Course Set
Posted on Wed Nov 12th, 2025 @ 6:55pm by Rear Admiral Josua Frost & Treon Brevor
1,025 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Second Light
Location: SS Starburst
Joint Log – Rear Admiral (Inactive) Josua Frost & Captain (Retired) Treon Brevor
Aboard SS Starburst – Docking Port 6B, Starbase 369
⸻
The airlock cycled open, and Treon stepped through first — sure-footed, at home in the narrow corridor.
Frost followed.
A compact travel pack rested over one shoulder, and his clothes were civilian but sharply cut — clean lines, restrained colors, the quiet precision of someone who still thought in terms of readiness. He took in the exposed cabling, matte hull plating, and the warm hum of systems kept alive by care rather than regulation.
Treon glanced back.
“It’s not the Destiny.”
A faint smile touched Frost’s mouth.
“There’s only one Destiny.”
They reached the small common area — A long table was bolted to the floor on one side of the room, chairs spread out around it. On the side were a couple of aging couches besides lower tables. By the wall were replicators and above them, a wall display scrolling quiet station telemetry. The air held the subtle scent of fresh coffee and power relays warming under load.
Treon took off a couple of padds from one of the low tables. “Here, have a seat. You want something to drink?”
He hesitated a moment longer than expected, as if the offer brushed a habit he hadn’t often indulged. Then he drew a quiet breath.
“If there’s a hot tea, that would be appreciated,” he said. The thought followed immediately — that through all his years in command, he had rarely paused to consider something as simple as a preferred drink. Duty had always crowded out small comforts.
Treon quickly returned with two mugs of tea, steam curling up from them. She placed one before Jos and sat down across from him.
“You’re sure we should do this here?” She asked. “There aren’t many private places on this ship, but I could try to organize one.”
Frost shook his head, voice low but steady.
“No need. Hardly anyone’s seen us come aboard, and nothing about this has spread yet. Few eyes, few questions. This is quiet enough.”
“We’re a small crew — four people including me. They’ll have to know exactly what they’re getting into.”
He blinked, a half-second late. Of course. Civilians. Not officers under oath, not trained for risk, not bound to the same duty he’d lived by his entire adult life. They could be hurt because he was here. Because of what he brought with him. The realization landed sharper than expected. How quickly he’d assumed; how easily he’d forgotten. Arrogant, he thought. Old habits, old blinders.
He cleared his throat, a faint heat touching his cheeks.
“Yes. Of course. I’d like to meet them. Thank you.”
Treon nodded for Jos to continue. This had been the final hurdle for her. How her crew would react - she'll have to deal with that later.
Frost set his pack down, placed a datapad on the table, and activated it.
The screen lit with the face of John Piper.
“Fifteen years,” Frost said. “No trace. No subspace signatures. No civilian registry. He just — vanished.”
He slid to the next frame.
A sun-bright courtyard. Stone towers. Cloth banners shifting in warm air.
Aliens — tall, slender, bronze-silver skin catching the light, elongated eyes, faint bioluminescent lines tracing temple to jaw. Pre-warp clothing, beautifully made.
And there, in the center of them — Piper.
Unhidden. Speaking calmly, as if he belonged among them.
“Pre-warp,” Treon murmured, leaning in. “Where did you get this?”
Frost exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the image.
“My commission technically still stands. Starfield keeps me as their liaison — rank on ice, duty not so much. That world sits right at the Federation fringe. Resources thin, oversight thinner. They’d rather we handle this quietly — no task force, no extraction team, not until we know what we’re walking into.”
He tapped the datapad, freezing the courtyard in luminous stillness.
“If he’s become central to them — spiritually, politically, culturally — we can’t just beam him out and call it done. We need to stand there. Feel it. Understand the stakes.”
A pause, the kind that never happened when Frost wore a uniform daily.
“And whether he left of his own will?” Treon asked.
A small shake of the head.
“I don’t know. I truly don’t.”
The Starburst's Bajoran engineer came in and made for the replicator. A steaming mug of coffee in hand, he turned around and realized he wasn’t alone. “Hello.”
“Josua Frost, meet Jaro Venn,” Treon did the introductions. “The Starburst’s engineer and ship-whisperer. Josua is an old friend.”
Frost stood, straightening by instinct. A brief bow — stiff but sincere. He reached out to shake Venn’s hand, pausing just a fraction longer than natural. He searched his memory — old diplomatic protocols, cultural files, mission briefings long since archived in the back of his mind. Then it surfaced.
“Peldor joi,” he offered quietly, almost relieved at having found it. A faint, self-aware smile. “A pleasure. I was an engineer once — a long time ago. I’d welcome the chance to talk shop again, if you’re willing.”
"Of course," Venn smiled. "Not just talk, this ship needs constant work."
“How are we doing?” Treon asked. And then to Jos, as an aside — “We had some trouble with our warp core.”
Venn raised an eyebrow at that explanation. “I hope to finish repairs by tonight, so tomorrow we can head out.” He paused. “I’m assuming we’re heading out?”
“Yes,” Treon exchanged a glance with Jos. “We have a new mission. I’ll update the crew tonight.”
Venn nodded and disappeared back towards the engine room.
Treon turned to Jos. “We have a few guest quarters aboard. I apologize in advance - they’re probably not what you’re used to. You want to see them?”
Frost nodded. “Yes — lead the way.”
At least here, he’d prepared himself — the guest quarters on a four-person civilian vessel were not going to resemble the captain’s suite aboard the Destiny. A small relief: one expectation he hadn’t failed to adjust.
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