Scene: Cockpit, Valkyrie-class Fighter
Location: Argon Cluster – Malstrom Expanse

Time: 2410

—

“Gold One to North Carolina actual. … Still not sure if we’re dealing with another sensor ghost or the real thing.”

Agnes’ fingers slipped across the controls along the right side of her console, trying to finetune the readings being fed directly to her head’s-up display.

The Valkyrie fighter cut through space.

The other fighters held their positions in relation to her craft, the squadron responding to sensor pings coming from relay stations out in the soup of Hell’s Gate.

The soup was the soup … the nebula clouds swirling thick and chaotic outside of the Argon cluster — a cluster of eight stars dancing in concert within their small pocket of the universe.

[“Gold One, North Carolina actual. Hang tight. Should be clearing within the next few.”]

It always could be nothing. Yet, it also always could be something.

The one time they figured it all to be nothing, pirates descended catching them flatfooted and out of position.

Now that had been a hot mess that could have cost them more than it had, but then again … it had cost them dear enough.

No longer.  Not since that day.

[“Gold Squadron … Hold course, stay sharp.”]

There was nothing to do for the next few moments but wait and keep eyes sharp.

[“So, Wayfinder. You up for some poker when we get back to the shed?”]

“Cut the chatter, Gold Five. Eyes sharp, remember. Besides, you’ve lost a enough latinum this week.”

[“Which is why I need to win some of it back.”]

“The chatter, Gold Five.”

[“Acknowledged, Gold Leader. Staying eagle-eyed.”]

A few more minutes passed and then the shadows of the soup took form.

“North Carolina … Contact bearing 23!”

[“North Carolina Actual … What have you got?”]

It was several more seconds before Agnes could even begin to make out a shape.

“North Carolina Actual … We are looking at a heavy cruiser with escorts. … Too much interference for a positive ID.  Kicking in the burn for a visual.”

She switched frequencies.

“Gold Leader to Gold Flight … Form up and lets kick in the afterburners. Maintain alert status one and stay sharp.”

The Valkyrie fighters as one kicked their engines up several notches.

Distance shrank away as they closed in on their target, which altered course for a less threatening approach.

[“Approaching fighters. This is Capt. Colarahn Krog in command of the U.S.S. Shrykos of Starfleet’s Malstrom Expeditionary Force,”] a male voice stated.

[“We recognize your craft as Federation but to our knowledge, we have no records of one of our ships out this far as this part of the expanse remains unexplored,”] the person continued. [“Please acknowledge.”]

“Well, Capt. Krog … We have a problem as *I* am Capt. Colarahn Krog,” she stated coldly.

She and their fighters maintained course and alert status with weapons still hot.

They would NOT be caught flatfooted again.

 —

The bridge of the U.S.S. Shrykos was a flurry of activity as officers went about their duties, well aware that a flight of what appeared to be Valkyrie fighters was bearing down on them.

And normally where one found such fighters, there was sure to be ships and/or a base nearby.

Capt. Colarahn Krog was captain of the Andromeda / Ross hybrid explorer exiting the soup of the Malstrom Nebula and entering one of the several star systems within this pocket of space.

He gripped the arms of his command chair, keeping his full attention on the holographic status display hovering in from of him.

“We recognize your craft as Federation but to our knowledge, we have no records of one of our ships out this far as this part of the expanse remains unexplored,” he stated to the open channel. “Please acknowledge.”

[“Well, Capt. Krog … We have a problem as *I* am Capt. Colarahn Krog,”] the feminine voice on the other end returned rather coolly.

THAT was something unexpected, but then so were what looked like Starfleet fighters flying in formation this deep in an unexplored part of the soup.

 “I have to say you’ve now got my attention,” Krog said.

He decided to dispense with formalities and standard protocol.

“I have to admit I didn’t know another Colarahn Krog had graduated the Academy in recent years,” he continued, rising from his chair still speaking.

“I myself am of the class of 2389.”

Instinct was starting to tell him there was more to this story than first appearances.

[“Funny thing that,”] the female voice returned, just a bit harder … more guarded. [“So am I and I don’t remember seeing you around campus.”]

Krog closed his eyes, listened.

The cadence and voice were his own … IF he’d been born female.

Such things might seem impossible except when considering the multi-verse theory.

Then there was the fact of Malstrom command itself as two of his own commanding officers were both named Hauk. 

Two Klingons born the same, but in different universes and shaped products of those verses.

Now, the Klingon Hauk (the Starfleet one, not the KDF one) from another such reality / universe had claimed (with supporting evidence) that his reality had ceased to exist in that something happened there of such scale and scope that it no longer exists.

Yet, here that version of Hauk was as well as his god-daughter … another Klingon now serving in this Starfleet, named Bahni’qin.

It was considered proof that elements of that reality could well have fallen intact into this one.

And if that all considered fact, who is to say that in this other universe he might well have been born female.

“Flight leader, I have a story to tell that might seem a bit farfetched, yet I assure you is very much real.”

“Is it possible to arrange a meeting with someone from your command structure?” he asked.

—

Sometime later, the Starfleet presence within the Argon star cluster dispatched a recon destroyed, named U.S.S. Sam Houston, to serve as a safe place for the meeting to take place.

The U.S.S. North Carolina was holding distance to one side as the U.S.S. Shrykos was on the opposite.

Now, the untrained eye of his reality would have considered the Houston of the Lafeyette-class … a class of New Orleans-class lineage.

But Krog could see the subtle differences that marked this one as NOT Lafeyette.

The ship’s commanding officer, one Capt. Allen Narross Sollace, greeted him in the transporter room and led the way to the Conference room where the meeting was to take place.

Fun that, this man looked half Scottish-human / half Bajoran.

Krog himself knew a Capt. Alan Rhys Sollace, but he was half Scottish human / half Efrosian.

In the conference room waited a Starfleet Vice-Admiral … one Shallana Carrick.

She looked near identical to another officer he’d served with and considered friend … a captain named Atsila Shallana Maitland.

“Vice-Admiral, I think we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Krog began after they’d taken their seats.

“And I’ve a message from someone you likely know … Fleet Admiral Hauk,” he continued.

He slid a pad across the table to the Vice-Admiral who spun the padd  around and pressed play.

[“Hello, Shallana, it’s been a while,”] spoke the Starfleet Klingon.

[“You have no  idea how glad I am to see you and those with you. And I assure you that what I’m about to tell you is all true and I can prove it.”]

Krog had had time to confer with Hauk’ before this meeting, a bit startled that the Klingon knew personally all the players sitting around this very table … having served with each in what was now a past life being revisited.

Shallana leaned back in her chair listening as did Sollace beside her … their faces darkening with growing lines of sadness as they took in the story being told to them … the story of the fate of the universe they’d left behind.

It was gone … all of it.

Well, with the exception it seemed of what little seemed to have made it to this new reality which apparently was to be their new home.

~ Hauk — Pathfinder

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