Star Trek: Hopeship
Taking Up The Mantle
Brydon J. Sinclair
“It’s good to meet you, Doctor M’Benga.”
Joseph M’Benga rose as Commander Monsoon On Shallow Cove approached the desk. Since he’d arrived on Starbase 21, six days ago, he’d been making use of one of the offices the station had for transient personnel, putting his time to good use and familiarising himself with his new assignment. He didn’t offer the Megarite his hand, knowing that the greeting would mean nothing to him.
“Doctor Monsoon, welcome,” he gestured to the chair opposite, “please take a seat.”
The aquatic alien nodded his head inside the domed helmet he wore and sat down. “Can I offer you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
M’Benga considered refreshing his coffee mug, but decided against it and sat down opposite the older man.
“So, are you looking forward to your new assignment?” Monsoon jumped right in.
He was a little taken aback by his directness, though after spending fifteen years commanding one of the most advanced medical facilities in Starfleet, when quick decisions had to be made and seconds wasted could mean lives lost, it was understandable why he didn’t waste much time with idle chitchat.
“If I’m honest, I still can’t believe it, I keep waiting for the other boot to drop.”
Monsoon blew a flurry of bubbles in the water he needed to survive, giving the impression of a hearty chuckle. “I felt the same way when my orders came through fifteen years ago. I’ll say to you what my predecessor said to me, ‘you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t the right person for the job’.”
“Surely, there had to be more experienced doctors than me.”
“Several dozen of them, all good physicians who would’ve done a fine job, but the Hope doesn’t need ‘fine’ it needs exceptional.
“You graduated Starfleet Medical Academy in seven years, interned in one of the most prestigious medical facilities in the Federation, thoroughly impressed a number of your Vulcan superiors at the time, and have gone on to have an impressive career since then—you should read what McCoy wrote about you, ‘glowing’ doesn’t do it justice, and he’s a hard man to please, as I’m sure you know.”
M’Benga felt his cheeks flush. He wasn’t used to facing such personal praise, though he was surprised to hear that Leonard McCoy had been so positive about him—he’d always known under that gruff exterior was an old softie. “Thank you, Doctor Monsoon, that’s very nice of you to say.”
“It’s all true. Though you were younger than anyone else on the list of potentials, you were every bit the physician and surgeon they were, but you’re also inventive and willing to look beyond the realm of what we know right now and think about what might be possible, all for the good of your patients, and those are the important things. You’ll be on the cutting edge of medical science out there, but you can never lose sight of who we’re there for.”
“What you’ve managed to do on the Hope is truly remarkable, Doctor, it’ll be a hard act to follow.”
“It is very much a collective effort, the staff deserve all the praise. They’re some of the best I’ve worked with, now they’re all eager to meet you.”
M’Benga opened his mouth to speak, but luckily caught himself in time and closed it again. Monsoon scrutinised him over the desk.
“Say what you were going to, Doctor, I won’t be offended.”
“It…it’s just a shame that your last emergency call ended so badly,” he said softly, thinking back to the reports he’d read barely a month ago. “Are we any closer to understanding what happened on the Walkabout?”
“It’s always hard when a call for help can’t be answered the way we’d want it too, but even with all our technology, all our knowledge, we are still at the mercy of the unknown. The transport was thoroughly searched and investigated, but no evidence of where the contagion came from, or who released it, could be found. It’s still going through full decontamination protocols, though I doubt anyone will ever want to set foot on that ship again.
“As for the Walkabout Virus, ever since we delivered the survivors to Lambda Station myself, Doctor Nguyen, and every pathologist up on the ship have been working on cracking the mystery. I’m loathed to admit it, but whoever made it is one of the best virologists I’ve ever come across. It’s ability to mutate and adapt to hosts from different species has made it extremely unstable, as soon as we make the slightest headway it changes in such a way that makes our previous work almost useless.”
“I read up on it when the incident report was released, it is a nasty piece of work.”
“Starfleet Medical has approved my request to continue my research back on Megara, with full access to all classified information, so I’ll keep working on it.”
M’Benga was pleased to hear the retiring physician was going to keep at it. Monsoon, like him, knew that no one created a virus like that without planning on using it. If they couldn’t work out who it was, they could make sure that whenever it was released they had a cure ready.
Monsoon shook his head, as though to clear his thoughts. “Anyway, I best be leaving you to get ready to depart.”
“That’s quite alright, I’m packed and had my luggage taken to the landing pad this morning.”
The Megarite blew more bubbles. “Prepared and organised, I knew I made the right choice.” Monsoon rose slowly, leading M’Benga to mirror him. “But it’s best I depart; I’ve got travel plans of my own to get ready for.
“Yeoman Simmons has all the most recent reports, files and charts waiting for you, he’s worth his weight in gold that one. Matron knows the department like the back of her hand, she’ll keep you right, but if there’s ever anything I can do for you then give me a comm.”
“Thank you, Doctor, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good luck to you,” he said with a slight nod, before turning and heading back out the office.
* * * * *
Since his meeting with Doctor Monsoon, M’Benga had finished off the last few items of busy work he’d set him, had a quick coffee at a small outdoor coffee ship to soak in the fresh air and appreciate the openness of being planetside, before heading for the landing pad. In all that time he mulled over all that he would be faced with once he reached the Hope.
Starfleet only operated eight Seacole-Class medical ships (another four sat in mothballs, though would only be reactivated should the Federation find itself at war), so the chance to serve on one was hard to get—he knew a few colleagues who would’ve given anything for the opportunity—so he knew how honoured he was. The work they did was truly cutting edge, the lives saved by each ship was a testament to that, and whilst he initially felt overwhelmed by the responsibility placed upon him, he was up for the challenge. What was of most concern to him was the fact his older brother Simon was the Hope’s Executive Officer.
He hadn’t seen much of Simon over the last ten years, both of them serving in Starfleet and often at different ends of the quadrant, the last time they’d spent any considerable time together was before the elder M’Benga had gone off to the Academy, Joseph had been just thirteen at the time. Even before Simon had enrolled he was the model of discipline and order, meaning he always clamped down on his younger brothers’ youthful exuberance which made things tense between them, luckily Alice had always managed to mediate things between them and keep the peace. How they’d get on now, without their sister, was an unknown. Only time would tell.
On the landing pad was a single F-Class shuttle, a couple of deckhands loaded up the last of the supplies they’d be carrying, whilst the pilot and deck chief made the final inspection of the craft before taking off. Also present were the four other new crewmembers that were joining the Hope. He’d met two of them already, given they were both on his staff, Lieutenant Felix Hemmingway was a biochemist and biophysicist whilst Ensign Praal was a surgical intern. The others were also fresh from the Academy, an Arcadian male in gold and a human female in red. The redshirt saw him first and, upon seeing the lieutenant command braids on his cuffs, stood at attention. The others followed suit.
“At ease,” he told them, failing to keep a note of irritation from his voice.
The pilot handed a tablet to the deck chief and approached them. “Welcome, Commander. We’re all set here, so if you’d all like to board the shuttle we’ll be underway.”
“Lead the way, Petty Officer.”
The pilot gave a single nod and headed into the shuttle, M’Benga and the others followed close behind. As the non-com took his station, he settled into the seat beside him and the others filled the remaining chairs, behind which was their cargo and luggage. Whilst the others chatted among themselves and the pilot went through the standard pre-flight chatter, M’Benga tuned them all out and stared out at nothing, his mind dwelling on all that lay before him.
When he’d been assigned to the Enterprise he thought he’d been lucky, on a ship of the line he would be at the forefront of encountering new races and making momentous discoveries. It had surpassed all his expectations and he’d had the pleasure of working with some great people, friends he would miss, but such was the nature of life in Starfleet, nothing remained the same forever, change was inevitable.
He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t ever realise they’d taken off, not until the afternoon sun faded to the darkness of space. He blinked and took stock of where they were and cast a sideward glance at the pilot, impressed by just how smooth a flight they’d had. The journey from the planet’s surface into orbit was short and uneventful, the three ensigns continued to converse excitedly whilst Hemmingway was engrossed in a datapad.
“There she is,” the pilot said quietly, so only he could here.
Looking ahead, M’Benga spotted his new assignment, feeling a nauseating mix of excitement and nerves clench his stomach.
The vessel that rapidly filled the shuttles viewports was similar in many ways to most other ships in Starfleet, two distinct hulls and a pair of nacelles, but that was where the similarities stopped. The primary hull was vaguely reminiscent of a Miranda-Class ship (and likewise housed the warp core, impulse drive and most other technical systems along with crew accommodation and recreational facilities) with the warp engines extending out horizontally, whilst the secondary hull was connected directly to the saucer, removing the need for a neck section, and was just as wide, twice as long and eight decks tall. It was the secondary hull which was the biggest departure as, other than a trio of shuttlebays, the entire hull was dedicated to wards, surgical suites, intensive care units, isolation rooms, biohazard containment facilities, and laboratories that the dedicated hospital ship needed to deal with hundreds of patients.
“Hope, this is the De Galard requesting permission to dock.”
“De Galard, you are cleared for shuttlebay one.”
“Confirmed.”
Under the petty officers skilled hands, the shuttle took a wide arc around the starship and headed for the solitary hangar at the rear of the saucer nestled between a pair of impulse engines. Behind him, M’Benga heard the other three rookie officers shifting to get a better look at the ship.
In a matter of minutes, the craft passed through the shuttlebay’s forcefield and settled on the deck with barely a sound. As the pilot powered down the engines, the entry hatch opened and steps unfolded. He gestured for the others to go ahead of him, taking a few final seconds to prepare himself.
“Thank you, Petty Officer.”
“My pleasure, Commander, welcome aboard.”
Stepping out of the shuttle, he saw the junior officers being ushered away, whilst on the deck before him stood two humans. One he knew very well, the other was a woman with a silvery streak running through her dark hair, spiralling up into the practical bun she wore her hair in, her line face was kind but there was flint in her sky blue eyes.
He stepped down off the shuttle and stood at attention before them. “Lieutenant Commander Joseph M’Benga, requesting permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted, Lieutenant Commander,” his older brother said, his tone flat, expression carefully neutral. He held out his hand, which M’Benga took. “Welcome to the Hope.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Simon released his hand, only for it to be quickly grasped by the woman. “Welcome Doctor. Head nurse Laura Emanuel,” she said as they shook. He took note of her commander braids, though she technically outranking him his position as a doctor would mean that he was her superior.
“It’s good to meet you, Matron,” he told her, taking back his hand. One thing he’d taken note of from the ships logs and records, was the use of the moniker for the senior nurse. Her warm smirk quickly reassured him that he’d made the right call.
“Matron will show you around and get you up to speed. A meeting of the senior staff has been scheduled for eighteen hundred hours this evening.”
“Understood, Commander.”
With that, Simon turned on his heel and was about to head for the exit, but paused and looked back at him, the vaguest hint of a smile tugging the corner of his lips. “It’s good to see you again, Joseph.”
“You too, Simon.”
The XO gave a nod and marched out the hangar bay. He looked back at Emanuel.
“So, shall we get started?”
* * * * *
END
Taking Up The Mantle
Brydon J. Sinclair
“It’s good to meet you, Doctor M’Benga.”
Joseph M’Benga rose as Commander Monsoon On Shallow Cove approached the desk. Since he’d arrived on Starbase 21, six days ago, he’d been making use of one of the offices the station had for transient personnel, putting his time to good use and familiarising himself with his new assignment. He didn’t offer the Megarite his hand, knowing that the greeting would mean nothing to him.
“Doctor Monsoon, welcome,” he gestured to the chair opposite, “please take a seat.”
The aquatic alien nodded his head inside the domed helmet he wore and sat down. “Can I offer you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
M’Benga considered refreshing his coffee mug, but decided against it and sat down opposite the older man.
“So, are you looking forward to your new assignment?” Monsoon jumped right in.
He was a little taken aback by his directness, though after spending fifteen years commanding one of the most advanced medical facilities in Starfleet, when quick decisions had to be made and seconds wasted could mean lives lost, it was understandable why he didn’t waste much time with idle chitchat.
“If I’m honest, I still can’t believe it, I keep waiting for the other boot to drop.”
Monsoon blew a flurry of bubbles in the water he needed to survive, giving the impression of a hearty chuckle. “I felt the same way when my orders came through fifteen years ago. I’ll say to you what my predecessor said to me, ‘you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t the right person for the job’.”
“Surely, there had to be more experienced doctors than me.”
“Several dozen of them, all good physicians who would’ve done a fine job, but the Hope doesn’t need ‘fine’ it needs exceptional.
“You graduated Starfleet Medical Academy in seven years, interned in one of the most prestigious medical facilities in the Federation, thoroughly impressed a number of your Vulcan superiors at the time, and have gone on to have an impressive career since then—you should read what McCoy wrote about you, ‘glowing’ doesn’t do it justice, and he’s a hard man to please, as I’m sure you know.”
M’Benga felt his cheeks flush. He wasn’t used to facing such personal praise, though he was surprised to hear that Leonard McCoy had been so positive about him—he’d always known under that gruff exterior was an old softie. “Thank you, Doctor Monsoon, that’s very nice of you to say.”
“It’s all true. Though you were younger than anyone else on the list of potentials, you were every bit the physician and surgeon they were, but you’re also inventive and willing to look beyond the realm of what we know right now and think about what might be possible, all for the good of your patients, and those are the important things. You’ll be on the cutting edge of medical science out there, but you can never lose sight of who we’re there for.”
“What you’ve managed to do on the Hope is truly remarkable, Doctor, it’ll be a hard act to follow.”
“It is very much a collective effort, the staff deserve all the praise. They’re some of the best I’ve worked with, now they’re all eager to meet you.”
M’Benga opened his mouth to speak, but luckily caught himself in time and closed it again. Monsoon scrutinised him over the desk.
“Say what you were going to, Doctor, I won’t be offended.”
“It…it’s just a shame that your last emergency call ended so badly,” he said softly, thinking back to the reports he’d read barely a month ago. “Are we any closer to understanding what happened on the Walkabout?”
“It’s always hard when a call for help can’t be answered the way we’d want it too, but even with all our technology, all our knowledge, we are still at the mercy of the unknown. The transport was thoroughly searched and investigated, but no evidence of where the contagion came from, or who released it, could be found. It’s still going through full decontamination protocols, though I doubt anyone will ever want to set foot on that ship again.
“As for the Walkabout Virus, ever since we delivered the survivors to Lambda Station myself, Doctor Nguyen, and every pathologist up on the ship have been working on cracking the mystery. I’m loathed to admit it, but whoever made it is one of the best virologists I’ve ever come across. It’s ability to mutate and adapt to hosts from different species has made it extremely unstable, as soon as we make the slightest headway it changes in such a way that makes our previous work almost useless.”
“I read up on it when the incident report was released, it is a nasty piece of work.”
“Starfleet Medical has approved my request to continue my research back on Megara, with full access to all classified information, so I’ll keep working on it.”
M’Benga was pleased to hear the retiring physician was going to keep at it. Monsoon, like him, knew that no one created a virus like that without planning on using it. If they couldn’t work out who it was, they could make sure that whenever it was released they had a cure ready.
Monsoon shook his head, as though to clear his thoughts. “Anyway, I best be leaving you to get ready to depart.”
“That’s quite alright, I’m packed and had my luggage taken to the landing pad this morning.”
The Megarite blew more bubbles. “Prepared and organised, I knew I made the right choice.” Monsoon rose slowly, leading M’Benga to mirror him. “But it’s best I depart; I’ve got travel plans of my own to get ready for.
“Yeoman Simmons has all the most recent reports, files and charts waiting for you, he’s worth his weight in gold that one. Matron knows the department like the back of her hand, she’ll keep you right, but if there’s ever anything I can do for you then give me a comm.”
“Thank you, Doctor, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good luck to you,” he said with a slight nod, before turning and heading back out the office.
* * * * *
Since his meeting with Doctor Monsoon, M’Benga had finished off the last few items of busy work he’d set him, had a quick coffee at a small outdoor coffee ship to soak in the fresh air and appreciate the openness of being planetside, before heading for the landing pad. In all that time he mulled over all that he would be faced with once he reached the Hope.
Starfleet only operated eight Seacole-Class medical ships (another four sat in mothballs, though would only be reactivated should the Federation find itself at war), so the chance to serve on one was hard to get—he knew a few colleagues who would’ve given anything for the opportunity—so he knew how honoured he was. The work they did was truly cutting edge, the lives saved by each ship was a testament to that, and whilst he initially felt overwhelmed by the responsibility placed upon him, he was up for the challenge. What was of most concern to him was the fact his older brother Simon was the Hope’s Executive Officer.
He hadn’t seen much of Simon over the last ten years, both of them serving in Starfleet and often at different ends of the quadrant, the last time they’d spent any considerable time together was before the elder M’Benga had gone off to the Academy, Joseph had been just thirteen at the time. Even before Simon had enrolled he was the model of discipline and order, meaning he always clamped down on his younger brothers’ youthful exuberance which made things tense between them, luckily Alice had always managed to mediate things between them and keep the peace. How they’d get on now, without their sister, was an unknown. Only time would tell.
On the landing pad was a single F-Class shuttle, a couple of deckhands loaded up the last of the supplies they’d be carrying, whilst the pilot and deck chief made the final inspection of the craft before taking off. Also present were the four other new crewmembers that were joining the Hope. He’d met two of them already, given they were both on his staff, Lieutenant Felix Hemmingway was a biochemist and biophysicist whilst Ensign Praal was a surgical intern. The others were also fresh from the Academy, an Arcadian male in gold and a human female in red. The redshirt saw him first and, upon seeing the lieutenant command braids on his cuffs, stood at attention. The others followed suit.
“At ease,” he told them, failing to keep a note of irritation from his voice.
The pilot handed a tablet to the deck chief and approached them. “Welcome, Commander. We’re all set here, so if you’d all like to board the shuttle we’ll be underway.”
“Lead the way, Petty Officer.”
The pilot gave a single nod and headed into the shuttle, M’Benga and the others followed close behind. As the non-com took his station, he settled into the seat beside him and the others filled the remaining chairs, behind which was their cargo and luggage. Whilst the others chatted among themselves and the pilot went through the standard pre-flight chatter, M’Benga tuned them all out and stared out at nothing, his mind dwelling on all that lay before him.
When he’d been assigned to the Enterprise he thought he’d been lucky, on a ship of the line he would be at the forefront of encountering new races and making momentous discoveries. It had surpassed all his expectations and he’d had the pleasure of working with some great people, friends he would miss, but such was the nature of life in Starfleet, nothing remained the same forever, change was inevitable.
He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t ever realise they’d taken off, not until the afternoon sun faded to the darkness of space. He blinked and took stock of where they were and cast a sideward glance at the pilot, impressed by just how smooth a flight they’d had. The journey from the planet’s surface into orbit was short and uneventful, the three ensigns continued to converse excitedly whilst Hemmingway was engrossed in a datapad.
“There she is,” the pilot said quietly, so only he could here.
Looking ahead, M’Benga spotted his new assignment, feeling a nauseating mix of excitement and nerves clench his stomach.
The vessel that rapidly filled the shuttles viewports was similar in many ways to most other ships in Starfleet, two distinct hulls and a pair of nacelles, but that was where the similarities stopped. The primary hull was vaguely reminiscent of a Miranda-Class ship (and likewise housed the warp core, impulse drive and most other technical systems along with crew accommodation and recreational facilities) with the warp engines extending out horizontally, whilst the secondary hull was connected directly to the saucer, removing the need for a neck section, and was just as wide, twice as long and eight decks tall. It was the secondary hull which was the biggest departure as, other than a trio of shuttlebays, the entire hull was dedicated to wards, surgical suites, intensive care units, isolation rooms, biohazard containment facilities, and laboratories that the dedicated hospital ship needed to deal with hundreds of patients.
“Hope, this is the De Galard requesting permission to dock.”
“De Galard, you are cleared for shuttlebay one.”
“Confirmed.”
Under the petty officers skilled hands, the shuttle took a wide arc around the starship and headed for the solitary hangar at the rear of the saucer nestled between a pair of impulse engines. Behind him, M’Benga heard the other three rookie officers shifting to get a better look at the ship.
In a matter of minutes, the craft passed through the shuttlebay’s forcefield and settled on the deck with barely a sound. As the pilot powered down the engines, the entry hatch opened and steps unfolded. He gestured for the others to go ahead of him, taking a few final seconds to prepare himself.
“Thank you, Petty Officer.”
“My pleasure, Commander, welcome aboard.”
Stepping out of the shuttle, he saw the junior officers being ushered away, whilst on the deck before him stood two humans. One he knew very well, the other was a woman with a silvery streak running through her dark hair, spiralling up into the practical bun she wore her hair in, her line face was kind but there was flint in her sky blue eyes.
He stepped down off the shuttle and stood at attention before them. “Lieutenant Commander Joseph M’Benga, requesting permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted, Lieutenant Commander,” his older brother said, his tone flat, expression carefully neutral. He held out his hand, which M’Benga took. “Welcome to the Hope.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Simon released his hand, only for it to be quickly grasped by the woman. “Welcome Doctor. Head nurse Laura Emanuel,” she said as they shook. He took note of her commander braids, though she technically outranking him his position as a doctor would mean that he was her superior.
“It’s good to meet you, Matron,” he told her, taking back his hand. One thing he’d taken note of from the ships logs and records, was the use of the moniker for the senior nurse. Her warm smirk quickly reassured him that he’d made the right call.
“Matron will show you around and get you up to speed. A meeting of the senior staff has been scheduled for eighteen hundred hours this evening.”
“Understood, Commander.”
With that, Simon turned on his heel and was about to head for the exit, but paused and looked back at him, the vaguest hint of a smile tugging the corner of his lips. “It’s good to see you again, Joseph.”
“You too, Simon.”
The XO gave a nod and marched out the hangar bay. He looked back at Emanuel.
“So, shall we get started?”
* * * * *
END
