Memory was a wonderful thing. A wonderful, fragile thing.

He sat in the center chair of the ship. The captain’s chair. Legs spread, a comfortable slouch as he kept a heavy pulse pistol trained on the two crew in front of him. The rest…

“Bring us about,” he ordered, gaze flicking down to the control console to the side of his chair. The cloak was still active, shielding them from their enemies as they watched unseen, like a shark in the darkness of the ocean.

Memory. He had no clue who he was, but he could run a ship… knew how all the systems operated with each other. Had known he only needed two of the crew to run this particular ship. More than that, he’d known once he’d shot the guy who passed for a medical officer on this tub to activate the EMH to deal with his injuries. A starfleet model, but this was not a starfleet ship. Why did he know it was a starfleet model? Why had the face brought a rush of familiarity?

He let the thought slide in favour of watching the viewscreen in front of him and keeping an eye on his ‘crew’. Both were terrified of him, their body language tight as they operated their consoles. He didn’t blame them, not after what he’d done to their crew.

Lifting a hand, he rubbed at his chin. There was stubble there. It felt odd. Was he usually clean-shaven? Another thought he let slide away. It didn’t matter at the moment.

They were deep in Underspace, in corridors he remembered but he didn’t know why.

What he didn’t remember was the absolute unit of whatever it was sat in front of him. It wasn’t an outpost, or a station. It was something else.

“Any idea who they are?” he demanded.

The guy on the left in front of him flinched. “No, sir.”

“Well… what the fuck are they saying to each other?”

This ship was… unusual. Fitted for stealth, with more bells and whistles than—no, the memory wouldn’t form. One thing he did know was they could listen in.

“They’re talking about attacks. Co-ordinated attacks. Seem to be getting their information from someplace else.” The guy on the right was a little more talkative, less scared. Perhaps he should put an energy bolt through his kneecap to dissuade him from trying anything…

As he thought it though, the idea didn’t sit right. Whoever he had been before, wouldn’t have approved of that.  Whoever he had been before wasn’t here. He grunted slightly and tilted his head so he could see more of the viewscreen with his good eye. The other was past saving. All the EMH had been able to do was stop the bleeding and give him a patch.

He’d caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It made him look like a pirate.

He could work with that.

“So what is this thing?” he muttered, half to himself. The readouts on the console had odd energy variations.

“Movement.” Right-guy said and he snapped his head up. Sure enough, a group of the nasty looking little fighters that had been idling before had started to form up into a group. Facing… nothing.

His console registered an energy drop from the facility and… His eye widened as an aperture started to open.

“It’s controlling something… underspace… the apertures,” he breathed as the fighter group headed for the gap.

Only for something to come the other way, all guns blazing…