Psychological Sparring
Posted on Thu Dec 11th, 2025 @ 5:52pm by Lieutenant Kolok & Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trellis
Edited on on Wed Dec 17th, 2025 @ 12:25pm
1,915 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
Episode 17 - Going Home
Location: Main Shuttlebay - Deck 10 - USS Pioneer
Timeline: MD008 1300 hr
Kolok strode down the corridor towards the main shuttlebay. He'd been wrapped up in crew evaluations, and the frustrations had finally forced him to leave his office. Had he not, he was sure he would have strangled one of his crew. They were good people, he knew that. But they were also not accustomed to working at the pace and determination that he required. It would take time to mold the Operations Department into the cohesive unit that he wanted.
His demeanor was not hard to recognize, and the crew he passed moved to one side to give the large Klingon as much space as possible. Kolok didn't notice. When he entered the main shuttlebay, the temperature falling slightly compared to the corridor, and he paused, looking for his prey.
A passing crewman hesitated for a moment, drawing Kolok's eye.
"Crewman!" Kolok said. "Where can I find the Chief Flight Control Officer, Lieutenant Trellis?"
The crewman, a young human woman, swallowed nervously. "He's... uhh... over by the Churchill, sir. That shuttle there," she said and pointed to a small shuttle. A cluster of people was gathered around.
"Thank you. Dismissed," Kolok said and marched up to the group.
"—so there I am, three minutes from touchdown, and this Ferengi passenger starts insisting that Academy shuttles should have 'premium seating' for a nominal fee. He's literally trying to sell Commander Yasir on a business opportunity while we're on final approach. She looks at him, then looks at me, and says, 'Cadet Yosh, show our entrepreneurial friend what a standard Academy landing feels like.' So I—"
Galen paused mid-sentence as his peripheral vision caught movement—a large figure approaching with unmistakable purpose. He turned his head and found himself looking at a Klingon officer, broad-shouldered and moving with the kind of determined stride that suggested he was on a mission and didn't have time for distractions.
The cluster of crew members around Galen noticed too, their expectant grins fading as they instinctively made space for the approaching officer. There was something about the Klingon's demeanor—intense, focused, maybe a little frustrated—that made people want to give him a wide berth.
Galen straightened from his casual lean against the Churchill's hull, his expression shifting from storytelling mode to something more professionally attentive. And then, unbidden, he felt it—a flicker of instinctive wariness, Dorian's memories stirring at the sight of a Klingon warrior.
Federation-Klingon War. The border skirmishes. Klingon boarding parties. . .
Galen pushed the thought down hard, suppressing it before it could take root. Not now. . .this is a fellow officer
"Can I help you, Lieutenant?" Galen asked, his tone friendly but respectful, showing none of the tension that Dorian's memories had tried to introduce.
Kolok identified the Lieutenant from a previous search he'd conducted when he recognized the Trellis name.
"I sincerely hope so. I am in a bad mood, and I find myself in need of a sparing partner this afternoon. I have heard that you are a great warrior with much skill in battle."
Kolok raised his chin slightly, eyes focused on the man. He paid no attention to the others gathered around, apparently wasting time that should have been spent in better ways.
Galen blinked, completely thrown off balance by the request. For a moment, he just stared at the Klingon officer, trying to process what he'd just heard.
"I... excuse me?" Galen said, his confusion evident. He glanced briefly at the small crowd that had been listening to his story, as if checking to see if anyone else was hearing this, then looked back at Kolok. "Lieutenant, I think there's been some kind of mistake. I'm a pilot. Chief Flight Control Officer. I fly shuttles and starships. I'm not Security."
He gestured vaguely at the Churchill behind him. "I mean, I went through basic hand-to-hand combat training at the Academy like everyone else, but I spend most of my time at the helm, not in combat drills. I'm hardly what you'd call a—"
And then it clicked.
Great warrior. Much skill in battle.
Dorian.
Galen's expression shifted, the confusion fading into something harder, cooler. His jaw tightened slightly, and when he spoke again, his tone had lost its friendly warmth.
"You looked me up," he said flatly. It wasn't a question. "You found records for Dorian Trellis. The Marine. The one who fought in the Dominion War." His eyes narrowed slightly.
"I did look you up," Kolok said. "However, I did so only to ensure you were the person I hoped you were. My father is K'rak. He fought in the Dominion War with a Trill named Trellis. Many times as a child, he spoke to me of the battles he fought on Betazed, working with a small force to drive the enemy out. He honored Trellis-neS for his leadership and combat prowess. I am honor-bound to bring you his regards and the regards of my family," Kolok said.
Galen's defensive posture faltered completely, his expression shifting from guarded wariness to stunned surprise.
"K'rak," he repeated, the name triggering a cascade of memories that weren't his own. Images flooded his mind—Betazed, the occupation, covert operations behind enemy lines. A Klingon warrior fighting alongside Marines in brutal close-quarters combat against Cardassian and Dominion forces.
And K'rak. Dorian remembered him. Respected him.
Galen's hand came up almost unconsciously, rubbing at his temple as he processed the collision of past and present. It had been—what? Over twenty years since Betazed? Nearly thirty since the Dominion War itself? But to the symbiont, to Dorian's memories, it felt both distant and immediate at the same time.
"I—" Galen started, then stopped, recalibrating. "Your father. K'rak is your father." He shook his head slightly, a disoriented half-smile crossing his face. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. That caught me completely off guard. I wasn't expecting..."
He trailed off, then straightened, his tone shifting to something more sincere. "Dorian spoke highly of your father. The joint operations on Betazed—those missions were hell, but K'rak and his warriors were... they were good to fight alongside. " The words came easier now, drawing from Dorian's memories with something closer to respect than resentment.
Galen took a breath, still processing. "It's just—time gets strange when you're carrying someone else's memories. For me, the war ended before I was even born. But for Dorian, for the symbiont... it's like it was yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once."
The memories of the Betazed campaign, while brutal and vivid, weren't completely organized in Galen's mind. "How is your father doing by the way?" Galen asked with a genuine tone to his voice.
Kolok let out a loud laugh, startling some of the others who were still gathered around. He reached out and placed a hand on the pilot's shoulder. Kolok was taller and much heavier, but he felt a strength in the man.
"Would you believe that he and my mother have retired to a small colony world and spend most of their time conducting science experiments?!" Kolok said in a booming voice. He recognized the signs of distress he saw on Galen Trellis' face. What he hadn't said was that while his father had been proud of his service, the scars of what he'd done in the name of justice had changed him. In the end, while he remained a warrior at his core, he'd turned to science to help soothe his soul.
"It is not a warrior's retirement," Kolok said in a quieter voice. "But sometimes, old warriors reach a point where they can lay down their bat'leths with honor and let the younger generation continue the fight. Or so I'm told." He smiled again and squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand. "Would you like to eat and talk further? Or would you prefer to finish your story?"
Galen felt something twist in his chest at Kolok's words. Retired. Science experiments. A life beyond the war.
K'rak had managed to move forward. He'd found peace—or at least something close to it. A partner. A family. A purpose that didn't involve reliving combat every time he closed his eyes.
Dorian never had that chance. He'd pulled away from everyone, isolated himself, refused help until it was too late. Never sought the kind of peace K'rak had apparently found. And now Galen carried the weight of that choice, those untreated wounds, that unresolved trauma.
"I'm sure the Crewmen around here have gotten enough of hearing my Academy stories." He said as he began to step away from the Churchill with Kolok.
"That's... that's good," Galen said quietly, and he meant it. There was genuine warmth in his voice despite the envy gnawing at him. "I'm glad he found that. Not many warriors get to lay down their weapons with honor and actually enjoy what comes after."
He paused, then a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—something lighter breaking through the heavier emotions. More of Dorian's memories were surfacing now, the positive ones. The camaraderie. The respect. The moments of unexpected humor in the middle of hell.
"Did your father ever tell you about what happened during the liberation of the provincial capital and how thanks to screwed up intel, he ended up naked as a Guest of Honor at a Betazed wedding?" Galen said, holding back a laugh.
"He spent the entire ceremony staring straight ahead with perfect military bearing, absolutely refusing to look left or right. Dorian said it was the most disciplined he'd ever seen a Klingon warrior maintain composure." Galen continued. "That's the one thing Dorian recalled about K'rak--outside of the fighting-- Not just a warrior, but someone who could maintain honor and dignity even in the most absurd situations." The Trill recalled genuinely.
Kolok roared again. "No! He never told me that. He did tell many stories of the mishaps that occurred when they were forced to move camp. Someone, he never found out who, decided that they would steal a small but essential part of their gear. A pin that held up a tent roof. The sparking mechanism that created fire for cooking. It was always something and, when he recalls those stories, he always laughs," Kolok said. He turned his head, looking at his new acquaintance.
"It is good to meet you, Galen Trellis," he said.
"It's good to meet you too, Kolok," Galen said sincerely, falling into step beside the Klingon as they moved away from the Churchill. "And thank you for bringing your father's regards. It means more than you might think."
They continued walking, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the corridor as they left the shuttle bay behind. For the first time since arriving on the Pioneer, Galen felt something close to genuine connection—not just to his new crewmates, but to the legacy he carried. K'rak had honored Dorian's memory by seeking out his joined successor. That meant something.
Galen felt warmth spread through his chest at Kolok's laughter—genuine, unguarded, the kind that came from hearing stories about people you loved. It was infectious, and he found himself smiling more broadly than he had in days.
A Joint Post By
Lieutenant Kolok
Chief Operations Officer, USS Pioneer
Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trelis
Chief Flight Control Officer, USS Pioneer
RSS Feed