#miranda class

Alt-Cerritos "The New Next Generation"

Bonus:

fleet over Andoria

Well, I've made a profile picture for this blog! It's my first bit of digital art for this project, and I'm very proud of it given that fact!

A month after V’Ger, the stars seemed quieter. But never empty.

The refitted USS Enterprise orbited an uncharted Jovian behemoth, somehow routine in light of recent events. The memory of that incandescent cloud and living machine lingered within her polished hull plating. Which indeed brushed the edge of infinity.

Approaching her port stern, another shape emerged from Warp. A sister ship: compact, lean and somehow utilitarian: USS Gallant (Miranda Class), keeping pace with the new flagship.

Spock observed from the periphery of the bridge, hands folded behind his back. On the viewscreen, the Gallant’s hull rotated slightly as thrusters adjusted to sync. The choreography of rendezvous precise and mathematical.

The exchange that followed was not.

Admiral James T. Kirk motioned to the viewscreen as transmission pinged. His image mirrored by that of Captain Dany Sumardika: tan complexion, greying hair, sharp eagle eyes, Gallant CO. Sumardika's duty uniform was immaculate, yet worn with the ease of someone who had already broken it in. He smiled quickly, unguarded.

“Admiral!” he said, all formalities dissolving in the first syllable. “They’re already writing songs about you Jim. I hope you’re prepared to attend galas for the rest of your natural life.”

Kirk’s answering grin was almost boyish. “Starfleet was generous with the commendations.”

“They still talk about V’Ger like a second coming,” Sumardika continued. “Saved from the brink. Civilization spared with a little luck and audacity!”

Kirk’s expression shifted, “It wasn’t just audacity.”

“No,” Sumardika agreed. “It was Enterprise.”

There it was. The word hung between them, emotional weight and warmth. The shared lineage, the academy corridors, command experience forged in isolation and solitude. Spock observed micro-expressions. Dilation of the pupils, elevation of cheek muscles, vocal cadence shifts. Indicators of camaraderie, a bond, a brotherhood.

Human beings, he reflected, required narrative.

V’Ger was truly incomprehensible in motive, scale and implication. Yet it was already being rendered into story and triumph. Starfleet's reaffirmation of purpose. A moment pushing Earth to the brink, reshaped into forward momentum.

Sumardika leaned back slightly in his command chair. “Your refit looks good, Admiral. Like she was meant to be this way all along.”

Kirk glanced reflexively, though he could not see his ship from Dany's angle. “She’s still teaching us how to fly her.”

“Aren’t they all?”

A quiet laugh passed between both men.

Spock felt the faintest tightening in his chest, a memory flashes by: Standing upon the deck of V’Ger’s interior, feeling the brutal geometry of pure logic stretched beyond infinity. It elicits a visceral, haunting reaction.

He had sought Kolinahr to purge the last vestiges of emotion. He had failed.

Now he observed this exchange, this entirely Human ritual of affirmation. Uniting fellow officers by a shared ordeal. Transforming survival to meaning. It was, he conceded privately, efficient.

“Next time,” Sumardika said, his tone softening, “try to leave some unknowns for the rest of us.”

Kirk’s eyes glinted. “No promises Dany,”

The transmission concluded with formal courtesies, returning to the vista of Gallant's profile. Two starships, new refits, adrift in the vastness once more.

Spock quietly returned to his station, eyebrow raised.

Humans, he mused, seemed to be perpetually on the brink: of destruction, of transcendence, of discovery. Yet oddly persistent.

He considered his own journey to purge all emotion, and the undeniable mark V'ger left inside him. Perhaps the preservation of feeling was not a weakness of the species. Perhaps it was its Warp Drive.

Behind him, Captain Kirk issued a routine order to break orbit. Voice steady.

Ahead, the stars waited.

Human adventures, indeed.