Nichelle felt her heart skip a beat, and her breath catch in her throat as the computer finally yielded a clue regarding her mystery patient. 

Arys Turunen. A name. 

She mouthed it to herself, lingering on each syllable as if they were the most valuable piece of information she had come across in a long time. And in a sense, they were. 

For nearly a week she  had been looking through the recovered log files, and tried to reconstruct the woman’s medical history piece by piece. It was an agonisingly slow process, but it also wasn’t without its successes. Broken leg at the age of nine. Exposure to Xenozym-17 three years ago.

The discovery of the latter had led to a breakthrough, because it tied her patient to a specific sector. Nichelle had contacted the closest starbase on little more than a hunch, despite knowing her request might irritate the staff. And it had.

But now, staring at the result, she knew it had been worth it. 

Arys had been a Starfleet Academy graduate. One who had been at the peak of an impressive career before she… disappeared.

Or rather…

“Classified?”, Nichelle said to no one in particular, her voice breaking through the silence of her quarters. This was odd, not what she had expected at all, and it had Nichelle’s imagination run wild.

She pictured a lost undercover agent, a woman who had been so deep in the shadows that even Starfleet had forgotten her. Almost sentenced to crimes she did not commit. She imagined dramatic reunion and triumphant vindication, all made possible because she didn’t give up on her. 

Or maybe it was something darker. A Starfleet officer who had abandoned her principles, and crossed over to the dark side. 

Nichelle frowned at that thought. She liked the first story better.

It would mean a happy end for Arys – and for her. Her mind returned to Keller, who still refused to speak to her unless it was absolutely necessary. And whenever they did speak, the interaction was a silent battlefield.

Perhaps that was why it felt so good to finally focus on somethng else. 

She shook her head, trying to banish the thought. This wasn’t about Keller.  It wasn’t about her either. This was about Arys.

Right?

A few minutes later, her search yielded another name. Solaris McLaren.

Nichelle leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen. McLaren’s service record was a lot more accessible, and impressive. 

The woman had, for years, served as Director of Intelligence on the same starbase that had provided the match. Then, after another few years as in Starfleet Intelligence Headquarters, she had been given command of the USS Yamato. 

That name rang a bell. 

When the crew of the USS Cupertino had split up after Jurev’s departure, Nichelle had requested a transfer to the Callisto. A friend of hers, she remembered, had transferred to the Yamato. The connection was faint, but it was there.

Her lips curled into a small smile. Perhaps it was time to rekindle that friendship. 

Seta Jinean had just put her daughter Leothera to bed. The little girl had been fussy all day, requested one story after the other, and still complained when Jinean had eventually left to catch up with some work. 

The evening was her time to breathe. The real work was already done, happening earlier in the day, when Leo was in class. Managing schedules, talking to patients, writing recommendations. But her notes always waited for the quiet hours, when she was unlikely to be interrupted. 

She was halfway to her desk when her console chimed. Frowning, she leaned over and tapped the screen, her eyes widening as she saw the request. Nichelle Trova.

Her stomach tightened. She had thought of Nichelle a lot in the past months, replayed their past conversations in her head, and wondered how their relationship had changed so quickly. The one day they were friends, the next, they simply didn’t speak any more. 

Nichelle had left the Cupertino without as much as a goodbye. 

She hesitated before she accepted the call, straightening as Nichelle’s face appeared on the screen in front of her. 

“Doctor.” she said stiffly. “It’s been far too long.” 

She couldn’t quite banish the bitterness from her voice. 

Nichelle’s initial smile faltered. “Yeah, it has. I’m sorry, I should have reached out. It’s just.. lots to do. You know how it is.”

“I understand.”, Seta said with a sigh, her voice softening slightly. “The Yamato has been busy, and the impact of our last mission still has my schedule fairly full.”

“It’s the same here.”, Nichelle nodded eagerly. 

“Where are you again?”, Seta asked, not thinking anything of it. “I think you never told me where you transferred to.”

Nichelle hesitated. “The… USS Callisto.”

Seta’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tightened against the desk. The Callisto. Jonathan’s ship. 

“Did you get assigned there, or did you request it?”, she asked carefully – as if that would make a difference. If she had been assigned there, she should have declined. 

“I requested it. I wanted to… be there for Jonathan.”

Seta inhaled sharply. Her composure slipped for a moment, “And you don’t think Jonathan deserves some space after what happened? You know I don’t blame you, but we both know he certainly does.” 

“I… know.”, Nichelle said defensively. “Look, I am not calling for a lecture. I have a request.”

Of course, Seta thought bitterly. When she said something Nichelle wanted to hear, it was advise. When it was something she didn’t want to hear, it was a lecture. 

Somehow, Seta regretted having taken the call.

“Let’s hear it then.”, she said sternly. 

“On our last mission, we came across someone. A Starfleet officer with a classified record.”

Seta’s gaze narrowed. “And you think I can help with that?”

“Your new Captain classified that record. I was… hoping you could get me in touch.”

Seta hesitated for a moment. She didn’t at all feel like helping out, but it seemed the easiest way out of this conversation.  “I suppose I can.”

“Thank you…”, smiled Nichelle, and Seta could see a  flicker of relief on her features. “It.. really means a lot. I’m sorry we didn’t speak much…”

Seta’s smile was thin, and strained. “It’s fine. I’ll speak to McLaren.”

“Thanks,” Nichelle said again, hesitating. “So… how are you-…”

“I actually have to go now.”, said Seta, her tone more brisk than she had intended. “Leo’s restless tonight.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“We’ll talk later.”, she nodded, and ended the call. 

Or never, she thought, as she closed her eyes. She would help Nichelle, but she would also keep her distance, and let Nichelle sort out her own mess. Seta had enough of her own.