Even now, as I rest in my bed, the silence assaults my senses and drags me home, kicking and screaming in defiance. A deafening silence; an interminable, restless silence. Then there was a nausea-inducing, insurmountable stench of rotting flesh and charred remains that engulfed the air. A duvet of dark and threatening clouds sporadically disturbed by the glimmer of moonlight that shone through the planets that encircled our villages. Dead planets, with singed rubber leaves and scorched stems. Roots rotten to the very core.

 

The sky, or what sky that could be seen, was navy blue as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Darkness approached. A new, pungent, and unexplained odour penetrated the nostrils, mixed in with a whiff of stale tulau root that could shrivel the taste buds. Layer upon layer of dust lined every inch of every room, of every house, of every path and of every farm. A dust hiding layers of secrets and sins.

 

Sins of the son long since gone.

 

And as I lay in the safety of my quarters, cradling a cup of the preferred liquid sustenance of my hosts, glistening tears of inadequacy soak my wrinkled skin. Yet again, I wonder how it could have come to this.

 

A village, relatively small and cradled like a baby in the arms of the surrounding flora and fauna. Figures stood, shivering, until night surrounded them, the moon struggling to penetrate the cloudy canopy above. The leaves were unyielding, hanging on firm in the sudden chill that succeeded sunset. The sounds of unseen creatures and of the creeping dead chilling us to the bone as we slowly breathed in a dank mustiness that filled our nostrils and burnt our insides. With darkness fully set in, only the waning glimmer of light from the moon illuminating the village, we took one last, lingering look. Only the thin rays of moonlight illuminated the landscape, and it made us sorrowful to know that this was once a thriving village… now turned into a desolate consummation of filth and misery… and death. And still I wonder how it could have come to this.

 

Back on the comparative safety of my new home, even with bulkheads compromised, power offline on several decks, engines disabled for who knows how long, and a rising death toll, I wonder if it was really worth it?

 

Peace has returned to Un’gar, but at what cost? How many lives have the people of the Federation given to restore freedom to my home world? And why? Because of some old defence pact signed before I was born? How is that right? How is that just? How am I expected to sleep at night?

 

How could it have come to this?

For most it was proving hard to fathom that it had only been a matter of days since the liberation of Un’gar had begun, for Or’uil, it was damn near impossible. There had been nights aplenty where the young Ungeat had dreamed in such vivid detail about the world he had left behind so long ago. Such detail that when he woke now he would find himself confused, forgetting for a fraction of a second that the world he had known was long since gone. And every time he woke, for the minutes that followed, he felt the same sense of grief all over again, the same feeling of loss of things he never even considered missing. He’d never been one to dwell on flowers, the shape of a tree or passing clouds – poetry hadn’t been his thing. He’d never longed for a life in space. He’d simply wanted to make his family proud. Then Starfleet came to Un’gar, and everything changed. Once the sadness of loss became less acute, he’d go about his business as if nothing had happened. But it had, and he’d be scarred by them for the rest of his life cycle. Part of him wondered if the dreams would change if one day they’d be the same monochrome shadows of his days…

Days like today, when he would go back to his Starfleet roots, and would lend a hand with repairs, anything he could do to shake the feeling of failure that threatened to engulf him every waking moment. Whether it was working on the propulsion systems in engineering, or the energy transfer conduits that had fried on deck seven, or, like today, when he simply did what he could to help give his adoptive family their favourite space back.

Perhaps the most spacious of all the recreational facilities aboard Hathaway, the Starlight Lounge was by far the most popular place to go – until liberation day. Built across two levels, it was one of the most spacious facilities on the ship and was never quiet – until liberation day. With dozens of seating areas across both levels, with varying degrees of comfort and privacy, the room was usually a constant hive of activity for anyone and everyone aboard the ship – until liberation day. People would come to work in a relaxed, but active environment, or they would come to sit and read while people milled about and conducted their business – until liberation day. Food would be obtained either from replicators dotted around the room or from the lounge staff who would serve bar snacks and beverages around the clock – until liberation day. The room’s most exquisite feature was the large, floor-to-ceiling aquarium that he had once helped to maintain alongside the science division, an aquarium that housed some thirty different species of marine life – until liberation day. Everything changed on liberation day. Everything.

Furniture was scattered all over the place; features and ornaments had broken; light fightings had fallen from the sky. Stairs had collapsed, and glass safety rails had smashed. But as the adolescent Ungeat stood at the heart of the devastated lounge, it was the shattered glass of the aquarium that upset him the most. The carpet was flooded, damp beneath the feet of anyone who approached the tank. And all around him, the space was littered with the bodies of dead aquatic life forms that once glided through the tank’s warm water with effortless ease. It hurt. It really hurt.

It was probably a weird thing for someone to fixate on, especially given everything that had transpired of late, but for the young Ungeat, whose entire civilisation had been built on farming and aquaculture, and had an affinity with the flora and fauna that inhabited their worlds with them, these lost lives were another symbol of how he had failed. He had let his people down when they needed him the most. When the armoured vehicles and the soldiers rolled in, where was he? He wasn’t there, protecting his people; he’d left them behind years ago for a career in Starfleet. He had let these wonderful creatures die.

Watching from a distance, a dark-haired figure observed the peculiar-looking creature from the planet Uviri. She had always found the man to be quite intriguing, and unlike any creature she had served with yet. From his choice of words and his matter-of-fact tone to the mannerisms he exhibited; a head that bobbed from side to side when talking, the nasal tone to his voice, even the inadvertent stare he gave because of the lack of eyelids. She found him refreshingly honest, and easy to read – until liberation day. Everything had changed for him that day, and seeing him now, staring at the ground, so alone, even at the heart of the social centre of the ship, helped her to feel his pain.

When he began to move, she strained to see what he was doing, only to gasp and lift her trembling fingers to her lips. Slowly, softly, and one at a time he picked up each of the sea creatures that had perished in the attack. Holding them so gently in his palm, he bowed his head and whispered kind words to the creatures before placing them on a blanket on a table beside him. It took him several gut-wrenching minutes until she could no longer just watch her colleague. Weaving her way through the devastated lounge, she lifted chairs and tables on her path to the Ungeat. When it became possible to hear his words, she stopped and listened respectfully.

“Mo gbe soke si o, Ẹmi Nla ti awọn baba, awọn ti o sọnu li ọjọ oni,” his voice reflective and sad as he cradled a small, orange fish with white and black stripes. “Fun wọn ni itunu ati alaafia rẹ. Fun awọn ti o kù, jẹ ki wọn kọ bi a ṣe le gba isonu bi ayẹyẹ igbesi aye, kii ṣe opin ọkan.” He bowed his head one last time before spinning and gently laying the fish to rest with the rest in his blanket. When he finally caught a glimpse of the nearby woman, he bowed, ever so slightly and respectfully, to her.

“Amphiprion ocellaris,” he smiled a sad smile. “I believe the Terrans call it a… Clownfish? I’ve never understood that, since clowns are supposedly funny. But I’ve never understood them, either. Good day to you Counsellor,” he finally nodded in acknowledgement of her presence.

“Hello Or’uil,” the Betazoid nodded in return to his greeting, “I heard what you were saying… it sounded beautiful. Was it a prayer or blessing of some sort?” She asked as he picked up another creature.

“I seek a blessing from my ancestors,” he told her through his synthesiser, head bobbing as he spoke, “I lift to you, Great Spirits of the Ancestors, those who are lost on this day. Grant them your comfort and peace. For those that remain, may they learn how to embrace loss as a celebration of life, not the end of one.” He looked at the creature, and then the Betazoid. “It doesn’t have quite the same impact in Federation standard.”

“It’s still incredibly kind and thoughtful,” Chiera told him reassuringly, “I understand your people have a strong, almost telepathic bond with the creatures on your world?” She asked, seeking to engage in dialogue with him further, she gestured to a nearby seat and toppled it back to its normal position.

“We believe that all beings are equal, and without one, the balance of life shifts until equilibrium can be restored,” he told her, taking the preferred seat and sitting opposite her. “I believe we could call that death and rebirth. A blessing is the least I could do, after everything…” he trailed off, looking over his shoulder at the devastation around the room.

“None of this was your fault, Or’uil,” Vittoria whispered to him, leaning forward and placing a caring hand upon his trembling knee. “From what I saw, and what I have heard, you did everything you possibly could have for your people,” her voice cracked, betraying the sadness she felt for him in this time of great grief.

“It was not enough,” he responded, his voice a more ‘normal’ tone. “My people counted on me to save them, and I failed.”

“No, Or’uil, you didn’t,” Chiera shook her head vigorously, “Millions on that planet below will argue that they live because of you. Take pride in that,” she reminded him.

“And what of the billions who died through my inaction?” He asked of her, tilting his head as he spoke, his bulbous eyes trained on the Counsellor the entire time they conversed.

“It wasn’t your inaction,” the Counsellor disagreed quite vociferously, “it was Starfleet’s. We could have, should have, responded much sooner than we did. But remember, no one would be in the position we find ourselves in if the Dominion hadn’t emerged from their hibernation and rekindled their alliance with the Breen.”

Her statement was an assessment of facts, but it was something the Lieutenant didn’t need to hear right now. Rising back to his feet, the tactical officer looked down at the Counsellor. “People have their own way of handling grief, Counsellor. I must now try and do what I can for my family here, as they are the only family I have left.” He nodded to her respectfully and moved back to the destroyed aquarium. “Equilibrium must be restored…” he whispered as he walked away.

Standing, the Betazoid watched the young man go back to his ritualistic blessings, sensing sadness, and loneliness, but also some semblance of peace. By seeking blessings here, was imparting blessings elsewhere, and it gave him just a glimmer of light at the end of a very long tunnel. Smiling, she began to walk away, stopping momentarily to listen as the Ungeat spoke his beautiful native tongue once again.

“Mo gbe soke si o, Ẹmi Nla ti awọn baba, awọn ti o sọnu li ọjọ oni,” he began again, a blessing for much, much more than just the creature he held in his palm.

Glancing back at the newest member of the Hathaway family, and then at the scene of devastation around her, the Betazoid’s smile faded. She found herself focusing on a question she had not yet asked herself, a question being strongly projected from various minds across the ship. It was the question on nearly everyone’s lips.

How could it have come to this?

So much had transpired over the course of the last week that being shunted in a sideways promotion probably seemed like something stupid to be concerned about, but for the adolescent Ungeat who had, until yesterday, been operations chief, a ‘promotion’ to tactical was really getting to him. Or was it the fact that, as tactical chief, he’d now be heavily involved in planning and delivering on the liberation of his home world? Yes, it was probably the latter. He’d obviously had the prerequisite training as part of the wider operations field to be able to do the job, but he was in no way a specialist like Noli, or Lieutenant Bellurr. Now he was not only going to keep the ship and crew safe but be heavily involved in the more militaristic side of the upcoming mission. Same gold uniform, but it was a far cry from power distribution and system maintenance. Noli had assured him that it would be temporary, and only a necessity because of their target, but that didn’t help him to feel more comfortable at all. Not in the slightest. They were, however, his orders. Orders he would follow.

That would probably be quite difficult for anyone else to comprehend – the fact he was more motivated to go along with the plan because they were orders rather than the fact this was the liberation of his homeworld – but anyone who took the time to talk with him and explore the relationship he had with his people would probably understand. Uviri was a satellite colony, established decades after the Ungeat people had first achieved space flight, and centuries before they achieved warp drive. It was a small world, with very little land mass, and thus, very little in the way of a population, but to those who lived there it was paradise. Many were farmers who, on the whole, rejected much of the new path being forged by the Ungeat people, and this was where the conflict came from within the poor Ungeat officer. He was unlike his family, and his friends. He’d been born on Uviri, grew up there, and was positioned to take over the family business in the aquaculture sector when a chance encounter with Starfleet almost thirteen years ago had changed everything. What the Starfleet officers had been doing on Uviri at the time was anyone’s guess, although it was clear to him now – they had been there to either establish or seek to establish the Sanctum. That didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was the fact that he had been inspired to pursue a career among the stars, against the wishes of his family. It was, to all intents and purposes, his destiny. He believed that leaving the system and joining Starfleet would be a legacy for his people to be proud of. It hadn’t panned out that way. To this day, not a single member of his kind (other than himself) had joined Starfleet, or even shown any interest in doing so, and his push for his people to finally join the Federation had so far been resisted. It made the mission put before him all the more difficult.

How could he stand by and let Starfleet risk the lives of their people for his, when they wouldn’t have lifted a finger to defend themselves, or when they had resisted every attempt to further the relationship between them and the Federation? How could he let his new family risk their lives for his biological family who hadn’t even spoken to him since he had left the homeworld? It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right. And while it didn’t sit right with him, those were his orders. He’d never so much as bent an order to his will, let alone outright disobeyed one, and he wasn’t about to start now.

He couldn’t dwell on his misgivings, so instead he got straight to work on accomplishing his objectives. As such, the first thing he had discussed with Noli had been the requisitioning of as many additional security personnel for this invasion as possible. Luckily, the TFXO had arrived with a space whale and dozens of additional security teams. Or’uil had used his newfound powers as head of security to requisition all facilities and spare rooms on deck five to make room for the additional personnel. Almost one hundred and fifty extra security officers found themselves temporarily housed in holodecks, cargo bays and crew quarters. Those members of the Hathaway crew had been temporarily (and in some cases quite happily) assigned to spare VIP quarters and guest quarters while the security officers made themselves at home aboard their new ship. Bellurr, who ordinarily may have been understandably annoyed at Or’uil’s promotion, had proven to be a valuable asset during the transfer and relocation of the additional personnel. Of course, it wasn’t just the people, but it was the supplies too. Crates of additional phasers, explosive devices, protective body armour and combat fatigues had been transported aboard and were in the process of being distributed.

Whilst the details of the mission were still sketchy, word had already reached the soldiers of their Cardassian ‘allies’, and it wasn’t sitting well with them. After the last war, and how the Cardassians behaved then, many still found it difficult to trust them. Then there was the question of whether the Cardassians would return any land they took when the time came. Not that that was a real question of course, the troops now under his command were already indicating their willingness to fight for any system occupied by any outside force; it didn’t matter whether it was Dominion, Breen, or even Cardassians.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Shaking his head, the Ungeat titled his oversized cranium as he looked towards his assistant, and the owner of the voice. He decided that he would need to be honest with Mayr if this new working relationship was to be a success. “I am struggling with the ethics of this mission,” the Ungeat told the hybrid woman, who stood beside him and watched the work being carried on around them.

“Oh?” She asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“These officers are willing to fight and die for my homeworld, for a people they would likely never meet under normal circumstances,” he told, clear admiration in his synthesised voice, “but how is that right? How can we ask that for a people who try to distance themselves from Starfleet whenever talks of closer relations begin?”

Mayr shrugged, a smile creeping on her face. “We’re Starfleet, Lieutenant. We go where we are needed, not where we are asked.”

“I believe you are right,” the Ungeat nodded, a salute to her wisdom. “How does the transfer proceed?” he asked of her, noting a crew member pushing an antigrav sled of supplies past them.

“It’s complete,” she confirmed, handing over a data PADD. “One hundred and forty-four security officers and supplies all counted and verified. I’ve had Ops reallocate the energy stores from the Breen prisoners to us, to help with preparations.”

Very efficient, thought the chief. “Did the prisoner transfer proceed as scheduled?”

Mayr nodded. “They didn’t like having to take them, but when the Captain insisted they would be a drain on our resources for the mission, the TFXO didn’t have much choice,” Bellurr smirked, hands on hips as she watched the last of the supplies make their way into the holodeck storage area.

“Excellent news,” Or’uil bobbed his head happily. “Make sure our teammates are comfortable. Upon my return, we will discuss mission specifics.”

In the hour that followed, Or’uil conversed with many people across the ship. He’d briefed the XO on the situation with the security personnel and supplies; he’d chatted with Tuca about the specifics of his planet’s physical attributes, and the likely locations of the Sanctum; he’d even set up a meeting with Akaria to go through more mission details pertaining to his homeworld in the morning. For now, his shift was over, and that meant switching off, and away from any mention of the mission.

There would be plenty of time for that tomorrow.

Encircled by one of the largest, most dense asteroid belts ever recorded, the Un’gar system was nature at its very best. With a mixture of swirling clouds, beautiful worlds and a bright blue star, it was easy to see why the home of the Ungeat people would be a target for invaders even before other things came into the equation. From orbit you couldn’t see the bustling, highly industrialised areas that were booming, the Dilithium refineries churning out masses of the crystals every day, or even the legendary agriculture and aquaculture centres that had become synonymous with the natives. And, as Flyboy put it, “If you couldn’t see them, there wasn’t a cat in hells chance you would see The Sanctum”. Whatever the metaphor truly meant, the sentiment was right. The Sanctum was a classified Starfleet listening post that few knew about, and even fewer could hope to find. Luckily for Hathaway, Or’uil was on hand to try and help, as much as he possibly could anyway.

During the mission’s planning phase, the Starfleet crew had kept the true purpose of their mission a secret from their Cardassian allies. No one outside of the Fourth Fleet command structure, save for the crew of the uniquely qualified Hathaway, knew their true intentions. On the surface, it was a mission to retake or, if necessary, destroy the Dilithium refineries. But far beneath the surface (literally) their task was simple; locate, retake and hold The Sanctum. Less simple when the ‘at all costs’ caveat had been applied. Even less so when having to keep it a total secret from one’s allies in this grand venture.

With the Hathaway strike force inbound on their target, the bridge and her new senior staff in their unfamiliar territories were surprisingly calm. At the front of the bridge, Lieutenant Prida was getting used to being back at Ops, a place she hadn’t served since her days on the Santa Fe, which weren’t all that long ago in truth but felt like an age. Behind her, the blonde bombshell herself was adjusting to a new seat, and a new coloured uniform to boot. Like Prida, Noli had come a long way since their days under Captain Farrell on the Santa Fe, but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine serving as XO, even on a temporary basis. Then, of course, there was the resident Ungeat. Or’uil, accompanied by Mayr Bellurr, was growing accustomed to being at the tactical wall, rather than the forward Ops position. It gave him a greater perspective of what was happening in the command centre, and almost encouraged him to participate more in bridge conversations.

“Alright Mister Tuca,” Captain Kauhn looked to his left, “one more time, from the top.”

Sitting in the chair to the Captain’s right, the Alzek strategist nodded, tapping a command on his command chair and pulling up a moving diagram on the forward viewscreen. “Phase one of the invasion focuses on the strike group gaining space superiority. As we know, the Dominion forces are spreading themselves thin at present with major assaults elsewhere, so we are not expecting major resistance,” he told, then the screen changed, zooming in on the planets themselves. “Phase two is the liberation of the planets. Once space superiority is secured, Cardassian forces will land on Un’gar and seek to liberate the planet. Lieutenant Bellurr will lead a fifty-strong security force to retake the Federation embassy. Phase three sees the Hellhounds destroy air defences around the dilithium refineries on Uviri. I will then lead a fifty-strong force to secure the refineries and return them to friendly hands. If this is not possible, we will destroy the facilities and prevent the Dominion from having any further benefit from them.”

The briefing from the Alzek couldn’t help but make the young Ungeat feel even more appreciative of the efforts his adopted family were willing to go to for the liberation of his people. At least they cared. At least they worried about the fate of others.

“The final phase will be the securing of the Sanctum. This will involve a small away team, consisting of Or’uil, Henry, Teanne, Prida, Commander Noli and ten security officers,” the Alzek told, everyone in silence for the continued briefing, “You will take two runabouts, Kaedn and Kirsen, and navigate to the Sanctum. You will land, secure the facility and hold it until news of our victory is confirmed, or until reinforcements arrive.”

“Any questions?” Captain Kauhn asked, looking at each of the senior officers and their understudies in turn. Not a single hand was raised.

“Alright then,” Giarvar nodded, “Or’uil. Are you ready to go home?”

Turning in his seat, the Ungeat looked at the Captain with a cocked head. Nodding, he gave a silent indication that he was ready to commence the liberation of his homeworld.

“Lieutenant Prida, inform the Cardassians that we’re going in, and we’re going in full throttle. No one stops until we reach Un’gar,” the Captain instructed.

The Un’gar system was a blaze with weapons fire in the hour that followed. The joint Starfleet-Cardassian strike group encountered heavier resistance than anticipated, with two Dominion fighter wings defending the system ferociously, and to the end. Although it was the lone Starfleet vessel in the group, Hathaway acquitted herself well, as always, destroying two of the fighters and crippling a third before the Cardassians declared themselves able to deal with the threat above Un’gar. That was the opening she needed. Fighting her way through the crowd, the Sagan-class starship dropped into a low orbit above Uviri’s northern continent, home to the target for the Hellhounds part of the mission.

Within a matter of minutes, every single starfighter aboard Hathaway began to descend to the planet’s surface, in two attack wings of 6, each with their designated targets. This allowed them to distract the enemy from Hathaway’s main mission. From the lower shuttle bay, two of the largest auxiliary craft in service, but also some of the more manoeuvrable, deployed from their berths. The Arrow-class runabouts hurtled through the mid-morning haze, descending through the clouds towards the misty Eerie Mountain range. Once the clouds encompassing the rock faces came into range, sensors became distorted, consoles went on the fritz and tension levels rose significantly.

“Slow to thrusters,” Noli ordered both vessels over an open comm channel. “We’re line of sight from here on out.”

“Not going to lie,” Ensign Udraa groaned as the ship began to feel sluggish, “I’m sure the fighters would have been better suited to this flying by the seat of their pants business…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Henry chimed in over the comm, “They may be good in a single person fighter, but it takes a different breed of person to pilot a starship through a crisis.”

“Amen to that brother,” Teanne laughed, mere seconds before collision alarms sounded. Out of the mist, a steep rock face loomed large dead ahead, causing screams and shouts as the Ensign swung her ship hard to starboard, upping the speed to give her additional momentum to get out of the danger zone.

“That escalated quickly,” she breathed a sigh of relief, referencing the sudden shift in cloud cover.

Similar moves were required dozens of times in the next ten minutes or so, each time more deadly and last second than the last. Until the cloud cover seemed to fade in one particular spot; a spot that was surely why the mountain pass had the name that it did.

On the nearest rock face, it was clear that dozens of ships had met their end here, on this particular part of the course. Littered with debris and scorch marks, it was clear for all to see that many a ship had crashed there, their crews dying a horrible death. No wonder it was called the Eerie Mountains.

“I’m detecting dozens of different ships,” Or’uil told from the copilot’s seat, analysing the readings on the display before him. “At least three of them are recent, and Jem’Hadar.”

“They know about the listening post,” Noli surmised, her years of experience in the tactical field proving to be more than useful again. “That can be the only explanation for their presence here,” the XO remarked, sharing a concerned glance with the new tactical chief.

“Let’s hope this is the closest they got,” Or’uil remarked, shooting a glance back at the XO.

As it turned out, it wasn’t.

It took almost an hour of painstaking course corrections, high-speed manoeuvres and praying to the prophets (for which everyone was thankful to Noli) before the sensors registered anything close to a sign of life anywhere within their range. As soon as they did, everyone knew they had located the Sanctum – it was the only reason anyone would be in such a secluded area.

As the cloud cover began to dissipate, the sight they had all dreaded came into view – a Dominion dropship, indicating that the Dominion had, at the very least, located the small outpost and landed their forces.

“We’ll beam down to the surface and ascertain the situation, and whether the Dominion have captured the listening post,” Noli instructed, looking around the cockpit, eliciting nods from those supporting her. “Runabouts stay mobile and ready for emergency beam outs. If needs be, we destroy the whole damn valley.”

“We cannot leave the Sanctum in the hands of the Jem’Hadar…”

As an epic battle for space superiority raged hundreds of kilometres above, Hathaway used her new systems to support an atmospheric launch of her starfighters. Strafing high above her target, her massive bay doors parted and the twelve starfighters that made up the Hellhounds squadron quickly barrelled towards the planet’s surface. Hathaway soon ascended to the heavens to rejoin the fight to liberate the Ungeat home worlds, leaving the Hounds to their business, a venture they were uniquely qualified for.

Like a swarm of bees, the dozen fighters dropped through the clouds at incredible speeds before forming up in their respective flights. Through the morning clouds, their targets came into view; five towering structures totally out of keeping with the rest of the landscape around them. Dilithium refineries churning away in a bid to power the Dominion’s continued war effort.

“Hounds, you know what to do. Hammer the defences and create a perimeter for the away team,” the Andorian squadron leader reminded his people, despite knowing they had committed the plan to memory and were more than capable. The reminder was for his own sanity, rather than theirs. His people knew their mission, and their preparations were impeccable in the run-up to launch day.

With smoke billowing from the chimney stacks of the refineries, the targets were now in plain sight. At their base, dozens of automated weapons emplacements activated, their turrets trained on the advancing swarm. In the intervening seconds before the weapons turrets unleashed their fury, the men and women of the Hellhounds had a final moment to prey to whatever deity they chose to believe in, but once the turrets had them in their sights, all hell broke loose. It quickly became abundantly clear that the defensive systems had had a Dominion-inspired upgrade; their shields were stronger, their weapons high powered and full of energy. And instead of the phased energy they had been briefed on, the Hounds now had to face the reality of polaron-based beams and torpedoes, making their mission much harder.

“I don’t recall any mention of those in the briefing notes…” was a sentiment shared across the squadron as they hurtled towards their destination. For some, it would be their final destination.

Mere seconds later, enemy weapons were unleashed upon the advancing squadron with furious anger, creating a flak screen that rendered both sensors and windows obsolete. Engulfed by angry and terrified voices, the Hounds’ comm array threatened to overload until their Andorian unit commander stepped in.

“Can it!” He barked. “Get through the protective screen and make every shot count. You can do this…” he trailed off, the final thought reverberating through his mind, his cranium and his helmet as the Valkyrie-class fighter rattled beneath him. Like his pilots, he was highly trained, but this was something new. Terrifyingly new.

For what felt like an eternity, the flak continued until one of the starfighters from Gold Flight broke into pieces and exploded in a ball of light.

“POINTY’s gone…” a concerned voice came across the channel. The Vulcan pilot wouldn’t be the last to perish on that fateful day.

Emerging from the worst of the protective fire, the starfighters finally had their targets in weapons range. Strafing run after strafing run ensued, torpedoes and pulse phaser fire absorbed by the Dominion-reinforced shields for what felt like an eternity. But just when it felt like resistance would be futile, a massive explosion from one of the defence turrets signalled that there was hope to be had. For a time anyway. Until Hounds 6 and 8 burst into flames anyway, ploughing their fighters into their targets to cause maximum damage in the ultimate sacrifice. From then on it was a free for all. Formations went out the proverbial window and chaos ensued until one by one the turrets began to cease and the flak fire stopped.

The starfighters had done their job, at a heavy price too, and now it was the turn of Lieutenant Tuca and his security team.

Thousands of miles from the epic battle raging around the Uviri Dilithium refineries, aged, yellow bricks were lit up by the trademark hues of Federation transporter technology. Open air tunnels, enclosed from all but above were filled with the figures of armed Starfleet officers. As per the mandate assigned to them by their new security chief, the security teams swept the ancient corridors for any signs of life, including using tricorder adaptations learnt from the first war to scan for any sign of the infamous ‘Houdini’ mines. Only authorising the mission to proceed when they were happy that no booby traps had been laid, Or’uil stepped forward and headed down the tunnels.

A thing of Ungeat legend, the Eerie Mountains had been awe-inspiring enough, but to have the opportunity to finally explore the fascinating ruins of the early settlers was humbling. It was something the adolescent had prayed for his entire life, and in a fashion, Starfleet had made it happen. As had the Dominion. It was strange to find oneself being thankful for one’s enemy but on this occasion, he couldn’t help it – it was highly likely that without the conflict, he’d have never come home again, let alone investigated some of the most peculiar ruins on the planet.

“Hey!” A gentle hand grazed the Ungeat’s arm and drew his attention back to their environment. “You ok?” Commander Noli asked her successor at tactical.

“It is… surreal,” Or’uil confessed, his bulbous eyes glancing at the Bajoran, then down the tunnel again. “Ungeat dream about exploring these regions, and here I am, living the dream as the sector explodes around us,” he grimaced, looking to the heavens, imaging the raging battle high above them.

“Dreams are to be fulfilled my friend,” Noli put a gentle arm around the youngster. “I’m glad I can help you to achieve yours,” she grinned.

It was not wasted on the young Ungeat that this was a version of Noli far removed from the ‘Bajoran Badass’ persona she had cultivated in the last year or so, but he greatly appreciated the positive touch she was now showing. It made the transition, however brief, easier to achieve.

Together, they led the away team along the open-topped tunnel until the Ungeat spotted the first worrying signs; scorch marks from weapons impacts on the stone walls indicated a recent fight, made all the more real by the sudden appearance of bodies – Ungeat, Starfleet and Dominion alike – littering the walkway towards the final chamber.

“I’m counting at least twenty-five bodies,” Or’uil informed the team before stepping aside and waving his security team ahead of them.

Phaser rifles drawn, prone crawling forwards, the ‘soldiers’ scoured every inch of the tunnel network for any threat, but the bodies simply mounted in what appeared to have been some sort of running battle that had taken place. Even when they launched the final assault into the Sanctum itself, they faced no resistance of any kind. Aged computer consoles that had been jury-rigged to work with Starfleet technology sat idle, their displays dimmed and their sensors offline. Bodies littered the room and more phaser burns showed the severity of the resistance that had been put up by the Ungeat operators and their Starfleet colleagues.

With the security team securing the area, Noli and her Ungeat friend were left to survey the damage done. It was clear that the two opposing forces had annihilated each other, neither side willing to give ground in their pursuit of victory. It was strange, after witnessing so much death, but it kind of felt like the Starfleet forces had been successful; they had kept the listening post out of Jem’Hadar hands, and the new teams from Hathaway would be able to not only secure it but put it to good use once again – or so Or’uil hoped.

Since his team were busy setting up a perimeter, the Ungeat made a beeline for the main computer in the facility. It was a fusion of two species coming together, and it was a technological marvel. His swift analysis indicated that nothing was wrong with the system, simply that it had been deactivated when the Dominion advance on the Sanctum began, and the absence of any Ungeat or Starfleet survivors meant there was no one to reactivate it.

“Where would you like me to direct the receiver?” The Ungeat looked to his commanding officer for guidance before activating the machine once again.

“Direct it into the Deneb sector. We need to find out what the situation is at Farpoint and beyond,” the Bajoran instructed, joining her colleague at the controls to the sensor array.

Putting his years of operations experience to good use, the Lieutenant input all of the appropriate commands in order to activate the system, and waited for the final nod from Noli before activating the massive sensor array. When permission had been given, a final flick of a switch sent lights pulsing up the antennae of the receiver array. It took mere seconds before the initial telemetry came in, and the news they received was not good. Not good at all.

The recycled air inside the Arrow-class runabout Kaedn was so brittle it could snap, and if it didn’t, there was every chance that Or’uil might. To say that the young Ungeat’s return to his home world of Uviri had been a success was a massive overstatement, especially after what they had learned when reactivating the listening post. Starfleet forces were at risk of being overrun if the so-called ‘Lost Fleet’ somehow coordinated their efforts into one final attack. An attack on the one place that had so far proven well out of reach, but would destroy any hope of a Starfleet counteroffensive. Every attack across the sector seemed to have had a part to play in softening up Starfleet’s ability to defend the strongest of all its strongholds in the region – Farpoint Station. But most of all, it was the news slightly closer to home for the Ungeat that really caused the tension levels to rise. No one could speak after what they had heard, what was there to say? Platitudes, apologies and commiserations wouldn’t cut it right now. A week ago, the adolescent tactician with bulbous eyes, comically large ears and a robotic-sounding voice was oblivious to the pain and suffering of his people, quietly going about his business and carrying out his duties. Platitudes were all anyone was sharing, anything to ease the terrible burden of worry that he felt. Not now. Now they were faced with the harsh brutalities of war, and he felt more than a little guilty at not being here for his people, and at the ever-rising death toll.

In some of the first data packets received from the listening post upon its activation, the team had garnered their own update on the fate of the battle in the Un’gar system. With Hathaway somehow out of reach, the away team had had no choice but to try and find out the fate of their colleague’s mission. All had quickly come to regret knowing. Especially the system’s native crew member. Whilst the Cardassians had apparently succeeded in breaking the Dominion resistance and beaming their soldiers to Un’gar, the reality of what they had found was disturbing. Intercepted communications between the Cardassian commanders and Hathaway itself estimated that Ungeat casualties numbered nearly three million. Three million dead at the hands of a brutal enemy, all while their prodigal son strolled around the galaxy fighting for their freedom, instead of fighting with them. Dominion resistance on the planet was high, and the Cardassians were assisting the Starfleet forces in retaking the Federation Embassy, but their efforts had come at a cost. Over a hundred Cardassian soldiers had died in the attempt to retake the Embassy, but the sense of what was to come was nothing compared to the truth of the situation. The away team had had no choice but to leave their security team behind to secure and hold the Sanctum, while they tried to return to their ship.

When the runabout finally landed in its hangar bay and the crew disembarked, the trauma of what had befallen their comrades was laid bare for all to see. Everywhere they walked, everywhere they turned, whether damaged console or injured crewmen, blast points or blood splatters, corridors reeked of destruction and death. Emerging from the turbo lift and onto the bridge, the scene was even worse. Medical personnel and engineers alike were working their asses off to stabilise the ship and crew. More than a few consoles had given way to the stresses of battle as had several crew members who were now covered in sheets to protect their dignity.

Slouched in the command chair, a medical officer leaning over him and tending to a bleeding wound on his forehead, Giarvar Kauhn heaved the greatest sigh of relief upon seeing the team report back to the ship.

“I trust your mission was a success?” He winced through the pain, visually scolding the medic attending to his needs.

“The Sanctum is in Federation hands Captain,” Or’uil confirmed through his synthesiser, “but we have learned a terrifying truth on this day.”

Listening to the Ungeat’s words, the ship’s former XO pushed the medic aside and rose to his feet. A shared glance with Noli caused the Captain to jut his head towards the observation lounge. “We should talk.”

Once in the safety of the lounge, the XO poured everyone a glass of water from the emergency rations that had been broken out, the clearest sign yet that replicators were offline. The three officers slouched into their respective chairs around the table, and the Captain began to bring them up to speed on what they had missed so far.

“We’ve managed to secure the system but we’ve done so at a heavy price,” Giarvar told, leaning back in the chair and clasping his hands together behind his head for support. As his eyes began to water, neither officer needed to be an empath to work out what he had to say was difficult. “We’ve lost Udal, Mayr…,” he whispered, still staring at the heavens and fighting back the tears, “…and Tuca.”

Or’uil clasped his hands together and lowered his head out of respect, while Noli… well to say she was about to blow a gasket was an understatement. She launched out of the seat like a torpedo and began pacing, her hands on her hips. “In total, we’ve lost seventy-five, including Udal, Tuca, Bellurr, three of the Hounds and thirty-five of the security team retaking the embassy. Prida’s in sickbay, we’ve got over fifty critical patients and nearly a hundred walking wounded still on duty,” the Captain finally revealed, lowering his head and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his uniform.

Over the next few minutes, the three officers took some time to vent, and then compose themselves as much as they could given the news they had faced. Three of their friends, gone. For Noli, it was particularly painful to lose Tuca and Mayr as she had built such a strong working relationship with both and they had come to respect each other deeply. Tactical Operations had been one of the strongest departments on the ship, partly down to a triumvirate of power (which had become a quartet when Or’uil joined) which saw the team function like a well-oiled machine and one which had now been shorn of two of its most critical components.

When the conversation finally resumed, and the tactical officer shared the intelligence they had received from the data packets at the Sanctum, the Captain was in disbelief. So much loss, only to be faced with the very real prospect of one final, decisive battle dozens of lightyears away.

“We need to recall the squadron, have the away teams return and then set a course for Farpoint,” Giarvar told, rising to his feet and looking at the two officers around the table with him. “If the Dominion take Deneb, then the losses we have suffered will have been for nothing. We cannot let that happen…”

Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

We’ve lost many colleagues in our mission to liberate the Ungeat home world. While he won’t say it, I can see that Or’uil is taking their loss hard and blames himself, and his people, for Starfleet being there in the first place. How do I help him to see this is not the case?

 

Deneb stands on a precipice. If our intelligence is right, everything we have endured, will have been for nothing. All signs point towards a massive assault on Farpoint, but with a heavily damaged ship and no functioning communications grid, we have no way of letting the Fourth Fleet know. With one nacelle out of commission and warp drive reduced as a result, we’re heading to Farpoint at reduced speed. I don’t care if we must hobble across the proverbial finish line, Hathaway will deliver its message of warning…

Days later, hobbled and scared from battle on the outside, her internal injuries even more severe, Hathaway dropped out of warp on the edge of the Deneb system. It was a minor miracle she was there at all, but it was even more impressive that ship and crew had pulled together in their hour of need and dragged themselves to Farpoint. Their intelligence had been proven right, with Admiral Beckett requesting the presence of any and all available ships for the defence of not only Farpoint, or Deneb, but the entire quadrant (or so it felt, anyway). Answering the call had been a no-brainer. It didn’t matter what state they were in or how many people they had lost, there was no chance Hathaway was going to be absent from such a crucial moment in history.

It was a veritable ‘Who’s who’ of Fourth Fleet starships that had responded to the call, with some of the most recognisable ships in the fleet lining up in defence of the system. Manoeuvring her way through the traffic, the Sagan-class starship took her position in the fleet’s formation, positioned on Discovery’s starboard flank.

While the crew waited for their instructions, one particular young man felt the entire weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. Starfleet had been at Un’gar despite decades of mistrust from his people. Starfleet had come to their aid and liberated them from the threat of the Dominion, despite the misgivings of his people. They probably deserved to still be under the iron boot of the Jem’Hadar foot soldier, but the people of Starfleet, of Hathaway, had answered the call. They had answered with their lives.

He would now give his in the pursuit of…

…vengeance.

Standing on the upper level of the Starlight Lounge, in the safest if places she could, Hathaway’s Betazoid counsellor watched the young man go back to his ritualistic blessings, sensing sadness, and loneliness, but also some semblance of peace. So much had transpired in the last week. Despite the overwhelming positives of having liberated the Un’gar system, having secured the Starfleet listening post on Uviri, and having defended Farpoont alongside ships such as Constellation and Discovery, there was still so much loss to deal with. By seeking blessings here, Or’uil was imparting blessings elsewhere, and it was giving him just a glimmer of light at the end of a very long tunnel of darkness. Smiling, she nodded her head and tapped the guard rail in front of her a couple of times before she began to walk away, stopping for the briefest of moments to listen as the Ungeat spoke his beautiful native tongue once again.

“Mo gbe soke si o, Ẹmi Nla ti awọn baba, awọn ti o sọnu li ọjọ oni,” he spoke again, a blessing for much, much more than just the creature he held in his palm. A blessing for all those who had been lost.

Glancing back at the newest member of the Hathaway senior staff, her smile faded when her gaze shifted to the devastation around her. At that moment, she found herself connected to many different souls aboard the ship as they asked a single question in unison: How could it have come to this?

It was a very good question, and it was one that the Trill commanding officer had been asking since conducting an inspection of the damaged systems across the ship and checking in with many of the crew. It wasn’t Captain Kauhn, however, but Captain Nazir. She’d beamed aboard in the lead-up to the Battle of Farpoint and had resumed command at the behest of her former XO. It was mad to think she had only been in command of the ship for a matter of days herself, but there was no way an injury was going to keep her out of the fray in such a defining moment. Ship and crew had performed admirably in the battle that ensued despite the damage they had sustained elsewhere and the hurt they were still feeling over their losses. She wasn’t going to pretend that she was as hurt as the rest of them; while she grieved the loss of talented officers such as Tuca and Bellurr, officers who had served her admirably, they were the friends of the crew, a crew she was simply safeguarding until a new replacement had been found for Captain Gor. Did she hope it would be her? Of course she did, it would be a privilege to command such a team on a permanent basis, but Starfleet rarely acted out of sentiment or respect for what had occurred previously. They had, once upon a time, but of late it was hard to escape the feeling that something was peculiar about a lot of things at Command. Recent events in the Deneb sector had led some to question and speculate as to whether something truly sinister could be afoot in the corridors of power.

If she were to assume command on a permanent basis, she’d already been alerted to the fragile state of mind of two of the crew, something she would have to deal with for certain. Giarvar was busy blaming himself for the death of his colleagues in a misguided attempt to take responsibility as the mission commander. Perhaps it was a sign of his naivety when it came to the hot seat of command, that he had a lot left to learn, but then she was reminded by her symbiont that she, too, still had a lot to learn about command.

Then there was Or’uil, a young man who was feeling guilty for other reasons, reasons on a galactic scale. He couldn’t stop apologising for what the Hathaway crew had been a part of the last few days in the name of his people. There was no need, of course, as no one aboard the ship blamed him for anything, but he was finding it hard to accept that. Both men had thrown themselves into their work as a way of coping, but they needed to face the reality of their situation sooner rather than la…

“Bridge to Captain Nazir.”

Stopping mid-stroll down deck seven, the Captain nodded to some passers-by and exchanged pleasantries before tapping the badge in acknowledgement. “Go ahead,” she addressed the unknown voice.

“Captain Romaes is here to see you and Captain Kauhn ma’am,” the voice told, a sense of trepidation evident in their trembling words. Unannounced arrivals of senior officers were rarely good news.

“Put him in the observation lounge and summon Kauhn. I’ll be there shortly,” she told, hitting a slow, albeit painful jog on her way to the nearest turbo lift.

When she arrived at the lounge several minutes later, Captains Kauhn and Romaes were already waiting for her, seated around the table and deep in conversation.

“Sorry I’m late,” the woman frowned, holding her abdomen, “still a bit achy.”

Romaes smiled and nodded as he welcomed her to the table and relaxed in his chair. “Captain Kauhn has been filling me in on recent events. I want you both to know that Starfleet acknowledges the losses this crew has taken in recent weeks, and you are both to be commended for a job well done in very difficult circumstances,” the older man looked at the two officers in turn. “Tracking down Thot Rodyn was no easy task, Keziah. And you, Giarvar,” Romaes shook his head and puffed out his cheeks. “The Legate in charge of the Cardassian forces said you were to be commended for Hathaway’s performance during the Battle of Un’gar.”

Neither officer looked particularly thrilled with the praise, but appreciated it nonetheless.

“Now as we all know, in the absence of Captain Gor whose whereabouts is still unknown, command of the Hathaway must be established. Fourth Fleet Command has considered both of you for command, but in this instance, experience has won out,” Romaes declared, sliding a data PADD across the table towards Nazir. “Congratulations, Captain. You are Hathaway’s new commanding officer.”

Romaes and Nazir shook hands briefly before the Captain shared a hand with her XO. To his credit, Giarvar was more than happy for his fellow Trill, having watched her acquit herself admirably during the hunt for Rodyn. “Congratulations ma’am. Very well deserved,” Giarvar grinned.

“You’re going to have to appoint a new executive officer before you arrive back at Deep Space Seventeen,” Romaes advised her, noting the confused expression on the face of both officers. “Captain Kauhn, in recognition of your leadership in the Battle of Un’gar and the liberation of the Ungeat people, Command have authorised your permanent promotion to Captain. After a period of shore leave, you’ll report to Starbase Bravo to be assigned your own command,” the Bajoran offered his hand to the younger Trill.

“Thank you, Captain. That is greatly appreciated,” Giarvar grinned, shaking hands with the Task Force XO, and then Keziah, before realising just what that meant. “Who will be replacing me here?”

“I may have an idea about that…” Keziah smirked, folding her arms across her chest and eliciting a knowing grin from her former XO.

Early the next day, Hathaway was already underway and headed for her home port of Deep Space Seventeen, accompanied by Discovery and Constellation. The crew had said goodbye to Captain Kauhn in a get-together hosted aboard the Task Force flagship, and now with repairs underway, there was some semblance of normality restored aboard ship. Almost. One thing remained.

Emerging from the port turbo lift, Commander Noli Auru arrived on the bridge. An additional silver pip adorned her collar, a reward for her new assignment as the permanent executive officer. “Commander Noli reporting as ordered Captain,” the Bajoran grinned, approaching the command chair Nazir occupied.

“Good morning Number One,” Nazir greeted her, using the informal honorific that was customary aboard starships these days.

“Good morning,” the XO nodded, assuming the chair to Nazir’s right, a chair that would now be permanently hers. “Engineering is reporting that the upper starboard nacelle is fully functioning once again. Save for some minor repairs at DS17, we should have warp eight,” the Captain’s right-hand woman advised her.

“Henry, you know what to do,” Keziah grinned, a playful nod towards the conn giving Flyboy all the incentive he needed to kick the ship into high gear, the Sagan-class zipping into high warp one more time.

As night approached several hours later, much of the ship had gone dark. While much had returned to normal, many still valued the ability to spend time with their loved ones, or doing the things they cherished most. In one particular set of quarters, the lights had been dimmed and a small family had got together to pay their respects to members now gone from their circle.

Having heard about the beautiful nature of Or’uil’s blessings from their Betazoid colleague, Noli and Prida had joined the Counsellor in Or’uil’s quarters. Sat around a flickering flame, legs crossed and almost in a meditative state, the three women listened to their Ungeat host as he whispered the blessing of peace that his people shared when thinking of those they had lost.

Deactivating his synthesiser for a minute and reverting to his native tongue, with whispered words danced from the tip of his tongue, bringing the whole room to peace. “Baba ọrun,” he whispered,  “pa awọn ọrẹ mi mọ lailewu ninu ifaramọ ifẹ rẹ. Ibukun ni fun awon olorun.”

“Ibukun ni fun awon olorun,” the three women echoed back at him in equally hushed tones, having been taught just a snippet of the Ungeat language, enough for them to take part in the blessing.

After a few moments of peace, the four opened their eyes again, strangely at ease in the flickering light.

“So, Or’uil,” Vittoria spoke first, “have you decided what to do?”

Taking the Bajoran’s by surprise, the two looked at each other, and then at Or’uil. “What is she talking about?” Noli asked, looking the Ungeat in his swollen eyes.

Reaching for the synthesiser control on his chest, the Ungeat let out a sigh. “Minister Al’mir of the Interior Ministry has presented me with an opportunity to return home and help with the rebuilding of my planet,” the adolescent confessed, “whilst also working to better improve relations with Starfleet.”

Prida, like Noli, looked stunned at the revelation. “That’s a very noble thing to do,” Prida smiled coyly.

“Noble my ass,” Noli growled, looking at her best friend. “He’s worked his ass off to get where he is, and he’s made a life for himself here, with us,” the Commander was never afraid to voice her opinions and was more accustomed to having them heard than questioned, “We’re your family, Or’uil. We need you, and you need us.”

“And that is exactly why I have rejected the opportunity,” he cocked his head and looked around the group. “I have come to realise that my place is here, with this crew. People who fought for me, and died for my people, a people who wouldn’t lift a finger to defend themselves. I could not entertain the idea of leaving,” he told sincerely, looking at the anxious Commander. “Besides,” he added, “someone needs to keep an eye on you all. And I have the biggest eyes you will ever come across.”

Almost stunned to silence, the three women looked at each other, then at the Ungeat, then back at each other before falling about in fits of laughter.

“We are family,” the Ungeat reminded them sometime later, drawing them back to the blessing circle again. This time, when he turned off his synthesiser, he surprised them all.

“Heavenly beings,” he whispered in their language, having taken the time to learn their language and speak it freely, despite the pain it did to his vocal chords. “Keep our family safe in your loving embrace. Blessings be to the gods.”

If he had learned anything from his time among the crew, it was that coming together as each other’s supportive world was essential to any kind of future that was good. And in the presence of these three people, Or’uil knew the future would be good aboard the Hathaway.