Under New Management

“USS Surefoot, Captain’s Log, Stardate 54891.12, Captain T’Varik Recording: Following our arrival at the mining colony of Scesity in Salem Sector, and the apprehension of the band of Marauders that had been menacing the colonists, we are remaining to offer technical and medical aid to the inhabitants, before we proceed to Station Salem One.

The incarceration of the Marauders has highlighted the need for a Federation Commissioner to provide the legislative authority at the station, a need which Commodore Hrelle has acknowledged, and he has assured me that one is arriving with the Academy cadets who will supplement the station and Squadron crew.

On a personal note, I will admit to a logical level of relief at the end of the Dominion War, and a commensurate sense of enthusiasm at the possibility of performing missions of more scientific and altruistic natures. I am conscious of the number of cadets and recently-graduated cadets who have essentially grown up knowing nothing of Starfleet life but its military aspects, and how this blunt education might affect their outlook in their continued careers… and in their dealings with civilians.”

*

“Screw you and the horse you rode in on!”

T’Varik quickened her pace towards the Refinery Operations Room as she heard the outburst from Ensign Tori Emoto, fearing the proverbial worst.

Fortunately as she entered and surveyed the situation, she found that no one had come to blows… yet. Emoto stood with her support crew behind her, looking up angrily at the head of the Scesity technicians, a beefy, bearded middle-aged human male in a threadbare ruby-red utility jumpsuit glaring down at the shorter female. “Listen, Kid, you’d better rein it in right now, or-”

“Excuse me,” T’Varik interrupted. As the attention in the room turned to her, she folded her hands behind her and continued. “You are Chief Supervisor Simonson, are you not?”

He turned to her, his expression growing less challenging at confronting an older, more experienced and confident Starfleet officer, but still retaining his belligerence. “Yeah! You want to make something of it?”

“Possibly: I want to make it the subject of a complaint I will raise about what sounded like an imminent threat to a member of my crew.” 

Simonson drew back, both literally and emotionally. “Threats?” He pointed to Emoto. “Are you surprised? Who wouldn’t react like that when you have someone like her treating us like imbeciles, like we haven’t been working at this job since before she was born-”

T’Varik raised a hand to cut him off, looking in Tori’s direction now. “What has prompted this aggression on both sides, Ensign? And please respond without profanity or vitriol.”

Emoto straightened up, having regained her composure, though her voice retained a strained tone. “I was trying to explain to the Chief Supervisor here that if he dragged himself and his friends into the Modern Age and replaced the isolinear circuitry in their processors with one of our spare bio-neural gelpacks, they could run this entire facility from this one room instead of having their operations spread over three control sections! But they don’t seem able to grasp that concept!”

T’Varik saw Simonson ready to respond, but the Vulcan beat him to it, still addressing Emoto calmly. “Or perhaps they are more concerned that any perceived increase in efficiency through the use of more modern innovations such as bio-neural circuitry is offset by its limitations: the inability to readily replicate replacement components, for instance? They are in an isolated corner of the Federation after all. Not to mention the susceptibility of gelpacks to airborne infections that a ship-based environment is better able to protect against? Or maybe it was the lack of qualified training in bioneural circuitry maintenance that they would require before we could supply said gelpacks, a delay that they cannot afford now that trade will return? Shall I continue?”

Emoto blanched at that, her own level of attitude rapidly diminishing with the revelation, before she turned back to the Supervisor. “I’m, ah, sorry I lost my temper with you, Mr Simonson.”

“And so you should, Missy! You Starfleeters think you can come strutting in here now after all this-”

“Mr Simonson,” T’Varik interjected, cutting him off again. “Our time here will be limited. You would best serve your people by staying focused on what we can provide for you. Mr Arif, please take over. Ms Emoto, follow me.”

The two women strode out into the corridor and towards an open observation platform, overlooking a warren of vertical and horizontal conveyer belts, transporting unrefined and refined ore to the fabricators or the underground and above-ground storage towers. There was a pungent scent of machinery lubricant and reactive agents in the air, but T’Varik ignored it. “Ms Emoto… Tori… I have plans for you.”

The young human stood beside her, as if they were genuinely interested in the operations below. “Captain?”

“When Chief Sakai formally transfers to Salem One as their Chief of Engineering, we will need a replacement. I am already seeking one, but Mr Arif will serve in that role temporarily. Everyone will be expected to step up and assist, yourself included.

You were field-promoted to a graduated state following the events of the Battle of Khavak. Had this not happened, I would have guided you in your final year towards Command courses. Your expertise in diagnostics and Engineering analysis of alien systems has been well proven, but you require additional training in Command, so that you can learn to take the lead on Away Teams, and eventually reach the position of Assistant Chief Engineer… and after that, Chief Engineer.”

Then she turned to face her. “You will not reach it by spewing abuse at the people we’re trying to help, however.”

Emoto swallowed, her skin flushing. “They’re all blaming us for not being here when those Marauders showed up!”

“Not all. Most understand the circumstances behind our absence, and accept it; they were given the opportunity to return to more populated areas of the Federation when this started, after all, and were briefed of the potential consequences of remaining without our presence. 

But for those who have been hurt, or who have lost loved ones in our absence, emotional wounds, however unjustified and illogical, can arise. We must be empathetic to those around us, and not take what might be directed at us personally.” She looked out again. “I am pleased that you apologised to Mr Simonson without any prompting from me.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I’ve- I’ve been paying attention to the Counseling sessions-”

T’Varik raised a hand. “You need not explain further; the reports I have received from Counselor Auger have been encouraging. But as you will have already noticed, we have entered a new era, and changes are afoot, for all of us. We must be prepared to take on new responsibilities.” She raised an eyebrow. “Myself included. When my nephew arrives with Commander Haluk and the cadets, I will be taking on the responsibility of Parent. It will be… challenging. But I will still face it.”

Emoto smiled up at her. “I’ll be more than happy to assist, Ma’am, if he needs work on his profanity and vitriol.”

The Vulcan offered her a wry expression. “Should that need arise, I can think of no one more qualified.”

*

Esek Hrelle leaned his head back and purred as his wife Kami worked her magic on his neck, letting him put his shields up to the chaos around their quarters, while Sasha, Misha and Sreen ran around with all their friends, the gaggle of cubs suffused with sugar from Sasha’s eleventh birthday cake.

Hannah leaned in close to the side of his muzzle and rubbed her smooth human cheek against him. “Regretting not renting out a station Holodeck for the party?”

He chuckled, ignoring the lingering pain from the injuries he was still recovering from following his latest mission on the Furyk. “Regretting not getting a slice of cake myself-” He drew back his legs as Sasha led her prepubescent Away Team past him, bellowing like Klingons, before stretching out once more, patting the space on the couch beside him.

Kami accepted the invitation, curling up as both of them looked out of the living room window, seeing the disc-shaped Surefoot make its slow, inexorable orbit around Salem One, keeping its ever-vigilant watch for danger. Because Danger was always there, always would be there, threatening him, threatening them all, never ending, never ending, never ending-

“Was it really bad?” Hannah asked, snuggling up closer.

He grunted, not wanting to go into detail, not wanting his wife or cubs to have to know even a tenth of what he went through out there to keep them all safe. This was his home, his sanctuary from all of that. He stroked Kami’s mane and murmured, “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

Then his combadge buzzed as his First Officer on the Furyk broke the mood, ready to call him out to finally die. “Papa? Gabba bodda-”

“-Bodda bye bye!” Sreen declared, waving at her bottle as it slipped out from her sleeping father’s paw and hit the carpet.

Hrelle started as he snapped back to an awakened state, instinctively tightening his hold on his infant daughter as he bent forward, picking up the bottle again and sticking it back in Sreen’s mouth, and glancing around to make sure no one had seen him fall asleep. Again.

But though they were in the Colony Administrator’s Office, they were alone, the door open but no one outside. He had agreed to take a break and hold onto Sreen while the search went on for her big brother, off gallivanting somewhere within Scesity Colony with Peter Boone’s daughter Abby.

He never expected to fall asleep before Sreen finished her bottle, but then his sleep patterns had been out of whack for days since his promotion and new orders. And all with variations of the same dream, too. Not that he was going to admit as much to his wife- his current wife, that is-

“There you two are!”

He turned in his seat and smiled as Kami walked in, Sreen purring now at the sight of her mother even as the cub continued to finish her bottle. Hrelle made a sound. “Please tell me Mr Gyver has found our wayward son and his girlfriend.”

“Not yet, and I hope our new Chaperone isn’t chastised too much for letting him and Abby escape his grasp, he’s young and still learning how wily cubs can be. They won’t be in any real danger here now with the Marauders locked up, and it’ll be easier keeping an eye on the cubs when we’re on the station with its internal sensors, so no reprimands on Gyver’s record from the Big Commode.”

“That’s Commodore. A commode is a toilet.”

“Ooh, I never knew that.” She bent down and took Sreen and the bottle from him. “Fall asleep again? Have another Dream?”

He frowned. “I told you before, I was just resting my eyes that last time. Same as now.”

Sreen spat the nub of her now-emptied bottle from her muzzle to belch, point at Hrelle and announce loudly, “Papa Seepy Time! Papa Snoar!” Then she made a snoring sound in punctuation and laughed until she snorted. And then laughed at her own snort.

Kami eyed him. “You’ll settle down once we get there, and find some catharsis from visiting your old home.”

Hrelle helped himself out of the chair and flexed his limbs, still feeling the effects of his earlier encounter subduing the Marauders that had menaced this colony. “I don’t need catharsis. I’m fine… and I have better things to do than hang around here. But if Mr Gyver can’t find Misha and Abby by the time I finish talking with Sternhagen, call the Surefoot and have them use their sensors. Or go use those vaunted Caitian tracking senses of ours to find our son rather than pester me.”

Kami offered an old-fashioned, mocking salute. “Whatever you say, Commode.”

He grunted once more and walked around them and back outside, getting himself psyched to find his own quarry.

*

Misha Hrelle stopped chasing after the furry brown creature he and his friend Abby Boone spotted in the mud-patched rocks at the edge of the colony, to let the human girl catch her breath, her face red and eyes wide. “Where’d it go? Where’d it go?”

His eyes stayed focused on a collection of wrinkled rocks with red and grey ribbons, his nose twitching at the scent. “There!”

Abby leaned in and peered in that direction. “I don’t see it!”

He laughed, pointing at a section of the rock. “He’s there! Keeping still!”

She leaned in, clutching the shoulder of his minikin Starfleet uniform, brightening. “I see it! Wow, Misha, you’re a great tracker!”

Misha grinned; since Peter Boone came back to the Surefoot with his cub Abby, he’s had such fun playing with someone his own age instead of his stinky baby sister. And now they were on a real planet, with so many wonderful smells, he can show off the skills his Papa and Cousin C’Rash have been teaching him!

“Hey! You two!”

Both children turned, seeing a half-dozen colony children, Human, Tellarite and Andorian, some Misha and Abby’s age but most older by a couple of years. The oldest one, a stocky boy with a pug nose and curly ginger hair, looked angry. “What are you doing here?”

Misha was initially wary of the reaction from the older boy, but his Mama always told him to Start With A Smile. He smiled. “Hi! I’m Misha! This is Abby! We’re from the Surefoot!”

The boy looked angrier now, pointing at him. “We don’t want to know your stupid names! You have some nerve coming here now! Get off our planet!”

Abby looked fearful now, tightening her hold on Misha’s arm. “Come on, Misha, let’s go…”

But the little Caitian stood his ground, staring up at the boy. “Why you being mean? We’re Starfleet! We help!”

“Starfleet doesn’t help!” the boy declared, his face turning russet. “They weren’t here when the Marauders were hurting us, killing us! They were far away, being cowards!”

Misha bared his teeth, feeling his fur stand on end and his tail twitch. “Starfleet not cowards! My Papa and Mama and Big Sister and Cousin and Godmama and me are in Starfleet! We fight Jammies and Fearies and Snakes!”

“Misha, please,” Abby pleaded.

The boy, standing a head taller, leaned in, sneering and snatching the fake combadge from Misha, dropping it to the muddy ground and stepping on it. “You’re not in Starfleet! These are just baby’s clothes! And everyone in Starfleet is a dirty coward! Especially your Fat Dad!”

Misha roared and leapt on him.

*

“Captain Sternhagen.”

The woman never stopped striding to her domed home, the one he had identified from perusing the Administrator’s office records. “Never heard of her.”

Hrelle persisted. He had identified her following the arrest of the so-called Invincible and his pack of a-holes, but she had avoided him while he was caught up in his duties. He assumed it was just a general reluctance to draw attention to herself. “I recognised you immediately, Captain.”

The older human stopped at her doorway, indicating her grey all-weather jumpsuit. “You've got the wrong woman, Commodore. I’ve never been in Starfleet.” She disappeared inside, closing the door to him.

He opened it again, stepping inside to see a cluttered mess of recycled and kitbashed equipment, sitting in a stagnant pond of stale scents. He focused on her as she stood near a table, hand wrapped around a whiskey bottle. “You’ve no right to just barge in here!”

“Kate-”

“Sorry, I’m Ruth Sternhagen. You’re obviously mistaking me for my twin sister Kate.” She poured herself a shot. “She died years ago.”

He crossed his arms. “You never had a sister. In fact, you once boasted that after you, your parents swore off having any more children.”

She glared at him sharply, before turning away. “Don’t know what the Hell you’re talking about, Commodore. Beat it.” She downed her shot and looked away.

“You resigned,” he continued, watching as she began to pace. “After the Furyk disaster, the attack on Salem One. Why?”

Sternhagen stopped in her tracks, momentarily her older self. “You really have to ask that, Hrelle? I commanded the station. I was responsible for the safety of everyone onboard… including your late wife. I failed her. I failed them all.”

“You were investigated by Starfleet Intelligence after the fact,” he reminded her. “And found not culpable. You had been overwhelmed when the Bel-Zon had taken our security codes.” He grunted. “They were more eager to pin it all on me.”

“That was a crock of shit on their part.” She returned to the waiting bottle. “I told them as much at the time.”

“I know. I read the original reports. Thank you for your support.”

Sternhagen looked at him again incredulously. “You’re thanking me? Hannah died on my watch! I can't believe you don’t still blame me for it!”

Hrelle focused his gaze on her and kept her captive with it, his voice dropping an octave. “Kate, since escaping slavery I’ve done some thorough investigations on my own, assisted by the considerable Intelligence resources of the Caitian Mother’s Claws.

I promise you: if I had any notion, any notion at all, that you were involved with the Bel-Zon at the time… we would have met long before now.

And our encounter would have been far, far less amicable than this one.”

She stared back… before reaching for another shotglass. “Why are you here? Apart from cleaning up the trash?”

“You heard me talking out there with those Wolf Pack stroke-offs. They forced a promotion off me, kicked me off my own ship and told me to take over at Salem One. I have a skeleton crew and some gifted cadets on their way, but I need key personnel, experienced hands. I’ve got Security, Medical, Engineering and possibly Science covered, there’s a Federation Commissioner on her way as well with staff to handle the bureaucracy. But I need a Station Master, a Chief of Operations, someone to run the day to day business.”

She poured out another two shots and set down the bottle. “Really?”

“Really. I understand why you felt guilt about what happened, despite it not being your fault, and your need to punish yourself by leaving and hiding out here. But it’s pointless. And a waste of your considerable talents.”

“I resigned, Esek. Long ago. The uniform doesn’t fit over these hips anymore.”

“Don’t talk to me about uniforms and hips. And your commission can be reactivated, with immediate effect.” He tapped the Commodore’s insignia on his collar. “These have magical powers.”

Sternhagen lifted up her glass. “I’m happy here.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s peaceful and quiet here, with no responsibilities apart from fixing the odd tricorder or phaser drill attenuator. I’m not up for anything more strenuous than that.”

“The colonists here reported that following the murder of their last Governor by the Marauders, you became their de facto leader. You kept them alive. And from the equipment I saw out there on the landing field, you were prepared to sacrifice yourself to save the colony. You can take the woman out of Starfleet, but you can’t take Starfleet out-”

“Shut up, Esek. If I wanted to listen to hoary old clichés I’d go to the Norpin Colony with all the other ancient farts.”

He regarded her for a moment, wanting to reach her, wanting to shake her or hold her or walk away from her. “Okay, don’t come back… permanently. Just come with us and give the place a once-over. You have the most direct, recent experience with the station. Let us know what we need to get up and running as quickly as possible. And then we’ll take you back here. And you can name your price.”

Sternhagen regarded him back, before grumbling, “Alright, already. Do you pester your wife this badly?”

“Yes, but definitely not for the same things.”

Now she smiled. “I’ll go, but just long enough to give the old place the once-over, like you said.”

He smiled back. “Thanks. What’s it gonna cost me?”

She finished her drink. “I’ll let you know when I’ve figured it out myself.”

*

“Comrade Lieutenant?”

Zir Dassene still smiled when she heard her new rank, despite having been promoted to it and her new role as Commodore Hrelle’s Adjutant almost a week ago. And despite her initial nerves at the increased responsibilities, she never let any of it show as she strode up to her friend and former Alpha Squad member, the hulking pachydermoid Security Officer Urad Kaldron, on the landing field shifting some of the confiscated Marauder equipment.

Her grin remained as she drew up and patted his massive grey arm. “Hey, Tiny, I hope you’re not overtaxing yourself to impress everyone?”

He adjusted the huge duranium bar, easily four hundred kilos, over his other shoulder… and made sounds with the effort to keep it aloft, and not accidentally strike any of the surrounding shuttles. “Overtax? (Huff) Me, Comrade (Huff) Lieutenant?”

“Yes, you, Man Mountain; I don’t want to subject our medical staff to having to try and treat you for the type of backache or hernia you might develop.” She glanced around at some of the other Security staff from the Surefoot, following up on the recent arrest of the Marauders who had terrorised the colonists on Scesity. “I was actually looking for Lt Cmdr Salvo; I can’t find her via her combadge.”

Kaldron harrumphed, though it sounded like it came from something other than exertion. “She is in the main Marauder shuttle, attempting to gain intelligence on the Orion slavers working in the sector.” Then he started. “No offence meant, Comrade Friend-”

Zir felt herself flush, but forced down her chagrin to respond with, “None taken, Urad. And again, stop taking so much upon yourself, let others help.”

“Good advice for everyone, Little Comrade,” he responded in conclusion, walking away as she strode towards the largest shuttle, its gull-wing door raised open, steeling herself for her next encounter with Salem One’s new Security Chief. As part of her new role, Zir had read up all she could on Lieutenant Commander Arcanis Prima Salvo, a native of the Nova Roman colony like the Surefoot’s new XO, Bellator, and had as many commendations as she had reprimands.

Salvo was a Warrior With Attitude, and while Zir could understand Commodore Hrelle’s reasons for recruiting her, the young Orion woman still wondered if Salvo might be worth the effort, what with the difficulties they would already face, retaking territory with limited resources-

She tensed as she heard the swearing from within, but continued. The interior was a cluttered collection of stolen goods, and stank of body odour even with the door open letting fresh air circulate. At the front of the shuttle, the huge, coffee-skinned Salvo was leaning over the pilot’s seat, where the Surefoot’s Assistant Security Chief, the Andorian female Ensign Atiaro Thykrill, was seated, staring ahead while Salvo snarled, “Are you an idiot? Is that what it is? Do I need to bring in someone with more brains to do this, like Hrelle’s crippled little brat?”

“Excuse me,” Zir prompted, instinctively protective of any negative mention of either of the Hrelle cubs.

The other women turned to face the new arrival, Salvo waved dismissively at her. “Get out, Orion, we’re busy.”

Zir swallowed… but steeled herself and drew a step closer. “Lieutenant Commander, Commodore Hrelle is expecting a report from you about the Marauders’ contacts in this sector.”

The Nova Roman made a sound, as she glared back at Thykrill. “Well, you can tell the Commodore that I would love to provide him with intelligence about those contacts, but I am hampered by having been assigned a blue-skinned imbecile to try and access the Marauders’ computers.”

Thykrill bolted to her feet, her antennae dipping down low, her entire body as taut as her voice but keeping from fully unleashing her anger, as she glowered back at Salvo while still speaking to Zir. “Lieutenant, you can also tell Commodore Hrelle that the encryption on the computers is beyond our current capacity to unlock. I had suggested that Lt Cmdr Bellator assist, given their expertise with cryptography, but Lt Cmdr Salvo here dismissed that idea.”

“I won’t work with traitorous cowards,” Salvo hissed through clenched teeth, leaning in a little closer to add, “Or plebeian morons.”

Zir watched Thykrill tense further, and Zir decided to take action to defuse the situation. “Thank you, Ensign. Return to the rest of the Surefoot’s Security Team. I’ll take it from here.”

Salvo looked to Zir again contemptuously. “You forget who’s the senior ranking officer here. Being Hrelle’s little Orion whore doesn’t give you authority over me.”

Zir bristled, feeling her olive skin darken… but she stood her ground. “You go, Ati; I’ll take responsibility here.”

Thykrill looked to her, the pair of them having worked frequently on the Surefoot, earning each other’s respect in the process, and nodded appreciatively at her, sparing Salvo a final dirty look before stepping around her and Zir and departing the shuttle.

Salvo regarded the remaining officer again, sneering. “So, you have some spine to go with the tits and the ass-”

“That’s enough!” Zir snapped angrily. “Regardless of your rank, I will not be treated with disrespect by you! Nor will I allow you to treat your fellow officers, or anyone else, with disrespect. Is that clear?”

Salvo smirked now, drawing closer, accentuating her superior height over Zir. “I have crushed Jem’Hadar, Klingons, Gorn, Nausicaans and Miradorn, all beneath my heels. You think I couldn’t deal with a presumptuous little mongrel like you?”

Zir felt the contempt, the venom, from the other woman like it was her hands around Zir’s throat, and it was all Zir could do to keep from stepping back instinctively, or calling for help, or letting her pulse quicken until her heart burst from her chest.

Instead she raised her chin and shifted into a more assertive, confident posture. “You’re welcome to try, Lieutenant Commander… but I promise you, you’ll find me a lot tougher than you think.

And I’ll remind you of who I represent, and of his orders to do what you can to gain intelligence on the slavers in this sector. And if doing what you can requires you to put aside your personal feelings and ask Lt Cmdr Bellator to assist, then I suggest you do it, and as soon as possible.”

Salvo smiled coldly. “Maybe you should try? They’re your people, after all.”

Zir felt her jaw tighten; I don’t need the likes of you to remind me of the atrocities my people are capable of, bitch. “He ordered you. Now, if you haven’t got the courage or strength to do this, you can tell him yourself. Or I will. Make your choice.”

The Nova Roman regarded her a moment longer… before stepping back and tapping her combadge. “Lt Cmdr Salvo to Lt Cmdr Bellator: Commodore Hrelle orders you to assist in accessing the Marauders’ database. Their encryption is proving formidable.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the familiar voice responded, albeit with some small but obvious surprise at receiving the message from out of the proverbial blue. “I will establish a link from the Surefoot and begin studying the encryption in place. Bellator out.”

Salvo smiled humourlessly at Zir. “There you go, Lieutenant. Run along now… and in future, best stay out of my way. It’ll be safer for one of us.”

*

Doctor Masterson emerged from the colony’s hospital with the rest of the medical staff, breathing in the crisp air as he clasped his hands together. “Well, I’m glad to see the folk here have been well served by their local sawbones. It’ll make our work in the sector a lot easier.”

Beside him, the Andorian Dr Shyrik growled, her antenna dipping. “They’ll be the exception; I’m sure there are other colonies who have probably been wiped out by some pathogen or parasite.”

Masterson chuckled. “That’s the spirit, Sora, here’s hoping you keep up that positive outlook when you take over from me on the Surefoot.”

“I will do my best… after I clear the smell of Cowboy from the CMO’s Office.”

Behind them, Chief Nurse Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas, listened – not to the facile banter between the doctors ahead of her, but the two individuals behind her: the Surefoot’s new Counselor, Alexander Auger, and the younger Counselor Peter Boone, a former cadet Eydiir helped grow into his present role.

And though she was normally more respectful of the private conversations of others, she still listened, out of a sense of protectiveness over Peter, under the current authority of the more abrasive Auger. But Auger was proving to be more sympathetic and helpful and less a mountebank than his initial behaviour onboard had displayed.

To which Eydiir was silently grateful. Though she and Peter would be following Masterson to join his medical team on Salem One, she wouldn’t have wanted to be leaving the Surefoot with a report on her pummelling Auger. Even the normally-overforgiving Commodore Hrelle might frown on something like that.

*

Misha strode up to his mother, covered in mud and dirt and grinning. “Hi, Mama!”

Kami turned, cradling Sreen and offering her son a stern expression. “Where have you been? And what have you been doing?”

He started as Gyver followed closely behind him, the black-maned equinoid explaining a little sheepishly, “Counselor, I regret to inform you that there was a minor altercation between Master Misha and a couple of local colonist children.”

Kami’s pulse quickened. “Altercation? You mean a fight?”

“Yep!” Misha responded, still grinning, crossing his arms. “And I beat them!”

Sreen sensed her mother’s change of mind and began mewling, but Kami ignored her to glare down at the cub. “Take that smile off your face right this instant, Mister! Do you expect me to be proud that you got into a fight with other cubs?”

Misha’s expression of triumph quickly deflated like a balloon, and he lowered his arms as he explained, “B-But- They were making fun of Starfleet! Of me and you and Papa and Godmama and-”

She raised a finger to cut him off. “Number One: you are not in Starfleet! And you never will be, if I have me way! Number Two: those of us who are in Starfleet don’t care if other people make fun of us or not, and we don’t need you to defend us-” She tensed. “Did you use your teeth or claws? Did you?”

Now the cub appeared afraid, cornered. “No, Mama! I promise!”

Sreen began crying, but Kami drew her closer and purred, even as she struggled to keep herself calm as well. “Mr Gyver, where are these other cubs my son assaulted? We have to find them and apologise to them and their families before we leave.” She glared at Misha again. “And Great Mother help you if you’re lying and any of them have been seriously hurt!”

*

Hrelle missed his Ready Room.

T’Varik had graciously allowed the family to remain in the quarters they had occupied for so many years until they reached Salem One… but he insisted on employing one of the spare offices set aside for the ship’s junior officers for his own work.

But he missed his old chair. And desk. And the view from his window- well, T’Varik’s window, now.

On the screen – a smaller screen than his old one, he reminded himself needlessly – the ash-haired, bearded Vulcan male in a Starfleet uniform offered a slight frown. “Commodore, is there a problem? You seem to have frozen for a moment.”

Hrelle straightened up in his chair. “Sorry, Haluk, must have been a break in transmission. You were telling me about your ETA?”

“The Nash will arrive at Salem One in 4.9 days. I am endeavouring to keep the cadets occupied and out of trouble.” He raised an eyebrow. “I have been… mostly successful.”

Despite himself, Hrelle smiled. “Don’t crack the whip too hard on them, Haluk. It’s going to be a monumental task to get the station fully operational, not to mention offering the additional support to the other Sabres when they join the Surefoot at Salem.”

The Vulcan nodded in assent. “As the station’s new Academy Annex Superintendent, I must maintain standards… but I will restrict my whips for off-duty activities. On our arrival, we will need to transfer cadets, staff and supplies expeditiously.”

“Why? What’s the hurry?”

“A Dominion Battleship was fought and defeated in orbit over Colony Onniri IV. Unfortunately the debris contaminated the atmosphere with theta and polaron radiation. The Nash has been ordered to join other available transports already on their way to the Onniri system to assist in the evacuation of the colonists.”

Hrelle nodded, glancing at Zir, who was sitting quietly opposite him at the table, taking copious notes as she listened to the conversation. He had remained impressed with her ability to manage her duties as Adjutant, with minimal guidance from himself. Today, however, she seemed… distracted.

He looked back to the screen. “We’ll be ready. I mean, we’ll still probably be modifying the Crews’ Quarters on Deck 5, but at least there’ll be power and life support, and the protein larders were left full when they closed up shop. I have to check in with my Sabre Captains now, keep me posted if there’s any change to your ETA. Hrelle out.” As the screen went blank, he looked to Zir. “What is it?”

She was frowning. “‘Protein larders’, Sir?”

He smiled. “Salem One is one of the older models, equipped with food synthesizers, not replicators.”

Then she nodded in comprehension. “Which use base protein stores as their raw material to create foods. Guess I’ve grown used to replicators since coming to the Federation and Starfleet.”

“Personally, I don’t think you can tell the difference between synthesized and replicated food… and if anyone’s an expert on food, it’s me-” Then his smile dropped. “What else is wrong, Zir? You seem different since we left Scesity. Did something happen there?”

He watched her skin flush into a dark olive, and her scent changed slightly, but she shook her head. “Nothing, Sir.” She glanced at her PADD. “Captain Weynik on the Katana is waiting, Commodore. And then Captain Neheru on the Tangshan.”

He nodded, sensing her attempts to deceive, or at least deflect, the conversation, despite the obvious problem troubling her. So be it, Esek, he told himself. You can’t solve everyone’s problems. You can’t even keep your son from getting into trouble.

*

Misha ignored the knock on his bedroom door, pretending to be asleep, even as a part of him knew that there was no point. It wasn’t fair! He should have a lock!

The door slid open, letting light in from the main room and making him pull the covers up over his head and turn to face away, not caring who it was-

“Cousin?”

He turned in surprise. “Cousin C’Rash? What are you doing here?”

The coal-furred Caitian female entered, a silhouette at the doorway, her curvy figure accentuated by wearing slinky off-duty clothes. “Your Papa is still holding long-distance meetings with the people he’ll be commanding at the station, and your Mama is helping the new Counselor take over from her on the Surefoot, so she asked me to keep an eye on you and Baby Sreen for a while.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway as she regarded him. “I heard about what happened on the planet. Your Mama said she took your uniform and your playPADD from you. You wanna talk about it?”

He turned away. “No!”

“Good. I don’t wanna talk about it either. It reminds me too much when I got into trouble for fighting.”

Misha turned back. “Mama yell at you too?”

C’Rash laughed and shook her head. “No, this was before I started working on the Surefoot and your Mama was around. Before you were even born.” She drew closer, resting on the side of his bed, her voice soft and gentle. “I was just out of the Academy, younger than your sister Sasha, and I was feeling feisty and ready to prove myself. I was stationed at Deep Space Four, near the Klingon border, and Klingons would show up, looking for trouble. And when some of them visited and began making fun of me, of Starfleet and my uniform… I fought them. I even beat a couple them.”

The cub grinned. “Yeah!”

She shook her head, her expression and tone sober. “No, Cousin. I was wrong. There are good reasons to fight other people. But one of them isn’t because someone called you names, or called other people you know names.”

Now he frowned. “They were mean!”

C’Rash reached out and took his paw in hers. “It doesn’t matter. Words are just words, even if they are mean and nasty, and you can’t react by doing something more mean and nasty… especially if you face human cubs, who won’t be as strong or fast as you, or have claws and teeth.

When I was at the Academy training for Security, there was a human woman there working as an Unarmed Combat instructor, a woman as strong and capable as she was beautiful. And Commander Diana Prince always used to say to us, ‘Don’t kill if you can wound, don’t wound if you can subdue, don’t subdue if you can pacify, and don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it.’”

She smiled sympathetically. “That might be confusing to you. All you really need to know is that as much as you want to be a Defender, a Protector of others like your family and friends, that doesn’t mean fighting is the first answer. It should always be the last.”

*

Kami walked into the office unannounced, nearly bursting out laughing as she saw Zir there, looking up helplessly as she sat there across from Hrelle… who had nodded off, and had begun snoring. She looked to the Orion sympathetically, suggesting, “Next time ‘accidentally’ drop a PADD on the desktop. Or, maybe just not be afraid to speak up. ” Then she smacked her open paws together.

Hrelle bolted upright, snarling and glancing around, before tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. “Yes, well, Lieutenant, where was I with that memo to Admiral Raner?”

“I believe you were at… ‘Ssssssnnnooooorrreeee’,” Kami offered, crossing her arms. “Go to bed, Lieutenant, you’ve worked long enough today, and you’ll be even busier when we reach Salem One tomorrow.”

Zir started to rise, but then looked to Hrelle for permission. He just shrugged and added, “You heard the Boss.”

“Yes, Sir. Good night, Sir, Counselor.” Her green skin was still darkening as she rose, took her PADD and departed, smiling slightly as she passed Kami.

Hrelle looked to his wife when they were alone. “I’m losing her respect for me, aren’t I?”

Kami smirked. “I can’t see that happening, ever; she’s almost as protective of you as Sasha. But she needs to work past that, and not be afraid of standing up to you when necessary. Just as you shouldn’t be afraid to visit your former home when we arrive at Salem One.”

“I told you before-”

“Yes, yes, I know. But that’s for another day. Now, you’re coming to bed with me.”

Hrelle smiled and wiggled his eyebrows at her invitation.

“Sure, Stud, like you have the energy to raise anything more than that stupid grin of yours. Let’s go, it’s an important day tomorrow, and you have to be the Big Commode for everyone.”

He started to correct her again, but then gave up and rose. “What about Misha? Did you sort everything out?”

“With the colonists’ cubs and their families? Yes; we should be thankful that our son didn’t claw or bite any of them. But I’ve taken his Starfleet uniform off of him and told him he can’t wear it again.”

“Good,” he nodded, guilt twisting inside him. “I feel responsible: exposing him to the world of Starfleet, encouraging him to be ‘Captain Misha’, teaching him hunting and tracking, learning to fight and be the Protector of others.”

“He never needed that much encouragement in any of those areas,” she reminded him. “Growing up around Starfleet, facing dangers throughout, on this ship with the Vlathi and the Jem’Hadar, and on Cait with the Ferasans. And he’s had that instinct to protect since literally before he was born. It’s not surprising that he might make aggression his default response. He just needs to learn to temper it.”

“Have you told him this?”

“Me? No, I’m in his bad books now… so I coached his Cousin C’Rash to tell him what he needs to hear, without him thinking he was being lectured.” She paused and added, “Not that she needed much coaching. She’s more mature than you might think, which will help when T’Varik’s nephew arrives.”

He made a sound and walked around the desk, slipping an arm around hers. “Promotions, transfers, cubs growing up, more cubs on the way. So many changes. Maybe too many.”

“You might be right, Husband of Mine. You should use your Q powers to stop time-” She frowned, shaking her head. “No, wait, I forgot, you’re mortal just like the rest of us. Guess you’ll have to live with it.”

He escorted her out the door. “On the other paw, it’s reassuring to know you remain a sarcastic pain in my tail…”

*

Zir entered the quarters she had shared with what was her Alpha Squad, knowing it would be the last night, before arriving at the new chapter in their lives. Around her, the Squad – Astrid Michele, Tori Emoto, Peter Boone, Stalac and Urad Kaldron – sat and drank. Even Stalac, the Horta with a tray of literal mineral water beside him. “Sorry I’m late, guys, it’s been-”

Astrid rose to her feet, still as impossible slim and attractive as ever. “Say no more, Fearless Soon-To-Be-Ex-Leader, just put that PADD down, take off your jacket – or anything else – and I’ll get you a drink.”

Zir almost objected, wanting to get ahead of tomorrow’s schedule, collating the data Lt Cmdr Bellator managed to extract from the Marauder’s shuttles and prepping the status of the rest of the Sabre Squadron.

But then she looked around, realised she had no idea when they would all be together again, even if they were staying more or less in the same sector, and would have frequent contact with each other. She would miss times like this.

She set aside her PADD and shucked off her jacket, accepting a glass of some blue liquid with ice from Astrid. “Thanks. What is it?”

“It doesn’t have a name, only a reputation. Just down it.”

“Slowly,” Tori advised, with a glass of her own. “Too much of this at once and you’ll burn away your ladygarden.”

Zir glanced into the contents of her drink, before sitting down beside Peter. “I heard about the fight Misha got into with some colonist children. Nothing too serious, I hope?”

The young blonde man shook his head, smiling wistfully. “Abby was scared. And then she was angry at him. And then she wouldn’t stop talking about how brave and strong he was. Kids get into all kinds of scrapes.” He looked at her. “You okay? Something on your mind?”

Yes, she admitted to herself. But she also admitted that she wasn’t going to burden others with her petty anxieties about working with a bully like Salvo, and maybe worry if she could handle the responsibility given her. She smiled. “No, just resisting the urge to keep working. You know what I’m like.”

“Indeed, Zir,” Stalac agreed, moving his body over his drinks tray to absorb some of its contents, the Horta’s combadge voder bolted to his side approximating some level of inebriation. “We must arrange a regular get-together on the station to ensure you don’t get so wound up that you snap on the Commodore.”

“Yes, Comrades!” Urad bellowed, reining in his drunken exuberance when he spilled some of his ale from his huge tankard. “We will make our revels legendary!”

“As someone who is legendary in other ways,” Astrid quipped, winking, “I promise you it can be a heady experience.”

Tori rolled her eyes. “I’ll never make Assistant Engineer hanging around you skidmarks.”

Zir grinned, forcing down her lingering anxieties. No, she wouldn’t ruin their night with her own problems.

*

The air was filled with smoke and a cacophony of despair: the wails of children, the cries of the wounded, muffled weeping.

He called out, or tried to. No voice.

In the dim emergency light, shadowy forms emerged from the ghostly haze: dark silhouettes against a glowing red background of flame. Hrelle

smelled seared flesh, felt heat on his face. He staggered onto the deck; the station was tilting sharply; stabilisers were failing. Life support would be next—if they had time. Hrelle silently ticked off the seconds. He had time, he had time-

Fire leapt at him from a side corridor, singeing the shoulder of his uniform; he ignored it and fought his way past the flames toward a group of frantic civilians struggling with armloads of personal possessions. One woman, her hair singed, her face severely burned, stopped in her flight to retrieve a holo she’d dropped on the deck and began to weep in panic as other items tumbled from her trembling arms.

“Leave everything!” Hrelle roared over the roar of flames as he passed them. Possessions meant nothing. Lives were all that mattered. And right there, right now, particular lives mattered most to him. Panic rose within him. They should have left, should have reached the escape pods. Maybe they already had.

No. He knew where he would find them. Where he always found them.

He stumbled into their quarters, his heart bursting in his chest, as he smelled their burning flesh before he even entered-

“Esek,” Kami murmured.

There was a sound of cotton tearing; it took a moment for him as he woke to realise the cotton was their bedsheets, and the tearing was from his claws.

He retracted them again, feeling his heart pounding in his furred chest as he lay in the dark beside her, shock and shame suffusing him; what if he had accidentally used his claws on his wife? “Sorry.” He turned his head to glance at the glowing constellation of the bedroom chrono. It was only an hour before he was meant to get up; his subconscious was getting more considerate.

“Leave Misha and Sreen to sleep,” Kami suggested softly, nudging him. “Go get ready. Get a big breakfast.”

“Oooh, joy. Shall I treat myself to a half grapefruit and cottage cheese?”

“I ordered the dietary restrictions temporarily lifted for you from the replicators. You could do with some comfort food-”

He was out of bed before she finished her announcement.

He was almost dressed and out the door when he heard his cubs’ door slide open, and Misha step out, rubbing his eyes. “Papa? Something wrong?”

Hrelle stopped and turned. “Nothing’s wrong, Misha. Go back to sleep.”

But the cub drew forward, clearly wanting his father’s reassuring closeness. “Mama yelled at me, said I can’t be Captain Misha anymore. She hates me.”

He breathed in, then returned to kneel before his cub, stroking the fur on his head and neck. “Of course she doesn’t hate you. She was just upset at the thought that you might have hurt someone, or got hurt yourself, fighting.”

Misha hugged his father. “You fight people, all the time, she no get upset-”

“No, Son of Mine, I don’t fight all the time. I only fight when there’s no choice, and I have the training and experience to keep from hurting people too much. I’d rather talk my way out of bad situations, find peaceful solutions; that’s what Starfleet really tries to do. It’s better when everyone tries to be friends first. And your Mama still gets upset if I have to fight.”

Misha grumbled. “Cousin C’Rash says fighting should be the last thing you do.”

Hrelle smiled, pulling back to look into his eyes again. “She’s right. And I’m glad to hear her say something like that. And don’t be too mad with your Mama, she loves you. Now get back to bed, remember what we tell you, and try and be the good cub we know you can be.”

*

C’Rash, standing at Tactical, kept her eyes ahead as she announced, “Commodore on the Bridge!”

Hrelle stopped tugging at his belt – it had somehow shrunk slightly following his breakfast, probably due to some subspace phenomenon in this sector – as he stepped forward, nodding to Zir, Sternhagen and Salvo, who had arrived before him and stood to the side, the first two nodding in acknowledgement as he fought the urge to continue to the Captain’s chair.

Its rightful owner now, T’Varik, turned to face him. “Your timing is impeccable, Sir. Would you care to take the centre seat one more time?”

He shook his head, his eyes fixed now on the viewscreen. They had dropped out of warp, and the starfield had stopped dilating, as if caused by the object in the centre of the screen: a top-shaped station, all dark industrial greys, old and utilitarian, its radiator shields and towers and landing pads retracted, along with the mesh for the Drydock, its lights dimmed to a minimal beacon.

Nearby, Sternhagen, still dressed in civilian gear, stared at the viewscreen. “It looks as cheerful and welcoming as when I last saw it. It’s comforting to know some things don’t change.”

Beside her, Zir looked to the human curiously. “Excuse me, Captain, but didn’t you live and work there for years?”

Sternhagen grunted, crossing her arms. “I’m not a Captain anymore, Kid. What’s your real question?”

“Well, Captain – Ma’am – if you didn’t like working there-”

“Why did I stay so long?” The curly-haired older woman shrugged. “It was my duty. It was a different time in Starfleet back then, a harder time, you kids wouldn’t understand.”

“The Lieutenant’s generation have faced their own travails, Kate,” Hrelle assured her. “They’ve had to step up from being cadets to being warriors, fighting the greatest enemy the Federation has ever encountered… and they’ve proven themselves time and again to be more than capable.”

Salvo made a sound – and Hrelle noticed a change in expression and scent from Zir at that, and how she kept her distance from Salvo.

But then his attention returned to something else onscreen. “Is that debris? Is it damage from the station?”

At his question, the officer at Ops shifted and focused on the right-hand side of the screen, displaying a cloud of wreckage, from a vessel instead of part of the station, Hrelle’s mind instinctively assembling the pieces together that he could see to identify it as, “Paserak.”

“Confirmed, Sir,” C’Rash followed. “One of their tribal ships, struck by phaser fire, presumably from Salem One’s automated defences, approximately eight months ago.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Hrelle noted absently, confused. “They would have picked up the warning beacons long before they would have gotten into weapons range. They wouldn’t have come near a Starfleet facility anyway. Not unless they were chased down here, had no choice and driven into the line of fire-”

A Tactical Alert broke his musings, as Bellator announced, “Salem One’s automated defences are locking onto us!”

“Shields up!” Hrelle ordered – simultaneously with T’Varik – before he accused C’Rash, “I thought we transmitted our ID codes to power down their shields and weapons!”

“We did!”

“It could be a malfunction with Salem One’s peripheral sensor grid,” Sternhagen suggested, looking to Hrelle. “You’re the new Station Commander, you have the appropriate security codes-”

He didn’t wait for the human to finish, racing up to the Ops station, the officer on duty there barely stepping out of his way as he opened a channel. “Salem One: Command Authorisation Hrelle-4-7-Alpha-Tango, Clearance Level 10. Deactivate Sentinel Protocols, power down weapons and shields, reactivate primary systems and enter Standby Mode! Acknowledge!”

Interminable seconds later, an automated voice replied, “Acknowledged.”

But he didn’t let himself breathe again until C’Rash confirmed, “Salem One has stood down, Commodore.”

He turned and stared back at the viewscreen. They continued to draw closer to the station, the sections illuminating the outer edges…. and the wreckage nearby.

Hrelle kept his fingers tucked into his paws, feeling his claws extend instinctively, threatening to pierce his furred flesh. He understood the need to lock up Salem One and having the automated systems protecting it instead of leaving it vulnerable, instead of keeping it manned or taking it away. He just didn’t agree with it, with leaving a computer, no matter how sophisticated, possessing the means of defending itself to the point of being able to destroy a starship.

And if there was some glitch like they just experienced, and innocents were attacked, destroyed…

He felt his tail tapped agitatedly against the Bridge railing, and forced it to stop as he cleared his throat. “When the station was evacuated and put in Sentinel Mode, the systems were programmed to send periodic security reports to Starfleet Command about any alerts. I saw the collected reports; there was a Ferengi Investor-class cruiser, and an Orion blockade runner that made some near passes, seemingly testing the defences, before being driven off. There was nothing about a Paserak vessel.” He looked over at Zir. “Was there?”

She checked her PADD, shaking her head. “No mention, Commodore, and no apparent anomalies in the timecodes for the reports.”

“Maybe the station didn’t fire on the Paserak?” Sternhagen suggested to him. “They could have been attacked by an outside party while approaching Salem One? They could have been coming here, maybe looking for help, even from Starfleet, but not realising we’d closed up shop for the winter.”

“I’d still expect an incident to have been recorded by the station.”

“There’s no bodies in the Paserak wreckage,” C’Rash added. “Maybe they escaped in lifepods and were picked up by their own people… or their attackers?”

He nodded, thankful for the lack of casualties- but only for a second. “Scan the interior of the station.”

As the junior officers complied, T’Varik caught his attention. “You believe they might have bypassed the station’s security and boarded, Sir?”

“Maybe. The Paserak are sophisticated, amalgamating what they collect and trade from various races.”

“More likely they have looted the interior and departed in a second vessel,” Salvo now opined, the woman’s Nova Roman accent crisp and cutting. “What I have read of them makes them appear mere thieves and scavengers, no different to the Marauder scum we have in the Brig on this ship.”

“They’re much better than that, Lieutenant Commander,” Hrelle chided her. “I had a very good working relationship with one of their tribal leaders, providing vital sector intelligence when required.”

“That was a few years ago, Esek,” Sternhagen reminded him soberly. “Before your capture, before my resignation, before the War. Things changed for all of us, maybe they did for Maquadan Benjo and his people?”

Before he could acknowledge her point, C’Rash reported, “Scan complete, Sir: apart from the flora and fauna in the Park on Deck 5, nothing is detected… but, there’s interference from the Security and generator shields on Decks 7 and 8, and from the machinery on Hangar Decks 9 to 12 and Engineering Decks 16 to 18.”

Hrelle nodded at that; the security fields on 7, the energy screens in the Labs on 8, and the generators on the other decks always offered natural and deliberate interference. “We’ll beam to the Command Centre and run the interior sensors; they’re on a closed internal network, and won’t be affected by the interference. Once we clear it, then we can let the Engineering, Medical and Security teams follow to examine their respective sections. Mr Kitirik and his Science Team will accompany Lt Dassene, Ms Sternhagen and myself.”

“I will beam over first with my own team, Commodore,” Salvo announced, stepping forward and nodding towards the image of Salem One. “And ensure the Command Centre is safe for you.”

“Agreed… but if there is anyone unauthorised over there, anywhere, take minimal action, regardless of the provocation.”

The Nova Roman glowered, but responded with, “If you insist, Sir.”

Salvo strode towards the Bridge doors, when Hrelle added, “Hold it. Lt Shall, accompany her.”

The black-furred Caitian bristled. “Sir?”

“I don’t need accompaniment from her,” Salvo declared haughtily, seemingly rising up several centimetres in height.

Hrelle remained unfazed, however. “I don’t know if anyone told you, Lieutenant Commander, but I’m in charge here. I have a note from my mother that says so; you can find it pinned to my furry ass while you’re down there kissing it.” To C’Rash, he added, in Old Caitian, “Watch her, you have my full authority to take over if necessary.”

His niece started at his command and the use of their shared dialect, unknown to most Universal Translators, but nodded and replied, “Aye, Sir.”

Then he watched them depart, his mind looking ahead at the station, seeing the row of lights that represented Deck 1: Officers’ Quarters. The deck where he would reside. Again.

He could do this.

He could do this.

*

He did it, beaming over with his party after getting the All Clear from Salvo. He glanced around at the hexagonal-shaped Command Centre, a familiar environment – to his eyes and ears, anyway; even if the air wasn’t stale from the recyclers only having just been shut down for two years, then there would have been more than a decade of strangers occupying this pace.

Behind him, Zir, Kit and the Science Team immediately began accessing the various surrounding stations and running diagnostics. Sternhagen drew up to Hrelle, her hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket as the both of them stared at the main viewscreen. “Weird. I can still feel the slight shift as I walk over the break between the gravity plates beneath the floor.”

“Yeah.” He looked to Zir. “Lieutenant?”

The Orion looked up from the station she had occupied. “Internal security sensors confirm no intruders, Commodore.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He looked to Salvo and the Security Team. “Head down to Security and prepare the cells for our prisoners, then get some eyes on the rest of the decks.” As they proceeded, he tapped his combadge. “Hrelle to Surefoot: the sensors have cleared, send over the Engineering and Medical teams.”

“Aye, Sir. Counselor Hrelle has requested that the children and Crewman Gyver be allowed to visit the Park, while she supervises the move into your new station quarters. She also wished me to emphasise that she is moving all of your possessions into the quarters singlepawedly, without complaint or recompense or-”

“Yes, yes, I get the rest, Mother’s Cubs… that’s all good. Hrelle out.” A conversation drew him over to Sternhagen and Kitirik. “Something up, Kit?”

The young reptoid and former cadet looked up from his seat, his webbed hands still moving over the keyboard. “Forgive me, Respected Commodore, but I was reviewing the automated logs since the station was placed in Sentinel Mode. They… appear as expected.”

Hrelle frowned, watching the datastreams on the display before Kit… and not making head or tail of any of it. But he did pick up the tone in the young Science Officer’s reply. “‘Appear’?”

Kit nodded. “The logs from the last eight months appear to have been altered, with patches from other logs. It might not have been detected otherwise, but I am employing new diagnostic algorithms from Starfleet Engineering. The patches don’t appear to be connected to major systems such as life support or weapons, nothing to suggest the attempted takeover of the station, more like someone has attempted to cover a presence while they were here.”

Sternhagen leaned in, peering over her glasses at the screen. “What about our classified data systems? Have they been compromised?”

“Not that I can yet see, Respected Captain.”

The human grunted distractedly. “I’m not in Starfleet anymore, Lieutenant.”

“I can change that,” Hrelle reminded her, smiling slightly at her reaction, but he remained distracted by the revelation. “Eight months, you said? That would coincide with the incident with the Paserak vessel. Maybe they did somehow beam over to Salem One before their vessel was blown up, and then left when Paserak reinforcements arrived, clearing all traces of their presence as best they could?”

“Whoever attacked the Paserak must have been pretty overwhelming,” Sternhagen noted. “To make them desperate enough to come here, even for a short time.” She looked to Hrelle. “The Kzinti? The Orions? A new threat?”

He growled; there was little point in speculating who was involved in this mystery, until they determined what the actual mystery was. “Run deeper diagnostics on the command systems. Get me some answers. And let’s see what the other teams might discover.”

*

Deck 3 – Hospital:

Counselor Auger leaned against the side of the open doorway, glancing out at the empty corridors leading into the Crew Quarters. Everything was well-lit, the air was fresh, and there was the subtle but omnipresent vibration that told him they were on an artificial structure in space. But it was empty, unoccupied for years.

A shudder ran through him, as he acknowledged the feeling of what some Counselors called Disharmony Dread, or what his first wife used to just call The Creeps: the instinctive revulsion of something being out of place or context, not quite right. A station full of people and activity was acceptable, an empty station wasn’t. A dog barking was acceptable, a dog speaking Klingonese wasn’t. A clown bouncing around and laughing in a circus was acceptable, a clown standing silently outside your door at midnight wasn’t-

He shook his head. No, a clown wasn’t acceptable in any circumstance.

“Alex?”

Auger turned, unfolded his arms and approached. “It’s Alexander, Cowboy; no one ever calls me Alex, not even any of my wives. What’s up?”

Dr Masterson, along with the rest of his staff, was currently transporting their own equipment and inspecting what was left behind by the previous occupants of Salem One in the Ops Theatres, Isochambers, labs and offices for the Chief Medical officer and Chief Counselor. Now, however, he was leaning over one of the many rows of biobeds in the main Treatment Room, a tricorder in hand, frowning, his Old Western drawl garnished with curiosity. “I’m looking for a second opinion on something I found.”

“Well, it’s been a while since I had to do anything more medical than managing a panic attack, but…” He peered at the little screen on the tricorder. “What am I looking at?”

“The tricorder picked up organic residue on the side of the biobed; blood, probably. There was an attempt to clean it up, but it wasn’t entirely successful. It was only detected while we were running standard decontamination processes.”

Auger frowned, dredging up his physical medical training from the back corners of his mind. “Yes, that looks right. They probably weren’t as thorough as they would normally have been in cleaning up after themselves when they were evacuating Salem One two years ago.”

Masterson nodded. “I’d have gone for that explanation, too, except for two things: One, this residue is fresher than two years.”

“Fresher?”

As Masterson talked, his new Chief Nurse Eydiir walked up to him, standing on the other side of the biobed and listening silently.

“Maybe eight months ago,” he continued. “Not two years. And Two, the DNA patterns don’t match any of the individuals or races that had been registered at the station at the time of the evacuation. I haven’t a clue what might have left this blood-”

Eydiir reached out and took the tricorder from Masterson, glancing at the readout for only a second before announcing, “A reptoid race, similar to Gorn or Qarari. The ribosomes make it obvious.”

“Obvious?” Auger echoed, smirking.

“Yes, at least to me. For some years now I have administered the genetic and hormonal post-operative therapies for my friend Kitirik, a reptoid who underwent transgender surgery-” She handed back the tricorder. “Forgive me, as I am discussing actual work, it’s probably going over the heads of doctors.”

Then she returned to her previous duties, Masterson looking to his colleague and remarking with a smile, “She’s gonna make a fine Chief Nurse.”

*

Deck 16 – Engineering Deck One:

Chief David Sakai looked up at the Fusion Tower, a crimson-red THX-1138 reactor with Michel Corporation helium-neon laser fusion initiators, carbon reaction chambers and deuterium fuel initiators feeding into the lower two decks… and fell in love again.

In his Squab days, he had served on an identical station near the Sheliak border, and the Station Chief there, a beefy bearded Russian named Sergey Rozhenko, let all the new Engineering recruits practically crawl all over the systems, take them apart, put them back together again, ask anything, suggest anything, treated them like-

Well, basically Fat Sergey let them do all the work. But none of them noticed, or minded if they did notice; they got an education better than the years spent at Starfleet Technical Academy. And though many Gearheads like himself lived to serve on starships sailing into the Great Whatsit or fighting Klingons or something, and Sakai had been honoured to have returned from retirement to serve onboard the Surefoot during the War… he had to admit to feeling invigorated by returning to a duty so linked to his youth.

And he promised himself not to exploit his crew the way Fat Sergey did.

“Chief?”

Sakai turned and grinned mischievously. “Mr Nalack! Have you and the rest of my slaves finished all the tasks assigned to you already?”

The tall, slender Vulcan male drew up to him and stopped, his olive skin darkening as he replied, “Yes, Chief. And No, Chief.”

The Chief narrowed his gaze. “Mr Nalack… is your time under me spurring you to finally develop a sense of humour?”

“I fervently hope not. What I mean to say is that we have examined the life support recyclers, the radiometric converters and the transkinetic chambers, prepared to raise their efficiencies to higher levels, only to find them already working at maximum efficiency.”

Sakai started to reply, but then stopped and frowned, before asking, “Maximum? I expected the automated systems to do a serviceable job in the absence of actual crew, but… maximum efficiency?”

“Yes, Chief. In fact, there have also been some alterations to the flow regulators on the plasma coolant system which are definitely not as per Starfleet Engineering Regulations. That in itself should have been enough to trigger alarms in any subsequent diagnostic cycle.”

Sakai regarded him once more, before moving to the Master Computer, calling up the automated logs, and finding… “Nothing. All standard, normal. Nothing of note.”

He stepped back, glancing around, feeling anxious now. “Someone has definitely been interfering with our systems…”

*

Deck 7 – Security:

The force field lights came to life on the row of cells in the Brig, as Thykrill, standing at the control station, announced, “All systems functioning, Lieutenant Commander.”

Nearby, examining a phaser rifle taken from the Armoury, never looked up as he replied, “Very good, Ensign. You’ve improved since we last worked together.”

The Andorian bristled, but kept her reactions in check as best she could, unnoticed by the other Security personnel around her.

Except for C’Rash, standing nearby, surreptitiously watching how Salvo interacted with those around her. Ever since Uncle Esek gave her those secret orders, she had been on edge. Well, she had already been on edge with Salvo since meeting her, having judged her to be a formidable but arrogant and belligerent bitch.

Nothing she had seen since had convinced her to change her assessment. Now there was this obvious tension with Thykrill… and though the Nova Roman outranked them, Thykrill was one of C’Rash’s people, the Assistant Chief of Security, a good and loyal officer for some years now.

Enough of this shit… “Ensign Thykrill, will you please assist me at the Security Airlock? I’m getting some odd readings in there.”

The Andorian straightened up, appearing grateful to get away from Salvo. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

There were airlock corridors in Security that allowed ships to dock and physically transfer dangerous individuals, if transporters weren’t available or feasible. C’Rash waited until they entered one of them, and the doors to the rest of the station slid shut, before she asked, “Okay, Atiaro, what’s happened between you and Salvo?”

Thykrill stiffened, her antennae dipping and her scent changing slightly. To her credit, she didn’t deny anything, but instead tried to evade with, “It’s nothing worth discussing, Lieutenant.”

“Why not let me be the judge of that?” She sighed and rested a paw on the younger woman’s shoulder. “You can talk to me about anything. You were working with her alone on Scesity, trying to access the Marauders’ computers. What happened between you two?”

Thykrill breathed in, her turquoise skin darkening as she finally complied. “It wasn’t just me, Lt Dassene was involved, too…”

Minutes later, the two of them emerged from the airlock, C’Rash bristling, her black tail snapping behind her, ready to confront the Nova Roman… only to be distracted by the change in mood, as she saw the woman and the rest of the Security personnel checking their phasers. “What’s happened?”

Salvo barely spared her a glance. “We have detected activity in the Hangar Bay; someone is prepping the station runabouts for launch.”

“What? Contact the Command Centre, get them to lock down the Hangar Bay!”

“They have already tried, Stupid Cat! It has been overridden from Auxiliary Control!”

C’Rash slapped her combadge immediately. “Lt Shall to Surefoot: we’ve detected intruders preparing to launch with station runabouts, prepare for possible intercept with tractor beams!”

“Acknowledged, Lieutenant,” T’Varik replied crisply.

“Tractor beams,” Salvo sneered. “A coward’s response.”

The rest of the Security team stopped their preparations and stared.

C’Rash bared her teeth. “No, a response complying with Commodore Hrelle’s orders to take minimal action, regardless of the provocation. You remember the Commodore’s orders, don’t you?”

Salvo glowered back, tightening her grip on the phaser rifle as she snapped, “Follow my lead, Lieutenant.”

*

Deck 4 – Station Park:

Misha breathed in the thick, rich scents around him, familiar and unfamiliar. It was an interior forest, like the Arboretum on the Surefoot, but much bigger, allowing for huge clumps of trees and bushes dotted with colourful blossoms to flourish under artificial lighting, and added to the circulated air from the hidden vents. He could hear the chitter of insects and maybe even tiny birds or creatures that thrived here, and the gurgle of an unseen fountain or waterfall.

It was great, like being back home on Cait with his Gramma and Grandpas visiting the lush parks and reserves. It was certainly much better than that stinky cold desert colony planet, with those stinky mean cubs that got him into trouble with his Mama.

A salmon-pink drone, a box-shaped robot with stumpy legs and manipulator arms, was hunched over a plant, carefully snipping away dead leaves and adding them to a recycling tray.

“Ooh,” Abby cooed, drawing up beside him to watch the robot work. “Let’s go help him!”

“Don’t wanna,” he grumbled. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted his uniform back and not wearing these stupid cub’s playclothes. He wanted Papa to tell Mama not to be mad with him anymore. He wanted…

He wanted to understand what Papa and Cousin C’Rash told him about not always fighting.

Behind them, Gyver stepped up, a napping Sreen in her hoverchair gliding beside him. “Master Misha, are you not feeling well? Should I call for your mother?”

“NO!” He walked away from them, towards a small section of the Park that was clearer than the rest, with some sort of large plaque mounted onto the wall, and lots of writing he couldn’t understand.

“What’s that?” Abby asked, as she and the rest of them joined Misha.

“It is a memorial,” Gyver explained.

“What’s that?”

“Something that is made or built so that others can remember someone or something. In this case, this is to remember a day, fourteen years ago, when a group of criminals attacked this station, and the crew of the starship Furyk. Many tragically died on that day.”

“How?”

The equinoid rested a three-fingered hand on her shoulder, responding softly, “It doesn’t matter, Miss Abby. What matters is that the men and women who died meant a great deal to the people who lived here, and so they made this memorial to them. So anyone who comes visiting the Park will know about them.”

“Papa was Captain of the Furyk,” Misha informed them, staring up at the plaque now with greater meaning. “Mama told me he used to live here with Sasha and Sasha’s human Mama. Then Sasha’s human Mama died. Mama says he’s sad to come back here-“

His nose and ears twitched as he picked up… something. He looked back towards a dark clump of overgrown foliage around a large Terran tree, and started towards it in investigation.

“Master Misha, where are you going?” Gyver asked.

He kept his eyes fixed ahead, but replied over his shoulder with, “I have to go wee wee!”

Abby giggled.

Gyver pointed back to the Park entrance. “There are public hygiene chambers out on Broadway!”

“It’s wee wee, not poo poo, the plants like it!” He ignored them as he moved around out of their sight, blocking out the distracting sensory input, remembering the training from his Papa and Cousin. There was someone hiding, watching them. He was sure of it.

A part of him wondered if he should say something to Gyver, he was a grown-up, and in charge… and he still felt guilty about getting Gyver in trouble for running off with Abby on the Stinky Planet-

Then he froze as he saw the movement he was seeking, and leapt into the foliage, extending his claws and baring his teeth.

He stopped as he saw and smelled the reptoid, similar to his friend Kit on the Surefoot: about his height, wearing burgundy robes, with mottled green skin and cloudy eyes and a snout drawn back to reveal twin rows of sharp gleaming teeth as it took a defensive posture and hissed.

Immediately, deep terrible memories returned to Misha’s brain- The Snakes! The Snakes that hurt him and Mama and Sasha a gazillion years ago! They still came to him, sometimes, in nightmares. He growled, ready to fight-

No! No, he couldn’t! He promised he wouldn’t! Fighting had to be the last choice, not the first!

He stopped being scared, retracted his claws and straightened up, holding up his paws and smiling, pushing aside his fear. “Hi! I’m Misha! What’s your name?”

The reptoid continued to hiss, and for a moment, Misha wondered if he was an animal that lived here- no, that was stupid, he was wearing clothes! But could he understand him?

He reached into his pocket and took out what was left of his bag of Claw Flakes, which he had somehow managed not to finish off before now, opening them. “You want one? They’re tasty, even if they are good for you.” He drew one out, offering it to the other, before offering, “I won’t hurt you. I wanna be friends.” He popped the Claw Flake into his mouth and chewed away.

The reptoid’s milky eyes seemed to dissipate, leaving bronze bulbs with black vertical slits, as she asked, “Can I have one, please?”

Moments later, Gyver and Abby were startled by the return of Misha… and someone else, Misha smiling and announcing, “Look! I made a friend! Her name is Abracosa! She’s living here with her tribe!”

*

Salvo led the way, moving down the corridor, phaser rifle in hand, senses attuned and feeling more alive than she had done in a while, as her mind recalled the layout ahead of her: Deck 12, Station Starboard, the ground level of the Hangar Bay. If there was anyone hiding on the station, then it would be here: access to Launch Control, Decontamination Rooms, Mission Ready Rooms, the Hangar Bay Chief’s Office, Auxiliary Control, weapons lockers, tools lockers, and of course the shuttles that had been left behind.

Though she would never admit it to anyone, she was grateful to that fat furry pussycat Hrelle, for appointing her to this prestigious role. He had been right, back on Deep Space Nine: the War had ended, and Starfleet could now afford to descend into weakness and complacency, and leave her to wallow among the peasants and mongrels. This was a lifeline-

“Lieutenant Commander,” came the murmur behind her.

Salvo paused, turning in place to glare and mouth, “Quiet, Stupid Cat!”

It was the black-furred Caitian C’Rash Shall from the Surefoot… Hrelle’s niece, obviously in such a position of responsibility because of nepotism. She was armed, and had been carrying a Security tricorder as well, but was now holstering the latter. “Tricorder sensors are being blocked by something down here, Lieutenant Commander, but I can smell and hear about twenty bodies, maybe more, ahead of us. Don’t know the race.”

Salvo grunted – secretly admiring the acuity of Caitian senses – before motioning to the others on her team, a mix of ones who would serve under her, and ones who would remain with Shall on the Surefoot. A motley menagerie of aliens, including that moron Thykrill, though some appeared useful – like the pachydermoid Ensign Kaldron, a huge if insipid-seeming junior officer bringing up the rear. Her voice low, she gestured to the other side of the corridor. “Two flanks, either side, on my signal we go in, taking positions and firing-”

“No warning?” C’Rash questioned. “Standard Security Protocols-”

“We have been invaded!” Salvo snarled through clenched teeth. “What if it was Jem’Hadar? Did you follow Standard Security Protocols in the War, Stupid Cat?”

Shall bristled. “It’s not Jem’Hadar; I know what they smell like. And we’re not at War anymore. And Commodore Hrelle explicitly ordered you to take minimal action.” She paused before adding, shifting slightly to accentuate the phaser in her paw, “And he ordered me specifically to watch you… and to take over… if necessary.”

Salvo grunted. Of course the fat fool would do something like that. Clearly he still didn’t trust her. It was insulting. Finally she nodded. “That will not be required, Lieutenant. Of course I had no intention of taking more than minimal action; clearly you misunderstood my instructions. Two flanks, either side, phasers on Stun, do not fire unless fired upon.” She offered a challenging glare at Shall. “Will that satisfy you and your uncle, Cat?”

Shall bared her teeth. “That’s Lieutenant Cat to you… Ma’am.” She nodded behind her to the others, who followed the others and formed two lines on either side of the corridor, Shall joining the other side as they drew closer to the opening.

Closer now, Salvo could feel the stronger circulation of air in what would be the much larger enclosure of the Hangar Bay, smelled lubricants and chemicals and residual embers of metals cut or welded together by industrial phasers. And there was an agitated conversation, echoing.

Salvo tensed. “Get ready-”

“No!” C’Rash interjected, ears twitching. “I can hear them speaking, my Universal Translator understands them! They’re not raiders! They’re arguing… one of their children is missing, somewhere on the station! They don’t want to evacuate without her!”

She handed her phaser to Thykrill and stepped forward.

“What are you doing?” Salvo exclaimed in an incredulous growl.

“My job.” C’Rash straightened up and drew closer to the doorway, calling out, “Hello?” As the noise from the Hangar Bay abruptly ceased, she continued, “I’m Lieutenant C’Rash Shall, of Starfleet. I know you’re there, I’m here to talk, that’s all.”

“Stay back!” came a sharp, sibilant voice, “We’re armed!”

“Well, I’m not,” C’Rash replied mildly. “I’m coming into view, my paws raised. If you want to shoot an unarmed person who only wants to talk, then that’s your choice. But I’m going to take the chance that you don’t want to do that.”

Now she stepped forward.

Salvo watched with disbelief…. and admiration. The Cat had guts.

And if she still ended up getting shot and killed, so be it.

C’Rash stepped into view.

Then someone shouted, “IT’S THE KZINTI!”

C’Rash ducked but kept her place as a red disruptor bolt shot past her, hitting the wall behind her. The Security Team watching tensed, but she glanced in their direction long enough to shake her head, before facing the interior of the Hangar Bay again, shouting, “I’m not Kzinti! I’m Caitian! And with Starfleet! See the uniform?”

There was a rumble of voices from the intruders.

And then the one who first spoke asked, “You are Caitian? Like Captain Hrelle?”

*

The reports were coming in thick and fast from his people from different parts of the station, as Hrelle and crew descended in the turbolifts to the Hangar Bay, Hrelle racing out ahead as he took it all in, before stopping to see about thirty, thirty-five Paserak, males and females, young and old, huddled together in the centre of the huge bay, a collection of confiscated weapons nearby, the unexpected intruders surrounded by Starfleet Security.

And Kami and Misha were there too, his cub waving to him as he announced, “Hi Papa! I made a friend, and didn’t fight!”

The obvious lead Paserak stepped forward on Hrelle’s arrival, protectively waving back the rest of his people. He wore elaborately-embroidered red and gold robes with tribal leader insignia, had his inner eyelids milking his vision in his people’s instinctive gesture of defence… but then uncloaked them, the reptoid appearing startled. “Captain Hrelle?”

Hrelle stopped, frowning. “Do I know you?” It had been ages since he had encountered any Paserak, but could only recall Maquadan Benjo with any clarity, and his offspring- “Turikana?”

He said nothing, though some of the younger members of his group couldn’t help but react. Beside Hrelle, Sternhagen drew up, peering through her glasses at him. “Is that Maquadan’s son?”

The Paserak male said nothing, but as he studied him more, the colours of his clothes and how they matched Maquadan’s tribe, it was obvious. He raised his paws and stepped forward. “Open Hands.” He continued as the young male relaxed, a little. “It is you, isn’t it, Turi? It’s been about fifteen or sixteen years since I last saw you or your father, but the stud patterns under your jaw, the markings around your eyes…” He smiled. “It’s good to see you again. But why are you all here? Where’s your father?”

He bristled. “He was lost. Lost to the Kzinti.”

“The Kzinti?” Sternhagen echoed, sounding alarmed.

“Yes,” Turikana hissed, looking to her. “Your people had shut down Salem One and left it long before, when our ship was pursued by a pack of Kzinti Raiders after we left Nepenthe. We fought and ran and fought and ran. They… they were relentless.”

“Why would they attack you?” Hrelle asked. “The Paserak have enjoyed neutrality throughout the sector, with the Federation, the Kzinti, the Nist. What changed?”

“We never learned. But whatever it was that had spurred them into attacking our ship, Father knew we could not reach our Homelands, and that none of the other tribes would assist us, so he ordered us to come here.”

“But you knew we had evacuated the sector,” Sternhagen noted soberly. “There was no one here to help you.”

“The station was here.”

“It was on Sentinel Mode,” C’Rash reminded them. “Locked down. No one could approach unauthorised without being fired upon. How did you manage to come onboard safely?”

Turikana didn’t answer, but dipped his head, leaving Hrelle to opine, “The Paserak have advanced technology, use their neutrality and their commerce to learn about other races, study their protocols.” He focused on the young Paserak again. “You were able to trick the systems, beam the survivors from your ship onboard.”

He looked up again, the guilt clear in his expression and voice. “Yes, and then co-opted your station’s weapons to destroy what remained of our ship, hopefully to deceive the Kzinti and make them leave. It worked.”

Hrelle nodded. “And you’ve been hiding here ever since, keeping a low profile so as not to attract attention, altering the internal sensors to hide your people. But why didn’t you contact the other tribes to come and collect you-” Then he remembered. “You said before that none of the other tribes would assist you. What’s changed with your people since I was here last, Turi?”

“Much, Sir. Our people have Schismed, no longer uniting for each other’s mutual protection. The details behind it are not a subject for Aliens.”

Now Salvo stepped forward angrily. “Show respect, Dog! You broke into our station, lived in our quarters, stole our food, power, supplies-”

“They also made improvements to the plasma coolant feeds,” Sakai offered, entering the conversation. “And kept the life support filters, radiometric converters, transkinetic chambers and other systems maintained at a higher efficiency than the robots. We’re still discovering other improvements, Commodore, but you should know they made our expected work here that much easier.” He tipped an imaginary hat in the direction of the Paserak. “My compliments to your people’s technical prowess, Young Sir.”

Turikana nodded in appreciation. “Many of us served as Engineers within our Tribe… and we could not simply take from you without giving something back.” He looked to Hrelle again. “Captain Hrelle – Commodore Hrelle – despite your allegiance to a military power, my father never stopped praising your honour and generosity, even after you were missing and presumed dead. We would not have violated your territory unless we had no other choice. As the successor to my father, I will assume full responsibility for everything our people did here. Please, spare the others, have them transported to some safe haven-”

Salvo made a dismissive sound. “Prisoners do not get to make bargains!”

“My new Station Security Chief is correct,” Hrelle agreed. “Prisoners do not get to make bargains. Fortunately, none of you are prisoners.”

Salvo looked to him now. “What?”

He ignored her, drawing closer to Turikana. “Your father’s support to me helped us maintain order in this sector more times than I can count. We owe him… and his son, and his tribe.

What if all of you remain here for now, openly, listed as Civilian Specialists, contracted to the Federation – not Starfleet – to offer technical and other support to the station? Most of our people and cadets will be focusing on manning and maintaining our starships, at least at the start.

I don’t know what problem might have arisen among the Tribes of the Paserak, and I respect your reluctance to reveal the details behind it. But this arrangement will give you the freedom and opportunity to plan where your tribe can go next.

You are so young to have to take on the responsibility of Tribal Leader from your father. But from what I have seen here, of your efforts to keep your people alive and not betray your principles, Maquadan would be so proud of you, his fins would probably stay red for days.” He held out his right paw to the young reptoid. “Shelter, Food and Protection, for Technical and Support Services… focusing on preventing anyone else from doing what you managed.”

Turikana looked back at the others… though Hrelle could sense that the Paserak had already made up his mind.

He clasped Hrelle’s paw.

*

Misha settled down into his new bed in their new home, finding comfort in Mama having brought over the bedsheets and pillow he had on the Surefoot.

After Papa took care of things with the Paserak, Mama gave Misha back to Gyver while she helped the Paserak settle in and get listed officially… with Gyver promising that Abracosa and the others her age would be joining the growing number of Station Cubs.

Misha was happy about that. He just wished Mama and Papa were here-

He sat up again when he heard Mama in the main room, thanking Gyver for minding Misha and Sreen and wishing him Good Night. Seconds later, his bedroom door slid open. “I thought you’d still be awake.” He watched her silhouette enter, carrying something in her paws.

He switched his light on, peering at what she had, his heart quickening. “My uniform!”

“Yes.” She set it down on his chair, then sat on the edge of his bed, curling her tail under her as she stroked his fur. “I’ve been talking with some of the Paserak cubs, and with Mr Gyver. I’m told that not only did you not act aggressively, you made efforts to be peaceful and friendly with someone you didn’t know. Doing what you did helped your Papa and everyone else. So, maybe you can be allowed to wear your uniform again.” She touched the combadge. “And this one is real.”

Misha’s eyes lit up. “Real?”

She smiled. “Well, it’ll let you contact Mr Gyver or me in an emergency, anyway… and let us track you more accurately on Salem One.” She drew in and stroked the side of her muzzle against his. “Good night, Son of Mine. I love you.”

He hugged her back. “Good night, Mama. I love you too.”

As she rose to depart, he asked, “I need a Captain Misha Meal to help me sleep.”

“Don’t push your luck, Sport.”

*

“Station Log, Stardate 54898.55, Commodore Esek Hrelle Recording: This is my first log entry as the Commanding Officer of Station Salem One, and I am pleased to say it is an optimistic one, with the addition of our Paserak guests to assist us. There is still the mystery behind the Schism among the Paserak people, and the reasons behind the Kzinti attack, both issues which could potentially affect our operations, but one thing at a time.

Speaking of which…”

 

*

Zir couldn’t help but tense as Salvo entered Commodore Hrelle’s Office, despite knowing the other woman had been summoned by their mutual Commanding Officer. Salvo stood formally before his desk. “You wished to see me, Sir?”

Hrelle glanced briefly in Zir’s direction, before leaning forward in his chair. “Yes, Lieutenant Commander. I want your assessment of the reports on these PADDs.” He selected two from a stack, set them side by side, and slid them towards Salvo.

She caught and picked them up, looking slightly annoyed at being asked to perform what she obviously considered a menial task… until she began reading them, alternating between the two PADDs, before looking up at him, frowning. “What is this about?”

Zir was curious as well; Hrelle had been circumspect about the reason for calling Salvo, and she was sitting up as well as he replied, “You can read for yourself, but since my Adjutant will be unaware and because I love the sound of my own voice, I’ll explain.

The report on each PADD begins identically: with a formal complaint raised about you, concerning your conduct on the colony world of Scesity, towards Lieutenant Zir Dassene and Ensign Atiaro Thykrill,  and about Lieutenant Commander Sextilis Magna Bellator. Conduct thoroughly unbecoming of an officer in Starfleet.”

Zir started at the mention of her name, and the memory triggered by the reference to the incident, but she steeled herself as Salvo sneered in her direction. “I am insulted that you would take her word over mine.”

“Lieutenant Dassene hasn’t contributed to the report,” Hrelle informed the Nova Roman, regaining her attention. “It was Ensign Thykrill, via her superior officer Lieutenant Shall. She detailed the insults you used against her, Lt Dassene and Lt Cmdr Bellator. I’ve known all the parties long enough to know who to believe.”

Salvo’s eyes saucered with indignation. “I have a right to confront my accusers-”

But then Hrelle brought a furred finger to the tip of his snout, making a shushing sound, as if his infant daughter was in the room sleeping, and lowered it again as he spoke in a soft – but still threatening – tone. “Save it. We’re not here to debate, or to waste time following Starfleet Regulations and go through a court martial.

I thought I had settled matters with you on Deep Space Nine when I recruited you. I gave you a chance, an opportunity no one else would, to stay in Starfleet and assume a role that was vital and worthy of your potential, that would let you retain some honour.

Clearly you haven’t learned enough of a lesson.

Now, at another time, I might have given in to my baser instincts and thrown you around the office like a rag doll… and don’t think for a moment that I couldn’t do it.

But I’m supposedly older, wiser, in a greater position of responsibility than I have ever been before. And I also want to be a better example to my son. So we’ll conduct this in a more mature, civilised manner, as befitting our uniform.

Effectively immediately you are demoted to the rank of Lieutenant.”

Salvo bolted upright fully, baring clenched, pearly teeth. “You miserable-”

He pointed in her direction, baring his own teeth, sharp and gleaming and lethal. “Don’t… finish… that. You’re demoted in rank, and your position in the chain of command will be beneath myself and every senior officer onboard… including Lt Dassene. You will also commence Counseling sessions with my wife, because despite your lauded strength and tenacity, I don’t believe you’re immune to the ravages of the War. And you will formally apologise to your fellow officers whom you insulted.”

He pointed to the PADD on his left. “The report on that one ends with you accepting this decision and complying with immediate effect.” Then he indicated the other PADD. “The report on that one ends with you refusing this, and being taken into custody for your court martial. And you won’t have the time or opportunity to resign before it’s filed… with a copy sent back to the government on Nova Roma. Good luck obtaining a position worthy of you back home.”

Now he rose to his feet. “Arcanis… a life spent battling others will dull and crack the sharpest blade. And while strength is admirable, it can be applied to more than just defeating your opponents. It can be turned inward, tempering your flaws… and ultimately making you stronger. You’re no longer a lone wolf, manning an outpost by yourself. You have people here willing to trust you, support you… if you can find it in yourself to earn that trust and support.”

Salvo tensed at his words.

Then she relaxed, a little, as she reached down and pressed her thumbprint against the first report, before half-turning to Zir. “I regret my words to you. They were not worthy. It won’t happen again.” Then she looked back at Hrelle. “I will speak with Ensign Thykrill after this.”

“And Lt Cmdr Bellator, too.”

The woman stiffened… but nodded. “Will that be all, Sir?”

His gaze narrowed. “Not just yet.” He indicated her collar.

She frowned once more, but then grunted in understanding, reaching up and removing her additional pips, leaving her with the visible rank of Lieutenant.

“You made the right choice,” he informed her. “I look forward to seeing you earn those again, and pinning them back on you. And then paying for the drinks at the promotion party afterwards to get you egregiously hammered.”

She assessed him, nodding stoically but offering a sly, “You will need deep pockets.”

Then she turned on her heels and strode out.

Zir watched as Hrelle continued to stare in the direction of the office door, even as he spoke to her. “Lieutenant, why didn’t you bring this to my attention yourself?”

She felt her skin flush with the question, and even as she responded, she recognised the inadequacy of her explanation. “I… I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle the job you’ve given me, Sir. Salvo wasn’t the first Starfleet officer to insult me.”

Now he turned to her, giving her a reproving look she hadn’t seen since… well, since her father. “That doesn’t mean you have to accept it; racist abuse is inexcusable, at any stage. Even if you weren’t representing me as my Adjutant, you deserve to be respected. You wouldn’t allow any members of your Alpha Squad to experience such treatment, would you?”

Zir felt herself nova from within. “No, Sir.”

“And what about Atiaro? She was counting on you, as a senior officer present during the incident, to report it on her behalf, if not your own.”

She felt shame twist inside her. He was right. He was absolutely right. She had been thinking only of herself… and even then, not in the way she should have been. “I’m… I’m sorry to let you down, Sir.”

He harrumphed, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll let you know when you’ve let me down, Missy. Now, it’s Quitting Time.”

“Sir?”

“Leave the PADD in your office, go to your quarters and unpack, then find your friends and go exploring or something.”

She shook her head. “Sir, I can’t stop now, I have to plan your schedule for tomorrow: the inspection tour, the conference call to the First Contact Team on Bandera III, the modifications to the new Academy Deck, the station shuttle tests-”

He tapped his combadge. “Commodore Hrelle to Ensign Boone: Lieutenant Dassene needs a night off from work. Can you and your friends assist?”

The young man’s voice sounded amused. “I’ll take care of it, Sir.”

“Thanks, Peter. Hrelle out.” He smiled… but then his expression sobered.

It was enough to make her ask, “Sir? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He glanced around. “This is much more expansive than my office on the Surefoot; many more places to hide my Snack Stash.” He waved her off. “Good night, Zir. See you at 0700 Hours.”

The young woman breathed in, grateful for his actions and reactions now. “Good night, Commodore.”

*

Hrelle emerged from his office a minute later and ascended to the next half-deck, seeing Sternhagen hunched over a console in the Command Centre, instructing some of the Engineering crewmen in upgrading one of the interfaces, before straightening up, pressing her fists into her lower back. “Well, Kate?”

She rolled her neck, turning to him. “Another headache, with the industrial replicators working overtime to produce the materials for the modifications to the new Cadet Quarters. I’m gonna have my work cut out for me.”

He smirked, sensing the change in her scent and demeanour. “So, I guess you won’t be rushing back to Scesity any time soon, huh?”

She made a sound, her attention seemingly caught by something else in the Command Centre.

He started toward the exit, calling back, “You’d be more comfortable back in uniform.”

“Baby steps, Esek.”

He chuckled and walked away, descending to the deck below, the Officers’ Quarters… but didn’t head to his new residence, moving instead in the opposite direction, along a path he hadn’t taken in well over a decade. Go on, Commodore. Kate, Salvo, Zir, Misha, Turikana... they all still adapt and learn. You can, too. You freed your entire planet. You helped win the War with the Dominion. You can do this.

For a moment he paused outside the door, trying to fool himself into not entering, out of fear that it was already occupied. But he knew better, having checked the manifest before leaving his office.

He entered his former home.

Time had passed, of course; after the Bel-Zon attack, after Hannah had been killed and Sasha had been shipped back to Earth to live with her grandparents, others had lived here, and then the last occupants’ personal possessions had been packed up and transported away after Salem One was shut down for the War. But there was still furniture here, which would be useful for whomever does move in.

He walked around silently, remembering those times when he had returned from a mission on the Furyk in the middle of the night, and was trying not to wake up Sasha or Hannah.

He looked at the corner of the doorway to the kitchen, where Sasha had run headlong into the wall and knocked out a tooth and it bled so much and he was more terrified than she was, and he had carried her out and down to the Infirmary, roaring for immediate attention for his crying tailless cub.

He looked at the bedroom he shared with Hannah, but didn’t go in.

He looked at the place where his old sofa sat, where Hannah and he would lie together listening to music and watching the holographic fireplace until they fell asleep.

He looked to the wall near Sasha’s old bedroom they marked to check her height… and where she would fudge the markings to make her appear taller than she was.

He looked again at the bedroom he shared with Hannah, but didn’t go in.

He looked in the bathroom where Hannah would complain about the fur he would always shed in the shower stall and where Sasha once wasted most of her mother’s expensive perfumes in the sink as part of one of her ‘scientific experiments’.

He looked in the closet where he used to hide the birthday and Christmas presents he would get for Sasha… and where he knew that she knew where they were, and would sneak in to try and scan them with her toy tricorder to work out what he had gotten her.

He looked again at the bedroom he shared with Hannah. And this time entered. The last occupants had their double bed in a different part than Hannah and he had, obviously preparing to have the head nearer to the window.

He heard the front door open, and a familiar set of footfalls enter and approach. He turned and looked at his wife. “How did you know I came here?”

She stood at the bedroom doorway, not entering, as if wanting to be respectful of not intruding on whatever thoughts he might have here. “My vaunted Caitian tracking senses.” She glanced around. “It was in here, wasn’t it?”

“What was in here?”

“Where you last saw her.”

Hrelle breathed in, before nodding and looking around again. “It was Sasha’s eleventh birthday. We had just heard from the CMO that we could successfully have a cub together, and I had been worried about how Sasha might react to having an addition to the family. But of course Hannah had already broached the subject with her, and Sasha had insisted on it being a brother… and she wanted permission to beat up anyone who picked on him.”

He smiled, and then dropped it again and looked around. “I’d received an emergency recall to the Furyk, but had come in here so as not to disturb the birthday party. Hannah had followed in, asking my opinion on where to put the crib: the wall, where the vibrations from the power couplings behind it could be felt and be soothing, or the window, so I’d have something to look out on when I was getting up for the late-night feeding and changing.” He looked to Kami again. “I was volunteered for that.”

“I bet you didn’t argue about it, though.”

“I looked forward to it.” He looked out again. “I was beamed away before I could tell her I wanted the crib by the window, so our son could look out at the stars, and see the Universe spread out, his new playground. See the life that awaited him.” The tears welled up in his eyes. “The emergency call was the Bel-Zon trap that killed my crew, and… and… I never saw Hannah again-I- I-”

Kami drew up to him, taking him in her embrace.

 

THE ADVENTURES WILL CONTINUE…