The Climb
Posted on Fri Jul 25th, 2025 @ 7:05pm by Commander Gil’an Tyris
909 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Prologue
Location: Starfleet Command, Earth
Timeline: August 28, 2375, 1130 hrs
|| ON ||
The polished white-and-silver testing chamber of Starfleet Command shimmered under the warm glow of the afternoon sun pouring through its panoramic windows. Outside, the skyline of San Francisco curved around the Bay like a protective arm. Inside, quiet determination ruled the room.
Gil Tyris sat motionless at his console, his focus fixed on the glowing LCARS interface. Tall and broad-shouldered, with neatly kept short blonde hair and pale blue eyes, he seemed more like an Olympic athlete than a physicist. But his hands, nimble and unhurried, danced across the controls as he rerouted a simulated subspace manifold, avoiding catastrophic cascade failure in a fictional starship warp core—again.
He wore simple civilian attire: a deep gray jacket with a high collar, a nod to his Bak’u heritage, and boots better suited for mountain paths than polished command halls. Gil had lived most of his life on the Bak’u homeworld, sheltered from the wider galaxy’s chaos. But the Dominion War had changed everything. His gifts—natural, disciplined, and quietly extraordinary—had finally pushed him to take this step.
The test console chimed.
:: Subspace Configuration Resolved – 100% Efficiency ::
:: Time to Completion: 0:47 (Standard Benchmark: 2:15) ::
:: Result: Off-scale ::
He was about to begin the next module when the door at the far end of the chamber hissed open.
A tall man entered with calm deliberation. Black uniform with teal trim, three full pips and one hollow on his collar. Dark eyes, composed demeanor, and the unmistakable presence of a Betazoid.
“Mr. Tyris?” he called gently, voice low and respectful.
Gil looked up. “Hello, Commander Toll.”
“Would you come with me, please?”
Gil rose, confused but not alarmed. “Is something wrong with my scores?”
Toll allowed himself a smile. “That’s one way of putting it. Bring your things.”
⸻
The office was serene—distinctly Vulcan in its balance of function and tranquility. A simple stone sculpture sat in the corner, and a scroll bearing Surak’s writings adorned the far wall. Behind the transparent wall of the Admiral’s office, the Golden Gate Bridge gleamed in the afternoon light.
Rear Admiral Xon, his pointed ears accentuated by the sleek precision of his uniform, sat at a glass-topped desk, hands calmly folded. His expression betrayed no emotion, but his eyes—sharp and observant—watched Gil closely as the civilian entered.
“Mr. Tyris,” Xon said, inclining his head. “Please sit.”
Gil nodded respectfully and took the seat opposite the desk, his posture alert. “Commander Toll said this was regarding my test results?”
Xon glanced at a nearby monitor, then back at Gil. “Indeed. Your performance thus far in the officer candidacy assessments has exceeded projected expectations by such a margin that the remaining tests are deemed unnecessary.”
Gil raised an eyebrow. “Unnecessary?”
Toll stepped beside the desk, arms loosely crossed. “Unprecedented, actually. Your raw spatial reasoning, temporal logic acuity, and your systems integration simulations—all of them ranked beyond our top assessment bands. The scoring algorithms failed to extrapolate a ceiling.”
Gil blinked. “I didn’t even finish the packet.”
“You didn’t need to,” Xon said flatly. “And while your background is not traditional, your practical experience and education on the Bak’u homeworld—combined with your offworld research—speak volumes.”
There was a short pause before Xon added, “Your application was accompanied by a personal recommendation from Captain Elias McEntyre. He characterized you as ’a brilliant, unorthodox mind with the ethical clarity and emotional steadiness Starfleet needs, especially now.’”
Gil exhaled slowly, as if trying to ground himself. The war had uprooted him from the peaceful mountain valleys of his youth. McEntyre had been one of the first to see that Gil’s talents could serve something larger than isolation. He hadn’t expected his friend’s letter to carry this much weight.
“I’m honored,” Gil said softly.
“It is the decision of the Personnel Command that you be granted direct entry into the Abbreviated Officer Development Program,” Xon continued. “You will report as a probationary ensign. The training will include accelerated instruction in command ethics, diplomacy, tactical procedures, and interstellar law.”
Gil hesitated for only a moment. “I thought this path was only open to graduates of Starfleet Academy.”
“In most cases, yes,” Toll replied. “But this program exists precisely for individuals like you—civilians of extraordinary aptitude and integrity who come from outside traditional channels. The war has changed Starfleet’s needs. And we need minds like yours.”
Xon pushed a small PADD across the desk. The text glowed softly.
STARFLEET COMMAND – COMMISSION ORDER
Subject: Gil’an Tyris
Authorization: Rear Admiral Xon, Office of Personnel
Assignment: Abbreviated Officer Development Program – Cohort 2375-Delta
Effective Rank: Ensign (Probationary)
Report Date: Stardate 52647.8
Gil accepted the PADD with both hands and signed the digital line with a stylus that shimmered briefly with his biometric signature. His eyes flicked back up to Xon.
“I accept.”
The Vulcan nodded. “Live long and serve well, Ensign.”
Toll placed a warm hand on Gil’s shoulder. “Congratulations. Your quarters will be assigned on the campus grounds this evening.”
Gil stood, and for the first time since the war had driven him off his homeworld, he felt something firm beneath his feet again—a path, not just a place.
As he followed Commander Toll out of the office, he turned once, glancing at the stars beginning to emerge beyond the Bay horizon.
A new chapter had begun.
__________
Gil’an Tyris
Future Officer
Starfleet Command
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