Star Trek: The Next Gamer
Episode 15: Kobayashi Maru
Stardate: 41375.7
Earth Standard Date: May 17, 2364.
Location: Starbase 74, Tarsas System.
The doors to the holodeck parted, revealing the black-blocked room within. Tyson followed Admiral Jameson into the room. He led his mismatched crew of intergalactic wanderers and mirror counterparts into the blank area. In the corner of his eye, Tyson could see his counterpart among them. Thanks to the holoprojector necklaces he'd designed, each member of his crew wore a new face, their true identities obscured behind holographic masks. Data was the sole exception, his golden eyes flickered with muted interest as they scanned the empty environment.
The Admiral moved to Tyson's side, his boots thumping softly against the paneling of the holodeck. His gaze remained forward, but his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, carrying only to Tyson's Vulcan ears.
"I have you pegged for a significant promotion," Jameson murmured, his lips barely moving. "Prove me right."
Tyson met his gaze briefly, a determined glint flashing in his eyes. He wasn't about to let the Admiral, or his team, down. "Admiral," he replied, matching the man's conspiratorial tone. "You won't be disappointed."
Admiral Jameson's voice resonated throughout the enclosed space, authoritative and commanding. "Computer," he ordered, "begin program."
The world around them blurred and shifted as the holodeck came alive. The plain black squares transformed into the bridge of a starship. The silent atmosphere was replaced with the hum of warp engines thrumming beneath their feet, and blinking consoles as the bridge manifested.
"You're patrolling a contested area along the Cardassian border," Jameson informed them, his gaze passing over each member of the crew. "Your vessel is an Excelsior-class starship. That's all the information I can provide." His tone was firm and his words rang with finality. With a curt nod, he wished them luck and exited the holodeck. As he disappeared, the archway faded, replaced with turbolift doors, sealing the crew inside their simulated reality.
The crew moved to their designated stations, the familiar rush of anticipation buzzing through the air. Tyson sat in the center of the bridge, ready for his first chance at command. Mirror-Tyson, his counterpart from a different universe, moved to the helm with a certain ease and confidence. Mirror-Yar stood poised at her position at the Tactical station. Mirror-Troi's telepathic abilities made her an ideal Communications Officer. T'Pol served as their Science Officer and Mirror-Selar was the Medical Officer. Data sat at Operations, the position he commonly served on the Enterprise.
"Is everyone comfortable with their positions and familiar enough with an Excelsior-class's systems?" Tyson asked, his gaze sweeping over his assembled crew.
A chorus of affirmative replies came in response. T'Pol's console chirped, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she read the information displayed. "Sir," she reported, her voice conveying the urgency of the situation, "We're receiving a distress call. It's originating from a Federation colony."
"On screen," Tyson ordered, his calm voice belying the sudden spike in tension within him. He turned his gaze toward the main viewscreen, preparing himself and his crew for whatever emergency awaited them.
The main viewscreen flickered to life, and a woman's image materialized. She was a middle-aged human with lines of worry etched on her face. Her attire was simple and unremarkable. In the background, chaos was evident. Smoke billowed out from unseen fires, and her location seemed to be shaking as if under heavy artillery fire.
"We need help!" she implored, her voice strained with desperation and fear. "Our colony is under attack by Cardassians! If there are any Federation ships nearby, please, we need immediate assistance!"
The image flickered out, leaving behind a hollow silence.
Tyson ordered, "Send a priority message to Starfleet Command and the nearest Starbase. Request immediate orders and backup. If we don't receive a response within one minute, send a message to the colony and tell them we're on our way."
"Understood, sir," T'Pol responded, her fingers moving swiftly over her console.
Tyson turned his attention to his mirror self. "Starbreaker," he asked, using the nickname of his mirror counterpart, "What's the estimated time to reach the planet from which the distress call originated?"
"Going at maximum warp," Mirror-Tyson calculated swiftly, "we'll reach the colony in just a few minutes, sir."
"Commander," Tyson said, turning to the android, "I need an explanation of what to expect from the Cardassians. Tactics, ship rundowns, anything relevant. You have 45 seconds, go."
Data immediately responded. "The Cardassians are known for their heavy reliance on subterfuge and deception. They often use false retreats and feints in their tactics and have been known to take advantage of Starfleet's tendency to provide aid to set ambushes. They possess both offensive and defensive technologies such as directed energy weapons and deflector shields. Additionally, Cardassian ships are sometimes equipped with photon torpedoes."
"Cardassians starships typically fall into two categories: Hideki-class scout ships, which are small and fast, but lightly armed and typically function as point-defense in large scale conflicts. Galor-class warships are their main war vessels. The Galor-class ships are highly versatile, capable of both patrol and combat and armed with spiral wave disruptors; their main weapon is a fixed heavy spiral wave cannon at the front of the ship. A Galor-class vessel is roughly equivalent in power to an Excelsior-class like this vessel."
"In terms of personnel, Cardassian soldiers are highly disciplined and are typically prepared to die for the state. They will seldom retreat or surrender."
Data finished his brief just as Tyson's 45-second time limit ended. Tyson nodded in understanding, digesting the information, and quickly moved on to strategize for their imminent encounter with the Cardassians. His voice was steady and resolute as it filled the bridge. "You heard Data. We're an even match for their warships. Expect an ambush and heavy resistance."
Before he could speak further, T'Pol's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere. "Return message from Starfleet Command. Our orders are to assist the colony. We've been permitted to engage Cardassian hostiles."
There was an almost imperceptible shift in the air of the bridge. Confirmation of engagement orders meant they were likely heading into a battle. The mission was clear, and so were their roles. Pivoting towards the helmsman, Tyson addressed his Mirror self, "Starbreaker, set course for the colony. Engage at maximum warp."
"Affirmative, Captain," Starbreaker responded, his hands moving deftly over the controls. The stars on the viewscreen stretched into long streaks of light as the Excelsior-class ship burst into warp speed, racing toward the besieged colony.
Tyson leaned on the armrest of the captain's chair, deep-set eyes focused on the viewscreen. He addressed the Vulcan officer, "I want you to analyze the distress message carefully. Make sure it hasn't been doctored in any way that might indicate a Cardassian trap."
"Understood, Captain," T'Pol responded, her fingers dancing over the console as she began her work. Her expression remained stoic, her eyes focused intently on the data.
Tyson turned his attention to the Vulcan doctor, "Prepare sickbay for potential casualties. We may have wounded coming in."
Selar nodded, her expression as impassive as always. "I will make the necessary preparations, Captain," she said before exiting the bridge.
Minutes later, T'Pol spoke again, her voice calm amidst the tension that pervaded the bridge. "Captain, there are no outward signs of tampering with the distress call. The embedded Federation signature appears authentic."
Tyson took a moment to absorb this, before turning to the rest of the crew. His voice, although measured, bore the weight of the situation. "Be ready to engage in combat when we drop out of warp but hold for my command." His orders were met with a round of confident affirmations. The suspense hung thick in the air as the starship sped closer to their destination and the impending confrontation.
The Excelsior class ship emerged from warp in a brilliant display of flashing lights and energy. Occupying the same space was an M-class planet, hanging like a blue marble amidst the cosmos, accompanied by the ominous presence of a Galor-class cruiser in its orbit.
From his tactical station, Data spoke up, "Sensors indicate Cardassian life signs on the surface along with Humans, sir."
Tyson turned to T'Pol "Open a hailing frequency to the Cardassian vessel." Her nimble fingers flew across the control panel, and within moments, a channel was established.
Tyson stood up, imposing and firm as he took center stage in front of the viewscreen. His voice, though calm, carried an undeniable note of command. "Cardassian vessel," he began, staring into the viewscreen as if he could pierce the distance and see the enemy captain himself, "you have engaged in hostile actions against a Federation colony. Cease now, return your people to your ship, and leave Federation space."
The silence that followed was palpable as they awaited the Cardassian's response, the tension coiling tighter with each passing second.
The viewscreen flickered and shifted, revealing the stern face of the Cardassian captain, his sharp features hardened further by his militaristic demeanor. "I am Gul Durek," he declared, meeting Tyson's gaze with a defiant stare. "You are mistaken, this planet is in Cardassian space. We were merely assisting the colonists in their packing."
Data promptly interjected, "Sir, our star charts indicate that the planet is within Federation borders."
Tyson remained composed, unwilling to let the opposing captain's ploy faze him. "Gul Durek," he addressed the Cardassian captain, his voice echoing an offer of peace amidst the brewing conflict. "We would be more than happy to assist in the peaceful relocation of the colony. It is our duty to protect the lives of Federation citizens, they're worth more than any colony world."
The Cardassian captain raised a brow, appearing to consider Tyson's words. A moment of tense silence lingered before he finally responded, "Very well. You have one hour to evacuate all the colonists. We will be watching."
His response brought an abrupt end to their communication, leaving the bridge crew in anxious silence. The clock was ticking, and every second held the weight of lives in the balance.
Tyson turned to Data, his face bearing a stern expression. "Data, what are the odds that the Cardassians will allow us to evacuate the colony peacefully?" he questioned, knowing full well the notorious reputation of the Cardassian forces.
"Given past encounters and typical Cardassian military doctrine," Data began, the android's voice steady and analytical, "I would calculate the odds at approximately 37.5%. They have been known to use deceit and misdirection in similar situations and are more likely to do so than deal in good faith."
Tyson nodded thoughtfully at the android's response, then turned his gaze to his mirror-universe counterpart. "Starbreaker, what's your take on this?" Tyson questioned, valuing the unique perspective his alter-ego might offer.
A slow, cold smile spread across Mirror-Tyson's face. "The Cardassians?" he chuckled, seemingly amused. "In my univ… experience, they'd be no match for either of us or Data, regardless of their numbers. But be wary, they have a penchant for taking slaves."
The chilling final note of Mirror-Tyson's advice hung in the air, a sobering reminder of the potential danger lurking in the Cardassian forces' apparent acquiescence to their evacuation efforts. The mention of Cardassians taking prisoners and slaves stirred a bold, dangerous idea within Tyson's mind. He stood abruptly, "Commander Data," he said, gesturing toward the Captain's chair, "you have the bridge."
Data tilted his head slightly in surprise. "Sir?" he inquired.
"I'm going down to the surface to facilitate the evacuation. When I'm ready to beam down, lower shields just long enough to get me to the surface. Keep them up until I order otherwise." Tyson stated, his tone brooking no argument.
"Sir, that may not be a wise decision." Data interjected, concern flickering in his synthetic eyes. "You would be at risk of capture."
Tyson shot Data a wry smile. "I'm counting on it," he said cryptically, turning to leave the bridge. "Starbreaker, keep a watchful eye on our friends here. If things go sour, you have my authorization to engage."
Starbreaker smirked in response, a devious twinkle in his eyes. "You can count on me."
With those final words, Tyson strode confidently towards the transporter room, a daring plan taking shape in his mind.
~~Star Trek: TNG~~
In a flash of blue light, Tyson materialized on the surface of the planet. The colony was a smoky, chaotic mess of half-collapsed buildings and scorched earth. Shattered glass crunched underfoot as he cautiously moved closer to the center of the settlement. People in various states of injury and shock were huddled in makeshift groups, their faces worn with exhaustion and terror. The Cardassians' reptilian-like skin glistened under the harsh sun as they stalked amongst the deposed humans. Their disruptors were never far from the trembling colonists, a constant reminder of the tenuous peace they were grudgingly allowed.
Catching sight of the command group, Tyson moved with deliberate calmness towards them, hands raised at his sides in a universally recognized gesture of peace. "I come in peace," he began, catching the attention of the Cardassian leader, "I'm Captain Tyson, here to help facilitate the evacuation of these people." His voice carried authority, softened with a degree of empathy that seemed to catch the Cardassians off guard.
The Cardassian Glinn, a notch under the rank of Gul, sneered, his smile not reaching the cold depth of his eyes. "I am Glinn Kotan," he introduced himself, a slithering note of glee present in his tone. "I must say, we appreciate your...convenience, in presenting yourself to us."
As he spoke, two burly Cardassians advanced, their disruptors pointed directly at Tyson. "Take him to the ship. The rest of the colonists will follow shortly," the Glinn ordered.
Tyson made no move to resist. "That's just as well. I was hoping to have a chat with your Gul," he stated matter-of-factly.
The Glinn snorted, the harsh sound echoing off the battered buildings. "I'm sure the Gul will be thrilled to hear from you... in cuffs, of course," he retorted, his laugh fading as Tyson dematerialized, leaving the desecrated colony behind.
The inside of the Cardassian Galor-class cruiser was as imposing as the exterior. The militaristic design echoed a stark utilitarianism. There was a stern uniformity to the layout; a palette of rusts and browns, punctuated by an array of angular and circular control panels, all illuminated by harsh artificial lighting. The high, curved walls bore reliefs signature of the Cardassian aesthetic, etched with sharp, unyielding lines.
Tyson found himself restrained with cuffs, being led through the ship's corridors by a pair of towering Cardassian guards. A sense of ominous purpose lingered in the air as they approached the ship's bridge. The bridge was, perhaps predictably, another example of Cardassian design philosophy. Command consoles were distributed around a central command chair, a setup that asserted a strict hierarchy. At the apex of this arrangement was the Gul, a distinct figure. Gul Morad was tall with a classic Cardassian spoon-shaped ridge on his forehead and stood with an authoritarian bearing. His eyes, cold and reptilian, bore into Tyson as he was dragged onto the bridge. His lips curled into a victorious smirk as he watched Tyson being escorted to stand before him. The Gul wore a predatory gaze as Tyson found himself in the belly of the beast, face to face with his adversary.
Gul Morad's lips stretched into a broad grin, his voice echoing off the metallic walls of the bridge. "Well, well, well... If it isn't the courageous Federation captain, coming to surrender himself to the Cardassians," he said, drawing out each syllable in a cruel parody of respect.
Tyson, his arms held firm by the guards, met the Gul's gaze with the calm resolve of a Starfleet officer. "I've come to reiterate my request, Gul Morad," Tyson stated, his voice steady. "Recall your troops from the planet and leave Federation space."
A harsh, guttural laugh escaped from the Gul's throat. His sneering eyes shone with a malevolent glee. "And why, pray tell, would I do that? I captured a valuable Federation colony, not to mention the captain of the responding Federation starship." His gaze swept around the room, reveling in the thinly veiled tension.
Tyson shook his head in response, a small frown marking his brow. "I did give you a chance, Gul Morad," he said,
Tyson's lips curled into a sly grin, much to the bewilderment of the Cardassian crew surrounding him. With a mere thought, his restraints disappeared into his Inventory, suddenly freeing his hands. His Vulcan-enhanced strength was more than enough to overpower his Cardassian captors, the guards recoiling from the abrupt force exerted on them.
"Impossible!" Gul Morad gasped, his eyes wide with shock. But it was too late for further comments as the familiar hum of lightsabers filled the bridge. Twin beams of glowing energy materialized in Tyson's hands, their vibrant colors a stark contrast against the cold metallic sheen of the Cardassian bridge.
The room erupted into chaos as the Cardassians opened fire, their disruptor beams hurtling toward Tyson. But his lightsabers spun in a dazzling display of precision and skill. Each disruptor beam was met with a blade, deflected away with an effortless flick of his wrist. One by one, Tyson advanced on the Cardassian crew members. He moved with an inherent grace, each step a purposeful advance.
The bridge, once alive with a flurry of Cardassian activity, gradually fell silent, save for the humming of Tyson's lightsabers and the gasps of the fallen Cardassian crew. The disruptor fire ceased, its previous perpetrators lying incapacitated on the deck, victims of Tyson's impressive display of combat prowess. With the immediate threat neutralized, Tyson wasted no time in approaching the Cardassian ship's control console, his fingers dancing over the alien interfaces with an expert touch. His impressive Computers skill allowed him to bypass the Cardassian systems' security protocols swiftly. The once locked and fortified systems fell prey to his superior skill.
Cardassian ships lacked intricate safety measures. Once Tyson had control of the main system, he sealed all access points to the bridge and secured all primary systems. From there it was a trivial task for him to set Galor-class cruiser's life support to the bare minimum for survival. His fingers glided over the control panel, his movements confident and precise as he issued the command. In an instant, the life support system shut down. Across the ship, Cardassian crew members succumbed to the rapidly depleting oxygen levels. Unconsciousness claimed them, their bodies collapsing onto the cold metallic floor of their vessel.
With the bridge now under his control, Tyson set about using the Cardassian systems to facilitate the rest of his plan. The Galor-class vessel's sensors and targeting scanners were a step behind Federation technology in terms of precision, but Tyson managed to compensate for this with his keen knowledge and adaptability. He tapped into the communications system, swiftly composing a message to Data on the Excelsior. "Commander," he began, his voice steady, "Transport all Cardassian invaders from the colony back to this vessel. Maintain your shields in between transports."
With a swift keystroke, Tyson dispatched the message, trusting in the android's efficiency. He then turned his attention back to the Galor's control panel, ensuring the ship's shields remained inactive.
One by one the Cardassian away teams were transported back onboard. However, due to Tyson's earlier adjustments, the returned Cardassians soon succumbed to the compromised life support, joining their unconscious comrades.
Tyson watched the events through the sensors with a feeling of grim satisfaction. The invaders were neutralized, the colonists were safe, and his crew remained unharmed. All the boxes were checked, even if the means to achieve them were unconventional.
Just as Tyson thought the situation was resolving, the navigation console chimed, pulling his attention. The readout displayed three incoming warp signatures, all unmistakably Cardassian.
"I guess the party is just getting started," Tyson muttered to himself. He used the console, navigating the unfamiliar language. Within moments, he'd received a system pop-up.
Language Skill Increased! (Cardassian) (2)
Straightening up, Tyson accessed the ship's communications and quickly opened a channel to the incoming vessels. Taking a deep breath, he called out a stern warning in Cardassian, his tongue twisted around the foreign words, "This is Gul Morad. Cease your approach. No reinforcements are required."
However, his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. The warp signatures continued to approach, blips on the navigation console closing the distance. It was clear they had no intention of heeding his warning.
"Alright, we do this the hard way then," Tyson said with a hint of amusement in his eyes.
~~Star Trek: TNG~~
Tyson tapped his combadge communicating with Commander Data. "Data, prepare to engage hostile vessels. Starbreaker, it's your time to shine." His fingers flew across the console, swiftly pulling up the environmental controls. He re-engaged the life support in the ship's transporter room, knowing it would be essential for the colonists.
With the life support system still offline throughout the rest of the ship, Tyson sprinted through the dim, stuffy corridors. His traits made him uniquely suited for the task at hand.
Bursting into the transporter room, Tyson immediately started working the controls. He began teleporting the terrified colonists from the surface, group by group, to the Cardassian ship.
The disoriented colonists gaped at the unfamiliar environment, their eyes wide with panic. Using his Social skill, Tyson quickly stepped forward, raising his hands in a calming gesture.
"Please, remain calm," he intoned, his voice a soothing balm against their rising fear. "You are safe. We are currently relocating you to this ship for your safety."
His words seemed to have their intended effect, as the colonists slowly started to relax, their fear easing slightly at his assurances. With each successful transport, Tyson's resolve only hardened. He wouldn't let these people become victims of the Cardassians' expansionist ambitions.
A sudden blip on his communicator jolted Tyson from his task, T'Pol's voice cutting through the transporter room's tense atmosphere. "Tyson, three Cardassian vessels have arrived and engaged the Excelsior. They seem to be ignoring the vessel you are currently on."
A grim line hardened Tyson's mouth, but he kept his voice steady. "Acknowledged. Hold on as long as you can."
Returning his attention to the transporter console, he resumed his operation with increased fervor, each shimmering beam of light heralding another group of colonists to safety. As he worked, Tyson instructed the growing crowd of refugees to stay put in the transporter room, his authoritative tone brooking no argument.
Finally, once the last colonist was accounted for, Tyson left the packed transporter room behind and dashed back to the bridge. The corridors were eerily silent, the ship's Cardassian crew still unconscious from the life support shut down. His steps echoed in the stark emptiness as he navigated the lifeless interior.
Back on the bridge, Tyson quickly slid into the captain's chair, his fingers dancing over the foreign Cardassian console as he processed the tactical data streaming before his eyes. The Excelsior had already taken one of the Cardassian ships out of the equation, but the remaining two pressed on relentlessly, their disruptors cutting through the void with deadly intent.
"Time to level the playing field," Tyson murmured to himself.
With a flurry of commands, the seemingly derelict Cardassian vessel sprang to life, and its shields snapped into existence with a flash of energy. The helm controls were intuitive enough; Tyson piloted the Galor cruiser towards the heated fray, deftly maneuvering to flank one of the hostile Cardassian ships still harassing the Excelsior.
As the two Federation-controlled vessels bore down on the enemy, Tyson couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline. He would not let these colonists be taken, nor let down his crew on the Excelsior.
"Unbelievable," Tyson muttered, watching in awe as the Excelsior executed maneuver after maneuver with a precision he could hardly believe. It was a sight to behold, the starship twisting and turning in the void, its movements almost poetic. Tyson was reminded of his mirror counterpart's skill; Starbreaker was a pilot of incomparable talent. The doppelganger couldn't match him in armed combat, but with a vessel, he was far beyond Tyson's ability. Together, their two ships rapidly gained the upper hand, crippling the remaining Cardassian ships in a coordinated display of firepower and strategy.
However, their triumph was short-lived. T'Pol's voice crackled over the communications, her tone imbued with the tension of their situation. "Captain, five Cardassian Galor-class ships are approaching at high warp."
Tyson's heart sank. Even if he possessed Starbreaker's piloting prowess, the odds were not in their favor.
Data's voice cut through the icy chill of impending doom that had begun to settle in Tyson's chest. "The probability of achieving victory against such a force is negligible, Captain."
Despite the bleak assessment, Tyson felt a flash of defiance. He pressed his lips together, set his jaw, and took a moment to gather his thoughts.
Tyson's fingers flew over the alien keys with remarkable speed as he barked his orders through the comms. "Excelsior, destroy the disabled vessels. Then plot a course for the nearest starbase, maximum warp," he said, his voice unyielding.
The calm voice of Data came through the communication channel, "Acknowledged, Captain. Tactical, helm, you have your orders."
The view from the Galor's viewport showed as the Excelsior's phaser arrays erupted in brilliant streaks of energy, each one a precision strike that ignited the disabled Cardassian vessels in fiery balls of plasma.
Once the disabled Cardassian ships were nothing more than debris, the Excelsior turned its nose towards the emptiness of space. The stars ahead of them stretched and distorted, blurring into lines as the starship initiated its warp drive. The engines created a wave of warp energy that rippled through the fabric of space-time, creating a tunnel of light that engulfed the ship.
Mirroring the movements of the Excelsior, Tyson guided the commandeered Galor-class vessel. Its engines flared to life, vibrating through the deck plating under his feet. As Tyson engaged the warp drive, the Cardassian ship plunged into the tunnel of light created by the Excelsior, matching its course exactly.
They were racing away from the battlefield, the distant stars nothing more than a streak of bluish-white light as the two vessels retreated at maximum warp. The Cardassian reinforcements arrived, finding only the wreckage of their comrades, an abandoned colony, and the echo of a warp trail disappearing into the far reaches of holographic space.
~~Star Trek: TNG~~
Tyson once again found himself scrutinized by a Starfleet panel. Gone were the clunky Cardassian interfaces and the hum of the warp core, replaced by the familiar sights and sounds of the Federation's austere meeting room. Across the table sat Commander Luther Sloan, Commander Nedar Oh, and Admiral Jameson. Commander Data as he'd been part of the examination was a neutral observer in this matter. He sat quietly to the side, his golden eyes flickering as if processing an astronomical amount of information. His face remained as impassive as always, an iconic symbol of his android nature.
The three commanding officers presented an intriguing contrast. Admiral Jameson sat leaning back in his chair, a smug grin dancing on his lips, his eyes twinkling in amusement. It was the face of a man who'd just won a bet, or perhaps, watched a brilliantly executed strategy unfold. Next to him, Commander Nedar Oh displayed all the emotional range one could expect from a Vulcan. Her brows were furrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her stern eyes were fixated on Tyson with an almost tangible intensity. She was the epitome of Vulcan discipline and control, yet her subtle discomfort was obvious to Tyson. He'd spent enough time around T'Pol to recognize when a Vulcan was displeased.
As for Commander Luther Sloan, his face was a mask, unreadable and devoid of any discernible emotion. His gaze, cold and calculating, offered no insight into his thoughts or feelings.
Admiral Jameson folded his hands on the table in front of him, studying Tyson with a shrewd gaze. "Ensign Tyson, now that we've observed your handling of the Kobayashi Maru, we're keen to hear your self-evaluation. What's your assessment of your performance?"
Tyson's brows knit together thoughtfully as he recounted the events. He remembered the weight of the decisions he had to make and the lives that hung in the balance. "I believe we performed admirably," Tyson began, "We managed to save all the Federation colonists. Not a single life was lost. Additionally, we escaped the skirmish with our ship intact, and with a confiscated enemy vessel full of prisoners." He paused, his eyes turning icy as he added, "And we also destroyed three enemy vessels."
The room fell silent as he finished his assessment. Sloan's gaze remained unfathomable, while Nedar Oh merely raised an eyebrow, a silent acknowledgment of the captain's audacious claims.
With quiet confidence, Tyson leaned forward, meeting the gaze of each officer on the panel. "Did I beat the Kobayashi Maru?" The question hung heavy in the air, waiting to be answered.
Admiral Jameson turned his gaze from Tyson to Data, his eyebrows arched in anticipation. The flicker of curiosity in his eyes was clear as he prompted, "Commander Data, what is your analysis?"
Data's golden eyes held a distant, focused look as his positronic brain quickly processed through the entire sequence of events that had transpired. His perception, superior to that of any human, allowed him to analyze Tyson's performance in intricate detail. He considered the tactics Tyson had employed, the morale of the crew under his leadership, and the unconventional but effective strategies he'd utilized.
His gaze shifted from Admiral Jameson to Tyson, "Ensign Tyson's handling of the Kobayashi Maru was unorthodox. However, considering the objectives of the exercise, his strategies were effective. He managed to preserve the lives of the Federation colonists, eliminate the enemy threat, and secure an enemy vessel. The only objective Ensign Tyson failed to complete was retaining control of the colony." Data paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before finally delivering his verdict, "Based on these factors, I conclude that he has indeed overcome the Kobayashi Maru. Compared to the completions by Calhoun and Stone, Ensign Tyson's outcome was by far, more successful." The room was left in silence once more, the weight of Data's words echoing through the silent space.
Admiral Jameson swiveled in his chair to face the Vulcan officer seated next to him, Commander Nedar Oh. With a questioning tilt of his head, he asked, "And you, Commander Oh? Your thoughts on Captain Tyson's performance?"
Nedar Oh turned her piercing gaze upon Tyson, her voice steady but laced with skepticism, "I approve that you contacted Starfleet and appraised them of your situation before engaging. However, your decision to surrender yourself to the Cardassians seems illogical. It introduced unnecessary risk."
Tyson met her gaze unflinchingly, countering with a measured, yet confident response. "Commander, I was never in any real danger from the Cardassians. By becoming their primary focus, it reduced the threat to the colonists. That was my priority."
Nedar Oh's eyebrows arched, a subtle indication of surprise for her usually stoic Vulcan demeanor, "And you were certain you would remain unharmed?"
Tyson nodded, leaning back in his chair. His voice was calm and matter-of-fact as he explained, "Beyond the weaponry I demonstrated, I possess an armor suit that can mitigate the effects of disruptor fire, as well as a personal shield generator. Both of which provide an additional layer of defense. There was no need to resort to using them."
Commander Oh's Vulcan mask slipped momentarily, a flicker of displeasure crossing her face, but she remained silent as she accepted Tyson's response. She contemplated him for a moment before asking another question, "Would you have employed similar tactics if this version of the examination pitted you against the Klingons?"
Tyson laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that echoed through the room, "Absolutely, Commander. I'd wager it would have worked even better. The Klingons respect combat prowess and honor above all else. Showcasing my abilities would likely have earned their respect, paving the way for diplomacy."
A slight frown creased the Vulcan commander's face. Tyson's unconventional tactics tested her preconceived notions of the exercise, but she could not argue with the logic of his assessment. The Klingons did indeed respect strength and bravery, something Tyson had demonstrated in abundance during the simulation.
As the room fell silent again, Admiral Jameson turned his gaze to the last panel member, the inscrutable Commander Luther Sloan.
Commander Luther Sloan leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on Tyson as he formulated his response. "You displayed an admirable faith in the capabilities of your crew. The principle of relying on one's officers is essential to any successful command." A brief pause, and then he leaned forward slightly. "However, do you think you could have achieved similar results with a holographic crew at your command?"
Tyson gave a nod of concession, "You're right, Commander. A holographic crew wouldn't have been able to match the prowess of my selected officers in engaging the Galors. But isn't that the point of building a team? To have a group of individuals whose skills you trust implicitly?" Sloan's gaze was as inscrutable as ever, even as Tyson continued, "If the goal was to evaluate my effectiveness as an individual, the test should have been designed to restrict me to a holographic crew. However, if the Kobayashi Maru is meant to test my capabilities as a commanding officer, then my achievements are secondary. The orders I gave and their outcomes are what truly matters."
For a moment, Sloan simply sat there, evaluating Tyson's words. Finally, he nodded in agreement, "A valid perspective. Nonetheless, hypothetically speaking, if you had been restricted to a holographic crew, what changes would you have made to your approach?"
Tyson crossed his arms over his chest as he considered Sloan's question. "Well, if I was limited to a holographic crew, the plan would've needed to change quite a bit." He paused, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "Most likely, I would've proceeded with the initial agreement to evacuate the colonists while keeping an eye on the Cardassians to ensure they didn't take advantage of the shields being down." A small smile crept onto Tyson's face as he continued, "Alternatively, and this is quite the contingency plan, mind you, I could have beamed down to the surface myself, leaving the Excelsior's first officer with instructions to retreat if I was captured. Once the colonists and myself were onboard the Galor, I would've attempted a similar takeover, then we would have made a quick escape to the nearest Starbase."
Sloan observed Tyson closely as he responded, studying the subtle changes in his expression, and the confidence in his voice. Finally, he leaned back and steepled his fingers together. "It seems you have a certain fondness for ground engagements as opposed to space confrontations." His voice carried a note of amusement, though his face remained as impassive as ever.
"You're correct, Commander," Tyson admitted, turning his gaze to Sloan. "My experiences lie predominantly in individual combat. In one-on-one and small group engagements, I'm confident few could best me. However, commanding a starship...that's a different ball game altogether. That's why I chose to lean on the expertise of my chosen crew."
As Tyson finished, all eyes turned to Admiral Jameson. The room fell into silence, the air thick with anticipation as the panel waited for his opinion. The admiral had remained largely silent during the discussion, listening attentively to each assessment, his features unreadable.
Finally, Jameson leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. His gaze moved across each member of the panel before finally settling on Tyson. "Ensign Tyson," Jameson's voice held an unexpected warmth. He paused, scrutinizing Tyson, his gaze clear and sharp. "I am a firm believer in taking matters into one's own hands, of carving your path. It's a philosophy I've adhered to all my life, and one that I see mirrored in you." Jameson continued, "You demonstrated initiative, courage, and resourcefulness. Your actions on the ground were decisive and your command decisions while on the ship were bold." A hint of a smile crossed the admiral's lips. "You knew your strengths and you played to them. You trusted in the abilities of your crew and leaned on them when necessary. More than that, you demonstrated a willingness to put yourself in harm's way for the sake of your mission."
He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. "The Kobayashi Maru is a test designed to assess a cadet's reaction in the face of insurmountable odds. It's meant to test character and leadership in the face of a no-win scenario. You, Ensign Tyson, demonstrated not only leadership but also tenacity, creativity, and bravery. You defied the odds and managed to find a solution where few have. For that, you have my respect." Jameson's gaze was unwavering as he concluded, "Your performance, in my assessment, was exceptional."
Admiral Jameson's gaze shifted to Data, "Commander Data, we have evaluated Tyson's performance. What are your conclusions?"
Data's face remained impassive as he took in the question. "Firstly, it is appropriate to summarize the Starfleet ranks. An Ensign is a junior commissioned officer, usually tasked with specific duties under the guidance of a senior officer."
"Following the rank of Ensign, we have Lieutenant Junior Grade. This designation is reserved for Ensigns who demonstrate greater leadership or particular skills. Lieutenant is a rank that generally serves as department head on starships or space stations. Next is Lieutenant Commander, who can serve in a variety of roles, including executive officers or department heads on larger starships. This is the minimum rank needed to command a starship outside of emergencies."
"Commanders can serve as captains of smaller vessels or as first officers on larger vessels. The rank of Captain is reserved for individuals who command starships, space stations, or Starfleet installations."
Data's gaze returned to Tyson. "Ensign Tyson's performance during the Kobayashi Maru simulation was highly commendable. His tactical acumen, ability to command his crew, strategic planning, and handling of the crisis were exemplary."
"Taking into account Ensign Tyson's performance, I believe he has demonstrated the capabilities and qualities that befit a Lieutenant Commander. He showed leadership, made critical decisions, and was successful in achieving the objectives in a no-win scenario. However, his emphasis on ground engagements and personal combat suggests that further experience and training in starship command would be beneficial."
Admiral Jameson's gaze shifted from Data to the stoic Vulcan woman sitting at his side. "Commander Oh, your assessment?"
"Ensign Tyson's tactics were unorthodox, atypical of a Starfleet officer. He willingly surrendered himself to the Cardassians, an action that could be construed as illogical by many." Her eyes did not waver from Tyson. "However, he also demonstrated an adeptness at thinking outside the parameters of conventional Starfleet strategies. He showed resourcefulness and used his unique abilities to gain a tactical advantage, which ultimately led to the success of his mission."
Her gaze turned back to Admiral Jameson, her tone even. "Moreover, he displayed an understanding of the intricacies of command and team management, utilizing the skills of his chosen crew effectively."
"Considering the unique qualities he brings, along with his demonstrated tactical prowess and leadership, I would recommend Ensign Tyson be considered for the rank of Lieutenant," she concluded. "However, I would stress the need for additional training and experience in adhering to Starfleet protocol and a broader understanding of space engagements."
Jameson's gaze then turned to Commander Luther Sloan. He started, his voice a low rasp, "You've shown an interesting combination of skills and... reckless audacity. Your approach was not conventional Starfleet and you've shown some disregard for standard protocol. You willingly put yourself in danger, but you also saved all the colonists. It's an approach that many in Starfleet wouldn't understand or approve of." Sloan paused for a moment, he glanced at Oh briefly before returning his attention to Tyson. "However, you also demonstrated courage, intelligence, and ingenuity. It's the type of thinking and behavior that can be useful in certain... challenging situations. Individuals with your abilities, who are willing to push the boundaries of convention to achieve a necessary outcome, are valuable." Sloan finally broke eye contact with Tyson, looking back to Admiral Jameson. "Given the circumstances and the result of the mission, I believe that a promotion to Lieutenant Commander is warranted. This rank would provide Ensign Tyson with the freedom to operate more independently, which I believe could be highly beneficial to Starfleet."
Sloan's recommendation hung in the air, carrying with it the unspoken implication of Tyson's potential.
Admiral Jameson paused, the weight of his decision hanging in the air. He finally lifted his gaze from the table, casting a measured look at the assembled panel before finally focusing his eyes on Tyson. "Ensign Tyson," he began, "In my years with Starfleet, I have seen many officers come and go. I've seen the best and worst of what we have to offer. But seldom, if ever, have I seen the level of expertise you've displayed across multiple disciplines. Your aptitude for combat and medicine is not just impressive, it's exceptional. But then, I've seen that with my own eyes." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to take hold. "What truly astounds me, however, are the reports I've read from your service aboard the Enterprise. Your skills in diplomacy and engineering rival that of seasoned officers."
Jameson leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Tyson's. "Many cadets, fresh from the Academy, are given the rank of Lieutenant Commander if they display exceptional abilities in a single specialty area. Typically, this is common in the field of medicine. But you have demonstrated outstanding capabilities in multiple areas." He gestured to Data who sat nearby. "Except for the illustrious Commander Data here, I cannot think of a single case where an officer has shown your level of expertise across such a wide range of disciplines."
The admiral took a moment to let his statement sink in before continuing. "To assign you any rank less than Lieutenant Commander, given your exceptional skills and capabilities, would be a travesty. It would not serve justice to your extraordinary abilities and the potential you hold for the future of Starfleet." Jameson's stern gaze softened somewhat as he looked at Tyson, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You've done well, Ensign Tyson. Exceptionally well."
"Upon review of your performance, and taking into account the recommendations of this panel, I'm inclined to agree with Lieutenant Commander Data and Commander Sloan's assessment. You have demonstrated exceptional capabilities across multiple disciplines, an uncommon occurrence among fresh Ensigns. However, your record is not unmarred and your time in Starfleet has been short. Therefore, I am promoting you to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Congratulations, Tyson. It is not a decision I make lightly, but you have earned it. I expect that you will continue to serve Starfleet with the same dedication and resourcefulness you have demonstrated today."
Admiral Jameson leaned back in his chair, the weight of his decision for Tyson's promotion visibly lifted. Yet, his eyes held a seriousness that hinted at more discussions to come.
"But that's not all, Lieutenant Commander Tyson," the admiral said, making it a point to emphasize Tyson's new rank. "There are a few other issues we'll need to discuss. The foremost of which is your ship with an equipped cloaking device."
At this, Commander Nedar Oh shifted in her seat. Her usual stoic Vulcan demeanor seemed to grow even more severe, "The existence of a cloaking device on your vessel cannot be overlooked," she stated, her voice maintaining its calm, measured cadence even as she highlighted the gravity of the situation. "The possession of such technology violates the Treaty of Algeron. It is a critical pact, signed between the United Federation of Planets and the Romulan Star Empire, which explicitly prohibits the Federation from using or developing cloaking technology."
She let her words sink in, her dark eyes never leaving Tyson's. "Violations of the treaty could lead to severe diplomatic repercussions, even potentially reigniting hostilities with the Romulans. It is a matter of utmost seriousness."
Admiral Jameson nodded in agreement with Commander Oh, turning his gaze back to Tyson. His eyes mirrored the seriousness of the situation.
"Commander Oh is correct," he acknowledged, his voice steady and commanding. "We are currently engaged in a war with the Cardassians. The last thing we, and the Federation Council, want is to incense the Romulans. That could potentially lead us into a conflict we can ill afford."
Admiral Jameson's voice carried the weight of the entire Starfleet Command. "Tyson, I'm making it very clear. Under no circumstances are you to use the cloaking device installed on your ship. We are bound by treaty agreements, and any violation can lead to grave consequences. Is that understood?"
Tyson's eyes met Jameson's without flinching. "Understood, Admiral," he replied, the edge in his voice betraying his irritation.
Admiral Jameson leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers. "Is there anything further?" His gaze scanned the room, pausing momentarily on each officer present. "As things stand, you've had quite the journey aboard the Enterprise. However, recent developments demand that your position on the Enterprise might need re-evaluation."
Sloan interjected, "The Enterprise is a prestigious posting, Tyson. But sometimes, the greater good requires us to make changes or sacrifices."
A slight frown crossed Tyson's face. "Are you saying I'm being reassigned?"
Jameson raised a hand, signaling for calm. "Not necessarily. There are options on the table. But you must understand, the Federation is vast, and its needs are constantly evolving. Your skills, your unique abilities, they might be needed elsewhere. However," he continued, leaning forward, "the choice will ultimately be yours. You can either remain on the Enterprise or accept one of the offered postings. Some of which would place you in a position of significant influence." The Admiral turned to address some officers of the panel directly, "Commander Oh, you're dismissed to return to your duties. Lieutenant Commander Data your orders are to take a shuttle and rendezvous with the Enterprise. Thank you for your service in assisting with saving the Bynar homeworld, "
Commander Oh inclined her head slightly, her face revealing no emotion. "Acknowledged," she said crisply. Data nodded once, "Aye, sir. Thank you sir." he intoned, before both officers stood and made their way out of the room, the door whooshing shut behind them.
Clearing his throat, Admiral Jameson began, "The Bynars, as you know, are an exceptionally unique species. Their dual existence, and their reliance on technology. It's unlike any species we've encountered previously."
Tyson nodded. Jameson's lips curled into a small smile. "Yes, and your quick thinking saved them. That act has not gone unnoticed. In fact," he paused, drawing out the moment, "they've formally petitioned to join the Federation. And they've made a special request." Jameson continued, "They've requested that you, specifically you, Tyson, be appointed as the Federation Ambassador to their people."
Tyson blinked in surprise, the gravity of the Bynars' request dawning on him. "Ambassador? But I'm…"
Sloan chuckled lightly. "You have a knack for making an impression, it seems."
Admiral Jameson remarked, "It's an extraordinary honor, Tyson. Few are offered such a role, and considering how short your career has been, it's unheard of. But the Bynars trust you. They see something in you that resonates with them. They believe you can ease their integration into the Federation."
Tyson tried to process the magnitude of the offer. "It's a lot to take in."
Jameson nodded in understanding. "Take your time. With this role, you'd not only be representing the Federation but also helping to shape the future of our relationship with the Bynars. It's an opportunity like no other."
Tyson met the admiral's gaze, determination burning in his eyes. "I'm honored by their trust, but I need to think about the decision."
Jameson smiled warmly, "But that isn't the only option. There's another avenue that has piqued our interest. The technology aboard your ship, especially the propulsion system, is nothing short of revolutionary."
Sloan proposed, "The Advanced Starship Design Bureau has been itching to get a closer look at what powers your vessel. Commander Data, during his recent analysis, spoke very highly of your... inventive use of independent holographic systems."
Jameson nodded, "The applications of such technology could redefine the way we approach starship design. Think of it, Tyson – faster, more efficient vessels that can journey further into the unknown. But not just that. The holographic systems you employ could open doors to various applications, from medical to tactical."
Tyson considered this. Sharing his technology with Starfleet was a decision he hadn't settled on yet. He felt a familiar wariness creep in. "And what would this entail?"
Admiral Jameson laced his fingers together. "A collaboration, of sorts. You'd work closely with the Bureau, sharing your insights, and guiding their efforts. Of course, you'd be well-compensated, and provided with resources to further your own research."
Sloan added, "Consider it a... partnership. One where everyone stands to benefit."
Tyson took a deep breath, processing the offer. "I'll need to think on this."
Jameson nodded, "Understandable. But Tyson, the possibilities here are limitless. You could very well change the course of Starfleet's future."
Admiral Jameson studied Tyson intently, reading the apprehension on his face. The silence stretched for a moment, charged with tension, before he sighed. "You're not keen on either of the options we've presented, are you?"
Tyson shifted, hesitating slightly before responding. "Being on the Enterprise is like being at the center of this universe, Admiral. Leaving it... I'd hoped to remain aboard, to continue serving with the crew. At least for a time"
Sloan tilted his head, studying Tyson. "You're rather attached to that ship. But attachments can sometimes cloud our judgment, wouldn't you say?"
Tyson tilted his head in confusion at the rather Jedi-like statement Sloan made. Jameson raised a hand. "We understand your reservations, Tyson. And while we believe both opportunities presented would be beneficial, we do have a third option."
Tyson's ears perked up, his attention laser-focused on Jameson. The Admiral turned his attention to Sloan. The room now felt even more oppressive with its silence.
As he finished his statement, Commander Sloan slid a black combadge across the table towards Tyson. It glided smoothly across the polished surface, coming to a stop in front of the newly promoted Lieutenant Commander. Sloan's eyes, as unreadable as ever, met Tyson's as he gestured towards the badge.
The Admiral's voice took on a sober tone that immediately demanded Tyson's full attention. "There exists an organization within Starfleet Intelligence," he began. "It falls into a gray area, much like the one you seem to find yourself in, Lieutenant Commander. It's known as Section 31."
The Admiral gestured towards Sloan. The intelligence agent straightened slightly, his gaze never leaving Tyson's as he began to speak.
"Section 31 is an organization sanctioned by the original Starfleet charter - Article 14, Section 31. The article allows for certain rules to be bent during times of extraordinary threat. The role of Section 31 is to ensure the security of the Federation at any cost."
As Sloan spoke, the weight of his words seemed to hang heavily in the room. His words were a stark reminder of the less savory aspects of Starfleet's mission, the dark corners that often got overlooked in the quest for exploration and diplomacy.
Tyson had known about Section 31, of course, but it had always seemed like a distant, shadowy possibility, something he wouldn't have to deal with until much later. Now, confronted with the stark reality of Sloan and the weighty presence of the black combadge, he realized he had been wrong.
His actions had put him on Section 31's radar. He knew he should feel some measure of fear or apprehension, but all he felt was a strange sense of inevitability. As if all his decisions, all his actions had been leading him to this very moment. He was getting the recruitment speech, and suddenly, everything was a lot more real.
Sloan's gaze locked onto Tyson's with an almost palpable intensity. The corners of his lips curved into a smile, but it was one devoid of any warmth or humor. Instead, it was a predatory grin, the kind a shark might have as it circled its prey. "Lieutenant Commander Tyson, I want you to consider what I'm about to say very carefully," He was a seasoned agent, his words chosen with the precision of a surgeon. "Section 31 isn't a post you apply for. It's a duty you are chosen for. It's an obligation, not just to Starfleet, but to the Federation itself."
Sloan gestured at the combadge on the table, the one Tyson had yet to touch. "We operate beyond the purview of traditional protocol and regulation. Some might call us unscrupulous, or even dishonorable. But we are necessary." His tone was unwavering. "Section 31 exists to protect the Federation at any cost. At times, that cost may be high. It might require you to make decisions you would otherwise avoid, to do things you might find... distasteful." His next words were punctuated with an almost eerie intensity. "We do not have the luxury of idealism. The galaxy is a dangerous place, and it is our responsibility to navigate it, by any means necessary. So, the question is, can you accept that responsibility?"
The room fell into silence, the echoes of Sloan's words reverberating in the tense stillness. Sloan's gaze never wavered from Tyson's face, his predatory smile still in place, as he waited for Tyson's response.
Tyson's response was straight to the point. "What's in it for me?"
Sloan's faint smile returned. "Freedom. The freedom to operate outside the standard chain of command. The freedom to bend the rules when necessary. Section 31 gives its agents a certain... latitude."
The Admiral continued, "I hope you understand that Starfleet Intelligence has its interests. Interests that sometimes don't align with official directives. However, we do recognize the rights of your personal property. Furthermore, your ship is not of Federation design or production which gives us some leeway."
Tyson raised an eyebrow, intrigued, "Are you saying..."
Jameson nodded slowly, "As a Section 31 agent, you may use the cloak on your ship, but with conditions. It can only be engaged outside of the sensor range of any Federation ships, and I expect full discretion. No flaunting the technology or using it in a way that would compromise Starfleet's principles."
Sloan smirked, "And, of course, should you ever find yourself in a situation where that cloaking device could be of benefit to Starfleet Intelligence... well, I trust you'll use your best judgment." There was a contemplative pause. When he continued, his voice dripped with a combination of warning and sincerity, "the leeway Admiral Jameson mentioned? It's not without its own set of chains. Understand this. If you are ever discovered using the cloaking device, the consequences will be severe. Not just for you, but for Starfleet, the Federation, and the delicate balance we've struck in this quadrant." Tyson met Sloan's eyes, trying to gauge the depth of the warning. Sloan continued, "It means you have to take all necessary measures to remove all evidence of its use and existence. Whether that means wiping computer logs, reconfiguring technology, or..." he paused, letting the implication sink in, "...dealing with individuals who become privy to its presence."
The room was heavy with silence for a moment.
"Are you suggesting..." Tyson began, his voice edged with disbelief.
Sloan's gaze remained unyielding. "If it comes to it, you'll need to make hard choices. The security of the Federation, and the potential misuse of such technology, is paramount. Your ship, your crew, anyone who might compromise the secrecy of that device, they'd be... collateral, if necessary."
Admiral Jameson added, with a touch of regret, "It's a heavy burden, Tyson. But one you must bear if you decide to use that cloak. Starfleet has its enemies, both within and outside its borders. If they learned of the technology, it could be catastrophic."
Sloan straightened up, the intensity in his eyes not diminishing. "In essence, Tyson, you own a double-edged sword. Use it wisely, and always be prepared to make the difficult decisions. Your commitment to the Federation and its principles will be tested. Make sure you're up to the task."
Tyson swallowed hard, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. "I understand."
With the severity of the burden understood, Admiral Jameson shifted topics. "There's more. You may maintain your position within the Enterprise's command structure if you so choose. Captain Picard will be broadly notified of your dual role. He'll be informed there will be times when you'll be required to step away for independent assignments. Given your... unique skill set and prior track record, that won't be entirely out of the ordinary."
Sloan continued. "You can do this at your convenience, while still being free to pursue your interests or engage in your projects. Your handler might also offer missions, based on Starfleet's needs and your capabilities. What do you say, Lieutenant Commander Tyson?
Tyson considered what he could remember about the group. Section 31 operated outside the typical boundaries of Starfleet. Its existence and operations could be considered morally ambiguous at best, and ethically problematic at worst. However, they also address threats and handle situations that Starfleet's more conventional branches are either incapable of or unwilling to handle. His skills and abilities made him an ideal candidate for the role they were offering. Reaching across the table, he picked up the black combadge, the cool, hard surface fitting perfectly in his palm. With a sense of finality, he removed his standard-issue combadge, replacing it with the dark, almost ominous one. It was a symbolic moment, signifying a shift in his career and life in Starfleet. As he clipped it to his uniform, the badge's appearance shifted to match the standard Starfleet combadge using some mechanism similar to his miniature holographic projection technology.
Glancing towards Commander Sloan and Admiral Jameson, Tyson straightened his posture, the new combadge gleaming ominously on his chest. "Thank you for considering me for this... unique opportunity," he began, his voice echoing slightly in the room. "I believe this will be a good fit."
He paused, and with a flash of determination in his eyes, he continued, "Is there any particular mission you'd like me to undertake?"
Sloan and Jameson exchanged a pointed look. The unspoken conversation between them was as real as the quiet hum of the starship surrounding them. Breaking the silence, Admiral Jameson addressed Tyson. "I owe you my life. Your healing ability is unlike anything we've ever seen. You indicated that this ability of yours might be something you can teach. We're at the edge of uncharted territory here, Tyson, and Starfleet needs to be at the forefront of this."
Sloan nodded in agreement, his ever-present enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "Think of the lives that could be saved, the injuries reversed. The possibilities are endless."
Tyson frowned, "What do you want from me exactly?"
The Admiral steepled his fingers, "Put together a team. Handpick individuals you trust, or those you believe can harness this ability. We want you to explore this potential, train them."
Tyson looked between the two men, "Who can I recruit?"
Jameson responded, "Any active officers or cadets are at your disposal. This is a top-priority mission. We're giving you carte blanche."
"I need to know the full extent of my latitude in these recruitments," Tyson asked, "Am I restricted by rank?"
Admiral Jameson exhaled, drawing himself up to his full height, his Starfleet insignia gleaming. "Tyson, I'd prefer we don't draw too much attention to this project. As such, I'd rather not see any captains reassigned. The logistics, the questions... it'd be too conspicuous. However," he continued, raising a hand to forestall any objection, "if you have a compelling reason, a captain you know beyond doubt would be invaluable, then we can discuss it. Otherwise, I'd advise sticking to Commanders and below."
A ghost of a smirk played on Sloan's face as he leaned casually against the wall, "And let's remember, Tyson, subtlety is paramount. The last thing we need is whispers of favoritism or clandestine operations within Starfleet."
Tyson nodded, processing the constraints. "Understood. And what of the Commanders?"
Jameson replied, "Any Commanders you select will have to be assigned to the Enterprise. They will be outside of your direct chain of command, save for the training sessions. This will ensure that we don't raise any undue suspicions."
"You mentioned something about a command of my own," Tyson ventured, every word carefully chosen. "If I were to accept this mission, which ship would be mine to command?"
Sloan and Admiral Jameson exchanged a quick, unreadable glance, laden with unspoken words. Sloan responded, "Section 31 operates with discretion. We have a limited fleet, and at present, we won't be able to provide you with one of our ships."
Tyson's eyebrow twitched slightly, but he said nothing, awaiting the Admiral's input. Jameson proposed, "If you can train a dozen of these... healers, I promise you, I will personally ensure you're given command of a ship from the Starfleet." Jameson continued, a fiery passion in his eyes, "Train a hundred, and I'll see to it that a ship is commissioned specifically for you."
Tyson blinked, processing the weight of the proposition. A ship of his own was always a dream, but the challenge set before him was considerable. "You drive a hard bargain, Admiral," he finally replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"That's how you know it's worth it," Jameson shot back, matching Tyson's intensity.
Tyson nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "Alright. Challenge accepted."
Quest Complete!
Rewards:
Promotion (Lieutenant Commander)
Title (Section 31 Agent)
Main Quest Update!
Season 1. Part 2.
Objective: Ensure the Survival of the Enterprise until the end of Season 1.
Bonus: Earn a Command of your own by training 12 Starfleet officers in the use of the Force power: Art of the Small. (0/12)
Bonus: Earn a ship of your choosing being commissioned for your Command by training 100 Starfleet officers in the use of the Force power: Art of the Small. (0/100)
Time Limit:
Stardate 41997.7 (7 Months, 15 days remaining)
Sloan asked, "Do you already have candidates in mind?"
Tyson recalled his Mirror counterpart and how easily he imparted Force Sensitivity. But Tyson didn't have Corruption and wouldn't be able to use the same method. He thought of T'Pol. The bond he shared with her was deep, and potent, and had enabled him to grant her access to the Force. They shared something unique, something that wasn't just the result of training or casual camaraderie. Their bond was deeper, more intimate. It required a level of trust and understanding that he wasn't sure could be replicated with just anyone. Would he need to forge such a bond with every individual he intended to train? The very thought was daunting.
The challenge then wasn't just finding suitable candidates. It was more than skills or potential; it was about creating bonds. He needed to choose individuals who could trust him and be trusted in return. It was no small task.
One name resonated within his spirit greater than the others. They had already been intimate and she already possessed abilities beyond human norms. But he looked beyond her, at the rest of the crew of the Enterprise. The ship was a hotbed of talent, but among the sea of faces, there were others he believed could be the key. There were no certainties, but Tyson felt a pull, an intuition, urging him to select certain individuals.
Sloan smoothly slid a PADD across the table to Tyson. "This PADD is attuned to our agents. It will keep you apprised of assignments and tasks that might… be of interest. Furthermore, it contains a comprehensive database of all active Starfleet personnel. Take your pick."
Tyson's fingers danced over the PADD, and in moments, he was pulling up files from the Enterprise crew members. Each file showcased the officer's skills, achievements, and specialties.
Sloan and Admiral Jameson observed Tyson's selections on their PADDs. There was a brief stillness, only the soft humming of the ship and his quiet tapping of the PADD. Clearing his throat, Sloan began reading aloud, "Lieutenant Worf, a Klingon, notable for his combat prowess. Commander Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer, and her son, Wesley. And lastly, Lieutenant Commander Deanna Troi, the ship's counselor, a half-Betazoid with empathic abilities."
Admiral Jameson, his sharp eyes assessing the selections, asked with a tilt of his head, "Tyson, why these officers, and why the boy? What do you see in them that makes them candidates for this... endeavor?"
Tyson prepared to justify each selection. "Let's start with Wesley," he began. "He's beyond bright, having demonstrated an aptitude for engineering that goes beyond his years. But more than that, when learning to access the... 'energy source' that powers these abilities, it's typically easier with someone younger. Wesley's youth, coupled with his intelligence and willingness to learn, makes him a prime candidate." Tyson continued, "Dr. Crusher is not just any doctor; she's one of the best in Starfleet. Her medical expertise, combined with a demonstrated interest in my abilities, makes her a good candidate. She understands the body in ways that may offer her an advantage in using the power. Additionally, she's very protective of Wesley. Having them both involved would likely reduce any trepidation either could have."
"And the Counselor?" Jameson inquired, nodding towards the mention of Troi.
"Deanna Troi. She has a natural empathic ability," Tyson explained, "Empathy is often a precursor to more advanced abilities. Already possessing a similar ability could make the process smoother. Besides, I already have a good relationship with her, she has the appropriate temperament and I believe she's most likely to succeed in accessing my power."
Sloan, seemingly enjoying playing the devil's advocate, tilted his head, "And the Klingon? A control for your experiment?"
"Precisely," Tyson nodded. "Worf is a unique case. As far as I'm aware, he's the only Klingon in Starfleet. It'd be beneficial to know if he could harness the ability. It'll give us a broader understanding of the potential reach of these skills."
Admiral Jameson's fingers drummed softly on the tabletop. "The Enterprise is Starfleet's pride and joy. It carries with it not just a legacy but the hopes and expectations of the Federation."
Tyson nodded, "Understood, Admiral. I have the utmost respect for Captain Picard and the crew. I wouldn't propose this without a plan in place to ensure their well-being. And in line with that, I've made two more selections to complete the team." He paused, expecting another barrage of questions.
Sloan, ever critical, was first to comment. "Julian Bashir and Ro Laren? Tyson, one's a green cadet, hasn't even finished his first year. And the other? Ro Laren is sitting in a cell on Jaros II after a court martial."
Tyson didn't flinch, "Bashir might be a first-year cadet, but I've seen his medical exams. His aptitude is unparalleled, his potential is promising, and like Wesley, he's young."
Sloan's smirk was predatory, "And the prisoner?"
"Ro Laren has had a complicated history," Tyson acknowledged, "But she's been trained by Starfleet and that's being wasted sitting in a cell. Plus she's Bajoran, like Worf another non-human. Starfleet loses nothing by having her active."
Admiral Jameson rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Your choices are unconventional, but I believe in your judgment. I will have Ro Laren released and transferred to the Enterprise. Bashir will follow a track similar to the one you followed, he'll be placed under your command and have to complete his Starfleet Academy courses on the Enterprise. However, I'd advise discussing the Enterprise crewmembers with Captain Picard as soon as possible."
"I won't move forward without his approval," Tyson responded. His eyes scanned the PADD intently, the complex star charts displayed on its screen. He ran a finger over the digital map, calculating and recalculating the distances between the stars. The numbers weren't looking good. With a frustrated sigh, he looked up. "Admiral, it's going to take weeks for each of them to get to the Enterprise. The logistical timing will be a nightmare. Might I make a suggestion?"
Admiral Jameson was intrigued. "I'm listening."
"Release them into my command. I can go to their respective locations and pick them up. It's much more efficient, and it allows me to brief each of them in person. Plus, the transition will be smoother for them if I'm there."
Admiral Jameson pondered for a moment, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the armrest. "Alright, Tyson. I'll approve this. But remember, with your rank and position comes responsibility. Don't make me regret this decision."
"Understood, Admiral. You won't be disappointed," Tyson replied.
Behind the Scenes
- Ro Laren graduated from Starfleet Academy in 2362. The date of her imprisonment is non-specific but for this story, it occurred early in 2364.
- Bashir graduated from Starfleet Academy in 2368, so assuming a 4-year program, he would be nearing the end of his first year at the current date.
- So… Section 31's portrayal might be controversial. In DS9 they're in the shadows. By the time of Picard, they're acknowledged as part of Starfleet Intelligence. Likewise for Discovery. I'll be honest, never tried to write the kind of spy games and misdirection seen in DS9, but I don't think I'd do it justice. Maybe I'll try in the future at some point, but for now, I'll take an alternative view and hope that you all don't hate it too much… Bashir's interactions with Sloan are tinted heavily as spy games because Bashir is supremely intelligent and that sets the tone of how Section 31 interacts with him. Tyson is not nearly as smart. He demonstrates aptitude in multiple fields and abilities of his own; think of Bashir like a scalpel, and Tyson like a hammer. Sloan doesn't need to use deception with Tyson. He has demonstrated looser morals, and a willingness to go beyond protocols to complete the mission, but still plays reasonably within the system regardless of his power. Is Sloan going to manipulate Tyson? Certainly. But he won't have to be as convoluted in his approach.