The widest deck of the ship’s saucer section provided the best space for running on the Arcturus that was not a treadmill, holographic or otherwise. Down the center of the wide recreational gallery on the edge of the deck was a space made to mimic the open spaces of most of the crew’s home planets, lined on the exterior side by cozy lounges of varying size on one side that opened up to amazing views of the space beyond the ship and a mixture of art installations, planters, and replimat areas on the inner side. This horse-shoe shaped space ran from impulse engine to impulse engine, which made a round trip from one side to the other almost 2.5 kilometers long. That morning, they had just finished their second lap back to their starting point in the center and were sitting out of the way on the side to do their post-run stretches, while Sheppard attempted to pry details about the final phase of their shakedown cruise out of his husband.

“You don’t know, or you can’t tell me?”

“I don’t know and I can’t tell you, Shep.”

The Arcturus had been out of port for just under two weeks, and they’d gone through a huge battery of systems checks, all while testing the engines at various paces en route to Barzan II. Now cruising along at Warp 9, they were due in the next day, and the captain had thrown in a surprise announcement in the morning’s bulletin: they were going to take part in a war game as part of Admiral Knox’s final inspection. And that’s all the bulletin had said; Lancaster sure it was generating idle speculation all over the ship, if the morning he’d spent so far with his husband was anything close to representative. Being a Starfleet officer generally meant always being on the hunt for more information; no one on the crew wanted to be caught unawares by a war game.

“So, if you knew, you couldn’t tell me? I don’t share pillow talk,” Sheppard practically purred, his gaze fixed on his partner in an attempt to elicit more information. Lancaster knew that Sheppard knew the rules, but that didn’t stop him from needling when he thought he could get a crumb of something from him. It also didn’t stop him from fluttering his eyelashes and inching closer to him as they stretched.

Lancaster sighed. “I don’t think I need to reiterate my position on sharing classified or operationally confidential material, but just to be clear: If I did know, which I don’t, I couldn’t tell you. Besides, no one but the admiral knows. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, otherwise,” he said, liking the warm pliability he felt in his legs from their run.

Throughout his life, especially since adolescence, he had worked against a complex relationship with both food and exercise (not enough of one, too much of the other), but ever since he’d met Sheppard and they’d started sharing their workouts, he always felt like he finished whatever activity they’d embarked on with enough energy to take on the galaxy. As a lieutenant, he probably would have pushed himself to do five or six more laps, but a quick twenty-minute five-kilometer run was just enough to start the day on the right foot without overdoing it.

“Is there anything you can tell me?” Sheppard asked, practically pouting. In moments like this, he seemed to do his absolute best to get Lancaster to forget that he was a Starfleet lieutenant commander and not some ingenu.

“Well, there’s a formal dinner for the captains and first officers in our task group tomorrow night after the briefing. You’re invited, of course,” Lancaster replied, smiling at Sheppard and picturing him in the white mess uniform he always looked so good in.

“Oh, goody. You know how much I love just being your arm candy,” Sheppard replied, rolling his eyes before he pecked Lancaster on the lips and then stood up.

Lancaster blushed, eyes darting around momentarily to try and see if anyone had been observing them; public displays of affection were not high on his list of favorites. As executive officer, he had a reputation to preserve, after all; Sheppard was good for a lot of things, but not for helping him maintain his image as a stoic perfectionist. Seeing no obvious stares, he hopped up after his husband before the two of them started down the gallery towards a turbolift stop.

“It’s a good excuse to see you all dressed up, though,” Sheppard noted, reaching over to unnecessarily tweak Lancaster’s already perfectly-aligned commbadge, which sat just above the red stripe across the chest of his workout shirt, which also had the ship’s abbreviation (ARCTU) on the back.

“We have eerily similar thinking, mister,” Lancaster replied, with a genuine laugh that seemed to scare a passing yeoman. Once they stepped into the turbolift, he chanced another kiss, which was as brief as the short ride back to their shared quarters. The two of them continued the conversation between the sonic shower, the wardrobe, and then down to the breakfast table, debating about whether their opponents in the wargame would be outside allies, Federation members, or another Starfleet task group—if not something entirely more exotic like photonic simulations of enemy ships or maybe even tame interstellar life forms.

“I wonder if it will be something to do with the Borg,” Sheppard wondered, after a bite of scrambled eggs. “It’s not impossible we’ll run into them, out there.”

“Not impossible, no, but so far our unmanned probes have shown absolutely no sign of Collective activity on the far side of the Nekrit Expanse, just as it was thirty years ago when Voyager was last there. The Kazon are really what we need to look out for. They have inferior technology, but lots of ships. Aggressive, unsophisticated, and desperate to get their hands on Federation equipment like transporters and replicators,” Lancaster replied, thinking through that possibility. The idea of being close to the Borg nearly made him shudder; as someone who wouldn’t even consider getting a tattoo let alone having his arm lopped off to make way for a cybernetic prosthesis, the idea of being assimilated was right down there with other primal fears, like being buried alive or giant spiders.

“The briefing book makes them sound like especially grumpy and spectacularly inept Klingons,” Sheppard agreed. “Maybe that’s our answer?”

Lancaster chuckled. “Maybe. Admiral Knox is not known for being a strategic mastermind, he’s an explorer, but I have to believe he’s going to throw us a curveball a little further off from the beaten path than the Klingons,” he said, before returning to his eggs.

“That metaphor is so tortured it would reveal state secrets,” Sheppard said, earning himself daggers from Lancaster’s blue eyes. “You’re probably right, though. If I could figure it out within twenty minutes, it’s probably not worth keeping secret,” he added.

“Wanna bet?”

“I’m always down for a little action. What’s the bet?”

“If it’s Klingons, tomorrow, you win. If it’s anyone but Klingons tomorrow, I win,” Lancaster suggested.

“No deal. You have to pick something specific.”

Lancaster toyed with his last bit of egg for a moment as he thought about that. Kazon vessels were predominantly designed with spinal weapons, rather than the all-around coverage favored by Starfleet. Even without sophisticated weapons, they were fast and highly maneuverable, and would be a real threat in a swarm. Klingons and Cardassians could both fit that bill, but Cardassian ships were generally more powerful and relatively uniform, while the Klingons had fleet diversity that the Kazon could only dream of. Plus, the idea of an armed Cardassian squadron this far from home would never get past the Federation Council. Well-armed, forward-biased ships. That left one ideal candidate. “Andorians.”

“Want to share your reasoning?”

“Nope. They’re my choice. And If I win, I want you to take the bridge officer’s exam. You’re eligible and it’ll keep you from making that ‘if lowly old me can figure this out’ crack again, which is far beneath your intelligence and talent, Shep,”the young captain said, with a grin. Sheppard lit up; it was something he’d mentioned several times before, but he’d never seemed to have the self-confidence to actually pull the trigger on the last thing keeping him from being promoted to full commander.

“Deal. If I win, I want you to invite your new pals Anjar and Okusanya over for a gracious, informal dinner, so you can start this tour out by actually trying to make friends instead of being a grouch,” Sheppard countered, holding out his hand.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Lancaster replied, before accepting the handshake. Small talk was not one of his skills, and it had got even worse once he’d settled down with Sheppard, as he generally had no need to chat idly with other sentients anymore. “I’ve got to run. See you at dinner?” he said, as he pushed his finished breakfast into the center of the table, where the computer automatically recycled it in a whir of energy.

“Of course. I was thinking we could try one of those ‘restaurants’ on the promenade, so we can practice our table manners before your fancy banquet tomorrow night,” Sheppard replied, eyeing him as he stood up.

It was Lancaster’s turn to roll his eyes, as he pecked him on the temple. “Fine. You pick. Behave yourself, today,” he said, before heading up the stairs past their sleeping loft and out through the deck three doors. There was another stairway up that connected a small reception area there to the lobby between his office on the starboard side and the offices for a number of bridge officers on the port side of the deck. In front of each office suite were staircases that led up to the turbolift lobbies flanking the bridge, port to the one connected to the main conference room and starboard to the captain’s ready room.

Lancaster ducked into his own office to grab a PADD, muttering a ‘good morning’ the yeoman in his waiting area, before taking the stairs at exactly the right pace to enter the ready room exactly at 07:40 and in time for the senior staff meeting—or what he’d come to call in his head the senior senior staff meeting, as it was just the captain, Dr. Anjar, and Captain Okusanya, besides himself.

As always, there was a tray of baked goods in the center of the sideboard near the briefing table, but he allowed himself only a cup of coffee poured into the bone china mugs waiting there with the ship’s name emblazoned on them before joining the other three captains at the table.

“Let’s hear it then. What’s your theory about this war game, Michael?” Okusanya started, fixing Lancaster with a knowing stare before he could even take a sip of his coffee. They didn’t have an antagonistic relationship per se but in their two weeks aboard together, she’d demonstrated a confidence and directness that Lancaster found a little disarming. “Alenis thinks we’re going to be defending the starbase from something, but I think that we are going to be the target ourselves, since we are the starbase, effectively.”

“I know as much as you two do,” he said, seeing Hayden smile at that statement out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t even thought about what the goal of the war game might be. “If we decide in advance one one objective, we’ll be less prepared for alternatives.”

Anjar chuckled. “A surprisingly diplomatic answer, oh sage one,” he teased.

“‘The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy’s not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable,’” Hayden offered. “Sun Tzu. We prepare for everything we can think of, offensively and defensively. I don’t intend to have our last act in the Alpha Quadrant for the next several months be to lose at anything. And before you ask: no, I have no idea what we’ll be facing.”

“This ship is ready for anything, ma’am,” Okusanya said, proudly. If it were up to the engineer, Lancaster was quite sure that they’d be skipping their trials entirely and heading right to the heart of the Delta Quadrant.

“I believe the crew at least could do with a few drills before the actual occasion, though,” Lancaster cautioned. “We need them to get used to working together as one unit.”

“When we arrive, I want you to throw in at least one starship separation rehearsal as well. I don’t want to be without any tactical options on the table,” Hayden replied, nodding. “As mentioned in the bulletin, we will be hosting Admiral Knox and party starting at 1500 hours tomorrow, so I want the ship and crew to both be in top condition when he arrives.”

“The crew are eager to get to work and their physical health has been absolutely as good as we could hope for, Captain. I’ll be monitoring stress hormone levels carefully during the drills, to see if we need to recommend any dietary or lifestyle alterations,” Anjar replied.

“It would be worth giving your department some casualty simulations, as well. Not just because that could be a part of the war game, but because of where we’re going after that,” Lancaster said.

Anjar nodded. “Those poor holograms,” he quipped. “I’ll send you a proposed schedule after we’re done here.”

The three of them were so senior and so used to running their own meetings, that they’d gotten into the habit of steering these morning conversations without Hayden needing to interject often with orders or even an agenda. She tended to sit back and throw in her two cents occasionally, but otherwise she allowed them to set the business of the day.

“After the exercise, I want to allow the maximum possible leave time for the crew on the starbase. As impressive as this ship is, it’ll be a long time before they’ll have another chance at shore leave,” Hayden noted.

Lancaster nodded;  he would have preferred to keep them all working until the last minute, but it didn’t sound like a directive that opened itself up to negotiation. “I’ll make the arrangements, Captain. They say that this new starbase is a sight to behold.”

“After defending the Bajoran system with a ramshackle Cardassian mining outpost, I wouldn’t blame Starfleet for wanting to put an actual starbase next to their new wormhole,” Anjar noted; Lancaster found his eyes drawn to the conspicuous lack of an earring on his Bajoran colleague. He’d never asked about his choice to so openly reject his own culture, as he wagered that the story behind that was more than polite small-talk would be able to uncover.

“I wouldn’t want anything less on our side when we know what’s on the other side,” Hayden noted, standing up from the table, which prompted the others to also stand. “Let’s get to it. Michael, a word, please,” she said. Lancaster obediently paused, ignoring a look of ‘what have you done’ from the engineer as the other two left.

“Yes, Captain?” he asked.

“We both know Admiral Knox. I consider him a personal friend. I think he’s going to throw the kitchen sink at us,” Hayden said, moving over to lean against her desk. “If I were a betting woman, I’d wager that we’re going to be up against an entire Klingon squadron.”

Lancaster couldn’t surpress a chuckle.

“Do you know something that I don’t?” Hayden asked, fixing him with a very serious expression, a glint of steel in her eyes.

“No, Captain. But Dr. Sheppard said same thing this morning.”

“You can call him Luca, you know. I was the one who married you two, after all,” Hayden replied, with a laugh. “He said Klingons, too, huh? I’m guessing that means that you did not?”

“I did not.”

“Out with it, Michael.”

“Andorians. Fast, manuverable ships with forward-oriented weapons. Klingons use independent tactics, but from what we know of the Kazon, they are more of a pack mentality, while the Andorians  focus as a cohesive squadron at all times. They’re incredibly disciplined. It’s a better fit for the kind of enemies we’re likely to encounter, as well as being a threat that we’re not used to practicing for,” Lancaster explained, putting his hands behind his back.

“You sound very confident,” Hayden said, looking thoughtful. “My instinct is to practice against those two options, but that could leave us flat-footed during the real event.”

“I could have the computer extrapolate an enemy that would incorporate both sets of tactics and ship capabilities; a completely fictional composite,” Lancaster suggested.

“Stella, can we leave this with you?” Hayden asked.

Before she finished the question, a hologram shimmered into existence, a simulacrum of a Human wearing an all-red uniform, without a commbadge. She was the ship’s Long Term Command Hologram, an all-around leadership, diplomacy, and tactical advisory program, who wore her hair slicked back and shaved on the sides.

“Leave what with me, Captain? You know I don’t listen in.”

Hayden chuckled. “Creating an enemy for battle situations that synthesizes the strengths and weaknesses of both the Klingons and Andorians, assuming that one of these two options may be our opponent in the upcoming war game.”

“I’m not sure those are the only options, given the—“ Stella started.

“We’re both aware of that, but those are the options we’ve settled on,” Lancaster interrupted; he wasn’t a huge fan of holograms, not for any fear that they may one day revolt but because he knew they were merely virtual intelligences; glorified database access programs. “Throw in any secondary considerations you deem appropriate.”

“If I didn’t know better, Captain Lancaster, you just treated me like I was sentient.”

“Computer, delete—,” Lancaster started.

“Alright, alright. Enough said. One amazing battle drill coming up,” Stella said, winking at Captain Lancaster before disappearing.

“Well, are you ready?” Captain Hayden asked.

Lancaster double-tapped his badge. “All hands, this is the XO. Red Alert. Stand to battle stations.”

Alpha shift was still minutes away from starting, but arriving early for work had meant that Luca Sheppard already had his first patient of the day. The ship’s Chief Operations Officer had been beamed in directly from a morning game of football on the holodeck to one of the main sickbay’s private exam rooms, and moments later, Sheppard was tending to him, tricorder in hand.

“I’m almost impressed, Commander. You managed to break both your lateral and your medial calf bones but not your shin bone,” Sheppard noted as he finished his scan of the Ardanan. It was a memorable first impression. “Were you playing football with the safeties off?”

The vital sign monitor pulsed softly in the background, showing a lowered blood pressure and an elevated pulse, typical for a traumatic injury. Apart from a few organs in atypical places, brain chemistry differences, and two more bones, Ardanans were nearly identical to Humans, one of many species seeded across the galaxy by the ancient progenitor race. Otherwise, Sheppard might have thought he was a Human from the Middle East or North Africa with his bronze skin and warm, amber-colored eyes.

Commander Larus Alesser started to smirk, but that evaporated into a grimace when Sheppard touched his leg. “No, but the safety protocols weren’t able to prevent the Chief Science Officer’s cleat from connecting with the back of my leg.”

“I would not want to play against you, then, Commander,” Sheppard said, glancing over at Commander Benjamin Walker, the aforementioned Chief Science Officer. Both of them looked out of place against the gleaming white bulkheads of sickbay in sweat and grass-stained athletic gear.

“Actually, we were on the same team, Dr. Sheppard,” Walker replied sheepishly. Like Alesser, he was young, athletic, and classically handsome, but Walker had an English accent, pale, nearly-white skin, and blue eyes. Walker was also a good twenty-five to thirty centimeters taller than Alesser, so Sheppard couldn’t help but imagine that the shorter man simply escaped notice until he was trampled underfoot.

“That’s… unfortunate,” Sheppard replied, clearing his throat to avoid laughing. He glanced from Commander Walker to the door. “I can take it from here, Commander.”

Walker chuckled nervously. “Right. I should get ready for my shift, anyway… Again, very sorry, Larus. I’ll try to get some practice in before our next match,” he said, seeming to flatten himself up against the perimeter of the room as he edged away.

“‘You’d better, Benjamin,” Alesser said with a laugh. He hissed with pain when he moved his leg slightly. “That’s something you can fix with one of those magic wands, right?” he asked, nodding over to a tray holding several medical implements.

“Lucky for you, it should be a relatively quick procedure, yes. I need to determine if there’s any other internal trauma like nerve damage or internal bleeding before we proceed, but this is a pretty common injury,” Sheppard confirmed. He turned to load a hypospray with a mild analgesic. “This will help with the pain.”

Alesser nodded. “Thanks, doc. Lucky me to be in your capable hands,” he said, brown eyes scanning him without a lot of subtlety as Sheppard reached over to administer the hypo directly to the other man’s neck.

The young doctor was pretty used to getting that sort of look from many species and most genders. Still, as Alesser started to smirk, Sheppard found himself doubting that it was really about an appreciation of his physical appearance and instead merely confirmation of the gossip that the Chief Operations Officer had a propensity for flirting with anything that moved.

The doors to the exam room opened again to admit Sheppard’s fellow lieutenant commander, the ship’s head nurse. Melandis Vircar was Risian, another one of the multitudes of Humanoid species that were nearly identical outwardly to Humans. Still, the gold disk she wore in the center of her forehead set her apart culturally. When Melandis drew Alesser’s eyes away, Sheppard became even more confident that his hypothesis had been confirmed.

“I was just about to call you. Double compound fracture,” Sheppard explained. He folded the tricorder back up and used the console above the bed’s head to turn on the overhead scanning cluster to get a full radiographic scan of Alesser’s body.

Melandis nodded. “Ouch,” she empathized. “Should I prep surgery, doctor?”

“Surgery?!” Alesser asked, his eyes going wide.

Sheppard shook his head, putting his hand on Alesser’s shoulder to keep him from moving. “No, there doesn’t look to be any serious nerve or blood vessel damage. I do want to do a femoral nerve block before osteoregeneration, though,” he said, looking between the results of the scan being holographically projected next to the bad and Melandis.

Melandis nodded and went over to the supply cabinet to retrieve a neuroinhibitor, a flat silver disk used to block the electrical signals passing through a particular nerve to perform a nerve block without drugs.

Sheppard pushed the fabric of Alesser’s shorts up slightly so that he could attach the neuroinhibitor directly to the Ardanan’s skin, right above the knee on his inner thigh. This location would allow it to interact with the femoral nerve, which ran very near the large bone in his thigh. The device adhered gently to the skin, and the computer automatically added a display above the bed showing his neurotransmitter levels.

“This will feel unusual, at first,” Sheppard warned before turning it on. It hummed slightly for a moment as it acquired the correct nerve, and then the noise lessened.

“What do you—Oh, I see,” Alesser said, looking rather squirmy after a few seconds. It could be very disorienting to suddenly lose contact with one of your limbs as he had just done. “Definitely better than the broken bone feeling, though.”

“You need to stay as still as you can unless you’d like to be shorter on one side,” Sheppard noted as he reviewed the scans. Melandis handed him the osteorenegerator. It worked with the same principles as a dermal regenerator, but the radiation stream was more directed and designed to target the cells that grew bone material.

“I guess I better behave myself then,” Alesser drawled, prompting the doctor and nurse to share a bemused look.

“I can handle this. I’m sure you’ve got to take report from the night shift. Stay on the comm, though,” Sheppard said to Melandis.

The nurse nodded. “Sure. The world would come to a standstill if I didn’t appropriately log and acknowledge the delta charge nurse’s notes for the zero patients that he had overnight,” she said, with a wink, before leaving the exam room.

“Is she single?” Alesser asked, about seven nanoseconds after the doors closed again.

“You would have to ask her that. Risians are very upfront about such things,” Sheppard said, flicking the osteoregenerator on and off momentarily. “Let’s get started.”

Still in his workout attire, the Ardanan smelled like fresh sweat and chlorophyll, the latter being a detail of the holodeck that Sheppard had never understood and the former being slightly distracting against the otherwise sterile backdrop of sickbay. Every species’ unique biochemistry smelled different, which in this case was some amalgam of sea salt, oranges, and something else unidentifiable but not unpleasant. As a scientist, Sheppard felt that he shouldn’t find such things either pleasant or unpleasant, so he was annoyed that his physical form interjected opinions like that.

Alesser didn’t grimace this time when his leg was pushed flat and managed not to move as Sheppard carefully and methodically ran the medical tool along first the radial side of his leg and then the lateral side. Sheppard’s eyes moved between the scanner readings being projected next to the bed and the man’s leg to make sure it was healing correctly. The effect of the radiation knitting the bone back together usually caused a tingling, uncomfortable situation in the affected area. Still, the commander gave few clues about how it made him feel other than his fingertips flushing white as he gripped the biobed mattress.

“Do you play, Doctor?” Alesser asked. “Surely, you must.”

Sheppard gave him a blank look; when he failed to make the connection between the commander’s injury and the question’ it struck him as something odd, possibly even inappropriate when combined with Alesser’s flirtatious tone of voice. He’d been in lots of situations both in his ten-year career as a nurse and during his recent physician’s residency where otherwise-routine medical interactions became unnecessarily sexually charged, just because of the nature of one-on-one interaction.

“You are very athletic, and your accent sounds European. Surely you’ve played football?”

“Oh, of course. Yes. I am from Italy. Everyone there plays football,” the doctor replied, chuckling as he returned to his task. “I have five younger brothers, which meant that we were already half of a team.”

“Five siblings?”

“It’s a cultural thing,” Sheppard replied, not wanting to go into the story about how his parents were devout, conservative Catholics who didn’t believe in contraception. They were absolute anachronisms in the twenty-fourth century, and so Sheppard running off to join Starfleet had created almost as much of a shock as his eventual marriage to a man.

“Well, I’m obviously in need of some pointers. With all of that experience, maybe you can help me sharpen my game,” Alesser suggested.

Sheppard chuckled. “I can’t guarantee I’ll actually be able to show you anything you don’t already know. I don’t play very often anymore,” Sheppard replied with an absent smile. His husband didn’t particularly like team sports, so it was usually something like tennis or handball that just the two of them could do alone when they did engage in them. It didn’t seem worth mentioning to the lascivious commander. He paused in his work, turning his scanner back on to check Alesser’s progress.

“Ah, well, all the more reason to make a new friend then, Doctor,” Alesser replied, with a Cheshire grin. It was hard to argue with that; he and Lancaster had tended to be pretty insular other than a small group of friends during their time on Earth. Still, he wasn’t naïve enough to think that there wasn’t some ulterior motive to the invitation, whether romantic or political.

“Fair point. So, why football in the first place?” Sheppard asked as he started a second pass.

“You mean because I’m Ardanan? You’re right that it’s unusual. We don’t actually have ‘sports’ in our culture. We emphasize individual fitness but eschew competition,” Alesser replied. Sheppard didn’t know that about Ardanans; he merely meant that with so many options to choose from, why pick that sport specifically?

“‘We’ excluding you, it seems.”

“I find competition very stimulating. But really, it’s just because the chief science officer invited me to join him with some of his people this morning, and it had the additional benefit of promoting collegiality. Being injured by him should earn me even more political capital,” the commander added.

“Sounds more like a show of dominance than of collegiality,” Sheppard remarked. He shouldn’t have said it, but he’d found himself deploying a sharp wit that mirrored his husband’s the longer they were together, and sometimes it just happened without him being able to stop himself.

Alesser smirked, his eyes surveying Sheppard again. “Maybe.”

Sheppard cleared his throat. “Anyway… It’s good to hear that Commander Walker is a good sport. Try moving your leg now,” he added, shutting off the medical tool.

“A good sport and an attractive one. That seems to have been a prerequisite for assignment to this ship, I’ve noticed,” Alesser said. He moved his leg around and then stretched his arms above his head in an almost leonine way. “I suppose the first officer had a type in mind when he put this crew together.”

“That seems unlikely,” Sheppard said, shaking his head. He nearly rolled his eyes, too, as Alesser clearly included himself in that category. The observation wasn’t totally unwarranted; everyone on the Arcturus was in top physical form, but Alesser’s reasoning was wrong: they were all assigned to an elite unit, so of course they kept themselves in shape.

The Ardanan’s brown eyes scanned him again, with a total lack of subtlety. “I can see what he sees in you, at least, besides the bedside manner, of course.”

Sheppard frowned and turned to place the osteoregenerator back into the supply cabinet. Alesser knew more about him than he’d let one, as he’d not mentioned his relationship to the first officer, but that was hardly surprising given his position as Chief Operations Officer. It was his job to know everything about the Arcturus and her crew.

“That’s not a particularly collegial thing to say, Commander.”

“No offense meant. I sometimes forget how Humans are squeamish about frank observations of physical beauty,” Alesser replied with a shrug.

Sheppard blushed slightly at the implied comment on his lack of evolution, with a seed planted that made him wonder if it were true. After all, he and his husband had met a decade ago in an infirmary on Deep Space 12. Who was he to shame Alesser for being flirtatious in what was admittedly an intimate moment? Still, the fact that Alesser knew full and well that he wasn’t available struck Sheppard as disrespectful, if not to him but to the man he loved.

“Yes, we tend to be a little more conservative than some other cultures in that regard,” he said, brushing off the comment and eager to move on. “How do you feel?”

“Good as new, Doctor. Your hands were as capable as you advertised,” the operations officer said, with a chuckle, as he swung his legs over to the side of the bed before trying to stand up. The Ardanan winced, stumbling a little as he put weight on his foot.

Sheppard caught him, and Alesser braced himself with a hand on the doctor’s arm. They were far too close, and Sheppard regretted sending Melandis away.

“I was about to say that you should rest for another five minutes while the swelling around your nerves goes down,” he said, pointedly.

Obviously, as a doctor, he wasn’t pleased to see his patient nearly re-injure himself, but it was personally satisfying to see him taken down a peg. Before Alesser could react, the room’s lighting dimmed, and the alert lights started flashing red.

“All hands, this is the XO. Red Alert. Stand to battle stations,” came his husband’s voice over the intercom, which made Sheppard’s heart jump.

“I’ve got to get to the bridge, Doctor,” Alesser said, trying to stand again and getting the same result, which meant he was once again braced on Sheppard. The klaxon was sounding, and Alesser’s eyes went wide at not being able to make it to his duty station. Sheppard had seen that look before many times from Lancaster: fear at not being in control of the situation.

“Melandis, can you get back in here, please?” Sheppard asked, inclining his head a little to catch the attention of the intercom. A moment later, the ship’s head nurse entered the room. “Thanks. I need 15 CCs of asinolyathin, but I’m a little stuck,” Sheppard said, chuckling, as the Risian moved over to the dispensary console and produced the requested ampoule before slotting it into a hypospray.

“This isn’t funny. I have to get to my station,” Alesser insisted. Sheppard felt the ship drop out of warp, which wasn’t a great sign about what the next few minutes would be like.

“They can wait another thirty seconds. This will help speed up the recovery process. Lower right leg, please,” Sheppard ordered.

“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse replied, crouching down to inject the drug directly into Alesser’s formerly injured but still healing leg. She then stood up to help Sheppard get Alesser back up onto the biobed, making the commander produce something between a frown and a pout, but he didn’t challenge Sheppard’s decision further.

Sheppard stepped over to the dispensary console to replicate an operations gold uniform, complete with three silver pips and a commbadge, which he set on the biobed next to Alesser.

“By the time you change, you should be feeling well enough to get to the bridge, Commander. No running, though.”

“Got it. Thank you, Doctor,” Alesser replied, eyeing the uniform and then giving Sheppard a sheepish grin before the doctor and nurse left him alone in the exam room.

“He’s something else,” Sheppard muttered once the door had closed. He looked over at the head nurse. They were walking towards Anjar’s office, which became the medical command center during alert situations. “He asked if you were single, you know. Right before he mentioned how attractive Commander Walker was, hit on me, and then said that my husband selected this crew based on physical attraction,” he listed, ticking off those items on his fingers.

Melandis laughed. “That stacks up for the profile of an over-ambitious, over-sexed, over-confident bridge officer.”

“He’s definitely not doing anything to counter the gossip pool,” Sheppard agreed.

“Any hints on what this alert is about?” she asked.

“Not a clue,” Sheppard said, not bothering to try to claim that Lancaster never told him anything above his paygrade, even though it was true.

Through the transparent bulkheads of the chief medical officer’s office, he could see the medical status displays being projected. Many decks were flipping from yellow to green when they entered, signifying that the deck’s aid station had been crewed. Nearly every deck had at least one aid station, usually near the damage control locker, where the crew could go for help in the event of an emergency.

A few moments later, Dr. Alenis Anjar entered the office. Sheppard had served under the Bajoran neurosurgeon before, so it was nice to have a familiar face to ease a few of the teething problems that often came with figuring out a new ship, not to mention Sheppard’s first posting in space in almost four years.

“Nothing like starting the day off with a red alert. How are we doing?”

“We’ll be fully crewed in about… 30 seconds,” Sheppard replied, glancing at the monitor. “Main medical facilities are ready, and we’re just waiting on the aid stations.”

“Good. Shouldn’t give anything for the bridge to complain about,” Anjar replied. He leaned against his desk, arms crossed as he watched the display.

“Your tone is making me think we’re not about to have a mass casualty event,” Sheppard noted as he studied the Bajoran.

“Nope. Probably Not. Want to watch and see if the bridge crew are up to whatever your husband has cooked up for them, though?” Anjar replied. “Computer, bridge display.”

As the largest class of explorers in either current or historical service, Odyssey-class starships like the Arcturus had been designed with absolutely massive bridges, with the extra space not packed with consoles and duty stations, but instead with expansive viewports and open areas to let the command staff feel a sense of scale for not just the ship itself but the void of space beyond. Lieutenant Windsor often felt like he had to shout when he had the conn, even though subtle audio relay systems and optimized acoustics made a normal speaking voice perfectly audible anywhere on the bridge.

“Status report, flight control?” Windsor asked.

He’d just taken over from Lieutenant Commander Selon, the Vulcan who almost always had command of the ship during Delta Shift. Windsor was the junior-most officer of the watch, so he played second-in-command to First Officer Lancaster during Alpha Shift. It was relatively rare for Lancaster to leave him alone for any amount of time, let alone not show up perfectly on time at 0800, so he was enjoying the chance to actually sit in the center seat, even if only for a few more minutes.

“We are on course, sir. We will arrive on schedule in eight hours, seventeen minutes at Starbase 38,” Tellora reported, glancing back at him from her station on the starboard side of the view screen.

The implication through her gruff tone was ‘do not ask again.’ She was one of the only Klingons in Starfleet, and, honestly, Windsor didn’t know what to make of her. He grew up in a colony that was almost entirely Human, and at just shy of 2 meters tall himself, he definitely was not used to looking up to speak to a woman, let alone a woman who could likely beat him to death with both hands tied behind her back. As a pilot himself, he was used to a certain amount of bravado, but Tellora took it to the next level. Most days he couldn’t decide if that was intimidating or sexy, and that morning it was a little of both.

“Uh, good. Carry on,” Windsor said, clearing his throat and trying to sound authoritative.

“All hands, this is the XO. Red Alert. Stand to battle stations,” came Captain Lancaster’s voice over the intercom.

“Shields up! Energize all defense systems,” Windsor ordered, as the klaxons started to sound and the bridge’s lighting changed from white to red.

Other changes began to take place, the bright wide bridge of an explorer becoming the protected seat of command for a battleship. Sheets of ablative armor slid up over the port and starboard windows as well as over the forward viewport past the main viewer beyond what the crew called the “crow’s nest,” while another covering irised over the skylight. As the bridge hardened itself against attack, consoles also unfolded from hidden compartments in the wide-open aft section of the bridge, six stations fanning out on either side of the transporter console to provide for internal security, damage control, electronics warfare, and other combat-related function. In the crow’s nest a table extended from the floor in the center with a map of local space projected, while consoles for intelligence, strategic operations, and additional tactical officers slid up on the sides.

The bosun’s whistle sounded as Fleet Captain Hayden walked onto the bridge from the starboard entrance, Captain Lancaster following close behind. Windsor stood up quickly, moving over to the far left seat as the two more senior officers took their stations. Seconds later, officers emerged from both sides of the bridge to fill in the new stations that had just emerged, taking them from a staff of six to dozens.

“Helm, all stop,” Hayden ordered, as she sat in the center seat. A woman of almost seventy, Hayden had what Windsor would describe as a commanding presence, even aware of the pun that thought made. She offered no explanation for their change in alert status as the seconds ticked by and the ship slowed to a halt, something realized only through the slightest shudder and the slowing of the proximity sensor display under the viewer to nothing.

“Thirty seconds and counting,” Captain Lancaster announced from his station on the other side.

Ah, a drill. A wave of relief washed over Windsor, as he’d done all he could possibly do in that situation since he was already at his post. He wouldn’t want to be the department head whose team came in last, though, as he could see the first officer’s square jaw clenched, his blue eyes glued to the status monitor on his console. They’d weren’t even two weeks out of port, but the bridge crew already knew that imperfection was not to be tolerated, not if Captain Lancaster had anything to say about it. He had a practically Borg-like love of efficiency.

“All decks report ready. Elapsed time: seventy-five seconds,” Lancaster reported. “We can do better.”

“I’m sure you’ll make that happen, Number One,” Hayden replied, with a slight chuckle. “Mister Windsor, set simulation mode.”

“Aye, Captain,” Windsor replied, keying in a few commands that locked out the ship’s primary systems and allowed the computer to maintain station keeping while the bridge crew engaged in a simulation. “Autopilot engaged and simulation mode set.”

“Computer, begin the simulation,” the captain ordered. “Let’s see what Stella has cooked up for us.”

“Captain, I am reading three Vidiian ships at extreme range on an intercept course. Weapons hot,” Lieutenant Commander Dealhi Odea reported from the tactical station, which mirrored the helm station on the other side of the viewer. “They will be in range in thirty seconds.”

“Vidiian? Clever,” Lancaster noted.

Windsor didn’t know why facing off against the Vidiians was “clever,” as the words that came to his mind were terrifying, repulsive, and abhorrent. Other than the Borg, the Vidiians were right at the bottom of the list of races the young lieutenant was looking forward to meeting on their expedition to the Delta Quadrant. He’d studied Voyager’s logs extensively in preparation for this assignment, and the Vidiians had stuck out for not only their unusual starship combat tactics–getting right in to carve enemy ships open with grapplers and board them–but also their practice of stealing organs from other races and implanting them into their own bodies. Sentients were capable of horrific things in the name of survival, but that just made Windsor squirm in his seat.

Hayden chuckled again. “Careful, Michael. You’re anthropomorphizing the virtual intelligence,” she teased, which made Windsor arch an eyebrow.

Lancaster frowned. “It must have known the Vidiians were neither of our first choices, Captain.”

“Probably so. But that’s not going to stop us from winning, is it?”

“No, sir. Helm, evasive pattern Gamma Echo. Keep us out of range of their grapplers. They’ll try to box us in and bombard us at close range,” Lancaster ordered.

“Aye,” Lieutenant Tellora reported, as she started the ship in a series of loops to confuse the enemy’s sensors while also keeping the narrowest facing possible available for them to fire upon. For her size, the Arcturus was fast, but if those ships got too close her sheer bulk would make her an easy target for an enemy that favored close-in, knife-fight tactics.

“Enemy vessels have increased speed,” Odea warned from tactical.

“Vidiian hyperthermic charges have more limited range than our own weapons. We should be able to get off a volley before they can respond. Tactical, load all forward torpedo launchers for a full spread of quantum torpedoes,” Hayden ordered.

“Quantum torpedoes, aye,” Odea confirmed. “We will be in range in seven seconds, Captain.”

“Fire at your discretion, Commander.”

Windsor watched from his console as the three dots representing Vidiian ships crossed into the ring representing their maximum torpedo range. The second they did, Odea fired a full salvo from all four of the Arcturus’s forward launchers. A few seconds later, there were bright blue explosions on the main viewer as they impacted with the enemy’s shield grid with enough force both to drain a significant portion of their shields and to blind their sensors briefly.

“Damage analysis, Mr. Walker,” Lancaster ordered.

“Enemy shields down by twenty-five percent. Also reading EPS fluctuations in the vessel to starboard. Evidently, these are technically superior to the Vidiian ships last faced by Voyager,” Commander Walker reported, standing at the science station behind the command area. 

“I extrapolated technological improvements that may have occurred over the last thirty years, Commander,” Astra’s disembodied voice reported, sounding almost smug in a way that the ship’s computer intelligence never did.

The bridge rocked, the gravity generators being manipulated to simulate the impact of a barrage of exothermic charges as the Vidiians got into range. Windsor had to brace himself on his console not to fall out of his chair, which he thought was a little excessive for a simulation.

“Shields down to 80%, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander T’Mir reported from operations. She was the second most senior operations officer and it was unusual that Commander Alesser was missing, which Lancaster seemed to notice as he clenched his jaw.

“Helm, point us right at them and take us to full impulse. Attack Pattern Sierra-Three, all weapons,” Hayden ordered, gripping the armrests of her seat.

Attack Pattern Sierra-Three would have them appear to fly past their targets, pulling up at the last minute to attack them from behind and above. It was a sound tactic, assuming that the Vidiians didn’t manage to snag them with their grapplers before they could execute it. The ship rocked again and operations announced that they were now only at 75% of their maximum shield power.

At full power the Arcturus easily punched through the Vidiian formation, and Tellora skillfully brought them about, while Odea unloaded with a considerable number of shots from the ship’s phaser arrays. At close range, these powerful weapons easily sliced through the Vidiian’s shields, targeting vulnerable systems and leaving them burning in space.

“All three vessels disabled, Captain,” Odea reported.

Well, that was easy? 

“Why didn’t the simulation end?” Lancaster asked.

“Detecting energy fluctuations on our aft quarter. Something is right on top of us,” Walker announced.

“The Vidiians don’t have cloaking technology…,” Windsor noted.

“Not Vidiian. Two Hierarchy assault vessels decloaking directly astern. They’re firing!” the science officer added. The ship shook again.

“Shields down to 30%,” Commander Alesser reported, having assumed his station when no one had been paying attention.

“Evasive pattern Delta-One. Put some distance between us, and return fire,” Hayden ordered. The ship rocked, and Tellora moved them further away from the new enemies. Quantum torpedoes erupted from the aft launchers to give them cover.

“Status on Hierarchy ships?”

“Minimal damage, sir. They appear to have regenerative shielding.”

“Well, so do we. Divert auxiliary power to the shield recyclers,” Lancaster snapped.

“Helm, engage warp five on our current heading for one second,” Hayden ordered. “Keep a target lock on the starboard vessel.”

For an instant, the ship jumped to a very high speed, putting substantial distance between them and the Hierarchy ships. It would take them several seconds to re-target the Arcturus giving them time to dump power into their shields and wait for the enemy to close. That was not, apparently, the captain’s plan, though.

“Reverse heading. Warp eight. Drop us right on top of them,” Hayden ordered. The ship swung around and jumped back to warp. Within fractions of a second they were back in close range with the Hiearchy ships, who opened fire again. The ship rocked. “Attack pattern Alpha-One. All weapons on the starboard target.”

Phaser and torpedo fire lit the second ship up, and with the Arcturus concentrating all of its fire on one target, the enemy’s advance shields began to wither. Several seconds later, the Hierarchy ships switched targets, though, as the image of their previous position came into view. The Arcturus continued to pummel the starboard ship until it started to visibly drift.

“Switch targets,” Hayden ordered. “Quantum torpedoes. Fire.”

Moments later, both Hierarchy ships were burning in space along with the Vidiian ships, and the words ‘Simulation Complete’ flashed over the viewscreen. 

“The Picard maneuver?” Windsor wondered.

Hayden chuckled. “Almost. The same principle in reverse, as we arrived faster than the light from our previous position did, which gave our shields a few seconds to catch up,” she explained. 

“So, the Hayden Maneuver then, Captain?”

“Let’s got go handing out medals quite yet, Lieutenant. It was just a simulation,” she replied, with a smile. “Stand down red alert and resume course for Starbase 38. Senior officers to the conference room for a debrief. You have the conn, Mr. Windsor.”

The lights in the bridge returned to normal as the armored sheeting retracted, restoring the bridge’s normal view, while the extra consoles folding out of sight as soon as their occupants vacated. As the senior officers went down the steps to the conference room, Windsor settled back into the center seat as the ship jumped back to warp, the drill over almost as quickly as it had started.