Inaugural Log: The Only Direction Left

Posted on Fri Jul 3rd, 2020 @ 4:24am by Captain Cecilia Rau

Mission: Gods of War

"Hold course!" Captain Cecilia Rau shouted over the noisy chaos of the USS Minerva's bridge.

The ship was shuddering with a violence several degrees beyond "just violent" and sparks were raining from the busted ceiling panels. The surviving bridge officers were hollering back with their status reports on the shields (barely there) and the weapons (a couple guns left). The ship itself was barely holding together with sputtering force fields and the hopes of those still alive. Three bodies lie around the bridge. Dead? Unconscious? Cecilia couldn't tell.

All she could smell was blood.

"We're down to one phaser bank, sir!" her tactical officer shouted. "The torpedo tubes are damaged and we can't fire any more. The shields are field percent."

Cecilia closed her eyes and wondered if this was it. It had to be, right? Even goddesses could die. When she opened her eyes again, they were a feral gold rimmed in red. Her teeth sharpened in her mouth, drawing the metallic taste of blood from her lips. "Divert power to forward stability fields and hull integrity," she ordered. "We're going to shove ourselves down our throats and let them choke on us."

There was a long pause before a half-choked, "Yes, sir."

They all knew the reality of this moment. There was nothing else but to either die in a blaze of glory or with a whimper.

Cecilia Rau could only see the culmination of several centuries of her life. So much loss, death, hatred, struggle... So much love and loyalty. It was all coming to a sharp point right here, and she was going to use that point to make the Dominion bleed.

As she was about to give the order for ramming speed, something changed.

They weren't getting shot any more.

"We are receiving an urgent message from Starfleet Command!" her tactical officer shouted, but then stopped.

"What is it?!" Cecilia snapped.

The gulp was audible. "Cease fire," came the hoarse words. "We are...surrendering."

=/\= Forty-one Days Later...

Cecilia walked the corridors of the Minerva as she puttered along at half-impulse. It had been just over ten days since the United Federation of Planets--in all its weakened, feeble glory--had signed away their lives in the Alpha Quadrant. The Dominion was letting them gather everyone and everything they could and leave. For ten days, civilians had been loaded onto ships like chattle, vessels too damaged to last were scrapped and scavenged, and they were making a slow, inexorable march toward...


The remnants of Starfleet were playing bodyguard to the civilian ship caravan, as well as conducting themselves to a new home, but everything had been so hurried, so ragged, so damaged, and so hurt. No one really knew where they were going. The Delta Quadrant somewhere was the word from what remained of the top. It was as far from the utter dominance of the Dominion as they could get, and thus onward they went.

Survival wasn't enough. They had to move forward and find a home. Extinction wasn't an option.

She reached the bridge and the officer in the center seat vacated it quickly so the tall, dark woman who commanded this ship could take her place. This captain--Cecilia Rau--who had nearly been arrested for existing, who had nearly been removed from her captaincy not for incompetence but for simply being the wrong species, was now one of the few in charge of protecting them all. Fought for them. Bled for them. They hadn't wanted her, but now they needed her.

So here she was. And so there she was going... Always forward.

=/\= End Log =/\=

Captain Cecilia Rau
Commanding Officer
USS Minerva