The Virtue of Patience
Posted on Mon May 4th, 2020 @ 6:20am by
Mission:
Cruel Meridian
Location: Near Starbase 50
Timeline: MD 2: Shortly after the Majestic's departure from SB50
1059 words - 2.1 OF Standard Post Measure
“Something troubles you, comrade.”
An hour’s silence was finally broken with a short sentence exchanged between two uniformed members of the Hrongan Union. The olive drab coloring of their jackets served to homogenize the members of the diarchy in command of the small Moruvo-class transport, but the two leaders could not be more diametrically opposed in stature. The larger male stood a full meter taller than his female counterpart; some fifty kilograms or more differentiated their mass.
“No, Arva, nothing troubles me. I tire of waiting. The concern you detect stems from your informant. More specifically, the intelligence provided and it’s authenticity. The price was high.”
“Our informant,” Arva reminded him. “Patience, Maqoz. You will see the fruits of your labor.”
Once again, the bridge fell into silence. The rest of the assembled crew was made up of seasoned veterans from both sides of the generational war between the Tulias Alliance and the Sozon Empire. Historians from both sides noted the cyclical nature of the conflict, usually starting with a territorial dispute or quibble over colonial expansion before devolving into all out war. Inevitably, whether by common sense or by sheer attrition, the two sides would come together to forge out a fragile peace. Declaring a winner was where the historians from each side differed, usually coming down to patriotism more than it did any measurable statistic. One could not help but think there was an agreement between them to try and provide some sort of greater meaning to the violence.
Even so, there were others from both factions who had been born into war, lived through war, and died at war. A conflict that had raged for so long that people had dubbed it the Great Conflict. Perhaps the Tulias Alliance and the Sozon Empire were inseparably linked. Though it started with little more than a few clandestine meetings in the fringe worlds around the neutral zone dividing their territories, people from both sides desired peace. Not a fragile peace sealed with a purely ceremonial wedding as it had been done so many times in the past, but real, long-term peace.
Maqoz tightened his grip on the armrest, tensing up from the disdain with which he viewed the upcoming wedding of Leyana to the Sozon emperor - a name which he denegated to waste a single breath uttering. His attention was pulled away by the sound of the ship’s sensors issuing a proximity alert for a vessel matching the description they had been given by their contact on Starbase 50. It was a simple, high-low chime.
“And so your patience is rewarded,” Arva’s voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“Perhaps. Put the image on-screen. Confirm the cloaking device is still functioning.”
A chorus of ayes and confirmations echoed as a single voice around the bridge as the unmistakable profile of a Starfleet starship slowly focused into view on the main screen. The person operating the viewer deftly entered commands into the console, clarifying and enhancing the image to the greatest extent possible. There was no mistaking the strange markings on the hull, matching the exact description given to them by their informant.
U.S.S. MAJESTIC
“Leyana is on that ship.”
“Yes. She is our best and last hope of ending the Great Conflict,” Maqoz’s deep baritone seemed to be coming from every angle of the bridge even though his voice was not being amplified. “We will follow that ship. When the time is right, we must be ready to make our move. Our brothers and sisters will be ready in three artas*, we must not be late.”
A dozen voices sounded out in unison.
“For the Union!”
[USS Majestic, Bridge, MD 6 - 30 minutes prior to the accident]
“The heck was that?”
“What?”
“Sir, unknown,” Lieutenant Sullivan reported from her seat at the conn, her eyes darting back and forth across the displays. “I thought I saw something on our navigation sensors for a split second, but I can’t really be sure. It’s gone now.”
“Standby a moment… yeah, there it is,” Commander Jared Hanover was on the bridge, reading through diagnostics on the ship’s systems. He found what he believed to be the source of the sensor ghost. “There was a momentary fluctuation in the EPS grid. When I was assigned to the Worcester, we had the same issue on the old Intrepid class ships from time to time. I guess they never squashed that bug before porting the system over to the Majestic class. No biggie.”
Lilith mulled over the explanation for a moment, but eventually shrugged and accepted it. Starships were incredibly complex machines with innumerable parts and systems that interconnected with one another. The fact that they worked at all was a small miracle at times.
“Understood sir. We’re still on course at warp seven.”
“Steady on, lieutenant. The captain will be here shortly. There will be no reports of ghosts in the sensors, especially not with sickbay on alert for unusual paranormal activity,” Hanover joked, masking his internal concern over the growing number of reports of apparitions similar to the one he had reported to Doctor Stark.
[Moruvo Class Transport]
The faint, blue streaks of the Majestic’s warp trail were visible on the viewer as they had been for quite some time. Maqoz felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle in anticipation. He could not shake the feeling that they were speeding into some sort of calamity. That sort of premonition had kept him alive both as a Sozon warrior and as a guerilla fighter in the Hrongan Union.
“Have they detected us?”
“No indication, comrade. They have not changed course or speed for nearly a quarter-arta.”
“I feel the wind of favor with our diarchy, Arva,” Maqoz lied through his teeth. “We will continue and monitor for now. The time for action has nearly arrived.”
“For the Union.”
“For the Union.”
Maqoz & Arva
Hrongan Union Diarchs
Moruvo Class Transport
Commander Jared Hanover
Executive Officer
USS Majestic
Lieutenant Lilith Sullivan
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Majestic
*arta (n.) - a unit of time approximately equivalent to thirty hours
