Forward Momentum
Posted on Sat Jul 5th, 2025 @ 5:33pm by Lieutenant Aelira Valan’thir
512 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
A marathon not a sprint
Location: Sickbay, then Bridge, USS London
Timeline: MD08 - 1545 hours
The deck hummed gently beneath her feet as Aelira Valan’thir stood in Sickbay, repacking her medikit with efficient precision. There was a quiet rhythm to the task — a centring ritual that had served her well across decades of chaos. Her long black hair was loosely braided and pinned at the nape of her neck with the same river-stone clasp she'd worn since Kaitai-Nor. She had expected a brief respite aboard the London, a few more hours of relative calm before transitioning to her new role aboard the USS Wolff.
That expectation was dashed by the curt chirp of the comm.
“Doctor Valan’thir to the bridge.”
The voice was clipped, it was Lieutenant Thrin again. Not prone to drama.
Aelira rolled down the sleeves of her uniform, the dark, sacred patterns burned into her skin only briefly visible beneath the fabric. There was no need for ceremony now.
When she stepped onto the bridge, the air was taut with focused tension. The forward viewscreen displayed the streak of warp velocity, but it was the murmurs at the tactical station that drew her eye.
Captain Kizlite turned his smooth, blue-skinned visage toward her, his translucent breathing apparatus glowing faintly with each intake. “Doctor Valan’thir,” he began without preamble, “long-range sensors have detected a firefight ahead. The USS Wolff is currently engaged in defence of the USS Marathon. Their opponent is an unidentified vessel of unfamiliar design.”
Aelira’s dark green-flecked eyes narrowed slightly. “Unidentified how?”
Kizlite’s gills flexed as he processed the next report. “Configuration does not match known Dominion, Breen, or pirate vessels. Weapon discharge patterns are erratic. It's advanced, but not clearly aligned with any known technology base. We are increasing speed to maximum warp to reinforce their defence.”
Aelira’s pulse slowed deliberately, her breathing instinctively deepening. There were times when fear was warranted... but there was never time for it. “Do you have casualty telemetry from the Wolff or Marathon?”
Kizlite shook his head. “Telemetry is scrambled. Communications have been disrupted since the initial contact.”
Aelira inclined her head, calm washing over her like a descending veil. “Then I’ll ready triage packs for disembarkation. If the Wolff’s medbay is overwhelmed, I’ll be ready to assist the moment I arrive.”
“Understood. Our ETA is nine minutes.”
There was a brief pause, the hum of the warp core filling the silence. Kizlite studied her with the same analytical detachment he showed most organics — but something in his posture suggested quiet approval. “You seem unsurprised by the sudden shift in your welcome.”
Aelira allowed herself a wry smile. “War doesn’t send invitations, Captain.”
She turned to go, a figure graceful and composed, even as the lights dimmed subtly to red alert status. The faint scent of antiseptic gave way to ozone as the London surged forward through subspace, bound for an uncertain battlefield. Whatever waited aboard the Wolff, it was no longer a simple handover.
This would be her beginning. One a bit bloodied, perhaps, but hers nonetheless.
Lieutenant Aelira Valan'thir
Chief Medical Officer
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