Open Invitation

Posted on Mon Jul 27th, 2026 @ 5:15am by Captain Marc Steyn & Lieutenant Vireya Talvaren

2,955 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Season 1, Episode 1: Ashes of Wolf 359
Location: Steyn Residence, Cape Town, Earth

ON

Cape Town was warm in a way San Francisco had not been.

The late afternoon sun sat low beyond the city, catching on windows and pale walls while Table Mountain held its shadow over the streets behind her. Somewhere downhill, beyond the houses and trees, Vireya could smell salt on the air. It was almost enough to make the walk pleasant.

Almost.

She stopped at the entrance to the property and checked the address on her PADD for the third time.

It remained correct.

Captain Marc Steyn had extended an open invitation to officers joining the Genesis. Not through her personally, but broadly enough that everyone at Headquarters seemed to know about it. Vireya had still done the sensible thing first. She had sent him a short introduction after receiving her orders, followed several days later by a second message asking when he might have time to meet.

Neither had been answered.

A friend in Personnel had listened to her explain this, glanced at the steadily growing pile of reassignment orders on their desk and given her a look.

“He isn’t ignoring you,” they had said. “He’s ignoring everyone. Go to Cape Town and knock on the door.”

Which had sounded entirely reasonable from the other side of a continent.

Vireya adjusted the cuff of her uniform and looked towards the house. She had considered arriving in civilian clothes, but that had felt too familiar. Bringing her transfer orders felt too formal. In the end she had settled for uniform, combadge and nothing in her hands, which left her looking precisely like what she was: a senior officer standing outside her new captain’s home without an appointment.

She had boarded hostile vessels with less uncertainty.

Her eyes moved briefly over the property out of habit, taking in the approach, the windows and the neighbouring houses before she caught herself doing it. This was not a security inspection. There was no threat assessment to complete, no perimeter to approve. Just a front path, an unanswered message and a captain who apparently preferred prospective officers to present themselves at his doorstep.

“Open invitation,” she murmured.

The words were less convincing now that she was standing in front of the door.

Vireya drew a slow breath, pressed the chime and lowered her hand. For half a second she considered whether leaving before it was answered would count as a tactical withdrawal.

Then she squared her shoulders, thought better of that, and waited.

The door swung open to reveal a not unhandsome, middle-aged man dressed for the lingering warmth of the Cape Town afternoon. His open Hawaiian shirt fluttered lightly in the breeze drifting in from the Atlantic, paired with faded shorts and well-worn flip-flops. A pair of sunglasses dangled loosely from one hand, as though he'd only just stepped inside after watching the sun begin its slow descent toward the ocean.

The golden light of late afternoon washed over the quiet street, softening the neat suburban homes and casting long shadows across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, gulls wheeled overhead, their cries mingling with the faint murmur of traffic and the ever-present whisper of the wind that swept down from the Mountain.

The man regarded his visitor with calm curiosity before his eyes flicked briefly to the insignia on her collar, making certain of the rank before addressing her.

"Can I help you, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Vireya had prepared herself for any number of first impressions.

This had not been among them.

Her eyes made one brief, involuntary pass over the open shirt, the shorts and the flip-flops before discipline pulled them back to his face. The sunglasses in his hand somehow completed the picture. She resisted the urge to glance past him and make certain she had not found the wrong house after all.

“Lieutenant Vireya Talvaren, sir,” she said, the correction folded neatly into the introduction rather than sharpened into one.

She straightened slightly, although there was little more posture left to find.

“I’ve been assigned as Chief Security and Tactical Officer aboard the Genesis.” A small pause followed. “I sent a couple of messages asking when you might be available, but someone at Headquarters assured me the invitation to come here was genuine.”

The corner of her mouth moved, faintly.

“They were quite insistent that knocking on your door was preferable to sending a third.”

"Ah, yes... I'm sorry I didn't reply. I have far too many things pulling at my attention at the moment." Marc offered an apologetic smile before stepping aside. "Where are my manners? Please, do come in. And tell me, are you on duty? If you are... then you aren't now. Help yourself to a drink from the cabinet."

He ushered her inside, his South African accent carrying a warm, rounded cadence that softened the authority in his voice. Certain vowels lingered just a fraction longer than expected, giving his words an easy, melodic rhythm that felt both confident and effortlessly welcoming. As she entered, he closed the door quietly behind her.

Marc moved through his home with an unhurried confidence, every step reflecting the sort of man he was. There was no wasted energy, no restless pacing or needless urgency. Even beneath the weight of responsibility, he carried himself with an ease that suggested he refused to let pressure dictate his pace.

"I left explicit orders with HQ to send senior officers directly here," he said over his shoulder as he continued walking. "I simply don't have the time to scrutinise every personnel file—not while I'm signing requisition orders, approving transfers, and drowning in asset reassignment paperwork."

Without breaking stride, he crossed the spacious living area toward the open terrace that occupied the far side of the house. The glass doors stood folded back, inviting the cool ocean breeze inside. Beyond them, Cape Town stretched out beneath the afternoon sun in spectacular fashion. The city shimmered against the foothills of Table Mountain, its skyline framed by rugged cliffs and deep blue sea. Far below, golden beaches curved along the coastline where white waves rolled lazily ashore, while the harbour bustled quietly in the distance with ships gliding across the water. The view was nothing short of breathtaking—a panorama that seemed almost too perfect to be real.

Marc settled into one of the terrace chairs, completely at home amid the sweeping vista.

"Come and sit down once you've poured yourself a drink."

Vireya remained where she was for half a second after he walked away, her prepared introduction quietly rendered obsolete.

Then she turned to the cabinet.

Its contents received a more careful inspection than the approach to the house had. She eventually chose a bottle of Cape brandy, poured herself a modest measure and left enough room in the glass to suggest she had not entirely abandoned professional judgement. The first sip carried warmth through her chest as she followed him towards the terrace.

The view caught her before she reached the chair. Vireya slowed, blue eyes moving across mountain, city and sea as the wind lifted a few strands of red hair from her shoulder. The house had a rhythm of its own: open doors, salt air, the quiet movement of someone accustomed to living rather than merely sleeping between assignments. Beneath it sat the pressure he had spoken of, present but given no permission to own the room.

She took the chair opposite him, setting her PADD beside her rather than keeping it ready in her lap. Her posture eased by a degree, then another.

“I’ll admit, Captain, this isn’t quite how I pictured my first meeting with my new commanding officer.” Her gaze briefly touched the Hawaiian shirt before returning to his face, amusement warming the words. “Though I’m beginning to understand why Headquarters was so confident that you meant the invitation literally.”

Vireya lifted her glass slightly.

"Indeed," he laughed, the sound rich with unrestrained joy followed by an easy smile.

"I've only been a captain for about five days, and I always promised myself I'd never become anyone other than who I am. So, what you see is what you get." He grinned. "Although, I promise I'm rather more professional when I'm on duty."

He thumbed the final asset requisition PADD, authorising the transfer with a soft confirmation tone. One last signature redirected equipment that had originally been allocated elsewhere. Satisfied, he held the PADD out to his new Chief of Security.

"Picard isn't going to like me," he said with a conspiratorial smile. "We've just stolen his bridge module upgrade."

The display confirmed the change. The replacement bridge module—featuring expanded Science and Engineering consoles to port and starboard, along with the new multi-mission stations extending across the aft section of the bridge—had originally been destined for the Enterprise. Instead, it was now scheduled for installation aboard the Genesis within the coming days.

He leaned back slightly, letting the warm breeze drift across the terrace before returning his attention to the lieutenant.

"So, Lieutenant... tell me a little about yourself."

Vireya took the PADD, studying the confirmation for a moment before a quiet laugh escaped her.

“I’m sure Captain Picard will recover,” she said, passing it back. “Flagships cannot have everything. It encourages character.”

The brandy had taken some of the formality from her shoulders now. She settled a little more comfortably into the chair, one leg crossing over the other as she looked out across the water before answering.

“I was born aboard an El Aurian transport ship. Youngest of seven, in a family that produces warriors, strategists and very strong opinions in roughly equal measure.” Her smile deepened slightly. “Leaving home for Starfleet was considered adventurous by my mother and mildly irresponsible by everyone else.”

She turned the glass slowly between her fingers.

“I chose security because I’m good at seeing where trouble is likely to begin, and because I’ve never been particularly talented at standing back when someone needs help.” There was enough self-awareness in the way she said it to suggest the habit had not always served her perfectly. “Tactical followed naturally. I like knowing the shape of a situation before it decides what shape I’m allowed to be.”

Her gaze returned to him, warmer now.

“I’ve spent most of my career on ships, with a few years at Utopia Planitia and Triton Seabase in between. I prefer crews to installations. Stations collect problems. Ships at least have the decency to carry you towards them.”

A small pause.

“And I’m forty-three, which makes me either experienced by Starfleet standards or barely house-trained by mine.” She lifted her glass again, the humour gentler this time. “That depends which member of my family you ask.”

"Too many of those, and being house-trained goes right out the window," Marc teased, already feeling as though he'd be able to get along with her.

His curiosity lingered, though. Through the grapevine, he'd heard that Picard had encountered the Borg over a year before Wolf 359, and that one of his crew had previous dealings with them.

"Am I right in thinking El-Aurians have had prior experience with the Borg?" he asked, flashes of what had happened aboard the Roosevelt intruding on his thoughts.

Perhaps it was always going to be this way. The Borg had taken so much from him, and the memories of what they'd done still surfaced when he least expected them.

The humour left Vireya’s face quietly.

Her thumb stilled against the side of the glass, and for a moment she looked beyond Marc towards the sea. The breeze moved through her hair, but the rest of her had gone very still.

“Yes.”

The word came softly.

“The Borg destroyed El Auria. That transport I mentioned existed because my people were still trying to survive what came after.”

She lowered the glass slightly.

“My parents escaped. A great many didn’t. I grew up with their names, their stories, and the silences that came whenever someone remembered too much.” Her gaze returned to him. “We told ourselves we’d survived them once. That they were far away. That what happened to us belonged to the past.”

A faint breath left her, almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it.

“Then Wolf 359 happened.”

Her fingers tightened around the glass before easing again.

“Hevol was there. An engineer.” A pause. “Someone I loved once. Perhaps still did, in the way you can love someone even after you’ve both agreed to walk away.”

She looked down at the brandy, then back to Marc.

“So yes, Captain. We’ve had experience with the Borg.”

Her voice stayed steady.

“That doesn’t mean we understand them.”

"I'm not sure we will ever truly understand them." His words were measured, carefully controlled, as though he were holding back a torrent of emotions that Starfleet Officers were not permitted to show. They were meant to be beacons — the personification of hope, of fulfilled dreams and a better future.

But how could anyone remain untouched after living through the nightmare of even a single cube from a civilisation they had encountered only once before? How could they stand against something so vast, so alien, and so utterly relentless?

Marc pushed the darkness away, refusing to let himself slip back down that particular rabbit hole. He had been consumed by it for far too long already.

"Well, with luck..." The warmth slowly returned to his voice, even if it sounded a little forced. "We won't have to deal with them again for a while."

He found himself staring out over the South African coastline below, taking it in for a moment. The endless stretch of land meeting the ocean, the gentle pull of the wind, and the sharp scent of salt carried on the air all served as a reminder that there was still beauty in the universe — even after witnessing its darkest corners.

"So," he said after a moment, turning his attention back, "what would you like to ask me, Lieutenant?"

Vireya let the silence sit for a moment rather than hurrying to fill it. Whatever had passed behind Marc’s eyes was his to bring into the conversation or leave there.

“Vi,” she said at last, the warmth returning gently to her voice. “If we’re both off duty, you can call me Vi.”

She turned the glass slowly between her fingers, considering him.

“Your record says you’ve spent most of your career mapping places Starfleet didn’t understand yet.” Her gaze drifted briefly towards the coastline before returning to him. “Now they’ve given you a ship built from whatever they could gather, called her Genesis, and made you responsible for what comes next.”

A small smile touched her mouth.

“So what do you want her to become?” she asked. “Not what Headquarters wrote in the mission brief, or what they need her to represent. When we leave Earth and she’s finally yours, what kind of ship are you hoping we’ll be?”

"I'm not quite sure how to answer that question," Marc said after a moment's pause, taking the time to consider his response.

What did he truly want Genesis to be beyond simply an explorer?

With everything Starfleet—and by extension the Federation—had endured in recent months, he knew Genesis would remain in the public eye for some time to come. She might not carry the same level of attention as Enterprise was destined to, but she would stand among the fleet's most recognised vessels, alongside names like Yorktown, Yamato, and Hood.

"I suppose I want the ship to feel warm and inviting. Homely, even..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "We're going to be working together for a long time, and we need to see each other as more than just colleagues. We need to become a family."

Vireya watched him as he spoke.

Something in him shifted with the answer. Not dramatically, but enough for her to feel the tension ease and the warmth beneath it come forward. It was there in the open terrace, the offered drink, the way he had made room for her without ceremony. He was not describing an ambition so much as something he had already begun building.

“Warm and inviting,” she repeated, a small smile touching her mouth. “Like this place.”

Her gaze drifted across the coastline before returning to him.

“Then I suppose that makes me the one who keeps the family safe.” The words carried a trace of humour, but not enough to hide the promise beneath them. “Not by putting walls around everyone. Families don’t grow particularly well behind barricades.”

She lifted her glass slightly.

“But when something comes through the door that shouldn’t, it meets me first.”

A quieter smile followed.

“I can work with that.”

“Something tells me this is the start of a very good working relationship,” Marc said, his South African accent seeming to grow a little stronger as he lifted his glass in a toast. There was a warmth and confidence in his voice as he smiled. “The start of something good.”

Vireya lifted her glass to meet his, the quiet chime between them almost lost beneath the wind.

“Sa’liethra. Thali’en.”

The words came softly, shaped by a language older than either the house or the city beneath them. Her smile warmed as she gave him the meaning.

“To the life ahead of us,” she said. “And to remembering what brought us here.”

She took a drink, her eyes remaining on his over the rim of the glass.

“The start of something good.”

END

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