CHAPTER ONE

August 12th 2400
Stardate 77612.75
San Fransisco, Earth

The sun was cresting the horizon, casting golden rays across the tops of the trees and throwing long shadows over the track field behind the campus. There were few clouds in the sky, and those that were present were small and light in colour.

In short, it looked like a clear day ahead.

As Melanie Winters, fourth year at Starfleet Academy, rounded her twentieth lap of the track field—a part of her morning routine—and started on her twenty-first, she spied a flock of pigeons taking off from the direction of the quad. That they had been disturbed meant that there were others, instructors or cadets, beginning to rouse. She was usually one of the first to get up of a morning. This usually annoyed her roommate and friend, Jenna Olin, who was a light sleeper and someone who preferred, whenever possible, to remain abed for as long as she could get away with.

Some officer she would make, Melanie thought to herself. That never would have flown back—

She huffed a deep breath and picked up the pace a little, all the better to distract her from the thought that had almost encroached upon her mind. The less time dwelt on that, the better.

She maintained the run for another ten minutes before deciding to head back to the dorm. Slicked with sweat and with a few strands of her dark auburn hair that had been tied back into a ponytail had come loose and were competing for her attention, she keyed her entry code into the panel by the door. The door hissed open, admitting her to the dorm room, where she saw that Jenna had awoken and was in the process of running her hand down the overlap in the cadets' uniform jacket, sealing it closed by pushing the bonding strips together.

The academy uniform had been redesigned in their second year. Initially a plain blue jacket over a dark grey undershirt and black pants, the jacket was now navy blue in colour with a charcoal-coloured panel across the shoulders, front and back, coming to a point part-way down the upper arm. The divide between the two colours was split by a thin strip of colour denoting the field that a cadet had chosen to specialise in. For Jenna, that colour was a slightly dark, ginster yellow. For Melanie that colour was maroon. The uniform pants and skirts were jet grey with the same thin red or yellow panels down the sides.

At the sound of the door opening, Jenna Olin looked up at Melanie entering the room and shook her head in dismay.

"One of these days," she started, turning the dismay into a sly smirk, "I'm going to teach you how to effectively manage your time."

"Wonderful," Melanie responded, rolling her blue eyes. "I welcome the days of sleeping in late, winging all of my tests with no study, and staying out at all hours of the night." The sarcasm was not lost on her friend, who let out a single "Ha!" in response before ducking back into the bedroom to fix her hair.

While her roommate was applying the finishing touches to her appearance, Melanie grabbed her own uniform and locked herself in the refresher suite, treating herself to a well-earned sonic wash. She emerged, fully dressed, with her hair neatly wrapped up in a tight, high bun to find Jenna sitting on reclining lounge chair, eyes closed as if she had decided to take a nap.

"Finally," Jenna muttered, grinning at her. "I was starting to wonder if you'd forgotten what today was."

"How could I?" Melanie responded earnestly.

In truth, she was and was not looking forward to the ceremony. She was a later-comer to Starfleet Academy—three years older than the average cadet. Circumstances beyond her own control had put her in that position. Strange circumstances and a man she hoped never to see again, though he had intimated that she would. While no one had necessarily bullied her over it, the odd remark had been made about how uncommon it was to have someone in their twenties applying to Starfleet when most people did so straight out of high school.

It had been at least three years since people had lost interest in that. Melanie was by no means a prodigy in any subject. She had a little more experience than the other first years when she had joined up, and she had thought at the time that that experience would count for something. She's quickly learned that the experience she had thought would be an asset, however, was woefully out of date and did little to help her studies. In a way, that was a good thing. What attention had been drawn from her late entry into the Academy had died off rather quickly. She was able to have a normal life here making new friends, new experiences, and getting herself up to date.

But four years later and it was time for the next step in her career. The class of 2409 was graduating today and would be disembarking on their training cruise before they received their first assignments to fleet.

Unbidden, her gaze was drawn to the scale model of a starship, sitting alone on one of the shelves of the unit set against the wall beside the door leading to the bedroom. It was an older class, from more than a hundred years ago during what some foolishly called the Golden Age of Starfleet.

The old Pioneer-class starships were mid-range explorers. Smaller than the Constitution-class that made up the backbone of the fleet back in those years, it was constructed from much of the same frameworks. The saucer-shaped primary hull was bisected in the rear half by the cylindrical-shaped secondary hull. Higher up on that hull segment were the thin pylons that connected the two warp nacelles to the ship, each containing major power flow conduits to direct the warp energies created in the ship's core through the coils in the nacelles. Mounted to the underside of the primary hull from a central point was a tertiary hull containing the navigation, astrometric, science and tactical centres.

The pristine colours and the lack of visible segmented panelling on the model were accurate depictions of starship aesthetics of the time, where now Starfleet Corps of Engineers found beauty in asymmetry. Emblazoned in an arc that followed the arcing shape of the primary hull on the dorsal side was the ship's name and registry.

U.S.S. RESOLVE
NCC 1504

Captained at the time by a man by the name of George Lipman, the USS Resolve was reported destroyed with all hands aboard in the year 2270 following a Klingon ambush at Caleb IV. The model was a reminder to Melanie of the type of starship captain she hoped to be one day, God willing.

The model next to it on another shelf was of a much newer class of ship. There was no name or registry imprinted upon its hull—Melanie knew that it was a model of a ship still under construction in high Earth orbit. Jenna had been keeping up to date with its progress since she had heard about it.

Without looking, Melanie snatched up the silver-plated combadge and the few small, silver rectangles beside it. She fixed each of the rectangles to her jacket's collar, checking in the mirror that the pips were all perfectly straight, that no hairs were out of place, and that she hadn't overdone the makeup. She then brought the combadge up to its place on the left side of her uniform, just above her heart. Once the magnetic strip caught the badge and held it there, she tapped it twice in quick succession to switch on the device's receiver and location-finder before turning back to her friend.

"Ready?"

"As ever."

The walk from the dorms to the quad was mostly uneventful. The two women stopped sparingly to greet underclassmen that were hurrying off to classes. They stopped for a quick chat with Boothby—a hologram of an older groundskeeper from several decades ago who had since passed, but whose legacy had been so intertwined with the Earth-based Academy that an admiral named Picard had petitioned for a holographic recreation of the man to continue in his stead.

There were a couple of cadets spending their early morning by the pond in the centre of the quad, chatting away while they watched the rock fountain burble away or the fish within. Officers crossed the quad in multiple directions, heading to lectures or other tasks they were to perform. There were quite a few people from Melanie's graduating class that were sitting around, walking to locations—a couple that were jogging around the quad in sweats rather than using the athletic facilities behind the Academy proper.

Melanie and her friend followed the path along the main lecture building where most classes were taken, the holodeck facilities were located, and even the shuttle pad. They greeted the security lieutenant—a dark skinned Vulcan woman with close-cropped hair who was standing at attention by the entrance—as they passed. She returned the greeting as they continued toward the coastline, stopping by a mural dedicated to a pair of humpback whales called George and Gracie who had been reintroduced to the ecosystem after their extinction by a time-traveling Captain James T. Kirk in 2286. The species was still on the endangered list; their numbers had not increased much with only a single mating pair to get them back on track, but civilian ecologists were working to improve their situation.

"I've never seen any of the whales in the bay," Jenna commented. "But I've heard from other cadets that there are some here."

"They're probably pulling your leg," Melanie said, choosing to use an older form of expression. "For a laugh," she added when she saw the confused expression on her friend's face. She looped her arm around her friend's and steered her in the direction of the round, domed building west of where they stood. "Let's go. We'll be late."

Her friend allowed her to be steered towards the recruitment office—a place neither of them had been since enlisting. There were a small number of cadets who, like Melanie and Jenna, had recently graduated that were either entering or leaving the building. A handful of men and women—mostly human but also a Vulcan and a Tellarite—were also mulling about the building in civilian clothing, either about to enlist or having already done so and now killing time before heading home.

A Starfleet Security officer stood by the entrance with a single ensign's pip on his collar. He greeted them as they approached but did nothing to bar their way as they entered the building. Within were four curved reception desks arranged in a broken circle. Behind the desk facing the western wall was a human woman of Melanie's height with straight black hair to her shoulders and the ruby-red stripe on her uniform that indicated she was in the command wing of Starfleet. Behind the desk facing the back of the building—or northern facing—was a human man who was at least an entire handspan taller than Melanie, in the mustard-yellow-striped uniform of an officer in the operations and engineering departments. The east-facing desk was unmanned at present, and behind the remaining desk was a dark-furred Caitian with bright yellow eyes, a wide snout and a distinctly masculine appearance. His undershirt and the panel across the chest and shoulders was in steel-blue and marked him as an officer within the sciences division.

There were computer terminals along the east and west walls of the space they were in, broken up only by the closed doors into private offices. There were six of those doors in total, three on either side. To the far end of the building there was another station rebated into the wall where an officer was speaking with an enlistee and gesturing them toward one of the computer terminals. Above that desk were a trio of displays—one of them a muted sector news outlet, another blank and the third a split-screen display of an old Miranda-class starship and a similarly dated Oberth-class science vessel.

In words spoken as one who had learned the language, rather than relying on the universal translator to communicate, the nearby Caitain officer, wearing two gold pips of a full lieutenant, said, "Good morrrning, ladies. Congrrratulations on your grrraduation."

"Good morning, Lieutenant Ferra," Jenna replied. "How has your week been?"

The lieutenant—Ferra, apparently—snorted. "Busy. With rrrelations with the Empirrre being as they arrre at prrresent, therrre has been an influx of enlistees. Then, of courrrse, therrre arrre grrraduates that need to rrreceive theirrr firrrst assignments." There was a pause as he looked down at the computer. "Names, if you please?"

"Jenna Olin," Jenna started.

"Melanie Winters," Melanie added.

The Caitian deftly entered both names into his console with a single hand while reaching for the coffee mug nearby that contained a dark liquid that smelled like no coffee Melanie had ever encountered before. He took a large sip of the drink as the graduates' information scrolled up the screen in front of him.

"Hmm. Interrresting," he purred, looking up at them as he set his mug back down. He held their gazes for a long moment, as if trying to ascertain some secret, something about them that he was not privy to that he would like to be. At least, that's how it seemed to Melanie, and she had sparing experience with Caitians so maybe that was normal for them.

"Cadet Winterrrs, you arrre to rrreport to Captain Taggarrrt's office," he finally said, half-turning to gesture to the second door along the eastern wall. Above the door was a brass plaque, engraved deeply with Masc P. Taggart, Captain. "He has rrrequested you specifically. Cadet Olin, please rrreport to Captain Gallagherrr." This was followed by a gesture to the next door along on the same side of the building. Above was a plaque that read Paula Gallagher, Captain.

Melanie shot her friend a surprised look and was more surprised to see the same look being thrown back at her. Neither of them had met Captains Taggart or Gallagher before, but they both knew who they were.

Captain Taggart was the commanding officer of the Miranda-class USS Vega, an older ship named for one of Earth's earliest colony worlds. Captain Gallagher commanded the Oberth-class U.S.S. Cooper. Both starships had been given over to Starfleet Academy for the purpose of training cruises for recently graduated cadets that had expressed interest—or who had been identified by instructors as best suited—in serving aboard a starship.

Melanie knew that her friend's goal was to command a starship one day. She had even spoken at length about the ship she hoped to command. Melanie, on the other hand, had expressed no such desire. Sure, she had her ambitions, but she had been careful not to express them.

"Is there a problem, sir?" she asked the lieutenant.

"You arrre going to have to ask the captain." The Caitain smiled, revealing sharp teeth.

The two women stood at attention for a moment to acknowledge the man before they turned to the right and made their way over to the indicated doors. Now that they were closer, Melanie could make out, below the captain's name above the door, the words U.S.S. Vega NCC 2093.

She reached for the door chime and waited. Through the panel came a man's voice; "Come."

She listened to the mechanical hiss of the door panels sliding apart as the system's voice recognition picked up on the occupant's command triggered the door's opening. That sound drew upon her nostalgia every single time. Melanie waited for her friend to enter the room first, and then followed. The door sensor, not picking up any others waiting to enter the room, sent a signal to close the doors, leaving the occupants in silence.

Captain Taggart's office was decorated as a man with an appreciation for art was want to do. Along the wall to Melanie's left were three paintings–one of a river snaking around jutting plateaus and rocky arches with a yellowed sky and a high sun, one of a sparkling sea on an alien world unfamiliar to her, spires jutting up from the coast as if to reach for the heavens, and one of a lush forest in the middle of a regrowth cycle. Beneath those paintings were three book stands, staggered two-one and separated only by a display stand. On the shelves were books labelled in Federation standard and in other languages that she could not read. All of them looked like they had been written many years ago and painstakingly collected. There was also a Vulcan Kal-Toh prism on one of the top shelves, a few beautiful vases and other artistic glass works. On the display stand separating the second and third set of shelves were four rows of shelves, each containing three starship models, each model with a plaque sitting unfixed in front of it.

To her right and closer to the windowed wall were two seats and a bench set around a mahogany coffee table. A plant pot with a shrub she did not recognise was set in both corners of that wall.

In the centre of the room a meter out from the window was the Captain, seated behind a plain desk with a control board on his side rebated into the desk's edge. Two relatively comfortable-looking chairs were opposite him, closer to her.

The windows had been opaqued, she noted, as she came to attention, so that only artificial lighting illuminated the office.

"Cadet," Captain Taggart said with a nod to acknowledge her.

Taggart was a Denobulan with light skin, ginger hair combed straight back and dark brown eyes set under bushy eyebrows. The cranial ridges running down either side of his forehead to just above the jaw line were slightly darker in colour than the rest of his face, as was the area surrounding the crease down the middle of his forehead. His lower jaw was darkened by facial stubble that had already started to grow back from a shave he had likely had that very morning.

"You asked to see me, sir?" Melanie asked, keeping her eyes locked on the wall behind the captain.

"I did," he said with a slight smile. "At ease."

Melanie took a shallow breath to calm herself and relaxed her stance. She allowed herself to look down at the man seated before her. He was reclining in his chair slightly, looking up at her with the same appraising look that Lieutenant Ferra had watched her with only moments ago.

She wondered, quietly, what it was that had drawn the attention of such a respected officer—a captain that many at the Academy expressed a desire to serve with at some point of their careers as officers. As far as she was aware, Melanie had been rather successful in not standing out with her performance. She had wanted to remain under the radar during her time here. Was there something she had missed?

"I've been following your progress during your time at the Academy," Captain Taggart said suddenly, drawing her attention back to the present moment. "I must say that I'm impressed."

She couldn't keep the surprise off her face. "Sir?"

"Oh, come now, Cadet Winters," Taggart said with a wry grin, "you can't expect to achieve anything if you want people to think that's what you want. I know that you've been fixing your scores to a certain standard, never exceeding at anything, hoping not to stand out.

"I thought to myself 'now that's not exactly common in a cadet who enrolled in the officer training courses' and I decided I would look into your background a little to see if I could find a reason for that behaviour."

Melanie bristled, but not in anger. What exactly had Captain Taggart found in his search that had warranted a private word to her before she received her first assignment?

"I was a little disappointed to find nothing out of the ordinary. Born in Brisbane, Australia—nice place, by the way," he added quickly before continuing. "Impressive scores in elementary schooling, a love of athletics. Joined the high school track club and won medals at regional and state championships. Excelled in high school at math and engineering. Expressed a desire to be a pilot in your enrolment into Starfleet. Stable family: parents were both officers in Starfleet and killed in the line of duty, raised by your mother's sister. No brothers or sisters."

Not exactly true, Melanie thought to herself, but said nothing.

"The record of your results from the advanced phaser training program have me concerned," he finished, frowning in a way that conveyed disappointment. "Your score was more than satisfactory, but you're not going to be breaking the Academy record anytime soon."

"I'm … sorry, sir?" Melanie replied, somewhat uncomfortable at the prying scrutiny with which she appeared to be receiving.

"That's precisely what has me, frankly, confused. You excelled when you were younger, and then upon entering officer training it appeared as though a switch had been flipped. You do want to be an officer, Cadet?"

"I do," she replied.

"Hmm …" Taggart paused, stroked his chin. "Where do you see yourself in 10 years, Cadet? Realistically."

"Ideally …" Melanie stopped, aware that she had been about to give an unserious answer to a question that had been asked in earnest. Captain Taggart had shown genuine concern for her career opportunities, though he did not know her.

Was this another test? She didn't think so. Where did she see herself in ten years?

Where had she seen herself ten years from the last time she had given that question thought? Last time, she had answered with some humour and that had impressed the instructor who had asked it. This time, though, she decided to try another tack.

"Executive officer on board a deep space exploratory vessel," she said. "Sir."

Taggart nodded and stroked his chin again. "Unfortunately that would depend very much on the next few years. If relations with the Klingons continue to sour, deep space exploration is going to become a lower priority than we'd all like." Was that wistfulness in the captain's voice? "Points for honesty, Cadet. In that regard, I'm sure you'll be happy to find out what your passing assignment will be." He reached for the controls in his desk, pressed a few buttons and then swiped something on the screen in her direction.

The PADD in her pocket buzzed against her leg with an audible trilling, drawing her attention. She waited for permission to retrieve it, which Captain Taggart gave with a slight incline of the head, and then slipped it out of her pocket and keyed the screen to active mode. A new icon flashed on the screen denoting an official assignment.

She tapped on the icon and it expanded into an official communique. It was addressed to her, using her rank of Cadet, with a few lines of text. She read it twice before it sunk in and she looked up at the captain again.

"Executive officer, sir?" she asked, puzzled.

"I'm sure you are aware, Cadet," he started, leaning forward and bracing his elbows against the desk, fingers steepled, "that the Academy has two starships that are used for graduating cadets to receive some on-the-job experience before they officially graduate. These ships are crewed exclusively, aside from their commanding officers, by selected cadets. You're not fooling me with your scores, Miss Winters. I can see that you have a promising career in Starfleet. You should show more pride in what you are capable of, not try to hide it. So for the next six months—starting tomorrow—you are going to be the first officer of the Vega. Congratulations.

"Now, let's be clear; this is still officer training so it doesn't count toward your ten-year goal," he added with one of those stretched Denobulan smiles that, to some, were so unsettling.

"I—" Melanie Winters stood at attention again, both hands grasping the still-active PADD behind her back. "Thank you, sir. It will be an honour to serve with you."

"That's better. I'm not going to—as you Humans say—sugar-coat it. If, at the end of the six month assignment, I don't see some change in this …" He waved his hand in her direction, as if searching for the right words. "If I don't see you living up to your potential, I will not endorse your commission. You know what that means, yes?"

She did, and she nodded to acknowledge it. A graduate trainee not to be endorsed by their first commanding officer prior to graduation did not guarantee that they would fail officer training, but it did leave a mark on that record that took time to work off. She had known officers who had begun with such a mark that had turned into fantastic ensigns and lieutenants. She had also known a few who hadn't.

And, of course, she had known at least one pain in the neck who had received such an endorsement and had turned into a rotten officer and been dishonourably discharged for his behaviour. There were no guarantees in Starfleet. You put in the work, you did your part, and you would prosper for it.

"Good." Taggart keyed something else on his console. "The Vega will be departing Earth Spacedock at oh-eight-hundred. I look forward to seeing you on board."

"Thank you sir," Melanie repeated.

"Dismissed, Cadet."