After their unexpected diplomatic overtures on the flight deck, Costa and Hawthorne slipped quietly back into the rear compartment. Costa’s heart was racing at how quickly everything he knew about Tristan Hawthorne had changed. Among other things, he felt a pang of regret that they hadn’t been able to have a heart-to-heart earlier, as there was so much wasted time between them. The more he thought about their situation, the more he realized that lust had driven a lot of his interactions with the other man, and to accuse him of any sort of adolescent behavior was an obvious case of a man living in a glass house and throwing stones.

When Costa lay down on his field mattress, he’d faced the bulkhead away from Hawthorne. He turned around to get one more glimpse of the scientist’s handsome face, but in the few moments they’d been in the room, Hawthorne had gone from an insomniac to being so fast asleep that he was open-mouth drooling on his pillow.

“Wish I had my holocamera,” Costa muttered to himself, but that moment of endearing vulnerability and realness was already burned into his memory.

⁂

When Costa awoke, the other three lieutenants were already starting to pack their things up and return the aft compartment to its normal use as a day room. While no one said anything, Andretti was clearly annoyed that he’d slept in later than the rest of them—though, Costa never could tell what exactly Andretti was thinking, as he had one of those faces that just seemed perpetually moody.

“Sorry, guys,” Costa said, hopping up to roll away his bedding.

Once Costa had packed away his things, he stepped over to where Hawthorne was standing by the replicator. He was surprised when the blond handed him a steaming cup of coffee.

“I made an extra cup on accident,” Hawthorne explained, though that hardly seemed credible.

“Someone woke up on the right side of the floor today,” Costa teased, though that was much milder than he would have done the day before.

It took everything the pilot had not to greet Hawthorne with a kiss. He could see a glint in his blue eyes that signaled a similar feeling. Costa settled for a wink before the four of them settled in for a quick breakfast. Unusually, Fox wasn’t trying to cram in an extra coding session and actually seemed to be trying genuinely to make nice.

“I can get in my own little world sometimes. I’m sorry I was rude to you, Hawthorne,” Fox offered, in between bites of quiche Lorraine. “So, yeah.”

Hawthorne offered him a polite smile, which instantly made Costa jealous, as he knew what followed when one apologized to Tristan Hawthorne.

“I appreciate that. Thank you, Fox. I have been accused in the past of being stuck up, conceited, difficult, fragile, and a whole host of other things—mostly by our dear colleague Costa—” Hawthorne started, grinning across the table towards Costa. “So, I’m sure I earned some rudeness. Did you sleep well, or were you visited by the spirits of Christmases Past, Present, and Future who compelled you to turn over a new leaf?” he teased.

Costa chuckled at how on fire Hawthorne was that morning but disguised it by taking a drink of his coffee. Andretti arched an eyebrow at him from the PADD he was reading.

“Nah, nothing Dickensian. I think it’s a side effect of the ‘Leaf, but I don’t dream,” Fox replied, laughing. Costa did not expect the computer scientist to get that literary reference, as he barely did himself. “Huh. So, saying ‘sorry’ just… works? I should try that more often.”

“Saying sorry is the best. They say it can lead to… great things…,” Costa interjected, though he failed to assemble a sage-seeming quote in the time allotted. He winked at Hawthorne. “Isn’t that right, Tristan… err… Hawthorne,” he added, correcting himself awkwardly as they seemed to be all in on surnames that morning.

“Oh, quite,” Hawthorne agreed, blushing noticeably, then looking down to move his uneaten eggs around his plate. “Did you have an acceptable night’s sleep, Costa?”

The pilot chuckled, licking his bottom lip and looking directly into the science officer’s cerulean eyes. “I honestly didn’t get that much sleep, but I still woke up feeling so ready for this mission,” he said.

Andretti scoffed.

“Something wrong?” Costa asked.

“I don’t know. Why were you two in the command module from 0200 to 0500?” Andretti asked.

“What do you mean?” Costa bluffed.

“I’m the designated security officer on this mission, so it’s my responsibility to review the security log. This says very clearly that the command module hatch was opened four distinct times last night, twice by you two near 0200 and then again separately around 0500,” Andretti replied, sliding the PADD over to where Costa could see the log entries.

“Ah. That. I couldn’t sleep, so I went forward to review the sensor logs,” Hawthorne volunteered.

“And I went to check on him. Then we talked. About the mission,” Costa explained.

“For three hours?” Andretti pressed.

“What does it matter?” Costa asked. “Were we supposed to get our hall passes signed?”

“I don’t actually care what you two were really doing, but I did have some strange dreams last night. Lots of animal sounds in the night,” Andretti said ominously. “Whatever. I am going to get on with our systems diagnostics,” he said, grabbing the remains of his breakfast and recycling his dishes before leaving the aft compartment.

“What a narc,” Fox noted with a grin. He munched on a piece of toast and seemed oblivious to the truth of the situation hanging in the space over the table—at least for a moment. “Even so… how about I make you a deal? I’ll put a privacy block on the cockpit data recorder that only a captain or above would be able to override, and you let me vape in perpetuity throughout the universe at whatever temperature settings I want,” the chain-vaping tech nerd offered.

“Done,” Hawthorne said immediately.

“Sick,” Fox replied, grabbing a PADD from the edge of the table. Seven taps later, or at least that’s how fast it seemed, he was done. “Didn’t even save myself a copy,” he said with a wink. “Happy Frontier Day, boys.”

Fox left his dishes on the table and grabbed his equipment on his way out of the aft compartment to his station forward.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Hawthorne said with false cheer as Fox stepped through the door. His smile fell as soon as the hatch slid closed. “Did we just get blackmailed?”

“Low key,” Costa agreed.

Hawthorne laughed. “Low key,” he repeated, in Costa’s accent. “Certainly a quid pro quo, in any case. I guess we’re not cut out to have a secretive affair.”

“Well, wasn’t our whole plan to get everyone to believe we were friends?” Costa reminded him. “I mean, it would have been great to know about the cockpit recorder being on when the ship is shut down, but we didn’t do anything wrong. So, what could Andretti put us on report for?”

Hawthorne’s smile grew wider as the wheels behind his eyes worked through that suggestion. Before he could say anything, though, the alert klaxon began to sound.

“Arcturus sending new orders. Prepare for imminent arrival,” the computer reported.

Both lieutenants scrambled to their feet. As they headed towards the command module, Hawthorne surprised Costa by throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him deeply on the lips.

“I just want you to know that last night was so amazing, Paulo,” Hawthorne said, which made Costa’s heart skip a beat. “Now, try not to fly us into anything so we can make tonight just as good,” he said before leading the way into the command module.

Costa was back up front and in the pilot’s seat for less than two minutes before his jaw dropped at the sight of an Odyssey-class starship entering a stellar nursery at near-warp speeds, its shields crackling with energy as it pushed away the gas and streamed in at full speed towards the captured cnidarian and unusual alien ship keeping it hostage.

A new set of orders flashed across Costa’s screen.

“Enter formation with support craft and provide fire support,” it said.

The starships Antares, Apollo, and Achilles were hot on Arcturus’s heels, charging in behind the flagship in a wedge formation. All four capital ships’ deflectors began to glow violet as Costa joined the runabouts and fighters behind their motherships.

“Your counter-signal?” Hawthorne asked.

“Yup. Should sever the creature from the thought-makers,” Fox replied.

“Should?” Andretti asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Relax. I’m a genius,” Fox said.

From where Costa was sitting, he had the best view of the battle of any of the four of them. At first, it seemed like the signal was working, as the cnidarian began to shift color from green to blue, but just as quickly as it’d started, the effect started to reverse, and the creature began to grow like an emerald.

“That’s not right,” Fox said. “This signal… It’s a Borg signal. I’m positive.”

“Are you saying that thing is assimilated?” Costa exclaimed.

“I honestly have no idea,” Fox replied.

“Woah. I am detecting massive energy readings about two AUs out. Dozens of cnidarians are converging on our position,” Hawthorne said.

“Are they hostile?” Andretti asked from the tactical station.

“Unknown.”

“Their energy signature is different from the Borg one,” Fox offered. “My program is interfering with the thought makers, but the signal strength is too low.”

Costa thought about that for a moment before grabbing the control yokes and upping their speed. “If those cnidarians are hostile, we’re fucked. If they’re not, they’re walking into a trap. We need to tell them that our signal is what’s gonna save their friend,” he declared. “Tristan, can you get them that message?”

“I… That’s not been tested,” Hawthorne said from the science station above Costa’s shoulder. The pilot turned around and managed to catch Hawthorne’s eyes. “Understanding basic concepts and syntax is one thing, but this is a highly technical situation. There’s no way to know—”

“You can do this. Seginus Flyer to Arcturus. We believe that increasing the signal strength of our counter-signal will be effective. The unassimilated cnidarians can be saved if they help us boost the signal. Requesting permission to send them that message.”

“This is Lancaster. How do you plan on transmitting your message?” came an immediate response from the fleet captain.

“Hawthorne here, sir. We can use the illumination beacons and remodulate our shields to mimic the aliens’ bioluminescent language. We should be able to ask them to help us boost the signal,” the science officer replied.

“Sir, if there are anywhere near as many of these cnidarians out there as we think there are, the capital ships will be vulnerable,” Andretti interjected. “We can confirm their intentions by relaying their visual responses back to you, even if we can’t communicate.”

Costa was annoyed that Andretti butted in, but he wasn’t wrong. If their plan didn’t work, the larger vessels needed warning to be able to flee.

“Do it and come back alive. We just need enough time to destroy the control ship. That’s a direct order. Lancaster out,” the fleet captain responded.

“Hold on,” Costa said, breaking out of formation to bypass the immediate battlefield to take them out to the approaching cnidarians.

As the Seginus Flyer left the immediate vicinity of the seemingly assimilated cnidarian, Costa saw the starships of Arcturus Squadron engage the alien vessel controlling the entrapped creature. A barrage of quantum torpedoes was rebuffed by the claw-like starship controlling the cnidarian. There was no time to worry about that, though, as the runabout zoomed away from the battle towards the oncoming cnidarians.

“What message are you going to send them?” Andretti asked.

“Still working on that,” Hawthorne replied. “It has to be something simple… I’ve got it. ‘Make our voice stronger. Save friend,’ is the most complex I can get with what we know.”

Moments later, the cnidarians started to come into view. They were massive, glowing bright blue against the backdrop of the swirling stellar nursery. Costa was shocked to see so many of these marvelous life forms in one place. Miracles of both evolution and beauty, he couldn’t imagine what their lives must be like spent totally in space.

“I’m reading slight variations in their bioluminescence,” Hawthorne said. “The computer thinks they’re saying ‘stranger.’ I’m sending the message through the visual beacons.”

The shields in front of the Segnius Flyer shifted color imperceptibly to Costa, but he knew that there was a light show going on in the ultraviolet ranges. Though he knew what was intended to happen, he was still shocked when he saw the creatures change color in response, going from blue to violet.

“Understanding. Ally,” Hawthorne translated.

Before their eyes, the cnidarians transformed their bodies into massive saucer-shaped vessels matching what the Enterprise had seen at Farpoint Station all those decades prior. The creatures moved past the runabout with a speed and urgency seemingly at odds with their vast size.

“Arcturus, we think they got the message,” Costa reported, bringing their craft around to follow the cnidarians.

The combined signal power of dozens of Farpoint cnidarians, along with the Starfleet vessels, produced a signal so strong that it was able to block the control signal emanating through the thought makers. The captured cnidarian shifted color and began to glow as it shed its alien additions. All of the vessels began firing on the claw-like alien vessel, and before the Segnius Flyer was even back in weapons range, it exploded in a spectacular fireball. The now-free cnidarian’s colors were changing rapidly as it and its brethren were reunited.

“What are they saying?” Costa asked.

“It’s exactly the same pattern the Enterprise recorded—they are tremendously grateful for our assistance,” Hawthorne replied. “I hate to say it, Paulo, but we actually managed to go on a mission and succeed.”

⁂

An hour or so later, in fresh, crisp duty uniforms, Costa, Hawthorne, Fox, and Andretti were all gathered at the table in Fleet Captain Lancaster’s office. They had barely had time to write preliminary reports on their experiences, and the captain was pouring over them with great interest. Lancaster was Costa’s personal idol despite them being on opposite ends of the personality spectrum. He was young for his rank, ambitious, and respected as a master of starship operations—everything Costa wanted for his own career.

“Excellent work, lieutenants,” he said in a rare moment of praise. Costa nearly passed out from a sincere compliment from his commanding officer. “Captain Alesser was a little skeptical when I moved Costa and Hawthorne onto the same team, but I thought you two were overdue for a win,” the captain said, glancing over at the first officer, who offered a shrug.

Costa’s jaw dropped. “You did that? Er… Sir?” he asked.

“Yes, and before you ask an impertinent follow-up question, I did it because I wanted the person who cracked the cnidarians language with our best technologist and the highest-rated tactical officer and pilot together on this,” Lancaster clarified.

Alesser cleared his throat. “The reason I didn’t put you two together is because of your well-known animus, but… I’m happy to be proven wrong,” the Ardanan man said. “It looks like dangling promotions in front of you was a good enough motivator after all.”

“So, did one of us earn the promotion?” Andretti asked.

“Final determinations will be made soon,” Lancaster replied, giving no hints at all about the outcome. “I just wanted to bring you up here to say well done. I want your final reports by the end of tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

Fox and Andretti went through the rear exit from the ready room towards the turbolift vestibule while Lancaster and Alesser were talking amongst themselves, so Costa took the opportunity to push Hawthorne towards the forward entrance. Something Hawthorne had said the night before about never having been on the bridge of the Arcturus resonated with him.

Commander Odea glanced up from the command chair but then went back to her PADD when it didn’t turn out to be the captain taking over the deck. Hawthorne had a clear sense of awe on his face. They went along the side of the bridge towards the aft side, keeping as slow a pace as they could without looking touristy. It was only 20 or 30 seconds before they ended up on the other side of the bridge and exited into the other vestibule.

“Thank you, Paulo,” Hawthorne said, kissing him in the turbolift. “What now?”

“We make up for lost time.”