Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)

Posted on Fri Feb 27th, 2026 @ 1:47am by Vice Admiral Loatha Targaryen & Commodore Wilkan Targaryen & Commander Galatea

2,012 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: 7. Guile
Location: Ready Room, U.S.S. Enterprise
Timeline: 2439-08-13, 11:15

The silence of the Ready Room was heavy, a stark contrast to the screaming metal and atmospheric venting that had defined the last few hours. Commodore Wilkan Targaryen stood by the panoramic viewport, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Below, Deep Space Nine hung in the blackness, scarred and broken, a testament to the chaos Krennek had unleashed.

His mind replayed the tactical gamble that had nearly cost him his world. To stop the Qel'Poh, he had ordered the Enterprise to use its sheer mass as a cudgel, pinning the Klingon Bird-of-Prey against the station’s primary docking pylon. It had been a move of desperation, but the structural stress had been too much. The pylon had buckled, then screamed, before shearing away into the void.

He had watched the Ourainavassa, the Romulan Republic's Warbird, spring into action. The Romulans had acted with a precision that even Wilkan had to admire; their transporters had worked at a fever pitch to pull Loatha and the entire Enterprise Away Team out of the collapsing structure seconds before the pylon was consumed by vacuum and fire.

"Commodore," the smooth, melodic voice of Galatea, the ship’s artificial intelligence, vibrated through the room.

Wilkan didn't turn. "Report, Galatea."

"The Ourainavassa has completed the transfer. Our entire team are accounted for; they are being processed through secondary triage, though injuries appear limited to minor fractures and atmospheric exposure. Commodore Loatha Targaryen is also aboard, Sir. She has, predictably, bypassed Sickbay and is currently in the turbolift."

Wilkan felt the knot in his chest finally loosen, but he remained focused on the PADD glowing on his desk. "And the transmission from Starfleet Command?"

"Confirmed," Galatea replied, her tone carrying a hint of digital satisfaction. "The orders were authenticated three minutes ago. Admiral Deix is officially relieved. The formal commissioning of the new Gamma Quadrant Theater Commander is complete."

"She isn't going to like the timing," Wilkan murmured, finally turning from the stars. He looked at the PADD. It was a career-defining moment, a seismic shift in the power structure of the Gamma Quadrant, and it had arrived while she still had the dust of a collapsing station on her boots. "Dazad doesn't waste a second, does he?"

"No, he doesn't," Galatea observed, "But he is correct. Loatha is the only one with the perspective to handle the fallout of what Krennek started. She is arriving now."

The doors to the Ready Room hissed open.

Loatha Targaryen stepped in, her uniform singed and dusted with the grey grit of the Cardassian remains of DS9. A smear of green-tinged medical salve was visible on her temple, but her gaze was as sharp and piercing as a phaser beam. She looked like she had walked through hell and found it lacking.

She stopped in the center of the room, taking a slow, steady breath of the Enterprise’s filtered air.

"Subadmiral t'Sani was surprisingly hospitable for a woman who spends her life on a Warbird," Loatha said, her voice raspy but steady. "Though I believe she only rescued us so she could spend time complaining about our 'crude' tactical maneuvers. She seemed particularly offended that you used the flagship as a battering ram, Wilkan. She called it a 'waste of fine geometry.'"

Wilkan rounded the desk, stopping just a few feet from her. He didn't offer a hug, not while the adrenaline was still cooling, but his voice softened significantly. "The Enterprise can be repaired, Loatha. You and the away team cannot. If t'Sani hadn't been there," he didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he picked up the PADD, the screen displaying the official Starfleet seal. "Galatea and I have been monitoring the subspace traffic while you were being lectured by the Subadmiral," Wilkan said. He handed her the PADD, his eyes locking onto hers, "Starfleet Command has seen enough. Deix is officially recalled. They’ve decided that the person who held the galaxy together today is the only one who can hold the Gamma Quadrant together tomorrow."

Loatha took the device, her eyes scanning the orders. She went still as she reached the bottom of the text.

"Congratulations, Vice Admiral," Wilkan said, his voice a mix of pride and the grim realization of what this meant for them. "Or should I say, Commander of the Gamma Quadrant? Father already authorized the transition protocols. The theater is yours."

Loatha’s fingers tightened slightly on the edges of the PADD, the glass screen smudging with the fine grey dust of the station. She didn't look up immediately. In the silence of the Ready Room, the low, rhythmic thrum of the Enterprise’s Warp Core felt different now - less like a background hum and more like a heartbeat she was now responsible for sustaining across an entire quadrant.

"Vice Admiral," she repeated softly, the title tasting strange on her tongue. Her Lanthanite mind, usually capable of processing centuries of context in a heartbeat, stalled for a fraction of a second on the sheer scale of the transition. "Your father doesn't do anything without a dozen contingencies in place. If he’s moved this quickly to sideline Deix, he isn't just rewarding my 'resolve.' He’s bracing for a collapse."

She finally looked up, her dark eyes meeting Wilkan’s. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a cold, sharp clarity.

"Krennek didn't just want to destroy DS9, Wilkan. He wanted to prove that the Federation is a ghost ship, all prestige and no hull plating. He failed. He's sitting in a high-security holding cell because he underestimated the 'crude' tactics of a Targaryen." She stepped toward the desk, setting the PADD down next to Wilkan’s and tapping a command to bring up the tactical map of the Gamma Quadrant. The icons for the Dominion border, the Karemma systems, and the scattered Starfleet assets were all flowing amidst a sea of stars.

"You’re already thinking like a Theater Commander," Wilkan observed, a trace of a smile returning to his face despite the gravity of the situation. He moved to her side, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. "But you’re also bleeding on my deck. The Romulan's medical salve only goes so far."

Loatha glanced at the green smear on her temple, then back to the map. "The blood will dry, Wilkan. We have Krennek, and we have Lezku Opra," she said, her voice dropping into a lower, more dangerous register. "The mastermind and the merchant who fed his obsession with Time Crystals. But having them behind bars doesn't solve the underlying rot, Wilkan."

She walked back to the viewport, looking at the twisted remains of the docking pylon. "I keep going back to the logs from Deep Space 47. Three hundred souls, dead in less than an hour. A computer virus so sophisticated it didn't just bypass Starfleet encryption, it rewrote the fundamental logic of the station’s processors. Krennek is gifted, but that level of surgical precision... it suggests a reach far beyond a rogue operative and a Bajoran smuggler."

Wilkan joined her at the window, his reflection ghostly against the backdrop of the stars. "You think they’re just the symptoms. That whoever, or whatever, provided the virus and the access to 47 is still out there, watching us haul Krennek away."

"I know they are," Loatha replied. "A man doesn't murder an entire station and erase every trace of himself unless he has a silent partner with a very long shadow. Krennek was the hammer, but I want the hand that swung it."

She turned back to the desk, her expression set in the grim mask of a Vice Admiral who had just inherited a sector on the brink. "Opra will talk eventually; merchants always do when the profit margin turns into a life sentence. But the virus on 47... that is a signature. A fingerprint. I want Kuzos and the science team to run a cross-quadrant analysis. Check it against Dominion archives, Romulan intelligence, whatever it takes. Someone, somewhere, recognizes that code."

Wilkan nodded, already mentally reassigning his sensor arrays. "I’ll have Galatea prioritize the decryption of 47’s core remnants alongside Krennek’s personal data. If there’s a ghost in the machine, we’ll flush it out." He paused, glancing at the PADD she had set down. "You’re official now, Loatha. Project Longshot is looking to you for a directive. What’s our first move once we clear the wormhole?"

Loatha straightened her uniform, the Lanthanite resolve finally masking the physical exhaustion of the day.

"We don't go back to the Alpha Quadrant to celebrate, Captain. We take the Enterprise deeper into the Gamma Quadrant. If 47 was the warning shot, I want to be standing at the source when they try to fire the second one." She looked at him, a silent understanding passing between them. "Tell the Bridge to engage at will. We’re done playing defense."

"The logistics of a quadrant can wait ten minutes," Wilkan murmured, his voice losing its sharp, command edge and replacing it with a warmth that only she ever heard. He rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, his hands settling over hers on the edge of the desk. After the bone-deep chill of the Romulan transporter and the suffocating dust of the collapsing pylon, the simple, steady weight of him was more grounding than any promotion.

Loatha leaned back into him, letting her eyes close for a brief moment. The Lanthanite perspective usually made her feel like a spectator to time, watching centuries pass like tide pools, but here, pinned between Wilkan and the tactical map of a new frontier, she felt entirely present. The scent of his uniform, distantly of the Enterprise’s ozone and more closely of the cedar-wood soap he’d used that morning, finally pushed the smell of DS9’s smoke out of her senses.

"Ten minutes, Wilkan?" she whispered, her voice still a little raspy, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I’ve just been handed the keys to the most volatile Quadrant in the Milky Way. Every second I’m not at that map, the Karemma are likely drafting a new trade complaint and the Jem'Hadar are sharpening their kar'takins."

"Let them sharpen," Wilkan said, his breath hitching slightly as he felt the tension in her shoulders finally start to give way. "The Enterprise is the most powerful deterrent in the fleet, and she’s currently under the command of a man who refuses to move her an inch until his Admiral is properly... welcomed home."

He gently turned her in his arms, his hands moving from the desk to her waist. The armor was still there - the singed fabric, the medical salve, the weary lines around her eyes - but as he looked at her, he didn't see the new Commander of the Gamma Quadrant. He saw the woman who had survived a nightmare to stand in his Ready Room.

Loatha reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, clearing away a stray smudge of soot she’d transferred to him. A quiet resonance that hummed between them. "You’re going to be a very difficult subordinate, Captain," she teased, though her dark eyes were bright with a sudden, fierce affection.

"I plan to be the bane of your existence, Admiral," he countered, leaning in to close the distance. "But I'm also the only officer in the fleet who knows exactly how you take your tea, and exactly how much you needed this moment. And, by the way, it's Commodore," he said as he started to nibble on her neck.

The newly appointed Admiral giggled, "And what exactly are we going to do about my lapse in decorum?"

Wilkan pulled back for a moment with a devilish smile, "Anything you want."

Outside the viewport, the stars of the Bajoran sector remained cold and indifferent to the changing of the guard, but inside the small circle of the Ready Room, the fire that had nearly consumed them both had finally been replaced by a much softer, steadier heat.

RSS Feed