Something From Nothing

Posted on Sat Aug 15th, 2026 @ 10:57pm by Captain Mhiess Hru’da & Commander Cillian Fox & Lieutenant Commander Lin Yue & Lieutenant Commander Melanie D'BrooNi- Haistro & Lieutenant Lilolette Cleminson & Lieutenant Skylar "Skye" Kirel & Lieutenant Zhi'rev

3,607 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Bloodline
Location: Shuttlebay, U.S.S. Saratoga
Timeline: 2439-08-12, 08:30

The rhythmic, high-pitched whine of Impulse Engines resonated through the tarmac as the shuttlecraft settled gently onto the damp landing pad.

In keeping with centuries of Starfleet tradition, a newly minted Commanding Officer did not simply beam aboard their vessel for the first time; they approached by small craft, witnessing their ship in the cradle of drydock to understand the sheer weight of what they were taking on.

Captain Mhiess Hru’da stepped out onto the pad, his posture erect, carrying only his bag and the encrypted PADD containing his operational orders. Awaiting him on the flight line was a Type 19 Shuttlecraft, its boxy, angular geometry a direct, functional descendant of the classic Oakland Shipyards profile. Across its forward nose-casing, clean red lettering read: Margaret Sinclair-Alexander, honoring the captain of the Miranda Class Saratoga from centuries past.

"Good morning, Captain," the pilot, an Ensign in flight uniform, said as she offered a crisp salute from the foot of the rear entry ramp. "The Margaret Sinclair-Alexander is prepped for orbital departure. Clear to launch as soon as you are aboard, Sir."

"Very well, Ensign," Mhiess replied, returning the salute with effortless military precision.

He boarded through the rear-folding hatch, his sharp, dark eyes taking in the spacious layout. Unlike the cramped quarters of older six-meter craft, the Type 19 offered an expanded interior volume. He bypassed the bulkhead-mounted benches and stepped forward into the cockpit, settling into the passenger chair behind the horseshoe patterned control console.

Through the side windows, the craft’s twin Navigational Deflector Dishes hummed to life with a low, blue resonance. The thrusters engaged with a smooth, anti-grav pitch, and the shuttle lifted off, clearing the coastal fog of San Francisco as it climbed sharply into the upper atmosphere. As the deep azure of Earth's atmosphere gave way to the pitch black of orbital space, the massive superstructure of McKinley Station dominated the viewports. Spacedock cradles stretched across the horizon, illuminated by intense construction floodlights and the glow of Work Bee welding torches.

The pilot adjusted her approach vector. "Approaching Docking Bay 4, Captain. There she is."

Mhiess leaned forward slightly, his stoic facade unbroken, though his gaze anchored entirely on the vessel moored inside the orbital frame.

The U.S.S. Saratoga floated in the center of the cradle: a formidable, heavy-reconnaissance pathfinder. Measuring over five hundred meters in length, her sweeping, elongated arrowhead primary hull gave her an aggressive, predatory silhouette that mirrored the design lineage of the massive Century Class explorers, yet compressed into a leaner, faster, and far more heavily armored spaceframe.

"Take us in close, Ensign," Mhiess instructed smoothly. "Give us a full inspection loop before landing."

"Aye, sir. Executing inspection circuit."

The Margaret Sinclair-Alexander banked wide, pitching gracefully to glide parallel to the Saratoga’s port side. Through the cockpit viewports, the sheer scale of the starship unfolded in vivid detail. The pristine hull plating glistened under the docking bay floodlights, unmarked by combat, though built with the over-engineered, heavy structural framing meant to endure years of isolated deployment without starbase support. Mhiess noted the subtle seams along the saucer where high-output Type XVIII Phaser Arrays sat flush against the hull, designed for near-total arc coverage.

The shuttle swept over the forward saucer section, passing mere meters above the bold, navy registry lettering: NCC-31911-C. Below it, the recessed Main Deflector Array glowed with an amber standby pulse, its specialized pathfinding geometry tuned for navigating space fractured by subspace anomalies. Crossing over the dorsal hull, the shuttle glided past the dual modular mission bays, built to allow rapid reconfiguration for specialized labs or cargo pods. As the craft veered starboard, the Saratoga’s sweeping pylon wings came into view, holding the twin variable-geometry Warp Nacelles high against the backdrop of Earth below. Their red Bussard collectors pulsed with latent power, waiting for the command to reconfigure the Warp Field for long-range endurance.

"She's a fine ship, Sir," the pilot remarked quietly, throttling back the Impulse Drive as the Margaret Sinclair-Alexander banked past the starboard nacelle, looping around the stern. "They say she's one of the fastest cruisers in the 5th Fleet."

"Speed is secondary to structural integrity and crew readiness, Ensign," Mhiess said, his deep voice carrying no flair for romanticism, yet carrying profound respect for the ship before him. "She is a tool built for a volatile sector. Our execution will determine her value."

The shuttle lined up with the wide flight deck door of Shuttlebay 2, situated at the lower aft end of the Stardrive section between the engines. The atmospheric forcefield shimmered as the Margaret Sinclair-Alexander passed through the threshold, descending smoothly onto the primary landing deck. As the thrusters cycled down to a quiet hum, the landing gear locked into place, and the rear ramp hissed open. Outside, a side-boy detail and the Saratoga's First Officer were already standing at attention.

Captain Mhiess Hru'da stood, straightened his tunic, and prepared to step aboard the Saratoga for the first time. The hiss of depressurization faded as Mhiess stepped down the ramp, his boots striking the polished composite deck of Shuttlebay 2 with a measured, deliberate crunch.

The sharp whistle of the side-boys echoed through the expansive bay, cutting through the low background hum of the Saratoga’s auxiliary power systems. He paused at the foot of the ramp, taking a single, steadying breath of the vessel's crisp, recycled air, smelling faintly of warm plasma, fresh paint, and ozone.

Mel stood to attention with her fellow senior officers. This had happened so fast. Getting her body back and then suddenly a new captain. Would he be as cryptic and crotchety as the previous one? Who knew?

Zhi stood with his hands linked behind his back, doing his best to remain at attention. He'd barely had time to settle his family in their new quarters. This was going to be his first spacebound mission since he and Sethan had adopted the girls. His eyes betrayed the happy memory even though it took great effort not to actually smile. Had it only been three weeks since that happened? They were still getting into a routine with a four year old and an eight months old girl. He winced as the sharp whistle hurts his sensitive hearing and tried to straighten a little more.

Alongside her fellow officers, Lin Yue came smoothly to attention as the boatswain's whistle pierced the air, announcing the Captain's arrival. As he descended the shuttle's ramp, she remained perfectly still, hands clasped behind her back, her expression composed.

Her tour aboard the USS Saratoga had only just begun. The shuttle journey from the starbase had afforded her ample opportunity to study her new assignment from every angle. The vessel bore an unmistakable lineage to Captain Janeway's legendary Intrepid class—sleek, purposeful lines that suggested speed and agility over brute force—while incorporating the refined design language and technological advances characteristic of Starfleet's 2439 engineering philosophy.

As the Captain drew closer, Lin Yue studied him with the same quiet attentiveness she applied to every first meeting. He cut an imposing figure, his stature alone placing him well over six feet, dwarfing her own five-foot-seven frame. His features carried unmistakable Klingon heritage, though another ancestry lingered beneath the surface, one she could not immediately identify. She made no effort to speculate further. There would be time enough to learn such things.

At the edge of the greeting party, Lieutenant Ruhe adjusted her silver respiration apparatus, the hiss of her trichlorate mixture barely audible beneath the shrill blast of the boatswain’s pipe. Her glossy, purplish-blue skin shimmered under the overhead lights, her sharp Benzite eyes fixed ahead in rigid attention. Although generally respected by the crew, Ruhe spoke only when directly addressed or when strictly necessary. While such reserve was common enough among Vulcans, Human officers often found her quiet detachment somewhat anti-social. In truth, it stemmed from an absolute, single-minded dedication to her operational craft: a precise, analytical focus that left no room for casual pleasantries.

Ensign Omera, the young Ferengi pilot that had brought him aboard, stepped out of the shuttle behind the Captain. She looked at the gathered group before loudly announcing, "Commanding Officer... Saratoga... arriving."

The sounding of a ceremonial trumpet welcomes the new Commanding Officer as he made his way to a podium set out for his arrival. Commander Fox, a stalwart of Starfleet, broke from the line of officers at attention and approached the Captain.

"Captain Hru'da, Welcome aboard the Saratoga." he saluted.

"Commander," Mhiess acknowledged, his voice carrying clearly over the fading echoes of the boatswain's whistle after having returned Commander Fox’s salute. He stepped up to the small podium set near the Shuttlebay bulkhead, setting his encrypted PADD onto the angled surface. He did not linger on the instrument. His dark, analytical gaze swept deliberately across the assembled ranks of the Saratoga's crew: taking in the stiff precision of the front line, the subtle tension in their posture, and the quiet curiosity in their eyes as they processed the striking, ridge-defined geometry of his face and the sharp Romulan grief line along his jaw.

He tapped the PADD’s interface, bringing up the official orders. "To Captain Mhiess Hru’da," he read aloud, his gravelly baritone resonating through the flight deck without need for amplification, "You are hereby requested and required to assume command of the U.S.S. Saratoga as of Stardate 116581.4. Signed, Rear Admiral Wazeiya, Starfleet Command." Mhiess deactivated the terminal interface, stepping out from behind the podium to stand before his crew. He folded his hands behind his back, his sharp posture softening just enough to invite focus rather than fear.

"I am not a man given to lengthy speeches," Mhiess said, his tone measured and even. "I am aware that today marks Federation Day; a time across a thousand worlds to reflect on unity, shared purpose, and peace. While our duties take us far from home and into a volatile sector, that principle remains at the core of why we are here." He paused, his dark eyes meeting those of the officers and crew lining the bay. "The Saratoga is a fine vessel, but a starship is only as strong as the trust and precision of the people who run her. I hold my crew to high standards because I know what you are capable of achieving together. Look out for one another, perform your duties with pride, and we will carry out every mission given to us with excellence." A slight, subtle nod acknowledged the crew's standing, "It is an honor to serve with you. Crew, dismissed."

"Senior Staff, remain," Mhiess instructed calmly, as the assembled ranks snapped to attention and began to break formation, a light hum of conversation filling the flight deck as the majority departed. The heavy aft hatch of the Shuttlebay sealed shut with a rhythmic hiss, leaving Captain Mhiess Hru’da standing directly before his gathered senior officers on the deck. Beyond the atmospheric forcefield, the orbital lights of McKinley Station glinted off the Saratoga’s hull, casting sharp highlights across the group.

"I prefer to know who I am going to war with - or preventing one with - before we clear Spacedock," Mhiess said as he unzipped the top quarter of his crimson-accented jacket just enough to stand comfortably, folding his hands behind his back as he surveyed his Senior Staff. His deep, gravelly voice carryied easily through the bay as he walked with hands folded behind his back, "Formal introductions in briefing rooms can wait. Let’s address the deck."

He stopped first in front of his Executive Officer.

"Commander Fox," Mhiess acknowledged. "I’ve reviewed the final system integrations. Your service history certainly precedes you, Cillian. I value an Executive Officer who keeps the ship running so I can keep my eyes on the tactical board."

"Lieutenant Kirel," Mhiess began, glancing down at his PADD before shifting his gaze to the Chief Engineer standing beside Fox. "Chief Engineer. I read your action reports from the Orson Welles, rebuilding power conduits under fire while keeping a crippled ship intact is no small feat. You inherited your father's knack for holding unstable hulls together. The variable-geometry nacelles on this Intrepid II are finicky during high-warp transitions, and Sector 413 will test them. How are the plasma flow conduits holding up under your team's prep?"

Skye nodded, replying, "It's holding up well. We are monitoring it twenty-four seven."

He turned his focus down the line to the Trill Chief Medical Officer next. "Lieutenant Commander D'BrooNi-Haistro," Mhiess said, pronouncing the full joined name with precise linguistic accuracy. "Or 'Mel,' as your service record notes. Eight hosts and nearly nine centuries of collective experience between you and D'BrooNi - ranging from linguistics to diplomacy, through varied postings" Mhiess stepped slightly closer, his dark eyes observing her with quiet, measured respect, "Your expertise in exotic cellular biology and deep-space pathobiology precedes you. Sector 413 harbors untracked bio-spatial anomalies and non-standard radiation signatures. Is Sickbay equipped to handle whatever uncharted pathogens or genetic hazards this border throws at us?"

"If you call being a Trill Courtesan diplomacy I'll take it Captain," Mel said. "We are equipped to deal with anything this sector decides to throw at us," she said with the up most confidence. "How was your trip over? Uneventful I hope?"

Mhiess offered the Doctor a subtle, quiet acknowledgement of both her wit and her unshakeable confidence before continuing. "The trip was quiet," Mhiess answered in his low, gravelly cadence. "Though I prefer to keep my time in small craft brief. I'm glad to hear Sickbay is fully equipped, though, I just hope we aren't relying on your services sooner rather than later."

"Lieutenant Zhi'rev," Mhiess shifted his attention to the Chief Science Officer next. Lieutenant Zhi'rev stood tall and slender, his pale green Vulcan complexion illuminated by the Shuttlebay lights. Unlike most Vulcans who projected absolute emotional void, Zhi'rev's expression carried a perceptible, expressive warmth. The Captain noted the officer's background in planetary science and his long Starfleet record. "Chief Science Officer. A Vulcan educated at both the Science Academy and Starfleet Command track - and a fellow V'tosh Ka'tur tradition scholar, if your service notes are accurate. I trust your husband Sethan has settled into the medical division as well." Mhiess tilted his head slightly, his sharp Romulan brow arching. "Sector 413 is notoriously unstable, rife with volatile planetary anomalies, severe subspace shears, and degraded sensor sweeps. Are the pathfinding suites calibrated to filter that level of interference and feed clean data to tactical?"

Zhi studied the man who stood before him, taking a few seconds before answering him. "Yes sir, Sethan is getting himself settled in sickbay after making sure our children are familiarised with the daycare facilities. I will check in on them during my break." He paused, thinking hard as he hadn't had a chance to even look at the suites yet. "If they aren't ready, they will be when we depart," he promised, "I'll start on them as soon as I can get there."

Mhiess gave Zhi’rev a brief, understanding nod. "Family comes first, Lieutenant. Ensure your children are settled, but make sure those sensors are fully calibrated before we break orbit."

"Interesting, I kept getting told that duty comes first," Zhi commented, visibly surprised at the captain's suggestion. "I already said that sir, they will be fully operational when we depart."

"Whoever told you duty and family are mutually exclusive never commanded a ship on the border, Lieutenant," Mhiess said, his voice dropping a fraction in register. "An officer preoccupied with unresolved domestic stress is an officer operating below peak efficiency. Take care of your house, get your sensors online, and we will both get what we need."

The Vulcan smiled brightly; this was a captain he could get along with. Someone who clearly understood the importance of a family. "Yes captain," he answered smartly.

"Lieutenant Commander Lin Yue," Mhiess said, glancing down at his PADD as he came to the final member of his executive team, "I see Starfleet's latest posting update reflects a shift: your initial transfer had you slotted as Chief Operations Officer, but Command has officially reassigned you as our Chief Security and Tactical Officer?" Mhiess looked up, meeting her steady, measured expression. "Given your background in systems engineering on the Shenzhou, diplomatic negotiations, and classical disciplines of self-regulation, it's a unique combination for a Tactical Chief. We are venturing near the Neutral Zone under an Admiral’s flag, where regional privateers will test our resolve. How are our Phaser targeting matrixes and tactical response protocols looking for the transition?"

"I have a broad background in diplomacy, systems engineering, tactical operations, and I'm proficient in several forms of hand-to-hand combat." She paused for a beat before leaning forward ever so slightly, as though sharing a confidence rather than a secret. "Security officers also have a habit of being assigned to the more interesting away missions, so I would be less than honest if I claimed that wasn't part of the appeal."

A soft laugh escaped her, warm and surprisingly youthful, momentarily at odds with the measured poise and experience she otherwise projected.

"In truth, sir, Operations was no longer proving as fulfilling as it once had. I felt it was time to challenge myself in a different capacity." She met his gaze steadily, neither apologetic nor presumptuous. "I hope you find that reasoning acceptable."

Mhiess’s sharp brow twitched upward in a quiet, imperceptible gesture of approval. Beneath her immaculate posture and quiet grace, he recognized the sharp edge of an officer who knew precisely what she wanted and possessed the calculated discipline to achieve it.

"Self-awareness and ambition are far more useful on a tactical console than blind obedience, Commander," Mhiess replied, his deep voice carrying a dry, subtle warmth. "And given where we're heading, I guarantee you won't be lacking for 'interesting' away missions."

"This was my thought as well, sir," she said with a warm smile before adding, in her native tongue, "おこしやす."

The Kyoto expression was simple, gracious, and welcoming—a small touch of home that carried rather more warmth than its translation suggested.

He shifted his gaze to the final officer standing at the end of the line, taking in the pilot’s confident stance.

"Lieutenant Lilolette Cleminson," Mhiess addressed her, glancing briefly at his PADD before looking back up into her dark, expressive eyes and noting the subtle, quarter-Betazoid depth behind them. "Chief Flight Control Officer. You come to us from six years aboard the experimental Mildmay, backed by an engineering pedigree that traces directly back to the Langley-class design teams and, if your service record is accurate, a reputation for speaking your mind, even when it tests the waters."

Mhiess tilted his head slightly, his tone remaining even and analytical, "The Saratoga is a heavy-reconnaissance pathfinder with variable-geometry nacelle pylons and an aggressive hull geometry. Navigating the subspace shears and volatile gravitational wells of Sector 413 will demand more than standard orbital Helm subroutines. How are the flight control thruster matrixes responding, and are you ready to test her manual maneuvering envelope?"

This was rather different to her induction on Mildmay, thought Lilolette. After all, she wasn't a senior officer then. Upon arrival, she'd noted she was the shortest of Saratoga's department heads. But, there were more women than Mildmay's command team. A mere observation. Lilolette listened as Mhiess spoke. It was obvious he'd spoken to Captain Delancey at some point. Or maybe her willingness to speak her mind really did speak for itself.

Indeed, after 49 years, Mildmay still needed a sensitive, highly skilled touch at the conn. One the other Langley-class ships, with their lack of Class 14 warp drive, didn't. They practically piloted themselves. Lilolette guessed maybe that was why she was selected for this assignment. "Everything is functioning as expected, sir." began Lilolette. She resisted the urge to smile when Mhiess mentioned her ancestors. It still filled her with pride, though.

"As for the second part of your question, yes."

"Good," Mhiess said, a slight smirk flickered across his dark features. He appreciated the pilot’s steady confidence and knew it was a quality that was paramount when threading a five-hundred-meter heavy starship through fractured, volatile space. "When we hit Sector 413, I intend to see what this ship can truly do, and I will be relying on that touch at the conn to keep us intact."

"You can count on me, Captain." responded Lilolette, confidently. She believed in herself, her ability as a pilot. Henry clearly did, too. But, the slate had been wiped clean. She now needed to prove herself to Captain Hru'da. And what lay ahead would not make that easy. And Lilolette knew full well, nor should it be.

A subtle, approving nod answered her quiet confidence. Mhiess appreciated an officer who understood the gravity of the road ahead without backing down from it. He stepped back, bringing himself to center before his assembled senior staff. His dark eyes swept over each of them: Fox, Kirel, Mel, Zhi'rev, Lin Yue, and Cleminson.

"We clear Spacedock in two hours," Hru'da concluded clearly, his stoic, ridge-lined face carrying a quiet, commanding presence under the harsh Shuttlebay floodlights. "Review your departmental readiness logs, brief your secondaries, and report to your stations. If there is nothing else?"

Mhiess paused, sweeping his analytical gaze once more across the assembled line of officers. None raised an immediate objection, though the quiet weight of the upcoming mission hung palpably in the recycled air of the shuttlebay.

"Good. Report to your stations at 1000 hours," Hru'da commanded, his voice resonant and steady. "Dismissed."

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