Though a naturally optimistic person, Paulo Costa had a hard time coming up with an explanation for the explosion Hawthorne had detected that didn’t stem from the violent destruction of the Buran. He kept glancing over to check the other man’s progress at the aft science station. Still, he knew the only thing they could do was wait through the next few slow, painful minutes into their arrival over an uncharted ocean planet in the Gamma Aquarii system, their first, best guess on where the Rhode Island-class scout may have sought refuge. He ran his fingers along the edge of the helm console, focusing for a moment on the satisfying texture of the brushed titanium trim, which abutted the supple smoothness of the red Corinthian leather wrapping the padded rail—the last thing that would come between either him or Hawthorne if inertial dampeners were to fail. The thought of an accident like that made him shudder involuntarily, a vision of Hawthorne bloodied against the forward viewport sticking in his mind unpleasantly. The clunk of Hawthorne’s chair locking into place in its original, forward position shook Costa out of his own head.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Hawthorne noted, his tone belying both interest and concern under his posh accent. 

Hawthorne stood up as much as was possible for someone of his considerable height under the shuttle’s canopy and moved across to perch as gracefully as he could on Costa’s lap and pecked him on the temple. As the blond man braced himself on the leather rail with one hand, Costa stabilized him with an arm around his waist. Because of the fineness of his features and his precise, ultra-dignified mannerisms, Costa often thought of his boyfriend as being “pretty,” which sometimes led him to forget that Hawthorne was in no sense a small or delicate man. Indeed, sitting together like that, Costa almost found Hawthorne’s athletic frame too heavy to support easily. Hawthorne’s physicality was a good reminder for Costa that he was probably worrying too much about his partner’s bodily safety. 

“What happened to your fist-pumping enthusiasm for exploration, Costa?” Hawthorne asked.

Costa could detect a subtle jab there and he was actually comforted by it. He’d start to worry if the banter he shared with Hawthorne would ever cool into something saccharine. They were at their best when they were pushing each other’s buttons—just as long as they didn’t end up pushing each other so far that they ended up in the deep abyss of a cave network as they had on their last shuttle mission to a water world.

“Just over-thinking some of the possibilities,” Costa admitted with a faint smile. 

The way they were piled up in the pilot’s seat together left Costa with perfect access to push his face into Hawthorne’s neck, kissing him and creating a predictable but barely audible gasp from the way his coarse stubble dug into the other man’s fair and flawless skin. Deciding not to let his intrusive thoughts win, he withdrew before he left a mark there. He shook his head at his muddled feelings and made eye contact with Hawthorne. 

“We’ve been in danger together a bunch of other times before, but it feels different this time.”

“It does,” Hawthorne agreed, to Costa’s mild surprise, while his fingers laced into his dark hair. Costa could see a glint of hope in Hawthorne’s blue eyes that made his stomach do all sorts of acrobatics. “We just have a better reason to want to survive this time. Beyond just unfinished business in your quarters, Mr. Costa.”

Costa chuckled. “Yeah, we do, Mr. Hawthorne,” he said. A heartbeat later, the proximity alert chimed. The pilot glanced down at the navigation console and saw they were about to decelerate on their planned course. “We’ll have to continue this another time.”

“Certainly,” Hawthorne said, his face flickering between school-boyish glee and his professional mask as he moved back over into his own seat. 

Costa looked down to see Hawthorne’s palm print in the padded rail of the helm console, and he was taken back to that flash of horror at the idea of something happening to him. After a moment of hesitation, he tapped a control amid the many blinking lights of the central display, which caused four-point restraints to pop out of the seats and secure both officers. The scientist reacted with a surprised yelp.

“A little warning would have been nice, you absolute menace,” Hawthorne said with a glare.

“I’m just keeping that pretty, blond head of yours safe while we fly into unknown conditions, ciello,” Costa replied, winking as he placed his hands on the flight controls. “Besides, I had to stop you from seducing me somehow. I’m dropping us to impulse.”

The streaking stars ahead of them resolved into points of light, dominated by the massive blue orb that was Gamma Aquarii I, the inner planet and only terrestrial world of the system. As soon as they slowed down, a shudder spread throughout their small vessel, and Costa felt validated in his decision to deploy the restraints. The navigational sensors were all fluctuating wildly as well.

“There’s a lot of subspace chop, and this planet’s gravity is well deeper than expected,” Costa noted, switching to manual control. The shuttle’s impulse engines were struggling to automatically adjust to the unusual subspace topology of the region, but Costa was able to level them out. “I’m compensating.”  

“I doubt we will be able to get a subspace radio signal out in this, either, but that explains why Buran hasn’t sent a distress call,” Hawthorne noted. He tapped through various sensor controls from his station. “Based on these readings, I can confirm that the antimatter explosion I detected earlier has a resonance frequency consistent with the warp core aboard Buran.”

Costa swallowed. “Any signs of escape pods?” he asked.

“No, nothing,” Hawthorne said, shaking his head. He continued to work while Costa reeled from the feeling of failure. “I’m also not detecting any debris. There wouldn’t be much, but there’s no sign that a starship was destroyed here.”

“There’s hope that they were able to eject the core, then,” Costa said. “If they followed protocol, they would have launched a beacon, too.”

“I’m not picking one up,” Hawthorne said, shaking his head. “I am detecting a large duranium mass coming from the surface of the planet,” he added, activating the holographic overlay on the cockpit windscreen. “It’s hard to tell anything more with these sensors, but there’s something approximately the size of a Rhode Island class ship on the seabed.”

“So, when you said ‘surface,’ was that pretty broad?” Costa quipped. “Right. This is going to be a problem. Can we try hailing them?”

“Until we do a more detailed scan of the system, it would be unwise. We would reveal our position. We may be in Breen space, after all,” Hawthorne reminded him. He tapped through his sensor readings and arched an eyebrow. “Though, I think we may have another problem: this planet is inhabited.”

At Hawthorne’s behest, the computer displayed a massive swarm of green dots all over the oceans of this alien world. There were definite concentrations of them that resembled the patterns you’d see in a terrestrial city, with whisps of readings connecting them like roads.

“Are they sentient?” Costa asked.

“Unclear,” Hawthorne said, not looking up as he continued taking readings. “I… this can’t be right. Based on these readings, these are whales,” he said.

“Well, cetacean life isn’t that uncommon, is it?” Costa asked, not seeing the reason for confusion.

“No, it isn’t. But this is megaptera novaeangilae, a humpback whale from Earth,” Hawthorne clarified, showing a wireframe image of one of the lifeforms swimming in the ocean. “I have no idea how they could be out this far… but we’re almost certainly in prime directive territory now. We’ll have to run a full technological assessment before proceeding.”

Costa nodded. “Who’d’ve thought we’d get the chance to make first contact?” he asked brightly. “Though… based on the gravity of this world and the depth of the ocean, I don’t give the Buran good odds of remaining intact down there for long…,” he admitted.

“Perfect. Anthropology loves deadlines,” Hawthorne muttered. “How long until Arondight is here?”

“Another two hours. Let’s collect what we can. I’ll take us into a higher orbit to minimize the chances of detection,” Costa said. He looked over at Hawthorne and immediately felt his stress through the grimace he held as he looked at their readings. “It’s a good thing I have the best linguistic anthropologist in Starfleet with me,” he said. “Definitely the best-looking one.”

“Keep it in your pants, Costa,” Hawthorne said, though Costa saw him grin even as he rolled his eyes.