Captain’s Log, USS Hathaway. 24013.15.

 

Rumblings from beyond the hull; light flashes illuminating the bridge; sensor systems fluctuating. Hathaway has arrived at our designated survey area in the Typhon Expanse…

 

As per operating procedures, Starfleet Command has been notified of our arrival in this peculiar location and permission has been granted for our mission to proceed. In the coming days, Hathaway is to survey, map and record data relating to three sectors of the expanse. Check-ins are scheduled with the ship’s chronometer and will take place at the start of every alpha and gamma shift. Probably seems a bit ridiculous, but I’m still finding my own way of doing things. For now, mission management is to be logged at every opportunity.

 

This all begs another question, though. I find myself wondering if our presence on this mission is overkill. A Sagan-class starship for a mundane science survey of the expanse? There isn’t so much as a hint of anything out of the ordinary out here, and ships like the Sarek should be here. We should be off charting new worlds, new civilizations and making diplomatic contact. Our presence out here just strikes me as… odd.

 

For now, despite my misgivings, my attention must turn to the scientific survey of sector thirty-two alpha, grid four.

 

The Typhon Expanse awaits…

Standing directly behind the tactical arch behind the command pit, in his usual posture no less (arms behind his back, left hand clasping right and feet shoulder-width apart), the stout Tellarite observed bridge operations with the same respectful attention he showed every time he was on the bridge. Unlike most of his species, the newly minted commanding officer could appreciate the effort of his colleagues and the way they went about their business on a day-to-day basis. So far, he approved of what he had seen over the months they had been together as a crew.

Giarvar Kauhn had been stood several feet away, watching. Observing. Marvelling at how, even after all this time, the Captain still seemed to have some trouble reconciling with the fact this was his ship. Every morning, he’d watch the Captain enter the bridge, perform the same walk around the entire room (which consisted of running his hands along virtually every surface), and finally take ownership of his chair from whoever had been in command of the previous shift. And when he did so, the Tellarite always grasped the arms of the chair and sought to get as comfortable as possible, as if it were to be the last time he would ever sit in it. To a certain extent, it was quite endearing, but after nearly three months, surely he realised that the Hathaway wouldn’t be taken from under him. Right?

Siddling alongside his commanding officer, the XO placed his hands on the headrest of a nearby chair and lent forward ever so slightly, looking out of the same viewer that the Captain was focused on. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he beamed.

“I’m able to appreciate the aesthetic qualities of such a phenomenon,” the Captain confirmed in his own roundabout way, unmoved as ever. “Yes, Commander. It is beautiful,” the Tellarite explained, just in case his choice of words was not clear enough.

Giarvar smirked at the Tellarite’s response, able to appreciate his willingness to try and engage in these random conversations. Small talk was an important way for everyone to get to know each other and develop those relationships required for working closely together, even for someone known to be argumentative, like a Tellarite. Not that Vasoch had been particularly argumentative. Yet. Taking a deep breath, the Trill stood up straight once more.

“Shame we won’t get to appreciate it much longer,” Kauhn sighed, his words piquing the Captain’s curiosity. Turning his body so he was directly addressing his superior, Giarvar’s business tone returned. “We’ve been recalled to D-S-Seventeen by Captain Romaes,” he elaborated.

A raised eyebrow and a rub of his beard from Vasoch followed. “That’s… odd,” he responded, arms folding across his bulbous chest.

“What is, Captain?” Giarvar queried, leaning on the rail with his left hand for support.

“That Starfleet should dispatch us to our current location, only to recall us once we arrive and actually begin our survey,” he answered, dropping his hands to his side again. Focused once more on the viewscreen to the front of the bridge, the Captain let out a wistful sigh.

‘So long, friend…’

“Very well. Henry,” the Tellarite barked, “bring us about and plot a return course. Best possible speed,” he instructed, turning and making his way around the rail and towards the comfort of his command chair. His command chair? Oh, he would never tire of hearing that. He stopped short of sitting, however.

“Course laid in, Captain,” Lieutenant Mitchell responded swiftly. “ETA is seven hours,” he added.

“Engage.”

Vasoch then looked at the XO. “Number One,” he jutted his head towards the ready room, “join me. Henry, you have the bridge until we return or Noli shows up,” the Captain concluded, before turning and leading the way to his ready room.

Once the two officers entered the captain’s private sanctuary, Vasoch offered the Trill a seat on the sofa, while he perched on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest.

Giarvar lowered himself onto the comfortable seat, but something was clearly wrong given his superior’s expression. “Everything alright, Captain? You look troubled,” the Trill queried.

“It’s all just…” Vasoch paused as he thought of the correct word, but the only one that could come to mind was the same one he had used on the bridge, “…odd!” He lowered his hands and used them to prop himself up on either side of his body against the desk edge. “We get sent all the way out here, by the TFXO, and then, just as we start our mission, we’re recalled. By the very same TFXO no less,” the Tellarite began sharing his misgivings.

For his part, Giarvar nodded along slowly. “I guess that could be considered odd, but we’re Starfleet sir. We deal with oddities on a daily basis,” the XO grinned, trying to make light of the Captain’s concern in an effort to appease the older man. It didn’t work.

“And what about our mission?” Vasoch started again. “Don’t you think our orders were a bit beneath a ship such as ours in the first place? Since when did ships like Hathaway get shunted out to routine science operations? I’d expect something like a Grissom or a Pathfinder to be out here doing this task. Not us,” there was that argumentative side coming out at last. “It’s overkill. It’s like we’re being sidelined; shunted somewhere out of the way for some reason.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case Captain,” Giarvar frowned, shaking his head. “But I must admit, you make an interesting point. I did consider the orders to be somewhat… odd, to steal your phrase. Even Lieutenant Okan queried them, and you know how she loves an opportunity to study spatial phenomena,” the Commander looked a little uncomfortable now. “We should have expressed our concern sooner,” the XO added.

Vasoch waved away the Trill’s lapse in judgement. “There’s been a lot of peculiar decision-making of late, don’t you think?” Vasoch pushed himself off the desk and began pacing the room uncomfortably. “They form a squadron based on two ships, send them into the expanse, bring them back and disband the squadron. They transfer people from one command to three, only to then move them back to a different, single command. They strip a half dozen auxiliary craft from our compliment and replace them with a fighter squadron. Hell, even the decision to give me the Hathaway could be considered odd,” he was in full flow when the XO rose to his feet.

“Captain,” Giarvar placed his hands on his knees and sat forward, glaring at the Tellarite. He knew exactly what the man was referring to. “Your experience makes you the perfect candidate to lead this crew, regardless of the fact that this is your first official command. And yes, some decisions have seemed odd, but perhaps it’s just what is necessary for the fleet,” the Trill suggested, causing the Tellarite to stop his pacing.

Vasoch dropped his arms to his side with a huff. “Maybe you’re right,” he shrugged. “I suppose we’ll know more once we…”

Their conversation was cut short by the sudden sound of the door chime to the ready room. Vasoch locked the conversation down for the moment and turned his attention to the door. “Enter!”

Emerging through the door, Lieutenant Mitchell looked more than a little uncomfortable. “Sorry to bother you both,” the Terran apologised, “but we’ve just received new orders from Command.”

Vasoch looked at Giarvar, then back to Henry. “Again?!” he asked, eyes narrowing as they fell upon the data PADD the Flight Operations chief was carrying. He held out his hand and grasped the PADD when handed it by Henry. He looked it over and then shook his head, tossing it across the room to his XO.

“First they order us out here, on a mission far beneath our station. Then, when we get here, they recall us,” he moaned, “and now we’re being told to reverse course, again, and head beyond the expanse!” Exasperation was the order of business for the elder man now, leaning on the edge of his desk and composing himself for a second.

Giarvar kept hold of the PADD and rose to his feet. “Seems there was some sort of… mixup?” the Trill suggested with a shrug. “How do you want to proceed, sir?” Having one’s orders changed wasn’t unusual, but to have them altered so drastically in a matter of minutes was peculiar, to say the least. Perhaps the Captain was right about the odd situation after all.

“You two return to the bridge and bring us to all stop,” Gor instructed, reaching out for his computer console and spinning it to face him. “We’re not going any further until I get these orders from the proverbial horse’s mouth,” he told with a tone of anger.

By the time Giarvar had turned to vacate the ready room, Lieutenant Mitchell was already out the door and waiting on the other side. Once the ready room doors had been sealed, the XO looked at the Flight Chief with wide eyes. Henry’s raised eyebrow response and silent departure to the CONN told the XO everything he needed to know.

“All stop,” Kauhn instructed, shaking the malaise with a wobble of his head and sitting in the command chair.

A strong vibration of the hull accompanied a sudden drop from warp. For now, Hathaway was motionless, with no place to go.

Word quickly spread about the sudden halt to their mission, and the change in orders. By the time the Captain eventually emerged from the ready room, the entire bridge crew had shown up to ascertain what was going on. Akaria wanted to know whether her department should start its scientific survey or not; Prida wanted to make it clear that the sudden slowdown was nothing to do with her engines; even Josue had shown up to ensure there was no risk to life with the sudden changes. Giarvar had assured each that nothing untoward had occurred and that the Captain was simply conversing with command. No one seemed convinced.

Vasoch remained silent as he strolled across the bridge and took his seat at the center of the hubbub. Everyone watched with bated breath, waiting for his orders. Once comfortable, the Captain finally relented and put them out of their misery.

“Helm,” he barked, bring us about on a heading of one-eight-one mark three. Warp four.”

Henry swiftly spun in his chair and nudged his new friend from the Ungeat homeworld to do the same. Or’uil complied and returned his focus to the Ops panel.

Akaria, cunning and swift, was already at her science station when the Captain began reeling off the new heading. She was right to have postponed the science survey of the expanse, with their new heading taking them away from their previous destination.

“What’s out there, sir?” she asked, unfazed by the man, his demeanour or the perception of his attitude from others.

“Exploration…” Vasoch grinned at the scientist.

“We’re going where no one has gone before…”

“In the black body of heaven’s keep, in the space that is the beauty of the universe, among the stars that shine so bright, we travel ever onward…”

Exploration. The desire to surge forth into the unknown and pursue wonderful discoveries that await. Exploring the cosmos was the founding principle of the United Federation of Planets, something every cadet to have ever passed through the hallowed halls of Starfleet Academy craved for, and a dream turned to reality for every Starfleet officer travelling the heavens. To see the beauty of the universe among those distant stars for the very first time was the highlight of Captain Gor’s career all those years ago, and everything he would chase now as master and commander of the Hathaway. It was his purpose now, to travel ever onward in search of new wonders in the same way that Captain sh’Elas had done aboard the Ulysses.

That was then; this was now. This was his time. People would laugh when he spoke of his deep connection with space, but he would swear, even now on the bridge of his ship, that he could feel the shifting winds drifting through the cosmos. The universe had begun to change course, and they would be forced to change with it. The Century Storm; the emergence of Blood Dilithium; the sudden exacerbation of phenomena in the Typhon Expanse. Something was stirring out among the stars. It felt like a different future was coming, a better one that the galaxy would have had if there had been no war or conflict.

His grandfather had once said, “What we do builds on the goodness our ancestors left as their legacy.” And it was with an ever greater sense of determination to bring about a better world for this and future generations that he would travel the stars. In search of the unknown, the Undiscovered Country.

‘BEE BEE BEEP, BEE BEE BEEP.’

A shrill sound from somewhere to his right drew the Captain from his daydream among the stars and back to the harsh reality of commanding a starship.

‘BEE BEE BEEP, BEE BEE BEEP.’

There it was again, only this time he was able to pinpoint where it was coming from. Planting his feet to turn his chair slightly to starboard, the Tellarite locked eyes with the Klingon-Terran hybrid at tactical.

“We appear to be picking up a distress call,” the relief tactical officer informed him, her eyes moving back to her panel.

Inching forward, Vasoch subconsciously crept to the edge of his seat, hands still gripped on the armrests. His first distress call.

“Origin?”

To his left, Akaria had already begun trying to pinpoint the exact location from where the distress call had emanated. “It would appear to be a bearing of two-five-seven mark three-six,” the science lead told, looking across the command center to the tactical officer who had first detected the transmission.

Mayr nodded in thanks to the science chief. “That’s confirmed,” the Lieutenant agreed.

“Henry,” Vasoch called out, using his hands to propel himself out of the command chair and towards the tactical station. “Lieutenant, recall the senior staff.”

“Adjusting course,” Lieutenant Mitchell confirmed, already anticipating the instruction of the Captain. From the second the word ‘distress’ had been uttered, there had been no doubt in anyone’s mind that the commanding officer would seek to render aid. That was just who he was. 

“It’s an M-class planetoid in a blue dwarf system approximately three lightyears away,” the tactician told the stout man, who stood on the opposite side of her console, looking down at the CONN.

Tapping his commbadge, the Captain opened a channel to main engineering. “Bridge to engineering,” he barked.

“Engineering here Captain,” the familiar, ethereal voice of Lieutenant Prida filled the bridge.

“We’ve detected a distress call, Lieutenant. I’m going to need everything you can give me,” the Tellarite told, nodding towards Henry at the CONN.

“Aye sir,” Prida responded, “I can give you up to warp nine point nine-five, but that’s pushing the envelope. I’ll monitor from here,” the Bajassian concluded.

Without any further instruction, Henry turned back to the CONN and increased the ship’s speed to the maximum he could take it. The sudden vibration of the hull no doubt a signal to those across the ship that something was going on.

“See to it, Lieutenant. Gor out,” the Captain acknowledged, then terminated the channel.

“I have the distress call on audio Captain,” Akaria interjected now, “but I’m having trouble with the universal translator. It’s not liking something,” she frowned, eyes never leaving her control pane.

“Play it anyway,” Vasoch instructed, walking away from tactical and standing in front of his command chair, instinctively looking towards the main viewer at the front of the bridge.

Once the call began to play out, the crew were mesmerised by the sultry voice; the tone, the inflexions.

“यः कश्चित् एषः सन्देशः प्राप्नोति तस्मै। अस्माकं साहाय्यं कुरुत। अस्माकं जनाः अपहृत्य दासत्वेन विक्रीयन्ते। केवलं तान् उद्धारयितुं अस्माकं साधनं नास्ति। कृपया। अस्माकं साहाय्यं कुरुत।”

“Well, she doesn’t exactly sound in distress,” flyboy quipped, spinning in his chair to look towards the tactical station. “Are you sure it said a distress call?”

“I know a distress call when I see one Lieutenant,” the tactician scowled.

“And she’s right,” a high-pitched voice emerged from the aft turbolift. Leading Commanders Kauhn and Noli onto the bridge was a tall Andorian in science division blue. Lieutenant Pamao Zh’ito, the head linguist in the division, crossed over to her department head’s station waving a data PADD.

Mayr folded her arms across her chest and shot an ‘I told you so’ look at the flyboy.

“I took the liberty of listening to the call as it came in,” she revealed, looking across at the Captain, “and I couldn’t help but notice that it sounded very similar to the early language of the Trill people. I managed to isolate the algorithms where we were having problems,” she smiled, placing the data PADD on the surface of Akaria’s console.

“If I can use these settings to make an adjustment to the universal translator…” the Risian trailed off as she got to work.

Whilst she was distracted, Noli proceeded to get a debrief from her assistant, but rather than take over, the Bajoran simply stood beside her colleague with baited breath. Giarvar, meanwhile, had been getting his own rundown from the Captain in the center of the command pit.

“Got it,” Akaria called out, high-fiving her subordinate as the two waited to hear the message from the heavens.

“Play it,” Vasoch instructed, lowering himself into the command chair and bracing himself for the message to be played again.

To anyone who gets this message,” the voice called out in Federation standard, and just as beautiful as before. “Help us, please. Our people are being abducted and sold into slavery. We have no means to rescue them alone. Please. Help us.”

Once the communication ended, Vasoch looked at Henry. “Sounds like a distress call to me,” he scowled at the youngster, in a way that drew a silent look of appreciation from the tactical officer who had been questioned on her abilities.

“Good work Lieutenant Zh’ito,” Commander Kauhn smiled at the Andorian next to Okan. “Why don’t you stick around?” he asked, “just in case.”

Nodding at the suggestion from the XO, Pamao took over one of the stations behind her chief, and waited for more to come in.

“Mayr; keep trying to reach whoever that is. Noli, get Tuca up here. I want to talk with him,” Vasoch instructed his tactical officers, “Akaria, I want to know as much as possible about this region before we get to the planet.”

Sliding back into the comfortable embrace of his chair, the Captain felt something come over him. It was a strange sensation, something he hadn’t felt for quite some time.

A sense of being at peace once again. Back where he belonged, on the bridge of a starship, he was once more at peace.

(Opening quote by Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, March 21, 2021).

Sitting around the StratOps suite, Lieutenant Akaria Okan’s willing audience awaited her analysis of their target world with bated breath. She’d used all of the systems at her disposal to gather as much data as possible for the Captain, and she was pleased with what she had gathered.

Taking a deep breath, she modified the large screen at the back of the room to show a diagram of the planet and some of her analysis data. “A lot of what I am about to tell you may be outdated, but we won’t know for certain until we get somewhat closer. The planet is known to us as Aquorat, named after Doctor Symon Aquorat, the scientist who discovered it aboard the USS Darlington, almost one hundred years ago. It’s about 31.4 times bigger than Earth and its gravity is about 5.72 times higher,” the Risian began her analysis, instantly piquing the interest of all around the suite.

A sea of red and yellow-shirted personnel sat, intently listening and hanging on her every word. Just the way she liked it.

“According to the LCARS database, Darlington ran a three-week duck blind to gather data before she was recalled. Her science team discovered that a single day lasts 11.43 hours and a year lasts 102 days. The planet is made up of 12 continents, which make up 73% of the planet’s landmass. 3 moons orbit the planet, while Aquorat itself orbits an orange star in an almost perfectly circular orbit.”

‘That would make the Captain nearly…’ Noli’s train of thought died there, shaking off her mischievousness and returning her attention to the science briefing.

“According to the mission logs, the plant-like organisms on this planet are mostly tall shrubs and trees, and of a variety of different colours. Some have particularly strong scents. The small number of flowers that do exist share these characteristics, but almost all of them are tiny. While there are a good amount of fungi on this planet, most of them have little to no colour, but they have the strongest scent of all organisms, most of which are horrible. If we go down there, we want to be very careful about what we touch,” she advised everyone, but especially the Captain.

Giarvar was transfixed on the woman, and how passionately she spoke about the world on their path. He rarely understood much from a science perspective, but she was a wonder to behold, much like the planet they were travelling to.

“What we’ve been able to determine from our own scans of the planet is that their technology has come on in leaps and bounds since the Darlington survey,” she reached out and touched the LCARS pane behind her. “They achieved warp drive approximately thirty years ago, and their technology level is something akin to Starfleet and Earth of the mid-twenty-second century,” she concluded her report, to nods of approval from around the suite.

“So making contact wouldn’t be prohibited by the prime directive at this point,” the Captain confirmed, hands on knees and laser-focused on the screen behind the scientist.

“But that probably suggests that they are unlikely to be able to protect themselves from whoever these raiders may be,” Noli chimed in, spinning from side to side on her stool, always unable to keep still. Her mother had once taken her to a doctor, a Terran man who labelled her as having ‘fidgetitis’, whatever that meant.

“Captain Gor,” the familiar voice of Lieutenant Bellurr craned her neck and called back towards the meeting behind her, drawing the attention of all present in the StratOps suite to the back of the bridge.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Gor called out in response, his focus still on the science data they were surveying.

“We’ve made contact with the planet,” the tactical officer informed him, a little chirpier than usual.

“Excellent news,” the Captain clapped, pushing himself off the stool and heading up the steps, leading the mass exodus from StratOps.

As he rose to his feet, the XO placed a gentle hand on the arm of the science chief and stopped her in her tracks. “Nice work, Lieutenant Okan,” he smiled at the Risian woman, letting her know that her efforts had been appreciated.

“Thank you, sir,” she smiled, “and please, it’s Akaria.”

Rounding the tactical rail, the Captain soon stood at the heart of the bridge, with Giarvar and Lieutenant Tuca on either side.

“Open a channel when you’re ready Lieutenant,” the Captain requested, watching as Noli returned to her station and joined Bellurr.

A nod a few seconds later suggested the channel was open.

“This is Captain Vasoch Gor of the Federation Starship Hathaway,” the captain called into the comm, his eyes trained on the viewscreen, awaiting some sort of response. When it failed to come, he added more to his message. “We’re responding to a distress call that originated from this world,” he revealed.

Still, there was nothing.

“I have a theory,” Pamao chimed in from behind Okan at science. “We had trouble deciphering their message because of the language barrier. Given the technological gap, it is wise to suggest that they are probably encountering the same difficulties we had,” the Andorian surmised with a raised eyebrow.

“What if we go about this a different way?” Giarvar suggested, stepping past Gor and towards the science station. “You know, send our message to them in their language.”

Akaria and Pamao shared the same pained expression. “We thought of that,” the linguist nodded, “but we know so little about their language.”

“All we need to do is make contact,” Akaria chimed in, looking between the growing members of their audience. “If we can get them talking, the universal translator will quickly work out what we’re missing,” she told them.

“Keep trying sir,” Giarvar told his superior, turning back to the command area. “We need them to respond,” the Trill looked stern as he returned to his spot at the Captain’s right.

“I repeat; this is Captain Vasoch Gor of the Federation Starship Hathaway,” the captain huffed. “We are here in response to the distress call that originated from this world several hours ag…” he paused as the viewscreen flickered into life, and displayed a distorted image.

“I know, I know. Clearing it up now,” the robotic voice of Lieutenant Or’uil at Ops interjected through his voice synthesiser before anyone could give him the instructions he knew were coming.

True to his word, the distorted picture began to clear up.

Before long a beautiful and fair-skinned female alien came into focus. Her eyes were hard to miss; a deep amber, as vibrant as the richest citrine. Her epidermis was mostly pink in colour, darker in shade as the skin of her face came to three pointed folds which held back her perfectly white hair in the same manner a crown might. Those tentacle-like folds flickered like a flame as she spoke which heightened her animation.

“Hello,” Captain Gor smiled, “I’m here on behalf of the United Federation of Planets…”

“Any sign that they have detected us?”

Perched on the stool at the tactical rail, Noli’s hands danced across the LCARS pane, controlling the ship’s sensors and taking the lead for the moment.

“Negative Captain,” the blonde bombshell shook her head, wrinkling her Bajoran nose as she often did when concentrating.

Whilst Little and Large (or the captain and his first officer as they were officially known to everyone but Noli) were deep in conversation, the youngest member of the command team summoned the nearby Strategic Operations officer with a wave of her hand.

Cocking his bald, grey head, Lieutenant Tuca looked confused for a moment but soon joined the Bajoran and her deputy at the tactical rail. “What can I do to assist you, Commander?” he asked the woman.

“We need to gather some intelligence about these people, right?” she suggested, earning nods of agreement from both Bellurr and Tuca. “All we know is that the natives of Aquorat are under attack by these raiders. But according to my sensors, we outmatch them in every respect, yet the people below do not,” she continued.

“As soon as they realise that, they’ll run…” Bellurr suggested, this time drawing a nod from Noli.

“Exactly my concern,” the tactical chief agreed in earnest, “so we need somewhere to hide where we can still observe until we have what we need,” she folded her arms across her chest and looked at Tuca. “This is where you come in, Mister Strategist,” she grinned.

Sighing, the grey-skinned Alzek silently requested ownership of the tactical station and began tapping away. “When we were discussing the situation in StratOps we happened to look across the local star chart,” he revealed, gaze split between the two yellow-clad women, “and I noticed there was a large asteroid field on the other side of the system.”

“And you think we could hide in there?” a voice from below the rail queried, drawing the attention of the three officers behind the tactical arch.

Captain Gor and Commander Kauhn had stood, watching the three at work, their discussion carrying their voices to the command team who had been deep in conversation of their own.

“It stands to reason,” Tuca nodded in response.

“If we don’t, they’ll run. And they’ll be gone before we can get the intelligence we need,” Noli added, arms still folded across her chest, looking between ‘Little and Large’.

“But if we’re going to do it, we need to do it quickly,” the assistant tactical officer chimed in, “their vessel will have us on sensors shortly.”

Gor listened to his people, considering their words, and the absence of any other suggestions that he may have preferred. A nod from Giarvar suggested he was onboard with the suggestion from the strategy team.

“Make it so,” Vasoch nodded, turning on his heels and slumping into his command chair.

Smiling to ‘her’ team, the Bajoran set their plan in motion. “Henry,” she called across the bridge, “set a course to the asteroid field on the edge of the system. Find the largest chunk of space rock and put us next to it,” she instructed.

A nod from the Tellarite at the heart of the command centre gave the flyboy the permission he needed to go to work. “Oh, you lot are about to see something special…” he grinned, rubbing his hands together with glee before letting his fingers dance across the console at will.

Hathaway began to accelerate, slowly at first and then quicker until she was at a substantial gallop and headed away from the planet they had been in conversation with just minutes earlier.

“We’ll need to power down all but essential systems once we’re in place,” Noli advised the Captain further, her eyes focused on the display she stood at.

With a flick of his wrist, the Captain pressed a button on the control pad in the arm of his chair. “Lieutenant Prida to the bridge,” he barked, then looked towards the orange-skinned creature at Ops. “Or’uil, make it happen.”

“Already working on it captain,” the Ungeat told, “in order to mask our presence we’ll have to shut down everything but key systems like sensors, life support and shields,” he told the Captain without so much as a glance or an apology.

“Approaching the asteroid field,” Henry declared a few minutes later. “Reducing speed to manoeuvring thrusters.”

“Raising shields,” Noli declared, “and given the momentum of the few asteroids that are moving, any collisions will be glancing blows.”

Vasoch could do nothing now but watch, and wait. Anything he said or did would complicate the situation for his subordinates who had the situation under control. There was, after all, a reason why he had supported Tharia’s recommendation about Noli’s promotion all those months ago. She was proving to be a more than capable leader and member of his senior staff.

“Adjusting heading… moving into position.”

Emerging from the aft turbo lift, their engineering colleague entered the bridge and made for her engineering station. “I’ve been monitoring the situation, sir,” Prida revealed, “and I think I have a further idea about how we can proceed,” the Bajoran stopped short of sitting down and looked across at the command team.

“We’re all ears, Lieutenant,” Giarvar nodded, eager to hear anything that could help their position.

“ETA thirty seconds.”

“Given what we know, we’re likely to want to pursue these criminals,” the grey-skinned Bajoran suggested, “but as soon as we power up, they’re going to know we’re coming.”

“Five seconds.”

“Shields adjusted to repel the asteroids and hide any impacts from sensors.”

“We’re going to need to mask our warp signature and use our advanced sensors to blind them from detecting us,” Prida looked hopeful that they were following along, given the other voices calling out across the bridge.

“Going to all stop.”

“Can you do all this while we’re powered down?” Gor asked, spinning in his chair slightly to look at the engineer.

“It’s better that way,” Prida nodded, “If we do it when we’re fully powered up, the sudden disappearance of our signature is far more likely to register on their sensors. If I do it now, it’ll be in place before we start moving off again.”

“Anything that gives us a strategic advantage is an opportunity worth taking,” Tuca added, leaning over the tactical arch from beside Noli.

“Powering down all but mission-critical systems,” advised Or’uil.

“Unidentified vessel approaching the planet.”

As lights across the bridge dimmed to reflect the shutdown of key systems across the ship, Gor gave his authorisation to Prida. “Get to it,” he instructed, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

“According to sensors, the ship is an early Theta-class Miradorn raider. It would seem to have limited speed and poor systems in comparison to later models,” leaning closer to her display, the colours of the LCARS panel lit up Noli’s face while she gave her report.

“That’s odd…”

All eyes spun and looked towards Akaria, who, for a second, looked a little sheepish, then explained her outburst.

“You say it’s a Miradorn vessel,” the science chief countered, “but the fifteen life signs I’m detecting do not match the Miradorn. They’re Nausicaan…”

Vasoch slumped back into his seat. “Of course they are,” he grimaced, “someone mentions slaves and the first two species to come to mind are…”

“Orions,” Bellurr interjected, with very little else to do at present, “and Nausicaans.”

“And since Orions are so brazen that they only use their own ships…” Giarvar continued the conversation, “…but, hang on. They’re so far from home. What the hell are Nausicaans doing running a slavery ring out here?” the XO queried.

“We’ll have to answer that later,” Noli stopped the XO in his tracks, “they’re beginning transport. North’s defence forces are opening fire from the surface.”

“Those torpedoes are so low yield they wouldn’t even register an impact against ours. Maybe against one of our shuttles,” Bellurr quipped, tapping away and conducting her own analysis. “Slaver ship has destroyed all incoming projectiles,” she added.

“Transport complete,” Noli frowned, looking away from the console and towards the Captain. “I’m reading an additional thirty-six life signs.”

“Vessel is moving away Captain,” came the warning from the flyboy, “they’re heading in our direction.”

“Any sign they’ve detected us?” Gor was quick off the mark, scooting to the edge of his chair once again.

“Nothing yet,” Bellurr answered.

“Or’uil…”

“Standing by to power up as needed Captain,” the Ungeat advised, to the ire of the engineer behind him.

“If we power up now, we’ll be detected for sure, and we’ll lose any hope of knowing what they are up to!” The engineer’s response was pretty emphatic, serious enough to draw her from her task.

Heeding the young engineer’s words, the Captain held off on ordering the power-up, at least for the moment. But on the screen, it was plain for all to see that the ship was advancing on its position, bearing down on the asteroid field and gaining speed.

“Captain, the shields will not withstand a blast from that ship at close range should we be wrong.”

A stark warning from the blonde at tactical, and one that gave the Tellarite pause. What if Prida was wrong? What if the Nausicaans on that vessel had already detected Hathaway and were on their way to destroy the ship, but caught the Captain with his proverbial pants down?

Still, there was something lurking at the back of his mind that urged him to wait; to hold off. Something he couldn’t put a finger on, and something causing the XO some discomfort next to him, as Giarvar stiffened in his chair, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms on either side of himself.

“We wait,” he sternly instructed, “no one makes a move without my say so.”

Not exactly a rebellious bunch, the crew wisely opted to follow their commander’s lead. Some chose to look away as the ship closed in on them, whilst others stared it down in a vain effort to try and deflect it from its course.

And right at the death, the latter seemed to be successful, the raider adjusting course and disappearing above them and out of view. Gasps of relief across the bridge drew all eyes back into the moment.

“They’re passing over the asteroid field on a projected heading of one-eight-three mark two-four-one,” Henry revealed once he had composed himself enough to study the display before him again.

“Prida?” Vasoch turned his chair towards the engineer, searching for the answer to his needs.

“Five minutes,” she responded, knowing exactly what the Captain wanted from her, “maybe ten.”

Frustrated, the Tellarite nodded. “Henry, follow their course and plot our best route to keep up with them,” he instructed the flyboy, “Noli; you and Tuca get to work devising some sort of plan to get me some eyes and ears aboard that ship,” he continued with the orders, without so much as a glance back at the tacticians, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

He had no choice but to wait and follow the Engineer’s lead, or risk blowing their cover. But that didn’t mean that he had to sit there helpless and inactive. Now, it was up to the strategists among them to come up with their next move.

And a bold one it would need to be.

Pacing the StratOps suite at the back of the bridge, Noli had her arms folded across her chest while she stared at the floor beneath her. Her Alzek colleague from Strategic Operations had joined her, as had his Bolian subordinate, intelligence officer Fyhya Kiras. Together, the three had been tasked with coming up with a plan to get the Captain the data he needed, but so far they had come up with nothing.

“What about a probe?” Kiras asked, leaning back in her chair and spinning from side to side.

“It would be detected before it could get close enough,” Noli shook her head, “and even if we hid its signature, the minute it started transmitting back it would be detected.”

“Maybe getting us aboard their ship is a mistake,” Tuca remarked, his pointed, grey ears twitching with a sudden burst of movement from the Strategic Operations officer. Reaching for the controls where Noli was standing, the Alzek tapped furiously for a few seconds, noticeably drawing information from the LCARS database using his access code. “Virtually everything we know about slavers,” he took a step back and pointed to the screen for the two to read. “What do you notice?”

Moving closer together to read the data on the screen, Bajoran and Bolian alike almost butted heads, but while one stood back and shrugged a few seconds later, the other made a connection.

Finally, Kiras spoke up. “Almost all slavery operations have a place to trade their victims,” the young Bolian looked towards her superior. “A marketplace of sorts. Somewhere to sell their slaves for the highest bidder,” she added, noting the look of confusion on the face of the Commander.

“And you think they’re headed to their port of call?” Noli theorised, but instead of waiting for a response, her thoughts began to wander, as did her feet. “If we follow them to this port, we can get all the data we need on this slavery ring and, hopefully, find the missing natives of Aquorat,” she looked pleased with herself for a moment, but then a realisation hit her. “How the hell do we get Hathaway close enough?”

“We don’t,” a different, more masculine voice interrupted the gathering from behind them.

Snapping her head to the left, Noli spotted the owner of the voice descend the steps to their position. “Who let you up here? One flyboy is more than enough,” she scowled at the newcomer.

“Aye, but then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of solving your conundrum, would I?” a smirk crossed the lips of the mysterious newcomer; a tall, grey-haired man with two unmistakeable antennae standing at attention atop his mane.

“How do you even know what our conundrum is?” Noli snapped back.

“There is no point in us being here if we aren’t useful. And I’m read into every mission development as a prerequisite of our assignment,” Lieutenant Commander Orys Ch’tosrik revealed to the tactical officer, much to his enjoyment. “Captain’s orders.”

Well, that didn’t sit well with the ship’s second officer. Noli had been one of the strongest opposing voices to the assignment of a starfighter squadron to the Hathaway, arguing that they barely had a purpose in times of war, let alone peacetime. She also hated that the squadron leader, the very same Andorian standing smugly before her, seemed to have a direct line to the Captain. That was supposed to be a privilege reserved for his most trusted advisors, and this guy had been aboard for a matter of weeks.

Sensing the tension between the two officers, Tuca decided it was time to wade into the row. “What are you proposing, Commander?” the Alzek trained his emerald eyes on the newcomer.

“You can’t get Hathaway close enough without being detected and blowing our cover,” the fighter pilot confirmed, “but my pilots can go where you cannot.”

“You want us to send your pilots to investigate this slavery cartel?” Noli scoffed derisively, “Absolutely not.”

“Actually, blondie, no,” the Andorian shook his head. “If they take you to a port somewhere, there is likely to be a lot of traffic. You’re going to need a small ship to get close enough to investigate, maybe transport in an away team. If you send a small team aboard one of your shuttles, I can have my fighters in the area to render assistance if they need it far quicker than Hathaway could get in, and probably without blowing your cover further,” the Commander suggested, looking towards the strategist and his teammate for a more reasoned review of his idea.

“It could work,” Kiras mused, nodding slowly, “but we’d need to alter the transponders of all the ships involved, to make them look less Starfleet-like.”

“I could have my maintenance team see to that,” Orys confirmed with a nod and a quick blink.

“If anyone’s going to oversee that, it’ll be Prida,” Noli shook her head, definitely folding her arms across her chest again.

“What? Don’t trust my people?” Orys let out a sigh and dropped his arms to his side in an attempt to placate the Bajoran. “Look, Lieutenant Prida approved all of the transfers to my maintenance team, and they all came from her department. If you don’t trust them, you don’t trust her judgement,” the Andorian shrugged, hoping that his words might help the woman see sense, especially by confirming the input that Prida had had on his team after their arrival.

“Moving out of the asteroid field now,” Henry’s voice travelled from the forwardmost areas of the bridge and let those in StratOps know that time was short.

Holding up her hands, Noli surrendered to the Andorian. “Fine. We’ll suggest it to the Captain, yes?” she looked around the three other people in turn, each nodding in agreement.

Taking the lead, Noli ascended the steps and stood at the entrance to StratOps.

“Captain,” she called out, “can we borrow you for a moment please?”

The next ten minutes were a whirlwind of explanation and suggestion, with the discussion surprisingly civil. To her credit, and despite her misgivings, Noli even supported the idea from Commander Ch’tosrik and credited him with the suggestion to use the starfighters.

“So, we launch a shuttle with an away team aboard, potentially have the fighters in the area as cover, blending in, and the away team beams to this location and gathers the intelligence we need,” Gor reiterated the facts for those around him, ensuring that he had the basics of the plan committed to memory.

Standing beside the Captain, arms folded and pursed lips, the XO listened “What if it isn’t a planet?” Giarvar questioned.

“It is,” Lieutenant Okan interjected, marching through the archway and into StratOps. “We’ve projected the ship’s course, a planet called Eohiri. We won’t have an idea of what we are walking into until we get closer,” the Risian told, handing a data PADD of information to the XO.

“Then we’ll proceed as suggested,” Gor nodded. “Noli; put together two teams to travel by shuttle. Make it as diverse as possible so that you can blend in as off-worlders. Commander Ch’tosrik, prepare your squadron.”

Both Commanders, alike in rank and little else, silently nodded in receipt of their orders and dispersed to carry out the bidding of their diminutive master.

“Akaria,” Giarvar called out, heeding the earlier advice from his colleague about her naming preference, “you know that fabulous review of Aquorat you gave us earlier?” he asked.

“I know,” she dropped her head with a smirk, “you want it again,” she replied.

“And in half the time,” the XO added sheepishly.

“I’ll get right to it.”

Almost twenty minutes later, Lieutenant Commander Ch’tosrik had gathered his pilots in the briefing room attached to shuttlebay two, going over the plan for the mission to come. It had been met with a mixture of emotions from the four other members of the Hellhounds. Lieutenant Varru Ina, a Bajoran female and Orys’ de facto deputy had been somewhat disapproving of rushing to the aid of people who had been less than kind about their assignment to the Hathaway. Lieutenant Gosia Keahn, codenamed Hound Three and a Trill female, had been more than happy at getting off the ship. Hound Four (one of Starfleet’s few Romulans and identified as Lieutenant Xorin) couldn’t wait to get his first experience as a fighter pilot since transferring from flight control. Then there was Ensign Sira. Hound Five, or Newbie as she was affectionately known by her team. She’d never flown an actual mission outside of the Academy and was nervous about her first outing with the squadron.

All the details of the plan had been laid out for the squadron to understand, and, once they had left to prepare their craft, Varru and Ch’tosrik were left alone for a moment.

“Are you sure this plan of theirs is going to work?” the Bajoran asked her superior, a man she had flown with on dozens of occasions.

“All you need to worry about is doing your bit,” the Andorian reminded his XO, “and let them do theirs. We need to be in the right positions at the right time, but be on hand to intercept and intervene if the situation calls for it.”

He was right of course. There were many factors that could play a role in the success or failure of the mission, they had to make sure that the squadron was a positive factor and not a detrimental one.

Outside, on the flight deck, work was already underway, with engineers and maintenance crew alike working their backsides off to not only ensure the craft were ready to fly, but to make sure their modified transponders would work.

Everything out there would depend on the element of surprise.

Streaking stars slid to a halt as the ever-graceful Hathaway slipped out of her warp drive slipstream and returned to the safety of normal space, gradually coming to a standstill in the vast openness. To the naked eye, the mighty Sagan-class ship may have appeared abandoned, offline. Very few lights were on, systems were offline, and the engines were dark.

Exactly the way the Captain needed things to be.

Like the rest of the ship, the bridge was operating under red alert, with emergency lighting and the LCARS panels the only source of brightness for the crew to operate by.

“We’re in position Captain,” Giarvar tapped at the control panel attached to his chair, “all teams are on standby.”

“Akaria, system analysis?”

With their ship so far from the target previously, the use of long-range sensors while hiding was nearly impossible, but given they were now relatively close, and the slave ship off doing its thing, the scientist was pleased to be able to do her thing with impunity.

“Dozens of ships operating in and around the planet,” the Risian revealed, her face lit up by the LCARS panel in front of her. “Largest vessel is equivalent to an Intrepid-class in size, and probably armaments.” Oh, what a joy it was to have her sensors back to their fullest. “Our vessel has moved into position above the northernmost continent and is holding position,” she looked towards the command pit.

That was their cue. Reaching down to the arm of his chair, a press of a button opened a channel. “Bridge to Hangar Deck. Deploy starfighters,” he called out.

“Affirmative bridge,” a voice from the depths of the ship, “mission is a go.”

Several decks down, the Runabout Achenar sat motionless in the upper shuttlebay, her command crew listening intently to communications and reports from the bridge. An open channel ensured the away team was clued into what was going on elsewhere so that when the time came, they could launch their part of the mission.

In the forwardmost seats of the cockpit, mission leader Commander Noli sat beside Ensign Udraa at the CONN. Behind them, Lieutenants Tuca and Kiras occupied the other seats in the room. In the aft compartment, security officers Chief Petty Officer Uzair, Petty Officer Findlay Sharp, Ensign Ho and Petty Officer Esme Salazar and Crewman Sykes awaited their turn. As per orders, all were dressed in attire customary for their species, including Kiras in bright colours and Tuca in a rather dowdy brown suit.

“Hound Four in position.”

“Hound Two closing in.”

Listening in to the reports of the fighter squadron moving into their assigned positions caused the Commander to look over her shoulder at her team. “Alright people, we’ll be up shortly. Conceal all tricorders, communicators and weapons,” she instructed her team, just in time for the launch code to be received.

Their away mission was a go.

Journeying to the nearby planet was easy, Udaar simply avoiding traffic where needed and moving into the holding pattern when requested by the brusque voice that filled their cockpit a short while later. There hadn’t been so much as a challenge to their identity or their reasoning for visiting the planet, so it appeared that, for now at least, everything was proceeding as planned. Whilst the first wave of transports to the surface began, those left behind on Hathaway began to feel the inevitable sense of worry. A number of their colleagues were in a dangerous position, and the ship was out of position to render anything but scant assistance.

Leaning against the command console at the heart of Cargo Bay Two, Commander Kauhn fiddled with the phaser attached to his waist, staring absentmindedly at the floor. His mind had long since drifted, worrying less about himself and the venture his team had been tasked with, and more about what was awaiting the team already in the market world.

“Are you and your teams all set, Commander?” the familiarly gruff voice of Captain Gor dragged the Trill from his dazed state and back into the reality of the cargo bay.

“Sorry, what?” the XO stood upright and shook his head a little, “Yes. The teams are ready to go. Noli and I opted to use the cargo bay transporters for ease of mass transport. We want to get the security teams down in one go to make the most of the element of surprise,” he advised the Captain, but the look on the man’s face suggested he was looking for permission rather than telling the Captain what he was going to do.

“How long have you been a first officer now, Commander?” the Captain quizzed, folding his arms as he lent against the console his subordinate had used for support.

“A year now,” Giarvar smiled sheepishly, “nine months on Intrepid and nearly three here.”

“The best advice someone once gave me was that it is better, and often easier, to ask for forgiveness rather than permission,” the Tellarite smirked, looking up at the Trill who moved and perched beside him. “Do the right thing for your people, whether or not they know it. That way you can help the people that you work for in the best possible way. You are the executive officer of this ship, and unless stated otherwise, you have the discretion to run away missions and handle personnel matters in any way you feel necessary. I don’t need to know the minutiae of your decision-making; if I did, you wouldn’t be wearing that uniform or those insignia pips. You’re here because I know you are capable of being a damn fine XO. Just do your thing.”

This was the most real conversation the two had shared since Gor had come aboard, and they had shared many conversations in that time, but this was the first time the Captain had made him feel trusted enough to do his job without oversight.

“I will bear that in mind,” the Trill smiled, nodding in thanks to his superior. Together, for the time being, they simply stood with their security team.

All they could do was watch, and wait.