Captain’s Log, USS Hathaway. 24013.15.

 

Rumblings from beyond the hull; light flashes illuminating the bridge; sensor systems fluctuating. Hathaway has arrived at our designated survey area in the Typhon Expanse…

 

As per operating procedures, Starfleet Command has been notified of our arrival in this peculiar location and permission has been granted for our mission to proceed. In the coming days, Hathaway is to survey, map and record data relating to three sectors of the expanse. Check-ins are scheduled with the ship’s chronometer and will take place at the start of every alpha and gamma shift. Probably seems a bit ridiculous, but I’m still finding my own way of doing things. For now, mission management is to be logged at every opportunity.

 

This all begs another question, though. I find myself wondering if our presence on this mission is overkill. A Sagan-class starship for a mundane science survey of the expanse? There isn’t so much as a hint of anything out of the ordinary out here, and ships like the Sarek should be here. We should be off charting new worlds, new civilizations and making diplomatic contact. Our presence out here just strikes me as… odd.

 

For now, despite my misgivings, my attention must turn to the scientific survey of sector thirty-two alpha, grid four.

 

The Typhon Expanse awaits…

Standing directly behind the tactical arch behind the command pit, in his usual posture no less (arms behind his back, left hand clasping right and feet shoulder-width apart), the stout Tellarite observed bridge operations with the same respectful attention he showed every time he was on the bridge. Unlike most of his species, the newly minted commanding officer could appreciate the effort of his colleagues and the way they went about their business on a day-to-day basis. So far, he approved of what he had seen over the months they had been together as a crew.

Giarvar Kauhn had been stood several feet away, watching. Observing. Marvelling at how, even after all this time, the Captain still seemed to have some trouble reconciling with the fact this was his ship. Every morning, he’d watch the Captain enter the bridge, perform the same walk around the entire room (which consisted of running his hands along virtually every surface), and finally take ownership of his chair from whoever had been in command of the previous shift. And when he did so, the Tellarite always grasped the arms of the chair and sought to get as comfortable as possible, as if it were to be the last time he would ever sit in it. To a certain extent, it was quite endearing, but after nearly three months, surely he realised that the Hathaway wouldn’t be taken from under him. Right?

Siddling alongside his commanding officer, the XO placed his hands on the headrest of a nearby chair and lent forward ever so slightly, looking out of the same viewer that the Captain was focused on. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he beamed.

“I’m able to appreciate the aesthetic qualities of such a phenomenon,” the Captain confirmed in his own roundabout way, unmoved as ever. “Yes, Commander. It is beautiful,” the Tellarite explained, just in case his choice of words was not clear enough.

Giarvar smirked at the Tellarite’s response, able to appreciate his willingness to try and engage in these random conversations. Small talk was an important way for everyone to get to know each other and develop those relationships required for working closely together, even for someone known to be argumentative, like a Tellarite. Not that Vasoch had been particularly argumentative. Yet. Taking a deep breath, the Trill stood up straight once more.

“Shame we won’t get to appreciate it much longer,” Kauhn sighed, his words piquing the Captain’s curiosity. Turning his body so he was directly addressing his superior, Giarvar’s business tone returned. “We’ve been recalled to D-S-Seventeen by Captain Romaes,” he elaborated.

A raised eyebrow and a rub of his beard from Vasoch followed. “That’s… odd,” he responded, arms folding across his bulbous chest.

“What is, Captain?” Giarvar queried, leaning on the rail with his left hand for support.

“That Starfleet should dispatch us to our current location, only to recall us once we arrive and actually begin our survey,” he answered, dropping his hands to his side again. Focused once more on the viewscreen to the front of the bridge, the Captain let out a wistful sigh.

‘So long, friend…’

“Very well. Henry,” the Tellarite barked, “bring us about and plot a return course. Best possible speed,” he instructed, turning and making his way around the rail and towards the comfort of his command chair. His command chair? Oh, he would never tire of hearing that. He stopped short of sitting, however.

“Course laid in, Captain,” Lieutenant Mitchell responded swiftly. “ETA is seven hours,” he added.

“Engage.”

Vasoch then looked at the XO. “Number One,” he jutted his head towards the ready room, “join me. Henry, you have the bridge until we return or Noli shows up,” the Captain concluded, before turning and leading the way to his ready room.

Once the two officers entered the captain’s private sanctuary, Vasoch offered the Trill a seat on the sofa, while he perched on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest.

Giarvar lowered himself onto the comfortable seat, but something was clearly wrong given his superior’s expression. “Everything alright, Captain? You look troubled,” the Trill queried.

“It’s all just…” Vasoch paused as he thought of the correct word, but the only one that could come to mind was the same one he had used on the bridge, “…odd!” He lowered his hands and used them to prop himself up on either side of his body against the desk edge. “We get sent all the way out here, by the TFXO, and then, just as we start our mission, we’re recalled. By the very same TFXO no less,” the Tellarite began sharing his misgivings.

For his part, Giarvar nodded along slowly. “I guess that could be considered odd, but we’re Starfleet sir. We deal with oddities on a daily basis,” the XO grinned, trying to make light of the Captain’s concern in an effort to appease the older man. It didn’t work.

“And what about our mission?” Vasoch started again. “Don’t you think our orders were a bit beneath a ship such as ours in the first place? Since when did ships like Hathaway get shunted out to routine science operations? I’d expect something like a Grissom or a Pathfinder to be out here doing this task. Not us,” there was that argumentative side coming out at last. “It’s overkill. It’s like we’re being sidelined; shunted somewhere out of the way for some reason.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case Captain,” Giarvar frowned, shaking his head. “But I must admit, you make an interesting point. I did consider the orders to be somewhat… odd, to steal your phrase. Even Lieutenant Okan queried them, and you know how she loves an opportunity to study spatial phenomena,” the Commander looked a little uncomfortable now. “We should have expressed our concern sooner,” the XO added.

Vasoch waved away the Trill’s lapse in judgement. “There’s been a lot of peculiar decision-making of late, don’t you think?” Vasoch pushed himself off the desk and began pacing the room uncomfortably. “They form a squadron based on two ships, send them into the expanse, bring them back and disband the squadron. They transfer people from one command to three, only to then move them back to a different, single command. They strip a half dozen auxiliary craft from our compliment and replace them with a fighter squadron. Hell, even the decision to give me the Hathaway could be considered odd,” he was in full flow when the XO rose to his feet.

“Captain,” Giarvar placed his hands on his knees and sat forward, glaring at the Tellarite. He knew exactly what the man was referring to. “Your experience makes you the perfect candidate to lead this crew, regardless of the fact that this is your first official command. And yes, some decisions have seemed odd, but perhaps it’s just what is necessary for the fleet,” the Trill suggested, causing the Tellarite to stop his pacing.

Vasoch dropped his arms to his side with a huff. “Maybe you’re right,” he shrugged. “I suppose we’ll know more once we…”

Their conversation was cut short by the sudden sound of the door chime to the ready room. Vasoch locked the conversation down for the moment and turned his attention to the door. “Enter!”

Emerging through the door, Lieutenant Mitchell looked more than a little uncomfortable. “Sorry to bother you both,” the Terran apologised, “but we’ve just received new orders from Command.”

Vasoch looked at Giarvar, then back to Henry. “Again?!” he asked, eyes narrowing as they fell upon the data PADD the Flight Operations chief was carrying. He held out his hand and grasped the PADD when handed it by Henry. He looked it over and then shook his head, tossing it across the room to his XO.

“First they order us out here, on a mission far beneath our station. Then, when we get here, they recall us,” he moaned, “and now we’re being told to reverse course, again, and head beyond the expanse!” Exasperation was the order of business for the elder man now, leaning on the edge of his desk and composing himself for a second.

Giarvar kept hold of the PADD and rose to his feet. “Seems there was some sort of… mixup?” the Trill suggested with a shrug. “How do you want to proceed, sir?” Having one’s orders changed wasn’t unusual, but to have them altered so drastically in a matter of minutes was peculiar, to say the least. Perhaps the Captain was right about the odd situation after all.

“You two return to the bridge and bring us to all stop,” Gor instructed, reaching out for his computer console and spinning it to face him. “We’re not going any further until I get these orders from the proverbial horse’s mouth,” he told with a tone of anger.

By the time Giarvar had turned to vacate the ready room, Lieutenant Mitchell was already out the door and waiting on the other side. Once the ready room doors had been sealed, the XO looked at the Flight Chief with wide eyes. Henry’s raised eyebrow response and silent departure to the CONN told the XO everything he needed to know.

“All stop,” Kauhn instructed, shaking the malaise with a wobble of his head and sitting in the command chair.

A strong vibration of the hull accompanied a sudden drop from warp. For now, Hathaway was motionless, with no place to go.

Word quickly spread about the sudden halt to their mission, and the change in orders. By the time the Captain eventually emerged from the ready room, the entire bridge crew had shown up to ascertain what was going on. Akaria wanted to know whether her department should start its scientific survey or not; Prida wanted to make it clear that the sudden slowdown was nothing to do with her engines; even Josue had shown up to ensure there was no risk to life with the sudden changes. Giarvar had assured each that nothing untoward had occurred and that the Captain was simply conversing with command. No one seemed convinced.

Vasoch remained silent as he strolled across the bridge and took his seat at the center of the hubbub. Everyone watched with bated breath, waiting for his orders. Once comfortable, the Captain finally relented and put them out of their misery.

“Helm,” he barked, bring us about on a heading of one-eight-one mark three. Warp four.”

Henry swiftly spun in his chair and nudged his new friend from the Ungeat homeworld to do the same. Or’uil complied and returned his focus to the Ops panel.

Akaria, cunning and swift, was already at her science station when the Captain began reeling off the new heading. She was right to have postponed the science survey of the expanse, with their new heading taking them away from their previous destination.

“What’s out there, sir?” she asked, unfazed by the man, his demeanour or the perception of his attitude from others.

“Exploration…” Vasoch grinned at the scientist.

“We’re going where no one has gone before…”