The Fog Test

Posted on Fri Aug 7th, 2026 @ 10:53pm by Lieutenant Zub Enel

2,579 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Flashbacks and Side Quests
Location: USS Hermes - First Duty Station
Timeline: 2393

[ON]

Ensign Zub Enel, Starfleet Security, had to fold his 7-foot-long frame to fit on the bunk in the USS Hermes’, cramped junior officer quarters. Two roommates snored. Nacelles hummed. In the dark, Zub half-slept, half-listened for a red alert.

USS Hermes, a Federation freighter, was caught in a sudden Gorn expansion beyond an already disputed Klingon-Gorn space. Near here a year previously, the USS Montana had barely survived Klingon disruptor fire. The Klingons insisted they didn’t realize the Montana was a Federation ship. Now, Cpt Mary Treborne, like the Federation of Planets, was caught unaware by the territorial expansion and was trying to exit the new space with the tiny Hermes and a 20-person crew and cargo.

Zub, on his first posting out of the Academy, doubted the Klingons or Gorns would ignore a ship warping through a new territory each claimed. Challenging outsiders proved the area was legitimately theirs; therefore, their managing of access was justified. He’d told Captain Treborne, but she had smiled, thanked him, and reminded him that this was a matter for diplomats, not cargo ships.

The slurred singing awoke him, loud and raucous, about Byzallian women. Ensign Ooga. Zub, a Voth, could easily hear heavy boots clomping closer. The Byzallian swept along like a drunken hurricane.

The hatch to the quarters hissed. Lights blazed painfully. Zub winced. The other two Security ensigns swore.

Ensign Ooga stood grinning. He bellowed like a gunnery sergeant, “Security! On your feet! Move! Move! Move!”

There were annoyed groans.

Zub squinted his golden eyes. “Why are you always so loud?”

Ooga, over two meters tall, glared at Enel. Byzallians were one of the few races allowed a beard. “I have not reached maximum volume.” He inhaled deeply, expanding his red uniform. His mouth gaped.

As Zub was clapping his hands over his ears, Captain Treborne announced, “Red Alert. Klingon and Gorn ships detected. Battle stations.”

The four security officers goggled at each other. This was Zub’s first real red alert. His scales prickled. Wide-eyed shock betrayed that this was also the other three’s first real call to battle stations.

Zub grabbed his uniform from the pile at the foot of his bunk. The other bunks creaked as the two other officers flung off bedcovers and grabbed their uniforms heaped at the foot of their bunks.

As Zub dressed, his raised scales wouldn’t settle. His heart fluttered. Crazily, like after Starfleet Academy drills, he hoped for snacks during debrief.

Zub Enel had hatched out with 15 siblings on the same day. As the oldest, he had been the designated Big Brother. Noticing his teammates' discomfiture, his brotherly instinct kicked in. “This is like the drill. We know this.”

Ooga stood silent and frozen in the center of the room. His usually loud voice came out hushed. “But this is NOT a drill, is it?”

The Byzallian’s race was distantly Terran, so like Humans his hairy face was pale. He sweated.

The other two, a massive, eternally sad Lurian and a Boslic with heavy brow ridges, had wide eyes but otherwise serious expressions.

The two gazed at Zub as if awaiting orders. They’d all been onboard three weeks, but Zub wasn’t their leader.

His mind flooded with a jumble of attacks and countermeasures, useless he realized, without knowing the exact nature of the alert other than ship detection and the captain showing prudence. But the Hermes was a slow old freighter, not a starship.

After a heartbeat, he said, his deep voice quavering just a notch, “Battle stations. One on the bridge. One in Engineering. Two amidships, securing the cargo stacks.”

The Boslic said, “Bridge.”

The Lurian, “Engineering.”

Zub felt his confidence rise. Not everyone was scared spitless like him – and loudmouth Ensign Ooga.

Ooga frowned his pale, bearded face. He thundered at Zub, “Our ranks are equal! How dare you presume to give orders to any of us? You are not in charge!”

Zub Enel stood taller than the bellowing ensign as he made sure his red Security jacket wasn’t bunched up. His three-fingered hands were stiff and icy. Drawing on the times when he was a big brother, even when he didn’t feel like being one, he held the big ensign’s belligerent gaze. “I simply reminded myself what we did during a Red Alert drill. Out loud.”

Enel addressed the other two waiting security officers in a conversational tone. “The alert should have unlocked the weapons locker. I think the routine is: Arm up, man your battle station, and show nerves of neutronium.”

“This is my neutronium face,” said the Boslic, his expression especially stern. He and the Lurian left, passing quickly around Ensign Ooga.

The crew bedroom was small, and Zub was big enough that he’d have to either move the huge Byzallian out of the way or knock him over. Ooga seemed frozen in place, his body rigid, his face ashen.

Zub felt afraid, too, but he believed their training had prepared him to know what to do. As with a terrified brother, Zub knew Ooga needed something to focus on. “What’s your favorite weapon? You should get it.”

Ooga glared. His frown had deepened. “Why are those two ensigns following you?”

Zub Enel’s eyebrows rose beneath his massive head crest. He finally realized that Ensign Ooga, with all his noise and posturing, wanted to be in charge. “Why me instead of you, you mean? You were silent. I reminded everybody how we’d drilled this situation. That’s all. Is there anything you’d have said differently? I just beat you to it.”

Ooga’s complexion warmed. His frown faded. He narrowed his eyes but gave a grudging smile. “As you say, you simply ‘beat me to it.’”

“It’ll be you next time.”

Ooga still stood there, staring around. Enel pressed, “Let’s man our battle station. Ours is the cargo stacks.” He raised a hand and gave a little brushing motion with his fingers toward the hatch behind Ooga.

“Me next time,” Ooga belatedly agreed, his voice louder. He wheeled about but staggered sideways a step to keep his balance. He boomed, “Let us arm ourselves and guard the cargo stacks with our very lives!”

Zub smiled at the bravado. “Lead on. I’m right behind you.”

“As it should be,” slurred the big man. Ooga whisked through the hatch toward the open weapons locker in the ship’s central axis.

Zub Enel was glad he could influence Ooga, who until the alert had been a force of nature. His fingers warmed. His heart slowed a notch. He trusted his training.

The Hermes was a freighter, certainly no dreadnought. She resembled a rectangular, multistory cargo crate standing on end, with a warp frame strapped around the middle. The horizontal frame was like an A, with warp nacelles on either open leg. The forward end of the “A” held the bridge. Engineering took up the stern. Amidship was a hexagonal opening for crew quarters and hatches to the stacks — the cargo areas above and below the frame. Control of this area controlled access to the entire ship.

Enel planned to post Ooga and himself at equal distances from the center cargo hatches set into the ceiling and floor. He’d keep an eye on the Byzallian until he sobered up. Zub hoped to guide him only if necessary.

At the weapons locker built into the bulkhead by the bridge hatch, Zub chose a hand phaser from an array of pistols, rifles, and blades. He stood between the cargo stack and the Engineering hatches. All hatches were closed per Red Alert protocol. Ooga had armed himself with a phaser rifle and a phaser pistol on each hip. Holding the phaser rifle across his chest with both hands, he struck a ridiculously heroic pose between Zub and the bridge hatch, obviously hoping the captain would see him.

Enel noticed the Byzallian had paled again. He was staring around nervously, his hands tight around his rifle. Ooga asked sotto voce, “Should we not know more about the details of this red alert?”

Zub shrugged and quoted an old Earth poem. “Theirs is not to reason why…” He smiled at Ooga, expecting him to know the verse.

Ooga glared at him, but his pupils were huge. “Voths are deliberately obscure because you have nothing to say.”

Zub found himself trying to understand this loud, arrogant creature. Ooga had been noisy and bossy since they boarded. “I think the captain is busy handling this situation and believes we know all we need to know.”

The Byzallian glared at the hatches facing the central hub. “Which, in summation, is nothing.”

Enel admitted he didn’t like not knowing what was happening outside their action station. His shoulders had risen to his ears, and he forced them down. “If armed Klingon or Gorn troops materialize in this section, we know what to do. Shoot first and...” He smiled and waited a beat for Ooga to finish the phrase.

“You utter another half-thought.”

Zub suspected Ooga was too scared to think clearly. “There’s a Terran expression that says, in an unclear situation, it’s best to shoot first and ask questions later.”

Understanding lit the big Byzallian’s eyes.

The Hermes jolted sideways and plunged. Zub swayed, spreading his legs to stay upright. The Byzallian toppled over with a clatter of weapons. On the deck, his face made him look like a highly armed, drunk, and terrified Byzallian snowman. He staggered to his feet. He rushed toward the bridge hatch.

Zub had anticipated Ooga’s panicked rush in time to break into a run. He tackled the big man. His momentum threw the Byzallian hard against the hatch. They both bounced off and toppled together to the deck. Zub grappled the ensign, who flailed to get up.

“Unhand me, you perverted Voth snake face!”

Using martial arts moves, Zub got the ever-angrier Byzallian onto his face. Enel jammed the man flat by kneeling on his back. He twisted one meaty arm up toward Ooga’s neck.

“Stop!” Ooga shouted, voice ragged. “This is assault! You are assaulting an officer!”

Enel struggled to keep Ooga from breaking the hold. “I am arresting you for deserting your post during a battle.”

Furious, Ooga pounded the deck with his free hand. Zub noted that the blows would have knocked him silly if the ensign had aimed them at his head.

The ensign’s face, turned sideways, had gone scarlet. He bared his teeth. He tried to get his knees under himself to throw Zub off.

Feeling the Byzallian’s strength gathering despite his own considerable weight, Zub knew he couldn’t ride out such a move. He twisted the arm harder. Ooga stopped struggling. He stiffened and cried out in pain, “Let me up!”

Zub twisted the arm a little more in warning.

It felt like a massive Andorian bull had bucked Zub off. Ooga’s back had slammed into Enel’s face. The Byzallian rose inexorably. The violence of it sent Zub flying. Zub slid along the deck and smashed his cheek against a bulkhead. He sat up with blood leaking through his teeth. Wincing, he checked Ooga.

Ooga stood over him with clenched fists. He heaved deep breaths. His face was livid. He was still armed with two phasers at his hips.

Zub glowered up at the behemoth. Ooga looked unhinged enough to beat him into a grease spot. Through clenched teeth, Zub asked, “The captain is fighting to save the ship. I’m fighting to save your career. What are you fighting for?”

Ooga panted, enraged beyond speech.

The Hermes lurched violently, throwing Ooga down and rolling them both across the deck.

Lying prone, the Byzallian's face contorted like a child about to cry. He sobbed, “What is happening?” He drew a shuddering breath.

Zub got to his feet. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter what’s happening out there. We defend this section.”

Ooga stood, his voice tight. “Against what? What is the threat? What is coming? Are we being boarded?”

“Maybe.”

Zub understood Ooga’s confusion and fear. “This isn’t a readiness drill where everything is carefully laid out and explained beforehand. Here, now, in this situation, we must guess what we need to do and be prepared to make up things as we go along.”

Ooga’s face was so pale and round he looked like a bearded dinner plate. He turned again toward the bridge hatch.

Zub stepped in front of him but didn’t grab him. “Go there and you face court-martial for desertion. The ship’s under fire. She’s saving it and us.” He jabbed a finger at his face. “Do NOT distract her.”

Ooga sagged and turned away. “How do you know to do any of this is true?”

“I don’t, exactly,” Zub admitted. “I’m thinking it through. Am I wrong about distracting the captain midbattle?”

Frowning, the big ensign looked thoughtful for the first time. Color warmed his face. “Perhaps, in this instance, your guesswork is correct.” He looked at the hatch. Zub readied himself. Ooga’s pupils registered Zub’s defensive move. Ooga asked, “Not even one peek at the viewscreen? To get a sense of the tactical situation?”

Zub stayed ready to block Ooga. “Your tactical situation is this room. Guarding it with your life.”

Ooga’s eyebrows knitted together. His tone was incredulous. “We protect a room? Perhaps to die here, not knowing what or why?”

Zub nodded. “We are Security. We secure.”

Ensign Ooga frowned for a long time. He sighed. “How do you know all of this?”

He cut off Zub, “I know. By guessing. They did not teach us ‘guessing’ at the Academy. Yet it seems to work.” He regarded Zub with a mixture of envy, suspicion, and resentment.

Zub relaxed a little. “Nobody is expected to know exactly what to do in every situation.”

“That is not what I believe.” Ooga retrieved his fallen rifle and slung it.

Zub asked, “What then?”

Ooga didn’t meet his gaze. “I thought I should know what to do in this situation. Know it before you.”

Zub's jaw ached. He tasted his own blood. “As they say on Earth, it ain’t over…” Seeing Ooga squint, he added, “…until it’s over.”

Ooga shook his head. “Another useless tautology.”

He struck a heroic pose near the hatch leading to the lower cargo stack. He bellowed with familiar bravado, “I shall protect the captain while she is endeavoring to keep me safe. She will receive my deepest gratitude later.”

Handling Ooga’s fear had helped Zub Enel forget his own. Zub laughed at the Byzallian’s blind arrogance. He took up a position between Ooga and the bridge.

Treborne’s voice sounded overhead. “We’ve succeeded in letting them think they ‘chased’ us into neutral territory. Secure from Red Alert. Debrief in the mess hall in five minutes.”

Zub Enel’s arm muscles twitched from the adrenaline as he headed to the weapons locker to stow his phaser. His first battle had been in a room, controlling someone more frightened than himself. A scenario he’d never imagined. Still, he had learned that even in battle, big brother duties had a place.

[OFF]

 

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