The Lark p3

Posted on Sat 31st Jan, 2026 @ 3:37am by Commander Anslo Tol

2,113 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: [MAIN] From The Ashes
Timeline: Part 3 of the Lark tale

p2 is here: https://sb109.harperhold.com/index.php/sim/viewpost/2542

-Start-

The LARK was quiet in the way only small ships ever were, when every sound was personal, every vibration familiar.

Rowan Hale stood at the central console, eyes flicking between muted displays. This was not a military vessel with a formal bridge. No command chair, or dais. Just a ring of stations for equals to enjoy a view as the ships sole station navigated. This pleasure yacht had a whole philosophy of not being owned by anyone.

“Columbia’s adjusting orbital posture,” the pleasant middle aged woman with long brownhair, Tamsin Reed said softly. “Hespret is also moving. Incremental. Careful.”

Rowan nodded. “They’re herding us. Mara keep us dim.”

Mara Voss was a senior to some, but spry as she ever was. She swore under careuflly weighted breath, adjusting power levels and ensuring they weren’t scattering sunlight, “Told you we stayed too long.”

The bridge layout was a roundtable of sorts, the captain was only the head of the table as a necessity for decision making models. Someone had to make the calls, and this mission before them had required their utmost. Now, with Columbia tracking them he relied on the crew to do their part and keep out of sight.

“We stayed long enough,” Ishaan Patel replied. “The counteragents are taking hold. Crop recovery curves are bending upward.”

Tamsin argued, “That’s not the total mission is it though?”She of course referred to the justice element, as in answering who had sabotaged things in the first place.

“Well that won’t matter if we’re boarded,” Olek said, fingers already moving across a half-open access panel. “Power reserves are down six percent from the last masking cycle, we need to spin up and recharge soon or we will have to go to fuel, or full stop.”

Rowan closed his eyes for a moment, they had known this would happen soon enough. Everyone who’d signed on had known Starfleet would cross their paths at some point. They had several ships, and bleeding edge tech, if anyone was going to see them through their obfuscation it’d be these people.

“We were never meant to be invisible forever,” Rowan said quietly. “We can still escape, or discuss other options.”

Tamsin looked up. “They’re Starfleet, Rowan. This isn’t some colonial patrol.”

“I know,” the Captain lamented, that was the problem. Rowan had long considered what to do in this situation. The LARK had not been built in a dockyard for any of this. The base of a ship chassis once called Astera Belle was built in a custom shop as a pleasure craft, only now converted to new purposes. It had been re-assembled in borrowed slips, jury-rigged bays, and one unregistered lunar hangar that officially did not exist. Its crew had come from relief organizations, engineering corps, civilian disaster networks, people who had watched situations and asked, “Won’t someone do something?”

No uniforms, no divisions, just a mandate spoken plainly the first day Rowan had conceived of how to spend his vast wealth.

Do the Right thing. Don’t let Humanity fall backwards.

They weren’t spies, they were a brace against the moment things snapped. When Xenophobia claimed Earth after the Martian terror group something had to be done. Rowan made steps to use his fortune when a small group, barely noticeable, stepped up first. They operated in secret, since the first days of Lunar conquest and answered the call to keep the autocrats quiet.

This ship was their outreach to Humans leaving Sol, losing it would mean a huge setback.

His attention snapped to Tamsin’s console which chimed sharp, and wrong. She looked to the Captain, “Columbia… they just dropped a buoy. No emissions. No broadcasts, pure antennae.”

Rowan’s stomach tightened. “That’s not a scan, they’re anchoring a third point for triangulation, and passive mapping."

“No,” Tamsin said. “It’s a bluff forcing the question for us to consider, are we spotted?”

Mara looked up, indignant. “They want us to react.” She hated Starfleet, for in her eyes they were little different from the oppressors of Earth who once bought and sold her.

Rowan straightened. “They do, eyes out for traps, we can skip this one by keeping distance, so stay shrouded.”

The crew exercised all the options in their repertoire. The LARK utilized advanced technologies for the Human vessel, cooling down systems, reflective scan deflection, Solar blinding, finally making a confusing track of ion trails. Once all the measures had been employed they trusted the protocol to the letter as the ship performed its shadowy functions. Engines powered down, even secondary systems ,to let the ship drift into the planetary noise and gravity well. Chemical thrusters fired with odd timings, and they drifted out of the triangulation points drawn by the Columbia and Hespret. For hours, they danced, every trick had to be layered thin and careful.

For a breathless moment the sensors of the Columbia tracked elsewhere, and the shrill tones dissipated. The audible tones indicated the intensity of the scanning directed at them. Five sets of eyes focused on Olek’s panel, as he pushed the physical buttons, sliding levers, to read a grainy display at ultra low power.

Olek froze, tapped the screen of his display and said only, “That’s not right.”

The LARK shuddered not violently, but decisively, and a soft, unmistakable hum filled the hull.

“Tractor beam,” Mara said flatly. “Low-intensity. Tuned to our mass profile.”

Rowan’s jaw clenched, it was a clever move, once he hadn't anticipated. Terran ships used grapplers, Starfleet was again ahead of the curve. Ordinary measures weren’t enough. The tractor beam wouldn’t pull at empty space, but if a ship were out there, it’d tug just a little.

“We’re caught sir, they learned…” Tamsin whispered. “...from how we hid last time.”

Starfleet had been paying attention, this was going to happen, it was a matter of when now.

“Emergency burn?” Ishaan asked.

“We don’t have the margin,” Olek replied, ”by the time we get moving... they’re compensating. Matching thrust.”

Rowan felt the weight settle not fear, but inevitability. Time to change tactics, go on the offensive. He stood at the conn where Ishaan was piloting, “Mara, Lower our stealth profile just enough to make it obvious we are peeking out. Olek Fire up ECM and make sure their scans are inconclusive, and when they really open up their sensors, hope on the ECCM, and plant the bug.” He taspped his comm, “Louis get the chaff loaded for that tractor beam, follow it with a flare, smoke and a big banger.”

Olek followed his orders, noting with pride that their computer was easily overpowering the Columbia’s. Intrusion occurred without detection, and Olek realized Vulcans had this capability currently. Starfleet security was an open book to such efficient protocols. Saving that thought for later, he made the data choppy, and forced Columbia to focus fire on their sensors, and open all ports in the process. Rowan had a knack for getting people to do as he needed them to. Starfleet had just downloaded a virus based on the Captain predicting how they’d scan.

Olek announced, “Bugs are in play.”

Mara followed, “Tractor lock confirmed, chaff ready.”

Brown pointed to Bristol, “Open the channel one way only.”

=/\= “Starfleet Vessel Columbia to unidentified vessel,” Captain Rourke’s voice came over the comm, calm and relentless. “You are being detained under interstellar safety provisions and colonial authority. Power down and prepare to be boarded.”

Mara’s hand hovered near a control that would scatter decoys, blind sensors, buy minutes—

Something twisted in Rowan’s mind, and he shook his head. “No.”

Everyone turned, he answered them. “We don’t escalate,” Rowan said. “Not with them.”

Silence reigned, as reason fought with instinct. They had been trained to hide, to run, to leave nothing behind but results. Starfleet was the best thing Humanity had produced since its near self immolation. They werent contrary to the mission, they were the mission.

Then Mara exhaled and stepped back, understanding. “They aren’t the enemy.”

Tamsin swallowed hard. “They’re still going to tear us apart.”

“No,” Rowan said softly. “But they will ask questions.” He gestured to Bristol to open channel, “Starfleet, we are the Lark. Our power is down, we are defenseless. You may dock and we can meet.”

Elena Rourke’s voice came through, more than a little annoyed, “I am Captain Elena Rourke representing Starfleet and the Colonial government of Tellious Dat. Am I speaking with the benefactors who have saved this colony from a terrible blight?”

The tractor beam tightened. The LARK was pulled not roughly, not triumphantly but with the patient certainty of someone who had decided this was happening on their terms. Countermeasures blinked on his console begging to be used, escape awaited.

Brown flipped the channel to Columbia open, “We all play our parts, is life not a stage and we the audience?”

Rowan opened the internal channel.

“Listen to me,” they said. “We didn’t fail. The colony won’t collapse. That still matters. There is no way we are fighting Starfleet, that’s not our mission at all. We will have to give them the opportunity to surprise us. Keep the faith, the only way out is through.”

Ishaan nodded, eyes bright. Olek rested a hand on the bulkhead, grounding himself. Mara squared her shoulders. Bristol was hard at work monitoring a planetary network of data.

Elena replied on comm, “Your name sir, or shall I call you Lark?”

Tamsin whispered, “What if they shut us down?”

Rowan met her gaze. “Then we let them see what we do,” they said. “All of us.”

To Elena he replied, “I am Rowan, a Human like you. We are not violent, please let us meet and be civil.”

The lights dimmed as systems powered down, lockdown effect would make it near impossible to scan the ship. Outside, the Columbia loomed with clean lines, indelibly visible plate markings, a ship that did not hide what it was. The airlock cycled as Columbia made direct contact. Rowan took a breath, his instinct to run coming on strong. They had wanted to stay in the shadows but maybe, just maybe, cohabitation of the cosmos was possible.

{Columbia- Bridge}

The LARK drifted within Columbia’s tractor envelope, inert and compliant until the umbilical connected. Captain Rourke stood at the rail, watching the smaller ship hold position on the main viewer unmarked, unassuming, and suddenly very real.

“Captain,” the communications officer said, surprise edging her voice. “The Lark is on the return channel, Rowan requesting you.”

Rourke turned. “Put it through.”

“Starfleet, please respect that we do not enjoy being scanned to the molecule.” The screen was black for a moment, then resolved into the interior of a compact compartment. No bridge, no rank markings, simple dark gray leisure suit. Just a single human, standing still, hands visible.

“I am Rowan Hale,” the figure said evenly. “Command lead of the vessel you’ve detained.”

Rourke raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly at the odd phrasing. Why would he avoid saying Captain?

“We would like to request a private meeting,” Rowan continued. “On your ship.”

Silence stretched as the two captains locked eyes.

Rourke folded her arms. “You’ve refused to identify yourself until now, despite our being in the system for three weeks now, once we have a tractor beam on you, is the time to talk.”

Rowan nodded. “Yes.”

“And now the ask is you want to step onto a Starfleet vessel.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Rowan didn’t hesitate. “Because if we talk across a channel, everything we say becomes a statement. If we talk in a room, it can stay a conversation.”
Rourke studied them for a long moment.

T’Vel leaned slightly closer. “Captain. The request is… statistically atypical.”

Rourke allowed herself the ghost of a smile. “So is this entire situation.”

She looked back to the screen. “You’ll come alone.”

“I will,” Rowan said.

“You’ll be unarmed.”

“I am.”

“You’ll submit to containment fields while aboard.”

Rowan inclined their head. “Understood.”

Rourke paused. “If this is a delaying tactic—”

“It’s not,” Rowan said quietly. “We’re out of room for those now.”

Another beat. Elena considered what a ship of mystery might have in store, clutched so tightly to their Starboard side. Her curiosity won out, and she had not been punished yet.

“Prepare transporter room three,” Rourke said, despite the clear danger of doing so.

-TBC-

 

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