The Hathaway senior staff had been gathered in the observation lounge by their Captain, tension filling the room as Commander Felix Bachmann, the newly appointed Strategic Operations officer, prepared to brief them on the mission to locate Captain Tharia sh’Elas. Lieutenant Or’uil, Commander Noli, Captain Keziah Nazir, Lieutenant Prida, Doctor Zinn, and Lieutenant Vittoria Chiera, the ship’s counsellor, took their seats, their expressions a mix of curiosity and scepticism. Rumours had already spread among the senior staff about the topic of their mission, but some could scarcely believe it was even being discussed as a possibility given everything they knew or had witnessed for themselves.

Bachmann stood at the front of the room, his stern gaze scanning the lounge before he began. “Thank you all for being here. As most of you know, we have received intelligence suggesting that Captain sh’Elas may still be alive, despite the reports of her death during the Blood Dilithium crisis in the Delta Quadrant.”

Lieutenant Or’uil, the young Ungeat, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had never met the captain, but many of his friends here had, and if it mattered to them, it mattered to him.

Counsellor Chiera, the badass Betazoid, raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. The news of Captain sh’Elas’ possible survival filled her with conflicting emotions. Memories of their encounters and the friendship they had developed came rushing back, but so did the pain of her loss. “Commander Bachmann, we saw Captain sh’Elas die. I was there; I felt it. Are you suggesting that the things we saw, the eyewitness reports that were filed, were all incorrect?”

Bachmann’s expression hardened as he locked eyes with Vittoria. “Counsellor, I understand your scepticism and believe me, Starfleet had a hard time accepting the truth too,” the Strategic Ops chief placed his hands on his hips, “but the Fourth Fleet’s intelligence indicates that Captain sh’Elas may have been replaced by a Changeling imposter, so it is imperative that we investigate and confirm her status.”

Doctor Zinn, the Chief Medical Officer, leaned forward, his voice laced with disbelief. “Commander Bachmann, I examined Captain sh’Elas’ body myself. The wounds were consistent with the manner of her death. Moreover, none of her remains reverted to the gelatinous state we know Changelings exist in when not in solid form. Are you suggesting that a Changeling could replicate her injuries, her form, so convincingly?”

Bachmann’s voice remained steady. “Changelings have always possessed the ability to alter their physical form. We now have intelligence that suggests that it is possible, to some degree, that their ability to change form has evolved. It is entirely possible that they can replicate with far greater accuracy. Ultimately, we cannot dismiss the intelligence we’ve received without further investigation.”

A murmur of disbelief spread around the room at the suggestion that the Changelings may have improved their ability to replicate other lifeforms. Captain Nazir, known for her composed demeanour, spoke up, her voice measured as she nipped the disturbance in the bud. “Commander Bachmann, what is the mission objective? How do we proceed?” She knew, of course, but she prompted him to reveal the plan to the staff.

Bachmann’s eyes darted between the senior staff members before he continued. “Our mission is to ascertain the truth of the matter and, if possible, locate and identify the true Captain sh’Elas. We will be heading to her homeworld of Andoria, where we believe she might have sought refuge. However, this is a classified mission. Once we reach Andoria, we will be under a communications blackout to maintain the element of surprise.”

Lieutenant Prida, the Chief Engineer, crossed her arms defiantly. “And what about the new chief science officer and chief engineer? We still have no news on their replacements. How are we expected to carry out this dangerous mission without a complete senior staff?”

Bachmann’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Captain Nazir before responding. “Starfleet is working on securing replacements for those positions. For now, we will have to rely on the existing crew members’ expertise to prepare this ship for departure. Our priority is to locate Captain sh’Elas and determine the truth of her situation.”

Lieutenant Vittoria Chiera, the ship’s counsellor, spoke up, her voice calm and soothing. “I understand that this is a challenging and emotionally charged mission. As the ship’s counsellor, I want to assure everyone that I will be available to provide support and assistance as needed. We must remain united and focused on the task at hand.”

Captain Nazir leaned forward, her eyes locking with each member of the senior staff. “This mission carries significant risks. It is possible that we may encounter resistance from Allied Starfleet forces who may wish to prevent our investigations, the same people denying the entire Deneb invasion. We must be prepared for any eventuality and work together to bring the truth to light.”

“That does beg the question of Captain Gor,” the Blonde Bombshell asked, looking at the Captain. “Where is he? How do we find him?”

“One step at a time Number One,” the Captain frowned. “Let’s find out what happened to Tharia first.”

As the briefing concluded, the senior staff members exchanged glances, a mixture of determination and uncertainty evident on their faces. They understood the gravity of the mission ahead and the challenges they would face, both internally and externally. With their resolve strengthened, they dispersed, each preparing themselves for the dangerous journey to Andoria, ready to uncover the truth and potentially face yet another hidden enemy within their ranks.

Lieutenant Or’uil left the senior staff briefing feeling a mix of apprehension and unease. The news of Commander Felix Bachmann’s arrival and the mission to locate Captain sh’Elas had stirred up memories of the torment he had endured aboard the starship Prometheus under Bachmann’s command. As he walked down the corridor on Deck 5, lost in his thoughts, he suddenly found himself face to face with the tormentor himself.

Commander Bachmann stood tall and imposing, his icy gaze fixed on the young Ungeat. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he noticed the fear etched on the young man’s features. It was as if Bachmann took perverse joy in witnessing the terror he had once inflicted upon the youngster.

Or’uil’s heart raced, and his mind flooded with traumatic memories. He recalled the long hours of verbal abuse, the constant belittlement, and the relentless psychological games Bachmann had played. The scars were still fresh, buried deep within his psyche but never forgotten.

As Bachmann stepped closer, his voice dripped with disdain. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the pitiful little hobgoblin,” the Strategic Operations officer sneered.

Or’uil’s throat tightened, his body frozen in place. He mustered every ounce of courage he had left and managed a synthesised stammer. “Commander Bachmann, I have no quarrel with you. Please, just let me pass,” he requested as politely as possible.

But Bachmann’s sadistic laughter filled the abandoned corridor, echoing off the walls. “Let you pass? Oh, dear Or’uil, you haven’t changed a bit. Always so weak, always so afraid. What fun would it be to let you off the hook so easily?”

The memories surged within Or’uil, threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he had to escape this torment once more. Summoning his inner strength, he gathered his courage and swiftly turned to flee, his legs carrying him as fast as they could. But Bachmann, enjoying the chase, followed closely behind, relishing the power he held over his prey.

Or’uil’s heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the corridors, desperately searching for a place to hide. Fear consumed him, but he refused to succumb to the helplessness he had felt in the past. He refused to be a victim again.

Finally, the youngster found a momentary respite, slipping into a nearby abandoned quarters and pressing himself against the wall, trying to regulate his breathing. He listened intently, his large ears strained for any sign of Bachmann’s pursuit. Silence filled the air, and slowly, he allowed himself to relax, though the memories still lingered.

Meanwhile, Bachmann stood outside the VIP quarters, a sinister smile playing on his lips. He knew Or’uil had found temporary refuge, but he had no intention of letting him escape permanently. The thought of the young Ungeat’s fear and suffering fueled his sadistic pleasure.

Bachmann’s laughter rang through the corridor once more as he walked away, leaving Or’uil to gather his strength and find solace in the knowledge that he had survived and would continue to fight against the torment of his past.

As Or’uil cautiously emerged from the abandoned suite, his trembling hands wiped away tears of frustration and anger from his bulbous green eyes. He vowed to himself that he would not let Commander Bachmann’s presence on the Hathaway break him. He would find the courage to confront his fears and stand up against the tormentor who had haunted his nightmares for far too long.

Though scared and scarred, Or’uil remained determined to find his own redemption and forge a new path, one where he could reclaim his dignity and prove that he was more than just a victim. With newfound strength, he took a deep breath and walked away, leaving behind the echoes of Bachmann’s laughter, determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead and rise above the darkness that had threatened to consume him.

Drenched in a nervous sweat, Or’uil, the young Ungeat with his distinctive features—brown skin, bulbous green eyes, and large, pointed ears—awoke with a start. His heart raced in his chest, the remnants of the vivid nightmare still fresh in his mind. It was another nightmarish encounter with Bachmann, the looming figure from his past, the tormentor in chief.

Gasping for breath, the young Ungeat sat up in his bed, his hands trembling. The images from the dream lingered, haunting his thoughts. In his nightmare, Bachmann’s towering presence dominated the corridors of power aboard Hathaway, his sharp gaze filled with disdain. Or’uil relived the torment and humiliation he had endured during their time aboard the Prometheus, the memories reopening old wounds that he had hoped were healed.

Trying to steady his breathing, he glanced around his quarters, seeking solace in familiar surroundings. His eyes fell upon a small collection of trinkets—a carved figurine from his homeworld, a handwritten note from Commander Noli, and a holophoto of his family. They were reminders of the love and support he had found since joining the crew of the Hathaway. They were the things he had to try and focus on.

Closing his eyes, the adolescent Ungeat attempted to calm his racing heart, he reminded himself that Bachmann was just a figure from his past, a memory he had overcome once before. He had endured and survived the torment, and he would do so again. He had to.

Taking a deep breath, Or’uil swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He moved with purpose, splashing his face with cold water from the nearby basin, the coolness against his skin helping to ground him, bringing a sense of clarity to his racing thoughts. Determined not to let his nightmares dictate his emotions, he began a series of grounding exercises that Vittoria had been teaching him during their sessions, focusing on the sensations of his body—each breath, the feel of his feet against the floor, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Gradually, his nervous sweats subsided, replaced by a growing sense of calm and inner strength.

Feeling more composed, he finally felt able to take the shower he so desperately needed in order to freshen up for the day ahead… and the far more real encounter with Bachmann that was to be expected.