It wasn’t a formal diagnosis, but Taes’ circadian rhythm was demonstrating symptoms of disorder.  Even past eleven hundred hours, Taes had not risen from her nyctinasty plot.  In the relative privacy of her quarters, Taes had maintained a nastic posture that was unnatural to the cycles of the day and duty shift.  She was laying on her stomach, one arm hanging over the side of the bed.  The prideful red petals of her uniform lay on the floor.  Despite this, Taes’ breathing had not slowed to her natural sleeping rate; her hormones were consistent with a state of wakefulness.  

Doctor Nelli could taste the truth of it in the air between them.

After Taes had dismissed Nelli’s comm with a single word and ignored two door chimes, Nelli made use of their medical override codes to access the interior of Taes’ private chambers.  Even this invasion of what many in Starfleet referred to as privacy elicited no verbal or physical reaction from Taes.  Taes merely blinked at Nelli.

The captain’s quarters were no larger than Nelli’s own as chief medical officer.  Nelli’s brief examination of the room revealed none of the personal belongings Taes had cherished aboard the USS Sarek.  Instead, packing crates remained stacked in a corner of the compartment, now weeks after the ship’s launch under Taes’ command.

Nelli made a half-hearted attempt to initiate conversation with Taes to no avail.  Taes spoke no words in response; she didn’t even grunt.  Taes only pulled the textile coverings up to her neck.  On their four thick motor limbs, Nelli shuffled across the compartment, away from where Taes lay, to provide instructions to the replicator.  Nelli requested a warm cargil broth in a mug with both a spoon and a straw.  They reached for the source of nourishment with two prehensile vines.

Through the compartment’s exterior viewports, a workbee’s searchlight turned towards the ship, spilling harsh illumination into the dimly lit room.  Despite what Nelli had been educated about the sensitivity of Deltan eyes, Taes made no reaction to the flood of light.  The presence of the workbee meant the engineering team from Farpoint Station had freed up enough capacity to commence repairs on Constellation’s shield generators.  

The Battle of Farpoint had been costly to the Fourth Fleet.  Once the Founders in the Gamma Quadrant had sent word of the Dominion’s treaty with the Federation, much of the Lost Fleet had surrendered to be escorted back to the Gamma Quadrant. However, the remainder of the Lost Fleet had converged on the Deneb system for one final attack on Starfleet’s molecular pump.  Like much of the Fourth Fleet, Constellation had answered the call to defend Farpoint Station.  In spite of the damage already taken at the Kholara system, the Constitution III-class starship had proven herself as resilient as her crew.  

To keep the crew at their stations through the battle, Doctor Nelli had worked beyond any limits they had known for themselves, managing the medical team through a mass casualty event.  Their Phylosian nervous system didn’t afford them with all of the stamina and pain resistance of humanoid adrenaline; they had found motivation through sheer mindfulness alone.  Nelli suspected it would take more than mindfulness to get Taes back on her feet in this time.  Although Taes’ leadership had inspired the crew to survive the battle, Nelli couldn’t be certain Taes was entirely satisfied with such an outcome.

The senior staff had been advised that Farpoint Station was too over-extended to provide for the Constellation’s extensive list of repair needs.  The Presidium-class starbase didn’t have the capacity, given the wreckage and casualties of the final battle.  Only the basic necessities of the warp nacelles and deflector shields would be repaired well enough to ensure Constellation could complete her mission before seeking out a drydock for the rest.  Constellation’s place in the Frontier Day formations was coming into greater and greater question, Nelli had been told.

Nelli ordered the computer to project privacy blinds over the viewports and a holographic opacity quickly clicked into place, hiding the interior of Taes’ quarters from view.  With two vines intertwined with the handle, Nelli carried the mug of broth to Taes’ bedside.  While Constellation rested under the safe watch of Farpoint Station’s defense platforms, Nelli supposed there was no urgent need to repair Taes to the point of battle readiness.  Nelli could find satisfaction in meeting Taes’ basic necessities.  Food.  Hydration.  At a start.

From the bedside, Nelli proffered the mug of broth to Taes, but Taes’ hands hung limply.  Despite Nelli’s urgings, Taes remained unmoving.  Using two more of their vines, Nelli lifted Taes’ hand and they attempted a manual docking procedure between her hand and the mug to no avail.  Taes’ hand hung limply.  Returning Tae’s hand to the bed, Nelli brought the lip of the mug to Taes’ lips, but Taes wouldn’t drink.  Nelli simply spilled a measure of the broth on Taes’ bed.  Taes rolled over, turning her back on Nelli.

Ultimately, Nelli gave up.  They trotted to the exit and only when the doors opened for them did Taes offer Nelli any indication she was still alive.

“Did they find him?” Taes asked tensely.  “Kellin?”

Nelli had no answer for Taes and they kept walking, permitting the doors to close behind them. 

Captain’s Log, Supplemental:

 

While Constellation orbits the planet Trill, our away team has beamed down to collect all of Doctor Marl Trojet’s artificial wormhole research materials.  Between Fourth Fleet Intelligence and my own confidants from the Trill Science Ministry, we have secured authority to take carriage of the wormhole research until we can be certain the threat of the Lost Fleet has passed.  By our estimates, only a fraction of the Dominion’s Lost Fleet escaped the Bajoran wormhole before Trojet’s artificial wormhole quickly collapsed under its own instability.  

 

Although the Dominion forces in the Deneb Sector have surrendered by the orders of their Founders in the Gamma Quadrant, we have no way to know how much the Lost Fleet learned of the artificial wormhole before they destroyed Trojet’s science ship.  

 

Would the Founders make the same decision again if they knew what size an army remained lost in the Bajoran wormhole?

 

Chief Engineering Pagaloa has requested aid in sourcing deuterium injectors from Starfleet’s facilities on Trill.  Without Commander Rayco by my side, the Constellation barely survived the Battle of Fairpoint.  Even though our next destination is simply a drydock, Pagaloa doesn’t believe he can give me cruising speed above warp three until he can secure replacement parts.

Upon materialising inside the equipment storage chamber with the rest of the away team, Lieutenant Leander Nune expected to find little more than a memory brick of bioneural gel chips and a hand-held scanner or two.  Surely, Doctor Trojet had taken up a storage unit to securely retain the computer records of his controversial research and designs.  Nune hadn’t even thought to clip a tricorder to his hip in the transporter room, because he anticipated his journey to Trill to require only minutes in the single digits.

It had taken nearly an hour to examine every corner of the crowded, windowless, ramshackle laboratory that had been assembled in Trojet’s storage unit.  Although the equipment was modern enough, it had been gathered on a collection of modular furniture that appeared to have been reclaimed from the reception area of a distressingly tedious medical office.  There was even a joyless cot in one corner.

Abandoned on a torturous-looking chair, a miniature deflector dish sat waiting for Science Officer Nune’s inspection.  Its interior was constructed with subspace field coils of a design he’d never observed in his entire previous career as a Starfleet engineer.  Nune took hold of the dish to examine it more closely.  He presumed this was a model of the subspace field coils that were retrofitted into the science ship Sef when it opened the artificial wormhole that released the Dominion’s Lost Fleet.

“Such a little thing, yet such terror,” Nune breathed out, speaking to the miniaturised deflector dish.  He looked up when he felt Laken staring at him.  In Flavia’s absence, Taes had selected Cosmologist Laken ir-Nesthai as the crew’s liaison officer to the Romulan Free State scientists in Constellation’s crew.  Nune could feel a warmth to Laken’s gaze that Flavia had lacked, even if his sharp Romulan eyebrows tended to rest in a patronising position.

Blinking repeatedly at the absurdity of it, Nune said, “One day a scientist designed an innovative twist in a field coil and then I think I’m going to die.  I spent weeks in the Delta Quadrant with psychic ghosts in my head telling me that I was going to die –that I deserved to die– but I never believed it more than when that Jem’Hadar battleship filled our viewscreen at Farpoint.”

Nune winced and he cradled the deflector dish close to his chest.

Laken cocked his head to the left.

“Did you really?” Laken asked, his lips curling.

“When Cellar Door was damaged,” Nune said, nodding for emphasis, “I lost all hope.  I know it takes over a minute for his system to reboot.  The second last thing I expected was for Yuulik to take the CONN.  The last thing I expected was for Yuulik to perfectly execute evasive pattern iota.”

Pursing his lips tightly, Laken shook his head at Nune.  He locked eyes with Nune and he held his gaze without blinking.

“Don’t speak like that,” Laken firmly said.  “Yuulik knew how to run and hide.  Obviously.  You were the one providing tactical coordinates to Commander Ache.  We wouldn’t have destroyed so many Jem’Hadar fighters without you calculating her targets where their engines had been damaged by the Bajoran wormhole’s verteron nodes.”

Nune shrugged.  “An educated guess.  It doesn’t make me brave.”

Laken squinted at Nune when he said that and then he walked away.  Soon after, Laken returned with a storage case that he opened on the floor.  He closed the distance between himself and Nune, reaching for the edges of the deflector dish, where Nune was holding it up.  Laken clasped his hands over Nune’s hands.

“I will assist you,” Laken said.

Between them, Nune and Laken lowered the deflector dish between the protective pads inside the storage case.  They crouched low to push the dish all the way in, their noses nearly touching along the way.

“What does it feel like,” Laken asked softly, “to express vulnerability?  I wouldn’t know.”

Nune breathed out a, “huh,” and he frowned at Lake.  It wasn’t an expression of displeasure, only bemused curiosity.  He closed the flap of the storage case and tapped the side to activate the transporter tag.  After taking a step back, the case dematerialised, beamed up to a cargo bay aboard Constellation.

Squinting at Laken, Nune said, “It’s not something I consciously think about.  I speak aloud whatever I’m feeling, even if it’s weakness.  Growing up on Betazed, radical honesty is all I knew.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Laken pursed his lips.  The way it twisted his face was somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.

“I can’t decide if that sounds like a nightmare or folklore,” Laken said with a shake of his head.  Speaking of his upbringing on Romulus, he added, “My parents used to threaten to ship me off to a colony moon where lying was punished by death.  Clearly, no such place had ever existed in the Star Empire.  Clearly.”

Taking a step closer to Laken, Nune said, “Being expected to hide my feelings, my shame, sounds too exhausting.  Life is too long for all of that.  Celebrating vulnerability is how we empathise with one another.  For myself, it gives me less reason for fear.  I could have battled the Jem’Hadar for another week at Farpoint when USS Atlantis led our allied reinforcements with the rallying cry of: May humanity after victory be the predominant feature of the Fourth Fleet.  Our allies couldn’t have come to our aid if not for the crew of Atlantis telling them: we’re not strong enough without you.”

Eyebrow raised, Laken replied, “Vulnerability is a rare privilege of this Federation society.  Beyond your borders, it’s uncommon.  Untenable.  No one else can afford it.  Most cannot afford the luxury of risking their positions or livelihoods by expressing any thought their superiors despise.  Your strength would cost you everything in Romulan society.”

“So what would it take,” Nune said, the emotion coming through the raspy edge to his voice, “to lower your defences?”

Laken blinked.  “The voice of D’ravsai.  The Great Brothers themselves would have to tell me in their own voices that it was safe to do so.  The way the Jem’Hadar only surrendered to the Gamma Quadrant because their gods, the Founders, told them to do so.  That.  That’s what it would take.”

“Flavia has done what?”

The way Taes spat out those words hit Nova in the pit of her stomach.  Nova had stepped too deeply inside a confidential moment.  By then, she had already crossed the mid-point of the observation lounge, her boots clacking with every offending step.  Captain Taes and Lieutenant Commander Ache were huddled in the farthest alcove and, all at once, Ache’s six eyes narrowed at Nova.

Nova wanted to raise the widescreen PADD she was carrying and use it to hide her face.  She’d had no reason to be discreet.  The double doors to the lounge had been left open.  Taes had requested a progress report from the operations department at the appointed hour.  Nova had practically been invited.

Before being time-lost to the twenty-fifth century, there had been days Nova’s captain aboard the USS Branchus had lost her temper with arrogant members of the crew.  The captain would toss out a snide, “You know nothing,” and forget she’d said it a moment later.  Starfleet had been far more forgiving of big personalities a century or two ago.  So Nova recognised the signs.  She recognised that very little talk of Constellation’s previous chief science officer had been approved for general consumption, aside from Taes’ battlefield replacements in Lieutenant Yuulik and the Romulan cosmologist, Laken.  Flavia was a name for the lips of the senior staff only.  And no new operations manager had been selected after Nova’s superior had been killed in the Battle of Farpoint.

“Shall I,” Nova asked, pointing back at the door, “give you a moment?”

Nodding twice, Ache widened her eyes at Nova in an expression that said: ‘yes obviously.’  However, as Taes’ acting first officer, Ache held her tongue.  Nova had to imagine Ache was deferring to the captain until she learned how much autonomy she would have in this role.

But Taes said, “No, you can stay.  We would benefit from your perspective, lieutenant.  Speak freely, as you did when I left the away team on the Kholara Observatory to protect our crew.”

Nova cleared her throat at the reference to her desperate emotional outburst on the bridge some days back.  She swallowed her shame.  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, choosing to lean into her new reputation.

“Absolutely, captain,” Nova said proudly.

Ache huffed out a soft breath as she struck a command into an LCARS panel set into the bulkhead.  A hologram materialised in the space between Taes and Nova, replaying a video record of their missing Romulan science chief herself, Flavia.  In the recording, Flavia approached a security desk in a building Nova didn’t recognise.  

“Flavia and an unidentified Starfleet security officer were observed entering the Trill Kem’alta Institute last night,” Ache said, offering context to the visual-only holographic recording.  “Flavia requested access to all of Doctor Trojet’s records in the institute’s restricted archives, because the institute was Trojet’s last known association.  Flavia attempted to make use of her Starfleet security clearance, but she used the expired code she had been issued aboard the USS Sarek.“

In the holo-playback, Flavia’s placid smile took on a viscous edge as she spun on her heel and strode out of range of the visual sensor that had captured her image.

Ache explained, “Flavia fled into the courtyard and the institute’s internal security lost track of both her and her accomplice.  They could find no trace, nor evidence of unauthorised transporter use on the estate.”

When the hologram winked out, Nova asked, “What does that mean?  Flavia came looking for the wormhole research too?  But she looked in the wrong place?”

Raising her palms, Ache huffed again.  She said, “The probability of Flavia being a Tal Shiar agent was always rather high.”

“But how?” Nova asked more firmly.  “We hadn’t even discovered Doctor Trojet when Flavia was–” She hesitated only a moment, and settled on saying, “lost on the Kholara Observatory.”

Counting the options off on her fingers, Ache replied, “Either our reports to Starfleet have been compromised, Laken revealed our mission to the Romulan Free State or… there’s another Changeling among our crew, evading our security protocols.”

Flatly, Taes added, “There have been no reports of Flavia being recovered from any of the Dominion warships that surrendered to Starfleet escort back to the Gamma Quadrant.  Command dispatched a scout to the Kholara Observatory and no one had remained on board.  The Dominion must have the Kellin Changeling and they must have taken Flavia too.”

Nova crossed her arms over her chest.  “What is the significance of Flavia using the wrong security code?” she asked.  “She wanted to be caught?  Why come all this way in search of Trojet’s research only to sabotage herself?”

Taes stepped out from under the archway, approaching the conference table.  Her gaze looked lost in the middle distance, paying no mind to Nova, Ache or her destination.  After taking a particularly deep breath, Taes braced her palms against the table’s edge.

“Kellin knew things,” Taes remarked.  “His imposter knew too much.  If the Flavia on Trill is another Changeling, or the same Changeling, she may have interrogated the real Flavia.  Perhaps Flavia intentionally revealed incorrect security codes under questioning?”

“But a Changeling,” Ache interjected, “has no reason to ignore the orders of the Great Link.  The simplest answer would be that Flavia is acting under the support of the Romulan Free State.  Maybe the Dominion blackmailed her into securing the artificial wormhole research in exchange for her life.”

Taes’ shoulders went slack and the glimmer behind her eyes went dark.

“Does that mean…” Taes said, slumping into the nearest chair.  “If Flavia’s free now, does that mean Kellin is dead?“

Nova’s breath caught in her throat.  She hadn’t followed the logical leap Taes had made to reach that conclusion and she couldn’t find the nerve to ask any exploratory question.  She just held her breath and said nothing.  She looked away and waited for the uncomfortable moment to end.  By the looks of it, Ache was doing much the same.

Then Taes appeared to have regained her wits about her, when she asked Nova, “You have a report for me, lieutenant?”

After clearing her throat, Nova stood up straighter, at attention.  She folded her hands behind her back, not needing to reference the PADD in her right hand.

In a clipped tone, Nova said, “Every prototype, scanner and memory module from Doctor Trojet’s storage has been secured in cargo bay two, captain.”

Nodding, but still not looking at either of them, Taes said, “Excellent timing.  Pagaloa says our warp core has one last trip left in her.  We have a drydock awaiting us at the Avalon Fleet Yard. Constellation’s invitation to the Frontier Day fleet formations has been formally rescinded.  Another starship will have to take our place.”

Wistfully, Taes said, “I always loved a parade…”