Welcome to my website, detailing the adventures of Captain Esek Hrelle, his family, and the crew and cadets of his starship, the USS Surefoot. These stories are set in the 2360-70s, the Next Generation/DS9/Voyager Era.

When I wrote the first story, The Universe Had Other Plans, in the far off distant year of 2016, I never intended it to be a "first" story of anything. It was meant to be a one-off, a means of helping me fight writer's block on another project. I am amazed and delighted that it has taken on a life of its own, with an extended family of characters, places, ships and events.

The column on the right hand side groups the stories chronologically by significant events in Captain Hrelle's life (such as the command of a new Surefoot), as well as major events in the Star Trek timeline. The column on the left hand side lists reference articles, one-off stories, and a link to stories set on the USS Harken, a ship from decades before but with ties to the Surefoot Universe.

The universe of Star Trek belongs to CBS/Paramount; all of the original characters here belong to me. There is no explicit sexual content, but there are instances of profanity, violence and discussions of adult subject matters and emotional themes; I will try to offer warnings on some of the stories, but sometimes I forget.

I love comments (I don't get paid for this, sadly), so feel free to write and let me know what you think!

Friday 28 September 2018

Class of 2372 - Part 1 of 5: Alma Mater



30,034 Words

“Personal Log, Stardate 49561.36, Sasha Hrelle recording: The Surefoot has arrived at Earth prior to the graduation of the Class of 2372. My class. The cadets and crew are taking the opportunity to catch up with relations or take shore leave. I, however, have… business to attend to. I’m an Adult now, you see.

I hope I can manage Adulting. Seems in parts scary and boring.”

*

Harbstodt Township, New York State, Earth:

She looked out of the window at the sprawling treescape, a million greens in as many shades reaching out to the craggy, ephemeral peaks of the Adirondacks. The sky was clear, and the air carried a strong scent of lavender. It was just as she remembered it, and she wanted to stand there and stare out at it forever – if only to keep from having to face finishing the task literally waiting behind her.

“Sasha?”

She still didn’t turn away, knowing the Caitian woman wouldn’t think it rude of her, but instead listened to the creaking floorboards as Kami entered the bedroom.

“Who’s this?”

Now Sasha turned. The woman who had been her Counselor, her friend, and had definitely become a lot more to her since, had lifted up one of the items covering the small bed, a picture frame, and regarded it curiously.

Sasha didn’t have to look at it to know who it was. “Mr Oruh, my teacher back on Salem Four, until the Bel-Zon attack. He retired after he recovered from his injuries and returned to Betazed, but he sent me that image when I was shipped to Earth.” She reached out and examined it again, seeing the kindness behind the solid, coal-black eyes, and she smiled. “We always thought he used his telepathy to catch us passing notes or doodling instead of paying attention, but I suspect we were just really crap at hiding it. He sent me messages for a while after I arrived but...” Her expression sobered again. “But I think Grandma Eismann contacted him and asked him to stop, telling him that it was just reminding me of what had happened to Mom and Dad.”

“And not just for you,” Kami prompted, moving around the room, Sasha’s former room. “For your mother’s parents too. It must be like the Seven Hells for parents who outlive their children. I hope I don’t have to do that; it would break me. It would just... break me...”

Sasha watched as the Caitian’s tail swish gently, and then grow still – as she placed a hand on her belly.

A thought made the cadet blurt out, “Are you pregnant again?”

Kami stopped, turned and grinned, her mane of sepia fur shimmering in the morning light streaming through the open bedroom window. “No!” But then her eyes twinkled. “But I admit I am thinking about it. A girl this time, maybe. My own Princess. And better to do it with a shorter gap in years to Misha, so they’ll be close but he can handle the change in attention focus.” Then she dropped her hand and approached Sasha. “We should get things wrapped up. And by we, of course, I mean you.”

Sasha nodded and faced the bed; all of her childish possessions were scattered here, left in the house with her maternal grandparents, who had taken her in after the Salem Four attack, raised her, and encouraged her to go on to Starfleet Academy despite their obvious fears about her meeting a similar fate to her mother and seemingly her stepfather too. She felt guilty that she never came back more, beyond the odd visit on Academy breaks. But as she had grown, she had forged for herself a life that was growing ever more detached to what was here.

Books, games, stuffed animals, pens and paper, clothes she couldn’t possibly fit into now- then she dug down deeper and found another photo, smiling at it.

Kami drew up beside her, sliding an arm around the young woman’s waist as she shared the view of the picture: a nine-year-old Sasha, sticking her tongue out, as did a younger-looking Esek Hrelle and his then-wife Hannah.

Kami laughed softly. “So, he was always a fat bastard, huh? I’m amazed he passed the Starfleet physicals.”

Sasha smiled. “I could never get my arms around him fully. Still can’t.” After a moment, she nodded to herself, slipped the photo into the bag she had brought and fastened it up. “Let’s go.”

“That’s it? Nothing more?”

“I don’t need anything more.”

“And have you made a decision about the house, the estate?”

“Yes. The firm that was hired to maintain the place after the Eismanns’ deaths have located some relations in Florida. I’m going to sell it all to them. Or give to them. I really don’t care which. At least it’ll still be in the family’s possession. I’ve made new family.”

“Are you sure about that? It is lovely up here. It could make for a wonderful home for you to stay whenever you’re on Earth.”

“Home?” Sasha shook her head with a wistful smile, before looking up at the raftered ceiling, as if peering through it to the sky above. “I am Starfleet now. My home is in the stars, a thousand thousand twinkling lights, with a thousand, thousand adventures orbiting each one. Infinity is my backyard, Eternity my calendar-”

Kami reached down and smacked the girl on the rear. “Alright, alright, you’ve passed the audition. Now let’s get moving and collect your Dad and brother before they devour all the fresh toffee apples and caramel popcorn from the nearby town.”

*

As it happened, Esek Hrelle never left the graveyard that sat between the Eismann family home and the town of Harbstodt. He had smelled the foods on offer, of course, but was at an uncharacteristic loss of appetite, as he stood at the grave of his first wife. They had buried Hannah in the family plot, and her parents beside her when they had subsequently died.

There was a twinge of guilt at not being here for Sasha when she had suffered these losses – and anger at those responsible. But he cast it aside now, at least the latter; the recent work he and his crew had done at the Son’a station had resulted in dozens of arrests of Bel-Zon operatives and associates throughout the Quadrant.

There had even been arrests of Starfleet officers in their employ, like that First Officer for Captain Lucille Arrington, who had taken over command of the Impala in the wake of her removal from active duty following her breakdown (and thinking about that made Hrelle wonder how much of that had been contrived by the Bel-Zon to put one of their own in a position of power and mobility). Their assets were seized, and their influence no longer extended past the non-aligned Skarosian system. As far as Hrelle was concerned, they could sit there and rot for eternity.

The guilt remained, and always will, he suspected, despite it not being his fault. But even then, he knew that, while the guilt was there, nothing could be done of it. And there was no sorrow either anymore at her passing. He had moved on. And he believed Hannah would have wanted it that way.

Then his ears twitched as he heard the sounds of someone trying to sneak up on him from behind, careful and quiet as he could be… but not careful or quiet enough for someone of Hrelle’s age and experience. Still, the Captain allowed his stalker to draw closer… closer…

Misha, clad in running shoes, red shorts with a hole in the back for his tail, and a matching T-shirt with the Starfleet logo on the front, leapt up onto his father’ back, using his claws to climb up and clamp his fangs around Hrelle’s neck, growling. Hrelle gave a theatrical yelp, dancing around as he cried, “You got me, my Warrior Prince! You got me!” Then, suddenly realising how disrespectful this might appear if anyone else was in the graveyard, he reached around and held the cub up in his arms. “But maybe you should save it for the park or the playground or the Holodeck, not places like this, okay?”

“Trouble Time?” Misha asked, unsure what he had done wrong.

“No, no, not Trouble Time,” his father reassured him, lifting him up onto his shoulders. “Now, let’s go see about some toffee apples. And no farting up there!”

“Hey you two!”

Hrelle turned, Misha grinning and waving happily. “Mama! Sasha! Caught Papa!”

The two women were walking up the road, a bag slung under Sasha’s arm, the girl grinning at her little brother’s proclamation. “That can’t have been too difficult, he is old and fat, after all.”

Misha laughed with delight and slapped his father on the head. “Olden fat! Olden fat!”

Hrelle growled as they departed from the graveyard. “Thanks, Runt of the Litter. Have you settled things?”

“Yeah. Can we head back now? I’ve still got a shitload to do-” She glanced up at Misha guiltily and clarified, “I mean, a lot of work to do. Processing for the trip to Vulcan, rehearsing, finishing my speech...”

They began walking to the airtram station just outside of town, Hrelle asking, “You still haven’t finished that thing? You’ve had weeks! How hard can it be?”

“You can always let her read your Valedictorian speech for inspiration,” Kami suggested. “Oh no, wait, you never made Valedictorian, did you, Esek? In fact, you were in the bottom ten percent of your alumni, weren’t you?”

That shut him up, and they continued to walk quietly together.

Until Misha declared loudly to passers-by, “SASHA HAS A SHITLOAD!”

*

Starfleet Academy Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth:

The Golden Gate Bridge glistened in the sunlight raining down on the Bay, and on Starfleet Academy, as Hrelle enjoyed the view from the Superintendent’s office. Starfleet had twenty-five Academies in total stretched throughout the Federation, and literally hundreds of Annexes and smaller facilities; not all of the future officers of the organisation could come here to study and train, there simply wasn’t the room for them all. But this one was the first, and the most prestigious, and more often than not, when people talked of Starfleet Academy, they referred to the one here on Earth.

Admiral Ruth Goldstein brought a glass of Aldebaran whiskey over to him. “Penny for your thoughts, Captain?” She handed the glass to him. “It’s an old Earth expression-”

“I know.” He turned to her, smiling. “Actually, I was thinking about taking over your job someday.”

The petite, pepper-haired woman smirked, cradling her own glass. “Oh? Should I be worried about a coup d'etat?”

He chuckled. “No, the thought had come to me in a… dream… I recently had. But the dream took place in the distant future, when I had a lot more grey in my fur.”

“Well, I can tell you, Esek, if you get the job, and you don’t have grey beforehand, you will once you start dealing with all the political mishigas.” She raised her glass. “L’chaim.

He raised his own. “To Life.”

They drank, Hrelle feeling the rush to his head. “Thanks for that, Ruth. So, what can I do for you?”

Goldstein was more sparing with her imbibing, and turned to look out at the Academy grounds. “I know T’Varik and your wife is busy now selecting the next batch of cadets for your ship for September, but there’s background talk about whether or not we should continue with the Advanced Work Experience Program at all, in light of the deteriorating situation in the Quadrant. The break with the Klingons, this Cold War with the Dominion. And of course, the remaining threats from the Borg, the Romulans… to put cadets out there to face such dangers before they’re ready...”

She shrugged. “There was always that talk, of course; you know yourself, you’ve been involved in the debate. But now, the threats are more concrete, they’re appearing in the nightly news reports. People can’t ignore them any longer, and they want to know if it’s too risky to let them be out there before they’re ready to face those dangers.”

Hrelle’s brow furrowed as he considered the woman’s words, though he already had an answer for her. “Ruth: no one is ever ready. You can take all the training, all the classes, all the little cruises around Saturn in some vintage ship. You can walk off this campus with your diploma and your Ensign’s pips on your collar and all the best intentions possible. But you’re never really ready until you’re out there.

I understand the fears; I’m a parent, too, and in my time, my daughter’s nearly died, twice, not to mention being assaulted, threatened... and many of the other cubs on my ship have gone through similar trials. But at least now, with our guidance, we can prepare them as best we can.”

His face went taut now. “And… at the risk of sounding ominous: if things do deteriorate and we end up going to War, and the Dominion proves to be as formidable as Starfleet Intelligence claims, then the issue of cadets going out into space too early will be moot. We’ll be shortening the education time, relaxing the standards. We’re going to need bodies to make up for those we’ll be losing. In great big numbers.”

They went quiet for a moment.

“I wish you were wrong,” Goldstein admitted in a whisper.

*

Minutes later, Hrelle emerged from her office, to find someone else waiting. His hackles rose. “Admiral.”

Admiral Trenagen was staring at a painting of a Constitution-class starship on the wall, his hands folded behind him, but now glanced at Hrelle. “Good afternoon, Captain. Welcome back to Earth.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Hrelle felt his tail grow still. His relationship with the Head of Starfleet Intelligence began years ago following his escape from the Bel-Zon, when Trenagen attempted to recruit Hrelle into going after the criminal organisation. Hrelle supplied all the intelligence he could recall, but otherwise refused, preferring to be around to reunite with Sasha and regain some of his old life.

Trenagen took it badly. Every subsequent encounter only reinforced Hrelle’s belief that he had made the right decision – especially when Trenagen repeated his offer, but this time hinting that it would not be with SI, but the organisation referred to in rumour as Section 31. And Hrelle made it doubly clear that he wouldn’t get involved with an illegal, unsanctioned organisation, no matter Trenagen’s convoluted justifications for such an agency.

Since then, the man had been all business, in those few times they had interacted.

“Congratulations on your daughter making Valedictorian,” he commented.

Hrelle nodded. “Thank you, Admiral. I’m very proud of Sasha.”

“I understand she’s attending the Advanced Command Training on Vulcan immediately after graduation.”

And how did you know about that? Hrelle asked himself, settling to answer with “Yes. I’ll miss her, but I’m happy for her.”

“Of course.”

Hrelle breathed in, indicating the door. “If you’ll excuse me, Admiral, it’s been a delight getting back in touch with you, but we’re both busy men...”

*

Senior Cadet’s Mess Hall:

Jonas Ostrow checked his pocket PADD for the twentieth time, before returning to not eating his chicken penne, and listening to the conversations around him.

Across from him, Neraxis Nemm stopped devouring her Bolian vindaloo to study her boyfriend. “She’ll get here, don’t worry.” She smiled, her blue, bisected face widening in a grin. “Maybe she hasn’t responded because she’s on the same transport as my mother, and they’re too busy planning our wedding reception?”

“No,” he replied absently. “She’s coming in from a different direction, she won’t be on the same ship.”

She reached across and smacked him on the forehead. “I know that, Scrappy! I’m as smart as I’m sexy, after all! I just want you to relax!” More gently, lovingly now, she added, “We’ve got some time for ourselves, we’ll meet the others tonight, and then tomorrow, your Mom and mine will be here to see us pissing ourselves with nerves in front of hundreds of people!”

He smirked, shaking back his silver hair. Then he glanced around at the cadets at the neighbouring tables, before leaning in and speaking more confidentially. “It’s weird.”

She frowned. “What is?”

He made a motion of indicating the others in the immediate vicinity. “I’m looking at them, listening to them talk about classes and dates and musicians and sports events, petty little things that they think are life-changing crises, and they haven’t even thought about what they will face Out There. And I know that we’re cadets just like them, at least until tomorrow, but… I’m not feeling it any longer.”

Neraxis’ expression sobered. “That’s because we’re not cadets like them anymore, Scrappy. We’ve been through too much. But let’s not judge them too harshly, they can’t be as blessed as us.”

“Or cursed,” he added gloomily.

She stared at him a moment longer, before reaching across, and switching his plate for hers.

Jonas glared at her. She picked up a chunk of vindaloo onto her fork and offered it to him. “Here, have some, I guarantee you it’ll clear that stick you have up your ass...”

*

Robert April Annex:

Meow Rrori stopped and adjusted his Starfleet cadet’s uniform sleeves once more, his white tail wagging behind him as he rushed up to his mother, hugging her tightly. “It is so pleasing to see you both! How was the journey?”

Ntruuer Rrori’s spotted white fur matched her son’s, as did her smile as she hugged and sniffed him, relishing his scent. “Fine, fine, my darling cub! And you wouldn’t believe who was onboard! Fleet Captain Ma’Sala Shall herself! And one of her husbands, Mi’Tree! You know? From the action vivids?”

Rrori smirked. “I know, Mother. I’ve met both of them when they visited the Surefoot. It was most impressive to talk with them, work and fight alongside them against the Vlathi.”

Beside his mother, the Clan’s Matriarch Mrirl Rrori stood, supported on a jewelled wooden cane but otherwise retaining the strength and vitality of a female a third of her age, harrumphed. “You’re both too easily impressed. Their clan isn’t even one of the original Twenty Landers.” She held out her free hand, beckoning to her grandcub. “Well, Meow? I didn’t travel 178 light years to just stand here like a statue and not get a hug.”

“Sorry, Grandmother.” He moved in, careful not to squeeze too hard. “Thank you for coming. Thank you both.”

Ntruur smiled, reaching up and stroking the fur on his head. “You don’t have to thank us, darling! How can we not be here to see you graduate?”

Mrirl began walking along the path. “And to find out why you didn’t make Valedictorian.”

Meow felt himself blush under his fur; he had been reluctant to even mention it when it had been announced that Sasha had been awarded that honour. But his joy at the deserved victory of his friend was tempered with a growing dread when his clan found out, and wanted to know why it hadn’t been bestowed on him. And then he’d have to tell them the truth… “Grandmother, I told you, Sasha is an amazing cadet-”

“And so are you! Amazing, brilliant, talented, hard-working, handsome, well-bred! Especially well-bred! And I find it suspicious that this human, the daughter of your Captain, would get this accolade.”

“Grandmother, firstly, she’s not like any human you might have met! She’s more Caitian than you’d imagine! And secondly, I promise you, her father had no part in Sasha being selected! Please, promise me that you’ll drop the subject and not bring it up again!”

Mrirl just grunted in response.

*

Starfleet Medical Academy Annex:

Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas sat in the briefing room with the other appropriate cadets, already aware of the content of the discussion from the older human male in Starfleet Medical blue, but required to attend and at least pretend to find it all novel and interesting. “Now, you will all have been taking your Pre-Med courses during your four years in Starfleet Academy, and presumably you’ll have passed, otherwise you wouldn't be here now to be bored listening to me.”

He chuckled at his own joke, and a few sycophants in the audience laughed too. It was all Eydiir could do to keep from agreeing with him out loud and walking out in protest. Following her visit to her homeworld, she had decided on changing her plans and staying full-time at the Academy once on Earth, and studying at Starfleet Medical. It had seemed a good idea. At first.

Now, however, she was beginning to realise how much time would be wasted listening to inane drones bleat about things she had already learned in the field, interspersed with endless excuses to attend pointless parties and play politics with the staff and with preening vapid fools she could easily pummel without a second thought.

Then the fool at the podium continued. “But now you’ll be facing the real challenge: four more years of intense study, internship, residency, and with the possibility of further study should you wish to specialise in a particular field. Now, let’s go through the 42 major fields you can specialise in...”

Eydiir ground her teeth.

*

Administrative Building 1:

Giles Arrington braced himself, took two breaths, then a third for luck, and entered the office.

They were there, as expected: his father, Admiral William Arrington, currently assigned to Starfleet Intelligence; his uncle, Commander Matthew Arrington, currently working in Starfleet Logistics; and his aunt Lucille Arrington, currently… looking strange in civilian clothes, on Medical Leave following her… problems while serving as captain of the Impala.

He looked to each of his family in turn, before settling back on his father, nodding and concluding with, “Hi.”

His father smiled cordially. “Hi, son.”

Giles held his breath. Things hadn’t been easy between them since Giles sided with Captain Hrelle during the family’s inexplicable feud with the Caitian. It was especially tense with his Aunt Lucille, who at one point had tried to physically strike him for his alleged betrayal of the family. He had met with one or more of them since for family events, and lastly for the funeral of his grandfather, former Academy Superintendent Admiral Jeffrey Arrington.

But each time, this awkward entrance, and he fully expected there to be additional issues given his choice of first posting on a border ship, rather than something more prestigious, something worthier of their family’s alleged Starfleet dynasty. He was ready for browbeating.

But then he remembered Captain Hrelle quoting one of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition: ‘Every once in a while, declare peace – it confuses the hell out of your enemies’. He grinned. “So, shall we head for that restaurant I heard about in South Bay? New rule: we buy the rounds in reverse order of age.”

*

Omnivores Restaurant, Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco:

Kit was practically jumping as he moved through the crowds, his lime-green mottled skin flushing with excitement as he clutched Hafsa al-Samra’s hand to keep up with her. “Intimate Friend Hafsa, are you sure you want me along? They are your parents, after all-”

“Yes, they are, sweetheart! And they made it clear that you had to come along! So stop fussing!” She looked back at him, grinned and winked, throwing back her mass of curly black hair as she raised her other hand and shouted, “Mom! Dad! We’re here!”

The bronze-skinned couple stood outside of the restaurant, but smiled and waved back as the cadets raced up to them, Hafsa letting go of Kit’s hand to embrace her parents. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again! I have so much to tell you!” She was practically giddy with delight as she drew in Kit. “Mom, Dad, this is Kit! Kit, this is my Dad Naazil and my Mom Muneera.”

Kit bowed politely to each of them in turn. “It is an honour and a pleasure to meet you both! Intimate Friend Hafsa’s talked at length about you.”

The couple nodded back politely, though Mr al-Samra, a tall, goateed man with slicked back black hair and a dark eyes, frowned. “‘Intimate Friend’?”

Hafsa nudged him. “That’s just the way his people talk, Dad! I told you! it’s charming! Come on, I’m starving, I couldn’t eat breakfast, I was so excited to get together with you!”

They entered the restaurant, confirmed the reservation and followed the waiter to a table overlooking San Francisco Bay and the Academy. Hafsa sat next to Kit, nudging him. “You’ll like this place, I chose it because their advertisements say they cater to insectivores.”

“Insectivores?” Mrs al-Samra repeated, looking with some consternation at Kit. “Do you mean you eat… bugs?”

“Yes, Respected Lady,” he replied. “Most insects, in fact, not just bugs.”

“There’s a difference?” Mr al-Samra asked, looking as if he didn’t particularly care about the distinction.

Not that Kit seemed to notice. “Indeed, Respected Gentleman. Bugs have a stylet, a mouth shaped like a straw, which they use to suck juices from plants. Insects are characterised by three-sectioned bodies, usually two pairs of wings, and three pairs of legs-” Then he paused and added, “Sorry. Please forgive this… insectually explicit talk.” He looked to Hafsa to see if she got it – her snort indicated she had.

Her parents remained deadpan, silent until the young people had calmed down, before Mrs al-Samra suggested, “Why don’t you go order the drinks now, dear? It’ll save time, and we can get to know your… friend... a little better in your absence.”

Hafsa beamed. “Sure. What’s your poison?”

“Spican flame whiskey for both of us, neat for me, on the rocks for your father.”

“Make mine a double,” her father added, never taking his glare off of Kit.

Oblivious, Hafsa nodded, kissed Kit on the cheek and rose and departed for the bar. Kit watched her leave, aware of the drop in the temperature at the table, but assumed he was misreading things. “So, Respected Parents of Intimate Friend Hafsa-”

Mr al-Samra cut in. “We want you to stop seeing our daughter.”

Kit paused, not quite sure what he had heard, his round bronze eyes narrowing. “Excuse me, Respected Sir? I- I do not understand.”

“It’s quite clear, young man,” Mrs al-Samra confirmed. “We don’t approve of your relationship with her.”

Kit’s stomachs twisted into knots. “B-But… why not? What have I done wrong?”

“You haven’t necessarily done anything, per se,” the man admitted. “It’s just that we don’t believe humanoids should mix with reptoids.”

“W-What?”

“Gorn, Saurians, Selay, Toseen, Arkonians, Cardassians… you’re all...” The man just shivered. “Slimy and scaly.”

Kit gripped the edge of the table, confused and alarmed by this sudden unexpected turn of events. “Please- I must respectfully protest this attitude! It is bigoted and wrong! My relationship with Intimate Friend Hafsa-”

“You keep using that word,” Mrs al-Samra declared darkly. “‘Intimate’. Are you having… carnal relations... with my baby girl?”

Kit gasped, suddenly conscious of the notion that perhaps Hafsa hasn’t informed her parents of the extent of their relationship. “I- I-”

Just then Hafsa returned with a tray, setting the drinks down. “Okay, let’s get stuck in-” She handed the emptied tray to a passing waiter and took her seat again, noting Kit’s expression. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“They- They-” He swallowed.

She looked to her parents in alarm. “What have you been talking about?”

“Nothing, dear,” her mother replied mildly.

“Nothing at all,” her father affirmed. “Like most reptoids, he just gets… hiss-sterical.”

The quartet froze, the cadets watching as the parents looked to each other… and burst out laughing, the laughter subsiding until Mrs al-Samra snorted, sounding uncannily like her daughter, and triggering another explosion of laughter between them.

Hafsa exhaled audibly and reached for her glass. “Oh.” She looked to a thoroughly confused-looking Kit. “They were playing a joke on you. They have the worst sense of humour, ever.”

Mr al-Samra was still chuckling, but his eyes shone with genuine warmth as he regarded Kit. “We’re sorry, son, but we couldn’t resist!”

“So you- you do not hate reptiles?”

Her father grinned. “It’d be terrible for me if I did, I’m a doctor specialising in reptoid races!” He peered just past Kit’s left earhole. “I can prescribe something for those dry scales, if you like.”

“Oh, thank you, Respected Gentleman.”

“Call me Naazil!”

Mrs al-Samra reached out and patted her daughter’s arm. “Hafsa couldn’t stop telling us everything about you two! We love it that you’re a couple! You seem ideal for each other! Such obvious chemistry!” A sly glint caught her eye. “I’ll bet it extends to the bedroom, too-”

“MOM!” Hafsa rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Kit, I should have warned you. Moms and Dads on Earth are like this.”

Relief washed through Kit, as he nodded and reached for his glass of nectar. “That is… a-parent.”

The four of them stopped. Looked at each other.

And guffawed again, raising their glasses for a toast they couldn’t actually get out for laughing.

*

Challenger Academy Park:

“Gramma! Grumpy!”

Misha left his mother’s and sister’s grasp and raced up to Ma’Sala and Mi’Tree Shall, the latter dropping to one knee and holding his arms out wide, the ash-furred elderly male’s eyes wide as he boomed, “Yes, Sweet Cub! It’s us!”

The toddler rushed into his grandfather’s embrace, leaping up – and kicking Mi’Tree in the crotch, making him stifle a curse. Barely.

Kami suppressed a grin as she drew up to them. “Misha! Watch your Grandpa’s Dangles!” She hugged her mother, and then after Mi’Tree released Misha to hug Ma’Sala, she did the same for her father. “Hello you two! I’m so glad you could make it! And how’s Papa Bneea?”

Mi’Tree was still recovering from his grandcub’s kick. “Your other father is well, thank you, my dear, and sends his regrets at not being able to attend, owing to clan business.” Then he grinned as Sasha drew up for her hugs. “There she is, our brilliant Tailless Grandcub!” He looked to Ma’Sala. “She’s Valedictorian! That means she’s the best!”

“I know what it means, ass.” But the elderly female hugged Sasha tightly, murmuring, “And I know how proud I am of you.”

Once they broke hugs and started towards the Guest Quarters, Mi’Tree lifted up Misha, huffing a little from the effort as he asked, “And where is my kin-son Esek? And young C’Rash?”

Kami slipped an arm around her mother’s. “Esek is in a meeting with the Superintendent, and promises to join up with us soon for dinner. But C’Rash has extended security briefings because of the worsening situation with the Klingons.”

Mi’Tree was pointing out some birds on the manicured lawns to Misha, but continued to listen to the conversation. “Ooh, that business with the Klingons is all just sensationalist media nonsense! Nothing will ever come of it! You mark my words!” He snuggled into Misha. “Isn’t that right, little cub?”

“Right, Grumpy!”

“No, cub, it’s ‘Grandpa’.”

“Grumpy!”

“No, ‘Grandpa’! Who told you it was ‘Grumpy’?”

Misha pointed to Ma’Sala. “Gramma!”

He harrumphed, looking to Sasha. “And have you prepared a worthy speech, dear cub?”

The cadet stuck her hands in her jacket. “Well, I’ve put some words on the screen, erased some, added some more, swore at it, got drunk, and finally we agreed to divorce.”

Mi’Tree’s eyes brightened. “Perhaps I could help? I am a most accomplished orator. Some of my most favourite speeches from my best vivids have been used in Drama classes back home.”

“But you never actually wrote any of your dialogue, did you?” Ma’Sala pointed out. “The Females are Gathering. Why don’t you take our grandcub over to the fountain to dip his hand in the water?”

“Excellent notion!” He looked up at the grinning toddler. “We can go for a swim!”

“No, Papa!” Kami scolded. “This isn’t Cait, he has to keep his clothes on in public! And for that matter, so do you! And keep an eye on him! He’s like lightning!”

“Yes, yes, my darling cub, I managed you for many years, I think I can manage him.”

*

Administration Building:

Commander T’Varik had been departing from the offices to obtain lunch when one of her Academy Liaison counterparts, a Benzite male named Genderan, fixed himself upon her and proceeded to provide an unsolicited account of his experiences with his own AWE Program cadets onboard the USS Shrysia, a tug in the Deneva sector. “It was tedious beyond belief! Moving decommissioned and derelict vessels out of the shipping lanes, performing customs and safety inspections of Merchantfleet freighters, maintaining communication and navigation buoys! No doubt your time onboard the Surefoot has been just as uneventful.”

“No doubt.” She quickened her pace, indulging in 0.43 seconds of hope that both this and her taciturn responses would be enough to dissuade him from further chatter.

But he kept up with her. “And the Captain was the most boorish creature, a Tellarite, and you know what they’re like! Always complaining! Don’t you hate people like that?”

“Indeed.”

“And as for the cadets- Goddess, always asking questions, seeking advice, harassing me constantly-”

“Indeed. I am certain educational professions would be much improved if we could eliminate the students.”

“What? Oh, I see; I didn’t know Vulcans had a sense of humour. But you know what I mean! I think I might have to go back to media consultancy, this business is not for me-”

“I agree. You sound supremely inadequate to manage such an important responsibility.” She halted and looked to him. “Can I stop you here for a moment?”

The Benzite braked, the mist from the breathing apparatus in front of his mouth catching up with him. “Yes, of course.”

“Good.”

Then she proceeded on her way, examining her feelings of disgust at her peer’s attitude – one shared by more than a few she had encountered since her return. She considered whether it was the result of having to manage hundreds of cadets rather than the relatively smaller number under T’Varik’s responsibility while on the Surefoot. She wondered if she had held the same attitudes before the Program, and what that said about her-

“Excuse me, Commander?”

She stopped again, not recognising the voice calling to her from behind, and turned to see an Orion female in a cadet’s uniform race up the path to join her, pausing to catch her breath. “Thank- thank- Thank you, Commander-”

T’Varik drew up formally. “Is that how superior officers are addressed at the Academy now, Cadet?”

Now the shapely, green-skinned girl – petite, her dark-green hair ponytailed back – shot to attention. “Ma’am, Cadet Zir Dassene reporting as ordered!”

The Vulcan regarded her, noting the Second Year insignia on the girl’s collar – and the subdermal implant visible near her carotid artery, the implant producing pheromone suppressant so as not to affect those around her. It was that ability, plus her people’s notorious history and conflicts with the Federation, which made Orion cadets relatively rare within Starfleet. “And what can I do for you, Ms Dassene?”

The Orion breathed in, visibly collecting her resolve before responding. “Commander, you are involved with the Advanced Work Experience program, selecting and supervising gifted cadets to serve onboard vessels-”

“You state the obvious, Cadet. And if you have approached me to solicit your own name for inclusion in the next Program in September-”

“No, Ma’am! I’m not here on my behalf, but my roommate’s.”

“Your… roommate sent you?”

She smiled. “Um… actually he doesn’t know. If he did he’d probably burn through to the floor below with embarrassment.”

T’Varik raised an eyebrow, and folded her hands behind her. “Explain yourself.”

Dassene swallowed. “His name’s Stalac. He’s a Horta.” After a pause she added, “They’re from Janus IV, non-humanoid silicon-based lifeforms-”

“I am familiar with Hortas, Cadet, thank you. Continue.”

“Yes, Ma’am, of course. Well, Stalac – it’s short for Stalactite, by the way; he picked it himself, he has that sort of sense of humour – is majoring in Science, and he has top marks, plenty of praise from his instructors, he’d be perfect for the AWE Program-”

“Has he applied?”

Her eyes sobered. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because... he doesn’t want to cause a fuss.”

“A… ‘fuss’?”

Dassene nodded. “He’s keenly aware that because he’s basically a big lump of fibrous rock that eats minerals and sweats acid, that there are a lot of concessions that have to be made to help him adapt to life among us carbon-based types. He’s eager to serve, to excel, but he’s very self-conscious about his… requirements. I think he’d be quite satisfied to be put on some distant outpost somewhere doing routine research where he wouldn’t feel like he was causing inconvenience. But I don’t think he should have to settle. He deserves more.”

“I see. And do you believe the same for yourself? Have you applied for a place on the AWE Program?”

The Orion frowned. “Commander, I told you, I’m not here for my own benefit, I’m here for Stalac’s.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”

“The question is explicit, Cadet. Why is Cadet Stalac’s welfare of concern to you?”

Dassene regarded her, as if wondering if she was being tricked or manipulated somehow. “May I speak freely, please?”

T’Varik nodded in assent.

Finally the girl replied, “He’s my friend. He’s the first roommate I’d had here who didn’t ogle me when I was changing, or was afraid that I would somehow turn off my implant and enslave them with my pheromones. Then I got to know him, and we ended up helping each other study, and we’d share jokes and listen to music and- frankly, he doesn’t make any assumptions about what I’m like because I’m Orion, because I have to tell you, it’s tiresome hearing all the same jokes about slaves and syndicates and do I dance or-” She stopped herself. “Sorry, Commander. I don’t have many friends here – but I’m passionate about helping those I do have.”

“Evidently so. May I ask what your Primary is at the Academy?”

“Command, Ma’am.”

The Vulcan nodded. “Very well, Cadet. It is not standard procedure, but I will examine Mr Stalac’s academic records. Dismissed.”

The younger woman beamed. “Thank you, Commander!” She turned and departed quickly, T’Varik guessing that she was probably rushing to tell her roommate the so-called good news, despite T’Varik not having promised anything more than what she had. Then the Vulcan continued towards the Staff Mess Hall, using her PADD to summon the records of Ms Dassene’s roommate.

And Ms Dassene herself.

Part 2 of 5: Persona Non Grata

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