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

[McCovey Cove]

"Weapons fire? What kind of weapons fire?" Leo's voice carried a lancinate edge within the CIC, as he listened to the urgent message from Wakizashi. His eyes, usually calm, now narrowed with a mix of concern and determination.

On the viewscreen, Major Rhodes' dark brown eyes cast downward toward her PADD as she read from the sensor report. In a tone both clipped and grim, she replied, "Sensors report plasma and phaser-based weapons, Captain. The computer's silhouette analysis points to an Orion cruiser, though we can't confirm if it's a Syndicate-flagged vessel."

Leo's gaze sharpened as he leaned forward. He kept his tone low in asking, "Status of Tetsubo?"

"Uncertain, sir." Rhodes' lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flicking over the data, frustration bubbling beneath her composed demeanor. "We saw her pulling some impressive evasive maneuvers—damn good flying. She used an asteroid in the group for cover, then we detected a warp signature consistent with a shuttle of her size shortly after."

Leo frowned, his brows knitting together as his thoughts raced. He took a deep breath, worry creeping into his voice despite his efforts to stay composed. "Did they leave the marines on the asteroid? Did they declare Variation Kappa?"

"It's possible that we did not receive word; they were using tightbeam protocol per mission parameters." Rhodes paused, her gaze darting back to the console, her fingers working over the controls as she tried to glean more information. "We're still holding at Bravo, trying to piece together the situation. No contact from Tetsubo yet." She hesitated, then added with conviction, "The team here is ready to provide backup at your command, Captain."

Leo pursed his lips, considering the risks. His eyes shifted to Commander M'Rasha, the Caitian's ears perked forward, her intense focus unwavering. "Even with a second shuttle, an Orion cruiser would shred your defenses." He sighed, his voice taking on a somber weight. "M'Rasha, at maximum warp, how long to reach the expanse?"

M'Rasha's claws subtly extended as her fingers danced over her console, her tail flicking in irritation. She responded quickly, her voice smooth but carrying an underlying growl. "Ninety-seven minutes, Captain."

Rhodes let out a heavy sigh, her frustration breaking through her otherwise disciplined demeanor. "Not soon enough," she muttered, her jaw clenched as she looked back at the console, her fingers tightening around its edges.

Leo drew in a slow, steadying breath. He could feel the tension in the CIC—every officer in the room waiting, hoping for decisive action. He forced his voice to remain calm, projecting a confidence that, deep down, he struggled to feel. "Bridge, this is the Captain. Plot a course for Buggy Two's coordinates and engage at maximum warp."

Lieutenant Commander Niu's voice replied, "Sir, Buggy Two is in Sector One-Niner-Four. That's outside our AO." Her tone was cautious, an implicit reminder of protocol. Leo could almost picture Niu's furrowed brow, the weight of Admiral Saavik's orders tugging at her every word.

"Thank you for the reminder, Commander," Leo replied, his voice carrying a genuine warmth that reassured. He paused for a beat, then his expression hardened, and his tone turned steely, resonating within the spacious compartment. "We have shipmates under attack, and we're going to get their backs. My order stands."

There was a moment of silence before Niu responded, her voice turning resolute. "Aye, sir." Leo could sense her shift—the reluctance giving way to determination. She addressed the helm with crisp authority. "Helm, set course to approach Buggy Two, engage at warp fourteen."

On the tactical plot, Musashi pivoted smoothly, moving slowly to allow quick steerage so they aligned with the new trajectory. The display flickered as the ship surged forward, the line of their path extending, curving slightly before it shot straight into the vast darkness. The urgency of the moment was palpable, the CIC holding its collective breath as the vessel responded to Leo's command with precision and speed.

"Captain, our ETA is approximately ninety-five minutes," Niu said over the intercom, her voice now calm and precise, carrying the weight of responsibility. The whistle from the intercom on the bridge sounded in the distance. "And there's the predictable call from Commander O'Brien."

Leo nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Thank you, Commander. If Callum has a problem, he can bring it directly to me."

End of Chapter Seven

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

I don't think I've seen that part before... Looking forward to the next chapter. Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

I don't think I've seen that part before... Looking forward to the next chapter. Thanks!! rbs

This is new stuff

 

[McCovey Cove]

Chapter Eight: Stupid Haste is Preferable

NCC-3347/M01 (Shuttle Tetsubo)
In orbit of Buggy Two
Stardate 4413.39 (Thursday, April 26, 2323)
Cockpit

After the successful maneuver, Timm guided the shuttle back into orbit around the asteroid designated as Buggy Two. The tension in the cockpit was palpable, each breath a reminder of how close they were to danger. With communications range reestablished, the first platoon checked in, reporting successful contact with Baker-Four.

"We'll be over your position in fifty seconds," Commander Chaudhari informed the Gunny on the surface, her voice crisp but underlined with urgency. "Stand by for pickup and dustoff."

Alston's voice crackled over the transmission. "Roger that. Standing by."

"Condition of the package?" Chaudhari asked, her eyes glued to the console.

"Package is a bit roughed up but otherwise okay. Requesting return to base for a full check-up," Alston replied, his voice carrying the weight of the harsh conditions on the asteroid.

"Understood. Twenty seconds." Chaudhari began counting down, her eyes briefly flicking to Timm. They both knew this had to be quick—every second counted. "Go, go, go!" she commanded.

On the rear visual pickup, the suited marines and a figure in a distinctively different-looking EVA suit scrambled into the shuttle's open hatch. Dust and debris swirled around them, adding a sense of chaos to the tense moments.

"All aboard!" Alston called, his voice now clearer, urgency replaced by a sense of relief.

"Hatch closing," Timm confirmed, her fingers moving swiftly over the controls. "Shields up! Dusting off!" She initiated a full impulse burn, the shuttle lifting with a shudder as debris erupted from the asteroid's surface. Once clear, Timm quickly plotted a course back to waypoint Bravo. She said to Chaudhari. "Signal Wakizashi—"

Her words cut off as the shuttle rocked violently under enemy fire. Alerts blared, the red lights flashing against the tight confines of the cockpit. Timm’s heart pounded as the shields absorbed some of the energy, but plasma still leaked through. She twisted the shuttle's course, fighting to evade the relentless fire, but a direct hit struck the port nacelle.

"Warp drive's down!" Chaudhari shouted over the chaos, gripping her console for support. "You got it?!"

"I got it!" Timm barked back, her hands moving with precision, the muscles in her arms taut as she fought the controls. The Orion cruiser’s volleys were unremitting, the explosions reverberating through the shuttle’s frame, each one closer than the last.

Timm's eyes narrowed as she made a split-second decision. "All right, let's see if they can handle this." Her voice was calm, almost unnervingly so, as she entered a new course correction and pushed the remaining thrust to maximum.

Chaudhari's eyes widened, panic flashing across her face as Timm turned the shuttle toward the enemy cruiser. "What are you doing?!"

The cruiser loomed large in the cockpit viewport, growing rapidly closer, its dark, menacing hull filling their vision. It continued firing as Timm bobbed and weaved.

"We can't escape, we can't evade…" Timm replied, her voice steady despite the tension radiating through the cabin. "Just going with some unorthodox tactics. Trust me."

Chaudhari swallowed hard, her knuckles white against the console. "It’s incredibly important we don’t kill the operative we just rescued!"

"Agreed." Timm’s focus remained locked on the enemy's shield readings, her eyes flicking between the displays. "I need a point-seven-five phaser burst in fifteen seconds! Aim it right in front of us to strike their shields! Fire them as soon as I fire torpedoes!"

Chaudhari grumbled, her fingers moving over her console to set up the phaser firing pattern. "Why am I doing this?"

"Because Orion shield frequencies rotate—" Timm shot back, her tone edged with a mix of adrenaline and frustration.

The CAG picked up on the thought immediately. "—based on variable amplitude! Brilliant!"

Timm finished her preparations and announced, "Firing torpedoes!"

"Firing phasers! Time on target!" Chaudhari called out once the torpedoes sped into view. Her taut voice matched her widened eyes as the sustained burst struck the cruiser’s shields just as the shuttle closed in. She braced herself and clenched her eyes shut. Her breath caught in her throat, the thought that Timm's plan might go horribly wrong overtaking her in that moment before impact—but felt only a minor jolt as they breached the cruiser's shield perimeter.

Chaudhari cracked one eye open, then the other. The cruiser was gone, the shuttle intact. She blinked, her voice incredulous. She opened both eyes and saw nothing but stars. "Okay, I thought you were going to punch through to do damage… not pull a magic trick. What the hell happened?"

Timm allowed herself a small grin, her eyes glued to the console, her fingers dancing across the controls as she absorbed the readings. Adrenaline still surged through her veins, the cockpit's red lighting casting an urgent, almost surreal glow over everything. "We slipped through their shields. Your phaser burst forced them to increase their shield power amplitude." Her tone prompted the CAG to fill in the rest.

Chaudhari's eyes narrowed as she worked it out. "Right, the torpedo impact forced them to adjust the amplitude again—higher, to compensate. And the phase variance you matched with the burst…"

"... created a temporary electromagnetic interference pattern," Timm finished, her voice still steady as she explained. "It reduced the integrity of their shield harmonics for a brief window. We hit it at just the right moment—slipped right through before they could recalibrate."

Chaudhari exhaled slowly, the tension visibly unwinding from her body. She shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. "Bloody hell." She turned her head, her eyes narrowing at Timm. "You're the craziest [CENSORED] pilot I've ever flown with."

Without looking up from the console, Timm's eyes showed a glint of confidence and exhaustion. "Yeah, well, crazy only works if it gets us home." Her focus shifted, scanning the sensor readings, her grin fading as her brow furrowed. "But, uh... we’re not out of this yet."

Chaudhari's relief vanished, her expression hardening. "What do you mean?"

Timm nodded toward the viewport, her attention still on the instruments. "Look outside, sir. Are the stars moving?"

Chaudhari leaned forward, squinting through the viewport. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the stars were indeed moving—but with the shuttle's speed at zero, it seemed wrong to see them in motion. They drifted slowly, unnervingly close, as if something had tethered them. "Why...? How...?"

Timm finally turned her head, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. "Got the idea from an old film. We're maglocked to the ventral side of the enemy's hull." She paused, watching Chaudhari's expression transform from confusion to disbelief.

"Attached to their hull?" Chaudhari echoed, incredulity giving way to frustration. "Are you serious? They could detect us any second—"

"They could," Timm acknowledged, her voice calm, though her eyes betrayed the awareness of the danger. "But they won’t be looking for us here. Not after the stunt we just pulled. I fired a full spread. The interference pattern was so big, they probably think we disintegrated." Her hands moved deftly over the controls, running diagnostics with sharp precision.

Chaudhari stared at her, caught between admiration and disbelief. Her pulse quickened, and she clenched her jaw, taking a long moment before speaking. "You better be right about this. This isn't exactly Starfleet protocol."

Timm met her gaze, her voice steady. "Protocol would have gotten us killed." The low hum of the enemy ship reverberated through the hull, a constant reminder of just how close they were to disaster. Every passing second was a fragile, borrowed moment. Chaudhari leaned back, her breath catching in her throat, her eyes flicking between the console and the viewport, watching for any hint that the Orions had detected their precarious position.

"All right," Chaudhari said at last, her voice a mixture of resignation and reluctant acceptance. "What's the next step?"

"We can't call for help, it'll give our position away. So, I'll start the repairs," Timm replied, her fingers never stopping their work. "We’ve got a nacelle to bring back online if we want to get home."

Chaudhari's gaze softened, a flicker of appreciation breaking through her stern demeanor. In the chaos, she had almost forgotten about the damaged nacelle. She gave Timm a firm nod, her voice tinged with a hint of reluctant admiration. "Fair point, Lieutenant 'I-Minored-In-Engineering.' Get to work."

Timm turned, finally breaking her focus from the console as she accessed a side panel and pulled out a set of repair tools. "Aye, sir," she said, her tone carrying a weight of commitment that matched her determination. It was the first time Chaudhari had heard Timm use the proper response to her order.

Chaudhari added, a rare smile tugging at her lips, "And for what it’s worth... you're an amazing pilot. But let’s not make a habit of this."

Timm nodded, her expression a mix of resolve and weariness. As she moved through to access the rear compartment, she threw a look over her shoulder, a hint of her wry humor returning. "Let's land this bird home, first," she gestured toward their surroundings as she spoke to punctuate her point.

The CAG turned back to face her console. She took another look outside and let out a sigh before she replied, "Roger that."

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Very fun piloting passage. Hail Mary...

Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

Proud to show off the updated cover art for this story! I thin it looks far better than what I had before.

 

[McCovey Cove]

Major Rhodes sat in the officer's overwatch station within the rear compartment aboard the shuttle Wakizashi, her eyes fixed on the monitor as she replayed the sensor logs for the third time. Each pass through the data tightened the growing knot in her stomach. The fact that she might have just witnessed the destruction of Tetsubo with all hands—including the ship's CAG and a full platoon of force recon marines—was something she tried to shove aside, if only to maintain her composure. Her face remained impassive, but her clenched jaw betrayed the tension brewing beneath the surface.

The dull hum of the shuttle's systems and the constant flicker of the screens seemed louder in the silence. Rhodes exhaled slowly, her fingers moving with deliberate precision as she began writing her report, the words coming mechanically, as if detaching herself from the emotional weight of the situation. She detailed each maneuver, each sensor spike, each moment when Tetsubo was visible—and then gone. Every detail mattered, and the clinical precision of her report was the only shield she had against the emotions threatening to rise.

Her eyes flicked to the encrypted channel as she started the transmission to Musashi. The console showed a secure line, and she tapped in her authorization. Once Musashi acknowledged the data transmission, she leaned back slightly, her posture stiff, waiting for Captain Verde's response. For a moment, the growing pit in her stomach made itself known—an aching weight of uncertainty and helplessness. She forced her expression to harden, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if sheer force of will could change the reality of what she'd seen.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. Rhodes allowed herself a brief moment to close her eyes, her hands resting heavily on the console, feeling the vibrations of the ship beneath her fingertips. She was a marine—trained to face impossible odds, trained to keep her composure. But this was different. Watching allies disappear without a trace, knowing there was nothing she could do—that was a different kind of battle.

The comm line crackled to life, snapping her back to the present. Rhodes straightened instantly, her eyes opening, her gaze sharp. The display blinked, indicating an incoming response. She took a deep breath, bracing herself, her voice level as she spoke.

"This is Major Rhodes. Captain Verde, I've transmitted the sensor data as requested. I..." She hesitated for a split second, the words catching in her throat before she pushed them out. "I believe Tetsubo may have been lost, sir."

There was a pause on the other end, a moment of static that seemed to stretch on forever. Finally, Captain Verde's voice came through, calm but edged with something unspoken—an intensity that mirrored Rhodes' own tension.

"Acknowledged. We're analyzing the data now." Verde's voice was steady, each word measured. "We'll do everything we can. Stand by for further instructions."

Rhodes nodded to herself, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Understood, sir. Standing by." She cut the transmission, the silence that followed weighing heavily on her. She looked back at the sensor logs, her eyes scanning the empty space where Tetsubo had last been. Her fingers itched to do something—anything—but there was nothing left except waiting.

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the console, her hands coming together as she bowed her head. The near-white noise of the shuttle's environmental systems reminded her that life moved on as she replayed Tetsubo's last moments. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to acknowledge the fear she kept buried deep. Then, with a slow breath, she pushed it aside. The job remained, and she intended not to disappoint those depending on her.

Rhodes opened her eyes, her expression hardening once more, her fingers moving over the console as she began reviewing the sensor data again. There had to be something—some clue, some sign that they had missed. She wasn't ready to accept that Tetsubo was gone. Not yet.

---

"Leo, you cannot stress my engines at maximum speed for hours on end," complained Commander Callum O'Brien, chief engineering officer of Musashi. His Irish dialect carried an edge of frustration, but beneath it lay unwavering loyalty—he wanted to help, even if it strained him.

Leo leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the speaker. He replied in a sympathetic yet firm tone, "I understand, Callum. How long can you give me?"

O'Brien sighed audibly, a rough chuckle almost hidden beneath his frustration. "Another forty minutes at best before we risk a shutdown to prevent damage. But, I swear, if you damage my brand new warp coils, I'm holding you accountable." Despite the stern words, Leo could picture the hint of a smirk that usually accompanied O'Brien's sarcasm.

Leo frowned, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "Could we reduce speed to warp eleven to ease the strain?"

"I suppose so," O'Brien replied, his tone softening just a fraction as he considered the possibility. After a brief pause, he added with a reluctant but pragmatic air, "If you can reduce speed to warp eight for twenty minutes, I can bleed off some of the accumulated coil heat, and then we can increase speed again."

The door chime sounded just as Leo prepared to respond. "I'll take any forward motion we can get, Callum. Anything else?"

"Not right now. I'll let you go get the door."

"You sure?" Leo asked with a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Whoever they are, they can wait outside."

O'Brien chuckled. "No, sir. I'll be fine."

"Thank you. Verde, out." He closed the intercom circuit and looked toward the door, calling out, "Enter."

The door opened to reveal Commander T'Rel and Lieutenant Commander T'Lerin entering together. T'Rel walked with her usual composed stride, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture upright and formal, reflecting her disciplined nature. Beside her, T'Lerin, the chief science officer, moved with equal precision, her sharp green eyes scanning the room as they approached.

"Commanders," Leo acknowledged, gesturing for them to join him.

T'Lerin spoke first, "Captain, the science team has completed their analysis of the sensor data Major Rhodes transmitted." She glanced briefly at T'Rel, who gave an approving nod. "Based on the energy fluctuations detected, we have determined that Tetsubo may have experienced a partial warp core destabilization."

Leo furrowed his brow, his concern evident. With an upheld left palm, he expressed his confusion. "Partial? I'm not sure what that means. Does that confirm their destruction?"

T'Rel stepped forward, her expression serene, though her eyes held a flicker of urgency. "Not conclusively, Captain. The erratic signature suggests that Tetsubo may have sustained significant damage but could still be attempting makeshift repairs. They were last detected near Buggy Two. Given the nature of the signature, it is possible they evaded pursuit, somehow." Her voice was steady, but Leo could sense her underlying determination to see the crew rescued.

T'Lerin continued, her fingers deftly moving over her data padd. "I have cross-referenced the asteroid field's composition with the sensor data. There is a high probability that they are sheltering within a cluster of dense asteroids. These would provide nominal cover from sensors but enough to hinder a direct attack."

Leo studied the PADD for a moment, his resolve hardening. "If they're trying to repair the warp core in that asteroid field, they're sitting ducks. We need to reach them before their enemy does." He looked up at T'Rel, his gaze locking with hers. "Coordinate with CIC and Captain Montgomery. We'll be ready for anything when we arrive."

T'Rel gave a curt nod, her eyes reflecting her commitment. "Understood, Captain. I will oversee the preparations personally." She paused, her gaze softening slightly—a rare moment of vulnerability breaking through her Vulcan reserve.

T'Lerin added, her tone as composed as ever, "I will continue to refine the probable coordinates of their location, sir." Her calm demeanor was a reminder of the necessity of precision in times of crisis.

Leo managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you both. Anything else?"

T'Rel exchange a quick glance with T'Lerin before responding, "No, sir."

"Dismissed," he told them.

As the door closed behind them, Leo allowed himself a brief moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath. The weight of command pressed heavily on his shoulders—every decision he made impacted the lives of those under his command. He thought of the crew of Tetsubo, vulnerable and relying on his leadership. There was no room for hesitation. Not now.

Leo exhaled slowly, rising from his chair. The edges of fatigue pulled at him, his muscles tight, as if they held the tension of his responsibility. He moved to the replicator, but something stopped him short. He didn't want the synthetic brew—it felt disconnected, hollow, compared to what he needed right now.

Instead, he tapped the comm panel on the wall, opening a circuit to the stewards below. "I need a pot of black tea, please." His voice was calm, but the weight in it was unmistakable.

Shortly after, the steward's polite response arrived. "Aye, Captain. We'll have it up to you shortly."

Leo turned back toward his desk, rubbing his temples. It wasn't about the tea. It was about feeling grounded, about finding a sense of tradition and warmth amidst the chaos of command. His crew needed him to be resolute, decisive. But for now, he needed something that reminded him of simpler times—a small ritual that could center his thoughts.

The chime at his door broke his thoughts. "Enter," he called out, and the young steward entered, carefully balancing a tray with the pot of tea and a cup bearing the ship's name and registry. Leo watched as the steward placed the tray on his desk, the soft clink of porcelain against metal a comforting sound.

"Thank you," Leo said quietly, and the steward nodded before leaving.

Leo poured himself a cup, the fragrant steam curling upward, filling the space with a sense of calm. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent, feeling the warmth of the cup in his hands. It was a reminder—one he needed—that even in the midst of the unknown, small comforts could anchor him.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Liking the detail about replicated vs. real, which echos its use in the franchise.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

---

"Are we cooked, sir?" Gunny Alston’s voice carried an edge of urgency as she leaned over Timm, her eyes darting over the exposed panel, her expression tight.

Timm lay on her side, half-buried in the cramped access compartment, her fingers probing through the mess of fried conduits and shattered relays. Sweat trickled down her forehead, her breaths coming shallow. "More like on the countertop, waiting for the pan to heat up."

Alston frowned, her brow furrowed. "What?"

Timm let out a weary groan, shaking her head. "Never mind. Short answer—not yet. But if I don’t get this patched soon, we will be." She squinted at the blackened components, her fingers brushing against the cracked casing of a power relay. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath. Raising her voice, she called out, "Gunny, any of your marines got experience with propulsion systems?"

Alston hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. The marines focused on combat training, not repairs. But desperate times called for desperate measures. With a curt nod, she turned on her heel, her voice growing louder as she addressed her platoon. "Listen up! We need some hands back here—anyone with tech experience, front and center!"

Timm swallowed, her gaze drifting toward the flashing alert indicators, her pulse matching the frenetic rhythm. The small, confined space around her seemed to tighten, the heat pressing in as though the bulkheads themselves were closing in. Time was slipping through her fingers, the sense of impending failure looming like a storm. She adjusted her grip on the plasma torch, steadying herself, the wounded nacelle letting out a metallic groan as if protesting their efforts. The shuttle swayed, still clinging to the Orion cruiser, and the reminder of their vulnerability jolted her focus like a shock to her nerves.

She understood how the marines felt—waiting, tense, needing someone to take charge. And here she was, half-buried in an overheated nacelle, struggling to coax a broken warp drive back to life. Only her determination to succeed, no guidelines or guarantees. She exhaled shakily, wiping her forehead with her arm. They had no other choice; this had to work.

"All right, Lieutenant!" Alston’s voice rang out, snapping Timm from her thoughts. "I’ve got two with basic tech training. What do you need?"

Timm twisted her neck, craning to glimpse the Gunny and the two marine corporals standing at the ready, their expressions determined despite the anxiety written on their faces. She gave a tight nod. "Thanks, Gunny. I need someone who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty. We’ve got to reroute plasma flow and patch these relays—if we can stabilize the warp drive, we stand a chance of getting clear before they can get a shot off at us." She pointed at the tangle of conduits. "Every second counts."

Alston asked, "You good, here?"

"We'll make it good," promised Timm.

The gunny nodded once, then moved off to take care of something else that needed her attention on the other side of the compartment without waiting for a dismissal.

The marines exchanged a look, their eyes meeting in silent agreement before they crouched down beside her. Timm managed a small, but assuring smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes but spoke volumes of her appreciation.

"All right, marines, stand easy. Follow my lead, and I promise you we’ll get out of this alive."

The marines nodded, their determination evident in their facial expressions.

Timm smirked to herself and snorted. "Always wanted to say that." Then, she gestured to the toolkit beside her. "You—grab that plasma flow diverter. And you—grab that palm beacon and shine it in here. Let's get to work."

---

Marcus had a problem—a big one.

He sat in his shared stateroom, quietly contemplating the situation. The ship's warp drive at maximum output created a pitched hum that filled the silence, a subtle reminder of Musashi's present urgency. Ensign Jolly was racked out in his private sleeping compartment; his duty schedule running opposite to Marcus's. It afforded Marcus a rare sliver of privacy in the shared common area, where the desktop terminal blinked with its soft glow, waiting for his input. Out of respect, he kept that area dark so as not to disturb his easily-irritable roommate, giving the terminal an almost-ethereal glow with its grey and white coloring.

With the ship warping out of Sector 195, the realization that Captain Verde might be violating his orders gnawed at Marcus, a constant, grinding weight in his chest. The directive from Command was clear: observe and report. But filing a report to the so-called "Department of Management Analysis" (whatever that was) regarding Verde could trigger significant political fallout—not just for the captain, but for the crew as well, including two officers Marcus had come to respect deeply.

Perhaps, upon further consideration, even more than respect.

His time with T'Rel had shown him the depth of her regard for Verde. There was a shared history between them, built on mutual trust and gratitude. T'Rel’s loyalty was palpable, her admiration unwavering. And Verde? He acknowledged her gratitude but never exploited it, never used it to his advantage. His focus remained on duty, responsibility, and doing what was right. To Marcus, that spoke volumes about the kind of leader Verde was—steadfast, principled, and fair.

After his year aboard Belknap, Marcus often felt as though he had escaped from an alternate reality where captains were to be feared, obeyed without question, and rarely trusted. Verde was different. He encouraged open discourse, a Socratic approach to decision-making—particularly when there was time to weigh options. Even when there wasn't, Verde listened. Truly listened. And Marcus, sitting in CIC and observing the interactions of the senior staff, saw firsthand how this led to a more cohesive, confident team, even under the most intense pressure.

His thoughts strayed to Lieutenant Commander Coburn—whose demeanor back at the starbase had been the very definition of rigid authority. Marcus felt a stab of guilt as he tried to draft a report detailing Musashi's current course and potential deviation from her orders. Each word felt like a betrayal, a knife twisting in his gut, his fingers hesitating over the console. He felt alone, the weight of his conflicting loyalties pressing down on him.

Coburn was a senior officer, and that came with its own weight. Orders were orders. But the idea of filing that report left a sour taste in his mouth. It wasn’t just the risk of political fallout—it was what it meant for his relationship with the people he’d grown to respect. He thought about going to Verde, to T'Rel, and explaining the situation. But would they see it as a betrayal of trust? Would they see him as another pawn in the hands of Starfleet's bureaucratic machinery?

He sighed, the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface. It had only been four days since he reported aboard, yet those four days had redefined what he thought a Starfleet vessel could be. He had seen the camaraderie, the respect, and the trust. And now he had to weigh all of that against his duty—a duty that, if carried out, could shatter everything he valued aboard the Musashi.

His gaze shifted to the console, the report still half-finished. He felt the tension in his shoulders, the ache of indecision, the sense that whatever choice he made would come with consequences he wasn’t ready to face. Marcus closed his eyes, trying to steady his thoughts, feeling the pull of loyalty against the rigidity of orders. The quiet hum of the ship surrounded him, a reminder that everyone here was relying on one another to make the right call.

Maybe, just maybe, there was another way. He just needed to find it.

End of Chapter Eight

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Very much liking Marcus' dilemma. Dilemma literally means "two horns", meaning which of the two horns of the charging bull do you want to be impaled on. But there are always other options. You could sing the bull to sleep. You could jump out of the ring... People never think about the other options...

Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

Interlude Two: Lying in Wait

Lieutenant Commander Oliver Coburn leaned back in his chair, a faint smile twisting at the corners of his mouth as he skimmed the report glowing on his screen. The office space he shared with his superior officer was plain and unremarkable, resembling a standard Starfleet setting that could be confused with any other base office rarely visited by most of the officers and crew. Blending into the background of Starbase 32, the room offered security through obscurity—the perfect place to play the role of a mid-level functionary: bland, unassuming, someone whose influence seemed to start and end with the schedule on his terminal. The reality, of course, was much different.

His eyes flickered across the screen, taking in the details of Ensign Marcus Nanurjuk's report from the USS Musashi. The encrypted report arrived along with the ship's mandated regular reporting cycle, which included all the official logs and records for Starfleet Command's review. Along with Coburn's team, the admiralty had reason to keep a close watch on this ship's progress.

The young ensign had done his best, Coburn had to admit. Marcus had fulfilled the orders given to him—observe Leo Verde and report anything "abnormal"—but not without doing a little dance around the truth. Coburn's grin expanded as he noted the legalese Marcus had employed, the phrasing designed to mean nothing to the casual reader. It almost bled with its own lack of conviction. The legalese, seemingly innocuous, was laden with bureaucratic jargon that would likely bore most people.

However, Coburn wasn't most people.

There it was, buried in the middle paragraphs—Verde's decision to divert from Sector 195, following Captain Montgomery's lead without bothering to loop in Starfleet Command. Nanurjuk had framed it as nothing more than a tactical necessity—careful not to make it sound like a direct violation of orders. Clever, but not clever enough to avoid Coburn's notice.

The breadcrumbs were all there; the ensign had simply hoped no one would follow them.

Regardless of the pitiful attempt at subterfuge, Coburn felt his selection of the ensign had yielded the result he sought under his present directive. Nanurjuk had a year of service under his belt but was still fresh enough to be impressionable. His limited experience served well to temper his naivete, and his psychological profile suggested that the timing might hinder Verde's natural charm over the young man.

Coburn smirked as he reread the report a third time, seeing that the head shrinkers working for the Department got it wrong.

A soft chime from the door pulled Coburn's attention from the report. He glanced at the small security monitor, noting the familiar face outside, then pressed the release. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a human woman in a maroon Starfleet uniform, the rank insignia of a full commander gleaming on her sky-blue shoulder strap. She walked in with the smooth confidence of someone who had nothing to prove—at least not to Coburn.

"Welcome back," Coburn greeted, his words colored with a subtle Southern drawl, gesturing for her to take the seat opposite him. "I think you'll appreciate this," he said, flipping his desktop screen around to face her.

She settled into the chair, her gaze immediately drawn to the screen. She leaned forward, her eyes scanning the text before her lips quirked into a smirk.

"He's trying to be clever," she remarked dryly, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

Coburn nodded, the amusement mirrored in his own expression, his drawl giving his words a lazy rhythm. "He's a legal officer. Knows how to walk that line, make it sound like he's fulfilling his duty without actually betraying his captain. It's commendable, in its way. But the real story is still there." He tapped the screen. "Ignoring written orders, following Montgomery's lead—there's enough here to keep the Deputy Director interested."

She leaned back, crossing her arms as her eyes stayed fixed on the report. "More than simple interest. The Deputy Director's going to be pleased. He's had his eye on Verde since Starbase Eight. Something about him just rubs the old man the wrong way."

Coburn raised an eyebrow, his words tinged with that unmistakable Texas cadence. "Seems like Verde hasn't changed much. Still enjoys bending the rules. The ensign probably thinks he's protecting his captain, but he's left enough breadcrumbs to keep us curious."

She looked thoughtful; her gaze still on the screen. "You think we need to step in?"

Coburn paused, considering her question before shaking his head. "We don't want to show our hand unless we have to. Stepping in now might ruin the… ah, desired effect. Besides," he added, glancing at her, "do you want to step in?"

Her smirk returned, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "No, I think it's best I keep my distance. In case he brings Verde or Montgomery more prominently into his relationship with us, it will serve our agenda to keep you as the face and voice."

Coburn nodded, the hint of a smile on his face, his accent giving a soft edge to his words. "Agreed. Ensign 'Knucklechuck' will keep feeding us information, whether he likes it or not. He'll either come around or he won't, but it doesn't really matter. We'll know what they're up to, regardless." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling as he looked at her.

She stood, straightening her uniform. "Keep me updated on any developments. And let the Deputy Director know we're still monitoring things. If this ensign keeps trying to be creative with his wording, I want to hear about it."

Coburn chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, the Southern lilt giving it a slightly warmer cadence. "Of course. I'll copy you."

She nodded, turning toward the door. Glancing back at Coburn, she paused, curiosity flickering in her eyes. She knew it could be a risk to ask, but Coburn often spoke his mind. "What does your gut say? You think Verde's really in the wrong here, or is this the old man's grudge for past grievances?"

Coburn's smile was enigmatic, the drawl still present. "Does it matter?"

Giving the question a moment's consideration, she finally shook her head. "No, I suppose it doesn't."

She left the front office, the door sliding shut behind her. Coburn's gaze returned to the report, his expression unreadable. Whatever games were being played, the stakes were higher than young Nanurjuk realized—and for now, Coburn intended to use the young man's naivete to his advantage.

Walking toward her separate office on the other side of the room, Commander Karen Holiday kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, her face showing no expression. She had worn this role long enough to know how to keep her true purpose hidden beneath the surface. It was always a delicate balancing act—one wrong move, and everything could unravel.

She sat down at the desk after passing through the door. "Computer, prepare a message for Memory Alpha, routed to DMA-Two on my authorization."

The computer responded, "DMA-Two encryption is authorized. Please enter your message."

As she began typing in her quick memo to the Deputy Director, she tried to picture the look of consternation on his face when he received her update. Sending it off, she idly considered Coburn's question about stepping into the Musashi situation herself.

Leo Verde didn't know about her connection to the Department of Management Analysis, but given her involvement in his activities during his years in JAG, they'd been on a first-name basis. The moment they crossed paths, he would start asking questions because of his legendary inquisitive nature. And that nature of his had drawn the ire of the Deputy Director on more than one occasion.

She shook her head, sticking with her response. It was a risk they couldn't afford.

Not yet.

End of Interlude Two

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Nice shout-out to Memory Alpha... Thanks!! rbs

 

[McCovey Cove]

Nice shout-out to Memory Alpha... Thanks!! rbs

Of course! Starbase 8 is in orbit of Memory Alpha, as seen in Leo's JAG stories.