Living On A Yellow Submarine

Posted on Sun Sep 27th, 2026 @ 10:24pm by Commander Ceara O'Hare & Captain Wilkan Targaryen

1,743 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Flashpoint
Location: Scarlet's quarters, USS Enterprise
Timeline: 3190-11-05, 22:00

Yet another busy day, Scarlet mused as she finally fell into an armchair in her quarters. Life on Enterprise was very different to how it had been on Valiant - although that could hardly be said to be surprising. After all, Valiant had been a small ship, cut off from the Federation, fighting for survival. Now, with dilithium supplies slowly returning to the galaxy, and with the Federation rebuilding, that life seemed like a distant memory.

"Computer, play me some music. Late 20th century earth, surprise me." When the music started playing, she couldn't help but chuckle at the computer's choice. Scarlet hopped out of the chair, finally flung her uniform jacket into a corner, and, humming along to the tune of Yellow Submarine, went to get herself some tea and a book.

Wilkan paused in the corridor outside Deck 4's Officer Quarters, his El-Aurian senses filtering out the ambient thrum of the Warp Core and picking up the faint, unmistakable sound of 20th-century Earth pop music echoing from within. He was holding a physical PADD containing the revised duty rotations for Deck 4, intending a brief, administrative check-in. He didn't chime. Instead, Wilkan stood in absolute stillness, his broad-shouldered silhouette resembling an ancient, unyielding monolith against the sleek corridors of the Enterprise. The lighthearted melody was a jarring, vivid contrast to the cold, clinical detachment he usually maintained, reminding him of an era centuries buried in his own long history. It reminded him of someone he used to know.

With a slow, heavy breath, Wilkan pressed the chime, his voice deep and resonant as the hatch hummed open. "Commander," Wilkan said calmly, stepping across the threshold with cold, measured authority. "I have the updated department shifts. Though it appears I'm interrupting a historic study."

Scarlet chuckled at the Captain's remark. "Nothing as deep as that. I just think most of the music that's come out over the last few centuries is horrible. Who the hell listens to Kasseelian Opera to relax?" She shook her head. "I mean, who am I talking to, you lived through all that. Anyway, tea?" She gestured at the steaming teapot on the counter next to her. "I just made a pot of green tea, real leaves, too."

"I will decline the tea, Commander," Wilkan said softly as he set the physical PADD onto the nearest table with a heavy, deliberate click. He studied the room quickly, taking in the loose jacket discarded in the corner then the audio interface playing the melody before settling on Scarlet and noting the tattoos.

"Kasseelian Opera has its merits when one requires absolute structure," he added, his expression remaining entirely unreadable, a wall of disciplined calm. He placed his broad hands behind his back as he continued, "Though I find simplicity often serves a purpose when processing the noise of a long shift."

"Eh, to each their own," Scarlet replied with a shrug once she'd poured herself a cup of tea and taken a sip. "So, what really brings you here? If you wanted me to check over the duty assignments, you could have just sent them over on the network and saved yourself the trip. And I somehow doubt that this is a social visit."

"You are correct, Commander," Wilkan replied softly, his baritone voice a low, subsonic rumble that commanded the quiet space between them. "It is not purely a social visit."

Through his El-Aurian "Listening," he registered the steady, uncomplicated rhythm of her heart; unburdened by the centuries of political gravity, temporal fractures, and devastating loss that weighed down his own long existence. He slowly interlocked his broad hands behind his back, towering in a display of unyielding, ancient discipline. He had evaluated Executive Officers across centuries. He had served alongside legends, led flagships through temporal wars, and governed a collapsing Federation as its President. In this fragmented 32nd century where Starfleet was rebuilding itself from ghost stories and scattered embers, the First Officer on the Enterprise was not merely a tactical appointment; it was the structural keystone of the ship's soul.

"Starfleet Command sees your survival on the Valiant as proof of your tactical adaptability," Wilkan said calmly, his gaze piercing and absolute. "They see an officer who can keep a crew alive in a lawless, isolated galaxy, but I don't evaluate my First Officer by the metrics of mere survival. I'm a relic of a Golden Age: a man bound to ancient laws, clinical logic, and a past that most of this crew considers mythology. I do not offer warmth, Scarlet, nor do I manage short-term sentiment. My duty is to the structural integrity of this ship and its mission."

"A starship's Executive Officer must be the counterbalance to the Captain, and mine has those challenges to overcome," Wilkan stepped forward slightly, his heavy presence anchoring the space. "I came here to observe you outside of a crisis," he stated plainly. "To see if the woman who survived the dark edge of space still possesses the spirit required to bridge the gap between a ancient ghost in command and a crew trying to believe in the Federation once more. The duty rotations were an excuse. This was an appraisal."

Scarlet nodded slowly as she listened to Wilkan and sipped her tea. After a moment of consideration, she spoke. "I don't give a targ's droppings about protocol. I will contradict you when I believe you are in the wrong. I will question your reasoning at every turn. If you are looking for a 'yes man', you're knocking on the wrong door. I have my own mind, I do not deal well with authority. Diplomacy is definitely not a strength."

She paused to let her words sink in. "But I know the dark side of this galaxy better than probably any officer in Starfleet. You won't find a better pilot anywhere. I will always put the wellbeing of the crew ahead of my own. And towards those under my care, and those who do right by me, I will be loyal to the end."

Wilkan didn't flinch, nor did his unyielding stance shift by a fraction. He remained focused onto Scarlet, absorbing her words with the quiet, unrelenting patience of a man who had heard every variation of defiance across his long life-time of service. He tuned past the sharp edge of her declarations and listened to the underlying frequency: the absolute, unvarnished conviction beneath her voice. There was no performative posturing, no calculated attempt to impress a decorated former President. There was only raw honesty, tempered by the harsh forge of deep-space survival.

"If I wanted a 'yes man,' Commander, I would have appointed an automated subroutine or assigned a junior officer eager for promotion," Wilkan said softly. "A Captain who surrounds himself with agreement is merely waiting for his own blind spots to destroy him. I don't require you to revere protocol, nor do I expect you to nod politely when you believe my logic is flawed. You offer loyalty, exceptional seamanship, and an instinct born of the dark edges of space. In return, I offer you absolute clarity of command, a fixed point in an uncertain galaxy, and the authority to challenge me whenever my cold math forgets the human cost, but with respect befitting an Executive Officer. You can share your point, but the right way."

Scarlet smirked. "Ask Captain Stauffenberg if you want to know how I handle a Captain pursuing a course of action that will lead to the death of his entire crew. She tried it twice. Both times, the same thing happened. I called out to belay the order, and asked her for a word in private. Following which she altered her orders. If you can work with that, then we can work together. It is that simple."

Wilkan’s attention didn't waver. He registered the low, resonant certainty in her voice - a frequency backed by real blood, cold space, and decisions made under absolute pressure. It was precisely the kind of backbone that a ship named Enterprise needed.

"I would expect nothing less, Commander," Wilkan answered quietly. "A Captain who refuses to listen in private is simply inviting a disaster in public. As long as you handle yourself with the discipline required of the position," he stepped back toward the doorway, "then you belong at my right hand. Make sure those tactical instincts, your pilot's edge, and your commitment to this crew never waver. Do we understand one another?"

"Absolutely," the young pilot replied with a serious expression. "I just have one thing to add. My name is Scarlet, or, if you have to, Commander O'Hare. My position will be Executive Officer, or XO. Those are the four things I am happy to referred to by. Don't ever call be Number One or things like that."

Her face transformed into a smile. "And please don't expect me to adhere to uniform regulations any more than I have been up to this point, that's just not me. If you want me to perform at my best, let me be myself."

"I have no interest in titles that carry no weight, Exec," Wilkan answered, "And I do not typically judge an officer's worth by the pristine crease of a uniform, provided performance is absolute. Results maintain the structural integrity of this ship, not strict compliance with dress codes."

"Well then, boss." Scarlet smirked. "I have a feeling we will be getting along just fine. You know how to find me if you need me for anything. I guess I better go for a walk and start getting to know the crew a little better, eh?"

Wilkan nodded as he stepped fully back into the corridor, "A ship is only as strong as the cohesion of its people. Learn who they are before the next crisis forces you to rely on them. Consider that your primary duty for the remainder of the evening, Exec."

"I was planning to go for a walk anyway, so that works out." The newly-appointed XO nodded solemnly. "Have a pleasant evening, Captain. See you on the bridge in the morning."

"Goodnight, Exec," Wilkan said softly as the door began to slide shut.

He did not smile, nor did he allow his cold, clinical posture to relax. But as he turned toward the Turbolift, his heavy footsteps echoing down Deck 4, the subsonic resonance of the ship felt fractionally more secure. The structure had a keystone.

 

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