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Meeting the Twins

Posted on Fri Aug 8th, 2025 @ 4:08pm by Ensign Magnus Daire & Lieutenant JG Elen Rell

2,879 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Holodeck 2, USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2388

Elen had started with the best of intentions.

A thank-you. Maybe a message. Possibly a small, lovingly hand-knit hat with tiny datachip pockets. After all, Death’s Kiss wasn’t just good: it was genius. Tightly coded, beautifully structured, equal parts mystery, moral quandary, and really inventive uses of 24th-century lighting physics in a period setting. The final twist had made her yelp out loud in the simulation chamber and nearly fall off the prop balcony. She’d laughed. She’d cried. She’d sworn twice in three languages.

Naturally, she had to find the writer.

So, she’d done what any Starfleet Engineer with a strong sense of justice and a mild disregard for data boundaries might do: she started poking around in the holodeck source logs. “Just metadata,” she told herself cheerfully, fingers flying over the terminal. “Just a peek! Not intrusive. Just appreciative reverse-engineering. Like sending fanmail through chroniton packets.”

She was tracking embedded watermarks when the first encryption layer kicked back. Then the second. Then a biometric trapdoor protocol she'd only seen once in a classified subspace relay upgrade. Her eyes lit up.

“Ooh,” she murmured, “someone’s a dramatic little data squirrel…”

Then she tripped the firewall.

And the Klingons appeared.

Two of them. Tall. Identical. Shirtless. Long, perfectly tousled warrior-hair glinting under the corridor lighting. Each wore a pair of brightly patterned board shorts, flip flops, and matching mirrored sunglasses. They looked like they’d stepped out of a tropical surf-themed blood opera. Possibly the sexy kind.

She tilted her head, blew curls that had fallen into her face, over her eyes. “Boys...I can explain,” she said with an almost shy chuckle.

The twins looked at each other over the rims of their sunglasses and turned back to her, wagging their index fingers in unison. "Direct violation of the rules," the one on the left said while the one on the right added, "Not cool, brah."

Elen looked at them before she straightened, brushing her curls back with one hand and giving them a sheepish smile. "Sorta cool, right? I mean, cool-adjacent? I don't want any trouble...just want to figure out where to send some yarn-inspired admiration and I can't do that without a return address..."

She shifted her weight, rocking on her heels as her eyes flicked back to the terminal. “Besides… sometimes you're not…” Her fingers moved, fast, trying to inject a new vector through a backdoor shell she maybe shouldn’t have spotted so quickly. “...breaking the rules so much as using them as a trampoline.”

She glanced up. "With style. Obviously."

"Rules are rules." At her attempt to continue, the twins disappeared and reappeared between her and the arch. "That just earned you a twenty-four hour ban. You were warned." Neither one of the twins looked at all impressed but then they had been designed to be implacable. Had to be since fully half of their job was to remind Magnus Daire that he couldn't just work forever. There were things like food and sleep and ... work ... that had to be done. "Information about you and this attempt have been forwarded to the author." One of the twins shook his head, peering at her over the top of his sunglasses. "Doesn't look good for you, I'm afraid."

"Cute-clever," one of the twins said to the other. "That's new. Arrogant is more common." The second, picked up the thread, adding,"Belligerent, we've had that now and again. And smug. Can't forget that." They turned to look at her. "Nothing personal. It's just the rules. Our job to enforce them. So you know, the report contains a recording of this encounter. Anything you want to say?"

Elen looked at them and gave a sheepish grin. “Right, fair play. But if you’re sending a report, could you just...maybe add that they’re brilliant? I mean it. Whoever wrote this? Properly genius stuff. Made my week.”

She held her hands up, still half-laughing. “And look, if there’s a PO box somewhere on a neutral starbase, I’d happily post them a hat. Or socks. I make great socks.” She paused and then, with that wide-eyed, slightly chaotic earnestness that was entirely her:

“...also, any chance I could get a hug? Not being cheeky, just...you two are fantastic. Completely terrifying. But in a sort of majestic, regulation-enforcing way.” She wiggled her fingers in their direction. “If that’s overstepping, though, no hard feelings.”

The twins shared a look, considering, "nothing in the rules about it." They walked up to her. "Alright. Won't change anything though."

Elen beamed.

Properly, this time; not the sheepish sort of grin you give when you've been caught elbow-deep in a restricted codebase, but the genuine kind. The thank-you-for-not-obliterating-me-with-a-bat’leth-made-of-firewalls kind. She opened her arms without hesitation. “Right then. Come here, you glorious enforcement legends.”

The hug, when it came, was done with absolutely no irony. She squeezed one, then the other...strong, quick, and real. Not performative. Just a bit warm and a bit daft, like everything that mattered. “You’re brilliant, both of you,” she murmured, stepping back and patting one on the shoulder. “Total menace. But brilliant.”

And then, with a conspiratorial wink: “Also, you smell faintly of sea salt and justice. Which I respect.” She dropped her arms, gave a little shrug. “Thanks for not banning me for longer. I’ll sit in the metaphorical corner now. And knit something with pockets for remorse.”

"Ban begins now," one of the twins said as the program shut down and she was once more standing on the familiar holodeck grid.

[That Night]

The spot was a good one, quiet, without foot traffic, or security officers who never learned to use their words. He found himself a spot near a view port intending to do some research for his new project when a blinking red icon indicated a security breach in one of his programs, "Death's Kiss.

He valued his privacy but really, the multi-layered security protocols, complete with traps and false-openings, had been fun to create. This was one of the older programs; the newer ones, would make Starfleet Intelligence weep with envy. It wasn't necessary, just a challenge to figure out. His own kind of fun. He had a security officer friend test it once which turned into an embarrassing 'fan' moment. But still, every now and then, the security officer gave him a new challenge to work on and he did love a challenge.

Sighing, he called up the security log and started his review, his frown deepening as it went. Not a mistake then but a deliberate attempt to discern his identify. He settled in to watch the recording, surprise written across his features.

Elen had finished the blanket.

Knitted by hand, stitch by stitch, in a yarn soft enough to make your soul sigh. Not from Earth either. She'd sourced it from Betazed about...two, three years ago, spun from some ridiculous-looking mountain animal with impossibly soft wool. The sort that felt like softest air to the touch, but held warmth like it had bottled the sun. A soft grey with blue undertones, calming and quiet, easy to fold into a bag or tuck under a pillow. Portable comfort. Discreet.

She’d cheated a bit. Not really cheating. Just… a small detour into the ship’s activity logs, enough to track Magnus’s last location. Nothing sinister. Just practical. And then she’d started walking. Eyes open, heart tuned, brushing past people in corridors like waves against the shore. A flicker of mood here, a whisper of sharpness there. Until it got too much. Too loud. Her chest ached and her breathing shortened and the world pulled in tight again. She folded herself small inside, like closing the shutters on a too-bright window. Better that way. Easier to carry.

She wore her uniform, though she’d left the jacket behind. Instead, a burnt orange crochet shawl was wrapped around her shoulders...delicate, warm, the sort of thing that felt like a smile from someone who remembered your favourite tea. Her hair was tied up loosely, with thick orange ribbons plaited through the curls. They bounced a little as she walked, cheerfully oblivious to rank or decorum. Her gloves were on too. Fingerless, dark grey, knitted just shy of black because she’d learned the hard way that too-dark yarn required floodlights or crawling half into the warp core to see what she was doing.

She rounded a corner, and there he was. Magnus.

Elen stopped. Smiled. Head tilting just slightly to the side, curls catching the light. The crooked smile came next, half warmth, half mischief, the rest just Elen. And then she started to hum...soft, low, a tune with no real melody but still recognisably hers.

A warning. Of sorts.

That she was coming. Not quietly. But kindly.

Words were treacherous things as was trust. Hadn't he learned that long ago on Freecloud and yet, the Federation, and more specifically, Starfleet, required trust from a person. So, he tried and with Elen, it seemed to be working. She didn't know who he was, what he could do, because no one did. Not with any certainty. He wasn't sure he was ready for all of the attention that came with it and well, higher ranking officers tended to enjoy their oblivion. Like calling to like and all that .

And here she was, smiling and respectful, while in front of him was the recording from the security log. And then came the question. Just what exactly was he to do. If he showed it to her, then he was letting her know. If he kept it to himself, the trust between them was damaged and not likely to recover.

Was it worth it? More to the point, was she worth it? Come out of the shadows? Remain in the all-too-comfortable periphery? The decision came quickly (surprisingly so) and, having decided, he turned the PADD so that she could see the picture of herself clearly trying to break into his program displayed.

Elen blinked.

Her eyes dropped to the screen as he turned it, and there she was. Caught mid-attempt, fingers flying over the holodeck terminal like a woman possessed. Curls in her eyes, sleeves rolled, that exact look of determined chaos on her face that only ever meant one thing: trouble, disguised as curiosity. She winced. A tiny, genuine wince.

"Ah," she said softly, drawing the word out like a musical note. Her mouth twisted in something between guilt and admiration. "That’s me. Caught red-handed. Or at least slightly yarn-tinted."

She watched it for a beat, then glanced up at him. Really looked at him. And in her head, two perfectly reasonable explanations stacked themselves like cards.

One: he was very good with surveillance feeds and had access she didn’t quite want to ask about.

Two: he was the author.

Her eyes widened slightly. That pause between thoughts, where all the little puzzle pieces slotted together with a quiet but inevitable click. "You..." she started, voice light but reverent, "You’re the author of 'Death's Kiss'?"

There wasn’t disbelief in it. Just wonder. And maybe the tiniest tremble of delight. She pressed her hand over her mouth for a second, the way someone did when they were trying not to squeal. It didn’t quite work. Her hand dropped back to gripping the blanket.

"Oh, you absolute sly boots," she breathed. "You didn’t tell me you were that brilliant."

Magnus shrugged. This being noticed thing would take some getting used to. Brilliance wasn't a word he accepted. There were challenges, some more interesting than others, and he enjoyed meeting them. If not for the Guinevere, then for other ships, other crews. Or just in holodeck adventures. A challenge was a challenge. He shifted his position, his mind tracking back almost immediately to what she had done. "You tried to break into my program. Even after the twins appeared."

Elen looked back up, smile softened now, eyes meeting his properly. The spark was still there, but quieter, steadier. "I really am sorry," she said, and meant it. "I got carried away. Curiosity first, caution...somewhere way behind." Her hand drifted to the hem of the blanket she still held, thumb brushing the edge like she was grounding herself.

"I wouldn’t poke into something meant to stay hidden, not on purpose. I just...it was brilliant. And it mattered. And I wanted to say thank you properly. With stitches, apparently." She gave him a small, self-conscious smile. She let that settle, then added, quieter still, "But if I’ve overstepped, say the word, and I’ll back off. No tricks. No follow-up pings. Just...me, respecting the line."

"You say you wouldn't ... but you did. On purpose after you were told not to. That ... matters." He sighed, one finger rubbing the edge of the PADD he always carried, "I suspect the rules don't matter much to you. That has its appeal. If I did just what Starfleet told me to do, I'd go mad with boredom. So, I'm going to take a chance ... forgive you. But if we're going to be friends? If I'm going to share things with you, then you have to give me your word. The one that you won't break no matter what. That you'll respect my boundaries, stay out of my code."

He paused for a minute, dropping into a comfortable position, cross-legged on the deck, as he looked up at her, a sly twinkle in his eyes. "Sides, it gets considerably worse with the twins the more you try. Honestly, you'd be amazed at what they can make a computer do ..."

Elen grimaced. Not at what he said, but at knowing she had crossed the line. Shame was a familiar feeling. Guilt too made an appearance. "I bet," she said, looking down at the blanket in her arms. "I'll stay out of the code. I didn't know it was you." Not that it mattered.

She exhaled, her cheeks feeling hot with emotions she didn’t quite name. "I actually came here to... well..." She smoothed the corner of the blanket instinctively, fingers brushing the stitches before she passed it over.

"Come on and sit down," Magnus said as he slid past her statement. It wasn't the most trust-producing thing, the idea that who he was mattered. But he had known thieves before, this at least, was something familiar. Homey almost. "I have tea and maybe, you'd be interested in helping me with the new project."

She looked at him, eyes briefly going to his layout. The way he had arranged himself and his world. No clutter. Just precision. It made her sit a little straighter as she lowered herself beside the blanket. "I mean... is it holodeck programming?" Her hands found her lap, fingers loosely linking. "It was never my... I mean... I have never actually finished one. Started, like, hundreds of them, but I get distracted or lose where I am and..."

She trailed off, winced faintly. "I’m babbling. Sorry. Deck 20 atmosphere." Her finger moved to trace a small spiral into the knee of her trousers, drawing her thoughts inward again.

"I have five running at the moment," Magnus said. "Projects I mean. Cryptography. Mathematics. And two holodeck adventures. One is in the planning stage and the other needs to be tested. What interests you?"

Elen blinked. Five projects. Five. And he just said it like that was normal. "Wow. Okay. That’s..." She gave a low whistle and shook her head with a crooked smile. "I think if I tried to do five things at once, I’d end up cross-wiring a warp manifold into a hat pattern. Not that I haven’t already done that. Twice." She rubbed at the back of her neck, fingers brushing one of the ribbons in her hair. "The holodeck testing one sounds like something I could actually help with. Y’know, press things, break them, knit emotional support items for confused holograms. All the usual." She paused, considering something and then glanced at him. And then she decided to leave it, shifting where she sat. "Just...be warned. I am not your usual holodeck users...I get distracted easily."

"You run the program, same as the others you've done, try to figure out the mystery ... and look for things that aren't working as they should," Magnus explained. "I'll come along to handle the code, if its necessary and help spot the irregularities. Between us, we could get it done in half the usual time and there's a crew heading on a long mission that's been begging for it."

She looked at him, a smile spreading across her features. Warm, brightening her eyes. "Oh, I can poke around. In a non-invasive-system sort of way," she said and gave him a nod. Her hand rubbed along the seams of her trousers as she considered it. "Alright, Magnus. Let's do some serious quality control, make sure that people here get...you know...some entertainment, come what may."




Ensign Magnus Bane
Quartermaster
USS Guinivere

&

Lt. JG Elen Rell
Acting Assistant Chief Engineer
USS Guinevere

 

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