Big Dad, Little Daughter, Larger World.

Posted on Fri Dec 12th, 2025 @ 1:35am by Colonel S'er'in'e

1,696 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: The Hand That Rocks The Babe
Location: Civilian Sections - U.S.S. Dreadnought

Colonel S’er’in’e didn’t so much walk through the main corridor the deck as he occupied it. At seven foot eight and built like a creature born to pounce from jungle boughs, the white-furred Caitian drew glances even among the diverse crew of the U.S.S. Dreadnought. His tail, thick with snowy fur, moved in a slow, deliberate counterbalance with each step a silent warning and a calm reassurance in equal measure.

Beside him, keeping pace with a mixture of curiosity and youthful pride, was his daughter Mariah.

The hybrid girl had inherited her father’s sharp amber eyes and faint facial markings, but her build was unmistakably human: smaller, slighter, though still possessing the light-step grace of her Caitian heritage. Her dark hair was tied back to keep it out of her face Starfleet ship or not, Father always notices posture and her small, tufted ears twitched as the corridor filled with the hum of the warp core far beneath them. "We are almost at the Promenade." He spoke, letting his Daughter know the walking was almost done.

An evident smile could be seen to grace her features.

The promenade looked peaceful enough: shops, cafés, children laughing near the learning center. Yet S’er’in’e’s gaze never rested. Every movement registered, every approach evaluated. When a civilian Andorian accidentally stepped too close to Mariah in passing, S’er’in’e stopped dead, towering over the man with a single, cold stare that communicated everything necessary. The Andorian froze, then quickly excused himself down another corridor. His Daughter, like his Mate was everything to him.

They continued on. S’er’in’e kept himself slightly angled, his body a living barrier between Mariah and the busiest side of the walkway. His tail occasionally tapped her back gently, her father’s silent way of checking that she was still there, still safe.

Inside the grillhouse, the lighting was warm and the scents richer—real flame, real spices, none of the sterile undertone that accompanied replicated food. Mariah’s nose twitched eagerly; S’er’in’e’s remained alert.

The proprietor, a Tellarite with a bushy beard and a surprisingly gentle posture, noticed them enter…and promptly straightened as if confronted by a visiting admiral.

“Colonel,” he greeted, voice gruff but respectful. “What can I prepare for you today?”

S’er’in’e stepped slightly forward, subtly blocking half the room’s view of his daughter. “Two small meals. Real meat. Light seasoning. To be taken to the arboretum.”

He delivered the request with the certainty of someone who fully expected no delay, no complication, no questions.

“Of course, of course. Freshly grilled, just a moment.”

S’er’in’e watched him go, then scanned the seating area, his tail curling in silent warning at a table of off-duty crew who were trying very hard not to stare at the towering Caitian and the hybrid girl beside him. One of them, young, human, curious had opened his mouth as if to speak.

S’er’in’e’s ears angled sharply in his direction before the man could utter a single syllable.

The young crewman closed his mouth.

The Tellarite returned with two carefully packaged lightweight containers, insulated, built for carrying. “There you are. Fresh, hot, and ready for a quiet walk.”

S’er’in’e accepted them with a nod of formal gratitude. “Payment already registered on my account?”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Efficient.”

Mariah took one of the containers from him to carry herself, but S’er’in’e kept a gentle hold on the other corner for a heartbeat longer, as if weighing whether to permit it. Then, with a small exhale, he released.

Together they stepped back into the promenade, the crowd parting instinctively around the imposing Caitian. S’er’in’e positioned himself at her left flank as they walked, shielding her from the majority of foot traffic.

“The arboretum is this way,” S'er'in'e said, nodding toward the lift. As they approached the doors opened and an empty lift greeted them, however he could smell fresh scents lingering, it had not long been vacated. As the lift began its descent toward the arboretum deck, Mariah held her meal with a quiet, bubbling excitement.

S’er’in’e held his with a vigilance that never quite eased—but for the moment, at least, he allowed himself the smallest measure of peace.

They were together. She was safe. And that mattered more to him than anything the Dreadnought could possibly offer.

The lift doors opened onto the arboretum deck with a soft chime, releasing a wash of warm, oxygen-rich air scented with leaves, soil, and living growth. For all the ship’s technological marvels, this place felt truly alive and S’er’in’e’s posture eased by a degree so small only Mariah would ever notice.

They stepped inside.

The arboretum stretched wide and green beneath an artificial skylight that mimicked late-afternoon sun. Terraced paths cut through groves of alien flora, while a modest garden spread out at the center, dotted with trees from half a dozen worlds. Voices here were hushed, respectful. A few crewmembers strolled the perimeter, but no one intruded past a certain conversational distance.

Instinctively, S’er’in’e approved.

Mariah spotted a large tree near the gardens far edge, something vaguely Terran in shape but with deep bronze leaves that shimmered as though each were dusted with metallic powder.

“There?” she asked, pointing.

S’er’in’e studied the tree, the surrounding terrain, the nearby footpaths. Wide visibility. Elevated roots. Only one approach angle from behind.

Safe.

“Yes,” he said.

They crossed the meadow slowly, S’er’in’e adjusting his pace so Mariah could walk beside him without rushing. When they reached the tree, Mariah dropped to the grass with a relieved little laugh, setting her meal container in her lap.

S’er’in’e settled down beside her with great care, he had once cracked a park bench simply by sitting too quickly, and that memory had shaped his caution ever since. The grass cushioned him; the tree’s trunk was sturdy enough to support even his considerable weight leaning against it.

Mariah popped her container open, and a savory, gently spiced scent drifted up. A small purr could be heard, it seems the young female approved.

S’er’in’e opened his as well, real meat, seared to perfect browning. “It is adequate,” he said, which in Caitian translated to high praise.

Mariah tasted a bite, her eyes widening.

A low, pleased purr rumbled in S’er’in’e’s chest.

For a few quiet minutes they simply ate, the ship’s hum distant beneath the rustle of leaves. Mariah’s legs stretched out in front of her, toes brushing the grass; she looked peaceful, almost content. S’er’in’e kept one ear tuned to her breathing, the other rotating slowly to track every sound within fifty meters. He watched the path, the horizon line, every stranger who entered the arboretum. But his gaze returned to Mariah more than anything else.

“You are enjoying this,” he observed.

Mariah nodded, sauce dripping down her chin and on to her outfit, he would no doubt face questions from his Mate about the mess later. S’er’in’e set his meal container aside for a moment and reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with one clawed finger. The gesture was tender, protective, reverent.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Then this… was worth doing.”

Mariah’s expression softened. S’er’in’e’s tail curled around toward her, not quite touching, but close, a silent shield drawn in soft arcs.

They ate slowly, not because the meal demanded ceremony, but because neither seemed eager to disturb the rare quiet surrounding them. The arboretum’s artificial sun drifted toward a simulated evening hue, softening the bronze light scattered across the grass. Mariah’s shoulders relaxed further with each bite; S’er’in’e tracked that subtle easing with a small, private sense of satisfaction.

When she finally closed her empty container, Mariah exhaled in contentment. "We may have to bring your Mother here." S’er’in’e clicked the lid of his own container shut. “But not at crowded hours.”

A silence settled between them, not strained, but thoughtful. The kind that came from simply enjoying each other’s company. S’er’in’e glanced upward, watching the shifting leaves, then looked back to his daughter.

“Are you ready to return?” he asked.

Mariah gave the garden one last appreciative look and nodded. S’er’in’e rose in a single, fluid motion, massive yet controlled then extended a hand to help her up. Mariah took it, her smaller fingers disappearing into his furred, clawed palm. Once on her feet, she brushed off her pants with an amused huff.

With their empty containers secured, they walked back across the garden. S’er’in’e’s posture shifted the moment they re-entered more populated parts of the arboretum, ears attuned, tail kept low and ready, steps measured. Mariah stayed beside him, close but not clinging, her expression patient with the familiarity of his vigilance.

The lift was empty when it arrived S'er'in'e made sure to enter first, positioning Mariah close next to him as the doors closed. The ride was quiet. Peaceful. When they arrived home they found it empty, His Mate, Samanthia was away no doubt on business. "We should get you cleaned up before your Mother sees the mess you made."

He watched her walk off to her room and he followed moments later, a new outfit was put on her and together they walked into the main living space. He sat in his large sitting bag, a sort of extra large bean bag that better supported his weight and physical shape than a conventional chair could. Mariah crawled up onto the large bag, then onto her Father, curling up in his lap she rested against him. S'er'in'e put his arms around her, cradling her protectively. Content, it wasn't long before both of them fell asleep where they sat.

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