The holodeck hummed softly around them; the simulated velocity court shimmered with a faint silver light. The air buzzed with energy as the disc raced between the two men, its shifting light creating brief shadows on the hologrid. Lieutenant Commander Perry Reynolds, tall and broad-shouldered, moved like a force of nature—quick, deliberate, and unrelenting. His bright blonde hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, while his blue eyes tracked the flying disc with razor-sharp focus.

Across from him, Kulucis was a study in quiet determination. A few inches shorter and leaner, the Kantare science officer held his own. His muscles tensed beneath his workout vest as he twisted to intercept the incoming shot. His pale skin glistened under the simulated lights, and his veins were faintly visible beneath the surface in the heat of the game.

The two men had been like this for years—locked in competition, neither willing to give the other an inch. Best friends since their Academy days, Kulucis and Reynolds, had shared everything from late-night study sessions to countless rounds of Parrises Squares, dom-jot, and boxing. Velocity, though, had always been their game. It was the one sport that allowed neither to rely solely on their natural strengths. Reynolds had the reach, but Kulucis was faster. They should have been evenly matched on paper—but somehow, Perry always found a way to edge him out.

Another point sailed past Kulucis’ shoulder as Perry hit the glowing target with a triumphant chime. The disc span out of control as it smashed off the wall and into Kulucis’ chest.

“Full impact. Final round to Reynolds. Winner Reynolds.” announced the computer in a neutral tone. 

“Point. Match. Game,” Reynolds declared, lowering his phaser with a smirk that bordered on cocky.

Kulucis groaned, stumbling backwards and collapsing to the floor in exhaustion. “I swear… next time… you’re going down.”

“You say that every time,” Reynolds teased, already making his way over. He extended a hand, which Kulucis accepted with a chuckle.

As Reynolds easily pulled him up, Kulucis wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’m serious. One of these days, I’ll recalibrate the holodeck just enough to take you down a peg.”

“You can recalibrate all you want,” Reynolds said, tapping his taller frame with his palm. “I’m still taller.”

Kulucis shook his head, breathing hard but smiling. “I’ll grow.”

“Sure you will.” 

Reynolds walked to the bench, grabbing two towels. He tossed one to Kulucis without looking, already drying the sweat from his own face.

Despite the lighthearted banter, their bond ran deeper than just competitive rivalry. They had been by each other’s side for nearly fifteen years—four years sharing a dormitory at the Academy and ten years serving aboard under Captain Krabreii. Through countless away missions, skirmishes, and victories, Kulucis could scarcely remember a time Reynolds wasn’t there, cracking jokes or offering advice.

Kulucis wiped down his arms as he sat on the bench beside him. “Dinner later?”

Reynolds shook his head, unscrewing the cap on his water bottle and taking a long drink. “Can’t. I’ve got to oversee the last round of security updates for Frontier Day. Starfleet’s pushing hard to make sure every ship’s perfect for the fleet demonstration.”

Kulucis frowned. His friend had been working almost double shifts these last few weeks since the Orion’s launch ahead of the Frontier Day celebrations. “I can help. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

Reynolds grinned, shaking his head as he wiped the back of his neck. “I appreciate it, Kulucis, but I’ve got this. The captain’s counting on me to ensure Orion’s systems are flawless. If there’s even a hiccup during fleet synchronisation, she won’t let me forget it.”

Kulucis let out a breath, leaning against the wall. “Perfectionist as always.”

“Well, when you look this good,” he said, lifting his vest above his head to reveal his chiselled, defined abs, “Someone expects it all the time,” Reynolds said with a laugh, playfully nudging Kulucis with his elbow.

Kulucis rolled his eyes before he nudged him back. Reynolds had always joked around at how muscular his frame was. The guy was obsessed with keeping himself fit and in shape, and when they were at the Academy together as dorm buddies, Reynolds’ influence got Kulucis to go to the gym every day. 

“Just don’t work yourself to death.” Kulucis pleaded with his friend. “You’ve been working non-stop since the launch.”

“I’ll try. But I make no promises. I’m the second officer; I need to set the tone.”

Reynolds grabbed his gear, slinging his towel over his shoulder as he walked toward the holodeck exit. Before stepping through the doors, he glanced back. “Next game—your pick.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Kulucis called after him, shaking his head with a slight grin as the holodeck dissolved into its neutral grid.

Present day – stardate Stardate: 78980

USS Orion (NCC-92915), Swallow Nebula region, Delta Quadrant

The gym was deserted, except for the rhythmic sound of fists hitting the heavy bag. Kulucis stood before it, shirtless and clad only in black shorts with the Starfleet logo, his sweat-slicked skin glistening. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling as beads of sweat streamed down his torso, soaking into the waistband of his shorts. The artificial gravity in the Orion’s gym felt unusually oppressive, adding weight to his limbs as he pressed on with his attack bag. 

His knuckles, wrapped in cloth, connected in quick succession – left, right, left – followed by a solid knee strike that sent the bag swinging. The strike wasn’t just physical; it was cathartic, a desperate attempt to exorcise the tension that had been simmering since the captain had called him out.

You’re better than this, Kul.

Kulucis froze mid-punch, his hand trembling inches from the bag. His heart pounded—not from the exertion, but from the sound of that voice. 

Perry.

You can’t lead if you keep pushing people away, the voice continued, calm yet firm, echoing in his mind as if his old friend were standing beside him.

“Damn it,” Kulucis muttered under his breath, stepping back from the bag. His muscles burned, but he welcomed the pain. It was easier to focus on that than the guilt gnawing at him.

She’s right, you know. Krabreii isn’t just your captain—she’s your mentor. You’ve looked up to her for years.  

Kulucis clenched his jaw as he mopped his brow with the back of his hand, sweat running down his nose. 

“She shouldn’t have pulled me up like that,” he growled to no one in particular. His voice echoed faintly in the gym.

You know that’s not true. She has every right to. She’s the captain. You’re being an ass. 

Perry’s voice landed heavier than any blow Kulucis could deliver. Clenching his fists, he approached the bag once more. He could vividly picture Perry nearby—arms crossed, wearing that familiar, knowing grin. It was the same expression Perry always wore when Kulucis was being stubborn.

“You’re not even here,” Kulucis muttered, slamming his fists into the bag again. Each hit sent droplets of sweat flying. Though he wished his friend was here. Standing with him like they used to train together. He missed their daily workout sessions in the ship’s gym or on the holodeck. 

Yeah, well… maybe you need someone to knock some sense into you. You took over from me as Second Officer, and you’re behaving like a brat. 

Kulucis’s breathing grew ragged, his strikes more frantic, as frustration bubbled to the surface. He hadn’t just been annoyed at Anderson. He was angry with himself. Angry that the captain had to point it out, angry that Perry’s absence still weighed on him like a lead blanket. Why hadn’t he had seen it himself? Why hadn’t he stopped? 

The bag jolted violently as he landed a final, powerful strike. It swung back, nearly knocking him off balance. Kulucis stumbled, catching himself on the bag as his chest heaved.

“I know I’m screwing this up,” he admitted aloud, barely above a whisper.

Then stop. 

Take a moment. 

Breath, god damn it, Kulucis. Be you. 

Kulucis exhaled sharply, letting the heavy bag steady itself. The room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of the environmental systems. Perry’s voice faded, leaving Kulucis alone with his thoughts.

The sudden hiss of his combadge shattered the silence. “Lieutenant T’Oola to Commander Kulucis.”

Kulucis straightened, pulling the towel from the bench. He wiped his face, though the sweat still clung stubbornly to his skin.

“Kulucis here,” he replied, his voice still breathy. 

“I need you in the xenoanthropology lab, sir.”

T’Oola’s tone, as usual, was dry—almost bored. The Caitian science officer was known for her mood swings. He wondered what mood he would be treated to. 

Kulucis ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling slowly. “On my way,” he replied, pulling his zipped-up jacket over his shoulders. It clung to his damp skin uncomfortably, but he barely noticed.

As he left the gym, he could almost feel Perry’s presence fading behind him.

But the words lingered.

Then stop.

By the time Kulucis stepped into the lab, sweat still glistened on his brow. The dim lighting of the Orion’s corridors contrasted with the sterile, cool atmosphere of the science bay. The faint hum of active consoles filled the room, and there, standing over one of the terminals, was Lieutenant T’Oola—arms folded, eyes fixed on the screen like it owed her something.

She glanced at him and arched a brow. “Still trying to fight the punching bag, sir?”

Kulucis smirked as he wiped his face with the towel. “It usually loses.”

“Maybe one day it’ll fight back,” she replied dryly. Then, without looking up, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “This one has been at it for the past two hours. And no, I had nothing to do with whatever he found.”

Curious, Kulucis followed her gesture to see Lieutenant Anderson seated at one of the main terminals, his brow furrowed in concentration. Anderson looked up as Kulucis approached, his eyes flicking briefly to the commander’s sweat-soaked attire.

Kulucis crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Didn’t expect to find you down here, Mister Anderson.”

Anderson grinned slightly. “Well, when I’m not recalibrating shields or figuring out ways to keep the ship from being blown up, I like to dabble in a bit of xenoanthropology. It keeps me grounded. Plus, I wanted to see how much of a security threat these people could be like the captain wanted.”

Kulucis snorted softly, but there was no malice behind it. “So, what have you got?”

Anderson tapped the screen, enlarging a series of sensor readings. “With some help from T’Oola, I think we’ve got a name for this civilisation. They call themselves the Virellans, and this is their homeworld, called Virella.”

Kulucis leaned in, impressed despite himself. “That’s quick work. How’d you manage that?”

“Cross-referencing patterns in their satellite communications,” Anderson replied, clearly eager to explain. “Thanks to our Borg-inspired technology, I’ve been able to access their computer network systems. They broadcast a lot of public material into orbit. I picked up repeated symbols and phonetic markers that matched across different transmissions. T’Oola confirmed the linguistic patterns. It turns out that Virellans is the unifying term they use to describe themselves, regardless of nation.”

Kulucis glanced at T’Oola, who gave the slightest shrug.

“I just confirmed his work. He’s not wrong,” she admitted.

Kulucis folded his arms again, looking at Anderson with a grudging nod of approval. “Good job.”

Anderson’s grin widened slightly but didn’t linger on the praise. He tapped another display, pulling up an orbital schematic of the planet. Three distinct regions lit up. All of them were separate from one another, and large bodies of water separated them. Two covered a hemisphere each, while the third reached across both hemispheres.

“There’s more. Their planet is divided into three primary nations—Selvar, Arven, and Iskari.” Anderson’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “From what I can tell so far, they all have different identities, languages, beliefs and cultures. Each nation sees itself as the superior one. The planet was devastated several centuries ago by a massive world war, but now, though there’s global peace, they’re all competing for the same goal.”

“Don’t tell me they’re working on warp technology?” Kulucis guessed as he rubbed his sweaty, wet hair. 

Anderson shook his head before tapping another button and showing a new display. “They’re not quite there yet; however, they all want to claim a habitable M-class moon orbiting one of their gas giants. Each nation is on the brink of launching crewed missions to stake their claim. From what I can gather, whoever gets there first could spark some tension. Maybe even war. It’s a race to get the resources this moon has.”

Kulucis frowned as he took a seat next to Anderson, watching the schematics cycle through various data points.

“Three nations, one prize,” Kulucis mused. “Sounds familiar.”

Anderson nodded. “History tends to repeat itself, even out here. But it’s not just about territorial claims. All three governments are heavily invested in space exploration. They’re driven. This moon is more than a resource; it’s symbolic. A stepping stone to the stars.”

Kulucis sat back, impressed by the lieutenant’s insight.

“Good work, lieutenant,” Kulucis said again, this time without hesitation. “Let’s keep studying the data. I want to understand the political landscape better before we brief the captain. If tensions are running this high, we’ll need to tread even more carefully than she suggested earlier.”

Anderson gave a crisp nod. “Understood, sir.”

Kulucis allowed himself a small smile. 

Maybe Perry was right. 

Maybe it was time to stop keeping Anderson at arm’s length.