Second Class

USS Surefoot-A, Deck 3 Fore, Alpha Squad Quarters, Stardate 49702.79:

“The time is 0600 Hours. The time is 0600 Hours. The time is 0600 Hours-”

“Acknowledged,” surrendered Zir Dassene, though that was her only concession to the arrival of the morning. She continued to lie there in the dark with the others in the room, refusing to get up, at least, not just yet. She desperately wanted to try and get back to sleep, though her experience told her that it would be a fruitless attempt; even discounting her current anxieties, she still hadn’t grown accustomed to sharing a room not just with one other, but five others.

Her friend Stalac was no problem, of course; he was directly below her, but the environmental chamber he slept in was insulated, and contained any noise he might make in his sleep.

But the others? She turned her head; the other females in her squad shared the bunk beds across from her: Flight Ops Cadet Astrid Michel took the upper bunk, and spent her sleeping hours making rude sounds in her sleep, while Engineering Cadet Tori Emoto was beneath, snoring – making more noise when she was asleep than she did when she was awake.

On the other side of the room, Medical Cadet Peter Boone was quiet enough, while below him, Security Cadet Urad Kaldron mostly lay perfectly still because of his bulk… but in those times when he did shift, the entire bunk bed structure would creak. Unignorably. He’d done it nine times through the night, she was certain of it. She considered stunning him to make him sleep more soundly, except that he was Hroch, and most phaser beams were said to wash over them like water. Maybe a heavy sedation, or possibly smothering him with a pillow...

Zir tried to dismiss it as a by-product of her anxieties about the day, that she was augmenting little, niggling things into major crises. But that didn’t help much.

On the other hand, they couldn’t be late, so soon after arriving. “Computer: Lights.”

The room illuminated, triggering curses from the boys. Zir kicked off her covers and swung her olive-green legs out over the edge, hopping down to the floor. With her right heel she kicked the side of Stalac’s chamber a couple of times, until she felt it rumble in reply.

“Good morning, Squad Leader,” came a honeyed voice from the girls’ bunks.

Zir looked up. Astrid Michel half-sat up, allowing her bedcovers to drop down in that way that the woman preferred, making the most flirtatious move seem accidental, displaying the lacy, revealing snow-white nightwear that the coffee-skinned human preferred, her regal high cheekbones and narrow chin broadening with a smile, her tight burr of black hair in place and seemingly not requiring the sort of morning maintenance that Zir’s own ginger-black hair needed. “Morning.”

Astrid swung her legs out and dropped to the floor with the grace of an athlete, ostensibly unmindful of how the move made her nightwear reveal far more of her perfect body than Zir would ever have been comfortable with showing, especially to a human male like Peter Boone. Astrid stretched out her arms and twisted her neck like some lioness up for the hunt, before suddenly bending over, straight down – revealing yet more of herself – as she looked in on her lower bunk mate. “I felt you shaking the bunk last night, sweetie. Let me know if you ever want someone to join you, teach you a few things–”

Zir saw the reaction from Tori, and intervened. “Cut it out, Cadet. I’ve warned you about that.”

The human straightened up, unflustered, her French accent as soft and seductive as her clothes. “Just trying to be helpful, Squad Leader. But if you’ve got dibs on her, just say–”

“Just get in your workout gear.”

“What, can’t I go in this?” she teased.

“No.”

Astrid shrugged – and then stripped off what little she had on, as Zir turned away, ostensibly to get her own workout clothes. “The rest of you, I want all of us in the gym in five minutes! Be there, or I’ll rip you all a new one!” She stopped and kicked the black box under her bunk. “No exceptions!”

The side of the box slid up and away, releasing a hot blast of air from the darkness onto their feet, as from within, a rumbling voice like a speaking avalanche emitted. “Do I want to know what a ‘new one’ is?”

*

They mostly had the place to themselves at that time of morning, for which Zir was grateful, as it let her lead her squad without the usual scrutiny; the other two squads didn’t have such… atypical lifeforms such as Stalac and Urad. Or Zir herself, for that matter, she guessed.

Astrid did the minimal work, more content was she to stretch and pose for the mirrors on the walls. Zir couldn’t figure her out: she was the daughter of Charles Michel, a Terran trillionaire with an extensive shipping and shipbuilding industry headquartered on Mars. The girl should have been spending her life cruising around Risa or Casperia Prime in some flyer given to her by her Daddy or some idiot admirer. Instead, she was here, still acting like royalty, attention-seeking and flirtatious and arrogant. At least her Flight Ops scores were high. And she was beautiful. Very beautiful, with those long legs and full breasts and–

Zir wasn’t envious. Really.

Next to her, Peter underwent push-ups, raising and lowering his slim, muscular frame with ease. He was from some farm world near the Klingon border called Gault, which Zir had never heard of, and his scores in Medicine were impressive. And Zir was convinced that he was attracted to her; she often caught him looking in her direction, and then quickly looking away. Zir certainly never encouraged anything like that from him, or anyone else; Orion women already had a bad reputation with offworlders, and she wanted to be taken seriously, both as a Starfleet cadet and as a Squad Leader. She kept watching him, seeing the sweat patch onto the back of his shirt, and the way his shorts lay, outlining his muscular rear–

She forced herself to look away, seeing Tori struggle on the gravity bars. Silently, of course; the girl might not have said more than a dozen words since they all first met days ago, boarded the Surefoot and became Alpha Squad. She was a slight thing, seemingly content to let someone like Astrid walk all over her. Zir approached as she saw pain tighten across the human’s face. “Wait.” Tori paused as Zir adjusted the gravitic weights on the bars. “You’re holding it wrong; grip the bar tighter closer to the centre, to account for your height.”

Tori nodded, did as Zir suggested, her face showing her relief at the greater ease she had now.

“That’s it,” Astrid teased. “Get some muscles into that right arm, I could use it later tonight–”

“You’re done here, Cadet,” Zir informed her. “Don’t you want to get back and into the shower first before the peasants come along to dirty it?”

“Good point.” As the dark-skinned human glided to the door, she smiled and offered, “But you can join me if you like… I’m curious to see if every part of you is the same shade of green–”

“Go.”

Once Astrid left, Zir turned back to Tori with a look of disdain. “If she really bothers you, then tell her, or raise an official complaint. I’m not here to fight your battles.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Zir moved onto a more confident member of her Squad, watching with continued awe the immense weight he was lifting up. Urad Kaldron’s height wasn’t impressive, but his bulk certainly was: the heavyworlder was squat, just about reaching Zir’s height, but he was wide and heavy, his grey hide thick, his arms so muscular that he was allowed to wear a sleeveless version of a Starfleet uniform, with additional adjustments to the legs leading to huge, wide hooves.

He looked up at her, breath escaping from the large nostrils on his wide snout, but otherwise showing no evidence of exertion despite the weight he pressed. “Ma’am, begging your pardon, but would you please request permission from the appropriate authority to have the weight restriction lifted for the machines in here when I’m using them? This one only allows me to lift 250 kilos at most. Hardly an effort for one of my people.”

Zir smiled. “Of course, Cadet.” The Hroch were a regimented, military race, whose Ascendancy had conquered their sector of space in what was said to be a colourful, glorious history, before their government shifted towards a more democratic structure, and they eventually joined the Federation. Urad was the first of their people in Starfleet Academy, and if his other scores were as impressive as his strength, he would do his people proud… and his Squad too, she noted to herself. That he came with a sense of military protocol didn’t hurt, either.

A rumbling sound from behind drew her attention, and she turned to see the large lump of orange-brown rock struggle to keep up on the customised treadmill, the cilia along the uneven perimeter of his body working hard, and the voder unit in the Starfleet combadge bolted on the front of the rock expressing exhaustion and exasperation in equal measure. “This… this is torture… I will complain about you to the Egg-Mother...”

“Do that, and I’ll tell her about all the Carrera Marble Cake you’ve been eating. No wonder you’re having trouble maintaining the Academy Physical Standards for Hortas.” Zir couldn’t help but smile at her friend – and marvel once more at the Fates that had brought them together. She hadn’t found living with a roommate at the Academy easy; they tended to spend their time ogling Zir whenever she undressed, or asking her stupid questions about dancing or piracy or the Syndicate… or they would double check their belongings to see if she had taken anything.

Meanwhile, Stalac – like Zir the only member of her race at the Academy at that time – would get treated like an inanimate object. People knew about Hortas, of course, or at least knew all the stories about them: a race of silicon beings on Janus IV, eating rocks and tunnelling with acid generated from their bodies, an unknown race until a century ago. But though they didn’t have the same notorious reputation of Orions, their non-humanoid nature put many on edge.

Someone at the Academy had the idea of putting the two of them together. It was the best thing that could have been done, for both of them. And the fact that they were on the same Squad here on the Surefoot was a double measure of luck… something she usually felt was in short supply with her.

*

She basked in the gentle sonic waves washing over her in the shower stall back in their quarters. It was an infrequent time when she could completely relax, and not worry about… everything.

She was currently the only Orion cadet in the Academy, had barely made it in even with sponsorship from a Starfleet captain after her… escape. She and her family had been ordinary people, merchants in kivas in the city of Tar’Mekina; they had no involvement with slavery, with piracy or the Syndicate or any of the other horrifying things that her people were known for in the rest of the Quadrant. But that didn’t stop the Ignorati from making snide comments – or sexual overtures. Admittedly, most of that came from her fellow cadets, or from civilians whenever she left the campus. The faculty and senior officers acted more professionally… though she found that she was still subject to more ‘random’ security checks than other cadets.

Her hand moved to her side, as if she could feel the implant in there, the embedded device that suppressed her body’s urge to produce pheromones that could affect those around her. That was another condition of her enrolment into the Academy, and she understood the reasons behind it, justifying it as being similar to Deltans requiring an oath of celibacy to live and work with non-Deltans.

She realised that she was a different case, that she couldn’t keep her body from producing manipulative pheromones any more than a human could keep from sweating. But still, this felt like… a violation. Like it was put inside her to teacher her a lesson. See? Your people invade us, our space, our very biologies with impunity. How do you like it being done to YOU?

But she endured it. Because it was worth it.

From the adjacent stall, the sound of Peter singing to himself continued. She cursed him, not for his voice, which was lovely and melodious, but for reminding her that he was naked, like herself, with only a thin wall separating them…

Thoughts of her imminent meeting with Captain Hrelle threw a proverbial bucket of cold water onto her arousal, but for once, she was glad of it. She turned off the sonic waves and dressed fully before departing the stall, glad that Peter had left moments before, in case he could tell something was up with her.

She stopped as she saw Astrid standing at the bathroom mirror, applying moisturiser to her face and hands and arms, and clad in a tiny silken robe that, like her sleepwear, seemed more a token than anything meant to actually cover her. “Hurry up, we’re on a tight schedule.”

The woman never looked away from her reflection, clearly enraptured with what she saw. “It’s only breakfast. I never eat much in the mornings anyway. Go on without me, I’ll catch up.”

“We go together. We’re a squad, not just a collection of people you happen to sleep with.”

“Oh? Am I sleeping with all of you? No wonder I’m exhausted.”

“Move!”

Astrid looked to her, pausing just long enough to almost invite insubordination, before setting aside her beauty products and padding out and back into the bedroom section.

Zir followed into the common room, glad to see the others also in uniform and ready – even if Stalac’s own consisted of a holographic ring of blue denoting his Science speciality emanating from his combadge around his upper half. The Horta rotated slightly in place. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I look superb.”

“I need to eat, Ma’am,” Urad suddenly announced. “Soon. Very soon. My metabolism requires it.”

She turned to him. “Show some discipline, Cadet. What would you do if you were on a planet in hostile territory, and couldn’t get fed right away?”

“I would position myself so when I inevitably collapsed, it would be onto the enemy, Ma’am.”

“He has a point,” Peter offered. “Hroch do have a high metabolism; they need to eat frequently, and copiously–”

“Thank you, Mr Boone.” She looked away from him – damn, he looked good in Medical Blue – as she pounded her fist on the bedroom door. “If you’re not out in ten seconds, I’ll drag you naked to the Mess Hall!”

“She might like that,” Tori suddenly muttered.

Boone snickered at that, Urad chuckled, and even Stalac gave a little tremor, though it seemed more a reaction that the other girl spoke at all than what she said.

The door slid open, and Astrid stepped out like she was on a model’s catwalk. Unlike the other humanoids in her squad, she chose to wear the skant variation of the cadet uniform, one that went halfway up her long, slender thighs, and black boots rising to the tops of her calves.

Zir had initially objected, as it made the human seem distinctive from the rest, less a part of the group, until Astrid pointed out, perhaps with some validity, that their team already had members with more radical variations to the uniform. “Thank you all for your patience. As you can see, it was well worth it.”

“Well, I don’t have eyes,” Stalac told her. “So I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Emoto looked down at him, murmuring, “You can’t see?”

“Not like you Carbs. My whole outer shell acts like a multispectral sensor array, chiefly focused on vibrations and chemical properties and signatures.” He rumbled slightly. “You have nice salt deposits, by the way.”

“Um… thanks?”

“Flirt,” Zir teased him. “Come on, let’s go before Mr. Kaldron faints and we have to carry him. Assuming we can.”

*

Most of Alpha Squad sat together at a table. Two of them sat underneath: Stalac, with a tray of replicated assorted rocks, occasionally sliding over the tray to dissolve and swallow one of them, and Zir, sitting cross-legged opposite him, a bowl of sweet porridge untouched in her hands while she stared at nothing.

“Eat,” he urged her.

“Not hungry,” she lied. And her gut betrayed her.

“Wow. You know, when you’re hungry, your stomach makes sounds like the filthiest curses in my people’s language.”

“Shut up.” Still, she spooned some of it into her mouth. “He’s going to kill me. He’ll make it look like an accident, of course. ‘I don’t know what happened, Admiral, the last I saw her, she was stepping into the airlock...’ Then what will happen?”

“We’ll need a replacement Squad Leader. I want a Vulcan this time; I like the copper in their blood.”

“It’s not funny.”

“But you’re making it funny.”

She grunted. She knew Hrelle had been a slave at the hands of the Orions for years, had been made into a fighter in the Deathmatches, forced to kill or be killed. When he finally saw her, the living representative of those people, that system… he would snap.

And to make it worse, just days ago, he had been the victim of an attempted assassination! He might even think she was involved in it, somehow!

Her thoughts returned to the here and now, as someone walked past Stalac – but not before intentionally stepping closer in order to catch one of their feet on him. The Horta rumbled, “Sorry!”

Zir set aside her bowl and climbed out from under the table. “Hey!”

The figure turned, though Zir could already tell from the curved-back horns on the head that it was Jexa-Naku, Gamma Squad’s Leader. She was a Grazerite, with a pronounced, deeply-furrowed brow and a bovine snout, and a layer of fine, downy snowy fur covering her hide-thick skin, though it was the horns, about eight centimetres long crowning her skull, that really drew the attention of others. Her voice affected an air of gathered patience at being interrupted from more important matters. “Is there a problem, Squad Leader?”

“Yeah! You did that deliberately! You came over and practically kicked my squad member!”

Jexa-Naku smirked. “I came over to enquire as to your whereabouts. I never expected you to be... hiding under the table.”

Zir glared; in the short time she had grown to know the other cadets onboard, she had developed a strong and vibrant hatred for this arrogant Slis'pul, who had a relation on the Federation Council but went on like she was Queen of the Quadrant. She seemed to have developed a particular dislike for Stalac, often remarking about the alleged inconvenience his very presence caused them, and this wasn’t the first time she or one of her cohorts had ‘accidentally’ tripped on him. “Are you kidding me? You expect me to believe you didn’t see him there?”

“Zir, it’s okay,” Stalac urged at her feet. “It was just an accident.”

“There, see?” Jexa-Naku simpered, adding, “Perhaps, to avoid further accidents, maybe you can get him to eat… somewhere else?”

Zir felt her blood boil and her face tighten, and became aware of everyone else watching them now. “Who the Hell do you think you are, making a suggestion like that?”

“I’m simply trying to be helpful–”

“You’re simply trying to get your head shoved up your ass!”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” came a new voice. “I imagine the view won’t be up to much.”

All the cadets in the room rose to attention at the entrance of Counselor Kami Hrelle, the sepia-furred Caitian female walking in, holding hands with her young, thigh-high male cub Misha, who was dressed in a miniature Starfleet uniform in Command Red, complete with four Captain’s pips. The cub smiled and waved at Stalac. “Hi, Rocky!”

The Horta turned and rumbled happily, “Hi, Captain Misha!”

Meanwhile, Kami tilted her head as she regarded the Squad Leaders still facing each other. “I heard raised voices from outside. Anything wrong I should be aware of?”

Zir took a step back from the Grazerite. “No, Ma’am.”

Jexa-Naku had an identical reaction. “Nothing at all, Ma’am.”

The Caitian made a dubious sound, but relented. “You’re lucky Commander T’Varik wasn’t passing by; she would have heard as easily as I did, and wouldn’t be as willing to let this slide. Besides, I have to get this little tail-chaser fed and to his Papa.” She tugged Misha’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Misha pointed at Stalac. “Admiral says Rocky Ride Time!”

“No, the cadet doesn’t have time to let you ride around on him again, he has to eat his breakfast – and so do you, remember?”

Misha’s eyes widened with the reminder of breakfast. “Shuris strips! Shuris strips!” He raced out of the Cadets’ Mess Hall.

“Wait for me, young man!” Kami called before the doors closed, before sparing the cadets one final glance, and, “You’ll find few problems are solved with violence and threats. Try to be a bit more creative. You’d be surprised at what it’ll get you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Zir replied.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Jexa-Naku replied.

“‘Yes, Ma’am’,” Kami mocked with mild derision, before shaking her head and departing.

Zir waited until the doors shut, before turning back to the Grazerite. “Watch your step.”

“Watch my step? Is that meant to be a threat, Orion?”

Zir shrugged. “It was a caution. You tripped over my squadmate. You seem a bit unwieldy; maybe you should spend less time in the Mess Hall and more in the Gym?” Then she returned to her place on the floor, catching from the corner of her eye the other woman walking away before muttering, “Bitch.”

“Zir,” Stalac responded. “Go sit up with the others.”

“What? No! I’m not leaving you down here alone! Not after that! Besides, we always eat together!”

“We did – when it was just the two of us. Now, there is six. And you’re our leader. You have to face them, and not look like you are playing favourites with me.”

She started to reply… but saw the wisdom in his words. “Okay, but if you need anything...”

“I know: squirt some acid on your boots.”

“No. No, don’t do that.” She reached out and rested her hand flat on his surface, feeling the heat, the power, radiating just beneath. Then she extricated herself from her cross-legged position and returned to her seat with the others. She looked at them, as they made efforts to look anywhere else. “Thanks for stepping in to support us, by the way.”

Peter and Tori dipped their heads, flushing with embarrassment. Kaldron stopped eating long enough to swallow and comment, “With my strength I might have caused excessive harm, Ma’am.”

Astrid, meanwhile, leaned back and stared directly at Zir. “You seem capable of handling yourself. At least, that’s how it sounded last night.”

Zir scowled, fed up. “You know, I heard you ultra-wealthy Terrans were all supposed to be well-bred, sophisticated, polite. But you come across sounding no better than a Spacedock rat.”

Astrid cradled her coffee mug, looking amused. “Speaking from experience, are we?”

Zir forced herself to not rise to the bait. Deciding to change the subject and hopefully lighten the mood, she asked, “Do all of you know what you’re doing today? Mr. Boone?”

He started, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Mr. Stalac and I are in Sickbay, receiving the basic orientation with Doctor Masterson and Nurse Eydiir.”

From below the table, the Horta’s voice reached up. “The Boys in Blue will show them how Alpha Squad operates, eh, Pete?”

Peter grinned as he looked down at his squadmate. “We’ll do our best, pal.”

Zir felt herself frowning at him, not knowing why… was she jealous that Stal was making friends with others beside herself? Especially Peter? She looked to the rest. “Mr. Kaldron?”

Urad grunted. “I will be demonstrating to the Chief of Security the tactical advantage of having a soldier of the Hroch Ascendancy on her Security team. She will be most impressed, I imagine.”

“I’m in Engineering,” Tori announced simply, not offering or inviting elaboration.

Astrid sipped at her coffee. “Well, I have a simply exhausting day ahead of me: shuttle certification to complete for the lovely Lt. Velkovsky, then study for Subspace Field Dynamics in the Instruction Room, and finally what I’m sure will be a particularly boring Counseling session.”

Zir nodded. “And then we’ll all meet at 1700 Hours for Evening Meal, and then a Squad briefing to discuss our group study and duty arrangements for the rest of the week.”

“And what will you be doing today, Fearless Leader?” Astrid asked.

The Orion had been raising her spoon, but now let it settle once more into her porridge. “I’ll be shadowing the Captain.”

The other woman smiled. “You’d best watch out, he might think he’s being attacked by the Orion Syndicate again.”

Astrid frowned. “The Syndicate? I’d heard a Klingon spy had been the assassin.”

Tori muttered something about Ferasans.

Kaldron turned slightly to face her. “None of the above, Comrades. Lt. Shall confirmed it was an emotionally-troubled human.”

“Well,” Astrid concluded, still looking mischievously in Zir’s direction. “Whomever was responsible, I wouldn’t want to be working near him. He’s probably psychologically scarred, ready to lash out at anyone he sees as a threat.” She drank from her mug. “Don’t make any sudden moves around him.”

Zir slapped her hand on the table. “That’s enough! A good man, a fine officer, a husband and a father, was almost killed on his own ship just days ago! You do not make jokes about it! And the next one who does will go on Report! I swear it!”

The table went silent.

Then from underneath, Stalac asked, “Does anyone want to finish off this feldspar? It’s still warm.”

PETER BOONE’S STORY:

Deck 3 Mid – Main Sickbay Suite:

As Chief Medical Officer Doctor Masterson continued to expound on the routine onboard, Peter Boone continued to stare and think: you gorgeous-looking son of a bitch. It was more than just the tanned, rugged features, the dirty blonde hair and dimpled chin and icy blue eyes. It was more than just the sweet cowboy drawl like out of an old Terran vivid. The CMO just exuded that unflappable confidence, in both himself and his place in the Universe. It was something Peter seriously envied. He hoped to build up a tenth of the self-assurance that Masterson had.

Also, he wanted to kiss the man until their lips fell off.

“Mr. Boone?” Masterson repeated, grinning. “Still with us?”

Peter blinked, flushed. “Yes, yes, Sir.”

“Call me Doc. Everybody does.” He looked up at his companion. “Ain’t that right, Nurse?”

Standing beside him, her arms folded across her chest, Ensign Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas regarded the two new cadets with a stoic disdain. “If you must absolutely insist… Doc.”

Peter looked up at her with no small amount of apprehension. She had skin a darker shade than Astrid Michel’s, but had Zir Dassene’s muscular build and pugnacious attitude. He had seen others like her; she was a fighter as well as a healer.

Masterson grinned and winked at Peter. “Don’t y’all worry, she’s like that with everyone. Now, I was asking if you were going to specialise following graduation? Any ideas?”

Peter blinked. “I, uh, really haven’t given it much thought yet, Sir- I mean, Doc.”

From the corner of his eye, Peter saw Eydiir sneering.

Masterson seemed more sympathetic, though. “Yeah, I was as aimless as a gun without a barrel when I was your age, too; don’t worry about it. What made you choose Medicine as a Starfleet career?”

Now Peter felt his stomach twist – and not because of the handsome doctor’s proximity. Should he tell the man the truth? What would he say? Do? Could he even get him into trouble, expel him for falsifying information?

No. No, he couldn’t risk it. Too much was at stake. “I want to save people, Doc. All the brave men and women out here on the front line are risking their lives for all of us. They deserve the best.”

Masterson smiled warmly. “And they get the best on this ship. And you’ll be learning from the best.”

Peter smiled back. “I hope so, Doc.”

Then he caught the look on Eydiir’s face, and stopped smiling.

Then Masterson rose and drew closer to the other newcomer, regarding the Horta. “Now, as for you, Pardner: Regulations require all non-Medical crew on ambulance and hospital ships to have a minimum level of Medical-based training in order to supplement during emergencies. Now, being a Science cadet will certainly help–”

The limp of rock shuddered a little. “Doctor, I appreciate what the Regulations say, but… maybe I should be exempt from it?”

“Exempt? Why? Not squeamish about blood, are you, son?”

Stalac rotated slightly in place, as if looking at everyone in the room in turn. “Doctor, look at me: I cannot carry wounded, I cannot wield a scalpel or tricorder, or even reach the level of your biobeds. And if someone was in shock and saw me approach, I would most likely finish them off.”

“Cadet, no one’s expecting you to perform surgery, but there’s other duties–”

“Doctor, I recognise that many are working hard to make me seem as equal as any carbon-based, bipedal sentient being… but we both know I’m not. I am extremely limited with regards to interacting with you. And as grateful as I am for everyone’s help, we need to be realistic.”

Peter looked down at his squadmate. He had seen that the Horta had some difficulty with certain aspects of a shipboard life – though he always seemed, or at least sounded, upbeat and positive.

“So...” Masterson continued, “What do Horta doctors do without instruments? Assuming you have any?”

“We have them of course, Sir; if one of my people is ill or injured, they broadcast a distress vibration, a doctor tunnels straight through the rock to them, suffuses them with a diagnostic frequency, and, depending upon the problem, either clamps onto them and infuses healthy acid into their system, or amputates whatever part of them is diseased or injured.”

“Oh.” He glanced once at Eydiir before noting, “Well, maybe you should avoid doing any First Aid yourself using those methods?”

Before anyone could respond further, the Sickbay doors outside slid open, and a crewman from Engineering supported another under one arm. “WE NEED HELP HERE!”

Masterson and Eydiir raced outside, Peter following with Stalac directly behind him, Peter keeping back and watching in horror as he saw a man burned and seared on the left side of his head and upper body. Masterson took over, assisting with helping the man onto the nearest biobed, asking, “What happened?”

“EPS overload – access conduit down by the morgue–” the other man reported breathlessly, looking pale as a ghost. Peter watched him step back, swaying, before racing up and catching him. He looked back at the doctor and nurse, but they were focused on the burn victim, so he eased the second man back onto a waiting chair, leaning him forward. “Keep bent forward, take deep breaths, I’ll get you some water.”

Peter moved away, glancing around for a dispenser or replicator, but then stopped as Masterson barked. “Pete! The Regenerator Unit! It’s just behind you! Roll it over here!” Then he returned to Eydiir. “50ccs of anaprovaline, ready a shot of Lectrine, he’s going into shock– PETE!”

But Peter was transfixed, trying to get himself to get over it. Since arriving at the Academy, he had earned an unfortunate nickname among the other Medical cadets: Blackout Boone. He had fainted the first time he saw a holosuite program of an operation – not even a real operation, a fake one! – and despite his attempts to bolster himself, to take stabilisers and run through the mental disciplines the Academy Counselors had taught him, he couldn’t help but react badly. But at least he thought he had conquered the urge to pass out.

But now, finally getting a direct look at the man’s injuries, real injuries: the burnt, cracked flesh, blistered and smoking and leaking clear fluid and oh God the smell the smell–

He turned, wanting to find a place to throw up- and only succeeding in doing so over Stalac, who had somehow moved up behind him without Peter noticing. His breakfast projected onto part of the Horta’s shell, making the latter rumble backwards instinctively and knock the Regenerator Unit over, before leaking some nervous acid onto the carpet.

Masterson cursed and ordered, “Computer: Activate the Emergency Medical Hologram!”

Instantly the image of a bald, pale-skinned human male in Medical Blue appeared nearby. “Please state the nature of–”

“Here, Dude!”

The EMH took one look at Peter, who was on all fours, coughing and looking ready to retch again from the smell of the vomit on Stalac. “Are you certain? That young man appears to have regurgitated a Horta.”

“I said here, Bottlehead! Plasma burns! Eydiir, get the Unit over here!”

As the hologram and the Capellan complied, Eydiir rushed over, easily lifted up the Regenerator Unit with one hand, sparing a venomous look at an appalled Peter and saying, “You want to save people? Then quit, Fool!”

*

They pointed Peter to the nearest hygiene chamber to clean himself up, and then to the nearest Support closet to get the equipment needed to clean up his squadmate and the floor of Sickbay.

He felt particularly chagrined as he knelt beside the Horta with a sonic absterger. “Tell me if this hurts, it’s only meant for carpets.”

“I like it. The sonic shower’s frequency is a bit too soft for me.”

“Stal, I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry-”

But Stalac managed to somehow shrug without actually having any shoulders. “Believe it or not, this is not the first waste matter one of you Carbs has projected onto me. One night back at the Academy, I was out in the gardens meditating, and a drunken cadet came up to me, mistook me for a boulder and peed on me.”

Peter stopped now, jaw dropping. “Oh my God, what did you do?”

“I moved, cursed him – and the poor boy was so startled he lost control of the rest of his excretory system.”

Peter made a sound, immensely grateful that his squadmate was so good-natured about everything. Then his dread returned. “They’re gonna kick me out, aren’t they?”

“What, a handsome young man like you? Nonsense. If nothing else, you’ve proved you can be a good janitor. Well, a serviceable one, anyway-”

“Cadet Boone.”

Peter bolted to his feet, turned and shot to attention. “Yes, Ma’am?”

Eydiir scowled at him. “Do not address me as ‘Ma’am’.” She looked down at Stalac. “Cadet, you will proceed to the Library and Instruction Room and immerse yourself in the database of medical-related duties available to Starfleet personnel, and find something to do on this ship.”

“Ma’am – I mean, Nurse–”

“Any reasonable modifications to technology that can be made to accommodate your physical nature will be considered,” she continued. “You will find something by the end of your shift today.”

The Horta rumbled nervously. “Nurse… I want to help, I can assure you. But I am... handicapped... in a humanoid-run environment. I… I can’t do anything.”

“I will not accept that answer, Cadet. Go. Do not return without a solution to the problem. And if you do not return, do not make me come looking for you. Is that understood?”

“Uh… yes, Nurse.” Stalac turned and scittered towards the doorway.

Peter watched him go. “Um– maybe I should go help him–”

“You will accompany me. Now.”

“Yes, Ma– Nurse!”

Eydiir eyed him, before turning and striding towards an unoccupied office nearby, never checking to see if Peter was following.

Never needing to, either. He rushed up inside as the door slid shut and locked, and the Capellan woman darkened the tint on the surrounding transparent windows. “Sit.”

He complied, watching her open a case on the desk and produce a hypospray. “This will deal with the after-effects of your nausea, and provide a vitamin boost.” As she approached, she asked, “You don’t faint at injections, do you?”

“What? No, Nurse.”

As she injected him and returned the hypospray, he studied her. She looked like she was working up the will or the courage to tell him something. Her subsequent words confirmed it. “Cadet, this is difficult for me–”

“No!” he suddenly exclaimed, rising to his feet. He fought back his humiliation, his fear, and let his anger surface. It wasn’t fair! They couldn’t kick him out now! Too much was riding on this! “I want to speak to the Captain!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not fair! You can’t kick me out of Starfleet just because I reacted the way I did! Who wouldn’t, after seeing something like that?”

“Cadet–”

“I wasn’t prepared for that! I’ll get better, I promise–”

“Cadet… Sit. Down. Now.”

He did, as she approached him again, regarding him. “Mr. Boone, I didn’t call you in here to expel you. For one thing, I do not have that authority. For another, if I thought you were unsuitable for this work I would have no difficulty telling you. Or do I seem the type inclined to spare other people’s feelings?”

Peter looked up, the realisation that his worst fears weren’t coming to life, striking him like a bucket of cold water. He even saw, or thought he saw, a hint of dry amusement in the nurse’s eyes. “I, ah, I guess not.”

She nodded, visibly steeling herself. “Mr. Boone, it has been brought to my attention that my reaction to your response out there earlier might be interpreted – however inaccurately – as uncivil. Maybe even… harsh.” She clenched her jaw. “For which I have been compelled to express my regrets. I… apologise.”

Relief washed through him. “That’s– That’s not necessary, Nurse–”

“I agree. But I was ordered to do so, so there you are.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk, scrutinising him. “Now that I have grovelled, tell me the truth: why did you choose to study Medicine at Starfleet Academy?”

He started. “Why? I– I said–”

“I heard the prattle you fed us in Doctor Masterson’s office… and I do not believe it. Tell me why.” She paused and added, “I will not reveal what you say, unless I believe it necessary.”

Peter looked up at her. He debated denying her, or trying to lie outright again… except that he knew he wouldn’t get away with it. And besides, there was something in the woman’s manner, beyond the gruff acerbity. He genuinely believed she was concerned. Or at least curious. “The Starfleet recruiter told me that based on my scores, I could only get into the Academy right away as a Medical cadet. And I needed to get away.”

“Why? You’re from Gault, a farm world. What was it, too boring a life for you? Are you looking for adventure, excitement?”

He stared hard at her. “Looking for a new home for my daughter.”

That made her start. “You have a child?”

He nodded, reaching under the collar of his undershirt and producing a tiny gold projector. He pressed a button on the side, and a tiny hologram of a smiling, chubby-faced child with dirty-blonde hair appeared. He couldn’t help but smile back. It was amazing, he thought. He had kept this quiet from everyone around him since he was accepted into the Academy two years before; people he lived and worked and studied with didn’t know. And now he tells a complete stranger…

He returned the projector. “Her name is Abby. Her mother’s name is Claire; we grew up together on the farm collective. She was my friend, my only friend. I love her… emotionally, at least. I thought we could extend that love to the physical level. We had sex… once. It… didn’t work out. I mean, it worked, but… I was still trying to confirm what my preferences were.” The memories of that drunken fumbling, when he wanted to not only show his love to Claire, but to confirm his sexual orientation once and for all, returned as well. He looked down at his feet in the here and now. “I prefer men, by the way.”

Eydiir nodded. “The moonstruck expression you wore while talking with Doctor Masterson was a hint.”

He looked up again, paling. Oh God… “He– He didn’t notice, did he?”

“Does it matter? If he did, he wouldn’t say anything. So, you were, what, fifteen, sixteen, when you conceived your child? Did it not occur to you to use contraception?”

His face hardened. “We did; it obviously failed. Does it matter? Anyway, I convinced Claire to carry Abby to term and raise her, until I graduate and I’m allowed to have family transported to wherever I’m first posted.” He sighed. “Claire doesn’t want to come with us. She likes it on Gault; she doesn’t see the dangers of living so close to the Klingon border now. And even discounting the threat, it’s no place to raise a child, there’s no future there–”

“I don’t know why you bother.”

He looked up. “Excuse me?”

The Capellan shrugged. “You managed to escape your provincial existence, and now you’re free, free to do what you want, on your own. Why should you shackle yourself with some worthless little bastard who probably isn’t even yours?”

The raw emotion he was already feeling at revealing so much of his past to someone he barely knew, suddenly boiled into anger. He bolted to his feet, jaw clenched as he pointed a shaking finger at her. “You listen to me, lady: I know I never planned to have a child, but she’s a part of my life now, and I’m gonna do everything I can for her! I don’t care if you’re a woman, you say one more word about Abby and I swear I’ll deck you! You’d better believe that!”

“I do, Mr. Boone,” she conceded mildly, relaxing her posture. “I did not mean what I said. I was merely gauging the sincerity of your story, and your feelings; your laudable – if somewhat old-fashioned and chauvinist – response proved yourself. And I do genuinely apologise for angering you.”

He calmed down again, composed himself. “Oh, okay. I, uh, I’m sorry for what I said. I hope I didn’t, uh, scare you.”

She stared at him.

“You weren’t in the least bit intimidated by me, were you?”

“No. Have you been back to the planet since you first left?”

“Twice, during the summer breaks; it killed me each time to leave her. I would have taken her back with me each time if cadets were allowed to have dependents on campus, and besides, she has her mother with her, even if they’re stuck on a dead-end world.” He offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Some Dad I am, huh?”

“You persist in a job that literally sickens you, in an effort to provide a better future for your child. Speaking of which: your extreme reactions cannot continue. You’ve obviously received coping techniques, but they’re not helping. Why haven’t you brought this to the attention of your Academy Liaison?”

“I was...” He breathed out. “I was afraid to draw any more attention to myself. If they examined me, thought I was unsuitable–”

“You feared expulsion.” She straightened up. “When you are dealing with an injury or an illness, you must focus on the tasks to be done to correct it. The pain and suffering of your patient is a symptom, and you have to remember that the most efficacious way of stopping that pain and suffering is to deal with the cause of it, not by reacting to it. You become a tool, like the autosuture, and the protoplaser and phaser scalpel. Follow me.”

“Follow you? Where?”

“I have additional work to perform on Mr. Gentry. You will perform that work under my supervision.”

He paled. “I– I don’t know if I can–”

She focused on him, her expression supportive instead of derisive. “Every step you take from now on will lead you closer to that future you want with Abby. Keep that in mind while you struggle with your discomfort. And remember: every success will make you stronger. I promise.”

She moved to the door, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she led him out into the rest of Sickbay, and towards the biobed where Gentry lay, covered in a sheet, his damaged skin bathed in a baby-blue sterile field. Peter’s heart was quickening. No, no, he was gonna pass out–

“You’ve been trained in this,” Eydiir reminded him calmly, waving back Masterson as she guided Peter to the equipment table. “What is the first step towards the secondary treatment process?”

Peter nodded; she was right, he took in the steps in the classroom, without any problems. He could do this. He could do this. “Fresh scan of the dermal and subdermal damage, then prepare the Type One Anabolic Protoplaser.”

“Why Type One?”

He almost questioned why she would ask – then recognised it as a chance to display his reasoning. “Protocol for plasma burns of the head and torso always recommend Type One, regardless of amount of actual damage–”

“Correct. Proceed, Mr Boone.”

“Have we come at a bad time?”

Peter stopped and looked over his shoulder, seeing Captain Hrelle… and Zir. Hrelle noted the injured crewman with concern, but Zir was staring directly at the cadet.

Then Masterson came round to the new arrivals. “Y’all come to my office, I’ll fill you in.” The doctor nodded and smiled at Peter. “My Assistant Chief Nurse and new Medical Cadet have got this under control. I’m pleased with Mr. Boone’s work, Captain, he’s gonna do well here.”

“Glad to hear it,” the Captain replied, nodding at him

“Let’s continue, Peter,” Eydiir prompted.

“Yes, Nurse,” he replied – though not before seeing the pride in Zir’s eyes.

TORI EMOTO’S STORY:

When Tori was ten, she had acquired her father’s shaver and proceeded to take it apart. It wasn’t the first thing she had disassembled in the house – her music player, tricorder, walking toy bears and pocket tractor beam had all received the Tori Treatment – but it had lasted the longest without her getting her hands on it. When she finally did sneak it out of the bathroom and took it apart, she had been confident that she could put it back together again before Dad returned.

She couldn’t.

But such was her anger at not restoring the shaver, that when Dad returned and demanded what he was going to do about his face, she responded with, “With a face like yours, you don’t need a shaver, you need a cloaking device.”

Well, she thought it was funny.

It was a variation on one of her favourite put-downs, something she was as famous for at school as her engineering acumen. It didn’t save her from getting grounded for a month and having her tools taken from her. She cried, and, when she was alone and no one could hear, she cursed, using words she had heard from older students and didn’t understand, but she suspected that they were bad.

Later on, her Grandfather visited her, comforting her… but also offering her a caveat: “Victoria, everyone loves a Smart Child. No one loves a Smart Mouth.”

To Tori, it made no sense at the time. She was brilliant at mechanical things, she should be allowed to say what she wanted. It wasn’t until years later, when she joined Starfleet Academy, that she understood the need to curb her tongue, when her mouth almost cost her her place, thanks to an instructor with no sense of humour. But, with the help of an Academy Counselor, she learned to restrain herself. Starfleet wasn’t the playground, she constantly reminded herself. There was no place for insults here–

“Good morning, Ensign Yeager,” came the gruff male voice from around the corner. “I know you’re there, your stink carries far.”

The slim blonde woman continued to monitor the readouts on the Structural Integrity Field control station. “Good morning, Chief. So, you can tell I’m here? Nice to know you’re good for something.”

Standing near one of the Nacelle Status Boards in Main Engineering, Tori ground her teeth in envy. She had heard about Tellarites like Chief Grev, how they complained and berated people not out of malice, but as part of their banter.

They were expected to be insulting!

Once she heard that she would have a Tellarite for a boss, she started preparing her put-downs, awaiting the inevitable.

But it never came. She watched Grev work the banter with his Assistant Chief Engineer Ensign Nancy Yeager and the rest of his staff… and even the other Engineering Cadets. But Tori? He was polite, cordial, considerate.

What had she done wrong?

Grev appeared beside her, the potbellied, porcine-faced Chief Engineer wrinkling his snout at her. “Good morning, Cadet.”

“Um, good morning, Sir–”

“It’s Chief, not Sir. I work for a living.”

“Uh, yes, sorry about that, Chief.”

He grunted and moved on. Without an insult.

It wasn’t fair!

“Hey, Squab.”

Tori turned. Yeager was looking over at her. “Staff meeting.”

“Uh, yes, of course.”

The on-duty staff were gathered around the Main Status table, with Grev at the head. “Nice of you to join us, Cadet.”

She picked up. Was he finally going to include her? “Sorry, Sir, I–”

“It’s okay, Ms. Emoto.” His beady black eyes moved to each of them in turn. “We had an accident this morning; Mr. Gentry was burned by an overload in the EPS conduit next to the morgue.”

That sent a tremor through the half-dozen people around the table. Even Tori, who barely knew the man, felt horrified, if only knowing the dangers of plasma burns. She noticed Yeager reacting discernibly, before she asked, “Will Logan be okay?”

Grev nodded. “So I’m told. But the Captain suspects it may be due to those new processors we received from that private company, Cyberdyne. I’m currently running a diagnostic of the overloaded processor, but the rest of you will be checking the others installed for degradation. If the diagnostic confirms our suspicions, we’ll be doing some replacements.” The group made a sound, though Tori suspected that it was more over the work ahead of them than anything else. “You’ll be moving in pairs, one performing the tasks, the other keeping back and recording, and then alternating on the next task. No one, and I mean no one, will be working on this alone! Your duties have been uploaded to your PADDs.”

Everyone started checking, Tori included. She could do this. Diagnostics was her speciality! And she could get Grev’s attention finally!

Except… “Sir– I mean, Chief– there’s nothing on my PADD...”

The Tellarite nodded. “You’re still new, I want you here, getting accustomed to Main Engineering.”

“Oh.” Then she looked at her fellow cadets, Tattakovaky and Yuluron. Well, at least she would have company–

Tattakovaky beamed as he looked at his PADD, nodding. “Deck 4 Battery Compartments and Computer Core? Yes, Chief.”

And the Boslic beamed, his bright purple hair swept back and his ridged, creased forehead and cheekbones creasing further with delight as he focused on his own PADD. “Deck 5 Long- and Short-range Sensor Suites? Yes, Chief.”

Tori’s jaw dropped. But they were new too! What was going on?

“Right, get going. And if any of you snoutless squabs need help finding your way around, feel free to start at my hindquarters. Now get moving.”

The others moved off, gathering their required tools at the benches and departing. Tori watched them with an expression she imagined approximated seeing everyone heading off to play in the snow while she stayed in her bedroom, sick.

The Grev fixed his black stare on her. “Come along, Cadet. We’ll run some basic diagnostics on the warp core.”

And they did, Tori doing very basic tasks around Main Engineering, things that an exocomp could manage. And Grev would gently, patiently instruct her at each task.

It was getting intolerable!

“Cadet?”

She rose and faced Grev. “Yes, Chief?”

The Tellarite’s snout twitched. “A thought just crossed my mind: that you could do with a look at the Warp Matrix Flux Capacitor. Why don’t you pop up there now while it’s quiet and run a Level 2 diagnostic? You can manage that, can’t you?”

She almost told him off. Of course she can handle that! She wasn’t an idiot! But instead she picked up her kit and replied, “Yes, Chief, I’m on it.”

He nodded at her with a smile and turned away.

She ascended to the upper levels, feeling her face burn with frustration as she bent over the capacitor monitor panel. This was- this was- “Computer: Run Level 2 Diagnostic of the Warp Matrix Flux Capacitor.”

“Running.”

She ground her teeth, muttering, “And while you’re at it, tell that ass downstairs to stop treating me like a china cup.”

“Please restate your request.”

“I’m not talking to you!” she snapped, pacing around the alcove where the monitor panel sat, raising her voice. “You have no idea what you’re missing with me, Chief. I’m a powerhouse of banter, you squint-eyed, pot-bellied, knuckle-dragging sausage burp! Waddling down there like a drunk penguin, looking like a Mugato sex doll someone tried to shave before giving up, and smelling like a Klingon’s undercarriage!”

She did an imitation of his voice. “‘A thought just crossed my mind’. So, a thought crossed your mind, huh, Chief? Must have been a long and lonely journey. I bet you couldn’t find your ass without a map and computer assistance… and even then, you’d keep mistaking your face for it. If anyone says you’re multi-talented, they mean that you have the ability to offend all our senses at once. Your certification is an apology letter from the Board of Engineers for not finding a way to kill you and make it look like an accident. Those hooves of yours give you all the grace of a Rectyne Monopod with a broken leg–”

“Cadet Emoto!” came Grev’s voice from below. “Come down here!”

Tori allowed the diagnostic to continue, rushing down to find herself back in his company… along with Captain Hrelle and Zir, the Captain looking amused, the Squad Leader looking… mortified? What was going on? She focused on Grev. “Chief?”

Grev harrumphed. “Cadet, are you aware that an open channel is maintained in the Flux Capacitor Alcove at all times for safety reasons?”

“Uh… no, Chief.” She was certain someone had just aimed a transporter beam into her body and beamed away her heart.

Hrelle still looked amused. “I’ll leave you to your work, Chief.” He motioned for Zir to follow; the Orion girl shot Tori the nastiest Stink Eye ever as she followed him out.

Wow, so that’s what the Goddess of Retribution looks like…

When they were alone, Tori blurted, “Sir! I mean, Chief! I didn’t- I didn’t mean-”

But Grev strode closer, pointing a hoof at her. “All of that delicious invective I heard was directed… at me! I had no idea you were so adept at banter!” He patted her on the shoulder. “I don’t know why they told me otherwise.”

Tori shook her head, thoroughly perplexed now. “Uh, Chief, I don’t understand– who are ‘they’?

“Your fellow Engineering cadets, Yuluron and Zhou. They said that you were highly sensitive, emotionally delicate, that you had had a bad time at the Academy and...” He paused and nodded in understanding. “And I got played like a Squab, didn’t I?”

Tori’s jaw dropped, and her disbelief boiled into rage. All this treatment from the Chief was because of them? “That pair of snivelling, slack-jawed, mouth-breathing armpit pustules!” Then she caught herself, flushing deeply. “I’m sorry, Chief, I’m not- I don’t usually speak like that–”

“No?” He made a sound. “Shame, that; you have the talent for it.”

Then she brightened. “Really, Chief?”

He chuckled.

*

Two hours later, the Engineering crew, including those called back on-duty to complete the checks, were assembled around the Situation Table, as Grev collated their reports, and Tori stood by… hoping she could keep a straight face.

Then she looked at the smug expressions on Tattakovaky and Yuluron’s faces. Yeah, she could.

Finally he looked up. “Excellent work! Thank you, and–” He frowned as he stared hard at his PADD. “Oh, the antigravity storage units for the new quantum torpedoes are out of alignment. They’ll need a Weight for active counterbalance.” He looked up at Yeager. “Ensign Yeager, would you recommend a Short Weight or a Long Weight?”

The young blonde human made a show of considering it, before replying, “A Long Weight’s always better, Chief, especially given the circumstances.”

The Tellarite nodded. “Yes, yes. But in line with Security Regulations we’ll need someone to go to the Bridge and request it in person.”

Now Tori spoke up enthusiastically, on cue. “I’ll go, Chief!”

Grev shook his head. “No, no, you won’t do.” He looked to the other two cadets. “Tattakovaky and Yuluron, you two go. Long Weights are better managed by two anyway.”

They looked to each other, frowning, before Tattakovaky spoke up, his Russian accent laced with uncertainty. “Uh, Chief, I’m… I’m not familiar with what a ‘Long Weight’ is.”

“You’re not?” the Chief responded incredulously, looking around. “Everyone else is! Am I right?”

The group nodded or made sounds of agreement, Tori included.

Grev stared hard at the cadets. “Has your education fallen down somewhere? Perhaps you should return to the Academy and resume full-time studies?”

Yuluron straightened up now, eyes wide. “No, Chief! We- We remember studying about Long Weights!” He looked to Tattakovaky. “Right?”

“Yeah, that’s right, Chief! Sorry, it must have just slipped my mind!”

“I see. Fine, then: you two proceed directly to the Bridge, report to the Captain or the First Officer and tell him that Chief Grev has asked that they give you both a Long Weight.”

The cadets looked to each other, then nodded back at Grev, Yuluron confirming, “On our way, Chief!”

They even shot Tori another smug look as they departed.

Everyone kept silent until they heard the doors to the corridor slide open, and then shut, before releasing laughs and chuckles. Tori felt her face was gonna crack from grinning, as Grev announced to Yeager, “Well done, Ensign. Thank you for playing along. Glad you remembered when I pulled that one on you.”

Yeager smirked. “How could I forget? I was up there for three hours standing in a corner of the Bridge wondering why everyone was snickering at me, before Captain Hrelle finally took pity on me and told me my Long Wait was over.”

Grev chuckled, and looked to the others. “Well, if you’re off-duty, you’re free to return and continue whatever disgusting things you reprobates get up to in your downtime.” Then he looked at Tori. “As for you, Cadet, do you think you can get those weak, pudgy sausages you humans call fingers to work on preparing the inspection report for the Captain?”

She almost merely replied in the affirmative – but instead offered, “Better weak, pudgy sausages than the clunky hammerheads at the ends of your arms, Chief.”

Grev cackled happily and motioned her toward his office.

She turned, letting her grin hurt. It was worth it.

URAD KALDRON’S STORY:

Deck 3 Mid – Security Suite:

Before he had left for Starfleet Academy, Urad Kaldron received a talk from his father. “My son, when you venture out into the Galaxy, you will see yourself how fortunate the Federation is to have accepted us into their midst. They are mostly fragile things. They have pitiful gravity on most of their worlds, and you will crush in your hand what most of them consider sturdy. Even their most fearsome weapons will feel like a warm caress. It is indeed a wonder that they have survived for as long as they have.

Do not gloat. Do not bully. Do not take advantage. The urge to dominate is understandable, being superior to them. But resist it. You are there to serve and support them. Let them see what you can do.”

And Urad had done this, earning much attention for his strength and durability, while his people’s martial culture was adaptable to the more rigorous requirements of Starfleet Security. Oh, it wasn’t always fun, of course; at times, he did indeed have to be careful about where he sat or what he picked up, and he needed uniforms and weapons and PADDs made to accommodate his body and appendages. But it was worth it. It was all worth it.

And now he was out in space, two years earlier than expected thanks to the AWE Program, ready to face the Klingons, the Dominion, and the Borg and every other threat to come their way!

Of course, it would have been better if he had been posted onto one of the cruisers or dreadnoughts, instead of an… ambulance ship. Still, their Captain was a legendary warrior, with an impressively large body and impressive claws and fangs, and Urad looked forward to hearing his squad leader’s stories about her time with him today.

He only wished the Chief of Security, Hrelle’s niece Lieutenant C’Rash Shall, was as impressive, but she seemed such a... slight figure. Even for one of their females.

But his attention returned to the two cadets currently assaulting him. Or trying to. Urad had to admire their durability and persistence, if not their common sense. Doren Idal of Beta Squad was a Trill Male. He had a lithe, muscular body, and was well-trained, and no doubt would prove a formidable opponent… to anyone else. He stopped and laughed, the sweat beading down over the trails of spots on his face that were common for his people. “Damn, boy, you’re built like a mountain!”

Beside him, Gamma Squad’s Security cadet Taeni Marru stepped back. She was a broad-framed Zakdorn, a humanoid with a face like a melted candle but apparently a tactical mind like a steel spring. “I think the acceptable move at this juncture would be to focus on adjusting phasers to a level that could get through his hide.”

“Good luck,” Urad boasted, before catching himself. Do not gloat. Do not bully. Do not take advantage. “I mean, I can be stunned, but the levels are prohibitively high for most phasers.”

Idal smirked. “I can’t wait to see you take on the Klingons! It’ll be a sight!”

Marru nodded. “Indeed. It’ll certainly make up for the deficiencies in your squad.”

Urad had been reaching for a reinforced metal water container, when he stopped and faced them again. “Deficiencies? What deficiencies, Comrades? We are an exceptional squad.”

The other cadets looked to each other, before the Trill explained, in a lowered voice, “Not with an Orion as your Squad Leader. You know how many security restrictions there are for those people? The stigma?”

“It can’t fail to have an effect on your squad as a whole,” the Zakdorn added. “Having the enemy in your midst.”

Urad looked at them.

And crushed the container, making its remaining contents spurt out from the opening and gush to the floor.

He set what remained of the container on an adjacent bench and regarded the other two cadets. “I do not see an enemy in my Squad Leader, Comrades. I see a Friend. And her enemies… are my enemies.”

“If you Squabs are done beating each other off over there,” came the voice of the Chief of Security. “Care to join the rest of us for a little workout?”

She was now standing before them in the Physical Training Area, dressed in loose-fitting dark-blue exercise clothes, leading them in adopting a series of poses from various different martial arts disciplines. Urad stood apart from his fellow cadets, watching her from his place at the edge of the group, doing his best to approximate her moves. But as it proceeded, he realised that she was capable of far more deftness and flexibility than he could ever manage – for that matter, far more than nearly all of her crew and the other cadets could manage as well.

So he stopped and just started observing.

Until she noticed, and while dropping down into a deep squat, her black tail arcing behind her and helping her keep her balance. “Come on, Mr. Kaldron, keep her going. I don’t expect you to be doing somersaults, but you need to at least make the effort.”

His instinct to serve almost drove him back into the routine, but then he stopped himself. It was pointless! That wasn’t where his strengths lay! “Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but I don’t see the point.”

C’Rash stopped and straightened up. “What, you mean apart from it’s an order given by one of your superior officers?”

Urad started. The Hroch had a long and proud military tradition, and the idea that he might be accused of insubordination bordered on the heretical. “Certainly not, Ma’am! It’s just...” He stopped himself. Do not gloat… “Never mind, Ma’am.”

But she folded her arms across her chest and stared at him unblinkingly. “Go on, Cadet. Consider it an order.”

Urad turned, seeing his fellow Security cadets, the Trill male Doren Idal and the Zakdorn female Taeni Marru, and the rest of the Security crew, all facing him now, waiting. He turned back to Lt Shall. “Well, Ma’am, it’s just that… with my superior strength, the ability to squat seems pointless.”

The coal-furred Caitian’s expression creased. “I see. Because you can overcome any opposition with your superior strength?”

He smiled and nodded by bowing slightly. “Yes! Yes, Ma’am, you understand! I am glad. Perhaps I could show my prowess with the phaser rifle–”

“The rest of you,” she ordered. “Hit the Target Range; we’re gonna be focusing on the use of Klingon and Romulan disruptor weapons, their pros and cons compared with phasers. Mr. Kaldron and I will be along in a bit.”

As the others departed, Urad watched her slip out of her training top, revealing a tight-hugging vest that kept her breasts strapped down. Her tail was swishing behind her as she said, “Step forward, Mr Kaldron.”

He blinked, his lipless mouth opening. “Ma’am?”

She extended a hand, beckoning to him with her long, slender fingers. “Come on, Cadet. You’re going to show me how you would defeat me with your superior strength.”

Deep inside his armoured chest, his huge heart was quickening. “B-But- Ma’am- I could seriously injure you- I can’t do that–”

“I’ll take that chance. Don’t worry, if you have me broken and cowering before you, begging for mercy, I won’t hold it against you.”

“N-No- I couldn’t–”

She bared her teeth. “Cadet, if you don’t step forward and fight me… you’re going home.”

Urad gasped. The idea of being sent home in disgrace was… sickening. He had nightmares about such things! He stepped forward. “Yes, Ma’am. But… I am compelled to assure you that I will hold back as best I can.”

The Lieutenant stopped, her eyes wide. “You will? You’ll do that for me? Really?”

He nodded again. “Of course. I know how fragile you are.”

Shall nodded her head in gratitude. “Thank you for your consideration, Cadet. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

She stepped up to him, hand outstretched in the humanoid gesture of a handshake.

Urad stepped up to her, extending his own hand. He was glad that she could appreciate–

She drove her boot up into his groin.

White-hot pain went nova within his lower half, shooting through the rest of his body and making him silently scream in agony, his limbs shuddering as he lost control, dropping to his knees and almost falling forward. By the Gods, that was- that was- WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT?

Distantly he heard her orbiting slowly around him. “This is a multi-species unit, so I’m required to know everyone’s individual physiologies, to see what they can take… and what they can’t. Hroch males keep their genitals tucked away in a shell until they’re needed, and when people hear that, they think that means a kick to the groin won’t hurt them. But I know better. It’s still a very sensitive place. Get up, Cadet.”

Urad was struggling, feeling this morning’s breakfast threatening to exit… in every direction. He forced it down. “That- That wasn’t fair–”

“‘Fair’? You think if you faced a Klingon or Romulan, a Jem’Hadar or Borg, that they’re not gonna consider your genitals a legitimate target? Really, Cadet? I said get up!”

He was trying to. He was a soldier, a Hroch… they were the strongest, the toughest in the Galaxy! He rose, turned, extending his arms out, reaching- once he got a hold of her, she wouldn’t escape–

She didn’t try. In fact, she dipped and dove towards him… striking his throat with the tips of her fingers.

He staggered back, pain shooting through him. He tasted blood in his mouth, and his eyes widened with disbelief and anger. “You can’t- can’t do that–”

She smirked. “I can’t? Watch me.”

She leapt toward him, supporting herself on his snout and leaping over him to land behind… before driving her foot into the back of his left knee, and kicking him again in the rear.

He went down again, feeling black blood seeping from the cuts on his mouth. He was panicking now. This wasn’t happening! He was Hroch! They were strong! He snarled, rose and turned, swinging out at her.

But she was easily dodging his attempts. “I hope you’re not still holding back there, Cadet, making a consideration for my fragility.”

Urad doubled his efforts, but she kept avoiding him. “You have a lot of muscle under a lot of armour, Cadet. And if you got a hold of me, you’d break me.

So, I’d better not let you get a hold of me.”

Shall swung around him, and he almost had her- until she kicked the back of his right knee now, while twisting his right arm behind him, touching an area at his elbow, a cluster of nerves–

Electric pain shot through him again. He went down, face forward, onto the mats. He tried to rise again… but he couldn’t.

She felt him put her full body onto his lower back, keeping him down, leaning forward. He was making incoherent sounds, unable to make his right arm move with whatever hold she had on the nerve clusters there. No! This wasn’t happening! He was Hroch! They were the strongest! They were…

They were supposed to be invincible.

He was centimetres away from the dark-blue exercise mat, staring blankly at the pattern in the weave. His eyes went misty, as tears dropped down, and he felt her climb off of him. He lay there, unmoving, wishing he was his Horta squadmate so that he could dissolve his way through the bulkheads… and out into space to die. Certainly death couldn’t be worse than the pain, the humiliation, he felt now.

“Turn over, Mr. Kaldron. I don’t want to be spending all day looking at your ass.”

He didn’t want to. Damn her, just send him home and be done with it… but his discipline took over, and he forced himself to turn and sit up, though he still couldn’t look at her.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her sitting up, breathless, bending and stretching her limbs. “Whew. You almost had me a couple of times. You people are faster than I expected for someone of your size.” After a pause she ordered, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Cadet.” As he complied, she asked, “Are you injured? Should I call for Medical?”

“NO! I mean, No, Ma’am. I will not compound my shame by requesting assistance. You… You have taught me a lesson, Lieutenant. I will… I will go pack and prepare for my return home.”

She smirked, sitting back on one elbow. “Is that the lesson you took from that? I’ve obviously not been doing my job, then.

This was not an exercise in humiliation, Mr. Kaldron… but humility. There’s a difference, I can assure you. We can all get complacent, cavalier, as peoples as well as individuals. I’ve read about your history as well as your physiology, about how the Hroch Ascendancy ‘conquered’ the dozen or so systems around your own before joining the Federation… systems that didn’t actually have any real opponents to speak of. You never faced any real challenges.

Well, you’re not alone there; the Federation was complacent as well before the appearance of the Borg and the Dominion.

Everyone on my team has ended up on this mat in your position. And so did I, when I was a cadet on the USS Wyoming, and my first Security Chief, a Vulcan, taught me, very painfully, that my Caitian strength, speed, and flexibility did not make me invulnerable.” She chuckled. “I hated Mr. Tuvok at the time… but he’d been right.

Mr. Kaldron, I can’t have people on my team who think they’re undefeatable. It makes them arrogant. It makes them reckless. We all have our individual strengths, but our greatest strength is working together as a unit. And we all have our individual weaknesses, but our greatest weakness is forgetting our greatest strength.

This is not your last lesson with me, Cadet. This was your first.” She rose back to her feet. “And here’s your second: I heard what you said to your friends about your Squad Leader. Did you mean it?”

He stared at her. He prided himself on being a quick judge of character, and though he hadn’t known her long, he felt it enough to decide he liked Zir Dassene. She was horribly small and spindly, like most humanoids out in the Galaxy, but her fierce, loyal and commanding personality matched that of any Hroch female. “I did, Ma’am. I will defend her against any detractors.”

C’Rash nodded with approval. “Some people will only see the green skin and make their own judgements, but she’s been thoroughly vetted by Starfleet Security.” She paused and added, “And I have contacts with other agencies who have checked her out. I know what she’s gone through, and what she had to do to get out of her old life and forge a new one in Starfleet. I trust her. So should you.”

She rose back to her feet, held out her hand to him. “Come on, I want to see how well you do with a disruptor.”

Urad breathed in. “Yes, Ma’am.” He reached out, clasped her arm – but found he had to do most of the work himself to get his bulk off the floor.

But that was fine by him.

ASTRID MICHEL’S STORY:

“The penal colonies and back alleys are filled with bad liars,” her father had once told her. “The boardrooms and government houses are filled with good liars. The difference is that the good liars know when a veiled truth works better than a lie.”

So when she banked her shuttle through the space outside of the Surefoot, keeping within the expected range of the drone that was moving at random, frightening vectors, and her fellow Flight Ops cadet Antonio Padova called her over the comm channel and asked, “Did one of your Daddy’s company pilots teach you that?”, she responded with, “Why talk about that, Bell’uomo. When we can talk about a Holodeck date to a charming little restaurant my family owns on the Isle of Capri...”

The young Italian chuckled, until Lt. Velkovsky cut in. “Save the flirting for your downtime. Shuttle One, you’re banking too sharply; you’re pushing your SIF to its safety limit.”

“Acknowledged, Surefoot.” Astrid’s good humour soured a little. Stupid bitch. Astrid had been flying since she was a child, in more ships than her supervisor had ever seen, knew more than most fully-qualified Starfleet pilots did. She knew what she was doing, but obviously it wouldn’t do to antagonise her new supervisor so soon into her time onboard.

She took a moment to pass over the large Sabre-class starship, viewing the large pawprint emblem on the aft dorsal hull section: the Red Paw, the symbol listed in the Interstellar Aid Agency as one denoting an ambulance ship. She smiled to herself; the Surefoot may be playing Doctor, but she knew it had teeth and claws, and she longed for the inevitable opportunity when she took the helm, and led them into battle. Sure, technically she wouldn’t be firing the phasers or quantum torpedoes herself, but they wouldn’t get into the heart of the fighting without her at the controls.

Over the comm system, the voices of her fellow cadets and Lt. Velkovsky came through. “Surefoot, this is Shuttle 2, completing Manoeuvre Green.”

“Acknowledged, Shuttle 2, proceed to Manoeuvre Blue.”

Astrid smirked to herself. Claudia Holden of Beta Squad was a human female from Cestus III, some provincial pesthole famous for being assaulted a century or so ago by the Gorn. She was everything Astrid expected: Colonial, homespun, crude as raw pergium. A peon.

“Shuttle 3, reduce your speed to .2, you’re pushing the stress lines too hard.”

“Acknowledged, Surefoot,” came the male voice with the slight Italian accent. “Sorry about that, Lieutenant.”

“That’s alright, Antonio, that’s why you’re here: to learn.”

Astrid grunted to herself. Antonio Padova of Gamma Squad was Terran-born, from Tuscany. Tall, broad-shouldered, adorned with curly black hair and the looks of an artist’s model, he would look good on her arm. She’d have him twisted around her little finger.

“Okay,” Velkovsky announced to them all. “Back to the Nest, Baby Birds. Standard Return Pattern.”

Astrid sent her acknowledgement – but then felt a spark of inspiration, as she quickly programmed a trajectory other than the one in the Standard pattern, her mind shooting ahead. The other two shuttles were moving in a slow, wide arc around to the fore Shuttlebay doors on the Surefoot, with Holden first in, and then Antonio.

Unless Astrid chose to stand out.

Her fingers danced over the controls, and suddenly her shuttle was racing forward, quickly corkscrewing around the other two and racing into the Shuttlebay, passing through the atmospheric force field first and quickly decelerating to a halt, hovering for a moment before settling directly onto her designated landing spot.

Astrid grinned to herself as she saw the expressions of the Shuttlebay crew outside her cockpit window. Always leave them talking about you…

She let the hatch rise fully before stepping out, curtseying playfully before waving at her fellow cadets as they landed and emerged from their respective shuttles. Then she saw Lt. Velkovsky approach – and instantly gauged the older woman’s mood, as the tall, Nordic blonde marched up to her, her face taut as a piano wire. “Follow me, Cadet.” Astrid complied, Velkovsky shooting a harsh look at Holden and Padova. “Complete your post-flight checks! I’ll be right back!”

Astrid ran through the reasons in her head for Velkovsky’s reaction, and guessed that Astrid had miscalculated in her attempt to show off. It was always a risk; pilots, in her brief but intense experience, had a maverick streak, and appreciated seeing it in each other. She had read up on Velkovsky, as an opportunity to learn to best get on her good side, had learned she had participated in numerous extreme races, and thought that the woman would recognise talent when she saw it. Clearly not.

So, once they stepped out into the corridor, Astrid took the initiative. “Lieutenant, I’m sorry!”

Velkovsky glared at her. “You should be! What kind of bonehead pulls a stunt like that? Do you know you could have been killed, or killed others? I don’t care if your family owns half of Mars, you don’t pull that crap here! What the hell was that all about?”

Astrid let the tears well up in her eyes. “I was stupid! I was- I was–” She looked away.

The older woman regarded her. “You were what?”

Astrid counted inwardly, giving it just enough time before looking back. “I was... trying to impress you. I… remember…” She wiped the tears from her face. “I remember seeing you perform in the Delos 5000 Solar Race. That final turn you made through that flare, when you managed to overtake that Miradorn ship and- and–” She shook her head. “People have a lot of expectations about me… about where I come from… they think I’ve bought my way into Starfleet and that I don’t belong here and...” She wiped her face again. “God, look at me- crying like a little girl- I just- look, I’m sorry, Lieutenant- really–”

Velkovsky’s anger began to subside, and she glanced down either side of the corridor before she finally responded. “Look, Cadet, I guess I can understand that… we all want to make a good impression to our superiors… but you don’t have to do that at the risk of your own or others’ lives. Understand?”

Astrid nodded, still wiping her face. “T-Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll remember that. I promise.”

Velkovsky nodded back. “I’m going back in there; give yourself a minute to get a hold of yourself out here, and then come back in to complete your post-flight checks. Okay?”

Astrid offered a slight, grateful smile. “Okay. Thanks again, Lieutenant.”

She watched Velkovsky depart back into the Shuttlebay, waiting until the doors had closed before letting her smile broaden.

*

Claudia and Antonio had joined her in the Instruction Room for the training on Subspace Field Dynamics – but only Claudia was intent on reading… at least, when she wasn’t shooting daggers with her eyes as Astrid and Antonio sat together, away from her, more focused on each other than the formulae appearing on their screens. Astrid reached up and stroked his broad, chiselled jawline with the tips of her fingers as she smiled. “You remind me of a particularly attractive skiing instructor I met while my family vacationed on Risa. I learned a lot from him… some of it was even on the piste.”

The Italian made a sound of amusement. “I could teach you more, La Mia Bella Donna...”

“Or I could be the one teaching you?”

“Or,” Claudia noted archly. “We could all be learning something from the computers? You know, something where flirting isn’t involved?”

Astrid looked over at her, smiling, before rising and approaching Claudia’s seat, making a show of dropping down behind it, until the side of her face brushed against the side of Claudia’s, making the other girl lean away in apprehension – until she saw Astrid’s attention was actually on Claudia’s screen, as she pointed at the graphics. “The gist of this interminable lecture we’re enduring is that the variable geometry pylons introduced to the Intrepid-class starships to help combat subspace degradation to the continuum will now not be necessary for future starship classes, because of the modifications made to the geometric subspace matrices during the field formation phase.

However, as the Intrepid-class pylons also significantly improve engine efficiencies by optimising field stress when the ship travels for extended periods at Warp 8 or more, they can be expected to remain a viable consideration in starship design for years to come.”

Claudia frowned at the screen, forgetting her discomfort at Astrid’s closeness. “You got all that so quickly?”

“I’m a fast learner. Also, Daddy’s fleet has already incorporated the modifications.” Astrid moved her other hand up to play with Claudia’s hair. “Now, since we’ve got another hour booked, how about you, Antonio and I repair to the Holodeck? I have a program I brought with me of my private solar yacht, the Hyperion? Its interior is a little snug, but if you don’t mind getting cosy with us–”

The girl eased herself out of Astrid’s touch. “Thanks, but I hardly know you.”

The other woman shrugged and grinned. “There’s no better way to get acquainted...”

“Excuse me?”

Astrid and the others turned to see Counselor Kami Hrelle, the sienna-furred Caitian female in dark Medical blue with a matching lab coat, standing at the doorway. Antonio rose to his feet as well in the presence of the senior officer, who stepped inside, her tail swishing from under the tails of her coat. “Sorry to interrupt, Cadets, but if you have indeed finished early, perhaps I can convince Ms Michel to move our Counseling session up to now?”

“Of course, Counselor. Be glad to.” Astrid felt her heart race, just a little, in the presence of the Caitian, and had to fight it as she moved towards Antonio, smiling and winking at him. “Another time, I promise.”

The young man flushed, clearly embarrassed at the flirtation in front of the older woman, and just found something else to distract him as he turned away, and Astrid followed the Counselor out and down to her offices, the cadet gathering her resolves once more.

The Caitian was the epitome of cordiality and professionalism, as much now as she was when Astrid first met her on the transport ship from Earth, though during those times she wasn’t on-duty, more concerned was she with her cub, a charming little creature. She offered Astrid a refreshment and a seat on her couch, while she sat opposite, adjusting her position to give her tail freedom.

Astrid couldn’t help but glance down at it, wondering what it would be like to have one.

“It can be annoying,” Kami said out of the blue, with a smile.

“Pardon?”

“I saw you staring. One of the most common questions is what it’s like having a tail. For me, it can be annoying: not just for getting it caught in clothes and chairs, but because, if you know how to read the signs, it can reflect more of my feelings than I might like to reveal. No one likes feeling vulnerable. Do they, Astrid?”

The cadet gathered herself, remembering once more why she was wary about the other woman. Astrid had talked with a number of Counselors since joining the Academy, though the vast numbers of cadets that they had to deal with meant the encounters were few, far between… and generally at Astrid’s control. She knew what to say, what they expected to hear, and how to get the desired response.

This one, however, felt different… it was more than just having to see her more often, both individually and as part of Alpha Squad. She was Caitian, a race Astrid had never encountered before, but had heard that, as well as being sensual, were perceptive almost at the level of Betazoids. She had to be on guard. “I was wrong.”

Kami regarded her with a tilt of her head. “Wrong? About what?”

“Not What, Who: Claudia. I was teasing her about her joining Antonio and I for a threesome, and she was clearly uncomfortable, by my words and proximity. I’ll apologise to her when I next see her.”

“You were teasing? You mean, if she had accepted, you wouldn’t have gone through with it?”

Astrid smiled. “Oh, I definitely would have. Life’s too short to pass up on a fuck with a beautiful person, male or female.” She matched Kami’s head position. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose that depends on your reasons for sex, Cadet.”

Astrid’s smile broadened. “True. And in my experience–”

Kami’s expression hardened, and she held up a hand. “Can I stop you there, Cadet? Because I should have warned you ahead of time: I have a quarter-century experience in this job, earning plenty of qualifications in Interspecies Psychology, and my people’s senses make us acute to when someone is talking shit. Like you’re doing right now.

You’re not as sophisticated or as experienced as you like to make out.

But I’m not with the Sex Police. You cadets are all adults now – physically and legally, at least. And after years of Academy regimen, to be out here, living and working, it’s perfectly acceptable to want to get the most out this new stage in your life, and all the freedoms and opportunities it presents.

But, with those freedoms and opportunities, there also comes responsibilities. And, as with any other activity, your reasons for having sex with others can be good or bad, for yourself and the other parties. And they can affect your relationships with them, and your image as a Starfleet officer… and given that these are people on whom you might need to depend upon to save your life, and vice versa, that can be important.”

But I didn’t call you in here early because of your sex etiquette, Cadet… that’s for later sessions. You’re here because I’ve been having my initial talks with other cadets, who have mentioned you. And what they have mentioned concerns me.”

Astrid tensed, before slipping into her mask of insouciance. “Envy and resentment has dogged me my whole life, Counselor. They hear the name, think that my father bought me passage into Starfleet, and then–”

She stopped, as Kami suddenly smacked her hand down on the adjacent table, making a sharp sound. “Were you not listening a minute ago, when I mentioned my many means of detecting shit from cubs like you? Perhaps I should have also mentioned my access to your confidential records?

I know the truth about you and Charles Michel. The truth his power and influence kept out of the news media.”

Astrid felt her stomach twist into a Gordian knot. It was obvious, of course, and not the first time that it had been noted. But it was the first time that anyone questioned her response to it, and it raised a panic in her that sent her to her feet. “You can’t tell anyone! You’re not allowed, it’s a violation of my rights-”

“I didn’t say I would tell anyone,” Kami assured her calmly. “So sit down.” When the girl didn’t respond, she added, “Now, Cadet.”

Astrid felt the urge to bolt and run, a primal instinct that she had to fight. She didn’t want to go through with this, didn’t want to have to face this.

She forced herself to sit down, this time practically curling herself into a defensive pose, as far to the other end of the couch as she could.

“You’re right,” Kami continued softly. “I can’t reveal confidential information to your fellow cadets. But I can reveal it to the Captain and First Officer, and I will.”

“NO!”

“Yes… now calm down, Astrid. They won’t say anything either.”

But she was looking away, holding onto herself tightly, the tears escaping her eyes, for once, genuine and unwanted. Shut up, shut up, shut up…

“But as much as I want to respect your right to privacy, I can’t see how it can help you to continue to lie to other people–”

“I’M NOT LYING!”

“You’re not telling the whole truth, not correcting people’s assumptions. And I’m not sure why. Astrid, what happened to you wasn’t your fault. You were a victim. And you were treated terribly. Why would you insist on perpetuating this image of being some spoiled little rich bitch?”

Now she looked hard at the Counselor, feeling naked and vulnerable and in a corner. “Because… Because I will take anything from people. I’ll take their desire. I’ll take their admiration. I’ll take their envy and their curiosity and their hatred.

But I won’t take their pity.”

Kami leaned back in her own place. “You really think that if people knew the truth, that they would pity you? Your life was turned upside down, but you managed to right yourself again. Everything you’ve done since that awful time – and what you’ve done since that awful time was amazing – has been because you made it so. That’s a spur for respect, not pity.”

Astrid grunted. “You clearly don’t know people as well as you think you do, Counselor. They’ll love hearing about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Kami took on a sorrowful expression. “That’s a bleak view of the Universe.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Perhaps not… but I think that your fear of being vulnerable is taking you down a path of deceit that will be harder for you to escape, the longer you’re on it. We’re in Starfleet; out here, we have to trust each other with our lives. What will happen to the relationships you’re forging out here when – not if – they find out you’ve been keeping the truth from them?”

Now Astrid countered with a sardonic smirk. “Relationships? With whom?”

“Well, your friends in Alpha Squad, for instance.”

“Friends? Is that what we’re calling them now?”

Kami tilted her head. “Tell me about them. Your impressions of them.”

Astrid smirked. “Let’s see: we have an Orion with a stick up her ass and a chip on her shoulder, the farmboy she’s in love with but doesn’t realise he’s into other boys, the mousey Engineer, the Slabhead, and the Talking Boulder. Still, I can imagine what they say about me.”

The Counselor regarded the cadet for a moment. “You don’t have to imagine.” She picked up her PADD and read from it. “‘Cadet Michel has such amazing potential, once she comes down from her pedestal and joins the rest of us mortals’… ‘There’s a warm, caring side to Astrid, one she tries to hide behind her bluster’… ‘I like Astrid, she’s funny and–’”

“You’re making all this up!” Astrid accused her.

“Am I?”

*

She returned to the Instruction Room to find only Padova there. She held up a hand to him. “Before you begin flirting again, I’m warning you: I’m not in the mood now.”

The Italian shrugged. “That’s okay, I don’t want to get on your squadmate’s bad side anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your Horta friend. He was in here before, warned me about saying or doing anything to hurt you.” He shuddered. “Quite a group you’re stuck with there.”

For once, she didn’t know what to say.

STALAC’S STORY:

“Sorry!” he said once more to the next people who had to step around him as he slithered down the corridor; he would have backed away if he could, but there was nowhere for him to go, and everyone else was more mobile.

When Stalac was preparing to leave for the Academy, he had burrowed to the home of Dahai Iohor Naraht. Naraht was one of the first hatchlings following the Great Awakening a century before, and eventually became the first Horta to join Starfleet, before eventually retiring and returning. Stalac sought advice about how to survive beyond the Motherworld.

Naraht had a few practical tips: visit the hygiene chamber regularly to prevent accidental acid leakage; recognise that the Carbs see more differences in each other than are obvious to Horta; and don’t fill up on alloys, they’re fattening. But the one which stuck in Stalac’s mind the most was… Beware the Open Sky.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry…”

Stalac couldn’t quite grasp it… until the moment he beamed down onto Earth, and slithered out to stand beneath a clear blue sky overlooking San Francisco Bay… and was so terrified he burrowed beneath the Academy grounds, incurring the wrath of the elderly Carb groundskeeper Boothby. It was so open! An Abyss over him! If the gravity ever failed on Earth, he’d have been hurled into space! It was simply unnatural!

Repetition, and meditation, helped ease that phobia, and immersion in his studies kept Stalac busy. He even made amends with Boothby, and helped the Carb with the landscaping.

“My apologies! Sorry!”

The Academy had adaptations in place for him: the combadge activate by a selected vibration from him where it was mounted; the sleeping box recreating the hot, pressurised, hermetic environment of the Motherworld to give him a break from the corrosive oxygen-rich air he was forced to endure living with Carbs; the working desktops and replicator and communications stations designed to be operated by his cilia. They were said to be vast improvements over when Naraht attended here.

Stalac knew he should be grateful.

“Excuse me! Sorry!”

And the improvements continued onboard the Surefoot, including a larger than usual hygiene chamber and sonic shower stall. Everyone was so… accommodating.

He knew he should be grateful.

He wanted to dedicate himself to pure science, to theoretical subspace physics and temporal oddities and even the biology of the Carbon-based lifeforms who seemed to have dominated the Galaxy. He would study anything (except possibly Geology, simply to overturn that old stereotype that it was the only subject Hortas were good at).

Someone who wasn’t looking where they were going tripped over him. He stopped and rotated to face them. “I’m terribly sorry!”

The crewman waved off his concerns, helped themselves up and continued on their way.

Stalac remained there for a moment. “No, it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise. You obviously thought I was just a garden sculpture or something. Happens all the time with me. No, no, just keep walking.”

Then he continued on his way. He should be grateful, they all went out of their way to be so helpful.

He just wished it could be done without drawing attention to him.

He entered the Instruction Room, finding two fellow cadets. They were human, based on the expected basic chemical compositions he read from them, and male and female, but he didn’t know them well enough yet to discern them by their unique chemical signatures. “Good afternoon, I hope I’m not disturbing you? My name is Stalac, Alpha Squad’s Science Specialist.”

They looked to each other, in that way that Carbs did when they didn’t see eyes on Stalac and assumed that he couldn’t detect their attempts at non-verbal communication. Then the female replied, “Uh, hi, I’m Claudia Holden, Flight Ops, Beta Squad. This is Antonio Pavola, Flight Ops, Gamma Squad.”

The male made a token wave. “Ciao.”

“Ah yes, I believe my squadmate Astrid mentioned she would be here. But I don’t detect her...”

“The Counselor called her in for an early session,” Claudia mentioned.

“I see. Um, excuse me, Claudia, but the desk you’re at is the only one in the room that I can access from down here. Unless you’ll let me sit on your lap?”

“What? No!” The human bolted to her feet, almost kicking her chair back.

The Horta drew closer, not making any sudden moves. “I was kidding, of course. I do not think you could support my weight. I’ve had too many granite muffins of late.”

“Uh yeah, sure. I, ah, have to go anyway.” She looked to Antonio, her voice taking on a sardonic tone. “I know it’ll be tough for you, but think about keeping it in your pants until we’ve been here at least a week?”

Antonio responded with a hand gesture Stalac recognised, without understanding the exact nuances behind it. When she departed, the Horta opined, “Does this mean I’m safe from molestation?”

The other cadet offered a nervous laugh. “We were, uh, talking about Astrid–”

“You intend to molest my squadmate?”

“No!” He smirked. “But she is Hot as Vulcan. I could–”

“You could remember that she is my squadmate. And that I would react unkindly to anyone who disrespected or hurt her.” He punctuated his statement with a rumble.

“Uh… yeah, sure. No offence intended.”

Stalac ignored him now, accessing the appropriate database for the list of available medical-based roles Starfleet offered as both primary and secondary roles onboard starships that served in hospital or ambulance roles.

He went through them, from Anaesthesiologist to Xeno-urologist. There were plenty there, to be sure, many of them he could do with ease – on a theoretical level. But these weren’t theoretical roles. They were meant to be practical, the tools all designed for the Carb hands.

And even if they could design tricorders or other devices for him, his very presence in the thick of a medical emergency would be like- like what had happened in Sickbay. He would probably frighten the wounded to death, and accidentally burn a hole through the hull and blow them all out into space for good measure.

This was pointless. He should have stayed at the Academy; at least there was plenty of space and natural ground to burrow in on his off-duty hours. Maybe even stayed on the Motherworld, attended the Science Grottos, studied the wisdom of the Ancients. Being out here, among fragile Carbs in their little ships, getting stared at, or ignored, having to be accommodated, having to feel so… shackled.

He disengaged himself from the interface and slithered out of the room, not caring if he made people jump out of the way. He knew exactly where he wanted to go; the schematics of the ship were nothing compared with finding his way through the warren of tunnels back home. And even if they were, he could always make his own. He couldn’t do that here. He could barely do anything here.

Two minutes later, he was in the Cadets’ Rec Lounge, hooked up to what had become his favourite games console, and lost himself in the shifting screens of coloured squares spinning before him.

He lost himself so much that he barely registered the presence of the tall, slender figure behind him. “Excuse me, Cadet? Cadet?”

Stalac paused the game and spun around, his senses picking up a strange mix of potassium, carbon, actinides, which he immediately recognised as being the composition of a Kelpien – and the only Kelpien onboard was… “Lieutenant Neheru! I’m sorry, I was- I was–”

The scarecrow-like, tangerine-coloured humanoid tilted his elongated head towards the holographic display. “Yes, so I see. I tried to play Strategema once. It was... daunting.” He straightened up. “Forgive the interruption, I know we met during your initial arrival, but I thought I would better make my acquaintance. How are you doing onboard the Surefoot, Mr. Stalac?”

“I...” He almost decided to give a pat, safe answer and be done with it. Nurse Eydiir would be along soon, find him here, and recommend his expulsion… assuming she doesn’t just kick him out the airlock. “If I am honest, it is… difficult, Lieutenant… I… I want to burrow away and be left alone, and not have people walk around me, or over me, or trip over me, or stare because I’m…. I’m–”

“Different?” Neheru prompted, dropping to one knee; even now, he would still tower over most Carbs Stalac had ever seen. He nodded, his lipless mouth widening. “Yes. I understand that, Cadet. It is at times frustrating, to never be able to feel comfortable enough to fully straighten out when I walk down a corridor, or to always end up in a seat where it feels like I have to extend my legs into the Beta Quadrant. And no one else seems to notice, or if they do, they make jokes about it. At least Captain Hrelle and Commander T’Varik ensured that modifications were made to my quarters.”

Stalac rumbled to himself. “But, Sir, don’t you resent being treated differently from the rest?”

Neheru chuckled. “But I am different, Cadet! And so are you! We are the Misfits. In a room filled with diversity, we expand that definition just a little bit more. We keep people from becoming complacent. And that’s a good thing; embrace it. And we provide unique gifts. We can do things no one else can do.”

“If you say so, Sir… I am told that I must find a suitable medical role.”

“Yes: ‘Pursuant to Starfleet General Policy and Starfleet Medical Emergency Operations, at least 40% of the officers and crew must be cross-trained to serve as Emergency Medical Technicians, Medics, Triage Specialists, and other emergency medical functionaries’. And I am aware that Commander T’Varik is insistent that every cadet is included.”

“Unfortunately, Sir, I might be a little too… diverse… to help out. I have tried to find something, but to no avail.”

“Really, Cadet? So now you sit in here and sulk and play games?”

The Horta rumbled again. “Sir, I genuinely do want to be of service. I’m just… limited–”

“Are you on the Twelfth Plateau of this game?”

Stalac started, turning back to the games console, having forgotten it was still on Pause. “Yes, Sir. There was a Strategema game on the transport shipout here, and I- I sort of became enamoured with the game–”

Neheru rose again. “Cadet, follow me.”

Stalac, confused by the sudden change in the subject of their conversation, obeyed.

Twenty minutes later, they were joined in the Holodeck by Commander T’Varik and Doctor Masterson, the Holodeck empty except for a holographic computer interface designed to fully accommodate Stalac’s body. The Kelpien addressed the small group. “Mr. Stalac has been anxious about making a meaningful contribution to our medical efforts, given his physical differences to the rest of us. But his proficiency with the game of Strategema inspired me.”

T’Varik focused on Stalac now. “You were playing games while on duty?”

“Commander, please,” Neheru chided gently. “As you will already be aware, during an emergency, a Medical Officer is typically assigned the role of Triage Manager, overseeing the initial tricorder readings by personnel dealing with incoming wounded, and assigning them to the appropriate facilities and staff. However, the role can be stringent, with the constant shifting of priorities and resources. The ship’s computer can supplement this role, but with limitations as to what they are permitted to take on.”

Masterson nodded. “It’s a demanding job, you can’t just leave it to a computer. But it’s always tricky taking a doctor out of the action when they could be in the thick of it from the start.”

“Indeed, Doctor, which is why Operations Officers often serve in the role when necessary. But it occurred to me that Hortas, whose minds are larger and more organised than most humanoids’, in order to store and collate more information than they might otherwise need in a technological society, might serve quite well in this capacity.”

Neheru turned back to Stalac, who had been listening and feeling so nervous he feared he might leak acid onto the Holodeck floor. “Cadet: you are about to undergo a training exercise based on a recent rescue operation the Surefoot underwent. Wounded will be beamed in from wreckage and escape pods, medical personnel will examine them, their tricorder readings will be fed into your computer. You have access to the personnel records of the Medical staff available, the Starfleet Medical Protocols for treating wounded, and access to the medical and industrial replicators and transporters. You will not be diagnosing the incoming wounded; your task will be to make the most appropriate decisions, as quickly as possible, in order to help save as many lives as you can. Are you ready?”

“Lives? You mean they’ll be depending on what I–”

“Computer: Begin Exercise Stalac One.”

Suddenly the yellow and black gridlines of the Holodeck vanished, replaced by the Surefoot Shuttlebay in full pandemonium, as the floor was lined with wounded being beamed in, and medical staff raced about, shouting at each other as room was made for more wounded appearing from the nearby transporter pads.

Stalac shook, once more momentarily overcome by the sudden creation of things that appear real but he only sensed as photons and force fields, before snapping into the role, accessing the databases, seeing the incoming data, grasping the protocols regarding severity of wounds. It wasn’t as bad as he thought, requiring the same type of multitasking and prioritising that he used in Strategema and other games, or for studying and memorising.

He sectioned parts of his mind on the various factors: the ever-increasing numbers of incoming casualties and the conditions fed to the main computer from the tricorders, the fluid occupancy of the three Sickbays in operation now, the staff available, the remaining medical supplies, the requirement for increased life support systems to accommodate the extra bodies onboard, the allocation of additional crew–

“Cadet,” Neheru prompted.

Stalac started, suddenly realising that he had totally lost himself in his own concentration. The simulation was over, the gridlines of the room had returned, and he saw Neheru kneeling beside him, as T’Varik and Masterson crowded around the console interface, reading data, and occasionally turning and looking at him with expressions Stalac couldn’t decipher. He focused on Neheru. “Sir?”

The Kelpien regarded him. “Are you okay, Cadet?”

“Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir, my concentration on some things can be intense.”

“How did you find that exercise?”

“Fascinating, Sir! Once approached in the right way, and once I understood the background Protocols, I found it easy!” He rotated to face the others, who now stared fully at him. He messed up, he decided, he knew it. He messed up somehow, and he was getting shipped home. But the role, it had been something he felt more comfortable doing than anything else.

“Son of a bitch,” Masterson muttered to himself.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I haven’t done anything like that before, I’m sure I can do better with practice!”

Masterson looked to T’Varik, who took over. “Cadet, in the real-life incident which formed the basis of your exercise, 477 survivors were taken onboard following a Klingon attack on their vessel; our efforts at the time resulted in a loss of only 20 lives, with 12 remaining critically injured, 30 in serious condition and a remaining 205 left with minor injuries of varying degrees.

Every incident like this is meticulously examined for the decisions made by the Triage Manager, not to find fault but instead improvements to our procedures; the best recommendations by the computer, had they been employed at the time, would have resulted in a loss of only 18 lives, with 9 remaining critically injured and 26 in serious condition.

Your efforts today would have halved that further.”

Stalac wasn’t quite sure he heard that. “Halved? Really, Commander?”

“How did you know to pre-order hyronalin from the replicators?” Masterson asked.

“The hyronalin? Oh, that. Well, Sir, in addition to the medical data, the personnel data is also provided for the wounded, to make the personnel aware of any allergies and such. Well, I saw the initial casualties were from Engineering, had suffered from radiation poisoning, and expected more, given the placement of escape pods for the Miranda-class cruiser and–”

“Never mind.” Masterson shook his head, looking to T’Varik. “Why haven’t we thought of this before?”

“Possibly because Horta crewmembers are exceedingly rare. I will arrange for an immediate modification to the Triage Management Console in the Shuttlebay, and have the Captain authorise the new allocations.” The Vulcan turned to Stalac. “Mr. Stalac, you will be assigned additional study hours towards this new duty. And you will begin learning your new role – immediately.” She looked to Neheru. “Well done, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Stalac rotated to face the Kelpien, not believing this sudden turn in his fortunes… and his self-esteem. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Neheru smiled. “We Misfits have to stick together.”

ZIR DASSENE’S STORY:

When Zir had first encountered Commander T’Varik months ago on Earth at Starfleet Academy, she had been impressed with the composure and assurance the Vulcan had presented.

Nothing had changed since arriving onboard and seeing more of the First Officer, as they now strode down the corridor towards the Captain’s Ready Room. “Cadet, today you will be fulfilling the role of Captain’s Yeoman. Are you familiar with it?”

Zir stopped in her tracks, feeling her face turn a darker shade of green. “Uh, yes, Ma'am, I've... I’ve heard it… it was a euphemism for a Captain’s, uh, ‘woman’...”

T’Varik had stopped as well, and raised an eyebrow at the cadet with mild derision. “Only in salacious fiction. It was in fact a Starfleet title popular in the previous century, for a junior officer, of either sex, who served as an administrative assistant to the Captain.

Advances in technology made such assistance, and such titles, obsolete, but we are re-introducing it onboard now, to provide you and the other Squad Leaders with an opportunity to see first-hand the day-to-day duties of a Captain. Let us proceed-”

“Commander,” she started, unable to hold back any longer.

As the Vulcan stopped again, the young Orion woman approached her, dropping her voice to a confidential whisper despite there being no one in the corridor. “Commander, I was extremely appreciative, not only that you agreed to take on my friend, but that you included me as well–”

“I recall, Cadet.”

“Yes, Ma’am. But at the time when you offered it to me, I had expressed my desire not to be posted to the Surefoot.”

“I recall that as well, Cadet. Please get to the point.”

“Well, Ma'am... why was my request ignored?”

“It was not ignored. It was refused.”

“Oh. But… But I explained my reasons–”

“You did. And I consulted our Counselor for advice on the matter. She examined your psychological profile, and she believes that, whatever issues you have – or believe you have – they need to be addressed, not ignored, and that this is best done here. I agreed with her assessment.” She regarded Zir. “Cadet, you have no reason to feel apprehensive. If you are expecting Captain Hrelle to look at you and only see an Orion, you are doing him a disservice. He will not hold your race against you.”

“But- after the recent events, when he was almost killed- will he still want the likes of me around? What if he thinks I’m another threat?”

“Are you?”

“What? NO! I mean, No, Ma’am–”

“Then there is no further reason to discuss the matter. The Captain has fully recovered, and is back to his... normal self.” T’Varik proceeded to the Ready Room door, entering without announcement, Zir quickly following, snapping to attention in time to see–

Captain Esek Hrelle sitting reading behind his desk, the large, mahogany-furred Caitian in full uniform, but also wearing a pair of baggy red underpants on his head like a shower cap, his sharp-tipped ears sticking out of the leg holes.

Beside him, his cub Misha sat colouring in a paper pad, like his father dressed in a Starfleet uniform in Command Red complete with Captain’s pips – and also, like his father, wearing underpants on his head, though his were smaller, white and were decorated with ducks.

Hrelle looked up and smiled. “Ah, there you two are! I was worried you got lost along the way! Morning, T’Varik! And welcome aboard, Cadet! I’m sorry I wasn’t around to greet you when you first arrived, I was still convalescing. I hope you understand.”

The Orion’s mouth opened, but no words managed to escape.

Leaving T’Varik to respond. “Good morning, Captain. May one ask about the additions you two have made to the standard uniform?”

Hrelle frowned, then made a show of remembering what was on his head. “Oh, these!” He indicated his cub. “He said he got a Priority Message last night, and everyone has to wear them now.”

Misha looked up and nodded solemnly in confirmation.

“Indeed?” the Vulcan replied deadpan. “And who sent this message to you, Captain Misha?”

“Admiral... Poophead,” the cub replied… clamping his muzzle shut to keep from laughing.

T’Varik nodded. “Of course. He has been most prolific of late with radical orders.” She looked to Zir. “I’ll leave you now, Cadet. But I will expect a report from you tomorrow on what you have learned today.”

“Uh, Commander–”

But T’Varik didn’t tarry. As she departed, Hrelle called after her, “And make sure the rest of the crew is aware of the new orders from Admiral Poophead!” As Misha guffawed, Hrelle looked to Zir. “Did you want to go get some underpants for your head, too? I don’t want you sitting here next to us looking stupid...”

*

There was an old Orion saying: The Serpent Will Strike. Maybe Not This Moment, Maybe Not This Hour. But It Will.

Orions weren’t known for their optimism.

Misha didn’t stay too long; her mother arrived to take him for a morning nap, staying and staring silently at Captain Hrelle until he finally took the underpants off his head and stuffed them in his desk drawer. The Counselor looked at Zir and smiled warmly. “Don’t just sit there and accept everything he says. If you want to know the reasons behind everything he says and does, question. Make him do his job. You’ll learn more, and anyway he loves talking, he’s a regular little chatterbox–”

He reached back into the drawer, took the underpants back out, bundled them up and threw them at her. She caught them, her nose wrinkling. “You could at least have put clean ones on.”

Misha laughed. “Stinky Pants!”

“Out! Both of you!”

Kami took her cub’s hand and departed. Zir watched them leave, the image triggering a memory: seeing her mother walk back inside their house with her little brother Haikiv after waving her goodbye. They thought she was headed off to join her father at his shop to help out for the day.

They didn’t know of her plans to leave off-world that very morning. And not return…

“He likes you,” he informed her.

She looked up, drawn back to the here and now. “Sir?”

Hrelle chuckled, closing the desk drawer and picking up his PADD. “My son. You might end up one of his girlfriends. He says he has five. But don’t expect a marriage proposal from him, he intends to stay single until he’s very old. Fifteen, he says.”

She stared. They were alone now, centimetres apart. This was it. He would reach out, grab her by the throat with that huge furred hand, squeeze, his claws popping out to pierce her skin…

“Cadet?” he asked.

She blinked.

He indicated his PADD. “This is linked to yours. We’ll go through each of the daily reports you’re expected to read, understand and acknowledge with an electronic signature; some will require additional DNA signatures from your thumbprint. It’s a thousand mundane details, most of which will go in and be forgotten. But occasionally, there’ll be something there that comes back to you at a crucial time.

First is the Incident Report from the Duty Officers on the previous two shifts...”

An hour later, he took her to the Bridge; she noticed how no one rose on his arrival, before he drew her attention back to him, indicating the various stations. “The design here is slightly different from the usual Sabres, as you can see; Mr Neheru finds it more comfortable to stand, so we moved Ops to share with the Tactical Display Board behind me, and we removed the second station next to the Helm. But everything else – Primary and Secondary Engineering and Sciences – are in their usual places.” He smiled, indicating the two chairs in the centre, one for the Captain, the other for the First Officer or anyone else. “My seat is on the left. Take it.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

He motioned with his hand. “Sit. See how it feels.”

She looked around; a couple of the crew glanced at her and smiled, before resuming their duties. Tentatively she approached the chair, seeing the display stations on either side of it, blinking at her, beckoning her.

Wow. This was it. The moment she had hoped for… but not so soon.

Aware that Hrelle was watching her, she approached, finally, gently sitting down on the cushioned seat, acting like Kaldron did whenever he tried a new chair, in case it broke under her. It felt… comfy. There was a hole in the base, where the seat met the back, and it took a moment to realise it was for the Caitian tail, and she adjusted herself, resting her hands on the arms, and stared up at the viewscreen.

Wow. Just… wow.

“Cadet?” Hrelle prompted.

She looked up, her heart skipping. This was it. It had been a trap: he would say he’d never given her permission to sit there, everyone would back him up, of course, and she’d be sent home in disgrace. Except that she could never go home–

“Cadet,” he continued, midway through speaking with an Engineering officer at the port rear station. “Did you want a drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Uh… no thank you, Sir.”

From the Ops station behind her, a crewman announced, “Sir, Sickbay reports an injury. Crewman Gentry. Plasma overload on Deck 4 Aft-Port Conduit behind the Morgue.”

Zir watched Hrelle snap into action, approaching. “Status?”

“Initial reports indicate plasma burns to the face and left arm, they’re treating him now.”

“Alert Engineering, Ensign Aquilar, I want that section sealed off and checked out for the cause.” He looked at Zir, motioning for her to join him.

She obeyed quickly, watching as he called up something on his PADD and handing it to her. “Tell me if you see any connections between those incident reports and what just happened.”

She accepted it, her eyes scanning the lines. It was an Engineering report from the Afternoon shift yesterday, about a power failure in the EPS Grid in the Officer’s Mess on Deck 2. Why would the Captain hint at a connection between–

Then she called up a Quartermaster’s report she’d viewed earlier, compared it with the Engineering reports and the current incident. “Both sections have had recent replacements of isolinear chips.”

He nodded in approval. “From a new supplier, I was told at the time.” He turned back to the crewman. “Have Chief Grev check all recent installations and upgrades using parts from...” He checked his PADD again. “Cyberdyne Industries, and report back anything wrong immediately. The demands of the war may mean we’ve had to rely on private contractors, but not at the expense of crew. You have the Bridge, Mr. Aquilar.” To Zir he motioned, “Let’s go to Sickbay.”

As they stepped out and down the curved corridor, Zir noticed him frowning. And he noticed her noticing. “Yes, Cadet?”

“Um- I don’t want to bother you–”

“You’re here to learn. Ask.”

“Sir, how did you remember that the new parts had come from a private contractor?”

He grunted. “Cadet, like I said: a thousand mundane details, most of which will go in and be forgotten. But occasionally, there’ll be something there that comes back to you at a crucial time. You’ll also pick up expertise on Engineering, Security, Science, Medical, Operations and Support, so for instance you’ll know that isolinear chip failure in EPS conduits are the principal cause of plasma overloads. Now, why do you think I ordered Engineering to report back to me immediately on the new chips?”

“To make sure that it doesn’t happen elsewhere onboard?”

He nodded. “And not just for us; if Cyberdyne supplied parts for ships in the rest of the Fleet–”

The implication struck her. “Overloads could happen with them, too!”

“There’s always a bigger picture, Cadet. You’re not just responsible for your crew and your ship.”

They entered Sickbay, stopping near the doorway and watching quietly. Zir saw the injured crewman on a biobed, bathed in a sterile field, his injuries obvious. And she watched Peter draw near, holding medical tools, while a dark-skinned Nurse was giving him advice on treating the patient. Zir forced back her shock to be pleasantly surprised at seeing Peter being allowed to treat others. He must have impressed them well if they’re letting him do this!

“Have we come at a bad time?” Hrelle asked.

Peter stopped and looked over his shoulder, seeing them, and meeting eyes with Zir.

Then Doctor Masterson came round to the new arrivals. “Y’all come to my office, I’ll fill you in.” The doctor nodded and smiled at Peter. “My Assistant Chief Nurse and new Medical Cadet have got this under control. I’m pleased with Mr. Boone’s work, Captain, he’s gonna do mighty fine here.”

“Glad to hear it,” the Captain replied, nodding at the cadet.

“Let’s continue, Peter,” Eydiir prompted.

“Yes, Nurse.”

Zir kept looking at Peter as she followed the men into the office.

Oh yes, Peter definitely had feelings for her, she decided.

*

They’d proceeded to Engineering, meeting with Chief Grev, who didn’t waste any time, leading them to a display board with a schematic of an isolinear chip. “Your suspicions were correct, Captain; there’s a design flaw in these Cyberdyne chips: gamma flux radiation, even a short burst of it, seriously degrades their actinonium links. We’re checking the rest now.”

Hrelle nodded. “Don’t bother. Have them replaced, all of them.” He tapped his badge. “Hrelle to Bridge: send a Priority Message to Admiral Tattok on the Triton. Warn him to forward this to all ships in the Fleet who have recently obtained parts from Cyberdyne: the isolinear chips supplied are flawed and can cause plasma overloads. We’ve had one injury already, let’s not have any more. Hrelle out.” He looked to Grev. “Think you can stop scratching the fleas in your pelt long enough to transmit this report to the Gnome?”

The Tellarite grunted. “If I have fleas, I got them from you. You’re a Starbase for them–”

Suddenly the voice of Tori Emoto cut in, like a ghost butting in on the conversation. “You have no idea what you’re missing with me, Chief. I’m a powerhouse of banter, you squint-eyed, potbellied, knuckle-dragging sausage burp! Waddling down there like a drunk penguin, looking like a Mugato sex doll someone tried to shave before giving up, and smelling like a Klingon’s undercarriage!”

Hrelle’s eyes widened, as did Grev’s. Zir, meanwhile, felt her jaw drop to her feet. That was Tori? Mousey little Tori?

As if in confirmation, she heard Tori do an imitation of Grev. “‘A thought just crossed my mind’. So, a thought crossed your mind, huh, Chief? Must have been a long and lonely journey. I bet you couldn’t find your ass without a map and computer assistance… and even then, you’d keep mistaking your face for it. If anyone says you’re multi-talented, they mean that you have the ability to offend all our senses at once. Your certification is an apology letter from the Board of Engineers for not finding a way to kill you and make it look like an accident. Those hooves of yours give you all the grace of a Rectyne Monopod with a broken leg–”

“Cadet Emoto!” Grev suddenly spoke up. “Come down here!” He looked to Hrelle. “I never expected to hear that from her.”

Zir’s face was on fire. She was certain of it. “Chief, I’m- I’m–”

But he waved off her further attempts at apology, as she saw Tori descend a ladder to join them, appearing confused to see the new arrivals. “Chief?”

Grev harrumphed. “Cadet, are you aware that an open channel is maintained in the Flux Capacitor Alcove at all times for safety reasons?”

“Uh… no, Chief.”

Hrelle still looked amused. “I’ll leave you to your work, Chief.” He motioned for Zir to follow; the Orion girl shot Tori an appalled look as she followed out.

Once in the corridor, she flustered, “Captain, please accept my apologies! I never, ever expected in a million years to hear anything like that coming from her! She-”

She stopped as he chuckled. “’Mugato sex doll’. I’ll have to remember that.” He looked at her. “Your Squad’s full of surprises, Ms. Dassene.”

“I know! I’m sorry, Sir–”

“Don’t be; I fully expect it from Alpha Squad. My daughter was their Squad Leader. I see a lot of her in you–” He stopped as his combadge chirped. “Hrelle here.”

Doc Masterson’s voice filled the air. “Sir, just to let you know Mr Gentry will be off-duty for a couple of days, but otherwise should make a full recovery, physically at least; the Counselor’s with him now, helping him deal with the trauma.”

As the doctor spoke, Zir watched the change in mood for Hrelle. “Understood, Doc. Thank you. Hrelle out.” He stood there for a moment, expressing nothing except through his tail, which twitched behind him like it was being shocked. Then he glanced up and strode away, saying nothing.

Zir followed him as they entered the Gym. Hrelle removed his jacket, casting it onto a nearby bench. “Wait here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Confused, she stood silently and watched him approach the huge heavy punching bag handing on chains in one corner of the room. She noted his large upper frame inside his blue-grey undershirt; there was a belly on him, but also muscle on the upper arms and shoulders. He drew the sleeves up his furry forearms, stormed up to the bag and began punching it. His blows landed, making deep, heavy sounds, and made the bag struggle to escape its bound state, the chains holding it rattling in protest.

Zir straightened up, anxious as she saw the rage in the Captain's eyes, in his bared teeth as he struck out, again and again in rapid succession, sometimes shifting his stance to strike the bag from another angle. He growled and roared.

And for a moment, she saw something in him she'd seen before, years ago...

This was it, she decided. Definitely. He would kill her now, in the throes of some Caitian Blood Fury, claim temporary insanity–

She started as she saw him step back, exhausted, bent over and breathing hard. Suddenly she rushed over to the dispenser and brought him a cup of water. After a moment, he accepted the cup with a nod off appreciation and straightened up, drinking from it. Finally he said in a husky voice, “Thank you, Cadet. I guess- I guess I’m still recovering.”

“Do you need more, Sir?”

He shook his head, flexing his hands and wincing. “I’m sure it never used to hurt so much doing that before. Of course, I was smart then and wore gloves.” Then he looked to her with genuine regret. “I’m sorry, Cadet. I needed to blow off some steam. Logan Gentry likes to sing when he’s working. Sometimes you can hear his voice carry some Irish or Rigelian ballad through the Jefferies Tubes. He loves his work, and it comes out in his singing.

And now, because some company was cutting corners on the quality of their merchandise, the next time he does his job, he’ll remember the pain of the burns. Maybe he’ll sing again, maybe he won’t. Seeing him lying there injured, because of me–”

“You, Sir?”

He nodded. “I authorised receipt of those defective chips.”

The Orion girl frowned in confusion. “But, Sir, you didn’t know they were defective! It’s not your fault, you can’t blame yourself!”

He grunted. “It may not be my fault, but I can certainly blame myself. Guilt is very accommodating that way.” He ran his fingers through the tufts of fur on the back of his neck, before rubbing the muscles beneath. “You know, I used to be a distant, detached commanding officer. I kept my crew at a proverbial arm’s length. I wouldn’t let myself get emotionally involved, because I didn’t think it was professional. Now, quite a few captains are like that, and there’s nothing wrong with it per se, it’s just one of many command styles you might end up employing for yourself.”

He returned to his jacket. “But when I… returned to duty a couple of years ago, I couldn’t command like that anymore. People, people with lives and loved ones and personalities, agree to work, to kill, to even die, under my command.” He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “They deserve to know that I know who they are, that they’re more than just names to me. They mean something.” He looked to her. “I’m their Papa Cat. You might not like everyone under you, and they may not like you. But they deserve to know that you’ll do everything you can for them. And you’ll find that if they know that, then they’ll do everything they can for you.”

She nodded. “I’d- I’d like to feel the same way with my Squad, Sir.”

He regarded her. “But it’s not easy, is it? Just remember: there’s more to people than you’ll know. Don’t judge too harshly, too soon.” Then he checked the wall chronometer and smiled. “Lunchtime! Let’s get the Captain!”

*

Zir watched Hrelle lift Misha up to the replicator, letting him shout into it, “MISHA MEAL!”

She smiled as the Caitian set his cub down while the meal materialised, and helped the tray down to his eager hands, rushing to the nearest table. Hrelle smiled at Zir and offered her the next go at the replicator. She ordered a chicken salad sandwich, something she hoped was generic and not subject to judgement from him.

He ordered a large colourful bowl of salad, peppered with grilled meat, before they joined Misha, who was greedily devouring a large meat-filled, sauce-slathered pasta constructed in the shape of a Sabre-class starship, prompting his father to say, “Napkin.”

Misha nodded, making sure the napkin barely touched his muzzle.

Then Hrelle rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “Halt. Knife and Fork down. Now.”

The cub obeyed, his eyes still on the remains of his meal.

“Now,” Hrelle continued. “Count to ten on your fingers – one at a time – and then wipe your mouth properly.”

Misha, pouting, stuck out his fingers and commenced, and then grabbed the napkin and wiped thoroughly… sending more sauce into the soft, short fur on his snout, until his father took the napkin from him, dabbed one end into his glass of water, and gently finished the cleaning job. “Take your time, my Warrior Prince, you’ll enjoy it more, and you won’t get Bad Belly like I did.” He tousled the fur on the cub’s head and let him continue with his meal.

Zir watched the exchange, suddenly feeling an intense melancholy, as she pictured her own father doing something similar to her brother. And herself.

Then Hrelle caught her attention again. “We’d best hurry up, we have a stop on the Bridge again, and then a shuttle to catch.”

“A shuttle, Sir? We’re not just transporting over to the Triton?”

He stuck his fork into a generous helping of grilled meat, lettuce and tomato, swirling it in some orange-yellow dressing on some of the other leaves. “You need to put in a minimum number of flight-hours each year to maintain pilot qualification.” He pointed at her sandwich with his fork. “Get going. But not too quickly; we have an example to set to stinky little cubs.”

“Me!” Misha clarified with a mouth full of food.

“Yes, Sir.” She smiled and tucked in, relaxing.

“Ice cream!” Misha declared when they were finally done, having left his tray a mess. “Admiral Poophead said ice cream!”

“No ice cream,” his father countered. “But you can order a piece of fruit to take with you while you nap in the Ready Room while Lt Neheru babysits you.”

“Not a baby!” he informed his father defiantly as he hopped off his chair.

“Tray!”

Misha returned to collect his tray for recycling, as Hrelle smiled with a pride that shone from him like the light from a supernova.

Zir grinned. Yes, so much like her father and brother.

Then her grin vanished. No, no she couldn’t dwell on what she had lost. Not now.

*

They returned to the Bridge in time for two cadets, a human and a Boslic male, cadets Zir recognised as the Engineering specialists for Beta and Gamma Squads to arrive, looking pleased with themselves as they drew up to Hrelle, who was finalising his plans with Neheru. “Sir! Chief Grev sent us up here to secure a Long Weight from you!”

Hrelle looked at them for a moment, glanced at Neheru once more and finally nodded gravely. “Very good, gentlemen.” He pointed to the bare wall between the Auxiliary Engineering station and the main viewscreen. “Stand over there for now.”

Zir watched them comply – and saw the smirks Hrelle and Neheru exchanged with each other, before the Captain nodded to her. “Come along, Cadet.”

Zir kept silent, until they were in the corridor on the way to the Shuttlebay. “Sir… may I ask what that was about?”

“It was about an old Starfleet prank played on Squabs who get a bit too big for their boots, and need taking down a peg or two: you send them to collect what they think is a Long Weight, and they end up with a Long Wait until they realise they’ve been pranked… or until someone takes pity on them. Usually the latter. Fortunately you don’t need that treatment.” He smiled at her. “Do you?”

She felt her skin turn a darker shade of green. “No, Sir.”

*

The shuttle they used was small, a Type-15 with just enough room for a pilot and passenger. It felt cramped… but not as cramped as some of the transports she had taken to escape her homeworld. This was cleaner. Quieter. Safer.

Until minutes later, when he asked, “So, what made you leave Orion to join Starfleet?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, not finding any words coming out. This was it, she decided. He would force her to reveal her shame. He would know, he would know what she did-

“If that’s a personal question,” he added mildly. “Just say. You have a right to privacy, Cadet. I was just curious. Now, me, I’d grown up watching a vivid on Caitian networks called Star Claws...”

And he continued, going into detail about his childhood on Cait, growing up in a fisherfolk family, his father refusing to let him go… until the Captain left anyway. And didn’t return for years.

It struck her, the parallels he was presenting to her own life.

He understood. Without knowing anything about her.

She could talk. She could tell him.

No.

*

They boarded the Triton, a massive ship compared with the Surefoot, and Hrelle led her to an unmarked door that opened to a room that was bigger than the Surefoot’s Shuttlebay, filled with…

Wow. So many Captains. Scores and scores of pips.

She hesitated at the doorway, as faces turned in their direction.

Then Hrelle put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, let me introduce you.”

This was it, she decided. It was a set-up. He would throw her to the Captains of the Fleet, tell them all about her, arrest her–

“Admiral,” he was announcing, “This is Zir Dassene, one of our newest and most promising cadets. Cadet, this is Admiral Tattok, commander of the Thirteenth Fleet.”

“Cadet,” Tattok responded, holding out a hand.

Zir paused. The figure before her was short, from a race she didn’t recognise, with a bony face of swept-back, aquamarine scales, black, open eye sockets with thin stalks in the middle, and a hook nose. But there was an undeniable power and authority to him.

She shook his hand. “An honour, Sir. Thank you for allowing me to attend.”

And Hrelle introduced her to the others in the room, more Captains, including one named Weynik, from the same race as Tattok, and there was definite history between Hrelle and him.

They were all so… polite. Friendly. No one questioned her being Orion, her being a cadet.

She sat beside them at a large table as the meeting began. She listened, took notes.

But a part of her kept waiting for the Serpent to Strike.

*

She was silent as they returned to the shuttle and were on their way back, until Hrelle keyed in some commands on his board.

“Would you like to fly back yourself? I’ll take over when we arrive, but you can learn some basic manoeuvres–”

“STOP BEING NICE TO ME!”

She was sobbing. She was shaking. She couldn’t take it anymore.

She heard him key in some more commands, and then the shuttle halted as he announced, “Littlecub to Surefoot: don’t worry, nothing’s wrong, we’ll be home shortly. Littlecub out.” He turned in his seat and faced her. “Zir- don’t–”

But she kept sobbing, her face in her hands. “You- You don’t know! You don’t know what I did! What I did to you!”

He drew closer, gently taking her hands away until she looked up at him. He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “What do you think you did, Zir?”

This was it, she decided. She would tell him everything.

And he would finally kill her.

And she would deserve it.

The tears kept coming. As did the words. “I lived there! I bought things stolen by pirates, by the Syndicate! I let slaves serve me in restaurants and in shops, knowing they were slaves, but never thinking about what actually meant to be them! And I- I–”

“Go on,” he urged softly, holding her hands.

Kill me… just kill me now… “I watched the Deathmatches with my family on Marketday nights… I saw slaves fight… kill… die… never thought about them as people, taken from their lives, their families! They were just… entertainment for me!

I saw them… I saw you... the Beast… I didn’t- I didn’t realise, didn’t understand… I’m sorry, Captain… I’m sorry!” She broke down fully.

He dropped down to one knee before her and took her in his arms, holding her, making reassuring sounds until she calmed again. Then he drew back to face her. “Listen to me, Zir… you did nothing wrong. You didn’t make the society you were born into. You didn’t enslave anyone. And you didn’t capture me, didn’t force me to fight.”

“I know!” she cried, struggling to pull herself together. “Look at me! I’ve spent the last two years challenging anyone who tried to blame me for what my people did! Why am I- why am I like this with you?”

“Well,” he suggested gently, after a pause, “If my wife is correct – and she’s usually annoyingly correct about these things – it’s because, unlike the smug, opinionated cadets and upperclassmen who might have confronted you about the actions of your people, but were never affected by them… you know I’ve been a victim of those atrocities. I told you before: it may not be your fault, but you can certainly blame yourself. Guilt is very accommodating that way.

Zir, I was made aware of your history. I know what made you see your people, your society, in a different light. I know what you went through to escape it, the price you paid for passage out of Orion space and sanctuary on a Starfleet vessel.”

She stared at him, felt her face burn at the revelation. He did know; she could see it in his eyes. How- How could he possibly look at her now with anything but disgust?

“Zir,” he continued softly. “I know you want to punish yourself for not doing something about your world. But you did do something. You chose not to ignore it, not to enable it or support it or justify it. You did the only thing that one lone young person could do in that situation: you walked away from it, and you joined an organisation dedicated to fighting all the terrible things you rejected. It was an incredibly brave thing you did.

That’s the sort of bravery we need in Starfleet. And I promise you: I will do everything I can to help and guide you towards achieving all that you can be. If that’s what you want.”

The words, the offer, the support that this man gave her, was almost too much.

But not too much that she couldn’t nod in the affirmative and hug him one more time.

Then he drew back, made sure she had recovered enough, before facing forward and keying in some commands. “Right, let’s get back. Ice cream is prescribed. Yes. Definitely ice cream.”

*

As she watched and listened to her Squad in their common room after coming off their shift, Zir couldn’t help but notice the definite change in mood. Peter and Stalac were animated, Tori was smiling and actually responding with words, Kaldron seemed less blustery, more... thoughtful… and Astrid? Well, there hadn’t been one double entendre from her the whole time they’d been together. Had Zir been getting to them?

She smiled. No. She’d been a little green bitch to them. It was this ship, this crew. This was the place they all needed to be, to learn from and grow and be stronger. And there was no time like the present. “Guys? Could I have a word with you before we go to dinner? Please?”

They stopped and turned to face her.

Well, here goes everything. “All of you know I’m Orion. And all of you know that my people hold death sports, practice piracy and criminal activity and… slavery. My family were modest, ordinary people, who weren’t rich or connected enough to engage in any of that… but they would have if they could. I grew up thinking that there was nothing wrong with treating sentient beings as property, with dealing in stolen goods and narcotics and watching men and women fight and kill. And die. For entertainment.

Then something happened which made me begin to question all of that. And then reject it. And finally escape from it, in order to fight it from the outside. And the best place to do that is in Starfleet.

I know that I want to be in this uniform so desperately, that I come across as overbearing, high-handed. And for that, I’m sorry.” She folded her hands behind her, to keep from showing much she was fidgeting with them. “And I just wanted you to know... that I will be proud to be your Squad Leader. You deserve to know that I’ll do everything I can for you, and to support all of you, no matter what.”

No one spoke, until Peter relented. “Thanks, Zir.” He glanced at the others. “I think we all appreciate that. Besides, I’ve been talking with a former member of the previous Alpha Squad, and based on what she’s been telling me, we have some big boots to fill.”

“Boots are overrated,” Stalac declared. “So are feet, I expect.”

“I have heard some impressive tales about the previous Alpha Squad myself,” Urad added. “They have certainly made their mark on this ship.”

“Well, I don’t give a tiny rat’s ass if they have,” Tori declared loudly. As the others turned to her, she continued, arms folded across her chest. “I mean it! I’m not wasting my time having a pissing contest with the last pack of skidmarks who lived here! Everyone’s gonna have to just accept us for who we are, or they can kiss my ass, and stroke off while they’re doing it!”

Everyone looked at her in astonishment, until Astrid leaned in, smiling with amusement, and teased, “Ooh, I like this new side of you, Tori. I might have to jump into bed with you tonight–”

Zir was about to respond, when Tori beat her to it. “You couldn’t handle me, Flygirl. I’d break you like a twig and send you crying back to your ruby-encrusted sex toys.”

Peter, Urad and Stalac laughed at that. Astrid just looked across at Zir with a huge grin. “I’m strangely aroused even more now.”

Zir smiled. “Let’s get eating, before Mr. Kaldron starts complaining.”

*

They entered the Cadets’ Mess to see Gamma Squad there, having their meal before starting the evening shift. Their leader, Jexa-Naku, looked at them with mild disdain… increasing as she watched Stalac slither in. No doubt she’d made another pathetic attempt to trip over him, to demonstrate how unsuitable he was to be eating in public with the rest of them… “Wait.”

The others were moving to the replicators, but stopped now, Peter asking, “What’s up?”

Zir still stared over at the Grazerite, but now pointed to their table. “Mr Kaldron, Mr Boone… turn that upside down.”

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am?” the Hroch asked.

“You heard me. Do it. The rest of you, move the chairs aside, we won’t need them.”

Alpha Squad looked to each other, but then quickly complied, except for Stalac, who rumbled up to her. “Zir, what do you think you’re doing? If this is for me, I don’t want to–”

“This is for us, Stal,” she informed him, aware that Gamma Squad were watching the scene with growing curiosity. She ignored them, however, examining the overturned table: it was a simple but sturdy design, with a flat surface now resting on the carpet, and a single support column in the centre, now sticking up like a tiny tower, reminding her of how she used to do something similar to the table back home, but drape a blanket over it to make a fortress with her brother.

Don’t forget me, Haikiv. And don’t think too unkindly of me for leaving. Maybe someday, I can help make our world a better place?

“Now what, O Fearless Leader?” Astrid asked.

“Now, we get our food, we sit down around the table, and talk about our day.”

As they proceeded, Jexa-Naku couldn’t take it any longer, and strode up to them. “What is this all about?”

“It’s about none of your business,” Zir informed her. “That’s what this is about.” She stepped around the Grazerite with her tray and joined the others. Most sat cross-legged on the floor around the table, except for Urad, who knelt there, prompting her to ask, “Are you okay, Mr Kaldron?”

He grunted in the affirmative. “I must learn to be more flexible, adaptable. Strength and durability alone will not be enough for me to be my best.”

The sound of sliding doors caught Zir’s attention; she looked behind her in time to see Jexa-Naku quickly depart. Zir smirked, having already guessed that Gamma Squad’s leader would be some sort of tattletale, and sat down with her tray.

Stalac was beside her, his tray having rolled over as usual at his combadge command. “Zir, are you certain we should be doing this?”

“Sure! It’s fun!” She looked around, smiling. “Besides, the ship’s new Triage Supervisor deserves to be seen at the table, if not the head of the table.”

The others made sounds of agreement, though the Horta remained dubious. “I… I don’t want to cause a fuss–”

“Of course you do, darling,” Astrid suddenly insisted, drawing their attention. “Those of us who stand out from the rest of the common herd have a duty, to set an example. It’s a burden, I know, I’ve lived with it all my life, and I’ll assist you as best I can.”

“We’ll assist you,” Zir corrected, pleased at their Flight Ops specialist’s show of support. “But thank you for that, Astrid.”

“You’re welcome, Fearless Leader,” the girl replied, smiling mischievously.

“But next time, if you’re wearing the Skant version of the uniform, remember to include some underwear. It’s regulation.”

Astrid offered an old-fashioned, playful salute, aware of Tori and Peter trying not to be caught looking.

They turned their heads as the door slid open again, and Jexa-Naku returned… with First Officer T’Varik, the Grazerite indicating Alpha Squad. “There, Commander, just as I told you! They’ve overturned the table, they’re sitting on the floor like animals–”

“I can discern the scene without your aid, Cadet,” the Vulcan replied dryly, focusing on Zir. “If not the reasons behind it. Would you care to explain yourself, Ms. Dassene?”

Zir looked up at her. “Certainly, Ma’am: Ms Jexa-Naku and a number of cadets on the other squads have been known to not notice Mr. Stalac while he was eating in here and have tripped over him, presenting a potential health and safety hazard. Ms. Jexa-Naku had recommended it might be best for all concerned if he ate elsewhere, but I believed this was a more acceptable alternative.”

“I see. And did it occur to you to seek authorisation for this action before commencing it?”

“I did get authorisation, Commander… from Admiral Poophead.”

T’Varik regarded her for a moment. And then nodded. “Carry on.” She turned to depart, but then offered a final look at a perplexed Jexa-Naku, her voice taking on a sharp edge to it. “Should you or any other cadets continue to experience issues with... not noticing your fellow squadmates, it will be reported to me, and I will arrange medical examinations to determine your continued fitness to remain onboard. Is that understood?”

The Grazerite blanched. “Uh, yes, Commander.”

“Your squad is due to start your shift in 4.42 minutes. I suggest you complete your meal and not be late.”

Jexa-Naku stiffened. “Yes, Commander!” And returned to her table.

Zir looked up at T’Varik and smiled. “Thank you, Commander.”

“You are welcome, Cadet. But I would recommend not relying on the aforementioned Admiral for further validation.” She departed.

Zir looked back at her squad. “I think I’m gonna like her… what?”

Peter looked bemused. “Admiral… Poophead? Who’s that?”

Zir grinned. “It’s a long story. But we’ll have plenty of time to talk about him. And other things...”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN… 

THE WAR WATCHERS