Buddy stood with his hands behind his back, boots planted with a kind of ceremonial stiffness that didn’t quite suit him. His uniform was regulation crisp—mostly. His hair had a little extra product in it, and the excitement vibrating just under the surface kept twitching his fingers toward the neck of his guitar case, which rested at his feet like a loyal pet.

This was actually happening.

The transporter hum rose and resolved with that familiar shimmer of blue-white light—and then there they were. Three figures materialized on the pad, and with them came the past: old chords, half-drunk rehearsals, impossible harmonies, Federation Day tears, and inside jokes no translator could touch.

“Holy hell,” Buddy breathed, breaking into a grin. “Look at you degenerates.”

Jax Perren stepped off the pad first, grinning ear to ear, his broad Bolian frame just as Buddy remembered. He lugged a duffel that clanked ominously. “You better have room for my kit,” he said. “This thing took up half the shuttle’s mass allotment.”

“Please tell me it’s the one made from the Type-9,” Buddy asked.

“The one and only.”

T’Lex followed, serene as ever in stark contrast to the chaos around him. He raised a brow. “Your message implied this would be an informal reunion. I have prepared a new composition for the occasion—something minimalistic. Eleven chords. No rhythm. Three emotions.”

“…So, a Tuesday for you,” Buddy said, smirking.

Ree’za came last, tail flicking, a vintage denim vest stretched over her uniform, and a pair of retro mirrored shades perched on her feline nose. She slung her bass case with the ease of a street brawler and grinned with too many teeth.

“I told you he’d pull this off,” she purred, nudging Jax with an elbow.

Buddy felt his heart swell in a way that surprised him. This wasn’t just nostalgia. It was something better.

“Welcome aboard the Ark Angel,” he said, holding out his arms as if to hug the whole room. “Home of the best security team in the quadrant, the weirdest science department, and—if I have anything to say about it—your venue for one night only.”

He paused, glancing at the transporter chief. “Thanks, Chief. We’ve got it from here.”

Turning back to his friends, he grinned.

“C’mon. I’ve booked us holodeck time. Let’s see if you guys remember how to be a band.”

-Ens. Cullum
Security Officer
U.S.S. Ark Angel