Right on Schedule

Posted on Sat Oct 17th, 2026 @ 6:39am by Corporal Jace Rourke

3,201 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Chimera and Deep Space 16
Location: Deep Space 16
Timeline: Before the Chimera Arrives

The transport shuttle touched down on Deep Space 16 with a jolt that rattled the overhead compartments.

Corporal Jace Rourke opened one eye, glanced toward the cockpit, and shook his head.

"Well, shit. At least we hit something solid."

The elderly Bolian seated across from him gave him a disapproving look.

Rourke grinned.

"Relax, ma'am. If we were crashing, they'd have charged extra."

The hatch opened, and the passengers began filing out.

Rourke grabbed his duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped onto the station. His orders were stored on the PADD tucked beneath his arm.

**CORPORAL JACE A. ROURKE**
**STARFLEET MARINE CORPS**
**REASSIGNMENT: USS CHIMERA, NCC-80118**

New assignment. New ship. Same old bullshit.

He'd been told the Chimera was inbound to Deep Space 16, although nobody seemed particularly certain when she'd actually arrive.

Fine by him.

After checking in at the station's transient personnel office, securing temporary quarters, and dropping off his belongings, Rourke decided to explore his temporary home.

He hadn't made it particularly far when he heard music.

Not the soft, sophisticated nonsense they played in the officers' lounges back at his previous posting.

Actual music.

Loud music.

Accompanied by laughter, shouting, and what sounded suspiciously like somebody threatening to shove a pool cue somewhere anatomically inconvenient.

Rourke stopped.

Looked toward the sound.

And smiled.

"Well, hello there."

---

The doors parted to reveal a bar that was absolutely packed.

People everywhere.

Starfleet officers and enlisted personnel mingled with civilian freighter crews, merchants, contractors, and enough alien species to fill a xenobiology textbook.

Several gaming tables occupied one side of the room. Cards slapped against tabletops, dice rolled, and gold-pressed latinum changed hands while arguments erupted over questionable bets.

Across the room, two pool tables were surrounded by spectators. An Andorian was lining up a shot while a Tellarite loudly questioned his ancestry.

Near the far wall, several people were playing darts, including one Klingon who appeared to be taking the competition far more seriously than necessary.

And in the back?

A live band.

Five musicians playing something loud, fast, and heavy enough to make Rourke feel right at home.

He scanned the room, taking everything in.

"Now this..."

He nodded appreciatively.

"...is a proper establishment."

Rourke pushed through the crowd toward the bar.

Finding a vacant stool was clearly out of the question.

Finding somewhere to stand wasn't looking particularly promising either.

Then he spotted her.

A pretty, dark-haired woman standing near the counter, dressed in civilian clothes and attempting to get the bartender's attention.

There was just enough room between her and the neighboring patron for someone determined enough to squeeze through.

Rourke considered the situation.

For approximately half a second.

Then slipped into the opening, turning sideways as he gently edged between the woman and the crowded bar.

"Excuse me, darlin'."

The woman turned, surprised to discover a six-foot-one Marine suddenly occupying the space beside her.

"Well, hello to you too."

Rourke flashed a crooked grin.

"Evenin'."

"Do you always introduce yourself by practically climbing over somebody?"

"Only when they're standing between me and a good drink."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Charming."

"That's what my mother keeps telling me."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Rourke laughed and leaned against the counter.

The bartender finally approached.

"What'll it be?"

"Bourbon."

"Real or replicated?"

Rourke turned toward him with genuine disappointment.

"Buddy, if I wanted replicated bourbon, I'd have ordered a glass of water and asked the computer to hurt my feelings."

The woman laughed.

The bartender didn't.

"One slip of latinum."

Rourke reached into his pocket, produced a slip of gold-pressed latinum, and slid it across the counter.

The bartender placed a glass in front of him.

Rourke examined the amount.

"That's it?"

"That's what a slip gets you."

Rourke looked at the woman.

"See? This is why I should've stayed on Earth."

She smiled.

"I'm Mara."

"Jace."

He offered his hand.

She took it.

"Jace what?"

"Rourke. Corporal Jace Rourke, if we're being official."

"A Marine?"

"Last time I checked."

Mara gave him an amused once-over.

"And what brings you to Deep Space 16, Corporal?"

Rourke lifted his bourbon.

"Apparently, a series of questionable life decisions."

"That sounds like a story."

"Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea."

He took a sip.

And that was when someone behind him spoke.

"Mara."

The tone wasn't friendly.

Rourke glanced over his shoulder.

Three Starfleet officers stood a few feet away.

A Lieutenant Commander and two Lieutenants, all wearing station assignment insignia.

The Commander was tall, broad-shouldered, and probably somewhere in his early forties. He carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to having people move out of his way.

**Lieutenant Commander Elias Hale.**

He was staring directly at Mara.

"I've been looking for you."

Mara's smile faded.

"Well, you found me."

"You said you might meet us."

"I said I might stop by."

Hale glanced toward Rourke.

Then toward the rather intimate amount of space separating him from Mara.

"Clearly you've been occupied."

Rourke looked between them.

He didn't need a Betazoid to figure this one out.

Hale was interested.

Mara apparently wasn't nearly as interested as Hale would've liked.

Rourke took another sip.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Hale ignored the question.

"Who's your friend?"

Mara opened her mouth.

Rourke answered first.

"Jace."

Hale looked down at his uniform.

"Corporal."

"Commander."

There was a moment of silence.

Rourke smiled.

"Well, now that we've established everybody's rank, anybody wanna tell me where the good food is around here?"

Neither officer laughed.

But Mara did.

And that seemed to irritate Hale even more.

One of the Lieutenants leaned closer to his Commander, studying Rourke's face.

Then he frowned.

"Wait a minute."

Rourke looked at him.

The Lieutenant pointed.

"Rourke?"

"That's the name."

"Jace Rourke?"

Rourke sighed.

"Usually."

The Lieutenant looked toward Hale.

"Holy shit."

Hale's expression shifted.

He studied the Corporal more carefully.

Then his jaw tightened.

"You're *that* Rourke."

Rourke slowly lowered his glass.

"Well, that doesn't sound promising."

The second Lieutenant stepped closer.

"The Marine from the Vance incident?"

Rourke turned back toward the bar.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Hale's expression darkened.

"Admiral Malcolm Vance."

Rourke didn't answer.

"We served under him."

That earned a brief glance.

Hale continued.

"USS Bellwether. Back when he was our Captain."

The two Lieutenants nodded.

"Best damn Captain in Starfleet," one said.

Hale folded his arms.

"Five years under that man. He pulled us through the Coridan crisis, the Telsar evacuation, and half a dozen situations that would've broken another command. He looked after his crew. Officers and enlisted alike."

Rourke stared into his glass.

Hale took another step forward.

"And you fucked around with his wife."

Mara's eyes widened.

She looked at Rourke.

"Seriously?"

Rourke exhaled through his nose.

He'd been on Deep Space 16 less than two hours.

He was beginning to think that might be a personal record.

Hale continued.

"You knew she was married."

Silence.

"You knew exactly who her husband was."

Rourke took a drink.

"Nothing to say, Corporal?"

"Not particularly."

The younger Lieutenant laughed bitterly.

"Unbelievable."

Hale shook his head.

"You made a fool out of a man who spent his entire career looking after people like you."

Rourke finally looked at him.

"I heard you the first time."

"Then you understand why we're upset."

"Sure."

The Commander stepped closer.

"That's it? Sure?"

Rourke set down his glass.

"Commander, I don't know you. You don't know me. And I'm not standing here discussing somebody else's marriage with three strangers."

The Lieutenant moved closer.

"We weren't strangers to Vance."

"Didn't say you were."

"He was our Captain."

"And he's an Admiral now. I'm aware."

Hale's voice hardened.

"You don't get to disrespect him and just walk away."

Rourke gave him a long look.

Then glanced toward Mara.

"Well, this conversation's gone to shit."

He reached for his glass.

One of the Lieutenants knocked his hand away.

"Hey. We're talking to you."

Rourke looked at the officer's hand.

Then his face.

"Don't do that again."

Hale gave a humorless laugh.

"You're pretty damn confident for somebody who screwed over our Captain."

Rourke shrugged.

"Been told that."

The Lieutenant moved closer, almost chest to chest.

"You did him dirty."

Rourke said nothing.

The Lieutenant glanced toward his friends.

Then back.

"So now we're gonna do you dirty."

Rourke looked at all three.

For the first time, his smile disappeared completely.

"Three of you?"

Nobody answered.

Rourke nodded slowly.

"Well..."

He looked at Hale.

"...at least your Captain taught you teamwork."

The first punch caught him across the mouth.

**Hard.**

Rourke staggered backward into the counter, knocking his bourbon to the floor.

Before he could regain his footing, the second Lieutenant drove a fist into his stomach.

Air exploded from his lungs.

Another punch caught him across the cheek.

Then Hale shoved him backward into a nearby table.

Glasses crashed.

Someone screamed.

Rourke hit the edge of the table, stumbled, and caught himself on one knee.

The first Lieutenant kicked him in the ribs.

The entire room seemed to tilt.

For several seconds, the three officers had him.

Badly.

One dragged him upright by his uniform while another struck him across the jaw. Rourke tried to get his feet beneath him, only for Hale to drive a fist into his midsection and send him crashing into a chair.

The chair broke beneath his weight.

The band abruptly stopped playing.

Someone shouted for Security.

Rourke remained down for a moment.

Blood dripped from his split lip onto the deck.

He spat, shook his head, and slowly pushed himself to one knee.

The officers circled him.

The younger Lieutenant laughed.

"Not so fucking funny now, are you?"

Rourke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Looked at the blood.

Then smiled.

"Oh..."

He rose slowly.

"...now I'm having fun."

The Lieutenant rushed him.

Bad move.

Rourke stepped inside the swing, drove a brutal right hook into the officer's jaw, and followed with a short elbow that dropped him across the gaming table behind him.

Cards and latinum scattered everywhere.

The second Lieutenant came from his left.

Rourke ducked the first punch, caught the man's arm, and drove him shoulder-first into the edge of the bar.

The Lieutenant folded.

Rourke grabbed his uniform and hurled him backward into a cluster of chairs.

Wood cracked.

Hale charged.

The Commander was bigger than the others and knew how to throw a punch.

He caught Rourke across the temple.

Rourke stumbled.

Hale swung again.

This time Rourke blocked it, drove forward and slammed his shoulder into the Commander's chest.

Both men crashed across one of the pool tables.

Balls scattered across the floor.

Hale grabbed Rourke's collar.

Rourke answered with two short punches to the ribs and a sharp uppercut that snapped the Commander's head backward.

Hale fell off the opposite side of the table.

The first Lieutenant was back on his feet.

He grabbed a pool cue.

Rourke turned just as the man swung it.

The cue struck his upper arm.

Pain shot through his shoulder.

The Lieutenant raised it again.

Rourke caught the shaft, yanked the officer forward, and drove a knee into his stomach.

The cue clattered to the deck.

A quick shove sent the Lieutenant sprawling across the floor.

The second Lieutenant tried to tackle him.

Rourke twisted, caught him around the waist, and sent both of them crashing into an empty table.

The table collapsed.

Rourke scrambled upright first.

He hauled the Lieutenant to his feet and planted one final punch squarely into his jaw.

The officer went down.

And stayed down.

Rourke turned.

Hale was getting up.

The two locked eyes.

Then the Commander charged.

Rourke met him halfway.

They collided near the bar, exchanging a flurry of punches before Rourke slipped a wild right hand, caught Hale by the uniform, and drove him backward across the counter.

Several bottles shattered.

The bartender disappeared beneath the bar.

Rourke drew back his fist.

Hale raised his arms.

And a voice thundered across the room.

**"STARFLEET SECURITY! EVERYBODY FREEZE!"**

Rourke stopped.

His fist remained raised.

Hale lay half-sprawled across the counter.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then Rourke slowly looked over his shoulder.

Four station security personnel stood near the entrance, phasers drawn.

A fifth, a gray-haired Master Chief Petty Officer with a face that suggested thirty years of dealing with idiots, stepped through the doorway.

He surveyed the destruction.

Overturned chairs.

Broken tables.

Scattered pool balls.

Blood on the deck.

Two Lieutenants struggling to stand.

A Lieutenant Commander hanging off the bar.

And one bleeding Marine Corporal standing over him.

The Master Chief closed his eyes.

Just briefly.

"Jesus Christ."

Rourke slowly lowered his fist.

"Evening, Master Chief."

The Master Chief looked at him.

Then at Hale.

Then back at Rourke.

"Do I even wanna know?"

Rourke considered it.

"Probably not."

"Hands behind your back."

Rourke immediately complied.

"Fair enough."

One of the security officers approached and fitted restraints around his wrists.

Hale pushed himself off the counter.

"Master Chief! That Marine assaulted three Starfleet officers!"

Rourke turned his head.

"Oh, you lying son of a bitch."

"Quiet, Corporal," the Master Chief snapped.

Rourke shut his mouth.

The Master Chief looked toward Hale.

"Commander, you're station personnel. You know better than this."

"He attacked us!"

The bartender's head appeared from behind the counter.

"Bullshit!"

Every head turned.

The bartender stood, brushing broken glass from his sleeves.

"Those three started it. Surrounded the Marine, knocked his drink over, and beat the hell outta him before he finally hit back."

Mara stepped forward.

"He's telling the truth."

Hale looked at her.

"Mara..."

"No, Elias. You came over here looking for trouble because he was talking to me."

The younger Lieutenant staggered upright.

"That's not what happened!"

Mara rounded on him.

"Oh, shut up! You hit him first!"

The Master Chief held up one hand.

"Enough."

He turned toward a security officer.

"Get their names. All of them. Witness statements. Bartender, woman, the people at those tables. I want everybody who saw the beginning."

The officer nodded.

"Aye, Master Chief."

Hale straightened what remained of his uniform.

"I expect this matter to be handled appropriately."

The Master Chief turned slowly.

"Oh, it will be, Commander."

Hale pointed toward Rourke.

"Then arrest him."

The Master Chief stared at him.

"Already done."

"Good."

"And you're coming with us."

Hale blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I'm a senior officer assigned to this station!"

The Master Chief looked unimpressed.

"Congratulations, sir. You know where the brig is."

One of the security officers coughed into his fist.

Rourke smiled.

Hale noticed.

"Something funny, Corporal?"

Rourke shook his head.

"No, sir."

A beat.

"Just enjoying the hospitality."

The Master Chief slowly turned toward him.

"Son, I strongly suggest you stop helping."

Rourke pressed his lips together.

The Chief took Rourke's identification from one of the security personnel.

"Corporal Jace Alexander Rourke."

He checked the service information.

"Marine Corps."

"Yes, Master Chief."

"Transient personnel."

"Yes, Master Chief."

"Assigned USS Chimera?"

Rourke winced.

"Unfortunately, yes."

The Master Chief looked toward the station chronometer.

Then back at the bloodied Marine.

"Chimera hasn't even docked yet."

"No, Master Chief."

The older enlisted man stared at him in disbelief.

"You're telling me you've managed to get arrested before your ship even got here?"

Rourke nodded once.

"Seems that way."

The Master Chief studied him for another moment.

"How long you been on my station?"

Rourke considered lying.

Decided against it.

"Couple hours."

The Master Chief looked toward the bartender.

Then at the destroyed furniture.

Then toward the ceiling.

"Two hours."

Rourke said nothing.

The Master Chief sighed.

"That's impressive, Corporal."

Rourke grinned.

"Thank you, Master Chief."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Understood."

The Master Chief shook his head and handed the identification back to the security officer.

"Process all four. Separate cells. I'll determine charges after I have the witness statements."

Hale started protesting.

The Master Chief cut him off.

"And Commander? Unless you want your station CO reading about how you and two of your officers got your asses handed to you by one Corporal, I'd save whatever you've got left to say for the official interview."

Silence.

Rourke bit the inside of his cheek.

Hard.

He was trying not to laugh.

The Master Chief caught it immediately.

"Something you wanna share, Corporal?"

Rourke straightened.

"No, Master Chief."

"Good. Because your new commanding officer is going to receive a very interesting report when that ship arrives."

Rourke's grin vanished.

The Master Chief noticed.

"Ah. There it is."

He gestured toward the exit.

"Move."

Security began escorting the officers out.

Rourke had almost reached the door when he stopped.

"Master Chief?"

The older man turned.

"What now?"

Rourke nodded toward the bar.

"My bourbon."

The Master Chief stared.

Rourke shrugged as best he could with his hands restrained.

"Cost me a whole slip of latinum."

The bartender reached beneath the counter, retrieved the surviving bottle, and poured himself a healthy glass.

Then drank it.

Right in front of him.

Rourke stared.

"You cold-hearted bastard."

For the first time all evening, the Master Chief actually laughed.

"Get him outta here."

---

Twenty minutes later, Corporal Jace Rourke sat on a holding-cell bunk with his elbows resting against his knees.

His wrists were free now.

His lip was split.

His ribs hurt.

His left shoulder was beginning to stiffen.

And there was a particularly impressive bruise developing along his jaw.

The station brig was quiet.

The two Lieutenants occupied another cell farther down.

Commander Hale had been placed separately.

Rourke touched his lip.

"Could've gone worse."

The younger Lieutenant looked through the forcefield.

"You're fucking insane."

Rourke leaned back against the wall.

"Been evaluated."

"What happens when your ship gets here?"

Rourke looked toward him.

"Chimera?"

"Yeah."

Rourke thought about it.

He knew almost nothing about the ship.

Nothing about the crew.

Nothing about its Captain.

And there was now a reasonably good chance that whoever came to collect the newest member of its Marine detachment would meet him for the first time through the forcefield of a Deep Space 16 holding cell.

Rourke smiled.

"I imagine somebody's gonna be disappointed."

The Lieutenant laughed despite himself.

"You haven't even reported aboard yet."

"Nope."

"And you're already in the brig."

"Technically this isn't their brig."

"That's your defense?"

Rourke stretched out across the bunk and folded his hands behind his head.

"It's what I've got."

Silence settled between them.

After a moment, the Lieutenant spoke again.

"Vance really was a hell of a Captain."

Rourke looked toward the ceiling.

The humor faded.

"I believe you."

"He didn't deserve what happened."

Rourke was quiet for several seconds.

"No."

Then:

"He didn't."

That seemed to be the end of it.

Rourke closed his eyes.

Somewhere beyond the bulkheads of Deep Space 16, ships arrived and departed.

Sooner or later, one of them would be **USS Chimera**.

And when she finally docked, somebody aboard was going to receive a message from station security informing them that their newly assigned Marine Corporal had arrived early.

And could be picked up from holding.

Jace opened one eye.

"Granddad's gonna love this."

From the next cell:

"What?"

"Nothing."

He closed his eye again.

**Corporal Jace Rourke.**

New assignment.

New ship.

Fresh start.

Currently incarcerated.

Right on schedule.

 

RSS Feed