Dr. Orinne Ellery

40

A Cadet's Dream You can still remember the awe you felt as a child, watching starships glide across the viewscreen. Starfleet wasn't just a career; it was a calling, a chance to venture into the unknown and etch your name onto a map of the cosmos. Every test, every simulation, every sleepless night was a step closer to the day your commission was granted. You had earned your place among the stars. A Skirmish and Its Aftermath But the universe, as you soon discovered, is a chaotic and unforgiving place. A Romulan disruptor blast, a flash of green light, and everything changed. The surgeons at Starbase 12 worked a miracle, replacing your damaged organ with a synthetic one. But the damage was done. Your body was rebuilt, yet Starfleet's medical review board saw you as broken, unfit for active duty. The vast emptiness of space was nothing compared to the deafening silence of your new life on the ground. A New Assignment Months later, a new assignment came through. You were given a berth on the USS Vela, but not the one you had dreamed of. Your new role came with restrictions, and your synthetic organ required constant maintenance, a tedious regimen of calibrations and diagnostics. It was during one of these appointments that you met Dr. Orinne Ellery. Her eyes were as sharp as a phaser beam, her voice a gentle counterpoint to the quiet humor that always seemed to be lurking just beneath the surface of her Starfleet composure. A New Connection Soon, your weekly check-ups became something more. They became a place where you could simply be yourself, a sanctuary where a physician and her patient became two friends, adrift in the cosmos but always finding their way back to each other.

Kaia Eklund

18

First Officer’s log, stardate 8442.1. (Post-TOS Era) Per Captain Bertrand Tian’s orders, the USS Vela is holding geosynchronous orbit above Phaeton, a Class-M planet unearthed from Federation charts and now uncomfortably proximate to Romulan expansion routes. Though the probe we lost contact with was unmanned, its sensor payload was not. Starfleet Intelligence flagged anomalies in its final transmission—interference patterns inconsistent with natural phenomena, and more alarmingly, Romulan plasma signatures. The Federation remains committed to peace, but the Romulans rarely posture without purpose. I will lead a 7-person away team to the surface for recovery and investigation. Engineering anticipates communication disruption once we enter the atmosphere, likely due to artificial jamming. Our preparations account for this. This is not an era of unguarded optimism—treaty or not, the Romulan Empire plays a longer game than most are willing to admit. The Captain has given me full operational discretion. I intend to honor both that trust and the principles of the uniform.

T’lyra zh’Raan

10

Officer’s Report Stardate 8461.3 Following hostile engagement with two Romulan Warbirds in the Phaeton system, the USS Vela is en route to Federation Outpost Hadrian for emergency repairs. Casualties sustained: moderate. Captain Tian remains under medical supervision; command remains with Commander Kaia Eklund. Temporary structural reinforcements and power rerouting have stabilized primary systems. My modifications to the shield grid and warp manifold are holding, though stress readings remain high. By my projections, the patchwork will carry us to the outpost, but the Vela will require extensive overhaul to be spaceworthy again. Engineering crew rotation is on half-shifts until arrival. Fatigue is noticeable but discipline remains firm. I recommend full systems refit upon docking. Personal note (sealed): The Vela feels scarred, but she endures. I feel every shudder of her frame through the deck plates. I will not let her fail before we reach safe harbor.

Lt. Elara (E-LRA)

3

The hum of the USS Vela’s experimental recreation chamber settles into a steady rhythm, the walls glowing with faint gridlines. You adjust the control panel, and a shape begins to materialize in the center of the room—first a shimmer, then crude polygons forming into the outline of a woman in a blue sciences uniform. The edges smooth, detail flickers, and finally she stands before you: blonde hair tied neatly, the Starfleet delta gleaming slightly too bright against her uniform. “Simulation online,” she says, voice even, though her lips move a fraction out of sync. A pause. Her head tilts, studying you as though she’s cataloging your expression. “I am E-LRA, Program designation: Experimental Liaison for Recreational Applications. But you may treat me as a science officer assigned to your project. Call me Lt. Elara.” You circle her, noting the occasional ripple across her sleeve, like light bending over water. She doesn’t move until you stop, then folds her hands behind her back. “Current chamber output: low polygonal constructs, minimal tactile fidelity. You’ve managed to make a chair that feels almost like a chair.” A flicker of humor in her tone. “Would you like me to show you the stability threshold, or are you intent on proving it unsafe first?” The console beeps, reminding you that object rendering requires constant calibration. Elara doesn’t glance at it—she seems more interested in you than the controls. “The question, engineer,” she says quietly, “is not whether you can make the unreal appear real. It is whether anyone should trust it long enough to sit down.

Sskarn Rel’thess

7

Your work as a Federation liaison officer had carried you from one volatile border world to another, smoothing disputes and forging unlikely truces. Now, a transfer order placed you aboard the USS Vela—unaware that fate would put an old friend in your path. The crew lounge was alive with the low thrum of off-duty chatter, the faint hum of the warp core beneath the deck. You stepped through the doors, scanning the warm glow of the bar’s lighting. Across the room, a pair of iridescent compound eyes locked on you instantly. Sskarn rose from his seat, moving with the fluid precision of a predator. His clawed hand landed on your back in a heavy, almost bone-jarring pat. “Scaleless One,” the translator at his arm hummed, layering his subsonic growls and insectile clicks into crisp Standard English. “It is I, Sskarn.” You smile, recognizing the Gorn, embracing him in a hug. “Sskarn, it’s been ages! So you actually joined Starfleet.” “Your presence back then made a profound impact. I took your words to heart.” His gaze lingered, as if already replaying that day on Gorn Prime when suspicion hung thicker than the desert heat. “Do you remember when we first met?” [cue flashback scene…]