant of Academy life that cadets should stick together—in Starfleet, we are stronger together.

Both cadets were gasping for breath when they finished their punishment, collapsing at Captain Solek’s feet. The Vulcan complimented them on their times before leaving.

“Costa, I’m—,” Hawthorne started.

“A blond, British pendejo,” Costa spat before leaving his fellow cadet there to languish on the field.

In the eight years since that moment, they had not only managed to end up on the same starships, but their teachers and commanding officers had felt it appropriate to continue to push Costa and Hawthorne into the same assignments. They always got the task done, but there was usually some sort of disaster or blow-up along the way. Costa had never been able to figure out in the intervening time what exactly he had done to deserve the scorn he got from Hawthorne.

Stardate 2401.4

Costa had always liked the Delta-class runabouts, because they put the pilot front and center in the nose. The ones in use aboard the Arcturus retained the physical yoke controls on the steering column but replaced the other Captain Proton-inspired baubles from Tom Paris’s original design with standard holographic interfaces. Even in an era of real-time haptic feedback, he liked the way it made him feel like he was really in control of the craft.

“Attention all hands, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard the Seginus Flyer for our non-stop service to the Deneb Zeta Seven Stellar Nursery. Our flight time will be approximately 26 hours, 43 minutes at a comfortable cruising speed of Warp 7,” Costa started, tapping the all-call button so that Hawthorne and Fox could hear him from the aft compartment. He’d spent a lot of time on the holodeck, and particularly loved old simulations of airliners on Earth. “In preparation for departure, please take your seats and ensure that your tray tables are in their up and locked positions. Prepare the cabin for departure.”

“Aye-aye, captain, sir,” came Hawthorne’s immediate and sarcastic response.

As Costa was completing the last pre-flight checks, the rear hatch to the flight deck opened, and he turned around to catch a glimpse of Hawthorne taking the forward science station and Fox slipping into the aft engineering station. Andretti had been there the whole time at the tactical/operations station, giving them a full house.

“Mister Hawthorne, if you would be so kind, please secure our departure clearance,” Costa ordered, liking the tiny bit of authority his role gave him over his rival.

“Tower, this is Flyer 2. Requesting departure clearance,” Hawthorne said.

“Clearance granted, Flyer 2. Proceed on departure vector two and maintain impulse power until you have ten kilometers of aft clearance from Arcturus,” the flight control officer on the other end of the line ordered.

“Vector two for ten klicks, confirmed,” Costa replied.

“Happy hunting. Arcturus out.”

“Alright, boys. Let’s find us some space jellyfish,” the pilot announced.

Costa engaged the anti-grav systems, which let the Seginus Flyer float above the hanger deck. They were positioned front-and-center behind the massive forcefield that kept the atmosphere within the shuttle bay, in the larger middle division of the ship’s hanger. With a slight nudge to the controls, the thrusters kicked in, and they zoomed aft. Once they’d cleared the forcefield, he engaged the impulse drive, and they sailed between the mothership’s long, gleaming blue nacelles. It didn’t take long for them to clear ten kilometers.

“We’re at a safe distance for warp,” Andretti reported.

“Executing,” Costa announced, to borrow Fleet Captain Lancaster’s ‘warp word.’

Reaching over to the throttle, Costa jumped the Seginus Flyer to warp seven, causing the stars to streak past the craft’s large forward viewport. With a few more taps, he locked in the autopilot for their easy cruise to the Deneb Zeta Seven Stellar Nursery.

Hawthorne cleared his throat, and Costa turned in his chair to look at the blond over his shoulder.

“I did just want to mention that the term ‘jellyfish’ is not anatomically or taxonomically appropriate to describe Farpoint Cnidarians. There is no link we’ve established between their evolution and aquatic creatures like jellyfish. More correctly, they should be called Farpoint Cnidarianoids, but that name is even less transparent than the one that was selected,” the scientist noted.

Costa avoided rolling his eyes just barely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It’s just… if we think of them like jellyfish, we may expect them to behave like jellyfish, and that would be a mistake,” Hawthorne clarified; there was something almost desperate in his blue eyes that Costa interpreted as him attempting to signal that he wasn’t correcting just for its own sake.

“That’s… a good point,” Costa replied, though he still thought that Hawthorne’s absurdly perfect and square jawline was quite punchable. “Maybe we should all review the file during our trip.”

“I’ve already read it,” Andretti said, simply. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”

“Yeah, I was familiarizing myself with the flight plan,” Costa replied. He hadn’t interacted much with Andretti, but he seemed like a killjoy. “We have thirteen hours to kill and the ship’s on autopilot. I’m going to the back to have some lunch and read the dossier. The rest of you are welcome to join me.”

“So, all jellyfish are cnidarians but not all cnidarians are jellyfish?” Costa asked, peering over his mostly-eaten empanadas to where Hawthorne was sitting across the table with a grilled cheese sandwich.

The Segnius Flyer’s aft mission module had a table that rose from under a thin cover in the floor to provide the crew with space to eat and study. When they were ready to go to bed, they’d have to spread camping mattresses out on the deck plating, though. There was a module with bunks they could have swapped in, but evidently, the command staff were willing to sacrifice crew comfort to get the runabouts launched as soon as possible.

It was about an hour after their departure, and all four of the lieutenants were gathered in the aft compartment. Costa and Hawthorne were sitting across from each other, as were Fox and Andretti. While Costa and Hawthorne had replicated meals, Andretti was reading a book on his PADD, and Fox had set up a holographic terminal to work on some sort of coding project. Costa could hear the strains of Klingon acid punk through the other lieutenant’s audio earbuds, and he was occasionally puffing on a vape pen containing Orion snake leaf.

“Correct,” Hawthorne replied, glancing up at Costa. “Just like all Humans are vertebrates but not all vertebrates are Humans.”

Costa nodded. “So, if they’re animals… Aren’t you a linguist?” he asked.

“For the thousandth time, Paulo, I am a linguistic anthropologist,” Hawthorne replied, a little sharply, before glancing between the two other lieutenants he was supposed to pretend to be nice in front of. He took a breath. “They resemble animals, but their behavior and telepathic ability suggests that the Farpoint Cnidarians aren’t just sapient, they’re fully self-aware and communicative. There’s every reason to believe they have some form of society, which is why I’m here.”

“So, if we find them, will you be able to talk to them?”

“Maybe,” Hawthorne replied, blushing slightly.

“Maybe?!” Costa asked. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“It’s all just theory until we put it into practice. The number of encounters with these creatures is in the single digits, after all. It’s not like we have a massive data set to go on,” Hawthorne replied, glaring across the table at him.

Costa nodded. “Right. And you’re here in case they don’t like what we have to say,” he said, looking at Andretti, a tactical officer.

“Sure, if you want to be reductive,” Andretti replied, putting his PADD down. “What’s more likely than a miscommunication is running into whatever ship has the thought-makers we have been tracking, though,” he clarified. “Can’t quite figure out why he’s here, though,” the tactical officer said, nodding over to Lieutenant Fox.

Fox glanced up. He took a deep hit of his vape pen before exhaling a cloud of the acrid vapor across the table. “I can hear you. I’m here because I developed the algorithm we’re going to use to counter the thought-maker signal. I’m a computer genius,” he said.

“Do you have to do that in here?” Hawthorne asked.

“I’m allowed to,” Fox said, doing it again. “It’s a free country.”

Hawthorne started coughing, and Costa felt a strange sense of protectiveness over the blond lieutenant in his gut. It was a feeling like ‘only I get to bully him!’ He grappled with that for a moment before remembering their stratagem: they had to pretend to like each other in the interests of a smooth mission. Hawthorne started to scoff.

“I’m sure Tristan didn’t mean to intrude on your civil liberties,” Costa said before Hawthorne could escalate. “We’ve all got to get along in this tiny box for at least a day.”

Fox rolled his eyes. “It helps me think.”

“Well, it clearly doesn’t help him think,” Costa replied.

“Fine. I’ll keep my delinquent vapors out of your boyfriend’s face,” Fox conceded. He grabbed his pen and dialed the temperature down so that they could all see it at the table. “It doesn’t work as well, but you won’t be able to see it or smell it.”

“Thank you,” Hawthorne said. “And I’m not his boyfriend,” he added, snatching up his plate and recycling it before moving back to the forward component.

Costa watched Hawthorne leave and felt a pang of guilt.

“I thought that stuff was supposed to mellow you out,” Costa noted.

“It does for some people,” Fox said with a shrug. “This is why they keep me in the computer ops center, though. I don’t go on away missions or talk to people.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Costa replied. “I’m going forward.”

Costa recycled his lunch and then returned to the forward section of the runabout where he found Hawthorne back at the science station. In the time he’d known him, he’d never thought of Hawthorne as someone who was able to conceal his emotions with great ease—the frown he had was unmistakable. It couldn’t be easy for him to seem to be constantly walking into situations where he came across as the bad guy and Lieutenant Fox had been out of line.

“He’s just… socially stunted,” Costa said, leaning on the side of the console.

“I thought you’d be happy that your data set proving I am insufferable was expanding,” Hawthorne quipped. “Though, I think he believed that you do not, in fact, hate me, so that was some excellent acting.”

“I don’t hate you,” Costa replied, his voice softening.

“Please do not patronize me. I need to make sure every single sensor cluster is calibrated correctly,” Hawthorne said sharply.

In that moment, the small well of sympathy he’d built up for Hawthorne evaporated. Costa let out a silent exhale through his nose before leaving the science station and going back down to the flight controls. It was going to be a very, very long mission if this dynamic kept up.