A series of grumbles and growls escaped Tomaasz’ throat as he bent over the diagnostic display. The sounds of frustration were melodious, as one might expect from a Caitian, but still boded ill for the system that had drawn his ire. Even so, a smile crossed his face. He was in his element, even though fifteen years earlier he would scarcely have credited the possibility. But the hunt was on, and this glitch in the power feeds to the science labs would not elude him for long.

With a soft chime, Silver materialized next to the console. As usual, the quasi artificial intelligence hologram manifested as a female Caitian with silver fur, in a white and grey variant of a Starfleet uniform. She waited patiently until he had reached a pausing point, then cleared her throat gently. When he glanced over, she spoke in a mellow alto voice.

“As a reminder, you need to schedule an intake appointment with the ship’s counselor. You have been on board for three days, and Admiral Marshall was quite insistent that you regularly attend counseling sessions to help you acclimate to your return to active starship duty.” Her tone was calm and soothing, almost maternal, turning what could have been a rebuke into a gentle encouragement. Even so, he glanced around to make certain no one had overheard.

With a sigh, he responded. “I know, Sil. And I will. But right now there are three thousand and three things that need fixed before we set out on our shakedown cruise. There just isn’t time to sit down with a stranger and talk about my feelings over my entire life being flung into a singularity.” His tone made it clear that the ideal time for such an awkward conversation would be slightly after the heat death of the universe. 

Unperturbed, Silver continued just as calmly. “I understand, but you still need to take adequate care of yourself. Need I remind you of the hazards of focusing on one aspect of your responsibilities to the exclusion of others?” That was a rebuke, though so smoothly given that he could not take offense. Even though she was right.

“Hey, I’ve been keeping up on my exercise sims. I won’t be getting lost in any Jeffries tubes, I promise. Not that I could fit into them on this ship, but that’s another bag of gakh entirely.” He knew full well that she meant social upkeep as well as physical, but he was not ready to allow very much casual closeness. Not yet.

Thankfully, she did not press the issue. Knowing when to give him his space and when to push was one of the better finesse elements of her programming. “Very well,” she said. “On that subject, your regular morning session in Holodeck B will begin in seven minutes. You should just have time to make it if you change now. I know you like to be punctual, even though you’re the only one there.” Being able to tease him without making him angry was something he didn’t recall programming into her matrix, but he was glad it had developed. With an indulgent smile, she dematerialized. 

A smile brightened his own face as he locked down the console he had been working on. “Thanks, Sil. You’re a gem.” A quick stop at the locker in his office saw him changed into his workout gear. With a brisk “hold the fort” to Ensign Verrez, he jogged down the corridor toward the turbolift. 

—–

If previously asked, Kyle would’ve told you that walking around a starship would surely be a fantastic exercise. While technically not wrong, he didn’t account for the slight awkwardness to settle into his stomach like a tired cat as he walked along the sterile corridors of decks that he isn’t quite adjusted to yet. So far he’s had plenty of time between his office and quarters, with a few detours like the Captain’s office (as well as meeting said Andorian), and the mess halls. After so long on Earth he had forgotten about this… slight discomfort, in new environments. He was excited to be here, don’t get him wrong; but it doesn’t counteract the small quirks underneath his skin. 

There was also the matter of being out of uniform, in dark green jogging pants and a short sleeved black shirt. With his first new client scheduled this late afternoon, a young Ensign nurse. He’s gotten most of the necessary essentials already set up for this session, a burst of excited productivity after she came by his office to set it up, logically he knew that his services would be needed eventually, (and the also small hypocritical feeling of hoping no one truly needed his services). But, it’s another nail in the frame that’s building the Tanjura and his reactivated service to Starfleet. 

So he was taking the morning to move his body, instead of feeding his worry and pouring over paperwork- there will be plenty of that to come if he knows anything. He’s refocusing his energy into something more productive! Like… walking around and becoming better acquainted with the ship, (since he didn’t think to grab any exercise sims before heading to Andoria), and he didn’t quite feel like doing push ups inside his quarters. The map in his mind is still shaky without referencing an actual copy, but he figures he’s earned the ability to use the gymnasium after this half-hearted attempt at mapping the ship by foot. 

Walking past a couple holographic crew members hard at work on a nearby console, the older man nodding at them before entering the turbolift. Before coming face to face with a Caitain on the inside, just a few inches taller than he is. Yellow-green eyes blinking against his dark brown, (Chartreuse? An almost distant memory making the connection-). 

“Well pardon me,” moving himself to the right of the turbolift, away from the closing doors. Trying to give the felinoid space, Kyle crossed his hands in front of himself. 

“I’m heading for Deck eight, you?” A small smile, he wasn’t in uniform so it was harder to try and remember from his files who this might be. There’s a small inkling in the back of his mind, something he had read- and then made a loose connection, it wasn’t plainly put or it would be screaming at him. Or maybe the memory from earlier is intersecting, not quite run its course. 

 

Taking a half-step to the side to make room for the lift’s new passenger, Tomaasz inhaled discreetly. The scent of Terran, clean and well-groomed, with a light overlay of perspiration, confirmed that he was one of the Tanjura’s flesh and blood crew. With a speed, ease and subtlety born of habits so old they had become reflexes, he assessed his crewmate. Only a bit shorter than himself, and just a bit heavier, his build suggested a less physically demanding track, possibly in the sciences, though he clearly kept up with Starfleet’s recommended exercise routines. The lines of his face spoke of a life well-lived, but one that had seen trouble and battle as well. Someone who was comfortable with who he was; if not entirely with where he was, if that flash of discomfort was any indication. This was someone he could get along with, he thought.

Snap assessment finished, he nodded slightly. “Also Deck Eight. Heading for the holodeck for my morning workout.” After a brief but awkward pause, he remembered his manners. “I’m Tomaasz. Chief engineer.” His tone was a bit gruff, but the melodious undertones of his Caitian voice softened the effect. His ears were canted forward and his tail swayed at medium speed, body language showing that he was mostly relaxed, if not wholly at ease meeting new people. 

 

“Kyle Hawthorne, ships Counselor.” A polite nod to him, placing “Tomaasz” with red-gray fur and engineering- so he’s a yellow shirt. Feeling himself being sized up, at least he thinks so, with the taller feline slight movement. Besides, after all the conflict (at least within Kyle’s fifty years) he doesn’t blame anyone, especially fellow Starfleet. Which Tomaasz seems to have been in for a while, being Chief Engineer isn’t a throwaway position to give to just anyone. 

“Funny enough I was on my way to see the gymnasium for my morning workout, I didn’t have the forethought to bring any exercise sims.” Turning his head slightly to talk to him, “how have you been settling in? The Tanjura is certainly something else.” A small smile, trying to gauge any kind of reaction, some crewmates care for small talk and some certainly don’t. At least so far he seems comfortable with me, Kyle thought. But Caitain body language is also eluding him right now, another area to study to hopefully help with his work, not wanting to assume everything from a Terran perspective; oh he’s certain been corrected on that before. (A delegation mission from his ensign days comes to pass before ignoring the pointed memory). 

 

Tomaasz’ left ear twitched once before he willed it into stillness. Counselor, eh? The coincidence struck him as unlikely. Had Silver accessed the corridor sensors and seen Hawthorne’s approach, sending her charge out to meet him? Possible. Maybe even likely. She was prone to arranging things “for his own good.” And they usually were for his good. Sometimes he thought he had programmed her too well.

Remembering his manners, he nodded politely. “There should be some basic sims in the holodeck’s library. I’d share mine, but…” He paused, not sure how to say what he meant without causing offense. He finally settled on “mine are a bit… intense. Most Terrans don’t care for them.”

Considering the counselor’s other question, he gave it some thought. Just how was he settling in? As an engineer, he was busy and quickly finding his place. But if Hawthorne meant socially, well, he wasn’t unhappy as such. He had not directly interacted with many flesh-and-blood crew members yet. There hadn’t been time to. Eventually he replied “Oh, fine. Jumping in with all claws. There’s no shortage of things to keep me busy.

“Speaking of which, have you noticed any technological quirks of our new home? I’m still trying to run down the bugs before we launch on our shakedown.” As conversational redirects went, it wasn’t the smoothest. But for him it was quite good enough. 

 

“Oh I’ll remember the library for a later date.” Intense huh? Kyle fought back a small chuckle, it wasn’t that he didn’t believe the other man; but that he wondered if his age was the reason for this response. It’s not often but sometimes he’s reminded (or maybe just reminding himself) of his middle age status, but he also knows just about nothing else about Tomaasz. It’s not quite fair to assume, he could’ve put it so much worse.

The answer made sense, Kyle even felt the same way, well minus the claws part. But, he hoped that it was more on the side of truth rather than polite platitudes. 

“Well, first thing that comes to mind is there’s a couple consoles on Deck Seven, one in Medbay, and the other in my office that I just couldn’t seem to load up a map of this ship for the life of me. Luckily I could still access most other info I needed but it was slow in doing so. I wasn’t sure if it was normal or not for this stage of building.” Remembering how he had to go to the other empty counselor’s office to get a look at the map, admittedly engineering was one of Kyle’s weaker points, and wasn’t entirely sure if this was worth mentioning but he felt it better to give an honest answer.

“I’ve also had a couple slow doors here and there, no collisions thankfully. I haven’t run into too much trouble besides just getting used to a starship again.” Thinking hard on the few days he’s been here, there’s been a few glitches and hiccups, but it’s hard to know if they’re fixable or just part of life’s general troubles. 

 

“Silver,” Tomaasz called out. The QAI materialized a polite distance from either of the lift’s occupants. “Additions to the prey list. Ship map access and general access speed, Deck Seven Medbay and primary counselor’s office. Door servomechanism response time, reevaluate priority level. End additions.” The silver Caitian nodded demurely, then glanced pointedly in the Counselor’s direction. 

Reminded of his manners, Tomaasz amended “ah yes. Silver, this is Counselor Hawthorne. Please establish a direct query link to his combadge and office.” Turning to Kyle, he continued. “This is Silver, my QAI. When you encounter any of those glitches, just call her name and tell her. She’ll make sure they don’t slip through the cracks.”

Silver turned and nodded to Kyle with a pleasant smile. “I’m delighted to meet you, Counselor Hawthorne. I look forward to hearing from you.” Her calm and soothing demeanor came across as almost maternal, giving the crazy feeling of a parent happy to see their child making new friends. 

 

Kyle returned it with a grin, “pleasure to meet you as well ma’am.” Yes, he was certainly going to have to study up on Caitain body language. He could only assume from subtle movements that he can’t even prove, but something tickles him about Silver. Either way it’s very helpful to have a direct line, and he can’t deny he doesn’t enjoy Tomaasz gumption. Certainly the most spirited he’s seen him so far in this small encounter. 

“I’ll be sure to let ya know if I run into any more of your ‘prey’. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that list.” Kyle said the last part jokingly, the same grin flashing at Tomaasz and Silver.

 

A light flush tinged the inner surface of Tomaasz’ ears. “Ah, yes. That’s how I think of the problems I have to solve. It’s a holdover from my previous track. I’m sure it’s in your files,” though I wonder just how much of it made it into any accessible files, “but I used to be in Security. Back then part of my job was to hunt people. Now I hunt malfunctions. Just adapting an existing mindset. Plus, you know,” he tapped a claw against a razor-sharp fang. “Predator.” As he lowered his arm, the sleeve caught for a moment on a rough patch of fur, revealing the start of a network of scars that ran up his arm.

 Not seeming to notice the exposure of scars normally hidden, he turned back to the hologram. “That will be all for now, Silver. Thank you.” With another demure nod, and a far-too-knowing smile for Kyle, the QAI vanished.

 

DING! DING! DING! The inkling turns into a punch. Career changes weren’t unusual, but a sudden life change can hold many different motivations. He remembers reading his file and noting that to himself, and that he was one of the older crew members like him. A part of him applauded the mindset, finding it an earnest and straightforward way to approach a problem. Now Kyle’s eyes were naturally following his movement, the small tap of claw against fang, and just how sharp they must feel. I’d hate to be on the receiving end, and if he used his natural abilities, that does mean getting closer and personal to whoever is on the brunt end of Security. 

When suddenly a million theories explode upon seeing that small patch, and the undeniable sight of scars. Each line a story, and Kyle is no stranger to a plethora of what they could contain. Combat, if so which one? Borg or Jem’Hadar? Security? Maybe more personal? Childhood? Self harm? All? None? But he’d be hypocritical to say that he’s made it out scott free, one such scar on the inner corner of his right arm giving its phantom wound performance. One time he might’ve pointed it out, directly asked and in turn ruined the pleasant conversation. 

Instead he simply returns eye contact and says, “I can see the similarities, and don’t let me get in the way of what works. Besides…” Leaning in slightly toward Tomaasz, he gives a small conspiratorial grin full of teeth, “I also call my client list the ‘Prey list’ too.” Moving back to his personal space, small chuckling at his own joke. 

 

It took all of the Caitian’s self control not to step back into a fighting crouch as Hawthorne leaned into his space with fangs out. He had to remind himself that the baring of all teeth on a Terran was not a threat, but rather their version of a smile. Usually. The thought that the Counselor would consider his own clients as prey gave him pause, until the chuckle revealed the intended joke. Even after all these years, Terran humor still tripped him up sometimes. 

Forcing his ears forward, Tomaasz managed a small smile to acknowledge the joke. Only the lashing of his tail tip gave away his unrest. He hoped no other Caitians used this lift soon; the scent of agitation would have them clawing the walls.

Feeling derailed from the conversation, he racked his mind for small talk options. Valentine’s team had drilled so many into him, but none were coming to the surface when he needed them.

The soft hiss of the lift doors opening was a blessing. He gestured for Kyle to precede him, hoping that the gesture did not seem as curt as it felt. He was all at angles, and looked forward to losing himself in strenuous physical exertion for a while.

 

Hmm, a small part of Kyle felt almost mistaken. That moment when the conversation seemingly dies, and he takes stock of what’s been said, while he couldn’t pinpoint exactly, maybe the joke was disrespectful? (Note to self: No more ‘Prey’ jokes). While Tomassz smiled, it didn’t exactly ease him. 

Just great, one turbolift conversation that was going so well and I just had to open my mouth… He tried to not spiral, he couldn’t even be sure it was him- It certainly wasn’t Silver’s doing. When the doors suddenly opened, half glad and half regretful, Kyle let himself be led out to avoid further awkwardness. 

Feeling the felinoid move behind him, Kyle stepped out of the way to give him room, feeling like he had one last shot to save this interaction. “Oh Tomaasz, it was a pleasure to meet you this morning.” Keeping it calm, a small smile before finishing. “And as well to offer, should you ever need my services, my office is always open.” It was a shot in the dark, Kyle had learned after many years that while Counseling and other mental health services were widespread; there were still those uncomfortable with the idea. Not that it’s easy to open up to a stranger but that’s why Kyle tried so hard to be a friendly face. 

“Of course there’s no pressure or nothing, I know we’re all trying to get settled in, but I’m just a ding away.” That should do it, at least, salvage what I can. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Tomaasz caught the all-too-familiar scent of self-doubt from Hawthorne. It surprised him that a ship’s counselor might be as uneasy and awkward as he was himself. They were both new to the ship. More, since the Terran was clearly no cadet, and did not have the feel of a civilian, he must also have been reactivated from some less active post. The realization made him relax. The next smile he offered felt much more genuine, and he tried to let it show that sense of commonality.

“Good to meet you also, Kyle. You may very well see me darkening your door one day.” His smile turned crooked as he essayed a joke of his own. “Even if I’m just fixing it.”

Glancing up, he realized that they had reached the branch in the corridor. To the left were the holodecks; to the right, the gymnasium. A sudden impulse struck him, spurred by a half-noticed reaction from earlier. “Would you care to join me?” His tail gestured toward the holodecks. “You can see what I mean by intense.”

 

His face lit up at Tomaasz’s joke, maybe I still got it heh. 

Following the other man’s tail, Holodeck or Gymnasium? Well… in the spirit of camaraderie how could I refuse? “And turn down an invitation like that? Now you got me curious.” 

Turning himself to the left, towards the Holodecks, he held out an arm towards them, “lead the way.” Allowing the Caitain to get the Sim setup. 

 

Tomaasz stopped at the entrance to Holodeck B. “Computer,” he said clearly, “load program Tomaasz Roof Pursuit Alpha 2. Set gravity to 1.3 standard. Pursuit aggression level two.” After a moment the computer chimed its assent and the doors slid open. Inside was what could have been an unsavory neighborhood in a thousand cities on a hundred worlds. Tall buildings clustered close together. Far from being simplistic renditions, these brought detail to every bit of wear, decay, and squalor. The Caitian strode in as though he owned the place, a bit of Security strut entering his posture.

“Welcome to the slums of Tarsus IV,” he said with grim familiarity. “I did a two-year tour here, and learned how to get through areas best avoided. This sim has one goal and two rules.” A glowing beacon appeared on top of a building some distance away. “The goal is to reach that beacon.” A veritable horde of ruffians and thugs materialized in the streets ahead. Even paused they radiated menace. Most carried blades, chains, and improvised clubs, but perhaps one in twelve had a phaser or disruptor pistol. “Rule one, don’t fall to ground level. Rule two, don’t get shot. It’s not about speed, it’s about survival. Any questions?”

 

“The safety protocols are still running right?” Half serious, half joking. His eyes flying through all the various different threats, he understands why Tomaasz called this intense. 

 

“Naturally. Nobody’s dying on my watch. Computer, start program.” As the crowd of ruffians surged forward with the dull roar of dozens of coarse voices, Tomaasz bared all of his fangs in a grin of terrifying exhilaration. He crouched like a coiled spring, then leapt to the nearest building. His claws found purchase on a crooked bit of window frame and he was off, flowing up the vertical surface as quickly as if he were running on level ground.

 

“Shit.” Not wanting to be caught (nor lose in the first five seconds), pushing himself instantly to grab ahold of the dangling rusted ladder of a fire escape. Not sure if Tomaasz was even waiting to see if he made it up the first wall, climbing up as he feels the slicing air of a chain almost hitting him in the back, just narrowly missing instead. The dull roar getting louder as some tried to follow him up, the ledge was right there above him.

He found himself grinning, the large kind that showed off his crooked teeth from fights past. You wanted that walk Hawthorne, time to take it. Before taking his own leap to the top of the building, a laugh escaping him.