The Lark p2

Posted on Thu 29th Jan, 2026 @ 9:43pm by Commander Anslo Tol

2,379 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: [MAIN] From The Ashes
Timeline: https://sb109.harperhold.com/index.php/sim/viewpost/2537

Previously... https://sb109.harperhold.com/index.php/sim/viewpost/2537

Captain’s Log — Supplemental

It’s been a week of chasing rumors, glancing at motion in our periphery but never catching the ghosts in full view. We have followed the trail of our mystery vessel through secondhand effects rather than sensor locks. Ground teams have recovered fragments of data at multiple relief sites common factors emerging where none should exist.

The Federation has held the Andorians back from their exodus with a quarantine order, and we grow closer each day to a true solution to the blight itself. Our progress is the only thing keeping peace, but ut is sow, and we are losing time against the clock of winter. At this point nothing will change the fact that this winter will see shortages, but the long term viability of the colony is the true question. The Andorians have sent an armed retrieval party from their homeworld. Not more transports, just the means to secure what was theirs. If ever there were a deadline.

Our reputation as Starfleet has preceded us, and cooperation with the locals has produced results. After exhaustive outreach several civilians, both Tellarite and Andorian, have provided the coordinates of another mysterious drop scheduled to occur within the next twelve hours. Whoever these ghosts are, they are acting with intent, coordination, and secrecy. It is time we meet our mysterious player, no secret here can be worth the toll of lives to be lost for keeping it.


{Outskirts of “44-A Whixer” village}

The wind cut hard across the plain, carrying the bitter smell of dead crops and dust. Whixer village was once a community of ten thousand souls working to build combine equipment for the farms. Now it was a dustbowl, largely abandoned since rationing took hold in the bigger cities.

A battered shuttle sat in a shallow depression between collapsed storage sheds, its hull scorched and dull, markings deliberately sanded away. The Terran flyer was used but sturdy, and the ramp was down. Six Humans moved efficiently around, only six of them handing sealed parcels to a loose line of Tellarite colonists. They bore no apparent uniforms or insignia, just worked in unison with clear trust of one another.

“Take two,” one of them said calmly, pressing an extra crate of meal supplement into a Tellarite’s arms.

She obstinately pushed it back into the Humans hands, “I wont eat if my neighbor starves!”

The Human gently insisted, "Mama, take it. There is enough..." she began to push the supplies back to the Tellarite, saying gently “For your babies, more will come.”

“When?” the Tellarite demanded, though a true connoisseur of Tellarite language would have heard the gratitude.

The Human met her eyes. “Soon.”

That was all there was to say, and she had to accept it. No speeches, no reassurances, no promises they couldn’t keep. It was exactly how the Tellarites preferred to communicate. The moment stretched a bit before she demonstrated her understanding with a short snort continuing down the line, and didn't push past anyone to leave.

Suddenly they heard, “Starfleet!”

It was spoken like a warning. The word snapped through the air like a blade and Elena emerged, phasers raised up in practiced unison. Five humans now stood motionless, the sixth inside the shuttle. They watched for the horizon the same way a deer is lost in headlights on the road. The colonists felt they were doing something wrong and scattered, leaving Starfleet outside a shuttle with weapons drawn on these mysterious benefactors.

Captain Rourke stepped forward, flanked by two MACO’s. Her expression was controlled, professional, but hard.

“Step away from the supplies,” she ordered. “Hands where we can see them. Tell the one inside to come out hands up.”

The humans complied instantly, without hesitation or resistance, which came as a pleasant surprise to the Ground team from Columbia. Rourke studied them. Non descript matching grey work uniforms. Nothing fancy, stained even, well used. The Humans were an assorted mix of race and gender, no particular patterns or outliers. They didn’t look surprised either. The air of somebody doing wrong carries a scent to it, but that scent was lacking. These folks had been caught doing something, but whatever it was they felt good about it.

“You are operating without authorization on a world made volatile by some third party sabotaging the agriculture here,” Elena continued. “We find you are interfering, pulling us off of an active humanitarian operation and escalating interspecies tensions.”

Elena made sure she was explicitly understood by raising her fire arm directly at the closest of the mysterious group. “You will identify yourselves.”

The five of them stood in silence, they were prepared for a situation like this, they didnt seem confused or ambushed at all.

“Rowan…” The young woman with blonde hair whispered a name, and a tall pale skinned male seemed to reply with only a small gesture, a head shake saying only, “No.”

Rourke’s gaze sharpened. “This is not a request.”

More eyes lead his way, and the one who seemed to lead them, a tall pale man with dark circles under his eyes raised to meet her steel gaze in a calm resolute manner.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Rowan said evenly. “We can’t do that, identify ourselves I mean.”

Kincaid, standing just behind Rourke, muttered, “That’s not helping your case.”

Rourke took a step closer. “You’re human. You’re using Earth-derived technology. That makes this Starfleet’s problem, I have been given authority to act in this crisis.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened but they said nothing more.

Elena continued to stare the strange man down, “We managed to gather enough clues which said the “Lark” will be at these coordinates, and here you folks are. So your main ship, wherever this shuttle belongs, is the "Lark" right?’

With invisible micro expressions the five of them communicated, very well practiced motions between intimately trained agents, but it was visible to the Captain who put a stop to it by firing at the ground. Elena threatened them all, "Waggle so much as a toe here on out I'll stun you."

Rourke nodded once. “Very well. No need to chat here, let’s wait til later. You’re being detained for questioning. Security—”

The LARK crew moved as one but not to fight, to vanish.

Five figures dissolved in columns of white light. The beam was faster, more coherent than any Rourke had seen before. Transporters were still fringe technology, how in the hell did a non Starfleet crew have one?!

“Transport!” someone shouted, her flanking MACO on the left tried to scramble the signal but it was too late, the fast beam had already taken the five she could see.

The unmarked shuttle lurched as its engines flared to life, whoever was inside taking the chance to flee. It rose fast, too fast, visible strain to engines firing cold and unfueled caused sputtering malfunction and dragging a portion of earth from liftoff with them kicked up dust as it clawed skyward. The tech was Human, but something about it was more, enhanced, a Human shuttle wouldn’t have been able to take off vertically, yet this one arose with the precision of Vulcan antigravs.

“Track it!” Rourke ordered.

“I’ve got it wait...” the tactical officer’s voice crackled over the comm. “Captain, there’s something else—high altitude…”

Above them, the sky bent, and a shape could be made out, not cloaked in any comprehensive sense but rather masked. The voidspace distortion shimmered, subtle and imperfect, as the larger vessel revealed itself just long enough to be seen and then not seen at all. A cascade of mirror tiles could be seen bending light briefly before aligning and perfecting the illusion. The shuttle docked mid-air, swallowed by the distortion and sliding out of sight, a bug eaten by a bird and then the sky was empty.

Silence returned to the field and Rourke lowered her phaser slowly. The two MACO were scanning the skies with their scopes.

Kincaid stared upward. “That wasn’t civilian.”

“No it wasn’t,” Rourke said quietly.

Commander T’Vel’s voice came over the communicator, precise and unsettling. “Captain… whatever that ship is, it is not equipped for stealth. It is compensating through technique.”
Rourke felt a chill, someone wanted to stay hidden, someone who wasn’t ready to be, or not expecting to need to be.

“Log everything,” she said. “Every word. Every trace.”

She looked down at the untouched food parcels scattered across the ground. The Columbia could only generate so much food on its own, nowhere near enough to make a difference. A second ship didnt change that equation. Elena picked up one of the parcels. It wa sa simple paper box, wrapped in a waxy folding parchment. Biodegradable compost materials, non toxic binding glues, and inside, protein squares, sugar chews, basic first aid supplies, powder mixes for vitamin slushies, and crackers. The classic salty butter flavored crispy flaky crackers enjoyed by Humans since baked breads.

“They’re not ghosts,” she added finally. “They’re people. They are people… but are they trying to help?”

And knowing that made them far more dangerous. Humans… acting on their own outside of Starfleet, could have any motive. If they were altruists surely they could just pledge their service to the Federation?

{Columbia’s briefing room}

The briefing room was dim, displays hovering above the table like ghosts of the vanished ship. A wireframe rotated slowly an incomplete reconstruction built from sensor echoes, atmospheric distortion, and fleeting visual contact. Their mystery vessel suspended in a light beam casting a pall over the room.

Commander T’Vel gestured to it. “This is not a cloaked vessel in the conventional sense. There is no dedicated stealth field as we have seen in other cloaking devices.”

Captain Rourke folded her arms. “Then how did it disappear?”

“By redirection, diversion, omissions,” T’Vel replied. “Its systems minimize emissions, exploit sensor blind spots, and rely heavily on environmental interference. It is… inelegant, but effective at range. I presume this vessel was never intended to operate under stealth.”

Kincaid leaned forward. “Translation: they’re hiding by being quiet and lucky.”

“By being careful,” T’Vel corrected. “The design philosophy prioritizes concealment through restraint rather than superiority. The philosophy of such effort is intriguing. We are only passively fooled, not actively mislead.”

Rourke studied the image. “And the shuttle?”

“Earth-derived,” T’Vel said. “Civilian frame, heavily modified. Power routing suggests rapid conversion for logistics and environmental suitability, not combat.”
Kincaid exhaled. “They built it to move supplies, not shoot anyone.”

Rourke did not respond immediately, she was taken by another display that blinked to life showing grain samples, chemical chains, projected cures. Among the supplies was a soap like substance with instructions that said to simply put it in the same water used to irrigate crops.

“This is for the blight?” she asked.

T’Vel nodded. “Engineered. Subtle. Designed to trigger systemic changes without immediate detection. However,” She paused, seeing the charts of the unaffected areas, “ these countermeasures have already been introduced. Those zones currently unaffected have all been visited by the Lark.”

Kincaid’s eyes widened. “By them.”

T’vel nodded, “Yes, we can backtrace their presence by the isotopes we now know are from their engines.”

Silence fell.

“They’re fixing it,” Kincaid said slowly. “In pieces.”

“They are interfering,” Rourke replied. “Without oversight.”

“And succeeding,” he shot back, then stopped himself. “Captain. I know what protocol says. But if they hadn’t done this, with the few farms up and running there isnt a chance, but its close enough to a chance that if they keep going…”

“We don’t know the full cost,” Rourke said evenly. “Or the long-term consequences.”

The wall chime sounded, “Captain,” Bristol reported from comms, “we’re receiving increased traffic from the surface. Both the Andorian and Tellarite councils are demanding explanations regarding the unauthorized human presence.”

Rourke closed her eyes briefly. Word was out, there were two factions of Humans in play. The Andorians would want to know everything, the Tellarites would demand answers as well but at least they didnt have armed warships in orbit.

“What do they know?” she asked.

“Enough to be afraid,” Bristol replied. “Not enough to be reassured.”

Rourke nodded once. “Issue a statement.”

T’Vel turned to her. “What shall we disclose?”

“That Starfleet is investigating reports of unauthorized activity,” Rourke said. “That we have found no evidence of hostile intent.”

Kincaid frowned. “That’s… vague.”

“It’s stabilizing,” Rourke replied. “Until we know more.”

The comm traffic got pitched, voices rose, delegates, officers, civilians were loudly demanding answers.

“They helped,” Kincaid said quietly. “People saw that.”

“We think they helped, we don’t actually know a damn thing,” Rourke said. “And if we name them prematurely, they become a symbol. Or a scapegoat.”

She looked at the ghost-ship rotating on the screen.

“Whatever they are,” she continued, “they are not ready to be known.”

T’Vel inclined her head. “Nor, it seems, are we ready to explain them.”

The ship shuddered faintly as they shifted to a new orbital plane and her comm chimed when another hail request came in louder, more insistent. It was the Andorian Frigate “Hperest” and an equal to Columbia in a fire fight. T’vel saw the message, it was hastily written by a panicked intern in the Tellarite dispatch wing, she she translated, “The Andorian contingent on board the Hperest have negotiated and regained control of their vessel. They want to assist in the hunt for the Lark.”

Rourke straightened, “Tell them we are in an operation to seek the answers, and they are to stand by, we will call for them when we need them.”

The Andorians were beginning to get their ships back, the Tellarites weren't shooting just yet, but this made things move much closer to doomsday. The Columbia held her orbit caught between what she could say, what she couldn’t, and the growing howl below demanding both. If they were here to hurt, why stick around, the blight had done its job. If these Humans were truly helping, why the secrecy?

-TBC-

 

RSS Feed