Flyby

Posted on Mon Sep 29th, 2025 @ 10:20pm by Captain Mac Sullivan & Lieutenant Commander Kirak & Lieutenant Eve West & Lieutenant Lioren Daeval

3,390 words; about a 17 minute read

Mission: Prelude: The Gathering
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 0000

The corridor leading to the docking bay was quiet, save for the distant hiss of hydraulic doors and the occasional echo of boots on duranium flooring panels. The station personnel moved briskly around corners, exchanging clipped updates or pulling cargo crates toward waiting transport vessels. Deep Space Station Lambda-2 wasn’t glamorous, but it was functional. Cold, clean, and orderly in the way only am outpost on the edge of the patrol lanes could be.

Lioren Daeval stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back near the access gate to Shuttle A-9. His travel satchel rested neatly by his feet, a slim, dark thing worn at the edges, its modest scuffs looking deliberate rather than careless. His uniform was regulation but subtly tailored, worn with quiet ease, and his expression held the same poised, unreadable calm as his voice often did. The black leather belt seemingly cinched in his narrow waist.

He wasn’t nervous. Or rather, he didn’t let nervousness take form. This was the threshold, the moment between waiting and duty. He preferred thresholds. They were honest. Footsteps approached from the far end of the corridor: firm, unhurried, and unmistakably accustomed to being heard. Without turning, Lioren knew who it would be. He had a talent for the unspoken entrances of people with authority.

When he did glance over, the man approaching was taller than he expected, broad-shouldered, weathered in a way that suggested experience more than age. His bearing carried the weight of command, not out of performance, but presence. This was Captain Mac Sullivan, whos file had been the solitary object of Lio's research for the last few days now.

The Betazoid kept his eyes forward at the Captain approached, his fixation on the station bulkhead was unwavering.

Mac Sullivan approached with measured steps, noting the way Lieutenant Daeval held himself—still, centered, almost meditative. The Betazoid was striking in an understated way: pale skin that seemed to catch the station lighting, dark curls that framed sharp features, and those distinctly black eyes that remained fixed on the bulkhead. Attractive, in the way that made you look twice without quite knowing why.

"Lieutenant Daeval." Mac's voice carried easily across the corridor. "Captain Sullivan. You don't like transporters either?"

He gestured toward the shuttle. "Tradition says the captain should be shuttled over to his new command, but I'm happy for the extra company. Were you on the Saratoga?"

Mac studied the younger man's profile, genuinely curious. The file had been thorough, but there was something about Daeval's stillness that suggested careful discipline rather than simple waiting.

Lio offered a warm, open smile, his posture relaxing slightly at the Captain’s recognition. “Pleased to finally meet you, Captain,” he said, his tone genuine and friendly. He shifted his weight subtly, the well-worn satchel still nestled between his boots. A quiet testament to the journey he’d just finished.

Extending a hand toward Mac, he added with a light chuckle, “I came in a few days ago on a Betazoid transport. I’d taken some leave on Betazed. I tried to be a good son and visit before I shipped out again, but I realized I was more eager to escape my mother’s constant questions than to wait for Starfleet to come pick me up.” His smile lingered, touched with a trace of fond exasperation, as though the mention of his mother carried both affection and a healthy need for distance.

Mac accepted the handshake—firm, but not trying to prove anything. The mention of mothers and their questions drew a knowing smile from him, the kind that suggested his own experience with similar interrogations.

"Betazoid mothers," he said with a slight shake of his head, releasing Lio's hand. "Mine's Irish. Different telepathy, same result." A flicker of amusement crossed his features. "Though I suspect yours doesn't need to ask the questions to get the answers."

Through the viewport behind them, the shimmer of an approaching shuttle caught the hangar bay's force field, creating brief ripples of blue energy as it passed through. Mac tracked its approach with a practiced eye before returning his attention to his new counselor.

"Betazoid transport," he mused, folding his arms loosely across his chest. "Can't say I blame you for taking the civilian route. Sometimes the journey's as important as the destination." His gaze held a certain understanding. "Especially when it puts some distance between you and well-meaning family inquiries."

Lio nodded, the gesture slow and thoughtful. Already, he could feel a quiet current of mutual understanding forming between himself and the Captain. A shared sensibility that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. It was subtle, but unmistakable. The connection steadied him in a way he hadn’t expected. It was relaxing… comforting, even. A rare thing, especially on the first day aboard a new assignment. “I’ve never been on a Connie, ” He said, “are they as awesome as my engineering friends make them out to be?”

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Eve West, the Proxima's helmsman, was piloting the shuttle to carry the Captain to his new command. She had been cleared just a few moments ago for final approach to Lambda-2. She slowed the shuttle to station keeping and then even further to maneuvering thrusters. The craft passed carefully through the blue forcefield. The small vessel slowed as she carefully touched down in the middle of the bay. Flawless, as usual. Eve set the shuttle to standby mode. She already received clearance to depart as well since the shuttle would be departing almost as soon as she landed. She got up from her seat and opened the rear hatch.

Mac's expression shifted subtly, a hint of anticipation flickering across his features—controlled, but unmistakably genuine. "Actually," he said, his tone carrying the quiet satisfaction of a long-awaited opportunity, "I haven't either. Been looking forward to this since the Academy."

He gestured toward the shuttle that had just settled onto the landing pad with a soft thrum of impulse engines winding down. "I was supposed to tour the Yorktown with David Chen—academy friend—during a transfer layover a few years back, but their mission got extended." A brief shadow crossed his features, something that might have been disappointment mixed with understanding. "Starfleet priorities."

Mac picked up his own travel case, a well-worn but sturdy affair that looked like it had seen its share of transfers and temporary quarters. "Constitution-class... they say once you've served on one, everything else feels like a compromise." He paused, his pilot's eye automatically assessing the shuttle's lines. "Course, Starfleet's pushing the new Excelsior-class as the future—bigger, faster. Though after that transwarp drive debacle, I'm not holding my breath. And don't get me started on those new Constellation-class ships with four nacelles. Seems like solving a problem that didn't exist."

The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he looked back at Lio. "But forty years of solid service speaks for itself." He gestured toward the shuttle. "Shall we? Time to see if the reputation holds up."

The boarding ramp had fully extended now, and Mac could make out the shuttle pilot running through post-flight checks in the cockpit. There was something satisfying about watching another pilot work, even from a distance.

Lioren bent to retrieve his rucksack, the worn canvas slung easily over one shoulder with the practiced motion of someone who had traveled often but never quite stopped moving. The rest of his belongings had been forwarded to the Proxima when he’d disembarked the Betazoid transport, but this one bag filled with things that were personal, curated, and familiar, had stayed with him.

He straightened, posture easy but attentive, and turned his gaze toward the Captain. Though their conversation had been warm, even disarmingly so, Lioren made no move to take the lead. He waited calm and composed, ready for the Captain to set the pace.

He wouldn’t mistake kindness for casualness, and certainly not for license. There was a difference between rapport and over-familiarity, and he had no intention of crossing that line.He offered a small, polite smile, ready to follow.

Mac caught the reflection of the pilot in the window and recognized it as his Chief Helmsman. He had most of the officers committed to memory, certainly someone from his senior staff. "Come along, Counselor, let's not keep Lieutenant West waiting." With a slight smile, he bounded up the ramp. The type three shuttle had been around for half a decade. He was itching to slip into the co-pilot's chair, but this was the Lieutenant's command, at least for the moment. "Lieutenant West, nice of you to come pick me up personally. Our new counselor is going to tag along." He smiled, extending his hand, "pleasure to meet you."

Eve smiled and accepted his hand before releasing. "The pleasure is mine sir" she motioned inside the shuttle. "Please, feel free to make yourselves at home."

"Don't mind if I do, " Mac grinned as he slid into the co-pilot's seat and rubbed his hands together excitedly, "Don't worry, Lieutenant, she's your spacecraft, I'll just watch."

Lioren followed the Captain’s lead, his footsteps light but deliberate as he stepped aboard the shuttle. He offered a respectful nod to West. “Lieutenant,” he greeted, his voice calm, polished.

His dark eyes scanned the shuttle’s interior. They were sleek, functional, and unmistakably Starfleet. The clean lines and minimal creature comforts were a stark contrast to the opulence of the transport that had ferried him to Deep Space Station Lambda-2. Lioren’s brow lifted ever so slightly in quiet amusement of the differences. “This definitely isn’t a Betazoid transport,” he said, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not even a courtesy drink.” His smile grew slyer.

"Take us out, Lieutenant," Mac said as he looked back over his shoulder as the hatch sealed. He turned to Lioren with a grin, responding to the counselor's comment about courtesy drinks. "I'm afraid not, Counselor. Though I'm sure there's a few days worth of Starfleet Combat Rations under your seat if you feel like having a snack on the way over." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Who doesn't love emergency rations?"

Eve cracked a smile at the interaction before setting a departure course. "Taking us out sir" she said as she brought the engines off of standby mode and notified control of her departure, having already secured the clearance.

With an exaggerated shrug that bordered on theatrical, Lioren slid into the nearest seat, the motion fluid and unhurried. He let his rucksack drop to the floor beside his feet with a soft thud, one hand idly brushing it into place. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped across the backrest as if the space already belonged to him. He was casual, but not disrespectful. It was typical Betazoid behavior, ease.

The shuttle flew out of the bay with absolute ease, with a direct course for the Proxima. The shuttle flew gracefully around the station and then left station keeping. As this happened Eve was far enough to bring impulse online for a few seconds. She did so, and they were now approaching the ship. The Proxima was now a large object in the window. "Captain, Counselor, I present you the USS Proxima" she said, as she brought the shuttle around to do a beautiful flyby of the Constitution Class ship.

Mac leaned forward in the co-pilot's seat, his breath catching slightly as the Proxima filled the viewport. The sleek, graceful lines of the Constitution-class starship stretched before them—the distinctive saucer section gleaming under the station's exterior lighting, the engineering hull suspended below like a promise of power and exploration. Twin nacelles swept back in perfect symmetry, darkened but somehow expectant. It was everything the holovids and technical manuals had promised, yet seeing it in person felt different. More real. More right. "Wow," he murmured, then caught himself and glanced back at Lio with an almost boyish grin. "What do you think, Counselor? Does she live up to the hype?" He turned to Eve, his voice carrying genuine appreciation. "Lieutenant, thank you for that approach. I've been looking forward to this since I received my orders." His gaze returned to the viewports, drinking in every detail. "She's beautiful."

Lioren couldn’t summon words. The enormity of the moment stole them from his tongue. Instead, he managed only a stiff nod in response to the Captain, though his lips parted slightly as if caught on the edge of speech. His chest rose with a shallow breath, the sound lost against the hum of the shuttle.

Before him stretched Proxima, radiant against the void. His dark Betazoid eyes traced every line of her hull. Lioren’s heart gave a quiet jolt. This wasn’t just a starship, it was the place he would live, serve, and carve his mark into. A home wrought from duranium and plasma conduits, yet alive with purpose.

Eve brought the shuttle around and under the saucer section and alongside the Proxima. "You're certainly welcome sir. This is one of the lesser known perks of my job" she smiled.

Mac took one last appreciative look at the Proxima's graceful lines before turning back to Eve. "Alright, Lieutenant, as much as I could admire her all day, let's bring us home. Take us into the hangar bay when you're ready."

He settled back in the co-pilot's seat, though his eyes remained fixed on the viewport. "I have a feeling this is going to be the first of many beautiful approaches to this ship."

Eve brought the shuttle slowly around the port nacelle and slowly guided it into the main shuttlebay. She eased the shuttle downwards and brought her down with ease in the center of the bay. Touchdown. She brought the shuttle offline and activated the doors. "Welcome home folks" she quipped.

Mac stood as the shuttle's engines wound down, feeling that familiar flutter of anticipation mixed with responsibility that came with every new command. But this was different—this was a Constitution-class starship, the culmination of everything he'd worked toward since the Academy. Through the viewport, he could see the pristine bulkheads of the Proxima's shuttlebay, the gleaming deck plating, and the small honor guard assembled near the bay doors.

As the shuttle's ramp extended with a soft hydraulic hiss, Mac adjusted his uniform tunic and picked up his travel case. The moment had arrived. He stepped onto the ramp, his pilot's instincts automatically cataloging the bay's dimensions and the subtle vibration of the deck plating beneath his feet. The Proxima felt solid, substantial, exactly what you'd expect from forty years of proven engineering.

His eyes immediately found the tall figure standing at attention near the honor guard. Even without the commander's stripes clearly visible on his uniform, Mac would have recognized him from the personnel files he'd studied during the journey from Earth. Lieutenant Commander Kirak, his Executive Officer and Chief Navigator. The Vulcan stood with that characteristic precision that marked his species, but there was something in his bearing that suggested competence beyond mere regulation adherence. Mac descended the ramp with measured steps, his expression serious but not stern, carrying himself with the quiet confidence that had served him well throughout his career. As he approached Kirak, he came to attention and rendered a crisp salute.

"Commander Kirak," Mac said, his voice carrying clearly across the shuttlebay, "Captain Marcus Sullivan requesting permission to come aboard and assume command of the USS Proxima." The formal words felt weighted with significance, but Mac's dark eyes held a hint of the warmth that made him an effective leader. This wasn't just protocol; it was the moment when a collection of individuals became his crew, when a starship became his responsibility, and when years of preparation became reality.
Behind him, he could sense Lieutenant West and Counselor Daeval disembarking from the shuttle, but his focus remained entirely on his First Officer, waiting for the traditional response that would officially make him captain of this magnificent vessel.

As Mac Sullivan approached, the slender but stoic-looking Vulcan raised his hand and split his fingers in the Vulcan way. "Captain Sullivan. Proxima and it's crew welcome their new Commanding Officer." He nodded his head respectful once, his hand lowering. From the honor guard, he took a datapad. He tapped several keys. He stated to the pad, "Recognize voiceprint Kirak, Lieutenant Commander. Transfer command codes and authorizations of Starship Proxima to Captain Mac Sullivan." His eyes lifted then. "To Captain Mac Sullivan, you are hereby requested and required to take command of the Starship Proxima on this date. Signed Vice Admiral Nakamura, Starfleet Command."

Mac stood at attention as Kirak completed the formal transfer of command, the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders with the gravity that came with real responsibility. "I relieve you, sir," Mac said formally, his voice carrying the authority that would define his relationship with this crew from this moment forward. He paused, then his expression warmed slightly as he looked directly at Kirak. "Thank you, Commander."

Mac raised his right hand, attempting to mirror Kirak's Vulcan salute. His fingers resisted for a moment, not quite wanting to split properly, before he managed the traditional gesture with obvious effort. It wasn't perfect, but the intent was clear.

"I stand relieved, Sir." Kirak acknowledged with a nod.

Lio watched on, his dark eyes fixed intently on the proceedings. It was far less pomp and ceremony than the Change of Command rituals he had witnessed before, yet there was a quiet dignity to it all the same. He stood at attention, shoulders squared, his stance precise enough to honor the moment. And yet, despite the rigidity expected of such occasions, there was no denying the ease in his bearing. He radiated the effortless composure of a Betazoid; cool, relaxed, almost serene, his presence both respectful and unshakably self-assured.

"I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Daeval, our new Counselor." He gestured toward Lio as he lowered his hand. "He's joining us from his previous assignment at Starfleet Academy."

Lio let a smile curve across his lips. It was one of those impossibly handsome, effortlessly disarming smiles that came so naturally to him. Time had dulled neither his appreciation for beauty nor his instinct to wield charm like a finely honed tool. And Vulcans, in particular, always seemed to catch him off guard with their quiet, ethereal presence. There was something in their stillness, in the way their features held both restraint and elegance, that never failed to draw his gaze.

“A pleasure,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying a confident warmth that was neither overbearing nor insincere. He allowed the words to linger just enough to register without breaking the current between the Captain and First Officer. With practiced ease, he kept the right measure of distance,close enough to be present, yet far enough to show respect for the gravity of command conversation.

Eve remained in a resting stance. She had already acquainted withe everyone here so there was no need for introductions on her part. The Captain's statement about the Counselor assigned to the Academy piped her interest, as that was her last posting as well. She'd have to inquire about that later.

Mac's gaze swept the shuttlebay, taking in the honor guard and the pristine condition of everything he could see. "Commander, I'm going to stow my gear and get settled. Once I've done that, I'll find you and we can discuss the ship's status and meet the rest of the senior staff."

Kirak's brow raised. It seemed like he was doing a mental adjustment of his planned schedule. "Of course, Captain. I will relay a meeting time to the rest of your staff before arrival on the Bridge." There was a beat pause. Kirak decided not to broach the topic in his thoughts: Starfleet wanted Sullivan to inspect the rest of the ship prior to departure. As much as the Vulcan preferred to err on the side of schedule and routine, this was now Captain Sullivan's ship- a fact that... lightened... the weight of his need to rein in emotionally-brought biochemistry.

Kirak nodded to West, and the Lieutenant nearby. "Captain," Kirak said as he stepped to put his back against the wall and clear the way.

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