Jumpy, Squeaky, Homesick

Posted on Sun Aug 2nd, 2026 @ 3:59pm by Lieutenant JG Bexalen
Edited on on Tue Aug 4th, 2026 @ 2:10pm

1,703 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Flashbacks and Side Quests
Location: USS Zhukov
Timeline: 2390

[ON]

The Ambassador-class' shuttle bay was rather expansive, a growing trend in spaceframes from the mid 2300s onward. As the freshly-minted Ensign disembarked from the shuttle and stepped down the gangway, they cast their gaze upward towards the control room. Emblazoned on the bulkhead were the words USS Zhukov NCC-62136, and a partial quote beneath: "...a strong will for victory, clear goals before them, high moral standards, and devotion to the banner under which they go into battle."

"Ensign Bexalen?" Asked a fit human woman in a Sciences branch, like them. She was taller than Bex, thinner, and had a head of thick red curls. Her smile betrayed her mixed heritage, some of her teeth being more pointy than the average humanoid with an omnivore diet. On her collar was one solid and one dark pip.

"Yes, Lieutenant. Ensign Bexalen reporting as ordered." Bex adjusted the strap to their carry-on in order to be as at-attention as they could, and offered a PADD with their right hand. "My orders."

The woman smiled, amused by Bex's actions. "Relax, Ensign. You've made it. You're here." She waved off the PADD, which Bex felt a little confused by. "My name is Anatrie Kheim. I'm your buddy and bunkmate." The same hand that waved off the PADD was extended in friendship.

Bex awkwardly stuffed the PADD under their left arm and took the offered hand and shook it limply. They never had the 'handshake' mastered. Petty Officer Stoughton said they 'shook hands like a fish'. They had tried to explain that the original Benzite genome was derived from an unknown amphibian life form, but...

"You're shaking my hand too long, Ensign," Kheim quipped good-naturedly. Bex's hand withdrew quickly and snapped to their side.

"Apologies, Lieutenant. I am moderately overwhelmed at the moment," Bex replied. And terrified. Don't forget that. "But I have a question, sir. 'Buddy?'"

"Buddy system!" Anatrie exclaimed with a beaming smile. "I'll be your mentor, showing you the ropes of the Zhukov and getting you settled in."

"Ah." Somewhat insulting. Do they believe I did not review the Ambassador-class specifications and crew roster?

"Come on. I'll show you to quarters." Kheim turned to walk, waited for Bex to snap-to, and continued information-dumping. "There's three of us. You make four. Ranna and Ashilav. Ranna's human and Ashilav's Andorian. We're all nerds. Oh, and don't worry about temperature, by the way; Ashilav has a cooling unit in her bedframe, and she's the first Andorian I've ever met that likes going to the beach..."

As the duo passed beneath the far bulkhead and through the heavy jaws of the exit doors, Bex interrupted her ramble.

"Zhukov. Named after a widely successful military general in one of Earth's worst world wars. It is my understanding that the government Zhukov served later betrayed him," Bexalen recited from memory, reading they had done about the Zhukov and her history.

"Oh, is that what it means?" Kheim asked rhetorically. "I'm part Ktarian and was raised on resort worlds. I know pretty much nothing about ancient Earth history. Which war? They had three, right?"

"Yes, sir. It was the second one, sir," Bex said.

"That's the one where nuclear energy was first harnessed?"

"Two nuclear devices detonated. The Third World War was far more prolific in the use of nuclear arms."

"Awful, awful stuff," Kheim lamented, shaking her head. It's a wonder the headband kept her hair from exploding in every direction.

If Bex could sweat, they would be sweating bullets. Perhaps the decision to bring up the origin of the Zhukov was an error in calculation. I'll have to note the point loss later. The duo stepped into a turbolift, and Bexalen quietly sighed as they took their place beside the Lieutenant.

Kheim patted Bex on their shoulder, which nearly sent them into orbit. "Welcome aboard, Ensign," Kheim said cheerfully. "Deck twelve."

---

There was a small crowd of blueshirts and goldshirts huddled around a holographic whiteboard. They were in a small conference hall attached to the science offices, typically used for academic debate and collaboration on research. Ensign Bexalen seemed to be faced off with a burly non-commissioned officer whose turban matched his uniform.

"Sir, it's simply not possible," said Chief Grewal, the head of computational architecture aboard the Zhukov. They were a Chief Petty Officer, having served on Ambassador-class ships for over two decades. "Upgraded LCARS systems have to be buffered to fit an older specification that's still from the age of duotronics. The last time the ship had a core upgrade, we were docked for two weeks."

"With respect, Chief, the mathematics are sound. Ancillary processing units, constructed from the ship's stores, can offload computational strain while each subprocessor is decommissioned, replaced, and initialized. We can even eliminate duotronic backwards-compatibility with a few modifications..."

Grewal scoffed. "Are you seriously going to chance auxiliary processors made out of scrap to hold up in a crisis situation?"

Bexalen stammered. "I... with respect, Chief, the mathematics and engineering are sound. Perhaps I can demonstrate again, explaining in deeper detail with each step." As Bexalen began "erasing" the virtual board to begin anew, there were a few groans in the assembled crew.

The Sikh held out his calloused hand. "Don't bother. It'll be my recommendation to Castor that we scrap this research and tell Verata we need spacedock."

"What's going on in here? Looks like a cadet review," A voice bellowed from the main entrance. A Tellarite, wearing an operations uniform with Lt. Commander pips, stomped into the room. Obozz Castor, chief engineer.

"Nothing, sir," Grewal said with a bit more respect and deference befitting a Chief to a Commander. "Concluding a planning meeting on the core upgrade. We're just done here."

"Good. I'm sure you all have work you could be doing. Get on it. Clear out, the lot of you," the Tellarite bellowed. The crowd parted as if a drop of oil were dropped into sudsy water.

As the crew dispersed, Bexalen was still in process of clearing their work from the whiteboard. "Hold on, Ensign," Castor growled. Bex froze, their hand hovering above the button to clear the remaining slide to their demonstration.

The Tellarite scratched his chin noisily through a thick, bristly beard as he considered what he was looking at. Then, a thick finger pointed at the board. "What's this about?"

"My proposal to facilitate our c-core upgr..," Bex said meekly, but was interrupted by Castor.

"Ensign."

"Sir?"

"Stop being squeaky."

"...Sir?"

"Grow a beard and use your diaphragm! What is this?" Castor again pointed at the board, his tone and volume more forceful. Bex was well-educated on the social behavior and nuances of the core Federation worlds, but Cantor was direct even for a Tellarite.

"I- I am confident, sir, that this is a means to upgrade our core without drydock," they stammered in a much more projecting voice. But the shrinking voice returned. "And Benzites do not have diaphragms."

Cantor snorted. "How fast can you demonstrate your theory?"

"It will take nearly twenty minutes to go through all of the proofs..."

"Proofs are for eggheads. You've got three minutes. Go." Cantor crossed his arms impatiently.

Bex, already defeated and flustered, spent far longer than was appropriate to stare in disbelief at Cantor. "Two minutes, fifty seconds," the engineer barked, which snapped them out of their stupor.

The computer specialist gave Cantor the condensed version of the proposal. External, free-standing servers chained in parallel, designed to offload computational needs while hardware was disconnected for upgrades. Accompanying math and pages of careful preparation would ensure the core would not interrupt any vital ship's systems.

"You willing to bet your career on this?" Cantor asked finally.

"As I discussed, sir, it is mathematically-"

"No squeaking, Ensign."

"...Yes, sir, I am."

"Good. Do it. You lead the team. Tap Grewal for whatever manpower you need. I have a meeting with Captain Verata shortly." Cantor turned to leave the sciences offices, and soon, Bexalen was alone.

And in their alone-ness, standing in the middle of the small conference area of the sciences department, the anxiety gave way to elation. A grin crept through, and they chuckled softly to themselves.

---

It was about a half hour past lights-out for beta shift. There was enough space on the Ambassador-class so that commissioned officers did not have to hot-swap bunks, but junior officers had shared apartments. Four of them were in their quad, with another quad next door connected by a simple mess and lounge.

Compared to the Academy, it was certainly a step up. Bexalen missed the comforts of home. How they longed for a proper Benzite kimono... even a Japanese-style kimono would do.

Bexalen quietly crept into the lounge, PADD in hand. Once they noted that there were no other insomniacs, they settled down into a comfortable padded chair and began to type.

Mother Axelan and Mother Marrol,

It has been my first month aboard the Zhukov, and I am happy to report that despite some early setbacks, my Andragov Score net change is positive. Attached is my log and visualization; as time permits, I will transmit these to the geostructure authority myself, but perhaps you could forward this along on my behalf.

Over the past two weeks, I have overseen a computer core upgrade while we remain on deep space assignment. I will certainly share my paper's first drafts with you for critique as I plan to submit it to Starfleet as a new standard procedure.

My bunkmates have made the joke that I am 'making waves' and 'on the fast track for promotion,' which is exactly what I am not trying to do. My only concern is efficiently using the resources we have at our disposal. Aliens often confuse our score-keeping with ambition.

I deeply miss you and all of the extended family.

Comprehensively, Bexalen.

With a satisfied puff from their rebreather, they thumbed the "send" button, stood, and returned to their bunk.

[OFF]

Ensign Bexalen
Operations Officer
USS Zhukov NCC-62136

 

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