• Welcome! The TrekBBS is the number one place to chat about Star Trek with like-minded fans.
    If you are not already a member then please register an account and join in the discussion!

First Duty: Musashi #1 - "In the Shadow of Alnilam" (WIP)

Lieutenant Commander Nurv, MD, FFCS, stepped into the medical lounge on Deck Ten for the first time since coming aboard from the starbase. The lounge, the largest compartment in the entire medical section, was just spacious enough to accommodate all of his staff for this short address. Nurv's diminutive stature and stout build caused most of the medical staff to stare down at their new Tellarite department head, their curiosity barely concealed.

"Before we begin, I'd like to thank everyone for coming in with little notice," Nurv said gruffly, his voice a mix of gravel and command. "I wanted an opportunity to introduce myself and talk a little about what I expect from everyone on this tour."

He let his eyes roam over the assembled faces, pausing briefly on each person. There were humans, Vulcans, Saurians, Andorians, Denobulans, and Bolians—a mixed bunch. Most of them looked eager, some appeared curious, and a few seemed wary. Nurv could work with that.

"First off," Nurv continued, crossing his arms over his chest, "let's get one thing straight. I'm not here to hold anyone's hand. If you're looking for someone to tell you what a great job you're doing every five minutes, you might as well request a transfer now. Everyone on this team is here to work hard every day—no excuses." He let the words hang in the air, watching as a few brows furrowed, and a couple of glances were exchanged. "We're here to keep this crew healthy and alive. That means we do things right, the first time, every time."

He began pacing slowly in front of the gathered staff, his boots thudding softly against the deck. "I won't sugarcoat it—and many of you already know this—space is dangerous, and this ship's range of missions means we're going to see it all, and none of it will be easy. When things go wrong, and they will, I need each of you to be at your best. No hesitation, no second-guessing. If I ask for something, I expect it done yesterday."

Nurv stopped, fixing his sharp, dark eyes on a young human nurse standing near the back. "You," he said, pointing at her. "What's your name?"

The nurse stiffened, her eyes wide. "Uh, Ensign Patel, sir."

"Ensign Patel, do you know why I picked you out?" Nurv asked, his voice still gruff, but with an edge of challenge.

"N-no, Doctor," she stammered, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Because you were standing there wondering if you could cut it," Nurv said, his gaze unwavering. "Let me save you some time. You can and you will. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. But if you start doubting yourself when we have a critical patient on the table, that's when mistakes happen, and mistakes cost lives." He let his words sink in before moving on.

Nurv turned back to address the whole group. "I expect every one of you to take responsibility—for yourselves, for each other, and most importantly, for your patients. Let me be blunt: there is only room for one ego on my deck—MINE. I don't care how many degrees or certifications you've got; what I care about is whether you can do your job when it counts."

He paused, then added, "Some of you may have heard about my previous postings. I've served on starships where we faced the worst that space has to offer—battlefields, emergency evacuations, you name it. I spent years with a marine company that specialized in hot boardings of pirate vessels. Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like patching up wounded marines while you're being fired at, or trying to save a patient when the ship's about to lose life support. That's the kind of no-nonsense medicine I intend to bring to Musashi."

He let his gaze sweep across the room, his expression unyielding. "I will be demanding, and I will push you hard. But if you keep up with me, if you give it your all, then we'll be ready for anything. I want each of you to understand that the stakes are the highest. We will be the difference between life and death for our crew. That'll begin with preventative care, bandaging boo-boos, and toothaches... but it also means injuries during boarding actions, strange diseases from away missions, and epidemics. If you can imagine the worst, then I want you prepared for it. So, when I say I need something done, I mean I need it done now. No excuses."

He paused, letting the silence stretch out for a moment before giving a curt nod. "Now, if any of you have questions, ask them. If you don't, then get back to work. We've got a lot to do, and I don't intend to waste time." His tone softened slightly, almost imperceptibly. "We have lives to save. That's why we're here."

There was a brief silence before a hand went up—one of the nurses, a Denobulan. "Sir, how do you handle triage in a combat situation? Any particular protocol you prefer us to follow?" she asked, her voice steady but genuinely curious.

Nurv nodded, appreciating the directness. "In combat, you prioritize by survivability. If a patient has a chance, you give them everything you've got. But if they're beyond saving and someone else needs you, you move on. It's brutal, but it's the reality of combat medicine. If I say we move on, we move. No arguments. Understood?"

The nurse nodded, her expression serious. "Understood, sir."

Another hand went up, this time from the Bolian nurse. "Sir, will we be conducting any additional combat medical training drills, given your extensive experience with the marines?"

Nurv's eyes flicked to the Bolian, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You can count on it. We'll be running drills regularly. I want every one of you ready for anything—combat casualties, biohazard breaches, autoerotic asphyxiation. If you think your previous experiences prepared you, think again."

A tall Andorian doctor raised his hand next, his antennae angled forward. "Lieutenant Shrev th'Zaneth, sir. I've worked on ships with deep space exploration missions, but not much on active combat vessels. What are your expectations regarding our response times during emergency drills?"

Nurv turned to face him, his expression hardening slightly. "Doctor th'Zaneth, in combat situations, time is everything. I expect response times to be sharp—no more than a minute from the call to action to being fully prepared. I don't want to see anyone fumbling for equipment or trying to remember protocols. When the commbadge chirps, I want you to move like it's the real thing, because one day, it will be. Exploration is a good foundation to start from, but our survival depends on how fast we react. Your corpsmen teams, they will need to learn how to prepare supplies under different emergency conditions."

Shrev nodded, his antennae twitching slightly. "Understood, sir. We'll be ready."

Another doctor, a human with a stern face and graying hair, raised his hand. "Doctor Elias Porter, sir. I've got extensive surgical experience, including trauma cases. Given your background with marine units, I imagine you've seen plenty of situations where resources were scarce. How do you want us to handle prioritization when we're low on supplies?"

Nurv's eyes narrowed as he considered the question. "Good question, Doctor Porter. In those situations, we fall back on battlefield triage—same as I mentioned earlier. Prioritize those we can save with what we have. It's harsh, but sometimes you have to make tough calls. We will also work to ensure we're never caught off guard—inventory checks, resupply efforts, and rationing when necessary. Every one of you will need to be resourceful, especially if we find ourselves out in deep space without backup. But remember this: I'll never ask you to make a choice I wouldn't make myself. We're in this together, and we do what we must to keep our people alive."

Porter gave a curt nod, his eyes showing respect. "Understood, sir."

Nurv scanned the room, then looked at a human woman in her early thirties wearing the rank of a full lieutenant with her hand raised. "Doctor Marissa Calder, sir," she said. "I've been acting as chief medical officer until your arrival. I've served aboard Musashi since her commissioning, and I want to make sure that the transition goes smoothly. When would be a good time for us to meet and discuss departmental status and any specific directives you have?"

Nurv nodded, his expression softening just slightly. "Doctor Calder, I appreciate you stepping up as my arrival was delayed a few months. After this, let's meet in my office in an hour. We'll go over everything—status reports, ongoing cases, anything you think I should be aware of. I like being up to speed, and I don't like surprises. Understood?"

Calder nodded. "Understood, sir. I'll be ready."

A Bolian doctor, a lieutenant (jg), raised his hand next. "Doctor Morak, sir. I handle a lot of the preventive care for both the crew and the marines. Given the range of backgrounds and environments, do you have any particular directives on preventive measures, especially considering the risks involved with potential boarding actions?"

Nurv regarded Morak thoughtfully. "Doctor Morak, preventive care is crucial, especially in this line of work. We need our people in top condition—no exceptions. I want regular health assessments, with an emphasis on fitness and stress management, particularly for those involved in boarding operations. Combat readiness isn't just about muscle; it's about mental stability too. Keep an eye on everyone, and if you spot someone who looks like they might crack, I want to know about it immediately. We'll make sure they're fit for duty or get them the help they need before it becomes an issue."

Morak nodded, his expression determined. "Understood, sir."

Nurv's eyes darted around the room one last time, his gaze lingering on each face. The uncertainty he had seen earlier was starting to fade, replaced by determination. He could see it—the beginnings of a team that could handle whatever came their way. And that was good enough for now.

"All right," Nurv said, his voice cutting through the silence. "That's it for now. You've all got your assignments, and I expect you to get to them. Doctor Calder, I'll see you in an hour." He gave a curt nod. "Dismissed."

The staff began to disperse, murmuring amongst themselves as they headed out of the lounge. Nurv watched them for a moment, a faint sense of satisfaction settling in. They had a long way to go, but he was confident they would rise to the occasion.

With that, Nurv turned on his heel and headed towards his office, already mentally preparing for the meeting ahead.
 
As she took the evening duty, Lieutenant Sophia Lavasseur stood over the shoulder of Communications Technician Second Class (CT2) T'Kaal, her eyes glued to the Vulcan petty officer’s screen. The dim lighting of the OSI complex's vault room cast long shadows across the walls, heightening the tension. This was where they sent and received their most sensitive messages, and the stakes were palpable. The hum of specialized devices amongst the faint beeps of inputted commands seemed almost deafening in the otherwise silent room.

T'Kaal worked at her station with practiced ease, her slender fingers gliding across the inputs with precision. The air was heavy with anticipation, and Lavasseur could feel her pulse quicken, knowing that every second counted.

"What did they say?" Lavasseur asked, her voice tight with urgency, her clipped tone betraying her stress. She leaned in closer, her eyes searching T'Kaal's expression for any hint of the situation.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," T'Kaal replied, her voice steady but her attention focused intently on the message. She held the earpiece tightly, listening with unwavering focus. "I received the burst transmission on the pre-arranged subspace frequency, but the source stopped transmitting too quickly."

Lavasseur clenched her jaw, her brow furrowing. "And the transmission used our encryption?" Unease prickled along her spine. If the message was encrypted properly, the stakes had just become far higher.

"Yes, sir," T'Kaal confirmed, her fingers flying across the terminal as she brought up additional data. "The computer identified the encapsulation method. The message is authentic."

Lavasseur let out a heavy sigh, her eyes narrowing as she processed the information. Her thoughts raced with unsettling implications. "Then it is Operative Baker-Four," she said, her voice laced with concern.

"Yes, sir," T'Kaal repeated, her gaze still focused on her screen. There was a weight to her confirmation, an acknowledgment that they were now dealing with a situation that could spiral out of control.

Lavasseur crossed her arms, her expression hardening as she fought to maintain control. "All fragments you've got—send them to my station for analysis," she ordered, her voice firm but betraying a hint of anxiety. They needed to know exactly what Baker-Four had managed to transmit—and how much time they had left to act on it.

T'Kaal nodded, her gaze unwavering from her screen. "Right away." Her fingers danced over the console, sending the transmission fragments to Lavasseur's workstation. There was a sense of urgency now, the calm professionalism of both women masking the growing realization of the threat they faced.

Lavasseur glanced at the screen, the incomplete data fragments beginning to appear on her terminal. She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment settle into her chest. The room seemed colder now, the gravity of their situation sinking in. She and T'Kaal both understood the enormity of what this brief and truncated information might mean.

One of their operatives believed their cover was compromised, and they were now on the run from one of the most ruthless pirate cells operating in the region.

Lavasseur's eyes flicked back to T'Kaal. "How long until we can reconstruct the full message?" she asked, her voice lower now, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

T'Kaal's gaze shifted to meet Lavasseur's, her eyes calm despite the tension in the room. "Approximately twenty minutes, sir."

Lavasseur nodded, her mind racing ahead. Twenty minutes felt like an eternity, especially when every second could mean the difference between life and death for Baker-Four. She moved to her station, her fingers immediately beginning to work on what T'Kaal had sent over, her thoughts focused on one thing—figuring out the best course of action before it was too late.

"Let me know if anything changes," Lavasseur said, her voice steady as she tried to project confidence. She knew T'Kaal would do her part without fail, but the burden of decision-making weighed heavily on her. The pressure was mounting—if Baker-Four's cover was blown, the implications for their entire operation could be disastrous.

T'Kaal simply nodded, her attention once again absorbed in her work.

Lavasseur's eyes darted between her terminal and the fragments on the screen. The pieces of the transmission were incomplete, cryptic—nothing made sense yet, and that gnawed at her. She clenched her jaw, frustration building, but she forced herself to focus. She couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud her judgment now.

The clock was ticking, and somewhere out there, an operative's life was hanging in the balance. They had to get it right, and they had to get it right fast.

End of Chapter Four



Interlude One: The Wise Warrior

Adrenaline coursed through the veins of the OSI Operative codenamed "Baker-Four." The feed of that precious hormone fought off the fatigue from blood loss that threatened to slow them down. Their right shoulder throbbed with pain—a searing reminder of the knife wound sustained back on the freighter. The makeshift bandage pressed against the wound, a hastily applied clotting agent slowing the bleeding but offering little relief. They gritted their teeth, adjusting the controls of the small, stolen shuttle, and glanced at the navigational status display. Their pursuers were relentless, and it took everything Baker-Four had to keep the shuttle steady.

The freighter raid had gone wrong in an instant. One moment, Baker-Four had been blending in among the other pirates, their weapons trained on the panicked crew of the civilian ship. The next, they faced the cold realization that someone had uncovered their identity. A slurred curse from one of the raiders, the flicker of recognition, and then the glint of a blade as it arced toward them. It had all happened too quickly. Their training had kicked in, and they'd dodged enough to avoid a killing blow, but the sharp steel still sank into their shoulder before they could break away.

The pirates had no idea who they were dealing with. Baker-Four had spent months preparing for this eventuality, an escape plan drilled into them until it became instinct. They activated the pre-set emergency beacon in their suit, slipped away in the chaos of the raid, and made a dash for the raiders' shuttle bay. By the time anyone realized what had happened, Baker-Four had commandeered a small shuttle and blasted their way out of the hangar.

Now, they were in the black, navigating through the T'Niir Expanse, the murky region that had become the pirate cell’s playground. This part of the Expanse, overlapping with Sector 194, was filled with dense nebulas and asteroid fields that could be both a cover and a curse. It provided Baker-Four with ample opportunity to lose their pursuers, but it also meant a wrong move could result in their shuttle being smashed to pieces.

The shuttle bucked as Baker-Four pushed it to its limits, diving through a dense field of asteroids. They were taking a roundabout route, zigzagging through the expanse to throw off the raiders that followed. The sensors flashed with intermittent signals as the pirates tried to keep up, but the jamming field Baker-Four had activated from the shuttle's console was doing its job—at least for now.

The pain in their shoulder flared again, and Baker-Four let out a slow breath through gritted teeth. Focus. They had to focus. If they let themselves falter now, everything they had worked for would be lost.

The pirate cell wasn’t officially part of the Orion Syndicate. They were hopefuls, trying to prove their worth by pulling off bigger and bolder raids. And this raid had been part of their plan to impress the Syndicate. That made them dangerous—desperate enough to kill, desperate enough to pursue. Baker-Four had infiltrated them to gather intelligence on their activities, and now their cover was blown, with the entire cell hunting them down like prey.

They adjusted the course, pulling the shuttle into a tight roll to avoid a particularly dense cluster of debris. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through their injured arm, but Baker-Four ignored it, concentrating on the coordinates that flashed on the display—a convoluted route, leading eventually to Rendezvous 464.

RZ 464. It was the designated fallback—a "safe house" on a Class O world set up in advance by OSI under Operation Alnilam Shadow. A place meant for operatives to regroup, resupply, and await extraction if things went wrong. Right now, it was Baker-Four’s nearest salvation.

The shuttle banked sharply to the left, diving beneath a cloud of ionized gas that glowed an eerie blue in the darkness of space. Behind them, the sensors blipped with fleeting contacts, the pirate ships struggling to keep track. Baker-Four took a deep breath, the effort pulling at the wound in their shoulder, and forced their eyes to stay open. The adrenaline wouldn’t last forever, and the blood loss was making them light-headed, but they couldn’t afford to stop.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Baker-Four led their pursuers on a twisted chase through the expanse. The pirate ships were persistent, but their cohesion was faltering; they were splitting up, trying to outflank Baker-Four, but the terrain worked against them. The Expanse was a labyrinth, and Baker-Four knew how to use that to their advantage.

A sudden burst of static on the comms made Baker-Four’s heart skip a beat. They glanced at the console, fingers hovering over the controls. Was it an incoming message? A threat? But then it died down—just interference from the nebula. They exhaled shakily, refocusing on the task at hand.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sensor display showed a gap. A window of opportunity. Baker-Four adjusted the course, slipping through a narrow passage between two massive asteroids, the shuttle shuddering under the strain. The blips on the sensor screen faded, the pirate ships falling behind. Baker-Four allowed themselves a moment of hope—a fleeting moment, but one they needed.

They had done it. They had shaken their pursuers.

“RZ 464,” they muttered under their breath, entering the coordinates for the Class O world into the nav computer. The shuttle responded, its trajectory shifting toward the distant planet. Baker-Four leaned back in their seat, their body finally beginning to relax, if only slightly. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but the immediate threat had passed.

The Class O world loomed ahead, its atmosphere a swirling mix of blues and greens. It was a wet, marshy planet—perfect for hiding, difficult to track anything on the surface. The OSI had chosen it well. Baker-Four checked the shuttle’s systems, ensuring everything was in order for the descent. The safe house was located beneath the surface, its entrance hidden underwater to obscure it from any aerial or orbital surveillance. Everything they needed - medical supplies, food, and even a secondary mode of transport if the shuttle was compromised - would be provided by the safe house. Nearly there, lifeline grasped.

The shuttle began its approach; the planet growing larger in the viewport. Baker-Four's eyes flicked to the sensor display, and their heart sank. An alert flashed—multiple contacts, emerging from the planet’s far side.

“Damn it,” they hissed, their hands moving quickly over the controls. The pirates had anticipated this. They probably anticipated Baker-Four's destination and arranged an ambush. The shuttle’s console lit up with warning signals as targeting systems locked on, the unmistakable red blips of enemy craft closing in fast.

Baker-Four’s mind raced. They couldn’t engage—not in this condition, and not in this shuttle. Landing and reaching the safe house was necessary for them. The terrain below was a mix of marshland and dense forest, but Baker-Four had to make it to the underwater entrance. Lacking grace, yet essential.

The shuttle shuddered violently as weapons' fire grazed its shields; the energy dispersing in a bright flash across the hull. Baker-Four gritted their teeth, forcing the shuttle lower, the atmosphere buffeting the small craft as it descended. The controls jerked in their hands; the turbulence making the descent even more perilous.

“Come on, come on…” Baker-Four muttered, their eyes locked on a wide marshy inlet that led to the safe house's submerged entrance. The shuttle dipped, the ground rushing up to meet them. Another burst of weapons fire lit up the sky behind them, but Baker-Four focused on the landing, their breath coming in short, pained gasps.

The shuttle hit the water hard, sending up a spray as it skidded across the marshy inlet before coming to a halt. Baker-Four’s head snapped forward, their vision swimming for a moment as they tried to gather their bearings. The shuttle was intact, but only just.

They couldn’t stay here. The pirates would be on them in minutes.

Baker-Four unstrapped themselves from the pilot’s seat, wincing as the movement pulled at their injured shoulder. They grabbed the emergency kit from beneath the console, slinging it over their good shoulder before moving to the shuttle’s rear hatch. The safe house was still a short distance underwater, but they could make it. They had to make it.

The hatch opened with a hiss, and Baker-Four stepped out into the knee-deep water, the cold shock jolting their senses. They took a deep breath, wading through the marsh, their eyes fixed on the shimmering surface ahead where the entrance lay beneath the waterline.

No time to waste.

Baker-Four waded deeper until the water rose to their chest, then took a deep breath and plunged beneath the surface, kicking toward the hidden entrance. Pain lanced through their shoulder, but they pushed it aside, focusing on the underwater path ahead. The safe house was stocked, and it was secure. Once they got there, they could patch themselves up properly, get some rest, and wait for Starfleet to extract them.

The pirates might have forced them down, but Baker-Four wasn’t done yet. They had a mission to complete, and they weren’t about to let a bunch of Syndicate wannabes stop them.

With grim determination, they pressed on, swimming toward the safe house as the sounds of approaching engines echoed faintly from above the water’s surface.

End of Interlude One
 
Last edited:
Baker-Four seems to be some sort of collective operating within what would appear to be a single body. I'm hoping for some really interesting critter design... Thanks!! rbs
 
Chapter Five: Swift as the Wind


Captain's Log
Stardate 4411.8

Musashi is currently thirty hours out of Starbase 32, now underway on our planned patrol circuit between Rho Kelnar, the T'Niir Expanse, and Epsilon Valari along the Federation side of the border. Commander Claire McCallister of the Border Service has endorsed this plan to maximize coverage alongside the patrol cutters and frigates operating in the sector. If we remain on course, we are set to rendezvous with the frigate Komack in two weeks.

Each circuit at warp five will take approximately three weeks, not including the seventy-two hours spent in each region. Our mission is to provide additional protection for the shipping lanes and perform check-ins with all civilian-run outposts. Our sensors will be actively monitoring for any Orion or other pirate activity along this stretch of the border.

So far, system checks and crew readiness reports are within expected parameters. I have full confidence in our crew's ability to execute the mission effectively.


Captain's Personal Log
Stardate 4411.83

You'd think that after transferring from JAG, I'd have left some of the more menial aspects of paperwork behind. Instead, captaining a starship requires even more administrative juggling—a never-ending deluge of reports, requisitions, and scheduling. I can't say it's what I pictured as a young midshipman dreaming of command.

I've been plowing through report after report, and I've barely made a dent. This morning has been about settling the Border Service form process… which, if I'm honest, had gotten even more complicated than when I was on Decker and Hansen, by the way. On top of that, I have to send in the next situation report to Starfleet Command today.

I somehow miss the simplicity of preparing for cases at JAG. At least then, I was dealing with facts that challenged me intellectually, rather than the intricacies of supply chain logistics.

Yeoman Yelton should be here shortly, whom I hope might help some of this burden. Brin is a young man, eager, and demonstrates an attention to detail. And although this is not his fault, but I can't help but compare him to Lara Zenn. Lara was the one who kept me on track back at JAG, especially during our field investigations. He seems competent enough, but it will take time to build that kind of trust and rapport.

I need to talk to Esumi. She has the same experience with this crew as me. Musashi has only been commissioned for four and a half months. But in her role as command master chief, her insight will be critical as we settle into our patrol. If there's anyone who can help make sense of the administrative nightmare that comes with command, it’s her.

USS-Musashi.png

Yeoman Second Class (YN2) Brin Yelton stood over Leo's desk holding a PADD, watching as the captain applied his authorization and endorsement to several reports and requisitions filtering up from his subordinate officers. Once the last report bore his mark, Leo held out his hand for the next one, but Yelton shook his head. "That's it, sir."

"Seriously?" Leo asked, incredulity written across his face. When Yelton nodded, Leo fist-pumped. "Yes! I'm free!" He leaped up from behind his desk with almost boyish enthusiasm. "I'm heading over to my mess. Let Brodd know that I'd like Cook to make my usual, and also ping Esumi—tell her I'd like to treat her to breakfast."

"No, sir," Yelton replied, raising his voice slightly as Leo made a beeline for the mess door on the starboard side of his stateroom.

Leo halted, his excitement fading as he backtracked. "What?"

The yeoman cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "I scheduled a talk between us for this time, sir." Yelton's fingers danced over the surface of his PADD as he spoke.

Leo took a few steps back, letting out a sigh as he eyed the young yeoman. "I see. Okay… well…" He returned to his chair, gesturing for Yelton to proceed. "How can I help you?"

Yelton hesitated for a moment, then squared his shoulders. "Captain, there's no easy way to say this, but I'd like to step down as your yeoman."

Leo's brow furrowed. "Oh?"

"This is not a reflection of you, sir—"

Leo raised a hand, cutting him off with a gentle smile. "It's just that after weeks of working together, you're not enjoying the role as much as you expected."

Yelton's eyes widened, a mix of shock and relief crossing his features. "That's… exactly correct, sir."

Leo shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. "I had a feeling. Look, if you'd rather work with another officer, that's good enough for me. Yeomen don't get nearly the appreciation they deserve, and I have nothing but respect and gratitude for everyone who chose that rating. Fill out the paperwork for a change of duty assignment, and I'll add my authorization."

Visibly eased by the offering, Yelton smiled for the first time since they met. "Thank you, Captain."

"Just one thing," Leo added, his tone softening.

"What's that, sir?"

"Stay on long enough to hand off to whoever they send to replace you?"

"Absolutely, Captain. That was my intention."

Leo grinned, rising from his seat and extending his hand. "Bring me the paperwork when it's ready, and thank you for all your hard work."

As they shook hands, Yelton thanked him, his shoulders finally relaxing. "That's the last thing for the morning, sir. The Command Master Chief is waiting for you in the mess."

True to Yelton's word, Benten rose to her feet as Leo entered the captain's mess. Behind her, Brodd worked on setting the sideboard, his eyes twinkling as he watched the captain approach. "Sit down," Leo said with a smile. "It's a private room—no one's going to arrest you for forgoing protocol. Brodd, good morning."

"Old habits die hard," Benten admitted with a shrug as she retook her seat, her posture still straight. After Brodd returned Leo's greeting, Benten offered him a smile. "You seem in a good mood, Captain."

Leo sat down, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his thigh. "I was going to spend this time asking you to reassign my yeoman, but since he asked for reassignment himself, we can just enjoy each other's company."

Benten's smile faded slightly, her brow furrowing. "Another one? What is it with you and the yeomen I send over?"

Leo leaned back, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I just wasn't feeling it with Yelton."

Benten shook her head, her expression both amused and exasperated. "Yelton is a damn fine yeoman, though. I honestly don't know who I'm going to—" She paused, giving Leo a pointed look. "You realize we all talk, right?"

Brodd couldn't help but chuckle, his deep laughter filling the room.

Leo blushed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Am I that bad?"

Benten sighed, leaning forward. "It's not that you're bad—"

"If I may, Master Chief?" Brodd interjected, his tone polite but knowing.

Benten gestured with both hands, giving Brodd the floor. "Go ahead."

Brodd stepped closer, a warm smile on his face. "Captain, you can be quite demanding of your yeomen. From what I've observed and heard from the two yeomen who've been assigned to you since last year, it's clear you have a particular person you'd prefer to work with."

Benten raised an eyebrow, raising her right hand toward Brodd as if to say, "See?"

Leo's face softened, the realization dawning on him. "I… didn't realize," he admitted, his voice dropping. "I feel awful now."

"I'm guessing it's that yeoman from your team on Detmer," Benten said, her tone more understanding. "You two had a great rapport."

"Lara," Leo said, nodding slowly. "She was with me right until I took this command."

"And you couldn't convince her to come with you?" Benten asked, her tone gently teasing.

Leo sighed, a wistful smile crossing his face. "She's actually Captain Ch'charhat's yeoman. She was her legal secretary for years before they joined Starfleet. I didn't feel right asking her to transfer. I know how loyal she is."

Benten reached over, her hand resting briefly on Leo's arm. "Sir, with all due respect, maybe you should reach out and ask her what she wants… rather than assume."

Leo considered her words, nodding thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right."

"If she says no, then I'll figure something out," Benten promised, her voice steady. "Did Yelton say whether he'd stay on until his replacement arrives?"

Leo nodded. "He did."

"Like I said, he's a good yeoman," Benten said, her tone softer now.

Leo looked down for a moment, his expression conflicted. "I'm really sorry."

"It happens, Leo. More often than people realize," Benten said with a reassuring smile. "We'll find someone who fits. Just give it time."

Leo took a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. "I appreciate your help." He paused, then added, "Should I apologize to Yelton?"

Benten considered for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. "No, I don't think that's necessary. Yelton wasn't unhappy with you personally; he just wasn't the right fit. An apology might make him feel like he did something wrong when it's more about what you need in a yeoman. Just let him know you understand and appreciate his work."

Leo nodded, a small smile returning to his face. "I guess I just need to let go of comparing everyone to Lara."

Benten smiled, her expression softening further. "Exactly. It's clear that Lara was special, but that doesn't mean you won't find another great fit. You just need to give it time—and maybe be a little more patient with the next one."

Leo chuckled, his eyes meeting hers. "I'll do my best."

Brodd, who had been quietly listening, stepped forward with a plate in his hands. "Captain, breakfast is served. And for what it's worth, sir, I think patience will suit you well—especially when it comes to finding the right people to support you."

Leo looked at the plate, then back at Brodd, his smile broadening. "Thanks, Brodd. I think you might be right." He glanced at Benten. "To both of you—thanks for keeping me on track."

Benten opened her mouth to add a comment, but the shrill whistle of the intercom interrupted her.

"Montgomery to Verde," came the accented voice.

Leo leaned forward, releasing a deep sigh, suspecting he wouldn't get to enjoy his meal. He set his napkin aside and walked to the comm panel. "Verde here. Go ahead, Captain."

"We have a Case Zulu, Captain."

"Understood. Where's the briefing?"

"My conference room, if you please."

Leo replied, "On my way. Verde, out." He turned toward Brodd. "Could you convey my regrets to Cook, and inform her that I'll be delayed for breakfast?"

"Of course, sir," Brodd said with a nod. "Cook will understand."

Benten rose. "I should—"

"No, stay seated," Leo ordered. He gave her a reassuring look. "Brodd will look after you. Enjoy your breakfast, Esumi. I'll catch up with you later." Leo gave her a nod before heading for the door.

Benten watched as Leo exited, her eyes lingering on the closed door for a moment. Then she looked at Brodd, who offered her a reassuring smile.
 
"Three days ago, we received a garbled transmission indicating a problem with one of our operatives. At approximately 0637 this morning, ship's time, our vault received a burst data-only transmission on a pre-arranged frequency used by our operatives," Lavasseur began, her tone steady and professional, though her eyes carried a flicker of tension. "After confirming our analysis, the message reads that Operative Baker-Four has been compromised. The operative is requesting a Case Zulu exfiltration within the T'Niir Expanse. They are presently awaiting rescue at RZ Four-Sixty-Four, which is on the far side of the Expanse, inside Sector One-Niner-Four. They cannot confirm, but believe the local space to be rife with their pursuers."

Leo glanced at Montgomery, who sat quietly at the end of the table. Her eyes met his briefly before she returned to her composed, neutral expression. It was obvious to Leo that she had received the full details well before this briefing, but he could also see the weight of the situation reflected in her stillness. He turned his focus back to Lavasseur. "All right. Given that you've used a designation, I assume you know where this is?"

Montgomery gave a slight nod, her voice calm but with an edge of urgency. "Aye, we have the coordinates."

"How long can this operative hold out at Four-Six-Four?" Leo asked, his tone shifting to a more direct command presence.

"Uncertain, but they have enough supplies to hold out indefinitely," Lavasseur replied, her posture stiffening slightly, as if bracing for the next steps.

"If there are enemy craft looking for them, I assume they have an escape option?"

"Yes, sir," Lavasseur confirmed. "In the worst-case scenario, they can use a small stealth-rated craft to depart and head for an alternative pick-up location."

Leo drummed his fingers on the table's surface, his gaze distant as he considered the timeframe. The operative had used the Zulu code, which meant no time for hesitation. Starfleet regulations made his obligation to act clear, but the orders from Starfleet Command limited Musashi's ability to leave the sector.

He turned his eyes to Montgomery, his tone decisive. "Tetsubo and Wakizashi, with a platoon from Force Recon on each. We send one in for the exfil and keep the other on overwatch, standing by in case they're needed. Thoughts?"

Montgomery leaned forward, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the plan. "It’s a solid approach. We can use Tetsubo for primary exfil; it’s better outfitted for quick maneuvers."

Leo nodded, then turned his attention to Th'chilliq. The Andorian, with his customary precision, gave a sharp nod. "Marine Force Recon should be more than sufficient for our needs," he affirmed, his antennae twitching slightly as he spoke. "The key will be timing. Any delays, and our window narrows. I recommend we coordinate with local telemetry to anticipate any interference or potential hostiles."

Montgomery added, her tone unhurried, "We need to make sure all personnel understand the stakes here. This isn’t a standard exfil—if they’ve gone Zulu, then we're sending shuttles into battle against an enemy of unknown numbers."

Leo took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settle in his chest. He gave them both a resolute look. "We're going to need to brief Colonel Sh'vaares ASAP. And I need any intelligence updates on Orion activity in the Expanse."

"It will be done," Montgomery promised.

Leo paused, looking at each of them. "No mistakes. Let's be about it."



Captain's Log
Supplemental

Based on information received from Captain Montomgery and her OSI team, we have increased speed to warp eleven so that we can quickly close our distance to the T'Niir Expanse. We should be in position to launch an away mission in under six hours.


"Bridge to Nanurjuk," called the voice of Commander T'Rel over the intercom.

Marcus looked up from his station in CIC, exchanging a quick glance with D'Amico standing nearby. He touched the comm panel and replied, "Nanurjuk here."

T'Rel ordered, "Report to the captain's ready room, please."

"Aye, sir," Marcus responded quickly. He handed over his station to his leading petty officer and, as he walked across the CIC, locked eyes with Lieutenant Commander M'Rasha.

Her eyes narrowed at his departure. Marcus approached her and paused, saying, "By your leave, Commander?"

She nodded silently, her glare still in place, though his respectful acknowledgment seemed to soften it slightly. Or perhaps it was just his imagination.

Marcus found the nearest lift, and soon enough, he stepped onto the bridge, heading for the ready room door on the right side of the deck. He followed the railing along the outer perimeter until he stood before the door and pressed the panel to announce himself.

"Enter," came the voice of Captain Verde.

Marcus stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him. Captain Verde sat behind his desk, a PADD in hand, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. He glanced up, his expression brightening slightly as he saw Marcus.

"Sir, Ensign Nanurjuk, reporting as ordered," Marcus said, adhering to protocol.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," Verde greeted, setting the PADD down and gesturing to the seat across from him. "Have a seat."

Marcus moved forward, taking the offered chair. He felt his pulse quicken slightly.

Verde's expression grew more serious as he picked up the PADD again, glancing at it briefly before meeting Marcus's gaze. "I called you in specifically because of your role as the ship's legal officer. I need your analysis of our written orders from Starfleet Command." He handed the PADD to Marcus, his gaze steady. "Take a look."

Marcus took the PADD, scanning the contents. The orders were from Admiral Saavik, outlining Musashi's current patrol parameters and the limits placed on their operations. He read through the text carefully, noting the deliberate language—restrictive phrasing that suggested Starfleet Command was being cautious, perhaps overly so.

The text emphasized maintaining position within Sector 195 and avoiding unauthorized engagements outside their designated area. The wording seemed deliberate, stressing containment, observation, and coordination with the Border Service, without crossing lines that could provoke unintended conflict.

Marcus looked up to see Captain Verde watching him intently, as if gauging his reaction. He took a breath, choosing his words carefully. "Sir, these orders are quite specific about keeping us confined to Sector One-Niner-Five. Starfleet Command clearly wants us to avoid unnecessary escalation—especially with the mention of avoiding provocation with Klingon or Orion forces. The wording here—" he tapped the screen, "—emphasizes containment and coordination, almost as if they're expecting a situation where we need to avoid taking risks."

Verde nodded, his expression thoughtful. "That's what I was thinking as well. It feels like they're keeping us on a short leash. I wanted a second set of eyes on this—someone who could see if there was any leeway in how we interpret these orders. Back at the Academy, one of the oft-quoted tenets of issuing orders was to ensure clarity so that even an ensign can understand them." He capped his statement with a wink.

Marcus smiled at the reference but felt the weight of the captain's request. He knew this was more than just a test of his analytical skills—Verde was relying on him for insight, something beyond the standard interpretation. The orders from Coburn flickered through his mind. Coburn had been clear—keep an eye on Verde and Montgomery, report anything unusual. The idea of balancing that directive with his responsibilities here made his chest tighten slightly. Was Verde looking for a way to bend the rules or simply to protect the crew under his command? Marcus couldn't be sure, but he knew he had to tread carefully.

He considered the phrasing again, then spoke. "There might be some room for interpretation, sir. The directive about maintaining position could be flexible if we frame any action as essential to maintaining sector security. If we argue that certain actions directly impact our ability to secure Federation interests in Sector One-Niner-Five, we could justify a deviation."

Verde's eyes narrowed slightly, a glimmer of approval in his gaze. "Exactly what I was hoping you'd say. It seems like Admiral Saavik wants us to stay within bounds, but there's enough ambiguity for us to act, provided we justify it properly. We'll need to be careful, but I think there's a way to make this work."

Marcus nodded, feeling a sense of purpose despite the tension that lingered beneath the surface. "I'll draft a preliminary analysis of the orders, focusing on the potential justifications for any deviation. It might help to have something formal in case Command questions our actions later."

Verde's smile widened. "Good thinking, Ensign. That's exactly the initiative I want to see."

"Yes, sir," Marcus replied, returning the smile with one of his own, feeling the infectious nature of his new CO's demeanor. "May I be of further service to you, sir?"

"Not immediately," Verde said. "However, I may need to utilize you on the bridge or in CIC. I'll square it with your department head that your position as legal officer might be tapped in certain situations."

Marcus's smile faded slightly. He took a chance at levity. "I appreciate that, sir. I feel like perhaps Commander M'Rasha is unhappy with my collateral duties as it is."

Verde dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. "I was a junior officer once—we all were. Every single ensign has collateral duties. But being our legal officer is critical, trust me. I used to be one on my first assignment to Decker. And let me add that if the skipper sends for an officer, no department head is going to complain about it. But if you feel you're being singled out in retaliation, let the XO know and she'll fix it."

Marcus felt a faint warmth rise in his chest at the mention of T'Rel. He nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm not looking to start a turf war."

"Good, because this entire ship is my turf, and I'll win," Verde said with a wink.

Marcus chuckled genuinely. "Touché, sir."

"Anyway, I've taken up enough of your time," Verde said, rising from behind his desk. "I'll let you get back to the CIC. Do me a favor and send in the XO on your way to the lift, okay?" He walked around and offered his hand. "I think you and I will work well together."

Marcus accepted the gesture and responded to the captain's firm grip. "Thank you, sir."

"All right, go away now," Verde said in jest.

As Marcus exited, he caught the eyes of Commander T'Rel and said, "The captain would like to see you, sir."

T'Rel nodded. "Thank you, Ensign." She handed off the conn to the Saurian lieutenant commander at the helm and entered the ready room shortly after, just as Marcus entered the lift.

For a brief moment, Marcus allowed himself to watch T'Rel as she moved towards the ready room. There was an elegance to her step, a natural grace that captivated him. He quickly caught himself, feeling the warmth rise to his face. He cleared his throat, stepping into the lift, chastising himself for the distraction.

After the doors closed, Marcus requested Deck Six as his destination. He leaned against the wall, reflecting on the interaction.

Captain Verde's genuine warmth left an impression on Marcus. In just a few minutes, Marcus could tell Verde was different—a leader who valued those under his command. It stood in stark contrast to the cold indifference he'd experienced under Belknap's captain, who had barely acknowledged him beyond duty. Unlike M'Rasha's rigid demeanor, Verde's approach made Marcus feel appreciated—like his insights mattered despite his low rank.

As the lift descended, Marcus grappled with Coburn's orders. How could he reconcile the directive to monitor Verde when the captain seemed genuinely concerned about his crew's well-being? Based on Coburn's tone and reasoning, it was becoming harder to see Verde as anything other than a good officer trying to do right by his people. The unease grew within Marcus, a feeling of resentment at spying on someone who appeared to be an ally, not a potential threat.

He tried to shift his thoughts away from Coburn, and instead his mind wandered back to T'Rel. He respected her as an officer—her calmness, her decisiveness—but there was something else, something he found himself drawn to. It wasn't just her efficiency or her command presence; it was her poise, the way her eyes seemed to see right through to the truth of things. He shook his head, taking a deep breath. This was not the time to be indulging in such thoughts.

When he returned to CIC and checked back in with M'Rasha, Marcus felt a strange sense of solidarity with the crew, a connection he hadn't expected so soon. He nodded to the leading petty officer before resuming his duties, his focus sharpened by the lingering conversation. He realized then that he wasn't just working aboard Musashi—he was believing in its mission and its people. Coburn's orders felt increasingly like a burden, one that Marcus was not entirely sure he could carry without questioning his own integrity.
 
Really like seeing Verde reflected in the opinion of an ensign. Those kinds of scenes are really helpful in setting out the presentation of command officers. Thanks! rbs
 
"Do you know what this is about?" Major Rhodes whispered, sliding into a seat beside Lieutenant Colonel Sh'vaares. Her eyes darted between the officers, her brow furrowed.

Sh'vaares shook her head, her expression steady but alert. "No idea, but it looks like we're in for a ride," she replied, nodding toward the CAG, Commander Chaudhari, and Deputy CAG, Lieutenant Commander Daaleb Dosum, who entered together and took seats across the conference table.

Chaudhari gave a nod, a half-smile playing at his lips. "Colonel. Major."

"CAG," Sh'vaares responded, her tone neutral but cordial. "I assume you're as clueless as we are."

Chaudhari leaned back, the smirk still there. "Seeing you here makes me want to spin up my L-IVs and give you a lift. Been a while since I had to drop the kids off at school."

Sh'vaares let out a soft chuckle, amusement glinting in her eyes. "Happy to give you the chance." As she spoke, the door opened, and Captains Verde and Monty, Commanders T'Rel and Th'chilliq, and an unfamiliar junior-grade lieutenant stepped into the room.

"Attention on deck!" Major Rhodes called, her voice sharp as the senior officers entered.

"As you were," Captain Verde said warmly. Once everyone settled, he began, "This is an X-Ray briefing. We have a Case Zulu call from within the T'Niir Expanse. A Starfleet officer on deep cover has been compromised. This will be an exfil operation, CAG, Colonel."

Chaudhari leaned forward, his brow furrowing. "Crash Cart, sir?"

Leo nodded, his expression serious. "Crash Cart is exactly what I had in mind, CAG. Do you concur, Colonel?"

Sh'vaares considered briefly, her eyes narrowing. "Are we assuming a single target?"

As the officers discussed, the OSI team exchanged puzzled glances. Montgomery spoke up, her curiosity evident. "I don't believe we've been briefed on this term, Captain."

Leo raised a hand slightly, his expression calm. "One moment, Captain." He turned back to Sh'vaares. "Single target, hostile forces likely engaged."

Sh'vaares nodded, a grin forming. "Crash Cart, it is." She turned to Major Rhodes, her tone clipped. "Major Rhodes."

Rhodes snapped to attention. "Sir!"

"Inform Major Felt that we'll need first and second platoons ready in..." Sh'vaares glanced at Leo.

"Just under six hours. Launch no later than sixteen hundred," Leo said.

Sh'vaares grinned, confidence flashing in her eyes. "Plenty of time. Six hours. Fall out."

Rhodes nodded. "Aye, sir. By your leave, Captain?" she asked, glancing at Verde.

"Off you go, Major," Leo said, nodding. He then turned to Chaudhari. "Tetsubo and Wakizashi, for op and overwatch."

Chaudhari nodded, still smirking. "Precisely my thinking, sir."

Montgomery cleared her throat, her eyes narrowing. "I must insist on being briefed on Crash Cart," she said, her accent adding an edge.

Leo gestured to T'Rel. "Commander?"

The Vulcan rose smoothly, approaching the viewscreen and pulling up relevant details. "Crash Cart is the operational plan for a Case Zulu call, drafted by myself and Commander Niu under Captain Verde's direction, with input from Colonel Sh'vaares and Commander Chaudhari." She gestured to the screen, displaying the plan's specifics. "Two Class L-IV shuttles fitted with a platoon of force recon marines, two pilots, and a marine officer in charge. Musashi carries four L-IV shuttles, given our capacity for auxiliary craft."

"Tetsubo and Wakizashi, as mentioned earlier," Leo added, glancing at Monty. "You asked us to develop solutions for OSI situations, should they arise."

Monty's expression softened, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "Aye, I did." She stepped closer to the screen, studying the details. "This is exactly what we discussed. Apologies for the confusion; I simply hadn't heard the term before."

"No apologies needed," Leo said with a nod, then smirked. "Nice to know something you didn't for a change."

She stared at him, momentarily stunned, then turned to her deputy, Th'chilliq, who was taking notes. "Make sure we have a copy of this, please."

"Aye, sir," Th'chilliq replied.

"May I continue?" T'Rel asked, her gaze shifting to Monty, her voice calm.

"Please do, Commander," Monty replied, stepping back.

T'Rel continued, her tone precise. "As the Captain mentioned, Tetsubo will make the atmospheric entry with first platoon, heading to the coordinates provided by OSI. Wakizashi will maintain long-range overwatch, ready to deploy second platoon if needed. Once first platoon secures the target, they will withdraw to Point Gamma, where both shuttles will return at maximum warp to Musashi."

Th'chilliq's antennae twitched as he eyed the screen, jotting down notes on his PADD. "Commander, could you elaborate on the Variations listed in the plan?"

T'Rel nodded. "There are ten Variations to address potential variables during the mission. The senior pilot or the marine OIC can invoke a Variation over an open frequency if encrypted communications are unavailable."

Monty's eyes widened, admiration clear. "Remarkable work, Commander," she said. "I'm eager to see this in action." Her eyes lingered on the screen, reflecting her appreciation.

Leo nodded, his gaze sweeping the room. "Any questions?" He paused, and when none came, he commanded, "Colonel, CAG—you’re dismissed."

Within seconds, only Leo, T'Rel, and the OSI officers remained.

Monty turned to Leo, curiosity plain. "Leo, are there any other operational plans I should know?"

Leo's lips curved into a smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. "XO, please provide the captain and the commander with copies of the response plans we’ve developed so far."

End of Chapter Five
 
Chapter Six: First in the Field

NCC-3347/M01 (Shuttle Tetsubo)
Marine Hangar One, Deck Eleven of NCC-3347 (USS Musashi)
Stardate 4412.53 (Wednesday, April 25, 2323)
Cockpit

Lieutenant (jg) Kimberly Timm tapped her PADD in frustration. Each tap echoed in the cockpit, matching the irritation simmering beneath her calm facade. She caught her reflection in Tetsubo's forward viewport, noticing one of her blonde ponytails slightly out of place. She set the PADD on the console and used both hands to adjust the tie, pulling the root of her other tail higher to match the other. Naturally a brunette, she dyed her hair blonde to match her playful style. The contrast between her dark eyebrows and blonde hair made her feel more like herself—distinctive and unconventional, someone who didn't fit neatly into any box.

As she finished adjusting her hair, the cockpit hatch opened, admitting the CAG.

Commander Chaudhari's presence commanded immediate attention, her movements deliberate, almost predatory. The way she filled the small space always put Timm slightly on edge, as if Chaudhari was constantly assessing her. "Where are we with pre-flight?" she asked, her voice carrying its usual mix of authority and sharp expectation.

Without looking up, Timm grabbed the PADD and checked the status. She let out a slow sigh, steadying herself, forcing down the prickle of irritation that always arose when Chaudhari was around. "Pre-flight is complete. Moving on to weapons check," she replied, her tone neutral, hiding her earlier frustration. Chaudhari had a way of getting under her skin, making her feel like she was never quite good enough.

The Class-L-IV marine shuttle boasted an array of weapons designed for effective air support during marine operations. Its enhanced warp core powered four phaser mounts, one on each lateral arc. Each phaser showed green on the self-diagnostic check. Timm powered them up, her eyes following the EPS taps as they fed energy into the capacitors. The next step would transfer energy to the emitters, but doing so would lead to an unscheduled—and likely unwelcome—phaser discharge.

Timm smirked, briefly entertaining the idea of giving the damage control teams some unexpected excitement. It would certainly make her day more interesting, and perhaps even earn a reaction from Chaudhari beyond the usual cold appraisal. Instead, she powered the phasers down and moved on to the torpedo launchers. She powered up the launchers—smaller than standard torpedo tubes, better described as missile launchers. The projectiles carried a payload significantly smaller than a true torpedo, making them more akin to missiles.

She engaged the automatic loaders until each launcher showed ready, then unloaded them. Cycling through the load and unload routines five times, she was satisfied with their performance. Her eyes flicked to Chaudhari briefly, wondering if the CAG was still watching her every move.

Chaudhari watched her from a standing position above, her gaze piercing. The CAG's expression was unreadable, her eyes narrowed as if trying to find fault. "Why so many iterations?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity masked by the usual sharpness.

"These birds are just barely broken in. Some seats still have plastic wrap on them," Timm said with the barest hint of contempt in her voice. Their argument days ago still held weight between them, the storm cloud of tension hanging in the air. Timm had been surprised when Chaudhari wanted to fly with her, but she took it to mean that there was no trust in her abilities, in spite of her promotion and recognition from higher-ranking officers than the CAG. It stung, and she wasn't above letting some of that bitterness show.

"I know that," the CAG said, her tone edged with irritation. "I checked them in myself." Chaudhari's gaze bore into her, challenging her without words, daring her to push back.

"So, then you know that it's folly to trust them just because they're fresh builds." Timm kept her eyes on her instruments, but her jaw was set, the challenge hanging between them.

Chaudhari settled into the right-hand seat beside her, the smirk on her lips unmistakable. "Then you can appreciate that trust has to be earned."

Timm didn't miss the slight, grimacing at the subtle jab. Chaudhari's words cut deeper than she let on, feeding the fire of her earlier frustration. She bit back a choice comment, deciding instead to concentrate on the task at hand. Chaudhari wanted to test her? Fine. She would prove herself, not through words, but through action. A few more systems tests, and she would be convinced that the weapons were reliable. And maybe, just maybe, Chaudhari would see she wasn't some green rookie to be doubted at every turn.

She glanced sideways at Chaudhari, watching the commander lean back in her seat, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on the console ahead. The tension in the cockpit was palpable, and Timm could feel Chaudhari's gaze shift towards her now and then—watching, judging. Timm took a deep breath, letting the rhythmic hum of the shuttle's systems drown out her irritation.

The CAG grabbed the PADD from her seat's attached sleeve and began working through her checklist within Timm's full view. Timm couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise as Chaudhari started at the beginning, meticulously running through her own pre-flight checklist. She had already completed those steps, and for a moment, Timm wondered if this was just another layer of mistrust.

"You're wondering why I'm running through the checklist a second time, aren't you?" asked the CAG, her eyes still on the PADD, her tone carrying a knowing edge.

Timm frowned, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I said nothing."

"You didn't have to." Chaudhari's lips twitched into a half-smile, though her focus never wavered from the PADD. Timm watched her, trying to decipher whether there was any hint of approval behind that remark. But Chaudhari's expression remained as inscrutable as ever, her demeanor calm, controlled, and just a bit smug.

Timm took another steadying breath, determined to let her actions do the talking. She wasn't about to give the CAG the satisfaction of rattling her any further. Not today.

"I used to be like you," Chaudhari admitted as she continued to work, her tone softer, almost reflective. "I didn't quite have your skills, but I definitely had your attitude." She paused to consider her thoughts a moment before adding, "Actually, I still do."

Timm’s eyes narrowed, an acerbic edge creeping into her voice. "Is that supposed to make us best friends or something?"

Chaudhari glanced at her briefly, her expression hardening once more. "I'm not your friend, Lieutenant. I'm your boss. And you may think that your pre-existing relationship with the old man will save you from any consequences I might exact, but he's already told me that if you can't cut it, then you're out of the group and off the ship."

The "old man" was the traditionally used moniker for the ship's captain; in this case, Captain Leo Verde. Leo was the kind of commanding officer that Timm loved to work for—approachable, supportive, and cordial. The revelation from Chaudhari shook her to the core. Being transferred out for cause would sink her career—the Distinguished Flying Cross on her record would make no difference.

"Point made," Timm admitted bitterly, the fight draining out of her for a moment. "What do you want from me?"

"Right now? I want you to seethe with fury as you watch me double-check everything before we launch." Chaudhari's eyes flicked over to Timm, her expression steely. "We've got thirty minutes before they start the timer on this mission, and I'll be damned if I don't personally make sure we're good to go."

Timm looked at her, first with the same angry glare, then her posture began to relax. As much as she hated to admit it, she understood. She needed to touch everything once, feel the responsiveness herself. That was the only way she trusted the craft to suit her style of flying.

"I'm the same," she admitted to the CAG. "I prefer doing all the checks if I'm going to sit in this seat."

Chaudhari said nothing in acknowledgment, offering a simple nod. She looked over at Timm's PADD and noticed that she was finished. Within fifteen minutes, they both sat satisfied with the condition of the shuttle.

The hatch behind them opened, and Major Rhodes entered. "Hey, just wanted to let you both know that I'll be the OIC on this little joyride. I'll be doing overwatch on Wakizashi." Noticing the higher-ranking woman in the cockpit, her surprised tone laced her question, "CAG, are you flying from here?"

Chaudhari did not turn to acknowledge the major, keeping her eyes on the console. "I'm co-piloting. Timm will be pilot-in-command."

Both officers blinked in surprise. Rhodes paused before speaking, trying to mask the brief flash of uncertainty. "I... see. Well, if you need me, I'll be in hangar two with second platoon." She smiled at Timm before departing. "Good luck, Lieutenant."

Timm felt a rush of mixed emotions as the hatch closed behind Rhodes—pride, anxiety, and determination all fighting for dominance. She tightened her grip on the controls, straightening her back as she focused forward. This was her chance to prove herself, and she wasn't about to let it slip away.

Chaudhari glanced at her from the corner of her eye, her lips curving into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Don't let it go to your head." Then, more seriously, she warned, "I'll be watching everything you do, and the moment you slip, I'll relieve you. Got it?"

Timm nodded, her expression resolute. "Understood."
 
Interesting command style. Pressure cooker. Not what I've ever considered an effective one. But definitely a real command style that I've seen on rare occasion. Interested to see how this plays out. Thanks!! rbs
 
Since reporting aboard, Marcus had only spent three shifts working in the CIC, each one leaving him with a growing sense of anticipation. The CIC was a hub of controlled chaos—officers and technicians constantly adjusting, analyzing, and communicating to manage the ship's tactical operations. For his third duty shift, a much larger crowd had gathered around the tactical table. The air was thick with anticipation—an almost tangible tension—as the viewscreens displayed the marine hangar bays, twin shuttles standing by for launch. The chronometers around the room counted down to sixteen hundred hours, marking the mission's start. Everyone seemed focused, their expressions serious as they prepared for whatever lay ahead.

He exchanged a brief nod with D'Amico, who stood over the two communications technicians in the radio pit. She quickly returned her focus to the activities under her supervision, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

Captain Verde nodded at Marcus as he approached the group of senior officers, his easygoing smile cutting through the tension in the CIC. Leo's relaxed demeanor reassured Marcus, reminding him that, even amid mounting pressure, the captain's presence was a steadying influence. "Ensign," Leo greeted him warmly, his voice carrying a genuine friendliness. "How are you doing?"

Marcus returned the smile, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. "Got about six hours of sleep to be here for the mission start, sir." He kept his tone light.

"Good," Leo said, nodding with appreciation. "I received your write-up and wanted to thank you for the extra effort. It's genuinely appreciated." Marcus could tell the captain meant it—there was real sincerity in his voice.

"My pleasure, sir," Marcus replied earnestly, pride swelling in his chest. "I actually found the analysis interesting. I can see why some people choose to work in the legal field full time." He kept his tone professional, though a hint of enthusiasm slipped through. He wanted Leo to know he took his collateral duties seriously.

Leo chuckled, a glint of humor lighting his eyes. "Some of us get the best of both worlds." He nodded toward the center of the room where the rest of the officers were gathered. "I should get to it. Thanks again." Without waiting for a response, he walked briskly toward M'Rasha, Montgomery, and the others, his expression shifting to the focused intensity of a captain preparing for an important mission.

As Leo moved away, Marcus noticed several of the other officers visibly relax, the tension slowly dissipating. Lieutenant Commander M'Rasha stood at peak alert, her rigid posture and sharp eyes surveying the room, daring anyone to falter under her scrutiny. Her intense gaze made Marcus instinctively straighten his stance, even from across the room. She was always assessing, ensuring everyone performed at their best.

Next to her stood Captain Montgomery, exuding a different kind of authority. Her focused gaze and fluid movements conveyed a quiet confidence, suggesting she could shift from calm observation to decisive action in an instant. She commanded respect effortlessly, and Marcus couldn't help but admire the way she carried herself. He sensed a subtle camaraderie between her and Leo—an unspoken bond that reflected their shared understanding of the stakes.

This was the second time Marcus had seen Leo's ability to cut through anxiety. It made it easier for Marcus to focus on the moment rather than feel overwhelmed by the mission's weight. It became clear to Marcus that Leo's leadership style was built on fostering trust and confidence—qualities that made Marcus increasingly question the validity of Coburn's orders to surveil both the captain and Montgomery. The more Marcus interacted with Leo, the more uneasy he felt about those orders.

He noticed that the only missing officer from the group was the executive officer. Marcus's thoughts drifted to his budding infatuation with T'Rel, wondering if she had the conn on the bridge, four decks above. He could picture her at her station, her calm demeanor unwavering as she directed the ship. Just as the thought settled, a sharp voice cut through his reverie.

"Ensign, I asked for lateral sensor status!" M'Rasha's growl snapped him back to reality, her eyes narrowing as she bore down on him.

Marcus felt a surge of embarrassment as he scrambled to refocus, his face flushing with heat. "Uh, lateral sensors are nominal, sir," he replied, trying to regain his composure. He quickly pulled up the relevant data on his PADD, double-checking to ensure he hadn’t missed anything.

M'Rasha's eyes stayed locked on him, her glare sharp as a laser. "Don't let your head drift, Mister."

Marcus nodded quickly, swallowing hard. "Aye, sir," he replied, forcing himself to push past the embarrassment. He heard muffled snickers from nearby technicians, and he shifted his feet, trying to refocus on the displays. He needed to stay sharp—this was not the time to let his mind wander.

Montgomery, having noticed the exchange, gave Marcus a quick glance—a blend of curiosity and perhaps a hint of understanding. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a reminder of where their focus needed to be—fully present and committed. She turned back to the tactical table, her fingers tapping a command into her console.

Marcus took a deep breath, steadying himself. He couldn't afford another lapse—not when everyone else was keyed up and ready for what was ahead. He glanced at Leo, who was now speaking quietly with Montgomery, their heads bent close together. Leo had trusted him, and Marcus was determined not to let a momentary lapse define his performance going forward.

With renewed focus, Marcus turned his attention to the mission at hand, determined to prove himself worthy of Leo's trust.

USS-Musashi.png

Monty smirked as Marcus received a rebuke from the Caitian officer. She leaned in closer to Leo, her voice barely above a whisper. "Wouldn't want to be that ensign."

Leo kept his expression neutral, aware Marcus could still see him. "It happens. Better now than later," he replied calmly. He glanced at the chronometer on the tactical table—ten seconds left. "Here we go," he added, giving Monty a nod.

"Tetsubo has launched," Marcus announced, his voice steady. On the large viewscreen, hangar one's egress doors opened, and the shuttle appeared to "fall" through the opening. Moments later, Wakizashi followed, and Marcus echoed the announcement. The log updated with the launch times for both shuttles, and the mission clock began ticking forward.

The activity around the tactical table quieted as there was nothing left to do but wait. It wasn't until Lieutenant Colonel Teme Sh'vaares entered the CIC, having personally seen off the launches of both platoons, that the atmosphere shifted, and voices began to fill the space again.

Sh'vaares moved with a commanding presence, her antennae subtly twitching, indicating her alertness. She approached Leo with a measured step, her posture straight and eyes focused.

"How did they look?" Leo asked.

"Ready, sir," Sh'vaares replied, her voice carrying a disciplined edge. Her antennae angled slightly forward, conveying a sense of attentiveness and determination.

Leo nodded in approval. "Good. Let's brief the junior officers on Crash Cart." He stepped back slightly and gestured, "The floor is yours, Colonel."

"Aye, aye, sir." Sh'vaares gave a crisp nod, her piercing blue eyes scanning the assembled junior officers. She turned to Lieutenant Commander M'Rasha and gestured to the tactical display. "Commander, if you would please bring up the mission visuals? We'll walk through this step by step."

M'Rasha nodded, her hands moving over her console with precision, and the large central viewscreen flickered, displaying a tactical overview of the T'Niir Expanse. The display highlighted Tetsubo and Wakizashi's projected flight paths, the pre-arranged pickup site, and key tactical points.

"Listen up," Sh'vaares began, her tone firm but clear. She nodded upward toward the large chronometer counting each second elapsed. "That mission clock is running on OpPlan Crash Cart. This is an emergency exfiltration response for an operative whose cover has been compromised. It's a two-shuttle deployment with two platoons of force recon marines." She pointed to the screen as the route of Tetsubo lit up. "First platoon is aboard Tetsubo, which will land on the pre-arranged pickup site codenamed Tavern. They will exfil the operative, execute an expedient dust-off, and return to base."

She gestured to the Wakizashi's highlighted path. "Wakizashi is tasked with overwatch and comms, carrying second platoon along with Major Rhodes, the marine OIC. They'll provide intel on-location, act as a relay to ensure operational security, and in the worst-case scenario, move in with reinforcements if Tetsubo encounters an overwhelming OpFor, or is neutralized."

Sh'vaares paused, her gaze locking onto each officer; her antennae reflecting her alert focus. "Force recon marines are the best we have for an exfiltration under fire. Their training is specialized for rapid deployment, close-quarters combat, and extraction under pressure. I’ve personally confirmed their skills during training exercises, and I can assure you—they’re ready for this. But our job is to ensure they get every advantage we can provide from here."

M'Rasha switched the viewscreen to show a detailed map of the extraction site, with key points marked for ingress and egress. Sh'vaares continued, her expression intense. "We have eight hours on the mission clock—three hours to travel, two hours on-site, and three hours to return. We are running under strict timing, and deviations must be kept to a minimum. There are ten Variations—Alpha through Kappa—that the teams are prepared for." She nodded at M'Rasha, who brought up a list of the Variations on a side panel. "Any change in the plan will be communicated with a codeword, such as 'Beta Beta Beta,' transmitted in the clear. This is so everyone knows how to react immediately."

Her expression softened slightly, though her voice remained firm. "I want complete focus from each of you. We lead by example, and we don't leave anyone behind. Understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, sir" echoed through the CIC, the junior officers straightening their postures in response to her words.

Leo watched, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Sh'vaares had a way of instilling both confidence and discipline, a balance he deeply respected. He caught Marcus's eye and gave him an encouraging nod, silently reminding him to stay sharp and absorb everything he could from the experienced marine officer.

Sh'vaares turned back to Leo. "Anything to add, sir?"

Leo shook his head. "No, thank you, Colonel. Well done."

With that, Sh'vaares returned her attention to the tactical table, her presence commanding respect from everyone in the room. M'Rasha adjusted the display to the live tracking of the shuttles, and the CIC settled back into a steady hum of activity. The mission was underway, and every officer knew their part in ensuring its success.
 
Chapter Seven: Chaos and Opportunity

NCC-3347/M01 (Shuttle Tetsubo)
Approaching Buggy Two DZ
Stardate 4413.17 (Wednesday, April 25, 2323)
Cockpit

"Gunny, you hearing anything?" Chaudhari asked as she frowned deeply, forming creases on her forehead. She turned towards the auxiliary station behind her on the starboard side. Her gaze fixed on Gunny Alston and the Rigelian marine corporal, the platoon's communications technician, whose naturally pale grayish-black skin seemed almost sallow under the dim cockpit lights.

The corporal glanced up at the gunny with a quick headshake, and Alston relayed the response with a grim look. "No, CAG. All quiet so far."

Chaudhari clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing as she turned back to her console. The silence was unnerving, each minute that ticked by without a word from the operative fraying her patience. They had received the operative's follow-up message just over twenty minutes before arriving in-system, confirming the mission was still progressing under the same Variation. Tetsubo had updated Wakizashi and Musashi, but the operative had missed both the first and second check-ins—ten and five minutes ago, respectively.

"It's possible they're still under pursuit," Chaudhari said, her voice barely above a murmur, as if speaking louder would somehow tip the balance against them. "Transmitting would give away their position." Her eyes flicked towards the comms panel, the blinking lights offering no comfort. "That's why we're tight-beaming back to base, isn't it?"

"Now approaching the geosync coordinates for drop," Timm announced, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere, the hint of determination in her tone breaking the spell of silence. Her eyes were locked on the readouts, her fingers poised over the controls with the confidence that only came from countless hours in the cockpit. "Yellow light."

"Roger that," Alston replied. She pushed herself up from her seat, her armor creaking slightly as she moved. Her eyes met Chaudhari's for a brief moment, a silent exchange of understanding passing between them. Before the hatch closed behind her, she called out, her voice echoing in the corridor beyond, "Yellow light! Helmets on! Do your checks!"

The hatch sealed with a soft thud, and Chaudhari let out a slow breath, her fingers gripping the edge of her console until her knuckles turned white. She turned to Timm, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination. "Let's hope Buggy Two's as secure as intel says it is."

Timm nodded, her jaw set, a flicker of resolve in her blue eyes. "We'll get them out." She glanced towards the viewport, the asteroid slowly coming into view—a dark, foreboding mass against the starry backdrop.

USS-Musashi.png

"I was wondering when you would call me," said Chief Yeoman (YNC) Lara Zenn, her voice carrying an amused lilt. Her light brown hair framed her naturally tanned face as she appeared on Leo's desktop screen within his ready room. From her desk within the JAG complex on Starbase 8, he could see the gentle airflow pushed her light brown bangs to the side, giving her a slightly disheveled, yet familiar look.

Leo sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry I waited this long. But, I suppose I'm just that predictable."

Lara smirked, her eyes twinkling. "Only to someone who's spent years putting up with you."

He couldn't help but smile at her retort. "Then I suppose you already know what I'm about to ask."

She nodded, clearly amused. "Yes, of course. And, I'm already packed."

He blinked, genuinely surprised. "Wait—really? I mean, Jan gave me permission to invite you, but did she—"

"She didn't say a word to me," Lara interrupted, her grin widening. "Just knew you'd call. Lucky you."

Leo shook his head, a mix of admiration and exasperation on his face. "I'm thrilled. You're sure you're okay with this? Serving on a starship full time is pretty different from working in the office or looking after field investigations."

Her expression turned reflective, her voice softening. "I'll admit it's not what I signed up for when I followed Jan into Starfleet. But honestly, the best times I've had since putting on this uniform were when I was working alongside you on field investigations. I think, at some point over the course of the last three years, Jan realized I wasn't exactly tied to her anymore."

Leo paused, remembering his recent conversation with his former commanding officer. She had mentioned how his departure had affected Lara's mood, how much she had grown attached to working with him. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of pulling her away from someone else she was close to.

"I feel bad about that," Leo said, his voice softening. "I know you were really close to her."

Lara shrugged lightly, her gaze unwavering. "We're still close. But sometimes a change of scenery is exactly what you need. Besides, you always kept things interesting."

Leo's tone grew serious. "Right, but again, and not to belabor the point, this is a big change. JAGMANs were one thing—just a couple of weeks away from home. This is a full tour of duty. Are you absolutely sure you're up for it?"

"I re-upped in January," she announced plainly with her typical steady gaze. Off his nonplussed reaction, she explained, "With the intention of seeking a transfer to Musashi. I'd already told Jan once you'd left the starbase for Mars."

Leo's expression softened at her admission, and for a moment, the professional veneer faded, replaced by the genuine bond they shared. Before he left, she informed him that retirement from Starfleet remained under heavy consideration. The extension of her enlistment signaled a strong message that he understood, immediately.

He let out a breath, shaking his head with a smile. "You really are something. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Lara's playful grin returned. With her eyes filled with warmth, she said in a tone tinged with amusement, "I'm guessing you're still stumped, since we're having this conversation. Can't wait to find out how many poor yeomen you burned through before you finally reached out."

He blushed as he chuckled, a sense of reassurance settling over him. "Alright then. Since you're already packed, I suppose I'll see you aboard Musashi."

"Looking forward to it," Lara said, her voice softening, her smile genuine. "I'll catch the next transport out to Starbase 32 on VOCO. Send over the PCS?" she said, referring to acronyms that stood in for the term Verbal Order Commanding Officer and Permanent Change of Station.

"As soon as we're done." Leo promised, letting his words hang in the air before giving her a warm smile in return. "See you, Lara."

"Not if I see you first."
 
Marcus let out a long sigh as he finally stepped out of the CIC. The stress from his shift still clung to him, and he didn't want to go back to his shared junior officer cabin, not wanting to risk waking his cabin-mate, Ensign J. Samuel Ollyton. The man's nickname "Jolly" turned out to be ironic—he was anything but cheerful, and Marcus didn't envy the subordinate NCOs who had to deal with him. Jolly's perpetual sour mood was the last thing Marcus needed tonight.

Instead, Marcus opted to head to the wardroom for a late meal. Maybe Gabbie or D'Amico would be there, and he could enjoy a bit of camaraderie before turning in for the night—some light conversation to unwind from the demands of CIC.

Barely three days aboard Musashi, and routine came to him easy; it felt as though he were home. Life aboard Belknap had never felt like this—there, the sense of "found family" had been weak, dampened by the cold nature of most of the senior officers. The difference made Marcus realize just how fragile a crew's morale could be, how much the atmosphere aboard depended on the people at the top.

To his disappointment, the wardroom was surprisingly deserted. Even the stewards were nowhere to be seen, and some lights had been left off, giving the room a dim, closed feel. Marcus took a few steps in, eyeing the space. He considered setting his PADD upon a table and retrieving a cup of tepid tea from a carafe. However, the thought of sitting alone in the darkened wardroom made his shoulders slump. With the ship operating at a higher level of readiness, two-thirds of the crew remained on duty and like the rest retired until their next duty shifts.

He turned back, thinking about heading to the ship's lounge on deck eleven instead. He wanted to be amongst others. Just as he moved toward the hatch, it opened, and the ship's executive officer entered.

"Good morning, Ensign," T'Rel said, her hands placed at the small of her back, her posture as impeccably straight as ever. "Computer, raise illumination to full."

The lights brightened, and Marcus's mood lifted with them, the sudden warmth of light making the space feel less empty. "Good morning, sir," he replied, smiling, his heart beating a little faster at her personal greeting. He quickly admonished himself for acting like a teenager with a crush and dropped his smile, trying to adopt a more neutral expression.

T'Rel's sharp eyes caught his change in demeanor, her head tilting slightly. "Is something amiss?" she asked, her tone even but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

"Uh, no, sir. Just here for a bite to eat before retiring until my next shift," Marcus replied, feeling a slight flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, her gaze steady. "You had the duty in CIC, as I recall."

"Yes, sir," Marcus confirmed, watching as she moved to a table and sat down with an elegance that seemed effortless. He remained standing, unsure of what to do next—was it proper to stay, or should he excuse himself?

T'Rel noticed his hesitation, her gaze shifting back to him. She gestured to the seat across from her. "If you are amenable, you may join me as I also take my meal before meditation. If you would prefer solitude, I shall respect that, of course."

"Oh, no, sir!" Marcus practically leaped at the opportunity, his voice coming out a little too enthusiastic. He cleared his throat, trying to dial it back. "Thank you for the kind invitation." He quickly pulled out the chair opposite her and set his PADD on the table to claim his spot; his movements a little rushed.

She watched him, her expression as composed as always, though Marcus thought he detected a glimmer of something—amusement, perhaps—in her eyes. He wasn't sure, and he wasn't about to ask. Instead, he focused on the table with as much dignity as he could muster, hoping he hadn't made a complete fool of himself.

As he did so, T'Rel placed an order with the servitor, her voice calm and deliberate as she selected a traditional Vulcan vegetarian dish called pok tar. Marcus quickly followed suit, opting for something light—vegetable minestrone soup. He couldn't help but steal a few glances at her, noting the way her sharp features seemed softened under the wardroom lights. There was a serenity to her that Marcus found both intimidating and oddly comforting.

She regarded him thoughtfully as they waited for their meals. "You have adjusted well to your duties in CIC, Ensign. I have received favorable reports regarding your performance. Captain Verde has also expressed satisfaction with your work as the ship's legal officer."

Marcus blinked, momentarily surprised. He straightened in his seat, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. "Thank you, sir. I—I'm trying my best to learn quickly. There's a lot to take in, but the crew has been very supportive."

"Indeed," T'Rel said, her gaze steady on him. "Adaptability is a crucial trait for an officer, especially aboard a vessel such as Musashi. The demands placed upon this crew are considerable, and it is imperative that we rise to meet them." She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if assessing him. "You appear to possess a willingness to improve, which is commendable."

Marcus felt his face heat up again, but this time it was from the praise. He nodded, trying to maintain his composure. "I appreciate that, sir. I'm committed to doing whatever is needed." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I want to be someone the crew can rely on."

T'Rel's expression softened almost imperceptibly, her eyes studying him. "Reliability is not merely a matter of intention, Ensign. It is a matter of action—of consistently demonstrating your capability, regardless of circumstance." She inclined her head slightly. "So far, you are on the correct path."

Marcus felt a weight lift from his shoulders, the tension he'd carried since leaving CIC easing. He offered a small smile, genuine this time. "Thank you, sir. That means a lot." He couldn't help but think back to the orders from Coburn, the expectation to observe and report on his superiors. The more he interacted with T'Rel and Captain Verde, the more he felt the dissonance between those orders and what he saw firsthand. These were good officers—ones he wanted to learn from, not undermine.

The servitor chimed, and their meals appeared in the pickup slot, straight from the ship's galley. Marcus retrieved both trays, setting T'Rel's in front of her before taking his own. She nodded in acknowledgment, her eyes meeting his again, and for a moment, Marcus thought he saw a hint of warmth there.

"Eat well, Ensign," she said, her tone almost conversational. "There is much work ahead, and we must all be prepared for whatever may come."

Marcus took a breath, deciding to push himself just a little further. "Sir, if I may ask... I've always been curious about Vulcan meditation techniques. Do you find it helpful after a long shift?"

T'Rel's brow arched slightly, her expression thoughtful. "Meditation is an essential practice for Vulcans. It allows us to maintain emotional control and mental clarity. After a taxing duty shift, it is beneficial. I would recommend a similar practice for any officer, regardless of species. Mental discipline is advantageous in maintaining focus."

He nodded, fascinated. "I've tried a few basic breathing exercises, but I don't think I'm very good at it yet." He hesitated, then added, "Do you think... would it be appropriate for me to ask you about it, sir? I mean, if it could help me improve."

She studied him for a moment, her gaze unwavering. "Self-improvement is always a commendable pursuit, Ensign. Should you wish to learn more, I would suggest starting with structured breathing exercises and progressive relaxation techniques. There are resources available in the ship's database. However, I could provide guidance, should you require."

His eyes widened slightly, both surprised and grateful. "Thank you, sir. I'd appreciate any help you could offer."

She inclined her head. "Very well. We shall arrange a suitable time for such instruction."

Marcus couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, the sense of connection making him feel more at ease. He was careful not to let his infatuation show, but he couldn't deny the admiration he felt for T'Rel. She was everything he aspired to be as an officer—disciplined, composed, and competent.

"For now, Ensign," T'Rel added, her voice regaining its formal edge, "focus on your current duties. There is much to learn, and every moment offers an opportunity to refine your abilities."

"Yes, sir," He replied earnestly. "I'll do my best."

They began eating, and for a few minutes, there was silence between them, the only sound the quiet clinking of utensils. Marcus found that the quiet wasn't uncomfortable—rather, it was almost meditative in itself, a chance to reflect. He still had a long way to go, but moments like this made him feel like he was on the right track.
 
Five minutes after the platoon descended to the surface of the asteroid to enter the OSI safehouse embedded within, Timm felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her eyes snapped up to the viewport showing the immediate space in front of the shuttle. She swept her view from starboard, then port. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a shimmering effect as it passed over an asteroid in the distance on the port side.

"There's something out there," she said. Her tense tone underscored her focus on the shimmer in front.

Chaudhari pulled up the sensor scans and frowned, her brow wrinkling. "Nothing on sensors," she replied, her timbre laced with doubtfulness, though the tension in her posture belied her lack of concern.

Timm's instincts flared, her gut screaming that danger was imminent. "Hold on!" she shouted, giving only a split-second warning before performing a military thrust with the impulse engines; the reaction control thrusters firing to send them into an evasive turn. The shuttle dove closer to the surface, and she pulled the nose sharply to starboard. As Chaudhari demanded an explanation, the shimmering effect grew more unstable until a green hull solidified—a massive Orion-designed cruiser decloaked, its hulking form taking shape on her screen.

Chaudhari's eyes widened, her expression momentarily betraying her shock before she composed herself. "Holy shit! Contact port!" she called out, her voice sharp with urgency, her body leaning forward, tense and ready for action.

A green beam of plasma fire lanced past their position, the cruiser opening fire without any communication.

"Raising shields!" Chaudhari announced, her fingers flying over her console. The shield generators drew more power as the familiar blue shimmer briefly visible before disappearing. She knew with the shields up, the platoon could not return, but if they didn't protect themselves, the marines would have no shuttle to return to.

Timm carried out her role as pilot-in-command with complete authority, her hands moving over the controls with the precision of an artist, each movement decisive as she worked to stay ahead of the attack. The shuttle twisted and dipped, dodging the relentless onslaught from the Orion ship.

"They're not giving up," Chaudhari muttered, her eyes glued to the sensor readout now lighting up with the unmistakable energy signature of the Orion vessel. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her expression hardening.

"No [CENSORED]," Timm shot back, her voice taut with concentration, her knuckles tightening on the controls. "Let's hope first platoon is ready for a quick extraction."

The shuttle shuddered as it narrowly avoided another shot, and Timm banked sharply to the right, pushing the shuttle to its limits. She could feel the thrumming of the engines through the deck plates, every vibration a reminder of just how close they were skating to disaster. Her heart pounded, her breath measured as she focused on keeping them alive.

"Powering weapons," Chaudhari said, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her tension. "Returning fire. Let's see if we can keep them off our backs." She glanced at Timm, a glint of determination in her gaze.

Timm nodded, her fingers dancing over the weapons controls. The shuttle's phaser arrays lit up, reddish-orange energy dancing out toward the Orion cruiser. The beams struck the enemy ship's shields, the bright flashes of energy barely making a dent but forcing the cruiser to adjust its approach.

"How's our plan for extraction looking?" Chaudhari asked, her voice even, though her eyes reflected the urgency of the situation.

"Little busy at the moment," Timm replied, her hands moving swiftly, her eyes never leaving the viewport. She glanced at the chronometer, mentally calculating the time until the platoon would be ready. Every second felt like an eternity, her nerves stretched taut.

"Come on, come on," the lieutenant muttered under her breath, weaving the shuttle through the asteroid field, using the rocky terrain as cover. The cruiser loomed behind them, its weapons lighting up the darkness of space with each shot. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her muscles tense with the effort of maintaining control.

Suddenly, a warning flashed across her console. "They're firing at the asteroids!" Chaudhari yelled. The Orion cruiser had shifted tactics, aiming to destabilize the rocky cover she was using. A volley of torpedoes streaked toward the larger asteroids, impacting with violent explosions that sent massive chunks of debris hurtling through space.

Timm's breath came in controlled bursts, her eyes darting across the controls and the chaotic void beyond the viewport. She felt Chaudhari's gaze on her, not judging but watching with a keen attentiveness, almost as if taking mental notes of her every maneuver. It wasn't distrust, Timm knew that much—it was vigilance of the same kind as before.

The proximity alarm blared as debris from the exploding asteroids filled their path. Timm twisted the shuttle's trajectory deftly, dipping below a chunk of rock the size of a starship, her muscles taut as she pushed the shuttle's agility to its limits. She gritted her teeth, the adrenaline driving her focus. She could hear Chaudhari's breath catch in a sharp intake, her fingers tightening around the edge of her console.

"Nice!" Chaudhari breathed out excitedly, her tone lighter, an attempt to cut through the tension. Timm could see the corner of the CAG's lips quirk up, a slight nod of approval in her direction.

Timm did not say anything in response, continuing to add course corrections to keep the shuttle bounding around to vex the cruiser's gunners. She felt the weight of Chaudhari's smirking approval, a subtle reminder that she wasn't alone in this fight.

The shuttle shuddered violently as a plasma bolt struck their shields directly. Timm fought the controls, her jaw clenched as she kept the shuttle steady. Chaudhari's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation, her fingers poised over her console, ready for whatever came next.

"Go Kappa?" Chaudhari asked, her voice carrying a weight of concern, her eyes flicking between the sensors and Timm. Within the Crash Cart plan, Variation Kappa signaled overwhelming opposition forces that resulted in the shuttle retreating from the system with marines still deployed.

"Not yet," Timm replied, her tone resolute, her gaze fixed ahead. She pushed the shuttle harder, her focus unwavering. "I'm not abandoning our people down there."

Another hit rocked the shuttle, the shields flickering as they absorbed the impact. Timm's hands moved with determination, her eyes locked on the path ahead. The cruiser maintained its hunting path, but Timm was not ready to give up—not while there was still a chance to get their platoon and the operative out safely.

Chaudhari nodded, her eyes meeting Timm's with a fierce intensity. "Then let's make sure we give them that chance."

Timm's frustration boiled over, and she let out a burst of anger. "How the hell did these [CENSORED] find us?!" she snarled, her voice raw with tension and defiance.

Another volley of torpedoes detonated nearby, shaking the shuttle and sending a fresh wave of debris into their path. Timm narrowed her eyes, her focus razor-sharp as she maneuvered around the tumbling asteroids. Every movement felt like a dance—one wrong step and it would be over. But she wouldn't allow that. Not while her team depended on her.

Seeing another set of torpedoes tracking their path, Timm made a split-second decision. She twisted the shuttle's trajectory sharply, angling toward a newly floated asteroid chunk—one of the larger ones blown apart by the Orion's earlier barrage. Her fingers moved swiftly over the controls, using the asteroid as a makeshift shield, letting it absorb the brunt of the torpedo impacts. The shuttle vibrated violently, but the maneuver worked—the asteroid took the hit, and they were spared the worst of the blast.

With the cruiser pursuing them, Timm noticed that its position was well away from the no-longer-safe safehouse coordinates. As Chaudhari kept firing phasers at their enemy, Timm aimed the nose at a more distant target and burned at full impulse power.

The young pilot's fingers danced across the console as she tracked both ships' positions. "Hold on to something, sir."

Chaudhari's tone turned nervous. "What do you mean?"

"Don't worry about it. Keep firing as long as you can," Timm said as the cruiser kept up with the plasma beams, but opted not to bother with torpedoes any longer, likely because of the apparent skill on demonstration.

When the shuttle finally made it to the target asteroid, Timm thrusted behind and out of view. Once she did, she began to field-saturate the drive coils. "Okay, I'm going to do a little hop, here."

"'Hop? What? What hop? No hopping, whatever that is," Chaudhari said in alarm, her brow furrowed in disbelief.

"I'm going to get us as close to cee as possible without going over the limit," Timm explained. "We'll technically be in subspace for less than a second, but if my calculations are correct, it should put us near the safehouse, while the cruiser is way the hell over here looking for us."

"They'll see the warp signature, though!"

"No, they'll assume we bugged out. When a shuttle goes to warp, it's not to hang around, usually."

Chaudhari sighed heavily, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Timm. "You're in command," she said with resignation, her voice betraying both concern and a reluctant trust.

"Warp coil saturation complete," Timm announced, her voice carrying a note of determination. "That should fool them into thinking we bugged out at a higher warp velocity."

"How do you know this?"

"My minor was in propulsion systems at the Academy," Timm replied matter-of-factly. "In case I had to rebuild an engine because I ditched on a planet or something."

Chaudhari blinked, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. "What?"

Timm shrugged, her eyes still focused on the controls. "It's one of my nightmares, being stranded on a random planet forever." She then returned her attention to the matter at hand, her fingers poised over the controls, waiting to enter the command. "Okay, hang on to your [CENSORED], sir. Here goes nothing!" She brought them down against the control surface as she spoke the last word.

Tetsubo leaped into subspace.
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.

Similar threads

McCovey Cove
Star Trek: First Duty (PC #5) - "A Work in Progress" (COMPLETED)
Replies
2
Views
559
Robert Bruce Scott
Robert Bruce Scott
McCovey Cove
Star Trek: First Duty (PC) - "Reserved for Those Willing" (COMPLETED)
Replies
4
Views
535
Robert Bruce Scott
Robert Bruce Scott
McCovey Cove
Star Trek: First Duty (PC #2) - "Your Service Honors Us" (COMPLETED)
Replies
2
Views
486
McCovey Cove
McCovey Cove
McCovey Cove
Star Trek: First Duty (PC #4) - "Strength from the Shadows" (COMPLETED)
Replies
2
Views
548
McCovey Cove
McCovey Cove
McCovey Cove
Star Trek: First Duty (PC #3) - "The Razor's Edge" (COMPLETED)
Replies
0
Views
321
McCovey Cove
McCovey Cove
If you are not already a member then please register an account and join in the discussion!

Sign up / Register


Back
Top