It had been more than two weeks since the Arcturus was unceremoniously returned to Federation space by a territorial Nacene artificial intelligence. The atmosphere on the ship was mixed; no one minded being in real-time communications range with their friends and families, but once again, their deep space mission had been cut short. Their return had also prompted many promotions and transfers to come earlier than expected, leaving vacancies across the upper echelons of the ship’s command structure. Captain Rakan and the newly-minted Captain Song had both gone to take command of ships of their own, Commander Vahlen had accepted a professorship in exology at Starfleet Academy, and Counselor Kaer had decided to retire home to Trill. While all of these moves would likely have occurred in due course, Captain Lancaster wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to rebuild his senior staff ahead of schedule.

To top it all off, Dr. Anjar had taken emergency family leave, and Admiral Hayden had been summoned to debrief with the Delta Exploration Initiative and the First Contact Office on Earth, which left the captain very short on confidants, save one.

“Austin’s not going to be happy about being passed over,” Sheppard noted as he carefully crawled a little deeper into the planter box to prune one of the rose bushes towards the back of the installation.

“No, he won’t be. But you don’t think I’m wrong, do you?” Lancaster asked, focusing one of the bushes closer to him.

“I don’t. He needs more time,” Sheppard replied.

While Austin Carver was a close friend to both of them, Lancaster had decided against advancing him to the Chief Counselor role that was now vacant. He was a good person and a terrific counselor, but he just wasn’t ready to become a department head on a starship, not without more experience and more time to settle as an officer.

“I think he wants it, in theory, more than he’d enjoy the added paperwork in practice,” Lancaster said, sitting back to admire their handiwork.

When Hayden had been in command, she’d grown roses in the planter box under the large windows in the ready room. Lancaster had recently decided to revive the practice as an attempt to find himself a hobby. So far, he was just pleased he hadn’t managed to kill them, though that was likely thanks to the virtual intelligence monitoring the soil acidity and moisture levels. Horticulture had a lot more art to it than he’d realized, which made it both an intriguing puzzle to figure out and a slight annoyance.

“We’ll wait until Anjar is back, though. He can make the decision,” the captain noted.

“Isn’t that passing the buck?”

“It’s a perk of command,” Lancaster replied with a grin.

“Incoming transmission from Fourth Fleet Command,” the computer reported.

“They’re getting antsy,” Lancaster muttered. The captain stood up, pecking his husband on the cheek on his way up the steps to the main level of the ready room. Not knowing if the call was privileged or not, he proceeded through the glass double doors into his private briefing room. “Open the channel,” he ordered.

A moment later, Vice Admiral Seagraves appeared projected from the round holo communicator at the end of the table. The senior officer glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting something, Captain, or have the uniform standards aboard the Arcturus lapsed in Admiral Hayden’s absence?” she quipped.

Lancaster glanced down, forgetting for a moment that he’d taken his uniform jacket off. He still had his gardening gloves on as well. “My apologies, Admiral. I was gardening,” Lancaster explained.

“How rustic. I am transmitting a data packet containing information on what we’re calling the Century Storm. The Arcturus is being diverted to Sentinel Major. The long-range sensor station there needs to be upgraded to attempt to predict this storm’s movements. If the outpost is threatened, it will need to be evacuated,” Seagraves explained.

A floating display appeared next to the admiral, displaying the basics of Starfleet’s current understanding of the Century Storm as well as specifications for the outpost at Sentinel Major. It would be a straightforward assignment, though Lancaster was immediately disappointed at further delays in ending his staffing shortage.

“Understood, Admiral. We’ll alter course right away,” Lancaster replied.

“You, Captain, will still proceed directly for Starbase Four. Take a shuttlecraft. There are still questions that need answering about your experience with the Nacene,” Seagraves replied, shaking her head.

Lancaster’s stomach fell. “Admiral, we are severely short-staffed as it is. I shouldn’t leave the Arcturus in the middle of an emergency!” he objected, with uncharacteristic disregard for her authority.

Seagraves pursed her lips. “Hayden likes you. You two have a long-standing relationship. So, I’m not entirely shocked by your flagrant insubordination, Captain Lancaster. I won’t tolerate it, though. Unless you’re suggesting that Captain Okusanya is incapable of performing a simple engineering mission on her own?”

“No, Admiral. She’s more than capable,” Lancaster replied through gritted teeth.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, then. I’ll expect you and Commander Alesser at Starbase Four on schedule,” Seagraves replied.

“Commander Alesser, sir?”

“I have a job offer for him, one with an expiration date. Don’t spoil the surprise,” the admiral replied. “Seagraves out.”

The admiral’s hologram disappeared, and Lancaster stood there dumbfounded for a moment before he took his gardening gloves off and tossed them onto the table. When he walked back into the central part of the ready room, Yeoman Kaplan was flicking several dossiers from his WRIST display to the holographic display on the desk as he shared a joke with Sheppard.

“Uh oh,” Sheppard noted when he caught sight of Lancaster’s face. “Bad news?”

“Not exactly,” the captain replied, thinking about what to do next. “Kaplan, I need an overnight bag. Add a dress uniform to the usuals. Have the Achilles warmed up, please.”

“Right away, sir,” the young man replied, dropping what he was doing to go into the cabin on the other side of the ready room. Lancaster could hear him ordering the shuttle prepared for action as the doors closed behind him.

“We’ve been diverted, but apparently, I am to proceed on my own with Commander Alesser to Starbase Four,” the captain explained in response to the quizzical glance from his husband.

“Why him?” Sheppard asked.

“Knowing Admiral Seagraves, she’s read my logs and the ship’s personnel files to find the person I’d least like to spend 26 hours in a shuttle with,” Lancaster replied. He grabbed his uniform jacket and slipped it back on. “He’s just always so…”

“Flirty?” Sheppard supplied.

“That too. I was going to go with that he’s such a try-hard, though,” he said, stepping close enough to kiss Sheppard on the lips while they were momentarily still alone. He pulled away just as Kaplan re-entered the room. “I’d take you as well, but with Tenesh on shore leave, someone has to be acting Chief Medical Officer,” he noted. “It should only be a few days.”

“Does Kaplan get to go?” Sheppard asked, cocking his head towards the yeoman.

“Not this time,” Lancaster replied. “Captain Okusanya is going to need more support than she’ll admit. Don’t tell her I said that,” he said.

“Of course not, sir,” Kaplan replied with a smile. “I’m guessing I should clear your schedule for the rest of the day?”

“I’ll leave as soon as I’ve briefed her,” Lancaster confirmed. He glanced between his yeoman and his husband before deciding that it was as good a time as any to go through with something he’d been considering for a while. “Kaplan, did you know that most Odyssey-class captains have chiefs or officers as their yeomen?

A holdover from Lancaster’s time as first officer, Kaplan had been elevated to Yeoman Second Class when Lancaster had moved into the center seat. He was an exemplary assistant. Discrete. Loyal. Organized. In Lancaster’s mind, he was also wasted in his current job, despite how much he approved of his service.

“Yes, sir. I suppose I did. Are… you not happy with my work?”

Lancaster shook his head. “No, I was just reflecting on the fact that I’ve neglected to give you the recognition you deserve. Effective immediately, I am giving you a field promotion to Ensign,” he said. “I was going to tease it out a little more, but he wouldn’t let me,” he added, gesturing towards Sheppard.

“I.,. I don’t know what to say, sir. Thank you,” Kaplan replied, but his beaming smile was pretty clear about where his thoughts were about his promotion.

Lancaster opened a drawer on the cadenza behind his desk and pulled out a silver pip, which he handed to the doctor. Sheppard went over to remove the patch of a petty officer from Kaplan’s jacket and replaced it with the insignia of an Ensign.

“Congratulations, Ensign,” Sheppard said.

“Thank you, Doctor. This was very unexpected.”

“You’ll complete academy correspondence courses in your spare time. When you move on to a bridge officer role, you’ll have earned your rank through your credentials as much as you already have through merit,” Lancaster noted.

Kaplan grinned again. “I won’t let you down, Captain.”

“I know you won’t,” Lancaster replied.

Ten minutes later, Captain Okusanya was standing on the bridge listening to the end of her orders. Lancaster couldn’t detect precisely what her mood was, but she’d made no secret of the fact that she coveted command of the Arcturus. As one of her primary designers and her construction supervisor, it was understandable, but she never seemed to actually like leaving the engine room, so Lancaster would be surprised if she were pleased about the assignment.

“It should be very straightforward. Thankfully, your department hasn’t been hit by any major staff changes like the others,” Lancaster noted. “Any questions?”

“Get in, upgrade their sensor arrays, and evacuate if necessary. A milk run,” Okusanya replied. “I’m sure Commander Odea will keep me in line,” she noted.

Lancaster looked between the engineer and tactical officer, who suddenly found themselves in command roles. While he wasn’t nervous per se, he never liked leaving his ship in the hands of others. “You’ll do fine. The ship is yours, Captain,” he said before leaving the bridge.

“Executive Vehicle Bay,” he ordered, once in the turbolift.

The lift took him straight down through the saucer section into the upper levels of the secondary hull. Located between the twin torpedo launchers, the executive vehicle bay was a small hanger containing parking for two Type-12 shuttles, each specially modified to serve as fast transports for either the captain or the admiral. Unlike the diplomatic launch, which could carry a crew of eight and four dignitaries, these sleek, quick craft could barely fit two people and were meant to handle missions requiring discretion.

The two parking berths faced towards the ship’s center, joined by a vehicle replicator that also had a turntable for repositioning the two shuttles. From there, a launch tube barely wider than the shuttles themselves connected the bay to space. When Lancaster arrived, the Achilles was already on the turntable. It had the red markings standard for most Starfleet shuttles, while the admiral’s shuttle, the Odysseus, bore blue and gold markings signifying her status as a flag officer.

Lancaster boarded the shuttle from the aft ramp. The bulkhead separating the cockpit from the aft compartment was further forward than on a standard Type-12 shuttle, so there was enough room for a fold-down bunk above a table for two on one side and a tiny head on the other side. It would be tight but comfortable, or their journey. Thankfully, the shuttle’s speed would keep the trip relatively short. When he got to the front of the craft, he found Alesser already seated at the co-pilot’s station.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Alesser replied with a bright smile.

“Commander,” Lancaster replied as an acknowledgment; somehow, the other man had already managed to annoy him, even though he hadn’t actually done anything annoying. Yet.

“Pre-flight checks are complete. We’re ready to go on your order,” the Ardanan man replied.

“Achilles to bridge. Requesting departure clearance,” Lancaster said.

“Permission granted. Safe flying, Captain,” Okusanya replied over the comm.

“Activating magnetic catapult,” the captain said, feeling the solid connection of the shuttle to clamps in the deck after a moment. The computer began counting down from ten, and the shuttle’s engines powered up. Once the countdown reached zero, the shuttle rocketed forward thanks to the catapult system built into the launch tube.

With the Arcturus already going past warp nine, the Achilles was able to use the momentum it already had and the larger ship’s warp field to sustain speeds far above its normal cruising speed. Coupled with enhanced engines, the shuttle would complete the journey to Starbase Four only marginally more slowly than the mothership could.

“Arcturus is pulling away and falling behind, sir. They’re on course for Sentinel Major,” Alesser reported.

Lancaster nodded. “Good. Let’s not keep Vice Admiral Seagraves waiting.”

Ship’s Log, USS Arcturus. Captain Akintoye Okusanya recording.

We have altered course to Sentinel Major by order of Fourth Fleet Command. Our mission is to upgrade the long-range sensor array located in this system to increase its utility in predicting the path of the ongoing Century Storm. The specifications Starfleet provided have been relatively simple to produce, so I anticipate concluding this mission swiftly.

End Log

While she would never admit it, Captain Lancaster’s supposition had been correct: Akintoye Okusanya preferred life in the engine room to the bridge. Each time she had ambitions of command, she was swiftly disabused of them by the realities that came with the center seat. Why Lancaster had deigned to take the next senior-most officer along with him on his excursion was beyond her, it had left it to her and Lieutenant Commander Odea to fill in the gaps of a very strained duty roster. After a year of having four captains and a half-dozen commanders on the senior staff, the Arcturus had finally encountered a problem that it had never faced before: a lack of experienced bridge officers.

Typically, the department heads could be supplemented with commanders from other departments, especially in engineering and operations, but those officers were needed to get ready for their mission. Dr. Sheppard acting as the senior medical officer, that was one fewer name to toss onto the roster. Without pulling double or triple shifts, they’d need more bodies.

“Ma’am, if I may?” Ensign Kaplan asked, seated in front of the desk where he was taking notes on his WRIST interface.

The engineer nodded. Okusanya had left her own yeoman at Commander Slater’s disposal, so she’d inherited Lancaster’s. They hadn’t interacted much in the past, but she had quickly come to find out that he was much savvier than his blond-haired, blue-eyed appearance had led her to believe.

“There are several lieutenant commanders in the science and medical divisions who have passed the bridge officer’s exam but who have not yet been promoted to commander. If they’re added to the roster, that should balance the rotation and allow Lieutenant Commander Bowens and Lieutenants Windsor and Tellora to remain on call,” he suggested.

Okusanya glanced at Odea, who nodded; she wasn’t aware that those officers had hidden talents. “An apposite suggestion, Mr. Kaplan. I see we finally see who the power behind the throne is,” she said, chuckling at her own joke. “Please make the arrangements with the first officer.”

“Of course, Captain,” the young man replied, tapping away at his screen. The roster began to populate with enough officers to keep a senior officer on the bridge at all times, without taxing their three officers of the watch to the breaking point, considering Bowens and Tellora also had duties related to the hazard teams, which they would likely need when they got to Sentinel Major.

“Why haven’t they been promoted yet, out of curiosity?” the captain asked.

Kaplan’s face betrayed a moment of confusion, which he contorted into a smile. “It varies from individual to individual, but generally it’s because of an ongoing credentialing–,” he started, but Okusanya held up her hand.

“It’s complicated. Understood. Thank you, Ensign,” she said.

“Bridge to Captain Okusanya. We are arriving at Sentinel Major,” Lieutenant Commander Marshall reported over the comm.

“Understood. Take us into standard orbit,” Okusanya replied, tapping her badge to close the call.

Kaplan and Odea looked at each other and then at Okusanya. The Betazoid cleared her throat.

“Regulations require the captain’s presence on the bridge for all orbital insertion maneuvers, sir,” she reminded her.

“Right. Because the ship’s senior helmsman can’t be trusted to do that on his own?” Okusanya quipped. “Let’s go see if this gas giant’s all it’s cracked up to be, then,” she said, leaving the two officers to follow in her wake as she passed through the foyer and onto the bridge.

“Captain on the bridge!” Lieutenant Windsor announced from the first officer’s station next to Marshall in the center seat as the bosun’s whistle sounded.

“Don’t do that,” Okusanya replied, shaking her head.

“Aye, Captain,” Windsor replied, giving his seat to Odea as Marshall took the helm from Ensign Solomon. The tall lieutenant took the seat to the other side, sharing a look with Kaplan that did not escape Okusanya’s notice.

“You are more than free to resume your formalities when Captain Lancaster returns,” Okusanya said, crossing her legs as she sat down on the command throne. “What’s our status?”

“We’re approaching Sentinel Major III, preparing to enter orbit,” Marshall reported from the helm. “I have the Sentinel Major Outpost on sensors.”

“Well, at least it’s where it’s supposed to be, then,” Okusanya noted. “Put is in synchronous orbit between the primary orbital control node and their aerostat facility.”

“Aye,” Marshall replied.

The Arcturus dwarfed the orbital facility that made up half of the Sentinel Major Outpost, officially named “Deep Space Telescope Array Mu-Zero at Sentinel Major.” That facility controlled a network of satellites forming a web around the gas giant Sentinel Major III, generally known as Sentinel Major, rather than the system’s primary, a red dwarf. This was due to a case of mistaken identity in 21st-century astronomy, which had erroneously assumed that the planet was actually a brown dwarf and not simply an enormous type-II gas giant. The satellites used multiple simultaneous data points to measure subspace phenomena with great accuracy.

Beneath the orbital facility was an aerostat installation, which floated in an oxygen-rich inhabitable layer of the planet’s atmosphere. Sentinel Major III had a much less intense magnetosphere than other large gas giants such as Jupiter, making it suitable for colonization. Even still, there were only two hundred scientists at the facility—primarily civilians—because there were so many more attractive options for settlement in the Federation. Apart from the scientists who studied data from the long-range sensor array, there was also a sizable contingent of astrobiologists studying the ecosystem of aerostatic flora, flying fauna, and other unique life forms that had managed to evolve in the planet’s atmosphere.

“Now entering orbit, Captain,” Marshall reported.

“We are being hailed,” Lieutenant Galan reported.

“Open a channel,” Okusanya replied, standing up and moving forward to stand on the Federation seal in the center of the bridge as the viewscreen connected with the outpost’s operations system.

“Arcturus, this is Sentinel Major. We have you on our sensors. I’m Lieutenant Maximillian Vahlen, commanding officer of this facility,” a young man reported. He was wearing a blue uniform and looked awfully familiar.

“I’d hope that you could detect our approach, given that this is a deep-space telescope array,” the engineer noted.

Vahlen chuckled nervously. “Right you are, ma’am. We just received a copy of your orders from Starfleet Command. My facility is at your disposal,” he noted.

“I’ll be sending down an engineering team to ensure that our specifications match the current state of your equipment. I estimate that we will be able to complete the project within thirty-six hours,” she replied.

The lieutenant nodded. “The scientists here have been asking for these upgrades since before I took command. We’re happy to help however we can,” he said.

“Excellent, Lieutenant,” Okusanya replied, starting to turn around to return to her seat, but she stopped herself. “Do you have an older brother? Just out of curiosity.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m surprised Theo didn’t mention I was stationed here. Will he be beaming down as well?” the younger Vahlen brother replied, with a tone of hope that stabbed Okusanya right in the heart.

“He’s no longer on the Arcturus. He took an assignment on Earth,” she replied. “There’s some irony for you.”

Vahlen nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sending transporter coordinates now. Sentinel Major out,” he said, cutting the channel in a mild breach of protocol, being the junior commander in that exchange.

“What are the odds?” Okusanya asked, mostly to herself. “Not telling his brother that he’s now a tenured professor at Starfleet Academy definitely tracks with Commander Vahlen’s character.”

Lieutenant Windsor nodded. “He did always strike me as a little, uh, evil, ma’am.”

“Well, let’s hope his brother fell a little further from the tree, then. I don’t want this to be one of those holonovels where we’ve stumbled upon a jumped-up colonial official who’s let power go to his head and is running some sort of cult beyond the notice of Starfleet,” the engineer replied, sitting back down.

“I didn’t know we even had holonovels like that,” Windsor replied, his eyes getting wide.

“They probably don’t on Penthara IV,” Okusanya muttered. “Commander, please accompany the engineering team to the station.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for any cults or power trips, ma’am,” Odea quipped. “Odea to Van Dorland. Meet me with your team in transporter room four. Galan, you’re with me.”

Once Odea had left the bridge with the communications officer in tow, the bridge was left quiet while they waited for the team to assemble and beam down. It was interminable.

Okusanya turned to Windsor. “What do you do on the holodeck if not parse out complicated murder mysteries in realistic but fantastical scenarios?”

“I can never figure out those mysteries. I like the beach,” Windsor replied brightly. “Arturo—Lieutenant Hidalgo—”

“Yes, I know who Ship is,” Okusanya replied, arching an eyebrow; while she didn’t often wade into the fray with her junior officers, she did at least know that one’s very appropriate nickname.

“Er. Of course. Well, anyway, he likes the historical ones, and I pretty much let him pick whatever he wants,” the lieutenant continued.

“That’s very sensible. Always give engineers what they ask for,” Okusanya replied, drumming her fingers on the armrest of the chair. “What’s taking them so long?”

“It’s only been thirty seconds, ma’am,” Windsor reminded her.

“What do bridge officers do all day?!” she wondered aloud. Windsor opened his mouth to respond, but she held up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t need the details of all the reports you probably read, sign, write, and archive every shift.”

“Once they report in, you can give Lieutenant Commander Marshall the bridge again,” Windsor noted in a lower voice. “I usually use the time to do seated core exercises, though.”

“Of course you do, Mr. Windsor,” the engineer replied, watching as the lieutenant sat up to his full height and demonstrated an exercise that was essentially just flexing in place. It was everything she’d ever derisively thought about command-line officers in one instance. “Of course you do.”

Once their course had been set, Captain Lancaster retreated to the aft compartment of the Achilles to read. Alesser presumed that he was going over a list of potential new first officers that did not include him, but he’d never been able to get inside the captain’s head. He’d never been invited, for that matter. The silence was deafening at first, but once he saw that Lancaster had put in a pair of earbuds, he did the same, so he could listen to a broadcast from the Federation News Service, a luxury that they didn’t get in the Delta Quadrant, other than the bulletins from their embarked reporter who often reported much less than he already knew with his security clearance.

Over an hour of the coverage he listened to concerned some ongoing protests around the Federation regarding the end of the synthetics ban. Despite what Starfleet now knew about the attack on Mars, there were still some who didn’t want to see androids return to public life. The host had brought in speakers from several sides of the issue, and it made Alesser realize that he really didn’t know what to think about the situation. He knew, however, that Lancaster’s stance was quite firm, as he barely tolerated the holograms aboard the Arcturus.

The day Lancaster took command was the last time Alesser had ever seen the Long-Term Command Hologram on the bridge. While he’d never had the opportunity to check his dossier, Alesser guessed that Lancaster was just about old enough to have been at the academy during the attack, so he’d often wondered if there was a connection there. While you could easily deactivate a hologram, they were still synthetic beings, and they could still be a threat to organic life in the right circumstances. Given that Alesser’s own people, the Ardanans, had long had a caste system and before that had actual slavery, though, he didn’t feel a need to cast any judgment on the moral or ethical implications of once again creating a race of indentured servants.

As he felt his thoughts drifting into far too deep waters, Alesser removed his earbuds and stood up to stretch. He was suddenly aware that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was now dinner time. The replicator was built into the bulkhead next to the table where the captain was seated, so there was no getting around getting in his personal space.

“Can I join you, sir? I thought I’d order something for dinner,” Alesser asked, pointing to the replicator. While he wasn’t sure how much of that Lancaster heard through his headphones, the captain looked up and nodded, removing them as the commander sat down across from him. While the shuttle wasn’t so small that their knees touched, it was still quite intimate. “Thank you, Captain.”

Lancaster scanned him for a moment. “The computer pre-loaded this shuttle with my replicator profile, so I suppose I should apologize in advance if there’s nothing to your liking,” he offered.

“I’m sure if I can find something without meat, I’ll be happy,” he replied.

“I didn’t know you were also a vegetarian,” the captain said.

“It’s almost universal on Ardana,” Alesser explained, trying to maintain respectful eye contact while also scrolling through the menu options on the replicator terminal. “Computer, fagiolata.”

Alesser hadn’t known what the word meant, but it sounded interesting. He was pleasantly surprised when the computer produced a bowl of rich bean stew with several pieces of toasted bread. His knowledge of Human languages wasn’t as comprehensive as he might have hoped, but he was vaguely aware that the word sounded Italian.

“Did Sheppard introduce this to you?” he asked.

Lancaster’s eyes narrowed. “Doctor Sheppard did, yes,” he said, quite effectively steering their conversation back to the realm of the professional. His mouth quirked. “He would say that it’s criminal to have a dish like this for dinner without a glass of wine,” he admitted. He tapped the control panel to make another bowl of soup, and then two glasses of rich red wine appeared as well. Everything came with the Arcturus’s seal on it.

“He’s a wise man, sir,” Alesser said, taking one of the glasses. “Cheers,” he offered.

“Salud,” Lancaster replied, glancing at him for a moment and then focusing on his meal. Despite his general standoffishness, Alesser had never got the sense that Lancaster was actually anti-social or enjoyed awkward situations, but his veneer of propriety was so thick that it made him shut down around his subordinates. Either that, or he was just an ass. “I can’t imagine I’m the person you wanted to accompany you on this trip.”

“Why do you say that?” the captain asked.

Alesser laughed. “With every bit of respect I can muster, sir, you are married to Doctor Luca Sheppard, and instead of getting to spend a day trapped in a shuttle with him, you have to spend it with me instead,” he said, hoping that the calculated compliment towards his husband would make it past Lancaster’s very powerful bullshit detector. All of that, at least, was a very valid assessment from Alesser’s perspective.

A brief flicker of a smile passed across Lancaster’s lips. “That’s a fair point, Commander, but he was not summoned to Starbase Four, and you were,” he replied with a shrug.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me any more about that?” Alesser asked.

“Vice Admiral Seagraves has never before explained her decisions to me, and she wasn’t in a mood to start today,” the captain replied. “Given that you would be the logical choice for acting first officer on the Arcturus with Captain Okusanya in command, I’m sure whatever her reason, it’s important.”

The operations officer grinned. “Is it worth mentioning that I’d hope to be considered for the permanent post as well, sir?” he asked.

Lancaster frowned. “Well, if you mentioned that, you’d be implying that I haven’t done my due diligence with my shortlist,” he noted, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Right,” Alesser replied, returning his attention to the soup. It was really quite good, despite the awkwardness of their conversation. Part of him wanted to simply ask the captain why they didn’t seem to get along, but even he wouldn’t let himself be so bold. “The fidelity on the replicator is very high. The Achilles puts every other yacht in the fleet to shame.”

“I’ve never liked the term ‘captain’s yacht,’ but the correct nautical analog would be ‘captain’s gig,’ and that sounds even stranger. This is merely an executive shuttlecraft,” Lancaster corrected, but his tone wasn’t aggressive, just matter-of-fact. “Our diplomatic launch is so much larger, but this is more practical. I don’t need a pleasure barge; I need a fast personal transport.”

“The Da Jiao is certainly neither the most efficient nor the leanest craft in the fleet,” Alesser agreed. “I definitely agree that it’s preferable to spend a quarter of the time in a tiny shuttle versus four days with your very own bar and whirlpool tub.”

Lancaster made a noise that was somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. “Commander, you don’t have to try so hard to agree with everything I say. It comes across as insincere,” he said, which was absolutely the most honest and direct thing the captain had ever said to him.

Alesser nodded, feeling himself blush slightly. The two of them finished their meals in silence, and Lancaster moved to one of the forward stations once everything had been cleared away. Before Alesser could even pick a book to read on his PADD, the shuttle shuddered. Any shimmy or vibration in flight was a concern, but this was hard enough to nearly make him hit his head on the bulkhead. The red alert lights illuminated as he moved up to the co-pilot’s station.

“We’ve hit a pocket of subspace instability,” Lancaster said, running through the emergency checklist from his side of the ship. “We have to drop out of warp, or we’ll fly apart. The warp drive is already starting to overload.”

“We’re getting sheer to starboard. I can compensate with the inertial dampeners, but it won’t hold long,” Alesser reported.

“Do it,” the captain ordered before activating the communications console. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is shuttlecraft Achilles declaring an emergency. We are falling out of warp and require immediate assistance.”

“With the subspace instability, there’s no guarantee anyone will get that call, Captain,” Alesser reminded him.

Lancaster was too busy pulling them out of warp to respond. There was an almighty rumble as the stars in front of them resolved to their stationary appearances. They were at sublight, but they were out of control, the impulse engines being impacted by the same subspace anomaly as the warp engines had been.

“Where are we?” Lancaster asked.

“Navigational sensors are not responding. I can’t get a fix on our position, but we’re in a star system. At least four planets. Two with oxygen-nitrogen atmospheres,” Alesser reported.

“And we’re caught in the gravity well of one of them. I don’t think I can get us into orbit,” Lancaster replied. “Launch the log buoy.”

“It’s not responding,” Alesser replied. “We’ll hit the atmosphere in 30 seconds. The planet is Class O. 5% land, and the rest is ocean. It’ll support us, but there’s no way we’re setting down anywhere solid with the controls like this.”

“The shuttle will float,” Lancaster replied, gritting his teeth. “Probably.”

Screaming through space at high speeds towards a planet was never a great idea, but the sight of an uncontrolled approach into the atmosphere of a water world was enough to make Alesser lose his breath for a moment. As it loomed closer and closer, the shields began to shimmer against the friction of the atmosphere. He had to give Lancaster credit, though, as he managed to pull them out of a nosedive and into a gentle descent towards the surface of the amethyst sea before them.

“Brace,” Lancaster ordered, moments before the nacelles touched down in the water.

The inertial dampeners weren’t enough to soften the blow to the shuttle’s two passengers, though, and Alesser was knocked out of his seat. Lancaster was flung all the way back against the divider between the cockpit and the aft compartment, hitting his head on the corner with an audible crack. Dazed from his fall, Alesser crawled back to the controls to confirm that they were, in fact, afloat before moving around to check on his captain, who was now bleeding from a severe gash to the temple as they drifted in an alien ocean.

While it was by no means her first away mission, Odea was eager to have her trip to the facility on Sentinel Major go smoothly if it was to be her first challenge as acting executive officer. She had been momentarily surprised that Captain Okusanya hadn’t wanted to visit the colony herself, knowing how hands-on she tended to be with engineering projects. Still, she knew that the good captain was likely following protocol closely as a way of auditioning for the permanent first officer position. By joining the Arcturus a year prior, Odea had put off her own immediate advancement for the sake of service on such a prestigious posting and on such a sought-after mission: exploring the Delta Quadrant. She was content in her role as tactical officer, but the thought of moving up was tantalizing.

She materialized along with Lieutenant Galan and the engineering team on one of the transporter pads in the Sentinel Major aerostat facility. Upon initial inspection, it was identical to any other Starfleet facility she’d been in, which seemed somehow strange or underwhelming to her given that the station was suspended in the atmosphere of a gas giant. The station’s commander, Lieutenant Vahlen, and a Tellarite chief petty officer were on hand to greet them. Though members of Starfleet the same as Odea and the others from the Arcturus, they wore less formal uniforms, a jumpsuit that lacked the raised collar of the starship duty uniform for greater mobility. Their combadges were an unadorned delta, further setting them apart from their visitors.

“Welcome to Sentinel Major, Commander,” Vahlen said. Odea could sense a mix of envy and relief coming from the young lieutenant, even as she avoided prying into his thoughts. “As I said to your captain, we have been looking forward to these upgrades for a long time, so I’m glad Starfleet has finally found a ship they could spare.”

The chief scoffed. “The only reason Starfleet is even paying attention to us is because of the subspace weather event. We’ll go back to invisibility as soon as it’s over,” he grumbled, his disdain evident even without telepathy.

“And this is Chief Thorn, my Chief of Operations and second-in-command,” Vahlen said, with a slight sigh. “He’ll be able to get your team up to speed on our systems.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m Dealhi Odea, acting first officer. Commander van Dorland, acting Chief Engineer, will lead our efforts here on the ground, so to speak,” she said, gesturing to the Human engineer. “This is Kasir, Asos, and Shadi,” she added, introducing the Vulcan computer scientist, the Andorian sensor specialist, and the Bajoran engineer who made up the rest of the engineering team. “If you agree, I’d like to have Chief Thorn brief them while you and I discuss the logistics of a possible evacuation with Lieutenant Galan, my communications officer.”

“Of course. Chief, take them to operations. Perhaps you’d like a short tour as we discuss, ma’am?” Vahlen offered.

“It’s your station,” Odea replied with a small smile.

She could tell that he was feeling intimidated with not just three senior officers suddenly in his space but three senior officers from a capital ship. There was a difference in prestige that would likely be the elephant in the room for the duration of their visit. Happy to leave behind what was sure to be a lively discussion between the engineers, Odea followed Vahlen out of the transporter room with Lieutenant Galan in tow.

“I noticed a lot of ‘acting’ designations in your titles,” Vahlen noted.

“We were on our way to Starbase Four to take on crew replacements, but we were diverted here, instead. It’s… complex,” Odea offered.

It was just a short walk down the corridor to an expansive observation gallery that offered sweeping views of the amber-gold clouds swirling around the station. From that vantage point, Odea could see one of the two greenspace decks, which stretched out a hundred meters from the center of the station. Otherwise a relatively typical Jupiter-type research installation with one stack of habitat and lab saucers, the station was suspended in the atmosphere through a combination of anti-gravity arrays and buoyant gas bladders, which ensured that a power failure wouldn’t send them down to crush depth. The flotation pods were beneath two outdoor parks that allowed the residents to take advantage of Sentinel Major’s breathable atmosphere.

“I had wondered why Starfleet hadn’t simply built an orbital station, but I think I get it now,” Odea noted, which earned a grin from the lieutenant. She could tell he was proud of his installation, even if it was very minor. “It’s hard to imagine how 200 people live and work within the atmosphere of a gas giant until you see it.”

“I was skeptical too until I first arrived last year,” Vahlen confirmed.

“Is it not unusual for a lieutenant to have command of a crew of 200?” Galan asked.

“Each of the science teams reports directly to Starfleet. I’m just an administrator, responsible for the facility itself and the orbital sensor grid. I only have eighteen people reporting to me,” the scientist clarified. “The majority of our population are civilians, anyway.”

Galan nodded. “That makes our purpose here clearer,” he said. “Are the residents aware of what may be coming?”

“No. I didn’t want to worry anyone until you arrived, and we had a plan.”

“What’s a worst-case scenario? What would it take to make the station sink?” Odea asked.

Vahlen swallowed. “Well, that would be extremely unlikely. The antigrav array would have to be disabled, and a significant number of the flotation pods would have to be breached. In the event of that type of emergency, we have enough escape pods and shuttles to get everyone up into orbit.”

“All of the reports we have suggest that such an occurrence is in the realm of possibility,” Lieutenant Galan offered. The Romulan stepped up to the viewport. “Are those static attraction towers?” he asked, pointing.

“Uh. Well, they’re lightning rods,” Vahlen answered. “They’re attached to capacitor banks that can store energy from the occasional storms we get at this altitude.”

Galan nodded. “The storms reported by the Prospero and on Coronal were extremely strong. It would be wise to reinforce those towers and deploy additional shielding around the facility,” he said, looking to Odea.

“If you’re offering, I’ll obviously take whatever help you can provide,” Lieutenant Vahlen said.

Odea tapped her badge. “Odea to van Dorland. While you’re learning about the station’s specifications, I think it would be wise to check out their electromagnetic defenses, too.”

“Chief Thorn had the same thought. We’re working on a solution to present to the captain,” the engineer replied.

“Thank you, Commander,” Odea replied, ending the call. That Jack van Dorland outranked her was a slight point of awkwardness since she was in command, but he seemed to be pretty ego-free. “I think it would be wise to evacuate non-essential personnel to the Arcturus until we’ve seen to your defenses.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary, ma’am?” Vahlen asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I do. We’ll see if my captain agrees with me. In the meantime, please identify which members of the science teams must remain behind to maintain any ongoing experiments, so we can try to minimize the disruption to your operations,” Odea offered, not relishing the task of being diplomatic but not wanting to step on his toes either.

The scientist nodded. “Of course.”

Vahlen opened his mouth to say something else, but that turned into a gaping stare towards the windows behind Odea. She sensed a sharp jolt alarm from the young man and turned around to see a large winged creature flying straight for them. At least as big as a shuttle, it had leathery gray skin and resembled a gormagander or a whale. The window deafened it slightly, but as the creature pulled up to avoid flying into them, it let out a piercing shriek. When she reached briefly into its mind, all Odea could feel was overwhelming confusion and fear.

“What was that?!” Odea asked.

“We call them sentinel gas whales. They… don’t normally do that.”

There was a bolt of lightning in the distance, followed quickly by the boom of thunder. It wasn’t the Century Storm, not yet, but it didn’t bode well. Odea had a sinking feeling that they had arrived just in time to avoid catastrophe on Sentinel Major, but they were running against the clock now.

“I better report in,” Odea said, turning back to Vahlen. “Get me that list as soon as you can,” she said before stepping further down the gallery to speak to the Arcturus in a little more privacy, leaving Vahlen with Galan. Both lieutenants were looking out the windows in stunned silence as Odea gathered the strength to explain to Captain Okusanya that they’d nearly been hit by a very agitated flying cetacean.

Lancaster didn’t feel the impact between the side of his head and the partition separating the cockpit and the aft compartment when he was flung out of his chair, not at first. He could feel blood dripping from his temple, dazed from what was surely a substantial hit. The wind was knocked out of him, too, so he couldn’t even cry out reflexively. Moments later, the haze of his vision resolved on Alesser’s brown eyes, though he couldn’t hear what he was saying. That was answer enough to whatever question he’d asked, and a medical tricorder appeared after Lancaster blinked, and the commander was applying pressure to his temple. As hard as he was trying to stay conscious, everything went black after a few more moments.

When the captain woke up, he was in the bunk in the aft compartment. His throat was dry, and there was still a soft ringing in his ears, but the pain was gone. When he reached up to his forehead, it was clean and dry, without a bandage. Alesser must have managed to use the dermal regenerator and find the correct combination of drugs to help stave off the worst effects of a head injury. Before Lancaster could say anything, the commander was next to him.

“Don’t try to get up. You have a concussion,” Alesser warned. The Ardanan reached out to stop him with a firm hand on his shoulder when he tried anyway. “I’m stronger than I look, Captain.”

“Apparently,” Lancaster replied, with a sigh, wondering how he’d been moved into the bed without causing more damage. He looked down to see that Alesser had stripped off his jacket and undershirt to put a cardiac monitor over his heart, and he noticed a small holographic screen pulsing softly with his heartbeat and respiration. “How long was I out?”

“Four hours,” Alesser said. “We’re afloat, and we have most of our systems except engines and communications,” he added before Lancaster could ask for more information.

The captain did some quick math in his head. “The Arcturus should already be at Sentinel Major,” he noted. The two vessels had been traveling in opposite directions for approximately seven hours, and then the Arcturus had kept going for another four.

Alesser nodded. “Yes, sir. Based on our rough scans of the system and our flight time, I’ve been able to work out that we’re in the Zaaldi system. It’s uninhabited. We’re 4 light-years from Starbase 4, 4 light-years from Sentinel Major, and 4 hours away from our next check-in.”

“So, assuming they send a ship to investigate precisely when we fail to check-in, it’s 11 hours at maximum warp for them or for the Arcturus,” Lancaster muttered. “Will we stay afloat that long?”

“Under normal circumstances, the shuttle’s natural buoyancy and the emergency flotation bladders, we would be able to remain afloat indefinitely,” Alesser said. “But…”

“Spit it out, Commander.”

“One of the reasons this planet was never settled is that the microorganisms in the ocean are colonial in nature. They adhere to anything they can find. Usually floating debris, which they eventually overcome by their sheer mass and drag under the water,” the operations officer explained.

“And how much additional mass have we already picked up?”

“About ten percent of our current mass.”

“And the flotation bladders are rated for fifty percent more mass than the shuttle and four occupants, so…,” the captain said, struggling a little more with this round of math.

“The computer modeling suggests that the accumulation rate will increase as the organisms themselves create more surface area, so we’ll be underwater in eight hours,” Alesser replied.

While Alesser did genuinely annoy Lancaster, the captain also knew that his operations officer knew his stuff when it came to engineering and science. He was extremely capable, which is perhaps why his obsequiousness grated so much more. While he’d initially agreed with him about preferring Sheppard’s company, he was glad in some ways that he’d have a fellow capable engineer with him to figure out a solution to their problem.

“Nothing like survival on a deadline.”

While the shuttle could safely make it down to the seafloor with no problems under most circumstances, Lancaster doubted that it would be able to survive doing so with so much extra mass attached to it, let alone be in a condition to signal for help before their power ran out. A day-long trip was starting to turn into much more of an ordeal than he’d signed up for.

Amador City had pulled up alongside Arcturus a few hours after efforts to begin upgrades at the Sentinel Major outpost had begun. A California-class utility cruiser, she was stuffed to the rafters with passengers, which included Starfleet personnel removed from minor outposts Starfleet deemed unnecessary to the storm response and refugees from vulnerable worlds. Crucially, she’d brought almost two hundred civilians who had been wounded when electrical interference from the Century Storm had caused a fusion reactor to overload on a nearby dilithium cracking station. There was ward space for 120 between the two sickbay complexes, but one of the cargo bays had been converted for intermediate care, and some of the guest quarters were holding patients that were well enough to be somewhat independent but still needed medical care. It was a test that would have been easier with the ship’s two senior medical officers present, but Dr. Sheppard was managing the situation well as acting chief medical officer.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Commander Navarro was standing in for the absent Commander Alesser in operations, managing the needs of the other 1,484 refugees with Counselor Carver (also a deputy stepping up) and Mr. Evandrion, who was one of the few senior officers who was not a deputy or second deputy acting temporarily as the head of their department. There was more than enough space; the ship’s complement could comfortably be expanded to up to eight thousand for short and medium-term mission terms between visiting specialists, independent research or engineering teams, and civilians. With the cargo and shuttle bays transformed into housing, the ship’s maximum life support capacity allowed for a total passenger and crew load of twice that for evacuation missions. Those scenarios presupposed that there were no significant vacancies in the ship’s senior leadership roles, though, and the crew were struggling slightly to manage the logistics of having a large group of visitors aboard, even if they weren’t stacked to the rafters.

Just when the passengers from the Amador City had been settled, and the cruiser had rushed off to evacuate another set of outposts, the non-essential personnel from Sentinel Major started to beam up, which was nearly two-hundred more beings to support physically and emotionally. A skeleton team of just a dozen had been left behind on the station, as engineers from Arcturus implemented Starfleet’s upgrade plans with a swarm of shuttles transporting the equipment to each of the dozens of geosynchronous satellites that made up the deep space telescope array. Commander Van Dorland remained on the surface to coordinate with the station’s own personnel, but Lieutenant Commander Odea had at least been able to return to the ship to help manage the situation there.

Even the science department was pressed, converting the core mission labs and the special projects labs to hold what experiments could be removed safely from Sentinel Major. One of the cargo bays also had to be emptied to handle several deceased examples of the planet’s gas whale species, which included an entire skeleton and a few massive stasis chambers with intact specimens.

As soon as Odea had returned to the ship, Captain Okusanya had retreated to main engineering, where she had been much happier to tinker with the schematics of Sentinel Major’s lightning towers than to deal with the tedious logistics of their current situation. Though a captain by rank, she was quickly finding herself a fish out of water trying to run a starship. The technical problem they faced was where her expertise was most needed, she thought, with a significant cadre of experienced bridge officers left up above, even without their permanent positions filled.

“Yellow Alert. Captain Okusanya to the bridge,” Odea’s voice thundered over the intercom right as Okusanya was figuring out the best position for a tertiary energy coupler to add to the station’s energy defense towers.

“What now?” the engineer muttered. “Keep working on this,” she ordered to the other engineers standing around the master situation display table in engineering.

The captain exited main engineering forward towards the bank of turbolifts past the main entrance. The already-busy crew were now at a light jog to their duty stations all around her, and by the time she got to the bridge, it was fully crewed and ready for action.

“Captain on the bridge!” Lieutenant Windsor announced.

“Report,” Okusanya ordered.

“We have a contact approaching, sir. They didn’t appear on long-range sensors, and we’re not entirely sure why. They’re not responding to hails,” Odea replied dutifully. “Protocol states that we must initiate defensive countermeasures upon the approach of an unidentified vessel.”

“I’m aware of the protocol,” Okusanya replied tartly. “Time to intercept?”

“Four minutes, twenty-nine seconds,” the acting tactical officer, Mr. Lykaios, reported. “Based on these readings, it appears to be a Starfleet warp signature, but it’s muddled enough for me not to be confident in that.”

“Better safe than sorry,” the captain agreed. “Tactical plot on main viewer,” she ordered.

Moments later, a diagram appeared on the viewer, showing Arcturus in the center over Sentinel Major, with a red “X” approaching at high warp. They were deep within Federation space, but movements between ships were so carefully choreographed through the operations divisions in each fleet and at each starbase that any unexpected contact was highly unusual. The moments ticked by, and Okusanya was close to declaring red alert when the sensor image finally resolved.

“They have dropped out of warp, and we have visual contact, Captain,” Lykaios said.

“On screen.”

The diagram was replaced with one of the most unusual Starfleet designs that Okusanya was aware of, the obsolescent Centaur-class scout. She was bleeding plasma from her warp nacelles. Off the top of her head, Okusanya knew that a ship like that would not have been able to sustain the speeds they were clocking them at, which could explain the damage. The lettering on the hull was clear: USS Asbestos.

“Hail them again.”

“No response, Captain,” Lykaios reported. “I am detecting substantial electromagnetic interference, though. Their primary communications array has been ionized.”

“They may have passed through the storm,” Windsor offered.

Okusanya rapped her hands on the captain’s chair as she thought about the options. To her, it was clear that they were in no danger; it’s not like a ship of that class would prove to be a threat even if it was hostile.

“I’m also detecting instability in their warp drive and several other systems,” the tactical officer added. “Wait. Visual sensors are detecting a lamp code… ‘Communications damaged. Wounded aboard. Overrode engine safeties. Requesting assistance,’” he read.

“Lower shields,” Okusanya ordered.

“Captain, we need to verify their identity first,” Odea objected.

Okusanya clenched her jaw for a moment. “Do it.”

“Transmitting challenge code,” Lykaios replied. There was a pause. “They’ve returned the correct code. It’s the Asbestos, sir, and they’re not indicating coercion.”

“Good. Lower our shields and order them to hold position,” Okusanya said, standing up from her chair and walking over to one of the engineering stations. “We’re going to use our deflector to deionize their hull to re-establish communications,” she said before making the appropriate modifications to the secondary deflector array. It was faster to just do it herself, after all. “Initiating,” she said.

A brief burst of blue light emitted from the deflector dish, visible on the screen as it resolved into a ray that passed slowly over the hull of the Asbestos to neutralize the charge that was preventing their communications equipment from working. Once it was complete, Okusanya opened a channel.

“Arcturus to Asbestos. Report your status,” Okusanya.

The image of the strange-looking ship on the viewer was replaced with a rather forlorn-looking young man in a red lieutenant commander’s uniform. “Asbestos here. We were attempting to scout the leading edge of the storm, but we underestimated how fast it would advance on our position. We had to disengage engine safeties to get here in time.”

“In time for what, Captain?”

“To warn you. The storm will be here in just under four hours,” he replied.

The bridge went deadly silent for a moment as that news sunk in. They were nowhere near ready for that, not if they had any chance of carrying out their orders to upgrade and protect the sensor array.

Zaaldi III was a primordial ocean world teeming with life. Without intelligent or even sapient life of its own, it would have been an ideal candidate for colonization had its salty seas not been teeming with aggressively colonial organisms. They were eager to attach to anything solid in the water, dragging it under by their gradual accumulation and then slowly consuming it. The Achilles had begun collecting these organisms as soon as it splashed down, her natural buoyancy decreasing by the second with every added gram of mass. Finely-tuned and hand-built for speed and high performance, the shuttle was a magnificent piece of engineering, but she was never intended to travel along the surface of an alien ocean under the best of conditions, let alone with her subspace driver coils disabled and the added mass of alien life gradually pulling her under the surface.

Though Captain Lancaster and Commander Alesser were both technical experts and scientists, it took them several hours to modify the ship to move under her own power on course to one of the only landmasses on the planet, a tiny outcropping of rock and sand almost 200 kilometers away from their landing zone. Bypassing the subspace driver coils to allow the impulse engines to work purely on Newtonian principles had been the first problem; reinforcing the emergency flotation bladders so that they wouldn’t be ripped off the ship once it got up to speed was the other. They were barely afloat by the time they managed to get their craft to the beach. One last jolt of power got them up onto the sand, and the flotation bladders finally collapsed, leaving the Achilles not just looking like a beached whale, but one that had been rotting in the sun for days.

The illusion was only enhanced by the sulfur and ammonia byproducts of the microorganisms’ metabolism, which saturated the air with an acrid stench as the two officers moved their survival equipment to higher ground. They needed a base camp while they worked on repairing their craft, in case a wave were to come in and drag the Achilles back into the water, and thankfully there was a clearing with a nice enough view of the ocean and shade provided by several large ferns that their tricorders told them weren’t poisonous. A survival sleeping bag, emergency tent, and field replicator weren’t a substitute for the beach vacation Alesser had planned to sneak in on their visit to Starbase 4, though.

The first task had been to detach the emergency flotation bladders, now that they were useless. After a bit of experimentation, they found a phaser frequency that successfully cleaned the organisms off of the hull, which had the added benefit of removing the source of the odor as well. Two hours later, Lancaster and Alesser had cleaned the Achilles thoroughly, which left all of its systems available for them to inspect and repair. They’d landed at twilight, but the planet rotated slowly, and the sun was at its zenith, making it a scorching forty degrees. 

Alesser had quickly determined that the subspace driver coils and the warp coils had both been rendered useless by the subspace interference they’d struck, as they both operated on the principle of manipulating subspace to alter the mass of the vehicle they were propelling. In the absence of a shipyard or the specialized equipment found in the Arcturus’s hanger, the solution was to run a low-level subspace field through both systems, but it would take sixteen to twenty-four hours to return them to service. 

“We’re dead in the water for at least a day. How are communications?” Alesser asked as he closed his tricorder.

“That’s unfortunate. We’ll need to deionize each component of the subspace transceiver manually and then calibrate it to cut the ambient subspace interference from the storm,” Lancaster said from on top of the shuttle. “I’m going to detach it, and we can carry it up to the camp.”

“That’ll be seven or eight hours of fun,” Alesser quipped. “I’m getting water and changing out of this uniform,” he said, not bothering with the formality of waiting for permission, before ducking into the shuttle for a hydration break, pulling off his sweat-soaked uniform undershirt in the process. Even without the jacket and the turtleneck, he was burning up, and he had no idea how Lancaster was managing in the full duty uniform without passing out. He opened up the wardrobe wedged into the aft compartment next to the tiny head and smirked when he saw that the computer had already provided weather-appropriate clothing: swimsuits.

They were still technically a uniform: tight swim trunks with a built-in belt in division coloring and panels of the same on the side of both legs, each adorned with a Starfleet delta in silver, as well as an armband matching the belt to attach his badge to. The computer displayed the uniform specifications on the screen above the shelf, itself a tiny replicator, showing that they had been approved along with the rest of the new uniform designs and were marked for ‘diplomatic duties in tropical climates.’

“Not bad,” Alesser noted as he started to change. “I should go into the diplomatic corps,” he noted, checking himself out in the mirror on the wardrobe’s door as he strapped the armband around his bicep. 

“Is there a second degausser in the supply cupboard?” Lancaster asked as Alesser put on the matching rubberized sandals. The captain missed a full-on view of Alesser’s stern by nanoseconds as he walked into the shuttle. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Larus. Comfortable?” 

“Very. If you want to waste resources by sweating through your clothes in 40-degree weather, be my guest. There’s a red one for you,” Alesser said as he closed the tiny delta-shaped clasp on his belt and then bent over to grab the spare degausser. “I’ll be outside,” he added, brandishing the degausser and taking the sunscreen too.

Lancaster glowered at him but didn’t object as he passed. Alesser had never seen him sweat before, let alone end up with his hair mussed; it was a nice reminder that the captain wasn’t as perfect as he made himself out to be. Lancaster was a man and not an android, a fact which Alesser found himself lingering on long enough to make himself uncomfortable. His thoughts were taken back to memories of his previous commanding officer, a man taller, more muscular, and bolder than Lancaster was, but a man designed following similar conceptual and physical specifications. Michael Lancaster was not Noah Armstrong, though, and that was solidly a good thing, as far as Alesser was concerned.

While contemplating how he always seemed to end up in antagonistic relationships with his superiors, he applied the sunscreen he’d replicated, a little surprised that the default scent wasn’t coconut or something tropical; it was unscented. His bronze-toned skin was unlikely to burn, but it would be embarrassing to end up scorched because he’d been foolish enough to discard his UV protection on an uncharted world. The ritual of applying the suntan lotion also made it feel a little more like a vacation, even in the absence of margaritas and cabana boys. He was positively shocked when Lancaster exited the shuttle a few minutes later, wearing the second pair of trunks from the wardrobe.

“Don’t,” Lancaster said, preempting Alesser when he opened his mouth to let out a little snark. “It’s functional for our current situation.”

Alesser grinned and offered him the tube of sunscreen. “Well, if you’re indulging me, mind getting my back?” he said, feeling quite pleased with his self-restraint for at least resisting checking the other man out too blatantly. There was a beat. “I’m not trying to be skeevy. I promise. Either of us acquiring third-degree burns would be detrimental to our survival.”

The captain pursed his lips. “Turn around,” he ordered, snatching the sunscreen. “I hope this means you’ll recover at least a modicum of your deference.” 

An affirmative reaction was enough to stun Alesser into just complying with the instruction and turning around rather than offering any sort of flirty quip. It admittedly felt good, though, when the captain worked the lotion into his skin, moving quickly enough to make the bizarre interaction end faster but doing a thorough enough job not to have to repeat it for several hours at least. 

Alesser was quite proud of himself for not saying anything suggestive, witty, or sexual for the whole sixty seconds Lancaster was touching him. They traded places, and Alesser mimicked the senior officer’s performance, doing a good job but going out of his way to keep it chaste. He even averted his eyes and tried not to notice how well-defined Lancaster’s back muscles were, though he was more aware than he’d ever been before of how tall and built the captain was. Given that he was married to Luca Sheppard, a paragon of classical, traditional Human masculinity, Alesser sometimes forgot that Lancaster was also quite the specimen of male beauty himself. 

“We have our sunscreen, and we’ve hydrated, so can we get back to work?” Lancaster asked as he applied the rest of the sunscreen on his front. 

Alesser nodded. “Let’s get the… You got the transceiver down without help?” he said, blinking in disbelief when he saw the relatively large piece of equipment sitting undamaged on a tarp next to the shuttle. The oblong device had a semi-open structure and weighed at least fifty kilos; it wasn’t exactly easy to handle. Especially when it had started out three meters off the ground on the roof of their shuttle.

Lancaster shrugged. “It’s not that heavy. We’ll move it up to the camp so that we can work on it in the shade,” he said, going over to wrap the tarp around the device before he and Alesser started carrying it up the hill to their camp. 

Between the two of them, moving the transceiver to high ground wasn’t that difficult. The tedious part came when they had to remove and degauss each component, down to every isolinear chip and EPS circuit. At least the change in apparel had made the task relatively comfortable under the shade of an emergency survival canopy, but it was hard to focus on such a mind-numbing task in the scenery. They hardly spoke, other than to pass tools to one another or to take turns refilling their water containers from the shuttle, but Alesser thought that it had been the strongest their working relationship had ever been.

“Good work,” Lancaster said once all of the final systems checks had been finished. They’d essentially rebuilt the transceiver and calibrated it to work through the subspace interference—assuming that the broad strokes of the anomaly hadn’t changed since the data collected during the crash. “Really.”

“Thank you,” Alesser replied, beaming at what amounted to a five-star review from the notoriously difficult captain. He hooked it up to the portable fusion battery and watched with satisfaction as the device powered up. A holographic interface appeared over it.

“Attention any vessels in range. This is Captain Michael Lancaster of the Arcturus. My shuttle’s engines have been disabled, and I require assistance,” Lancaster recorded before sending that message off as a priority one distress call.

“We’re probably four to five hours away from a response and a half-day for rescue,” Alesser noted.

Lancaster nodded. “I suppose that’s all we can do until either the engines come back online, or someone comes to find us.”

“That deserves a celebration, don’t you think, Michael?” Alesser asked. 

Lancaster arched an eyebrow.

“You used my forename earlier. Get over it,” the commander said, shrugging. “We have more than enough power to have a decent meal, at least.”

“Fine. Sunset’s close anyway,” Lancaster conceded.

The downside of insisting on rest, however, was that they didn’t have anything to distract themselves from the fact that it was just the two of them stranded together on that planet. Alesser busied himself with the survival replicator, while Lancaster took more scans from the edge of their camp. The commander attempted to remember the chemical formula for a lime margarita when Lancaster walked over to check his progress.

“What are you doing?”

“Enhancing our morale.”

Lancaster shook his head. “Computer, interlink the survival replicator with the replication database aboard the shuttle and remove all restrictions. Authorization Lancaster Seven-Seven-Alpha-Two,” he said.

“Working. Confirmed,” the tiny replicator confirmed.

“Not even a slap on the wrist?”

“Why waste energy on that?” Lancaster quipped.

“See, we can be friends, after all, Captain,” Alesser teased. “Computer, two lime margaritas, double tequila, extra salt,” he ordered. The two beverages appeared on the top of the pedestal-like contraption. “Surely no one can begrudge us enjoying this to even the tiniest degree?”

“I suppose not,” Lancaster replied, taking one of the glasses.

“Cheers,” Alesser said, holding his glass up before downing it quickly enough to earn another raised eyebrow.

With the transmitter repaired, though, and no sapient lifeforms around to threaten their safety, they remained deep in Federation space and nearly as safe as they would have been on their own ship. Alesser briefly wondered if it was an issue of elevation or some atmospheric factor, but the drink hit him strongly and quickly. After a round of street tacos, he and Lancaster both had more to drink as they watched the sunset before Alesser got the idea to slice through some of the ferns nearby to start a fire. 

It was still pretty warm when he’d gathered enough material, but making the fire was another good distraction. The more they focused on doing something, the less awkward it was when neither of them had much to say. 

“Now that we’re stranded, I don’t suppose you can tell me why I’m with you in the first place, can you?” Alesser asked as he used his phaser to start the fire. 

“Admiral Seagraves said she had a job offer for you,” Lancaster replied, looking at him over whatever he was reading on the HoloPADD display projected from his WRIST. “Presumably, that means congratulations are in order.”

Alesser blinked; he was genuinely at a loss for words at that prospect. At his rank, the most likely things she could be offering him would be a senior staff position or a command of his own. His ultimate goal was to sit in the center seat, but he hadn’t been expecting something like that, not when others from the Arcturus had already been sent to ships of their own so soon before.

“Really?” Alesser mused. “I bet she’s found some broken-down old frigate for me.”

“A ship’s a ship,” Lancaster noted.

The commander laughed. “That’s easy to say when you’re in command of one of the newest and largest in the fleet, though. Didn’t you turn down the Apollo to take second stick on the Arcturus yourself?”

“Yes, but size really had nothing to do with it. Not in the way you’re implying anyway. Sheppard had just finished his M.D., and we didn’t think it was a good idea for him to find his footing as a CMO and deal with his husband being in command at the same time. There’s not enough professional distance on a scout ship,” Lancaster said, shaking his head. 

“I had no idea. That’s helluva sacrifice,” Alesser replied. “How’d you meet, anyway?”

Lancaster looked like he was about fifty-fifty on answering that question or not at first. “In the infirmary on Starbase 72. He was my nurse for the first stage of a physical. I thought he was the most beautiful man I’d ever met, so when I was done with the doctor, I asked him to get dinner with me. It’ll be ten years ago this year,” he explained.

“Wow. You’re lucky. And not just because he is the most beautiful man, but because you have someone,” Alesser said. He focused on his WRIST band, picking at a non-existent defect in its exoprene construction. “I’ve never managed to have a connection like that.”

“You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

Alesser rolled his eyes. “Neither do you,” he countered before lying flat on his back to look up at the stars. “Do you think I should take it? The command, I mean.”

“I guess it depends on what sort of job she’s offering you,” Lancaster replied.

“Would you be sad to see me go? Do you really want to break in another new officer?” Alesser challenged.

“I’d want you to make the decision that’s best for you and your career,” Lancaster replied.

“I guess it’s too much to hope for that you could just say ‘I’d like you to stay, Larus,'” Alesser said with a sigh. “Just once, it would be nice to be wanted, you know,” he blurted before he could take it back. He sat up in alarm.

Lancaster looked uncomfortable.

“Sorry. I just… I don’t get why I always seem to have so much trouble with my direct superior. The XO on the Arcturus—the old Arcturus—hated me. You seem to hate me, too. I am very good at my job, though,” Alesser said.

Lancaster wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise.

“In fact, you and I have very similar service records. Identical degrees from Starfleet Academy. We’ve held Operations and Science roles on small and large ships. Commendations for efficiency. Really handsome,” Alesser said, ticking things off on his fingers. “We should be best friends, really.”

Alesser was starting to realize that something was impacting his impulsiveness, and it wasn’t just the replicated alcohol. Maybe it was the heat or something about the planet itself, but he definitely felt bolder.

“I mean, I guess you think you can do my job better than I can because you used to do it yourself. And then I see you one step ahead of me and think the same thing?” Alesser posited. 

“Stop,” Lancaster insisted, though not in too harsh of a tone. “I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s subconscious. Hayden and I work well together because we have opposite skill sets. That’s why Rakan was picked for the XO seat, as her skillset is the opposite of mine. We complemented one another.”

“Sure, that worked for you and the admiral, but it didn’t work for you and Rakan. You never seemed to trust her, not because she’s Cardassian, but because she’s a diplomat. Probably,” Alesser replied. “You need someone you can to like an equal. A partner. Someone like me.”

Lancaster was dumbstruck; Alesser had to give him some time to adjust, though, because he knew the captain was never spoken to like that, not since he’d earned that fourth pip, anyway. “I’ll think about it,” Lancaster said after a moment. “Is that enough to get you to stop ranting at me?”

The commander nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, though I don’t think I got any extra points for rhetorical acumen.”

“Probably not,” Lancaster agreed. “The XO on the old Arcturus. Simmons?”

“No, we got along okay. Armstrong, the one before him.”

“As in our science officer’s older brother? The new captain of the Columbia?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that was a long time ago. I’m sure any professional rivalry will have been forgotten. The Columbia is coming with us when we go back through the wormhole,” Lancaster noted.

Alesser chuckled. “That certainly does make even a Centaur all the more appealing… He won’t have forgotten. If he has, I’d be more hurt than anything. It wasn’t a purely professional rivalry,” he explained, hoping that would be enough details.

“Oh. Oh,” Lancaster said. “I had one of those, too. Briefly. Not ideal.”

“Really?” 

“I guess you’re right about us being similar,” Lancaster replied with a shrug. 

“I’ve never told anyone before. And don’t get me wrong. Parts of it were great. But we kept it a secret. It wasn’t a particularly healthy relationship,” Alesser said.

“Things like that rarely are. We learn, and we move on, though. And maybe you should talk about it with someone,” Lancaster offered.

“Maybe. Doubt it.”

The two of them watched the fire for a little longer before Lancaster stood up.

“I’m going to sleep. The perimeter defenses are on, so nothing should sneak up on us,” he said. 

Alesser followed him into their tent a moment later, curling up on his sleeping bag, as it was too hot to get inside of it, still. The heat (and tequila) combined with the exhaustion of the day were enough to let him drop off to sleep almost immediately.

When he awoke, he was surprised not to find any black holes in his memory or a hang-over, but he still felt somehow loose. Uninhibited. And also quite warm. As things resolved, he realized that he’d rolled over in his sleep and not only had his face on Lancaster’s neck but was draped over the other man. Lancaster’s arms were wrapped around him, too. The rational, normal part of his brain was sounding red alert at that, but there was an overwhelming urge not to move, as well as the observation that he smelled nice. Alesser’s rational mind did manage to win out, and he extricated himself without waking him up—something of a specialty he’d developed over the years.

He walked out of the tent into early morning sunshine and grabbed a medical tricorder from their pile of supplies, and scanned himself. Something was not right; speaking his mind was one thing, but neither of them had nearly enough to drink to have gotten physical. Unless they had so much to drink that he forgot both getting drunk and then getting physical, which seemed improbable at best. 

“What’s up?” Lancaster asked, emerging from the tent a little while later. 

“I think something’s… wrong,” Alesser said as he examined the results of his self-scan. Neurotransmitter levels were all over the place. He wasn’t a doctor, but he could tell that something was influencing his higher reasoning skills. “There’s something about this place that we’ve overlooked. It’s lowering my inhibitions, and probably yours.”

“A convenient excuse for what you said last night,” Lancaster offered.

Alesser scoffed. “Oh, fuck off. You let me override the replicator safeties and put on that bathing suit. Not exactly typical for you, right?” he retorted. He flicked the scan data off his tricorder over to Lancaster’s wrist device. “My brain chemistry’s not… correct.”

“Dehydration plus exhaustion plus alcohol? Occam’s razor on this one,” Lancaster suggested as he looked at it. “The computer’s not picking up any known hallucinogens or intoxicants in the atmosphere.”

The two of them were out of time to argue, though, as they heard the low pulsing of an impulse engine at low altitude. Looking out through the ferns over the sea, they saw an enormous crab-like vessel decloaking, its hull glinting in an eerie golden green. It got nearly overhead, ignoring their attempts to hail it with their combadges until they saw it engage a green-hued tractor beam, which scooped up their shuttle. Moments later, the two vanished in a swirl of green energy and reappeared in a dimly lit chamber. 

While thankfully none of them were holding weapons, Alesser realized immediately that they were surrounded by Orions. All men. All fit and very scantily clad. The apparent leader was wearing a shimmering green robe that complimented his emerald skin.

“Welcome aboard the Verdant Ambassador. I thought based on the markings on your shuttle that I was rescuing a pair of important Starfleet officers, but it appears as though I’ve picked up a pair of pool boys—unless your uniform code really is this… flexible?” the man quipped, a smirk passing over his lips.

Alesser and Lancaster looked at one another; rescue and/or capture by Orions was an outcome that they had not predicted.