Historian's Note: This story takes place several months after the events in the Taskforce Vanguard-Dark Territory story "The Quality of Mercy".
TASKFORCE VANGUARD: DARK TERRITORY
KILKENNY CATS
Delta Quadrant
Late 2378
“Out of the frying plan, literally,” Lt. Commander Winsor Jarratt shook his head.
Leaning forward, Captain Meera Prabhakar chuckled. “The warp sled ride wasn’t that rough,” she surmised. “More like a good, long nap.”
Jarratt chuckled, before yawning. “I was thinking more about that distress call sir.”
“Yeah,” Prabhakar’s smile receded. She sat back in her chair and tugged on her uniform. The younger man wasn’t exactly wrong. While the crew had been in stasis for the long journey from the Alpha Quadrant and from what she had gathered from the ship’s readings the ride had been relatively smooth. Now they were barely awake before receiving a distress call: from a Federation starship.
“The Enzmann,” the captain said, recalling the name of the ship calling for help. “What do we know about that vessel?”
Lt. Triese quickly rattled off the information she had culled from the ship’s computers. The captain nodded along at the Vulcan-Orion science officer’s recitation. “Miranda-class starship,” she muttered, more to herself, “Commander is Raul Gomes.”
“Only a commander’s rank?” Jarratt interjected. Prabhakar buried a smile. The Australian would look for any excuse to engage in conversation with the taciturn science officer. “For a mission of this importance?”
“Our records show that Commander Gomes has a lengthy Starfleet career, most in the employ of Starfleet Intelligence,” Lt. Brayan barged into the conversation. The Farian tactical officer was oblivious to the deflated look on Jarratt’s face. “It’s like that Gomes, despite his rank, is one of the most experienced, if not the most experienced command officer in Intercept Group Four.”
“Thanks for that Brayan,” Prabhakar said with mock hurt.
“Present company excluded of course,” the dark-haired Farian gave the captain a slight smile.
“I find that an inaccurate assessment,” Ensign Saxton interjected. Brayan frowned but Prabhakar nodded, encouraging the woman to continue speaking. Saxton didn’t notice the Farian’s irritation as she continued, “Captain Awokou has the most experience of any Starfleet commanding officer in Intercept Group Four,” she said before she began rattling off the man’s lengthy career.
“That’s enough,” Meera said, holding up a hand. “We get the picture Lieutenant.”
The woman stopped abruptly and nodded tersely, before resuming her duties. “Well, that’s technically true,” Brayan said, not letting it go. “But the Aldebaran is still stationed at Eonessa Prime, overseeing that protectorate, which necessitated Command sending us and the Plongeur to replace them.”
Saxton tilted her head to the side, considering the man’s retort. Before she responded, the captain spoke up. “That’s enough,” she repeated, with authority. Prabhakar frowned at her tactical/security officer. Brayan normally wasn’t the kind of person who just had to be right, but she sensed that the true motive for his behavior was his discomfort with Saxton.
The woman had recently returned to the Federation, after spending over a decade as a member of the Borg Collective. She had been on the Borg sphere that had interceded at Aaamazzara. Saxton, along with some of the other disconnected, and now liberated Borg had decided to remain in the Federation.
Though many of her external Borg augmentations had been surgically removed, the woman’s bald scalp bore the heavy scarring left by the removal of the Borg implants. So far, Saxton had declined to have any doctor, including CMO Reseda restore her full appearance to what it had been, when she had been an ensign aboard the USS Princeton, one of the many ships lost at Wolf 359.
The captain wanted to get the bridge crew back to the mission at hand. “What’s our ETA to the Enzmann?”
After Triese’s reply, Meera stifled a yawn as she toggled Main Engineering. “Mr. Dexel, increase warp speed 9.7.”
“Captain,” the Hekaran’s response was quick. “I caution powering up the engines to our max so quickly,” the engineer balked. “We are still in the midst of performing a level-one diagnostic on the propulsion system.”
“As we are with other ship systems,” Prabhakar cut in, while nodding to Saxton. The woman did not return the gesture. “Have you discovered anything so far that merits repair Chief?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Alright,” Prabhakar cut the man off again. “Suspend the diagnostic and take us to maximum warp. I can’t think of a better way to test the engines, than to actually use them, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, I, uh…”
“Great,” Meera smiled. “Prabhakar out.” She turned to her XO and caught Jarratt chuckling. “Stow it mister,” she admonished with a grin. “I’m going to my ready room. Inform me when the Enzmann is in sensor range. Until then, the conn is yours.”
***********************************************************************
USS Califia
Captain’s Ready Room
Meera made a circuitous path to her desk, stopping at the display of models along one of the walls. She ran a finger along the hull of the Ambassador-class and thought of her previous command, the Shallash. The Shallash had been one of that venerable line.
It had been her first command and she had been fortunate to guide that ship and crew through wars with the Klingons and Dominion, and even the Talarian Incursion, only to lose it due to perfidious Crimson Shadow militants.
It wasn’t a day that went by that Prabhakar didn’t think about the crew she had lost. She moved on to another vessel, this one the Norway-class model that was a recreation of her ship. The Norways were newer, smaller, and sleeker than the aging Ambassadors. Despite their smaller frames, the Norway-class was a formidable vessel, one of a newer generation of ships, along with the Sabers, Akiras, and Defiants, designed to take on more dangerous threats like the Borg.
The Califia, under the previous CO, had even fought against the Borg at the Battle of Sector 001 five years ago.
Meera had never fought the cybernetic monstrosities and hoped not to encounter them in the Delta Quadrant as part of Taskforce Vanguard, though she was fortified by the fact that she commanded a vessel that had survived a battle against them before, and also by the presence of Ensign Saxton.
Many captains had passed on Saxton’s application, but Prabhakar believed in second chances. She also thought it prudent to have a member of the crew that had actually lived in the Delta Quadrant for a number of years, even if part of the Borg Collective, once Califia had been assigned to the taskforce.
Though Saxton hadn’t displayed much emotion, Meera hoped that she was pleased to be serving aboard a starship again, even if Califia’s mission sent her right back into the place of some of her worst nightmares.
Prabhakar finally sat down. She picked up the latest holographic picture of her husband Bhim and their son Anosh. Her throat tightened and her eyes crinkled as she looked at her family. She missed them, and she felt the old twisting of the guilt knife in her stomach.
Like many other Starfleet officers, she was torn between her duty and her love of her family. She wanted to be with them, yet, also wanted to be among the stars. Families on starships were a tricky thing, and had been receding in popularity since the Dominion War. And Meera would never subject either Bhim or Anosh to the dangers of space.
Even though Bhim would protest otherwise, the captain knew that her art historian husband did not have the training to survive the various threats lurking in the cosmos.
She sighed at her son. She had been carrying him during the war with the Klingons, bringing him to term between that war and the one with the Dominion. Bhim had been angry when Meera had told him she was returning to starship duty after the massacre in the Tyra system.
The Fleet had lost too many ships and too many good commanders during that slaughter, and the ones that followed, for her not to step forward. The rift between her and Bhim had never really healed after that. Her husband had held out hope that after the war Meera would walk away from the service, or at least take a space station assignment.
However, the fight against the Dominion had left Starfleet in a precarious state. She couldn’t walk away. She owed it to the men and women who had fought by her side.
Meera just hoped that Bhim would still be waiting for her once she returned from the Delta Quadrant. She was both heartened and saddened with the receipt of each new holographic picture or each new message her husband and son sent her. Bhim was trying, and maybe it was her that needed to compromise more. Bhim was shouldering the burden of raising Anosh alone while also attempting to keep their marriage afloat.
Whereas she was gallivanting around the galaxy, expanding Federation knowledge certainly, but at what personal cost?
Meera knew she wasn’t ready to answer that question, per usual, so she dived into her work. The captain only resurfaced at the sound of Jarratt’s voice.
“Captain, we’ve identified the Enzmann on long-range sensors,” the man said, “You’re going to want to see this.”
“Acknowledged,” the captain tersely replied. The man’s tone didn’t sound good. Meera took on more glance at her smiling family before steeling herself. She got out of her chair and stepped onto the bridge.
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TASKFORCE VANGUARD: DARK TERRITORY
KILKENNY CATS
Delta Quadrant
Late 2378
“Out of the frying plan, literally,” Lt. Commander Winsor Jarratt shook his head.
Leaning forward, Captain Meera Prabhakar chuckled. “The warp sled ride wasn’t that rough,” she surmised. “More like a good, long nap.”
Jarratt chuckled, before yawning. “I was thinking more about that distress call sir.”
“Yeah,” Prabhakar’s smile receded. She sat back in her chair and tugged on her uniform. The younger man wasn’t exactly wrong. While the crew had been in stasis for the long journey from the Alpha Quadrant and from what she had gathered from the ship’s readings the ride had been relatively smooth. Now they were barely awake before receiving a distress call: from a Federation starship.
“The Enzmann,” the captain said, recalling the name of the ship calling for help. “What do we know about that vessel?”
Lt. Triese quickly rattled off the information she had culled from the ship’s computers. The captain nodded along at the Vulcan-Orion science officer’s recitation. “Miranda-class starship,” she muttered, more to herself, “Commander is Raul Gomes.”
“Only a commander’s rank?” Jarratt interjected. Prabhakar buried a smile. The Australian would look for any excuse to engage in conversation with the taciturn science officer. “For a mission of this importance?”
“Our records show that Commander Gomes has a lengthy Starfleet career, most in the employ of Starfleet Intelligence,” Lt. Brayan barged into the conversation. The Farian tactical officer was oblivious to the deflated look on Jarratt’s face. “It’s like that Gomes, despite his rank, is one of the most experienced, if not the most experienced command officer in Intercept Group Four.”
“Thanks for that Brayan,” Prabhakar said with mock hurt.
“Present company excluded of course,” the dark-haired Farian gave the captain a slight smile.
“I find that an inaccurate assessment,” Ensign Saxton interjected. Brayan frowned but Prabhakar nodded, encouraging the woman to continue speaking. Saxton didn’t notice the Farian’s irritation as she continued, “Captain Awokou has the most experience of any Starfleet commanding officer in Intercept Group Four,” she said before she began rattling off the man’s lengthy career.
“That’s enough,” Meera said, holding up a hand. “We get the picture Lieutenant.”
The woman stopped abruptly and nodded tersely, before resuming her duties. “Well, that’s technically true,” Brayan said, not letting it go. “But the Aldebaran is still stationed at Eonessa Prime, overseeing that protectorate, which necessitated Command sending us and the Plongeur to replace them.”
Saxton tilted her head to the side, considering the man’s retort. Before she responded, the captain spoke up. “That’s enough,” she repeated, with authority. Prabhakar frowned at her tactical/security officer. Brayan normally wasn’t the kind of person who just had to be right, but she sensed that the true motive for his behavior was his discomfort with Saxton.
The woman had recently returned to the Federation, after spending over a decade as a member of the Borg Collective. She had been on the Borg sphere that had interceded at Aaamazzara. Saxton, along with some of the other disconnected, and now liberated Borg had decided to remain in the Federation.
Though many of her external Borg augmentations had been surgically removed, the woman’s bald scalp bore the heavy scarring left by the removal of the Borg implants. So far, Saxton had declined to have any doctor, including CMO Reseda restore her full appearance to what it had been, when she had been an ensign aboard the USS Princeton, one of the many ships lost at Wolf 359.
The captain wanted to get the bridge crew back to the mission at hand. “What’s our ETA to the Enzmann?”
After Triese’s reply, Meera stifled a yawn as she toggled Main Engineering. “Mr. Dexel, increase warp speed 9.7.”
“Captain,” the Hekaran’s response was quick. “I caution powering up the engines to our max so quickly,” the engineer balked. “We are still in the midst of performing a level-one diagnostic on the propulsion system.”
“As we are with other ship systems,” Prabhakar cut in, while nodding to Saxton. The woman did not return the gesture. “Have you discovered anything so far that merits repair Chief?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Alright,” Prabhakar cut the man off again. “Suspend the diagnostic and take us to maximum warp. I can’t think of a better way to test the engines, than to actually use them, wouldn’t you say?”
“Well, I, uh…”
“Great,” Meera smiled. “Prabhakar out.” She turned to her XO and caught Jarratt chuckling. “Stow it mister,” she admonished with a grin. “I’m going to my ready room. Inform me when the Enzmann is in sensor range. Until then, the conn is yours.”
***********************************************************************
USS Califia
Captain’s Ready Room
Meera made a circuitous path to her desk, stopping at the display of models along one of the walls. She ran a finger along the hull of the Ambassador-class and thought of her previous command, the Shallash. The Shallash had been one of that venerable line.
It had been her first command and she had been fortunate to guide that ship and crew through wars with the Klingons and Dominion, and even the Talarian Incursion, only to lose it due to perfidious Crimson Shadow militants.
It wasn’t a day that went by that Prabhakar didn’t think about the crew she had lost. She moved on to another vessel, this one the Norway-class model that was a recreation of her ship. The Norways were newer, smaller, and sleeker than the aging Ambassadors. Despite their smaller frames, the Norway-class was a formidable vessel, one of a newer generation of ships, along with the Sabers, Akiras, and Defiants, designed to take on more dangerous threats like the Borg.
The Califia, under the previous CO, had even fought against the Borg at the Battle of Sector 001 five years ago.
Meera had never fought the cybernetic monstrosities and hoped not to encounter them in the Delta Quadrant as part of Taskforce Vanguard, though she was fortified by the fact that she commanded a vessel that had survived a battle against them before, and also by the presence of Ensign Saxton.
Many captains had passed on Saxton’s application, but Prabhakar believed in second chances. She also thought it prudent to have a member of the crew that had actually lived in the Delta Quadrant for a number of years, even if part of the Borg Collective, once Califia had been assigned to the taskforce.
Though Saxton hadn’t displayed much emotion, Meera hoped that she was pleased to be serving aboard a starship again, even if Califia’s mission sent her right back into the place of some of her worst nightmares.
Prabhakar finally sat down. She picked up the latest holographic picture of her husband Bhim and their son Anosh. Her throat tightened and her eyes crinkled as she looked at her family. She missed them, and she felt the old twisting of the guilt knife in her stomach.
Like many other Starfleet officers, she was torn between her duty and her love of her family. She wanted to be with them, yet, also wanted to be among the stars. Families on starships were a tricky thing, and had been receding in popularity since the Dominion War. And Meera would never subject either Bhim or Anosh to the dangers of space.
Even though Bhim would protest otherwise, the captain knew that her art historian husband did not have the training to survive the various threats lurking in the cosmos.
She sighed at her son. She had been carrying him during the war with the Klingons, bringing him to term between that war and the one with the Dominion. Bhim had been angry when Meera had told him she was returning to starship duty after the massacre in the Tyra system.
The Fleet had lost too many ships and too many good commanders during that slaughter, and the ones that followed, for her not to step forward. The rift between her and Bhim had never really healed after that. Her husband had held out hope that after the war Meera would walk away from the service, or at least take a space station assignment.
However, the fight against the Dominion had left Starfleet in a precarious state. She couldn’t walk away. She owed it to the men and women who had fought by her side.
Meera just hoped that Bhim would still be waiting for her once she returned from the Delta Quadrant. She was both heartened and saddened with the receipt of each new holographic picture or each new message her husband and son sent her. Bhim was trying, and maybe it was her that needed to compromise more. Bhim was shouldering the burden of raising Anosh alone while also attempting to keep their marriage afloat.
Whereas she was gallivanting around the galaxy, expanding Federation knowledge certainly, but at what personal cost?
Meera knew she wasn’t ready to answer that question, per usual, so she dived into her work. The captain only resurfaced at the sound of Jarratt’s voice.
“Captain, we’ve identified the Enzmann on long-range sensors,” the man said, “You’re going to want to see this.”
“Acknowledged,” the captain tersely replied. The man’s tone didn’t sound good. Meera took on more glance at her smiling family before steeling herself. She got out of her chair and stepped onto the bridge.
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