Translations
Posted on Sun Nov 2nd, 2025 @ 4:27pm by Lieutenant JG Ryan Kellerman & Commander Jerome Hunt Jr.
1,875 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
What was Lost is Found
Location: Visitors' Quarters, Starbase 152
Timeline: Prior to "Sole Survivor"
The small, temporary quarters at Starbase 152 smelled of recycled air and cleaning agents. It felt as though the living space was meant to feel foreign and spartan, if only to remind its occupant that this was not home.
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, Molly curled beside him at his feet, her body tucked neatly, a warm coil of fur and muscle. She had that restless intelligence in her eyes, alert yet calm, ears flicking at every distant clang and voice. Her legs were long and graceful--the greyhound part of her. Though her Australian shepherd streak showed in the way she shifted every so often, tail brushing against Ryan's calf, seeking contact. She was five now. Five, and lean, and sleek, and impossibly fast. But she trusted him completely, as though she had known him longer than anyone.
He rubbed her neck absentmindedly, his thumb running along the soft fur behind her ears. He could feel the tension coiled in his own shoulders. Leaving the Resistance, leaving the crew he had spent two years with, had not been easy. But he had made the choices that were necessary. For this assignment. And for himself.
He tapped his fingers against the edge of his duffel, then finally lifted the data PADD containing his sister Phoebe's message. Her face appeared, luminous and warm, set against the backdrop of a room on Kronos he would never have imagined her inhabiting: rough-hewn walls, low light, and burning sconces.
"Ryan," she said, her voice carrying that ever-present teasing and exasperated tone he'd always loved. "So, Ilya's getting ideas again. He wants to name the boy after his grandfather--Aleksei. I like the name, sure, but it doesn't roll off the tongue quite right for us. Mischa, maybe. I like Mischa. It's easy and soft. I want something that sounds like laughter, not a lecture." She laughed softly, one hand cradling her belly.
"The Klingons," she continued, rolling her blue eyes, "keep suggesting these... birthing rituals. Bathing in targ blood, stuffing gagh into mouths--really. I've been over-Klingonified, Ryan. I swear. But I just want to go home to Illinois and see mom and dad--and a bed that supports my sore back. And I want to give birth there, not on Kronos, not with all that..." She gestured vaguely at her room.
Her smile softened. "I hope this new posting of yours... well, that it's everything you want it to be. Chief of Intelligence. I know you've worked for it, baby brother. Just remember to breathe. And try--just try--to smile like you used to. You deserve it."
She blew him a small kiss, the screen fading back into the Federation's insignia.
Ryan set the PADD aside. Molly lifted her head, nose twitching, tail flicking with impatience. She nudged his hand with her nose. "All right, girl," he murmured. "Time to go meet the ship."
The duffel was heavier than he expected, filled with the precise tools and clothes a new Intelligence Chief needed, but it was manageable. He felt the familiar weight of responsibility pushing down on his shoulders--it was heavier than any pack he could carry. Molly rose, stretching, legs long and fluid, then fell in step beside him.
The corridor was quiet except for the echo of their footsteps. Molly's nails clicked slightly on the metallic deck, a rhythmic counterpoint to Ryan's own careful stride. Each panel, each light, smelled of polish and plasma. He felt the tension of the past three years against his spine--the separation from Darius, the decisions, the world he had made for himself in the world of information and secrets.
At the Valkyrie's gangway, Ryan paused. The ship was larger than he'd remembered from briefings, all clean lines and very attractive angles, the hull gleaming under several workerbee floodlights. He inhaled. Molly pressed herself closer to him, nose brushing his leg.
It hadn't taken him long to find the bridge. After stepping off the turbolift, the command center of the Valkyrie opened before him, officers at their stations, displays flickering with star charts and comms, engineering reports and system data. And there, leaning calmly against a console, was Commander Jerome Hunt.
Ryan's gaze found him, forcing seriousness into his expression. He shifted his duffel while Molly settled at his side.
Commander Hunt had been focused on his current task, when suddenly he felt a pair of eyes staring at him. Turning his focus behind him, he spotted a Lieutenant with a duffle bag and a dog on the bridge of all places. "Can I help you Lieutenant?"
"Commander," Ryan said, a strong hint of professionalism in his voice and the way he stood. "I just wanted to express my gratitude for your recommendation in having me here." He offered a thin-lipped smile that teetered on pride and nodded curtly.
"It's no problem." Looking down at the dog, he raised an eyebrow. "Now why is your dog on the bridge?"
Ryan followed Jerome's gaze to Molly, who had decided the deck plating near the command chair was an acceptable place to sit. She blinked up at the Executive Officer, mouth agape, tongue relaxed.
"I'm sorry, Commander," he said, apologetically. "I just arrived and the first thing I wanted to do was thank you." Ryan suddenly noticed the other bridge officers on the current shift were now a mix of smiles and amusement at Molly's presence in the command center. "The other reason I'm here is... well, I haven't yet received any assigned quarters," he added.
"That's because you need to meet with the quartermaster," Hunt replied. "Take a walk with me." The Commander proceeded to lead Ryan and Molly to the turbolift.
Ryan followed, stepping into the turbolift after Jerome. He turned back and noticed Molly was not moving.
"Molly," he said, his voice a little stern.
She immediately rose from her place in front of the captain's chair and padded into the turbolift with her usual canine grace. The turbolift doors closed.
"So," Ryan said. "The quartermaster. I'm sorry, Commander--billeting was handled ahead of time with my previous assignments."
"Nothing running with getting ahead of things before arrival," Hunt assured him. "How are you feeling about this assignment overall?"
Ryan shifted his weight, feeling the lift vibrating beneath him. The slight vibration felt different here--a little steadier, a little more refined than the old Resistance ever was. That ship felt like it might have tore itself apart when she accelerated. This one--the Valkyrie--felt like it was made of sturdier stuff.
"It's an adjustment," he said finally. "Going from a refit Reliant-class to a Vesta... it feels like moving from a farmhouse into a skyscraper."
Hunt chuckled at the comparison. "I can definitely imagine so. There's no doubt in mind that you will make the adjustment well."
Ryan examined the Executive Officer. He was of average height, his skin dark, his hair trimmed short. He seemed to be the easygoing type and his accent sounded like he was from back East somewhere. Maybe New York or New Jersey.
"Sir," Ryan said, changing the subject. "Tell me about Captain Baas."
"Captain Baas is serious, but easygoing," Hunt answered. "Gives his people a lot of leeway."
"Good to know, sir."
The turbolift slowed and its hum tapered into perfect silence before the doors slid open. Ryan stepped out first, with Molly padding close behind, her paws soundless against the deck. She looked up and sniffed, tail wagging low, cautious but very curious.
"Have you had a chance to brush up on the Valkyries last mission?" Jerome inquired.
Ryan's ears perked up. He had been skimming through the Valkyrie's previous mission in an attempt to understand what he was stepping into.
"The Pricari, sir?" He nodded. "I've read some. It sounds like something straight out of a horror novel."
"The worst horror novel ever. Didn't think such horrors truly existed."
They stepped through the corridor, Ryan keeping pace with Jerome, Molly just a step behind them. "There was one specific report that read like fiction. The Defiled sound like creatures of myth."
"Just hope those creations don't find a way off that planet ever," Hunt mentioned. "Their transformation rate was way too fast."
Ryan swore under his breath. "Almost like those old Earth zombie films," he mused.
The door slid open and both men were greeted by the smell of sweetened coffee. Lieutenant Duff MacSween's office was exactly the kind of room Ryan expected a man named Duff MacSween to keep--cluttered, overheated, and alive with administrative authority. Small storage crates were stacked tightly against the rear bulkhead, their sides marked with neat inventory numbers.
The man himself looked up from a workstation with a narrow gaze. His eyes were small but sharp, the colour of dull copper. A pudgy face, yes, but framed by the kind of beard that looked as if he'd once been a leaner man before the job became comfortable.
"Well," MacSween said, his voice gravelly and full of amusement, "what brings our Executive Officer down here?" He came out from around the desk, a meaty hand ready to receive Hunt's.
Jerome quickly accepted and shook the man's hand. "Just bringing Lieutenant Ryan Kellerman down here and introducing him. He is our new Chief Intelligence Officer."
"Aye, is he?" the Quartermaster said, intrigued by the new senior officer. He offered an easy smile to Ryan and offered a hand, which was taken quickly and firmly. "Welcome aboard, Mister Kellerman."
"Thank you."
MacSween's gaze fell to the greyhound/Australian shepherd mix that was sniffing Jerome's boots. "And who is this?"
Ryan reached down and gave her a perfunctory scratch on the flank. "This is Molly," he said. She turned at the mention of her name and immediately began to sniff MacSween's feet. The Quartermaster crouched down and began giving her scratches behind her ears while Molly couldn't help herself--she began licking the pudgy man's bearded face.
"What a beauty," MacSween marveled, in between being mauled with kisses. He came to his feet and looked from Ryan to Jerome.
Hunt couldn't help but to laugh at the sight of the Quartermaster having to wipe off his face. "We need to get these two set up in their quarters and whatever needed to get situated."
MacSween chuckled. "Aye, I can see she's already making herself at home," he said, giving Molly one last pat before straightening up. "Don't worry, Commander. I'll see these two sorted. No sense in keeping a man and his dog wandering the corridors like lost travelers."
He turned toward the terminal on his desk, tapping through a few screens. "Let's see... we can put you with the rest of the senior staff on Deck Three. I have a quiet one near the end of a corridor, near the arboretum. Bit of green space for Molly to stretch her legs."
Ryan gave a small nod. "That sounds perfect. Thank you."
MacSween grinned. "You'll find your welcome there--codes, deck schematics, all the usual dull things that make a ship feel like bureaucreacy." Duff looked up at Jerome and winked.
Jerome nodded his approval. "Thank you, Chief. Now let's get you settled."
Commander Jerome Hunt
XO
Lieutenant JG Ryan Kellerman
Chief Intelligence Officer
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