The Intrepid-class U.S.S. Crucial sat at out in orbit of the Takarian home world. Scores of Starfleet officers beamed back to the ship, including Captain's Menrow, Reynolds and Iviok.
"Well, that was a close one," Menrow said, entering the Bridge. "Good thing you overloaded those already overloading thought devices to release the block on our transporters."
Iviok nodded. "The trick was increasing its power-- A technique I like to call 'Giving 'er all she's got'. But, seriously, why'd you wait the whole turbolift ride to re-explain what we already knew?"
"He's fulfilling our explain-quota," Reynolds elucidated. "All us Captain's have a pre-determined amount to fill by the end of 2410."
Menrow approached his Captain's chair. "Let's just hope it doesn't drag on like 2409 did." He then turned to them. "Anyway, we need to re-open that wormhole for the Crucial and return you to your ships. Having us all together in one thing is confusing and 'too out there'."
Iviok and Reynolds nodded and re-entered the turbolift to get to work. Menrow's senior staff exited the turbolift and took their posts on the Bridge.
"Captain Menrow," Hatcha opened. "Your orders? And may they be for us to take showers? It seems our preoccupation with cultural imperialism exceeded our basic occupation for hygiene."
Menrow shook his head. "I want this to serve as a reminder to us. Never are we to shower again! Never forget!"
"Sir, your yelling has negated the observation that we are being approached by a specially-converted probe, off the port bow," Grunley reported, taking the Tactical station.
The Captain turned to him. "There was no negating; I just feel strongly about speaking loudly."
"The probe appears to have two persons inside of it? Like some kind of man, or woman, sized birthday cake?" Hatcha read from her Science console.
Menrow nodded. "An apt analogy. Beam the two onto the Bridge. Seriously, what's the point of a Transporter room when we can beam people anywhere?"
"Greetings," a female Klingon rematerialized in front of everyone. Next to her was a young boy, half-Klingon, half-Human. "My name is Treth. I am an ex-mate of yours and I have been searching for the Crucial."
The Human Captain acknowledged her. "How'd you get here so fast, not to mention even knowing where we were??"
"Rumors and such. As for the expediency, my probe has been retrofitted with a negotiation-voice, monotone speaker that books its own passage on transport and cargo ships all throughout the galaxy," she clarified. "For me, I chose the probe way, as that is the traditional ex-Klingon lover way to reach a man; a-la K'Ehleyr."
Menrow sized her up, "Ah, Klingon females; tougher to conquest than the Tzenkethi."
"Do you have any idea how long I've been stuck in that probe, Menrow? The purpose being that the honorable thing to do was to introduce you to your son, Feng," she gestured and glanced over to the boy. "ghuy'cha'! He was just a little baby when I last saw him??"
Feng looked up at her, now appearing to be several years older. "I've grown, mother."
"And you can talk??" her jaw dropped.
Captain Menrow looked at the two of them, "Ah, the baby mama situation; classic. But, I'm going to be honest. I don't remember you."
"Yes, I'm well aware of your promiscuous nature. But I was the one who was responsible for your leg requiring amputation after a fierce love-making session. There was a whole sad episode about the repercussions, and you, out-genre bonding with a hologram named Vic," Treth explained.
Menrow shook his head. "No, I mean, my mind was previously switched out for a very long time by a Traveler named Wayfar. I lived in the 28th century, aboard Spacedock, but they called it Starbase 001 for some reason. Then, when Wayfar returned me, a long time later, another version of myself had accomplished so much in my absence. I suspect interactions with that-me were very bland and doll-like."
"That is what attracted me to you! Your blank-Lal-like stares!"
Hatcha slammed her fists on her console. "Wayfar has been nothing but trouble! It's his constant mind-switching, the second of which gave our bodies to that Ferengi crew, that led to the destruction of several Starfleet ships!"
"Despite those deaths," Menrow approached the two Klingons, "And, perhaps, their occurrence as a necessity, I am finally willing to take on the responsibility of being a father."
Treth pulled her son away. "What? No way! Not if it wasn't actually you? I had plans for my son's life, but put them on-hold for honor. But, now, as that said-honor isn't necessary, I am free to return to do my doings and so on! Sorry, I couldn't be more specific."
"He has my DNA??"
The Klingon shook her head. "Doesn't matter! It wasn't you. Am I right, Menrow's lackeys?"
"This seems like a complicated question. Can we start a new thread? Is there a mod that can watch its progression?" Hatcha asked.
Treth spat at them. "Forget it! As I said, honor is not necessary here; and for love, no one could make a life with an indiscriminate man like you. See the Kirk articles at Memory Alpha for details. --Come, my son. We shall return to the cramped probe of which our spines do not forgive."
"Yes, mother," Feng replied.
The Klingon's eyes widened at her child. "I seriously will not get used to that." She then slapped her wrist communicator and the two transported away, in a red flurry. The probe, on screen, then cloaked out of sight.
"Sorry about your loss, Captain," Hatcha offered, "But, it appears Iviok and Reynolds were able to reopen the Barzan wormhole."
Menrow sighed. "Well, perhaps Treth has a point about my ways. Then again, that very same nature can procure more oddly-mixed young, if I'm not mistaken? This time, consciously? --Now, helm, set a non-phallic course for the wormhole!"