Commander’s Log, Stardate 77695.35

The USS Shepard is now on day 33 of escort duties around Jensara Prime alongside the USS Ashhurst and USS Gheryzan. For the past month, Starfleet has been working to assist this world in the aftermath of a devastating planet-wide earthquake – Ashhurst has been offering engineering support in rebuilding their cities, Gheryzan has been offering medical aid to the injured and sick, while we here on the Shepard have been pulling escort duty – Parliament and Olympic-class vessels simply aren’t well enough armed to defend themselves near the sometimes lawless reaches of what was once the Romulan Empire.

Today marks our last day on this escort duty, however – our companion vessels have requested more small craft to assist in evacuation and construction, and the Akira-class Carrier Saitama has been dispatched to deliver and coordinate them. Given that Akiras significantly outgun the Shepard, our job will become obsolete… so, back to Starbase Bravo, and presumably a new assignment, we’ll go.

As for now, my last task will be a meeting with the other two captains to discuss the transfer of escort duties, and then all we have to do is wait for Saitama to show up and our job is complete.

“…Construction of the new fusion plant outside the capital city continues to be slightly behind schedule, but that’ll be easy to get back on track once we get those new shuttles,” Zelenko listened to Captain Howzer of the Ashhust say, the icon of his face minimizing on her ready room monitor as his display of charts and graphs took its place. “As you can see, we’ve run into some issues with overusing our transporters to move the building materials. Ten industrial shuttlecraft should rectify this, however… so, whenever Saitama wants to get here, we’ll be waiting eagerly.”

Commander Zelenko chuckled lightly, doing her best to brush away a few childish twinges of jealousy about Howzer being so eager to replace her ship. 

I suppose it’s not such a bad thing to take such pride in my command, Zelenko mused to herself. As long as I don’t actually start getting my feelings hurt when a bigger fish shows up.

“How about you, Captain Storal? The Gheryzan holding up okay?” Howzer asked, his charts minimizing before being replaced by the feed from his desktop camera.

“All is proceeding at an agreeable level on our end,” Storal replied, his tone as flat as always. “As our mission statement generally concerns moving people instead of heavy industry, we have been able to keep pace with our schedule even without the requested additional small craft. Of course, said small craft will only make our tasks all the simpler when they arrive.”

“Great to hear. And everything A-okay with you, Shepard?” 

“Nothing to report on our end,” Zelenko spoke up. “As usual, no suspect space travel has been detected in and around the system. Either no one’s interested in what we’ve got, or our presence alone is enough to deter them.”

“And the next thing I knew, Doc Hodge was walking in with a tray of donuts for the nursing staff. Lemme tell you, I love that guy,” Rysana said contently as she reclined on the couch in Vic’s luxurious Senior Officer quarters, popping the last quarter of a donut in her mouth as she spoke. “He sure knows how to end a work shift.”

As had become standard practice, the former crew of the USS Achana – Vic, Rysana, Dreval, and Tallera – were lounging around the science officer’s quarters after a long day of work, something Tallera was enormously thankful for. She’d been worried that the little friend group they’d develop would drift away from her, given she lived on a different deck, but nothing of the sort had come close to happening.

“It is fortunate that you find Doctor Hodgeson to be such an agreeable department head to work with,” Dreval nodded along from the other side of the couch. “I too have been thankful to work alongside Lieutenant Commander Merin. Her laconic temperament is very conducive to working alongside a member of my species.”

“Hey, glad to hear, man,” Rysana replied, licking a bit of frosting from her thumb. “What about you two fancy-ass bridge officers? You liking your staff?”

“The science officers I have are pretty great, I just sure do wish there were more of them,” Vic chuckled. It had been a running gag among the Shepard crew that their science department was almost nonexistent – given the large expansion of the fleet that was currently underway, some ships were given barebones staff in non-essential departments. Given that Shepard was mostly a patrol and escort boat, Science got the short end of the stick.

“As for the bridge fellas,” Vic looked at Tallera. “I’ll let Tallie have the first go at them.”

Tallera shot Vic a slight smirk, then shrugged to her friends. “Zelenko’s pretty great, but you all know that,” she began. “The rest, ehhh…”

“Ehhh?” Rysana teasingly laughed. “What does that mean?”

“It means ehhhh,” Tallera smirked back. “They’re okay. Krakii seems nice, but she’s not actually on the bridge very much. Mack is alright, I guess. But don’t get me started on T’Vrin.”

“I understand your aversion to Ensign T’Vrin,” Dreval nodded. “Many Vulcans fail to adequately understand that logic and empathy are both required for the other to operate properly.”

Tallera looked at Dreval with a smile, inwardly noting that statements like this were perfect examples of why she enjoyed being around him.

“Yeah, no argument about T’Vrin,” Rysana sighed. “Girl’s seriously got a lirpa up her ass. But what’s wrong with Mack? He’s seemed like a good guy every time I’ve met him.”

“Oh, he’s a perfectly nice guy,” Tallera shrugged. “We just have nothing in common. It’s like an eternal awkward silence whenever we’re on the bridge together.”

“Sounds like y’all just need to break the ice,” Vic interjected. “Why not invite him to one of our little hangouts? My room is always open for more people you three meet. Besides, Zelenko told us to stop being so ‘cliquey,’ so inviting Mack over sounds like a win-win.”

“But what if it turns out we’re even less compatible than we thought?” Tallera said. “I don’t want to make our working relationship even worse than it already is. And… y’know… I don’t really want to rock the boat, I guess. I like our little friend group the size it is now.”

“Well, that’s just gonna have to be up to you, then,” Vic shrugged. “I’m not in the practice of forcing friendships. But sooner or later, you’re gonna have to step out of your comfort zone, Tallie.”

“I’m sorry, which of us is serving as one of the first-ever exchange officers from their state in Starfleet?” Tallera asked with a playful scoff. “I think I left my comfort zone back on New Romulus, thank you very much.”

Rysana chuckled and shrugged in a way that seemed to say point taken.

The conversation was interrupted when Vic’s padd let out a ping.

“Yuck, what blowhard is messaging their department head when they’re off-duty?” Rysana asked, scrunching her face up and sticking out her tongue.

“Not a work ping, a news ping,” Vic said as he read his padd. “It’s an update from FNN about Starfleet ops on the other side of that wormhole to the Delta Quadrant. Says some of our ships just had their first run-in with Hirogen hunting parties since operations began.”

“We win?” Tallera asked, inwardly noting how she’d just referred to Starfleet as we.

“Yep. Looks like a Grissom-class got a little dinged up, though. They probably ventured a little too far into deep space without an escort, then had to do their best to survive until something a little shootier came to back them up.”

“I wish that could’ve been us saving them,” Tallera mused. “Heading out into frontier space like that sounds like a dream. We’d really get to see what a brand-new patrol ship like this can do.”

“Suit yourself,” Rysana smirked. “I’m more than content to stay on this side of the galaxy, thank you very much.”

“Ah, c’mon, Rysana,” Vic laughed.  “You’re not a little jealous of all the ships going out there, walking in Voyager’s footsteps?”

“Nooooo thanks,” the Andorian said with a shake of her head. “The Delta Quadrant is nothing but anarchy and death. And Borg. I’d be lying if I said I want anything to do with it.”

16 hours later

Zelenko sipped her morning coffee and gazed out the bridge viewscreen as the USS Saitama warped into view.

“Saitama has arrived in-system,” T’Vrin spoke from the communications console. “Maintaining position 31 kilometers out at bearing 006-mark-020. The vessel is hailing us.”

“Onscreen,” Zelenko ordered, setting down her coffee and straightening her uniform blouse as the Trill Captain of the Saitama appeared on the viewscreen.

“Afternoon, Shepard,” she said with a smile. “Saitama is here to relieve you of duty.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Zelenko replied with a respectful nod. “Though you may wish to tweak your ship’s clock to sync with operations here. We’re operating at 0820 right now.”

“Noted. Thank you, Shepard. Have the hand-off procedures taken place?”

“Yes Sir. Ashhurst and Gheryzan are ready to receive you, and we’re ready to be on our way.”

“In that case, Shepard, you stand relieved.”

“Thank you, Sir. We’ll make for Starbase Bravo ASAP.”

“Godspeed.” Without another word, the Captain’s image was replaced by that of the Saitama, which turned toward Jensara Prime and flew past them.

“Mack, plot a course for system’s edge, then head back to SBB, Warp 8. I’m retiring to my ready room to finish up reports. S’Geras, you have the conn.”

“Aye-aye, Sir.”

“Commander,” T’Vrin spoke as Zelenko picked her coffee back up and began to head off the bridge. “Before you leave, we have received a text communication from Gheryzan’s commanding officer.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“It reads ‘Thank you for your protection, Shepard. Safe home.’”

Zelenko nodded with a gentle smile. “Respond ‘Thank you for your cooperation. Best of luck with ongoing ops.’”

“Yes, Sir.”

Zelenko swirled the last bit of her coffee in her mug, sad that her morning drink was nearly gone. 

With a sigh, she went back to typing up mission reports. Operations this, science department that, yadda yadda yadda. This was by far the worst part of being a senior officer, but it had long been something she’d become accustomed to.

A comms ping beeped from her desktop.

“Commander, I apologize for the interruption,” T’Vrin’s voice spoke. “We have received a communications request from Commodore Ekwueme.”

Zelenko raised an eyebrow. Why was a flag officer calling her after a freshly completed mission? 

“Did he say what for?” she asked.

“No, Sir.”

“Well, don’t keep the Commodore waiting,” she sighed, straightening her posture and facing her monitor’s camera. “Send the communique to my ready room monitor.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Her computer pinged again, and the visage of Commodore Ekwueme blinked onto her screen.

“Commander Zelenko,” he stated. “How went the Shepard’s first mission?”

“Excellent, Sir. The vessel performed with no issues and we encountered no hostiles. The Saitama mission handoff occurred roughly an hour ago, and we just left the Jensara system.”

“Great to hear, Commander. How would you like another escort assignment?”

“I would… be happy to accept it, Sir. What would the mission entail?”

“Well, while the eyes of the galaxy are on the new operations and trade in the Delta Quadrant, the Federation has chartered a small fleet of merchant vessels to perform a supply run to the Romulan Republic. Mostly humanitarian aid, but there will be some defensive weapons as well. Given your ship’s capabilities, your current location, and… unique crew complement, I could think of no better vessel to escort the convoy than the Shepard.

“I agree with your thinking,” Zelenko replied. She’d long since learned that whenever anyone referred to something “unique” about her crew, they were referring to Tallera.

“I’m glad to hear. In that case, divert course for Starbase 23 instead of home, you’ll resupply and meet up with the convoy there. I’ll send you a complete mission profile soon, but as a quick overview, you and two Saber-class light frigates will be escorting 22 merchant ships from the Starbase to a New Republic colony on Virinat. It should take a little over a week to get there. The Republic colony on Unloth is closer, but the Romulans requested we bring the supplies as far as possible into their space, since our ships have a certain diplomatic immunity that theirs don’t. Your presence alone should discourage any pirates or Romulan Free State ships from trying anything.”

“Understood. We’ll divert course right away, Sir.”

“Excellent. Notify my staff if you have any questions or concerns.”

“Of course.”

“Alright then, hope you have a nice trip, Commander. Ekwueme out.”

“So all you and your fleet have to do is stay in formation, be sure not to get ahead of any of your escorts, and we should all get there in one piece,” Zelenko said to Captain Fletcher, the commanding officer of the Merchant Marine and civilian convoy that would be taking the supplies to the Romulan Republic. The Shepard had arrived at Starbase 23 two days ago, and Zelenko had already met with the two commanders of the Ushaan and Rapier, the Shepard’s fellow escorts, to clear up the mission profile.

“Seems like a simple enough little adventure,” nodded Fletcher, turning to look out the window of the Starbase’s promenade as the collection of transport vessels assembled itself. “I have to tell you, Commander, I never thought I’d be delivering anything beyond the Romulan Neutral Zone, much less what some of our cargo is.

“That’s certainly understandable,” Zelenko nodded in kind, her mind immediately drifting to the collection of defensive weapons spread through many of the vessels. That cargo in particular was still classified; only Starfleet Merchant Marine ships were given clearance to carry them, and the civilian contractor ships weren’t even aware of their presence.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head back to the Ranek and finish preparations,” Fletcher said after a brief pause, turning his gaze back to Zelenko. “Departure’s scheduled in about two hours, so I better make sure everything’s in tip-top shape.”

“Understood, Sir,” Zelenko said with a pointed nod as the two shook hands. “Best of luck with your preparations.”

“Likewise. Our lads will feel a hell of a lot more secure heading out there with a fancy new ship like the Shepard watching our backs.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll see you on Virinat.”

“Drinks’ll be on me,” the scruffy old spacer said with a wry smile, then strode off to return to his ship. “Always wanted to try genuine Romulan-made ale.”

Tallera tapped away at her tactical console, ensuring that the workstation presents and gesture shortcuts she’d grown to prefer were saved as the computer ran a weapons calibration diagnostic.

The turbolift door swished open behind her, and Tallera turned to see Vic Travers step onto the bridge.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Console calibrations,” she said, motioning to her workstation. “What are you doing here?”

“I replicated a new cushion for my bridge seat,” Vic said, holding up a pillow-like object that he’d been carrying under his arm. “Better lumbar support. But you’re off duty, why didn’t you do calibrations when…” Vic shot Tallera a smirk. “You waited to do this on off-duty hours so you could work alone, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“What a whimsically Byronic individual you are, Tallera,” he said, shaking his head as he walked over to the science console and began installing his new backrest. 

“I try.” Tallera smiled as she continued working.

After a moment of fiddling with his seat, Vic plopped himself down next at the helm console next to Tallera, looking out the viewscreen at the array of ships they’d be guarding assembling around the Starbase. Most were Wallenberg-class tugs carrying cargo pods, but there were a few non-Federation designs as well as outdated Starfleet ships that had been converted into transports. There were quite a few Ferengi-designed Tuffli-classes, freighters based on a licensed Cardassian military transport. The SS Ranek, the convoy’s flagship, was even an old Ambassador, a classic, storied Starfleet class that had only recently been retired from active service.

“I’m guessing you’re pretty excited to take a trip to the Republic, huh?” Vic asked as Tallera typed away.

“Definitely,” she nodded, looking up from her console and reclining in her seat, eyes following Vic’s gaze out at the little fleet they’d be protecting. “Especially with the mission we’re on. Back home, Stafleet equipment is like latinum to us.”

“Is it better than your Empire-made stuff?”

“Well, it’s newer. We haven’t really designed stuff since the Star Empire collapsed, so it’s hard to find any tech that isn’t at least like 15 years old. We keep it up pretty well, and it’s certainly made us get really good at field repairs and jury-rigging, but some new replicators, guns and the like will be really appreciated.”

“That makes sense,” Vic nodded. “This world we’re going to… Virinat, right? You ever been there?”

“No. I think it’s mostly farmland.”

He shot her an inquisitive glance. “You guys still farm?”

“Well, like I said, our replicators are all at least 15 years old, and some of them are way older,” Tallera shrugged. “We learned pretty quickly that it’s good to have old-fashioned, dirt-grown food as a backup.”

“Hmm.” Vic chewed on his cheek and nodded, seemingly a bit unsure where to take the conversation. 

“Sorry for being a bit of a downer,” Tallera said after a moment, rather surprised that she was able to leave the famously loquacious science officer at a loss for words.

“No, no, that’s fine,” Vic replied with a conciliatory wave of his hand. “Hey, it’s the truth, right? No need to sugarcoat it to make us Feds feel better.” He looked back out at the fleet before them. “If anything, that just makes me appreciate what we’re doing here more.”

2 hours later

Commander Zelenko strode purposefully onto the bridge, her six bridge officers ready and waiting at their stations. 

“Commander on deck!” S’Geras announced, and all turned their gaze to her.

“S’Geras,” she said, walking over to her command chair and taking a seat. “Are all ship operations in the green?”

“Aye, sir, we’ve just run through final departure checklists. All systems are go.”

“That includes long-distance scanners set to ID tachyon and plasma emissions, correct?”

Tallera’s nostrils flared a tad at that statement. Scanning for tachyon and plasma traces meant they were looking for the telltale signs of cloaked Free State or Klingon ships, the two most hated foes of the Republic. Klingon vessels always emitted a small but telltale amount of plasma exhaust, even under cloak, which had become the standard method of tracking them in recent years as sensors had improved. Romulan-made cloaks were a little harder to pierce, but all cloaked ships still emitted trace amounts of tachyons – only the incredibly advanced and expensive Scimitar-class dreadnought warbirds could hide such emissions, and if they ran into one of those, it wouldn’t matter if the Shepard’s sensors could see it or not. They’d be dead either way.

“Yes Sir,” Vic spoke up from the science console, looking particularly comfortable with his new backrest. “If anyone tries to sneak up on us, we’ll be ready.”

“Excellent,” Zelenko replied, then tapped a button on the arm of her command chair opening comms to the escorts. “Ushaan and Rapier, this is Shepard. We are all ready to go on our end, are you two in position with sensors, FTL, and weapons ready?”

“Ushaan here, reporting green.”

“Rapier here, same for us. Ready to head out on your command, Shepard.”

“Acknowledged,” Zelenko replied, then switched comms to the Ranek. “ComConvoy, this is ComEscort. Our ships are ready and in position, have all transport vessels checked in?”

“Aye, ComEscort,” Captain Fletcher’s voice spoke over the comms. “Give the word, and we’ll make way for the Romulan Republic.”

“Aye, Sir,” Zelenko nodded, then switched comms to the entire fleet. “All ships in transport flotilla RN-775, depart at warp 6 on my mark. 3… 2… 1… mark.”

In unison, all 25 vessels of RN-775 let out a sharp whine and launched themselves to warp, leaving Starbase 23 and the safety of Federation space behind. 

Commander’s report, mission day 5. No anomalous readings have been found on the sensors thus far, and all ship systems are running at peak efficiency. The only notable occurrence today was a minor hiccup involving the power consumption of the galley replicators; they were discovered to be draining far more than their allotted power supply, an issue that was easily rectified by the engineering staff. According to Chief Engineer Merin, this was little more than a “teething issue” – a minor and easily correctable problem on board brand-new ships where…

Commander Zelenko leaned forward onto her ready room desk, rubbing her eyes and groaning. Oh, how she hated paperwork. It was such a waste of time for her to go on about this, as she knew Merin already would be making some kind of note about it… but that was the burden of the CO. Allllll the details have to be in one place, at least once they reach a certain level of import. Which, apparently, replicator power drainage did.

She was more than a little relieved when her communicator pinged.

“Commander, your presence is needed on the bridge,” the gruff voice of S’Geras spoke from her monitor. “Our sensors have picked up something you should see.”

Well, at least she wouldn’t have to do paperwork for a bit.

“Talk to me, Travers,” Zelenko said as she strode onto the bridge, her ready room door swishing shut behind her. “What are we looking at?”

“You’ll want to ask T’Vrin, actually,” the science officer replied, nodding towards the young Vulcan on the other side of the bridge at the communications console. “She’s the one that found it.”

“Then what’d you find, Ensign?”

“Well, Commander,” T’Vrin began, straightening her posture and seemingly doing her best to look professional. “I was testing a slight change to the sensors with the goal of establishing longer-range instantaneous communications. During the test’s passive sweep of the area, I detected an odd burst of energy beyond our normal scanning range.” She looked over to Vic. “I then requested that Lieutenant Travers perform a dedicated directional sensor scan, and he determined that the energy release is in fact plasma exhaust. Further analysis of the signal revealed that it is closing on our position.”

“Which means we may have a cloaked klingon ship on our hands,’ Vic said with a halfhearted smile, as if taking pride in the detection but unhappy about what was uncovered. “Although, what was a bit weird about it is that when we looked closer, we found that it was actually a very brief, weak plasma emission, followed by a more sustained one that is more indicative of exhaust. That might just be engine troubles, though. Not all klingon pirates are good engineers.”

Zelenko furrowed her gaze, then moved to take her seat in the Captain’s Chair. “What’s the bogey’s bearing, Lieutenant?” 

“Bearing 030-mark-335 at 43.7 AU from our current position, so significantly further than we would have found it with normal sensor sweeps. We’re lucky this is a plasma signal instead of a tachyon one, if it was that then we wouldn’t have seen it until it was only a little more than 1 AU away, even while traveling at warp.”

“In that case, excellent job, Ensign,” Zelenko said as she turned to look at T’Vrin. 

“Thank you, Sir,” the communications officer replied, her expression the closest Tallera had ever seen a Vulcan come to a smile.

“All hands to yellow alert. Helm, plot an intercept course to signal,” Zelenko ordered. “Accelerate to warp 8.”

“Aye, Sir,” Mack replied, and the Shepard banked away from the convoy. 

Zelenko hit a button on her armrest, opening a channel to their fellow escorts. “Ushaan, Rapier, this is Shepard. We have detected a plasma emission indicating the presence of a possible hostile, moving to intercept. Rapier, take our place at head of convoy, and all escorts switch sensors to high-power plasma sweeping.”

“Aye, Shepard. Good hunting,” Rapier responded, followed by an acknowledgement from Ushaan before Zelenko shut the comm.

“No change in target trajectory, Travers?” Zelenko inquired.

“Negative, Sir. Still on intercept with the convoy. My best guess puts its speed around warp 6.”

“In that case,  T’Vrin, open a wide-band communications signal on all subspace channels. Tell me when it’s open.”

“Aye, Commander. Open in three… two…” T’Vrin pointed to Zelenko.

“To any ships in the area,” Zelenko stated firmly. “This is the Federation vessel USS Shepard. I am accompanied by two other ships flying under the flag of the Federation Starfleet. We are guarding a convoy of civilian transports on a peaceful humanitarian mission. Any vessels approaching the convoy under cloak or with weapon systems activated will be considered hostile, and will be dealt with accordingly. Shepard out.” She pointed to T’Vrin, who nodded and closed the channel.

“Bogey is still on intercept,” Vic relayed to the commander. “And if their sensors are working at all, they know we’re headed right towards them.”

“Tallera, charge phasers and set to proximity blast. Do not fire until I give the word.”

“Yes Sir,” Tallera replied, her heartbeat growing faster as she steeled her gaze on the console before her. This was what she had spent years of training preparing for. Something was threatening the Romulan Republic and the civilians risking their lives to help it, and it was her job to remove this threat. Her entire being burned to remove this threat. She knew the Federation didn’t like aggressive or ‘warhawk’ behaviors in officers… but it was hard not to get fired up in a position like this.

“Proximity blasts ready, Sir” Tallera barked towards Zelenko. 

Proximity blasts were a rather unconventional use of the Federation’s phaser arrays, although it was one every Romulan commander was wary of. Instead of using the array to fire a pinpoint-accurate phaser beam to slice through enemy hulls and shields, ‘prox blasts’ involved building up a heavy ‘blob’ of phaser energy and launching it towards a target, where it exploded at a certain distance from the ship. Prox blasts were far less destructive than normal beams, but you didn’t need to aim right at the ship you wanted to hit. If you had a general idea of where a vessel was (due to, say, tachyon or plasma emissions), then you could aim in that area and bombard the enemy ship with area-of-effect phaser fire until it either ran away or was destroyed. This strategy was used the very first time the Federation had encountered a cloaked ship, and it remained a tried-and-true hunting method nearly 150 years later.

The downside, however, was that firing in this manner wreaked havoc on the phaser arrays. If you fired too many prox blasts in a short time, an entire strip could be burnt out, and if you’re in battle, you probably won’t have time to fix it.

“Bogey is approaching weapons range,” Vic announced, eyes locked on his console. “And… I’m detecting trace amounts of tachyons alongside the plasma, now. That’s a telltale sign of a cloaked ship.”

“Raise alert level to red,” Zelenko stated calmly yet firmly. “Tactical, Prepare to fire.” Tallera inhaled deeply, her hands hovering over the fire control systems.

“Uh… wait, what?” Vic muttered, narrowing his eyes at his console’s readouts.

“Talk to me, Travers,” Zelenko said with a hint of impatience in her voice.

“Uh, I’m detecting sources of metal around the bogey now, Terminium specifically. That… doesn’t make sense, hull metal should be completely obscured by a cloak.”

“And hulls aren’t made of Terminium,” Tallera spoke up. “Torpedoes are just about the only things that are.”

Zelenko rapped her fingers on her armrests for a moment.

“Helm, reduce speed to warp 5. T’Vrin, put a visual of the bogey onscreen the second we reach visual range.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The next few moments seemed to take an eternity to pass. All members of the bridge crew sat in complete silence, awaiting what they would find with bated breath.

“Bringing bogey visual onscreen now, Commander,” T’Vrin stated, and the viewscreen jumped to the image of a metallic cylinder, cruising through space towards them with a glowing gas emanating from one end.

“What,” Zelenko said flatly.

“That’s a torpedo casing,” Vic stated, confusion apparent in his voice. “Looks like it’s in a residual warp field created by whatever launched it. Sensors say it has no warhead… but it’s emanating a steady stream of superheated plasma from one end, and sending out irregular tachyon pulses from the other. Making it look exactly like a cloaked ship…”

Oh hell, that’s a decoy!” Zelenko said, eyes widening as she leapt from her chair. “T’Vrin, contact the escorts, tell them-”

“I apologize for the interruption, Sir,” T’Vrin cut her off. “But we just received a signal from the convoy. The converted Excelsior-class freighter SS Loran has been destroyed.”

The Shepard’s bridge hung in stunned silence for a half-second before Zelenko snapped into action.

“T’Vrin, order all ships to drop out of warp and for escorts to take defensive pattern gamma-3 around the convoy. We’re not going to be able to properly defend them at FTL. Request available information detected by any and all ships about the attacker. Mack, get us back to the fleet at max warp and into defensive position with the other escorts. Travers, switch to tachyon-only active scanning, since plasma sure as hell didn’t pick up what jumped us. Tallera, make sure your phasers are set to auto-align with sensor signals. We may have to shoot from the hip, so be ready.”

A chorus of affirmations sounded across the bridge as the Shepard pivoted to return to the fleet, all bridge officers performing their ordered tasks to ready the ship for the conflict at hand.

“Response from convoy about the attackers, Commander,” T’Vrin stated as the Shepard dropped out of warp and took up a defensive stance near their designated third of the convoy perimeter. “The aggressors were cloaked, and the SS Kane acquired the clearest visual recording and sensor sweep of the attack. They have transmitted video and images.”

“Onscreen,” Zelenko responded, inwardly noting that T’Vrin had said aggressors plural.  A collection of still images flashed onto the viewscreen next to a quick recording of their new foe. The video opened with an empty starfield, before two shimmers of blue-green light seemed to appear from nowhere – plasma torpedoes. However, right as the torpedoes appeared, a quick distortion of space could be seen behind them, during which time the outline of the attacker’s ship could ever-so-slightly be made out. The telltale ripple of a cloaking device. 

Soon after the torpedoes impacted the SS Loran and destroyed her shields, a second pair was launched to finish her off.

“Computer’s working to create a complete image of the bandits from the cloak distortion,” Vic announced, tapping away at his console. “Looks like the ships are small enough that the ripple didn’t dissipate before it swept across the whole ship, so we’ll be able to formulate an image off it.”

“It didn’t de-cloak to shoot,” Tallera muttered, staring at the video on the viewscreen as it played on repeat. “It fired through its cloak, like a Scimitar.”

“Analysis, Tallera?” Zelenko replied to the tactica officer. “You’ve got more experience with cloaks than anyone else here.”

“These ships are using really high quality cloaking devices,” Tallera responded, turning to the Commander at the center of the bridge. “Like, better-than-almost-any-Republic-cloak high quality. That’s not something you can find on the black market, even after the Star Empire’s fall.”

“Imaging complete!” Vic announced. “Computer’s throwing ‘er onscreen now.”

The array of smaller images and videos was replaced by an orthographic display of a sharp, silver vessel with a conical main hull flanked by a pair of small nacelles. 

“What the hell is that?” Zelenko said softly, slowly inching closer to the viewscreen.

“Computer says the vessel is 190 meters long, if that helps at all,” Vic spoke up. “I have no idea what that is, either. Sure doesn’t look Romulan or Klingon.”

“That’s almost definitely not Romulan,” Tallera added.

Mack opened his eyes wide and snapped his fingers. “Hold up, I think I know that ship,” he announced somewhat quietly before hurriedly typing on his console.

“Elaboration, Ensign?” Zelenko inquired.

“Hang on, hang on… got it!” Mack smiled as he sent an image to the viewscreen. It was another orthographic diagram of a silver, conical vessel… exactly like the one formed from the computer. “It’s a Hazari raider. That imaging was captured by the Voyager during their fifth year in the Delta Quadrant, and it’s a dead ringer for our attackers. I knew I recognized them, I was a huge Voyager fanboy when I was a kid.”

“Excellent job, Mr. Mackenzie,” Zelenko stated, eyes shifting between the two near-identical images on the screen.

“I’m sorry, Delta Quadrant?” Vic asked incredulously. “How the hell did they get all the way out here?”

“Commander, we have received a communique from Ushaan,” T’Vrin interjected, cutting the discussion to a halt. “Their sensors have detected two tachyon signals bearing down on their defense sector. They have opened fire with proximity blasts.”

“Mack, let’s move to help!” Zelenko ordered, and Mack pivoted the Shepard towards Ushaan and the attackers. “When those proximity blasts cause cloak distortions, light it up with conventional beams.”

“Weapons ready and synced with Ushaan’s sensors,” Tallera announced. “Preparing to fire.”

“Ah hell, I’m getting two tachyon blips in our sector!” Vic announced, staring down at his scanners. “Bearing 160-mark-048 at 132,000 klicks, closing fast.”

“Damnit,” Zelenko muttered. “Mack, full stop, pitch nose up 060 then yaw roll to 180. Tallera, fire prox blasts as you bear.”

“With pleasure, Sir,” Tallera nearly growled, her brow furrowed and eyes glaring with determination at her console. The moment the Shepard pivoted up to allow the forward banks to target lock, she opened fire, sending a barrage of prox blasts towards the new targets. The prox blasts sailed deep into the void before exploding into a vibrant light show of yellow and orange hues.

She’d finally been given a chance to shoot at something.

“Detecting cloak distortions around the blasts,” Vic announced. “Not enough to get a beam target lock, though. Bandits are still closing.”

“Again, Tallera!”

She set forth another barrage, this one from the two arrays mounted on the torpedo pod’s rollbar. 

C’mon, you bastards, take one center-mass… Tallera thought, burning with desire to kill something that wanted to harm her Republic. Again, the shots could be seen bursting in the distance, hopefully near their targets.

“Cloaking distortion’s getting worse, prepare for target lock… ah, hang on, bandits might be changing course…” Vic announced, and the crew waited in silence for a moment. “Confirmed. Both signals are peeling off to space outside of sensor range.”

“Ushaan claims the same for their signals,” T’Vrin relayed. “Their bandits have retreated as well.”

“So, there’s four of them…” Zelenko said as she sat back down in her Captain’s chair. “That means we can’t corral them into a killzone or act on any cloak distortions without leaving the convoy’s flanks exposed to their friends.” She sighed, then turned her gaze to Mack. “For now, back to our guests’ identities.”

“Yeah,” Vic interjected. “As I was saying, how the hell did they get out here?”

“That new wormhole to the Delta Quadrant, right? In the Barzan system?” Mack replied. “No way that it’s just a coincidence that they show up here like a month after the thing opens.”

“But the real question is why are they out here…” Zelenko pondered. “Do you have an article or archive up on those, Mack?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Then by all means, tell me what it says.”

“Well…” Mack began, looking back down at his screen. “Intel says that most Hazari that leave their homeworld are bounty hunters or mercenaries. They have a cultural devotion to complete their contracts or die trying, so they’re well-known for never being intimidated out of a job or bought out by their quarry.”

“Then how did they get through the wormhole without being flagged by Federation defenses?” Zelenko said. “There’s nearly a whole fleet guarding that wormhole, they’d pick up on four small warships trying to get through.”

“It gets crazier,” Mack continued. “The archive says they fight using tetryon weapons, not plasma. And nothing in here makes note of a cloaking device.”

“So they dumped their gear in the Delta Quadrant, passed through the wormhole in unarmed ships, then got re-armed by their benefactors,” Vic extrapolated, forming little circular motions with his pointer finger as he spoke. “Even if they got flagged for flying warships and being from a species known as bounty hunters, they might pass inspection if the ships had no weapons. I don’t see how Starfleet could legally prevent them from traveling to the Alpha Quadrant.”

“So, the Free State hired them,” Tallera said with a thoughtful nod, building on Vic’s analysis.

“That’s a bit presumptuous, Ensign,” Zelenko responded.

“With all due respect, sir, not really,” Tallera continued. “They’re armed with plasma weapons and cloaking devices, both of which are Romulan military standard. The devices allow for cloaked weapons fire, putting it probably only just below Scimitar cloaks in quality and almost definitely not something you could just buy or find. They’re attacking a Federation convoy delivering supplies to the Romulan Republic, which the Free State can’t do itself or risk open war with the Feds. And Hazari are known for dying before abandoning a contract, which means they get around Romulans’ normal aversion to mercenaries and their reliability. That also explains why someone would go to the trouble of hiring someone from the other side of the galaxy: they’re the only ones that the Free State’s Tal Shiar overlords would trust to do the job.”

“Doesn’t that raise the question of why the Free State would do this if they’d be so easily found out?”

“I don’t think so, because that doesn’t really matter. All that does matter is that Free State warbirds aren’t attacking Starfleet themselves. That’s enough plausible deniability to make any sanctions on them impossible. All they have to do is claim that they have no knowledge of Hazari in the region, and that they were clearly hired by Klingons and found Romulan gear on the black market or something. It’s nonsense, but it’s not 100% impossible, so the Federation can’t do anything to disprove it and act on what clearly really happened.” Tallera shrugged. “It’s certainly what I’d do if I were them.”

“It is what you would do?” T’Vrin asked with a raised eyebrow and a good bit more venom in her voice than Tallera had ever heard from a Vulcan.

“Not the time, T’Vrin” Zelenko said as she held up a hand to the communications officer, then brought the hand to her chin in contemplation. “That does make a certain amount of sense. And it does have the trademark convoluted complexity of Romulan plots. Er, no offense.”

“None taken,” Tallera responded, genuinely confused as to why Zelenko felt the need to apologize.

“Well, if they’re known for never giving up a hunt, why haven’t these Hazari come back yet?” Vic spoke up, gesturing to the empty blackness of space on the viewscreen. “It doesn’t sound like a phaser barrage would scare them off, and we didn’t blow them up or we’d have seen debris.”

“They’re probably hoping for us feeling safe enough to go back to warp, where it’ll be harder to maneuver to target them and cover the convoy,” Zelenko replied. “So, we’re going to have to wait it out here. T’Vrin, send a subspace message to Starbase 23 and to Virinat, tell them we’ve come under attack and require assistance before we can continue.”

“Commander, it seems that our subspace communications are being jammed,” T’Vrin said after tapping at her console a moment. “Sending a message to Starfleet or the Romulans is currently impossible.”

Zelenko swore under her breath. “So, we can’t move until the Hazari are dealt with, and we can’t do any more but momentarily ward off the Hazari until we get enough ships to guard the convoy and chase them down.” She turned back to T’Vrin. “I want you to go down to the sensor labs and assemble a team of communications officers along with science, engineering, and operations officers that have experience working with sensors and comm suites. Figure out some way to get some kind of information through the jamming, or see if you can use the jamming to track the cloaked ships.”

“Yes Sir,” T’Vrin said with a polite nod, standing from comms station and hurrying off the bridge.

 “S’Geras, relieve the Ensign at communications,” Zelenko ordered the man sitting next to her, who nodded and took T’Vrin’s now-unoccupied seat.

“So I guess we just wait here until the Hazari blow us up, we get a lucky hit on one of them, or help comes,” Vic said with a sigh.

“More or less,” Zelenko said with a slightly weary smirk.

“Well, that sure sounds like fun. How about we… ah, wait, speak of the devil. Two tachyon blips again in our sector, bearing 003-mark-277 at 141,000 klicks.”

“They’re coming up from under us,” Zelenko stated, inwardly wondering what the Hazari were hoping to achieve from repeated bull-rushes of their defenses. “Tallera, fire when ready.”

“Firing prox blast from ventral S2 and and P2 arrays,” Tallera relayed as her hands danced across her tactical console, sending bolts of energy searing from the bottom of the ship into the blackness of space.

“Viewscreen to estimated blast area,” Zelenko ordered, and the starfield in front of them switched to a slightly-different starfield before orange phaser proximity blasts could be seen exploding far in the distance.

“Bandits likely veering off again…” Vic declared as he gazed at his science console readouts. “Confirmed. Damn, the second I come close to giving Tallie a target lock, they turn tail and run.”

“At least we’re able to ward them off…” Zelenko replied. “They’re not exactly accomplishing anything by charging our defensive lines.” 

Vic shrugged in response.

“Ushaan just detected the other pair, they’re opening fire,” S’Geras called out. After a tense few moments, he spoke again. “Bandits peeling off.”

“The hell are they trying to do?” Vic asked, his tone equal parts annoyed and curious. “They haven’t achieved anything since their initial attack, all they’re doing is giving us target practice.”

“I’m not sure,” Zelenko said back. “Mack, please continue reading their dossier from Starfleet Archives. See if you can find any other information about their behavior or tactics.”

“Aye, Sir.”

The bridge sat in silence for a few minutes. The mood in the air was too tense to be boring, but too still to be stimulating, instead creating an unpleasant slurry of the two emotions as all read from their consoles or stared into the starfield on the viewscreen.

“Commander, I’m picking up four incoming plasma torpedoes,” Vic spoke, breaking the silence. “Bearing 313-mark-342 at 158,000 klicks.”

“Looks like they’re trying something new,” Zelenko said, sitting up straighter in her command chair. “Tallera, point-defense fire.”

“Already on it, Sir,” Tallera replied, quickly working to lock her arrays onto the glowing ball of teal energy soaring towards them. “Targets locked, firing standard beam from ventral arrays… targets destroyed.”

“Well that sure didn’t work,” Vic said with a smirk. “So if they launch from far away, we can shoot down the torps before they get here. But if they try to close the distance, we can detect ’em and hammer ‘em with prox blasts. Wonder what they’ll try next?”

“I’m not sure, but that at least tells us that the Hazari view what they’ve been doing as a failure,” Zelenko reasoned, leaning against her left armrest and bringing a hand to her chin in contemplation. “Mack, any new details you’d care to share?”

“Uh, it says here that their normal tactics are pretty rigid, and involve attacking in pairs,” the helmsman replied, sitting up straighter as he spoke. “Almost always with one ship hanging back as support to buff the other’s shields. They clearly can’t do that here, since flying cloaked means no shields.”

“Yet they still are attacking in pairs,” Zelenko pondered. “So they’re likely still applying at least some of their conventional strategies to this new scenario. They may still be trying to act with the mentality of combat and support roles within their pairs, too. Travers, are you able to detect residual tachyon energy from their previous attacks?”

“I should be able to, yes,” the science officer stated, beginning to configure his console for the task. “One of the benefits of staying in one place, relativistically speaking. Why do you ask?”

“Could you use that to plot out the specific paths the raiders have taken, as opposed to the rough estimates from real-time tachyon emission scanning?”

“Eh, maybe…” Vic said as he chewed on his cheek. “It’ll take a while, though. That’s a whole lot of data to analyze, and compiling it into actual motion tracking will be an absolute RAM vacuum for the main computer. And that’s not even getting into how you’d need around two dozen or so different samples to get any useful tactical data or pattern recognition out of it. Maybe even more than that.”

“Can you give any sort of estimate on how long it would take?”

“Well, given how long it takes a computer core like ours to analyze sensor data, and how frequently these attacks have been coming in… days, maybe. And that’s really as specific as I can be, there’s way too many factors at play here to give you a real answer.”

Zelenko rubbed her temple for a moment. “Get that started,” she ordered. “Since we’re not going anywhere for the foreseeable future, we should have the time.”

“Aye, Sir,” Vic nodded, and then went to work on establishing the new sensor settings.

The bridge fell back into that silence that wasn’t quite boring yet wasn’t quite tense.

“Two tachyon sensor pings in Rapier’s sector,” S’Geras spoke after a few minutes. “They’re engaging.”

“Back to the shoot-and-scoot tactic, I guess,” Vic sighed. “These Hazari really don’t-”

“Hang on…” S’Geras cut him off. “Rapier is reporting a phaser burnout in their starboard array. They’re pivoting to compensate.”

Tallera couldn’t help but clench her jaw. Burning out the arrays was what she’d been most nervous about since she began firing proximity blasts; using arrays in that manner was very taxing on any type of phaser anyone had developed up until now, and she’d been very careful to spread her fire to each of the Shepard’s eleven arrays to ease the load on them.

Unfortunately, Saber-classes like the Rapier and Ushaan only had four phasers, yet had an equal load to spread.

“Rapier is reporting that the bandits have split up and pressed their attack from two angles. Rapier is engaging in hard maneuvers to keep them in the targeting arcs of their remaining arrays.”

“The Hazari know what’s wrong,” Zelenko said softly, her brow ever-so-slightly furrowing. 

“Bandits launched torpedoes,” S’Geras continued, his tone growing more intense. “They’ve closed to 10,000 kilometers. Rapier maneuvering evasively and firing point defense.”

“Shit, they’re almost in hammerlock,” Vic said, alarm evident in his voice.

“Hammerlock?” Tallera asked.

“Sorry, old spacer slang from grandpa,” the science officer explained. “It means the raiders are nearly inside the minimum range for Rapier’s point defenses to work.”

“Shit indeed,” Tallera replied with a concerned grimace.

“Torpedo impact on Rapier’s ventral starboard quarter,” S’Geras announced. “They’re sending audio to the fleet now.”

“Channel open,” Zelenko ordered, tensely gripping her armrests.

“All escorts, this is Rapier,” a desperate voice called out over the bridge’s intercom. “That last torpedo impact overloaded an EPS conduit for our ventral phaser array, we’re down to half our guns. Requesting immediate assistance, we are no longer able to hold off bandits and are in immediate danger of destruction.”

“Their dogfight has led to the Rapier drifting closer to our defense sector than Ushaan’s,” S’Geras explained to Zelenko. “We may be the only ones who can help in time.”

“Mack, get us to relieve Rapier, now,” Zelenko ordered. “We cannot afford to lose an escort. Tallera, fire the moment you gain a clear targeting solution.”

“Aye, Sir. Coming about now,” Mack called out.

“Targeting systems are working to make sure we don’t hit Rapier with support fire,” Tallera added.

“Oh, hell, Commander,” Vic spoke next, looking to Zelenko with wide eyes. “Detecting two tachyon blips in our sector, approaching fast at bearing 195-mark-037. 131,000 klicks.”

“I can’t target those two and get a solution on cover fire at the same time,” Tallera said, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly. This had become a clear, binary choice for Zelenko; save Rapier, or protect their sector. Ushaan likely wouldn’t be able to move to cover their space before the raiders got very close.

“Protect Rapier,” Zelenko ordered, jaw clenched tight. “Order Ushaan to move to protect our sector.”

“Aye, Sir,” Tallera responded, voice cracking slightly again as S’Geras began relaying the massage to Ushaan. “Solution nearly ready…”

“Another torp impact on Rapier,” S’Geras reported. “Their shields are failing.”

“Solutions ready! Firing prox blasts!” Tallera just about slammed her fist down on the firing controls, sending repeated blasts into the area around Rapier from the four forward-dorsal phaser arrays.

“Checking tachyon readings…” Vic spoke. “Confirmed. Bandits are peeling off.” 

“Thanks, Shepard, you sure saved our rears,” Rapier’s CO spoke over ship communications. “We thought we were goners for a moment there.”

“Commander, we just received word from Ushaan,” S’Geras said, his tone uncharacteristically heavy. “They warded off the attackers in our sector. But not before two transports were destroyed.”

Zelenko closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. 

“Ship names and crew complements, please,” she ordered.

“Commander…”

“Do as you’re ordered, Number One.”

S’Geras sighed “SS Chandra, Wallenberg-class, crew of 53. And SS Peraxi, Tuffli-class, crew of 139. But you made the right decision, Sir. If we’d lost an escort, the whole convoy would-”

“That’s enough,” she cut him off, still staring intently at the viewscreen in front of them.

“Sir, I hate to continue the bad news,” Tallera spoke next. “But when we were providing cover to Rapier, the port-rollbar phaser array burnt out. I’m sorry, I had to use suppressive fire to blanket the area given how close they were and how quick they were moving, and-”

“No need to apologize, Ensign. You did everything right,” Zelenko replied, her tone softer than Tallera had ever heard it before. The commander stood, then strode closer to the viewscreen. “How are the other arrays looking?”

“The other ten are all still operational, but they’re starting to feel the burn, so to speak. Some will eventually start to fail.”

Zelenko pursed her lips and nodded. “S’Geras,” she said, spinning to look her XO in the eye. “Contact Rapier and Ushaan. Tell them to alter defensive stance from three sectors to two, with them working together to cover the same one. They don’t have enough phaser banks to work alone without burning them out. Tell the convoy to reduce dispersion and tighten up.”

“Aye, Sir,” S’Geras replied, and began typing into his console.

Zelenko crossed her arms and exhaled deeply through her nose, turning her gaze back out to the starfield on the viewscreen. Looks like the Hazari finally found a winning tactic… she thought, not daring to voice such pessimism to her crew. They know it, and we know it. I sure hope T’Vrin can break through that jamming soon.

Commander’s log, Stardate 77899.81

It has now been 48 hours since our first phaser burnout. The Hazari vessels have shown no sign of relenting in their attacks, and we have no indication that our defenses achieve anything other than temporarily driving them off. 

Unfortunately, our ability to even do that much may soon be compromised. We have two aft and three forward phaser arrays left – less than half of the eleven we began with. Ushaan and Rapier have only four remaining arrays between the two of them.

All news isn’t entirely unhopeful, however. Roughly six hours ago, a science team led by Communications Officer T’Vrin was able to briefly pierce the Hazari jamming field with a wide-band subspace pulse that would likely be detectable on nearby comm sensors. Of course, the pulse contained no actual information; anyone who detected it would be able to discern nothing other than its location of origin. Our hope is that the Republic will detect it, guess that it was us who sent it, given that we are now over 24 hours past our expected arrival at Virinat, and then come to our rescue.

T’Vrin’s team is continuing to experiment with new ways to break through the jamming, but as of now, that is our best hope for dearly-needed relief.

Commander Zelenko reclined back from her ready room desk, rubbing her eyes before she downed a shot of animazine-infused espresso. 48 hours since the first burnout meant how many hours without sleep?

She shook her head, knowing such thoughts would only increase the mental and physical fatigue she was feeling. She stood up, straightened her uniform, and strode towards the bridge, knowing the cocktail she’d just consumed would perk her up sooner or later.

“What if we used the sensors in both deflector dishes at the same time on the tachyon blips to get a more accurate bearing on them?” Tallera said, her words ever-so-slightly slurry as she leaned on Vic’s science console. “Y’know, like binocular vision gives us depth perception. Then I could hit it with more accurate phaser bursts, maybe kill the things outright.” Like many other crewmen, the tactical officer was looking quite disheveled – her hair was tousled in a clearly unintentional manner and very prominent dark circles could be seen under her eyes.

“Nah, s’a good thought, but it wouldn’t really work,” Vic responded, looking equally disheveled himself as he rubbed his temple. “That only works if you know where they’re gonna be. By the time you align both sensor arrays like that to get a really precise bearing, the bandit will already be somewhere else.”

“Uppers for my fellow night owls?” Mack said with a halfhearted smile as he approached the pair, bearing three cups of the same concoction Zelenko had consumed in her ready room. “Y’all were looking a little dreary, so I figured I’d grab some for you on my last trip to the replicator.”

“Oh god, yes, thank you,” Tallera muttered as she happily pounded down the drink like it was a shot of kali-fal, repeatedly blinking in an attempt to get the sleep out of her eyes afterwards. 

“Yeah, you’re a lifesaver, Mackenzie,” Vic agreed as he raised his glass in mock toast before downing it as well. 

“Don’t mention it, fellas,” the flight officer said with another weary grin. “Hey, we’re all in this together, right?” 

The pair nodded, then turned their gaze to Zelenko as she returned to her seat on the bridge.

“Hey Commander, any updates?” Vic called out.

“Trust me, if I hear anything new, you won’t have to ask me to share,” the Commander replied, absent-mindedly stretching her arms in front of her. “Tallera, Mack, back to your consoles, please.”

They did as they were told, and the bridge fell into that drearily tense waiting period that had come to define their defensive operation.

“Two pings again,” Vic called out after a few minutes of silence. “Bearing 302-mark-087, 135,000 klicks.”

“Opening fire,” Tallera declared, her tone almost nonchalant as proximity bursts seared into the distance and exploded. “Bandit status?”

“Eugh, they’re splitting up again,” Vic groaned, rubbing his temple again. “Transmitting bearings.”

“Mack, get us-”

“I know, Tallera,” Mack cut her off as he spun the Shepard around to get the two signals into the firing arcs of the least-used phaser arrays. His tone didn’t indicate perturbation or anger, however – it was almost reassuring.

Tallera continued firing, the two working in unison to keep the fire spread around their remaining arrays. 

“One bandit’s coming in low, you guys see that reading?” Vic spoke up.

“Yeah, moving to compensate,” Mack replied, throwing the Shepard into a harsh lateral roll to get the vessel’s dorsal surface pointed at the attacker, where they had slightly more remaining phasers. 

“They’re still coming,” Vic continued after another volley, prompting a groan from the helmsman. “Targets at 8,000 klicks, they’re gettin’ real close.”

Mack swore under his breath as his hands danced across the flight controls to keep Tallera able to fire.

“Hang on, sensor’s lagging on one bandit…” Vic said

“Recalibrate that, Travers!” Zelenko ordered, walking over to lean over his shoulder at the science station. 

“Working on it, working on it…” he muttered. “Aight, got it! Ah, hell, we’re basically between the two of ‘em!”

Mack groaned again, throwing the ship into another lateral roll until it was perpendicular to both attackers, and Tallera opened fire with the remaining dorsal and ventral arrays at the same time.

“Damnit, there goes another array,” Tallera exclaimed through gritted teeth as she pounded her fist against the console. “We’re down to just one phaser left on the ventral surface.”

“Hang on, looks like they’re retreating…” Vic continued reading from his sensors. “Confirmed. Bandits peeling off.”

 A slight sigh of relief seemed to radiate across the bridge.

“Y’know, I’m really not a fan of this ‘splitting up’ thing they’ve been doing lately,” Vic said aloud to no one in particular.

“They’ve been doing that for a day and a half now, I think it’s safe to say none of us are fans,” Mack replied as he brought the Shepard back to standard defensive position. 

“List which phaser arrays are still operational, Tallera,” Zelenko ordered, cutting the chit-chat to a halt as she returned to her seat.

“The dorsal bow-port, rollbar-port, and aft-starboard are still green,” she responded. “Bow-starboard is our only one left on the ventral side, since we just lost bow-port.”

“I suppose we’ll have to keep them out from under us then, Mr. Mackenzie.”

“Aye, Commander. Won’t let them get us between ‘em again.” 

Zelenko responded with a nod.

“The Sabers are under attack now,” S’Geras called out from the comms station. The bridge crew listened intently as the Caitian first officer monitored the situation. “Bandits peeling off,” he spoke up again a few minutes later. “Ushaan lost a phaser. That makes one left on them and two on the Rapier.”

Vic swore under his breath.

“Commander, if I could speak with you for a moment,” S’Geras spoke up, heading to the rear corner of the bridge and beckoning Zelenko to join him. The Commander nodded and followed the Caitian over as Mack and Tallera exchanged a concerned glance.

“Sir, it is becoming necessary to discuss contingency measures,” S’Geras said softly once they were out of earshot from the rest of the crew. “Our defenses are failing at a rate that will leave us completely unable to defend the convoy or ourselves in less than 24 hours.”

“If you’re asking me to run, S’Geras, you know that isn’t going to happen.”

“I’m not. But I am suggesting you consider at what point it will become necessary for one ship to run. Preferably Ushaan or Rapier. A Saber will be able to defend itself better than any of the freighters could on its own, and it won’t attract attention like Shepard would from the Hazari. And, of course, I know you’d never order your own ship to abandon the others.”

“You’re suggesting sending someone to carry word of what happened here if the situation becomes untenable, correct?”

“Yes. Dead Men Tell No Tales, as they say. The remaining ships would have to prepare for a last stand.”

“You’re right,” Zelenko said after a long exhale. “When to call it quits and send this messenger is the real question.”

“It is indeed, Commander.”

“If we end up needing to abandon ship, it’s possible that the lifepods would sustain us long enough for a Saber to get home and arrange a rescue fleet.”

“If the Hazari don’t shoot the escape pods.”

“In that case, we could-”

“Hot damn!” Vic jubilantly called out from the science station, bringing an end to the conversation between his superiors. “Commander, you’re gonna want to see this.”

S’Geras rolled his eyes, to which Zelenko responded with a shrug before walking over to Vic, again leaning over his shoulder to look at the science console.

“Show me what you’ve got, Travers.”

“Welllll, remember how you tasked me with scanning residual tachyon traces from the previous encounters we’ve had with the Hazari?”

“Yes.”

“Wellllllll,” he said again, grinning ear to ear. “The scanning’s done, and the results are what you could describe as extremely fortuitous.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, Lieutenant.”

“So, it turns out that these Hazari are even more tactically rigid than we thought. Take a look at this…” He pointed at a variety of flight logs compiled by the computer. “There’s only, like, three different attack patterns they use, and each pattern doesn’t change at all between different attacks. They either use pattern one, two, or three. That’s what I call the patterns, at least.” 

Zelenko narrowed her eyes. “Why didn’t we detect this before?”

“Because the real-time active tachyon scanning is too vague. We only get blips every few seconds, and even those aren’t as precise as the dedicated residual scans. With this, we got a decently solid glance at almost everything they’ve done since they started launching torpedoes. And it turns out that at least these Hazari aren’t very creative.”

“That makes a modicum of sense,” Zelenko admitted. “They’ve probably never used cloaks before, and can’t use their normal shield-boost strategy with them activated. If I were the Hazari, I’d probably hug tightly to what I was familiar with in a scenario with this many unknowns.”

“But wait, Commander, it gets even better,” Vic said as his smile managed to grow even wider. “Before I called you over, I plugged these flight plans into a tactical program. When the Hazari attack again, after maybe four or five tachyon blips, the computer will recognize the tactic they’re using and then identify the probable flight path of at least one of the two bandits within a margin of error of, say, ten cubic kilometers.”

“That’s not much more precise than the tachyon blips, is it?”

“No, but because we’ll know where the ship will be thanks to the tactical program, we can use the two deflector dishes to perform simultaneous high-focus scans in the ten cubic kilometer area right as the ship flies into it, and if I’m right, we’ll get a much, much more precise tachyon scan than before. Small enough to get a torpedo lock on. If we tried that with the normal tachyon blips, the ship would be somewhere else once we got the sensors pointed at them.”

Zelenko nodded along as he spoke. “Lieutenant, if you’re right, then you’re gonna get one hell of a commendation when we get home.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Work with Tallera to implement the program. Let’s see if Victor Travers is as smart as he thinks he is.”

“You got it, Skipper,” Vic beamed as he leapt from his seat to work with Tallie at the tactical console. Zelenko took his seat at the science console to monitor for any incoming bandits.

Twenty minutes later, time came to test Vic’s new plan.

“Two tachyon blips, bearing 043-mark-276 at 132,000 klicks,” Zelenko called out, standing and returning to the captain’s chair as Vic bolted back to his seat.

“Alright, Tallie, now or never!” Vic called out as he began plugging data into his program.

“Fire proximity blasts as you normally would,” Zelenko ordered. “We don’t want them figuring out that we’ve got a new plan.

“Aye, Sir,” Tallera confirmed as the Shepard rolled to put the bandits in the arcs of its dorsal arrays. “Prox blasts away.”

“Still calibrating program with tachyon blips,” Vic called out. “Almost there… aight, got it, we know which tactic they’re using. Mack, bring the nose to 085-mark-325 so I can use the deflectors on ‘em.”

“On it!” Mack announced as the Shepard turned its bow towards where Vic’s program estimated one of the bandits to be.

“Scanning now!” Vic announced. “C’mon, baby, c’mon… okay, Tallie, you got a lock?”

Tallera’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “Holy shit, I do. Torpedo lock, right off our bow at 97,000 klicks.”

“Fire,” Zelenko ordered, her hands clenched tight on the forward edges of her armrests.

Three proton torpedoes soared into the void from the Shepard’s rollbar-mounted torpedo launcher, the bridge crew on the edge of their seats as they watched them shrink into the distance… before they saw the telltale explosion of a warp core.

“Yes! Splash one bandit!” Vic declared, jumping from his seat with his arms triumphantly punching the air as the entire crew erupted into an unprofessional but well-deserved cheer. “And the other one’s already bugging out again!” 

“Hot damn, Travers, you may have just saved us all,” Zelenko chuckled as she shook her head. “Well done, LT. Contact Ushaan and Rapier. Tell them how to do exactly what we just did.”

“Aye, Sir. I’ll have to tweak the instructions a bit; they’ve only got one deflector each, so their sensors’ll have to work together to get the proper location like we did.”

“Then by all means, do it. If we can take out two attackers before they realize what’s up, we can work together to chase down the other two the old-fashioned way.”

“Hell yeah, Commander,” Vic said with a smile as he got to work.

For nearly half an hour, the crew sat waiting once again, before S’Geras broke the silence.

“The Sabers detected another attack,” he announced. “They’re engaging per Lieutenant Travers’ instructions.”

“Looks like the Hazari might think what just happened was a fluke,” Zelenko smiled. “Just like we hoped.”

“About time our luck turned around,” Tallera smirked.

“The Sabers just got target lock,” S’Geras continued. “Both are firing… confirmed, target destroyed. Two down, two to go.”

The bridge crew again erupted in cheers.

“And there goes their ability to split their attacks,” Zelenko smiled contently. “We’ll wait and see what the bandits do next, but tell the Sabers-”

“Hang on, we’re getting more from them,” S’Geras cut her off. “They say the bandit that they didn’t destroy just rushed the convoy.”

“What?” Zelenko asked in befuddlement. “Are they shooting at any transports?”

“No torpedo launches detected,” Vic replied. “No tachyon blips either, the ambient energy releases from the transports is obscuring our sensors.”

“I couldn’t shoot at them anyway,” Tallera spoke up. “Any prox blast inside the convoy would damage the transports.”

“So, what, is he just hiding? What’s his long-term plan for-” Vic paused, briefly furrowing his brow before widening his eyes in surprise. “Oh hell, high-yield plasma emissions right off our bow! It’s heading right for us!”

The Hazari raider soared over the Shepard at a range of less than ten kilometers, launching a salvo of plasma torpedoes at point-blank range towards the vessel below as it passed.

Mack gunned the Shepard’s impulse engines to max in an attempt to put space between their ship and the incoming torpedoes as Tallera sent forth a volley of proximity bursts, academy training and intuition forced to take the place of orders in a point-blank defensive action. Firing prox blasts at such close range was highly risky, and the blasts’ detonations sent violent shudders through the Shepard’s hull… but not before taking out five torpedoes.

“Aft shields at 60%! Two more torps closing!” Vic called out, prompting a frantic groan from Mack as he threw the ship into as tight a bank as he could. Unable to turn hard enough to bring about an un-damaged shield facing, he carefully placed the Shepard’s rollbar in-between the torpedoes and the ship’s hull.

Twin explosions rocked the ship like an earthquake, all bridge officers holding onto their seats for dear life as the lights flickered and the ship violently shook around them.

“Status!” Zelenko called out once the impact force seemed to have subsided.

“Aft shield is gone,” Vic grunted from the science station. “Substantial damage to the rollbar, its torpedo pod and phasers are completely shot. The rear EPS grids are nearly overclocked.”

“The last aft array got burnt out in my point defense fire, too,” Tallera said, her voice tinged with a hint of regret. “We’re down to one front dorsal and one front ventral phaser.”

“But no structural damage to the hull?” Zelenko asked.

“Negative,” Vic confirmed, shaking his head. “Looks like the only torpedoes that made it through the prox blasts hit the rollbar. Main hull’s fine.”

Zelenko let out a deep breath. “Mack, Tallera, that was some damn fine defensive work.”

Tallera looked at Mack with a bashful smile, who smirked and shrugged in kind.

“Travers, where’s that bandit that shot at us?” Zelenko continued, mind again on the task at hand. 

“Bugging out, Sir,” Vic replied. “He’s heading back out into… oh, hell, the last one’s back!”

“Bearing!”

“195-mark-167, 4,500 klicks. He’s sneaking up right behind us, looks like he’s been there a minute, too.”

Zelenko narrowed her gaze. “Divert power to bring the aft shields back online. Why hasn’t he launched torpedoes? He’s right where we’re vulnerable.”

“I think he’s trying to get inside our minimum point defense range,” Vic said. “That means he probably doesn’t know our aft phasers are fried.”

Zelenko chewed on her tongue for a split second, then nodded. “Mack, pursue the fleeing bandit.”

Mack raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, burning hard impulse towards the raider who’d torpedoed them and away from the convoy.

“Travers, on my signal, vent hydrogen exhaust from the bussard collectors.”

“Aye, Sir,” Travers nodded with a grin, beginning to understand Zelenko’s plan.

“Helm,” Zelenko continued. “Prepare to split the throttle.”

Mack looked back at her with a manic glee in his eyes. “Really?” 

“Yes, Ensign,” she said with a smile and a nod.

The Shepard continued speeding after the fleeing raider, leaving the convoy further and further behind.

“Pursuing bandit’s closing to 1000 klicks…” Vic called out. “800, now.”

“When it closes to 50, vent the exhaust,” Zelenko ordered.

“Aye, Sir. 700… 600…” 

The bridge tensed as the distance between the pursuer and the vulnerable aft of their ship grew smaller and smaller.

“200… 150… 100… 50! Venting now!” Vic declared, plumes of hydrogen emanating from the front of the Shepard’s warp nacelles and trailing behind them – right into the raider’s flight path. The gas coated its hull and immediately rendered its cloak worthless.

“Can’t hide from that, bastard,” Vic muttered.

“Mack! Now!” Zelenko shouted, and the helmsman flew into action. The Shepard pitched upwards 40 degrees before Mack idled the port impulse engine and boosted the starboard to max, throwing the vessel into a brutal 180-degree yaw spin. The bridge crew braced as the inertial dampeners struggled to negate the intense g-forces, and if it hadn’t been for her lap-belt, Tallera would have been thrown from her seat.

But now the Shepard’s bow – and its remaining phaser arrays – were pointed right at the raider, and the crew knew exactly where it was. 

Tallera didn’t even wait for the order to fire. 

Beams from the two forward arrays fired simultaneously on the distortion in the hydrogen plume, with obvious impacts on the cloaked, unshielded vessel soon appearing. After less than two seconds of sustained barrage, the raider’s warp core exploded.

“Splash three!” Tallera announced triumphantly, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she cycled the phasers’ power suites. 

“Excellent job, everyone,” Zelenko smiled. “Let’s regroup with the convoy and see what this last bandit decides to do.”

“Uh, that might be a bit tricky, Sir,” Mack said, his voice unexpectedly uncertain. “It looks like splitting the throttle may have overpowered the impulse EPS systems, since they were already vulnerable after the torpedo attack. We’re RCS thruster-only, now.”

“Well, that certainly complicates things,” Zelenko said, massaging her temple.

“Commander, I hate to be the bearer of more bad news,” Vic interjected. “But the last bandit is coming around to attack us again. Bearing 205-mark-332 at 52,000 klicks.”

Zelenko’s nostrils flared. “S’Geras, contact Rapier and Ushaan, tell them to converge on our position to hunt the last-”

“Commander, second tachyon blip spotted.”

The bridge fell absolutely silent.

“What.” Zelenko spoke up. “Is there another raider?” 

“Unknown. Bearing 351-mark-029, 131,000 klicks, seems to be on a loose inter – whoa, hang on, it’s decloaking.”

“Onscreen!”

Their viewscreen jumped to the warped shimmer of a ship dropping cloak, and the crew of the Shepard found themselves face to face with a Valdore-class Romulan Warbird.

“Commander, we’re being hailed,” S’Geras spoke up.

“Open a channel,” Zelenko responded, her nostrils flaring again.

“Federation vessels,” a voice called out over the bridge intercom. “This is Republic Warbird RRW Demorax. We detected an anomalous subspace signal in this region, do you require-”

“Demorax, this is USS Shepard,” Zelenko near-shouted as she pressed the captain’s chair’s intercom button. “I apologize to cut you off, but we have no impulse, limited phaser operations, and are under attack by a cloaked enemy raider. We request immediate assistance.”

The bridge was silent for a moment.

“Aye, Shepard, we’re en-route to your position now,” the Warbird responded. “Are you capable of marking the target’s location?”

“Yes, target will be marked.” 

“Confirmed. Hang tight, we’re on our way.”

Zelenko released the intercom and turned her attention to her crew. “Mack, rotate the hull with RCS to bring the surviving arrays to bear on the bandit. Tallera, fire as you bear. Burn out the last phasers if you have to, you mark that tachyon pulse.”

“With pleasure, Sir,” Tallera said, gaze steeled on the again-empty viewscreen as the starfield in front of her rolled with the Shepard’s movements.

“Tachyon blip bearing 037-mark-004, 7,000 klicks,” Vic called out, and Tallera opened fire with an unfettered barrage of proximity blasts, by far the largest she’d fired to date. She couldn’t help but smile as the elegant, winged form of the Demorax soared above and past them towards the blasts in the far distance. Finally, no one had to sit back and protect the convoy – they could engage on their terms, now.

Give ’em hell, fellas, she thought.

“Proximity blasts have revealed bandit location, we have target lock,” Demorax radioed over the intercom.

“S’Geras, follow Demorax’s attack on the viewscreen,” Zelenko ordered, and the screen display jumped to the image of the Warbird sending a volley of plasma bolts into seemingly empty space, where the final Hazari raider exploded.

“Splash four,” Tallera said with a relieved sigh and a smile as the bright glow from the raider’s warp core explosion dissipated into the dark void of space. Vic cackled with glee, and Zelenko nearly collapsed into her captain’s chair as she let out a sigh of her own.

“Commander, the Romulans are hailing us again,” S’Geras said.

“Onscreen,” Zelenko replied, sitting up and straightening out her uniform. The viewscreen switched to a view of the Warbird’s bridge, where a crew of Romulans in olive-drab Republic service jackets looked eagerly back at them.

Tallera had really missed seeing that uniform.

“Shepard, this is Commander Veraka of the Demorax,” the man seated at the Warbird’s command chair spoke up, formal in tone but wearing a warm smile. “Are there any other enemy vessels on your sensors?”

“Negative, Commander,” Zelenko replied, smiling in turn. “That was the last of them. We managed to take out the other three before you arrived.”

“Four cloaked raiders? It sounds like you had a rather rough go of it. Any losses?”

“Yes, three convoy vessels were destroyed,” Zelenko said, her tone switching to a mournful one. “The transports Loran, the Peraxi, and the Chandra. 349 souls in all.”

The Romulan Commander nodded respectfully. “Rough go of it indeed. The Republic will remember their sacrifices. Who was it that attacked you? That vessel we destroyed isn’t showing up in our databanks.”

“Hazari pirates or mercenaries, we believe. From the Delta Quadrant. If they were hired to do this, we do not know by whom.”

“Delta Quadrant?” the Commander scoffed. “Well, you’ve certainly had a unique expedition, Shepard. Hopefully your next one’s a bit simpler.”

“One can only hope,” Zelenko said with a soft smile. “How were you able to find us, Commander? The Hazari were jamming our subspace communications.”

“We’d already been sent out to perform search and rescue once your convoy didn’t arrive on schedule. We detected an anomalous subspace pulse from this area about eight hours ago, and came to investigate.”

Zelenko nodded. “That was a little something put together by one of our comm teams to try and pierce the signal jamming. I’m glad to hear it worked.” 

Well done, T’Vrin, she thought.

“Indeed,” Commander Veraka continued. “How are you holding up, Shepard? You said your impulse engines and phasers are down, do you have any other issues?”

“Other than some power system failures and damage to the rollbar, we’re all in one piece. The other escorts are in better shape than we are.”

“Would you like us to tow you the rest of the way? Our engineers can help fix you up on Virinat.”

“That would be much appreciated. Thank you.”

“Commander, it is I who should be thanking you. Prepare for tractor beam towing and warp jump in 20 minutes. Demorax out.”

Without another word, the viewscreen switched back to starfield as the Warbird took position in front of them. The Shepard jostled slightly as Demorax locked tractor beams before returning to smooth sailing.

“Contact the flotilla,” Zelenko ordered S’Geras.

“Channel open, Sir.”

“Convoy RN-775, this is ComEscort. All threats to the convoy have been eliminated. Shepard will be towed the rest of the way by the Romulan Republic Warbird Demorax, who is relieving Shepard of the ComEscort position. Thank you for your cooperation in this endeavor.”

“ComEscort, this is ComConvoy,” the gravely voice of Captain Fletcher of the SS Ranek replied. “Thank you for your protection. You can’t hear ‘em, but our lads are chanting the Shepard’s name over here.”

Zelenko smiled. “Just glad we made it in one piece, Ranek. Shepard out.”

She closed the channel, then reclined in her chair. “S’Geras,” she ordered. “Contact the relief bridge staff, tell them their shift begins in five. Shepard bridge crew?” She turned her attention to the other three officers. “Thank you for your exemplary service these past few days. You stand relieved.”

One by one, the exhausted bridge officers made their way off the Shepard’s bridge and back to the residential decks. Tallera and Mack were the last to leave, taking the turbolift to their quarters on deck 4.

Tallera looked over at the helmsman, who seemed to be fighting to stay awake.

“Hey, congrats on finally getting to split the throttle,” she said with a halfhearted smirk. “Guess you were right about how useful that could be.”

“Well, you were right about how dangerous it could be, too,” he replied with a chuckle. “If it wasn’t for your people coming to save our asses, we might’ve been dead in the water after the engines croaked.”

“Eh, that only happened because I overclocked the aft EPS with the defensive prox blasts.”

“You mean when you saved the ship with defensive prox blasts?”

“Well, I guess we both saved the ship by tearing up the power systems,” Tallera smiled. Mack responded with a laugh.

“Hey,” Tallera continued, feeling uncharacteristically socially bold. “Me, Vic, and a couple officers from the lower decks hang out in the Chief Science Officer quarters after our shifts sometimes. You want to come? I mean, not now, of course. I think we all need to sleep. But, next time.”

“Yeah. You bet,” Mack smiled as the pair approached his room’s door. “Sounds like fun. I’ll see you around, Tallera.”

“Later, Mack.”

The flight officer trudged into his quarters and shut the door behind him, leaving Tallera blissfully alone for the first time in far too many hours. Standing a little straighter, she began her walk home.

Walking further down the corridor and turning a corner, Tallera found herself face-to-face with none other than T’Vrin. The Vulcan’s appearance made Dreval look well-coiffed by comparison; she had dark shadows under her bloodshot eyes, her hair was a wreck, and her uniform wasn’t even sitting correctly on her shoulders.

To be fair, Tallera doubted that she looked any better herself.

“Ensign,” T’Vrin flatley greeted her, not bothering to make eye contact. 

Perhaps it was the high from surviving combat, perhaps it was the increased confidence from finally breaking the ice with Mack, Tallera didn’t know. But she decided to offer an olive branch.

“Well done on that communications breakthrough, T’Vrin,” she said with a weak smile. “You might have saved the ship more than anyone else.”

“That is an irrelevant compliment,” T’Vrin replied.

Tallera rolled her eyes and prepared to complain, but the Vulcan continued.

“Because it was my early detection of the plasma decoy that cost the lives of all 157 crewmembers of the SS Loran. Had I been more skilled at my station, I would have identified its true identity and not left the convoy under-defended during the initial attack. That is not something that can be outweighed by simply being part of a team that helps break through a communications jam.”

Tallera raised her eyebrows and scoffed, completely unsure how to respond.

“Nevertheless, your attempt at commendation is appreciated, Romulan,” T’Vrin continued. “As I understand it, you performed admirably at the tactical console during this operation.”

Without another word, T’Vrin turned away from Tallera and strode off to her room.