She had to give Oakland this much credit- the XO’s quarters were fairly nice. The old utility cruiser might not be much to look at, less akin to a starship and more so a six-year-old’s arts and crafts project made out of a paper plate and a bunch of popsicle sticks, but at least she was decently sized and fairly spacious. Charlie’s quarters were barely decorated- after all, she still wasn’t sure if she’d stay long or request a transfer- but even being relatively spartan, it was still a comfortable space. Bookshelves and cabinets, a quaint little drawer, shelves on the walls- all bare, currently. A sizable, comfortable bed with a white literal mound of blankets atop it. Said blanket mound subtly rose and fell, likely deep in dreams of glory and fame aboard a ship significantly more important than a cranky old California-class –

-and then her commbadge went off with a chittering that yanked Charlotte MacColgan out of her sleep with all the shock of a cold bucket of water being tossed at her face. She blinked the grogginess out of her eyes, trying to batten down her frizzy halo of tight curly hair, somewhat vainly hoping it’d been a figment of her imagination.

It was not. The commbadge chittered again, buzzing against her nightstand. A groggy hand reached over to tap it. “… ugh… M’Colgan ‘ere,” she slurred, her head swaying slightly as she struggled to keep it upright.

“Commander, this is Captain Maising. Report to the ready room as soon as possible. We have a situation on our hands.”

Now that got her to perk up a little. Bleary eyes opened just a little wider. “A sit’y’ation, sir?”

“I’ll tell you more when you get here, MacColgan. Be quick.”

“Aye aye, sir.” The comm closed, leaving a half-asleep Charlie staring at the wall, rubbing a hand down her face. What the hell counted as a “situation” on a Cali?

She didn’t take much time to clean up- more or less threw some cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, haphazardly threw on her uniform, replicated a covered cup of coffee, and then made off for the captain’s ready room. Charlie gave up on her hair the moment she looked at herself in the mirror. Thus, she was not exactly the epitome of professionalism once she stepped into the ready room, with bags under her eyes she could carry groceries in, a wrinkled uniform with the jacket open, and a frizzy tight-packed halo of curly bedhead hair giving her more the impression of an electrocuted Chihuahua.

Thank God Maising was a laid-back sort of captain. A hearty chuckle left the more well-kept man’s mouth, though the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something was definitely weighing heavily on his mind. He gestured to a nearby seat with a hand. “Apologies for waking you up, Commander, but this isn’t something that should wait.”

And into that seat did Charlie drop like a sack of potatoes, the chair creaking under her weight despite her small stature. She took a looooooong gulp of her coffee, without coming up to breathe, before even attempting to reply. “’s no problem, Cap’n. Shite his th’ fan ‘n sleep’s thrown ou’tha window, I get it.”

“True indeed.” She didn’t come here to shoot the breeze, unfortunately, and neither had Maising. Any pretense of a smile faded from his face as he grabbed a nearby PADD. “We’re currently not far from the Rolor Nebula- a small but resource-rich Class Six nebula some twelve thousand years old. Both Starfleet and the civilian sector have been surveying it for years, soaking up as much information as they can about it.”

The PADD slid across the table to her, and she picked it up, squinting at the display shown. A civilian vessel- RV Rain Runner, hullcode NAR-83629. Former history- “Is this a bloody Oberth?”

“Indeed. Formerly USS Brahe, NCC-59322. Decommissioned Oberths have been flooding the civilian science vessel market ever since the 2350s, especially now that the entire class has been removed from service.” Maising leaned back slightly in his own chair, a hand rubbing his chin through his salt-and-pepper beard. “Rain Runner has been serving a civilian research group, the Supernova Catalogue Project based in Alpha Centauri, for the past thirty-odd years. According to their site, they’re a group hoping to catalogue, study, and theorize every supernova remnant in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, putting together a comprehensive timeline of large star explosions in this part of the galaxy. She arrived in the Thomar Expanse two weeks ago, intending to spend a month or so studying the Rolor Nebula.”

Charlie wanted to counter with a cocky, blindly-hopeful “but they’re here for a month, so what’s the big deal?”, but she knew better than that. Nothing good could be coming from this. “What’s the issue?”

“Due to the… volatile nature of the Expanse, and Rain Runner‘s civilian crew, they were supposed to check in with Deep Space 47 on subspace comms every hour,” Maising continued, the frown in his grizzled beard deepening. “It’s been, as of now, four hours since they checked in last- and we’re the closest vessel to their last known location. We’re to take Oakland to her last reported position and start the search for the Rain Runner and her crew.”

Yep. She knew this couldn’t have gone well. A grimace formed on Charlie’s face, distorting even the bags under her eyes. “What’s the runnin’ theory on what happ’n’d?”

“Nobody’s sure. Foul play or natural phenomena are both likely. The nebula is an unpredictable place, and a hive for smugglers and pirates. Or it could be as simple as a comms failure. Either way, we’re not taking the chance it’s that simple.” He rose from his seat, giving the inexperienced XO what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile… but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Best drink that coffee cup quick, Commander. I’m afraid today will be a long day.”

So it seems, Charlie’s brain grumbled to herself. She didn’t dare say such aloud, only rising in turn. “Aye, sir. I’ll meet’cha on th’ bridge soon as possible.”

She’d slurped down the last of her coffee by the time she made it into the hallway. But knowing how this could go? Charlie bet she’d probably need another.

Oakland lacked many things, but sensors were not one of them. Her part as a technical member of the Galaxy lineage definitely showed in how quickly those big sensor pallets picked up the odd little contact about sixty AU deep into the Rolor Nebula- not very far at all, considering its size. It wasn’t a particularly good sensor contact- it was small, and nebular interference prevented a good look at it from a distance.

So, down into the swirling gaseous depths did Oakland plunge, bluff prow breaking the colorful swirls in a bow wave akin to a ship slicing through water. The blunt, stilted California-class almost looked graceful with how she carved a path through the rainbow, swirling arms of purples and punks and oranges parted cleanly by grey steel.

And soon enough, she appeared- and such an uncanny sight she was. She was a silhouette, a ghost in the fog, a sight that made chills run up the bridge crew’s spine as her dark shape first came to view ahead of them. She was rolled over on her starboard side, at least from their perspective, giving her the impression of a vessel run hard aground in the mists. But closer and closer they came, and finally emerged…

… maybe the only starship Charlie MacColgan would ever consider to be uglier than Oakland. Tiny little saucer on a long, thin cardboard box of a hull, stuck on top of a giant sensor canoe. If Oakland was a child’s arts and crafts project with a paper plate and some sticks, the Oberth-class was the grown-up version of it- some 30something’s hodgepodge craft-store attempt to modify his canoe for some purpose, some reason. Probably illegally.

“… I think we found our missin’ vessel,” Charlie murmured, eyes on the view screen as it panned around, following the derelict RV Rain Runner as Oakland drew up alongside. “She’s all dark. Nae runnin’ lights, nae internal lights… donnae even look like her registry lights’re on. ‘s like nae one’s home.”

The science officer- a Bolian man who she hadn’t had the luck to become acquainted with yet- spoke up before Maising could reply. “Captain, scans are complete of the ship- as best as we can do, at least. Nebular interference is keeping us from getting a full scan. She’s not showing any signs of damage, but she’s on emergency power, mostly life support. There’s no hull breaches or open hatches, so she should be plenty liveable, but she has no comms- and no shields. Any further into the nebula and she might get torn apart very quickly. I can’t get a reading on how many lifeforms are aboard.”

“Then we’ll have to stop and board her,” Maising replied. “Get her in a tractor beam, I don’t want her drifting any further in. MacColgan, get down to the transporter room. I want you and Commander sh’Insynaph to get aboard and work with Rain Runner‘s crew to get their power back up.”

“Aye aye, sir.” She was up and practically sprinting down the hall before Maising could even get on the comms for sh’Insynaph. So this was what counted as a situation on a California-class.

They materialized in darkness. Wherever the transporter chief had put them, even the emergency lights weren’t on- not that Charlie could say that particularly surprised her. Oberths were old ships. Things don’t always work.

But what struck her as immediately concerning was how quiet it was. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Charlie and the other five members of the away team clicked on their flashlights, sweeping bright beams… over a very empty hallway. 

“Hello?” one of the engineering ensigns called out, squinting past Charlie’s shoulder into the gloom. “Hello? Anyone there? It’s Starfleet, we’re here to help!”

Silence met his plea.

Another voice came from Charlie’s other side- a messy-haired Andorian woman, lieutenant commander rank pins gleaming on her collar in the reflected light. “How many crew is she supposed to have about, Commander?” she asked, a frown furrowed into her face. 

“’Bout thirty-nine, I think.”

Sh’Insynaph’s frown turned into a grimace. “Well, one of them should’ve heard us. T’Vara, tricorder?” 

A Vulcan engineer with lieutenant junior grade pips frowned at her tricorder, powering it off and on again. “I cannot be sure, Commander, but it does not seem like my tricorder is picking up any nearby life-signs.”

The away team glanced between each other, nerves heightening- and then darted back to Charlie. And suddenly, the rookie first officer felt very, very small indeed.

Focus, MacColgan. Keep your head on straight. You got this. No pressure.

She nodded, gulped down her nerves, straightened her expedition jacket. “A’ight, we’re splittin’ up. Move in pairs, keep in contact. Sh’Insynaph, yer wi’ me, we’ll check up fore, see if there’s nae’one on the bridge, aye? T’Vara, Petrenko, needya headin’ doon tae engineerin’, get main power back online. Riamell, Erces, Nakamura, ‘n Rakko, take the lower decks. Rainet ’n Luzan, head aft, check out the cargo bays. All copy?”

A chorus of wary, discomforted affirmatives and aye aye’s echoed off the walls of this so very uncannily quiet starship. It certainly did nothing to help anyone’s nerves, Charlie least of all.

“A’ight. Report anythin’ ya find ASAP ‘n stay in contact. We’re nae gettin’ bloody horror-movied on a damn Oberth, got it? RV back ‘ere in… let’s say two hours, discuss all our findings. Le’s go.”

And with that, the away team dispersed in pairs, hushed whispers replacing the eerily absent hum of machinery and conversation. Even as the headed up forward together, the Andorian security chief close behind Charlie, she still couldn’t shake that feeling of dread. No ship should be this quiet.

A ghost in the fog was turning out to be a very apt descriptor for RV Rain Runner.

The silence continued unabated. It seemed like even their footsteps couldn’t break the oppressive nothingness, swallowed up within it like a single lightbulb in a pitch-black pit. Charlie MacColgan had been, before she was a first officer,  a security officer for plenty long enough to know that nothing good ever comes from silence like this.

Flashlights swept across the walls as she and Lieutenant Commander sh’Insynaph closed on the bridge, lighting up stark white that had been… scribbled across. Crayon and marker scrawled across the walls in a child’s best attempt at art, countless stick figures on a cartoonishly green world, the background scribbles of purples and pinks, a badly-drawn but heartwarmingly adorable attempt at drawing Rain Runner hovering above.

Charlie wasn’t sure what she disliked more- the pang in her gut at realizing at least one child used to be here, living a far more fulfilling and loving childhood than she… or the fact that there was at least one child who used to be here and no longer was.

She caught sh’Insynaph staring, too, for a moment.

Charlie expected to have to pry the bridge doors open, but surprisingly, they already were. Strange- they should’ve closed automatically while the ship had power. The bridge itself spread before them, horrifically cramped in comparison to Oakland‘s- consoles crammed up against each other, pathways just big enough for one person to pass through, the ceiling just low enough to make even the normally short commander want to duck a little. sh’Insynaph, significantly taller, almost actually had to, her antennae almost skimming the lower sections of the ceiling.

“… nobody here either, huh?” the Andorian muttered, probably mostly to herself.

“Does’nae look like it,” Charlie grumbled in return, splitting off to one side while sh’Insynaph took the other. The beam of her flashlight moved across the empty chairs and old carpets, swept up across old, dark LCARS displays and black marks in the steel wall-

Wait.

She popped the light back up, illuminating clear and obvious scorch marks. “Ay, C’mmander! Think I got somethin’.”

sh’Insynaph was by her in a second, a deep frown on her face- no, a grimace, and Charlie unconsciously matched it. “Gunfire. What do you think, friendly or hostile?”

“Phaser, mae’ likely,” She ran a finger along the blackened groove. “There’s nae smaller marks like ye’d get from plasma, what wi’ th’ meltin’ steel. ‘n disruptors-”

“-would’ve penetrated deeper,” sh’Insynaph finished.

Both of them froze for a second, staring at each other. Right. Two security officers, for all intents and purposes. Of course they both knew the same things.

“… aye,” Charlie relinquished with a quiet little huff of a chuckle. “Phaser on kill, methinks. Tae deep fer stun, yeah?”

“You really think a bunch of civilian scientists would’ve set a phaser on kill?” The Andorian shook her head, turning her light on a different spot on the wall- and revealing more scorch marks. “This is an awful lot of fire. I don’t think this is the scientists’ work. Whoever boarded them must’ve been armed with phasers- and they were boarded. I think we just tossed any chance of this being anything other than foul play out the airlock.”

“Could’nae agree more. Ge’ on the line wi’ the others, I’m phonin’ it in.” Charlie stepped aside and tapped her commbadge, leaning against a console and scowling at the wall. “M’Colgan tae Oakland.”

Maising’s voice was quick to respond. “Oakland here. What’ve you found, Commander?”

“Rain Runner was boarded, sir. We found phaser blast marks on th’ walls, set on kill. Nae crew on th’ bridge. Whoe’er did this, they must’a took th’ bodies- ‘n any survivors.”

“Understood, Commander. If you can find any evidence of who did this, report back immediately. Oakland out.”

Charlie sighed, leaning over one of the dark LCARS displays- then almost jumping out of her skin as it suddenly lit up beneath her. The bridge lights overhead flickered to life, and finally the bridge door slid shut automatically.

“… well, power’s back on,” sh’Insynaph commented, hand on her hip. “Almost surprised the lights still turn on.”

“Ye ‘n me both.” Charlie was already rapping away at the console, trying to access the security logs- only for a password request to greet her. “Ach, fooken’ ‘ell. S’curity’s locked, ‘n I’m nae confident th’ password’s written down on a sticky note somewhere.”

“‘Course. Someone’s gotta protect their… hours on hours of footage staring at a bunch of purple gas.” The human woman could almost feel sh’Insynaph’s irritated eye-roll. “Frickin’ eggheads sometimes, I swear-”

Her complaints were cut short with all the violence of a gut-punch as Rain Runner suddenly bucked under their feet, the entire frame of the starship shuddering around them. Charlie toppled over, barely avoiding slamming her face on the LCARS screen, and didn’t get an opportunity to get back up before another hammer blow sent her sprawling to the ground, the wind knocked from her lungs.

In the time it took her to grab a chair and haul herself upright, three other impacts had rattled the ship. “Ugh… C’mmander, damage report! Wh’ th’ hell’s hittin’ us?”

“Gimme a sec-” the Andorian shouted over the din of bursting power conduits and another two sharp hits, staggering over to the engineering console. “Uhm- damage across the entire dorsal side, something’s hammering us from above! Hull breaches on… decks two and three, both warp nacelles took hits. And we didn’t even have shields- a few more hits and we’re done for!”

“Whoe’er did this came back tae finish the job,” Charlie grunted, smacking her commbadge again. “M’Colgan tae Oakland, we’re bein’ hammered o’er ‘ere! Beam us up!”

“We’ll need to drop our shields, and that’ll leave us vulnerable!” Maising replied, voice stressed. “How long can you hold on?”

“We cannae stay here any longer! This damn ship’s nae got shields up!” Another jolt sent MacColgan back to the floor, and poor sh’Insynaph facefirst into a chair.

“… understood! Away team, prepare to beam up! We have to make this quick!”

Charlie pulled her face away from the carpet, eyes wide at the sight of one of Oakland‘s warp nacelles closing at far too rapid a pace. As the transporter finally snagged her, the XO’s final grim thought: Some bloody search-‘n-rescue trip this is. I should’a knocked on wood ‘r somethin’.

Oakland was a mess. As the ship’s XO sprinted down the hallways between the transporter room, turbolift, and bridge, everywhere she was dodging repair teams, groups of medical personnel, dangling wires, flying sparks, and on at least one occasion, came within a hair’s breadth of having a ceiling panel drop straight on her head. Even from within, it was clear that this brief exchange of fire had hit the ship harder than a Cali like her could really handle.

The bridge, at least, was somewhat more intact, beyond a few lights flickering and the science console unleashing a steady stream of smoke, panels cracked from whatever power surge had overloaded it. She paused at the doorway, sucking air into her starved lungs, and almost immediately found Maising standing by her side.

“Are you hurt, Commander?”

She shook her head, puffed a stray curl away from her eyes, and straightened up. “Negative, sir. Y’got us in the nick ‘a time. Wha’ happened?”

“Presumably? Whoever hit Rain Runner showed up,” Maising replied, standing aside as a team of engineers stormed out of the turbolift and swarmed the busted science console. “Dropping our shields to transport the away team was exactly the opening they were looking for. Damage report states we’ve got sizable hull breaches on decks nine, ten, thirteen, and eighteen through twenty-one. Heavy casualties down in engineering…” His voice trailed off, face grim.

“… and what, sir?” Charlie asked, trepidation more than evident in her voice.

“… without power, the impacts on Rain Runner forced the hulk directly into one of the nacelles,” he continued. “With the damage to Engineering, nobody can even find Lieutenant Commander Brawley, much less get a solid read on whether we can repair the nacelle. Lieutenant zh’Treva is already confirmed KIA. With both the chief engineer and assistant chief gone, I’ve given T’Vara a field promotion to lieutenant and ordered her to do what she can, but until then…”

She finished for him, and even the former security officer couldn’t hold back the dread from showing on her face, or in her voice. “… we’re dead in th’ wa’er, ain’ we?”

“Indeed.” The two senior officers finally stepped away from the turbolift and headed for their chairs. Charlie sank into hers with an exhausted huff, the seat creaking under her weight very suddenly dropping into it like a sack of potatoes. Maising continued, after a moment of silence. “At least, for the moment. We still have the other nacelle, but Engineering still has to finish sorting itself out before they can judge whether we’re able to make at least half speed at warp. And while we’re stuck in this nebula, calling for help is going to be difficult at best– there’s too much interference for our comms to get through clearly.”

“E’en a spo’y distress call’s be’er ‘n nothin’, sir,” Charlie replied, sinking further and further into her chair. Any more and she might become one with it, merge with the fabric covers until Charlotte MacColgan became Chairlotte MacColgan. “Nae t’ mention, we’ve nae found anyone on Rain Runner. Whole bloody ship’s empty- er, was empty. Nae much ‘a ‘er left after that collision.”

“On the one hand, it’s a relief to know there were no casualties aboard when she was destroyed…” the captain muttered, before dragging a hand down his face. “… but on the other hand, if her crew is gone, that means they’ve likely been taken prisoner. Most likely, by the same pirates who just showed up to hammer us into oblivion. This entire fiasco was a trap all along, and we flew straight into it.”

“… an’ now we cannae fly out.”

A heavy sigh left Maising’s lips, hands pressed together as he thought. “We’ll try a distress call. We’re lucky- some of those hits were very close to the communications suite. If I had to guess, that pirate was trying to render us mute and unable to run. If we’re any luckier, maybe enough of a transmission will get through for Deep Space 47 to send someone, at least to investigate.”

“An’ in th’ meantime, we’d be’er be ready fer the fight ‘a our bloody lives,” Charlie responded, trying to at least sound like she had enough fire in her belly to turn a California-class utility cruiser into something that could defend itself from a probably much more heavily armed and maneuverable pirate vessel. She likely wasn’t very successful. These were long odds to say the absolute least, even if Oakland wasn’t handicapped with half her engine power gone. She was a big, bulky, slow, and poorly-armed target- it’d be almost more of an accomplishment for the enemy to miss.

“Indeed. If they’ve only fired to disable… that means our pirates have a dream of taking a Starfleet vessel as a prize,” the captain muttered, rising from his seat. “We won’t let them take us easily. Helm, bring us hard about, bearing 030 mark 025, ring up full impulse. Once Engineering confirms we have any warp capability left, punch it, as best as she’s able. We have to get out of this nebula.”

As the helmsman replied in the affirmative, the battered Oakland groaned around them all as she slowly hauled her bluff prow around. It sounded like even this lazy maneuver was stressing the hull beyond what it was capable of.

“… sounds like the SIF needs a bit ‘a TLC,” Charlie muttered, half to herself, before turning to Maising. The Scotswoman really hoped she looked more hopeful than she felt. “Guess I’ll head down tae Tactical, figure out what we got fer weapons. How close ta th’ edge ‘a th’ nebula d’ye think we’ll make it ‘fore our friends show up?”

Maising’s glum face just about said it all. “Not far at all, but it’s our best shot. The closer to the edge of the nebula, the stronger our signal will be and the more likely DS-47 will pick us up. I’ll head down to Comms, see what we can do to boost the power. Time to hope this old engineer still has a trick or two up his sleeve.”

A nod. “Godspeed, Cap’n.”

“You too, Commander. Let’s work quickly- we don’t have much time.”

The two senior officers headed for the turbolift, and Charlie could almost hear the clock ticking in her head. The race to save Oakland, much less the crew of Rain Runner, was on- and whoever was out there, they had a hell of a head start.