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Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 52555.58, Esek Hrelle, Commanding: the last of the wounded and non-wounded evacuees we rescued from the Battle of Khavak have been transported to the Samaritan and other vessels in the Thirteenth Fleet. This includes my former Second Officer, Lt Neheru, who requires extensive surgery and post-operative rehabilitation, and my former Chief Helmsman Lt Velkovsky, who with my blessing is accompanying him while taking a long-overdue leave of absence. They will both be missed.

While repairs continue on my ship, and my First Officer seeks replacements for our crew losses, everyone else is being cleared through Fleet Counselors, before taking a well-deserved extended shore leave. My family and I should be doing the same, but Admiral Tattok has called me back to his flagship the Triton for another meeting.

At first I assumed it had something to do with our recent… experiences… with Admiral Trenagen and Captain Sakuth, ostensibly of Starfleet Intelligence. Both are officially listed as Missing in Action, and according to the newly-appointed Head of SI, Admiral Kirsten Clancy, no further investigation regarding their ultimate fate will be made. And everyone seems quite satisfied with this.

I can’t say I’m surprised. I wish I could.

But no, Tattok is calling me in for something else entirely… and has asked my wife to accompany me...”

*

Hrelle caught the scent of the young human male in the Conference room before he actually saw him: a short, slim figure with pale Nordic features and blonde hair in a cut straight out of the Academy. Only the Commander’s pips on his gold-topped uniform belied his youth and callow features, and the intense look on his face as he regarded the Caitians seemed to reflect the weight of the responsibilities he seemingly carried.

He kept his gaze fixed on them as Tattok made the introductions. “Commander, this is the renowned Captain Esek Hrelle of the Surefoot, and his wife and Chief Counselor, Kami. Captain, Counselor, this is Commander Dietrich Bergstrom, from the Jupiter Station Holoprogramming Centre. Mr Bergstrom is an assistant to Dr Lewis Zimmerman, the designer of the Emergency Medical Hologram.”

“Former assistant, Admiral,” Bergstrom corrected confidently, shaking the Hrelles’ paws before all of them took seats around the table. “I’m now in charge of a project that will far exceed Zimmerman’s rather passable efforts with the EMH.”

“Sounds impressive,” Kami remarked, smiling. “I hope it involves giving the EMH a personality. The one on our ship is as pleasing to deal with as a dose of mange.”

If Bergstrom recognised her joke, he made no show of it. “No, Counselor; it was decided that such improvements would be saved for the EMH Mark II and later versions. I’m here to implement what I’m calling the Strategic Support Hologram, an interactive program that will offer real-time tactical support to starship commanders in battle.”

“Indeed,” Tattok continued, the diminutive Admiral fixing his black eyestalks on the Caitians. “Our recent... less-than-stellar performance at Khavak, reflected by similar performance with other Fleets, highlights the relative lack of practical combat experience many of our Captains possess, and how vulnerable we can be when Fleet communications break down in battle. If this works, the SSH will provide the experience and expertise of a veteran officer.”

Hrelle nodded politely, though he couldn’t help but argue, “It’s one thing to have a medical hologram, an expert system tapping into appropriate databases to provide diagnoses and treatments. You could even conceivably design something equivalent for Engineering or Science purposes.

But Strategic and Tactical situations are more than just problems to dispassionately analyse. They require levels of creativity and drive that computer programs can’t match.”

“I concur, Captain,” Bergstrom agreed. “Which is why the SSH will be based not on an expert system accessed by a generic holomatrix, but on the memories and personality of a highly-decorated Starfleet officer. Hence my reason for coming out here.”

“I see,” Hrelle nodded, looking to Tattok and smiling. “Well, then, I guess Congratulations to you are in order, Sir. They couldn’t have chosen a more ideal inspiration.”

Tattok glanced at Kami. “Is this false modesty on his part, Counselor?”

“No, he’s being genuinely obtuse.” She leaned in closer to Hrelle. “The Admiral didn’t invite us here to congratulate him, Husband of Mine.”

He blinked, his smile becoming a frown. “Me? Admiral, I know I’ve served as your Strategic Operations Officer at times, and I’ve had some small victories in my career-”

Tattok harrumphed. “Keep this up, and I’m going to suspect this is a ploy to take my job. Commander, remind us of the Captain’s suitability for this project.”

Bergstrom lifted up a PADD from the table and glanced at the text as he spoke. “Between 2340 and 2375, you had security and tactical assignments on the Charleston, the Sirocco and the Linaari, and you had command of the Scimitar, the Furyk and two incarnations of the Surefoot.

In this time, you participated in over 520 separate space- and planet-based combat engagements, against Orions, Nausicaans, Tholians, Tzenkethi, Ferengi, Miradorn, Klingons, Talarians, Ferasans and numerous criminal, terrorist and piratical organisations. 74.5% of these were forces considered of equal or superior strength to your own. In 90.5% of the engagements, you emerged victorious with acceptable levels of casualties.”

“I question your use of the word ‘acceptable’, Commander,” Hrelle told him soberly, stunned at his long career being encapsulated so… mathematically.

Bergstrom frowned back. “Why, Captain? Realistically, one must allow for the loss of subordinates in engagements-”

“And I question your use of the word ‘engagements’. That makes it all sound so... civilised. I promise you, bubulah, it isn’t.”

The human continued looking bemused by his reaction, but resumed. “Well, regardless of how differently we view things, no one can argue that you are an exceptional officer with a diverse range of experience and expertise. I intend to take full advantage of you.”

“Please, Commander, not in front of the wife.”

Bergstrom frowned again. “Captain, with respect I don’t think you fully appreciate the great honour being bestowed upon you. Once the SSH Project is given the inevitable approval by Starfleet Command, your image and voice will be on hundreds of starship Bridges, helping save countless lives.”

“My husband is appreciative,” Kami assured him, before Hrelle could respond. “But I’m curious: you mentioned before that you would be using his memories and personality. How would that work?”

Bergstrom set aside his PADD again, offering her a patronising expression. “It’s a rather complex subject, Counselor. I don’t know if I can fully explain the mechanics behind it in basic terms to a therapist-”

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she looked at him sweetly. “Have you solved the problem of cascade failure in the construction of positronic matrix simulacra? The paper in the Daystrom Institute Journal last year by Admiral Haftel indicated that the complexity of duplicating a sentient mind remains an insurmountable obstacle.”

Bergstrom’s jaw literally dropped, as Hrelle chuckled. “Counseling involves much more than just sitting there helping you talk through your feelings. Underestimate my wife at your peril.”

“Of course,” the human finally conceded, flushing with embarrassment and looking more like a Squab now than a senior officer. “My apologies, Counselor. To answer your question, I won’t be attempting to fully duplicate Captain Hrelle’s mind, just a selected number of specific memories relating to combat, along with his personality and creativity.”

Hrelle looked between the two of them. “Cybernetic technology is advanced enough to identify the specific content of my memories? You can tell the difference between a memory of my taking on the Klingons and a memory of what my wife and I got up to on our last anniversary?”

“No, Captain,” Bergstrom admitted. “Not in the way you might think. But the age of your memories, and the acuity of memories that are triggered during times of increased stress levels during fight-or-flight situations such as combat, can be measured. I’ll cross-match the Stardates of your recorded engagements with the appropriate memory engrams.”

Kami nudged him. “See? No one will ever know how great you are in bed… or at least, how great you think you are.” But then she looked to Tattok. “I’m still not clear about why I’m here though, Sir.”

The Roylan looked back. “As an experienced Counselor, and Captain Hrelle’s wife, you’re in the best position to assess the SSH holomatrix and determine both its fidelity to the memories and personality of the original, and its stability. And you can do it quickly. I intend to see the SSH installed on every ship in the Fleet in less than a month’s time.”

Hrelle frowned. “A month? With respect, aren’t you rushing things, Sir?”

“Have you written the condolence letters for those crewmembers you lost, Captain?”

Hrelle felt his skin flush under his fur. “Yes, Sir.”

“So have I. And I’ve had to do that for the Captains and senior officers of those vessels that were completely destroyed. I wanted to do it for their crews, too, but I literally don’t have the time to repeat that… for the hundreds and hundreds more that we lost. Anything that can be done to minimise this loss in future battles must be considered.”

“Admiral,” Kami addressed him. “We’ve only just been cleared for duty, but we still need shore leave with our cubs.”

“As a parent, I understand, Counselor. Once the Project reaches the testing stage and no further direct input is required from either of you, you will be released from this assignment.”

Hrelle glanced at his wife, before looking back at the other men. “When do we start?”

*

The officer stood at attention in the Surefoot Ready Room, adding a little more height to their slight figure, appearing younger than their late twenties. The hair on their head was cut down to the scalp, barely illustrating a purple-lavender tint, a genetic legacy of early human deep space travel and colonisation with inadequate cosmic radiation shielding, and it was a colour matched in their eyes.

Eyes now fixed on Commander T’Varik, as the latter recited from a brief report. “Name: Sextilis Magna Bellator. Current Rank: Ensign. Personal Title: Non-Binary Misc. Homeworld: Nova Roma Colony, Ficus Sector. Graduate Class of 2366, Specialising in Communications and Exolinguistics. Awarded the Uhura Ribbon for Advancements to Communications Technology. Previously assigned to the USS Korolev and the Seventh Fleet, now assigned to Support Services on the Triton and the Thirteenth.” She paused, and then prompted, “Would you care to explain what happened on the Korolev, Ensign?”

Bellator stiffened; their accent reminiscent to T’Varik of Terran Mediterranean as they replied, “No, Ma’am.”

The Vulcan frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said No, Ma’am.”

T’Varik rose to her feet. “Are you being deliberately insubordinate, Ensign?”

Bellator tilted their head. “Not at all, Ma’am. You asked me if I cared to explain what happened on the Korolev. I answered honestly.”

T’Varik raised an eyebrow. “An unsuitable time for frivolity, Misc Bellator. Particularly from someone who has just undergone a court martial and demotion.”

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but…” Their voice trailed off.

T’Varik nodded. “Continue.”

The Nova Roman swallowed. “But I must question your reason for summoning me. You see, I’ve stood before more than one senior officer from various ships in the Fleet since my court martial. They use the opportunity not to offer me a position,  but to sate their curiosity,  and to inform me that in their opinion, I was lucky not to have faced imprisonment.”

“Rest assured, Ensign, I will most assuredly not be doing any of that.” She walked around the desk to approach them, softening her voice. “I have read the deposition of the trial, and I am astute enough to recognise when I require more information. You said nothing in your own defence.”

They raised a spade jaw to her. “The evidence spoke for itself.”

“Evidence never speaks for itself; you can, however. Dereliction of Duty during Wartime is a very serious offence.”

Bellator bristled, their dark lips pursing. “I suppose I should be grateful that they didn’t just come out and use the word Cowardice in the court martial… but that’s what it was. I had spent my years after graduation at the Aures Abyssi Cryptoanalysis Facility, analysing Romulan transmissions. When forces were redeployed to starship duties at the start of the War, I found myself with the Seventh Fleet at the Tyra System. I was terrified. Everyone kept telling me that when we faced battle, I’d be fine.

Everyone was wrong. I panicked, at the worst possible time. And people were injured as a result.”

T’Varik frowned now. “Such a reaction is not atypical, particularly during combat, and not necessarily requiring a punitive response, despite the opinions of some. Did you not have any mitigating evidence from your Counselors?”

Bellator lowered their gaze. “I did not allow it to be admitted. Captain Boyer of the Korolev was determined to make an example of me. I was determined to let him.”

T’Varik folded her hands behind her. “And so you were demoted to Ensign, and reassigned to Support Duty on the Triton. Prior to your assignment on the Korolev, you were lauded for your work in communications and cryptography at Aures Abyssi. Why were you not returned there, to exploit your obvious talents?”

The Nova Roman frowned. “I’ve been labelled a Security Risk. Now I can’t do anything more classified than degaussing Shuttledeck floors and cleaning hygiene chambers.” They swallowed again. “I think they’re trying to get me to resign.”

“Then I must ask: why haven’t you?”

Bellator scowled, looking defiant even in apparent defeat. “Nova Romans take duty seriously. I joined Starfleet to serve others, in any capacity. If that means cleaning toilets and floors… so be it.”

The Vulcan drew back… and then frowned again as she noticed the remnants of bruises on the exposed skin of the human. “Ensign, have you been the victim of assault?”

Bellator flinched, but otherwise kept at attention, never meeting her eyes. “No, Ma’am. May I please return to my duties, Ma’am? I’m needed.”

T’Varik regarded her for a moment longer. “Yes. You are. But not cleaning toilets and floors...”

*

Captain Weynik leaned back in his chair in the Triton’s lounge The Locker, cradling his drink as he smirked at his old friend. “So, will they have to put restrictions on all the copies of you to keep them from raiding the galleys on the other ships?”

Hrelle stared out the observation window at the traffic of ships surrounding them, his own drink untouched.

Weynik leaned in, regarding him. “Hey, I’m actually happy for you, Buddy! A little jealous, of course. Or is it envious? What’s the difference between the two?”

“Jealousy is Envy, but for something you believe rightly belongs to you. Typically reserved for romantic situations.” Hrelle reached for his glass.

“Then what’s with the attitude? You don’t seem pleased.”

“It’s a great honour. I’m told.” He drank, grimacing a little. “So, I’m… honoured.”

“And you look and sound about as enthusiastic as on Day One of a diet.”

Now Hrelle looked to his friend. “A hundred years ago they tried to put a sentient computer in charge of a starship. That resulted in the deaths of hundreds of Starfleet officers and crew. If this is going to repeat the M-5 Disaster-”

“It’s not gonna be anything like that! The SSH isn’t gonna be running the ships, they’re just gonna offer advice! And you said it wasn’t going to be sentient, either.” He turned and looked out at the starships. “Anyway, they’ll probably scrap it after I get in there for the war games and kick your hologram’s fat photonic ass. Hope that doesn’t bother you too much.”

“Not as much as you might think.”

“Now, onto other things: when am I getting my Second Officer back? You’ve returned my Engineer and Engineer’s Mate, but I need Sasha too.”

“She’s on shore leave with her friends, in her ship.”

Weynik looked to him. “Wait, ‘her’ ship?”

Hrelle nodded. “Her grandmother sent her a Caitian runabout, christened the Tailless, for her birthday.”

Weynik blinked. “Bloody Hemra, do you think you can get Ma’Sala to adopt me as her grandcub?”

*

Despite her earlier attempt to proverbially smack the young cub Bergstrom down with what she knew about cybernetics and neurology, as she sat with him running through the many scans of her husband’s brain to form a stable holomatrix, Kami found herself struggling to keep up. She did have a working knowledge of what he was doing with Esek’s recorded engrams – many of these tools were also used for therapeutic purposes in diagnosing and treating illnesses – but it took all her training to hide her difficulty at following him.

But as she watched Bergstrom move through each layer of Esek’s recorded memories, selecting or deleting sections, she began to notice a pattern. “You’re blocking any memories or engrams more recently than… 2360? Why?”

Bergstrom’s hands moved over the controls of his engrammatic manipulators like a concert pianist, never looking up from the display before him. “2360 was the period when he met his first wife Harriet Eismann.”

“Hannah Eismann,” she corrected him, frowning as she accessed her side of the monitors and studied his progress in more detail. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re not including any memories past that point?”

“Because that was the point where he went into decline.”

Kami’s tail began twitching. “‘Decline’?”

Bergstrom nodded absently, frowning slightly, presumably at the interruption to his concentration. “My own analysis of strategic and tactical officers, of successful commanding officers in general, confirms that performance and quality inevitably drops when they obtain partners and children.”

Kami stared at him, before reaching out, pausing his work.

He drew back, turning to her in confusion. “What are you doing, Counselor?”

She faced him back, crossing her arms. “Care to elaborate on that little analysis of yours?”

“Of course. In my research to find the ideal candidate for the SSH, I developed a Command Decision Effectiveness Index. I found that the Index was at the highest for those officers not burdened and distracted with families. Once partners and children become involved, they can no longer focus fully on their roles, and they invariably see a drop in their performance levels.”

She leaned back in her chair, regarding him. “You... actually believe that?”

“Yes. Isn’t it obvious?”

She snorted. “No, it isn’t! It’s a specious argument!”

Bergstrom offered a smirk. “Well, you can hardly be expected to be unbiased in this matter, since I’m also excluding his memories of your marriage to him and the children you’ve had together. Please bear in mind it’s no reflection on you-”

“I don’t need to be patronised, Mr Bergstrom. I need you to explain your reasoning.”

“It’s not just reasoning, it’s evidence. Captain Hrelle’s behaviour changed following his marriage to Hannah Eismann and his relationship with her daughter Sasha. He logged more time than usual in one location, namely Station Salem One because of his new family-”

“He did? What a selfish bastard.”

“He wasted more time taking shore leave with them-”

“‘Waste’? Captains typically end up taking 30-40% less shore leave than other members of Starfleet… and typically end up with 60-65% more stress-related health issues as a result of it.”

“He recorded fewer kills as commanding officer of the Furyk-”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were employing Klingon performance level standards here.”

“And then of course there was the incident where he allowed that same ship’s crew to be killed and himself to be captured and enslaved-”

She held up a hand to cut him off this time, her expression as taut as a wire. “Mr Bergstrom, do yourself a very big favour: never suggest again that my husband ‘allowed’ what happened to him and his crew.”

Her reaction gave him pause, and he continued, looking more chagrined now. “Yes… well, no disrespect to your husband is intended, I can assure you, Counselor. But you can’t deny that his years spent as a prisoner, and his subsequent choice of non-combat assignments, is very telling.”

“His choice of non-combat assignments is no reflection on his combat abilities. We came back with hundreds of survivors in the midst of overwhelming forces because of those abilities.”

“Perhaps. But can you really say that the man you married and had children with is the same man as the one who fought the Talarians and Tholians in the Scimitar, and became known as the Lion of the Salem Sector for his achievements in the Furyk?”

“Of course not. None of us are the same as we were decades ago… something you’ll hopefully understand yourself, someday, when you actually have some decades under you.

And of course having loved ones will affect how a starship Captain faces enemy forces. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad thing. Families give you a reason to survive. Families give you empathy. Families give you a reminder of the families of your crew, hoping and praying that you get them home safely.”

Bergstrom seemed to study her, seemed to consider her words… but already she could see him dismissing her argument, before he actually vocalised it. “I don’t mean to belittle your opinion, Counselor, but I don’t see it. My holographic version of your husband will be stripped-down, streamlined, with no distractions, one devoted strictly to fighting the enemy.” He smiled. “I intend to make a Beast.”

Her eyes sobered. “I really wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr Bergstrom. You might not like what you make...”

*

Hrelle smelled the musk of recent sex on his First Officer, but said nothing about it. It was a facet about living and working among non-Caitians: picking up such olfactoral secrets… and besides, Tattok was also present with his son Weynik, and he wouldn’t embarrass his crew – and family – in front of a superior officer.

T’Varik stood beside him in the Triton’s Holodeck, looking around at the surrounding yellow-black grid as if mesmerised by it. “Sir, I believe I may have found a new Second Officer: Ensign Sextilis Magna Bellator.”

He glanced at her. “Wasn’t she the one who was court-martialled?”

“‘They’ is the appropriate pronoun; Misc Bellator is non-binary. And, yes, they were court-martialled and demoted to Ensign, and assigned to the Triton in the Support Crew.”

“And what made you choose them over others?”

The Vulcan folded her hands behind her. “Misc Bellator previously held the rank of Lieutenant Commander, is gifted in Communications, Exolinguistics and Cryptography, and until the incident on the Korolev, possessed an unblemished record. I believe they are genuinely regretful over their actions, did not allow any mitigating psychological factors to be taken into account at their court martial, but also refuses to take what would be the easier route and resign… even in the face of what I believe to be physical harassment from other members of the Triton crew.”

Hrelle looked to her, his hackles rising. “She- They’ve been abused?”

“Misc Bellator refuses to admit to it, but I believe otherwise.”

His jaw tightened as he looked away again. He knew that with the War ongoing, feelings were high about those perceived to be cowardly. Hrelle knew that it was never as simple as some might perceive – particularly those who had never actually faced the horrors of combat.

She looked at him. “If you disagree with my decision-”

He shook his head. “I trust you implicitly, Commander. Make it happen; and get the records over to Kami, make sure Misc Bellator gets all the help they deserve.”

“Very good, Sir.”

“What about our new Chief Engineer?”

“Chief Sakai will arrive tomorrow at 2000 Hours for a tour.”

Hrelle offered a little smile. “Having one of the original designers of the Sabre-class out of retirement and onboard will be a treat. Not to mention my not being the oldest crewmember any more.” He grunted. “Wish this damn thing would be over and done with.”

“You seem less than eager, if I may say so, Sir.”

He breathed out. “I’m not happy about the idea of my image being mass-produced, being looked on like some… celebrity. I got that sort of treatment the last time I returned to Cait: everyone at the spaceport looking for my photograph, to take images of themselves with me. I’m just doing my job.”

She nodded. “And the SSH will be doing its job; your fellow Captains will hardly be requesting an autograph from it. It has been apparent from the start of our association that you have never sought acclaim for your achievements, so your reticence is understandable.”

“It’s more than that, though. There’ll be a program out there with my face, my voice, making opinions and decisions that I might not necessarily agree with, if it was me in person there.”

Before T’Varik could respond, the Holodeck doors opened, and Kami entered, cradling her infant Sreen, and walking beside her older son Misha, clad in his Starfleet Captain’s uniform.

Hrelle turned to his family, smiling. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you!”

His wife had an enigmatic scent and expression, though she did her best to conceal it as she drew closer. “We’re visiting some of the children on the Triton, and thought we’d pop in.”

Hrelle looked down at Misha, holding out his arms for a hug. “Warrior Prince!”

But the six-year-old ignored him, moving up to Tattok instead, standing at attention and nodding. “Admul Tattok, ’mission to come onboard?”

Tattok straightened up equally formally and nodded. “Permission granted, Captain.”

Hrelle frowned. “What's that all about? You ignore your Papa?”

Misha approached his father now, shaking his finger at him reprovingly. “Uncle Tattok is Big Boss here! You show him respect!”

“Indeed,” Tattok agreed, looking amused. “Unless you wish to argue the point with Captain Misha?”

“Of course not, Sir.” Then Hrelle caught the disapproving look and scent of Bergstrom, who stood apart from the others making some final adjustments on a PADD. “You have a problem with my cubs being here, Commander?”

The human blanched. “No, no, of course not. Admiral, we're ready.”

Tattok glanced at his son beside him, before responding, “Well? Let's see him.”

Bergstrom nodded. “Admiral, Captains, everyone, presenting: the Strategic Support Hologram!”

A figure appeared before them. Clad in a Starfleet uniform with Command Red colours and Captain's pips, he was a Caitian male that strongly resembled Hrelle… or at least, a much younger, slimmer, overly muscular version of him, lacking any grey fur or pot belly… or humour in his bronze eyes. He stood to attention, his bronze eyes sharp with scrutiny as he took in the others around him, displaying to Hrelle an unnerving amount of awareness, or at least the holographic equivalent of it.

“Wow…” Weynik commented first, chuckling. “He's literally half the man you are, Wide Load. Must have saved you gigaquads of data going for the Slimline Version, Commander.”

“Is there a reason for the change in appearance, Mr Bergstrom?” Tattok asked.

Bergstrom turned from admiring his creation to facing the Admiral. “Yes, Sir. During my preliminary research I, ah, ran studies of what people’s reactions were to Captain Hrelle’s current appearance, and the psychological effect it had on them. And, ah, the majority of participants noted that while his felinoid form with its inherent predatory connotations, inspired confidence, his, ah... fuller figure was found to be distracting. Some even questioned why they would trust the advice of someone who couldn't manage to lose weight.”

Weynik chuckled… “That's pretty-” Then he sobered. “Actually, that's pretty unreasonable! Would I get a similar treatment because I'm only a metre tall?”

Bergstrom looked to him, flushing. “I, ah, don't know, Captain.”

“Yeah, well, I do know, Commander! Our people should be professional enough to not judge by appearances! Isn't that right, Esek?”

Hrelle didn't answer, his hackles raised as he stared at someone he hadn't seen in decades- no, he never looked this Poster Boy good, ever.

“Who’s that?” Misha demanded loudly, pointing at HoloHrelle, his tail twitching in suspicion.

Hrelle rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “A hologram of me, who’ll help other starships when they’re fighting.”

Misha growled. “Don’t like him. He doesn’t smell good.”

Hrelle silently agreed with his son, but looked to Kami. “What’s wrong?”

Kami continued to stare at the hologram as well, but raised her voice as she asked, “Admiral, you read my objections to Mr Bergstrom’s take on the Project’s holomatrix?”

“I have, Commander… and I noted you left out the requested assessment of the stability and nature of the SSH. Since you’re here now…?”

Kami paused, using the moment to adjust her hold on her sleeping cub. “The SSH appears to be stable. It’s an abridged version of Captain Hrelle’s memory and personality, knowledgeable about periods of combat but lacking any other appreciable memory.”

She tilted her head as she continued to regard HoloHrelle. “This is the approximate persona of Captain Hrelle at half his current age: young, hormonally-driven, motivated by traumas at home and in the Academy to exceed the expectations of others and prove himself.”

She looked away, turning to Tattok. “But this is not a well-rounded personality. Commander Bergstrom has taken the most militant, aggressive, violent patches of my husband's life and stitched them together… It’s not representative of him.”

“It’s not meant to be,” Bergstrom pointed out. “We don’t need every facet of your husband’s mind, just the relevant parts.”

“‘Relevant’? Again, you seem to think that these aspects should not be fully integrated-”

Then the debate stopped as the SSH stepped forward, approaching Kami.

Hrelle looked to him, stepping between him and his family. “Computer: Freeze SSH.”

The hologram kept coming.

Misha had stepped around his father, growling, claws bared, but Hrelle grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and swung the cub behind him, extending his own claws. “Weynik, get my family out! Bergstrom! Switch the damn thing off!”

The hologram did stop, but seemingly of its own accord, studying Hrelle… and then proffering his paw. He finally spoke, his voice almost identical to Hrelle’s, but in a slightly-higher pitch. “A pleasure to meet you, Captain Hrelle. I hope that my program can do justice to your memories and skills.”

Hrelle stared back, not moving.

Bergstrom looked smug as he joined Hrelle and his youthful doppelgänger. “Sorry about frightening you, Captain; there was a glitch in the command subsroutine. But as you can see for yourself, there was nothing to worry about. This is no Frankenstein Monster, no M-5.

This is the Salvation of Starfleet.”

*

The Orion raiders appeared on the viewscreen, their tight formation blossoming into five components, firing upon the ship.

Weynik sat in the Captain’s chair, staring ahead, only occasionally glancing down at his tactical display. “Helm: Evasive Pattern Alpha. Ops: Maintain shield strength, particularly our aft, Orions like to strike at our weakest points. Tactical: phasers for now, focus on the vessel not firing on us, that’ll be the lead Orion, coordinating the attack on us.”

From another Holodeck, Hrelle, Tattok, T’Varik and Bergstrom watched the simulation on monitors, simultaneously with the SSH’s performance in an identical scenario on a third Holodeck. Bergstrom couldn’t wipe the smirk off of his face. “Your son is quite proficient, Admiral.”

Hrelle watched him, caught his scent, knowing that the human was barely able to keep from adding, But not as good as my holographic baby.

And it was true: Hrelle looked to the monitors showing the performance of the SSH, who had already destroyed two of the Orion raiders in his scenario, and was now moving onto the rest.

Hrelle focused on HoloHrelle, studied the image, wondering if he really looked and acted like this. He didn’t remember with great detail now, a quarter-century or more later. He remembered being driven, so driven to prove himself, to prove his father wrong, to prove to his Academy tormentors that he deserved to be there.

He didn't like looking at himself. Literally. In fact, the only images and vivids he frequented were really ones involving his family, friends and crew… which he acknowledged was a greater mixture with him than other Starfleet Captains.

He stayed apart from the others, but murmured, “T’Varik.”

The Vulcan heard and approached. “Captain?”

He nodded to the SSH's screen. “Assessment?”

She glanced back at it. “The initial assessments are promising. This is only the third exercise comparing Captain Weynik’s performance against the hologram’s, of course, but the SSH appears to be effective and efficient.

“Hmph. It’s not meant to be taking over the fight, but offering support to real people.”

T’Varik regarded him. “That is the next stage in the tests, Sir. Admiral Tattok has requested I enlist the participation of several of our former cadets and other, less-experienced officers who have not yet left for shore leave.”

Hrelle grunted.

Before they could continue, Bergstrom declared, “There we are!”

The others drew closer as they compared the results of the two exercises, Tattok reading aloud, “The Strategic Support Hologram defeated the Orions 18% more quickly than Captain Weynik, utilising 30% less energy resources.”

“And another victory for the SSH,” Bergstrom crowed.

“That depends on your definition,” Hrelle noted, pointing to further details on the scoreboard. “The SSH’s virtual ship took damage, and suffered casualties.”

Bergstrom leaned in now, frowning momentarily before drawing back again. “Minor damage, no deaths. Well within acceptable parameters as defined by the Starfleet Tactical Analysis Division, Admiral.”

“In none of the SSH’s scenarios to date, no attempt was made at any stage to warn way the Orions,” T’Varik observed. “Or to fire to disable rather than destroy the enemy vessels.”

“Why would it?” Bergstrom asked incredulously.

She looked at him. “It is Standard Starfleet Procedure, Commander, for Captains to seek non-lethal options in combat situations.”

“The SSH is not a Starfleet Captain. It’s a weapon, like a phaser. Weapons are designed to kill.”

“Clearly you have not heard of the stun setting on a phaser-”

Tattok held up a hand to end the debate. “Mr Bergstrom, is the SSH capable of conceiving of non-lethal options?”

“No less than Captain Hrelle was at age 25.” He looked to the Caitian. “Well, Captain?”

Hrelle stared back, aware of everyone’s focus on him. “I wasn’t the most merciful combatant at that age.”

“And why should you have been? Why should we be now?” Bergstrom turned to Tattok. “Was there any attempt to follow Standard Starfleet Procedure at Khavak, Admiral? Will the Jem’Hadar and Cardassians employ non-lethal options with us?”

The Roylan, as always, remained inscrutable. “Captain Hrelle, I want the Counselor to work on some refinements to the SSH holomatrix… but she has expressed her disagreement with the Project. If she doesn’t wish to continue, I’ll understand.”

“I’ll ask her, Sir.”

Tattok breathed out. “Refinements notwithstanding, I’m pleased so far with the results, Mr Bergstrom.”

The human puffed up a little, before glancing at Hrelle. “Captain, why don’t you match wits with the SSH? Rather than face a common opponent, why not fight each other? I think it would be most illuminating to see you face off against a younger, hungrier version of yourself?”

Hrelle was ready to tell him where to shove his offer, when Tattok replied first, “I’d like to see that, too. Link the Holodecks for 1-to-1 combat. Get my son out of there-”

“Actually, Sir, I want him in with me as my First Officer.” He looked to T’Varik. “No offence, Commander, but I’d rather have you here to provide me with an objective assessment of the exercise.”

She nodded. “Of course, Sir.”

*

On entering the Holodeck, Hrelle and Weynik examined the relevant stations, the latter staying at Tactical. “They’ve given us an Akira-class for this exercise.” He grunted. “I’ve always liked the Akira.”

“Reprogram the targeting sequences,” Hrelle ordered, adjusting the Engineering subsystems. “I’m programming a sequence to project a stationary warpfield ahead of us.”

Weynik chuckled. “Are we gonna give the SSH the Old Okey-doke?”

“I’m hoping to. By the way, thanks for joining in on this, Short Round.”

The Roylan moved to join him at the Engineering station. “My pleasure, Wide Load, I’m looking forward to spanking his photonic rear end.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t like it?”

“No; there’s nothing I can tease about him. But aren’t you worried that having your memories, that he’ll anticipate what we’re doing?”

“You and I came up with a few tricks together after I got married to Hannah, remember?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, the SSH won’t know them. Kami told me Bergstrom only loaded up my memories prior to my meeting Hannah and Sasha and Kami. He thinks I went downhill from there because I became a husband and father.”

Weynik stopped his adjustments and looked up at his friend in disbelief. “Then... I look forward to spanking Bergstrom’s rear as well.”

Overhead, the intercom chimed, but with Tattok’s voice. “The exercise is about to begin, Gentlemen.”

“Acknowledged, Admiral.” He patted Weynik. “Thanks, again. Shall we conjure up a high chair for you?”

“No thanks. Shall we conjure up an extra-wide Captain’s Chair for you?”

“No thanks.” But he smiled, for the first time since he heard about this damned project.

Around them, generic holographic crewmembers appeared standing or sitting at the various stations, as the Red Alert klaxon sounded, and the First Officer announced, “Enemy vessel dead ahead, coming in at Warp 3!”

“Helm, Full Stop! Tactical, arm phasers and photon torpedoes! Weynik, give him the Old Okey-doke!

“You got it, Boss Cat!”

Hrelle looked up at the viewscreen, the computer providing a visual representation of the warpfield directed outwards through the nacelles into the space ahead of them, warping the local spatial and subspatial continuum and disrupting any incoming vessels.

Like the one that now appeared: a small ship, with a distinctive profile that Hrelle recognised instantly, having commanded one himself. “They gave the SSH an Oberth?”

Weynik made a derisive sound. “Seriously? An Oberth against an Akira? That’s like sending a mouse against a lion! This is gonna be too easy!”

Hrelle felt his tail twitch through the hole in the back of his chair, not feeling as confident as he watched the Oberth drop into full impulse and begin manoeuvres, needing to figure out what he would do in such a situation. The answer was obvious: in any fight, you have no control over how big or well-armed you are, but you do control how ferocious you can be. “Don’t get cocky, he’s faster and more manoeuvrable than- PORT PHASERS! FIRE!”

He clutched the arms of his chair as the Oberth swooped in, firing at the Akira’s port nacelle, making the ship shudder. “Evasive Pattern Alpha-3- Belay that! Beta-9! No, wait-”

“Esek,” Weynik prompted from Tactical, “Don’t second guess yourself!”

Hrelle nodded, baring his teeth. “He’ll go for the pylons on the Weapons Pod! I want torpedo burst patterns, don’t waste time for focus targeting, just keep him on the move and target with phasers only! Helm, Evasive Pattern Alpha-4!”

The ship lurched again, as a holographic Operations Officer reported, “Damage to Starboard Saucer Section, Deck 3 to 5, Damage Control Procedures commencing!”

On the main viewscreen, the Oberth appeared again, moving away from torpedo bursts, and taking shots from phasers lancing at it, their shields flaring as if in pain. He had to stay focused, focused on the task at hand, not think about the holomatrix mind commanding that little ship that, by rights, he should have disabled and defeated by now. “Helm, Intercept Course, One Quarter Impulse! Get him on the run! Give him no opportunity to keep dancing around like a cub with his tail on fire!”

Weynik chortled. “And keep him focused on our forward section, while we wear him down! I’m getting you a shuris steak dinner when this is done!”

Hrelle barely heard his friend, as he leaned forward as much as his belly would allow, staring hard ahead at the rear of the Oberth as it fled in a straight line at Full Impulse, its aft shields flaring repeatedly from the Akira’s continued phaser fire. He had a moment of nostalgia for the Oberth’s unique profile, the split hull design of the saucer section containing the habitable sections, Main Engineering, Impulse Engine and nacelles, and the underslung canoe-shaped secondary hull containing the warp core and torpedoes, the two hulls connected by pylons-

Wait... “Why is he staying on Impulse? Why isn’t he using his warp drive?”

Before Weynik could respond, he saw explosions on the Oberth’s pylons, but not ones caused by phaser fire. Charges as part of Emergency Separation Protocols- “EVASIVE!”

Before anyone could respond, he watched the Oberth’s secondary hull break free of the rest of the ship, the momentum sending it – and the warp core and full complement of photon torpedoes onboard it – hurtling back in the direction of the Akira-

A blinding white explosion filled the viewscreen, and the Akira. Hrelle felt himself fall backwards, hitting the floor. As he blinked, he found himself with his friend in the midst of the yellow-black grid pattern of a deactivated Holodeck.

He looked to Weynik, who was breathing heavily, his eyestalks wavering as he adjusted following the illumination.

Overhead, Tattok’s voice announced, “Gentlemen, the SSH set his warp core and torpedoes on a delayed detonation, and detached his secondary hull. You and your ship were destroyed. No survivors.”

Weynik drew up to Hrelle. “I don’t believe it. How can a program defeat the both of us?”

Hrelle didn’t answer. He helped himself back to his feet, feeling very old just now.

*

Hrelle kept silent as he walked through the corridors of the Triton alongside T’Varik. Finally he asked, “Well?”

The Vulcan continued her steady pace. “It was an inventive tactical solution on the SSH’s part. And, if I may say so, Sir, a tactic I could perceive you devising and implementing.”

“It wasn’t one I've ever done before,” he noted. “Which suggests the holomatrix is creative, it doesn’t just rehash my past victories, it can come up with original ideas.”

“To a limited degree,” she conceded. “Perhaps.”

“Did you see Tattok afterwards? He looked ready to trash me and the rest of the Fleet Captains and install the SSH on all the ships.”

“You are exaggerating, Sir. As Commander Bergstrom noted, this is a tool, a weapon.”

“No. It’s more. For Tattok, it’s a lifeline, a desperate chance for him not to have to face so many deaths under his command again. For Bergstrom, it’s an opportunity to surpass his former boss Zimmerman in holographic engineering.”

“And for you, it’s a threat to your self-esteem.”

He stopped, facing her as she followed suit. “You really think that?”

“Many humanoids become maudlin when they see images and vivids of themselves when they were younger. They then indulge in bouts of melancholic self-pity as they speak of the days when they lacked grey follicles and didn’t ache as much whenever they moved. Perhaps I should replicate you a shawl and a rocking chair for the Bridge?”

Hrelle glared at her for a moment at her apparent attitude, his nose scenting her actual feelings, and replied, “You’ve become a lot saltier since you got married, did you know that?”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “My alkalinity has been a matter of record long before my marriage; you have only to ask my siblings.” She paused. “Do you feel less adept in your role now than you were at the approximate age of the hologram?”

He frowned now, more to himself than to her. “Did you see my defeat in there just now?”

“I saw you engaged in an exercise, one which had no personal significance or consequence to you. In contrast, I have seen you faced with real threats, with real significance and consequence to you and those around you… and I have seen you rise to every challenge presented to you. 

In the past two weeks, you have commanded an overcrowded, damaged ambulance vessel. But in that time, you still managed to single-handedly destroy a Cardassian Galor warship, engineer an ingenious means of hiding us when enemy forces were in pursuit, and rescue a group of captive children from a megalomaniac.

I fully dismiss the notion that your age and familial connections make you an inferior tactical expert to a hologram. On the contrary, they provide you with ineffable strength and motivation… and not just for yourself.

Esek… you are an inspiration to your family, and your crew – which, admittedly in many cases on our ship, is often the same – and no program can replace that. Or you.”

Hrelle took her words in, feeling embarrassed at his bout of self-pity. But before he could respond, a chanting sound caught her attention, and he and T’Varik turned towards the sound: “Flinch… Flinch… Flinch…”

“We’re near the Triton’s Crew’s Quarters, aren’t we?” he asked, smelling the stress and intimidation, and moving before his First Officer could respond.

The air was thick with hundreds of scents – one of the things he never missed about being onboard larger ships – but he focused on the sounds of a dozen or more young humanoids, all chanting that word. As he turned a corner, he saw the source of the sounds: a double line of junior officers and crewmen, moving in formation behind another, a short, fragile-looking figure with short-cropped purple hair and matching eyes, clutching the strap of a shoulder bag, desperately trying to keep a steady cadence and not give in to the temptation to quicken her pace- no, their pace; their scent was non-binary, and T’Varik’s reaction of recognition confirmed for him that they were obviously Ensign Bellator.

Hrelle certainly recognised the insult ‘Flinch’, and a so-called March of Shame: petty, bullying, sanctimonious former midshipmen taking the opportunity to torment someone else they have judged unworthy of respect and regard. Treatment he had been on the receiving end himself.

And in response, he stood in the junction of the corridor and roared down at them.

Bellator and the ensigns started, freezing in place as the senior officers strode up to them, T’Varik demanding in a voice as harsh as any ever heard from a Vulcan, “Who is responsible for this?”

The various ensigns behind Bellator flushed, winced, but remained silent.

“What’s wrong?” Hrelle growled, teeth bared, “No courage? None of you have the balls to own up?” He moved among the ensigns, glaring with unblinking bronze eyes at them with naked contempt. “How many of you have seen real combat? How many of you know how you’ll really respond? None of you have any right to judge anyone else!”

He pointed a finger at Bellator. “This is my Second Officer! You show them the respect they deserve! IS THAT CLEAR?”

The group drew closer together, as if for an instinctive need for support, all of them remaining silent, their fear thick in the air now.

Then he turned to Bellator, who looked almost as stunned as her tormentors. “Misc Bellator, do you wish to raise a complaint about this?”

The Nova Roman’s eyes widened at the offer, and they glanced at the other ensigns before swallowing and replying, “No, Sir. I’m ready to begin my assignment.”

“No, Ensign, you’re not.” He reached up to his uniform collar, removing two of his gold pips, before adding them to the Ensign’s pips already on Bellator’s own collar. “You require a rank commensurate with your duties. On my authority as Captain of the USS Surefoot, you are promoted with immediate effect to the rank of Lieutenant. Commander T’Varik will complete the necessary admin work.” He stepped back, secretly enjoying Bellator’s continued reaction – and the reaction from their tormentors, still witnessing the scene – as he held out his paw. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Bellator.”

Bellator swallowed, their jaw jutting out as they straightened up fully, accepting his paw, emotion welling up in their face. “Thank you, Captain. I won’t let you down.”

T’Varik turned to the Ensigns. “It is our Second Officer’s choice not to raise punitive action against any of you. I, however, will continue to discreetly monitor events on this ship. If I learn of any more acts of bullying and harassment to others, I will raise a formal protest to Admiral Tattok, and you will face disciplinary sanctions.”

Hrelle looked at them as well. “That is, once you’ve finished extracting your heads after I shove them up your own asses. Dismissed.” After a moment, he bared his teeth at them. “That’s Starfleet Speak for ‘Frick Off’.”

They began to disperse. Quickly.

Hrelle turned back to Bellator and T’Varik, smiling and indicating the opposite direction, his anger of seconds before dissipated, and secretly grateful for the distraction from the events of the day with the SSH. “Well, Lieutenant, shall we repair to your new ship? We’ll get you billeted into your quarters, show you around, introduce you to Captain Misha-”

Bellator looked up at him. “Captain Misha, Sir?”

Hrelle nodded gravely. “My fearsome rival for control of the Surefoot.”

Bellator looked to T’Varik, who added, “It is true. Captain Misha once faced four Jem’Hadar unarmed and survived. You will have little to fear from him, however, assuming you enjoy Tavaberry sundaes.”

*

Hrelle purred as he held Sreen against him, and the infant purred back, his voice soft. “Make sure that Bellator gets taken care of, that we don’t push them too hard, too fast, offer any support necessary, they gave them a rough time-”

“Esek,” Kami gently interrupted, sitting at her bureau brushing her fur. “I think I know how to do my job by now, don’t you?” She raised her voice slightly now. “Jhess? Esek’s done with Sreen.”

Hrelle looked up. “I am?”

The spotted male nanny entered their quarters from his adjoining rooms, smiling as he carefully scooped up the infant. “Come along, My Lady, you have a busy day tomorrow calibrating your first exoframe.” He looked to Hrelle. “You know I don't usually intrude on Starfleet business, but are we still planning on returning to Cait for shore leave?”

“Yes, Jhess, we're just finishing up some necessary work here first. Then the whole family will be heading back for extended leave.”

The male smiled. “Thanks, Esek! I'm looking forward to getting back in time for the next Hsova Run.”

Kami looked at him through her mirror. “And visiting your ex-wife and son, too?”

Jhess stared back, looking ready to offer another light quip… but instead settling for a knowing nod and, “Yes, Kam, I promise I will.” He ruined his muzzle against Sreen. “Good night.”

“Good night, Jhess.” Hrelle watched him depart and slide the door shut, before turning back to his wife and sighed. “Come on, then, let’s hear it.”

The Counselor set down her brush and rose, moving around him where he sat and worked her paws on his shoulders. “You need to come to terms with the existence of this hologram.”

Hrelle rolled his neck, purring at his wife’s ministrations. “I have.”

“Liar.”

He tensed… and then discernibly forced himself to relax a little. “I hate him. I hate being reminded of what I was like at that age. And it’s not about age. I was angry. I was arrogant. I didn’t know how little I knew. I have no idea what Hannah saw in me at the time.”

Kami made a sound. “Maybe you weren’t as bad as you think. Maybe she never saw that predatory side of you. Or maybe you were beginning to get seasoned by the time you became interested in having a relationship and settling down.”

“And yet, the SSH seems pretty effective.”

“So does a brick to the head, but I wouldn’t recommend it as a medical sedative. Esek, you are twice the man you were back then... and I am not talking about size. You are caring, compassionate, thoughtful, and all of those traits enhance you, not detract from you. Would your younger self have cared about helping someone like Bellator?”

“But what can I do? Tattok loves it. It’s done better than the flesh-and-blood Captains, in both comparative and one-on-one exercises.”

Kami nodded, pausing before opining, “One of the advantages of being your age and experience is knowing that life can be a lot more complicated than just See Enemy, Shoot Enemy. And that not everyone who uses this hologram will have your age and experience, either.”

He glanced up at her, his tail swishing behind him.

And tapping against her shin. She smiled. “Ooh, I’ve got to you, haven’t I?” She leaned in towards his muzzle. “Shall we use some of that energy to-”

He rose to his feet, rushing over to the desk and activating the intercom. “Hrelle to T’Varik.”

Kami breathed out. “Or you could go running off to the Other Woman…”

The Vulcan’s voice filled the air. “Yes, Captain?”

“I need your help to make some additions to tomorrow’s exercises.”

C’Rash’s voice now joined in, sounding acutely annoyed. “She’s busy, Uncle Esek!”

Hrelle smiled. “The holograms haven’t taken over just yet, Lieutenant. I’m still in command.”

*

The young human Lieutenant in the holographic Captain’s chair was one of Tattok’s people: dark-skinned, square-jawed, earnest and glistening with perspiration as he took in the ongoing battle. “Helm: Pattern Beta-Three!”

Beside him, the SSH stood, perfectly calm, hands behind his back, taking in the surroundings. “Don’t forget your aft phasers. The Jem’Hadar are swarming, keep them separated-”

The Lieutenant nodded, shouting, “Aft Phasers, fire!” The ship shuddered under another attack. “Engineering, we need our shields back to Max!”

“We don’t have the power for it, Sir!”

“Divert power from Life Support,” HoloHrelle suggested.

The Lieutenant looked up at him. “Life Support?”

The hologram nodded. “You can do it, temporarily.” It looked down at him. “The alternative is to get blown up, and not worry about life support at all.”

The Lieutenant took it in, nodding back. “Divert power from Life Support!”

In the rear of the Bridge, Hrelle stood with Tattok, Bergstrom and the rest of the observation party watching the third exercise of the morning follow a by-now familiar pattern: the young officer in the centre seat of a virtual Intrepid-class ship, facing a Dominion task force. And this officer, like the previous two, had his individual style of command and experience, but was given more or less the same guidance from the SSH.

Including… HoloHrelle pointed to the screen. “The Jem’Hadar troop carrier! You have a clear line of fire!”

The officer turned to Tactical. “Forward torpedoes, target and fire on the carrier!”

On the holographic viewscreen, cherry-red flares shot forth towards the ugly box-shaped vessel moving away from the remaining Jem’Hadar raiders, ripping into the spaceframe and making the ship blossom with annihilation.

And, like the previous two exercises, this one ended in the same way: with victory for Starfleet, and another smug smirk from Bergstrom. “There you go, Admiral. Maybe we should try a more challenging exercise for the SSH now?”

Hrelle cleared his throat. “I’d like to see this exercise once more, please, with one of my own people.” He tapped his combadge. “Commander, Counselor, bring Ensign Dassene in?”

The Holodeck door arch appeared and parted, and as Tattok’s Lieutenant departed, he was replaced by T’Varik, Kami and Zir Dassene, the last looking simultaneously eager and nervous. Hrelle smiled reassuringly at her. “Ensign, we’ve asked you to take part in a tactical exercise: you will be Captain of an Intrepid-class starship engaging with a Jem’Hadar task force. I must stress that this is part of a test of an experimental piece of holographic technology, and not an assessment that will affect your own performance or standing within Starfleet. Is that understood?”

Zir took a moment to glance with bemusement at HoloHrelle, before nodding and responding, “Yes, Sir.”

“Then take your seat and prepare.” He patted her on the shoulder and let her proceed, before moving back to stand beside his wife and First Officer, feeling expectant, and hoping that the intended outcome doesn’t backfire against him.

The exercise began, and he indulged in unabashed pride at how quick and assured Zir adapted to the role, following procedure to the letter, using all the tactics and techniques he and T’Varik had taught her about command, while also listening to the advice of the SSH.

And then the moment came. HoloHrelle pointed to the screen. “The Jem’Hadar troop carrier! You have a clear line of fire!”

Zir nodded, keeping her eyes on it but calling behind her, “Scan the vessel.”

The hologram turned to her. “No! Don’t waste time! You can’t divert power from your shields and weapons to scan them!”

“The vessel is moving away, it’s not firing on us-”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not a threat, if not to us! They’re obviously leaving the others to try and finish us off while they proceed to attack one of our nearby colonies.”

“The Rules of Engagement-”

The SSH drew closer to her, eyes narrow and tail twitching with fury. “This is War! You are outnumbered, outgunned!” The holographic Bridge rocked under the virtual fire.

Zir turned to Tactical. “Keep firing on the attack ships! Engineering, divert power from the warp drive to shore up our shields!”

HoloHrelle spun the Captain’s Chair back to make Zir face him again, as he pointed at the viewscreen. “There are hundreds of Jem’Hadar onboard that ship! They’ll make a meal of our people, if not here then elsewhere! You have a responsibility to protect them, not to spout off platitudes!” He drew closer, into her face. “DESTROY THEM!”

Still in the rear, Hrelle tensed, instinctively ready to race up and protect Zir, until Kami rested a hand on his forearm.

Zir looked up at the hologram, clearly unnerved and intimidated… until she no longer was. She rose to her feet, her voice calm and solid as neutronium. “Starfleet Rules of Engagement for the response of non-combat vessels in battle is clear.” She turned to the Ops station. “Scan the troop carrier.”

The hologram at Ops obeyed, reporting, “I’m detecting 247 lifesigns: Human, Vulcan, Bolian, Trill… no Jem’Hadar, no Vorta, no Cardassians.”

“Computer: Freeze Program!” Bergstrom snapped, stepping forward as all the holograms, including the SSH, froze in place. The human looked around. “What’s going on? That wasn’t part of the exercise I designed!”

“No,” Hrelle admitted, stepping forward. “I had Commander T’Varik amend it last night.”

Bergstrom turned to him now, outrage clear on his face. “You did this? You sabotaged the program, Hrelle?”

The Caitian drew up to him, calm but taut. “That’s Captain Hrelle to you, Commander. And it wasn’t sabotage, it was a reminder.” He glanced at Tattok. “A reminder that in battle, the unexpected happens, and we must be prepared for it. In this case, we added a backstory: the troop carrier was actually being employed as a Prisoner of War transport ship, but the POWs had used the battle as a distraction to seize control of the vessel and make an escape. All of which would have been revealed at the end of the exercise, had it not been interrupted.” He looked to Zir, smiling. “Thank you for your assistance, Ensign. You’re free now to commence leave with the rest of Alpha Squad.”

The Orion flushed a dark green as she nodded cordially. “Thank you, Sir.” She nodded to Tattok. “Thank you for the opportunity to assist, Admiral.” Then she left.

Once the doors closed, Bergstrom spoke again. “So we need a little more of the unexpected in the exercises. That’s easily arranged-”

“I have a feeling that there’s more to it than that, Mr Bergstrom,” Tattok opined, still glaring at Hrelle. “Am I right, Captain?”

“Yes, Sir. All of the tests this morning serve as a reminder of the threat we face... and not the obvious one. The first three junior officers who participated today all faced the element of the troop carrier, and all three took the advice of the SSH and fired upon it, despite their knowledge of Starfleet Rules of Engagement. Only Ensign Dassene challenged the advice given to her.” He offered a little smile. “My proteges tend to lean towards the stubborn. I have no idea where they get it from.”

“Those three officers before Ensign Dassene were under my command, Captain,” Tattok pointed out, sounding irritated now. “If this is meant as a criticism of my leadership-”

“It’s not, Admiral,” Kami assured him, stepping forward now. “It’s meant as a demonstration of Automation Bias, a form of cognitive inclination that can affect the behaviour of most humanoids – in this case, the bias is towards trusting as flawless data and instructions received from machines that we employ on a regular basis.

Automation Bias was first identified on Earth in the 20th and 21st Centuries. At first, it manifested in relatively harmless ways: drivers of land vehicles ignoring road signs to follow the instructions of satellite navigation systems would end up in lakes or the middle of forests instead of their intended destinations, and messages edited by imperfect spell-checking systems would produce unintentionally humorous communiques.

But then it grew darker. People would be scammed into providing confidential banking information through false messages. They’d read and believe skewed or flatly untrue news stories on social media sites and spread them, without checking their veracity. Operators of drone weapons would inadvertently fire upon civilian targets based on inaccurate data. And perhaps worse, as Automation Basis became more recognisable, people began mistrusting all news, all data they saw, regardless of the supportive evidence, even if it meant adversely affecting them and those around them.

As each of your officers exited the Holodeck, Admiral, I interviewed them, asked them about the SSH, and if they agreed with all of the recommendations it provided. They didn’t, especially about ignoring the Rules of Engagement on firing on an unarmed ship… but they disregarded their training and complied anyway. Not because they’re bad officers, but because Automation Bias prompted them to trust what they were told was an ‘expert system’.”

Hrelle stepped forward again. “Commander Bergstrom has repeatedly referred to the Strategic Support Hologram as nothing more than a tool, a weapon, like a phaser. It’s not.” He pointed to HoloHrelle. “It’s a phaser that’s telling its user who to kill. And I have no doubt that it will work absolutely flawlessly… until it doesn’t. But by then, it’ll be too late.”

“Oh come on, Captain!” Bergstrom protested. “You’ve made your feelings about the SSH Project clear from the very start! You’ve felt defeated and replaced! And now you concoct this conspiracy to put the hologram in a bad light!”

“There is no conspiracy, Mr Bergstrom,” T’Varik assured him. “These are the same tests that your project would be facing if Admiral Tattok had not ordered it fast-tracked. I have 9.57 years of experience programming educational holograms at the Academy. Counselor Hrelle is fully qualified to assess the psychological aspects behind tactical and performance exercises.”

Bergstrom looked to the surrounding faces, his expression one of appearing threatened, before turning to Tattok. “Admiral, maybe the SSH needs some minor adjustments to its holomatrix, so that it adheres more to what Captain Hrelle considers important when fighting an enemy determined to destroy all of us.” His tone confirmed what he thought of that notion. “We could still get the SSH up within the month-”

“Not with my help,” Hrelle informed him. “Or my image or memories. I am withdrawing both.”

Everyone else turned to him, silent, until Tattok announced, “Everyone leave this room, right now. Except for you, Captain.”

Hrelle kept his gaze on the Roylan, and Tattok back on him, as the rest departed and the door slid shut. Then Tattok ordered coldly, “Say that again.”

Hrelle breathed in. “Admiral, with all due respect, I will not participate any longer with this Project, nor will I allow my memory engrams to be employed. I believe it is intrinsically flawed, potentially catastrophic, and will inevitably cause more harm than help.”

Tattok’s eyestalks fixed on him, as he approached slowly. Dangerously. “Captain Hrelle, I am giving you a direct order to rescind that decision, and continue participating. We are at War.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sir, having seen it first hand. And I am aware of the tremendous losses we have faced so far, both as a Fleet and as a Starfleet. But that does not mean that this… knee-jerk reaction you’re taking to those losses should be supported.”

“Knee jerk?” Tattok drew closer. “Our very existence is at threat! And you dare stand there, refusing to assist in our salvation?”

Hrelle’s hackles rose. “Tattok… I have served as your Strategic Operations Officer for a long time now-”

“And you think that buys you an opt-out of your duties?”

“No, Sir. But I’m not prepared to allow my image, my memories, to be used in this way. I am respectfully asking that they be deleted.”

“This is War, Hrelle! You freely provided those engrams! You don’t have the right to them any longer!”

Hrelle nodded at that. “Then I’ll be resigning my commission, effective immediately.”

The Admiral stood there, stock still, as if giving Hrelle the opportunity to recant before his superior officer responded. Then he asked incredulously, “You’re that committed to this being wrong? You’d give up Starfleet? What would you do with yourself?”

Hrelle shrugged, trying to look more casual than he felt, having already discussed this possibility with Kami the night before. As it turned out, the decision was easier than he expected. “I’d go back to Cait and join the Planetary Navy. I’d be taking orders from my mother-in-law, but then I’m used to that.”

Tattok glared at him, before finally shaking his head. “Fine, you win… but only because I’ll probably also lose your wife, too. And your son; he knows how to respect his superiors. Commander Bergstrom will just have to wait a little while longer to get his Daystrom Prize for Excellence in Holography.”

Hrelle nodded, smiling. “Thank you, Sir.”

“But when you’re not saving lives on the front line, you’ll be conducting tactical training sessions with our less-experienced Captains and senior officers. If they can’t have a young, slim, handsome Esek Hrelle, they’ll have to settle for what I have to deal with.”

“A compromise worthy of your unparalleled wisdom, if I might say, Sir.”

“Don’t be a kissass.”

*

Hrelle emerged into the corridor, finding Kami and T’Varik awaiting him, the Vulcan standing aside, speaking through her combadge. His wife looked to him, watching as Tattok emerged and walked in the opposite direction, before asking, “So we’re not packing?”

“Only for shore leave.” He glanced towards T’Varik. “What’s up?”

“A report coming through about Dominion advances. Commander Bergstrom has returned to his lab on the Triton, determined to find a replacement for you. You’re apparently too much of an irritant.”

“Me? I have no idea where he got that from. Well, maybe he can use Weynik? Or even Misha?”

“Not our son; all of his tactical suggestions will involve burping and farting.” Then she turned as T’Varik approached. “What’s happened?”

The Vulcan straightened. “The Dominion have claimed the Hellbaum Sector.”

Kami frowned. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s near the Klingon border. The only place of note there is a farmworld, Gault.”

T’Varik nodded. “Population currently under 10,000, mostly automated agricultural complexes. It is an odd location for them to attack. I cannot imagine the Dominion would require food resources overmuch-”

“It’s not for their benefit,” Hrelle said, seeing the reaction on Kami’s face to the name of the planet. “The importance of Gault as a food source dropped in recent years because of advances in replicator technology, but the need has picked up again due to the growing refugee crisis- what’s wrong, Kam?”

Kami’s expression was grave. “Our Alpha Squad medical cadet Peter Boone... his five-year-old daughter Abby is still living on Gault…”

*

On a small planet far away, in the dead of its night in its Eastern Hemisphere, a small blonde girl awoke to the sound of engines in the sky. She kicked off her blankets and bounced to her feet, nightdress kicking around her heels as she raced to the window. It was her Daddy! It had to be! He was away helping people in Starfleet, but he said he would come back soon and take her away! And she would fly with him among the stars and ride dragons and have goruberry sundaes and maybe even go swimming!

She looked out, seeing the huge waves of fields of grain, swaying shadows beneath an evening sky offered scant illumination from a tiny brick-red moon and many stars.

Stars which now swarmed like duskhoppers, before descending to the fields.

And spitting white fire upon everything...

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN...