Destiny’s Son
Posted on Sun Nov 2nd, 2025 @ 8:47am by Treon Brevor & Rear Admiral Josua Frost
1,749 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Second Light
Location: Starbase 369
=/\= Starbase 369, Cargo Access Corridor C =/\=
Two days.
That’s how long it took to find her — two days of incomplete cargo records, falsified routing tags, and security logs edited just enough to pass a casual audit.
Treon Brevor.
He hadn’t spoken her name in years. But the sound of it still carried weight — not nostalgia, just memory sharpened by time.
They’d first served together as ensigns.
He’d been in engineering, still convinced that systems made more sense than people.
She’d been in medical — direct, steady, always asking the one question he didn’t want to answer.
Different departments, different shifts, but somehow they always ended up in the same crises — engine failures, away missions, situations where protocol gave up and instinct had to take over.
Over the years they’d climbed through the ranks, always finding their way back to the same ship, the same orbit of command and trust.
When he’d taken the U.S.S. Destiny, there had been no hesitation about who should be his first officer. She’d kept the crew balanced — and him too, though he’d never said it out loud.
And even after she’d left Starfleet, he’d caught himself wondering, from time to time, where she’d gone — and whether the galaxy had treated her fairly.
He never looked it up. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to know. Maybe part of him assumed he’d cross paths with her again eventually.
Now, apparently, he had.
A trail through the station’s lower cargo rings — a maintenance request signed under an alias, supply transfers routed through civilian ports, and finally a registration: SS Starburst.
It all pointed here.
The corridor was dim, industrial — lined with auxiliary hatches and the hum of systems half a deck below. Frost moved quietly, scanning with the kind of focus that didn’t fade with rank.
Then he saw her.
Standing at a console, reading a manifest, unaware of him. Civilian jacket. Hair shorter. But posture — unchanged. Balanced. Controlled.
He stopped.
For a moment, the sound of the station receded, replaced by the low hum of the Destiny’s bridge — Gamma shift, dim lights, the familiar rhythm of her voice reporting status updates before he even asked.
He caught himself smiling. Just slightly.
He knew exactly how he would have addressed her then. Calm. Precise. A trace of dry humor that needed no explanation.
He drew in a slow breath and said, quietly but clearly—
“Captain Brevor.”
She froze, the way someone does when a name cuts through years of silence.
And for the first time in a long while, Frost felt something he hadn’t expected to feel again.
Like coming back to a ship he’d never really left.
⸻
“Jos?!?”
Treon turned to face him, a look of amazement flashing across her face before breaking into a wide smile.
“It really is you!”
She crossed the short distance and pulled him into a hug before stepping back to study him again. “I was going to say 'Admiral' - but you're not in Starfleet anymore?”
Frost returned it immediately — no hesitation, no reserve. He smiled as he held her, letting the moment last two seconds longer than necessary, long enough for the old familiarity to settle in again.
The connection was still there, unspoken but unmistakable.
When he finally stepped back, he met her gaze and smiled faintly.
“There’s been a change,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk about it — properly, when we’ve got a moment.”
A slight pause. The tone softened, but there was a trace of the old command edge behind it.
“But tell me, Treon — why were you so hard to find?”
Treon looked away. “I’m not exactly hiding,” she said — though it wasn’t quite an answer.
Then she met his eyes again. “I just don’t like making it too easy for Starfleet to look me up.”
She hesitated, then added quietly, “Leaving the Destiny was the right thing to do at the time. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
She shook her head, the smile returning. “It’s… really good to see you, Jos.”
Then, with a shift in tone, she added, “If you don’t want to talk about this ‘change’ of yours just yet… care to join me for lunch?”
⸻
He nodded. “Lunch it is. There’s a place just off the main promenade — quiet, nothing fancy.”
A short walk later, they were seated in a modest Federation-style restaurant overlooking the docking ring. The hum of the station was distant here, softened by the low murmur of conversations and the quiet chime of glassware.
Frost ordered tea — real tea, not replicated — while Treon studied the view beyond the wide viewport.
Outside, the curvature of Starbase 369 framed the black expanse, where the U.S.S. Destiny was just sliding past in the docking rotation, her hull lights cutting a soft line through the void.
Frost lifted his cup, took a slow sip, and watched the ship drift by. Then, without looking away, he asked quietly,
“Do you remember her, Treon?”
“Of course!” Treon’s eyes followed the Destiny as it turned. “How could anybody forget her? With the best crew in the fleet… and the best captain leading her.” She kept her eyes on the ship. “At least, she used to.”
Frost’s gaze lingered on the viewport, the soft glow of the Destiny reflected in his eyes.
“She’s still in good hands,” he said finally. “The new captain’s made quite an impression — steady judgment, calm under pressure. I don’t see any trouble ahead for her or the ship.”
He paused, letting the thought settle.
“Still… maybe we all remember the past a little brighter than it really was. Those years felt larger somehow. Maybe because of the people we shared them with.”
⸻
Treon turned back to Jos.
Despite asking him to join her for lunch, she hadn’t ordered anything. He’d obviously come looking for her, and she wondered why. She was glad to see him but tension edged the moment, the sense that this meeting wasn’t just chance.
For a moment she almost asked about the Destiny, about the people they’d lost touch with. But she stopped herself.
“How long are you staying?” she asked instead.
Frost rubbed his temples lightly, as if brushing away the thought, then straightened. For a second he seemed about to say something ordinary — something to bridge the silence — but thought better of it. Small talk had never suited either of them.
He exhaled slowly, his tone shifting — quieter, but deliberate.
“This isn’t exactly coincidence, Treon,” he said.
“Starfleet’s the reason I’m here. And depending on how you look at it… this might be the most personal mission I’ve ever heard about. Probably would be for you too.”
Treon studied him, expression steady. “And what is this mission?”
⸻
For a moment Frost didn’t answer. The question hung there between them, and he realized how quickly he’d gone straight to the point — how instinctively he’d slipped into the old rhythm between them.
He caught himself thinking that he hadn’t even asked her how she’d been, what she’d done all these years, or whether she was happy. Instead, he’d done what he always did with her — cut through to the mission, to the work, to the thing that mattered most in the moment.
A small, rueful breath escaped him. He supposed it wasn’t coldness — just habit. Old command patterns resurfacing after years apart.
With Treon, he’d never needed preamble. They had always understood each other through action and through the weight of what went unsaid.
He looked at her again, a faint trace of reflection softening his features.
Then he reached for the small data pad beside him, activated it, and said, quietly—
“Prime Directive Incident.”
Frost turned the pad so she could see.
On the display, there was only a single image.
John Piper.
The picture stopped Treon cold. She hadn’t seen Piper’s face for over 20 years. Since she had heard that the Destiny was arriving at SB 369, she had thought back to those days on the Defiant class. Piper had been Chief Engineer, keeping the ship battle-ready at all times. But then he had transferred off the ship, and she hadn’t been in touch.
She then glanced up at Jos. She had to be careful with this. “If this is really a Prime Directive incident… why not go through Starfleet channels?”
Frost hesitated, then gave a faint, almost tired smile.
“You’re probably not aware,” he said quietly, “but I was still commanding the Destiny until ten days ago. I only just turned over the chair. Starfleet asked me to take this one — because of John. They thought a familiar face might reach him where an official order wouldn’t.”
He paused, voice steady but low.
“This isn’t a mission of rank, Treon. It’s personal — and it’s the last chance to bring him home before Command makes it something else entirely.”
So this was a Starfleet mission. And Jos was still Starfleet, despite the lack of uniform.
Treon wasn’t sure what hit her harder. Unlike Deirdre, she didn’t see Starfleet as the enemy, but she could understand why her sister did. Starfleet had been the organization that looked away when the colonies along the Romulan border were under attack and later when Romulus went supernova and billions needed their help.
How could she believe they cared more about protecting the Prime Directive than saving lives?
She took the padd from Jos’s hand, focusing on the picture of Piper rather than meeting his eyes. Jos was offering a chance to help an old friend — at least, that’s what she wanted to believe.
”I can’t rejoin Starfleet.“
"You don’t have to,” Frost said simply.
”And Starfleet can’t know that I’m involved," Treon added.
Frost leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.
“I’ve got some freedom with this one,” he said. “But this isn’t the place to discuss it.”
He hesitated for a moment, studying her expression, then asked quietly,
“Tell me, Treon… do you have your own ship now?”
Treon drew a slow breath. She was about to commit. "A freighter," she said at last.
=/\=
Rear Admiral Josua Frost
Starfleet (Detached Service – Inactive)
&
Treon Brevor
SS Starburst
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