Nightmare Fuel

USS Katana, Triacus Sector:

Captain Weynik swung his legs out from under the sheets on his bunk and set his feet down, waiting a beat before accepting that his new one wasn’t ready to fall off. Not today, anyway. Tomorrow, probably.

He rose, showered and dressed, all the while examining the logs and updates left on his computer while he was off-shift: his First Officer Lt Cmdr Hrelle assigned additional crew to help complete repairs in the Shuttlebay, Chief Maryk reported a slight imbalance required realignment of the warpfield balance, Lt Jor-Dakk submitted recommendations for the crew to re-qualify for proficiency on the new compression phaser rifles.

And Commodore Hrelle confirmed the arrival of the Surefoot at Salem One, with some additional notes about new support staff from among the Paserak… which sounded like an interesting story to hear in person from Wide Load when the Katana arrived in two days’ time.

He moved through the corridors of his new ship. Although the Katana was overall the same size as his former ship the Ajax, the Sabre-class Katana seemed much more spacious, not being basically an overpowered flying cannon.

He nodded politely to the crewmembers he passed, some he recognised, some new – you can tell the latter, as they tried not to visibly react to his diminutive size. Don’t worry, people, you’ll get used to me. Or die trying.

He began smiling in the Mess Hall, as he met his mother and his children, waiting to share breakfast with him, Naida hopping off her chair to embrace him. “Poppy!”

He hugged his daughter back, looking to his infant son Jaxan in his high chair, grasping his bottle in his stubby hands and continuing to chew on its nipple but making gurgling sounds, while Weynik’s mother Tallus wiped formula from the child’s mouth and looked to her son. “No cane today?”

Weynik stroked the scales on the back of Naida’s head. “No, Momma.”

The Professor grunted. “About time. You were starting to remind me too much of your Grandfather Raja. But with a bigger rear end.”

Naida gasped… but then laughed aloud at that. “Poppy has a huge rear end!”

Weynik glared at his unrepentant-looking mother. “Your Granny said bigger, not huge; for ‘huge’, see your Uncle Fatso. Come on, let’s get some breakfast. Momma?”

She was reaching up to help Jaxan with the remains in his bottle. “Just a little bowl of maraba slices, please.”

“That’s not enough for you.”

She snorted. “Don’t lecture me about what’s enough! When I’m on site at an important dig, I’ve gone for weeks without eating! Now get moving, young man, you’ve got a busy day ahead of you!”

Naida took Weynik’s hand in hers. “Come on, Poppy, I want shuris sausages!”

“You’ve been hanging around Caitians too long.” Weynik ground his teeth; as much as he loved having his family around on a full-time basis after serving so long on a ship of war, it was still something to get used to, even without taking into account how he was still recovering from his injuries.

As Weynik and Naida returned to the table with their replicated food, Weynik set Tallus’ food down before her and asked, “Momma, are you sure you want to permanently move to Salem One? What about your next project?”

“There’s plenty of archaeological and anthropological opportunities in the Salem Sector, Weynik,” she informed him. “Ruins yet unstudied on Triacus, Axylus, Cignade, evidence of First Federation activity in this sector from over twelve millennia ago, a pre-Warp civilisation being secretly monitored on Bandera III… and no one’s done a study on the Paserak Tribal Migrations, for that matter. I might hitch a ride with them for a few weeks, or months.”

Weynik nodded, impressed if not surprised that she would have done her research. “Well then, I’ll drop a line to the Commodore and get you set up with a lab-”

“Why thank you, My Son, but I can, and have, already taken care of that.”

“You have?”

She smirked. “I’ve been at this Thing Called Life for decades before I had you and your sister Telka. Your friend Esek has already kindly had me billeted and listed as a Civilian Science Specialist, on call should my particular expertise be required by Starfleet, but otherwise able to divide my time between taking care of my grandchildren and working on my private projects.”

“Oh. Good.” He picked up his knife and fork, wanting to finish his morning meal quickly. He was still on reduced duty, pending his eventual clearance from the new Counselor, and the sooner he got that done, the better.

*

Sasha crossed her arms and leaned back against the Sickbay wall, shoving down the memories that rose, unbidden, about her times in an identical Sickbay back on the Surefoot, having suffered… so often. So very often…

Instead, she focused on her reason for being summoned here: the two male Lieutenants, one a massively muscled pale-skinned Terran, the other a sepia-furred Caitian, both of them lying on adjacent biobeds, being treated for their various broken bones, pulled and bruised muscles and cuts and scrapes. “No, no, no – they don’t need painkillers. They’re big, strong, strapping males who can take it.”

Near Nurse Okeke, the Katana’s new CMO, a young Klingon civilian female with swarthy features and a subdued set of cranial ridges, glanced over regretfully at Sasha. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Commander, I administered 20ccs of melorazine to them both before you arrived. I was not aware of your desire to punish them in this manner.”

Sasha smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, Doc, knowing these two dickheads, they’ll be back here before you know it and you can let them suffer then.”

The doctor nodded seriously and resumed her work.

Sasha continued to smile. When she was busy filling in the vacancies in their crew while Weynik was recovering, finding a new Chief Medical Officer was surprisingly proving to be the most difficult, with so many being assigned to hospital ships, starbases and planetary facilities to deal with the casualties of the War.

So she shamelessly asked her Dad for some Flag Officer pull, and he complied, albeit from a direction she hadn’t expected: one of the Surefoot’s previous medical officers, the Klingon Dr Kline, who had returned to the Empire following the War but had subsequently sent his niece, Dr Gisha Jiyajh, a medical practitioner in her own right if lacking Kline’s experience, to work and learn from the Federation and its many races.

And so far, she seemed more than capable, if a little more subdued than the average Klingon. It was probably just her youth, Sasha decided, and lack of interaction outside of her own sphere. So she focused for now on the two idiots on the biobeds. “Well, Dickheads? You want to explain how you ended up here?”

Lt Jim Madison and Lt Mori Mru barely glanced at each other, before both replied, unintentionally simultaneously, “It was nothing.”

Sasha nodded knowingly. “Nothing. So, you two weren’t competing against each other again playing Parisses Squares on the Holodeck with the safeties off?”

Both males reacted, her former lover Madison and her current lover Mru frowning as Madison asked, “How did you know?”

“Elementary, My Dear Jimbo: both of you are listed as off-duty now, so this won’t be a work-related accident. The injuries you both received are consistent with injuries that Parrises players typically suffer. And your uniforms aren’t damaged in those same areas, suggesting you were probably wearing players’ clothes, and changed out of them despite your injuries and pain so I wouldn’t figure out what you were up to and rip you two a new one.”

“You probably just checked the Holodeck logs to see what was running,” Mori grumbled.

She ignored the remark; so what if it was right? “You two have been having one pissing contest after another since Mori and I returned to Starfleet from Cait, like I’m some fricking Princess you’re trying to win over.”

“We’re not doing that,” Madison denied.

“And you’re definitely no Princess,” Mori confirmed.

“No… but I am First Officer to you both. And so, on that authority, when you’re not on duty, you’re both restricted to your quarters for the next week.”

Both males reacted again, Madison sitting up fully. “Just a minute, Sash-”

She raised a finger to cut him off, amending, “It’s two weeks now. Go on, either of you: say something more now. I dare you.”

Madison looked like he was about to. Mori made a show of not saying anything, as if to demonstrate how much smarter he was than Madison at seeing how annoyed she was at the whole situation.

“So spaketh Hellcat Hrelle,” Okeke quipped under her breath, the Wakandan woman smirking at Sasha.

Sasha didn’t smirk back at the continued use of that nickname… or at this ongoing situation. It couldn’t go on like this. It shouldn’t have been going on like this to begin with. They were all Twenty-Fourth Century adults here… allegedly. Sasha had never given Jim any indication that she wanted to start up with him again… or include him in her current relationship with Mru, despite the salacious rumours she knew were circulating among the crew about them (where in the Seven Hells would she get the time, energy or strength for that?)

And it wasn’t just Jim; Mori’s protective, possessive Caitian instincts always flared up around her former partner, despite their professional training.

Her stomach twisted… but not just because of this meshuggah situation. “Doctor, can I have a moment in private with you, please?”

Jiyajh looked over at her again, nodded and indicated the CMO’s Office, as they entered and the door slid shut, the Klingon announcing, “My apologies, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Apologies? For what?”

“For not anticipating your desire to make your crewmembers suffer while being treated.”

Sasha smiled; she knew Klingons could have a dry sense of humour, but maybe this one was just being nervous. “Don’t worry, Doctor, I wasn’t serious. I haven’t had much of a chance to talk with you after you boarded, I hope you’re fitting in okay, no problems?”

Jiyajh nodded, looking hesitant to provide the wrong answer – am I that much of a badass that I can intimidate Klingons? Sasha wondered – before finally responding, “It will… take some getting used to, but everyone has been very accommodating; my father’s brother Kline was correct about all of you. Thank you for accepting me into your ranks, and I swear I will not dishonour this ship or crew.”

Sasha nodded back; that sounded more like a Klingon talking. “I’m sure you won’t. But while I’m here, I’m hoping to get 20ccs of mertrexone.”

The doctor frowned in thought. “That’s… an addiction suppressant, I believe?”

“Yes, it is.” Sasha’s expression tightened. She knew most of the others onboard who needed to know about her condition did so, but Jiyajh was new, and this was as good a time as any to address it. “You probably haven’t had the chance to examine my record, but I have an addictive personality; cognitive therapy and diet have helped, but sometimes I need a boost to help with some of the recurring withdrawal symptoms. I usually get Okeke to give me the shot, but I’d thought I’d take the opportunity to bring you in on it.”

Jiyajh nodded again and moved to the medical replicator behind her desk, producing a hypospray and the requested drug, returning and applying it to Sasha’s neck.

Sasha breathed in, feeling the cramps and cravings dissipating quickly. “Thanks for that. I, ah, don’t suppose having a weakness like this would elevate me much in the eyes of many Klingons.”

The other woman seemed to regard this consideration, before drawing closer again. “All of us are flawed in our own ways; few of us have the courage to see or acknowledge them, even to ourselves. Fewer still have the strength to face and overcome them. And I have been at the receiving end of my people’s judgement; no others will be subject to the likes of that from me. Will that be all, Lieutenant Commander?”

Sasha regarded her back, smiling in appreciation. She was liking her already.

*

“Well, Captain, what shall we talk about today?”

Weynik leaned back in his chair in the Counselor’s Office, cradling the delicate porcelain teacup and saucer in his hands. “Well, Counselor, I’d like your assessment on the newer members of my crew. Are we making enough of an effort to promote esprit de corps?”

Dr Vestri mirrored his own pose with her own chair, teacup and saucer, as she seemed to consider his question. The peach-coloured Denobulan female was older, had prominent facial ridges running down either side of her forehead to her cheeks, an enlarged brow ridge under a high receding hairline, a vertical crevice in the centre of the forehead, and a ridged chin that now creased further in thought. “Try again.”

Weynik frowned as he delayed his response by bringing his teacup to his mouth and gently blowing on the wisps of steam rising from the amber surface of the liquid. “I’m worried about Sasha, how she’s coping with her own traumas and responsibilities. It’s a lot of pressure to put on one so young.”

Vestri drank from her own cup, smirking. “Really, Captain? Next.”

Weynik grunted. She really wasn’t going to budge a millimetre, was she? Well, then, neither was he. “As a Counselor, have you had to receive any additional specialist training to deal with post-War issues among Starfleet personnel?”

“Yes, actually – chiefly about how to deal with Captains who avoid facing lingering issues about themselves.”

He shifted in his seat. When he was at his lowest ebb after his injuries, and was leaving Sasha to recruit the replacements and additions to his crew, he had hoped for a young pushover for a Counselor. Surely the more experienced, formidable ones, like Kami Hrelle, would be busy dealing with far greater responsibilities than some piddling little Sabre like the Katana?

But no, the Universe chose to continue to torment him like a dose of Scale Mange, by sending him a woman with nearly half a century of experience in Starfleet, a list of degrees as long as his artificial leg. It was like being confronted by Kami Hrelle, but with less fur. “We’ve talked about me, my career, my injury, my recovery, my trauma, my feelings, and my relationships to my family and crewmembers following all of this. What is there left?”

She shrugged, setting aside her cup. “Your future?”

His black eyestalks dipped suspiciously towards her. “What about my future?”

“Yes, what about it? Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?”

Now he shrugged. “No idea.”

“What about five years’ time? One year’s? Next week? Tomorrow?”

The Roylan breathed out, setting aside his own tea. “No idea, Counselor, because there’s no point. I’ve given up on thinking about the rest of my life.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

He leaned forward. “Because unless you’re an El-Aurian or a Bajoran Prophet, then the future lies hidden behind a black veil, unrevealed until it’s too late and it’s been dropped on your head, and all the plans and hopes and goals you set yourself for the future are a waste of time and effort. Almost none of the most significant events in my life – losing my wife Fala, giving birth, the War, my leg – were a result of forward planning, but they were all enough to affect the plans I did have for myself.

We are all at the mercy of forces beyond our control, Counselor. Dust and debris pulled along by invisible gravimetric waves, with no knowledge or agency as to our final destination. Making plans for tomorrow is pointless.”

Vestri nodded, in that smug, annoying way that all Counselors seemed trained to do. “And you don’t think that adopting such an absurdist philosophy is not another symptom of your PTSD?”

He was expecting that question. “Of course it is… but that doesn’t mean it’s not healthy, or true.”

The Denobulan folded her hands into her lap. “And this is an outlook you would recommend everyone take?”

“Yes,” he replied simply… even as he grew suspicious of where she was taking this. Somewhere unwelcome, no doubt.

And he was right. “There is an old Terran expression: ‘Get busy living, or get busy dying’.”

“I know it.” Are all Counselors required to watch that movie?

“I had the pleasure of talking with your daughter the other day. Naida wants to follow in your footsteps, in your father’s and your sister’s footsteps, and join Starfleet and have adventures with you and her grandfather and her best friend Misha out among the stars. She wants to get busy living.

When will you break it to her? That all of her dreams are pointless? That she, like her father, her grandfather and aunt and friends, are all at the mercy of forces beyond our control? Dust and debris, as you put it?”

Weynik leaned back in his chair. “I’ll save it for her tenth birthday, and make it special for her.”

Just then his combadge chirped, as Sasha’s voice broke the silence. “Apologies for interrupting, Captain, but we’re getting a Priority One message from Commodore Hrelle at Salem One.”

“I’m on my way, Lieutenant Commander.” He bolted to his feet, not even trying to hide his satisfaction. “See, Counselor? Neither of us expected that interruption.”

“No, Captain, we didn’t,” she conceded, matching his expression. “But, like everything unexpected that crosses our paths in life, we don’t have to just give up and accept it. We can work around it, reschedule, adapt, compensate, and, if we want to badly enough, get back on course at our earliest convenience. You may leave now… but this will continue. I am the most stubborn grandmother you’ll ever know.”

“Clearly you haven’t met my children’s.” He departed, even as a part of him felt his pulse quicken. He still felt guilt over how he had spoken to his best friend in his trauma-induced rage, though not as much guilt as he had felt towards Sasha, though she seemed to have forgiven him. Would Esek treat him differently, now that he was Weynik’s commanding officer?

*

The middle-aged Caitian male’s sepia-furred head filled the desktop viewscreen as he peered at the two of them. “Lower the camera height again, please, Sash… a little more… more… sorry, no, I’m still only seeing the top of his head-”

Sasha reset the camera, leaned back and crossed her arms. “Putz.”

In the seat beside her, Weynik grunted. “It’s good to see that your promotion hasn’t changed you, Fatburger.”

“That’s Commodore Fatburger to you. I know you’re due to arrive at Salem One in 47 hours, but I want you to make a slight detour first.”

“Detour?”

“Yes. We’ve been examining the logs of the Marauders who had been terrorising Scesity, trying to gain some insight on the Orion Syndicate operations in the sector. We identified some potential connections with a private transport, the Incubus, Antares-class, with Rigelian registry. It’s been spotted 6.2 light years near your present location; intercept and conduct a Class V Security Inspection.”

Weynik nodded, as Sasha immediately picked up a PADD from the desk and began drawing up data. “Anything on the Incubus’ owner or operator?”

“It’s registered to a Hugo Hengist of Rigel IV, a private interstellar trader. No criminal record to speak of… but with the Syndicate, we can’t take any chances.”

“There it is,” Sasha reported, bringing up a sensor map on her PADD. “You want a surprise visit, Dad?”

“Yes – don’t give them a chance to dispose of any contraband or wipe their computers.”

Weynik nodded again. “Lieutenant Commander, proceed to the Bridge and lay in an immediate intercept course with the Incubus, Warp 9. The Commodore and I need some Quality Time alone.”

She made a sound as she rose. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Kami about you two.”

“She knows already,” Hrelle informed her. “We have an open marriage. Talk to you later, Runt of the Litter.” After she left, he focused on Weynik. “And how are you doing, Inch High?”

Weynik swallowed. “Managing, thanks. Esek, I didn’t have much time to talk with you privately, and properly, before you had to leave for your new command. I wanted to apologise to you for how I behaved, the things I said-”

Hrelle shifted in place. “You apologised already, Brother.”

“It wasn’t enough. I said horrible things to you- and if you knew what I had said to Kami, and Sasha-”

“But I don’t want to know,” the Caitian informed him, his expression changing, growing sober… and inflexible. “And I don’t have to know, and thus potentially have it affect our relationship. I’ll trust that it was all nasty enough to make you feel so obviously guilty. Which you have to live with… not me. If you still want to make it up to me, you keep my little girl alive and safe.”

Weynik paused as he felt the Katana shift into high warp, regarding his best friend, before finally nodding in concession. Esek was right; unloading on him might make Weynik feel better, but it could sour their bond. “I’ll keep you updated on this Hengist guy. He shouldn’t give us any trouble. Certainly not like the Cosmostrator did.”

The Caitian smiled with the memory. “A devious, beautiful adversary… and one I hope has had the sense to retire on her ill-gotten gains and not make another appearance in our lives. Stay safe, Brother.”

The transmission ended.

Weynik rose, straightened out his jacket and ventured onto the Bridge, still growing accustomed to the different layout, with a second seat next to the Captain’s for the XO, and more stations for Science instead of just backups for Engineering and Tactical.

Sasha had never taken his chair, though she could have, given the orders he had given her before he arrived; he was grateful for her consideration as he sat down beside her. “ETA to the Incubus?”

“6.5 hours at Warp 9.”

“Can we speed it up a little?”

“Not recommended at this time, Captain; Engineering are still working on the Auxiliary Structural Integrity Field Generators.”

He looked to her with mild annoyance. “And?”

She looked back, unintimidated. “And the Sabre Class vessels need both Primary and Auxiliary SIF systems for warp speeds over 9, or you risk nacelle depolarisation.” She paused and added, “You don’t want nacelle depolarisation, Sir.”

“Hmph.” We wouldn’t have had this sort of problem with the Ajax... Over his shoulder he asked, “Mr Jor-Dakk, do you wish to take the time before our interception of the Incubus to run some Holodeck Security drills for your team?”

“Yes.”

Weynik waited for more, before turning and looking behind him at the Tactical station, and the huge, stone-skinned Brikarian officer standing there. “Have you conducted searches of Antares-class transports before, Lieutenant?”

“No.”

Weynik studied him. He had never worked with a Brikarian before, but had heard much about them: their massive sizes, reinforced mineral hides, mega strength, and the general lack of body and facial communication compared with other humanoids. There was nothing about the apparent verbal minimalism, which Weynik put down to some quirk of the Universal Translator. “Are you feeling alright, Lieutenant? You’re not tired or depressed or anything?”

Jor-Dakk remained perfectly still, a living statue, with only his slit-like mouth moving as he responded, in that chasm-deep voice, “No.”

“Oh. Good. Carry on.” He turned around again, glancing at Sasha, who pretended to be engrossed in her PADD, with only a smirk on her face as he muttered, “I thought I’d never get a word in there.”

*

Madison entered Main Engineering in time to catch the tail end of one of the Chief’s Russian tirades. “Zhopu porvu margala vikoliu!”

He ignored the aches and pains he was still feeling – it had been a stupid idea to try to beat a Caitian at Parisses Squares – as he strode up to the azure-blue column of the warp core, to see CPO Helga Maryk leaning into the equally azure-blue face of Crewman Damix Xass, who was taller than the human woman but still seemed to shrink in size under her verbal assault. “Sorry about that, Chief!”

Madison glanced between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

Now Maryk looked to him, her gaunt, raisin-like face scowling. “What’s going on, Man Mountain, is that I have been given a baby’s idea of a warp core and a sack full of monkeys to help keep it running!”

Then she turned and stormed off, leaving Madison facing Xass, whose bald head had turned a shade of violet. “I said I was sorry, Lieutenant! But she- she was-”

He raised a hand to cut him off. “What happened?”

“I ran the stress test on the nacelle pylon struts, as ordered, and sent the results to-“

“-To my terminal, instead of the Chief’s?” Madison finished, guessing.

The Bolian nodded, explaining, “That’s what I would have done on the Lexington! You’re the senior officer in Engineering-“

Madison reached out and patted his shoulder. “Forget it, I understand. The dynamics here are… not typical for a ship this size.”

Xass swallowed, glancing in Maryk’s direction. “I’ve screwed up, Lieutenant, badly. She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Crewman.”

“Of course she does! She doesn’t have a nickname for me! She calls you Man Mountain, she calls Patterson Snowflake, she calls Dorsey Stumpy, she calls Ghissok Pigsy. Everyone, but me.”

Now Madison smiled. “Give her time. I’m sure before long she’ll be just as abusive to you as to everyone else.”

*

The modular, rectangular shape of the Incubus appeared in the centre of the Katana’s Bridge viewscreen as it continued along its way at Warp 5, in the direction of its registered destination, Epsilon Indi. Weynik breathed out, glad to have finally arrived. “Helm, match course and speed, but be prepared for anything.”

Before him, Lt Grel snorted and clacked his hooves, the young Tellarite male still sounding pleased with himself after returning from completing his Tactical Flight Operations course at Starbase 355. “Aye, Sir – but I think the most likely ‘anything’ will be them having heart attacks when we appear beside them unannounced.”

“Assuming that they haven’t detected us yet,” Sasha noted, turning slightly. “Mr Mori, any evidence of their reaction to our approach yet?”

At Ops, the Caitian male’s tail, sticking out of the back of his chair, swished with concentration as he worked his station. “No, Ma’am – your recommendation to intercept them from within their sensor blind spots and warpfield wake, was quite ingenious. They should call it the Hellcat Hrelle Manoeuvre.”

Weynik saw the slight flush in Sasha’s cheeks, as she avoided meeting her Captain’s gaze to reply, “I didn’t come up with it; it was a variation on a practiced assault move from Captain Kang back when the Klingons were at war with the Federation, pre-Praxis. Learn from your enemies… and former enemies.” Now she faced Weynik. “They will detect us in seconds, Sir.”

He nodded, impressed once again by her. “Hail them, Mr Mori, order them to come to a full stop and power down all systems. Any weapons detected?”

“Type 3 phasers,” Sasha reported, frowning at her PADD. “Standard deflector shields…”

Weynik leaned closer to her. “What’s up?”

The young woman set aside her PADD. “It’s probably nothing, Sir.”

“Go with your instincts, Number One,” he encouraged.

She pursed her lips. “I’m detecting chronitons from inside the vessel – dead centre, in fact, in a section of the Cargo Hold lined with energy conduits in the walls, floor and ceiling, like a Holodeck or a Brig Cell.”

“Chronitons?” Before Weynik could ask further, Mori reported, “The Incubus have acknowledged our hail, Sir, and are dropping out of warp.”

“Matching them as ordered, Captain,” Grel added.

“And now they’re hailing us, Sir,” Sasha finished.

Weynik rose to his feet and stepped away from Sasha, experience having recently taught him that sitting next to the tall human did not help foster a commanding presence in him. Too many giants in this Galaxy… “Onscreen.”

The image of the Incubus was quickly replaced by a hairless, pale-skinned humanoid male with wide eyes, snub nose and narrow chin, all wearing an expression of fear. “What the Devil’s going on? Who are you? What do you want with us?”

“Captain Weynik, USS Aja- USS Katana, and this is a surprise inspection, pursuant to Federation Transport Regulations. Identify yourself.”

“Hugo Hengist, owner and operator of the SS Incubus. Why have you stopped us?”

“I believe I already informed you that this is a surprise inspection, Mr Hengist. I want you and all passengers and crew gathered together in your Wardroom with immediate effect. Security teams are beaming over now to make a physical search, and we’ll be accessing your ship’s computers. Make no attempt to resist or conceal anything.”

Hengist looked offended at the notion. “Of course not, Captain! What do you take me for?”

I don’t know yet, Mr Hengist. But there’s something about you I don’t like. “Stand by. Katana out.” As the viewscreen returned to an exterior view, he announced, “Mr Jor-Dakk, you’ll accompany me to that ship. Ms Hrelle, you have the Conn.”

Sasha frowned at him and rose to her feet, looking down at him. “Captain, as your First Officer-”

Stop being so damn tall, Giraffeski. “Protest duly noted for the record, Sasha; I need to give this new leg of mine some exercise. You remember? The one I had to get to replace the one you chopped off?”

She crossed her arms, unmoved. “Sir, I should inform you that I was ordered by Commodore Hrelle, and Admiral Tattok. to kick your ass if you tried to get around me with attempts at guilt trips. They may have meant your proverbial ass… but to be honest, they’re weren’t too specific.”

He frowned – I wouldn’t put it past either of our Dads to tell you that – but then relented. “You’re to stay here and continue analysing those chronitons readings you’re getting, maybe put that new Science Officer of ours to some use… assuming the Squab can find her way up here.”

Sasha relaxed her pose. “I’ll draw her a map. Be careful over there, Sir.”

He nodded back and marched to the doors at the rear of the Bridge, asking Jor-Dakk, “Are you ready for anything, Lieutenant?”

He lumbered behind. “Yes.”

“Can you say more than two words at a time, Mr Jor-Dakk?”

“Yessir...”

 

Sasha watched them leave, before tapping her combadge. “Lt Holtzmann, report to the Bridge at once.”

The pause extended almost to the point of Sasha repeating herself, before a young female voice responded. “Really?”

Sasha glanced around, seeing the reactions from Grel, Mori and the others present, before she answered, “Yes, really, unless you want to spend your time in your quarters packing your bags again while I arrange for your replacement?”

“Ummmm…. No, Ma’am?”

She paused, listening, before snapping, “I don’t hear you following orders, Lieutenant!”

“No, Ma’am- I mean, yes, Ma’am! On my way, Ma’am! Holtzmann out!”

Sasha grunted, sitting down in the Captain’s Chair. “Damn Squabs.”

“She’ll soon learn not to cross swords with Hellcat Hrelle,” Grel quipped.

She shot him a look. “There’s still time to get you traded in for something less annoying, like a pair of flea-infested boxer shorts.”

*

Weynik started when entered the Incubus’ Wardroom and was face to face with Hengist. Literally: the Rigelian was the same size, and looked as pleasantly surprised to see him as Weynik had, and straightened out the lapels of his sober black suit. “At last, someone of normal height! I thought I’d never get the ache out of my neck from looking up at all these giants all the time!” He stepped forward and held out a pudgy hand.

I know the feeling... The Roylan meet the hand with his own. “Mr Hengist, I’m Captain Weynik. Apologies for the interruption to your transit, we’ll be as quick as we can. In the meantime, if your crew could remain here for the moment?”

“Of course! Of course!” He turned and looked at the dozen or so humanoids standing or sitting around. “You’d better make the most of this little interlude, you’ll be pulling double shifts to make up for this delay!”

“We need to examine your manifest and ship’s logs as well,” Weynik informed him.

Hengist turned back to him, beaming affably. “Of course! Of course! I can provide you access from my quarters! Come! Come!”

Weynik followed, looking to Jo-Dakk and his second, Crewman Emily Roth as he departed, ordering, “Proceed. Be thorough.”

“Yessir,” the Brikarian complied.

Hengist glanced behind him as he led the way down the high, narrow corridors, still smiling. “‘Thorough’, eh? I can’t imagine what we might have done to warrant such attention, Captain.”

“Nothing personal, Mr Hengist. What are you currently transporting?”

“We’re packed to the proverbial rafters with refined pergium ore from Sappora VII, to fuel the automated terraforming reactors on Nalnadus.” He stopped outside a door. “Zorin Interstellar will pay a 10% bonus if we can get it delivered in the next six days, so if we’re a little anxious to be on our way as soon as possible, I’m sure you’ll understand-”

“You’re not quite packed to the rafters, Mr Hengist. There’s an empty section on your Deck 3, with some high energy fields surrounding it. Care to explain?”

“That? Oh, that’s our Secure Unit, for cargo that needs additional shielding and protection for insurance purposes. But it’s empty at the moment. Check it out for yourself.”

“We will.” They entered Hengist’s quarters, Weynik frowning as he heard a barking from within.

Hengist cursed, his friendly demeanour momentarily dropped as he strode forward. “In the name of… you miserable little wretch!”

Weynik took in the surroundings – a spacious, opulent quarters with furniture designed for Hengist’s diminutive size – before focusing on the source of the barking: a squat brown-white Terran dog of some breed Weynik wasn’t familiar with, possessing wrinkled, flappy skin, drooping face, huge panting tongue and bright brown eyes.

Eyes that shone fear as it backed away from Hengist, still growling.

Weynik regarded the creature. “Who’s this?”

“Not who, what! And it’s a pain in the ass! That’s what it is!” The Rigelian cursed again as he picked up a shredded, slobbered shirt from the floor, shaking it at the dog. “Aren’t you, you little bastard? Well?”

The dog barked up at him – until Hengist took a step near his desk. Then the dog drew back… displaying a limp in its right foreleg.

Weynik looked at Hengist again, his voice taut. “I asked you who this is.”

Hengist looked to him, before moving to a drinks cabinet, reaching for a black, curve-necked Saurian brandy bottle and making a noise. “It belonged to my ex-wife, who saw a Terran British bulldog in some old video and wanted one for herself. She called it Churchill; I call it Little Bastard. She’s treated this shit machine better than she ever did me.”

I can’t blame her. “So why do you have him?”

“The bitch cleaned out our accounts on Rigel before I had to go on this run… so I took him with me for compensation.” He uncorked the bottle and reached for two wide-brimmed drinks glasses. “We’ll see if she’s willing to renegotiate a more equitable division of our assets when I return in three months.” He glowered at the dog, raising his voice. “Assuming he survives the trip. Isn’t that right, you little bastard?” He stepped closer to his desk again; the dog went silent and backed away again.

Weynik looked to the desk now… and saw a long black Klingon swagger stick on display.

His hands clenched into fists.

*

“Yes,” concluded the young human woman in Sciences Blue as she studied the screens at her station. “Definitely chronitons.”

Sasha blinked, waiting for more, before reminding the junior officer. “You get that I was able to work that out myself without your help, don’t you, Lieutenant Obvious?”

Lt Brianna Holtzmann flushed scarlet, her bob of honey-blonde hair a contrast to the reddening soft skin beneath, and she seemed to shrink even further in her seat – her discomfort probably not helped by having Sasha, Mori and Madison surrounding her. “Sorry, Ma’am. There’s definitely a pocket of chronitons emanating from a generator in the central section of that freighter, but if you’re looking for a reason for it being there-”

Sasha ground her teeth. “Yes, actually, I am! You weren’t assigned to this ship for ballast!”

Holtzmann looked up at her, frowning, her pixie nose wrinkling. “’Ballast’, Ma’am?”

“Never mind – according to the data we’ve received, it’s a vault of some sort. What sort of security measures would produce chronitons?”

The younger woman rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “They shouldn’t, Ma’am! Chronitons are usually a by-product of more exotic phenomena: temporal travel, wormholes, transwarp corridors-“

“Transwarp?” Sasha looked up at the others. “Could the Incubus be secretly equipped with a transwarp coil?”

Madison and Moru both made sounds, Madison adding aloud, “It would give smugglers a tremendous advantage, even if it was stable for only a few seconds’ worth of a getaway.”

“That’s idiotic,” Mori countered, looking to him derisively. “Do you know how rare and valuable working transwarp coils are? They could make more selling it to the Romulans or Orions than they could actually using it!”

Madison straightened up, clearly trying to demonstrate his superior size and height to the Caitian. “And have you got something better to offer to explain the chronitons?”

Mori matched him, baring his teeth. “Yes – a cloaking device, to hide contraband!” He looked to Sasha again. “Get Security to the location, we can direct a polaron beam to destabilise the cloak and reveal what they’re hiding!”

“And if it’s a transwarp coil you could overload it and blow up the ship!” Madison warned.

Sasha looked between the two of them, turning to Security Crewman Traykon Elegi. “Mr Traykon, have you finished scanning the records downloaded from the freighter?”

The young Bajoran male wrinkled his already wrinkled nose. “Yes, Ma’am, and compared it with the port manifests and schedules at all their stops for the past year: a few hours’ worth of discrepancies here and there, but local Customs checks can account for most of those. Nothing that stands out.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

He looked up, smiling. “My family runs a freight and shipping service; I know a few of these ports personally.”

“Thanks.” She began re-examining the scans of the Incubus, focusing on the power networks. “The chroniton density is thick, strong enough for a small transwarp coil, and the power being fed to it would support that… but I’d expect it nearer their warp engine and nacelle arrangement, for balance. It’s more likely to be a cloak, though it’s not on a design that I’ve seen with Romulan or Klingon cloaks, or even Caitian Prowl units. Lt Holtzmann, continue analysing the particle frequency, and keep digging for other possibilities.”

Madison cursed and returned to the Engineering station at the other side of the Bridge. Sasha ignored the look from Holtzmann and the others who had witnessed the reaction, as she strode up to the Ready Room door. “Mr Mori, you have the Conn; Mr Madison, in here, now.”

She didn’t stop to ensure he complied.

She listened to the door slide shut, barely waiting for it to finish before turning and demanding, “What the frick, Jim? Are you fourteen or something? You gonna have a fight with Mru after school while I keep an eye out for the Principal?”

The huge man seemed to shrink before her. “Sash-“

“I’m not done talking!” She felt her face turn nova hot as she approached, holding out her arms. “I didn’t go through all the shit I have in my life just to end up in some fricking soap opera with a former and current lover!”

He frowned in confusion. “What’s a soap opera?”

“I’m still not done talking! We’re all supposed to be professionals here! Twenty-Fourth Century Starfleet officers! Trying to do our job on a new ship, with Squabs looking to us for guidance! I- I-” She paused, her head pounding. “I’m done talking now.”

Madison’s chiselled jaw moved as he ground his teeth, deflating further. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Look, I know that we’ll never get back together again, okay? It’s just… It’s not been easy, seeing you and Mori around, so close.” He offered a self-deprecating smile. “You’re not easy to get over, Sasha.”

She remained unmoved. “Top Tip, Bubulah: blaming me for this won’t end well for you.”

He shook his head, his smile dropping quickly. “No, I’m blaming me. It was different before we left the Ajax, because at least the work kept me busy. But I can’t hide behind that here.”

His words made her start. “‘Hide’? Is there something wrong with working on the Katana, Jim? Is it Maryk? Some of the new crew?”

He rubbed his eye sockets. “It’s the whole dynamic here, Sasha. It’s okay for a CPO like Maryk to command Ensigns because of her experience, but the only reason I was there was because Starfleet Regulations for Defiant class ships like the Ajax that have overpowered Class 7 warp drives require an officer of Lieutenant grade or higher for authorisation purposes.

But it’s different here. The Katana’s Class 4 drive is perfect for its size, but it makes me overqualified to serve as an Assistant CEO, and the chain of command is skewed. And it’s caused problems for the new arrivals.”

Sasha stared at him, knowing what he meant, having seen some of the initial reports from Chief Maryk, which Sasha had dismissed as Maryk being… Maryk. Sasha had hoped that they could make adjustments, or that maybe Jim could move into another field like Operations or Security- but no, that wouldn’t be incredibly unfair on him. Jim was an Engineer, and a gifted one, too, and under other circumstances he’d have been CEO.

And now her annoyance was eclipsed by guilt, as she began doubting her own motivations for wanting to keep as much of the Ajax crew together in general… and Jim in particular. Whatever they had been in the past, he remained a friend now, and she wanted to take care of him. She relaxed her stance. “I should have seen this as a possibility, Jim. I’m sorry.”

But he shook his head again. “No, Sash. You had enough to worry about, getting a new ship and crew together… and I could have seen this coming before now. ”

Before she could reply to that, the intercom interrupted her chain of thought, as Holtzmann reported, “Lieutenant Commander, I think I might have discovered something.“

“We’ll be right there. Hrelle out.” She looked to Madison. “I’m gonna do right by you, Jim, I swear it.”

He smiled back. “I believe you, Hellcat.”

She scowled. “I’m gonna court martial the next person who calls me that, I swear.”

As they returned to the Bridge, Holtzmann turned and looked up at her, smiling. “Ma’am! The chronitons are being generated by a molecular phase inverter! It’s a device capable of altering the normal structure of matter-”

“Enabling it to become intangible and pass through matter and energy on normal phase frequencies,” Sasha finished, seeing it now.

That made the younger woman blink. “You know about them?”

Sasha nodded. “I’ve encountered the technology before.” She remembered her time on Vulcan years before after graduation, and her encounter with a Romulan Tal Shiar agent who used molecular phase emitters to create a field that let the agent pass through solid walls undetected. “But what is it being used for here?”

Now Holtzmann grinned, as if glad to offer something to her superior officer as she pointed to the scans of the Incubus’ Vault. “The configuration they’ve set up in the walls, floor and ceiling can alter the structure of anything within it, not only cloaking it from view, but making it intangible.”

“The perfect hiding place,” Mori noted, impressed. “You could walk around inside the space afterwards and never know something was technically still there, just out of phase. But if such phased matter was intangible, wouldn’t it now just pass through the hull of the ship and out into space?”

“Gravitons still have an effect on them,” Holtzmann informed him. “The Enterprise-D had two officers accidentally phased by a similar device about ten years ago; they were able to walk around the decks of the ship because of the artificial gravity in the floor plating and drop out into space.”

Sasha nodded in comprehension, peering at the screen, as if she could see through the deception before her. “And how do we bring the matter back to normal phase frequencies?”

“Well, if you’re patient, you could analyse the equipment and try and locate the specific phase frequency the machinery specifically used to convert the matter within… if you’re impatient, a high-intensity anyon beam projected into the room should bring it all back in seconds. Which would you prefer, Ma’am?”

“Impatient,” Madison and Mori answered for Sasha simultaneously.

Sasha shot them both dirty looks, before admitting, “They’re right.”

Mori stepped closer. “I’ll go over and take care of it-“

“No you won’t.” She looked to Madison. “Equip yourself with a tricorder and anyon beam emitter, corral some of our Security for backup, just in case. I’ll update the Captain.”

*

Weynik stepped up to Hengist’s desk and picked up the swagger stick. “What do you have this for?”

The Rigelian held out the second drinks glass to Weynik, then lowered his hand. “It’s a prize, won in fair combat from a Klingon merchant foolish enough to judge on appearances. Why?”

Weynik pointed it in his direction, his mouth curling into an angry scowl. “Do you use it on this dog?”

Hengist smirked. “Why the Hell do you care about some dumb animal?”

“I asked you a question, Mister.”

Hengist’s face paled as he saw the rising anger from the Roylan, and set aside his own drink now. “No! Of course not! It just sits on my desk, a souvenir! I barely touch it!”

Weynik glared at him some more… then turned to the bulldog and smacked one end of the stick into the palm of his free hand, making a short, sharp snapping sound.

The dog whimpered loudly in obvious panic and struggled to get in hiding under Hengist’s bunk.

Weynik turned back to Hengist. “He knows that sound. He knows what usually follows it.” Then the Roylan took the swagger stick in both hands and snapped it in half.

The trader’s jaw dropped. “What the Hell did you do that for?”

He threw the pieces of the stick aside. “Giving you a sneak preview of what I’m going to do to your arms and legs…”

His combadge chirped, and without taking his eyes or scowl off the Rigelian, he reached up and opened a channel. “Weynik here.”

Sasha responded. “Are you free to speak, Sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“Captain, the chronitons we detected from the freighter’s Vault are a by-product of a molecular phase inverter, letting them temporarily conceal things within it out of normal phase. I’ve sent Lt Madison over to find out what they’re hiding over there. What’s your status, Sir?”

As his First Officer spoke, Weynik watched Hengist’s reaction to the news. “Condition Green, keep me updated. Weynik out.” As the combadge chirped again, he asked Hengist, “Anything to say?”

The Rigelian stared hard at him… but nodded over Weynik’s shoulder. “There’s five hundred bars, gold-pressed latinum, in a shielded container in the wall directly behind you. Take it, keep it for yourself or share it with whomever you need to, to cover this up. Just leave what’s in the Vault alone.”

Weynik nodded with grim satisfaction. “Thanks for that. Now I can charge you with Attempted Bribery of a Starfleet Officer, on top of Animal Cruelty and whatever else we discover in your Vault.”

Hengist reacted again… looking disturbed now. “Leave it alone, Captain. Seriously. You don’t want to awaken what’s down there. We barely managed to get it secure!”

*

At that point, Madison stood outside the open door of the Vault, peering inside, his tricorder running on Maximum, while Jor-Dakk and several of his people stood behind him. The interior of the room reminded him of a deactivated Holodeck, all black with white gridlines running everywhere.

“Empty,” Jor-Dakk commented.

“So it appears, Lieutenant,” Madison muttered, confirming the frequency he needed, before holstering the tricorder and picking up his anyon emitter gun and making adjustments. “I have an uncle who enjoys performing magic tricks, sleight of hand. He used to fascinate me with how he could make a coin seemingly vanish.” Now he raised the emitter like a phaser. “But, like he always told me, ‘Don’t believe everything you can’t see, Jimbo’.”

He fired, slowly sweeping the emitter from one end of the room to the other and back again.

As he did so, he felt the air charge with ionisation, making the hairs on his arms and neck stand up, before a large black featureless crate, looking disturbingly like nothing more than a three-metre-long coffin appeared.

Madison smiled. “Abracadabra.”

Beside him, Jor-Dakk raised a huge hand and warned, “Wait-“

Bur Madison was returning to his tricorder, confirming there was a biological lifeform inside the container, with an environmental unit-

Then all Hell broke loose.

*

In Hengist’s quarters, the Rigelian collapsed, along with Weynik.

In the rest of the Incubus, Madison, most of the rest of the Starfleet Security Team and all of the freighter crew fell.

On the Katana, everyone who was awake dropped to the floor, Sasha grasping the Bridge railing to control her descent, as she stared up at the viewscreen, trying to speak, to voice Emergency commands to the computer, to do something, anything.

But all she could do was stare at a violent miasma of violet and white and black webbing, centring towards some sort of living organism that looked like nothing more than… than…

Well, a huge erection: a bulbous head on a long vertical shaft. A head with glowing eyes that bore into her judgingly.

The Counselor was going to have a field day when she hears about this-

Aliens

Her head filled with a booming voice, a voice in English… and Federation Standard… and Old Caitian and Yiddish? What the Seven Hells-

You are Outside

No, wait-

You are Disease

Who are you- what’s going on-

The Disease must be destroyed

Then she plummeted into darkness and disruptor fire.

*

At the outside of the Vault on the Incubus, Jim Madison was trapped in a Jefferies Tube, trying to escape, unable to escape, as he felt the walls slowly crush him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t beam out. His arms were pinned to his sides. This shaft would become his tomb. He would die alone, uncared for, forgotten. Panic was overwhelming him.

Nearby, Jor-Dakk stared down at the officer, lowering himself and checking the human’s bioreadings, shaking him slightly for a response, receiving none. He moved over to the others, finding them in a similar state. Then he rose again, tapping his combadge. “Katana?”

No reply.

He tapped again. “Captain?”

No reply.

He tapped again. “Anyone?”

No reply.

He scanned the environment for chemical or biological agents that might have been responsible for this, but none were detected. He peered inside the Vault, scanning the newly-apported object with his Security tricorder, detecting a powerful neurogenic field being generated from within. The box was a medical stasis unit, occupied. He couldn’t determine the specific race of the opponent.

But it was definitely dead.

And Madison was beginning to thrash out.

“Hmm…” Jor-Dakk declared, overcome with emotion.

*

Back on the Katana, in the Main Engineering section, Master Chief Petty Officer Helga Maryk clung to the edge of an ice-coated cliff face, the cold wind cutting into her face as she tried inching her way to safety… but she didn’t know where that was, anymore than she knew where she was.

No, that wasn’t true. She knew this place: Dinope, the moon she’d crashed on when she was a crewman on the Archimedes… forty years ago. So, so many died that day. She nearly died.

She had come back to die here, too. The cold… the cold would cut into her, slice and dice and leave glistening shards of the woman she was…

*

In Sickbay, Dr Jiyajh barricaded herself within the Isochamber, her heart pounding until it was ready to burst out of its own accord, as she pushed every movable item within against the door.

For all the good it would do. The transparent walls were lined with other Klingons, pounding incessantly on the surface with gloved fists, daggers, batleths, mekleths. Klingons she knew: brothers, nephews, uncles, cousins. Her father.

She dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball.

They had found her. And now they would kill her for dishonouring their House with her perversion.

*

In her office nearby, Dr Vestri struggled to meditate, to gain focus and control, and ignore the spiders. They weren’t real. They weren’t real. They weren’t real.

Not even the ones burrowing under her skin to lay their eggs and produce millions more to eat her alive from within.

Especially not them.

She had experience with telepathic violence, both as a Counselor… and as a victim, eight years ago, when she was stationed on Hurada III during a medical conference involving a group of Ullians – one of whom turned out to be a serial telepathic memory invader. She had dealt with the trauma… and learned to recognise the signs.

And this memory, from a horror video she had caught her son Yolen watching years ago when was far too young. Then she watched it herself.

But that was years, decades ago, back on the homeworld. She was in deep space, on the Katana, in her office, doing her job.

Except she wasn’t. She was in the Spider Catacombs in that idiotic video.

They weren’t real. They weren’t real. They weren’t real.

She screamed as she watched the spiders move under her skin.

*

In their quarters, Professor Tallus, and Weynik’s children Naida and Jaxan slept after a vigorous morning exercise session in the Holodeck. Already in a subconscious state and not perceived as a potential threat, they, and everyone else sleeping at that time, remained untouched by the telepathic attack.

*

On the Bridge, Lt Grel sat on the floor of his bedroom back home, staring in horror at his hooves, and how the Gheraach’s Blight, the disease that struck and killed his father and grandfather and uncle when he was a pup, had finally caught up with him, despite the reassurances from all the doctors over the years that they had caught and treated it.

He watched himself crumble and boil away like some pot of stew left too long on the stove.

Nearby, Mru Mori was back at the Ferasan death camps on the Motherworld, pulling disfigured, emaciated survivors of their enemies’ hideous machinations from the rubble, from the experimental labs. And they were all condemning him, condemning him for not saving him sooner, for not saving those who had died before he had finally arrived to help them.

Beside him, Lt Holtzmann was falling through the sky, passing through thick wet clouds to see the spectacular Canadian wilderness below: endless hectares of thickly-packed trees of dark green, framed by tall, craggy, snow-capped mountains. She should have been marvelling at the view. Instead, she was panicking as her orbital skydiving suit controls failed her, again and again, despite her frantic efforts. She couldn’t activate the emergency transporter unit or the parachute. She couldn’t call for help. She could only fall helplessly, count the seconds until she struck the Earth. And thanks to her damned brain, she could estimate it to the millisecond…

And at the centre of the Bridge, Sasha stood in an arena, lifted up her black Kaetini sword and swung it out, not knowing how she had found herself here, attacked from all sides by Ferasans, Jem’Hadar, Cardassians, Klingons, Romulans, creatures she didn’t even recognise. Never ending. Never ending. Kill or be killed.

And all the while, she felt her body wasting away from within: withering, cracking, like fruit left out under a merciless sun. It hurt. It hurt just to breathe. Just to go for a day, an hour, without something to take the edge off of living. Alcohol. Painkillers. Sex. Bingeing. Purging. Gambling. Something. Anything.

But she had nothing. Hellcat Hrelle was dying, and now it was a question of whether it would be fast, or slow, quick and painful, or slow and painful.

She should just drop her sword, her defiance, and let it all wash over her, and end this pain right here, right now.

Yeah.

That sounded real good to her…

*

Back on the Incubus, Weynik looked up at the wreckage of the ceiling of the Bridge of the Ajax, his lungs breathing in smoke and fumes and the scents of the dead around him. He tried to shift himself, to get to an escape pod, but his leg was trapped beneath a fallen bulkhead. He reached up, tried shifting it with all his might.

No.

“Lieutenant Hrelle!” he called out, his voice barely heard over the Red Alert klaxon. “SASHA!”

No, this wasn’t right. This happened weeks ago. Sasha cut off his leg and saved him. He had been fitted with a biosynthetic leg, had recovered… at least, physically. He had a new ship, new mission. This wasn’t real.

Pain shot through him as he struggled to escape again.

This wasn’t real… It was a nightmare. It had to be.

Unless… unless everything he thought he had experienced since this happened, up to the encounter with Hengist on the Incubus, had been the nightmare, some horrible wish fulfilment, like in that old Terran short story An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge. The crew had abandoned the ship, and him.

Good. He was ready for this. Dying alone was no problem. He knew that his children, his crew, would be taken care of. And, knowing how his life would turn out for him if he survived, it was for the best-

A bark made him jump.

He turned his head to see the bulldog, Hengist’s bulldog, toddle up to him, yapping anxiously, his stubby tail wagging behind him.

Bloody Hemra, what was going on?

The dog kept barking, turning and moving as if showing him the way out, and then returned and repeated the process.

Weynik coughed. “You- You want me to follow you, boy?” He chuckled, wincing in pain. “Sorry, but unless you can chew through duranium like they were slippers, you’d better get out of here. No need to die here alongside me.”

The bulldog whimpered, dropping to the bulkhead on his belly and crawling towards him, slobber coating his muzzle, big bronze eyes pleading along with his whimpers.

Weynik felt a pang of empathy. He had read about Terran dogs, their historical popularity because of their intelligence, their playfulness, their loyalty and tenacity. There was nothing like them on Royla, and those few times he had encountered others with canine pets, he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

He still wasn’t sure what to believe was real or not here… but as he held out his hand, letting the dog crawl closer to it and begin licking it with a huge, flat, rough pink tongue, he clung to the notion that this fat furry lump was definitely real.

The smoke was getting thicker. The heat was rising, and the flames approaching.

He pushed the dog away. “Go! I don’t care if this is real or not! I don’t want you to be hurt!”

Why?

Weynik blinked, looking to the dog… and remembering hearing that voice earlier, before he ended up here. “How can you speak? And in Roylan, too?”

The dog tilted his head quizzically. Why do you care?

“Who are you? What’s going on?” Weynik coughed, struggling to catch his breath now. “Stop whatever it is you’re doing!”

This animal is not of your race. It does not possess sentience. Yet you show concern for it. Why?

Weynik rested back for a moment, staring up at a ceiling that he wasn’t sure any longer was real. “My capacity for caring is not limited… to members of my own race... or their levels of intelligence. All life… deserves regard and respect.” He pointed to the dog. “Whatever… whatever reason you have for attacking us… this animal can’t possibly have done anything to deserve being harmed.”

You… are not like the others. The one who tormented this animal. The ones who took me.

Weynik looked to the dog again. “Who are you? I’m trapped in this… memory… but I must still be on the Incubus. Are you here as well? Did Hengist and his gang abduct you?”

The dog’s head seemed to develop an aura, and emanating from it rose a round, mouthless, hairless head on a long neck. I was Melkotian.

Weynik blinked. Melkotian? That was the last name he had expected. First contacted over a century ago by Captain Kirk on the Enterprise, the Melkotians were powerfully telepathic, and intensely xenophobic and isolationist. After Kirk impressed them with a display of mercy despite being threatened with death from one of the Melkotians’ psychic death traps, a peace treaty was established, though the Melkotians remained behind their borders, allowing very few visitors, and the Federation agreed to respect their territory and integrity.

A respect that criminals like Hengist, who somehow got hold of this Melkotian to obviously have his telepathic powers studied and exploited, never demonstrated.

“I… I am Captain Weynik of Starfleet,” Weynik declared. “I can help free you. You don’t need to continue this attack. Stop it.”

I cannot, Captain, not in my present state. What you and those sentients around you are experiencing is a natural defence mechanism triggered by a neurogenic field being generated by my mind, an uncontrollable reflex action, trapping those affected by it in nightmares pulled from their own minds, designed to lead them inevitably to their deaths.

You need to find me, find me and free me. And you need to hurry… to save yourself… and the others...

He swallowed, tasting smoke again. This felt so, so real. He was trapped, alone-

No. Not alone. And not trapped, not really. When Kirk and his landing party had been trapped in their own scenario, they had used Vulcan mental disciplines to reject what their minds thought they were experiencing.

He was no Vulcan. But he had strength. He had willpower. He had fortitude.

He was a stubborn bastard.

He twisted, ignoring the false bulkhead pinning his leg, and focused on the dog, who was now wagging his stubby tail excitedly, as if sensing Weynik’s decision, his determination.

He’s not trapped. He’s not disabled. Nothing can stop him. Not even himself.

The dog yapped with encouragement.

Weynik moved.

And moved again.

He helped himself back to his feet, thankful that he had two good legs, even if one of them wasn’t original.

The dog sat before him, looking up expectantly.

Weynik bent down and picked him up. “Oof, you’re a big-boned fellow. Bit like someone I know… but less furry and more cuddly-“ He stopped as the dog began licking his face.

Then he began walking-

-Until he stopped, finding himself in a nightmare… or at least, a nightmare different to one he had personally experienced.

It was a barren, muddy landscape, filled with long, tall, wooden posts, upon which were nailed or impaled humanoids. Thousands of them, stretching out in all directions like a forest of death beneath a lavender sky necklaced with a string of tiny white moons.

Bloody Hemra, the stench was mephitic… though the dog didn’t seem too bothered by it-

A bloodcurdling scream caught his attention, as Weynik turned to see the tiny form of Hengist, being dragged by tall, black-cloaked humanoid figures towards an unused post. He looked towards Weynik. “Help me, Captain! HELP!”

Despite knowing the unreality of it all, despite what the man had done already or how deserving he was of whatever grisly fate plucked from his own mind awaited him, Weynik stepped forward. “It’s not real, Hengist! Fight it! Reject it! You can do it!”

The Rigelian didn’t seem to hear, or if he did, didn’t know what to do. Other cloaked figures turned to him now.

This had to be stopped… not just for Hengist, but for his crew, too, before they succumbed to whatever phantasms they were facing.

He turned and ran out-

-Finding himself in one of the corridors of the Incubus, and when he looked back, he saw the door to Hengist’s quarters open, and Hengist still lying in there, spasming.

The neurogenic field the Melkotian was generating… approaching someone caught within it seemed to allow one to share in whatever illusion they were experiencing.

He had to end this.

*

Sasha should just drop her sword, her defiance, and let it all wash over her, and end this pain right here, right now.

Yeah.

That sounded real good to her…

So… fuck that. She never opted to make anything easy for herself anyway.

And she had been in enough actual fights to know that this was some fakakta dream or scenario or something.

She threw aside her sword, glaring defiantly at the faceless hordes surrounding her, baying and bellowing and beckoning her to continue.

She pushed past them. Dying was the last thing she was going to do…

…Suddenly she found herself in a bedroom, some adolescent’s bedroom – the posters on the wall and the many products on the nearby table for fur and hoof care told her it was a Tellarite’s bedroom – and she looked around, breathing in the thinner, warmer atmosphere of Tellar Prime.

The sobbing made her turn, seeing Lt Grel hiding on the floor in the corner of the room, curled up, his hooves in his face. “Grel?”

“Don’t look at me!” he wailed, his voice muffled.

She drew up to him, dropping to one knee, concern suffusing her. “What’s wrong? What’s happened to you?”

“The Blight! It’s killing me! Tearing me inside out!”

“Blight? What are you-“ Then she recalled a previous talk with him, when she was still a Second Officer, and her baby sister Sreen had just been diagnosed with Neurodystraxia, and he opened up about his own family. “Grel, this isn’t real! This is some sort of telepathic attack! I experienced something similar, dredged up from my own mind!”

He shook his head in denial. “No- No! It’s real! It’s left me hideous- dying-“

She reached up, took his wrists and drew his hooves away from his face, saw the scars and blotches across his snout and into the deep recesses of his beady eyes, and ignored them as she captured his attention. “Grel, you are not dying. But you are hideous, because you always have been, and always will be.”

He blinked. “What? You mean that?”

She nodded in confirmation. “Seven Hells, Grel, I know five truly ugly people in the Universe, and you are four of them! But it’s not because of any Blight, because you don’t have it. You are naturally unattractive. And your pelt stinks like my armpit after a marathon.”

Grel gasped, his eyes widening in hope at her use of Tellarite Banter. “Really, Sasha?”

She nodded again, smiling. “Yes. Now, get up with me and leave this behind. We have others around us, trapped in their own nightmares, who need our help.”

*

In the Isochamber, Jiyajh’s family was breaking in, their thirst to regain the family honour through her death almost palpable. She could smell their rage, feel the heat of their passions.

It would end, here and-

In the rear of the pack of Klingons, Klingons were falling. None of the others seemed to notice, as if driven by the exigent desire to kill Jiyajh. That in itself was noteworthy; no Klingon would just ignore an enemy attack from behind.

She sat up, and then rose up, fighting down her terror to see her family being attacked by… the ship’s Counselor? The elderly Denobulan female, Vestri?

It was. She was calmly reaching out and clasping her thumb and forefingers against the necks of every Klingon she could get her hands on, and every one she touched dropped like a sack of stones.

The surviving Klingons backed away in mute wonder, as Vesri drew up to the Isochamber door, drawing aside the door as if it had never been locked, a serene expression on her face as she smiled. “Hello there, Doctor.” She produced a small white device with blinking lights. “You might like this: a multiphasic wave inducer, for promoting meditation… or interfering with neurogenic fields, like the one we’re currently experiencing…”

*

Maryk clung to the edge of cliff literally by her fingers. They were going numb. She was going numb.

She would die here, as she was always meant to-

A blue hand appeared from the snowy curtain above and clasped her wrist, roughly dragging her upwards, like some angel…

…Onto the floor nearest the Warp Core, where Crewman Xass knelt over her, reaching up to open her eyes wider with her fingers. “Chief! Are you okay? I was…. I was back home on Bolius, on the Battlefields of Railo, and the Undead Warriors of Lixx were after me, trying to tear into my flesh… but then there was his horrible buzzing in my head, and I found myself on the floor… along with you and everyone else-“

She smacked his hands away. “Stop groping me, you degenerate blueberry!” She shook her head, glancing around at the rest of the Engineering crew, also on the floor, stirring awake, before focusing on the Warp Core Column, which was glowing brighter, though they weren’t moving, a sure sign of a static warpfield being generated. “Did you initiate that?”

“No, Chief!” Xass moved to the nearest status board. “It was triggered remotely by the Bridge!”

Maryk joined him, opening a channel. “Bridge! What’s going on?”

“We were incapacitated by a neurogenic field, Chief,” Sasha responded. “We determined that running a static warp field would interfere with it enough to help snap everyone out of it. But check everyone around you, in case anyone is in too deep… or has suffered injuries as a result of all this.”

“Acknowledged, Bridge. Maryk out.” She looked to Xass. “Well, Blueberry? You seem slightly less incompetent than I had initially thought. Check on the rest of our crew, while I run systems scans!”

The Bolian beamed. “Yes, Chief!” He had a Nickname from her!

*

Weynik let the dog walk the rest of the way down the freighter corridor, leaving him to draw his phaser as he made his way to the Vault, finding Jor-Dakk over the unconscious figure of Madison.

He rushed up to check Madison’s pulse. “Jim!” He looked up at Jor-Dakk. “Did you experience some sort of waking nightmare, Lieutenant?”

“No.” He tapped the side of his head. “Immune.”

Weynik glanced back at Madison, having expected being this close to have joined him in whatever nightmare in which he had trapped himself, but there was nothing. He noticed a slight mark on the human’s neck, and looked up again. “You stunned him?”

Jor-Dakk nodded. “Safer.”

“Safer? Safer for whom?”

“Himself.”

Captain…

Weynik looked up into the Vault, seeing the long black stasis chamber, rising and approaching. “I’m here…” He moved to the control panel, setting down his phaser. “I’ll have you free as quickly as possible, and back to Melkot-”

No. You won’t. I’m not alive.

He froze. “What? That’s- That’s not possible- you’re communicating with me- generating a neurogenic field-”

Were I still alive, I would have dealt with my abductors… my murderers… long ago. What you’re experiencing now is but a remnant of what I once was, a portion of my mind kept animated by this chamber to let them study my people’s abilities and exploit them, and kept under control until your people brought me back into normal phase.

Incinerate my body, Captain, and destroy any data on me. Leave no trace that can be used and, inevitably, abused. Preserve my integrity. And my dignity. Please.

Weynik stared at the top of the chamber. It seemed so bizarre, to be listening to the thoughts of an entity that was actually deceased. It was like he was back in another nightmare.

For a moment, he was tempted not to comply. There was almost nothing known about the Melkotians’ biology, their telepathic abilities. They could learn so much about this mysterious race-

That temptation faded like a dream, as he slid open the top panel of the chamber, controlling his reaction to the smell of the body, the eyes in the huge spherical head black like his own, but lacking any spirit.

Thank you, Captain…

He didn’t reply as he set his phaser to Maximum, stepped back, and swept a wide crimson beam over the corpse, watching it and the surrounding inner panelling of the chamber glow and disintegrate, producing acrid smoke that rose to the ceiling. Then he aimed at the control panel of the chamber itself, destroying it and whatever database it might have had.

Weynik holstered his phaser. I’m sorry that I couldn’t have been there when you were still alive. Rest in Peace. He tapped his combadge. “Weynik to Katana: Status?”

“Secure, Sir,” Sasha replied. “We were temporarily incapacitated by some sort of neurogenic field, but Lt Holtzmann came up with the ingenious idea of running a static warpfield to disrupt it.”

Then Weynik heard another female voice in the background. “No, no, Lieutenant Commander, I can’t take any credit, I was just doing my job-“

“Shut up and accept the compliment, Holtzmann, you’ll never know when you might get another. Captain, minor injuries have been reported, nothing serious… and you should know that your mother and children slept through the whole thing unaffected.”

He smiled in gratitude. “Thanks, Sasha.”

“Captain, I’m assuming that the neurogenic field that affected us also affected yourselves?”

His smiled dropped again. “You assume correctly, but the source of it has been… neutralised. Mr Madison was hit with a phaser beam on stun; lock onto his combadge and beam him to Sickbay, then assemble a team to pilot this ship to Salem One. Weynik out.” He turned to Jor-Dakk. “Gather up the rest of our people, apprehend the crew and get them into our Brig.”

“Yessir.”

As Madison’s unconscious form vanished in a transporter mist, Weynik frowned at the Brikari. “You know, Lieutenant, as much as I’ll appreciate the brevity of the Security reports I’m sure you’ll produce, I’d hate to have to wait for you to provide a comprehensive verbal assessment in a crisis, if you can only speak one word at a time.”

Now the huge figure turned to him. “I’m not as laconic as one might assume, Sir. Granted, I’m not the most loquacious or ebullient of personalities, but I prefer brevity. It reinforces a sense of security and strength.”

Weynik blinked; that was more words he had heard from him in one go than in the past two weeks. “Your voice is… softer than expected.”

“Indeed, Sir, and I’m cognisant of how many humanoids react to pitch and tone. It’s easier to keep it deep when I don’t say much.”

Before Weynik could respond, his combadge chirped, and Sasha reported, “Captain, a shuttle just launched from the Incubus and-”

“Get a tractor beam on it! Keep them from leaving!”

“…And as I was about to say before you interrupted, Sir, we locked a tractor beam on it. We’ve detected one lifeform onboard, Rigelian, and a large supply of gold-pressed latinum.”

Weynik grunted. “Beam the Rigelian to the Brig, and the latinum to Cargo Bay 6. And try not to get the two mixed up.”

“No promises, Sir.”

At his feet, the dog yapped up questioningly.

He knelt down and stroked behind his ears. “No, you won’t be going back to him again. We’ll get you back to your proper owner, and make sure you end up with someone who actually cares about you.”

*

“USS Katana, Captain’s Log, Stardate 53236.79, Captain Weynik Recording: we are proceeding once more to Salem One, this time with the freighter Incubus accompanying us, and her crew in our Brig. I have informed the Melkotian government of the incident involving the body of one of their own, provided assurances that no biological or electronic data that might have been gathered about their race.

I had also offered to arrange for the extradition of Hengist and his crew to them to answer for their crimes, but the Melkotians declined. Federation justice will have to suffice. And after dealing with them, I for one will be happy to get them off my ship and never look at them again.”

*

“Hengist.”

The Rigelian turned in the bunk in his cell, sitting up casually. “Hello again, Captain. I didn’t think you would accept my invitation.”

Weynik stood there, feeling the eyes of his Security Chief, and the prisoners in the other cells, on him. As he stared through the invisible force field at the prisoner, his memory brought back the images of the bioreadings taken in Sickbay of the bulldog: the cuts, bruises, internal injuries, cracked ribs. His hands balled into fists. “What do you want?”

Hengist stood up, approaching the edge of the cell. “2,400 bars of Gold Pressed Latinum, in a bank on Lissepia. Contrive a means of allowing my crew and myself to escape custody, and it can all be yours.”

Weynik grunted. “Another bribe? You’re wasting my time and yours, and unlike yours, my time involves more than just sitting in a tiny cell waiting to get tried and moved into another tiny cell.”

Hengist kept smiling. “If greed won’t motivate you, Captain, how about fear? The people who hired me to deliver the Melkotian body won’t be pleased to hear what you did to it.”

Weynik shrugged. “Bring them on; we’ve plenty of cells for them, too. I didn’t come here for any of that, Mister. I wanted to ask you something.”

The Rigelian held out his arms invitingly. “I’m all ears.”

“Why hurt the dog? I get that you were angry at your ex-wife, and that he might have caused you some small trouble on your ship… but neither of those reasons justify the level of abuse you inflicted on him-”

The rest of his words were cut off by Hengist’s derisive laughter. “Oh, wow, that’s rich! It’s true what they say about Starfleet! You’re all a bunch of naïve, idealistic, spineless children!” He drew closer, until his cell’s force field began crackling in warning at his proximity, his eyes wide. “Let me tell you, Captain: the Universe is a harsh, unfair place, not bound by notions of equanimity or mercy. I learned that a long, long time ago, when the other kids would torment me for my size, kicking me around, sticking me in lockers and garbage cans, spitting on me-”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Weynik told him, with some small sincerity. “Had you grown up on Royla, with everyone our own size, you might have been better treated. But that’s still no excuse for your actions.

Starfleet isn’t some club of guileless hermits. We’re fully aware of how terrible and hopeless the Universe can seem… and most of us, myself included, have experienced it directly. But we won’t let it twist us, won’t let it fuel a desire to add to that negativity; on the contrary, we strive to counter it.” He paused. “Something I’d forgotten recently.”

But his words didn’t seem to be reaching his captive, except to make him chuckle more. “Save the sermon for someone who cares. You won’t convince me that this life isn’t a crucible that grinds down everyone not strong enough to fight back… and that includes furry little bastards. I should have flushed that mutt into space on the first day… or had him for dinner, and then sent the bones back to my ex-wife.” He chuckled again.

Weynik stared hard at him, before saying over his shoulder, “Wait outside, Lieutenant. Let no one in.”

“Sir?” Jor-Dakk queried.

“Do it.”

Hengist frowned as the Brikari complied, before Weynik moved to the Brig control station and turned off the force field to Hengist’s cell, and now the Rigelian asked, glancing around suspiciously, “What are you doing, Captain?”

“You say the Universe is unstoppably harsh and cruel, and there’s no option for us but to just go along with the current, and be just as harsh and cruel. I say we can rise above that.”

He unholstered his phaser and set it on top of the station. “So let’s see who’s right. If you’re right, then I can use my authority and my power over you and my superior strength as a Heavyworlder and my superior skills as a Starfleet officer and a Roylan Warrior to beat you to death.”

Hengist’s jaw dropped. “You’re not serious.”

“But I am.” He crackled the knuckles in his hands as he drew closer. “You tortured that poor animal. I can do the same to you, only this time I won’t hold back. I can break every bone in your body.

Every single bone.

And then I can still set it up to make it look like I was defending myself.”

Hengist backed further into the cell, his face whitening and sweat beading down his brow. “N-No- You can’t do that- I have rights-”

“Not in the cruel, unfair Universe you believe in.” Weynik stepped into the cell, while Hengist’s companions called out in protest from their own cells. Weynik ignored them.

Now Hengist dropped into the corner, curling into a ball. “No! NO! PLEASE! DON’T HURT ME!”

Weynik stopped. “I won’t. I never would have, not really. Now, if you had attacked me first, that’d been a different story. But even then, I would have still held back.

The Universe, Life itself, is not fair, or unfair. It’s not ordered or chaotic. It’s not just or unjust. It exists beyond these concepts. But we can shape our own little corners of it, to make them worse, or better. ”

He departed to restore the force field and retrieve his phaser. “I just thought I’d give you something to contemplate to help you pass the next few years on whatever penal colony you end up at.”

He emerged into the corridor outside the Brig to find Jor-Dakk standing there passively allowing Weynik’s daughter Naida smacking his leg with a Zeroball bat, hitting hard while the girl laughed. “Bloody Hemra, what’s going on? Naida, stop that!”

She did, still laughing and panting from exertion. “Poppy! It’s okay! He said I could, to show how tough he is!”

Weynik glared at Jor-Dakk, who nodded. “True.”

He grunted, looking to his mother, who was standing nearby cradling Jaxan in her arms. “And you encourage this sort of behaviour?”

Tallus shrugged. “I would never discourage my grandchildren in the pursuit of knowledge, so long as they don’t really hurt themselves or others. Besides, it does look like fun. I might have a try now.”

Weynik reached out and took the bat from Naida. “Another time, perhaps. I assume you are taking my children to the Holodeck to actually put this sporting equipment to the use for which it was naturally intended?”

The family started walking, Naida taking Weynik’s free hand as Tallus replied, “Yes, after I try and get you to tell me a little bit more about your encounter with the Melkotian. I’m sorry I slept through the neurogenic field.”

“I’m not. I’d hate to think about you and my children having nightmares.” He looked down at Naida. “You don’t like nightmares, do you, Sweetheart?”

“I do!” she declared happily. “They’re fun! My favourite nightmares are ones with the Spider Clowns!”

Spider Clowns? he thought, deciding not to question it further. Kids…

*

“Lieutenant?”

Madison was emerging from a Jefferies Tube near the Aft Torpedo Bay, when he stopped and looked up at the Caitian male. He tensed, for a moment, realising what a vulnerable position he was in just now… but then cast aside such thoughts as he helped himself out of the Tube and stood up, determined to learn from his mistakes and act professionally. “Can I help you, Mr Mori?”

“Yes.” Mori glanced around, as if confirming no one else was in the corridor, his tail twitching. “You… You can be gracious enough to accept my apology for how I’ve been behaving around you. I have not acted in either a mature or a professional manner.” His voice dropped. “Caitian males are taught from cubhood to curb any hormone-driven notions that females are possessions to be kept or won.

Nevertheless I am… insecure… about the state of my relationship with Sasha, now that she has been promoted, and been given her increased responsibilities, and all the pressures of her having to deal with her problems and I can’t do more than just be there for her. But I had no right to let my insecurities reflect with how I deal with others. Especially you, who have done nothing to warrant it.”

Madison regarded him, feeling his own emotions exude. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve done ‘nothing’. I know in my head that I’m never gonna get back with her again. But at the same time… seeing how far she’s come in such a short time, how amazing she is, makes me think about what could still have been between us, in another life.”

Mori nodded to that with genuine empathy. “If we had nothing else in common besides being in Starfleet, it’d be her. I’d feel the same way too, Jim. I’d miss everything about her…” He offered a slight smile. “Except maybe the snoring.”

Despite himself, Madison chuckled. “Yeah, I remember that, like a targ with its snout in a bowl. She could crack baffle plates with the sound.”

“And never admit to it.”

Madison nodded back. “And does she still steal the covers? And lie there for like an hour in the morning farting and scratching her pits?”

The Caitian laughed. “Scratching everywhere! I keep checking the bed for fleas!”

“Hey!”

Both males at the sound, followed by the source, as Sasha strode down the corridor towards them, her face scarlet. “I told myself I was being paranoid, having the computer keep track of you two to see if you got together for another dick measuring contest-”

“You’ve been tracking us?” Mori echoed.

“Dick measuring?” Madison exclaimed mildly. “What do you take us for?”

“Don’t get me started on that!” she snapped, still fuming… until she saw the amused expressions they exchanged. “What is going on between you two?”

They looked to each other again, before Mori explained, “Actually, I was telling Jim that in Caitian culture, females can have more than one mate at a time, so rather than the pair of us fight over you, we should just share you.”

“Exactly!” Madison agreed, grinning. “Mru will have you Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I’ll have you Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays-”

“And Sundays you’ll have to accommodate the both of us,” Mori finished.

“Unless of course we’re too much for you, and you need a break?” Madison suggested. “Sundays were traditionally meant to be a day of rest for many Terran cultures.”

“And you’re not as young as you used to be,” Mori pointed out helpfully.

Sasha looked between the two of them, her expression deadpan.

Before finally retorting with, “You two dumb kussiks wish you were too much for me! I could take you both on, wring you dry like a pair of facecloths, and still wear out my bedside toys!” She threw her hands up at them, before turning and storming away. “Not that I’ve got the time these days to take care of even one of you putzes, let alone two!” She stopped and looked back at them, adding, with a hint of barely-concealed amusement. “Well? Get back to work!”

Neither of them moved, except to look at each other, both saying simultaneously, “Hellcat.”

*

“Doctor?”

Vestri looked up from her PADD, rising at the sight of Jiyajh standing in her office doorway, a small tray with cups and saucers in her hands. “Doctor?” She smiled. “I’m not one for titles between colleagues. I understand Klingons have a complex naming system, like Denobulans. Well, my private name is Bas.”

The Klingon entered, allowing the glass door to slide shut behind her before responding. “Yes, we do. Friends and intimates call me Gisha.”

Vestri breathed in, her smile broadening. “A pleasure to meet you, Gisha. What can I do for you?”

Jiyajh looked self-conscious as she glanced down at the contents of the tray, which held two grey ceramic hexagonal cups, and a larger container of an identical shape. “I… wanted to show my gratitude to you, for your assistance before.” She raised the tray. “This is part of a Klingon Tea Ceremony.”

Vestri drew closer, rolling a metre-high trolley closer to let her set down the tray. “I have read about such ceremonies. The leaves are fairly toxic to Klingons… and definitely lethal to non-Klingons.”

“You are correct,” Jiyajh admitted, lifting the lid on the container to stir the contents with a thin wooden stick. “I have chosen to use Denobulan Cholik tea leaves.”

“Ahh… a little mild for my tastes normally, but it beats ending up on a biobed. Very thoughtful of you.” As she watched the Klingon pour the tea, she ventured with, “Family can be formidable.”

The other woman looked up at her suspiciously. “Why do you say that?”

Vestri accepted the glare genially. “Because I have three husbands, two wives, six children, nine grandchildren, and many more relations… enough to tell me that the enemy you were facing weren’t strangers. Sounds like there’s an interesting story behind it all.”

“Yes.” Jiyajh poured out the tea, offering the Counselor one cup. “There is.” Then she lifted up the other cup for herself, saying nothing further.

The Denobulan smiled again.

*

“Enter.”

Madison drew in a breath and stepped forward, allowing the door to the Captain’s Ready Room to slide to one side as he took in the occupants: Captain Weynik, standing in front of his desk… and on the viewscreen on the wall, a Vulcan woman he recognised as Captain T’Varik of the Surefoot. But he ignored it all to step up to Weynik, straighten up formally and announced, “Sir, Lt Madison reporting as ordered.”

The Roylan smiled. “At ease, Lieutenant.” As Madison complied, he continued. “Mr Madison, I’ve called you here to offer you an opportunity. With Chief David Sakai transferring to become Chief Engineer of Station Salem One, the Surefoot is bereft a CEO of their own, and no one on their staff currently has the experience or qualifications to take on that responsibility. Captain T’Varik and I were hoping you might wish to accept it.”

Madison glanced from his Captain, to the other on the screen, and then back again. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“Granted.”

“Sir, did Sasha put you up to this?”

“Yes… but perhaps not in the way you’re implying. As my First Officer, Lt Cmdr Hrelle did her job in making me aware of the organisational structure problems the Engineering crew now face moving from a Defiant-class to a Sabre-class vessel. And of course I was already aware of the personal factors that have arisen between yourselves. The latter has no bearing on this decision.”

“Captain Weynik is correct,” T’Varik confirmed onscreen. “Given your experience and qualifications, and our working proximity in the Salem Sector, it would be logical to offer you this role, rather than wait further for a replacement to arrive from afar.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you wish to accuse a Vulcan, and a superior officer, of making illogical decisions?”

Madison felt himself blush. “I… do not, Ma’am.”

“Smart move,” Weynik quipped, stepping forward. “The Surefoot have sent over their Engineering roster and recent work logs to help you get acquainted with both, and you’ll transfer over immediately upon our arrival at Salem One and assume your new role. But you will be missed here, Mr Madison. Count on it.” He held out his hand.

Madison smiled and accepted it. “Thank you, Sir.” He turned to the viewscreen. “Captain T’Varik, thank you for this opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

“One would hope not, Mr Madison, given the number of endorsements I have received about you.”

Weynik clapped his hands together now. “In the meantime, Captain T’Varik and I have important business to discuss, and no doubt Lt Cmdr Hrelle is planning a memorable Farewell Party for you.” He indicated the door.

Once alone, he moved around behind his desk and sat down. “Thank you for that, T’Varik, you won’t be sorry, he’s a very gifted Engineer and-”

“Yap! Yap!”

“Excuse me, Captain?” T’Varik asked.

He glanced down at the bundle of fur and flab and slobber at his feet, tail wagging at warp speed while he looked up at him with his huge, adorable eyes.

Weynik leaned back and opened up his arms. “Well? Come on, then.”

The bulldog braced himself and leapt up… badly. Still, he persevered, with a determination Weynik could understand, succeeding with a little help from Weynik, before beginning to lick the Roylan’s face.

“I was not aware that you had a pet,” the Vulcan noted.

Weynik drew back, rubbing behind the dog’s ears. “Mmm? No, no. One of our prisoners had this little fella, stole him from his ex-wife. He abused him over the course of the last couple of months. Our doctor examined him, treated a lot of cuts, bruises and breaks that never properly healed.”

“That is disturbing to hear,” T’Varik commented. “But fortunate that you had rescued him, and can now return him to his rightful owner.”

Weynik wiped the slobber from the dog’s muzzle. “I contacted the ex-wife back on Rigel IV, informing her of the dog’s status and the offer to make arrangements to have him returned to her… but she’s not interested now. Apparently in the interim, she’d already moved on and obtained another pet, told me to do whatever I wanted with the dog.” He adjusted his position to let the dog settle in his lap. “Like he was some lost jacket, instead of a living thing we pledge to nurture and protect.”

T’Varik nodded at that. “Then it is providential that he has found someone to do that very thing.”

Weynik looked up. “Who?”

The Vulcan said nothing.

“Me? It’s a dumb animal, a lifeform from an entirely different planet than me. What would we have in common?”

The dog continued to make himself comfortable, as Weynik absently stroked him.

“If I may venture,” T’Varik responded dryly. “You are both survivors of adversity, determined to carry on in control of your own lives and own destinies. And if our mutual Commanding Officer was present, he would no doubt make some puerile comment regarding you finally having found someone smaller than yourself – which of course I would not deign to do.”

He stared down at… what’s his name?

Ajax, after his previous ship? Yeah, that’ll do.

He looked up again. “Okay, Captain, let’s get started. I don’t know about you, but I have to get busy living…”

 

 

 

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT UNIVERSE WILL CONTINUE…