USS Dark Fire (IC)

Stardate 29870611.0615

Reeves:


“Logically sounds, Captain. However.. how do we make first contact?” he asked. “I have a feeling anybody entering their space will be treated with hostility and fired upon.”

“Most likely before any communication is made.”

Excuse me Captain, Commander,” Dark Fire said as it materialized beside them. “I am making some headway in the lingua code translation. There are what appear to be proper names or place names in use. CADIA. CUSTODES. ADEPTAS ASTARTES. Much of the communication is automated via a sophisticated system dedicated to import export traffic. The phonetic response cycles indicate Artificial Intelligence. Not as sophisticated as my own processes, but still effective.”

Another ship has been dispatched to our location, Call Sign: Obsidian Seraph.”
I recommend running silent as further infiltration into the asteroid belt.”

From the Far side of the system a new ship began to move, painted in such a way as to be imperceptible to the naked eye, only The Dark Fire's scanners were able to pierce it's camouflage.

"I find it necessary to inform you that none of the ships in this star system have shields. The Appear to be relying solely on Armor plating."


Sith Starfighter (1).jpgHellblade.jpgveh_ia_1752_040381b2.jpeg

New: Obsidian Seraph
Dreadnought Obsidian Seraph.jpg
 
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“Ensign Miller, ease us closer to the asteroid belt,” Hora ordered.

As the helm responded, she pivoted toward Dark Fire’s interface and Commander Reeves. “We’re already skimming the edge of the belt. Any closer and the micro‑meteorite drift might give us away. Is there a moon we can tuck behind? Or an outer ice ring we can use as cover?”

She folded her arms, eyes narrowing at the distant warships. “As for making contact… we have options.”

Hora ticked them off with a measured cadence.

“First: an automated probe. Low risk, minimal signature.”

“Second: Dark Fire could attempt a direct conversation with their AI—compare protocols, find common ground, maybe even get a recommendation on how to approach their command structure.”

She hesitated, then allowed a more daring edge into her tone.

“Third option—riskier. We modify a shuttle to pass as a merchant vessel and let them think they’ve stumbled onto a harmless trader.”

“And the highest‑risk play…” Hora’s gaze lingered on the small fighter craft weaving patrol arcs. “We capture one of those fighters, talk to the pilot face‑to‑face, and ask them directly what the smartest approach is.”

She exhaled slowly. “Plenty of choices. None of them boring.”
 
Stardate 29870611.0620

Reeves:


“Although a logical suggestion, any automated probe we send would be easily identifiable as short range.”

“I apologize Captain, the time it would take to retrofit any shuttle into a Merchant Vessel would take seven days at the minimum, with a team of six working around the clock.” Dark Fire replied as it continued scanning the imperial Ships.

“If you wish I will attempt direct communication with the incoming Capitol Class Vessel, as none of the smaller vessels contain an A.I.”

“Capturing one of the Fighters, or the pilot, could and would be seen as an act of hostilities or outright war.”

“There is also the alternative of Firing upon the Ships as they are unaware of our position or status. This is not recommended however, though the option is always there.”

“There is also the option of departing this system and trying a different one,” The Ships Avatar advised looking at both of them.​
 
Hora
“I think you dismissed my recorded‑probe idea a little too quickly,” Hora said, leaning forward. “We could anchor a probe on one of these asteroids, then slip behind a moon or an ice fragment. The probe delivers a simple message: We propose an exchange—knowledge for knowledge. No obligations, no treaties. Just an opportunity for both our peoples to walk away wiser.

She tapped the console lightly, thinking aloud. “They must trade with someone out here. No warlike species survives in isolation. All we’re asking for is a single, one‑time trade.”

Then her eyes lit with a new spark. “Actually… that gives me another angle. What if we use a third‑party species? Whoever they already trade with. We approach them, and they deliver our offer on our behalf. A familiar messenger might lower their guard.”

Hora straightened, satisfied with the shape of the plan. “And the closing line stays the same. It’s the heart of the message: Any species can win a battle. Only the strongest can choose not to start one. We hope your people are among the strong.
 
Stardate 29870611.0625

Reeves:


“I apologize for not anticipating that line of thought Captain,” Reeves replied as he considered her alternative Probe Idea. “That is feasible, ut the probe will still be recognizable as short range, indicative of our presence in the System at least at one point in time.”

“I would recommend finding one of the species that they do trade with, and negotiating with them for a first contact and trade agreement.”

“Captain, Commander, I’ve Isolated one of the languages as Nebarian. The language database indicates the language and species information ws collected by Ensign Yito Seja during her illicit information gathering exercise.”

“Primary Imperial Language encoded into LinguaCode Translation matrix. Liguacoding will remain to provide contextual support of Imperial Language. Secondary Imperial LinguaCode translation still in process, probability of Secondary language as a battle complex abbreviation is High.”

“Nebarian species communication frequency has been isolated. No AI capabilities detected on Nebari Vessel.”

“Incoming Vessel designated Obsidian Seraph is 3000 Meters in length with comparable tonnage. Power signature unknown. Warp Capability unknown. Warp Speed probability High. Energy output unknown. Biological Signatures … 100 thousand. High concentration in the engine and weapons sections. Species identification is not possible due to alloys of external hull plating.”

“Imperial A.I. system is a Class 2 in comparison to my Class 12, if you wish I can bypass It’s security protocols with three percent chance of detection.”​
 
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Hora
“Plenty of options,” Hora said, “but we’re going with Commander Reeves’ recommendation. We find a Nebarian trading ship and work through them.” Her voice carried that she made a decission and discussion was over tone. “Helmsman—stealth protocols. Ease us out of the system, slow and quiet. Once we’re clear of their sensor net, take us to warp.”

The bridge team backed the ship away with skill. As Captain Hora was already thinking about the next problem.

“Dark Fire,” Hora, turning toward the AI’s hologram, “give me everything you have on the Nebarians. Culture, trade patterns, political structure—whatever helps us not walk into this blind.”
 
Stardate 29870611.0630

Dark Fire:
“The Nebari are a species of Bipedal Humanoids bearing a blue-grey tint to their skin. Males possess black hair whereas females have white hair. They possess an immunity to solar radiation in the red-yellow bands, predominantly 3000K to 7500 K, with variance between individuals.”

“They possess a higher level of Silver nitrate in their blood as opposed to Iron in Humans, and Copper in Vulcans, this results in a blue coloration to their blood.”

“Less than one percent of their species is naturally Hermaphoditic. Nebari are tested while juveniles and placed into positions in their society based on their abilities and are expected to conform. Any and all failing to conform to these strict controls are ‘stabilized’ or ‘mind-cleansed’ to fit in.”

“In the event that conformity cannot be achieved they are removed from society. There is no information on penal colonies. Calculations indicate nonconformity results in death.”

“Their governmental society is called ‘The Establishment’. And is Totalitarian in structure. The technological level of the Nebari is approximately equal to the Federation, The Klingon Empire, Cardassia, and others. There is no classified information on their weapons or tactical abilities.”

Reeves:
“Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
 
Hora
“Commander, we will be approaching a merchant ship, not challenging the entire Nabarian fleet,” Hora said, “I wouldn’t exactly call that out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Before Reeves could answer, Dark Fire’s voice filled the bridge.

“Captain Hora, Ryn Gaelston reports he is sensing a powerful Force‑user in the area. He is en route to the bridge to brief you. He advises all personnel with Force sensitivity to mask their abilities immediately, or they will be detected.”

Hora blinked. “Mask their Force abilities? What the hell does that even mean?”

“That is not in my database, I will connect you to Mr. Gaelston,” Dark Fire replied.

A moment later, the comm picked up the unmistakable sound of Ryn sprinting—boots hammering the deck, breath ragged, like someone fleeing a very large, very motivated predator.

“Ryn, what are you talking about?” Hora demanded.

“I know we haven't covered this in training yet. Just tell Lt. Bumme—Dr. L’Sa—think about a calm blue ocean,” Ryn panted. “No strong emotions, no reaching for life energy. Just… stillness.” He gasped out, “Bridge,” he said to the turbolift.

Hora tapped her commbadge. “Lt. Bumme, this is the captain. You are to have no strong emotions and think about a flat, blue ocean. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Captain,” Blumme replied, sounding like someone trying very hard not to feel anything at all.

“I’m not worried about Dr. L’Sa,” Hora muttered to Reeves. “She’s basically a walking computer. She is always calm”

The turbolift doors hissed open and Ryn strode out, still catching his breath. He pointed straight at the Obsidian Seraph on the viewscreen.

“That ship,” he said. “There’s someone aboard who’s connected to the dark side of the Force. And they’re powerful.”

Hora stared at him. “I’m still not entirely sure what that means. But what do you recommend?”

Ryn didn’t hesitate. “Distance. As much as possible. Now.”

Hora didn’t need to hear more. “Helm—get us out of here. All back full, maximum impulse!”

The Dark Fire surged into motion, the stars stretching as the ship fled whatever nightmare was riding aboard the Obsidian Seraph.
 
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Stardate 29870611.0635

Dark Fire:


“Help Lt. Sol. Knock him out, stun him, tranq him. Whatever it takes, just do it by surprise before he can get angry.” Reeves said into the comm channel as he spoke with Lt. Jovovich. “Then knock yourself out. Just to be safe.”

“I can mind meld with you Captain if you need to remain calm,” The Commander said as he turned to the Captain. “Frying pan.. Fire…” he repeated wryly.

***

On the Main deck of the Obsidian Seraph black boots resounded across the deck plating, the bridge was silent. All communication grinding to a halt as the main doors opened and the Inquisitor stepped through them. Few carried the power she held. Few wielded the fear like an art form they way she did.

Her black helm hid her face, hell no one even knew her species, and no one had the courage to ask.

The desk officer turned and started to approach her his mouth opening to ask a question before his eyes bulged and he dropped to his knees. He couldn’t even gasp for breath, as the bones and cartilage in his neck crunched inwards.

Moving to the center of the room and the Captain’s Dias The Inquisitor swept her gaze across the bridge and through the plasteel windows.

She’d felt it… a disturbance. But it was gone now, like a lumen shut off. But it had been there, and she’d find it.

“Full sensorium sweep, all frequencies, all bands. Tell the Machine Spirit to bring us to heading 315 by 14 mark 45. Maximum range sensorium. Divert power from all other systems. Including Life support.”

Looking over at her the Captain didn’t rise from his seat, not that he could if he wanted to. Wires and cables connected him to the ship, fluids and nutrients pumped into his body as waste material was evacuated. Even his blood was cycled and processed and cleansed before being pumped back into him.

He didn’t see her with his eyes, the picter’s throughout the ship allowed him to see everything everywhere at the same time, and in far more spectrum's than biological eyes ever could. Just as the Amblivox allowed him to hear everything everywhere.

He didn’t like others giving orders on his ship, but she was the one exception that had that authority. Outside the hierarchy of the Military she was one of the rare ones. An Inquisitor and an Officer of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

Voxcoders crackled with his subvocal growl of annoyance, but he didn’t countermand her orders as the ship adjusted heading and moved towards the Asteroid belt.

“Prime all batteries. Load all weapon emplacements. Prepare for barrage bombardments.” He ordered.

As the Obsidian Seraph moved to the new location the Dark Fire had already moved away from that location. Sublight thrusters had moved it several million Kilometers before the Seraph had even adjusted.​
 
Hora
“I don’t have Force abilities, Commander, so I don’t think a mind‑meld is necessary,” Hora said, folding her arms with a touch of amusement.

“Actually, Captain… you might,” Ryn replied. “I can definitely sense you.”

“That’s caused by something else,” Hora said, giving him a slow, unmistakably confident wink.

Ryn didn’t blink. “A mind meld can’t hurt.”

Hora tilted her head, reconsidering with a mischievous glint. “Well… it might be a good way for the Commander and me to get to know each other better.” She sighed. “And I hate to admit it, Commander, but you were right. We are in a frying‑pan situation. Before we do the whole mind‑meld thing—Ryn, are we at a safe distance now?”

“I’m not sure,” Ryn said. “I don’t feel that presence anymore, but to be safe, I’d put more distance between us.”

“Then explain what’s happening,” Hora demanded.

“People with developed Force abilities can sense each other,” Ryn said. “Whoever is on that ship is powerful. I was worried he could sense me… or some of your crew.”

“Captain,” Dark Fire interjected, “the ship has altered course to our previous position. Its weapons configuration has changed.”

Hora groaned. “So our cloaking isn’t foolproof. Wonderful.” She exhaled sharply. “Fine. Mind meld first. Then we stick to the plan. As soon as we can, we go to warp and find a merchant ship.”

Lt. Sol

“And this is supposed to relax me?” Lt. Sol asked as Lt. Loka Bumme secured the neuro‑dampeners around his temples.

“Yes,” Loka said, activating them.

Sol slumped forward, still conscious but clearly dazed.

She winced, then—against her better judgment—turned the dampeners up to full power.

Sol collapsed sideways, completely unconscious.

“Oh, he is going to kill me when he wakes up,” Loka whispered, staring at the motionless lieutenant with growing dread.
 
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Stardate 29870611.0640

Reeves:

“This will only be a surface level meld. Just enough to allow me to calm your mind, and to enhance your self control. There will be no sharing of self. Don’t try to force anything. Don’t try to think of anything. Just relax.”

Stepping close he laid his fingers on her face and temple. “Your mind to my mind, your thoughts to my thoughts. My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”

What she saw of his own mind was calm and ordered. Emotions existed, by they were held in check by an iron will, as well as his feelings for L’Sa. She was a constant in his mind through years of deep mind melds. She was the reason Hora’s pheromones had no effect on him. Even if they hadn’t been bonded, his feelings for L’Sa would have protected him from her pheromones.

His thoughts were ordered, compartmentalized behind doors. “Focus your thoughts, calm your emotions. Seal them behind a door in your mind. Lock the emotions away. Be calm.”

“There is no chaos of emotion and thought. There is only the calm.”​
 
Hora
Reeves stepped closer, and Hora went still. Too still—none of her usual swagger, none of the irreverent quips she used as armor. Her chin lifted, eyes bright with a spark of mischief she couldn’t quite suppress.

“Ready, Captain?” Reeves asked.

Hora smirked. “If you see anything juicy about anyone, you keep it to yourself. That’s an order.”

Reeves almost rolled his eyes—almost. Of course he would. He nodded once and raised his hand to her temple.

“My mind to your mind…”

Her breath caught, barely audible.

“…my thoughts to your thoughts.”

The world dissolved.

Reeves plunged into a rush of emerald heat—humid, alive, like stepping into a jungle at night. He sensed her before he saw her: Hora, coiled like a predator, alert, calculating, amused by his presence in her mind.

A memory snapped into focus:

A young Hora crouched in the shadows, watching a room full of adults. A man’s voice: “Female Orions are born manipulators.” Another: “We’re toys to them.”

A child’s vow echoed through the meld:I will never become what they think I am.

The scene shifted.

Hora at the Academy, jaw clenched as an instructor whispered, “Orions always cheat. It’s in their biology.”

Another memory: a superior officer smirking as he dismissed her tactical report.“I’m sure you’re very persuasive, Lieutenant Commander.”

Reeves felt the humiliation burn through her—sharp, anger, defiant.

Then the memory darkened.

A corridor. A hostile officer blocking her path.“YOU SLUT,” he spat. “Orions should be on their back with their legs spread.”

Hora’s fist twitched—she wanted to break his jaw, to end him—but she crushed the urge with brutal, disciplined will.

Reeves staggered under the weight of her restraint.

The oppressive darkness shattered—replaced by something startlingly bright.

Hora picturing Reeves shirtless during a particularly boring briefing.

Reeves blinked inside the meld. He felt the spark of her desire—quick, unguarded, immediately shoved behind a wall of Orion discipline.

Her voice flickered through the meld, mortified and defiant all at once: Don’t make it weird, it natural for a woman to be attracted to a handsome male.

The scene shifted again.

Reeves saw her alone in her ready room, the ship’s tactical map glowing across her face. Everyone else slept. She didn’t.

A quiet thought pulsed through her mind:

If I fail, they die.

He felt her loneliness—not a wound, but a constant ache. Her desire to connect. Her fear of being seen too clearly. Her determination to follow the very advice Reeves had once given her: isolate yourself. She tried. She failed. She tried again.

A final memory rose—slow, hesitant.

Hora watching Reeves from across the bridge, expression unreadable. Her thoughts whispered like a hand brushing his:

I can trust him.

Reeves felt her trust close around him—warm, fierce, absolute.

The Meld ends and Hora jerked back with a sharp inhale.

Reeves lowered his hand, steadying himself as the bridge came back into focus.

“I feel calmer,” she said, voice rougher than before. Then, after a beat, she added with a smirk that didn’t quite hide the vulnerability beneath:

“Did you like the shirtless‑Reeves fantasy?”
 
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◅ ALFREDO ARAIZA ▻

“Dark Fire, you mind drafting a message for me? But send it when everything’s calmed down.”

Araiza was surprised to find himself in that position. The counselor had prescribed the beta blockers for emergencies in his nervous system, and what better chance to try them out than trying not to be nervous during an emergency? Their current status on board had tugged at his inability to contribute—a mix of guilt, anger, and frustration without a direction—and he was far from being able to breathe out his problems, despite the suggestion of every other person he encountered.

Thankfully the medication had no addictive traces; otherwise, Araiza would be too delighted to abuse it. They didn’t make his thoughts disappear instantaneously; they simply forced him to slow down so he could detangle them. Knowing he could only contribute by staying out of the way for the moment, his chest rose and fell ever so soothingly, drifting away from the comfort of his quarters and the solitude of his blueprints. If the average person didn’t know better, it’d look like he was drawing sea urchins.

He figured he should allow himself the quiet opportunity of responding to the captain. He continued to design, eyes hooded, but spoke to the AI.

Layvnullo,

One of my team members wouldn’t walk out on me, mostly because they tend to be too scared to do so. I’m working on that, though. I appreciate the recognition, but I don’t really care about being the best on my own. Mainly because I was born with enough self-esteem that, if converted to energy, could power a planet or two. I know what I’m capable of, which is why I wanna go back to doing so.

I think the way the incident was handled was what sent me into most of a spiral. It’s hard to call people a team that you can’t even confide in without getting it thrown back at you. As much as I disciplined my guys, I know if they came to me with something like it, I could promise I’d treat it better. As a female captain, I assume you understand more than anyone what it’s like to deal with unresponsive leadership in similar situations. I maintain that I had a right to be upset. I’ve mentioned wanting to move on, so this is the last I’ll touch on it unprompted. Also because our resident shrink put me on new candy that slows down my pulse.

I won’t set false expectations by saying I’ll show up suddenly a new man. I mean, Reeves has been trying to be more social for a month now, and we’re all still getting used to it, so a behavior of over a decade might take a little while. But I’m trying, and I will, because I do care about our crew. Maybe not the same degree for everyone, but I know I’m capable of making an impact, and I wanna be able to return to do so.

Let me know if you ever wanna grab a drink. Call it exposure therapy, or a truce on my behalf. In a more mellow setting, or one close to the ship imploding in on itself, maybe even an apology.
 
Stardate 29870611.0645

Reeves:
“Although interesting I find it fascinating that you would imagine me shirtless, but fail to take into account the number of scars that I possess, according to my medical records they still exist on my skin.”

“From a personal perspective, no I did not like the fantasy, but I do not find it psychologically objectionable for you to have those thoughts as long as you do not share such feelings, thoughts, or idea’s with anyone else. Excepting the Counselor while in a session and under doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Raising an eyebrow he added, “You will experience a conflict with L’Sa when she is made aware of your thoughts. That will be at the end of my shift when I greet her before the evening meal. Or when we meditate and Mind Meld this evening after the meal.”

Dark Fire:
“The Imperial ship Obsidian Seraph has not altered position and the three smaller craft are continuing their survey of our entry point into this system.”

“It is unlikely that they have managed to penetrate the cloaking device and did however manage to detect the psychic residue of Mr. Ryn and those like him. I would advise that any and all individuals with the capabilities and inclinations similar to Mr. Ryn be cataloged and Isolated to prevent potential future detection.”​
 
Hora
“The Vulcans and Orions have a long history of… productive interactions. I’m not worried about Dr. L’Sa,” Hora said. Her voice was steady, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her. She was worried.

“Thank you, Dark Fire. Helm, take us to wrap and get us out of here,” she ordered. “Then start scanning for a Nebarian trading vessel.”

“Captain, you have a reply from Lieutenant Araiza,” Dark Fire announced.

Hora’s eyes flicked to Commander Reeves. “I’ll read it in my ready room.” She left the bridge with a purposeful stride, disappearing into the seldom‑used office that still smelled faintly of new furniture.

A few minutes later she returned, letter read, expression unreadable. She walked straight to Reeves.

“You can tell Dr. L’Sa she has nothing to worry about,” Hora said, lowering her voice. “I have a date with Lieutenant Araiza tonight. I wonder what he looks like without his shirt on.” A wicked grin flashed across her face. “Also—he’s committed to improving. He’s cleared to return to duty.”

Before Reeves could respond, Hora’s comm badge chirped.

“Bridge—this is Lieutenant Bumme.” Her voice was tight, panicked. “I… I need a full security detail in my quarters. I think Lieutenant Sol is waking up.”

Hora laughed, a low, amused sound. “And you think our working relationship is difficult,” she murmured to Reeves.

Then, tapping her badge: “Security, this is the captain. Send five—no, make it ten—officers to Lieutenant Bumme’s quarters immediately.”
 
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Stardate 29870611.0650

Reeves:

When the Captain returned from her office Commander Reeves listened before replying to everything she’d said. “I would be remiss in not reminding you of several factors.”

“One, although Vulcan’s and Orions have had relations in the past, both productive and non-productive, Dr. L’Sa and you have had conflict in the past when you disregarded her status as a Doctor.”

“Two, Lieutenant Araiza is an Officer and hence is in your direct chain of Command.”

“Three, Have you decided whether he will be posted on the Bridge for continued monitoring of his behavior and capabilities of recognizing Authority and Rank, or will he be returned to his previous duty station?”

“Also I’ve never made any statements or comments that our working relationship is difficult.”

****
Obsidian Seraph:
In the dark silence of her meditation chamber the Inquisitor drifted in the void. The sensory deprivation chamber allowed her to focus her powers even more, enhancing her strength and range.

She could feel it. There were many on board, but one of them, maybe more had darkness within. A rage that could be fueled. Just as she found the disruption in the Force she felt it slip away at hyperlight speeds. Droids outside the chamber crumpled in on themselves in her rage.​
 
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Hora

Hora listened to Commander Reeves. She nodded at each of his points, absorbing them one by one before answering.

“Any help smoothing things over with Dr. L’Sa would be appreciated,” she said, exhaling through her nose. “And for the record, I have not acted on any of my fantasies. I’m only sorry the mind‑meld dragged that one out in the open.”

She shifted her weight, the faintest hint of embarrassment flickering across her expression before she pushed on.

“As for Lieutenant Araiza—I was planning on having a drink with him, nothing scandalous. I’ll talk to him about standing Bridge watch. It’ll be good for him. And yes, he can return to his previous duty station.”

Her tone softened, sincerity slipping through the cracks of her command persona.“And I’m glad you don’t find our working relationship difficult. I like working with you.”

Lt. Sol

The doors to Loka’s quarters slid shut behind the last security officer, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Lt. Zosh Sol turned toward Loka, his pupils narrowed to furious slits.

“I trusted you,” he growled, every syllable vibrating with betrayal.

“And you still can!” Loka blurted, breath catching. “I was ordered to knock you out. Someone was tracking your Force signature—even through the cloak. It was to protect everyone on the ship.”

Zosh’s jaw tightened. “Did everyone with Force abilities get knocked out?”

“No… just you,” Loka admitted, shame creeping into her voice. “I don’t know why. But you can trust me.”

Zosh shook his head slowly, the hurt settling deeper than the anger. “No. I don’t think I can. You lied to me. And that’s what trust is—believing someone even when you can’t verify the truth. You took that away.”

“Can’t or won’t, Zosh?” Loka asked, desperation edging into frustration.

“Don’t twist this,” he snapped. “You lied to me.

“Zosh, we’ve been through so much together. You know me. You know I wouldn’t do this without a damn good reason.”

His voice dropped to a cold, wounded rumble.“Warmbloods. Always tricking us. Tricking the cold‑blooded ones.” He stepped toward the door. “I’m done, Loka. Goodbye.”

The doors hissed open, then closed behind him.

Loka stared at the empty space he’d left behind, her breath trembling. After a long, brittle moment, the tears finally came.
 
◅ XIANA MARLOWE ▻

While the counselor was relieved the ship hadn’t encountered anything catastrophic—not yet, anyway—a very profoundly hidden part of herself was bitter at the loss of time. Her early mornings were normally saved for her personal developments, followed by long days of sessions and notes.

It wasn’t as if she had any inclination to complain that no one had encountered trouble, none that had to be helped ease at least. On the ship, people seemed to bite their tongues until they reached out for help… if they ever allowed themselves look for it. Every other appointment, whether a cognitive behavioral one or a simple round of diagnostics, was more often than not intense. So many species, but such a common outlet. Truly, the least they struggled in their duties, the better.

Having rushed through her breakfast, a clip held the woman’s hair out of her face. Over the last couple of days she’d been practicing being comfortable with a handful of imperfections. No one would notice things like fine hair being loose or her collar being one button from being fully closed, but to her it was a big sign of progress. She politely greeted familiar faces on her way to her office, pleasantly contemplating how not too long ago they were strangers.

“Lieutenant Sol, morning,” she said in passing to the man, having taken a few steps before pausing and calmly approaching the Croco-Lamian. His demeanor couldn’t have been more distraught. “Are you alright? What happened?”
 
Dr. Marlowe was the last person Zosh wanted to see on his way back to his quarters. Loka’s betrayal churned in his chest like fire, and anger radiated off him in waves. Humans talked about their “lizard brain” taking over when they were furious—instinct overriding reason, survival eclipsing logic.

Zosh didn’t have a rational half to fall back on. His whole mind was instinct. And right now, that instinct was lethal.

“NO, I’M NOT ALRIGHT!” he roared.

The sound froze the corridor. His voice was cold, wounded, and edged with a predator about to attack.

“Warmblooded creatures…” he spat, trembling with rage. “Fuzzy, twitchy, egg‑stealing, night‑scurrying little opportunists! All the same. Betrayers. Thieves. They creep in at night—always awake, always twitching—stealing our eggs because they can’t survive without taking what isn’t theirs.”

He stepped closer, towering over Marlowe.

“Do you know how humiliating it is to be a one‑ton apex predator and lose your offspring to something that weighs less than your foot? We were noble. Mighty. Our bodies masterpieces of efficiency. And warmbloods? Weeds. Burrowers. Hiders.”

His tail lashed the air.

“We were the thunder. We were the terror. We were the reason the ground shook.”

His voice cracked into a snarl.

“And warmbloods ruined it all. LYING. CHEATING. Preying on defenseless children and eggs. I hate warmblooded creatures… not because they’re evil… not because they’re clever…” His eyes burned with ancient grief. “But because they won.”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

“If I were allowed to, I would enjoy eating every last one of you. Good riddance.”

The outburst echoed down the passageway. Crew members stood frozen, watching Lt. Sol—normally disciplined, controlled—growl and bare his teeth at Dr. Marlowe.

Without another word, Zosh turned and stomped away, the deck plates trembling under each furious step.
 
◅ XIANA MARLOWE ▻

Not too long ago, had the same thing happened, Xiana would’ve certainly been more physically uncomfortable. She wouldn’t have reached out, considering leadership’s half lack of action in the previous confrontation, but her self-preservation would’ve taken priority.

It wasn’t enjoyable, but she was already used to a misguided burst from a crewmember or two. Xiana remained calm and collected, her eyes as relaxed as they were during her pacing.

She first took a look at any person that had stopped to enjoy the show. “I’m sure you all have duties to attend to, unless you need my personal assistance in locating those who oversee your duties. I’m more than happy to share your priorities with them,” she scolded, watching the mumbling individuals dispurse afterwards. She considered her options.

Legally, she didn’t have to follow-up with the man, particularly with such a turbulent history towards her. She reserved every right to keep walking, get to the work she was already dreading, and contemplate being less helpful to strangers in the hallway if all it would earn her would be an attempt at intimidation.

Morally?

She caught up to the lieutenant. “I don’t know what it’s like to be you. I don’t think anyone can. But some of us want to at least learn about it, because some of us don’t want you to struggle, whether that’s credible to you right now or not,” she said, her voice tranquil. “I have half an hour before my rounds begin. I’d like for you to tell me what happened recently that led you to this state. If you don’t want to, or if you’re not in a place to right now, that’s okay. But my office is open if you need to release those feelings. By talking, not by telling me you’d eat me.”

“Regardless of your choice, I want you to know I really am sorry for the experiences you’ve had due to, as you say, warmbloods,” she continued. “I’ve already said previously that your anger is justified, and I continue to mean it. You’re allowed to grieve and have reservations.” She figured an active hallway wasn’t the place to ask for more details, especially on something so intimate. “Ultimately, I hope you can find peace.”

She gave a respectful nod and returned her way to her office.
 
Lt Sol
He stood in the passageway long after Dr. Marlowe had disappeared around the corner.His thoughts curled inward, dark and familiar.

Another trick from a warmblood… They never want to fight because they know they’ll lose. So they squeak. Always squeaking. Squeaking like the rats they are. And the best way to stop a squeak is to bite the creature in half.

He drew in a long, deliberate breath. The walk back toward his quarters helped bleed off the worst of the fury. With the heat fading, clarity crept in—and with it, regret. He hadn’t meant to spit his hatred at Dr Marlowe. That part of himself was supposed to stay buried, unspoken, locked away.

His mind drifted to something another counselor had once told him about the signs of uncontrolled anger:

  • Arguments with partners, family, or colleagues
  • Regretting words or actions immediately after an outburst
  • Using alcohol to cope or becoming violent after drinking
  • Feeling the need for revenge
He’d argued with Loka. He regretted every word he’d hurled at Dr. Marlowe. And revenge—yes, he had wanted revenge on every warmblood aboard this ship.

He stopped walking.

Then he turned around.

Fine, he thought. If I’m going to prove I can control my anger.

“I might not get anything out of this visit,” he muttered as he headed toward Marlowe’s office. “But it will be a test. A test to see if I can manage my anger effectively.” A low, humorless rumble escaped him. Now I’m the clever one… warmbloods.

He reached her door and requested entry. The panel slid open.

“Doctor,” he began, stepping inside, “I want to apologize for what I said in the passageway. I was angry about what happened to me, and I took it out on you.”

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to continue.

“I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll tell you what happened. I think your perspective might be… useful.”

He explained how he had been in Lt. Bumme’s quarters when she suggested he wear a neuro‑blocker to “relax.” How she had used it to knock him unconscious. How he’d awakened surrounded by security officers. How she claimed she had been ordered to incapacitate him “for the safety of the ship.”

He finished with a low, bitter growl.

“She lied to me. She betrayed me. So I ended the relationship.”
 
◅ XIANA MARLOWE ▻

The woman was eyeing her display when the lieutenant came in. She turned her attention to him and lowered her glasses. “It’s okay, these things can happen when we’re upset.”

Listening attentively, the woman didn’t automatically start taking notes or create a new case. Not only did she lack the official permission for it, but it was a rather personal instance at the moment. She nodded as he retold her story, keeping in mind the man’s perspective of those such as Bumme and herself and how it would lead to such drastic reactions instinctively.

Her eyebrows furrowed when he explained the justification for the safety of the ship, clearly unhappy with the explanation, albeit not at the lieutenant. Why had he been ordered to be rendered unconcious without an explanation? Had it been related to their risk standby earlier? If he had been able to peacefully accept a neuro-blocker’s usage in his then-partner’s quarters, then it was unlikely that it had been done out of him being dangerous at the moment. Why had the first move been completely knocking him out? A small inkling in her memory brought her back to Lieutenant Araiza’s constant urge to question authority, and another to her own frustration when she had been shoved away by the captain during the doctor’s first time experiencing the ship being attacked.

Xiana delivered her voice in a soothing volume, although internally she was angry. Not at the lieutenant or necessarily at Bumme yet, but at whatever entity had made the call. “I don’t think any reasonable person would be happy being knocked unconscious. I especially don’t think your reaction is overdone, with your past experiences with warmbloods.”

“Now, I don’t know the cause of Lieutenant Bumme’s actions, and I do encourage you to ask her; perhaps that could offer some clarity, particularly as someone who you had a personal relationship with,” she suggested, her hands resting on top of each other on her cool desk. “Yet, that doesn’t take away the fear of the situation. I know you might not be fond of that term or sentiment, but it’s the underlying cause of things like anger.”

“It doesn’t make you weak; it’s a biological reaction,” she went on. "It's trauma. Your brain built commands the last time a warmblood deeply hurt you, and when it thinks it’s happening again—whether it is or isn’t, even if it just looks a bit like risk—your brain asks you to defend yourself however you can. Some can be reactive, or isolate themselves, or find ways to self-soothe.”

“Many people seem to think that reactions from trauma or the fear itself are solely a matter of not being strong enough—those people would be wrong. You don’t call people who instantly pull their hands away from a hot surface weak, do you? You can’t will away something that is imprinted in you; it’s logical to you. Even beings with memory loss often experience the physical repercussions of trauma.”

“Only time can tell if ending the relationship was the best choice,” Xiana concluded, “but you’re not a villain for reacting the best you could in such an intense situation. I personally do find it irresponsible that your history wasn’t considered in this decision, and with your permission I’d like to look into who made the call. I do understand otherwise.”

“In the meantime, I think taking some time for yourself for a bit would be good. Do you have any cathartic outlets?” the counselor asked. “If you did follow up with the specialists I recommended, perhaps asking them for an appointment could also help, assuming they already have a record with you. Otherwise, I’m more than happy to have you as a client in the future.”

“You’re capable of change, Lieutenant,” she assured him. “You’re much more than anything people of my kind have ever cruelly extended to you. I don’t expect you to believe it outright, much less from who it’s being delivered, but you’ve demonstrated that you can grow and become better and welcome vulnerability.”
 
Lt Sol
When Dr. Marlowe used the phrase “his fear of the situation,” he nearly walked out. He did not fear anything. Everyone—and everything—should fear him.

But her next words pinned him in place.

She acknowledged that he “wasn’t fond of that term or sentiment,” yet insisted that fear was often the root of things like anger.

That stopped him cold.

No one had ever said that to him before. Not as an accusation. Not as pity. Just… truth.

Then she added, gently, “Fear doesn’t make you weak.”

He wasn’t convinced. Not even close. But something in him needed to hear the rest. And the rest of her comments were steady, thoughtful—annoyingly reasonable. Her final remark, though, about him being welcoming toward vulnerability?Absolutely not. If that was true, he needed to shut that down immediately.

Still, he found himself nodding.

“Doctor… thank you,” Lt. Sol said, voice low but controlled. “I think I will follow your advice and take some time to myself. I have several outlets on the holodeck. Those are… helpful.”

He hesitated, then added, “I will follow up with my regular specialists when we return to the Milky Way Galaxy. You are welcome to look at my record if you wish. Thank you for your help.”

He dipped his head in a gesture halfway between respect and dismissal, his crocodilian tail giving a small, involuntary wag before he could stop it. Then he turned and left her quarters, heading back toward the safety—and solitude—of his own.
 
◅ XIANA MARLOWE ▻

The woman nodded, giving her respectful goodbyes as the lieutenant left her office. She was content with his patience and attentiveness. The woman made a mental note to ask for his guides’ counseling history.

While she hoped for further progress for the lieutenant, she was still angry about the decision to incapacitate him. Without his permission, however, she couldn’t look out for answers herself. She could only hope whoever was calling the shots would stop and contemplate them an extra second.

Xiana slipped her bifocals on, squeezing her eyes shut before their first exposure to screens for the rest of the day. The lieutenant had only been one of many that would be joining her for hours to come. It could be emotionally exhausting, but seeing some degree of resolution, as she had with her latest visitor, made it all worth it.
 
Stardate 29870611.0700

Reeves:


Watching as the Captain left the Bridge he debated for a moment reminding her of the time of day, but decided against it. This was far to early to have a drink, unless it was caffeine related.

He was fairly certain that there would be a great deal of fallout as a result of the number of crewmen that were knocked out as a precaution.

That was the Captain’s problem, not his.

Taking Command of the Bridge in her absence he gave orders for wide range scans, they needed to find the Nebari and open negotiations with them.

Once that was in motion he actually sat at The Captain’s seat and closed his eyes, opening his mind to L’Sa and explaining the situation with the mind meld to her.
 
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