Across the stars, wherever one may find themselves, it is common knowledge that one’s fears can be triggered by real threats or by memories of threats once experienced. Terrans in particular find it challenging to unlearn fears. Thus, when one eventually realises that they are scared, they ask themselves how real the threat is, or if they have begun to generalise fear and seek evidence to cement it rather than challenge it. To remain well balanced and with good perspective, one must always remain willing to ask themselves these difficult questions, hone into one’s true emotions and see people as they really are. The prize for doing all this right is a well functioning society; the punishment for getting it wrong is run-away-paranoia. The former makes friendships, the latter makes enemies whom could have been friends.

Hurtling through space at a measly Warp 4 because of the strain they’d put on the warp core in order to keep the defence grid running, the repurposed Miranda-class starship made for the Bajor system at her best possible speed. Deep in the bowels of the ancient Starfleet ship, crew quarters had been adapted to house some of the most challenging, most dangerous, most deadly criminals from across the Federation. Some of them suffering from the same run-away paranoia that signalled their failure to understand their fear; others simply pure, unadulterated evil. Doors had been removed and replaced with high-powered energy fields. Internal sensors had been significantly upgraded and Starfleet Security roamed the halls, armed.

Deck seven in particular had been so heavily converted for the most extreme cases that only four cells were in place, and all other rooms stripped of, well, everything. In Cell-7B, one prisoner in particular had been alone for sometime and was going stir crazy in the confined space, not that he would admit that to anyone of course. He needed to keep up the facade that he was as cool, calm and collected as ever, despite the nagging urge to claw at the walls and rip his finger nails off in the process. So, when the forcefield was lowered at last, he sat up on the edge of his shelf-come-bed and looked for the confirmation he needed.

As a famous man once said, ‘the game was afoot’.

Appearing from around the corner, a Rigellian in the gold trim of security wandered into the cell. But instead of the cocksure attitude of his colleagues, who would often enter the cell with their weapons drawn, the man looked agitated, constantly looking over his shoulder, his reptilian like skin glistening under the pressure of the endeavour they were about to undertake.

Pushing himself to his feet, the prisoner ran a hand down the front of his grey jumpsuit and took a deep breath. It was time to put months of planning into action.

“We’ve got one minute until the sensors reactivate and they know you’re gone,” the Rigellian’s gravelly voice was shaken as he spoke, an indicator of his unease at being the accomplice to the prisoner’s plan.

“Then we should get moving,” the criminal suggested, heading for the door, only to be stopped in his tracks when the Rigellian thrust out an arm and blocked his escape.

“From here, you’re on your own,” the Starfleet officer told him quietly, “I’ve done what we agreed. I’m not doing anything else to put myself at risk,” he argued.

“You think you’re going to be able to hold up under scrutiny when they finally catch up with this ship? the prisoner posed the question, and immediately the officer’s expression changed. “They’ll figure out it was you, and you’ll go to prison for the rest of your life. At least with me, you’ll stand a chance of spending the latinum in your account,” the jumpsuit wearing man looked smug as he pushed past the uniformed arm and began making his way down the corridor as planned.

He was justified in his smugness, as the man who had freed him suddenly caught up with him and together, they made their escape. “I’ve set up a secure transport from the cargo bay to the shuttlebay,” the Rigellian told, their pace quickening.

Unfortunately, their little ‘conversation’ had slowed them longer than intended. Red strobe lighting replaced the standard illuminations, and across the ship the standard accompaniment of the red alert klaxon rang out, followed by the expected, and anticipated, warning.

“Security alert. Escape in progress. Prisoner zero-one-nine unaccounted for. Shipwide lockdown initiated. Repeat, security alert.”

“That was quick,” the escaped convict mused as their pace quickened, headed for the cargo bay at the end of the hall.

“Too quick,” the Rigellian warned, “someone must have been on an unscheduled patrol.” It didn’t matter of course, because they would soon be out of there and on their way to the rendezvous point on Bajor. If they could get past the unexpected occupant of the cargo bay, anyway.

Sprinting through the cargo bay door, Prisoner Zero-One-Nine was forced to slide to a halt, just a stones throw from the transporter pad, upon identifying the unexpected complication in their plan. Noting the phaser being pointed in his direction, the convict threw his arms up in the air, surrendering to the ‘Security Sam’ just in time for the Rigellian to come barreling through the door and draw his colleagues attention. The split-second distraction was all he needed to make his move.

Prisoner Zero-One-Nine lunged forth, grabbing the officer’s wrist as nothing short of a one-sided wrestling match began. Transitioning from a grip of the wrist to a headlock and several punches to the gut of the Starfleet man, Prisoner Zero-One-Nine then thrust his right knee upward and swiftly connected with the man’s nose. Security Sam collapsed to his hands and knees with blood streaming from his nose, but most crucially of all, he dropped the hand held weapon at the feet of his assailant. Prisoner Zero-One-Nine slowly bent over, wiping beads of sweat from his brow, and took hold of the weapon in one hand, and Security Sam’s left arm in the other.

Whilst the officer struggled to stem the bleeding of his nose, he caught a glimpse of his Rigellian counterpart, stood nearby and doing… nothing?

“I’m sorry about this…” Prisoner Zero-One-Nine whispered to the security officer, drawing the man’s attention back to him. Echos of a brief phaser blast rung out around the cargo bay, the security officer slipping motionless to the floor. A single phaser blast, on maximum stun at close range, enough for instantaneous loss of life. Death had claimed the hero, his life taken in the performance of his duties and in the best service of the Federation.

“What have you done?!” the Rigellian exclaimed, a look of utter incredulity on his face as he bent down and pressed two fingers upon the neck of his fallen comrade. “You swore no one would get hurt. You promised we’d be out of here and everyone else would go about their business,” he argued defiantly in the face of almost certain death.

“Are you really that naive? Naive enough to think we could pull this off without any risk?” Prisoner Zero-One-Nine responded bluntly as he lifted the liberated phaser. “Now, you either come with me as planned, or I can take you hostage. Either way, I need you and you’re coming with me,” the Bajoran argued before dropping his phaser, appealing to the Rigellian not to give up his life when they had come this far.

For all his sins, the security officer couldn’t risk staying behind and being identified as a traitor, the one to help the prisoner escape and, through lack of action, an accomplice in the death of his colleague. Reluctantly, he joined Prisoner Zero-One-Nine on the transporter pad, just in time for an army of Starfleet Security to enter the bay and helplessly observe as the two dematerialised into oblivion.

Overlooking the beautiful cliffs and waterfalls of Bajor’s capital, the Starfleet Command Annex was the headquarters for all of the Starfleet operations on the planet, including Starfleet Tactical. The ornate and ancient building, often the ending point for traditional grand parades during Bajoran celebrations, was a hive of activity despite the extreme weather warning in place for the rising temperature across the planet. Up in the rafters of the building, in one of the smaller offices and trying to stay cool, Commodore Sebastian Farrell was watching the world go by when the door chime rang out and drew his attention.

Turning from the window, he looked towards the door and pressed a button on his desk. “Enter,” he called out.

Upon the parting of the doors, the Commodore’s adjutant practically sprinted into the room and pressed some of the controls on his superior’s wall display. “You’re going to want to see this,” Hanson suggested, perching on the edge of the desk and folding his arms across his chest.

Farrell let out a substantial tut as the screen changed to reflect the Federation News Service logo, superimposed over what appeared to be an image of Ashalla itself. “Not this lot again. How is it these people know stuff before we do?! What is it this time? Border dispute? Trade negotiations gone wrong?” he asked of his deputy, only to be ‘shushed’ and urged to look at the screen.

A woman, quite clearly a more elderly Bajoran, appeared on the screen. “We’re bringing you breaking news, live from the Ashalla Spaceport here on Bajor,” the broadcaster reported, standing outside the largest civilian spaceport on the beautiful world of Bajor. “A matter of hours ago, a Federation security official was killed aboard the Federation transport ‘Osirian’, bound for the penal colony on Tantalus Five,” she informed her audience, her phrasing instantly causing the Commodore’s expression to change. “The perpetrator, a convict identified just moments ago as one ‘Noam Dar’, escaped confinement aboard the maximum security transport and was making his escape from the craft when he was intercepted by security officers,” the woman revealed.

Reaching down to his desk, the Commodore pressed a button and opened an instant communications channel. He didn’t even wait for acknowledgement from the officer on the other end of the channel, simply issuing his instructions instead. “Get me the commander of the Osirian on a secure channel,” he instructed sternly, before terminating the channel and continuing with the news brief.

“According to our sources, the victim, Lieutenant Liao Shun, a Terran of Chinese descent and aged only twenty-five, was shot at close range on maximum stun when trying to apprehend the prisoner. He was pronounced dead at the scene by medical officers,” shaking his head slowly the Commodore inaudibly cursed. What a frakking awful way to go.

“Noam Dar, a Bajoran male arrested earlier this year on piracy and kidnapping charges, proceeded to take another officer hostage and made his escape via the cargo transporter,” the woman revealed, causing Hanson to exchange glances with the Commodore. The screen then changed to a man in civilian clothing. “Liao Shun was an outstanding young man who had a very promising career ahead of him”, spoke the man, a news ticker at the bottom of the screen identifying him as Security Director Jarkad, the Benzite head of security for the correctional facility on Tantalus V where Shun had served. “His death will not go unanswered or unpunished. We will track down Noam Dar and bring him to justice.”

Sebastian had seen enough, terminating the report on the screen and collapsing into his chair, the Captain standing before him. “Noam Dar has disappeared and is now believed to be at large. We have reason to believe he has somehow bartered transport from here, at the Ashalla Spaceport,” Hanson reported, sitting when directed by the Commodore.

“And what can you tell me about him?” Seb queried, reaching out to his console and beginning his own search.

“Noam was recently sentenced by the Starfleet Judge Advocate General’s Office to twenty years imprisonment without possibility of parole on thirty counts of interstellar piracy, five counts of kidnapping and one count of torturing a Federation official,” the list of crimes were shocking, but not as shocking as his now apparent move into murder. “According to the trial notes, he was described as a,” Hanson paused and looked at his own notes briefly, “a credible and present danger to society and the most narcissistic individual his prosecutor had ever met.”

Both officers were deep in conversation when a third, a much younger officer, appeared. “I’ve got the commander of the Osirian for you, sir. A Lieutenant Commander Shiv Pateen,” the woman advised her commanding officer.

“Thank you Lieutenant,” Seb nodded and was about to wave the yeoman away when he had a sort of epiphany. “Find out who the reporter in that broadcast is, and get her here. Her boss, and her boss’ boss too,” he ordered, eager to get to the bottom of how the News Service seemed to be getting the inside track on matters.

“As you wish,” Lieutenant Jardin nodded, the tiniest of respectful bows followed and then she was gone.

Once the Commodore and his immediate subordinate were alone, Farrell gave a loud sigh. “Where the hell do we begin with this?” he mused, shaking his head slowly, steepling his fingers under his chin as he gave the situation great consideration.

Hanson gave off an awkward looking smile, one that caused the Commodore to look somewhat taken aback. It was a very odd time to be smiling. “We may just have a way in…”

[USS Ulysses, in orbit of Trill…]

Two weeks. Two long weeks. In the grand scheme of recent events, two weeks seemed like a lifetime. Ulysses and her crew had been involved in numerous events within Romulan space for that period of time, but with the ship travelling to the Badlands for her new mission, the crew of Ulysses had found themselves with a lot of off time. Two weeks of down time provided the crew with ample time for bonding, getting to know one another, and ensuring that the technological marvel they now called home was ready for their mission into the Thomar Expanse.

For the recently installed Captain of the Ulysses, it was just like being at home again. A child of the Galaxy lineage, having spent nineteen years aboard different vessels of the family group, the Andorian had jumped at the chance to command such a prestigious posting when Starfleet Command approached her. Her new ship bore many similarities to that of the Santa Fe, which was understandable given their shared lineage, and these similarities meant she found it far easier to assimilate to her surroundings than she had on the much newer Temeraire. The presence of so many of her colleagues helped too, of course. It was always easier to settle in when one was surrounded with people they knew they could trust. And today, that trust would be needed.

Sat in the comfort of her ready room, buried deep in post-mission paperwork, she was forced to look up upon the parting of her doors and the sudden, unannounced appearance of her Tellarite executive.

“Captain, we have a problem…” Vasoch declared, not waiting for the invitation to sit before pulling out a seat opposite the Andorian. “A Starfleet security officer has been killed on a Federation prisoner transport near Bajor. According to reports, a prisoner escaped confinement from the maximum security cells, attacked the officer, and fled to the Ashalla spaceport,” the Tellarite revealed, his words causing the Captain to cease her activity.

“This is our problem, why?” she enquired, sitting back in her chair and defensively folding her arms across her chest, instantly regretting the question.

Vasoch took a deep breath before unleashing the bombshell upon the woman. “The prisoner is Lieutenant Prida’s older brother…”

If she had been privileged enough to be present at the meeting between the command authority, their Bajoran counterpart from tactical would have been impressed with the amount and severity of the expletives that came from the Andorian’s mouth, enough to make even the hard snouted XO blush. Once the anger subsided and she put her hands on her hips, now stood behind her desk and glaring down at the XO, the Captain found herself shaking her head. “Why is it that every time we get close to doing something akin to our actual mission, something else comes up and ruins our plans?!”

Vasoch shrugged his shoulders and ruffled his beard. “What would life be without the unexpected?” he asked her somewhat rhetorically before moving on to an actual question. “How would you like to proceed with this?”

Tharia’s hands dropped to her side as her thoughts finally fell to her friend and the predicament they now faced. “Why don’t you contact command, see what else you can find out, and I’ll speak with Prida,” the Captain puffed out her cheeks and let out a sigh.

Rising to his feet, Vasoch gave a nod of acknowledgement to the Captain’s request. He turned to exit, but stopped short of crossing the exit to the bridge. “Do you still want to see Lieutenant Noli?” he queried.

Nodding her head, the Andorian’s newly cut silver fringe bobbed in front of her face. “I guess now is as good a time as any, especially if this news is going to call an abrupt end to our shoreleave, as I suspect it will,” Tharia agreed. Send her in on your way out, would you?”

With a nod from the XO, the blue-skinned mistress of the Ulysses returned to her seat, the anger subsiding enough that she could, for now, focus on a matter of significance.

When the chime from the door rang out, the Captain looked across and beckoned for the Tactical Chief to enter. Within seconds, the Bajoran in operations gold was stood before her commanding officer, eager to find out the purpose of her summons.

“I’ve been highly impressed with you of late, Lieutenant…” the Captain told the younger woman, gesturing for her to take a seat opposite.

“Ummm… thank you ma’am,” Noli smiled graciously, if not a little unnerved at the niceties being sent her way.

“So much so in fact,” Tharia paused as she reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a small box, “that Starfleet have granted me permission to appoint a new second officer to replace Commander T’Prynn.” Standing, the Captain made her way around the table and smiled at her colleague and close ally. She presented the box to the Bajoran and opened it in such a way that anyone entering at that exact moment would have been forgiven for thinking the woman in red had just proposed marriage. But instead of a diamond ring, a small, silver pip that was hollowed out slightly in the middle sat on the fabric cushion inside.

Noli rose to her feet slowly, her eyes never leavinging the contents of the box, but the smile on her face told the Captain all she needed to know – the pip probably meant more than any other piece of jewellery could at this point. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander Noli,” the Andorian grinned, removing the pip from the box and placing the empty vessel upon the desktop.

As the Captain reached out and placed the pip upon the blonde bombshell’s collar, the Bajoran couldn’t contain her excitement a moment longer. “Thank you so much, Captain. I know I have big shoes to fill, but I’ll do my absolute best for this ship and our crew,” Noli looked her superior dead in the eye, eager to get across her commitment to the cause. It worked, of course.

“If I had a shred of doubt in your ability or your commitment to this ship and her crew, we would not be having this conversation,” the Andorian advised the younger woman. “You are very deserving of this promotion, Commander. I look forward to working with you more closely as part of the command authority,” Tharia concluded as she rounded the table again and stood in front of her chair.

“Computer,” she spoke, waiting for the customary beep of acknowledgement before continuing. “Enter Lieutenant Noli Auru’s promotion to Lieutenant Commander and Second Officer in the ship’s log. Effective immediately,” she ordered.

“Working…” the female voice of the computer retorted quickly, before continuing, “log amended.”

Now that the Bajoran’s promotion was formalised at last, the Captain could fill her in on recent events. “Find Commander Gor and get him to fill you in on what’s transpired this morning,” she advised as a means of dismissal, but as she returned to the comfort of her chair, the Andorian stopped the Bajoran in her tracks. “Be prepared to recall the crew. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be shipping out before the end of the day.”

If they even made it to the next hour still in orbit of Trill they would be incredibly lucky.

Without question, the third vessel she had now served upon in as many months was beyond impressive. Forty-two decks housing everything from an arboretum to the Bridge, engineering to a formidable medical department, and everything in between. Designed for deep space exploration, Starfleet had spared no expense ensuring the ship had state of the art specifications and updates in recent refits and – judging by transfer orders still coming through – making sure they had the best crew aboard, too.

”Deck ten,” the Chief Engineering Officer ordered as she entered the turbolift, the doors closing quietly behind her. As the journey began, she glanced down at the PaDD she carried, again skimming over the file she’d received regarding the final stages of the refit they were going through above Trill.

Shortly after it began its trip to the mess hall, it stopped and a new face entered the moving lift. A young man, only recently transferred from the USS Wishaw a short time ahead of the Temeraire’s journey to Romulan space. Prida had seen him around, of course, but not on any sort of personal level. 

Dressed in pale blue ripped jeans and a tight red t-shirt, the Helmsman of the Ulysses smiled cheekily as he entered the lift and nodded to the Chief Engineer. “Evening Lieutenant,” he slid up beside the Bajassian and spun on his heels to face the doorway.

Prida closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A scent more beautiful than anything she had smelt for a long time. “Wow!” He smelt delicious, and he was quite something to look at too. Wait. Was she staring? She caught herself looking at the man and quickly turned away, her mottled skin threatening to turn a different shade of grey.

“Going anywhere in particular?” Henry asked, turning to look at the young woman, his most charming smile aimed in the Chief’s direction. ”Oh, ummm…” the engineer stammered for a second, finding herself lost for words for a moment, “I’m just going for something to eat,” she finally responded.

“What a coincidence! So am I,” Henry smiled as the lift resumed and sped towards deck ten. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, flashing his pearly whites at his companion.

“Of course not,” the woman smiled, running her fingers through her hair and tucking it behind her left ear. “How are you finding the Ulysses?” she queried, making small talk with the Helmsman.

”I still haven’t found out where everything is on this ship. It’s larger than some starbases I’ve been on,” Mitchell said with a smile. “Thirty-six decks? You could fit three of my old ships inside this one!”

”I know the feeling,” Prida agreed. “She’s certainly bigger than any of the ship’s I’ve served on. My first, the Tolstoy? Everyone knew everyone and we practically lived in each other’s pockets. This is a very different beast,” the engineer told, looking around the spacious turbo lift.

“Don’t let the Captain here you call her ship a beast,” Henry grinned, the tension between the two dissipating the more they chatted.

“Oh, I know!” the Bajassian grimaced, but one of mock humour at the thought of upsetting their Andorian commander. “The Captain and I have spoken at length about her love for the lineage, but I don’t think anything prepared me for how excited she was to have command of her own Galaxy. I mean, it’s the pinnacle of a career, isn’t it? Commanding such a ship?” the woman seemed far more relaxed now she was talking about a familiar subject, and she could feel the freedom with which she spoke.

“Maybe for her,” Henry shrugged, “but have you seen the Stargazer? What a ship! Surely, as an engineer, you’d love to get your hands on her ample nacelles, right?” the Terran was playful, probably more than the Bajoran-Cardassian hybrid could handle on a normal day, but today she was feeling… flirtatious.

“I have my own ample nacelles to take care of. You should stop by sometime, maybe have a play,” she suggested, a glistening in her eyes as the eye contact they enjoyed lingered for more than a few seconds until the lift stopped. 

“Favourite movie?”

Prida was taken aback by the question which ended the intensity of the eye contact, so much so it took a moment for her brain to engage. “Favorite movie?” she asked. “We didn’t have access to those kinds of things where I come from. But I have friends who have been involved with the Bajoran Cultural Development Initiative. They’ve started to make some great stuff. There’s a great one called Into the Province. Might be a little weird if you’re not Bajoran though,” Prida trailed off, not wanting to sound ridiculous to her new friend. “I did enjoy Ghostbusters, though,” she added, referencing the movie night the crew had shared on their first night aboard the Temeraire.

“Ghostbusters is a classic. If you liked that, I’ve got plenty more we should catch sometime,” the man grinned, happy with his suggestion as they walked the short distance towards the mess facility.

“With or without the rest of the crew?” Prida smirked, walking alongside the man in lockstep.

Henry was about to answer as they crossed the threshold into the mess facility, but both officers were taken aback by the sudden appearance of the ship’s commanding officer, stood just feet from the door and glaring in their direction, causing the two to look rather sheepish and stop dead in their tracks.

“Captain,” they both greeted the Andorian in unison.

“Mister Mitchell,” Tharia nodded to the younger man, “I need to speak with Prida in private for a moment,” the mistress of the ship told, before quickly adding, “if I may?”

A commanding officer asking for permission to speak to a subordinate was almost unheard of, but in the event that it did happen, it rarely ended positively. Somewhat nervous, the Bajassian looked at the Flight Controller, then back to the Andorian. “Of course Captain. Whatever you need,” she agreed.

“I’ll be at the bar when you’re ready,” Henry smiled, jutting his head in the direction of the large bar that dominated the aft wall of the enormous, dual levelled facility.

Nodding her thanks to the man, the Captain held out an arm and gestured to the ramp that led to the upper level, an area usually reserved for private functions or family gatherings. “Shall we?” the silver haired woman directed, not waiting for any further response from the Bajassian, simply heading up the ramp and assuming she was being followed. Upon reaching the top, the Captain noted a smattering of people and stopped in her tracks. “Give us the deck,” she instructed sternly, causing those who had been enjoying some free time to vacate the level, swiftly.

All the while, Prida watched with a sense of great anxiousness, right up to the point where Tharia pulled out a chair and gestured for the young engineer to take a seat, then sat in her own seat opposite the grey-skinned miracle worker. Once they were seated, the Captain took a moment to get comfortable, putting off the difficult conversation they were required to have.

“What can you tell me about your brother, Lieutenant?” she finally asked.

‘My brother?!’ Prida thought, more than a little confused at the randomness of the question. She’d never hid her brother from anyone, she had just shied away from the subject whenever siblings came up in conversation with anyone else.

On the lower level, Henry perched on his bar stool, nursing his syntheholic beverage of choice and watching the upper level with interest. He could just make out the faces of the two officers, who were deep in conversation. Prida’s expression changed several times, skirting the line between unease and total discomfort on more than a couple of occasions. “Whatever could they be talking about?” he pondered.

Then, suddenly, the Captain’s face changed, and so, too, did that of the Chief Engineer, who looked as if she had just witnessed her favourite pet being killed and fed to her for her lunch.

Tharia had contemplated how exactly she would break the news to her subordinate, but had ultimately decided that it was best to simply deliver it truthfully, and to the point. She couldn’t let there be any ambiguity about such news. “We’re not sure if there were any motives other than to prevent his arrival at the penal colony, but he murdered a Starfleet security officer and has, apparently, taken a second hostage,” the Captain broke the news as sensitively as she could. “He fled to the Ashalla spaceport on Bajor, at which point he vanished. He could be anywhere, but traffic out of the sector is being detained and searched.”

Gobsmacked to say the least, the Bajassian lifted a hand to her mouth as she listened to the words of her Captain. Her brother had always been a bit of an outcast, and his incarceration had caused a massive rift in the family, but this was far worse. She would never have imagined he would be capable of any of his crimes, but murder? For a member of Starfleet, it was unconscionable to think that anyone, let alone her own brother, was capable of such a thing.

“Are we to search for him?” Prida finally and quietly asked, dropping her hand to her lap.

Shaking her head, the Captain revealed the plan. “No. We were scheduled to head to the Thomar Expanse, but Starfleet Command is dispatching us to Starbase Seventy-Two to reinforce the task force there,” the Andorian revealed, “I’ve asked to be kept informed of any developments, and should the need arise, we can intervene. Until we know more, it would be like searching for a needle within the McAllister nebula,” she concluded.

“I understand,” Prida nodded slowly, wiping her runny nose on the sleeve of her uniform before abruptly rising to her feet and looking down at the Andorian. “I… I need to get out of here, Captain. I’m sorry,” and without waiting for permission to leave, the Bajassian swiftly made for the upper level exit.

Noticing the woman flee from her Captain, Henry downed the rest of his beverage and slammed the glass on the bar behind him. He hardly knew this woman, but she was clearly upset. If he was a decent human being, he’d go after her, right?

“I’d go after her if I were you,” a voice from behind him took the Flight Controller by surprise. The bartender had a subtle smirk on his face, one that betrayed the fact that he had most likely read the man’s mind. It was all the guidance he needed, the flyboy striding up the ramp, passing the Captain with a nod of acknowledgement and pursued the engineer out of the mess facility.

It took him a little while of traipsing along deck nine, but he soon found the young woman, huddled in a corridor, hugging her knees and sobbing gently. Usually when he felt uncomfortable, the cocksure youngster would use humour to try to defuse the situation, but something told him that his usual tactic wasn’t the most appropriate for this situation. Instead, the Terran crouched on his haunches and placed a gentle hand atop that of the woman and gave the softest of squeezes.

It took time, time he was happy to give to his new friend, but eventually he took her by the hands and guided her back to her feet. She took a moment to steady herself, and then she asked her new friend to escort her home, to which he dutifully agreed. For a while, they walked and they talked. She shared what the Captain had told her, all about how her brother, a convicted criminal, had apparently fled captivity from a maximum security transport, but in doing so he had committed the ultimate sin and took another’s life. How the hell was she supposed to make peace with that? He had, of course, been unable to answer her rhetorical question, but he had been that all important shoulder to cry on in her moment of need.

Upon reaching the engineer’s quarters, the Flight Controller bid his new friend farewell, refusing to accept the Bajoran-Cardassian hybrid’s apology, and even opting to be chivalrous in the face of the anticipated ‘coffee invitation’. Instead, they agreed to a raincheck and breakfast the following morning, with the flyboy taking his leave and letting the young lady retreat to the sanctuary of her quarters. As he strolled along the deck, deep in thought, he made a pledge to himself. A simple pledge, one that even he could stick to, right?

A pledge to assist his new friend in any way he could. Easy, no?

‘The prettiest of mirror images, as transient as any moment, shows the eternal beauty of your soul.’

On that particular morning, whilst sitting at the dresser in her quarters and staring into the mirror somewhat blankly, Prida felt anything but pretty, and felt her soul had been cracked in two. She had spent much of the night sobbing, trying to make sense of the startling revelation that the Captain had dumped on her. Her brother, a man she had grown up with on Bajor as an orphan of the wars, had turned into a killer, and was going to spend the rest of his days either on the run, or in prison for his crimes. That part was perfectly acceptable, she understood the need for justice, for punishment, but just what had led him to commit such a heinous crime?

It was a question that had occupied her all night, and continued to occupy her as she conducted her morning routine and prepared to leave her quarters for her duty shift. She’d been excused from duty by the XO late last night, but she still wanted to get back to work. What could she do, other than sit around moping and wondering what the hell had gone on inside that once beautiful mind of her adopted sibling.

She’d not been able to get in touch with her parents, and that was probably a good thing in hindsight. She wouldn’t have to put up with her mother’s incessant blaming of herself, or her father’s blasé attitude towards her brother. She’d have to get in touch with them eventually, of course, but for now she could at least think on whatever she was going to say – not that that was always a positive thing when it came to talking to her parents.

Clipping the gold jacket of her uniform closed, she pulled on the hem and composed herself, a large sigh her last act before heading for the door. Once the door parted, she let out a loud exclamation of ‘Frak me!’ when greeted with the sight of a large stone figure directly in her line of sight. A figure that started to move.

Standing around outside of the Chief’s quarters, Lieutenant Udal was practically hopping from side to side as excitement grew inside of him, all the while holding the stone figure close to his chest. The excitement grew to such a crescendo that he almost lurched forward and slammed the statue into the face of the Chief Engineer as she tried to get past him. “Have you forgotten, Chief?” the Orion asked in his deeper voice, peering around the figure at the confused look on the Bajassian’s face.

For a silent moment, Prida considered his question, and why he was stood outside of her quarters carrying the ‘Bust of Ulysses’, only for it to dawn on her that today was the day that they had agreed to show the item to the Captain, and push for its relocation to a more prominent location. To say she was not in the mood for something so trivial was an understatement, but for the rest of the crew, the Bust was a statement of the ship’s greatness, and an omen. “No, not forgotten,” the half-truth leaving her lips before she could stop herself, “just a lot on my mind today. Come on, let’s get this done,” she nodded towards the turbo lift at the end of the corridor and left the sanctuary of her quarters, the Orion following close behind, the Bust clutched in both his hands.

“Don’t worry,” he called after her as he hobbled down the corridor in pursuit, weaving from side to side, stumbling as he went, “it’s not heavy or anything…”

As it always was with the ship underway and headed to a new destination, the bridge was a hive of activity, alive with the sounds of people freely going about their business. Among them, and huddled around the tactical station embedded within the Arch that surrounded the command pit, three officers were deep in conversation when the turbo lift doors behind them opened up, causing quite a stir.

“What the hell is that?!”

Their attention drawn from their work at the tactical station, Captain sh’Elas, Commander Gor and newly-minted Lieutenant Commander Noli looked up and towards the commotion caused by the young Lieutenant at the CONN.

Emerging from the turbo lift and carrying a massive stone carving, the beefcake known as Udal stumbled to the rail and perched the object on its edge. “That?” he frowned, “That is Lieutenant Prida, obviously…” the Orion countered, a playful glint in his eyes.

For the first time, Prida seemed to relax a little and swatted her subordinate on the arm as she came to a halt by the tactical rail.

“Did you see that?” Udal feigned mock disgust, “she struck a junior officer!”

Commander Gor, by far the sternest of all and the disciplinarian on the ship, folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow at the taller, more athletically built Orion. “I saw nothing,” the XO told with a shrug of his shoulders. Less than ninety days ago, when the crews had first come together, the mere suggestion of the Tellarite being playful and joining in with banter would have earned anyone a rebuke for even the thought of such a thing. Now, he freely engaged in such activities, and on the bridge in front of everyone else. It was a sign of how far not only he had come, but his relationship with those around him.

“I think the good Lieutenant meant this,” Commander Noli smiled, rounding the command team and standing beside the Orion, running her hands over the soft stone carving. “Where did you find it?” she queried of no one in particular.

“It’s been in engineering,” Prida answered, looking from the object to the senior staff and back again several times. “An ornate bust of the ancient Greek hero, Ulysses. Legend has it that he was a legendary Greek king of Ithaca,” she told before elaborating further. “It was a gift to the engineering team from a previous commanding officer and they believe it serves as a source of inspiration and is a good omen for many on the crew.

Whilst she was talking, Udal used his uniform sleeve to polish the object a little. When the Bajassian had finished, the Orion added a little more. “It’s a reminder of the perseverance and resilience he showed during his decade-long journey to Greece, and the statue reminds all aboard that anything is possible if you don’t give up or give in. But the statue also reminds people of how valiant, mighty and intelligent Ulysses was, following his crucial intervention in the Trojan War,” he rattled off the well rehearsed line, much to the amusement of everyone who stood glaring at him whilst he talked. “Apparently…” he added somewhat sheepishly.

“A fascinating story,” the Captain finally chimed in, “but why is it here?”

“Depending on who you talk to, the statue is a source of inspiration, of strength. But should the statue ever fall, should it be damaged, or gods forbid be broken, it is believed that a terrible fate will befall the crew,” Prida responded, “but it’s an offering from the engineering team to the bridge crew. They feel that such an object deserves a more prominent home on the ship,” she concluded.

“But he’s rather ugly…” Henry remarked, joining the growing crowd at the tactical rail as they gave the object a closer inspection.

“Some might say the same about you, Henry…” Counsellor Chiera countered swiftly, eliciting howls of laughter from many on the bridge, much to the helmsman’s mock disgust.

“He may not be the most handsome man I’ve ever come across,” the Risian science chief, Lieutenant Okan, interjected, “but according to my scans, carbon dating would put this particular object at some nine hundred years of age,” she revealed, closing the flap on her tricorder and placing the device on her belt. “It isn’t Ancient Greek in age, but is is definitely a piece of history, Captain.”

With that little snippet of information from the scientist, placing the object in Earth’s sixteenth century at the time of its creation, suddenly everyone seemed to be taking the object far more seriously. “Replicate some sort of plinth for it,” the Captain nodded slowly and pointed to an area at the front of the bridge, “…and we’ll put it there, where we can all see it. Make sure it is secured in place. Gods forbid it gets damaged and brings us all bad luck…”

“Will do. Thank you, Captain…” Prida nodded, looking at her Orion counterpart who was almost ecstatic, probably at the thought that he wouldn’t have to carry the incredibly heavy bust back to engineering.

The two engineers were about to head off when the Captain reached out and placed a hand on Prida’s arm, stopping the Bajassian in her tracks. “Can I have a word?” the Captain asked, nodding her head to the aft of the bridge.

A curt nod to the commanding officer and the two were descending a few steps into the Strategic Operations suite at the back of the bridge, leaving Gor and Noli to continue with their work. Lowering her voice, the Captain led the younger officer to one of the displays. “A short while ago we intercepted some communications referencing your brother,” the Captain revealed as she activated the display. “According to Starfleet Intelligence, Noam was spotted boarding a craft at the Ashalla Spaceport on Bajor, with his hostage, and is headed here,” the Captain pointed to a spot on the map provided by stellar cartography.

“The Kabrel system?” Prida looked a little confused, “It doesn’t ring any bells,” she folded her arms across her chest as she regarded the map.

“It’s a binary star system, with three planets, all uninhabited. It’s probably a perfect hiding place if you think no one is going to be looking for you there,” the Andorian mused. “Starfleet won’t like it, but I’m taking us to Kabrel. Henry has already diverted us, and we’ll be there in a few hours. We don’t want to get there too soon, show up on their sensors and cause Noam to flee. We’re going to apprehend him and get to the bottom of this,” Tharia told her engineer, a reassuring hand placed on the youngsters shoulder.

“I appreciate that, Captain, but I don’t want you getting in to trouble because of my family issues…” Prida looked even more concerned now, knowing that the Captain had diverted the ship and crew from its original mission.

“Leave Starfleet to me,” Tharia smirked. “Make sure you’re up here when we arrive. I may need you to try and talk him down,” her face now reflected the serious nature of their new mission again.

“Of course Captain,” Prida nodded slowly. “Can I ask, ma’am, is everyone aware of who we’re looking for?” the Bajassian queried, a little concerned that her family’s dirty laundry may have been aired in public for all to see. The Captain’s response put her at ease.

“I’ve not told anyone,” Tharia shook her head. “Commander Gor brought the information to me initially, so he knew already, but unless you have told anyone, all the crew know is we are hunting a fugitive. And that’s how it will stay until such a time as you are ready,” the Andorian elborated, much to the visible relief of the engineer.

“Thank you ma’am,” the yellow-uniformed woman smiled appreciatively, accompanying the Captain up the stairs once again and to the tactical Arch.

With the Captain returning to her conversation with the XO and the newly appointed second officer, Prida took a moment to compose herself, before joining up with Udal to secure the bust in its new home. A welcome distraction from what was to come, and something with meaning to her, and her new family. At least she could rely on them to come to her aide when the time came.

A dull thud echoed around the Ulysses bridge, three members of her crew huddled around the large plinth that had been replicated at the Captain’s behest and placed between the two doors on the forward starboard bulkhead. Atop the plinth, the ornate carving of the ship’s namesake was in the process of being secured into place, much to the chagrin of the Flight Controller just a few feet away (and the subsequent amusement of everyone else there present).

“I tell you Linn,” Henry grimaced from the CONN, “the bloody thing is looking at me!”

“Perhaps he’s making sure you do some work for a change?” the Bolian in Operations gold laughed from the seat next to his companion, drawing a look of utter derision from the Terran beside him.

“He’s not the only one keeping his eye on you, Lieutenant…”

Henry made the slightest of turns in his chair to see the menacing figure of Commander Gor looming large (or as large as he could for a man of diminutive stature) behind him; arms folded, teeth bared and a glare that could intimidate the bravest of Klingon warriors. A nod of acknowledgement between superior and subordinate saw the pilot return to his duties, and the Tellarite spin on his heels and head back to the chair to the Captain’s right.

A knowing smirk from the Captain drew one of equal amusement from the XO upon taking his seat, both knowing that the CONN officer wasn’t anywhere near as bad as everyone was making out; the banter and jokes aimed in his direction were simply a by-product of his late arrival as a member of the team. Henry, to his credit, was a good sport, and (hopefully) knew the jokes were in jest – but that didn’t stop the XO from keeping a close eye on him, just like he did with everyone else aboard.

“Captain…”

The hushed conversation between the command officers ceased at the calling of Tharia’s name by the Risian at the port science station. Tharia turned her attention to the younger woman, turning her chair on its axel a fraction. “Go ahead Lieutenant,” she nodded.

“I’ve completed my analysis of the Kabrel system,” Akaria spoke up, a flick of her wrist sent her findings to the holographic viewscreen at the front of the Galaxy-class ship’s bridge. “Like we understood it, Kabrel is a binary star system with only three planets. Two of the worlds orbit Kabrel Alpha, whilst the third has a distant orbit of Kabrel Beta,” the Lieutenant revealed, tapping on her console to change the viewscreen display. As she talked, the attention of her colleagues was drawn to the screen, including the Bajassian who had been working on the Bust of Ulysses.

“It’s this planet I’d wager my stash of gold-pressed latinum on,” Okan continued, wagging a finger at the display and the world upon it, “she’s cold, unrelenting and her orbit causes sensor blackspots across the planet.”

“Just like home,” a half smile crept across the blue-skinned Andorian’s face as her antennae bobbed and she inched forward in her seat. “A perfect hiding place for someone not wanting to be found,” she suggested, sharing glances with Vasoch, Noli and Prida in turn.

“If the fugitive is indeed here,” Vasoch cautioned her, eliciting a nod from the Captain.

“We shouldn’t rule out the other planets in the system,” Lieutenant Prida remarked, taking an anxious step toward the command pit, only stopping thanks to the glare from the Captain, urging the Bajassian to remain calm.

Spinning in his chair to look towards the back of the bridge, the Bolian at Ops offered his contribution. “A probe could be sent to monitor both worlds whilst we continue on to Kabrel III.”

“Aye,” Noli chimed in from behind the tactical Arch. “But if the fugitive happened to be on either world and detected the probes, they could flee the system before Junior over there could turn the ship around and give chase,” the Bajoran told, arms folded. “I’d recommend two runabouts. It may be overkill, especially if we find them on Kabrel III, or not here are all, but they would be good enough to give chase and try to apprehend them until Ulysses arrived.”

This. This was the kind of teamwork, the kind of brainstorming that made the Captain love these people. Not one member of the team felt unable to offer suggestions, or afraid of being rejected. It was what she needed to make informed decisions, and it was what made the team function so well.

On this occasion, the Andorian found herself to be in agreement with the Bolian at Ops. “We might be putting all of our eggs in the one proverbial basket,” she remarked, coining a phrase she had once heard her predecessor on the Santa Fe use, “but I think it’s a pretty safe bet that if they are anywhere in the system, they’re probably on Kabrel III. Nevertheless, we’d be remiss not to investigate the other planets, so Akaria, Linn, I want you to configure one of the more advanced probes for a full sensor sweep of each planet. Henry, when we drop out of warp, move us to an optimal launch point,” the Andorian instructed, a curt nod her familiar signal that the conversation was over.

And that was it; orders were clear and a plan of attack on the table. It was down to her team to implement their directives now. Linn Mora left the safety of his seat and joined his Risian counterpart at the port science wall in order to configure the probes as requested.

“We’ll arrive at Kabrel within the hour,” Henry advised from the CONN, nodding at Ensign Valesa as she took over from her Bolian chief at Ops. His statement didn’t elicit a response from the Captain this time, she instead slipped back into her chair and shared a smile and nod with the Chief Engineer, who returned the gesture and departed the bridge with her Orion counterpart. The next phase of their mission was a go.

Immediately following the flash of light that almost resembled a distant star going supernova, the elegant frame of the Galaxy-class starship streaked out of warp and returned the vessel to the safety of the Kabrel star system. The inertia of her reduction in speed saw the vessel redirect itself upon the x-axis far more swiftly than her mammoth frame would usually allow, but it put her on an immediate run at Kabral III.

Standing beside his colleagues at the science station, Ulysses’ Tellarite XO observed their work until they indicated their efforts were at an end. “Probes are ready for launch captain.”

“Each will begin their search at the planet’s polar north and work from east to west,” Akaria chimed in, adding an important snippet of information.

A nod to the Tellarite from the occupant of the command chair saw the man give a hushed command. “Launch probes,” Gor instructed, tapping his hand twice on the work surface in a form of silent congratulations before heading back to his seat on the Captain’s right side.

With sensors set to monitor anything and everything the two probes located in their search of the improbable hideouts, the Ulysses crew now switched their focus to the planet directly ahead of them on the main viewer. Small and rocky, a barren, icy wasteland, the surface of Kabrel III was filled with sneaky little crevices where smaller craft could hide – if they knew how.

“From what I am told,” the Captain blurted out of nowhere, sitting forward in her chair and talking to noone, yet everyone at the same time, “the fugitive is a very resourceful individual. You can bet your hard earned latinum that it isn’t going to be easy locating him. Vaakh khuuz!”

Upon hearing the native tongue of their Captain, several of the senior staff let out grins and subtle nods of acknowledgement. All were thinking the same thing.

“Really?” Vasoch raised an eyebrow, glaring at the Captain as she turned a little in her chair to look at him. “The whole Andorian language and you went for let’s go?” the Tellarite mocked the woman with a shake of his head and folded arms across his chest.

“Every Captain needs their thing,” she shrugged, then turned the tables on her first officer, “Why? What would you use?”

Having the tables turned didn’t sit well with the Tellarite, causing the grumpus to snort in derision and look away.

‘That’s what I thought…’ sh’Elas grinned as she, too, turned her attention back to the task at hand.

There was a fugitive on the run after all.

Silence had long engulfed the Ulysses command center as those present went about their business, the ship’s executive officer quite content with the silent approach to work which he had craved for many a year under the command of Captain Ruas. Something akin to an old headmaster, Vasoch hated excessive noise and joviality in the workplace, much preferring a quiet focus and steely determination to succeed. Bringing together the crews from Santa Fe and Temeraire aboard Ulysses had allowed a merging of minds, turning a competent crew in to one that excelled in a wide variety of situations, but it also brought chatterboxes and morbid curiosity to the forefront. No one day was ever the same, with get-to-know-you type conversations often filling the gaps between orders. He didn’t care for it, but Tharia did. She would even partake in the conversation from time to time, engaging with her crew far more than any of his previous commanding officer’s did. She was younger, though, and of a different generation.

Watching Henry Mitchell look across from the CONN and engage his Bolian counterpart at Ops in another mindless conversation, something suddenly dawned on the Tellarite. Was he the problem? Was he the one that should lower expectations and, gods forbid, change? Hell, was he… old? Scoffing audibly alongside a shake of the head, the Tellarite quickly consigned that thought to the back of his mind. Luckily, he didn’t need to dwell on it for very long as, moments later, the attention of all was drawn to the science station on the port bulkhead.

“Eureka!” the skin-headed Risian clasped her hands together and spun in her chair, her smile brightening the bridge for all around. “Sensors have identified a mixture of tritanium and duranium alloys matching the description of the fugitive’s vessel. They appear to be hiding within a crater…” she smiled, turning back to her console, “sending coordinates to the helm.”

“Henry…” sh’Elas called out, not needing to finish her sentence before the flyboy put his fingers to work, having them dance across his console as he moved the hulking starship into position.

“Entering high orbit above the coordinates,” the Lieutenant at the CONN confirmed upon removing his digits from the screen before him.

Tharia used the arms of her chair to propel herself to her feet, eyes glued to the holographic viewscreen ahead of them. “Put the crater on screen,” she instructed, “maximum magnification.”

A sight akin to some of the most famous hotspots on her icy homeworld appeared on the viewscreen, with the Captain probably forgiven for confusing the two worlds in her thoughts. She folded her arms across her chest as her eyes tracked across the moving screen until it settled upon a large hole in the icy crust of the planet. Gradually, the crater’s innards came in to view and metallic elements became clearer and clearer until…

“Debris…” Vasoch called out in shock, pushing himself quickly to his feet and standing beside the Andorian as she dropped her arms to her side.

His tone drew the eyes of all there present to the viewer, apart from Commander Noli, who remained studiously focused on her console. “I’m detecting no trace of a weapons signature,” the Bajoran revealed whilst tapping on her controls, “but judging by the spread of the debris I would presume the vessel impacted the surface at a significant velocity,” she concluded, finally looking up at the focus of her colleagues.

“Life signs?” the Captain queried, her pupils dilating the harder she glared at the viewer.

After seconds of beeping, Akaria responded from the science terminal. “No life signs. I’m not detecting biomatter of any kind,” a raised eyebrow almost touched her hairline. “They’re not here,” she added to the confusion.

“Beam all of the debris you can to shuttlebay one,” the Captain instructed, turning on her heels and heading for her ready room. “Have a salvage team go through the wreckage. I want every iota of information they can gather,” she declared before finally yelling, “…and keep Prida out of there!”

Vasoch let out a grunt once the door to the ready room closed, his head dropping at the thought of conversations to come. When he eventually looked up, he scowled at Lieutenant Mora. “Go on then, get a salvage team together,” he instructed sternly, the Bolian scurrying off, all hunched and tense.

“I can’t be the only one to see the ENORMOUS elephant in the corner of the room,” Lieutenant Okan called from the sciences, exasperated as she lurched forward and looked between Commander Noli, the Tellarite first officer and the flyboy. “Why all the secrecy around Prida?!” she finally asked.

Spinning on his heels, Vasoch slowly took the few steps to the command chairs, and lowered himself into the center seat.

“The fugitive we’re looking for is Prida’s brother…” he uttered the words quietly, and then the bridge returned to the silence he approved so highly of.

At the science station, Akaria exchanged looks with her counterpart from Tactical, a look of ‘What? How was I supposed to know?’ in response to the Bajoran’s look of utter frustration.

Transparency. That was what this crew was built on, and it didn’t sit well with ‘Little Miss Facts Are Friends’ that secrets were being kept. Secrets that could have explained everything so much easier, and explained the importance of their task.

After all, the first duty of all Starfleet officers was to the truth. Everyone knew that.

At the heart of deck 4, shuttlebay one was one of the largest facilities on the ship, save for maybe main engineering, or The Acropolis even, and whilst it was usually deserted, it was now an incredible hive of activity. Gone were the shuttles that it usually housed, located now in storage, and in their place was what could only be called ‘a mess’.

Thousands of tonnes of debris had been beamed to the shuttlebay from the crater on the surface of Kabrel III, with more coming in every few minutes. Lieutenant Mora was in his element down here, running the team and searching through the wreckage. It wasn’t that he was morbid or anything, but he was away from the XO and his foul mood. That was where he needed to be right now.

His gaggle of engineers had been supplemented by a team from Akaria’s science department, all working together in search of any clue that could give them a lead on what had happened to the ship, and maybe even its crew. Linn had been joined by Lieutenant Okan herself, looking to atone for her earlier outburst on the bridge. On face value, neither Bolian nor Risan could identify what exactly they were looking at, and both were thankful for their tricorders as they searched the debris.

As another transporter beam engulfed a corner of the shuttlebay, the two officers moved away from the metallic mass they had been scanning and made for the new piece.

“According to the composition of the alloys determined by the tricorder, and the structural reports of the craft,” Akaria looked up from the tricorder and closed the device with a click, “we’re looking at the port side door.”

“Ooo… exciting!” the blue-skinned Bolian smirked, waving in a jazz hands motion as they moved closer. Upon visual inspection, they could see nothing that they hadn’t seen on any of the other pieces of debris. Nothing but…

Simultaneously, two sets of eyes widened and the officer’s pulled out their scanning devices to get a better read of what they thought they had seen. If it was confirmed, they’d have a lead for the Captain. And for Prida.

As their scans completed, Bolian and Risan alike gulped, then looked at each other. “We should call Noli…” Akaria told, sliding the tricorder into the pouch on her belt. Nodding, Linn lifted his hand and tapped the comm badge upon his breast.

A number of minutes later, the massive bay doors of the shuttlebay parted and the Bajoran Lieutenant Commander in charge of tactical operations on the Ulysses entered to the chaos of debris and people. Craning her neck to locate either of her colleagues from ops or science, she spotted them among a small crowd huddled around a hefty piece of metal near the shuttlebay forcefield.

Excusing herself and apologising as she made her way through the crowd, the Blonde Bombshell and ship’s second officer finally reached her friends. With a huff, she tugged on the bottom of her gold jacket. “Hey,” she introduced herself somewhat casually in her usual jovial tone. The response she got from her colleagues made the tone and mood swiftly evaporate.

“It’s definitely a weapons signature,” the Bajoran nodded, taking ownership of Akaria’s scientific tricorder and running her own scans of a particular area of the debris. She’d been called to corroborate their belief, but also to provide the expertise they needed to answer the burning question on everyone’s lips – who had apparently attacked the craft?

Closing the tricorder down, she passed it back to Akaria. “Linn; you stay here and carry on your salvage operation. When you’re done, get this lot into storage. Akaria and I are going to see the Captain…”

Slapping the controls of the terminal built into her ready room desk caused the screen to retract into the work surface and the safety of its hideaway beneath the surface just in time for the door chime to ring out from across the room.

“What?!” she exclaimed, hands on her hips and looking as flushed as her blue skin allowed. For the officers entering the room, the sight of the Captain’s antennae drooping so close to her forehead was a definite sign of trouble.

“Sorry to bother you, Captain…” Commander Noli stepped up, shielding her colleague from any wrath that might come their way, “but we might have a lead,” she revealed.

Dropping her hands beside her, the Captain turned her body towards the pair. “Go on,” she invited them.

At this point, Akaria presented the tricorder they had both used to their commander. “At first, Linn and I weren’t having much joy. Most of the debris wasn’t anything special, nothing to write home about, but then we found this,” the Risian drew the Captain’s attention to a particular reading. “It’s a part of the port bulkhead.”

“It’s a door…” Tharia raised an eyebrow, looking between the two officers, “…please tell me you have more than a door, or I’ll be kicking you out of this door,” the Captain scolded, gesturing to the ready room door with a tilt of her head.

“We do,” Akaria gulped and nodded quickly, “we found a residue among the scarring on the edge of the door and determined it to be from a weapon.”

“To cut a long story short,” the Bajoran tactician interjected, “we’ve managed to confirm the ship was attacked and was likely forced to crash land on the surface.”

Tharia slumped into the chair behind her desk with a sigh. “Of course they were… And do we have any idea who the attackers were?” she enquired, swinging back and forth in her chair in anticipation of their response.

Noli folded her arms across her chest and allowed her athletic frame to tilt ever so slightly to one side. “It was a Miradorn raider, Captain.”

“Miradorn?!” whilst many would have had the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end at a time like this, the Captain’s surprise was given away by the sudden erection of her antennae. Miradorn. That was a name she would never have guessed in a thousand years, and the mere mention of them more than piqued her curiosity, causing her to sit forward in her chair.

“We can start scanning for Miridorn ships ma’am,” Akaria chimed in quickly, “such a ship wouldn’t go unnoticed all the way out here. We’re thousands of lightyears from Miradorn itself.”

“No.”

There was that frustration again, the antennae dipping once more. “You and Linn pass on all of your findings to Noli, then she’ll send it all on to Starfleet. I’ve been given very clear orders to take us to Starbase 565. We are prohibited from investigating any further and I have been suitably chastised by Commodore Ekwueme,” she revealed to her subordinates. “We’ll leave when the last of the debris is recovered. Akaria, I’d like your team to continue the analysis of the debris until it’s all catalogued. We’ll then store it in one of the unused cargo bays until it can be handed over to authorities at Starbase 565. That’s all.”

Watching as the two officers respectfully bid farewell, the Captain waited until the coast was clear before she slumped forward, her head banging on the surface in front of her at the realisation that she would now have to have a very uncomfortable conversation with her Chief Engineer. If the young woman wasn’t at breaking point yet, she would be when she found out that Starfleet were not going to let them continue their investigation.

Several hours had passed since Ulysses had departed the Kabrel system, and in the darkness of the Acropolis, Prida nursed an ice cold, luminescent blue beverage. Crouched over the bar, she took a sip of the drink and grimaced. She’d never developed a taste for the hardcore Romulan stuff, which was wise considering it was still technically illegal in the Federation, but tonight warranted something a little… stronger.

She was so busy drowning her proverbial sorrows that she neglected to notice the figure approaching to her left through the doorway that was so lit it almost resembled what could only be described as the pearly gates of the celestial temple itself.

“There you are,” the voice called out, “I’ve been looking for you. The computer couldn’t locate you.”

“I didn’t want to be found,” Prida muttered under her breath, but upon noticing that she’d practically offended her friend she reached out, took her by the arm and pulled her onto the stool beside her. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“An apology? From Prida Rala?” the woman let out a wolf-whistle of sorts and shook her head, reaching across the bar for a second glass and pouring herself an ale. “Now I know something must be wrong. Spill,” she said between sips and grimaces.

Prida lifted the glass in her hand and downed the remainder of the beverage in one. “Starfleet have called off the search. We’ve been reassigned,” she told, reaching out for the half-empty bottle of Romulan Ale.

Lieutenant Commander Noli scratched her head and turned her body to face her forlorn friend. “Yeah. I heard,” the Bajoran nodded slowly. “But just because we’re being recalled doesn’t mean the search stops. The Captain has gone straight to Commodore Ekwueme and petitioned for the search to continue. She’s gone to bat for you because she knows how much this means to you,” the Blonde Bombshell’s tone was a little sterner than she perhaps meant, but at least she was getting the message across to her friend.

“Do you ever miss home?” the Bajassian asked between two more bitter sips of beverage. The look on the blonde’s face showed how random she felt the question was.

“Sometimes,” Noli shrugged, “but Bajor and I have a bittersweet relationship. I experienced a lot of hurt there.” The irony on what she was saying wasn’t lost on her, mind, given the fact that she was talking to a woman who was half Bajoran and half Cardassian, who had grown up as a war orphan and experienced her own share of pain. But that didn’t invalidate her opinion.

“I miss home,” Prida sighed wistfully, swirling the blue beverage in its glass. “We should have been celebrating the gratitude festival yesterday.”

Noli looked up at the ceiling as she did the maths in her head, then slowly nodded. “So we should have. I guess since we’re the only Bajorans here, it’s less of a thing,” she shrugged as another sip of her drink slid down her throat.

Prida thrust out an arm and grabbed the Bajoran tightly, causing Noli to glare at her. “Oh, no! That’s not right! We need to do something. We should go to old Duroc and get it entered into the ship’s record as ship’s law that we always celebrate!”

At the mention of Commander Gor as a duroc, Noli spit her drink all over the bar and burst into laughter. Whilst she was nowhere near as drunk as her engineering counterpart, the effects of the Romulan Ale were freely working their way through her body at impulse speed.

“Oh…” she laughed, shaking her head, “ohhhh no… it’s GOT to be your bedtime…” the Blonde Bombshell tottered off of her stool and helped her friend do the same. Arms around each other for support, they stumbled out of the Acropolis and into the corridor, chuckling away in each other’s company. For that brief moment, all their concerns were forgotten; not a care in the world remained.

There would be time enough tomorrow for those cares to resurface.