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Plata #47856 Mi a manó,új hír.
Kings & Queens – The Aftermath
After a moment of respite from the recent events, Hugh and his crew on the Yasutake continue their investigations.
By Fero March 19, 2025, 08:00 AM
“Engage!” Director Hugh commanded from the captain’s chair of the Yasutake. As the engine thrummed to life, a brilliant cascade of subspace energy enveloped the starship, allowing it to tear through the fabric of space-time for what seemed to be but a moment. Dropping out of warp, the Yasutake came to a halt.
In the vast, unforgiving expanse of the Delta Quadrant, tensions from the recent battle with the Aetherians and the Control Borg still hung heavily over the crew. Slowly, eyes began to meet, uniforms were straightened out, and silent acknowledgments of success were exchanged. A narrow escape. A close call. But a success, nonetheless. The crew’s anxiety turned into relief, and then elation.
"You did it, Director," the Yasutake’s communications officer exhaled.
"We all did it." Hugh’s voice was steady with conviction, as he stood up from his chair and made his way over to the comms station. He placed his hand gently on the officer’s shoulder.
The shared sense of triumph that was beginning to resonate through the bridge was interrupted by an incoming subspace transmission. Hugh lowered his hand and glanced down at the identification code on the display screen in front of his officer.
“Patch her through,” he ordered with a nod. “Onscreen.”
“Director Hugh, this is Admiral Kuumaarke. Did you make it out of Ram Izad uncompromised? It seems a number of Alliance members and their allies are experiencing some… technical difficulties. Warp malfunctions and suboptimal systems performance, to mention just two.” The unmistakable trill of Admiral Kuumaarke’s voice trickled in through the Yasutake’s communications array and onto the bridge. Hugh turned to face his Chief Engineer. She shook her head, assuredly.
“No malfunction here, Admiral, but thanks for checking in,” he asserted, turning around to face the viewscreen again. “I’ll be sending out a report shortly. In the meantime, I suggest you rest up.” A bittersweet smile crept across his face. “It’s been a long day, Admiral.”
“Call me Kuumaarke,” the Lukari Admiral smiled. She hesitated before continuing. “I echo your suggestion, Hugh. We almost lost you today.” An uncomfortable silence filled every corner of the bridge. The Director sat down in the captain’s chair, gave a swift, consenting nod, then crossed his arms resolutely.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he chuckled. His eyes darted across the room to meet the gaze of the Yasutake’s first officer, who shot back an amused, knowing look. “Stay safe out there, Kuumaarke,” Hugh cautioned.
“You too, Hugh.” Kuumaarke took a deep breath, signed off, and disappeared from the viewscreen.
. . .
5 rotations later
Bathed in a soft, sea-green light, Hugh’s private research facility was one of the few places aboard the Yasutake that offered a sense of total peace. It was quieter, even, than his own ready room. Only the faint hum of nanoprobes resting on bio-synthetic charging pads and blinking holographic displays projecting small-scale tactical simulations interrupted the almost sacred serenity of the space.
The soundproof walls were lined with large, comprehensive data banks. Biometric security measures ensured the protection of the most sensitive archives, such as classified datachips on the First Reclamation Project and the Zhat Vash. Atop the room’s sleek console stations stood stacks of neatly arranged biochemical vials. Data collected from tricorders during Priority One missions, such as the one aboard the Harmony, was replicated and converted into tangible, examinable matter. Hunched over one such vial at present stood Hugh and his first officer, deep in thought.
“It’ll take a while to nail down the biological composition of this one,” Hugh sighed. He straightened his posture, and began pacing the room.
“Well, at least we’ve got a name. What about the probe?” asked his XO.
Hugh’s eyes lit up in a flash. Making a swift turn, he strode over to the room’s central display screen. After a few hurried taps and swipes, the Director dropped his arms to his sides and clenched his fists.
“Nothing,” he sighed again, relaxing his hands. “Nothing… yet.” The Yasutake’s second-in-command, still hunched over the biochemical vial, peered over at their superior with narrowed eyes.
“Shall I contact her?” The officer raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Not yet, Commander Duff,” replied Hugh. “But, thank you. You must be tired. Dismissed,” he added.
“Director,” the Commander replied, standing upright again and lowering his head deferentially. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He sent out a playful, two-finger salute in Hugh’s direction and headed out the door.
“James?” the Director blurted out, interrupting his first officer’s exit.
“Sir?” James responded, stopping in his tracks and popping his head back through the open door.
“It’s good to see you again. I thought that was it.” Hugh’s lower lip quivered almost imperceptibly. James shook off the emotion that was threatening to overcome him.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he riposted with a wink. “You always make it out.” The two held each other’s gaze for a moment, then shared a smile. James turned and left the room.
Hugh, however, remained in his research facility for several hours more, eyes glued to the central display screen. Occasionally, his focus would drift back to the vial containing the unidentified biochemical matter, a mix of curiosity and determination etched on his face.
. . .
Later that night
After an arduous week of investigations that yielded no concrete results, Hugh finally retreated to his personal quarters. Sitting on the edge of his bed, hands by his sides, he dug his fingers into the Federation-style duvet underneath him - one of his few personal belongings. The soft linens contrasted starkly with the sterile pods he once knew as a Collective drone. It was a softness that brought him comfort, and quieted his racing mind in times of trouble. He looked over at a corner of the room which had been equipped with Borg technology - a space to ensure his cybernetic components still received the care they required during downtime. Unable to rest, Hugh got up and sat at his private console station.
“Computer, open a secure channel to Probe Link CP4-BQ-SZ6 and begin encoded transmission,” he recited. Hugh took a deep breath, then continued. “Dear friend… If you’re out there. The situation grows bleaker by the stardate. I fear we are indeed on the precipice of an uprising, perhaps even a war. We need to rally… We must rally. A specialized task force is required, people with tailored experience. Not only that, we need to know if there is hope for those who have been fused. I need to know… If it’s possible, or if it’s a lost cause. I’m sure if you were here now, you’d tell me there is no such thing as a lost cause. In light of that… Do you think you’d pass on a message for me? I think it’s time. Signed, a hopeful fool.” Hugh paused, taking stock of the tension in his body, then exhaled. “Computer, send transmission.”
Fulfilled and with spirits ever-so-slightly raised, Hugh slumped back onto his bed, sleep finally finding purchase in the fatigued folds of his mind.
. . .
30 rotations later
Another night of tireless investigations was coming to close inside Hugh’s private research facility. Commander James Duff stood hunched over the elusive vial once more, with Hugh keeping a watchful eye over the central display screen, one hand resting under his chin in a thinker's pose.
"So?" James enquired, still focused on the vial.
"Nothing yet. You?" the Director asked.
"Same here, boss,” James muttered, much to his superior’s bemusement.
"Don’t… call me that.” Hugh shook his head, smiling. “Keep looking, Duff," he jested.
Each day felt like an endless loop. Eventually, minor breakthroughs were made and communicated to the Alliance, but nothing of great substance. Nevertheless, they persisted, undeterred.
. . .
Later that evening
At this hour, the Yasutake’s recreational lounge was fairly empty. Sitting at a secluded side table, Hugh stirred his drink distractedly. With his free hand, he flicked through old memories - a small holographic projection of old friends in Starfleet uniforms of a different era standing by Earth’s Golden Gate Bridge. He swiped at the display again and the image changed - a close-up of a younger, grayer, more cybernetically enhanced Hugh locked in an embrace with a Starfleet engineer sporting a gleaming First Gen VISOR. As he swiped again to reveal another image, he was interrupted by a raven-haired figure in an ambassador’s uniform. Counselor Fritz sat down in an unoccupied chair beside him, as she so often did.
“You’re worried,” she observed. Hugh looked at her, dismissing the hologram.
“And you’re overworked,” he deflected. They smiled at each other.
"You will find her, Hugh," the counselor reassured. Hugh’s smile faded.
"Actually, I'm not sure I will, Harley,” he sighed. “I can’t track her across dimensions.” He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.
"Well, then perhaps you'll have to let her find you,” she suggested. Harley placed a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him.
Just then, Hugh’s comms badge chirped. His eyes shot open. Grabbing hold of Harley’s hand, Hugh waved open his personal comms display, revealing a short transmission from Probe Link CP4-BQ-SZ6.
"Dear friend, I thought you'd never ask. What's the message? Signed, a loyal blade."