A/N: Oh look, it's a new chapter! Kind of an in-between one, but it leads into something really interesting I promise ;D

Chapter 20: Re-Orientation

The commanders of the Enterprise sat in a row, facing a display on the opposite wall that served as a projector.

The supervisor of the rescue operation concluded her presentation with a live feed of the crater several thousand kilometres below them. She pressed a command, and the drone supporting the video feed swooped down to the wreck of what had attacked their crew. Special Operations always got the newest tech.

"As you can see," she said with a forced measuredness in her voice. "This probe is what likely disturbed the supplies your team was meant to retrieve."

Spock remained completely still, his eyes trained on the video. Searching for something—anything—that might give an explanation for what had happened.

"And while your account of events are sound—the recordings from your comms confirm it—we have no reason to suspect that the probe will take any further actions."

She pointed to the probe's legs, now crushed underneath its own weight. "As you can clearly see, its structural—and mobile—integrity have been indefinitely compromised."

Inhaling, she said, "Therefore, Special Operations has been charged with all further management of this situation. In conjunction with the repairs and relocation of your vessel, we will dispatch our own team to perform an independent evaluation of the crater."

She raised her clicker, and the feed cut to black.

A hand raised, and her shoulders dropped when she traced it back to its owner.

"I suppose now is as good a time as any for questions," she sighed.

"Good," Kirk said, and dropped his hand. "When can we expect to see the results of your investigation?"

She straightened up a little bit. "Our findings won't be made available unless they include something that presents an imminent threat to the greater public."

"So, you're bringing what could be a threat into a populated federation research facility?" Bones interjected.

She stared at him. "Unless you have a better way of conducting quality research, Doctor, yes, that it what we will be doing." She sighed, then added, "As I stated previously, we don't believe the probe will take any further action. Right now, our top priority is finding out where it came from."

"And if you do, you won't be telling us," Kirk said.

"Not unless there is a larger threat behind it, no." Her eyes flicked to each commander in turn, finally resting on Spock—who still hadn't said a word.

"I suggest you try and put this behind you." She attempted a half-smile, cringing on the inside. "After all, you're less than a week from some well-deserved shore leave."

Five nights before their break, Ellie Andrews woke up drenched in sweat.

She patted herself down, realizing once she reached past her stomach that it wasn't just sweat.

She called med bay, shaking Venter awake with her free hand.

Bones used his emergency powers to clear a route through the lifts and corridors that went from their apartment to surgery.

For a span of five minutes, schedules would be set back as crew members found hallways closed down and specific lifts temporarily unavailable.

For them, it was a minor inconvenience, but for those it aided, it was a major blessing.

Andrews gasped as another set of contractions overtook her body. They'd come off and on in a mild consistency over the past week, each one growing slowly until now.

There was still supposed to be a month left.

As they neared the entrance to medbay, Andrews looked up at Venter. Still in his sweatpants and t-shirt, hair greasy from days without washing it, eyes circled with dark purple bags, he jogged alongside her wheelchair.

"Hey-" she said, just managing to get it out before she grit her teeth in pain.

He looked down at her, eyes widening despite their sleep-deprived state. "Yeah? What do you need?"

She inhaled. "You know how we agreed on you being in the room during the— you know?"

"The birth," he said, waving his hand to activate the sliding doors' motion sensor. The nurse nodded to him, and pushed Andrews ahead.

Andrews gripped the armrests and looked over her shoulder at him. "Well, I think our current situation warrants a retraction." She shook her head. "I don't want you to see. Not like this." Too soon, too soon, too soon…

The nurse pushing her wheelchair stopped for a moment to allow them one last embrace—no matter how hard they tried not to think of it as that. Venter tucked his head into Andrews' shoulder, stifling a sob of fear. They both knew it was too early—nearly a month, and that couldn't mean anything good.

She pulled him close.

Then they were apart. Her speeding towards surgery, him standing shock-still in his t-shirt and sweat pants.

Venter wandered through med bay. Due to the late hour, there was no one around to kick him out. Even if there had been, he doubted they would have noticed him. Everyone seemed to be on the verge of collapse in their preparation for Somerdale. They were all limping the last few light years to recovery.

For the most part, he paced across the shining white floor, but from time to time, he collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands.

Near the end of the second hour, he stumbled into the recovery ward.

All but one of the beds was unoccupied. The curtains drawn.

He heard someone shuffling around inside, and thought, Sam.

Venter hadn't seen him since the crater. Since Idell and Spock had dragged his body aboard the shuttle and ordered him to take off without any of the supplies they'd come for.

He went towards the curtain. The shuffling became more apparent and less discernible at the same time.

It wasn't disorganized. It sounded almost methodical

As he listened, Venter heard Sam Bennet mutter in a language he couldn't understand. It wasn't basic, and as far as Venter knew, that was the only one Sam knew well enough to ramble in, aside from a few phrases in Hindi he'd picked up from living with his Grandparents.

In their time at the academy, Venter had come to realize there were two classes of people in attendance: the ones who reminisced about their home towns/planets, and the ones who didn't.

Bennet fell into the former category. His upbeat, forever-positive personality had gotten them through many a final exam.

When Venter pulled back the curtain, Bennet was already staring in his direction. As if he'd been waiting for him—or someone else—to be there all along.

He wanted to step back, run away, careen from this bed as fast as his feet would allow, but he stayed where he was.

"Uh, hi…" he said. The absence of Bennet's hand and knowing look in his eyes made Venter's chest hurt.

Bennet leaned back into the singular, flattened pillow each biobed was allotted. "Hello," he said, dissecting Venter with his eyes.

Forgoing his entire course of interstellar psych 101, Venter blurted out, "So did you forget me too?"

One of Bennet's eyebrows raised. He shifted the sheets, and Venter tried to avoid how smoothly the stump moved with the rest of his arm.

"I don't know you," Bennet said slowly. "But based on your question, I assume that I must have at some point."

Venter shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, we went to the academy together. You- I-" They'd even gone on a date once. Ellie knew, but he assumed that Bennet had forgotten that along with everything else.

"Starfleet," Bennet said. Venter nodded.

"What's your name?"

Despite knowing what he knew, the question still took him back. Venter nodded. "My name's Locke… Do you know yours?"

"I've been called 'Sam', 'Bennet', and 'aide' since arriving here," Sam Bennet said.

Arriving here. Jesus.

"But neither feel familiar to me." He shrugged. "Which I suppose is normal now."

Venter frowned. For someone who had gone down to a planet with an entire life behind them and come back up with nothing, he seemed to be taking things remarkably well.

He hated to think of how Harrev would be taking this. He frequented the counselling centre for his regular therapy sessions, but Venter suspected there'd be an uptick on his attendance sooner rather than later.

"So what are you doing here so late?" Bennet asked. He leaned forward, waiting for Venter's answer.

Venter wondered how slowly time passed in the recovery ward. Seemed that the hours felt like days—at least from what he'd heard.

"I, uh… Andrews—my partner, I mean." Venter pushed his hair back with one hand. "She went into labour early. Too early…" He glanced over his shoulder as if searching for an update.

"Early enough to be worried about it?" Bennet asked, and this time he seemed genuinely concerned. Not at all like the blank slate Venter had been talking to a second ago.

"Yes." Very much so.

Bennet—or whoever he was now—seemed to consider it. The silence lasted too long, stretching out between them like an elastic band prepared to snap.

"You need to go," Bennet finally said. No humanity: all robot. No room for debate in his voice. It was an order. "Talking to me will not make the wait any easier."

Bennet collected himself, retrieving the padd from the bedside table. His body language told Venter he was no longer needed—or wanted—there.

Walking out of recovery and into the main ward, he was met by a nurse.

'Met' was an understatement. She nearly ran into him.

"Come with me!" She tugged him forward as a worried look bloomed across his features.

"What's wrong?" He asked. How long had he been gone?

The skin around his eyes was a dark blue, standing out in the brown of his skin. That blueness and a dozen other things were a cause for concern.

Foremost, was the incubator they'd had to put him in.

Louan. Their son.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Bones repeated, growing worried by the blank expression on Venter's face—even though it was the reaction you'd expect from someone when they heard this kind of news.

So small. Tiny. Barely two hands long.

And quiet. Asleep, but alive.

Parents were supposed to be able to hold their child after their birth. All he could do was watch him through a thick circular window. Watch, for any sign of true life.

Ellie had opted in for drugs over two months ago, a fact they'd been thankful for during the surgery.

A 'natural' birth—at this early of a date—was practically unheard of in the federation. Any attempt at it could end detrimentally for both mother and child.

Ellie blinked, two, agonizingly sluggish movements that signified her delirium. She wouldn't be truly lucid for a few more hours.

At first, Bones had debated repeating the plan to Venter right then. Then again for both of them once Andrews was properly awake. But right now, he just needed one other person to know so that he could start going through the entire mess all over again in his head. He'd been mulling it—and other events—over for months.

"We're going to move the two of you—three of you," he corrected, "Off the ship once everyone else has gone off and dispersed." Five days from now. Five days of watching and waiting for every breath this newborn took.

Venter nodded, not moving his gaze from the pod-like incubator. Completely mobile. It even came with a pop-up handle. Normally used for plant samples.

"There's already an apartment and a part-time vocation set up for both of you on Somerdale—we'll just be moving a bit ahead of schedule, alright?"

Another nod.

When they'd been given clearance to start their family aboard the ship (an awkward and tedious process, to be sure) he'd spend countless evenings going over worst-case scenarios before falling asleep.

Despite all that planning, he was wholly unprepared when it actually happened.

"We're going to, uh," Bones cleared his throat. "We're gonna move you to another room for the night. Get your rest an' all."

He saw Venter's eyes flick towards the incubator, then back to him, just as fast.

"We need to keep him here for monitoring," Bones said. "We'll be in an' out all night, so…"

"So you wouldn't want to disturb our sleep?"

Venter looked at her. The first words Ellie had said since his arrival.

He expected her to object, to demand that they stay in the room with their son. But she didn't say another word as he pushed her wheelchair into the recovery ward, taking extra care to select a bio bed far away from the one with the curtains already drawn around it.

"Sooo… Why have you brought me here in the middle of the night?" Dillan looked at a sign on a door they passed. "To a restricted area no less—Uhura, you rebel!"

Uhura glanced back at Dillan, rolling her eyes in the process. She walked with an uncanny swagger, as if she owned every room she sauntered in to. And, to be fair, she kind of did.

"It's your final exam," Uhura said, tapping something on her padd as Dillan caught up to her. "You're going to help me decipher the language on the inside of those pieces they brought up."

Dillan froze, and Uhura went several paces forward before realizing it. She paused and looked back at her, a questioning expression on her face.

"I'll ask you again," Dillan said, her demeanour becoming more and more guarded as she spoke, "You're bringing me along why?"

"What? Don't tell me you're afraid of ghosts." Uhura raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"No…" Dillan shook her head. Just robots.

Once they stopped in front of the door, Uhura held up her padd, using a Scotty-patented app to scramble the electric lock.

"I mean, how would I even be any help?" Dillan exclaimed, then quieted her voice. They were alone in this section, and they needed to keep it that way. "We have no idea where this pod really came from-" yes you do "-and even if it is a language—we don't know if it can be translated through a syntax available to us!"

Uhura looked up from the lock, where Scotty's app was doing its good work. "One: I have millions of available translations on this puppy, so yes it can be translated. And two: you are going to be able to help. Trust me on this." Uhura returned to the lock, scoffing to herself, "is it even a language…"

"Myers would really be a better choice for this," Dillan babbled, keeping her voice down this time. "He's way more into your communications mumbo-jumbo than-"

The door opened, revealing the contents of the lab inside.

Dillan stepped back. Way more than a few pieces.

It was a probe.

It was her probe. They were here. Beast was here. They'd found her—somehow Beast had found her.

Uhura tilted her head towards the Beast. Dillan's monster.

"Look familiar?"

Dillan didn't answer. Just stared up at the hulking shell of the probe, a name hovering on the edge of her tongue. Her eyes flicked to Uhura's. She didn't dare say it aloud.

Uhura stepped inside first. She pulled a chair up in front the side of the pod where its interior was exposed and raised up her padd. The blue light lit up her face, but her expression remained stagnant.

Barely glancing up from her padd, Uhura said, "Why don't you try carbon-dating it?."

Dillan shook her head and flattened herself against the wall.

Uhura shrugged. "Suit yourself. Could be useful to know how old it is, or at least how long it was on that planet." She glanced up at the interior of the probe, crowded by the shadows in the unlit lab. "It'll be a minute or two before I'm able to upload any scans of the symbols."

After precisely one minute, Dillan had built up the courage to detach herself from the wall. After close to ninety seconds, she had her scanner out and was running it along the one, mostly-undamaged side.

For a moment, all seemed to be going well to Uhura. Then Dillan frowned. She stepped back, and move the scanner to another part of the hull. Then another.

"There's no dust," Dillan whispered.

"What was that?" Uhura asked. She leaned around in Dillan's direction, tilting the screen of her padd so Dillan could see the array of possible matches flicking across the screen.

Dillan swallowed. "Do you think they cleaned it?" She looked back at Uhura now. "I can't find any organic material." Not even a speck of space dust.

Uhura got up then, and gently nudged Dillan aside to get a better look. She compared her visual findings with the readings from her padd, and stood up straight.

"Oh. That is strange." They both knew that the committee wouldn't have cleaned anything off that could have given them more information about the probe. So either there hadn't been any stuck to it from the start—which they knew wasn't true from Bennet's suit's account—or they had cleaned it off, which was a gross oversight of protocol for the highly-respected team.

"I'll try and get a date on the material it's made of," Dillan said quickly, knowing it was what she should have done from the start.

Uhura returned to her symbols while Dillan checked the materials on the outer shell of the probe through every Starfleet and Federation database available to them (sidenote: there were a lot). They both received varying degrees of disappointment in their answers.

Dillan couldn't find a single texture map or serial number to match it, and yet there were at least five different metals molded together on the outer shell. What was more concerning was that each of them dated back at least 100 years…

"I'm getting a dozen different matches here," Uhura said. "Like they've combined all of these languages—some of them haven't been used in centuries…"

Dillan followed the sinking feeling in her stomach, and before she could question it any further, deleted the scans from her padd. She had it memorized and could research it later, but thought it best to leave as scarce of a trail as possible.

"You got anything?" Uhura asked, not looking up from her padd.

"No," Dillan said. "But can I take a look at yours?"

Uhura handed off her padd, and watched Dillan as she scrolled through the scans. She observed the nervous uptick in the corner of her lip, as well as a clench in her jaw, but Dillan didn't say anything, even as she handed the padd back to Uhura like it was a baby who'd just peed all over her.

"Do you have what you came for?" Dillan asked, trying desperately not to look over her shoulder. The walls of the lab seemed to be closing in on her, the probe growing ever larger in the darkness.

Uhura nodded, and got to her feet.

Dillan was already pointed towards the door, her feet shuffling back and forth along the floor. "I think we should go then."

Uhura took her meaning, and as a sign of their friendship, didn't press her on it.

They left the lab, locking the door behind them, and once they were in the lift Uhura messaged Harrev to resume the normal camera feeds from his place in the security office.

"Once your crew has off-loaded, we'll have the probe transported to a secure location aboard Somerdale."

Kirk watched from his office window as the hundreds of crew members streamed out onto the greens. Some of them whooped, breaking out into a sprint without the need to move aside in a corridor. Others simply made a beeline for the nearest alcohol-selling establishment.

"At what point is a place too big?" He asked.

The committee leader—the one tasked with retrieving the probe—cocked her head. "I beg your pardon, Captain?"

"You said, 'transported,' as in to this colony." Kirk turned around and smiled apologetically at the bemused look on her face. "Forgive me. You were saying?"

The committee leader paused, assessing if he was being sarcastic or not. After a moment, she straightened her shoulders (though they already looked to be held up by a metal rod) and cleared her throat.

"Just that we'll need the route cleared for amiable transport of the probe—it's in the itinerary I sent you."

Ah, yes.. But was it the one from that morning, or the one from two hours ago? She did love being organized—something he was sure Spock would appreciate under different circumstances.

Kirk would have to go over it later to make sure it didn't conflict with their covert operation memory-jog. (Dillan had suggested the title.)

"This feels… wrong." Pavel leaned against the kitchen countertop, arms pressed against his sides. He pressed his hands atop the surface, fingertips turning red from the pressure.

"I do not understand why I cannot be the one to lead him here." Harrev stood by the door to his own apartment. (Now his, and only his, and it suffocated him.)

He kept his eyes trained on his feet, glancing towards the keypad every now and then as if looking for a chance to escape. Run away from all the strangers in his space.

The Captain, First Officer, Chief Medical Officer, and Head of Communications were all standing around his kitchen. They looked at each other awkwardly, searching for an answer that could diffuse the situation.

Spock finally spoke up. "It seems that… Mr. Bennet has made a formidable connection with Cadet Chasidy. With his lack of memory, it would be unadvisable to introduce any more… unfamiliar elements into his environment for the time being."

"But I am—" Harrev caught himself as his voice broke, crossing his arms in front of his chest. I am his partner, he thought, and his heart broke.

"Harrev, we need-" Uhura said, reaching out for him, but he stepped away from her.

"I understand," he said. "I'm useless here."

"That's not what we mean, and you know it," Uhura called after him, but he was already heading towards the door. She put a palm to her forehead. "Some supervisor I am… I'll go after him."

Once they were gone, Bones spoke up.

"Chasidy'll start guiding him any minute now. We should leave."

The rest of them, including Pavel, nodded, and followed suit.

"How does it feel to stretch your legs?"

Dillan watched Bennet tilt his head from side to side, taking in his surroundings. While she watched his face, he tucked something into his waistband, disguising it within the folds of his shirt.

"Good," he said, and gave her a simple smile.

She knew he hadn't left medbay in over a week, so didn't push him in any particular direction. Where he went, she followed, and answered the number of questions he posed.

"Will Officer Chekov be joining us?" he asked as they stepped into the lift. The doors closed, sealing them inside.

Dillan had been assigned a tranquilizer in case he became violent, and she chided herself for moving her hand closer to it when Bennet reached for a command that would take them further from their pre-ordained final destination. She was just a guide. Just. A. Guide.

"He was…" she said, "But I think he fell asleep." In reality, him and a number of the others were watching through the security cameras. Watching, for any sign of the real Bennet.

"How unreliable," he said.

Dillan looked at him as the lift started to descend. She was never sure whether he was being sarcastic or not. The Bennet she'd met at the holiday party all those months ago cracked jokes at a mile a minute—a phrase taught to her by Scotty.

He stood awkwardly, like he was unused to his own two legs. He stared at his civvies (a blue long-sleeve and a pair of grey slacks) like they were the most unusual things he'd ever worn. Dillan made a mental note to mention it to Bones. She wondered how much his amnesia was supposed to effect his reaction to regular-world things—and if there was even a standard measure for that.

The ended up in engineering at the end of their lift, which she supposed it wasn't the worst place to end up with an unpredictable amnesiac. If there was anywhere she knew how to make a quick getaway, it was through its many winding corridors and up the ladders to alcoves hidden behind forgotten support beams.

From there, they went to the security barracks, where he paused longer than she'd expected him to. So far, he hadn't shown any recognition towards Harrev, so she was surprised when he lingered so much at his place of work.

"Am I supposed to remember this place?" He asked.

She smiled sadly, recalling Bones' training towards questions like these. They were supposed to remember, yes, but telling them anything that might lead to discouragement should be avoided.

Dillan shook her head. "Just a thought." Then followed him on.

They went to the communication sector next, where he spent a ridiculously long amount of time staring at the silver discs that lined either side of the corridor.

She laughed awkwardly, saying, "I once, uh, spent four hours cleaning these. It nearly took all day."

Bennet looked from the discs to the control panel. "How far can they send out a transmission?" He asked.

"Pretty far, from what I've been told," Dillan said quietly.

"And is that exactly what you've been told?" Despite the analytical nature of the question, she got a real condescending vibe from him.

"Uh, yes?"

"Understood." He reached out to touch one of the discs, but Dillan leapt forward and grabbed him by his severed arm.

He stared at her, incredulous. She let go of him, and gestured to the disc.

"There's electricity running up and down those. We already thought we lost you once, dude."

He nodded curtly. "Thank you."

She took the lead, bringing him up to the science deck. They passed by Spock's office, which he seemed mildly interested in, and then moved towards the one next to it. It had been cordoned-off by the inquiry team, and Dillan watched Bennet closely as he inspected the holographic sign displayed outside the door.

"What is in there?" Bennet asked.

"Another office," Dillan said after a moment. "Just like the other one we passed." She pointed back at Spock's, but her heart wasn't in it, and her hand quickly dropped to her side.

"It's something I should know, isn't it?" Bennet said quietly.

Dillan nodded. "Let's go back to the lift, and I'll tell you."

She brought the two of them to the elevator, but didn't show a preference towards any particular floor.

"Just pick one," she said. "I'm curious."

When he picked the living quarters, she logged the decision in the back of her head. It wasn't the most dramatic of choices (the living quarters was one of the eight main sections of the ship), but it was what she'd been expecting him to do.

What she hadn't expected was how quickly it would take him to get to his and Harrev's old room. He made a beeline straight for the door, and when Dillan finally caught up to him, she found him standing in front of it, staring intently at the display next to the door.

"I don't know the number code," he said.

"Try your thumbprint," she suggested.

He placed his thumb over the blue display, and the door slid open.

Now, the apartment was empty. It still had all their furnishings, just with the home subtracted from it.

Bennet stepped inside, and methodically made his way through the common area, bedroom, and bath. Dillan waited by the front door, fidgeting next to the replicator.

"They've told me who I am," he said, startling her. "But they still won't tell me what happened."

"Would you like to know?" She'd gone over it with Bones. The details she'd tell him, and the parts she'd leave out.

Bennet nodded.

After she told him the story—mission, crater, injury, the whole lot—he asked her,

"Why are you doing all this?"

She smiled sadly. "You mean, why isn't there a doctor here instead?"

"Or someone who was actually there."

There it was again! That child-like way of saying things that adults were supposed to dance around.

Dillan crossed her arms. "Probably because they don't want to, for starters. But also because they're not, uh… ready—psychologically ready to relive it."

At this point in the night, Dillan wasn't too sure if she was either.

There was one microphone in the common room. Dillan turned away from Bennet, reached behind the replicator, and pinched it between her metal index finger and thumb, effectively crushing the piece of tech. Kirk and Bones and everyone else would scramble from wherever they were watching them, but Dillan thought she had it under control.

"There's another thing," she said. "About the creature that hurt you." The one they have stored in our basement.

Bennet looked mildly interested.

"The thing—probe, whatever—that crashed into my home station," she said. "It was made by the same people." At this point, she doubted that 'people' was the right word for it.

He cocked his head. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure." She nodded to herself. "I'd recognize it anywhere—I spent a week inside a living nightmare with it—I just don't know how one like it got to be here…"

The plan was to leave him here for the night. Let him sleep in his old bed to see if that jogged any memories. That had been their plan.

"Will you be alright if I leave for a minute?" Dillan asked as she headed towards the door. She'd just made it past him when his hand lashed out, grabbing onto her wrist.

She stopped mid-step, looking down at the hand, before gently pulling herself free. "…What are you doing?" she asked carefully.

"The call was right," Bennet said. He put his hands on his hips, discretely putting one closer to his back pocket.

"Sorry, what was that?" Dillan's internal radar was sounding off, screaming at her to get out of there. She'd destroyed the only microphone, and there weren't any visual recorders in the apartment. They were alone.

"She was right," Bennet said, pulling a lethal-looking syringe out of his back pocket and advancing towards Dillan. "We would find each other again."

Special shout out/thanks to new favourite/follower Kalima! Welcome to the story :D