Eye of the Maelstrom

Posted on Wednesday, 1 April 2020 - 2:14am by Commander DeVala Victrix Ph.D & Lieutenant Ryan Rose MD
Edited on on Thursday, 2 April 2020 - 3:00pm

Mission: Operation: Overdrive
Location: Camelot

Maintaining an open communications channel with the bridge permitted Victrix to provide a slew of colourful commentary to the helmsman. Reflecting upon the choice, she realised the ensign was perhaps not the best person suited for the job. ‘I should have taken her up on the offer,’ the commander mentally groaned, wishing that she had reconsidered the chief engineer’s offer to pilot the Fontana. Scarce details existed on record for this sector of space, giving the acting-captain the assumption that her chief of engineering would best serve in her department. True, Gwen had warned her of the dangers, and their journey had not gone without a few hiccups along the way, but it was too late to turn back. Nearly blowing out the quantum slipstream on the way, later rotating to the more traditional warp core had caused the ship to limp in.

Within moments of entering the nebula, the Fontana began shaking violently, as though an angry toddler grabbed hold of a rattle. Victrix grew immediate concern her ship’s hull was going to buckle; the image of a Sluggo cola can becoming stomped upon instantly came to mind. Groans crushed against the bulkheads in unnerving noises as she clutched her commbadge, “More power to the inertial dampeners!” They had been in the nebula for a good hour now, with each passing moment flecks of worry grew more intense. “Helm, if we get through this, you are scrubbing the bulkheads for a week!” It wasn’t much of a threat, given the circumstances, but the woman would be fortunate if she didn’t lose her lunch on one of the bulkheads.

It just happened to be Tuna Casserole Tuesday. A mere thought of the substance encouraged her stomach to churn with each shake of volatile turbulence. As if traversing the sector was not dangerous enough. This docking procedure was the one doomed to kill them all. Just as her worries mounted, it all happened. They died. Or rather, she thought they had until she looked out through one of the slim windows as sparks rained down upon the ceiling. Victrix closed her eyes as metal scraped, the devil’s chord wretching into her eardrums that made her want to regurgitate everything in her entire gastrointestinal tract. “What the hell was that?!” she shrieked over the comm-link.

Tossed onto the floor, the woman curled into a defensive fetal position as her head nearly smashed onto bent metal originally from the wall. “We made contact with the Camelot,” the helmsman reluctantly advertised, finally, in response. “Minor damage to our hull…and the Camelot’s hull. Sir.” Grimacing, the commander could sense the dread in that statement. ‘That’s it. We hit the Camelot. We’re in trouble.’ Oh how she wish she had stayed home, or even died. Active duty or not, Gwen was still a Commodore in her book. Admiralty. Her starship had scraped up onto a Commodore’s post, while under her command. Starfleet would have her head for this.

Pulling herself up off the deck floor, Victrix groaned. “Ensign!” she shouted, “You just scraped against Federation property, under the command of a retired Commodore. Do you know how much paperwork I have to file on this incident? More than you will ever file in your career!” Uncertain whether to groan, or if she was going to be violently ill from the event, the woman attempted to steady herself. Another jarring moan echoed through the hull as if two Gormanganders had declared mating season.

“Docking successful,” the helmsman confirmed, all too grateful after the operation. “You are clear to disembark, Captain.” Steadying herself as the airlock portal brushed to each side, Victrix gave her uniform a tug, regretting her hopelessly disheveled hair. Klingons. Nausicans. Orions. Tholians, even. She had been prepared to have a deadly encounter with any of the lot. Never once had she factored in the all-too-simple, nor often-taken-for-granted procedure of docking would have potentially destroyed her starship. Or her.

Now she was going to have to meet with Gwen, who would no doubt be furious. ‘Hey, sorry about the paint job,’ the commander thought to herself, wondering just how the hell she was going to break the ice. Mechanised release valves hissed as the dock latched onto the gangway corridor atop both sides of the Merian class. No doubt one of the moments anyone would likely wish to forget. It was bad enough docking in a volatile nebula, where automated navigational instruments were all but useless. Even worse against a behemoth of a vessel, that despite her near standstill momentum carried a quelling resolve of mass.

Helmsmen had been warned of the nightmarish docking procedures aboard refueling stations in the atmospheres of gas giants. This was no better. Actually, it may well have been worse, considering the vicious energy lashing out beyond the clouds of ionised gas. Space lightning. Just what the forcefields needed to test them, as they flickered across the gangway for a brief moment. Somehow they held stable, despite the interference, until a green light emitted in place of the cautionary red.

Victrix hastily made her way across space, unnerved by the environment around her. She made no effort to linger, contrary to her chaotic appearance, only partially righted as the airlock doors released and accepted her clearance upon reaching the Camelot’s end. “Welcome aboard,” a cheerful voice, feminine in quality greeted her as an overhead blue light pulsed with each word as if representative to a speaking figure.

A noble woman from ages past shimmered into reality as the airlock closed behind her, dropping her into a busy corridor, a sea of persons bustling into duty. “Please accept our humblest greetings to your arrival. However brief, or extended your stay might be, we hope you will enjoy it. Someone will be with you momentarily.” Holding an open palm outwards as if to welcome her, the hologram shimmered once more before dissipating out of existence.

Once more, the now increasingly familiar voice of the sentience emanated from the wall panels. “Chief Qett to the ventral ring. Chief Qett to the ventral ring. Repair crew theta-six, dispatch to the orange sector bravo-452.” As if summoned by the gods, a blue-skinned male came jogging down the hallway after exiting from a turbolift. Wiping his bald head, the bolian hunched over for a moment to catch his breath before wiping a trail of sweat away.

“I have got to get another duty lead,” the newcomer groaned in exasperation. Lungs heaving for fresh air, the man fidgeted before a righting himself and brushing a wrinkle from his uniform. Extending a free palm, the senior enlisted person withdrew the bulky engineering case in his right palm. “Welcome aboard, commander. Chief Qett. The commodore is on deck zero, in the C-I-C.”

Normalised as he finally caught his breath, the chief paced over to the nearest junction, tapping a darkened strip along the wall. Pulling away, the panel shifted from a green light to enlongated arrows as an input terminal slipped into the corridor from a hidden compartment. “Cam, please light the way for our guest. I have some repairs to get done. A lot of repairs.”

‘Thank the stars, for overly cheerful Bolians.’ Victrix innately sighed a breath of relief. “Hey…sorry about your ship. New helmsman; I may have taken his training wheels off a bit too soon,” she issued in apology. Bidding the chief a polite smile, the commander carried along the path in recognition the man clearly had work to do. As it was, she was embarassed about the entire situation. What a day it had already turned out to be, and her she was not even having met the people she’d come to interact with.

Navigating the corridors proved to be a maze, a veritable titan in comparison to the Merian-class. A good ten minutes had passed before she found herself near the central nervous sector of the ship, at once straightening her uniform out of habit. ‘Deck zero,’ the woman recollected, already feeling her nerves growing tense. ‘You’ve got this, you did not just come all this way to scrape against a commodore’s ship, and run away.’ There was no turning back no, she realised after passing the initial checkpoint.

Whatever small grant of fortune beamed down upon Victrix that day, it seemed everyone had other worries on their mind. Enough to avoid needlessly complaining to the new arrival. Even Qett, who despite his species’ reputation for politeness was known for their overly technical arguments. As she finally clipped through the second-to-last gate, the commander began to see what Gwen had meant. The Camelot had far less in common with cruisers, than that of a starbase. With engines, and warp capability, mind you. Starfleet would have had a field day with this.

Holographic displays identified the guest as she briskly presented herself to the final checkpoint, passing into the facility nearest of kin to a bridge, or operations centre. The door hissed shut behind her, as an audible lock clutched into position. Forcefields projected energised walls around the amphitheatre-style chamber, an opening appearing in front of her just barely large enough to permit her entry. As she descended, traffic control stations monitored the oncoming gridlock of turbolifts, helping them to reroute amongst a congested highway of tubes.

Amidst it all, a round projector table sat in the middle of the CIC, just where a centre stage may have been. Camelot hung aloft, aides flicking through endless streams of information from the emitted display of hardlight imagery. Red blips formed over the ventral ring, pulsing with anger as a cautionary header displayed adjacent to the section. ‘Warp systems offline.’ The first sign of news Victrix wished she hadn’t seen. At last, attention had been drawn the the Fontana, engineers scrambling to repair the not-quite-insignificant damage that had been reported as a mere hull scrape.

Orbiting the situation display, a grey-haired woman paced around with casual grace until a junior enlisted person wandered over to her. Immediately recognising neither wore Starfleet issue, the commander drew her memory forward. Gwen had mentioned something about being separate from Starfleet itself. Dark uniforms, albeit less militaristic and a delta that was a bit different than her own. The Exploratory Corps. Of course!

Warm smiles met the visitor as the senior woman beckoned her guest, motioning to the projector in front of her. “Welcome aboard. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you in person, at the dock. I’m just at the tail end of my shift here.” Commodore pips nestled atop her commbadge, implicative of the absence of rank bars seen on traditional issue DeVala was familiar with. This was Gwen. The very same one she’d spoken with, who now looked over to the nearest stationed person before adjusting her course to come up alongside the lieutenant.

“Porea, would you mind informing Varos he’s due for his shift, please? Thank you.” Gwen returned her attention to the visitor, extending her palm casually in greeting. “I know you have a tight schedule, and a mission to accomplish, but your crew are welcome aboard. I imagine you all need some R&R after that journey. Do you need any supplies, while we’re in here?”

Victrix returned the smile, greeting her with evenly-matched pleasantry. “Thank you. We do have a bit of a mission ahead, but I believe some R&R would do everyone good.” She didn’t need to go into deteail about the journey itself. “Please believe me when I say, you were better off not being anywhere near the docking port. I made that mistake on my own starship. Docking was a bit…rough.” Looking downwards for a moment, her attention looked over to the display ushered forward. “I have yet to acquire a chief flight control officer, and the helmsman I do have is only an ensign. One I’m starting to believe is too cocky in his assessment for pullling off an ‘easy, and smooth docking’.” Agitated though it may have seemed, her polite mien returned. “As for supplies, we just left the shipyard, prior to coming here. I think we’re alright, for the time being.”

Quietly observing the situation viewer as the greetings were exchanged, Gwen took the information passed to her with surprising poise. She met the newcomer with little more than a bare smile, pulling her arms up into a wide shrug. “If I lamented, or became angry for every time I saw hull damage, I’d have been dead from an aneurysm in the Dominion War.” A certain whimsical note hung in the lightened air of her tone, ignoring the negativity of the circumstance. “The important key for taking away is no one was killed, or seriously injured.” Looking over to the tellaraite she’d addressed earlier as Porea, the flag officer pulled up a roster in front of her on the central display. “Please dispatch worker bee squadrons two and seven.”

Gwen returned her attention to DeVala before casually resting her arms on her hips. “The warp ring should be repaired within a few days. The automated worker bees should help. With any luck, Chief Qett will be able to coordinate with engineering operations to let us know when power is fully restored.”

Thankful for the assessment, Victrix nodded in agreement. ‘This is true,’ she immediately considered. Had someone been killed under her command already, Starfleet would be furious and no doubt bury her in paperwork. More importantly, brief as her stay had been on the Fontana any loss of life would no doubt have shooken her. She was never meant to be in a command position, nor a starship going onto a deep-space assignment. It simply wasn’t her area of expertise. Admittedly, she was a novice explorer, on the best of days. This wasn’t one of those days. It never was.

Once more the commodore drew attention to the hologram of Camelot, pinching the light as she brought attention to the network of corridors. Jefferies tubes, although given the size of the vessel, it was more likely akin to half-decks. “She may be old, but we gutted her interior, and replaced it with the best I could get. Wasn’t easy, but redundancies are important for a reason. Especially out here, in the South. Voyager made an astounding list of accomplishments — I studied them. But grant them as much thankfulness as I do, she has nothing on what we’ve seen this far out. Gravitational eddies shearing hulls apart, to nebulae such as the one we’re in.” Gwen pulled an index finger to her lips, tapping it for a moment before turning to Porea. “Which reminds me. Please inform EngOps to extend our environmental shields over the Fontana. Neither of us need any more damage.”

The tellaraite simply nodded as Gwen led the pair away, up the stairs to the topmost level of the CIC. Halting in front of a station, the grey-haired woman tapped atop a console to illuminate a departmental symbol. It looked as if it were a cornucopia, or basket of goods being offered to someone. “Risha,” the flag officer called over to a nearby ferengi. “Could you please set aside 42-bravo in the blue sector for our guests? Holosuites, spas, therapy. Whatever they need. And please also extend a welcoming invitation over to the Fontana’s crew.” Victrix silently mouthed a simple ‘thank you’ for her host, uncertain whether if the commodore had finished serving out orders to her personnel or not.

Risha met them with a devilish grin, bared through sharp incisors as she nodded. One didn’t need to wonder what the ferengi was musing over. Guests. Which meant customers. Customers, which meant business. “So, I only mentioned it briefly before you made your way here…which, by the way — record time for a Starfleet vessel. Slipstream?” Gwen carried the same rhetorical, if not whimsical air to her as she had earlier. Her palms were evidently occupied with body language just as ebullient as that of her vocal demeanour. “The nearest starbase is a bit over three weeks via warp. Camelot doesn’t have the luxury of slipstream, but if you need anything while you’re in the area, we’re just a comm-link away. I imagine we have just as much capacity as a spacedock logistically speaking. Perhaps a little more, given we’re mobile. Usually.”

“Actually,” Victrix interjected with gratitude, “I would appreciate the opportunity to return her, if we do need supplies. You wouldn’t happen to have any helms persons to spare, would you?” Teasing as her words might have been, Gwen seemed to entertain the thought for a few moments before drumming her fingers across the console. Unwilling to let the situation go so easily, DeVala mentally let go of the frustration on a note of giving the ensign a reprimand for his docking attempt.

Satisfied with their early progress, before her shift had even ended, Gwen led them away from the CIC and into the corridor. Passing through the checkpoints, she broached the conversation she knew that would be happening soon. “Onto business, I suppose. Tell me your current thoughts, while we’re making headway towards the transit centre. How do you plan approaching this?”

“By approaching this, I suspect you mean your son,” the commander retorted. “Well…for starters, I thought I would treat him like an individual, rather than a name. Or statistic. I feel that is partially where some people, not naming anyone, but a certain admiral have failed.” Slipping past the scanner, Victrix breathed a sigh of relief as they exited into a normal, if not busy avenue. “I would hope that if anything, he would be willing to sit down for a few minutes and listen to what I have to say. He doesn’t need us. I know this. My starship may have a slipstream, but it isn’t much compared to those heading out to chart the Delta and Gamma quadrants. We do need him, though. I really hope my sincerity shines through this uniform when I say that.”

Offering her precious time to recollect her thoughts, Gwen led them down the hall which soon branched into a circular junction. Bay doors rested before them, opening as they neared to reveal a vast promenade. Overhead holographic panels reflected a digital sky onto the surface of what could only be described as an outdoor mall. One reflective of a quiet, peaceful age of San Fransisco. The guide paid little attention to the directories, seeming to know her way forward. “Not a bad start,” she encouraged her junior. “As a forewarning, though. Don’t be surprised if he challenges you. Question, or otherwise. Braidans take their life decisions with the utmost seriousness. If you can’t show, rather than explain why your cause is worthy? Forget it. You’re as good as wasting their time. Especially when it’s someone like him, who has a living community he’s comfortable with and knows well.”

Crowds gathered in front of the transit centre Gwen had led them to. A pair of railcars docked in the station they’d been standing at, immediately letting everyone board. Having been led to the front of the car, the host offered her space nearest the window to face the tube ahead. “This express route travels down the spine of the ship. Easiest way to get anywhere laterally. Otherwise, we generally use the lifts.” Quietude stilled the air for a few long, if not thankful minutes until the train finished its stops. Gratitude buried itself between them as they finally exited at the fore-quarter of the ship, displayed via a silhouette of the Camelot.

Nodding, the acting-captain took the information in mind. “Yes, ma’am. I work on Earth, so space travel isn’t common to me,” she nonchalantly admitted. It wasn’t ideal to go into depth on that subject; Gwen didn’t need to know why it had been so long for her to don the uniform.

Six minutes had passed following their departure from the train, before Gwen finally stopped in front of a cabin door. At last a hint of grace in her journey, as Victrix recognised the name engraved onto the doorplate. “Rhydian?” the mother called, pressing the chime. Low rumbles of a quieted growl reverberated through the metal as scratches itched over the surface from the other side. She repeated it another time before frowning. “Cam, I need the location of Cadet il’Vastam, please.”

The holographic representation of the ship’s intelligence glistened into view once more, very much the same as when she had greeted the commander. “Cadet il’Vastam is in briefing room four, with the Merlin squad,” she informed the pair, holding a holographic map in her palm. “Main flight deck. Please note, their vessel is scheduled to depart in an hour from the dorsal ring.”

“Well shit,” Gwen cursed aloud, her brow furrowing. “That complicates matters. Leave it to the instructors to change schedules last minute.” Casting a sigh as the Camlelot intelligence flickered away, Gwen looked over to her accompanying visitor. “Site-to-site?” she asked almost rhetorically.

Blushing from the expressive word choice, DeVala restrained herself from a school-girl titter. “They always were throwing curveballs at us, when I went through officer training,” she lamented. Her experience in Starfleet was quite different from the orthodox ‘get your education in four years via the academy’ route. “I prefer transporters over shuttles. Definitely over docking, after today’s experience.” It was commonplace as it was for her to use transporters on Earth. Not only much faster, when going between continents but also less-likely to experience anything prone to flight issues.

Satisfied by her guests’s confirmation, the escort wasted no time in requesting a beam to the flight deck. Little more than a few seconds passed after their rematerialisation before Gwen was on the move again. “Long day for us, especially the cadets. Rhydian just finished an eighteen-hour shift. Now they’re putting his squad up for another ten. No rest. That’s twenty-eight hours. There are days I don’t miss the academy.”

Gwen hardly cupped her ears, despite the noise circulating in the hangar as she scanned the vicinity. Refusing to linger, the woman ushered her guest into a nearby access corridor before resuming her earlier posture. A glass wall stood immediately to their left, holographic displays printing schedules and a floorplan. The hangar was massive, easily spanning at least eighty-percent the length of the ship for several decks. As she considered the information, the older woman spun on her heel to part down the nearest junction.

Eight doors and counting until the flag officer pressed her access code into the door panel, thankful as the pair whisked to admit them. In front of them a quaint briefing room spread out, filled with empty seats as wandering eyes trained to the gaggle of cadets near the front of the room. It appeared as though the instructors had already departed, seemingly let the squad split into their appropriate groups.

A caitian female perked her ears with keen eyes hunting the arrivals. She let out a disquieting whistle before snapping her feet together. “Commodore on deck!” she yelled, loud enough to carry over the dialogue between the department groups. Almost immediately the room dripped to near-silence as the disquieting resonance of feet snapping together at attention halted their earlier activities.

“As you were, cadets. Good morning,” Gwen calmly acknowledged. She raised a hand to release the formality. “Mi’ara, would you happen to know where Rhydian is?” Her inquiry was direct, if not concise as the seventh-year caitian cadet neared them. Just as with the earlier dawning of the ship being from the Exploratory Corps, soon it had settled in this must have been a graduate-class of cadets. An eight-year programme.

“He should be back any minute. Instructors requested an inventory of spare parts to be transported to the Merlin for our upcoming sortie. The Morgana is stranded -- no warp, no impulse. Ion storm is less than a day out before it hits her, then the Camelot.”

“Thank you, Mi’ara. Best of luck.” Gwen accepted the unfortunate news with a sigh. “That would explain why she’s late.” Nearly on cue the very same doors of which they’d entered hissed open, shutting quietly after a new figure stepped in behind them. She gestured towards the advent cadet, clear to point out he had a PADD in his busy palm. He was shorter than she was. The figure had acute eyebrows, and sharp-tipped ears, of which carried a metallic chain spanning from the bottom lobe to the upper-corner. A small crystal hung from the slack, and a pair of colour-shifting feathers nested behind the ear itself. “Good luck, commander. You’re going to need it.”

Nodding in agreement, DeVala knew she would need all the luck she could get. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” the woman replied. “My whole mission has a factor of luck running through it. Your son is just one of several crucial elements needed for this mission to be successful. I feel as though I have a bottle, running through the hills in a feeble attempt to capture lightning.” The odds were never in her favour with this assignment, with little more than a slim margin of success. When her eyes laid upon the young man however? She smilled warmly, stepping forward to greet him.

Given a closer inspection of the man she’d come to know as Gwen’s son, Victrix felt a shredded belief that the one she’d become infatuated via paperwork was not done justice. Certainly, he was an ideal candidate on the PADD, all discretions and disciplinary reports aside. He was as colourful as the personnel files and any dossier had ever been laid across his desk. But seeing him in person was another matter entirely. Being a Risan, she was instinctually drawn to his ear, or rather the decorative piece which had captured her fascination. She felt compelled to reach out and touch it, admiring it up close, however knew better.

Soft paces carried the senior cadet forward into the room as he continued to immerse himself in the reports held in his left palm. A furrowed brow collected as the page scrolled, alleviated only by the presence of cadets speaking amongst themselves. He’d initially sidestepped as a figure placed themselves in his path, once more doing the same as the obstacle adjusted, hoping to grab his attention.

“Cadet,” Victrix addressed him openly, opting not to use either of his names given the complexity of his culture. ‘Is shaking hands a thing with them?' she pondered quietly to herself, a trail of hesitation flushing over her visage. No, she wouldn’t make any assumptions, instead bowing her head as though it were a welcoming gesture of respect. “My name is Lieutenant Commander Victrix, commanding officer of the Federation starship Fontana.” Softening her tone to a less authoritative one, the woman paused, letting the man process the decree. “My sincerest apologies for interrupting your educational time, but I have travelled great distances to arrange this meeting. I would truly appreciate having a portion of your time, today.”

Looking up from his PADD, the Braidan perked an eyebrow in the light of becoming addressed. “Yes…commander?” he stated almost rhetorically, as if to silently imply they were blocking his way. Instead, his tone suggested the offering of a courtesy to witness exactly why he’d become impeded. He wasn’t given the opportunity to assess the woman however, causing the device to slip to his side. Faint disappointment read from his expression, making it clear the young man was restraining himself. “Noted, ma’am. Respectfully, I have a critical-priority rescue mission to coordinate with my fellow cadets. Is this something which can wait?”

Mi’ara wandered over as Victrix began to circle the senior cadet, her paws briskly collecting the PADD with little more than a pat on her colleague’s shoulder to reassurement. “Cadet, you may complete your rescue mission, so long as it will not take you more than a day. Two at most. I can permit my crew shore leave for the interlude,” Victrix put plainly, her tone shifting to a weighty grade of emphasis. Glancing over to the commodore, she admired the woman before returning her gaze to the cadet. The pair may not have been biological, but there was most certainly a family resemblance in gestures and overall aura.

Gwen had begun to converse with the caitian cadet, her own vision partially cast towards the pair now speaking privately. Rhydian folded his arms, nerves tense with frustration as the visiting commander inspected him as though he were prey. His ears twitched instinctually, the balls of his right heel just barely lifting from the ground to spring at any given moment. “I’ll hear you out, commander,” he responded finally before the woman finished orbiting him like a bird of prey.

“Cadet, I am here because I need you,” Victrix admitted, reluctantly placing her cards onto the table. “I don’t need to go into the lengths I’ve had to travel, or favours I’ve had to call in just to arrange even docking with the Camelot. Let alone meeting you.” She paused, looking down in confession. “Honestly, my starship will not be successful if we leave without you. If you don’t come with us, my mission may as well be aborted.” Met with a frown, the cadet hadn’t shifted much beyond his neutronium-willed demeanour. “I cannot tell you that my mission is a glorious one, or as exciting as venturing into the Delta quadrant. I am, however, hoping that you are someone attracted to a good challenge.”

Waiting for a moment to speak, the cadet didn’t hesitate whatsoever as the opportunity struck. “Commander, I cannot promise the odds of an already dangerous mission. The Camelot is disabled right now, and needs to complete repairs. The Merlin is the only viable option, if we don’t want a cadet ship lost. She may be fast, but she has to tow a ship of equal class back — through perilous environmental hazards you no doubt know. My squad may be Pathfinders, but we are not magical.” Firm as his voice was, a trace of respect lingered in his words despite his tense state.

Listening to the cadet’s retort, Victrix shook her head. ‘Boys and their toys,’ she thought, reflecting on the gadgetry within the current age. It had taken her long enough to figure out how to use the new holographic LCARS in her ready room. She was impressed however that Starfleet was far different from what she remembered when she last sought out new life and civilisations. “I understand your mission is important to you, and others as well,” the commander quietly collected. “You cannot promise the odds of an already dangerous mission.” Her voice had become an echo of facts already stated, fracturing as her tone softened.

“I really don’t understand any of this.” Gesturing around to the atmosphere surrounding them, DeVala sighed. “Your mother is over there, and half the time I am uncertain whether I should address her as commodore, or Gwen. Overall, she’s rather lax -- expecially for a commodore. Still, at the same time, she intimidates the fuck out of me. I can only imagine what your childhood was like.”

At last unfolding his arms from the near-platitude, Rhydian took in the words less for their content and rather the emotion behind them. “Cloud Nine. Cam, please inform Commander Victrix when we dock.” The ship sentience beeped in confirmation. “You can have my full attention, when we do. Beyond that — no promises.”

DeVala sunk her head for a moment, bemused in the state of their dialogue. “I don’t know what, or where Cloud Nine is, but if I’m understanding you correctly…I’m supposed to go there, and wait for you and the Merlin to return from this mission?” Almost rhetorical, the woman paused in hesitation, wondering if the cadet would give her more than a nod of confirmation.

Tempting as it was to shake off the other’s confusion, Rhydian held strong, looking over to his mother as she brought a faint grin to his lips. “She has that effect on people, by the way. Probably something to do with telling the President to go fuck themselves when they continually attempted to promote her to Admiral. Please, pardon my choice of words. Her language -- not mine.” Stilling himself for a moment, he looked at the visitor before whisking a finger over a bracelet hidden beneath his sleeve. A holographic display projected into view as he began narrating their location. “We’re here, on the main flight deck.” His finger traced upwards, pointing out a deck on the upper-half of the ship. “Cloud Nine is up here. Camelot has a mirrored hull, if you haven’t noticed. Alpha, topside. Bravo, bottomside.”

Holding the display out for the other to inspect, the younger of the two neatly tugged his sleeve over an exposed circuit with little more than a brief frown. “Cloud Nine is the lounge most of the cadets haunt. You can probably reserve one of the private rooms in advance, if you feel the necessity to…formalise this.”

A warm smile formed over Commander Victrix’s face as she nearly laughed over the colourful use of his mother’s language. It was one thing she could definitely appreciate, knowing Gwen had flair into dramatics, and the excellent use of swearing. The woman may well have borne the mouth of a sailor, carrying regal posture all the while that surpassed even some of the dignitaries Victrix had to entertain in the past. “No apologies necessary, cadet. Her word choice is accurate,” she agreed with a broader smile. “The President gets told to fuck himself rather often. I’d know; I usually work for him, albeit subtly removed.”

Observing the hologram, she drew her own finger to the light before interacting with it. “Cloud Nine is here. Got it. Where’s the Merlin? That’s the vessel you’re taking, correct?” she confirmed.

Curious, as if the information hadn’t been obvious already, the cadet zoomed out the interface. “Dorsal ring. Not that it’s functional. The Merlin will need to manually release. Chief Qett is…not in a good mood right now. I ran across him on my way here; he said something about an amateur trying to pull of a manoeuvre that could have easily killed no small sum of people.” Drawing his lips taut into a neutral expression before addressing her, he pointed out the ventral ring. “Assuming that is your ship? If so, if you see a stubby Bolian with a purple complexion right now? Best to avoid him, and go the other way. Briskly. He looks as if he’s about to order an execution, given the storage closet he set aside for reports.”

“Smashing,” DeVala sarcastically droned, a giggle nearly slipping into her tone. “Yes, I would be the reason the Chief resembles a plum right now.” Looking back, the woman made a personal note to never go through that docking experience again. Not with the same helmsman. “Your mother cautioned us on the difficulty, but I came with a skeletal crew. No veteran helmsman as of yet. I’m afraid our current one may have made a few too many rookie mistakes.”

Pressing onwards, she waited calmly before confirming. “My crew will remain docked here, with the Camelot for the time being. I am certain your mother is an excellent hostess. No doubt they will enjoy the opportunity to look around. Some of them could use the opportunity to wet their palettes and socialise a bit. Especially my first officer, a Vulcan. He’s a bit stuffy.” Realising she had been dragging the conversation, DeVala cut herself short. “Is your mission just to tow the ship, or do you expect to encounter hostiles?”

Rhydian visibly flinched upon the mention of a Vulcan, his eyebrow twitching as he attempted to focus. He wasn’t familiar with sharing mission-pertinent information with outsiders. Although he wanted to offer some explanation, there wasn’t much known short of the distress beacon. Nor was he certain if the visiting officer had clearance, even if she did outrank him. “We’re to provide whatever assistance is necessary, commander. We still don’t have further information regarding how the Morgana became disabled. Anything is possible, but the Merlin is hardly unarmed if that situation arises.”

Looking to the display which continued to linger, the male closed it as he pulled his sleeve flush once more. “Part of being in the Exploratory involves understanding you will encounter the unexpected. And adapting to survive. We’ll do what is necessary, to bring our ship and the cadets home safely.”

“Yes,” the commander agreed solemnly as she looked over to the socialiate that Gwen had immersed herself as. “As I previously said, my mission is of the utmost importance, at this point. Cadet, whether you like it or not, you are a crucial factor in its success. Make it back alive from your mission, and you’ll be assisting my crew.” She didn’t want to put that he had no choice in the matter, but whether or not the Braidan wanted it she was going to get him — one way or another.

“So…where does a woman get a phaser, around here?” she inquired more plainly, dropping the formal tone. “Or do you lot use some new thing I am out of touch with? Either way, point me to your armory.” She expected his confusion, it was no doubt there would be some in her mind. Few volunteered themselves these days, let alone interjected themselves into a private mission. “We have a saying, on Risa. All that is ours, is yours. I’d like to add in, all that is yours is ours. Your mission is my mission. Let’s get those junior cadets home safe.”

Nerves hardened from the commander’s steeled response. Tensing up once more, despite having become vaguely relaxed earlier, Rhydian once more adopted his forward tone. “You know part of my terms, commander. We can discuss more, and the outcome later.” Drawing his focus over to his fellow cadets, he frowned. “This is highly unorthodox,” he cast with immediate hesitation, whisking the chain away from his face as his ears perked. “I don’t use a phaser. Never have. You’ll be hard pressed to find a cadet in here that does.”

Thankfulness flooded his expression as Mi’ara wandered over with the commodore, inviting themselves to the conversation. “I’m getting everyone aboard. The commodore has given us approval for departure.” Her hind paws jutted up for a moment, clearing her throat before projecting her voice louder. “You have your orders people, get to the Merlin and get us ready for departure.”

Although it had been hinted at earlier the cadets had two co-commanders for the squad, the new announcement made it clear who the other individual was. She had a significantly more proactive tone than Rhydian had, although his own carried equal gravitas. Gwen hung around for a brief instant as the cadets filed out, leaving the trio to finish speaking. “Be careful what you wish for, commander. You’re my guest here, but aboard the Merlin, the cadets run their ship. The instructors are only there for emergencies. See to it you keep it that way.”

“I would never interfere in the independent operations of the Exploratory Corps, ma’am,” Victrix ceded with a small grin. “I’ll let the cadets run their ship, but please consider me a talent scout. There’s no better way of seeing everyone’s potential than seeing them in their own environment.” Gwen offered but a subtle nod before heading off as the commander returned her focus to the cadet she hoped to recruit. “Now, should I come alone, or could you use additional assistance?”

Rhydian quietly observed the exchange between his mother and the visitor, knowing the former likely had wandered off to get some sleep. Neither of them had short hours today, although he sincerely doubted she had been upf or as long as he had. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but neither was being stranded in an unfriendly region of space. Looking back to his would-be tag-along the cadet led them away from the briefing room before taking the train, and a series of lifts up to an area clearly set aside for the cadets. Even a glowing  academy emblem had been engraved onto the wall, just above a water feature and bed of flowers.

The holographic secretary paid little heed as the duo wandered past the entry gate, heading down a long classroom corridor. Rooms had been labeled by subjects, with a fair few serving specialty-purpose until they had reached the second-to-last door. At last, the cadet broke the silence. “Bring who you want, commander, but please note I won’t be held responsible for them — you will. The Merlin and Morgana are of Shikaris class, built by the caitians especially for the Camelot. They’re small, and not luxurious, but they’re a far cry more versatile than the old Defiant types.”

Pressing his bio-identity against the access scanner, the cadet admitted them into a sizable locker room. Adjacent, he opened a small door which led to a smaller chamber that served as a mixture from an industrial replicator, and an armory. “We have spare EVAs on the Merlin, along with personal shielding armour if needed. Replicate whatever else you believe you need. Last I checked, there should be some MACO phasers in the database, if we still have the other branches’ schematics. Everything else is cultural, but SEC-approved. I trust you know how to work a replicator of this grade?”

“Boy,” Victrix shrilled through a grin as she placed a spry hand on her hip, smirking fiercely. “I work in a damned office with a maze of cubicles, mountains of paperwork and flag officers complaining left and right over comms channels. That means I need coffee each and every day after several long hours in there. I know how to use one, if not blindfolded. It’s not a Risan resort, or the Bank of Bolarus. Now are we going to save some people, or am I going to get a Tech 101 lecture, cadet?”

Met with an eye roll before the cadet frowned before responding. “One — I have a name, commander. And two, take what you need.” It was short, if not considerably less hesitant than his earlier statements, after being addressed as a juvenile, and not once by a name. “Cam, please grant the commander access for our site-to-site network over the next forty-eight hours.”

“Confirmed, access granted.”

“Twenty minutes, commander. After which we’ll need to leave, with or without you.” Walking over to the replicator he programmed in a request for a navigational guidance chip. Retrieving it after the device materialised, he leaned against the box-like facility before looking at DeVala, holding the chip out. “Plug this into a PADD. It will get you past the dorsal ring security. The blue diode will provide a map, if needed.” Looking to the door, the cadet wandered away before pulling out his own materials from what could have been assumed as his personal locker.

Satchel slung over his shoulder, he peeked into the outfitter room once more. “Eighteen minutes. With or without.” Satisfied, Rhydian headed for the lift before sealing the locker room as he left Victrix to her requisitions.

“Got it,” she rhetorically barked, overwhelmed by the significant amount of people and their chatter. She hadn’t come aboard a distant starship with the intention of taking on a side mission, but given a curveball DeVala would always swing rather than bunt. ‘These human references are taking over,’ she regretted, feeling as though she really only needed two of her own people to ensure their safety.

Reaching for her comm badge, the officer tapped it gently. “Victrix to Chief Eyelaya, and Doctor Rose. Pack standard engineering kits, and likewise for a medical kit, doc. I need you both packed up and in transporter room one in ten minutes. We’re going on a rescue mission.”

Seriously? Now? Ryan looked around to see a full medical bay. “On my way, ma’am.” Grabbing up his travel medical kit, the CMO began relaying orders to the rest of the staff. Nothing but bumps and bruises, so far, but he would prefer to be here and making certain of that.

Eyelaya on the other hand, truly had come to terms with the idiom ‘Shaken, not stirred,’ in the moment. The ship had stopped rumbling at last, only inflicting a few bruises onto her. Now that everything had stabilised she’d hoped to get the repair crew moving before the call arrived. Happily tapping her communicator, she opened up a response channel. “Eyelaya here. On my way. I’ll be there in two shakes of a Klingon!” Prancing to grab her tool kit, the chief headed to the transporter room. Her first true away mission! This was going to prove exciting!

Over the following minutes, Victrix busied herself as she informed the Fontana’s transporter operator of the coordinates to beam the away team directly to the Merlin’s docking port. For now, she had to get a move on herself. This may not have been her mission, nor the mission of her crew, but if it meant getting a certain cadet? She would be damned if she didn’t see this mission through. Cosmic karma would definitely owe her.