<If, by the end of the current season, there is nowhere else this story fits, these events take place approximately two weeks before the Battle of Pahvo.>
Chapter 1
Captain’s Log. Stardate 1478.3
The USS Discovery has made a brief layover in the Lantaru Sector. We have been assigned to collect a technical specialist from the Ketteract Research Outpost to evaluate Lt. Stamet’s recent breaktroughs with the Spore Drive. If successful, it could lead to fast-tracking installation of the technology on every available Federation starship.
It was a brief entry, but Gabriel Lorca was by no means a poet. There was very little about him that was elegant and superficial. His position made that quite impossible, and his record wouldn’t have allowed for it.
“Captain,” Saru called from the bridge. “Tech Specialist Ballard is aboard.”
“Fine.” Lorca responded. It didn’t require him to leave his ready room, nor to oversee anything special. He was on his way to Fleet Captain, not Maitre’ D. “Show her to quarters, and let her do her job. Resume course to Cygnus III.”
“Are we maintaining warp 5 speed, sir?”
“We are, Mr. Saru.” Lorca bit the tip of his tongue for a moment. How had Admiral Cornwell put it? “There have been... concerns from Starfleet Brass about taxing our prime asset.”
God, it sounded like an even flimsier excuse when he said it. But Saru followed up with a brisk “Aye, Captain.” and not five seconds later, Discovery had jumped to warp.
The three-dimensional map sprang from the desk before Lorca, who absent-mindedly tried to to pry a stubborn hunk of chewed fortune cookie from between his teeth as he worked.
17 systems. 10 enemy engagements, all successful. All of that, in 12 days. No matter how hard the Klingons pushed the offensive, Lorca pushed back that much, and more.
They pull a knife, you pull a phaser. They call for backup, you drop a photon torpedo on their position. It was an almost Klingon strategy, he mused. Not only in terms of scale and violence, but also in effectiveness.
In the end, history is always written by the victors. And Lorca had no intention of losing this war.
***
Lindsay Ballard wore a Starfleet science uniform, and held an operational rank of Lieutenant. She let out a deep breath as Discovery’s transporter deposited her inside of this gleaming new ship.
“Welcome to Discovery, Dr. Ballard.” The thin bearded man who greeted her announced. By the way he stood, he was unquestionably soldier material. Starfleet Marines, maybe even MACO. “I’m Lt. Tyler, cheif of security.”
“How do you do, Mr. Tyler?” Lindsay stepped off the pad, offering a friendly smile. Tyler reciprocated. That was a good sign, he still had something of a personality left.
“We have you assigned to guest quarters, if you’ll follow me.” Tyler walked close enough to the door to trigger it open, and gestured.
Lindsay adjusted her duffel bag’s shoulder strap. “Lead on.”
“Do you need me to -” He made a motion at her baggage.
“Oh, I’ll manage.” Lindsay said. “One man, one kit, right?”
“That’s the general idea,” Tyler replied, a gleam of understanding in his eye. Lindsay had dealt with enough soldiers in her life to know all you had to do was show you understood their protocol, and they left you alone.
Compared to the cavernous re-purposed cargo modules at Ketteract Station, Discovery certainly felt more claustrophobic. Life aboard ship never seemed, to her, to be completely natural. You could time the light to jive with planetary rhythms and pump the air with all the vaccuum-sealed scents you like, human beings were not designed to be out in space.
To others, it seemed easy as breathing. “Quite a ship, isn’t she?” Tyler asked, keeping in step with her.
“Very impressive.” Lindsay agreed. “Crossfield-class, isn't she?”
“On the mark.”
“I got a peek at the specs and diagrams before they were sent to Utopia Planitia. Neat little ship.”
Tyler blinked. “Neat” probably didn’t translate well to Starfleet jarheads.
“Everything you need for a deep-space survey.” Lindsay continued. “Lateral, dorsal, and ventral multi-spectrum sensors, enhanced probe interface and payload, self-contained bulkheads for simultaneous experiments.”
“We’ve made a few improvements on those specs.” Tyler smiled at her. “Use what you got, right?”
Lindsay smiled at him. He was a nice guy. Pity about his uniform.
“Here we are.” Tyler hit the control key on the side and the door obediently slid aside. “Berth 28. Anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Many thanks, Mr. Tyler.” Lindsay said. He left, she entered the guest quarters. It was smaller than her first apartment. Spartan and utilitarian. That was probably the point. Real estate being a premium in space, after all.
She set the bag on the bed, flipping it over. She opened the small compartment on the bottom, the one nobody was supposed to know about. Her tricorder came out, ready to go. Before leaving Ketteract Station, she had used a spectral mircometer to set the scan field to exactly 20 millijoules. She couldn’t risk setting off Discovery’s internal sensors.
A quick scan of the room revealed the usual Starfleet Medical Officer-In-Distress sensors, as well as two audio pickups: one in the ceiling above the com panel, and the other in the head.
Seems very little happens on this ship without someone knowing about it. Lindsay allowed herself to think the words, humming an old folk tune as she unpacked. If there was a video pickup as well, she’d have to play her part. Curious. That’s 4ky optronic cable. Too sensitive for the bridge security station.
As she loosened her collar, Lindsay elected not to be concerned with who’s ears were listening in. Suffice to say, she was being watched. Well, time to give them a good show.