One Step Closer

Posted on Tue Nov 25th, 2025 @ 5:18pm by Commodore Lucian Marshall & Lieutenant Commander Selene Varrin
Edited on on Tue Nov 25th, 2025 @ 5:20pm

840 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: The Hand That Rocks The Babe
Location: En Route To Dreadnought.
Timeline: Current

The shuttle drifted into alignment with the U.S.S. Dreadnought, its hull catching the cold reflections of starlight. Selene Aradia stood near the viewport, arms folded loosely across her chest, her dark hair spilling in waves over the sharp lines of her uniform. From this angle, the Dreadnought didn’t look like a ship, it looked like a verdict. A place where things ended. Or began again.

“Final approach in thirty seconds,” the pilot announced.

Selene didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the massive bulk of the ship growing in the window. She had read every line of the ship’s psychological logs, but she had memorized one file in particular. She knew exactly who served aboard this vessel, and more importantly, when everything had gone so catastrophically wrong.

Today wasn’t about closure. Closure was a luxury. Today was about proximity.

The shuttle settled into the bay with a soft thud. Selene exhaled slowly, smoothing a hand over the high collar of her duty jacket. Her expression was calm, composed, every centimeter the controlled professionalism expected of a Starfleet counselor. But beneath it, tension coiled like a compressed spring, like a snake poised to strike at a moments notice.

The hatch hissed open. Warm hangar lights spilled inside.

Two officers waited at the base of the ramp, an ensign with a padd tucked nervously under his arm, and a lieutenant in operations gold who looked like she didn’t have time for formalities.

“Lieutenant Commander Varrin?” the ops officer asked.

Selene descended the ramp with practiced grace, boots striking metal with quiet certainty. “I am.” she said, her tone smooth, almost serene.

“Welcome aboard the Dreadnought, Counselor. The Captain requests your presence on the bridge once you’ve settled in.”

Of course he does, she thought. Captains always wanted to size up their counselors.

“Lead the way,” Selene replied, offering a polite nod.

As they guided her through the gleaming corridors, she let her fingertips brush briefly against the bulkhead—an almost imperceptible gesture. The ship felt heavy with unspoken history. She could sense the emotional residue of past traumas clinging to it like dust.

Perfect.

The Dreadnought was full of ghosts.
She had come here to find one in particular.

And this time, she wouldn’t let her slip away.

The turbolift climbed in a steady hum, the soft vibration threading up Selene’s spine. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, posture impeccable, her reflection faintly visible in the polished doors. The journey from the shuttle bay to Deck 1 had been a quiet one, mostly her observing, the escorting lieutenant stealing occasional glances when he thought she wasn’t looking. Counselors made people nervous.
Counselors with rank made them very nervous.

The lift slowed.

“Main Bridge” the computer announced.

The doors parted.

Selene stepped forward into a space alive with movement and low conversation. The Dreadnought’s bridge was broad and quietly imposing, like the ship itself. Officers manned their stations with practiced precision, fingers dancing over interfaces, eyes flicking up at her arrival. Some looked curious. Some wary. A few avoided staring altogether.

Her presence rippled through the room like a dropped stone.

At the center of it all stood Commodore Lucian Marshall, tall, silver at in the hair, carrying the sort of authority that didn’t require raising his voice. He turned as the turbolift doors slid shut behind her. "Lieutenant Commander Varrin, or would you prefer Counselor?" He greeted.

Selene approached with an unhurried grace, stopping at an appropriate distance. “Captain, Councelor will be acceptable.” Which while a Commodore, he was still the captain, so the title was accurate.

Lucian studied her for a moment. Not with suspicion, but calculation. He was the type to take stock of every officer who crossed his deck. “Welcome aboard the Dreadnought,” he said. “I trust your trip was uneventful?”

“Quite, sir.” She answered.

“Good.” The captain clasped his hands behind his back and nodded toward the forward stations. “I like my senior officers to see the bridge early in their tenure. Helps them get a sense of the ship. This one has… presence.”

Selene allowed the faintest smile. “It certainly does.”

“And you’ll find we keep a steady pace,” Lucian continued. “This isn’t a diplomatic cruiser or a research vessel. The Dreadnought goes where it’s needed, often before anyone else wants to be there.”

“I’m familiar with that aspect of the ship’s history,” she replied mildly.

“Your office is on Deck Six, if there is anything amiss or you require something please see Lieutenant Massy, Chief Operations for assistance." Lucian spoke.

“Understood.”

As he dismissed her with a nod, Selene’s gaze drifted across the bridge again, gathering impressions, reading posture and tension like text on a page. Every officer had tells, subtle, unconscious signals. She’d learn them all soon enough.

Because somewhere aboard this ship, among these people, the thread of her past wound tightly toward one particular name.

And she intended to pull it.

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