Star Trek: Tales Of The Wanderer - Episode 4 - Ties That Bind

[Callum MacLeod]

April 15, 2376
FCS Wanderer
Interstellar Space, Sector 04340

The bridge of the Wanderer hummed with the low thrum of its aged warp core, a sound that was as much a part of G’roth Cortez’s life as his own heartbeat. He leaned back in his command chair, a half-smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the well-worn consoles. The freighter, a relic of a bygone era, may have looked like it had seen better days, but the old girl was reliable. That was something G’roth prided himself on.

“You know,” G’roth mused, his voice a low rumble that carried the distinct timbre of his Klingon heritage, “for all her quirks, the Wanderer is as dependable as the rising sun.”

From his station on the port side, Torvin, his ancient Chelon carapace gleaming in the soft light of the bridge, snorted a sound halfway between a chuckle and a hiss. “Reliable? G’roth, this ship is held together by little more than rust, elbow grease, and my sheer will.”

G’roth quirked an eyebrow, the human side of him finding humor in the old engineer’s retort. “And yet you’ve been tending to her since before I was born. Why is that, Torvin? Why has someone of your talents and experience stayed on this old bucket for so long?”

Torvin’s dark eyes, set deep within the folds of his leathery face, met G’roth’s. For a long moment, the only sound on the bridge was the soft hiss of the ventilation system. Then, Torvin finally spoke, his voice raspy with age and a familiar gruffness.

“Because, G’roth. Because I’m keeping a promise to your grandfather. Before he passed I promised the old coot that I’d stay on and keep this old bucket of bolts running. Even he knew this hunk of junk would have disintegrated into space dust decades ago if it hadn’t been for me.”

He had barely finished the sentence when the bridge lights flickered, bathing the space in an eerie, strobe-like glow. Alarms blared, their jarring sound slicing through the laughter. The hum of the warp core sputtered and dipped, shaking the deck beneath their feet.

“What the hell was that?” Lerah asked, fingers flying across the controls as she struggled to maintain course, I ‘m taking us out of warp!”

As the viewscreen showed the familiar sight of the streaks of light racing past turning into distant points of light as the Wanderer dropp out of warp Torvin immediately sprang into action. “It’s the energy converters! We’ve got a cascade failure on the port side!”

“The old gal heard you, Torvin,” G’roth said, his earlier smile replaced by a look of concern.

“She doesn’t like being called old!” Torvin grumbled, “She’s a classic!”

Torvin’s usually stoic demeanor faltered. He looked at the main viewer, the image of the star field now distorted and overlaid with error messages, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

“Oh, Wanderer, I take back every bad word I’ve ever said,” he muttered, “Forgive this old fool, and let me fix the blasted things.”

Without another word, he pushed himself from his station and hurried towards the turbolift, his movements surprisingly quick for a being of his age. The others watched him go, the tension on the bridge broken by a soft peal of laughter.

“I think she heard him,” Lerah said, a grin lighting up her face.

“Indeed,” K’tara said, trying to stop her own laughter. “The Wanderer is teaching him a lesson.”

With a chuckle G’roth pressed the intercom control on the arm of the command chair to open a comm-link to engineering.

“Report, Torvin.” He barked into the intercom.

“We’re almost there. I’m swapping out the energy converter.” The ancient engineer replied, “I’ll rebuild the malfunctioning one, AGAIN, when I have a the time.”

“Sounds good. Let us know when we can go to warp. We have a rendezvous to make. You know how Jax gets when people are late.”

The sudden blast of the proximity alert was like a fist slamming into the bridge’s calm. The red light bathed the room in a stark glow, and G’roth’s heart skipped a beat as the alert sounded.

“Elian, turn that racket off!” G’roth barked.

“Incoming Starfleet vessel!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with alarm.

“On screen,” he barked, his eyes darting to the viewscreen as a sleek, silver starship dropped out from the warp.

The unmistakable silhouette sent a cold shiver down his spine as he said, “Elian, what ship is it? That doesn’t look like the usual border dog cutter.”

Elian’s fingers danced over the sensor console, his eyes darting back and forth as he worked.

“It’s the USS Valkyrie.” he said, voice tight with tension. “They’re hailing us.”

“Open a channel,” he ordered, keeping his voice calm despite the storm brewing in his gut.

The starship’s captain, a stern-looking human female with a shock of silver hair, appeared on the viewscreen. “This is Captain Elara Castellanos of the USS Valkyrie. You are to stand down and prepare for boarding.”

G’roth felt the tension thicken in the air. “We’re just passing through, Captain Castellanos. No need for a fuss.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “I’m only going to say this one more time, Captain Cortez. You are to stand down and prepare for boarding.”

G’roth took a deep breath, weighing his options. He knew that running would be a fool’s errand—the Valkyrie was one of the fastest ships in the fleet—but the thought of letting Starfleet snoop around his cargo hold was equally unappealing.

“Understood, Captain Castellanos,” he said finally, his voice a mask of resignation. “We’re standing down and preparing for your boarding party.”

He glanced at Lerah, her expression a mirror of his own trepidation. They had nothing illegal on board—not this time—but there were always… irregularities in their manifest that could lead to questions, and questions were never good for business.

“Good choice, Captain,” Castellanos said, her voice cool and unyielding before the comm-channel closed.
The crew of the Wanderer turned to look at Elian, their expressions a blend of shock and confusion as G’roth said, “Elian…?”

Elian nodded, his face a picture of apprehension. “She’s my mother.”

The revelation hung in the air, the silence punctuated only by the faint hum of the Wanderer’s engines. The crew exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of what this meant for their situation.

“Your mother?” Lerah breathed out, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You never mentioned—”

“There’s a lot I haven’t mentioned,” Elian cut in, his voice tight. “Let’s just focus on the inspection.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Moments later four columns of shimmering light appear on the Wanderer’s bridge quickly forming into a trio of Starfleet officers lead by none other than Captain Castellanos herself.

“Captain Cortez,” she says firmly, her gaze sweeping the room, “I trust you have everything in order?”

G’roth noded his eyes never leaving hers. “As always, Captain Castellanos.”

“Ensign,” Castellanos said, her voice brisk, “See to it that Captain Cortez’s ship is searched from bow to stern. Leave no deck plate unturned and no corner unchecked”

The ensign noded and motions for the others to follow her out of the bridge. Elian watches them go, his shoulders relaxing slightly as they leave.

“Elian,” Captain Castellanos says, her stern expression cracking into something warmer, “Its been a long time.”

“Not long enough.” Elian spat venomously.

The room was charged with a sudden electricity that made the hairs on the back of G’roth’s neck stand on end. Captain Castellanos stepped closer to Elian, her hand reaching out tentatively. The room went still. The crew of the Wanderer looked at each other in disbelief, the tension suddenly swiveling from impending confrontation to a family drama unfolding before them. G’roth took a step back, giving them space.

Elian’s jaw was set, his eyes like ice. “What do you want?”

Captain Castellanos’s hand dropped to her side, the warmth in her gaze fading to something more resolute.

“I know this isn’t the reunion you were expecting,” she began, her voice low and measured, “but I need to speak with you privately, Elian.”

G’roth’s eyes narrowed. “Captain, we don’t have time for personal matters—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Captain Cortez,” Castellanos interjected, her tone firm but not unkind. “I can either make this a very quick inspection or I can make it an EXTREMELY thorough inspection. Its up to you.”

G’roth clenched his jaw, “You do whatever you want to, but I’m not going to force Elian to do something he doesn’t want to do. I protect my crew, and Elian is on my crew.”

“This isn’t just about me and my son, Captain.” Castellanos said, her eyes on her son.

“Elian,” G’roth said his hand resting on the butt of his holstered Klingon disruptor, “Its up to you. We’ll have your back either way. Just say the word...”

Elian’s jaw worked, his gaze flicking from his mother to G’roth and back. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded stiffly. “Its fine, G’roth. I’ll talk with her.”

Captain Castellanos tapped her combadge, her eyes never leaving Elian’s. “Castellanos to away team. Stop the inspection and return to the Valkyrie immediately.” she ordered her crew members, her voice firm. “I’ll join you shortly.”

Turning to G’roth she said, “Do you have somewhere my son and I can talk in private?”

“We’re not a big crew,” G’roth said, “There’s plenty of unoccupied places when a Antares class Is run by a skeleton crew of six.”

“Really? Only six?” Castellanos asked.

“Yup. The Wanderer’s never had a large crew as long as my family’s owned her. The biggest she’s had has been eight. And that was back when I was a kid.” G’roth explained, “But you didn’t come all this way to discuss our staffing level.”

“No, I did not.” Castellanos said, “Where can I talk to my son in private?”

“Follow me.” G’roth grumbled before he headed for the exit.

He led Elian and Captain Castellanos to the Wanderer’s cramped mess hall, the tension between them palpable enough to cut with a dull knife. The room’s walls were lined with shelves of mismatched dishes and containers of food. On the far end of the mess hall was a galley complete with a pantry, induction cooktop and stasis cabinet for perishable foodstuffs. On one of the bulkheads just outside of the galley was an old food replicator with a limited menu and plenty of glitches. The cluttered space was a stark contrast to the sleek, sterile corridors of the Starfleet vessel waiting outside.
G’roth nodded to Elian before exiting, leaving the mother and son alone. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the years stretching between them like the vast expanse of space.

Elian was the first to break the silence. “What do you want from me?”

Castellanos took a deep breath, her hand hovering over the combadge pinned to her uniform. She paused, considering her words carefully. “I need your help, Elian.”

“Why me?” Elian demanded, his voice tight with anger and disbelief.

Castellanos took a step closer to him, her hand reaching out again, this time with a tremble in it. “Because you’re the only one who can do it,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

“You have the skills, the connections. The experience…” she paused, swallowing hard.

Elian stared at her, his eyes searching hers. He knew she wasn’t asking lightly, that there was something deeper at play here. His thoughts raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of his mother’s words.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and wary.

“The Federation is in trouble,” she replied gravely. “There’s a new threat on the horizon.”

Elian’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of trouble?”

“Intelligence reports have uncovered a new faction that is a threat to everyone. We need someone with your… unique talents to infiltrate their facility and find out what they’re planning.”

“My ‘unique talents’ got me exactly nowhere. So I left that life behind” he said, his voice laced with bitterness. “Besides Elian Castellanos died a while back. You must’ve missed the obit. It WAS in the news feeds. I’m Jacob Smith a crewman on a civilian freighter.”

“Your grandpa would be glad to hear that his name lives on and is doing the job he loved.” Captain Castellanos’s expression softened, her eyes filled with a mix of understanding and regret, “But why a stevedore on a freighter?”

“If it was good enough for him, its good enough for me.” Elian said, “And its nice to be doing honest work for once.”

“I know that’s what you’ve chosen, but sometimes the past doesn’t stay buried.”

Elian leaned back against the table, arms crossed over his chest. “Why me?”

“Because,” Captain Castellanos said, her voice firm, “you’re one of the best infiltrators the Federation has ever seen. Your service record speaks for itself, despite the… unconventional path you’ve taken.”

Elian felt the sting of her words, his past as a Starfleet Intelligence operative a stark contrast to his current life on the Wanderer. He had left that world behind for good reasons, reasons that still haunted him.

“What’s so important that you’d risk coming after me?” he asked, his eyes not leaving hers.

“It’s not just about you,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “It’s about the lives at stake. We can’t let this threat go unchecked.”

Elian felt his resolve waver, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right; the stakes were too high for personal grievances. But he had sworn to leave that part of his life behind, to find peace in the anonymity of the stars.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked, his voice resigned.

“We’ve pinpointed a terrorist facility on the Kathleron Anchorage” she said, her eyes flicking to the stars outside the small porthole. “They’re developing a weapon that could shift the balance of power.”

“And since the Hakod aren’t members of the Federation sending in a Starfleet team would be political suicide.” Elian said, “But since the Anchorage is a hub of interstellar commerce its accessible and the right people wouldn’t look out of place.”

“Exactly,” Captain Castellanos said, her eyes boring into Elian’s. “We need someone who can blend in, Starfleet officers can’t do that. They stick out like a sore thumb, even when they’re wearing civies.”

Elian felt the weight of her gaze and knew she was speaking the truth. The Kathleron Anchorage was a gargantuan ring structure and a place where the fringes of law met the vast emptiness of space. It was a place where a man with his particular set of skills could move unseen, but it was also a place where a single misstep could mean death.

“I can’t do it alone,” he said finally, pushing away from the table. “You know that.”
Her expression didn’t change, but he could see the flicker of hope in her eyes. “We’ll provide you with backup.” She assured him.

“No,” Elian said firmly, his voice like steel. “I don’t want YOUR back-up.”

Castellanos took a step back, her eyes narrowed. “You can’t do this alone.”

“You want me to do this?” he said, pointing to the stars out the small porthole. “I want MY backup. You need to convince the Wanderer’s crew to get involved. You provide us with WHATEVER I say we need. And we get to keep it.”

Her eyebrow raised in question, Captain Castellanos studied her son. “You trust these… smugglers?”

Elian’s eyes flashed. “They’re not smugglers, and yes, I trust them with my life. So?”

“Fine. Have it your way. But I’m not providing shipboard weapons or classified technology.”

“Credits and appropriate personnel equipment for the mission. Plus whatever engineering parts for the Wanderer WE determine we need.”

“Deal.” Castellanos acquiesced.

Elian turned to the door, punching in the code to open it. “Come with me.”

They stepped out into the corridor, and he led her to the bridge where G’roth and Lerah were waiting, both looking at him with curiosity and concern.

“G’roth,” he said, his voice steady, “Captain Castellanos here has a job for us.”

The captain of the Wanderer turned to Castellanos, his expression skeptical. “What kind of job?”

“A job that saves lives,” she replied, her voice carrying the gravity of her words. “The Federation has intel on a terrorist facility on the Kathleron Anchorage. We need someone to infiltrate it and and gather information before it’s too late.”

Lerah leaned forward in her chair, her eyes sharp with interest. “What’s the payoff?”

“The usual. A butt-load of money.” Captain Castellanos said. “But this isn’t just about the credits. It’s about protecting the innocent.”

“Part of the deal I made with… Captain Castellanos is that she is going to provide us with whatever we components we say we need for the Wanderer. And we get to keep them after.” Elian explained.

G’roth’s gaze flicked to Elian, then back to Castellanos. He knew the look in his friend’s eyes—it was the same one he saw every time they talked about the life he’d left behind.

“What’s the catch?”

“You can’t tell anyone about this. Now or in the future.” Captain Castellanos explained.
G’roth let out a bark of laughter, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m going to have a hard time not bragging about doing Starfleet’s dirty work for them!”

The room grew tense as Captain Castellanos fixed him with a hard stare. “Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ Captain Cortez?”

G’roth met her gaze, his smile fading to a more serious expression. “You’re asking us to walk into a hornet’s nest for ‘the usual’ plus some ship parts?”

“The usual plus the parts,” Captain Castellanos said, “And the satisfaction of knowing you’re doing the right thing.”

G’roth leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving hers. “And what if we don’t find it… satisfying?”

“Then we’re no worse off than we were before,” Elian said, his voice firm. “But we’ll be helping people, G’roth. Maybe we can make a difference.”

G’roth studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Alright. But if we’re going to do this, we’re going in prepared.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Hours later, G’roth found refuge in the mess hall, the throbbing bass of a Klingon rock-opera pulsing through the speakers. He leaned against the counter, nursing a steaming mug of raktajino as the guttural tones and explosive instrumentals resonated through the room.

The door hissed open and in strode Elian, his eyes immediately drawn to G’roth.
“What’s that?” Elian shouted over the crescendo of the music.

G’roth smirked, pausing the track. “Bohemian Rhapsody… You haven’t truly experienced it until you’ve heard it in the original Klingon.”

Elian’s eyebrows shot up. “They translated Queen into Klingon?”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” G’roth said, taking a sip of the iced raktajino that sat in front of him, “It’s surprisingly… epic.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Elian said dropping into the seat opposite G’roth. “So…”

G’roth’s smile faded as he studied Elian’s face, seeing the exhaustion etched into his features, “That’s what I was going to ask you.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

April 17, 2376
FCS Wanderer
Interstellar Space, Sector 04340

The crew of the Wanderer gathered in the mess hall, their eyes gleaming with excitement. The ship had been outfitted with the latest tech, courtesy of Captain Castellanos' promise. Torvin, the ship's Tellarite engineer, was practically dancing around the room, his usually gruff demeanor replaced by an infectious enthusiasm.

"Look at her!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the wall-mounted console displaying the ship's system status. "She's purring like a kitten with a full belly!"

The Wanderer's systems had never looked so robust. The old replicator hummed contentedly as it whipped up a meal for the crew, and the lights flickered only briefly as Torvin passed by—a stark contrast to the usual stutters that had become part of their daily lives. The ship felt alive, revitalized by the influx of new parts.

"You've outdone yourself, Torvin," G'roth said, admiring the gleaming console. "I can't remember the last time she was this responsive."

The Tellarite engineer beamed, his snout wriggling with pride. "It's like she's been given a new lease on life, Captain," he said, patting the wall affectionately. "These new parts are top-notch."

"I'd hope so, since they're military grade." G'roth replied.

Lerah looked over from her spot at the galley, where she was preparing a celebratory meal.

"I've never seen Torvin so happy," she murmured to G'roth, a small smile playing on her lips.

G'roth couldn't argue with that. The Tellarite was practically glowing with excitement. "It's like he's in love," he said, chuckling.

"Or like a kid in a candy store," Lerah said, shaking her head with a smile.

Torvin's excitement was contagious, and even G'roth found himself feeling a twinge of excitement as he looked around the mess hall. The air was filled with the faint scent of freshly installed tech. The Wanderer had seen better days, but she was a tough old bird, and with these new parts, she'd fly better than ever.

"Alright," he said, clapping his hands together, "let's get down to business."

The crew settled into their seats around the table, their expressions a mix of anticipation and wariness. They all knew what was at stake.

Elian pulled out a PADD and began outlining the mission parameters. "We're to infiltrate the Kathleron Anchorage, find the facility, gather intel, and get out without being detected."

Lerah raised an eyebrow. “Sounds simple enough.”

Elian’s smile was grim. “It never is.”

He tapped on the PADD, bringing up a map of the Anchorage. It was a gargantuan ring structure, “The anchorage was built by the Hakod over the course of five hundred years and is well over three thousand years old.”

“It’s massive.” Lerah murmured, her eyes scanning the enormous ring world.

“That’s what she said!” G’roth blurted out, a devilish grin playing on his lips.

The room erupted in laughter, tension breaking like a dam as the crew chuckled at their captain’s quip. Even Lerah couldn’t help but smirk at the innuendo.

“Yes,” she said, blushing a deep blue, “but I was talking about the Anchorage.”

The laughter died down, and the room grew serious again as Elian continued his briefing. “Once we’re on the Anchorage, we’ll need to be careful. It’s a hotbed of activity, and we’ll be just one more ship among thousands. The section where the target is located is called Mos Eisley. You’ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.”

G’roth leaned in, his eyes on the map. “So, we blend in with the scum. Wouldn’t be the first time and probably won’t be the last.”

Elian nodded. “We’ll pose as a freighter crew looking for work. It’s believable enough and it has the benefit of the fact that its been true.”

The room was silent as the gravity of their mission sank in. G’roth broke the silence. “Alright, so we play it cool, keep our heads down, and get in and out without drawing attention.”

Elian nodded. “We’ll need to establish a cover story, something that holds water if we’re questioned. We just delivered supplies to a mining operation and are looking for our next job.”

Just as he finished speaking, Lerah emerged from the galley, her arms laden with steaming dishes. The aroma of her cooking filled the air, a welcome distraction from the tension of the impending mission. She set the food down in the center of the table, a feast of colorful alien delicacies that made the crew’s mouths water.

“Eat up,” she said, her smile forced. “We’re going to need our strength.”

The crew dug into the food, the clinking of silverware and the low murmur of conversation filling the room. G’roth took a bite of the spicy Tellarite stew, the heat from the dish doing little to warm the cold dread in his stomach. The Wanderer had seen its fair share of trouble, but this was different.

As they ate, Elian outlined the plan in more detail.

“Once we dock, we’ll split into two groups,” he said, pointing at G’roth and Lerah with his spoon. “You two will head to the Mos Eisley marketplace and start asking around for work. Keep your ears open for anything that might lead us to the facility.”

Lerah nodded, her expression solemn as she served herself a generous portion of stew. “What about you, Torvin, Kaal and K’tara?”

“Kaal will come with me to be my look out. Torvin and K’tara will stay with the Wanderer and keep her ready to go incase we need to leave in a hurry.”

Elian took a sip of water, his eyes never leaving the map.

G’roth nodded, his mind racing through potential scenarios. “And if we get separated?”

“We have these.” Elian handed out small wrist communicators that looked like an older civilian model. “They’re state of the art tech and encrypted and as long as we’re within transporter range of Anchorage, they should work flawlessly. Once I find the data we need I’ll signal you and we’ll meet up and infiltrate the facility together.”

G’roth took one, examining it closely. “What happens if we’re discovered?”

“Then we improvise.” Elian said with a shrug.

The crew nodded, the gravity of their situation settling over them like a cloak. Kathleron Anchorage’s Mos Eisley was no place for amateurs, and they were all too aware of the danger that lurked around every corner. As they ate, they discussed the mission in hushed tones, their eyes flicking to the equipment locker that had been filled with the latest Starfleet gear. The equipment was a stark reminder of the seriousness of their task. After the meal, the group dispersed to their quarters to prepare. Elian and G’roth went over the intel one last time, while Lerah checked and rechecked her weapons, ensuring everything was in perfect working order. K’tara went to prepare the medbay incase it was needed while Torvin headed to engineering to prepare the ship while Kaal went to the small chapel he’d set up, with G’roth’s permission, in a crew cabin and prayed to the Prophets for a safe and successful mission.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

April 19, 2376
FCS Wanderer
Kathleron Anchorage, Ceti Antudros System

Two days later, the Wanderer was approaching the colossal ring of the Kathleron Anchorage, its gleaming outer surface reflecting the distant sun. The sight on the middle viewscreen of the new triple viewscreen was both breathtaking and daunting, a stark reminder of the ancient civilization that had built it and the countless lives that now relied on its stability.

“Incoming hail,” Elian announced in a steady voice that belied the nervousness he felt, “Dockmaster’s asking for our reason for visiting.”

G’roth replied smoothly, laying out their cover story. There was a pause, and then the welcome crackle of affirmation.

“Docking permissions granted. You’re assigned to Bay 17, Sector 42.”

The crew let out a collective sigh of relief. They’d made it past the first hurdle. The Wanderer eased into the designated docking bay, the clang of the docking clamps echoing through the ship.

“Time to go to work,” G’roth said, slapping his thighs as he stood up.

***​

The monorail ride to the Mos Eisley sector was nerve-wracking. The train glided silently through the gleaming corridors, the walls a blur of chrome and neon lights. The Wanderer’s crew sat in tense silence, their eyes scanning the throngs of alien species that passed by. As they disembarked, the cacophony of the bustling station washed over them—a symphony of alien languages, the clank of metal, and the hiss of atmospheric regulators. The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices and the faint undercurrent of something less savory. The gravity felt slightly lighter than standard, G’roth’s experience told him that it was probably point eight gee. Mos Eisley was a sprawling labyrinth of streets and alleyways, each turn revealing another slice of the Anchorage’s seedy underbelly. G’roth and Lerah headed off to the main promenade, their booted feet echoing on the grimy duranium floor, while Elian and Kaal melted into the shadows.

The promenade was a riot of color and sound, a veritable bazaar of interstellar commerce. Merchants shouted their wares in a cacophony of languages, while droids beeped and whirred, carrying goods to and fro. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meats and the faint scent of burning plasma. G’roth and Lerah weaved through the crowds, their eyes peeled for any signs of trouble or opportunities. As they weaved their way through the crowd G’roth’s hands strayed far from the handle of his holstered disruptor and the pain stick in its boot sheath while instinctively kept his eyes open for threats and looked as menacing as possible.

“Keep your wits about you,” G’roth murmured to Lerah as they approached a particularly seedy-looking bar. “This place makes the worst dives in the Beta Quadrant look like a Vulcan monastery.”

“Well, Elian DID say that we’d never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.” Lerah said with a grin.

The door to the bar hissed open, revealing a dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the smell of cheap liquor and desperation. The patrons, a motley assortment of alien species, barely glanced up from their drinks as they entered. The music was a low, thumping bass that resonated in their chests.

Lerah nodded, her eyes scanning the room. She spotted a pair of rough-looking Nausicaans eyeing them from the corner. G’roth followed her gaze and gave them a nod of acknowledgment. They were in the right place.

At the bar, G’roth leaned in close to the bartender, a grizzled Bolian with a scar that bisected his left eyebrow.

“We’re looking for work,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Anything coming through that needs a fast ship?”

“Might be,” he said, wiping down the counter with a dirty cloth. “What’s your cargo specialty?”

G’roth smirked. “Whatever pays, If you’ve got a job we can do it. Don’t much care what it is. We’re good at not asking questions.”

“I might know a few things.” The bartender murmured.

Meanwhile, in another bar across the district, Elian and Kaal sat in a booth, watching the crowd through a haze of smoke. Elian reached into his pocket and pulled out two wireless transceivers. Kaal’s eyes widened as he realized what they were for.

“You never told us about the dataport,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

Elian shrugged, his gaze never leaving the room. “Some things are better left unsaid.”
He attached one to the side of his neck and the other to a nearby console. The data-port on his neck glowed softly, a stark contrast to the grime and darkness of their surroundings.

Elian’s expression was unreadable as he activated the devices. “Some things are better left unsaid,” he replied, his voice low.

The bar was dimly lit, with a haze of smoke that hung in the air like a veil. The patrons paid them no mind, too lost in their own hushed conversations and furtive glances to care about the newcomers in the corner. But Elian knew better than to let his guard down. In a place like Mos Eisley, everyone had secrets.

The data began to flow, a stream of information that Elian sifted through with a practiced ease. His eyes unfocused slightly as he delved into the depths of the Anchorage’s systems, searching for the intel they needed. He could feel the thrum of the station’s power, the pulse of its network beating in time with the bass of the music that filled the air. Kaal watched, his gaze flicking between Elian and the door. The tension in the air was palpable, a living thing that coiled around them, waiting to strike. They had to be careful—one wrong move could blow their cover and bring the entire operation crumbling down around them. The minutes stretched into hours, each one feeling heavier than the last. Elian’s eyes darted back and forth as he searched the data, his mind racing through possible scenarios, probabilities, and contingencies. Finally, a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, and he sat back with a hiss.

“Got it,” he murmured.

Kaal leaned in, “The location of the facility?”

Elian nodded, his eyes refocusing on the present. “It’s not easy to get to, but it’s doable.”

He pulled away the transceivers, the glow of his data-port fading as he disconnected from the network. They shared a look, the weight of their mission pressing down on them like gravity from a neutron star. They had the intel, but that was only half the battle. Now, they had to find a way to get in, get the proof, and get out—without getting killed.

Elian stood, sliding the PADD into his pocket. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice a low growl.
They slipped out of the bar, the door hissing shut behind them. The neon lights of the promenade cast long, flickering shadows that danced across the floor as they moved swiftly through the crowd, their eyes searching for any sign of trouble. Elian tapped his wrist communicator, the device’s sleek surface cool against his skin.

“G’roth,” he murmured, his voice a whisper in the din. “Meet us back at the Wanderer.”

The words hung in the air for a brief moment before G’roth’s voice crackled back, “Copy that, Elian. We’re on our way.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

On the Wanderer, the tension in the mess hall was thick as Elian outlined their target. A 3D projection of the facility emerged from the PADD, the layout stark and daunting.

“This is the place,” he said, pointing to a spot on the projection. “It’s heavily fortified, with multiple layers of security. The only way in is through this access hatch.”

The hatch in question was located on the opposite side of the main gate, a tiny dot amidst the sprawling fortress.

“But it’s not just any hatch,” Elian continued. “The power system here cycles once every thirty hours. For ten minutes, it’s unguarded, unlocked.”

K’tara leaned in, her antennae twitching with focus. “How do we get to it?”

“There’s a service tunnel,” Elian said, tracing a route through the holographic map. “But we’ll need to time it just right. Too early, and we’re caught in the open when the power comes back online. Too late, and we’re locked out.”

Torvin’s eyes narrowed as he studied the projection. “What’s the next cycle?”

Elian’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “We missed the last one by twenty minutes.”
The room fell silent. Twenty minutes was a lifetime in a place like this. Twenty minutes could mean the difference between success and failure.

G’roth broke the silence. “So we wait?”

Elian nodded. “We wait. And we use this time to get ready. We need to be in and out before anyone knows we’re there.”

The crew of the Wanderer exchanged glances, each weighing the gravity of what lay ahead. They were a motley crew of smugglers and outcasts, but they had faced danger before. This was different, though—this was Starfleet’s fight, and the stakes were higher than ever. The hours ticked by, each one bringing them closer to their window of opportunity. The crew of the Wanderer went through the plan meticulously, memorizing every twist and turn of the service tunnel, every potential threat within the facility. Torvin tinkered with the ship’s systems, ensuring they were in prime condition for a swift departure if needed. Kaal went over the intel with Elian, piecing together the puzzle of the terrorist operation. K’tara checked and rechecked their gear, her eyes sharp and focused. Lerah and G’roth studied the map, committing the layout to memory. They’d be the first ones through the hatch, their job to secure the entrance for the rest of the team.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

April 20, 2376
FCS Wanderer
Kathleron Anchorage, Ceti Antudros System

With a sigh, G’roth opened the locker, the cold light from within glinting off the array of weapons.

He grabbed a d’k tahg, Klingon dagger with the crest of the house of Hirom – his mother’s family – on its hilt. It had a personal touch, something that felt right for this mission. Then, his eyes fell on the jem’hadar polaron pistol he’d bought from a black market weapons dealer on Rigel IV. Stepping back as he sheathed the d’k tahg and holstered the polaron pistol and Lerah stepped up to the weapons locker and picked out a pair of modified Cardassian needle-spitters. The compact design made them ideal for close-quarter combat and she had a particular fondness for the way they sang through the air before embedding themselves in their target. Kaal chose a non-lethal Rigellian stun pistol and matching stun baton and Elian chose a Romulan disruptor pistol and a Federation-issue combat knife.

When everyone was geared up, they headed to the transporter room. Torvin and K’tara looked at them with a mix of envy and concern. They were staying behind, guarding the ship and the escape plan.

“Good luck,” Torvin said, his voice gruff as he slapped G’roth on the back, and G’roth felt a sudden surge of affection for the Tellarite engineer.

“Keep her warm for us,” G’roth said as she stepped onto the transporter pad beside Lerah.

“Always,” Torvin quipped, his hands moving deftly over the transporter controls.

***​

In a flash, G’roth, Elian, Kaal, and Lerah materialized in the shadows of a dingy back alley. The air was thick with the scent of the alien marketplace: a heady mix of exotic spices, engine grease, and the faint hint of something rotting. They stepped off the pad and took a moment to ensure no one had noticed their sudden appearance. The alley was narrow, the walls lined with trash and the occasional scurrying of a wild Cardassian vole. The creatures had somehow found their way onto the Anchorage, and now they thrived in the cracks and crevices of the ancient structure, surviving on whatever scraps they could find. G’roth watched one dart past, its fur mottled and greasy from living in the grime.

Elian took the lead, his movements swift and sure as he navigated the twisting streets of Mos Eisley. Lerah and G’roth followed close behind, their eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of trouble. The only sound was the distant murmur of the market and the occasional hiss of a vole. They moved through the marketplace, their steps careful and measured. The alleyways grew narrower, the lights dimmer, and the smells more pungent. It was a part of Mos Eisley that the tourists never saw, a place where the desperate and the dangerous mingled freely. Finally, they reached the service tunnel’s entrance—a nondescript hatch set into the side of a dilapidated building.

Elian paused, checking the time on his wrist. “Five minutes until the power cycle,” he murmured.

The voles they had seen earlier were nowhere to be found in this underbelly of the Anchorage. It was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the streets above. The only companions on their journey were the shadows that danced in the dim glow of their handheld lights. As they approached the unguarded hatch, Elian signaled for a stop. He placed his hand against the cool metal, listening. The silence was absolute—no footsteps, no whispers of conversation. The only sound was the faint hum of the power grid.

They counted down the last seconds of the power cycle, their hearts racing. When the time was right, Elian gripped the hatch’s handle and pulled. It opened with a hiss, revealing a corridor that stretched into the darkness. The corridor was deserted, the only light coming from the emergency glowstrips that lined the floor. They moved silently, their boots barely making a sound on the cold metal grating. Elian took the lead, his eyes scanning the walls for any indication of their location. The intel was precise, but he knew that things could change in an instant in a place like this. They had to be ready for anything.

As they approached the final turn, G’roth’s hand shot out, stopping them. He held up three fingers, indicating the number of guards they had spotted ahead. They huddled against the wall, their breathing shallow, their weapons at the ready.

The guards patrolled the area with a casual air, their weapons slung over their shoulders. It was clear they didn’t expect trouble—not from a group of smugglers dressed like every other dock worker on the Anchorage. The guards patrolled the area with a casual air, their weapons slung over their shoulders. It was clear they didn’t expect trouble—not from a group of smugglers dressed like every other dock worker on the Anchorage.

Elian signaled for Lerah and Kaal to follow his lead. G’roth took the rear, his eyes darting back and forth, watching for any signs of trouble. They moved in a crouch, sticking to the shadows, their steps measured and silent. The guards were too engrossed in their conversation to notice the approaching intruders. They were a mix of species, but all bore the insignia of a private mercenary corps - the Ebon Alliance.

As they neared the guards, Elian tapped Lerah on the shoulder, indicating she should take the one on the left. She nodded, gripping her needle-spitters tightly. The guards were mere feet away, their laughter echoing off the metal walls. Elian counted down with his fingers, and on cue, they struck. Lerah’s spitters shot out, catching her target in the neck and leg, the needles delivering a potent cocktail that would render him unconscious for hours. The other guard barely had time to react before Elian and Kaal took him down with a well-placed stun.

They quickly dragged the bodies into a side room and secured them. The corridor was clear, but the adrenaline was still coursing through their veins. G’roth checked the time again. They had to keep moving.

They found themselves in a vast chamber filled with crates and machinery. The air was colder here, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the market above. Elian’s eyes searched the room, looking for the telltale signs of the illicit operation. His gaze fell on a large, unmarked door at the far end of the chamber.

G’roth checked his tricorder. “No life signs in there, but I’m picking up a power source. It’s probably shielded.”

Lerah’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s not take any chances. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

They approached the door, weapons at the ready. Elian placed his hand on the scanner, his heart pounding. The light flickered green, and the door slid open with a hiss.
The room beyond was stark and sterile, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Banks of consoles lined the walls, each one flickering with data. In the center of the room was the device they had been sent to find—a weapon of unimaginable power. It was unlike anything they had ever seen, a twisted mass of metal and circuitry that hummed with malevolent energy.

“This is it,” Elian murmured. “Their mainframe. We have to get the data and get out before they realize we’re here.”

He moved to one of the consoles, his fingers flying over the keys. The data began to stream into the PADD in his pocket, and he could feel the ship's computer processing the information, searching for anything that could lead them to the heart of the terrorist organization.

But their time was running out. They hadn’t counted on the security system being so sophisticated. As the last piece of data was copied, the room’s lights flickered, and an alarm began to blare. The facility had been alerted to their presence.

G’roth’s communicator crackled to life. “Elian, we’ve got company. A whole squad of them. We can’t hold them off for long!”

Elian’s eyes darted to the door, and then back to the console. “We’re almost there,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just a few more seconds!”

The air grew tense as the final piece of data uploaded. The PADD beeped, and he pulled it out, the device feeling hot against his skin. The information they had sought was now in their possession, but their escape was looking increasingly doubtful.
The door to the chamber slammed open, and a flood of armed guards spilled in. G’roth and Lerah took positions, firing their needle-spitters and phasers with precision. The guards fell, but there were too many. They had to retreat.

“Now!” Elian shouted, and they sprinted back the way they came, the corridor echoing with the sound of their boots and the zing of phaser fire.

G’roth’s slapped his wrist communicator barking was a barking, “Beam out, now!”

Seconds later they materialized on the Wanderer’s transporter pad with Torvin was at the controls, “K’tara’s on the bridge getting us clearance to leave.”

They didn’t waste a second, sprinting through the ship’s corridors, the adrenaline from their mission still pulsing through their veins. G’roth’s heavy boots echoed against the metal floors as they raced to the bridge, leaving a trail of urgency in their wake.
“K’tara, status?” G’roth called out as they burst through the doors.

“Clearance granted,” she responded coolly, relinquishing the helm to Lerah, “All moorings and umbilicals have been retracted. We’re good to go.”

Lerah slid into the pilot’s chair, her eyes scanning the console with the ease of a seasoned pro. Her fingers danced over the controls, the ship’s systems responding with a series of comforting beeps. With a deep breath, she initiated the engines. The Wanderer rumbled to life beneath them, the power flowing through the ship like a river of fire.

The docking bay grew smaller in the viewscreen as they backed out, the lights of the Kathleron Anchorage fading into the black of space. Lerah’s heart was racing, her hands steady on the helm. The Wanderer groaned slightly as she nudged the ship into a graceful pivot, pointing the ship’s nose at the stars beyond the station.

“Warp engines online,” Torvin’s voice echoed through the intercom, the excitement palpable even through the static.

“We’re approaching the outer marker.” Lerah’s voice was calm but focused as her blue fingers danced across the helm, her eyes locked on the instruments before her.

“Warp engines are primed,” Torvin reported from engineering, his voice steady despite the tension that thrummed through the ship.

“Free to go to warp in five… four…” Elian reported from where he had sat at the operations station, “Three… Two… One…”

“vay’vIchu!” G’roth barked not realizing he was speaking Klingoneese giving the command to go to warp as the triple viewscreen showed the familiar sight of acceleration to warp speed.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

April 22, 2376
FCS Wanderer
Interstellar Space, Sector 04340

The middle viewscreen of the triple viewscreen crackled to life, Captain Castellanos’s voice tight and unyielding. “Wanderer, what is the status of your mission?”

G’roth stepped up to the viewscreen, the glow casting a blue tint over his features.

“We’ve done the job,” he said, his tone as cold as the void outside. “Its time to pay up.”

Captain Castellanos’s eyebrow shot up, surprise flashing across her face before it was replaced by a steely gaze. “Is that how it is?”

Elian stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “We have the data you want. We’ve put ourselves at risk for the greater good. Now, we expect Starfleet to hold up its end of the bargain.”

The pause on the other end of the line was almost tangible, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of their situation. Captain Castellanos’s expression remained unchanged, her eyes boring into theirs through the viewscreen.

“Very well,” she said finally. “Transfer the data and We’ll beam over the latinum.”
“I might’ve been born at night, but it wasn’t last night.” G’roth said, “Beam the latinum to our bridge then we’ll let you beam over PADD with the data.”

The captain’s expression didn’t waver, she nodded once. “Fine. Stand by.”

The room was silent as they waited for the latinium to materialize in the transporter room. The seconds ticked by with the cold precision of the chronometer. The Wanderer’s crew was a seasoned bunch, but even they couldn’t help the tightness in their chests as they anticipated the trade. It was a gamble, but one they felt was worth taking for their future.

The transporter’s hum grew louder, and a golden glow began to form in the center of the room. The glow coalesced into a solid shape, and with a final whine, the transporter deposited a case onto the floor between the helm and the triple view screen. Kaal approached it, his hand hovering over the lock for a moment before flipping it open. Inside, gleaming bars of gold-pressed latinium lay neatly arranged.

G’roth nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their payment. His eyes flicked to Elian, and without a word, Elian knew what he had to do. Stepping forward he held out his hand with his fingers arched up and the PADD resting on his fingertips. The transporter beam of the Valkyrie latched onto it, pulling it away with a gentle tug. For a brief moment, it hovered in the space between the two vessels, a digital tether bridging the gap between them. Then, it was gone, appearing in Captain Castellanos’s hand on the other side of the viewscreen.

Her eyes flicked down to the PADD, and she nodded once, a tight smile playing on her lips. “The data is secure,” she said. “Thank you for your service.”

Elian met her gaze, the weight of his words hanging in the air and his voice laced with a hint of bitterness, “Don’t be a stranger…Actually, do. I’d like that better.”

With a nod from Castellanos, the screen went black, and the Wanderer’s crew let out a collective sigh of relief. The transaction was complete, and their mission had been successful, at least for now. G’roth picked up the case of latinium, feeling the weight of their future in his hands.

“Let’s get frak out of here,” he said, turning to the others. The room was tense as they headed back to their stations, each one feeling the gravity of what they had just done.
“Course set for the Star Station Echo.” She said, her voice steady as the Wanderer leaped forward into warp, leaving the Anchorage and their mission behind.

“So,” G’roth said with a chuckle to break the silence, “What’s everyone going to do with their share?”

 

[BrotherBenny]

How did Torvin change from a Chelon to a Tellarite?

Love these though.