“To one who has faith no explanation is necessary. To one without faith no explanation is possible.”

Thomas Aquinas (1225 – 1274)

The heady mélange of incense wafted past her crenelated nose and elicited childhood memories of temple rites and Vedek Asli’s reedy voice raised in hymnal devotion, which caused the corners of Marja’s lips to crease in a small smile which served to disrupt the sense of quietus she had so diligently achieved through meditation.

Her eyes still closed, the young Bajoran woman sighed and willed her mind to resume the requisite sense of equilibrium and her left hand reached out, her slim fingers instinctively closing around the smooth, wooden haft of the engraved stylus as she slowly drew the implement around the thin rim of the brass prayer – bowl, this action establishing a single, sustained sonorous note that filled her candle-lit quarters with a familiar tone.

Her mind at rest once, Lieutenant (Jg) Ivu opened her consciousness to the universe and sought to commune with the ‘Will of the Prophets.”

Ivu Marja did not consider herself a particularly devout Bajoran. Like many of her people in modern times, her connection with her faith held more cultural connotations that it did actual secular reverence. Even though she wore the ‘d’ja pagh’ on her right ear, the traditional earring that symbolized her ‘d’jarra’, matters of caste had been rendered effectively in modern Bajoran society.

Yet she persisted to wear the item of jewellery as it had been gifted to her by her mother on the day she left home to join Starfleet Academy and it remained a talisman against homesickness when she inevitably found herself far from the land of her both.

Subconsciously, her right hand drifted towards to gently touch at the dangling tendril of slim, silver chain, as the undulating warble of the prayer bowl resonated, bringing other memories to the fore.

Faith was subjective for so many races in the universe. The articles of belief balanced precariously upon fable and supposition – more often based around a central ideal or personification of intangible deity.

Not so for the people of Bajor.

To the Bajoran people, the Prophets were as tangible and actual as the devoted themselves. Those outside of their culture called them simple the “Wormhole Aliens”, though this oversimplification spoke to the lack of connection to The Prophet’s that a Bajoran would find typical of an outsider, knowing that it lacked the perfect lexicon to describe the connection that her people felt with this mercurial beings that had gifted the fantastical Orbs that were their “Tears”.

For her part, Marja was reasonably sure that her ‘Pagh’, her immortal soul was clean – even though her religious observances were not exactly regular (duty shift allocations sometimes made that goal impracticable), her Mother would often pinch the lobe of her ear as a child and roundly declare that little Marja’s Pagh was clean and her daughter was assured to enter into the Celestial Temple, there to dwell with the Prophets in joy and enlightenment.

Again, the memory made her smile and she lost her concentration once more.

Marja sighed and renewed her efforts with the prayer bowl, her frustration translating to the vibration of the shining rim and producing a tone that, if not exactly discordant, definitely sounded like she was trying too hard to seem becalmed.

The spell broken, Ivu Marja opened her beautiful, dark eyes and breathed.

“Bugger.”

She closed her almond eyes once more and rolled her head slowly around the orbit of her neck, but she knew that this was ultimately in vain. She just couldn’t centre herself sufficiently to reach the right state of transcendence she knew was key to reaching the correct meditative state that the ritual required.

She was far too excited.

Whilst not overtly religious, what right – minded person would not be even slightly in awe with the prospect of potentially becoming face – to – face with their God?

The USS Vega, both Marja’s home and place of work, would shortly begin the transit through the Wormhole to begin their long mission in the Gamma Quadrant. Not only did this mean that, for the first time in her young life – Marja would be piloting a Starship through the fantastical stellar – phenomena that linked distant Quadrants of the galaxy together in near – instantaneous travel (an epoch – making entry in any Pilot’s Logbook), but for the first time in her life – she would be physically closer to the Prophets than anyone else she knew.

She would be passing through the Celestial Temple itself and could not help but wonder, would the Prophets themselves deign to speak with her and, if so, what missives would they impart?

A shiver of excitement coursed through her being at the thought and Marja resolved that she would give her devotions one more chance, when the door to the small, shared living space she shared with the Ship’s Councilor, Lieutenant (Jg) Siran Arkour, opened and a stark light invaded the muted hues from the candles, snuffing some out and completely ruining the mood.

“Oops! Sorry!” Her roommate apologized as the dark – eyed Betazoid young woman entered the small lounge, clad only in a bath – towel as she emerged from the shower and vigorously toweled her short bob of night – black hair with a smaller towel. Marja often envied her friends locks for their natural luster and her ability to tame those tresses into an effortlessly – clique ‘flappers – bob’ that framed her chin so beautifully.

“Getting your ‘Pagh’ in order, I see?” Siran flashed a smile as she made her way to her own private part of the quarters they shared. She didn’t have to employ her empathic talents to surmise that Marja regarded their passage through the wormhole with anticipation and just a little trepidation. The two women lived in close proximity to each other, day in – day out, so it was almost impossible for the pair to have established a pattern of domestic intimacy and had become almost like sisters in their closeness.

Marja shrugged, her slim shoulders moving in defeat beneath the silk robe she wore.

“Trying to.” The young Bajoran admitted. “Failing miserably.”

Siran did not believe in closed doors (a Councilors’ habit) and let the towel fall from her body with an unselfconsciousness that left the more traditional Marja to sigh and politely avert her eyes as she set the prayer bowl and stylus aside.

“Well, I’ve always said that formalized religion plays a key and important role in maintaining sense of self and positive psychosocial – health.” Siran called out in a bright, sing-song voice as she put on her underwear.

Suddenly she put her head around the doorway, her dark eyes flashing knowingly as she added.

“Prayer will also be important when you explain to Commander Mason why you’re late for Bridge – duty!”

Marja’s eyes widened in abject shock and she shot to her feet from her lotus – position.

Normally the most fastidious of junior officers, Marja had become lost in thoughts of the divine and veneration and had quite lost track of the time.

She was going to be late for the most important day of her life!

In a flurry of swearwords (that were quite unladylike) and a confusion of movement, Marja propelled herself into her own bedchamber, shedding her robe in her wake like a particularly frenetic butterfly leaving the cocoon. She raked open her cupboard and tore her red – shouldered uniform out and desperately started to claw it on.

“Commbadge!” She shouted as her fingers grasped clumsily at her uniform pips, trying to get them affixed in the right place in a hurry was never an easy task.

“On the table where you threw it when you came back from the Holosuites last night!” Siran laughed from the other room as she donned her own uniform with far less haste.

Marja was already trying to smooth down her own short, dark hair with a handful of water in a vain attempt at making it look presentable, as she was already making for the door and the turbolifts beyond.

“Thanks !” She yelled over her shoulder as she departed, the XO’s glowering face omnipresent in her mind’s – eye. “Put the candles out before you leave would you?”

“I’m not your maid, but sure!” Siran’s voice followed her down the hall, adding as it receded “Good luck !!!”

Stardate: 2402.9.03 / 07.15hrs

Location: USS Vega, Deck #1, Bridge, On – approach to the Bajoran Wormhole.

The turbolift doors hissed efficiently back into their recesses as the car came to a gentle halt and Lieutenant (Jg) Ivu Marja steeled herself and stepped out into the beating heart of the USS Vega.

The central command and control space of the Lamarr – class long – range explorer followed a similar design and layout to the Sovereign – class that was her predecessor, although the warm tones and carpeted deck had been replaced with a more utilitarian finish and, try as she might, as she made her way to the helm position to relieve the duty Conn – officer, the polished metal of the deck plating made her footsteps sound out with leaden progress.

She tapped Ensign Georges on the shoulder and he relinquished the seat. Marja slipped gratefully onto its still – warm embrace and tried not to think about the disapproving  glare of Commander Janet Morgan’s gaze as it bore through the back of her head and she tried to concentrate on the familiar ritual of familiarizing herself with every intimate detail about the ship’s current course, heading, status and destination, that the instruments were feeding her.

That the Executive Officer had said nothing about her lateness, only served to intensify her existential dread of the dressing down that would surely come later.

She risked a glance over to Lieutenant Th’ekialnes, as her colleague worked at the Tactical console. The Andorian’s sure blue hands worked his board as his prehensile antennae seemed to writhe in a complicated dance of their own devising.

Ran caught her gaze and raised his bushy white eyebrows and blew out his cheeks in a mute display of what he thought of her chances.

Marja winced as she checked the approach vectors and confirmed that the Vega was correctly aligned for her final approach to the Wormhole.

Through the forward view of the vessel’s viewscreen, the onrush of the cosmos looked as commonplace and urbane as it ever did as the powerful ship made it progress through the stars.

The Wormhole itself would remain invisible to the eye, blossoming into its fantastical – bloom of hyperspatial energies only when the USS Vega approached and crossed the event – horizon, to be catapulted incomprehensible distances at near – relativistic speeds – to emerge into the distant Gamma Quadrant and the control space of Opaka Outpost in orbit above New Bajor.

Invisible to they eye, but Marja’s instruments confirmed that it was there – the link to The Prophet’s so tantalizingly close now that she felt herself break out in a flurry of goosebumps at the mere thought.

Her reverie was interrupted by the Executive Officer’s crisp, clipped British tones enunciating “Captain on the bridge!” to bring the ship’s company to attention as Captain Trevenan Williams emerged from his ready – room and Commander Morgan relinquished the captain’s – chair, taking her own seat at the CO’s right hand and swiveling the small console attached there , to resume her watch over the performance of the ship and crew.

“At ease.” Came the more relaxed voice of the CO, inflected with his easy blend of Welsh & Cornish accents, as the grey – haired stentorian settled into the Big – seat and gentle demanded.

“XO – situation report?”

“We are on final approach to the wormhole, holding at half – impulse.” Commander Mason confirmed. “Engineering reports warp core is stable. Operations confirm all crew at duty stations and compartments secure for transit.” Janet read off the list of confirmations streaming on her console.

“Sensors confirm contact. Bearing Two, Five, Niner. Starboard. Range 20,000 Km.” Reported Lieutenant Th’ekialnes. “Telemetry confirms it’s the USS Kirk. Shran – class escort, sir. She’s requesting IFF ident and confirmation.”

Captain Williams nodded sagely and murmured to the XO.

“ ‘Bull’ – Hanley’s girl.” Trevenan explained to Mason with a wry smile. “Served under him at Wolf 359, in my youth. If she’s anything like her old – man, then his daughter’s likely less than thrilled to be pulling guard duty instead of being where the action is.”

As the forward viewscreen intensified to focus onto the fleet, mantis – like shape of the approaching Starfleet patrol – craft, Commander Mason turned to regard the CO with a skeptical skew of her eyebrow.

“You, were young once?” Janet smiled easily.

“Hard to believe isn’t it?” Trevenan grinned grey – wolfishly.

“We’re being hailed by the Captain of the USS Kirk.” Reported Lieutenant Jonell Hardy from the Ops console and both senior officers turned to regard the main viewer as Captain William’s commanded.

“Onscreen.”

The screen resolved to reveal an attractive blonde-haired woman with sure blue eyes that somehow carried a sense of challenge. She was seated in the command chair aboard the comparatively smaller bridge of the approaching escort and she held herself with a sense of surety and authority that almost bordered upon insouciance.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Lane Hanley, commanding the USS Kirk.” The confident young woman spoke with the slight Irish infection to an accent that broadly spoke of someone who had been raised on a frontier world.

“Welcome to the Bajoran Wormhole, USS Vega.”

Captain William’s inclined his salt – and – pepper head and returned the greeting.

“Good to see you Lieutenant Commander. It’s gratifying to see that a ship and crew as capable as the ‘Kirk’ are standing watch on our side here.” Captain Williams smiled. He had personally approved Lane Hanley’s appointment to her first ship command (against some strident opposition) because he fancied that she was an officer with more to contribute towards Starfleet than the enduring legacy of her late father.

Rear Admiral Eustace ‘Bull’ Hanley was a man whose reputation and sacrifice cast a long shadow and Trevenan hoped that, for her part, Lane would live to grow beyond the pall it cast and one day show her own worth as a CO.

For her own part, Lieutenant Commander Hanley looked less that enthralled about the assignment.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said that the biggest enemy we currently face isn’t boredom.” Hanley’s smooth features twisted slightly in a grimace, “But gods only know that a crew love a good drill, so I have been keeping my people busy but I’m running out of compartments to inspect. The ship’s only so big after all!”

Captain William’s nodded affably.

“The burden of command hangs heavy upon the head.” He quoted and turned back to business.

“USS Kirk, the USS Vega requests final clearance for transit through the Bajoran Wormhole. We are transmitting our command authentications and approved flight – plan.”

Though this was a mere formality and there was no way in hell that even as ship as martially – capable as a Shran – class, could physically waylay a relative behemoth the size of a Lamarr – class, should it be necessary. But form had to be observed, for forms sake.

“USS Vega, we note your authentication and confirm that you are cleared to make your approach when ready.” Lieutenant Commander Hanley confirmed as her ship-maintained station of his Starboard quarter.

“Godspeed Captain.” Lane nodded from the viewer. “We wish you calm seas and fair winds on your voyage. I have to say, part of me wishes that we were coming with you, Sir.”

Trevenan nodded as his ship made way to depart the Alpha Quadrant and put friends and allies to his stern as he led his people out into the relative unknown of the space that lay beyond the Wormhole.

“Our thanks Commander.” He smiled. “Whilst we’d love to have you at our side, something tells me that there will be quite enough happening here to keep you and your crew more than busy, in the years to come. Take care and keep a weather eye to windward. Vega – out.”

With a sure smile, Lieutenant Commander Hanley disappeared from the screen, which was replaced with the familiar stream of stars outside.

At that moment, the doors to the turbolift hissed back and the taciturn form of Ambassador T’lan emerged out onto the bridge.

“Ambassador! I’m glad you could join us!” Captain Williams gestured to the spare seat at his left – hand. “Please come and take a seat, we are about to begin the transit.”

As the lithe, grey clad Vulcan took her seat, she nodded her assent politely.

“Thank you Captain, an honor.” T’lan responded simply, with her slim hands folded neatly in her lap. She was the picture of control and calm.

Trevenan nodded over to the Ops Chief.

“Well here comes what is always the hardest part, I think?” The veteran Starfleet captain commanded. “Lieutenant Hardy, please open a ship-wide channel.”

Jonell did as he was bidden and nodded to the CO when the task was complete.

“Channel open, Sir.”

Trevenan took a deep breath. Over thirty years of command experience and this bit never got any easier. Still, it was always better to do a thing, than live in fear of it – his father had always said.

“All hands. Now hear this.” He spoke in a strong, sure voice that he hoped did not betray the apprehension he felt welling just at bay inside. “This is the Captain speaking.””

Knowing that his words carried throughout the ship and reached every man, woman, inter and child (as there were indeed several families coming along for the ride), he resolved to make this portentous address one of hope and discovery.

“Shortly we will be transiting through the wormhole and arriving at Opaka Outpost, there to begin a 5 – year voyage of exploration and diplomacy.” He explained. “Starfleet have been to the Gamma Quadrant before and, as history has shown, mis- assumptions were made in relation to the peoples that live there and those mistakes led to costly War.”

Trevenan has served during the disastrous Dominion War and bore the personal scars of that conflict both physically and mentally and was united in loss with all of those that survived. Most of the people he would be leading back into the heart of former Dominion territory had not even been born when he, as a rash and idealistic young Ensign, had received his baptism at the crucible of conflict.

It was an outcome and fate that he was resolved never to revisit, if he had any control over events.

“We returned chastened in our hubris and with minds enlightened with the hope of exploring new worlds, contacting new civilizations and old. We go forward with a message of peace and unity and we do so with open minds.”

Commander Homel nodded his balding green head at this, as the CSO sat at the long bank of science stations. He was close enough to the Captain’s age to have experienced the events of which Williams spoke of.

“Make no mistake that some of our sins travel with us and we will have to work hard and diligently to convince those touched by War, that our intentions are honorable and that friendship and harmony are the goals that we seek.”

Trevenan could not but help to glance in the direction of Ambassador T’lan and was gratified to see that the glacial Vulcan dipped her head in assent. For the taciturn T’lan that was tantamount to a rave review.

“Our voyage will not be without challenge and at times even danger. We may sail into harms way and be forced to draw upon every reserve and on each other to emerge together, but we will not be the ones to meet the unknown with violent intent.”

Sensing he was prologizing just a little too much even for him, Trevenan endeavored to wrap up his speech and get underway.

“We accept this challenge hand – in – hand. I assure each and every one of you that we will meet the unknown together as a crew, as a family and when our duty is satisfied, we will all return home together in the same way, sure of purpose and proud of the people we have become.”

With that last, Trevenan turned and smiled to his Executive Officer as he closed out.

“That will be all. All hands to duty stations and secure the ship for transit. Williams out.”

A sense of anticipation was prevalent across the bridge. Before stretched the unknown. Whilst not exactly an Undiscovered Country, the Gamma Quadrant represented a territory just as wild and challenging as a new frontier.

All that was left now was to take the first step.

Straightening his uniform and drawing himself more upright in the captain’s chair, Captain Trevenan Williams spoke assuredly in a clear voice to Marja.

“Helm. Prepare to go to full – impulse. Make your course for the Wormhole, in your own time Lieutenant Ivu.”

He held his hand up, pausing and could sense the collective breath of the entire bridge crew hold as he did so, before he dropped his hand sharply in command and ordered.

“Let’s go see what’s out there. ENGAGE!”