The USS Discovery’s dorsal plane stretched like the wings of a Jerett falcon as it passed into sector Typhon 252. Matter and antimatter steadily annihilated each other in the ship’s reactor core, the intermix chamber increasing the particulate flow diameter by barely a micron as the ship altered course. That same warp engine had bent the very fabric of space for close to a month while the Discovery rounded the trailing edge of Romulan space. Now, having stopped only to investigate the movements of a small party of Fenris Rangers, they had reached their journey’s end.

“Captain Rider,” Mek stepped onto the bridge, calling his colleague’s name before completing the short arc from the turbolift to within view of the command chair, “I hear we’ve nearly reached the station.”

Rider, half of his attention still directed towards the viewer, caught sight of Mek in the corner of one pastel blue eye, “We’re still about an hour out. Not long now,” the human’s rugged face creased into a smile, “we’ve got some odd spectral phase pulse readings coming from around the Typhon Expanse, oh and an intelligence report came through on priority two. Internal discontent on some of the old Romulan core worlds.”

Just what they need,” Mek pursed his lips, “never thought that’d become my problem again so quickly. I was just starting to get used to the Klingon way of doing things.”

A quiet laugh escaped Rider, “Ah, station life… The problems come to you.”

“We can but hope they don’t all arrive at the same time,” Mek added.

“You know where to find us if they do,” Rider shot back.

A rare shadow of a smile flickered across Mek’s face, his teeth showing in a flash. Rider had the easy confidence of a man who truly inhabited his role, forcing Mek to admit that the voyage had in fact been rather pleasant. The Discovery’s captain was as affable as he was knowledgeable.

Mek looked around the bridge, “I have to say, I almost miss starship service. The Discovery’s a fine ship. A first-rate crew,” his eyes settled unconsciously on the centre seat. Commander Rozan, the First Officer, kept watch to the right. To the left a third chair, standard on larger vessels such as this, lay empty.

Mek stepped over to it. An almost sheepish tone seeped into his voice, “May I?”

“By all means,” Rider obliged, knowingly.

Mek impulsively checked the systems display as he sat, prompting Rider and Rozan to exchange an amused glance.

“Mr. Szeto,” Rozan announced in a soothing tone, “inform Deep Space 17 control we request our final approach vector.” She input a few commands to her own controls, then reclined. Her shaven head touched the padded head rest as she turned to Mek, “Thinking about coming back to the bridge, Captain?”

“Hah, no.” Mek lied.

“Never too late,” Rider cajoled, taking the centre seat.

“Oh, be quiet. Both of you,” Mek harrumphed, “let me enjoy the moment.”

Deep Space 17, once a pale white dot on the viewer, grew larger by the minute. The Canopus-class station spun lazily, in the outermost phase of its elliptical orbit around the Lioh sun. Gas giant Lioh III hung back; a vast ethereal spirit reducing the station to a darkened silhouette. Heavy concentrations of atmospheric methane absorbed the red fury of the Lioh star, producing a Gaussian blue perimeter. To Mek, it appeared serene. It was as if the station’s superstructure travelled forwards on a pale ocean wave. The rotation of its mycelial form ensured no part of the station escaped that spectral crescent, washed cerulean; a tiny island in an endless sea.

A polite female voice drifted throughout the open areas of the base, “All USS Discovery personnel prepare for immediate departure from upper docking arm six. All USS Discovery personnel report aboard ship immediately.”  

Captain Erill’Yun Mek walked PADD in hand, studying the deployment records. The Discovery would be proceeding into the Typhon Expanse later that day. The course charted would take them out past the Lioh star, through roughly ten lightyears of open space before entering the clouded “pea soup” of subspace interference and sensor anomalies. Sector Typhon 252 for them would be the edge of space as conceptualised by those unfamiliar with the region. In the expanse, up was down, time stretched and undulated, and apparitions played tricks on even the most robust of starship computers.  

Mek turned a corner into the Task Force operations office. Situated in the base’s upper levels, directly below the communications spires, the wide room was lightly staffed that morning. Several command personnel observed starship traffic, updating positions on a huge translucent sector map display that formed a centrepiece. Set into a circular well, all manner of diagnostic panels, long range sensor readouts and system status monitors adorned the raised circumference on which it sat.  

A gold shirted officer looked towards Mek as, eyes sunken from the early start, the gruff old Captain approached with a growl, “Is Captain Kohl still here?” 

Even before she heard the growl, a hint of resigned desperation was more than evident behind that gold shirted officer’s eyes.  By the time she made eye-contact with Mek, an expression of relief crossed her face, as if she knew the Task Force Commander could sort anything out.  “Ah… yes, sir,” she said, nodding vigorously.  Leaning towards Mek, she put on a sotto voice to share, “USS Discovery is ready to depart.  All other personnel have already reported aboard.  Except for…”  Trailing off, she nodded in the direction of the sector map.

Mek finally lowered his PADD, his eyes first making contact with hers, then following her glance, “Ah,” he grumbled, “I might have known.” 

As was his wont, Captain Andreus Kohl was trying to do five things at once, but he had lost track of at least two of them.  In the midst of instructing a junior officer, Kohl asked, “But have you tried sorting it like this?”  To demonstrate the this in question, he used both of his hands to manipulate holographic controls.  His movements were awkward, because of the luggage he had strapped over his shoulder and a travel mug tucked under an armpit.  “Does that make sense?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the officer until he saw a nod of understanding.

“I believe that’s your final boarding call, Captain,” Mek raised a hand to the ceiling along with his eyebrows, leaving the disembodied officer at the tannoy to speak for herself.  

“Captain, hullo,” Kohl brightly said, as soon as he met Mek’s eyes.  “You can tell me the truth,” he said, with far too much familiarity.  Although Kohl had served as Mek’s Task Force Executive Officer for only a couple of months, he had chosen to treat Mek as if he were an old friend, right from their first day of serving together.  To date, Kohl hadn’t been demoted, and so he kept at it.  “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the Romulans, captain?”

“Mr. Kohl,” Mek couldn’t help but match the man’s airy tone, “the Free State research team’s already boarded. Only embarrassment here is if departure’s delayed due to the mission commander’s absence. Oh, and if they manage to scoop us on those spectral phase pulse readings,” his eyes narrowed, “using our own equipment. Right now I’d say only one of those things was likely, wouldn’t you?”

With his own nod of resignation, Kohl swiped a hand through the holographic interface to log himself out of the sector map.  He hiked the shoulder strap of his luggage higher on his shoulder and he took his travel mug in hand, readying himself to depart.  “That spectral phase pulse,” Kohl remarked, amid a shake of the head and a bemused smirk.  “The Romulan Free State has dispatched all manner of specialists –astrogeologists, zoologists, archaeologists– to join our task force across their deep space operations.  Three more Free State ships are en route with Deep Space 17 right now,”  Kohl sighed before continuing, “and Discovery’s inaugural mission is to investigate… a ghost ship.  They’re going to laugh.”

Mek considered Kohl’s words for a second, “If what they’re saying about the Typhon Expanse is true, they won’t be laughing long,” his mind wandered to some of the reports he’d read through since arriving at Deep Space 17, “wouldn’t be the strangest thing found in there by far…” Mek trailed off, collecting his thoughts, “Now then, Captain. Care for a site-to-site transport to make up for lost time?”

“Yes, please,” Kohl replied with a single nod.  He rolled his shoulders back and planted his feet to prepare for transport.  Waggling a finger at Mek, Kohl said, “Now don’t you forget about me while I’m out of sight…”

“Take care of yourself, Andreus,” Mek entered a few coordinates into the panel beside him. Blue vertical lines descended in a dazzling shimmer, “don’t lose sight of the stars.”

There were already stars in Kohl’s eyes and he had barely crossed the threshold into the runabout’s cockpit.  He couldn’t be sure if the blinding spots across his vision had come from the erratic whirl of starlight through the forward viewport or the expulsion of sparks from an overloaded EPS conduit overhead.  Kohl braced his elbows against the doorframe to keep from falling as the deck swayed beneath his feet.  He silently counted to five until he could see clearly again.

The last time Kohl had checked in on the cockpit, his trusted confidants from Task Force 17 operations had been engaged in a convivial debate about a pickleball game they’d watched on Starbase 38.  Now, the overlapping cross-talk between the six officers, seated at consoles around the Arrow-class runabout’s cockpit, had far more to do with keeping the USS Maronti in flight.

“Report,” Kohl said.  The word snapped out of him to break through the clamour.  “Is it the Devore Imperium?”

From the seat closest to Kohl, Yeoman Aneasa replied, “No, captain.”  –She cleared her throat in that way she did when she was about to take liberties with Kohl–  “Sir, we’re unlikely to encounter Devore in the Typhon Expanse.”

Kohl stumbled across the cockpit and allowed himself a controlled fall into an empty chair beside Aneasa.  He raised his eyebrows at her and offered her an unblinking look.

“You weren’t on board the USS Discovery when High Commissioner Fintt fired the crippling blows in retaliation for our interference with blood dilithium,” Kohl said, plainly haunted by the memory.  “We may have unlocked the secret to send blood dilithium back to subspace, but we lost our flagship in the process.  If a turbolift so much as groans, I’m probably going to think it’s the Devore for some time.”

The rumbling and wheezing through the runabout’s spaceframe began to lessen.  As the Maronti came to a full halt, the pinwheeling stars beyond the cockpit returned to the calming visage of motionless pinpricks of light.

From the pilot’s chair, Lieutenant Emem said, “I’ve regained full flight control.  Diagnostics show no damage to the nacelles, but our port nacelle had slipped out of sync with the starboard nacelle.”

“What happened, lieutenant?” Kohl asked.

“Our navigational records indicated we were about to pass through the Zorouse-Beta solar winds,” Emem answered.  “What we found instead were the solar winds had whipped up into a magnascopic storm!  I’ve diverted us around the storm and I’ve set a new course for Deep Space Seventeen.”

Kohl ordered, “You may engage, lieutenant.”

Only after Emem had input the commands to bring the Maronti back to warp and cruising speed did he look back over his shoulder to share another finding with Captain Kohl.

“It’s not only Zorouse-Beta, captain,” Emem said.  “Deep Space Seventeen confirms what we’ve picked up on long-range sensor scans.  Nearly all of the stellar phenomena across the Typhon Expanse are highly energised.  The starbase has been picking it up since shortly after Stardate 2400.12.  The Typhon Expanse is like a whole new territory.  Sensors have detected a significant shift in the baselines for radiation emissions and subspace oscillations that Starfleet has on record.”

As the officers around the cockpit returned to their routine, operational chatter, Yeoman Aneasa called for Kohl’s attention and projected a holographic PADD between them.

“That’s going to be a problem.”  Aneasa asked, “What are your orders for the task force, captain?”

Kohl blinked at her twice.  “Oh, right…” he said vaguely.  At a whisper, he admitted, “It’s my call now.  I think I’m still in shock about Captain Mek’s transfer orders.”

“You have all our support, captain,” Aneasa said softly, but emphatically.  “You learned every lesson Captain Mek had to teach you.  Now you’re ready to lead as our task force as its commanding officer.”

Buoyed by her words, Kohl offered his thanks and then he said, “Prepare communications identifying the new navigational hazards we’ve identified.  They’ll need to be distributed to all of Task Force Seventeen’s starships, our exploratory partners from the Romulan Free State, and all civilian traffic moving through Deep Space Seventeen.”

“Aye, captain.”

“Now that our task force has returned home again,” Kohl added, “it’s the perfect opportunity to explore the mysteries of the Typhon Expanse.  Starfleet only understands a fraction of the spatial anomalies and stellar phenomena across the expanse.  If they’re highly energised, now is the time to unlock their origins and their workings.  Given our agreements with the Romulan Free State, their scientists working in concert with our own may bring the novel perspectives we need to deepen our understanding of the galaxy.  This current phenomenon may only be temporary in nature.  Let’s pull back some of our task force from the Typhon Frontier and take a closer look in our own backyard.”

“…and once I board the USS Discovery, I’ll officially be halfway there.”’

Captain Khim paused in her dictation, resisting the urge to play word association and break into song lyrics.

“I’ve never been so glad to put Starbase 38 and the Delta Quadrant behind me. Waiting so long to hear from our ships on the other side is always nerve-wracking, and it’s so much worse when the Borg are involved.”

She was clenching her fists in frustration, and even though the message was voice-only, she knew her wife would still be able to tell when she listened to it.

“Not that our Beta Quadrant operations were a walk in the park, either. Captain Varro will be filling me in on that soon. You were right about him, you know. He’s turned out to be one of the most capable officers I’ve ever worked with–”

Her praise was interrupted by the shudder of the runabout docking.

“Shoot, gotta wrap this up. Love you, miss you, can’t wait to see you! Mwah! Computer, end message and send to Bituin Solon on Deep Space 17.”

The computer chimed in affirmation as she rushed out of the lounge and into the main cabin, just in time for the doors to whoosh open to the sights and sounds of the Discovery’s docking bay.

Captain Varro stood at the edge of the bustling docking area. On his side was his mandatory security detail maintaining a vigilant watch. The distant whir of engines and the occasional metallic clank of cargo containers added to the atmosphere of anticipation.

As the shuttle descended gracefully–its landing gear making a soft, reassuring thud upon contact with the platform–a substantial hiss resonated through the vicinity. The release of pressure was felt as much as heard, like a sigh of relief from the ship itself.

With a fluid motion, the shuttle’s door swung open, revealing a well-lit, welcoming interior that contrasted with the cold, metallic exterior of the spacecraft. As Captain Khim emerged, a wry grin curved Varro’s lips into a playful expression. His eyes twinkled with amusement as his Commanding Officer approached.

“You know, I had initially planned to welcome you with a grand musical performance. But it appears that all our talented dancers are struck with some weird flu and are held up in the medbay.” His words carried a hint of mischief, and the sparkle in his eyes spoke volumes about the camaraderie they had shared.

He then gave a nod to the security officers standing beside him and remarked, “Instead, I ended up with this duo. Lieutenant Banqis can certainly hold a note, but unfortunately, any sense of rhythm seems to elude him.”

Banqis seemed about to protest–either that he did have rhythm or that he did NOT sing, thank you very much–but Khim let him off the hook with a smile and a shake of her head that said she was in on the joke.

“How’s your rhythm, Varro? Can you walk and talk?”

Without waiting for an answer, Khim began the long trek through the corridors towards the Deck One conference room.

“News from the Delta Quadrant is mixed. The Gilroy successfully completed their mission and is back to business as usual. The Paramount missed its last check-in. It’s not cause for concern yet, but I won’t rest easy until we know they’re safe. How are things closer to home? What’s the status of the Blythe and the Ahwahnee?”

Varro’s breath came in quick bursts as he struggled to keep pace with Captain Khim’s determined stride. “The Blythe,” he panted between steps, “it’s veered off, abandoning pursuit of the Borg Sphere. Headed for Deep Space 17 now.” His brow furrowed with worry. “But… no word from the Ahwahnee.”

Despite his efforts to appear composed, a flicker of concern betrayed Varro’s facade. “We’ll keep watch,” he added hastily, “just in case.” Then, a spark of excitement lit up his eyes. “Ah, but there’s news! The Resolute, Valiant, and Cerberus—all transferred in and accounted for!”

His voice rose with anticipation as he continued, “And there’s more. Captain Karai… just minutes ago. She took command of the USS Galahad!” The corners of Varro’s lips twitched into a satisfied smile.

The fleeting satisfaction swiftly dissipated, replaced by a gnawing sense of concern as Varro’s mind delved into the void. “Ma’am, I notice the absence of the Lakota Squadron in this lineup. Any updates on their status?” he remarked.

Khim nodded and pretended to look up the answer on her PADD as they entered a turbolift, giving Varro a chance to be more inconspicuous about catching his breath. “The fate of the Hathaway and Arimathea has a silver lining for us: Fleet Captain Nazir and Captain Kauhn have both transferred back to 17 to head up Lakota Squad with Captain Romaes. Their crew will fill in the–”

She caught herself nearly saying “gaps”, and the casual phrasing took her by surprise. It felt too soon to be acclimated to the horrible losses Starfleet had suffered. “They’ll take up the mantle of the souls those ships lost on Frontier Day.”

The turbolift opened its doors, and two quick strides across the hall found them in the Deck One conference room. Khim didn’t bother turning on the lights but immediately flicked a map from her PADD to the central display, with a brief detour to the replicator for a milk tea.

“I’ve already disseminated this image to every ship in the task force regardless of their current location. It’s our updated map of Borg territory following recent events.”

She flicked her wrist again. “This is our previous map. Notice the differences?”

Varro’s gaze fixated on the holographic map, and an initial shock coursed through him as he beheld the vast expanse of territory seemingly conquered by the Borg—more than he had anticipated, by far. The sheer scale of their advance sent a shiver down his spine, contemplating the countless lives inevitably lost within those regions. However, upon closer inspection, a glimmer of hope emerged as he discerned new patches of unclaimed space; evidence that the Borg had been successfully repelled from those areas.

Varro regained his composure and uttered, “Difference? It’s not just a massacre… it’s a metamorphosis.”

“Exactly. Huge swatches of space are now open to us for exploration. The anthropological implications alone are enormous. How did the Borg’s presence affect the long-term development of planets, civilizations, and even the stellar phenomena in these areas? The Delta Exploration Initiative will likely be looking to collaborate with some of our ships on this specific matter. The next time the wormhole opens up, anyway. In the meantime, what’s keeping us busy on this side of the galaxy?”

The map on the conference table shifted as Varro dove into his report. “All Beta Quadrant missions that were previously halted due to the Borg incursions have been reactivated, but we need to divert one of our California-class ships to Overwatch Station with supplies. Also, Olympia Station is once again prepared to act as a waystation for ships exploring past our rimward borders.”

Khim took a sip of her tea and seemed to be staring through the map for a moment. Then a smile crept cautiously across her face. “Well, Captain, it sounds like we finally have room to stretch our legs again.”