Cosmos.

Story pt.1 Crisis.

As most of you have guessed, I am Katerina Kaisar, the girl who got into Starfleet Academy at 13 years old. The one with a small, wiry frame, and stark-white hair that puts the definition of the word 'white' under consideration.

Major in mechanical Engineering, (which included quantum physics and computer science.)

Minoring in strategy and tactics.

Sure, I kept everyone at an arm's length, making sure not to make any emotional bonds. But at the end of my third year, at 17 years of age, I had gotten myself into a group of geeks, well.... Living creatures, that I could call my friends.

Surely enough, other classmates had accepted me into their daily life, and the hallway no longer filled with silence or whispers at my presence.

Poli, a Vulcan friend of mine, and I had just come down from Quantum, when the klaxon rang.

Tzzzzzst.

Tzzzzzst.

Tzzzzzst.

Emergency protocol.

Seconds later, admiral Markus' voice boomed over the speakers, instructions coming from all around us, and blaring at us from our PADDs.

"All cadets report to the main hangar. We have received distress signals from the planet Vulcan, and will immediately send all available men." He finished, the hall silent for a second longer before every living being in the halls of Starfleet academy scuttled to their assigned hangar.

In our lines, I thought out our situation, my mind buzzing with different theories.

Did the Vulcans have any grasp on the situation? Probably not, they were much to proud to call Starfleet if they thought they could handle it. My brain flickered through scenarios.

"Smith... USS Farragut." A single voice permeated my thoughts

5 working theories.

"Gyharma... USS Nairoba." Poli looked to me, and I gave him a nod. The Nairoba was a good vessel.

3 working theories.

"Kaisar... USS Enterprise." I looked up, my head reeling from my thoughts about Vulcan.

Well, one thing was for sure. We were in more trouble than Starfleet command recognized.

Standing, swiftly moving to my shuttle craft, I thought. I was handed a black set of pants and a black long sleeve undershirt.

After, I was given two jerseys. An engineering red and a command yellow. Quickly changing out, I then made my way into the body of the shuttle, sitting down into an empty seat. I was ruptured from my museings as a voice commanded my attention.

"Commander Spock." I recognized.

"Ensign." He answered. "You are to wear your command jersey. Your post will be on the bridge, at our strategic station."

So the commander wasn't an idiot either, was he. He knew we were headed into hell, or else I would be wearing my red shirt.

I smirked.

"Anything humorous, cadet? I see no need for laughter." I ignored his analysis.

"All due respect, commander. We have no information about our actions, and a distress call from the vulcans." I made eye contact, my fingertips placed together under my chin.

"Speaking as your strategical officer, you should know that I only see three possible outcomes of this expeditions, and one includes complete annihilation."