Star Trek: Maverick - Against The Tide

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51149.5 (February 24, 2374. 13:37 Federation Standard Starship Time)
Admiral William Ross’s office, Starbase 375
United Federation Of Planets

The harsh lights of Admiral William Ross’s office on Starbase 375 seemed designed to strip away any illusion of comfort, reflecting the grim reality of the Dominion War. Verek Thorne, fresh from his promotion ceremony, stood stiffly at attention, the new Captain’s pips feeling heavier than they looked.

"Captain Thorne." Ross’s voice, raspy and worn, matched the office decor. "You understand the gravity of the situation."

"Yes, sir. The Dominion is advancing on all fronts." Thorne replied, his Vulcan-honed control barely masking the surge of anticipation and apprehension churning within him.

"Precisely. That’s why Starfleet has decided to…reallocate…resources. You’ve been given command of the USS Maverick." Ross gestured to a PADD on his desk. He paused, allowing the gravity of the situation to sink in before continuing. “But let’s not mince words, Captain. The crew you’re getting aren't exactly Starfleet’s poster children.”

“How so, Admiral.” O’Connell asked, “If I may.”

“You may, Captain,” Ross replied, his gaze never leaving Thorne’s face. “Lieutenant Commander Ro is your XO, chief tactical officer and ops officer. She rejoined Starfleet when the general amnesty was offered. Your chief engineer, Lieutenant Haaj, has a chip on his shoulder the size of a runabout. You’re helmsman is a natural pilot, but she’s green – fresh out of the academy. Your CMO’s competent but young. If it wasn’t for the war she’d still be in line for an assistant CMO billet.”

Thorne frowned slightly, “And my mission, sir?"

“The Federation colony on Volanis III is about to fall. We’re evacuating as many civilians as possible before the Dominion land troops. Your ship is to escort the transport convoy and ensure their safe passage."

"Are any other ships defending the convoy?" Thorne asked.

"Only one. The Bluefin. She's an old Albacore class cutter on loan from border service ship and under the command of Captain Joseph Akinola."

"Understood, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No, Captain. Please report to the Maverick and get underway ASAP. Dismissed." Ross said firmly.

Once Thorne had exited the office a side door whooshed open and in walked a fair haired human man in a Starfleet command division uniform with the insignia of a deputy director on the collar.

“Its done Sloan.” Ross said, “Can you tell me why it was necessary? He doesn’t have enough time in grade as an XO to qualify for a command of his own.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Admiral.” Sloan said with all the charm of a Ferengi used shuttle salesman, “There’s a war going on. One that we’re loosing.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Ross said.

“I know.” Sloan said ominously.

Without saying anything Sloan else triple tapped his combadge triggering an automatic beam out that made him disappear in s swirl of light that looked like a cross between a Federation transporter effect and the transporter effect of a Dominion long range transporter.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51149.5 (February 24, 2374. 13:37 Federation Standard Starship Time)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 docked with Starbase 375
United Federation Of Planets

Thorne’s arrival on the bridge was met with a mix of curiosity and guarded skepticism. The first officer, Lieutenant Commander Ro Laren, stood rigidly by her station, her Bajoran eyes narrowed in assessment. She was a wiry woman, her face etched with the lines of countless battles.

"Captain Thorne." she greeted him, her voice devoid of warmth. "Welcome aboard the Maverick. I am Lieutenant Commander Ro Laren, your first officer and chief tactical and operations officer."

“So you’re our top gun.” Thorne stated.

“Yes, sir.” Ro replied warily.

"Are you Ro Laren from the Enterprise-D and the Wellington?" Thorne queried.

"Yes, sir." Ro replied warily knowing that her past and her defection to the Maquis had made her unpopular with many Starfleet personnel.

"I look forward to serving with you."

"To be honest, sir. I'm surprised to hear that. Given my past." Ro said honesty.

With a chuckle Thorne said, "I'm a bit of a... lursh disturber too. I'm sure you've noticed the ears and the Terran surname."

"Yes, sir. But I wasn't going to pry." Ro replied honestly.

"Long story short I've rejected my Vulcan side and embraced my human side. I'm as emotional as any Human." Thorne explained, "Hell I even love telling dad jokes. But since I don't have any kids i guess that makes me a... faux pa."

"Sir?"

“Nevermind...If you wouldn’t mind, Commander?” Thorne prompted.

“Computer, transfer command to Captain Thorne. Authorization Ro gamma six seven six.” Ro announced to the computer.

“Captain Thorne, do you concur?” The computer asked.

“I concur. Authorization Thorne omega three two three.” Thorne replied.

“USS Maverick is now under the command of Captain Verek Thorne.” The computer announced neutrally.

Before anyone could respond, a gruff voice boomed from the engineering console, "About time someone showed up to boss us around! Glar Lek Haaj, Chief Engineer, can we get going now?"

A Tellarite, broad and barrel-chested, swiveled in his chair, his bristly beard twitching. His demeanor was openly hostile, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"Lieutenant," Thorne said seeing the two full pips of a Lieutenant on the Tellarite's collar, carefully keeping his voice even. "I appreciate your… enthusiasm, Lieutenant Haaj. Can I assume the Maverick is ship shape?"

"As much as any ship can be with all the supply issues this thrice damned yarliq-assed war is creating.” Haaj scoffed.

"I trust you can keep her running, Chief?" Thorne said trying to suppress the grin.

"I always do, Captain," Haaj said with a surprising hint of pride. "I'll be in engineering, I have a warp core to harass."

Walking over to the helm he extended his hand introducing himself, "Verek Thorne."

Standing the youthful redhead shook his hand nervously, "M.. Miranda Cruise, sir."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Thorne said, "Admiral Ross told me that you're a natural pilot."

"T..thank-you, sir."

"I look forward to you proving the admiral right." Thorne said before he headed to the center seat. As he sat down in the center seat, HIS seat, he said, "Ensign Cruise, request clearance from the starbase to depart. We've got an evacuation effort on Cygni three to protect."

Moments later the Cruise, replied, "Ops has cleared us, Captain. All umbilicals and moorings have been retracted. We're operating on internal power and are ready to depart on your order."

"Take us out. Once we're clear of the outer marker lay in a course for Volanis III and engage at warp nine." Thorne replied. "I want to get there before the Jem'Hadar and the Cardies."

"Aye sir." Ensign Miranda Cruise said as her fingers danced across the helm.

The Maverick shuddered as it pulled away from the starbase, its powerful engines spitting out plumes of ionized gas. Thorne felt a thrill course through him, a mix of anticipation and responsibility. The fate of countless civilians rested on his shoulders, and he wouldn't let them down.

"Warp nine, engaged!" Ensign Cruise announced, her voice still a little shaky. As the Maverick hurtled through space, its viewscreen showing the familiar sight of points of light rushing past for the edges of the viewscreen.

Thorne turned to Ro, "Commander, I want a full diagnostic report on the ship's systems. I want to know everything – strengths, weaknesses, potential problems. Anything that could impact our ability to defend the convoy."

Ro nodded curtly. "Understood, Captain. I'll have it to you within the hour."

"Good." Thorne steepled his fingers. "Also, Lieutenant Commander, I'd like your honest assessment of the crew. No sugar coating."

Ro's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm fairly new to the ship, but from what I've seen and read the Maverick has seen a lot of action. Some of the crew have been here since the beginning of the war. They're experienced, hardened… some might say jaded. They've seen COs and XOs come and go, promises made and broken. They'll follow orders, but earning their trust will take time."

"I understand," Thorne said.

Thorne wasn't surprised at all. He knew that the Defiant-class ships tended to create a certain type of officer, ones that had been chewed up and spat back out by. They were survivors, but they carried the scars of the war with them.

As the Maverick raced towards Volanis III, Thorne began to review tactical schematics of the colony. The Dominion advance was rapid, and the colony's defenses were already crumbling. Time was of the essence.

Forty minutes later, Ro approached Thorne carrying a PADD. "Captain, the diagnostic report is complete. The Maverick is in relatively good condition, She could use a major overhaul at a starbase, but that's not unusual lately."

"And the crew assessment?" Thorne asked, taking the PADD.

Ro hesitated. "As I mentioned, they're experienced, but there are… disciplinary issues. A few crewmembers have a history of insubordination."

Thorne sighed inwardly. It was worse than he expected. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. I want strict enforcement of regulations, we're Starfleet not a bunch of drunken Nausicaan pirates."

"Aye, Captain," Ro said, a flicker of something that might have been respect in her eyes.

Thorne reviewed the data on the PADD, mentally cataloging the names and offences.

"Haaj, Of course." He muttered to himself knowing that the Tellarite likely saw regulations and chain of command as mere suggestions.

He tapped his combadge to call Haaj, who had gone to engineering, "Thorne to Haaj."

A disgruntled voice crackled back, "Haaj here, Captain. Something burning up there that I need to put out?"

"Not yet, Chief. But I want you on the bridge. Now."

Haaj grumbled something unintelligible before the channel went dead. Thorne glanced at Ro, a silent question in his eyes. She simply offered a tight-lipped shrug.

A few minutes later, Haaj stomped onto the bridge, his brow furrowed and his beard practically bristling with indignation. "What do you need, Captain? I have a warp core that needs more attention that a nervous yarliq pup."

"Lieutenant Haaj," Thorne said calmly, gesturing to a vacant console. "I've reviewed your service record. I see a pattern of… creative interpretation of Starfleet regulations."

Haaj crossed his arms. "With all due respect, Captain, frell the regs. I get lursh done."

"I appreciate your efficiency, Lieutenant. But on my ship, we conduct ourselves according to regulations, understand?"

"And if I don't?" Haaj challenged, his voice low.

Thorne leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Then you'll find yourself confined to the brig until I have you transferred off the ship to man the most remote and desolate outpost possible. Consider this your one and only warning. Do I make myself clear, MISTER Haaj?"

Haaj glared at him for a long moment, the tension palpable. Finally, he let out a huff, "Crystal, Captain."

"Good. You're dismissed, Lieutenant" Thorne said summarily.

Haaj turned abruptly and stomped back towards the turbolift, muttering about "soft-skinned command types" under his breath. Ro watched him go, then turned to Thorne, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He knew he had a long road ahead of him to whip this crew into shape.

"Bold move, Captain," she said.

"Necessary move, Commander," Thorne replied. "Its like dealing with a pack of wolves. I needed to establish dominance. If you give people like the lieutenant a nanometer they'll take a light-year."

Ro nodded. "I understand. It's just... the crew's been through a lot. They're used to a more... flexible interpretation of the rules."

"I can be flexible, but I will not tolerate insubordination," Thorne said firmly, his gaze still on the retreating form of Haaj. "We need to function as a unit if we're going to survive."

Ro nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Understood, Captain."

Thorne took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his new command. "I'm going to get a drink from the replicator. Anyone want one while I'm up?"

Ro raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "I'd appreciate a raktajino, Captain. It's going to be a long night."

"Make that two, sir" Cruise chimed in.

Looking at the non-comms manning the other stations Thorne saw them shaking their heads before he stood up and sauntered to the replicator. The simple act of asking for drinks was a small step towards forming a bond with his crew, showing that despite his strictness, he wasn't completely detached from their needs. The replicator hummed to life, and two steaming raktajinos and one iced raktajino materialized. He took a moment to savor the rich aroma of the Klingon coffee beverage before walking to the Tactical I/Operations station where Ro sat and the helm where Cruise was to deliver the drinks before returning to the captain's chair with his own. The gesture was met with surprised nods from the crew, who had likely not seen such casualness from their previous commanding officers.

"Are any other ships defending the evacuation effort?" Ro asked, sipping her raktajino.

Thorne nodded. "One. The USS Bluefin, commanded by Captain Joseph Akinola. It's an Albacore class cutter."

Cruise raised an eyebrow as she turned from the helm. "Albacore class? I thought those were all decommissioned decades ago."

Thorne took a sip of his iced raktajino. "Not in the border service. They've kept a few operational for patrol and interdiction duties. They're not pretty, but they're sturdy and if they've got a half decent engineer they are as maneuverable as us and able to weather ion storms better than we can."

Ro raised an eyebrow. "So our back up is some old tin cans and a bunch of 'border dogs'? Good thing Haaj's not here to hear that."

Thorne shot her a sharp look. "Lieutenant Commander, that kind of talk is unbecoming of a Starfleet officer. The border service may not be the gleaming face of Starfleet, but they serve a critical purpose. Their members ARE Starfleet, simply in a different branch."

Thorne's tone softened. "I was almost one of those 'border dogs' myself. I had seriously considered transferring to the Bluefin under Captain Akinola. The only reason I didn't was because there were no open positions at the time."

He took another sip of his iced raktajino, watching the crew's expressions. They hadn't expected that revelation.

"Really?... Why?" Ro asked dumfounded.

"Captain Akinola is one of the best there is." Thorne explained, " He started out as a non-comm and earned a battle field commission then rose through the ranks in the border service to command the same ship he was chief of the boat on."

"But we're not here to talk about what-ifs," Thorne said firmly. "We're here to get this job done. And we will. Now, let's focus on the task at hand. Lieutenant Commander Ro, I want a detailed briefing on the convoy and the expected threat levels at each stage of the mission. Ensign Cruise, keep us informed of any changes in our trajectory. We need to be ready for anything."

Ro nodded, setting down her raktajino and immediately starting to work. "Aye, Captain."
Cruise, her cheeks flushing slightly at the Captain's reproof, replied, "Aye, sir. I'll keep us on course and monitor for any anomalies."

Thorne looked to Ro and said, "I'll be in the ready room if you need me, Commander."
Ro nodded. "Understood, Captain."

Thorne made his way to the starboard exit, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence of the bridge. The door hissed open, revealing the corridor beyond. Walking into the ready room moments later he noted that the space was small but functional, with a large tactical display dominating one wall, and a simple desk with a standard desktop monitor and adequate looking chair for him behind it. Sitting down heavily, his mind racing with the details of the mission ahead. The Federation was stretched thin and resources were scarce. The Maverick and the Bluefin, both ships with their own issues and quirks, would be all they had to protect those transports. He had to make sure they were ready.

"Computer, compile a report on everything we know about Volanis III and any reports of Dominion activity in the area.

"Requested function will take approximately five minutes to complete." the computer's calm voice responded., "Do you wish to proceed?"

"Proceed." Thorne said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes briefly. He knew he'd need to be sharp for what was to come. The Federation was counting on them.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51149.6 (February 24, 2374. 14:43 Federation Standard Starship Time)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 on Route for Volanis III
United Federation Of Planets

The hum of the USS Maverick vibrated through Verek Thorne’s bones as he stepped out of his ready room. The report on Volnais III burned in his mind. Dominion activity was escalating, too close to the colony for comfort. Standard Starfleet procedure called for evacuation, but the sheer number of civilians meant the transports would be sitting ducks. He needed to reinforce them, buy them time. He needed the Maverick to be more than just a gunboat, he needed it to be a shield. He straightened his uniform, the newly-affixed captain’s pips glinting under the harsh fluorescent light. This was it. Command. Not a posting he’d particularly sought, not with a war raging and the Federation teetering on the brink. But here he was, about to lead a cobbled-together crew into the heart of the storm. Walking down the corridor he headed for sickbay To introduce himself to the Chief Medical Officer. It was important to establish a connection, a sense of trust, even if he barely knew them.

The automatic doors hissed open, revealing the antiseptic starkness of sickbay. He spotted a woman with long raven colored hair hanging in loose curls bent over a biobed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Doctor…?" Thorne began, his voice even.

The woman looked up, her eyes sharp and intelligent. Her skin was the deep emerald green, common among Orions. Some would describe her as rubenesque. By no means was over weight but she would never be called slim either.

"Doctor Elara Vahn. And you must be Captain Thorne." She offered a tired smile, but her gaze was assessing, measuring. "Welcome aboard, Captain. Though I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Doctor Vahn," Thorne replied, returning the smile. "The circumstances are less than ideal, I agree. But I’m confident we can handle them." He paused. "I wanted to introduce myself and let you know I value your expertise. In a situation like Volnais III, you and your team will be invaluable."

Doctor Vahn’s brow furrowed deeper, "I just received preliminary casualty projections. They’re… grim, Captain."

"Grim, yes," Verek acknowledged. "Which is why we need to do everything we can to minimize them. I need your frank assessment of our med-bay’s capabilities. Can we handle a mass casualty situation? What resources do we need?"

Doctor Vahn didn't hesitate. "We're well-equipped for a Defiant class ship, Captain, but stretched thin. We could use a significant refit and expansion to bring us up to an acceptable level."

Thorne nodded, absorbing the information. "I'll see what I can do, Doc. But don't count on the refit happening anytime soon."

“Understood, Captain. I’ll make sure we’re as prepared as we can be with what we have. We’ll need every spare biobed available, and I’ll order a full diagnostic sweep of all medical equipment. My staff is small, but dedicated. They’ll give their all.” She paused, glancing back at the biobed. The patient, a young Bajoran ensign, lay there with a light gash visible on his forehead.

Thorne followed her gaze. “What happened to him?”

“He wasn’t watching where he was going and he tripped over a power conduit during a routine systems check. Minor head wound, some bruising. He’ll be fine. The worst of it is the blow to his pride.” Vahn’s tone was dry, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Thorne couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Ah, the glamour of space travel. Do your best to patch him up, Doc. I’m only a comm-call away if you need anything.”

With that, he turned to leave, the doors hissing open as he stepped into the corridor. The cool efficiency of the ship’s air was a stark contrast to the warm, sterile atmosphere of sickbay. He took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the mission ahead weighing on him. As he began to walk, the thud of his boots echoing through the empty space, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d be seeing a lot more of those doors in the coming days, bringing him news of the injured and the lost.

“Captain!” Vahn called out, her voice trough sickbay.

Thorne stopped and turned to face her, his expression expectant. “Yes, Doctor?”

Vahn took a step closer, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. “I just wanted to clarify, Captain, that I am well aware of the reputation of my people, and particularly my gender. We have a reputation for using pheromones to manipulate others that is not entirely unfounded. But I assure you, I would never even consider trying something like that. I’m on suppressors. You have nothing to worry about in that regard.”

Thorne looked at her, a slight smile playing on his lips, “Good to know, Doc. But I’d like to think that I can handle myself around a beautiful woman without falling apart at the seams.”

“I didn’t mean to imply…” Vahn trailed off.

“I know. I was just teasing.” Thorne said, his smile widening slightly. “But I appreciate your candor, Doctor.”

Doctor Vahn blushed deeper, “I just didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding.”

Thorne nodded. “There won’t be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to prepare for battle.”

The doctor nodded, her expression a mix of relief and respect. “Of course, Captain.”

Thorne’s smile remained as he stepped out of sickbay, the doors sliding shut behind him. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by the directness of Dr. Vahn. Most Orion females he’d met played into the stereotype of their species’ seductive allure. Her candidness was refreshing. He found it to be of little surprise that he found her fascinating.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51149.6 (February 24, 2374. 14:43 Federation Standard Starship Time)
USS Mary Celeste NCC-13053 In interstellar space 2.5 light years from Volanis III
United Federation Of Planets

The hum of the USS Mary Celeste, a Starfleet Oberth-class science vessel, was a familiar lullaby to Captain Benjamin Briggs. He sat on the bridge, sipping replicated chamomile tea, the aroma a small comfort in the vast, uncaring expanse of space. Outside, the purple haze of the Volnais system painted a surreal backdrop against the star-dusted canvas.

“Report,” Briggs said, his voice calm and laced with the weariness of a long patrol.

The bridge was a hive of controlled activity. Lieutenant J’Rel, the Vulcan science officer, was perched before her console, her brow furrowed in a way that suggested a complex algorithm was being wrestled into submission. Ensign Davies, young and eager, was bouncing in his seat, his fingers flying across his own console.

“Captain,” J’Rel finally announced, her voice flat but laced with an undercurrent of…something. “The signatures emanating from the Volnais system remain anomalous. I have cross-referenced our database with every known spatial phenomenon. The results are…inconclusive.”

Briggs sipped his tea, wincing at its temperature. “Inconclusive, Lieutenant? That’s a rather polite way of saying you have no idea what’s going on.”

J’Rel inclined her head slightly. “That is a fair assessment, Captain. The signatures do not merely deviate from established patterns; they appear to not be consistent with the basic quantum signature of this reality.

“Not consistent with this reality? Explain.” His voice was calm, almost too calm, a sign to those who knew him that he was deeply concerned.

J’Rel continued, her eyes fixed on the swirling patterns on her console. “Based on our current understanding of quantum mechanics, every object, every particle in this universe possesses a unique quantum signature. These signatures are dictated by fundamental constants and laws. The signatures we are detecting from the Volnais system, however, suggest a different set of constants, a different set of laws… a different quantum reality, perhaps.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you believe that I am stating that the readings have an extra-dimensional origin then you are correct in your assumption.” J’Rel replied in a typically Vulcan fashion.

“Lieutenant J’Ral, I want you to take a shuttle to investigate. Ensign Davies will be your pilot.” Briggs said, “If the readings don’t appear to pose a risk upon closer investigation we’ll bring the ship in closer."

“Aye, sir.” J’Ral said neutrally. Looking to Davies she said, “You are with me, Ensign.”

Ensign Davies practically leaped out of his chair. “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!”

This was it. His first real away mission. He could already picture himself recounting the tale to his grandchildren, a Starfleet legend in the making. He paused, remembering protocol, and straightened his uniform before hurrying after J’Rel. Briggs watched them leave, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. They all knew the risks; space was full of the unknown, and the could be majestic and benign or majestic and deadly.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51151.5 (February 25, 2374. 07:52 Federation Standard Starship Time)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 on Route for Volanis III
United Federation Of Planets

The next morning Thorne walked onto the Maverick’s bridge a few steps behind Ro and headed for the center seat to relieve the ship’s Alvanian gamma shift officer of the watch, Lieutenant (JG) Mehg’n Tillis, Thorne watched as Tillis stood up and stepped to the side so she was standing beside the center seat.

“Was it a quiet shift, lieutenant?” Thorne asked as one of the security officers, Chief Petty Officer Thurston Howell, relived his gamma shift counterpart and took his position standing in the ‘at ease’ position by the turbolift.

“Very much so, sir.” Tillis replied, “The most exciting thing was when Sickbay reported that Petty Officer Rico slipped coming down a Jefferies tube ladder and sprained his ankle.”

“I see.” Thorne said, “The bridge is mine.”

“I stand relieved.” Tillis said relinquishing command of the bridge to Thorne.

As Thorne sat down in the captain’s chair Tillis, and the rest of the gamma shift bridge crew filed out of the bridge through the port and starboard exits to go off duty. Looking at the chronometer display on the port side captain’s console Thorne saw that it was just before zero-eight-hundred hours; the beginning of alpha shift.

“Computer, begin day watch.” Thorne said to the computer causing it to begin the day watch which caused the lighting throughout the ship to rise to the standard level from the reduced lighting levels of gamma shift, “All stations, status report.”

“All primary and secondary systems operating at peak efficiency.” Ro said from her station, “Pulse phasers, Quantum torpedoes and shields are available when necessary. Scientific and combat tracking systems are online and at the ready.”

“Warp and all sub-light propulsion systems are at the ready.” Cruise said turning away from the helm console the viewscreen.

Thorne tapped his combadge, “Thorne to Sickbay.”

Vahn’s voice responded crisply, “Sickbay. Vahn here. What can I do for you, Captain?”

Thorne leaned back in his chair, “Just checking in, Doctor. How’s the crew?”

Vahn’s voice was filled with a hint of playfulness. “Aside from a wide-spread and chronic lack of appreciation for the comedic genius of the Three Stooges, they’re in good health.”

“What’s your prescription, Doc?” Thorne quipped, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Vahn’s chuckle washed over the comm. “Well, a mandatory Stooge movie marathon would help. But in all seriousness, Captain, we’re prepared for the mission ahead.”

Thorne nodded to himself, the sound of her laughter lingering in his mind as he turned to face the viewscreen. “Very well, Doctor. Keep me updated on any concerns, aside from the crew’s lack of appreciation for comedic genius.”

The comm chirped off, and he turned his attention to the mission at hand. The evacuation of Volanis III was not going to be easy. The planet had been a strategic asset, a bastion of agricultural innovation. Losing it would be a significant blow to the Federation, both in resources and morale. But not evacuating it and letting the inhabitants be subjugated or slaughtered by the Jem’Hadar would deal an even more significant blow to morale. It was a lose-lose scenario, and Thorne knew that the only way to win was to save as many lives as possible.

Ro’s voice cut through the ambient hum of the bridge. “Captain, the USS Bluefin has entered sensor range. They’re on course to Volanis III.”

Thorne nodded, his eyes on the tactical display. “Are we in real-time communication range yet?”

Ro checked her console, her eyes scanning the data. “Negative, Captain. Estimated time to real-time communication range is twelve minutes forty-three seconds. Assuming that both ships maintain current course and speed.”

“Signal the Bluefin and send Captain Akinola my regards, Commander.” Thorne instructed Ro, his tone a mix of formality and camaraderie.

“Aye, Captain.” Ro responded, her fingers dancing over her console.

Moments later, Ro’s eyes flicked up from her screen to meet Thorne’s. “The Bluefin has acknowledged your message, Captain. Captain Akinola sends his regards as well.”

“Acknowledged.” Thorne said, “You have the bridge, Commander. I’ll be in my ready room, keep me informed of any changes.”

Ro nodded, “Aye, Captain.”

Thorne exited the bridge through the port exit, his boots resonating against the deck plating as he made his way to the ready room. The ready room was a small sanctuary, but it was the quiet he sought, not the space. He sat behind his desk, reviewing the colony’s layout, the positions of the transports, and the expected paths of Dominion patrols filled the room. He studied the intel, his mind racing through possible scenarios. The clock ticked down the seconds, each one feeling like a pebble dropping into the abyss of the unknown. The Maverick, a Defiant-class warship bearing the scars of countless battles, was to hold the line alongside the USS Bluefin, buying precious hours for the colonists to escape.

The door's annunciator chimed, prompting Thorne to call out, "Enter."

Doctor Vahn, her skin a vibrant emerald green, glided into the room. The Orion’s inherent allure was amplified by the crisp Starfleet uniform, the gold piping highlighting her lithe frame.

“Captain,” she greeted, her voice a melodic hum.

“Doc.” Thorne replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Humble is hardly the word I would use, Captain.” She countered, her eyes twinkling. “Efficient, perhaps? Austere, definitely?”

Thorne chuckled softly, “It’s a work in progress.”

He gestured to a chair, “Please, have a seat. What’s on your mind?”

Vahn settled into the chair, her posture graceful. “I’ve been monitoring the crew. Morale is…fragile. The Dominion has a way of doing that to people.”

Thorne steepled his fingers, the gesture more human than Vulcan. “Fragile, but not broken, I hope?”

“Not yet. But to be honest there’s one person onboard that I’m REALLY worried about.”
“Who?” Thorne queried.

“You.” Vahn said softly, her hand reaching across the desk to cover his, her touch sending a pleasant shiver through him, “You don’t always have to be Captain Thorne, the stoic leader. Sometimes, you can just be Verek. For someone who’s half-Vulcan, you certainly carry a lot of… intensity.”

Thorne chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “My Vulcan grandparents did their best to suppress it, along with everything else human in me. They saw it as… illogical. They didn’t even try to hide their disapproval. When my parent’s marriage ended my mother and I moved back to Earth and I took her last name.”

Vahn tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “I’m SO sorry to hear that. How how do you feel about your Vulcan heritage in general?”

Thorne hesitated, a familiar bitterness rising in his throat. “It’s… complicated. Suffice to say, I consider myself Human not Vulcan.”

He met her gaze, his own softening. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an undeniable attraction. The logistical reports, the looming threat of the Dominion, all faded into the background, replaced by the warmth in her eyes, the alluring curve of her lips. He leaned forward, drawn in by an invisible force. Their faces were inches apart now, his breath mingling with hers. He saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, quickly replaced by an answering desire.

Just as their lips were about to meet, the moment shattered.

Chirp!

Thorne flinched, the intimacy instantly broken. His combadge, a shrill intrusion, blared to life. Tapping it he opened the comm-link.

“Thorne. Go ahead”

“Ro, Captain.” The Bajoran first officer’s disembodied voice said, “We’re in real-time visual communication range. Captain Akinola is waiting to speak with you.”

With a sigh of frustration, as Vahn mouthed ‘We’ll talk later’, Thorne replied, “Put him through, Commander.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51151.9 (February 25, 2374. 10:52 Federation Standard Starship Time)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 on Route for Volanis III
United Federation Of Planets

“Commander, we’ve got an unidentified energy signature coming out of a ion storm, bearing 2-1-4 mark 7.” Cruise voice was steady despite the tension in her posture.

Ro’s face scrunched up as she squinted at the viewscreen, “What does it look like?”

“It’s too intermittent to get a clear lock, but it’s definitely not natural.” Cruise replied, her voice betraying the excitement of a new discovery.

Ro’s tapped the combadge on her chest, “Captain Thorne, to the bridge. We have an unidentified contact on sensors.”

Thorne’s response was swift and clear, “On my way.”

The captain’s footsteps were quick and deliberate as he emerged onto the bridge. The room snapped to attention, the drills forgotten as all eyes turned to him. The tension in the air thickened like the plasma outside their ship.

“Report!” he ordered as Ro vacated the center seat returning to her station and wordlessly relinquishing command of the bridge.

“We’ve got an unidentified energy signature coming out of an ion storm at 2-1-4 mark 7.” Ro reported, “We’re within visual range, but interference from the storm will make it difficult to get a clear image.”

“On screen.”

The captain’s order was met with swift action, and the viewscreen flickered to life, showing a hazy image of a Starfleet vessel half-obscured by the tumultuous plasma storm. The ship’s identification number was fuzzy, but the silhouette was unmistakable—an Oberth class science vessel.

“Who is she?”

“Picking up her transponder signal now.” Ro’s voice was tight with anticipation. “It’s the Mary Celeste.”

“That’s Benjamin Briggs’ ship.” Thorne said Ro.

“Open a channel.” Thorne ordered.

“Channel open, Captain.”

“This is the Maverick to the Mary Celeste, please respond.” Thorne’s voice was firm and clear, cutting through the static interference like a knife.

After a moment of silence Thorne looked at the engineering station and the Chief Petty Officer, a Bolian named Sato, manning it saying, “Is she receiving us Chief?”

Sato nodded, “They’re definitely receiving, their comm array is intact and operational.”

“Life signs, Commander Ro?” Thorne queried.

“Inconclusive. There’s too mulch interference from storm.” Ro replied.
Thorne’s mind raced. The Mary Celeste had been found adrift. The silence on the other end of the channel was unnerving. He knew that in the Badlands, silence could be as dangerous as the storms themselves.

“Maverick to Mary Celeste, this is Captain Varek Thorne. Are you in need of assistance?” He tried again.

The channel crackled with static, and for a moment, the bridge was eerily silent before the hiss of the plasma storm filled the void. The engineering console beeped again, and Chief Petty Officer Sato shook his head. “No response, Captain.”

Thorne’s gaze hardened. “Alter course, Ensign. Commander Ro, Let the Bluefin know that we’re investigating a possible S.I.D.”

“Aye, sir.” Cruise replied before being echoed by Ro.

Moments later the Maverick dropped out of warp and maneuvered as close to the ion as Cruise dared. Thorne’s eyes remained on the viewscreen, watching as the stormy veil parted to reveal the Mary Celeste in full view. The Oberth-class ship was indeed a sight to behold—beautiful in its antiquity, but something was off. The lights flickered in an erratic pattern, and there was an unnatural stillness to the way it drifted through the plasma.

With a heavy sigh, Thorne turned to his first officer, “Assemble an away team, Commander. I want to know what’s going on over there. Take a shuttle. I don’t wanna risk the transporter in this chop.”

Ro nodded, “Aye, Captain.”

“Ensign Cruise, keep us in a tight formation with the Mary Celeste, and stay ready to lock on a tractor beam and move at a moment’s notice,” Thorne continued, his eyes never leaving the viewscreen.

“Aye, sir,” responded the young human, her hands steady on the controls.

The Mary Celeste loomed larger on the viewscreen, a stark testament to the ravages of time and the brutal environment of the Badlands. Her once gleaming hull was now a patchwork of burn marks and impact damage. The ship looked like it had seen more than its fair share of battles, but the lack of life signs was the most unsettling aspect. As the Maverick drew closer to the derelict ship, the storm’s interference grew stronger, sending shudders through the vessel’s hull. The engineering console beeped incessantly as Chief Sato worked to filter the interference.

=/\=​

Stardate: 51152.0 (February 25, 2374. 11:32 Federation Standard Starship Time)
Shuttlecraft Aurora approaching the USS Mary Celeste.
United Federation Of Planets

As the shuttlecrsft Aurora approached the Mary Celeste, Ro hailed the seemingly abandoned ship one last time. “Mary Celeste, this is Shuttlecraft Aurora requesting permission to dock. We are here to assist.”

Silence.

Ro sighed, “Preparing to dock at the port airlock.”

With a jolt, the Aurora locked onto the Mary Celeste. Ro checked the readings to on the pilots console, “We’ve got a positive seal and sensors are reading breathable air beyond the airlock.”

“Alright, team, let’s go.” Ro continued standing up and heading for the shuttle’s airlock.
The other members of the away team followed suit: Crewman Jaxx, a hulking Bolian security officer armed with a rifle, and Doctor Vahn. The airlock hissed open, revealing a dimly lit corridor on the Mary Celeste.

“Stay sharp,” Ro instructed, her voice low. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

They moved cautiously down the corridor, their phasers raised. The walls were lined with flickering emergency lights, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe and shift with every movement. The only sound was the rhythmic thump of their boots on the metal grating. As they moved through the ship, they noticed that personal items were scattered, but not in a way that suggested a battle or an emergency. It was more like the crew had simply stepped out and never returned. The mess hall had half-eaten meals on the table, the captain’s ready room had a book open on the desk, and the bridge was a ghost town of consoles and chairs.

“It’s as if they left in the middle of their shift,” Vahn mused, a frown creasing her emerald forehead.

The trio moved towards the shuttle bay, where they found one of the bays empty. The only thing they found amiss was that one of the shuttlecraft was missing.

“The shuttle couldn’t hold the whole crew,” Ro said, his brow furrowed as he studied the bay doors. “Where could they have gone?”

Tapping her combadge, the cold metal against his fur a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin, Ro said, “Ro to Maverick, come in.”

Thorne’s voice crackled through the channel, “Maverick here. What’s your status?”

“We’ve found something odd,” Ro said as they surveyed the abandoned bay. “The crew is missing. So far there’s no signs of trouble and one of their shuttlecraft is missing.”

“Keep looking,” Thorne replied, his tone tight with concern. “There’s something not right here. They couldn’t’ve fit all of the crew into a single shuttle.”

“Agreed. Ro out.” She replied before closing the channel with another tap of his combadge. Looking at the rest of the away team she said, “You heard the Captain.”

The away team continued their search, moving methodically through the ship’s corridors. They checked every room, but found no trace of the missing crew. The silence grew heavier with each passing moment, the only sound their own footsteps echoing through the emptiness.

“This isn’t right,” Jaxx murmured, “Everything’s too… orderly. It’s as if they just vanished.”

“I agree, it’s eerie,” Ro said, his voice a low growl. “But we need to find out what happened here. Is it possible they were beamed away?”

“If they were it was long enough ago that the trace dissipated.” Jaxx replied checking his tricorder.

“Keep looking," Ro ordered, his eyes scanning the corridor as they continued walking.

They continued their search, reaching the engineering section. The massive engines hummed with a low, resonant thrum, seemingly oblivious to the absence of their operators. The consoles blinked and whirred, displaying a steady stream of data that meant nothing without someone to interpret it.

“Engineering logs might tell us something,” Ro suggested, heading towards the main console. She began accessing the ship’s computer, her fingers flying across the interface.

“Let’s see… last entry was… yesterday just before fifteen hundred. Standard maintenance check. Nothing unusual reported.”

Ro frowned at the log entries. A routine maintenance check just hours before the ship was found adrift? It defied logic. Something had to have happened in between.

“Try to find any unusual sensor readings or anomalies logged around the time the crew supposedly vanished,” Ro instructed.

While Ro worked on the main console, Vahn moved toward the warp core observation platform, peering into the swirling energies. Jax stood guard near the entrance, his rifle held at the ready. Shifting position a glint on the deck caught his eye. He lowered his rifle slightly, his blue eyes narrowing as he investigated.

“I’ve got something, Commander!” He pointed his rifle down at the deck.

Ro and Vahn hurried over to Jaxx. He was pointing at the pin with his phaser rifle, a stylized image of a sword thrust through the planet Earth. It was small, seemingly insignificant, but it triggered a vague sense of familiarity in Ro’s mind.

Ro knelt, carefully examining the pin. “I’ve seen this before. I can’t place it, but it’s definitely familiar.”

Picking up the pin and standing she said, “Let’s keep looking, this ship isn’t going to search itself.”

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

It looks like an update is missing between the last update and the section immediately preceding it. Vahn is getting kissy-faced with the captain (kissus-interruptus) then suddenly she's on a shuttle with Ro investigating a mystery ship that has yet to be introduced in the story.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Callum MacLeod]

It looks like an update is missing between the last update and the section immediately preceding it. Vahn is getting kissy-faced with the captain (kissus-interruptus) then suddenly she's on a shuttle with Ro investigating a mystery ship that has yet to be introduced in the story.

Thanks!! rbs

Good catch RBS. I've inserted it. Should make more sense now.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51154.5 (February 26, 2374. 10:02 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 on Route for Volanis III
United Federation Of Planets

“Captain, we’re approaching the Volnais system. Preliminary scans indicate a Cardassian Galor-class cruiser and two Jem’Hadar fighters already engaging the transport vessels. Four more Galors and six fighters are on course for the system point seven five light years out and closing at warp nine. ETA: 4.3 hours.” Ro said from her spot at the combined Tactical I/Operations station.

“Talk about swimming against the tide…” Cruise muttered.

“Ensign Cruise, take us out of warp as close to the planet as possible. Commander Ro, Tactical assessment. What are our chances?” Thorne said barking orders.

“Dropping to impulse. The Bluefin is right behind us” Ensign Cruise called out, her voice tight as she worked the helm controls.

Ro’s expression was bleak. “One on one, even odds. The Bluefin is definitely outgunned and outmatched.”

From the back of the bridge, a gruff voice cut through the tension. “Well, ain’t that just a lovely situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Haaj, the Tellarite chief engineer, lumbered towards his station, his brow furrowed in a perpetual scowl. “Just got the warp drive purring like a kitten, and now you’re gonna shove us straight into the fire.”

“Stow the complaints and man your station, Lieutenant.” Thorne snapped.

“Captain, the Bluefin is hailing us,” Ro reported, her voice laced with concern. “It’s Captain Akinola.”

Thorne nodded grimly. “On screen.”

Seconds later the face of Captain Joseph Akinola filled the viewscreen. His dark eyes searched Thorne’s, reading the tension etched on the young captain’s face.

“Captain Thorne, per Starfleet regulation 191, article 14, in ship to ship combat involving multiple ships command falls to the vessel with tactical superiority. I believe that would be your Maverick in this situation. How do you wish to proceed?”

Even over the comm Captain Akinola projected an air of calm authority despite the urgency of their situation.

Thorne leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Frell the regs, Captain Akinola. You’ve got more combat experience in your little finger than I have in my whole body. What’s your suggestion?”

Akinola nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. “I recommend a coordinated attack. Lets play to our ships’ strengths. We go in guns blazing to draw them away then the Maverick keeps them off balance while the Bluefin covers the transports’ escape and lays down cover fire. I’m sure my tactical officer won’t mind taking a few potshots at the Jem’Hadar and the Cardies”

“Frakin’ Eh!” Chief Petty Officer Solly bellowed from his station on the Bluefin’s bridge, his enthusiasm palpable despite the dire situation.

Akinola turned to face the burly Orion, his expression a blend of amusement and sternness, “Save the enthusiasm for the battle, Solly. We’ve got a job to do, and we can’t afford to get ahead of ourselves.”

Thorne nodded in agreement, his mind racing with the strategy. “Good luck, Captain.”

“And to you, Captain Thorne.” Akinola’s image disappeared, replaced by the tactical display showing the inky blackness of space.

“Red alert. All hands to battle stations.” Thorne announced to the bridge, his voice calm and commanding.

The bridge lights shifted to a deep red, casting a tense glow over the crew as they sprang into action, their movements sharp and precise.

“Shields are at full strength, Captain,” Ro called out, her eyes fixed on her tactical display. “All weapons are online and ready for your command.”

“Engines are holding, but they’re not going to like this,” Haaj groused from his station, his thick fingers tapping at the console. “Damage control teams are on standby.”

“Let’s do this, people! We’ve got lives to save and frasses to kick!” Thorne exclaimed, his voice echoing with determination, “Steady as she goes, Ensign Cruise. Attack pattern alpha-one.”

“Alpha-one. Aye, Captain,” Cruise acknowledged, her fingers moving swiftly over the helm controls as the Maverick streaked towards the planet.

Haaj couldn’t hold his sarcasm back, “Frackin’ brilliant! Charging straight into the thick of it.”

Thorne’s gaze snapped to the Tellarite, stern and unwavering in its silent rebuke. Haaj met his captain’s eyes with a grumble, his thick fingers paused mid-tap on the console.
“I know, I know. Stow it, Lieutenant,” he groused, his voice a mix of resentment and resignation as he prepared the ship for combat.

As the Maverick surged forward, its pulse phaser cannons releasing wave after wave of phaser pulses as it entered the fray. The Bluefin unleashed volley upon volley of phaser fire at the Jem'Hadar and Cardassian ships confusing them and providing cover fire for the Maverick to dodge and weave among them unleashing the full fury of its four bow facing pulse phaser cannons on them over and over. The Maverick unleashed a volley of quantum torpedoes at the lead Cardassian warship, scoring a direct hit on its shields. But the Cardassians were relentless. A volley of disruptor fire slammed into the Maverick's shields, causing the ship to shudder violently.

"Shields down to sixty percent!" Ro reported. "They're concentrating their fire on us."

"Evasive maneuvers, Ensign!" Thorne ordered, his voice sharp. "And return fire! Target their weapons arrays!"

The Maverick unleashed another volley of phaser fire, disabling one of the Cardassian warship's weapons arrays. But the victory was short-lived. Another disruptor blast rocked the ship, throwing Cruise against her console.

"Ensign!" Thorne called out, concern etched on his face.

"I'm alright, Captain!" she gasped, righting herself and resuming her piloting duties.
On the viewscreen, the Bluefin was taking a beating. The aged ship was listing badly, its shields flickering sporadically. But Captain Akinola and his crew were holding their ground, buying the transports precious time.

"Ensign! The Bluefin!" Thorne barked.

"Aye, sir!" Cruise responded as she guided he Maverick towards the imperiled Border Service cutter.

"Commander Ro, Phasers and torpedoes loose!"

"Aye, Captain!" Targeting the Cardassian cruiser nearest the Bluefin. Firing!" Ro barked out the orders, her fingers a blur as she adjusted targeting parameters.

The Maverick unleashed a concentrated barrage of phaser fire and torpedoes, slamming into the Cardassian cruiser's weakened shields. The cruiser buckled under the assault, its disruptor cannons silenced. A series of explosions ripped through its hull, and it began to list heavily. Smoke and debris billowed from its damaged sections.

"Direct hit! They're pulling back!" Ro announced triumphantly.

"Good work, Ro. But there are still more of them," Thorne reminded her, his eyes scanning the tactical display on the viewscreen, "We need to keep the pressure on them."

"Captain, incoming message from the Bluefin!" Ro reported, a note of urgency in her voice.

Thorne nodded grimly. "On screen."

Captain Akinola's face reappeared on the viewscreen, his expression weary but resolute. He was wiping a trickle of blood from his forehead. Behind him his first officer, Commander Dale McBride, was barking orders and directing damage control teams.

"Captain Thorne, we've bought them as much time as we can. Our shields are failing, and our weapons are offline. We need to disengage, but we can't do it without covering fire."

Thorne didn't hesitate. "We'll provide it, Captain. Ensign Cruise, take us in close. We'll draw their fire while the Bluefin gets clear."

"Aye, Captain," Cruise responded, expertly maneuvering the Maverick between the Bluefin and the remaining enemy ships. The smaller vessel became a shield, absorbing the brunt of the Cardassians' and Jem'Hadar's wrath. Disruptor bolts slammed into the Maverick's shields, pushing them to their limit. The ship groaned under the strain, but Cruise held steady, keeping the Maverick between the Bluefin and its pursuers.

"Lieutenant Haaj, divert power to the shields!" Thorne commanded. "I want every last bit of energy protecting us! Take it from life support if you need to!"

"Aye, Captain!" Haaj replied, his fingers flying across the console as he rerouted power. The ship's lights flickered as energy was siphoned from systems, but the shields held, albeit barely.

The Maverick unleashed a furious barrage of phaser fire, targeting the enemy ships' weapons arrays and engines. The Bluefin, taking advantage of the Maverick's sacrifice, began to pull away, heading in the same direction as the convoy had left.

"The Bluefin is disengaging, Captain," Ro reported. "They're going to warp!"

"Alright, Ensign, time to get out of here," Thorne said, his voice tight with adrenaline, “Bring us about to rendezvous with the transports and the Bluefin. Status of the aft launcher, Commander Ro?”

“Online.”

“Perfect!” Thorne said, “Load a pair tricobalt torpedoes into the launcher. Set them to maximum and standby to fire.”

“Coming to one-four-five mark zero,” Cruise reported as she expertly maneuvered the Maverick, weaving through the debris field that was once the epicenter of the brutal clash. Explosions still echoed, metal shrieked under stress, and the pungent smell of burning plasma filled the bridge.

The Maverick continued its dance of defiance, weaving through the enemy fire, a tiny spark against a swarm of angry hornets. Phaser blasts ripped past, scorching the hull, but Thorne held his nerve with a skill born of desperation and years of honed reflexes.

“Torpedoes loaded, Captain,” Ro announced, her voice calm despite the pounding the ship was taking.

Thorne watched the tactical display on the viewscreen, his eyes narrowed. The enemy ships were relentless, still snapping at the Maverick’s heels. He needed to cripple them, buy the Bluefin and the convoy precious time.

“Target the torpedoes so the detonation will affect as many of their ships as possible and fire!”

The Maverick shuddered as the two tricobalt torpedoes screamed from the aft launcher, leaving trails of shimmering energy in their wake. They streaked towards the pursuers, closing the distance in a heartbeat.

“Torpedoes away! Ro announced, Estimated time to impact: five seconds!” Ro announced, her eyes glued to the tactical display.

Thorne held his breath, watching the torpedoes’ progress. The enemy ships, realizing the imminent threat, scattered, but the tricobalt warheads were too fast, too powerful.

Four… three… two…

The void erupted in blinding light. The tricobalt torpedoes detonated in a cascade of energy, tearing through space and metal as the multi-thousand terracochrane force of the explosions created a momentary subspace tear that was far more destructive then any more conventional weapon. As the Maverick jumped to warp the subspace rippled outwards, engulfing the pursuing enemy ships. On the viewscreen, Thorne could see hulls buckling, shields collapsing, and energy weapons sputtering into silence as the tear dissipated leaving the Cardassian and Jem’Hadar ships torn asunder.

“Casualty reports, Commander?”

“Minimal, so far, Captain,” Ro replied, her fingers dancing over her own console, “Nothing life-threatening.”

Thorne let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good. Maintain warp. Set course to rendezvous with the Bluefin and the convoy.”

“We’re being hailed by the Bluefin, Captain.” Ro announced.

“On screen.”

Captain Akinola’s appeared on the viewscreen looking like he needed a stiff drink and a vacation, “Thorne, that was crazy. Detonating a pair of full power tricobalt warheads that close to your ship.”

“We did what we had to, Captain,” Thorne replied, his voice weary. “But we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to make sure the transports get to safety, and fast.”

“Compared to what we just went through, that’ll be child’s play.” Akinola pronounced.

“You can say that again, Captain.” Thorne replied.

Akinola chuckled, though a hint of nervousness remained in his eyes. “Assuming you have no objections, Bluefin will take point.”

“Sounds good to me.” Thorne replied, “Maverick out.”

The viewscreen switched back to its normal display, and Thorne turned to Haaj at the engineering station, “Lieutenant, I want a full diagnostic sweep of the ship. Make sure those subspace tears didn’t cause any lingering damage. I don’t want any unwelcome surprises down the line.”

“Aye, sir. If you don’t mind. I’ll head to engineering to do it.”

“Not at all, Lieutenant.” Thorne said noticing the complete lack of attitude in the Tellarite’s voice. Turning to Ro he said, “Ensign Cruise, Maintain course and speed. Commander Ro, I want damage reports from Engineering and a full sensor sweep every five minutes. Let’s keep these people safe until we reach Starbase 375.”

Ro had merely nodded, her dark eyes fixed on the forward viewscreen. He trusted her implicitly. Her Maquis past, a stain in the eyes of some Starfleet brass, was a badge of honor to him. She knew survival, knew the brutal calculus of war, better than anyone else on the ship.

Reaching his ready room, Thorne closed the door, the whoosh a momentary respite from the constant cacophony of the ship. He ran a hand over his short, dark hair, the half-Vulcan control he usually maintained beginning to fray around the edges. He sank into his chair, the leather cold against his skin. He ran a hand through his dark mop of hair, the tips brushing against pointed Vulcan ears. He hated this feeling, this creeping doubt that gnawed at the edges of his command. The Volanis III evacuation had been successful, relatively speaking. They’d gotten most of the refugees off-world before the Jem’Hadar could overrun the defenses. But he’d seen the fear in their eyes, the desperation in their faces. And he knew that every transport they escorted, every skirmish they won, was just buying the Federation a little more time. But he also knew that the Dominion’s advance was like a tide. Starfleet was stretched thin, its resources dwindling, and it was desperate. They were throwing ships and crews into the meat grinder, hoping something, anything, would stick. He understood why the Maverick had been put together; a highly maneuverable Defiant class vessel with an unorthodox experienced officers and the firepower to punch well above its weight, but he couldn’t help feeling like they were just another desperate gamble.

A chime broke his reverie.

“Thorne here,” he said after tapping his combadge, his voice clipped.

“Captain,” Ro said, her voice laced with concern, “The Bluefin is hailing us. Captain Akinola wants to discuss something… urgent.”

“Patch him through,” Thorne said, bracing himself for whatever news awaited him. This war, he knew, was far from over. It was only just beginning for the crew of the USS Maverick. And the price of survival was about to get a lot steeper.

Captain Akinola’s image flickered onto the desktop monitor in the ready room, his expression grim. “We’ve got a situation, Captain. One of the transports, the Wanderer, is experiencing engine difficulties. They won’t be able to maintain warp for much longer.”

“We can’t risk the entire convoy for just one ship.” Thorne said, “The Maverick will drop out of warp and assist the Wanderer’s crew with repairs while the rest of you proceed to Starbase 375.”

“Good luck, Captain.” Akinola replied with a nod knowing it was the right decision; the Maverick would be able to defend the Wanderer with ease while the rest of the convoy made a break for safety, “Bluefin out.”

The monitor went dark, leaving Thorne with the weight of his decision hanging in the air. He tapped his combadge, “Bridge, this is Captain Thorne. Prepare to drop out of warp. One of the transports, the Wanderer, is experiencing engine problems. Contact them and coordinate the drop to sub-light, get their CO on the line and route it here, and have Lieutenant Haaj standby to beam over with a repair team.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ro acknowledged, her voice firm despite the tension in the air.

Turning to the desktop monitor as it chirped with the incoming transmission, Captain Thorne felt his stomach tighten. The words ‘Incoming Transmission’ disappeared, replaced by the image of the Wanderer’s bridge. The captain of the beleaguered transport was a half-Klingon named G’Roth Cortez, his face a mask of stoicism despite the dire situation. An Andorian woman sat at the helm, her antennae quivering with tension. A Bajoran man worked furiously at one of the stations along the bulkhead.

“Captain Cortez, I presume?” Thorne began, his gaze steady.

“Yes.” The burly half Klingon confirmed, his eyes flicking to the side briefly before focusing back on the captain, “We’re in a bad way over here, Captain Thorne. Our warp coils are in bad shape and we can’t keep up with the convoy. We’ve got children, families, on board. If we don’t make it to the Starbase…”

Thorne nodded, his decision made. “We’re dropping out of warp alongside you. We’ll get your engines back online. My chief engineer, Lieutenant Haaj, will beam over with a repair team.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Cortez said, his voice tight, “The stubborn old Chelon won’t like it but we the need help.’

Thorne nodded, “Understood, Captain Cortez. We’re in this together. Now, let’s get those engines back online.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51155.2 (February 26, 2374. 15:42 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
FCS Wanderer in formation with the USS Maverick NCC-74286
United Federation Of Planets

The transporter room of the Wanderer flickered to life as Haaj and his repair team materialized. A gruff old Chelon, glared at them from the operator’s console.

“You’re the cavalry?” He barked, his reptilian eyes narrowing in skepticism.

“Chief Haaj,” Haaj introduced himself with a nod, “USS Maverick. We’re here to help with your engine troubles.”

Torvin grunted, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Torvin. I know who you are, Tellarite. I’ve seen your kind before. ‘fleeters. Always poking around where you’re not needed.”

But Haaj was used to this kind of reception. He’d encountered his share of engineers who didn’t appreciate his bluntness. He simply grinned, his tusks glinting. “Well, if you know your way around a starship, you know we’re needed. Now, shall we?”

Torvin harrumphed before turning on his heel and heading for the exit. “Follow me, if you can keep up.”

The repair team exchanged glances, but they knew the drill. They grabbed their gear and sprinted after the old Chelon, their boots echoing through the corridor. Haaj was the first to enter the Wanderer’s engineering section, and his eyes widened at the chaos before him. The room was a maze of flickering lights, exposed conduits, and whirring machinery. The air was thick with the smell of burning insulation and the hiss of venting gases.

Torvin gestured to the warp core, a tangle of cables and metal that looked more like a scrap heap than the beating heart of a starship.

“It’s a miracle we’re still flying,” he groused.

“Let’s not count on miracles,” Haaj said, already assessing the damage. “We’ve got work to do.”

The Chelon engineer led them through a labyrinth of corridors and bulkheads, each twist and turn revealing more of the ship’s dire condition. The once gleaming corridors were scuffed and scarred from hasty repairs, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt circuitry and fear.

In engineering, the Maverick’s team was met with a cacophony of alarms and hot air, a testament to the ship’s strained systems and hasty temporary bypasses.

“Torvin, what’s the status?” Haaj called over the din.

The old Chelon wiped his brow with a greasy rag, his expression grim. “The warp coils are fried. We can’t maintain a stable warp field. If we don’t fix this, we’re sitting ducks out here.”

“Understood,” Haaj said, his voice calm despite the urgency. “My team and I will work on the coils. You focus on keeping the ship together.”

Torvin nodded, his gaze lingering on Haaj for a moment before he turned back to his own workstation. The Tellarite knew that look; it was the look of a man who had seen too much loss. But he also knew that Torvin would do his best to help.

The repair team split up, each member moving with a practiced efficiency that spoke of countless hours in similar cramped, noisy environments. Ensign Dante went to work on the power transfer conduits alongside Torvin. His quick eyes scanned the damage, and he began to murmur to himself as he worked.

“We’ve got an old fracture here,” Dante called over the din, his voice carrying over the screech of metal on metal. “It’s been jury-rigged but its only a matter of time before it gives.”

“I have to make do with what I have. I don’t have access to unlimited state of the art parts like you ‘fleeters.” Torvin grumbled as he led the way to the Wanderer’s engineering bay.

The Maverick’s team followed closely, their eyes scanning the corridors that were a stark contrast to the sleek, orderly corridors of their own ship.

As the minutes dragged on into hours, the tension in engineering grew palpable. Sweat beaded on the brows of the engineers as they wrestled with stubborn machinery and unresponsive systems. The air grew hotter, the stench of burning insulation growing stronger. Finally, with a triumphant shout from Haaj, the warp coils sputtered back to life.

“We’ve got it!” Haaj called out, slapping the side of the console. “The warp coils are holding!”

Torvin looked up from his own work, his expression a mix of surprise and begrudging respect. “For now,” he said, his voice gruff.

“Good enough,” Haaj replied, wiping the sweat from his own brow. He turned to his team, their faces etched with the strain of the repair work. “Let’s noTime for us to get back to the Maverick.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51155.2 (February 26, 2374. 15:42 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 in formation with the FCS Wanderer
United Federation Of Planets

As Haaj and his team materialized on the Wanderer Thorne left the ready room and made his way to sickbay. The corridors of the Maverick were alive with the murmur of the crew, their movements quick and efficient despite the weariness etched into their faces. He stepped into the medical bay to find Dr. Elara Vahn tending to a patient, her movements precise and calm amidst the chaos of the ship’s repairs.

“Dr. Vahn,” he called out, his voice a mix of urgency and fatigue. She looked up, her eyes reflecting the same tension that gripped the ship. “Could I have a word?”

Vahn nodded and gestured to a nearby biobed that had just been vacated, “Of course, Captain.”

Thorne stepped closer, his eyes scanning the bustling sickbay, “How are our casualties?”

Vahn took a moment to check her medical tricorder before responding, “Mild injuries, mostly. Nothing we couldn’t handle. I just discharged the last patient ten minutes ago.”

“Good,” Thorne said, his gaze lingering on the doctor’s tired but focused expression, “Now, I know this isn’t the most ideal setting for this, but I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner in the Captain’s Mess tonight.”

The memory of their almost kiss in his ready room washed over her, a moment that hung between them like a phantom. She felt the same spark of connection, the same curiosity about what might happen if they allowed themselves to step over the professional line.

“I’d love to, Captain.” Vahn said, her voice a soft contrast to the cacophony of the medical bay. The tension between them grew palpable as the memory of their almost kiss hovered in the air.

“Excellent,” Thorne replied, “Eighteen hundred?”

“I’ll be there.” Vahn nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

Before either of them could say more, the Maverick shuddered slightly as it dropped out of warp.

“What was that?” Cruise asked, her eyes snapping to Thorne, concern etched on her features.

Thorne took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, “We’ve dropped out of warp. The Wanderer’s engines are about to give out. We need to assist them before we can resume our journey to Starbase 375.”

“Understood,” Vahn said, her professional mask slipping back into place. “I’ll prepare in case there’s a medical emergency during the repair operation.”

Thorne nodded and left sickbay, heading back to the bridge. He took his seat in the captain’s chair, his mind racing through the myriad of scenarios that could unfold. The Wanderer’s distress call had brought with it a flurry of activity, and he knew that every second counted.

“Ensign Cruise, keep us close to the Wanderer but out of their firing arc,” he ordered as he brought the ship into position alongside the struggling transport. The stars outside the viewscreen looked like a sea of glittering ice, indifferent to the plight of the ships below.

The bridge crew nodded, their eyes glued to their consoles. The silence was punctuated by the occasional beep and murmur of the ship’s systems.

“Commander Ro, keep a close eye on long-range sensors. If any Dominion ships come out of the woodwork, we need to be ready,” Captain Thorne instructed.

“Aye, Captain.” Ro Laren acknowledged, her eyes glued to the sensor display.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51155.3 (February 26, 2374. 17:18 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 in formation with the FCS Wanderer
United Federation Of Planets

“Captain, the Wanderer is signaling that Lieutenant Haaj and his team are ready to beam back and the repairs are as good as they can get for now,” Ro called out from the tactical station.

Thorne nodded, “Very good. Ensign Cruise take us to warp once the Wanderer has gone to warp. I want us to bring up the rear incase anything goes wrong.”

The Maverick hovered in space, a sentinel watching over the Wanderer as its engines whined and groaned back to life. The transport lurched forward, a testament to the skill of the Maverick’s engineers and the stubborn determination of the Wanderer’s crew.

“Wanderer is at full impulse power, Captain,” Cruise reported, her voice steady despite the tension.

“Good,” Thorne said, his eyes never leaving the viewscreen, “Ensign, prepare to engage warp drive as soon as they’re clear.”

The Wanderer inched away from the Maverick, its engines straining to reach the necessary velocity. The seconds ticked by with the patience of a dying star, each one heavier than the last. The Maverick’s crew held their collective breath as they watched the transport’s nacelles power up before stabilizing to a steady hum.

“Wanderer has engaged warp drive, Captain.” Cruise announced, her voice a mix of relief and apprehension.

Thorne nodded, his gaze unwavering on the shrinking form of the transport on the viewscreen. “Take us to warp. Let’s not waste any more time.”

The Maverick surged forward, the stars blurring into streaks of light as they leapt back into the embrace of warp. The captain’s thoughts remained on the Wanderer, his concern for the transport and its passengers a constant throb at the back of his mind. As the ship settled into its new velocity, Thorne felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.

“Ensign Cruise, keep us at a safe distance from the convoy,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “And Lieutenant Ro, maintain constant sensor sweeps. We can’t let our guard down.”

“Aye, Captain.” Cruise responded, her hands moving deftly over the helm controls.

Ro nodded in understanding, her eyes glued to the sensor data scrolling across her display. “I’ll keep us sharp,” she assured him.

The bridge grew quieter as the Maverick took up its position at the rear of the convoy, the engines’ constant hum a reassuring presence. The crew worked in a tense harmony, each member acutely aware of the precarious balance between the safety of the transports and their own vulnerability.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51155.5 (February 26, 2374. 18:23 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 in formation with the FCS Wanderer
United Federation Of Planets

In the Captain’s Mess, the soft glow of the lights cast a warm, intimate ambiance. The clink of silverware and the muted chatter of the off-duty crew provided a gentle backdrop to the dinner Captain Thorne had arranged with Dr. Vahn. They sat opposite each other, the weight of their shared secret hovering in the air between them like a fine mist. The meal, a simple but flavorful array of dishes from across the Federation, had been carefully selected by the Maverick’s replicators. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting meats filled the small space, mingling with the sweet scent of exotic fruits from Risa.

Thorne took a sip of his Saurian brandy, the warmth spreading through his chest like a comforting embrace. He studied Vahn, her eyes reflecting the same unspoken curiosity that mirrored his own. They had both felt the undeniable pull toward each other, but the responsibilities of command and the constant pressure of war had kept them at bay. The dinner was a small rebellion against the chaos that surrounded them, a stolen moment of peace amidst the storm when suddenly their peace was shattered by the chime of an incoming communication.

Sighing Thorne tapped his combadge and said, “Thorne. Report.”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but sensors have picked up a shuttle craft adrift running on emergency power.” The voice of the beta shift officer of the watch said from Thorne’s combadge.

“Inform the Bluefin and alter course, Mister Museveni.” Thorne ordered, “Then take us to yellow alert and call all the senior staff to duty stations.”

The bridge snapped to attention as the order was relayed, the gentle hum of the ship shifting to a more urgent tone. The captain’s gaze remained on Vahn, his expression one of regret before he rose from the table.

“Duty calls, I’m afraid,” he said, placing his napkin aside.

Vahn nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I’ll head to sickbay.”

Thorne nodded and made his way to the bridge, the comforting warmth of the captain’s mess replaced by the cold steel of command. The rest of the senior staff bridge crew had already taken their stations, with the exception of Ro who in the center seat in command until he arrived. Seeing Thorne walk onto the bridge, she stood up immediately, vacating the seat and wordlessly relinquishing command to him and taking her place at the Tactical I/Operations station.

“Report.” Thorne demanded as he sat down in the captain’s chair, his eyes on the viewscreen where the distant image of the shuttlecraft grew larger.

“It’s a class six shuttle, Captain,” Ro said, her eyes still on her console. “The transponder data says that she’s from the Mary Celeste.”

“Life-signs?” Thorne’s question cut through the tension on the bridge like a phaser beam through a Borg cube. Ro’s eyes flicked to the captain’s, the gravity of the situation etched into every line on her face.

“Two.” Ro said, “One Vulcan and one Human. They’re both faint. I’d be surprised if either is conscious.”

Pressing the a control on one of the consoles flanking the center seat the three toned sound of a bosun’s whistle sounded throughout the ship before he spoke.

“Code one-alpha-zero.” Thorne announced, “Ship in distress. All hands to rescue stations. Shuttlebay stand by for shuttle retrieval operations. Sickbay prepare to receive casualties; one Vulcan, one Human.”

The bridge was a flurry of activity as the crew sprang into action. Cruise’s fingers flew over her console adjusting their speed and trajectory, while Haaj and his engineering team prepared the ship for retrieval and repair operations. Thorne’s gaze never left the viewscreen as the shuttle grew closer. His mind raced with questions and scenarios, but he knew now was not the time for speculation.

“Ensign Cruise, drop us out of warp. Commander Ro, beam the occupants directly to sickbay then begin retrieval operations.”

The ship lurched out of warp, the stars coming into focus around the stranded shuttlecraft. On the viewscreen, the shuttle looked like a forgotten toy, floating in the vastness of space as the Maverick moved into position to begin its rescue.
“Sickbay reports the transport was successful, Captain.” Ro said, her voice tight with tension.

Thorne nodded, his eyes not leaving the shuttle on the viewscreen. “Good. Stand down from yellow alert. And continue retrieval ops. I’ll be in sickbay checking on oir new passangers. Notify me when we’re ready to get underway.”

The captain strode out of the bridge and into the turbolift, the doors whispering shut behind him. In sickbay, the medical staff were already at work. The Vulcan lay on one biobed, her skin a ghastly shade of gray, while the human, was on another, unconscious but stable.

“How are your patients, Doc?”

Vahn looked up from her medical tricorder, her eyes flickering to Captain Thorne before returning to the Vulcan on the biobed.

“Lieutenant J’Rel is stable,” she said, her voice measured, “She’s the worse off of the two. From what I can tell she’s in a Vulcan healing trance, but its just slowing down her degradation. We’re doing everything we can to stabilize her.”

Thorne nodded, his eyes moving to the human on the adjacent biobed. “And the ensign?”

“Ensign Calvin Davies,” Vahn said, her voice softer. “He’s in some sort of coma. I can’t find the reason why, but his life-signs are stable.”

Thorne nodded, his gaze lingering on the young man’s peaceful face, “Keep me informed, they may be the only ones who can tell us what happened to the crew of the Mary Celeste.”

Vahn nodded gravely, “Of course, Captain.”

Thorne turned to leave, his mind already racing ahead to the implications of their find. As he stepped out of sickbay, his combadge chirped, pulling him back to the present.

“Thorne, go ahead,” he said, his voice firm despite the tumult of his thoughts.

Ro’s voice crackled over the combadge, “The shuttle is onboard, Captain. Lieutenant Haaj and his team are already on it. We’re ready to get underway as soon as you give the order.”

Thorne nodded, his thoughts racing, “Good work, Commander. Consider the word given. Set a course for Starbase 375 and notify the convoy we’re resuming our position at the rear. Let’s not waste any more time.”

“Aye, sir. Bridge out.” Ro said as she turned to give the necessary orders.

The Maverick’s engines hummed to life as it fell back into formation with the rest of the convoy. The shuttlecraft’s retrieval had gone smoother than expected, but the mystery of the Mary Celeste weighed heavily on Captain Thorne. As the ship glided through the stars, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just picked up a puzzle piece to a much larger problem. Heading to his ready room, he ordered the computer to compile a report on possible external causes for the shuttle’s condition cross reference recent reports on the sector for possible connections. Taking a moment to center himself Thorne leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He knew that the coming hours would be crucial, that the fate of the Mary Celeste’s crew could be tied to something much bigger.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51157.0 (February 27, 2374. 07:47 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 in formation with the FCS Wanderer
United Federation Of Planets

As Vahn set about her usual morning routine after entering sickbay the soft beeps and whirrs of sickbay’s medical equipment were pierced by the sudden, high-pitched scream of Ensign Calvin Davies. The young man shot up from the biobed, his eyes wild with fear, his body shaking uncontrollably as he screamed incoherently . Dr. Vahn and her team rushed to his side, trying to calm him down.

As Vahn set about her usual morning routine after entering sickbay the soft beeps and whirrs of sickbay’s medical equipment were pierced by the sudden, high-pitched scream of Ensign Calvin Davies. The young man shot up from the biobed, his eyes wild with fear, his body shaking uncontrollably as he screamed incoherently . Dr. Vahn and her team rushed to his side, trying to calm him down.

“Ensign, you’re safe. You’re on the Maverick,” Vahn said soothingly, her hand on his shoulder.

But the panic in his eyes didn’t abate. “They’re coming for me,” he screamed, his eyes darting around the room as if he saw invisible enemies closing in. His breathing grew ragged and erratic, his body tense and coiled like a spring.

Vahn’s grip tightened on his shoulder, her voice firm but calm, “Ensign, you’re safe here.”

But Vahn’s words were lost in his frenzy. He thrashed, his hands reaching for the biobed’s controls, desperate to free himself from the confines of the medical bay.

“Ensign, you need to calm down!” Vahn called out, her voice rising above the din, “Computer, activate the EMH!”

The fair-haired human male EMH materialized in the room with a soft shimmer, his expression one of calm professionalism as Vahn struggled with Davies.

“Please state the medical emergency,” the fair-haired EMH began, only to be cut off by the cacophony of Ensign Calvin’s panic. His eyes took in the chaotic scene, assessing the situation with lightning-quick precision, “Never mind… I’ll get a sedative.”

He darted to the pharmacy station with almost supernatural speed, his form flickering as he moved. It was eerie to watch the fair-haired EMH navigate the room with such precision and swiftness, a stark contrast to the human panic unfolding on the biobed. In a blink, he was at Vahn’s side with a hypospray filled with a translucent blue liquid. Needing no instruction he joined the fray reaching in and pressing the hypospray to Davies carotid artery and triggering the release of the sedative.

Davies’s wild eyes searched the room one final time before the sedative took hold, his body going limp. The EMH stepped back, his gaze on the now peaceful face of the ensign.

“Thank you.” Vahn said, her voice tight with relief.

The EMH nodded, his expression unreadable. “It’s my programmed duty, doctor.”
Vahn turned her attention back to the Vulcan, Lieutenant J’Rel, who remained unchanged in her healing trance. The silence of the sickbay was now only pierced by the steady rhythm of the biobeds and the soft whirring of medical equipment. The doctor knew that time was of the essence, and the information these survivors could provide might be critical.

Thorne arrived in sickbay, his expression a mix of concern and determination. He approached the biobeds, his gaze flickering between the two patients.

“How is he?” He asked, nodding towards the now unconscious ensign.

“We had to sedate him.” Vahn replied, “ He was hysterical and violent. Whatever happened to the Mary Celeste, it’s left quite an imprint on him.”

“Do you need security?” Thorne inquired, his voice low and serious.

“No, we’ll be fine for now.” Vahn assured Captain Thorne.

“Keep me updated,” he said, his gaze lingering on the unconscious Ensign before turning to the Vulcan. “What about her?”

Vahn’s expression grew more solemn as she checked the readings on Lieutenant J’Rel’s biobed. “Her condition remains critical. We’re doing everything we can to stabilize her, but she’s not out of the woods yet.”

Thorne nodded gravely. “We need answers about what happened to their ship. The sooner the better.”

As Vahn was about to respond Thorne’s combadge chirped, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. He tapped it with a sense of urgency that seemed to resonate with the beeping.

“Thorne. Go ahead,” he said, his eyes on the doctor but his mind already racing towards the bridge.

“The shuttle is secured in the shuttlebay, Captain,” Ro’s voice was crisp over the combadge, “We’re ready to proceed to warp as soon as you give the order.”

“In that case, Commander,” Thorne replied, “Consider the order given. I’ll be on the bridge shortly. Thorne out.”

Looking at the emerald skinned doctor, Captain Thorne’s gaze softened as he said “Keep me informed on their conditions.”

Vahn nodded solemnly. “I will.”

Thorne turned on his heel and headed for the bridge, his thoughts racing. As the turbolift doors closed, he took a deep breath, pushing his personal feelings aside to focus on the mission ahead. The fate of the two survivors and the mystery of the Mary Celeste weighed heavily on his mind, but he knew his duty was to the entire crew and the greater good of the Federation.

As Thorne strode onto the bridge, the air was charged with anticipation as the Maverick viewscreen showed the familiar sight of streaks of light racing towards the edges of the viewscreen. Walking to the center seat, Thorne settled in and addressed the bridge crew.

“Report,” he commanded, his voice calm but firm.

“All systems nominal, Captain,” Ro reported. “We’re at warp eight and slowly gaining on the convoy.”

“Understood.” Thorne said settling into the center seat, “I want continuous sensor scans. I want to know about any potential threats long before they get within parsecs of us.”

“Aye, sir.” Ro replied. “Sensors are running at maximum sensitivity. We’ll keep a close watch on our surroundings.”

Thorne leaned back, his fingers steepled in front of him, a pensive look on his face as he settled into a rhythm of command, his mind sharp and focused. Minutes ticked by, each one punctuated by the hum of the warp drive and the quiet murmurs of the bridge crew. The tension was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the unknown dangers that could lie ahead. Thorne, however, seemed unfazed, his gaze fixed on the starfield before them, his focus unwavering. Then, a low beep emanated from the Tactical I/Operations station.

“We’re receiving an incoming hail from the Bluefin, Captain.” Ro announced, “Captain Akinola wants to speak to you.”

“Route it to my ready room.” Thorne said rising from the command chair.

“Aye, sir.”

Thorne strode into the ready room, the familiar hum of the ship following him like a loyal companion. He took his seat behind the desk, the polished wood reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights. Sitting behind the desk he pressed the ‘accept’ button on the touchscreen desktop monitor. Within seconds the dark-skinned Captain of the Bluefin appeared on the monitor’s screen.

“Captain Thorne,” Akinola greeted, “I trust your little detour was successful?”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Thorne replied, his tone professional. “We recovered the missing shuttlecraft and its two surviving crew members.”

Akinola’s eyebrow arched slightly. “Two survivors? What’s their condition?”

“One is stable but critical; she is a Vulcan.” Thorne reported, “The other required sedation. He was in a state of extreme distress.”

Akinola nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Concerning. I’m glad you retrieved them, Captain. What’s your plan for them?”

“We’ll transfer them to Starbase medical once we reach 375. Then we’ll go where we’re ordered.” Thorne stated matter-of-factly. “In the meantime, Dr. Vahn is doing everything she can to stabilise the Vulcan. We’ll attempt to interview the ensign once he has recovered enough to speak coherently.”

Akinola leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. “Good. I have it on good authority that the Mary Celeste was carrying sensitive cargo.”

Thorne’s brow furrowed slightly. “Sensitive cargo? What kind of cargo, Captain?”

“That I don’t know. Neither does my source.” Akinola answered honestly.

Raising one eyebrow in a very Vulcan manner Thorne asked, “Where did you hear this?”

“A border dog never reveals his sources.” Akinola said with a knowing smile.

Thorne paused, absorbing the information. “So, this cargo could be related to what happened to the ship and its crew. What was this cargo, Captain Akinola?”

Akinola smiled wryly, a hint of something unsettling in his eyes. “That, Captain Thorne, is above my pay grade. All I know is that it’s of utmost importance to Starfleet. Stay safe. Bluefin out.”

The screen went dark, leaving Thorne alone in the ready room with his thoughts. Sensitive cargo. Extreme distress. What exactly were the crew of the Mary Celeste involved with? He knew this was going to be a long and difficult investigation, but he was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be.

Thorne made his way back to the bridge, his resolve renewed by Captain Akinola. Speaking to his ex-Maquis first officer he began issuing orders.

“Commander,” he began, “I want a thorough examination of the shuttlecraft’s logs and data banks. I want to know every detail of their mission and what they encountered.”

“Aye, Captain.” Ro replied, “I’ll check with Lieutenant Haaj, but my bet is he’s already down in the shuttlebay trying to figure that out.”

Thorne nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Good. Let me know if he finds anything.” He paused, then added, “And have Elar… Dr. Vahn contact the Vulcan Science Academy and inform them of Lieutenant J’Rel’s condition and request any information they might have that could help with her recovery.”

Ro acknowledged the order crisply. “Understood, Captain. I’ll relay the instructions to Dr. Vahn immediately.”

The Maverick continued its journey at warp, slicing through the fabric of space towards Starbase 375. The bridge crew worked diligently, their movements precise and efficient, each member focused on their respective tasks. Thorne watched them, a sense of quiet pride swelling within him. He had a good crew, a crew he could trust. But he also knew that trust wasn’t enough. They needed information, they needed answers, and they needed them fast.

A few hours later Ro approached Thorne, who had returned to the bridge, with a PADD in hand. “Captain, Lieutenant Haaj has completed his initial analysis of the shuttlecraft’s data logs.”

Thorne turned, his gaze sharp and focused. “And? What did he find?”

Ro hesitated for a moment, a hint of concern in her voice. “It’s… complicated, sir. The logs are heavily fragmented and appear to have been tampered with. However, Lieutenant Haaj recovered enough data to piece together a partial picture.”

Thorne said raising one eyebrow in a very a Vulcan manner his interest piqued. “Partial picture? Elaborate, Commander.”

Ro handed Thorne the PADD, “According to the shuttle’s log Lieutenant J’Rel and Ensign Davies were dispatched in the shuttle to investigate some unusual sensor readings in the Volnais system. About 30 minutes after they launched something happened that corrupted all data from that point on.”

“Unusual sensor readings? What kind of readings?”

Ro consulted her own console. “The logs only indicate ‘energy fluctuations’ of unknown origin. Nothing more specific, Captain.”

Thorne looked at the PADD scanning the information, his brow furrowed in concentration. Energy fluctuations of unknown origin, corrupted logs, and a violently delusional Ensign. It all pointed to something far more significant than a routine sensor anomaly.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Cue Blue Oyster Cult - Fire of Unknown Origin...

Interesting the large number of hybrids in your story, a similarity to my Star Trek Hunter series.

Liking the blend of breathless action with an unfolding mystery.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51157.4 (February 27, 2374. 11:11 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 on approach to Starbase 375
United Federation Of Planets

“Starbase 375, this is Maverick on approach. Requesting immediate docking and medical assistance,” Captain Thorne announced, his voice etched with the fatigue that mirrored the ship itself. “We’re escorting the USS Bluefin and a convoy of evacuees from Volnais, approximately five thousand sentient beings. We also have two critical medical cases onboard: Lieutenant J’rel and Ensign Clavin Davies, rescued from a damaged shuttle.”

The reply crackled almost instantly. “Maverick, this is Starbase 375. Acknowledged. We are prepared to receive you. Docking port four is cleared for the Bluefin, and docking port seven is ready for the Maverick. The refugee transports will be directed to hold position and await transfer instructions. A medical team will be standing by at port seven.”

Thorne let out a slow breath. “Acknowledged, Starbase 375. Maverick out.”

As the Maverick and the Bluefin moved towards the massive structure that was Starbase 375, Ro approached Thorne. “Captain, about Lieutenant J’rel and Ensign Davies…”

Thorne’s gut clenched. He knew what Ro wasn’t saying. Doctor Vahn was good, one of the best doctors he’d seen.

Ro hesitated, her face unreadable. “Their conditions…they’re deteriorating rapidly. Doctor Vahn is doing everything she can, but…”

“They might not make it,” Thorne finished, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

He rubbed his temples, the phantom pain of exhaustion thrumming behind his eyes. “I know, Ro. Vahn’s been keeping me appraised. Just get them prepped for immediate transfer to the Starbase’s medical facilities. Anything that can buy them even a few extra minutes.”

Ro nodded, her jaw tight. “Aye, Captain.” She turned and hurried toward the turbolift, her boots echoing slightly in the tense atmosphere of the bridge.

Thorne watched her go, then turned back to the viewscreen, focusing on the looming starbase. He knew the odds. Space was a harsh mistress, and more often than not survival came down to dumb luck and good timing. The Maverick shuddered gently as it docked, the sound of the airlocks sealing with the station’s echoing through the ship. Almost as soon as the docking was completed Cruise spoke up.

“Captain, we just received a priority message from Starbase Command.” Cruise said her voice breaking the silence on the bridge once the Maverick had completed its docking sequence, “You are to report for a debriefing immediately.”

Thorne raised an eyebrow. “A debriefing? Who’s it with?”

“Deputy Director Luther Sloan of Starfleet Intelligence.” Cruise replied.

Thorne felt the tension ratchet up a notch. Internal affairs was the last thing they needed right now. He nodded curtly. “Understood. Tell Dr. Vahn to prep her patients for transfer to the Starbase’s medical facilities. I’ll join her there after the debriefing.”

With a nod, Cruise relayed the order, and Captain Thorne headed towards the turbolift, his mind racing. He had a feeling that Sloan’s interest in the Mary Celeste was more than just a routine inquiry. As the doors closed, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come.

The turbolift deposited him at docking port seven, where the medical team was already waiting, their blue and white uniforms a stark contrast to the grey metal corridor. He stepped aside, allowing them to rush through, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Entering the starbase, he made his way to the designated briefing room. The corridors were a flurry of activity, officers and crew members hurrying to and fro, all with the same look of fatigue and determination etched on their faces. It was a stark reminder of the toll the war was taking on everyone.

When he entered the room, Sloan was already there, his sharp eyes scanning over the information on a PADD. He was a lean, fair haired human with a stern countenance that made it clear he didn’t appreciate being kept waiting. The room was small, functional, and devoid of any personal touches, a stark reminder of the seriousness of the situation.

“Good to see you in one piece, Captain,” Sloan said without looking up, his voice dry and emotionless. “I’ve read your report on the Mary Celeste. Quite the mystery, isn’t it?”

Thorne felt a prickle of unease. “We found the shuttle adrift with two survivors. We’re still piecing together what happened.”

Sloan looked up, his gaze as cold as the vacuum of space. “I’m sure you are, Captain. But I’m not here to discuss your rescue efforts.” He paused, setting the PADD down. “I’m here because of the something the Mary Celeste was carrying.”

Thorne felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Cargo?”

“Unofficial cargo.” Sloan clarified, his eyes never leaving Thorne’s face. “Cargo that could be critical to the war effort, and that is now missing.”

Thorne felt the weight of the words like a phaser blast to the chest. “Missing? How is that possible?”

Sloan leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering, “We suspect that the survivors you’ve brought with you might have information we need.”

Thorne’s jaw tightened. “Their condition is critical. Any debriefing would have to wait.”

Sloan’s expression didn’t shift. “I wish I could say time isn’t a concern, Captain, but I assure you, it is. The nature of this cargo is highly classified, and its disappearance has the potential to shift the balance of power in this war. We must act swiftly.”

Thorne leaned on the table, his hands flat against the cool metal. “With all due respect, Director Sloan, if there’s something they can tell us that would help, we’ll do everything we can to find it out, but not at the cost of their lives.”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed as his voice took on an icy intensity, “We are at war, Captain. Sometimes sacrifices must be made.”

Thorne stood his ground, his voice firm. “We are also Starfleet officers, and we do not sacrifice lives for expediency.”

Sloan’s gaze remained unwavering. “I’m going to be blunt, Captain. The stakes here are higher than you can possibly imagine. If we don’t locate that cargo, the consequences will be… catastrophic.”

“What’s so critical about this cargo?” Thorne pressed, his voice tightly controlled.

“Tell me, Captain… what do you know about Genesis?”

“Its space legend… exaggerated tales about a theoretical technology that can literally reshape planets. No one’s ever actually developed a working version, though, it’s a hypothetical technology.” Thorne said.

“Its not hypothetical or exaggerated.” Sloan said maintaining a neutral expression on his face.

“Are you saying that the Dominion has developed Genesis beyond the theoretical stage?” Thorne said with the concern obvious in his voice.

“No captain, they haven’t…yet. We did. Almost a century ago.” Sloan said.

“And the Dominion’s learned about it?”

Sloan nodded, his expression grim. “We believe so. Intelligence suggests they’re searching for it, and if they get their hands on it, we could be looking at the end of the Federation as we know it.”

Thorne’s mind raced. If the Dominion had access to such power, they could wipe out entire worlds, reshape the galaxy to their twisted vision of order.

“What was it doing on the Mary Celeste?” He asked.

“It’s a long story, Captain,” Sloan said, his eyes boring into Thorne’s. “One that doesn’t concern you at this juncture. What matters now is that we retrieve it before it falls into the wrong hands. Your survivors could hold the key.”

Thorne felt his pulse quicken. The idea of the Dominion getting its hands on such a powerful weapon was a nightmare scenario. But he wouldn’t compromise his principles, or his crew’s well-being, for even the most critical mission.

“I understand the gravity of the situation, Director. But my first duty is to the oath I took to defend the ideals that the Federation was founded on.” Thorne said firmly, his jaw set.

Sloan’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes that made Thorne’s blood run cold. The director leaned forward, his voice low and intense.

“I understand your sentiment, Captain. But sometimes, in war, the line between duty and necessity blurs. I’m not asking you to compromise your oath. Quite the contrary, I’m asking you to honor that oath. To recognize that the fate of the Federation itself could very well rest on the information we retrieve from your survivors.” Sloan’s words hung in the air, the gravity of his words palpable.

“After all, even Surak would say that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” Sloan added, invoking the name of the Vulcan philosopher with a knowing look at Thorne’s mixed heritage.

Thorne held his tongue. He knew that Sloan was trying to goad him into action.

“I can see that I won’t be able to goad you into volunteering.” Sloan said after a moment of tense silence, “You are to under orders to depart the station immediately and retrieve the Mary Celeste.”

Sliding an isolinear chip across the desk he continued, “Once you’ve secured her. You are to tow her to these coordinates and turn her over to the ship that is waiting. At that point you will be provided with further orders which you are to obey. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Thorne answered.

“In that case you’re dismissed.” Sloan replied before turning his chair so he had his back to Thorne.

He exhaled, the recycled air doing little to soothe the knot in his stomach. The Dominion War was a meat grinder, and Starfleet was desperate. He understood that. But something about this mission felt…off. Leaving the briefing room he found himself lost in though. As he walked his silent reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice that cut through the hum.

“Thorne! Verek Thorne, you old dog!”

He turned to see Commander Ethan Cole, a bear of a man with a booming laugh and a twinkle in his eye. They’d served together years ago, weathering many an eventful and uneventful missions.

“Ethan! What are you doing here?” Thorne clapped him on the shoulder, a genuine smile finally breaking through his usual stoicism.

“Paper pushing, mostly. I was assigned to the sector’s JAG.” Cole grimaced. “But I heard the whispers. I heard you were given a command.”

“The USS Maverick,” Thorne confirmed, a flicker of pride battling with his apprehension. “A Defiant-class. Not pretty, but she’s got teeth and a… unique… crew.””

Cole dragged him towards a quiet alcove. “Listen, Verek, this is important. I heard about your briefing with Sloan and your orders to retrieve the Mary Celeste.”
Thorne nodded grimly. “You know something?”

“I do. And you need to know it too. But not here. Meet me in the Arboretum, by the big oak, in half an hour.” He paused, then added, “And Verek? Be sure you aren’t followed.”

Thorne felt a chill crawl down his spine. Cole’s words, his tone, were laced with urgency. He nodded grimly. “Half an hour.”

The Arboretum was an oasis of tranquility within the cold, metallic heart of the station. The air was thick with the scent of alien flora, a symphony of greens and vibrant blooms providing a visual feast. Thorne found Cole waiting by the gnarled, ancient oak, its branches reaching towards the artificial sky like supplicating arms.

“Verek,” Cole began, his voice low, “What I’m about to tell you is classified beyond anything you’ve ever encountered. And it could get you killed.”

Thorne raised an eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

Cole took a deep breath. “That order Sloan gave you… it’s not what it seems. That man, that office… they’re tentacles of Section 31.”

Thorne froze. He had heard whispers, rumors of a black-ops intelligence division operating outside Federation law, a shadowy organization that dealt with threats too dangerous for conventional Starfleet methods. He’d dismissed them as conspiracy theories, paranoid fantasies.

“Section 31?” Thorne echoed, disbelief lacing his voice.

“They're a rogue black-ops intelligence department, Verek. And they’re playing a dangerous game. The Mary Celeste… whatever they’re asking you to retrieve, it’s not for the good of the Federation. It’s for their agenda, whatever twisted logic drives them.”

“How do you know all this?” Thorne asked, suspicion coloring his tone.
Cole met his gaze. “Because I’m part of something else. A counter-intelligence group. We call ourselves the ‘Kirk Cabal.’”

Thorne stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as death. We are a network of Starfleet officers, dedicated to monitoring and opposing Section 31’s activities. We believe in the principles of the Federation, the ideals Section 31 is willing to sacrifice to achieve their goals.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?” Thorne prompted, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach.

“Because you’re heading straight into their web, Verek. And because I believe you’re one of the few officers left who still cares about the truth, about right and wrong, even when they’re buried under layers of deception.”

Cole paused, his eyes pleading. “The Mary Celeste… be careful, Verek. Whatever it holds, it’s a path into darkness. And Section 31 will stop at nothing to get it.” He handed Thorne a small PADD. “This contains info about a comm channel established that is outside standard Starfleet channels. Contact us through that if you need us.”

Thorne took the PADD, feeling the weight of its contents in his hand. He looked at Cole, his mind reeling. His mission had just become infinitely more complicated, more dangerous.

“Thank you, Elias,” Thorne said, his voice barely a whisper. “I owe you one.”

“Just keep the faith, Verek,” Cole replied, his face etched with worry. “The Federation needs people like you. Now, get out of here. And fly safe.”

Thorne nodded, turning and disappearing back into the bustling corridors of Starbase 375. The weight of the PADD in his hand was nothing compared to the weight of the truth he now carried. He was no longer just a captain on a retrieval mission. He was walking a tightrope between two opposing forces, a pawn in a game where the stakes were the very soul of the Federation. Thorne made his way back to the Maverick, his thoughts racing. He knew he couldn’t ignore Sloan’s orders, but he also couldn’t ignore the warning from his old friend. He had to find a way to navigate this minefield without losing his crew, or his conscience.

The hum of Starbase 375 faded as Thorne stepped back onto the USS Maverick. Scent of recycled air and ozone filling his nostrils. Ro Laren was already there, her Bajoran nose twitching slightly as she reviewed sensor readings.

“Report,” Thorne ordered, his voice a carefully controlled mix of Vulcan logic and human warmth. He dropped into the captain’s chair, the worn leather creaking slightly beneath him.

“All systems nominal, Captain,” Ro replied, turning from her console. “Just finished a Level-Two diagnostic. Minor energy fluctuations, but nothing Chief Haaj can’t handle.”

Thorne nodded, already anticipating the Tellarite’s grumbling. “Order all personnel on shore leave back to the ship. We’re heading out.”

Ro raised an eyebrow. “Any idea where we’re going, Captain?”

“Yes. Starfleet Command has assigned us a recovery mission. We’re to retrieve the Mary Celeste, and deliver her to a ship holding position at a predetermined rendezvous.”

Ro’s expression tightened. “The Mary Celeste, sir? We’re in the middle of a war.”

“That’s what Starfleet Command wants done. Coordinates are locked in. We deliver the Mary Celeste to those coordinates, where we will receive further orders. Those are our orders.”

“Understood, Captain,” Ro replied, her voice clipped as she keyed in the order for an automated crew recall.

Thorne leaned back, feeling a familiar tension building in his shoulders. Another seemingly pointless mission in a war filled with them.

Looking to Ro as he stood up he said, “You have the bridge, Commander. I’ll be in the ready room.”

Thorne made his way to the starboard exit, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence of the bridge. The door hissed open, revealing the corridor beyond. Walking into the ready room he immediately headed for replicator ordering an iced raktajino as he approached. The cool drink in hand, he sat at his desk and slid the chip into the reader slot on the desktop monitor. The display flickered to life, revealing more than just a set of rendezvous coordinates. It was full of files and messages. His eyes scanned the data, piecing together the puzzle of his new mission. The Genesis technology was indeed real, and if it fell into the wrong hands, it could mean the end of the Federation. He knew he couldn’t just follow orders blindly anymore. He had to find out what was really going on.

The more he read, the more he realized that Sloan had been playing him. The information he had provided wasn’t just for the mission briefing; it was bait. Sloan had hoped to gain his sympathy, to manipulate him into feeling like they shared a common goal, a secret only known to them. It was a classic recruitment tactic, one that Thorne recognized from his Academy days studying undercover operations. The question was, why would Sloan want him in Section 31? Was it because of his Vulcan heritage, his unique perspective in the heat of battle, or something else entirely?

Thorne took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the monitor. He knew he couldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment. He had to play this game carefully, to find out what was really happening without exposing himself or his crew to the shadowy machinations of Starfleet Intelligence’s rogue element. The chill of the raktajino was forgotten as it grew lukewarm in his hand.

The captain’s mind raced with possible scenarios, each one more alarming than the last. If Sloan had wanted to keep him in the dark, he would have simply given him the coordinates and told him to retrieve the shuttle. The fact that he had shared so much suggested that he was being groomed for something more.

Thorne stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. He couldn’t just sit here, mulling over the implications. He had to act. He had to warn his crew, to prepare them for the danger that was surely coming. But how could he do that without betraying his friend’s trust or compromising the mission? He paced the ready room, the walls closing in around him. The weight of his decision was like a gravitational force, pushing him towards an unknown future.

He stopped and took a moment to compose himself. He had to keep his suspicions to himself for now. The less his crew knew, the safer they would be. He took a sip of the now tepid raktajino, the bitterness a reminder of the harsh reality he faced. He had to play along, to follow his orders, all while keeping one eye on the stars and the other on the shadows that lurked just beyond his ship’s sensors. Making a decision, he turned and left the ready room. He had to get to the bridge, to set a course for the Mary Celeste. The mission had just become personal. He would retrieve the shuttle and he would find out what was so important that it was worth playing him. But he would do it on his terms, not Sloan’s. He would serve the Federation and protect its ideals, not be a puppet for a clandestine group with dubious motives.

As he strode through the corridors of the Maverick, he felt the vibrations of the ship around him. The low rumble of engines charging, the beeps and whirrs of systems coming online. When he reached the bridge, he saw that the crew looking at him expectantly, waiting for their orders. He took his seat, his mind racing. He had to keep his cards close to his chest, to not give away what he had learned. He couldn’t risk their lives, not when he didn’t even know what he was riski

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51160.9 (February 28, 2374. 18:21 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 in interstellar space on course for the USS Mary Celeste
United Federation Of Planets

The cramped cabin of the USS Maverick felt even smaller as Elara Vahn twisted in front of the mirrored panel. The crimson dress, shimmering slightly under the dull light, clung to her curves in a way that would make even a Cardassian blush.

“Too Orion?” she asked, turning to her cabin mate, lieutenant junior grade Maria Sanchez.

Maria paused, one eyebrow arching. “Elara, honey, you’re an Orion. Anything you wear is going to be ‘Orion.’ The question is, is it too…obvious?”

Elara pursed her lips, studying her reflection. She smoothed down the fabric over her hips, a slight frown creasing her usually playful face. She knew the reputation that preceded her species, a reputation she often leaned into for a laugh. Tonight, though, felt different. This wasn’t about playing games. This was… well, it was Verek Thorne.

“I just… I want him to see me, not just the stereotype.” Vahn confessed, the usual confidence in her voice wavering. “He sees past it, you know? He seems to see ME and not an Orion animal woman.”

Taking a deep breath, Vahn straightened her shoulders. Sanchez was right. She was overthinking it. She glanced once more at her reflection, a hint of defiance replacing the nervousness.

“Okay,” she said, “Wish me luck.”
“With that outfit you don’t need luck.” Sanchez said.

“Gee, thanks.” Vahn chuckled.

Adjusting the shimmering fabric of her outfit, a frivolous splash of colour in the utilitarian grey of the ship, Vahn took a deep breath. Tonight, she was determined to forget the casualty reports and the endless resource shortages, at least for a little while. Reaching the Captain’s Mess, she hesitated outside the door for a moment before she punched the chime button on the annunciator.

“Come in!” Thorne’s voice, a surprisingly warm baritone that belied his Vulcan heritage, echoed from within.

Pressing the ‘OPEN’ the door sighing open to reveal a small, utilitarian space. Thorne stood by the replicator, his back to her, the low hum of the machine the only sound. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the Vulcan rigidity of his posture softened, almost human.

“Perfect timing.” He said, with more than a hint of warmth as he turned around with two dishes.

“I learned all about timing from Curly, Larry and Moe.”

Thorne chuckled, a sound she always found strangely endearing, as he put the two steaming dishes down on the table.

“Rigellian stir-fry.” He grinned looking handsome, if a little weary.

On the table was a carafe of something amber and what looked to be a plate of deep fried Andorian tuber roots and an earth dish that, if she remembered correctly, was called lumpia.

“It smells delicious.” Vahn said her Orion emerald eyes sparkling.

“Let’s dig in.” Thorne said gesturing to one of the seats.

“I’ve been thinking that we need to figure something out for recreation onboard.” Vahn said between, “The comedic genius of three Stooge marathons can only go so far when it comes to recreation.”

“I’ve actually been thinking about just that and came up with a solution.” Thorne replied as he filled his fork, “If we convert one of the cargobays to a rec deck we could have all sorts of options. A gym, dom-jot tables, dart boards, strategama, 3D chess.”

“That’s brilliant!”

“That’s why I have four pips.” Thorne said gesturing to his collar and chuckling, “I’m a fraking genius.”

“Well,” Vahn said with a flirty smile, “You may have four pips but I have wonderful sohuips.”

“I didn’t quite get that.” Thorne said questioning the Orion word she’d used, “What are sohuips?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, Captain.” Vahn said with a wink before taking a sip of her drink, the liquid shimmering in the light of the Captain’s Mess.

Thorne couldn’t help but laugh at her playful banter, a brief reprieve from the heavy burdens he had been carrying.

“I look forward to it, Elara,” Thorne said, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. But the moment was short-lived as the chime of the door brought him back to the present.

“Enter” He called out giving whoever was on the other side permission to come in.

Ro stepped inside, a look of urgency etched on her face.

“Captain, we’ve received an encrypted message from Starfleet Command.” She handed over a PADD.

Thorne took it, his heart rate spiking. “What is it?”

Ro’s gaze was serious. “I’m not sure. It’s encrypted, keyed to your voice print and marked ‘Captain’s Eyes Only’. It came from Starbase 375.”

Setting the PADD to the side, to unlock and review later, Thorne looked to Ro saying, “Thanks, Commander. I’ll look into it when I can.”

“Understood. If there’s nothing else…” Ro prompted.

“Not that I know of. Have a good night, Commander.”

“You to Captain, Doctor.” Ro said nodding to each of them in turn before leaving.

As the door whooshed closed behind Ro the doctor spoke up, “So where were we?”

“You were about to tell me what ‘sohuips’ means.” Thorne said hopefully.

“Nice try.” Vahn said with a chuckle.

“Not even a hint?” Thorne joked.

“Absolutely not. Some things are best left to the imagination…or perhaps earned.” Vahn teased, leaning closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I promise, you’ll find out soon enough.”

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51162.3 (March 1, 2374. 06:30 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 on approach to the USS Mary Celeste
United Federation Of Planets

“The time is oh-six-thirty hours.” the computer droned, its voice devoid of the warmth that lingered in the air.

Verek Thorne groaned, burying his face in the pillow. The soft, Orion-scented curves pressed against his back shifted, Elara Vahn stirring beside him. Her skin was a kaleidoscope of greens and blues in the pre-dawn light filtering through the viewport.

“The time is oh-six-thirty hours.” Repeated the computer.

“Acknowledged, Computer. Discontinue alarm.” Thorne groaned as the form next to him began to stir.

“Morning already?” Vahn murmured, her voice husky and laced with sleep. Her hand trailed across his bare chest, a delicate exploration that threatened to derail any thoughts of duty.

He sighed, a battle waging within him. Vulcan logic demanded he rise, prepare for his shift, lead his ship. Human desire urged him to linger, to savor the warmth of her beside him, to forget for just a few moments the brutal reality of the Dominion War.

“Must obey the machine,” he mumbled, forcing himself upright. The cool air of the cabin sent a shiver down his spine.

“You sure?” Vahn mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. “Seems like we only just turned in.”

“Tell me about it,” Thorne muttered, reluctantly extricating himself from her embrace. “I could use another five hours…or five days.”

He sat up, the cool morning air sending a shiver down his spine. The small, utilitarian cabin felt strangely cozy after a night spent tangled with Elara. He caught her gaze, a warm, knowing smile playing on her lips.

He stood and moved towards the small washbasin. As he splashed water on his face, his reflection stared back – a stark reminder of the war that had prematurely aged him. The sharp Vulcan angles of his jawline were softened by the warmth in his brown eyes, inherited from his human mother. He ran a hand through his unruly dark hair, a gesture of frustration he hadn’t been able to shake since the war began. The V’tosh ka’tur path he’d chosen, embracing his emotions rather than suppressing them like his Vulcan grandparents had urged, felt like a constant battle. He felt the weight of command, the responsibility for the lives of his crew, pressing down on him. He remembered the last time he’d seen his grandparents, their faces impassive, their words laced with disappointment that he had chosen such a path.

“Don’t let the whatever was on that PADD get to you, Verek,” Elara said softly, her voice cutting through his thoughts. She had gotten out of bed and was sitting on the edge, watching him. “You’re doing the best you can, and you’re a good captain.”

He managed a weak smile. “Easier said than done, Elara. Things are going to get a lot. More complicated before they get better.”

Thorne grinned, the tension easing slightly. He knew the odds were stacked against them. He knew the Maverick and her crew were being thrown into the thick of it, the missions too dangerous for even the most seasoned Starfleet vessels. But he also knew that they were resilient, resourceful, and damn good at their jobs.

“Breakfast?” Vahn asked.

“Sure, but something quick. We’re approaching the Mary Celeste and I want to be on the bridge.” He finished washing his face, grabbed a towel, and started to dry off.

He dressed quickly in his Starfleet uniform, the familiar weight of the phaser and communicator on his hip a somber reminder of the mission ahead. He glanced at Elara one last time, a silent promise passing between them. He knew she worried, that she saw the toll the war was taking on him. All he could offer was his commitment, his vow to bring them all back home safely. They left the cabin and made his way to the mess hall. The quiet was broken only by the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversations. A few early risers were already grabbing breakfast, their faces a mix of anticipation and exhaustion.
Thorne grabbed a combat ration bar – the ubiquitous Starfleet staple – and Ordered a double sweet raktajino.

Elara, ever practical, opted for a more substantial breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, “You should eat something real.” She chided gently, gesturing to his meager breakfast.

He chuckled, taking a bite of the ration bar. “Nutritionally complete and highly efficient. Perfectly logical for a captain with limited time.” He winked, but his eyes held a genuine weariness that Elara couldn’t miss. He knew she was right, but the thought of choking down more than he needed felt like a chore he didn’t have the energy for.

As they ate, a chime sounded from his communicator. He tapped the combadge. “Thorne here.”

“Captain, this is Lieutenant Tillis,” a crisp voice crackled through the speaker. “We’ve reached visual range of the Mary Celeste. No life signs detected. Sensors are picking up a Class-M atmosphere, but the ship is dead in space. No response to hails.”

He finished his raktajino in one gulp, the sweet, bitter liquid doing little to dispel the knot of anxiety in his stomach. “Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Call the senior staff to duty stations. I’m on my way.”

He turned to Elara, his expression grim. “Once you’re done get down to sickbay. I have a feeling that we’ll be needing your professional services.”

Her hand covered his, her green eyes filled with concern. “Be careful. Something doesn’t feel right about this.”

He strode purposefully towards the bridge, his mind already racing. The senior staff bridge crew were already at their stations, their eyes glued to their consoles, their fingers dancing across the controls. He took his seat, the padded leather offering a momentary respite from the tension.

“Report,” he said, his voice calm and authoritative.

“We’ve arrived at the designated coordinates, Captain,” Ro replied from her station, her Bajoran eyes scanning the tactical display. “The USS Mary Celeste is dead ahead. No life signs detected.”

On the main viewscreen, the Mary Celeste drifted, a ghostly silhouette against the star-dusted backdrop. The Oberth-class science vessel was a relic, a floating museum piece even before the Dominion War had ravaged the fleet. Now, it was just another casualty, its story a grim mystery.

“Are we ready for warp speed towing?” Thorne inquired.

“Standing by to extend the warp field on your order, Captain.” Cruise said from the helm, her red hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“Take us in slow, Ensign Cruise.” Thorne instructed, his gaze never leaving the screen. “Maintain defensive posture.”

“Yes, sir.” She said expertly guided the Maverick forward, her hands steady on the controls despite the tremor in her voice.

“Commander Ro, set up a secure uplink from my ready room to the Mary Celeste’s computer and prepare an away team to search the Mary Celeste. I want her searched bow to stern. We’re not taking that ship in tow until every compartment has been searched.” Thorne ordered.

“Aye, sir.” Ro said, “What are you expecting to find over there?”

“Trouble, Commander.” Thorne said grimly, “Trouble with a capital T.”

The Maverick crept closer to the Mary Celeste, the vastness of space suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The derelict ship loomed larger on the viewscreen, its once-gleaming hull now scarred and pitted, a testament to years of neglect or, worse, conflict. Thorne could see debris field around the ship: a few panels, fragments of the ship’s hull, and even a few frozen corpses, drifting silently in the void.

“Captain,” Ro’s voice cut through the tension. “I’ve established a secure uplink with the Mary Celeste and routed it to your ready room.”

“Good work, Commander. Ready your away team and head over to search the ship.Ensign Cruise, maintain this distance. I’ll be in my ready room.” Thorne stood and walked briskly off the bridge, his mind already sifting through the endless possibilities.

Thorne entered his ready room, the familiar space offering a small measure of comfort. The room was spartan, functional. A small desk with a holographic display, a couple of chairs, and a replicator built into the wall. He seated himself and began to navigate the dusty archives.

“Captain,” Ro’s voice crackled over the comm, “We’re ready to beam over.”

“Acknowledged, Commander. Proceed with caution, let me know if you find anything. I’m going through the Mary Celeste’s logs and sensor readings. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything relevant.”

“Understood, Captain. Ro out.”

Thorne dove into the data, scanning the last entries in the ship’s log. The entries were routine and monotonous, typical of a deep-space survey mission. Then, abruptly, they stopped. No distress call, no explanation, just no crew.

Meanwhile, Ro and her team beamed onto the Mary Celeste. The ship was eerily quiet, the emergency lights casting a stark, red glow across the corroded corridors. The silence was a stark reminder of the fate that could await them. The away team split into pairs, each moving with a precision and caution honed by countless missions in the war-torn expanses of the Alpha Quadrant. The air was thick with tension, the only sound their footsteps echoing through the cold, metal halls. The search was meticulous, every corner scrutinized, every panel scanned. The discovery came in Cargo Bay 2. Lieutenant Castillo, a young, anxious-looking Andorian, called out over his comm.

“Commander Ro, you might want to see this.” His voice was tight, the anticipation palpable. Ro arrived swiftly, her phaser drawn. In the center of the bay sat an unmarked, oblong container, the two meters in length.

The team gathered around it, their expressions a mix of curiosity and apprehension as Ro approached, her eyes scanning the space around the container as if expecting an ambush.

“Scan it,” she ordered, her voice tight. Castillo stepped forward, his tricorder beeping as he passed it over the metal surface.

The readings were bizarre. The device was definitely Starfleet technology, but the energy signatures matched none of their standard ordnance. Ro’s gut told her it would be dangerous in the wrong hands.

Tapping her combadge, Ro called back to the Maverick. “Ro to Captain Thorne.”

“Thorne here. Go ahead, Commander.” His voice was steady, the calm in the storm.

“We’ve found something, Captain. An unmarked container in Cargo Bay 2. The readings are… strange. It’s definitely Starfleet tech, but definitely not standard issue.” Ro’s voice was tight with excitement and a hint of fear.

Thorne’s heart skipped a beat as he thought of the Genesis device. “Do not open it. Have it physically transferred over to the Maverick and secure it in the most secure storage we have onboard. I want it keyed to my voice print only, and station a guard by it at all times. Let me know if you find anything else. Thorne out.”

“You heard the Captain.” Ro said to the away team. Looking at the non-comm Caitian, she pointed at the unmarked container, “Chief M’Rar, you heard the captain.”

“Yes, Comanderrrr.” M’Rar purred.

Ro’s teams continued their search, moving through the vessel further still they explored the last section they hadn’t visited, the abandoned engineering section. They found that the warp core was intact, but offline. There was no sign of sabotage or malfunction. Just…silence.

Meanwhile in his ready room Thorne continued to sift through the Mary Celeste’s database. The final log was a dead end. It was a standard report from sickbay, the last sentence read “All crew are in good health”. Thorne searched for any mention of the container, a shipment request, a transfer manifest, anything. But there was nothing. It was as if the container had simply appeared onboard. Without warning Thorne’s combadge blared to life the chime breaking his reverie.
“Thorne here, Go ahead” he said after tapping his combadge, his voice clipped.

“Captain.” The Bajoran first officer’s disembodied voice said over the comm again, “We’ve completed our sweep of the ship. Nothing else of note. Engineering is offline, but no sign of forced shutdown. We’re ready to beam back, unless you need us to stay shipside longer.”

Thorne leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. The mystery of the Mary Celeste deepened with every new piece of information. A missing crew, a mysterious container, and a ship that seemed to have simply…stopped.

“Negative, Commander. Initiate grey mode and a computer lockdown then beam back to the Maverick.” Thorne replied, “You’ve done all you can over there.”

“Understood, Captain. Ro out.”

Thorne remained in his ready room, steeped in thought as Ro’s team materialized back on the Maverick. The container, now secured under his guard, felt like a ticking time bomb. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was connected: the vanished crew, the unexplained container, the abrupt silence.He needed to understand the nature of the threat they were facing, and quickly. Thorne stood abruptly, heading back to the bridge.

“Ensign Cruise,” Thorne barked as he strode onto the bridge, his gaze sweeping across the familiar consoles. “Lay in a course for the coordinates I sent to your station and engage at warp seven once we’ve got a tractor beam on the Mary Celeste.”

“Aye, Captain.” Cruise responded, her fingers dancing across the console as she plotted the course. The warp engines began to hum, a low thrum that resonated through the deck.

“Captain,” Ro interjected, turning from her station. “Permission to speak freely?”

Thorne raised an eyebrow. “Granted, Commander.”

“With all due respect, sir, where are we going? And why are we towing around a derelict with a potentially dangerous, unknown device on board? We’re stretched thin as it is. This feels…off mission.”

Thorne sighed, his expression unreadable, “You’re not wrong, Commander. Unfortunately I don’t know anymore than you. My orders are to tow the Mary Celeste to a specific set of coordinates and turn her over to the ship that will meet us there.”

Ro’s lips tightened. “And what ship would that be, Captain?”

“That, Commander, is the million credit question. We’ll deal with the container, the orders are to the Mary Celeste.” Thorne said emphasizing the ship’s name.

“Understood, Captain.” Ro said understanding that Thorne was following his orders literally.

Thorne nodded curtly. “Ensign Cruise, report when we reach the rendezvous point.”

“Aye, Captain.”

The Maverick leaped to warp, leaving the desolate remains of the Mary Celeste behind. The vastness of space pressed in around them, an echoing silence that amplified the unease in the ship. As the hours ticked by, Thorne found himself increasingly restless. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were pawns in a game he didn’t understand. He trusted his superiors, but this mission reeked of something… clandestine.

As the hours bled into a day, a palpable tension settled over the Maverick. The crew moved with a quiet efficiency, each member acutely aware of the strangeness of their mission. Thorne found himself drawn back to the container in his ready room, the source of so much unknown. He resisted the urge to tamper with it, knowing that any attempt to open it without authorization could have disastrous consequences. He spent the time reviewing the scans and logs from the Mary Celeste, searching for any clue that might shed light on the mystery. There was nothing. No distress call, no apparent damage, no sign of a struggle. The crew had simply vanished, leaving behind a ghost ship and a payload of unknown origin.

 

[Callum MacLeod]

Stardate: 51165.5 (March 2, 2374. 10:01 Federation Standard Starship Time.)
USS Maverick NCC-74286 on approach to the USS Mary Celeste
United Federation Of Planets

Ensign Cruise’s voice broke through the hushed atmosphere of the bridge. “Captain, we are approaching the designated coordinates.”

Thorne straightened, his senses on high alert. “Take us out of warp and bring us to an all stop, Ensign. Commander Ro, Scan for any vessels in the vicinity.”

“Aye, Captain,” Cruise responded, expertly guiding the Maverick out of warp. After a moment she continued, “All stop, Captain.”

Ro’s fingers flew across her console. “No vessels detected within sensor range… Wait!... Vessel decloaking directly ahead; distance: one hundred kilometers!”

“Raise shields! Identify!” Thorne barked as the viewscreen showed a sleek, unmarked ship, its hull gleaming a dull black shimmering into existence.

The ship’s sudden appearance, its clandestine decloaking, sent a jolt of icy apprehension through Thorne. This wasn’t a diplomatic rendezvous; this was a snatch and grab.

“If that ship has a transponder its not online. They’re not even responding to automated IFF ping.” Ro reported, her voice tight with suppressed alarm, “Whoever they are their cloak is perfect. No tachyons, no residual anti-protons, nothing.’

Thorne watched the black ship warily. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen in Starfleet records. There were no visible markings, no registry numbers, nothing to indicate its origin or allegiance. The silence emanating from it was deafening, a deliberate act of intimidation.

“Incoming hail, Captain.” Ro reported suddenly.

Thorne nodded, “On screen.”

The face of the captain of the mysterious ship filled the viewscreen. He was a human, with piercing blue eyes and a sharp jawline, and he was wearing a black leather uniform devoid of any identifying markings.

“Release the Mary Celeste immediately.” The man’s voice was cold.

Thorne’s eyes narrowed, “On whose authority?

The man’s smile was thin and humorless, “My authority, Captain Thorne. You were ordered to deliver the Mary Celeste here and turn it over to the ship waiting for you and told you would receive further orders. We are that ship. Turn over the Mary Celeste and head back to Starbase 375 at warp seven. The only notation in your log should be that you arrived and relinquished custody of the Mary Celeste and returned to base as ordered. There is to be no mention of the appearance of this ship, how we appeared, or of anything else to do with this ship or its crew. Failure to comply will result in a black flag directive, understood?”

“Understood.” Thorne grumbled

Thorne knew what a black flag directive meant – they would be designated as enemies of the Federation, hunted down and destroyed with extreme prejudice. It was a declaration without negotiation. He was cornered. He had orders, but something felt terribly wrong. He looked at Ro, her expression grim. She knew the implications as well as he did.

“Commander,” Thorne said, his voice low, “Release the tractor beam. Ensign Cruise, stand by to set course for Starbase 375. Warp seven.”

He looked back at the black ship captain on the viewscreen. “We are complying with your orders.”

The black ship captain’s expression didn’t change. “See that you do. We will monitor your progress. Any deviation from your assigned course will be interpreted as hostile intent.” The screen went blank.

The Maverick shuddered slightly as the connection to the Mary Celeste was severed. The derelict ship drifted silently in the void, a ghostly reminder of the mystery they were leaving behind. The black ship quickly moved into position, locking onto the Mary Celeste with tractor beams, and vanished again in a flash of distortion.

“Set course for Starbase 375, Warp seven, Ensign. As ordered.” Thorne said resignedly.

As the Maverick accelerated into warp, Thorne was already formulating a plan. He would follow his orders to the letter, but he wouldn’t simply forget what had happened. He knew that a black flag directive was tantamount to suicide, but the unease gnawing at him was a far greater threat than any Starfleet regulation.

“Commander Ro, I need you to scrub the log as they ordered.

Ro raised an eyebrow, understanding dawning in her eyes. “Understood, Captain.”

“Good. Also Commander, I want full diagnostics on the Maverick, especially any system that might have been remotely accessed. I want to know if they tampered with anything, even if it’s something subtle.” Thorne said.

“Aye, Captain, I’ll assign a team immediately. We’ll check everything, from the warp core to the replicators.” Ro responded.

Thorne leaned back in his chair, staring into the swirling colors of warp space. As the Maverick hurtled through warp, Ro worked tirelessly, a whirlwind of controlled energy. Her team, a hand-picked group of her most trusted officers, combed every inch of the ship. They scanned, analyzed, and cross-referenced, searching for any trace of sabotage. He knew that whatever was happening, it was far bigger than him, bigger than the Maverick. It was a shadow war, fought in the darkness, where the stakes were unknown and the players were hidden. He may have been ordered to forget, but he knew that the mystery of the Mary Celeste and the black ship had just begun.


To Be Continued…?