The Alendonian sky was an aurora borealis of rushing orange. Gaseous tongues of ionised hydrogen danced and flickered down towards a horizon of silhouetted, barren rock. With each celestial whiplash, charged particles streaked and scattered like shooting stars, induced by a powerful magnetic field emanating from the planet’s dense osmium core.  

Beneath the vast geodesic dome of Settlement 6, Lieutenant Commander Alex Lupulo reclined in magisterial fashion, his gangly limbs stretched out like clotheslines. The cocktail glass on the table next to him smoked with some unknown Denobulan syntheholic alchemy. He hadn’t cared too much about the ingredients. It was strong. Languidly, he looked up from his PADD, reached over and took a long swig, followed by a satisfied sigh, “What a sight.” 

“Speak for yourself,” came an unexpected response in a lightly mocking tone. 

Lupulo looked up, twisting his thin neck in its direction. The New Yorker’s eyes rolled immediately on making contact with a familiar pale face, “Oh, it’s you.” 

“Uh-uh, not just me. Look, I brought a friend,” Sreyler Theb, her own cocktail in hand, stepped aside to reveal a broad-shouldered Junior Lieutenant in a Science Officer’s uniform. A forelock of blonde hair swept down past blue eyes that winced with embarrassment.  

“Uhh, hello. Sir,” the Ensign offered a meek smile. 

The Efrosian raised an inquiring eyebrow towards Lupulo,“Have you guys even talked properly?” A pause stretched into an awkward silence as Lupulo glowered at them both, “Are you serious, Lup? It’s been over three years and you haven’t had an actual conversation?” 

Lupulo’s nostrils flared, “We’ve… Coordinated a few science lab upgrades.” 

Sreyler scoffed, “Lup, one of these days you’re going to have to actually start hanging out with people.” 

“Why?”  

“Because ten years from now you don’t want to be the same crusty old Chief of Operations with his head buried in,” she snatched the PADD, “Frontier Logistics Quarterly on the one bit of downtime we’ve had in months. Also, it’s professional to at least get to know the other department heads.” 

“You’re a department head.” 

“There are other departments, Lup!” Sreyler’s hands balled into fists in frustration, “I’m not the only one on the Ahwahnee who can answer obscure technical questions at weird times. Ed’s been helping me reconfigure the geodesic stabilisation fields on for these domes all week,” she gestured towards the Lieutenant who remained fixed to the spot. 

Lup sat up, “He knows his way around stabilisation fields?” 

“Ask. Him. Yourself.” Sreyler turned with a flick of ice-white plaited hair. Brushing past one of the thick giant ferns that peppered the relaxation zone, she made for her own recliners. 

“Tell me, Lieutenant Steldon,” an attempted smile formed itself on Lupulo’s face, “what kind of power distribution network are the domes running on? Fusion? Matter/antimatter? Or is the climate here stable enough for renewables?” 

Sreyler threw her head back on the cushion, shifting a little to make herself comfortable. Lupulo’s dull drone, combined with a full day up in dome scaffold, was more than enough to generate a wave of tiredness that crept up her body. She felt bad for Steldon. Then remembered that if not for him, she would be the target of Lupulo’s technical enquiries. Smiling, she gulped down the rest of the synthehol, turned on her side, and drifted off to sleep.  

It was the low tweet from her combadge that woke her. She could still hear Lupulo droning in the background, interspersed with a few polite replies from Steldon. As she rolled over to face them, she could hear their badges, “Hey – it’s for all of us. Must be something going on upstairs,” her eyes flicked up to where she imagined the Ahwahnee’s orbit path might be. Steldon and Lupulo fell silent, and all three of them reached for their badges simultaneously. 

“Captain Vordenna to all Ahwahnee personnel on Alendon III. We have received new orders from Fourth Fleet Command. We will be departing the system at 1800 hours. All senior staff report immediately to the briefing room.”  

Lupulo scowled as the comlink cut, “We still had days left…” 

“It’s gotta be huge if we’re leaving early like this. We still haven’t run the final safety diagnostics,” Steldon stood confused, with hands on hips. 

“Colony administration can handle it,” Sreyler said, no less perplexed, “But yeah… What in the ice could they possibly need the Ahwahnee for this urgently?” 

“I hate this already,” Lupulo moaned, “Whenever this happens. It never ends well.” 

“Hey you never know,” Sreyler put on a show of fake reasurrance, “Could be one of those cute emergencies. Tribble outbreak on Therron VI,” she mocked the serious tone of an FNN reporter, “Maybe a plague of Peranian cuddle bunnies? Theb to Ahwahnee, three to beam up.”  

Steldon chuckled. Lupulo groaned. Both utterances dissolved into an audible smear as they dematerialised into three tingling waves of energy. 

Felrak and Tursk were already seated at the conference table as the senior staff entered. First, Lieutenant Althaia Delfino, her station at the bridge making for only a short walk to her customary seat at the farther end. Dr. Lomal followed, engrossed in a PADD white coat flowing out from behind his long stride. Lieutenant Steldon was next, followed by Theb and Lupulo. The latter had still not shaken his expression of annoyance. A stony calmness fell over him, however, upon seeing a darkness in the eyes of both Captain and First Officer.  

“Now we’re all here,” Tursk cleared his throat, “We have grave news to report to you all.” A deathly silence filled the room. The four at the table who were not in the know glanced at each other furtively. Each silently reassured themself that they were not the only ones who had never seen the First Officer, dour at the best of times, speak with such apprehension, “This situation has been ongoing since February this year, but Fourth Fleet Command now considers it critical to the safety of the Federation for this to be dispersed throughout the entire fleet. In short, the Dominion have returned. We’ve received news that a Dominion fleet has overrun a large area of Federation space coreward of the Deneb sector.”   

Felrak, his elbows resting on the head of the table, lowered his eyes. Their darkness cut a strong contrast with the leaves and petals adorning the wall behind him. The closer the Argosian came to speaking, the more they seemed to wilt away, shying back from a coming storm. He had rehearsed the coming words but now, on the brink of their delivery, he felt them all too inadequate to convey the iron foreboding that lay, deep and with all the density of a quantum singularity in the pit of his stomach.  

“I had always hoped this day would never come,” Felrak found his voice. He spoke quietly. Nevertheless, the table hung on his every word, “The atrocities of the Dominion War are something I thought were behind us.  It’s small comfort that only Tursk and I are old enough to have been on active duty during those terrible years.” 

Theb, Lupulo and Lomal simultaneously felt their own stomach pits forming, although with a great deal more abstraction than those of Tursk and Felrak. Learning of the war from Academy classes and holoimages had given them some idea of the carnage. Lupulo cast his mind back to the devastated colonies, traumatised prisoners of war and smoking craters left behind by the Dominion’s last foray into the Alpha Quadrant. Cleaning up had been his first assignment, and it had been a sobering shock to the system after those heady days spent near graduation from the Academy.   

“But what about the armistice? The Treaty of Bajor?” Lupulo sputtered.  

A short, gruff laugh escaped Tursk, “I’m sure the Founders would consider such things quaint concepts for solids.” 

“So they’re just back without warning?” Sreyler added further incredulity to the mix, “We’ve got sensor relays pretty deep into the Gamma Quadrant, how were they not detected? How could they even make it through the Wormhole?” 

Felrak breathed in deeply, “The USS Caliburn has confirmed the Dominion fleet is not of a modern design. Ships appear to match exactly the same specifications as those encountered from 2373-75. Something has brought them here from the past.” 

“Great, we’ve got 25 years of tech development on them!” Lupulo leaned towards Felrak from across the table, “How are they so far into Federation space? 514 must be up there giving them hell.” 

“They’ve got help.” Tursk said, “Breen.” 

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. The emptiness where their stomachs had been now turned to lead. It was Dr. Lomal who broke the silence. The Bajoran’s deep voice calmly resonated throughout the greenified room, “Prophets help us.” 

“Indeed,” Felrak followed, “In fact, by assisting us in our previous confrontation with the Dominion, it appears the Prophets may have had a hand in all this.” 

Tursk took over, “That’s our best theory so far. From the Fourth Fleet’s intelligence reports, the Dominion fleet bears a striking resemblance to the one lost while transiting the Wormhole in 2374.” 

“I learned about this in Astrophysics,” Sreyler couldn’t help herself, “It’s the weirdest thing. Complete temporal and spatial displacement. Matter blinking out of existence. I mean, we’ve heard about things like Q slingshotting people across the universe, but a whole fleet disappeared… Honestly that Wormhole gives me the creeps. How can people even use it regularly?” 

“By being on the Emissary’s good side,” Dr. Lomal’s eyebrows crept their way up his shaved head as he smiled to himself.  

“The fleet may have blinked out of existence then,” Tursk had no time for mere musings, “But now it’s blinked back in. And as far as I know, we don’t have an Emissary of the Prophets to help us out this time.” 

Lomal frowned. Felrak jumped in quickly, “Emissary or no Emissary, the Fourth Fleet has received direct orders from Admiral Ramar to take a stand. We’ve also received word from Admiral Beckett that Starfleet Command itself may have been compromised. We are to trust no one outside the Fourth Fleet command structure. I cannot stress enough the importance of this message. Changelings have made their way to the heart of the Federation before, and we’ve come a long way in detecting them. If past experience is anything to go by, however, we cannot be too careful.”  

Althaia, silent up until now, took the opportunity to sum up what each non-veteran at the table was thinking, “How do we know Fourth Fleet Command isn’t full of changelings too?” A look of genuine puzzlement arranged itself across a usually indifferent face. 

Tursk grumbled, “Welcome to war with the Dominion. All we can do is use our best judgement. We’ve received orders through a chain of officers we know and trust.” 

“Those orders are to deploy a line of sensor buoys across Sectors 784, 5 and 6 near the Black Cluster,” Felrak continued seamlessly, “should the Dominion attempt to move deeper into Federation territory, we need an early warning system. It goes without saying that the fleet’s stretched thin. This should be enough to detect enemy warp signatures despite local magnetic interference from the Cluster.”  

Enemy. It had been a long time since Felrak had used that word. There weren’t many times it had rolled of his tongue as easily as this. Not since 2375, at least. His eyes lowered, palm still flat against the table. He could see the distorted reflection of his face in the glossy black surface. For him, 26 years was significant, but for them it was almost a quarter of a lifetime. Their smooth, unblemished appearances told stories of bravery and lives well lived; of surmounting incalculable odds. But did they know the brutality of the relentless foe that surged toward them, motivated no doubt by bloody demands of vengeance and tarnished honour? The foreboding in Tursk’s eyes showed he knew. The others? Felrak doubted it. They would have to learn the way he had learned. He’d had little use for such lessons on his home planet. The longer he travelled the stars, though, the more he lamented their violent inevitability. 

“Mr. Steldon, begin modifications of the sensor buoys to compensate for protostellar magnetic interference.” 

“Aye, sir.” 

“Lieutenant Delfino, lay in a course for Sector 784 and proceed at warp 8.” 

“Aye.” 

“Everyone else, begin preparations for hostile contact. Yellow alert.”  

Captain’s log, stardate 78437.0. Something struck me last night as I regenerated amongst the orbosh vines. I saw it in the way they moved. It was slow. Tentative. When the fibrotendrils latched onto my skin, my thoughts clouded until they were longer my own. Shapeless, twisting thunderclouds smoked and rolled across the horizon of my mind.  

Twenty-six terran years. Since the end of the war, I had received nothing from the orbosh aside from its regenerative aid. Now it seeks to enter my thoughts again, to exercise this part of our symbiosis. 

Rising plumes appeared to me like the smoking craters of Leonis Prime. Electric bolts sent pangs of fear chanelling through the core of my being. The Ahwahnee is far from the front. The sensor net is all but fully deployed. We must complete our orders. Yet, I know they’re coming. 

The USS Ahwahnee’s thick plated hangar doors yawned open for the final time that mission. A sensor buoy tumbled out into the nothing. Jammed full of amplifiers, only a thin band of red light around its circumference prevented the work bee-sized dodecahedron from complete consumption by the black.   

“Last buoy’s away,” Lupulo announced, “We can get out of here now.” 

“Not just yet,” Tursk countermanded from the First Officer’s seat, “We need to calibrate the sensor net, make sure nothing slips through. Those Dominion attack ships were- are hard to get a read on.” 

“Aye, sir,” Steldon called from Science, “I’ve located a red dwarf twelve lightyears coreward. I can ping a few sensor imprints off it with the deflector and see what the net picks up.” 

Felrak leant back in the centre chair, listening in as he presided over the bridge with a regal demeanour. He nodded, barely perceptible to anyone but Tursk. 

“Get it done,” the Tellarite amplified the Captain then glanced sideways, attempting to read the Argosian’s thoughts. It never had worked, although Tursk swore he was getting closer. Felrak had been silent for at least the last hour, absent mindedly scratching on the moss that poked out from under his uniform sleeves and across the gnarled backs of his hands. Something was wrong. It wasn’t the silence that gave it away, the Captain being no stranger to bouts of pensiveness. It was the chin propped up on a curled hand that covered his mouth, and the deep cracks that furrowed deeper still from frowning eyes staring unfocused at the ground three feet in front of him.  

“Captain,” Tursk ventured, leaning across, “Everything alright?” 

“Hmm?” Felrak looked round, lackadaisically zeroing in on the noise, “Oh,” the concern on his face was wiped away, “Yes, Commander. Except, well. I, uhh- I didn’t sleep well.” 

“I think we’ll all sleep a lot better once we’re far away from here,” Tursk smiled, checking the readout on his display, “And it looks like the time is upon us.” 

“The net’s registering the signal,” Steldon announced on cue. 

“Very good,” Tursk acknowledged, “Let’s get underway. Lieutenant Delfino, set course for-”  

The Chief Science Officer’s voice departed from its usual calm register to cut across the bridge, “Sir wait, there’s another reading. Similar vector. It’s too slow to be the original data burst.” 

“Sensor echo?” Tursk looked across to Steldon.  

As he peered at the readings, Steldon’s blonde hair reflected from the glossy lcars display in a fuzzy halo, “It’s… Possible. It’s still too far out. No wait- Sir, it’s altering course.” 

Steldon’s words shot an icy spear through Felrak’s chest, “Red alert!” 

Tursk leapt from his chair, “Do we have a read?” 

“Affirmative,” a pause followed as Steldon double checked what the sensors were telling him. He was too young to truly comprehend the gravity of what he was about to say. Indeed, the last time Tursk had heard the words, he had been a junior engineering officer back on the Nautilus. A strange dissonance therefore overcame him as Steldon’s voice rose again, wavering with uncertainty, “Warp signature identical to that of a Jem’Hadar attack ship, circa 2372. Bearing zero one four, mark six. ETA three minutes.” 

“Right on top of us,” Lupulo muttered audibly from Tactical, then added with more volume, “Phasers powered up and torpedoes ready.” 

A million thoughts cascaded through Tursk’s mind. Chin’toka. The orange gleam of phaser rifle bolts hurtling through the ship’s corridors. Containment fields shimmering in the face of billowing flames. The bayonets. The scream.   

“Delfino bring us about,” Felrak’s order was calm and clear, “divert power to forward shields. All hands, battle stations.” 

Tursk re-seated himself, and the bridge was filled with a grim silence. Thrusters ignited, and the Ahwahnee pivoted in space to meet the enemy. The curved bow of the aging spaceframe, the great survivor, reluctant to battle and yet no stranger to it, cut an arc through the vacuum. Waiting. 

“Weapons range in one minute,” Lupulo updated. Felrak gripped the chair. 

“45 seconds.”  

“Standby to begin evasive maneuvers on my mark. We’ll see exactly where they drop out of warp,” Tursk growled. 

“Fifteen seconds. Ten, nine, eight… Weird.” 

“What?” Tursk barked over his shoulder. 

“They’re not slowing down,” Lupulo hammered more commands into the sweeping tactical panel that framed the rear of the bridge, “there they go,” he nodded towards the main viewer. 

Tursk swung his head back round just in time to see a purple streak shoot diagonally, like an upward shooting star against a clear night. It faded as quickly as it had come. A stunned silence, tinged with relief, washed across them all. 

“No time to stop and chat, I guess,” Lupulo was first to gather his thoughts.  

Promptly ignoring him, having made far better mental use of the intervening moments, Felrak stepped over to the conn, “Delfino, what lies ahead on the Jem’Hadar’s projected course?” 

Sharp, navigator’s eyes remained fixed on the display in front of her, unblinking with concentration as the attack ship’s path was calculated. Black hair, swept back into a ponytail, flicked out as she tilted her head to address the Captain, “A few asteroid clusters, Sir, then two uninhabited star systems before intersecting with the trailing edge of the Black Cluster.” 

Tursk had risen to join them, “Nothing of strategic value.” 

“Yes,” Felrak frowned, “but the Black Cluster…” he looked down at the route on Delfino’s display, “Not much charted that way.” 

“Captain, there’s something else,” Delfino skimmed at speed through the results of a library search, “USS Astoria was the last ship sent to chart the outermost sectors of the Cluster. They noted a series of large unknown biosignatures in the region, possibly spacebourne. Reported coordinates intersect with the current course of that attack ship, Sir.” 

“That has to be it,” Tursk echoed Felrak’s thoughts.  

“Agreed,” Felrak turned once again to the science station, “Mr. Steldon, any other Starfleet vessels capable of intercepting?” 

“No, Sir. Fourth Fleet Command has everything deployed coreward to the Deneb system. Nearest patrol is a day out at maximum warp.” 

Then the decision was made. A clarity came over the Argosian, “Lieutenant Delfino, lay in a course for the Astoria’s coordinates.” 

“Sir!” Lupulo burst out, “The Black Cluster?! It’s gonna wreak havoc on our sensors! Even if we do find them in there, we’ll barely be able to target if it comes down to a fight. And biosignatures? That’s all we’re going on?” 

“No one asked for your opinion, Lup.” Tursk snarled. 

“It’s my assessment as Tactical Officer, Commander! All I’m saying is why not wait a day for the patrol? It’s Jem’Hadar we’re dealing with, at least we could go in there outnumbering them.” Lupulo found himself gesturing wide over the tactical railing as he remonstrated.  

Felrak fixed him with a stare, “Because I want to know what that ship is doing. Not in a day. Now.” He turned away, “Delfino, let’s go.” 

“Aye, Sir.” 

The Ahwahnee tilted again, spinning clockwise in the direction of the purple streak that had passed not minutes before. Impulse engines glowed crimson, propelling the ship along its course at sublight speed. A great flash pulsed from each of the thin blue streaks lining her four warp nacelles. Matter and antimatter annihilated in a cataclysmic rending of spacetime, and the grey-white hull streaked towards an event horizon of her own making as she accelerated past the very light of the stars. 

Sreyler Theb stood over the Main Engineering pool table, paying close attention to the warp intermix chamber. Her eyes flicked across the readings; crystal alignment, containment field stability, plasma induction rate, and finally coolant cycle efficiency. Satisfied, she looked up towards the core itself. Pulses of blue shot down its cylindrical structure in rapid succession, past the dilithium crystals nestled in their central pod. Sreyler approached the railing that ran around the core’s circumference. She held up a PADD containing logged entries of plasma flow discrepancies, accurate to the nearest picocubit. Noting the current readings from a panel on the railing, she duly input the latest data.  

To Sreyler’s right, the small personnel lift whirred, transporting the broad figure of Ensign Telaan from the observation platform above. Sreyler smiled as the Bolian stepped over to the railing with a wave, “Hey Telaan. Thought you’d be getting some rest.” 

“Hey Commander,” Telaan’s nose and eyes wrinkled, smiling back, “could say the same for you,” she placed her hands on her hips and eyed Sreyler up and down in mock judgement, “You must have been on duty for ten hours now.” 

“Plenty to do,” Sreyler wiggled the PADD in her hand, “and thank you Efrosian physiology. Honestly I feel like humans are always sleeping. What’s your excuse?” 

“True about the humans,” Telaan smirked, “Guess that’s what happens when you evolve on a planet that spins too quickly.” 

“Right? It’s so warm in here, too.” 

“Oh I dunno, I’m with them on the temperature. And it might have something to do with the Captain. How else are all the plants gonna grow?” Telaan waved a hand in the general direction of a Sivrelian creeping fern adorning the nearby bulkhead.  

“Captain Greenfingers…” Sreyler said, exasperated, “as long as they don’t get in the way. Whatever. Holodeck’s there if I need to take an ice bath I guess. Anyway. Nice distraction. So how come you’re awake? I believe your shift ended uhmmm,” she made a show of flicking through the PADD, “two hours ago. Got nothing better to do, Ensign, hmmm?” 

“Ugh. Rumbled,” Telaan scowled, “Actually I always think being on duty is better when you’ve got stuff on your mind.”  

“Feel you there,” Sreyler nodded, “and, oh yeah, heading full speed ahead into the Black Cluster after a Jem’Hadar attack ship; part of a giant fleet that’s mysteriously reappeared after thirty years for no reason… That bit’s not so good for the nighttime anxiety.” 

“Nailed it. How did you guess?” Telaan’s blue lips curled into a sarcastic grin. 

“Counselor Theb, at your service,” Sreyler placed an arm round the Bolian, guiding her away from the warp core housing and back towards the pool table, “Let me tell ya what works for me. Nothing calms a racing mind like a warp core diagnostic, and believe me, the Ahwahnee is not the easiest ship on which to run one. ‘Finicky’ doesn’t even begin to cut it with these engines. Double the warp coils, double the fun!” 

“Hmmm, warp core therapy,” a nervous laugh escaped Telaan, “That’s your prescription, Commander?” 

“Never try. Never know,” Sreyler’s eyes turned down again towards the pool table, eyelids half dropped in a smug smile, “Now look at how these intermix couplings are configured. Any idea how long it took to find the right magnetic threshold?” 

“OK now that is out there…” Telaan’s eyes narrowed, focusing, “Kinda reminds me of something they used to teach us in Warp Field Dynamics actually. Mind if I take a closer look?” 

“Go ahead,” Sreyler stepped back, peeping over the Bolian’s shoulder as she flicked through the operating parameters.  

“Yeah, that’s a flux inversion! Specifically recommended for plasma flow efficiency on bifurcated warp cores. Straight out of the Ra-Havreii’s school of plasma dynamics.” 

“Oh,” Sreyler’s eyes met Telaan’s, “so his work finally became required reading at the Academy, huh?” 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s the best theory we’ve got right now for quantum prediction of particle flow. Why the surprise?” 

Sreyler looked away, “Yeah, no. It is revolutionary. It’s just… Ah… Nevermind.” 

“Commander,” Telaan’s expression softened, “I thought this was warp core therapy?” 

“Firstly,” Sreyler sighed, “there’s no one around so you can call me Sreyler. Secondly, Xin-Ra Havreii, yeah… So he’s my Uncle.”  

“Ohhhh,” Telaan looked to the code still displayed on the pool table, then back to Sreyler. 

“And, he’s kind of the reason I’m here right now. That’s what it feels like, at least,” Sreyler added with a shrug. 

“What?” Telaan was incredulous. She turned to face Sreyler, “You know that’s not how it works, right? Starfleet doesn’t care who your family is when it comes to deciding assignments.”  

Sreyler barely looked up, “Sure. And the fact that he’s good friends with the Captain means nothing too then, I guess,” her ponytail thumped the small of her back as her eyes rose to the ceiling, “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.” 

“Well, I don’t know the Captain, but I’ve worked with you for a while now. Trust me, I know what it’s like to grow up in someone’s shadow. My Dad’s in Starfleet, too. It’s like, there’s a deadline for everything, ya know?” She deepened her voice, “Telaan, you really should be closer to choosing a specialism at this point in your career. Guhhh,” she finished with a heavy roll of her eyes.  

“Ahaaa,” Sreyler half-chuckled. Her shoulders relaxed, “Starfleet Dad syndrome. No stranger to life in the shadow then, huh?” 

“Yup,” Telaan shrugged, “you get used to it though. When you realise that you got here because of your own work, your own achievements and your own freaking perseverance. And that you’ve got just as much right to be here as anyone else who’s earned it, Starfleet family or not.” A long pause was followed by, “Right, Sreyler?” 

“Right.” Sreyler’s head gave a slight nod as she spoke, “You’re right. Now, check out these inversion phase inhibitors!” 

The Bolian gave a single hearty laugh before turning back to the pool table, “Counselor Telaan, at your service.” 

Doctor Lomal ran the cortical scanner from one of Felrak’s wide temples to the other. The tricorder display cast a glossy sheen upon the Bajoran Doctor’s dark skin, highlighting nose ridges that wrinkled further under a deep frown.  

“I don’t even know where to begin sometimes with Argosian brain physiology,” came a deep grumble. 

Felrak laughed, rocking back a little on the end of the biobed, “I apologise, Doctor. I believe I’m carrying a few more lobes up there than the average humanoid.” 

“The lobes aren’t the problem here,” Lomal flipped the tricorder closed, stowing the scanner, “it’s the constant mycelial interactions the innermost membrane. The nourishment layer, where most species would have a meningeal envelope, yours-” 

“Saturated with spores,” Felrak’s large, glassy eyes looked up at Lomal, “Forgive me. It’s not the first time a Doctor has voiced… Vexations about my brain.”  

Lomal’s frown softened, “It certainly is vexing, Captain. I’ve read every damn paper on the topic. There’s just too much electical activity in the fungal mycelium layer to get a read on the neural signals.” 

Felrak sighed, “I was just looking for something to make this headache go away.” 

Lomal deposited the tricorder in the deep pocket of his blueish lab coat, “Then this calls for a more traditional diagnostic approach. When did the symptoms first start?” 

Scratching at the nape of his neck, Felrak thought back, “You know, I believe the first time I got one like this was in the Delta Quadrant.” 

“The exoplanet? With the Blood Dilithium?” The concern returned to Lomal’s face. 

“Around then, yes.” 

“Before or after you awoke from the coma?” 

Felrak’s eyes drifted past Lomal, remembering, “You know, Doctor, I’d say it was during. At first I thought it was the Brenari. It seemed they were showing me their pain.”  

“Which I have no doubt was a hallucination caused by the Blood Dilithium’s effect on the same mycelial layer of your brain,” Lomal recalled the report he’d prepared shortly following the incident. 

“Yes, of course,” Felrak’s eyes met the Doctor’s once more. A faint smile crossed his dark green lips.  

“I’m not happy about it,” Lomal crossed his arms, his full height becoming apparent, “What I’d really like is to keep you here under observation. Until I can get a clearer picture of what’s going on. Those lichen patches, where you fuse to the tree, they’ve gotten thinner.” 

Felrak rubbed his shoulder where it grew, “The orbosh… Lately it has not provided me with the energy it once did…”  

“And don’t you think that might have been worth mentioning earlier, Captain?” 

Felrak shifted uncomfortably for a silent moment. Then the red alert signal blared. 

“Tursk to Vordenna,” the Tellarite voice barked through from the Bridge. 

“Go ahead, Commander.” 

“The Jem’Hadar ship has dropped out of warp. We’re about one lightyear into the Black Cluster, sir. It seems they’re making directly for a nearby pulsar.” 

“Match speed and heading, Mr. Tursk. I’m on my way.” The com channel closed. Felrak stood, wincing as another jolt of pain shot behind his eyes. Steadying himself on the edge of the bed, he regained focus, “Care to observe me on the bridge, Doctor?”   

Lomal, with clear disapproval, reluctantly turned to the medical replicator. Inputting a quick series of commands, a thumb-sized canister materialised. Whipping a hypospray from another coat pocket, the Doctor loaded it for delivery, “This’ll give you some temporary pain relief,” he brought the hypospray to Felrak’s neck, “against my better judgement, I should add.” 

“Thank you, Doctor Lomal,” Felrak turned, stepping towards the sickbay doors. 

“When we’re done with this wild goose chase, or whatever the humans call it, we need to put back to starbase so you can see a specialist.”  

“I have full faith in you, Doctor. All your patching up has done wonders so far,” the two of them entered the turbolift, “Bridge.” 

“It’s more like papering over the cracks,” Lomal huffed. The turbolift whirred to life. 

The bridge was bathed in pale blue light radiating from an immense, seething orb displayed on the viewer, “Report. What are we looking at?” Felrak strode ahead of Dr. Lomal down the small slope to the centre chair.  

“Gamma-ray Pulsar 3846 B, Sir,” came Tursk’s familiar growl, “One rotation per 4.84 seconds. Jem’Hadar are currently moving within half a lightyear of it. Heading 143-mark-012.” 

Felrak glanced down at his display, confirming what Tursk had said. Lomal seated himself in the mission advisor’s chair to the Captain’s left. Both could just make out the silhouette of the Jem’Hadar attack ship against the surging, ribbon-like crests and waves of the pulsar’s immense surface. 

“There’s no way they’d be able to see us on sensors that close in,” Felrak’s eyes narrowed as he peered out across the vast, radiation-saturated expanse.  

“There’s no way they’re seeing anything at all,” Lupulo spoke up from behind them, “Radiation at those concentrations… Their sensor palettes are fried, no question.” 

“What are they doing?” Felrak muttered, thinking out loud.  

“We’ve been asking the same thing since they started heading that way,” Tursk raised his eyebrows, equally perplexed. 

“Delfino, can we get in closer?” Felrak leaned forward, “I want a full scan.” 

“It’d have to be very close, Sir,” Althaia called back, “It’s pea soup out there.” 

“Captain,” Lupulo cut in, “We have to assume their weapons are still functioning. Even if their targeting ain’t so hot, if they do realise we’re here it won’t last long.” 

“Noted, Mr. Lupulo,” Felrak angled his head back, acknowledging the Tactical Officer’s concerns, “Take us in, Althaia.” 

Tursk’s black eyes looked back to Lupulo, his expression softened with a glimmer of understanding. Phasers of Chin’toka tore through his thoughts, and he gripped the arms of his chair. The Ahwahnee crept forward towards the old enemy.  

A warning chimed on conn, “Sir. I’m reading a large antimatter buildup at the attack ship’s position.” 

“Full power to forward shields,” Tursk responded instantly. 

“All stop,” followed Felrak, “I need details, Lieutenant.” 

“I… Can’t make it out… Sir, it looks like some kind of containment pod. It’s drifting further from their main hull,” Althaia’s nimble hands raced over the conn, frantically searching for any sensor enhancement or tweak by which they might see through the all-encompassing radioactive miasma.  

“Warp core ejection?” Tursk offered. 

“Negative,” Althaia continued to multitask, “There’s four warp cores’ worth of antimatter there, at least for a ship of that size.”  

“What the hell are they doing? If that ruptures…” Lupulo gripped the railing hard, scarcely believing what was now unfolding in front of them, a visual now having been established by Althaia, “That kind of shockwave, this close to a pulsar. I don’t want to be around if-” 

“Sir, the Jem’Hadar ship has accelerated to full impulse on a new heading,” another alarm, “They’ve armed a polaron torpedo.” 

“Back us off!” Tursk roared. 

“BELAY THAT,” Felrak rose from his chair, “Althaia, match their speed and heading.”  

“Aye, Sir.” 

The Ahwahnee pivoted, powering through the blue haze. The Jem’Hadar ship, only a little further along the pulsar’s orbit path, loosed the torpedo from its aft launcher.   

“Detonation,” Althaia announced. 

“4.84 seconds,” Felrak looked to his First Officer, “The rotation interval. They’ve timed it. We’re going to ride the shockwave.” 

Dr. Lomal, turned to them both, confusion mixed with fear in his eyes, “Where?” 

A deep trembling permeated the Ahwahnee’s hull, signalling the approaching wall of cosmic force. Tursk nodded towards the Jem’Hadar ship on screen, “Wherever they want.” 

The explosion billowed out in an all-consuming tidal wave on the galactic sea. Time stretched and compressed; caught between the quantum dictates that had shaped those universal contours not fourteen billion years prior. The USS Ahwahnee, on the verge of being unmade by those very same laws, was snatched up like a child’s toy on the foaming current. Catapulted forward, the fragile starship moved beyond concepts of time and distance held by those within. Her spaceframe; meagre shelter from the ravenous storm. Her path decided by mortal foe.