Prologue

Captain Paul Lawrence

Personal log, stardate: 52913.2

It finally happened. I received a special assignment communiqué from Starfleet Headquarters this morning. Her name is the U.S.S. Lockheed, Akira Class NCC-70215, and I hear she's a real piece of work; Tri-cobalt torpedoes, ablative armor, a squadron of Peregrine attack fighters, the whole bit. I admit I'd been hoping to get off the front lines, but where the Federation needs me I will go.

I'm one of five captains receiving newly constructed ships, but I'm the only one being given a veteran crew. Most of them will come from the Granger, an old Excelsior Class that just retired. I've spent all morning reading personnel reports but they're shaky at best. I'm looking forward to personally assessing the crew as soon as possible.

As for my assignment, it will have something to do with the anti-Federation uprising in the Xurak Region. I don't know much more than that.


The runabout jerked as the docking clamps engaged and the bulkhead door slid open. Starfleet Captain Paul Lawrence stepped out into the grey corridor of Construction Pod 16 of Utopia Planitia Shipyards. This would be his first visit the Earth system in nine years. He traveled down the hallway and entered a turbolift.

"Observation Lounge." He instructed, causing the doors to close.

He closed his eyes, suddenly finding himself surrounded by desert on Chin'toka Prime.. He reached for the phaser at his side and vaporized a Jem'Hadar soldier. A column of black smoke rose on the horizon, he knew what it was, a Cardassian small arms depot: another skirmish zone between the landing Starfleet/Klingon away teams and the relentless Dominion forces. The depot was miles away it would take him a day to reach it and by then, hundreds more lives would've been lost in the struggle. Still, he would go. He turned to the wrecked escape pod behind him and retrieved water rations and a phaser rifle…

The turbolift doors hissed open and pulled him from the illusion. The dark-haired Captain pressed on his temple and stepped out. The hallucinations were getting worse. He had narrowly avoided confessing them to the counselor on Starbase 359, but how much longer could he keep them a secret? How much longer would they plague his mind? How much longer until they would interfere with his duty as a Starfleet Captain? The questions racked his mind almost as much as the hallucinations themselves.

"Ahh, Captain!" Said a familiar voice,

"Admiral Whitridge, good to see you sir."

"You too, Paul. It seems like we haven't seen each other in ages."

"The Dominion War kept us both busy."

"Indeed, and now its aftermath will do the same. How is it that we fight one war only to create another?"

"I'm not sure I would call this 'Truth Sect' business a war, sir. I've read the reports; projections show we'll have the situation under control in a matter of months."

"Don't tell me you believe in projections, Captain." Argued the Admiral.

"The issue of this Nausicaan gaining power in the Xurak Region is strange alright. Nausicaans are known to be thugs, hired-guns; but not organized warlords."

"Apparently this is one passionate Nausicaan. He's managed to influence groups of Breen, Romulans, even Bajorans to fight for him. Starfleet is blockading the Region with dozens of ships but you will be part of a more… fruitful operation than containment."

"I see, and I suppose my operation will involve lots of Tri-cobalt torpedoes and armed landing parties?" Paul chuckled.

"It just might, but that's all I can say for now. You are to rendezvous with my flagship, Nimbus on the outskirts of the Xurak Region. There you will receive a more in-depth mission profile. Good luck, Captain." The Admiral finished and exited the room.

Paul turned and stared out the large observatory window. He hadn't seen an Akira class ship in some time, at least not since the siege of Chin'toka. A ship named U.S.S. Thunderchild was in his attack wing. He remembered being impressed with its defensive maneuverability and firepower. The Akira class could deal a massive blow while simultaneously managing fighter deployment with its massive docking bay.

The door opened behind him and he turned to see a tall auburn-haired woman enter the room.

"Captain Lawrence?" She asked.

"That's me, what can I do for you, Commander?" He addressed her by the pins on the neck of her uniform.

"I'm Katelyn Maelstrom." She hesitated, "Your new first officer."

"I'm sorry, I should've known. It's been a long day." He apologized as he shook her hand.

"No worries, sir. New assignments always seem to catch the best of us off balance. I've been serving on the Granger like most of your new crew. I was hoping we would head to the bridge so I could introduce the senior staff to you."

"By all means, Commander, lead the way."


The moment seemed frozen in time as Captain Paul Lawrence looked around the bridge of NCC-70215, U.S.S. Lockheed: his bridge.

To his right, sitting at a console was Commander Katelyn Maelstrom. A headstrong yet good-humored woman he knew he would enjoy serving with. At a console on the left sat the Cardassian engineer, Kaytep; an officer Captain Lawrence had yet to learn much about. Placed at the helm controls was Admiral Whitridge's hotshot daughter, Ensign Terra Whitridge.. Standing at the tactical command console behind him was the strong presence of Lieutenant Commander Ian Kinkaid, a battle-hardened veteran who'd seen more than his share of action in the Dominion War. Finally, exiting the turbolift, Lieutenant Alianna Ivorii entered the bridge.

"Chief Medical Officer, reporting for duty, sir." She addressed the Captain, "Am I too late?"

"Not at all, doctor, Ensign Whitridge was just about to get us underway."

"One-eighth impulse, sir?" Inquired the helmsman.

"Take us out of space dock, Ensign."