First Steps, Wrong Shoes
Posted on Mon Nov 17th, 2025 @ 10:51pm by Ensign Nyx Calder & Commander Daynah Ral
2,230 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
On the Trail
Location: Empok Nor, Trivas System
The transporter beam let go, and Ensign Nyx Calder landed on the arrivals concourse of Empok Nor.
She’d expected dead corridors, shadows, maybe the kind of silence you could cut with a butter knife. Instead, the place was alive — humming with bodies, uniforms, and the low thrum of too many conversations happening at once. Starfleet red and gold cut through clusters of Cardassian grey, civilians wove between traders, and somewhere overhead an announcement blared in both Federation Standard and Cardassian.
Nyx blinked, neon tips of her shoulder-length hair flashing as she turned in a slow circle. The bones of the station were still Cardassian: high arches, sharp angles, colours meant to intimidate. But Federation tech had been bolted in — softer lights, LCARS panels fighting for space on walls that looked like they wanted to sneer at you.
“Well,” she muttered under her breath, tattoos bright on the backs of her hands as she tugged her duffel higher. “You clean up nice for a warzone.”
The air smelled like recycled coolant and strong coffee. A pair of Starfleet engineers jogged past with a toolkit, arguing about plasma relays. Behind them, two Cardassians watched with that unreadable half-smile that made Nyx’s skin itch. She flashed them a grin anyway, sharp and cheeky, and kept moving.
Everywhere she looked, something clashed: Federation banners fluttering next to Cardassian sigils, security checkpoints manned by joint patrols, laughter from a bar bleeding into the metallic scrape of a welding crew. It wasn’t abandoned. It wasn’t welcoming. It was alive, stitched together out of old ghosts and new rules.
Nyx whistled low. “Looks like a marriage made in hell,” she said softly. “Guess I’m the honeymoon gift.”
Her boots clicked on the deck as she wandered toward a viewport. Outside, the Trivas System sprawled — stars sharp against the black. For a moment, she pressed tattooed knuckles to the glass, her reflection staring back with pale blue eyes that looked far too awake for someone who’d been drunk six hours ago.
“Alright, sweetheart,” she whispered to the station. “You’re not the haunted house I was promised. You’re worse. You’re crowded.”
Someone jostled her shoulder as they passed. She swayed, smiled, and gave them a little finger-gun salute. The crowd swallowed her again. No welcoming officer, no name waiting on a padd. Just an order: You will be found.
Nyx slung her duffel over one shoulder, let the grin spread wider, and stepped deeper into Empok Nor like she was walking into a casino where every table was rigged.
“Find me then,” she murmured, humming under her breath. “I do love a good game.”
Leslie "Billy" Calhoun manned his station within the SCIF of Empok Nor. He had received his orders the day before and they were to play nursemaid to some new Ensign. He grumbled under his breath about the whole idea. All he had been given was a name and an ID. At the moment Calhoun had the station's facial recognition software looking for this Ensign Calder. A few hours into the shift the system gave him a hit and with a sharp exhale and a grunt he engaged the site to site transport.
One second Nyx was weaving through the promenade crowd, eyes bright as she craned to watch a pair of Andorians argue over a cargo crate. The next, her stomach lurched and the world smeared into transporter shimmer.
She landed on new deck plates with a thunk and staggered two steps before catching herself.
“Okay,” she said to no one in particular, muscles of her hands rumbling as she spread her fingers. “That was rude.”
When her eyes focused, she found herself staring at a man who looked like he’d lost a fight with gravity and decided to hold the grudge forever. Slumped shoulders, scruffy five o’clock shadow, black eyes with silver threading that looked like they’d seen too much and liked none of it. He looked at her the way a dog might look at a squeaky toy it didn’t ask for.
Nyx tipped her head, hair falling into her eyes, grin blooming wide. “Lemme guess. You’re my welcoming committee? You look like you're all warm hugs and sunshine?”
Her pale blue eyes flicked around the room — sealed, humming with restricted power, consoles watching her as closely as he did. Definitely not the concourse anymore.
She rocked back on her heels, still smiling. “If you wanted my number, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked. Beaming a girl mid-stride’s a little stalker-y.”
Her grin widened a fraction more, playful and daring all at once. “So… do we start with names, or should I file this under ‘probable kidnapping’ and roll with it?”
When the transporter beam resolved Calhoun stood. "Ensign Nyx Calder welcome to Empok Nor. I am Chief Calhoun and you now work for Starfleet Intelligence. Have seat there is going to be a lot to explain." The lights were dim but in what light there was one could see the dark haired scowling countenance of Calhoun. He lit a small corn cob pipe the puffs of which served to shroud his visage in further mystery.
Nyx blinked at the smoke curling into the dim light, then at the man behind it — all scowl, shadows, and that pipe like he’d stepped straight out of a cautionary tale.
She plopped into the chair he’d pointed out with a theatrical flop, arms spread, tattoos catching what little light the SCIF allowed. “Well, Chief Calhoun,” she said, grinning like he’d just told her the punchline to a joke she hadn’t heard yet, “if this is Starfleet Intelligence, then you’ve got style points already. Pipes, mood lighting… very ‘mysterious uncle who definitely knows where the bodies are buried.’ I like it.”
She leaned forward on her elbows, eyes bright, voice dropping just a touch. “But, uh—‘you now work for Starfleet Intelligence’? That’s a hell of a first date opener. You always beam your new hires mid-stride, or am I just special?”
Her grin tipped sharper, playful but probing. “Don’t worry, Chief. I’m a good listener. Especially when the explanation starts with why me and ends with why here.”
She tapped her fingers against the armrest in a syncopated rhythm, gaze steady despite the wisecracks. Underneath the humour, she was already weighing him, weighing the room, and wondering what exactly she’d stepped into.
Calhoun smiled as he puffed the pipe. He could tell he liked this one, shame she was going to be sent over to the Valiant. "Not only do I know where the bodies are buried but I most likely put them there. Let me start with a ship, the USS Valiant, Defiant Class, under the command of Commander Rhupert Tyree. This ship and its crew have been assigned as the first ever intelligence vessel in Starfleet history. You are now going to be their pilot." Billy stopped with the explanation there to allow those basics to sink in.
For once, Nyx didn’t immediately have a comeback.
She blinked at him, the smoke from his pipe curling between them like punctuation marks in a sentence she wasn’t sure she’d read right.
“Wait—hang on,” she said, holding up both tattooed hands as if to stop the universe for a second. “You’re telling me that Starfleet’s first ever intelligence ship—the big secret spy-mobile—belongs to a guy named…”
She squinted, lips twitching. “Rhupert?”
The word left her mouth like it physically didn’t fit there. She grinned. “No offence, Chief, but that’s not exactly a name that screams ‘cloak and dagger.’ Sounds more like the guy who runs the teashop next to HQ. ‘Commander Rhupert Tyree, licensed dealer in earl grey and mild existential dread.’”
Her grin softened into a smirk as she leaned back, folding one leg over the other. “But hey, Defiant-class. Fast, twitchy, punchy. I like her already. You’ve got good taste in trouble, Chief.”
She tapped a knuckle against her knee, the humour still there but her eyes sharpening, just a little. “So… lemme get this straight. You’re handing me the helm of Starfleet’s shiny new secret ship because someone upstairs decided I was the right flavour of reckless?”
The grin was back—quick, crooked, dangerous. “Gotta say, I’m flattered. Either they’ve finally gone insane or you’ve got better instincts than your bedside manner suggests.”
Calhoun puffed his pipe as he scowled at Nyx. "With all due respect Nyx you are here because you are expendable. That is the exact reason that everyone on the Valiant is there. It is due to this expendability that you can afford to be reckless and therefore perfect for the job."
For a heartbeat, the grin froze in place.
Then Nyx laughed — sharp, quick, the sound of someone trying not to show that the hit had landed.
“Expendable,” she echoed, nodding slowly. “Wow. You sure know how to make a girl feel special, Chief.”
She leaned back, balancing the chair on two legs, watching the smoke curl between them. “You know, most people at least buy me dinner before they tell me I’m disposable.”
The humour didn’t quite mask the edge beneath it. Not anger — just that brittle spark of someone who’d heard the word before, more than once, and learned how to wear it like armour.
“But hey,” she added, voice light again as she let the chair drop back down with a thud, “reckless and expendable are two of my best qualities. Guess I finally found the crowd that appreciates ‘em.”
Nyx tilted her head, meeting his eyes with that offbeat grin again. “Alright then, Chief. You’ve got yourself a pilot who’s too dumb to say no and too curious to stay put. When do I meet Mister Rhupert Earl Grey and his merry band of misfits?”
"Before we proceed you must understand that the Valiant's mission and its crew are classified under disavow protocol. If you are caught, destroyed or anything Starfleet and the Federation will disavow any knowledge of your ship and its mission. You should be aware of that before jumping into this assignment." Calhoun puffed the pipe again and then set it down on a tray on his desk. "Know that we are all expendable. It is why we go into this business. I have been in the Intelligence game for nigh on five hundred years. A thankless job that needs to be done. When I say you are expendable it is not an insult, it is a compliment. We are one in the same."
Nyx nodded once, settling back into the chair. “Alright. I hear you—disavow means if this goes wrong, we disappear. I can live with that. And if ‘expendable’ is your way of saying you trust me to do the ugly jobs without whining, fine. I’m here to work, not collect medals.”
She leaned forward, elbows on knees. “So tell me what I’m walking into. Who meets me first? Am I travelling under my own name or a cover? Quiet or visible on arrival? Any watchwords or handoff phrases I should memorize? And if it goes sideways, who’s my fallback? Give me the first five minutes so I land in step.”
"From this point on and when on assignment you are Kestrel Voss." Billy began and handed her PADD. "This file will explain everything about yourself. For the most part your cover is you, so it is easy to remember. You have the same birthday, birthplace and attended the Academy on the same dates. Tomorrow one Lieutenant Junior Grade Galen Trellis will fly you to your ship. As far as the Lieutenant knows he is doing the fleet a favor while he waits for his own vessel to return by flying you out there."
Nyx took the PADD, flipping it once between her hands before thumbing the display to life. “Kestrel Voss,” she read aloud, testing the name like she was trying to decide if it fit. The grin that followed was small but sure. “Yeah… she’ll do.”
She looked up again, blue-green eyes catching the dim light. “Funny thing about ghosts, Chief,” she said, tone soft but still carrying that glint of mischief. “You can change their names all you want — they still tend to haunt the place.”
With that, she rose from the chair, tucking the PADD under her arm and giving him a crooked half-salute. “I’ll be ready for launch. Try not to get too lonely without me.”
The grin returned — brighter now, lighter — before she turned for the door, the neon tips of her hair flashing as she went.
There was something about this one that broke through the gruff demeanor of Calhoun. He returned the smile with a smirk of his own. "Try not to get into too much trouble. And give em hell." His face returned to the stoic stone it was before as the pipe returned to his mouth and his gaze returned to the screens.
OOC Howie: I am good to end here if you are
Chief Petty Officer Leslie Calhoun
Data Systems Analyst
Empok Nor
Ensign Nyx Calder
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Valiant
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