“…and make sure engineering knows the lateral sensor array is to be fixed by zero-seven hundred tomorrow. I want to leave here prepared for anything coming our way.”

Strolling in lockstep along deck three, headed in the direction of transporter room one, the two officers in command red were deep in conversation, each looking sterner by the second until they came to an abrupt halt outside of the transporter bay. Looking up at the much taller, older man in front of her, the diminutive Trill fired off a look of dissatisfaction.

“I’m not sure how long I’m going to be on the station,” Captain Nazir remarked as she held out the data PADD she had been reading, “but I want a senior staff briefing before the end of alpha shift. Make it happen, Number One.”

Taking ownership of the data PADD, the much taller Terran, nodded slowly. “Consider it done,” he told in his low, deep tone.

A single nod of acknowledgement between the two, and the giant of a man watched the Trill disappear behind the doors to the transporter room. When she was out of earshot, he shook his head and walked away.

“Sooner she’s out of here, the better…” he whispered under his breath, scowling at a petty officer passing by, and putting the fear of god into the young Bolian.

If the task force operations centre aboard Deep Space 17 was built like an amphitheatre, Captain Andreus Kohl was its prima donna at centre stage.  He had hardly stepped off the turbolift when operations officers waved him down with PADDs in hand.  Curved LCARS workstations were stationed in concentric rings around the massive translucent sector map in the heart of the room.  Kohl turned to examine the status reports dotting the map when a question from another officer pulled him back.

“–omulan Free State diplomat has feedback regarding his quarters–“

“–don’t know what to tell you other than the radiation cloud in the Fincycle system has doubled in–“

“–cannot find a single spore of Diomedian moss on the entire starbase and we promised a shipment to the USS Olympic–“

When the turbolift doors opened again, Kohl used that as an opportunity to offer a stern, “Excuse me,” to the gold-shouldered officer.  There was no guile about it; Kohl escaped from the melee.  He practically skipped up the ramp that led him to the turbolift doors.

His momentum was somewhat halted, however, by the emergence of two female officers wearing the red of the command division, and each adorned with four golden pips upon their collar. Both were in conversation until the older (in appearance anyway) spotted the onrushing man. “Captain Kohl?” the shorter, spotted woman called out.

“Captains!  Hullo,” Kohl said, his attitude warming.  His wan expression broke as he smiled at each of them in turn.  He swept a hand to a transparent-walled conference enclave on the upper-most ring of the operations centre.

“If you’ll follow me?” Kohl requested and immediately lead the way to an upward curving ramp.  “I wish I could offer you refreshments, but my staff is still unpacking after our campaign at the Markonian Outpost.”  With that much said, Kohl fully turned his back on the two captains, climbing the ramp at a quicker pace.  His voice became strained as he went on and took the final steps into the conference enclave.

“After the destruction of our flagship,” Kohl said, “and Captain Mek’s transfer, it hasn’t been an easy homecoming for Task Force Seventeen.”

“Discovery was a fine vessel,” the taller, statuesque looking Vulcan female remarked as she followed the gentleman, seemingly at a much greater ease than he. “But, you are to be commended on your promotion, Captain,” the Vulcan added.

Listening to the exchange between the new Task Force Commander and the Vulcan captain of the Intrepid, the spotted brunette couldn’t help but smirk, and shake her head slowly. “Discovery’s loss, while painful, was preventable,” the Trill stated her opinion, as forthright and truthful as ever. “Starfleet had no business sending so many vessels out there. Losses were inevitable in such a scenario,” Nazir frowned, lagging behind her fellow Captain’s. “I do congratulate you on your promotion, Kohl,” she added.

At Nazir’s comment that the USS Discovery‘s destruction was preventable, Kohl’s expression flattened to a wan grimace.  He dropped his gaze to the room’s meeting table and he touched the appropriate contacts to project privacy filters over the transparent walls of the conference enclave.  Kohl nodded and smiled and he thanked Nazir for the congratulations, and then he tapped another command into the table’s LCARS interface.

In his formal timbre, Kohl said, “I invited you both here because of a new initiative to prevent such losses from occurring again.  Task Force Seventeen has numerous science ships scattered across the Typhon Expanse and further beyond the Typhon Frontier.  Most of them are not equipped for dangers the likes of the Devore.”

Over the meeting table, holographic images of the Prometheus-class USS Prometheus and the Intrepid-class USS Intrepid winked into existence.  Both starships began a slow rotation in matching cadence.

“Effective this stardate,” Kohl said in his formal timbre, “Captain Nazir’s USS Prometheus and Captain T’Prynn’s USS Intrepid are forming the Prometheus Squadron, under Nazir’s overall command.  This squadron’s mandate will be deep space tactical and exploration initiatives in the Typhon Expanse and beyond.  Between the two of your vessels, neither ship will be alone in the deep.  Furthermore, you will offer a safety net for our smaller science ships crossing the expanse.”

Standing around the table, both of the females in the room took note of the man’s instructions, but their reactions were vastly different. T’Prynn remained as stoic as ever, a curt nod the only form of acknowledgement that she gave.

Nazir, on the other hand, bristled as she folded her arms across her chest. “I appreciate Intrepid will be ready to go looking for phenomenon across the expanse, but what shall you have Prometheus do in the meantime? We’re not exactly a ship of exploration,” she reminded the man, not that he needed it. Prometheus was probably the most capable tactical platform in the task force. but an explorer she definitely was not.

“Strategic operations,” Kohl replied.  “Anticipate Starfleet’s need for tactical defense across the Typhon Expanse.  We don’t only have our own ships to worry about, our task force is committed to protecting the Romulan Free State science vessels in the area too.  Moreover, it’s not only external threats you’ll need to anticipate, we have internal threats too.  We’re all aware of Captain sh’Elas murder on board the USS Ulysses.”

“That was inconceivable,” Kohl said, shaking his head.  “My desk is piled with transfer requests from Ulysses crew members.  I’ve drafted orders for them to be transferred to the Intrepid for the sake of their well-being.”

“A number of requests have already crossed my desk,” the Vulcan nodded, her ponytail waving behind her head, “and I have instructed my executive officer to accept them all. Our crew will assist these people to deal with their trauma,” she told in her usual matter of fact tone.

“Thank you, Captain T’Prynn,” Kohl said, with a sombre nod of his head to her.  His eyes cut to Nazir for a moment and then he returned his gaze to the Vulcan captain.  “You are dismissed to see to your crew.  I have the Prometheus‘ first mission parameters to share with Captain Nazir.”

A curt nod of the head signalled the Vulcan’s understanding, and she swivelled on her heels. “It is agreeable to see you Captain,” she acknowledged Nazir, “and I am certain we will see one another again soon.”

“Aye,” Nazir nodded, a faux smile for her troubles.

Kohl waved a hand over the holograms and the projector shut off.  There would be no visual aids for what he had to say next.  Only after the door had closed behind T’Prynn did Kohl provide more context for Captain Nazir.

“The Prometheus‘ first mission will be one of reconnaissance,” Kohl said, “at the coordinates for what Starfleet Intelligence believes is likely the homeworld of the individual who murdered Captain sh’Elas.  Your crew will be responsible for gathering intelligence on this strange new world and ascertaining if its people are amenable to friendship with the Federation.”

Listening to the elaboration of their orders, the Captain of the Prometheus was intrigued at the prospect of finding those responsible for the murder of her colleague, but reconnaissance? Surely Prometheus was overkill for such an endeavour. Still, she was open to hearing more from her new unit commander.

Kohl added, “This mission you will be undertaking is classified.  Even I haven’t been fully briefed.  A liaison from Starfleet Intelligence will be joining you to apprise yourself and Captain T’Prynn of the full scope of your responsibilities.  To support this mission, we have selected three senior officers who worked with Captain sh’Elas on the USS Ulysses to join your crew on the Prometheus.”

Nazir scoffed and shook her head. “I’m certain that the crew I have assembled is more than up to the task, Captain. I don’t think we need the baggage that comes with these officers…”

“They have first-hand knowledge,” Kohl said, figuratively pushing back on Nazir, “of the individual and her capabilities.  Once your reconnaissance is complete, you can drop them off on the starbase and you’ll have your own choice of… baggage going forward.”

Nazir’s eye’s narrowed as she regarded the man in front of her. Her certainly wasn’t Mek, that was for sure. It would be some time before she truly had the measure of this new task force commander, but for now she knew she would be foolish to push back any further. “Very well,” she nodded in agreement.

Kohl responded with a placid smile.

“Aside from everything your Starfleet Intelligence liaison may tell you about the mission’s parameters,” Kohl said dryly, “what questions do you have about Prometheus Squadron?”

“I’m not sure two ships really make a squadron…” the Trill mused, arms folded across her chest, “and I’m not sure Prometheus will be of much use from an exploration perspective in the expanse, but we’ll make it work.”

“Don’t worry about exploration,” Kohl insisted, half-humorously.  “That’s what the task force’s science ships are for.  I don’t want their captains to have to worry about their tactical defense.  It’s your job to keep them safe.”

The conversation between the two officers continued for a short while, a back and forth of considerations and concerns about matters ranging from personnel transfers, to other ships stationed in the expanse that Prometheus would have to be mindful of. All in all, as the conversation progressed, a more cordial note seemed to have been achieved between the two. Upon parting ways, they even shared a hand shake of appreciation and hope for continued working together.

Attention now turned to matters elsewhere; for the Trill, she had a squadron to run, crew members to board and a ship to prepare.

Three days spent travelling the stretch from Starbase Bravo to Deep Space 17 aboard the USS Scarborough had allowed the occupants of the Volga-class runabout Hesiod to take the time to gather their thoughts and prepare for their return to duty. Two months on Bajor had provided rest and a means of relaxation, whilst allowing the two young women to gather themselves and deal with the trauma of recent events. Now, having been dispatched aboard the runabout to their final destination, the pair watched as Scarborough warped away, leaving them on approach to the enormous Canopus-class starbase on the horizon.

The pair found themselves in an odd predicament; they had been ordered to report to the station, but they hadn’t been told why, let alone who to meet when they arrived. The absence of details was quite peculiar, and upset the detail oriented Prida. Thankfully, her ‘blonde bombshell’ of a friend was far more laid back, and as the more senior in rank, what she said, went.

With each of them sat at a forward console, Noli had the luxury of relaxing in the co-pilots seat, having pulled rank and assigned piloting duty to her friend.

“We’re receiving orders to watch out for traffic in the area,” Prida informed the Bajoran next to her, tapping away at the controls for confirmation of other ships in the area. “We’re about ten minutes out at half impulse, which is standard speed for such a busy space lane,” she advised her partner in crime.

“Sitting forward in her chair, the blonde intertwined her fingers, and then bent them outwards, giving them a satisfying crack, much to Prida’s apparent disgust. ”I think it’s about time we got some answers, don’t you?” the Lieutenant Commander suggested to her colleague, but instead of waiting for an answer, she opened a channel to the station via the runabouts communications array.

“This is the Runabout Hesiod to Deep Space Seventeen. Requesting docking details,” she spoke into the computer, and waited for the answer from someone across the vast, yet narrowing, gap between them.

A few seconds later, a new voice filled the cockpit. “Runabout Hesiod, this is Traffic Control. You are authorised to dock via berth Gamma. Landing coordinates are being transmitted to you now. Traffic Control, out.”

Once the channel was closed, Prida leaned over to review the coordinates sent to them, and the final set drew a look of confusion that they both shared. “Well, unless I’m mistaken…”

“Which you never are…”

Prida shot the blonde next to her a wry smile. “Which I never am,” she smirked before continuing, “those are landing coordinates aboard a starship.”

“Why can’t we just beam aboard?!” Noli pouted, slouching into her chair. Everything about their trip had been complicated; whether it had been bartering transport aboard the Scarborough, or taking ownership of a runabout to complete the last leg, or getting some orders at all. Everything about this seemed needlessly complicated, and unnecessarily secretive. Why couldn’t they just be told where they were going? Who they were seeing? What their purpose here was?

Upon entering the station’s landing pattern, a tractor beam locked onto the small vessel and guided it safely through the relevant docking bay doors. The view that greeted them in the internal docking bay was wondrous; starships enormous in size compared to the minute runabout sat in silence as workbees and shuttles buzzed around, maintenance personnel used thrusters on their EVA suits to complete the finest details whilst hull walking and every so often, the alarms indicating a set of space doors opening or closing would sound. It was a sight an engineer loved to see, and something others rarely took in.

“Look at them all…” Prida marvelled, leaning over the console and practically climbing out of the forward windows to catch a view of the starships they freely maneuvered around towards their predesignated coordinates. “An Inquiry… the California-class Blythe… Oh, look… Santa Fe!” the Bajassian’s grin was childlike at the sight of their former vessel.

As the Hesiod used her thrusters to move up and over the saucer section of the the New Orleans-class starship, both officers were taken aback by the unusual spaceframe sat immediately in their flight path. A sleek looking profile with four nacelles and an angular primary hull, the ship was unmistakable to both.

“Woah…” Noli looked as in awe as her engineering colleague and sat forward, soaking in the image before them.

“Look at the nacelles on that,” the engineer traced the lines with her fingers, “she’s got an extra two, locked away out of view, did you know?” Her excitement was genuine until a thought dawned on her. “You don’t think…” Prida turned to Noli, that childlike grin mirrored on both their faces.

“What? That we’d get assigned to a Prometheus? Don’t be daft. We’re not that lucky…” Noli shrugged, turning back just in time for the ship’s name to come into focus.

“THE Prometheus,” Prida grinned, almost bouncing with excitement. “Do you now how long I’ve wanted to see one of these up close?!”

“As long as you wanted to see a Galaxy, I imagine,” Noli chuckled, sliding back into her seat. “Sit down will you? You’re like a child on Gratitude,” the senior officer chided her companion playfully.

Returning to her seat next to the Commander, the bashful engineer watched with bated breath as the ship suddenly found itself under the guidance of an external tractor beam. 

“Runabout Hesiod, this is Prometheus. Stand by for docking and enjoy the ride,” a voice in the ether suddenly filled the cockpit of the craft, “we’ve got you from here. LSO out.”

Slowly but with purpose, the two occupants of the Hesiod turned their faces towards each other, each showing the same mirror image; wide eyes, enormous smile, flushed cheeks. Without so much as a hint of a warning, but in complete synchronicity, the pair leapt to their feet and began dancing around the cockpit, hand in hand, screaming and shouting.

For the time being, the serious professionals of yesterday were replaced with the excited children on Gratitude. And neither regretted it for a moment.

A trademark hiss accompanied the opening of the runabout doors, revealing the cramped shuttlebay the Hesiod had successfully landed in, allowing the two newcomers their first glance at the ship. Childlike demeanours had been replaced with the cold expression of women desperate not to show themselves up, despite their excitement.

At first, the room was oddly quiet, and abandoned. Not a tech, not a landing signal operator, not even a maintenance worker in sight. That surprised both, and caused the two women to share a quizzical look or two before they stepped down via the nacelle and onto the solid footing of the Prometheus decking. They weren’t alone for long, however, as the bay doors at the end of the room soon opened and three officer’s strolled into the bay; two officers in operations gold flanking a much taller, grey-haired man in command red. Whilst Prida seemed to thaw at the sight of the three officer’s moving hastily towards them, Noli bristled and cocked her head. She tapped Prida on the arm and whispered to her colleague.

“What do you suppose the phasers are for?” the blonde remarked, causing Prida to shift uncomfortably next to her. Phasers in spacedock were far from standard procedure. Were they in trouble? Had they done something wrong already?

They didn’t have long to wait, as the three oncomers slid to a halt and the giant of a man in the middle looked down at the two women. “Name’s Felix Bachmann, XO,” his words quiet, cold and emotionless. “Which of you is Noli?” he asked.

Stepping in front of her colleague a little, Noli made her presence known to the man, and swiftly noted the rank insignia upon his collar. “That would be me, Commander. Lieutenant Commander Noli Auru, reporting as requested. This is my colleague, Lieutenant Prida Rala,” the marginally taller of the two Bajoran’s stepped aside and gestured to her friend, who stepped up and gave a little wave.

Bachmann grunted and gave a nod to Prida, before swiftly turning his attention back to the blonde. “This is your assistant, Or’uil. He’ll fill you in on all you need to know about your department,” the Terran jerked his head in the direction of a peculiar looking creature with bulbous green eyes, brown, scaly skin and three cranial horns protruding backwards from the top of his skull.

“Greetings Commander,” the creature spoke in an almost robotic tone, its ‘ears’ dipping slightly, as if nodding in welcome.

Noli smiled sheepishly but didn’t have time to respond before Bachmann butted in again. “Prida, this is Ensign Donaldson. He’ll escort you to engineering shortly,” monotonous in his words, the man’s ability to seem menacing whilst supposedly welcoming people rivalled that of their diminutive Tellarite colleague from Ulysses. “Before you go, you need to know exactly where you are,” Bachmann took a single, ominous step toward them both, looking each of his new officers in the eye in turn.

“Prometheus is an elite unit, the closest Starfleet has ever had to a dedicated warship,” the man began to reel off what sounded almost like a recruitment speech. “You’re here because Starfleet believe you have high technical acumen and have shown yourselves to be competent officers. This is no pleasure cruise, no science ship. We don’t go on humanitarian missions. Starfleet finds a place they can’t send anyone else, and we go. Whilst here, you will see and hear things that cannot, and will not, be repeated. As such, you’ve been granted top-secret security clearance,” the pride he had in his remarks was evident from the smile that crept on his face as he spoke.

All the two newcomers could do was stand and listen as he continued to prattle on.

“The nature of our sensitive operations means communications here are monitored and censored much more often than on other Starfleet vessels. Security patrols are more frequent and are routinely armed; access to certain areas of the ship is restricted dependent on rank, position and the ship’s operating procedures. I don’t do fluffy, I don’t do hand holding, and I don’t do patience. I don’t tolerate screw ups and I don’t do failure…”

It almost felt like he was chastising them for being new to the ship, like they were an inconvenience, or that it was a chore to have to welcome them aboard. At one point, the blonde bombshell had zoned out, only to rejoin at the exact moment he stopped and looked at the two women for some form of acknowledgement of understanding.

When the dutiful ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ had been sufficiently given, the Commander nodded one last time. “You have one hour to get to grips with your departments, then Captain Nazir wants to see you in her ready room. Understood?”

Again, the satisfactory responses of ‘yes sir’ allowed them to placate the behemoth of a man, and finally bring the ‘greeting’ to an end. Watching the man leave, the two newcomers felt a variety of different emotions until they reached the point where they could finally let out a sigh of relief.

“Bloody hell…” Noli smirked, placing her hands on her hips as she shook her head and looked at her new assistant. “Is he always like that?”

The strange Or’uil creature gave something akin to a glare at the Bajoran, and in his apparently normal synthetic voice, gave her the clearest indicator yet that Prometheus would be nothing like the Ulysses.

“Nazir is captain in name only,” he warned the two officers. “Bachmann runs this ship. Bare that in mind when making smart comments. Time to go.”

Turning on his heels, the brown-skinned cretin made for the doors of the shuttlebay, followed by the two Bajoran’s, who would be certain to heed his warning.

A new assignment always brought new challenges, but it was clear for both to see that something was not right aboard Prometheus.

While many believed a starship’s command centre to be the most important place on the ship, those who knew anything about starship design knew that all the power, all the importance, and all the interesting stuff happened in engineering. Whether it was the warp core, or the shields, or the weapons, or the sensors, or the communications systems, or the… well, it didn’t matter which of the thousands of systems it was, everything on the ship had the potential to make or break a mission. And that was what made engineering so exciting for Prida Rala, especially on a ship like Prometheus.

A technological marvel back in the mid-seventies, with Starfleet embroiled in a bitter war with the Dominion, she was still a complicated beast nearly twenty-six years later. A stream of refits and repairs over the decades had made her an even more complicated mess, but underneath the sticking plasters and the patches, she was still the same wondrous creation. Whilst one starship was complex in and of itself, Prometheus was practically three individual, warp-capable starships all rolled into one, making her not only one of the most advanced tactical platforms Starfleet had ever created but one hell of a maintenance job. Six warp nacelles, three class-nine independent warp cores, three deflectors, automated systems galore, multiple shield generators and an unparalleled tactical suite meant she was both an engineer’s nightmare scenario and dream posting all rolled into one.

Prida was one of those strange engineers; you know the type, right? The type that loves nothing more than solving a needle-in-a-haystack type of problem. Just from the early conversations she had had with those on her new team, she could tell that Prometheus was definitely going to be ‘her’ type of problem. Of the nearly two-hundred souls aboard the ship, hers was the second largest department with some forty people under her command, all with the mandate of keeping the complex ship’s systems running. And, to their credit, they had done a bloody good job in doing so. The report she had received had been exemplary and, unlike Noli, she hadn’t come across any negativity at the crew having an outsider in charge. If anything, her experience had been quite positive. The thing with engineers was that if you were good at your job, your name got bandied around engineering circles far and wide. As the former engineer of one of the finest starships to have been assigned to Task Force 17 in the Ulysses, she was definitely well known. Equally, as she was the engineer on a posting where something truly tragic took place, that added to her notoriety.

She was in the midst of a conversation with Chief Ramirez from the propulsion systems team when she spotted Commander Noli making her way through the busy engineering bay.

“Can you give us a minute, Chief?” the grey-skinned Bajassian asked with a smile and watched as the Chief Petty Officer dutifully moved away and busied herself with some work near the matter-antimatter reaction chamber.

“What a ship!” Prida grinned as she approached Noli, but was taken aback when her friend grabbed her by the arm and guided her towards an alcove on the port wall. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Noli looked more than a little anxious about something, looking around the sea of unfamiliar faces whilst she spoke in a hushed tone. It was less a conversation and more the engineer being talked at by her friend, the younger of the two only getting a word in when Noli finally stopped talking.

“They’re having you on,” Prida shook her head slowly, a smirk forming on both sides of her lips. “I’ve experienced nothing but warmth and welcomes.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are an engineer,” Noli frowned, folding her arms across her chest, her voice still hushed. “I’m the security chief who let her captain get murdered,” she frowned, “they don’t want me here, they don’t think I can keep them safe,” she concluded. She was aware that she probably sounded paranoid, but that didn’t change the fact that she was right.

“Hey!” Prida chastised her friend. “That was NOT your fault. Stop blaming yourself. We’re here, with a fresh start. I miss her and regret the way things happened, but it is time to move on…” Prida then placed a hand on the Commander’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

The tactile nature of her friend and colleague usually caught Noli off guard, but not this time. She wasn’t exactly ‘touchy-feely’ at the best of times, and would be known to bristle at the mere intimation of touching someone else, but there was something about her Bajoran brethren that put her at ease.

“I see you two haven’t changed…”

The voice from behind caught the two women off guard, causing them to swivel their heads or crane their necks to see who was addressing them from behind. The realisation that it was a familiar face dawned on them both quickly, and the two women stepped over to the approaching officer.

“Dante!” Prida grinned, almost skipping up to the red-shirted officer, preparing to throw her arms around him when she stopped. “Sorry, Lieutenant Commander Rawlings,” she grinned at their old colleague.

“Yeah, a recent thing,” the dark-skinned man smiled as he threw his arms around the engineer’s waist and pulled her closer. “It’s so good to see you both,” he grinned, then released his friend, reaching out and exchanging a warm handshake with Noli.

“I’m sorry about what happened on Ulysses,” he frowned once the pleasantries were out of the way, “I wish I had been there…”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Noli shook her head, only to receive a look of ‘take your own advice’ from her fellow Bajoran.

“Don’t be too sure about that,” Dante shook his head, then gestured towards the exit with a nod, “Come on, the Captain’s back from the station and wants to meet you both. I’ve been telling her all about our time together on the Santa Fe,” the Flight Operations Chief revealed, leading them towards the exit.

“Oh goodie,” Noli smirked, “I bet that’s filled her with joy!” she and Prida exchanged playful smiles, the tension of their previous conversation forgotten for the moment.

A short turbo lift ride from engineering deposited the three officers outside the observation lounge on deck one, with the Flight Operations chief leading their way inside. The room, spartan and compact, was as clean and sterile as the rest of the ship. It was a far cry from what they had been used to aboard previous postings, but perhaps that was a good thing.

As they entered, a figure stood at the window that dominated the aft bulkhead, staring into space. It wasn’t the figure they expected to see, however.

“Vittoria?!” Noli looked as shocked as ever, but the smile on her face betrayed her feeling of relief at seeing another familiar face. Prida’s eyes welled up as she, too, realised that their friend was here with them. After a prolonged, three-way embrace, the women took a moment to catch up. They hadn’t seen each other since Ulysses had returned to the Alpha quadrant weeks ago, after all. 

“I thought you were on leave?” Prida queried as they moved to sit around the table with their male colleague.

“Never mind that,” Noli shook her head as she pulled out a seat near Rawlings. “I like the new look,” referencing the Counsellor’s change of hair colour and style, ”I guess I’m the undisputed ‘blonde bombshell’ now, then?” she grinned, running a hand through her hair and drawing a gasp of exasperation from Dante.

“You just never change, do you?!” he laughed and got a playful slap on the arm from the Bajoran tactician just in time for the door to the room to open. Upon the arrival of the commanding officer, Dante swiftly rose to his feet.

‘Oh, it’s one of THOSE places,’ Noli inwardly eye-rolled at the apparent holdover of the military nature of life aboard the ship. Rising to attention at the Captain’s mere presence was just the latest of many incidents she had seen in the short time they had been aboard. But, who was she to question procedure on someone else’s ship?

Rising to her feet, she was quickly joined by her colleagues from the Ulysses, and all four officers remained standing until the Captain made her way to the chair at the head of the table.

Standing behind the seat, the spotted woman placed both hands on the headrest whilst surveying the people around the table. For the better part of two minutes, the silence was as awkward as it could get.

“I know it can’t be easy, coming to a new starship, after everything you have all been through,” the Trill ended the silence at last, “and I want to thank you for being here. I’ll be honest, having you all here was not my preference.” Her bluntness, and open honesty, caught the women around the table unawares. “I am aware there is likely a lot of unresolved trauma left behind by recent events,” she continued, “but I have been assured that the presence of all three of you will be vital to the mission we are to undertake. And Commander Rawlings,” she gestured at the flyboy, “has vouched for each of you; that you’ll give me one-hundred and ten percent whilst you are here. That’s good enough for me,” she smiled, and pulled out her seat, gesturing for those at the table to sit at last.

All three of the women fought the urge to look at the Captain and show off their real feelings, but for now, they would listen and take in all that they were to be told. It was clear that something was afoot. Soon enough, they were joined by four other officers; one was a young Vulcan with ears pointing to the heavens and a teal-coloured uniform. Another was a dark-skinned, gold-uniformed Terran that closely resembled their friend Rawlings. A third was a blue-shirted Andorian, difficult to look at because of her resemblance to their former friend. The fourth was no stranger to any of them – the menacing giant of an XO, Commander Bachmann.

In the briefing that followed, the Captain explained all about the formation of the new Prometheus Squadron, and how they would be heading up the group as it navigated missions throughout the Typhon Frontier. She had gone on to introduce the three newcomers to the team and, on the whole, the welcome had been positive. Save for Bachmann. He remained silent, detached from proceedings. He had no desire to exchange pleasantries with them, and that was ok with the three much younger women. 

“So, that deals with the official, on the record part of the briefing,” Nazir remarked, drawing the keen attention of several of the people around the table. “Unofficially, we have a different purpose in the Typhon Frontier,” she began, tapping at the controls on the table to pull up a holographic representation of a planetoid. She nodded towards Lieutenant Chifek.

Sitting forward, hands clasped together on the surface of the table, the Vulcan scientist accepted the invitation to take over the meeting. “This is the planet Evichi,” the Vulcan began his report. “Located deep into the frontier, our knowledge is limited beyond the basics; a class M world, inhabited and with data that points to warp-capable civilisations,” he briefed the command staff, his expression as stoic as ever.

“This planet will be of particular interest to you three,” Keziah took over again, looking at the three newcomers, “and is the reason you are here.”

Perplexed faces prompted the Captain to elaborate further. “According to Starfleet Intelligence, data pinpoints Evichi as the likely homeworld of Captain sh’Elas’ assassin.”

Now that certainly prompted reactions from the three women, but Nazir stopped them all in their tracks. “This will be a mission of reconnaissance,” she said, “and we will be responsible for gathering intelligence on this strange new world and ascertaining if its people are amenable to friendship with the Federation.”

“Friendship?” Noli nearly spat the word out, throwing herself back in her seat, “one of their people murdered our Captain.”

The Commander’s ‘outburst’ prompted Bachmann to make his first foray into the briefing. “Murdering a Starfleet captain hardly signals friendship,” he told in his gruff tone, making eye contact with the Bajoran and nodding his support.

The move unnerved the blonde somewhat and almost caused her to re-evaluate her life choices. Agreeing with Bachmann, the condescending asshole from the shuttlebay, was not high on her agenda.

“You all know we don’t hold a species to blame for the actions of a single individual,” the Captain’s sterner tone indicated she was putting the dissenting voices in their place before continuing. “Now, this mission is highly classified, so much so that even the brass on Dee-Ess-Seventeen haven’t been fully briefed,” she told, causing a smattering of murmurs, “what we do know is that a liaison from Starfleet Intelligence will be joining us later to go over our remit and ensure we do this thing properly. We go in under the guise of being tactical support for the exploration initiative out here, but unofficially, we’re to give this investigation top priority. Communications off-ship will be prohibited for the duration of the mission, without the permission of myself, Commander Bachmann or the intelligence liaison. Chifek?” she then handed the briefing back to the Vulcan, apologising briefly for hijacking his time.

For several minutes, the Vulcan continued to elaborate on the data provided by Starfleet regarding the planet, and how they would have to navigate the treacherous expanse to get there. Rawlings, for his part, seemed quite chilled at the prospect of guiding the ship through the expanse. Together, the duo briefed the rest of the staff on recent updates from Task Force Command regarding the expanse itself, and how long-range sensors trained on the region had detected a significant shift in the baselines for radiation emissions and subspace oscillations that Starfleet had previously recorded.

“In English, please?” Vittoria piped up, not entirely sure what any of that meant exactly.

“Essentially, the anomalies in the region are acting up, and the task force is investigating while we, umm…” Rawling shuffled uncomfortably, “do our thing,” he concluded with a sheepish smile.

“Alright then,” Nazir nodded in thanks to the two officers. “Our guest from intelligence arrives at seventeen-thirty hours. I want us underway at seventeen-thirty-one,” she directed as she rose to her feet, and dismissed the party.

There was a hush about the staff as they left the briefing room, destined for destinations across the ship. Leaving together, the women of Ulysses had much to discuss.

Beyond a hull composed of duranium and tritanium alloys, beyond deck plating and computerised systems, beyond the beating heart of life itself, the raw, ethereal power of the universe reigned supreme. Here, a vast region of space known for its spectacular celestial phenomena surrounded and enveloped anything and everything that dared to enter its labyrinth of nebula gases, plasma fields and temporal distortions. For this was the Typhon Expanse; the new hunting ground for the biological and technological marvels of Prometheus Squadron.

Swirling vapours, energy vortices and nebulous clouds lit up the bridge of the Squadron flagship through the holographic view screen to the fore of the bridge. Standing in awe of the sight before her, the mistress of Prometheus was content in her reverie. Beneath her feet, the United Federation of Planets logo emblazoned upon the deck playing served as a constant reminder of all they stood for, all they hoped for. Peace, prosperity and progress. And scientific exploration, of course.

Whilst her host had only seen a half century’s worth of galactic events, they had seen a great deal in that time. The Cardassian Border wars; the Second Federation-Klingon conflict; the Dominion War; the Synth attack on Mars and the Romulan Supernova. Not to mention two Borg invasions. And that was all before the end of the 2380s. Since then there had been the incredibly dangerous Century Storm, the further collapse of Romulan society, and the more recent Blood Dilithium crisis. Imagine everything the Nazir symbiont had endured in the centuries it had lived. But no matter where it went, what it experienced and what it saw, everything paled in comparison to the majesty and wonder of the Typhon Expanse.

And now it was time to see it up close and personal.

“Alright Mister Rawlings,” the spotted woman spoke in her normal, hushed tone, “take us in, half impulse power.”

“Aye, Captain. Half impulse.”

Tapping the headrest behind the flight controller, the Captain gave her thanks for his timely compliance and then spun on her heels, headed for the sanctuary of her command chair. The stillness, the calm, the concentration; all was shattered by the sudden beeping from the tactical station at the exact moment the Captain lowered her petite frame into the command chair. She didn’t need to request a report from the tactician, as Noli was already ascertaining the situation.

“We’ve got a Romulan Valdore-type warbird decloaking,” Commander Noli revealed, tapping her controls swiftly, “she’s transmitting Free State transponder signals.”

“She’s on a parallel course to us,” the ship’s second officer called from the CONN, “approximately five light years from us.”

“That puts her safely on the other side of the Federation border,” Bachmann added from his station behind the Captain’s chair.

“And that means we have nothing to worry about,” the Captain intervened, throwing up a hand to silence the voices. “Recent diplomatic overtures have made the Typhon frontier neutral space for all exploration endeavours. We will continue as planned,” she advised them all and sat back in the comfort of her chair.

“They’ll report our presence to their commanders,” Bachmann started up again, leaning over his station to give his opinion to the CO. “We are not a science ship or even an exploration ship. We are a ship of war, and they’ll know this. They’ll see our presence as an escalation of tension.”

Turning in her chair slightly, the Captain, even a clear foot shorter than the intimidating XO, glared at the Terran. “What tension? There is no tension. We’re all coexisting happily and we’ve nothing to worry about. We’re supporting the manoeuvres of our exploration teams and using our advanced systems to do what we can to further Starfleet’s interests,” she scowled at him. “We will proceed as ordered,” the emphasis on their orders was enough to signal the end of their conversation.

Slumping back in his chair, the XO defiantly folded his arms across his chest and stared forward at the view screen. “As you wish, Captain.”

Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

Prometheus has been traversing the Typhon Expanse for the last three hours. We’ve been informed that Intrepid’s arrival in the expanse has been delayed, meaning we are alone. For a ship of our kind, that would not normally be an issue, but today we have an unexpected guest tracking our every move. A Valdore-class warbird continues to follow us, but so far, communications have gone unanswered.

 

I’ve spent the last few hours deflecting the concerns of my senior staff, but with each passing minute, with each unanswered hail, I find myself slowly coming around to their way of thinking. Despite recent improvements in relations, maybe they are still a threat? Or maybe the fact they are operating outside of their cloak suggests we should not be worried. I have summoned Lieutenant Tuca for a strategy meeting with the command team, in the hopes of determining our next course of action. For now, we are alone.

 

I… am alone.

Leading the way into her ready room, the Captain gestured for her guests to take a seat on the long sofa bench beneath her office’s window. Pulling up one of the additional chairs from in front of her desk and taking a seat, she faced her team.

Bachmann, Noli and Rawlings had been joined by a grey-skinned, blue-eyed, pointy-eared being in the red of command and wearing two golden pips on his uniform. Lieutenant Tuca, an Alzek male from a world deep in the Beta Quadrant, had been on the ship a matter of hours, but already seemed to know more about their mission than everyone else in the room, including Nazir herself. His species were master strategists, much like the more familiar Zakdorn, so his input here was more than necessary.

“So,” the Captain sighed, leaning her elbows upon her knees and rubbing her hands together, “the situation has changed. We now have a Romulan vessel seemingly following our every move. They’re not responding to our communications and I’m concerned about the impact their presence might have on our mission.”

Her explanation was keenly listened to by the strategist from Alzek, the creature nodding in all the right places until the Captain concluded her update. The Alzek people were not known for verbosity, in fact, brevity was far more likely. “Ignore them,” he told. But upon seeing their confused expressions, he elaborated. “They have no impact on our mission. Starfleet suspects they already know about the Lendorian system to which we travel. If they openly accompany us, then that likely confirms our suspicions. Either way, the terms of recent negotiations mean they have every right to operate here, and without any explanation as to why.” His words were blunt, to the point and what the Captain wanted from a strategist.

“So, your strategy is to just carry on as normal, and imagine there isn’t a Romulan warbird shadowing our every move?” Bachmann spat, shaking his head.

“Indeed,” Tuca nodded. “We have no right to question them. If they choose to communicate, that is different. As for the particulars of our mission,” the grey-skinned critter smiled, “I can elaborate further, should you desire it, Captain?”

Nazir nodded.

“Last visited by a Starfleet vessel almost 10 years ago, the Lendorian system is sparsely populated and has only three planets. They refused to use anything but verbal communication, and away teams were prohibited from visiting the surface. The interaction lasted a matter of hours before the starship in question was ordered to leave,” the Alzek revealed, but there was a look on his face that suggested there was more to what he had to say. He turned to Commander Noli. “This interaction is why you are here Commander.”

Everyone turned to Noli, who looked just as confused as the rest of them. “Why me? I’ve never been here before…”

“No,” Tuca shook his head, “but Captain sh’Elas had. The starship involved in first contact was the Ulysses, and sh’Elas was the First Officer.”

Nazir puffed out her cheeks, leaning backwards in her chair. Rawlings and Noli shared confused expressions, whilst Bachmann, remained unmoved.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with me,” Noli shrugged, “I wasn’t there, I wasn’t anywhere near the Ulysses at that point.”

“No, but you are your colleagues served with the Captain,” the strategist looked seriously at her, “you all knew her better than anyone else. We need to ascertain if what happened to her was related to something that happened here. You, Lieutenant Prida and the Counsellor have been granted total access to the Ulysses logs from the mission. We need you to use your knowledge of the Captain, and go through those logs carefully. If there is anything that seems suspicious, we need to know.”

“Hang on,” Nazir put her hands up to halt proceedings, “we don’t even know if this is the right system or planet, let alone people.”

“Intelligence we have received from multiple sources with more of a history with this system matches descriptions with the description of the Captain’s assailant,” Tuca told, but this time, there was something else about him.

“That’s it? That’s your reasoning? Some sketchy intelligence suggests these natives look like the one who attacked my Captain, and you decide that is enough to send us all the way out here?” Noli was seething at the seeming lack of intelligence behind the suggestion. Her words and her demeanour elicited a peculiar smile from Bachmann.

“Not entirely,” Tuca shook his head and let out a sigh. “If it turns out the intelligence is correct, then we may have located a very powerful species on our border, one potentially hostile. If the intelligence is false, and this planet is not the homeworld of the Captain’s attacker, then our search must go on.”

Noli smirked whilst darting to her feet, hands on her hips. “So this isn’t about the Captain at all? It’s all about finding the next big threat to the galaxy. Forgive me, but I thought for a moment there that the Captain’s life actually meant something. Clearly, I was wrong,” she hissed. To say that the Bajoran was angry would have been a massive understatement. She was apoplectic at the insinuation that her friend’s life had meant nothing after all. Even though she knew deep down that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one, that didn’t stop her from feeling the need for justice.

A short while later, she was sat at one of the window tables in the unmanned mess facility on deck two, silently downing her beverage of choice. It was clear to her that the initial excitement of coming aboard the Prometheus had long since evaporated. This was not her ship; this wasn’t her crew. Oh, how she longed for days gone by.

She was pulled from her tired, angry state by the sound of the mess facilities doors parting and granting someone entrance. Craning her neck, she soon made out the figure and rolled her eyes as she turned back to the window.

Replicating himself a beverage, the ship’s executive officer took a steaming cup of coffee and walked the few steps towards the Chief Tactical Officer. Pulling out one of the chairs around the table, he took a seat without even being welcomed by the Bajoran.

Offering a sinister smile to the considerably younger woman, the man got comfortable.

“We need to talk…”

“Tell me again how this is supposed to help us investigate the Captain’s death?”

Glancing across at Prida, watching the Bajassian lean back and rub her tired eyes with her balled fists, Noli let out a sigh. “It’s a long shot, but we’re looking for anything that might give us some indication of hostility towards the Captain,” the blonde bombshell echoed her orders from earlier. She’d gathered her friends very late in the day, just before midnight, and that was almost two hours ago now, so no wonder they were tired. She was tired. Tired of many things already and they had only been aboard the Prometheus for less than a day.

“I still can’t quite believe they think there is some link between a historical away mission and an event that took place five years later, tens of thousands of lightyears away from here,” Chiera moaned, leaning on one hand, elbow on the desk space in front of her computer screen.

“I know, it’s absurd. And the fact they are making this tedious link because of dodgy intelligence is even worse, but it’s all we’ve got,” Noli’s frustration was regularly boiling to the surface, so she pulled out a chair and took a seat. “If you want to go to bed, we can regroup in the morning,” she suggested to the other two, whilst making it clear she was settling in for the night.

Prida and Vittoria shared a quick, silent exchange and then turned to their consoles, silently resuming their search for clues.

By zero-four-hundred, their search of mission logs and crew reports had produced nothing of note, the tension in the room long having evaporated and been replaced by exhaustion. According to the logs they had sifted through, everything was as normal, as stated in the official duty logs, and Ulysses was supposedly located above Lendorian and waiting for a diplomatic delegation from the planet to arrive. Prida had taken one of her famous power naps, causing her to wake up with a renewed purpose. Noli was growing increasingly anxious, whilst Vittoria was on the verge of replicating some matchsticks to keep her eyes open. The sudden sounding of an alarm on her console jolted the Betazoid awake and drew the attention of the other two officers.

Adrenaline was the only thing sustaining her at this point, the empath tapped at her console. “It’s one of the Captain’s duty logs…” she sighed, and gave them a sheepish look, “voice only.”

A knowing look shared between the three women told each everything they needed to know; hearing the voice of their friend, in some cases mentor, and their former Captain again would be tough. They hadn’t heard it in months, at a time when life seemed easier. Steeling themselves for the expected avalanche of emotion that was to come, they took a moment, then huddled around the Counsellor’s console. Vittoria hit play.

At first, there was nothing but silence. It lulled them into a false sense of security, making them think that they wouldn’t have to face the pang of emot…

“First Officer’s log, stardate 23961.18. First contact with the people of Lendorian has taken a turn for the worse…”

Tharia’s calm tone, and her Andorian inflexion with each spoken number; both hit like a torpedo blast to the gut for each of the women listening for it. For Prida, it was like listening to a loved one again, a smile despite the welling up of the eyes showing how much she had missed her friend and mentor’s voice. Vittoria sat in silence, staring at the blank screen in front of them, taking in every word. Noli on the other hand, the hardened tactician with a penchant for brashness, felt overwhelming sadness. Bowing her head to hide the tears forming in the corner of her, she did her best to listen. No one seemed to acknowledge the gravity of her initial words, however.

“We have managed to locate and retrieve the sensor probe that went missing during the ion storm several hours ago. The Chief Engineer has begun his analysis and found evidence to…(static)… suggest that the probe’s findings had been corrupted by the…(static)… of the storm.”

“Computer, pause…” Noli sat up and immediately noticed the shared expression of her engineering counterpart. Vittoria, not so much. “Ion Storm?” she enquired of Prida.

Prida didn’t need any further prompting to sit forward and begin tapping away at the console in front of them, drawing Vittoria’s late-night ire. “Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?” the Betazoid asked, turning in her chair to face the pair of yellow shirts.

“Static in duty logs like this is highly unusual. Usually, it points to a serious situation the ship is facing at the time. But according to what we know, Ulysses was sitting in orbit, waiting for a delegation from the planet. There was no record of any kind of ion storm in any of the logs up to this point, so where has it come from?” the tactical officer told her counterpart in blue, answering her question but apparently leaving the Counsellor more confused.

“She means there is reason to suspect foul play,” the Bajassian directly in front of the console called out, to address the confusion from the Betazoid, “and I think she might be right.” The mere suggestion of something untoward caught everyone’s attention again, with Noli and Vittoria inching closer to either side of the Lieutenant.

“Someone ran a fractal algorithm on the duty log approximately two days after the entry was made,” Prida remarked, pointing to her analysis of the file itself on the computer screen before them.

“That’s after Ulysses left…” Chiera reminded them, eliciting a nod from the pair.

“Download the evidence to your own files,” Noli instructed, tapping the engineer on her shoulder. “We’ll get some sleep and then approach the Captain in the morning.”

Whether the Captain would do anything about their suspicions was another matter entirely.

Back on shift by zero-nine-hundred, Commander Noli looked surprisingly refreshed upon her arrival in the command center. Prida was already on the bridge and hard at work, exchanging eye contact for a few seconds, the engineer calling the tactician over with a slight jerk of her head. It was a move that failed to go unnoticed by the XO.

Bachmann watched as Noli tried to surreptitiously make her way to the engineer standing by one of the auxiliary engineering stations at the back of the bridge. For now, he simply observed and listened.

“You’re early,” Noli yawned, sidling up to her colleague in yellow and leaning on the bulkhead between the MSD and the auxiliary consoles.

“Yes, well…” Prida used her hands to silently insinuate they should hush their discussion, “I had a hunch that I wanted to explore,” she told her friend. Having piqued Noli’s attention, the younger of the two continued by tapping on her console. “I tapped into the long-range sensor telemetry from Deep Space Five at the time, and their sensors detected no trace of any ion storm or phenomena of any kind in the vicinity of Ulysses or Lendorian at the time of the duty log,” the engineer whispered, leaning closer to her colleague.

“Right…”

“Well that, coupled with what we heard in the log…” At that moment, Noli spotted the emergence of Captain Nazir from her ready room and put a stop to the conversation as she had heard enough.

Using her discretion as tactical officer, the blonde took a step away from the engineer and addressed the Captain. “Excuse me Captain,” the Bajoran called out, can we have a word in private?”

Pointing at the door nearest to them, the Captain ushered the engineer and her tactical companion into the observation lounge that swamped the deck behind the bridge. When she had entered and stood behind her chair at the table, the Captain nodded to both. “Alright, what have you got?”

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, the conversation took several twists and turns as the two yellow-shirts divulged all they had learned and offered their ideas and suggestions to the Captain. To her credit, the Trill listened and made up her own mind as to the veracity of their claims.

“Someone tampered with the log after Ulysses departed,” she nodded slowly, much to the relief of the two newcomers to the Captain’s crew. “The question is why? What happened there that they covered up?”

“And who?” the tactician added swiftly, eliciting a further nod from the Trill.

“We’ll arrive at Lendorian in the next few hours,” the Captain informed the two, heading back to the bridge and ordering them to pursue her, “we’ll try and get answers from those on the planet. Lieutenant Prida, make sure engineering is a go for anything that may transpire. Noli, I want you hot on the button if the natives still don’t like us,” Keziah instructed the two and then assumed her seat at the center of the bridge once more.

Prida exchanged a look with her fellow Bajoran, a look that said a thousand words. They were relieved to have someone supporting them, but it was time to try and get to the bottom of this confusion.