Telamon System, Salem Sector, Ten Days Ago:

The drones moved with measured choreography, dragging components through space to preprogrammed destinations, while other drones fastened pieces together, and still more floated outside the assembly area, unpacking more from the cargo modules recently transported to the area, cargo modules emblazoned with the corporate logo of Zorin Interstellar: a stylised Z in emerald green.

Nearby, the Sabre-class vessel USS Tangshan, part of Sabre Squadron One, sat and observed, their curiosity personified by the crew on the Bridge, watching via the main viewscreen.

At the helm, the ship’s Second Officer and Chief Helmsman Lt Irina Velkovsky suggested, “A new type of automated refinery. ZI can bring in the ore from Scesity, at far less expense than shipping it to Marcos XII or Deep Space Twelve.”

“No,” Ensign Galaxena, the petite Bolian Science Officer, added, pausing to rub distractedly at the ridge bisecting her bald blue head. “It’s an experimental long-range communications array. Now that Starfleet’s managed to make contact with Voyager out in the Delta Quadrant, it’s been proven that trans-quadrant communication can be practical, so everyone’s getting in on the act.”

“Do we really want to be making contact with the rest of the Galaxy?” Lt Bellamy asked from Tactical, “Look at what happened when we ran into the Borg. And the Dominion. Or how about that weird God thing they say lives inside the Great Barrier? Personally I think after the War they’re gonna be focusing on weapons research. This will be some planet-killing device.”

“What a horrible notion,” Ensign Anros Drimu breathed from Engineering, opposite the Science Station. The young Trill female’s spotted face creased. “That Starfleet might become some militaristic organisation because of our experiences in the War. That’s not what I signed up for.”

“We’ve always been militaristic, Anros,” Bellamy countered, “Look at the ranks and regulations and the Academy and all the wars we’ve had to fight-“

“You know what I mean, Frank. Fighting has always been our last resort. If we start building weapons of planetary destruction on the off-chance of meeting another major threat-“

“-Then we’ll have a better chance of surviving than we did with the Dominion.”

At his seat in the centre of the Bridge, First Officer Commander Glerr wrinkled his Tellarite snout in disdain and turned to his Captain on his left. “Are you going to let this prattle continue, Sir? We have a mission to perform here; we should encourage discipline.”

The elongated Kelpien towering over him – and everyone else onboard – never looked away from his work on his duty PADD, but his flat, noseless face widened with a smile from his lidless mouth. “I prefer a more flexible approach within the workplace, Commander Glerr… as long as debate doesn’t degenerate into fisticuffs.

And as far as I can discern, we are performing our mission: monitoring the activities of Zorin personnel at Telamon… and determining what they might actually be constructing here.”

“They filed an application with the Federation Science Council,” Glerr pointed out. “For an ‘Experimental Transportation Project’. Whatever the Hell that means.”

“Indeed,” Captain Neheru conceded. “But given the recent events at the Ucarro system by Zorin personnel, Commodore Hrelle lacks trust in them, hence our current assignment.”

“And you think he’s right, and not just being senile?”

Now Neheru looked up from his PADD at his First Officer. “I have known the Commodore for seven years now, from when he was a Captain, and gave me the opportunity to change my life for the better on the Surefoot. He is an individual of instinct… and he has been proven consistently correct throughout.” He laced some steel into his subsequent suggestion. “He is also our overall commanding officer; you may wish to keep that in mind, before you question his competency so bluntly again.”

Glerr harrumphed, focusing his beady black eyes on something else. “I was merely speculating, Captain, Sir. No offence intended.”

“Glad to hear it, Commander; as loathe as I am having to endure the stench of your pelt, I’d find it marginally more execrable to have to train a new Number One.”

Glerr chuckled at the Tellarite banter – then snapped to attention at the sound of an alert from Ops. “Report, Mr Sellek.”

From behind them, the young Vulcan moved his hands over his controls. “We are picking up a distress signal from outside the Telamon system. It is a vessel, experiencing life support malfunction. No response to our hails.”

“Identification?” Neheru asked.

Sellek offered what for a Vulcan would be a deep frown. “The Sigil, an Antares-class freighter, Corvallen registry. Its submitted flight plan is to Nepenthe… but its current location suggests a more likely destination is Kzinti or Orion space. Still no response.”

Glerr looked back at Neheru. “Corvallens are non-aligned. It’s a trick, a means to lure us away from our mission. Maybe set by Zorin? Or perhaps even a trap being set by the Kzinti?”

Neheru steepled his long, slender fingers in contemplation. “If so, it is an effective one, given that we cannot ignore it. Ms Velkovsky, set a course for the source of the signal, Warp Nine, engage when ready. Mr Sellek, take us to Yellow Alert, inform Salem One as to our diversion, and request an updated confirmation on the flight plan of the Sigil. Mr Bellamy, Ms Drimu is quite correct, an armed response should always be our last resort… but if it does end up being a response at all, ensure it’s a damn good one.”

“Aye, Captain.”

He nodded, looking ahead at the Helm, where Lt Irina Velkovsky sat, glancing sideways at him and offering a slight, conspiratorial smile, one he returned. His command of the Tangshan had been the longest assignment of his career, and with a large crew. There were very few Kelpiens in Starfleet, and his people’s reputation for timidity was better known, so he accepted that some of his new crew needed time to be reassured that Neheru could be relied upon. And this assignment in the Salem Sector is giving them – him – ample opportunity to prove it.

Sometimes, I amaze myself. Thank you, Commodore Hrelle. I learned more from you than I could ever quantify.

It wasn’t long before they entered sensor range, allowing Sellek to report, “Captain, sensors confirm it is indeed the Sigil. Its warp core is offline, it’s drifting, and there appears to be a rupture in the hull following a plasma explosion.”

“What about lifesigns?”

“Twelve, humanoid, faint- Captain, the life support malfunction might be critical-“

Neheru rose to his feet now. “ETA at present speed?”

“27 minutes, Sir,” Velkovsky replied, already programming her station in anticipation of his next order.

He didn’t disappoint. “Take us to Maximum Warp. Mr Sellek, alert Sickbay, have them prepare to receive the occupants. Our new ETA, Irina?”

“6.4 minutes.”

As the ship increased velocity until a whine of protest came from the spaceframe, Neheru remained standing, outwardly calm but inwardly fighting an unaccustomed impatience with how long it was taking to reach their destination, even at over 9,000 times the speed of light. He remembered some words of wisdom from the Commodore: ‘When you’re in the Big Seat, seconds will feel like hours, either because there’s nothing going on, or too much. Just don’t show it.’.

And then, before he realised it, they were dropping out of warp, Velkovsky reporting, “Entering transporter range.”

“Get those occupants to Sickbay.”

Moments later, Sellek announced, “Occupants onboard, initial reports indicate minor respiratory issues, all being treated-“

Suddenly Neheru’s combadge chirped, as the voice of their CMO caught the Captain’s attention. “Dr Enderby to Captain Neheru: would you come down here please, right away?”

Neheru’s face creased in curiosity, as he glanced at an equally-bemused Sellek before responding, “Is there a problem, Doctor?”

“I’d rather discuss it in person with you, Sir.”

Neheru felt his pulse quicken – and if he still had his Kelpien threat tendrils at the back of his skull, they would be engorged and visible. “Very well, Doctor. I’m on my way. Neheru out.” As he closed the channel, he ordered, “You have the Conn, Mr Glerr. Arrange for an Engineering crew in exosuits to beam on board the Sigil and effect repairs.”

The journey to Sickbay took forever, despite his long, long legs.

Inside, activity was focused around the biobeds, where people, mostly Corvallens, lay or stood by, while being treated or guided elsewhere. Near one biobed, Dr August Enderby, a middle-aged human with crinkly copper hair and a narrow nose stepped away to greet him. “Captain, thank you for coming. As reported, the crew are all being treated now for oxygen deprivation and smoke inhalation, and some minor injuries from turbulence from the explosion.”

Neheru nodded. “I take it that you didn’t ask to see me personally in order to repeat yourself.”

“No, Sir. One of the crew is a human male, listed on the supplied manifest as David Banner, a Medical Technician. However, his genetic signature appeared in our own database with a different name: Ensign William T Beaudine.”

The name made his heart skip a beat, and he looked past the doctor to the human. “Are you sure?”

“Confirmed twice, Sir.”

“Is he conscious?”

“He’s coming round now. But perhaps you might want to give him some time-“

Neheru walked around him to the biobed, the medical staff parting to reveal the figure lying down, but now stirring. Yes, it was definitely him: the same freckled face, broad nose, narrow chin… and the hazel eyes, as they opened to look up at Neheru.

Neheru tapped his combadge. “Captain to Security: please send a detail to Sickbay.”

The young man opened his eyes wider as consciousness returned fully, along with recognition. His voice was raspy as he finally responded. “Lieutenant Neheru?”

The Kelpien struggled to force down the storm of emotions threatening to burst from him at this unexpected, and unwanted, reunion with the former cadet from Gamma Squad on the Surefoot. “Captain Neheru, now, Mr Beaudine; much has changed in the last few years.” So very much, he added to himself, accepting his next duty, as distasteful as it was.

Louder now, for the record, he announced, “Ensign William Beaudine, you are under arrest for Homicide, Misbehaviour Before the Enemy, Conduct Unbecoming a Starfleet Officer, Misuse of Starfleet Vessels and Equipment, and being Absent Without Leave. You are not required to give any statement until your formal indictment, where you will be given access to legal counsel beforehand, but do you wish to say anything at this time?”

Beaudine looked up at him, his face as taut as a wire as he shook his head.

*

Station Salem One, Commodore’s Quarters, Level 01, Today:

“‘Cuddle Monkey’?”

Sitting at the head of the table, Commodore Esek Hrelle rolled his eyes. “I was never called that.”

Around him, the rest of the party stopped eating – except for his youngest daughter Sreen, busy shovelling mashed potato into her muzzle, or Sasha’s boyfriend Lt Mru Mori, the Caitian male keeping his head down and not getting involved – to look at him with varying degrees of amusement, Sasha smirking as she repeated. “‘Cuddle Monkey’?”

He reached for his glass of wine. “No, Captain Godleski is misremembering.”

Opposite Sasha, his wife Kami smiled, purring. “‘Cuddle Monkey’?”

“No, that would obviously be a Lieutenant Esek Hrelle from another quantum reality, not me.”

Next to his mother, Misha, dressed in his favourite minikin Starfleet uniform, gripped his fork and frowned. “What’s a Cuddle Monkey?”

“It’s nothing,” Hrelle assured him, glaring good-naturedly at their guest at the opposite end of the table. “Captain Godleski is clearly intoxicated. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

Sonia Godleski smiled guilelessly at him: the petite, copper-haired human woman retaining the same wry expression he remembered from the time they served together on the Limaari many, many years before. “Begging your pardon, Commodore, Sir, but I haven’t touched a drop tonight.”

“She’s right,” Kami assured him, smiling and looking at the Captain of the Prospero again. “So, how long did you and my husband date when you were posted to the Limaari?”

Godleski made a show of considering her answer, screwing up her button nose. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘dating’. There were a whole bunch of us who always hung out together, the Magnificent Seven: myself, Esek, Marvin Blum, Weynik, Meridian Jones, Grabthar, Rahn Toxa… Esek and I would drink the rest of them under the table, and usually ended up…. getting together.”

Misha nodded knowingly. “You had sex!”

Most of the adults laughed, but Kami rested a paw on her son’s arm as she told the others, “You know, someone has a tenth birthday coming up. He’s going to have a party with all his friends, but he hasn’t told us what he wants for a present.”

“Ask for a pony,” Sasha suggested, comically ducking as Hrelle looked like he was gonna throw his beer at her.

“A starship?” Godleski teased, offering a concealed middle finger at Hrelle’s glare.

“How about your own moon?” Weynik added, looking to Hrelle and smiling. “Come on, you cheap jerk, give him a moon somewhere.”

Hrelle growled, looking to his son and saying gently, “Think about what you’d like. Ignore what anyone-“

“I wanna go fly with you, Papa!” his son declared, smiling, his eyes wide. “Just you and me! A Starfleet Adventure! In space!”

He blinked. “Well, I’m sure we can book one of the station Holosuites-“

“No! A real adventure! Just us two males! Fighting Zeenti and blowing up things!”

Hrelle looked around, feeling his skin heat up under his fur at the scrutiny. “Yes, well, Warrior Prince, you know I’m very busy now here on Salem One and-“

Misha’s deflated, defeated expression cut him to the quick.

Kami took over again. “I think you’re finished here, Cub of Mine. Why don’t you go to your room and finish your homework, and when you’re done, you can come back for some fruit?”

“With ice cream?” he added, smiling and purring.

Kami remained resolute, however. “With more fruit. Now go.”

Sreen pointed her spoon at Misha, for a moment her voice sounding remarkably like her mother’s. “Yeah, you go now, Cub of Mine!”

“You be quiet, Baby Sreen.” The male cub hopped off his chair, but not before walking over to Godleski, taking her hand in his paw, purring and saying formally, “Thank you for visiting our humble home, Captain. Please do not be a stranger here.”

Godleski flushed and grinned. “I won’t be, Misha. And it was such a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes, it was!” he agreed, turning and rushing into his room, laughing all the way.

Godleski looked to the others, eyes wide. “What a little cutie!” She reached for her wineglass and smiled at Hrelle. “If you’d had half his charm on the Limaari you’d have gotten into my pants a lot sooner than you did.”

As his wife and older daughter laughed, he harrumphed. “I was charming!”

“There was no room for charm, you were too full of that Ancient Race bullshit!”

Sasha reached for her carbonated water. “What Ancient Race bullshit?”

Godleskli smiled, and in a deep, familiar baritone with theatrical hand gestures mimicked, “‘We Caitians are an ancient race, Sonia, deeply rooted in our primal instincts. We hunt, we fight… and we mate. There is no denying it. We must follow as our hearts dictate’.”

Sasha guffawed, giving her father the thumbs up. “Classy lines, Dad!” She nudged Mori. “If you ever tried that on me, I’d have laughed you into a hard-off!”

Kami smirked at Hrelle. “How did you manage to get me pregnant twice?”

He looked around them, lifting up his own glass. “You remember that I outrank all of you, right?”

Now Sreen pointed her spoon at her father. “Cuddamonkee!”

Hrelle saluted his daughter. “You get to call me that, Princess, not these disrespectful fools.”

Now Mori spoke up. “For what it’s worth, Commodore, I’m sure it sounded much better when you said it. You have a stirring, inspirational voice that brings out the best in all of us.”

“Nice tail kissing, Cub,” Hrelle replied, smiling and winking at him, before sobering. “Now, shall we move onto another subject?”

Godleski smiled, seemingly satisfied with the level of teasing she had inflicted to date. “I heard about your run-in with the Kzinti. How’ve you been handling it?”

“Fine.” He drank. “Well, that subject’s exhausted. Let’s move on again.”

He saw some of the others exchange glances, but left it at that – his ‘run-in’ had shaken him, something he could only admit to Kami, and he was happy to let it quiet down in the back of his mind before dealing with it – but then Godleski continued. “Any word about the Deserter?”

This time, Hrelle wasn’t the only one to react, and he wished he could steer the talk back onto his past romantic embarrassments, or even the Kzinti. “His name is Ensign William Beaudine… Bill. He was one of the first generation of cadets we had onboard the Surefoot. After graduation he was assigned to the Destiny and the Seventh Fleet, and I lost track of him after that, until word came out about what happened on Kalandra VII. Maybe if I’d kept in touch-“

“It wasn’t your responsibility to do that,” Kami reminded him gently, wiping mashed potato from Sreen’s muzzle even as the cub was trying to do it herself with her tongue. “You offer them all the wisdom you can when they’re under your influence, and then set them forth into life.”

“So what did happen?” Godleski asked. “I heard he was a deserter, but also a POW?”

“As I understand it, he was part of an Away Team on Kalandra, investigating a captured Dominion facility. The Jem’Hadar returned, members of his team were wounded, his Away Team Leader called for him to provide medical assistance. Instead, he took off and left them behind. They were killed, and he was captured in space later and taken to a Dominion POW camp.

When the War ended two months ago, and the POWs were released, his shuttle was located, the logs retrieved, and Bill’s actions were discovered. He was summoned to Starfleet to explain himself, but he fled instead.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe Bill deserted,” Sasha declared, staring down soberly into her glass. “I saw him in action with us on the Surefoot, staying cool under fire against Nausicaans, Orions, Klingons, before we even graduated. He was too strong, too in control.”

“It’s been over five years since that time, Sasha,” Kami reminded her, lifting up Sreen to her shoulder, settling her and purring her to sleep.

“And the Destiny and the rest of the Seventh Fleet saw the worst of it in the War,” Weynik added. “At Tyra, Sybaron, the Tibor Nebula, Kalandra. We thought we had it bad at Khavak and Cardassia Prime, but what they faced was a different level entirely. I wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting to run from that nightmare.”

“But not everyone ran, Weynik,” Godleski pointed out. “Most stayed, even if it cost them their lives. And it’s not just about desertion, either; there have been other cases that occurred during the War. But because he ran, and wasn’t there to provide medical aid to the wounded or evacuate them, people died.”

“Where are they taking him?” Kami asked Hrelle.

“The Tangshan rendezvoused with the Minotaur, who are now taking him to Deep Space Twelve to face his court martial there.” Hrelle finished his glass. “I’ll keep an eye on the proceedings, see if he needs anyone on his side.”

“He’ll definitely need it,” Sasha agreed.

*

It was the middle of the night, long after the party had broken up and all good souls should have been in theirs – or other’s – beds, when an alert dragged Hrelle out of his and back into the living room, activating the desk intercom with a growl, “This had better be good.”