Two of Two

by FFcrazy15

In which two of the Cerritos crew get assimilated by the Borg. (Eventual Marinler.)

4. Chapter 4: Middle Ground

A/N: So this is fifty-six pages in Word and I apologize, but I just do not have the energy to edit it down to something more manageable right now. New Year's Resolution: work on brevity.

---

The two moons hanging in the night sky, one larger than the other, were still only in their waxing crescent phases, casting just enough light down on the island below for the team of workers. Barely more than silhouettes and shrouded in dark clothing, the trio of workmen made a quick and silent job of refilling a deep hole that scarred the otherwise bare expanse of snowy tundra; other than their quiet puffing, the only noise were the thunks of frozen dirt onto the wooden crate in the center of the hole.

Off to the side, a fourth figure watched patiently until the hole was entirely filled with dirt, and then the workmen began to pile snow on top. At this point the fourth figure took out a triangular device and flipped open the top of it, revealing a keypad and a screen. There came the quiet sound of beeps as a number was dialed, and then the figure held the device up to her ear.

"This is Agent Blue; it's finished, Commander. We'll standby for transport off the island." A pause. Then the figure nodded. "The weather forecast predicts snow for the next three days. By the time their work team gets here, this area will be indistinguishable from anywhere else on the island. Their own digging tools will disguise the hole."

Another pause, this one longer. Then the figure nodded again. "Understood, Commander. I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to avenge our people. Over and out." A blue hand snapped the communication device shut, and the island was again shrouded in darkness.

---

Chapter 4: "Middle Ground"

---

Commander's Log, Stardate 59133.2. With the reinstatement of Captain Carol Freeman, and her resumption of normal duties as of this morning, I have returned to my former role as First Mate. Despite some initial awkwardness, the transition to Captain Freeman's command has been largely accepted by the crew, who seem happy to have her back in charge.

However, the return of Ensigns Boimler and Mariner has not gone as smoothly as I'd hoped; I regret to admit that my attempt to prepare the crew for working with their now ex-Borg colleagues was not initially successful; thankfully, Captain Freeman was able to calm the situation.

---

"Alright, everyone, quiet down!"

The crowd in the mess hall quieted. Jack Ransom surveyed the crowd of officers and noncoms, gathered so thickly in front of the windows of the mess hall that they nearly blocked out the view of the snowy planet spinning peacefully in the space beyond. Despite a year of captaining this crew, he couldn't shake the feeling that the majority of eyes looking back at him were at best unimpressed with his attempts to command them, and at worst verging on insubordinate. Or, he thought darkly, maybe that was just the natural effect of Beckett Mariner's renewed presence (even if she wasn't technically in the room at the moment).

Captain Freeman cleared her throat beside him, and Ransom quickly resumed his track of thought, giving a sharp look to the last few whispering ensigns. "Right, so," he said as they shut up, "As most of you probably know by now, during our rescue of the U.S.S. Nobunaga we were able to pick up a few of our stranded crewmembers. Ensigns Mariner and Boimler have been successfully deassimilated and are returning back to duty. They'll be beaming down to the planet on the away mission for today, and then resuming their normal responsibilities from here on out."

Murmurs began to spread through the crowd. "Captain Freeman and I get that this situation is a bit unusual," he said, a little louder, "but we want to remind you all to exercise some judgment about who you tell back home or on other ships. Starfleet wants to keep this pretty quiet for now, and we expect all of you to respect Ensigns Mariner's and Boimler's privacy and do the same. Yes, Kayshon."

The Tamarian lowered his hand. "Yeah, uh, so why doesn't Starfleet want people to know? I mean, Voyager and the Coleman have both had ex-Borg working on them, right?"

"True, but those are both Intrepid-class starships, crazy shit happens to them all the time. We're California-class. That's actually part of the reason they're allowing this; if shit goes sideways, nobody's going to care about–"

"Why would something go wrong?" a young ensign in the front row piped up, sounding nervous. "I mean, they are safe, right?" More whispers erupted at this, sounding agitated.

"Of course they are," Ransom said quickly. "I mean, as safe as Ensign Mariner ever is–"

"Yeah, she's already crazy; having the Borg fuck around with her brain probably didn't help!" someone added. The whispers grew into outright conversation as people broke into their own little cliques, some of them sounding less friendly to the idea than others.

"Guys– hey–" Ransom began, frustrated. "Hey! I'm talking here–" He was cut off by Captain Freeman stepping in front of him and climbing on top of the nearest table. "Captain–?"

"Everyone, listen up!" she barked. The crowd fell silent, staring up at her. "In case some of you have forgotten, this is Starfleet! You didn't join to be comfortable; you joined to get out there and see the galaxy—to explore new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations! Now, this is just my humble opinion as a seasoned officer who once had to give the sex-education talk to a sentient crystal cluster, but if my daughter and Bradward Boimler are your limit for tolerance, you might be in the wrong career path!"

There was a crowd-wide guilty shuffle at this as people glanced sideways at their, generally rather species-diverse, neighbors. "Regardless, I expect everyone here to behave with the tact and diplomacy that Starfleet expects from a second-contact ship, or I will take it as a sign that you are not fit for duty. You don't have to like everyone aboard this ship, but you will respect your fellow crewmembers! Am I understood?"

"Yes, Captain," the crowd mumbled in response. Freeman gave a curt nod.

"Good. Everyone, back to work!"

As the crowd dispersed, she watched them go, giving anyone who looked less than pleased about the declaration a very captain look; it wasn't until the mess hall was back to its usual beta-shift breakfast capacity that she climbed off the table, looking pleased with herself. "...Impressive tactics, Captain," Ransom said, side-eyeing the last scuttling noncom. "I'll, uh, have to remember that."

"Playing to the badge is usually pretty effective," she said, dusting off her hands.

"Right." He paused as his Padd pinged and opened up the message. "Looks like an assignment just came in from HQ."

"Really?" She unlocked her own Padd and frowned. "I didn't get anything…are they still sending assignments to you?" Ransom shrugged as they traded Padds. "This is ridiculous, I told them to change my clearance status a week ago! I know all this bureaucratic nonsense is necessary, but it's still the worst part of the job."

"You know," the commander said as they headed for the doors, "when you say stuff like that, you sort of sound like–"

"Say it and I'll knock you down a pip."

"Aye aye, Captain."

As the doors closed, on the other side of the room Tendi and Rutherford sat down with their breakfast trays. "Well, I guess that could have gone worse," Rutherford said, his upbeat tone sounding slightly more forced than normal. Tendi didn't answer and merely took a bite of her spicy breakfast pudding. "Oh come on, you're not seriously still mad at me?"

"Mad?" She looked up at him with a cool expression. "Why would I be mad?"

"I don't know, considering you won the argument. You don't wanna go to the concert, you don't have to go to the concert. Whatever." Tendi took another bite of her pudding and he huffed. "I know what you're doing, and it's not cool."

"What I'm 'doing?'"

"Yes! Your whole cluros thing, you're trying to have a fight by not having a fight! I'd rather just have the fight!"

Tendi set her spoon down with a clatter. "I knew you didn't want to drop it!"

"You're the one who's still mad!"

"Yeah well maybe I wouldn't be mad if you–" She cut herself off as her eyes went wide and then quickly pasted on a cheery smile and waved. "Morning, guys!"

Rutherford turned in his seat to see Mariner and Boimler coming up behind them with trays of newly-replicated food. "Morning, Tendi," Boimler said, looking tired. Rutherford winced; he knew his friends had been sniping at each other late into the previous night, and while the Cerritos had finally gotten around to installing light- and sound-proofed force fields around the crew bunks, Mariner and Boimler apparently thought that since they could have arguments silently in their head, they didn't need to use them to stop the rest of the hallway from noticing the tense atmosphere. They were wrong, but Rutherford wasn't about to add another burden to their problems.

Mariner gave a finger-wave from around her tray as she sat down. "Hey guys, what're we talking about?"

"Um–" Tendi glanced at Rutherford and then gave a quick smile, "Just science stuff. You know, nacelles, cortical monitors, all that!"

Redshirts that they were, the pair accepted this without question and sat down. "So how'd the announcement go?" Boimler asked.

"Well, the captain had to stand on a table," Tendi said with a shrug. Mariner's eyebrows rose.

"Seriously? Damn. Sorry I missed that."

"Where were you guys, anyway? Did she tell you to stay in sickbay until after the announcement?"

"Funny you should mention that," Boimler said, giving Mariner a pointed look. She huffed.

"I still say we should have come anyway, who cares what mom said. We're not freaks, anyone who has a problem with us just needs to deal with it!"

"The captain knows what she's doing," Boimler said firmly, picking up his fork. "Besides, I don't want to start my first day back by disobeying a direct order."

"Dude, my mom has no idea what she's doing half the time, trust me. 'Winging it' is a time-honored family tradition."

"Yeah, you know, somehow I have a feeling that your mom doesn't use the same strategy in running a starship as you used for getting past the bouncer at a Klingon nightclub," Boimler snarked back. "Sorry, tried to use."

"I told you, that was ten years ago! I was younger and dumber then; besides, who gave you permission to go snooping through my thoughts!"

"You think I like reliving your memories? All of your most formative experiences were insane, dangerous and totally unplanned! The secondhand stress is giving me night sweats!"

Mariner opened his mouth to snap back, but was cut off by Tendi's intervention: "So, um, still getting used to the interlink, then?"

"That's one way of putting it," Mariner grumbled as she picked up her spoon and speared a bite of scrambled eggs, clearly not appreciating the interruption.

"At least it's not as bad as the Borg, right?" Rutherford said, trying to be optimistic. When neither of them answered, his face fell. "Um– right?"

"I mean– yeah, of course" Boimler said, sounding guilty for having hesitated. "But this is a completely different experience; when you're a drone all thoughts are equally shared across millions of minds. Right now it's just the two of ours."

"Wait, why is that a bad thing?"

"Because in the Borg you're not really you anymore, so you don't really care about figuring out which experiences and memories are yours. Pain, loss, even the possibility of dying are all just…irrelevant. Like losing a hangnail. But experiencing someone else's life when you're an individual is–"

"–Wack," Mariner finished. "It's completely wack!"

"Not the word I would have used," Boimler muttered.

"Yeah, I know it's not the word you would have used! Because I know everything you're thinking and feeling right now!" She began to count off on her fingers. "I know that you were going to say 'disorienting.' I know that your feet are soggy because you wore your non-uniform socks today."

"Hey!"

"I know you're worried about your shift later today, and that you thought that Ardanan girl in the sonic showers was cute, and you're embarrassed that you thought she was cute, and that your breakfast burrito is a little too salty today and you think something's wrong with the replicator!" She slammed her hands down on the table. "I know everything you're thinking and feeling and now that we're two different people again it's driving me crazy! And I can't even get up from this stupid table to get some space because hey, guess what, you'll still be there. Wherever I go, you'll still be there!"

She finished her rant with several heaving breaths, her fingernails digging little scratches into the table. "So yeah," Boimler said flatly, turning back to face the others. "That's where we're at."

"That…sounds awful," Tendi said quietly. "I'm so sorry; h-have you considered maybe talking to Dr. Migleemo about this?"

"Actually…" He sent another meaningful glance Mariner's way, but she sat back, crossing her arms.

"No. No way, Boimler; I'm not letting that creepy weirdo anywhere near my brain. There's not a food metaphor in the world that can make all of this–" she gestured generally to the two of them, "–any better."

"We went through a traumatic experience; heck, we're still going through one! Maybe he could h–"

"Yeah right, like Migleemo actually cares about helping his patients! Besides, this is way out of his wheelhouse; he'd probably just try to–"

"And would him writing a paper on us really be so bad? That's kind of the price we pay for–"

"I don't care if therapy is free if it's shit therapy! Seriously, how are you not getting how horrible that would be?! We literally share–"

"Just because I can hear everything you're thinking doesn't mean I agree with all of it."

Mariner threw her hands into the air. "You think he's a weirdo too!"

"Okay, Mariner, we need to set some ground rules here about what thoughts are private and you don't have permission to announce to the whole world!"

"Oh yeah? You gonna stop me?!" Bradward raised an eyebrow, and Mariner paled. "No. You wouldn't. You're way too nice to–"

"–Tell them about what happened on Gelrak V?" he said, raising the other eyebrow. "Try me. Or better yet, keep my sonic shower thoughts to yourself!"

"Okay, okay! Sorry. Message received." She rubbed her eyelids, and then sighed. Tendi and Rutherford looked on in a silent mix of awe, horror, and scientific curiosity; it was clear that the pair had been having the argument as much in their heads as out loud, and the rapid-fire response probably wasn't helping their already fractious mix of personalities. Mariner shook her head and lowered her hands, looking morose. "I really am sorry, Boims, I just…"

"I know. But antagonizing each other isn't going to make it any better." Both of them took a simultaneous deep breath and turned back to face their friends. "So, things could be going better," Boimler concluded.

"That's rough," Rutherford sympathized. Both nodded. "What about your implants? Are they handling being away from the rest of the Collective okay?"

Boimler shrugged. "For the most part. The worst thing is that now I can feel how itchy these are." He wrinkled his nose and scratched around the still-scarred edges of what remained of his facial implant.

"Yeah, it takes some getting used to. I used to have this cream that really helped; I can probably have the replicator make more for you."

"For real? Thanks, Rutherford, you're a lifesaver."

They all paused as their Padds beeped, the duty assignments popping up. "Away-Mission Support Team," Tendi read aloud, brightening.

"We got it too," Boimler said in surprise, looking over at Mariner. "I can't believe the captain put us on away-team duty our first day back on the job."

"Damn, she's really trying to prove something to HQ," Mariner said, trying to sound nonchalant, but her uncertainty radiated across the interlink regardless.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he said, trying to reassure her (and perhaps offer an olive branch). Mariner just mumbled something noncommittal, both embarrassed and appreciating the effort.

"Hey, guys?" Rutherford piped up. "Looks like we're not the only ones going down." He turned his Padd around, pointing at the designation at the bottom: [3/5: "Engineering support."]

"There's a fifth person?" Tendi said, surprised.

"Looks like." Brad scrolled through the list of assignments. 'Diplomatic sub-envoy, diplomatic sub-envoy, engineering support, science/medical support' and…" He looked up. "Data analysis support."

"They're sending an ops person with us?" Mariner said, surprised. "They usually stay on the ship; wonder who pulled the short straw?"

---

"Remind me again why we're sending an ops crewmember on an away-mission?" Carol said with a frown, looking over her Padd and scanning through the list of names.

"While you were gone I started sending down someone with data experience whenever we had to build transporters or communications arrays," Ransom said, pulling up a glowing blue hologram of several reports and swishing them her way; the forwarded reports appeared in her inbox with a chirp. "Saved our asses more than once; I almost got Tuvix'd with Billups a few months ago." He shuddered. "Lt. Barnes earned her promotion with that one. Don't get me wrong, Billups is the man, but that was way too close a call…"

"I'm still not sure I like the idea of sending this many people down; every officer on the ground is another potential point of failure in a diplomatic mission," Carol said, frowning and scrolling through the list. "Mr. Rutherford's background is in coding; isn't that good enough?"

"Do not say that around Billups, trust me." He shivered again. "Way too close. Anyway—to be honest, I want Lt. T'Lyn down there for another reason." Carol raised her eyebrows. "She's been on this ship a year and still hasn't really clicked with anyone. That's a problem from a logistics standpoint."

"Lower-deckers usually self-sort into their own little working teams," Carol agreed. "But we've had problems like this before; Mariner didn't really get along with anyone until I had her work with Mr. Boimler, and even then they fought like cats and dogs until I assigned Rutherford to play peacekeeper."

"Well I've tried moving her around, but no dice. I even moved her from beta to delta shift; she's a perfectly competent officer, but she's professional to a fault. And as soon as she gets off-duty she holes herself up in her bunk."

Carol snorted. "If she weren't a Vulcan, I'd say she's homesick."

"Hm. Either way, I'm hoping now that we've got these four back, she might find her place."

"Well they're a pretty tight-knit group, but I guess it's worth a shot," she agreed. "But enough about the assignments; we've got bigger problems to worry about." She stood up and waved her fingers across the Padd, trying to bring up the hologram of the mission parameters. "Damn– new– technology!" she muttered, growing increasingly frustrated with each failed swipe.

"Uh– Captain, if you'd like me to show–"

"I can do it!" With a final frustrated swipe, the assignment at last appeared in front of them like a large, hovering blue screen. "Since when do California-class ships have shipwide holo-projectors in the ready room, anyway?"

Ransom shrugged. "It's a new accessibility requirement; apparently there's been a huge spike in self-aware holograms ever since the U.S.S. Voyager came back from the delta quadrant. There's holo-projectors now on the bridge, in the cafeteria, the bar…"

"Fantastic," Carol said irritably; she couldn't help but feel simultaneously embarrassed with herself for not having noticed, and annoyed with Jack for not having briefed her on this already. "Is there anything else you forgot to tell me about what's happened over the last year, Commander? Or am I just going to have to find out by trial and error?"

Jack blinked, and then cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, I'll have a report written up for you by the end of tomorrow, Captain," he said, his posture shifting subtly into "at-attention." Carol immediately felt guilty, but she repressed it, turning back to the mission details.

"Planet Gabatross/Phluxia. Small M-class world with two major continents, on which two sentient life-forms, the Gabatrossi and Phluxians, arose independently from each other," she read aloud. "The two species didn't interact until four hundred years ago, after which they promptly went to war and have been butting heads ever since. Recently a peninsula of the Gabatrossi continent was colonized by the Phluxians; in response, the Gabatrossi ramped up their development of weapons of mass destruction and accidentally discovered warp technology in the process."

"Looks like First Contact was done by the Titan about a month ago," Jack added, scanning the report. "Captain Riker got them to cease hostilities, but things are still tense between the groups. The Gabatrossi want join the Federation, but the Phluxians are on the fence…"

"In other words, we're walking into a powder keg holding a lit fuse," Carol said grimly. Jack nodded and she sighed. "Well, I guess this kind of assignment is what comes from a ship getting a better reputation…are there any upsides to this mission?"

"They're letting us set up the hardware on an unclaimed island between the two continents," Jack said, scrolling through the details, "and the Phluxians have agreed to attend diplomatic talks with us as a mediator. Recent historical conflicts between the two include… oh. Oh wow. That's…a lot of atrocities."

Carol pinched the bridge of her nose. "First mission back. It's like they want me to fail."

Jack watched her out of the corner of his eye, and then hesitantly opened his mouth. "Captain…" She glanced over at him through her fingers, and he decided it was worth the risk. "If you want, I mean, you just got back– I can probably handle this one–"

Her eyes snapped into a glare as she lowered her hand. "And I think I can handle running a second-contact, Jack, considering that it's literally my job." She headed for the door. "But if you really think this is a one-person task, please, feel free to stay on the ship."

The doors slid open to let her leave, and Jack repressed a sigh before following. This was going to be a long day.

---

When Rutherford arrived in the transporter bay, he found that Tendi was already there, her medkit slung over her shoulder and zipping up her snow-jacket. When she saw him she paused and bit her lower lip; both were keenly aware that they were now alone and still had an argument hanging in the air. "D'Vana," he began awkwardly, "listen–"

He was cut off by the doors sliding open, admitting a Vulcan he vaguely recognized as a woman Tendi had introduced him to last year walked (although he was fairly certain she'd been wearing a science-division uniform at the time). He and Tendi shared a look, and he sighed and decided to let it go, knowing she hated fighting in public.

"Sam– wait," she said quietly, and he turned back. "I want to work this out, but we need to be focused down there," she whispered, glancing at the Vulcan woman to make sure she wasn't listening. "Plus Boimler's running the support team; he and Mariner have enough going on right now, I-I don't want to cause them any more problems…"

He hesitated, and then sighed and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. We'll have this fight later."

"Or at least not in front of them," Tendi agreed. Rutherford opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the bay doors slid open with a beep.

"Good morning, everyone," the captain announced as she walked into the room. "I hope you've all finished reading your briefings, because–"

"Look alive, everyone," a second voice called, and Ransom appeared a moment later, scanning through something on his own Padd. "We're gonna be dealing with the Gabatrossi and Phluxians today; I trust you all read your mission briefs, but since I also know some of you probably didn't – hang on, where the hell are Ensigns Mariner and Boimler?" he asked, looking up, and then caught the captain's annoyed expression. "Oh. Uh, sorry, Captain. Force of habit."

"Right," she said flatly, and then turned to the rest. "As I was saying, the Phluxians and the Gabatrossi have a tumultuous history and some deep cultural differences; the Phluxians are apparently very polite, hard to get a read on, but have a history of backstabbing their allies. Expect that anything you say can and will be used against you. The Gabatrossi are an honor-based warrior culture, they expect you to be straight with them at all times and don't like tricks or dishonesty, but they also don't tolerate weakness." She glanced over at Ransom and added, slightly tartly, "Got anything to add, Commander?"

"Thank you, Captain. In general, try to keep interactions with the locals brief and let Captain Freeman and I do the talking," he added, looking around at the three lower-deckers. "We don't need any misunderstandings reigniting hostilities today."

They paused as the door opened again, admitting the final pair of officers, who were, apparently, deep into a bickering match. "–I don't care what the mission parameters said, I'm telling you, you always bring a phaser," Mariner protested, holding her firearm out of Boimler's reach and batting his hands away.

"Give– me– that–!" He jumped after it, but Mariner waved it out of reach until he huffed at her, throwing his hands into the air. "Bringing modern weapons is just asking for trouble! Phluxia-Gabatross is in the middle of a tense ceasefire between two barely warp-capable cultures, which you would have known if you actually read the mission brief instead of just letting me do it!"

"Uh, yeah, and that's exactly why I'm bringing mine! You'll be thanking me when shit goes sideways!"

"Mariner! Boimler!" the captain snapped, causing both of their heads to swivel. "Where have you been, you were supposed to be waiting here for us!"

"Sorry, Captain," Boimler replied, straightening up and shooting Mariner a glare, "I got a little delayed trying to get Mariner here to respect the mission parameters–"

"I gathered as much; as ranking command officer of the support crew, I expect a little more decorum and leadership from you, Mr. Boimler. Mariner, hand over that phaser to Crewman Swanson." Mariner grudgingly passed her phaser over to the transporter-room manager and went to stand on the plate. "In case you've both forgotten, this is a highly volatile situation, so I expect perfect teamwork on the ground; am I understood?"

"Yes, Captain, of course," Boimler said quickly, joining them on the landing pad, though Mariner could tell he was still smarting from the criticism..

"You got it, Mom. Sorry."

"Good. Crewman, energize."

The swirling beads of light appeared around the members of the away-team, and the transporter room vanished in a fizzle of blue. A moment later the bank of a snowy hill lined with quasi-coniferous trees appeared, over the top of which could be seen a stormy gray-blue ocean and an even bleaker gray sky. Behind them had materialized several large crates of engineering equipment.

"That's weird," the captain muttered, looking around. "The transport should have put us right in the middle of the peace-talk camp…"

"Captain, there appears to have been a mild disruption in the transporter signal," T'Lyn announced, pulling up an application on her tricorder. "It seems to have deposited us about half a mile to the south."

"Fantastic. Nothing starts an away-mission like a ten-minute walk through the snow." She tapped her badge. "Transporter bay, re-run your calibration scans; we're a half-mile off target down here." There was a fuzzing noise, and she frowned. "Transport, do you read me?"

There was a brief crackle of static, and then Swanson's voice replied, "We read you, Captain. There was some atmospheric distortion, but it's cleared up now; do you want us to beam you to the target location?"

"Negative, Swanson; we'll take the safer way and walk there. Better not mess with a fritzing transporter if we don't have to." She tapped her badge again and nodded to Ransom and the lower-deckers. "Alright, each pair take a crate and follow me."

As they began to trek through the snow, Mariner gave Boimler a smug look and added internally, See? Barely five minutes in and something's already not going to plan; this is why I always come prepared.

Yeah well, it's not like you'd be able to shoot your way past a snowbank anyway, Boimler puffed, hauling the crate they were holding up the hill.

You doing okay there, Bradward? Need me to carry it on my own?

I'm fine. I just– hang on. He frowned, something flitting around their shared consciousness until his eyes shot wide. "You brought another phaser in your boot?" he hissed under his breath.

"Huh? Oh, yeah I guess I did!" Mariner perked up. "Like I said, always prepared; you know ever since we ran out of shots when we were running away on the Borg ship I decided to start packing a little extra heat, so I replicated this little pocket phaser and–"

Boimler was fuming. "How did I not know about this!"

"I dunno man, I guess I did it while you were asleep a few days ago and just kind of forgot about it." At his expression she added in a whisper, "Come on, Boims, it was an accident! Don't rat me out to my mom."

"…Fine. But be more careful next time; it's like the Captain said, I'm technically responsible for you!"

Jeez, are you ever not thinking about your rank? At his eye-bulging expression she held up her free hand. "Fine, fine, I'll be more careful…"

"Thank you…"

By this point they had reached the top of the hill and found the impromptu camp set up to hold the peace summit, which consisted of a small cluster of beige tents made out of plastic tarps. The technology and clothing looked similar to early twenty-first century Terran fashions, with two groups of guards—one green-skinned, one blue-skinned—dressed in camouflage fatigues, loitering at the gates and uneasily eyeing each other. Mariner eyed them as they passed by with the crates. Kinetic weapons, she noted to herself, eyeing the heavy black firearms in their hands. Boimler gave a very subtle nod beside her, also having noticed. And you were worried about my phaser. We sure this is a peace summit?

Boimler shot her a dirty look. This is exactly why I told you not to–!

"Captain Freeman!" a voice announced warmly, cutting off their internal bickering. As the two groups of guards separated, the away-team got their first look at the world leaders they had come here to meet.

Like the soldiers, the two leaders both looked essentially humanoid, albeit with slight ridges across the bridges of their noses, one a deep forest-green like an Orion and the other a more Andorian turquoise-blue. The other main visual difference was in their dress; the blue-skinned man was in a well-tailored suit, overlaid by a heavy bespoke cape with golden clasps, whereas the green-skinned woman was in what appeared to be a highly-decorated green military uniform. She didn't seem to notice the cold.

"General, prime minister," Captain Freeman greeted them warmly, extending a hand for them to shake. "On behalf of the Federation, thank you for agreeing to host us here today."

"Captain Freeman," the general said, stepping forward and shaking her hand. "On behalf of the nation of Galbatross, I welcome you to our planet." She glanced behind her and gave a jerk of her head to several waiting soldiers. "However, we will need you and your officers to comply with a quick search."

Boimler and Mariner shared a tense glance as the green-skinned soldiers approached them, patting along their arms and torsos and giving mildly suspicious glances at their silvery neural implants; one of them patted down Mariner's boots and Boimler's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, but thankfully the soldier didn't seem to notice the hidden phaser as he stood up and moved on to Rutherford and Tendi, critically eyeing the cyborg's implant and gesturing for Tendi to open her first-aid kit.

"They're clean, General," the foremost soldier announced after certifying that Tendi's tricorder wasn't some sort of firearm.

"As you were." The soldiers stepped back and the general gave a curt eye to the Phluxian Prime Minister, who rolled his eyes. "Our apologies, Captain. As eager as we are to join your Federation, this would not be the first time that the Phluxia have used a peace meeting as an opportunity for sabotage."

The Prime Minister opened his mouth, offended, but the captain quickly interjected with a gracious, "We understand your caution towards us, General; after all, we are 'aliens from outer space!'" There were chuckles across the groups of soldiers, and tensions seemed to ease. "Prime Minister, why don't you lead the way?"

"Of course," he preened at the attention, "Right this way, Captain…"

As they moved off towards the tents, Ransom turned to the lower-deckers and nodded towards where the Yosemite shuttlecraft was touching down to earth not far away, next to two large concrete pads. "Alright, support team, get started on building that equipment. Daylight isn't as long on this planet as our homeworlds, so I suggest taking your time on the transporter first and leaving the communications array until tomorrow if you have to; nobody ever got killed by a malfunctioning radio relay."

"Yeah, uh, quick question: why are we building a transporter again?" Mariner said, raising her hand and ignoring Boimler's scandalized look.

Ransom, however, had apparently been expecting the interruption and merely pulled up his Padd, forwarding the instructions to Rutherford's, which dinged. "The Gabatrossi and Phluxians are sketchy about transporters beaming anyone inside their own airspaces; seems neither side wants the technology to become commonplace here on the ground, so after today any extra-planetary beaming will be done down to this island here and then a ferry system will transport people to the mainlands. Seems excessive, but hey, it's not our planet."

He checked the time and locked the Padd. "You should have about eight hours until sundown, so take your time and double-check your work," he continued. "We don't want any mishaps today. Mr. Rutherford, you're in charge of engineering decisions; Mr. Boimler, you're in charge of personnel. Like I said before, this is a pretty tense political situation, so try not to interrupt the negotiations unless there's an emergency you really can't handle alone. Got it?"

"Yes sir," Boimler said quickly. Ransom opened his mouth to say something else, and then looked over as shouting broke out from beside the tents; it seemed that two Gabatrossi and Phluxian soldiers had broken out into arguing about who would have the honor of opening the tent-flap for the "alien" captain. "For fuck's sake," he grumbled, hurrying off in that direction and leaving the support crew alone in the snow.

"Okidoki," Rutherford said, opening up the forwarded schematics, "Looks like the Phluxians already laid the foundation for us, so the first thing to do is unpack the–"

You shouldn't have interrupted the Commander like that, Boimler huffed mentally, zipping up his coat tighter in the chill.

It was a valid question! Besides, you saw the guy, it didn't even phase him!

Yeah, because you do it all the time! You've basically desensitized the senior staff to insubordination!

"Good , Ransom could use some help getting that stick out of his–"

"Hey!" Rutherford snapped, drawing their attention, and Mariner realized she'd replied out loud. "I'm trying to give instructions here, can you guys pay attention!"

"Sorry, Rutherford," Mariner promised at the same time Boimler said, "Sorry." The engineer still looked annoyed, but finished his explanation without further interruption. "–That all make sense?"

"We got it, Rutherford. Mariner and I will start unpacking the crates, you three should warm up in the off-duty tent over there until construction time starts."

"I'll try to fix my tricorder in the meantime, I think that guard did something to it," Tendi said, tapping the screen with a frown as the display signals fluctuated rapidly. "I'm getting some really weird reading from it…"

As she, T'Lyn and Rutherford drifted off towards the warming tent, Mariner rolled her eyes with a snort and turned to the crates. Wonder what's got his shorts in a wad? she wondered to herself, glancing at the engineer.

"That's a little crude," Bradward muttered. Mariner shot him a look.

"It's my own fucking head, I can think what I fucking want!" And with that they broke into bickering again, as the trio of scientists hastily vanished into the tent and sat down around the heater.

Holding out his hands to the radiator to warm them (the damp sea air was definitely not helping the chill), Rutherford glanced over at the corner of his eye at Tendi. She was still muttering to herself and tapping her tricorder, and he felt his annoyance with her melt a little; she always looked incredibly cute whenever she was working out some scientific mystery, with a little pinch in her eyebrows and muttering to herself…

Maybe she's right, he found himself thinking. Maybe it wasn't that big a deal if she didn't care about his music, and thought pod-racing was an "unconscionable medical risk!" and… okay, she didn't actually like any of his non-work hobbies, but that didn't matter! It wasn't like he understood her love of late-night reading or spa days, either; they were Team Science, that was the only shared interest they needed. He let out a little sigh through his nose, feeling unexpectedly content. This whole fight they were having really was stupid; better to let it go and focus on what they had in common. After all, he was always perfectly happy just watching her work, like he was now…

At least, until she glanced up, caught him staring, and said coolly, "What?"

"Uh– nothing?" She gave him a flat look. "You're just really pretty," he offered, which was the truth, but Tendi didn't buy it, instead glancing sideways at T'Lyn to make sure the Vulcan wasn't paying attention and then adding in a sharp whisper:

"Look, I know you're still mad at me, but we made an agreement–"

"I didn't say anything!" he defended, his charitable mood vanishing like smoke.

"And that pointed silence is just as bad as saying something!"

He threw his hands up into the air. "If I say something, you get mad at me! If I don't say something, you still get mad at me! What do you want me to do!"

"I want you to stop guilt-tripping me into going to a concert with you!"

"I'm not guilt-tripping you! Yeah, I still want you to go! What, am I not supposed to feel emotions now?!"

"You can feel whatever you want, just don't–!"

"If you two will excuse me, I think I would be more useful in assisting the unloading process," T'Lyn said abruptly, standing and heading for the exit. Rutherford and Tendi shared an embarrassed look as the door swished shut.

"Fantastic," Tendi sighed. "And now we've made a scene."

"You don't think she'll tell Mariner and Boimler, do you?" Rutherford asked nervously, peering out through the gap in the door as T'Lyn walked off towards the pair of redshirts, who from the sounds of it were still firing retorts off at each other as they worked. "They're dealing with enough already, I don't want them worrying about us."

Tendi shook her head, anxious. "I hope not. She's always been really hard to get a read on; you remember last year before the Borg ship attack, how I invited her to study with me a few times?" Rutherford nodded. "Well, she kept turning me down and eventually I gave up. I-I guess she's just not very personable…"

Outside the tent, T'Lyn made her way over to where Ensigns Mariner and Boimler were working to unload the Yosemite— or to be more accurate, from the sounds of their voices, were bickering instead of unloading. As the Vulcan knelt down and unlatched a large case to start unpacking the components, snippets of their conversation drifted over from inside the shuttlecraft: "–Stop scratching it already, every time you scratch yours it makes mine feel itchier!"

"How would that even– you know what, I don't have to defend myself! Just finish unpacking those crates."

The human woman grumbled and then, for a moment, there was blessed silence other than the sound of shifting boxes. T'Lyn was just beginning to think that maybe she had located the more rational pair of coworkers when there was an abrupt and very loud creaking and scraping of moving crates, and even louder shouting:

"What are you doing, carry them one at a time! There could be fragile equipment in there!"

"This way is faster, trust me! We'll be done in half the–"

"Not if you break everything, we won't! Can you please for once just follow–"

"For fuck's sake you and your precious regulations, seriously, Boims, when have I ever steered you wrong! Just trust me!"

The Vulcan let out a curt sigh through her nose, glanced at the shuttlecraft with narrowed eyes and then, looking around, reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of earbuds. With a quick tap on her Padd, the bickering was drowned out by the trumpets and oboes of J.S. Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 . Humans could always be depended upon to be frustrating, but at least they had great music.

---

"–There can be no compromising with these war-mongers until reparations are made for the destruction of Tarka City," the Prime Minister said icily, glaring across the table at the general. "We are more than happy to join your Federation, Captain, but only after justice is done!"

"And as I have told you repeatedly, Prime Minister, the bombing of Tarka was justice done—for the occupation of the Setuari Peninsula!" the General snapped back. "Land that we will not cede to the Phluxians under any circumstances! Your citizens are your obligation to move, Prime Minister; I don't care how or where, I just want them gone!"

Sitting at the long end of the table between them, Captain Carol Freeman fought the urge to rub her forehead and dispel the growing migraine. The 'diplomatic talks' had only remained amicable for about as long as it had taken the two parties to sit down at the table, and they'd been treading the same circles for hours by this point. "General, Prime Minister, perhaps we can revisit the idea of–"

"You're talking about the relocation of millions of people!" The Phluxian leader cut in, as if he hadn't heard her. "There's no way we can do that overnight! And I don't see that we should have to, considering the atrocities your soldiers committed against the city populace–"

"Baseless accusations and rumors!" the general roared back. "Our soldiers acted with nothing but the highest degree of honor!"

"Honor?! Why don't you tell that to–"

"Alright, everyone, let's take a moment here and calm down," Carol insisted, trying not to let her exasperation seep into her voice. "General, in the Federation we generally try to encourage people of different species to live together harmoniously–"

"People is a strong term," the prime minister said under his breath.

"You see! You see how they speak about us, they treat us like we're barbarians!"

"Considering how you treat your prisoners of war, I'd say 'barbarians' is the perfect term!"

Carol opened her mouth to say something about getting back on track, but she was cut off by an interjection from behind her: "Prime Minister, that's not helpful. We're trying to end hostilities here, not restart them."

"It sounds to me that what you're 'trying to do' is achieve peace at all costs, including dishonoring the memories of our dead citizens," the prime minister sneered, still glaring at the general. "Something I'm surprised the Butcher of Tarka is so eager to agree to."

The general's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Carol interjected before anyone could lunge across the table: "Why don't we break for lunch? I think we could all use some space," She shot a meaningful look at Jack and added, "Before any of us say anything else we'll regret."

As the different parties broke off and left the meeting tent, she felt Jack fall in line beside her, apparently knowing he was in trouble because he didn't speak until after Carol had clicked off her universal translator. He copied her, and immediately the hum of conversation around them turned into a slurry of indecipherable syllables. "Captain–"

"Are you trying to undermine me, Jack?" she demanded, eyes still fixed forward on the Starfleet warming tent.

"Look, it was chaos in there! You said yourself this is a complicated second-contact, I was just trying to h–"

"In case you've forgotten, Commander, I am the captain, you are the XO! If I need your help I will ask for it; do I make myself clear?!"

Jack stopped briefly, as if momentarily surprised, and then started walking again. "Of course, Captain," he said, in a clipped tone.

"Good." She pushed the tent flap open and stepped inside, only to find her ears barraged by a completely different shouting match.

"–Because I shouldn't have to justify why something's important to me to get my girlfriend's support, that's why!"

Ensign Tendi snapped back something in Orion, which was what reminded Carol to turn back on her UT. "–Not my job to like everything you like!"

"You could at least give it a chance!"

"Ensigns!" the captain barked, causing both to whirl on their feet. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Uh– well, Boimler said we should wait in here until the unpacking is d–"

"I don't care what Mr. Boimler said, get out there and get to work!"

"Yes ma'am," Tendi squeaked and fled the tent, Rutherford following in her wake.

Outside, however, the two redshirts and Lt. T'Lyn were setting down the last few crates from the shuttlecraft. Still looking fairly testy, Boimler dusted off his hands on his snow-jacket and turned to the two as they walked out; Rutherford noticed as Tendi immediately pasted on her usual cheery smile, not wanting to introduce any more tension into their friends' lives, and followed suit.

"There you guys are. We just finished; thankfully nothing got broken," Boimler added, shooting a look at Mariner, who rolled her eyes. "Let's break for lunch, and then you guys can get started on the construction while we warm up."

"Yeah, uh, do not go in the warming tent," Rutherford warned as he pulled on his gloves.

"What? Why not?"

"The Captain's not in a good mood, trust me. We should use the shuttlecraft's replicator. Lt. T'Lyn, you coming?" The Vulcan didn't seem to notice the question, instead tapping something on her Padd. "Uh– Lieutenant?"

She paused and looked up. "Beg your pardon?"

"Lunch," Tendi offered helpfully. "Do you want to eat with us?"

"I do not require sustenance at this time, thank you."

The other four gave each other surprised looks but decided it wasn't worth protesting as they headed off to the shuttlecraft. "I hope she's okay," Tendi said, glancing back over her shoulder. "I know Vulcans don't need to eat as often as other species, but still.."

As Rutherford pulled the door open for the rest, Boimler made a beeline for the replicator. "I hope there's something good programmed on this one, because I'm starving."

"You wouldn't be if we'd gone to breakfast on time instead of waiting for my mom and Jack to finish telling off the crew," Mariner quipped.

"I told you, the captain knows what she's– ooh!" His face lit up and he pressed a button. "Plomeek soup!" he declared as the bowl materialized and he picked it up, and then turned around to see Mariner giving him a disgusted look. "What?" he demanded, voice falling flat.

"Dude, that stuff is awful. It's so bland, it's like eating beige paint!"

He raised an eyebrow and picked up the bowl. "Well I like it, so you're just going to have to live with it."

"Um, guys–?" Tendi began, but was ignored as the two squared off once again.

"I am going to strangle you," Mariner interrupted, eyes narrowing.

"You can't just stop me from eating what I want, Mariner, I've got a right to–"

"And I've got a right to not eat things I think are disgusting!"

Boimler eyed her and then picked up the spoon. "Don't you dare," Mariner warned him. He raised the other eyebrow. "Don't you–"

He stuck the spoon in his mouth and Mariner's face immediately contorted. "Eughhh come on! How can you like that, the texture's even worse than the taste–!" He swished the soup around in his mouth, puffing out his cheeks like a guppy, and Mariner baled her hands into fists. "You sadistic little freak– hurk–"

"Boimler!" Tendi cried, as Mariner's face had suddenly gone a sort of grayish-brown. Bradward quickly gulped it down, but not before Mariner gave an almighty shudder and pressed a clenched hand to her mouth.

"You're dead," she said, muffled with queasiness. "You hear me, Bradward, you're dead–"

"Yeah, well, I'm tired of you always getting your way!" Mariner swallowed hard, taking deep breaths in an effort not to gag. "I give in to you all the time and know what, you never respect that or return the favor!"

"Oh you wanna go there? Fine," she said, with that silky tone and ornery glint in her eyes that meant neither public sensibility nor self-preservation would stop her. "Two can play at your little game."

"Guys!" Rutherford groaned, but Mariner stalked over to the replicator and punched in a code, Boimler's face already falling in horror before she'd turned back around, a bowl of something chilled, red, and very, very raw in her hands.

"B-but you hate bok-rat liver–"

"Yeah," Mariner said, eyes glittering dangerously. "But you hate it even more."

…As the relaxing chords of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier drifted across her ears, T'Lyn paused and furrowed her brow as she heard a strange noise behind her that was definitely not a part of the recording. She set down her padd and turned around, curious, only to be met with the sight of Ensign Boimler retching up his lunch onto the ground. "Ha!" she Ensign Mariner declare triumphantly as she staggered out of the shuttle beside him, "Serves you right, you– hurk!"

T'Lyn's own cheeks puffed out and turned a sickly pink as Ensign Mariner also lost her lunch of— was that raw meat? —to the frozen ground, and she quickly turned back around and skipped to the next piece on the album. The opening chords of Symphony no. 5 were, thank Sarek, loud enough to drown out the unpleasant squelches and splashes behind her—once she'd turned the volume all the way up, anyhow.

---

To say that tensions were high in the support team that afternoon was an understatement. After Tendi, as resident medical officer, had put an end to the battle of the iron stomachs, Mariner and Boimler had both resorted to a simmering silence. Nevertheless, Tendi and Rutherford were fairly certain that their sniping had merely turned internal out of fear of getting another lecture.

And so, the work was continuing mostly in silence. Rutherford, taking command as the job turned more technical, did most of the talking, giving orders for Tendi and T'Lyn to help with connecting the array's components and running safety tests. When the electrical work got too dangerous for redshirts to handle, Mariner and Boimler were told to retreat to the safe distance of the warming tent; Mariner got herself a cup of coffee and lingered outside the tent-flap to watch the scientists work, while Boimler went inside and sat in front of the radiator, shivering and rubbing his hands.

Too cold for you? Mariner thought smugly, sipping her coffee.

Shut up, he snapped, but not without adding, I've got bad circulation.

Please, you've got bad everything. It's a miracle you don't need glasses.

It was the sort of comment she made all the time—the sort of comment Bradward usually let go, given that he knew she was only teasing. But "letting go" wasn't a knee-jerk reaction; being genuinely hurt, unfortunately, was. Mariner immediately felt guilty and then felt annoyed at feeling guilty—all emotional reactions she could tell he was sensing as well. "Ugh, this is pointless," she grumbled, setting the mug down on a crate. "I'm going for a walk."

You're supposed to stay near the worksite, Boimler warned.

"I'm not going far," she said with an eye-roll as she began to walk. "Besides, what are you, my mom?"

I'm your CO for the rest of the day! She scoffed, and he added petulantly, Also, you look like you're talking to yourself.

Mariner, who had just been opening her mouth to retort, snapped it shut and scowled. You're an ass.

I'm not the one insulting someone else's body. He then added, completely against his will, Mainly because you have no physical weaknesses. But that's not the point!

Aww, thank you Boimsie! I am pretty great. She performatively brushed a poof of curls back over her shoulder.

You know, I always hoped that your 'I'm perfect and amazing in every way' thing was just covering up some deep-seated insecurity-

Boims, shut up, she thought abruptly, coming to a standstill.

-but no, it turns out you really do think you're the universe's gift to-

I'm serious, shut up a second! That actually gave him pause as he noticed what she was looking at. In front of her was what looked like a Phluxian soldier, standing a mere few feet away from the walls of the transporter pad. "Hey," she said sharply, and the blue-skinned woman jumped, turning on her heels. "This is Starfleet workspace, what are you doing over here?"

Mariner! Boimler hissed internally, but she ignored him, stalking closer.

"Nothing!" the woman squeaked. Mariner took several more steps and then came to a halt in front of her, staring her down. The woman looked nervous and shuffled her feet. "I-I've just never seen anything like it," she admitted. "It's like something out of a sci-fi movie. Please don't tell my CO; I'm supposed to be on-duty at the tents."

"Uh-huh. Name and rank," the human woman said pitilessly. The Phluxian soldier paled, but at that same moment the warming tent's flap opened behind them and Boimler came hurrying out.

"Mariner, that's enough!" At his snap, Rutherford and Tendi (who had been off to the side looking at tricorder scans on their Padds) finally noticed something was up. Boimler quickly stopped next to her and gave the Phluxian soldier a reassuring smile. "Sorry about her, she can get a little over-zealous." ('Overzealous?!' Oh that is rich coming from y–) "Just go back to your post, we won't tell your CO."

"Of course," the Phluxian nodded rapidly, "Thank you!" She turned and hurried off just as Tendi and Rutherford curiously approached, and Mariner turned on Boimler with a fuming expression.

"What the hell, man?! She was being suspicious as fuck , you're just gonna let her leave?! We need to report her!"

"First off," he said curtly, his diplomatic tone vanishing, "I don't know why you think you, of all people, have the right to get some noncom in trouble for screwing around on the job–"

"Excuse me? And hang on, since when do you let people off the hook for–"

"And second off, you heard the commander, we're in a tense political situation here! Any little thing could cause a breakdown in the talks, and Starfleet has to look impartial!"

"Oh come on!" Mariner laughed, angry and incredulous. "You throw the book at me all the time, I can't believe you're being such a hypocrite!"

"I'm not being a hypocrite, this is a completely different situation!" he snapped. "Nothing happened, and besides, nobody would be stupid enough to do something 'suspicious as fuck' at a heavily-armed peace conference, let alone right out in the open. I'm the CO, I handled it, we're fine!"

"Oh please, this is about your command fetish isn't it! You don't want to look like you can't handle things in front of Ransom and the Captain!" Boimler flushed an angry red at the words 'command fetish,' but before he could respond Mariner continued: "You know what, you're right, this is a tense political situation, so if you're not going to report the super suspicious alien soldier that was hanging out around our workspace, I will!" She reached up to tap her badge.

"Mariner, don't you d–"

"Look, trust me, you're gonna thank me in the e–"

Boimler finally lost his temper. "Ensign Mariner I am your superior officer and I am giving you an order, now comply!"

The effect was immediate. Mariner's whole body went stiff and her face turned impassive, eyes fixing into a thousand mile stare. Both Rutherford and Tendi sucked in breaths; Boimler went pale as he realized what he'd done. A moment later Mariner blinked twice and almost seemed to give herself a minor shake, before her gaze fixed on Bradward again.

And then her eyes snapped into a narrowed glare.

"Um– I– Mariner–" Brad stammered weakly as she stalked forward. "It was an accident, I swear–!"

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and he let out a loud shriek. "You wanna go back to the Borg, huh, Brad?" Mariner breathed in his face, eyes blazing with fury. "Go ahead, call them to come pick you up. I bet they'd love to have their obedient little drone back, seeing's how following orders is the only thing you actually care about!"

Boimler's whole body had gone tense and he'd clenched his jaw, looking like he was both intimidated and trying very hard to control his temper. Don't give in, she's just trying to start a fight–

"You know what, yeah, maybe I am!" She shoved him forward with the hand gripping his shirt and let go so that he stumbled back, almost falling in the dirt. "Maybe I'm sick and tired of you acting like you're in charge of us, maybe I've had enough of being your little two of two!"

"Guys–" Tendi said, stepping forward, but Boimler cut her off.

"You think I'm controlling?! You tell me what I can and can't eat! You complain about my hobbies!"

"Reading the handbook isn't a hobby, Brad, it's a cry for help!"

He threw his hands in the air. "You make fun of me all the time! You were impossible enough to live with before we got assimilated, let alone now that I can't get any space from your constant bullying!"

Tears of genuine shock and hurt sprang to her eyes at this, unfortunately very valid, criticism, but neither of them had more than a split second's chance to recognize it before her defensive anger flared and she gritted her teeth. "You got a problem with me, great! Bring it on, man, I can take it! Just stop being a little bitch and say it to my face!"

"Fine!" Boimler snapped. "Fine, Mariner, here's what I think: I think you're selfish. I think you view all of us, including me, more like your sidekicks than your actual friends. I think you think that because you're hypercompetent and attractive and have some dark backstory that you must know better and can break whatever rules you want, and other people just have to deal with it! Well I'm sick of it!"

"Guys, that's enough!"

"Oh yeah? Well, I think I'm embarrassed sometimes to be friends with you!" Boimler's whole face had gone scarlet by now, but Mariner was out for blood and the sight just egged her on further. "You always make us do things your specific way so that you can look good to the brass, and honestly it's nauseating! You still act like you're the better officer despite me having rescued you a million times, and if I treat you like a sidekick then it's because you're always making a fool of yourself!"

With each insult she took a step forward, shoving him in the chest and forcing him to back up. "You're pathetic and a coward and a total suckup, and you know what, Bradward? I think the reason you're such a painfully embarrassing kissass is because deep down, even you don't think you have what it takes!"

It was this attack on his career and a particularly violent shove that finally made Boimler snap and shove her back. What was intended to be a push turned into something else and before either knew it they were both on the ground, struggling to get a hit in or get the upper hand. Mariner grabbed hold of his collar and rolled them both so she came out on top, balled her fist, and let it fly at his nose, which broke with a disturbingly loud crack!

She had unfortunately not planned for the immediate consequences of this decision, as pain splintered across her own face and she fell backwards off him with a howl.

At this point the fight had started to cause a commotion. Phluxian and Gabatrossi soldiers alike were turning around at the gate to watch the scuffle, and inside the shuttlecraft T'Lyn, who had been gathering testing equipment, took out one earbud and poked her head out the door, an eyebrow raised. Inside the negotiation tents, the "peace talks" were just about to erupt another shouting match on the logistics of moving three million people off a peninsula when the even louder sounds of a growing crowd outside drew their attention, and everyone stood up, concerned. Captain Freeman stepped outside the tent with the others and felt her mouth fall slack-jawed at the sight of her daughter trying to headlock a bloody-nosed Bradward Boimler as he grabbed hold of her shirt-collar.

Around the edge of a nearby tent, unnoticed by the transfixed crowd, the young blue-skinned woman Mariner had been interrogating just a few minutes prior watched the fight with narrowed eyes. She pulled what looked like a triangular flip-phone out of her pocket and punched in a number, holding it up to her ear. A moment later she nodded. "Commander, this is Agent Blue, reporting from the island; we've got a situation developing over here."

"What do you mean, a 'situation?'"

"There's some sort of brawl going on between the lower-ranking Federation officers, I'm not sure why. There's a real chance of construction getting delayed if they keep this up; I did try to approach the transporter pad a few minutes ago and was stopped."

"Did anyone see you? How close is the crowd to the transporter?"

"The fighting officers are the ones who stopped me, but I'm not sure if they reported me to anyone else. The crowd is keeping a pretty wide distance from them, I don't think they want to get caught in the fight. They're pretty close to the pad, sir, the blast would probably kill them both."

"Will we hit our own if we blow the pad now?"

"No, Commander. But we won't get the Federation captain, either."

There was hesitance on the other end of the line, and then a huff. "That explosive has already been out in the cold for a week already, any longer and the chemicals might start to degrade. Is one of the fighting officers the human woman?"

"Yes sir. She was the one who caught me."

"Good, that's the Federation captain's daughter. We'll have to take the chance and trust our people to make this work; do it now."

"But sir–"

"That's an order, Lieutenant. Make sure those officers are in range and set the countdown."

"Yes sir." She hung up the call, then pressed another button. Eyeing the crowd, she keyed in the command.

Back in the middle of the fistfight, Boimler had managed, somehow, to get the upper hand, having pinned Mariner face-down so that her cheek was smushed into the concrete foundation of the transporter pad. "You're dead , Bradward, as soon as I get out of this you're so fucking d–" She stopped suddenly. Above her, Boimler's internal panicked monologue of She's gonna kill me, I can't let her up or she'll murder me- abruptly cut off as he heard it, too.

Echoing up through the concrete, so quiet she would never have heard it if her face wasn't literally being mashed up against it, there was the faintest noise of a beep…beep…beep…

At that moment, all antagonism vanished and pure Starfleet training took over. "Get back!" Boimler bellowed as he scrambled off of Mariner. "There's an explosive, get back–!"

Beside him, Mariner stood and was about to run when her eyes shot across the panicking crowd and locked onto the Phluxian soldier, who spooked like a scared cat. There was some sort of tech device in her hand with a little red light that was beeping at the same intervals as the noise in the concrete.

There was a split second to make a decision, and Mariner made, arguably, the wrong one. She reached into her boot as Boimler screamed, "What are you doing, run!" and drew her hidden phaser.

The shot flashed through the crowd just as Boimler grabbed her other arm to haul her forwards. Mariner saw the beam strike the Phluxian woman at the exact moment the transporter pad behind them exploded in a fireball, sending flames and shrapnel flying through their bodies.

…Thankfully, that "through" was quite literal, as the burst of released transporter energy hit them first, billowing out a hair's breadth ahead of the debris. There was a strangely timeless moment where Mariner watched through Boimler's eyes as the metal scraps were blasted harmlessly through her phasing body, and then both of them vanished into the tide of blue light as their atoms were shot aimlessly out into the planet's atmosphere.

---

Captain Carol Freeman was not having a good day.

As far as days went, it had been bad enough when she was just trying to stop two trigger-happy nations from going to war on her watch, while also smacking down what she hoped were well-meaning interruptions from her XO. That had, of course, been before she'd watched her only-recently-returned daughter and the rest of her support team get beamed to who-knows-where by a sabotaged transporter bay. The only reason she wasn't currently having a fetal-position breakdown in T'Ana's medbay was the reassurances from the Cerritos that they were getting confused but unmistakable readings of human and Orion DNA from somewhere on the near side of the planet—where, they weren't yet sure, but they were running continuous scans to locate them.

She could only pray that Mariner and her friends hadn't gotten dumped into a polar ocean somewhere and were already succumbing to hypothermia.

So, needless to say, she was not in a good mood when came back into the negotiations tent, only to find that the Phluxian prime minister and the Gabatrossi general were already at each other's throats—almost literally, as it seemed the minister's senior staffers were the only ones holding him back from lunging across the table as the general was sneered back, teeth gritted. "– dare you accuse us of committing this barbaric act of violence!"

"We all saw it happen!" the general retorted. "Right before the bomb went off the Federation officer shot a Phluxian soldier— clearly the one responsible for detonating the explosives!"

"And as I have told you multiple times, General, none of my people are unaccounted for!" the prime minister said testily, but the general scoffed.

"Of course you'd say that; you're obviously hiding her! It's clear what this 'peace summit' has actually been—another Phluxian lie!"

"If this oh-so-conveniently-vanished officer did shoot a Phluxian soldier, then maybe this Federation is not as neutral a party as you have claimed!"

"Enough!" Carol snapped, drawing both of their attention. "Enough, both of you! I don't know why Ensign Mariner fired her weapon–" Or what she and Mr. Boimler were fighting about. "–but we will get her side of the story once we've rescued her and the rest of the support team. For now, this island is clearly no longer neutral or safe territory; I strongly suggest we move aboard the Cerritos until we can figure out who caused this attack!"

"Absolutely not!" the prime minister declared. "For all we know you are an ally of the Gabatrossi; we have no proof you won't just take us prisoner once we're on your ship!"

"What about collateral," Jack spoke up, before Carol could answer. "You two come aboard-ship with Captain Freeman, and I'll stay here on the island as a hostage."

"Commander–" Carol began with a sharp look, but the general spoke up:

"I'll agree to those terms if he will." She shot the Phluxian leader a look. "Unless you have something you're afraid they'll find down here?"

The prime minister looked between her, the captain and the commander, and then huffed. "Fine. It seems I have no choice. But I want lines of communication open between myself and my people at all times!"

"You're not the only one," Carol muttered under her breath, and then gave a tight smile. "We'll have communicators replicated for all of you in a few minutes; Jack, with me."

The nearest replicator was, of course, in the Federation warming tent; Carol managed to restrain herself just until the flap had closed, but Jack beat her to it: "Captain, I know what you're going to say–"

"Ohh believe me Jack, you have no idea what I want to say! What I'm going to say is that you can hand me your pip, Lieutenant, since it seems you could use some more distance from the captain's chair to remember who's in charge here!"

"You're demoting me?! You can't be serious!"

"I can't be serious?! My daughter is missing! AGAIN! And I am trying, really trying to hold my shit together because in case you forgot, there's a damn planet on the line here! So yeah, Jack, I think I'm pretty 'serious,' because insubordination from my own first officer is the fucking last thing I need right now!"

She finished her hissed rant with several heaving breaths, trying to ignore the stinging in her eyes. Jack stared at her with something like shellshock, and her eyes snapped into a glare. "Something you want to say, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, reaching up and taking off one of his pips. "I'll, uh– I'll replicate those combadges, Captain, right away."

"...Good. On the double," she muttered, shoulders slumping, and turned back toward the tent flap.

A moment later, as the Phluxian prime minister and Gabatrossi General were shooting each other suspicious side-eyes from their respective parties, the Federation tent opened again and the starship captain walked out. "General, Prime Minister, right this way please," she said, with a professional nod. "My first officer will be along with your badges in a moment; have either of you ever teleported before?"

"We…have not, Captain," the prime minister said, glancing at his Gabatrossi counterpart. "Is it safe?"

She gave a chuckle that, if it was forced, was at least very well feigned. "Our officers use this technology every day; I promise, there's nothing to be afraid of…"

---

The blue phasing lights faded, leaving a screaming Boimler and a cringing Mariner clinging to each other in the middle of the snowy clearing. "AAHHHhhh ooohh. Oh. Oh, we're– alive?" Bradward looked around as his shriek of panic died.

Mariner peeked an eye open, and then, finding she was nose-to-nose with Boimler, quickly stepped back. He did the same, so that they were left looking around at a ring of snowy trees and undergrowth. "We must have gotten beamed away by the transporter before the explosion could hit us," she realized. "Lucky thing we didn't end up in an ocean somewhere…"

Boimler gave an almighty shudder as the adrenaline rush surged again and began to pace, brushing off his arms like he was trying to get rid of invisible spiders. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, that was scariest fucking thing–" He was cut off by the sound of quiet rustling behind him and turned back to see that Mariner had sat down in the snow. "Uh– Mariner?" She didn't answer, and he started to panic. "Wait, you're not hurt, are you? You don't feel hurt–"

"I'm not hurt, Boims," she said dully. Not physically, anyway.

"Oh." He turned somber again, and after a moment of silence sat down next to her. Together they stared at the forest of unfamiliar, snow-drifted trees around them. For a moment their minds were silent, except for the shared sensation of being generally miserable.

Even that form of peace didn't last long. Did you really mean all that stuff you said? Mariner asked internally, since she couldn't avoid it.

He met her eyes. "Did you?" Guilty feelings of affirmation filtered mutually across the interlink. Boimler sighed and looked away. "...I never meant to say all that out loud."

"It's okay," Mariner said quietly, looking back out at the trees. "Everything you said was true."

"Yeah…you too." He shivered as a cold wind crossed the clearing and pulled his bloodstained snow-jacket tighter around himself; his chin and nose were still crusted with drying blood. "...I always knew you thought I didn't belong out here," he added tiredly. "I just…thought maybe I could prove you wrong one of these days."

"Brad–"

"But you're right. This is all I've ever wanted to do with my life and I suck at it." He zipped the jacket up. "The best thing I ever did for Starfleet was get myself assimilated instead of some diplomat, is that what you wanted to hear? You happy now?"

"Do I look happy?" she snapped back. "You think I liked hearing my best friend say he thinks I bully him, you think that makes me feel really good about myself?"

She sniffled and drew her legs up, and he made the mistake of thinking, Look who's pathetic now. When she shot him a glare he said aloud, "Sorry. I didn't mean– sorry."

She rolled her eyes and leaned her arms against her knees, glaring at the trees through the blur of tears. I really hate you right now, you know.

Yeah, well, same.

But I wanna work this out. I mean, we're us. We always do.

No we don't, Mariner, he sighed, glancing over at her again. What happens is one or the other of us always bites our tongue and gives in for the sake of the friendship. —Frankly, it's usually me—

It is not! There's been a million times–

"This is my point," he interrupted her aloud. "We barely have the self-control to not try to get the last word when we're fighting out loud; if we can read each other's minds…"

"Fuck, you're right," she groaned, laying back on the snow and rubbing her palms into her eyelids. "This is a disaster."

"Yeah, well, at least it's not just an emotional disaster." He looked around at the grove, trying to get a sense of the geography. "Where even are we?"

Mariner uncovered her eyes and squinted, peering up into the overcast sky. "I can't hear the ocean so…I think we must not be on the island anymore. Lucky we didn't end up in the ocean somewhere– oh no." She sat up, going pale. "Rutherford–"

"–And Tendi, shit! What if they got caught in the explosion, what if–"

"Hold on, let's not panic until we know for sure they're in danger." Mariner tapped her badge. "Tendi, Rutherford, you guys there? Boims and I got transported into the middle of nowhere but we're okay. –Well, I mean," she glanced at him, "mostly okay."

There was no reply except a strange feedback whine. Mariner frowned anxiously and tapped the badge again. "Guys? You alright?"

The whine returned, but this time there were a couple words in the static. "Can't… saying… we're o… explosion, too. …forest somewhere."

"That's Tendi's voice," Boimler said anxiously, kneeling up next to her and ignoring Mariner's internal snark of Yeah, no shit Brad. "Sounds like they're in a similar place, maybe they're not that far away."

There was another crackle on the comms. "Our signal… through… -rritos. Try… Yosemi…"

Mariner frowned deeper. "What?" All she got back was static. "Oh come on, this is ridiculous! Our tech has been shit all day, what is going on!"

"Hang on–maybe that's what Tendi was saying, that our comm signals go through the Cerritos!" Boimler realized. "For all we know it's on the other side of the planet; maybe we can–"

"–reroute our comms through the shuttlecraft to get better reception, got it!" Mariner said, tapping the badge again. "Comm system, reroute signal through the U.S.S. Shuttlecraft Yosemite."

The badge trilled, and a moment later Tendi's voice came through loud and clear: "Sam says that he saw the shuttlecraft get hit by the transporter beam too; we can't get through to the Cerritos, but if we use the Yosemite's comm system as a radio relay–"

"We read you now, Tendi, can you hear us?"

"Hi! Yes, we can hear you! We got caught in the transporter blast right after you did; are you guys okay?"

"For the most part," Boimler chimed in, glancing uneasily at Mariner. "Do you know where you are? Maybe we got lucky and all transported to the same place."

"We think we're on a continent somewhere; we can't hear the ocean at all."

"Same here," Mariner answered, looking around at the spindly branches arching across the cold sky. "Can you see any landmarks nearby?"

"There's a rock formation right above us," Rutherford chimed in, "it kind of looks like a– well, you know."

Mariner snickered; Boimler shot her a look and said mentally, Very mature. "Got it; look for a dong-shaped rock." She stood up and glanced around. "All we can see where we are is the forest, but maybe I can see something from the top of one of these trees, hang on."

Boimler waited as Mariner located the tallest tree in the clearing and pulled herself up by the branches until she was over the tree line. "Dong-rock, dong-rock… hey, found it! Wow, that is shockingly anatomical–"

Could you please be serious for five minutes? You know, before we freeze to death?

Mariner stuck her tongue out at him, pleased to know that he'd "see" it even if she was shielded by the branches. "I see it, Tendi; we're not that far away. Probably like a ten-minute walk or so."

"If we all ended up close by, then hopefully the shuttlecraft isn't far away," Tendi said optimistically. "We can use that to send a distress call to the ship."

Mariner peered around from her perch, and then let out a whoop as she saw the unmistakable signs of broken foliage, debris and scratch marks skidding down a steep hill into the valley below. "I think I found it! Yeesh, but it's probably not in good shape—looks like it got transported onto a hill and rolled the rest of the way down."

"There should be an emergency toolbox inside," Rutherford's voice came over the comms. "I can probably get it working again, at least enough to send a distress call."

Mariner squinted in the sunlight, trying to measure the angel. "It looks like it's about due west from where we are, so if you're by the rocks you'll want to head north."

"Sounds good, we'll meet you there. Tendi out."

Mariner clicked her badge and shimmied back down the tree. She indicated the direction with a nod (unnecessarily, of course) and together the pair began to walk up the hill through the snowy woods up, neither wanting to break the silence-that-wasn't-silence until it became clear that, once again, they didn't have a choice. "How's your nose?" Mariner offered at last, glancing over as Boimler took off his uniform scarf and used it to staunch the bleeding.

"You broke it, how do you think?"

Well excuse me for asking, she muttered inside her head. He sighed.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Mariner. It's like everything we do or even think is just leading us into a new fight, it's exhausting and I'm tired of trying to work around it. There's no point in being polite if you're going to hear my real thoughts anyway."

"Well at least you could help me try to fix things." Also I didn't even say that out loud so it's totally unfair to use it against me–

"Like when I thought you wanted to start a fight and you took that as an invitation?"

"Urghh!" She dug her fingers into her scalp as she neared the crest of the hill. "This has got to stop. Nobody could live like this!"

Bradward was silent, at least outwardly, and when she looked over at him he didn't meet her gaze. "Shit," she cursed. "Look, I didn't mean–"

"I know what you meant."

"No, dammit, you– ugh, I knew I shouldn't have let you read that old Voyager report–"

"Yeah, well, believe it or not Mariner you don't get to make decisions for me," he snapped, pausing in his steps. She eyed him irritably—which was, of course, merely a cover for her own repressed fear, which he could feel bubbling like toxic sludge under the surface—and started walking up the hill again, pushing past him.

"Come on, it's fucking freezing out here. If we're gonna fight let's at least fight somewhere warm."

Boimler watched her retreating back and then sighed and followed after her. Their argument was thankfully forestalled by reaching the crest of the hill, over which they could see the beat-up Yosemite resting upside-down in a pile of debris and destroyed undergrowth. Mariner spotted Tendi and Rutherford on the other side of the clearing's rim and waved, before stopping in surprise as a noise came up from the shuttlecraft. In fact, she realized quickly, there were several noises—most notably a woman's frustrated if muffled voice, and the distinct sound of something metal being kicked.

She and Boimler shared a surprised look and then hurried down into the clearing, meeting Rutherford and Tendi at the door of the shuttle. As they peered inside, they encountered a sight that, in retrospect, shouldn't have been surprising: Lt. T'Lyn was sitting on the "floor," holding an arm that was bent at a wrong angle and kicking the replicator in front of her. Her face was also a distinctly non-Vulcan pale peach, instead of its usual olivey-tan. "I said b-blanket, so I would be very much obliged if you would r-replicate me a b-b-blanket." As they watched, she gave the replicator another vicious kick.

"Lieutenant T'Lyn?"

She looked over at them, and then blinked, going a bit green upon realizing someone had been watching her outburst. "Ensigns. G-good evening." She stood up and shivered. "I r-regret to inform you that the sh-shuttle is in a state of disrepair." She glanced back as the replicator began to whirr and trilled, "Black licorice, dry," before a stick of candy materialized, and gave it a frustrated side-eye. "Particularly this r-replicator."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mariner and Boimler found themselves glancing at each other. Almost against her will, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. He gave her a rueful grin, and they both at last began to snicker.

"Uhh– what's going on? What happened?" Tendi said, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Just– inside joke, Tendi, we'll explain later." She smirked at him. "I'm sorry. I was being an ass."

"Yeah. Me too. We can work out our issues once we're back on the ship—and, y'know, not risking hypothermia."

"I t-take it you're calling a t-truce?" T'Lyn shivered, drawing their attention. "Because that would s-substantially increase our ch-chances of survival."

"You could say that. We promise, no more fighting," Boimler assured her.

"At least not until the end of the mission," Mariner added.

Apparently deciding that a medical emergency took precedence over her curiosity, Tendi clambered through the shuttlecraft door and pulled out her tricorder, scanning the other woman. "Your core temperature is way down from the Vulcan norm. We need to get you warmed up; Sam–"

"On it," Rutherford said, hurrying to the front of the shuttle and opening his toolkit. As he began to tinker with the controls, Tendi shrugged off her own jacket and wrapped it around the shivering Vulcan before tapping her badge.

"This is Ensign Tendi to Commander Ransom; we've got a near-hypothermic crewmember here. Come in, Commander." Nothing but static replied, and she shook her head, mystified. "Still nothing. We've been having signal problems all day, but now it's like nothing can get through at all."

"I c-could not contact the sh-ship, even with the shuttle's s-superior signal," T'Lyn confirmed, teeth still chattering, although her cheeks were starting to look a little greener.

"You mean it still works?"

"Indeed. Th-the distress signal seems to be the o- only thing that still works," she said, with what probably counted as irony for a Vulcan. "Th-there must be some b-barrier between the Yosemite and the Cerritos."

"Maybe we're on the other side of the planet," Boimler suggested, but Tendi shook her head as she opened up a panel in the wall and took out a first-aid kit.

"It's still daylight here, even if it's later in the evening; I don't think we've moved far enough around the planet to be out of the ship's range."

They paused as the shuttle's lights and heat turned back on, as well as a little "starting-up" chime from the computer. T'Lyn exhaled a sigh and shuffled closer to a heat vent as Tendi helped her arm into the sling. "C-Computer, analyze for complications to the distress signal," she announced.

The computer beeped. "Distress signal is emitting properly for 1625.882 miles."

"W-What is happening at the termination location?"

Another beep. "At 1625.882 miles the distress signal is being translated by a program of unknown origin."

The five of them shared surprised looks (although for the Vulcan this was merely a mild frown). "Rerun the analysis."

"At 1625.882 miles the distress signal is being translated by a program of unknown origin."

"Into what language? Gabatrossi or Phluxian?"

"The language is unknown. There is no return communication."

"Retrieve a sample of the translated material."

The computer dinged, and then recited an indecipherable series of letters and numbers, ostensibly in T'Lyn's voice. Understanding dawned on the Vulcan's face. "It seems the transmission is being scrambled, possibly into some sort of code."

"That distance does sound about right for how far we got transported, based on the sun's position," Tendi pointed out, glancing around at the others.

"So, somebody's scrambling communications going into the island, and that was definitely a planned attack," Mariner said, rubbing her chin. "My guess is that there's some sort of secret communications going between the Phluxian government off-site and their agents on the island. Obviously everything going on at the talks is under surveillance, so they'd want to disguise the message with a scrambling system. Our signals are probably just getting caught in it by accident."

"So you really think the Phluxians attacked the transporter?" Tendi asked.

"Who else could it be? I mean, we all saw that suspicious Phluxian soldier hanging around, and then she was holding some sort of device that was flashing along with the beeping we heard, right Boims? Obviously they must have planted the explosion."

But Bradward was already frowning. "Maybe. Or maybe we're looking at this the wrong way around. Yosemite," he called to the computer, "do you do routine downloads of the Cerritos's database?"

"Affirmative."

"Locate the personal data file for Bradward Boimler and open the folder U.S.S. Titan: Captain's Logs." The computer trilled in confirmation. "What's the date of the latest download to that folder?"

"The last addition to 'U.S.S. Titan: Captain's Logs' was seven days ago."

Mariner snickered. "Seriously? You're still downloading Riker's logs? Boims, this fanboy thing is getting out of hand."

"Yeah, well, this 'fanboy thing' might have some answers. Yosemite , do a search for any mission-conclusion logs with the keyword Gabatross."

The computer beeped again. "There is one mission-conclusion log that includes this keyword. Would you like me to read it aloud?"

"Go ahead."

There was a brief pause, and then Captain Riker's voice began to sound from the computer speakers.

"Captain's log, supplemental. After investigating the source of the strange neutrino readings, the Titan discovered that the 'warp signature' we registered was not actually from a ship, but instead that the technology was being used to develop a unique form of weapon. The same energy-producing reaction of matter and antimatter most species use to power their ships, it turns out, can also be used as weapons of mass destruction.

"The source of the signature was a species called the Gabatrossi, a highly militarized culture with an unsettling willingness to commit war crimes. Until yesterday, they've been at war with their sworn enemy: the Phluxians , an expansionist and extremely consumerist society who have recently embarked on a policy of colonization to uphold their standard of living. Both societies, I must admit, are uncomfortably reminiscent of humanity at the turn of the twenty-first century.

"Thankfully I was able to persuade the Gabatrossi General and the Phluxian Prime Minister to agree to a temporary ceasefire, but neither side seems likely to abide by the agreement for long. Starfleet Headquarters tells me that they will send a second-contact team to ensure the agreement lasts. Frankly I'm not convinced it'll work—but I guess if humanity could work through our issues, then there's hope for anyone."

Riker's voice faded off, and a moment later the computer trilled, "End of recording." Boimler was nodded as if he'd had a suspicion confirmed. "Just like I thought."

"Uh, sorry, I think I missed something?" Rutherford piped up. "That didn't really tell us anything we didn't already know…"

"My point is that this doesn't make any sense, not as a Phluxian assassination attempt," Boimler argued, turning to the rest of them. "Using a transporter to kill the Gabatrossi leader, let alone a bunch of Starfleet officers, wouldn't just be an attack on Gabatross; the moment they got Starfleet tech involved they were basically guaranteeing they'd make a very powerful enemy. Plus, I'm not hearing anything in that log about being an honor-based culture, but that was definitely in the species description we all read for the mission briefing, right?

"That's…true," Tendi said slowly. "Captain Freeman even mentioned it specifically, before you guys got to the transporter pad. She said that the Gabatrossi hate 'tricks and dishonesty.'"

"That was in the mission brief too, I definitely remember reading it," Boimler agreed. "Computer, who provided the Federation database description of the Gabatrossi?"

"Per Federation regulation, the initial encyclopedia entry for every species is presented by a representative member of that species."

"So the Gabatrossi supplied their own description," Mariner said, and then her eyes shot wide. "Oh my gosh, Boims, you're right! When I was gonna interrogate that soldier you said it to me yourself, you said–"

"Nobody would be stupid enough to do something 'suspicious as fuck' at a heavily-armed peace conference, let alone right out in the open," Bradward repeated, nodding. "But if that wasn't an actual Phluxian–"

"–Then maybe it was a setup! None of us have ever seen these guys before, they know we wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a real Phluxian and a Gabatrossi wearing fake blue! Maybe they wanted us to catch someone who looked like a Phluxian acting all suspicious!"

Rutherford smacked his hand into his palm. "And it was the Phluxians who laid the concrete for us! Putting an explosive under their work would make them look even more suspicious!"

"But the Gabatrossi want to join the Federation. Why would they sabotage the peace meetings?" Tendi pointed out.

"To get the Federation to side with them against the Phluxians in a war," Boimler said grimly. "Think about it, Starfleet is always defending the underdog, right? Computer, how much information do the Gabatrossi have about the Federation?"

"As a prospective member of the Federation, the Gabatrossi have access to the Federation public database."

"In other words, they know everything about us: how we classify alien species, our technology, what our latest military engagements were–"

"The Dominion War!" Mariner declared. "They'd know all about it, they'd know that the Klingons and the Romulans only became our allies because we were all fighting the Dominion! The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that."

"And oftentimes, the enemy of our friend becomes our enemy," T'Lyn added. Everyone fell somberly silent at that.

"We need to warn the captain," Mariner said at last desperately, looking around at the rest of them. "Come on, guys, you're all science geniuses; this technology is four hundred years old compared to us! You must be able to get around it somehow!"

"That's the problem, Mariner, it's four hundred years old," Rutherford explained. "It's all radio waves, yeah, but the tech they're using is totally obsolete. My best guess is that they've got some sort of technology that's scrambling the transmissions as they come into the area to disguise them and a computer program that de-scrambles them after they're received, but reverse-engineering whatever they're doing could take hours."

"We haven't got that kind of time! We don't even know where on the planet we are, we can't just walk back and give my mom the message!"

"Perhaps, if we cannot defeat their technology, we can use it," T'Lynn spoke up, drawing their attention. "Starfleet communicator badges are equipped with universal translators, which in essence are highly advanced data-interpretation AIs. Until now the badges have been receiving our transmissions in bursts, but if we could transfer a suitably large batch of data–"

"You think the combadges could learn to unscramble the transmissions the same way they learn languages?" Tendi realized.

"It is theoretically possible— and at any rate, it's the best option we have."

"We can send a continuous transmission from the Yosemite's distress signal into the Captain's combadge," Rutherford agreed, opening up the control settings for the radio. "Hopefully the UT will learn to decode the scrambling fast enough for the message to come through in time."

"We still have one problem though, we don't have any proof," Boimler said, rubbing his chin. "I'm pretty sure I'm right, but it's like the Commander said, the situation's tense. We can't just accuse a nation of trying to start a war with the Federation because I'm 'pretty sure.'" He huffed in frustration and lowered his hand. "If only we had a wit– witness…"

He trailed off and looked over at Mariner, who had started to smirk. "No," he said flatly as her grin grew wider. "I'm serious, Mariner, do not take this as validation! You were insubordinate and took a major risk and– and–" he sighed. "And who am I kidding, make the call."

Mariner broke out into an outright cackle and reached for the record button.

---

"–Attack against both our nation and the Federation!"

"You have no proof of that! For all we know, you laid the explosives!"

"The concrete was poured by Phluxian workers! Captain– surely this act of violence is proof of what I've been telling you!"

Carol, who at this point was listening with decreasing interest to the leaders' bickering, looked up from where she'd been watching the holographic pictures of her family spinning above the projector on her ready-room's desk. Despite the fact that night had fallen on the near side of the planet, the rescue team still hadn't been able to locate the missing support crew. "I'm sorry, General, what did you say?"

"I said, that this attack on both of our peoples, including your own offspring, is evidence enough of the righteousness of our crusade!" the general insisted. "The Phluxians are a deceitful, duplicitous race who cannot be trusted! They've already conquered a portion of our territory; we need Starfleet's help to assert justice!"

"Of course, General," she said tiredly, rising to her feet. "I'm sure we'll hear back from the rescue crew soon; in the meantime, we can resume our conversation about logistics–"

"Logistics?! There is no time for talking logistics !" She turned her eyes back onto the Minister in a fiery glare. "This act of treachery against your Federation cannot go unpunished! Give us the firepower we need to defeat our enemy, and I promise you, Captain, my people will get revenge for your daughter and bring Planet Gabatross into the Federation!"

For a moment the captain was stunned speechless. Firepower? She glanced across the room at the Prime Minister, whose face had abruptly fallen. He stood up from his chair, his suave demeanor faltering as he wrung his hands nervously: "C-Captain– you have to believe me, Phluxia was not the instigator of this attack! And if the decision is between war with the Federation and becoming a member, then of course that is a very different conversation than the one we've been having–"

"Hold on, nobody said anything about the Federation going to war!" Carol tried to interject sharply, but the General spoke over her:

"Phluxia is not worthy to be a member of the Federation!"

"General, that's not your choice to–!" But her voice broke off as Carol noticed her comm was buzzing. She hastily tapped it. "Freeman here; what have you–"

"Incoming transmission. Standby," the mechanized voice chirped, and then the room was filled with loud static. All three of its occupants winced; the Phluxian minister covered his ears. "What in the world–?!" Carol demanded, tapping the badge again. "Captain to Bridge, what's going on here, where is this transmission coming from!"

"Sorry, Captain– we're not sure, there's a lot of interference," the on-duty science officer responded. "But it's definitely targeting your combadge– hang on." There was a pause. "The ship's Universal Translator is picking up on some sort of pattern in the static; it's almost like it's trying to interpret it as a language–" Even as she spoke, the static faded into a random string of numbers and letters, delivered in what was definitely a computerized version of Mariner's voice.

Carol sucked in a breath. "Bridge, pinpoint the location of that message!"

"Aye, Captain! We'll keep you posted; Bridge out." There was a beep as the bridge signed off, but the string of gibberish continued, though there were now individual words in the chaos: "Klingon," "transmission," "Mariner," and of course, "Gabatrossi" and "Phluxian." After another few seconds the UT seemed to have fully parsed the code, because the message at last came through clear and strong:

"–Ensign Mariner speaking, this is a repeating transmission. Mom, don't panic, we're okay; we think we're on a continent about 1600 miles east of the island, but that's not important right now."

"Not important?" Carol repeated, incredulous, but her daughter talked over her:

"Boimler's got a theory and we think he's right; he suspects that the Gabatrossi set the explosives and tried to make it look like a Phluxian assassination attack so that the Federation would go to war for them against Phluxia."

"That's outrageous!" the general snarled behind her. "The honorable Gabatrossi nation would never–"

"–We know we don't have a lot of proof, but it makes logical sense and there's nothing in Riker's logs that say anything about the Gabatrossi being being an 'honor-based warrior culture.'" The General paused, mouth still open. "We think they pulled that from Klingons; they knew we'd believe it and just assume they couldn't be behind anything suspicious."

"'Honor -based warrior culture?!'" the Phluxian prime minister demanded, turning to his counterpart with affront.

"If you can find the soldier I stunned, I'm almost positive she'll actually be a Gabatrossi wearing fake blue. Whatever you do, don't commit to helping either side until you have proof. Mariner out."

The transmission paused, and then began to repeat itself again; Freeman tapped her badge to stop it. There was dead silence in the room for a long moment, before the Gabatrossi General spoke up. "Captain, you can't actually believe–"

"Don't worry, General, we have an easy way to solve this," the captain said smoothly, tapping her badge again. "Computer, scan the planet for any individuals with phaser wounds."

"Scanning." There was a tense pause, and then a ding. "Located: one individual suffering phaser-related injuries. The individual is not wearing a Starfleet communications badge and cannot be beamed aboard."

"Acknowledged; pinpoint location and send the details to Jack Ransom. Jack, you read me?"

"Aye Captain." Down on the surface the XO looked nervously around at the Phluxian and Gabatrossi guards surrounding him. "But I don't think I'm going to be allowed to move."

Freeman glanced at the General. "Call your men off." When she opened her mouth to object the human woman added: "Currently the evidence is stacked against you, General, so unless you want to be charged with a conspiracy to assassinate Starfleet officers and brought to trial in San Francisco, you will call your men off."

The general glared at her, and then, reluctantly, tapped her own combadge. "Let the human male search…if he thinks he can find anything." She tapped it again and glared at the Captain, but with a smug gleam in her eyes. "I assure you, Captain Freeman, any evidence your man finds of treachery will show clear signs of Phluxian involvement."

"We'll see." She paused as her comm buzzed again and tapped. "Yes, Jack?"

"I found her, Captain. There's an unconscious Phluxian soldier—in a Gabatrossi tent, for some reason—female, about twenty years of age. Definitely knocked out by a phaser; looks like Mariner got her pretty good."

"Scan her DNA and tell me what comes up on the species match." The general's face fell, and Carol knew she had her—which was why she was prepared enough to draw her own phaser as the general reached for her borrowed combadge. The other woman froze.

"Holy shit." Down on the ground, as Jack held his tricorder over the unconscious woman, he shook his head in amazement; the information displayed on the tiny screen clearly showed a generic green-skinned female diagram, over which the word Gabatrossi shone in definitive bold. "Captain—I don't know how they did it with their technology, but this woman is definitely Gabatrossi, not Phluxian."

Back aboard the ship, the general was still eyeing the phaser in her hand, and Carol smirked grimly. "Understood, Jack, thank you. Crewman Swanson! Beam Mr. Ransom back aboard, please."

There was a brief pause and then a crackling transmission from the transporter bay: "Aye, Captain. Now that our computers can compensate for the interference we can safely reroute him to the ready-room if you want."

"You know what, why don't you go ahead and do that. Freeman out." She tapped her badge and then, deciding a show of confidence was in order, turned her back to the two leaders—though not without keeping an eye on them in the reflection off the window. The general had the look of a nervous child, uncertain whether to attack or run. Carol, on the other hand, picked the miniature photograph-projector up off her desk, watching the three holographic pictures rotate around in a circle. Thinking.

She had control of the situation at the moment. Being nearly four centuries ahead of the opposition technology-wise certainly helped. But she had the mission to think about; as much as she wanted to haul off and hit the general for nearly making a fool of her (or worse), the goal was still inducting these two species into the Federation. Diplomacy hadn't worked…maybe it was time for a little tough love.

"Captain Freeman," the Prime Minister began smoothly; she saw him straighten his suit in the reflection, his earlier fear apparently forgotten. "Given today's events, I'm sure you can now see how truly barbaric these savages are–" He cast a scathing look at the General, "–and must understand, as we do, that they have no place in any enlightened future. I would like to formally extend my people's request to join the Federation, on the condition that you assist us in bringing Planet Phluxia into a more civilized age–"

Thankfully for his own health, he was cut off by the telltale sounds of a transporter beam as Jack phased into view next to him. "Mr. Ransom," she interrupted, "Any other details to report?"

"Captain. Based on the nature of her injuries, I think the Gabatrossi woman will recover without needing serious medical attention, but then again I'm not a doctor. We could beam down a badge if needed." He gave a side-eye to the general and added: "Of course, if you want us to arrest her, I think we have the manpower to do so."

"Negative, Jack. We've narrowly avoided getting the Federation caught up in this conflict already. I have something…else, in mind."

"Captain?"

She didn't answer him, instead watching the photographs spin above the projector. Graduation-Mariner smiled back at her, and she let out a little exhale of relief. "You know, General, you almost had us," she said with a dark chuckle. "Starfleet really does like to back the little guy, and of course promising to join the Federation would have made the deal even sweeter." She snorted again and set the projector back down on her desk. "But you made two mistakes. One, you trusted the ability of a mere explosion to kill some of our best and brightest officers, my daughter included. And two…"

She turned around, and even Jack felt his hackles raise at the look in her eyes. "You apparently don't know a damn thing about how we work. Computer!" Everyone jumped. "Launch visuals for Earth History Modules 19 and 20!"

"Launching visuals. Content warnings apply to this material; would you like to proceed?"

"Absolutely," she growled, and with that the holographic projectors flared to life. Around them the view of the ready-room faded away; Jack reached out a hand to steady himself on the wall he knew logically was still there as his stomach gave a strange swoop, and he looked down to find himself standing, without feeling it, in the illusion of beach-water.

Kinetic-weapon gunfire split the air, and he and everyone else ducked—everyone save the Captain, that was. As the Battle of Normandy erupted around them, men streaming past her and bullets shrieking overhead, Freeman stalked forward towards the General and the Prime Minister, both of whom staggered to their feet, trying not to flinch at the illusory fire flying through them "Is this supposed to intimidate me, Captain?" the General demanded. "You forget that you're talking to the leader of the largest army on the planet!"

Freeman ignored this. "Did you really think the Federation would help you destroy another civilization?! And as for you, Prime Minister, do you seriously believe Phluxia doesn't bear any responsibility for what happened today?! Because it looks to me like you have both seriously misunderstood the situation!"

The holograph switched scenes: London, mid-twentieth-century, citizens running for cover as planes appeared through the night clouds like birds of prey. Screams rang out as shells whistled down and destroyed the city streets around them.

"The Federation only ever goes to war as a last resort! We might not be perfect, but we try, really try to live together as equals! In peace! And do you know why?!"

Another shell fell, exploding on impact with the ground; when they opened their eyes, the images were flying thick and fast. Jack caught sight of the depleted fields of twentieth-century Bengal; of a girl walking through screaming crowds towards a school; of goose-stepping blackshirts and a mushroom cloud erupting over a coastal city.

"Because we know what happens when we don't!"

The holographs around her erupted into scenes of chaos: the atomic bomb decimating Hiroshima erupted into the violent scarlets and oranges of the WWIII attacks on Berlin, Hong Kong and New York; the grainy black-and-white marching of Nazi soldiers melted with unsettling smoothness into the bootstamps of Singh's army of augments. In the shifting holographic visions Jack caught sight of the eerie irradiated sky of a nuclear winter and a long line of refugees wandering through a desolate wasteland, an abandoned city smoking on the horizon. He felt a chill run down his spine. Thirty percent of the population. It was a figure every human knew by heart, but in the clean, bright, equitable world of modern-day Earth, it was easy to forget just how much it had cost humanity to get there. How many times they'd had to learn the same lesson before it stuck.

With a final explosion, as the city of San Francisco was leveled around them, the holograph finally wound down. When they opened their eyes, they found themselves back in the peaceful ready-room, as if they'd never left—which, in reality, they hadn't. Captain Freeman stood in the center of the room, looking out the window at the snowy planet, suspended placidly against the starry backdrop of space.

"Earth was not always a peaceful planet," she said firmly, as she turned her gaze back to the two leaders. "Take it from a species who has lived through the future you two seem to want for yourselves: colonization and domination, constantly fighting over resources and power—it's not worth it."

"Respectfully, Captain, you don't understand," the Prime Minister said, looking with disgust at the General. "Earth's conflicts are all in the distant past. Ours are in the present."

"He's right. For you this is hypothetical," the General spat, eyeing him with equal venom. "For us, it's personal!"

"It's always personal," the captain urged. "I'm not saying your grievances against each other aren't valid, or that your history isn't complicated! But right now, tonight, you have a choice: you can keep throwing your citizens into the damn meat grinder of an endless war, or you can sit down and stay here for however long it takes—make reparations for past crimes, let go of your need for revenge. Make things better for your world."

"And we're not saying this like we're perfect," Jack added, drawing their attention. "You saw it yourself, Earth has a long history of problems between its own peoples; so does every planet in the Federation."

"We all had to work through our issues, heck, we're still working through them. When you've got humans and Vulcans and Andorians and everyone else serving on the same starship, believe me, things aren't always smooth sailing," Carol continued. "But one thing we all agree on is that life is better when we try to coexist peacefully than when we're fighting each other. In fact, that's what the Federation is all about." She surveyed them, hands on her hips. "So what do you say? You don't have to like each other, but are you willing to at least try to make amends and live in peace?"

It was a long shot, but a long shot that had paid off time and time again over the course of Federation history. Carol watched as the General and the Prime Minister began to shuffle their feet and eye each other, and held her breath.

---

Night had fallen and the woods were getting bitterly cold by the time the support team heard the familiar signs of someone beaming down to ground outside. They peered through the window and then let out whoops of relief as T'Ana pushed the broken door aside (they'd placed it like a panel over the opening to keep the heat in) and surveyed the five of them. "You kids okay?"

"Well enough, Doctor, thank you," T'Lyn replied, still hovering next to the heater and now wrapped in a foil emergency blanket. T'Ana gave her a dubious look and scanned her with a medical tricorder.

"You're not hypothermic but I still want you to report to medbay; cold planets like this are hell on Vulcan circulation. Good job keeping her alive, Ensign," she said with a nod to Tendi. "Ensign Boimler, your nose okay? Looks like you lost a lot of blood."

"Tendi fixed it with her medkit's bone regenerator," he said, rubbing it gingerly, "but it's a little crooked."

"Eh that's just cosmetic; stop by medbay later this week and I'll fix it for you. You three good?" The others nodded, and she tapped her badge. "T'Ana to transporter bay, six to beam up."

"Acknowledged, standby."

There was a brief pause as the world melted away into the glowing blue lights and then strange nothingness of teleportation, and then the bay materialized around them. "By the way, your mom's sorting stuff out with the Gabatrossi and Phluxian leaders in her ready room," T'Ana added to Mariner as she guided T'Lyn towards the door. "I'm sure she'd appreciate seeing you before you turn in, she was pretty worried about you."

"Thanks doc, will do."

Tendi and Rutherford paused on their way out the door as well. "Sam and I are going to go clean up," she offered. "You guys wanna get dinner with us after you talk to the Captain?"

"Not tonight," Boimler said, to Mariner's surprise. "I think I need some rest."

The two scientists tried and failed to hide their relief. "Totally fair!" Tendi chirped, already backing towards the door. "Long day, you know, stressful–"

"Yeah, you guys take all the time you need," Rutherford insisted. They were gone a moment later, and Mariner whistled.

Wow. They couldn't get away from us fast enough, huh. She turned back and added aloud, "You're going to talk to the Captain too?"

"Yeah, if that's okay?" he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as they left the bay and headed for the turbolift. "I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get brig time for 'brawling with a fellow officer,' may as well get it over with."

"Well if you're going to brig then I'll be right there with you," she snorted, and then fell silent. A tension still hung in the air; they'd agreed to a truce until the mission was finished, but now that they were back aboard-ship…

Mariner? Boimler asked abruptly. We can work things out, right?

The internal doubt still flooded across the interlink, but outwardly she shrugged and put on a confident nod. "'Course. I mean, if two species who hate each other as much as these guys do can figure their shit out–" she nudged him as they rounded the corner, "–then how hard can it be?"

They paused as they reached the turbolift; as if summoned by their conversation, the doors opened to reveal the General and Prime Minister, escorted by a not-insignificant number of security officers. As they passed them by, Mariner saw the General's eyes track onto her and then look away again, the other woman shaking her head in annoyance. What was that about? she wondered, and Boimler shrugged.

As Dr. T'Ana had said, the captain was still in her ready-room when they arrived from the bridge, sitting at her computer and rubbing her forehead. She looked up as the doors opened and then quickly hurried over, pulling her daughter into a relieved hug. "Hey, Mom," Mariner said with a wry smile.

"Beckett," she sighed and squeezed her tight. "You had me worried."

"Come on, this is me we're talking about. A little explosion and some hypothermia can't keep me down."

Carol chuckled, still not letting her go. "That's my girl." Mariner tolerated the hug for a moment longer— Okay, fine, it's actually really nice, she admitted to Boimler's smug skepticism—and then drew back eagerly.

"So what happened? Are they joining the Federation?" But as she at last looked up and met her mothers' eyes, both her and Boimler's faces fell. Despite her relief, the captain still looked tired and drawn. "...Mom?"

Carol sighed and stepped back, going back around behind the desk. "The Gabatrossi and the Phluxians are going to war. Again. Apparently it's the one thing they can both agree on; obviously, the Federation can't get involved." She sat down and shook her head, failing not to look bitter as she pulled up something on her computer. "I guess some people just aren't capable of getting along."

Mariner and Boimler watched her, their good mood vanishing like smoke. Their recent conversation was echoing louder and louder in their minds; suddenly the idea of basing their hope for the future on Starfleet gumption and a stick of dry licorice seemed less less like a real plan and more like flimsy symbolism.

They gave their perfunctory goodnights; if the captain noticed anything, she was either too exhausted or too busy to let on. Once they'd crossed the bridge and were safely in the privacy of the turbolift, they found themselves unable not to look at each other with mounting panic. "…Bar?" Boimler suggested weakly.

"Bar," Mariner agreed, and punched the button. Maybe if they were fast enough, they could get a few drinks down before the depression set in.

---

"And it looks like your temperature is back to normal," Dr. T'Ana declared, lowering her tricorder. "You're free to go whenever you want."

The Vulcan woman nodded and shrugged off her foil blanket, glad to see that the coloration of her hands was back to their usual healthy green instead of the hypothermic peach-white. "Thank you, Doctor. If you are assured I am back to good health, I will return to my quarters."

T'Ana waved her off. "Go on– oh, wait." She paused as her Padd dinged and a message appeared. "Huh. Looks like Ransom wants to talk to you in his office, he asked if you were still here."

The younger woman's heart sank, but she merely nodded. "Of course. Please inform him I am on my way."

Five minutes later, T'Lyn found herself standing in front of the XO office's door, trying to work up the courage to announce her presence. Fear was an illogical emotion. Whatever lecture she was about to get would happen regardless of whether she waited another thirty seconds or not.

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Commander Ransom, sir?" The door beeped on the other side and announced her presence, and she heard a "Come in," from the other side of the door before it opened.

T'Lyn stepped inside and took a moment to analyze the room around her as the doors slid shut behind her. Behind the standard desk-and-monitor setup was a rack of dumbbells, with a large barbell on a stand to the right. On the shelves behind the stand were what looked like exercise shakes, some more weights and, almost hidden by the clutter, several impressive awards for distinguished service. Curious. Setak would probably have had a more nuanced take, but from what T'Lyn could see, this looked like the office of someone who viewed himself less professionally than his qualifications would indicate.

"Lt. T'Lyn." She straightened up and turned to see the commander himself, still dressed in his snow jacket and picking up a cup of coffee from the office replicator. "You got any idea why I called you in here?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"Uhuh." He took a sip from his coffee as he walked over to lean on the desk, studying her, and then reached behind him. When he held up a Padd, it took every ounce of self-mastery she possessed not to let her face fall; the interface was entirely in Vulcan, and she realized it was hers. "When the five of you got beamed away, this got left behind on the ground. I had the investigation team look through your Padd's data analyses to see if they had any clues where you guys had landed."

He held it out to her, and, chagrined, she accepted it back. "Obviously they didn't give us anything useful, but according to the machine's usage report, your music app was playing for most of the mission." T'Lyn did not respond. "Got anything to say about that?"

"Sir. Given that Ensign Mariner and Ensign Boimler's…conflict, was disrupting my concentration, I thought it would be a prudent efficiency measure."

"Really. So it's not just because you were annoyed with them?"

"Vulcans do not get 'annoyed.'"

"Bull and shit," the commander said bluntly. The data officer flushed. "That might have worked at the Academy, but my best friend growing up was a Vulcan so I'm not buying it. Now be straight with me, Lieutenant, or get out of my office."

"…Their disagreement was indeed a frustrating matter to which to be privy, Commander."

Ransom nodded and set his mug down. "You got any idea why I keep assigning you to different stations, Lieutenant?"

"I assumed it was standard Starfleet procedure, Sir."

"Well it's not. Little-known command secret, we like to mix around lower-deckers until they form their own little working teams on their own, then we start assigning them to the same duty shifts. Couple of command-trackers, a science officer or two, usually an engineer—over time, they learn each other's quirks and little habits. They become better and more efficient officers together than they are apart."

"I do not believe there is any regulation requiring me to be friends with my coworkers, Commander," T'Lyn said bluntly.

"There's not. But seeing's how the whole goal of Starfleet is inter-species harmony, you might want to consider whether this is really the career for you." He pulled up the duty roster on his Padd and tapped several boxes. "I'm assigning you to work with Ensign Boimler's team for the next month. If it's not a good fit we'll move you again, but I'd like you to try to make this work, got it?"

"Yes, Sir." Her voice and face were impassive, but behind the façade he could detect both annoyance and embarrassment.

"Glad to hear it. Dismissed, Lieutenant." She nodded and turned for the door, when he added: "By the way–" She glanced back, and he continued in a kinder tone: "–Most officers get homesick during their first tour of duty. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"This is not my first service on a starship, Sir."

"But before now you were always with other Vulcans, right? And we haven't swung by your homeworld for almost a year now. It's been a long time since you've seen your family in person." She, reluctantly, gave another short nod. "Speaking from personal experience, the best way to deal with missing the people you care about is to make some new friends where you are. Required or not, you might consider giving it a try."

"...Thank you, Sir."

He gave her a nod, and she turned and left, the door sliding shut behind her. Embarrassment was, of course, an irrational emotion—but then again, so was gratitude. Perhaps the commander's words had some logic to them, especially since he seemed to be the only person aboard this ship to realize that a Vulcan, too, could experience—what was that human word? Home-sickness. A fitting description.

She stepped into the lift and checked the time on her Padd; Setak wouldn't be calling for another hour. T'Lyn hesitated, looking at the button that would take her to the hallway that held her bunk…and then selected the button for the bar instead.

---

The bar was, thankfully, busy enough that nobody paid attention to the depressed ensigns sitting at the shadowy end of the counter—or perhaps, Mariner thought darkly, everyone was just avoiding them. Between the general existential terror brought on by any reminder of the Borg and the strong "drinking to forget the horrors" vibes they were giving off, she couldn't exactly blame them: neither had bothered to change out of their beat-up uniforms (Boimler's was still stained with a shocking amount of dried blood from his broken nose), and a haphazard row of shot-glasses sat in front of them, about half of which still held helpings of something clear-colored from the replicator.

"If they're avoiding us, then I'm not complaining," Bradward answered next to her, picking up one of his glasses. "Also, you of all people know this stuff isn't actually going to get us drunk, right? You can't lose control on synthehol."

"Yup. Worst thing about it," Mariner said, knocking back another shot. This is just pre-gaming, Boims; I've still got some Romulan whiskey hidden in storage closet 9.

He snorted and half-raised his own shot glass, before he faltered, looking down into it. Mariner set her own down and gave him a hazy look. "You have to drink it, Bradward. That's how this whole thing works."

He huffed again. "Right." But still he hesitated, looking down into the glass.

Mariner felt her stomach church queasily, and not from the synthehol; his thoughts were slightly muted from the drinking, but she could still feel his anxiety churning underneath the haze of replicated alcohol. Boims–?

Maybe your mom's right. He glanced sideways at her, nervous. Maybe some people just…can't get along.

They stared at each other for several seconds, the thing they were both desperately trying not to think echoing louder and louder between them, before he abruptly broke eye contact and downed the shot. "Brad– c'mon, don't say that," Mariner said weakly. "We've had fights before, we've always figured it out–"

"Yeah except this isn't like those other times, Mariner." He set the glass down again, peering now into the empty bottom—mostly to look at something other than her. "It's like I said before, we got through those arguments because whatever petty bullshit we were fighting over meant less to us than our friendship. How long do you think that's going to last?"

"What's– what's that supposed to mean, what–"

I mean if things keep going as bad as they did today then our friendship isn't going to survive this, and probably neither are we.

He didn't say it aloud, but he didn't need to. Mariner gaped, her eyes stinging, and then she smacked her glass down on the table and jabbed a finger at him. "You take that back, Bradward Boimler, you take it back right now–"

"I'm just trying to be realistic," he snapped back. "Mariner, the last people stuck in this position literally drove each other so insane that it broke their minds. They had to choose between returning to the Borg or dying; if they couldn't handle it—

"That was different!" she insisted. "Of course they couldn't handle it, they were just three randos thrown into the situation together; we're – !"

"And our being friends is making it worse! We know exactly how to hurt each other, and now that we can read each other's minds we're doing it without even trying to. It would be better if we were strangers." He met her eyes, letting them both see and feel for the first time all day just how scared he really was. "Look, we've both been trying not to think about it," he said, shaken, "but let's just admit it: part of the reason we've been at each other's throats all week is because we're pretty sure we already know how this ends."

Mariner stared at him for a long moment before she turned forward again, her inner panic rising to a full-on monologue and a lump growing in her throat. No. No no no no no, come on, Mariner, you can fix this, come on… Brad winced; he knew Mariner had abandonment issues—heck, the whole crew probably knew it by now—but he had nothing comforting he could say to her, let alone himself.

"Shut up, no I don't," Mariner snapped as she scrubbed her eyes and waved down the bartender; right, of course she'd heard him thinking that. "Yeah, no shit Boims. Yo, bartender! Three shots of Montgommery Reserve each, and give us the real stuff!"

"Uh– you sure? That's gonna be at least eighty credits," the bartender said warily, as Boimler added internally, Yeah, what about storage closet 9?

"You just told me our friendship is doomed and so are we," Mariner said under her breath, pulling out her credits card as the bartender took out the glasses. "We're not gonna make it to storage closet 9."

On the other side of the room, the bar's doors slid open and Lt. T'Lyn stepped inside, looking around. Anxiety may have been an illogical emotion, but regardless, she was not particularly looking forward to "socializing" with strangers. As her gaze landed on the end of the bar, however, she spotted two familiar figures. "Ensigns," she said as she approached, causing the two redshirts to turn around in surprise. "Good evening."

"Oh. Uh, Lieutenant T'Lyn, hey."

She briefly inclined her head and then glanced at the empty chair beside them. "May I sit with you?"

"Oh. Um, no offense," Boimler glanced at Mariner, "but I don't think we'd be great company at the moment."

"Yeah I mean you heard us fighting all day, you seriously want to be around all this toxic shit?" Mariner added, vaguely gesturing between herself and Boimler.

The Vulcan's cheeks went slightly green. "Actually, I realized quite early in the mission that I would have greater success focusing on my work by listening to music, instead of your…disagreements."

"Wait, for real? You were ignoring us the whole time?" T'Lyn nodded. "Damn, that's cold. But I guess we can't blame you, we were being kind of the worst…"

"Yeah, even we can't stand ourselves right now," Boimler agreed morosely.

The Vulcan bit her tongue, and then, remembering what the commander had said, took a deep breath and sat down next to the humans. "Ensign Boimler. It appears I have been assigned to your team for the next month."

The human frowned, picking up his glass. "Sorry, my what?"

"Your team. It appears that the senior staff prefers to create small groups of coworkers among the lower decks to increase efficiency; Ensign Boimler's team is my new assignment." She nodded to the bartender as he approached and accepted the proffered drink of synthetic Vulcan brandy.

"Boimler's team? Uh, no no," Mariner snorted, "if anyone is in charge of our little friend group, it's me."

"Apparently not from the bridge's perspective," the human male preened.

"Oh please, I am way more qualified for leadership than you! I'm insightful, decisive–"

"Bossy?"

"Yeah! Like a good leader should be!"

T'Lyn cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow, drawing their attention. "This is my point. Perhaps it would be a prudent measure to resolve whatever the root tension is between the two of you, given that you do indeed seem to be the leaders–" both of them looked at least a little mollified at the plural, "–of your team."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure that's going to be possible," said Boimler, turning depressed again. "Not with this complicating everything." He tapped the side of the implant's silvery protrusion around his eye, and the Vulcan frowned.

"Your Borg implants are causing you some distress?"

"You could say that," Mariner snorted, and then replied to her questioning look, "Boims and I are stuck in an interlink, we hear all of each other's thoughts." T'Lyn's eyes widened in understanding. "And we are ve- ery different people."

"Honestly, T'Lyn, you should ask Ransom to reassign you elsewhere," Boimler admitted. "We're pretty sure this is going to go downhill fast, you shouldn't have to get caught in the crossfire."

"I see. And that is why you're drinking so heavily tonight?"

Boimler looked somewhere between embarrassed and offended, but Mariner just raised her glass in a mock-tribute. "Yup. Drowning our sorrows and apparently–" she shot Bradward a look, "–toasting the end of a great friendship."

"You're acting like I want that to happen; I don't!" Boimler argued. "But considering that the last people in this situation literally preferred dying to staying in the interlink, I'd say I'm being pretty reasonable!"

"So what, you'd rather die than be stuck in this with me, is that what you're s–"

"Of course not, but we need to be realistic–"

"May I show you what I was listening to today?" T'Lyn interrupted, cutting them off before their bickering could get worse. At their annoyed expressions she added, "I promise, it is relevant to your situation."

The two humans shared a hesitant look, before Boimler sighed and shrugged tiredly. "Sure, why not. It's not like today can get any worse."

Ignoring the less-than-tactful comment, T'Lyn took out her Padd and opened up the music app. A moment later the sound of plucking strings began to sound quietly from the speakers; thankfully the humans' arguing had already driven off anyone who might have been tempted to sit next to them at the bar, so T'Lyn turned up the music and let it play.

"Great, Vulcan harp," Mariner said dryly. "Look, if you're trying to make a point here you're gonna have to spell it out, it's been a long day."

"This is not Vulcan harp."

The human woman frowned, listening closer, and then her eyes widened. "Hang on—this is blues. Like old-school stuff too." She looked at T'Lyn with surprise. "I didn't know you listened to human music."

"Every Vulcan child has heard this piece." As the singer began to hum T'Lyn swiped the cover image off the screen and into the air as a hologram—specifically, a hologram of a gold-plated, old-fashioned vinyl record.

"The Golden Record," Boimler realized, watching the hologram spin slowly. "The one they sent out on the old Voyager probes back in the twentieth century."

"Indeed. This is Dark Was the Night, by the human composer Blind Willie Johnson—the penultimate recording on the disk." She tilted her head pensively at the spinning disk. "Although there were many noteworthy pieces of human music on the record, I was always most impressed by this one." She quirked an eyebrow. "Perhaps because it does sound a bit like a Vulcan meditative harp. At any rate, this music was what initiated humanity's first contact with my people."

"Uhh sorry, what?" Boimler said, a bit bemused. "Humanity's First Contact happened after the T'Plana-Hath picked up the Phoenix's warp signature, everyone knows that."

"You misunderstand me. That was the first time Vulcans made contact with you." The pair blinked. "Humanity made first contact with us eight decades previous, when an observation vessel of ours monitoring your progress encountered your Voyager probe. A scan of the probe and its contents was made from a safe distance and then transported back to Vulcan for analysis, where we deciphered your 'Golden Record' and found a message encoded to us—people you had no proof even existed. It remains the only time a pre-warp species has made first contact with us, instead of the other way around."

"Okay…?"

"Even with the grave problems humanity was facing at the time, your people sent a message out into the galaxy," T'Lyn continued, "not as a warning, not as a matter of mere scientific curiosity, but as a greeting. You believed that whoever encountered it would not only be able to understand it, but would also react with friendship and curiosity towards your species instead of hostility. It was, frankly, an audacious belief, especially given the state of humanity in the twentieth century. My people were surprised. We could not understand how a species who had just invented weapons of mass destruction could be so optimistic about the goodwill of their unknown neighbors."

"Not that I'm not loving the history lesson," said Mariner, "but I don't really get what this has to do with our whole Borg situation."

T'Lyn gave a small, slightly ironic smile as she picked up her drink. "Humans: a vulcanoid species, intelligent, adaptable—and incredibly, some might even say illogically, hopeful. That was our first impression of you." Mariner and Boimler shared a surprised glance. "Your people have a fascinating ability to make friends in the unlikeliest corners of the galaxy, and despite much early evidence to the contrary, humans never stopped believing that disparate species could work together."

"Well, we have to believe that," Boimler said with a shrug. "I mean, Earth has so many different cultures and beliefs, and nobody ever agrees on everything."

"Yeah, we almost wiped ourselves out a few times. If we hadn't learned to get along, we'd have died off," Mariner agreed.

"Indeed," T'Lyn said, quirking an eyebrow. "An outside observer like myself might even say that to give up on your illogical faith in the ability of different people to 'get along,' perhaps especially when it seems most impossible, seems to mean giving up on what it means to be human."

As was so common with humans, she watched as a variety of emotions crossed their faces at her statement—surprised, embarrassed, and even offended. She waited patiently for another few seconds (a loud outburst, she had learned, was not unusual at this point in telling humans things they ought to have already known), but thankfully Ensign Mariner relaxed, snickering ruefully. "Wow. She got us, Boims."

"Yeah… yeah, I guess so," he admitted. "You're right. We've been wallowing in self-pity—okay, I've been wallowing," he said with an eye roll, apparently responding to some unspoken criticism from the human woman. "But you haven't exactly been looking for solutions except for brute-forcing it, either."

"Yeah, okay, fair. I guess I was just scared you were right. I'll…ugh, I'll work on making some compromises and letting things go if you do, okay?"

"That's fair. And I promise, no more giving into despair," he vowed. "We're going to figure this out if it kills us—metaphorically speaking."

"I am glad to hear it," T'Lyn said mildly, picking up her drink. "It would be a great loss to the ship's efficiency if my team's leaders kept getting into fistfights on away-missions."

"Yeah well, don't worry about that," Mariner snorted and rubbed her nose ruefully.

"What are you complaining about, mine's the one that got broken."

"It doesn't mean it didn't hurt! I–"

T'Lyn continued to sip on her drink, watching the two humans engage in their newest bout of bickering (though T'Lyn suspected from their tones that this argument was a friendlier one)—at least until an alert went off on her Padd, causing her to check the time. Ah. It was nearly nine in the evening on Vulcan—Setak would probably be waiting on her. "I believe that is, as you humans say, 'my cue.' If you will excuse me, I have a friend who is waiting on a call with me."

"Oh," said Mariner with surprise. "Uh, yeah, no worries; have a goodnight T'Lyn."

The Vulcan inclined her head to the two of them, stood up and walked away, leaving her drink half-finished behind her. At that same moment, the doors to the bar slid open and Tendi and Rutherford walked inside; T'Lyn gave them a short nod as she passed, earning a surprised look from the pair which she, of course, ignored. Boimler waved to the two newcomers as the door slid shut behind her and they walked over.

"Was that T'Lyn?" Tendi inquired, sitting down. "Also, weren't you guys going to bed?"

"Yeah, uh, we had a change of plans." Boimler glanced at Mariner and added, "T'Lyn actually gave us some pretty good advice."

"She did? About what?"

"Uh–" Even without speaking, both had an internal agreement that they didn't want to tell their friends how close to despair they'd actually been—not tonight, anyway. "Just, y'know, the Borg stuff," Mariner said vaguely. "And– listen, guys, we know we've been a pain in the ass today, T'Lyn even said she was listening to music the whole time to ignore us. We're sorry for stressing you out."

"Oh, um, stressing us out?" Tendi said, trying to look nonchalant. "What do you mean?"

"Tendi, c'mon," Mariner snorted, picking up one of her glasses. "We've been your friends for years, we can tell when you're being fake-happy around us."

"You can?"

"Yeah, and Rutherford never yells at people for screwing around on a mission, that's usually my job," Boimler pointed out. The engineer blushed. "We must've really been putting you guys on edge."

The two scientists glanced at each other before Rutherford sighed and admitted ruefully, "It's not your fault. Actually, we've sort of been having our own argument for the last few days."

"But it's not your problem to worry about," Tendi added quickly. "We know you're under enough stress as it is; that's why we didn't want to fight around you."

"Thanks, guys, that's really– wait, hang on." Mariner glanced at Boimler, whose eyes widened slightly.

"You really think that could work?"

"It's worth a shot. I mean they held it together all day around us, they must know something we don't."

"What's going on?" Tendi said in confusion, looking between the two of them.

"Mariner thinks that maybe you guys could give us some tips. You know, on how to argue without getting into a huge fight," Boimler explained. When Tendi and Rutherford looked surprised he added, "We know it's not exactly the same as being in a romantic relationship–"

"–But Boims and I are definitely in some kind of weird relationship right now, plus you were stuck in a shuttlecraft for six months. Those things are tiny, you must have figured something out or you would've murdered each other, right?" Mariner said, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt.

"That's…true," Tendi said, glancing at Rutherford. "We did fight a lot right when we first set out on the Modesto."

He winced and rubbed his neck. "Yeah, the Captain almost threw us out the airlock a few times…I guess we could work things out in front of them?" he offered to Tendi, who bit her lip.

"I-I don't know, fighting in public…" She glanced over. Mariner and Boimler were both giving her pleading eyes, and she wavered for a moment and then took a deep breath, nodding. "Fine, okay. Basically, there's this band Sam really likes that's doing a livestream holo-concert. I don't want to go, but he doesn't want to go without me."

Wait– seriously? That's it, that's their big fight? Man these two really are on another level, Mariner wondered, before Boimler mentally shushed her.

"It's not just a band, it's my favorite band, and also I thought it'd be nice to go on a real date! You know, after being stuck in a tiny ship for a year!" Rutherford argued.

"It's not a date if you're the only one who wants to go! Why can't you just go without me!"

"It's not the same! Besides, why can't you come even if it's just to support me!"

"Why would you need support at a concert ?!"

Rutherford ignored this. "I've done stuff for you that I don't like! Like what about all those senior science officer conferences I went to with you last year!"

"Wh– I thought you liked those conferences!"

"No! I hated them! Everyone made fun of me for being an engineer; what's so wrong with being an engineer?!"

Tendi blinked. "So…you were going…just to support me?"

"Yes! Because you're brilliant and amazing and I want you to get the promotion!"

"But I had no idea! You never told me!"

He scoffed and crossed his arms. "Well maybe I shouldn't have had to tell you! Maybe this whole intuition thing goes both ways!" Tendi raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms as well, and he relented. "...Sorry. That was hitting below the belt."

"A little, yeah," she said coolly. He winced, and she took a deep breath and then softened. "So…how about this? You don't have to go to my SSO conferences anymore, and you can go to the concert on your own?"

"But I really want you to like this band! It's important to me!"

"Sam, I'm not just going to like music I don't enjoy!"

"I know," he sighed, still frustrated. "I know, I'm being stupid."

"Don't say that." She reached forward and took his hand. "If it matters to you then it matters—but why does this mean so much to you? Is it just the music?" Sam pursed his lips, and then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"...They were one of my favorite bands when I was at the Academy," he admitted, "and then I used to listen to them all the time when I was in the hospital, y'know, when I was recovering from getting my implant? I was so stressed all the time and I had no idea why…well, now I do, obviously. I don't remember a lot from that time, but I know that the music I liked was one of the things that stayed the same between the person I used to be and…the person I was after."

"Oh, Sam…"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to force you to like it." He squeezed her hand. "I like who I am now, and the life I've got. But sometimes it still really freaks me out that somebody else changed my personality. It makes me wonder if I…really know who I am. If you'd…still like me, even if I hadn't gotten my implant."

"I'm so sorry, Sam, I had no idea! Of course we can go to the concert together."

"It's okay, you don't have to." He hesitated, and then asked, "But could you at least listen to one of their albums? Even if you don't totally get it?"

"Of course," Tendi agreed, and then winced. "And…you're right. I was doing the whole 'fighting without fighting' thing. I-It's just that people on Orion interact way differently! Implication is everything there, whereas you humans are so blunt all the time!"

"Uh, yeah, that's actually just a West Coast thing," Mariner piped in.

"Trying to guess what other people are thinking and feeling, picking up on signals, hiding how you really feel—it's all part of how I was raised," she sighed, rubbing her arm. "Sometimes it just feels like we're talking in two different languages, and it makes little fights into something way worse. I'm really sorry, Sam."

"Hey, let's give ourselves some slack. I mean we literally are speaking different languages–" he nodded to her badge, making her chuckle, "–and besides, we just got back from living in a tiny spacecraft for a year, we're still adjusting! There's going to be some growing pains, y'know?"

Tendi smiled, relieved. "You're right." She kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Sam. And I'm sorry again."

"Me too." The looked lovingly into each other's eyes, before Mariner's voice broke in, incredulous:

"Wait– that's it?" Both turned back to her. "One moment you were super angry with each other and then– seriously, how did you do that?"

"Well, the secret to any healthy relationship is communication–" Tendi began, mouth quirking as she looked at Rutherford.

"–and compromise," he finished brightly. "Oh, and lots of practice." Tendi giggled.

"You've got to be willing to let things go, and trust each other that the other person has your best interests at heart, even if it doesn't feel like it in the moment," she added. "That's the only way you can be emotionally vulnerable. It does take some getting used to, but it's worth it."

Mariner and Boimler looked at each other, nervous, and then, much to his surprise, she took a deep breath first. "I'm sorry," she confessed. "For real. I was… ugh, I was such a dick out there today."

"Yeah well, you weren't the only one," he admitted ruefully. She rubbed her forehead and gave him a pleading look.

"Do you really think I bully you?" He hesitated, but she heard the internal Yes anyway, and let out a groan. "Ugh, I'm sorry. I know, I know I do that, I just–"

"It's okay," he said awkwardly. "I-I know you're usually just teasing, but—it's hard to let it go and ignore you since, y'know, you are so competent. I really take your opinion to heart."

"I'm sorry, Boims," she insisted, "really. I guess I just…"

She trailed off, her eyes widening. Across from her Boimler's own eyebrows rose. "Wait—really?" He sounded surprised and strangely hopeful. "You actually think that?"

"What? What just happened?" a voice demanded, drawing their attention, and they all looked over to see the bartender watching them. The man scowled. "What! I sit here all day listening to my customer's problems and never get to see how they end! I like conclusions as much as the next person!"

Mariner rolled her eyes. "I, uh… I realized that maybe the reason I'm so hard on Boimler is that… I'm jealous of you," she admitted, turning back to him. "Being a badass with great hair and roguish charm isn't enough these days. You're what modern Starfleet actually wants—dependable, reliable, follows the rules–"

"You're selling yourself short," he objected, "and besides, we both know 'following the rules' only gets you so far, I'm shit at improvising on the fly like you do."

"You're not actually that bad, you just panic a little first–"

"It sounds to me," Tendi interrupted with a knowing smile, "that what you're saying is that you both have your strengths and weaknesses, and because of that, you make a pretty good team."

Mariner and Boimler looked at each other and smiled. "I guess we do," he agreed. She grinned broadly.

"See? I knew we'd figure it out!" She slung her arm over his shoulder and called, "The band is back together baby, Mariner and Boimler against the universe!"

"Oh man," the bartender sniffed, wiping an eye. "I love a happy ending. Round of drinks on the house for all four of ya—and your Vulcan friend too, if she ever comes back. Where did she go, anyway?"

Mariner shrugged. "Said she had a call. But I get hers if she doesn't come back!"

"You've got four in front of you already, let someone else have some fun," Tendi scolded, picking up T'Lyn's shot while Mariner pouted.

"You know," Boimler mused, "you did have one fair point, Mariner, I am good at following rules." She raised her eyebrows as she picked up one of her remaining glasses. "If we're going to have to deal with this long-term, it couldn't hurt to set some expectations."

"You mean like, 'no eating food the other person thinks is disgusting?'" She said archly, but his eyes lit up and he pulled out his pad.

"That sounds like a good Rule Number One to me. Rule Number Two–" He gave her a meaningful look, "no holding the other person's thoughts against them unless it's obviously intentional; we can't control what goes through our heads, unless the other person says something out loud it's not fair to judge them for it."

"Fair enough," she conceded. "Rule Number Three, you've got to read something other than the handbook Boims, it's driving me up a fucking wall."

"I read things other than the handbook, okay," he reassured Tendi and Rutherford, but then added under his breath, "Rule Number Four, no making fun of my hobbies…"

"Sorry, sorry! Ooh, Rule Number Five, no whistling super annoying songs during a sonic shower if the other person is still asleep…"

"Mariner, I'm telling you, you'll feel a lot better if you get up more than twenty minutes before your shift…"

---

Carol looked over the report one last time and then, realizing it wasn't going to get any less damning, sighed and tapped the submit button. The little Mission: FAILED looked back at her, and Carol could have sworn it was mocking her.

The door beeped, and she stood up with another repressed sigh. "Come in." As the door slid open, however, her face fell flat: Commander Ransom— Lieutenant, she reminded herself savagely—didn't meet her eyes as he stepped inside, instead clasping his hands behind his back and looking at a spot behind her on the wall.

"Jack," she said curtly. "Can I help you?"

"I assumed you would want to take disciplinary measures, Captain. You were right, I was…out of line."

She snorted, walking around from behind her desk. "I already knocked you down a full pip, Jack, you must be a glutton for punishment." He didn't answer, still staring at that spot on the wall, and she rolled her eyes. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant. We'll discuss this more in the morning."

"Yes, Captain." He turned to go, and then hesitated, glancing back. The woman was leaning against her desk, looking downright depressed. "...By the way, Captain," he said, deciding the risk was worth it, "you shouldn't blame yourself."

Her eyes flashed up at him. "What?" But Jack stood his ground, unclasping his hands.

"The Gabatrossi were never going to agree to a permanent ceasefire; you saw the General, she was out for blood. Maybe the Phluxians would have agreed, but honestly I've looked at their major politicians and they were pretty much all being funded by wealthy businesses. They were probably looking for an excuse to turn down our offer of replicators anyway to stay in power."

Carol stared at him, her right eye beginning to twitch. Ransom frowned, growing even more nervous. "Captain–?"

"Are you kidding me?!" she exploded.

"What–?"

"You spend the whole mission undermining me and now you come in here trying to make me feel better?! Pick a lane, Jack!"

"Wh– I wasn't trying to undermine you! I was trying to help! " She scoffed. "I'm telling the truth! I have been nothing but loyal to you and this ship since day one, you seriously think I'm trying to sabotage you?!"

"With all the bullshit you pulled today, yeah, Jack, I'm starting to!" He scoffed in disbelief and she rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, just cut the crap! If you were trying to help me then why the hell did you keep trying to take control of the mission?!"

"Because I'm scared you'll burn out and leave me in charge of the ship for good, alright!"

Carol blinked, and then blinked again. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Is that what you wanted to hear?! I don't want to be a captain yet, okay, I'm not ready! There, I said it!"

"I– Jack, hang on–" Her exhausted brain was struggling mightily to shift gears, but Jack barrelled on ahead of her:

"And fucking hell, Captain, it was so hard! Every day there were a thousand decisions I had to make and I always made at least half of them wrong, and that was on a good day, let alone the days where we got attacked by giant space-squids or a crystalline entity or–"

"Huh, is it crystalline entity season again already?" she wondered. He threw his hands up into the air.

"I had no idea what I was doing! Every day I was sure that this was the day HQ would bust me back down to first mate and put a real captain in charge, and you know what was the worst part?! They never did! Like seriously, what were they thinking?! Who decided I was qualified to run a starship with hundreds of lives at stake?!"

"Jack, calm down," Carol said, alarmed; he heaved several deep breaths. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad–"

"Yes it was," he groaned, sitting down in her chair and burying his head in his hands. "I was a shit captain and I don't care what people said to my face, I know they were all thinking it behind my back."

Carol pursed her lips, but Jack rambled miserably on: "I'd get us out of one crazy situation and by the next week there'd be a whole new one to worry about; I must have broken about a thousand regulations, and some of our second-contact missions went completely off the rails—after all my big talk as a commander, it turned out I was just a total fraud. And everyone knew it."

For a long moment, there was silence in the office. Carol could have kicked herself; it was easy to forget sometimes that, for all his bravado, Jack was only a few years older than Mariner, still young as far as senior officers went. And if she, a woman in her fifties, was still this insecure about how good she was at her job…

Jack felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, surprised. "Captain–?"

"Did you finish your missions with minimal damage or embarrassment to the Federation?" the woman asked bluntly.

"Um– y-yes?"

"Is most of the crew still alive?"

"Y-yeah, I mean, some of them got turned into giant bumblebees and had to spend a few weeks at the Farm, but they're okay now."

"Did you accidentally open any temporal rifts or pocket dimensions or warp your crew into uncharted territory?"

"What? No, of course not! We're a California-class ship; I wouldn't fuck around with that stuff!"

"Then I'd say, you made a pretty damn good captain."

He stared at her. "But…I was freaking out. Like, all the time. I tried not to show it, but on the inside? I was terrified."

"Uh, yeah!" Carol chuckled. "C'mon, Jack, do you seriously think I'm 100% sure of myself every time I make a big decision?" At his stunned face she outright laughed. "Please! This is Starfleet; we can't plan for all the crazy shit we encounter! If we're not winging it half the time, then we're probably not doing our jobs!"

"But you always seem so in control of things…"

"Sure, I seem in control. If the crew saw me panic, well, they'd all panic too! But that doesn't mean I'm not as scared as anyone else. I'm bullshitting it, Jack. Everyone is."

"Really?" She nodded. "So…how do you handle it?"

"Well, I talk with people who can understand," she said, shrugging. "Mostly Zo; sometimes T'Ana and Shaxs…honestly, we were all wondering when you'd drop the Kirk act and open up to us a little." She chuckled again and held out a hand. "I guess we were fooling you as much as you were fooling us."

He exhaled and took the hand, looking significantly more at ease as she pulled him to his feet. "Thanks, Captain. I, uh, I needed to hear that."

"No trouble at all— Commander," she said, clapping him on the back and escorting him out of the room. "Why don't we go to the bar and really talk about what happened while I was away? Sounds like I owe you a drink."

---

Commander's Log, supplemental: after some logistical discussions, Captain Freeman and I have agreed that we will split captain's duties equally for another two weeks while she settles back into life aboard the ship, and then I will transition full-time back into my role as first mate. Although my tenure in charge of this ship has been highly educational, I think it is good for crew morale to have her back on the Cerritos.

She's a good captain. We're lucky to have her.

---

The lights in the delta-shift hallway were still dim when T'Lyn arrived, though many of her fellow shift-mates were beginning to rise and head off to the sonic showers, yawning and carrying their uniforms. The Vulcan gave a brief nod to Ensign Escher as she passed and then, after hanging her snow-jacket in the extending closet-nook, sat down in her bunk. "Computer," she called, "Force-field transparency and sound-proofing, 100%."

Immediately a forcefield crackled to life over the opening of her bunk and turned opaque; the sound of the hallway faded away into silence. "Lights, 10%."

As the bunk light dimmed, T'Lyn unlocked her Padd and opened up the video call application. Beside her (relatively short) list of contacts, one name stood out with a green "online" dot next to it: Setak, Son of Sepek . T'Lyn selected the name and waited patiently as the call dialed.

A moment later, the face of a young, dark-haired Vulcan man appeared in the window. From the dimness of the office behind him and the faint glow of his desk lamp, it was clear that it was late into the night on his end. "T'Lyn. Good evening."

"Good evening, Setak. How are you?"

"Well enough, and you?"

She decided not to comment upon the well enough, which no doubt meant sleep deprivation and not having left his office in far too many hours. "I am in sufficiently good health." He quirked an eyebrow, curious, and she added, "I was assigned to an away-mission to a particularly cold planet. The mission did not entirely proceed as intended, but I am fine now."

"...I see," he said, giving her a searching look that meant he was trying not to be alarmed at the thought of her in danger. She repressed the urge to roll her eyes like a human, but couldn't help but admonish:

"You worry too much, Setak. I am quite well, I assure you."

"I always worry about you," he said brazenly, and her cheeks greened as she glanced away, not entirely succeeding in repressing a smile.

"As it happens, I am not calling on behalf of merely personal matters." He raised both eyebrows this time. "I know you're very busy, but I was hoping you could send me any notes you have on the effective implementation of telik-kash-naf-foshek."

His eyes actually widened at that. "Curious. I was not aware there were any Vulcan bonded pairs serving on the U.S.S. Cerritos."

"There are not. However, two of my human associates have recently escaped Borg assimilation, but find themselves irrevocably connected as a di-personal collective."

"Fascinating."

"I agree. The situation appears to be causing them significant distress. I believe that the technique may assist them; however, I am not an expert in the matter."

Setak paused. "T'Lyn. Am I right to believe you have told me this information in confidence?" She inclined her head. "Then you are aware, are you not, that my requesting these resources from my colleagues would cause gossip regarding our relationship?"

"I am aware. However, the needs of even one outweigh the wants of any others."

"A pithy observation."

"And a true one."

"Mm. Moreover, you must be aware that you have a reputation for being–"

"A hothead?" she said bluntly. Setak gave a very slight smile.

"Yes. And while you know I appreciate your forthright and impulsive nature, you must admit that, in light of our… distinctive personalities, assumptions will be made about us. People will believe that we are lacking in self-control."

"Assumptions are illogical; the shame will be theirs, not ours."

"I agree, and I think it is logical for you to assist your fellow officers. However, it was morally imperative on me to ensure that we make this decision with full knowledge of the risks."

"I am aware of the risks, and assent to them."

His mouth quirked further, and even all these years later, she still felt the flutter of desert-locusts in her stomach at the thought that she'd impressed him. "As do I."

"Then you intend to assist me?"

"You are my wife. To assist you in all your needs is only logical."

T'Lyn gave a small smile in return. "You have my gratitude, Setak."

"There is no need for gratitude. –But you are welcome nonetheless." She inclined her head. "I am also pleased to hear that you have made new acquaintances on the Cerritos . Friendships are important for one's psychological health."

"I am aware, Setak. But it has been…difficult, to be so far from you."

"And I from you." They sat in companionable silence for a moment, before Setak shifted in his desk chair and tapped something on his computer. "How have your projects been coming along?"

"Very well, thank you. The Cerritos has the opportunity to collect a great deal of data, given its propensity to be involved with… unusual circumstances. It is chaotic here, even for a Starfleet vessel," she added with irony. "And your work?"

"My article on the psychological effects of nullified childhood pair-bonds is nearly finished; it should be ready to submit to the VSA by the end of the month." He rubbed his eyebrows, looking tired again. "If I can finish my patient's case reports with enough time left to write it, that is."

"I would tell you that rest is important for your health, but as I know you will not listen, I will instead keep you company." She minimized his window into the corner and pulled up a file of data reports on the Padd. "If I fall asleep, you may end the call."

"Mm." He fell quiet, and when she heard that he'd started typing again she allowed herself a contented sigh and pulled up the music application. The gentle strumming of Dark Was the Night started up again in her ears, joining the warm sounds of tapping and typing, and the hum of the Cerritos gliding its way through the stars.

---

NOTES:

-Credits: The economy of the post-money post-scarcity Federation is of course a long and heavily debated topic on the internet. For simplicity's sake, I've decided that the economy works as follows: (1) most things necessary for life can be replicated; (2) some things, like fine-crafted goods, secret recipes, and cultural objects, either are not or cannot be replicated for various reasons; (3) every Federation citizen receives a small monthly sum of credits they can use to purchase these non-replicable goods; and (4) based on what we see in TNG, one of the non-replicable goods is intoxicating alcohol. (In TNG, Picard's brother mentions that synthehol "never makes you truly lose control," which to me implies it can get you tipsy but not drunk.)

Hence, Mariner "pregames" with free replicated synthehol to save on credits, and then buys several shots of real alcohol from the bar once the synthehol has her close to the intoxication point.

-U.S.S. Coleman: Noted in Picard to be Icheb's ship. There's no data on what class it is, so I've decided it's an Intrepid-class like the U.S.S. Voyager.

-Holographs: I haven't watched Picard because it's really not my cup of tea, but in the scenes I have watched there seem to be a lot more holographic capacity shipwide than in VOY and LD. "Accessibility" for holographic lifeforms seems like a good reason for this to have been implemented.