Saveq Dreylenn

Kremmen wasn’t the worst place to grow up on Retellia III. It was a little rundown around the edges, with fewer opportunities for upward mobility than might have been on offer to someone from, say, the capital city Ilpo, or Earth. Federation membership had, however, curbed the real corruption and social inequality that had plagued the Retellian civilisation before the 2200s. As a result, when Dreylenn was born in 2352, the dream of serving in Starfleet was not out of reach.

It was a dream that would quickly manifest itself in the form of a stellar academic record, and with the seizing of every opportunity to travel offworld. She was twelve years old the first time she hitched a ride on a shuttlecraft heading to one of the orbital research stations. For the rest of her days she would remember the slow fading of the blue Retellian sky into the black nothing of space; the glimmering stars that lit up with the inviting sparkle of a million different possibilities on a million different worlds.

After that first trip, her parents would remark that she seemed to spend more time in space than she did at home. Still, she wanted more. Field trips turned into work placements that turned into internships. In a few short years, she had spent so much time on orbital research station Lortha that nearly all personnel knew her name. It was no surprise then, that at the age of 20 she would be offered a post assisting with station operations. It was there that she made the application to Starfleet Academy.

Adjusting to Academy life was easy enough for Dreylenn, though for the first year she would have preferred to have spent more time in space. The routines, the theories and the conversations were nothing new. Her practical skills and familiarity with various systems, particularly those unique to stations and starbases, found her an early placement in the operations stream. Given her background, she was more than happy to familiarise herself with the ins and outs of everything that made life aboard Starfleet facilities tick.

It was soon discovered that Dreylenn was quite handy with a phaser, too. What began as mandatory weapons training in her first year at the academy progressed into electives in ground combat, hazard team operations, anti-personnel and boarding tactics. Thus, her specialism in security was earned.

2377 With Starfleet beginning to put out feelers of exploration again after the Dominion war, on graduation Dreylenn was assigned to the research vessel USS T’Vass as an operations officer. For five years she travelled through the Gamma Quadrant, charting, exploring and scouring the unexplored murk beyond the narrow threads of space familiar to Starfleet. On more than one occasion, she was forced to put her combat training into use against those hostile or simply indifferent to the Federation’s mission of peace. The Hunters of Tosk and marauding Jem’Hadar, abandoned by the Dominion, were among the dangers she faced on that far flung journey.

Returning to Federation space, Dreylenn was reassigned, thus ending her first and only starship tour of duty. She had appreciated the ups, downs, risks and adventure that had come with life aboard ship. Her next posting, however, was to truly define what being in Starfleet meant to her. Deep Space Three was a community hub in every sense. In the far flung Bredzedar System, the station formed a confluence point for trade routes running from Flaxos to Cait. Species from all corners of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants had found lives on the station. From traders to chefs, dilettantes to bounty hunters; it was the diversity of backgrounds finding coexistence aboard Deep Space Three that truly opened Dreylenn’s eyes to life outside the confines of a single culture.

Being assigned to the station brought with it a great deal more personal freedom than Dreylenn had grown accustomed to during her service on the T’Vass. It was strange at first. She stuck mainly to other Starfleet personnel, passing time in much the same way she would have done aboard ship.

“You’ve only been off station twice in six months?” Lieutenant Florenn had balked, “There’s two planets and a whole damned moon in this system to explore, Dreylenn! What are you doing spending your weekends in the holodeck?”

It was the beginning of her immersion in the Bredzedarian way of life. Soon, along with several colleagues and friends, she began piloting any available runabout or shuttlecraft available to Bredzedar II, III  and the moon Bredesh. Every window of leave too short for a journey back to Retellia was taken up by these excursions. Her more experienced travel partners encouraged her to explore the spice plains of Olmog, the Fyrzen crested peaks and the fruit markets of Bodregar City. She grew to love the feeling of dipping into another world, another existence and reality, for a few days. Perhaps she would even stay for a week before returning to her orbital refuge.

Years passed, friends were reassigned, and Dreylenn felt a tug. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what compelled her to move on. In all likelihood it was a combination of external and internal change that had crossed some kind of invisible boundary. Colleagues and friends reminded her that she was early in her career, that there was more still out there to see. There was an assignment available. Something they were sure she would be interested in, but she was going to need to call upon that combat training.

Yalm Station was smaller than she expected. A planetary installation, it occupied fifteen square kilometres of a plateau north of Therlan State on the Prygan landmass.  Alpine forest stretched northwards beyond the station perimeter as far as the eye could see. Jagged mountains spiked up, piercing the horizon with their razor sharp volcanic ridges.  To the south, lay the great Yaddar metropolis. It was a heaving, sprawling chaotic milieu of a city. Docking spires leapt out of slums. Mirrored skyscrapers leered down at ramshackle favelas. Government districts with pristine white stone frontage backed onto swathes of parkland where Yaddarians slept in tents.

They had warned Dreylenn that this assignment was not for the feint of heart. She’d read the briefs, told them she was ready and said her farewells. She had organised passage on the USS Emstra, traveling via the Yalm system on a mission to forge further diplomatic links between the Federation and the Children of Tama. Upon her arrival, one excursion to Yaddar was all it took for her to question whether she had, in fact, chosen the right assignment. Viewing ground scans on the shuttle ride over Blase District revealed the severe dilapidation of the surroundings. Torched buildings, soot washed grey in the beating rain, angled dangerously against their primitive concrete foundations. Brown patches of muddied ground lay between buildings, across which trudged weary figures for whom living into the next day was far from certain. A woman hunched, braced and grimacing against the wind. She turned skywards towards the shuttle gliding overhead.

“What’s Starfleet even doing here?” She’d asked, mouth agape, the content of the assignment briefs momentarily escaping her.

“Trying.” Captain S’Vesten had replied, “Believe it or not, Lieutenant, but Yalm was once a thriving civilisation taking its first steps beyond this star system. That was until the war. The two remaining planetary governments have agreed to Starfleet’s presence as a peacekeeping force. We’ve been trying to negotiate a wider scope for our mission. I mean, there’s so much we could do. Technology sharing alone could solve this pointless wealth hoarding.” He gestured towards the scan imagery by way of illustration, “Of course, that would require those that benefit from the corruption to change the status quo.”

“So we sit and we just watch this happening?”

“We’re the shining city on the hill,” S’Vesten tried his best to hold back the sarcasm in his voice, “we’re here to show the Yaddarians how it can be done.” A pause, “In reality we’re here to stop each side annihilating each other. Throw in a few infrastructure projects, power generators, replicators, and you’ve pretty much got the idea of what we’re doing.”

Dreylenn looked across to the Captain, confused, “Don’t they want something more, though? If the whole planet simply adopted our tech, they wouldn’t have these resource differences. The population’s not even that big. They could all live pretty well.”

“Define ‘they’, Lieutenant.” S’Vesten flashed a rueful smile, “I’m sure those people living in tents would love to replicate themselves a hot meal. Unfortunately we’re forced to deal with their ‘representatives’; happy to take the tech for themselves. Also happy to remind us of the Prime Directive whenever we try to help someone not solely interested in self-enrichment.”

Dreylenn’s nose wrinkled in disgust, “Ugh.”

“And so you see our predicament, Lieutenant. Can’t get too involved, but can’t leave. Right now we focus on making sure our stuff isn’t used to make this beshitted situation any worse. Ever seen what an antimatter warhead exchange does to a planet’s surface?”

From that day on, Dreylenn made it her mission to trace every single piece of Starfleet equipment in use on the planet. The Prime Directive prohibited her from interfering in the development of another culture, but she was damned if she wasn’t going to try and help those trapped in needless misery. The senior staff of Yalm Station would toe a fine line by loaning soil enrichment machinery to community farms, cortical scanners to impoverished healthcare providers, even phase decouplers to improve power grids in remote settlements. Meanwhile, replicators serving administrative enclaves would mysteriously malfunction, while quantum computing systems engaged in government surveillance suffered catastrophic memory wipes.

Occasionally, perhaps in a drinking establishment late at night deep within the Yaddar metropolis, station senior staff would discuss their next moves. Maintaining plausible deniability to both Yaddarian governments and Starfleet was thirsty work. Surrounded by trusted contacts, they spoke of the plight of the Yaddarian people and the need for change. Whatever happened, it was going to happen slowly.

Eight years rolled by. While marginally improved, Dreylenn found herself frustrated by cat and mouse games between Starfleet and Yaddarian governments. Upon learning of technical assistance being offered to groups outside of their purview, the administrations of both Yaddarian states issued formal complaints to the United Federation of Planets decrying Starfleet’s alleged interference in the development of their cultures. Now under close watch, progress towards Yaddarian emancipation slowed to a glacial pace. Dreylenn grew frustrated with the situation, and by Captain S’Vesten’s reluctance to continue their secret work. She applied for reassignment in 2398.

Now Chief of Security aboard Starbase 86, Dreylenn carries with her a huge respect for different cultural norms and mores. This is coupled with a more nuanced, pragmatic view of Starfleet’s role in the galaxy; the result of the morally grey nature of her longest assignment to this date. Her work is simpler now, and she is happier for it. Instead of days spent wrangling with planetary politics, she spends her time enforcing station rules and regulations, ensuring civilian safety, and conducting the occasional counterintelligence operation. There are days she misses those days on Yalm, and even the bustling streets of Bodregar City. As she apprehends smugglers, stares down enraged Klingons and laughs with friends over mugs of jestral tea, Dreylenn begins to find the time between thoughts of her past life growing longer and longer.