The Admiral & The Kitten
Posted on Wed May 6th, 2026 @ 12:02am by Captain Erik Norsgaard & Lieutenant JG Caitlyn MacRae
1,751 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Friends and Traitors
Location: Starbase 310
Timeline: MD002 - 1450
“Do not keep giving me those sad eyes…”
Ignoring the request, the small grey ball of fur peered up at her with innocent eyes which seemed to be pleading with her for something… although she did not know exactly what for? More milk? More food? More attention? Or just to be set free from the carrier she had borrowed to safely transfer the stray off the ship.
A paw touched the locked hatch, confirming freedom was the priority. Lifting the carrier, she meet the kitten’s gaze and sighed, “sorry, little guy but it is for your own good. I let you run around in my quarters and look what happened. I hadn’t even had the plant for one whole day. Do you know -“
Lieutenant MacRae fell silent as the otherwise empty turbolift slowed, too soon to be at her stop. As she earned an unimpressed ‘meow’ from the kitten, the doors were already opening to admit a very familiar face. Of course it would be him.
“Behave,” she whispered, as much to herself as the kitten, while lowering the carrier. Moving aside to give further space. “Admiral,” she acknowledged with a nod, using both hands to keep the carrier steady.
Chester Schofield, trim and neatly dressed, entered the turbolift and stepped to one side. "Lieutenant," he murmured in response and then abruptly sneezed. "Apologies, I only ever do that when ..." He sneezed again. "Is that a ... " Sneeze. "A cat?"
For a moment , Caitlyn somehow seemed unable to speak. Of all the …. “A kitten, but yes Admiral,” she offered, glancing down at the carrier. “Do you need me to divert us to Medical?” Because heaven forbid she actually managed to kill him after all these years, and with a kitten no less!
"The less time spent with..." Sneeze. "The better, I think." Sneeze. "I'll walk." He flashed an unreadable look at the carrier and said, "Halt at next floor." When the door opened, he stepped out onto the deck and sneezed into his hand.
Less time spent with me, or the kitten? Caitlyn wondered. Probably both… “The recommend sneezing into your elbow, Sir,” she said before she could stop herself, quickly adding, for infection control? But I’m sure it’s all good.”
As the doors began to close she stuck out a foot at the last moment, reminding herself that she was trying to be better. And so she said something she never - at least never without an unmistakable level of sarcasm…
“I’m sorry Sir,” she called after him as the doors began to shut. A blue hand and an equally blue arm causing the doors to open with an annoyed sounding chirp from the computer. Caitlyn held up a hand, “before you come in here… ensign…. Are you allergic to cats?”
“Only when my wife argues with me,” the Bolian officer chuckled, “but please don’t tell her I compared her to a Human pet. Why?”
Caitlyn pointed behind him and the man half turned, eyes widening somewhat as he saw the Admiral’s retreating back, and the near constant sneezing. “Sir, please let one of us take you to Medical?” Caitlyn called after him. She doubted he would agree to help not at least she had offered - and has a witness.
Schofield waved off the offer and headed toward the next available turbolift. Of all the places to have to content with my blasted allergy to pet dander, he thought, as he made his way down the corridor. People tended to assume frailty, it came with the lines that experience had etched into his skin, and the white hair but Chester Schofield was far from frail. He moved purposefully, drawing upon his knowledge of the starbase, and soon lapsed into his own thoughts.
<< Thirty minutes later >>
“Deep breath. Count to ten. Think of a happy place…” repeating the words like a mantra, MacRae decided it was now or never. Preparations for departure were well underway aboard the Thinderbird, and while she had forsaken lunch to ensure the kitten was safely rehomed on the station, she had not anticipated a side quest.
Admiral Schofield.
Rounding the corner she saw him approaching his office from the opposite direction. She was relieved to notice he was no longer sneezing. Maybe the moisturised tissues she’d picked up would not be necessary. Clearing her throat she picked up her pace. “Admiral Schofield, do you have a moment?”
Schofield came up short, the aide hovering at his right side barely missing colliding with him, as he indicated his approval of the requisition and passed the PADD over. "Yes, of course, Lieutenant MacRae, what did you need?" The aide, who had been checking the PADDs he now needed to route to their intended destinations, looked up expectantly, eyeing the newcomer with interest since it was his job to keep on top of things.
As the Admiral waited for MacRae to speak, a Vulcan captain walked up and spoke, his voice moderated and smooth. "Admiral," he said by way of greeting and moved to stand toward the Admiral's left.
Not the Captain she’d prefer to see,... She wondered if they realised they were standing there as if they were posing for some Starfleet recruitment poster. Thankfully not.
“Just needed to make sure you were alright, Sir,” she assured him. “And if you have a moment, in private? Also, I brought you these.” She held up the box of tissues, adding, “moisturising apparently.”
"Go ahead in, Captain," Schofield said. "Bradford and the others are already there. I'll be along shortly." He turned to his aide and added, "see to whatever they need, will you?" When everyone had departed, Schofield led her the short distance to his office where he circled behind the desk and sat down. "Alright, Lieutenant. What's on your mind."
Shuddering to think how many pips were probably gathering in one meeting, Caitlyn had followed Schofield into his office. “I genuinely did want to ensure you were alright. I wasn’t aware you were allergic and haven’t seen someone sneeze so much … ever. And when you turn that shade of red? It is usually reserved for me so I wanted to bring the tissues as a peace offering.”
She leaned forward, setting the box down. Her fingertips rested on the top of the box for a moment, “and when I was last here, our conversation did not go …”
She hesitated, searching for a more diplomatic description than the truth. “Well. I was surprised when you approved my transfer to the Thunderbird after you were so adamant I go back undercover with the Syndicate..? If nothing else I thought I’d be back here to see out my days as the station janitor.”
Of course when aboard the Thunderbird, she wasn’t a direct headache. But still solid migraine potential.
"I sneezed," Schofield said, dryly, "hardly life-threatening. As to your orders, is that why you're here? To find out why I put you on board the Thunderbird rather than send you undercover again?"
“Yes,” she nodded. “Just a few weeks ago we were in this very room discussing the plan to send me undercover. I was asking not to go on another long term assignment and at the time you seemed … disinclined to change the plan. I expected having to resign to avoid another year or more dealing with the syndicate.”
She almost said change of heart, but she’d long suspected he did not actually have one.
Schofield, who had a room full of officers waiting for him, leaned back in his seat and regarded the operative whose hallmark had always been ignoring whatever was inconvenient or in her road. Military protocols. Official requests for meetings. Chain of command. Rules of engagement. Instead, he thought about his answer and when he spoke it was deliberately, measured. "There is some speculation that the syndicate is forming ties with the Maquis. It's an important assignment but ... an operative who is reluctant to go is a danger to herself and to those working with her. I found someone more willing and better suited. Does that satisfy you?"
“Ouch,” she winced. “Well… whoever you send, I wish them luck. Remind them to never trust a soul and always sleep with a knife under their pillow. Because better suited or not, the Syndicate do not play games or by our rules. But you are right, I had no wish to go back undercover and I am entirely okay with that decision. It seems you are too.”
Schofield made no comment regarding either the mission or the individual. He protected the undercover operatives he sent out into the field as best he could and MacRae was no longer one of them. "So, with that being settled," he said as gently as he could, "was there anything else?"
“I guess not,” she said as she stood, “apologies for keeping you from your meeting, Admiral.”
With a nod she turned and headed for the door, thinking of how many times she had left this room after meeting with Schofield or his predecessor. “I know I gave you headaches,” she offered as she opened the door, “but I hope you know that … never mind… Have a good day sir. And you may want to stay away from the upper promenade. They just opened a cat cafe, whatever that is.”
"All operatives present challenges," Schofield said as he rose smoothly to this feet. "It's what makes them good at undercover work. You were no worse than any of the others. As for the cafe, thank you for the heads up." He made a mental note to ensure that the cafe had adequate barriers to prevent dander from spreading through the promenade; there were species out there that made his allergy look mild by comparison. "You're dismissed. Good luck out there."
“You too, Sir,” she offered as she made her escape. She didn’t look back as she headed for the nearest turbolift, sighing with relief as she stepped inside. Someone else was being sent into heaven knows what and she hoped they were prepared but she had a new path to start walking and now it did truly feel like a fresh start.
And if nothing else, explaining all of this to the Thunderbird’s captain would be interesting…
Admiral Chester Schofield
Special Operations Division
Starfleet Command
Lieutenant Caitlyn MacRae
Second Officer
USS Thunderbird
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