Fern and Gullible: Building Leadership

Posted on Sun Mar 15th, 2026 @ 11:08pm by Lieutenant Percival Bálor Ph.D

2,311 words; about a 12 minute read

Trading in and up for a more capable shuttlecraft, the stars stretched like white ribbons across the shuttle’s viewing areas as cold and distant old memories haunted Percy, but new memories held him together with warmth. Thoughts of Yiv, of his family, of the future was simultaneously comforting and terrifying.

Lieutenant Percival Bálor sat alone in the pilot’s chair, one boot resting lightly against the lower console while the shuttle hummed. It sounded a lot better than the junk he had been flying around in lately. The auxiliary vessel was small by Starfleet standards: compact, efficient, and the sort of craft intended for personnel transportation rather than adventure.

Adventure, unfortunately, had a way of arriving uninvited, and lately it was adventure that had been chasing him across the stars. Orions on his rump, but he had shaken them loose when he made it to Federation space. They were nowhere to be found when he left Ireland.

Percy had departed Earth only a few days previously, setting course for the last known coordinates of the USS Ontario. His brief stop in County Wicklow was pleasantly stirring in his thoughts. He smiled remembering his mother’s boisterous pride, his father’s quiet approval, the warmth of a house that never seemed to run out of food or opinions.

The ring box sat secure in the pocket of his coat. Of course, Percy had checked on its presence a dozen times already. It had been difficult to acquire its gemstone, and even more difficult to get it turned into a ring, but the reward was worth all the risk.

“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, though the corner of his mouth twitched as he reprimanded himself. He was getting too sucked into being sentimental.

The shuttle’s sensors chimed catching him off guard. Percy straightened immediately and checked his console. “Computer, identify signal.” A pause as he waited for the computer to respond to him.

“A Federation civilian distress beacon has been detected. Source is one-point-seven million kilometers off current course. Calculating recommended course to avoid."

Percy’s gaze shifted to the course suggested ahead, his mind already calculating vectors and probabilities. The distress signal in this stretch of space was rarely accidental, but was someone really in danger? Was it just a ploy, a scam, a trap? Yes, of course, he did consider ignoring it.

The Ontario was out there somewhere, but nowhere here. It was out there for him to find somewhere beyond these coordinates, and the sooner he rejoined his ship, the sooner he could return to his duties… and to Yivliph. That was what he was focused on, but now was yet another distraction.

Percy took a deep breath. Starfleet training was not so easily ignored. You are obligated to respond to a ship in distress he reminded himself. Then, Percy adjusted the shuttle’s course. He was going to investigate what was wrong.

“Computer, set intercept course. Let’s see who’s in trouble,” Percy murmured to himself. He made sure that his phaser was still near just in case this was some sort of Orion ruse.

The Sydney class SS Utzon appeared on sensors first. It was a modest civilian transport drifting amid faint power fluctuations. As Percy's shuttle closed the distance, the visual feed resolved into a long, aging hull with cargo modules attached like mismatched vertebrae. They were clearing hulling something that must have caught the interest of someone.

What was more troubling was the point of interest, the aggressor. "Nausicaan raider" grumbled Percy. Fantastic. Exchanged green pirates for space orcs thought Percy.

It was prowling along the Utzon like a predator assessing a wounded animal, disruptor fire flashing intermittently against the transport’s failing shields.

Percy exhaled slowly. “Well,” he said, reaching for tactical controls, “that seems unfair.”

The raider had not noticed Percy's shuttle. Not yet at least which was a good thing for Percy. It meant that he still had the element of surprise, and a brief moment to think.

Percy ran a quick scan of the battlefield. The Utzon’s shields were nearly collapsed. They had likely already been down briefly, and brought back online by rerouting power from elsewhere to stall. Weapons were definitely offline. Propulsion crippled. The raider, by contrast, bristled with armaments and had the advantages across the board. It was built for attacks like this, the Syndeny class vessel was not. It was significantly older.

Percy knew even his shuttle was not prepared to take on the Nausicaan raider. Direct confrontation would end poorly for him and for the civilian transport. Fortunately, Percy had never been particularly fond of straightforward solutions. He preferred creative alternatives.

He cut the shuttle’s running lights and reduced engine output, allowing the vessel to drift along the Utzon’s sensor shadow.

“Computer,” he said quietly, “prepare a false sensor signature.”

“Specify parameters" stated the computer.

“Simulate warp core fluctuations consistent with a Federation escort vessel, Defiant class emerging from warp.”

The computer hesitated briefly. “Simulation prepared.”

Percy smiled faintly. He would play with them. If they were dumb enough, they would fall for it. Percy would use a little shadowplay. “Transmit it directly behind the raider.”

The deception formed across space in a burst of fabricated telemetry. On the raider’s sensors, it would appear as though a much more threatening Defiant class starship had just dropped out of warp behind them.

Perfect though Percy as he monitored that the Nausicaans reacted instantly. The raider swung around in aggressive panic, disruptors firing blindly into the empty void where Percy’s phantom warship supposedly lurked.

“Ah, yes, be predictable for me,” Percy murmured. The Ontario's Chief Science Office then seized the moment.

The shuttle darted forward at full impulse, emerging from the Utzon’s shadow just long enough to fire a precise phaser burst at the raider’s starboard sensor array. Percy knew if he could land the phaser bursts, it would render them partially blind.

The beams struck cleanly, wounding the raider. The Nausicaan raider shuddered as its targeting systems overloaded.

Percy's shuttle veered sharply away, looping beneath the Utzon’s hull. Behind him, the Nausicaans attempted to reacquire their phantom enemy, but found nothing.

“Computer,” Percy said, “amplify the warp signature.” He caused the illusion intensify. To the raider’s crippled sensors, the nonexistent Starfleet vessel now appeared to be charging weapons, and a Nausicaan raider was not match for a fully armed Defiant class starship. That was clearly enough as Percy observed.

The Nausicaan ship broke off immediately, engines flaring as it jumped to warp in a hasty retreat. That's right. Get out of here thought Percy. His little tricks had been successful.

Percy watched as everything settled back into quiet stillness. “Cowards,” he muttered. Though he was honestly glad they had retreated because he was no match for them. The SS Utzon was adrift in the aftermath like a wounded fish.

Hull plating had been scorched and torn; one cargo module hung loosely onto a fractured coupling. Emergency lighting flickered weakly across its exterior. He knew the interior had to much worse.

Percy carefully guided the shuttle toward the transport’s open shuttle bay. “Computer, hail vessel.” Only static answered his attempts to contact them. He surmised that their comms system was damaged.

Hopefully, they can at least receive Percy hoped anyway. “This is Lieutenant Percival Bálor, Starfleet. Prepare for docking. I am going to land in your shuttlebay." As he expected there was no reply, but the shields lowered and it seemed like they were doing their best to receive his shuttle.

Once the shuttle touched down, there was a muted clang. Shields were back up. His shuttle was safely aboard. Percy grabbed his phaser and stepped out into the dim bay. Better to be prepared than dead thought Percy. It was a Federation transport, civilian owned and operated, but he was not about to be caught by surprise.

The air smelled faintly of burned circuitry that caused him to cough. Black smoke was billowing through the ship. Damn. You took a hell of a beating he thought to himself as he took in the damage. He wish he had more engineering experience, but that was not his field of study.

A handful of civilians stood near the far bulkhead. Men and women in mismatched work jumpsuits, faces drawn with exhaustion, fear, and smudged with grease. Their eyes widened at the sight of a Starfleet officer stepping from the shuttle.

One of them, a young woman with grease stained sleeves, stepped forward hesitantly. "Welcome aboard the Utzon" she said.

“You… chased them off?” another said in disbelief.

Percy clipped his phaser back to his belt. They were not a threat. They were mostly scared children, teenagers most of them. “They reconsidered their career options,” replied Percy. "You kids alright?"

Relief rippled through the group. “Oh thank the stars,” someone whispered. Percy managed a nervous smile. If he was being seen as their savior, he was more worried about them than ever.

Percy studied them quickly. There were six, maybe seven individuals. Hardly a full crew for a transport this size, and none of them looked old enough to order a drink on most worlds within the Federation. “What is the status of your captain?” he asked.

The young woman’s expression darkened. Not good news. “Our skipper’s dead" she delivered. The words hung heavy in the stale air. It was worse than Percy thought.

“Nausicaans boarded earlier,” another crew member added quietly. “He held them off long enough for us to seal the bay, but...” Percy held up a hand. He did not need to make them relive the trauma.

Percy’s jaw tightened. “And your first officer?”

“In the infirmary,” the woman said. “Unconscious. Plasma burns.” They don't have a leader thought Percy. That was terrible news.

Percy nodded once. “Take me to the infirmary.”

The infirmary was small and poorly equipped, its biobed monitors blinking uncertainly. Oh fantastic. This equipment is as dated as Doctor Marcus Percy observed. It did not give him much faith.

A middle aged man lay unconscious on the bed, his chest wrapped in hastily applied medical patches. Percy reached for a medical tricorder scanned him with it. "You don't have a medic? His condition is stable,” he said. “He’ll live. At least until we get you all to safety."

The crew visibly relaxed. "Some of us have basic medic training, but we've been too busy with the Nausicaans." They all gathered around Percy with quiet desperation, their gazes searching his face.

One of the older boys cleared his throat. “Sir… we’re just cargo haulers and occasionally get chartered to ferry people. None of us know how to run this ship properly.”

Percy had seen those expressions on faces before. On colonists during evacuation drills, on research teams stranded after equipment failure. The moment when civilians realized someone else might know what to do. And they were looking to him for guidance. It's the uniform he reminded himself. He had put his Starfleet uniform on for his trip back to Ontario. Bad idea.

Responsibility shifted towards him like an asteroid caught in gravitational pull. He exhaled slowly.

“First,” Percy said calmly, “we must secure this vessel.” The crew leaned closer like small children sat in a circle around a librarian for story time. “Secondly, we assess damage and restore minimal propulsion.”

“But can we even move?” someone asked.

“Yes, with assistance,” Percy replied. “My shuttle has limited towing capability. Combined with your impulse engines, we can limp to the nearest Federation outpost.”

Hope flickered for the first time their eyes in what probably had been a while.

The young woman spoke again. “What can do we Sir?”

Percy straightened, his posture shifting unconsciously into command, not something he was used to doing, but out of necessity, he needed to slide on these strange pajamas. "Names,” he said.

She blinked. “Lena Smith. Engineering technician.”

“Good,” Percy said. “Lena, you and I are going to your engine room. I don't know much, but my friend Haruna had taught me a few things. I can at least chew some gum and stick things together for the short-term."

He pointed to two others that looked like twins. “Twiddledee and Twiddledum, seal the cargo module couplings. Use whatever tools you have, but ditch the cargo. It's what the Nausicaans want. I do not care what it is. If we leave them the bread, they won't be so inclined to follow us."

The twins nodded quickly and almost synchronized like the twins in that horror film he had watched once... The Shinning.

Another crewman stepped forward. “And me Captain?”

Percy shook his head. "No. Don't call me that" he said. “Go monitor external sensors. If that raider returns, I want advance warning.”

The crew began moving immediately, energized by the presence of direction and leadership...from Percy no less. It's like a colony of ants. Percy lingered a moment beside the unconscious first mate.

“Rest,” he murmured quietly. “You’ve done your part, I'll get these kids to safety." Then he turned and strode for the corridor. Behind him, the civilian crew followed without hesitation.

For the moment, their ship and their lives was resting on the shoulders of a half-Tellarite scientist who had only meant to pass through on his way home. Percy rolled up his sleeves as they walked.

"Alright, Grace. Let's see what I've learned from you" he muttered to himself. Leadership, he had learned, was rarely convenient, but when the moment arrived, you either accepted it… or people died, and Percival Bálor had never been particularly good at walking away from a challenge.

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