Chapter Text
Valeria Kane, the iron-fisted captain of the ISS Aegis, loomed in her black-and-gold Terran uniform, phaser smoking from vaporizing her navigator. Her eyes burned with unhinged rage.
“Report!” she barked, her voice a guillotine.
Life was dirt-cheap on the Aegis, but Kane’s brutality was next-level, even for her.“The Bent Muse,” they whispered—raven hair in a vicious bun, pale blue eyes hating all they saw. A siren’s beauty masked a predator’s heart. Kane's 1.8-meter frame and shieldmaiden shoulders screamed power. Her tight uniform turned heads, luring fools to underestimate her. Kane was deadlier than a venomous jungle frog, a temptress of Hades, a sadistic firestarter, a soul haunter. She planted visions, strategies, and commands that ameliorated her crew with cold, brutal efficiency.
And that meant no screw-ups on her bridge.
Korrath, the Klingon-Andorian tactical officer, growled first. His ridges flared, antennae twitched.
“The emergency cloak engaged," Korrath said. "Ship's power’s at 12%. Some crew reported dead or missing. Twenty-three EMHs in sickbay.”
“Useless holograms!” Kane roared, boots slamming as she claimed her command chair. "Do we need them active?"
T’Vran, the Vulcan science officer, bled green from a gash over her eyebrow but stayed calm. Terrans were psychopathic under pressure; she wasn’t joining the body count.
“EMHs stabilize the wounded for critical posts," T’Vran reported. "The power drain is acceptable, Captain.”
“Logical,” Kane sneered, with venom dripping from the sarcastic fangs of her tone. “Eminently, indubitably logical.”
On the viewscreen, a vast obsidian lattice—perhaps one deemed “caretaking”—pulsed with violet plasma, its fractal spines alive with energy.
“Status of that thing out there,” Kane snapped.
“Three kilometers, unknown alloy, scan-resistant,” T’Vran reported. “Tetryon-based energy. Alien.”
The Vulcan’s fingers danced over her data streams.
“That’s what snatched us, Captain,” Korrath snarled.
Kane’s eyes narrowed to slits. Only one response was made to any provocation of the Terran Empire.
“Arm quantum torpedoes, full spread,” she growled.
“Belay that, Captain!” T’Vran cut in. “The array emits an unknown bandwidth of tetryon-based energy, possibly weakening our shields. An explosion at this distance would destroy us.”
“Back us off,” Kane ordered.
“I c-can’t, Captain.”
Kane spun, phaser loose in her grip, to pin a young human engineer with a stare that could drain blood like a dirkonium cloud creature. His hands trembled under her baleful glare. The bridge crew crept out of phaser range.
“Who is this idiot?” Kane hissed, eyeing his crewcut and scared blue eyes.
“Lieutenant Varis,” replied Commander Rykar, the Romulan executive officer. He was a typical Romulan, with squared shoulders that didn’t fit a Terran uniform. He had centurion facial ridges, but thinner Vulcan ears and a well-trimmed beard. Mixed Vulcan blood might’ve made him a target at the academy, but it also made him sharper than average Terran bridge officers. Commanding Terrans was foolish--they were children tossed into a pit of starving targs. Captain Kane was qualifiably different, but Terrans in generally were interchangeably inferior. As for dear Captain Kane, Rykar had a plan, and within that plan, another plan, to deal with his esteemed superior when the time came. Playing the domesticated Romulan, he found, cloaked his plots best. The Romulan Executive Officer stepped forward, a cruel smirk on his lips.
“He’s assisting Commander Delbert in engineering,” he said. “Though it seems Commander Delbert is no longer… present.”
Kane recalled a memo about a young whiz kid from a remote planet aiding Commander Delbert on this “shakedown cruise.” The Aegis hunted rebels in former Cardassian space to test new upgrades, including the emergency cloak. This was supposed to be an easy mission. Commander Delbert must be dead or missing for this young whiz kid to be at his post.
“We can’t maneuver yet, C-captain,” Varis stammered. “The warp core is unstable, the quantum s-slipstream is in ruins, impulse e-engines are unresponsive, and tr-transporter and replicator systems are s-still offline.”
Kane grazed her lips with the nub of her phaser, eyes raking him with her hungry smilodon stare. Cute when terrified, she noted.
“Chief Engineer Varis," said Kane, promoting him. "You have twenty-four hours to get my ship online or engineering reports to the agony booths, starting with you. Understood?”
Varis gulped. “Yes, C-captain.”
“Tactical,” Kane snapped.
“The cloak is our only advantage,” Korrath reported.
“I wouldn’t recommend decloaking until power’s optimal, Captain,” Rykar said.
Kane closed her eyes, rubbing a weary pain at her temple. No one understood the burden of command. That turncoat Rykar reeked of a tribble’s stench—traitors like him had wormed into the Empire since the fall of Romulus, never to be trusted. Yet he was an extraordinary bridge officer, unmatched with the Aegis’s cloaking tech. She could exploit his skill, even toy with him, though the thought churned her stomach. Romulans demanded constant vigilance, and it was exhausting. For months, she’d marked him for death—ninety-nine times, by her count—but alibis, near misses, and necessity always spared him.
“Maintain cloak,” she barked. “Damage control, all decks. Security alert. Signal High Command, code three.”
“Aye, Captain,” comms replied.
“T’Vran, are our people on that array?” Kane spat.
“Logical if they’re not dead,” T’Vran said.
“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t destroy it,” Kane said dryly.
T’Vran’s console pinged. “Vessel in phaser range. Configuration unknown, possibly Terran. But... it doesn’t match Imperial designs.”
“Show me.”
The viewscreen flickered, zooming in on a small, battered raider ship—“Val Jean” written on the hull—hovering near the Array. It darted away, vanishing into the void.
“They must have sensed us, Captain,” Korrath said.
Kane rose, a black hole of menace.
“Too many mysteries, Rykar," she snarled. "What’s that array? Where’s my missing crew? Who’s... Val Jean?”
“Acknowledged,” Commander Rykar replied.
“I’ll be in my quarters,” Kane declared.
The bridge crew snapped to a rigid salute, fists smacking chests, fists extending toward her. As she left the bridge, an evil leitmotif seemed to echo from the Aegis, like an unseen orchestra vibrating through the deck, stirring anxiety in the overworked crew.
“Captain!” a trembling ensign, the new navigator, called out. “Stellar cartography confirmed. Ma’am, we’re in the Delta Quadrant! Seventy thousand light-years from the Empire!”
Kane froze mid-step, spinning to lock her gaze on the array.
Seventy thousand light-years.
Seventy thousand!
A murmur rippled through the bridge, silenced by her glare. Doubt flickered in her eyes as she tightened her lips.
“Status of the Aquarius?” said Kane.
“Intact," said Korrath.
“Prep it. I’m visiting that array," Kane said, eyes gleaming with malice.
The turbolift hissed shut. Silence fell. Rykar sidled to T’Vran, eyeing her scans.
“Lieutenant Commander,” Rykar said, his voice low, laced with imperial command. “Anything… illuminating?”
He touched her hand.
T’Vran’s deep brown eyes looked up, eyes flickering, assessing, but never betraying her Vulcan heart.
“Tetryon emissions suggest a subspace conduit. Maybe a way home," she answered.
Rykar wiped her green blood, grinning cruelly.
“Who controls it?” he asked.
“Unknown,” T’Vran clipped. “I could cross-reference—”
“Pointless,” Rykar murmured, eyes glinting mutiny. “Tell me, T'Vran. Do you trust Kane to negotiate in the name of the Empire?”
T’Vran saw his game—cunning, proud, and obvious. He wanted the ship. She wasn’t fooled.
“The captain’s methods are efficacious, usually,” she said tactfully. “Unless you propose an alternative.”
Rykar chuckled.
“Merely curious, Lieutenant Commander,” he said. “Merely curious. Patch that wound.”
“Yes, Commander,” T’Vran said, her posture stiffening.