Star Trek: Theurgy

Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

January 05, 2026, 11:38:53 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Deck 01 | Executive Officer’s Office | USS Theurgy ]  @Nesota Kynnovan

The office still smelled faintly of disinfectant and burnt circuitry, a combination Cross had begun to associate with command transitions that came at too high a cost.

He sat behind the desk that wasn’t his—yet—one forearm resting beside a stack of PADDs, his prosthetic hand clenched just tightly enough to remind himself that control was a choice, not an instinct. Ship-wide status. Personnel readiness. Casualty lists. Structural integrity reports. Tactical inventories. Every screen reflected a different shade of aftermath.

He was tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind that came from too many hours awake and too much adrenaline burned off without anywhere to go. Hungry too, though the thought of food sat wrong in his stomach. And angry. So angry that it simmered beneath his skin like a live wire. Too many dead. Friends among them.

The battle was over, the immediate threat gone, and still there was a part of him—a loud, dangerous part—that wanted to hunt. To give in. To take that bloodlust and aim it at something deserving until there was nothing left to burn. He recognized it for what it was: the untrained Vulcan side of him, raw and volatile ever since the Savi had torn him apart and put him back together wrong.
He closed his eyes briefly and breathed, slow and measured. Sha’mura. Center. Control before action. It helped. Not enough. But enough.

What twisted the knife deeper was the office itself. The chair. The authority that came with it. He wanted advancement. Had worked for it. Still did. One day, legitimately, he wanted the executive officer’s post. But not like this. Not because Captain Ives lay suspended in cryostasis, caught between life and death like some cruel compromise. Cross was grateful—Ives was alive, technically—but the gratitude was complicated by a gnawing thought he couldn’t quite silence.

Cross swallowed and stared at the medical status report again, as if the words might change. Cryostasis preserved life, yes—but it was also purgatory. Dependency. Waiting. Cross couldn’t shake the feeling that Ives, if given the choice, would have preferred a clean end to this half-existence, suspended on the hope that someday they might be able to fix what had been broken.

That guilt sat heavy. For sitting here. For functioning. For planning. And then there was the political mess.

Klingons already bristling. A newly formed Romulan–Reman faction demanding a private audience with Theurgy, explicitly excluding Klingon presence. Silence breeding suspicion. Alliances fraying before they’d even been properly acknowledged. Cross loathed it. The timing. The implications. The inevitability of conflict when pride and power started jockeying for position. And looming over all of it—the Federation President, inbound, her flagship due within the hour. Whatever happened next would set a tone that might echo for years.

Cross straightened, pulling another report into focus, eyes scanning efficiently despite the fatigue. He would be ready. The ship would be ready. That was his job now, however temporarily, however bitter the circumstances.

The door chime cut through the room. Cross didn’t look up immediately. He finished the line he was reading, set the PADD down with deliberate care, and then spoke, voice steady and controlled.

“Enter.”

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #1 – January 07, 2026, 01:22:04 AM

[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Deck 01 | Executive Officer’s Office | USS Theurgy]
[Attn: @Ellen Fitz]

The journey aboard the IKS Vask’at had been relatively uneventful. While it had been a slow journey, given that the small B’rel-class Bird of Prey spent most of the trip under tactical cloak to avoid detection or drawing other unwanted attention, it successfully delivered its complement of Starfleet replacement officers to the USS Theurgy without serious incidents.

As Doctor Nathan Frost approached the Executive Officer’s Office on Deck 01, the very state of the USS Theurgy continued to amaze the Canadian Immunologist. He had been a witness to the final stages of the battle when the IKS Vask’at arrived on scene. The small B’rel-class Bird of Prey had arrived too late to make any meaningful impact to the battle and, as such, Nathan found himself with a front-row seat of the battle of as it reached its conclusion. Now he walked the damaged halls of the ship, the dour-faced Lieutenant was impressed that there was even a USS Theurgy left at all after the amount of punishment she’d taken. Yet, at the same time, Nathan found himself increasingly worried and anxious about the state of the various laboratories aboard the damaged ship.

When the doors of the Executive Officer’s Office opened in front of him with their signature hydraulic hiss, Doctor Nathan Frost hastily strode in with the somewhat superior air of a person who believed they had all the answers. He turned his blue-eyed gaze towards the Lieutenant Commander sitting behind the desk and presented the man with a nod. Nathan could see that the Vulcan man behind the desk appeared to be as calm and collected as could be expected of any Vulcan following such a huge battle and, for what that was worth, Nathan couldn’t help but to feel some sympathy for the man. It was obvious that this man’s head wouldn’t hit a pillow in the foreseeable future, which was further hinted upon by the stack of PADDs on the Vulcan’s desk, and that direct insight into the man’s workload further prompted Nathan to keep things as short and efficient as possible. ”Hello Commander. Doctor Nathan Frost, reporting for duty.” As he spoke, Nathan’s Canadian-accented voice was somewhat curt and his impatience to get started was only further accentuated by the PADD in his right hand, which was already activated and ready to take notes. ”I see that the ship took quite a beating during the battle. Do you have a damage report on the laboratories yet?”

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #2 – January 10, 2026, 03:42:02 AM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Deck 01 | Executive Officer’s Office | USS Theurgy ] @Nesota Kynnovan

Cross lifted his gaze as Frost entered, dark eyes sharpening with immediate assessment rather than ceremony. The man’s posture, his clipped tone, the already-active PADD—none of it escaped notice. Useful. Impatient, but useful. Cross had no time for easing people in.

He rose from the chair—not to loom, but to meet Frost on equal footing—resting his prosthetic hand lightly against the edge of the desk. The faint servomotor whine was barely audible beneath the ship’s ambient hum.

“Doctor Frost,” he acknowledged evenly. “Welcome aboard Theurgy. I wish your arrival circumstances were… less instructive.”

At the question about the labs, Cross exhaled through his nose and tapped a control on the desk, flicking a summary schematic into the air between them. Sections glowed amber and red across multiple decks.

“You’re correct to be concerned,” he said. “We’re still compiling full assessments, but I can give you the current state as we understand it.”

His finger traced the first highlighted section.

“Archaeology and Geology took internal damage rather than hull breach. Several specimens were compromised during the battle—apparently, some samples recovered on an older mission reacted poorly to sustained vibration and power fluctuation. Miniature internal detonations.” His mouth tightened slightly. “They damaged a portion of the lab from the inside out. Containment is holding now, but we’ve sealed off the affected section pending your people’s evaluation.”

Another gesture shifted the display.

“Hydroponics was hit harder. Environmental controls failed during the engagement, and parts of the system were outright destroyed. Many specimens are in critical condition. Triage is ongoing, but losses are expected unless we can restore stable conditions quickly.”

Amber bled into red as he continued.

“Xenozoology is… a problem.” There was no embellishment, just blunt fact. “Several specimens escaped during power loss. Most have been recaptured. One remains unaccounted for—a burrowing, mole-like organism with a documented preference for circuitry. Engineering has been alerted, and Security is sweeping maintenance access ways, but I won’t sugarcoat it: that one concerns me.”

The display shifted again, calmer colors for the moment.

“Physics reports no obvious damage,” Cross said, then paused. “Which, given the state of the ship, makes me suspicious. Assume latent issues until proven otherwise. And temporal is always a headache is assume it is an even bigger headache at this point.”

Another tap.

“Chemistry, Xenobiology, and Cybernetics are, improbably, intact. No explosions, no contamination, no major losses reported so far.” A faint, humorless huff escaped him. “Make of that what you will.”

He rotated the schematic one final time.

“Stellar Cartography will need full realignment. Sensor calibration was thrown off across the board during the battle. Data’s intact, but accuracy is currently… theoretical.”

And finally:

“Arboretum sustained structural and environmental damage. Displays will need repair, and a fair amount of landscaping, once we’re no longer prioritizing life support elsewhere.”

Cross let the display fade and met Frost’s eyes squarely.

“In short, Doctor, you have work. A great deal of it. You have authority to requisition personnel and resources as needed—within reason—and I want status updates routed through my office until we stabilize.” His tone softened only a fraction. “If something is about to become dangerous, I need to know before it explodes, escapes, or eats the ship.”

A beat.

“And Doctor?” he added. “Despite appearances, Theurgy is still standing because people move quickly and adapt. I expect the same from my science staff.”

He inclined his head once—dismissal and welcome in equal measure.

“Get started.”

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #3 – January 14, 2026, 11:13:23 PM

[Lieutenant Dr. Nathan Frost, Ph.D. | Deck 01 | Executive Officer’s Office | USS Theurgy]
[Attn: @Ellen Fitz]

As the Commander rose from his chair, Frost happened to notice the man’s prosthetic hand and briefly wondered whether that was a result of the recent battle as well, but chose not to comment on it. Instead, as the Vulcan welcomed him aboard, Frost simply replied with a curt nod and a smile.

When Commander Cross pulled up the summary schematic, Frost turned his blue eyes to look at the amber- and red coloured sections while the Commander began to present him with a preliminary damage report. The Canadian Immunologist made sure to take notes on the PADD in his hand, first typing blind but soon turning his attention to the small tablet. The touchscreen display of the device made soft tapping sounds with every touch, which gave away the fast pace of Frost’s typing as he summarized the damage report. He occasionally shifted his gaze back to the summary schematic as it shifted to different areas of the ship, but Frost’s facial expression became increasingly concerned each time he did so; the reddish hue that emanated from the display did little to hide the fact and instead even accentuated it.

And then, just like that, the summary schematic faded and Frost’s blue eyes met the paler blues of Commander Cross. While the preliminary damage report was done, the Canadian’s mind was already processing the information; prioritizing what needed to be done immediately and what could -potentially- wait. The one thing that worried him above all else was the improbable fact that Chemistry, Xenobiology and Cybernetics were completely intact; there was nothing in the Commander’s preliminary report that indicated whether this was because the laboratory was actually intact or because no one had reported back with an accurate, in-depth assessment yet. And how could they? Regardless, that made it an unknown factor to Frost and, given the amount of hazardous materials in that particular laboratory, definitely a priority.

Frost listened to Commander Frost as the Vulcan spoke up once more, explaining that anything dangerous had to be reported, and Frost presented the man with a curt nod in reply. When the Commander added that he expected his science staff to move quickly and adapt, Frost finally smiled again and spoke. ”It’s what I do best.” The Canadian accent of his voice and the smile on his face almost managed to hide the arrogant tone. ”I’ll first check the laboratories myself to make an accurate assessment and then assemble the Science Staff to address the issues at hand.” While Frost hadn’t been able to read up on every single member of the Science Department, he had managed to quickly scan through the dossiers of the staff earlier; he had no idea how capable any of them actually were, but he figured that he would find out soon enough.

Just like that, with those few arrogant words, Frost turned around on his right heel and quickly made his way out of the office, headed straight for the Chemistry, Xenobiology and Cybernetics Laboratory.

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #4 – January 15, 2026, 07:12:46 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Deck 01 | Executive Officer’s Office | USS Theurgy ] @joshs1000

Cross watched Frost go without calling after him, dark eyes following the man’s retreating back until the doors slid shut with a muted hiss. For a moment, the office felt quieter—emptier—despite the low thrum of systems and the ever-present scent of disinfectant and scorched circuitry. He exhaled slowly through his nose.

Confident. Sharp. Arrogant, he assessed clinically. Which means he’ll either last… or burn out spectacularly.

His gaze drifted back to the PADD nearest his prosthetic hand, fingers resting against its edge without activating it. Science chiefs aboard Theurgy had developed a disturbingly short half-life of late—transfers, casualties, reassignment, or worse. Brilliant minds chewed up by circumstance and war before they ever had time to leave a mark.

Here’s hoping you stick around longer than the others, he thought, not unkindly. The ship needed continuity almost as much as it needed hull plating and power.

Cross was just turning back toward the desk, intent on burying himself once more in reports, when the doorway dimmed. Not metaphorically. The light from the corridor was partially eclipsed by a massive presence, and Cross instinctively looked up. Lok filled the threshold.

At 2.08 meters tall, the Ferasan engineer was impossible to miss—broad shoulders brushing the doorframe, powerful digitigrade legs planted with relaxed solidity, striped tail swaying lazily behind him. Blue eyes, warm but alert, met Cross’s gaze beneath the short-trimmed mane that framed his face. His mechanic’s coveralls bore the marks of recent, relentless work, and the faint scent of machine oil clung to him like a second skin.

Cross straightened slightly. Whatever fatigue pressed at his bones, it didn’t dull his appreciation for competence—and Lok radiated it.

“Commander Lok,” Cross said evenly. “Come in.”

He gestured inside, waiting for the Ferasan to duck through before the doors sealed again. As Lok entered, Cross turned back to his desk, shuffling through the stacks of PADDs with brisk efficiency until he found the one he wanted. He activated it, scanned the contents once more to confirm, then looked back up.

“As of fifteen minutes ago,” Cross began without preamble, “you’ve been reassigned.” He held the PADD up just long enough for the transfer order to be visible. “You’re now Chief of the Deck. For the time being, you’ll be pulling double duty—Head of Propulsion and Chief of the Deck—until the ship stabilizes and we can reshuffle personnel to better match operational needs. That includes replacements, assuming Starfleet can spare any.” His mouth tightened. “Which I am not counting on in the near term.”

Cross set the PADD down and leaned back against the desk, folding his arms—organic hand resting lightly against the prosthetic.

“I’ve just finished reviewing the latest readiness report,” he continued bluntly. “We currently have eight launch-worthy craft.” A beat. “That number is unacceptable.”

His eyes locked onto Lok’s, intensity sharpening. “We are on the brink of things going completely to hell. If they do, eight fighters won’t keep this ship alive. I need propulsion, flight support, and deck operations running at peak efficiency—and I need them running now.” There was no attempt to soften what came next. “I need you operating without sleep if necessary. Without regular meals, if it comes to that. Same as the rest of us. We’ll fix offensive capability later. Right now, survival and defensibility come first.”

Cross studied Lok for a moment, measuring not muscle but resolve. “Questions?”

As he spoke, his gaze briefly shifted past Lok’s shoulder, drawn to another figure standing rigidly at attention in the corridor beyond—another large man, waiting patiently. Cross hadn’t met him face to face, but recognition sparked nonetheless. He remembered that voice on comms during the battle. Calm. Decisive. Effective under fire. The bearing matched the reports. Matched the actions. That, at least, brought a flicker of grim satisfaction.

Cross’s attention returned to Lok, expression steady.

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #5 – January 26, 2026, 04:33:53 AM

[CPO Avandar Lok | Executive Officer’s Office | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Nesota Kynnovan
[Show/Hide]

He had pulled himself away from his work begrudgingly, perhaps it was the fact that he had met Commander Cross only a few days prior and had formed an…adequate…opinion of him that made him even consider taking the time away for something that could just been done over a viewscreen, he certainly had a better head on his shoulders than most officers. Maybe it was the baldness, Cross couldn’t just skate by on his looks like some of the supermodels in uniforms that this ship had in spades, not that Cross wasn't good looking, far from it. The thought made Lok smirk as he exited the turbolift on autopilot and strolled down the wrecked corridor of Deck 1 bound for the new Acting XO’s office. His tired eyes took in every molecule of damage, the scorch marks, the missing panels, the hanging bundles of opti-cable, and the myriad of small holes from those vaharrans and their projectile weapons, plenty of those bullet holes now lined the walls of the FAB thanks to those Marines. They made a mess but at least they helped.

As he rounded the corner, Lok passed a science officer he did not recognize, granted he didn’t really know any of the officers on the ship and with Deck 1 being major officers’ country he was likely to run into a few; the man had an almost haunted expression on his face and paid the ferasan little mind as he passed. The door to the office immediately swished open as Lok approached, either Cross was expecting him or the door sensor was malfunctioning, the rather large bullet hole in the manual opener panel was probably a clue, either way Lok politely waited until the bald vulcan noticed his presence and invited him in.

“Commander huh, must be pretty bad”, Lok said in jest, as he took a seat across from the acting XO, the chair groaning under his weight.

After the typical brief exchange of pleasantries, Cross got into it, he laid it on Lok that he was now Chief of the Deck in such a way that the ferasan didn’t really seem to notice, though that was probably due to exhaustion and the fact that since Ensign Herrold was killed in action, Lok had already been pulling double duty. More responsibility but conspicuously no promotion, but considering the relatively small size of the deck gang, a senior chief wasn’t exactly required. Lok nodded as Cross finished with mention of potential but unlikely replacements then went on to the real business, why the big guy was here in the first place.

Cross went with the usual spiel, laying out his orders and expectations; Lok was largely aware of most of this or was in the process of getting it taken care of himself so he just continued to politely nod while Cross had his moment of command. Finally Cross finished with a request for input from Lok. The ferasan thought for a moment, though he had nothing really important to ask, sure there was plenty he could ask but the answer was rather obvious, either a “no” or “maybe”.

“No sir, I’ll get it done, just you had better get more pilots if you want more planes, I can fix up all the fighters you want but you have less then ten fighter jocks down there…unless we are installing Thea in the new birds?”

He let the question hang for a moment, it was mostly rhetorical anyway, then stood.

“Don’t worry I’ll figure something out”, he said with a weary smile as he turned to leave, passing a pair of the vaharrans as he left with a pilot nod. Before long he was back in the turbolift and on his way down to the flight deck. Plenty of work to be done and no time to do it, nothing changes in Starfleet.

Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Executive Officer’s Office | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy]
[Show/Hide]

“Are you really sure you want to stay with these people, Commander”, the young Lieutenant Ahzed al-Sahiin inquired with an obvious hint of confusion in his voice.

“Yes Ahzed”, Hassar responded, “I think they are the only ones that can help find our missing people.”

“They can barely help themselves, and speaking freely Commander, they did not seem to appreciate our help. You haven’t even spoken to the commander of this vessel and their political leader hasn’t reached out either.”

“Your point?”

“Commander, this is just how these Federation and Starfleet types have treated our people for years, friendly sure, but they are unreliable. You know the Klingons, you’ve met their leader, Martok in the past, why not go to them?”

“I don’t think they would be as helpful as you think, and these people are different.”

“But Commander-”

“-Enough, Lieutenant”, Hassar said sharply. Ahzed was quick to stiffen up at attention just as the turbolift doors opened onto a familiar corridor, “If you have further concerns, think on them then politely bring them up to this Commander Cross, perhaps they will know.”

“Yes Commander.”

The two vaharrans exited the turbolift and briskly walked down the corridor, following the directions that the ship’s computer consciousness had given them, to the XO’s office. As they approached, the doors slid open revealing the one they presumed was Cross, based on him being behind the desk, and one of the furry feline aliens. Before long the feline stood up and left, he gave a nod and some curious looks as he passed the two vaharrans but before long was off the down corridor they had come from. The two waited a bit longer until Cross invited them in. They both entered the office then walked side-by-side in step up to the desk, as crisp as if on parade, then simultaneously saluted. It was perhaps just a beat too long the two held their salute before a certain awkward atmosphere started to creep in and Hassar remembered that Starfleet didn’t exactly salute in this manner or have really any military decorum at all. Clearing his throat to stifle any embarrassment, Hassar let his hand fall to its side casually, followed a moment later by Ahzed as he realized what was going on.

“Commander Cross, I’m Commander-Third-Rank Hassar al-Zaheer, of the Arosan Marines, and this is Lieutenant-2nd-Rank Ahzed al-Sahiin, commander of the 8th Marine Troop; you wished to see us?”

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #6 – January 26, 2026, 05:44:08 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Deck 01 | Executive Officer’s Office | USS Theurgy ] @joshs1000

Cross watched Lok go with a thoughtful frown, fingers idly tightening around the edge of the PADD in his prosthetic hand.

“There’s an idea,” he said aloud, just enough to carry after the bulk of the CPO. “Though I doubt the higher-ups would take too kindly to AI-run ships without human failsafes. Not after the Calamity.” A pause, then, more deliberately, “For what it’s worth, Chief—based on the preliminary reports, you performed exceptionally under pressure. I’ll be submitting a recommendation for promotion.”

Lok’s departing nod was brief, professional. Cross respected that.

The doors slid shut, and Cross exhaled, turning his attention back to the clutter of PADDs on his desk. Damage assessments. Personnel reallocations. Casualty lists he hadn’t quite built the stomach to read through again. Somewhere in the stack was the Vaharran after-action report Stark had flagged for him, and he was in the middle of sorting for it when movement at the edge of his vision registered.

Two figures stepped in, crisp, precise—too precise. They snapped to attention and saluted. For half a heartbeat, Cross was genuinely caught off guard. His prosthetic hand lifted instinctively, fingers flexing as if to return the gesture, then stilled mid-air. Logic caught up to reflex. Starfleet didn’t salute like that. He let the hand settle back against the PADD instead, posture straightening as he rose to his feet.

“Commander Cross,” he said evenly, introducing himself as much for their benefit as protocol’s. His pale eyes flicked briefly from one to the other, taking in the symmetry, the discipline, the controlled stillness. “Lieutenant Commander Cross. Acting Executive Officer." He inclined his head—respectful, measured. “I’ve received multiple reports regarding Vaharran actions during the engagement,” he continued. “Your units’ work aboard this ship was cohesive, disciplined, and thorough under extremely chaotic conditions. Professionally, you have my respect.” He allowed a half smile. “Personally, you have my appreciation for stepping in to support us when you had no obligation to do so.”

Cross tapped the edge of the PADD once, as if punctuating the thought.

“Acting Captain Stark has already forwarded a full report of your conduct to the President of the Federation. Given the circumstances, I expect it will only be a matter of time before she seeks a personal meeting with you.” His tone remained neutral, but there was an undercurrent of candor. “When that happens, should you or your people have requests of the Federation, that would be the time to make them. From where I stand, you’re on a strong footing—and your requests would likely be received favorably.” He held their gaze, then added, carefully, “That said, I cannot speak for the Acting Captain, nor for the President. I can only tell you that, were the decision mine, I would welcome more Vaharrans aboard this ship. Especially now.” A slight pause. “We’re still waiting for the fallout from this battle, and with the President’s arrival pending, there are more unknowns than certainties.”

Cross let the silence breathe for a moment before shifting gears.

“If you already have requests,” he said, voice steady, “I’m willing to hear them and seek to do what I can to grant those which we can. And if there is anything you or your people can do to assist us further—within the limits of the resources you can reasonably spare—I would appreciate knowing that as well.” He angled the PADD slightly toward himself again, posture composed, attentive. “The floor is yours, Commander al-Zaheer.”

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #7 – February 19, 2026, 04:31:18 PM

Cmdr. (3rd) Hassar al-Zaheer | Executive Officer’s Office | Deck 1 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy] Attn. @Ellen Fitz
[Show/Hide]

Hassar listened patiently while Cross returned their greeting, clearly also taken aback for a moment by the overly formal military decorum, then was right down to business of informing the two officers of the latest developments regarding the ship’s Commander and the Federation leader. More importantly though was when Cross expressed his personal gratitude at what the Marines had done in the recent battle. The older vaharran couldn’t help but glance to his right at the younger Al-Sahiin as he felt a bit vindicated from their earlier conversation. Cross even informed Hassar that if they had any requests they would honor it to the best of their abilities, this made him perk up somewhat and he did his best to temper any excitement while silently thanking the Spirits for guiding him to this moment.

Cross finally finished with, “The floor is yours, Command al-Zaheer.”

“The floor is mine?” Hassar replied apprehensively as he and Ahzed looked on in slight confusion, perhaps wondering if their universal translators had malfunctioned.

Uncertain of what exactly Cross meant, and not particularly wanting to linger on the awkward moment, he cleared his throat and laid out his requests.

“Ahem, first I would like medical treatment for my troops, I know your doctors wouldn’t hesitate but I thought I would make it formal. Next, if possible, I would like to request that those troops too badly wounded to return to duty be transported home.”

These seemed like reasonable requests and probably not ones that he necessarily needed to ask, but he wanted to get those two small requests out of the way before moving onto the more important stuff.

“Now, I think I have told your Commander Stark previously that I was originally out here searching for a missing group of vaharrans, they were returning home from Earth when they went missing. I would like your help to find them and I would like to join your crew to ensure that it is carried out as well as earn my keep while aboard.’

He paused as he waited for Cross’s reaction, it was probably a lot, at least right now but he hoped that perhaps it would be granted some consideration.

Re: Epi S: [Day 03 | 0255] The Cost of Continuity

Reply #8 – February 19, 2026, 05:52:10 PM

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Deck 01 | Executive Officer’s Office | USS Theurgy ] @joshs1000 @P.C. Haring

For a fraction of a second, Cross simply looked at them as they initially responded to his comment. “The floor is mine?” Ah. The barest flicker of understanding passed across his features, followed by a faint, almost private amusement. He inclined his head slightly.

“It’s a Terran euphemism,” he clarified evenly. “It means you have the right to speak.”

He remembered—vividly—the first time someone had told him to “break a leg” before a public address after his liberation. He had spent several long, bewildered seconds trying to determine whether the remark had been a threat, sarcasm, or some obscure Earth ritual. Federation citizens trafficked in metaphor the way traders trafficked in goods—casually, constantly, without warning. It had taken him years to stop parsing every phrase for hidden meaning.

He was, not for the first time, grateful for the patience of the officers who had mentored him. They had corrected him without condescension. Explained without mockery. Taught him the difference between idiom and intent.

“I assure you,” he added mildly, “your translators are functioning.”

As Hassar moved into his requests, Cross’s expression settled back into attentive neutrality.

“Medical treatment will be granted immediately,” he said without hesitation. “Our doctors do not discriminate in matters of care. I’ll notify Sickbay personally to expect your wounded.” He offered a slight pause before continuing. “As for transporting those unable to return to duty—our resources are… limited at present. We’ve sustained significant damage, including to our medical stores. However, with the President’s vessel arriving shortly, if all proceeds without further incident, we may soon have access to Federation support and resupply. That would include medical and transport assistance.” His gaze held steady. “I cannot promise immediate passage home, but I can promise the request will be logged and prioritized once we have the capacity.”

Then came the final request. Cross did not answer immediately. Instead, he folded his hands loosely behind his back, prosthetic fingers curling with soft mechanical precision.

“You are asking,” he said carefully, “for this vessel to assist in locating your missing Vaharrans.” He raised a single eyebrow. “Why do you believe the Theurgy is the correct place to find them?” The question was not accusatory—only measured. “Our priority at present is recovery,” he continued. “We are stabilizing this ship, accounting for our losses, and reestablishing operational capacity. Until a few days ago, our primary mission was survival—exposing and containing the Infested threat.” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “That objective has been marginally achieved, at considerable cost.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward the stack of casualty reports before returning to Hassar.

“With the threat exposed and the Federation President en route, I do not know what comes next for this ship. We may be commended.” He gave a faint exhale. “We may be court-martialed. The Theurgy may remain intact. Or her crew may be dispersed across the fleet pending inquiry.” His tone remained calm, but there was no disguising the uncertainty beneath it. “Until the President renders her judgment, our future is undefined.” Hassar might have spoken then, but Cross lifted one hand—palm outward. Not dismissive. Simply pausing the momentum. “That uncertainty does not mean your request lacks merit,” he added, lowering his hand. “In fact, additional trained fighters would be welcome aboard. Your people proved their discipline and effectiveness in combat. If you and your troops are willing to abide by Starfleet standards, operate within our chain of command, and take orders from Starfleet personnel while assigned here, I would support your integration on a provisional basis.”

His eyes sharpened slightly—not unkind, but firm.

“However, I cannot, at this time, formally recommend allocating ship-wide resources toward an independent search operation. Not until we have clearer orders. Not until we know whether this vessel will even remain operational under its current command structure. If circumstances shift—if we are granted leeway, if our next directive allows for such an investigation—I will personally recommend that your missing people be added to our operational considerations.” He held Hassar’s gaze steadily. “But I will not make promises I cannot keep.”

Silence settled, not hostile, but weighty.

“For now,” Cross concluded, voice even, “your wounded will receive care. Your able-bodied troops may remain and assist—under Starfleet authority. And when more becomes known about our future, we will revisit the matter.” He inclined his head once more. “That is what I can offer you today, Commander.”

He held Hassar's gaze a beat longer—long enough to make clear the meeting was complete, not merely paused—then his attention shifted, almost imperceptibly, to the corridor beyond the open office door.

Hathev stood there. She had not announced herself. She never did. She simply existed in a space until you noticed her, which was, Cross had decided some time ago, a profoundly effective form of communication. It amazed him, even with her Vulcan nature, that after all that they'd gone through, her expression was precisely what it always was—composed, attentive, revealing nothing to anyone who did not know how to look.

He was learning how to look.

He returned his gaze to Hassar without hurry.

"My yeoman will coordinate your wounded's transfer to Sickbay and see your people assigned temporary quarters." He moved toward the door—a clear enough indication that the room was no longer theirs. "You'll be contacted once your status is formally processed." A dismissal, cleanly delivered. No ceremony. No apology for its brevity. "Excuse me."

He stepped into the corridor and stopped beside Hathev, close enough that their arms nearly touched. "You..." he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "You're unharmed physically." What a dumbass thing to say, Cross mentally kicked himself