The Year is 2389

The Federation and its allies continue in their efforts to rebuild the fleets and civilizations left devastated by the Dominion War.

Even though the conflict ended more than a decade ago, it is proving more difficult to rebuild the spirit of trust between worlds than any part of the physical infrastructure.

Governments forced to make agonizing strategic decisions during the fighting are finding that even the closest of former allies can have a very long memory. Lines drawn and loyalties withdrawn on the field of battle remain points of contention, throughout the Federation. This has left the ruling Council with a lot of fences to mend on the diplomatic front.

Research and development of new technologies pushed to the back-burner during the war effort are now returning to the fore, as the highest priority of Command.

With the bare bones of the fleet reconstructed and the fragile bridges of peace holding, at least for now, Starfleet resumes traveling the path of exploration and experimentation, rediscovering the sense of wonder that is the very core of Federation values.

Never has there been a more exciting time to be a Starfleet officer.

Join us aboard the USS Serendipity NCC-2012 as part of The Alchemy Project, and become part of the adventure as we test these new technologies, building the foundation of tomorrow with every step we take today.


Star Trek: Alchemy

The future is no longer ahead of us.

History starts now.

--=/\=--

Our Assignment

Prologue

Contact Us

-=/\=-


The following is an excerpt from the post A Heart Divided Against Itself by Keiran O'Sullivan
-=/\=-

The chill in the air was unseasonable for Cork, even at this time of year.

There was actually a frost, and everywhere you walked through town, people were remarking about it. How many years it’d been since they’d seen the like of it; how many more it’d be before they were likely to see it again.

Keiran O’Sullivan however, was too lost inside his own head to consider the uniqueness of the weather now. He only knew that the cold went straight through him, and he shivered. He pulled his collar up tighter around his neck, then cupped his hands together and blew into them, trying to return feeling to the fingertips that had gradually gone numb while he’d been too preoccupied to notice.

The man who had spent so much of his life carefully ticking off every passing moment of time to keep from being consumed by it had, in recent days, allowed it to overtake him. He had been so distracted that he’d made no note of the advancing date on the calendar, and almost missed the holidays, entirely.

Today was the twenty-fourth of December. It was nearly Christmas in Ireland, but even though he was technically home for the holidays after so many years of wishing it to be so, he found his mind continually fixed on other things.

His thoughts led his head to tilt toward the heavens above. His eyes followed an instant after, and he tried to peer beyond the heavy curtain of steel clouds firmly blanketing the sky, to imagine the Sera beyond them in her orbit against the black.

The whole of his being tilted, it seemed, to that ship so far and unseen over Earth. That was where she was, and where she was, his thoughts could never truly be far away. His right hand reached over and twisted the ring on his left, and he realized once more, all over again that the reason even the familiar ground beneath his feet did not feel like home in this moment was because Liis was not at his side there.

Home could only now ever be a location in which he’d see the fire in her eyes flash at him across the room. Home was only where he’d be able to take her in his arms, and to share her rare, and even more rarely shared moments of laughter.

Home could never again be any place, not even Ireland, in which she was not.

Keiran’s first intended stop in Cork today was the cemetery. Through the gates, and along the well-kept path, he made his way slowly, as he ever did, toward his mother’s final resting place.

There he did the same things, these small but significant rituals, that he always had. He'd say a prayer, and tidy up a little, and leave fresh roses; her favorite. He'd tell her how much he wished she was still walking the earth beside him instead of teaching the angels a thing or two up in Heaven, before settling to simply stand beside her a while in silence.

He never could predict how long these visits would take; no matter how many times he’d come here before. It was a span of time that defied planning or description, and only after he felt he’d properly paid his respects to the woman who’d raised him, could he bring his feet to finally carry him on.

Keiran was unusually nervous this day and he didn’t even know why- he tried to dismiss it as the phantom echoes of the uncomfortable emotions he’d been dealing with, ever since William Lindsay had left.

He worried about what Will might be getting himself into, in this moment or any other moment in a point in time far removed from Keiran’s reality. He wished he’d been a bigger man and in the moment they’d parted, he’d been able to give Will the forgiveness he’d wanted.

He prayed to God he’d get another chance.

As he observed his breath making small puffs of steam in the air when he exhaled, it stirred in him a particular, and particularly comforting memory: he wished, just for a moment, that he’d never given up smoking.

He trudged, at last, toward the steps of the Church of Christ the King at Turners Cross. He looked up toward the building’s ever overwhelming architecture, to the outstretched statuary arms of the Lord that greeted him. They appeared ready to welcome him into the sanctuary and offer him peace, but as unworthy as he felt today, he didn’t know if even being here could lighten the burdens that weighed so heavy upon his shoulders.