
Caitian ladies and their tastes (~5900 words)
A Meeting of Paws
I can't help but smile as I look around this chaotic starbase lounge. The noise hits you like a wave—officers from every corner of the fleet unwinding after god knows what kind of missions, glasses clinking, conversations blending into this comfortable hum of exhaustion and relief. Through the massive viewport, I can see my baby, the USS Reinard, looking so damn small next to the USS Enterprise-A. That Constitution-class beauty makes my Akula-class light cruiser look like a toy, but honestly? I wouldn't trade her for anything. The Enterprise might have the fame and reputation, but the Reinard... she's mine.
And there, across from me, is something I never expected to find in this sea of humans, Vulcans, Andorians, et cetera—another Caitian. Lieutenant M'Ress from the Enterprise-A, looking young and eager in that way that makes me feel ancient at thirty-two. Her tail's doing that little flick thing that screams "nervous energy," and I'm trying not to laugh because I remember being exactly like that when I was her age.
I can't help but take in her appearance—she's absolutely stunning by any Caitian standard. Her light brown fur catches the starbase lighting with an almost golden sheen, reminding me of the majestic lions I'd seen in Earth's historical archives during my Academy years. That rich, warm coloring pairs beautifully with her dark brown hair, which has that same lustrous quality that speaks of good health and youth. And those eyes—by the stars, those intense yellow eyes could probably stop traffic on any world in the Federation. She fits every classical ideal of Caitian beauty, the kind that would have poets composing verses back on Ferasa.
Imagining standing next to her, I'm acutely aware of how she towers over me. At 153 centimeters, I've always been on the shorter side for a female Caitian, but M'Ress's 183 centimeters makes me feel positively diminutive. There's an elegance to her height, a graceful presence that commands attention even when she's trying to appear modest and deferential.
I've heard the rumors, of course—Starfleet's a big community, but gossip travels faster than warp speed sometimes. Stories about her social life, her... popularity among various species aboard the Enterprise. But looking at her now, I can hardly blame anyone for being attracted to her, and it's certainly not my place to judge how she chooses to spend her off-duty hours. With looks like that, I imagine she has no shortage of admirers from every gender and species in the fleet.
In space, you can always feel lonely, so my mind starts to drift toward too personal and less professional thoughts before I catch myself firmly. Stars above, Meng, get it together. She's a junior officer, you're her senior in both age and rank. You need to act like the seasoned officer you are—approachable and friendly, yes, but maintaining the appropriate boundaries. Not too rigid or formal, but definitely not... whatever that was just now.
My orange fur catches the lounge's soft lighting, and I'm making a conscious effort to keep my tail still. Years of service have taught me that composure matters, even off-duty. Damn, sometimes I miss being able to just let my tail swish freely without worrying about what it might communicate to the crew. Back home on Ferasa, watching those two moons dance across the crystal spires, nobody had to think about tail language or what their ears were doing. We just... were.
"Lieutenant Commander Oren, it's truly an honor to meet you. I've heard so much about your time on the Reinard—your skill at the helm is legendary among Caitians in Starfleet."
Legendary. Right. I can feel my ears twitching—they always do when someone puts me on a pedestal I'm not sure I deserve. But her voice has this deferential tone that makes my heart ache a little. We're both so far from home, and here she is treating me like some kind of hero when really, I'm just a pilot who's gotten lucky more times than I probably should have.
"Thank you, Lieutenant M'Ress, but please, call me Meng. We're off-duty here, and we're both Caitians far from home. Let's keep it casual. Your first name is Shiboline, correct? That is a pretty name."
I pause, studying her. She's got that look in her eyes—the one I recognize from my own mirror on the hard days. The weight of representing our entire species in a fleet that's still figuring out what to do with us. "I have to say, seeing another Caitian in communications brings back memories. My grandmother used to tell stories about how our people were natural communicators, able to sense meanings beyond words."
Her ears perk up, and suddenly she looks less like a nervous junior officer and more like the bright young woman she is. "Alright, Meng. And yes, thank you, but please call me M'Ress. I'm already used to being called that. And I'll admit, I'm still pinching myself about being on the Enterprise. It's such a storied ship—every mission feels like stepping into history. After Altamid and everything with Krall—especially the loss of the original NCC-1701 and the fiasco at Yorktown—it's been a whirlwind, but I love it."
Her tail swishes as she continues, and I can hear the uncertainty creeping in. "Though I have to admit, sometimes I feel the weight of that history. Following in the footsteps of Lieutenant Uhura isn't easy."
By the stars, kid. I feel my expression soften because I know exactly what she means. "Alright, and hey, the Enterprise is back now, better than ever. And I can imagine the pressure. When I first took the helm of the Reinard, I felt the weight of every pilot who'd come before me—not just in Starfleet, but in my family. Generations of navigators and pilots, all watching from beyond the stars."
I lift my drink—some citrus thing that reminds me of home—and feel a toast forming. "But you know what I learned? We don't serve to live up to legends. We serve to create our own path while honoring those who showed us the way."
"That's beautifully put," she says, raising her glass. "To creating our own paths, then."
The sound of our glasses clinking gets lost in the ambient noise, but something about this moment feels important. Like maybe we both needed this conversation more than either of us realized.
I pause mid-sip, something clicking in my memory as I study her face more carefully. "Wait a minute... Shiboline M'Ress. You wouldn't happen to be that M'Ress, would you? The one who became Starfleet Academy's youngest ever cadet at age sixteen?" My ears twitch with sudden recognition. "December 2260—I remember reading about it in the Academy newsletter when I was still a junior officer. They made a big deal about it, and rightfully so."
My tail betrays my excitement with a small flick despite my attempts at composure. "If you're who I think you are, then I'm sitting across from a bit of a legend myself. Your story was incredibly inspiring—a sixteen-year-old Caitian showing such determination and intellectual prowess that Starfleet waived their usual age requirements. And now here you are, assigned to the Federation's flagship right after graduation." I lean forward slightly, genuine admiration in my voice. "That's something that makes all Caitians proud, M'Ress. You've already broken barriers that some of us never even dreamed of challenging.”
M'Ress's ears flatten slightly in what I recognize as embarrassed modesty, her tail curling around her legs. "I... yes, that's me," she says softly, her voice carrying that mixture of pride and humility that marks the truly exceptional. "Though honestly, I never felt particularly young or special—just determined. My family thought I was crazy for wanting to leave Cait so early, but something about Starfleet's mission called to me. I couldn't imagine doing anything else." She pauses, looking down at her drink. "Being on the Enterprise is still surreal sometimes. I keep expecting someone to realize they made a mistake and reassign me to a cargo transport somewhere."
"Are you kidding?" I lean forward, genuine admiration warming my voice. "M'Ress, I heard about your academic achievements. You didn't just graduate—you graduated with honors and earned recognition that had instructors talking for years afterward. And from what I understand, your communications innovations during training scenarios impressed even the most seasoned officers."
Her response catches me off guard. "That's incredibly kind of you to say, but I should mention—I heard about your academic excellence too, Meng. How you graduated with honors and were awarded the prestigious Archer Medal for Excellence in Piloting. That's an honor that recognizes not just technical skill but innovative contributions to Starfleet's tactical capabilities. Your name was inscribed alongside those of legendary pilots." Her eyes shine with respect. "That kind of recognition doesn't come to just anyone—it goes to officers who redefine what's possible."
She pauses, her ears drooping slightly as she looks down at her drink, then back up at me with something that looks almost like vulnerability. "Actually, Meng, I should tell you something. Even though you graduated a year before I entered the Academy, you were... well, you were already helping me adapt to Earth, to the Academy, to what it meant to be a Caitian in Starfleet."
My ears twitch with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I read everything I could find about you," she admits, her tail curling with what I recognize as embarrassed honesty. "Articles about your achievements, pieces you'd written for the Academy newsletter about adapting to human-centric environments, interviews you gave about representing our species in the fleet. When I was sixteen and terrified about leaving Cait—about being so young, so different, so far from everything I knew—your words gave me a roadmap."
She leans forward, her voice growing more earnest. "There was this one interview you gave to the Academy Chronicle about modifying meditation techniques to work with Starfleet stress protocols. I practiced those techniques every night in my dormitory when the homesickness got so bad I could barely function. And that article you wrote about 'Finding Grace Under Pressure'—about how our Caitian instincts could be an asset rather than something to suppress—that changed everything for me."
Her eyes are bright now, and I can see the gratitude there, raw and honest. "You probably don't even remember writing those pieces, but they were lifelines for a scared kitten trying to prove she belonged among the stars. Your insights about adapting while staying true to our heritage, about using our natural abilities to excel rather than just survive—those lessons shaped the officer I became. In a very real way, you were my first mentor, even though we'd never met.”
I feel my own ears flatten with humility, a purr rumbling in my throat despite my attempts to maintain composure. "I'm humbled by your words, M'Ress, but honestly? I'm in awe of you! What you've accomplished, the barriers you've broken—becoming the youngest cadet in Academy history takes a kind of courage and brilliance that can't be taught. And look where it's led you." I gesture toward the viewport where the Enterprise sits in all her glory. "You're not just serving on any ship—you're helping to write the next chapter of Starfleet's greatest vessel's legacy.”
"But honestly, I'm in awe of you too. Being the helmsman of the Reinard—it's amazing! I've heard stories about how its maneuverability has turned the tide against ships twice its size. Like that time with the Klingon Bird-of-Prey in the asteroid field—did that really happen?"
I can't help but chuckle, and there's that purr rumbling in my throat that I'm constantly trying to suppress on duty. "Oh, it happened. We were on a recon mission near the Neutral Zone when they decloaked right on us. I had to weave the Reinard through those asteroids like threading a needle—our chief engineer was screaming about hull stress the whole time. It was tight, but we came out unscathed. The ship's agility is something else."
The memory brings back that rush—the pure adrenaline of perfect flight, when instinct and training merge into something that feels almost like magic. "The funny thing is, it reminded me of a game we played as kittens on Ferasa—darting between the crystal formations in the caves beneath the capital. Same principles, just with a few more zeros added to the consequences."
"That's incredible!" M'Ress leans forward, her whole body language screaming excitement. "It's so cool that you're a helmsman. Most Caitians I know in Starfleet end up in communications—like me—or science. You're out there breaking the mold."
She pauses, and I can see her thinking. "Though I suppose we've always been good at finding our way through complex situations, haven't we? It's in our nature."
I wave a paw dismissively, though I'm trying to keep my tone warm. Sometimes I get tired of being the "special" Caitian, the one who broke the mold. "Every position matters, M'Ress. Helm, communications, science—we all contribute to Starfleet's mission. Whether I'm steering the ship or you're keeping the lines open, it's about upholding the Federation's ideals. No role's more important than another."
I lean back, letting my voice get serious because this is important. "You know, during that asteroid field incident, it was our communications officer who coordinated the jamming frequencies that kept the Klingons from getting a clear lock on us. Without her, my fancy flying would have been for nothing."
I can see her ears droop slightly, and it hits me how young she really is. How much she's still figuring out about her place in all this. "You're right. I guess I just love how our jobs fit together. During the Altamid mess, I was relaying orders—keeping the chaos organized. It felt good to help, even if I was just a voice in the storm. Though I'll admit, there were moments when I wondered if I was making any real difference."
Oh, honey. "That's no small thing," I say, leaning forward because I need her to understand this. "Communications are the ship's lifeline, especially in a fight. You kept the Enterprise together when it counted. I've been in situations where a single garbled transmission could mean the difference between rescue and disaster."
I pause, remembering. "There was this one time during a diplomatic mission to the Gorn Hegemony—the universal translator was having issues with their territorial displays, and it was our communications officer who caught the nuances that prevented what could have been interpreted as an act of war."
The conversation flows easier now, and I'm sipping my citrus water while she nurses something that smells like Caitian spiced tea. The familiar scent makes my chest tight with homesickness for about half a second before I push it down. We're both doing it—trying to recreate little pieces of home in this sterile starbase lounge.
"You know, being on the Reinard is quite different from serving on a flagship like the Enterprise. We're smaller—half the size of the Enterprise—more agile, and often tasked with missions that require quick thinking and precise maneuvering. With an Akula-class, you feel every adjustment, every course correction in your bones."
"I can imagine. The Enterprise is a marvel, but sometimes it feels like a floating city. It's amazing, but it can be overwhelming. There are over a thousand crew members—sometimes I go days without seeing familiar faces. On the Reinard, you must have a tighter-knit crew."
Exactly. "With only 140 crew members, we're like a family. Our ship's designed for versatility—scientific missions, diplomatic encounters, combat—it handles them all. It's not as grand as the Enterprise, but it's got a spirit all its own."
I swirl my drink, thinking about MacReady and her crazy theories. "Captain MacReady has this philosophy—she says the Reinard isn't just a ship, it's a living thing with its own personality. And honestly, after years at her helm, I understand what she means. She has moods, preferences, little quirks that you learn to work with rather than against."
"That sounds wonderful," M'Ress says, and there's something wistful in her voice that makes me want to invite her aboard for a tour. "Sometimes I envy that intimacy. Don't get me wrong—I love the Enterprise and I'm proud to serve aboard her, but there's something to be said for that close-knit feeling. Tell me more about your crew. What are they like?"
And suddenly I'm grinning like an idiot because I could talk about my crew for hours. "Where do I start? There's Lieutenant Commander Dane Scott, our chief engineer—brilliant mind, cousin of the Enterprise's chief engineer—and he actually listens when I suggest modifications to the propulsion systems. Most engineers would dismiss a pilot's input, but Dane and I have developed several innovations that have pushed the Reinard beyond her original specifications."
I chuckle, thinking about some of our late-night brainstorming sessions. "Then there's Lieutenant Commander T'Val, our Vulcan science officer. You'd think a logical Vulcan and an intuitive Caitian wouldn't work well together, but we complement each other perfectly. Her methodical analysis of spatial phenomena works beautifully with my instinctive understanding of navigation challenges."
"That sounds like an incredible dynamic," M'Ress observes, her tail curling with interest. "I work with Spock sometimes on the Enterprise—he's half-Vulcan, half-human. There's something fascinating about how different species can bring out the best in each other when they work together."
"Exactly!" I feel my ears twitch with enthusiasm. "And Lieutenant Th'yan, our Andorian tactical officer—now that's a partnership forged in combat. His understanding of weapons systems combined with my maneuvering capabilities has gotten us out of more scrapes than I can count. During my Academy years, I did an exchange program with the Andorian Imperial Guard. Brutal training, but it taught me aggressive tactics I never would have learned otherwise."
Her eyes go wide. "You trained with the Andorian Imperial Guard? That's incredible! I've heard their combat training is legendary—and intense."
"Intense doesn't begin to cover it," I reply, and I actually shudder remembering some of those exercises. "They pushed me to execute maneuvers that would have been impossible for most humanoid pilots. But it taught me about the warrior ethos that drives many of our Federation allies. It helped me understand that sometimes, to preserve peace, you have to be willing to fight for it. The post-Kelvin galaxy isn't the peaceful exploration environment our predecessors knew. We have to be ready for anything."
The mood shifts, and M'Ress nods solemnly. "The Enterprise has seen its share of combat too, especially after what happened with Nero and then Krall. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to serve in the original timeline—the one where exploration was the primary mission, not survival."
I look out at our ships docked side by side, and my chest gets tight again. "I think about that too. My grandmother used to tell me stories about the ancient Caitian star-hunters, who navigated by instinct alone through the most treacherous regions of space. They did it for the joy of discovery, not because they were fleeing or fighting enemies. But then I remember that we're still explorers at heart. We're just exploring in a more dangerous galaxy."
M'Ress leans forward with curiosity, and I can see her trying to lighten the mood. "Speaking of your grandmother, do you still practice any of the traditional Caitian navigation techniques? I've heard stories about stellar navigation using only natural senses."
My face lights up because this is something I never get to talk about with anyone else. "Oh yes! I keep my grandmother's ancient star charts in my quarters—hand-drawn on traditional Caitian silk. And I still carry her navigation crystal with me." I touch the small pendant at my throat, feeling the familiar weight of it. "It's a family heirloom that's been passed down through generations of pilots. I keep it on my console during particularly challenging missions. It helps me feel connected to all those who came before me."
"That's beautiful," M'Ress says softly. "I have something similar—a vial of sand from Cait's crystal beaches. It's such a small thing, but it grounds me, reminds me of where I come from and what I'm fighting to protect. Do you ever miss Cait? The crystalline spires, the night sky filled with stars… Sometimes, on a quiet shift, I find myself longing for home."
All the damn time. "Especially the way the starlight would refract through the crystal formations at night—it was like the whole city was alive with rainbow fire. I miss the sound of the wind through the spires, the way it would sing different notes depending on the weather. And the scent of the night-blooming flowers in my family's garden."
I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. "But then I remember that every mission we complete successfully helps protect places like that—not just Cait, but every peaceful world in the Federation."
"You're right," M'Ress agrees, though I can hear the homesickness in her voice. "It's just that sometimes, especially during long deployments, I wonder if we're missing out on the simple joys of life by always being out here among the stars."
I lean back, thinking about how to explain this without sounding like I'm reciting from a Starfleet manual. "I understand that feeling. But think about it this way—we're carrying those simple joys with us wherever we go. Every time we help a stranded ship, every successful diplomatic mission, every scientific discovery we enable—we're spreading a little bit of that Caitian peace and harmony throughout the galaxy. Besides, there's something to be said for the joy of perfect flight, of threading through an asteroid field or executing a flawless docking maneuver. It's not the same as watching the sunrise over the crystal spires, but it has its own beauty."
I can feel myself relaxing in a way I rarely do around non-Caitians. There's something about being with another of my own kind that just... settles something deep in my chest. M'Ress gestures toward the viewport where our ships are docked. "What's it like, being the primary helmsman? I imagine the responsibility is enormous."
You have no idea. "It is. Every course correction, every evasive maneuver, every docking procedure—lives depend on getting it right. The psychological pressure can be overwhelming sometimes. I've developed meditation techniques that help me maintain focus under stress—combining traditional Caitian mental disciplines with Starfleet stress management protocols. The techniques proved so effective that I started teaching them to other pilots throughout the fleet."
"That's amazing," M'Ress says with genuine admiration. "You're not just excelling in your role, you're helping others excel too. I'd love to learn some of those techniques—communications can get pretty stressful too, especially during combat situations."
"I'd be happy to share them with you," I reply, meaning it. "The basic principle is about finding your center—that calm place inside where your instincts and training merge into pure action. It's something our ancestors knew instinctively, but we've had to relearn it in the context of modern starship operations."
A commotion erupts near the bar—engineers from various ships arguing about warp core designs, their voices getting louder as the debate heats up. My ears twitch with amusement as I watch the scene unfold.
"Engineers," I say with fond exasperation. "They're the same everywhere—passionate about their work to the point of obsession. Scott is constantly tinkering with our systems, trying to squeeze out just a little more performance. Sometimes I think he loves the ship more than his own life."
M'Ress giggles, her tail swishing with amusement. "The Enterprise has Montgomery Scott too—different person, but same obsession. He treats the ship's engines like they're his children. Actually, scratch that—he treats them better than most people treat their children."
Our laughter draws some curious glances, but I don't give a damn. It feels so good to share humor with someone who gets it, who understands what it's like to be us in this vast fleet of mostly humans.
M'Ress gets this mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, Meng, I have to ask—have you ever met Captain Kirk? He's kind of a legend around the fleet, and, well... he's also considered quite attractive, and hot, by human standards."
I burst into laughter, my ears quivering with amusement. "No, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet, though his reputation precedes him. From what I've heard, he's a brilliant tactician and natural leader—the kind of captain I'd be honored to serve under. But as for the 'attractive' part... well, humans aren't really my type. I appreciate competence and courage more than conventional good looks."
But then the mood shifts, and I feel my expression grow serious. "Actually, Captain Kirk literally saved my life. And billions of others, for that matter. I was still a cadet at the Academy in 2258 when the Narada arrived at Earth. I was in San Francisco when that massive drilling platform descended from the sky and began boring into the Bay, just like they'd done to Vulcan."
My tail stills as the memory brings back emotions I've tried to bury. "I remember standing there, knowing I was about to die. The same weapon that had destroyed an entire world was about to consume Earth, and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. Then suddenly, the drilling platform just... snapped. The whole massive structure collapsed into the Bay. I found out later that Kirk had beamed aboard the Narada itself—can you imagine the courage that took?—and fought Nero hand-to-hand while rescuing Captain Pike from torture. And it was Spock who destroyed the drill that would have killed us all. His precise calculations, his logical approach to an impossible situation—it was masterful."
I take a sip of my drink, and I can feel the blush creeping beneath my orange fur. "I suppose that's part of why I... well, I find myself more drawn to Vulcans than humans. There's something about their discipline, their intellectual precision, the way they can remain calm in the face of impossible odds. Not that I'm criticizing humans—Kirk's bravery saved the galaxy—but there's something about Vulcan composure that resonates with me. Maybe it's because we Caitians value grace under pressure, or maybe it's just personal preference."
M'Ress giggles, clearly enjoying where this conversation has gone. "Indeed—Captain Kirk, Commander Spock—they're legends of Starfleet and it is truly an honor to serve with them. And fair enough! To each their own, right? Though I have to admit, I do appreciate the aesthetics of a well-built human male. What about you? Anyone special in your life, or are you married to your ship like so many pilots seem to be?"
I feel thoughtful, and there's that blush again. "No one special at the moment. You're not wrong about pilots being married to their ships—the Reinard does demand a lot of attention. There was someone during my Academy years—another Caitian, actually, studying xenobiology. But our careers took us in different directions, and long-distance relationships are difficult when you're both serving on ships that could be anywhere in the galaxy."
"I'm sorry," M'Ress says softly, and I appreciate that her playful mood has shifted to sympathy. "That must have been difficult."
"It was, but it taught me something important about balance," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "Service to Starfleet requires sacrifices, but it also provides rewards that civilian life can't match. The sense of purpose, the bonds you form with your crewmates, the knowledge that you're making a difference—those things help fill the spaces that personal relationships might otherwise occupy."
M'Ress nods like she really understands. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever find someone who understands why duty comes first, why I'm willing to risk my life for strangers on distant worlds. But then I meet people like you, and I remember that we're part of something larger than ourselves. The connections we make in Starfleet may be different from traditional relationships, but they're no less meaningful."
I notice the lounge is starting to empty out—evening shift change approaching. The lighting's dimmed, and the noise level's dropped as officers head back to their ships. I glance at the chronometer and sigh.
"Speaking of duty, I should probably head back soon. We're departing at 0800 tomorrow for a survey mission in the Neutral Zone, and I want to review the navigation charts one more time." I pause, studying M'Ress with genuine warmth. "But I'm really glad we had this chance to talk. It's not often I get to spend time with another Caitian, especially one with such an interesting perspective on service."
"The feeling is mutual," M'Ress replies, though she's not making any moves to leave either. "It's been wonderful talking with someone who understands what it's like to balance our heritage with our Starfleet duties. Most humans try to be understanding, but they don't really grasp the cultural challenges we face."
"Exactly! Like the way we're expected to suppress our natural instincts in favor of regulation procedures, or how human-centric the equipment designs are. It took me months of working with Scott to modify my helm console so it properly accommodated Caitian physiology."
Her ears perk up with interest. "You modified your station? How?"
"Several ways," I reply, getting enthusiastic about one of my favorite topics. "Adjusted the seat height and angle to better accommodate our spinal structure, repositioned the primary controls to match our natural reach patterns, even added tactile elements that work better with our paw pads than human fingertips. The modifications improved my response time by nearly fifteen percent. Starfleet Engineering Command was so impressed they've started incorporating similar adjustments on other ships with non-human helm officers."
"That's incredible! I've been struggling with some of the communication console interfaces myself. They're clearly designed for human hands and human reach patterns. Would you mind if I asked your Scotty about similar modifications for communications stations?"
"Of course! I'll send you his contact information along with the technical specifications we developed. He loves sharing his innovations, especially when they improve crew performance." I feel my expression grow warm thinking about Dane. "He's one of those rare engineers who sees diversity as an asset rather than a challenge to overcome."
As we're getting ready to part ways, M'Ress hesitates, then looks at me with something that looks like reverence. "Can I ask you something personal? How do you handle the pressure of being one of the few Caitians in command positions? Sometimes I feel like I'm representing our entire species, and that's a heavy burden."
By the stars, kid, you're going right for the throat, aren't you? I'm quiet for a moment, really thinking about this. "It is a heavy burden, and I won't pretend otherwise. Every mistake feels magnified, every success scrutinized for signs that it was somehow 'lucky' rather than earned. But I've learned that the best way to represent our people is simply to be the best officer I can be. Not the best Caitian officer, just the best officer. When I execute a perfect docking maneuver or navigate through a dangerous spatial anomaly, I'm not doing it as a Caitian—I'm doing it as a Starfleet officer who happens to be Caitian."
"That's a wonderful way to look at it," M'Ress says softly. "I think I've been putting too much pressure on myself to somehow prove that Caitians belong in Starfleet."
"We've already proven that just by being here," I reply firmly. "Every day we serve with honor and distinction, we demonstrate our people's value to the Federation. But more importantly, we show that the Federation's ideals of diversity and inclusion aren't just empty words—they're living principles that make us all stronger."
The lounge lights dim further, and we both stand, stretching with that unconscious grace that marks our species. As we gather our things, M'Ress hesitates, then smiles with genuine warmth.
"Thank you for this, Meng. It's rare to connect with another Caitian out here, and you've given me so much to think about. Not just about service and duty, but about who I am and who I want to become as an officer."
I place a paw on her shoulder—firm but gentle—and suddenly I feel like maybe I'm not as alone as I thought. "Anytime, M'Ress. Keep shining on the Enterprise—you're doing all Caitians proud, and more importantly, you're honoring the uniform and everything it represents. And if you ever need a friend, or just someone who understands the unique challenges we face, I'm just a subspace call away."
Her eyes sparkle with gratitude, and she surprises me by pulling me into a brief, warm embrace—a very Caitian gesture that I find comforting after so long among other species. "I'd like that very much. Take care, Meng, and may the stars guide you safely through whatever dangers await."
"And may your words carry truth and hope across the void," I reply, invoking an ancient Caitian blessing for communicators and messengers. "Until our paths cross again."
With a final exchange of warm smiles, we part ways, each heading toward our respective ships. As I walk, I'm carrying something I didn't expect to find in a chance encounter—a renewed sense of connection to my heritage, a deeper understanding of my role in Starfleet, and the knowledge that I'm not alone in carrying the hopes and dreams of my people among the stars.
The USS Enterprise and USS Reinard will soon depart on separate missions, carrying our crews into whatever unknown dangers and wonders await in the vast expanse of space. But for me, the memory of this meeting will remain a source of strength and inspiration, a reminder that even in the darkest reaches of the galaxy, the bonds of kinship and shared purpose can bridge any distance.
As I reach the Reinard's airlock, I pause to look back through the starbase's massive windows at the stars beyond. Somewhere out there, M'Ress will soon be manning her station aboard the Enterprise, her voice carrying orders and information across the bridge of the Federation's most famous ship. The thought fills me with pride—not just for my new friend, but for all the Caitians who have chosen to serve among the stars, carrying our people's wisdom and courage into the infinite unknown.
This meeting of paws became something more—a meeting of minds, hearts, and shared determination to honor both our heritage and our chosen service. As both ships prepare for departure, our crews can't know that the conversation between two Caitian officers will ripple outward, inspiring others and contributing to the ever-evolving tapestry of the United Federation of Planets.
In this vast cosmos where danger and wonder exist in equal measure, connections like ours remind everyone that the greatest strength of Starfleet lies not in its ships or weapons, but in the diverse beings who choose to serve together, bringing their unique gifts to the eternal mission of exploration, diplomacy, and the defense of peace.
———
(First time writing story from the character's point of view/first person perspective)
Story and character: Meng Oren ©
JudyJudith
Art by:
tony07734123/kangwolf
Shiboline M'Ress, Caitian species, and related lore © Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Global
I can't help but smile as I look around this chaotic starbase lounge. The noise hits you like a wave—officers from every corner of the fleet unwinding after god knows what kind of missions, glasses clinking, conversations blending into this comfortable hum of exhaustion and relief. Through the massive viewport, I can see my baby, the USS Reinard, looking so damn small next to the USS Enterprise-A. That Constitution-class beauty makes my Akula-class light cruiser look like a toy, but honestly? I wouldn't trade her for anything. The Enterprise might have the fame and reputation, but the Reinard... she's mine.
And there, across from me, is something I never expected to find in this sea of humans, Vulcans, Andorians, et cetera—another Caitian. Lieutenant M'Ress from the Enterprise-A, looking young and eager in that way that makes me feel ancient at thirty-two. Her tail's doing that little flick thing that screams "nervous energy," and I'm trying not to laugh because I remember being exactly like that when I was her age.
I can't help but take in her appearance—she's absolutely stunning by any Caitian standard. Her light brown fur catches the starbase lighting with an almost golden sheen, reminding me of the majestic lions I'd seen in Earth's historical archives during my Academy years. That rich, warm coloring pairs beautifully with her dark brown hair, which has that same lustrous quality that speaks of good health and youth. And those eyes—by the stars, those intense yellow eyes could probably stop traffic on any world in the Federation. She fits every classical ideal of Caitian beauty, the kind that would have poets composing verses back on Ferasa.
Imagining standing next to her, I'm acutely aware of how she towers over me. At 153 centimeters, I've always been on the shorter side for a female Caitian, but M'Ress's 183 centimeters makes me feel positively diminutive. There's an elegance to her height, a graceful presence that commands attention even when she's trying to appear modest and deferential.
I've heard the rumors, of course—Starfleet's a big community, but gossip travels faster than warp speed sometimes. Stories about her social life, her... popularity among various species aboard the Enterprise. But looking at her now, I can hardly blame anyone for being attracted to her, and it's certainly not my place to judge how she chooses to spend her off-duty hours. With looks like that, I imagine she has no shortage of admirers from every gender and species in the fleet.
In space, you can always feel lonely, so my mind starts to drift toward too personal and less professional thoughts before I catch myself firmly. Stars above, Meng, get it together. She's a junior officer, you're her senior in both age and rank. You need to act like the seasoned officer you are—approachable and friendly, yes, but maintaining the appropriate boundaries. Not too rigid or formal, but definitely not... whatever that was just now.
My orange fur catches the lounge's soft lighting, and I'm making a conscious effort to keep my tail still. Years of service have taught me that composure matters, even off-duty. Damn, sometimes I miss being able to just let my tail swish freely without worrying about what it might communicate to the crew. Back home on Ferasa, watching those two moons dance across the crystal spires, nobody had to think about tail language or what their ears were doing. We just... were.
"Lieutenant Commander Oren, it's truly an honor to meet you. I've heard so much about your time on the Reinard—your skill at the helm is legendary among Caitians in Starfleet."
Legendary. Right. I can feel my ears twitching—they always do when someone puts me on a pedestal I'm not sure I deserve. But her voice has this deferential tone that makes my heart ache a little. We're both so far from home, and here she is treating me like some kind of hero when really, I'm just a pilot who's gotten lucky more times than I probably should have.
"Thank you, Lieutenant M'Ress, but please, call me Meng. We're off-duty here, and we're both Caitians far from home. Let's keep it casual. Your first name is Shiboline, correct? That is a pretty name."
I pause, studying her. She's got that look in her eyes—the one I recognize from my own mirror on the hard days. The weight of representing our entire species in a fleet that's still figuring out what to do with us. "I have to say, seeing another Caitian in communications brings back memories. My grandmother used to tell stories about how our people were natural communicators, able to sense meanings beyond words."
Her ears perk up, and suddenly she looks less like a nervous junior officer and more like the bright young woman she is. "Alright, Meng. And yes, thank you, but please call me M'Ress. I'm already used to being called that. And I'll admit, I'm still pinching myself about being on the Enterprise. It's such a storied ship—every mission feels like stepping into history. After Altamid and everything with Krall—especially the loss of the original NCC-1701 and the fiasco at Yorktown—it's been a whirlwind, but I love it."
Her tail swishes as she continues, and I can hear the uncertainty creeping in. "Though I have to admit, sometimes I feel the weight of that history. Following in the footsteps of Lieutenant Uhura isn't easy."
By the stars, kid. I feel my expression soften because I know exactly what she means. "Alright, and hey, the Enterprise is back now, better than ever. And I can imagine the pressure. When I first took the helm of the Reinard, I felt the weight of every pilot who'd come before me—not just in Starfleet, but in my family. Generations of navigators and pilots, all watching from beyond the stars."
I lift my drink—some citrus thing that reminds me of home—and feel a toast forming. "But you know what I learned? We don't serve to live up to legends. We serve to create our own path while honoring those who showed us the way."
"That's beautifully put," she says, raising her glass. "To creating our own paths, then."
The sound of our glasses clinking gets lost in the ambient noise, but something about this moment feels important. Like maybe we both needed this conversation more than either of us realized.
I pause mid-sip, something clicking in my memory as I study her face more carefully. "Wait a minute... Shiboline M'Ress. You wouldn't happen to be that M'Ress, would you? The one who became Starfleet Academy's youngest ever cadet at age sixteen?" My ears twitch with sudden recognition. "December 2260—I remember reading about it in the Academy newsletter when I was still a junior officer. They made a big deal about it, and rightfully so."
My tail betrays my excitement with a small flick despite my attempts at composure. "If you're who I think you are, then I'm sitting across from a bit of a legend myself. Your story was incredibly inspiring—a sixteen-year-old Caitian showing such determination and intellectual prowess that Starfleet waived their usual age requirements. And now here you are, assigned to the Federation's flagship right after graduation." I lean forward slightly, genuine admiration in my voice. "That's something that makes all Caitians proud, M'Ress. You've already broken barriers that some of us never even dreamed of challenging.”
M'Ress's ears flatten slightly in what I recognize as embarrassed modesty, her tail curling around her legs. "I... yes, that's me," she says softly, her voice carrying that mixture of pride and humility that marks the truly exceptional. "Though honestly, I never felt particularly young or special—just determined. My family thought I was crazy for wanting to leave Cait so early, but something about Starfleet's mission called to me. I couldn't imagine doing anything else." She pauses, looking down at her drink. "Being on the Enterprise is still surreal sometimes. I keep expecting someone to realize they made a mistake and reassign me to a cargo transport somewhere."
"Are you kidding?" I lean forward, genuine admiration warming my voice. "M'Ress, I heard about your academic achievements. You didn't just graduate—you graduated with honors and earned recognition that had instructors talking for years afterward. And from what I understand, your communications innovations during training scenarios impressed even the most seasoned officers."
Her response catches me off guard. "That's incredibly kind of you to say, but I should mention—I heard about your academic excellence too, Meng. How you graduated with honors and were awarded the prestigious Archer Medal for Excellence in Piloting. That's an honor that recognizes not just technical skill but innovative contributions to Starfleet's tactical capabilities. Your name was inscribed alongside those of legendary pilots." Her eyes shine with respect. "That kind of recognition doesn't come to just anyone—it goes to officers who redefine what's possible."
She pauses, her ears drooping slightly as she looks down at her drink, then back up at me with something that looks almost like vulnerability. "Actually, Meng, I should tell you something. Even though you graduated a year before I entered the Academy, you were... well, you were already helping me adapt to Earth, to the Academy, to what it meant to be a Caitian in Starfleet."
My ears twitch with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I read everything I could find about you," she admits, her tail curling with what I recognize as embarrassed honesty. "Articles about your achievements, pieces you'd written for the Academy newsletter about adapting to human-centric environments, interviews you gave about representing our species in the fleet. When I was sixteen and terrified about leaving Cait—about being so young, so different, so far from everything I knew—your words gave me a roadmap."
She leans forward, her voice growing more earnest. "There was this one interview you gave to the Academy Chronicle about modifying meditation techniques to work with Starfleet stress protocols. I practiced those techniques every night in my dormitory when the homesickness got so bad I could barely function. And that article you wrote about 'Finding Grace Under Pressure'—about how our Caitian instincts could be an asset rather than something to suppress—that changed everything for me."
Her eyes are bright now, and I can see the gratitude there, raw and honest. "You probably don't even remember writing those pieces, but they were lifelines for a scared kitten trying to prove she belonged among the stars. Your insights about adapting while staying true to our heritage, about using our natural abilities to excel rather than just survive—those lessons shaped the officer I became. In a very real way, you were my first mentor, even though we'd never met.”
I feel my own ears flatten with humility, a purr rumbling in my throat despite my attempts to maintain composure. "I'm humbled by your words, M'Ress, but honestly? I'm in awe of you! What you've accomplished, the barriers you've broken—becoming the youngest cadet in Academy history takes a kind of courage and brilliance that can't be taught. And look where it's led you." I gesture toward the viewport where the Enterprise sits in all her glory. "You're not just serving on any ship—you're helping to write the next chapter of Starfleet's greatest vessel's legacy.”
"But honestly, I'm in awe of you too. Being the helmsman of the Reinard—it's amazing! I've heard stories about how its maneuverability has turned the tide against ships twice its size. Like that time with the Klingon Bird-of-Prey in the asteroid field—did that really happen?"
I can't help but chuckle, and there's that purr rumbling in my throat that I'm constantly trying to suppress on duty. "Oh, it happened. We were on a recon mission near the Neutral Zone when they decloaked right on us. I had to weave the Reinard through those asteroids like threading a needle—our chief engineer was screaming about hull stress the whole time. It was tight, but we came out unscathed. The ship's agility is something else."
The memory brings back that rush—the pure adrenaline of perfect flight, when instinct and training merge into something that feels almost like magic. "The funny thing is, it reminded me of a game we played as kittens on Ferasa—darting between the crystal formations in the caves beneath the capital. Same principles, just with a few more zeros added to the consequences."
"That's incredible!" M'Ress leans forward, her whole body language screaming excitement. "It's so cool that you're a helmsman. Most Caitians I know in Starfleet end up in communications—like me—or science. You're out there breaking the mold."
She pauses, and I can see her thinking. "Though I suppose we've always been good at finding our way through complex situations, haven't we? It's in our nature."
I wave a paw dismissively, though I'm trying to keep my tone warm. Sometimes I get tired of being the "special" Caitian, the one who broke the mold. "Every position matters, M'Ress. Helm, communications, science—we all contribute to Starfleet's mission. Whether I'm steering the ship or you're keeping the lines open, it's about upholding the Federation's ideals. No role's more important than another."
I lean back, letting my voice get serious because this is important. "You know, during that asteroid field incident, it was our communications officer who coordinated the jamming frequencies that kept the Klingons from getting a clear lock on us. Without her, my fancy flying would have been for nothing."
I can see her ears droop slightly, and it hits me how young she really is. How much she's still figuring out about her place in all this. "You're right. I guess I just love how our jobs fit together. During the Altamid mess, I was relaying orders—keeping the chaos organized. It felt good to help, even if I was just a voice in the storm. Though I'll admit, there were moments when I wondered if I was making any real difference."
Oh, honey. "That's no small thing," I say, leaning forward because I need her to understand this. "Communications are the ship's lifeline, especially in a fight. You kept the Enterprise together when it counted. I've been in situations where a single garbled transmission could mean the difference between rescue and disaster."
I pause, remembering. "There was this one time during a diplomatic mission to the Gorn Hegemony—the universal translator was having issues with their territorial displays, and it was our communications officer who caught the nuances that prevented what could have been interpreted as an act of war."
The conversation flows easier now, and I'm sipping my citrus water while she nurses something that smells like Caitian spiced tea. The familiar scent makes my chest tight with homesickness for about half a second before I push it down. We're both doing it—trying to recreate little pieces of home in this sterile starbase lounge.
"You know, being on the Reinard is quite different from serving on a flagship like the Enterprise. We're smaller—half the size of the Enterprise—more agile, and often tasked with missions that require quick thinking and precise maneuvering. With an Akula-class, you feel every adjustment, every course correction in your bones."
"I can imagine. The Enterprise is a marvel, but sometimes it feels like a floating city. It's amazing, but it can be overwhelming. There are over a thousand crew members—sometimes I go days without seeing familiar faces. On the Reinard, you must have a tighter-knit crew."
Exactly. "With only 140 crew members, we're like a family. Our ship's designed for versatility—scientific missions, diplomatic encounters, combat—it handles them all. It's not as grand as the Enterprise, but it's got a spirit all its own."
I swirl my drink, thinking about MacReady and her crazy theories. "Captain MacReady has this philosophy—she says the Reinard isn't just a ship, it's a living thing with its own personality. And honestly, after years at her helm, I understand what she means. She has moods, preferences, little quirks that you learn to work with rather than against."
"That sounds wonderful," M'Ress says, and there's something wistful in her voice that makes me want to invite her aboard for a tour. "Sometimes I envy that intimacy. Don't get me wrong—I love the Enterprise and I'm proud to serve aboard her, but there's something to be said for that close-knit feeling. Tell me more about your crew. What are they like?"
And suddenly I'm grinning like an idiot because I could talk about my crew for hours. "Where do I start? There's Lieutenant Commander Dane Scott, our chief engineer—brilliant mind, cousin of the Enterprise's chief engineer—and he actually listens when I suggest modifications to the propulsion systems. Most engineers would dismiss a pilot's input, but Dane and I have developed several innovations that have pushed the Reinard beyond her original specifications."
I chuckle, thinking about some of our late-night brainstorming sessions. "Then there's Lieutenant Commander T'Val, our Vulcan science officer. You'd think a logical Vulcan and an intuitive Caitian wouldn't work well together, but we complement each other perfectly. Her methodical analysis of spatial phenomena works beautifully with my instinctive understanding of navigation challenges."
"That sounds like an incredible dynamic," M'Ress observes, her tail curling with interest. "I work with Spock sometimes on the Enterprise—he's half-Vulcan, half-human. There's something fascinating about how different species can bring out the best in each other when they work together."
"Exactly!" I feel my ears twitch with enthusiasm. "And Lieutenant Th'yan, our Andorian tactical officer—now that's a partnership forged in combat. His understanding of weapons systems combined with my maneuvering capabilities has gotten us out of more scrapes than I can count. During my Academy years, I did an exchange program with the Andorian Imperial Guard. Brutal training, but it taught me aggressive tactics I never would have learned otherwise."
Her eyes go wide. "You trained with the Andorian Imperial Guard? That's incredible! I've heard their combat training is legendary—and intense."
"Intense doesn't begin to cover it," I reply, and I actually shudder remembering some of those exercises. "They pushed me to execute maneuvers that would have been impossible for most humanoid pilots. But it taught me about the warrior ethos that drives many of our Federation allies. It helped me understand that sometimes, to preserve peace, you have to be willing to fight for it. The post-Kelvin galaxy isn't the peaceful exploration environment our predecessors knew. We have to be ready for anything."
The mood shifts, and M'Ress nods solemnly. "The Enterprise has seen its share of combat too, especially after what happened with Nero and then Krall. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to serve in the original timeline—the one where exploration was the primary mission, not survival."
I look out at our ships docked side by side, and my chest gets tight again. "I think about that too. My grandmother used to tell me stories about the ancient Caitian star-hunters, who navigated by instinct alone through the most treacherous regions of space. They did it for the joy of discovery, not because they were fleeing or fighting enemies. But then I remember that we're still explorers at heart. We're just exploring in a more dangerous galaxy."
M'Ress leans forward with curiosity, and I can see her trying to lighten the mood. "Speaking of your grandmother, do you still practice any of the traditional Caitian navigation techniques? I've heard stories about stellar navigation using only natural senses."
My face lights up because this is something I never get to talk about with anyone else. "Oh yes! I keep my grandmother's ancient star charts in my quarters—hand-drawn on traditional Caitian silk. And I still carry her navigation crystal with me." I touch the small pendant at my throat, feeling the familiar weight of it. "It's a family heirloom that's been passed down through generations of pilots. I keep it on my console during particularly challenging missions. It helps me feel connected to all those who came before me."
"That's beautiful," M'Ress says softly. "I have something similar—a vial of sand from Cait's crystal beaches. It's such a small thing, but it grounds me, reminds me of where I come from and what I'm fighting to protect. Do you ever miss Cait? The crystalline spires, the night sky filled with stars… Sometimes, on a quiet shift, I find myself longing for home."
All the damn time. "Especially the way the starlight would refract through the crystal formations at night—it was like the whole city was alive with rainbow fire. I miss the sound of the wind through the spires, the way it would sing different notes depending on the weather. And the scent of the night-blooming flowers in my family's garden."
I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. "But then I remember that every mission we complete successfully helps protect places like that—not just Cait, but every peaceful world in the Federation."
"You're right," M'Ress agrees, though I can hear the homesickness in her voice. "It's just that sometimes, especially during long deployments, I wonder if we're missing out on the simple joys of life by always being out here among the stars."
I lean back, thinking about how to explain this without sounding like I'm reciting from a Starfleet manual. "I understand that feeling. But think about it this way—we're carrying those simple joys with us wherever we go. Every time we help a stranded ship, every successful diplomatic mission, every scientific discovery we enable—we're spreading a little bit of that Caitian peace and harmony throughout the galaxy. Besides, there's something to be said for the joy of perfect flight, of threading through an asteroid field or executing a flawless docking maneuver. It's not the same as watching the sunrise over the crystal spires, but it has its own beauty."
I can feel myself relaxing in a way I rarely do around non-Caitians. There's something about being with another of my own kind that just... settles something deep in my chest. M'Ress gestures toward the viewport where our ships are docked. "What's it like, being the primary helmsman? I imagine the responsibility is enormous."
You have no idea. "It is. Every course correction, every evasive maneuver, every docking procedure—lives depend on getting it right. The psychological pressure can be overwhelming sometimes. I've developed meditation techniques that help me maintain focus under stress—combining traditional Caitian mental disciplines with Starfleet stress management protocols. The techniques proved so effective that I started teaching them to other pilots throughout the fleet."
"That's amazing," M'Ress says with genuine admiration. "You're not just excelling in your role, you're helping others excel too. I'd love to learn some of those techniques—communications can get pretty stressful too, especially during combat situations."
"I'd be happy to share them with you," I reply, meaning it. "The basic principle is about finding your center—that calm place inside where your instincts and training merge into pure action. It's something our ancestors knew instinctively, but we've had to relearn it in the context of modern starship operations."
A commotion erupts near the bar—engineers from various ships arguing about warp core designs, their voices getting louder as the debate heats up. My ears twitch with amusement as I watch the scene unfold.
"Engineers," I say with fond exasperation. "They're the same everywhere—passionate about their work to the point of obsession. Scott is constantly tinkering with our systems, trying to squeeze out just a little more performance. Sometimes I think he loves the ship more than his own life."
M'Ress giggles, her tail swishing with amusement. "The Enterprise has Montgomery Scott too—different person, but same obsession. He treats the ship's engines like they're his children. Actually, scratch that—he treats them better than most people treat their children."
Our laughter draws some curious glances, but I don't give a damn. It feels so good to share humor with someone who gets it, who understands what it's like to be us in this vast fleet of mostly humans.
M'Ress gets this mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, Meng, I have to ask—have you ever met Captain Kirk? He's kind of a legend around the fleet, and, well... he's also considered quite attractive, and hot, by human standards."
I burst into laughter, my ears quivering with amusement. "No, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet, though his reputation precedes him. From what I've heard, he's a brilliant tactician and natural leader—the kind of captain I'd be honored to serve under. But as for the 'attractive' part... well, humans aren't really my type. I appreciate competence and courage more than conventional good looks."
But then the mood shifts, and I feel my expression grow serious. "Actually, Captain Kirk literally saved my life. And billions of others, for that matter. I was still a cadet at the Academy in 2258 when the Narada arrived at Earth. I was in San Francisco when that massive drilling platform descended from the sky and began boring into the Bay, just like they'd done to Vulcan."
My tail stills as the memory brings back emotions I've tried to bury. "I remember standing there, knowing I was about to die. The same weapon that had destroyed an entire world was about to consume Earth, and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. Then suddenly, the drilling platform just... snapped. The whole massive structure collapsed into the Bay. I found out later that Kirk had beamed aboard the Narada itself—can you imagine the courage that took?—and fought Nero hand-to-hand while rescuing Captain Pike from torture. And it was Spock who destroyed the drill that would have killed us all. His precise calculations, his logical approach to an impossible situation—it was masterful."
I take a sip of my drink, and I can feel the blush creeping beneath my orange fur. "I suppose that's part of why I... well, I find myself more drawn to Vulcans than humans. There's something about their discipline, their intellectual precision, the way they can remain calm in the face of impossible odds. Not that I'm criticizing humans—Kirk's bravery saved the galaxy—but there's something about Vulcan composure that resonates with me. Maybe it's because we Caitians value grace under pressure, or maybe it's just personal preference."
M'Ress giggles, clearly enjoying where this conversation has gone. "Indeed—Captain Kirk, Commander Spock—they're legends of Starfleet and it is truly an honor to serve with them. And fair enough! To each their own, right? Though I have to admit, I do appreciate the aesthetics of a well-built human male. What about you? Anyone special in your life, or are you married to your ship like so many pilots seem to be?"
I feel thoughtful, and there's that blush again. "No one special at the moment. You're not wrong about pilots being married to their ships—the Reinard does demand a lot of attention. There was someone during my Academy years—another Caitian, actually, studying xenobiology. But our careers took us in different directions, and long-distance relationships are difficult when you're both serving on ships that could be anywhere in the galaxy."
"I'm sorry," M'Ress says softly, and I appreciate that her playful mood has shifted to sympathy. "That must have been difficult."
"It was, but it taught me something important about balance," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "Service to Starfleet requires sacrifices, but it also provides rewards that civilian life can't match. The sense of purpose, the bonds you form with your crewmates, the knowledge that you're making a difference—those things help fill the spaces that personal relationships might otherwise occupy."
M'Ress nods like she really understands. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever find someone who understands why duty comes first, why I'm willing to risk my life for strangers on distant worlds. But then I meet people like you, and I remember that we're part of something larger than ourselves. The connections we make in Starfleet may be different from traditional relationships, but they're no less meaningful."
I notice the lounge is starting to empty out—evening shift change approaching. The lighting's dimmed, and the noise level's dropped as officers head back to their ships. I glance at the chronometer and sigh.
"Speaking of duty, I should probably head back soon. We're departing at 0800 tomorrow for a survey mission in the Neutral Zone, and I want to review the navigation charts one more time." I pause, studying M'Ress with genuine warmth. "But I'm really glad we had this chance to talk. It's not often I get to spend time with another Caitian, especially one with such an interesting perspective on service."
"The feeling is mutual," M'Ress replies, though she's not making any moves to leave either. "It's been wonderful talking with someone who understands what it's like to balance our heritage with our Starfleet duties. Most humans try to be understanding, but they don't really grasp the cultural challenges we face."
"Exactly! Like the way we're expected to suppress our natural instincts in favor of regulation procedures, or how human-centric the equipment designs are. It took me months of working with Scott to modify my helm console so it properly accommodated Caitian physiology."
Her ears perk up with interest. "You modified your station? How?"
"Several ways," I reply, getting enthusiastic about one of my favorite topics. "Adjusted the seat height and angle to better accommodate our spinal structure, repositioned the primary controls to match our natural reach patterns, even added tactile elements that work better with our paw pads than human fingertips. The modifications improved my response time by nearly fifteen percent. Starfleet Engineering Command was so impressed they've started incorporating similar adjustments on other ships with non-human helm officers."
"That's incredible! I've been struggling with some of the communication console interfaces myself. They're clearly designed for human hands and human reach patterns. Would you mind if I asked your Scotty about similar modifications for communications stations?"
"Of course! I'll send you his contact information along with the technical specifications we developed. He loves sharing his innovations, especially when they improve crew performance." I feel my expression grow warm thinking about Dane. "He's one of those rare engineers who sees diversity as an asset rather than a challenge to overcome."
As we're getting ready to part ways, M'Ress hesitates, then looks at me with something that looks like reverence. "Can I ask you something personal? How do you handle the pressure of being one of the few Caitians in command positions? Sometimes I feel like I'm representing our entire species, and that's a heavy burden."
By the stars, kid, you're going right for the throat, aren't you? I'm quiet for a moment, really thinking about this. "It is a heavy burden, and I won't pretend otherwise. Every mistake feels magnified, every success scrutinized for signs that it was somehow 'lucky' rather than earned. But I've learned that the best way to represent our people is simply to be the best officer I can be. Not the best Caitian officer, just the best officer. When I execute a perfect docking maneuver or navigate through a dangerous spatial anomaly, I'm not doing it as a Caitian—I'm doing it as a Starfleet officer who happens to be Caitian."
"That's a wonderful way to look at it," M'Ress says softly. "I think I've been putting too much pressure on myself to somehow prove that Caitians belong in Starfleet."
"We've already proven that just by being here," I reply firmly. "Every day we serve with honor and distinction, we demonstrate our people's value to the Federation. But more importantly, we show that the Federation's ideals of diversity and inclusion aren't just empty words—they're living principles that make us all stronger."
The lounge lights dim further, and we both stand, stretching with that unconscious grace that marks our species. As we gather our things, M'Ress hesitates, then smiles with genuine warmth.
"Thank you for this, Meng. It's rare to connect with another Caitian out here, and you've given me so much to think about. Not just about service and duty, but about who I am and who I want to become as an officer."
I place a paw on her shoulder—firm but gentle—and suddenly I feel like maybe I'm not as alone as I thought. "Anytime, M'Ress. Keep shining on the Enterprise—you're doing all Caitians proud, and more importantly, you're honoring the uniform and everything it represents. And if you ever need a friend, or just someone who understands the unique challenges we face, I'm just a subspace call away."
Her eyes sparkle with gratitude, and she surprises me by pulling me into a brief, warm embrace—a very Caitian gesture that I find comforting after so long among other species. "I'd like that very much. Take care, Meng, and may the stars guide you safely through whatever dangers await."
"And may your words carry truth and hope across the void," I reply, invoking an ancient Caitian blessing for communicators and messengers. "Until our paths cross again."
With a final exchange of warm smiles, we part ways, each heading toward our respective ships. As I walk, I'm carrying something I didn't expect to find in a chance encounter—a renewed sense of connection to my heritage, a deeper understanding of my role in Starfleet, and the knowledge that I'm not alone in carrying the hopes and dreams of my people among the stars.
The USS Enterprise and USS Reinard will soon depart on separate missions, carrying our crews into whatever unknown dangers and wonders await in the vast expanse of space. But for me, the memory of this meeting will remain a source of strength and inspiration, a reminder that even in the darkest reaches of the galaxy, the bonds of kinship and shared purpose can bridge any distance.
As I reach the Reinard's airlock, I pause to look back through the starbase's massive windows at the stars beyond. Somewhere out there, M'Ress will soon be manning her station aboard the Enterprise, her voice carrying orders and information across the bridge of the Federation's most famous ship. The thought fills me with pride—not just for my new friend, but for all the Caitians who have chosen to serve among the stars, carrying our people's wisdom and courage into the infinite unknown.
This meeting of paws became something more—a meeting of minds, hearts, and shared determination to honor both our heritage and our chosen service. As both ships prepare for departure, our crews can't know that the conversation between two Caitian officers will ripple outward, inspiring others and contributing to the ever-evolving tapestry of the United Federation of Planets.
In this vast cosmos where danger and wonder exist in equal measure, connections like ours remind everyone that the greatest strength of Starfleet lies not in its ships or weapons, but in the diverse beings who choose to serve together, bringing their unique gifts to the eternal mission of exploration, diplomacy, and the defense of peace.
———
(First time writing story from the character's point of view/first person perspective)
Story and character: Meng Oren ©

Art by:

Shiboline M'Ress, Caitian species, and related lore © Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Global
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