Unexpected Passenger Pt 1
Posted on Wed May 13th, 2026 @ 7:07pm by Admiral Deela T'Lar & Colonel Ezekiel Bagwell & Lieutenant JG Deezell Vox
2,087 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
Episode 120 - Guardian at the Gate
Location: USS Essex
Timeline: Current
ON: The shuttlebay lay silent, the escape pod sealed and tagged for later inspection. Two survivors had already been transported to Sickbay. No one expected movement inside the wreckage.
But in the far corner, half‑buried beneath twisted plating, a third Gladiator crewman stirred.
His eyes cracked open.
The world lurched sideways. A high, needling ring filled his ears. His cheek burned where a shard of metal had sliced him. When he touched the wound, his fingers came away red.
He tried to breathe — and the memories hit like a blow.
Screaming.
White light.
Crushing pressure.
The conduit giving way.
Hands on the pod.
Pulling.
Wrong.
He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious.
Footsteps echoed across the bay.
A Starfleet crewman — Hale — stepped inside, tapping notes into a PADD.
“Engineering, beginning preliminary inspection of escape pod three.”
He wasn’t expecting survivors.
He keyed the hatch release.
The door slid open with a hiss.
Light flooded the pod.
The survivor recoiled, heart hammering, mind still trapped between the collapsing conduit and the present. The silhouette in the doorway warped into something hostile, something impossible.
Hale stepped forward.
“Hello? Are you—”
The survivor snapped.
No thought.
No recognition.
No processing.
Just instinct.
He lunged.
Hale hit the deck hard, skull striking the bulkhead with a dull, sickening thud. His body went slack.
The survivor froze.
He dropped to his knees beside Hale, hands trembling as he checked for breath. Alive. Unconscious. Not gravely injured.
A whisper escaped him, raw and cracking.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”
Shaking, he unfastened Hale’s uniform jacket and pulled it on, clumsy fingers fumbling with the collar. It hid the blood on his cheek — but that wasn’t why he wore it.
He wasn’t hiding from enemies.
He was hiding from shame. From fear. From the consequences of a trauma‑born reflex he couldn’t control.
Head down, he slipped out of the pod and into the shadows of the bay.
No one saw him leave.
No one even knew he was alive.
Bridge
Ezekiel decided to make small talk with the admiral. She had left earlier, which placed him in temporary community ship. "How did you meeting go?" He asked, curious to know what she had discovered.
She didn't make an expression, "It didn't. I was hoping to talk to the survivors from the Gladiator but they were still unconscious. But they are sure it will be anytime when they do."
While they were talking, waiting for the Perseus to get in contact with them so they would know what was happening with them. "Nurse Hartland to Admiral T'Lar. The crewman from the escape pod is awake. Could you please come back to Sickbay?"
"T'Lar here. I'll be there in a moment." She put someone in charge of the bridge and left for sickbay.
"I have the bridge Admiral?" Ezekiel called out as he walked over to the command shirt. There is something in the voice of the nurse that made Ezekiel a little nervous about the passengers. Maybe it was just a gut feeling and he was overreacting he just wasn't certain. Part of him wanted to head down to sick Bay but he also knew that she would probably want to command level officer on the bridge.
T'Lar nodded, "Yes you do. Hopefully, the crewman could tell me the situation on the other side of the conduit." As she stepped onto the turbolift, she started to sense something, a strong emotion. She dismissed it as the crewman in Sickbay just woke up and was confused.
T’Lar stepped into Sickbay and immediately felt a spike of fear and confusion. It hit her sharply enough that she paused, assuming it came from the newly awakened survivor.
Nurse Hartland gestured toward the biobed, “He’s awake, Admiral. Still weak, but coherent.”
T’Lar approached. The man looked pale, shaken, but aware.
“You’re on the USS Essex,” she said calmly. “I’m Admiral T’Lar.”
He swallowed. “Admiral… where’s the other one?”
T’Lar blinked. “Other one?”
“The third man,” he whispered. “He was with us. He— he should be here.”
Another wave of fear washed over her — strong, raw, and not at all centered on the man in front of her. But she dismissed it as trauma radiating from him.
“There were only two of you in the pod,” she said gently. “Sensors confirmed it.”
He shook his head weakly. “No… he was there. I remember him.”
T’Lar felt the emotional spike again — distant, unfocused, moving — but she pushed it aside.
“Rest,” she told him softly. “Your memories may be affected by the conduit.”
But something in her gut — Betazoid instinct, Vulcan logic — whispered that this wasn’t over.
Corridor/Engineering
The man from the escape pod moved through the corridors with his head down, Hale’s uniform jacket pulled high to hide the cut on his cheek. Every sound made him flinch. Every passing crewman made him tense. He didn’t know where he was going — only that he needed to find a way home.
A directional panel flickered overhead.
ENGINEERING →
He followed it.
The doors parted with a soft hiss.
Engineering was quieter than he expected — only a few consoles active, the low hum of the warp core pulsing steadily. A lone figure stood near the main diagnostic station, her back turned, one hand resting absently on her stomach as she reviewed a readout.
Vox.
He didn’t know her name. He didn’t know she was pregnant. He didn’t know he was about to terrify her.
He stepped inside, then the door slid shut behind him.
She heard the door slid shut behind her, she turned. She could tell instantly from his facial expressions that he was confused, even somewhat frightened.
The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss. Dee turned instinctively. One look at the man’s face told her everything she needed to know, confusion, fear, and the kind of wild uncertainty that made people unpredictable.
“Woah,” she said gently, raising both hands, palms open, showing she carried no weapon and meant no harm.
“You look like you need help.” Her eyes caught the thin line of blood trailing from the cut on his cheek. “And medical attention as well. Listen… I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” She nodded toward the bulkhead behind him. “There’s a first‑aid kit by the door. Will you let me get it so I can help you?”
She kept her voice steady, but inside her thoughts churned. She was alone with a stranger in the most sensitive part of the ship, mere steps from the warp core. And now, every choice she made carried more weight than her own safety. Her hand drifted instinctively toward her abdomen, a quiet reminder of the life she carried. She had her unborn child to protect too.
He froze when she turned.
Her uniform was the first thing his eyes locked onto — the delta, the division color, the cut of the jacket. Starfleet. Familiar. Safe… or it should have been.
But nothing felt safe.
His breath came too fast, too shallow. The room tilted slightly, the hum of the warp core vibrating through his bones like an echo of the conduit collapse.
When she lifted her hands gently, he flinched anyway.
“I—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, trying again. “You’re… Starfleet.”
He said it like he was reminding himself of a fact he couldn’t quite trust.
His hand came up instinctively, pulling the stolen collar higher to hide the cut on his cheek. His fingers trembled. His eyes darted around Engineering, taking in consoles he didn’t recognize, layouts that didn’t match the Gladiator, details that made his stomach twist.
“This… this isn’t my ship,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.
Her calm tone helped, but only a little. The fear in him was too loud.
“I don’t want trouble,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I just need to get home.”
He took a shaky step back, bumping into a console. The sudden contact made him jump, panic flashing across his face.
He wasn’t threatening her. He wasn’t trying to take control. He was terrified, disoriented, and clinging to the only familiar thing in the room — her uniform.
"Yes, I'm with Starfleet. You're onboard the Federation Starship Essex. I'm Lieutenant Commander Deezell Vox. I'm the acting Chief Engineer. You can call me Dee if you like. I want to help you. I really do. I can tell you are frightened and all this is unfamiliar. Look, just to show that I am serious about helping you and avoiding any unnecessary injury to either of us, I will level with you. I just recently found out I'm pregnant, so the last thing I want is to be injured so maybe we can work together and get you home, because, quite frankly, I want to go home and be with my partner, the father of my child."
She replied, her hand lightly resting on her abdomen.
He stared at her, trying to hold onto her words, but they slid through his mind like water through shaking hands. Starfleet. Essex. Chief Engineer. Pregnant. None of it settled. None of it felt real.
When her hand rested on her abdomen, something inside him twisted — guilt, fear, horror that he might have frightened someone who clearly meant him no harm.
“I… I didn’t know,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t know you were—”
He couldn’t finish. His throat tightened.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just… I just need to get home.”
His breath hitched, panic rising again. The room felt too bright, too loud, too close. He pressed back against the console behind him, flinching at the contact.
His eyes darted around Engineering — unfamiliar consoles, unfamiliar layout, unfamiliar ship — then back to her.
“I can’t think straight… everything’s wrong.”
The words came out raw, unfiltered, the closest thing to truth he could manage.
Dee picked up on the brightness of the room was affecting the frightened man.
"Computer, dim the lighting in main engineering by 40%.". The computer bleeped in acknowledgement and the lights dimmed.
"I understand. I do. We can get through this together. Take your time. I know it doesn't feel like it right now but you are safe here. You have my word. Breath deeply through your nose, count to three, and the breath out slowly through your mouth. You're safe, I promise."
Dee was trying her best to figure out how to help this very frightened man, all whilst keeping herself calm in the process.
He tried to breathe the way she told him to. In through the nose. Count to three. Out through the mouth. But halfway through the second breath, something inside him snapped. His knees buckled.
He dropped to the deck before he even realized he was falling, one hand catching the floor, the other clutching at his temple as if he could hold his mind together by force alone.
A choked sound tore out of him — not a word, not even a cry, just a broken, strangled gasp. Then the sobs hit.
Silent at first, then shaking, then full‑body, uncontrollable. His shoulders curled inward, his breath hitching in sharp, painful bursts. He wasn’t trying to hide it. He couldn’t hide it. The fear, the disorientation, the guilt — all of it crashed over him at once.
“I can’t—” The word dissolved into another sob,“I can’t think… I can’t—”
He pressed his forehead to the cool deck plating, trying to ground himself, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart any further — and failing. He wasn’t dangerous. He wasn’t hostile. He was broken, terrified, and finally unable to pretend otherwise.
Dee, unable to withstand keeping back from someone clearly in need of help, took a deep breath as she decided to do something that could go extremely wrong in a matter of seconds.
She gently and very cautiously approached the man, now kneeling on the floor. She knelt down infront of him and then, risking everything, as she still didn't truly understand what he was going through, put her arms around him.
"It's ok, I'm here. Your safe." She moved closer so he could rest his head on her shoulder.
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