In Principio: Held Long Enough Part 1

Posted on Wed Jul 22nd, 2026 @ 2:10pm by Master Chief Petty Officer Julian Trent

1,947 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: USS Murmansk
Timeline: 2375

USS Murmansk, 2375

In the months after Nico died, Julian fell into a rhythm dictated by war, by loss, by the body’s need to move even when the mind was numb. He reported for duty before anyone needed to ask, stayed until someone with more rank told him to leave and volunteered for work which might once have required persuasion. There were away teams, damage-control details and evacuations. Manual weapons inspections in sections where the structural integrity warnings had started appearing often enough that people barely looked at them anymore. He did not become careless, because carelessness endangered other people and Julian had never confused his own appetite to feel something or be useful with permission to make somebody else pay for it. He checked seals twice, inspected equipment properly and made sure the people beside him understood exactly where they were meant to stand before he placed himself somewhere worse. People called it dedication, and Julian let them. It was easier to sleep when his body dictated it than when his mind allowed it.

The Murmansk had been fighting for most of the day when the internal weapons network began failing in sections. Not completely, because the ship had become very good at never offering the mercy of complete failure. Instead, targeting relays dropped in and out, the port phaser controls began returning power readings which disagreed with Engineering by enough to kill someone and the secondary fire-control junction on deck eleven stopped responding altogether. The shields were holding, though, so there was some mercy in it all.

Tactical Operations tried a remote reset twice. The first attempt returned nothing. The second produced a warning that the local isolators had failed and the junction could not be restored without somebody reaching it manually.

Chief Petty Officer Darian Holt read the message once, his broad shoulders tightening as another impact moved through the room. “We need a team down there,” he said, turning from the console towards the four people still standing while blood dried unnoticed along the cuff of his sleeve. “Two people. One Tactical, one Engineering. Nobody goes past junction eleven-four until Damage Control confirms the pressure seals.”

“I’ll take Tactical,” Julian said before Holt finished looking around, closing the diagnostic he had been working through as he reached for the field kit beneath his station.

Holt’s attention settled on him with an expression Julian had seen too often since Nico died. For one unpleasant second, Julian read it as calculation, as though Holt had seen a useful tool and was deciding how long it could be used before it broke. In a different world, the thought might have raised his hackles, but his instincts had been dampened over the last few months. “You’ve already done one damage-control rotation today,” Holt said, lowering his voice enough that the rest of the room had to work not to listen.

“And I know the junction configuration,” Julian replied as he checked the kit’s power cell and clipped it closed. “I’m still standing, and we need the relay back.” His eyes went to Holt before he made a point of glancing towards the other Tactical enlisted. He did not say he was older. He did not say he was already spent, so what did it matter. His attention simply returned to Holt.

“Fine,” Holt said, folding his arms across his chest as another warning crossed the display behind him. “That does not mean you’re the only person who can go. It means that, this time, you get your wish.”

Julian looked towards the status board, where the unavailable phaser arrays had begun narrowing their tactical options one line at a time. “Sir,” he said, because it was easier and quicker than anything more philosophical.

Holt watched him in silence for a moment, and Julian knew exactly what the man was measuring. He was deciding whether Julian’s body or mind might fail and get someone killed, which was fair enough, all things considered. They were all tired, though, and fatigue had become one of the few things aboard the Murmansk which nobody needed to explain.

Holt’s expression seemed locked down for a moment, and Julian thought he might change his mind and tell him to stand down, but he looked towards the Engineering specialist waiting near the door instead. Crewman First Class Hana Velez was young enough that she still looked startled whenever somebody called her by rank, though the last year had stripped most of the softness from the way she carried herself.

“Velez goes with you,” Holt said, pointing one finger towards Julian before he could move. “You follow Damage Control instructions, you do not improvise beyond your skill and you come back the moment the local isolators stop responding. I don’t need half the ship taken out because you detonated a weapon.”

Julian gave him a faint, tired smile as he settled the field kit against his hip. “Not had that happen yet, and I don’t plan to start today.”

The words left him before he could stop them. Something shifted in Holt’s face, small and quickly hidden, but Julian had already seen it. Velez looked down at the deck, and Julian turned towards the door because there was nothing useful to say after that.

The corridor outside Tactical Operations was crowded with people moving in both directions, carrying equipment, supporting the injured and shouting reports over alarms which had been sounding for long enough to become part of the air. Julian kept one hand near the wall as he walked, adjusting automatically whenever the ship rolled beneath them. Velez remained half a step behind, gripping her Engineering kit hard enough for the tendons in her hand to stand out.

“You have worked on this type of isolator junction before?” Julian asked, looking towards her without slowing as another medical team hurried past them.

“Twice,” Velez replied, shifting the kit against her hip as they stepped around an injured crewman being treated on the deck. Her voice remained steady, though her eyes moved too quickly across the damaged corridor. “Once in simulation and once during the attack on Coralis.”

Julian glanced towards her as the lights above them flickered. “Coralis lost atmospheric control on six decks.”

“Yes, Petty Officer,” she said, swallowing before looking ahead again. “I remember that rather clearly.”

“Then you have worked under worse conditions than these,” Julian replied, touching the wall panel at the next junction to confirm the route remained open. “If the isolator has fused, tell me before you touch it. If you need me out of the way, say so.”

Velez looked towards him, some of the tension easing from her mouth. “And if I tell you to leave?”

Julian considered the question for a moment as they took the turn towards deck eleven. “Then I’ll assume you have a good reason…but no heroics. Two pairs of hands are better than one, and I take instruction well.”

“That sounds almost cooperative,” she said, pushing a loose strand of dark hair back beneath her uniform collar as another warning pulsed across the wall display.

“Do not spread it around,” Julian replied, and the corner of her mouth lifted despite the ship shaking beneath them again. “Don’t want people thinking I’m suddenly meek as a lamb.”

The turbolift was offline two decks above their destination, forcing them into an emergency access stairwell which smelled of smoke and overheated metal. Julian descended first, checking each landing before gesturing Velez onwards. The medallion beneath his uniform moved against his chest with every step, the small weight familiar enough now that he noticed it mostly when it shifted.

He had not worn it at first. For several weeks after Nico’s death, it had remained inside Julian’s pocket during duty, wrapped once around his fingers whenever nobody was looking. Then a seam had caught the chain and nearly pulled it free during an evacuation, and Julian had stood in an empty maintenance bay with the medallion in his palm, furious at a piece of metal for almost leaving him too. He had put it around his neck after that. He did not pray, and he did not believe, but he wore it anyway. Sometimes the chain rubbed the side of his neck raw. He liked the reminder, the friendly pinch.

Damage Control had established a temporary post near junction eleven-three, where two officers in pressure gear were monitoring structural stress around the damaged section. One of them lifted a hand as Julian and Velez approached.

“Junction eleven-four is holding,” the officer said through the open faceplate, one gloved finger pointing towards the next sealed door. “Atmosphere is stable, but the hull frame behind the weapons relay is under strain. You have eight minutes before we seal the section, whether you are finished or not.”

“Understood,” Julian said, checking the timer on his wrist display as Velez opened her Engineering kit beside him. “Any secondary power running through the junction?”

“Intermittent,” the officer replied, turning the local schematic towards them. “Engineering isolated the main feed, but the backup is cycling every twenty-six seconds. We can’t shut it down remotely without losing the entire port array.”

Velez studied the pattern, her brow drawing together as she traced the intervals. “So the junction goes live for four seconds every cycle.”

“Three point eight,” the officer corrected, touching the relevant line on the schematic. “You will hear the warning tone before it cycles.”

Julian looked towards the sealed door as another impact moved faintly through the deck. “And if the frame shifts?”

The officer’s expression remained controlled behind the open faceplate. “If the frame shifts, you leave immediately.”

Julian met their eyes long enough for the answer beneath the answer to become clear. If the frame shifted badly enough, leaving would become theoretical. He nodded once before looking towards Velez. “Ready?”

She tightened the fastening on one glove and lifted her kit, making herself meet his eyes. “Yes, Petty Officer.”

The officer keyed the door open, and heat moved into the corridor first, followed by the sharp smell of scorched insulation. The passage beyond had lost most of its lighting, leaving the emergency strips along the floor to throw pale lines across damaged panels and exposed conduit. Julian stepped through and waited until Velez joined him before the door sealed behind them.

The warning tone sounded almost immediately. A low pulse moved through the bulkhead, followed by the rising hum of power entering the weapons relay. Julian counted the seconds without meaning to until the hum stopped.

“Twenty-two seconds,” Velez said, already moving towards the access panel at the end of the corridor.

Julian followed, scanning the ceiling supports and the narrow cracks spreading through the panel seam beside the junction. “That should be enough if the housing cooperates.”

“You have met Starfleet equipment before,” Velez replied, dropping to one knee as she opened the Engineering kit. “It rarely cooperates when in distress.”

Julian crouched beside the weapons-control panel and ran his scanner across the casing. The reading flickered between safe and unhelpful. “Then we shall try asking nicely. You’re Engineering, so this must count as normal by now.”

“As normal as anything has been lately,” Velez replied, giving him a brief look before removing the outer panel. Heat rolled from the opening, carrying the smell of burnt polymer and hot circuitry. “The primary isolator fused closed,” she said, moving the light across the internal assembly. “Backup control is intact, but the command interface has melted.”

To be continued in part 2

 

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