Lieutenant Commanders Cadfael Peters & Timothy Alentonis: Domestic Interference
Zeph
The subspace channel resolved with a brief flicker of distortion before stabilizing into a clear image.
Cadfael’s side of the connection was as expected—neutral lighting, orderly background, everything in its proper place.
Tim’s… was not.
There was a blur of motion across the lower half of the screen just as the signal cleared, followed by the unmistakable flick of a tail.
Cadfael blinked once.
Peters: I assume that’s not a new communications protocol.
Tim didn’t look surprised.
Alentonis: No.
A beat, as if that answered everything. The cat reappeared, this time more deliberately, placing itself directly between Tim and the console as though it had been invited to participate.
Alentonis: Curio.
The name carried the quiet weight of familiarity.
Alentonis: He’s decided this is his station now.
Cadfael considered that for a moment.
Peters: I see.
Another brief pause, then:
Peters: Do you outrank him?
Tim’s expression shifted—very slightly.
Alentonis: That remains under review.
Curio turned, regarded the screen, and then stepped forward, placing his front paws carefully against the edge of the console. A moment later, he leaned—gently but insistently—into Tim’s arm. Tim adjusted without comment, one hand absently resting against the kitten’s side.
Cadfael inclined his head a fraction.
Peters: Understood.
Curio, apparently satisfied, stretched upward and pressed briefly against Tim’s shoulder before settling halfway between him and the console, still very much present.
Alentonis: He tends to involve himself.
Peters: I’ve noticed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Curio’s tail flicked lazily across part of the display.
Tim exhaled quietly, then shifted his attention back to the conversation—such as it was.
Alentonis: I assume this isn’t a technical emergency.
Cadfael’s expression remained neutral.
Peters: No. If it were, I’d have contacted someone with authority over the situation.
A faint pause.
Peters: Or Curio.
Tim’s mouth twitched—barely.
Alentonis: He does not respond well to directives.
Curio, as if in agreement, reached out and tapped something on the console. A soft chirp sounded. The subspace image flickered for half a second before stabilizing again. Cadfael glanced off-screen briefly, as though confirming the connection hadn’t dropped.
Peters: Noted.
Tim moved a hand toward the console again, slower this time.
Alentonis: He’s learned that pressing things produces results.
Peters: That’s generally how systems work.
Another beat.
Peters: It’s also how they stop working.
Tim carefully guided Curio a few centimeters to the side. This time, the kitten allowed it—though only after pressing his head once more against Tim’s wrist.
Alentonis: I’ve been attempting to discourage that behavior.
Peters: How’s that going?
Tim paused.
Alentonis: Inconclusive.
Curio shifted again, then settled partially out of the way—still present, but no longer fully obstructing the screen. One paw remained resting against Tim’s sleeve, as if to ensure continued contact. Tim straightened slightly, reclaiming a portion of his workspace.
Alentonis: To what do I owe the call?
Cadfael leaned back just enough to read as off-duty, though only just.
Peters: I had a moment. Thought I’d check in.
Tim regarded him for a second, as though evaluating whether there was more to it.
Alentonis: Everything functioning within acceptable parameters?
Cadfael’s gaze flicked briefly off to the side, then back.
Peters: More or less.
Another small pause.
Peters: The ship continues to behave like a ship.
Tim gave a faint nod, apparently satisfied with that level of detail. Curio shifted again, then turned his attention fully to Tim, pressing his head against his forearm with quiet insistence. Tim absently adjusted, scratching lightly along the kitten’s neck without breaking eye contact with the screen. In the brief lull, he recalled the program they’d both signed up for—the Cadet Cultural Exchange Subspace Friend Program.
Alentonis: Remember that CCESFP we both signed up for? I somehow got paired up with one Richard Matthews recently.
Cadfael stilled—only slightly. He knew a Richard Matthews, though it had been years since he’d heard the name spoken aloud. Starbase 118 Ops. 2392.
After that… nothing.
Peters: Did you. Richard Matthews—serial number MG-554-614?
Tim nodded once.
Alentonis: He seems… well.
A brief pause, as though selecting the least intrusive phrasing.
Alentonis: Busy.
Cadfael considered that, gaze settling somewhere just past the screen for a moment. It was… interesting that Richard had contacted Tim, and not him.
The reappearance didn’t fit the pattern he’d settled into.
He noted it… and set it aside.
Peters: That tracks. He always managed to keep himself occupied.
Another pause—longer this time, but not uncomfortable. Just… unfilled.
Peters: It’s been a while. About ten years. Mind if I ask why you’re mentioning it now?
Tim inclined his head a fraction, acknowledging the gap without pressing into it.
Alentonis: He mentioned you. In case you decide to follow up at all, he’s on the USS Khitomer these days.
Cadfael’s expression didn’t change much, but his focus sharpened slightly. Ten years, and now a mention. Not absence. Not silence. Just… distance.
Peters: I’ll take that as a good sign.
Curio, apparently deciding the conversation had gone on long enough without him, stepped forward again—this time placing both paws directly against the console, peering toward the screen as though attempting to locate the other presence.
Cadfael watched him with mild curiosity.
Peters: Does he do that often?
Alentonis: Only when I’m trying to do something else.
Cadfael considered that.
Peters: Efficient timing.
Tim reached down, finally lifting Curio just enough to settle him off to the side of the console. The kitten allowed it, though not without immediately curling back in and pressing against Tim’s arm again.
A brief, quiet moment followed—no interruptions, no flickers.
Just the two of them on a stable channel.
Alentonis: Well.
A slight tilt of his head.
Alentonis: It’s good to know some systems remain predictable.
Cadfael’s expression didn’t quite shift into a smile, but it came close.
Peters: Give it time.
Curio let out a soft, unimpressed sound. Cadfael’s eyes flicked toward him.
Peters: I assume that was dissent.
Tim didn’t look over.
Alentonis: It usually is.
Curio shifted again, placing a paw squarely against the console.
The channel flickered.
Tim glanced down.
Alentonis: We may be about to—
The signal cut cleanly to static.
END