Lower Deckers Unite

Posted on Sun Feb 15th, 2026 @ 5:25pm by Ensign Seaira Chambers & Ensign Fa Blemni & Petty Officer 1st Class Miyoshi Tatsu & Crewman Apprentice T'Pral & Crewman Apprentice Cole Walker

1,120 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Life
Location: Bridge, U.S.S. Saratoga
Timeline: 2401-07-04, 10:00

The Bridge of the Saratoga felt strangely cavernous without the steady presence of Captain Zseeq and the rest of the ship's senior staff. In their place stood the "next in line" though, a collection of junior officers and specialists holding the line while the veterans were either quarantined or undergoing "evaluation" in the ship's Sickbay.

Ensign Seaira Chambers sat in the center chair, her spine straight as a rod. As a Human/Iyaaran hybrid, she possessed an innate emotional stoicism that served her well, especially since the phantom itch of her purged Borg implants usually acted up when she was stressed. "Steady as she goes, T’Pral," Seaira said, her voice calm. "Maintain a parallel course with the gormagander. We don’t want to spook him before we reach the preserve."

At the helm, Crewman T’Pral’s fingers danced across the console with Vulcan precision. This was a far cry from a shuttlecraft. "The creature’s warp-field signature is fluctuating. It appears... agitated."

"I’d be agitated too if I was being followed by those rust buckets," Cole Walker chimed in from the Tactical station. The young Texan leaned over his monitors, his brow furrowed. "Ensign, those three Kzinti freighters are closing the gap. They’re old, like, Museum of Starfleet History old, but their power signatures are spiking. They’ve been 'tuned up' under the hood."

"Can you confirm the modification, Fa?" Seaira asked, glancing toward Science.

Ensign Fa Blemni, her Napean forehead ridges twitching as she sensed the mounting anxiety on the bridge, nodded grimly. "Sensors are clear now. The lead vessel has a mechanical grappler mounted on the bow. It’s archaic, Seaira. But here’s the problem: I’m detecting gormagander DNA and scorched epidermal tissue on the pincers."

"Poachers," Petty Officer Tatsu muttered from the Engineering station. She didn't look up from her diagnostic sub-routines. "They aren't here to trade. That grappler is designed to latch onto a hull or a hide and stay there. If they hit the whale with that, the drag could collapse the gormagander's internal warp-sacs. They'd be defenseless."

"They're hailing us," Cole said, a smirk playing on his lips despite the tension. "They're claiming 'engine trouble' and requesting we drop our shields so they can send over a trade manifest. They must think we were born yesterday."

"Or they think we're just the B-Team," Seaira said, her eyes narrowing as she watched the viewscreen. The three Kzinti ships began to fan out, a classic pincer movement. "Tatsu, can we boost the integrity of the aft shields without pulling from the life support systems in the sickbay?"

"I can reroute from the secondary thruster assembly," Tatsu replied, her hands moving with the speed of a veteran. "But if they fire those grapplers, physics is going to be our biggest enemy, not phasers. That’s a lot of kinetic energy."

Seaira tapped her comms. "T’Pral, prepare for evasive pattern Delta. Cole, lock phasers on their grappler assemblies. Don't disable the ships yet, just break their 'fishing hooks.'"

"With pleasure," Cole said, his joking demeanor vanishing as his thumbs hovered over the firing studs.

As the lead Kzinti freighter lurched forward, its massive iron claws snapping open in the vacuum of space, Seaira felt a strange ripple of intuition, an echo of the collective efficiency she once knew, now repurposed for Federation duty.

"We may be the junior staff," Seaira whispered, "but this is still a Neo-Constitution. Let's show them the difference."

"Wait," Fa Blemni interrupted, her voice tight. As a Napean, the sudden spike of tactical aggression from the crew hit her like a physical wave. "We are in open space. The Kzinti Patriarchy is... sensitive about their sovereignty and their 'freighters.' If we fire first, even at their hardware, it’ll be categorized as an unprovoked act of war. As much as I want to protect the gormagander, we'd be risking war."

Cole Walker let out a low whistle, his fingers hovering just millimeters above the tactical display. "The Ensign’s right. Starfleet Command would have my head on a platter - and yours too. We’d be the ones who started a war because of a space whale."

Seaira felt a flush of heat climb her neck. The Iyaaran side of her demanded the most logical, direct solution to a threat, while the echoes of her brief time in the Borg Collective pushed for the immediate neutralization of an obstacle. She took a steadying breath, grounding herself in the present. "Good catch, Fa," Seaira conceded, her voice regaining its professional clip. "Tactical, stand down from target lock. We don't fire unless they breach our shields or make physical contact with the gormagander. We can't be the aggressors."

"They're getting awfully close for a 'mechanical failure,'" Tatsu noted, her eyes glued to the structural integrity readouts. "That lead ship is accelerating. They're trying to bait us into a reaction or get a clean shot with that grappler before we can maneuver."

"T'Pral," Seaira turned to the helm. "If we can't shoot, we dance. Use the Saratoga's mass to shield the gormagander. Put us between those pincers and the creature, but keep our speed matched perfectly to its glide. If they want to latch onto something, they'll have to try it on a Federation hull."

The Vulcan pilot didn't blink. "A logical course of action, Ensign; however, maintaining a physical block without clipping the gormagander's fins will require... precise thrust vectoring."

"You're a shuttle pilot, T'Pral," Cole grinned, trying to cut the tension. "Just pretend the Saratoga is a really, really big shuttle and the Kzinti are just bad parking attendants."

"I shall ignore the inaccuracy of that comparison, Crewman," T'Pral replied, her hands blurring across the helm. "Engaging thrusters."

The massive starship groaned as it banked, its nacelles glowing bright as it slid into a protective stance over the space-dwelling leviathan. On the screen, the lead Kzinti freighter veered wildly to avoid a collision with the Saratoga’s saucer section, the primitive grappler snapping shut on empty space.

"They're screaming over the comms now," Cole reported, his grin widening. "Lots of talk about 'interfering with private salvage.' They sound grumpy."

"Let them be grumpy," Seaira said, her hands gripping the armrests of the Captain's chair. "Fa, keep a lock on that DNA signature. If they try to claim they've never seen a gormagander before, we’ll have the sensor logs to prove they’re poachers. We play this by the book, well until they try to write a new one." She privately hoped that the Captain was able to return to the Bridge soon because, if anyone started a war today, it should be him.

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