Stealing the Baby
Posted on Thu Oct 9th, 2025 @ 7:37pm by Captain Ellis Thornwel & Lieutenant Commander Owen Cooper
1,497 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
Assembling The Fleet
Timeline: Part 2 of Welcome to the Jungle
The Angel I night breeze was warm, filled with the aroma of blooming vines. Crickets sang in the rear of the guest wing, their songs muffled by closed windows. Captain Ellis Thornwel slept restlessly, the hum of unfamiliar surroundings never permitting him truly to rest. Lt. Cmdr. Owen Cooper lay in the room's corner, deep, rhythmic breathing, and he'd finally succumbed to exhaustion.
A soft chime at the door. Then another, one insistent, but hesitant.
Ellis sat up, curious. He and Owen had been going over the diplomatic behavior package the UFP State office sent over, wondering what they should do and not do at breakfast. "Enter," Ellis called out with a raised eyebrow
The door creaked open a bit. Oran stepped in, robed, eyes aglow with worry. His usually calm demeanor was missing. He looked down the corridor before he closed the door.
"Captain," he panted, trembling. "Forgive the interruption, but I need your help."
Owen moved, rubbing his eyes. "Oran? It's t'middle o't'neet, lad. What's up wi' thee?" Placing a Starfleet PADD on his leg as she sat on the edge of his seat, wondering if it was one of Midway's crewmen causing a diplomatic issue.
Oran moved quickly to the center of the room between Ellis and Owen, his hands trembling. Owen's alien way of speaking made him unsure of what he was saying. "It's my sons." He gulped with terror. "I don't want them to live like this."
The kid dentist, vet & ER Doctor threw the PADD behind his back, among the several others Sierra sent down behind his back. "Live like, eh?" He asked puzzled
"Male Agenlites." He began, again, another gulp of terror. "We don't get educated, they think men are too dumb for it, it's seen as a waste of time and resources, instead, they are betrothed and become art to be hung in homes! Please, Captain, take them & run.
The air constricted in Ellis. "Oran—"
He drew nearer, desperation unmasked on his face. "Captain Thornwel, I beg of you. Take my sons off-world. They're twins, almost nine years old. If they remain here, they'll be hostages. Worse, perhaps. But with Federation, they may be able to live…free."
Owen sat up now, concern crossing his face. "Oran, tha's wantin' us to go nick folk off'n a planet what's doin' its own thing. That's a right breach o' t' Prime Directive, that is."
"I know," Oran growled, "but they are my sons. They have done nothing." Tears began to climb down his cheeks, showing he was desperate
Ellis remained motionless, torn between sympathy and authority. "You understand what you're requiring of me? If I take them, it could be misconstrued as Federation interference. Your Parliament might see it as a gesture of war."
"I would not ask if I had any other hope. Please. They're sleeping now, in the nursery. Their names are Reth and Daren. I've prepared a data file, citizenship files, medical data, and evidence that they are my sons. You can tell the Elected One I sent them to relatives off-world if questioned."
Owen shot a glance at Ellis, then back at Oran. Sure, he would decline and uphold the Prime Directive, but he sure knew his friend; he knew Ellis was desperate to have children.
For a moment, the only sound was the wind whipping through the shutters. Then Ellis took a breath, clenching his jaw. "We'll take them. But not if there's some other way. The Midway is going to be in orbit. I have enough power to get us called away." He stared at Oran. "We'll get them off the planet."
Oran knelt to one knee, a gesture rare in Angelite men, one that made Ellis quiver. "You have my eternal gratitude, Captain. I will bring them back here before the first bell."
He rose, smoothed his countenance, and eased out into the corridor's shadows.
Owen stared at the closed door. "YTha knows what this'll cost, lad. Tha's deein' on that sword, but I'm not, no way. Art tha even thinkin', Ellis?"
Ellis stared out the window at the far gleam inwards the jungle. "But sometimes it takes to do the right thing in order to balance duty and conscience."
He turned away from the glass. "Wake the transporter chief at 0400 softly. Establish a covert beam-out corridor, low power, leave nothing behind. Whatever we do, it must be undetected.".
Ellis’s gaze hardened. “Don't worry, Owen... It'll be okay.”
Outside, thunder rolled across the distant mountains. The coming dawn would bring heat, light… and perhaps the unraveling of a fragile peace.
In the heart of Angel I’s matriarchal paradise, a father’s desperate plea had given Captain Thornwel his most dangerous order yet, not from Starfleet Command, but from his own humanity, his own masculinity.
The faint blue pre-dawn light of Angel I streamed through the latticework windows. Captain Ellis Thornwel sat at the foot of his bed, tunic half-laced, the weight of what he had to do pressing like gravity itself.
0347, a soft tap on the door.
Owen Cooper was already awake, tricorder on the table in front of him. He opened the door. Oran entered, wrapped in a dark cloak, two small boys clinging to either side of him.
The twins were identical: thin, large-eyed, their hair pulled back in the short braid customary for men of Angelite. Their tunics shone with copper thread embroidery, clothing too rich for an entry into hiding. Both carried small satchels, the kind young children take to school.
“They understand,” Oran whispered. “I told them it is a diplomatic trip with their mother. They're going to learn among the stars.” His voice wavered. “They do not know the real reason.”
Ellis crouched to the boys’ eye level. “Reth, Daren. My name is Captain Thornwel. My ship is a safe place. We’ll see the sky together, all right?”
One of the twins agreed solemnly. "Will we return?"
Ellis hesitated, then answered gently, "Someday. When your world is ready for you."
Oran released a crystal box into Ellis's hand. Viles of information, citizenship codes, and a short handwritten letter in the Angelite language stamped with their family crest. "If interrogated, inform them that I sanctioned their overseas studies."
Owen's tricorder beeped softly. "Corridor's ready, like. Got t' low-power camo field on, 'as well."
Ellis keyed his wrist comm. "Midway, this is Ellis. Two additional biological signatures for stealth beam-out, coordinates to follow. Channel secure."
A brief pause, and then the reply came back in transporter Chief Rhys's crisp voice: "Confirmed, Captain. Pattern buffers ready.".
Oran fell to his knees before his sons, pulling them into a fierce embrace. "Don't forget who you are," he whispered in their native tongue. "And never let anyone make you think you were born less." He kissed each forehead and stepped back, tears shining on his cheeks.
Ellis put a hand on his shoulder. "We will protect them. You have my word."
"I know," Oran said quietly. "The Federation keeps its promises. Angel I… does not."
Owen nodded. The shimmer of the transporter filled the room with light pale blue. The boys looked at their father for a final moment and stepped off into the beam and were gone.
There was a moment of long silence. Then the quiet shut in again.
The Angelite straightened his cloak and left as quietly as he entered.
The blue glow consumed them.
On board the Midway
Owen let out a bodyful of air he didn't know he'd been holding. Anger filled him; he wasn't one for breaking rules, but thinking of their way of life through the night wasn't a life. Owen was beginning to come around
Ellis looked at the empty square of floor, the transporter pad where the boys had stood. "Maybe we just honored the Prime Directive, Owen, preserving life."
The boys slept in a spare bedroom of Ellis, Sierra, and Phoenix's quarters. Wrapped in pinkish-red cotton covers, their faces peaceful. Outside the window, the jungleplanet hung suspended in cloud-torn beauty.
Owen stood in the doorway, watching. "They'll be askin' questions when they wake, like... Sierra'll be right mardy, Phoenix, mind... He's soft for bairns, but them twins'll be full o' questions."
"They'll get answers," Ellis said. "But first, I have to call a certain Colony Administrator. And hope he hasn't got dementia yet."
He looked out at Angel I for the final time, its continents blazing gold in the morning. Somewhere down there, Oran was walking toward his fate.
Ellis stood up, his voice deep and authoritative. "Computer, open secure channel. Priority One."
The computer beeped accordingly.
Captain's personal log, addendum:
Sometimes the Prime Directive demands that nothing be done. Tonight, I did otherwise. Whether Starfleet will judge that courage or treason… time will tell. But two children live because of it. And that is enough for now.
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