=/\=Paris Guest House, Earth

=/\=April 4th, 2385

Noli stood alone on the balcony. She had been there since the early morning hours, long before the sun had risen, clearing her mind and collecting her thoughts. Much had gone into preparing for the day ahead. She saw it as the culmination of months, even years of hard work and dedication. Yet, Noli knew it was more than that. This was a day that marked the beginning of something new. It was the start of a new season, one that would undoubtedly change their lives forever.

The cup of tea in Noli’s hands had gone cold, but she hardly seemed to notice. Her attention was lost in the middle-distance somewhere as she took in the sounds of city life around her.

Somewhere behind, the faint sound of doors parting and closing again could be made out, followed by footsteps. Footsteps that approached with an almost skip in their step. “Good morning beautiful,” the owner of the steps called out rather jovially as she approached the balcony area. “How are you on this fine day?” the voice asked as a man emerged onto the balcony behind Noli. A Terran, in a smart gray suit and pale blue shirt.

“Well, and you?”

“It’s the start of a beautiful new dawn, and excited for an opportunity to shape the future of the galaxy,” the young man grinned as he stepped forward to the rail of the balcony and leant on it with his elbows. “So, I guess you could say I’m pretty good!” he smirked, but the smile softened when he noticed the expression on the woman’s face. “What’s wrong?” he queried, standing upright again.

“Nothing,” Noli said, turning to smile at the man. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Just being mindful of the moment.”

Nodding slowly, Leon glanced across the city and, in the distance, could make out the outline of a particular building through the morning haze. “Sounds like all the preparations for the visit are complete and the swearing in should go smoothly according to the FNS,” he told, using a hand to push himself away from the railing and back into the apartment.Once inside, he took a seat on one of the sofas. “You are allowed a couple of days off for your own wedding, Noli.”

Noli poured the remains of her tea over the flower box on the balcony, then followed her partner inside. She crossed over to the kitchen sink and began washing out the mug. “I know, I know,” the young teen frowned as she worked, “Just… I’ve been on the Admiral’s staff for six months. He finally lets me get involved in something major and I swan off for my wedding.”

“So what? You work for Picard, you haven’t pledged your life to him,” Leon grinned as he rose to his feet again and wandered across to the ridge-nosed blonde. “You pledged that to me,” he smirked, sliding his arms around the woman’s waist and leaning in for a kiss, which she gladly reciprocated.

Once their lips parted and their frames untwined, Noli went back to her task at hand. “I suppose you’re still visiting Utopia, though?”

“It’s First Contact Day. I’m going to meet the team, sign off a few orders and then I’ll be home. An hour, two at most, then we can begin our honeymoon properly,” the husband smiled. “What could possibly go wrong?”

=/\=USS Santa Fe, Deep Space 9

=/\=Present Day

Blinking the sleep away, the real world awaited once more. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ Words that had haunted the Bajoran’s dreams for fourteen long years, ever since that fateful day in 2385. First Contact Day had never been celebrated in the same way since.

On that fateful April 5th morning, multiple A500 androids had suddenly gone rogue. One android, now known as F8, lowered the deflector shields protecting the shipyards and the planet itself, then hacked the Martian defense net. Moments thereafter, numerous synth ships began targeting the Romulan rescue armada under construction, the Utopia Planitia Shipyards, the Mars Orbital Facility, and other Martian facilities. The satellite network surrounding Mars was turned against the surface. The synths then began bombarding the surface, igniting flammable vapors in the stratosphere and causing massive damage to the planet’s infrastructure.

Of course, Starfleet dispatched a task force to Mars at high warp in response to the attack, but they were too late. They were unable to prevent the destruction of almost the entire surface of the planet. Admiral Picard himself had called the attack ‘devastating’, and for Noli, it was. Like so many others, the Bajoran lost a loved one that day. She’d lost her best friend, her lover… her soulmate. But unlike many, she was only 19 at the time. Married to her childhood sweetheart only days before, and robbed of any sort of future together. She’d thought about leaving Starfleet altogether during her mourning period, but in the end, that was all that she had left, all that could keep her going. All that remained now were the nightmares, the constant reminders of times gone by. And the only way to suppress the thoughts? Throwing oneself into one’s work.

Pulling on her duty uniform jacket, the blonde stared at herself in the mirror, as she did each and every day. Silently. Observing her moment of remembrance before heading out for work. only this day, before she was able to exit the room, she was stunned by the sudden sounding of yellow alert across the ship.

“=/\=Senior staff to the bridge.”

Being summoned to the bridge by the Captain under yellow alert was nothing unusual under normal circumstances, but today was far from normal. With the ship docked at Deep Space Nine it was most unusual to hear the issuing of yellow alert. Such a move more than piqued the Bajoran’s curiosity and she immediately made her way towards the nearest turbo lift where she would, eventually, grab the next passing elevator. Inside the moving transportation system upon its arrival, the tactician joined the executive officer and their counterpart from flight operations.

Upon the lifts arrival, the doors parted to a hive of activity that saw the tactician taken aback somewhat. When a ship was docked at a starbase, the bridge tended to be relatively unmanned, but given the sudden sounding of yellow alert, people were all over the place, including the captain.

“Ah, the missing pieces to my puzzle,” the dark-skinned Terran master and commander of the Santa Fe nodded to the Bajoran as his staff crossed the bridge and approached the Captain’s chair. He didn’t wait for them to take their stations before revealing the nature of the situation they found themselves in.

“Alright people. Listen up,” he called out, drawing the attention of those around him. “A situation has arisen in the area of the Paulson Nebula. Starfleet mobilized a massive response force, and we’ve been drafted in,” he then pointed to Commander travis at science.

“Data shared with me from Starfleet Applied Sciences shows the nature of this situation,” the ginger-haired, pale-skinned scientist tapped at his console and pulled up a real-time schematic of the unfolding situation.

It drew several gasps and caused the Andorian executive to sit forward in her command chair. “What, on the boiling hell of Vulcan, is that?” the woman remarked as her antennae bowed. Even she, as unflappable as she was, was worried.

“Ladies and gentlebeings, meet the Century Storm,” the scientist began, “Technically the manifestation of multiple ion storms of a similar nature, the phenomenon has impacted communication and travel throughout the region, damaged ships and stations, and inflicted massive adverse weather effects on colonies. The high risk to the hundreds of thousands of individuals living and working in the nebula prompted Starfleet to mobilise a mass evacuation of endangered regions.”

At this point in the briefing, the Cardassian at Ops took over. “The ion storms appear seemingly at random across the Paulson Nebula. Their strength, speed, and rate of intensification all vary, making no one storm quite the same. Now, the nature of the Paulson Nebula already makes travel, communication, and use of sensors occasionally difficult or outright impossible; this has only exacerbated where the Century Storm appeared. Ships caught within the ion storms are at high risk of losing sensors and communications, of disruption to their warp fields, and sustaining damage from the storm itself,” Lieutenant Prida revealed, much to the dismay of those around her.

“You couldn’t take us to Risa instead, Captain?” Noli smirked as she folded her arms across her chest and shook her head at the viewer.

Standing beside the blonde-haired tactician, the Captain let out a smirk. “Maybe next time, Lieutenant. For now, due to the high risk to the hundreds of thousands of individuals living and working in the nebula, Starfleet has mobilised a mass evacuation of endangered regions. We’ve been ordered to head up a small task group headed to the planet Sathea on the nebula’s westernmost edge. The science station on the fourth planet is home to a large science expedition. We are to evacuate the people and their research before the storm hits,” the Captain concluded.

Commander sh’Elas had already begun working at her own console. “Adriatic and Bristol have made contact, and confirmed their orders. Rendezvous has been set at the Yridia system,” the Andorian informed the Captain.

Sebastian placed a gentle hand on the shoulder of Dante Rawlings at Flight Operations. “Clear departure with Ops and set a course for Yridia, maximum warp,” he directed before returning to his own command chair at the heart of the bridge.

Dante exchanged glances with Lieutenant Prida beside him and together they began departure preparations; Prida contacted the station operations manager and cleared their departure within the station’s travel zones, whilst Rawlings coordinated with engineering to start the ship’s warp and impulse engines.

Once Prida had given him the nod, Dante glanced around at the Captain. “Course entered, Ops has cleared us,” he informed.

“Ready maneuvering thrusters,” the Andorian XO requested.

“Thrusters ready,” the Operations chief called out in an almost immediate response.

“Initiate launching sequence,” the blue-skinned commander ordered.

“Sequence underway,” Dante declared.

With a deep breath, the Captain looked out of the main viewer and smiled. “Let’s rock and roll,” Farrell ordered with a nod, hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly. Through the leather arm rests, Sebastian could feel the vibrations of the ship’s engines as the Santa Fe moved clear of the old Cardassian station’s upper pylons and crawled into a safe position. Seconds later, the New Orleans-class frigate streaked out of normal space and into the starscape, leaving the once broken system of Bajor behind and moved into high warp.

“That feeling never gets old,” the Andorian next to him grinned as both command officers visibly relaxed in their chairs.

Watching from her position behind the tactical rail, the Bajoran tactician in Operation’s gold had her arms folded, watching the stars streaming by. Thoughts of days gone by had long since evaporated, with the events of the here and now taking precedence. Until the morning, anyway. Those memories would return, as they did every morning.

For now, Sathea IV awaited.

“A dark blanket, contrasting with blacks and yellows, and the occasional white, which is shaped as a circle and sometimes a crescent. There are stars which dot the blanket in an intricate pattern. For this is space.”

Words of his grandfather, words that had stayed with the captain of the Santa Fe for all his life and would be passed to his children, if he would be lucky enough to have any.

“In the ancient time, men used the magical symbols above the night sky for navigation. These star patterns saved a lot of lives in the old age,” he would say as they looked up and saw the stars from their garden on Earth. They would illuminate the darkness and his fears would crumble to dust beneath his feet as he listened to the wise old man’s words. “Some stars fade and some shine brighter with each passing day. Each of them has its own unique shape, brightness and size. Some stars are bigger than others, showing they are the king of the heavens…”

“Sometimes, many stars appear at once above the dark, sombre sky, and they look like flakes of snow flowing out into the galaxy,” the wrinkled wise man would say, always finishing with the same wise words, no matter how often they shared these moments, and the captain, even as a boy, would always remind grandfather of their earlier conversations because they would always bring him great joy, and there was nothing he loved more than to bring his grandfather such happiness. “As we watch these dust-like particles slowly swimming above our head, we begin to raise our hand, yearning to touch them and be swept into the heavens… You no longer yearn, my son, for you travel the heavens with freedom… as today’s king of the heavens…”

With the ship now cruising along at high warp, the stars were streaking past the main view screen at incredible speeds. It always felt so good to be back among the stars, in charge of one’s own destiny, as king of the heavens. He took a deep, satisfied breath and relaxed back into his command chair.

Whilst the bridge of a starship wasn’t the biggest room on the vessel, it was perhaps the most important. As always, it was the focal point of the ‘Bridge Module’, the nerve-center of every starship, and was manned by the top officers of each department when required. For a ship’s commanding officer, the bridge was their home, and no matter where their adventures would take them, they always found themselves to be truly happy when sitting in ‘that’ chair at the centre of the bridge. Captain Sebastian Farrell was no different. He loved being on the bridge at the best of times, but the bridge of the Santa Fe was something to be marvelled at these days, especially post refit. The layout was superb, with many additional stations created and, most importantly, the vast majority of them facing large display consoles and with swivel chairs so that everyone could pretty much make eye contact with one another when discussing the mission at hand. Perhaps the feature he was most proud of was the gold, hexagonal plate at the very heart of the bridge, upon which the logo of the United Federation of Planets was emblazoned. It was a sign, a reminder, of who they were and why they were there. Today, on their mission of mercy, the crew would show the very best of Starfleet and the Federation. They would be everything that logo stood for.

Sitting at the center of the bridge, he had a data PADD in each hand; on the first, the Captain reviewed details of various vessels which had so far been embroiled in the Stormbreaker Campaign. From the Fourth Fleet alone, a minimum of sixteen starships had been requisitioned. Fearless, like so many, had been beset with technological difficulties when in the region. Centaur, Horizon, Hydra and Saratoga had become involved in evacuation procedures, whilst Arcturus, Endeavour and Odyssey were all involved in ways that Farrell was not privy to. Then, of course, their was the Santa Fe itself. Pulled from her mission back to the Gamma Quadrant, Santa Fe had been recalled from Deep Space Nine to head up a small task group en-route to the planet Sathea on the nebula’s westernmost edge. On the second data PADD, a transmission he had received from Starfleet Command upon their departure from Deep Space Nine.

He let out a sigh as he contemplated the contents of both data receptacles. The Federation science station on Sathea IV was in the path of the storm, with its team planning to survey the phenomenon from inside, despite the warnings (and orders) from Starfleet Command. It was down to the Santa Fe task group to bring them all home to safety.

At Tactical Operations, Lieutenant Noli Auru was hard at work getting to grips with the defensive and offensive systems of the ship, trying to determine how best she could protect the ship, and the science station, from the affects of the storm. Dante Rawlings, perhaps the longest serving member of the Santa Fe crew, was monitoring the ships propulsion systems and the course they were projected to follow. Three times already he’d had to make adjustments due to the oncoming ion storms. Beside him, the Bajoran-Cardassian Operations chief was assisting her counterparts from both engineering and flight operations. Several flight paths and trajectories calculated by her, and confirmed by the computers, were highlighted on the screen. She smiled, able to see her partner’s beaming excitement to be at the helm. She reviewed approved flight checks, confirming those required of her whilst also monitoring the work of engineering as they prepared to transfer all available power to defensive systems and sensors when required.

Lieutenant Chiera, Vittoria to her friends, had arrived on the bridge a short while earlier, despite not usually spending much time up here unless her presence was requested. While she was a senior advisor to the captain and a frequent fill-in for a diplomatic corps, she always felt that her place was in her office. Talking to the crew, helping them, getting to know everyone and set everyone up for success for themselves and for the ship. Now, though, her presence as part of the senior staff had been requested, and so here she was. She didn’t know which seat she was to inhabit today, so she simply approached the captain with a polite nod of greeting. “Captain.”

Doctor Zinn, like Lieutenant Chiera, didn’t spend much time on the Bridge, or at least he hadn’t until today. Now that Farrell had atoned for the mistakes of his predecessor and made him a member of the senior staff, that would have to change and so he felt the need to be on the Bridge for the events that were to come. The command centre was impressive. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, taking note of the details. One in particular caught his attention; the seal of the Federation on the carpet in the centre of the room. He’d never noticed it before, but Zinn had never been one to miss an opportunity to point things out to those around him, whether they wanted to hear it or not. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t they?” He asked before quickly adding, “with the seal.”

”I mean I’m sure we can change the carpet next time we’re in spacedock, maybe a nice teal colour to match your uniform?” Lieutenant Rawlings retorted, his fingers moving over the controls as he finished the latest adjustment to his flight plans.

”I think it’s there to remind the Federation of its roots, calling for us all to return to our mandate,” the ginger-haired Science Officer piped in, quite serious in his affectation, hands equally active across his console as he made specific adjustments to his personal system for efficiency and peace of mind. He had to be sure he had access to all the relevant information when the time came to use it.

“Ugh. Federation idealism at its finest,” Zinn chastised his colleague internally. As far as the Deltan was concerned, Javorian Travis could pretty much have been a poster boy for Starfleet recruitment. Sickening.

”Thank you for being the voice of reason, Commander,” the Captain smirked as he looked up from the data PADD he was reading, shooting off a look of disapproval in the direction of the CONN officer at the mere suggestion of changing the carpet. “We’re going into the unknown, literally flying the flag for the Federation. Having the iconic symbol so close at hand serves as a vital reminder of who we are,” he professed to anyone who might have been listening.

Zinn snorted derisively as he rolled his eyes so hard that he was certain it made an audible noise. But, he managed to hold his tongue this time. He found a place to stand, near the turbolift, where he could watch proceedings and make a quick getaway as soon as needed.

”I think it is time to fill in the crew, Number One. Put me through to the rest of the ship,” the Captain requested as he rose to his feet slowly, the data PADD in his hand as he took up a position in the centre of the Federation logo on the deck plating in front of his chair.

Speech time, the Andorian XO predicted. “Channel open, Captain,” Tharia replied after brief moment.

“=/\=All hands, this is the Captain,” Sebastian called out, his voice carried across all decks of the ship by the internal communications grid, “in the next few days, this ship will embark on a mission of great importance; by now, I am sure the ever accurate rumour mill of starship life is in overdrive and you are no doubt all aware that we are on a course that takes us far from our initial destination. Our mission is due to take us to the planet Yridia, where we will rendezvous with the starships Adriatic and Bristol, before travelling to the westernmost edge of the Paulson Nebula,” Farrell told, taking a deep breath and preparing to share the contents of the data PADD. “Our mission will take us to the planet Sathea IV, where we will lead evacuation efforts for the science station located planetside.” Seb took a pause now, and looked towards his friend and confidant in the command chair next to his. In the next thirty seconds, she would hear some news that would test their friendship in more ways than one. “Today is a bittersweet moment, my friends. At the conclusion of our current mission, a new commanding officer will be appointed to the Santa Fe, and I will be on my way. It has been the privilege of a lifetime to command the Santa Fe for the time granted to me, but for now we have one last mission together, ,” the Captain turned on his heels and looked at the XO and those at the back of the bridge, “…perhaps our most important one to date.”

Listening to their commanding officer speak, curiosity had turned to shock for the Andorian sat to the right of the Captain’s chair. Her smile had evaporated and her antennae drooped at the notion that their Captain would soon depart. “The honour has been ours, Captain,” Tharia told as she rose to her feet and looked at the man, her friend, “and this crew will do you proud until the end of your tour.”

Returning to his command chair, the Captain nodded. “I would expect nothing less from this crew,” he smiled, before letting out a contented sigh.

For a while after, the bridge remained fairly silent. Whilst they worked on their objectives, the crew found themselves contemplating the future of the ship following the Captain’s news. It would spark another period of uncertainty, at a time when the crew had just settled into a routine under Farrell’s command. 

The silence was not to last much longer, as the communications array came to life, drawing the attention of the tactical operations officer, who stood behind the command team. “Adriatic and Bristol are reporting in and moving into formation for the last leg of the journey to Sathea, Captain. Captain Carun of the Adriatic sends his regards,” Noli revealed, looking down at the backs of their heads as she spoke.

Out beyond the safety of the ship’s hull, two slow moving hulks glided into position, flanking the frigate on either side as it slowed. One, the Miranda-class Adriatic, would have been fine to maintain speed with the Santa Fe until they reached their destination but the other, the Oberth-class USS Bristol, would never have been able to keep up with them, her aging engines far from perfect.

“Prompt as ever,” Sebastian smirked, “please return my kind regards and praise both Captain Carun and Commander Ketok on their prompt rendezvous,” it was then that he shifted forward in his seat, “I think it is time we made contact with the science station on Sathea, what do you think?”

Whilst Noli worked behind them, relaying the requested kudos to the commander’s of the Miranda and Oberth-class vessels, Tharia tapped on her console and gave a nod of confirmation to her captain. “Their sensors will have detected us by now, so there’s no point stalling any longer,” the Andorian shrugged. With silent permission from the captain, the blue-skinned, white-haired woman turned back to Noli. “Hail Sathea IV,” she instructed. A short while later, a beep and nod from the Bajoran indicated that a channel had been opened successfully. 

“Sathea IV, this is the starship Santa Fe,” Sebastian called out, his hands holding the armrests for support, watching the viewscreen for any sign of life.

Soon, a picture of an elderly man appeared on the screen, flickering and distorted, a far cry from the usual seamless communications. “Lieutenant Prida?” Farrell looked hopefully towards the Cardassian operations chief.

“I’m working to clear it up sir, but the disruption is on their end. It seems the effects of the storm have hit sooner than expected,” she frowned as her mottled, grey hands flew across the control screen in front of her. She adjusted bandwidths, changed channels and worked algorithms until the distorted image cleared up sufficiently to communicate with the figure on the screen.

“Good work Prida,” Sebastian mouthed to her in appreciation, and then tried again. “Sathea IV, this is the starship Santa Fe, Captain Sebastian Farrell commanding.”

“Santa Fe, this is Administrator Doya Ekaan of Sathea Station,” the elderly man spoke out through the distortion, “what can we do for you, Captain?” he asked politely.

“Administrator, we have been tasked with evacuating you and your personnel, and any research you may have, off of Sathea and to the safety of the Vulcan science institute,” Farrell informed the head of the science expedition.

“There must be some mistake,” the elderly man’s face changed, “I informed Starfleet that it was our intention to remain here, on Sathea, and survey the effects of this new storm from within. This is a once in a generation storm that must be studied and the best place to do that is from within,” Ekaan told, adding swiftly, “we are not going anywhere.”

Rising slowly to his feet, Seb shook his head. “I’m afraid you have no choice, Administrator,” the Captain told as politely as he could muster, but with more than a stern tone, “I am ordered to safeguard the people of this expedition, and the best way I can do that is to get you all out of here. Please ensure you and your people are ready to depart upon our arrival.”

There was an almost stunned silence from the white-haired, wrinkly man on the screen. “I’m sorry you and your people have wasted your time in travelling here, Captain, but we are not going anywhere. Sathea out.” And with that, the communications channel closed.

Tharia rose to her feet and folded her arms across her chest. “At least we know where we stand with him,” she mused.

“We know where he stands, Number One, but I stand somewhere different,” Farrell frowned. “Javorian; get me every snippet of information we already have, and send it to my ready room. Noli, get Carun and Ketok on the line – I want a conference call,” he ordered, heading across the bridge to his ready room, calling out only briefly before disappearing inside, “you have the bridge, Commander.”

Tharia watched the frustrated body language of the Captain as he entered the ready room and let out a sigh. It seemed this simple evacuation would not be as easy as they had hoped. Turning back to her chair, the Andorian nodded at both the Bajoran and her Terran counterpart at science, commissioning them to get to work on Farrell’s wishes.

Upon sitting down in her chair, the Andorian let out a slight grin. Administrator Ekaan was about to meet the immovable object that was Captain Sebastian Farrell. It would be more than interesting to find out who would be successful in the ensuing encounter, and the Andorian knew who her bars of gold pressed latinum would be on…

[Sathea IV Science Station, Sathea System, Alpha Quadrant]

In the black body of heaven’s keep, in the space that is the beauty of the universe, among the stars that shine so bright, Sathea IV sat many kilometres from her five siblings. On the edge of the Paulson nebula, with its swirling dust clouds, large rocks, and clumpy space matter which presented a navigational hazard for starships a plenty, the planet unknowingly found itself in the path of the increasingly violent Century Storm. Already, the planet was feeling the effects of the spatial phenomenon. As if it were starlight pulsing through the graphite sky, lightning came in great networking forks, striking randomly at first before being drawn to the shielding system of the science station located in the planet’s southern hemisphere. The wind was like nothing anyone had ever heard, savage and unyielding, raw power beyond any wind storm. And if the scaremongers from Starfleet were to be believed, this was only the beginning.

Standing over one of his lead researchers, Administrator Dayo Ekaan’s handlebar moustache twitched, almost betraying the tension in the elderly man’s muscles as he looked over their readings. According to their sensors, once the epicenter of the storm engulfed their facility they would feel a force so strong it could only be compared to the sort of intense gravimetric distortion that could pose a danger to spacecraft by trapping them and exposing them to high levels of gravimetric shear – only on a planet instead.

A bead of sweat trickled down his wrinkled face as he gently patted the researcher’s shoulder in appreciation. They had all agreed to stay and study the phenomenon from within, putting their lives at risk for the pursuit of science, but even the Administrator was starting to question the logic of his decision. Was a scientific study of a once in a generation phenomenon really worth the lives of him and his team?

He would have to answer that question much sooner than he would like, because at that very moment, the science lab was engulfed in blue light and a low droning sound as several transporter beams appeared out of nowhere and several figures emerged from the swirling particles of matter.

Looking around their new environment, Commander sh’Elas, Lieutenant Commander Travis, Lieutenant Noli and the security team took a moment to steady themselves. From the get go, Tharia’s antennae drooped, a surefire way of letting everyone around her know she was concerned. She had every right to be, not that the away team or their ‘guests’ knew it just yet.

Once her eyes settled on the Administrator, Commander sh’Elas stepped forward and addressed the man directly. “Administrator Ekaan… My name is Commander Tharia sh’Elas, executive officer of the starship Santa Fe,” the Andorian introduced herself formally before moving on to the purpose of her visit. “By order of Starfleet Command, you and your team are instructed to abandon all projects, transport all findings to the Santa Fe and, hopefully, continue your research from the safety of the ship,” she instructed the man, holding out a data PADD whilst she spoke, a written confirmation of the orders presented to her.

“Don’t let them do this, Dayo…”

“You can’t be serious?!”

“Not a chance are we leaving now.”

Just some of the phrases heard in the room as the researchers and scientists erupted in uproar at the prospect of having their research halted. Among the crowd, the Administrator tried his best to calm his people, arms flailing as he tried to quiet the din and regain a sense of order. Once he had enjoyed a modicum of success and the noise died down, the elderly man took ownership of the data PADD and, without even looking at its contents, he disregarded it. He tossed it to the side and, in an act of bravado, puffed out his chest as he ‘stood up’ to the trespassers.

“Commander,” he began, “you can tell your Captain ‘thanks, but no thanks’. We’ve got all manner of science related endeavours on the go here, things that have been in the works for decades, things that are crucial to this environment. And now we have a once in a lifetime opportunity to study the largest concentration of ion storms ever recorded,” he spoke with gravitas and solemnity, taking the smallest step forward and gazing straight into the Andorian’s eyes, “you can’t expect a group of scientists to give up on such an endeavour.”

For what it was worth, Commander sh’Elas could understand their desire to remain behind and see their life’s work through to completion. And just when it seemed like the Administrator may have won her over, the Andorian’s antennae drooped, as did her polite smile. “Ten, maybe even twenty years ago, you would have had me, but my job now is simple. I’m here to safeguard the lives of everyone on this station,” she frowned, taking her own step towards the elder man, “please don’t make me unleash the yellow coats. They won’t be nearly as delicate with your belongings and I’d hate to see any of your work ruined because of some brain dead beefcake,” her words, although laced with sarcasm, were from the heart. She really didn’t want to see any of their projects ruined, but she was clear of her orders, and was determined to get the scientists off the planet’s surface as soon as practicable.

Dayo let out a sigh of resignation and held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. You win, Commander. Give me a moment with my people and we’ll make the necessary arrangements,” the man shook his head as he turned away slowly and started to converse with his scientists.

Thankfully, sense seemed to have prevailed on this occasion, and with a smile of relief, Tharia nodded. She stepped back and joined her team, waiting for the man to complete his conversation.

[USS Santa Fe, Sathea System, Alpha Quadrant]

Sitting in the command chair at the heart of the Santa Fe bridge, Captain Farrell was leaning to the right, his chin resting on his right hand, which was propped up on the arm rest beneath. His gaze trained on the main viewer and the image of the planet they now orbited, the Captain’s silence was worrying his crew. Everyone, from waste disposal to the bridge itself, knew that if Farrell was in deep, quiet contemplation as he was now, then that usually spelled trouble for something… or someone.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” Counsellor Chiera chipped in, leaning forward from her seated position in the executive officers chair in an effort to draw the Captain’s gaze from the viewer. “An evacuation on the scale we are looking at will take time to coordinate, even with the best people on hand,” she smiled at him reassuringly.

Letting out a sigh, Seb slouched back into his command chair, furrowed brows and a grimace more than enough of a sign to show his anxiousness. “You might be right, Counsellor, but time is not on our side,” he warned her. “Lieutenant Rawlings, time until the worst of the oncoming storm hits the planet?” he questioned, stopping the ever positive Counsellor in her tracks.

At the forward Flight Operations station, Lieutenant Dante Rawlings sat forward and tapped on the console to get the answer Farrell requested. He, too, had been slouched, anxiously watching and waiting for news of success from the away team. The Captain’s question gave him a focus, albeit temporary, and a reason to be there on the bridge. “Sensors confirm that the main thrust of the storm will hit the planet in less than three hours, but the planet will start to feel the initial effects in less than two,” the African-American confirmed, looking back at the Captain for a brief moment.

Standing from his command chair, the Captain nodded slowly. “I’ll be in my ready room if anyone needs me. Dante, the bridge is yours,” Farrell confirmed with a gentle slap on the Flight Operations chief’s shoulder as he walked past, headed to his ready room. Before he could cross the threshold, however, an incoming hail on the ship’s internal comm stopped him in his tracks. “Farrell here. Go ahead?” he called out, turning to face the centre of the bridge, hoping it was news they needed to hear.

“This is transporter room one sir. We’ve lost our lock on the away team and we can’t re-establish,” a concerned voice from the depths of the ship called out.

Sebastian took several steps towards the forward Operations station, looking at his senior officer’s for some form of explanation. It came from the Cardassian in gold who was tapping away furiously at the LCARS panel before her.

“Sensors are detecting an energy field around the station which is disrupting our transporter lock. Communications are down too,” the Cardassian frowned, “I’m working on a way around it, now.”

Pacing back and forth behind the Conn and Ops, the Captain folded his arms across his chest. They were in the middle of a humanitarian mission, and now he had apparently lost contact with his people, as well as the planet. Counsellor Chiera pushed herself up and out of the XO’s seat, stepping forward beside her captain, hoping to be the supportive influence he often called upon.

“Judging by the fact this field is located around the station and, seemingly nowhere else, would I be correct in thinking it is not a natural occurrence?” Sebastian supposed, stopping between the seats and glaring down at the Cardassian.

Nodding, Prida confirmed his worst fears. “The field is being generated from within the station sir,” the Cardassian reported. “Someone down there doesn’t want us making contact with our team…”

[Sathea IV Science Station, Sathea System, Alpha Quadrant]

With one eye on the civilians and another on her team, sh’Elas was starting to feel uncomfortable. “This is taking too long…” she thought. “Javorian, we need to work out exactly what they are doing here, and see how we can support them to continue their efforts on the ship. Noli, you and your men contact the ship and begin transport preparations,” the XO ordered quietly, before holding a hand up to halt the team in their tracks. Looking back at the science officers, the Andorian felt somewhat confused. Something was off.

Whatever the Andorian XO was feeling, it was clear her Bajoran colleague was feeling it to. “Something doesn’t feel right here,” Noli said after a few seconds, watching the faces and movements of the people around them. She gestured to her team to be alert for… something. Her comments brought the concerned gaze of Commander Travis back into focus on the science team they were visiting. Tapping her commbadge, the Bajoran tried speaking to their ship. “Noli to Santa Fe,” she called out.

Watching her friend, the Andorian XO grew more concerned when Noli shook her head, indicating she had not had any joy in raising the Santa Fe. Whatever was going on, she was going to get to the bottom of it. Right frakkin’ now. “Administrator,” the Andorian called out, a single step forward putting her between her team and the scientists. “Is everything ok, sir?” she asked as politely as she could, tilting her head and regarding the lead scientist with more than a hint of concern.

Dayo Ekaan slowly turned around and looked at the blue-skinned woman. With eyes welling up and a tremble she had not noticed before, the aging man stepped forward. “I’m sorry Commander, really I am. You should never have come here. We didn’t want Starfleet involved…”

Holding her hands up, almost in mock surrender, the Andorian stepped forward calmly. “Whatever you’ve done, it’s not too late to back down,” she smiled, trying to reassure the man. Inside, she was seething. Her anger was, apparently, misplaced, as a voice from behind her changed everything.

“bI’IQtaHvIS, SoHvaD ‘oH, ‘e’ yIchaw’!”

Tharia’s antennae suddenly stood on end as she joined her team in spinning on their heels. With a deep sigh of resignation, she lowered her head and shook it slowly.

Emerging from a darkened corner of the lab, three hulking figures strolled forward, holding the away team hostage at disrupter point. Klingons. Heavily armed Klingons at that. Heavily armed, angry-looking Klingons.

Exchanging glances between the three of them, the senior Starfleet officers slowly and collectively raised their hands in silent surrender.

[Supply Store, Sathea IV Science Station, Sathea System, Alpha Quadrant]

“Wake her,” Ol’on said, eyeing the blue-skinned, white-haired woman before him. battered and bruised, her uniform ripped and blood-stained, the Andorian executive of the Santa Fe had been tied to the chair, secure enough that the Klingon had no qualms standing quite close.

Watching as his orders were carried out by the two brutes who accompanied him, he saw the hypospray pressed against the woman’s throat, heard the hiss, and then watched as the Andorian’s eyes began to move behind her fluttering lids. Soon, Ol’on smiled at the Andorian once her eyes popped open and she jerked in surprise. He heard her hiss in pain as she felt the bonds press into her flesh.

”I’d be careful there, petaQ. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before we are through with you,” the lead Klingon said. “You are much to important for that.”

Tharia felt adrenaline flooding her system. The man before her was Klingon, and so were the two other people in the room, all of them men, and nearly all of them armed, other than the few who were strapped to a wall nearby and unconscious. “Who are you? Why am I here?” she asked, allowing her voice to sound just a bit panicked. It didn’t take much, since she was actually feeling a bit of panic as it was.

“I am Ol’on of House Mo’Kai,” the Klingon grinned through gritted teeth, “…and I am here for the same reason as you.”

”I have no idea what the hell you are talking about,” Tharia said, letting a bit of anger mix with the panic, hoping he bought it and started to think maybe he’d made a mistake.

Ol’on laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that lit up his face with a sort of sadistic glee. Leaning forward, going face-to-face with his prisoner, the Klingon grinned, baring his teeth. With a sudden thrust of his other hand, the Klingon plunged his D’ktahg into the woman’s side.

[Main Lab, Sathea IV Science Station]

A scream from the room permeated the stale air of the science lab, piercing the ears of Lieutenant Noli as she shuffled uncomfortably on the lab’s floor, just feet from the rest of the away team and their Federation scientist colleagues. She was almost hugging her knees now, looking positively child-like as she placed her chin atop her knees, with eyes wide shut. A second scream, swiftly followed by a third. She’d heard enough. Racing to her feet in mere seconds, the Bajoran lunged towards one of their Klingon captors, completely unafraid of whatever the outcome would be. A reckless move.

One that was only stopped from becoming a violent, bloody mess by the near-rugby tackle of a move by Commander Travis as he flung his arms around the woman and contained her. Holding her tight, the ginger-haired scientist whispered in the woman’s ears. “We will be of no use to the Commander if we get ourselves hurt… or worse. We need to keep our wits about us and stay calm,” he told her, only releasing his grip when he was certain that she had calmed enough to not do something reckless again.

With a petulant scowl and a tug of her uniform jacket, the Bajoran steadied herself again, growling and cursing in her mother tongue at the laughing Klingon’s nearby. One of the beasts, a foul smelling, near-seven foot behemoth, took two steps towards the Bajoran woman. “lalDan vIlaj. nuq DaghojmoHmeH bIcheghpu’nIS?” he spoke, quickly and aggressively.

Hanging his head for a moment, Javorian took a moment to compose himself, before turning back to the monster of a man. “She is no filthy idiot,” he began, shocking those around him as he clearly understood Klingon. “Judging by the stench in this room, I’d wager you are the filthy one. And we stand up to bullies like you because we are Starfleet. It’s what we do,” the scientist concluded, and not a moment too soon, as the brute had to be held back from ripping the teal-uniformed Terran’s head from his shoulders.

[Supply Store, Sathea IV Science Station]

With his hand still clasped on the handle of his Klingon blade, Ol’on twisted the sharp object, making the Andorian’s eyes widen and her body tense as a deep, gurgling moan broke out of her throat. “Don’t toy with me, petaQ. I’ve killed bigger and better people than you for fun,” he said, bringing his face even closer so that she could smell the stench coming from his rotting teeth. “Nod if you understand.”

Tharia nodded, and then let out a deep breath as the pressure on the knife was released as the Klingon stood up again, leaving the blade impaled in her side, if for no reason other than to stop her dying on the spot. That would be no good to either of them.

”Good girl,” Ol’on said, bringing his hand back up to ruffle the matted, blue blood-stained hair of the Andorian. “Now, let’s try this again, shall we?” he said, somewhat scarily.

Tharia watched as he turned and moved across to the massive console in the center of the room and picked up a PADD. “Commander Tharia sh’Elas. Starfleet Intelligence. Service number TS-11517322-VDO,” he read from the file in front of him. “Current assignment… one of those pitiful little rust buckets in orbit. USS Santa Fe, is it?” the Klingon smirked as he looked over the file. “It was easy for me to obtain your file thanks to my contacts in Klingon Intelligence. Tell me. Does your captain know you work for someone other than him?”

“Please…” the weakened woman pleaded, “I honestly don’t know what you mean…”

“Don’t lie!” the beast growled as he stepped toward her again, causing the battered woman to tightly close her eyes and flinch away, albeit briefly. “So, Commander sh’Elas, why don’t you try the truth for a change. It might serve you a little better than this bilge you keep spewing. You’ve been trying to feed me lies.”

Taking a deep breath through the pain barrier, the Andorian spoke through gritted teeth. ”What the hell are you talking about?” she asked, looking straight into the Klingon’s eyes as she spat a dark blue globule of blood onto the floor at his feet.

”Bring him in,” Ol’on replied, not taking his eyes off of Tharia’s own.

Behind the chair she was tied to, the heavy metallic door opened slowly. He heard the sound of two pairs of heavy boots and the sound of something being dragged across the deck plating. Turning her head, she glanced to the left and saw the unconscious figure of the elderly administrator of the facility suspended between the hulking figures of two Klingon males.

”I’d be willing to wager that you’ll tell me exactly where to find what I’m looking for,” Ol’on said with a smirk, “because you don’t want the old man’s death on your conscience now, do you?”

Tharia was frozen in place. It was all falling apart. Everything Intelligence had worked so hard to plan. How the hell had they known it was there? How had they gotten to it before she could? She’d only known about it for a matter of hours. How had any of this gone so very wrong? “What do you want from us…?” she asked, finally giving up.

”Why, I want the weapons research your science team have been working on,” Ol’on finally confirmed, genuine incredulity on his face. “And I want the prototype device they have developed.” he said, glaring daggers at the man on the floor. His expression changed in an instant, a menacing, tooth filled grin replacing the look of incredulity that had adorned his face previously. “If I don’t get it, I am going to kill every last person on this station, and then I’ll blow your starship to dust.”

“It’s not what you think,” she winced between pangs of pain in her abdomen, finally admitting that she knew something about that which he was talking.

Growing frustrated by the woman’s lack of cooperation, the Klingon aggressor reached down and twisted the knife once again. “Then tell me, Andorian, what you think it is. I grow tired of your word games,” he growled.

“Its… its…” she had put up a valiant resistance so far, but the pain was becoming intolerable, “…its a defensive shielding system… something… designed to counter the advantage of cloaking devices…”

Releasing the blade in the woman’s chest, the Klingon slowly made it to his feet. After a few moments of staring down at her, he let out a laugh. A maniacal-type laugh that even the most horrendous villains of old would have been proud of.

He was right. They were working on something, something secretive. Something that would no doubt change the balance of power further. He almost admired her for how long she had held out in the face of the beatings she had taken, and now the wound she had sustained. Almost. But now she was starting to fade, no doubt from the loss of blood. She stayed awake long enough to hear him bark an order in his native tongue, before her head bowed and she finally slipped into unconsciousness.

[Main Lab, Sathea IV Science Station]

Silence had engulfed the lab. No one had so much as blinked in the wrong direction in what seemed like an age. Lieutenant Noli had calmed herself, Commander Travis was still reeling from the very close call he had had with the brute who kept giving him long, lingering stares in an effort to intimidate him. It was working. Even the civilian scientists were quiet, but they were looking shifty. Something wasn’t quite right, even now. He didn’t have long to theorize the cause of their curious behaviour, however, as moments later, the doors to the aft compartment opened, and the Klingon brutes who had earlier taken their commander emerged. Much to his concern, they were dragging the Andorian’s apparently lifeless body, back into the room. Slapping Noli on the leg to garner her attention, the two (and their security colleagues), swiftly rose to their feet.

“What have you done to her?!” Noli fumed, once again stepping to the nearby Klingon’s. This time, there was no Javorian to hold her back, as he was too concerned with watching his commander being carelessly dumped on the ground.

“You!” one of the Klingon’s barked at the brazen Bajoran. “Heal your friends wounds, or let her die. It is up to you,” he shrugged, tossing a medical kit at he wrinkle-nosed woman.

Catching the medkit in her arms, the Lieutenant gave a growl worthy of a Klingon opera. Javorian leapt forward this time and grabbed his subordinate by the arm, turning her away from the Klingons swiftly and drawing her attention to their focus. “The Commander needs you,” he told the Bajoran with a stern expression, holding her by both arms and focusing her on the here and now.

“We know why you are here,” a defiant member of the science team rose to his feet now, a Tellarite with mottled skin and scruffy hair. “It isn’t here. You’re too late,” he grinned, a toothy grin that seemed to rile up the Klingon warriors. Just as one of the warriors grabbed the Tellarite by the scruff of the neck, the door opened again and the leader of the gang emerged from the back room, dragging the equally lifeless body of the elderly administrator behind him. With an effortless flick of his wrist, the Klingon launched the administrator’s body at the feet of the Tellarite.

“Your leader died an honorable death. He stuck to his word the entire time. I almost admire his resolve,” he grinned somewhat evilly, “Almost. Now, jIjatlhqang ‘e’ yIHar, you will give me the information I need or I will work my way through your entire science team until someone does,” the sadistic beast warned, getting up close and personal with the pig-faced creature. “Don’t make the same mistake your superior did,” he then urged the smaller being, ruffling the Tellarite’s hair.

Crouched on the floor next to his Bajoran counterpart, Commander Travis’ attention was split between his wounded superior and the exchange taking place mere feet away. He listened intently for hints of what the Klingon might have been looking for, but the threat to the Tellarite’s life forced him into action. Gently placing his hand on the Tactical officer’s shoulder, he gave it a reassuring squeeze before rising to his feet once more. “Starfleet, and the Federation, do not negotiate with terrorists,” he told the Klingon sternly. “Whatever it is you are after, you won’t get it.”

With a low, menacing growl, Ol’on turned to the pasty looking Starfleet scum. “You better hope for your sake that you are wrong, Starfleet, or a lot of people are going to die today…”

Silence had rocked the bridge for the last few minutes, the only noise piercing it was the random hails from the Cardassian operations officer at the front of the bridge targeted to the planet below.

“Still nothing sir,” she frowned, turning back to the Captain, “Adriatic and Bristol are reporting unsuccessful attempts also. No communications, no transporter signals, and no ability to scan inside,” the woman confirmed.

“Well, this is odd…” Ensign Walter Caplan was sat at the starboard science station, staring at the console in front of him, trying to make sense of the readings that he had detected. Suddenly, and for the third time, the reading disappeared. “Seriously?!” he fumed, tapping away on his controls until… yes, there it was again for a fourth time. Okay, enough was enough. He turned in his chair and looked towards the commanding officer who was occupying the command chair. “Captain, I’ve detected something that I think you should see, sir.”

This declaration perked the interest of all on the bridge, not just the ship’s CO. Dante glanced over his shoulder from the CONN, ‘something you should see’ was usually not good things when on the bridge.

“Unless it is a weird and wonderful way to get our people back, I’m not sure I have time for something to see, Ensign,” Sebastian shook his head as he rose from the command chair and headed towards the science console. Something you should see. A phrase the Captain hated, especially in the middle of a crisis. Waving at Lieutenant Prida and the Conn officer, the Captain gestured for them to join him at the science station.

”Sensors keep detecting something,” the scientist revealed as he pointed to an icon on his screen, only for it too blink out of existence, “…and then it disappears, just like that.” Caplan frowned as he tapped and brought up another screen beside it. “It’s almost like an energy signature, but then when it disappears, it’s like there is nothing there at all. But watch this…”

Sebastian and his senior officers watched as instructed and, as if on cue, the signature appeared again, but sensors were clearly struggling to identify what it could be.

”Approximate location?” Dante enquired. Despite the Ensign’s obvious frustration, something new was intriguing. They were Starfleet, after all. From what little he could see of the readings from where he stood, he could categorically say it was an intriguing development.

“Less than a thousand kilometers from here,” the scientist told, looking up at the Flight Operations chief.

After a few seconds of pondering, the Cardassian finally popped up with a reply. “Sounds like a malfunctioning cloaking device to me,” she suggested with a shrug said as he looked at the readings. “Is it moving or stationary?”

”If it were a cloak that was malfunctioning we would be picking up things like tachyons,” the Science officer surmised as he sat back in his seat and glared at the screen with folded arms.

Sebastian walked around the tactical rail and made his way to the command chair, not feeling entirely happy with the developing situation. “Time until the storm hits?” he queried, returning to his command chair.

Dante stood next to the relief officer at the CONN, reaching down to tap on the console display. “We’ve got less than thirty minutes,” the acting XO told the Captain, looking back at the senior man with a look of ‘what now?”

“We’ve got an energy field around the station; we’ve lost contact with our people; we’ve got the storm of all storms approaching and, now, we have something akin to a cloaked vessel on our doorstep,” the Captain frowned, “something isn’t right here and I don’t like it. Red alert,” he barked, swiftly descending into the comfort of his chair.

Dante and Prida were at their duty stations within seconds, tapping away and getting to work on the task at hand. “Captain, I’ve got both Adriatic and Bristol on the horn requesting updates,” the Flight Controller revealed within seconds of resuming his station.

“Inform them of the situation and order them to retreat,” Seb frowned as he slouched back in his chair, “we’re not putting them at any further risk, but we have no choice. We’re staying put.”

Dante shared a look of concern with his Cardassian counterpart once again before nodding in acknowledgement. “Aye sir,” he confirmed.

Beside the captain and in the safety of the chair usually reserved for the executive officer, Counsellor Chiera had been listening, and waiting for her moment to speak. As an advisor in all matters, she tried to keep clear of things she had little understanding of, but even she knew hanging around here would be a risk. “Captain,” she whispered, leaning in to give the man her words of wisdom, “would it not be prudent to withdraw and return for our people when the storm has abated? We need to safeguard the lives of everyone on this ship as much as those on the planet,” she reminded him, looking the man in the eye .

“There may not be a world left for our people once this storm hits,” the master and commander of the vessel confided in her as quietly as she had, “…but you are right. I plan to stay here as long as we can,” he told her with a faint smile and a quiet whisper.

At the back of the bridge, Lieutenant Udal from engineering and a cohort in science blue stepped off of the turbolift and crossed to the aft engineering displays. “We’ve transferred everything we can to engines and shields sir,” the Orion spoke in his gruff tone in between taps on his console screen. Soon enough, the displays from engineering were replicated in the command center. “Given the projected trajectory and speed of the storm, you’ve got eighteen minutes before we have no choice and have to warp out of here. A second later and we have no choice but to ride it out,” the burly, green-skinned engineer told with a nod to his superior.

“The adjustments we’ve made to the shields should allow us to withstand the worst of the storm, Captain,” Ensign Kedam spoke up from science. A junior to Commander Travis, Nisha had stepped in for the man on more than one occasion recently and always did so very ably. “It won’t be comfortable, and we won’t be unscathed,” she added, then diverted her attention back to his own display.

Ensign Caplan quickly butted in from the other side of the bridge, “Captain; I’m still getting a variable reading on the signal but I’ve pinpointed its location somewhat better,” he reported, tapping a few command and he changed the view screen to a map of the current heading. “It’s moving at a fast drift, so if it’s a ship they’re either drifting without propulsion or moving very slow. It’s headed outward from the planet. The intermittency of the signal is getting less stable, which could indicate increased power fluctuations, especially if it is a cloaked object.”

“So it is increasingly likely that it is a ship?” Farrell quizzed, turning ever so slightly to regard the scientist with curiosity.

”Yes… but I stand by my earlier assertion that we should be detecting tachyons if this was some sort of cloaking device,” Ensign Caplan spoke up from the aft science station, “unless…” he then turned back to his controls and started tapping away furiously.

”Whatever, or whoever they are, their either they have no control, they’ve lost sensors or they don’t mind us being here,” Dante surmised from the Conn, spinning in his chair to look directly at the Captain, “there’s no noticeable change in the course associated with it attempting to get away.”

Sometimes, scientists just didn’t get the respect they deserved. Caplan huffed and shook his head as he continued tapping away at his console, hoping to come up with a way to… ”Frak me! Captain!”

With a glare from the CO and XO alike, and all eyes now on him, the Acting Science Officer gave his report. “Captain… the signal… it IS a vessel but…”he paused as he considered the gravity of what he was about to say, ”…it’s a Starfleet ship, sir…” Caplan responded.

“Impossible. Starfleet vessels are prohibited from having cloaking devices,” Counsellor Chiera chipped in, shaking her head as she turned to look at the scientist.

Instead of a look of surprise on the face of the Captain, there was actually a smile. “I’ll be goddamned… they did it…” he whispered with a smirk, and a shake of his head. His remarks drew a confused look from those around him, each one wanting to know more. Realising what he had said, and knowing it was too late to take them back, he simply ignored them. “Lieutenant Prida,” the Captain called out as he turned his command chair back to the front of the bridge, “open a channel and direct it at the source of the signal.”

Prida nodded, slowly, and turned back to her console. ”Aye ma’am.” the Cardassian tapped a few keys, and then there was a chime. “Channel directed and open.”

“Unidentified Starfleet vessel, this is Captain Sebastian Farrell of the starship Santa Fe. Please identify yourself,” In the ensuing silence, Sebastian looked back briefly towards the tactical station and, with two fingers, gestured for the relief officer to keep his eyes peeled for anything suspicious. Then, he repeated his message. “=/\=This is the USS Santa Fe. Please respond.”

Silence again.

Then, suddenly and without warning, a sound of static filled the bridge as the communications speakers came to life, followed by a voice. A gruff male voice that was slightly distorted by the static, but was clear enough to be understood. “Santa Fe, this is the Starship Thesis,” the voice began, “keep your distance and refrain from any interference.”

With a raised eyebrow, Sebastian quickly turned and shared a brief exchange with Counsellor Chiera. “Thesis,” he whispered, “find everything you can on that ship.” Chiera nodded dutifully and set about her task, allowing the captain to return to his conversation. “Understood Thesis,” the dark-skinned captain declared, inching forwards in his seat, ”but we have a storm front approaching and we’ve lost contact with the surface. Is there anything you can tell us?”

“Standby,” was the only response that came through the communications channel, but within a matter of seconds, a shimmering patch of the star field on display on the main viewer disappeared and was replaced with the very real form of one of the brand new Inquiry-class vessels just a matter of a few hundred kilometers off the starboard bow of the Santa Fe.

Lieutenant Prida, like all those around her, watched in awe as the vessel ’emerged’ from her supposed hiding place. It was inconceivable before today to even think of a Federation starship with a cloaking device, yet here one was, in all its resplendent glory. Flickering above her secondary hull, the nacelles of the Thesis betrayed the condition of the ship; something was going wrong aboard the Inquiry-class vessel.

A chirping from the operations station drew the Cardassian’s attention back to her display. “Incoming hail from the Thesis, priority one,” she called out.

Within seconds, the viewer changed to reveal the bridge of the Thesis, but instead of a male with a gruff voice, a familiar face appeared, a face that the Captain had not expected to see again anytime soon. “Captain Ruas,” he nodded respectfully to the officer on the viewer, “fancy seeing you here?”

A former crewmate from before the ship’s time in the Gamma Quadrant, Ruas had been promoted and re-assigned to a command of her own, never to be seen again. Until now. “Welcome to Sathea IV, Captain. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have as soon as I can, but we have more pressing matters to attend to. We’re used to storms in this area, so we’re sending you some shield adjustments to minimise the effects of the incoming one. They won’t be perfect, but they’ll help.”

Looking up at his tactical officer, the Captain got the confirmation he needed to signal the modifications were coming through. A thumbs up gave the tactician permission to implement the changes. “Thank you, Captain. Have you any idea why we’ve lost contact with the surface? Or about this energy field?” Sebastian enquired, shuffling forward onto the edge of his seat, hands still gripping the armrest as his former colleague shook her head.

“We assumed it was some sort of defence for the incoming storm, but the lack of communication worries us,” the woman told, mimicking the man’s stance on the screen. “We’ve tried everything we can think of to get through the barrier ourselves, without success. We’re plan… to… s..nd…”

Interference on the comm array was to be expected with the storm that was incoming. The sudden shockwave that rocked the starship was not, especially with over ten minutes to go until the storm hit. Once again, the red alert klaxon rang out across the ship, the hull plating rumbling under their feet. When the rumbling stopped, those among the bridge crew let out a sigh of relief, only to be thrown for a loop when a second, more violent wave hit them.

Then a third. But something about the subsequent waves felt off… almost familiar. A fourth, unmistakable shockwave threw the Captain forward and out of his seat.

“Vor’Cha class attack cruiser off the port bow!” Dante called out over the din and the ensuing explosion from yet another disruptor attack.

“All forward weapons, engage the enemy,” Sebastian ordered as he dragged himself back into the command chair. “Have the Thesis form up on our flank and recall the Adriatic and Bristol,” he dictated a series of orders to anyone around him that could hear him, hoping one of them would pick them up over the chaos.

“Thesis is dead in the water,” a gruff voice yelled from tactical behind him, “she hadn’t recovered functionality in time, but the Vor’Cha is focusing its efforts on us,” the tactician informed the Captain before him.

“Attacking a weakened enemy is not their thing,” the Captain called out, “maybe they do have some honor left after all?”

In a rare show of strength, powerful lances of orange, phased energy flew towards their Klingon attackers at speed, with several swift vollies of torpedo fire joining them. But unlike the Vor’Cha’s advanced disruptors, the Federation weapons seemed to make little or no impact on their enemy’s shields. Santa Fe was at risk of turning into a burning hulk under the sustained barrage from their aggressors, and chaos had ensued across the ship already. Just as with outside, explosions and smoke filled the interior with countless rooms and corridors becoming uninhabitable as the affects of the attack took hold. Red lights flickered across the ship as smoke filled rooms and corridors alike, the environmental systems struggling to filter the gas. In the centre chair, Farrell was dabbing at a wound on his forehead as blood trickled down his left cheek and he let out several coughs. What he saw ahead of him sparked a wave of fury and deep concern.

Explosions ravaged the external hull of the Inquiry-class vessel which, to anyone watching, seemed to be hurtling out of control at an alarming speed, leaving thick plumes of black smoke trailing in her wake. Thesis tumbled on all three axis, and the captain of the Santa Fe now found himself caught between a rock and a hard place. Did he attack the Klingon’s and go back for the Thesis, or did he save the Thesis and hope they lived to chase off the Klingons? He didn’t have long to decide.

“Report!” he beckoned over the sound of the chaos, the alarms and the sparking consoles, unaware of whoever would be able to respond.

[Main Engineering]

“Report!”

Echoing their captain’s call to almost the exact second, Lieutenant Udal entered main engineering to find complete and utter chaos. His eyes swept the smoke filled room, looking for one person amongst the sea of yellow shirts. There were shouts, orders being barked out from somewhere near the warp core and so many alarms that all the sounds quickly blended into a unique and foreboding cacophony of noise. Sidestepping those rushing by, he pressed on, lungs burning as another series of explosions knocked them all off their feet just as a a bank of workstations to his right exploded.

Eniara Pol was switching between terminals when she saw the Chief Engineer return at last. “Not good, Chief.” She glanced at him, her face covered in sweat, grime and somebody’s blood was matted in her hair. On top of the odours and sounds, the temperature was more than a little uncomfortable. “Cascade failures. EPS and power transfer conduits ruptured and now we’re moving power out from the engines. Mac and his team were able to shunt the power and vent plasma… but it’s not looking good.”

Glancing down at his terminal, the Chief shook his head. “Coolant systems ruptured with the additional energy flow. Multiple plasma fires are going all over.” He pointed at the screen. “Warp core temperature is climbing and pressure inside is building. We are over 800 kilopascals and climbing fast. Pressure fields are holding but won’t last long at this rate. Antimatter pods 2 and 5 are struggling to keep magnetic containment.”

None of those words were anything anybody wanted to hear from an engineer, let alone the chief of the department. “Chief,” Eniara began, keeping her voice low but firm as she made him look at her, “do you think we can keep containment? Because if the answer is even close to no, we need to eject the core.”

Udal looked over flickering readouts. “We’re in bad shape. Coolant is under 50% and we need to slow the reaction in the core down but the matter injectors are frozen open.” He looked for a moment at a display and then got an odd expression on his his face. He looked over to Mac who had been tossed around the engineering deck more than once in this venture but was still on his feet. “Mac, do you think we could eject just antimatter pods 2 and 5 in the next couple minutes and still maintain integrity for the rest of the pods?”

“They each have their own containment field so we should be able to do it.” Mac slowly nodded, piecing together the direction he thought the Chief was going in. “Which would slow down the fuel being fed into the system and buy us some time.” He made eye contact with Udal, a serious expression etched across his face, “We’ll need to make sure the containment fields for each of the pods remain stable which will be difficult with so many system failures, but it’s possible…”

[Bridge]

“Bridge! We have an idea Captain,” through the distortions, the voice of the Orion engineer filled the bridge, much to Farrell’s relief. “We need to jettison the two failing antimatter pods and then go to full impulse. That will stop the pressure and heat build-up we’re suffering and decrease two major chances of vaporization. Once we get the ship out of danger, we can retrieve the pods and take our time getting them reinstalled and online safely.”

There was enough certainty in Udal’s choice of words that the Captain was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He knew the risks if it didn’t work and the engineer probably knew this ship better than he did. Still…

”Chief, this ship feels like it is about to fly itself apart already,” the Captain pointed out, at which point another explosion just two decks below them helpfully emphasised his point.

“And we’ve got less than four minutes until the first wave of the storm hits,” Caplan reminded from the aft science station.

“There is a risk to this sir, but its all I can come up with to save the warp core. All we would need to do is get far enough away from the antimatter pods blast radius in case they blow,” the engineer retorted quickly.

Sat just a few feet in front of the Captain, Lieutenant Dante Rawlings turned quickly in his chair. “What if we don’t…” he asked through a sinister, bearded smiled.

[In the ocean of space…]

Santa Fe hurtled past the crippled starship Thesis at her best possible speed, the aging vessel doing her best to dodge and weave her way around the disruptor and torpedo fire of the far newer Klingon vessel. Green plasma bolts lit up her shields as the Starfleet vessel sought to make some distance from the planet below only to begin to level out her flight path.

Showing the type of cunning an honorable warrior would be proud of, the Starfleet crew put their plan into action. Jettisoning the antimatter pods from their lower hull, the two containers floated directly into the path of the advancing Klingon vessel. And as the Starfleet vessel made its escape, a single photon torpedo left its aft bay and glistened through the darkness until it ignited the pods and engulfed the Klingon vessel in a blaze of glory. Sure enough, the Santa Fe turned on its heels and faced down its aggressor, in a much stronger place than she had been before. Instead of destroying the remnants of the damaged vessel, she simply flew by and went about her business.

[Bridge]

“Warp core is stable. Diverting power back to shields.”

Sebastian let out a sigh of relief at the conclusion of the battle and the subsequent securing of the damaged systems. Reports from his crewmates made him feel somewhat at ease, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. “ETA for the storm?” he called out, rising from his seat, a torn piece of cloth held to the wound on his head.

“Two minutes…” Caplan called out quietly from the science station after a moment of gaining composure.

“Thesis has re-established shields and impulse engines but warp drive is offline. The Klingon vessel is limping away,” Prida informed from Ops, a hand clasped to her side in order to stem the pain from some suspected broken ribs.

“Captain,” Dante called out, turning to look at the captain of the Santa Fe. “We’re way past the withdrawal point. At this point I’d recommend we turn ourselves into the storm and ride it out,” he suggested, offering his expertise as was required in such a moment.

A single nod from the captain gave the Lieutenant leave to put the plan into place. Farrell turned back to his chair and, once safely sat down, he pressed a button on the arm of the chair. Across the ship, the familiar boatswain’s whistle rang out. “All hands,” he spoke between winces of pain, “brace for impact.”

Darkness.

There are different kinds of darkness. There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful. There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. Darkness becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.

But when you spend so long trapped in darkness, you find that the darkness begins to stare back. It starts to play games, to make sounds. No matter how hard you resist, the darkness begins to claim you, to scratch and claw at your soul. You try to fight. You try to think of the positives.

But in time, when all alone, you cannot resist the whispers in the dark…

[Sathea IV Science Station]

Muffled noises began to stir a sense of life back into Tharia, her eyes starting to flicker as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. “She’s coming around,” a voice spoke as she finally managed to open her eyes long enough to adjust to the lights around her. Trying to push herself off the cold floor, the Andorian’s antennae dipped with the massive pang of pain in the back of her head swiftly forced her back to the floor again.

“Take it steady! You’ve taken a significant blow to the chest and one hell of a beating,” the unfamiliar voice spoke again. The Commander, however, struggled to make out the words and, once helped up, looked at her surroundings in distress.

“What… where am I?” she whispered as she tried to adjust to the pain levels in her head. She was no medical practitioner but even she knew she had to relax a little or risk further injury. The troubled expressions on the faces of her colleagues did not help.

Javorian exchanged glances with one of the civilians who had been allowed to assist with medical intervention that the Andorian required. Noli stood over them, protecting them from the Klingons in the room. Javorian began speaking. At least, it looked like he was speaking. His lips were moving, but all the Andorian could make out was gibberish. Nothing the science chief said made sense to her and, in fact, it caused her to wince and hold her cranium.

A few seconds later and she looked at Commander Travis again. “Where are we?” she queried of him.

To her, it made perfect sense, but to the Commander, it was utter nonsense. It didn’t help when she repeated the phrase again.

“Wilat nam-tor etek?” the Andorian asked again, getting seemingly more anxious each time her question was not answered.

“Something’s wrong,” the civilian next to the science chief told, before turning and walking away with the medical tricorder they had been afforded the use of.

“Damn it to hell!” Noli exclaimed before crouching down in front of the Commander and making all sorts of gestures with her hands. “We can’t understand you,” she spoke, with loud exaggeration in the same way one did around a deaf person when unsure how to communicate, “try to calm down,” she directed, before taking hold of the commander and laying her back on the floor to rest.

Once the Andorian was laid down again and chattering away in her native tongue, the science chief and his tactical counterpart returned their attention to the situation at hand and returned to the civilians they had been locked away with. “How long until the storm hits?” the Commander frowned in frustration, his hands on his hips as he looked around their surroundings. Nearby, the Klingons were in deep, heated discussion, but disruptors were trained on the away team every time someone so much as looked in a different direction.

No one in the group spoke up at first, all opting to remain quiet to avoid the wrath of their captors, all apart from the scruffy Tellarite. “Won’t be long now,” he confirmed, tapping a wrist device on his left arm.

Javorian slumped to the floor beside the Tellarite and hugged his knees, all the while his focus was trained on the Klingons nearby. When the pig-faced man turned to look at him, Javorian scolded him sternly. “Don’t look at me. Concentrate on them,” the scientist ordered sternly before lowering his voice some more. “We need a way to contact our ship. Is there a way to lower this field?” he enquired of the apparent successor to the fallen administrator.

Doing as instructed, the Tellarite gave his full attention to the Klingons, but still managed to give the Starfleet officer his answer. “It’s too late. Even if we could, that field is all that’s protecting us from the storm,” he whispered as quietly as his gravelly voice would allow.

“What about a message? Is there a way to get a message through the field?” Javorian enquired, smiling at the Klingons every time they looked in their direction.

Shaking his head slowly, the Tellarite was about to respond in the negative when a voice behind them chimed in. “I can do it,” a young Terran girl whispered. “All you have to do is distract them long enough for me to sneak to that station over there,” she confirmed, her head gesturing towards the console in question with a subtle nod.

“Let the Santa Fe know we are being held by Klingon forces and we have wounded,” Travis requested after a moment’s thought. He was putting her at risk by accepting her offer, he knew that, but he was quietly confident that Commander sh’Elas would have done the same had she been in any fit state to do so.

“Commander…”

Before they could finish discussing their plan, Noli called the scientists attention back to their commander. “Wait for our distraction before you make your move,” he whispered to the youngster as he pushed himself up off the floor. Walking slowly over to Noli, he crouched beside her, and the Commander. “We have a plan, but we need a distraction,” he told the tactician.

“I’m no expert,” the Bajoran began, “but what little Klingon I do know tells me they are trying to make contact with someone but they aren’t having any joy,” she told, looking down at the prone commander and tucking a loose strand of the Andorian’s white hair out of her face, all the while hiding the smile on her wrinkle-nosed face.

Whilst they were talking, the civilian who had earlier absconded with the medical tricorder, had returned to their side. Pretending to scan the commander, the man whispered. “I’ve managed to scan the base. Everyone alive is in this room,” the man told the two fleeters, “whatever you plan to do, we need to do it soon.”

But the initiative was soon taken out of their hands. Two of the warriors, seemingly unimpressed by the constant whispering between the gathered people, started to march their way over to them. Thankfully, before they made it, fate intervened. A low, earthquake like rumble rocked the facility, sending instruments, equipment and people tumbling. Whilst they tried desperately to steady themselves, Javorian and Noli saw their chance. Each of the officers, with their security team counterparts, lunged at the Klingons who had been approaching them, tackling them to the ground as another quake rocked the room.

As the two groups rolled around the floor trying to gain the upperhand over each other, among the growling, shouts and scuffles, another quake shook the facility enough to dislodge some piping that ran the length of the ceiling. With an explosion of a gaseous substance, the piping fell to the decking almost in slow motion. Noticing the falling debris at the very last moment, Javorian pushed one of the Klingons aside. It was an act of selflessness. Of courage. Of honour.

For Commander Travis, he felt he had no choice but to rest now, his eyes heavy under the weight of the intense pain he felt. Sure enough, he was soon engulfed by it.

Darkness.

You see, there are different kinds of darkness. There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful. There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. Darkness becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.

But when you spend so long trapped in darkness, you find that the darkness begins to stare back. It starts to play games, to make sounds. No matter how hard you resist, the darkness begins to claim you, to scratch and claw at your soul. You try to fight. You try to think of the positives.

But sometimes, when all alone, you cannot resist the whispers in the dark. Sometimes, the darkness takes you.

In the darkness of space, dozens of lightyears from anything or anyone, one could be forgiven for believing that storm clouds had gathered. The black heavens of space, magnificent on any given day, were made all the more enchanting by the plasma storms irradiating the nebula clouds and particle pockets that made up the outer layer of the Paulson Nebula phenomenon. Beyond the lightning, the thunderous claps and the solar winds were stars that emitted triple the amount of radiation as elsewhere in the galaxy, subspace rifts that threatened to rip space apart at the seams, and quantum destabilizations that could tear the timeline to pieces. On the periphery of the swirling mixture of quantum fissures, gravimetric shockwaves, spatial distortions and twister-like currents of phased plasma energy, the aging New Orleans class starship had come to a stand still, silently observing the massive scientific conundrum before it. Once inside, communication with those beyond the boundaries of the phenomenon would likely cease, meaning the crew of the Santa Fe would be on their own until the storm passed.

On the bridge, Captain Farrell sat, balancing on the edge of his command chair, rocking gently back and forth with his hands clasped to the chair arms as he stared at the viewscreen and the sight before them. The sight was magnificent, and if it wasn’t for the developing situation they found themselves in, he might have taken the time to order a much thorough analysis of the field before them, but not today.

Dante Rawlings, eyes sharp and ahead as he flew, was one of the first to see it all. He could feel his skin crawling with anticipation. This was what it was about, then? This was why the people of the Federation abandoned the comfort and safety of their homes to ‘seek out new life and civilizations’? Not for conquering, not for defence, but to know and to see. This was a mission he could get behind. He finally closed his mouth, then glanced to make sure no one had seen his awe.

Vittoria sat beside the captain, arms folded across her chest, and eyes wider than they’d been in a long time. This… this truly was something else. There weren’t any words to describe how dangerously beautiful the maelstrom ahead of them was. She leaned closer to the captain, her voice just above a whisper.

”Really something, isn’t it? Something so fascinating and yet could possibly damage every one of our systems.”

Sebastian’s eyes were filled with wonder as he exchanged glances with the Counsellor, a child-like grin on his face at the thought of exploring the phenomena. “I know we’ve got missing people down there, on the planet, but this is why we come out here, isn’t it?” he asked of his advisor, “This has got to be what we do moving forward. No more battles, no more conflicts. Just exploration of our galaxy. The old way,” he spoke wistfully.

“The Starfleet way,” Chiera nodded.

Prida looked up from her station at the sight before her. Somehow, words such as incredible didn’t seem to do the sight before them all justice. She allowed the sensors to continue passive scans of the region as she took a moment to simply watch and listen to the wonderment of the sight being shared by the rest of the crew.

Although the Maelstrom looked pleasing to the eye for some, Doctor Zinn didn’t like it. It was plagued with danger. He kept his eyes on the seconded console he had claimed for medical purposes and constantly kept watch on his scanners. Should anything happen, he wanted to be ready.

A massive flash of light from the cloud of gas threatened to blind the bridge crew for a moment, and pulled the Captain from his amazed stupor. “All stations, report in,” he called loudly, spinning on her heels and taking the few short steps to return to the safety of her command chair.

Dante blinked and checked the Nav Sensors, “One thousand kilometers off our port bow and closing fast.”

Farrell silently nodded in acknowledgement, opting to wait for the status reports to come in before he gave his next set of orders.

Prida’s eyes clinched at the bright illumination of the screen. Yet, as soon as she was able to, she opened her eyes and turned her attention to the screens before her. Science would surely have a field day with those readings. However, the Cardassian was certain that she didn’t care to be on the receiving end of one of those flashes again.

”It doesn’t appear any of our major systems were affected, Captain,” she stated. “Confirming with diagnostics now while the rest of the ship reports in.”

”Tactical systems are working as they should, although there was an energy spike at the exact moment of the flash of light but everything seems to be in working order,” the relief Tactical officer reported.

”Sensors are going haywire,” Ensign Kedam grinned, tapping away furiously at the science station, “we’re collecting so much data already.”

”=/\=Captain, Engineering here. I concur with Ops and down here impulse, structural integrity and internal systems are green across the board again,” Lieutenant Udal said calmly, “but, I believe that we may be starting to see the effects of the phenomena. It is a minor point, but the off-axis field controllers in the nacelles have required calibration, twice,” he quickly checked his display, nodding to himself. “All within design tolerances, Captain, but it could indicate instability in subspace.”

”=/\=Keep an eye on it and let me know if it poses a threat to the ship,” the Captain requested before terminating the communications channel.

Having gone around the decks and stations, and the reports indicating that, for now, the ships systems were relatively unaffected, Captain Farrell was satisfied that it was fine to proceed. “Counsellor, keep in touch with the Thesis and let me know if we need to assist with anything,” the Captain instructed with a nod to the woman next to him. “Shields up,” he instructed tactical, before adding, “impulse speed.”

”Indeed Captain,” Dante responded without looking up, then announced, “Minimizing bumps.”

Jumping to full impulse, Santa Fe tried to ride out the initial wave of the storm with her high velocity impulse propulsion system just long enough to travel for a few moments until the craft was rapidly, and violently, pulled out of warp by the leading shockwave of the many spatial phenomenon. The violent shaking of the ship and the impact from the aforementioned phenomena caused the red alert klaxons to call out across the ship once more, the red strobe lighting to kick in and officers on every deck clung to their chairs and consoles for safety until the ship was stable again.

Dante smiled- or maybe he was just baring his teeth- and held where his stomach had hit the console, “Bump minimization failed. Propulsion back online.”

Watching with great concern as his starship inched forward, the man considered holding his breath until they reached their destination, but he didn’t fancy dying of hypoxia. No, for now he would simply watch, and wait.

Suddenly, as if in the grip of a cosmic being, the mighty starship was hurled into speeds many believed impossible. Once again, warning klaxons rang out across the Santa Fe as deck plating shook with terrifying ferocity and sent crewmates hurtling across rooms and into bulkheads.

Things quickly went from not-so-smooth sailing to having this region truly live out its name as a maelstrom. Prida found herself tossed from her station and rolling on the floor, only stopping after colliding with the bulkhead. She pushed herself to her knees, feeling the ship give another violent toss before she managed to crawl back towards her station. “Gyromagnetic stabilizers are offline… attempting to reinitialize,” the Cardassian called out as she worked at her station. “Structural integrity holding… waiting for reports from all…”

Prida’s report was cut short by the sudden, and surprising, cessation of all movement, forward or back. The red lights across the ship faded and normal lighting resumed, causing the crew to look about rather confused. A wave of relief washed over all present as they resumed their stations and the reports began to flood in from across the ship.

Joining Ensign’s Caplan and Kedam at the science station, Lieutenant Rawlings reviewed the data that the sensors were spewing out. “It would appear that we’re through the worst of it, sir…” he reported, “the initial shockwave seems to have brought the brunt of the storm. We’re likely to experience minor turbulence until the tail end of the storm in approximately three hours.”

“How the frak did we get this so wrong?!” Farrell fumed, slamming his fist on the command rail around his seat, gesturing for the Lieutenant to step his way. “Ensigns; find out what the hell changed. In the meantime, we need to divert our attention back to the issue at hand,” he reminded his people, glaring at the viewscreen and the Klingon vessel that was limping away from the storm. “Vittoria; contact the Hotspur and ascertain their situation. Inform them we are sending a landing party to retrieve our people,” he instructed. “Dante; take a team to the surface and bring them home.”

Nodding to the Captain, Dante Rawlings made his way to the turbo lift, tapping his commbadge and summoning an armed security team and medical personnel to meet him in the shuttlebay. Farrell watched as the flight operations chief left the bridge, and listened to the counsellor talking away in the background. A short while ago, all seemed lost. But some smart thinking from his senior staff had enabled the Santa Fe to live to fight another day, to find and retrieve their people.

Nothing could prepare any of them for what was to come…

“Eye spy with my little eye… something beginning with C…”

Noli Auru slowly turned her head to a group sat just a short distance way from her and watched their exchange in silence. Even in their dire situation, they were finding ways to keep their spirits up.

“Chair,” Erik the Red, named such because of his flame red hair, responded somewhat cockily.

“Nope…”

“Child?”

“You’re supposed to see it, stupid.”

“Fine, chocolate?”

“No, but I’ll have a piece if you’re offering…”

“So would I…” Noli frowned as she joined in their conversation for a moment, turning her head away and slowly tilting it back against the console behind her tear-soaked face.

“Coat?”

“Good try, but no.”

There was a little lull in the conversation as the players tried to think of something, anything else that they could pick, with even Noli taking a moment to look around to see what it could be.

“Communicator?”

“Yes! Well done, Commander…”

It was so nonchalant that no one took any notice at first, but it soon dawned on them, causing quite a stir, when they realised what had happened. Noli practically jumped at the realisation, sitting herself up on her knees and looking at the Commander’s face as she placed a gentle hand on top of the Andorian’s. “Commander… ma’am. Glad to have you back with us,” she grinned, a little laugh of happiness escaping her lips as she looked at those around her. Lifting her uniformed sleeve, the Bajoran tried in vain to wipe her face clean and look more presentable for the executive officer, her hard as nails reputation probably on the line.

“Tell the staff here that I have a complaint about their hotel,” Tharia whispered, her body still reeling from the pain she was experiencing, “it’s too cold and the bed’s are lumpy.” The faintest of smiles crept upon the Andorian’s lips for a moment.

Erik the Red looked over from where he rested against a table leg, “We’ve upgraded your accommodations from the floor once already. You’ve got a nice blanket of coats beneath you. If you want something better, you’re just going to have to spend some credits…” he grinned.

“How about some replicator rations?” the Andorian smirked before wincing in pain and reaching for her side. She had no clue what had happened to her, but lord it hurt. “What… what’s the situation?” she enquired after a few moments.

Between sniffles and a grin of relief at the commander’s presence back in the room, Noli shrugged her shoulders. “The Klingons beamed out about 30 minutes ago, right before the storm hit. We’ve been working on trying to re-establish communications, or to get the energy field down, but the controls have been damaged, or fused, or something…”

“Where’s Javorian? Surely he can help?” Tharia suggested, trying to sit herself up. Her question caused Noli’s head to drop, only for her to turn and look in the direction of a covered body nearby.

Pronouncing someone dead was perhaps one of the most solemn, most painful duties a person could carry out. She’d never had to do it before now, but with it being a friend and colleague, it had been even harder to declare the science chief as lost. Crouching beside the fallen scientist, she placed a hand upon the man’s chest. “We tried everything, but we couldn’t save him. He was hit by some falling debris after pushing one of the Klingons to safety,” she told sadly, a croak in her voice and eyes welling up. 

Summoning two of her security colleagues to help her up, she draped her arms across their broad shoulders and hobbled in the Bajoran’s direction. Once they had crossed the small distance, she dropped to her knees beside the blonde, wrinkle-nosed tactician and used her for support. “I’m sure you did everything you could,” the Commander whispered to the younger woman, her antennae bobbing in respect to their fallen comrade. “Javorian knew the risks when he signed up for Starfleet. He has given his life in the service of the Federation that he so loved, and we must hope that we can do the same one day,” Tharia found solace in her words, even if she didn’t believe them one hundred percent right now.

As the tears ran free for the Bajoran, she closed her eyes and chanted a silent prayer on behalf of her beloved Prophets for her friend and colleague. When finished, the Lieutenant placed her arm around the Commander’s waist, helping each other to their feet just in time for a loud clanking beyond the lab drew everyone’s attention to the doorway, causing the room’s entire population to fall silent.

“You two!” Noli exclaimed quietly, gesturing to two of the nearby civilians to come and help support the Commander who, despite her best efforts, clearly wasn’t up to supporting herself as yet. Once they had taken responsibility for the Andorian, the strategist got to work organising a defence against whoever, or whatever, awaited them on the other side of the blast doors.

Between the clanks and crashes, the scientists in the lab grew more and more jittery… until there was a silence. The proverbial calm before the storm, so to speak. And no sooner had positive thoughts threatened to creep into their minds, a glow began to appear down the central seam between the doors – a tell tale sign that someone, or something, was heating up the gap in order to force the doors apart.

Scientists scuttled in various directions, taking shelter behind the various consoles in the room, leaving only the Starfleet officers (and the commander’s two crutches) to face whatever was to come through the doors. But as the heated glow travelled further down the door, it was apparent they would not have to wait long to find out what awaited.

The sounds began to repeat themselves, and drew the security teams phasers, long since retrieved from the Klingons, in the direction of large bay doors which seemed to be moving. Little slithers of light started to emerge, and gradually got bigger. Someone was opening the door.

”Is anyone in here?” a voice from beyond the bulkhead bellowed.Tharia and Noli alike let out a relieved sigh as they looked at each other with a smile. It wasn’t just any voice, it was a voice they recognised and were thrilled to hear.

Soon enough, the bulkheads parted enough to allow a face, an arm, and then an entire body to squeeze through.

”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?!” Noli called out to the officer who had emerged successfully through the gap, and who waved his colleagues threw the doorway immediately after. Soon enough, several more bodies appeared, a sight that caused tears to form in the corners of the Bajoran’s eyes. Help had arrived at last, albeit too late for one of their colleagues.

”I should have guessed you would have got yourself into a spot of bother,” Dante Rawlings smirked in response, making his way over to the Bajoran and exchanging a hearty handshake with her.

”You know me so well…” Noli smiled, “Do you have a medic with you? We have wounded…”

”Not just any medic, but THE medic,” another familiar voice spoke out as Lieutenant Commander Zinn, the Deltan Chief Medical Officer of the Santa Fe, was the last to emerge from the gap in the doors. Stepping over to the Lieutenant, who looked more than a little worse for wear herself, the bald-headed Deltan caught was almost aghast at what he was presented with. “Commander!” he exclaimed, before rushing over to the frail looking Andorian.

Rushing over to their wounded superior, Noli and Dante exchanged glances. “What happened?” the Flight Operations officer asked, looking around the collective group of survivors for some answers, taking the lead whilst the physician tended to the XO.

”Klingons happened,” one of the fraught looking security officers declared.

Dante nodded slowly, “Yeah, we had our own run in with them in orbit…” he folded his arms across his chest, only to drop them when he caught sight of a Starfleet jacket draped over a fallen comrade. He was about to sprint off in the direction of the body, but Noli grabbed a hold of his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Exchanging glances, the Bajoran gave the man the knowing look he had dreaded, confirmation to him that they were on the same wavelength. “Frak me…” he whispered with a shake of the head.

”Okay everyone, listen up,” he announced once he had composed himself a few moments later. “We’ve got two runabouts outside ready to take you all to the Santa Fe. NO ONE gets left behind,” he told confidently and sternly, hoping that the confidence would cover for the fact he felt like he had suffered from a sucker punch to the gut. “With your permission, Commander?” the ship’s Second Officer asked, looking down at his injured colleague.

”I’m done here…” the Andorian whispered through the pain barrier, nodding to her friend.

“Then grab what you need and we’ll get out of here,” the Lieutenant called out to anyone listening, then he gestured to their fallen comrades body. “Jameson, Gora. Take good care of him. It’s the least he deserves…”

Rescue had come too late their kin, but thankfully those who had survived their torment would now be free to take refuge among the stars.

Watching as the survivors were escorted out of the lab via the doors which had been cracked open, Dante couldn’t help but scowl.

“If only they had left when we told them to…”

Reverberations could be felt around the hangar complex as the first of the support craft came in to land, the metallic hull of the craft ringing out for a short while as the landing craft made contact. In normal circumstances, it would probably be an annoying sound, but today of all days it was the most welcome sound of all. Survivors were returning to the ship, along with new friends, and they could finally start to take stock of their situation.

Another dull fizz indicated the entry of another craft, the vessel that the wounded executive officer and their Santa Fe colleagues had been transported aboard. Captain Farrell watched from a safe distance as the craft came in to land and, with his small team, they were prepared to render assistance to get the wounded to sickbay.

Once the craft was safely down, and her doors opened, the first figure appeared in the doorway and took a deep lungful of air.

”Just how I remembered,” Noli smiled, jumping down to the deck below.

”You’ve not been gone long,” the Captain smiled as he approached his colleague and they exchanged brief hand shakes. For the master and commander of Santa Fe, it was a great relief to have them home.

One by one, figures began to emerge from the cramped Runabout, the Captain’s smile broadening each time. But something wasn’t quite right. Someone seemed to be missing. It was then that his eyes caught sight of something that hit him like a phaser blast to the chest. Whilst he remained calm and considered on the surface, beneath his calm exterior he could feel his insides quaking. As the tears welled in his eyes, he called out at the top of his lungs. “All hands on deck! Aaa-ten-shun!” he ordered sternly, snapping to attention himself as everyone else there present spun on their heels and, like him, they paid their respects.

Not even the dropping of a pin could be heard as the crowd watched in silence as the medical stretcher was lowered from the craft by the four security officers who had been given the honor of conveying their deceased comrade to his final resting place. Sebastian’s eyes were trained on Commander Travis’ body as it passed by slowly, the security officers come pallbearers giving their colleague the small bit of dignity they could.

Once they had taken several steps into the bay, the team stopped in their tracks and Commander Zinn walked over to the stretcher, placing his commbadge upon the chest of their fallen friend and tapping it gently. “One to beam directly to sickbay,” the Deltan decreed as quietly as he could, watching in stoic silence as the transporter beam engulfed the covered body.

Taking a deep breath, the Captain turned and looked towards the gathered crew who were waiting for orders. “As you were,” he told them, before swiftly heading for the exit of the shuttlebay in order to make his way to the ship’s medical facility.

A short while later, the Captain arrived at sickbay and navigated his way through the triage unit the medical staff had established, seeking out one particular patient among the many. Side stepping as some of the nurses hurried by, the commanding officer continued on his way until he reached a makeshift partition which offered their executive officer some privacy. Rounding it, he released a sigh of relief, able now to see the Andorian was indeed alive with his own eyes.

“Not too long, Captain,” the nurse monitoring their XO’s condition instructed quietly before stepping away. “She needs to rest.”

Sebastian gave a nod of acknowledgment as he moved to the Commander’s side. “It is good to see you, Number One,” he offered with a small, tired smile. “We were getting worried about you.”

With great difficulty, Tharia pushed herself up from her horizontal position, her right arm clutched across her chest as she did so. Eventually, a weak smile was aimed in the direction of her commanding officer. “Couldn’t let a simple evacuation be the end of me,” the Commander joked before holding out her left hand and placing it on the CO’s arm. “How are we looking, Captain?” she enquired, her face dropping.

Sebastian glanced around them, ensuring there was nobody within earshot. Here was the one person he did not need to put on a ‘brave face’ for or seem overly positive for. And yet… “I keep reminding myself it could be worse but the words seem hollow,” Seb frowned, leaning on the XO’s bed for support. “What happened?” he asked finally, his eyes pleading for answers from his colleague.

She knew what he wanted to hear, but Tharia couldn’t tell him anything other than what Noli had told her herself. “Javorian gave his life to save that of one of the Klingons,” she revealed, laying back down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. “Selfless and kind to the end,” she whispered, a single tear running down her battered and bruised cheek.

“He would never have had it any other way,” Sebastian sighed as he pulled over a stool and perched beside his friend. The two officers talked for an age about the situation their two teams had found themselves in until finally, the Captain rose to his feet once again. “I’ll contact Javorian’s parents later, and we’ll hold a memorial as soon as is practicable. Is there anything I can get you? The doctors were insistent that you rest.”

Tharia waved away the comment about the doctors concerns. “I’ll be fine and on my feet soon enough,” she winced, “just keep me in the loop in the meantime, okay?”

“Of course,” Sebastian nodded, lying through his back teeth. He had no intention on updating her with anything while she was recuperating. “I will stop by again soon. Try not to antagonise your doctors too much…”

Laying back once again, the Commander simply smirked. “They’ll risk antagonising me if they keep me here too long,” the Andorian quipped.

A smile played at Sebastian’s lips, “I’ll be sure to warn the medical staff and alert security. Get some rest. That’s an order.”

“As you wish,” the Andorian nodded slowly as they exchanged glances.

Standing just outside the private medical area that had been set up for the XO, an antsy looking man in command red shifted from foot to foot whilst he waited for the conversation between commander and captain to finish. Dante had only been away from the Captain for a short while, but given how fluid the developments at present were, he had an update for Farrell. An update that he felt could not wait.

“I feel like you are my new shadow,” Sebastian observed. “I’m guessing you aren’t here just because you were missing me?”

”The joys of your XO being told to rest; you get me,” Dante smiled before handing over a data PADD to the CO, a PADD that made for solemn reading. “According to sensors we’ve lost 63 people on the station sir. Half the facility is currently uninhabitable,” the Flight Controller-turned-executive officer told.

It was a staggering number. One that almost knocked the air out of Sebastian’s lungs. Yes, they could have lost far more and by any measure they had been ‘lucky’ for want of a better word. And yet… He turned his back, reading through the report. Of course, he didn’t know any of the dead, save two. That was more than enough for him.

Straightening, he reminded himself that this was not the time to feel sorry for their losses. Such times would come later. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Contact the Thesis and request a meeting with Captain Ruas. Inform Starfleet of the situation and request orders,” the Captain requested as he passed the data PADD back to the acting XO.

“As you wish Captain,” Dante nodded, stepping back slowly and taking his leave of the CO, leaving him to contemplate and digest his thoughts. Whatever those thoughts might be.

Taking a few steps, the Captain departed the medical bay, quite unsure where he was to journey to until a strange feeling akin to a gravimetric pull drew him several doors down the corridor. Entering the darkened room, the Captain stalked his way toward the only object at the heart of the space. It was an object no one ever wished to see, especially where a friend was concerned.

As he circled the object slowly, he ran his left hand gently across the surface of the metallic casing, his eyes trained firmly on the torpedo housing adorned with the black flag and its blue United Federation of Planets logo. Coming to a halt at the forward tip of the torpedo casing, the Captain’s hand fell in to place at his side.

“When I told you this was to be our last tour together, it was supposed to be me moving on, not you…” Sebastian whispered, slowly lowering himself onto the stool that was positioned directly behind him. “We’ve served together for so long that I’ve forgotten what it was like to not have you around. I just thought I would have more time to get used to the idea…”

Standing at the door to the captain’s quarters, Nisha Kedam fiddled with the new, hollow pip that was present on her dress uniform’s teal collar. Hollow was the right word. She didn’t feel as if she had earned the recognition, or the pip, but had inherited it instead. It wasn’t how the young Cardassian had anticipated earning her promotion, but her friends had told her to accept it with the same grace and dignity her predecessor had always shown. Commander Travis’ death had left a gaping chasm in the science department, a hole that the captain had been quick to fill buy promoting her to the department head position, with the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade. She had questioned her suitability every second of the seventeen hours, thirty-six minutes and… fourteen seconds since he had shared the news of her promotion with her. Something told her that it would be a long while before she would work up to the notion that she had earned the extra hollow pip. However, right now, the science team needed a leader, and the captain needed a scientific advisor. She would play that role to the best of her ability (even if Ensign Caplan had quietly cursed her out several times for achieving the position that he so obviously coveted).

Farrell had requested that the young ensign, sorry, lieutenant, be the one to get him when it was time for their friend’s funeral service, and so she stood outside, performing that solemn duty to the letter. Motionless, reflective.

Eventually, the door to the captain’s private abode opened, and the significantly taller man appeared, looking utterly resplendent in his pristine, maroon-coloured dress uniform. Every metallic item glistened in the deck lighting; every inch the statesman that the Santa Fe crew deserved.

A simple nod of acknowledgement between the two served as the captain’s signal that he was ready to proceed, the two officers’ beginning their silent march down the corridor towards the turbo lift.

“It looks good on you Nisha,” Farrell whispered as he clasped his hands behind his back, “Javorian would be proud of you.”

Kedam let out the quietest of sighs, welling up in the process. For her, nothing more needed to be said.

[SHUTTLEBAY]

Draped over the torpedo casing in the centre of the docking bay, the Federation flag adorned the fallen comrade’s coffin, a single wreath placed lovingly in front. In a mark of respect that underlined the measure of the man that was to be laid to rest, over three dozen people had filled the shuttlebay to pay their respects to one of the most well-liked members of the ship’s complement. Seated either side of the coffin, the gathering fell silent as the captain rose to his feet, accompanied by the traditional boatswain’s whistle that signalled the crew to join him on theirs.

Sebastian simply stared at the coffin before him, lost for a moment as flashes of memories played at the forefront of his mind like a highlight reel of his friendship with Javorian, so lost that he was drawn from his dazed state by gentle touch of his executive officer. Supported physically by the pain medication and the expert care of Doctor Zinn, Tharia was in a much better place following the trauma she herself had sustained. She was able to be there to support her commanding officer and friend. Sliding her left hand gently into his, she gave it a squeeze and smiled at him reassuringly when he looked over at her with watering eyes.

Taking an extra second or two to compose himself, the captain eventually stepped forward from his chair and stood beside the Federation flag that meant so much to his friend. The crew…this noble, selfless, persevering crew, were all lined up to hear his eulogy towards the late science officer. His friend. He looked out at the sea of faces and cleared his throat.

“Friends and colleagues. We are gathered here on this day to pay our final respects to a man who, bravely and heroically, and without a second thought to his own safety, gave his life to safeguard another. Commander Javorian Travis was a man of the utmost integrity; he was a man who worshipped the Federation, even in the dark days of years gone by, and always believed that the galaxy could, and would, be a better place.” Farrell stopped for a moment, blinking several times to stem the small tears welling up in his eyes. “Today, the galaxy seems a little darker thanks to this tremendous loss, but we can take heart from the knowledge that Javorian Travis leaves us all a little better off than before we knew him. A friend and colleague who believed in each and every one of us, Javorian gave us the courage and conviction to serve our crew, and this ship, to the best of our abilities.”

Sebastian looked around the crew, his gaze falling upon each and every member there assembled for the slightest of moments. “Sometimes, we are alone in this darkness called space. We feel like we have no allies, we can feel like there is no way of getting home, but the one thing Javorian always reminded me was that no matter what we face, we always have each other. Our friend taught us to depend on each other and to work as one, as a whole, to see ourselves to each day, to each tomorrow. And now,” Sebastian said, pausing again, voice cracking and dropping almost to a whisper, “now we give his body to the stars, the stars he yearned to reach all his life. The stars shine ever onward, even as this life fades.”

Once more, the boatswain’s whistle signalled the gathering to come to attention in respect of their fallen brethren. They watched over the torpedo while six of their security officer colleagues slowly took ownership of the torpedo casing, and brought it to the edge of the shuttlebay. As they walked, the familiar tolling of the shuttlebay warning klaxon disturbed the silence, the view of the vastness of space now before them. Slowly, but surely, the six officers propelled the coffin through the forcefield that protected them from the heavens, and pushed it into the vast openness of space. 

And at the heart of the gathered crew, Captain Sebastian Farrell watched on in silence, tears rolling down his dark cheeks. Sometimes, one would try to think of all manner of convoluted words and statements to describe one’s feelings, but today only one would suffice; sad. Sebastian Farrell was sad at the loss of his colleague, and his best friend.

And he would be sad for a very long time.

[SOMETIME LATER…]

Several weeks had passed since the tragic death of Commander Travis, and Starfleet’s investigation into the presence of the Klingons on Sathea still rumbled on. Well, more like stumbled along really. With evidence limited and new leads few and far between, the investigation didn’t really seem to be going anywhere in a hurry. So much so, the branches of Intelligence, Tactical and Starfleet Command itself were facing uneasy questions about their lack of progress from all quarters, but none more so than the newest Deputy Director of Starfleet Security for the Beta Antares sector.

For Commodore Sebastian Farrell, the sands of time never stopped, and whilst he had moved on from the Beta Quadrant and the site of the tragedy that had befallen him, he had to ensure that Starfleet got the answers Javorian’s family needed. For now though, he had people working on that task. He, himself had other matters to attend to.

Day thirty of his term in post had started like many others had so far. He been part of his superior’s morning briefing on the investigation and had been subjected to a constant stream of updates from the heads of every Starfleet Branch that were liaising with his office. Shipyards across the Federation were churning out starships to replace those lost over a decade ago during the attack on Mars, and security officers were high on the recruitment list. Starfleet Medical had been forced to call in their brightest minds to deal with an outbreak of Kamaraazite Flu on Castal One, whilst Starfleet Science continued their development of holographic technology at a great pace. The biggest update had come from the Judge Advocate General’s office. A case had begun against the executive officer of the starship Ajani, an Intrepid-class starship that had been operating along the Cardassian border. During the ship’s mission, the XO had disobeyed the Captain’s orders and had, apparently, detained a Cardassian vessel, which had prompted a diplomatic incident.

Now he sat at his desk with his feet up, enjoying a break from the constant stream of meetings with a well-earned cup of coffee whilst catching up on some of the Federation News Service streams from the past few days. Whilst he got updates on the most urgent matters around the Federation, he found the FNS to be a great way to get updates on other issues that didn’t always come across his desk. He had been watching a broadcast about mining issues on Dorvan II when another particular broadcast had caught his attention. A new, tell-all memoir by a decorated Starfleet veteran had apparently been making waves for its unflinching criticism of Federation and Starfleet leadership during the Dominion War.

“What the hell, he’s only two decades out of date…” Farrell shrugged as he got comfortable and listened to the broadcast.

“The memoir by retired Starfleet Captain Ignacio Fierro, entitled The Sacrifice of Angels: A Captain’s Account of the Dominion War, features Fierro’s recollections of serving in the greatest war in Federation history. Laden with unapologetic descriptions and strong language, it is not for the faint of heart.“

“Yet Fierro’s book is hardly the first raw retelling of one veteran’s memories of the war. What has brought attention to the book instead is that several times throughout the memoir, Fierro blatantly claims that military strategists and field commanders he served under were grossly incompetent, and in some cases, even corrupt.”

That caught the Commodore’s attention, causing him to sit up in his chair and plant his feet firmly on the floor again. Corruption claims, even from over twenty years ago, was not something Starfleet, or the Office of Starfleet Security needed on their plate right now.

“It was then I realized they had no understanding of what was truly happening on the front lines,” the author spoke as he appeared on the screen. “To them, they were just faceless names on casualty reports. How else to explain the callousness with which they sent us to our deaths, outnumbered and outgunned?”

Slamming his hand on the comm panel on his desk, the Commodore was fuming. “=/\=Sovaal, get in here!” he beckoned.

“Captain Fierro served with distinction for nearly four decades in Starfleet. Graduating third in his class at the academy, Fierro began his career as an engineer before eventually moving into command. By the time the Dominion War broke out in 2373, he was captain of the USS Emerald, which fought in multiple engagements with the Dominion, including several of the largest and costliest battles such as the Battle of Tyra, in which only fourteen Federation ships out of 112 survived. After the war, Fierro remained in the service, teaching at the academy until his retirement in 2384.”

“Starfleet Command had no comment on the memoir, which is due out next week from the New Berlin Press.”

“Frak me…” the Commodore fumed, slamming his cup on the desk just as the doors opened and his Adjutant, Commander Sovaal, entered along with another officer. “Why the hell didn’t we know about this?” Sebastian asked angrily, not even acknowledging the Captain who had entered at first.

“Respectfully, sir, we have bigger fish to fry than baseless claims from a retired officer,” Captain Hanson from Starfleet Operations responded as he placed a PADD on the Commodore’s desk and slid it over. “We have a situation developing near FreeCloud,” the Captain told his superior.

Waving away his Adjutant who had not said a word so far, Sebastian picked up the PADD and offered a seat to the Captain. “That bloody plamet becomes more of a nuisance with each passing day. We should just send in Starfleet Security and shut the whole place down… What is it now? Gambling issues?”

“A missing starship,” Mitchell Hanson retorted with a shake of his head.

That certainly caught the Commodore’s attention, signalling for his subordinate to tell him more.

“One of our newer starships, the Thesis, was on assignment near Freecloud testing an experimental defense system when long range sensors detected irregularities in her warp field,” Hanson revealed, reaching over and pressing a button on his senior officer’s PADD, flipping it to the next page. “We monitored the ship for as long as we could, but sensors last had her on a trajectory of 256 mark 321, heading out towards Cardassian space and the Wastelands beyond. That was thirty-six hours ago, and we’ve heard nothing since.”

A lost starship, not just any starship but one of their newer Inquiry-class ships, was never a good thing. “Contact the Santa Fe. I know Captain sh’Elas is in the region and she’ll be ready for a challenge after a month of border patrols. They have a history with the Thesis so they’ll be best placed to deal with it,” Farrell didn’t need to hear or read anything further. A lost starship on any day was a cause for concern, but it being on a trajectory for Cardassian space was more than a worry.

Hanson nodded respectfully to his superior and departed, leaving the Commodore to his cold tea and news reports, just in time for a new headline to flash across the screen.

“Starfleet Planetary Defense Laser Misfires in Par’tha Expanse, Dozens of Casualties Reported.”

Today was turning into the day from hell. He let out a sigh and reached for his comm panel again. “=/\=Sovaal, get me Admiral Novu on the line. Yesterday please, thank you!”

The stars did, indeed, shine ever onward. He simply found himself wishing they would shine in less problematic ways every once in a while.