It’ll be nice to see the old girl. Miados and his gruffness echoed in her mind as she paced her temporary quarters on Starbase Bravo. 

Shealynn Rhodes accepted her symbiote’s feelings about returning to the Mackenzie.  She wasn’t sure she shared them entirely.  “It’ll be nice to see her again…but the circumstances are shit, Miados.” She could feel his shrug,

You know we don’t have control of that.  We have control of how we can help them. 

She wanted to shrug back.  “It still feels dirty…like I’m getting a second chance at Mackenzie.  Someone died to make this happen.”  Rhodes scrunched her nose, “I didn’t even reach out to her when she took over.”

Like I said…you didn’t kill her.  You wanted her to make her way…and not feel like she had to walk in your shoes.  Or is it footsteps?  Human idioms are still as odd as ever.

Rhodes hated it when he was right.  He was in this case.  “Fine, I’ll give it a chance.  I’ll take the interview and see where it goes.  Chief Engineers are hell to replace, especially the ones people liked.”

I thought they liked you on the original Mackenzie and the refit project.

She could feel his questions pressing in on her slightly, as if worried about the memories she was remembering from her first assignment on the Mack.  “They did.”  She thought about what she was feeling.  “It always felt like a sad ending the way we all just…left the Mackenzie after Alexandra retired.”

You kept in touch.

She appreciated his efforts to help her feel the complete story in her memory.  “We did…we do.”  There was just something about returning to the Mack that she couldn’t quite figure out.  It would have to wait.  Her meeting was in ten minutes.  “Let’s get ready, Miados.”

Wren stood at attention in her ready room as former Captain Alexandra “The Hammer” Pantuso stepped through the door, “Captain Pantu…,”

She waved the younger officer away, “Don’t even get started with me, Walton.  It was a bumpy ride here and probably be a bumpier ride home.” Pantuso sat roughly in the chair across from a rapt and shocked Captain of the Mackenzie. “Sit down.”  Wren did as she was asked.

“I didn’t expect you…what do you want me to call you?”  She said it gently, worried she had somehow upset the former Mackenzie captain.

“Alexandra will do just fine.  I’m here because you’re going to interview Lieutenant Commander Miados.”

Wren frowned and searched her memory for the name.  She found it a moment later, “Your Chief Engineer.”

The retired captain scoffed, “Not just my chief engineer.  She stayed on when the Mackenzie converted to the Excelsior II class.  She worked side by side with me and my team to get this girl ready.  She was my Chief for the five years I commanded this bird.”  She stared down Walton, “She the best you could ask for, Walton.  She knows this ship.  You need a steady hand down there.”

The younger captain leaned forward, “You’re trying to save her from something, Alexandra.  I’m sure her name is on my list if the position’s been posted.”

Pantuso chuckled darkly, “She’s been serving on a Nebula class since I retired.  Doing good work…but I always told her she was meant for more.  Miados should be in an engine room with potential and possibility.”

Wren countered carefully, “And what about what Miados wants?”

Another scoff, “What did you want before you got stuck on nanny duty for most of your career?” Walton raised both eyebrows and stared at the unapologetic Pantuso, who continued, “You wanted to be a captain, Walton.  They asked me to evaluate you when your name came up for this ship.  I read between the lines.  That center chair was meant for you.”

“And all those years helping officers and solving problems?”

Alexandra rolled her eyes, “A good number of them are still serving proudly…and a few of them got swept out with the rest of the trash.  The work you did was good.  The work you do here is great.”  She stood and eyed the room, “You redecorated…I don’t like it.”  She reached the door to the bridge and turned to face Wren, “Hire Miados, don’t hire Miados…but I don’t do this for everyone, Walton.”  The door closed behind Pantuso.  Wren sat back in her chair.  The woman was a powerhouse.  There was a reason she had been the ship’s first commander after the refit.

“Captain Walton.”  Shealynn Miados stood at attention before her interviewer.

Wren indicated the chair, “Have a seat, Commander Miados.”  She held up her PADD with the Trill’s dossier, “You’ve had quite the career.”

The voice of her symbiont wondered, What’s she trying to do here?  Shealynn replied, “I’ve been lucky, Captain.”

Walton shook her head, “You’ve been good, commander.  Luck didn’t build this dossier.”  She sat forward, “Your former CO came to visit me earlier today.”

“Oh sh…I mean…I’m sorry, Captain Walton.  She shouldn…”

Wren stopped her, “She made her point when she walked in here and told me I needed to hire you.  I also don’t think either of us would be able to tell Alexandra Pantuso what to do.”  Miados smiled quietly, and Walton knew she’d managed to connect with her.  “You know our situation, Commander.  We’ve got a space in our hearts and duty roster.  I know you know this ship.  You know you know this ship.  What do you know about people?”

She appreciated the question.  It told her the values of Walton without her having to ask the question.  “People matter, Captain Walton.  I can’t run an effective engineering department without people who trust and believe in me…and themselves.”

Walton contemplated her next words.  She could question the seasoned officer further.  She could push until she was satisfied that Miados was the right choice.  But, she asked herself, what good would that do?  She had the Mackenzie’s first chief engineer sitting before her, ready to leap back home.  She had no other choice of words except for, “Welcome back to the Mackenzie, Chief Miados.”

The docking platform snapped into place.  The light above the door slipped from red to green.  Captain Wren Walton stood in front, the secured casket escorted by fellow officers behind her.

Carolyn Crawford, tears still threatening to spill.  

Greer Moore, former deputy chief to Chief Katsumi.  Her face was impassive, but her eyes told the story.  

William Prentice, who had served with her on the Edinburgh and then the Mackenzie, stood next to Jordan Reid, who shared the same history. 

Kondo De La Fontaine, Juliet Woodward, Sadie Fowler, and Natalie Harris rounded out the honor guard.  Each officer and crewman were resplendent in dress uniforms.

The docking door whisked open.  Wren stood to attention and began to walk from the docking corridor to Starbase 72.  The low hum of the antigrav units on the casket echoed with the rhythmic thump of the boots as the officers walked in tandem.  They reached the other side and waited as the door was opened.  Captain Geronimo Fontana stood at attention in a similar dress uniform.  At his side stood the parents of Commander Katsumi.  They bowed in silence to the assembled group.  Wren returned the bow.

Wordlessly, the parents turned and walked ahead.  Fontana followed them, then Wren and the rest.  They walked, a long funeral procession, from one docking port to another.  Wren stepped aside while the honor guard carefully slid the casket into the waiting shuttle, securing it against the open wall.  She turned her attention to the grieving parents.  Crawford handed her the United Federation flag that had hung over the casket.  It had been folded and framed, which she, in turn, put into the hands of the father, Katsumi Han.  “Please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for Commander Katsumi’s honorable and faithful service. I am sorry for your loss, sir.”

He accepted the framed flag, his eyes filled with grief, “My daughter was meant for the stars, Captain Walton.  She couldn’t be tamed…couldn’t be stopped.  She…could never sit still.  She always wanted to find the next thing.”  He handed the frame to his wife, “She loved Captain Harris and you so much.  We came to know you through her messages and her stories.”  He extended his hand, “I know my daughter, Captain…we will mourn her…we will grieve for her…but there’s nothing in this universe that could have stopped her.  Thank you for caring for her as you did.” Walton blinked and shook the man’s hand, her tears fighting to break loose again.  He gave her a knowing look, “I wish you and your crew the best, Captain Walton.”  Soon, the shuttle was on its way, leaving Walton staring at the empty dock, her crew standing behind her, wondering what they should do next.

She turned to them, shaking herself loose, “Return to the Mack.  I’ll be there shortly with orders.”  She turned to Fontana, “Your office, I presume?”

“We’re taking you and your crew off active rotation for the first half of the month, Walton.” Wren didn’t fight it.  She knew they needed time to grieve.  “The Mackenzie will get some work done on her.  The more important part here…is that you all get some work done on yourselves.”  He went through the list of losses.  First on the Edinburgh with the deep cut that had sent him to work with Harris in the first place.  Then, the loss of Harris himself.  “And now…Chief Katsumi.  Never mind the loss of the Voth colony.”

She sat forward in the chair, “We’ve been through the grinder, Geronimo.”  She wiped the growing tears from her eyes, “I spoke with the captain of the Tokyo while we were in the Delta Quadrant…her losses…staggered me.  I found myself in her losses…and I think we found the way out…but it’s going to take time.  I was coming here to ask you to put us on leave.”  She accepted a tissue from his desk, “I thought I was doing better coming back here to the Alpha…but it’s an open wound.”

Fontana nodded.  “And you need time to heal.  All of you.”  He slid a PADD across the desk, “I’ve got the transfer requests from the Mackenzie.”

She frowned and slipped it off the desk, reading through the names, “Lots of our new crew.”  She shook her head, “I don’t blame them, Fontana.”  She felt his silence and met his long gaze, “You’re not going to grant them?”

Geronimo shrugged, “I’m not sure what I will do.  I’ve told them they must take the mandatory days off with appointments with Starfleet counselors.”  He pointed at her, “That includes you, Captain Walton.”

She centered her emotions, took several long pulls of air, and evened out her heart rate slowly but surely, “Normally I’d fight this…but I learned from a new friend that we shouldn’t try and do this alone.”  Wren said, “I wish we could have saved her, Fontana.”

He stood, “We can’t save them all…but we can save the ones we have with us now…and we can save ourselves.”  He tapped into his desk console, “Captain Wren Walton…you are hereby ordered to be on leave.  Secure your ship, submit your logs, and leave the keys with the dock master.”

She stood at attention and frowned at the last part, “Keys, sir?”

Another shrug, “It’s a saying, Wren.  I don’t want to see you for fifteen days.  You are relieved…and dismissed.”

Wren felt something break inside, and something snapped back as she replied, “I stand relieved.”

The morning sun was breaking, spilling soft yellow light through the second-floor window and into the eyes of Captain Wren Walton.  Only she wasn’t captain today.  She was just Wren.  The call had come the night before from Rachel Harris, mother of the late Ambrose Harris.  Harris Transport also had an expansive ranch in Eastern Montana that served varying purposes.  A recent purpose was to serve Starfleet officers in the capacity of a place of rest.

She slid out of the King Size bed.  Juliet Woodward had been invited, along with Park Seoyeon and Cardamon.  They’d arrived last night and spent some quiet time by the fire pit in the backyard, watching the stars, ships, and stations above them.  Wren had woken up feeling groggy, still tired from the compounding stress on her shoulders from the Delta Quadrant.  She headed for the shower and treasured the hot water that resulted.  Her muscles slowly began to loosen in the water.

“Good morning, Wren.”  The stately figure of Rachel Harris stood in the kitchen, a large cup of coffee in her hands.  “Welcome to Harris Ranch.”  She filled a mug and handed it over, “Breakfast is at the main house.  The others are already there….I wanted to ensure someone was here to walk you down.”

Walton accepted the coffee, “Thank you, Ms. Harris.”

Rachel pointed out, “It’s Rachel…no need for rank or power here.  We’re all just folks.”

“Thank you, Rachel.  Feels odd…but I’ll get over it.”

Harris smiled, her eyes twinkling, “Good.  Follow me.”  They walked out the back door and down a dirt path to the main house.  “You’ve done good work taking over for my son, Wren.”

Walton nearly stopped in her tracks but focused on putting one foot before the other, “Thank you.  I never met him…but he was well-loved and respected.” They turned a corner in the path, “I’m sorry for your loss, Rachel.”

It was Harris who stopped and turned to appreciate the woman behind her, “I am too.  I’ve spent plenty of time trying to blame someone for his death…The Devore, the people on that planet…but the truth is that he took the risk to do what he did.  He was still young…and he made a mistake.”  She had been staring at the ground as she spoke.  Her eyes met Walton’s, “A mother’s pride never fades…I’m as proud of him today as the day he came into this world.”  She turned and continued to lead them down the path.

“Walton!”  Woodward motioned her over the expansive table that held Cardamon, Park, Natalie Harris, and, surprisingly, her squadron Deputy Commander, Peter Crawford.  Juliet pulled out a chair for her, and she sat awkwardly.  Crawford wasn’t in uniform.  The chief counselor explained, “The Olympic is being put to work with our crew with the counseling and medical teams.  Cap…Peter’s here to work with me.”

Walton wondered if that was the truth.  Juliet was aware of her more than friendly feelings for Peter.  The reality was it probably was a happy accident.  Either way, she was happy with it – her feelings for the man hadn’t abated.  Breakfast was served, and the low buzz of conversation soon filled the cafeteria.

Peter and Wren remained seated at the table as the group broke up.  Crawford went first, “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

She felt a smile cross her lips as she replied, “It’s more than okay.  It’s…oddly nice.  We spent a month in the Delta Quadrant getting chewed up and spit out repeatedly.  Sitting here…with you…it feels good.”

“You want to go horseback riding later?  Rachel Harris said they’ve been doing some work on their trails.  Weather looks good.”

Her smile filled her lips, “That’d be nice, Pete.”

“You think they’re gonna make out?”  Park stood by the espresso machine, her latte filling her with warmth.  It felt good to be out of uniform.  She’d landed at the ranch an hour ago and had found her way to stand beside Juliet, who rolled her eyes at the statement of her XO.

“We both have a vested interest in this thing working out.  Let’s not manifest a warp-speed relationship.”

Park was tempted to pout but knew her new friend would have punched her in the shoulder, drawing attention.  She instead redirected with, “So, how are you and Kondo?”

“We’re doing good, thankyouverymuch.  And before you ask why he’s not here, he’s on his way.  He should be here this afternoon.  He’s making a stop at home to catch up with family.”

“When are you gonna meet his family?”

Juliet lightly tapped her friend on the shoulder, “Shall we talk about your relationship next?”

Park shut up.  “I have no further questions, your honor.  Case dismissed.”

Woodward chuckled, “That’s what I thought. You come for the king; you best not miss, miss.”

“I hate you.”  She said it with a sly smile.

Juliet cracked back, “I love you.”

“You have learned much in your time, T’saath.”  The Vulcan Priestess sat across from her in the shuttle as it flew towards its destination, Starbase 72.

“Is that why you are escorting me?” T’saath had spent the months since February in deep, intensive, and often painful mediation.  The guilt that had come with the loss of Captain Harris had held on longer and harder than she had anticipated.  Much of her work had been on herself, her mind, and the emotional control she wielded.  Her self-imposed interrogation had revealed pieces and parts of her psyche, Katra, and identity that were woefully in need of repair.

It had been a gauntlet of marathons, sprints, and crawling through the muck and mire that had stuck to the sides of her over the years.  She gave an apologetic look to the Priestess, “I am sorry for my…choice of words.”

The older woman didn’t react to her initial volley or her apology.  She kept her eyes searching the young Vulcan woman.  She finally broke the silence, “You have gone through much, T’saath.  You’ve completed your Kolinahr.  You are returning to Starfleet and the ship you left to return to us.  Emotions are powerful and must be monitored with mediation. You have learned much in your time with us, T’Saath.  Yet, you still have much to learn… it can only be learned by experiencing the universe and its challenges.”

T’saath concluded, “To learn is to live, and to live is to learn. Hlovate.”

“A human author?”  T’saath nodded. “Fascinating.”

“You’ve passed all the requirements to return to duty, Commander T’saath.”  Captain Geronimo Fontana sat before her, a PADD in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, “And yet you requested a meeting with me.  Why?”

She stood at attention and had not taken the offered seat.  “You were acquainted with Commander and then Captain Harris.”

He set down the PADD, sipping at his coffee carefully.  He wasn’t sure where she was going, but he decided he needed to pay attention, “I was.”

Her hands remained clasped behind her back as she spoke, “You are aware of the events that led to his death.”

Another sip, and a, “I am.”

“What do you believe about chance and choice, Captain Fontana?”

He frowned and set his cup down, “I have plenty of beliefs about either, but I’m more concerned about why a Vulcan is asking.”

She shifted her feet.  She wasn’t irritated.  Annoyed wasn’t on the list either.  Was it uncomfortable?  Her way of thinking from before had shifted and became more…curious.  She still had control of her emotions, but her mind seemed determined to answer the deeper questions about existence.  She wasn’t sure what that meant in the long term for herself.  She explained, “I have reconciled my involvement in the loss of Captain Harris.  It is not an emotional matter but…an issue of curiosity.  As Vulcans, we are bound to Logic as the way, the truth, and the life.  It is inescapable.”  She slipped into the chair, “There is still that…as you would say, nagging question…how do I balance chance and choice as I return to Starfleet?”

Fontana felt there was something more to her question.  T’saath was a young Vulcan by most measures.  He asked, “Are you concerned about repeating a similar situation?”  That hadn’t come up in the evaluations she’d worked through.

“No, sir.  It is…a desire to serve my captain and our crew to the best of my ability.  Taking the right chances…and making the right choices…that is my interest and focus.”

Geronimo chuckled lightly and waved away her raised eyebrows, “Commander T’saath…Chance and choice are a part of the daily life of a Starfleet officer.  The small decisions and the universe-shaking choices…they’re never going to allow us to have the time to make the perfectly right call.  You’ve got an advantage with your intellectual abilities and processing talents – you could tell me the odds of any mission’s success down to the percentage point to the tenth place.”  He looked her in the eye, “Choice and chance will never be fully known and understood, Commander.  We learn…and then we live.  It’s the only way forward.”

“I do not think this has…as humans would say..cured me…but has assisted in my thoughts.”

Fontana stood, and T’saath did the same, at attention.  The Task Force Commanding Officer gave her a nod, “That’s all we can do most days, Commander T’saath.  No matter what we are – it’s a complex universe out there.  Dismissed…and take care.”

T’saath walked out the doors.  He had given her plenty to think about.  She pointed her feet towards her quarters.  She had a few weeks before the ship was available to her.  It was time to open the books back up. 

The tea’s warmth reinvigorated his mind, bringing healing to his body.  Henry Longfellow sat on the porch of Hiro’s parents’ home.  She sat next to him, enjoying the same tea and the experience that came with it.  They had arrived the night before, and the weather in rural Nagasaki was pleasant, with rain in the forecast for the afternoon.

“Sensei…you’ve been quiet.”

He returned to his tea, sipping as he worked to understand his feelings.  Another sip.  “We succeeded in our mission..and it feels like we failed.”  He watched as the bright sun slowly broke over the horizon, “I was cutting apart drones piece by piece to give us a chance at disguising them.  From life to death to life…it was a harrowing cycle, Hiro-san.”

She turned to face him, “How do you do it?”  Her face was calm.  Her voice spoke her internal truth.  She was younger than Longfellow. She hadn’t lived what he had lived.

“Hiro-san…it doesn’t get any easier.  You learn you can’t do it alone.” She leaned into his shoulder as he continued, “What we see…what we do…it’s some of the most extraordinary things someone can ever experience…but that comes at a price.  We have to experience some of the worst elements of the universe.” She sighed, and he understood, ‘We do the things most others wouldn’t have the stomach or the courage to face.  That’s something.”

She remained leaning into his shoulder as they drank their tea silently, the sun warming them.

“Thasaz.”  The voice of Quartermaster Henry Wyatt broke her reverie as she sat in the empty observation lounge.

“Henry.”  She was lying on the ground, looking up at the long and wide windows, a chilled cup of tea half filled.

He joined her, feeling his old bones protest.  “I thought we were all ordered off the ship.”

A chuckle from the Romulan, “You think I follow the rules?”

He smiled, watching the movement of Starbase 72 arrayed in the glass.  “Well, I’m not great at it either, so we’re in good company.”

She turned her head, “I know why I’m hanging out here.  Why are you?”

The El-Aurian shrugged, “I’ve been everywhere Earth has to offer.  I’ve seen it, lived it…too many memories of lives lived there.”  He asked, “Why are you hanging out here besides not being a great follower of orders.”

Thasaz let out a long sigh, “I…I’ve been here, there, and everywhere.  This is where I want to be.  I needed time to remember Katsumi…find a way to let her go.”

“She was something else.”

They stayed, lying down and watching the world of the Starbase pass them by.

“It’s going to be a long day, Reede.”  Gabriella Castillo sat across from Oscar Reede as they worked through the lunch they’d ordered at Pacas.  The communications chief had invited the chief flight control officer to his hometown of Memphis to introduce her to the cuisine.  He was also trying to flirt with her and felt it might be working.  Castillo had been born in Texas, and they’d spent the early morning taking in the barbecue restaurants.  Nothing had disappointed so far, and they’d been spending their time after a meal hitting a nearby track and doing some walking and stretching.  It had been Reede’s idea – they needed to keep up their metabolism to finish the day at dinner strong.

He shrugged, enjoying the flavor explosions. “But the food…the food is worth it.”  Castillo couldn’t deny his logic or him.  She’d found him amusing at first when he’d stepped aboard as a senior cadet.  His confidence and maturity had grown, and her eyes didn’t mind his looks.  They hadn’t called this outing a date, but she had decided as they were finishing lunch that it was a date.

“So…what’s next on our date?”  She threw it out, and his wide eyes made her laugh, “I know, I know…but…I think we should just call it what it is, Oscar.”

She was good, he had to admit.  “Okay.  Date it is.  I know a coffee place with homegrown beans, home-baked biscuits, and local music that’ll shake your soul.”

Her smile went from why to mischievous, “Is that a promise.”

In his head, he realized…she was trouble.

The best kind of trouble. 

“You going to say on the Olympic?”  Wren Walton and Peter Crawford were at the top of the bluff, looking down on the sprawling Harris Ranch, followed by the expansive Harris Transport.  Each rode a horse.

Crawford considered the question.  He knew why she was asking; he thought he knew.  “I don’t know.”  He shrugged at her stare, “The crew and the mission of the Olympic fills a unique need in the fleet. I enjoy working with them…commanding a starship is still new to me.”

Walton chuckled dryly, “That I understand.”  She patted her horse, “I didn’t care where I ended up…as long as I got a command of my own.”

“We both ended up on ships we needed…and they needed us.”  He smiled as she rolled her eyes in response, “It’s the truth!”

Wren understood.  She opened up, sharing about what had happened in the Delta. “I sat down with the CO of the Tokyo while we were stuck in the Delta Quadrant.  She lost more than I did.  We talked about getting back in the chair.”  She moved her horse forward on the path, and Crawford followed with his.  She continued, “Both of us struggled with how to get back in the chair…but we understood that we had to get back in the seat again.”

Peter pushed his horse to catch up with Walton and was soon parallel with her horse, “We lost our fair share in my commands, Wren.  Part of why I applied for the Olympic was the idea that I wouldn’t have to risk my crew as much on the front lines…I could sit in that chair long before reckoning with a loss.”  He apologized, “It sounds selfish.”

Walton slowed her horse to a stop, as did Crawford.  “You made your choice…and it was based on what you needed, Pete.  There’s nothing to be ashamed of.  You’re a Starfleet Captain…you’ve earned the right to decide what’s best for you.”

He played with the reins of his horse, “What if…I think you’re best for me?”  His eyes shifted to meet hers.

She felt the butterflies in her stomach start up again as she smiled nervously, “We’ve been dancing around it, haven’t we?”  She leaned back in the saddle, “It’ll be hard if they ever split up our squadron.”

He affected an offended face, “What?  Split up the dream team?”  She laughed despite herself as he continued, “We’re like Kirk and Spock…Picard and Riker…Janeway and Chakotay!”

She frowned at the last one, “Janeway was her own woman.”

Crawford put his hands up, “I concede that last point.  But seriously…if they split us up…we’ll find a way.  You seem to be taking more interest in this than usual.”

Walton felt her smile return, “I may be more invested in this…than before.”

Pete echoed her smile, “I’ll take that as a win.”

“We have a case.” Lieutenant V’Luth held a PADD in both hands as she stood at the open door of Lieutenant Barzo.  Barzo Igi was bleary-eyed at 0500 hours and hadn’t anticipated waking up until much later.  They had both been reassigned to the USS Mackenzie.  The crew was on a mandatory rest period, so Barzo had been looking forward to some downtime. V’Luth had come to shoot Quantum Torpedoes at her plans.

The Vulcan Security Investigator had gained a reputation.  And a nickname.  V’Luth ‘The Truth’.  She didn’t care.  Caring was an emotion; if the human’s nickname for her bore results in the here and now, she wouldn’t stop the spread.  She held up the PADD, insistent that Barzo listen, “We have a case.”

The Bajoran rolled her eyes, “I heard you the first time, ‘Luth.”  She waved her in and plodded back into her dimly lit quarters, muttering about sleep and Vulcans.  They’d been partners for two weeks.  Barzo had initially questioned the choice.  Two weeks later, she was still wondering what they were thinking.  “What’s the case?”

V’Luth examined the quarters.  Clothes were in the room’s corners, replicated food was balanced on end tables, and cups of varying colors and sizes littered the living room. She wasn’t sure the word untidy was enough.  “It is a robbery and assault case.”

Barzo examined some of her cups for freshness.  She resolved to get this cleaned up sometime.  She went for a fresh cup of coffee from the replicator.  “Sounds pretty simple.”  She sat roughly down on her couch, “Why are they putting us on it?”

“Because of the various video surveillance options that were…compromised during the incident.  The victim is also refusing to be interviewed.”  She handed the PADD over to her partner.  The assignment to the Bajoran as a partner had confused her.  Logically, she should have been paired with an intelligent fellow security officer with a tenacity for the craft.  Another Vulcan, perhaps.  Instead, she had been given a disorganized officer with a meandering work ethic.

“You have my attention.”  She accepted the PADD and read through the details, “Starbase 72’s security is pretty tight – they’ve been trying to compete with Bravo’s stats for a while now. This happened at a bakery?”  Her fingers scrolled more and more, “No witnesses?”

V’Luth replied, “0300 hours.  There is not a lot of foot traffic in the area.”

Lieutenant Barzo read through the case file again, “Well, let’s get to work.”

The Vulcan stared at her, “I would suggest a shower and fresh uniform, Lieutenant.”

A blank look was her answer, “What?”  She smelled herself and sighed, “Fine.  Give me 5.”

V’Luth narrowed her eyes, “Perhaps longer would be better.”

Barzo grumbled and walked into her bathroom, muttering about Vulcans and showers. 

The scene had been reported as maintained, and the bake shop owner had taken to hiding in his quarters.  Barzo walked around the front of the shop, eyebrows furrowing and raising as she examined the outside.  “The attack occurred in the back…and the cameras were disabled.  That’s weird.”  She slipped out a tricorder and scanned the surveillance units, “They’re functional.  No sign of hacking or disturbance.  Weird.”

V’luth was behind the counter investigating the register and display cases.  “Weird is not a quantitive measurement of a situation, Lieutenant.  Feelings about evidence are not admissible in court. They are also illogical.”

“You keep reminding me.  You’re missing the emotion that played a part in this crime.  Someone broke into this bakery and brutalized the owner operator…but didn’t kill them.  Even you have to admit that counts.”

The Vulcan stood, “The emotional element I was referring was to you, Lieutenant.  Emotions are a quantitative and qualitative element in the motive and commitment of a crime.  They are a problematic element in an investigator.”

Barzo wanted to roll her eyes.  It was becoming a habit with her partner.  She had to be careful.  She’d nearly rolled her eyes at a superior officer two days ago but caught herself in time.  She pointed to the backroom, “I’m going to go emotionally investigate back there.” She vanished through the door as it slid open and then closed.  V’luth blinked, watching her leave.  Humans and Bajorans shared a similar emotional liability, one that she idly wondered could be helped by studying the Vulcan concept of Logic and IDIC.

The backroom where the attack had occurred still had dried blood stains on the floor, marked by a forcefield and crime scene markers.  Barzo went through the back room quietly, studying every rack, every drawer, and every surface. There were no cameras here, she observed.  The state of the place reminded her of her mother’s orderly and restrictive kitchen.  Her childhood on Bajor had been chaotic enough.  Her mother had attempted to bring order to the chaos through her home life.  It had half worked.  She turned to the PADD and the initial shots of the crime scene.  “Shit.”  The scene in the photos was chaotic – everything had been thrown to the floor with ingredients sprawled across the floor.  Glass littered the scene, and the counters had been smeared with what the report said were various ingredients.

V’luth entered to find a dumbfounded Barzo, “Something of note, Lieutenant?”

“Who cleaned up the scene?”  She showed the PADD photos.

“Curious.”  V’luth walked around the backroom, searching the ground with a cursory glance.  She pulled out a tricorder and scanned the various surfaces.  She concluded, “It was not a professional service.  It indicates a personal touch with the use of standard kitchen chemicals.”

“So our hermit of an owner-operator isn’t such a hermit after all?  It must have been a strong pull to have him risk being attacked again.  I think we need to interview Mr…,” she tapped at the PADD, “…Mr. Arthur Morris.”

V’luth raised an eyebrow, “He has repeatedly refused to be interviewed by Starfleet Security.”

“I can be very persuasive.”

“I suggest we find an alternative.”

Barzo pushed, “And an alternative might be…?”  V’luth was silent.  “Then let’s get to going.”

V’luth was beginning to understand the human concept of the eye roll.

“Look, I only let you in here because you said my life was at risk from a murderer.”  Arthur Morris was in his mid-60s. His wispy white hair proved that life had been a journey for him.

Barzo smiled at V’luth while she explained, “Look, Mr. Morris – whoever took a swing at you probably isn’t done.  They will come back.  They got you once.  They’ll do it again.”

Arthur groaned, “So I let you in on…oh what does it matter.”  He shook his head slowly, “No, they won’t be back.” The two security officers looked at each other and back to their witness. He felt their stares and crumbled a moment later, “I hid from you all because I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide the truth if I had to talk to someone in person.”  He sat on his plush couch, reaching for the tissues, “They took my yeast.  All of it.  I’m finished.”

Barzo frowned, “Your…your…yeast?  I’m sorry…what?”  She looked at the man as if there was something wrong with him.  This was about…yeast?”

V’luth said, “Yeast is a key ingredient in bread and bread products.  Yeast strains have been cultivated for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.  Those yeast strains are valuable as they are a key ingredient.  Their value can be priceless.”  She turned to Morris, “As we have now uncovered, his yeast was the object to be stolen.”

Arthur moaned as if in pain, “It was a longstanding family yeast.  We’ve kept it alive across the universe in our various shops.  The others have passed away…and I’m the youngest…I’ve kept the tradition going.  My son had hoped to step into the role soon.”

Barzo understood in some way.  “So, we just need to find the thief, yoink the yeast, and you can be back in business.”

Morris shook his head, “It’s not that easy.  Mandrake is a competitor…he’s probably already using it at his shop.”

The Bajoran recognized the name “Mandrakes Muffins?  They’re terrible!  That’s the guy?”  A forlorn nod of the head was her answer.  “Well, you can identify him in a photo lineup?”  Another nod of the head.  “Well, let’s start there.  Once we have ID, we can make sure Mandrake messes with nobody else.”  She felt V’Luth’s stare. “What?”

“Humans and their prediction with alliteration is fascinating.”

Barzo cackled, “You should have said amusing.”

Morris watched the two go back and forth, “Do you actually like each other?” He wasn’t he’d trusted the right security officers in this case.

Barzo responded, “Yes.”

V’luth remarked, “Like is a human emotional concept.  The lieutenant is my partner.”

It was Arthur’s turn to observe, “Fascinating.” 

“Michell Mandrake, it’s Starfleet Security.  We need to speak with you.”  

Lieutenant Barzo stood outside the quarters of their chief suspect.  Arthur Morris had identified the owner of Mandrake’s Muffins in a photo lineup.  Barzo and her partner V’luth stood together at the door as the Bajoran tapped the door chime for a fifth time.  She then started pounding on the door, drawing a startled look from Morris and a raised eyebrow from V’luth.  It was creeping past seven in the morning, and she was on her second cup of coffee.  She had worked with V’luth for two weeks.  There was an edge to the Vulcan woman that defied the logic of most of her people. It hadn’t bothered Barzo initially.  After all, she had earned the nickname ‘The Barge’ for a reason.  As the third week had abruptly stated this morning, she wondered more about the edge as the day went on.  Vulcans were not a heterogenous block.  There was a reassuring diversity.  Still…she hadn’t known many Vulcans who sharpened their wit like V’luth The Truth did.

“He may not be at home.”  The Vulcan remained impassive, eyes drifting from the door to her partner.

Barzo grumbled, “Then we need to do a welfare check on Mr. Mandrake.”  

V’luth didn’t disagree.  There were troubling elements within this case, and it was becoming clear there was more to it.  They had gone to Mandrake’s Muffins and found the store closed and his workers sitting restlessly, waiting for their boss to arrive.  They hadn’t heard from him since last night.  When the two Security officers had shown up, they’d gone from concerned to worried.  Mandrake was never late.

The door slid open with the override commands, and Barzo stepped inside, phaser drawn, followed by a similarly armed V’luth.  The lights were on, and it became apparent why Mandrake hadn’t answered the door.  He was sprawled out on the floor, eyes staring at the ceiling.

Barzo groaned, “Shit.”  She slipped out his medical tricorder and did a quick scan as she knelt beside the body, “He’s dead.  I’ll call medical.”

As she stepped away, V’luth visually inspected the body.  No phaser burns.  No bodily wounds.  No puncture marks that she could see.  His mouth was open.  Curious, she knelt and looked closer, her eyes finding something curious.  She ran her tricorder over the mouth, throat, and stomach area.  She stood, intrigued.  Barzo returned with a morgue team. V’luth waited until they had secured the body in a secure container before she turned to her partner, “I have a theory on what occurred.”  Her partner gave a nod.  “There is evidence that a lethal amount of raw yeast may have poisoned Mr. Mandrake.”

Barzo asked, “May have?”  It was an unusual choice of words for the Vulcan.

“It is either that or Mr. Mandrake was a habitual drunk who gave himself severe alcohol poisoning early this morning.  We will need the official autopsy results from Medical to confirm.”  She showed the tricorder readings.

Barzo waved her hands, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but logic dictates we eliminate the impossible.  We both know if he were as much of a drunk as that level suggests, he wouldn’t be getting up early every morning to make his terrible muffins.”

V’luth frowned, “I have never partaken.  Given your level of distaste, it may not be worth trying.”

“He has a cult following, I guess, that keeps him in… oh holy hell.”  Barzo shook her head repeatedly, “How in the hell did I miss that?”  She stared at the Vulcan, “It’s organized bread crime.”

The Vulcan raised both of her eyebrows, “You know Bajoran humor is beyond me, Lieutenant.”  She had tolerated the jokes being told and remained impassive through the punchlines.

“No joke, ‘Luth.  This…the way he died makes sense.  Some organized crime is heavy on symbolism and making sure a message is delivered.  Somehow, Mandrake’s action wasn’t approved, or he took a loaf too far…and they took him out of the game.”

V’luth pointed out, “There is much left to be desired in your theory.  There hasn’t been evidence of a…what did you call it… a group of Organized Bread Criminals on this station.  We would know about it.”

Barzo thought about what she had said.  She wasn’t wrong.  The Starbases of the Fourth Fleet were well-run and well-protected.  Then he realized, “It’s not on the station.  It’s out there.” She pointed out the window of Mandrake’s quarters.

Her partner found this theory more logical.  The weapons of choice were organic items you’d find in any kitchen.  There was a case here, V’luth decided.  “Logic dictates we need to pull arrival and departure logs over the last day and investigate them for a connection to Mandrake.”

Barzo smiled wide and put her hand up for a high five. She was annoyed when V’luth didn’t return the gesture, “One of these days, partner…you’re gonna give me a high five.”

“Logic dictates…”

“…that there’s no logic behind a high five.  As you keep saying.  Let’s go chase down some clues.”

“We are not running, Lieutenant.  It is not…”

“…logical, as you’ve said.  It was a metaphor, partner.”

“You have proven that wrong on multiple occasions.”

Another wide smile as she led V’luth out of Mandrake’s apartment as the crime scene team arrived, “Gotta keep you on your toes…and before you say it, yes.  Idioms are illogical.”

“You are grasping the concept.”

“That’ll be the day.”

Lieutenant Barzo tossed an errant PADD away.  The reports on departures and arrivals had proven to be unhelpful and overwhelming.  She downed her fifth coffee in five hours, annoyed at the lack of answers to the central question of who had killed the bad baker.  They had reinterviewed Arthur Morris, and he’d capitulated within ten seconds.  There was a loosely organized group of bakers allied with a branch of the Orion Syndicate.  He had a few names on the outside.  Morris was vehemently defensive about his position in all of this.  “I’ve kept my bakery clean through all of this. I never joined, I never participated…I refused to get involved.  I know it affected my business and my supply chains…but I couldn’t cross that line.”

V’luth worked carefully through each PADD and data set.  The various connections intrigued her.  She had already identified several other offending parties unrelated to their case.  “It is logical there would be a significant amount of shuttle and ship traffic.  It is a matter of finding the right connection to Mandrake.”

Barzo rubbed her forehead in frustration.  It had taken them hours to get to this point, and the reports and data were only halfway analyzed.  She wasn’t patient, and paperwork hadn’t been her strength in her career.  She was thankful for V’luth as a partner in one way – she had a talent for it.  “I wonder how much Morris had to take from these goons?  Looking at his balance sheet, he was modestly successful…but it was just him doing the work.  He never hired anyone to work with him.”

The Vulcan pointed out, “Logically, he would not trust anyone from the outside given the threat this group posed in attempting to disrupt business.

“Wait…Mandrake had employees.”  Barzo scrambled into the pile of PADDs as V’luth watched, intrigued.  A moment later, she held a PADD with the list of employees, “Compare this with the one we interviewed.”  It took thirty seconds.  “That one.  Jeremiah Muncie.  He wasn’t at the shop…and…” she tapped at her PADD, “…he’s no longer on the station.”

V’Luth pulled the name and put the search to work on the manifests for the ships.  Fifteen seconds later, Jeremiah Muncie had been found on an outbound transport.  “Mr. Muncie has not returned to the station.  His record indicates some petty crime with some allegations that were never proven.  He would be, as you would say, the perfect patsy.  I will input a warrant for his future arrest should he ever return to the station.”  She arched an eyebrow at her partner, “You do not seem to find this a sufficient ending, Lieutenant.”

Barzo stared at the PADDs.  They had found a suspect, but it was a dead end.  “No, I do not find this a…sufficient ending.  This sucks.  This Muncie guy probably did it…and he’s never coming back.  He’ll fade into the background and move on.  We’ll be stuck with an open file.”

“Logically, we’re working the case as a part of our assignment to the USS Mackenzie.  The case may not be closed, but we can pursue leads once the ship leaves the Starbase.  This will lead to a conclusion of the case.”

“You’re talking about patience.”

“Yes, that is the correct term.  I can assist in training you in several methods to help with waiting.”

Barzo stared ahead, remaining silent for several minutes.  She gave V’luth a brief side eye, “You can tell no one that I was open to your suggestion.”

“I will do as you ask.”

“Computer, lights.”  The bridge of the USS Mackenzie flickered on as consoles hummed to life.  Captain Wren Walton stood in the command circle, watching her ship come to life.  She looked at each station, thinking about what the past had done to them and what the future might hold.  The next thing wasn’t going to be easy.  “Computer, activate the ECH.”

The figure of Rachel McKee shimmered into view as she turned to Walton, “Please state the nature of the command emergency.”

“There’s not an emergency…I’ve been tasked with figuring out what to do with you.”

The ECH cocked her head to the side, “That would make logical sense.  Captain Ambrose Harris is no longer the commanding officer of this vessel.  You share no connection with the real-life model that was the basis for this avatar.”

Wren admired what her predecessor had done in creating the ECH in the likeness of an old friend.  It also came with an odd feeling and the unending question of…why?  He had carried some guilt with McKee’s near death, and the use of her was a connection to his past.  She couldn’t understand why he had kept her, even after the real McKee had sought him out to settle her conscience.  “Why do you think he kept you?” she bluntly asked.

The ECH processed the question quickly but relied on human mannerisms in parsing the response.  “I imagine he didn’t want to forget those friends and crew he served with before on the Erigone, the Edinburgh, and the Mackenzie.”  She appeared to think further, even though Walton knew the hologram had already reached each conclusion.  “Humans are odd in what they will hold onto from their past…and what they will try and forget.  You, Captain Walton, must have a similar experience being human.”

Wren felt her breath catch.  She was aware of the additional programming that Harris and Jordan Reid had done to enhance the ECH further.  Being aware of and having it used on you were two entirely different things.  “You know how to get to someone.”  She sighed, drawing a curious look from the ECH.  She pointed at the hologram, “Don’t…just…don’t.  Captain Harris may have appreciated your insights, but I’m not ready for you to start telling me about my head.”

ECH McKee slightly nodded, “I understand.  What do you intend to do with my program?”

Walton wasn’t sure.  “You serve a purpose.  I wonder…you can be loaded with different specialist modules?”  The ECH nodded.  She thought again, “Jordan Reid had a part in your programming.” Another nod.  “You could serve as a medical assistant.”

The hologram appeared in thought.  She replied, “It would be a continued use of my programming and function.  I agree.”

Wren felt some measure of comfort.  “I’ll start the process of getting you transferred.  Computer, end ECH program.”  The figure of McKee faded, leaving Walton alone on her bridge.  She glanced at her watch. The crew was due back tomorrow morning.  And the question as to who was staying would be answered.

The lights in sickbay brightened as he entered, PADD in hand.  The crew had ended their fifteen-day sabbatical, and it was time to return to the Mackenzie.  Henry Longfellow felt pride as he looked around the expansive main sickbay area.  Decisions had been made on crew transfers away from the ship.  Curiously, there were transfer-in requests.  And one of them was going to be under his command.  He tapped the replicator for coffee and settled into his office to read her dossier.

One part of The Journey had ended and the next was beginning.  Ensign Renee Parker, registered nurse, had arrived on the Mackenzie from Earth.  The trip was long, which allowed her time to reflect on the last four years, the best time of her young life, and what lay ahead for her.  She was already missing her family and friends from the Academy, but that was the way life was.  One experienced the joys of growing up, but the day always came when it was time to leave the nest and fly.  Leaving the transport and going through security to board the Excelsior II-class starship that would be her duty assignment and home, she quickly made her way to sickbay, PADD in hand and travel bag slung over her shoulder.  With confidence, she went to Doctor Longfellow the CMO, who was in his office.

“Excuse me, Doctor.  I’m Renee Parker, your new RN.”  Renee couldn’t help smiling.

Longfellow glanced up at the bright face that stood at the door.  She was an ensign and fresh from Starfleet Academy.  “Come on in, Ensign Parker.”  He gestured to the chair before his desk, “This morning is our first day back on the Mack.  Charge Nurse Hiro is meeting with the transfer crews in the shuttle bay.  She’ll be your immediate supervisor.”  He tapped at his PADD, “I have to ask…why the Mackenzie?  You had your choice of ships. Your dossier reads like someone who should be on an Odyssey class.”

Setting her travel bag on the floor, Renee sat and placed her PADD on the desk.  She didn’t really know what to expect in meeting the CMO, but explaining her assignment choice wouldn’t have been her first choice.

“Well, sir, I suppose it just comes down to wanting to be in the middle of the action,” said Renee.  “The Mackenzie, the Mack, has a record of doing that.  I feel that’s where I’m needed most.”

Longfellow accepted the answer.  “That’s a fair reason.  I’ve heard the Odyssey classes can be a bit boring with how big they are…but I’ve never stepped foot on one myself.”  He had a warning: “There is one thing you need to be aware of – we lost our Chief Engineer on our last mission – she had served with the crew on the ship before the Mack.  Her meaning to the senior staff and the crew…she was greatly esteemed.  You need to know coming in that there will be some moments where you’ll feel out of the loop.”

Renee nodded respectfully.  She had heard that before arriving.

Longfellow signed her orders and slid her PADD back. “You strike me as someone who can handle just about everything, so I won’t ask if you can handle it.”

“I appreciate the confidence, sir.”  Starfleet Medical provided the best training available, and Renee knew she could handle it.  She also knew a person couldn’t be prepared for everything.  There was always the unknown and the unexpected.

He stood, “Welcome aboard the USS Mackenzie, Ensign Parker.  You should acquaint yourself with the main sickbay – it’ll become your second home.

Renee was surprised that was the extent of her arrival interview.  Shrugging inwardly, she grabbed her travel bag and PADD and stood up.  “Yes, sir.”

=====

Lieutenant Hiro walked through the sprawling doors to sickbay, a small group of orderlies, nurses, and doctors trailing behind her.  She gestured to the expansive room, “Welcome.  I recommend locating your quarters and reporting back here in an hour.”  They all scattered, and she turned her attention to a lone figure on the far end of the row of biobeds.  She was examining the various tables of equipment.  She recognized the face from the files Longfellow had sent her.   She walked up to the new nurse, “Ensign Parker.”  She extended her hand and said, “Lieutenant Hiro, your Charge Nurse.  Or Nurse Manager, depending on who you’re speaking with.”

“Lieutenant.”  Renee nodded, shaking hands.

Hiro hoped the young ensign would work out.  Just under half of the Mackenzie crew had requested transfers.  In her estimation, the Delta Quadrant had taken its toll on many of the new crew they had started the mission with.  The medical teams suffered a higher attrition than most this round.  “We’ll be dividing shifts among the nursing and orderly staff.  Given your service jacket, I’d like to have you on days with me.  We haven’t had orders yet, and I need competent staff.”  She scrolled through her PADD, “Your record suggests competence.”  She set the PADD on the nurse’s station, “What’s something you want to learn on this posting, Ensign Parker?”

Renee thought for a moment, not expecting a question like that.  “I don’t think there’s really a specific answer I can give to that.  I just need to learn to be the best I can for my patients and for my own growth.”  Renee smiled again, pleased with her response.

Hiro accepted the answer, “We are the hands that heal – our patients are our business.”  She handed her a PADD, “We’ve got some inventory items left to verify.  It’ll help you get a feel for Mackenzie’s sickbay.  We’re scheduled for launch this afternoon at 1500 hours.”

Renee expected she would get to find her quarters and unpack first, but there was no time like the present to start working on her new assignment.  “Yes, ma’am.”

Hiro returned to her station and the daunting list of items needing checking off before they could leave Starbase 72.  Whatever mission was ahead of them, they needed to be ready.