The USS Gilroy was flush with light as the large, nearly omnipresent interdimensional rift swirled in front of her, bathing the California-class ship of mercy in an eerie pinkish glow.

Her bridge crew all continued to stare and take in the rift for the mystery that she was. They sat with arms tucked beneath their legs or hands cupping their mouths, hoping to breathe warmth back into their extremities.

“Starbase 80… has cleared us for departure and wishes us well,” announced Jules from the communications station, a full blanket tossed around him. “We can’t even consider raising the temperature another few degrees?” he asked as a complaint, eyeing the operations station with obvious scorn.

“Unfortunately, we cannot,” replied Captain Jericho Sands, his own hands wrapped around a coffee mug that had lost its battle with room temperature an hour ago. “Reducing power to environmental systems is part of us keeping the lowest sensor profile possible. Besides,” he added, “it’s kind of fun – like camping a full month before the popular season.”

“Just promise me that if we do get spotted, we can raise the temperature along with the shields,” shot back Jules as he confirmed the message was received from the starbase.

“Helm – take us through the portal, half impulse,” ordered the Captain, a small smile on his face as he swung his gaze from Jules to the front of his ship. A second later, the visual of Starbase 80 began to fade from the periphery of the Gilroy‘s viewscreen as the swirling mass of pink and white grew ever larger.

Jericho turned his attention to his first officer, Commander Tehm Mall, who stood almost defiantly at the front of the bridge, hands linked behind his back, staring back at the portal. He couldn’t help but worry about the man, and he hoped that proximity to the portal didn’t make the ripples he experienced any worse.

“We’re crossing through now,” reported their helmswoman, the viewscreen now entirely engulfed in brilliant pinkish light.

The Gilroy began to shake, light waves of stress washing through her. Jericho noted with a sense of pride that every officer seemed laser-focused on their stations, adjusting and adapting any way they could. Then, suddenly, his eyes began to blur. It almost seemed like he was seeing double as bits of the bridge began to come and go out of focus. Judging from the moans and frustrated sighs ringing about the bridge, he wasn’t the only one. Still, though, Commander Mall stood resolutely at the front, seemingly unshaken.

“Confirm course,” called out Jericho, now grasping the edges of his chair in a fight against vertigo.

“The computer confirms the harmonic…” answered Jules, clearly experiencing personal turbulence. “It confirms the harmonic profile supplied by Starfleet. Expected exit from the rift in just… in just… hell, in just a few seconds,” he announced.

Jericho risked a glance behind him, his stomach lurching at the movement in scenery, and confirmed his thoughts that Jules was fighting to keep from throwing up or falling out of his seat. When he turned back, a second wave of nausea rocking him, he was surprised to see that Commander Mall had moved right to the edge of the viewscreen, his hand outstretched and placed firmly on its surface.

Seconds later, the pink and white light seemed to momentarily flare even brighter before, with no fanfare, it simply all vanished. Empty space, lit by hundreds of tiny stars, replaced the visage of the viewscreen. Jericho continued to stare at his first officer, who took nearly half a minute before he turned around and quickly moved to his own chair.

“All stations report,” announced Mall, his voice back to its original firmness. “Confirm where we are and that we’ve arrived in one piece.”

“Local scans suggest we are roughly where we want to be. We’re about four light-years out from the USS Tiro‘s last known position – at least in our universe,” announced the helmswoman, speaking slower as she added the last part.

“All decks reporting in – no damage or casualties,” added Jules, who also sounded more confident than he was moments earlier.

“Take us to yellow alert, set course for the Tiro‘s last known relative position, warp 4,” ordered Mall, confidently.

“I believe those are my lines,” whispered Jericho, leaning over towards his first officer.

Mall turned slowly, locking his own eyes on his Captain’s. For a moment, Jericho swore he noted Mall sitting up taller and pushing out his chest, though a second later, he seemed to deflate.

“Apologies, Captain,” said Mall slowly. “Just… eager,” he added.

“Of course, of course,” replied Jericho. He offered a wide smile and returned to facing forward. “Engage, please,” he ordered to the helm. Moments later, the gently frozen stars around them zipped by as the Gilroy went to warp.

The bridge sat in concentrated silence as each officer focused on their job. Mall fielded calls from Engineering as Jericho coordinated with Sickbay on readiness – just in case they found the Tiro immediately and in need of assistance.

“Oh, Jericho, my wife wants a word with our first officer,” said Chief Medical Officer Betty as the two neared the end of their conversation. “She says it’s urgent – and you know her, she never asks for anything.”

“I’m busy on the bridge,” chimed Mall, clearly frustrated even by the thought of leaving.

“We’re still 30 minutes out from our destination, Mall. Go meet with Sora,” said Jericho.

“But Captain,” began Mall.

“Please don’t make me order you,” said Jericho, cutting him off. “That’s not how I want to spend my first hour in a new reality. If Sora needs a word, it must be important.”

Mall scoffed but sat up, moving quickly to the turbolift. A moment later, and he was gone.

“I’m not liking these readings I’m getting – or, to be more precise, not getting, Captain,” announced Jules roughly ten minutes later.

“Care to elaborate, Jules?” asked Jericho as nearly the entire bridge turned to look at the communications officer.

“Even with limited range due to E’Spor’s power restrictions, I should be picking up background subspace chatter from Federation beacons or transponders,” began Jules. “There’s chatter – largely encrypted – but it’s nearly all human. I’m not picking up any signs of Vulcan, Tellarite, or even Romulan communications in this area.”

“Do they not have a Federation in this universe?” asked the Captain, largely to himself.

“I’m not sure, but it’s certainly not the main word I’m hearing over and over,” said Jules, slowly.

“And what would that be?” asked the Captain.

“Hierarchy.”