Bringing Baggage Onboard
Posted on Wed Aug 6th, 2025 @ 6:04pm by Commodore Tyler Malbrooke & Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trellis & Glinn Kalim
Edited on on Tue Sep 30th, 2025 @ 9:24am
2,238 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
Episode 16 - Silent Cries
Location: Office of the Executive Officer - Central Core Deck 2 - Empok Nor
Timeline: MD008 1300 hrs
The corridors of Empok Nor carried the weight of its industrial past in every angular line and shadow. As Lieutenant j.g. Galen Trellis made his way through what had once been a Cardassian mining facility, he felt the familiar tension building behind his eyes. The station now flew under Starfleet colors, its operations centers staffed by Federation personnel, but the architecture itself remained unchanged: stark, utilitarian, and unmistakably Cardassian in design.
With each step through the gray corridors, Galen felt phantom sensations that weren't his own. The ache in his left shoulder from shrapnel that had never touched his body. The phantom taste of dust and smoke from battlefields he'd never seen. The hypervigilance that made him unconsciously catalog every shadow, every potential sniper position, every blind spot in the station's layout. These were Dorian's responses, Dorian's trauma, bleeding through the neural pathways they now shared.
Galen's hand drifted toward his hip where a phaser would hang in a combat situation, then caught himself mid-motion. The gesture belonged to Dorian's muscle memory, ingrained through years of warfare that had taught him to always be ready, always be armed, always expect the worst. It was a reflex born from watching too many young Marines die because they'd let their guard down for just a moment.
This isn't a war zone, Galen reminded himself, employing the breathing techniques he'd learned to manage these intrusive moments. You're reporting for duty on a Starfleet station. You're safe.
But safety was a concept that Dorian's traumatized psyche had never fully accepted. The memories of AR-558 lurked just beneath the surface—the sound of disruptor fire echoing through mining tunnels, the weight of a dying Marine in his arms, the crushing responsibility of leadership when every decision could mean life or death for the soldiers under his command. These weren't Galen's memories, but they lived in his mind with all the immediacy and emotional weight of lived experience.
The phantom pain flared across his back—injuries from the Battle of Tyra that belonged to a body that had died six years ago, but which his nervous system remembered with perfect, agonizing clarity. Galen paused, pressing his palm against the bulkhead as he fought to ground himself in the present moment, to separate his consciousness from the traumatic echoes that threatened to overwhelm his professional composure.
When he reached the Executive Officer's office, Galen forced himself to pause and center himself. The meditation technique was a careful blend of traditional Trill mental disciplines and the breathing patterns he'd learned in therapy—techniques designed to help him maintain his own identity while carrying the unprocessed trauma of his predecessor.
The door chimed at his approach, and Galen straightened, forcing his expression into professional neutrality. But when the doors parted and he stepped into the office, the sight of Glinn Kalim triggered an immediate physiological response that he struggled to suppress.
Glinn Kalim sat behind his desk and was swamped with paperwork. The disappearance of General Sobel, the explosion on the Promenade, and the Pioneer had gone missing. Presumably under the Commodore's wishes. He took the final slug of kanar and gritted his teeth as he sighed. He looked up from his desk and found a Trill in a Starfleet uniform standing in front of him. He smiled in that manner that all Cardassians did. "Can I help you Lieutenant?"
Galen's eyes immediately fixed on the now-empty bottle of kanar on Kalim's desk, and he felt his jaw clench involuntarily. The amber liquid triggered a cascade of Dorian's memories—the acrid smell of burning Cardassian installations, the sight of dead Federation soldiers with their throats torn open by kar'takin blades, the voice of his old captain screaming orders as Galor-class warships closed in on their position. His hand twitched toward his sidearm before he caught himself, forcing his arm back to his side.
Not my memories, he reminded himself, drawing on the centering techniques. Not my war.
But the physiological response was undeniable—his heart rate spiked, his breathing became shallow, and sweat beaded along his ridged forehead despite the controlled atmosphere of the office. The Cardassian's predatory smile only made it worse, triggering every survival instinct that Dorian Trellis had honed during years of brutal combat.
Galen forced himself to stand at attention, his voice carefully modulated despite the tremor of suppressed rage that Dorian's trauma had awakened. "Lieutenant j.g. Galen Trellis reporting for duty, sir," Galen managed, his voice steady despite the hypervigilance that made him acutely aware of every movement in his peripheral vision.
"I am reporting as the new Chief Helmsman for the USS Pioneer, sir." The words came out clipped and professional, but there was an unmistakable tension in his posture—the coiled readiness of a Marine who had learned never to fully trust a Cardassian, even one that out-ranked him. He kept his eyes fixed on a point just over Kalim's shoulder, not trusting himself to maintain proper eye contact without letting the buried hatred show through.
To use the old human phrase this was not Kalim's first rodeo. He had experienced the tension, from others at having to work with a Cardassian. Especially after all of the horrible things that his people had done. So, for the moment he would let all of the posturing that Galen had done go past unchallenged. However, he would say something if the Lieutenant did not make the adjustment. "Welcome aboard Empok Nor. Unfortunately the Pioneer is away on assignment. Feel free to enjoy all that the station has to offer until your ship returns. You can see the quartermaster for temporary quarters here on the station."
The news hit Galen like a physical blow, and for a moment his carefully maintained composure cracked. His eyes snapped to Kalim's face despite his earlier resolve, surprise and frustration bleeding through his professional mask. The phantom pain across his back flared again as Dorian's memories of military inefficiency and bureaucratic failures surfaced unbidden.
"Away on assignment?" Galen repeated, his voice betraying a note of incredulity before he caught himself. He straightened further, if that were possible, his hands clasping behind his back to hide the slight tremor of agitation. "Sir, I was not informed that the Pioneer had already departed. My orders indicated I was to report directly to the vessel upon arrival."
He paused, drawing on his centering techniques to push down the rising anxiety that came with being stranded—another trigger from Dorian's war experiences. When he spoke again, his tone was more controlled, though still edged with tension.
"May I ask when the Pioneer is expected to return to station, sir? And..." He hesitated, clearly struggling with having to make requests of a Cardassian officer.
The bottle of kanar seemed to glint mockingly in his peripheral vision, and Galen forced himself to focus on the conversation at hand rather than the churning mix of Dorian's traumatic memories and his own growing unease at the situation.
Kalim tried to be political. He did not want to tell the officer that no one knew where the Pioneer was, or when it would return. That Commodore Malbrooke hijacked his own vessel and there was a search party for them as we speak. No, Kalim could not say that, that is classified. "You may ask, hell a number of people have asked. However, Commodore Malbrooke is not in the habit of telling Captain Hood or myself. Suffice to say that the Commodore and his vessel are on assignment, and will return. I understand your orders as I am sure you understand that I have mine." Kalim was about to continue but it was the ending of Galen's statement that caught the Cardassian's attention. "And what Lieutenant?"
Galen held Kalim’s gaze, but just beneath the surface of his composure, the intrusive thought surged like a riptide—He’s lying. Cardassians always lie. He’s stalling while they decide what to do with you. Dorian would never have let himself get caught without an escape plan.
The memory came unbidden—sweat-slick corridors, smoke curling through the air, and the cold, guttural laugh of a Cardassian interrogator just before the lights went out. Galen’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing slightly behind his back as he forced the memory down, exhaling just slowly enough to regain his equilibrium.
That was Dorian. That was war. This is not.
He made himself blink once, clearing the shadow from his eyes, and then straightened his posture by a fraction—disciplined, controlled, Starfleet.
He hated that his instincts still whispered warnings, that Dorian's memories still painted every Cardassian with suspicion. But Galen had chosen to wear the uniform of Starfleet—this Starfleet—precisely because he believed that trust, however tentative, was still possible.
He squared his shoulders.
"And what, sir..." he echoed, tone steady now, even if his pulse wasn’t. "If the Pioneer's mission is indefinite, then what am I to do in the interim? My orders were specific—report to the Pioneer and assume my duties aboard her. But without her presence, and without access to her systems, my mission parameters are effectively null. I’m trained for starship operations, not to linger in administrative limbo."
There was a beat of silence, then Galen added, a note of restrained sharpness threading through his voice:
"Forgive my bluntness, sir, but I need to be useful. If there is an assignment here—temporary or otherwise—I respectfully request to be put to work. If not… I ask for permission to initiate a temporary attachment to another vessel or command structure until the Pioneer returns."
His eyes didn’t waver. “Sir.”
It was the bluntness that caught Kalim's attention. Cardassians appreciated bluntness. In fact it was the only thing that annoyed Kalim about working with Starfleet. The lack of simply saying what is meant. "At the moment there is not much for a pilot to do on the station. However, I can make three recommendations for you. The first is to simply do as I stated. Relax, enjoy the station's amenities until the Commodore and the Pioneer return. If that will not due then I would say check in with the Commander of the Air Group at the 2738th Marine Fighter Squadron. One Captain Jelane Shiqwue I believe. From the reports the fighter's navigational arrays need complete overhauls and they can use all the help that they can get. If that does not pique your fancy then the only other option I can give you is to request a transfer to another vessel. One that is present upon your arrival." Kalim may have liked the bluntness. At the moment however, that was the only thing he liked about this Lieutenant.
Galen listened, keeping his expression composed even as Kalim’s final remark stung with cool detachment. The implication was clear enough: his presence was tolerated, not welcome. Another part of Dorian's fragmented past itched to lash back, to remind the Glinn that Cardassian opinions carried no weight over joined Trill. You don’t answer to him. You don’t owe him anything. Take the transfer. Get out before they sideline you for good.
But Galen silenced the thought before it could take root.
That’s not how Starfleet works. That’s not who you are.
Instead, he drew himself up with quiet resolve and offered a crisp nod. “Thank you. I appreciate the recommendations.”
His voice was measured, professional.
“While the station’s amenities are… no doubt excellent, I believe I’ll check in with the CAG. If the 2738th needs technical support, I’m qualified in three generations of fighter-class systems, including Romulan-sourced arrays. I'd prefer to make myself useful until the Pioneer returns.”
A pause—just long enough to make it clear that this was his decision, not a reluctant concession. “Captain Shiqwue may find me of some assistance.”
"I agree Lieutenant. The Captain should be very thankful for the help. But if I may caution you. The Captain is a Bajoran so proper address for her would be Captain Jelane. You can find her in her office located in the Docking Ring Deck 14. I believe they call that area The Hive. Go get settled into some quarters first and get acclimated to the station. I will also, let Starfleet know that you are here and have reported as ordered. It is the Pioneer that is not here. I am sure they are going to want to know that." Kalim took the smile from his face. In its place was a genuine look of sincerity. He could sense through body language that the Lieutenant was uncomfortable. That was not something that Kalim wanted.
"Thank you," Lt. Trellis said with a nod as he turned and left the office.
Kalim watched the Trill leave and realized that there was something he did not like about Cardassians. However, Kalim now wondered if it was the man or the symbiote. Either way he thought that Galen had better make peace with whatever it was if he intended on working in the Trivas Sector.
A Joint Post By
Glinn Kalim
Executive Officer, Empok Nor
Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trelis
Chief Flight Control Officer, USS Pioneer
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