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2Lt Arturo Maxwell - Your Name in Gold

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((Family Quarters 7-3-442, USS Oumuamua.))


Max was stood just inside the doorway, staring at the furnished yet presently very impersonal setting of what from today would be his brand new home on the ship. To his immediate left, a dining table with a pair of chairs. Directly opposite him was a comfy looking three-seater sofa flanked on both sides by a coffee table and armchair. The room to his right was a bedroom with a bed, desk and chair and some wardrobe space. To his left was a door that led into a bigger bedroom with a double bed, desk and chair, and storage. It also led to another doorway that opened into a fair-sized bathroom.

It had been a few hours since his meeting with Colonel Greaves and Lt Sh'Shelor and Max had been aimlessly wandering the decks when he had received a message on his PADD that new quarters had been assigned to him.

They were very nice quarters, and a massive upgrade from his shared officers digs down on the Gator Deck. Taking a deep breath, Max made a mental note to hunt down Commodore V'Airu and thank her for the swift assistance towards needing these quarters in the first place.

Nodding to himself, Max turned and left his new quarters before doube-timing all the way to the docking port.


((Docking Ring, Deep Space Nine.))


There couldn't be this many people aboard a single shuttle.

Could there?

Max felt like he'd watched about fifty-thousand people come through the hallway that led to the docking ring proper. He'd paced nervously back and forth, stepping aside with an apology now and then as he got in the path of disembarking passengers. To many passing by he must have appeared as quite a contradiction.

A five foot ten and heavily toned Marine bearing a white eye and a mess of scarring upon his face that gave off the air of trained violence and brutal combat, bizarrely combined with a clearly nervous expression and the pacing of somebody battling a swirling combination of excitement and fear at the meeting to come.


What on earth could produce such nerves in a battle-scarred Marine? It was a question clearly on the minds of many of the people disembarking, as they cast their own nervous glances and gave him as wide a berth as possible. As the crowds from this sections latest round of arrivals began to thin out, Max felt his nerves get even worse. Had there been a change of heart?

He would understand perfectly if there had been. After all, uprooting from an established home so far away from the home you had grown up in, to then live aboard a starship heading for a different quadrant was no small feat.

It was an even bigger ask when that person was only twelve and had barely come to terms with being told her father was dead, before being hit with the bombshell that he was alive and well.

There had been moments since his return to Starfleet Headquarters for debriefing and retraining as a Marine that Max had wrestled with the idea of contacting her at all. Would it have been kinder to allow her to process his listing as killed, to visit the Hall of Honour aboard SB118 and see his golden lettered name engraved beside many others on the memorial wall. To allow her to heal and move on without him?

Or would that have been a far more selfish thing to have done? Which was right?

In the end, no matter what would or would not have been the less hurtful option for her, Max had been unable to keep silent and had initially reached out to Sal. After that he had he discreetly contacted Ishreth Dal, SB118's Andorian commanding officer and a dear friend. One who had immediately and without second thought taken her in as if one of his own and taken good care of her.

The first indication was the sound of a jingling bell, and a playful yowling.

A smile formed upon his face as he recognised the sound of his ginger tomcat, Haggis.


The last few people passed him by and revealed the person he had been anxiously waiting for.

She was stood beside the familiar face of his old friend Julien Paradi, who for his part was pushing a trolley piled high with bags and a pair of cat carriers. From one, came the sound of happy yowling and the jingling of a toy, and from the other was the dangling paw of a snoozing Nessie.

Nodding to Julien his gaze turned to the young face looking straight at him, taking in every detail of his scarred face as if unsure that he was really stood there.

And then she took off running towards him.


Max dropped to his knees, his arms outstretched.

His gave a slight huff from the impact as Milly collided with him, and his arms instantly gripped her in an almost crushing bear hug. Uncaring of who might see, tears rolled freely down Max's face as the mutual hug grew tighter still. Eventually, he released her and she took a step back.

Up close and face to face now he watched her eyes scanning over his face again, before a hand gently touched his scarred cheek.

She wrinkled her nose at him, a mischevous smile forming.


Milly: It makes you look grumpy.....



2nd Lieutenant Arturo Maxwell.

Marine Officer, 4/73 Marines.

USS Oumuamua: NCC-81226.


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