The Refugee Part II
Posted on Fri Feb 27th, 2026 @ 6:42am by Commodore Tyler Malbrooke & Lieutenant Commander Alyssa Maren & Major Edmund Merrick & Maren Malbrooke
Edited on on Fri Feb 27th, 2026 @ 7:25am
3,563 words; about a 18 minute read
Mission:
The Mysteries of Maren
Location: Eight Lightyears From The Carlson Rift
Timeline: MD001 1010 hrs Prime Timeline
Hastios keyed the final command himself before disengaging. “Initiate tractor beam. Low yield, stabilisation protocol. Match shuttle velocity and vector. Bring it in slow — Bay One.”
The deck gave a subtle vibration as the beam locked on, the battered shuttle steadied within the glowing field.
“Hull stabilising,” he confirmed. “Towing to Shuttle Bay One.”
He cast one last look at the viewscreen, then turned toward the turbolift, falling into step behind Thorrin and Marisa.
“Let’s go meet our guest.”
"We must tread with care," Marisa said. "I expect her to fight until she realizes we are not her enemy." Or shoot herself. Hopefully, they could prevent that particular outcome.
A low vibration rolled through the hull, deeper than the failing relays, steadier than the shuttle’s dying hum. Maren looked up just as a band of pale light lanced across the viewport, locking onto the shuttle’s nose in a tight column.
Tractor beam.
Her hands flew back to the console, fingers striking dead panels, rerouting what little power remained. Nothing answered. The engines were gone. Thrusters unresponsive. The shuttle shifted anyway, metal groaning as unseen force took hold and began to pull.
“Override,” she snapped at the computer, but it only answered with a broken whine and a flicker of corrupted text.
Outside, the stars tilted slowly as the larger vessel drew her in. The beam held steady, patient, inescapable. Maren’s breath came fast now, adrenaline surging hard enough to make her hands shake. She killed what little remained of the weapon grid to conserve power and shoved the emergency phaser back into her grip instead.
The shuttle crossed an invisible threshold and the starfield vanished, replaced by the dim interior of a massive bay. Light spilled across the cracked viewport as clamps extended to receive her. She wiped the blood from her temple with the back of her wrist and forced herself upright despite the ache in her ribs.
Then the emotional wave hit her next.
Not one presence. Not a command structure. Many.
Layered awareness. Alertness. Controlled tension. Curiosity edged with caution. It flooded through her senses without suppression, without Dominion filtering, and the sheer openness of it made her vision blur for a second.
She braced a hand against the bulkhead, jaw tightening as she tried to narrow the field. Too many minds. Too close. No emotional discipline walling them off.
The external bay lights flared brighter across the viewport.
They were coming.
Maren moved quickly. The old 2370s phaser went into her right hand. From the emergency kit she pulled a compact, utilitarian blade and slid it into her boot. A second, shorter blade she tucked into the inside seam of her jacket. Close quarters. Quiet options.
Her ribs protested as she shifted position beside the hatch, staying out of direct line with the doorway.
Her breathing steadied, but the emotional pressure outside the hull didn’t fade.
She had no idea who they were.
Only that she was no longer in control of the board.
{{Outside the shuttle}}
The shuttle bay doors parted and Hastios stepped in first, one stride ahead of Thorrin and half a pace ahead of Marisa. Two security officers followed in tight formation behind him, phasers low but ready.
The battered shuttle sat in the centre of Bay One, cradled in the tractor beam’s residual glow. It looked worse up close. Hull plates warped and scorched, weld seams crude and overlapping, one landing strut buckled at an unnatural angle. Faint smoke curled from a ruptured vent near the dorsal spine.
Hastios stopped several metres short of it.
He took it in the way he took in any unknown threat — slow sweep, top to bottom. Entry points. Weapons ports. Power nodes. Structural fractures that might give way if someone leaned too hard against the hull.
“Set perimeter,” he ordered quietly.
The security team moved without question — one to port side coverage, one to starboard flank, clear lines of fire but angled away from the shuttle’s cockpit in case of explosive decompression. Containment field emitters hummed softly as they activated along the bay’s inner threshold.
Hastios stepped closer to the hull, close enough to hear the faint ticking of cooling metal. His hand hovered near the seam of a scorched access panel but did not touch it.
“Power levels are erratic,” he observed. “Internal shielding still fluctuating. They routed everything into interference.”
His eyes traced the docking collar. Damaged. The manual hatch was intact but scorched around the edges. The emergency release panel was partially fused.
He stepped back half a pace and looked to Thorrin.
“Primary hatch is viable but compromised. We can cut through here,” he gestured to a weakened seam near the port side, “minimal risk.”
A beat.
“Recommend controlled breach. Security in position.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“We’re ready when you are, Captain.”
Thorrin stood with his XO and his Chief Medical Officer on either side of him. "Open it up Major." Thorrin drew a phaser seemingly out of nowhere. If need be he would kill this interloper himself.
Hastios gave a single nod and stepped forward.
He signalled to his nearest security officer, who moved to the manual release panel while the second covered the cockpit line. The bay lights dimmed slightly as atmosphere protocols adjusted, pressure equalising to prevent a violent blowback.
“Cutting power to external interference field,” Hastios ordered quietly. “Stand by.”
The scorched panel sparked as the security officer applied a portable cutter, the tool hissing through warped metal with controlled precision. The smell of burnt alloy filled the air as the seam gave way inch by inch.
Hastios positioned himself just off-centre of the hatch, phaser raised but steady, body angled to shield the captain and doctor without making it obvious. As the final section of plating fell inward with a dull metallic clang, he motioned the team back half a step.
Addison took notice, it was exactly what Hastios said he'd do. Make himself a wall between those who needed to be looked out for.
The hatch was forced open.
“Shuttle is open, Captain,” he reported evenly, eyes already scanning the interior.
The instant the hatch tore open, Maren reacted.
A blast of blue-white energy ripped from the muzzle of her outdated phaser, cutting across the bay before she had a clear visual on who stood beyond the threshold. The beam struck metal somewhere beyond the doorway in a violent spray of sparks, the impact echoing sharply in the enclosed space. She hadn’t aimed at a person; she had aimed at presence, at movement, at the simple fact that someone had forced entry.
The shot the woman fired, caused Addison to duck. It couldn't be helped, it was instinctive.
The recoil travelled harshly up her arm, and the weapon protested under the strain. The ancient power cell, already destabilised by the shuttle’s damaged grid, overcompensated and then failed. The beam flickered once more in an uneven stutter before collapsing entirely, the phaser emitting a thin whine as it died in her hand.
The emotional backlash from the bay struck her just as hard as the recoil. Shock rippled outward, sharp and immediate, followed by disciplined restraint and rising alertness. It wasn’t the cold, unified aggression of Dominion soldiers, but it was armed and focused all the same. The intensity pressed against her senses, unfiltered, and she forced herself to breathe through it rather than stagger.
Without hesitation she dropped the useless phaser and shifted her weight, drawing the blade from her boot in a single controlled motion. The second knife slid free from inside her jacket as she stepped just off the line of the doorway, lowering her centre of gravity and angling her body to avoid being an easy target. Her ribs ached and her shoulder burned, but her grip was steady.
She still couldn’t see their faces clearly—only the outlines of boots, weapons raised but held with control, and the silhouettes of bodies positioned with deliberate precision. Whoever they were, they weren’t Dominion.
That did not make them safe.
"We are Starfleet and we are here to help," Marisa replied calmly, her voice pitched loud enough to be heard, her tone kind. Non-confrontational. "You came through a time portal. No one here wants to hurt you. You are safe now."
Maren almost laughed.
The word safe scraped against her nerves. She could feel them out there—controlled, alert, armed, trying very hard not to escalate. That didn’t read as kindness. It read as discipline.
She adjusted her grip on the knives, not raising them, not lowering them either. Her eyes tracked uniforms, stance, spacing. Clean lines. No Dominion armour. No suppression signatures in the emotional field. But that didn’t mean anything.
“You always open with that?” she called back, voice hoarse but edged. “Because where I’m from, that speech usually comes right before someone gets restrained.”
Her gaze flicked from one figure to another, assessing. Counting.
“Starfleet?” she scoffed lightly. “Starfleet’s dead.”
She tilted her head slightly, dark eyes sharp despite the blood drying at her temple.
“And ‘time portal’?” she added, a faint, disbelieving smile touching her mouth. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
"Why, when I speak the truth?" Marisa replied calmly, using her counselor tone of voice. "We have a doctor here to tend to your wounds. Food. Let us help you."
Addison took a chance to peer around Hastios to have a look towards the woman, taking note of her injuries.
"I would like to have a look at your injuries." Addison spoke up.
Maren stepped fully into the light.
Blood slid freely from the split at her hairline now, tracing down over her cheek and dropping in dark, deliberate marks onto the polished deck of the bay. It felt almost obscene, staining something this clean. Her ribs ached sharply with every controlled breath and her shoulder trembled from the earlier recoil, but she kept her back straight the way her father had drilled into her.
Stand upright. Control your breathing. Make them work for it.
The knives were raised now—not wildly, but enough. Weakness disguised as readiness.
Her eyes moved first to the one who felt like command.
The bald one.
Average height, but thick through the shoulders and chest, muscle carried like armour. Black eyes that didn’t flinch. Not cruel. Not soft either. There was something older there, something that didn’t match his face, like he’d seen more than the room required. He held his phaser like it was an extension of his hand, not a threat—calm enough to kill if he had to and not lose sleep over it.
That made him dangerous.
The taller one to his side was built like a weapon. Light brown hair cut close, green eyes steady and penetrating. He angled his body subtly, shielding the others without making a show of it. His emotional field was tight, disciplined, layered over old scars that ran deeper than the visible ones. She could feel the violence in him—not uncontrolled, not reckless. Controlled. Chosen.
He would move first if this went bad.
The woman who’d spoken first carried Vulcan restraint like a sheath over something warmer. Hazel-green eyes assessing, not judging. Her calm wasn’t fake; it was engineered. That almost irritated Maren more than fear would have. No cracks. No tremor. Just measured patience.
And the tall blonde—human through and through—radiated open concern so clearly it was almost painful. Blue eyes tracking the blood at Maren’s temple, the angle of her stance, the tremor in her arm. Stronger than she looked, shoulders set in a way that said she knew how to brace against weight.
They were all strong in different ways.
They were all watching her.
The emotional field surged harder the longer she stood there. Concern sharpened. Tactical readiness tightened. Curiosity pressed in from behind it all. It was too much—too layered, too open. Her control slipped for a fraction of a second and the overhead lights flickered in response, a subtle pulse that betrayed the spike in her field.
She pushed back instinctively, a narrow psychic probe brushing across them in turn, searching for deception. She expected to hit something cold and hidden.
She didn’t.
That unsettled her more than a lie would have.
“You feel wrong,” she said quietly, dark eyes cutting back to the bald one. “Not Dominion wrong. Just… wrong.”
Another drop of blood struck the deck.
She lifted her chin slightly, even as the knives trembled faintly in her grip.
“You don’t get to decide I’m safe,” she added, voice edged with sharp, teenage disdain. “People who say that usually have a plan for what happens next.”
Her gaze swept over them again, merciless in its assessment.
“You look organised. Armed. Calm.” A faint, humourless smirk ghosted across her mouth. “So either you are exactly what you claim… or you’re very, very good.”
She inhaled slowly, forcing her breathing steady despite the pressure building behind her eyes.
“If you’re Starfleet,” she said, defiance sharpening each word, “then explain how you’re still standing.”
"In this universe, Starfleet never fell," Marisa replied simply. "Look around. Time is more complex than you imagine."
Thorrin holstered his phaser and waived for the rest of security to do the same. "Miss..." His voice trailed off as he hoped she would fill in the blank of her name. When she did not he continued. "...I can explain everything in the right time and place. This is neither the right time or the right place. I suggest we adjourn from here to Sick Bay. The good doctor here will patch you up, we can provide you with a warm meal, a fine glass of wine and explain everything. When it is all said and done we can return you to your place and time of origin." The El Aurian stepped toward her slowly and deliberately. He made sure to shield his thoughts from her. He was not sure who or what she was.
“In this universe, Starfleet never fell.”
The phrase lodged in her skull like shrapnel.
Maren’s brow furrowed as she glanced around the bay again, trying to reconcile the scale of the ship, the intact uniforms, the absence of Dominion insignia burned into every surface. Her world did not allow for intact fleets and calm explanations. Her world had ended in fragments and encrypted whispers.
“In this universe,” she repeated under her breath, the words tasting wrong.
When the bald one prompted her for a name, she hesitated. Giving it felt like surrendering something personal, something usable. But her father had always warned her not to appear cornered when she wasn’t.
“Maren,” she said finally, voice edged but steady. “Maren Malbrooke.”
She watched him carefully as he stepped forward, and something about him shifted. Or rather—stopped. His mind went quiet. Where the others were a layered rush of concern and restraint, his thoughts folded in on themselves behind something she couldn’t penetrate.
That rattled her more than open hostility would have.
She adjusted her stance, and the ache in her ribs flared sharply. The emotional current pressing in from the bay intensified again—too many minds, too close. Her control wavered for a heartbeat and the overhead lights flickered in response.
The room tilted.
One knife slipped from her fingers and struck the deck with a metallic crack.
She caught herself before she fell, breathing shallow now, the remaining blade still raised though her arm trembled despite her effort to steady it. Blood dripped steadily from her temple onto the pristine deck beneath her boots.
“You keep saying I’m safe,” she said, voice thinner than she wanted, confusion bleeding through the defiance. “But none of this makes sense.”
Her eyes lifted again, dark and searching despite the blur at their edges.
“In my universe,” she added quietly, “Starfleet didn’t survive.”
Marisa's expression softened. She could see the confusion, the fear. The desperation. They had to tread carefully. But they had to reach her. Had to get her to give them a chance.
She felt Hastios' presence next to her. His strength. Trusting him, she took a chance and took a step closer to Maren, her hands open to show she held no weapon. At the same time, she was ready for anything. "Hello, Maren. My name is Marisa. Here, in our universe, Starfleet thrives. Let us show you that we speak the truth."
Marisa stepped closer, hands open, her voice softening as she spoke Maren’s name.
The distance closed—and with it, the flood.
It wasn’t just Marisa anymore. It was everyone. Concern sharpened as they watched her sway. Tactical caution tightened. Medical urgency edged closer. Trust flickered between them in quick, subtle exchanges. It rushed at her all at once, unfiltered and relentless, and without the rigid emotional suppression she had grown used to under Dominion rule, it felt like standing in the centre of a storm without armour.
Her control fractured.
The overhead lights flickered violently as the surge spiked outward, a pulse of unstable energy rippling from her without intent. The pressure behind her eyes became unbearable, and her breath hitched as the room tilted again, this time refusing to steady. She tried to narrow the field, tried to do what her father had taught her—slow it down, focus on one mind, anchor—
There were too many.
Her remaining knife slipped from her fingers as her knees buckled. The pristine deck rushed up to meet her, and she barely felt the impact over the roaring in her ears.
“Vashara… thalen…” she muttered under her breath in fragmented Betazoid, the words instinctive rather than learned—an old, half-remembered cadence that meant nothing structured, only quiet… enough… stop…
The emotional noise dimmed abruptly as her consciousness faltered, leaving the bay lights to steady over her crumpled form and the blood still slowly marking the floor.
Hastios had not taken his eyes off her once.
He’d watched the stance, the tremor she tried to hide, the way her breathing shortened each time someone stepped closer. He felt it too — not just the tension in the bay, but the emotional turbulence radiating from her in uneven waves. It wasn’t controlled projection. It was overload.
When the lights flared and her knees gave way, he moved.
He closed the distance in two strides and caught her before her head struck the deck a second time, lowering her the rest of the way with controlled strength. One hand supported her shoulders while the other moved automatically to her neck, fingers finding a pulse point with practiced efficiency.
“She’s alive,” he reported immediately, voice steady. “Pulse rapid but present. Breathing shallow. Pupils reactive.”
He glanced briefly toward Addison without looking away from Maren for long. “No visible spinal trauma from the fall. Blood loss from the scalp wound is moderate, not critical. She’s exhausted — system’s been running hot for too long.”
His jaw tightened slightly as he registered the residual tremor still running through her frame.
“She’s not attacking,” he added quietly. “She’s overwhelmed.”
He shifted his grip, lifting her carefully into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, instinctively shielding her head against his shoulder to limit further strain.
“Sickbay,” he said, already turning toward the exit. “Now.”
There was no hesitation by Addison, she was hot on the heels of Hastios it was time to help the injured. No matter where or when she could be from.
Thorrin watched as the quartet of individuals left the shuttle bay. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the shuttle that lay dormant and silent on the deck. The shuttle and its occupant had seen more than most, and more than they should have, he thought. The Herodotus had just returned from time, from righting a wrong and then this. Thorrin exhaled sharply through his nose. If he didn't know before, he knew now. There was much to be done, and time never waited.
In the silence and solitude of the moment Thorrin, the man they called Father Time felt a kinship with this new arrival. He too felt alone, and a stranger in a strange land. He turned to leave and make his way to Sick Bay.
A Joint Post By:
Captain Thorrin
Commanding Officer, USS Herodotus
DTI-30656
Commander Marisa Sandoval
Executive Officer, USS Herodotus
DTI-30656
Major Hastios Eilfaren
Chief Security & Tactical Officer/Second Officer, USS Herodotus
DTI-30656
Lieutenant Addison Talbert
Chief Medical Officer, USS Herodotus
DTI-30656
Maren Malbrooke
Civilian, USS Pioneer
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