Frosty Greetings

Posted on Sat Jan 24th, 2026 @ 5:01pm by Commander Steven Greco & Lieutenant Evelyn Stewart & Commander Calvin 'Cal' Maraj & Lieutenant Commander Keishara Davaris & Lieutenant Dashku Zhevou & 1st Lieutenant Kes Th’relnal

1,423 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Year One: The Point of No Return
Location: USS Moore and Starbase 514 - Various Locations
Timeline: MD: 004 - 10:30hrs

Lieutenant Stewart looked down at her console as it beeped, signaling their arrival to their destination. "Commander, we're approaching Starbase 514." She announced without looking up from her console as she worked.

Cal felt the shift before the stars resolved, that subtle easing in the deck that always came with arrival. Starbase 514 slid into view and with it, the weight he’d been carrying since Copernicus.

So this was it.

Anjar Tevon wasn’t just another transfer. She was a decision made flesh and uniform, a walking argument Starfleet hadn’t finished having with itself. Whatever waited on 514 wouldn’t stay there once she crossed the threshold of the Moore. It would follow them into the corridors, into quiet looks and half-finished sentences.

He kept his face neutral, posture relaxed, letting Greco run the mechanics. Inside, though, he was already measuring the ship, the crew, the tone he’d have to hold steady once the hatch opened.

No speeches. No sides. Just dignity, discipline, and getting everyone through it intact.

"Alright," he thought, eyes on the viewscreen as the starbase grew larger. "Let’s go meet the storm."

With a silent exchange of acknowledgment with Maraj, Greco stood as he took over the procedure. "Acknowledged. Helm, take us out of warp. Lieutenant Zhevou, hail the starbase. Let them know we've arrived to pick up the Commodore. Once they have acknowledged, prepare docking procedures." He ordered both women the standard procedures.

Dashku reached up and touched several commands on her console sending out the hail to the star base. There was a short delay while she waited for their response. Once it was received, she communicated why they were there and given a birth, that she transmitted over to Stewart.

"We're ready to begin docking procedures."

Keishara remained at Tactical as the starbase loomed larger on the viewscreen, hands resting lightly on the console, fingers still. She didn’t bother masking the tightness she felt settle between her shoulders. Custody exchanges were never clean, no matter how many times Starfleet pretended they were just another line item on a duty roster.

Her eyes flicked over the sensor data out of habit, then back to the starbase. Too many corridors, too many places where dignity could be lost by inches.

Kes tapped his comm badge as he took his position along the corridors. "Escort is in place." His antenna stayed forward, waving about in constant readiness, not just from the surroundings but also gauging his own team. They weren't Starfleet, but they still had their own opinions on how things were going down. Just as long as they kept them to themselves and followed orders.

Cal gave a short nod at Kes’s report. “Good. Keep it quiet and keep it tight.”

He turned slightly toward Tactical, catching Keishara’s eye. His voice stayed even, trusting. “Alright, Kei — this is your show from here. I’ll be where you need me.”

Then back to Ops, already shifting gears. “Dash, open a channel. Let’s speak to whoever’s holding the keys.”

He settled a fraction deeper into the chair as the Moore glided in on final approach, eyes forward, shoulders loose but ready. The hard part was about to start — not the flying, not the docking — but the people on the other side of the hatch.

And that was always where things got complicated.

Keishara caught Cal’s eye and gave a brief nod, already moving.

“Understood.”

She tapped her comm as she stepped into the turbolift, the doors sliding closed behind her. “Matthews, I’ll need you in Transporter Room Two with a small team. Keep it unobtrusive.” A short pause. “Standard posture.”

The lift dropped away from the bridge, the familiar hum grounding her. A transporter room was better. Less theatre, fewer eyes lingering where they didn’t belong. However this played out, it didn’t need an audience.

She straightened as the lift slowed, expression composed, ready to do the part Starfleet expected of her — and guard the parts it never thought to.

The viewscreen shifted, resolving into the image of Starbase 514’s commanding officer. They looked tired in the way only station commanders ever did — the kind of tired that came from juggling too many priorities and too little margin. Their uniform was crisp enough, but it was the eyes that stood out: sharp, watchful, already weighing the ship and the people on it.

Cal leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair. Comfortable. Present.

“Starbase 514,” he said, easy. “Commander Calvin Maraj.”

A small beat, then on with it.

“We’re here to collect Commodore Anjar. My security team’s already moving into position. I’d like to line this up so we don’t turn your promenade into a spectator sport.”

His tone stayed level, not pushy, not deferential — just practical.

“Tell me where you want us and when. We’ll fit ourselves around your day.”

A Napean male with three pips and a gold uniform gave a polite nod of greeting and to Cal's words from the viewscreen from the base's Ops. "Command Maraj, I'm Commander Leunt Davor, acting commander of Starbase 514." He said introducing himself before he continued. " We appreciate you speed and your crew's diligence in this matter. The sooner you can take Commodore Anjar into custody and off the station the better."

With a sigh that spoke of how taxing the entire experience has been he glanced off to the side at the crew working before explaining. "It has not been an easy time here on the station as you can imagine. The commodore has many supporters and her arrest has been unpopular. My security teams are standing by to assist yours with the transfer."

Cal took in the man on the screen with a quick, practised read — the tired eyes, the clipped tone, the relief at seeing someone else take the problem off his hands. He gave a small nod back, not stiff, not overfamiliar.

“Commander Davor,” he said, easy. “Good to meet you — though I wish it were under quieter circumstances.”

He shifted slightly in the chair, one arm resting along the console edge. “I won’t pretend I envy your last few weeks. We’ll move quickly and keep it contained. No grand entrances, no lingering.” A faint beat. “The Moore’s good at being forgettable when it needs to be.”

At the mention of supporters, his expression stayed neutral, but there was understanding there. “I figured that might be the case. My team will handle custody once she’s in our hands, but I’m happy to coordinate with your security for the walkover. Whatever route keeps this from turning into a spectacle.”

A pause, then, more human. “I appreciate the assist. Let’s get her transferred and give your station a chance to breathe again.”

He straightened just a touch. “Commander Davaris will be beaming over shortly. We'll take it from there and hope for an uneventful exchange.”

Davor nodded a tad nervously. "Understood Commander, our chief of security will be waiting to escort them to the brig. Davor out."

With that, the transmission cut out and the viewscreen changed back to that of the station.

"A tad jumpy, isn't he?" Stewart asked wryly to no one in particular and instead simply nodding at the situation.

Greco moved to Cal's side as he glanced down the well at the helm. "He has every right to be, Lieutenant. I don't think any one of us wants to be in his spot." He looked towards Cal. "We will want Davaris to make sure this is tight and neat. We don't need any thing to a wry and cause a spectacle."

Cal let out a quiet breath through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting at Stewart’s comment. “I’d be jumpy too if half a station was watching my next five minutes,” he said lightly. “Doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

He shifted his weight, folding his hands loosely behind his back as he looked at the viewscreen, then to Greco. “Keishara knows how to keep things clean,” he said, easy confidence there. “If anyone can get this done without turning it into a circus, it’s her.”

A pause, softer now, more to himself than the room. “All we can do is give her the space and not add noise.”

His gaze stayed on the station, calm, steady. “Let’s hope it’s quiet. We’ve had enough excitement for one tour already.”

 

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