Emerging from the turbo lift at the back of Hathaway’s bridge, the ship’s executive officer crept towards the command chair in the centre of the room, currently occupied by her Bajoran kin wearing the yellow of Starfleet’s operations division. In any other circumstances, an officer being asleep on watch would have been an offence worthy of significant punishment, but with the ship having been docked at Starbase Bravo for a significant period, it wasn’t like anything of interest was happening. The ship certainly wasn’t going to leave without its captain, and with Kauhn on the station still, Noli would forgive her colleague… once she had had a little fun, anyway.

Reaching out to the arm of the command chair, Noli twitched for a split second as the prone figure threatened to stir, but once she was content her fellow officer wasn’t about to wake, she took the opportunity to strike. As fingertip made contact with the control panel on the arms chair, the red alert klaxon rang out across the bridge causing the chair’s occupant to wake with a start.

Heart racing, breath caught in her throat and her limbs flailing uncontrollably, Peri Anya (or Lt. Commander Peri to her colleagues) almost fell from the chair. Only a last-minute grasp of the cushioned arms on either side stopped her from sliding to the floor in a lifeless heap. An unrepeatable expletive left her lips, one that would have caused an Orion brute to blush. It was only when she saw her Bajoran brethren practically doubled over in fits of laughter that she knew what had happened.

Pushing herself to her feet, Peri tugged on her uniform jacket, smoothed out the crumples and lifted her hands to her hair to restore the pristine slick and pony that she was known for. Her face had soured and she scowled at her friend. “For a senior officer, you are such a child…” the tactical chief scolded the XO, pushing past her and making her way to the tactical station on the forward port bulkhead.

“Well!” Noli spat out between deep breaths while trying to compose herself. “Serves you right for falling asleep on the job. Imagine if I’d been the Captain, or worse,” her eyes widened at the thought of the Squadron Commander coming aboard for an inspection and finding one of the squadron’s most senior officers asleep on the job. Giarvar she could placate, but she’d had no such luck with Nazir, not even as her own XO for a short while.

“Yeah, yeah, point made…” Peri waved off the XO’s concern with a degree of nonchalance, but deep down she was chastising herself for being so stupid. “It’s just… well, you know!” She spun on her chair to look back at Noli.

“Yeah, I get it. Being stuck on the night shift can be dull at the best of times, but when we’re sat in dock it is even worse,” Noli nodded along and could commiserate with her friend for she, just like Peri, hated being in dock. Thankfully, her new role as permanent XO afforded her the right to make sure she never saw a night shift again. Peri, however, was not so lucky. “But you know, like I do, part of your being offered this job was that you had to log some more bridge hours. Starbases are very different to starships.”

Ugh. She hated it when Noli had a point. As part of her first posting as a command-level officer, she had been required to log nearly fifty hours of command time on the bridge, but with the ship in starbase that was proving… frustrating.

“I just wish we’d be out there, among the stars once again,” she sighed wistfully, looking at the viewscreen. Where there were once stars streaking by, starbase bulkheads kept them enclosed from the excitement of space.

A shrill beeping from Ops drew their attention, and Noli took a few steps towards the unmanned station. “You may get your wish,” she frowned, looking at the console readout before jerking her head and gesturing for Peri to join her.

Once the darker-haired Bajoran reviewed the data, the two stood bolt-upright and looked at each other.

“I’ll find the Captain, you raise the flagship,” Noli directed her counterpart, “Nazir will want to see this…”

Two Months Later…

A proverbial pin drop could be heard in Hathaway’s observation lounge, Captain Romaes sitting in absolute silence and glaring at the door directly ahead of him. A lot had happened in the last 60 days, especially for him. He’d transitioned from his role as commander of Task Force 17 and had assumed command of Hathaway, much to the chagrin of her former commander. Fleet Captain Nazir, rightly rewarded for her exploits during the Deneb crisis, had been promoted to lead a squadron of fine starships, but her reward had come with a heavy price. To progress and return to the field, she’d had to give up command of Hathaway and take the reigns of the Excelsior II-class USS Lakota, leaving her ship at the mercy of the yard engineers until a new commanding officer had been found. It had been a tough choice, one the Trill had tried her best to object to, but in truth, Starfleet had left her little option. They wanted her in the field, they needed her in the field. They couldn’t afford for her, or her experienced command team, to be sat on the sidelines until whatever point Hathaway’s repairs had been completed.

A month later, and Romaes had been lucky enough to return from his shore leave in time to assume command of the mighty Hathaway. Naturally, he’d checked in with his colleague and friend, who had given her her blessing for him to take over, but he had always sensed her reluctance to hand over the seat of power aboard her pride and joy. Until now, he’d almost been able to push that to the back of his mind, but as he sat there, waiting, he could feel every nerve in his body firing. Today was the first time he’d seen Nazir in person since she had left the ship, and it was the first time she’d been back aboard since she left.

When the polite cough of an individual awaiting admittance to the lounge arrived, the Captain was confused to see a woman in operations yellow with two silver rank pips on her collar. Grey-skinned with long, black hair, the woman’s most distinguishable features were her Cardassian cranial bones… and Bajoran nose ridges. That was not something you saw every day, even in an organisation as diverse as Starfleet. Bajoran-Cardassian hybrids were incredibly rare, so rare the only ones he knew were war orphans. They had been shunned by his people back then, but over time they had grown to be accepted, even welcomed into the Bajoran culture and faith. Unlike in the Union.

“Am I disturbing you, Captain?” The young woman asked, taking a step into the lounge and standing beside the long table.

“Not at all Lieutenant,” he smiled, offering the younger woman a seat. “I’m confused, though. I was expecting Captain Nazir,” he said, watching as the half-Bajoran, half-Cardassian took the offered seat.

“Captain Nazir sends her regards sir… and her apologies. The squadron has been ordered to mobilise and she is busy making preparations,” the Lieutenant advised, sliding a data PADD across the table towards the elder Bajoran. “My name is Prida Rala, and I was Captain Nazir’s chief engineer until, well… now I guess.”

Romaes looked more than a little confused as he took the data PADD and read its contents: a set of orders for the Lieutenant to join his crew, at least temporarily. Looking up at her, the Captain smiled. “And Keziah is sure she can spare you for the next few months?” He asked of the engineer.

“Lakota Squadron is lucky to have an abundance of talent across the unit, but when the Captain found out that you needed an engineer, she knew as well as I did that there is no one who knows this ship’s systems as well as I do,” Prida told bluntly, sitting forward and placing the hands she clasped together tightly on the tabletop. “Respectfully, sir, you need me more than she does right now.”

“Who am I to argue with the great Keziah Nazir?” Romaes laughed, reaching to his commbadge and pressing it. “Lieutenant Ay’dar, please report to the observation lounge.”

“I’m en route, Captain,” Ay’dar promptly replied. He swiftly departed from his station on the bridge, his direct path briefly obstructed by two ensigns engrossed in running diagnostics on a panel. Displaying his signature blend of Half-Human and Half-Klingon ‘charm,’ Ay’dar emitted one of his trademark grunts, causing the ensigns to hastily step aside, clearing his way.

Upon entering the observation lounge, Ay’dar immediately discerned that Captain Romaes was not alone. Standing alongside him was a woman he identified as Lieutenant Prida, whose security clearance he had verified only a few hours earlier. Ay’dar, a man of few words, greeted them both with a resolute nod and a concise “Captain” and “Lieutenant,” adopting his customary soldierly posture as he joined them.

“Lieutenant,” Romaes smiled, “I’d like you to update the ship’s manifest and find some quarters for our guest. She’s going to be joining us for a while as our engineer,” the Bajoran instructed.

“Immediately, Captain,” Ay’dar replied with his trademark seriousness etched on his face, a demeanor he seemed to maintain consistently. He then addressed his fellow hybrid Lieutenant, “Lieutenant, please accompany me.”

Watching as the two officers departed the lounge, Romaes made a mental note to thank Nazir for the loan of her engineer. Whether the good Lieutenant would be thanking anyone at the end of her tour would be a different matter.

The runabout sliced through the fabric of space like a needle through silk, its warp engines humming with a harmonious symphony of energy. Inside the cockpit, Lieutenant Jenner’s knuckles whitened as she pushed the control panel, her eyes fixed on the swirling vortex of light outside the viewport. Beside her, Ensign Lavoy monitored the ship’s systems, his fingers dancing across the console with practiced precision.

Through the canopy, the stars elongated into streaks of brilliance, painting the void with ribbons of light as the runabout surged forward at warp speed. The thrum of the engines reverberated through the cabin, a steady pulse that seemed to synchronize with the beating of their hearts.

Then, with a suddenness that took their breath away, the streaks of light outside the viewport began to contract, folding in on themselves like a collapsing star. The warp tunnel shrank to a point before vanishing altogether, leaving the runabout suspended in the vastness space.

Lieutenant Jenner released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the ship’s trajectory. Ensign Lavoy let out a low whistle of admiration, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazed out at their destination, a Sagan-class starship, that had just appeared.

Jenner cast her eyes over the Sagan-class, her admiration evident in the soft curve of her smile. “There she is, The Hathaway, what a beaut,” she remarked, her voice tinged with appreciation.

A voice interrupted from behind, its tone measured yet inviting. “I think the four-nacelle design takes some getting used to.”

It was Commander Jinaril Miller, the soon-to-be Executive Officer of the Hathaway, an esteemed position often referred to as ‘Number One.’

Lavoy seemed to hesitate for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, it does,” he agreed, trying to mask his surprise at the unexpected input from the Commander.

“It’s okay to like it, Ensign,” Jinaril continued, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to agree with me just because I outrank you.”

Ensign Lavoy’s cheeks flushed crimson, caught off guard by Jinaril’s understanding. Beside him, Lieutenant Jenner couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene unfolding.

Meanwhile, Jinaril’s gaze drifted out of the canopy, where the runabout had nearly aligned perfectly with the center of the four massive nacelles. They were now approaching the main shuttle bay, nestled within the saucer section’s central hub.

The runabout’s airlocks sighed, releasing pressure with a soft hiss, before the doors parted with a mechanical whir. Jinaril, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, stepped onto the cargo bay’s floor, greeted by the cool touch of metal beneath his boots.

“Ensign, Lieutenant, thanks for the lift,” he expressed, his hand gracefully gesturing as he exited the craft. With each step onto the bay’s surface, a subtle tremor rippled through the deck, a silent confirmation of the dampeners’ efficacy.

Before he could proceed further, a deep, resonant voice cut through the bustling ambiance.

“Commander Miller, welcome aboard,” a Lieutenant, his Klingon heritage evident from the prominent ridges on his forehead, greeted Jinaril with a confident stride.

“I am Lieutenant Ay’dar, the Hathaway‘s Chief Tactical Operations Officer. Captain Romaes requests your presence for a personal welcome if you would follow me.”

Jinaril nodded, his lips curving into a cordial smile. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. But I’d like to see to my luggage first.”

“We’ve got that covered, sir,” Ay’dar assured, signaling to an ensign who promptly approached to relieve Jinaril of his bag.

Handing over his duffle bag with a grin, Jinaril quipped, “I guess that leaves me no choice.”

He then trailed after Ay’dar toward the nearest turbolift, taking in the lively scene around him. It had been some time since he had been in such a bustling cargo bay. Hathaway’s crew worked in efficient synchrony, managing the various tasks of loading and securing cargo with practiced ease.

“So, how long have you been stationed here?” Jinaril inquired as they entered the turbolift.

“Where, sir?” Ay’dar replied.

Jinaril chuckled softly. “On the Hathaway, of course.”

“Yes,” Ay’dar confirmed with brevity.

“Ah,” Jinaril acknowledged, sensing the Lieutenant’s reserved demeanor, and decided to probe further.

“And have you been serving in Starfleet long?” he asked as the turbolift doors slid shut.

Ay’dar emitted a soft sound, almost a grunt, lost amidst the closing mechanism’s hum.

“Yes, I have,” he eventually responded, before issuing the command, “Deck One, Bridge.”

‘At least he’s just as courteous with the turbolift,’ Jinaril mused to himself, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he casually leaned against the turbolift wall, his gaze fixed on Lieutenant Ay’dar, hoping for a more substantial response to his question. “So, Captain Romaes, is he on the bridge?”

Ay’dar emitted another of those grunting sounds, but this time, it was not followed by a verbal answer.

A playful smirk played on Jinaril’s lips. “Lieutenant Ay’dar,” he persisted with a light chuckle, “I believe grunting isn’t quite the Starfleet way of answering, is it?” he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. But before Ay’dar could react, if he was going to, the turbolift doors whisked open, revealing the epicentre of the Hathaway – it’s Main Bridge.

As Jinaril stepped onto the bridge, he was struck by the sight of the crew members working diligently at their stations, each one a cog in the well-oiled machine that was the Hathaway. The new consoles emitted a soft blue glow, casting an ethereal hue over the bustling workspace.

Ay’dar had already reached the command chairs, engaged in conversation with the figure occupying the center seat. From a distance, Jinaril noted the hints of gray in the man’s hair, the stubble on his jawline, and the distinctive ridges on his nose. As the man turned towards him, a glint of light caught on an earring adorning his right ear.

It was Captain Romaes Anjin, the esteemed Commanding Officer of the USS Hathaway.

With a respectful nod, Jinaril approached the command area, offering a warm smile. “Captain Romaes,” he greeted, his voice steady and respectful, “I am Commander Jinaril Miller, reporting for duty as your Executive Officer.”

Using the arms of his chair, the Captain propelled himself to his feet and offered the younger man a hand in warm greeting. “Welcome to the Hathaway, Commander. I hope she’s everything you thought she would be?”

The handshake caught Jinaril off guard, a firm grip that didn’t quite belong to the Bajoran customs but had clearly found a home with the Captain, a testament to his extensive service among humans. As their hands parted, a flicker of thought crossed Jinaril’s mind, contemplating whether to mention the odd interaction with the Lieutenant or his opinion on the two ‘extra nacelles.’ But the moment passed as swiftly as it had arrived, and he found himself responding with a confident smile, uttering the words “Everything and more, sir.”

“Good,” Romaes grinned and then gestured for the XO to follow him across the bridge towards the science station. “Your arrival comes at a most opportune moment, Commander. We have orders,” the Bajoran looked excited as he politely relieved the attending science officer and began tapping on the LCARS display. “It’s not a lot, just a supply run to the Kanaan system, but I’d like to take a detour here,” he pointed to a location on the display, “to complete some readiness drills. If you have no objection, Number One?”

Jinaril’s eyes widened, drawn to the display, his pulse quickening with a sudden rush of excitement. A familiar sensation flooded through him, a realization dawning that he had been missing this. With a swift glance back at Romaes, a determined grin curved his lips. “I have no objections, sir,” he declared firmly. “No objections at all.”

“Then we leave by the end of play today. Make sure all departments know of the adjustment to orders and have Ops contact anyone who hasn’t arrived yet. Anyone not aboard by nineteen-thirty will have to catch us up,” the Captain instructed, moving away from the science station and standing behind his chair. His fingers caressed the headrest and drew a deep inhalation and a smile. “It’s time to get back out there,” he grinned at his new right-hand man with boyish enthusiasm.

“The crew will stand ready to head out there, sir,” Jinaril affirmed, a confident smile playing on his lips. “That’s precisely why you brought me aboard.” 

He glanced at a nearby PADD, “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ve got to unpack before nineteen-fifteen.”

Commander Astrid ‘Squidge’ Gray tapped her foot on the floor impatiently, the weight of her duffel over her shoulder all through her left leg making her sixty-year-old knee ache. But it was worth it. She was playing the role of impatient command-officer and she played it well, enjoying every moment. The chief on the transporter looked worried under her glare.

“What’s taking so long?” She frowned.

“Sorry ma’am. Waiting for the go-ahead from Hathaway.”

Squidge sighed and rolled her eyes. The chief tapped at his panel furiously. “Okay,” he said after a moment, “please step onto the pad.”

“Finally!” Squidge moved up the two stairs and stood on one of the circles. “I’m just messing with you Chief, you’re doing great.” She shot him a winning smile. The chief decompressed.

“Thanks ma’am. Have a good voyage.” 

“Yeah, you too.” 

You too. You too? He’s on a station, where the hell is he gonna go, Astrid you clown.

A few moments later the transporter room of DS17 was replaced by that of the Hathaway. Squidge gave the transporter Chief on her new ship a “thanks” and wondered through the closest door and found the nearest computer panel.

“Computer, are there quarters assigned for Astrid Gray?” She asked it.

“Affirmative.”

“Where?”

“Please follow the lines indicated.”

“Like a five year old. Right. Fine! Let’s go.” Squidge followed along nodding and throwing the occasional “hi” at any crew member who “ma’am”’d her as she went. She marvelled at the new-fangled Turbolifts and made a mental note of the deck they arrived upon. The lines finally finished at some doors which obligingly swooshed open and Squidge deposited her bag unceremoniously on the floor, just out of the way of the door so she wouldn’t trip over it when she got back. Nearly forty years in Starfleet had taught her that and other important lessons. She retraced her steps back to the turbo lift with a couple of ‘hey’s and ‘hi’s to the “ma’am”ers.

“Bridge.”

A short ride later and she was greeted with the ship’s bridge and what a bridge it was. Squidge had been serving most recently on a Luna class, a design now something like thirty years old. This was something else. She peered through the myriad of bright and coloured lights at the selection of doors.

“Which one’s the ready room?” She said loudly, not caring if she interrupted someone.

“There is no ready room here, ma’am.” One of the officers nearby pointed to the large door at the back of the room. “The Captain uses the observation lounge instead.”

No ready room, huh? Hmm.

“Thanks.” Squidge made her way over, adjusted her jacket, ran a hand through her short, grey hair and entered the lounge.

As the figure emerged through the doorway, Captain Romaes looked up from his paperwork and smiled at the new face on his team. “Hello there,” he greeted the woman. She stood before him smartly.

Squidge had had some input into this posting. Of all the options available one of the benefits of Hathaway was that the Captain was not some spring chicken who would make her feel ancient. Romaes was heading for fifty and had a tonne of battle experience, as did she. He remembered the Dominion War, as she did. Squidge surmised he’d be as likely to respect her experience as any. Certainly he seemed on paper like someone she could respect and not feel pangs about calling someone fifteen years her junior ‘sir’. Could be worse, could be twenty-five years her junior like some hotshot Captains.

“Astrid Gray reporting, sir. May as well call me Squidge, everyone does.”

“Before I can possibly call you that,” Romaes returned to his seat at the head of the observation lounge and offered her a seat beside him, “you’ll have to explain more.” He adjusted his posture and relaxed into the chair. It was a relief for him to be presented with officers of experience, instead of those being churned out of the Academy at an alarming rate. It suggested that Command were taking Hathaway seriously. For now.

Squidge took the offered seat and relaxed visibly a little, although her poise never wavered. She’d been Starfleet too long. She rubbed her chin with thumb and forefinger and pouted a “Hmm.” 

“I’d be lying if I said I remembered exactly what year it was. Twenty-three eighty-one was a long time ago! Stardate five eight one something something if I had a phaser to my head. I was a Lieutenant back then, just out of four years at Starfleet Medical Counselling getting war Veterans back on their feet. There’s a whole pre-amble that all hazes and blurs into a hundred evenings in the bar of the Hutton, the ship I was on at the time. Nebula. Good ship. Long story short, one of the pups called me a head-shrinker. New officer, missed the war, had no need of combat P.T.S.D. treatment, dare say she thought she was funny. Apparently, I said in reply ‘I don’t shrink people’s heads, I just kinda squidge them slightly.’ That was that. I was Squidge to everyone. I don’t remember saying it. Still, it’s followed me since. Better than Astrid, at least it doesn’t start with ‘ass’. As for Gray, well…” Squidge gestured with an up-turned palm to her hair. “Too literal these days for my liking. I guess a funny name makes the prospect of seeing the Counsellor more palatable. So there we go.” She shrugged. “Squidge.”

“Squidge.” Romaes nodded in acknowledgement, then started tapping on the control panel on the table. “I’ve added you to the roster and given you access to all personnel files,” he advised the woman, “but I can assure you, we have a crew of youngsters needing help and support after the Frontier Day destruction.”

“They’ll always get it from me if they want it,” Squidge assured him, earnestly. “I’ll have appointments available starting in a few hours.” Squidge looked down at the conference table for a moment before speaking again. 

“I… hope I can be of help to you as well, Captain. Some situational psychology perhaps, profiling an adversary or analysing a dignitary, that sort of thing. You’ll find out I’m a pretty brutally honest person so I’ll just come out with it; this is probably my last tour and…  I’d like to see a bit of action. Some bridge time.” Squidge gave him one of her winning grins.

“Help an old lady out?”

The fingers on Romaes’ left hand drummed on the work surface as the Captain listened to the woman’s words. If he could accommodate her, he’d do his best. “There’s always a place for you on the bridge, Commander. And I’ll value your input as much as anyone else’s,” he nodded slowly. “If you want to log some command time, feel free to speak with the XO. He’s in charge of duty assignments,” he added.

“I’ll do that,” Squidge responded with a contented smile. It seemed his answer had been what she wanted to hear. Inside she heaved a sigh of relief. While working with the crew in one-to-one or in group was important she didn’t want it to be her entire life aboard-ship. “Appreciated. Unless there’s anything in particular you need from me, request permission to go get situated?”

“You’re dismissed, Counsellor. We’ll be departing at nineteen-thirty,” the Captain told her as he picked up a data PADD, “I’ll expect you on the bridge then.”

Squidge gave the Bajoran a quick nod and approving smile combo. “See you there,” she said as she stood and headed out of the room. Job one was check out the Counsellor’s office and get it sorted. She wanted to get appointment availability as soon as possible. Squidge headed back the way she had come, through the bridge and onto the turbolift. 

“Computer, location of Counsellor’s office?”

“The counsellor’s office is on d…”

“Take me there.”The Turbo lift hummed into action. Squidge considered everything she had experienced thus far. The Captain seemed amenable, which was good, yet he was also an interesting person just to look at. The stubble, the eyes that looked at you yet through you. Decades of experience told her she saw pain there, even after a short meeting. But her style wasn’t to coax anyone to talk. Privacy was a thing and an important thing. People who wanted help could come to her and those who let problems affect their performance would certainly be getting a visit. Everything else was just the pain of living and fighting and there was plenty of that to be had. The doors wooshed open and Squidge set off down the corridor checking out the signs by each door as she went.

“Try it now.” Mason yelled from underneath the shuttlecraft while accessing the ship’s external systems control panel. 

For the last few days, this one particular shuttle had been such a pain and refused to cooperate. There was some sort of error in the tactical controls that, whenever those systems were activated, it caused a ship-wide power drain of about one and a half percent. Though it wasn’t a substantial power loss, and the ship’s main power had more than enough juice to compensate for the drain, he still needed to get to the bottom of why this was occurring in the first place. 

It seemed as though, ever since Mason reported aboard at Starbase Bravo, this damn shuttle had been an issue from the start. He quietly cursed his predecessor who accepted the shuttle delivery from the starbase without performing more detailed inspections to ensure it was fully operational and without any flaws. But, there wasn’t anything he could do about that now, and like it or not, this shuttle was his problem. Maybe if I hadn’t been so thorough in the first place… He laughed to himself. 

“Bringing the tactical systems online.” A shout from the engineer that was assigned to work with him. Mason waited a few seconds and then shook his head in aggravation, noticing again this damned unexplained power drain on the ship’s systems. “Alright, shut it down.” Mason yelled back to the crewman, who’s name escaped him. He felt bad not remembering it, but all his attention was on this shuttle, and for the moment, all he felt like doing was setting the shuttle’s self-destruct, opening the bay doors and just letting it go. 

Mason came out from underneath the shuttle, replacing the systems access panel and wiping his forehead. He looked to the engineer and shook his head, “I’m beginning to think this damned thing doesn’t want to be fixed.” He offered a small concession smile before exhaling, “Well, let’s revisit this again tomorrow. I’ve had all I can take from this ship today. Meet you at 0800?” The engineer nodded and smiled before leaving, and Mason did the same, making his way to the Starlight Lounge. 

Mason walked over to the large aquarium and set his drink down on the nearby table, crossing his arms and looking over at the fish swimming by in the tank. He had never served on board a Sagan class vessel before, and didn’t know if this type of feature was normal throughout the class, but he definitely appreciated having it on board. The water always relaxed him. Though he was born in London, his family eventually moved to Brighton and Hove, spending so much of their time at the beaches. He loved their house on the water, and seeing the aquarium somehow reminded him of home. 

Sitting down and taking a sip of his drink, he brought out his PADD to start working on his report about that damned shuttle. It wounded his pride, but he was ready to admit to himself that it was probably time to escalate this problem to the chief engineer, he could take no more of that shuttle spitting in his face. After a few paragraphs, he looked out to the rest of the lounge and smiled at the bustling center of the ship’s social activity. Though he had only been on board for a short while, he was looking forward to getting to know all of the new faces and make some new friends here. 

Finishing up on his report, he decided to head back to his quarters to get some rest. His next duty shift was right around the corner, having been assigned to the night watch this evening. Finishing up his drink, he stood up and looked over to the aquarium one last time before making his way out to his quarters. 

“Assignment information please,” the security personnel stated robotically.

“Yes, of course,” Selara said with a quick chuckle. She handed the PADD to him and waited. “Dr. Selara, I’m the new Chief Medical Officer aboard the Hathaway.”

The guard quickly surveyed the information. “You can take the turbolift to Shuttlebay 8 for your transport shuttle.” Wordlessly, he handed the PADD back to her.

Taking the PADD, Selara examined the man. “Have you been sleeping Petty Officer?”

Her question caught him off guard, breaking his stoicism, “Ma’am?”

“Your face, specifically your eyes, would indicate you have not had proper sleep in some time.” She looked him over with a further assessment, “Your stance and breathing would also be indicative of fatigue.”

“Apologies ma’am, I have been having terrible dreams lately.”

Selara chuckled, “No apologies needed. I don’t have medical authority on the Starbase, but I would recommend a low dose of Improvoline. A week of that, in conjunction with visits to the station’s counselor, should have you feeling as right as rain,” She briefly clapped his shoulder and walked towards the turbolift.

It was out shuttle’s window that Selara got her first look at the Hathaway. She stared, “Oh my word you are simply gargantuan compared to the Asteria. Most starships would be, I imagine.” Selara smiled as the transport moved to dock.

After several twists and turns (and getting lost three times), Selara found her way to a turbolift. “Deck 3,” she may as well get acquainted with her new quarters. She unconsciously found herself humming a tune to the rhythm of the turbolift motor. The doors opened onto Deck 3. “Odd, I haven’t heard that since I was a child.” She smiled and gave a brief chuckle, “A good memory for sure.” Locating the quarters, she pressed the chime to open the doors.

Inside she found a very Starfleet standard issue quarters. “This certainly won’t do,” Selara set her bags down on the couch and looked around. “But there will be time enough to improve its demeanor.” She walked over to her luggage that was brought aboard and pulled out a garment bag. She laid it over a chair, unzipping it. Selara reached inside, pulled out her medical coat, and gave it a good shake. She slipped it on and adjusted the affixed pins. “But, for now, it’s time to go to work.”

The doors to the Sickbay opened, gaining the attention of a medical ensign. He quickly set down what he was working on and made his way to her. “Oh Commander, I didn’t realize you’d be here so soon. I’m Ensign Korren, um, Craig Korren, ma’am. I’m one of your medical assistants.”

Selara smiled, “There’s no need to fall over yourself Ensign. I’m simply getting the lay of the land. And none of that Commander stuff,” she waved it away with a chuckle. “I am a doctor first and foremost in this place,” she motioned around the Sickbay. “Though I had imagined for such a large ship that it being bigger. No matter, it means fewer ways to get lost. What’s the status of Sickbay, Ensign?”

“Engineering has to install two more biobeds and finalize the emergency systems. They said they’d come back when you came aboard and submitted your protocols. Two of the nurses are aboard and settling into their quarters. The rest of the medical staff is checked in, but not yet on board. The EMH and remaining systems are operational. I was about to test the isolation and surgical areas.”

“Very good Ensign. I’m going into my office and set things up. Let me know when Engineering gets here. Oh, and I’d like to schedule a staff meeting.” She paused and smiled, “Make it a dinner, something casual in… what’s the biggest lounge on the ship?”

“That would be the Starlight Lounge, Comma- Doctor.”

Selara nodded, “We’ll have it at the Starlight, tonight!” She chuckled at her rhyming. 

Selara walked into her office and flopped into the desk chair. She gave it a few test bounces. “At least they didn’t skimp on a comfortable chair.” 

“Ephriam… They did it again. They friggin did it again!” the brash, annoyed and angry voice bellowed from outside his office and the Lieutenant could hear heavy breathing and grunting getting closer. He recognized the voice of one of his officers, Ensign Nisha Kedam. 

It was well known among his staff that they could be on a first-name basis while not in the presence of other departmental personnel or senior staff. A tradition that the young chief science officer carried with him from his days on the Enceladus. 

“Just who are they, Nisha? And what exactly did they do?” Ephriam looked up to the doorway to his open-concept office, connected to one of Hathaway's main science labs. Even with his height, he had to straighten himself up some to see over the ridiculous amount of PADDS he had piled up on his workspace, Nisha hadn't entered just yet. He had given many silent thank yous that the new Captain had yet to find his way down here, the state of the space was less than stellar. 

“Those damn engineers. They reset pallet five again due to their faulty original fix!” Nisha finally entered the space and looked especially peeved. “I spent fifteen hours recalibrating it to meet our needs and now I'm back to square one. Perhaps if we could stop being blown up for five minutes.." the rant continued for several more moments before Nisha paused to catch her breath. 

Ephriam rose from his desk and tried to look serious, an attempt that he succeded at - mostly. He briskly walked over to the replicator and leaned into it. “Two coffees... black… extra hot," the replicator made its familiar hum and the room had a brief accent of blue light before it revealed two steaming cups of hot coffee. Ephriam quickly gathered both and passed one off to Nisha as a gesture of peace before pointing to the small conference area to the right back side of the room. 

“Well.. I suppose the alternative would be to not let engineering fix any more faulty sensor pallets?” it was a rhetorical question, one that Ephriam did not expect an answer to. “It's their job, Nisha. And while, yes, it certainly is an inconvenience to us we need to try and keep positive.”

The ensign sipped her coffee a few times and remained silent. 

“Did you happen to make a backup of the parameters and configurations you had made to optimize the pallet prior?” Certainly, there were hundreds of programmed configurations in the database but true practical science officers would tell you that despite theory, there were always slight differences in reaction to hardware and software and its integration into vessel configurations. Many science departments out there would spend copious amounts of hours tuning each of their sensor pallets to have an optimum function. 

“No…” Nisha continued sipping her coffee and rolled her eyes. “I forgot.”

Ephriam chuckled playfully. “I think we've all been there Nisha. I remember a time when I spent three days tuning hardware on the Intrepid, only to have a colleague accidentally overwrite my changes. I too had not saved a backup version of my settings," he continued to chug back the lifeblood of his day. His department collectively drank way too much of the stuff. “Think of this as an opportunity to do an even better job this time around. Do remember to save a backup this time though.” 

“Screw off.” Nisha grinned - although the two had not had a long working relationship yet, they did closely develop an understanding and mutual respect. “Has anyone ever told you, your eternal positive attitude can be a pain in the ass?” 

“Oh. It's happened on occasion. Picture this though… imagine if you had turned that frustrated energy around and started working on your fix already, instead of bursting in here like a bull ready to charge down its prey.” Ephriam dared not to make eye contact as he took another sip of his coffee, “You could have been ten minutes into it already.” He shifted his eyes to meet hers and laughed. 

Nisha rolled her eyes again, “Yeah. And if I did that then I would not have gotten to have coffee with you, rant about how much I hate engineering and get a break for once.” She felt like throwing what was left of her coffee at him but she knew he had a point. “Fine. I'll get back to work and I'll do an even better job this time." She gulped what was left of her coffee and set it down on the table while she gave Ephriam a forced smile. 

“Just remember to save your wor…” He didn't get a chance to finish before she bolted out of his office just as quickly as she had entered. Ephriam was then faced with the harsh reality of seeing the state of the space, “I really need to get this cleaned up before Captain Romaes decides to pull a surprise inspection on me.” He was speaking to no one but himself now. 

Renovations across the ship had taken some time to complete during the ship’s recent repair period, but even now, with the ship on manoeuvres again, the renovations to deck fifteen were still incomplete. Granted, most of the structural work had been completed, but merging two shuttlebays into one much larger hangar bay to accommodate the fighter wing had been no easy task. Still, at least the unit was functional even if the hangar was still changing. It wasn’t easy swapping several shuttles for a dozen Valkyrie-class starfighters.

The turbolift halted as it finally reached deck fifteen, the doors swooshed open revealing the ongoing construction on the deck. Mason smiled as he walked by the several engineering teams as they worked, and finally came to the main hangar entrance. The doors closing behind him, he moved towards the center of the deck, initially looking for the squadron commander, but also to see the new Valkyrie fighters they’d taken aboard. It had been several years since he had seen or piloted one of these fighters, and he was looking forward to the small reunion. He rested his hand on the hull of the fighter as he leaned over, looking into the cockpit at the familiar controls.

“Make sure you don’t press anything,” a stern voice from behind surprised the visitor to the deck, “Lieutenant Varru is pretty particular about the settings on her fighter.” Standing there, watching, a tall Andorian with silver hair had his arms folded and a grin plastered across his face.

Mason smiled as he heard the voice from behind him, “Oh I wouldn’t dream of it. Pilots become quite attached to their ships, I wouldn’t dare infringe on that relationship.” Still smiling, he got down from the fighter and turned to meet the Andorian squadron commander. He held out his hand and said, “Good to meet you, Commander. I’m Lieutenant Commander Henry, Chief Flight Ops.”

“Orys Ch’tosrik,” the Andorian introduced in return, shaking the hand firmly before letting go.

Mason looked around the hangar, “Well, the work is progressing, albeit slowly. Not exactly easy work re-configuring the bay for starfighters rather than the typical shuttlecraft, I suppose.” He smiled as his eyes fell back on the Valkyries, “Though I will say, it’s nice to see these beauties again.”

“You flown them before?” Orys asked, running his hand along the fighter’s frame before gesturing towards the flight deck briefing room.

“Oh yes, I have quite number of flight hours logged on the Valkyries, but it’s been some years since I’ve flown one.” Mason smiled and let out a small sigh, “I mostly stick to piloting starships these days.” He looked around at the ongoing refit in progress, then back at Orys, “Does engineering have any estimated completion date for all of this?” He said, motioning to the hangar around them.

Orys was impressed. It was increasingly difficult to find starship pilots who understood the intricacies of flying fighters these days. At the shifting of the conversation, the Andorian stopped and looked back into the bay. “I’m told it should be complete in the next couple of days. The Captain wants a launch and retrieval test so it better be ready by then,” the man smiled, folding his arms across his muscular frame.

Mason smiled and started to chuckle, “I hope so. I don’t know the Captain very well, but I’d hate to see his impatient side so early in our assignment.”

Orys nodded in firm agreement. He knew the captain more than most, and getting on the Bajoran’s bad side was never advisable. “I’d like to liaise with your department to ensure the smooth running of the bay, and any launch procedures. The Captain always says something about ‘singing from the same hymn sheet’ if that makes any sense to you?”

Mason nodded in agreement and looked to Orys, “I’ll be sure to have a copy of the launch procedures sent to your attention. I’ve made some updates to those procedures to account for all of the extra fighters and pilot personnel that aren’t normally stationed on most Federation starships. It’s mostly straightforward stuff, especially for seasoned pilots like us.” 

“As for flight deck operations, I’ll just need regular updates on fighter maintenance and your personnel. Of course, your team will be under your command, and you’ll report to me and my department. But you have my word, I won’t interfere with your people or your personnel decisions; you manage your team as you see fit Commander. My oversight will mainly be administration and mission assignments.” Mason said, offering a friendly smile.

“I can work with that,” Orys nodded along slowly, and then offered a hand to the flight operations officer in agreement, “if you can agree that in tactical scenarios we’ll have priority over all resources and personnel required for mission operations, other than on the bridge?”

Mason took the Andorian’s hand and nodded, “Agreed, you’ll have priority, especially in those situations. If there’s ever anything you need or require, please don’t hesitate to ask and I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Orys nodded turning to depart before stopping and offering the Human a grin. “And if you ever fancy getting back in the cockpit, let me know. You should always keep your skills sharp,” he offered.

Mason grinned and nodded, “I will take you up on that, Commander, you can be sure of that.” He chuckled slightly, looking back fondly at the Valkyrie fighters.

Ephriam exhaled in relief as he collapsed down onto the sofa in his quarters. He relished the feeling of slight relief on his feet as the throbbing feeling from having been standing on them for several hours in a row began to ease. Truthfully he was exhausted to a new degree, which was saying something considering the baseline at which he kept himself paced. 

“Computer. Play a relaxing piano concerto on low and dim the lighting in the room by thirty percent,” immediately the lighting softened and he recognized the second movement of mozart’s twenty-third concerto begin to play lightly in the background. It had been a busy and productive couple of days on the Hathaway – his team in particular had been comsumed in assisting with repairs, much like other departments and personnel across the ship. 

Ephriam’s eyes shifted down right to a pile of PADDS on the corner of the sofa. He slowly reached out and picked up the top one which held the most recent version of data related to the thesis he was working on for his doctorate. This work had been particularly neglected since he accepted his posting on Hathaway and took on the challenge of being a new senior officer in general on a starfleet vessel. His intentions were in the right place but his drive had been somewhat diminished in weeks past, an unusual thing for him.

His eyelids felt heavier all of a sudden as they drifted through a generous conglomerate of data – perhaps related to the fact he had dimmed the light and put on some very relaxing music. He became acutely aware that his subconscious had already decided that this work would go no further today. The soft concerto seemed to reverberate more than it should, in a dream-like quality and his eyelids grew heavy and closed. 

There was that moment between awakness and sleep, a blissful second or two of complete relaxation. It was rudely interrupted by the soft classical music being replaced by a loud beeping indicator, “Incoming communication from Aldas and Clarice Adrasin. Do you accept?” the computer voice echoed in his mind and Ephriam sighed as he pulled himself away from that joyous moment of rest. 

His parents had a talent for calling at the most inconvenient of times and this was certainly no different. He did however feel a sense of guilt, as he had neglected to return not one but two of their recent communications. It was time to take the verbal flogging that was ahead of him. 

“I accept,” he pulled himself up off the couch and quickly stretched. With a tug down on his uniform he walked over to the small workstation in his quarters and worked up a smile for both his parents as they popped up on display. Both looked well and rested. The familiar wood cabin background behind them and the beaming colorado sun made him long for home. 

“You look unwell,” Ephriam noticed the smiles that had started on both of their faces quickly faded into a joint look of concern. His mother led the conversation. “Are they feeding you? Are you sleeping? I told you doing this thesis and being a chief science officer was going to push you over the edge. I knew it. You’re so capable Effie but you push yourself too hard.” The statements seemed to transition into a type of ranting monologue – he had endured many of these over the years. He was smart enough to know it was best just to let her get it out. His father eventually tapped her on the shoulder, as if he was tag teaming for his turn in a wrestling match. 

“I think what your mother is trying to say, son, is that you are working very hard and you have been through a lot this past month. We have been worried about you… We know you and Commander Fasek were so close and that his loss has especially been hard on you,” there it was – his father had an uncanny talent for getting straight to the point but also digging right into what was beneath the surface. It must have been the bond the two of them had from their betazoid heritage. He had always had most difficulty hiding his feelings and thoughts away from his dad.

It had been nearly a month since Commander Fasek had been tragically killed in the events of Frontier Day. His closest friend and mentor had been on Starbase One when it was attacked and was one of many who were killed. To say Ephriam had been devastated would be an understatement. He had immediately accepted his current posting on Hathaway and had truly not dealt with the loss. 

He could tell his parents had a look a validation on them now and there was no going back. “You’re right.. I miss him so much,” tears began to form in his eyes, but he managed to hold them back. “I still don’t want to believe he’s gone.”

“You need to see someone hunny. You haven’t given yourself time to process this and it is showing. Promise your dad and me that you will at least talk with someone, okay? Please, Effie, that’s all we ask,” they both looked so empathetic at that moment, like they wanted desperately to reach through the screen and embrace him closely. Ephriam nodded in response and agreement and his parents both sighed in relief. 

The conversation between the three continued for another forty minutes or so and thankfully moved away from the topic of Ephriam’s lost mentor. “Alright hun, I think its time we let Effie get some rest. Don’t you?” his father gave him a knowing smile that told him he knew his son was on the verge of tipping over from exhaustion. The three said their goodbyes and Ephriam drug himself back over the sofa, this time he collapsed even harder onto it.

“Computer…. please put in a request to see Counselor Gray, provide a copy of my itinerary to best match up an empty time slot in my schedule,” the computer acknowledged his request and the concerto he was listening to began to play softly once more. 

Ephriam knew it was time to talk about his dear lost friend and mentor, for better or for worse, it needed to be done.

Selara set down the PADD in her hand and stood. Through her office window, she observed Sickbay. It quickly became a hive of activity, with both engineering and medical officers going about their duties. Had she been working that long? She rubbed her eyes as a notification on her desk console alerted. “Oh,” Selara said, giving it a quick read. “It appears I never announced myself.” She took off her medical coat and hung it on a hook by the door. “Computer, locate Captain…” What was his name again? “Locate the captain of this vessel.” She playfully huffed, proud of herself.

Captain Romaes is located in the Observation Lounge.

Leaving Sickbay, she entered a turbolift, “Bridge.” A quick hum and the doors opened to the Bridge. Selara stood a moment, watching the officers move about their duties.

“Can I help you find something, ma’am?”

Selara was shaken from her thoughts, “I don’t think so,” she said with a smile. “It’s a lot bigger than I imagined it’d be.”

The officer nodded, “It gets smaller the longer you spend on it.” He turned and returned to his station.

“That’s enough standing around slack-jawed,” Selara chuckled to herself. She entered into the observation lounge and took note of the captain. “Captain Romaes, Dr. Selara reporting for duty, sir.”

“Come in, come in,” Romaes smiled as he rose to his feet and offered out a hand to the newcomer. “Welcome to the Hathaway.” He offered the doctor the seat to his right and then returned to his chair.

Selara shook the proffered hand, “I must say Captain, your warmth belies your reputation.” The rumors she’d heard of the man was he could be distant and ruthless. He certainly wasn’t a man you’d cross. But hyperbole was rampant amongst junior officers, so it was difficult to know what to believe. Selara took the seat to his right. “Or perhaps I haven’t gotten on your bad side,” she chuckled. “I hope I never do.”

Most of the time my bark is worse than my bite,” the Bajoran smirked as she shuffled in his seat and got comfortable. “So, how are you finding the ship so far, Doctor?” he asked, keen to get a handle on his latest arrival as quickly as possible.

“That’s good to hear.” She looked around the room, taking in its space. “This is quite an upgrade from my previous assignment. I am proud to say I only got lost twice,” she smiled.

“Well that’s a positive at least,” Romaes responded with a genuine smile. Sitting forwards, the Captain changed the topic of conversation. “Okay Doctor. Tell me what brings you here.”

“I wasn’t sure what a stickler you were for protocol. I wanted to officially report for duty, despite having been here for an hour.” She chuckled, “I do have a good reason for that. I wanted to get things prepared and sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me.” Selara thought a moment. “And also to see if you had any orders for me.”

Romaes shook his head slowly and chuckled. “No no,” he smiled, “I meant what brings you to the Hathaway.”

Selara laughed along at the misunderstanding, “Ah yes, that. The Asteria was a fine ship to serve. I probably could have retired on it, honestly.” She considered the idea, “I’m sure my spouses would have preferred that more. But I want to see the stars.” Selara gestured with her hand. “Scientific study is good and all, and serves a vital function to the Federation, but I want to explore. And what better way to do it than on a top-of-the-line ship? What about you, Captain? With your record you could be running an entire fleet.”

Romaes let out a ‘hmph’ and collapsed back into his chair. “That’s a long story,” the Bajoran rubbed his brow briefly. “I did run a task force in the fourth for a while, but too much time behind a desk. A bit like you, I wanted to be exploring again. By chance, Hathaway was available for command and I was lucky enough to be granted the responsibility. She’s a fine ship, and we’ve got a fine crew. Time to go and write a fine story.” His words were sincere, nostalgic even.

Selara chuckled, “That, my dear Captain, is something I can get behind.”

“Ephriam… How come my lab supplies were not delivered?” Lieutenant Kendall’s soft voice preceded her as she rounded the corner and entered Ephriam’s office. Her expression led to him believe she was for more annoyed than her tone indicated. 

“What do you mean Viviene?” Ephriam tossed down the PADD he was holding gently onto the mountain of others in front of him. 

“My team is conducting some time-sensitive experiments and requires some specialized lab equipment. I know you authorized the list on my last requisition request order to you, but they never arrived. I investigated and it indicated that it was stopped and canceled by Lieutenant Ay’dar, Chief of Security,” Kendall handed her own PADD to Ephriam and clasped her hands together lightly in front of her. 

“What the hell?” Ephriam’s brows furrowed as he confirmed what the Lieutenant had told him. “I’ll look into this right away Viviene, don’t worry,” he had approved the request for his team’s experiments, equipment that could not be replicated and it had indeed been stopped by Ay’dar. 

“Adrasin and Ay’dar. I need to speak with you privately and in fast form. Are you able to spare a moment?” Ephriam asked this after he tapped his commbadge. 

Ay’dar’s fingers moved swiftly over the PADD spread out on his desk, his brow furrowing in concentration as he delved into the dossiers. The soft tremor of the ship’s engines and the occasional beep of the console filled the room, this was punctuated by the tap-tap of his fingertips against the screen.

Suddenly, the calm was disrupted by Ephriam’s voice through the comms. Ay’dar’s jaw tensed, his grip on the PADD tightening as annoyance rippled through him. Without a word, he emitted a deep, guttural growl, a primal sound that reverberated in the stillness of the room.

After a moment, he composed himself, tapped his commbadge, his voice carrying a hint of his signature irritation as he said, “This is Ay’dar, I’m in my office, Lieutenant.”

It had only taken Ephriam several minutes to get to the security chief’s office and he had already played out several scenarios in his mind during transit. The first had him burst into the office in a dramatic flare and aggressive approach demanding the immediate release of the held requisition. The second scenario had him gracefully enter the office, be polite, and use his manners while acting more inquisitively in exploring why the requisition had been held. The third and final scenario had him on his knees begging for the equipment to be released.

Ephriam entered the office after he requested entry and decided to take a blended approach in the various scenes he had daydreamed on his way to see Ay’dar. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Lieutenant,” he started with something a bit more formal and then handed the security chief the same PADD Lieutenant Kendall had given to him moments before. “I am hoping you can explain to just why you have stopped some science equipment from coming on board?” Ephriam tried his best attempt at a stern-looking expression but it would instead emerged a bit on the meeker side.

Ay’dar’s attention drifted from the data on his PADD, drawn upward, his gaze traversed across his desk to meet the Science Chief, who stood with an air of tightly wound anticipation. Every movement seemed calculated, as if he had meticulously rehearsed this interaction in the privacy of a turbo lift.

A flicker of amusement tugged at Ay’dar’s lips, though he suppressed the urge to show it. Instead, he focused on the Adrasin, refusing to divert his gaze to the Lieutenant’s PADD, maintaining eye contact instead. He didn’t need to; he knew exactly what was accepted or disapproved to board the ship. This wasn’t merely a duty for Ay’dar; it was ingrained in his very being, woven into the fabric of his life aboard the vessel.

With a subtle inclination of his head, Ay’dar acknowledged the Chief’s request. “Yes, It was denied under general-order-forty-seven subsection-eight paragraph-twelve,” he said, his voice calm, intimidating, and unwavering. And then, he fell silent, allowing the weight of his words to linger in the air.

Ephriam groaned in frustration, an action that was something not frequented on his behalf. He seemed to surprise even himself at this, and his facial expression went funny for a moment. “I like to think I’m pretty intelligent Ay’dar but even I cannot recall general orders to the subsections. Can you help a fella out?” Adrasin asked this in as neutral a tone as he could albeit it did emerge slightly on the sarcastic side. He had noted how Ay’dar’s own reply seemed to be devoid of any telling features, he decided that man would be a talented poker player.

Ay’dar’s intense gaze lingered on ‘the boy’ in front of him, a low rumble emanated from his throat, a subtle manifestation of his growing impatience. While straightening his back, his brows furrowed, causing his ridges to deepen, his lips tightening into a thin line, betraying a glimpse of his irritation. 

After a moment of contemplation, Ay’dar finally spoke, his voice measured but tinged with frustration. “This regulation,” he began, each word carefully chosen, “addresses the intricate handling and containment of perilous substances and situations that jeopardize the safety of our vessel and its crew. And yes, Lieutenant,” he added, a hint of exasperation seeping into his tone, “it extends even to the delicate matter of cryogenically preserving tribble eggs.”

“Tribble eggs….. tribble eggs,” Ephriam muttered a couple of times to himself and his eyes widened upon realization of what Ay’dar had said, there was no way he had attempted to authorize that at least he hoped that was the case. “Can I have that back for a moment please?” He stated this in a bit of a panicked tone as he quickly leaned forward and snatched back the PADD, his attention immediately fell on the finer print details of the request which did state tribble eggs. He swallowed dryly and his eyes raised back up to meet Ay’dar’s. 

Another officer might typically offer reassurance to his colleague in such a situation, suggesting that such occurrences are inevitable or guiding him on the correct course of action. However, Ay’dar’s reaction was markedly different. As he sat there, his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes narrowed into slits, betraying the storm raging within him. The subtle twitch of his fingers revealed the struggle to contain his mounting irritation. His breaths coming in heavy, controlled bursts. The atmosphere around him seemed to crackle with tension as he locked eyes with his colleague, his gaze unwavering and piercing.

There were a few questions that needed answering now. First, was why his officers were requesting such a thing anyway, had they tried to take advantage of the situation? Second was just how he had missed that finger detail and submitted the request anyway. Ephriam was new to this role, and a bit overwhelmed with everything too. He wanted to believe there was a sound explanation for this. Thankfully his counterpart had been diligent in his duties. “I believe I owe you an apology, lieutenant. I appear to have made a bit of a mistake,” Ephriam bit his bottom lip and smacked his lips together, an odd little habit he had developed over the years in moments of backwardness.

Ay’dar’s lips curled into a silent snarl, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled sharply, the sound carrying the weight of his frustration. He leaned forward, his posture rigid, and locked eyes with his subordinate, his gaze ablaze with disappointment and simmering anger.

“A mistake?” His voice was a low, menacing rumble, punctuated by a sharp edge that sliced through the air. “You’re lucky I caught it.” Each word dripped with disdain, carrying the weight of unspoken reproach. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tensing visibly.

“I won’t let the Hathaway become one of those ‘loser’ ships, infested with tribbles.” His tone was firm, unwavering, a declaration of his unwavering resolve. 

He paused, his breath catching in his chest before he released it slowly as if savoring the tension that hung in the air. The silence stretched, thick and palpable, a tangible barrier between them. Finally, he spoke, his words measured and deliberate.

“Before you waste any more of my time,” his voice was a controlled growl, each syllable laden with suppressed fury. “I suggest you turn around and get your department in order, Lieutenant.” 

Ephriam’s face dropped slightly and for a moment he looked like a puppy that had been scolded by its owner. True – he had made a mistake and would learn from it, like any mistake in his career but he had found Ay’dar a bit unforgiving in his approach. Perhaps he deserved that much. “I will do just that. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Thank you for your time.” Each sentence seemed a bit disconnected as he began to walk backward slowly.

Watching the young Lieutenant’s departure, Ay’dar couldn’t help but notice the defeated slump of his shoulders, the hesitant shuffle of his feet. Ay’dar’s senses prickled with an unusual sensation, a subtle stirring that whispered through his veins like a breeze rustling through leaves. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite grasp, one that danced on the edges of his consciousness, leaving a lingering trail of curiosity in its wake. Empathy stirred within Ay’dar, a quiet understanding born from his own experiences.

Just before he exited the office, Ephriam stopped and looked over Ay’dar once more. “Lieutenant… Unrelated to this, I was hoping you might consider helping me brush up on my marksmanship in the near future,” part of Ephriam had quested himself as to just why he was asking this man for help but the area of his brain responsible for logic and reasoning had won out. Hathaway had already seen combat multiple times since his boarding and Ephriam knew he was less than stellar in the area of self-defense, he barely passed such basic skills at the Academy. If there was one person on board to help see to that, he figured it was this stern brute of a man.

Ay’dar’s rigid facade softened imperceptibly, a subtle shift in his demeanor as he addressed the Lieutenant. His voice, usually commanding and stern, took on a gentler tone, hinting at a depth of understanding beneath the surface.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Ay’dar said, his words measured but carrying a quiet reassurance. “Tomorrow, report to the holodeck at Oh-Seven hundred.” The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, a fleeting glimpse of warmth in his gaze before he returned to his usual composed stance.

“Oh-seven hundred, aye,” Ephriam gave Ay’dar a nod in confirmation and his all too familiar smile began its return to the surface. “Thanks again for your time, lieutenant,” he then made a quick and abrupt exit. 

Space. It always had the potential to be that mythical final frontier the mavericks of a bygone era used to bang on about. Still, these days it seemed like there was little chance of visiting that next unexplored star system or meeting the exciting new civilisations the Federation mandate talked about. In the last six months alone chaos within the Federation’s territories had proven that there were just too many bushfires to put out, too many quarrels with neighbours to deal with, and too many allies to watch very closely.

The FNS broadcasts were abuzz with news of Toral’s ascension to the Chancellorship following his pronouncement that Martok had indeed been lost. What that meant for the Federation-Klingon alliance and the cordial relations of the past few decades was anyone’s guess, but they would likely never be the same again. For the Hathaway crew, at least, that was a worry that would have to be pushed aside for now. More pressing matters in the alpha quadrant were worthy of their attention, and Romaes had spent the better half of the morning on conference calls and in meetings with the brass to realign the objectives that had been laid out for their upcoming mission.

When he eventually emerged from the observation lounge, the Captain strode with purpose and direction. Standing before his chair, he looked out of the viewer. Stars filled the viewport for as far as the eye could see. Deep Space 17 was unusually quiet for once, with the Sagan-class starship the only ship in its traffic lanes for the moment. That would make their departure far easier. Slipping into his chair, the man let out a sigh. “Sound departure stations,” he called to no one in particular.

Miller’s frame leaned comfortably against the sleek navigation panel, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns along its smooth surface. Across from him leaning against the conn station stood Lieutenant Commander Henry, an old colleague, once a friend, their conversation weaving through the memories of shared missions and distant camaraderie. The subdued lighting of the bridge danced off the metallic sheen, casting elongated shadows across the room.

As the pneumatic hiss of the door announced the Captain’s arrival, Miller’s posture straightened imperceptibly, a subtle shift betraying the weight of authority entering the room, when the Captain’s voice cut through the hum of activity, his command ringing clear across the bridge. Miller’s lips curled into a knowing smile as relief flooded through him, the tension of anticipation easing from his muscles.

“Well, Mason,” he murmured, his tone low but brimming with shared understanding, “you heard the man. It’s almost Warptime.”

“Aye, Commander.” Mason acknowledged wryly through a smile at his old friend. It was a pleasant surprise when he had heard of his transfer to the Hathaway, and he looked forward to getting to know the man once again after so many years apart. A few seconds more of working the controls, then he continued, “DS17 acknowledged and approved departure request; docking port has been sealed and retracted. Maneuvering thrusters ready to engage on your orders, sir.”

Never one to miss a good departure Squidge sidled on to the bridge. There were seats on either side of the Captain’s chair and after a beat for consideration, the Counsellor claimed the empty one quietly, staying quiet and watching the assembled go about their routines.

“I’m not one for Picard-type speeches,” Romaes declared, eyes facing forward, “but somewhere out there is a place we’re meant to be; a civilization we’re supposed to meet; a discovery we’re destined to make. And that’s only after we’ve put out all the bushfires and solved every crisis thrown our way. So, how about it folks? We ready?” he grinned, looking freely about the bridge, then back at the stars beyond.

Ay’dar emitted a subdued growl from behind the Tactical station, barely audible. To him, this was simply routine – another day on the job. He couldn’t fathom the significance people attached to ceremonies and speeches. In his eyes, the ship was poised to soar, just as it had countless times before.

Ephriam had finally turned his chair around to embrace the sights of his fellow senior officers amongst a mix of crewmembers on the bridge. He smiled as he looked at Squidge, whom he had recently had a productive counseling session with. His eyes then turned to Ay’dar and he didn’t quite know what to feel, their interactions had been interesting thus far to put it lightly. The Captain and others were still a bit of a mystery to him but he had a visceral feeling inside that the journeys ahead of them would soon lift that veil of unknown as they would be collaborating and problem-solving together more and more. 

“Let’s tango, Captain,” Ephriam responded boldly and with enthusiasm. He thought after his response had been blurted out that perhaps Romaes’ question to them was meant to be rhetorical which led him to start tapping a bit nervously on the side of his chair.

Selara smiled and chuckled low at the science officer’s enthusiasm. It was hard not to be excited. A ship leaving dock carried its own energy. It’s something the ship has done hundreds of times and, hopefully, will do hundreds of times again. But the first time with a new captain or crew, that was an indescribable feeling. She looked across the Bridge at her crew mates, her comrade in arms, and saw a similar excitement and anticipation.

Never having served as on senior staff, Selara was assigned to the Sickbay during departures. Even now she felt her presence on the Bridge was largely unnecessary. Unlike the rest of her crewmates, not much of her job could be done here. Still, it was a privilege to watch the first flight. And it would be a shame to not fully utilize all the prerogatives her position allowed. Selara looked down at her console, filled with equally superfluous information about the crew’s health records, she directed her words to Romaes. “Medical is ready to write a fine story, sir,” she said with a knowing smile.

Enna wasn’t much for conversation, much preferring to be doing than talking, but even so, when the captain spoke, he required an answer. Rechecking her readouts, more out of habit than actually expecting them to have changed in the last four seconds since she’d looked, she inclined her head. “All good on ops, sir.”

Emerging from the turbolift on the port bulkhead, the spritely chief engineer strode towards the Captain’s chair, standing behind him and placing a hand on his headrest. “Propulsion systems are at your disposal captain. Let’s get this party started,” the Bajassian grinned playfully.

“That’s the spirit, folks!” Romaes’ lips curled at the edges. “Full impulse until we reach the edge of the system, then warp six to the Kanaan system,” he instructed the CONN, tapping his armrests and viewing the status reports from various departments across the ship.

“Aye, Captain.” Mason acknowledged, turning to his console and inputting the commands. Once the course was laid in, he engaged the Hathaway’s engines and watched the ship start to pull away from DS17 under full impulse power. A few moments later, Mason continued, “Engaging warp drive.” He pressed a few more controls and input the new course and speed, then sat back and watched the ship as it made the jump to warp speed. He cracked a small smile, excited to be a part of this new team and excited to see where this new mission would take them. 

Ay’dar, his figure a blend of human and Klingon heritage, towered in the dimly lit hue of the corridor outside Holodeck three. The gentle thrum of the Hathaway’s engines filled the air, a constant reminder of the vessel’s ceaseless journey through the stars. As two science Ensigns, clad in the stark blue of their department, navigated the hallway, their steps hesitated, their bodies tensing as they neared the imposing figure.

One Ensign, attempting to mask his discomfort, darted a glance at Ay’dar. The half-Klingon’s eyes met his—an intense gaze that seemed to pierce the dim lighting. Responding with a signature deep, resonant growl, Ay’dar watched as the Ensigns’ strides suddenly quickened, their movements now swift and eager to distance themselves. Their reaction, so akin to prey flinching away from a predator, elicited a slight, amused curl to Ay’dar’s lips. 

As the last echoes of footsteps dissipated, the corridor returned to its tranquil state, embracing Ay’dar in silence. He studied the PADD, its screen a solitary beacon amidst the corridor’s dim light. The time displayed—07:00—ignited a growl of annoyance from him, a sound that momentarily filled the corridor with its resonance.

With a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a sign of his irritation, he tapped his comm badge on his chest. “Ay’dar to Andrasin,” he spoke, his voice rough yet imbued with clarity. Without a moment’s hesitation, his impatience manifested, “Where are you!?” His query, more a demand.

“No no no no,” Ephriam exclaimed as he ran around his quarters like a mad man throwing himself together as quickly as he could. He had all intentions of setting his alarm for 0615 which would have given him enough time to not rush around like he currently was. What had happened instead was him falling asleep from exhaustion and forgetting to confirm one at all. The computer defaulted to waking him up at his usual 0655 instead, which left him in the position of being late. 

Ephriam’s stomach dropped as he heard Ay’dar’s stern voice emerge from his comm badge, he dared not to make the man wait for a reply though and he lept in the air to clear one side of his bed and grabbed his comm badge as he landed stomach side. “I am on my way lieutenant, I will be there in five-ish minutes, my apologies,” he stumbled through a reply sounding winded, partially due to being slightly out of air from the way he had landed.

Ay’dar, the imposing brute, should have been irritated. Typically, he would express his frustration through a sigh, a growl, or by directing his anger towards the nearest target. Yet, something stirred within him. Perhaps it was the urgency in Ephriam’s voice, or perhaps it was simply the knowledge that Ephriam was never one to be tardy. Whatever the reason, Ay’dar found it strangely amusing. He chuckled, perhaps louder than was necessary, though there was no one around to witness it anyway.

Ephriam looked terrible and much more unkempt than he would have liked, this was exemplified even more by running through the corridors at a feverish pace to get to Ay’dar as quickly as possible. He was certain several crew members thought he had lost his marbles even more than he had already established in reputation on the Hathaway. He was finally relieved to see the big hulk of a man looking as stern as ever standing in front of the entrance to the holodeck. “Ay’dar… I’m so.. sorry,” Ephriam spat out his apology as he worked hard to catch his breath.

Ay’dar’s intense stare bore into the Science Chief as he extended the PADD without uttering a single word. The weight of his displeasure hung palpably in the air, conveyed through the silent exchange. With measured strides, he moved towards the exit, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

As he reached the threshold, Ay’dar turned back, his voice carrying a commanding edge softened by a hint of amusement. “This,” he motioned towards the PADD, “will be our program for today.” His words were deliberate, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Take the time to digest it thoroughly, and remember,” his tone sharpened, “I’ve made a slight adjustment—a five percent increase in intensity. Each minute you were delayed added another layer to that intensity.”

Ephriam’s eyes widened for a moment – he resembled a deer caught in the headlight of an oncoming vehicle as he reviewed the details. “I…. I suppose that’s only fair.” He darned not to protest as he figured he was already on thin ice with Ay’dar as it was.

Ay’dar’s imposing figure crossed the threshold of the arch with purpose, his every movement exuding determination. Without a moment’s hesitation, he raised his voice, the command slicing through the silence of the chamber like a blade. “Computer,” he intoned, his tone brooking no argument, “initiate program Ay’dar Spartan Three-Four-Sierra.”

As the words left his lips, a subtle energy pulsed through the room, igniting a transformation. The sterile environment dissolved into a swirling vortex of data before solidifying into a breathtaking desert vista. The once empty expanse now teemed with life, the golden sand stretching endlessly into the horizon, interrupted only by the clustered silhouette of rugged tents, their weathered canvas flapping gently in an unseen breeze.

As Ay’dar’s voice had ordered the computer to initiate the requested program, Ephriam jumped slightly in surprise. The voice of the security chief was both commanding and dominating. Once the desert expanse came into view, the brightness caused Ephriam to squint his eyes. It was a stark comparison to the lighting onboard the Hathway they had all become accustomed to with its dark and metallic ambience. “I should have brought some sunglasses I suppose,” he muttered in a low tone to himself as his eyes opened back up some having adjusted to the light. He continued a bit nervously, “Ay’dar…. I know you said you’ve programmed some increasing intensity but… I don’t think you comprehend just how bad I am at this. I wouldn’t have asked for your help otherwise.”

Ay’dar’s deep voice rumbled with laughter and echoed through the desert sands like thunder as he turned his gaze to Ephriam, “Well, Lieutenant Adrasin, have you ever ventured into the myths of the SAS?”

“The myths of the what?” Ephriam replied curiously and his brows furrowed slightly as he processed the statement, trying to place if he had ever heard of such a thing. His eyes wandered off of Ay’dar’s for a moment too but returned quickly with a blank facial expression, it confirmed he had no idea what the man was talking about.

Ay’dar started to move towards the tents as his words drifted across the desert sands, barely audible above the gentle howl of the wind. Yet, within that soft murmur lay a power that seemed to stretch across galaxies.

“In the ancient annals,” Ay’dar began, voice barely more than a breath, “they were revered as masters of combat. Phantoms, they were, slipping through the veils of darkness that shrouded their foes. Unseen, unheard, until the final, inevitable strike.” As he spoke, the desert seemed to hold its breath, as if even the elements themselves paused to listen to the legend unfurl.

Ephriam felt the weight of the description weigh on his shoulders as he followed Ay’dar through the sands. He remained silent but absorbed their surroundings. His feet began to feel heavier as the sand they were walking through offered resistance and its varying depths pushed his physical resolve. He noted how Ay’dar seemed to just push through without any sign of physical strain.

“The SAS weren’t merely soldiers; they embodied bravery and resilience incarnate. Their creed, ‘Who Dares Wins,’ echoed a universal truth transcending boundaries of time and space. They confronted the impossible, the unfathomable, and emerged victorious—not due to invincibility, but because they dared to face their fears.” he explained, the tents drawing nearer with each step.

As they reached the tents, Ay’dar deftly parted one of the flaps, gesturing for Ephriam to enter with a fluid motion. Inside, a table stood amidst rows of black lockers, their contents glinting in the dim light. Among them, phasers rested incongruously, seeming somewhat out of place in the otherwise unassuming surroundings.

Ay’dar’s stare bore into Ephriam’s, a fierce intensity emanating from his eyes. “Picture it, Adrasin,” he urged, “training so grueling only the most indomitable spirits could endure, missions so fraught with danger that each move could spell their demise. Yet move they did, into the shadows, into the abyss, for they understood that courage wasn’t the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.”

Ephriam considered himself to be somewhat physically fit but questioned this assumption now as he caught his breath once they reached the tent. The simulated heat, the walk to where they were currently at and Ay’dar’s passionate description of the SAS had been quite the combination. It was hard to picture anything at the present moment, the intensity of the large man’s presence and his newfound ability to string more than a few words together was a bit overwhelming to the senses. He had not thought Ay’dar capable of such a terrifying but eloquent construction of words, at least not in his interactions so far. “They sound absolutely terrifying… I’m curious though. What exactly does this SAS have to do with our time here?” 

Ay’dar circled back to Ephriam’s initial query, “The SAS understood something vital, something that we, too, must embrace.” he elucidated, “It is not our phasers or our ships that make us formidable; it is our will, our determination to stand against the tide, to fight for what we believe in. Hence, it’s less about ‘how bad you are’ and more about demonstrating the depth of your desire. ‘Who dares wins’ encapsulates this ethos perfectly.”

Ephriam wandered over to the lockers and gazed into them. There were phasers tucked in them but also phaser rifles. He listened to Ay’dar continue but seemed distracted and transfixed on the rifle. There was a sudden desire within him to hold it and he gave in to its siren call. As he picked up one of the rifles and attempted to hold it, his stance was awkward and his rifle hold was even worse. Ephriam showed no sign of insight into just how awful it was as he pretended to aim at some target.

Ay’dar’s gaze, half illuminated by a streak of light entering the tent, unwavering and penetrating, found Ephriam’s, conveying a depth of conviction that words alone could not express. “Today,” he began, the richness of his voice weaving a tapestry of challenge and opportunity, “is about more than learning to aim and fire. It’s about discovering the reservoirs of strength within you, about pushing the boundaries of what you believe is possible.”

He moved closer, his presence commanding yet reassuring. The tent seemed to shrink, focusing all attention on the lesson at hand, on the transformative journey from novice to master. “By the end of this,” he promised, his voice a low rumble of certainty, “you won’t merely ‘know’ how to use a phaser. You’ll actually know how to hold it, and you’ll understand its language, its rhythm. You’ll be a virtuoso of marksmanship, a scholar in the art of precision, your skills honed not just on the firing range but in the crucible of resolve and courage.”

Ephriam’s body seemed to shrink in size as Ay’dar moved in closer to him, the intensity of the man’s words and dominating presence wrapped around him like an anaconda seizing its prey. Ephriam however, had no intention of fighting off the squeeze he felt as there was assurance and security in the man’s passion and delivery. He knew now that if there was anyone who could help him improve his marksmanship, Ay’dar would be the one.  He lowered the rifle to his side and closed the small amount of distance left between them, his own eyes met Ay’dar’s and for a moment matched the intensity that Ay’dar had given before several times. His stare softened quickly though and was replaced with a cheeky grin that appeared on his face. 

Ephriam’s free hand raised up and tapped playfully on the centre of Ay’dar’s hard steel-like chest, “I’ll hold you to that promise, Lieutenant… Shall we lock and load as they say?”

Ay’dar’s smile spread slowly, a silent acknowledgment to Ephriam as he commanded, “Computer, set training sequence one to one hundred and five percent intensity.”

For a brief moment, the tent’s constant fluttering hushed, yielding to the computer’s affirmative beep. With a purposeful stride, Ay’dar approached the entrance, his silhouette briefly outlined against the tent’s fabric. As he disappeared outside, his voice carried back in, decisive and clear, “Adrasin, fetch a type two and a type three. Then It’s time for the Locking and Loading.”

“One hundred fifty percent… Right…” Ephriam mumbled this to himself as he watched Ay’dar exit the text. He had managed to secure a smile from the man but at what cost? If this were the cost of rousing a smile out of him, then perhaps Ephriam would learn to embrace the usual scolding glances and looks he had become quickly accustomed to instead. 

“Rodger that. Type two and three…” Ephriam replied to Ay’dar with hesitant confidence before he made a quick jog back over the one of the lockers and retrieved what had been ordered. He continued to mutter under his breath to himself, before exiting to re-join Ay’dar outside of the tent. “Just think of this as one of your crazy experiments Effie…. A daunting, scary, likely going-to-get-yourself-injured and forever embarrassed in front of a handsome man crazy experiment… Right… Here we go….”

Ephriam exhaled slowly as he tapped on the entry request emblem of Counsellor Gray’s office. The computer had confirmed a mutual appointment time that worked the very next day. The lengthy conversation with his parents the evening prior was still fresh in his mind, as was the visceral feeling of loss he felt about his mentor and trusted friend Commander Farek. 

He was not consciously nervous about this session and had the emotional intelligence to understand that talking through trauma was not something to be embarrassed about. Empriam remembered well when the ban on synthetics came into effect, his father’s background as a scientist, that his parents had consulted therapy in their decision to leave starfleet. He had this modelled well for him in his upbringing but it didn’t negate the fact that he felt slightly apprehensive about exploring his feelings any more in depth about his loss.

Counsellor Gray also felt a little apprehensive as her first appointment aboard Hathaway drew near. She had plenty of confidence in her own abilities but establishing herself in a new crew was always going to be a significant experience. Most of all she hoped she could help. Given her years of experience she found that likely, but one never knew what one may be faced with in a counselling session. She had to think fast sometimes and choose her words well. She studied Lieutenant Adrasin’s file on the terminal at her desk.

“Come,” Squidge said simply after the chime sounded.

After he heard the okay to enter the space, Ephriam walked through the doors with as much confidence as he could muster at that moment. “Commander Gray. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” He offered her a genuine smile and grateful expression.

“Happy to be of some help, Lieutenant, please come in and make yourself comfortable.” Squidge rose from her desk with a warm and genuine smile and moved further forward in the space. The initial area of the Counselling suite was a conversation space, a comfortable looking couch and two chairs with a coffee table in the middle, set at slight angles so as not to be directly opposite anyone. It was decorated more intentionally than a lot of ship’s spaces, with plants, warm throws, textured pillows all in neutral tones. It was, Squidge hoped, quite inviting and unimposing. Beyond this and facing the conversation space was the desk where she read and filed her reports.

“Feel free to call me Squidge, most people do. Or Counsellor. Can I replicate you a drink?”

“Coffee… black. Thank you, Counsellor. ” Ephriam’s response was immediate but he quickly wondered if that was what he should be drinking in such a session. It was irrational to think that the counsellor would psychoanalyze his choice of beverage, he knew this but part of him wondered so anyway. The room seemed to give off a relaxed vibe and as he looked slowly around the room, he admired the decor. “Nice place. Did you get to furnish it yourself, or did it come standard off the fleet line?” he sat down and made himself at home on the couch, it was what gravitated towards him the most. His posture was still slightly stiff and both his arms rested somewhat awkwardly on his thighs, they moved back and forth slightly in a calming motion.  

“Thanks!” The Counsellor programmed the replicator by hand so that she could continue conversing with Ephriam. “The bones are fleet standard but a textured cushion here, a throw there, a judiciously placed plant and it’s much less utilitarian.” She placed the coffee requested in front of Ephriam carefully and a glass of water for herself in front of one of the chairs which she took, crossing one leg over the other and placing her palms in her lap in a open gesture. Ephriam’s stiffness was noted but not surprising to the Veteran Counsellor. Seeing a Counsellor was stressful.

“So how long have you been aboard?” She asked Casually.

“To be honest, it seems longer than it has been. I joined the crew just before we had our troubles in the Deneb Sector. I’m trying to maintain that I wasn’t the bringer of bad luck which saw us engage in so much combat. Not that I’m overly superstitious, but I did break a mirror just before arriving on Hathaway.” Ephriam took a few sips of his coffee. “Don’t get me wrong, Counsellor. I’m very grateful to be here. It’s just been a lot and this is my first posting somewhere as chief of science. A lot has happened in such a short period. So much,” he sighed in relief, an acknowledgement that his own words seemed to validate what he had been feeling. Squidge listened quietly.

“You’re free to talk about any of it,” she told him after he arrived at this first juncture. “There’s no real psychoanalysis going on here, definitely no blame. This is not an evaluation so you we can work through whatever you want. I’m here to help, if i can, not to make reports and pick you apart.”

Squidge was already forming some ideas of how she could begin to help, but at the same time she didn’t want to interject. When people had things to get off their chest, interruption was the worst offense. She let Ephriam dictate the format of the conversation.

“Truthfully. I thought I was doing okay but I’m not as focused as I usually am nor am I using my time wisely at the moment either. This chief of science gig is a lot of work and on top of that, I’ve a large commitment outside of working hours too. Normally I thrive on that. That is exactly what I live for. I love being productive and swamped….” Ephriam continued for a few moments and finally paused to take another sip of his coffee while catching his breath. Squidge nodded occasionally as she listened.

“I just haven’t been the same since Commander Fasek died…” He finally said it to the Counsellor, the real reason he was sitting across from her now. Squidge rubbed the area under her mouth with a thumb and forefinger.

“Uff, that’s hard,” she said, trying to use the correct language. She didn’t want to speak in cliches, be condescending or say something that would accidentally diminish what Ephriam was going through and yet remain empathetic. “That must be difficult, but I’m just guessing here, I didn’t know him. Tell me a little about him.”

“He was my mentor and my friend… my closest friend. I trusted no one more in my life than him, other than my parents of course. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. And he’s gone and I just… I don’t feel right without him… Like a piece of me is missing.” Ephriam sighed and leaned back, his eyes grew a bit watery and he closed them. “He was killed when Starbase One was attacked on Frontier Day,” he felt there was a need to quickly clarify that point.

“I’m sorry,” Squidge said quietly and genuinely. It was something she had had to say a lot recently, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t mean it. She leant forward slightly. Before she was sat back, in a receiving sort of pose. Psychologically speaking, now that she leant forward it was to prepare Ephriam for her to take the wheel for just a moment. A small thing, but a useful technique.

“Y’know, a piece of you is missing. It’ll take you some time to work through that, to find the new equilibrium, find how to settle in to the version of your life where he’s no longer present. It’s going to be different, it’s going to be new and the problem most of the time with loss of someone important is we don’t want things to be different, we don’t want things to be new.” Squidge thought back as she often did to the loss of her husband Harold during the Dominion War and how the equilibrium of her own life had changed so drastically. She had the opportunity of a fresh start but a lot of people in the fleet didn’t. It was amazing how a fresh start could help draw a line under something but to going back to the same life after a significant loss was often more difficult. “I know, because Starfleet gave me access to everything that’s ever been written about you since you joined, that you’re a very kind person. There’s an opportunity here for some kindness to yourself, throughout everything you’ve told me so far.” Squidge paused briefly, before breaking down her thoughts, her hands constantly moving to emphasise her points.

“Starfleet is a huge pressure-cooker of success. There’s expectation on all of us to perform, always. To be the best, to be the Picardian ideal of what it is to be a Starfleet Officer. Stand for excellence, stand for duty, stand for morality, and it’s a good aspiration! I’m going to get a tad psychoanalyse-y here so I apologise for that. You told me you are grateful to be here, but…” Squidge paused again before continuing in a softer tone. “To me that phrase says that you know you need to be the best, but at the moment you’re dealing with stuff, which you are and you might not be hitting that standard that we, or you expect of yourself. And yes, Starfleet expects a lot but we’re not machines. We’re not Commander Data. At least, I know I’m not!” This was said with a small smile. “Your dedication to your work and the fleet does you credit, but I would say, you have been through a lot. It’s okay to take the time now, back off the work a little and allow yourself the space to process everything that has happened and find the version of Ephriam that moves forward from here and be comfortable with what that looks like. I can guarantee there are a lot of people in the Federation doing just that at the moment. People won’t expect you to be perfect and on it every second of every day just now and if anyone does, send them to me and I’ll straighten them out. And, if I may, perhaps be kind to yourself and expect less of yourself. As for the mirror well, you’re the C.S.O. if luck even exists, and I think scientifically speaking there is certainly no proof of that… you didn’t bring any misfortune to the ship, and you know that.” This was spoken very kindly. “If we are attacked it’s those attackers who bring all the misfortune and all the problems. All you’re bringing is being a great Science Officer and a good person and the fact you and the ship are still here proves that. You like being swamped and productive? Fine! Be productive. Make the product spending the time, finding the version of you that goes forward from here to be the best and most effective version of you, who’s invested the time, examined, searched, wallowed, questioned, considered all aspects of what you’ve been through and has found how to move on and be, continue to be the kind of officer I’m going to bet your friend would want you to be.”

Squidge took a deep breath. “Okay, that was really long, sorry for that.” She leaned forward to take a sip of her water and set the glass back down to lean back in her chair again. “What… do you think?”

“He would want me to set my emotions aside and do what needs to be done.” Ephriam grinned. He took a few moments of silence to absorb much of what the Counselor had said to him. She was kind, generous and supportive in her statements. Large in part he felt as if everyone were just expected to carry on after so much destruction, as if what happened was something that just needed to be washed away. A part of him also realised that there was some projection involved in that view, as he could have always accessed the resources around him for help. Now was when he had moved forward with that. “He’s a Vulcan though. Easier for him to say,” he paused a moment again and reflected on how he just described Farek as still being here.

“Definitely,” Squidge agreed. “We might adjust that for a more human perspective and make sure we own, acknowledge and understand what we’re feeling right now.”

“I think the only one being truly hard on myself is me. I’m hard on myself on a good day in what I demand on my performance, even though I give the appearance to others that I’m quite relaxed about everything I have going on,” he said this and took another sip of his coffee. “I lost someone dear to me and it’s okay to not be okay with that. It’s okay to slow down some and be more forgiving of myself, right?” he looked up at Squidge and seemed to be desiring some validation for his statements, a confirmation that he did absorb many of the important parts that she had told him. Squidge nodded.

“Right. I know that I can say this to you because you’re an exceptional and dedicated officer who puts work at the forefront and that’s not a bad thing. I know that your duties will be taken care of no matter what. But you can take a step back if you need to to look after yourself, process what has happened and make sure that you’re good before moving on.” Squidge paused for a moment.

“Tell me,” she continued, “do you have anyone else in your life who knew Commander Fasek well? Or was it a you and him sort of tag-team situation?”

Ephriam pursed his lips in thought for a moment and seemed to drift away before he responded, “It was always just really the two of us. Farek was a very private man. Of course, there were respected colleagues but I guess we were a bit of a dynamic duo,” he had never really thought about that before and it made him wonder even more why he was the one that Farek had chosen after so many years to bond with beyond the professional identify they all held as starfleet officers. He had been only one student of hundreds if not thousands that Farek had taught at the Academy. 

Squidge smiled. “That must have been nice,” she said. “Having a friend and mentor like that. What was he like as a person? What made you value him as much as you did?”

Ephriam’s shoulders relaxed a bit more as he sat back further. He took another gulp of his coffee and pondered the question – flashes of memories flooded his mind as if a dam had opened its pressure-release valves. “Fasek was every bit a Vulcan as one would imagine. Smart, intelligent and logical. He was more than that though, he was kind and generous and so willing to share his knowledge and expertise. Of course, he could be just as impersonal at times but deep down inside you just knew he cared. I used to call him on that, you know? Poke him in the shoulder and shout you care, you really really do… That would at least get a raised eyebrow out of him.” Ephriam eyes began to slightly fill with water again as he described his friend and mentor. They were tears of mixed emotions. He didn’t fight them back this time but instead let them form. 

Squidge smiled at the description, she heard the warmth with which the Lieutenant described his friend. She nudged the tissue box closer to him.

“It’s going to hurt like this for some time isn’t it?” Ephriam looked at Squidge – he had not been accustomed to much personal loss in his life. His young age and lack of life experience in this example showed. He did feel better though, it had helped to get it in the open and articulate his feelings on the matter – his body and mind felt lighter and more at ease despite the tears in his eyes and the visceral sense of loss.

Squidge ran her tongue over her teeth under her lips nervously and, at length, took a deep breath. Laying down some truth in these circumstances was never easy, but she tried not to lead on her patients with any lies or tactics. If they were going to be truthful with her she needed to be truthful with them in return.

“Honestly, yes,” she returned. “And that’s not a bad thing, per-se. What you might well find is that it should get easier in time. The problem with that is you may realise that you don’t think about him as much and you might feel guilty, and if that happens for you there’s another opportunity there to be kind to yourself. Logically…” (and therefore probably Fasek would agree, Squidge hoped, but without putting words in his mouth) “…it isn’t good to dwell on the dead long-term. Remember them, yes, the lessons they taught us and with whatever fondness they earned in life, but try not to feel bad if after a while you start to find a way to move on and don’t think about him quite as much. For now though, I know it’s hard but giving yourself the opportunity and space to grieve properly, whatever that looks like, is important.” After a momentary pause, Squidge continued.

“I want you to try to think of one thing that you could change about your day-to-day to help you deal with what’s happened. It doesn’t have to be permanent, possibly something temporary, and it could be anything at all, having a drink to him every day after your shift, or making the time to finish something that you told him that you would and never got around to. Maybe it’s delegating a little bit more to give yourself some breathing space. Any thoughts?”

“Truthfully I am having lots of thoughts at the moment, but the prominent one is that I am just glad I finally came here and started talking some of this through,” Ephriam looked down for a moment, his facial expression a mixture of sad and content with some fluctuation, he stayed like this for a few more seconds before he looked back up at Squidge and emitted a content sigh. “It’s helped to just get some of this out. I’m sure you hear that a lot. It hurts but no less than keeping it bottled up inside. Thank you, Counselor.”

Squidge held her hands out and open and gave Ephriam a winning grin. That feeling of having assisted never got old.

“What I’m here for!” She exclaimed. “Always glad to be of help, and my door is always open. Now, I’m glad it’s helped to talk but I want you to come up with an action point and I’m going to be stubborn about it…”

Ephriam stared at Squidge blankly as he took another sip of his coffee, he answered with a bit of a softer tone, “I should have known I wasn’t getting out of here without something like that… Well, I think that’s going to take a bit more of a chat,” he took a more comfortable pose on his seat and prepared himself for a longer chat, determined to give himself and the Counselor what he needed.

Ephriam entered his quarters and sighed with relief. His shoulders seemed to relax immediately and he felt lighter than he had in a long time. While his work day had been completely routine, he did have his counselling session with Counselor Gray. Despite talking through the loss of someone extremely important in his life, something that was emotionally exhausting, there had been a bit more of a drive in his step throughout the remainder of the day and he was feeling better. 

“Computer, play something calm and relaxing please and replicate me some hasperat.” Ephriam stripped out of his uniform and tossed it on the back of one of his chairs. He quickly became a bit chilled so moved into his bedroom area swiftly and removed some comfortable sweatpants from his dresser. The drawer above where had found the pants revealed a comfortable looking navy blue knitted sweater and this caused Ephriam to pause in place for a moment. 

It was his favourite piece of loungewear and he had worn it many days since the death of his friend but for some reason the site of it today caused Ephriam to reflect on the moment he got this gift, where it came from, who he was with and a very special moment in his life.

2398 – Starbase 288

“Adjusting the graviton emitter settings by zero point two positive,” Ephriam responded providing the closed-loop communication to his working partner and superior, Commander Farek. The two of them had been occupied for several hours working in their favourite of the many science labs on Starbase 288. They had been exploring options to enhance the readiness of starships to provide temporary responses in unstable gravitational phenomenon occurrences.

“We are losing stability again. Adjust to compensate,” the flat and focused tone of Commander Farek warned.

“I’m trying. It’s not working this time either,” Ephriam replied as he furiously worked away on the control console in an attempt to compensate yet again. Their calculations had been extremely delicate and the prediction model they were currently utilizing was one of the more unstable put to the test yet. It was also their fourty-fifth go at it.

Both officers were distracted by the sounds of the doors to the lab opening. A young crewman holding a wrapped package emerged through with a bright and relaxed smile, 

“Lieutenant Adrasin? I have a package for you.” She announced her intentions in a tone reflective of her body language.

“Ephriam..” Farek’s voice had a bit more alarm to it, about as much as it could for a Vulcan. 

Ephriam grunted as he looked back down at the console. He could tell immediately that they had lost control of the testing parameters and were past the point of no return, for a few moments, he ignored everyone in the room and continued to attempt to save their situation. He sighed after another few seconds passed and his attempts had failed. 

“Looks like our fourty-fifth attempt is not going to cut it either.” The console started emitting an alarm signal and Ephriam quickly silenced it, he looked up to Farek and the commander raised his brow and nudged his head towards the crewman visitor. Ephriam stepped away from the console and met the young female bolian who egarly passed him the package. 

“Oh yes… Thank you, crewman.. Why was this not just dropped off at my quarters though? I have all mail set to forward directly there,” he gave the package a curious once over after he accepted it from the crewman. 

“I believe it was at the personal request of the sender, sir. I just follow what the tickets say.” The young crewman politely nodded to both men and began to make her exit. “Sorry to have interruipted. Take care.” With that, she made her exit as swiftly as she had entered.

Ephriam set the box down on the table nearest him and closely examined it. There was hand writing on the top of it which he immediately recognized as his mother’s. 

“What is she up to now,” he muttered and opened it with a fevered effort. A small stock-card with a simple messaged covered something fluffy and wrapped in a light ivory coloured tissue paper. 

‘Hope this will keep you warm out there in space… Don’t catch a cold….’

Ephriam gasped as he unveiled an intricately knitted dark navy blue sweater. It was soft and felt so cozy but what immediately brought a tear to his eye was the overwhelmingly pleasant and familiar smell. The sweater had hints of evergreen and freshly cut wood – it smelt exactly like home. With his eyes closed he could almost visualize the warm glow of woodstove in the living space of his parent’s wood cabin home being lit on a cold winter’s night, the evergreen emphasized the vast forests he grew up and played in for many hours of his childhood. 

“Is everything alright, lieutenant?” Farek moved closer with a raised and curious brow. Ephriam could tell he was somewhat taken back by what had now turned into a generous show of water-works down his cheeks. 

“Are you allergic to what was sent to you?” Farek closed the distance and stood by him now. 

Ephriam laughed while more tears fell down his cheeks. “No… no…” He clasped the sweater and brought it up closer to his face. The familiar smell became even stronger as he inhaled deeply. “It just smells like home, Commander.” It had been several years since he had been able to visit his parents or be in that safe place he was raised, the homemade item from his mother and the smell had immediately caused a visceral reaction. The longing he had felt became exemplified and had now overwhelmed him.

“Oh. I see.” Farek gave him a curious look. “So the smell of home is causing you pain? I do not quite understand. Is there anything I can do?” 

“Not unless you can transport me home!” Epriam replied and wiped the tears off his face. His tone had been a bit sharp and not appropriate but he had grown a bit annoyed with his mentor’s lack of understanding. The man was a Vulcan and Ephriam knew that he could likely not empathize in the way he needed. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. 

“Is it okay if I’m dismissed, commander?” Ephriam asked in a much softer tone, he tried to be a bit more mindful of his professionalism.

“Of course. We have worked well over our shift for today anyways. We will pick this up tomorrow, Lieutenant.” The Vulcan’s voice was once again neutral sounding. 

“Thank you, sir.” Ephriam sniffled and clutched the gift close to him as he made a swift exit. He felt he needed some privacy to compose himself but also to just run through and process what he had felt. This gift from home had been unexpected and welcome, but was a stark reminder of just how much he missed his parents and the place where he had been raised. 

–

It had been a restless night. Ephriam woke up to the sound of Commander Farek’s voice emerging through the communicator badge on his nightstand. “Lieutenant Adrasin. Would you meet me in holodeck eight in approximately twenty three minutes? Please wear that sweater you received last night.” 

Ephriam groaned and stretched out to tap the communicator, “Of course, Commander. I will meet you there,” he responded sleepily. The sweater that he had been gifted the night prior was resting on his chest and he could still smell that evergreen and fresh cut wood aroma. 

It was almost enough to convince him to skip the sonic shower before meeting Farek.

–

Ephriam prided himself on being precise and that was reflective in his timing. Exactly twenty three minutes after Commader Farek has requested his company in holodeck eight, he emerged through the large doors and gasped at the sight. A snowy mountain view and a wood cabin house was before him, Commander Farek was there too with his hands clasped together behind his back in cream coloured sweater with dark navy pants. 

“What is this?” Ephriam walked closer to his friend and mentor, and the holodeck doors swished closed behind him. The view of the door faded away into an expanded panorama of what appeared to be some location in Colorado, his home on Earth. 

“I thought it may be agreeable to you if we continued our work on revised calculations in here today. I cannot transport you home as you stated last night. This is as close to that as I am capable of,” the Vulcan gave Ephriam a nod and tilted his head. 

“You…. You did this for me?” Ephriam asked the rhetorical question, tears once again formed in his eyes but this time he had been quick to wipe them away with the sleeve of the gifted sweater from his mother. “I…. Thank you,” he said this softly and felt even more regret for how he had reacted the night prior. This had been one of the nicest and most kind things someone had ever done for him. “I am agreeable.” 

The two spent the day on the holodeck, working on calculations. Commander Farek may have not been able to fully empathize given his Vulcan nature, but his genuine respect and close bond with his mentee allowed him to show a certain level of uncharacteristic human caring in the gesture towards Ephriam.

The gift from his mother had brought him close to home, along with the influx of emotions and longing that came with it. The gift his friend and mentor had given him allowed him to be that much closer. It was a kindness that Ephriam would never forget.

2401 – USS Hathaway

Ephriam pulled the navy blue sweater over his head and embraced the feeling of the garment offering him a warm and secure hug. He used the sleeve and wiped away the few tears that had formed in his eyes. The moments he had taken to reflect on the memory of the sweater had been intense but oddly welcoming as well. The Counselor had validated for him that these feelings would need to be processed and that memories should be given the space they deserve to manifest.

It had been a long time since he had thought about the day he had received this gift from his mother but also about the kindness and comfort that Farek had shown him. Ephriam could admit to himself now that it had been a mistake to put so much effort and thought into not thinking about his lost friend. It had been taking up so much of his energy over the past several weeks. 

He strutted over to the replicator pad and retrieved his meal. He then planted himself on the sofa and took a big bite.

“That’s the stuff,” he said aloud to himself and then turned his head to the right. His hand retrieved one of the many lonely PADDs that were in a mess across the sofa beside. He had been putting off doing work on his doctorate, this was something he had also discussed with Counselor Gray. Farek would have wanted him to be continuing to work on this as much as he could. Gray had made him commit to an action item in the session they had that day and Ephriam had landed on a commitment to getting back to work on his doctorate.

He began to read and make notations on data sets as he continued to eat his hasperat. Proud of himself for following through on what he had promised that very same day.

Squidge headed out from the Counsellor’s office which was now setup and ready for patients. She’d angled the furniture so that people weren’t seated directly opposite, that felt confrontational, but next-to one-another would feel too intimate. And cause neck-ache. There was couch space for couples and families and the seat behind her desk was now properly adjusted for good support and comfort for many hours of reading and note-taking. She had replicated some plants for a nice cosy vibe.

Now that was seen to the next thing to arrange was command time and for that she needed to speak to the X.O. ‘Over coffee’ was the mode du jour and Squidge had no issue with that. She headed for the expansive ‘Starlight Lounge’ and, arriving on the upper level, surveyed the room, taking in the cool blue ambience and large bar. After her eyes had feasted for a moment on the best Starfleet could offer she scanned the space again for the X.O.’s youthful-beardiness and, recognising it made her way over to check in.

Jinaril sat at the table, the anticipation palpable in the way he occasionally glanced up, up over his PADD, his posture betraying his eagerness. It had been a while since he had felt this sense of anticipation, his fingers danced across the PADD’s screen. As he waited for his ‘date’ to arrive, he couldn’t help but marvel at the dossier before him. The soft chatter of the Lounge provided a soothing backdrop to his thoughts, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of gratitude for being here.

Suddenly, a figure approached, catching his attention. An officer, clad in a vibrant teal uniform, strode confidently towards him. Jinaril couldn’t help but notice how her hair color silently betrayed her name as if it was intentional.

“Commander Gray, welcome!” Jinaril exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he rose to greet her. “Please, take a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the empty chair across from him with a welcoming sweep of his hand.

“Thank you!” Squidge gave the X.O. a short courteous nod and a smile and took the offered seat. Signalling one of the staff she ordered a Cappucino.

“Commander. Nice to meet you. Call me Squidge if you want, most people do.” She said this with a confident open-handed gesture.

“Squidge, huh?” The word slipped from Jinaril’s lips, tinged with a mix of amusement and confusion. He momentarily diverted his gaze to the dossier displayed on his PADD, fingers scrolling through the digital pages, searching for any mention of ‘Squidge’. Finding none, his eyes flicked back up, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Seems ‘Squidge’ didn’t make it into your official narrative. But, whatever hovers your runabout.” He let the silence hang for a beat, the smirk evolving back into a warm, welcoming smile. “Your dossier, on the other hand,” he continued, setting the PADD aside and cradling his Raktajino with both hands, “speaks volumes without saying much at all. But from what it does say, It’s an honor, Commander.” 

His gaze was steady, inviting, as he leaned forward slightly, the steam from his spiced coffee swirling between them, an aromatic bridge shortening the distance. “Tell me, what’s on your mind?”

“Thank you, likewise,” Squidge returned. “You’ve done some great things! What’s on my mind… my last posting,” the Counsellor replied. “I chose Hathaway, an exploration vessel to do something less routine with my last few years in the fleet.” Squidge sat back in her chair, comfortable as she was in almost any space, her animation of expression eccentric but charismatic. “I did plenty of bridge time commanding shifts on my old ship, I was hoping to do the same here.”

“I understand…” Jinaril’s gaze lingered on Squidge, his eyes tracing the lines of experience etched in Squidge’s face. “I’ve seen that you completed the bridge exam in 2395 and also covered shifts on the Io.” 

His voice softened, carrying a weight of acknowledgment. “Between us, Squidge, your record speaks volumes. I do not doubt that you belong—on every bridge, away team, or medical rotation you desire.”

As Jinaril’s words trailed off, his gaze drifted to the lounge around them. The room, appearing vibrant with the warmth of camaraderie, secretly wore a heavy shroud of sorrow.

Among the scattered groups of individuals, Jinaril noticed weary faces attempting to mask their exhaustion with forced laughter. As conversations ebbed and flowed, Amid this apparent normalcy Jinaril could sense the unspoken anguish that hung thick in the air, the lines etched upon their brows, a reminder of the events only a month ago.

A forced smile here, a stifled sigh there—each movement spoke volumes of the burden they carried.

“Take a look around…” Jinaril’s voice lowered, edged with a hint of solemnity. 

“We’ve taken heavy hits of late, losing too many of our own—both young and old.” His words carried a weight, heavy with the memories of those who had fallen. 

“The ones that remain…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group, “they need guidance, they need hope.”

A somber silence filled the space as he continued, “They need someone like you, Squidge—a beacon of experience in the darkness, unyielding.”

And there it was. Squidge’s usual appearance was to wear a slight smile. She was fairly jovial of nature, but she couldn’t deny the hushed and subdued ambiance alluded to by the younger man sat opposite. She was slightly surprised by the sudden shift in mood. The crew had clearly been through a lot, this was going to be more substantial a posting than the tick over counselling on Io. The smile became less jovial, more wry.

“Seems like I’m in the right place then,” she replied, uncertain of what else to do with the compliments. Frankly Squidge had half expected the younger officers to think of someone her age as old hat. “It was the last time the founders tried to kill us all that prompted my move from medical to counselling. I thought we were done with shape-shifter related trauma. Wish I wasn’t wrong.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that this is far from over,” Jinaril mused, his gaze drifting to the star-speckled expanse beyond the viewport. “If not the shapeshifters, there’ll always be some new terror lurking in the shadows of space.”

“And what’s your plan then?” he asked, his voice heavy with curiosity. “How do you intend to balance your counseling duties with your shifts on the bridge?”

Jinaril leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the counselor’s face, interested in her view on the matter. The Counsellor studied him back, almost just because he was studying her.

“Let’s face it, how often do people actually come see the Counsellor?” She asked, rhetorically. “Y’know, without being ordered or dragged physically… If everyone on board saw me three times a year that’s still less than five appointments per day, on average. Even if each of those is an hour with time in-between for notes and a break for lunch that’s basically eight hours per day. That leaves me a lot of hours.”

Jinaril’s eyes widened, the corners glistening with unshed tears, as an unexpected burst of laughter bubbled up from deep within him. His chest tightened with the effort of containing the amusement, his body shaking with silent mirth. After a moment, as he fought to regain control, he turned to Squidge with a lopsided grin.

The laughter finally escaped in a series of hearty chuckles, each one echoing through the room. 

Jinaril wiped a tear from his eye, his voice still tinged with amusement as he addressed Squidge, “Honestly, Squidge,” he managed between laughs, “I pride myself on my focus, but your response just blindsided me.”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before he spoke again. “Nevertheless,” he began, his tone again composed, yet gentle, “I am obligated to remind you that your responsibilities extend beyond this moment. With five hundred souls relying on your counsel, their needs must remain your top priority.”

“Of course.” Squidge smiled placidly. “I wouldn’t have it ay other way. I also wouldn’t have to be on the bridge every day, twice a week or something. You don’t have to worry, I got my responsibilities. I know. Don’t get me wrong, being light-hearted doesn’t mean I’m not focused. I’m just being who the crew needs me to be. Not that it doesn’t come naturally. Let’s face it,” Squidge chuckled. “If the Counsellor’s all down and depressed then we really are fucked.”

“Absolutely, Squidge,” Jinaril’s voice softened with an air of agreement. 

With a fluid motion, he pushed his chair back, the metal scraping softly against the floor. Rising from his seat, he straightened the creases of his uniform with a deft hand, the fabric whispering softly. “Shall we venture to the bridge together?” he proposed, a gentle nod indicating the direction. “Captain Romaes awaits our presence for the ship’s departure.”

“Then let’s!” Squidge agreed enthusiastically and rose to go just as her Cappucino arrived.

“Ah, thanks, “ she smiled to the server. ”Could I get that to go?”

Was it her imagination or did ensigns talk way more these days?

Even though the shuttle journey had been (thankfully) short, Enna still felt like her ears were bleeding from the incessant chatter of the younger crewmembers also transferring to the Hathaway. As expected, they flocked to the door as soon as the shuttle touched down, small packs with them that indicated they’d sent their belongings on ahead.

Entering the primary shuttlebay at a stride, arms swinging freely by her side, Hathaway’s engineering chief was deep in conversation with one of her subordinates whilst they watched the new Type-14 make contact with the deck plating. The clash of metal on metal hushed the bay momentarily and signalled the right time for the Lieutenant to dispatch her subordinate.

Enna stood from her seat in the corner of the shuttle as the others started to file out, uncurling herself and reaching for her pack. It was large, and not starfleet issue, with the faded and worn patches from her old unit still stitched to the side under her name tape.

Ducking out of the shuttle, she stepped out of the shuttle and onto the bay floor.

‘There she is,’ Prida smiled as she finally caught sight of the woman she was waiting for. Standing on her tiptoes so she could be seen past the crowd of people, the Bajassian waved her hand frantically. “Chief Mason! Over here,” she called to the newcomer.

Enna paused mid-stride at the call, turning toward the voice and spotting a hand waving over the head of the gaggle of ensigns. She waited until they’d swarmed by and found herself face to face with a lieutenant in a gold-shouldered uniform.

“Ma’am,” she said, offering a small smile. 

Her reassignment had been last minute so she hadn’t had time to read up on her fellow crew members or superiors yet. She should have done it on the transfer really but with the short time frame she knew she’d have to hit the ground running… which meant that she’d spent the transfer time asleep, only waking to make changes between ships and shuttles. She’d spent years sleeping in the back rack of a tank, so she could sleep anywhere. But it also meant that she had no idea who the woman in front of her was.

Offering her hand in greeting to the new arrival, the grey-skinned woman gave a wide grin. “Lieutenant Prida Rala, chief engineer,” she introduced herself.

That solved the gap in her knowledge. Enna took her hand with a smile and shook firmly. 

“Chief Petty Officer Enna Mason, deck chief,” she replied. “Seems we’ll be working together.”

“And a lot of work we have. May I?” the Bajassian began, smiling as she reached for the newcomer’s pack so she could have a little relief after her journey. “The ship’s undergone some changes in recent weeks and, as you can see, we’re completely rebuilding the shuttlebays to make the launch and retrieval of our new squadron the main focus. After the chaos of the Dominion conflict, and then Frontier Day, there’s no way they’ll send this ship out there without added protection,” Prida told, leading her new colleague towards the massive shuttlebay doors.

“Err… sure, if you’re sure? It’s heavy,” Enna managed in the split second before her pack was gone.

She looked around as they walked, noting the construction. She’d still been waking up when they’d arrived, and her seat hadn’t had a good angle on the viewport anyway. “So I can see. Is this the only construction that’s underway at the moment?”

If it wasn’t, then she might have to make some adjustments to ensure the bays ran smoothly.

“This is the bulk of it. Rest of the stuff is updates and improvements following recent events,” Prida told her new colleague as they walked the Hathaway‘s hallowed halls. “Our biggest issue is power consumption and distribution to the shuttlebays, and the adjustment of several sensor pallets around the primary hull,” was her next revelation. 

Enna nodded, absorbing the information as they walked. “How far along are those improvements?“ she asked. “Will they be complete before we leave? Or are we hitting the ground running with them?”

“We’ll be working on the go. We have until we reach the Kanaan system to have the deck working efficiently and the squadron ready for launch manoeuvres,” the Chief Engineer told the senior enlisted officer. “Given issues elsewhere on the ship, I’d like you to oversee the final stages of the redevelopment, if that’s acceptable to you, Chief?” the Bajassian asked.

“Of course,” Enna said with a nod. “I’ll need access to the redevelopment files and the current timeline, but I can hit the ground running. Just need to drop my pack off and I’m good to go.”

“They’ve already been sent to your personal workstation and your teams are already hard at work. If you need anything from me, let me know. The Captain has made the completion of the shuttlebay refurb a top priority,” Prida stopped when they were outside the door. “Your quarters are on deck three with the majority of the senior staff. Spartan, but clean,” she smiled, looking back at the chaos of the shuttlebay.

“I will do, and clean is always good.” Enna chuckled as she saw the direction of the other woman’s gaze. Deck three had been way more than she’d expected but she didn’t allow that to show on her face. “And I’m more than used to spartan.”

Smiling, she held her hand out for her pack. “I’ll get my stuff racked and get started then, ma’am. Thank you for the welcome party.”

“Anytime,” Prida grinned, handing back the woman’s pack before heading for the turbo lift at the opposite end of the hall.

Enna smiled as she slung the heavy pack over her shoulder and watched the chief engineer walk away for a second. She hadn’t had a welcome like that onto many ships she’d served on. It was… nice. 

Then she turned and headed off, padd already in hand to familiarise herself with what needed to be done.

The buzz around Sickbay had finally calmed down. The emergency plans and drills had yielded better results than Salara had anticipated. She didn’t honestly know what to expect, never having worked with this crew before. Regardless, they were ready for a crisis; everyone knew their place and roles. Selara enjoyed watching the senior members mentor the more junior ones.

“How was the send-off, doctor?” Ensign Korren said, poking his head into her office.

Selara frowned, “A bit underwhelming, to be honest. It felt like everyone had a place except me. And then I remembered this is my place.” She made a sweeping gesture to indicate the Sickbay. “I don’t pilot the ship or fire phasers. We’re a bit like engineers in that regard,” she considered this. “I can monitor things from the Bridge, but I’m more hands-on than that.” She hadn’t considered that leaving space dock had a bigger, more profound effect on her crew.

“Mr. Korren, something just occurred to me.”

“Ma’am?”

“I haven’t explored the ship. I came straight from dock to my quarters, to here. I saw Captain Romaes, then back here.” She quickly nodded, “I think a nice walk will do me good.” She stood, hung her coat on the hanger, and left Sickbay.

As the doors closed, she considered what would be a good destination. Anything departmental would be too busy right now, and her presence would be disruptive. “I should see this lounge that everyone is talking about. I shall go boldly!” She chuckled to herself. Traversing throughout the ship, she found the entrance to the lounge. And she only got lost once, much to her satisfaction. The doors opened as she approached, revealing the massive space that was the lounge. “This is everything that everyone in Sickbay said it was…” 

Selara stared in amazement at the aquarium towards the back. Almost instinctively, she found herself moving towards it. There wasn’t anything particularly charming about it, and Selara wasn’t naturally drawn to sea life. But the hulking beast had a presence that demanded to be recognized. Indeed, standing next to it she felt very small. “If this is meant to help one to remember their place in the galaxy, it does an amazing job.” She craned her neck to look at the top, but the combined eye and neck strain until it was no longer tolerable. “You win today, aquarium,” she chuckled. “Perhaps a drink to contemplate things,” she said, making her way to the bar.

Many souls with many dreams, many looks and many languages all brought together in a singularity of purpose, the Starship Hathaway was a myriad array of cultures, resplendent in individuality and yet all brought together by the abstract hope of the Federation. Nowhere aboard the seemingly indomitable Sagan class cruiser said this more than the Starlight Lounge, named aptly for the mystical glow it produced, both in lights and ambiance. An open space across two levels and yet it was intimate, cool, and calm yet comfortable and exciting. The variety of seating matched the variety of species at work on Hathaway and this was dwarfed by the number of drinks on offer, a number recently augmented by one. The Starlight lounge had the accolade of being the only place in the Federation to offer the fusion cocktail quv’Ha, notable for being one of the few if perhaps one of the only cocktails of Klingon origin, the species often being too proud and serious, too honorable to brook many similar concoctions. Seen from the eyes of an imagined deity on high its creator bounced between tables, corners, nooks, and groups all the while like a pinball. And like a pinball also she invariably inevitably returned with the force of gravity to the anchor of the space, a bar that held an element of mystery, an invisible intangible forcefield that prevented those without the bestowed moniker of ‘bartender’ from being admitted to the secrets of what lay behind in the unseen shelves adorned with bottle and utensil.

Similar in mystery was Kriana, the part-Klingon attendant who moved about the space with unending poise and grace that could never be taught. She smiled and laughed with some and depending on their mood commiserated or uplifted others. With some she chatted cordially or, if required, spoke little as the business of the crew took its priority. Her stilettoed boots covered many miles each day, most of which was spent entirely in the Starlit social hub of the ship. The pale blue mood lighting threw shadow to the ridges of her forehead, the glittering neutral overheads highlighting the darkness of her long and thick hair that tumbled in a waterfall of waves around her pale shoulders.

After an intense quarter of an hour moving solely between tables and preparing drinks there were, it seemed, no customers requiring her services at this moment so Kriana took a welcome moment for a break. She placed her tray down on the bar and with a perfectly manicured hand resplendent in a piano-black nail polish took up a glass from her preferred spot under the surface and allowed herself a long slug of water.

Still, in contemplation of her environment, Selara took a seat at the bar. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before,” she finally spoke, still carrying the note of wonderment. “There’s a bar on Denobula that has a marine/under-the-sea theme, but this brings things to a new level.” She chuckled, “I must sound like an enthralled schoolgirl. I’m Selara, the CMO aboard.” She wondered about using the prefix doctor or commander. Both would seem redundant as it was obvious by her rank pips and being the CMO carried the assumption she was a doctor. Plus this was a place to unwind, not to stand on formality.

“It’s certainly an upgrade from my last place,” Kriana offered from behind the bar with the slightest of smiles, leaning forward and allowing the shades of blue and warm white light to cast varying shadows across her face. “I’m Kriana. Can I get you something?”

Selara considered this question, she wasn’t much of a drinker. “A mint julep perhaps?” It was something her second husband had drank regularly, after discovering it on a Starbase stay. “A synthehol version, I’m still on duty,” she chuckled. “Out of curiosity, what’s your drink? Every bartender I’ve ever met has a drink they created or specialize in.”

“Mint Julep…” Kriana repeated this and brought up an aide memoire of the recipe on a monitor that was subtly built into the bar infrastructure. But she stopped a moment when Selara asked about her drink. Her default moody Klingon pout morphed into a slightly mischievous smile.

“quvHa’!” Her eyes blazed as she spoke the Klingon, intoned with the accuracy of a native speaker. “It means dishonored. Brandy, Na’ran, bitter Orange, a mix of spices known only to me, and a few drops of blood wine. I wanted to make a syntheholic version called ‘ach jIH!, meaning the most dishonored, but Synthohol blood wine doesn’t exist,” Kriana explained. “Traditional glass for your Mint Julep, or modern?”

Selara laughed at the bold response. I appeared the question woke something up in Kriana. “That sounds delightful, but definitely an off-duty drink. But I’ll remember that for later,” she chuckled. “I’m not sure you could call it blood wine if it wasn’t alcoholic. I can’t think of any Klingon worth their honor who would touch it.” Selara realized she hadn’t answered the question, “Ah, modern?” She shrugged, “I’m not sure what the difference is. My second husband drinks them all the time and it was the first cocktail that came to mind.”

It was Kriana’s turn to chuckle. 

“No Klingon worth their honor would touch it, that’s the point,” she explained. “It is mockery, it’s disrespect. It’s revenge. But on the subject of Mint Juleps, according to this…” Kriana indicated to her screen “…there is a traditional version served in a pewter cup where frost forms on the outside so you only hold it by the top or bottom edge. Up to you.” 

“Well, that does look quite fancy,” Selara said, in a ridiculous English accent. 

Kriana moved behind the bar, swiftly locating a bottle of bourbon and another of syrup that were placed together in front of Selara. She moved to another spot and, after sanitising her hands with a small sonic device acquired a few stems of mint from a stash somewhere under the bar. Placing them down by the bottles all but one stem were crushed in her hands in a subtle yet visceral execution of force.

“Where does he live, your second husband?” Kriana asked, her dark eyes moving between Selara and her preparations. As the daughter of a diplomat, Denobulan customs were quite familiar to her.

Selara made a thoughtful face, “I’m not sure. He disappears for years at a time. He’s an academic, anthropologist specifically.” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. She watched Kriana work as she spoke, “I think he was an overcorrection of my first husband. My first is a chef, a big family man. He’s a very open person, loved by all who meet him.” Selara sighed at the words, “What about you? Do you have a family here?”

Kriana gave her work and the doctor equal eye time as she prepared the ingredients. Next to arrive at the bar were a shot measure and a cocktail shaker. She gave Selara more of a smile now. It was nice to be treated as an equal by someone so important.

“Yes, my wife is in Security,” she explained as she scooped pre-crushed ice into the shaker. “Her name is Fearne.” 

“I’ll keep a watch for her, I’m sure I’ll run into her at some point. My wife is why I’m here. Not here, here… but in Starfleet. She convinced me to travel the stars with her,” She smiled, “It’s kind of romantic if you think about it.”

Kriana kept her eyebrows towards the thicker side, it was more of a stylistic choice than a reference to Klingon norms. It suited her. Both eyebrows raised at the mention of a wife. Kriana smiled genuinely rather than the polite smiles that had preceded. “Oh you’ll notice Fearne,” she confirmed assuredly as she poured the last scoop of ice into the shaker. “She’s the British security crewman with two different colour eyes. But hold up… what’s an anthropologist? And is it bad to be loved by all? Sounds kinda nice…” 

“An anthropologist is another word for a stuffy academic who spends their time in libraries. It seems like that’s all he does.” She chuckled, “Seriously though, it’s someone who studies aspects of people within their societies. And you have different specialties that study economics, biology, or, in the case of my husband, linguistics. He could dazzle you with the hundreds of languages he speaks.” She considered Kriana’s question, “It’s not a bad thing being loved by everyone. He’s a very charming and charismatic man, which is why I fell in love with him, but I can see how it can exhaust him. I worry for his health sometimes.” She frowned at the thought. “It sounds like I’m complaining, but I love them both. I love all of them actually. But they’re all workaholics and I worry about them.”

Kriana nodded as she span the top of the bourbon bottle and removed it deftly to measure out a shot.

“I can’t imagine three spouses, one is bad enough! Fearne’s mental as a barrel of targs.” Kriana observed. “In a good way!” she added quickly. ”I never came across a same-sex relationship with Denobulans though, is that common?” Perhaps others might have been more worried about asking personal questions. Despite her limited years, Kriana had given up caring about such things long before.

Selara chuckled, “It can get difficult, especially when they all get moody. But then I remember they’re dealing with the same thing with multiple spouses too.” She paused, watching Kriana work. It was all very fascinating watching her throw seemingly random things together to make a concoction. It reminded her of a witch’s brew. “Same-sex relationships aren’t very commonplace, but they’re overall accepted in Denobulan society. But that acceptance has been slow going. The opinion of the Denobulan people is want each other to be happy. If that means marrying someone of the same sex, so be it. Typically those that do only have one. Not out of shame, but like I said… slow going.”

Kriana stirred a measure of syrup with the crushed mint sprig, her attention between the recipe screen, her hands, and Selara. Despite the split, she didn’t miss a word. She grunted with recognition at the mention of slow going. Much as Kriana didn’t like to be associated with Klingon traits, the grunt in lieu of a proper response was definitely one. The bartender thought of all the expectations that had been put upon her, the daughter of a diplomat, even if she was more biologically human than Klingon, and how she was considered a problem child. How her father, who was really actually her uncle had been so exasperated with her apparent lack of honour and duty he’d celebrated her settling down with anyone in pretty much any fashion. The fact it had been a bog-standard Starfleet Crewman and a woman to boot was almost not even a consideration. Kriana toyed with the idea of saying this to Selara but kept quiet about it, for the moment at least.

“Are your marriages expected to produce Children?” She asked as a follow-up, “I thought Denobula was kinda overcrowded? Or something?”

“No, there’s isn’t expectation of children. Some do, and some don’t,” She shrugged, “I have two with my first husband, who in turn has three with his first wife. My second husband never desired any, he felt they were unnecessary to his academic pursuits. My wife,” Selara sighed deeply, “wanted children and tried with all of her spouses, but it was not meant to be. She eventually had to stop trying after several near-fatal instances.”

“I’m sorry,” Kriana said softly and retrieved a cocktail glass from under the counter.

Selara sat quietly for a moment, then the cheerfulness returned, “Denobula is very crowded, but not everyone who’s born there stays. We are a naturally curious people, and Starfleet is an excellent chance to stretch our legs, as it were.”

“What about you? Any children with Fearne? Any desire to have any?”

“Ummmmmmmmmmm…” Kriana gave her response visible consideration as she poured the two shots into the cocktail shaker and popped the mint sprig in for good measure. “Not right now,” she answered after a few seconds of loud shaking which then degenerated into gentle swilling. “We’re kinda getting settled? At the moment? Sort of enjoying not moving around too much, being in like a permanent couple. We’re both kinda… strong characters so just… easy does it y’know? Honestly, I think both of us think we would be pretty rubbish parents at the moment and we’re probably right…” The cocktail was poured carefully out into the glass and Kirana garnished it with the final mint sprig. She picked up the glass by the stem and moved the few inches over to Selara.

“One syntheholic Mint Julep,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” she looked at the drink, creating a strategy to hold it as instructed. “There’s always time for children. Or, if you find you enjoy yourselves more together than you would with children,” she shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with that either. Thanks again for the conversation!” Selara watched as Kriana moved to serve an engineering officer who sat down.

Enna pursed her lips as she looked down at her padd. The construction was proceeding at a fast pace, but given that they were underway, she had made adjustments so they still had half a functional flight deck… just in case.

She should be working on two of the Valkyries as well. Maintenance issues had been flagged up on five and nine. She really needed to get into the systems and figure out what was causing the flags…  after she gave the XO a tour. Somehow she didn’t think ‘shuttlebay, fighters, shuttles, runabouts… any questions?’ was going to cut it.

No, she was going to have to do the whole walk and talk thing. Be. Nice.

She sighed.

Great.

Jinaril’s footsteps echoed softly as he made his way through the unfamiliar corridors of the Hathaway. Despite its similarity in size to the California-class ship he once served on, there was a subtle complexity to its layout that kept him on his toes. Thankfully, the ship’s computer was there to guide him through the maze of passages.

Approaching a pair of imposing double doors marked ‘Main Shuttle Operations‘, Jinaril paused momentarily before they parted with a quiet hiss. Inside, his gaze fell upon a figure bathed in the glow of her PADD. Her blonde hair caught the light, framing her features in a soft halo. She matched the description of the Chief he had set out to meet.

With a confident stride, Jinaril extended his hand in greeting. “Chief Petty Officer Mason,” he began, his voice steady, “I am Commander Jinaril Miller. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She looked up, clicking the padd off and holding it tucked against her forearm as she shook his hand.

“Likewise, sir,” she offered with a polite smile. “I understand you’d like the grand tour? I’m afraid it’s a little dirty still down here,” she admitted, aware of the grease stain across one of her jacket shoulders, and she was probably tracking dirt from the build section everywhere. “But construction gets that way, I’m afraid.”

He was tall for a human, easily the same height as her, which was good. It meant she wouldn’t be looking down at him all the time. Nor would he have to go through the ridiculous tricks some men felt necessary when dealing with a woman taller than themselves. Another good thing because all the boxes in the shuttle bay were either in use or stowed away.

“Don’t fret, Chief,” he said, his tone gentle yet assured, a glint of camaraderie shining in his eyes. Memories of his own beginnings in Operations brought a genuine smile to his lips as he spoke. “My career began amidst the hustle of OPS, so I’m intimately acquainted with the ebb and flow of these processes.” His smile widened, conveying a silent understanding. 

“And as for the mundane, feel free to breeze through. I know your hands are likely tied with more pressing matters,” he suggested with a knowing nod.

“Excellent, this will make things far quicker then,” she said, her stance relaxing a bit. Only a bit, given he was, after all a senior officer and the XO of the ship. Turning slightly, she swept her arm out a little. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll bring you up to speed with where we are.”

Setting off at a fast pace, she continued talking. “I’ve made adjustments to the construction schedule. Obviously, as we’re underway and not in the safety of dock, maintaining a working fighter hangar was the main priority, so… as you can see, I’m keeping the fighters stationed on the port side of the hangar for now, in the unaltered section.” 

She waved her hand at the sheeted, sectioned-off area behind the fighters. “Ignore that, it’s cosmetic. That’s to stop the ensigns wandering in and touching sh—touching things they shouldn’t. Once we’re done, I’ll get the panels put back into place.”

“Excellent, we certainly don’t want them touching shit,” Jinaril remarked with a grin. He then inquired, “Could you elaborate on the primary advantages the upgrades will offer?”

“I find it’s always best with ensigns. Bless their hearts.” Her lips quirked at the corners. “Okay, so a lot of this is going to be really boring, and buried deep in the power management and maintenance systems. Basically put, it’s going to allow us to launch faster and once fighters are back in, will allow us to run checks and get on any repairs quicker. Which will be a huge benefit when these guys are active,” she said, indicating the Valkyries with a thumb over her shoulder. “Faster we get ‘em mended, the faster they’re out and weapons hot.”

As Jinaril followed the Chief through the facility, he couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between the current operation and the Californian-style stunting he had grown accustomed to. Gone were the flashy maneuvers and haphazard organization; instead, he observed a methodical approach to every task. Equipment was neatly arranged, and personnel worked in synchronized harmony. Jinaril found himself increasingly impressed with each passing moment, silently acknowledging the level of expertise displayed.

Amidst this atmosphere of precision, a question bubbled up within Jinaril. He glanced at the Chief, with a slight clearing of his throat, Jinaril spoke up, “Chief, if there’s anything you need, you can count on me to assist.”

She offered a small smile. The XO seemed laid back but she’d noticed the keen gleam of intelligence in his eyes and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he was making mental notes on everything he was seeing and hearing. No one got to the elevated position of executive officer without being aware.

“Your door will be the first I knock down,” she replied. “Have to see how you handle a set of spanners before I let you loose on my Valkyries though,” she added, with a slight teasing note.

“No worries, with you around, I’ve got spanner wrangling covered,” Jinaril’s lips curled into a mischievous grin as he eyed the toolbox nearby. His fingers hovered over the metallic tools, teasingly tapping them. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he added, “Shoot me a list of everything you need ASAP. I’ll make sure there won’t be any hiccups during the project.” His gaze softened, gratitude evident in his voice as he turned to Chief Mason. “Oh, and chief, I want to express my gratitude for this thorough tour. It’s been really enlightening to see the ins and outs of the operation firsthand.”

She smiled, and inclined her head. “You are very welcome. Feel free to pop down any time you fancy getting a break from the high pressures of the bridge.” Holding her padd by the corner, she waggled it. “And expect a hefty list from me shortly.”

Ay’dar and Ephriam had been in the marksmanship simulation for over an hour now and Ephriam felt as though it might as well have been ten with how he was feeling. Ay’dar seemed to be in his glory and as though he could keep going forever. This whole session though had confirmed for Ephriam that he did not hit up the gym nearly as much as he should. 

“I think I’ve been killed enough for one day, haven’t I?” Ephriam asked a bit short of breath as the two had finished another sprint for cover. 

Ay’dar glanced at Ephriam, a low growl escaping him before he uttered, “Who dares wi…”

“I know–I know–the SAS would not be giving in this quickly.” Ephriam grinned and then looked around the edge of the large cement block they were using as cover, one of the holodeck’s enemy creations was in visual so he quickly held his phaser out and fired hitting the enemy with success. The modified gripping technique Ay’dar had suggested for him certainly improved his aim.

Ay’dar’s gaze lingered on Ephriam, his expression softening imperceptibly as he witnessed the scene. “Your strides speak volumes,” he noted quietly.

“Helps to have a good teacher,” Ephriam gave Ay’dar a nod and a grateful expression. Certainly, the session had been grueling but he believed fully that it had already paid off. That – and he had quickly grown to enjoy the company of the gruff and stern giant of a man. 

“Alright. Let’s keep moving!” Ephriam stated with enthusiasm and began to run forward now that the way had been cleared by both of them. Despite the holodeck safety protocols in place, Ephriam managed to twist his right ankle and fall to the ground mid-sprint. After he hit the holodeck floor, he groaned in discomfort as the pain started shooting up his ankle and leg.

“Computer, freeze program,” Ay’dar’s command sliced through the air, his words carrying authority. With a fluid motion, he turned to face Ephriam, his steps deliberate, eyes scanning for any hint of discomfort. “Adrasin,” he said softly, his concern palpable in the furrow of his brow and the gentle urgency in his tone, “do you require medical attention?”

Ephriam’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I-I don’t think it’s broken, I didn’t hear anything snap. Did you?” He shouted out again in pain as Ay’dar palpated the area. He wanted in this moment to somehow dig a hole in one of the nearby sandbars and just crawl into it to be forgotten.

“I did not,” Ay’dar’s voice held a quiet resolve as he extended his hand towards Ephriam, the muscles in his arm tensing with the effort of lifting him.  Ay’dar adjusted his stance, his frame leaning slightly to accommodate Ephriam’s weight, every movement deliberate as he prepared to navigate them both towards the exit, his determination etched into the lines of his face.

“Computer, end program,” Ay’dar’s voice sliced through the air, yet again, commanding authority resonating in each syllable. Obeying his directive, the surroundings dissolved into shimmering pixels, fading away into the digital abyss.

Sickbay, for the most part, was relatively quiet. A few minor things came in, usually resulting in a quick resolution and dismissal from care. Selara began whistling a tune while she reviewed data on her last patient. “That silly song again,” she chuckled at her absent-mindedness. 

Ephriam leaned into Ay’dar, perhaps a little closer and harder than he needed to. He had been thankful for the man’s help as they finally arrived in Sickbay. Despite being down a foot and leg, Ay’dar had been a fine replacement and he felt an odd and welcome sense of securement. That securement however certainly was overshadowed by his embarrassment. Ephriam’s face had remained a blush crimson red and he had apologized profusely the entire trip to Sickbay. 

“I’m so sorry Ay’dar.” Ephriam added once again for a fifth time.

“This marks the final instance,” Ay’dar uttered as they made their way, their steps faltering, into the medical facility.

“Over here,” Selara guided the two men to a nearby biobed. “Ms. Sukal…” She called out, the Vulcan nodded and joined the group at the bed. She stood awaiting orders.

“Doctor.. I’m glad it’s you.” Ephriam’s face looked grateful as he greeted the physician. He was grateful it was one of his direct peers and a fellow member of senior staff that was present. 

“I twisted my ankle. It’s difficult to weight bear on it without pain. We didn’t hear anything snap, right Lieutenant Ay’dar? I don’t think its broken. Is it?” Ephriam’s grateful expression was replaced with an anxious one as he began to ramble.

Already running the tricorder probe over Ephriam’s ankle, Selara nodded. “It’s not broken, Lieutenant,” she confirmed without looking from her tricorder. “Nothing’s torn… just some strained tendons, which is good.” She spoke to Sukal, “Let’s start Mr. Adrasin on some RICE therapy.” Sukal nodded and left the bedside.

“I’m giving you 2cc of terakine. It’ll start kicking in when your adrenaline wears off. You’ll be thankful for it,” she chuckled, pressing the hypospray to his neck. “We’ll start with some ice and compression to reduce swelling,” she moved Ephriam to a lying position and elevated his leg. “We’ll monitor for a couple of hours and see how things progress.” She spoke to Ay’dar, “Are you injured as well?”

Ay’dar fixed his gaze on the Denobulan doctor and replied with a characteristic gruff “No.”

“Very good,” Selara nodded, unmoved. She turned to Ephriam, “Let me know if you need anything else.” She walked away. Sukal arrived with ice packs and wraps. Wordlessly, she wrapped the ice packs around Ephriam’s wounded ankle. She paused a moment to examine her finished work and left the bedside.

Ephriam nodded in thanks to both Selara and the officer who dressed his ankle. He sighed in relief once it was just him and Ay’dar once more.  “I was hoping they’d let me retreat to my quarters right away but guess I’m stuck here for a little bit.” He looked up at Ay’dar and continued, “you don’t need to stay here Ay’dar, I’m sure there is something more important you want to do with your time. Thank you for helping me get here and for taking the time to mentor me on my marksmanship.”

Ay’dar nodded solemnly and walked towards the door, which hissed open as he neared. Pausing at the threshold, he looked back over his shoulder. His gaze softened upon seeing Ephriam still resting. “I’ll begin preparing the next course once you’ve recovered, Effie,” he whispered, his words a warm promise in the cool air as he finally stepped through the doorway.

The fighter was in better shape than Ema was right now. Testing out the new refitted fighters and working out the kinks before more than their lives hung in the balance was imperative. The leak from the port thruster had finally opened up enough that the thruster stopped working altogether. Initially, Emagyn was excited to have the fighters back, polished and updated. The lure of shiny hardware was nearly impossible to resist. Putting the new hands-on throttle and stick into practice had come with some unexpected bargains. 

“Hathaway, this is Cerberus – Two. I’ve had a mechanical malfunction in the reaction control systems. The ship has isolated the problem, but I am returning for repair. Please have medical standing by as I can barely move my right shoulder. She knocked me up…I mean around out here. I think dislocated my shoulder.”

“Do you need emergency beam out, Cerberus?”, the landing signals officer on the Hathaway replied.

“Negative Hathaway. I’ve been through far worse. Open the shuttle bay door. On final approach.” Ema countered. 

“LSO to Sickbay.”

“This is Selara, go ahead,” she said, tapping her communicator.

“We’ve received a medical request from Cerberus Two.”

“Pretend I don’t know what that means.”

Hesitation. “It’s a member of the ship’s fighter group, ma’am.”

One of the emergency teams, listening to the conversation, waited for confirmation from the doctor. Selara nodded to them, and they headed out of Sickbay. “I’m sending a team to the shuttlebay now. Selara out.” She tapped to close the channel.

The emergency team stood waiting, bags in hand, for the craft to land.

The landing went textbook. After the shutdown, she was already pulling the panel apart when the medics arrived.

“Ma’am, we’re here to render aid as requested,” a team member spoke as he approached the fighter.

Tossing the cover panel unceremoniously on the floor of the fighter, she reached in with her right hand while wincing through gritted teeth, “One second.” While she successfully pulled the part out from the new stick controller she needed to look at, pain shot up her right torso, arm, and shoulder. After slipping the recalcitrant piece into a leg cargo pocket, she was more than ready.

“Ok. That was an interesting mistake.” She said, finally slipping out of the restraints Ema had loosened upon landing. Emagyn managed to get 30% of the way out of the cockpit, mostly on the left, before having to be assisted by the medics.

Watching from nearby, Squadron Leader Orys Ch’tosrik waved over a maintenance team to the craft. “Help the medical team get the XO to sickbay and then complete a thorough review of the craft,” the Commander instructed, then placed a gentle hand on the XO’s good arm. “Make sure you do everything you’re told. You’re grounded until the CMO says otherwise, so don’t rush back,” the Andorian told her bluntly. Like all pilots, he was sure she’d be rushing back to get in the cockpit otherwise.

One of the more muscular members of the emergency team helped extract Emagyn from the cockpit. The leader, a female Vulcan, opened up a tricorder and moved the probe over Emagyn’s torso, taking care to work around the rescuers. “I am showing fractures bilaterally on the 3rd ribs, multiple hairline fractures on the right 1st and 5th ribs.” She looked at the tricorder, “Fascinating,” she raised an eyebrow. “Some fractures are previous injuries. It would indicate they were improperly healed.” More scanning, “Tears to your trapezius and partial impingement due to torn rotator cuff tendons.”

“What she’s saying is you’re worse for wear,” the final member came alongside with an anti-grav stretcher.

The woman raised an eyebrow, “I would not use such blunt terms.” She began loading a hypospray, “I am giving you 10 ccs of terakine for the pain. Your adrenaline will wear off soon and with it severe pain.” She pressed the hypospray to Emagyn’s neck. Now please lie down.” She gestured to the stretcher.

“Trust me Doc, I won’t fight anyone on this.” As she lies down, her shoulder winced. Using her left hand, she struck her left leg in sympathy as she exclaimed, “Christ!” through clenched teeth.  

The Vulcan woman started to speak, but one of the team members stopped her, “They always think we’re doctors. There’s no sense in correcting them.”

As the other two team members secured Emagyn, the Vulcan tapped her communicator, “Sukal to Sickbay, we are returning with the Lieutenant.”

“Understood, Sickbay out.” And the line closed.

The team entered Sickbay with the anti-grav stretcher. They met Selara and a team of medical officers at a nearby biobed. The team moved Emagyn to the bed. “Well,” Selara spoke, looking at the display screen of Emagyn’s scan. “When you injure yourself, you don’t do it in half measures.” She chuckled, “The fractures aren’t too severe and look straightforward. A few hours with an osteo-regenerator should be enough.”

“I’m sensing more. Continue, Doctor,”  Emagyn responded, now slightly more lucid with the analgesic painkiller she’d been given. 

Her fingers traced the muscle and tendon tears on the screen. “Your other injuries are a different story. It may require surgery, I’ll have to conduct a deeper scan.” She placed a hand on Emagyn’s good shoulder. “We’ll start with the fractures.” She looked up, “Mr. Korren, would you be so kind and bring an osteo-regenerator?”

The ensign nodded and grabbed a tool from a nearby table. He handed it to Selara. “How much terakine was given in the field?”

“10,” Sukal answered.

Selara frowned, “Prep me some asinolyathin and metorapan,” she paused. “Something low dose, we’ll start with 2. Keep it on standby just in case. And let’s keep a continuous scan in case something in there doesn’t like what I’m doing.”

Ensign Korren nodded and began prepping the hyposprays. He locked the bed’s scanning array over Emagyn and entered commands into it, initiating a real time scan.

Activating the oseto-regenerator, she looked down at Emagyn, “We’ll have you feeling a lot better in a moment, Lieutenant.” Selara worked in silence, moving with the mastery of a weaver creating a tapestry.

”Thanks, Doc.” Ema said sincerely. She had her share and more of accidents, scrapes, and even a crash or three. 

“All right… I think that will about do it,” Selara took a quick glance at Emagyn’s biological readings. She set her instrument down on the tray. “Lieutenant Mox, begin titrating down the kayolane. Once she’s reached the neurological threshold, begin the reversal agent.”

The Trill pushed a few commands on the display screen. “We should reach equilibrium in 3 minutes,” he reported.

Selara nodded, “Very good.” She stepped away from the surgical table and removed her sterile attire. “Let me know when she’s recovered from the anesthetics. I’ll be in my office.”

Light bothered her eyes. She heard someone far off say her name. Was it a dream? No, it was close by. Ema wasn’t alert enough to form sentences. Her mouth opened, but nothing happened. Clearing her throat and smacking her lips, she felt someone hand her a cup. Sickbay she was in sickbay. Feeling the cool water, she attempted again. “So how long until the anesthetic kicks in?” Ema asked.

“Oh, your surgery is already done.”

“Already? That was fast.”

“It’s been hours, Lieutenant.”

“So, I get breakfast?” Ema asked.

“I think that can be arranged,” Selara said, arriving at the bedside. She watched Emagyn with the offered water. “It looks like you’re swallowing well, that’s a good start.” She looked at the post-op report on the screen. “It’ll be boring to start, nothing fatty or carb heavy, and see where things go from there.” She looked at the nurse, “Put in a diet order for soft foods. We’ll monitor things throughout the day and advance as appropriate.”

Selara turned her attention to Emagyn. “We’ll have you hang out with us for the day while you recover.” She looked over the monitoring screen, ”We were able to fix the muscle tear, it turns out was in multiple places. The torn tendons were a little tougher, which they tend to be, but overall the surgery went well.” She consulted a PADD in her hand, “We can get away with a sling and light duty for a week. After that, we’ll reevaluate things. We can start PT whenever you feel up to it, but don’t push too hard. I don’t need you ruining our handiwork.” She smiled.

Finally feeling more awake, Ema sipped more at the water as she listened. “Doc, you got it. I am not in a rush to repeat that. That wasn’t bravado but a mechanical failure.” Gingerly moving, there was discomfort to be expected. ”I can deal with light duty.”

The unwritten rule is that all went out the window when other lives were on the line. The medicos were no different in that regard, and danger was part of the job. 

“All right, I’ll leave you to your recovery,” Selara placed her hand on Emagyn’s good shoulder. “If you need anything, Ensign Korren can help you.” She walked away back to her office.

Emagyn had the nurse apply a painkilling micro-dose patch on the injured side. Deciding not to slip her uniform tunic back on, she thanked the staff and headed for the overstuffed couch in her quarters.

Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

Hathaway has dropped out of warp outside of the Kanaan system, almost three hours ahead of schedule. I’ve decided to take the opportunity to conduct a series of tests of new and improved systems, including the new launch procedures for the fighter squadron. An asteroid field, known locally as the Gauntlet, is just a few thousand kilometres from here and should be an interesting proving ground.

 

Before we get there, however, a signal on the edge of the system has piqued our curiosity…

Ephriam’s consoles lit up like a Christmas tree had just been plugged in and immediately grabbed his attention. He was certain others on the Bridge had been given the same information warnings. His hands glided without effort across the controls of his station – he had quickly become acclimated to their layout in his time on board so far. “Captain. Sensors are picking up something I think you’ll want to see,” his hands continued to move across the panel to quickly work on confirmation of the ‘something’ he had indicated. “I believe it is a Ferengi vessel, sir. A marauder.” Ephriam looked up and turned slightly in his seat so he could make eye contact with Romaes.

Mason stayed quiet but immediately became alert when Ephriam reported the Ferengi vessel. He pressed a few commands on his console and located the vessel, and kept a close eye on it, preparing to match the vessel move-by-move if necessary. He looked up at the view screen, as the ship started to come into visual range, then back to his console, watching for any moves that required a counteraction. 

Romaes inched forward in his chair, planted his feet and turned his chair a fraction to starboard, his hands clasped to the armrests on either side. “Ferengi?” he asked with raised brows, “coming from where?”

“The Gauntlet,” Ay’dar noted, his eyes narrowing as he studied the blips on his console. The tension in his voice hinted at the gravity of his findings. Just then, a sharp chirp sliced through the air, drawing his attention away. “We’ve got an incoming hail, sir,” he announced, his fingers dancing over the controls.

“Take it away,” the Captain nodded, granting permission for his security chief to put the transmission through. The view screen was filled with the visage of a pouting Ferengi, almost unparalleled in ugliness. From her chair near the Captain’s own seat Squidge tried to classify his appearance, arriving on the descriptor of a shaved bulldog who had just eaten equal portions of bees and methamphetamine. Hair sprouted from the oversized lobes like reeds in a dark pot-hole pond of fetid, dirty water. The face grinned in a sickly smile showing a line of rose-thorn teeth who appeared to have had a committee meeting about which direction to point but had reached no particular agreement.

“Fed-er-a-shuuuun,” the voice was a sweet cake of welcome, heavily drizzled with a frosting of pure animosity. “Welcome to Kanaan, I will ask your purpose, perhaps we can be of… assistance.” The mouth returned to its pout around the jagged teeth.

If he had been in his first years of command, the grotesque creature’s comments may have triggered the Captain into a certain kind of response. Luckily for the Ferengi, the ‘Federation’ he faced had years of experience under his proverbial belt, and opted for a diplomatic approach to the engagement.

“Good afternoon Daimon,” the Captain nodded, the largest smile he could manage plastered across his face. “I welcome you to Federation space, sir, and respectfully ask the reason for your presence here, in our territory?” Romaes asked curiously, but deep down, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat cautious. Hoping to convey his inner feelings to his XO, the Captain started drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair closest to his first officer.

The Ferengi smiled again, subjecting the bridge crew to a festival of thorny vine teeth, grotesquely blown up to superhuman size by the view screen, and bad breath, not that they could smell it over the Comms, but Squidge would have put good money on it. She would have made bank, too. Brightly-coloured fingernails adorned the screen for a moment in a gesture of apparent openness.

“We have been conducting legitimate business in the area, trading with our Hoo-maan compatriots, all fair transactions at good prices as is deserved by the Federashuun. We spied this asteroid field and took the… opportunity… to further train our pilots.”

Squidge analysed his manner for a moment. If that statement was true, Squidge was a Tarkalean sheep. But you didn’t have to be a psychologist to work that out.

“Oh?” Romaes raised an eyebrow, “What is it that you trade, sir? Perhaps we could enter negotiations with you also? Maybe a visit to your ship could be arranged?” Romaes relaxed back into his chair, knowing full well the Ferengi would never acquiesce to any sort of customs check, which was entirely what the Captain had up his sleeves. Especially since none of the worlds in the sector had anything remotely of value to the Ferengi; not that he knew of anyway.

The Ferengi leaned forward, his grin stretching from ear to ear in a display of teeth that seemed almost predatory. “Ah, Captain,” he exclaimed, his voice oozing with a slick charm, “it warms my lobes to see such enthusiasm for commerce in this remote corner of space.” His eyes gleamed with avarice as he continued, “I’m always open to exploring new business opportunities.”

He paused, as if considering something, before adding, “Perhaps a visit to our vessel could indeed be arranged, under the right circumstances, of course.” There was a subtle emphasis on “right circumstances,” hinting at the delicate balance of negotiation. “But you understand, Captain,” he said, his tone lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “trade secrets and all that.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to reverberate with the promise of profit. “We Ferengi do love our privacy, especially when it comes to our profitable ventures,” he confessed, the grin on his face widening even further, though it paled in comparison to the Captain’s practised diplomatic facade.

Meanwhile, Jinaril, having had numerous dealings with the Ferengi during his career, swiftly tapped away on his PADD. With a subtle gesture, he angled the device for the Captain to discreetly read his message – ‘Rule #60: ‘Confidentiality equals profit.’ & Rule #2: ’The best deal is the one that brings the most profit’.’

“Oh, I entirely understand the need for privacy in such matters,” Romaes smiled his most charming of grins, “but alas, we have matters to attend to elsewhere before we can explore these negotiations further. For now, Daimon, I think it best that we part ways until our next encounter.”

It was then, somewhat slowly, purposefully, that the Bajoran rose from his command chair and took a few small steps forward to the edge of the command platform. His facial muscles tensed and his brow furrowed. The words uttered next were nothing less than a warning.

“We’ll be watching for your return.”

“We wish you… fruitful… endeavours, Captain.” Despite the warning the Daimon’s smile never waivered, unlike the channel which closed abruptly.

Mason rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly before refocusing his attention on his console, watching them for any unexpected moves. As he tracked them, he said aloud to no one in particular, “What a nice and sincere fellow.” 

“Ay’dar!” Romaes barked, never diverting his eyes from the image of the Ferengi marauder on the main viewer. “Track that ship until it leaves sensor range. Mason; find that ship’s flight path. I want to know where it went.”

“Aye,” Ay’dar murmured, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the console’s interface, a dance of agility and finesse. As he worked, his brow knit together, the ridges on his forehead deepening reminiscent of rugged mountains, betraying his growing apprehension.

“Sir,” he began, his voice deep and measured but edged with unease, “observe.” With a subtle gesture, he indicated the display before him. “Their reluctance to depart speaks volumes.”

Romaes silently observed the display for a few moments until satisfied enough that they could return to their own ventures. “Resume course to the asteroid field.”

Ephriam had remained turned with his back facing the viewscreen while the brief conversation took place with the Ferengi. His hands moved over the controls and reallocated sensor pallet priority to Ay’dar’s tracking. He wanted his colleague to have the best data possible given his own gut feelings about the matter.

“Aye, Captain.” Mason said aloud, acknowledging the order as he began to input the new coordinates into his console. “Course for the asteroid field has been laid in and engaged, sir. ETA five minutes at one half impulse power.” He pressed a few more controls, still attempting to track the previous flight path of the Ferengi ship, but so far wasn’t having any success. Mason feared they might have masked their ion trail, but he continued his efforts, trying his best to locate the path for the Captain as instructed. 

For now, it was back to business as usual. Whatever ‘usual’ was in Starfleet these days anyway.

Mason fidgeted with the pips on his collar as he attempted to straighten them out in the reflection of the turbolift control panel. He ordinarily was always at least fifteen minutes early to all of his shifts, but today he was running a little late, and would probably not get to his station but with a minute or two to spare. The lift came to a halt and Mason quickly made his way to his station, almost clipping the doors before they could fully open and let him through. He nodded to the bridge crew to say hello, then relieved the young ensign at the conn. 

A few seconds of working the controls, Mason called out an update, “We are moving into position, sir. Approaching the outer edge of the asteroid field.” 

Ephriam looked up from his station as he heard the familiar ‘swish’ of the turbolift doors. He noted the hasty entrance of Lieutenant Commander Henry and gave the man a quick nod in return as he made note of his rather impressive dance to his station and immediate entry to focus. His own attention returned to the workstation in front of him and he continued to review and analyze live sensor information that was incoming to the ship.

Stood at the tactical operations station with his arms folded, Romaes was reviewing several sensor readings in discussion with Ay’dar when Mason’s voice carried across the bridge. Turning his body, the Captain leant on the rail surrounding tactical and peered down at the helm. “Slow to one-quarter impulse power and move us into the asteroid field. Lieutenant Adrasin, find us the safest place to stop for launch manoeuvres and relay coordinates to the helm and the flight deck,” the Bajoran instructed, a sterner than usual tone to his voice as he pushed himself away from the rail and crossed towards his chair.

“Aye, Captain.” Ephriam replied swiftly and moved his hands across his console. His display brought up several different sensor maps of the area. As he entered commands to triangulate the data, they all merged into a single diagram with several blinking green indicators. “Relaying coordinates now,” he continued as one of the green indicators turned red, showing what the computer system determined would be the optimal location for their operations. After his monitor showed the data was forwarded to Lieutenant Commander Henry, Ephriam looked over in his direction to see if received it.

Mason nodded as he saw the notification pop up on his console from Lieutenant Adrasin, “Coordinates received and input, speed one-quarter impulse. We’ll arrive at the location in fifteen seconds, Captain.” He continued to press different controls on his console, but managed to look over his shoulder to Ephriam and nodded with a small smile and said, “Nice parking space, Lieutenant.”

“Excellent work,” Romaes nodded, his stern expression failing to betray the happiness he felt at having his orders so ably followed. “Alright people. Yellow alert. We’ll watch, and wait. It’s over to the squadron now…”

Several decks below, news had swiftly reached the flight deck that Hathaway was in position within ‘The Gauntlet’ and it was now over to the squadron to begin their part in the next training manoeuvres. With the deputy squadron leader banged up and grounded until further notice, Lieutenant Varru had taken over preparations alongside the Commander. Orys watched the team going about their business, calmly and professionally. That wasn’t what he needed. He needed to know that they could cope under pressure.

Stepping to one of the wall-mounted LCARS display, he pressed a series of buttons that triggered an alert klaxon across the deck. “Alert, Condition One. Launch all available fighters.”

Emagyn hadn’t needed to remind her squadron to be ready. They were all in flight gear; some had load-bearing vests attached. Most had the various tools and other tiny comfort items that could be stuffed into a cargo pocket or attached to the vest, in or out of the attachment pack.

It was the habit for them to congregate in the pilot’s briefing room. Some listened to music—others played poker. A few even slept. Anyone who was a combat pilot rarely slept deep right before a mission.

Half the room was already headed for the shuttle bay at the crack of the scramble warning. As they filed out, Ema spotted the crew chief Enna. Checking her PADD, she asked, “How are we looking, Chief?”

Enna had her own PADD tucked in the crook of her arm, and a constant eye on the readouts for the flight deck systems.

“All good on this end, Ma’am,” she replied with a smile. It was a small one, given this was the first test of the systems on the flight deck since the adaptions. She’d had her crew crawling over everything, but the real test was the first flight.

“Thanks, Chief, the effort is always noticed and appreciated.” She told Enna.

Climbing into the cockpit of his Valkyrie, Squadron Leader spotted his deputy in conversation with the Deck Chief and summoned the two towards him with a wave. “You know the plan. We’ll do a couple of hours in the field and then we’ll practice combat landings,” the Andorian told, taking his helmet from the deckhand on the other side of the craft. “Any problems here, you’re in charge Chief.” 

Enna inclined her head. “Of course, commander. We’ll keep monitoring you so we’re with you all the way.” Especially with those combat landings. Add speed to anything and the risk factor increased massively. 

Ema and the rest of the crew cleared the landing floor in the shuttle bay. In her sling still, mostly to remind herself that light duty meant not aggravating her healing injury. Tapping her comm badge, Emagyn announced,  “Time to go for a walk, Hellhounds.” 

She wanted to be in the mix. Most pilots did. Ema couldn’t deny she loved the exhilaration. There was more. Knowing she was good at what she did and doing what others couldn’t. The Gauntlet was one she’d done before. Technically challenging, but she also would have reservations flying combat missions with anyone who had trouble flying it.  Once they left, she would head for the bridge to assist in the mission. 

One after another, the Valkyries of Hellhound Squadron lifted from the deck plating of the recently retrofit hangar bay and sped through the forcefield protecting those inside from the elements beyond. Last to leave the ship, the Squadron Leader gave a silent salute to his injured deputy and then hurtled into the ocean of space at great speed.

“Cerberus One to Hathaway…”

A voice on the open commline caused the Captain to look up from the data PADD he’d been reading, and place it on the empty chair to his left. “Go ahead Cerberus One,” Romaes instructed, glancing at Jinaril.

“Starfighter deployment complete. Moving into positions for flight manoeuvres,” the stern Andorian informed the Captain, much to the Bajoran’s relief.

“Affirmative Cerberus One,” Romaes smiled, relaxing into his chair again, “maintain comms with the flight deck and let us know when you are ready to return home.”

“Understood Captain. Cerberus One, out.”

“Things are going smoothly,” Jinaril remarked, nervously toying with his fingers. “I don’t envy them, that’s for sure.”

Ephriam had already begun to occupy himself with modelling how this area had formed over the centuries, certainly in keeping with his interest in astrophysics. Several modelling algorithms were being used and the display of his station was a buzz with a mixture of raw data and visual simulation points. To the right of him, he maintained sensor telemetry of their position and the fighters as well.

Everything was going smoothly, but on the edge of the system, trouble was brewing.

Silence was a powerful thing, especially when it prefaced a certain degree of tension felt by all on the bridge of a starship. Aboard Hathaway, the bridge crew on duty during this particular shift was watching with bated breath as the squadron carried out its test manoeuvres. Every so often, the silence would be pierced by radio updates from Cerberus One (the squadron leader), or one of his pilots.

Nearly two hours under their belt, Captain Romaes was feeling a little more relaxed than he probably should, slouched in his command chair and head buried in the latest reports from the former demilitarised zone. His illustrious predecessor, Captain Nazir, had Lakota Squadron in the middle of quarantine operations on some Cardassian colonies being afflicted by a peculiar illness. Other ships from across the fleet were entangled in operations around the former DMZ, or on the opposite side of the Federation where the Klingon Empire was in turmoil (again). Everything made for an interesting read. So interesting, in fact, that he very nearly missed the beeping of the aft science station.

Viviene Kendall (or Viv to her friends) had not, however, and was hard at work ascertaining the cause for the mild alert when the Captain appeared at her side for an update. “Captain,” she frowned, “sensors are detecting unusual activity from the system’s star.”

“Valesa,” the Bajoran turned his head and looked towards the forward stations, “on screen.”

“Aye Captain,” the Denobulan nodded and swiftly adjusted the forward display to show the Kanaan system’s star. It was instantly clear to all observing that something wasn’t quite right.

“What on earth is happening over there?” Jinaril muttered, his voice slicing through the tense silence. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the chaotic scene on the viewscreen. His jaw clenched, a vein throbbing at his temple. He spun around, fixing a steely gaze on the Science station. “Kendall, status report!”

Kendall was hard at work, reading the sensor reports that were streaming into her station. “The star is in a state of flux,” she reported, eyes trained on her controls as her fingers danced a merry tune. “Readings suggest we could see several solar flares of incredible magnitude.”

“Define ‘incredible,’ Lieutenant,” Jinaril interjected, his eyes boring into the officer with intensity.

Slowly, menacingly, the scientist spun from her console and looked towards the Captain and his first officer. “Incredible as in, we need to leave. Now.”

Upon hearing her words, Jinaril’s eyes widened, his jaw clenching. He shot a quick, intense glance at his superior, a silent exchange of urgency. Turning sharply to the helm, he barked, “Henry, lay in a course five-six-nine-mark-four-three. Get us out of here!”

As the command echoed through the bridge, a brilliant light erupted behind the asteroid belt. It grew rapidly, shadows of asteroids and starfighters stretching ominously across the viewscreen. The light intensified, swallowing the darkness, and within moments, it enveloped everything in a blinding radiance. Jinaril raised his arms to shield his eyes, the bridge bathed in an overwhelming, stark illumination.

“Aye, Commander!” Mason said, his hands frantically moving about his console faster than he’d probably ever seen in his life. After the coordinates were entered, he engaged as quickly as he could and the Hathaway began turning around towards it’s new heading. He didn’t have a chance to look back at the navigational sensors to monitor the solar flare activity from the star, but he had a horrible feeling they weren’t going to jump to warp in time to escape.

His prediction was proven to be correct mere seconds later as a brighter flash erupted from the Kanaan star, engulfing the bridge in a light akin to what some believed they would see before entering their afterlife. Only this time, the flash was not alone, for with it came a shockwave that battered the Sagan-class ship, sending it into a barrel roll any pilot would have been envious of. Across the ship, people and equipment alike were hurled into bulkheads, deck plating and even the ceilings of their rooms until Hathaway came to a dead stop – no lights, no power, not even a sign of life.

Jinaril’s eyelids fluttered open, the dimness of the bridge washing over him. Disorientation clouded his thoughts. Had he been knocked out, or was it merely the force of the blast that had thrown him off balance? If he had lost consciousness, how long had it been? Seconds? Minutes? His right side throbbed with a sharp, persistent ache, as if a swarm of worker bees had attacked him. With a grunt, he attempted to push himself up, but his arms trembled, betraying his weakened state. Collapsing back onto the hard floor, he felt frustration and determination intertwine within him. Gritting his teeth, he resolved to try again, this time favoring his left side.

Slowly rising to his feet, Jinaril surveyed the bridge with growing concern. Darkness engulfed the once bustling space, the consoles silent and inert. Only a faint glimmer of light emanating from the front of the bridge provided any semblance of visibility, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. ‘What in the universe happened?’ he wondered, his heart racing with apprehension.

Turning his gaze to the right, he spotted a looming silhouette sprawled on the floor near the command chair. Dread gripped him as he recognized the figure. It had to be the Captain.

Descending to his knees, Jinaril reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the Captain’s motionless form. The cold metal floor beneath him sent shivers up his spine. Pressing two fingers against the Captain’s neck, he searched desperately for a pulse. Relief flooded through him as he detected a faint, but steady rhythm.

Urgency fueled his actions as he gently shook the Captain’s shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with urgency and concern. “Captain… Captain Romaes?” His eyes darted around the dimly lit bridge, every shadow seeming to conceal an unknown threat, as he awaited any sign of life from his superior.

At last, a flicker of life showed upon the fallen Captain, his eyelids fluttering open several times until they finally stayed open long enough for the bridge to come into focus. Placing his hands on the floor on either side of him, the Captain tried to force himself to at least sit up but instantly fell back to the decking. A searing pain at the back of his skull caused him to lift his head as much as he could, and place a gentle hand on his apparently matted hair. When he withdrew it, the sigh made him feel incredibly nauseous – it was covered in crimson liquid.

“I don’t feel so good…” he whispered, looking up at his XO, then faded out of consciousness.

Jinaril tapped his commbadge. “Miller to Sickb—” He stopped abruptly. The familiar chirp was missing. He tapped it again, frowning, and again received only silence. Sighing, he muttered, “Comms are down.”

He straightened up, eyes scanning the darkened bridge. Shadows loomed across lifeless consoles, the shimmer of light that came through the front viewport casting a faint, eerie glow. From the port side, a faint moan broke the silence, followed by a strange scuffling sound to starboard. His pulse quickened, the dimness making it hard to discern details.

“Hello? Who’s there? Anyone conscious and present?” His voice cut through the gloom. When no immediate response came, he called out more forcefully, “This is Commander Miller. Bridge crew, if able, report in!”

A groan from the tactical station was accompanied by a low growl as both Vivienne Kendall and Ensign Qiraro dragged themselves to their feet. “Commander…” the Bolian answered, rubbing his temples.

Soon, Ensign Valesa was back in her chair at Ops, dragging herself to the station and trying her best to steady herself.

When steady herself, Viv stumbled her way down the stairs towards the Commander and the prone Captain. She was no medical officer, but she had enough training to be able to steady him. “Get me a medical kit,” she instructed the XO, taking charge of the situation.

In the background, the Bolian tactician was in hushed conversation with the Denobulan at Ops, trying to ascertain what they should do next.

Mason’s eyes jolted open at the sound of Commander Miller shouting across the bridge. Lifting his head very slowly, he noticed he was no longer seated at the helm, but over on the floor by the view screen. It was so dark, and he could hardly make anyone out, but from what he could see, his vision was incredibly blurry. An intense pain started pulsing on his forehead, and as he brought his hand up to his head, he could feel he had an open wound. Though, how bad it was, he couldn’t tell. Mason tried to speak up to let them know where he was and failed at first. He took another few shallow breaths before he finally managed to groan, “Here…” He tried to get himself up on his knees, but immediately collapsed back on his chest. So, he just laid there and just kept breathing, hoping someone would find him…

…and soon. 

“That should… do it,” Selara finished with the dermal regenerator. “Give that a few minutes to heal and you’ll be just fine. Just… use a ladder next time.” She smiled warmly and put a hand on the officer’s shoulder. She started walking to her office.

“Doctor, there’s something wrong with the displays,” Lieutenant Mox reported. The screen blinked and he hit it with the flat of his hand.

Selara chuckled, “I don’t think that’s advisable by Engin-” The sentence was never finished as she was thrown off of her feet. Selara grunted as her back hit something hard. She looked over her shoulder and looked down into her office. Wait, down? The thought was barely processed as a piece of medical equipment came flying towards her. Selara quickly batted it away. “All those years playing parrises squares paid off.”

Taking a quick breath and closing her eyes, Selara felt her body slide down the wall. She came to a stop in a sitting position on the ground. She blinked a couple of times. Darkness.

“Computer, full illumination.”

No response.

She tapped her combadge, “Selara to the Bridge.”

No response.

“Fantastic,” Selara said with a sigh. She felt along the wall as she shakily got to her feet. “This is Commander Selara!” She shouted throughout Sickbay. “I need names and injuries if you’re able to report.”

“Ensign Korren. I… I think I broke my arm.” A voice came to her left. “Uh, CMS is still intact,” He sucked in air between his teeth. “It just hurts like hell.”

“Make your way to a surface you can put your back against and stay put.”

Slowly the officers reported in: All were conscious and injuries minor. Selara struggled through mind fog to count how many people were in Sickbay. Seven… five medical officers and two patients. All were accounted for.

“All right everyone, we’re officially operating under Lights Out Protocol, Level Alpha,” Selara called out. “Lieutenant Mox, make your way to the door and lockdown Sickbay. Everyone else, make your way to a wall and see if you can find an emergency kit. An icoberry torte to the person who finds one first,” She chuckled.

Closing her eyes, Selara tried to recall the layout of Sickbay. She was near her office, so the door should be a meter or two to her left. She slid along the glass wall and eventually felt the cold metal on her back. She ran her hands across the door until she felt a gap in the door. Was the door paused in a moment of opening? With a grunt, she pushed the doors far enough for her to slip inside. She at least knew where one emergency kit was.

“Here’s what we know,” Selara started. The Sickbay group formed around the receptionist’s desk for a briefing. “Power is out completely. Since emergency power hasn’t kicked on, we’ll run under the assumption it’s ship-wide.” Her face was illuminated by the portable lighting. “Ship-wide communications is out. Short-range communication is… spotty, but intact. Ensign Korren?”

Korren spoke up, his broken arm in a sling. “For supplies, we have emergency rations and lights. Both are designed to last about a week of conservative use. Tricorders are serviceable but obviously can’t connect to the ship. We’ll have to rely on the local database. On average they should last a few days with constant use. Most of our equipment has a battery backup, but they aren’t designed for extended use. Use manual settings whenever possible. We have enough emergency blankets for 50 people. It’s going to start getting cold in here pretty fast.” He reached into the emergency crate. “We have an emergency PADD. It’s magnetically shielded, but has relatively static information.”

Selara nodded, “Emergency Response Team, make your way through the ship and provide medical relief. If you come across anyone, bring them back here. It seems we’ll need you a little longer, Mr. Mendez.”

“Hey, that’s all right,” Lieutenant Mendez said with a smile. “I was just doing sea life classification anyway.”

“I want you out of here in ten,” Selara said. She nodded to Lieutenants Sukal and Mendez, dismissing them from the briefing.

Selara walked the Response Team to the entrance to Sickbay. “You’ll have to use badge-to-badge communication. Report to Ensign Korren every 15 minutes. We’re running on theories, and a strong emphasis on ‘short-range’. Your communications will last maybe a deck or two from here.” She sighed, “After that, you’re on your own.”

Sukal and Mendez nodded.

“I don’t know what you’ll face out there. Move safely and remember your objectives.” She nodded and Lieutenant Mox activated the manual release for the Sickbay doors.

The Emergency Response Team walked through the door to the corridor and was quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

The sound of feline trilling and purring flooded Miranda’s ears in the most indignant way.  She turned her head away from the in defiant opposition to O’s subtle attempts to remind her that breakfast was late.  The cat’s full name was Orange Valentine, a testament to the color of his fur and the day he was gifted to her as a poor substitution for a date.

“I’ll feed you in a minute,” Miranda groaned in protest.  “The sun’s not even out yet.”

Silence was the affirming sign O had gotten the picture and that she had at least ten more minutes of rest before he returned with vengeance, the annoying pawing and clawing.  Uncertain how much time had actually passed, Miranda was jolted to consciousness by what felt like a scratch on the back of her head.  Reactively she rolled to her side cradling her head breathing heavily between gritted teeth.

“What the hell,” Miranda screamed, agonizing the growing intensity of cranial pain.

Orange Valentine had never been violent in his demands, mostly tossing hair and pawing at sensitive earlobes.  Feeling the adrenaline and cortisol course through her veins, she managed to hoist herself onto her left forearm.  She had plan to launch out of bed and begin the chase, but the capability wasn’t there.  She could barely hold herself up as she touched the back of her head once more.  It was far more sensitive now and warm viscous liquid appeared to be running from some unknown open laceration.

“What time is it,” she muttered as her eyes blinked in complete darkness.

She could barely see anything and found it difficult to place exactly where she was located.  It seemed natural to assume she was back home, evidenced by Mr. Valentine presence and playful antics. There was little more evidence to go on with such limited visibility, except that the mattress was far more firm than she remember.  She rolled herself flat on the floor and began feeling her surroundings with outstretched arms.  

“I must have fallen out of bed,” she thought, feeling mildly regretful of her furious assumptions about Valentine.  “Maybe he was just trying to wake me up”.

All she could feel was metallic elements surrounding her being.  She concluded that not only had she fallen out of bed, she must have rolled farther than arms reach from her bed.  It was all still a bit confusing, surely she would have hit a wall, her dresser, or something within reach.

From some where in the distance Valentine’s yowled in distress, his own way of stressing “I’m dying!” and appealing to Miranda’s nurturing instincts.  She had no idea where he was, but she could distinctly hear it coming from the left.  Still unable to see and make sense of her surroundings she drug herself across the cold metallic ground.  The process was more difficult than it should have been.  Each stretch and pull increased the throbbing sensation in her skull.

Various levels and types of pain spread across her body as she tried to sit up on her knees.  She wavered and fell back to the hard ground beneath her.  She lay still for several minutes…or hours…there was really no way to tell.  She was disoriented, felt dizzy, moderately nauseated, and clammy to the touch.  

“What the hell is this?”

She knew the darkness wouldn’t respond and gave herself credit for knowing that much in the current moment.  She began the process of crawling, dragging her tingling left leg behind her.  She followed Valentine’s chattering at a slugs pace bumping into furniture, rocks, or even vehicles.  She still wasn’t able to make sense of this disastrous dream.

Maybe that’s what this is, she thought as her outstretched hand grasped something to cling to.  The gripping provided her the leverage to pull herself up into a seated position and rest her back against the metallic box.  Collecting her thoughts and resting her exhausted body, she whined about Valentine’s continued screams.  She hit the metallic storage container with her left hand and groaned as the vocalizations became louder and more piercing.  It was unlike any cry she had hear from Valentine before.

She closed her eyes and winced in pain as she pushed upwards with her feet using her elbows to leverage the container to pull herself up.  That nuisance was just on the other side.  She could hear it…and see it.  From just beyond the container’s horizon were a disco of red, green, and white lights which appeared to be the source of the robotic sounds agitating her ears.

“There’s nothing here to scan,” she scolded, reaching for the device.

She cradled the device in her hand and instantly toggled the button to emit light.  She was surprised by her quick finger work and familiarity with the device as she passed it from side to side to gather information and obtain better visibility of her surroundings.  The room she observed was definitely not her bedroom, at least what she recalled to be her bedroom.  At least she was safe in a room which appeared to be empty, from what she understood from the beeps and imaging on the screen.

“A tricorder…this is my tricorder!”

Endorphins rushed through her body as her mind became just a little more clear.  She clutched the tricorder to her chest in gratitude.  She bowed her head and released a heavy sigh catching a glimpse of her combadge  still attached to her Starfleet uniform.  She recognized the color yellow and recalled her role as one of the ‘tinker bells’ responsible for the ‘magic’ which keeps the ship in tip-top shape.  

“Navarro to Ops,” she whimpered tapping the badge, her lifeline.  

“Please, someone answer,” she pleaded.

Silence.

“Life is a spark between two identical voids, the one before birth and the one after death.” ~ Irvin Yalom

The minimally lit hallways of Deck 8 created an atmosphere of dread and fear. The wrist-mounted lights of Lieutenants Sukal and Mendez bounced along the walls as they walked, only adding to the sensation.

“It looks like something out of a haunted house,” Mendez said as they walked. “You never realize how much lighting helps when walking down the halls.”

“That is the purpose,” Sukal simply answered.

“Man, I suppose I never real-”

“Sukal to Korren,” Sukal said, tapping her communicator. “Response Team Alpha checking in, status green.”

“-knowle…, Korren….”

“More of that interference… great,” Mendez groaned.

The team moved further down the hall and turned a corner, a figure came into view. The two medical officers halted and took defensive stances. “Medical Response Team,” Mendez called out. “Are you hurt?”

“Nah!” the voice of a young woman with an obvious English accent wafted down the corridor. “Nah, I’m good!”

Crewman Fearne Popples had been alone since the lights went out. It didn’t bother her too much. This wasn’t Fearne’s first rodeo. She had previously been on another ship that had lost all power. That one exploded, eventually. Fearne hoped this one wouldn’t. She had a light of her own on her right wrist and a hand-phaser in her right hand, ready to shoot whatever was highlighted by the light if necessary. These were quickly lowered to point at the floor.

Fearne shielded her eyes from the bright light of the medics’ wrist lights, showing only bright, matte red lips to her medical colleagues as she approached. Once closer the hand was removed to show intricate black and gold makeup, finished with false eyelashes, expertly applied around her eyes, one of which was green and one brown. 

“Sorry, I mean no, I’m good, Lieutenant,” she corrected herself, seeing the pips on the collars of the team.

The two medics lowered their wrist lights to illuminate Fearne’s body and immediate area. They relaxed their stance and posture “We’ve been tasked by Dr. Selara to usher people to Sickbay. It’s one of the designated safe havens on the ship,” Sukal said.

“What news do you have Crewman? Did you see any bad guys?” Mendez said.

Sukal looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

Mendez cleared his throat, and switched to a monotone voice, “Have you encountered any hostiles or known enemies of the Federation?”

Fearne stood smartly in front of the officers, her hands clasped behind her back showing the contours of her muscular shoulders through her uniform.

“No, sir,” she said. “Wait, do we count like really awkward doors as enemies of the Federation? Y’know, the ones that just won’t do the manual release. ‘Cause the one getting out of the girl’s loo in section twelve was a complete bitch. Like, you’d think they would make it so a manual release wouldn’t get stuck right? Like, if the backup system doesn’t work, then it’s kinda failed at being a backup, right? And I don’t wanna be mean to the door like maybe the door has issues to work through but I gotta call it out, it is an emergency after all.”

Sukal and Mendez looked at each other. He was the first to break the silence. “Eh, we were kinda thinking more along the lines of Cardassians or Changelings,” Mendez said, scratching the back of his head. “But we’ll keep ‘faulty doors’ on the list.”

“Regardless of malfunctioning doors, we still need to escort you to Sickbay. We are unaware if greater threats are present aboard the Hathaway. If you’ll come with us,” Sukal said.

“Yes sir!” Fearne said in an oddly cheery tone. “Yep, absolutely. I’m kinda supposed to go there anyway, security protocols and all. Make your way to the nearest important location if there’s one on your deck, sickbay, bridge, or engineering, and await orders. I’ll take point.”

Fearne lifted her phaser and torch again and set off, scanning the corridors methodically with the light as they walked.

Mendez grinned and made a sweeping gesture for Fearne to lead the way. The two Response Team members fell in behind her. Mendez tapped his communicator, “Response Team Alpha to Korren, we found a straggler. We’re bringing her to Sickbay.”

“Say… Response… Alpha… Repeat?”

Mendez opened his mouth, but was stopped by Sukal, “It would be little use, we’ll be at Sickbay sooner than you can repeat yourself.”

True to her words, the three of them rounded another corner and arrived at Sickbay. Mendez pounded on the door with his fist three times.

“That was unnecessary,” Sukal said.

Mendez shrugged, “In case the door chime is broken.”

“Identify yourself,” came the response from the other side of the door.

“Response Team Alpha, returning with a security officer,” Sukal explained.

The door released with a small hiss, and a pair of hands emerged to pry it the rest of the way open. Mendez grabbed the other side, fully opening the doors.

Mendez gestured inside, “Enjoy, Crewman. And don’t break anything,” he wagged a disapproving finger. The two Response Team members turned and disappeared back down the corridor.

“Come in, come in,” a Trill man motioned to Fearne.

“Thanks…” Fearne grinned, peering after Mendez a moment. She thought the comment about her breaking things was slightly unwarranted, after all, she wasn’t a total meat-head.

Perhaps he’s been speaking to Kriana… Fearne thought, with a pang, wondering what her wife was up to and hoping she was safe.

The Trill medical officer turned a crank, closing the doors. He then engaged a switch, and the door locked with a small clang.

“Oh great, they found someone else,” Selara said with a smile. “I’m Dr. Selara. I trust the Lieutenants tended to any wounds.”

“Crewman Fearne Popples. No wounds ma’am, I’m all good,” Fearne said with a nod.

“Excellent,” Selara clapped her hands together. Her cheerfulness was contrasted by the surrounding darkness but added warmth to it. “Fearne… where have I heard that name before?” Selara scratched her chin in thought. “Oh! You’re Kriana’s wife! I met her in the Starlight Lounge. Lovely woman, makes a good mint julep.” She stopped and examined the woman, “You’re every bit the person she bragged about,” Selara chuckled. Fearne grinned back.

“Yeah! No yeah, Misses Kriana, yeah. Yeah. If there’s a drink that needs like, making, then Kriana can make a good one. Yeah. No she loves all that, like the replicator makes like a good whatever but it’s always like the same whatever but if you get a proper cocktaily bar-y mixy person to do it then you get a unique one every time,” Fearne exclaimed enthusiastically with liberal use of her hands which danced along in time to her word spaghetti. “We always use her patterns on the replicator in our quarters, better than the default stuff. Get used all the time, everyone’s always round ours cause we’ve actually got quarters cause we’re married, most of the crewman it’s like a whole bunk-y dorm-y kinda situation. Perks, y’know.”

“It sounds like quite the party, I’ll have to look for my invite,” Selara said with a wink. “I do agree there’s nothing like an actual cooked meal that a replicator just can’t match.” She sighed at the thought of a cooked meal right about now. “Feel free to join any of the groups. We have provisions, but we’re trying to conserve them as much as possible.”

There were roughly a dozen officers scattered throughout Sickbay. Around the darkened environment of Sickbay, a small group formed around an emergency light. They took turns telling stories and having casual conversations. Others simply sat by themselves, still trying to process what was happening. A couple of people were keeping their hands busy by mindlessly building and deconstructing small items. Some slept on the biobeds, secure in the safety of the Sickbay. Fearne looked about and back to Doctor Selara.

“If it’s alright ma’am I’ll jump on door duty, do some… securing… of things…? Security protocols say I’m supposed to make sure there’s an armed security presence at my nearest designated safe haven and then wait for orders, doesn’t look like you’ve got any other security here?” Fearne scanned the assembled uniforms.

“That’s a great idea! I think the few security personnel we have are resting. I’m sure Lieutenant Mox could use a break. He’ll show you how to operate the manual door release.”

“Oh I don’t need to be shown I got that down already ma’am,” Fearne assured the doctor. “Had to let myself out of the loo back that way. Awkward door. Coulda been worse, at least I wasn’t peeing when the lights went out. Hey! Maybe this time the ship won’t explode. Last time this happened to me the ship exploded. Fortunately, I wasn’t on it. Manual released a buttload of doors that time, I’m like a pro now.”

Selara chuckled at her enthusiasm, “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen in this instance. It looks like you’re well on your way then. Arrange a shift schedule with Lieutenant Mox. And we’ll add any security personnel as they come in.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Fearne turned to find the Lieutenant. “Have a good blackout ma’am,” she said in parting.

After the Hathaway‘s encounter with the Ferengi ship Squidge had thought it prudent to bone up on Ferengi psychology. It was all fairly generalised of course. The Counsellor couldn’t help but wish for some more specialised information on this particular Damon, his service record and psych profile would have been useful, but she settled for trying to understand their opponent as best she could with what limited and non-specific information they had. One never knew when it might be of use to the Captain. Squidge adjusted her glasses irritably, scratching at a slightly raw patch behind her ear and the text on the PADD in front of her danced as she did. She still hadn’t got the fit of this latest pair exactly right.

The glasses were removed and place on her belly, and she took to squinting across the room and surveying her quarters. Movement caught her eye and she watched out of the window from her position on the bed as the stars, just moments before predictable in their apparent linear trajectory, shifted suddenly. The ship was changing course, and quickly. Squidge looked back at her socked feet and the boots placed neatly by the side of the bed she was lying on to read. Like a fifteen-year-old, she told herself. Sure, reading in bed at bed time was one thing, but… Squidge gave herself a break. After all, she did spend large portions of the day sitting. Sitting at her desk. Sitting in a comfy chair in her office speaking to her latest patient. Sitting on the bridge. A large part of getting older it occurred to her was finding variety in different ways of sitting. On the bed was certainly variety when most of the others involved some sort of chair.

Without any warning at all Squidge was suddenly introduced to a new and never-before-experienced variety of sitting, that being sitting in mid-air as the ship lurched beneath her. The PADD she had been reading from was ripped from her hand, more from the surprise breaking her grip than it having any great weight or momentum. Squidge watched her glasses fly forward and out of her reach. Her brain had no time to process what was happening, but as all well-balanced individuals did, when presented with a lack of ground beneath her Squidge extended her legs ready for a landing. The relative forward velocity she had been endowed with by the ship carried her off the end of the bed and she landed perfectly on her feet, taking a couple of steps in various directions for balance as the floor beneath her settled.

“Ah!” She said involuntarily, smiling at her own good fortune.

Squidge one, disaster nil.

But he who giveth also taketh away. With barely a moment for self-congratulation Squidge was plunged into almost total darkness.

“Ah.”

The stars outside of the window once again returned to a slow drift, this time in a somewhat less controlled fashion than was normal. Squidge held her hands out for balance, checking and re-checking her contact with the floor was good and there was nothing immediately under foot.
“Computer, lights?” She tried, already predicting the absolute silence that was the only response to her hopeful command.

One all.

Squidge’s next impulse was to reach for her badge, but her experience told her that she was not one of the particularly important people in a crisis and she should leave com lines open to the bridge for them. Still, it couldn’t hurt to test the badge’s functionality, just to ascertain just how far up shit-creek they were. The counsellor pressed hers firmly. It responded with a completely indifferent silence.

“Fine, be that way,” Squidge told it.

Two-one.

If she couldn’t contact the bridge via comms, it occurred to the Counsellor she should at the least start by I’m getting out into the corridors and rendering some aid. If the window was to her left, she reasoned, then the door to the bedroom should be right ahead. She turned to what she thought was the correct trajectory and took a step forward.

Crunch.

The blackness of the room hid the eye roll that accompanied her pained sigh. Scratch one PADD. Squidge shrugged. PADDs were ten-a-penny.

Three-one.

She took another step.

Crunch.

“Shit!”

Scratch one pair of glasses. At least she didn’t have to work on the fit anymore.

Disaster four, Squidge one.

With great care she lifted her foot, and very, very gently dusted any shards of lens plastic from her feet, feeling the razor-edges with the soft tips of her fingers and hoping none would puncture the skin. The foot found the floor again, mercilessly free of anything sharp. Squidge got the feeling if she were going to get out of this room unscathed then footwear would be a requirement. She knelt gingerly and groped around for her boots. Her hands passed through mid air like a magician’s affectations of conjuring before their best trick, but the more she reached for her boots, the more they weren’t there.

Plan B.

She was still near the bed. Squidge reached behind her and found her slippers were largely where they had been left, shielded from being launched across the room by the underside of the bed they lived beneath. She slipped them on, her hands brushing the furry ears. Even grey bunny slippers were better than nothing. Onwards to the door.

Squidge craned her neck around to get her orientation from the window again and adjusted her aim. Her hand reached out in the black and found the corner of the bed roughly where she thought it should be. She started wobbling her way in the black through the arch and out into her living space.

Being one of only three officers of Commander rank or above on the Hathaway, Squidge’s quarters were large and relatively opulent. Not only was bedroom separate from the rest of the living space but she had a large table with several chairs, multiple couches, a desk with a computer terminal, three windows and of course her own replicator. There were plants large and small, photos in frames, nik-naks, paraphernalia and keepsakes. Excellent as this generally was, all of these benefits now became obstacles between her and her exit into the corridor. The counsellor took her bearings again from the windows. The exit was a roughly forty five degree angle to her right and about twenty to twenty five feet. There were no items of furniture between her and the door. She took a step.

Wham.

“Ow!”

The toes of her right foot erupted in pain. There was now furniture where previously there had been none. Trying to determine which piece had ended up in such an unlikely location and how would be fruitless, so after a few more moments of seething and a couple of choice swear words Squidge edged around whatever this was carefully and continued her journey.

Disaster five, Squidge one.

She hobbled a few experimental steps forward encountering no further unlicensed furniture pieces, and then a few more.

Good.

Another experimental step gifted the Counsellor a mouthful of bamboo leaves.

“Ugh… pff, pff… fuck’s sake,” she spat, batting the leaves away like she was trying to swat a fly. That was until her stray hand smacked something very, very hard.

“OW, FUCK!”

Six-one. Seven if you counted the leaves.

Squidge cradled the fingers of her right with her left for a few soothing moments, feeling the throb in her digits and willing it away before continuing. So there was something hard to her immediate right, and she was facing the bamboo plant. That meant her angle had been off and she needed to move further to her right. Squidge skirted that way with plenty of cynicism in her movements and, carefully and very gently reached out in front of her for what she hoped was the wall adjacent to the corridor. A wall met her touch, joyous in its cool smoothness. Squidge had never experienced so much happiness from a wall.

Seven-two.

With two hands sliding across the surface Squidge experienced the wall in a way so intimate she never would have previously conceived, but like a glorious, steady beacon devoid of unexpected and painful hard surfaces it guided her to the door and the manual release. Squidge fumbled open the cover and gripped the lever. She pulled. Nothing happened.

“Come on Astrid you squiffy old flapper.”

Squidge re-arranged her grip, wrapping her hands around the lever with acute firmness. She pulled.

Nothing happened.

She pulled harder.

Nothing happened.

Squidge pulled with all her strength. The lever suddenly jerked downward, speeding Squidge’s fingers into the solid edge of the control panel with force.

“FUCKING SON OF A… OW!”

It was at this point that Squidge gave up keeping score. Whatever this disaster was, it had won as far as she was concerned. Unsure which hand to cradle and grumbling obscenities about the lever’s mother she felt the edges of the door with her shoulder, finding a gap of around six inches in the middle where the two sliding sections had parted.

“Haha!”

Seven-three. No, eight-three. I thought you weren’t keeping score any more…?

Squidge was not a particularly strong person, but with much grunting and other such unattractive noises she was able to walk the door open far enough to be released into the corridor. Of course the corridor didn’t have windows so it was even more utterly dark than her quarters, but, more pertinently it didn’t contain furniture for her to walk into.

Firmly re-examining her relationship with furniture Squidge set off down the corridor towards the nearest weapons locker, running her freshly throbbing fingers along the wall as a guide.

“Anyone there?” She called loudly. “Anyone need help? Call out!”

Things were going down. Kriana had no proof of this but even the uninitiated could recognise the signs. Numbers in the Starlight Lounge had thinned out a short-time before and those departing did so with purpose, their voices low and urgent. None remained, the bar was eerie in its emptiness, the yellow alert signs only adding to the tension, standing out amongst the cool blue ambience of the lounge. Kriana couldn’t ever remember being alone in there before. She moved between the tables collecting glasses, cups, mugs and plates and returned with them to her refuge behind the bar. There wasn’t much cleaning up to be done, but that which remained she dispatched mechanically, her mind on other things. Kriana wondered what Fearne would be doing in situations like this, a yellow alert. As she put some glasses away she mused on just how much she didn’t know about Fearne’s day-to-day. Kriana had had a small amount of introductory training to life and procedures aboard a star ship, but nothing like a security crewman would have. The bartender began to wonder why she didn’t ask her wife more about her work.

Kriana picked up a bottle by its neck from the bar and placed it back into its position on a shelf behind her. But no sooner had she done so the bottle moved by itself, flying forward. Kriana had only a split second to consider just how odd that was before she realised she too was moving forward and the deck below her was now no-longer holding her up. The last moment before she slammed into the bar Kriana considered how pretty the myriad of flying coloured glass was in front of her eyes, colours as varied as the many worlds the liquors and syrups came from. Then all she knew was pain. Her lower ribs on her right side impacted the edge of the bar with force and she shrieked in pain and surprise, the kind of sound Fearne would certainly have mocked her for under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were not normal, that became abundantly clear as Kriana crumpled, landing hard on the floor and shrieking again as bottles began to rain down on her, dislodged from their jolt-proof recesses by the violence of the impact. Finally, after what seemed like a minute but was probably much less the sounds of teetering bottles falling and smashing on the hard floor of the bar subsided, just in time for the lights to go out.

Kriana sat where she was, her hands still shielding her face, shivering, a whimper or two escaping her lips involuntarily. She had been on ships that were under attack before, but had always had prior knowledge of potential danger. Hathaway was quite different. She knew nothing and it was the surprise that had shaken her just as much as the impacts. Kriana tried to assess how many parts of her throbbed angrily, and which was worst. She gave up quickly and wrapped her fingers around the edge of the bar, attempting to stand. Kriana cried out in pain. Her ribs were on fire, but, channelling her Klingon Uncle she pulled on through and ended standing, panting, resting her forearms on the bar and her head in her hands.

“What the fuck was that?!” She screamed angrily to no-one.

A few minutes later saw things in much better shape. Kriana had stumbled to the emergency locker behind the bar and had acquired and activated a wrist torch. She had crunched her way to the other end of the bar and, using a wide broom, swept the remnants of the many shattered bottles into the corner, the liquid mostly swept along with it and pooling on the floor into what Kriana suspected was one of the most potent cocktails in Starfleet history. From her limited training she knew the lounge would be a collection point in a crisis situation, and so she had gone on the hunt. The first two bottles were sadly gone but her third option was still in one piece. Acquiring lemons from the floor that had formerly been in a bowl on the bar and adding some sugar for more fuel she created luminescent cocktails, generally made for some alien holiday she couldn’t recall the name of, that dimly illuminated the area about them in an eerie green. These were placed by the entrances to the lounge on both levels and at key points, the stairs, the walkways between clumps of tables and along the bar. Kriana huffed and groaned as she moved about the space, her features bathed in green, her pale skin and dark hair making her as a witch in a cheesy movie.

Her task seemingly complete Kriana hobbled back down the stairs, moved to the nearest couch, lay down and promptly passed out.

An intense, rhythmic banging soon erupted from the far side of the ground floor mess. In between, ghostly groans filled the air between every clash on the metal doors that kept someone… something… beyond the mess hall walls.

Eventually, an unwilling Kriana was dragged from the comforting embrace of unconsciousness. All she wanted to do was stay where the pain was null, where her trauma was dispersed into a million tiny atoms lost in the darkness of comatose. But the sounds of banging stirred remembrances of duty in the back of her mind. As she began to wake that duty took more coherent form. Kriana remembered who she was, where she was, what she did and what her responsibilities were as a bartender.

With a groan she shifted, clutching at her cracked side and with some effort mustered a sitting position. The table adjacent was her crutch to get her standing and she moved towards the door slowly, her mind awash with fatigue and the remnants of adrenaline.

“Who’s there?” She scowled loudly towards the door as she approached.

Once the banging ceased, voices penetrated the walls and drifted into the mess. “Ramirez and Osha,” the masculine voice called out, followed by a second, “we have injured!”

Kriana didn’t recognise the names but they certainly didn’t sound like invaders. She studied the door panel for a few moments under the bright light of her wrist torch, attempting to remember how the mechanism worked. A small spark somewhere in the fog of her thoughts directed her shaking hands and entirely without conscious intent automatically gripped the lever with her left hand and pulled it with all the force she could muster. A loud clunk reverberated around the empty lounge.

“C…can you handle the door? Kriana asked the men through the newly formed gap, cold sweat appearing through the foundation on her face. Her ribs throbbed in protest to the exertion of standing, let alone a manual release. ”I think I’ll pass out again if I try…”

“Yeah, I think we’ve…” Pink, tendril-like fingers slipped through the crack in the door, searching for the right point in which to grasp the metal bulkheads. With a vice-like grip, the two pairs of hands pulled at the door, grunts and groans accompanying their efforts until they finally prised the doors open far enough to enter the sanctuary of the mess facility. “Got it!” Ramirez barked, whilst Osha crouched down and helped their injured party up.

“We need to get her down somewhere,” the man in dishevelled blue directed, waving Ramirez back to help him. “Do you have a first aid kit?” Osha asked of the barkeep.

“Yeah… let me…” Kriana did her best impression of walking normally towards the bar, skirting around the many dislodged and tumbled chairs that had been thrown about by the impact. “There’s couches up on the side… things…” Kriana’s descriptive abilities failed her as she explained, and she indicated with a hand towards the raised sections on either side of the main lounge area that featured a prominent and comfortable couch. Acquiring the med kit from the emergency supply space behind the bar she shone her torch about the space looking for where the new arrivals were headed.

The safest place was the large sofa that was attached to the wall beneath the windows in the aft bulkhead. It wasn’t in danger of moving anytime soon and was padded so it would be somewhat comfortable for the Cardassian scientist who had been injured by falling equipment in one of the science labs.

“We’ve not been able to reach anyone,” Ramirez told Kriana from across the other side of the room. “Any idea what happened?” Kriana stared at him dumbfounded. She’d completely forgotten about her badge. Being unused to having one and rarely actually needing to activate it, it had escaped her thoughts entirely. She shone her torch away so the new arrivals wouldn’t see her test the badge that was clipped to her top. It seemed dead. With a mental shrug she made her way back over to where they were with the med kit.

“No,” she said simply, passing the kit to the closer and easing herself into a seat as nonchalantly as she could. Her ribs throbbed.

Opening the kit, the apparently senior of the two men grabbed an object and tossed it to his colleague. “Try this,” he suggested, nodding towards Kriana, “it might help with the ribs.” He then took out the tricorder from the kit and began to scan the prone Cardassian, who lay in absolute silence, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest the only sign that she remained alive.

Osha approached Kriana, holding out the dermal regenerator as if he were asking for permission to help her. Kriana eyed him suspiciously, her expression acquiring a hint of cornered animal.

“What’s that?” She asked quickly, standing uncomfortably and taking a step back. She could put on a decent show of cordiality and composure with the crew under normal circumstances, it wasn’t even particularly fake, but the pain and the fear she felt now brought out the other side of Kriana, bad tempered, suspicious, moody and rude, the one her Uncle had despaired of, the one only her wife Fearne could keep calm.

“It’s a dermal regenerator,” the young crewman told, noting her suspicion and concern. “It wont heal your ribs completely but it should take away most of your pain.”

Kriana lifted the right side of her top to expose her ribs in a sign of acquiescence, but her dark eyes stayed glued to Osha, her lip slightly curled in a Klingoneque show of threat she didn’t even realise she was doing.

“She live?” Kriana asked tersely, looking past Osha to the Cardassian woman for a moment.

Osha stepped forward and began to run the medical equipment over the damaged and bruised area of her torso, just a few millimetres from the skin so that he didn’t add to her discomfort.

“She’s alive,” Ramirez nodded from the sofa area, standing up to his full height again and stretching out his back, the crack seemingly loud enough to travel the entire hall. Boy, did it give him some relief of his own. Turning back towards the proprietor, the Hispanic human put his hands on his hips and let out a sigh. “I’ve got her stable, but we need to find a doctor.”

“I can watch her if you need to go find one,” Kriana replied. It was from one perspective a kind offer of help but it also illustrated that the Bartender was not inclined to go searching for one. Even if she were she wouldn’t know where to start, especially if they needed to move between levels without the use of a turbo lift.

Osha and Ramirez looked at one another, unsure as to whether to take the woman up on her offer or not. Once they were in agreement, Ramirez nodded. “She should be fine until we return. Just try and keep her comfortable if she does wake up,” Ramirez instructed, whilst Osha placed the dermal regenerator on the bar top.

With that, the men left the two young women alone…

…in the increasingly eerie darkness of the lounge.

Ephriam held his stomach and braced it as it grumbled. To say he felt slightly queasy would be an understatement but he had attempted to put his bravest demeanour on. He had joined Ay’dar on their scheduled break for a bite to eat and in a sad attempt to connect with him more, Ephriam had been brave and bold in his request to have gagh as well. 

“Ay’dar… If I ever ask you for another bowl of gagh ever again. I want you to give me your usual growl and snarl and remind me I don’t enjoy feeling my food squirm in my abdomen please.” Ephriam stated this meekly and leaned against the turbolift wall in an attempt to brace himself even more.

This amused Ay’dar. He recalled the early days of his integration into the Klingon house, the constant need to prove his worth gnawing at him. The first time he saw Gagh, his stomach churned at the sight of the wriggling worms. Each bite had been a battle, his Human side revolting against the texture and taste. But with time, he learned to mask his discomfort, swallowing the live food with a stoic expression, each meal a step closer to acceptance. Now, he consumed it with ease, valuing its nutrition and the strength it symbolized.

He turned to Ephraim, a mischievous glint in his eye, and slapped his shoulders with a hearty thud, exclaiming, “It is a real warrior’s meal, Andrasin!”

“Now I know why Klingons don’t fear dying in the heat of battle, especially if this is what they have to eat just before it,” Ephriam replied in a joking manner but his face quickly shifted to one of concern that it may not be received as such. 

“That didn’t come out quite right… Ermm” Lost for words now, Ephriam stared awkwardly at Ay’dar. 

Ay’dar’s lips twitched, fighting back a grin as he suppressed the urge to laugh outright. Instead, he opted for a more subtle approach, letting out a deliberate snort that echoed in the tense atmosphere. The sound morphed seamlessly into a low, rumbling growl, emanating from deep within his chest.

He relished the discomfort that settled over the Chief Scientist, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he observed the man’s uneasy demeanor. Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, each passing moment thick with anticipation.

Finally, Ay’dar broke the silence, his voice dripping with controlled intensity. “You’re lucky,” he began, his tone measured but unmistakably firm, “that I’m only half Klingon. It means I can only be half as offended by your xenophobic remark.” 

“Xenophobic – No – I – Ermmm.” Ephriam’s expression turned to one of horror, his face flushed a crimson red and he bit his bottom lip nervously. “I certainly did not mean it that way. I’m a scientist. I value the diversity in life.” His stomach made a churning sound and he instinctively braced it and his brow began to form a sweaty film.

Ay’dar stifled a grin as he remarked, “If you truly valued diversity, you would love gagh. There’s no meal with a greater variety of life.”

Suddenly the turbolift came to a sharp halt, with more force than either of them could have preparred for. Coupled with this was a sudden and complete darkness. The sudden lack of inertial dampeners caused Ephriam to lose his footing and slam into the side of the turbolift before he met the deck plating of the floor. 

Ay’dar’s fingers clamped onto the siderail just as his body rocketed toward the ceiling. The force nearly tore him away, but he held on, muscles straining. Suddenly, the dampeners kicked back in, and he was yanked down with terrifying speed. He hurtled headfirst into the floor, the impact resonating through his massive, chiseled body. A sickening crunch echoed in his ears, pain exploding in his skull. His vision blurred, then faded to black as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Ephriam took notice of the cool feeling of the deck plating against the side of his cheek. He wiggled his toes and fingers and this progressed to movement in his arms and legs, an attempt to make sure he hadn’t injured himself. “Ay’dar… You okay?” He managed to softly ask this as he attempted to get his own bearings, his disorientation only exemplified by the darkness surrounding them. 

Silence.

The emergency lighting had activated, and Ephriam looked at Ay’dar’s still body, curled up slightly due to the confines of the lift and how he had landed. His heartbeat started to race as adrenaline kicked in. Ay’dar’s silence meant that he likely was not okay. Ephriam moved over slowly and started to pat his colleague’s shoulder. He repeated himself once more, “Ay’dar… You okay?” 

Silence.

“Adrasin to Sickbay. Medical emergency in turbolift two.” Ephriam tapped his combadge and attempted to send an SOS for help. 

Silence. 

“Okay, Ephriam. Remember your basics here. Airway – Breathing – Circulation.” Ephriam began mumbling to himself in a somewhat shaky manner but examined whether his colleague was breathing. He fought the urge to catastrophize further. Thoughts of his newest friend and one of his closest colleagues on board dying went through his mind, but he worked hard to shove those away and focus on his check. 

“Okay – you’re breathing. Shallow breaths.” Ephriam sighed in relief and quickly wiped away a tear that was forming in his left eye. Clearly the thoughts he had pushed away were still affecting him. He felt manually for a pulse – it was faint and thready feeling but present as well. 

“Okay. Not dead.” Ephriam verbalized this as well in an attempt to help calm himself further. There had been no response to his call for help, which meant there were issues with internal communications. Some power failure interfered with the operations of the turboift and other systems as well.

Ephriam knew that it was essentially a waiting game at this point. 

Moving through the darkness, her face illuminated by the lights she passed, Selara surveyed Sickbay. Sukal and Mendez recovered so many crewmen. “I'd be surprised if there were any crew left elsewhere on the ship,” she said with a chuckle. Selara moved to the doors of Sickbay.

“Crewman, how are things on door duty? I apologize, but I couldn't give you a more exciting assignment,” she said with a smile.

Crewman Fearne Popples had been manning the door since the tag team of Sukal and Mendez had found her in a corridor on her way to Sickbay a while back. Since then she'd been getting a nice workout from manually opening and closing the door every few minutes and was helping keep spirits up with her slightly inane cheeriness.

“Pretty open and shut, really," Fearne couldn't help but joke in reply to the Doctor's question. “I mean…” she continued with a grin, “…what else am I gonna do in here? Assist with surgery? Sure if you want your nose where your finger should be and like, three butt cheeks by all means let me help with surgery.”

Selara laughed heartily, she so enjoyed Fearne being in Sickbay to lighten the mood. “I don't think three butt cheeks would be preferable by anyone.” She sighed, “I guess there isn't much for anyone to do. But I suppose that preferable to something being on fire and chaos." She stopped, "Come to think of it, we haven't heard from them in a while.” She turned to Korren's station, "Ensign, how long since known contact with the ERT?”

“A little over an hour and a half ago,” Korren replied. “At their current rate of movement, provided they haven't run into trouble, they should have almost cleared Deck 3 or 4.”

A loud bang drew the attention of everyone in Sickbay. Selara turned to see two men grappling each other. “Crewman, secure the door. You're with me," as she started walking towards the men.

Fearne did so quickly, re-stowing the manual release, and took a few fast steps to catch up with Selara. Her mind was already working, sizing up the two men, analysing their uniforms to see if they may have combat training, their size, weight, or any obvious weak spots. It wasn't a nice thing to think about, especially when it was colleagues rather than enemies, but if it came down to it she might have to break things up with force. The fact they were men wasn't too much of an issue. Fearne was in the top 1% of Starfleet human females for sheer strength, bench pressing in the region of 100 kg. Allied to that she had been training in martial arts and combat for well over a decade.

The two women quickly closed the distance to the two men. Selara could see the two of them more clearly: A human dressed in a red uniform and a Bajoran dressed in a yellow one. They were locked at the biceps, each trying to force the other to the ground. Neither noticed the crowd dispersing to allow Selara and Fearne to pass. 

Acting quickly, Selara recalled her Ryadam training and struck the closest man on the side of his head. This stunned the Bajoran and forced him to break the grapple, allowing Selara to come between the two men. “What in the hell is going on here?” Selara yelled in the voice of a mother scolding children. “We're floating adrift with no power, limited rations, and god only knows what's going on in the Bridge. And you're fighting like a couple of schoolyard children!”

The other man, seeing an opportunity to continue the argument, began raising his fist to the back of Selara. Fearne, who had been standing a couple of paces back from the three reaped the benefits of her youthful reaction times. She gripped the raised wrist of Selara's would-be attacker with her right, braced his upper arm with her left, and twisted the whole arm behind his back in one quick movement. The sole of her boot met the back of his knee and he dropped to kneeling with a yelp, thoroughly subdued. 

“Can't let you hit the doc, sir,” Fearne told him authoritatively, swiping his other wrist behind his back and using her elbows to put some weight on his shoulders to keep him facing the floor.

Selara turned and saw the human handily subdued by Fearne. She nodded, “Thank you, Crewman Popples,” she said with gratitude. Never turn your back on a hostile, Selara chided herself. She took a step back, keeping both men in her line of sight. “I don't care who started the fight, or what it was about, this will end immediately.” She turned to Fearne, “Lock them in the extra offices; it's the closest thing we have to brig cells.”

“Yes ma'am…” Fearne replied. “Come on sir, time for.. oh shit…” Her charge managed to wrestle free and Fearne dodged an angry flailing fist before one of her security colleagues stepped in and the man in red was manhandled away towards the offices, a security member on each arm.

Selara made way for them to pass. She turned to address the gathered crowd. “I know this is rough. We'll all scared and concerned for our friends, loved ones… ourselves. But things like this,” she motioned towards the two men being escorted away, “doesn't help anything. Cooperation is the only way we'll effectively make it through this.” With that, she walked away. “I'll be in my office,” she said to Korren as she passed his station.

With her charge safely locked in Fearne made her way back to door duty. Selara had moved to her office and Fearne inferred she wanted some space as a result. The young crewman knew from being told many, many times that she had a habit of chattering a bit much so had learned not to insert herself into situations. She did like speaking to Selara though. The C.M.O. responded kindly to her jabbering, rather than giving her the slightly amused or confused expression a lot of others did.

With a groan, Selara flopped in the chair behind her desk. She turned out her lights and sat in the darkness; the closest thing to privacy she had with an open door. Selara sighed and rubbed her eyes. The expectation of being in tense combat situations was part and parcel of Starfleet, but how do you fight an enemy you literally can't see? Moreover, how do you fight an enemy that comes from within? She closed her eyes in the darkness and listened. It had gone quiet. A natural reaction to the boil over. How long would the peace last? How long would she last?

“We’ve got no other choice. We have to get power back online…”

Pacing across the engineering deck, Prida was almost trance-like while her team watched her with great curiosity. So far, every suggestion had been brushed off—almost everything. The only one that remained was something she had never had to do in her entire career.

“Has anyone here done one before?” Ashrin hunched forward, placing his hands supportively upon the pool table. The staff were gathered around, their faces lit only by wrist beacons. No one so much as flinched. “Then we’re just going to have to make sure we do it right,” one corner of his lip lifted as he gave the Chief a smirk.

Listening to the Andorian caused the Chief to turn and take a few steps closer to the table. “If we fuck this up and get the intermix ratio even slightly wrong, the entire crew dies. We have to be certain this is the only choice open to us,” the Chief declared to the Round Table.

“There’s a good chance they die even if we don’t mess up,” the Assistant Chief responded, arms folded across his chest as he glared at the Bajassian. “But doing this gives us a chance to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

“Now if we do this,” the Chief began, stepping even closer, “we’re not going to have any way to warn the crew. The first priority when power is back is communications to the rest of the ship. People will need help. Damage control team beta will be on standby for communications, life support systems and transporters. Delta, you’re on standby for emergency callouts; Gamma, you’re on the propulsion systems. The rest of you, focus on everything else.” Taking a deep breath, she nodded to her people. It was go time.

As the staff began to filter out and prepare themselves for the task at hand, Prida reached out and grabbed Ashrin by the arm, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. “Not you. If I’m doing this craziness, I need someone just as crazy to help.”

“Gee, I’m flattered,” Ashrin grinned, then jerked his head towards the core. “Let’s light this baby up.”

Almost ten minutes later, preparations were complete. Both of the lucky souls about to put their lives on the line had found themselves a canister to withdraw some of their nominated materials and all that remained was to perform magic. Standing beside their specific chambers, the two looked across the divide between them and acknowledged the other.

“If this works, we deserve a holiday,” Ashrin suggested, placing both hands on his canister and sliding it through the opening on the antimatter chamber, slowly depressing a button which began to entice the antimatter liquid into the chamber.

“If we do this, I’m going home,” Prida shook her head, leaving it ambiguous as to whether she meant her true home on Bajor, or perhaps her home on Lakota, from where she had been seconded prior to the mess they found themselves in. Then, just as her colleague did, she withdrew some of the matter material and made for the intermix chamber. As always, the antimatter was the stuff that made things tick, so Prida started by placing her canister into a second opening and injecting the matter into the chamber.

Standing back with the now empty canister in hand, she looked at Ashrin. “When you’ve pressed that button, make sure you get back as quickly as possible. If we’ve got the intermix formula even a tiny bit wrong, we’re dead,” she warned him for a final time.

“Well, if we’re going to be dead, I don’t need to rush and hide, do I? Might as well get a front-row seat to the end of the universe,” the ever-morbid Andorian smirked, but as he placed his canister in the opening, the joviality dissipated rather rapidly.

“If you’re religious, I’d say now is the time to make contact with your deity of choice,” he called out to engineering, with all of his colleagues turning to the warp core and giving him their full attention.

Watching the cocky youngster, the Chief set an internal reminder to chastise him for his glib attitude if they got out of this, but for now, she didn’t want to be the cause of any distractions. As his hand flinched away from the container, she knew he’d set in motion an irreversible chain of events. If they were right, then the core would be restarted and systems would come online. If they were wrong…

Deck plating beneath her feet began to rumble almost instantly, the shaking growing in intensity, throwing several teammates to the ground and tossing unsecured objects and chairs about the engineering bay. Gripping the edge of the pool table tightly, she glared at the intermix chamber, muttering some kind of Bajoran prayer to the Prophets as the world around her seemed to fade into nothingness.

Ferocious to the last, every bulkhead across the ship seemed to reach its breaking point, the nacelles rattling atop their supportive struts until a brilliant flash of light within the warp core sparked a reaction that brought the shaking to an instantaneous halt. Never before had the entrancing swirling of warp plasma or the rhythmic pulsing of the warp core been so enchanting. Or welcome. Lights across the bay lit up, followed by consoles and systems all around engineering, each seeming accompanied by a cacophony of sounds. Not least the cheering and whooping of the engineering team, each one relieved at their survival.

Slapping the pool table with the palm of her hand, the Bajassian Chief grinned wider and happier than she had in an age, nodding to the young Andorian she’d taken on as her protege. The chastisement could wait for another day.

“Okay people,” she barked, “we’ve got crewmates to help. Let’s go!”

After the flight of fighters left, Emagyn turned and walked back to the nearby Operations Room. It had been a pain to get into her flight suit but she wasn’t carrying everything she normally would since Ema wasn’t leaving the ship.

Walking in she grabbed a large mug of coffee with dark chocolate. She preferred to watch the flight and monitor the telemetry, wincing, Ema took one of the mild analgesics as ordered by the medicos. 

“How you feeling now, ma’am?” Petty Officer and Senior Deck Hand Annalise Royston was watching the telemetry and adding the occasional item to a PADD she held. The young Redhead offered Emagyn a smile.

“Don’t ask me to do the chicken dance anytime soon.” She Ema said sitting down gingerly. Pulling a box of parts over, Ema pulled out a half-completed scale airplane engine and the small toolbox to work on the motor. The small five-cylinder radial engine had the short-block and cylinder heads assembled, but the induction and other parts needed to be added. 

“What about you? Anything new?” Ema asked.

“Oh Kylo started walking the other day,” Annalise grinned as she thought of her young son, and the PADD was forgotten for a moment. “Of course, I didn’t see it, Dai told me about it when I got off shift but now he’s learned he’s walking all over so we had to double-check our baby proofing. It was fine. It’s fine.” The P.O. stole a glance back at the fighter telemetry but her her attention was soon back on her superior and the motor she was working on. Annalise watched with curiosity.

“Aww, so precious,” Ema responded. “I can babysit if not on duty. “ She added. ” Rover Cleveland loves kids and the holopics will be too cute in the arboretum. 

A small army of parts was added one at a time and the engine slowly took shape. Bolting on the prop, she spun the engine up, testing her handiwork. The Petty Officer had padded up behind Emagyn and watched her work. “If you want to pop that in a little plane and fly it around the deck I won’t tell anyone,” she grinned.
 

“Hey!” Ema said chuckling back. “I really don’t need help getting in trouble.” The short propeller was bolted to the motor. She added, “However, since I am in charge I can write it up as a team-building exercise into historic drones and their maintenance. ” Looking out into the shuttle bay through the thick transparent aluminum window, she pondered the equation. “Something slow though. An autogyro!”

  ***  LATER ***

Ema thought she saw the power flicker before it died, but it was so brief, it was impossible to tell. What could not be missed was being tossed like a throw pillow by the combination of the ship’s movement added to the shuttle bay’s explosive decompression.

 The room was utterly dark but far from quiet. Rushing air was in symphony with the backup klaxon. As close as they were, the seals on the door were being tested to their limits. Their ears popped and could both feel the inexorable pull towards the door. The vibration of the mechanically powered backup could be felt now as well.

Reaching up, the familiar feel of a well-used polycarbonate light hit Ema’s hand. Ignoring the old pain in her shoulder and the new one in her forehead, she knew they both needed to be headed for the emergency pressure suits. The white light stabbed out the side of the pen.

Annalise had never felt the emergency door release activate before. It was a spectacle of flying metal and composite, tonnes of material moving at speed, designed to shore up the ship’s atmosphere, security and structural integrity as fast as mechanically possible. The gargantuan clang as the doors came to rest shook the entire floor. It inspired in the young woman equal parts of awe and fear. With a groan and some utterances of surprise Annalise slowly picked herself up off the floor. She was a little winded but largely fine, or seemed so as she moved quickly to the control screens, gathering her nerves after the shock of hearing and feeling the bay doors close. Eschewing exclamations of wonderment over the obvious she stuck to the important facts.

“The monitors are out, I’ve got no idea if the bay repressurized,” she informed Ema, her panicked expression lit only by the light of the suit pen. “Royston, A to Royston, D…” she tested her badge but it was dead. “Comms are down too.”

“First things first. The window and doors are still intact but we need to move.” Ema said biting through the pain. “Pressure suits in the wall panel to my right.” She said. “Grab the medkit next to it. I hit my head. I don’t think it’s bad but I will have a headache later.” Reaching into a different flight pocket, Ema pulled out a chemlight. Snapping the internal glass tube, she shook cigar sized bendable stick as it brightened to a slightly off white. Tossing the unit toward Annalise, she gathered her thoughts and strength and she pulled the pen light from its own pocket and started to asses herself. 

Still somewhat panicked the Petty Officer fumbled the catch but she scooped the chemlight off the floor quickly and headed in the direction of the suits. Even though she hadn’t worn them much, she could remember the procedures, or at least she thought she could. Her mind swam slightly.

Ema managed to pull herself off the floor, she almost gasped as her shoulder and head throbbed together. Putting a hand to her head, she didn’t pull back any blood, but there could be other damage. “Okay. hand me a suit, but you get into yours first. You can put me into mine if I pass out.”

Cracking the seals together, Ema pulled it out and walked Annalise through the first few steps. “Okay, in you go, like footie pajamas.” Ema started to slowly slid her feet in meanwhile and was nearly there by the time Annalise had her around her waist. “Good, keep going. Just like the coveralls you wear everyday, just have to add the helmet. Reaching for the helmet Annalise clicked it into place quickly with a sharp motion.

“Your turn ma’am,” she said as the light inside the helmet blinked on, illuminating the mix of concentration and obvious fright on her face.

Looking up, Ema saw the look on the young Petty Officer’s face. “Pull it together Annalise. Don’t be afraid of the dark. We weren’t tossed around that badly.”

“I’m not ma’am, I’m afraid for Kylo,” Annalise replied, trying her com but to no avail. “At least I know Dai is with him.”

“One thing at a time, let’s breathe and think,” Ema said, wriggling her bad arm in first, uttering a string of expletives of German, Federation standard, and some choice Klingon sprinkled in with one she didn’t understand. “Oh…..I will need a pain-killer once I get all the way in. Just go light.” Annalise moved to help her superior get suited up. The other arm went instantly, shockingly and her helmet snapped on once connected and locked. The pain was written all over Emagyn’s face, reaching into the nearby panel, she said reaching out for the medkit, pulling out a hyospray.

“Do those work through the suit?” Annalise asked, a little confused.

Finally, in the suit, she moved her left arm of the suit towards Annalise. “A port right below the elbow on the bicep. You can inject it there.” She said, then added. “The next steps are to get some tools, tricorders, and phasers to see what is out there and that the shuttle bay is secure. We are here and it is up to us. We can do this, Annalise. Right now. All we know is the lights are out. Intrepid explorers are we.” Ema said, offering up a smile through the discomfort. After a moment to process Annalise nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. Let me…” she adjusted the hypospray and injected it as indicated, hoping it would give her superior some comfort. “Right, there’s an emergency locker by the door…” The boots of Annalise’s suit clonked on the ground as she made her way over and she punched in the unlock code to the fortunately mechanical lock. Pulling open the small door revealed a med kit, hand phasers and wrist torches, the latter two of which she passed to Ema. “Do you think we’ve been boarded, ma’am?” She asked in what she hoped was a reasonably calm sounding tone.

“Full stop Petty Officer,” Ema said, even making a display of a flat palm gesture. “Do not jink us.” She said, adding a smile. “This is a blown fuse or something until we know more. Give me data not speculation right now, please, and a phaser. I might need to make coffee.” 

As the analgesic started to have an effect she took the offered supplies from the Petty Officer. The hand torch was added to the top of her left more operable arm, and then Ema slipped the type II hand phaser into its holster. It would hurt if she needed it, but she was still doable. 

“Sunnuvabi…” Ema swore. “Please tell me you have a tricorder. Mine is in my left pants cargo pocket, inside the pressure suit. Otherwise, you might have to grope me a bit to get it.” She said snickering a bit at the thought.

“I can think of worse things?” Annalise tried to get into the spirit. “Tricorder, tricorder…” she scanned the myriad surfaces with an outstretched finger. “Tricorder!” The device was scooped up from a console.

“Nice.” Scan the area. I am guessing we have air and the shuttle bay doesn’t. Do not be in the doorway, might be a good idea to bleed off the air so nothing goes flying. We can restore systems later. Staying here would be not my first choice. Thinking Engineering first.” Handing Annalise a manual door release, she took one herself, standing to the side of the door where she could still use her good arm. “Now, we are just cracking the seal a bit. Too much and things start flying.”

“You are guessing correctly,” Annalise informed her, blinking a little in the bright light of the tricorder screen which created blue and orange reflections in the visor of her suit. Seeing Emma’s prompt she pocketed the tricorder and took a hold of the handle. “Understood. On your mark, ma’am.”

“Nice and easy. Just a crack. On three. One…two…three.” both women pulled the doors slightly apart. The pressure caused the atmosphere to whistle from the opening between the doors. As the air escaped the noise lessened slightly. Ema motioned to Annalise. “A bit more, but be ready to close it. We should be okay in a few seconds.”

Annalise nodded and the two women yanked on the door again letting the rest of the air escape in small amounts until they were equalised. Annalise checked the readout of her suit..she had plenty of air of course, but she was nervous.

“M…maybe you better go first, ma’am? So I can catch you if you uh… need catching?” She suggested.

Attempting to lighten the mood she shot back, “Or get eaten first.” Ema teased. Aiming her palmlight around the bay, she started slowly for the bay doors. Checking the seals, checking for leaks, life support and power systems were next on the list of priorities. “Go ahead and scan for leaks. I’ll get the bay-door seals.” Annalise did as she was ordered.

“Looks like we’re good,” she commented after a minute or so of clomping around the bay. Her torch swung in Emagyn’s direction. Seeing the Bay in this way was quite unnerving, even morbid but Annalise decided not to say anything. She didn’t want to completely ruin her reputation with her boss.

It took effort but Ema managed to re-establish atmosphere in the shuttle bay. For the two of them, it would last a long time. Ema wasn’t planning on finding out the limit of what that would be. Life support was off though. If they stayed it was going to get cold fast. “Let’s see if we can get one of the shuttles up and running. That might tell us more especially if we can get the sensors up.”

There was a shuttle close to Annalise’s position so she hopped a few steps over and hit the door release.

“Nothing,” she commented. ‘”Even if the door were jammed the internal lights should come on, but there’s just nothing… we could try the manual release but I’d bet you a really really good Pork Pie that the shuttles are dead too.” Annalise wasn’t as experienced as Ema but she spent a portion of her work time all day prepping craft and closing them up again after use. There was a fair chance she was right.

Ema turned to Annalise. “If the shuttles are dead, that’s not good. Completely separated turned-off systems? Grab a tool kit.” Emagyn snagged a nearby parts container and slid it over near the panel access of a type 2 shuttle. Gingerly pulling off the panel, she placed it on the floor out of the way and grabbed her palm beacon.

“Well they’re not usually completely cold and dark,” Annalise replied as she padded over to the nearest tool kit and hefted it across the deck. “They have some standby systems that are usually on, way quicker to power them up that way. Lights, doors…”

 
Ema looked at Annalise and said, “That’s my point. It shouldn’t be off.” Annalise reached in and grabbed the power cell from inside the toolkit. Pressing a button it read fully charged. Ema plugged it into the port on the panel, but the panel was still dead. “I’d still like to get inside. Chairs and supplies. Plus, we might be able to find out what is stopping this from powering on. Though as always, I am open to suggestions, Annalise.”

“What the actual rotting hell.” “Ema said in German. Reaching into the toolbox, Ema grabbed a Multi-tester and spent a few minutes poking around the inside of the panel. Getting frustrated working inside the suit, she turned to Annalise. “See if the air is breathable yet, please. It would be easier to work without the helmet and gloves.” 

The Petty Officer checked her tricorder.

“We are…” she experimentally clunked her helmet to the release position and, lifting it off, took a breath. “…good! A bit thin but workable. Think ten thousand feet on Earth. It should get better too.”

“Okay, let’s at least lose the gloves and work before all the heat bleeds out of the bay. Keep your helmet on for a few more minutes before losing your helmet, in case I pass out.” Annalise complied and re-sealed her helmet. Popping the seal, a slight hiss escaped Ema’s. Tenatively breathing, she stripped off the gloves as quickly as she could considering her should. Grabbing a testing with probes, Emagyn only took a minute to figure out the issue. “Wow. Find me two EPS relays and the conduits between them. I’ve never seen one melted. Until now. “Actually, you pull the conduit and relays. I’ll will go find the parts. ” Ema said smiling.

“You sure ma’am, with that shoulder?” Annalise asked. It was more concern than obvious non-compliance. 

Emagyn smiled and nodded. “I’m sure. My shoulder would scream if I had to contort myself pulling those conduits, trust me. I’ll get the parts if I make a few trips, so be it.” Pulling a module from a pocket, Ema snapped the cylindrical library unit into the tricorder. In case you want some music. Might take a few minutes to get those out. Be right back.” She said in a sing-song manner.

Just as Ema had manually opened the door to the parts bin, the lights flickered and came to life. “Sonuvab…” Emagyn swore. While she was grateful, the timing could have been better. Unceremoniously turning around, she made her way back to Annalise. The first thing the Petty Officer did was stab at her com badge.

“Royston, A. to Royston, D.?…” The badge made a sorry, flat sort of sound. “Shit! Work with me here!” The young mother’s frustration was obvious, but if the lights were on then comms would probably soon follow.

Finally making it back to Annalise, Ema added. “Come on. Let’s go check on our charges. You have a kiddo and I have a knot-head Shepherd mix that weighs fifty kilos that probably ate my bed.”

It had been a few minutes since thingamy and what’s-their-name had left. They had said their names but Kriana couldn’t remember them. Still whatever what’s-their-name had done with the dermal regenerator certainly helped. She could move much more freely now.

Kriana had spent a few minutes watching the unconscious Cardassian they had brought in. Teal uniform meant Science or Medical, Kriana knew that much. Other than that she didn’t recall ever serving the woman in the bar. One silver pip. Officer of some sort. Fearne had taken the time to educate her wife on these things. It had been boring. Kriana didn’t remember most of it. Watching this woman be unconscious was boring too. Positioning a couple of the luminescent drinks so the woman was lit enough to be seen from the bar, Kriana moved on over and started to sweep up the many large pieces of glass into a pan and put them in a convenient bin. Having no power they couldn’t be recycled straight away but it was something to do. With occasional looks back over towards her, the work was largely completed in a couple of clinky minutes. Kriana debated soaking up the alcohol pool with some towels but came to the surprisingly selfless (for her) conclusion that fresh towels might be needed for wounded people.

Kriana huffed as she sat down next to the Cardassian again. She was still breathing. Kriana figured there would be more people at the lounge, designated shelter and all, and supposed that they were probably stuck in other places thanks to the ship being dark. Kriana was an extrovert. She and Fearne could chatter on for hours. The silence in the bar was killing her. Kriana realised one of Fearne’s favourite metal songs was playing in her head. She had to admit it was a good song. She listened and bopped along with the music. It was something to do.

Stirring beside the distracted barkeep, the Cardassian Ensign tried to get her bearings with what little movement her body allowed. The room was noticeable thanks to its decor, allowing her to solve that mystery fairly easily. Why she was there though was another matter. Slowly and gently she reached out with her left hand until she placed it upon the young Klingon’s arm.

“Bah!” Kriana’s head snapped around and she jolted visibly with fright. “You scared me!” She said, her tone unclear as to whether this was informational or chastisement. “How are you feeling?” She asked. That was probably the right thing to do.

Words were not needed as she winced between movements. “Wha… what happened?” the Cardassian’s voice was low and pained, draping her hand over her torso to try and hold in the pain that threatened to explode from her chest.

“Uhhh…” Kriana started, unsure how to answer this, mostly because she had no idea what happened. “There was a big… jolt? I guess? And the lights went out. I guess something hit the ship? I dunno,” she offered, waving her hand a tad too casually. “Some guys brought you here. I think they went looking for a doctor for you.”

A jolt? Something caused a jolt that affected the ship’s systems. Something… Crap! It suddenly hit her what had happened. She’d just detected the likelihood of a solar flare, catastrophic in magnitude, when the star erupted far earlier than she’d predicted. In seconds, the ship had been impacted and all had gone dark. Now she found herself here, in significant pain and with only the bartender for company.

“There should be more people here,” the Cardassian winced as she rubbed her temple for relief. “Under disaster protocols, people should report here if they are in the vicinity. Where is everyone?”

“Dunno,” Kriana shrugged. “The doors are all on manual ‘cause the power’s out, maybe they’re stuck?”

“And we haven’t seen any of the senior staff yet?” the Cardassian used all of her power to sit herself up and not collapse back in a heap. In such a situation, at least one of the senior staff would have checked out the relief zones, surely?

Kriana shook her head proudly, the dim green light catching her forehead ridges.

“No. Just you and the two guys who brought you here. I thought there should be more people here.” Kriana congratulated herself inside for being correct.

“Then we’re going to have to go looking. Consider yourself officially drafted into Starfleet,” Nisha summoned every ounce of her strength to pull herself to her feet and fight the nauseous feeling that swiftly enveloped her. “Grab that medkit over there and let’s get to it…” the Ensign instructed, then stopped. “I didn’t catch your name?”

“That’s ’cause I didn’t tell it to you,” Kriana replied, haughtily. She didn’t like to be ordered around. If she’d been okay with that she’d have joined Starfleet or the KDF or something. “Kriana. I mix drinks and wipe tables.”

“Nisha,” the Cardassian smiled, offering a hand. “I scan stuff and ponder the meaning of the universe,” she made light of the work she actually did, but it was a good sign of her being somewhat normal after the trauma she’d been through.

Kriana raised an eyebrow at this. “Got any good answers yet?” she asked as she collected the bits of medkit back into the pouch and slung it on her shoulder. “I mean… the meaning of… this…” She gestured rather flippantly to the room about them, referring to life, or existence.

“It was a massive solar flare,” Nisha winced, watching as her new deputy collected the bits she could. “Massive, bigger than any I’ve ever recorded. There was something peculiar about it though…” her mind trailed somewhat as her attention diverted to the window across the room. “It was unlike any flare-up I’ve seen…”

“…which either means you’re not very experienced or someone made it,” Kriana observed. The part-Klingon was somewhat more intelligent than her Starfleet wife but definitely had more rough edges. “I’m not one to blow sunshine up people’s asses, ask my other half, but I’ve not met anyone yet on this ship who wasn’t a super proto-nerd at whatever they do, unlike Klingons who just throw shit at the wall for the most part.” Never one for missing an opportunity to slag-off Klingons, Kriana stood with the med kit, slinging the strap over her shoulder and placing a hand on her hip. “Point is, if you say you’ve never seen it before it’s probably someone trying to fuck us. I’ve been in too many dicey situations. This smells like Targ shit.” It was upon saying this Kriana realised how her old ship had actually smelt of Targ shit, how the Hathaway smelt of precisely nothing and how much she liked that by comparison.

Frowning, the Cardassian stumbled her way out of the massive meeting room and headed in search of survivors, all whilst contemplating her new colleagues’ words.

“Targ shit indeed…”

It happened fast; too fast for Tom to react.

Voices came over the comms, something about a solar flare. Shouldn’t have been a concern. Then the channel lit up again, calling out an EMP, no time to get out of the way.  There was barely enough time for him to eject the power pack from his EVA suit. All at once, silence fell over the comms, all the systems shut down, and he found himself alone, surrounded by the dark, boundless expanse that is deep space.

‘Don’t panic’, he thought to himself, ‘that will cause an increase in heart rate, which will use more oxygen.’ He took a quick stock of his situation, tried cycling the main power switches a few times, and sat back in his seat. He looked out the cockpit towards the looming shadow that was the Hathaway, barely visible against the black background of space. The ship was lit from behind by a nearby star, causing the near edge of the saucer to be ignited in a halo of silver light.

He undid the harness that held him to the seat, and opened the access panel to his left to see if he could get his fighter up and running again. The power conduits all looked like they were in good shape, no visible damage and nothing was on fire, which was a good sign. He reinstalled the power call into his EVA suit, and tried to power up the display screen, which lit up after a second, and he let out a reckless sigh of relief. He looked at the power level, 47%. Not bad, but certainly less than he had hoped for, it would give him between 11 and 12 hours of oxygen once the air in the cockpit got too thin.  He knew for now, the best thing to do was be as still as possible, and breathe as shallow as possible to stretch the oxygen as far as possible. He leaned back into his seat, kept one eye on the Hathaway, and settled in for the long wait…

Silence reigned supreme as Miranda faded in and out of consciousness.  In the far off distance she could hear the echoes of familiar voices wafting in and out of range like parachute seeds on a summer breeze.   It was rather ironic that the very layers of metal, electronic equipment, and insulating fibers all engineered preserve and aid life now muffled, hushed, and suffocated her cries for help.  Miranda was now very tired, waning in efforts to gather sufficient air filled lungs to sustain the most ancient distress call known to man.

“Lead me on Valentine.”

The words were barely able to escape her lips.  Her eyes closed once more without consent and having little fight left, she gave into the solace of memory and nostalgia.  She could see Valentine trotting down the hall, stopping briefly to assess her intensions of following through on filling his dish.  She could smell bacon and Mom’s famous pancakes.  This was a staple on those cozy Saturday mornings.  Her father nodded with a smile, seated at the head of table with a steaming pot of black tar he called coffee.

“This isn’t so bad.”

Her voice was now external.  She couldn’t tell if she was speaking or someone else was narrating her story with her own vocal chords.  Far from distressing, she allowed the unidentified narrator to continue as her eyes caught a glimpse of the the dense white fog which surrounded their house on those are chilly mornings.  There was really nothing to observe and the experience should have been quite boring, but she loved the glowing light and charm it spread throughout her room.  It was the closest she got to ‘snow days’ where she lived.  Valentine and her could sit for hours nestled in fleece blankets and drinking hot cocoa.

“What were you thinking Mija!  The Academy looks deep into your record and history, your father and I are very disappointed.”

Someone had mastered her mother’s voice perfectly, just the right amount of anxious distress to inspire a cacophony of guilt, shame, and existential dread.  Worse yet was the absence of her father’s face, his eyes inspecting an empty coffee cup as he leaned against the door frame.  He never looked at her when she messed up; its how she knew the gravity of her actions.  Actions she would never repeat again.

Miranda’s eyes closed.  The darkness had returned; not even the stars were visible in the night sky.  She felt ill, clammy, feverish, her joints ached.  She imagined death would hurt more than the flu.  This was an all too familiar feeling.  She had hoped to feel free and painless during the final transition, the last chance to ‘boldly go’ where too many had gone before…and yet she found herself content if this was the worst.

Since the assault course of releasing herself from her quarters, Squidge had obtained a wrist torch, a phaser, a med-kit and a Lieutenant. Her first stop had been a few doors down from her own. Together, she and a young command officer called Mallory Harper had managed to force the door on the Junior Lieutenant’s quarters and together they had formed a liberation team, checking on any officers and crew they found, distributing directions, regulations, orders, supplies, kind words and, in one case, a hug.

As more time passed and no sign of boarders or further threats became apparent, Squidge started to relax a little. This is what you chose this assignment for she reminded herself, and quelled some of Lieutenant Harper’s feelings of unease with a healthy dose of Squidge optimism and some eccentric giggles. The counsellor shone her light on the next door, they were getting to be pros at the manual release by now.

“Cargo bay,” she commented and accessing the panel, hung on the lever which squealed and clicked the doors apart.

Releasing a long slow breath, uncertain if she would have the stamina to draw another, a striking beam of light exposed the gap in her eyelids.  The light grew vertically and expanded horizontally, but it was difficult for Miranda to see what the source was.  There were shadows which looked like humanoid figures, at least two faces peered down upon her.  She assumed it was her mother and father.  She assumed this was how it ended.

“Ensign, can you hear me?” Squidge knelt by Miranda’s side and started an assessment of her injuries. The medical tricorder was removed from the kit and Squidge ran the probe across her body as if stroking an aura. “It’s Doctor Gray.” Squidge didn’t use the term Doctor much any more although still technically true, but in this case she had quickly concluded the phrasing would offer comfort for the injured. After all, before she was a counsellor she had been a M.D.

Miranda could hear the chirps and beeps of the medical tricorder as her body was scanned.  Each beep, boop, and shrill cry of the tricorder caused pain in her ears and highlighted several painful regions of her body.  She groaned and winced with pain as the little energy she had maintained consciousness.  The annoyance was agitation enough to keep her eyes from closing and the longer they were, the quicker the blurriness of her vision subsided.  Much like her beloved tricorder, the faces of those in front of her became far more familiar and the words spoken were making so much more sense.

“I think…I need a doctor,” Miranda stated in soft whispered tones.  “Everything hurts.” Squidge smiled at her, her face completely hiding any reaction to what she was seeing on the tricorder screen.

“Lucky you have one then,” Squidge commented in her usual bright tone. The fact she hadn’t been a full Starfleet M.O. since the Dominion War was a detail that didn’t need to be disclosed in the immediate. Squidge was more than qualified to be an emergency medic. The contusion on Miranda’s head was presenting the Counsellor with the most concern. Chances of Concussion were high so Squidge kept her patient alert by way of conversation.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

Miranda’s eyes locked onto the woman before her, her affect blunted by painful agitation.  She grabbed her sore neck and furrowed her brow as another point of sensitivity was identified.

“Miranda,” she muttered in response, “I…I…was counting….”

Silence was much easier than talking and thinking.  Counting wasn’t the exact word she was looking for, but it was all that could come to mind from her current cognitive abilities.

“I think I can…” she continued leaning to one side, attempting to get on all fours and back to her feet.  The pain in her head protested, leaving her slumping to the floor instead in wrenching agony.

“Take it easy, Ensign,” Squidge told her in the kind of senior-officer tone one doesn’t easily disobey. “Lie down, on your side if you can, let me patch you up a bit.” The older women shone her light into the open medpack and aquired another tool. “That’s a nasty contusion, and I’d bet my favourite pyjamas you’ve got a concussion too.”

Compliance was easier when one’s body was frighting every attempt to regain independence.  Miranda rolled to her side, head rested on the upper arm outstretched across the metallic floor.  She released a deep breath hanging onto every word the doctor spoke; they kept her from fading into sleepless darkness.

“Am I gonna be okay?” Miranda inquired, listlessly focusing from object to object.

“Yes, we found you soon enough. You’ll be fine! Shine that here…” Squidge switched tools and addressed the wound on Miranda’s head under the light of Harper’s torch. She administered two shots from the hypospray and then moved to closing the wound with a regenerator, her tongue sticking through her teeth in concentration. “That’s something for the pain and something else for the dizziness. You should feel a little clearer shortly.”

Miranda nodded affirmatively that she understood, already feeling the early effects of treatment.  She rolled to her knees, braced herself against the container, and stumbled onto studying feet and legs.  The surroundings were making sense once again and her ability to recall the great context of who she was and the mission she was on prior to the black out were returning.

“Thank you Doctor,” she affirmed as the light at the end of the tunnel revealed her path back home to her quarters.

“Take it easy,” Squidge advised kindly, placing an affirming hand on her shoulder. “Head for one of the emergency shelter points, the Lounge or Sickbay, Engineering, The Bridge. We’re going to see if we can’t find some more trapped and injured. Right Harper?” Squidge looked to her compatriot and started popping items from the medkit back into its pouch.

“Yes ma’am,” the Lieutenant replied.

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.” ~ Martin Luther King Jr.

Tom sat up suddenly in his seat, focusing hard on a patch of sky behind the Hathaway. Was that another ship? Was it Federation? He didn’t really want to be a sitting duck out here to find out, so he tried to clear the fog from his mind, and come up with a plan. His fighter was still pressurized, so he could put his helmet on and blow the seal, use the remaining battery from his EVA suit to try and make contact with the ship, but if he miscalculated, he would certainly die, which was unacceptable outside of combat. His other choice was to tear into his ship, and use his power pack to attempt a jump start of his systems, but if that failed, he would again, die suffocating.

‘Not the best of circumstances’ he thought to himself, ‘but I probably stand a better chance if I stay here. Plan B it is’.  He took another look at the access panel where his power conduit ran, and started working his way around the cramped space, trying to trace them to their source, at the small M/ARA reactor.  After a few minutes of wriggling around, he found the end, where they connected through the bulkhead. He lifted the handle that locked them in place, and gave the power conduits a pull. They resisted at first, but a moment later they came free, and he spun back around to examine the end. He was sweating now, and breathing more heavily than he would have liked, but at this point, he had resigned to putting everything he had left into getting his fighter powered up again.  His attention was momentarily pulled to the sky, however, and his situation managed to somehow become worse.

He knew what he had seen. He knew, yet he couldn’t believe it. It was the unmistakable sight of a ship going to warp. Not the Hathaway, of course, as she still seemed to be dead in the water, no, this was another vessel entirely. Smaller, like his own Valkyrie, and obviously headed somewhere in a hurry. Tom hoped intensely that it was a Federation ship that went for help, but were there any others out here with us? He couldn’t remember, so rather than spend time worrying about it, he tore his mind away from the idea, and refocused himself on the task at hand, deciding his little fighter may be the only chance everyone had if that ship turned out to be hostile.

His hands found the power cell, and with a small click it came free from his suit. At this point he decided to ditch the suit altogether, as these modifications would render the power cell unusable in it anymore, and it was dead weight. Now sitting in half a EVA suit and black undershirt, he checked the connector to the power cell. It looked close enough, he held the two together to see if they would connect. Not quite, but it was close enough to give him hope. All he needed was a jumpstart to the system, then the reactor could take over. Scavenging some length of wire from the EVA suit, he started carefully testing the connections to see if he could get a reaction.