A Different First Contact

Posted on Mon Jul 7th, 2025 @ 5:46am by Lieutenant Jasad Yuvek & Lieutenant Ralen Trellis

1,841 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Preserving The Past
Location: Shuttle Bay, Starbase 234

The shuttle bay of Starbase 234 hummed with the usual activity of arrivals and departures, but Lieutenant Ralen Trellis stood apart from the bustle, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a PADD containing his transfer orders in his hand. The familiar weight of the Trellis symbiont within him seemed heavier today, as if Jaret's memories were pressing closer to the surface than usual. Three days of travel to reach this posting, and now just one final shuttle ride to the USS Tokyo.

"Lieutenant Trellis?" The voice carried the distinctive cadence of Cardassian speech, though softened by years of living among other species.

Ralen turned to see a young Cardassian officer approaching, his red uniform marking him as operations division. The ridged neck scales and pronounced forehead spoons were unmistakable features of a species that had haunted too many of Jaret's nightmares.

Easy, Ralen told himself, feeling the immediate tension coil in his shoulders. This isn't AR-558. This isn't the war.

"I'm Lieutenant Jasad Yuvek," the Cardassian continued, extending his hand in the human custom. "I'll be piloting you to the Tokyo."

Ralen accepted the handshake, noting how Jasad's grip was firm but carried an undertone of defensiveness. The moment their hands touched, Jaret's memories flooded back with violent intensity: Cardassian hands around a throat. Cardassian voices giving orders for executions. Never trust them – they'll smile while they plan your death. This one's no different.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant," Ralen managed, his voice professional despite the internal struggle. "I appreciate the transport."

As they walked toward the shuttle, Jasad's posture was rigid, his movements precise but guarded. "If you don't mind my asking, what's your specialty? Medical division, I'm guessing from the blue uniform."

"Trauma psychology," Ralen replied, then added almost defensively, "I work with combat veterans mostly. PTSD, survivor's guilt, that sort of thing."

Something shifted in Jasad's expression – a flicker of bitter recognition. "Ah. Well, you'll have plenty of work on the Tokyo then. Lot of survivors of combat aboard."

The way he said it, with a slight edge to his voice, made Ralen study him more closely. "You sound like you speak from experience."

Jasad's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Let's just say I've learned to spot the signs. When someone's deciding whether to trust you or not based on the ridges on your neck."

They reached the shuttle, and Jasad began his pre-flight checks with aggressive efficiency, his movements sharp and controlled. Ralen settled into the co-pilot's seat, his hands gripping the armrests tighter than necessary. Every movement Jasad made seemed to trigger another flash of Jaret's memories – Cardassian soldiers methodically executing prisoners, the distinctive sound of Cardassian disruptors, the screams of dying Marines on AR-558. He's positioning himself for an attack, Jaret's voice seemed to whisper in his mind. They always do. Watch his hands.

"You're quiet," Jasad observed as they cleared the starbase's traffic pattern. "Most counselors I've met can't help but start analyzing everything."

Because I'm trying not to reach for a weapon that isn't there, Ralen thought, fighting down the combat reflexes that weren't his own. "I try not to work off-duty," he managed, his voice more strained than he intended.

"Can they?" Jasad's voice carried a sardonic note. "In my experience, first impressions are usually pretty accurate. People see the gray skin and the ridges, and they've already decided what they think of you."

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable now. Ralen found himself caught between Jaret's ingrained distrust and his own professional understanding of what he was witnessing.

"The Tokyo's an Armitage-class, right?" Ralen asked, changing the subject. "Carrier configuration?"

"Yes." Jasad's voice warmed slightly, pride breaking through his defensive shell. "She's got three squadrons of fighters and a full complement of runabouts. Most advanced tactical systems in the fleet."

"That must be challenging to helm. All those small craft to coordinate with."

"It is, but I'm good at it." The defensiveness crept back into Jasad's tone. "Whatever some of the veteran pilots might think about having a Cardassian calling the shots."

There it was – the heart of it. Ralen could feel Jaret's memories clawing at his consciousness, showing him images of Cardassian brutality, of friends who'd trusted the wrong gray-skinned face and paid for it with their lives. This is exactly what they do, Jaret's voice seemed to snarl in his mind. They make you feel sorry for them, get you to lower your guard, then strike. Don't fall for it.

Ralen's hands were trembling slightly, and he clasped them together to hide it. The logical part of his mind – his own mind – knew this was just trauma bleed-through, but the memories felt so real, so immediate. He could smell the smoke from burning Federation outposts, could hear the cold efficiency in Cardassian voices as they discussed casualty reports like inventory lists.

"How long have you been dealing with that?" Ralen asked quietly, his voice rougher than intended. He was fighting a war inside his own head, trying to separate his professional judgment from Jaret's visceral hatred.

Jasad's hands stilled on the controls for just a moment. "Since I joined Starfleet. Since before that, really. You know what it's like, growing up Cardassian on Bajor after the Occupation?" He laughed bitterly. "Then I get to Starfleet, and suddenly I'm surrounded by people who fought against my people. People who lost friends to Cardassian weapons."

"But you weren't responsible for the Occupation," Ralen said, his therapeutic instincts fighting desperately against Jaret's prejudices. Even as he spoke the words, he could feel Jaret's memories recoiling in disgust. Don't you dare defend them. Remember what they did to Collins? To Martinez? Remember how they laughed when they—

Ralen cut off the memory with physical effort, his jaw clenching. "You were a child," he finished, but his voice carried the strain of the internal battle he was fighting.

"Try explaining that to a Starfleet veteran who watched his squad get cut down by Cardassian phasers." Jasad's voice was tight with controlled anger. "To them, I'm just another spoon-head who can't be trusted. Doesn't matter that I've never even seen Cardassia Prime, that I lost my parents to this war too."

The shuttle's proximity alarm chimed softly, and through the viewport, the USS Tokyo came into view. The Armitage Attack Carrier vessel was indeed impressive – sleek and predatory, with the distinctive flight deck openings that marked her as a carrier. Fighter craft moved in precise formations around her hull like a swarm of protective insects.

"She's beautiful," Ralen admitted, studying the ship's lines.

"She is." Jasad's voice carried genuine affection now. "Captain Aisaka gave me a chance when a lot of other COs wouldn't. Said she didn't care what I looked like, just whether I could do the job."

As Jasad guided the shuttle toward the Tokyo's docking bay, Ralen watched the young officer's face. The defensive anger was still there, but underneath it was something else – a fierce determination to prove himself worthy of the trust that had been placed in him.

"You know," Ralen said carefully, "I've counseled a lot of veterans who struggle with anger. Not at their enemies, but at the unfairness of it all. The way the war kept taking things from them, even after it was over."

Jasad's hands moved smoothly over the controls, but Ralen found himself watching those hands with an intensity that had nothing to do with professional curiosity. Jaret's memories were screaming warnings: Cardassian hands are never idle. They're always planning something. Watch for the tell – they always have a tell before they strike.

"You know," Ralen said carefully, his voice tight with the effort of maintaining control, "I've counseled a lot of veterans who struggle with anger. Not at their enemies, but at the unfairness of it all. The way the war kept taking things from them, even after it was over."

The irony wasn't lost on him – here he was, trying to counsel someone while fighting his own inherited demons. Every instinct Jaret had developed during years of combat was telling him to be ready, to not trust, to remember that Cardassians were the enemy.

Jasad's hands stilled on the controls for just a moment. "Are you analyzing me, Counselor?"

He's suspicious. Good. That means he's planning something, Jaret's voice whispered. But Ralen forced himself to push back against the paranoia.

"No. I'm trying to understand." Ralen paused, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of fighting his own inherited memories. "The war damaged all of us, Lieutenant. Sometimes the deepest wounds are the ones that keep bleeding long after the fighting stops."

The shuttle settled onto the deck with barely a vibration, testament to Jasad's skill. As they went through the shutdown procedures, Jasad finally looked directly at Ralen.

"You're not what I expected," he said quietly.

"Neither are you," Ralen replied honestly. "And I think that's probably a good thing for both of us."

As they gathered their gear and prepared to disembark, Ralen made a decision that surprised him and horrified Jaret's memories. Don't you dare, the voice in his head snarled. This is exactly how they get you. They make you feel sorry for them, then they strike when you're vulnerable.

"Lieutenant Yuvek... Jasad." Ralen's voice was strained, each word a victory over the inherited hatred clawing at his mind. "If you ever need to talk, my door is always open. No official records, no reports. Just one officer to another."

Jasad looked genuinely surprised, then something like hope flickered across his features. "Why would you do that?"

Because I refuse to let a dead man's prejudices control my life, Ralen thought, though he could feel Jaret's memories recoiling in disgust. "Because," he said aloud, his voice steadier now as he asserted his own will over the inherited trauma, "I think we both know what it's like to carry wounds that other people can't see. And sometimes, the best healing happens when you find someone who understands the weight."

Even as he spoke, Ralen could feel Jaret's memories raging against the decision, flooding him with images of Cardassian betrayals, of trusting the wrong person at the wrong time. But for the first time since the joining, Ralen pushed back with his own strength, his own convictions.

The shuttle bay doors opened, and Ralen stepped aboard his new assignment, carrying not just his own hopes for the future, but perhaps a small piece of healing for both their pasts. Behind him, Jasad secured the shuttle, and for the first time since they'd met, his posture seemed less defensive, more open.

After all, they both had scars – some inherited, some earned – that might heal better in the company of someone who understood that the real enemy wasn't the face in the mirror, but the prejudice that kept wounds from closing.

Lieutenant
Jasad Yuvek
Chief Flight Officer

Lieutenant
Ralen Trellis
Assistant Counselor

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