The Trial Part: III

Posted on Tue May 27th, 2025 @ 11:32am by Rear Admiral Rebecca Talon & Captain Riandri Nalam
Edited on on Wed Jun 18th, 2025 @ 5:01am

3,182 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Mission 9: When the Stars Went Silent
Location: USS Denver
Timeline: Battle of Vulcan

Rebecca shuffled into auxiliary control, and the bridge crew turned to face the parted doors. A tense conversation had ended mid-sentence. With all eyes on her, Rebecca felt like an animal in a zoo, looking out at the guests staring at her through the glass across the enclosure. Their faces were wide-eyed, and their mouths were agape.

I must look as bad as I feel, she thought. Of course, the crew had never seen her even remotely in this unpolished state.

Her matted, unruly hair shot out in every direction, paired with the remnants of two-day-old makeup that had long passed the smudged stage. Bloodshot eyes and heavy bags sagged beneath bruises mottled in purple and green. She wore a light blue sickbay uniform beneath a freshly replicated black-and-gray duty jacket, left open at the front. Polished black boots peeked out from under standard-issue hospital trousers.

She looked as wild as Tarzan and as crazy as a Betsy bug.

"Reports of my death," she said hoarsely, "have been greatly exaggerated." There was a smattering of chuckles as the officers returned to her work. Rebecca hobbled the rest of the way into auxiliary control, leaving her counselor escort at the door. "Commander Nalim, in private, please."

Riandri nodded and glanced around the bridge, gesturing at a Lieutenant to take charge before she followed the captain.

Rebecca led Riandri into the tiny ready room off the backup bridge. It was a claustrophobic box, a little bigger than a closet, with a desk and two chairs on either side. On one wall was a tiny replicator. Despite being the captain, she dropped into the guest chair with a heavy sigh, her head swimming and her stomach threatening to turn itself inside out.

Rebecca moaned and leaned on the desk, cradling her head in both hands as she fought to bring the world back into focus. "Word of advice: don't let the ceiling fall on you."

Riandri let out a soft chuckle, "I will remember that." Standing by the door, she looked down at Rebecca, "How are you? Did the Doctor give you permission to be up and about?"

"I feel like shit, to be honest," Rebecca said through her hands and closed eyes. "And no, she did not sign off on my return to duty, but the circumstances being that they are..."

Riandri eyed her disapprovingly for a moment before she shrugged, “I would do the same. Just don’t push yourself, or I will have you back in medical.”

“You won't get any argument from me.” She took a slow, steady breath, filling her lungs before letting the air out through her nose. Opening her eyes, she was mercifully greeted by the soft glow of the emergency lighting. Anything brighter would have been like daggers through her eyes, no doubt—Mark that one up in the win column.

The world had stopped spinning for the moment, and for the first time since waking up in sickbay, she didn't feel like she was going to upend her stomach. The rhythmic flashing red glow of the red alert status bathed the backup-ready room in crimson like something from a Gothic horror. The air was heavy and still thick with a sharp, burnt electronic scent and body odor from a tired crew.

"Okay, we got our asses kicked at Vulcan. I can tell the ship is on emergency power, and obviously, the bridge must be damaged beyond usefulness, and you have moved command down here. What else do I need to know?"

Riandri smiled sadly at that, “Well, you're right we did get our ass kicked but they are worse off. Last reports show the Dominion fleet hasn’t been able to break through beyond a couple of ships, which landed a handful of troops on the ground, but the ships were destroyed in short order, and the troops are contained, last I heard. The bulk of their remaining ships have pulled back. They were not expecting the Romulans to arrive, though in fairness, I don’t think we were either. Currently, the fleet is reforming with several squadrons harassing the Dominion force. It isn’t over yet, but the overall situation is looking up.”

She took a slight breath and looked around the room for a moment as an old feeling overcame her. She shook it off before continuing, “The Denver, though, is a different story. The main bridge is barely functional, and we took extensive damage across all systems. Hull integrity is around 50%, and shields are backup, but only at 23%. We have two function phaser arrays and only one tube that can fire our eight remaining torpedoes. We have main power back up for now…”

Riandri trailed off mid-sentence and frowned as a very clear sense of wrongness overcame her to the point she had to grab hold of the chair she was standing beside. She looked over at Rebecca, her expression one of concern, “Something is wrong, this, this isn’t right.”

“What isn't right?” Rebecca asked, her attention fully grabbed.

“I…I am not sure,” she said as she put a hand to her head as a splitting headache exploded in her head.

A flash of light enveloped them. The ready room dissolved, replaced by a dim auditorium of bare concrete. The tiered stands overflowed with figures in tattered rags, their grotesque props adding to the surreal nightmare. They were on their feet, hurling insults, their shouts a crushing, inescapable roar.

Rebecca and Riandri sat on cold, unyielding concrete blocks, a mockery of proper seats. Above them, a crimson banner loomed, its black bird stretching jagged wings like blades. Rebecca’s stomach churned. She doubled over, gripping the edge of her seat as bile rose, unstoppable. The moment her stomach emptied, splattering the filth-streaked floor, the jeers exploded to a deafening crescendo.

Riandri leaned over to Rebecca, placed her hand on her back, and pulled her hair back while she looked around at the stands around them.

“Thanks,” she muttered, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “I would have said this was a dream… but that was too real. Where are we?”

Looking around Riandri could only shrug, “Damned if I know. Though there is something familiar about it.” Her eyes fell on the crimson banner as an old report came back to her, “That banner, did you ever read Captain Picard’s report about their encounter with Q?” She said ‘Q’ with venom in her voice.

“Q?” Everyone was familiar with Q and his antics.

A soldier in an odd grey padded uniform that tugged at the edge of her memory, from one of her many history classes years ago. He raised his black weapon, A gun, threatening her and Riandri.

“The prisoners will stand!” His voice rose over the din, and the crowd fell silent.

Leaning on Riandri, Rebecca rose, wishing for that cocktail of medication the doctor had prescribed to her when the concussion symptoms returned. They had returned. But, Counselor Millard had that hypospray, and she wasn't here. Closing her eyes, she patted her XO on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

Riandri just nodded as she wrapped her arm around her captain's waist to support her as they stood.

Then, a figure emerged from the black void across the chamber, seated upon a throne that seemed to float above the ground. Some hidden mechanism suspended it, but the illusion only deepened the scene’s surreal quality.

The figure wore flowing robes of crimson and obsidian, their folds drifting like smoke in still air. Only the face was visible: a woman, perhaps in her sixties or seventies, with piercing green eyes and an expression carved from stone, serene, imperious, and utterly detached.

Riandri's face darkened as she watched the figure emerge. Though she had never had the pleasure of interacting with the Q continuum, she was aware of the El-Aurian history with them and Q’s, albeit a different one, fascination with the Federation and Captain Picard. Standing a little straighter, she narrowed her eyes. “What is it you want, Q? Bored with your dreary existence?”

The woman laughed, making a high-pitched nasal sound. “El Aurian, are you? Your people always have such… spunk.”

The judge's eyes fell on Rebecca, and she clicked her tongue. “ This won't do,” she said, snapping her fingers.

In a flash, Rebecca's motley attire was replaced by her usual spit and polish. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun without a single strand out of place.

Rebecca blinked. The nausea was gone, and the pounding in her head was a fading memory. For the first time, she took in her surroundings fully. This was a trial… a trial she was pretty sure Captain Picard had put to rest once and for all five years ago.

Riandri cast a slight glare but softened her expression and gave the Q a slight nod. She did not expect the omnipotent being to recognise, let alone understand, the gesture. Turning to Rebecca, she cast her eyes over her, “Q’s have their uses, I guess, but this is about the extent of it. How are you feeling?”

Rebecca shrugged, “Normal… I think. Weird.”

Riandri smiled slightly and nodded, “Glad you’re better.” With that, she turned to look at the soldiers around them.

Rebecca stepped defiantly forward, and the soldier leveled his gun at her. She ignored him. “Q, you have messed with us for too long. What games are you playing?”

“Q?” she asked, confusion on her face. “Oh, you mean Q. The Q that your people are familiar with has been recused. He has lost his objectivity and is no longer able to effectively judge humanity as the grievously savage child race you are.”

“That trial ended five years ago,” Rebecca shouted, echoing off the now-silent walls. The spectators stood in anticipation, but for what?

“Tisk-tisk Captain, there will be no such outbursts.” She stood and had an almost regal appearance with her flowing black vestments. “The trial never ended,” she said. “Picard and his crew may have shown promise, but that was one crew, one moment. Perhaps another captain… another crew... will reveal the truth of your species.”

Riandri rolled her eyes. “Do you really have nothing better to do, Q?”

“We do not,” Q replied simply, without humor. “The Federation is being tested.”

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Did you have a hand in what happened at Vulcan?”

Q let out a dramatic sigh, like a professor weary of a particularly dense pupil. “Oh, Captain… you flatter us. No, your defeat at Vulcan was entirely your own doing. Tragic, yes. But also… illuminating. It will echo through the generations, if your Federation survives long enough to remember it.”

She leaned forward slightly, her green eyes glittering. “And therein lies your test. Not merely to endure, but to do so without descending into the savagery we know still festers beneath your polished ideals.”

“And how would you test that?” Riandri said with a sigh as she shook her head in annoyance, as it rapidly turned to anger. “If you really wanted to learn something useful about us and the Federation and not just play games, you would toss your powers aside and come join us on one of your ships to live as we do instead of sitting there on your chair preaching your righteous nonsense.”

Q descended from her throne, her robes trailing and swirling around her, defying gravity, no doubt another trick performed by the cosmic jester. She circled Riandri, the heels of her shoe concealed within the folds of her robes, clicking on the concrete floor.

“Bold words from a Listener,” she murmured, low and intimate, just above the hush that fell over the audience clinging to Q’s every syllable. “Your people are masters of watching, of surviving through silence. You call it wisdom. I call it surrender. At least humans, as savage and barbaric as they are, have chosen their destinies. You let others write your history: the Borg, the Q, even humans.”

Riandri's eyes hardened as she stared forward, not dignifying Q with an attempt to follow her movement. “I am not ‘my’ people and my actions are my own,” she said coldly. “What you speak of was before my time, and I will not be judged based on others' actions or inaction by the likes of you.”

Q leaned in, her voice an intimate whisper in her ear. “But that’s exactly why you’re here, dear Listener. Sooner or later, you’ll have to get your hands dirty.”

Riandri let out a laugh at that, “My hands aren’t clean, none fo ours are in this damn war.” She stepped up to Q and looked up at her, “I will show you if you want!” As she said it, her fists balled up, but she held her swing.

Stepping back, Q swept an arm wide, radiating the fervor of a Baptist preacher mid-sermon. “They don’t know, do they?” she said. Her voice carried a rich theatrical flair, but there was no trace of playfulness.

Laughter erupted in the courtroom, echoing off the cold walls—a sharp, unsettling mix of jeers and menace. It sent a chill down Rebecca’s spine. There was something ominous in Q’s words, but her tone truly unsettled her. This wasn’t a game.
Q turned, casting a knowing glance at the two Starfleet officers, her eyes glittering with malicious amusement. “The arrival of the Romulans was only a temporary setback for the Dominion. They will regroup. And when reinforcements arrive... How about I show instead of tell?”

With a snap of her fingers, the courtroom vanished in a blinding flash of white light. The sickly, oppressive, humid, and sour air was swept away, replaced by a dry warmth tinged with the metallic bite of air conditioning. Riandri and Q flanked Rebecca, their presence pressing uncomfortably close. A crisp Starfleet admiral’s uniform had replaced Q’s judge’s robes, the rank bars mockingly glinting under the harsh yellow sunlight streaming through a row of rectangular windows near the ceiling.

They stood in a chaotic command center, monitors hanging from every wall. Stoic Vulcans in traditional attire moved with deliberate calm. Their sharp eyes scanned the data streams, and despite their emotional control, tension played upon their expressions. Animated Starfleet officers rushed about, distributing reports and barking orders.

A violent space battle unfolded across the monitors. A Dominion cruiser closed relentlessly on a Sovereign-class starship, its weapons tearing through the hull until, in a brilliant flash of light, the ship fractured violently. Rebecca’s breath caught as a jagged piece of the saucer section spun past the camera, the partial registry, 701-E, etched into the wreckage in bold black letters.

Nearby, two Dominion fighters swarmed a Romulan Warbird. A green disruptor beam lanced out, striking one fighter and igniting a fiery explosion that scattered bits of the Dominion ship in all directions. The second fighter veered sharply, ramming the Warbird’s flank. The collision triggered a catastrophic antimatter explosion, bathing the surrounding darkness in a brilliant, deadly flare.

On other monitors, footage of various Vulcan cities, Jem’Hadar, and Cardassian soldiers streamed into the city streets. The invaders swept the streets with their weapons, mowing down unarmed Vulcans of all ages, their muted screams unheard on the video feed. Rebecca took a ragged breath, filling her lungs as tears streamed down her cheeks, and her manicured nails dug painfully into her palms.

Riandri turned to the captain, her voice tense. “This isn't real, Captain. This isn’t our reality. She did this.” She nodded sharply toward Q.

Q let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh, my dear Commander. For someone who claims to listen, you do so very little of it.”
Rebecca spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think this is an illusion. Both previous trials tested humanity against reality… and it was our decisions that determined the outcome.”

Q clapped once, eyes gleaming. “Our dear captain gets it!” she declared, but the command center paid them no mind.

Q paced in front of them. “After your pathetic little ship was damaged, the unexpected arrival of the Romulans gave you a fleeting advantage. How tragic that the Cardassian Third and Fourth Orders arrived as well. And now, the final stroke, at 0800, Vulcan High Command will contact the lead Dominion ship… and surrender. Just like that, the tide turns. The battle is lost.”

Riandri jsut glared at Q then back at Rebecca, “So this is the future then. Why show us this and unable to play our part in it?”

Q sighed theatrically and shook her head. “Oh, my dear Listener… this is not the future. This is the present. Right now, while you limp your broken little ship back toward Earth, desperate for sanctuary. This is what’s happening. The war is already over. You just have not realized it yet.”

Q stared directly at Riandri, eyes like twin lasers. “Do not fret, you will have your chance to make a difference. In time. Once you have learned what must be learned. If you prove yourself worthy, then, and only then, will we allow you to shape what comes next. The real question is: when that moment arrives… will you have the strength to make the call?”

“You, a Q, will help us?” Riandri said in slight disbelief. “To save the lives of trillions and the Federation, it isn't a choice.”
Q smirked. "Help? No. A second chance? Perhaps. Until then, my dear Listener... you are being watched."

With a snap of her fingers and a flash of light, Riandri and Rebecca were suddenly standing in the center of Denver’s auxiliary control. The familiar hum of consoles and soft beeps filled the air. The bridge crew focused on their duties, unfazed by the sudden appearance of the two women, as if they’d been there the whole time. Rebecca shivered. The dry heat of Vulcan was gone, replaced by the cool, recycled air of the ship. She glanced around slowly, her eyes sweeping across the scuffed walls and dim lighting. After a long pause, she exhaled.

“Well… crap.”

Riandri just shook her head, “I had hoped to never deal with one of them.” She looked around the auxiliary bridge. “Status.”

“We are at warp five, direct course for Sol,” the operations officer replied. “Shields and structural integrity are holding but barely functional. Engineering reports it will take at least two more days.”

Riandri just nodded, feeling numb, “The Fleet? Any word?”

“Dominion reinforcements arrived forty minutes ago, and the Second Fleet has broken, taking heavy losses. Remnants of the Seventh Fleet and Romulan Warbirds have rallied under the IRW Xoval and are falling back to Earth," the operations officer continued.

“Shit,” Rebecca sighed clinching her fists, nails digging painfully into her palms. “Q wasn't lying.”

Riandri looked over at Rebecca, a sinking feeling in her chest, “It appears not….”

 

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