I am Mira. I walk in the light with my head held high. My feet travel a dusty road. The stars at night are brilliant and infinite. My eyes turn a billion suns into a milky dew, though in truth each twinkling dot is separated by life times.

In the city, only a few of the most vibrant stars appeared. Our towering achievements outshined the stars above. We were so proud.

In the city, our heads hung low so as not to stand out. We did not see the stars above where others dared to venture. We moved in shadow, weary of the light. Should one of us shine, we would point and say, “They are the stars. They think they can outshine our glory. They should be cast below the shadows where darkness reigns forever.”

I am Mira. I was eleven years old and one with the shadows. My head hung low. I cast suspension on those who raised me. They were cast into darkness. I was so proud.

I am Mira. I walk in the light with my head held high. My feet travel a dusty road. The stars at night are brilliant and infinite. One star shines bright over all others.

I am Mira, a child of Romulus.

My home is gone.

I am so afraid.

“What do you mean I have to retake the survival test?” asked the befuddled Rey.

“I’m sorry, Love, but Starfleet records indicated you died. Something about a bear in the outpost?” Charlotte said, reading the report.

Rey grumbled under her breath. “Yeah, some arse programmed a bear to attack me in the outpost. I killed it but was bleeding out when the timer ran out.” The engineer shrugged. “If Starfleet screwed it up, let them deal with this shite. I have too much to do.”

Captain Fawkes handed a PADD to her fiancée. “Lt. Mira will aid you in this endeavor. Good luck.”

Ford took swiped the PADD from Fawkes’ hand. “I’m sleeping in my bunk for a week for this!” she threatened. The crewman knew she would never go through with the threat and caved, calling Mira a moment later.

—

“Reach the outpost and find out the purpose of the distress signal.  Outpost LV4261120196388 is in good condition, though nearly a century old. You may need to use your imagination to fix the problem. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know what to do. Run through the snow and get to the outpost before I croak.”

Mira raised an eyebrow at her friend. “You never fail to amuse me with your colloquial expressions,” replied the Romulan. “I will monitor your progress. You may stop the simulation if you require assistance before completing your objective. But, of course, you will fail the test and be forced to retake it should that occur.”

“Just start it already,” balked Rey.

“As you wish. For this assignment, safety protocols have been scaled. You will feel pain and discomfort, but nothing will harm you in any permanent manner. Good luck.”

—

Before stepping out of the shuttle, Rey checked her gear. “Insulated boots, check. Insulated parka, check.” Ford continued, inspecting each item of clothing, from her winterproof bomber toboggan to her insulated hiking boots. Her backpack contained standard Starfleet water rations, three packed bars marked chicken, beef, and pork, a first aid kit, a phaser, and a tricorder. Finally, Rey found the Swiss army knife in her coat pocket, a gift from Charlotte a few years ago. “Right. I think I’ve got it all.” Ford opened the shuttle door. A blast of cold air smacked her body back. She stumbled, then heard the wind’s howl, daring her to step forward. Rey tapped her combadge.

“Crewman Ford to the North Sea. I’ve got a lock on the distress signal coming from outpost LV4261120196388. From this position, I’ll head northwest. According to sensors, reaching the outpost should take a day or two. Once I get there, I’ll see why they’re not responding. Ford out.”

“Understood – man, Ford. – journ –” Mira’s voice broke into bits as communication began to fail.

“Not a foot out the door, and shite’s gone to hell,” Rey grumbled and headed out.

—

Roughly ten minutes had passed when Rey decided to look back. The shuttle was gone, obscured by howling winds and snow. With near whiteout conditions, Ford quickly retrieved her tricorder to act as a compass. She would have to keep it and her combadge insulated within her coat when not in use. The crewman continued northwest, hoping to meet the halfway point by nightfall.

With the temperature at -18° C and a windchill twice as low, Ford knew she would have to find shelter by twilight. Unfortunately, through the storm, she couldn’t tell if there were any nearby mountain ranges. And Mira was right. As well covered as she was, Rey began to feel the bite of the cold. Pressing on, the crewman tried to put her chilled bones out of her mind.

Hours passed. Clouds obscured the sunlight, but Rey could tell the day had not yet set. What little light showed through the clouds bounced off the white landscape. She would have visibility until twilight. That was something, she thought. Knee-deep in snow, the young woman trudged slowly through the storm. At times gusts threatened to topple her 5’4” inch frame. Her toes began to tingle and sting. Numbness would follow. Ford would gladly give her left arm for it if there were a tree, a hillside, a cave, or anything she could use to build a fire or shelter from. The howl from the wind mocked her.

A few more hours passed. Rey had slowed her pace. Night would fall soon, and she was getting tired. Then, ahead, Ford saw a rock the size of her fist sitting on top of the snow. She saw another and another. A phaser would heat the rock for warmth. Smiling under her toboggan, she waded through the snow until her gloved hands clasped the stone. It was slick to the touch, like glass. Then, using her tricorder, she discovered it wasn’t a rock but a chunk of ice. There wasn’t a pebble in that ice ball. The others were the same, bits of ice. Pebbles, large and small, were everywhere, but they were just ice. Just. Ice.

Rey fell to her knees. Her lips trembled. “M – Mira –” she said, ready to admit defeat. “No. I will not stop. I won’t!” Ford stood on her feet. She wobbled from the wind and weakness. “I know they make fun of me—the Nepo Crewman, they say, or the retard from engineering.” She closed her eyes. I have to do this. I have to. I have to. For Charlotte … prove she wasn’t wasting time with me. Ford examined the chunk of ice in her hand. You had to have come from somewhere, she thought. Rey pressed on again.

More time passed. The snow thickened, though Rey noticed she was moving upwards, and the howl of the wind seemed higher than before. Was the crewman getting close to a mountain range? She hoped so as hunger set in. After walking another ten feet, Ford felt the ground soften. She stopped. Soon, the crewman realized she wasn’t on a mountain. Instead, she stood on a massive drift of snow. She stepped back, but it was too late. Ford fell through the drift as snow toppled down upon her.

Though her muscled burned from the excursion, Rey batted at the snow, desperate to keep it from smothering her to death. Her head, arms, and torso were free, but her legs were trapped under a mammoth pile of snow. She couldn’t move, and the light was fading.

Rey’s first instinct was to dig her way out. Then, sitting up slowly, she dug through the snow around her knees and moved her legs back and forth. It seemed to work, though the crewman had to pace herself. The white of snow turned to bluish-gray as twilight finally arrived. Ford dug further, wiggling her legs side to side until finally, she pulled one leg out. The second leg came out soon after.

Exhausted, Ford thought to relax for a moment, but she didn’t have time. She was still out in the open, and the sun had set. Temps plummeted. She began to shiver. Quickly, the crewman removed her phaser from the backpack. Sitting on her knees, Ford fired controlled bursts into the snow, hollowing out an area. Steam rose in the air in massive billows. Once a large enough space had been cleared, she began to dig down and then up, creating a snow cave. Rey stowed the phaser away, grabbed her backpack, and crawled down and up. She wasn’t a scientist like her girlfriend, but she knew the heat would rise and her body temperature would keep her warm enough for the evening.

—

The next day, Rey crawled out of her snow cave, a piece of the ration bar still in her mouth. She stood and saw the blue sky. Then, quickly, she got out her tricorder. The distress signal was strong and coming just a mile ahead. Turning northwest, she could see the outpost and its large array. Ford contacted Mira.

“This is Ford to North Sea. Come in.”

“We hear you, Crewman. What is your position?”

“I’m about a mile from the target. But, look, there are no bears in the outpost, right?”

There was silence from the other end, then a befuddled voice answered. “Bears?”

“Long story. What about it?”

“Rey, you know I can’t divulge the parameters of this –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rey said, cutting her friend off. “Fine, but I will hurt someone if I see a bear. Ford out.”

As the crewman moved out, she attempted contact with the outpost but received no answer. The distress signal was stronger since the storm had passed, but the closer she got to the site, the more she knew the outcome would be grim.

—

Arriving at the outpost, Rey, phaser in hand, examined the location, but everything seemed fine. Moreover, the outpost was in good condition from the outside. There had been no attack, and storm damage appeared minimal. LV4261120196388 was small and typically operated by only one person. Unless there was an emergency on the outside, the occupant should have remained indoors in relative comfort and warmth.

“Hello? Can anyone read me? This is Crewman Ford from the USS North Sea. Anyone who can read me, please report.”

Ford received no answer.

Gaining entry to LV4261120196388, Ford immediately understood the problem. It was freezing inside the building. Rey first checked the central control room. Systems seemed to be in working order, except a power conduit had been shut down from the main reactor. According to the schematics, the reactor was deep underground, but the generator was in a smaller building next to the outpost. Rey rushed out.

As soon as she neared the generator, Rey’s heart sank. A Tellarite sat up against the building, frozen, the conduit in his hands.  

“What happened? Why did you wait so long to fix it? Why didn’t you call someone?” Ford looked at the lifeless alien, shaking her head. She called it in. “It was a stupid accident or maybe a lapse in judgment. I don’t know. The caretaker here is dead. Come get me out of here.”

The simulation ended. Mira entered the holodeck.

“Why?” Rey asked. “After all that, the guy’s dead. There was nothing I could do.”

Mira looked at her friend, her eyes uncharacteristically solemn. “That was the point. Sometimes, there is nothing you can do.”

For three days, the North Sea crew studied a new stellar nursery. The science teams cataloged each baby star, determining which would survive and which would be obliterated over time. As fascinating a find as it was, analyzing the data was tedious and taxing. Captain Fawkes oversaw much of the study.

Seated at her computer in her ready room, Charlotte Fawkes mulled over her report before sending it to Starfleet. She was tired. Pulling double duty as a captain and heading the research team on the nebula had taken its toll. She was tired. “Computer, send the report.”

“Acknowledged. Report sent to Starfleet Command.”

“Thank you,” Fawkes said as she stretched and yawned. “Computer, how about a cup of Darjeeling tea, Autumn flush with a dash of milk.”

Across the room, the replicator hummed as a swirl of light shimmered into tea. Fawkes took a sip and closed her eyes. It was a taste of home. “That reminds me. I still haven’t looked at that holonovel Aunt Henrietta sent.” Fawkes entered her bed chambers as a warm bath and bed called to her. “Dammit,” she said. Fawkes exited her bedroom and placed the teacup in the replicator to be recycled.

“Computer. My Aunt sent a copy of her holonovel. I forget the name, but was it something about a dinner party?”

“Affirmative – entitled ‘The Flamingo Crystal,’ the holonovel is set in England circa 1947. You are Dr. Ilsa Louisa Sundström, a geologist from Sweden, and your contact is an American CIA agent named Alec Walters. The setting is a mansion in the English countryside, Ferguson Hall. You should dress accordingly.”

“Ferguson Hall? That’s where I grew up.” A smile touched Charlotte’s cheeks as she lost herself in memory. “I’ll have a dress replicated. Please reserve a suite for me, and thank you, Computer.” Fawkes left her ready room for a fitting. She was looking forward to the diversion.

~

Dressed in a rayon crepe black dress and holding a small purse of the same color, Charlotte entered the holosuite. The grid on the floor disappeared and was replaced with white lace marble. The walls were a decorative floral pattern, cream in color. In the midst were thirty people dressed in tailored suits, dresses, furs, and adorned with exquisite jewelry. Fawkes took a deep breath and moved through the crowd; she fit right in.

A fog hung from the ceiling from the cigarettes. Charlotte coughed but remained composed. She smiled at a few guests, none of whom she knew. The woman knew how to stay cordial in polite society and spoke briefly to a few, making her rounds across the room. Then, spotting the bar, she took a seat and ordered her usual.

“Sazerac, please.”

“Coming up,” the bartender said in a broad cockney accent and started on the drink.

Fawkes turned around to take in the scene. The people seemed happy; some were even ecstatic. “There was a war a couple of years ago, correct,” she asked the barkeep. 

“Where have you been hiding, lady?” The bartender gave her the side-eye and slid the drink across the bar.

“Sweden,” a voice said from behind Charlotte. The bartender made a sour face and left. Fawkes spun around to find a tall, sharply dressed man in his early 40s. “Giving Germany all that iron early in the war didn’t win you many friends, did it?” asked the man. He took a sip of bourbon and set it on the bar, then took Fawkes by the arm.

“I beg your pardon?” she said and yanked her arm back.

“Now you’re a fighter,” he joked and thumbed toward the balcony. “Come on, before people see us fighting and think we’re married.” 

Charlotte walked with the man to the terrace; she recalled her history and how her country of birth was neutral during World War II. She wondered if the gentleman had lost someone early in the war or was belligerent like the bartender. Char put the subject out of her mind and played along for the time being. 

Once on the balcony, the night air cleansed her mind. A cool breeze blew as she reveled in the vista below– hills, trees, green grass, and heather adorned the land for miles. She wished Rey was there. 

The gentleman leaned against the stone railing and lit a cigarette. “I have heard that Sweden is home to a bounty of beautiful women.” He eyed Charlotte slowly. “If you are any example, I heard right.”

“Thank you,” replied Fawkes. “You must be the man I’m supposed to meet, Alec Walters.”

 “That’s me, the lucky man himself.” The agent dug into his inner coat pocket and handed a small black box to Charlotte.

“Are we getting married?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Heaven forbid. Open it.”

Fawkes opened the box and gasped. “Oh, my gods. It’s dilithium.”

“Di – what?” asked the agent. “You know what this stuff is?”

“Yes,” said Char, placing the closed box in her purse. “Where did you find this?”

“Tell me what it is, and I’ll –

Heavy footsteps entered the balcony. A short, bald man in a long, thick, black coat moved toward the couple. Behind him stood two large brutish men. “Dr. Sundström? Dr. Ilsa Sundström?” asked the bald man in a German accent.

“I’m she,” responded Charlotte.

The little man placed himself close to Fawkes. His smile was crooked. “I am Dr. William Leach. I knew your father when you were a little girl. Why don’t we reminisce on our way to town? I know a lovely restaurant, and my car is just outside.”

“Scram, Wilhelm. The lady’s not interested,” barked Walters, stepping toward the man.

Charlotte felt something hard and metal jab her in the lower ribs. She caught Walters’ eye, shaking her head. The two henchmen moved closer to Fawkes but took no other action. Leach took her purse and pressed his gun harder into her side. 

“Dilithium, was it?” asked Leach. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Please come with me, Dr. Sundström.” 

Charlotte thought about how she wanted this to play out. Would she be the hero or let the CIA agent save the day? The captain didn’t fancy an interrogation from this Leach character. Besides, Rey might add a bit of torture for fun, but her aunt would never think of it. 

“Look, guys, this has been fun, but I’m exhausted and want to take a bath and go to bed. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend?” 

Both Agent Walters and Dr. Leach eyed Charlotte as if she was crazy. 

“Computer, end simulation. Uhm … reset holonovel. Rey and I will –

Leach jabbed Fawkes in the ribs for a third time. 

“I beg your pardon!” Char shouted and elbowed the little man in the face. The gun dropped from his hand. He stumbled back. Alec leaped for the weapon. Leach took the purse and ran. 

“Computer! End sim now!” she yelled again.

“What the devil are you yelling about?” cried Walters. “He’s getting away with your purse and the crystal!”

Walters and Fawkes both took off for Leach, but his brutes remained, their guns drawn. Finally, both moved in on the duo. From the party inside, a woman screamed when she saw the firearms displayed. Both henchmen turned. The crowd ran out of the room, several people in hysterics.

“Come on!” The agent grabbed Fawkes’ arm as they dove from the second story. Charlotte dropped and rolled into the grass. As she stood, the Captain noticed blood on her knee. “Oh, bloody hell.”

“Oh, bloody hell is right! Come on!” Walters grabbed Charlotte’s arm again as multiple shots exploded from the balcony. 

“Stop grabbing my arm!” 

“I’m trying to save your life, you crazy lady!”

The two ran across the lawn, ducking behind a clump of bushes. Fawkes caught her breath. “Gods. The safety must be off.”

“Of course, the safety is off,” Alec said, looking at Leach’s gun. “That lunatic was trying to kill you.” 

“I don’t mean – never mind.” Charlotte had to think. Holodeck protocol instructed that in such emergencies, the only way to end the program was to finish the story. She turned to the agent. “Once I’ve identified the crystal, what were you supposed to do?” she asked the agent. 

“I have orders to take the rock and you back to Washington tonight. Our guys don’t know what that is, and they were hoping you could tell us.”

“It’s too powerful, is what it is. No one should have it. Not yet.” 

“Well, whatever it is, we have to get it back. So why didn’t you put it somewhere else?”

Charlotte puffed out her dress. “Does this look like it has pockets?”

Walters peeked out from behind the bush. Men in long black coats waved flashlights, still searching the premises; Dr. Leach stormed across the lawn, Char’s purse under his arm. “It looks like our friend is still looking for something, probably you. And he still has your purse.”

“In that long, heavy, black coat? The man has no fashion sense at all,” Char quipped. Then, suddenly, a henchman from the balcony stepped near the bushes, weaving his flashlight through the shrubs. Charlotte and the agent froze. 

“Search the back yard!” cried Leach. The brute nodded and did as ordered.

Fawkes waited until the man was gone, then grabbed Walters by the arm. “Come on,” she said. “I have a plan.”

“Hey …” The agent grumbled.

“I have an idea,” said Fawkes. “Follow me.” The Captain and Walters slowly crept through the bushes, stopping as flashlights threatened too close. They could hear the mumbling of Leach’s men still looking for her. 

“We need to make a run for the old well house.” She pointed to the small stone building a few feet ahead. 

“We need to get that crystal,” he grunted. The agent scouted the area, spotting two brutes rounding the corner of the house and out of sight. 

“We will. Trust me,” said Charlotte. The two moved quickly but quietly to the well house. It was a small building constructed only a few years after the main house. In 1947, it still acted as a pump house. As soon as they were inside, Fawkes hooked the latch, locking the door behind them, then knelt on the stone floor. “Here, give me a hand with this slab.”

“What the devil are you are doing?” asked the aggravated agent as he aided in removing the flat stone.  

“During the Protestant Reformation of the 1600s, priests were often given refuge by practicing Catholics. As a result, they would hide in secret spaces, tunnels, and entire rooms.” 

Walters took the flat slab and placed it on the floor. “You mean there’s a secret tunnel under there?” 

“Yes,” said Charlotte. 

“Then why didn’t you say there’s a secret tunnel under there and spare me the history lesson?” 

Fawkes scowled and moved down into the darkened hole. Walters followed her down the ladder when Charlotte screamed, landing with a thud. 

“Are you all right?” 

Charlotte rubbed her injured knee again. “The third step in the ladder isn’t there anymore. So, watch it. It’s also pitch black down here.” 

Walters jumped down, helping Fawkes to her feet, and lit a match. “We better take a look at that.” 

“I’ll be fine,” she said and hobbled down the tunnel, sticking close to the agent’s light. The tunnel’s walls were stone, roughly the same type and age as the house. The floor was dirt, with a few slabs for flooring.

“How did you know about this anyway?”

“I used to play here as a child – when I would visit.”

Walters didn’t comment as the two moved toward the hideaway. Once the first match went out, the agent lit another one. Charlotte opened the door to find the hideaway had been converted into an air raid shelter. “Just as I suspected,” Fawkes said, pulling on a chain for the light. Walters blew out his match. The woman scanned the shelter for supplies. “Let’s see, radio, bed, canned jam, canned potted meat, jarred preserves, tea, vinegar, first aid kit …” Fawkes went on, listing the items. “No firearms?” She sighed. 

“Sit down and let me look at that leg,” demanded Walters.

“I’m fine,” Char shot back. The agent lifted her skirt.

“I beg your pardon!” Fawkes shot a terse look at the agent. “I know several self-defense methods.”

“You’re also bleeding. Sit down.”

With no other choice, Charlotte took a seat on the bed. She felt its firmness, thinking about her bed in her quarters. Walters lifted the woman’s skirt beyond her knee and reached for the first aid kit. “This will sting a bit,” he said, reaching for the rubbing alcohol.

“I’ll be fine.” Fawkes folded her arms across her chest. “There’s two of us against three, four … five? How many did you – OW!” The brunette flinched he leg back as the grain alcohol splashed over her wound. 

“Hold still. I need to bandage it.”

“That’s it. Alcohol. No, something better,” Fawkes exclaimed, standing to her feet. “Hand me the vinegar,” she said, holding her hand out. “Do you see any bleach?”

The agent began to protest but rolled his eyes and handed Charlotte the bottle of vinegar from the shelf. He looked around. “No. I don’t see any bleach. I don’t think clean clothes were a life-or-death dilemma.”

Charlotte paused for a moment. “That’s a matter of opinion,” she said and tapped her chin. “It’s probably in the laundry. You need to find it.” She grabbed two jars (one big and one small) from the shelf and emptied the contents onto the floor. “Now, take these; put bleach in one and vinegar in another. It doesn’t matter what goes in where, but close the little jar, place it in the big jar and seal that. When I call, smash it against the wall. The sodium hypochlorite from the bleach will mix with acetic acid in the vinegar and create a cloud of chlorine gas.”

Walters looked at Fawkes cockeyed. “What? Who the hell are you?”

“They taught us chemical warfare in finishing school,” Char joked and started up the ladder and into the house.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to give myself up. Remember, bleach and vinegar. Don’t let them mix until you smash the jars. Then, lob it like a grenade.” She demonstrated the toss and continued up the ladder. Seconds later, the starship captain emerged in the downstairs study.

“My father’s study,” she said quietly. It was amazing how little had changed. The large oak desk looked the same as she knew it in 2368. “No time to reminisce, girl. You need to pull this off.” Charlotte limped from the study and into the foyer. “Yoo-hoo!” she called. Loud footsteps came running down the stairs.

“Hold it right there!” shouted one of Leach’s mooks. He pulled a gun on Fawkes and ran to open the front door. “Doc! We have her!”

Charlotte strolled into the drawing room and took a seat.

“I said, don’t you move, lady!”

“I’m not moving. I’m sitting,” replied Fawkes.

The bald little man marched in with the two brutes from before. Once he saw Fawkes seated, his eyes darted around the room. “The man who was with her. Find him.” Leach then smiled and moved to Charlotte, handing the purse back to her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You are welcome, Dr. Sundström.” He pulled a chair over as his brutes surrounded her. “You’ve hurt yourself,” he said, looking at her knee. “It’s bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will,” Leach commented and pulled a flask from his coat pocket. He slowly undid the top and took a sip. “Schnapps,” he said with a smile and offered Fawkes a drink. She shook her head. The bald man grinned darkly and tilted his flask, pouring the alcohol onto her wound. Fawkes hissed. “I’m so, so sorry, Doctor. How clumsy of me.”

“I’m fine,” Char replied.

“Good,” he began, pulling the small black box from his coat pocket. He opened it to reveal the pink chip. “Dilithium, was it?” One of the brutes pressed his gun against Charlotte’s back.

“Yes. It is a chip from a dilithium crystal used in warp propulsion systems to regulate matter/antimatter reactions to distort space/time in a subspace bubble.”

Leach bent down, nearly nose to nose with Fawkes, and glared at the woman. Then, a smile lit up his face as he began to giggle. “That’s very – you should write those fantastic novels.” He began to laugh, as did Fawkes. Then, without warning, the little man grabbed Charlotte’s knee and squeezed. She grimaced. “We will take you to the restaurant I spoke of earlier, where we have some sodium thiopental on the menu. If that does not work …” he glanced at Charlotte’s knee. Leach removed the small, pink chip from the box. “We call it the flamingo crystal because of the color.” He nodded. “Yes, we had it a year ago, and the Americans stole it from us.” The bald man turned somber. “A year too late for our Germany.”

From another room came a crash. Leach eyed his henchman. “Finde den Mann!” he yelled.

Charlotte grabbed the chip from Leach’s hand and tossed it in her open mouth. She swallowed.

“No … you didn’t. You … couldn’t.”

“I did.”

She shrugged.

“Arruughhh!” Leach leaped onto the woman, his hands around her throat.

“HIQaHjaj!” she yelled and countered with a poke in each eye.

Again, Leach screamed. He fell back. Charlotte rose quickly and kicked him in the knee. She ran as Leach grabbed his knee in pain. Unfortunately, the captain didn’t get very far—two of Leach’s mooks, their guns drawn, stopped her in the foyer.

“Hands up, lady,” one of them said, his German accent thick. Fawkes complied. In the drawing room, Dr. Leach began to rise. Then – the crack of a glass jar. Charlotte ran as the henchmen started to cough. She ran and punched Leach in the temple, then smashed through a window and rolled onto the ground. The starship captain stood only to find the last mook holding a gun on her. He smiled wickedly. She sighed and raised her hands again.

Bang!

Captain Fawkes flinched as the last of Leach’s men fell into the grass.

“I heard your yoo-hoo and came as fast as I could.”“That wasn’t very fast.”  “Well, I was busy with – Anyway, that was a pretty amazing stunt with the window,” said Walters as he approached Charlotte. He put away the gun and looked her over. Blood trickled down her cheek, arms, and legs. “I think we better get you to the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Fine? You’ve glass all over you. You’re bleeding from … everywhere.

She placed her hand over his lips. “Just kiss me so we can get this over with.”

“Kiss you? After all this running around, you suddenly want me to kiss you?” He folded his arms over his chest, turning his head. “I’m not someone you can just use, you know.”  

“I know,” she said, grabbing the man and kissing him deeply.

Charlotte watched as the house and grounds of Ferguson Hall dissipated and melted back into the holosuite. She stood silent for a moment, her knee in pain, blood all over. The captain let out a long breath. “Computer, start a hot bath, please. Then I’m going to bed.” 

Over 20 years ago, the USS Enterprise-D discovered a Dyson Sphere, an alien megastructure built around a star. Such a structure was thought impossible and discussed only in theory. Yet, there it was. Who could have made such a mechanism? No one knew as the inhabitants were gone. Where did they go? Why did they leave? Such questions were part of the shell’s mystery. With a team from the USS Calypso and scientists from two other starships, Lt. Fawkes hoped to help solve that puzzle.

The Galilean telescope belonged to her father – a replica made in 1974. How many times had Fawkes admired the red leather and gold leaf trimming as she sat in his study, smelled his pipe smoke, and listened to his stories about Starfleet? She couldn’t recollect. The number was too great. So many memories were attached to the cylinder that it might as well have been the real thing. Charlotte held the artifact with deft fingers as she moved toward the window of her quarters. She marveled at the Dyson Sphere’s concave shape. Its surface seemed to climb into the heavens and disappear into a faraway mist. Why did they leave?

Over the years, the leather-bound telescope had grown rough. Charlotte felt the coarse texture with her fingertips. The gold leaf flaked in places, but the overall design remained intact. As with the original spyglass, the field of view was small, less than 1/4th of Luna’s surface. It had grown darker from pipe smoke, sitting in her father’s study for 20 years.

She wished he was there to share the moment. Commander Fawkes would have marveled at such a testament to ingenuity – the ability to harness the energy of a star. The construction required the cooperation of generations of an entire civilization—a magnificent achievement in and of itself. 

After such an accomplishment, why did they leave? Did the sphere’s populous abandon their home on purpose, or did forces drive them out? There was no sign of attack nor evidence of a plague. There was only an empty shell. 

Lt. Fawkes stood at the port window and looked through the eyepiece. The window distorted the view, but she could make out a tiny section of an overgrown city. Char giggled as the moment ignited a memory of her father. When she and Commander Fawkes would scour the night sky with the same leather-bound scope, afterward, he regaled his daughter with tales of the stars and the people who sailed them – Magelion, Armstrong, Cochrane, and so many others. 

Why did he leave?

Charlotte placed the telescope on its pedestal at her desk. Soon, she would beam to the planet below. What would she find? An unfinished breakfast? An abandoned transport? A pipe on a desk in a study, half filled with tobacco?