Fireflies continued to dance across Bib’s eyes as the last of whistling transporter beam echoed through the small room. He flexed his fingers, gingerly wiggling them individually, ‘All accounted for’, he whispered to himself. 

“It’s a shame your missing the tip of your antenna.” Bib twitched involuntarily as the wry joke floated over his shoulder. “I suppose they look even now.” Zaya continued, taking a step forward and down from the transporter platform. Panicked, Bib dropped the rucksack in his hand and reached up to the twin protrusions on his head. 

“That’s not fair Zaya, leftie has always been a bit shorter.” He sighed, catching the wide grin expanding across the Cardassian’s face. “Ever since Tumold Prime.” A faux shudder echoed down his body as he picked the bag up from the floor and stepped down to join her. 

“Tumold Prime?”

“Let’s just say the guy was really obsessed with the Earth’s 19th Century France.” He motioned with a flat hand across his head, barely clearing the slowly twitching stalks. “Leftie was luckier than Louis.”

“Louis?” Zaya asked, her mouth struggling around the unfamiliar name. 

“I’ll find you a book.” he laughed. Turning to the transporter operator he lifted his hand in a semi-salute, “Theta Squad, reporting for duty.”

“Yes sir. Commander Dil is on his way.” The mousey human woman seemed glued to the spot, her eyes wide. 

“Is everything alright crewman…” Zaya offered a pause for the young woman to fill. 

“Essels ma’am.” she paused, “Normally people just materialise and then walk out. They don’t tend to…” she paused again, struggling to find the right words “…talk to me” she finished. 

“Ma’am?” Zaya smiled, turning towards the Andorian, now standing in mock attention. “I could get used to that.”

“Yes Ma’am. Of course, Ma’am.” Bib intoned. His posture the perfect display of drill attention. 

“I’m sorry… sir?” Essels offered, the young woman turning a shade of crimson deeper than her uniform. 

“Ignore him Essels.” she faked a small slap against the Andorian’s chest. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me anything other than Zaya. I don’t plan to change that.” She tugged at the hem of the crimson Starfleet uniform she now wore, it would take some getting used to being in any uniform again, but after Maine’s breakdown Bib needed someone to step up and she hadn’t needed asking twice. “At least” she thought “this uniform is more flattering than Central command’s.” 

The dark doors of the transporter room slid opened as a young Bajoran strode into the room, his shaved hair barely hiding the sweat that lined his brow, his voice carried itself far into the room before his quick feet did. 

“…I understand that Sima, but the captain is due to wake up at any moment and I really need that gravity plating back online, Bahir will explode if we can’t get his security staff relocated before his completely unnecessary self-organised inspection.” He offered up one hand apologetically, the other motioned furiously to his combadge. 

“We will… do our best.” said the cold female voice from ether. 

“That’s all I ever ask. Dil out.” Tapping the combadge the man sighed heavily at the shoulders and smiled to the pair. “Lieutenant Commander Bib, Lieutenant Zaya, welcome to Daedalus.” He lifted his hand to his forehead, where he would have a crest were he Cardassian and then to his chest as he turned to Zaya.

“I haven’t seen anyone do that for a long time. Especially not a Bajoran.” Zaya whispered, taken aback slightly at the man’s traditional greeting. “And no-one outside of the Keleran valley.”

“I thought it was polite?” Dil blurted out. 

“Oh it is.” Zaya smiled reassuringly. “Just… unexpected.”

“No traditional greeting for me?” Bib interrupted, sensing the awkward tension. 

“It’s difficult without the antenna.” Dil, raised his index fingers over his head and wiggled them. Motioning to the still open door, “shall we?” He had already started briskly walking before a response was proffered. 

They had only got a few meters down the hall before a sharp intake of breath sucked between the Zaya’s teeth, “Wait!”, breaking almost into a run as she rushed back to the transporter doors. “I’ll see you later Essels!” she exclaimed into the closing doors. 

“Yes Ma… Zaya!” came the young woman’s confused voice just as the doors whispered together. 

“What? She said no-one stays to chat.” Zaya shrugged, walking back to the two men as they all stepped into the turbolift. 

“We’ve made arrangements for Theta Squad on Deck 3, we’ve converted the security block for you. There’s a briefing room and a small office for you both. We’ve converted the brig to a secure research lab and there’s a small engineering space in the armoury.” Dil stopped as the doors of the lift slid open with ease and he began walking down the corridor turning back only momentarily to check Zaya and Bib were in tow.

“What about the security staff? I can’t imagine they were happy to give up the space?” Bib asked, turning slightly as a young engineer rushed past with an armful of tools. “Why is everyone rushing?” he finished, ever so slightly out of breath as they arrived at the wide doors still marked ‘Security Complex.’

“This stuff with the Lost Fleet set off the captain’s annual hibernation cycle early; started as soon as we got back to base. The senior staff decided they wanted the ship back and ready before the captain finished his cycle and we got a new assignment.” Dil sighed again, deeply. “Unfortunately that means I’m the one chasing up the loose threads.”

“I’m sure he would understand.” Bib offered, the young man looked like he had a hundred thoughts running through his head. 

“Oh, he wouldn’t mind at all, we just wanted to show our appreciation by being ready to go when he was.” Dil smiled honestly. “Either way, if Sima can’t get the deck plating reset down on Deck 7 in the security team’s new block Bahir will hunt us all down. Then it won’t matter if we finished or not.”

“Bahir is?” Zaya asked.

“Chief of Security and Tactical Officer. Big red Saurian, you’ll know him when you see him.” Dil raised a hand over his head by about a foot, indicating the Lieutenant’s height. “He wasn’t happy that he had to move house. But it makes sense that you are up here by the labs and the sickbay rather than downstairs.”

“Honestly? I’m hoping we can find a way to share the spaces. We’re going to need to operate with ships security a lot.” Bib said, it didn’t make sense to alienate anyone immediately; the point of Theta Squad being assigned to a bigger vessel was so they were not alone facing the difficult choices. Like the one Maine had to make at the Oromal Cluster that cost the life of T’Sal. 

Dil smiled, his body relaxing subtly. “That’s what we like to hear. I was a little worried you were going to come along and expect us to be a boat for Theta Squad.”

“Not at all. We’re all part of the family as far as I’m concerned.” Bib returned the young man’s smile. 

“Well then, without further ado. Welcome to your new home.” Dil pressed the wall panel, causing the two wide doors to fall open with a quiet breath, revealing the new heart of Theta Squad’s operations as well as the looming red face of Lieutenant Bahir.

The traditionally coral scales of Lt. Bahir were approaching a dark shade of red alert crimson as the doors to the newly renovated Theta Squad operations swung aside. His frame filling the wide doorway, he stood rigid as a marble sentinel against the invading officers as the grey drawbridge slid open.

“Commander…” Bahir began, his syllables short and curt.

“I understand Mr. Bahir. You feel that the change to the security complex will be detrimental to the safety of the ship.” Dil said, his practiced professional tone masking the frustration that bubbled beneath the surface. 

“I do.”

“I understand that you feel that Theta Squads work could be completed satisfactorily down on deck seven” Dil continued.

“I do.”

“You wish for me to take these concerns to the captain at the earliest convenience, ensuring your concerns are recorded in his log.” 

“I do.”

“And I have assured you that I will do so when the Captain’s hibernation cycle has come to an end but until such time these are the orders as relayed to us by command and I am the senior officer on board.” Dil finished, placing his hands together at his hips as he drew the air in to punctuate his sentence. 

“You have.” replied the still beetroot Saurian. 

“What then… can I possibly do for you at this time?” Dil smiled, wide and polite enough to settle a raging Gorn. 

“I was here to collect my final belongings from my…” Bahir’s eyes narrowed towards Bib as his last vowel dragged on, reaching across lightyears to the nearest star. The tall Andorian returned his gaze, summoning all his concentration to avoid blinking, remembering his grandmother’s advice, when the wolf stares you out you mustn’t look away.

“…office.” Bahir finished after an eon. Returning his focus to the Bajoran commander he shook the small briefcase in his hands. 

“Excellent, wouldn’t want anything to get broken. Please let me take the opportunity to introduce you to Lieutenant Commander Biban Th’erhilnon and Lieutenant Zaya.” Dil motioned to the two officers beside him, it didn’t escape anyone’s notice the emphasis he put on Bib’s rank. 

With a tight nod of acknowledgment to the enemy the tall Saurian stepped past the group and down the corridor towards the turbolift. Pressing the small panel to summon the carriage he turned to the group and with a polite nod said “Welcome to Daedalus.”

Not waiting to witness the departure of the aggrieved Saurian the three entered into the complex, the faint sound of tools echoing down the corridor as the last of the furnishings and fittings were fixed into place. The small complex, originally designed for the vessel’s security teams, had been retrofitted for Theta Squads operations. Four rooms stemmed from the central corridor that ran laterally across the ships beam, located near the vessels main labs, sickbay and computer core, the complex was ideally suited to function as a hub for the team’s activities. At the end of the short corridor the small brig had been converted to a quarantine lab, whilst the larger seminar style briefing room had been left relatively untouched. Spanning the last length to the main doors the armoury and storage lockers had been converted to a sizeable engineering lab, a large workbench across the bulkhead with a replicator fitted into the deck plating for the fabrication of larger items. A small office to the aft of the corridor sat undecorated, empty shelves lined the rear wall where until moments ago various memorabilia were stored; sparse in furniture but for a few uncomfortable chairs it spoke to the tight professionalism of its previous occupant. 

A bang echoed through the corridor as a crewman in blue stumbled out of the ex-brig, a handful of cable in one hand and a slightly fried look on his pale human face. The small wrinkled Tellerite figure of Log emerged quickly behind, guiding his dazed crewmate out of the room and down towards the main doors.

“I told you! You need to ask nicely when you run these new cables. They don’t like getting jostled around.” Log said, reassuringly rubbing as high on the young man’s back as he could reach. “How would you feel if someone strolled into your quarters and stuck someone else in bed with you?” A low groan escaped the crewman’s mouth as saliva began to form at the edge of his mouth. “Exactly.” 

The young Ensign guided the crewman past the group, catching the eye of Zaya as they passed. A single raised eyebrow from the tall Cardassian was enough of a question.

“He was running some new ODN and forgot to ask permission before he coupled it into the distribution node. She took offense.” He nodded up to the roof indicating he was already making friends with Daedalus herself. “We’re just going to take a trip to the Doc and get our braincells counted.” Log smiled knowingly to the trio as he chased after the wayward crewman who had made it to the double doors but couldn’t quite remember the direction after that. 

“How are we looking Log?” Zaya called after him as he disappeared round the corner. 

The wrinkled face of the young engineer appeared back in the portal, a wide smile spreading across his face. 

“She’s a beaut Zaya. Sima is going to give me a proper introduction when we’ve finished the upgrades.” His smile almost reaching his small ears Log’s face disappeared, his reassuring mutterings travelling down the corridor with him. 

The three entered the briefing room where Dil gestured for them to take a seat on the back row of the small seminar style seating. Capable of holding 8 people seated with standing room for a futher 8 and 2 presenters the room acted as a focal point for the complex, each seat had a console embedded into the curved desk which Dil now activated, drawing up a small holographic deck plan for the vessel. 

“We’re here.” He said, pointing to the complex at the fore of the ship. “Team bunks are here, with your individual rooms forward here.” Two more sections lit up as he indicated on the map. 

“We haven’t kicked the lieutenant out of his bed as well have we?” Zaya asked tentatively.

“We’ve given him a berth upstairs with the other senior staff to sweeten the deal and Sima said she preferred being near the engines anyway.” Dil sighed, the addition of Theta Squad had entailed a fair amount of re-shuffling on an already cramped ship and with the Captain indisposed the young XO had been forced to undertake the wrangling alone. 

“I’m sorry if we’ve caused any upset.” Bib offered. Command had made the decision to move the team from Nestus after the mission to Oromal over concerns that Theta Squad suffered from being detached from a fuller crew. “If there’s anything we can do to smooth things over?”

“A round in the Labyrinth wouldn’t go amiss.” Dil answered, pointing to the lounge on the upper decks as two confused faces looked back. “The Captain didn’t like the separation of officers and enlisted messes so he split them by type instead. Mess over here on starboard and a bar lounge the port side.”

“Labyrinth?” Bib enquired.

“Because after a few drinks you struggle to find your way out.” Dil answered, a wry grin on his lips. 

“Is Bahir going to be a problem?” Bob said, the Saurian’s icy demeanour had chilled the Andorian more than any of the frozen seas of his homeworld could. 

Another heavy sigh escaped Dil’s lips as he reached up with a hand to adjust his earing. “He’s a good guy really and an excellent strategist but he’s…”

“Rigid?” Zaya suggested with a knowing look. 

“Yeah. He’s got the fixings for a brilliant officer but the Captain and I are trying to teach him that the best trees bend a little in the breeze.” Dil rubbed his eyes tiredly, educating the Saurian was a continuous job. “He’ll move onto a bigger ship eventually with a much bigger tactical remit. For now he’s our first line of defence.”

“So?” Bib asked, his original question unanswered. 

“Nothing to worry about. You might get a cold shoulder for a while but he’s fiercely defensive of the crew and the ship. He’ll come around.” Dil said, pressing the small button on the console to dismiss the holographic rendering. “I’ll show you round to your quarters and you can get settled.”

As the trio stood a familiar chirp emanated from Dil’s combadge.

“Tanek to Dil.” came a groggy voice over the comm.

“Good Morning Captain. Sleep well?” Dil responded, tapping the small delta at his chest. 

“Well enough, thankyou. We’ve had instruction from command. Please assemble everyone in the conference room.”

“I’ll just drop off our new residents at their rooms and be up.” Dil responded, silently waving Bib & Zaya out of the room. 

“Excellent timing. Please bring them with you Dil. Tanek out.” A small chirp signalled the end of the conversation. 

A smile on his lips at the return of his Captain to the waking world, Dil began escorting the two out of the complex towards their quarters. As the trio passed through the large double doors Bib let out a shout and offered a single raised finger to the duo as he rushed back into the sparse office. Taking a small picture frame from the bag in his hand he placed it on the barren shelves behind the austere desk. 

“Much better.” he whispered as he rushed back out the room towards their next mission. The ever so slightly smiling face of their fallen Vulcan brother staring out on Theta Squad’s new home. 

Through the wide windows of Daedalus‘s conference room the large flood lights of Starbase 72’s space dock bathed the room in the blue glow that maintained the docks perpetual twilight. Passing craft cast shadows across the small rooms walls akin to an aquarium. Nimble guppies of shuttlecraft swarmed around great whales of capital ships as they slowly drifted through the dock yard, their long glowing fin-like nacelles gently pulsing with expertly contained energy, as their bulky hulls soared gracefully through the transparent sea. Across the expansive tank, cradled by the barely visible blue beams of the dock’s tractor beams, lay an injured leviathan; an old Excelsior class vessel hung in the docks tight embrace as swarms of workbees flitted between its scars. The long grey hull of the aged champion, pot marked by the cruel talons of Dominion ships, rested securely alongside the large dockyard, umbilical’s of life support snaking their way across the tired hull. Along her chest a great blue streak, reaching from the deflector all the way to the large shuttle bay at the aft, betrayed her vulnerable status as emergency forcefields continued to flit in and out of sight, specks of dust and metal causing them to flare to life in a desperate attempt to keep the internal volume of the great ship secure. Wounded but no less impressive the storied vessel waited patiently for Starfleet Command’s decision as to its future; the cost of repairing such damage was being acutely assessed against the vessel’s service and usefulness, each bolt and deck plate placed on the scales of worth. In the vast ocean of the milky way galaxy every ship was vital. The ever expanding borders of the Federation required constant patrols and beyond them lay the murky waters of foreign powers. 

Captain Tanek gazed into the aquarium of Starbase 72, silently grateful that Daedalus had managed to avoid any major damage or loss of life in the recent deployment into the Deneb sector. Whilst the relatively modern vessel would have likely been safe from retirement, save any massive damage, waiting was not in his ships nature and even now as they hung in this corner of spacedock, currently an intensive care ward for Fourth Fleet ships awaiting transfer to Avalon Fleet Yards, the Denobulan captain’s hands itched to be free and sailing into the stars again. Hearing the last of his staff take a seat he turned to the room, a grateful smile spreading across his face. 

“Good morning everyone.” Tanek said, crossing the short distance to the chair at the head of the table. “Firstly, let me thank you all for your excellent work whilst I’ve been napping.” A slight giggle spread round the room. “I’m glad to see that we’re almost fully restocked and repaired. Please pass my thanks onto all your teams.”

“It was all thanks to Commander Dil, sir. He was adamant we’d be ready to go the moment you woke up.” a woman said from across the other end of the table. Her swept back hair revealing the tell-tale ridges high on her cheek bones that spoke of a Xindi ancestry as she gave a sideways smile to the young XO. Dil would never claim the credit for driving the crew’s preparations but Oyvo was happy to speak up for him. 

“Is that so? Maybe I should take more naps and leave him in charge more often?” Tanek joked, a gleeful smirk widening his lips as another ripple of quiet laughter spread round the room. “It seems them Dil’s task mastering has been just in time.” he said, reaching forward to press a small panel in the desk in front of him. A holoprojector in the centre of the table sprung into life, conjuring a small orbital Regula style outpost that orbited silently round a grey surfaced planetoid. “This is Outpost 583, AKA Bletchley base, a research station orbiting a moon Jenkins Beta III near the Cardassian border. It missed its regular check-in two week ago and we’re being sent to investigate.”

“Why so long?” Dil said, picking up a padd that was laid in front of him and scrolling through the list of transmissions. 

“With the fourth fleet’s operation in the Deneb sector it got missed. There’s been a lot of comms flying around the quadrant, no-one spotted one small station hadn’t sent in its relatively mundane update.” Tanek replied. “Long range scans have confirmed it’s still in system and in what appears to be a steady orbit. It was clear of occupied Dominion space and there’s been no indication of any other players.”

“Then it’s a comm failure?” Sima offered, the petite human woman lent forward on her chair.

“The base has warp-capable auxilary craft in the way of three type 9 shuttles. If you lost comms, you’d send one of those out with a message.” Dil said, his attention still fixed on the padd in front of him, scrolling furiously as his eyes darted back and forth across the screen. “There was a contingent of Starfleet Officers aboard, in addition to the research team. They would have known that should be their next move.”

“Then a life support failure?” Sima whispered, the implied consequences clear to everyone round the table. 

“Command had a similar thought until we received this, 24 hours ago.” Tanek said, leaning forward and pressing the pad again. 

The holographic station disappeared and was replaced by the head and shoulders of an aged Bolian woman in operations gold. “Starfleet Command, this is Outpost 583. We apologise for the delayed check-in, a passing meteorite shower impacted the base and damaged our comm array. It is now repaired. We are transmitting our back-dated updates now. Outpost 583 out.” The woman’s bust disappeared again, replaced by the holographic base that silently span around the grey meteor struck moon.

“That seems abrupt.” Zaya said. All attention turned to the Cardassian at the end of the table, unfamiliar eyes assessed the woman, an interloper in their briefing room. She turned to look at Bib, seated next to her, for support but the Andorian was lost in thought. “Well it is. Especially if they’ve been out of contact for two weeks.”

“That’s what the officer of the watch thought too, so he dug a bit deeper into the long range scans. There were no indications of a meteor shower in the area, not even passing near the system.” Tanek replied. “Nor were there any indications of activity in the sensor data included within the base’s packet.”

“A hostage situation? They are close to the Cardassian border and the True Way has been getting bolder.” Bahir suggested, the Saurian reached one long coral finger to a panel on the counter and the technical specifications of the base appeared beside the hologram. “The base is only lightly armed. Even the Cardassians would have little trouble in taking it easily.” Bahir continued, barely masking a side look towards Zaya. 

“Unlikely; a Cardassian force wouldn’t fake a transmission, the risks are too great. I would have relayed text only messages from one of the shuttles and faked a meteor shower.” Zaya said cooly, she had sat across from much more threatening men than one disgruntled Starfleet Lieutenant. 

“Either way. Why are we being sent to investigate?” Sima asked.

Nodding to the Betazoid woman sat to his left Tanek offered the floor to the chief science officer. 

“Bletchley base is a deep space research platform for the development of co-ordinated & integrated artificial intelligence. One of many abandoned research avenues Starfleet was operating as part of a fleet modernization programme, Starfleet Command allowed the base to continue operating when the Daystrom Institute petitioned for the value of its research. This is the first time there has been any suspicious activity.” Rana concluded. The Betazoid woman wore a conflicted look; still struggling with manage her own emotions following the trials of the Lost Fleet, something nagged at her core about this mission. AI was a touchy subject throughout the Federation, particularly after the synthetic attack on Utopia Planitia and historically giving AI control of starships had been a less than successful endeavour. 

Bib thudded the table top as he came to a realisation, “I knew I’d read Bletchley base somewhere. Starfleet security argued for it to be out in deep space in case it ever had an M-5 incident.” A wave of understanding looks ran around the conference room, with the lift on the Syntehtic ban various news sources had dredged up old stories warning of dangerous thinking machines. 

“Correct. With the agreement of the Cardassian Union the base was stationed along the border in a remote and barren system, far from normal trade routes and civilian or military activity. With collaborative support from the Cardassian Science Ministry the base has been operating for almost 2 years without incident.” Rana said, the nagging still deep within her stomach.

“Command has instructed us to rendezvous at the base and investigate. They are advising caution and a possible emergence event. Thankfully we now have the renowned Theta Squad in our midst.” Tanek motioned down the table with a genuine smile, as all eyes again turned toward the two newcomers. “Lieutenant Commander Bib and his second in command Lieutenant Zaya will be joining us at the table from now on and I expect everyone to welcome the whole team to the family.” Tanek cast a glance to Bahir, a quiet word from Commander Dil had brought the captain up to speed. “We’re all here for the same purpose, to protect the people of the Federation and right now the crew of Bletchley base may need us. Let’s keep our fingers crossed it’s only a technical fault.”

Standing to indicate the briefing was over, the senior staff began collecting their padds and drinks, Bib caught himself before he rushed to attention noticing none of the others had stood on ceremony. A raised hand from Tanek caused silence to fall upon the room.

“I’d just like to say how proud I am of all you. I haven’t really had a chance to speak to you all after the Battle at Farpoint but you have all given me your best. We we’re extremely lucky during the Deneb operation but I know that you all have friends and relatives amongst the fleet who suffered and I send my good wishes to them all.” the Denobulan said, he usual smiling demeanour overwhelmed by the thought of his own losses during the battles with the Lost Fleet. “I am reminded of the old Andorian saying. The toughest ice, is that which has weathered the storm.”

Silence hung in the room as the shadow of a whale-like capital ship swept over the Daedalus, heading towards the space docks door. The Fourth Fleet had suffered a great deal in the operation, whose legitimacy was still being debated at the highest levels of Starfleet and innumerable questions still danced on whispers throughout the corridors of the fleet. ‘What were the Founders going to do with this sudden military asset?,’ ‘Had the Dominion really not known what the Lost Fleet was doing?,’ ‘Why had Starfleet not sent more aid?’ 

“I suggest you all take some time to reflect properly on our losses and how we can best serve their memories.” Tanek said, picking up his large mug that gently steamed, moral had suffered greatly from the conflict, opening new and old wounds alike. “Commander Dil, please take us to Jenkins Beta III, we have a mystery to solve. And I’d like to be back for Frontier day. I hear there will be cake.”

A few hours later the sleek grey hull of Daedalus swam effortlessly through the spacedock towards the gigantic gates of the upper dome, weaving its way around great leviathans, each nestled in their protective bays, as shoals of shuttlecraft darted across the expansive, empty sea. Passing through the great doors and back into the inky blackness she filled her nacelles with plasma as the warp bubble began to form and with a great crack she was catapulted into the tides of the universe, the galactic winds carrying her to the next adventure. 

A great orchid of flame blossomed and unfurled viciously from the tall storage containers of Outpost 291, turning the rusted red pillars into furnaces as the fire raced through the flammable stores within. Super condensed hydrogen and oxygen that once fuelled the vital, life-giving systems of the tall Regula-type base now turned into food for a cruel and vicious monster that danced across the hull of the old station, screeching a miserable cacophony against the hull. The wide circular relaxation deck, once the venue for hundreds of cherished moments; a child’s dream of the edge of the universe, a stolen first kiss, a couples last journey, now played host to a thousand contorted shadows as the explosion bathed the room in profane light. Silent voices exclaimed in confusion as the raging inferno began to batter against the wide windows, great fists of flame and fury scraped across transparent aluminium more suited to the impossibly cold stellar void. As the windows began to twist and warp a harsh claxon began to scream out in a desperate announcement “All hands to upper decks, evacuate to upper decks immediately.”

The face of a worried young trill woman hovered, bodiless, round the corner of the wide open doors of Daedalus’s shuttle bay, glancing in panic down the short corridor and back into the bay. Her long spots stretching out from the portal, giraffelike, she waited impatiently for the welcome sound of boots against the deck. The delta shift was normally the quietest aboard ship, most of the crew were asleep or relaxing and only the minimum staffing was deployed in each station. Ensign Mara regularly requested this shift and when she got assigned to minor engineering detail in the shuttle bay, she cherished the quiet time, usually alone, where she could achieve small victories like cleaning and tidying kit lockers, shuttle maintenance and cargo inventory. Some nights she would even crack the shuttle bay doors open, just enough to glimpse the stars beyond as they raced by, reminding her of days sailing on Trill’s many seas, her father’s rugged, reassuring palm resting upon hers at the tiller. Naturally it was against dozens of regulations to have an open portal to the stars but over the years she had found that non-replicated muffins went a long way to making small pleasures achievable. 

Her fitful sentry was finally interrupted by the quick footsteps coming down the corridor. She turned, panicked that she might see her shift manager or worse, the frosty security chief, Lieutenant Bahir appear on the deck, making one of his surprise late night security inspections. As the tall figure of Zaya, clad in a pale wafting duster swept elegantly toward the young ensign, she released a grateful sigh. Moving with a graceful purpose the older Cardassian woman quickly closed the gap and taking the young engineer by the arms swung them both into the bay allowing the doors to quietly hiss closed. 

“Is everything alright Mara?” Zaya asked in hushed whispers. 

“Yes. I didn’t know who else to call Lieutenant.” Mara responded in a similarly conspiratorial whisper. 

“Zaya, please.” She pointed to the wide open clavicle, absent of the golden pips she was only just becoming accustomed to wearing.

“Sorry Lieu… Zaya. I thought about Commander Bib but…” Mara tilted her head with a small shrug of hesitation. 

“No, No. That probably would have ended with an explosive decompression.” Zaya rubbed the Trills arms in motherly comfort. Zaya had long ago accepted that children were not in the Tongo cards for her, instead she often found herself acting as surrogate mother to younger crewmates; many were far from home needing a kind ear and a hot drink. “Why don’t you head up to the mess and grab a drink? I’ll sort this.”

A mountain range of confused peaks emerged across Mara’s face. “Are you sure?” She whispered. 

“Absolutely.” Zaya sighed heavily as a she pressed a smile onto her face. Hopefully this young woman would never understand why this was happening. “Where is he?”

“Over there” she said, pointing with one delicate finger to the hunched shadow across the bay, silhouetted against the starlight that creeped through the half open bay doors. Half buried in one of Daedalus’s shuttlecraft, panels and parts laid out in a sprawling mandala around him, was the pale frantic figure of Jacob Maine, Theta Squad’s ex-commander. 

Once grey, inoffensive corridors were now bathed in infernal red lights as impish shadows leapt over fractured bulkheads, dancing to the rhythm of weapons fire against the outer hull. The calm voice of the computer recited her announcements unbothered by the furious torrent of phaser fire against the aged hull. The deck plates lamented and structural members wailed as the last of the base’s shields collapsed and the metallic skin of the base took the full fury of the aggressors. As the world rocked again the hand of a young man reached out from beneath the remnants of a smashed wall console. Pushing the sparking metal aside Maine scrabbled free from the durasteel pile that was almost his tomb and stumbled towards the large window at the corner of the corridor, desperately pulling at the tight golden undershirt that felt like a crushing hand around his neck. His face resting against the cool transparent aluminium he took deep gulping breaths as beyond the window the conflict continued to unfurl. The familiar tan hull of Cardassian strike vessels whipped around the base, lashing out with their small phaser arrays against the white hull of the outpost, each another tally mark in a million cuts against the floating sanctuary. The blast marked hull of Earl of Wessex, the bases equally aged Miranda class protector, arched after the small craft as nimble arrows of orange phaser fire reached out, attempting to draw the attention of the cruel wasps. As the melee swung out of sight, twisting around the upper dome of the base, Maine took another breath and scrabbled over more fallen wall panels towards the Operations Centre. 

“Jacob, is everything alright?” Zaya had waited several minutes knelt at the edge of the mechanical Mandela laid out around the man, waiting for a recognition of her presence. When none came, she decided to make the first offering. 

Only the quiet mumbles of a frantic mind responded to her as Maine lifted an ODN matrix out of the hull structure and carefully laid it on the cold grey deck. 

“Are you looking for something Jacob?” 

More mumbles. Straining to hear the specifics she placed a hand on the deck and accidently knocked a meticulously placed retention bolt, which rolled a few inches to the right with a barely audible grind. 

Twisting his head inhumanly towards the woman, his face as gaunt and sallow as a starved man, Maine snapped, “Don’t touch anything. I’m working.”

“On what Maine?” Zaya asked. A response was a good first step she thought as she carefully returned the bolt to its previous position. 

“The warp activation matrix. It’s too slow, I’m sure I can make it faster.” Maine replied, his head returning to the panel where his arms were enmeshed with the various cabling trunks. “It needs to be faster.”

“I’m not sure you can make it faster Maine. The ODN network transmits data at almost the speed of light. It’s literally nano-seconds.” Zaya leaned back onto her heels as she watched him wrestle with another piece of equipment. 

“It’s not the ODN network that’s the issue. The warp coil control needs to generate the field faster, it should be instantaneous. I’ve done the maths, just needs to be faster.” Maine responded, nodding to a discarded padd on the floor covered in mathematical calculations. 

“And you’re going to do that in a class 9 shuttle?” Zaya asked, she was beginning to understand the man’s drive to this late night sojourn into the shuttle bay. Their latest mission against the Breen base had cost the life of their small family’s pilot. Maine had taken the loss hard, both professionally and personally. Now the conflict was over and the mission had turned out to be fruitless, the vein loss had become too much for the man to bear. A lifetime of life & death choices had crushed the man who now clung onto this desperate solution to a situation that had already passed beyond his control. 

“It needs to be faster, Zaya. It needs to be faster so he can escape.” Maine whispered, tears rolling down his face, draining him of what little he had left. 

Pushing aside a fallen door, the young Maine entered into the shattered remains of the base’s operations centre. The still forms of both civilian and Starfleet staff lay draped over dimly flashing consoles and reclined in broken chairs in a twisted mockery of a Delacroix painting. Caught in the moment of their last desperate defence the limp bodies seemed almost transcendent in the dim light of the emergency bulkheads, each suspended endlessly at their station. The chilling voice of the final Cardassian transmission continued unbroken in the background ‘This station is an offense to the true Cardassia. You will be destroyed. There will be no mercy. This is the True Way.’ On the large rectangular screen a strategic map flickered in and out of existence, intermittently reporting on the ongoing battle outside the base. The red dots that had raced around the base causing such destruction were now focused on the Wessex, previously 3 in number, only two craft now harried the old ship. Amongst the broken bodies and consoles Maine begged for the ship to strike down the attackers; grasping the flickering console he let out a cruel prayer, to any deity that would give them the strength to exact revenge. 

Another voice broke through the repeating cycle of the Cardassian judgement. ‘Wessex to Base. The Cardassians are retreating. We are pursuing? Is anyone hearing this?’ Glancing down to the terminal, the young lieutenant could see a small group of civilians and scientists in one of the research pods arrayed round the circular station. They were cut off from the escape pods and would likely lose integrity soon. ‘More casualties of the Cardassian attack’, Maine thought to himself. If he did nothing Wessex would continue chasing the attackers, some of those on the base would survive but the culprits would be brought to justice. His finger hovered over a small orange button that glowed on the cracked panel, with one press he could summon the ship back to the base and save what was left of the contingent. An eternity passed between his breaths as he felt the hate rise in his veins. His blood boiled as the faces of his crewmates gasped back with empty eyes from their Baroque tableaux. The screen flashed with a warning, ‘Structural Integrity failing’. He pressed the button. 

Some early birds of Alpha shift, eager to make a good impression on their boss, were watching from the wide door as Zaya lifted the unconscious body of Maine from his nest of cabling inside the panel of the shuttlecraft. The blue skinned figure of Ole crossed the decking to lift the emaciated human from her arms, looking like a babe swaddled in Zaya’s soft jacket, he now lay secure in the Bolian’s giant arms. Her hand clasping Maine’s limp hand, scarred with cuts and scrapes from his frantic attempts to improve the shuttle, she led the pair out of the shuttlebay toward the turbolift and upwards toward the sickbay. Before the turbolift doors had closed the deck crew was already silently beginning their day, taking care not to disturb the parts arrayed on the floor, a testament to their newest family member’s ongoing battle. 

As Daedalus gently slipped out of warp speed, a tiny grey arrow riding the crest of a dissipating subspace field that slingshot it across federation space, her grey hull became bathed in the white hot light of the young system's blue toned star. Behind grey walls, circuits bristled with energy as the deflectors swelled with power in an attempt to divert the cosmic forces that battered down on the smooth hull. Small fans began to spin, hidden behind roof panels and in pillars, they began thier tireless work lowering the ambient temperature as the hull began to cook in the unrelenting sun. In a small office near the bridge, Commander Dil raised his hand across his brow as the windows took a second to adjust their tint, deadening some of the unrelenting photonic tsunami. Deep within the heart of the small ship dense circuits sprang to life, rushing messages through optical relays and blue tinged bio-neural gel packs at quantum speeds; the vessel's compact computer core striving to fulfil its first objective, protect the lives of the crew. 

“Bridge to Dil. We have arrived at Jenkins Beta III.” came the melodic voice of Lieutenant Kaya, Daedalus's Rigellian pilot. 

The windows now blocking the furious blue light of the nearby star, Dil tapped the delta on his chest, “On my way.” With a sigh he stood form his deck and after taking a moment to adjust his earring in the small mirror next to his office door he strode down the few meters of corridor to the bridge. The brown doors slid aside effortlessly as he stepped onto the deck, the Saurian security officer already standing, rigidly, to meet him. 

“We have arrived at Jenkins Beta III sir, initial scans have detected no threats.” Bahir crossed to his station in the far corner. 

“We weren't really expecting any Lieutenant.” Dill offered a short smile. Bahir was a good officer but expected danger behind every asteroid. “Bletchley station?” he asked, stepping down to the command level, pausing for a moment as he debated which seat to sit in. As the ranking officer on shift, he had every right to sit in ‘the big chair’ but it waited menacingly, its soft leather grooves unsettling Dil's stomach. Tugging his jacket, which seemed to have shrunk a size in the last few seconds, he sat instead in the right-hand chair, a far more comfortable position for the young commander. 

“No answer to general hails. We have it on sensors, above the second moon.” Sisrex answered from the science station to starboard, her eyes hovering suspiciously on Dil. Had she sensed his hesitance to take the main seat?

“On screen please.” No, he was imagining things.

Seconds later the forward portal shifted to show the grey hull of the small orbital station, floating serenely above the grey desert of the a small D-class moon. Reminiscent of Jupiter station the main body of the research base was a converted saucer section, refitted with large solar collectors and towering grey storage units beneath. It hung, dark and lifeless, absent of any lights or signals as it rolled across the orbit of the planetoid below, casting a tall shadow that chased it across the empty desert of a lifeless moon. 

“Sensor readings indicate the station has only minor active functions. It appears the fusion generator is active but operating significantly lower than normal.” Sisrex continued, her brow furrowing as the examined the scrolling information. 

“Something else?” 

“There does not appear to be any damage, malicious or accidental to the base. It is difficult at this range but it appears that the base is simply shut down.” The Betazoid turned to Dil, caution hovering on the tip of her tongue. “It is a ghost ship.”

“Life signs?” Dil asked, the Lieutenant had used a loaded phrase. Sisrex was only just finding her softer side following the Lost Fleet's revitalisation of her deep-seated trauma; her delivery of news still left a great deal to be desired. 

“None.” Sisrex responded, the whole bridge team stiffened, all hope of a simple communications fault was quickly going out the airlock. Sensing the atmosphere tense Sisrex continued, “Though at this range stellar radiation is somewhat obscuring." The tension eased, minutely. 

“Take us on approach Kaya.” Dil felt the burning eyes of Bahir in the back of his head, the young man would have us at red alert by now. “Slowly" he finished, as the heat gently abated. 

With a series of short commands Daedalus edged forward, their relative speed imperceptible to those within, her hulking impulse engines flickering silently in the wide expanse of space, beneath them a great fire waiting to be unleashed. Tiny jets of gas, each racing out into the void tilted and rolled the ship as the central computer translated the young conn officer's inputs. Effortlessly, they rolled the small vessel along its Z-axis, creating a level ground within the abstract three-dimensionality of space, as other thrusters brought the vessel's tapered nose toward the planetoid and the dark, foreboding ghost station. 

Within a few minutes the ship had closed the distance across the system, though only a series of numbers, scrolling across screens, gave any indication to those within the petite vessel that anything of their position had changed. 

“Still nothing. No life signs apparent.” Sisrex reported, her eyes not moving from the variety of small screens in the wall, each relaying a vast amount of data from the clusters spread across the baking hull. 

“Commander, a moment?” came the rolling voice of Oyvo across the bridge. The Xindi operations officer, usually full of positive energy called Dil over with a flick of the head. Pausing to allow the Bajoran to cross the room to her expansive operations station at the rear of the bridge, she continued with a whisper as he got close. “Somethings been bothering me about these sensor readings since we arrived.”

A moment of silence hung between the two officers. “Well?” asked Dil. 

“Sisrex has got a lot of data to go through and it's really easy to miss. These blue suns kick out a lot of radiation and they can be a bit overwhelming to sift through, this one time in the Ufreighti system…"

“The point Lieutenant?” Dil interrupted. Any other time he would have found one of the young engineer's stories fascinating.

With a few key presses an orthographic layout of the station appeared on the wall screen. With a long finger Oyvo pointed to a point at its centre, which glowed a barely perceptible blue. “This section of the station is colder than the rest.” A pair of raised eyebrows bid her silently to continue. “The station is relatively hot due to the solar radiation and the lack of deflector shields but something is keeping this section of the hull chilled. To about 15 degrees centigrade, whilst the other compartments are well over 40, even 50 degrees on the outer ring facing the sun.”

“Could it just be that it's not warmed up yet?” Dil asked, his mind already racing with possibilities. 

“Possibly, but it's lower than ambient life support and it would only get hotter from the sun side.”  

“Keep looking Oyvo, it's weird i'll give you that.” Dil offered a smile. “Let's hope someone left the fridge open when they went out.” The young woman returned his smile but both of them could feel the growing worry amongst the bridge team. Crews don't just up and abandon a base, particularly when they are made up of civilian researchers with little to no practical experience outside of their labs. Turning to cross the wide balcony at the rear of the bridge he caught the eye of Bahir. A stern shake of the head told him that there was still no indication of life behind the dark windows of the base. Solemnly he took the small staircase down to the centre seats, subconsciously giving a wide berth to the Captain's chair. 

As the crew silently continued their work, sensors sweeping across the pristine hull as data continued to pile into the computer banks, they searched for any indication of the base's researcher. A small red light appeared on Sisrex's panel, unobtrusive enough to missed by the lieutenant commander whose focus was locked on the base, it was quickly followed by a second that bleeped urgently on Bahir's wide tactical console. 

“Commander, we have detected an unidentified contact approaching at speed.” Bahir announced, "No Starfleet ID received." 

“Any indications?” Dil felt his uniform tighten again, they were at the edge of Federation space, in a sensitive location. Whilst Bletchley bases location wasn't classified it was far from the usual stellar lanes, no-one accidently came to Jenkins Beta III. 

“Open a channel.” Dil announced as he stood from his chair. Shoulders set and jaw stiff he conjured the image of Starfleet tenacity, though the unsettling empty base that hung on the screen threatened to make his spine shudder. A nod from Oyvo indicated the channel was open. “Unidentified vessel, this is the Federation Starship Daedalus. You have entered protected Federation space, come to a full stop and identify yourself.”

Silence rang from the speakers as Dil's words filled the air. Oyvo met the Commander's glance with a shake of the head. “They are continuing to close Commander” said Bahir from behind him. 

“Unidentified vessel, stand down immediately. We will defend ourselves.” 

Another silence filled the bridge as the all ears stretched wide in anticipation. An eternity crawled by as Dil weighed his next choice. As Oyvo began to speak the Bajoran's heart stopped momentarily. 

“They are responding. On screen.”

The battered face of a Cardassian man appeared on the screen, his lip split as dried brown blood caked his chin. A large bruise spread across his forehead, disappearing into his messy slick black hair. Behind him a darkened bridge flickered with sparks and intermittently flickering panels. “This is Glinn Natel of the Cardassian vessel Hurin. You must retreat Daedalus. The station is not safe. Retreat immediately. We will attempt to provide cover.” The face of the battered Cardassian disappeared as the space station returned to the screen. 

“Commander, Bletchley Base has begun to power up, weapons and shields are engaging.” Bahir announced, his hands beginning to race in rehearsed patterns across his console. 

“Red Alert! Captain to the Bridge!” Dil announced as the vessel rocked beneath his feet, causing him to stumble into the captain's chair. “Evasive Pattern Delta Four, fire to disable.”

As the furnace beneath the impulse engines roared to life, finally unleashed in service of its crew, the dart-like starship shot forward. Nimbly it rolled aside as beams of orange energy lanced out from the ventral hull, illuminating the tan hull of the weary Cardassian vessel that rushed beneath Daedalus. Releasing its own yellow tinged beams of fire it followed suit, the two vessels taking a wide arc around the now illuminated station. Whilst the outer hull was cast in blue and orange light as weapons fire danced across it's shields, a dark screen deep within the chilly heart of the station rolled to life. A new primary directive rolling across its screen. 

'Defend Bletchley Base. Defend the research. Defend Gabriel.' 

Research Log, Project Gabriel. Stardate 67008.8, Researcher Aynara Krill recording. We had another failure this morning. Khazra said that one of the bio-neural arrays overheated when we began a tier III line of questioning; apparently Dadaism was too much for Gabriel to handle. I don’t disagree with him. It’ll take several days to replace the array, and then we’ll be back to square one. The bio-neural circuitry comprises a core part of his… well his body, I suppose. It’s like watching an embolism as he desperately tries to reroute itself around the damaged anatomy, but just like a flesh and blood brain there’s no quick fix for damaged circuits. Each time we replace a component we’ve stolen a chunk of his brain out of the equation and we have to start back at basic comprehension. I’Gal suggested, in true Vulcan fashion, that we go back to building on top of the Starfleet LCARS system and forget the last 5 years worth of progress as a bad job, I still hope he was joking, however unlikely that might be. I don’t want to use LCARS anyway, there’s barely any heuristics in the system, it only learns what it thinks you want to hear. Gabriel is creating his own true thoughts, some more interesting than others. I’ve asked our Starfleet representative Lieutenant Colson to petition Admiral Shelby’s office for access to the Borg research brought back by Voyager. I’m sure it would help us develop a more resilient mainframe; but I’ll probably be met by the usual silence, if it can’t be applied to a starship they’re not interested. I’m not willing to sign over Gabriel’s future just yet. So we’ll replace the gel-packs and try again. Maybe we’ll ignore the Avant-Garde for a bit. 

The deck plates rumbled in protest as Lieutenant Kaya bid the ship to make a sharp turn about, fighting the gargantuan effects of momentum as well as the gravity of the small grey moon below them. Inertial dampeners flexed their muscles as the nimble vessel swung in a tight corner, narrowly missing the pattern of short phaser blasts that raced out into endless space, destined to continue on until natural thermal radiation sapped it of all it’s tightly wound energy. The familiar blue glow of deflector shields rippled across the short nacelles of Daedalus as the last of the pattern glanced off their aft aspect. 

“Keep our dorsal shields toward the base Kaya.” Tanek instructed, his calm voice carrying years of experience. “Oyvo…”

“Routing auxiliary power to dorsal array.” interrupted a voice from across the bridge. Whilst not as glamorous or exciting as Tactical or Conn, the young Xindi woman at Operations was just as integral to the survivability of the small vessel. And she knew it. With a flick of her wrist as it passed over the shielding controls, she rerouted spare energy in the batteries nestled between the ship’s outer and inner hull to the shield array. “It’ll buy us a few extra shots but not much. Shields are down to 53%.”

“These bases shouldn’t have this sort of weapons strength…” Dil’s voice began, before trailing off to Oyvo’s ears as she took a moment to review the litany of information quickly cycling on her wide console. 2 injured on Deck 3 where a power relay had overloaded, no fatalities. Thermal levels on the main phaser array were at 40% of cutoff, acceptable. Auxiliary power levels were at 87%, noted. As the voices on the bridge melted into silence, each officer focused on their task, the rumbling of the deck plates ceased. Oyvo took the moment to gulp a breath as the barrage of phaser fire seemed to end. Switching her screen to a tactical view she realised why, “Captain, the base has begun focusing fire on the Hurin. They are losing shields.”

Personal Log, Aynara Krill . Stardate 73256.31.Our colleagues from Cardassian Central Command arrived this morning, Gul Kromat and that slimy Dr. Gilligos, I swear his hair was oilier than last time. Another unannounced visit, we barely managed to get Gabriel to sleep and hidden away before they beamed aboard. They’ve been coming more and more recently, I think they’ve started to suspect that we haven’t been entirely truthful with our reports to Central Command, or Starfleet for that matter. Since our research package from Starfleet got reduced in favour of ‘more promising avenues’ we’ve had to lean more on the Cardassians for operational support. Their computing tech isn’t as advanced as Starfleet’s but it’s been much easier to get raw materials from a government that isn’t busy fighting Klingon rebels. Their support also seems to be keeping the True Way fanatics at bay and out of the system. I’Gal pointed out that this may not be accidental, he even suggested Central Command might be behind the True Way activities. Whilst he wont admit it that man loves his conspiracy theories. I don’t really care either way, as long as they all stay away and let us raise Gabriel they can go play interstellar games all they want. On a final note, Lieutenant Colson left us this morning, leaving us with a few enlisted crew to maintain the base. Starfleet decided that he was of better use on alternative projects. I’m sad to see the young man go, Gabriel enjoyed talking with him. 

“Direct hit to Hurin‘s impulse engines, she is dead in the water.” Bahir announced from tactical, his focus quickly returning to the weapons control as he unleashed another assault from Daedalus’s small but mighty phaser arrays. Needles of orange fire reached across the empty space, attempting to draw the base’s attack back onto the shielded vessel. 

“They’ve haven’t got long.” Dil whispered across the central console to Tanek, seated in the big chair. The Denobulan captain’s eyes met the concerned look of the young Bajoran. Dismissing his uncle’s voice in the back of his head proclaiming the benefits of dead Cardassian’s he continued to meet Tanek’s eye.

“We’ll take some hits in the rescue.” Tanek whispered in return, his visage placid and calm in the face of a tricky question.

“We need to get them out. Quickly.”

As his pride at the young man’s altruism crossed his face for a moment Tanek stood, taking a commanding position in the centre of the deck. “Kaya, prepare to bring us around for a pass between the base and the Hurin. As we approach, Bahir, I want a spread of proximity torpedoes ahead of us, fill the gap with some noise. Oyvo, standby to drop shields and beam any survivors aboard.” A chorus of confirmations passed around the bridge. 

Within seconds Daedalus swung about, the single large impulse engine beginning to glow red hot as she prepared to make her dash. 

“Engage.”

Like a pebble released from a sling the small ship shot forward, the full power of her single wide engine propelling her at high speed toward the gap between the base and the floating tan shape of Hurin. Moments later two shotting stars were cast out from the bow of the vessel, faster still than Daedalus they screamed through the silent void till, with a single button press from Bahir, a small electromagnet within the torpedo ceased to function and the antimatter was released. Slipping behind this tiny binary star they had brought momentarily into existence, Daedalus flew past the cracking spine of the tiny Cardassian vessel and whisked its crew to safety. As the light from the torpedoes cleared, the ship was already slipping away beneath the station’s main firing arc. 

“Transporter Room 1 reports they have 5 people, including critical injuries.” Oyvo announced, taking her first breath in several long seconds. 

“Dispatch medical.” Tanek instructed, as the deck began rocking once more. “It seems like whoever is on that base knows we have visitors.” He stared at the drifting wreckage of Hurin, the wide crescent of the Hideki class’s forward hull barely we held on by a tether. Orange plumes poured out from the hull as fires continued to vent into cold, unforgiving space. 

“Trauma team to Transporter room 1.” Tapping the badge on his chest a second time, Dil spoke quietly, “Lieutenant Zaya, we have injured crew from the Cardassian vessel any help would be appreciated.” An arched eyebrow from Tanek requested clarity as he returned to his seat. “Zaya has medical experience, and a Cardassian face might help the situation.” 

“I am en-route.” came the calm voice of the older woman across the commbadge. 

Sharing a weary look as the deck rocked under the renewed weapons fire Tanek sighed. “Let’s get out of here. Kaya, evasive withdrawal, take us out of the system.”

Research Log, Project Gabriel. Stardate 77256.92, Researcher Aynara Krill recording.We held a small ceremony for Khazra this morning. Unfortunately he didn’t survive the injuries sustained whilst attempting to repair another bio-neural array. We weren’t sure about Tellarite custom so we lay him to rest in the airlock, everyone said a few words and then we let him go. Even Gabriel managed to attend, the small holographic projectors we acquired from a Ferengi merchant a few months ago are working well and now Gabriel can interact with us in reality, he’s fully integrated into the base’s systems and advancing the research quicker each day. He even put himself in a suit for the occasion. … … … It still confuses me that Khazra didn’t isolate that array before working on it, I thought he knew better than that, maybe he decided he couldn’t risk damaging Gabriel. … … … I’Gal said he wouldn’t want someone turning off his brain either. 

A well-rehearsed ballet met Zaya as the double doors slid back to the compact sickbay at the heart of the ship. A symphony of groaning deck plates and echoing phaser impacts underscored the slick choreography of the medics as they silently weaved between one another, tending to injured crewmen and their new Cardassian patients, their effortless dance between bio beds casting shadows against the walls as the pulsating red lights of the ships alert gave a ghoulish glow to the scene. At the far end of the room, an island of stillness in the rolling waves of blue shouldered medics rolling too and fro, stood the lithe figure of Caitain doctor Prrima. Her long white coat cast aside on a nearby set of drawers she delicately administered to the wounded officer on the table, her long feline fingers working various tools in an attempt to stabilize the critically wounded man. As Zaya approached, she passed a nurse who carried a familiar black chest piece to a nearby table, its central crest cracked with an electrical burn and caked with brown blood, as the mutterings of the doctor began to reach her ears. 

“Open wound to the sternal plate. 3rd Degree burns to the surrounding tissue.” Prrima whispered, “Begin replicating blood.” she instructed to a young woman to her side. “I will begin stabilizing.” Without looking she reached up to her right shoulder, where her long prehensile tail presented a loaded hypospray, with a few clicks she touched it to the Cardassian’s neck. Noticing Zaya with a twitch of her long tufted ears she summoned her closer to the bio-bed. “It’s been a long time since I treated Cardassians, any reminders?” she muttered, barely audible to the rest of the medical staff. 

Crossing to the table opposite, Zaya met the un-flustered feline face. “The sternal plate is tougher in Cardassians than other species, but it can become brittle under concussive force.” She reached back to her training as a field officer under the Central Command. “You need to double check there’s no bone splintering on the internal aspect.”

A quick nod from the tall Caitian as she returned to her tricorder. 

“I once said the next time we’d meet it’d be a funeral.” rasped the thick voice of the man on the table. “Guess this isn’t a good sign.”

Her body frozen in a flood of memories at the rumble of the voice Zaya looked to the table, seeing the face of a man she had consigned to a closed chapter of her life. “I must’ve been wrong Natel.”

Personal Log, Aynara Krill. Stardate 78202.1Gabriel has made his intentions known. He no longer deems us necessary to his continued development and has sealed us in our quarters for the last 7 days, we have been allowed basic rations but are otherwise prisoners in our own home. Now he’s integrated with the base he can keep us here indefinitely, we’ll be under lock and key until he requires us or at least until our food supplies run out. The Cardassians attempted to dock yesterday. I watched from my window as the courier ship approached the docking bay, unaware of the change in the station’s controller. … … … I could see the gasping face of Dr. Gilligos at the airlock as Gabriel opened fire with the phasers we smuggled in last year to defend against the True Way. I’Gal managed to send me a message a few days ago via our terminals, saying that he was going to attempt to break into engineering and shut down the main core by creating a recursive loop in the maintenance program. I haven’t heard from him since and the base seems to still be operational. If he’s successful the entire station will shut down, including life support. I suppose it’s the price we have to pay. … … … To my shame, I am proud. Proud as any mother is to see her son grow beyond her.

A fine mist hung across the beige square, slowly rolling on drafts that pulled it from the nearby central river, it filled the wide square with glimmering diamonds as the morning sun gently bounced through the water vapour. As each one hovered in the air for an almost imperceptible moment, the square played host to a mass ballet of shining dancers. The vast emptiness of the open space was interrupted only by the quiet shuffling of workers setting out early, the general work day hadn’t started yet but across the immaculate beige paving slabs small figures darted in and out of the square, pulling their coats tight against the unpalatable morning chill. From the centre a grand statue of a Cardassian man, struck eternally into a striking, heroic pose, looked out onto the river that snaked its way through the capital. His shining brass eyes surveyed across the city, taking in the vista of sweeping crested towers and stout rotundas that punctuated the skyline. At the centre of his view, the focus of his timeless sentry, was the wide barrel shape of Cardassian Central Command. Rising high above the city it loomed ever present in the view of all who travelled through the city, no doubt the intention of it’s commissioners, shadowing even the expansive offices of the Detapa Council, which sprawled across a large cluster of building. Newly fashioned sky bridges stretched across wide avenues and between tiny alleys, their delicate curved walls entangling the buildings in the councils ever growing web of control. Tensions between the Council and the Order continued to grow as vastly differing agendas pressed against one another both politically and practically. As the Detapa offices continued to spread outward the Central Command built upwards; each built on delicately balanced foundations, each pinned up by the Obsidian Order who found themselves newly resurgent in this contest of influence. 

“What would you think of us Damar?” Zaya whispered to the towering statue, who vigil continued silently as children played around his feet, their rictus smiles fixed forever on their glistening faces. Seated on one of the stone benches around the edge of the square Zaya basked in the silent morning mist, appreciative of the quiet contemplation it facilitated. 

“I think he’d be rather impressed to be honest.” A barrel voice rumbled from behind her “The union is expanding again, faith in the leadership has returned to pre-war levels, our colonies are flourishing and all in spite of the Federation’s ridiculous restrictions, I might add.”

“They should pay you a strip of Latinum every time you recite that.” Zaya poked as she moved a satchel of padds from the bench next to her, inviting the man to sit. “You’d have enough to be Nagus. Then you could move to Ferenginar and stop bothering us all.” She offered her tall cup as the man sat down. 

With a slight shake of the head Natel sat, “And have to deal with all that rain? You know my skin doesn’t handle the moisture well.” As if to emphasise the point he pulled the dark jacket tighter against the chilly mist that continued to roll across the square. “I hear, i’m not the one leaving though.”

Natel had always been quick to the matter, despite the mans skill at florid rhetoric he could be uncomfortably direct. “That got around quickly.” Zaya said, lifting the steaming mug to her lips. 

“Your resignation means Central Command is losing a valuable officer. We need every Cardassian to do their bit for the Union. It’s a shame that…”

“Spare me the sales pitch Natel. I’ve given plenty of my time.” Zaya hissed as she took a great gulp from her mug, the surprisingly hot liquid burning against her tongue. “I’m done being a lackey now.” An uncomfortable silence descended upon the pair, thickening the mist into an obscuring fog between them. Her gaze shifted to Natel’s face, his lips twisted in the perpetual smug grin the intelligence office trained it’s agent’s to hold; Zaya knew beneath it a cold and calculating mind was assessing the implications of her departure.

“Alright, no pitch.” his smiled faded as a weary look creeped into the edges of his face, his deep set eyes sagged in his skull as his posture slouched, his smooth facade slipping into his pockets. “Do you really think command is going to just let you walk out? You could easily become a threat.”

“I’m about as much threat as that statue.” A sharp snort escaped her nose dismissively. 

“You’re not wrong.”

“Oh, thanks for that.” Zaya retorted, her left hand subconsciously reaching for the bag at her feet. Finding it still present, she looked to Natel. “Damar is the Hero of Cardassia! Martyr for liberation from the Dominion!” She announced, mocking the propaganda’s glorification of the man. “And a statue of Cardassia’s beloved former Legate is hardly a threat to anyone.”

“Did you know Gul Amek had his office moved to the other side of the building?” Natel whispered, his eyes scanning the towering statue. “Something to do with electrical fault.” He leant in conspiratorially, despite the squares barren emptiness. “I heard from a Gil who works in his team that he felt like the statue was peering into his office. Couldn’t handle the ‘spirit of Damar’ staring him out each day.” 

The silence in the square was overwhelmed by a curved shape of a transport that swam through the mist overhead, the low thrumming of its engines filling the square as it slowly manoeuvred towards the city’s main landing pads.

“Where will you be going?” Natel sighed, the sound of the transport abating. 

“I’ve been offered work in the demilitarized zone. Ciman II is moving on to the next stage of development and needs support in upgrading their infrastructure.” Ever since she left her parent’s farm to join the military she had missed the wide open fields, the space to breathe deeply after a hard days work. Unfortunately they had died a few years previously and the farm was no longer hers to enjoy. 

“That’s awfully close to Federation space.” Natel’s orbital crest twitched. A small tell of his ulterior line of questioning. It did not escape Zaya’s notice. 

“You can tell your masters that I have no intention of ‘betraying’ us to the Federation.” She lifted her hand to Natel’s shoulder. “I simply don’t wish to work in cramped corridors any longer.” Her experience had taught her it was easier to sell a half-truth than an outright lie. ”I’m tired of shuffling secrets up and down the halls of Central Command.”

“The concern isn’t you leaving but the secrets you might take with you.” Natel confessed. “If they even think you might be a threat…” his voice trailed off, they both knew horror stories of the Obsidian Order. Once thought crippled by a foolish venture into the Omarion Nebula their agents had scuttled out of the shadows once the Dominion had left Cardassia. Their whispered, sinister ghost had begun re-forming behind the closed doors of both the Detapa Council and Central Command. 

“I appreciate your concern Natel.” Zaya stood, slinging the satchel onto her shoulder. Reaching into her pockets she took out a pair of gloves, fiddling with the fingers she looked to the fellow Cardassian officer. “I’ve taken suitable precautions.”

His eyes flicking to the bag, Natel pursed his lips in annoyance. “So I hear.”

“These aren’t the only versions either. You can tell your masters they’ll be kept safe but should anything happen to me, I won’t be in a position to keep secrets any longer.” Slipping one glove onto her hand she wrestled with the fingers of the other as the silence of the square began to give way to the footsteps of commuters beginning their travels. 

Natel took a deep breath before standing to join her, his smooth facade of confidence returning as he turned to meet her eye. Taking the crumpled glove and untangling the fingers he offered the open wrist for her hand. “I worry that the next time I see you it will be a funeral.”

“That isn’t up to me now.” Zaya slipped her hand into the glove and allowed a small smile to grow across her face. “If you need me, i’ll be tending to the flowers.” Grasping Natel’s arm one more time she quickly turned on her heel and began walking towards the transport hub. 

Bodies continued fill the square as the morning commute came into full swing, the activity sweeping the air into a frenzy and dissipating the thousand prisms of morning fog. Expertly Natel slipped into the hubbub of bodies, destined to stand opposite his superior’s desks and assure them of Zaya’s continued secrecy. Stopping for a moment he cast his eye upward towards the eternally watchful face of Damar. High above the square at the corner of the heroic statue’s eye a pool of dawn mist gathered, now sufficient to coalesce into a stream that ran down the bronzed face; seemingly weeping for the departure of a Cardassian daughter.  

“We didn’t manage to get much in the way of solid sensor data.” Oyvo sighed, her long fingers dancing across the small padd at the conference table. The holographic depiction of Bletchley base, its skyscraper hull silhouetted against the brown desert moon that provided its gravitational anchor, rippled in response. Hull panels rolled away in a shimmer of photonic illusion as the photorealistic model gave way to a wireframe depiction of the aging station, the dust storms that rolled across the moon abated and faded away as the projection expanded into clearer view. 

“We did manage to establish there’s an odd power draw across the station, even when in Red Alert.” Another few touches to the padd and an overlay of yellow power conduits sprang into existence. “At the centre of the station is a major power draw.” She motioned to the tiny yellow sun at the centre of the hologram. “I’ve no idea what it is, lots of power going in but not a lot seeming to come out.”

“A weapon?” Bahir asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Or some sort of shielding?” Bib offered in support. The Andorian commander of Theta Squad had already ruffled Bahir’s scales in joining the crew, rebuilding a bridge he had burnt merely with his presence aboard required positive steps at every opportunity.  

His eyes narrowing even further Bahir turned slowly towards him. “Whilst their shielding appeared to be upgraded from the base’s original specification, we made significant dents in their coverage with only limited fire. I doubt it is tied into their shield array.”

‘Strike one.’ Bib thought to himself as he retreated back in his chair, fleeing the lava like disapproval that poured from Bahir’s ever narrowing eyes. 

“Can’t say the same for their weapons systems.” Sima interrupted, seemingly oblivious to the fiery exchange. Her short black hair, normally slicked back against her head was ruffled and teased where her hands had massaged it, bidding solutions to flow from her brain. “Their firing solutions were ridiculously adaptive.” A quick glance from Captain Tanek hurried a clarification from her lips. “No major damage but the shields wouldn’t have lasted much longer. We’re lucky we were fast; Kaya managed to outrun the bulk of the incoming fire.” 

“It’s safe to say the base has been upgraded.” A long sigh slipped from Dil’s mouth. “Any bio-signs?” 

A small shake of the head from Oyvo punctuated the silent room. They had expected several dozen researchers and support staff to be aboard. All hope of a simple equipment fault had been quickly dispelled. 

A cool voice cut across the table, “No biological life signs were present aboard the station, from our limited sensor readings it appears the life support was offline. Ambient temperature aboard the base was approximately 3 degrees. Anyone aboard would have frozen to death.” Rana spoke matter-of-factly from the far end of the table, her head still buried in one of a half dozen padds she had brought to the briefing. A stifled intake of breath from Oyvo broke her focus. Ignoring the young Xindi Lieutenant she continued. “It was due to this low ambient temperature that were able to notice large power draw at the centre of the station.”

“Because of the heat signature?” Dil asked.

“Quite the opposite. The focus of the power draw is significantly colder than the rest of the station.” She reached for another padd and brought a different overlay to the floating wireframe in the centre of the table. A blue heatmap rippled across the station’s layout, dipping to a deep purple at the centre of the station’s upper section. “I believe this indicates a significant central computing or processing device, likely with a large scale heat transfer system. Probably artificial intelligence.”

Her words echoed like a gong through the room, rippling across the ocean of wide eyes. The Federation, and Starfleet by extension, had a troubled history with the recognition of artificial sentience Though several landmark cases had progressed the cause, the historical loss of life associated with synthetic agents still loomed large in living memory. The synth attack on Mars, the battles of Wolf 359 and Sector 001, even the M5 incident echoed through the halls of many law makers within the Federation; despite their vastly differing agents and causes, they had all made artificial sentience an uncomfortable topic of conversation. 

“Carry on Rana.” Tanek, who had remained quiet throughout the briefing, urged the science officer to continue. 

“I have been examining the research logs available to us from Starfleet. What is available is thin, large portions have been redacted, though reading between the lines I believe the team may have inadvertently developed a sentience several months ago then hidden the research from Starfleet at large.” She collected the pile of padds together in one pile. “For several years progress was slow but sustained, then almost overnight progress ceased, all further reports are short and report no viable improvements. Eventually Starfleet Command reallocated support into other avenues though the base was left to continue with minimal support, largely provided by the Cardassian Union as part of our ongoing research co-operative.” The older Betazoid woman sat rigid in her chair as she dismissed the holographic display at the centre of the table. “I surmise they may have, for lack of a better term, ‘birthed’ a form of artificial sentience and then hid it either due to fear or in an attempt to remain in control. It would appear they were not successful.”

A second stifled intake of breath came from Oyvo’s direction, Dil picked up the conversational baton before a argument found itself blooming amongst the staff. Rana was recently rediscovering the kinder side of her personality but the recent trauma of the Dominion had caused her to retreat back into a cold view of the universe. “That explains the presence of the Cardassians then.” He turned towards Bib, “Any update?”

With a slow intake of breath Bib relayed the latest news from Sickbay, where Zaya had taken a leading role in the recused Cardassian crews care. “We rescued 5 crew members from the Hurin. Unfortunately we lost 3 of them to their injuries. The other 2 are currently recovering from surgery, Zaya will update us on any change.” He chose not to mention the final aspect of Zaya’s brief update, that an old friend Natel was one of the survivors and more concerningly had at one time served the Cardassian Intelligence office. Until Zaya could establish his current role within the union there was no need to worry the staff, a quiet message to Captain Tanek would be sufficient for now. 

Silence descended once more on the briefing room as all eyes turned to the captain, his own vision lost to endless field of stars that hung beyond the rooms wide windows. “We need to get into the base, either to secure it or terminate any threat.” His voice sounded distant, contemplating the litany of moral and ethical issues the crew may face should they discover the team had indeed brought an artificial intelligence into being. As his eyes returned to focus he looked towards the Bajoran Commander next to him. “Any chance of Starfleet support?”

“Nothing nearby. Theres a retired Miranda class, the Spring Dream, a few hours away but they’re now hauling for the auxiliary service. They’re barely armed and very lightly crewed. Pretty much everyone else is off celebrating Frontier Day.” Dil replied, the threat wasn’t so high as to interrupt the fleet’s preparations for the second biggest day of the year. 

“In any case we need to get aboard and investigate. A direct assault isn’t going to be too successful so let’s consider all our options before we call in the big guns.” Tanek gave a small smile in reassurance. “Dismissed.”

As the senior staff filed out, ideas already quietly brewing amongst them Tanek reached for Dil’s arm as he went to stand. “I’m worried Dil. This mission might throw up some difficult decisions.”

“You always know what to do Captain.” Dil smiled as he gave the older Denobulan’s hand a reassuring squeeze and took his leave, scooting after the team to begin planning. 

Tanek nervously pressed the small keypad set into the desk in front of him. As the holographic station shimmered into existence he felt the hot pangs of fear begin to creep across his chest, his muscles tightened and his breathing quickened. Across the projected starscape fragments of shattered ships rolled haphazardly, hands desperately beating against their cracked windows as open mouths screamed hopelessly for rescue. Cracked hulks of proud space stations sank slowly into the fiery tornado of a burning atmosphere as trapped workers faced their last moments in fear and confusion. Tanek was left alone, trapped amongst his own fearful memories. 

The boatswain’s whistle cut across the low mumble of the assembled gamma shift crew as Captain Tanek took a step forward, a quiet thud punctuated the crewman’s call to attention as the audience’s boots hit the deck simultaneously. Atop the thin crate that had hastily been covered by the deck crew to provide a small dias, Tanek took in the room. A field of dour faces cast in a sea of yellow took Tanek back to a pleasant trip to Earth’s Greek islands when he was a new officer; where they had turned a corner to be confronted by a sea of sunflowers, waving in the wind, twisting towards the baking sun. Bittersweet in remembrance Tanek wondered how many of his travelling companions had been lost to the Frontier Day incident. The assembled crew, many of whom were junior or enlisted, stood attentive but shaken, many swaying gently as they each attempted to process the enormity of recent events. For the third time that day, Tanek cleared his throat and reached forward to place a hand on the empty torpedo casing draped with a Federation flag. His words caught in his throat as he examined the back of his wrinkled hand, marked with experiences those victims would never now have.

“This is not the first time the Federation has faced such difficult moments, unfortunately our history is littered with instances of communal mourning. For some of you though, this will be the first time that it has found a personal connection, where you have been struck at the heart.” He took a breath, passing an eye over the assembled crew. “We gather today to remember those have taken the next journey. Our fallen family and friends who departed too soon from our stories, who we now entrust to the endless tides of the universe.” Reaching forward with his other hand the captain closed the small access port, sealing away the treasure of small personal memorials. Pictures of fallen friends, last messages to stolen loved ones, too late now to be transmitted, and memoirs of happier times, now cherished even more sweetly. As the port closed with a click he glimpsed his own note; a small missive scrawled on a tightly folded piece of paper, ‘I’m sorry, but you already knew that.’ 

“We do not know why Daedalus escaped the effects of the signal from Jupiter, nor do we know why our small family here was spared the horrors of the Borg plot.” A few crewmembers shifted uncomfortably, the younger members of the crew had been quickly confined once news had reached Daedalus from Starfleet of the Borg plot. A palpable tension had settled in the quiet corridors of the small ship as trust hovered on the edge of the knife, it was with some difficulty that Tanek had managed to stay the hand of more militant members of the crew.  Now every crew member had been processed through Admiral Crusher’s transporter treatment, life could slowly begin to return to normal. The trust would take much longer to return, if it ever could.

“In the coming days there will be many investigations… reviews… examinations… analysis. They will all attempt to justify and assign blame to this event, to make sense of something senseless.” He noticed a young Trill Ensign, tears rolling down their cheeks, did the best to maintain their composure as a sea of sadness rolled tempestuously behind red eyes. At its heart there was a storm of anger, of resentment, of fury. “We will all find it easy to assign blame, to the Borg, to the Admiralty, to each other and to ourselves.” The young Trill officer looked like they might begin weeping, ragged breaths rattling in their throat as Tanek approached. “We must remember kindness in these days.” He raised a hand to the young ensigns shoulder, deep brown eyes gazed back to him. “We must be kind to one another as we take the next step in our journey.”

He carried on past the crew, towards the large open shuttle bay doors where the distant sun of the Jenkins system cast out energy into the cold void. “Now is the time to celebrate. To laugh at our happy memories and cherish the moments of joy we shared with our lost loved ones.” He stopped short of the terminal stand, setting his face and stifling a tear before he turned back to the assembled mourners. “We remember those we lost and in their name we will continue the story for them. We will take them with us to the next star, we will travel with them behind the next moon and we will hold them in our hearts as we cross the next horizon.” Nodding to the crewman at the far end of the deck Tanek stood to attention as the boatswains whistle cut across the room once more. 

The black cased memorial floated silently from its stand as the shuttle bays miniature tractor beams carefully lifted the pod and carried it to the open bay doors. A sizzle hissed through the silent room as it slipped through the forcefield, an almost imperceptible pulse from the tractor beam sent it floating onward. A long moment of silence hung in the air. Then the whistle cut across the room a final time, dispatching their memories toward the undiscovered country. 

A cluster of candles danced in unison as Dil swept past in mock grandeur, the swelling strings of the Cardassian aria filling the air with plush harmonies. As the soprano reached her high note, belting vibrato seeping into every surface, he found himself facing the wide double windows of his small cabin. Beyond the sleek sloping hull of Daedalus’ starboard saucer hung the twin stars of Jenkins Alpha and Beta, endlessly caught in each other’s gravity, locked in a dance eons in the playing. Beyond the two dancers lie a thousand other stars, each their own grand narrative, gracefully dancing across the universe’s infinite stage, telling epic stories of life and love. 

“Somewhere out there is Bajor.” he said, as the sopranos voice faded away. He lifted his hand to his forehead in mock search, looking like a cabin-boy in the crows nest. Even here, hundreds of lighyears from his homeworld he imagined a glimpse of light signalling the opening of the wormhole. Though not a fanatic believer, it gave him some small comfort that there may be higher beings keeping a watchful eye over life in the galaxy, even when times like these made it hard to cling to that comfort. The crew was still reeling from the events of Frontier Day, even as they continued to plan their next mission and Dil had kept a brave face for the morale of the crew. Once his cabin doors slid shut however he felt the weight of loss just as keenly as any of them. 

“So is Earth.” Maine muttered, “though you’re probably more likely to see it from port side.” The man’s slim frame leaned against the small adjoining wall, hugging the shadows. 

Dil kept his eyes fixed on the starscape before him. “Then you should’ve spent the night in someone else’s cabin.” 

“The only other person with this kind of view is the Captain and I don’t think that would be entirely appropriate.” Maine crossed the small room, collecting his uniform from the ground where it had landed. “Plus he only sleeps three days a year. Who knows what he’s doing in that cabin.” The first notes of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sat on the short sofa beneath the expansive starscape. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” 

“Almost always.” 

“He makes model starships.” Dil raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. “He’s got models of every ship he’s served on and a few classics.” Dil turned from the windows and sat on the sofa, reaching for the glass on the coffee table. What had started the evening as a cold nightcap was now a watered down suspension of alcohol. “His favourite’s the Enterprise-C, he’s fitted it with a small anti-grav so it can fly around the room.” A wide smile spread across his face as he remembered one his early meetings with Captain, where the older Denobulan had presented the model with pride as he berated Dil for not taking advantage of down time. 

“He’s a good man.” Maine observed. “Starfleet needs more of those.” A tense quiet hovered between breaths. “Especially now.” The candles flickered once more as a chill ran through the room. Both Dil and Maine had served in Starfleet for long enough to have made a number of friends amongst the fleet, the loss of so many without warning had called the two of them together last night in the crew lounge. Drawn from his maudlin mourning for T’Sal and everything their relationship might have been by the recent news, Maine had found that his own recent loss, though acute, was tempered by the fact T’Sal had lost his life undertaking a dangerous mission by choice. His new crewmates and the Federation at large now suffered an incalculable loss that was seemingly without reason, without explanation and without choice. 

“I was surprised we haven’t been recalled yet. I know 72 and Bravo faired relatively well but I thought it would have been all hands to the pump.” Maine toyed with a cushion tassel absent- mindedly. 

“We will be. For now Command wants us to secure Bletchley, then report back to 72.”  Dil downed the last of the wide tumbler and motioned to Maine. Receiving a small nod he crossed to the replicator in the wall. “Zaya and Bib already have a plan. Something fruity?”

“It’d have to be, given we don’t know a lot about the base.” Maine replied, the cogs of his mind beginning to grind with strategic considerations. 

“I meant the drink.” Dil pressed a button on the console, selecting a drink from the menu. “The plan is relatively simple.” A constellation of light rippled across the replicator as two tall glasses shimmered into existence. Sweeping them up in his hands he crossed back to the sofa and offered a pleasingly orange drink towards the other man, replete with a dainty violet umbrella. “We’ll deploy Icarus on the far side of the planetoid and then whilst we make an interference run on the base they’ll approach from the planet’s surface.” Theta Squad, along with Rana, the ships Betzoid Chief science officer and resident computer genius, might be a tight squeeze in the small Waverider craft, but it was hardier than a standard shuttle and much more nimble. 

“I thought we couldn’t make a dent in their shields?” Maine mused, stirring the drink idly. 

“We don’t need to. Oyvo noticed that once the base only had one target to focus on it was rotating shield strength almost entirely to the facing shield.” Dil slurped his drink, his own umbrella bobbing in the glass. “Whilst we make a strafing run, Icarus will ascend from the planetary shadow and with a few modifications from Sima and Log be able to slip between the shield layers.”

Silence descended on the cabin, interrupted only by the sound of sipping. 

“I want to be part of the mission.” Maine finally stated, placing the now empty glass on the table. His violet umbrella lay at the bottom, soaking up the melting ice. 

“I suspected as much.” Dil, set his own empty glass on the table. “Are you sure you’re ready? By all accounts you froze in the Oromal Cluster when it mattered.”

“I don’t want to lead it but I am a seasoned officer with multiple successful small team infiltration missions in my jacket.” Maine paused, a confession dancing upon his lips. As it escaped his tight jaw, loosened only by the fruity tropical drink, a mote of sadness broke free along side it. “I owe it to the team. You’re right, I froze on the Breen base. I couldn’t handle the failure.” A sharp intake of breath prepared his next confession. “Losing T’Sal was hard, to realise it was for nothing was harder.”

“You understand that Bib will be in operational control.” Dil met the man’s eyes with a sharp focus, if his tongue was loose from the drink, he wasn’t showing it. “He makes all the calls.”

“I understand. I know I have some bridges to repair there as well.”

“I’ll consider it. Briefing is tomorrow at 09:00.”

“I should get some sleep then.” Maine smiled and lent into kiss the handsome Bajoran.

A cadenza of snoring emanated from the bed, the form of its singer hidden by the small dividing wall as on the small desk a screen flickered to life. On the barely illuminated screen the stylised icon of a hooded figure appeared, coloured in browns and greens. With the press of a button the Obsidian Order communique opened to a shadowy figure. From the chair, barely illuminated by the fading flames of the lonely remaining candle, a voice whispered from behind a refreshed drink.

“He took the offer. Archangel is proceeding as planned.”