Caffè tra Amici (Coffee Among Friends)

Posted on Mon Jul 27th, 2026 @ 5:15am by Captain Marc Steyn & Lieutenant Commander Maximo (Max) Vero

2,930 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Season 1, Episode 1: Ashes of Wolf 359
Location: Piazza Santo Stefano - Bologna

ON:

The familiar blue haze of the transporter shimmered around Marc, its soft luminescence dissolving into the warm afternoon air. As the last tendrils of energized light faded, the captain of the USS Genesis found himself standing in the heart of Bologna, Italy.

The city greeted him with an effortless blend of history and life. Terracotta and ochre façades rose several stories overhead, their weathered stone bearing the marks of centuries rather than decay. Endless porticoes stretched along either side of the streets, elegant arches supported by marble and sandstone columns that cast welcome shade over pedestrians below. Narrow cobbled lanes spilled into broad piazzas where laughter drifted between cafés, fountains murmured quietly, and the scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with baked bread and sweet pastries. In the centre of the square where Marc had materialized, a centuries-old fountain stood proudly, surrounded by locals enjoying long conversations while tourists admired the surrounding Renaissance architecture.

Marc had called ahead, so Max knew he intended to visit. After everything that had happened, Max had sought refuge somewhere familiar following his unexpected journey through time and the devastating loss of most of his crew. It was a decision Marc understood on a deeply personal level.

His own ordeal with the Borg remained painfully fresh.

Merely allowing his thoughts to brush against those memories sent an icy shiver crawling down his spine despite the Mediterranean warmth. Fragments surfaced unbidden—cold metallic corridors, the relentless chorus of countless voices speaking as one, the suffocating certainty that individuality itself could be stripped away. The memories carried with them a storm of emotions: anger, guilt, helplessness, and a lingering fear that he could never fully explain to anyone who hadn't experienced it. None of them offered comfort.

The Italian sun hung high in an impossibly blue sky, its warmth settling comfortably across the ancient city. It reminded Marc of home in Cape Town, though the similarities ended with the pleasant weather. Cape Town spread itself between mountain and sea, defined by broad avenues, modern glass-fronted buildings, and the dramatic silhouette of Table Mountain dominating the horizon. Bologna, by contrast, seemed to embrace him. Its streets were narrower, more intimate, enclosed by centuries-old brickwork and endless covered walkways. Rather than the open expanses and ocean breezes of South Africa, Bologna offered hidden courtyards, church towers reaching into the sky, and history woven into every stone beneath his boots.

Marc slipped the arm of his sunglasses free from where they rested against the nape of his uniform collar before sliding them comfortably into place. The bright sunlight all but demanded it. Adjusting the collar of his duty uniform, he stepped away from the transporter pad and began making his way towards the café where he and Max had agreed to meet.

The walk itself was worth savouring.

He wandered beneath the city's famous porticoes, their cool shade providing welcome relief from the midday heat. Cyclists glided effortlessly over the worn cobblestones while the occasional shuttle buzzed over the narrow streets with practiced confidence. The aroma of espresso drifted from every other doorway, accompanied by the rich scent of fresh pasta, garlic, basil, and slow-cooked tomato sauce. Shop windows displayed handcrafted leather goods, books, and delicate ceramics, while snippets of animated Italian conversation floated through the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter.

Marc consulted the directions on his PADD only once before tucking it away again. The café wasn't difficult to find. Nestled at the corner of a quiet side street opening onto a smaller piazza, it looked exactly as he'd imagined—a collection of wrought-iron tables arranged beneath white parasols, overflowing flower boxes brightening the edges of the terrace, and patrons lingering over coffee with no apparent concern for the passing hours.

It wasn't long before he spotted his quarry.

Max was already seated at one of the outdoor tables, a pristine white parasol shielding him from the midday sun as a cup of coffee rested untouched before him.

Marc approached with an easy smile.

"Max... it's good to see you again."

He stopped beside the table, studying his old friend for a moment before allowing himself a faint chuckle.

"Although," he continued carefully, choosing his words with deliberate precision, "I'm fairly certain I made more of an impression the last time we met... given my condition after the battle."

"Si the Doctor has a lot to deal with," the Italian answered sadder than he intended too.

He had been here few a couple of weeks in the aftermath of the situation that had changed his destiny so strangely. He had of course headed home. Suddenly so alone, he had needed "home" or what had been "home".

There was of course elements of the familiar. A lot. They had beautifully preserved some buildings from his time. The Studium was still standing, several of the Piazza's and buildings his father used to sing. But his father was no longer here. Only existing now in his mind and recordings of his performances. His mother, brothers, sister, even his pushy aunts trying to matchmake for him .... everyone he cared about gone.

He had visited his families old house. It was still standing. Mostly very different but they had kept the courtyard. Different furniture, the same stones. The new owners had indulged him. Allowed him to watch the sun set. Slightly different view, same sunset. It took all he had not to breakdown in front of those strangers, in his families house. His brain had immediatly jumped back to many family dinners al fresco.

He had toyed with the idea of looking up his descendants. Seeing who his siblings had married, who his parents had doted on as grandkids but he deemed he wasn't ready for that reality yet. And besides where would it go? He was nothing but a footnote in an ancestral file to them.

"How are you?" he asked finally deciding the only thing to do was to focus on moving forward. Building new relationships, a new life. "And your son?"

Marc smiled, but it was a hollow thing — a reflex rather than a genuine expression of happiness. The words had begun to form around the idea that he was better, that he was somehow adjusted to what had happened. But even as he thought them, he knew they were not entirely true.

His counsellors had repeated the same thing over and over: he had been traumatised. Not broken, not beyond saving, but changed by the events he had endured. The scars were not always visible, but they were there — buried beneath the surface, waiting for the quiet moments when his mind betrayed him and dragged him back to places he desperately tried to leave behind.

He was not alone in that struggle. Dazad, DeSoto, Picard, and a multitude of other captains carried their own burdens, each with stories just as bleak and haunting as his. Command had always demanded strength, but no one had ever warned them how much of themselves they would have to sacrifice to survive it, in Picards case it had been his entire being.

Marc forced the smile away before it could betray him. His expression hardened, though the effort required more control than he wanted Max to see. He met Max’s gaze steadily, hiding the exhaustion that lingered behind his eyes — the sleepless nights, the sudden flashes of memory, the constant battle between the man he had been and the man his experiences had forced him to become.

"I'm learning to cope with what I lived through," Marc said quietly. "The doctors tell me it will take a long time before I can fully come to terms with it. They say healing isn't about forgetting what happened... it's about learning how to live with it."

He paused, studying Max with a mixture of curiosity and empathy.

"And my Son is good, sticks to me like a shadow at the moment but I think that's to be expected. But what about yourself? I'm sure I heard that you're nearly a century out of time?"

Max visibly winced. He shook his head miserably. Expressively, like only an Italian can, he then panned his arm round.

"It is Bologna but its not my bologna. It is home but it is not my home.

I was a brother, a son, a grandson, a nephew, a cousin but now I am no one to anyone. I thought coming back would heal but all it does it force memories. Smells, sights, tastes. Familiar but tied to all I have lost. I took how you say ... hiatus ...... break? Come home. My father he always say, Maximo Italia she is your heart. Your love, your home, bosom, salvation .... Come home and solve every problem .... And she is ....... she is .... but ........ but .... without them all here .... she is ....she... feels broken ....

I do stupid things, " he said the memory of that night, and running out as quickly as he could the next morning floating through him, he pointed down to the coffee which no true Italian would order at this time no wonder he had not touched it ".... I do not know my direction anymore," he said honestly a mixture of frustration and heartache.

Marc understood far more than Max could ever fully appreciate. From where he stood, Earth had become smaller—not in size, but in perspective. Insular. Comfortable. A world that had spent centuries looking inward while the vastness of space continued to reveal dangers it was scarcely prepared to face.

Humanity had survived encounters that should have ended it. The Borg, a relentless force unlike anything they had ever encountered, had pushed the Federation to the edge of annihilation. The mysterious probe that had come seeking contact with other forms of life on Earth had nearly wiped out the species before its true purpose was understood. There had been wars with the Romulans, the Klingons, and the Cardassians—conflicts that had tested the very foundations of the Federation. And then there were the threats born not from outside, but from humanity's own ambition and arrogance. V'Ger had been a reminder that not every danger announced itself with hostility but was born through the very Human need to explore.

For years, Marc had been the champion of optimism. The man who believed that, no matter how dark the moment became, humanity would find a way through. That everything would work out in the end because it always had.

But the Borg had changed him.

His recent encounter with them had stripped away the comforting illusions he had carried for so long. It had shown him just how fragile everything was, how easily the achievements of centuries could be undone in a single moment. Hope remained, but it was no longer blind. It had become something sharper—tempered by experience and the understanding that survival required preparation.

Still, he had a purpose to fulfil.

He pushed aside the weight of those thoughts and returned to the reason he was there.

"Commodore Reyes has tasked me with assembling a command crew for a new mission," Marc began. "Starfleet and the Federation need their deep-space explorers back in the field. We need to remember who we are and why we were out there in the first place."

He paused briefly, allowing the words to settle.

"To that end, I've been promoted to Captain and assigned command of the USS Genesis."

A faint smile touched his face.

"An appropriate name, given that Starfleet is trying to present this as a rebirth."

Marc stopped himself, realising he had begun to wander. Too much history. Too much explanation. He had always been prone to carrying the weight of the moment instead of simply addressing it.

He straightened, his expression hardening with renewed focus.

"I want you as my first officer," he said.

There was no hesitation in his voice now. No uncertainty.

"And I think it will do you some good as well."

"Congratulations Captain," Max said. He thought about it for a moment. It was a new direction. He had nothing else and Starfleet was where he had wanted to work. That was still a personal dream he believed.

"I hope your assessment is correct. It would be a new start for me for sure. But I have almost a century of information to catch up on and figure out how to exist in it. You may need to aid me at times as much as I would you as your XO," Max said honestly. "If that will not be an issue then I accept."

"I'm glad to hear it," Marc said, genuinely relieved that the displaced man before him had accepted. He could only begin to imagine the turmoil he must have been enduring—having lost his family, his friends, and the entire world he had known, only to awaken in an era shaped by ninety-seven years of history that he and the other survivors of Oberth had never experienced.

"I'll be extending the invitation to the other survivors from Oberth as well," Marc continued. "I thought that having some familiar faces around might help both you and them adjust. Command has also authorised me to reinstate you at your former rank of Lieutenant Commander. Before launch, you'll be spending some time with me and a few instructors at Earth Spacedock, where we'll help reacquaint you with the technology and systems of the present day."

He paused, allowing the weight of the offer to settle.

"There's a lot that has changed since the Starfleet you knew," Marc added gently. "But you won't have to face it alone."

Max nodded. "I appreciate that Captain," he held his hand out to shake the mans hand.

It sounded like he had a lot of catching up to do and learning new things. "I will try my best to navigate this century. Do we leave immediatly or may I take a day to say goodbye. She is still my love even if broken," he said gently looking around.

"Genesis still has another month or so before her refit is complete," Marc explained. "And in many areas, it's more accurately described as a retrofit. You'll have plenty of time to settle in before we depart. We can use that time to familiarise you with current procedures, operational processes, and the technical knowledge you'll need to bring yourself fully up to speed."

He allowed the words to settle for a moment, watching Max carefully as he considered the enormity of what lay ahead.

It was going to be a demanding few months for the lieutenant Commander, and Marc knew that the transition would not happen overnight. Assuming the role of first officer was more than simply accepting a new title; it required an understanding of the captain's expectations, the crew's dynamics, and the countless small details that kept a starship operating smoothly.

For that reason, Marc had already made his own decision. Until Max was fully acclimated to Genesis and the responsibilities that came with his new position, Marc would continue carrying the additional burden of the first officer's duties himself. It would mean a heavier workload in the short term, but it would provide Max with the time and space he needed to learn without being overwhelmed.

Once Max had found his footing, those responsibilities could gradually be transferred to him, allowing him to take command of his own responsibilities and begin shaping the senior staff in his own way.

Marc knew that a captain did not simply assign duties; they had to build a team. And building that team started with giving people the opportunity to succeed.

Max nodded, "Retrofit," he said. He pulled out one of these fancy PADDs he had been issued and wrote the word down in a file. He was already collating differences to memorise and expand his knowledge on if needed. "I will throw myself into things sir," he assured him.

"Very good, Commander."

Marc noticed the waiter approaching their table and, without missing a beat, switched to fluent Italian.

"Un panino con la porchetta e un caffè espresso doppio, per favore."

He turned back to Max with an easy smile.

"Would you care for anything?"

"Your Italian is good Captain. I have already eaten and the doc .... well they did say ... the Oberth CMO she did say .... I needed to be heathier. And even in this strange situation she would be scary to defy, but I could eat so many sandwiches though. I am going to go start packing up and making my goodbyes. However If you like sweets I would recommend to try the Amaretti peaches with honey and chocolate here," Max suggested getting to his feet. "They are divine."

"Thank you for the suggestion." Marc smiled faintly. "I think I'll enjoy this moment while it lasts. I've a feeling today is going to be a very long day. Australia is next on the itinerary—I have our new Chief Medical Officer to meet."

His South African accent gave his words an almost melodic quality, the rounded vowels and gentle cadence lending a warmth to his excitement that was difficult to miss. Despite the mountain of work waiting for him, there was genuine anticipation in his voice.

"I won't keep you any longer, then. But if you ever need anything..." He paused, his expression softening into one of quiet sincerity. "Whether it's assistance, advice, or simply a friend to talk to, you know where to find me."

Max nodded. He had a feeling he would need to take that offer up. "Grazia and Addio, Captain."

END

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