One Way Trip
Posted on Sat Aug 1st, 2026 @ 6:04pm by Captain Wilkan Targaryen & Commander Ceara O'Hare & Lieutenant T'Krell & Lieutenant Harris Zim & Lieutenant S'reessa & Lieutenant Sherlock Grimes & Vaelira Daro & Elara Jyn
7,942 words; about a 40 minute read
Mission:
Homecoming
Location: Bridge, U.S.S. Sulaco
Timeline: 3190-11-01, 11:45
The hum of the Sulaco’s primary power grid was a steady, rhythmic purr that did little to soothe the quiet ache in Wilkan’s chest. For over an hour, the Bridge had belonged only to him and a small skeleton crew. The primary crew had dispersed to their respective decks — Vaelira nursing the bruised engines, Sherlock and Elara combing through the remnants of the digital infection, and Karys leading her security sweep with Zim.
Left alone on the upper tier, Wilkan sat back in the dark upholstery of the Captain’s Chair, his fingers tracing a slow, rhythmic pattern on the armrest. He looked out through the HUD-less viewscreen at the shimmering cloud of shrapnel that had, only an hour before, been a sleek United Earth warship. His mind drifted from the physical debris to the wreckage of the past, his past.
Ridan Tua. The name left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it wasn't a bitterness born of hatred. It was the heavy, suffocating grief of an El-Aurian who remembered too much, paired with the deep ancestral weight of his own Lanthanite heritage. He closed his eyes, letting his 'Listening' turn inward, back through the centuries to the sun-drenched spires of Deep Space 9 and the cold, starlit geometry of Deep Space 47 in the year 2439.
He had known Tua's host of that era: Bezru. He had been a mentor in the broader sense, a guiding hand in the background of Starfleet's golden era. But as Wilkan let his memories settle, the face that rose to meet him in the dark wasn't Tua's.
It was Loatha’s.
Vice Admiral Loatha Targaryen. His wife. His anchor.
Wilkan opened his eyes slightly, staring at tactical buffers. While he had watched Tua from a respectful distance, Loatha had been the true architect of the young officer's career. Tua had served as her Executive Officer during those long, politically fraught years on Deep Space 9. As a Betazoid/Lanthanite hybrid, Loatha possessed a terrifyingly precise perception. Her Lanthanite longevity gave her a perspective that spanned generations, while her Betazoid telepathy allowed her to read the raw, unvarnished truth of a person's soul. She had sensed something fierce, brilliant, and uncompromising in Tua, a volatile drive that could either forge an exceptional leader or destroy a career.
She had nurtured that drive. She had fiercely sponsored Tua for their first officer's bars, stepping onto the diplomatic stage to shield them from the bureaucratic hawks in Starfleet Command who feared Tua's radical edge. And when the time came in 2439, it was Loatha’s unyielding recommendation that had placed Tua in command of Deep Space 47.
“They have a fire in them, Wilkan,” Loatha had told him one evening, her dark, telepathic eyes reflecting the amber light of the Bajoran sun as she leaned against their quarters' window. “A beautiful, dangerous fire. I can feel the weight of what they want to prove to the galaxy. If we don't teach them how to channel it, it will burn down whatever room they are standing in.”
Wilkan had smiled then, trusting her judgment implicitly. Loatha’s double heritage meant she never looked at a crisis through a short-term lens; she saw the ripples of a person's actions decades before they manifested. Nevertheless, Loatha wasn't here to put out the fire anymore. She was gone, lost somewhere in the great void along with their children and the Federation they had spent lifetimes building.
He could use her now more than ever.
Tua was using the very tactics Loatha had helped them refine, weaponizing an intimate, historical knowledge of the Crossfield Class to target the Sulaco. They weren't trying to destroy the ship; they were trying to reclaim it, driven by a zealous, isolationist fury. The tactical precision layout was a ghost of 2439, a ghost that Loatha had helped train, now twisted into an asymmetric threat against the modern Federation.
A soft chime from the turbolift broke the silence of the Bridge.
Wilkan straightened his posture, his features instantly smoothing back into a mask of calm, effortless command. The hour of solitude was over. He could hear the distinct, measured footsteps of his crew returning to the tier, the sharp cadence of boots. The ghosts of 2439 would have to wait. The theater was ending, and the reality of the hunt was about to begin.
The first thing Elara noticed was the Wilkan wasn't as silent as he usually was. Normally, she'd barely sense anything from him. This was different. He had clearly delved into something that wasn't as still as he mostly was. She wondered why. While she was extremely curious, there was 1 line she hadn't and never planned on crossing. Which was to pry into people's pasts. Even if she sensed what was going on, she wasn't asking unless they opened up about it themselves.
Having been around Wilkan for some years now, she knew that something had been going on just minutes before. If there hadn't been any indications when it came to the quiet she usually felt around him, she probably wouldn't have noticed. She didn't comment on it. Instead, she settled on the chair next to her station.
Wilkan caught the faint shift in the emotional currents as Elara took her seat, recognizing the quiet respect in her discipline. He let the lingering warmth of Loatha’s memory settle back into the deeper recesses of his mind, masking the ancient grief with the practiced, effortless ease of a commander who had lived a dozen lifetimes.
He looked up as the air materialized in a series of sharp, familiar hums across the upper deck, tracking his senior staff as they beamed directly onto the Bridge. The immediate adrenaline of the firefight had given way to the methodical routine of post-engagement recovery, and it was time to lock down the ship. Straightening his posture in the dark upholstery of the Captain’s Chair, Wilkan tapped a sequence on his armrest console to bring his tactical overlay back to a sharp, steady blue. The hour of solitude was over. He swept his gaze across the command tier, ready to issue orders and pull the pieces of the puzzle together.
"Stations," Wilkan commanded, his voice measured, direct, and entirely anchored in the present.
He looked toward the helm first, his eyes locking onto his Chief Flight Control Officer. "Commander O'Hare, ensure the recovered black box is completely stable within our tractor envelope. Once secured, bring us to a localized station-keeping drift."
Scarlet simply nodded. "Black box is secured and ready to be taken on board. Holding position. Want me to make it look like we're dead in the water again?"
"Not this time, Commander, but I appreciate the suggestion," He turned his gaze toward the science and operations alcoves. "Elara, Sherlock, establish an isolated data link with the tractor grid. I want a joint decryption sweep on that telemetry. Let's see what kind of digital footprint Tua left behind before purging the relays."
Sherlock shifted a little in his chair. Looking down to his console display, he made sure that everything was in the green and then switching his focus. Fingers moving across the console with expert speed. "Set up on my end," Sherlock looked over his shoulder to Elara, nodding and turning back to what he was doing. As soon as Elara was done on her side of things it should go off without a hitch.
"On it," Elara said as she moved her hands over the station. "There are a few smaller issues before this can be done. Small layers of protection, clearly made to counter any attempt on decrypting it. Not that they'll last long. They seem... older than most thing I've encountered lately. Might be why they took some time to find. They are from another generation of technology. Older. Much older. I believe that we are talking about 40 years ago. However, the black is clearly from recent years," with that she went silent. The layers of old technology had made it a bit problematic to crack the defense protocol. She sighed inwardly and started looking up databases from that era of technology. It took her some time, but finally, she found a lead. An old radio frequency, designed to provide white noise. "I found something," she announced. "The protective layers are akin to an old radio frequency, from 45 years ago. I'm removing it now and let's see what else they have put on that thing."
"Keep at it," Wilkan nodded in approval. Tapping his comm panel, he routed a line directly to the lower decks. "Wilkan to Engineering. Daro, how are the primary power grids holding up after that manual torpedo load? Give me a full diagnostic on our Warp capabilities within the hour."
Vaelira was halfway through closing down the last of the false-failure safeguards when Wilkan’s voice came through from the bridge. Engineering looked better than it had an hour ago, though that was not saying much. The lights were steady again, most of the panels had stopped reporting faults, and the warp core had settled into a stable operating pattern.
She glanced once to the engineer beside her. “Keep watching the port-side transfer ladder. If it climbs again, report it immediately.”
Then she tapped the comm.
“Daro here,” she answered, eyes already moving across the live grid. “Primary power is holding. The manual torpedo load left a few hot spots through the tactical feed, but we’ve reduced them and isolated the worst of it.”
She stepped closer to the warp diagnostic display, reading the numbers rather than trusting the summary. “Warp core is stable. Containment is clean, antimatter flow is within normal limits, and we can go to warp if required.” A brief pause followed. “I would prefer to complete checks on the coils and the starboard injector assembly before we do.”
Her fingers moved over the console, locking the next diagnostic sequence into place. “You’ll have the full warp report within the hour, Captain. Sooner if no new issues appear.”
"Keep me updated. Wilkan out." He closed the channel and looked up at the main tactical console. "Lieutenant Zim, let's hear the results of the internal security sweep. Are our digital ghosts thoroughly laid to rest?" His XO had yet to return to the Bridge, giving Wilkan some level of pause.
With a few quick taps on the console Zim performed the scan. A moment later he had the results. "At the moment it seems that all is clear. However, I would not say that they have been laid to rest until it is clear for days on end."
"Stay vigilant, Lieutenant," Wilkan acknowledged, his eyes briefly scanning the tactical readouts. "Keep a background scan running on those sub-routines. You find a returning issue, isolate it and purge."
"Aye sir." Zim replied. Vigilance was pretty much the bread and butter of any Capellan. So, making sure that things stayed clear for the next few days would be no problem for him.
He then looked toward the communication station. "Lieutenant T'Krell, monitor all low-frequency bands and sub-space relays. If Tua or his extremist handlers attempt to broadcast a secondary handshake to their automated support team, I want it intercepted and logged before it hits our distribution grid."
The stoic Caitan blinked slowly at the Captain's order. "Understood sir, searching now," he bowed his tall frame slightly over the station. "Elara's discovery has narrowed the perimeters."
Finally, he tapped the direct line to sickbay. "Wilkan to Lieutenant S'reessa. Prepare triage protocols and clear your primary biobeds. We have lifeboats deploying from the disabled vessel, and I want the survivors processed and medically cleared the moment they hit our transporter buffers."
"S'reesa here. acknowledged." she then shouted orders to her staff. You heard him. Everybody get moving. Clear the primay biobeds and get ready to process survivors. I want triage ready to go asap. ready first aid and prepare for the serious cases. We might well have to do surgery on some, probably burns of various degrees. Hustle people.:
le!
With the orders issued, Wilkan leaned back slightly, his eyes tracking the synchronized movement of his crew as the Sulaco returned to a flawless, dominant holding pattern.
Elara leaned back in her chair, listening to the people around her. She had managed to crack the defense protocols, but she was puzzled. Why had it had 45-year-old radio frequencies on a recent black box? It made no sense. Her instincts told her that there was a lot more going on beyond the Sulaco. But what could that be? She glanced at Wilkan.
Quiet and composed, as he always seemed to be. But there was something going on, and it felt like it mostly came from him. That he looked as he usually did, wasn't proof that he was quiet on the inside. There was the faintest crack in the emotional composure that Wilkan carried. She didn't know about his past. But he had had something to think about. Most likely from his past. However, she wasn't about to pry. His past and secrets were his to tell if he chose to do so.
A sharp, cascading chime cut through the ambient noise of the Bridge as the communications console flared with a localized sub-space spike.
T'Krell lip sneered and his ears flickered with annoyance at the tone despite it signalling a successful result: "Captain," the Lieutenant called. "I've managed to intercept a transmission directed at the UE vessel."
"Put it through," Wilkan didn't hesitate. He stood smoothly from the dark upholstery of the Captain's Chair, locking eyes onto the transparisteel window as the static peeled back to reveal the Bridge of another United Earth starship. The sub-space compression as the link snapped cleanly into focus, the image warped by a tight-beam algorithm but carrying a hollow, zealous resonance that Wilkan recognized instantly from the corridors of Deep Space 9 centuries ago.
"Wilkan Targaryen," Tua’s voice echoed across the quiet command tier, stripped of its old Starfleet cadence. "Where are you?"
Wilkan stepped down to the lower tier, leaning slightly against the edge of the center dais. His voice dropped into a calm, measuring register, completely devoid of the ancient grief he had harbored only an hour before. "I'm disappointed in you, Ridan. Only two hits on the primary distribution grid. I thought Loatha and I taught you better than that?"
A dry, joyless chuckle rattled through the sub-space compression. "I'll do better next time. I promise."
"There won't be a next time. We both know that," Wilkan countered, his tone hardening into a flat, ancient certainty. "Too many innocent people have already been caught in the crossfire of this isolationist theater."
"What galaxy are you living in, Mister President?" Tua hissed back with disdain, the underlying edge of his voice vibrating through the Sulaco's deckplates. "There are no innocent people in the modern Federation. Everybody's guilty of something. Your Council is guilty of systemic neglect, and your precious Starfleet is guilty of building trophies while the underclass rots in the dark."
"Maybe," Wilkan said softly, his El-Aurian skills tracking the faint, rhythmic pulse of an engine signature hidden deep behind the feed. "But don't you think those people deserve a second chance? To change? To live peacefully?"
"I don't want to change," Tua snapped. "You didn't teach change at the academy... and Loatha didn't teach peace on DS9 and sure as Hell didn't in the Gamma Quadrant! You taught warfare, Wilkan. Tactics. Interdiction. And I intend to use what I learned from the legendary tacticians of the past."
Wilkan straightened his posture, his jaw setting into a rigid line. "I taught something else, Ridan: never take on an opponent unless you expect to win."
"I made that mistake once at Aethelgard," Tua answered, the transmission beginning to fray as Elara's science station began to aggressively trace the signal path. "I won't make it again. You are as impotent as your ancient prototype... Captain."
"I'm warning you," Wilkan said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the absolute authority of nine hundred years of command experience. "If you don't surrender right now, I'll use every resource of this vessel to bring you down, and I'll succeed."
"Oh..." Tua’s tone shifted into a mocking, rhythmic crawl. "You want to kill me, don't you? The soldier in you wants to taste some blood? Isn't that funny? I kill for power; you kill for peace. We're just different sides of the same coin, each heroes to our own causes. Well... let's see who gets the parade."
The signal cut completely, leaving the Bridge in a sudden, ringing silence.
Wilkan remained standing on the lower deck, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen where the waveform had just flattened out. He turned slowly, looking back up toward the communication and science console.
"Tell me you locked down that carrier wave before he severed the handshake."
T'Krell didn't respond initially, though a low rumbling growl emitted from his frame as his paws and tail worked in a synchronised performance.
Scarlet shook her head as she listened to the exchange between Wilkan and his former protegé. "Someone's definitely misreading the tactical situation," she muttered as she checked to make sure all propulsion systems, including the spore drive, were in working order. "I'd have had her penniless and naked within minutes, if this was a dabo table."
"I got some of it locked down," Elara said as her hands moved over her station. While she was still doing her job, she was rather puzzled. Ridan... she had heard that name before. She had come across it a few times when she had lent a book from Wilkan. Another place she had run into that name was in, what she called the "toy box" from Wilkan. An old badge. She had recently found what the problem. New power source and a new normal transmitter. She had found both and only needed to reassemble the parts. But she had found something unexpected. A small transmitter. In pristine condition. And sending a signal. Faint, but it was there. Could it be? "Sir?" she asked, unsure whether it would be of any use. "I just realized something..."
Wilkan turned his head sharply toward the science alcove, the sudden shift in his Chief Science Officer's tone brought him instantly back to the clinical reality of the Bridge. Wilkan returned to the center dais. His voice was a calm, level anchor against the ambient hum of the Sulaco's systems, "What did you find?"
Another chirp sounded from the communication station rudely interrupting Targaryen and his ward.
Wilkan didn't break his gaze from Elara, though his jaw tightened slightly as the persistent intrusion fractured the Bridge's operational focus. The sudden, uninvited audio flare from the communication console rippled through the air, overriding the buffers T'Krell had just established.
Without moving from his position on the center dais, Wilkan raised his hand slightly to hold Elara’s forthcoming explanation in place. He turned his head toward the Communication station, his hybrid eyes locking onto the tall Caitian officer whose ears had flattened instantly against his skull in reaction to the rude interruption. "Report."
"Captain," T'Krell annouced parking his misgivings for speaking over them. "I've been able to trace the origin of the transmission carrier wave. Ridan is en-route to Titan."
Wilkan received the information without a flicker of surprise, his ancient features settling into a cold, geometric focus. Titan. The Sol system. Tua was targeting an open wound. When Wilkan accepted this ambassadorial role on behalf of the Federation, he had thoroughly briefed himself on the volatile history of United Earth and Titan. He knew the scars the moon carried: its post-Burn isolation in 3089, the tragic century of conflict as desperate raiders, and the devastation wrought after the Dark Matter Anomaly. Striking Titan now could fracture that unified coalition from the inside out, playing directly into the region's historic isolationist fury.
"Understood, Lieutenant," Wilkan said, lowering his hand and turning his full attention back toward the science alcove. His hybrid eyes locked onto Elara. "Now, Elara. Before we plot an intercept vector for Saturn's moon... tell me about that pristine transmitter you found bleeding beneath the static."
"The entire device was nearly falling apart. But that transmitter is as good as if it was created yesterday. It sends waves of locations from here and who-knows-where. It is definitely sending our location to someone we don't know, But", Elara said. "While it sends locations, ours among others, I believe that I can reverse that and make us getting the locations of the creator of that transmitter. So far, I've been able to find 3 locations the transmitter contacts every other second. I looked at it more closely, and it is self-sufficient when it comes to a power source. Someone wanted it to be active at all times. It took some work, but I've isolated it from its power source for now.
With that Elara went quiet. It wasn't all about the Sulaco now. There was more at stake. That transmitter was a key to something. What it was, she didn't know. But she intended to nail it down and get to the bottom of this. She suspected Ridan might be connected to the transmitter. It wasn't certain for now, but it was a possibility.
Scarlet smirked as her hands flew across the navigation console as Elara gave her explanation. Once she had finished, the young pilot cut in. "Intercept vector for warp flight as well as interception coordinates for a spore jump ready if needed, boss," she reported with a chuckle, slightly offended that the Captain didn't think she'd be able to get it done quickly. "We going to deal with that transmitter first, or heading over to Titan?"
"We do both, Commander O'Hare," Wilkan decided, his voice carrying an unyielding momentum. "Titan remains the priority. Tua is moving on an active target, and we cannot afford to give him a head start in the Sol system. Scarlet, lock in the standard Warp intercept vector for Saturn’s moon. Keep the Spore Drive on standby as a tactical reserve."
"Standard intercept it is," the pilot replied as she confirmed the course. "Should only take a couple minutes to get there."
Wilkan turned his full attention back to the science alcove, stepping closer to Elara’s station. "Elara, you have the duration of our Warp flight to run that reverse-trace. If that pristine transmitter is bouncing our telemetry to three distinct coordinates, I want to know exactly what is sitting at those receiving ends before we drop out of Warp at Titan. If Tua isn't working alone, those locations will tell us who is holding his leash."
Elara flashed a smile that was by no means a friendly one. "I'm almost done. I should have the trace reverse in less than 2 minutes. They are good. Quality work. Seems flawless. But everything has a weak spot. And I see one with the old radio frequency. They expected that it would be confusing to no end", she said. "They aren't as smart as they thought. The majority of their safety protocols was leaning on the old frequency. Wait", she said, looking more closely at her screen. "There are more than 3 points of contact. I see 5 now. 2 of them are near each other. the other 3 has some distance to them, but still within a certain range. All 5 are in the same area". With that she fell silent, wondering how she could have missed the other 2 contacts. Well, no time to think more about that. There was work to be done, and she needed to be doing her utmost best, not getting lost in her thoughts.
"How quaint," Scarlet mused. "Came across some pirates who used a similar technique, once. I reckon they're using three as classic triangulation points, and then the other two either as backups or to then bounce the transmission signal off to make tracking a bit more annoying." She shrugged. "Leaving them this close to each other really rather ruins the chance of that working, though."
Sherlock was monitoring the situation while at the same time listening to Elara and Wilkan's conversation. Giving a little bit of thought on it and grinning. "UHF. I can alter our communications frequencies to pick that up. Or rather, I'm doing that right now, Sirs." His fingers moved along the console in particular patterns, and then they randomized, over and over. Coming to an abrupt stop, looking over his shoulder again, "Alright, now. That should be pointed in to detect them and listen into their comm chatter."
The sharp hum of a transporter beam rippled across the upper tier as Commander Karys materialized, her uniform immaculate despite the grueling deck-by-deck sweep completed with Zim. She stepped down to the lower tier, eyes narrowing at the five data points blooming on Elara’s display.
"Security teams are on localized watch, Captain," Karys reported, her voice cutting through the console chatter. She turned her eyes directly to Wilkan, her expression rigid. "Sherlock’s channel gives us an ear in the room, but the moment we arrive at Saturn, they’re going to know they've been compromised. Captain, my strike teams are ready. Just say the word, and we'll prepare boarding protocols for whatever is waiting for us at those coordinates."
Wilkan kept his gaze fixed on the Viewscreen, keeping himself an unreadable mask. Internally, a cold note of caution chimed, red flags rising. He respected Karys’s competence, but her swiftness to deploy heavy tactical force - to put boots on an unknown deck before the intelligence was fully acquired - stirred a deep, unspoken trepidation within him. A crisis born of isolationist scars required a surgeon's blade, not a hammer.
"Stand down for now, Commander," Wilkan replied, his voice level and entirely final as he committed to the course already plotted. "The plan stands. We drop out of warp at Titan, assess the orbital situation, and let Elara and Sherlock map those five coordinates from a distance. We do not board an unknown staging ground blind."
The Denobulan's jaw tightened, her posture stiffening. She opened her mouth to argue, but Wilkan held up a single, sharp finger, preemptively cutting her off before a single word could pass her lips. "However, I want your strike teams fully equipped and on a hair-trigger standby. If Tua forces our hand at Saturn, you will be the first ones through the breach."
"Understood, Captain," Karys said, her tone clipped but precise. Her ridged brow twitched slightly, the frustration rolling off her in waves, "The strike teams will be locked, loaded, and waiting for your green light. Let's hope Tua gives us an excuse."
"An admirable display of textbook restraint, Captain," Kovich remarked dryly. "But let us not romanticize history. A surgeon's blade is only effective if the patient isn't actively trying to detonate the operating room. Proceed to Titan, by all means. But do remain mindful of the clock."
Wilkan’s hybrid eyes locked onto Kovich from across the upper tier. He offered no debate, meeting the older man's clinical detachment with a cold, unyielding focus of his own. He spoke a single, final word, "Engage."
The spatial distortion of the Sulaco’s warp drop did not occur in the clean, silent vacuum of high orbit. Instead, the starship tore back into normal space with a violent, atmospheric thunderclap, plunging directly into the upper, amber-tinted stratosphere of Titan.
The transition was instantaneous and brutal. Thick, methane-rich clouds exploded against the forward deflectors in a furious wall of orange and gold fire. On the Bridge, the steady, rhythmic purr of the primary power grid vanished, replaced by the deep, structural groan of the hull fighting immense atmospheric drag. Inertial dampers wavered for a fraction of a second, forcing the crew into their seats as the ship buffeted wildly against the dense, heavy air of the moon.
Through the forward viewscreen, the violent sheath of entry friction began to peel back, revealing a stark, terrifying landscape. Piercing through the swirling, toxic fog below were the jagged, metallic spires of Titan’s industrial colonies—and looming just above the horizon, the colossal, ringed silhouette of Saturn dominated the choked sky like a silent, watchful titan.
"Report orbital status immediately," Captain Targaryen commanded, his voice cutting cleanly through the fading roar of the atmospheric entry. "Commander O'Hare, level us out at twenty thousand meters. Use the thermal currents to mask our signature and keep us in a tight, defensive holding pattern."
"Got it," Scarlet acknowledged as she tightened her grip on the controls and entered a flight pattern of her own design, making sure to smoothly glide into and out of the atmospheric currents as instructed.
He turned his gaze sharply toward the tactical and engineering monitors. "Zim, bring shields to maximum and clear all available weapon arrays. Daro, shunt all secondary power from the structural integrity fields directly to the main thrusters—I want maximum atmospheric maneuverability on a hair-trigger."
Zim did one better than requested. "Shields at ten percent over maximum and holding."
Finally, his eyes locked onto the science station. "Elara, Sherlock, deploy localized deep-atmosphere probes. Filter out the methane interference and map those five coordinates right now. Find out exactly what is sitting down there."
"Let's have a look", Elara said. Moving her hands over her station, she did as she was told. "2 of the locations seem to be connected to each other. A solid, steady anchor, in lack of better phrasing. They are barely moving. The other 3 are not fixated to anything. They are moving around as one would expect from a planet's orbit. That's's what is going on. The 2 stations are about 20 miles from here. The other 3 are moving a bit faster than the orbit normally would here. They are trying to stay on the border being seen, without losing their awareness of us", she said with a frown. The closest of the 3 is about 35 miles from our current location".
"I see the same two locations." Sherlock's fingers ran along his console there at Ops for a quick moment. He was then quiet for a second. Five notification sound emitted from his console as five probes were just launched. "If we triangulate what data comes back and what Lieutenant Jyn has picked up on, we should move the ship to an asmith of 63 degree's to the north at a longitude and latitude of 172'82'100 by 90'43'12'"
From her position near the secondary rail, Karys watched the tactical layout shift with a sharp intensity, her fingers twitching near her phaser holster. She didn't speak. But as she tracked the burning methane on the viewscreen, she felt a cold weight from the upper tier. Turning her head slightly, she caught Kovich’s gaze. The older Commodore was watching her, his expression entirely unreadable behind his glasses, measuring her coiled tension with clinical detachment. She stiffened, masking her frustration.
"Open all frequencies," Wilkan commanded, his voice a low, resonant anchor that brooked no delay, "I want everybody out there to hear me."
Obediently Lieutenant T'Krell dialed his console: "Channels open," he confirmed.
"People of Titan," Wilkan began as he stepped down to the lower tier, his voice reflecting the ancient authority of his Lanthanite heritage giving the words a heavy, unmistakable gravity. "This is Wilkan Targaryen, representing the United Federation of Planets. We are here to protect and defend your facilities. Please move to safe ground immediately, clear of the industrial sectors."
He paused, his jaw setting into a rigid line as his gaze swept across the coordinates of the industrial colonies below before the Captain shifted his focus. "Attention, Ridan Tua. We are prepared and willing to accept your immediate and unconditional surrender. Otherwise, we shall be forced to fire on you. I repeat: we are prepared to accept your unconditional surrender."
The Captain turned toward Zim, "Full power to weapons, open all Torpedo tube doors, begin targeting sweeps."
Now they were talking Zim thought and he followed the order without hesitation. "Aye sir. Torpedoes doors are open. Phasers are charged and ready. Target locks on multiple decks. Just say the word."
Before Wilkan could issue the command, a console at the back of the lower tier flared an urgent, pulsing amber.
"Captain!" a crewman at the secondary sensor monitoring station called out, his voice sharp with sudden urgency. "We have a massive gravimetric displacement materializing in the upper atmosphere! It’s a United Earth starship, coming in fast on an intercept course. Signature matches a heavy cruiser!"
"Zim has target locks, Captain, but if Tua splits his forces, it gets messy. My teams are ready to drop breaching pods," Karys interjected, stepping down to the lower tier. She felt Wilkan’s textbook restraint shifting against her; he wasn't going to approve her deployment. He wanted a surgeon's blade, not her hammer. She knew she had to go for broke. "I was his First Officer in the Azure Nebula, sir," Karys urged, ignoring Kovich’s analytical stare from above. "At Aethelgard, he defied Starfleet’s explicit orders to stand down. I had to take the center seat and have security march him off his own Bridge. He uses an opponent's restraint as a weapon."
Wilkan’s eyes narrowed as the massive hull punctured the clouds. Tua was acting with the exact same reckless, unyielding zeal that had doomed him at Aethelgard, but this wasn't Aethelgard. The old Federation rules of engagement that had once paralyzed Starfleet Command would not tie Wilkan's hands today. If Tua expected a sermon on diplomacy while he laid waste to Titan, he had fundamentally miscalculated.
"Belay the boarding standby, Commander," Wilkan commanded, his voice dropping into a flat, ancient octave that instantly cut through the tension on the Bridge. He stood smoothly from the center chair, projecting total, unyielding authority. "We're going to break his advance right here."
"Commander O'Hare, patch the navigation grid directly into the displacement drive console," Wilkan ordered, his features hardening into an unyielding mask. "Input coordinates for a rapid, ten-point micro-jump cycle around the heavy cruiser's blind spots."
"Give me a second," Scarlet replied, switching to spore drive navigation controls. Her hands flew across the console as she carefully and rapidly calculated the requested coordinates.
"Lieutenant Zim," Wilkan continued, his voice resonating with absolute command experience, "The moment we drop out of each jump, unleash Alpha Strikes at the target. That way we disable them before their shields can adapt to the shifting telemetry."
"Aye sir." Zim replied. Even as the Captain spoke Harris had already begun the needed computer sequence to carry out the orders. If all went well the enemy would not know what hit them.
Wilkan locked his gaze onto the oncoming United Earth vessel as it loomed large over the viewscreen. "Black Alert!"
Scarlet smirked. "Here goes!", she shouted out as she hit the spore drive activation control.
Elara was at her station, bracing for what was about to happen. "I have protocols ready to hit them on arrival. The moment any of them reach for the Sulaco, thorugh transmitters, or open fire, they'll be in for a nasty surprise", she said, only loud enough to let people hear it, but not loud enough to override Wilkan's orders. She focused on the protocol she had ready. It would go straight for the enemy the moment they landed on their location. If any of the enemy ships came even remotely close to the Sulaco, she could transmit the protocol that would pretty much short-circuit they systems for a little while. They would have power. But no sensors working, stations out of order. Contract between the shit would be next to impossible for them, even if it was only for a short while. With that she sat on her station and took a moment to look around her. Time to fight it seemed.
The reality of a micro-spore sequence within an active atmosphere was a brutal, disorienting assault on the senses. Space around the Sulaco folded with a deafening, metallic crack as the sky of Titan vanished, replaced by a blinding flash of mycelial white, before the ship snapped back into reality directly above the United Earth cruiser's starboard nacelle.
Wilkan stood unyielding on the center dais tracking the instantaneous flash of the automated Alpha Strike as it erupted from the forward arrays, tearing into the cruiser's exposed hull. Before the enemy ship's automated defense grids could even register the threat, the space twisted again. Jump two placed them directly beneath the cruiser's underbelly. Another pre-programmed payload slammed upward, shattering the lower shield emitters.
From the upper tier, Kovich held onto the railing, his clinical detachment tested by the sheer kinetic violence of the maneuver. "Sensory overload achieved," he observed dryly, adjusting his glasses as the deck buffeted. "Their targeting telemetry is chasing ghosts."
The Sulaco danced around Tua’s vessel like a phantom, striking from multiple vectors in a matter of seconds. Karys watched the master tactical display from the lower tier, a fierce, grim satisfaction overriding her previous frustration. This wasn't a reckless invasion or a textbook sermon on diplomacy; it was a methodical, overwhelming dismantling. They were stripping Tua of his teeth and his arrogance all at once.
The tactical display on the Bridge of the United Earth cruiser did not just fail; it shattered under the sheer speed of the Sulaco’s multi-vector assault. The deck plates buckled under foot as the kinetic energy of consecutive torpedo impacts rattled the ship's internal support structures. Synthetic gravity flickered, throwing the Bridge crew against their consoles in a chaotic scramble of sparks and screaming warning sirens.
"Why aren't we firing?!" Ridan Tua roared, gripping the edge of the command console as the bulkheads groaned under the pressure of another impact. "Target them! Get a lock!"
"System failure across the primary targeting grid!" the Tactical Officer screamed back, his hands dancing frantically over a console that was rapidly bleeding status alerts. "They're jumping before the arrays can even lock! Computers are working on it... ready in thirteen..."
"We don't have thirteen seconds!"
"Twelve..."
"The Sulaco has fired!" another voice panicked, "Multiple signatures, close range! They're right on top of us!"
"Nine..."
The ship shuddered violently as a torpedo detonation sheared through the starboard nacelle casing, venting superheated plasma into the amber atmosphere of Titan.
"Torpedo has lost lock!" the tactical officer yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "We do not have a lock! The telemetry is completely scrambled!"
A high-pitched, persistent alarm cut through the noise, a sharp, rhythmic beep that pulsed faster with every passing second. The countdown ran out. The payload hit the secondary power distribution grid directly behind the Bridge. The resulting explosion was catastrophic. A blinding, sapphire-white eruption tore through the bulkheads, throwing a wall of kinetic force and superheated debris across the command center. Consoles exploded into showers of jagged glass and electrical fire, knocking half the Bridge crew completely off their feet. The primary lighting died instantly, leaving the space submerged in a hellish, smoky emergency crimson.
"Abandon ship!" a crewman screamed, pushing himself up from the smoking deck, abandoning his post and lunging toward the companionway. "Get to the shuttle! The pods!"
"Stop! Get back to your stations!" Tua bellowed, his voice filled with a desperate, zealous fury. He stepped down from the center dais, his jaw set, refusing to accept the reality of the absolute tactical dismantling taking place around him. "We got to attack! That is a direct command!"
"We're going down, Ridan! The atmospheric drag is pulling us into the gravity well!" the Helm Officer shouted, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Navigation's dead!"
"No! This is all your fault!" the Tactical Officer spat, turning on Tua with a face twisted in terror and rage. "You said they'd hesitate! You said they'd follow standard contact protocols!"
"We can still beat them!" Tua hissed, his eyes wide, reflecting the glow of the failing monitors as the Sulaco rematerialized in a dominant, motionless stance directly ahead of them. "You cowards!"
With a final, thunderous distortion, the Sulaco snapped backward, materializing exactly where the sequence had begun. On the viewscreen, the United Earth heavy cruiser drifted heavily, its weapons dark and its nacelles venting plasma into the thick clouds.
Wilkan stepped down to the lower rail, his gaze fixed on the crippled warship. "Report," he commanded flatly.
"Other than being dizzy as heck, I'm fine. I think I might need something to throw up in, next time it's going to go this fast", Elara groaned. She shook her head, trying to get her clouded vision back to normal. It took what felt like forever before she could see straight. But in fact, it took less than 5 minutes. She didn't try standing though; her legs felt like jelly and she was pretty certain she would fall if she tried. Her mind was back on track shortly after her vision had returned. "My body will take some time to recover. That was a rather unpleasant jump. I sure as heck hope not all jumps are like this one".
Scarlet took a deep breath. Even she, with all her bravado, was feeling a little queasy. "Well," she finally managed to say. "That was something I don't want to be doing again. It worked, though, so that's good."
"No promises," Wilkan answered, standing perfectly upright on the center dais, seemingly untouched by the physiological chaos that had left the rest of the room clutching their consoles. Only the tight set of his jaw betrayed the absolute focus it took to control his own swirling equilibrium.
The drifting silhouette of the disabled United Earth vessel dominated the forward window of the Bridge. The enemy vessel was venting glowing, superheated plasma from its fractured Warp Nacelles, illuminating the clouds of Titan in eerie, flickering pulses. It was completely neutralized, yet the sight brought Wilkan no sense of victory. Only a cold curiosity that filled his soul.
"If we're going to untangle this network at Saturn, we can't afford to guess at what they are piloting," Wilkan murmured, turning his gaze toward the Science station. "Once your vision clears, I want a complete analysis of that vessel. Everything that you can find."
"There isn't much to analyze. The vessel is motionless now. They do have power, but it's barely there. Sensors aren't working. I just got hold of their bridge's frequency and a small bit of what's going on. They are scambling. I have no video on the frequency but audio is telling the story just fine", Elara said. "Sounds like they are in crisis mode. The crew is panicky, desperately wanting to get out of that vessel alive", with that she went silent. Rihan was clearly scrambling to fight the Sulaco. Desperate times made desperate actions. Elara wouldn't be surprised if Rihan made a solid counterattack. How, that wasn't what she would be dealing with. Her specialty was science, not anything physical. "The different sections of that vessel are identified. The most vulnerable spot is on the upper back of their ship. It has taken some damage, but it still working. Barely. My protocols have managed to halt their outward communication. I've ensured that they can hear what is going on, but not counter anything with it. Second spot is from the front. Straight below the bridge area. That one is still working, but it isn't going to do so for much longer. Too much damage on that one. Let's see how long they can last", she went on. Then she went quiet. She had done what she could for the time being. For her, it was a waiting game. The only thing she could do was waiting for new reports and Wilkan's orders.
Captain Targaryen turned back toward the Communications Officer, "Lieutenant, send to their Commander: 'Prepare to be boarded'."
Similar to his comrades T'Krell had been left feeling disorientated by clustered jumps, however by the time the Captain had addressed him the worst of discomfort had passed. His trademark deadpan persona was in place: "Message sent," he confirmed.
"I'm leading the boarding party, Captain," Karys informed as she stepped forward, her eyes locked on the crippled cruiser through the window. "Tua is cornered, which makes him dangerous. He won't surrender quietly, and he won't make it easy. We'll go in heavy, secure their Bridge, and bring him back in cuffs," she started toward the aft doors before stopping, "With your permission, of course."
Before Wilkan could answer her, the viewscreen flared with a flurry of rapid, erratic motion. Dozens of small, metallic hulls erupted from the crippled cruiser’s flanks, tumbling out into the thick methane haze.
"Escape pods," Karys observed, her voice tightening, "They're abandoning ship."
"A predictable outcome for the crew," Kovich remarked dryly as he adjusted his glasses. His cold eyes tracked the telemetry on the viewscreen showing the descent of the fleeing pods into Titan's atmosphere. "Knowing Captain Tua, he's not with them."
Alarms quickly rose from the viewscreen, a blinding spike of thermal energy rising on a graph in the corner of the display. The heavy cruiser it's began to warp and bow, glowing a furious, incandescent white from the inside out. An instant later, the sky above Titan erupted. The United Earth starship vanished in a blinding, silent flash of pure kinetic fury, the shockwave rippling through the upper atmosphere and buffeting the Sulaco’s forward shields with a deep, resonant rumble. When the glare finally subsided, only drifting, superheated debris remained scattered among the amber clouds.
Karys let out a sharp, frustrated breath, "Typical."
Wilkan remained motionless on the dais, his gaze fixed on the empty space where the cruiser had just been. "The crew survived in those pods. Mark their descent coordinates and bring the survivors aboard," the Captain commanded calmly, turning toward the center chair. Approaching his chair, Wilkan turned toward the Helm, "Commander, you have the Bridge. I'll be in the Ready Room with Commander Karys."
Scarlet nodded in acknowledgement, but remained at the helm. "Just because I'm in charge now doesn't mean I'll stop flying the ship," she explained. "Unless one of you convinces me you're fit to take over. In any case, to work. You heard the Captain, find and recover those escape pods. Tactical, keep weapons ready, just in case one of their friends."
She turned to look at the sciences station. "Check if those transmitters are still active."
"On it", Elara said without hesitation as she turned to her station. "2 are gone. Most likely blown to pieces. But 3 is still active. All 3 are in individual escape pods. I can pinpoint who is where. My guess is that the transmitters originally were Tua's officers' point of contact and coordination with the intel that nifty little transmitter I found, gave them. They think they are still getting intel from us. As if we are clueless", she said a moment later. "They don't know how to disable their transmitters. 2 tried and failed. The third seems to be praying to whatever religion and entity he or she believe in. They seem to catch onto the fact that the roles are reversed. Took them long enough. 1 just tried to destroy the transmitter with brute force. Barely made a dent in the signal. Those things are durable", she added.
Wilkan's voice interrupted, "Secure those escape pods, lock down the survivors, and set a direct course for Earth. Maximum warp. We have a planet to save."
"Course is plotted," Scarlet replied. "Get a move on with those pods, people!"
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