He watched her die, and in that moment, he cursed both Starfleet and himself for allowing it to happen. 

The Cupertino’s sickbay was eerily quiet if one compared it to the chaos it had seen in the past few days. With most of the patients treated and on the path to recovery, many doctors and nurses enjoyed their time off, leaving only minimum staff available to tend to the minor medical inconveniences shore leave brought with it. It was a nice change of pace for everyone involved. Doctor Nichelle Trova was, in theory, also enjoying her shore leave. In practice, she hadn‘t left sickbay in days. 

„Almost.“, she said quietly, and to herself. Her gaze slid over to the stasis unit she had been guarding, worried that a technical defect or misunderstood instructions would switch it off before it was time. Right now, it held one of the few people she held close to her heart – Ricarda Keller, a friend and colleague, who had been injured during the Cupertino’s last mission. Nichelle was still livid at Captain Nassar for failing to announce red alert and leaving the crew wholly unprepared for their descent into underspace. But Nassar was gone – transferred to some other vessel – and Keller’s scans had revealed that any medical intervention had come too late.

Despite the advances of modern medicine, survival was never a guarantee. If everything had gone according to plan, there would have been an emergency transport to sickbay and ample doctors and nurses to take care of Keller. 
But the whole ship had been in disarray, the surgical suites offline, and most medical staff spread throughout several triage centres.  Now, all Nichelle could do was to wait for Jonathan’s arrival, and to allow him to say goodbye. And that was out of character for someone like her, who was invested in her patients but wasn’t all too great with dealing with their loved ones. She found it awful enough in a long-distance-call or in writing, and considered it infinitely more awful telling them in person. Especially when she herself feared falling apart once the stasis unit was switched off. 

But of course Jonathan had taken a leave of absence from his own duties the moment he had been informed of Richard’s condition, and was due to arrive on the Cupertino any minute now.

Jonathan Keller hastily disembarked from the shuttle that had transported him, heading straight for the turbolift, and then sickbay. 
He hadn‘t been happy with serving on a different vessel than his wife, and he knew Ricarda hadn‘t been thrilled with the arrangement either. It had been a drastic change on so many levels, and despite their objective analysis and discussions prior to their separation, Jonathan found that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that his wife had gotten injured. 

Their previous work had been considered dangerous, and there was always a heightened possibility of not coming home. And while not coming home to each other was a horrible enough thought, not coming home to their children was a thought they couldn‘t bear.
So they had applied for other postings and Jonathan had ended up on the Callisto while Ricarda had been sent to the Cupertino. 

They hadn’t liked it, but it was meant to be a temporary arrangement, and knowing that Ricarda was relatively “safe” on a relatively meaningless California-class vessel had made it worthwhile. At least Jonathan had believed her to be safe until that fateful morning when he was notified that she had been injured as the Cupertino was dragged into Underspace. 

The doors to the sickbay slid open with a gentle hiss, but the Nichelle barely registered the sound. She stood at her station, her hands pressed against the console, steadying herself as she went over Ricarda’s latest scans one last time. She knew what they would say, but going through the motions felt like the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Doctor.” Jonathan called, his voice sharp and commanding, but tinged with panic. “Where is she?”

Nichelle looked up from the console and met his gaze. She had rehearsed this moment over and over in her mind. She motioned toward the stasis unit, where Ricarda lay, still and peaceful, letting the gentle hum fill the silence between them.

“She’s in here,” Nichelle began softly, walking closer to the unit. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes resting on Jonathan. “But Jonathan, you need to know… it’s not good.”

Jonathan’s expression tightened as he followed her. “What do you mean, ‘not good’? She’s in stasis. There’s still time.”

Nichelle took a deep breath, steadying herself. “We did everything we could. The injuries were… catastrophic. Ricarda’s brain was deprived of oxygen for too long. There’s no activity.”

He blinked, shaking his head. “That’s not possible. You- … you’re her friend. She talks about you all the time. There’s always another option. A transfer to a better facility, a specialist, something.”

“Jonathan, I… I’ve tried everything. I brought in every specialist in the area, ran every scan, pursued every lead. But there’s no brain activity left.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard to maintain control. “Once we turn off the stasis unit… there’s nothing more we can do.”

Jonathan took a step back. “No. No, that can’t be it! Ricarda is strong. You.. you have you even tried neural regeneration. Or synaptic realignment? You can’t just give up on her!”

“Jonathan… I’m not giving up. I would never give up on her, or on you. But neural regeneration only works when there’s *something* left to regenerate. Ricarda’s gone. Her body is here, but… she’s gone.”

Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists as he looked at Ricarda, his breathing becoming ragged, each inhale more desperate than the last.

“No,” he whispered. “You’re wrong. She’s still here. She’s still in there.” He slammed his fist against the side of the unit, his voice rising. “I can’t… I won’t let her go like this!”

Nichelle’s shook her head. She wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but knew that her words wouldn’t do anything to ease his pain. She had seen this kind of grief before, but it was always different when it was someone you knew. Someone you cared about.

“I’m so sorry, Jonathan,” she whispered, her own tears beginning to fall. “I’m so sorry.”

Jonathan’s shoulders sagged, and he turned away from the stasis unit, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand. For a long moment, he stood there, breathing heavily. When he finally spoke, his voice was broken.

“She can’t leave me like this. We… we have kids. This is just a temporary arrangement. She’s supposed to come to the Callisto with me. I spoke to the Captain, he agreed. How am I supposed to tell-… ”

Nichelle’s breath hitched as she walked closer, and she placed a hand gently on his arm, not as a doctor, but as a friend.

“I wish I could give you something more,” she said softly. “I wish there were answers, or a way to make it right. But right now, all we can do is give you time to say goodbye. She deserves that. You deserve that.”

Jonathan’s knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the chair beside the stasis unit, his head in his hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered. Broken and small.

Nichelle stood beside him, closing her eyes for a moment. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.  And when the time came, when Jonathan would finally say goodbye, she knew that no words would ever be enough to ease the pain.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Jonathan gave the smallest of nods. 

The soft hum of the stasis unit had always felt so steady, so constant. But now, as Doctor Nichelle Trova entered the final sequence to shut it down, the sound began to fade. The dim lights of the unit flickered as it prepared to release Ricarda Keller from its grasp. Nichelle didn’t look at Jonathan. Not directly. 

Jonathan stood beside Ricarda, his eyes glued to her still form, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. His knuckles were white with the effort, as if his grip alone could pull her back to life. The moment was too still, too quiet, until the stasis field disengaged with a gentle hiss.

Jonathan leaned in close, his lips trembling as he whispered her name. “Ricarda… I’m here.”

For a long, terrible moment, Jonathan waited. He visualised her eyes fluttering open, her gaze, unfocused at first, slowly finding him. But Nichelle knew that this wouldn’t happen, and instead focussed on the vital signs on her readout. Ricarda was breathing on her own, but that too was already slow and shallow. She watched her heart beating at first faster to compensate for the registered lack of oxygen, then slowing down until it eventually stood still. She registered the time of death, and turned to give Jonathan the time he needed. 

Jonathan continued to hold Ricarda’s hand.  He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. As if some part of him still hoped that this wasn’t real, that she might come back, that this wasn’t goodbye. 

Finally, he let out a long, shuddering breath and gently placed Ricarda’s hand down on the bed beside her. He stood, his movements slow and drained. He looked at her one last time, brushing a strand of hair from her face before stepping back.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, the word catching in his throat as he turned to leave the room.

“Jonathan”, started Nichelle. “If there is anything I can do… anything at all….”

She wanted to help, but at the same time, she too needed someone to lean on. Ricarda had been his wife, yes, but she had been her friend. She too had lost someone she loved. 

Jonathan turned with a cold expression. “Haven’t you done enough? Or rather, nothing at all?”, he hissed. 

Nichelle turned pale. She understood his anger, knew that it was normal, and should have expected being the one to be blamed. It still hurt. 

“I did what I could… the circumstances….”

Jonathan interrupted her. “What kind of doctor are you?! I want every report surrounding Ricarda’s injury and her treatment plan. And I swear to you, if I find the slightest hint that you could have done something but did not, I will end your career. I will end you.”

His voice was dangerously low as he spoke, and Nichelle knew better than to try and convince him that this wasn’t her fault. She simply gave a defeated nod, and watched him leave sickbay. 
 

The shuttle ride back to the USS Callisto did nothing to quench his anger. He had received the requested reports, but was no medical professional, and would have to consult their own Chief Medical Officer on an assessment. But what he did note was the Cupertino’s Captain’s failure to announce red alert when the aperture opened, leading to most of the crew being unprepared for what followed. 

And his anger extended. First, towards the incompetent Captain. Then, towards Starfleet itself, who had placed her into the centre chair. He hated all of them, and that hatred was palatable as he walked through the corridors of the Callisto, towards the Captain’s Ready Room, ready to hand in his resignation. 

He didn’t mind interrupting Captain Aldris Ceix in some important meeting, as a matter of fact he almost opened for that to be the case, but when the doors slid open, he found that the Captain was not busy. Instead, he was waiting for him.

Ceix looked to be middle-aged, but as a joined Trill had lived several lifetimes. He was an excellent Captain, capable leader, and compassionate friend. 

“Jonathan.”, he said quietly and gently, and Keller felt his hatred dissipating, simmering down to anger. “I am so sorry.” He led Keller to the conference table, and took a seat next to him. And for a long moment, neither of them said anything. 

Eventually, Ceix spoke. “I think it would be best if you took a leave of absence. Take time for yourself, and your family.”

Jonathan looked up at his Captain, and shook his head. This came as a surprise to him, too, considering that he had come here with the intention to hand in his resignation. But that that it was offered, even in the guise of a break, the thought of only being a grieving widower was unbearable. 

“No… no, I don’t need that. I want to work.”

The Captain watched Jonathan Keller carefully, his brow furrowed in quiet concern. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he considered his next words. 

“Jonathan, you’ve just been through something unimaginably painful. No one would blame you for taking some time.”

Jonathan shook his head more firmly this time, his jaw tightening. “I don’t want time off, Aldris. I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I can’t sit around in some house, just… grieving. I need to stay busy, I need to be doing something. I need to keep moving.”

Ceix nodded. “I understand the need to stay occupied, believe me, I do. But burying yourself in work isn’t the answer, Jonathan. It won’t make the pain disappear. And eventually, it will catch up to you.”

Jonathan clenched his fists on the table. “I don’t have the luxury of falling apart, sir. I have two kids who’ve already lost one parent. They can’t lose another.”

“You do,” Ceix agreed softly. “But being strong doesn’t mean pretending you’re not hurting. You’re not invincible, Jonathan. And those kids – your family – they need you whole, not a shadow of yourself because you refused to process what’s happened.”

Jonathan closed his eyes, and his shoulders slumped.  “What am I supposed to do then, Captain? Sit in my quarters and… and  just feel? I don’t want to feel any of it.”

Ceix’s gaze was steady but full of compassion. “I know you’re hurting. And I’m not going to force you to take leave if you truly believe staying on duty will help. But you can’t do this alone. No one can.”

Jonathan glanced up. “I’ll manage.”

The Captain studied him for a long moment before he leaned back in his chair, exhaling quietly. “If I let you stay on duty, it’s under one condition.”

Jonathan stiffened, sensing where this was headed. “What condition?”

“You will attend mandatory counselling sessions—three times a week. That’s not negotiable. For you and your kids. I’ll speak with Counselor Seta myself.”

Jonathan frowned, recoiling from the idea. “Counselling won’t bring Ricarda back.”

“No, it won’t,” Ceix agreed gently. “But it’ll help you figure out how to live with what’s happened. If you want to stay here and work, that’s my condition. “

The silence that followed was heavy. Jonathan hated the idea of counselling, of dredging up emotions he was barely holding in check. But he couldn’t deny that Ceix was giving him a way to stay on the Callisto. A way to keep his life from unravelling completely.

After a long, tense moment, Jonathan let out a slow breath and nodded. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll go to counselling. But only because you’re asking me, sir.”

Ceix offered a small, understanding smile. “I’m not just asking you as your Captain, Jonathan. I’m asking you as your friend.”

Jonathan swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat tighten. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

Ceix placed a reassuring hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze. “That’s all I ask. And when it feels like too much, know that you’re not alone. We’re here for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”, Jonathan nodded. “What’s our next mission?” 

He wanted to think about something else than his loss, if only for a moment. 

“We are headed towards Liraxa IV to try and negotiate peace talks between the two dominating tribes.”, Ceix replied, not wanting to go into too much detail. Distracting from ones grief never yielded any positive results – he himself had learned that the hard way. 

Jonathan nodded, remaining in the chair for a good few moments until he stood to leave. 

As he turned to go, Ceix’s voice stopped him. “Jonathan. Speak to Seta right away. Let her support you when you tell the kids.”

Jonathan paused, his back to the Captain, and for a moment, he let the words sink in. Tell the kids. He had to tell them, and he didn’t know how. So… maybe the support through a Counsellor was the right way to go. 

Then, with a quiet nod, he walked out of the ready room. 

The door opened with a familiar hiss, revealing behind it the utterly unfamiliar space that had been
assigned to become Nichelle’s home. The lights came on , and the greeting extended by the unknown
domain was as standard as the greeting she had received from her Executive Officer and the medical staff who had taken care of her intake. It had her wonder what it would be to work with them, but Nichelle didn’t blame them for their distanced demeanour. Perhaps they had heard of how she had failed her crew during her last mission. Perhaps they simply didn’t like new people.

No, she didn’t blame them. Instead, it was an odd sense of comfort to have things go precisely as she
had mentally prepared herself for. A sense of ‘I told you so’ that bordered on undeserved smugness.
Whatever the universe threw her way, she found it lost its power when she was at least right about it.

She stepped inside, letting the door slide shut behind her, and surveyed her surroundings. Next to the
door, a panel with various buttons and touch-screen controls allowed the occupants to adjust lighting,
temperature, and other room settings to their liking. The room itself was smaller than what she was
used to but bigger than what she had expected, its walls were kept in a muted grey colour, typical of
the utilitarian design found throughout the ship. The lights in the ceiling bathed the room in a cool
white glow, creating an atmosphere of functionality rather than luxury.

The room was dominated by a moderately comfortable looking sofa with an armchair in the same
design and a table in front of it. A bed was set against one wall, and there was a compact desk unit
with a personal console bolted to the other one. Nichelle strode over to the console and keyed in the
access code she had been given. The screen came to life, revealing the federation’s logo.

“Computer, compose a message to Lieutenant Ricarda Keller, USS Cupertino,
NCC-87079.”

She waited for the affirmative beep, then turned and returned to the centre of the room. Her crates
with personal items had been deposited here, and now was as good a time as ever to unpack them.
She knelt down and opened the first one. It contained a few PADDs and a case with isolinear chips
that held the custom replicator patterns that-…

Nope, not thinking about that.

She paused, remembering that she was supposedly in the process of composing a message, and
cleared her throat. “I know we are not talking any more and that … sucks. I am writing to you anyway
because you are the only person I really want to talk to. So I just hope this reaches you. Somehow.”

She got up, trying to ignore her knees cracking as she did so. Getting old, she thought, which, all things considered, was an amusing thought. She almost smiled at it. She carefully carried the PADDs and their
accompanying datarods and isolinear chips towards one of the shelves by the desk, putting them on
display there.

“I stayed in Starfleet. I know after what happened you think I don’t belong here. Jonathan probably feels the same, pretty sure he hates me. ”, she let out a small sigh “And I don’t blame him. Getting assigned here was a coincidence, and I almost refused. But… maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe this can be good. And I am working on myself. So… I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but please know that I am trying to be
better.”

The second crate contained civilian clothing in the somewhat whimsical style Nichelle enjoyed when
she was off-duty. It was traditionally Bajoran, and Ricarda had loved to tease her about it.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you where I got assigned. To the Callisto. Got a position as medical Officer, but no Chief position.“

It was an odd change of pace for Nichelle. She had been career focussed as long as she could remember, but given recent events, she wouldn’t be willing to take a leadership position again.

She paused and once the clothes were put away, sat down at the sofa. Only one crate left. She
liked to travel light, but there were some things she didn’t have the heart to leave in storage.

“The Commanding Officer seems nice too. Captain Ceix. Trill. Got nothing on Jurev, of
course, but he’ll do.”, she leaned forward and placed her hand on that third crate, the metal cool
underneath her fingertips.
The case clicked open and Nichelle closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent that first brought a
smile to her lips, and then tears to her eyes. Her hand reached for a silver scarf made of thesarian
wool, with a dark blotch where coffee had been spilled on it, and a hint of lipstick that had stubbornly
settled into the fabric.

“ I just miss you so much… And I am so sorry for disappointing you.”

She paused.

“Send message. “

And for a moment, Nichelle closed her eyes. She imagined the message making its way through time
and space, eventually finding its recipient. She imagined it opened and read, and eventually replied
to.

That, of course, was a nice thing to imagine until the computer said: “Unable to send message.
Lieutenant Ricarda Keller, is not an active member of Starfleet.”

Nichelle swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah. I know. Delete the message.”

Upon hearing the affirmative beep, Nichelle returned the scarf, closed the crate with Ricarda’s
belongings and stowed it away underneath the bed. Just like she had the memories of her best friend stowed away safely in her heart.

“It will be fine.”, said Eshrevi as she glanced at Brennan, whose constant pacing through their quarters was starting to wear her patience thin. Even though her statement was neutral in tone and verbiage, there was an undercurrent of annoyance to it, born from the fact that the Andorian didn’t quite understand why her partner was being nervous about something as simple as a briefing. In particular when she had held briefings before, and was well-prepared to answer questions after studying the customs and culture for the whole day – and most of the night.

“I know.”, Alcyone replied, her dark eyes not leaving the PADD she was studying. “But I need it to be better than fine. I need it to be… “

“The best briefing they ever had? One they will remember until the end of their careers and tell their grandchildren about?”, Eshrevi asked – once more neutrally, but the underlaying impression had shifted to sarcasm, accompanied by her antennae made a small twirling motion in lieu of rolling her eyes.

Brennan shot her a glare. “Very funny. No. But it’s the first impression I am giving as their new XO, and I don’t want that impression to be bad. That’s not totally unreasonable, is it? ”

“No, it’s not. But it’s also not particularly logical.”

Alcyone took the bait and sat down opposite of her friend, and finally put the PADD down. And then she waited, because despite the fact that she could, probably, be able to read Eshrevi’s thoughts – not only because they had been together (in one way or the other) for several years now, but also because the Rodulan side of her genome was telepathically gifted – she couldn’t. At least not reliably.

Eshrevi knew that. She still waited a good few moments before she spoke. “First impressions…”, she started “are only that. Impressions. Not based on any evidence as to what a person is like, and a fickle estimation as to whether they are likeable or competent or not – and most of the time it is already tainted by a pre-existing opinion you have no influence on.”

“Your point being…?”, Alcyone sighed.

“My point being that people already have an opinion about you, be that good or bad. If it is good – great. You can build on that, and even if you give a sub-par briefing, it is not going to distort that view.”

“And if they already hate me?”

“If someone already decided they find you incompetent, it does barely matter how much effort you put into it. They will find some way to maintain their opinion. Humans in particular like to feel validated in their beliefs..”

Alcyone Brennan groaned. That sounded wise, and just as motivating as it sounded demotivating. That was one of Eshrevi’s specialities.

“You’re the worst cheerleader, you know that, right?”

“I am unsure as to what a ‘cheerleader’ is.” Remarked Eshrevi a little smugly, and tilted her antennae.

“Not you, that’s what.”, Brennan rolled her eyes. “But thanks. I think.”

“Any time.”, replied Eshrevi, giving one of those smiles that were learned behaviour for Alcyone’s benefit, rather than a natural expression of emotion. She observed Brennan getting up again and downing the last bit of the coffee she drank out of habit rather than because it did anything for her, and waved her left antennae as the other woman left. Then she exhaled. Finally some peace and quiet.

The Ready Room aboard the USS Callisto was a spacious designed with both functionality and comfort in mind, and decorated here and there with items that were either relevant to Captain Ceix, or relevant to the crew of the Callisto. Mementos of past missions found display on one of the shelves, and a wall with paintings and sculptures by artists of far-away cultures gave it the appeal of an art gallery. On the one side of the room, a large desk equipped with a console for monitoring ship systems, reviewing data and communications, was designated the Captain’s workspace. On the other side, a conference table provided space for meetings with the ship’s officers or visiting dignitaries.

When Brennan entered, she noted that, today,  it was laden with a small selection of pastries and beverages. And that everyone else was already present.

Lieutenant Pereira, their Chief Science Officer, raised his cup of probably coffee in a greeting, and offered a wide smile. Alcyone hadn’t spoken much to him, but thus far, their interactions had been sincere, and pleasant. He was a handsome man with tanned skin and an interesting accent, and from what Alcyone had heard, he spent quite a bit of his free time mentoring several of his colleagues. 

Next to him sat Lieutenant Sydin – the snake. At least that was what Alcyone had heard others call her, and the assessment had kept her from getting too close. Sydin was – if rumors proved to be correct – a redhead with warm brown eyes and an icy personality. Alcyone on the other side was a redhead with green contacts and an agreeable personality. Two very different things, and she was a little worried as to whether they would get along. 

Sydin was conversing with someone Alcyone hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to just yet. Commander Jonathan Keller. Brennan knew that Keller had very recently lost his wife, and was surprised that the man hadn’t taken a leave of absence to allow himself time to grief. 

Both offered her nothing more than a glance she interpreted as disapproving, and Alcyone felt the knot in her chest tightening. So that was what Eshrevi had meant in regard to ‘if they decided they don’t like you, you probably can’t change that’. 

Despite Captain Ceix not being a telepath and the room being shielded from telepathic influence in any case, the man seemed to notice the shift in Alcyone’s mind. He had been talking to Lieutenant Seta, their Chief Counsellor, but turned to his XO and offered her a welcoming smile. “Ah, Commander. Just on time.”

Brennan returned the smile, and took the hint. She was well on time, even a few minutes before the designated starting time of the briefing, and decided to try and tell herself that it wasn’t her problem that the others decided to show up early, and that they could disapprove of her being *on time* all they wanted.

So, instead of worrying – or rather, in addition to worrying – she activated the console and summoned the holographic display that showed the planet they were headed to.  Dominated by large bodies of water, Liraxa IV only had two distinct continents, from which only one was inhabitable. On the other, the map showed frozen wastes and unscalable mountains.

“Thank you all for coming.”, she started, steadying her voice. Despite knowing what she was taking about, and despite this not being the first briefing she gave, she felt nervous. “We are headed to Liraxa IV,  Class M planet, the only currently inhabited planet of the Liraxa system. Ninety-four percent of the planet’s surface is covered with water, which explains their relatively low population of approximately 2.5 billion people. ”, She tapped the console for a visual representation of the information she had been able to gather.

A rose-tinted sky, vast bodies of water, and rural settlements around two capital cities on one continent. “As you can see, it’s primarily rural, with technological advancements being largely found in the capital cities. Culturally, the advancements up to warp-travel are owed to the low availability of resources and inhabitable space on the planets surface, rather than curiosity. The Liraxans themselves are humanoid, but with one distinct feature.” She tapped the console once more, and an image of a Liraxan appeared – slender, with glowing markings running along their arms and face, faintly illuminating their skin.
“These markings are bioluminescent, possibly tied to their telepathic abilities, though we don’t yet know the full extent of that connection.”

“I guess that’s why they sent us here.”, remarked Keller neutrally.

Brennan gave a nod, understanding what he was getting at. “Yes, the Liraxans are a telepathic species, though classified as T-two/E-zero – same species, no contact required, telepathy only.”

Sydin leaned forward. “What’s that they are wearing?”

“The Liraxans favour clothing somewhat  reminiscent of ancient Earth civilizations. Think medieval or renaissance periods – flowing robes, intricate patterns, and ceremonial garments.” She swiped to another image of a Liraxan elder in ornate robes.
“While they don’t have societal classes, they have deeply rooted traditions – clothing on Liraxa IV is expensive, and a status symbol.”

“So what’s the actual problem?”, Sydin inquired further, and a little impatiently.

Brennan decided to ignore the undercurrent to Sydin’s question, and switched back to display the map, highlighting two distinct territories. “The conflict between the Malivan and Virexians goes back centuries. It started as a dispute over land – fertile soil and resources, and it hasn’t really moved on from that. As the population continues growing and resources become more scarce, the focus of that conflict has shifted towards Liraxa II – a Class L planet that not only holds resources but may also be adaptable to sustain several colonies. Both Liraxan factions want to claim it for themselves.”

“Can they?”, asked Pereira.

Brennan shook her head. “Not yet, but it’s… a bit of a race, I suppose. Neither faction currently owns the technology to build the artificial biospheres that would most likely be needed to populate the planet, and neither faction owns the resources to acquire it. Which explains why the conflict on the surface has escalated.”

Keller frowned. “And with ‘escalated’ you mean the assassination of the Virexian leader, correct?”

Alcyone nodded grimly. “Correct. His death has destabilised the Virexians, making them more desperate for control. There’s strong suspicion among the Virexians that the Malivan orchestrated the assassination, though nothing has been proven. The situation is volatile, and both tribes are on edge. Our mission is simple but delicate. Even though the Virexians were the one asking for Starfleet’s help, we’re not here to take sides. We’re here to bring both tribes to the negotiating table and mediate a peaceful resolution.”

Ceix nodded, crossing his arms as he addressed the group. “Thank you, Commander.”

Alcyone took a seat next to Ceix, and waited for questions from the group. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Do the Virexians know that we are not taking sides?”, asked Sydin.

“It’s not unlikely they have that expectation, so it is imperative we do make ourselves very clear.”, nodded Ceix. “In particular when the Malivans might also have that impression.”

“We don’t seem to know much about their cultural rituals or their methods of conflict resolution. What if we unintentionally offend them?”, asked Sydin.

Brennan explained. “That’s why we’ll start by meeting the Virexian elders. Our primary objective is to assess why previous talks have failed. We’ll be learning their customs as we go.”

“Was there no attempts on peace talks so far? I can hardly imagine that.”, noted Kelller.

“There were.”, confirmed Brennan. “But they broke down within days.”

“Why?”

“Distrust is probably a huge factor. These tribes have been in conflict for centuries, coexisting in a fragile state. It is likely that there are also parties that benefit from ongoing conflict. According to our reports, the last attempt was going comparatively well, until the assassination.”

“We need to keep our eyes open when we’re down there.”, concluded Keller, and the room fell silent for a moment.

“Brennan, Sydin, Keller – you’ll accompany me down to Liraxia IV and meet the Virexian elders. Your focus is to figure out why previous peace talks failed. Pereira will be supporting from here, and gather information on the viability of Liraxia II. Seta, you will focus on gathering information on their culture – anything that can help us.”

Alcyone resisted the urge to bite her lip. Sydin and Keller were exactly the people she didn’t want to work too closely with. But the other officers nodded or verbalised their assent, and dispersed to get ready. Brennan stayed back, and turned to the Captain as soon as they were alone.

“This was…”, she started, but Ceix interrupted her.

“This was a good briefing. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Thank you, sir.”, Alcyone nodded, and tilted her head. She was grateful for having a supportive Captain, and for being permitted to have those small moments of insecurity. Probably why the man was so popular with the crew. And, with that briefing no longer on her plate, she could focus on the mission itself.

Let’s bring these tribes to the table, she thought to herself as she left the Ready Room. But first, she would have to report to Eshrevi and let her know how the briefing went.

“So.”, said Sydin as they stood in the main transporter room, preparing to beam down to Liraxa IV. She turned to Alcyone, who immediately felt her heartbeat accelerate. The woman’s brown eyes were almost piercing as she regarded her, and Alcyone figured that this must be what prey felt like. She steeled her expression and met Sydin’s gaze. 

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“Well, I figured since I don’t know you yet, it would be good to get to know you.”

Get to know her? Usually, Alcyone would be thrilled. She was generally a sociable person and liked to maintain several friendships. But this was Sydin, and her first impression of her hadn’t been pleasant.

“Ah.”, she said tentatively. “What do you want to know?”

Sydin crossed her arms, letting the slight hum of the transporter room fill the temporary silence between them. She gave a slow, deliberate glance around, and then finally settling her gaze back on Alcyone. 

“You know,” she began, her voice casual but with an underlying sharpness, “I’ve been reading up on Rodulans. Not much to go on, really. Your people are… private, aren’t they?”

Alcyone shifted her stance, but stood firm. She didn’t like how this was starting, and she was fairly sure she also wouldn’t like were this was going.  Sydin was making her nervous, and it wasn’t a topic she liked to speak about.

“I don’t think I am the best person to answer that question.”, she replied after some thought. “As you may have read, I am only half Rodulan. The other half is human. I grew up on Colludia, not Basul Rodul. As you said, they are private people.”

Sydin narrowed her eyes. “So, did your Rodulan parent not teach you anything? Even if you didn’t grow up among Rodulans, you must have picked up something.” There was a pause before she added, “Or is it that they didn’t want you to learn?”

This was… highly uncomfortable. Alcyone shifted her weight once more, crossed her arms, and fixed her gaze on Sydin. Still, she answered. “I was adopted. I didn’t meet my Rodulan parent.” Her tone was blunt, and a little sharper than intended. 

“Adopted, huh.” Sydin seemed to chew on that for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to press further or drop the subject.

“Interesting,” she finally said, her voice cool. “So, you’ve got all this untapped potential, but no one to show you how to use it. Seems like a waste.”

Alcyone took a deep breath. Truth be told, she was used to people asking these questions – especially non-telepaths. Even on a specialised vessel such as the Callisto, it wasn’t uncommon for people to want to assess how easily someone could get into their mind, and how likely they were to do so. 

Of course there was a code of conduct to forbid it unless consensual, but Sydin wasn’t the first who wanted to know – just in case Alcyone didn’t adhere to these societal rules. “I am not even sure about that. Telepathy in hybrids is always fickle. What I do know is that my Rodulan genetics changed the way I age, and not in a good way.” She attempted a smile, and a switch of subject.

Sydin took the bait.  “Aging slower, or faster?” she asked, ignoring the shift in tone entirely.

“Because if it’s the former,” she added, her voice still sharp, “I’d hardly call that a downside.”

“Irratically.”, Alcyone explained, glad to have shifted away from the telepathy issue. “I grew slower than other kids my age, always lagged behind them. That wasn’t much fun if I am honest. Imagine you are twelve and look like an eight years old. Hard to make friends that way.” 

Especially if one considered that there was a physical component to mentally growing up. The brain first needed to develop, and for Alcyone, that had taken longer than for purely human children.

Sydin’s brow furrowed slightly, though she kept her arms firmly crossed and her posture still stiff. “I imagine it must’ve made things… complicated. Must’ve taken a toll on how people treated you.”

She glanced at Alcyone, the curiosity still there, though now slightly tempered with a hint of understanding. “And now? Has it evened out, or are you still waiting to catch up?”

“I’ve not aged significantly since I hit my early twenties. It’s annoying. People tend to think I am some ensign in the wrong uniform.”, Alcyone said dismissively, attempting a smile.

Sydin smirked, but it quite didn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose it has its advantages. But I can’t imagine how it feels to be stuck like that. Especially when your peers are all advancing.”

“Well, imagine it this way – you might look younger, maybe have an extended lifespan, but everyone around you is growing and developing and … growing old. Do you have siblings?”

Sydin raised an eyebrow. “No siblings. Just me.”

She leaned against the transporter console, her posture a little more tense than before. “What about you? Did you ever feel like your adoptive family treated you differently because of your heritage?”

“I was never treated differently. My siblings are not my parent’s biological children either. But… what I mean is, imagine you watch them grow old and then eventually… well, die. Same with friends, loved ones. So as enticing as staying young for a century does sound, I’d rather just age normally.”

Sydin thought about that, choosing her words carefully. “It must be lonely in a way. I suppose being different can isolate you, even if it’s not intentional.”

“A little, sometimes.” Alcyone admitted. “But I learned that fitting in is the opposite of belonging, and I want to belong. That’s what brought me to Starfleet. I can be the way I am and be accepted for my uniqueness, just like you.” 

“I wonder if that’s what makes Starfleet different – this idea of accepting people who don’t conform to the norm.”

“Do you always conform to the norm?”

Sydin smirked, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. “I wouldn’t say I’m the poster child for conformity. I prefer to keep my distance from people.” She paused.  “Though, I suppose being ‘normal’ has its perks. Less scrutiny, fewer questions. Isn’t it exhausting, always being the ‘different’ one?”

Alcyone thought about that, and then decided to push back on this. “Do you? Find it exhausting, I mean.”

Sydin’s expression shifted for a moment, a flicker of … something..  breaking through her icy demeanor. “I mean, it’s easier to just… fit in. To be someone people expect.”

“That would be boring.”, Alcyone shrugged, trying to acknowledge Sydin’s hint of insecurity without addressing it. 

“Have you ever met any other Rodulans?” Sydin asked, her curiosity resurfacing. “I mean, it must be a unique experience, connecting with someone who shares that part of your heritage. Or do you find that you’re just… different from them, too?”

“I haven’t met any. And I am not sure I could even connect to them. I know I can’t connect to most other telepathic species.”, Alcyone admitted. She had a Betazoid colleague she once attempted to connect to, but it had been painful for both of them.

“That sounds frustrating. You’re caught between two worlds but don’t fully belong to either.”

“I belong here.”, said Alcyone firmly. This was going a little too far, and made her feel a little too vulnerable. “And I believe we should get going.”

Sydin nodded. “Fair enough,” she said, turning toward the transporter pad. “Let’s see how well that confidence serves you on Liraxa IV.”

The meeting chamber inside the Virexian government building was impressive but cold. The sunlight that poured through towering windows bathed the room in the rose-tinted hue of Liraxia IV’s sky, making Jonathan Keller think of the Terran expression “rose tintend glasses”. Then again, while what he had glimpsed of the outside world had been serene, here,the weight of centuries-old frustrations pressed down on everyone present. 

Jonathan Keller sat stiffly in his chair, his traveling from one hand to the other in one-minute intervals, though it seemed almost useless. 

Across the long, polished table sat the elders of the Virexian tribe. Their faces weathered, their robes ornate, traditional and expensive-looking. If Brennan was correct in her assessment of Liraxan culture, these were the men and women who ruled.

And, like any good ruler, they talked a lot, and said very little.

“The telepathic component to our culture and communication might seem minor, but is fundamental regardless.”,  one of the elders said, his voice slow and deliberate.

Another elder, a woman with streaks of silver in her braided hair, added, “Without it, trust is… impossible.”

Keller clenched his jaw. They had heard the same sentiment repeated in different ways for what felt like hours. We get it, Keller thought bitterly, you can’t talk to the other side. Not in the way you prefer, anyway. Not a surprise you never became part of the Federation. 

Where was the solution? Every attempt to pry deeper only met with vague responses, as though the elders were deliberately evading real answers. Or perhaps they simply didn’t take them seriously – not a surprise when your XO looked like a teenage girl, or at best a cadet wearing the wrong uniform. 

For what it was worth though, she did seem to try her best. Sat forward with a composed expression, trying – and probably failing – to get them somewhere. 

“We understand that telepathy is essential to your communication,” she said, “But surely, over time, both tribes have developed other methods. Have there been any attempts at non-verbal communication systems? Written language? You seem to communicate just fine with us, even without telepathic bond.”

The elder shook his head slowly. “Those methods… they are not enough. We can speak, yes, but without the truth of the mind, there is always suspicion.”

Brennan seemed to remain calm and collected, interest and invested. Something Jonathan made her believe the woman wasn’t all that intelligent, and simply didn’t realist that the conversation was going in circles. He could feel frustration bubbling up. How didn’t Brennan notice? And Ceix? He had expected better, especially from him. If the Liraxans didn’t want an actual solution, this was a waste of Starfleets time.

Keller leaned in slightly. “With respect, Elder, we need something more concrete to work with. How did you talk before you decided to be at odds?”

That question earned him a disapproving glance from Brennan, which he ignored.

“We once communicated without barriers,” one of the elders responded after a contemplative pause. “But that bond has been severed.”

And it had only taken them hours to come clean on that.

“Well then, that would have been good information to have a few hours ago. Is there no record of when this telepathic disconnect first occurred? Or anthing that might help restore it?” His voice came out sharper than intended, but the elders either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

Instead, they exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. “There is no one moment,” the silver-haired elder said at last. “It faded slowly… like a shadow growing with the dusk. And now it is gone.”

Fantastic, Keller thought, resisting the urge to sigh audibly. He once more glanced over at Ceix, who had been quiet for the entire meeting, his dark eyes flickering with that almost unnerving composure Keller usually appreciated.

“We may be focusing too much on the symptom,” Ceix said finally, his voice breaking the silence that had settled around them.

“Perhaps the telepathic disconnect is a manifestation of something deeper. A fracture that runs through the core of both tribes.”

For some reason, that seemed to calm Jonathan, and even the Elders seemed to pause.

Brennan nodded slightly. “You’re suggesting the disconnect is more than just a loss of ability. It’s a reflection of the tribes themselves.”

Ceix inclined his head. “In my experience, telepathic bonds are not just biological. They are also spiritual and emotional. If there is unresolved conflict, it could manifest in ways beyond just words or actions.”

Keller resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Great. More cryptic answers.

One of the Elders spoke again, his voice a little softer this time. “The loss of our connection has indeed mirrored the growing distrust between our peoples. It is not just a matter of speaking with the mind… but of truly hearing one another.”

Keller bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste blood. “And yet, here we are. Sitting across from each other, still not hearing anything that helps.”

There was a silence after Keller’s words. Brennan turned slightly, her eyes catching Keller’s for just a moment. A fleeting glance that he felt said more than words ever could. Stay in your lane.

Stay in his lane? How dare she? Keller couldn’t shake the feeling that Brennan enjoyed being the one in control, and usually he wouldn’t mind a new XO trying herself out. But incompetent leadership had cost him his wife, and he found he no longer tolerated it. He also didn’t quite realise that Brennan never actually said those words, and that they were a mere interpretation of the way she had looked at him. 

“We may need to step back,” Brennan said smoothly, turning back to the Elders. “Perhaps there is more we need to understand about the relationship between your tribes before we can make progress. We’ll return with more questions after we’ve had time to reflect.”

Keller’s fists clenched under the table. Reflect? They wanted to act, not sit around meditating on ancient grudges and lost telepathy. But this time he kept quiet.

As they stood to leave, Ceix fell into step beside Jonathan. His voice was low, meant only for him . “I know you’re frustrated.”

Keller didn’t respond at first, eyes locked straight ahead as they walked toward the exit. “This isn’t moving fast enough,” he muttered. “We’re wasting time.”

“Sometimes stepping back allows you to see what’s hidden. You may not like it, but there is wisdom in patience.”

“I don’t need patience,” Keller hissed. “I need progress.”

“And that will come,” Ceix said. “But we are not here to solve everything at once. We’re here to understand. Remember that.”

Keller inhaled deeply, letting Ceix’s words sink in, but found they did nothing to dull his resentment. As they neared the door, Keller glanced at Brennan, who was talking to Sydin about next steps.

She’s awfully sure of herself, Keller thought bitterly. And as he followed her out into the pink-hued light of Liraxia IV’s afternoon sky, his frustration simmered quietly, unresolved.

Captain Ceix had been right to call a break to the talks, Brennan thought. After all, they hadn’t gone anywhere and as much as she had tried to keep a straight face, she had been getting a little frustrated with how little the Elders had wanted to share. Now, she and Keller were wandering across the market that stretched across the plaza in front of the government building. 

It was a vibrant, sprawling affair that allowed her to temporarily forget that she was here on business, and not for shore leave. Stalls lined the streets, their canopies a patchwork of fabric in shades of colors that stood out against the pinkish glow of the Liraxian sky. From what Alcyone could see, the vendors sold everything from intricately woven textiles to gleaming metal trinkets, the latter polished so perfectly they caught the light like shards of glass. 

A group of children ran by, chasing one another between stalls, and their laughter echoed off the stone walls of the surrounding buildings. Despite the simmering conflict and lingering tension, the market had a warm, lively energy. But as Brennan and Keller moved through the crowd, their focus wasn’t on the wares or the people.

Kellers his eyes scanned the market stalls without much interest. His jaw clenched slightly as the cheerful sounds, and as he finally spoke, his voice low was and tense.

“This… isn’t getting us anywhere. The Elders are stonewalling, and we’re wasting time pretending this,” he gestured vaguely at the market around them, “is normal. We should be back in that room, pushing harder.”

Alcyone gave a small nod. She agreed, but she also understood that there was only so much pushing they could do. It was, she had once heard, madness to attempt the same thing over and over, and expect a different outcome. “I half agree.”, she relented eventually. “It’s odd that the Elders requested our aid, and are now not doing anything to resolve the issue they want us to fix. I wonder if they expected help to win the war, rather than bring a peaceful resolution.”

Keller allowed a humorless chuckle to escape. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone used Starfleet to tip the scales.” He glanced at her, the tension in his eyes barely masked by the professionalism he clung to. “If they think we’re here to pick a side, they’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“I agree.”

He paused, his gaze drifting back toward the government building as if he could see the Elders through the walls. “I don’t like it. Too many secrets. They’re holding back for a reason, and I’ve got a bad feeling we’re walking straight into the middle of something bigger than a land dispute.”

“That might very well be the case.”, she sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time either. The thing is… wars are profitable. Especially if they have been going on for so long. I imagine they build infrastructure to try and keep the upper hand. Businesses. I don’t know.”

Keller’s expression darkened, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “War breeds industry, and industry doesn’t like peace. Especially when there’s money to be made.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen it before. Everyone’s got something to lose if this ends too soon, and it’s always the ones sitting comfortably behind the lines who pull the strings.”

He turned his gaze toward Brennan, his voice lowering. “You think that’s what we’re dealing with? Some power behind the curtain keeping this whole thing running for their own gain?”

Brennan considered her words carefully before she answered. “I don’t think so, no.” There was a pause, then she added “I think they called us because they are scared. If it escalated to assassinations, they are next on the list, and they know that. I also think… or at least could imagine… that it’s the only reason they now want peace.”

Keller was silent for a moment, processing her words. There was a begrudging acceptance in his tone as he spoke. “Fear makes people do desperate things. And stupid ones.” 

Brennan nodded, unsure what to add to it. Instead, she cleared towards a stall with different herbs and tinctures that had attracted her with their scent lingering in the air. Her gaze drifted over the rows of neatly arranged plants and small glass bottles filled with colorful liquids. Then she glanced at Keller, and for a moment, she was almost certain to see the tension in his features ease.

He picked up a small vial, turning it over in his hand. “What do you think this is?” he asked, his tone almost casual, though there was still a trace of that frustration lingering. “Some kind of local remedy? It’s not the usual trinkets or food stalls. Looks… medicinal.” He raised an eyebrow, glancing at Brennan, then the merchant. 

The merchant, a man so old he could qualify as Elder, if it wasn’t for his simply robes that marked him as belonging to a lower class. “I’m sorry, we don’t often see outsiders here.”, he smiled in a manner that was both professional and kind. “This is Veliun. I doubt you have any use for it.”

Keller’s grip on the vial tightened slightly as the merchant spoke, his curiosity piqued.  “Veliun, huh?” Keller echoed, rolling the name over in his mind. “And why’s that? What does it do?” He glanced at Brennan, then back at the merchant. 

“It’s a substance that stimulates the mind to allow for rest.”

“Like a sleep remedy?”, asked Brennan.

“It has those properties, yes, but the focus is on the dreams. They are happy ones – happy memories.”

Keller raised an eyebrow. He seemed intrigued. “Happy memories, huh?” He held the vial up to the light, watching the liquid shimmer within. He turned to Brennan, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe we should stock up before heading back to the Elders. Could use a little happy memory boost right about now.” 

“Maybe another time, hm?”, smiled Brennan. 

Keller chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Fair enough.” 

He set the vial back down, but there… seemed to be some reluctance in the gesture. And then he glanced around, before offering a shrug. 

As they stepped away from the stall, he let out a sigh, and the moment of levity faded. 

Brennan looked at him, her own expression softening. And she was about to talk to Keller, let him know that happy memories were truly only that – memories. But she never got to that point.

Jonathan found that the visit to the market took his mind off things, but only just so. He was still annoyed that the Elders were so incredibly vague with their answers rather than showing actual interest in a solution to the conflict they had requested Starfleet’s aid for. It seemed like an incredible waste of Starfleet’s time, energy and resources. 

Surprisingly, talking to Brennan hadn’t been as much of a chore as he had anticipated when Ceix had grouped the two of them together. He was still on the fence as to whether the young woman made a good First Officer, but as a person, she seemed… nice? Well, acceptable was a better way to put it. 

But there was something else that was a whole lot more “acceptable” – they had come across a substance that was used for meditation purposes, and said to trigger happy memories. Jonathan longed to feel happy, but he couldn’t allow Brennan to notice how enticing the notion was for him. So he played it casual and feigned superficial interest where he, in truth, was trying to memorise the name of the substance, the face of the merchant and the location of the stall – and return later. 

As they left, Brennan looked at him, ready to ask something… but never got that far. 

“Excuse me.”, interrupted a the melodic voice of a Liraxan woman with blonde hair and an intricately woven dress. “You are the Starfleet Officers that were summoned by the Elders.”

It wasn’t a question, and since it wasn’t a question, Jonathan didn’t answer. But Brennan did. 

“We are.”, she confirmed. “I didn’t know our visit here would be so… well known.” 

Jonathan scoffed a little, and did so before he could stop himself. The Callisto was visible in orbit above them, and they certainly stuck out with their uniforms. Brennan looked at him, and for a moment, there was a hint of confusion in her eyes, which had Jonathan unsure how to react. 

“Of course.”, said the stranger, and bowed slightly. “Jara Melun. I was hoping to meet you, and perhaps talk.”

“Talk?”, asked Jonathan, furrowing his brows. 

“Yes, talk,” Jara confirmed, her voice remaining calm and steady. “The Elders are… cautious, you might say. They don’t speak openly with outsiders, not even those they ask for help. But some of us… ” she paused, her bioluminescent markings faintly pulsing in the warm market light “…don’t share their reservations.”

Ah, thought Jonathan. Finally someone willing to cut the crap and get to the point. It was something he had always appreciated in people. 

“What is it you wish to speak about?” Brennan asked. She kept her tone carefully neutral.

Jara looked around. Her golden eyes scanned the busy market before gesturing for Keller and Brennan to follow her into a quieter corner. The pair exchanged a glance, then complied, and walked beside the mysterious woman until they reached a secluded space beneath the overhang of a stone archway.

“I know why the peace talks are failing,” Jara said quietly, glancing around to ensure no one was listening in on them. “And it’s not because of the land disputes or even the assassination.”

Jonathan tensed. ”Then what is it?” 

“The Elders have been hiding something… something critical to our survival.” She hesitated, eyes locking onto Brennan. “Our tribes have forgotten the old ways. There was a telepathic link. One that used to exist between us all. But it’s been lost for generations, and now, with no way to connect telepathically, we just don’t seem to manage to really hear each other any more.”

Brennan blinked. “Are you saying there was once a time when the Malivan and Virexians communicated telepathically?”

Jara nodded. 

Jonathan crossed his arms, his skepticism resurfacing once again. “And what do you expect Starfleet to do about this supposed forgotten link? We’re diplomats, not miracle workers.”

“I am a student of our university. I have been working with others to uncover what happened to the telepathic link. But we need help – your help.” 

Brennan looked at Keller, and he in turn decided to take the lead on this. It was probably for the better anyway. 

“You got us listening. What can you tell us about the link?”, he asked. 

Jana shook her head. “Not here. Please, accompany me to the library. We will share everything we know.” 

Library. Fine, at worst it would turn out to be as much of a waste of time as talking to the Elders. “I will let the Captain know that we are following a lead.”, he decided eventually. 

Brennan nodded her assent. Good. At least she wasn’t arguing. 

Alcyone was intrigued. The Liraxan woman that had approached them and then introduced herself as Jara Melun appeared be be certain of having helpful information, and since the Elders had turned out not helpful in the slightest, following Jara was a gamble she was willing to take. 

Keller had appeared less eager, but after retreating to inform the Captain, he too followed along. 

As they moved further from the plaza in front of the opulent government building they had visited prior,  the city unfolded in an unexpected simplicity. Buildings were all clean angles, straight lines, and rigid geometry. Their dull exteriors offered no decorations beyond what was strictly necessary, and Alcyone found that to be a stark contrast to the focus on expensive and ornate clothing. 

Functionality over form. Every structure appeared designed to serve a purpose rather than to please the eye. There was something admirable in their practicality. It made sense, she thought, given the limited resources the Virexians had to work with. And not for the first time in her life she wondered why then, when resources were so limited, they were essentially wasted on making the government building radiate a wealth they simply didn’t have. Wouldn’t those resources be better allocated elsewhere?

She glanced at Kelle, who walked a few paces behind them. His face was unreadable, though she knew he was taking in every detail with that sharp, calculating mind of his. He hadn’t said much since they left, and Alcyone could sense that he was still hesitant, but remained focused. Professional, as always.

Jara led them with quiet confidence. She hadn’t said much either, only offering the occasional glance back to ensure they were still with her. It was an odd dynamic, for sure, but somehow, Brennan trusted her. Jara seemed sincere, and right now, they needed a lead. Even if that was supposed to be her, and not some civilian. 

As they approached the campus, the landscape began to change. The buildings here were taller, narrower, and the functional architecture gave way to something slightly more elaborate – though not by much. The library was already visible ahead, and Alcyone wondered if they would find actual books here. 

Once they entered, she could see the faint outline of shelves – whether filled with books or digital records, she couldn’t yet tell.

Just inside, a small group of students stood clustered around a low table, engaged in what appeared to be a somewhat heated debate. One of the males was talking, gesturing wildly to bring his point across. While the other leaned forward and furrowed his brows. A woman, arms crossed, shot them both a somewhat disdainful look.

The moment Jara stepped into view, the conversation halted. All three turned to face her, and their expressions shifted from frustration to curiosity as they noticed her companions.

“This is Vorel Syn.”, said Jana, gesturing to the male who had been arguing his point when they approached. He bowed, and opted not to say much. His eyes lingered on them with a cool indifference, and Brennan thought she felt like there was a certain hostility towards them. 

“And then we have our Malivan colleagues – Nira Valen, and Trevan Coras.”

“Malivan?”, asked Keller, clearly as surprised as Brennan was. They had discussed the division between the tribes at length, and yet here, in this small group, they seemed to be working together. Something wasn’t adding up.

Jara nodded, seeming to have anticipated their confusion. “Yes, Malivan” she confirmed calmly. “This is part of a transfer program between our universities. It’s rare, but there are a few academic projects that require collaboration between our people. Vorel, Nira, and Trevan are working together with me on one such initiative.”

She glanced toward the students, then back at Keller. “Our work isn’t seen as politically significant, so the Elders don’t object to their involvement. Neither of us are high-ranking or influential enough to be disallowed from crossing tribal lines.”

Brennan noticed the flicker of discomfort in Nira’s eyes, though the young woman remained silent. Instead, Brennan decided to speak. “I am Lieutenant Commander Brennan, and this is my colleague Lieutenant Commander Keller. As you might have guessed, we are here with the Callisto, as the Elders requested Starfleet’s help in resolving the conflict.” 

Vorel scoffed, and the others, too, didn’t seem too convinced. Though chances were this was less them doubting Brennan than it was them doubting their leadership. 

“It’s-“, 

“No.”, frowned Jara, quieting him down. “We don’t have much time, and I want to do this right. No use in discussing what we believe to the Elder’s intentions to be.” 

The group nodded, and the one called Nira shifted uncomfortably before speaking up, her voice quieter than Brennan expected.

“The project we’ve been working on is focused on an old legend we uncovered” she began, glancing between her colleagues, perhaps hoping for someone else to take over. But when no one else did, she continued. “The Malivan and Virexian tribes were always separate, but they coexisted peacefully. They traded regularly, communicated often, and telepathically. it wasn’t like now.”

Trevan continued. ”According to the legend, a daughter from wealthy merchants of the Malivan tribe fell in love with a daughter from a less-wealthy Virexian merchant. They wanted to be joined. But their families refused. Not because of the tribal divide, but because at least the Malivan family wanted better, more advantageous matches for their children.”

“There is a divide on that part.”, interrupted Vorel. “As to which family denied the marriage, and which was… better off.” 

“Yes, but as I said before, no use in wasting time.”, reminded Jara.  “The two lovers were so enraged by the rejection that they swore to destroy their families’ trade relations as revenge. They succeeded, severing the bond between the tribes completely. Trade collapsed, and it wasn’t long after that tensions escalated into war.”

There was a pause. A moment in which no one said anything. Then Keller spoke up again. 

“It’s a nice story.” 

“It’s more than a story.”, insisted Nira. “I know the legend might not be fully correct, and Vorel is right when he says that there are different translations and versions. But… “

She headed over to the table they had been sitting on, and motioned to a few opened books and maps. 

“We traced the origins to Virkona. It was one of the main trade hubs, and it had a… religious temple, of sorts…  that was visited by both tribes. And that temple is referenced in other legends, so there must be something about it.”

Keller sighed, very much unconvinced. 

“So why haven’t you gone there?”

Jana looked at both Brennan and Keller, and then offered a bitter smile. “Because it’s been underwater for several centuries now. We don’t have the means to access it. You, however….”

She didn’t finish the sentence, and she didn’t need to.

“I guess it’s time to get our feet wet.”, said Brennan. She looked at her fellow officer. “Or do you want to return to the Elders? Even if this is nothing, it seems infinitely less of a waste of time.”

Virkona. Once one of the main trade hubs on Liraxa IV, had been submerged for centuries, and lay in eerie silence beneath the murky depths. Under the relentless currents and pressure, the once-proud architecture had long began crumbling. Tall buildings that had once been full of life now resembled tombstones as their dark windows stared out into the deep like empty eyesockets. 

“What happened here?”, asked Keller, his gaze never leaving the display outside the shuttle. “Did people get out?”

Jana shook her head. “It was natural phenomena, but one we were – at the time – unable to predict. By the time the locals noticed the ocean withdrawing, it was already too late for most of them to flee.”

“So it doesn’t only feel like a graveyard. It is a graveyard.”, said Keller darkly. He wasn’t liking this one bit. 

“Certainly looks that way.”, commented Brennan, who had her eyes glued on the ‘ghosts’ that now haunted the ruins. They were strange, alien fish that drifted lazily from here to there, seeming almost grotesque with their sharp, angular features and pale, lifeless eyes. 

The shuttle slowly continued its path, past coral-encrusted statues and once beautiful gardens, and somehow it felt like everyone was holding their breath in an attempt not to drown in the overpowering sensation of dread that hung over this place.

And Jonathan Kellers thoughts spiralled. 

He wondered what it was like for adjacent villages to hear of what had happened. Travelling merchants that returned home only to find that the ocean had claimed everything they had worked for. People with families in the doomed city, unable to bury their loved once’s and find closure.

Then again, to him, closure was a cruel joke. He had buried Ricarda just a few weeks ago, and it hadn’t gotten him any closure. It hadn’t changed the fact that whenever he dreamed, she was still alive, and that whenever he woke, there were a blissful few seconds, just before he opened his eyes, where he could pretend that she still was.

Without him, the conversation in the shuttle resumed. “The temple should be right ahead.”

“I can’t believe we are the first ones to see it after such a long time …”

Jonathan clenched his fists. It was all a game for them, wasn’t it? Would-be scientists who only cared for their discoveries, not for the fact that this had been a city full of people.

He wondered… had it been like that when the incident aboard the Cupertino had been reviewed – upon his request, no less. Had Ricarda been anything else to them than a statistic, her death an undesirable outcome? Did anyone even care about how much she was missed? 

“Jonathan.”, said Brennan quietly. It was the first time she had used his first name. “Is… is everything alright?”

Damn woman. Nothing was alright, and if she wasn’t such an abysmally incompetent telepath and First Officer, she would know that and not ask stupid questions. 

“It will be.”, he said diplomatically, but with nothing of his usual charm. 

Brennan absolutely hated the underwater suit. It made her feel claustrophobic, and restricted her movement, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. It also gave her a weird sense of isolation, as if the other five members of their group were further away than they had any right to be. 

It was dark down here, with the only light source coming from what they had brought along. That, however, did nothing to lift the heaviness of the deep, as shifting beams were cast across the decaying stone walls. And even though the moving shadows always turned out to be fish or algae, they put her on edge. 

And so did Keller. Although Alcyone did not even attempt to telepathically connect to the man – not only because she didn’t really know how, but also because he would definitely not appreciate it – she could see that his mood changed, shifting one from extreme to the other. 

They had been walking through the ruins for what felt like hours. Again and again finding paths they blocked. 

Slabs of stone had crumbled inward, making passage through most of the corridors impossible. The grand achways were choked with debris, leaving them to navigate the narrow, claustrophobic passages that remained.

Still, the temple itself still held an eerie grandeur. The walls were covered in faded carvings that hinted at long forgotten rituals, though the intricacy of the designs had been worn by time and water. 

“This way,” Jara’s voice crackled through the comms. She motioned toward a pitch-black passage. Its entrance was barely wide enough for them to squeeze through. The sight of it made Brennan’s stomach churn, and a cold sense of dread creeping up her spine. The thought of forcing herself through that dark space made her skin prickle beneath the suit.

As a child, Brennan had, for quite some time, been afraid of the dark. Her older brothers had teased her for demanding a night-light well into puberty, and the only reason she could now do without, was Eshrevi. Eshrevi liked her bedroom dark and cold. 

She still put on some light source whenever Eshrevi was working nights. 

So Alcyone tried to convince herself to be brave, to take a step forward, and be the leader she was supposed to be. But before she could gather herself, Keller stepped forward. There was no hesitation as he moved past her toward the passage. His light cut through the blackness, illuminating jagged walls and sealife that would have preferred to remain undisturbed.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered as he took the lead without waiting for anyone else to follow.

Brennan bit her lip, feeling like her relationship with their Chief Security Officer was getting worse every second of this curses mission. His cold efficiency and lack of hesitation made her feel small, even though she knew this wasn’t supposed to be a competition. She watched the others follow, feeling a pang of envy at their evident ability to conquer their fears a lot faster than she was. “I’m taking the rear”, she said quietly, pretty sure that no one listened.

The passage stretched on, twisting and narrowing with every step. Her light flickered over the decaying walls, revealing alien, long-legged creatures crawling along the stone. Brennan’s heart was racing – She hated spiders. Even in their regular form, back on land, they made her skin crawl, but down here, they were worse. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep moving. 

Her chest tightened with each step. “Almost there”, she thought, without having actual evidence of this soon being over.

But finally they emerged from the suffocating passage into a large, open chamber, and Alcyone took a deep breath. 

But her relief was short-lived, and none of it was left as her eyes adjusted these new surroundings. The chamber had once been grand, with broad pillars and high ceilings, but was now nothing but a hollow, decaying shell.

The walls were faded, cracked, and covered in algae. Once opulent chairs and tables lay rotting and half-buried. And at the far end of the room, scattered near what must have once been an altar, were skeletal remains. People had likely sought refuge in the temple when the oceans came, only to meet their end here.

Did they find salvation, even if not in the physical world?

Brennan had been raised in a religious family, and grown up in a place where visiting one of the several temples was a regular ritual. Even though she wasn’t exactly the poster child of that belief – not after committing to a relationship with Eshrevi – she believed that she too would seek refuge in one of the temples.

Would she find salvation?

Her head was swimming with the images of home, memories of her childhood, first contrasted with, then intermingled with the decay in front of her. 

“Commander, if you wish to remain here, at least inform the group.” 

Keller’s sharp voice cut through her daze, snapping her back to the present. She blinked. Why was it so hard to concentrate? 

She shook her head.” No, I’m good,” she replied, her voice sounding more distant than she’d meant.

Keller scoffed. Clearly unimpressed. He turned his attention back to what he had been doing. Alcyone hadn’t noticed before, but now she saw the others gathered around him, carefully reassembling something… a golden artefact, round and intricate, though clearly broken. The once-polished surface was marred with cracks, pieces were missing, but even in its damaged state, it was almost unreasonably fascinating.

The group continued working. How long had they been at it? Each of them was focused on their task, but to Brennan, the scene felt… wrong. 

Surreal. 

As if she were watching everything through a filter. Like a dream, but not a particularly pleasant one. 

Brennan wasn’t quite sure what was going on. She had felt miserable ever since they had disembarked from the shuttle and entered the cold deeps of Liraxa IV’s oceans, but more so than she had any right to feel. And it only seemed to be getting worse with every second passing. 

The ruins should be fascinating, but Alcyone only found them dark and anxiety-inducing. The air should be heavy with the whispers of a long-lost civilization and long-forgotten stories, but all she could hear was her own heartbeat, deafeningly loud and distracting. 

And all she could do was to stand motionless as the others worked on getting the artefact back to working again. Did she even care if they were successful or not? She should care. Oh yes, she should very much care. 

Because for the Liraxan students who had joined them, it was a piece of history they had uncovered here, and a way into a brighter future. For Brennan, it was personal on a much smaller scale. She had grown up with an adoptive family, and while her own telepathy was present, she neither understood it, nor was she able to connect to parents and siblings. Even other telepaths often shied away from a telepathic connection, noting how Rodulan telepathy was “different” to theirs, and how it felt unpleasant to attempt communication.

For quite some time, that had hurt Alcyone, and she had wondered if there was something wrong with her. Now, she was mature enough to understand that no one should have to sustain discomfort for the benefit of not hurting someone else’s feelings.

But all of that meant that she could relate to the Liraxan’s plight, and until recently, she had felt a personal investment in the success of this endeavour. But now… 

Kneeling beside the artifact, the group carefully aligned the fragments they had gathered, using the available equipment to recharge and realign broken pieces. 

Keller crouched, brows furrowed as he adjusted one of the delicate components. His hands shook slightly. Brennan could feel the tension radiating from him – he was trying to hide it, but it was like a metallic taste on her tongue. And though they shared no telepathic bond, she could almost hear the frustration building in his mind, and much of it was directed at her inability to help them, or lead the away team like she was supposed to. 

“I think that’s it,” Keller muttered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Just need to secure this piece here, and…”

Across from them, Vorel Syn and Trevan Coras were arguing – again. The two had been at each other’s throats for hours, their disagreement having evolved from a quiet, tense discussion into an outright hostile confrontation. Brennan glanced over at them. Vorel’s face was a mask of cold disdain, his arms crossed as he barked something about Trevan’s incompetence. Trevan, in turn, looked ready to punch the older student.

“Would you two cut it out?” Jara Melun snapped, standing nearby with arms folded. She was no stranger to conflict resolution, but the constant bickering had worn even her patience thin.

Nira Valen hovered a few feet away, her dark eyes flicking nervously between the men, clearly wanting to intervene but unsure how. Brennan caught her gaze, offering a reassuring nod.

“Let’s just get this done,” Brennan said, her voice hoarse and strained. Why was it so difficult to breathe?

“Now you’re saying something.”, snapped Keller, who rose from his crouched position and turned to Brennan. “You’ve been utterly useless-….” 

And then he fell silent, and for a moment, everything just stopped. The next thing Alcyone knew was that he hurried towards her, not in anger, but with worry etched into his face. He shook her – or at least it felt like it. 

“Check your oxygen levels.”, he demanded, but did so himself rather than wait for her. 

“Why didn’t you say something?”, he hissed, not angry, but visibly upset. “We need to get you back to the Callisto. There’s something wrong with your suit.” 

Something wrong? Brennan felt a wave of relief washing over her as her brain decided to concentrate on the ‘it’s not your fault that you aren’t functioning’ rather than the fact that she was in actual danger. She gave a weak nod, ready to tap her badge to get herself beamed up, when Nira’s voice – shrill and scared – broke through the comms. 

“What happened?”, she almost screamed, causing the other students, Keller and Brennan to turn around.

Alcyone’s gaze fell upon the artefact. Like an overcharged conduit, it had splintered apart, fragments singed and blackened. 

Jana rushed towards it, tricorder ready, scanning for any sign of lingering activity. 

“It’s… “, she started, but didn’t finish the sentence. 

It was a collective inhale of air, and from one moment to the other, the tension they had felt finally sought an outlet.

“Who did this?”, Keller roared, while Vorel and Trevan lunged at each other. Nira let out a startled cry as she backed away from the imminent clash, and Jara stepped forward, ready to intervene.

“Stop!” Brennan shouted – or tried to – but her voice was swallowed by the yelling, and even if they had heard her, it was likely they would not have paid attention anyway. Keller, with his already frayed emotions, was teetering on the edge. Brennan could see it in his eyes – he was seconds away from joining the fight. His fists clenched at his sides, muscles tensing, as if preparing to swing.

“Brennan to the Callisto, six to beam up. And get me Security there.”, she said as she tapped her badge, and a moment later, found herself enveloped in the golden glow that meant they were returning to safety.

For the most of the duration of their mission, Jonathan Keller had been either annoyed or angry. It had become a comfortable emotion to settle into, and oddly enough given him the stability he currently craved. Being angry was easier than being sad, and being annoyed was preferable over taking the time to empathize with his new First Officer. 

Keller had almost managed to hate her. The off-putting young appearance, the way she spoke, and the way she clearly didn’t know how to lead. She had kept falling behind when they had explored the ruins, and more often than once just stood there, mentally absent and unhelpful.

Jonathan had always thought of himself as competent, approachable, experienced and as… well, superior to his new colleague. Now, that belief was shattering. He hadn’t paid attention. Because if he had paid attention, he would have noticed Brennan’s lips turning blue from the lack of oxygen. And if he had been approachable, she would have told him that she wasn’t feeling okay. 

“I need medical staff.”, he barked as they were beamed up to the Callisto, the requested security personnel ready to follow Keller’s directions. He hurriedly freed Brennan from her suit, handing it to one of his colleagues. Whether it was a malfunction, a wrong setting, or something worse – that wasn’t the priority right now. 

“Sit.”, he prompted, choosing to ignore that he was speaking to his superior officer and not one of his fledglings. “Deep breaths, count to three.”

He was glad when the summoned medical officer took over, and he allowed to shift his focus to the other issue at hand. The destroyed artefact.

“Put them into a holding cell.”, he growled. “I want to know what happened.”

There were protests from all four Liraxan’s, and Keller bitterly thought that this seemed the first time they were in agreement with each other. Perhaps they were all in on it. Whatever had happened, he would find out. One way or another. 

“Wait..”, objected Brennan, still a little out of breath. “I’m coming.”

Jonathan turned around. “No you are not.”

The was a very awkward moment of silence that followed, and in which none of the present crew dared to do as much as make eye contact. Then, Brennan got up, thanking the medic with a nod, and approached Keller.

“I am. Let’s go.”

In an instant, the negative tinge to Jonathan’s emotions was back. Though Keller found it to be a less aggressive kind of annoyance, more in the lines of a mild inconvenience. Something had shifted – he still didn’t quite see the young woman as someone capable of making sound judgements just yet, but no longer seethed at her perceived incompetence. Over the years, he had worked with plenty new officers who were eager to prove themselves, and didn’t let something minor like not being able to breathe stop them from doing their job.

He understood it – until he got married and had his two sons to take care of, he had been the exact same. And while he wasn’t pleased with Brennan insisting on continued involvement rather than resting, he gave a nod of assent and waited for her to catch up with him before he turned and followed the escorted Liraxans to the brig. 

Alcyone still felt somewhat miserable, but she had been sure that she would feel a lot worse if she let Keller interrogate the Liraxan’s on his own. And she had been correct.  They had been questioning the students for more than an hour now, and not gotten much further. Not because they weren’t say anything, but because they were exceedingly eager to accuse each other. 

Keller, with his already frayed emotions, was teetering on the edge. Brennan could see it in his eyes – he was seconds away from losing his composure and joining the yelling. His fists clenched at his sides, muscles tensing, as if preparing to swing.

“I saw Nira kneel down near the artefact while you were distracted.”, argued Vorel, which was met with immediate counter-arguments from Trevan. Jara, who had tried to keep the group together, and who had worked with these people for more than a year, simply sat in the corner, trying not to cry. 

“And that’s exactly why there will never be peace.”, hissed the accused Nira. “Because I don’t know if you are lying or not. Words mean nothing!” 

Brennan rubbed her temples, finding the assessment accurate, and sharing in the frustration. If she could only hear beyond the spoken words…

Maybe she could try. 

She hadn’t tried for years. The last time she did, it had been one with her Betazoid colleagues. It had barely worked for more than a few seconds, and not been pleasant for either of them. Then again, a few seconds was all she needed. And surely her telepathy was less unpleasant than getting punched by Keller. 

She fixated on the group, gradually letting down the barriers she had erected over the years. And one by one, the silence of her own thoughts was replaced by fragments of those around her. She sensed emotions too – the conscious registration of ones emotion rather than the feeling itself. Keller was angry. The Liraxans were scared. The Security Officer standing by was bored. The men and woman outside were entertained by a story Alcyone had no access to. And beyond that-… 

No, focus. This was the exact thing that had gotten her into trouble before, most notably when she had let the thoughts and impressions confuse her to the extent that she had failed the first attempt on her final exam. 

Focus. Maybe all she needed were a few seconds. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, it seemed like she just wasn’t able to do it. That all her telepathy was good for was being a nuisance and an obstacle. But then something shifted in Brennan.

She felt it. A soft flicker of something at the edge of her consciousness. A connection, faint but unmistakable. She reached out instinctively, her mind touching the edges of both the thoughts and the roiling emotions of the others.

“What-…”, started Trevan, but quickly fell silent. His eyes however stayed wide open, and he looked at Brennan. Then at the others.

“… I can sense you.”

Brennan squeezed her eyes shut, trying to draw her telepathy inward again. She didn’t want to cause pain. 

“I can sense you. All of you…”, said Jana through the discomfort, and not to Brennan. The others nodded slowly, and evidently struggling to deal with this wholly new sensation. The tribes hadn’t been able to communicate for centuries, and they had never experienced a time when it was still possible.

It wasn’t a full connection, and it lasted mere moments. But it was enough. Anger,  frustration, resentment, fear and helplessness all mingled together.  And beneath it all, something darker. Something deliberate.

An intention, twisted and sharp.

It came from Vorel Syn. 

“Vorel!”, screamed Jana, and shrill sound of her voice severed the final remnants of the connection.  l

“What?” Vorel’s face was a mask of innocence, not a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “What do you want?”

“You destroyed it,” Jara hissed, standing slowly. “You sabotaged the artefact.”

Trevan’s eyes widened in disbelief, his fists still clenched as he took a step back. Jara’s gaze hardened, while Nira looked utterly confused.

“You have no proof,” Vorel shot back, but there was something in his tone. Something defensive.

“I don’t need proof,” Jana hissed. “I could feel it.”

Brennan noticed Keller, who had been on the verge of losing control, looking at her, his eyes searching her face. “What was that?”, he asked as calmly as possible. 

“I reached out.”, Brennan explained as good as he could. “And I agree with Jana. There… was something dark in his thoughts. An intention.”

“I see.”, replied Keller coldly. He was displeased, but it remained unclear if he was displaced with Brennan or Vorel. “Let me handle this.”

As Keller approached, the energy field keeping the Liraxan’s contained, was disabled long enough for him to step inside, and for Jara, Nira and Trevan to hurry out of the holding cell. He halted  a few feet from Vorel Syn, his muscles tight and fists clenched. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Brennan, but he trusted her when she said that the man had something to do with what had happened. And he was going to find out what, and why.

Vorel seemed unnervingly calm despite everything that had just happened. The others had already back, watching from a distance, giving Keller space for the interrogation. No one spoke, but the tension was suffocating.

The almost smug expression grated on Keller’s nerves, and for the first time since he was a young man and who didn’t know how to channel his energy, he felt like he was about to lose his professionalism. Every fibre of his body screamed at him to grab the man and throw him into the wall, make him confess through the sheer force of anger, let out the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks.

But he held back. Barely. His hands itched to lash out, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. That wasn’t who he was. But damn, it was tempting.

“Vorel,” Keller said. His voice was low and controlled, though it took everything he had not to snarl. “It seems we need to talk.”

“About what?” Vorel’s tone was infuriatingly casual, as if none of this mattered. “You going to accuse me of something? I already told you and the others: the artefact was old, it couldn’t handle the stress.”

“Stop playing games,” Keller growled. “We all know what you did.”

Vorel crossed his arms, his expression quickly turning into feigned confusion. “I didn’t do anything. The thing was already falling apart. You’re just looking for someone to blame because Starfleet couldn’t fix it.”

Keller’s knuckles turned white. Every word out of Vorel’s mouth made it harder to keep control. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, pounding louder and louder as the seconds ticked by. He forced himself to breathe. 

“You seem to be awfully okay with it, considering it is your hard work that was destroyed. And your way to bring peace to your people.” Keller growled, stepping closer. By now, his face only inches from Vorel’s. He could see the flicker of unease in Vorel’s eyes now, the tiniest crack in his armor. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Keller’s patience snapped. He grabbed the front of Vorel’s jacket, yanking him forward so fast the man stumbled, nearly losing his footing. He could hear Brennan inhale sharply, but paid no attention to the woman. 

“I think it’s about profit.”, said Nira. “His family isn’t wealthy. We were always wondering how he even affords attending university.” 

“Is that true?”, Keller almost shouted at Vorel. “War’s good business. Peace isn’t.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Vorel’s cocky facade began to crack, his eyes darting to the sides, searching for an escape. But there was none. 

“You-.. you have no proof,” Vorel spat, trying to pull away, but Keller didn’t let go.

“Proof? I don’t need proof. I know your type. You’d sell out anyone if it meant lining your pockets. And destroying the artefact? Definitely keeps the tribes at war, keep the assets flowing.”

Vorel opened his mouth and closed it again. But he didn’t deny the accusation.

Keller’s grip loosened slightly, though every instinct in his body screamed to punch the man’s lights out right then and there. He wanted to. He really wanted to. But Ricarda would be so mad if he did.

So instead he shoved Vorel back, and the man stumbled into the wall.

Vorel sneered. “Are you stupid enough to think peace is going to actually happen? The tribes have been killing each other for centuries. They don’t want peace. And your Starfleet doesn’t have jurisdiction on Liraxa. I have friends in higher places than you could imagine, I will get out of this-… “

Keller didn’t hear the rest. He only heard his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and felt his muscles tensing. His fist raising to swing… and hit the wall right next to Vorel’s face. 

It was fair to say that all (now three) Liraxan’s were glad to be out of the holding cell, but the enthusiasm regarding their new-found freedom vanished as soon as the reality of what had happened settled in. The destroyed artefact had held several meanings to them – ranging from an opportunity of proving themselves in their chosen field of study to satiating their thrill of adventure, but on the forefront of all of this was the hope that it would bring peace to their people. 

“This artifact was more than a relic – it was a bridge. It would have allowed both tribes to connect… if only we’d had a little more time.”, Nira said and shook her head, sitting down by Trevan’s side. “I can’t believe its just… gone”

Jara Melun’s hands trembled slightly as she tried to regain her composure.   “Without the artifact, the rift between our people only widens. The Malivan elders won’t accept another delay. They’ll see it as yet another Virexian failure.”

“Not necessarily. The artifact isn’t totally lost. Perhaps it can be recovered and repaired.”

“I doubt it.”, said Trevan bitterly. 

There was a long moment of silence before Nira spoke up again. “Your telepathy worked, even if only for a moment, didn’t it?”

She looked meaningfully to Brennan, who had thus far remained silent. 

 “I did sense something… like a faint connection between you and the others, like a low hum. But I don’t know if that was because of the artifact or if it was… me.”

“You’re Starfleet. Not one of us. Whatever you felt, it won’t be enough. The artifact would have channeled energy far beyond individual reach.”, sighed Jana.

Trevan leaned in thoughtfully. “What if it didn’t need to? The connection doesn’t have to be strong, does it? Just… enough to prove we can understand each other, even for a moment. The tribes have learned to negotiate verbally, but we lack that base of understanding.”

Brennan nodded slowly. “So, a subtle connection. Just a brief awareness of each other’s thoughts. Even if my telepathy only managed to bridge that gap once, it’s proof that it’s possible.”

“But if we were to amplify that… create a telepathic field in place of the artifact… just long enough for the elders to share one moment of clarity. One shared experience might be all we need to reestablish peace negotiations.”

Jana frowned. “You’re talking about recreating the effects of an ancient artifact by mirroring telepathy that isn’t even out own.”

Brennan frowned. “Even if we managed to build such a field, there’s one big problem…”

“Your Starfleet rules, I imagine.”

“Exactly. Starfleet’s Prime Directive restricts our interference in another species’ natural development. Creating an artificial telepathic field might be crossing that line.”

Trevan’s voice was gentle as he spoke, but the words hurt nonetheless “Your so-called rules may well be our downfall, Commander. Your presence here is interference enough.”

“That’s enough, Trevan. Commander Brennan… just provide a moment of unity. Let us make our own decisions.”

 “If there’s even a chance it could work, it may be worth attempting. But I need to consult with my superior officer first. Captain Ceix will want to know about this… and he’ll have thoughts on where the line is. I just don’t know if Starfleet will approve.”

“But you’re willing to try?”

Brennan sighed, then nodded. “I’ll speak with Ceix. If there’s any way to support you without violating our protocol, we’ll find it.”

Captain Ceix sat behind his desk in the Callisto’s ready room, looking through the report from the surface of Liraxia IV. Sydin has remained to try and pacify the Elders and gather additional information, and of course he had been informed of the progress made by Brennan and her team. He was very much trying to figure our what to do with the man who had destroyed the artefact, fearing that without proof it would have worked – and, in the same line – helped the Liraxan people, it was unlikely he would face any kind of punishment.

Which was something the Captain didn’t like. Engineering was still investigating the incident with Brennan’s suit, and so far they didn’t believe in a malfunction. Instead, there was a chance Vorel had something to do with that too.

But now, there was another matter at hand. The idea of a telepathic field that could potentially bridge the gap between the two factions. 

He ran a hand through his long hair, and leaned forward on the desk.

The chime of the door interrupted his thoughts. “Enter.”

Brennan was the first to step in, flanked by Keller, Nira Valen, Trevan Coras, and Jara Melun. The room felt instantly crowded, and Ceix directed them to the conference table.

“Captain,” Brennan started. “I believe you have reviewed our report?”
Ceix nodded, and Keller continued. “We believe that a telepathic field can work. Brennan has been able to connect on a low level with both tribes – if we can mirror this, It’s exactly what the Liraxans need to begin the peace talks.”

“We would be actively involving ourselves in their internal matters. The Prime Directive…”, Ceix sighed. 

“I know, Captain,” Brennan interrupted. Her voice was firm but respectful. “But the Liraxans initiated this. Nira, Trevan, and Jara can confirm that the research is theirs. Starfleet’s role was merely to provide the support they requested. This is not interference. It’s cooperation.”

Keller shifted his weight, crossing his arms. “Sir, the Liraxans have been trying to solve this problem for centuries. They see this telepathic field as their own solution, with our help as a neutral mediator.”

Nira stepped forward. “Captain, this is our research. The telepathic field has the potential to restore peace on our planet.”

Ceix exhaled slowly, rising from his chair and walking to the viewport. Outside, the pink glow of Liraxia IV’s atmosphere shimmered in the distance, serene and deceptively peaceful.

“I understand the importance of this to your people, Nira,” he said. “But you must understand that I have to think of Starfleet’s principles, of the Prime Directive. Once we cross that line, there’s no turning back.”

Trevan, usually the more reserved of the group, stepped forward. “Captain Ceix, this isn’t interference. You’d only be allowing us to use the technology we’ve developed with your assistance. The tribes deserve a chance at peace. Don’t deny them that because of a technicality.”

Ceix remained silent for a moment. He turned back to face them, his eyes narrowing as he searched their faces. They were right, of course. This was in the best interest of the Liraxan people. The field would be their creation, with Starfleet only acting as facilitators.

“ I want to hear what the Elders of both tribes have to say. This decision can’t be made here, on our own.”

Keller, pragmatic as usual, nodded. “If they agree, it might be enough to rally their people behind the peace talks.”

Brennan’s gaze met Ceix’s, and for a moment, the room seemed too quiet. “Captain, this could be the turning point for them.”

Ceix sighed and returned to his seat. “Very well. I’ll call for a meeting with the Elders. Here. But I want it clear to both tribes that this is their decision. We’re here to help them find peace, not dictate their future.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said softly.

There was an eerie silence that had spread across the ship as the Callisto prepared to leave the Liraxa system. Mood and morale of the crew had dipped in an instant, and sunk to abysmal levels as the latest reports came in, and their offer for support was declined. 

Captain Ceix had called a meeting with the Elders of both tribes, and for the first time in centuries they had been in agreement – to reject the solution of a telepathic field. They had called it an interference, and “not meant to be”. Vorel Syn had been retuned to Liraxa IV and gone free of punishment, making those who knew what he had done believe that he had a benefactor amongst the Elders, and acted on their orders. 

But the news of the rejected solution had spread like wildfire, and now students and scholars alike were on the barricades, joined by those who had lost loved ones in the conflict, and those no longer willing to accept the decision-making of their Elders. Now, Liraxa IV truly was at war. 

The factions with each other, and with themselves.

Jonathan Keller had tried every approach possible. Calm, professional, understanding… and then he had gotten loud and aggressive. None of it had worked. 

Now, he found himself alone in his quarters, his children fast asleep. He had visited Liraxa IV one last time, to retrieve something from the market, and now he was eager to try it out. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t work. Perhaps it was better if it didn’t work. He didn’t expect anything to happen, but he wanted to try. 

“Here’s to us.”, he said to the silence of his living quarters, and opened the vial of Veliun. Its content shimmered within, reminding him of the colorful market they had visited. He had been frustrated then. Hateful even. But a lot had changed. 

Keller hadn’t asked how the remedy was taken, but didn’t quite dare trying to check their database. Instead, he simply downed a sip of the liquid, and hoped for the best. 

Brennan would surely be mad at him if she knew, and that… bothered Jonathan. Which was odd, because until a few days ago, he had disliked the woman with an unreasonable intensity. Now, after the incident with the malfunctioning suit, he still couldn’t quite accept her as his superior officer. He still also doubted her competence. But if he was honest, he felt a little protective of her. 

He vividly remembered the relief he had felt when they had returned to the Callisto, and when Brennan had turned out to not suffer any lasting injuries. 

Jonathan sat down at the sofa, letting his mind wander. He hadn’t spend much time here as of late, always scared of slowing down too much. But now, for the first time since Ricarda’s death, he felt safe enough to relax. 

Ricarda. 

Usually he avoided thinking of her. Grief and anger had festered in his soul, tainting the memory of his wife. Though today, it seemed that those emotions had faded into the background. Instead, he fondly remembered their hourlong conversations, and their (sometimes heated) discussions on how to parent their children. 

If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her voice. She had this odd accent he had teased her for on a regular basis, and a way of falling silent, knowing full well that Jonathan hated that and would fill said void with his rambling. She would have made an amazing interrogator. 

They had fought, yes, but they had always found ways to navigate their disagreements, and they had made a great team. 

He could feel her hand on his face now, and her soft lips on his. 

“I know it’s not perfect.”, she said “But you did your best. The Elder’s decision is their own.”

He felt better hearing that. And even though he intellectually knew that there was no way Ricarda was here and gave him that much needed affirmation, he basked in it.  Who cared if the Liraxan’s elected war over the potential of peace? They did their job, and that was all that could be asked of them.

“Do you remember our mission back on Kavilis? It was not so dissimilar. Sometimes, people need to walk their own path.” 

There was a warmth rising up in his chest, radiating to his sore limbs and eventually filling his head. It drove out the darkness that had made it’s home there, 

And for the first time in weeks, he smiled.