Official Introductions
Posted on 16 Jul 2025 @ 1:57am by Major Emily Janeway & 1st Lieutenant Cassandra Matthews
6,022 words; about a 30 minute read
Mission:
General Sim Postings
Location: MCO office - USS Tomcat
Timeline: Back log
ON:
Cassandra made her way slowly down the new corridor. She was dressed in a fresh uniform. Crisp and pressed neatly. Her new insignia rested on her chest. She didn't morn the position she'd stepped down from. She had never wanted it. Had not felt she'd earned it really. She wondered how long the puppet masters who pulled the strings of her life would allow her to stay as the Marines executive officer before making her give that up as well. She hated them. The shadows of Starfleet they seemed hell bent on making her disappear, of swallowing her up. Ever since that mission to the mines things had been getting more dangerous for her. So much so that she'd hardly had time to look into Miss Emily Janeway. The Marines Commanding Officer and further more the new third in command of the ship as a whole. It was hard to believe that not too long ago the woman had been a corpse in a casket left to rot on a mining planet in the ass rack of federation space. It wasn't the Terrain empire though so at least the discovery had saved them from having to blow the mines and all those in it. That the creator for small favors. The temporal readings had come from the coffin. Then, more frightening was to discover that the doctors had somehow brought that broken body back to life.. This would be her first time seeing Emily Janeway since that fateful day.
Cassandra reached the outer office, there were not any yeoman present yet, just the bare bones of a skeletal crew before the official relaunch of the revamped ship. So Cassandra straightened her uniform, always wanting to present her best. Then reached out to the chime to announce her presence to the new Marine Commanding Officer.
The chime at the door cut through the quiet hum of the MCO’s office, where Emily Janeway sat reviewing the ship’s updated personnel files. The sparse office, still devoid of personal touches, mirrored the skeletal state of the crew as the USS Tomcat prepared for its relaunch. Emily’s fingers paused over the datapad, her sharp gaze lifting toward the door. She adjusted her posture, the crisp lines of her uniform settling as she prepared to meet her visitor. The weight of her new role—Marine Commanding Officer and third-in-command—rested firmly on her shoulders, yet the shadow of her own improbable return from death lingered in her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten the mines, the coffin, or the temporal anomalies that had somehow brought her back. Nor had she missed the wary glances from the crew since her arrival.
“Enter,” Emily called, her voice steady but carrying a warmth meant to put the visitor at ease. As the door slid open, she recognized 1st Lieutenant Cassandra Matthews, the Marine Executive Officer. Emily’s eyes softened slightly, though her expression remained professional. She’d read Matthews’ file: capable, loyal, but recently demoted under circumstances that raised questions.
Cassandra entered and came to attention inside the door, then saluted respectfully to the new MCO. "First lieutenant Mathews reporting for duty." Cassandra stated with that firm confident tone trained into all Marines. Her blue eyes swept the bare room. It reminded Cassandra that after she was finished with the inventory lists for the deployment she still needed to move into her own office when time permitted it. So far she'd been working out of the engineering hub on Starbase fifty-one with Larmie and Lelands help during the refit. It was closer to the store rooms and armory. Thus more proficient.
Emily rose from her chair, returning Cassandra’s salute with a precise, practiced motion. “At ease, Lieutenant,” she said, her tone calm but carrying the weight of command. She gestured toward a chair across from her desk. “Please, take a seat.”
As as Emily motions Cassandra to get settled in the chair in front of her desk,, Emily leaned forward slightly, her partially healed hands clasped on the desk, her gaze steady but not confrontational. “I’ve read your file, Lieutenant Matthews. Your service record speaks for itself—dedication, skill, and a knack for getting things done under pressure. I’m looking forward to working with you.” She paused, letting a faint smile soften her features. “I know my interesting resurrection& arrival—and my… circumstances—might raise questions. I’m not here to add to the shadows you’ve been navigating. My door’s open if there’s anything you need to discuss, on or off the record.”
Emily leaned back, her expression professional but inviting. “For now, let’s start with the practical. I understand you’ve been overseeing inventory for the deployment from Starbase 51. What’s the status of our Marine detachment’s readiness, and is there anything I should know about the crew or the refit?”
Cassandra settled into the offered chair. She reached into her jacket and the pocket inside it, withdrawing the data she had stored within it. "All Marines have passed their feild gear inspections, there was an upgrade to the chest plate armor that was assigned and added to the inventory lists. Old vests armor has been pulled. I had each Marine sign for their feild gear and lockers are secured until deployment. Weapons inspections aside from a few minor issues have cleared inspection as well though there have been some special requests made from a Corporal Zanders about him being allowed permission for a demolition kit. He no longer has clearence due to failing his annual exam. He wants to file a grievance. It's been regulated to the MSO and exam board. I'm hoping for an update on a day or so. Medical exams have been concluded following the gear inspections and all but twenty-sox have passed and been updated with required vaccinations. Those who haven't I should be receiving the records and reasons for in the next few hours. I know that Ensign Jyson is pregnant and been placed on leave to Starbase fifty-one pending her delivery and maternity leave. " Cassandra paused Incase the major had any questions so far.
Emily leaned forward, her scarred face set with a steady, commanding presence, a brief tension quickly masked. “Your file shows solid dedication—those pre-deployment checklists and inspections under MCO Mazal are noted and meet Starfleet Operational Readiness Protocol 47-B. That’s a good start. Ensure the inventory shifts to your office once we’re operational, adhering to Starfleet Inventory Transfer Directive 12. Understood? I haven’t received my own gear yet, and with my pistol back in the armory per Starfleet Security Regulation 19, I’ll need you to prioritize requisitioning my equipment—though I haven’t settled badly into this yet, we can’t afford delays.” Her tone carried the weight of military expectation. “Corporal Zanders’ grievance is with the MSO—let it proceed per Starfleet Disciplinary Procedure 9 unless it impacts our timeline.”
Her gaze shifted to the roses, a petal falling unnoticed, before returning to Cassandra with a focused look. “Medical updates are key—twenty-six pending is acceptable under Starfleet Health Directive 33, but I need those reports submitted by 0800 tomorrow.” Her voice eased into a routine, office-like cadence as she added, “By the way, Ensign Jyson’s pregnant—standard maternity leave to Starbase 51 per Starfleet Personnel Leave Protocol 14. Just handle the paperwork, file it like a regular leave form, and we’re good—but I don’t settle for wrong paperwork or any clerical work misprinted, so double-check it.” The tone was practical yet firm. “Now, since this is our first meeting since that coffin, let me share what I recall. Being inside was a void—dark, tight, with Midnight and the pistol placed beside me as if for a viewing, the temporal hum my only sense of passing time before it all stopped. Doctors Ross and his team spent three weeks pulling me back, using experimental tech—likely from my adoptive mother’s Voyager logs. These scars,” she gestured to her jaw, “mark that struggle, but the readings suggest a temporal rift was at play. Some whisper of temporal investigators being involved—maybe they staged this, but we don’t know. Did you record any data on those anomalies during the mission, per Starfleet Temporal Observation Protocol 7?”
"I filed a report, it was.. pulled from the system." Cassandra stated to the inquiry.
She straightened, lifting the data pads from the desk as if they were simple sheets of paper, flipping through them with a calm yet authoritative grip. “We’ll move on to the special requests and those medical delays next. Anything else to bring up, Lieutenant?”
She'd tapped out the MCOs orders on her last padd about getting the medical reports finalized by 0800. As well as to check on the grievance report in regards to Zanders. Also to get a rush on getting the Major her gear and weapons issued.
"I will send you a personal report in regards to the findings at the mines." Cassandra stated. "the mission it's self was requested by an Admiral Doe and all information on the mission has been regulated through him to my understanding on a need to know basis." She explained.
Emily’s violet eyes narrowed, a spark of controlled fury flickering beneath her composed exterior as she leaned forward, her scarred hands clenching briefly on the desk. The faint tremor from the neurotoxin’s lingering effects pulsed in her veins, but she steadied it, her rasping voice cutting through the MCO office’s quiet hum like a blade. Dumped like trash on that mining rock, left to rot in a coffin with that damned hum—now my report’s gone? Someone’s playing games, she thought, her irritation barely checked.
“Lieutenant Matthews, a report on the mission being pulled from the system by some Admiral Doe on a ‘need-to-know’ basis doesn’t sit well with me,” she said, her tone low and sharp, each word laced with restrained anger. “I barely nothing but the dark, a suffocating box of dark nightmares , and the sense of being abandoned on that godforsaken planet. Whoever’s behind this .” Her gaze locked onto Cassandra’s, unyielding but professional.
Cassandra nodded, "I understand. Unfortunately I don't have control of the admiralty. " Cassandra said then taking a deep breath. "I also can't deny you a full verbal report if you command one of me." She said her tone suggestive. Her eyes went to the cameras she knew were located in all the offices the comm badges listening to to conversation. She'd be killed for talking about it. But then they were already trying to kill her so she had little to lose at this rate.
Emily’s violet eyes met Cassandra’s, the lieutenant’s guarded words about Admiral Doe and the vanished report stirring a familiar unease. The MCO office’s quiet hum felt alive with secrets, and Emily sensed the invisible watchers Cassandra hinted at. Her scarred hands rested lightly on the desk, grounding her as she stepped into her new role. Cassandra’s steady grip on the detachment was a lifeline—and their shared history from that grim day in the mines bound them in a way words couldn’t yet capture.
“Lieutenant,” Emily said, her rasping voice warm yet firm, “we’ll save that verbal report for a place without ears in the walls.” She gave a subtle nod, mirroring Cassandra’s caution. “Let’s keep the team on track—get those medical reports to me by 0800, and requisition my gear today, pistol included, per Starfleet regs. Update me on Zanders’ grievance when the MSO responds.”
She leaned forward, her smile open and heartfelt. “Cassandra, you’ve got this detachment running like a well-tuned engine, and I’m grateful for it. I’m new to this chair, and I need your expertise to get me up to speed. Walk me through the crew, the refit, and what keeps us mission-ready. Also, since I’m still learning the ropes, can you brief me on the Starfleet-approved weapons for our Marines—phasers, rifles, anything specific we’re cleared for?”
Emily paused, her gaze softening as she recalled the mines—the coffin, the temporal hum, and Cassandra’s face from that day. “It’s been a while since… everything,” she added quietly, her tone carrying the weight of their shared memory. “Stick around a bit, Lieutenant. Let’s talk more—about the team, the mission, or anything you think I need to know to keep us strong. We’re in this together, and I’m counting on us to make this unit unstoppable.”
She gestured to the chair, inviting Cassandra to stay, her posture relaxed but radiating partnership. “No rush to dismiss just yet. Let’s build something solid here, side by side.”
"To be honest with you ma'am I only held the MCO position for two or so weeks after Captain Jackson and Captain Falk retired. I stepped into the position as a field promotion. I utilized the checks and balances system. I approached training with rotating schedules and kept them fun. I know that's not regulation. Most PT is pretty standard, I try to shake it up a bit and encourage a more engaging learning environment. I have weekly games for those who choose to participate. Capture the flag, tug of war, Hide and seek, to name a few team building favorites. We also have maze runner, red light green light, and gladiator, as some individual exercises. For those who prefer the more standard Physical training excersises I have those scheduled after morning GQ at 05:30 on holodeck-2 with a standard track and feild, and holodeck-3 with an indoor gym. I expect those able too do so to have checked in for an hour of PT each day. Duty rotation is also to starfleet standard every abled bodied Marine has an 6 hour shift at the watch followed by an hour Physical training, before an hour of weapons training. Totaling eight hours as a whole. Inspections take place at GQ on Tuesdays and Fridays. Though we occasionally will flip the bunks at random times to check for controband. Inventory is taken Monday, wensday, and Fridays those lists are given to you and a copy goes to the quarter master for his own lists. Sometimes he might come down to check our numbers and we are very fine with that. All duty reports and inventory lists will be presented to you as well as physical check ups and medical issues. You are to regulate any orders or information down the chain as needed to help guide any special excersises that may be needed for up coming missions. You are to oversee the divisions records and assign teams that may be needed for particular tasks. You are to attend to any Marines not meeting with Starfleets standards and assign disciplinary measures as required in extreme cases." Cassandra explained. "Any questions so far?"
Emily leaned forward, her eyes warm and inviting as she met Cassandra’s gaze, eager to build their partnership in this formal introduction as the new MCO. “Cassandra, you kept this unit strong as acting MCO after Jackson and Falk retired, boosting morale with gladiator games and spotting leaders like Ruiz—let’s shape this detachment together, starting with guiding Zanders’ grievance fairly under Procedure 9,” she said, her rasping voice kind and collaborative. “Share those twenty-six Chief Medical Officer reports when they’re ready, and lead the hostage rescue holodeck game by next week to sharpen skills and spirits, plus launch the ‘Marine of the Week’ award to celebrate our team. Your quartermaster checks and armory upgrades are stellar—send that report soon. Let’s secure unclassified mining mission details for a secure chat, as Admiral Doe’s secrecy has me cautious. Your schedules and inventory lists are top-notch—with your experience, what’s one key lesson you learned about keeping the Marines united to strengthen our team? And since I prefer sometimes do prefer a times manual PADD stylus entries entries, how can we pair them with Starfleet inventory systems, like LCARS databases or quartermaster syncs, to track schedules and gear efficiently? You’ve got the floor, Cassandra—what’s our next step to make this unit thrive?”
Cassandra thought a moment. Taking notes about adding 'Marine of the week' awards to the task sheet. Zanders grievance under procedure 9, Medical reports for the 26 who were unable to deploy, ect in her padds task manager. "Admiral Doe he..." Cassandra stopped though she knew better. "I'd be careful looking into him." She cautioned in a low voice she knew it was pointless to whisper. She knew that everything she said was being heard and examed by person's unknown. Still she had to give something of a warning to the Major. "He prefers to keep his affairs privet." Cassandra swallowed hard as she recalled the near fatal beating she had received after trying to send a private report to Somers in regards to Admiral Doe and the missing mining reports. How she'd barely gotten away. How they had threatened her daughters life. She wanted to pour it all out here and now. Yet she couldn't. They would take her daughter, kill her and her brother. Though she normally wouldn't mind putting her life on the line that of her daughter was asking to much.
"As to improvements, I'd say if it's not broken don't fix it. I'm told we are running at peek. Our division is number one in Starfleets task force. That's why they keep us jumping and give us the hard stuff." Cassandra explained with obvious pride. The 95th was indeed the best of the best often being held as a shiny example of perfect Marine training. "We are a well oiled machine. Somers demands the best, we give her just that. You ask what I have learned in my experience, that key lesson that helps unite and strengthen our team. My response is that we are more than just a unit of marines. We are a family. We are brothers and sisters in arms, unified by our loyalty to each other and to Captain Somers. The men of this unit know they can trust me and come to me if they are struggling and trust that I will do everything in my power to help them. They know their lives matter, that even though we ask them to risk their lives everyday, it does not mean those lives are not valuable. I do what I can to keep their morale high especially when deployed. I do what I can to make sure all their voices are heard without fear of repremand. I foster an atmosphere of safety and trust. When a marine is brought to me for not meeting standards I talk to them, try to figure out what is going on with them personally, often times a slip in performance is a tell tale sign of mental or emotional destress, or something else. Sometimes men will experience burn out. Especially after a particularly bad mission. Just because they are the best doesn't make them less human. I try to be sensitive to their needs. On those such cases I assign light limited duty and counseling for a few weeks. I make sure to check in with them. The best advice I can give you is to trust your team, they will tell you what they need. They will serve you loyaly because Somers trusts you, over time they will come to trust you on your own merits. Get to know them, spend time with them. They are your eyes, ears, arms, legs, mind, body and blood of this whole thing. You ma'am, you have to be the heart that keeps it alive. Somers our Captain she's the soul."
Emily sat forward, her violet eyes burning with conviction and warmth, locking onto Cassandra’s gaze as the faint hum of the MCO office aboard the USS Tomcat filled the space. Her scarred hands gripped the desk lightly, anchoring her presence as she absorbed Cassandra’s words about the 95th being a family, bound by trust and loyalty. The shadow of Admiral Doe and the surveillance—comm badges, cameras—hung in the air, but Emily’s focus was unwavering: she had to be the heart, blood, legs, and eyes of this regiment, the vital force that kept it alive, the drive that pushed it forward, and the vision that guided its every step.
“Lieutenant Matthews,” Emily began, her rasping voice rich with resolve and warmth, “you’ve forged the 95th into a family, not just a unit, by listening to every Marine, keeping morale high with games like capture the flag and gladiator, and showing their lives matter. That’s why we’re Starfleet’s best, the ones they call for the toughest missions. Your lesson—building trust, treating our Marines as human, and fostering a safe space for their voices—sets the standard. I have to be the heart that keeps this regiment alive, the blood that fuels our fire, the legs that drive us forward, and the eyes that see every struggle and strength. I’ll lead from the front, earn their loyalty as you and Captain Somers have, and ensure we thrive as one unstoppable force.”
Her gaze intensified, pulsing with purpose. “Let’s keep this family tight and mission-ready. Your schedules and inspections are flawless—Somers demands the best, and we deliver. I’m greenlighting the ‘Marine of the Week’ award to honor leadership and heart; let’s draft criteria by next week, per Starfleet Morale Directive 22. Update me on Corporal Zanders’ grievance under Disciplinary Procedure 9, and requisition my gear—Type-2 phaser, combat knife, Mark-VI chest plate—by end of day, per Security Regulation 19. Those twenty-six medical reports? I expect them on my desk by 0800 tomorrow, per Health Directive 33.”
Emily’s voice surged with energy, focusing on training. “As the legs of this regiment, I’ll drive us through Starfleet’s top programs. Per Training Protocol 8, our Marines train in small-unit tactics, zero-gravity combat, and phaser marksmanship on holodecks, wielding Type-2 phasers, Type-3 phaser rifles, combat knives, and photon grenades, per Marine Protocol 15. Our tactical tricorders and EVA suits—rated for extreme environments like the mines—need full inventory verification. Your exercises, like maze runner and red light green light, mesh perfectly with standard PT on holodeck-2’s track and holodeck-3’s gym, keeping spirits high. Let’s add a holodeck scenario from the Advanced Tactical Training Manual: a covert extraction under simulated temporal interference, prepping for anomalies we’ve faced. You’re the genius behind engaging drills—let’s build it by next week. I’m also scheduling a Starfleet Close-Quarters Combat Program refresher next month to hone our knife and hand-to-hand skills, ensuring we’re sharp in any fight.”
Her tone softened briefly, addressing the shadows. “On Ensign Harlow’s disappearance after analyzing that temporal device, and anything tied to Admiral Doe’s secrecy—I hear your warning, Cassandra. That’s your lane to handle discreetly; flag me only if it impacts our Marines. My eyes are on our team, keeping us focused and united.” She gave a subtle nod, acknowledging the surveillance without pressing further.
Emily leaned forward, her voice alive with partnership. “As the blood of this regiment, I’ll keep our energy flowing—sync your PADD stylus entries with LCARS via daily auto-uploads to the quartermaster, per Inventory Directive 12. As the eyes, I need to see our team’s soul: tell me about one Marine—maybe a rising star like Corporal Ruiz or someone struggling who needs a check-in. Help me know them as you do. Your lesson about trust and family is my foundation—what’s the next step to make the 95th not just survive, but thrive as Starfleet’s best, a family that lives and breathes as one?”
Emily offered a vibrant, heartfelt smile, gesturing to the chair. “Stay a moment, Cassandra. We’re the heart, blood, legs, and eyes of this regiment, and together, we’ll make it soar. Tomorrow, after those reports, walk me through the armory—show me the gear, let me feel the team’s pulse. Let’s build this family stronger, side by side.”
"Aye aye ma'am." Cassandra said. Then after a moment she asked. "In the spirit of the family unit approach I'd like to invite you to my quarters for dinner. Let you meet my family and we can get to know each other better." She offered.
Emily’s violet eyes softened, a warm glint breaking through the haze of temporal distortion that made the MCO office’s hum pulse unevenly in her ears. Her scarred hands, trembling faintly from the neurotoxin’s lingering grip, rested on the desk as she anchored herself to Cassandra’s words. The invitation to dinner, to meet her family, struck at the heart of the 95th’s strength—a family Emily was determined to lead as its heart, blood, legs, and eyes, despite the temporal echoes and physical strain pulling at her edges.
“Lieutenant Matthews,” Emily said, her rasping voice warm yet firm, a slight pause betraying a flicker of disorientation as time seemed to skip. “Aye aye to your efficiency—your work keeps the 95th unstoppable. That dinner invitation at 1900 tomorrow in your quarters? I’m in, Cassandra.” Her smile was heartfelt, though shadowed by fatigue. “Meeting your daughter and brother will strengthen our bond, the core of this family. I’ll bring a bottle of non-replicated Andorian wine—a toast to the 95th, to us. We’ll share stories, keep it light, and steer clear of… curious ears.” Her voice lowered, eyes flicking briefly to the ceiling, wary of the surveillance they both sensed.
She stood, a subtle sway from the temporal distortion quickly masked by a commanding officer poise. “Let’s keep building this unit, side by side. Tomorrow, after the armory walk, we’ll lock in the team’s pulse. Anything you want to add about your family or the dinner—maybe a favorite dish I should brace for?” Her tone carried a playful warmth, inviting trust. “Secure that unclassified mining mission report for me soon, per our earlier talk. Admiral Doe’s shadows won’t dim our focus.”
Cassandra considered Emilys question, then asked, "Have you ever had a traditional Caitin meal? It's a combination of mixed side dishes paired with lightly roasted to raw meats. Such as Shishim'Meh which is a type of fish that is marinaded in a creamy herb sauce and then toasted with Hewley nuts." She explained. "If you're not a fan of fish I have a recipe for Ruh'lu with is a type of meat similar to beef in flavor but more like chicken in its consistency. Its dry rubbed and then baked with mushrooms and other vegetables, before getting carved and served similar to a human pot roast." She explained.
Cassandra,” Emily said, her violet eyes warm as she leaned forward in her chair at her desk She slowly ran a hand through her dark brown hair, its black sheen catching the light like a starlit void, a natural glow she’d kept since the mines. “Glad to let my true colors shine,” she said with a since being brought back into life she added confident smile. “That Ruloo dish has me hooked—can’t wait for its pot-roast kick at 1900 tomorrow. I’m bringing the non-replicated Andorian wine; its crisp tang will pair perfectly with your Caitian spread. My contribution’s a deli salad—creamy shredded chicken, celery, pickles, mustard, and fresh dill, a human classic to keep things light for your daughter and brother. Speaking of her, what’s her favorite dessert? I’m thinking Betazoid chocolate uttaberry tarts—let me know what she loves to make it special.”
Emily smile deepened, a subtle nod to their shared caution about listening ears. “We’ll save that unclassified mining mission report for a quieter spot. You’re running the 95th like a star—get me those twenty-six medical reports by 0800, my gear requisition by end of day, and the ‘Marine of the Week’ plan by next week. On the gear, we shall first start with hit the armory post-requisition to try on the Type-2 phaser, combat knife, and Mark-VI chest plate—gotta ensure they fit right with my hair and my body shape out, ready for according time to wear for any mission.”
Cassandra appreciated the Majors sentiments. Though she personally felt she had let the 95th down. All she had managed to do in her position of command brief as it was, was to tred water so to speak. They thrived because they were made up of the best of the best. Still it was good to hear words of praise from her CO.
"I don't think Martha has ever had chocolate uttaberry tarts. We don't consume much fruit in the house as it's typically poisonous to my brother if it's fermented at all. Wine is fine for you and I though if you want to bring it. I just don't want you to think him rude for not partaking of any. The salad sounds incredible and will be a more than welcome addition to the table."
Cassandra looked at her padd one more time, checking her notes from their meeting. "I will go check on those medical reports as soon as I leave here. We can schedule a fitting for your gear with myself, or quartermaster lieutenant Jones and get you squared away in next to no time." She assured."I will get the new training up on the schedule within the hour so the division has time to receive the announcement and prepare accordingly by the beginning of the next weekly rotation. If there is nothing else ma'am I will go get to work on all of this."
Emily eased back into her chair, the low hum of the MCO office a steady backdrop as her violet eyes met Cassandra’s with fierce resolve. Her hands, deliberately steadied on the desk, anchored her commanding presence, masking the faint tremor beneath. “Lieutenant,” she began, her raspy voice a gravelly blend of warmth and steel, “your Caitian feast—Ruh’lu with mushrooms, Shishim’Meh—paired with my deli salad of shredded chicken, celery, pickles, mustard, fresh dill, and Cremellian custard for Martha and your brother makes our 1900 dinner tomorrow a family cornerstone. The Andorian wine’s a crisp note. We’re forging trust, not just a meal.” Her sharp, subtle nod mirrored Cassandra’s, a silent pact to guard their words from prying ears.
“Your loyalty keeps us unbreakable,” she rasped, the low, gritty tone carrying quiet gratitude for Cassandra’s unspoken understanding. “The 95th’s running like a warp core on your watch. Twenty-six medical reports by 0800, per Health Directive 33; gear fitting with Quartermaster John’s—Type-2 phaser, combat knife, Mark-VI chest plate—per Security Regulation 19; , and updating Zanders’ grievance by day’s end,.”
She leaned forward, her raspy voice sharpening with pride as her gaze locked onto Cassandra’s. “The 95th’s family because of your grit, Cassandra. Keep us mission-ready. I’ll see you at the armory post-requisition, then at your quarters tomorrow, side by side. Dismissed, Lieutenant—go make us shine.”
Cassandra stood and gave the customary salute to her MCO. "Aye aye ma'am." Then took the step back before turning to go. She had a lot to get done and a short time to do it in. Such was the life of any Marine.
The door closes with a hiss behind 1st Lieutenant Cassandra Matthews, leaving Major Janeway solitary in the bare MCO office on the USS Tomcat. The ship emits a low hum that creates a constant rhythm, yet it fails to overshadow the haunting temporal echoes from the mines that pulse through her mind. Her violet eyes, intense yet softened by a quiet determination, focus on a small, intricately carved figurine of a Friesian stallion on her desk. Its dark coat and flowing mane embody the breed’s noble strength, shimmering beneath the office lighting—a token from her adoptive mother, who served on Voyager, linked to memories of her childhood on the Texan plains, with coyotes howling at dusk, their sorrowful cries composing a wild symphony before Starfleet, before the coffin, before the scars etching her jaw.
Emily’s scarred hands, slightly shaking from the effects of the neurotoxin, reach out for the Friesian stallion. She holds it in her hands, its solid form anchoring her as the room flickers with the distortion of time, a remnant of the mines’ oppressive darkness. Her voice, hoarse and impassioned, addresses the figurine as though it carries the wild call of the coyotes. “You heard those coyotes calling across the plains, my old companion,” she whispers, her thumb gliding along the stallion’s regal crest. “I was twelve, standing guard over our camp under that vast Texan sky, my adoptive mother asleep by the fire. A coyote pack circled, their wails sharp and fierce, warning off a prowling puma. I gripped my father’s old rifle, heart pounding, ready to protect her—their cries taught me to stand tall, to shield those I love. The mines, that coffin, Admiral Doe’s secrets, the missing reports, that cursed temporal hum—they thought they could stop me, once known as a fearless protector of the galaxy.” Her jaw clenches, scars tightening, violet eyes blazing like a prairie dawn. “The 95th will become my new family now, my pack. I need to become their heart, pumping fierce, binding us as one, howling back at every shadow.”
She gently sets the Friesian stallion down, aligning it beside her desktop terminal and her small office decorations, treasures she’s recently managed to find among her stored belongings from the USS Tomcat’s refit. A polished Starfleet Command medallion, its laurel-wreathed starburst symbolizing leadership, glints with purpose. A miniature model of the Voyager, its nacelles faintly glowing, honors her mother’s service. A worn Starfleet Marine Corps patch, embroidered with a crossed phaser rifle and combat knife, speaks to her duty as MCO. And a small, weathered coyote fang, strung on a leather cord from that night on the plains, hums with the memory of her protector’s heart, glowing like the star-dusted dusk. Her fingers linger on the stallion, its proud form echoing the strength she found among the coyotes. “Tomorrow at 1900,” she murmurs, a warm smile cracking her scarred face, “Ruh’lu, deli salad, Cremellian custard with Cassandra’s daughter and brother—no fruit, just trust, away from those damn listening ears.” Her gaze flicks to the ceiling, wary of the surveillance she and Cassandra both sense. “That Andorian wine’ll toast my new family—the 95th, Starfleet’s finest, and Cassandra’s kin—beating as one under my heart, wild as those coyotes’ call.”
Emily leans back, the stallion and newfound treasures a constellation of her past and purpose, steadying the tremor in her hands. “You’re my Friesian heart,” she whispers to the figurine, her voice a gritty vow. “Those coyotes taught me to protect, to hold a family close across any galaxy, just like I guarded my mother that night. These mementos,” she glances at the medallion, Voyager model, Marine patch, and coyote fang, “carry my oath to Starfleet and my pack. I’m the heart of the 95th now, too—not a ghost from the mines, but their fire, their pulse, forged in starlight. Doe’s shadows, whatever’s coming—we’ll howl louder, united, unstoppable.” The ship’s hum swells, as if carrying the coyotes’ call across the stars, and Emily rests her hands on the desk, her heart thundering for her new family, ready to lead them as the protector she was born to be, guided by Starfleet’s enduring symbols and the plains’ wild call.
End:
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