A guilty conscience checking in

Posted on Sun Apr 26th, 2026 @ 9:52pm by Captain Zseeq & Senior Chief Petty Officer Sethan MD

2,955 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Life
Location: Zseeq's quarters
Timeline: 2401-07-05, 22:15

When Zhi came home, he found his husband sprawled on the couch, their baby daughter safely cradled in crook of his arm, the four year old sat on her knees keeping faithful watch. She turned and smiled at him. "Daddy's asleep," she reported, "but he doesn't look very well."

"Why don't you take your sister and put her in the crib?" Zhi suggested, picking up the infant and gently placed her in the little girl's arms. "You know how, I'll be there shortly." As the girl left, Zhi gently touched his husband's cheek with the back of his fingers, hoping to rouse him.

Sethan sat up and threw his arms around the other man, drawing him close. "I'm so glad you're home," he breathed, "I don't care what the captain says. You're you in there, even if your body isn't yours. I showed him you're all real."

Zhi hissed between his teeth. "You did what? Sethan...did he consent to that?"

The younger man guiltily shook his head. "No," he confessed, "but he didn't send security either..." He bit his lip, looking up with a troubled look in his eyes. "He wasn't well when I left him, which is understandable. I wasn't well either, I still don't feel right. But I should check in on him. With Melanie busy in sickbay, it really should be me."

Caressing his cheek, Zhi nodded in understanding and got up to get him his medkit. "If only to ease your guilty conscience," he agreed. "But he careful? He's...very unpleasant."

Smiling sadly, Sethan nodded as he got to his feet and accepted his kit. "I won't be long," he promised, walking towards the door. It wasn't far to the captain's quarters but he felt ill at ease. With trembling hand, he reached out to press the chime.

The thrum of the Saratoga’s engines on Deck 3 was a low, vibrating lullaby, a stark contrast to the predatory hum of the Bridge. Zseeq stood before the large, angled windows at the forward edge of the saucer section, watching stars streak past in a blur of warp-driven light. The Gormagander pod was safe and the Kzinti had retreated, yet the "Uncanny Valley" quality of his crew remained a lingering shadow.

He moved through the open-plan suite, passing the office alcove where various paintings and photos hung near his workstation. At the replicator terminal, he bypassed his usual nutrient blend for a Deltan spiced tea, the scent providing a brief anchor to his heritage. He sat at the dining table, his gaze drifting to the personal mementos on the shelves - items belonging to the man he was before the Biranu Conference changed everything.

Setting the untouched tea aside, he retreated to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the queen-sized Bolian bed. He felt the sleep-inducing harmonics begin to resonate through the frame, a technology designed to provide a full night’s rest in only a few hours. Sethan’s insistence that the senior staff were still themselves echoed in the silence, clashing with Zseeq's own fixation on the 0.2% margin.

He was about to lay back and yield to the harmonics when the sharp chime of the door broke the calculated silence of the room. Zseeq straightened, his internal rhythm instantly snapping back to shipboard reality.

"Enter," he commanded, his baritone steady despite the late hour.

Sethan stepped inside as the door opened before him, then waited hesitantly as it slid shut again once he had moved beyond the sensor's range. A quick glance around told him the captain was not in the living area, which meant he was in the more private area of his quarters. Fingers tightly holding on to his medkit, he moved on and hesitated as he reached the open bedroom door. Obviously, he was intruding.

Yet his guilty conscience compelled him to take that final step forward. "I apologise for the intrusion," he spoke softly as he retrieved his tricorder. "I wanted to make certain you are alright. I realise this is normally the CMO's duty but she has been preoccupied with the KZinti and finding a cure for their poisoned claws." He detached the scanning wand and took another step closer, bringing himself closer to the captain's personal space but not yet invading it. "May I?" The hand that held the wand seemed to tremble minutely, a fair indication of the owner's anxiety.

Zseeq remained seated on the edge of the bed, his posture as rigid as a ship's bulkhead. The sleep-inducing harmonics continued to thrum beneath him, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to emphasize the sudden, awkward tension in the room. He did not immediately answer; instead, his dark eyes fixed on the scanning wand in Sethan’s hand with the same clinical detachment he might use to study a sensor ghost.

"A doctor’s concern," Zseeq said, his baritone reflecting off the curved walls, "or perhaps a scientist’s need to verify his hypothesis?" He stood slowly, moving with calculated grace, though he did not close the distance. He was fully aware that Sethan was not well, having observed the man’s unsteadiness earlier, and the minute tremor in the doctor's hand did not escape him. He adjusted his tunic, the fabric snapping taut. "You speak of duty, Doctor, yet you arrived without an appointment to a superior's private quarters. That suggests an emergency, or perhaps a lingering compulsion from our earlier encounter."

Zseeq stepped out of the harmonics' range, the silence returning to its heavy state. He looked at the tricorder and then back to the man who had so boldly bridged the 0.2% gap by forcing a Mind Meld upon him earlier that day.

"You may proceed," Zseeq authorized, his voice dropping to a low vibrato as he stepped out of the harmonics' range, "But tell me, Doctor Sethan: are you scanning for my health, or are you looking for something? Perhaps an echo after violating my mind to prove a point?"

"Just your health," Sethan confirmed, "I have nothing else to prove." He took a small step closer to enable the scanning wand to get into range. The tricorder hummed as the Vulcan ran the wand across the captain's still from. "I was simply concerned for your wellbeing," he confessed, "I had no right to do as I did, and I was concerned..." Sethan hesitated, the guilty feeling plain in his expressive features. "How do you feel? Are you experiencing any uncomfortable side effects?"

Zseeq remained perfectly still, a statue of Deltan discipline as the medical scanner hummed in the air between them. He watched the data scrolling across Sethan’s screen, his dark eyes tracking the flickering light of the medical readout. Despite the lingering tension of the day, the predatory edge in his posture had softened, replaced by a weary, clinical acceptance.

"I am a Deltan, Doctor," Zseeq said, his voice smooth and remarkably devoid of the earlier sharp vibrato. "My people have lived with the weight of telepathic connection and the nuances of the mind for millennia. While your method was... unorthodox, the bridge you built has already been cataloged and filed. I do not carry 'uncomfortable side effects' like a burden. I'm quite over it."

He took a step toward the center of the bedroom, effectively closing the distance and allowing the scan to complete with easier range. "The violation was noted, but the intent was understood. You wished to show me that the soul remains, even when the vessel is new. For that, the logic holds, even if the protocol suffered." He looked directly at Sethan, noting the man's pallor and the persistent tremor in his hands. Unlike his husband, Sethan had not been part of the team that returned as replicas, yet the trauma of the Biranu Station anomaly had clearly left its mark on the man who had stayed behind.

"The question, however, is your own health," Zseeq continued, his gaze narrowing on Sethan's expressive features. "You are scanning me for echoes, yet your own bio-signs are fluctuating with a level of stress that would ground any other officer. You weren't the one replaced, Doctor, but you are the one living with the result. Is your concern for me truly medical, or is it a distraction from the fact that your husband is now part of the 0.2%?" Zseeq didn't move away. He stood in the quiet hum of his quarters, waiting not for a medical report, but for an honest answer from the man struggling to reconcile his love for a Vulcan with the synthetic reality of the replica now wearing Zhi'rev’s face.

Scan completed, Sethan returned the wand to the tricorder and closed it. "I'm exhausted," he confessed, "I stayed up all night working to prove they are in that shell. The melds took their toll on me, making me feel a little unhinged. As a Vulcan, I can go without sleep for longer than a Human but not under these circumstances that I just mentioned."

He paused, looking up to meet the man's scrutinizing gaze. "I don't understand what you mean by being part of the 0.2%. Zhi is my husband. He is alive and real even if his body isn't. I can sense him, if it wasn't him, I wouldn't be standing here with an intact bond. I would be dying." He paused, fidgeting with the tricorder in his hands. "My concern for you is real sir, never doubt that. Even if you say you're over it, there are side effects that you might not really notice. The scan says you're alright, so I'll trust that you are. I'll recover too, eventually. I just need a little time for the effects to wear off." He offered the faintest of smiles. "If you wonder if I would do this again, the answer would be yes. Even if it wasn't my own husband involved."

Zseeq studied Sethan with the unwavering intensity of a man used to navigating the intricate currents of the mind. He noted the way the doctor’s smile didn't quite reach the hollows under his eyes. Sethan’s logic was rooted in the profound intimacy of a telepathic bond, a connection that Zseeq, as a Deltan, respected but viewed through the lens of cold command.

"The bond is a powerful witness, Doctor. I do not discount it," Zseeq explained, his tone softening to something approaching empathy, "but be careful of the cost. You say you would do it again, that you would bridge the void for anyone, that is a noble sentiment and perhaps a dangerous one. If you expend your own essence to validate the existence of others, there will be nothing left of you to anchor them when they inevitably drift."

He turned back toward the large windows of the bedroom, looking out at the distant, streaking stars. The sleep-inducing harmonics of the Bolian bed continued to hum, a low-frequency reminder that the ship required its leaders to be whole. "You are exhausted because you are fighting a war on two fronts: one for the legitimacy of your husband’s soul, and one against the fatigue of your own biology. Go back to your quarters, Sethan, be with your family. If the bond is intact, then let it be your rest, not your labor."

He looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes searching Sethan’s face one last time, "And for the record, I do not doubt your concern, I merely find it... unsettling that in a ship full of replicas, the most fragile thing aboard is the man who stayed behind."

Sethan tilted his head in evident surprise when some warmth appeared in the Deltan's voice, this was very new. "I don't think they'll drift sir. If anything they'll work even harder to show they're real." Hesitating, he took a small step forward and rested his hand lightly on the captain's arm. "There are only four replica's, unless you know something that I don't? Give them some credit sir, they're professionals. Surely, anyone less wouldn't handle this as well as they currently are?"

He paused, taking a shaking breath. "Trust them as they trust you," he added, glancing sideways at the still humming bed. "You need rest too, and trust that we all know what we are doing. Have some faith captain, trust them and you'll have their loyalty." A more genuine smile now as he pulled his hand back. "You have mine. Maybe in time, you'll have a friend."

Zseeq looked down at the spot where Sethan’s hand had rested, the phantom warmth of the touch lingering against the fabric of his uniform. The word "friend" hung in the air, a foreign concept on a ship currently governed by suspicion and structural integrity. For a moment, the rigid lines of his shoulders dropped, the Captain’s mask slipping just enough to reveal the profound isolation of command.

"Faith is a variable I have rarely accounted for, Doctor," Zseeq admitted, his voice a low, resonant rumble. "In my experience, loyalty is forged in shared trials, and friendship... but friendship is a luxury of a stable universe and we're navigating anything but stability." He turned fully to face Sethan, the starlight from the forward windows catching the sharp planes of his face. The tremor in the doctor’s hands was still there, but the "genuine smile" Sethan offered acted as a strange, organic defiance against the cold, synthetic atmosphere Zseeq had cultivated. "You speak of them as professionals, and they are, but a professional can be mimicked. Loyalty, however," Zseeq trailed off, his gaze drifting back to the door where Sethan had entered, "loyalty requires a soul. If you are correct, and the bond you share with Zhi’rev is the anchor I suspect it is, then perhaps my math is indeed flawed."

He stood straighter, the commander returning, but the predatory edge remained blunted, "I will take your advice under advisement, both as my physician and as a man who has looked into the void and claimed to see a light, but do not mistake my silence for agreement: I will watch, I will wait, and I will see if this 'faith' of yours holds when the next crisis arrives." He gestured toward the door once more, his expression unreadable but no longer hostile, "Go home, Sethan, before your own biology proves my point about fragility. If you are to be their anchor, you cannot afford to be broken."

"Zhi's anchor," Sethan corrected gently, "I'm bonded to him. The effect of the meld with the others isn't as nearly as profound. There's a residual echo which will pass, probably within a few days. Same as the one with you, it'll probably take a few days because I wasn't in the best physical and mental shape. My bond with Zhi is different, he's always there at the back of my mind. I am always aware of him somehow and he of me."

He paused, studying the man before giving him a single nod. "I understand you'll be watching captain, and I can't fault you. But remember to trust their knowledge, and if you won't trust them, trust mine. I'll equally be monitoring them, from a medical perspective, not just a husband's. And I'll keep monitoring you as well, just in case." He offered up the tricorder. "You can keep this and do with the readings what you wish...my mind has been eased. I will return home now and try to get some more sleep."

"A professional to the end," Zseeq remarked, as he accepted the tricorder. He looked down at the device, the small display still glowing with the rhythm of his heart. "I will keep it. Perhaps seeing the numbers in black and white will satisfy the part of me that refuses to trust the 'light' you see." He watched Sethan, noting the way the doctor seemed to sag slightly now that the mission of his conscience was complete. The mention of the persistent bond with Zhi’rev, the constant awareness of a mind that Zseeq considered a replica, was a data point that still didn't quite fit the Captain's equations. Yet, seeing Sethan standing there made the margin feel less like a threat and more like a challenge.

"Go, Sethan," Zseeq said softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the Bolaran harmonics. "Return home. If you are always aware of him, then let that awareness be your quiet tonight. I have no desire to be the cause of an anchor breaking in the dark."

As the doctor gave his final nod and turned to depart, Zseeq remained by the bed, the tricorder held loosely in his hand. He didn't lay down immediately. He waited until the doors hissed shut and the silence of his quarters reclaimed its depth.

"Computer," Zseeq commanded into the empty room. "Transfer the biometric data from the handheld tricorder to my private terminal. Label the file 'Baseline Integrity.'"

"Data transfer complete," the computer chimed in its neutral, melodic voice.

Zseeq finally sat back on the edge of the bed, the sleep-inducing harmonics rising to meet him. He closed his eyes, not thinking of Kzinti harpoons or synthetic constructs, but of the strange, organic defiance of a man who refused to believe his husband was a ghost.

Trust their knowledge, Sethan had said.

Zseeq let out a long, slow breath, letting the Bolian technology pull him toward a much-needed rest. Tomorrow would bring new crises and more monitoring, but for now, the Saratoga drifted through the stars - a ship of replicas, anchors, and a Captain who was beginning to realize that math might not be the only way to measure a soul.

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