The chrono in the corridor clicked over to 0600, and the dedicated duty boots of Alanna Barker were already in motion, her trusted PADD curled in her right hand as she walked with purpose.  The last month had been her shakedown cruise aboard the Olympic as her first yeoman in a few years.  The officer and crew’s adjustment to her was equalizing after a brief storm of confusion and concern.  The good news was that she had tamed Captain Crawford’s tempestuous organization issues. Mostly.  It had taken several head-to-head arguments, debates, and discussions to get them to a place where they could talk to each other calmly.  

The first three weeks had been a real test for the two of them.  Today was the first day of May, and she had spent the previous evening corraling department heads to complete the monthly reports due on Crawford’s desk in just a few moments.

“Ensign Barker.”  Captain Helena Dread joined her as she strolled down the corridors, sipping at her coffee.  “You’re very punctual on the mornings you have duty.  I’ve timed you crossing this corridor every day at the same time with little variation.”

Alanna side-eyed the Executive Officer, “You stalking me, sir?”  There was a sly smile on her lips.

Dread returned the smile, “As you’ve noted several times, my timing needs improvement.  Just trying to learn from the resident scheduling badass.”  She tapped at her PADD as they turned a corner, “We’ve got orders to return to Deneb in the double.  The Changeling and Borg have been rinsed from the ranks…and people are suddenly much more interested in doing their jobs.  Imagine that.”

They entered a turbolift, and the yeoman grimaced, “We’ve got to stop depending on Picard and his crew to save the universe.  They’re going to die eventually.”  She caught a surprised look from Helena and shrugged, “It’s the truth, Doctor.”

The door opened, and they continued, Dread replying, “I was just impressed at your dark humor, Ensign Barker.”  They rounded a corner and stood at the door to the captain’s quarters.  “Allow me.”  She tapped the button, “It’s Helena with Ensign Barker.”  It took a moment, but the door opened.

Crawford stood in the kitchen, breakfast finishing as he read over his PADD.  He waved them in, “Over here.  Back to Deneb.”  He pushed around the hashbrowns as he nursed a steaming cup of English Breakfast, “We’ve got guests incoming as well.”

Barker slipped onto the barstool at the counter, her standard seat at this time of the morning, “Craig Syracuse, reporter for the Federation News Network, along with his production crew and producer.  Four people total.  I’ve assigned them quarters.  We’ll need someone to interface with them while they’re onboard.  We haven’t been granted a diplomatic officer.”

Dread groaned and sat down at the counter, “Doesn’t surprise me.  Word is that Diplomatic Services took their hits during Frontier Day. I don’t think we’re gonna rate for one.”  She accepted a plate of waffles, scrambled eggs, and thick bacon, “I’m going to miss this when they promote you, Crawford.  Or give you a shiner ship than this.  I never ate this well on other ships.”

Pete chuckled as he slid the over-easy eggs, sausages, and oatmeal over to Barker, “I could always get fired or demoted, Dread.  Don’t leave that possibility out.”  He put his pancakes, bacon, and cheesy eggs on a plate and stood in the kitchen as the gathered group broke bread together.  He had started it on a lark when the two had arrived at his door at the earliest hours with reports and missions aplenty.  It had fast become a part of their shared mornings.  He tossed the bad news out between bites, “I’m assigning you the job, Dread.”

She stared at him, fork in mid-air, “The hell you say?”  She dropped it with a clatter, “Don’t you dare, Pete.”

He gestured to himself and Barker, “I’ve got a full cargo bay, Helena.  On most ships, the XO is the one…”

Dread rolled her eyes, “We aren’t most ships.”  She went to work on her plate, polishing off her breakfast in record time and staring at her captain in silence as she drank from her cup, muttering.  He slid his plate into the sink and leaned on the counter, asking her with his eyes, and she replied. “I don’t suppose I can claim rank or prerogative on this one.”

Pete smiled widely, “That’s the spirit.”

She handed him her cleaned plate, answering him sourly, “There are days where you can be a real bastard, Crawford.”  Helena asked, “Have you talked to The Editor about this yet?”  Pete accepted Barker’s plate and slid into the pile in the sink, not answering her question.  She noticed.  “You have talked to her about this?”

Pete wiped down the counter, his eyes apologizing as he replied, “She scares the hell out of me, Dread.”

Helena scoffed, “Peter Crawford, the man who faced the Dominion twice in his lifetime?  You can’t be serious.”

He resignedly nodded, “She’s asked to meet with you about an unrelated matter anyway, so it seems like she’d rather talk to you.”

“Hell.  You’re gonna owe me for this, Crawford.  Barker, take note on the chart and add another mark on the balance sheet.”  Alanna made her note as requested and chose to remain silent.  Staying out of firing range between the two captains had served her well when they were agitated.  “You got everything else, Pete.”

Crawford put his hands up in surrender, “I’ll take the rest from here.”  She gave him a parting smile and headed out of the door.  Barker turned to him, and he drained his mug, “Let’s get to work on the rest…”

Helena stood in front of the doors to the Olympic Journal.  She was running through the various ways she would approach the Editor in Chief with the news that an outsider was being sent along with them on their mission.  Taking a deep breath, the XO stepped through the door and let the assistant at the desk know of her appointment with Hargraves.  A few moments later, she was led down a corridor into an expansive office where the older white-haired woman sat, examining several PADDs.  Dread stepped to stand in front of the long, ornate desk and waited. A few minutes later, Hargraves looked up, annoyed.  “I wanted to talk to you about the issues of our staff and their access to regular communications traffic…but it seems you bring tidings of something new.”  She leaned back in her chair, waiting.

Dread remained standing where she was.  She hadn’t been offered the seat and wasn’t about to misstep.  “We’ve received orders to return to the Deneb sector and offer our assistance as a medical and science ship to the systems within.” She paused, “We’re also taking on a passenger from FNN.  A Mr. Craig Syracuse and his small production team.”  Helena explained the team’s mission and that they were to work alongside the teams as they worked with the various colonies, ships, and planets.  “He’s been assigned to the Olympic Journal through Federation Academic and Scientific Journal Consortium in partnership with…”

Hargraves held up her hand, “You don’t need to shovel the shit for them, Captain.  I’m aware of Mr. Syracuse and his credentials.  He’s a hot-shot reporter who’s been very lucky in his short career.  I’m not particularly thrilled with this particular development, especially at the hands of the FASJC.”  She tapped at one of her PADDs, “The Frontier Day event was unlucky for them – a few Changelings were found, and there was a harsh amount of deaths before the universe-wide genocide was brought to an early end.”  She picked up her tea and sipped at it, “They’re still not pleased with me and my attempts to tell the story of Janoor III.  The benefit of being the Olympic Journal is they can’t take action against us like they have others – we have a reputation that’s held its ground longer than most.”

Helena frowned, “You’re…not going to fight this?”

“You expected me to, Captain?”

“I…I’m not sure what I expected, Dr. Hargraves.”

Persefoni demured a smile, “I’ve been in this game long enough to know how to fight beyond the two or three dimensions most of my opponents occupy.  There’s more than just assigning the latest shiny bastard to me in play here, Captain Dread.  There’s always a game afoot or a message being sent.  Syracuse is just the piece on the chess board.  Our goals are aligned – report on the realities of what’s happened to Deneb and hold the people who are responsible for the recovery and repair accountable.”

Dread felt a quiet respect developing for the journalism veteran, “And if those goals…unalign?”

The smile was quiet but held a glaring menace beneath the surface.  She answered, “The game moves from being afoot…to being hunted.”  She finished her tea, “Now, can we speak about the communications access I’ve been wrestling with these past few days?”

“You’re sure about this?”  Mark Henry sat across from Craig “The Craft” Syracuse on the shuttle as it rocketed towards the meeting point with the USS Olympic.

Craig looked up and met the eyes of his producer, “Look, It’s a risk stepping into her space…but there’s not a lot of ships with better access and better track records than the Olympic.  There’s a lot of buzz around pirates and others still spoiling for a fight.  We’re going to be on the cutting edge of the emotional stories of survival, recovery, and redemption.  That’s the kind of story that we need.”

Henry scoffed, “You don’t know her like I do, kid.”  Henry had worked at the Los Angeles Times during her tenure.  He’d managed to keep a wide berth from her.  “She’s not someone you mess with, especially on her home turf.  She’s been running that journal for over ten years.”

Syracuse huffed, “Who said I was going to mess with her?  I want the same thing she wants.  Doesn’t that count for something?”  Henry had been with him since the start, but he’d started to chafe under the older man’s mentorship.  He had started looking for other producers.

The sixty-year-old veteran of news media pointed at him, “You know as well as I do that’s a load of shit, Craig.  You’ve picked up a few bad habits in the last six months.  Burning bridges isn’t going to get you very far.”

The reporter rolled his eyes, “We’re done talking.  I need to get some sleep.”  Craig turned his head away from Mark and closed his eyes tightly.  The hardest part was that he wasn’t wrong.  Syracuse had been feeling a change happening in him.  His cynicism was running deeper and harder than usual.  He worried there was more truth to the man’s concerns than he was willing to admit.  He felt the thought fade away as the sweet surrender of sleep took him.

Milton Ford had worked at Farpoint station for the last two years as one of the Deputy Chief Counselors, and he’d settled into a rhythm.  He’d been assigned a group of patients, and the life was suiting him.  That had been 24 hours ago.  Now, he was standing in one of the many transporter rooms with his belongings packed and stacked in the cue for the cargo transporters.  His old, worn leather doctor’s bag held restlessly in one hand; he wondered what had brought him to be assigned to the USS Olympic as their Chief Counselor.  He was generally easy to get along with and couldn’t recall upsetting anyone lately.  Was this the universe moving him to his next destination?  The Lost Fleet and Frontier Day events had given him plenty of work with crew, officers, and civilians on the station.  The reward of someone finding their way in treatment had been powering his heart and soul.

He hadn’t served on a ship in years.  Would he remember the protocols?  Would they accept this old dog?  He kept coming back to the ‘why’ of his assignment.  He’d been ordered to report to a Deputy Chief – the captain and the XO were occupied with additional passengers.  He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he suspected it wasn’t good.  Whoever required the attention of the two most highly ranked officers must be unique.

“Dr. Ford?”  The ensign at the controls gestured him forward.  “They’re ready for you.”

Jordan Reid stood in front of the transporter pad on the Olympic, her hands clasped nervously behind her back.  She’d been woken up that morning with a unique assignment – the new chief counselor was coming aboard, and they needed someone to meet him.  Dread and Crawford were unavailable, so it had fallen to her.  She wasn’t sure how to feel.  It had only been a month since she stepped back aboard a Federation starship as a Starfleet officer.  The death of her boyfriend was still there, and its impact hadn’t faded.

“Lieutenant, transport underway.”

Reid stood to attention.  The officer in question outranked her, and his service jacket was fascinating. He’d served in many different roles and had settled on counseling.  She had many questions but wasn’t sure if she would ask any of them.  Sometimes, people preferred to let their legacy speak for themselves.  The bright lights and the harmonic sound filled the room as an older, regal-looking man appeared, his worn eyes searching the space before him.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant…?”  He jumped down the small stairs, a spry surprise to Jordan.

“Lieutenant Reid, Deputy Chief Medical Officer Surgery and Critical Care.  Welcome aboard Olympic, Lieutenant Commander Ford.”  She extended her hand, and he grasped it, a smile filling his face.

“It’s good to be back.  And it’s Dr. Ford, Dr. Reid.”

Jordan remembered he had served on the Olympic years before, “You were Chief Operations?”  She led him out into the corridor.

A shrug, “It was for six months…and a long time ago.  I thought I’d be an operations officer for the rest of my life.  I thought I’d reached the top of the mountain…but it wasn’t for me.  She looks better than she did all those years ago.  Read about the refits.  She looks good for her age.”

Reid took them around a corner and into a turbolift, “The Oly, as we call her, has a storied history.  It’s been good getting to know it over the last month.”  She inclined her head upwards, “Olympic class is a special class.”

Ford nodded approvingly, “I’ve been on most of the classes the fleet offers.  I’ve done my time on heavy cruisers and frigates…feels like it’s time to cruise through the stars on a slower pace.”

Reid checked her PADD as they arrived, “You’ve been assigned a crew of five counselors with the option of 5 additional who would be activated from our medical and science teams.  She stopped outside the counseling office, ”Here is your staff information and notes from our previous counselor.”

The older of the two accepted the PADD and gave her a quiet nod, “We do need to talk…in a professional setting, Dr. Reid.  Your file was marked a priority.  You’ve been ducking your sessions.”  She felt her face redden.  She had wondered how long that would last.  He continued, “The mandatory nature of your meetings and what you experienced…I’m not one to wait around for you to come to me.  I’ll send you a list of available times by the end of the day.”  He stood at attention and swept into his new office, leaving Reid feeling like she wanted to run away. 

She took a breath and whispered, “But that is not what Deputy Chiefs do, is it Jordan?”  She set her feet in motion of her office.  Her time was now…and she needed to own it.

“The message is interesting in a few ways, Captain.  It’s not the usual frequency we’ve seen from this colony.  It’s also reading as being transmitted from a different communication system and location than the previous.  The last contact was had a month ago, and they dismissed any offer of help from us or the local Task Group.”  Atetga glanced back at her console as she faced Crawford, “The computer’s concerned enough to flag the message and the contents for further evaluation…never mind what I think.” Pete indicated to her, and she shook her head nervously, “It’s very unusual, sir.  Colonies in this space haven’t upgraded much of their communications equipment.  We were able to pull the logs and compare the voice and background readings…those are also very different.”

Crawford furrowed his brow.  They’d been sent into the Deneb sector to assist.  They’d received some small requests and had made a few deliveries.  This latest call from a nearby colony had sparked interest due to the longstanding isolationist practices of the people there.  As Atega ran down her list of concerns, he was also starting to wonder.  The rest of the bridge crew had turned in their stations, curious about what this all meant. He’d reached out to his Task Force Commander, and the concern from Captain Fontana had been palpable.  “I spoke with our Task Force command…and they were concerned about a possible coup…or something worse.”

Catani spoke from her station, “The Alahans colony reports make no mention of political issues in previous observations. It’s a small colony, about 2,000 souls.  Human mostly, but a growing…oh…hell.”  Crawford turned to her, and she pointed at the display, “There have been unverified reports that Syndicate traffic has been rumored to be making more passes close to Alahans.” She scanned the reports, “It’s mostly rumor, which is why it wasn’t included in the original situation report.  That’s on me, Captain.”  Her face reddened in embarrassment.

Pete accepted her apology, “We learn from those mistakes, Lieutenant.  Anything else in those rumors?”

She bandaged her pride and replied, “Sensor reports showing large ships transitioning through the lanes, and some of those running with bogus transponders or spoofed registries…or running silent and deep.”  She glanced at Fowler, who was working at her science console.

“Tasking long-range sensors towards the area and a collection of warp signatures that don’t make much sense to the computer.”  She put the display on the screen, “Klingon, Romulan, Borg, and…Vulcan.”  Sadie scoffed, “There’s more, but whoever’s been flying through Alahan space recently has been covering their tracks.”

Crawford muttered from his command chair, “Goddamn Pirates.  Add them to the list.  I don’t think we can go up against Syndicate ships.  Catari?”  The look on her face was answer enough, “That’s what I thought.  We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.  I don’t want to pull Mackenzie away from Janoor.”  He tapped his badge, “Captain Dread to the bridge.”  He sighed as he closed the channel, “She is going to hate this.”

“I hate this.” Dread glanced from Crawford to the rest of the bridge crew, “I hate it for the reasons I’ve already said, but I also hate it because it’s our only real option.  Pulling Mackenzie leaves Janoor poorer; we can’t afford to let that happen.  You’re taking the Hasard Team disguised as they’ll be.”  She raised her hand, “If you’re going planetside, I’m sending an Odyssey class-sized chance of survival.  Catari, Moore, Ford, and Prentice are along for the ride.  You can pick the rest.”  She glared at her commanding officer, “I’m putting this one on the chart; you can be damned sure of that.”

Pete chuckled dryly, “Fair enough.  Team, let’s move.  Captain Dread, you have the CONN.”  She sat roughly in the chair and muttered something as he led the team into the turbolift.  The doors closed, and they were on their way.

Catari wondered aloud, “Why did she put our Chief Counselor on the away team?”

Crawford’s smile disappeared, “You need to read your fellow crewmates files more closely.”  He held the silence until the door opened and led his tactical and security chief into the corridors, “Milton Ford was a security and tactical officer for ten years – much of that in the Dominion War.  He was an instructor in his discipline at Starfleet Academy for ten years after that.  He left the academy for ten more years in security and tactical before deciding to return and put on the teal shirt of counseling.”

Athena’s mouth had dropped open, and she consciously forced it closed, “Thirty years in security and tactical?  Why isn’t he chief?”

They rounded a corner, and Crawford explained, “You’re young, Lieutenant.  You haven’t been through it in the same way.  I saw some things…but Ford was in the thick of everything.  You see the fires of hell every day…eventually, you’ll want to stand by the cold sea to find some rest.”

Catari stopped, and Crawford turned around as she leveled her gaze at him, “You speak from experience, sir.”

Pete felt his emotions stir.  A quick, “I do, Lieutenant.”  The silent canyon separated them for but a moment before he indicated the corridor ahead, “Let’s not keep the team waiting.  Somebody needs our help.”  She sighed, knowing she’d have to find the right time to ask her captain about his words.  He had a longer story than they had time as they walked briskly to the shuttle bay.

“Captain, we’re being hailed.”  Chief Communications Officer Presley Atega turned in her chair, alerting Captain Helena Dread, who swung her chair to face the young officer.  “It’s…the colony, sir.”

The XO turned slowly back to the front screen, confused.  The shuttle with Crawford and his team hadn’t had a chance to launch.  She tapped at the console on the command chair, “Dread to Crawford…the colony is hailing us.”

Crawford frowned in the runabout decks below the bridge, “That’s…interesting.  Patch us through to listen.  Whatever they have to say will be worth hearing.”

Dread gave the order to Atega and stood from the command chair, “Let’s see what they’ve got to say.”  The screen flickered until a Romulan appeared on the screen, flanked by an Orion, a Bolion, and a Klingon.  “I’m Captain Dread of the Federation Starship Olympic…”

The Romulan snarled, “I know who you are, Helena Dread.  I am also familiar with your commanding officer, a Peter Crawford.”  The three at his side stared at the screen.  “You may have received a request for assistance from this colony, but that request is no longer necessary.  The Syndicate has responded and is assisting with recovery and repair efforts.”

Dread squinted at the screen, “The Romulans I’ve worked with, I can count on two hands, and I don’t recall you.”

The Romulan chuckled, “I didn’t say you knew me, Helena Dread.  I said I know who you are.  You can tell your captain he doesn’t need to come down here on a shuttle.  The people of this colony have no further need for the Federation…or Starfleet.”

It was Helena’s turn to frown.  She remained standing and tried another tact, “You’ve made that clear.  I want to speak to the colony’s people to verify your claims.”

Another chuckle, “That won’t be necessary.  We’ve assumed control of the governmental operations with the generous allowance by the people here.  Once more, your services are no longer needed.  I don’t want to have to make plain the fact that you are an Olympic-class starship, and we would rather not have to escort you.  You know the way out, I presume?”

Dread bit back the bile that was rising in her throat.  There were threats, and then there were threats.  Threatening action against an Olympic class was a step away from a war crime.  The Romulan had no fear, care, or a dangerous mix of both.  “I’ll consult with my commanding officer.  You know all about us, it seems.  What is your name?”

He spat out, “Rigilia.  You have ten minutes.”  The channel cut.

Fifteen seconds later, Crawford stepped onto the bridge, “Tell me we have something on this guy.”

Dread turned from the science station, “He was once a rising star but broke away.  Starfleet Intelligence wasn’t sure where he landed.  It appears he found a home in the Syndicate.”  She read from the screen, “He’s pretty brutal – part of why he went his own way.  Not much mercy, allegations of abuse, murder, and more death and destruction.”

Peter flopped down in the center chair, “He’s not going to play nice or fair with us if we even try and land….or negotiate.  He doesn’t seem afraid of us.”  He turned to Atega, “It’s time to call the Mack.”

“The new Government on Janoor III has been seated in the makeshift houses of the legislature. The process to nominate judges across the remaining cities begins today. We’ll have an exclusive interview with the new governor this evening, live on FNN.  More to come from Janoor III, including the latest on the Justice for Janoor group that remained at about five hundred in the mountain township.  This is FNN, and I’m Craig Syracuse.”  His producer waved that the camera unit was offline.  Syracuse grumbled, “All they want is human interest stories and how we’re helping.  Starfleet forgot about these people.  Someone should remind them of that.”

 Mark Henry rolled his eyes.  As Craig’s producer, he’d had to put up with plenty since the start of their relationship.  The wheels were starting to wobble, “And you’re the someone I take it?”  Craig shrugged, and Mark groaned, “There’s not a conspiracy here, Craig.  The Mackenzie and the Olympic are here to do the necessary work.”

“Do we know that for sure?  The Borg and Changelings snuck right under their noses and look at the havoc they caused.  You can’t ignore that.  Someone was asleep at the wheel…and this could be more of their plan.”

The long-time producer groaned again, “You know as well I know that they’ve managed to root out most of them, Craig.  Whoever is left is on the run or won’t run for long.  You haven’t filed a story about how The Fourth Fleet was one of the few to recognize something was up.  You haven’t even said their name.”

“Screw ‘em.”  Craig simmered.  He’d run up against The Fourth Fleet a few times in his career.  He’d needed an off-the-record comment for a story or an off-the-record confirmation of something…and he’d always hit a wall with that group.  They didn’t fear him, he surmised.  They’d managed to get to his editors before he broke a few stories a few years back.  At least, that’s what he believed.  Nobody had been able to convince him otherwise.  “They’re going to find out what happens when you mess with the best.”

Mark watched as his reporter stomped off to find his version of the story.  He rubbed his head.  The kid gave him a headache these days.  He wasn’t sure how long he could keep doing this.  There were better gigs out there and closer to home.

“Mark Henry.”  

He stood straight up at the sound of The Voice and turned slowly, a steely look filling his eyes, “Dr. Persefoni Hargraves.  You been there long?”

She shrugged, “Long enough to see your protege act like a toddler with his feet.”  She walked up and extended her hand, which he accepted.  “Been a bit, Mark.  Seeing your name on the roster gave me hope.  Then, I started watching his latest reports and reading his field updates.  He’s losing it.”

Mark Henry grimaced.  He wasn’t surprised that she’d figured it out.  He wasn’t happy that it wasn’t that hard to see what was going on.  “He’s trying his…”

She cut him off, “Cut the bullshit, Mark.  You never tried that with me back in LA.  Don’t try it now.”

It was his turn to shrug, “I’ve been shoveling for the last few months, Doc.  It just starts to feel normal.”  He watched as the figure of his charge was working the tired crowd down the hill, “He’s seeing shadows where there’s nothing but the brightest star.”  He drew from his dented water bottle, “I’m getting too old for this, Persefoni. Writing the stories of the stars is a game for the young.”

She scoffed hard.  “Pardon me, Mr. Henry.  If you’re too old for this game, I imagine I’ve got one foot in the grave.”

He cracked, “One and a half, I’d say.”  His broad smile reflexively pushed her lips to do the same.

“You’re one of the few that can say those kinds of words to me, Mark.”  She watched Craig move from person to person, the refusal to engage with his story manipulation clear as the atmosphere above.  “You could always come work with me.  We’re brainstorming a video production of the Journal.  Longer form conversations about the nature of science and the investigation of the unknown and known.”

His eyebrows raised, “You hated me.”

“The past is the past.  I hated you.  I kind of like you now.”

“Emphasis on the ‘kind of’?”  She gave a nod.  “I’ll think about it.  He wants to talk to you, you know.  Do an interview.”

Persefoni smiled thinly, “Set it up through my office.  You should warn him what’s coming.”

Mark Henry chuckled, “He wouldn’t listen if I tried.”  She shook his hand again and left.  He stood there, giving serious thought to her offer.

“We’ve sent teams to observe the situation, and they’ve been pretty hostile.” The Deputy Chief Medical Officer of Triage and Trauma sat at the briefing table, a PADD in one hand.  Commander Sergio Clemente was older and wiser.  He spoke with a quiet and calm cadence.  Given the calamity unfolding in the cult stronghold, those gathered around the table were impressed.  Deputy Chief Medical Officer Surgery and Critical Care Jordan Reid was frustrated and angry.  As a lieutenant, she needed to yield to the higher-ranked Clemente.  It helped that she had come to like him the short time she’d spent aboard the Olympic.  Captain Dread had hand-picked him, and Jordan had immediately understood why.  He finished with, “We’re assembling another team to visit with them in a few hours.  I’ve spoken with Dr. Reid and would like her to lead the team.”

Captain Peter Crawford yielded to his XO and Chief Medical Officer, Captian Helena Dread.  She nodded, “I’d like to you take Milty with you, Jordan.  The report from the last team noted things were getting a little more tense with each visit.  If someone starts swinging, you’ll need someone to block and tackle.”

Reid sat in the shuttle, her hands tightly clasped.  She’d been through her share of away team missions, yet she felt her nerves tensing at this moment.  She was leading the medical efforts to the cult and had been placed in command of the group.  She practiced her breathing as the pilot clattered around in the cockpit.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here, Lieutenant.”  Milton ‘Milty’ Ford took a large bag into the shuttle’s cabin.

Jordan sighed, “That bad, huh?”  She sat up and shook her head, “It’s just the nerves, Commander.”

Ford gave her a stern look, “It’s Doc Ford, Dr. Reid.  We’ve been over this.  You have a prediction for not listening to your elders.”  He stowed his bag and plopped down beside her, “We’ve still got a session to do yet.”

She reddened with embarrassment.  It had been more than a few days, and she hadn’t been motivated to set an appointment with him.  “I don’t have an excuse, Doctor Ford.”

He gave her a friendly nudge on her shoulder, “Well, after we go down there and see what there is to see, let’s do lunch in the counseling office.  I hear breaking bread can help people open up to each other.”  A group of medical and security officers stepped into the cabin and took seats.  The pilot started the engines, and they all strapped in as the shuttle began to move.  It shuddered to a halt, and the rear hatch groaned open, and a new figure appeared, followed by an annoyed-looking man.

“Craig Syracuse, FNN.  This is my producer, Mark Henry.  We’ve been granted permission to join you.”

The pilot stared at the new arrivals and tapped into his communications system.  The answer surprised him.  “Welcome aboard.  Sit down and strap in.”  

The reporter sat across from Reid, “Lieutenant Reid.  It is good to meet you in person finally.  Your story is one I was hoping to tell at…”

Jordan scowled, “No comment.”  She shook her head as he tried again, “No. Comment.  The people of Janoor III are the ones who need their stories told, Mr. Syracuse.”  Craig opened his mouth for a third try but stopped as her stare intensified.  He made some excuse and turned his attention to his reporter PADD.  Reid caught an approving look from Ford.  A thin smile was her reply.

“Security teams, be on our side and behind – weapons down.”  Jordan motioned for Milton to join her as she gave her orders to Craig and his producer, “You’ll be in the middle of the group as we approach the township.  We’ll let you know once we’ve got a clear scene.”  She held her gaze with the reporter a moment longer, her courage buoyed as Ford stepped to stand at her side, “We need to make sure we all move and work as one on this one, Mr. Syracuse.” Craig gave a mock salute, and his producer groaned.  Reid pursed her lips.  There were button pushers, and there were button pushers.  “Let’s move.”

They walked as one up the hill and into the main entrance to the township, where five guards stood.  Reid saw the twin holsters on each.  The report on the last visit had the guards at two and lightly armed.  This was more. She spoke evenly, “Lieutenant Jordan Reid.  We’re here to check in and see what support we can offer anybody in need.”

The group leader grunted, “You’ll be escorted to the courtyard.  Follow me.”  Reid felt her nerves glitter as she caught a quiet nod from Milton. She pushed forward.  The group walked the dirt pathway and came out into the central area of the township.  They faced a phalanx of armed guards, each pointing their blasters at them.  The leader turned to the Starfleet officers, “You will disarm.  You will have only your medical officers go into the residences and buildings.  Any movement that is not directed or approved will result in you being expelled from our community by force.”  He cocked his head to the side, “Questions?”

Reid replied, “May I notify my commander of these new regulations?”  The man shrugged in indifference.  Jordan moved off to the side to raise the Olympic.  Syracuse followed her.

Milton said, “I am the Chief Counselor onboard the Federation Starship Olympic.  I can escort our medical personnel to the buildings with your assistance.”  The leader motioned a group of guards to search him and the medical team that had gathered near him.  Ford had mimicked a grimace as they roughly searched his body. Finding nothing, they moved on to the others.  The enforcers gave a signal to the leader. They were clear.

Reid stared at Syracuse, “You don’t get to make demands, sir.  You don’t get to think you can storm over there and take over!  He was on the ground, being held by a security officer.  Craig had watched Ford and the medic team move off and away.  He’d shouted and nearly been taken out by the Janoor Cult guards.  Jordan had ordered the security team to pull him back.  ”Are you insane?  They would have killed you!”

He spat back, “Don’t try that shit with me, Reid.  I know your history.  You’ve got a rebel streak in you.  You coulda let me go.  Instead, you’re on a short leash because they don’t trust you, you bit…”

The security guard’s eyes widened, and he pulled the journalist away from Reid hard, “You don’t get to speak to her like that, Mr. Syracuse.”

Craig’s eyes were wide, but he didn’t speak.  Another guard walked over.  Reid waved him off, “Take him to the shuttle.  We’ll sort him out later.”  She saw the producer give her an apologetic look and follow his charge down the hill.

“I want to leave.”  The young man whispered it to Milton, who was scanning him with a medical tricorder.  “They do not let me eat or drink.  It is my third day without anything.”  The boy’s face was pale, and his body shook in spurts, his eyes growing light in color.

Ford patted him on the head and spoke loudly, “I will need to give you an injection for your infection, young man.  Give me a moment.”  He stood and went to his case, where a guard shifted into a more menacing pose. “I need to give that boy something to fight the infection in his stomach.  If I don’t, he could start bleeding from the inside.”  The guard looked to where the boy lay in the fetal position and then to Ford.  He gave an indifferent nod.  Ford returned to the boy, placing the hypospray against his neck as he whispered, “I can’t get you out yet…but this will help you stay alive.”  The boy gave a thankful nod as he lay back down to rest.  Ford continued his work with the medical team from building to building until they finally returned to the gathered team.  He turned to the leader, “We’ll need to resupply and return with antibiotics to help those we treated with another dose.  That should have them healed and back on their feet.”

The man scoffed, “You don’t think we know how to apply the devices you carry?  We are not fools.  Give them to us, and we will do it.”

Ford disagreed, “You need specific training on the ingredients, the positioning, and how to give it to the patient.  It takes two hours to train those who are new to the practice.”

Another staring contest, and he shrugged, “Fine.  You must return in two hours.”

Milton thanked the man, and Reid led them down the path and towards the shuttle.  She turned to him, “You lied.  It doesn’t take two hours.  Fifteen minutes, tops.”

Ford’s look remained severe, “I lied because we’re going to save those people from whatever fate those idiots are preparing them for.  Most of those patients asked us to get them out.  The others were nearly gone and unable to speak for themselves.  Whatever they are doing, it’s going to stop.”

The rear hatch to the shuttle fell open, and Jordan stopped him, “You don’t have to convince me, Doc Ford.”

He took a breath and explained, “I’ve seen my share of prison camps, death camps, and everything in between.  I’ve got a heart that beats for making as many people in this universe survivors and not statistics on a report.  Let’s get back to the Oly.  We’ve got two hours to figure out how to do just that.”

“Whatever changed, it’s getting desperate down there.  It started as a hunger strike, but it’s become something worse.”  Sergio Clemente sat in the briefing room, a PADD in one hand.  “Commander Ford’s report is pretty stark.  Whatever we do, we need to do it quickly.  We’ve reviewed our options – we can lock onto most of the people in the township, but some signals are getting scrambled inside certain buildings.  We would need to tag them manually.  Given the ever-changing feelings they have for us…I’m not sure they’d be so cavalier this next time.”

Jordan Reid added, “Our embedded reporter didn’t help matters by trying to push through our group and get into the township.  He’s been sidelined pending your review,” she gestured to Captain Peter Crawford.

Pete grumbled, “He’s been making many friends recently.”  He was about to suggest an idea when his badge went off. 

“Captain to the bridge!  We’re registering blaster fire and loss of life signs in the township!”

They all stood and moved through the door as Crawford ordered in response, “Transport as many as you can to sickbay!  Activate the Hazard team and transport them down immediately.”  As he turned the corner, the bridge doors were yards away, and he tapped his badge, “Emergency Sickbay teams for immediate transport to the Township!”

He passed through the doors and moved to the center of the bridge, “Report!”

Presley Atega at communications was furiously tapping at her console, “Sickbay reports we’ve got one hundred survivors.  The Hazard Team is arriving on site and engaged in action.  Medical teams are working on the edges of the situation to address those they can get to.  Current sensor readings show 100 casualties, 100 still alive, and 100 unknown.”  As she read from her screens, she reported, “Transporters can lock onto at least fifty more and are engaging.”  Reid and Dread left the bridge and headed for sickbay.

Peter remained standing, “Status.”  His voice was subdued.  Whatever had happened, it had happened fast.

Atega replied, “50 alive but unable to lock on.  Medical teams are assembling in sickbay and launching two shuttles.  The Hazard Team reports they’ve stunned half the guards and are working towards the larger building.  Security teams are following behind them and taking the offenders into custody.”  A moment later, “They’ve entered the main building.”  She waited as the voices in her earpiece continued to report.  She gasped, “Captain…they’ve made it into the basement.  They’ve found bodies.”  She shook her head, “They believe they’ve found the missing one hundred.”

Crawford felt his stomach drop.  The bridge lapsed into silence.  The reports continued.  Of the 450 or so that had remained, 200 had died.  The remaining were alive.  Most were injured and in need of critical care.  He found his voice, “Advise JAG, we’ll need to sit down and speak with the Janoor III government immediately.  Loop in the Mack’s JAG and brief their security teams.”  He returned to the center chair and sighed with a long sigh, “Not how I wanted this to end.”

“The Township has been cleared.”  Captain Helena Dread sat in the chair across from her captain in his ready room.  She could see he was exhausted.  “The Janoor III government has asked that we level the structures to complete the process of ensuring nobody will live there again.”

Crawford gave a distracted nod.  The bodies had been identified.  Relatives contacted.  Services had been held most of the day, and more were planned tomorrow.  They continued medical and engineering work with the USS Mackenzie in the other populated centers on Janoor III.  Peter tapped out the last details on his report and saved it.  “I had hoped we could have saved more, Helena.”  His voice was quiet, but his mind screamed with the rage of the victims and the blood that had been needlessly spilled.  “We keep trying to put Janoor III back together…and the cracks just…wouldn’t heal.  They rotted.”  He scoffed and sat back in his chair.

Dread thought about his words.  He wasn’t wrong.  She wondered what the rest of the crew was feeling.  She contemplated, “We need a shindig.”

Peter stared at her, “A what?”

“A time to gather and celebrate.  I know we don’t have much to celebrate…but we gotta find something to be happy about.  I’m a doctor.  I know when people are hurting, Pete.  Sometimes, the best medicine is some joy we grab onto in the corner of what feels like an overwhelming darkness.  An Old Earth expression was the light at the end of the tunnel.  We need to find that light.”  She sat forward, “Milty’s probably got a few ideas.”  He gave her a nod, and she was on her way.

Crawford turned to stare out the large windows at the far side of his ready room.  They had sacrificed.  They had lost.  They had failed.  He paused his thoughts.  Yet they had saved many, some from the brink of death.  Janoor III was at peace, and they were more willing to deal and work with Starfleet than ever.  Maybe she was right.  There was a light at the end…and it felt like it was getting brighter the more he thought about it.  A quiet smile crossed his lips as he tapped at his console on the desk.

“Captain’s log, Stardate 5.10.2401.  Hope remains as we close out our Mission here at Janoor III.  We’ve made it through the tunnel and found the light.”  He picked up a PADD and dove into his log, “Here’s the final report for Janoor III….”