Captain Deckard Wright stood on the bridge of the USS Valiant, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the scene before him. The Kanaan system, a backdrop of beacon of hope and tranquillity, to the group lying in ruins. The remnants of Battle Group Alpha Twenty-One floated helplessly, their six ships battered and broken after a fierce engagement with Dominion forces. Captain Wright’s heart sank as he thought of the brave officers and crew who had fought valiantly but had ultimately been defeated.

“Report,” Captain Wright commanded, his voice firm yet tinged with concern.

Lieutenant Palmer, the Valiant’s chief engineer, stepped forward, her eyes focused on the data streaming across her console. “Captain, I’ve analyzed the sensor readings from the damaged ships. The USS Defender has sustained severe hull breaches and multiple system failures. They require immediate structural reinforcement and power restoration to prevent further deterioration.”

The USS Defender, a Nebula-Class starship, stood as a steadfast guardian amidst the chaos of battle. The once-pristine hull of the Defender bore the marks of a fierce struggle. Deep gouges and pockmarks marred its surface, remnants of enemy weapons that had tested its defenses.

“And what of the Vanguard?” Wright asked, his gaze shifting to Lieutenant T’Sari, the Valiant’s tactical officer.

Lieutenant T’Sari glanced up from her console, her expression betraying a mix of concern and urgency. “Captain, the Vanguard’s weapons arrays took a heavy blow. They’re operating at partial capacity, and their shields are severely compromised. Engines are offline.”

Wright was tense. He knew the commanding officers of both the Defender and the Vanguard well, having served with both of them during the Dominion War aboard the USS Manchester.

Lieutenant Chen consulted the reports on her screen, her voice calm yet laden with a sense of urgency. “Captain, the Horizon has suffered significant casualties. They have wounded crew members in need of immediate medical attention. Their sickbay is overwhelmed, and they require additional medical personnel and supplies.”

Wright’s heart sank, realizing the toll the battle had taken on the Horizon. The rugged starship had weathered storms before, but the wounds inflicted this time were deep and required their utmost care and support.

As Lieutenant Palmer, Lieutenant T’Sari, and Lieutenant Chen continued their reports on the damaged ships, Captain Wright listened intently, taking in the gravity of each situation. The Sentinel required crucial repairs to its propulsion systems, the Centurion needed assistance in stabilizing its power grid, and the Percival had suffered critical damage to its warp nacelles.

With each report, a sense of urgency and responsibility settled within Captain Wright’s chest. They were the lifeline for Battle Group Alpha Twenty-One.

“Thank you, everyone. We have our work cut out for us,” Captain Wright declared, his voice resolute yet tempered with compassion. Commander Greene, hail the lead ship of Battle Group Alpha Twenty-One,” Wright commanded, his voice steady but filled with determination.

“Aye, Captain,” replied Greene, the Valiant’s first officer.

Captain Rhiannon Michaels, commander of the USS Defender, appeared on the viewscreen, her appearance bearing the visible marks of the recent battle. Her once immaculate uniform was tattered and stained, displaying signs of intense combat. Cuts and bruises adorned her face, evidence of the fierce struggle she had endured.

Her vibrant, fiery red hair was dishevelled, with strands out of place, as if windblown during the chaos of battle. Despite the fatigue evident in her eyes, their piercing green hue radiated determination and resilience, reflecting the strength of her character.

The cuts on Captain Michaels’ face, though not severe, spoke volumes about the intensity of the engagement. A shallow gash marred her cheek, a remnant of a close encounter with a damaged bulkhead on the bridge behind her.

Yet, despite her visibly worn appearance, Captain Michaels exuded an unwavering resolve and an air of command. Her posture remained upright, her shoulders squared, and her expression a mix of determination and resilience.

Behind Captain Michaels on the viewscreen, the damaged bridge of the USS Defender came into view, painting a vivid picture of the intense battle it had endured. The once pristine command centre now bore the scars of battle.

Scattered debris littered the area, remnants of console panels and shattered displays. Burn marks and scorching marred the walls, evidence of energy discharges and explosive impacts that had rocked the bridge. Wires hung loose and sparked sporadically, adding an eerie ambiance to the scene.

Several consoles had been completely obliterated, leaving behind a jumble of exposed circuitry and fractured screens. The captain’s chair, a symbol of authority and command, had suffered severe damage, its armrest partially melted and upholstery torn.

Emergency lighting flickered, casting an eerie glow on the survivors who manned their stations with determination. Smoke wisped through the air, lingering remnants of systems pushed to their limits and beyond. The atmosphere on the bridge was one of resilience, with crew members working tirelessly to restore order amidst the wreckage.

“Captain, it’s good to see you. We received your distress call and are prepared to provide assistance. The USS Valiant is standing by,” Wright’s voice carried a calm assurance, hoping to offer solace amidst the chaos that had engulfed the Defender.

“Captain Wright, thank you for coming to our aid. We’ve taken a beating out here. The Dominion forces were relentless,” Michaels conveyed, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion and determination.

Wright’s eyes scanned the damaged bridge of the USS Defender, taking in the scene of chaos and destruction. The shattered consoles, exposed wires, and lingering smoke painted a grim picture of the harrowing battle they had fought. Yet, amidst the wreckage, he sensed the indomitable spirit of Michaels’ crew, their resilience shining through the wreckage.

“I can see the toll it has taken on your ship. The Defender has been through a harrowing battle. Your crew has shown incredible resilience,” Wright responded, his voice laced with admiration and empathy.

The weight of Michaels’ sigh reached Wright’s ears, carrying with it the burden of loss and the unyielding determination to press on. The Dominion War had taught them both the harsh realities of conflict, and the scars it had left behind ran deep.

“Indeed, it was a brutal engagement. We did everything we could but the Dominion overwhelmed us quickly. It’s like they never skipped a beat. We suffered significant damage, casualties, and the loss of two of our sister ships,” Michaels revealed, her words carrying a blend of sorrow and resolve.

A pang of regret gnawed at Wright’s heart as he acknowledged the devastating losses they had endured. The echoes of the Dominion War resurfaced, a bitter reminder that the threats they had faced were far from eradicated.

“I had hoped we wouldn’t have to face them again,” Wright admitted, his voice tinged with a somber realization.

Silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken memories and shared burdens. The war had forever changed them, leaving scars that no amount of time could fully heal.

Wright’s gaze lingered on Michaels, his empathy and understanding flowing through their unspoken connection. He could see the weight of responsibility etched in her tired eyes.

Breaking the silence, Wright set about the job he was here to do, “Captain, I’ll assemble engineering and medical teams to beam over. Our nearest starbase is Farpoint Station, let’s see what we can do to get you all back up and running. I’ll relay the same to the rest of the group.”

Michaels absentmindedly adjusted her hair, “Understood.” She paused for moment, “and Captain, we get through this, I owe you a drink. Defender out.”

The viewscreen returned to a view of the damaged battlegroup.

“Lieutenant T’Sari, assemble an away team,” Captain Wright ordered, turning to his chief tactical officer. “We will transport aboard the lead ship to coordinate repair efforts and provide immediate medical assistance. Counselor Jennings and Doctor Aber, prepare to join us. Our priority is to stabilize the injured and assist in securing the damaged ships for towing.”

Lieutenant T’Sari nodded, her expression filled with determination. “Aye, Captain. I’ll gather the necessary personnel and equipment for the away team immediately. We’ll be ready to transport over to the USS Defender shortly.”

Captain Wright acknowledged her response with a nod. 

As T’Sari left the bridge to carry out her orders, Wright turned his attention to Commander Greene. “Commander, I want you to coordinate with Lieutenant Palmer and Lieutenant Chen. They will lead their respective teams in assisting the other damaged ships of Battle Group Alpha Twenty-One. Ensure that repairs and medical support are prioritized based on the severity of each vessel’s condition.”

Greene stood up from his station, his posture alert and ready. “Understood, Captain. I’ll make sure the teams are organized and ready to provide the necessary assistance.”

With the crew in motion, Wright made his way to the turbolift, accompanied by Counselor Jennings and Doctor Aber. As they descended to the transporter room, he couldn’t shake off the heaviness in his heart. The devastation he had witnessed on the viewscreen only reinforced the urgency of their mission.

Arriving at the transporter room, Wright found Lieutenant T’Sari already there, overseeing the preparations. The room bustled with activity as engineering and medical personnel gathered, carrying equipment and supplies necessary for the mission ahead.

T’Sari approached the captain, her voice resolute. “Captain, the away team is ready. We have assigned engineers and medical officers with expertise in structural reinforcement and emergency medical procedures. We’ve also included security personnel to assist with securing the damaged areas of the USS Defender.”

Wright nodded approvingly. “Excellent work, Lieutenant. I trust you’ve taken the necessary precautions for potential hazards aboard the damaged vessel?”

T’Sari nodded. “Yes, Captain. We’ve studied the sensor data and are aware of the potential risks. The team is equipped with environmental suits and portable tricorders to assess any unstable areas.”

“Good,” Captain Wright replied, his tone firm. “Safety is paramount. I want everyone to exercise caution and work efficiently. Our goal is to stabilize the Defender and provide medical support to the injured.”

Counselor Jennings interjected, her voice calm and reassuring. “And let’s not forget the emotional well-being of the crew, Captain. This battle must have taken a toll on their spirits. I will be prepared to offer counseling and support to those who need it.”

Wright smiled gratefully at Counselor Jennings. “Thank you, Counselor. Your presence will undoubtedly make a difference. We need to help these officers and crew members process this and find strength to carry on. It’s a shock to everyone.” He paused for a moment, pushing down his own memories of the last time something like this happened to him as a Lieutenant serving as the tactical officer aboard the Manchester in the last Dominion War. 

Doctor Aber, standing beside Counselor Jennings, added, “I’ll be ready to provide medical assistance and triage on the spot. We’ll stabilize the critical cases and coordinate the transport of the injured to the Valiant.”

Captain Wright’s gaze shifted to the transporter chief. “Energize, Chief.”

The away team shimmered into particles of light, dematerializing as they were transported across space. Moments later, they materialized on the battle-scarred bridge of the USS Defender.

The scene before them was a stark one. Seeing the aftermath of what had taken place on the viewscreen versus in person were somewhat different. Wounded crew members lay on makeshift beds and medical teams rushed to their aid. The sound of damaged systems and the smell of burnt circuits filled the air. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was a glimmer of hope as the away team began their work.

Wright took a deep breath, steeling himself for the arduous tasks ahead. He approached Captain Michaels, who stood in the midst of the commotion, overseeing the repair and medical efforts.

“Captain Michaels, we’re here to lend a hand,” Captain Wright said, his voice projecting determination and empathy. “We’ll get through this.”

Michaels turned to face Wright, a mix of gratitude and resolve in her eyes. “Thank you, Captain. It’s good to have you here. We’ll make the best of this situation and get our ships back in shape. I have a feeling Starfleet are going to need all the help we can muster.”

The two captains locked eyes for a moment, a shared understanding passing between them. They both knew the challenges that lay ahead, but they also knew the strength they possessed, individually and as a united front.

Wright turned to his away team, addressing them and the crew of the Defender. “Let’s get to work, everyone. We have a job to do.”

The Percival was the oldest ship of the group. An aging, phased out design, she was one of the few Cheyenne-class starships still in service and due for decommission in the coming weeks being too old to be upgraded with Starfleet’s latest system designs.As Lieutenant Palmer and her team materialized aboard the Percival, they quickly assessed the situation. The ship was in a dire state, with extensive damage to its hull and various systems offline. Despite the chaos, the away team focused on their mission, determined to provide assistance to the crew and gather vital information.

Palmer tapped her communicator to establish a link with Captain Wright. “Captain, this is Lieutenant Palmer. We’ve successfully transported aboard the USS Percival. Initial assessment indicates severe damage to multiple decks and critical systems. Structural integrity is compromised, and life support is offline in several sections.”

Wright’s voice came through the communicator, calm but concerned. “Understood, Lieutenant. Can you provide an estimate of the number of injured personnel and the extent of casualties?”

Lieutenant Palmer relayed the information she gathered from her team’s initial survey. “Captain, we’ve been informed that there are a significant number of injured crew members throughout the ship. We estimate approximately 50 injured personnel so far, with a varying degree of severity. There have been several casualties, but we’re still assessing the exact number. I’ve also been informed that the ship is almost out of medical supplies. I’ve authorised the transfer of some of the Valiant’s to help with triage.”

Wright’s response was laced with urgency. “Understood, Palmer. Ensure the critically injured receive immediate attention and transfer them to the Valiant as soon as possible. We need to stabilize the situation and get the Percival back on its feet.”

Lieutenant Palmer acknowledged the captain’s orders. “Understood, Captain. Medical teams are already mobilizing to provide care to the injured. We’re also coordinating with engineering to restore life support to the affected areas. It will take time, but we’ll work as efficiently as possible.”

Wright’s voice conveyed his confidence in Lieutenant Palmer and her team. “I have full confidence in your abilities, Lieutenant. Keep me updated on the progress and any further developments.”

Lieutenant Palmer nodded, even though the captain couldn’t see her. “I will, Captain. We’ll do everything we can to stabilize the situation and assist the crew of the Percival.”

As Palmer and her team continued their assessment of the USS Percival, they made their way to the engineering section to evaluate the state of the ship’s engines. The once powerful propulsion systems now lay in ruins, crippled by the battle with the Dominion forces.

The engineering deck presented a scene of devastation. Wires hung loose from damaged conduits, sparking intermittently. The hum of machinery was replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the distant sounds of repair efforts echoing through the corridors. The main warp core stood as a testament to the ship’s struggle, flickering with instability and emitting sporadic bursts of energy.

Lieutenant Palmer approached the core, her tricorder in hand, scanning the surrounding area and the damaged components. She relayed her findings to her team and began formulating a plan to restore both impulse and warp drive to the Percival.

“The warp core has suffered severe damage,” Lieutenant Palmer reported over the team’s comm link. “The containment field is compromised, resulting in fluctuations and instability. We need to stabilize it to prevent a catastrophic failure.”

It was becoming abundantly clear to Wright that even the medical facilities aboard the Valiant would struggle with the amount of injured. He tapped his communicator. “Wright to Valiant.”

The voice of his second officer, Lieutenant Commander Grayson, responded, “Grayson here, go ahead.”

“I’ve only initial reports from the Defender and the Percival and they’re overwhelmed with wounded. The Defender is fairing better, but they’re short-handed. If these two are anything to go by, it’s likely the others are in a similar or worse state. Convert cargo bays two, three, and four into makeshift hospitals and prepare for further wounded.” 

“Aye, sir.” Grayson replied.

Wright paused for a moment, then lowered his voice, “Grayson, I’m concerned we might not have enough additional facilities to handle the deceased. I need you to come up with a plan for that too.”

Grayson’s heart sank. He knew it would be a realisitic possibility that many of his comrades could have perished during the battle but he had been trying to ignore it as many of the members of the crews in the twenty-one alpha had been at the academy the same years as he had been. Hearing it brought reality crashing down.

Lieutenant Commander Grayson took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He knew that planning for the deceased was a necessary and somber task, but it was one he had to face. He replied to Captain Wright, his voice steady but filled with empathy, “Understood, Captain. I will coordinate with the medical team and the ship’s mortician to establish a designated area for the deceased. We’ll ensure they receive the respect and care they deserve.”

Captain Wright acknowledged Grayson’s response, his voice filled with understanding. “Thank you, Grayson. I know it’s a difficult task, but it’s important that we honor our fallen comrades. Let me know if you need any additional resources or support.”

“Will do, sir,” Grayson replied. He knew he would have to rely on his training as a Starfleet officer and his compassion as a fellow crew member to handle this responsibility. He made a mental note to reach out to the counselors aboard the Valiant for guidance on providing support to the grieving crew members.

As the USS Valiant transitioned from its role as a starship to an aid vessel, the crew swiftly and efficiently repurposed the ship’s cargo bays into makeshift hospitals. Grayson recognized the urgent need for medical facilities to treat the wounded and provide essential care to the injured crews.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he already fely sick. In his career, he’d been there for many situations that called for medical assistance. Some mild, some major. This, he knew, would be the latter. The captain had already mentioned getting a make-shift morgue set up too. This alone had changed the atmosphere aboard the Valiant. The crew still worked diligiently, but there was a sorrow in the air that could be cut with a knife.

Grayson gathered the medical team and briefed them on the grim task at hand. He emphasized the importance of compassion, respect, and professionalism as they prepared the designated area for the deceased. He assigned a team of dedicated personnel, including the ship’s mortician, to handle the sensitive task of caring for the fallen crew members.

Throughout the ship, the crew worked tirelessly to convert the cargo bays into makeshift hospitals. They set up triage areas, medical stations, and recovery spaces, ensuring they had the necessary equipment and supplies to handle the influx of wounded personnel. Grayson coordinated with the medical staff to divide their resources efficiently, considering the severity of injuries and the need for immediate attention.

As the medical facilities took shape, Grayson made his way to the designated area for the deceased. It was a solemn place, with dimmed lights and an air of reverence. He observed as the mortician and the designated team prepared the area with care and dignity, ensuring that each fallen crew member would be treated with the utmost respect.

Grayson approached the team and spoke softly, acknowledging the weight of their task. “Thank you for your dedication in carrying out this difficult duty. I know it is not easy, but it is important work. We owe it to our fallen comrades to honor their memory.”

The mortician, a seasoned officer with years of experience, nodded in acknowledgment. “I understand, sir. We will handle this responsibility with the utmost care and reverence. The fallen will be treated with dignity.”

Grayson spent a moment in silence, reflecting on the sacrifices made by the brave crew members who had lost their lives in the battle as the body bags began materialising as they were trasnported in. He reminded himself of the importance of their mission—to provide aid and support to the wounded and to honor the memory of those who had given their lives in service to Starfleet.

Returning to the nearest makeshift triage centre, he watched as the wounded began to materialise. Some arrived on stretchers, their bodies limp and battered, while others managed to walk with visible effort, their faces etched with pain. The air filled with moans and cries

One crew member materialized with a fractured arm and severe burns on her face and hands. She grimaced in pain, her breath shallow as she clutched her injured limb. The medical team quickly surrounded her, gently stabilizing her arm and assessing the extent of her burns. They administered pain medication and began the delicate process of cleaning and dressing her wounds.

A few meters away a crewman, supported by two medical officers. His leg was mangled, blood staining his uniform. Despite his evident agony, he managed to maintain a stoic expression, gritting his teeth to suppress his cries. Grayson approached him, his voice filled with empathy. “Crewman, you’re in good hands. We’re going to do everything we can to relieve your pain and mend your leg.”

In another corner of the makeshift ward, a security officer was beamed aboard with multiple shrapnel wounds across her chest and abdomen. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, indicating possible internal injuries. The medical team surrounded her, their focused expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. They worked swiftly to assess her condition, providing oxygen support and initiating measures to stabilize her vital signs.

Amidst the chaos, the medical staff remained composed and efficient, their expertise and training guiding their actions. They applied bandages, administered pain medication, and triaged the wounded based on the severity of their injuries. The sound of medical equipment beeping and the hushed voices of medical personnel filled the air, intermingled with the occasional cry of pain.

Grayson moved through the makeshift ward, observing the tireless efforts of the medical team. He witnessed acts of compassion and determination as they worked to save lives and alleviate suffering. The crew members, despite their own exhaustion, maintained a sense of purpose and professionalism in the face of the overwhelming task before them.

In the midst of the flurry of activity, Grayson caught sight of a young ensign lying on a bed, his face pale and his breathing labored. He had sustained critical injuries, and the medical team surrounded him, frantically working to stabilize his condition. Grayson approached the ensign, his heart heavy with concern.

“How are we doing here?” Grayson asked one of the doctors, his voice filled with urgency.

The doctor looked up, sweat glistening on his forehead. “It’s touch and go, sir. We’re doing everything we can, but his injuries are severe. We’re fighting to keep him stable.”

Grayson nodded, his gaze fixed on the ensign. He could see the determination in the doctor’s eyes and the unwavering commitment of the medical team. They refused to give up, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

Grayson continued to offer support and assistance wherever he could. He helped to organize the flow of patients, ensuring that those in critical condition received immediate attention. He comforted crew members, both from the battle group and the Valiant.

Despite the exhaustion and the mounting emotional toll, Grayson remained resolute. He drew strength from the resilience of his fellow crew members and the knowledge that they were making a difference, saving lives and providing comfort to those in need.

Another injured crewman beamed in. Grayson caught sight of his face. It seemed familiar. It took a moment for Grayson to register who it was. The man’s uniform was torn, his face smeared with dirt and sweat, and his right arm held in a makeshift sling and immediately trying to help other injured crewmen. This was Captain Ramirez of the USS Vanguard. Grayson hurried over to him, concern etched on his face.

“Captain Ramirez, you should be resting,” Grayson said, his voice filled with genuine worry.

Captain Ramirez smiled weakly, his eyes reflecting the weariness of his ordeal. “I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant Commander, but I couldn’t just sit back while our crew members are in need. I’m doing what I can to assist.”

Grayson nodded, understanding the captain’s determination to be there for his crew. “Your presence is invaluable, Captain. Let us take care of you and ensure you receive proper medical attention.”

Ramirez hesitated for a moment, then nodded, realizing the importance of setting an example for his crew. “Very well, Grayson. Lead the way.”

The transporter beam shimmered, and amidst the chaos of the makeshift triage center, a crewman materialized with life-threatening injuries. His body was mangled, blood-soaked clothing clinging to him in tatters. The medical team’s faces tightened with a mix of determination and concern as they quickly assessed the severity of his condition.

His breathing was labored, his vital signs fluctuating dangerously. The crewman’s complexion paled, and his hand trembled as he struggled to speak. The medical staff sprang into action, their tricorders scanning the injuries, analyzing the severity and damage.

Nurse Talia, a dark-haired Bajoran woman, took charge, her voice firm and resolute. “Prepare a dermal regenerator and activate the biobed. We need to stabilize him quickly.”

As they worked tirelessly, the crewman’s eyes fluttered open, reflecting pain and uncertainty. His voice quivered as he asked, “Can you save me?”

Talia met his gaze with empathy, her voice laced with determination. “We’re giving it everything we’ve got. Hold on, we won’t give up.”

The medical team used advanced medical instruments, such as osteo-regenerators and tricorder-guided suturing devices, to mend shattered bones and close lacerations. Their tricorders emitted soft beeps and chirps, relaying vital information and guiding their interventions.

Despite their best efforts, the crewman’s condition continued to deteriorate. His body weakened, and his grip on life grew increasingly tenuous. As the crewman’s life force waned, his breathing became shallower, and his hand reached out weakly, seeking solace. The medical team encircled him, their expressions a mix of compassion and determination, refusing to surrender in the face of defeat.

Talia locked eyes with the crewman, her voice filled with a gentle resolve. “You’re not alone. We’re here, fighting with you until the end.”

In a final act of desperation, the medical team administered a powerful neuro-regenerative treatment, attempting to stabilize his failing neural patterns. But the signs of life slipped away, fading into the void.

A hushed reverence fell over the room as the crewman’s vital signs flatlined, signifying the irrevocable loss. The medical team stood in solemn silence, their hearts heavy with grief and the weight of their inability to save him.

As the away team stepped onto the engineering deck, Lieutenant Palmer took a moment to absorb the sight before her. The Percival’s engine room, once a place of controlled chaos and efficiency, was now a twisted maze of debris and malfunctioning equipment. The team had to navigate carefully through the wreckage, mindful of potential hazards.

Palmer approached a console that still displayed flickering data, trying to gather any information she could about the status of the engines. She accessed the ship’s logs and sensor readings, hoping to find a starting point for their repair efforts.

“Captain Wright, this is Lieutenant Palmer. The damage to the engine room is extensive. It appears that multiple power conduits have been severed, causing a complete shutdown of the engines. We’ll need to reroute power and repair the conduits before we can even attempt to bring them back online,” Palmer reported, her voice filled with determination despite the daunting task ahead.

Wright’s voice came through the communicator, his tone steady. “Understood, Lieutenant. Focus on stabilizing the power grid first. We’ll need the engines up and running as soon as possible to assist with the other damaged ships.”

Palmer relayed the captain’s orders to her team, and they set to work, carefully examining the damaged conduits and rerouting power where necessary. The process was slow and meticulous, with each step requiring caution to avoid further damage.

Fires had been extinguished, but the smell of charred circuitry still lingered in the air.

Approaching Commander Thompson, the chief engineer of the Percival, Lieutenant Palmer noted the weariness etched on his face—a reflection of the unyielding pressure he had faced in his battle to keep the ship afloat.

“Commander Thompson, I’m Lieutenant Palmer from the USS Valiant,” she introduced herself, extending a hand in greeting.

Thompson’s firm handshake conveyed a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos. “Lieutenant Palmer, thank you for answering our distress call. The Dominion’s weapons have taken a toll on our systems, and restoring power to the engines has become an uphill struggle.”

Surveying the devastated engine room, Palmer assessed the magnitude of the destruction. The warp core, though intact, sat offline, surrounded by charred panels and shattered components. Bringing it back online would require an immense undertaking.

A nod from Commander Thompson conveyed gratitude and a shared resolve. “I appreciate your aid, Lieutenant. Time is of the essence. Stranded here, we risk further calamity.”

What seemed like hours passed until they were finally ready to begin powering up the warp core and restoring the ship’s systems, albeit at minimal power. Chatter amongst the engineers became almost rhythmic as they worked. A backdrop of sound that Palmer found calming and helped to focus her on the task at hand.

Palmer’s attention was abruptly diverted to a far more imminent danger. Monitoring the power sequence test, her experienced eyes detected a chilling sight—the unmistakable fractal pattern etching along the Percival’s warp core, a silent harbinger of catastrophe.

The ship’s computer hadn’t reported any weakness in the core, and yet, there it was, as clear as day, cracking.

“Lieutenant Palmer to the bridge,” she urgently transmitted, her voice a pillar of unwavering composure. “We have a breach in the warp core. Repeat, the core’s integrity has been compromised.”

Palmer’s fingers danced across the control panel before she heard a response, her movements precise amidst the mounting tension. Red warning lights bathed the every area of the ship, casting an eerie glow upon the crew as they toiled to stave off impending disaster. However, the unpredictable hand of fate had other designs.

A haunting siren pierced the air, its piercing wail reverberating through the ship, an ominous symphony of impending doom. The core had breached, and it unleashed its unbridled fury—a tempest of unleashed energy, tearing through the vessel. The resulting explosion rippled outward, an unyielding shockwave ensnaring neighboring ships in its vengeful grasp, inflicting further damage in a web of collateral destruction.

Then.. silence.

Where the Percival had stood, licking its wounds, it was no more. The remains of the battlegroup had been pushed outwards from where she had been.

Aboard the Defender, Wright and those around him picked themselves back up, having been thrown to the floor as the shockwave had rocked the ship. Once on his feet again, he tapped his communicator, “Wright to Valiant, what was that?”

A trembling, quite voice replied, “It’s the Percival, sir or, at least it was the Percival.”

Wright didn’t quite grasp what the voice was getting at, although he had that sinking feeling in his stomach again. “What do you mean?”

“She’s… gone. No survivors. ”

Greene stood on the bridge, watching the Percival break apart as her core exploded. His gaze fixed on the viewscreen where the Percival had been just moments ago. The fiery remnants of the ship illuminated the space around it. It all happened so suddenly, the Valiant’s sensors had barely detected it before she was gone. The accompanying shockwave from the blast rocked the Valiant and the rest of the battlegroup, forcing Greene and the rest of the bridge to brace themselves.

In an instant, reality came crashing down upon Greene. She’s gone. He felt a lump form in his throat as the thought unfolded. His grief was instant, it felt like his heart was physically breaking in two. Palmer was on that ship. The two of them had been together for almost two years now. Leanne is gone.

No time for that now, push it down, deal with it later, he thought. He looked around the faces of the bridge crew, trying to bring himself back into the moment at hand. He found them covered in shock and sorrow. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed them tight. 

“What happened?” he asked openly to the floor.

The science officer on duty, Lieutenant Talev, a young Andorian woman nervously turned her gaze away from the viewscreen down to her console. “Sensors detected a warp core breach, sir,” her voice was a little more shakey than she would have liked.

He then asked the question he really didn’t want the answer to, “Lifesigns? Survivors?”

“None, sir. It looks like it all happened so fast, nobody would have even had time to get to an escape pod,” Talev responded, sadness creeping into her voice.

Almost on cue, Captain Wright’s voice came in over the comm.

“Wright to Valiant, what was that?” Wright’s voice firm and clear.

It took a moment for Greene to compose himself. He couldn’t help but think about Palmer and how he hoped it was at least quick and painless for her. He rallied enough to respond, but his voice was trembling.

“It’s the Percival, sir or, at least it was the Percival.”

There was a short pause before Wright enquired, “What do you mean?”

“She’s…gone. No survivors.” That one stang. It was the first time he’d said it out loud. She really is gone he thought as an image of Palmer appeared in the back of his mind.

Greene’s voice cracked as he spoke, the weight of his grief evident in his words. Wright’s voice remained steady but carried an undertone of empathy. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Nathan. Are you going to be able to continue?”

Clearing his throat to bring back some level of steady into his voice, Greene replied, “Yes. We’ve got a job to do. That comes first.”

“Understood. We’re mopping up here. Wright out”

As the communication ended, Greene took a deep breath, his fists slowly relaxing. He turned his attention back to the viewscreen, his gaze distant.

“Status report,” he requested, his voice steadier now.

Lieutenant Talev responded, her voice stronger despite the sorrow in the air. “Shields held up against the shockwave, but we’ve sustained minor structural damage on the port side of Deck 5. Emergency teams are already on the scene.”