“Do you ever feel small?” Aynesh mused as she lifted one hand to shield her eyes from the pale yellow sun in the distance, her lilting dreamy tone carried by the tinny timbre inherent in using comms in an EVA suit. 

“I hope that isn’t a jibe about my height.” Log retorted, his attention focused on the open circuitry panel that housed the weather satellite’s sensor relays. “My mother said I am a perfectly reasonable height.” 

“Was that before or after you had those custom shoes replicated?” 

A silence sat on the comm channel, Log regretted ever letting the woman into his room, where she had spied his recent aquisition. “After.” A cackle filled the airless wavelengths. “It’s not funny Aynesh, it really bothered me when I was younger.” 

“Are you saying it doesn’t bother you now?”

“Not nearly as much.” Log whispered a silent thanks that she couldn’t see the lie emblazoned on his face, masked as it was by the boxy, vision impairing helmet of the brilliant white EVA suits. “You know what does bother me?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his ongoing troubles with verticality. 

“People who talk through Klingon Opera? The complexities of the Gagh market? That weird smell in section 42-F?” Aynesh prattled, pushing an imaginary buzzer atop the nearby satellite’s exterior sensor arrays. 

“That we’ve been out here for almost an hour and you haven’t…” Log bit his tongue before the tirade could begin. The pair had been assigned to preventative works on the weather satellites, it was a good chance to earn some EVA hours and do something useful. Unfortunately Aynesh had yet to pick up a tool let alone repair a satellite’s faulty systems. Eager not to have an argument in zero-G he opted for a more diplomatic word choice, “… you seem very distracted.” 

“How are you not?” Aynesh chided. “I mean look at it all.” Log felt a series of speedy thuds echo in the deck below his feet, a telltale sign that she was spinning around in wonder.

“I mean it’s all very impressive but we do have a job to do.” He placed the calibration tool in his hand on the temporary magnetic strip above the panel that held his various tools, all neatly laid out ready for use. “It doesn’t make me feel small though.” He turned towards his team mate, who continued to spin comically slow in her clunky suit. “It’s the same view as you get from the Starbase.” He motioned to the gleaming silver citadel that floated effortlessly in the distance, a gigantic landmark despite being thousand of kilometres away. 

“IT IS NOT.” She declared loudly, suddenly stopping mid twirl, her heavy breaths from the exertion punctuating the silence. “When you’re out here, it’s everywhere.“ she whispered, lowering her voice for dramatic effect as she threw her arms wide. “And we are tiny in comparison to it all.”

“It doesn’t make me feel tiny.” Log took several slow steps to meet her in the open space between the satellite’s pylons. “It makes me feel oddly powerful.”

“But you’re just a guy in a space suit?” she tilted her head quizzically. “How are you anything compared to that?” She thrust her right arm out towards open space, her finger pointing accusingly to the jagged crack in space that glowed predatorily from the bushes made of starlight. It lay quiet for now, a momentary reprieve whilst it sat grinding its mile wide teeth together, waiting for the next opportunity to leap open and gobble up a stray ensign on an EVA. Or perhaps worse still to regurgitate some foreign being, who had equal chance of flying the flag of a foe as of  a friend. 

“That, is…” Underspace, the official briefing had called it, a vast network of subspace tunnels that reached across the galaxy with millions of possible pathways. A new frontier for Starfleet, a new horizon to bolster the ideals of the Federation. “A new opportunity.”

“They made you very optimistic didn’t they?” Aynesh smiled smugly through her helmet’s transparent face, she was barely a year Log’s senior but took no small pleasure in proffering her ‘experience’. “It doesn’t care about you. It’s here regardless of what you want, throwing out gravimetric distortions and space debris and bits of planet onto those nice people down there.” She pointed towards the green and blue marble that spread out beneath their feet, despite being thousands of kilometres away it curved into the distance creating a circle horizon in all 4 cardinal directions. “You don’t matter to it.” Her words carried a panicked edge, her usual confidence wavering as it danced on the existential blade. 

“No.” Log mused, stifling the urge to reach up and stroke his scraggly chin hairs, frustratingly out of reach, locked behind his transparent helmet. “But I do matter to those people down there.” He pointed to the surface of Melstoxx III, where swirling clouds were slowly dispersing as the weather stations were systematically repaired following their unexpected bombardment with exotic radiation. “Without me that storm wouldn’t clear. Everything would be lost.”

“Some of them are already lost.” Casualty numbers were still coming in from the surface of the planet as the fires and floods slowly receded, Log could see a pain in the corner of Aynesh’s eyes, one shared by all the officers who graduated in recent years. They were promised unlimited stars with unimagined futures, instead they had received another disaster they could not predict, another cruel twist of fate that they couldn’t have possibly dodged. 

Log decided to push through, “I matter to those people.” He pointed towards the silver citadel, surrounded by a swarm of shuttles fluttering in and out the station’s vast docking bays laden with supplies and like honeybees working at the face of the hive. “Because I’m here doing my job, they can do their job.”

“They’d find someone to do the job. It doesn’t matter whether it’s you or me.” Her despondency was obvious now, Log had learnt early on that Aynesh felt everything keenly, all mountain highs and deep sea trenches. She threw a thumb over her shoulder to the runabout that floated nearby, “It could be Dave for all the universe cares.” 

“Maybe.” Log admitted. “But for now, in my little bit of the universe, I am the one changing worlds.”

The silence stretched across the achingly short distance between the two engineers and for a moment it seemed they seemed further away from each other than the planet below, the dull and glowing citadel or the grumbling mouth of the anomaly. 

“You can change the worlds with me if you’d like.” he offered a gloved hand forward. 

She reached out and took his hands in hers. “I’d like to do that. I’d like to not feel small.”

“Then can you please pass me the small field modulator from the spare toolkit?” Log motioned with his head to the grey briefcase by her foot, a large Starfleet delta emblazoned on its surface. He let slip a small laugh that bubbled and popped across the commlink, a low and fulsome mote of joy.  

One laugh became two, then three and four as the two young officers continued with their day, changing worlds in the shadow of the future. 

The Starfighter descended gracefully onto the deck it had previously departed from, its thrusters softly humming as it settled into place. With a gentle hiss, the doors slid open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the hangar. The cockpit’s access hatch slowly dropped, revealing two figures inside, silhouetted against the faint glow of the control panels.

First to emerge was Lieutenant Junior Grade Camden “Sunshine” Solari, his movements were fluid, betraying the ease with which he navigated and his experience with ‘rocky’ rides. His features, illuminated by the soft glow of the hangar lights, displayed a mixture of satisfaction and weariness, hinting at the intensity of the test flight just completed.

Following closely behind was Ensign Rarzass Dauul, who climbed out of the cockpit with a mix of exhilaration and relief evident on his face. The test flight had been an intense but invaluable experience, giving him firsthand insight into the fighter’s performance and the nuanced controls.

As they made their way from the Starfighter, Cam turned to Rauul, his expression a mixture of amusement and concern. “Woah, that was a ride,” he remarked, his voice carrying the weight of their shared experience. “Do you see what I meant when I said you shouldn’t blindly mess with those settings, even if your ‘Holy’ manual prescribes it?”

Dauul nodded, a humble smile forming on his lips. “Absolutely, Lieutenant,” he responded, his tone earnest and reflective. “Experiencing it firsthand made all the difference. I understand now why those specific settings are so crucial in the field.”

He took a deep breath, the excitement of the flight still fresh. “I really appreciate you taking the time to show me. Could you explain more about your specific control configurations? I’d like to understand them better so I can make informed recommendations for other pilots.”

Cam glanced over at Dauul and smiled, a trace of nostalgia in his eyes. Even back at the Academy, where their paths had frequently crossed, Dauul’s formality had always stood out. It was a quality Cam admired, especially since maintaining that level of discipline had never come naturally to him. 

Cam leaned in slightly and whispering with a playful grin, “Now, don’t go spilling my secrets to the others. I can’t afford to lose my edge.”

Dauul couldn’t help but chuckle at Cam’s playful remark. “Your secret is safe with me, Lieutenant,” he replied, matching Cam’s tone with a light-hearted sincerity.

“But seriously,” Dauul continued, his expression shifting back to one of genuine interest, “understanding your configurations would really help. I think other pilots could benefit from some of the tweaks you’ve mastered. So whenever you have time, I’d love to go over the details with you.” He paused with a respectful yet eager look, hoping to help prove himself a valuable member of the team.

Cam’s laughter bubbled up, a warm, confident sound that echoed through the hangar. His eyes crinkled with amusement as he spoke, his voice carrying a hint of mischief. “I guess I have enough of a lead to be revealing a trick or two,” he said, his words laced with playful anticipation.

He glanced down at his PADD, tapping the screen thoughtfully before looking back at Dauul. “I’m off duty at 21:00,” Cam suggested, his tone inviting. “How about meeting at the Golden Apple after?” 

Dauul’s smile widened. “That sounds perfect.” he replied. “I’ll see you at the Golden Apple at 21:00. I’m looking forward to it.” With a final nod of understanding, Dauul felt a renewed determination. This was more than just about adjustments and configurations, it was about learning from the best to help everyone perform at their peak.

Lieutenant Alexander Kolokotronis had not been on Starbase Bravo a full day, yet he was already silently overwhelmed by the sheer size of the starbase and the intricacies of its hallways. He found it an energetic environment, something he welcomed, and found the civilian environment refreshing, albiet a tad disarming.

The onboarding liaison he had met upon arrival was more than helpful; an older energetic Chief Petty Officer that knew the place like the back of his hand. He set up Alexander with his quarters and onboarding documents before the Lieutenant had time to introduce himself; there was no fuss or clamoring, straight to business. This was something he had come to expect with the older enlisted, a tradition almost as old as Starfleet itself, he assumed. 

Alexander’s PADD alerted him with a hail, his first since arriving. A Lieutenant Commander Nunni Irric requested a meeting with him in his office, 1700 hours. “Hm.” Alexander pondered. “Investigations Officer.” He assumed it was standard procedure, although his experience with that entire department was slim. 

Finding the Commander’s office proved easier than he had anticipated, mostly thanks to the assistance of an over-eager Ensign he stumbled upon. He arrived at the Irric’s office, stopping in front of the door for a moment to collect himself. If this was his first impression he was to make, he wanted it to be a good one, sans any shortfalls on his behalf. He examined his uniform, straightening his collar pips before entering, hold his head square above his shoulders and his arms at a decent distance from his hips. Alexander flagged the door, and it whooshed open. The young officer entered, and snapped to attention, clicking his right heel as he closed.

“Lieutenant Alexander Kolokotronis reporting as ordered, Sir.”

Lieutenant Commander Nuni Irris glanced up from his PADD, the bluish glow fading from his eyes as he lowered it to the desk. Rising from his chair, he moved with practiced grace, his uniform immaculate and sharply creased. He offered a nod and a genuine smile to the Lieutenant who had just entered, echoing a familiar Earth custom he had embraced over the years.

As he stood, he extended an open hand, inviting the visitor to the plush chairs positioned across his desk. The subtle gleam of the fabric under the soft lighting added a touch of warmth to the room’s otherwise formal atmosphere.

“Lieutenant Commander Nuni, Lead Investigator on this base,” he said, his voice steady but welcoming. His gaze met the Lieutenant’s, holding a hint of curiosity and respect.

With a slight, encouraging tilt of his head, he continued, “Please, take a seat.”

As the Lieutenant settled into one of the chairs, Nuni leaned slightly forward, his eyes softening with the offer. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, gesturing gently to a sleek replicator in the corner. “Water, coffee, or perhaps something else?”

The Lieutenant nodded, easing into his chair, “Good to meet you, Sir.” He paused, briefly pondering the Commander’s warm offer. “No, thank you, Sir.”

Alexander was more than appreciative of Nuni’s forthcoming hospitably; it honestly caught him off guard. He had expected a much more rigid officer, and certainly not to be offered a drink after barely introducing himself. There was, however, still a sense of rigidity and military discipline to the Commander. His impeccable uniform and his aesthetically pleasing, yet spotless office space was certainly not lost on the Lieutenant. Nuni had definitely wasted no time summoning the officer after his arrival; whatever he wanted or looked to inquire, he had certainly planned it ahead of time. Alexander remained curious, as the Commander had still given him no insight as to what he summoned him for.

“What can I do for you, Commander?”

Irric’s demeanor shifted subtly as he began scrutinizing the Lieutenant. His eyes narrowed, studying every detail with a calculated intensity. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp and unyielding, dismissing the Lieutenant’s initial question without a word.

“Kolokotronis,” he remarked, the name rolling off his tongue with a hint of intrigue. “That’s quite the unusual name. Certainly different from most of the Human names I’ve encountered.” His eyes bore into the Lieutenant’s, his skepticism masked with sincerity. “Where is it from?”

Before the Lieutenant could respond, Irric pressed on, his voice now edged with a sharper tone. “Speaking of unusual,” he continued, “your service record stands out too.”

Alexander chose to address the Commander’s first question. “It’s Hellenic, uh, Greek. Sir. More specifically, the Peloponnese. Both my parents are from there.” He paused briefly.

“My service record, yes Sir.” He stared at Irric, unsure of where he was going with this. “I know it’s a bit unusual, Sir.” He sat up, a bit uneasy.

Irric leaned forward, his brows furrowing slightly as he pretended to study the Lieutenant’s file. “You’ve moved between departments frequently in less than a decade,” he remarked, his voice measured yet probing. “Now, you’re transitioning from a Lead position on a Starship to station security?” His words carried a hint of incredulity this time masked by a veneer of curiosity. “That’s quite a shift.”

“Yes, Sir. I found Operations to cause a degree of stagnation I was uncomfortable with.” He eased back a bit, now intrigued at the Commander’s sincere interest in his service record, albeit surprised. Coming from an officer of his own department, he’d understand, but an Intelligence Officer. That was different. 

“I found tactical systems to be something I was more fluid with. I have experience in both Flight Control and Operations Systems, but my combat experience was something that piqued my interest in the tactical field. A Starbase like this, with its location, a number of starships coming in, well, I knew it’d be a perfect opportunity to familiarize myself and work with a wide array of tactical systems and arrangements.”

The Lieutenant was now certain that Irric was more than familiar with his service record. “Speaking frankly, Sir, the USS Perseus incident was an eye opener for me.” He paused, gauging the look on the Commander’s face. “A decent tactical officer is worth his weight in gold.”

Irric nodded slowly, a noncommittal “uh-huh” escaping his lips as he watched the Lieutenant intently. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes missed nothing. After a moment’s pause, a glimmer of skepticism crept into his gaze. “Yes, that’s possible,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge. He leaned back in his chair, the motion casual yet deliberate, creating space between them. “But you stayed on the Shanghai for another two years after that incident, didn’t you?”

He let the question linger, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if peeling back layers of the Lieutenant’s composed exterior. Then, leaning forward, Irric’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me float another theory.”

“After the incident on the Perseus,” Irric began, his tone tightening, “your dedication to Starfleet started to waver.” He leaned in, his eyes locking onto the Lieutenant’s, searching for any flicker of response. “And with all the turmoil in the galaxy, someone might have reached out to you. Someone whose interests don’t quite align with those of the Federation.”

The room seemed to close in around them, the air thick with unspoken implications. “And that connection,” he continued, his words barely above a whisper, “could have led you to apply for a position at the Command Center of the entire Fourth Fleet. A role that grants access to highly sensitive information, the kind that’s tightly controlled.”

Irric held the Lieutenant’s gaze, the silence stretching out like a taut wire between them. Then, almost imperceptibly, he relaxed, leaning back into his chair with a sudden shift of demeanor. A friendly smile curved his lips, but his eyes retained their sharpness. “But that would be a crazy theory, wouldn’t it, Lieutenant Kolokotronis?” 
 

The Lieutenant kept his eyes on Irric, letting the silence linger, staying still when the Commander leaned back into his chair, Alexander staying upright in his. The Commander’s ‘theory’ seemed to come from nowhere, and what right did he have to make such a statement? Irric’s an intelligence officer, not an interrogator.

Alexander kept the gaze as he slowly stood up, and reached over the Commander’s desk, and grabbed his PADD, starting to fiddle with it while he spoke. “You know what I think we both know?” He continued fiddling with the device, speaking in a low but assertive tone, giving the Commander a hint that the question was rhetorical. “If you had any genuine concern about me or my…dedication…” He threw the PADD back on the table, facing upright towards the Commander, the screen displaying something he had pulled up himself. 

”….I wouldn’t be here at all.”

The Lieutenant snapped to attention, turning to leave the Commander’s office, without his dismissal, and without another word. On Irric’s desk laid the PADD, displaying the service record of one Lieutenant Alexander Kolokotronis, and highlighted next to his profile, his citation for his Starfleet Decoration for Valor and Gallantry. 

Irric’s smile grew as he observed the Lieutenant’s reaction—a subtle shift in demeanor that spoke volumes. Rising smoothly from his chair, he extended his hand in a gesture of welcome, a silent invitation for a handshake.

“Indeed,” Irric remarked, his voice warm yet discerning. “Welcome to the department, Lieutenant.” His eyes held a glint of approval as he added, “We’ll be in touch soon. I have some assignments that could benefit from your unique expertise.”

Alexander’s stern expression shifted into a subtle smile, reaching out to accept the Commander’s offer of a handshake, the two exchanging a firm grip, and meeting his gaze with a new respect. 

“I look forward to working with you, Sir.”

Their handshake was brief, the Lieutenant turning quickly on his heels after standing to attention again, leaving promptly out of the office, his departure marked by the quiet whoosh of the doors closing behind him. The heels of Alexander’s polished boots faded as he marched down the hall from Irric’s office, as he inaudibly reflected on his discussion with his new comrade. 

Excitement and apprehension surged in the pit of Dawa’s stomach, the warring emotions crashing against each other like waves.

There, on the long-range sensors, was a small pip-like dot labeled “Gomthree”: the space-borne creature that had come to call the Paulson Nebula and its surrounding environs home. It was–for all intents and purposes–a space whale. Dawa was more than a little fascinated by it and had come closer than ever to going back to Starfleet Academy and switching to the Science Division just for a chance to study it. Soon, she’d approach it more closely than few had ever done.

That was where the excitement came in. The apprehension came from the circumstances that had finally allowed her this chance; all hell was breaking loose in the Mellstoxx system.

“Hmm, ‘hell’, ‘underworld’, ‘underspace’?” Dawa typed her thoughts into the personal file on her PADD. It might make for a pithy journal quote later. As far as the assembled flight ops crew was concerned, she was making a note for the meeting that would commence as soon as their last member arrived.

Finally, the door whispered open with a soft whoosh, revealing a figure on the threshold. Lieutenant Junior Grade Cam Solari stepped into the room, his lips curved in a wide smile that reached his bright blue eyes. His uniform, crisply pressed, his badge, shining proudly on his chest. As he entered, he glanced around the room, taking in the faces of his colleagues with a quick, appraising sweep.

“So… it turns out the Golden Apple is pretty far from this briefing room,” Cam remarked, his tone light and teasing, breaking the silence that hung in the air.

As Cam moved toward an empty seat, a low murmur of annoyance rippled through the group. At the front of the room, a Bolian officer, his azure skin rippling with irritation, spoke up. “You know, it would be nice to start a briefing without waiting on Sunshine,” he grumbled, his voice laced with impatience.

Cam’s smile widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, that’s true Wildcard, yet, it more than compensates for all the time I spent waiting for you ‘out there‘,” he retorted, his words carrying a playful edge as he settled into his seat.

“That’s enough, children.” Dawa stood and leaned over the table, pressing her hands into its surface as she emphasized the last word. “The second the last butt hits the seat is the second we start the briefing.”

She glared at Modaw, the Bolian wildcard, because she knew that if she locked eyes with Cam at that moment she’d only start snickering.

The crew at the table straightened their backs and focused their attention, each trying to convey that they were well aware of the butts-in-seats rule and were ready to begin.

“Alright.” She stood straight and shined a holo-pointer at the projection hovering over their table. “You all receive regular bulletins about the local entity Gomthree and its migration patterns, so you already know that it will be passing our way soon. You may have also noticed the massive spatial disruption that’s appeared near Mellstoxx III,” she said in a pointedly deadpan tone.

The projection lit up with a swarm of bright dots, including one large pip-shaped dot labeled ‘Gomthree’. Near Mellstoxx III was a vortex that represented the so-called ‘Underspace aperture’. Most of the bright dots on the map were moving away from it. 

A few, Gomthree included, were approaching it.

“White Squadron will approach the aperture as a unit, but Section T1-Alpha will set up a holding pattern outside the aperture with the probes that the astrometrics department is sending along.”

Their squad appeared as silver blips on the screen, splitting into two groups just as Dawa described.

“Section T1-Beta will follow and record the movements of Gomthree, and ensure that other craft in the area stay well away from the creature. It may be in tune with this phenomenon in ways that we can’t imagine… or it may be just as confused as we are. We are under orders to do whatever it takes to prevent it from coming to harm without risking the lives of ourselves or our allies.”

Dawa gave them all a moment to skim over the details before she continued. “Any questions so far?”

Cam’s hand shot up like a rocket, his eyes alight with a spark of curiosity and excitement. Leaning forward, he couldn’t contain the eagerness in his voice as he spoke. “Yes!” he interjected, his words bursting forth before anyone else could respond. “Isn’t it some kind of ship? Couldn’t we just board it, strap in, and steer it away??” His gaze darted around the room, searching for validation of his impulsive idea, his imagination already soaring with possibilities.

“Solari, I’m almost disappointed that you don’t think I would’ve already suggested that if it were possible,” Dawa answered with some levity. “From what I’ve read, Gomthree is just a kid by its species’ standards. When the Babylon encountered it, it was hardly able to create a single chamber, let alone a control panel. We have no evidence to suggest it’s learned how to do that in the past few months. I’d love an opportunity to teach it how, but we don’t even speak its language.”

She shrugged in sympathy as Cam subtly deflated.
 

As the team strode onto the flight deck, the metallic tang of engine grease filled the air, mingling with the soft whirring of machinery. Cam’s footsteps echoed against the metal floor as he quickened his pace, his gaze fixed on his commanding officer ahead. With a few determined strides, he closed the distance, his breaths shallow with anticipation.

Leaning in close, he caught her attention, his voice barely a murmur amidst the ambient sounds of the deck. “So,” he said, his words barely audible over the hum of the ship, “If we’re herding it, isn’t it more like a space cow instead of a space whale?”

Dawa chuckled. “I know you’re being facetious, but I read that there’s an aquatic species under observation in the Typhon sector that actually does herd whales,” she said, giving him a nudge for his troubles.

“Alright, Rangers!” Dawa raised her voice so that it carried through the hangar. “We’re out the door in five!”

Chief, that’s what they used to call him. It wasn’t so long since some random Ensign came yelling through the office door about non-situation with a panic stricken face. They were usually all the same. Except for the favored few Kammus had trained himself, they were all the same. 

He slammed his finter against the docking hatch release, the hiss of atmosphere equalizing in the rear of the Type 9A cargo shuttle was a welcome change compared to the thrumming silence that had been his companion for the last week. Starbase Bravo, a familiar beacon in the Federation tapestry: It wasn’t the Ronin, that much was for certain; No creaking Jeffries tubes or flickering emergency lighting here. Just the sterile efficiency of a Starfleet starbase.

Corelli waited on the hatch. The Type 9A was spartan, filled only with the bio-canisters that held the last, sorry remnants of the whatever substance he’d been forced to haul out of the Badlands. The stench, a heady mix of fermented targ hide and regret clung to him.  Still, it was better than his last assignment. Yes, he had chosen that assignment, and yes, he had requested the transfer; mentally adding that to the list of things he regretted as number 2. 

Exiting the shuttle, several technicians appeared, the familiar colors of Starfleet uniforms bustled around him. Routine happened. No questions, just work.  With the Ronin’s crew as weary and beat up as the ship itself, Kammus was thankful for dull. He and the Captain didn’t get along, and in his mind, that particular Captain didn’t belong in the center seat. A curt nod towards the technicians unloading the cargo hoped it would make their day a little more pleasant.  Everyone liked to be noticed sometimes. 

Corelli scowled, the familiar ache in his left skull where the cybernetic implant sat provided a reminding throb against the backdrop of his simmering discontent. A week on Risa, maybe a rotation at the shipyards? Not another bureaucratic nightmare at Starbase Bravo, processing manifests and requisitions for random engineering supplies and backups. He drug his feet, heavy, tired, against the smooth floor of the starbase. 

He stalked towards the docking bay exit, the image of the Captains pursed lips, and ever-present scowl etched into his memory. “Lieutenant, you’re a good engineer,” the Captain had said, his voice clipped, “but this ship needs a diplomat, not a cowboy.” Corelli snorted. Diplomat? In the Badlands? You needed a miracle worker, not a hand-shaker. Kammus could be diplomatic, he thought to himself, with the right application of a phaser, any situation can be dealt with. 

He pushed through the automatic doors, the sterile white corridors of the docking complex showed a subtle contrast to the grey, lived-in feel of the Luna class that was his previous assignment. A wave of relief washed over him – he was done. Done with the Ronin, their commander; done with the Badlands, done with bio-hazardous waste. At least for now. No Chief, no staff, no clue. Now it was off to find his reassignment officer and figure out what he was doing on a starbase. 

He looked around for signs to direct him towards the personnel office, and several moments later found himself standing across from a Vulcan. She was seated, working, silently, and he stood, silently. Often his inner monologue escaped, and there were times he couldn’t tell if he was whistling out loud, or only in his own head. 

The doors hissed closed, and the din of the starbase faded away. He could hear air moving, and a blower motor which probably needed its induction coil rewound. Wasn’t his problem, wasn’t his starbase. 

“Mister Corelli”, the stern Vulcan voiced without looking up from the desk. Kammus raised one eyebrow, and shifted his gaze towards the desk. In the intervening moments of silence, he took to examining the surrounding office with an engineers eye. A shifted panel, loose security seal, failing power coupling, these were things he was trained to notice. 

He gave a curt nod to the Vulcan officer, and stood silently at attention. 

“Specialist, Engineering, reassignment” She continued, likely reading from a display on her desk. 

“This ‘engineering specialist’ role,” Kammus asked lightly, “It’s a demotion, isn’t it?”. He wasn’t upset by the notion, just uncertain about the clarity of his orders. Still the Captain had more diplomatic ties than he did, and very likely pulled a few strings thinking a fresh start would do an abrasive officer some good. 

Mentally adding that to the list of things to fix – rank. 

The Lieutenant’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. For a Vulcan, it was a pure outburst of joy. “A change in assignment. Your talents in dealing with… unconventional situations were duly noted.”

Corelli sharply exhaled through his nose. “Unconventional? You mean keeping that glorified bucket of bolts from falling apart in the middle of nowhere? I told them not to take it out; I told them not to take it directly into combat. It still needed weeks in spacedock… “

“Precisely.” She interjected, cutting him off mid rant, “Your resourcefulness is what Starbase Bravo requires. Here, however, those skills will be directed towards preventative maintenance, not emergency repairs.” 

Corelli opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Here, at least, he wouldn’t be captive in a tritanium box with a man that filled him with a burning rage first thing in the morning. Rage so hot, iced coffee was the norm. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The hangar was abuzz with activity as White Squadron started their final pre-flight checks. Half would be meeting with the enigmatic sentient ship Gomthree, half would be flying straight towards the Underspace aperture, and all needed to be ready for anything.

Dawa was about to join them when she heard someone calling her name. “Commander Vlček!”

She glanced over her shoulder, then quickly turned to attention as one of the higher-ups approached with a lieutenant in tow. “Sir!”

“I’m sorry for not catching you before the briefing,” the senior officer said, “but news is moving faster than we can keep up with. There’s been a change in your directive. You’re not approaching the aperture, you’ll be traveling through it. Now that it’s stabilized, we need tactical reports on who or what might be on the other side from your team and from Lt. Kolokotronis here.”

Dawa turned her attention to her passenger with wide eyes, still absorbing the information she’d just received.

The Lieutenant nodded to the senior officer, then to Dawa and caught her wide-eyed stare, silently acknowledging how the abrupt change in orders, as well as a new tagalong, might be somewhat off putting. He donned a respectful smile while keeping his arms to his sides. “Thanks for having me along, Ma’am. I hear you’re quite the pilot.” He chirped in an upbeat tone, trying to alleviate some of the numb awkwardness that still sat in the air, then cleared his throat. 

“I’m here for tactical support, plain and simple, I won’t get in anyone’s way.” He paused. “I’ve got a detailed readout of our updated orders.” He handed the Lieutenant Commander the PADD with his left hand. 

Cam’s attention shifted, and he turned towards both officers, eyebrows raised. A grin spread across his face as he imagined the scenario. “Tactical Support?” he said, laughing. “Do we need help herding space mammals now?” His eyes twinkled with amusement, the mental image clearly tickling his sense of humor.

The senior officer nodded at the three of them and walked away, leaving them in a bubble of silence. Despite the ongoing clamor of activity in the hangar, Dawa’s lack of response to Cam seemed to deaden the energy around them–energy she was usually more than willing to return to her most trusted pilot.

“I do not, do NOT like having to amend the pre-flight briefing when we’re already halfway out the door,” she muttered to herself as she skimmed through the PADD that Lt. Kolokotronis had handed her.

Then her eyes flicked upwards towards the lieutenant and her whole demeanor softened. She nodded to him and offered a smile. “But it’s Starfleet policy not to shoot the messenger. Especially not when they compliment your piloting skills.”

She turned quickly on her heel and started walking quickly towards the spacecraft. “Come along, gentlemen, and we’ll share this new flight plan with the rest of the squad.”

Dawa swiftly completed her final pre-flight check of the Apsara-class bomber and turned her attention to her passenger, eyeballing him to ensure he was properly secured. “So, I understand that we don’t officially know what’s on the other side of the aperture, but can you hazard any guesses based on your briefing?”

Alexander was strapped in and surveying the tactical systems, and glanced over at the Commander as she prepped the bomber for departure. “Well, an aperture of this size introduces a number of possibilities, could be anything from asteroid debris to starships.”

He paused a moment, tapping the screen in front of him, ensuring all weapons systems were online, impressed at the armament a vessel of this size carried. It packed a punch, no doubt.

“However, Starfleet Intelligence has reported a number of small skirmishes between different apertures, some factions are using them to conduct surprise attacks, some just using them for scouting missions. It’s not foolish to predict hostile activity on the other side, especially now that’s stabilized.” He dragged his finger across his console, studied it for a moment, turning his attention from Dawa. “But I’ll have ranged scanners running even before we get through the aperture.”

Dawa nodded. She sized up Alexander as he spoke, and decided that–so far–she liked the cut of his jib. He seemed competent and wasn’t as grim and taciturn as some tactical officers tended to be.

“Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, then?”

Before he could respond, their orders sounded over the comms. “White Squadron, you are clear for departure.”

Six starfighters spilled out of the hangar in quick succession, each on the other’s tail. 

“Rangers, echelon formation,” said Dawa. “Sunshine, you’re my wingman.”

They raced towards Mellstoxx III and the aperture at high speed, much faster than they’d usually approach the planet. Soon, the entrance to Underspace was in view. It reminded Dawa of the whirlpools she’d seen in photos and holograms, only spraying stardust instead of sea foam.

It was a smoother ride than she’d expected, but the calm was interrupted as they approached the threshold.

“Sunshine to Lycan: it looks like someone else is trying to join our formation…”

Right on cue, their proximity alert sounded as the creature Gomthree approached at an angle from the turbulent edge of the aperture, and began to follow them in.

“Oh, great,” Dawa muttered. “Just what does that space pip think it’s doing?”

Gazing out of the window in his personal quarters, Zion Ortov, begins to contemplate about his first assignment. Having been assigned the rank of Ensign and given a position of science officer and specialist in astrophysics within the Stellar Science Department. Coming to terms with this, he recognizes that there is a lot of opportunities for scientific discovery, and achievement. With this understood, a will to excel in this role provides him with a spirit of exhilaration.

After a brief respite of thought, he begins to center himself on his duties. He takes his leave from his quarters, and ventures into one of the laboratories within Starbase Bravo.

As per usual he performs the routine data analysis and sensor scans, as any typical Ensign of his nature would. Approximately, two hours pass, since he began his routine assessments. When he received a report from a senior officer, detailing an assortment of strange sensor reading, and distress calls regarding anomalous wormholes, more specifically, within proximity to Mellstoxx III.

After reading the report, it states further, and clarifies according to Starbase Bravo’s first investigation team, they recognized the sensor readings in relation to the wormhole that opened up near Mellstoxx III, as not a wormhole, but rather a Underspace aperture.

Latest updates on the report state that the Underspace aperture is continuously emitting gravitation distortion and tachyon emissions. The gravitation distortions reaching Mellstoxx III, destroying the weather control systems, and have caused natural disasters across have the planet, including the Starfleet Academy satellite campus.

The report goes on to list various other problematic situations, regardless at the end of the report it provides a mission statement addressing a new course of duty of which Zion is to be assigned.

According to the report, it states, that Zion will take on duties such as studying the Underspace aperture and exploring solutions to limit its deleterious effects on the Mellstoxx system.

It further clarifies the necessity for safety, as for the science officers to be sure to study the aperture at the safe distance.

Starfleet has always ensured the highest operational standards for its members. This case is no different, Zion reflects to himself.

In closing the report finalizes the mission statement by announcing that science officers should pursue this with Starfleet efficiency, reminding those who read the report of an Academy saying, 

“Ignite the stars with your knowledge, shape the universe with your spirit”.

Having read the report, Zion Ortov, bound with new inspiration proceeded with a new mission statement, to solve the crisis of Mellstoxx’s darkest day, and bring about Starfleet’s finest hour.