On the Wall
Posted on Mon Jun 1st, 2026 @ 10:05pm by Captain Rhenora Kaylen & Commander Jennifer Baldric & Lieutenant Sarah Wilson & Commander Dean House & Lieutenant JG T'Lar & Lieutenant Commander Bonnie "Bon-Bon" Durnell & Remal Kajun
2,985 words; about a 15 minute read
Mission:
Pirates!
Location: ISS Sunfire
“The Badlands do not hide monsters. They teach monsters where to wait, and watch.”
I.S.S. Sunfire
Hours had passed beneath cloak and silence. One full sleep cycle had rolled through the ship, though rest aboard the I.S.S. Sunfire rarely resembled peace. The bridge lighting remained dimmed to combat levels, shadows stretching long beneath crimson indicators and muted console glow. Outside the forward viewscreen, the stars had begun to disappear behind the growing violence of the Badlands.
Plasma storms churned across the darkness in colossal spirals of burning orange and electric blue, illuminating fractured clouds from within like veins carrying fire instead of blood. Sensor distortion rippled constantly across the tactical displays. Space itself looked wounded here.
And somewhere inside that chaos waited the doorway home.
The bridge crew moved with subdued precision, voices kept low without needing instruction. Even the usual arrogance carried by Terran officers had dulled into caution this close to the boundary. The Badlands had earned their reputation across more than one universe.
At the center command platform, Remal entered the bridge without announcement. The atmosphere shifted immediately.
A junior communications officer rose halfway from their station as he approached, holding a secured data rod in both hands with visible care. “Encrypted transmission received during your absence, sir. Priority omega classification. Direct from Marshal Kaylen.”
Remal accepted it without a word. The bridge lights reflected faintly across his eyes as he slotted the rod into the armrest console beside the command chair. Layers of encryption collapsed one after another across the display before finally resolving into a narrow stream of coordinates and navigational vectors hidden deep within the Badlands.
No map. No recognizable route. Just a path. And at the end of it, a single line: Portal stable. Enter immediately upon arrival. Cloak must be disengaged for dimensional transit.
Remal read it once. His jaw shifted almost imperceptibly. Only now did he possess the route to the crossing point. Only now did he know where Marshal Kaylen waited beyond the storms. A hidden wound between realities buried inside one of the most unstable regions of space in either universe.
He removed the data rod and closed his hand around it. “Alter course,” he ordered calmly. “Transmit the updated vectors directly to helm only.”
The helmsman obeyed instantly.
“Estimated time to storm boundary?”
“Seven minutes,” came the response.
Remal’s gaze lifted toward the storms ahead. The cloak still wrapped tightly around the ship, but not for much longer. Soon they would have to reveal themselves.
Federation Listening Outpost – Sector Perimeter
The outpost drifted in silence along the edge of monitored Federation space, little more than a hardened sensor platform wrapped around long-range detection arrays and communications equipment. Its purpose was observation, not glory.
Most days passed in a tedious routine. This day did not.
A young operations officer leaned closer to her sensor display, brow furrowing as distorted readings began cutting through the background interference spilling outward from the Badlands.
“Sir...” she said slowly. “I’m reading a brief decloaking signature.”
Her superior barely looked up at first. “Romulan?”
“No.”
That got his attention. The officer’s fingers moved rapidly across the console as fragmented telemetry resolved itself into a recognizable profile pulled from recent fleetwide tactical reports. Her expression tightened. “I have a positive identification.” A brief pause followed. “It’s the I.S.S. Sunfire, sir.”
Silence settled over the control room. Half a sector away, hidden against the mouth of the Badlands, the Mirror vessel had revealed itself for only seconds before disappearing once more into the storms. But seconds had been enough.
The senior officer straightened immediately. “Transmit priority intelligence packet to Starfleet Command and all nearby task forces.”
The younger officer hesitated only briefly before asking the obvious question. “The real Sunfire should receive this too... shouldn’t they?”
The senior officer stared toward the distorted storms on the main display. “Yes,” he answered grimly. “Especially them.”
Starfleet Command
Back at Starfleet Command, Rear Admiral Chintaka reviewed the daily logs, including that from the listening outpost. He had half-zoned out by the time he got to their daily update - expecting the same as usual - nothing unusual to report. Today, however, something different graced his screen. Several lines of data, along with a visual and a vector heading on a declocking ship, one that resembled the Sunfire but yet was not. The Mirror Sunfire had been causing problems, particularly for the Prime Sunfire, and had been involved in stealing Batel's body. Thankfully, the Prime Sunfire had recovered it, and the memorial was presently underway in the gardens between the buildings of Command.
He paused for a moment, conflicted. Captain Kaylen and her crew had dealt with these foes before, but they were overdue for leave, and the ship itself desperately needed repairs. He could recall them, send them back out to hunt down the mirror versions of themselves, but at what cost? A burnt-out crew and an even more damaged ship? He tasked the USS Woolloomoloo, a small exploratory vessel that could track the mirrors, backed up by the USS Bristol, a more combat-ready version of the same. Hopefully these two could solve the issue before the Sunfire crew returned from leave.
Hopefully.
I.S.S. Sunfire
The bridge lights dimmed again as the first plasma column rolled across the forward viewscreen like a solar flare trapped inside a thunderstorm. It stretched for thousands of kilometers through the Badlands, twisting upward in violent ribbons of orange and white while electrical discharges leapt between drifting asteroid fragments caught inside its wake.
The I.S.S. Sunfire moved through it all like a knife slipping between ribs.
“Mark coordinate three,” Remal ordered calmly.
“Aye, sir.”
The helm adjusted course by fractional degrees. Outside, the ship banked hard as another plasma surge erupted across their previous vector, less than two seconds later, the flash washing crimson and gold across every face on the bridge.
No one spoke. The Badlands punished hesitation.
“Advance to vector four point two,” Remal continued, eyes fixed on the encrypted pathway only he could see on the armrest display beside the command chair. “Reduce impulse output by twelve percent before the next drift current.”
Again, the helm obeyed instantly. The bridge crew had stopped trying to predict the route. The coordinates Kaylen provided did not resemble navigation so much as survival instructions written by someone already familiar with the storm’s appetite. Ahead, another plasma vortex unfurled through the darkness.
The Sunfire rolled beneath it. Deck plating groaned softly under the strain as magnetic interference rippled across the shields.
“Coordinate point five reached.”
Remal remained motionless. “Proceed.”
The storm thickened around them. Great walls of ionized dust drifted between shattered asteroids large enough to hide starships inside their shadows. Electrical arcs crawled silently across fragments of ancient rock, illuminating wreckage that appeared only for moments before vanishing back into darkness again. Ships had died here before. Hundreds of them. The Badlands never bothered returning the bodies.
Then the bridge lighting flickered once. A warning tone cut sharply through the silence. Every eye turned toward tactical. The officer at the station stiffened immediately. “Proximity alert,” she reported. “Two Federation warp signatures entering the outer storm perimeter.” Her fingers moved rapidly across the console. “Vector analysis suggests intercept trajectory.”
Another pause, then quieter, “They’re following us.”
The bridge atmosphere changed instantly into something akin to calculation.
“Identification?” Remal asked.
“There's a partial sensor distortion due to plasma interference.” The officer swallowed once. “The Configuration matches Starfleet vessels. One light exploratory frame. One combat escort.”
The helm looked back over his shoulder. “Orders, sir?”
That was the question hanging over the entire bridge now. Turn back and fight or continue deeper toward the portal before the Federation ships could survive navigating the Badlands long enough to close the distance.
Remal said nothing at first. Outside the viewscreen, another plasma eruption illuminated the storm in violent white light, revealing jagged asteroid silhouettes turning slowly like the teeth of something colossal waiting beneath the dark.
Then Remal stepped forward one pace. “Continue to coordinate seven.” The decision landed instantly.
The helm complied. Behind them, somewhere beyond the storms and interference, two Starfleet ships pushed forward into a region of space eager to kill them long before the I.S.S. Sunfire ever had the opportunity.
Remal’s gaze never left the display ahead. Because, unlike the Federation crews now chasing shadows through the hell-ish landscape, he understood something they did not. Beyond coordinate ten waited Marshal Kaylen. And she was not alone.
Somewhere past the dimensional veil, hidden behind the portal concealed inside the Badlands, a Mirror warship lingered in silence with enough firepower to erase pursuing vessels before they even understood what they had found.
The Federation ships believed they were chasing wounded prey. Remal knew they were sailing directly toward the wall. He turned slightly then, attention shifting toward the communications station. “Summon House and Durnell to the bridge.”
Remal’s eyes narrowed faintly as another violent surge illuminated the viewscreen. The Badlands roared silently around them now, the ship threading deeper toward coordinate seven while the storms thickened into something almost alive.
Then he spoke again. “And inform T’Lar she is to report to the brig.” Report to the brig. Maintain custody. The order carried a meaning beneath the words themselves. Remal trusted very little aboard his ship. But at the moment, he trusted the prisoner even less
The bridge grew quieter still. No explanation followed. None was needed.
The summons moved quickly through the vessel. Bonnie received hers first. A crewman found her somewhere below decks and wisely avoided making direct eye contact while relaying Remal’s order. Bonnie listened in silence, one brow lifting slightly.
“The bridge?” she asked lightly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A grin spread slowly across her face. “Well,” Bonnie murmured, pushing herself off the bulkhead, “that usually means somebody’s about to have a very stressful evening.”
I.S.S. Sunfire - Brig
Meanwhile in the brig, Jennifer had her boots off, and to the outsider it would appear she were doing nothing more than shining the artificial leather, rhythmic brushes with the cuff of her sleeve. In actual fact, she had a tiny metal lance within the boot heel, only 3 centimetres long and something that easily passed for part of the boot construction. Problem was it was buried within years of boot polish and rather than digging for it directly, she went for the longer less obvious game. Buffing... buffing.... buffing....
T'Lar entered the Brig to find Baldric with her boots off. That struck her as odd in a way she could not put her finger on.
"What do you think you are doing?" T'Lar asked.
Baldric looked up, but didn't give T'Lar the benefit of a verbal reply; she simply set her boots back on the floor and wiggled her toes in her black socks.
"We've been kind enough to let you keep your clothes. Perhaps that is a mistake. A clever person such as yourself might have hidden a weapon somewhere on your person. Somewhere we would not think to look initially." The Vulcan's tone was cool and calculating. She hit the agonizer button and sent Baldric into convulsions of writhing pain.
"Guards, remove her boots and place them on the table there," T'Lar commanded. The two guards moved to comply.
"What'd you do that for? Geez, can't a girl polish her boots in her spare time?" Baldric snapped as her body finally stopped twitching.
T'Lar hit the agonizer button again.
"I got bored. What do you do when you're bored? Go, torture people? I polish boots; it keeps the hands busy." Jennifer got out when the second round finally ended.
T'Lar examined the boots in question. Nothing obvious stood out at first until she turned the heel of one of them to the light and saw a pinprick of a reflection. Taking out her knife, she began scraping away polish and heel rubber, slowly exposing the sharp tip of a metal prong of some sort. Moving over to the rack of torture tools, she picked up a pair of needle nose pliers and took hold of the tip of the metal sliver and pulled, revealing a three-centimeter lance.
The Vulcan's face darkened.
"Small, but in the hands of someone who knows what they are doing, such a needle could be deadly. Tell me, were you planning on using it on yourself, or one of us?"
Jennifer showed no emotion that her ruse had been thwarted, simply returning to sitting on the bench. "Would you really want to spend more time here than you had to? I have a ship to get back to - that 'woman' you sent over there as me is gonna screw things up." She leant back against the wall, wondering if there was a weakness in the cell that she hadn't yet considered.
T'Lar considered the woman in the cell for a moment.
"You should know that we are mere moments away from being back in my universe. Even if you could escape this ship, you have no way of escaping what you call the Mirror Universe. You may as well resign yourself to the fact that you are here now. The best that you can hope for is to make yourself useful to the Empire in some way. It is not inconceivable that you would be an excellent source of intelligence about your so-called Prime Universe Starfleet. You may as well give them what they want and perhaps in exchange you may find that you can live a long and comfortable existence. Maybe one day even earning yourself a modicum of freedom if you start being realistic with yourself and accept that this is your new life."
"I quite like my old life, much less death and debauchery. You could let me outta here, come with me and hook up with our Jacob. He really is quite nice." Jennifer pretended to brush some dust off her uniform.
T'Lar did not let it show, but that one hit home and hit hard. Instantly she felt the hair on the back of her neck raise at the thought of prying eyes and ears just waiting for her to take the bait. For starters, there were the guards who absolutely could be trusted to betray her at a moment's notice. Her mind raced for a response that would not betray her true emotions. She decided deflection was her best choice.
"There now. So desperate to escape that you'd join forces with an enemy and betray a friend in the process? Into my hands no less? I don't think so, Starfleet. If I were so inclined to take your offer, which I'm not, you would betray me at the first opportunity. Do you really think I'm stupid enough to trust you just because you think you know something about my feelings for Jacob Rosen? You know nothing. The truth is I was morbidly curious, nothing more."
"I've seen the way she looks at him across the bridge, when she thinks no-one will notice. Emotion from a Vulcan, it's something special when they have that connection with someone." Jennifer could feel she was on to something. "Think, you have lost yours, but there's an opportunity to have someone else's...a second chance."
"And in this escape fantasy of yours," T'Lar scoffed, fighting to control her emotions, "What do you imagine happens to your T'Lar? You think he's just going to leave her if they are already involved? For me? Or do you suggest I secretly replace her, the way you've been replaced by our Baldric? You expect me to believe that you would let me dispose of her and take her place? And how exactly am I supposed to pretend to be of all things, a psychotherapist?"
"You can do what you like with him, behind closed doors. I'm sure a mind meld, or two would soften him up to you. As for your alternate self, we replace her, your Captain gets more intel, and you get your man." Jennifer rose and sauntered up to the forcefield and regarded T'Lar with a suggestive wink.
T'Lar smiled, then started to giggle, then outright laughed in the other woman's face.
"Ponfo Mirran! You actually expect me to believe that you all of a sudden are going to 'break bad' and come over to our side, betray your T'Lar into the very sort of hell you've been living, and help place an enemy agent into the midst of your shipmates without any compunction whatsoever if we just set you free? You'll keep your mouth shut? Oh, I don't think so, but thank you. I haven't laughed like that in a very long time."
Jennifer turned her back and sauntered back to the bench. "Your loss, you'll never know what you're missing," she shrugged and leant back against the wall.
The room descended into silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
I.S.S. Sunfire - Medical Bay
Meanwhile in the ship's rarely used sickbay, Sarah Wilson was hunched over a microscope, analysing the sample of DNA that they had taken from Batel's body whilst they had it. The sample itself was fine, but she was concerned since it was taken after her death, that they may have missed something.
Dean had been ordered to undergo the gene therapy, much like that of his prime counterpart. She prepped a hypospray and set it carefully aside, along with a few more designed to manage any aftereffects. Soon - he would be the new Beholder.
TBC
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