Felix Caelus

The fall forward onto the table, all his joints locking at once. Shouting. Ice pressing around him. Voices over him. Slung over a rock and the cold of it radiates through him down to the bone. Furs wrapping him tight. There’s a long, long march where he sways on someone’s shoulder, the wind battering his face. More voices.

Then darkness. So much darkness pressing around him…

When he wakes it might take a few minutes to comprehend what’s going on. He’s warm. He’s comfortable. The noise of the café has vanished. The wind outside has gone silent. There’s just the minute hum of electricity and life-support systems around him… and a rumble from the ginger fuzzball purring atop his chest.

The faint reverberation of engines sinks in.

He’s in his quarters. He’s on the Enterprise.