The Cholmondely-Smythe Year

“But he’s a moron!” Commander Hill exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Sitting opposite him across the table in Fred’s Bar aboard the Psycho his great-niece, the ship’s Counsellor, rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“I’m not denying that,” she said. “But is he, actually, any worse than Wall, or Damerell – or even Barfoot?!”

Hill shrugged. “Probably not. But they’re, you know…” he trailed off.

“Known quantities?” she suggested. Commander Hill frowned briefly before nodding.

“Yeah, that.”

The Counsellor sighed. “You know we’ve been told we have to put forward a selection of junior officers for promotion and potential re-assignment to another ship.” When Hill just motioned for her to carry on, she did. “So that’s Stocks. There’s also Hanson.”

“The Bagellian?” Hill asked, trying to place the name as a waiter stopped by to clear their table.

“Yep. He’s probably nearly as good as Stocks, and definitely less… erratic.”

Grumpily, Hill held out his hand for the file. “Give it here then.”

 

Across the bar, Ensigns Mathew Stocks and Hanson Jhon watched the two senior officers with a sense of foreboding. They were momentarily distracted when their friends joined them with a tray of drinks. Engineer Dean Earley dropped into a chair, exhausted and stained with god only knew what from grubbing around in Engineering. Looking marginally less tired but stained with an entirely different sort of muck was Nurse Baldwin.

“They’re talking crew evaluations, right?” Earley asked.

“Yup,” Stocks and Hanson said glumly in unison. Hanson’s nerves were betrayed by his fiddling with his dangly Bagellian earring. Stocks just swallowed about half of his beer down in two gulps.

“It’ll be fine,” Nurse Baldwin said, sipping daintily at her drink.

“You’re alright,” Hanson said. “Jackson’s a pushover.”

Baldwin smirked smugly.

Just then a waiter bustled over to their table. Stocks looked up with a grimace. “Hey, Hywel,” he said.

“What’s occurrin’?” Hywel asked.

“The seniors are discussing crew evaluations,” Nurse Baldwin told him.

“Oh, is that what it is? I heard them talking about our two boys here,” Hywel said, pointing at Stocks and Hanson. The two ensigns exchanged looks. “Sounded like they were deliberatin’ promotions. One or the other, look you.”

This time the look they exchanged was more assessing. Chief Earley sighed. “Any chance of some more drinks, Hywel?” he asked.

“They’ll be along now in a minute,” the waiter said, picking up their empty glasses and heading back to the bar. Earley looked momentarily confused by the waiter’s words before shrugging. With varying expressions of hope and despair on their faces, they all took another drink.

 

“Captain’s log, stardate 50162.89. In light of recent conflicts between the Federation and both the Romulans and Orions, Starfleet Command has decreed that all starships are to perform battle readiness drills involving not only the alpha-shift crew members but also those of other shifts. What fun! This will be an excellent opportunity for me to get to know some of the faces on board the ship outside of the rather close-knit senior crew.”

“Come about, hard a-port,” Captain Cholmondely-Smythe ordered. At the helm, Ensign Irving brought the ship around. Next to him, at the navigation station, Ensign Stocks tried to make sure he was keeping track of all the ‘enemy’ ships around them to feed the information to tactical, where Ensign Hanson was standing with the Counsellor breathing down his neck.

The Psycho performed a number of maneuvers of increasing difficulty, all the while firing its phasers in more and more complicated patterns, combining with simulated photon torpedo launches so as not to waste the torpedoes themselves.

A few tense minutes later and the battle drill was done, with the Psycho just barely defeating its imaginary opponents.

“Engines, full stop,” Cholmondely-Smythe ordered. He consulted the padd he was holding for a moment. “Plot a course to the Augery system, near the Cardassian border, there’s a good chap.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Stocks replied. “Course laid in.”

“Hmm. The correct response would be ‘Aye’, Ensign,” Cholmondely-Smythe admonished him disapprovingly. “Get it right, if you would be so good.”

“Um, yes, sir. Sorry sir,” Stocks said glumly as he listened to the Counsellor praising Hanson for his performance at the back of the bridge.

Cholmondely-Smythe gave him an eyebrow, then thumbed the comm system. “All senior officers report to the briefing room,” he ordered, glancing back at the Counsellor, who nodded. “Stocks, move to tactical. Hanson, take over navigation for a mo, thanks awfully.”

Stocks’ shoulders slumped as he headed to the back of the bridge. As Cholmondely-Smythe and both Hills disappeared into the turbolift he let out a huff. “Guess we know who’s going to get the promotion,” Stocks said grumpily.

“They probably think I need more practice,” Hanson retorted, just as morose. Stocks thought about that, and felt a bit better.

 

“So if we re-align the phase couplings, we could boost the output of the EPS relays and increase maximum warp capability by up to ten percent!” Chief Earley told Stark enthusiastically, shoving a PADD with various numbers and calculations on it under his superior’s nose. Stark, who had up to that point been delicately chopping an onion into fine pieces for a new beef stew recipe, yelped as the razor sharp knife, the chopping board and his hands all disappeared from view. The knife came perilously close to reducing Stark’s ability to count to ten. He glared at his subordinate.

“Take that rubbish to Barfoot, would you?” he snapped. “I don’t have time for this!”

Earley scurried away, chastened, locating Barfoot standing next to one of the warp engine control boards, whistling tunelessly through his teeth.

“Um,” Earley said. “Sir? I’ve had an idea about improving engine output.”

Barfoot took the PADD and perused it with mild interest. He nodded thoughtfully. “What about the plasma intercooler tolerances?” he asked.

Earley looked blank. Barfoot pointed to a section of the calculations. “Here, you use numbers that are way beyond the system tolerances. I mean, if the intercooler fails…” he mimed an explosion with his hands.

Earley examined his notes glumly. It had seemed like such a good idea! A sure-fire way to get him on the promotion track. Barfoot clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice try,” he said cheerfully. “Keep it up.”

 

Off shift once more, the group of junior officers were gathered again in Fred’s Bar. Earley was poring over calculations, mostly ignoring the others. Nurse Baldwin was at the bar, flirting with a security officer. Stocks and Hanson were chatting, trying to take their minds off the promotion.

“So then Damerell fainted, Wall started laughing like a maniac and Klumpf bellowed for blood wine,” Stocks said, filling Hanson in on the entertainment he had missed while in the holodeck.

“Business as usual then,” Hanson said wryly.

“That’s not the best bit,” Stocks said with a grin, but he trailed off as Counsellor Hill approached and smiled at them pleasantly. Both of the junior officers shifted uncomfortably.

“Hi boys,” the Counsellor said cheerfully. Her gaze focussed on Hanson. “Can I have a word Ensign?” she asked.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Hanson said, standing up and following her to the side of the room, next to an antique player piano.

“I just wanted to let you know,” the Counsellor said. “I’m recommending you for promotion to lieutenant,” she said. “Obviously the final decision is the captain’s and Starfleet, but I’m adding my voice behind you.”

“Wow,” Hanson said, blinking. “Th-thanks, Counsellor.”

She smiled at him. “You’ve earned it,” she said. “Good luck!” She left the room and Hanson stumbled back to the table, sitting in silence for a moment before grabbing Earley’s pint and downing two-thirds of it quickly. The engineer didn’t even notice.

“Let me guess,” Stocks said morosely. “She’s recommending you for promotion.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Congratulations, I guess,” he said, catching Hywel’s eye and beckoning him over. “Another round, cheers.”

“What’s occurin’?” Hywel asked, clearing the glasses. Stocks explained and Hywel shrugged. “You need to get Commander Hill on your side then, don’t you boyo?” he said. “I know he’s a keen snooker player. You could try bonding over that.”

Stocks bit his lip thoughtfully. “Got to be worth a go, right?”

“That’s the spirit!” Hywel clapped him on the shoulder and walked off, tray in hands. Stocks watched him go, a new determination in his eyes. When the first officer walked in Stocks got up and hurried over.

“Commander!” he said, with a grin.

Hill stopped and looked at him warily. “Ensign,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to have a game of snooker?” Stocks asked. “I heard you play and I was hoping to get some tips.”

Hill rolled his eyes. “I play pool, not snooker.”

Stocks blushed. “Oh, um, well, it’s all a lot of balls and sticks, isn’t it?” he joked. Hill gave him a withering look and walked off, leaving Stocks standing dejectedly all alone.

 

The Psycho arrived in the Augery system several hours later, dropping out of warp and, after a few false starts, beginning a deep sensor sweep. On the bridge, Captain Cholmondely-Smythe stood breathing over Commander Hill’s shoulder, eyeing the readings.

“Um, sir?” Damerell said from the navigation station.

Cholmondely-Smythe looked over, frowning. “What is it, Navigator?”

“What is is we’re looking for, exactly?”

The captain sighed. “You were present at the briefing, were you not?” he asked. When Damerell continued to look blank, Cholmondely-Smythe huffed and said, “An escape pod, dear boy.”

“Oh right.” Damerell still looked confused, but he turned back to his console, deciding not to bother asking any more. They sat through several more tense minutes while the scan continued, until finally Hill’s console beeped. Cholmondely-Smythe was instantly back on his shoulder, much to Hill’s obvious irritation.

“Well Number One?” the captain demanded.

“We have located the escape pod,” Hill confirmed. “It’s…” he trailed off.

“Well? Spit it out man!”

“It’s on the other side of the Cardassian border,” Hill reported. “Out of normal transporter range. We’re lucky we found it at all.”

Cholmondely-Smythe tapped his lips with his finger. “Well, that is something of a puzzler, wot?” He moved to his command chair and thumbed the intercom. “Captain to engineering.”

“Barfoot here.”

“Tell me Lieutenant, what are our options for extending the transporter range?”

“How far are we talking?”

Cholmondely-Smythe looked to Hill who glanced down at his console again. “By at least twenty-five percent,” he called out. There was the distinctive sound of Barfoot sucking air in through his teeth.

“Well, it’s not-“ he cut off as another voice, too indistinct to make out, could be heard over the line. “Yes, I’m not… Look, I’m a bit busy… What do you mean you were listening in? Yes, I suppose but… Really? But what about the containment backlash?”

All the while, Cholmondely-Smythe was getting more and more impatient. “Answers, please, engineer!”

“Er, yes sir. One of my engineers has an idea. We might be able to extend the transporter range by just enough.” Barfoot sounded oddly reluctant.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Cholmondely-Smythe demanded.

“Well, it’s a possibility that doing this will burn out all the transition coils,” Barfoot admitted. “And there’s a small chance that whoever we transport will come out a foot taller than when they started.”

Cholmondely-Smythe frowned. “Number One, risk assessment?”

Hill looked momentarily like a rabbit in the headlights before he shrugged. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Do we really have a choice?”

The captain sighed. “Very well. Engineering, prepare the transporter for long-range transport.”

 

In engineering, Barfoot stood beside Earley at the main console, pressing his fingertips to his temples and grimacing as if in great pain.

“I can’t believe I agreed to let you try this,” he said, glaring at Earley. “If it goes wrong the captain is going to go mental.”

“It’ll be fine!” Earley said cheerfully. “Honestly, I’ve done the calculations a hundred times.”

“You said that about the phase coupling realignments,” Barfoot pointed out, “and you still forgot to carry the one.”

The intercom beeped. “Bridge to Engineering, prepare for site-to-site transport directly to sickbay.”

Barfoot took a breath and looked at Earley, who nodded. “Ready, Captain.”

“Initiate.”

Barfoot tapped at the controls while Earley fiddled with some of the other dials and switches. After a few tense moments, including a brief moment of panic when one of the readings spiked alarmingly, the procedure was completed. Barfoot stood back and used his uniform cuff to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Bugger me,” he said. “It worked.” Then he remembered where he was and said into the intercom, “Transport complete, Captain.”

“Jolly good show, chaps.”

Earley’s smug grin lasted all of five seconds before red lights started flashing on the console. Barfoot frowned and tapped a few buttons. Then he opened the intercom. “Er, Barfoot to transporter room one. Can someone do a visual inspection of the energizing coils?”

A few moments later, a voice came over the line. “What the bloody hell have you been doing?! The coils’ve completely melted!”

Barfoot shot a look at Earley, who shrugged. “It was always a possibility,” he said.

The deputy engineer sighed a much put-upon sigh.

 

Ensign Hanson was standing outside the door to sickbay, with a generic-issue security guard on the other side of the doorway. He was there as part of his cross-training in the security/tactical division, although he wasn’t really sure why he was there, specifically.

He straightened up as the door whooshed open, relaxing slightly when Nurse Baldwin stepped through, a frown on her face.

“What’s up Nicky?” he asked.

“Doctor Jackson just asked me to leave. He said something ultra secret was about to happen. And I’m sure I heard a transporter just as I was leaving!” Baldwin told him.

“That’s weird,” Hanson agreed. “But then, how often do we ever know what’s going on around here?”

Baldwin nodded. She looked down the corridor. “There’s the Captain,” she said. “Better get off, don’t want to get caught gossiping!”

She disappeared around the corner just as the Captain Cholmondely-Smythe reached the door to sickbay. He took in the security guard disinterestedly but paused for a second when he saw Hanson. An eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t say anything and Hanson kept himself immobile, face straight, as his commanding officer went through the door.

He could only wonder what that was about, turning possibilities over in his mind. He knew the senior officers must have been talking about him – and Stocks – with regard to the possible promotions. Some of that must have included the captain by this point. But the look hadn’t been assessing, more contemplative.

Cholmondely-Smythe was in the room for a considerable amount of time, and Hanson was starting to droop on his feet when the door opened once more. The captain stopped next to the junior officer, narrowing his eyes in thought as he stared at the wall. Eventually, he turned to Hanson.

“Follow me, if you would be so good.”

“Yes sir.”

Hanson left his position by the door, following the captain through the ship’s corridors, all the way to the captain’s ready room, which was a converted broom closet off the bridge. Stocks was at navigation, just taking over from Damerell, and Hanson could feel his friend’s eyes on the back of his head as the ready room door closed behind him. Cholmondely-Smythe sat down behind his miniature desk but didn’t invite Hanson to sit down. The Bagellian ensign started to get a bad feeling.

“Commander Hill and the Counsellor tell me you are in line for consideration for a jolly old promotion,” the captain said, expression severe.

“Uh, yes sir,” Hanson said, taking an ‘at ease’ stance.

“Well, given your track record, I for one am not impressed,” Cholmondely-Smythe said. “There are several black marks on your record, I am given to understand.” He looked down at the miniature console on his desk. “Going AWOL and found in flagrante delicto with not one but two admirals’ daughters; arrested for a bout of fisticuffs on Risa; and need I mention the incident with Scotia Squad at the Academy? Resulting in the death of a classmate and an extensive cover up. Bad show.”

Palms sweating, Hanson said, “With respect sir, Cadet Kelsey isn’t dead.”

After giving him a severe look, Cholmondely-Smythe looked again at the console. “Ah, yes. You and your friends attempted an incredibly dangerous – and prohibited – temporal flare manoeuvre. Cadet Kelsey failed to emerge from the slingshot.”

“He hit the corona at the wrong angle and his engines fired at the wrong time. According to calculations he should emerge from the manoeuvre in about two thousand years,” Hanson admitted. He looked down, shuffling his feet. “The rest of my time at the Academy was hard,” he said, a distinct whining tone in his voice. “No-one wanted to talk to me! I had to drown my sorrows in women and beer,” he said in a long suffering tone.

“What absolute tommy-rot,” Cholmondely-Smythe snapped. “Frankly, my boy, given my own choice I’d have you off the ship and out of Starfleet, not promote you. Get out of my sight!”

Like a naughty child being scolded, Hanson beat a hasty retreat.

 

“Why are we doing this?” Engineer Earley asked.

“None of your business,” Stark told him. “Keep firing.”

The two of them were in the shuttle bay using phasers to deliberately damage a shuttlecraft, the Todd. Stark directed Earley to work some more on a particular scorch mark. They worked in silence for another minute.

“Is it a secret?”

“Just shut up.”

 

In sickbay, Nurse Baldwin was just tidying up a biobed when Jackson stuck his head out from behind the screened-off area where the mysterious patient was being kept. “Um, Nurse?” he said. “Can you keep a secret?”

Baldwin thought about it. “Yep,” she said confidently, fingers crossed firmly behind her back.

“Great! Come in here.”

Baldwin walked around the screens and stopped in surprise when she saw that there was a Cardassian, in full uniform, lying on the operating table. Jackson grinned at her.

“Surprise!” he said cheerfully. “Now. How do I configure this thing for Cardassian biology? I keep having to disable the alarms because they keep telling me the patient is dying.”

Baldwin took one look at the settings. “That’s because he’s going into coliebric shock!” she exclaimed. “Get me a shot of coliemorphaline!”

The CMO scrambled over to the medicine cabinet and fumbled the shot together. Baldwin snatched it from him and administered the injection. She watched the readings carefully for a moment and then sighed in relief as they settled back down to Cardassian normal.

Jackson sagged and then smiled. “Fancy a promotion?”

 

Later that day the junior officers, plus Hywel, were playing cards in Stocks’ quarters. Hanson was silent, still depressed over his run in with the captain. The others were listening to Earley, who was telling them all about the things he and Stark had been doing in the shuttlebay.

“It’s pretty weird,” Stocks said. “But it’s hardly the strangest thing we’ve had to do.”

The others nodded, and it was only Hywel who noticed that Nurse Baldwin was biting her lip and keeping quiet. He shrugged. If she knew something but wasn’t saying it was because she had been ordered to do so and it wasn’t his place to push it.

“Got any fours?” Hywel asked Earley, who grumpily handed over the four of clubs.

“Got any sevens?” Stocks asked Hanson.

“Go fish,” Hanson replied. He sighed. “The captain gave me a right royal rollicking today,” he blurted out. “I think my chances of promotion are a big fat zero. Got any queens?” he added, to Baldwin.

“Cheer up,” Baldwin said, handing over a card. “No matter what the captain said, if the First Officer and Counsellor are pushing for you he’ll have to listen. Tens?”

“Commander Hill hates my guts,” Stocks moaned. “Oh, right. Go fish.”

“Maybe you need to stop being such a try-hard,” Earley suggested. “Fives, Hywel.”

“Here you go boyo,” the waiter said. He turned to Stocks. “There’s not much you can do about it lad,” he said. “Just go with the flow, see,” he added as he laid down yet another set of cards in front of him. He had eight out of thirteen sets. The others took one look, realised they had been far too preoccupied with their troubles and threw their cards down in disgust.

 

Damerell picked up one of the white pieces and turned it over in his fingers. “So… how do these ones move again?”

The Counsellor rolled her eyes. She was fast coming to regret the suggestion she had submitted to the captain a couple of weeks ago – that the senior staff should get together and socialise outside of the work every so often. The week before they had tried Wall’s suggestion of something called ‘Lazer Quest’. Admittedly, the Counsellor had enjoyed herself immensely. Unfortunately, no-one else had. Damerell, after being shot and freaking out over the vibrations of his chestplate, had collapsed into a whimpering ball and refused to move for an entire day. Hill had dismantled his equipment and, with a little ‘constructive’ input from Barfoot, had proceeded to melt a hole in the bulkhead when he turned it back on. The crewman on the other side, who had been in the shower, was not best pleased.

This weeks’ suggestion was Damerell’s, a modification on his original suggestion of ‘sitting quietly in a dark room until the voices in his head subsided’ – board games. They were gathered in Commander Hill’s quarters and she was attempting to explain the rules of chess – 2D, not 3D – while Wall, Barfoot, Jackson and Klumpf were playing something called Parcheesi. Hill had brought along a pack of cards and was playing patience by himself in the corner.

“That’s a bishop,” she explained for the umpteenth time. “It moves diagonally.”

“Right.” Damerell eyed the piece dubiously. “So that’s… how, exactly?”

The Counsellor repressed the urge to slam the board down on the navigator’s head and took a breath. “Let’s just start playing and see if you pick it up,” she suggested.

“Okay.”

They played for a minute, with the Counsellor telling him how each piece moved whenever he pointed at it. Finally, she had to say something to break the monotony.

“Have you thought about the promotions?” she asked. Damerell looked even blanker than normal. “The navigators? Hanson and Stocks? They’re both up for promotion. It’s your department after all. You must have an opinion.”

“Oh, um, er, well,” Damerell stammered, desperately trying to bring either of them to mind. “Stocks is, um, nice enough. Been a bit weird since that Orion base stuff. And Hanson is… tall?”

“Right. Good. Well done,” the Counsellor sighed. She looked across the room. “Hey, Unk!”

Hill looked up, a grumpy frown on his face. “What?! I’m this close to completing it this time!” He took one look at the expression on her face and swallowed. “Um, I mean, yes Counsellor?”

“The promotions. Stocks or Hanson. Whaddaya think?”

Hill shrugged “They’re both idiots. But Hanson is less experienced so I think Stocks is edging it.”

Across the room, Klumpf snorted. “Stocks is an incompetent Toh-pah!” he grunted. “He spends more time examining his rat-like facial hair in his reflection in the console than doing his job. He is nothing but a useless t’ooho’mIrah.” He looked at them. “If you would like my opinion, I think Hanson is a far better choice.” He thought for a moment. “Even if he does have irritatingly floppy hair.”

Both Hills blinked at him. “Right. I’ll take that under advisement,” Commander Hill said. He turned another card over and cursed as it became clear that he wasn’t going to be able to complete his game of yet again. In the next few minutes the Counsellor, finally losing patience, trounced Damerell, and Barfoot threw his arms out and shouted “Woohoo!” as he won the game of Parcheesi.

The door chimed and then opened as Hill called out for whoever it was to enter. It revealed Hywel, the waiter from Fred’s Bar. “Alright everyone, how’s it going, alright?” he said cheerfully. “Anyone up for a rousing game of nomination whist?”

Damerell looked vaguely panicked, no doubt remembering the last time they had tried to play a card game. He stood up and across the room Klumpf did the same, grumpy at having lost to Barfoot.

“We shall return to our quarters!” Klumpf said firmly.

“Er, yeah,” Damerell said. “Not together,” he added, apparently deciding that needed clarification. “I mean, I guess we’ll walk there together but we don’t have the same quarters, so we’ll be going to our own quarters. Um.”

Fortunately everyone except Wall was ignoring him and all the helmsman said was, “Bugger off then.”

 

“Ensign Hanson, a word.”

Hanson, dripping with sweat and aching in places he wasn’t sure muscles even existed after another week of Colonel Klumpf’s ‘Klingon Calisthenics’ class, waved goodbye to Nurse Baldwin as she cast a curious look over her own sweat-drenched shoulder at him.

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked as he walked over to where Klumpf was waiting. The huge Klingon studied him for a few seconds before grunting.

“You are ready to move to the next level of mok’bara,” Klumpf said abruptly. “To do so you must pass a test. The, uh, pokey-wokey.”

Hanson frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a real thing,” he said.

“And yet it is!” Klumpf bellowed, showering him in saliva. He stepped up and quickly tied a blindfold around Hanson’s face.

“Uh, wait…!” Hanson protested, but his words were drowned out by Klumpf’s demand that he defend himself. He raised his hands, and heard Klumpf’s footsteps, whirling in that direction only to be clipped on the back of the head. He regained his footing and readied himself again, only to have Klumpf kick his legs out from under him.

This time he paused before gathering himself, trying to quiet his whirling brain. He stood still, listened and waited. He was certain he could hear breathing off to one side. Then there was movement and he swung his arm up to block-

-only to be sent flying to the floor by the forceful application of Klumpf’s enormous booted foot to his backside.

Furious, Hanson tore off his blindfold and staggered to his feet. “This is stupid! No-one could pass this test!”

He stood there, chest heaving, standing his ground under the weight of Klumpf’s glare. The Klingon had his arms folded over his wide chest. They looked as big as Hanson’s thighs, and he suddenly regretted many of the life choices that had brought him to that moment in time.

Then a big grin broke out on Klumpf’s face and he threw his head back, laughing uproariously. He stepped up and clapped Hanson on the shoulder, staggering the ensign and nearly buckling his knees.

“Excellent, my Bagellian friend!”

“I…don’t understand,” Hanson said, bewildered.

“This was not a test of skill but of character,” Klumpf told him. “You stood up to your unfair treatment and were not cowed by those around you.” He gave Hanson a look. “I hope you will use this experience in other encounters with those above you in rank.”

Hanson frowned at him. “Uh, thanks. I think.”

 

A little while later, having showered and changed back into his uniform, Hanson stood at the door to Cholmondely-Smythe’s ready room, waiting to be permitted entry. After a moment the door beeped and slid open. Hanson walked through to find Cholmondely-Smythe sitting once more at his tiny desk. The captain had his elbows resting on the table, fingers steepled together. He peered at Hanson over the top of them, eyes narrowed.

“What can I do for you, old bean?”

Hanson fidgeted like a schoolboy in front of a headteacher, but he lifted his chin. “Um. I was hoping. Well. I mean, since I’ve been on the Psycho i’ve been pretty good at my job, I think, and I’ve really been trying. I guess I was just hoping you might judge me on that rather than my past. I’m really trying to make up for my mistakes.”

Cholmondely-Smythe continued to eye him for a moment before nodding. “Jolly good,” he said, finally. Hanson blinked at him. “You see, Ensign, I was actually testing you, to see how you responded to pressure. One could say you have redeemed yourself,” he nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “I have a rather dangerous mission in mind, one for which you would be unspeakably well suited. What do you say, Ensign?”

Hanson felt as though he was about to collapse from relief. “I say bring it on, sir! I’ll do anything to prove myself to you.”

“Splendid,” Cholmondely-Smythe muttered, though his tone was far from convincing.

 

Following a summons over the intercom a few hours after his discussion with the captain, Ensign Hanson walked into the briefing room to be confronted by Captain Cholmondely-Smythe, Commander Hill and Colonel Klumpf. He came to an abrupt stop, and his eyes almost bugged out of his head when he realised that the fourth chair in the room was occupied by a Cardassian in military uniform. Hanson gaped.

“What in the Celestial Temple is he doing here?” he demanded.

Hill looked up at the ceiling, as Klumpf covered a grin with a hand and Cholmondely-Smythe harrumphed disapprovingly. As Hanson blushed the Cardassian stood up and extended his hand with a smile on his face. Hanson took it gingerly.

“Ensign, meet Tark Edal. He is a brevet in the Cardassian military,” Klumpf informed him.

“And also,” Cholmondely-Smythe interjected, “a Federation operative. In the last couple of days we picked up an escape pod – Brevet Edal here was the occupant. He had information vital to the security of the Federation.”

“Of course,” Edal put in, “the problem now being that I need to get back into Cardassian space.”

“Okay…” Hanson said slowly. He looked between the senior officers. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“My return across the border would be far easier if I pose as a bounty hunter – one who has been off the grid for an extended length of time tracking a known enemy of the Cardassian state,” Edal told him. “And if I had a prisoner with me…”

“Even more verisimilitude,” Cholmondely-Smythe told him.

“And as a Bagellian, a race with a known grudge against Cardassia-” Hill started.

“They invaded our home!” Hanson snapped.

“-you’d make a perfect candidate,” Hill finished, trying out his best sternest look. Hanson blushed and shifted uncomfortably, and Hill’s look morphed into one of comical surprised. Fortunately, Hanson was too busy staring at his feet to notice.

“Now, I can’t order you to do this, Ensign,” Cholmondely-Smythe said, sounding just a little bit disappointed. “As this involves a high risk of capture or even death, Starfleet regulations demand that I offer this to you as a choice – will you accompany Brevet Edal back into Cardassian territory?”

Hanson thought it for all of about ten seconds. He was too much of a risk-taker to turn down a mission like this. “I’m in.”

 

Hanson’s only regret as he boarded the Todd behind Edal was not being able to say goodbye to most of his friends. The two of them took their seats in the cockpit and Hanson caught sight of his reflection. He looked bruised and battered, thanks to some cosmetic alterations provided by Doctor Jackson – ably assisted by Nurse Baldwin. She had caught him up in a big hug as he left sickbay, before sending him on his way without another word.

As the shuttle powered up under Hanson’s control the bay doors opened, getting stuck and grinding to a halt with just barely enough space between them for the shuttle to safely depart.

“Nervous?” Edal asked with a sympathetic smile.

“Be a bit of an idiot if I wasn’t, right?” Hanson replied. He glanced over at Edal, who was wearing slightly ragged clothes, though Hanson’s own dirty, ripped clothes looked worse. “Why do you do it?” he asked, suddenly.

“Do what?”

“What you do. This.” He waved his hand around at the inside of the shuttle.

Edal sighed. “The path Cardassia is on can only end in disaster. I am committed to doing whatever I can to make sure the Federation is well informed to be able to pick up the pieces.”

Silence fell after that as the Psycho disappeared behind them. They travelled on for a time before Edal spoke again.

“Once we are past the border patrols you will have to get into an escape pod to be sent back across the border,” he said seriously. “You will be entirely on your own with no way to defend yourself. We have the approximate locations of the ships so we can aim to send you through a gap in their patrols. You’ll need a healthy dose of luck, though.”

Hanson grinned, all boyish charm and confidence. “I make my own luck,” he said.

Edal was about to reply when a klaxon went off. He touched a few buttons. “It’s the border patrol,” he said. “You ready for the performance of your life?”

Hanson squared his shoulders and took a breath. “Let’s do it.”

 

Stocks sat staring at the empty chair around their table in Fred’s Bar. Around him Chief Earley and Nurse Baldwin sipped at their drinks.

“He can’t have just disappeared!” Stocks blurted out suddenly, making Earley spill his drink all down his top. “He must be on a mission somewhere!”

Baldwin dropped her eyes to the table and shrugged, while the engineer, still mopping himself up, hummed noncommittally. Stocks looked at both of them, realisation coming over his face. “You two know something!” he accused.

Earley shrugged. “Stark had me deliberately damage a shuttlecraft. I looked in the bay the other day and it’s gone now,” he said.

Stocks looked to Baldwin, who remained silent. Eventually she looked up. “I’m sorry Mat,” she said. “But even here on the Psycho, whatever we’ve done to end up here, we are Starfleet officers. I’m under orders not to say anything. We just have to wait.”

Stocks stared at her and then down at his drink, sighing. “Yeah, well, it sucks.”

 

“So, what is it exactly that I’m looking for?” Stocks asked, having watched Hill initiate a long-range scan. The Psycho was skulking around an uninhabited system on the outskirts of the current border with the Cardassian Empire.

“That’s classified, Ensign,” Cholmondely-Smythe said from the command chair. “I’m sure we will know it when we jolly well see it.”

Stocks rolled his eyes, exchanging a glance with Irving who shrugged his shoulders. “Still nothing,” Hill reported, after his console beeped dolefully having completed a further deep scan without success.

Cholmondely-Smythe looked over his shoulder at Hill and stood up, walking slowly back to the science station. “Perhaps we could narrow the scan field,” the captain suggested.

Hill frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe if we scanned specifically for Bagellian life signs?” he said. “We could configure the parameters so sift through the data faster.”

“Implement,” Cholmondely-Smythe ordered. Sitting at navigation Stocks’ eyebrows shot up and his hands stilled. He bit his lip, suddenly even more afraid for his friend.

“Sir?” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Are we looking for Ensign Hanson?”

“Classified is classified, Ensign,” the captain said, sniffing disapprovingly and Stocks grit his teeth. He jumped when the Counsellor’s hand rested on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just gripped it slightly, and he deflated.

Cholmondely-Smythe stood looking over Hill’s shoulder for a few more minutes, before harrumphing impatiently. “Send out a probe,” he ordered irritably. “We’re running out of jolly old time.”

Hill nodded and a minute later a probe launched from the Psycho, rapidly zooming out into the border. Sending the probe would undoubtedly be considered an act of war if discovered, but Cholmondely-Smythe felt it was worth the risk. With the additional sensors and scope provided by the probe, it was only a matter of minutes before Hill’s console let out a more optimistic beep than before.

“We have something,” Hill said, examining the readings carefully before frowning. “It’s debris. Something small, spectral analysis indicates…” he trailed off, sighing. “Federation origin. From the size and composition I’d say it’s… it was a Federation escape capsule.”

Silence fell over the bridge, broken only by Stocks saying, “Shit.”

 

“Captain’s log, supplemental. Following our discovery of the remains of the escape pod we have received news that a secret Federation listening post has intercepted a Cardassian transmission indicating that a Bagellian prisoner was has been killed following an escape attempt. They have also received indication that Brevet Edal is back in position. All that remains is for me to inform the crew.”

“… Ensign Hanson was an exemplary crewman, aside from his curious little foibles, but then who among us doesn’t have any of those. I mean, even I myself could be said to have one or two quirks…”

Behind the bar, Fred indicated with his chin and, standing next to the comm link, Hywel touched a button to stop the Captain’s voice. He looked over at the table where Ensign Irving, Nurse Baldwin, Chief Earley and newly-promoted Lieutenant j.g. Stocks were sitting, staring at their drinks morosely. He waved Hywel over.

“Git them there poor folk a round o’drinks,” he ordered. “On the house.”

“No problem, boyo,” Hywel said, his own expression sad. He delivered the drinks on a tray, exchanging sad smiles with Baldwin and Earley before clapping Stocks on the shoulder and heading off to the other side of the room.

“Did I really earn this?” Stocks asked, pointing to his new rank pin. “Or did I just get it because Hanson kicked the bucket?”

“Mathew!” Nurse Baldwin scolded him. “It doesn’t matter, either way,” she said. “You’re a lieutenant now and you’re going to do a good job in memory of Jhon or so help me I’m going to make your life a living hell!!”

Lieutenant Stocks blinked at her, wide-eyed, before swallowing hard and nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

Across the room, Colonel Klumpf was watching them. Hywel stopped by his table. “Alright there, Colonel. What’s occurrin’?”

“Nothing,” Klumpf grumbled.

Hywel let the silence reign for a few moments before saying, “You know, you could go over there and sit with them.”

The Klingon shook his head. “It would not be appropriate. They were his friends. I am… not.”

“No offence, like,” Hywel said, “but that’s crap and you know it. Now get over there, you big lunk.”

Hywel hurried away and Klumpf stood, walking slowly over to the table of junior officers. Chief Earley saw him first and stood.

“At ease,” Klumpf growled out. He looked around. “If it is alright with you, I would like to remember Ensign Hanson with you. He was a brave and honourable warrior. Even if he did have floppy hair.”

That prompted a short laugh from the other occupants of the table, and Earley quickly found another chair. Stocks leaned in, a smirk on his face. “Let me tell you a story about Hanson Jhon…”