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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence met his plea.

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

“’Bout thirty-nine, I think.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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