Just Keep Flying
Posted on Wed Feb 4th, 2026 @ 9:21am by Commodore Tyler Malbrooke & Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trellis
Edited on on Wed Feb 4th, 2026 @ 9:31am
2,756 words; about a 14 minute read
Mission:
Episode 17 - Going Home
Location: Ready Room - Deck 1 - USS Pioneer
Timeline: MD003 1000 hrs
Galen Trellis stood outside the Captain's Ready Room, adjusting his uniform one final time before pressing the door chime. He'd been aboard the Pioneer for several days now, had checked in with the XO, familiarized himself with the helm station on the bridge, and even started getting to know some of his fellow crew members. But this was different.
This was meeting the Captain.
This wasn't a Marine briefing. This was his captain, and he needed to make a good first impression as himself, not as some ghost of a warrior who'd died six years ago.
He pressed the chime and waited.
Tyler was neck deep in proverbial paperwork. When the chime rang he did not answer, as he expected Sofia to get it. However, it was then that he realized she was off on leave. He welcomed the distraction and placed the PADD he had down on the stack in front of him. "Come on in." Tyler called to the door, as it opened he tossed his cowboy hat on the rack behind him.
The doors slid open, and Galen stepped into the ready room, catching the tail end of the Commodore's movement as a cowboy hat found its place on the rack. A captain who kept a cowboy hat in his ready room was probably someone who didn't take himself too seriously—at least off duty.
Lieutenant Trellis entered the room and offered a respectful nod, though his expression carried a hint of good-natured humor.
"Commodore Malbrooke," he said, his tone professional but warm. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trellis, reporting for duty as your Chief Flight Control Officer—and I have to say, it's good to finally be aboard the Pioneer." The Trill Helmsman said.
He gestured vaguely with the PADD in his hand. "I have to admit, sir, after waiting on Empok Nor for as long as I did, actually stepping aboard the Pioneer feels a bit surreal. But here she is, and here I am, ready to fly her wherever you need to go. I've already familiarized myself with the helm configuration and the ship's flight characteristics."
He deliberately didn't mention the runabout mission with Commander Tyree and Ensign Calder—that fell squarely under "need to know," and unless the Commodore brought it up, it wasn't his place to discuss it.
Tyler glanced at the PADD as he pointed to the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat Lieutenant. Help yourself to something if you would like." He pointed at the little side table that had coffee and some other refreshments set out on it. Tyler had expected Trellis, ever since the death of Paul Michael. "Well everything seems to be in order here. I am glad to have you aboard and be seen." He said with a chuckle and then continued. "So, out of curiosity what makes you so excited to be here? We are just your run of the mill Intrepid Class starship."
Galen moved to the indicated chair, settling into it with an easy professionalism. He glanced at the refreshment table and shook his head with a slight smile. "Thank you, sir, but I'll pass. Coffee and I have a longstanding disagreement that goes back through at least three hosts. Maren couldn't stand it, Ryla thought it tasted like engine coolant, and Dorian—" he paused with a wry grin, "—well, he preferred it only when it was strong enough to qualify as a tactical weapon. I've learned to stick with tea."
He handed over the PADD with his transfer orders, then leaned back slightly, his expression becoming more thoughtful at the Commodore's question. "Run of the mill, sir?" Galen said with a slight, knowing smile. He left unsaid the observation that Glinn Kalim wouldn't have been so deliberately vague about the Pioneer's whereabouts if she were truly just another Intrepid-class on routine patrol. But that fell into the category of things he'd been told not to be curious about.
"Honestly, sir? The Meridian was a good posting. Stable, predictable, routine patrol routes along established shipping lanes. Safe." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "And that was exactly the problem. I was Assistant Chief, flying the same routes, running the same drills, knowing exactly what each day would bring.
Galen's tone shifted, carrying more conviction now. "I didn't join Starfleet to be comfortable. I joined to explore, to push boundaries, to fly ships through places nobody's mapped yet. The Pioneer operates in contested space, unexplored systems, situations that require actual skill That's what I trained for and that's what I'm good at."
"Ryla spent forty-three years flying cargo through contested space, navigating by instinct when sensors failed. Dorian operated behind enemy lines where one wrong move meant everyone died. Those experiences don't do me much good on a ship that flies the same safe routes year after year." The Trill added.
Tyler had chosen Tellis off of a list of candidates for the Chief spot. One of the reasons was that he wanted the centuries of experience that came with a joined Trill. He laughed. "I see our reputation precedes us. A little about the Pioneer and her propulsion in case you are not aware. We are equipped with a slipstream drive. So, I am going to need you to be familiar with slipstream piloting techniques if you are not already. Our Marine division has a pilot and EVAC specialist, who when they are not off the ship on an assignment has been cleared for bridge duty and is under your command. We mostly deal with Cardassians and Romulans out here. I know your record, as well as the records of your previous hosts. To that end I need to make sure that is not going to be a problem."
Galen felt the familiar flash of irritation—hot and immediate—settle in his chest. Here we go again. First with Lieutenant Colonel Trimble and now with Commodore Malbrooke, the same conversation. Not "what can you do," but "will your dead hosts' baggage be a problem?"
He took a deliberate breath, forcing his expression to remain professional even as frustration simmered beneath the surface. Dorian's instincts wanted to bristle at having his competence questioned. Galen's own anger was directed elsewhere—at the Symbiosis Commission for letting Dorian deteriorate without intervention, at Dorian himself for refusing help and creating this mess, and yes, at the Commodore for making him justify himself before he'd even had a chance to prove what he could do.
But he kept all of that locked down tight.
"With respect, sir. . ." Lieutenant Trellis had become accustomed to using that phrase as a life preserver. It stopped him from allowing himself to fall into the deep end of his emotions and say something that he wouldn't be able to swim back from.
". . .I've been managing Dorian's memories and psychological patterns for six years now," Lieutenant Trellis said evenly, his tone controlled. "I've served on three ships since the joining without incident. I'm aware of his service record, his combat experience, and his complicated feelings about Klingons and Cardassians. Those memories don't control me—I control them."
Tyler leaned back in his chair and sipped the ever-present cup of coffee that he had. "Forgive me Lieutenant I did not mean any insult. And in truth I know of your record, which is exemplary. My question is more from both curiosity and a command concern. How much of a previous hosts opinion, decisions, likes, dislikes et cetera bleed through to the current host? It is this thought that prompted my previous statement. That is a question you do not necessarily need to answer. As I said your record does speak for itself. Further I chose you directly for this position, so know I do not question your abilities. I want you to promise me that should it ever be a problem, you will report to Counselor Vura before anything else. Once you accept a position aboard this vessel, you accept a position in this family. Previous hosts and all."
Galen felt the weight of the question settle over him like a physical thing.
How much bleeds through?
He couldn't tell the Commodore the truth—that standing on Empok Nor's promenade had made Dorian's rage so visceral he'd wanted to tear the Cardassian bulkheads apart with his bare hands. That seeing Glinn Kalim across a desk had triggered such intense hatred that for one terrible moment, all he could think about was grabbing that bottle of Kanar and bashing it across his skull. That Maren and Ryla's memories were like watching old holovids through crystal-clear windows—present but distant—while Dorian's combat experiences crashed over him like he was living them for the first time, complete with the smell of burning flesh.
He couldn't say any of that. Not to a commanding officer who needed to trust him at the helm of a starship operating in contested space.
So Galen did the only thing he could do. He gave the answer that was true enough to satisfy without revealing just how precarious his control sometimes felt.
He met the Commodore's eyes steadily, projecting a confidence he didn't entirely feel.
"I understand, sir," Lieutenant Trellis said carefully, his tone respectful and measured. "If it ever becomes something I can't handle on my own, I'll report to Counselor Vura, sir."
"Well then that is all that needs to be said in that matter. Here is a list of personnel and equipment that are now under your command. Our Bolian shuttlebay manager Xeres is usually on top of the maintenance of the shuttles. Bridge rotations are at your discretion, although I do require the Senior Staff to work Alpha Shift, and be on call for the rest of the day should the need arise. Do you have any questions? Thoughts? Consider permission to speak freely given." The officer in front of Tyler impressed him to no end. In this moment Tyler wanted to learn a little about the person behind the rank.
Lieutenant Trellis accepted the PADD with the personnel roster and equipment manifest, scanning it briefly before looking back up at the Commodore. The invitation to speak freely was genuine, but he wasn't ready to drop his professional mask just yet. Not when he'd just carefully sidestepped questions about Dorian's influence.
He paused, then asked the question that actually mattered. "What I'd like to know, Commodore, is what kind of missions I should be prepared for. Everyone's been carefully vague about what the Pioneer's been up to—operational security, I understand that. But I need some context. Are we primarily looking at exploration missions? Combat operations? Diplomatic escort through contested space?"
It was safer ground—questions about the ship's mission rather than questions about himself. The Commodore wanted to learn about the person behind the rank, but Galen wasn't ready to offer that. Not yet. Not when he was still trying to prove he could do the job without Dorian's baggage becoming a liability.
"The Pioneer's official assignment is to assist the Cardassian Defense Fleet in patrols and peacekeeping within their borders. In return for those efforts we are given access to Cardassian space for space exploration. The ship's missions are never classified and a matter of record." Tyler began, he paused to sip his coffee. When he set the mug down he smiled as exactly what Galen was asking occurred to him. "You joined the Pioneer while the ship was on a non conventional mission. A species reached out for help and we answered. Time was of the essence and so there was no time for official channels. Starfleet did not take too kindly to that. However, the fallout from that was on me not the crew. You will at times be asked for some unconventional flying skills, and the opportunity to land a starship is always there."
Galen felt Dorian's immediate, visceral reaction—a surge of contempt so strong it almost made him grimace. Let the Spoonheads defend their own damn borders. The quadrant would be better off if we just pulled back and let whatever they call a "Defense Force" handle their own problems without our help.
He caught himself immediately, pushing the thought down hard. The Cardassians we're working with now aren't the ones from the war. Different government. Different military. Different people.
But the anger didn't entirely dissipate. It never did.
Galen kept his expression carefully neutral, listening as the Commodore explained the Pioneer's unconventional mission profile. "Unconventional flying I can handle, sir," Lieutenant Trellis said evenly, grateful to focus on the practical rather than dwell on his complicated feelings about working alongside Cardassians. "I've got experience with atmospheric entries and precision maneuvering from my time on the Vengeance. And Ryla—my second host—spent four decades flying cargo routes through contested space. Improvisation is something of a specialty." he added.
At the sound of Ryla Tyler leaned forward. "Now that must have been something. Flying by the seat of your pants, not knowing what to expect when. That kind of mission profile always appealed to me. Do you still remember any hiding places that may have been used. We may have use of them sometime." Tyler smiled the man before him was quite interesting, and different than other Trill that Tyler had served with. "Something I can tell you is that our next mission will not be anything too spectacular. We are to leave this area and escort General Seamus O'Rourke to his new command on the edge of known space."
"She knew quite a few useful spots—asteroid fields with stable pockets, nebulae that scrambled sensors just enough to hide a small ship, abandoned mining stations that made for decent temporary shelters. Some of them might still be viable, assuming they haven't been claimed or mapped in the intervening years."
The mention of their next mission caught his attention, and Galen's expression shifted to something more focused. He paused, already running through considerations. "When you say 'edge of known space,' are we talking about areas with minimal sensor data, or regions where we might encounter unexpected spatial phenomena?"
This was the kind of mission profile he'd signed up for—something more complex than routine patrol routes, requiring actual skill and adaptability. Even if it was just an escort mission, the location alone suggested it wouldn't be entirely straightforward.
This was actually the first time since Tyler had received command of the Pioneer that he had a pilot interested in preparing for a mission. So, he thought there was no problem going into some depth with what was to come. After all, this was not a classified mission. "Camp Nostromo is being constructed on a stable asteroid within the Pi Hydrae sector of the Typhon Expanse. As you are no doubt aware this is near Romulan Space, which as of now is heavily contested with infighting. This is why a Starfleet Marine base was requested for construction. You can expect there to be heavy spatial phenomena. This is still a highly unexplored region of space. If you are looking to prepare. I would recommend having a look at the mission logs of the USS Enterprise D and USS Titan. Both vessels have explored and charted some of the Typhon Expanse."
Galen absorbed the information with focused attention. The Typhon Expanse—he'd heard stories, read some of the publicly available mission reports from the Academy. "The Typhon Expanse," he repeated thoughtfully. "I've read some of the Enterprise-D's logs from that region—spatial distortions, unusual phenomena. Didn't realize we'd be operating that close to contested Romulan territory, though."
It was clear this was exactly the kind of assignment he'd been hoping for—complex enough to require actual skill, far enough from routine patrol routes to feel like real exploratory work. "I'll review both ships' logs before we depart. Should give me a better sense of what to expect out there." he said.
"Well then Lieutenant I will let you get to it. Welcome aboard." Tyler said with a broad smile. As the Trill left the Ready Room. Tyler leaned back in his chair. He thought that maybe, just maybe the Pioneer may have finally found its pilot.
A Joint Post By
Commodore Tyler Malbrooke
Commanding Officer, USS Pioneer
Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trelis
Chief Flight Control Officer, USS Pioneer
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