There are officers who rise through Starfleet by excellence.

There are those who rise through survival.

And then there are those forged by loss—tempered not by training alone, but by the moments where there is no right answer… only the one you choose to live with.

T’Korvaq Alan Hawke is one of those officers.

Origins — The Star Forge

He was not born into Starfleet.

He was born in 2220, aboard the civilian freighter S.S. Star Forge—a vessel held together as much by its crew as by the metal of its hull. His earliest lessons were not in command or tactics, but in systems: how they worked, how they failed, and how to keep them alive just long enough for others to survive.

Those lessons became permanent the day the Star Forge died.

During a catastrophic attack, Kor’s father—Chief Engineer Hawke—made the only decision available: he stayed behind to hold a failing system together while ordering his son to escape.

Kor lived.

His father did not.

From that moment forward, Kor understood a truth many Starfleet officers never fully face:

Not everyone survives.
Someone decides who does.

The Enlisted Years (2240–2256)

Kor did not enter Starfleet as an officer.

He enlisted.

For sixteen years, he served where the ship was weakest:

• inside failing systems
• inside burning compartments
• inside moments where time ran out

He became:

• a damage control specialist
• a boarding defense operator
• a leader without rank

It was during these years that he came under the mentorship of
Marcus “Gunny” Hale.

Where others saw a capable technician, Hale saw something else:

A man already making command decisions—quietly, instinctively, and without recognition.

Hale did not encourage Kor to become an officer.

He forced him to confront it.

“I hold the line,” Hale told him.
“You decide where it is.”

Kor resisted.

For years.

Until the war made the choice for him.

War and Commission — 2256 (Age 36)

At the outbreak of the
Federation–Klingon War (2256–2257),
Starfleet began running out of officers.

Kor was pushed into Officer Candidate School—not as a prospect, but as a necessity.

He graduated in 2256 at age 36, alongside the Starfleet Academy class of the same year.

He did not belong among them.

They were trained.

He was forged.

U.S.S. Northman — The First Mission

Kor’s first assignment was to the
U.S.S. Northman (NCC-1324)
as a “Cadet First Officer”—a provisional wartime role.

He would not have long to learn.

During the ship’s first mission, a Klingon boarding assault led by J’Ula struck the vessel. Captain Shaeffer was taken directly from the bridge.

Kor returned seconds too late to stop it.

But not too late to act.

He retook the bridge.
Stabilized the crew.
Restored order.

And then the war gave him a choice.

J’Ula appeared, holding Shaeffer prisoner, demanding surrender.

Shaeffer gave a different order.

Fire.

Kor obeyed.

The torpedoes launched.

Shaeffer died moments later.

And in the silence that followed, command of the Northman passed—not by ceremony, not by promotion—

but by action.

Kor took the chair.

The Northman Campaign (2256–2257)

He did not hold command passively.

He fought.

For the next year, Kor commanded the Northman through the heart of the war:

• escort operations
• evacuation missions
• strike engagements
• independent combat patrols

The ship became something else under his command:

Fast.
Unpredictable.
Relentless.

A reputation spread through both Starfleet and Klingon channels:

“The ship that doesn’t die.”

It was during this campaign that Kor became something more than an officer.

He became Fenrir.

Starbase One — The Breaking Point

At Starbase One, facing overwhelming Klingon forces, Kor made a decision that echoed his past:

He placed his ship between the enemy and those who could not defend themselves.

He held the line.

The weapon that struck the Northman was experimental—derived from stolen research tied to the U.S.S. Glenn and the Mycelial Network.

Reality fractured.

Time broke.

The Transition — 2257 → 2408

The Northman, fragments of J’Ula’s fleet, and surrounding forces were torn from their time and cast forward into 2408.

The ship did not survive intact.

But her crew did.

Because of one final act.

On Deck 12, as the ship failed, Hale held an evacuation corridor—refusing to withdraw while survivors still moved.

He did not retreat.

He did not survive.

His final transmission:

“Line held.”

Kor never saw him die.

He didn’t need to.

He marked the deck lost—

and continued giving orders.

Because that is what command requires.

A Man Out of Time (2408)

Kor arrived in 2408 physically 37 years old.

By the calendar, he was nearly two centuries out of place.

Starfleet Command reviewed everything:

• the Northman boarding action
• the execution of Shaeffer’s final order
• the defense of Starbase One
• the temporal displacement

They reached a conclusion:

Kor did not need to be trained for command.
He had already proven it.

U.S.S. Mythos (2409)

In 2409 (Age 38), Kor was given command of:

U.S.S. Mythos — NCC-74361

A ship not chosen for prestige—

but for resilience.

A ship that would endure.

From this command, Kor led operations across:

• Borg incursions
• Romulan Republic stabilization
• Undine conflict
• Iconian War
• Klingon Civil War
• Multiversal and temporal crises

His reputation grew.

Not as a hero.

But as something more precise.

More dangerous.

Task Force Mythos — 2412 (Age 41)

By 2412, that reputation could no longer be contained to a single ship.

Kor was elevated to:

Commander, Task Force Mythos

Formed around the Mythos as flagship, the task force became a rapid-response and strike command within the Maelstrom Expanse.

It was assigned to:

Operations Group Bastion

Commanded by:
Ka’nej Hauk

Headquartered at:

Starbase Ansolon-One (Hell’s Keep)

There, Kor’s role expanded:

He was no longer just a captain.

He was a commander shaping outcomes across an entire theater.

Fenrir

Among Starfleet, he is respected.

Among his crew, he is trusted.

Among his enemies—

he is remembered.

Because he does not hesitate.

Because he does not forget.

Because every decision he makes carries the weight of those who did not come back.

He carries that weight still.

In memory.

In silence.

And in the sidearm he keeps—a relic of an older war, given to him by the man who taught him what command truly meant.

Fenrir is not a title.

It is not a name chosen for glory.

It is what remains when everything else is stripped away.

Final Truth

A man forged in loss.
A leader proven in fire.
A commander shaped by war across two centuries.

And the one who decides—

where the line is drawn.

The post Captain T’Korvaq Alan Hawke — “Fenrir” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Ansolon Season 02 / Episode 13
by Alan Tripp

2412

U.S.S. Reliance

“The Straits,” Malstrom Expanse

“Captain on the bridge!”

Ensign Helen Stevenson swiveled her chair just enough to see the captain stride onto the bridge of the Sovereign-class starship.

A rumbling from turbulence called her immediate attention back to the helm as she lined the ship the Reliance up with the their dresignated entry point that would carry them into the straits.

Technically, Capt. J’nae Freyja Skysen and the Heinlein-class heavy explorer, U.S.S. Reliance, weren’t exactly assigned to this mission.

But in Freyja’s defense, their previous mission WAS over with the region they called the Straits not that far off their designated flight path.

If one folded or condensed the map, that is.

In short, news had reached them of the disappearance of two starships in the region with a third run aground and trapped in a gravitation eddy.

The one trapped was the Stardrifter – her mother’s command.

However, the ship had been rescued prior to their arrival.

And thankfully, command had said nothing about Reliance attaching herself to the mission.

As Freyja headed to her command chair, her mother followed in his wake, settling into smaller chair positioned to the captain’s left.

Capt. J’nae Travanner Skysen used chair’s console to set up a real-time feed with the Stardrifter.

Freyja leaned towards her mother.

“You could have stayed with them, you know.”

Her mother’s eyes remained fixed on the small console, absorbing the latest status reports.

“Logic dictates I see this rescue mission through to its conclusion,” she stated. “And I can track my ship’s repairs just as easily from here as from the bridge of my own ship.”

She looked up and leaned closer to her daughter, letting the Romulan half of her heritage shine through just a bit.

“Besides, they had to pull out my chair to replace the wiring,” she whispered. “And the other chairs on my bridge aren’t as comfortable.”

“And that one is?” Freyja asked, gesturing to the one in which her mom sat.

Jenni shrugged.

“Also lets a mother spend quality time with her son, watching him work.”

Freyja shifted his gaze back forward to get a good look at the Straits.

“You really think Llwellyn and his team are on to something about navigating all that?” she asked.

“They are still alive, are they not?” Jenni countered.

“Point,” Freyja acknowledged.

The quarter human, Bajoran (gifts of her father), Vulcan and Romulan (gifts of her mother) straightened the top half of his uniform … a sign she’d made up her mind and was ready to get at whatever it was she’d set himself out to accomplish.

And she was determined that wherever it was the Fortitude was going, Reliance would be right behind.

“Yellow Alert!” Freyja ordered. “Helm … Prepare to match the current.”

“Engines ahead … Let the Straits set the pace. … Take us in,” she added.

“Pay attention people, and remember to keep your heads on a swivel.”

Her mother shifted her console to the readouts from the probes they’d launched to assist in plotting the route ahead.

When it came to gravitational anomalies, Jenni Skysen was among the best in the fleet.

It was the real reason she’d attached herself to her son’s mission.

And speaking of her daughter, she leaned across towards her once more, touching her shoulder as she whispered.

“You’re doing great,” Logic stated showing support of one’s offspring was always a wise path in parenting.

Freyja rolled his eyes, leaning back into the comfort of her chair.

“Mom, I’ve been at this almost as long as you have.”

Jenni gave him a wink before allowing her Vulcan half to reassert itself, and again burying herself in the incoming data.

A few hours later, the Reliance had not only caught up with the Fortitude, but had followed in their wake as they entered what the helm officer was referring to as a stretch of “slackwater.”

But watching the data streaming in, something in her told her they actually they might have passed something that could be considered more “break water” and that they were even now drifting past it and into a harbor hidden beyond.

As if on cue, her mother looked up from her console, transferring her feed directly to the main viewer.

“Clear that up,” Freyja ordered.

As the image grew clearer, a pair of massive shadows took form in the distance … shrouded in cloaks fashioned from the clouds of the nebula but there all the same.

At least three massive spherical shaped stellar objects that would make the jaw of an unseasoned explorer drop to the floor.

“Contact Fortitude and ask Llewellyn if his team are seeing what we’re seeing,” Freyja ordered.

Respectfully,

Capt. Freyja Skysen
CO, U.S.S. Reliance

And

Capt. Jenni Skysen
CO, U.S.S. Stardrifter

—–Out of Story—–

Richard … TAG … You’re it!

You know about Shallana is in there somewhere already as she’s with those that are the prize at the end of the rainbow.

The post The Straits: “Follow the Leader” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Ansolon Season 02 / Episode 14
by Alan Tripp

2412

Unknown Forest

“The Straits,” Malstrom Expanse

Cmdr. Valyres Morgraz could feel the life flowing around her.

For the empath, it was unlike any sensation previously encountered, except for maybe that one time during survival training on Ephes VI.

“Primal … That’s the best way I can describe it,” she informed her captain.

Shallana Ironwolf wiped her brow. … The humidity making it hot as hell.

Even without the visual evidence surrounding them, she’d have trusted her first officer over scanning equipment any time, any day.

The Betazoid / Vulcan closed her eyes and fought to push through the primal to find any signs of something here that … well … didn’t belong here.

The crew of the now lost Crazy Horse had been force to quickly abandon refuge aboard the Duderstadt-class U.S.S. Sparhawk for the same reasons as the original crew.

No air … the crew dies.

So they followed the Sparhawk crew in beaming down to the surface.

It cost them the last reserves of energy from the batteries, but yet again the entire crew was alive and accounted for with yet another chance to live.

If they’d not drifted through the stargate and into the interior of a Dyson Sphere, the living part would have quickly become dying.

But they were alive and although they had no time to conduct scans from up above, they were alive and wandering around nearly blind in what seemed a tropical rainforest.

Life was so think that with whatever else was around, their scanners were useless.

“For the moment,” the captain had said with that ‘I refuse to give up’ attitude of hers.

But as was said a moment ago … ‘nearly blind.’

Because of her mixed heritage, her telepathic abilities from her Betazoid heritage was limited to her being empathic.

Because of her Vulcan side, those empathic abilities could at times seem magnified.

If not for that Vulcan genetic gift, she’d not be able to cut through the blinding primeval soup of life surrounding them.

So thick with life, it was like trying to hear whispers in a crowded room with everyone talking at once.

But there it was again … something that did not belong.

Or someone might be closer to the mark and that person was in a lot of pain.

“That way,” she said, holding up and arm and pointing east.

“Then that way we go,” Shallana said.

“MOVE OUT!” the captain ordered in a louder voice.

“Davidson … You have point. Heads on a swivel as who knows what’s out there,” she continued.

Ten minutes later, Davidson up front raised a hand, halting the column.

That same hand wiped sweat from his face on the way back down to his rifle … a rifle he slowly swung from one side in a slow sweeping arc to the other.

There was no need to hush the people as everyone remained quite, even that Bolian from engineering named Hronoc which in itself was rather surprising.

Valyres again closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to make sense of what the patterns of life surrounding them were telling her.

Slowly filtering out this and that mentally as best she could.

And then her eyes flew open.

“RUN!” she ordered, swinging her rifle down from should to ready position.

“I SAID RUN!!!!” she screamed.

And then her scream was overwhelmed in volume by another.

Davidson screamed even as he pulled the trigger on his phaser rifle.

Everyone finally saw what he’d seen seconds before as a giant reptilian head came down from above, clamping shut over the human to where the upper half disappeared down the throat while the bottom half fell limp to the ground.

And then it unleashed a primal roar that had everyone running for their lives.

Respectfully,

Cmdr. Valyres Morgraz
XO, U.S.S. Crazy Horse

The post The Straits: “Primal Screams” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Last Time on Star Trek: Fortitude

USS Fortitude: All over the Ship

On Deck 6, Tarris felt it again. That same absence. That same wrongness.

In Engineering, Penny White frowned at a system that refused to fail.

In auxiliary operations, Zulu Team watched a pattern that watched them back.

And on the bridge, the currents parted. Just enough.

As if waiting.

And Now the Continuation…

USS Fortitude: Main Bridge

The order did not come loudly.

It did not need to.

“Prepare to match the current.”

On the bridge, every station seemed to go still around Admiral Miles Llewellyn’s words. Not frozen. Focused. The kind of stillness that came when a crew stopped thinking about possibilities and started thinking about procedure.

Sieneth Th’rel’s pale fingers rested lightly on the helm. Her antennae angled forward, listening to something no one else could hear in full.

“Reading the flow,” she said softly. “There is a pattern forming. It is not fixed.”

“Nothing about this region has ever struck me as fixed,” Commander Rose Harrington said from Operations. “Unhelpfully.”

That drew the smallest shift of expression from Commander Teshla Phyhr.

For anyone else, it might not have registered at all.

Miles noticed.

He always did.

“Recommendations,” he said.

Lieutenant Commander Neku Langi brought a new set of overlays onto the main viewer. The red and amber sensor glyphs gave way to something more fluid. The probes they had seeded into the boundary now described the Straits less like a wall and more like a moving lattice. Lines appeared, faded, then returned fractionally to port. One channel widened. Another folded in on itself.

“Current phase window is emerging every nineteen seconds,” Langi said. “It is not perfectly regular, but it is close enough for predictive modelling.”

“Close enough,” Penny White’s voice came over the comm from Engineering, “is the sort of phrase that makes engineers take up prayer.”

Commander Akadia Nilona folded her hands behind her back at Tactical. “Do engineers pray?”

“Only when scientists say something is probably fine,” Penny replied.

A faint ripple of amusement moved across the bridge.

Miles let it settle for exactly the right amount of time.

“Helm?”

Sieneth did not look up. “I can follow it.”

“Can,” Phyhr repeated. “Or should?”

Sieneth paused, and for a moment the bridge listened to the quiet confidence in her voice.

“We should,” she said. “If we try to force a course, the Straits will reject us. If we move with it, it may permit passage.”

“Permit,” Harrington echoed. “That is not a comforting navigational term.”

“No,” Phyhr said. “But it is the one we have.”

Miles rose from the command chair and stepped down toward the centre of the bridge, watching the currents shift across the viewer. Behind him, Phyhr remained standing at his right shoulder, close enough to advise, distant enough to let him lead. That had always been their balance. It was one of the reasons Fortitude still worked as well as she did.

“You disagree,” he said quietly, not looking at her.

It was not a question. It never had to be.

Phyhr’s antennae shifted a fraction. “I do not disagree with the theory.”

“But.”

“But I dislike placing the ship’s survival in the hands of something that appears to have moods.”

Miles almost smiled. “Space has always had moods.”

“Yes,” Phyhr said dryly. “But it is rarely this theatrical.”

That got a low chuckle from Harrington and a visible eye roll from Langi, who pretended she had heard nothing.

Miles let his gaze stay on the shifting channel.

“If we wait longer,” he said, “we learn more.”

“And if we wait too long,” Phyhr replied, “we learn less from second-hand reports and more from casualty notifications.”

He turned slightly then, just enough to meet her eyes. There was no challenge in her tone. No attempt to undermine him. Only the steadiness he had depended on for years.

And something else.

Concern, yes. But not fear.

She was already where a captain had to be, he thought. Calculating the cost, accepting that someone still had to pay it.

For one fleeting moment, that thought sat more heavily with him than it should have.

“Very well,” he said. “We proceed.”

Phyhr gave a single nod. “Understood.”

No fuss. No dramatic acceptance.

Just execution.

That, more than anything, was why he trusted her.

“Yellow Alert remains in effect,” she said crisply. “All departments to transition to controlled entry protocol. Commander Harrington, maintain probe telemetry and relative position lock. Tactical, defensive posture only. No active targeting unless something introduces itself rudely. Engineering, I want warp systems isolated from any autonomous response. Helm will have primary authority on motion control.”

“Acknowledged,” came the responses around the bridge.

Then Phyhr touched her combadge.

“Zulu Team, report to Auxiliary Operations. Stand by for rapid deployment but remain off the transporter pads unless ordered.”

Reeve’s voice came back almost at once. “Zulu Team standing by.”

USS Fortitude: Deck 6

On Deck 6, Crewman Tarris felt the shift before the deck plates told him anything had changed.

It was not vibration.

Not acceleration.

It was the sensation of the ship deciding something.

He looked up from the maintenance junction he had been pretending to understand and glanced at Crewman Vel, who was already looking back at him.

“They’re going in,” she said.

Tarris frowned. “How do you know?”

Vel considered that for a beat. “Because everyone suddenly looks like they’ve remembered an exam they didn’t revise for.”

That was fair.

Around them, people moved with purpose that was just a little too controlled. Not panic. Fortitude did not panic easily. But the ship had a way of transmitting intent down through her decks. Senior staff made a decision, and somehow even the replicators seemed to notice.

Tarris set the panel back into place. “You think this is a terrible idea?”

Vel started walking. “I think terrible ideas usually arrive with more confidence.”

USS Fortitude: Auxiliary Operations

In Auxiliary Operations, Zulu Team stood around the tactical display as the current model rotated in slow amber light.

Reeve listened without interrupting while Velra T’Laan explained the latest phase projections. Beside her, Ch’korrak had already produced two devices no one had asked him to build and one no one had yet identified.

“That one explodes,” Drevik said, pointing.

Ch’korrak looked offended. “No, that one discourages.”

Nalora zh’Khev checked the edge on one of her blades with serene concentration. “Your distinction remains unconvincing.”

Ssa’kith stood with his hands clasped behind him, massive and still. The Gorn’s expression never changed much, but his stillness had gradations. This one suggested readiness rather than calm.

Reeve folded his arms. “Mission parameters.”

Velra enlarged the projected path. “Fortitude will attempt a controlled boundary crossing. We are not boarding anything unless ordered. We are not launching unless specifically instructed. Our role is contingency response.”

Drevik brightened. “That sounds almost reassuring.”

“It should not,” Reeve said.

“Ah,” Drevik replied. “There it is.”

Reeve pointed to the second display, where the Stardrifter’s successful path and the Yakushima’s failed transition were overlaid.

“If the ship loses synchronisation during the crossing, teams may be needed for compartment response, casualty retrieval, or internal systems isolation. If something crosses with us, we deal with that too.”

Ch’korrak grunted. “You say that like ‘if something crosses with us’ is a normal sentence.”

“On this ship,” Nalora said, “it increasingly is.”

Drevik leaned in toward the display. “I still think the encouraging news is that the Stardrifter came through mostly in one piece.”

“Mostly?” Ch’korrak repeated.

“Yes.”

“That is not an encouraging adjective.”

“It is compared to ‘theoretically’,” Drevik said.

Reeve rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I would like five uninterrupted minutes in which no one says anything comforting.”

No one spoke.

He gave them a flat look.

Ch’korrak shrugged. “There. We did it.”

USS Fortitude: Main Engineering

In Engineering, Penny White paced one half-circle around the warp core, stopped, then paced it again. The great blue column rose through the deck in flawless mechanical grace, humming as though the universe had not become fundamentally offensive.

A lieutenant at the nearest console cleared his throat. “Commander?”

Penny didn’t stop looking at the readouts. “If you are about to tell me everything is nominal again, I will have you transferred to botany.”

The lieutenant blinked. “I was actually going to say all intermix ratios remain inside expected tolerance.”

Penny nodded slowly. “Very good. You found a longer way to make the same mistake.”

Around her, engineers tried not to smile.

She planted both hands on the edge of a console and studied the field harmonics. “Listen carefully. The Straits is doing something. The ship is doing nothing. That means one of two things. Either Fortitude is resisting it beautifully…”

She tapped a line of readouts.

“…or we are not reading the interaction at the correct depth.”

The lieutenant frowned. “Depth?”

Penny glanced at him. “I know. Space should not have those. Yet here we are.”

Another engineer looked up from a secondary station. “Commander, structural integrity field buffers are ready to compensate on your command.”

“Good. Keep them ready and do not let the computer get creative. I want every response deliberate. If the ship starts improvising, I reserve the right to become spiritual.”

On the bridge, the current widened.

Then narrowed.

Then returned, not quite where it had been before.

Sieneth inhaled slowly.

“There,” she said. “Again.”

Langi looked up sharply. “I see it.”

Harrington’s hands flew over her console. “Probe lattice confirming. Phase window stabilising.”

Miles resumed his seat. “Take us in.”

The moment hung.

Then Sieneth moved.

Fortitude advanced not with the aggressive certainty of impulse thrust, but with minute adjustments that made the ship seem less like a vessel and more like a leaf setting itself onto a stream. The stars ahead did not distort. No boundary line flared. No cinematic wall of energy announced itself.

Instead, the viewer showed the impossible in the least dramatic way imaginable.

Space simply stopped agreeing with itself.

The stars shifted by fractions. Distances looked wrong. A region that should have taken three seconds to cross took one and then four. The probes ahead of them stretched into threads of telemetry, vanished, and then returned exactly where prediction said they should.

“Entering phase contact,” Harrington said.

No one on the bridge missed the careful choice of words.

Not crossing.

Contact.

The deck gave a gentle shiver beneath their feet.

“Structural integrity holding,” Nilona reported.

“Shields?” Miles asked.

“Unchanged.”

Penny’s voice cut in. “Engineering here. Warp core remains steady, which I would now like entered formally into the record as suspicious behaviour.”

“Duly noted,” Phyhr said.

For the first few seconds, the Straits did nothing.

Then it noticed them.

Lights on the bridge dimmed and brightened in a sequence too smooth to be a fluctuation. The main viewer lagged by half a heartbeat. Sieneth’s hands moved left, then right, then eased back to centre.

“It is adjusting,” she said.

Langi stiffened. “To us?”

“No,” Sieneth murmured. “With us.”

That answer landed on the bridge with all the comfort of a door unlocking by itself.

Miles leaned forward. “Status.”

Harrington checked three displays at once. “Probe signal attenuation within predicted thresholds. Internal sensors are… odd.”

“That narrows it down,” Phyhr observed.

“They are reading the ship in two slightly different positions.”

Nilona looked up. “Can that happen?”

Langi answered before Harrington could. “It is happening.”

On Deck 6, Tarris braced a hand against the bulkhead as the corridor lights seemed to ripple rather than flicker.

Vel stopped dead beside him. “Did you just see the deck move?”

“The deck should not move,” Tarris said.

“Yes, thank you, I also attended orientation.”

Two ensigns farther down the corridor were staring at a wall monitor that insisted for one deeply irritating second that they were on Deck 5.

Then it changed back.

One of them said, “I am beginning to take this personally.”

USS Fortitude: Sickbay

In sickbay, Lieutenant Commander Twimek Vodokon moved calmly between biobeds as medical staff checked for the sort of physiological anomalies no one had wanted to define in advance.

“Elevated stress responses on decks three through eight,” a nurse reported.

“Expected,” Vodokon said gently.

Another medic looked over from a scanner. “A few crew report sensations of motion without acceleration. Mild disorientation. No injuries.”

“Good. Continue observation and reassure where appropriate.”

The medic hesitated. “Do you want us to tell them this is normal?”

Vodokon considered that. “No. I want you to tell them it is survivable. People often find that more believable.”

Back on the bridge, the first real complication arrived quietly.

“Captain,” Harrington said, her voice sharper now. “Probe three has gone dark.”

Langi checked the overlay. “No debris. No surge. It simply ceased transmitting.”

Nilona’s fingers hovered above her tactical console. “Hostile action?”

“No signature,” Langi said.

“Then what?” Nilona asked.

No one answered.

A second later, probe three reappeared three thousand kilometres off its expected path.

Ch’korrak’s voice came over the internal channel from Auxiliary Operations, where he had apparently found a way to insert himself into telemetry analysis. “Ah.”

Miles did not need to ask who it was. “Go on, Chief.”

“That was not a loss,” Ch’korrak said. “That was the probe being politely informed it was somewhere else.”

On the bridge, Harrington closed her eyes briefly. “I hate how often your nonsense contains useful data.”

“Years of commitment,” Ch’korrak replied.

Phyhr stepped closer to Miles’s chair, one hand resting lightly on the rail behind it. She did not crowd him. She never did. But her presence there was as constant as Fortitude’s hull.

“Your theories were correct,” she said quietly.

“Partially,” Miles replied.

“That is as close to a triumph as we usually receive out here.”

He almost smiled at that, but his attention stayed on the viewer.

The current ahead widened again. Smooth. Measured. Beckoning.

If he had been a different sort of captain, he might have said it aloud.

As it was, he knew Phyhr was thinking the same thing.

The Straits was opening for them.

And neither of them trusted gifts.

“You think it wants us deeper,” she said.

There it was.

“No,” Miles answered. “I think it expects us to follow the logic.”

“Which is somehow less comforting.”

“For engineers, yes.”

“That was not an engineering statement.”

“No,” he said. “It was a command one.”

That made her look at him.

For a heartbeat, the bridge disappeared around them. Not physically. Only in the way long service created private spaces in public rooms.

She had stood beside him through battles, evacuations, political disasters, impossible briefings and at least three situations Starfleet had officially described as contained while they were very much still happening. She knew when he was tired. Knew when he was buying time. Knew when he had already decided something and was waiting for the right moment to make it sound inevitable.

And, though she did not know it yet, she was already learning the weight of the chair she would one day inherit.

“If we continue,” she said, “the ship commits.”

Miles nodded once. “Yes.”

“And if something happens to you in there?”

“Then you have the bridge.”

She did not react outwardly.

That was the discipline in her. The years. The Andorian control wound around a core of steel.

But Miles saw the fractional shift in her stance.

This was not the first time command succession had been implied between them. Only the first time it felt less hypothetical.

“With respect,” she said, voice low enough for only him to hear, “I always have the bridge when required.”

He turned his head slightly. “You do.”

It was not reassurance.

It was recognition.

And it unsettled her more than reassurance would have.

Before she could answer, Harrington looked up. “Captain, the current is peaking.”

Sieneth’s expression tightened with concentration. “If we do not match now, the phase window will collapse.”

Miles settled back into the chair.

“Helm,” he said. “Take us deeper.”

“Aye.”

Fortitude moved.

This time the sensation was unmistakable.

Not acceleration.

Transference.

The stars ahead seemed to flatten and then lengthen. The nebular red beyond the viewer rippled through amber and violet. The ship was no longer passing through a region of space. It was being translated by one that had its own ideas about sequence and distance.

Warning tones chirped across two consoles and died before they could become alarming.

“Report,” Miles said.

“Navigation drift inside tolerance,” Sieneth said, though her tone suggested tolerance itself was now more philosophical than numerical.

“Internal gravimetrics fluctuating but stable,” Harrington reported.

“Stable,” Langi muttered. “Another word losing all meaning today.”

“Shields remain coherent,” Nilona said. “No external contact.”

Then: “Correction. External contact unknown.”

The viewer flashed.

For a brief instant something immense moved parallel to them, just beyond the sensor threshold. Not a ship. Not a storm front. A shape implied by absence and reflected stars. It was gone before the mind could properly frame it.

No one on the bridge spoke.

From Auxiliary Operations came Drevik’s voice over the channel: “…well.”

Reeve’s followed at once. “Zulu Team to status one.”

No panic. No dramatics.

But the edge was there now.

Miles keyed the channel open. “Report.”

Reeve answered. “Transient contact outside the hull. No boarders. No breaches. Team repositioning to rapid response nodes.”

“Understood.”

Ch’korrak’s voice broke in. “For the record, if the outside of the ship starts looking at us, I would prefer not to be told in stages.”

“That preference is denied,” Reeve said.

“Cruel but fair.”

On Deck 10, a replicator produced tea, reconsidered existence, and gave Crewman Jex a polished metal spoon instead.

Jex stared at it. “I did not order this.”

The replicator remained neutral on the subject.

Across from her, another crewman looked at the spoon, then at the trembling surface of his coffee.

“I think the ship is trying to be funny.”

Jex stood up. “If Fortitude develops a sense of humour this deep into service, I am resigning.”

In Engineering, Penny White saw the first thing she actually disliked more than nominal readings.

A perfect response.

“Commander,” the lieutenant said, “field buffers compensated before the surge registered.”

Penny stepped closer. “Impossible.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“That was not agreement. That was despair.”

She ran the diagnostic herself.

The result was the same.

The ship had answered the Straits half a heartbeat before Engineering had fully perceived the question.

Penny stared at the screen. “No.”

The lieutenant looked up nervously. “No, Commander?”

“No,” she repeated. “Fortitude does not get ahead of me in my own engine room.”

She slapped her combadge. “Bridge, Engineering.”

Miles answered at once. “Go ahead.”

“For reasons I would prefer to classify as offensive, the ship is anticipating external field pressure before my team is seeing it. I need Science and Ops to tell me whether we are reading the same event late… or whether Fortitude has started listening to the Straits directly.”

A beat passed.

Then Langi said, with immense reluctance, “That may be the correct question.”

Penny closed her eyes. “I hate it when Science does that.”

On the bridge, the current shifted harder to starboard.

Sieneth caught it at once. Fortitude banked almost gracefully, her great frame moving with a delicacy that should not have been possible for something of her size.

Phyhr watched the correction, then looked at Miles. “She has it.”

“Yes,” he said.

Sieneth was hearing the path. Harrington was tracking it. Langi was beginning, however unwillingly, to understand it. Penny was fighting the ship herself if necessary. Nilona had every sensor edge sharpened to a knife point. Zulu Team stood ready below. Lower decks were unsettled, but holding. Sickbay was calm. Fortitude was afraid, perhaps, but functioning.

It occurred to Miles then that this was what command actually meant at its best. Not heroics. Not speeches. A hundred competent people doing the impossible because they trusted one another enough to try.

And right beside him stood the officer who could keep that alive after him.

He did not like the thought.

Which, he suspected, meant it was true.

“Admiral,” Phyhr said quietly, pulling him back. “Ahead.”

The viewer changed.

The current no longer resembled a lane.

It resembled a chamber.

A widening in the Straits where the flow doubled back on itself like the eddy of some impossible tide. Probe returns flickered at its edges. In the centre, space darkened not into shadow but into depth.

Langi inhaled sharply. “That is not natural.”

“No,” Miles said. “It is organised.”

Nilona asked the practical question. “Do we avoid it?”

Sieneth’s voice came low and certain. “We cannot. The current is taking us through.”

Silence.

Then Drevik, somehow patched through from Auxiliary Operations, said, “On the bright side, at least the terrifying hole is apparently part of the route.”

“Remove him from this channel,” Reeve said.

“Rude,” Drevik replied.

Miles stood.

“All hands,” he said, his voice carrying across the bridge and through the ship. “Maintain station discipline. We knew from the beginning that observation would eventually become participation. This is that moment. We proceed as trained. No sudden heroics, no improvisation without cause, and if the universe presents you with anything inexplicable, kindly report it before touching it.”

That got a few strained smiles, even now.

He let them have that much.

Then: “Helm. Take us through.”

Sieneth nodded once. “Aye, Admiral.”

Fortitude entered the chamber.

For one impossible second, everything stopped.

The hum of the bridge.

The pulse of the displays.

The motion of the ship.

Not failed.

Paused.

Then the universe resumed with one additional heartbeat inside it.

Across multiple decks, crew gasped, staggered, swore, or gripped the nearest surface.

In Auxiliary Operations, Nalora bared her teeth and called it “interesting” in a tone that suggested severe Andorian dissatisfaction with language itself.

In Engineering, Penny’s console briefly displayed a field harmonic in colours she would later insist did not exist.

On the bridge, every screen filled with data.

Flow.

Pattern.

Endless.

And in the centre of the viewer, the path ahead opened wider still.

Miles felt it then, not as a voice but as certainty pressing just behind thought.

A direction.

An invitation.

A question.

Beside him, Phyhr steadied herself with one hand on the rail, then let go before anyone could notice she had needed to. He noticed, of course.

“Status,” he said.

Harrington swallowed once. “We are through the first crossing.”

Langi checked and rechecked the readings. “Sensors degraded but coherent.”

Nilona said, “No hostile contacts.”

Penny came over comm, breathless but composed. “Engineering remains both functional and deeply offended.”

That finally got the bridge to laugh.

Even Miles.

Especially Miles.

He sat again, eyes fixed on the unfolding current.

“Very good,” he said quietly.

Then, softer, almost to himself:

“Now let’s see where it thinks we belong.”

NRPG:

Alan, the games a foot, I am leaving this with plenty of room to both dive in!

The post Star Trek: Fortitude – Season 03 Episode 2 – “The Straits – First Crossing” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Ansolon Season 02 / Episode 11
by Alan Tripp

2412

U.S.S. Yakushima

“The Straits,” Malstrom Expanse

Capt. Maekaylan Adoy gripped the arm of the command chair.

When off the known ‘safe’ routes, turbulence (or worse) were the name of the game.

Name of the game for those exploring the depths and byways of the Hell’s Gate region of the Malstrom Expanse.

But then the Yakushima was definitely off the beaten path as she flew through the currents of the Straits on one wild ride.

The shortcuts taken for them to get here had been nothing compared to this, however.

Maekaylan stabbed the channel open with his finger.

“Miles, what the hell have you gotten me into this time?”

When word reached Maekaylan that Capt. Shallana Ironwolf and her ship were missing and then word that they were believed to be missing within a cluster of black holes?

He made sure the Yakushima wasted no time in traversing the distance to lend a hand in the search and rescue efforts.

After all, Shallana had been more than his former commanding officer … one whom he’d served for years as her Number One. … She was closer than family.

It was she who’d been there for him when he’d gone through the metamorphosis that had been his very real evolution from “Adoy” to “Maekaylan.”

Shallana had taken the time to be there for him during the months spent in metamorphosis — is evolution from the first stage of life for a Molletaan to the second form … that which his people called a ‘Dragon Lord.’

And being real, not many survived the first stage metamorphosis and even fewer the trials just after.

Shallana had been there as his Kallaroqa through it all – first human ever permitted to do so.

That meant she shared many of the same dangers as he during those moments in his life.

When he finally left the billet of first officer, he did so only at her insistence that it was indeed time for him to … “spread his wings and fly.”

That led to his accepting a command position within the Khitomer Alliance as part of their officer exchange program whereby, he’d accepted the billet of commanding officer of a Romulan Republic warbird.

He’d remained in that position for a long while, assisting the Romulan people, before returning to service in Starfleet.

But as a result of that time, he holds join rank in both Starfleet and the Romulan Navy.

And now he commands a Talas-class light battlecruiser … one of the newest designs churned out by the Starfleet shipyards.

The thing about the Talas-class Light Battlecruisers is that they are heavily influenced by Andorian designs.

Which as he understood it was why the Yakushima was perfect for this particular action.

A voice crackled back to him from across the open channel.

[“Remember … You all volunteered for this, Captain.”]

Maekaylan knew it was a comment made in jest, but also knew there was something very, very off with Miles Llwellyn.

He’d known the officer for years as he had been the love of Shallana’s life, not to mention father of their daughter.

But then he’d disappeared having (as it turns out) transitioned to this universe before they did … after they did?

It was all rather complicated when one was dealing with matters of alternate realities and skipping from one to another through the flow of time no less.

But until this moment, it had been years since he’d last seen the human.

The Dragon Lord’s finger tapped the arm of his chair.

Something about racing along gravitational currents on a haphazard pre-programed course churned one’s memories, it seemed.
And although there was no doubt this was the same Miles Llewellyn as from their reality, there was definitely something … off … different … out of sync with the man.

Maybe that was why he’d chosen to stay away from Shallana and their child through the recent years?

The Dragon Lord seemed to brush the thought aside.

“It’s Shallana,” he said. “You aren’t the only one who’d move heaven and earth for that woman.”

He said back into the open channel — a channel that remained oddly quiet in the wake of the comment.

“Approaching the gravitational eddy, Captain.”

“Helm, turn us into the prescribed approach pattern and engage slingshot,” he ordered.

“Slingshot engaged.”

The view from the main viewer shifted and rotated as the Yakushima moved into the proper trajectory for the coming move.

Maekaylan imagined he could hear the groan of her engines as she fought the stresses of generated from the gravitational forces of the Straits.

He did NOT have to imagine the groans of the hull as even through a newish starship, they were asking a lot from her … AND from those aboard her.

There was a LOT of risk in what they were doing which is why it was a strictly voluntary mission.

After the plan had been explained to them, it had been decided to strip ship’s crew down to the barest of minimums to keep the risk to as few as possible.

Maekaylan was proud of his team as over 90% of his people stepped forward to volunteer.

But because of the risk, most were offloaded to other ships assisting in the effort.

And then there was the vibration that was now setting the Dragon Lord’s teeth on edge.

[“Fortitude to Yakushima … Maintain course and heading,”] Miles’ voice came across the bridge speakers.

[“You’re picking up speed,”] he continued.

[“Stardrifter … pickup what speed you can and make sure you are aligned into the proper position. We do NOT want to see you ripped apart by all this.”]

“We are definitely accelerating to expected speeds,” called Zavra G’zov from the helm.

Maekaylan considered the Andorian helmsman one of the best pilots in the fleet.

“Standing by with tractor beams,” chimed Nol’ina from tactical.

The Romulan looked over to engineering.

“Don’t worry, Subcommander. … The power will be there when you need it, Ayeilak assured her.

“At least I think it will,” he teased her.

“And strengthening structural integrity grid and key points surrounding those emitters,” the Romulan engineer added.

Although a primarily Starfleet ship, over one-third of its crew were officers and enlisted from the Romulan Republic Navy.

“Velicity achieved. … Stardrifter coming up fast,” Richard called from Science.

“Engaging tractors in five … four … three … two …one …,” Nol’iina called.

Suddenly, the view shifted again as the nose of the ship seemed to dip.

Velocity slowed with a jarring effect that sent a few of the crew flying as the force tossed them from their chairs.

A console blew aft of the bridge and sparks fell from overhead yet the view on the screen continued to move.

“MAINTAIN!!! … Hold her to course Just a few more seconds!”

And then they flew clear of the currents … just as the lights went out and all went dark.

Respectfully,

Capt. Maekaylan Adoy
CO, U.S.S. Yakushima

— OUT OF STORY—

Tag, Richard! … YOU’RE IT!

The post The Straits: “Skipping Across the Pond” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Last time on Star Trek: Fortitude (S02EP05)

Miles stepped onto the bridge.

“Helm,” he said. “Set a course for the Maelstrom Expanse. Maximum warp.”

 “You planning to red line the engines again?” Penny White asked from the Engineering station.

Miles smiled. “We both know you wouldn’t let me do that… without at least a five-minute warning.”

The stars shifted. The Fortitude turned. And the unknown awaited.

And now the Continuation…

The stars stretched, then resolved. The USS Fortitude slipped from warp not with violence, but with intention, its mass settling into real space as though it had always belonged there. Ahead, the stars held their positions. Unchanged. Perfect.

“Helm,” Admiral Miles Llewellyn said calmly, “hold us at the boundary.”

Sieneth Th’rel’s antennae angled forward as her hands hovered over the controls. “We are at relative rest,” she said. “Though… it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Yellow Alert,” Commander Teshla Phyhr ordered.

The lighting dimmed into amber tones across the bridge. Not alarm. Awareness.

Commander Rose Harrington was already working. “Baseline stellar cartography is stable,” she said. “No drift. No distortion. No excuses.” She paused briefly. “Which is mildly disappointing.”

A few quiet smiles passed between stations.

Commander Penny White’s voice followed over the comm. “Oh no,” she said dryly. “The universe is behaving itself. However will we cope?”

“Barely,” Harrington replied.

Llewellyn leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed not on the stars but on the space between them. “That’s the problem,” he said.

USS Fortitude: Deck 6

Crewman Tarris stood by a viewport, staring out at the same stretch of perfect, unmoving stars. He was not sure why he had stopped. Only that leaving felt… incorrect.

“You feel it too?” Crewman Vel stepped beside him.

“Feel what?” Tarris asked.

Vel hesitated, then said quietly, “…Nothing.” A pause. “That’s the problem.”

They both kept watching.

USS Fortitude: Main Bridge

On the bridge, Harrington continued. “Deploying probe array. New Year configuration.”

The probes launched, fanning out in controlled arcs, each one carrying the modified sensor lattice developed after the new year’s celebration. Repurposed. Refined.

“Telemetry link stable,” Harrington said. “For now.”

“Helm,” Llewellyn said.

Sieneth tilted her head slightly. “I can hear it,” she said softly.

The bridge stilled.

“Clarify,” Phyhr said.

“It’s not a signal,” Sieneth replied. “It’s… rhythm.” She paused. “Like something moving beneath the surface.”

Llewellyn said nothing. “Bring the probe data to the viewer.”

USS Fortitude: Hazard Team

In auxiliary operations, Zulu Team had already assembled. They always did.

“So,” Reeve said, watching the data stream update, “we’re mapping the thing everyone else is stuck inside.”

“From a safe distance,” Drevik added.

Nalora did not look away from the display. “If there is a safe distance.”

Ch’korrak snorted. “Of course there is. It’s called someone else goes first.”

Reeve did not react. “That is not how this team works.”

“Was worth suggesting,” Ch’korrak muttered.

Ssa’kith rumbled quietly.

Velra adjusted the data feed. “It is adapting,” she said.

Reeve looked at her. “Explain.”

“It shifted before the probe realigned,” she said. “It anticipated the change.” A pause. “It is learning us.”

USS Fortitude: Main Bridge

On the main viewer, the data first appeared as noise. Then it resolved. Lines emerged. Faint, curving, shifting.

“Gravimetric flow,” said Lieutenant Commander Neku Langi. “But too consistent.”

“Subspace current?” Harrington asked.

“No,” Langi replied. “Subspace does not behave this cleanly.”

“Then what does?” Phyhr asked.

Langi hesitated. “…nothing.”

The lines moved. Not random. Not chaotic. They flowed.

USS Fortitude: Main Engineering

In Engineering, the warp core hummed with perfect consistency. Commander Penny White stared at the readings with open suspicion.

“Everything is nominal,” a technician offered.

“I know,” Penny said. She paused. “That is what is bothering me.”

USS Fortitude: Observation Ward

In the observation lounge, the senior staff gathered around the shifting display.

USS Fortitude: Main Bridge

“It is directional,” Harrington said. “There is structure to it.”

“Not structure,” Langi corrected. “Phased movement.”

Dr Aiyana Blackhorse stepped forward. “I have seen this before,” she said quietly.

The room stilled.

“In the Codex. The way it described transitions.”

Llewellyn nodded once. “Not a boundary.”

Phyhr met his gaze. “A passage.”

USS Fortitude: Deck 4 (later)

On Deck 4 in the mess hall, Ensign Drevik carefully adjusted a small potted plant beside his tray. “This is Snappy,” he said. “He is very good for morale.”

Crewman Jex stared at him. “Does Snappy feel it too?”

Drevik paused. “…yes,” he said. “But in a very supportive way.”

“…we are doomed,” Jex replied.

USS Fortitude: Main bridge/Auxiliary Operations at the same time

On the bridge, Harrington’s voice cut through the quiet. “Captain, we are detecting signal harmonics within the flow.”

“Source?” Phyhr asked.

“It is not localised,” Harrington said. “It is embedded.”

The viewer shifted. The currents aligned.

For a moment something appeared. A shape. Not solid. Not defined. But present.

Then gone.

No one spoke.

In auxiliary operations, Velra replayed the moment. “It is not a structure,” she said.

“Not nothing either,” Ch’korrak replied.

Ssa’kith spoke, low and certain. “It watches the doorway.”

Reeve folded his arms. “And we are standing in it.”

USS Fortitude: Captain’s Ready Room Off Main Bridge

In his ready room, Llewellyn stood alone. The data scrolled behind him. Flow. Pattern. Endless.

He closed his eyes.

“…Dad?”

His eyes opened.

He said nothing.

When he returned to the bridge, Commander Phyhr stood beside him. “Hazard Team is ready,” she said.

“Keep them out of the Straits,” Llewellyn replied. A pause. “For now.”

Phyhr studied him, understanding more than he had said. “Do you believe we are mapping it?” she asked.

Llewellyn looked to the viewer, to the flowing currents, to the space that no longer behaved like space.

“No,” he said quietly.

The lines shifted again. Subtle. Deliberate. Adjusting. Around the Fortitude.

“I think…” A narrow channel formed, brief and tentative. “…it is showing us how to move through it.”

Silence settled across the bridge. Across the ship.

USS Fortitude: All over the Ship

On Deck 6, Tarris felt it again. That same absence. That same wrongness.

In Engineering, Penny White frowned at a system that refused to fail.

In auxiliary operations, Zulu Team watched a pattern that watched them back.

And on the bridge, the currents parted. Just enough.

As if waiting.

NRPG:

Alan, The Straits has shown us the way… now we must decide if it was ever ours to take.

OK and now we enter Season 3 and a Joint venture of this story will be reflected from Miles and the Fortitudes point of view and my good friend Alan is going to do his viewpoint, the main points of the story are a little bit of a secrete even to me, but back in our old Play by Email days we never knew what the other was going to post, we had an idea and that was it, so this is going to be fantastic trip down memory lane.

Stay Tuned!

The post Star Trek: Fortitude – Season 03 Episode 1 – “The Straits” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Ansolon Season 02 / Episode 09
by Alan Tripp

2412

U.S.S. Crazy Horse

“The Straits,” Malstrom Expanse

“I tell you there is a ship out there,” Jinesleis said.

“An intact ship, the Orion science officer emphasized, “that is in better shape … hull wise than this one.”

Shraz crossed and then uncrossed his arms, waiting his turn.

“You know everything is limited but did manage to cut through that soup with the tactical sensors enough to confirm what Jines is seeing,” the Caitian noted.

“And the silhouette match’s that of a Duderstadt-class,” he added.

“So likely the Sparhawk,” Shallana said.

“Couldn’t get anything beyond location and silhouette … and thankfully Duderstadt are unique in ship’s profile,” Shraz confirmed.

“So most likely U.S.S. Sparhawk… And structurally in better shape than we are at that,” he continued.

At last … hope.

“And I understand you already have the workings of a plan on how to reach her?” the captain asked.

Jenesleis laid her larger workpad in front of her captain.

On the screen was as much of a map as sensors had allowed.

The Orion tapped its surface.

“We’ve determined this current should sweep us from where we are straight to her.”

“And how do we get into said current?” Shallana asked.

“Blow the shuttlebay doors followed immediately by blowing the main ventral airlock,” Shraz explained.

“The expulsion of air from shuttlebay should be enough to give us the needed thrust and the blown hatch the course correction to reach the current,” the Orion continued.

“And once in the current, it will do the rest,” added the Caitian.

“This is where it gets tricky,” he continued, looking back over to the science officer.

“We are gonna have to be ready to abandon ship as soon as we are within range of the Sparhawk or we’ll be going down with the ship.”

“Meaning Crazy Horse is gonna rip herself apart … BUT,” Shraz added.

“But, she should last just long enough under the sheer and gravemtric forces to get us there AND we should have just enough juice left the batteries to power the transporters for one last set of transports to get us there.”

“Will we be able to breath once we get there?” Shallana asked.

Both shrugged, but it was the Orion who made the suggestion.

“I’d say either have the crew put on environmental suits or be prepared to hold their breath,” she said.
“Just in case,” she added.

Shallana didn’t even have to think about it as time was against them.

“Do it.”

Twenty minutes later, Crazy Horse was riding the waves of the streaming current, following its course through the region her crew had dubbed “The Straits.”

And with each passing minute, the groans of an already overtaxed hull grew louder … echoing throughout the small ship.

Hold together, Love. Hold together,” Shallana whispered to her ship.

Engines had been gone.

Reserves and the batteries were all that was left as they Okinawa-class destroyer surfed along.

If not for the simple fact that most consoles surrounding the bridge were already dark, Shallana imagined there would have been more sparks and explosions.

But everything they had was being pumped into navigational sensors and structural integrity.

Soon to be shunted over to the transporter systems.

Speaking of which …

“Make sure they are maintaining constant transporter locks on all crew,” she ordered.

“We haven’t lost anyone yet, and I will be damned if we lose someone with this next stunt.”

Shraz nodded and gave an affirmative.

The ride was reaching a point her teeth were vibrating in her head.

Then three things happened at once.

First, they reached their destination with the Crazy Horse slipping into the same bubble that housed a near dark Duderstadt-class.

Second, the alarms sounded but were drowned out by the sounds of the hull beginning to crack like a smacked eggshell.

Shallana could already hear the sounds of air seaping through cracks as the protective dome of the bridge module itself was compromised with decompression eminent.

And third, the transporters kicked in with Shallana’s hand automatically going to her medicine bundle with her sacred Pipe that was attached to her environmental suit.

In her mind, she could hear the death cry of the Crazy Horse even as she and her people were whisked from the jaws of death and into the unknown of the U.S.S. Sparhawk.

The ship’s whose destress call had brought them here was now the next leg in their journey.

“Give me a headcount,” Shallana ordered through her environmental suit’s comm unit.

“I want to make sure everyone made it,” she continued.

It only took a couple of minutes for the numbers to come back and for the time being at least … all of her crew continued to survive.

“Ok … Remember your assignments,” Shallana ordered.

“I want to know what happened here,” she continued. “Spread out and learn what you can learn.”

As for her and her small team, they made made climb upwards to the bridge as turbolifts … of course … were out.
An hour later, they knew enough to say …

• The crew had been forced to eject the core.
• Sparhawk was operating on heavily depleted battery reserves.
• Impulse engines had been damaged in their cruise through the Straits and then burned out completely while attempting to hold station above the closest (one too close) blackhole.
• Sensors had detected a network of superstructures or stations or arrays surrounding that blackhole.
• Said blackhole was slowly pulling the Sparhawk backwards. At least until …
• Said blackhole suddenly vanished … disappeared … was now gone from their reality.
• In the absence of interference of said black hole, sensors had found something else.

And it was that something else that Shallana and her science officer were sifting through at the moment.

“I’ve seen this before,” Shallana told the Orion suddenly. “Or at least something similar.”

Jinesleis seemed skeptical, raising an eyebrow in an almost Vulcan … or actually … more Romulan manner.

“It’s a stargate,” Shallana answered.

“Stargate?” Jinesleis asked, scanning back through the data and slowing starting to see the edges of what the Captain might be talking about.

After a moment, she locked eyes with her superior.

“Stargate = gateway,” Jinesleis noted. “WHERE does this gateway lead?”

“THAT … is the question,” Shallana said. “And I’m betting THIS is what the Sparhawk’s captain was talking about.”

Although they had found the captain’s log entries, they had been corrupted and only portions recoverable.

In one of those recovered segments they’d learned the ship and crew had gone somewhere … else.

But nothing recoverable pointed the way.

At least until now.

“We’ve no idea what’s on the other side except wherever it is, this ship’s crew felt able to abandon ship for better refuge elsewhere,” Jinesleis said.

“And that ‘elsewhere’ is where we need to go,” Shallana said.

“All we have to do is find someway to gain forward momentum to get us back through that gateway before that blackhole comes back,” she continued.

“You sure it’s coming back?”

“I’d bet my life on it.”

Respectfully,

Capt. Shallana Ironwolf
Acting Commanding Officer
U.S.S. Sparhawk, NCC-71301

—-Out of Story—-

We know now that at least they WERE alive.

The post The Straits: “One Last Ride” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Ansolon Season 02 / Episode 08
by Alan Tripp

2412

U.S.S. Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi
Grand Shoals Region, Malstrom Expanse

Siduri and Tila’mana looked first at each other and then as one at the pair of legs sticking out of the small access panel overhead.

“Pass up my sonic screwdriver,” the gruff voice called down from above.

Although the hovering maintenance disk was narrow in circumference, there was no fear of the Klingon

Starfleet admiral falling from it thanks to the magnetic maintenance boats he wore.

“Chop, chop,” the voice demanded, hand reaching downward.

Yeap, the bastard clung to disk like a magnet to a refrigerator or the chief engineering officer would have already pushed him with the hope he’d break both legs.

So instead, Tila grabbed the sonic and slapped it into the waiting hand.

With just a bit more force than the Romulan had intended.

Although she’d intended a health, annoying smack of the wrist in the process.

But whatever grief she might have with Ka’nej Hauk, it would never match that of which Ansolon Command’s Command-in-Chief was already giving himself.

Although nine out of ten starship commanders would have ran aground of the subspace sandbar.

Problem was he held himself to levels of perfection when it came to situations like these … where either Federation, galaxy, family or friends (the latter two in this case) were in jeopardy.

And then there were those strings of far too public communications with that engineering yard master / ship design engineer named Jenkins who was taking it as his personal opportunity to try and embarrass the Admiral as payback for having taken the Mythos out of drydock before her space trials were complete.

“He’s not going to let this go, is he?” Siduri asked.

The trill served as the engineering XO aboard ship.

“Not a chance in Areinnye,” she answered, meeting her gaze before both looked upward sighing at the same moment.

The Kusanagi had rammed into the subspace sandbar during the height of the metreon-based plasma storm that had come seemingly out of nowhere.

Said storm had blinded sensors leading to the moment they’d run aground.

If they were being honest, they were lucky the ship was still in one piece … relatively speaking that is.

Her engines had taken a hit and whereas other captains would have waited to be towed back to spacedock for repairs, Ka’nej was determined to fix the engines, get (somehow) off the bar and out of the Grand Shoals and back on mission.

Shallana was more than a friend. … She was family.

And even without her presence, he’d still be doing the same as the Crazy Horse was a ship under his command.

Their crew deserved no less.

Overhead, the Klingon gave a roar and a grunt followed by the metallic ring of a massive wrench striking metal while In the background the primary warp core suddenly shuttered back to life.

The engineers below looked at one another, first with nods of approval and then smiles.

Elsewhere in the room, a chorus of applause.

Of course, that still meant it needed to be resynced with the secondary which her people were in the process of finish up restoration of over in the saucer.

One thing about a Garrett-class … plenty of power … if you had both cores going AND working in tandem – easier said than done.

“I don’t know how in the Areinnye (Romulan for hell) he did it but I’m not looking a gift fvai (Romulan for horse) in the mouth,” Tila chimed before clapping hert hands together and turning towards the others scattered about the room.

If she’d understood exactly what Ka’nej had had in mind, she would have been quick to lend a hand, but it had turned out best just to let him work.

But that was before, this was now.

“Everyone … jobs to do and a lot still to be done,” she yelled.

“Remember your assignments and get ‘em done!”

She walked off towards the master engineering display, the trill remained behind to help steady the Klingon as the maintenance disk lowered itself back to the floor.

Hauk tossed the sonic back into his tool pack and dusted off his hands.

“Ok … next?”

Respectfully,

VADM Ka’nej Hauk
CO, U.S.S. Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi
ANSCOMCINC

Out of Story

I had thought about having Ka’nej Hauk and the Kusanagi actually towed back to spacedock, but realized he would move heaven and earth to help save a friend in need.

Same for a ship under his command.

And gods help the yard master when the good admiral DOES make it back to Starbase Ansolon.

The post The Straits: “Not Going Back!” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

Ansolon Season 02 / Episode 07
by Alan Tripp

2412

U.S.S. Stardrifter

Capt. J’nae Travanner Skysen dropped back into her command seat, letting out an explosion of air as she did so.

As a Vulcan, Jenni (her nickname since the academy) did NOT like losing her composure.
But there were certain times where a little of her human genies were appropriate to allow to shine through.

And THIS was one of those moments.

And if she were not Vulcan, she’d likely be unleashing a string of curse words at this very moment.

But she was Vulcan and also captain of the U.S.S. Stardrifter … which was living up partially to her name at the moment.

“Send out on all channels a general distress call,” she ordered.

U.S.S. Britannia

The refitted Odyssey-class U.S.S. Britannia sliced smoothly through the clouds of Hell’s Gate with her captain sitting comfortably in a favorite chair in his ready room … padd in hand.

Capt. Dynazar Thaleaz Valryn was making use of a lull in activity to catch up on a bit of reading … status reports from elsewhere within the fleet.

A cloud of smoke from his ‘cigar’ hovered over his head as the seasoned Andorian relished his ship no longer the one assigned to relaying messages back and forth between fleet elements operating within the Hell’s Gate region of Malstrom and fleet command.

The current one caused him a bit of a chuckle as it was a back and forth exchange between Fleet Admiral Ka’nej Hauk and the yard master … one Jenkins … who was responsible for the drydock facilities surrounding Starbase Ansolon.

As a former design engineer and yard manager himself, he could respect Jenkin’s point of view on this one.

Apparently the good Klingon admiral had taken the Ross-class U.S.S. Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi out of spacedock for a search and rescue mission, despite the fact said ship had not yet completed trials.

What made the incident more interesting is that the Kusanagi ran aground on a subspace sandbar just before a metreon storm hit.

Let’s just say the Kusanagi was in the process of itself being rescued with said ship still needing a tow back to space dock … once said storm abates that is.

Wolf imagined the good Admiral was NOT taking the matter well.

Especially since Jenkins was making sure the incident was very, very public.

[“Captain to the bridge.”]

With a sigh, the seasoned captain … one born in another reality btw … rose from his chair, tossed the padd lightly onto his desk and made for the exit.

Within moments, he was on the bridge.

“Report.”

Cmdr. Janel Kimmons was already rising from the centerseat.

“We have received a distress call from the U.S.S. Stardrifter,” she began.

“It’s not much on details and broken up, but we do have an idea as to point of origin,” she continued.

“Let’s hear it,” he ordered, smoke billowing from the cigar.

To say it was broken up was an understatement.

All he could decern from it were the words “Stardrifter,” “found,” “stuck,” “gravity” and “need help.”

The rest was a soup of distortion and static.

“Send word to command apprising them of the situation,” Wolf ordered.

“And recall the fighters.”

He stepped forward of the command well.

“Helm, once the wing is aboard, set course for the epicenter of the transmission … best possible speed.”

— Three Hours Later —

When the Britannia came out of warp, she shuttered violently sending more than a few down to their knees or worse … at least those standing.

On the viewer among the reddish clouds of Hell’s Gate, was the gaping maw of a black hole

And for some reason, sensors did not detect it until they were almost on top of it.

At least while at warp.

Now that they had a visual, they knew better how to align the sensors to begin painting a bigger picture.

At least as much as this beast was willing to thus far share.

Valryn followed the stream of data coming in via the interface built into his chair.

And after a few seconds, he realized he’d seen something like it before.

“Centerpoint,” he whispered under his breath.

Well, not that old starbase from another reality so much as where it was located … in the heart of the Neffen Cluster.

The Neffen Cluster had been a massive cluster of black holes with very few safe paths in or out.

Centerpoint had been constructed within a massive pocket of calm space in a star system that somehow found balance with the gravity wells surrounding.

As a member of the Sam Houston’s crew, Valryn had been a veteran of both Battles of Centerpoint and spent many a day exploring Centerpoint and its surrounding space.

And this looked so close to the original … from that other verse … that it could almost be a copy.

“But where’s the path in and out he asked,”

“Captain, we’re being hailed.”

“On screen.”

Valryn had met Jenni only a handful of times, but it was enough to note the edges of relief around her eyes.

[“I wasn’t sure anyone would receive our distress call,”] she said in her normal cool Vulcan manner.

Her image crackled here and there as the gravimetric forces fought to distort it.

“What happened?” Valryn asked.

[“We think we’ve located the approximate location of the lost Crazy Horse,”] she began.

[“Following information relayed to us by an Orion interceptor led us here,} she explained. [“And we were following a path through the currents trying to reach it when the currents took a turn and the path disappeared.’}

[“We are lucky we fell into a safe pocket but appear to be trapped,] she continued. [“Can’t seem to escape.”]

Valryn rubbed his bearded chin, realizing they might have to leave the area if only to (1) let command know where the hell they were and (2) tell possible help where to go.

A place that looked to him damned similar to another place he had gotten to know well … but apparently not well enough.

They were definitely going to need help. … A LOT of help.

Respectfully,

— Capt. J’nae Skysen
CO, U.S.S. Stardrifter

and

— Capt. Dynazar Thaleaz Valryn
CO, U.S.S. Britannia

—- OUT OF STORY —-

This sets the real stage for the meat of “The Straits.”

And not much, but it was fun for me being able to reference the Battle of Centerpoint, Centerpoint Station and the Neffen Cluster.

The post The Straits: “Stuck in Hell” appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.

I am J’nae Travanner Skysen … a boomer … one born aboard and spending life growing up on a a space freighter … In this case, the “Setting Sun.”

For at least three generations before me, my family worked freighters.

But I’d see those Starfleet ships they’d encounter and dream … until finally, I was living her dream.

So, I was the first in my family in those generations to leave life aboard freighters and the first ever to enroll in Starfleet via the academy.

Was fresh out of the academy when the Dominion War struck.
Served during the first days of the war as an engineer aboard an Excalsior-class cruiser (refitted like the Enterprise B).

The Beowulf was a noble ship, but there is only so much one ship can do against four Jem’hadar attack ships.

Our captain tried to lose them in the Badlands but without success … at least for our ship.

In the end, he had us abandon Beowulf and hide from those attack ships using the escape pods and shuttles while he, the first officer and several of the command staff sacrificed themselves and ultimately the ship while leading them away.

Our enemy thought ship destroyed with all hands.

Survivors were transported to Deep Space 9 to await reassignment.

It was during this time that I was suddenly gripped by Pon Farr and met a rather unique Scottish/Bajoran engineer named Alan Nyrros Pathfinder who became a lover / companion whom I’ve shared time and life with ever since.

Called “Jenni” by her friends, she presently serves as captain of the refitted Excelsior II-class explorer U.S.S. Stardrifter.

The post BIO FILE — “Jenni” (aka. J’nae Skysen) appeared first on The Malstrom Expanse.