Chapter 1

Chief Medical Officer's Starlog - November 23rd, 2160.

Sub-Commander T'Ling recording.

Doctor Friedrich Heidelburg of the Duke Foundation for Mental Health is arriving at Starbase One to conduct a psychological study on Humans in long-term deep-space assignments. As I have a qualification in psychiatric medicine, I will be assisting the doctor in his research.

The outcome of the project is likely to be beneficial for future Starfleet missions as well as provide insight into the Human mind, a subject which I find to be of some interest.

T'Ling had been standing like a small statue in the starbase's Main Reception for several minutes, since hearing that Dr. Heidelburg's shuttlepod had landed. She disliked being so close to the open external doors, with the chilly Berengarian air biting at her old bones, but she was trying to make an effort to visit more areas of the tower. She had become caught in a routine of going between her quarters and the two infirmaries, with little deviation. Variety was good for mental health, a topic very much on her mind today.

She saw an elderly Human enter the reception. Although stooped with age, he was tall and broadly-built, and had receding grey hair with a small beard around his lips and chin. T'Ling recognised him as Dr. Heidelburg from his picture in the medical database. He wore a brown three-piece suit, and wire-framed spectacles on his face, and T'Ling wondered if he was one of the few Humans who were unable to undergo corrective vision treatments or if he simply preferred the eyeglasses aesthetically. There were several Humans in the latter group, which T'Ling found to be another example of the species' inherent illogic.

Heidelburg took one of the smaller cases carried by a crewman behind him and approached T'Ling.

"Doctor T'Ling, I presume?" he said with a smile.

"Correct." She saw no need to identify him aloud; they both knew who he was.

"Guten tag! It's a pleasure." He moved to shake her hand, then stopped himself, instead raising his own hand and parting the middle and ring fingers in the ta'al - the traditional Vulcan salute.

T'Ling returned the gesture. "It is agreeable to meet you as well, Doctor. It is rare to encounter a Human so versed in Vulcan customs." She half-turned, indicating for him to follow her to the turbolifts.

Towering over the diminutive woman, Heidelburg chuckled as they strode side by side. "Vulcans have fascinated me for years. You have such disciplined minds! We could learn much from you."

T'Ling clasped her hands behind her back. "It took centuries to learn such discipline as a society, and it takes a lifetime for individuals. We are also frequently making new discoveries in the field of Vulcan neurology, thanks to the recent cultural developments regarding mind-melding."

"Ah yes, that interests me greatly. Taboo for so long, until six years ago, now recognised as a Vulcan birthright. It must be such an upheaval. The merging of minds… I'd be very curious to hear about your experiences with the practice."

This was not a topic T'Ling wished to delve into, so she changed the subject. "Your own research seems fascinating, Doctor. I do not believe any such study has ever been conducted on Humans before."

"Oh, mark my words, Frau Dokter," said Heidelburg with a grin, "it shall be one for the history books."

High above the surface of Berengaria VII, in synchronous orbit with Starbase 1, hung Llamrei Station. Named after King Arthur's legendary steed and constructed over the past several weeks, Llamrei Station was an orbital drydock for the repair and maintenance of starships that were unable to land on the surface. If the base was going to be a hub for Starfleet, such a facility would be a necessity, especially considering the dangers faced in space travel.

North observed the station through the shuttlepod viewport as they approached for inspection. It was like the ribcage of some massive creature resting on its side, large enough to accommodate most Earth vessels, with a habitable area in the 'spine.'

As their 'pod prepared to dock with one of the station's airlocks, North marvelled at how the starbase was shaping into a second headquarters. Although the drydock still had a few finishing touches required, as Patel would no doubt remind him.

"I've forwarded Commander Patel's requisition order again, sir," said Vaughn from behind him.

North snorted. "You must have read my mind, Lieutenant. I was just thinking that the Commander would bring that up."

Vaughn chuckled. "It's my job to be one step ahead of you, sir."

"Hm. I shall have to be careful I don't trip over you," said North with a thin smile.

With the airlock sealed, the commodore and his lieutenant made their way into Llamrei Station.

Patel was waiting for them with a few of her engineering team in the small entrance vestibule, which was packed with storage containers and equipment. Several panels were off the walls as well, as if to deliberately emphasise the station's unfinished status.

"Commodore on-site," Patel shouted, snapping her team to attention.

"At ease," North said with a nod. "You've all done a remarkable job here. Well done."

"Thank you, sir," Patel beamed, always happy to have her work praised, even if in North's stiff tones. "However, there are one or two items we still require just to get everything smoothed over."

North shared a knowing look with Vaughn before turning back to Patel. "I'm well aware, Commander. Your request for materiel has been forwarded to the Quartermaster General again, but that's about all I can do. We're quite far out on the frontier; there are ships and stations closer to home that need supplies too, and they take priority."

"We're the furthest base from Earth," said Patel wearily, "there's always going to be someone closer to home than us."

"Welcome to the world of bureaucracy," said North with dry humour.

Patel started counting off on her fingers. "The comm system still needs tied into the base's network, the power core is leaking thoron particles, and we're down to using surplus stem-bolts up here, Commodore." She vibrantly gesturing towards the airlock. "The seals on those things don't last forever, and I don't need to tell you what happens when an airlock becomes suddenly unsealed."

"Point taken, Commander," said North. "You will just have to be patient until we can get a supply run out here. Or until someone invents the self-sealing stem-bolt."

Patel look off into the distance. "Self-sealing stem-bolt… Huh…"

North's communicator chirped. "Excuse me," he said, stepping aside to leave Patel contemplating a potential side project.

"North here," he said into the communicator.

The voice of Lt. Garrison, the new Chief Comm Officer, replied. "Commodore, we have an incoming transmission for you on a civilian channel but with a high-level clearance code."

This was an uncommon occurrence, but not unheard of. Most civilians trying to get in touch with him were usually either journalists trying their luck or traders irrationally demanding to speak directly with the CO. The communications department filtered such calls as appropriate, but occasionally he'd receive a transmission from UESPA or someone in the government, signified by a high-level code.

"Understood, Lieutenant," he said. "Route it to Shuttlepod One."

He excused himself back into the 'pod and, dismissing the pilot, sat himself in the cockpit chair. He opened the incoming channel on one of the monitors and was greeted by an elderly gentleman with white hair, dressed in a smart blue suit. He smiled and North thought he seemed familiar.

"Commodore North," said the man, with the slight delay that accompanied civilian transmissions at this distance. "So good to speak with you at last." From North's confused look, he introduced himself. "Cristofur Thorpe, at your service."

Now North realised why the man looked so familiar. Not only was Cristofur Thorpe the Foreign Secretary for the Alpha Centauri Concordium, but he was also the father of Captain Eric Thorpe, North's First Officer. The resemblance was striking.

"Secretary Thorpe," he said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to formally thank you for the commendation that Eric received. That was very good of you."

North now recalled that he had recommended Thorpe receive a commendation for his actions during the Draco skirmish three months prior. Thorpe had shown exemplary thinking while in command of the base under siege. The commendation had gone through some weeks ago, and his XO had already profusely thanked North for it, but word must now have gotten around to the elder Thorpe as well.

"No thanks necessary, Mr. Secretary. Your son is an excellent officer; he showed what he was made of that day."

Secretary Thorpe nodded. "Kind of you to say, Commodore. I'm sure he'll go far under your command. But I feel I should make it up to you in some way."

North frowned and remembered what Captain Thorpe had told him about his father - that he was always pulling strings for his son, against the younger Thorpe's own wishes. North had no desire to benefit from such behind-the-scenes manipulations either.

"Really, Mr. Secretary, that won't be necessary," North said, more firmly this time. "Your son earned that commendation in my eyes. It wasn't out of charity or an attempt to curry favour."

Secretary Thorpe threw his hands up in protest. "Of course not. I didn't mean to insinuate anything, I assure you. I just mean that, should you ever need something… don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, but I think we have everything we need," North said with a forced smile, hoping he had got his point across.

"I'm glad we understand each other, Commodore. Unfortunately, I have a meeting to attend, so I shall have to say farewell. Keep up the good work."

They exchanged goodbyes and the channel closed, leaving North wondering if the two of them had been having the same conversation.