Quiet and unassuming, basking in the glow of the warm, morning rays of the Ziyafa system star, Krystorin lay on her bench, staring into the sky. She’d been there for hours, her arms propped beneath her head as a pillow in an attempt to feel some comfort whilst she whittled away the time until her companion could join her. She’d been unable to sleep thanks to the warmth of the mid-solstice night, so a stroll among the flora and fauna of the residential district’s green sections, had proved a welcome distraction. For hours, she’d been alone, but as the morning shift pattern loomed large, people emerged from their abodes and began to go about their business. Lifting her left wrist, she noted the time on the chronometer and sighed; it would be at least another fifteen minutes until…

Screams pierced the silence out of nowhere, causing the young upstart to spin her head to look across the quad. People, a smattering at first and then a larger gathering, began to converse in hushed tones that grew louder. Arms waved, fingers pointed, all in the same direction – at the morning sun that beat down upon the planet’s surface.

At first, she could see nothing, nothing but the bright lights of the Ziyafa sun threatening to burn her retinas. She lifted a hand just enough to shield her eyes from the glare. It was then that she spotted it; a shadow slowly moving across the sky. It was small at first, unlike anything she had seen before. But as it grew larger and loomed closer, her subconscious took over and saw the youngster climb to her feet in an almost trance-like state. Within mere seconds, there was no need for the protection of her hand, the shadow having engulfed much of the warm, summer sky. A shadow she now recognised. It was large, with sets of parallel and perpendicular lines. She’d never seen one in person, mind, but she’d read the stories. She’d seen the holos. She’d heard the rumours. She’d heard the warnings from those with the deltas upon their bright uniforms.

Warnings of a cybernetic species terrorising the stars, moving from place to place in a ceaseless pursuit of perfection. They’d never ventured this far, to the Ziyafa sector. Until now, anyway. She’d heard words like ruthless, dreaded and terrifying bandied about in reference to these people, but nothing had prepared her, or her people, for the horror of seeing one of their craft moving across their summer sky.

They were no longer coming…

They were here.

“It’s zero-five thirty,” Prida yawned as she strolled along deck three beside her fresh-faced brother from Tactical Operations, “how are you not tired? We went to bed less than an hour ago…” She moaned between sips of her steaming beverage.

“Ungeat do not require the same sleep patterns most humanoids do,” Or’uil advised the Bajassian as they approached the turbo lift at the end of the hall. “In fact, I am able to function on less than four hours of sleep per five rotations,” he told her, almost smirking at the expression of disgust she made.

“Four hours sleep in five days!” She was incredulous at the thought. If she had less than six on any given day she’d be next to useless, but four over five? No, that was not possible. She was about to hurl some ill-timed, but entirely understandable (in her eyes, anyway) abuse at her friend when a sudden change in the corridor startled them.

The low lighting of gamma shift slowly disappeared and was replaced by flashing beacons of red and pulsating strobes beside doors and wall panels, the crimson glows gleaming off of the sterile, metallic surfaces. Then, the accompanying siren echoed down the long corridor, shrill and piercing. It came in waves, a short lull every few seconds as if allowing the computer to catch its breath before emitting the siren call once again.

Glaring at one another for the briefest of seconds, the dread of their situation hit home. The clatter of Prida’s mug and the steam rising from the spilt beverage was all that was left behind in the halls of deck three as the two, yellow-clad officer’s sprinted for the turbo lift less than a hundred feet away. Both had a single question in mind:

How could they be at red alert while in space dock?

By the time the lift doors to turbolift alpha-one-bravo parted and spat the two officers onto the bridge of the Lakota, the room was already a hive of activity. Officers from all departments across the ship were already present, going about their orders. At the heart of the room, in the safety of their command chairs, Commander Onsas D’orr was deep in conversation with the commanding officer, pointing at a data PADD in his hand, whilst the Trill craned her neck to look at its contents.

“Captain?” Prida announced their arrival, marching past the hive of activity, through a small crowd of officer’s walking from side to side, carrying equipment and in conversations of their own. She stopped at the handrail that sat behind the chair often occupied by guests of the Captain, and looked across at the ship’s mistress.

Or’uil, like his colleague, looked to Captain Nazir for guidance, head tilted as he placed two hands on the rail. It concerned him, of course, anytime the ship went to red alert, but even more so when it happened and he wasn’t present to understand the reasoning. He was, after all, the officer in charge of protection for all aboard.

Nazir rose from her command chair, the brute to her right mimicking her stance as she tugged on the hem of her red jacket.

“We’ve got a developing situation…”

“How long until we can be underway?”

Pulling out her chair at the head of the observation lounge table, Captain Nazir glared across at her new flight operations chief as she took her seat. Senior officers from all departments took their own places, hanging on the Captain’s every word as they sought clarification on the reasoning behind the order to move to the highest state of alert; especially given the unusual circumstances of the order being given whilst the ship was still hooked to its moorings in the Avalon Fleet Yard it had been glued to for weeks.

“Engines are fully functioning,” Commander Maddison Burton declared, taking her seat next to the Captain’s right-hand man. “All I need is engineering to give me the power and you can have warp speed whenever you need it,” the woman said, her ponytail swinging freely behind her head as she turned from the Captain, to the Chief Engineer, and back again.

“My people are already running the startup procedures,” Prida confirmed with a nod to the Captain, “they’ll be ready by the time we’re done here.”

“And the squadron?”

“The squadron commander’s have reported in. Buran’s getting underway as we speak. Captain Kauhn has asked for another hour to prepare,” the booming voice of the XO answered, the man’s hulking frame turning ever so slightly from side to side with the movement of his chair. “Even that’s twenty-four hours ahead of their slated departure time,” Onsas concluded his answer.

“Make sure Giarvar receives whatever he needs to get underway,” Keziah nodded to her XO, the look between the two like the look they had shared on the bridge. It was an all knowing look that more than hinted at the fact that they, at least, knew the details of what was going on at present. When the Captain once again made eye contact elsewhere around the table, she could see the sea of diverse faces glaring back at her, waiting anxiously for more information.

Reaching forward, she tapped the controls to the holographic generator in the middle of the table and activated the device. In an instant, a large representation of a familiar Starfleet vessel filled the void above the table. With its distinctive nacelles and the slight chunk missing from the forward section of the hull, it was unmistakably a Nova-class science vessel. It shared many similarities with its Rhode Island cousin that presently sat two berths from them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Captain spoke, hands clasped together on the work surface, “this is the starship Marlowe. Under the command of Captain Fykis Qadd, Marlowe has been conducting scientific surveys of stellar phenomena beyond Federation space. Their last communiqué reported she had entered the Ziyafa sector of the Beta Quadrant,” a further tap of the controls pulled up a holographic map showing Marlowe’s location compared to their own. It was some distance, several days at high warp.

Nazir’s expression changed in an instant, accompanied by a sigh. “At zero-four-hundred, Marlowe missed its third scheduled check in,” the Captain revealed. Almost as quickly as her expression changed, the mood in the room altered; seats were adjusted, bodies slouched and faces soured. The odd failure to check in wasn’t uncommon, but three times in a row was something to be concerned about.

“And Starfleet wants us to find her?” the green-skinned woman to Nazir’s left vocally surmised, drawing a nod of confirmation from the Trill.

“Captain,” Or’uil sat forward in his chair and drew the gaze of Lakota’s commander, “given that the rest of the squadron is preparing for departure, is it safe to assume Starfleet fears the worst?” the young Ungeat asked before allowing his chair to swallow him whole again.

“Whatever you think the worst to be, Lieutenant…” Nazir shuffled, “multiply it by a factor of ten…”

The warning from Captain Romaes about the presence of a significant threat in the sector where the Marlowe had last been seen drew anxious murmurings from those gathered in stellar cartography. Given everything they had been through in recent times, an even larger threat was hard to believe, but not to be scoffed at. The Bajoran, commander of the Rhode Island-class Buran, felt he had no option but to elaborate. In doing so, he altered the hologram in the space above the sensor platforms, this time to a scale map of Federation space and beyond. On it, several green dots slowly pulsed.

“Data received from Starfleet Intelligence is few and far between, but what we have received so far indicates that dozens of Borg signals have been picked up across Federation space and beyond, especially in the Beta quadrant,” Romaes told the nervous crowd.

“They aren’t large enough to be starships, and they certainly aren’t giving off the power levels we would attribute to Borg vessels…” Commander Tharia sh’Elas mused, her antennae twitching whilst she folded her arms across her chest and took a step closer to the display.

On the other side of the control console, a Bajoran dressed in the yellow of the operations division echoed her posture. “Simple extrapolation of several locations on the map suggests many of these signals are emanating from a planet or facility,” Lieutenant Commander Peri Anya advised with raised brow.

“Look, that one’s at Daystrom itself,” the ship’s Andorian scientist, Pamao Zh’ito, pointed to an icon within the Sol system itself.

“According to the data we’re privy to, the signals are a sort of homing beacon, originating from hundreds of pieces of Borg technology previously thought deactivated, or not yet recovered,” the Buran’s Bajoran master climbed the stairs to the sensor platform and began to stroll in among the holographic landscape. “There are dozens within our borders alone, and no confirmation of the number of those from beyond…”

“Is there any sign that the Borg are coming for their technology?” Noli queried as she ran a hand through her tired hair on her way to the messhall on Osiris’ deck four, looking between her two male companions.

“According to the data we have received,” the ship’s Vulcan tactical officer responded, walking with hands clasped together behind his back, “the Susan B. Anthony was able to monitor one such vessel on long-range sensors before the homing signal was lost, along with her target.”

“That’s just the start,” Giarvar frowned, marching towards the mess facility with great purpose, “Starfleet have detected a growing number of Borg vessels here, while the DEI is detecting an even larger presence in the Delta,” he winced as he rubbed his spotted temple, clearly feeling anxious after recent days. He slid to a stop just feet from the door to the mess. “Whatever the cause, whatever the reason, we’re seeing a renewed Borg threat, and we’re to respond. We’ve received orders to get underway at the earliest opportunity.”

“I’ve updated the flagship,” Noli nodded, eliciting a smile of appreciation from the Captain. “I let them know we’ll need at least an hour to get out of dock. We’re still awaiting a few requisitions.”

“All tactical systems are functioning within normal parameters,” the Vulcan revealed, “and all supplies are accounted for.”

“We’re not going out there to fight, Voran…” Giarvar reminded the tactical chief, “…but it’s good to know we’ll be ready to defend ourselves if the need arises. Now, both of you get your wakey wakey juice and I’ll see you on the bridge in an hour,” the Trill instructed, slapping Noli gently on the shoulder before marching off in the direction of a turbo lift to the bridge.

Bajoran and Vulcan alike watched their commander leave, sharing the briefest of glances before disappearing inside the officer’s mess. It was going to be a long, busy hour.

Fleet Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

They believed it was over. they believed we wouldn’t see them again. They thought Frontier Day was the Borg’s grand finale. Oh, how they were wrong.

 

Just months after our last encounter with the Borg, new signals are appearing across the quadrant and beyond. Acting as homing beacons, the signals emanating from old, salvaged Borg technology calls to the Borg like sirens to the sea. We’ve received reports of almost a dozen Borg vessels on long-range sensors within the depths of the Beta quadrant.

 

Starfleet tells me they are sending the squadron in force just to be on the safe side; but I’ve been doing this long enough to know when I am being lied to. They know more than they are letting on. Even though we’ve got no evidence that the Borg are responsible for the disappearance of the Marlowe, I, like my tactical officer, fear the worst.

 

Another encounter with the Borg is just over the horizon…

 

…and it’s horrifying to think we’re going to have to deal with all the heartache and emotion of days gone by, all while trying to ascertain the fate of Captain Qadd and his crew.

 

For now, the Borg appear to be here to stay. And that’s enough to terrify even this battle-hardened veteran. Who knows how the young ones around the squadron are going to feel at the thought of having to face their enemy again; the very same enemy who violated and destroyed so many of them in the most brutal of ways…

If you had asked her less than even six hours ago, Teyahna would have said it was unfathomable to consider another confrontation with the Borg. She, like so many others, had fought for her life mere months ago against a Borg threat unlike anything they had ever seen before. For some, it had taken weeks to get anywhere close to normality, and others it was very much a work in progress still, so the sudden news that the Borg were back in some capacity was enough to worry even someone tough like her. Her Orion heritage made her a little more resilient than some of her colleagues, but even she was struggling with the thought of having to face the Borg again.

And this wasn’t even the Borg she had encountered. According to the Captain this was a different kind of Borg. The kind that haunted the entire galaxy nearly forty years ago. They would linger, they would scan and they would scare. And just when you had braced yourself for the probability of death, they would leave. You were insignificant, unimportant. A drain on their resources. Until you weren’t.

Relentless. Determined. Once they considered you a threat, it was game over. One would come for you, then they would all come for you. And they wouldn’t stop until they found you and assimilated you. And they would take the person next to you, and the one next to them, too. They would take everyone until there was no one left. Man. Woman. Child. It didn’t matter to them, and they wouldn’t stop on their search for perfection. ​

Arriving in her science lab on deck seven with a set of orders, the green-skinned beauty found herself intrigued. As a scientist, she believed that people simply feared the unknown, so to her it seemed logical to do her research and learn everything she could about their enemy.

She wished she hadn’t. The stories, the reports, the eye-witness testimonies, all terrified her. They had broken the powerful Federation fleet of the 60’s in just one battle, causing such devastation it took years to rebuild and left the Wolf 359 system unnavigable. They broke Earth’s defences and entered into orbit of Paradise. Twice. They attacked both Earth and Romulan outposts along the Neutral Zone border because, unlike every other species out there, they really could fight wars on two fronts at once. The dread they inspired forced enemies to become allies… and then they assimilated them.

Assimilation. The thought of the process made her skin crawl. Borg nanites travelling through the bloodstream and transforming the being into an automaton, removing all sense of free will and desire. All individuality gone. A mindless drone. A soulless minion.

Thankfully she didn’t have to think about it for very long as her attention was swiftly, and thankfully, diverted by a shrill warning from the main computer.

“Download complete.”

Spinning on her stool, the scientist’s fingers began to dance a merry jig across the panel in front of her, pulling up copies of data files for analysis. What she found was a surprise, even to her. Picking up a data PADD, she placed it on the surface of the computer she was working on.

“Computer, transfer a copy of all downloaded files to this storage unit,” she instructed, then tapped her commbadge.

“Teyahna to Commander D’orr,” she called out, eyes diverting from the console for a minute, “I have what you wanted.”

When the doors to the lab parted some ten minutes later, the scientist didn’t even acknowledge the oncomer, simply sticking to the task at hand and allowing them to approach her at their own speed. As they got closer, the looming shadow of a brutish man made her smile. “Commander,” she nodded at the friendly giant as he came to a stop beside her.

“Teyahna,” he reciprocated, “what have you got for me?”

Picking up the data PADD that was on the top of her console, she waved it in the direction of the Lakota’s Xelliat first officer. “I’ve got several duty logs, some sensor readings and Marlowe’s trajectory up until she was due to make her first check in,” Lakota’s second officer informed her immediate superior, resuming her tapping.

Onsas took ownership of the PADD and pulled up a seat, taking the opportunity to rest his weary feet for the first time in what felt like an age. “Nothing spectacular,” he frowned, disappointed at the recordings that his science officer had managed to share with him.

“Aye,” she nodded, “but the beauty comes in the trajectory file.” Her fingers contorted along the controls until a holographic image displayed itself.

Taking a minute to review the translucent photons that made the image, Onsas found himself nodding. “Alright,” he eventually whispered, “let’s pay a visit to the Captain.”

The commotion in Lakota’s command center had died down significantly since the ship had departed Avalon and had begun hurtling through the cosmos at speed. On the main viewer, the projection was pointed aft of the ship, encompassing a view of the Osiris, complete with down swept nacelles and roll bar, just a few hundred feet from the port nacelle. A little further back, yet still visible off of the starboard nacelle, the sleek, angular frame of the USS Buran concluded the squadron formation. With their departures from Avalon complete, the ships had, for the time being, been stood down from their battle stations, but still the crews remained ready. Especially on the flagship. There wasn’t a Fek’lhr in Gre’Thor’s chance that Nazir was going to be caught with her pants around her ankles.

Or’uil and his security team were busy running drills and ensuring that the weapons in the armouries across the ship were adjusted to compensate for the rotating shield harmonics the Borg were well known for. If there was a chance the ship could get boarded, the Ungeat was taking no chances. Elsewhere, Prida and her engineers were working to ensure the shields were at their best for any encounter, and that transport inhibitors were in place. Apart from that, everyone that should have been at their places were, including the Captain, sat at the heart of the bridge.

“Captain,” Onsas barked across the bridge, taking great strides to approach the squadron commander. Joined by Teyahna, the two didn’t wait to begin briefing the captain. The science chief made her way to her station on the starboard science panel.

“We’ve managed to download the logs Starfleet would send our way,” the Orion spoke between her interactions with the console, “but we also got a little something extra…” she trailed off as she input some final commands and pulled up the schematic that had got her a little excited before.

Onsas took a few steps down to the flight deck and began pointing at the screen. “We know that the Marlowe was first due to report in three days ago,” he began, soon joined by the Trill who stood beside him, arms across her chest in silent contemplation of what she was being told. “Well, according to this data, we now know exactly where the ship was at the time she was first supposed to check in,” the Xelliat revealed.

“Two lightyears from the Ziyafa sector,” Teyahna called out, almost skipping down the stairs to join the command officers on the flight deck. When she came to a stop behind Lieutenant Iersa’s seat, she put her hands on her hips. “She’d just finished surveying the formation of a micronebula in the Ursa Astralis system when she made contact with this vessel here,” the screen changed to display an icon that appeared almost right on cue.

Dropping her arms, the Captain looked worried. “What is it?” she asked, looking at her science chief, and then the XO, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

“Don’t worry Captain,” Onsas shook his brown, leathery head, “it’s not Borg. If anything, it’s a freighter of some sort. And it appeared out of the Ziyafa sector.”

There was a sigh of relief from the Trill, until Teyahna took over the briefing again. “From that point, we know very little.” Right on cue, the marker that demarcated the location of the Marlowe moved, and then vanished. “We know that straight after the rendezvous, Marlowe enters the Ziyafa sector, but it’s at that point she disappears from long range sensors.” Teyahna subconsciously echoed the frustration on the face of the Captain. “For some reason the sector is a sensor blindspot,” she shrugged.

Letting out a huff, the Captain turned and walked back to the comfort of her seat, her right hand rubbing at the small of her back, drawing concerned glances from the XO and her scientist – glances that she clocked and ignored – as she took her seat once more. “Contact the squadron,” she called out, almost looking through the two command figures to address the operations chief at the front of the bridge. “We’re increasing speed, warp seven. Helm, increase speed.”

A series of clicks from the Ops chief and he went about his work, whilst Maddison silently increased the ship’s warp speed, sending a warning to engineering to let them know that they were increasing velocity, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time.

“Squadron has matched course and speed,” Deakon Iersa’s clicks were translated by the universal translator, making them much kinder on the ears of those around him. His species, non-vocal in the normal sense, communicated through clicks and whistles – a challenge for any humanoid to understand, but not the magnificent universal translator embedded in his commbadge.

“Number One,” Nazir finally acknowledged the XO again, pointing to the data PADD he held in his massive grasp. “Go through the logs, identify anything you think might be relevant to Marlowe’s disappearance. Any logs from the captain, send my way.”

“I’ll delve into the stellar phenomenon survey results,” Teyahna advised the captain, showing off her ability to pre-empt orders yet again. “Maybe there are some clues in the science?” she posed the rhetorical question, waiting for the briefest of moments and then vanished to her science station once again.

Onsas bowed respectfully at the Trill and bid a silent farewell, disappearing into the observation lounge aft of the bridge, much preferring the silence of the meeting place for such work as opposed to the bustle of the bridge.

There was much to sort through in the hunt for answers.

“Son of a… bitch!”

A bang, followed by a loud clattering of metal impacting the deck plating, drew Prida from beneath the console she was working on. It didn’t take her long to identify the source of the commotion. Just feet from the warp core, one of her assistants was pacing, angrily, and cradling his hand.

“I got it!” he snapped at a colleague a few seconds later, causing the petty officer to recoil and step away.

Prida let out a sigh, planting her hands either side of her petite frame and pushing herself to her feet. She brushed off her jacket and pulled on the hem, then took several steps towards the Andorian. “Ashrin,” she smiled in greeting.

Once his superior had accosted him, the Andorian came to a halt, glaring down at the smaller woman. The raised brow and half smile on her grey, mottled face told him she’d heard his nonsense. His antennae bowed, and so did his head. “Sorry, Chief…”

“Sorry for what?” Prida asked, taking the man’s hand and wincing in pain on his behalf. A significant gash covered most of his left palm, his blue blood dripping onto his boots. “Jonah will get over it,” the half Bajoran, half Cardassian jutted her head in the direction of the petty officer who had tried to assist.

Grabbing a dermal regenerator, the woman ran the device over the wound. “Care to share?” she asked him, but her tone made it clear it was more of a request than an invitation.

Watching as his chief cleaned and sealed his wound, the Andorian shrugged. “I guess some things I’d buried have been stirred up again,” he frowned.

Making eye contact with her assistant, the Bajassian nodded in the sage, all-knowing way that belied her young age. It was hard for many to comprehend the fact that Prida was still under thirty years old. She’d been headhunted nearly two years ago, plucked from obscurity to serve as a department head and trusted colleague of their captain. Still, she seemed to have grown a little in recent weeks, coming into her own due to the absence of her best friend, Noli. Noli had never intentionally overshadowed her ‘Bajestie’, but her natural aura and personality often meant that Prida sometimes fell into the background. Now that Noli had been ordered to the Osiris (in her own promotion), that meant that Prida had no one else to hide behind. It was almost… liberating.

“I get that,” she whispered as she finished up the healing process. “Go take a break and get this looked at in sickbay. I’m an engineer, not a physician, and the last thing I need is an Andorian with nerve damage in his hand,” she smiled at the man who had joined her from her team on Hathaway.

“Yes chief,” Ashrin nodded. But as he moved to walk away, a gentle hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks.

“It’s okay to be in pain, or be scared of what’s to come,” Prida told him in a hushed manner, “but it’s not okay to suffer in silence. Find someone to talk to, or I’ll put you in a jefferies tube with Solkar for the afternoon.”

Glancing across his shoulder, the Andorian looked at the Vulcan who was boring the pants off of some poor maintenance officer from the propulsion repair team. An afternoon with the Vulcan was not his idea of fun, even centuries after their two peoples had made peace.

“I’ll talk to the Counsellor…”

Being responsible for the lives of nearly nine hundred souls across the squadron weighed heavy on Keziah’s usually broad shoulders. She hadn’t hesitated in stepping up just days ago when Admiral Grayson had ordered her to assume command of the unit from her new flagship, the Lakota, but a lot had changed since then. Rumours. Unofficial reports. Unconfirmed sightings. And now, missing starships. With another crisis threatening to engulf the galaxy, again at the hands of their deadliest foe, the Collective, Keziah was already growing weary of the title ‘Squadron Commander’. An additional silver bar beneath her insignia wasn’t worth it, was it?

But… then there were the data packets staring at her from the foot of her bed. Recordings, sensor readings and some crew logs, all obtained from Starfleet and detailing the early stages of Marlowe’s mission. But the ship and its crew had been quiet for days now, and finding them was her responsibility. That. That made her job worth it.

Reaching for the small pile of PADDs, she got comfortable among the traditional goose feather bedding she’d first experienced on Earth and lay back on the soft pillows. Once she was in prime position, she let out a sigh of satisfaction. As she began reading, it became abundantly clear that Marlowe had moved from phenomena to phenomena over the last two months, conducting hundreds of scans as they sought to improve Starfleet’s understanding of the region beyond Federation space, scouting locations for possible terraforming operations or settlement of new colonies. In terms of Starfleet missions, it wasn’t the most exciting, but it was worthwhile.

Accessing the personal logs that had been shared with them, Keziah glanced through the list until something caught her eye. Someone by the name of Jareth Voss had kept a log every single day and was the final log that had been recorded prior to the loss of contact. Accessing the file, she found it to be a video recording and began playback.

Chief Science Officer’s log, supplemental.

 

Watching the formation of the Ursa Astralis micronebula was an achievement that many on this crew had never experienced, and would likely never experience ever again. It was a discovery that we should be taking the time to celebrate, basking in the glory of a complete scientific endeavour. Instead, we’re being shunted from pillar to post in search of the next great discovery to put on Qadd’s record. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be here; that Marlowe is nothing but an inconvenience to him. A stepping stone back to the big leagues after the loss of his previous command. I know it. The crew knows it.

 

He’s made arrangements to meet with a vessel we first registered on sensors two days ago, hoping to confirm rumours of a region where dozens of stars are apparently reaching the end of their life cycle. The potential for studying a field of supernovae is something he clearly isn’t willing to pass up, even though it presents significant risk. The explosion from one supernova alone can release a tremendous amount of energy and radiation, but dozens, potentially into the low thirties if rumours are to be confirmed, could be catastrophic.

 

He’s willing to put this ship at risk in pursuit of his next, big find. I may be the only dissenting voice at the moment, but I see it as my duty to protect this ship and crew.

 

I will not allow him to risk this ship or crew, not even on the altar of science…

Dropping the data PADD into her lap, the captain rubbed her eyes and let out a yawn of epic proportions, almost as epic as the log she had just read. For all the wrong reasons. Was it possible that Marlowe’s disappearance had something to do with this ship Qadd had ordered them to rendezvous with? Or perhaps they had gone on to investigate this rumoured field of supernovae? Either was possible, but what worried her more was the reference to his willingness to risk the ship and crew for his own ends. Tension between captain and crew was nothing new. There was always someone who would be unhappy with an order, or a mission objective, but the tone of the log was enough to worry her. It sounded almost… mutinous. Before she was willing to pursue that line of thought, she felt compelled to look into this assertion that Qadd was, perhaps, using the Marlowe as some sort of stepping stone to bigger and better things.

“Computer,” she called out without so much as moving from her comfortable position, “access and download the personnel file for Captain Fykis Qadd, commanding officer, USS Marlowe,” she instructed.

“Working…”

Tucking her hands beneath her head, the Trill found herself staring at the ceiling, her eyelids feeling exceptionally heavy all of a sudden.

The next time she sat up and let out an almighty yawn, the chronometer on her dresser indicated she’d been asleep for almost three hours. Reaching out, still half asleep, she patted the bed until her hand rested upon the item she was looking for. Blinking what felt like an inordinate amount, her eyes finally gained focus. On the PADD, the words ‘download complete’ flashed repeatedly until she satisfied its need for attention and pressed the button to open the file. Opting to get herself a drink before reading the PADDs contents, she reached for her dressing gown and slipped it on, tying it around the waist whilst she slipped her feet into a pair of insanely fluffy slippers.

Yawn after yawn accompanied her every step towards the replicator and even threatened to disrupt her request for a glass of cocoa at a drinkable temperature. And she had to have a squirt of cream and several small, pink pillows of sugar perched on the top, right? Vasoch, her dear friend, would have considered it a crime to have such a beverage without the marshmallows he had been introduced to and subsequently taught her about.

Placing her hands on the work surface on either side of the replicator, she stretched out her back and let out a groan. But while her body creaked in physical discomfort, her mind drifted to her friend. Vasoch had gone missing like many at the hands of the Changelings, gods knows when. But unlike so many, no trace of the Tellarite had ever been found, not so much as a stray hair or fingerprint. Given recent times she had almost forgotten him. They’d been through so much that even Gor would have forgiven her for letting him slip into her memories. But while she still partook in a hot chocolate every once in a while, her forgetting him altogether was highly unlikely.

Grabbing the replicated glass, she headed for the sofa in the middle of her living quarters, her tanned legs poking out from beneath her dressing gown, slippers sliding on the shiny floor. She had just bent over to place the glass on the coffee table when the door chime to her quarters rang out and made her jump. If she’d been holding the drink still, the contents of the glass would likely be all over the coffee table, sofa, floor and herself by now.

“Enter!” she beckoned.

As the door to the Captain’s private abode parted and the figure crossed the threshold, he saw her collapse into the sofa with a huff, almost to be swallowed by the enormous cushions.

Lieutenant Or’uil cocked his head as he took several steps towards the Captain. “Apologies for the lateness of my visit Captain,” he smiled nervously, “but this cannot wait.”

With an arched brow, Nazir watched the young Ungeat as he brandished a data PADD in her direction. Letting out a sigh, she reached for the device with one hand and gestured to a vacant chair with the other. Reaching for her drink and sipping the beverage, the words on the page danced their way off the electronic page. When she was done, she tossed the device onto the table and slouched into the sofa.

Rubbing her right temple, she uttered two words that startled the adolescent Ungeat and caused him to sit bolt upright.

“Fucking hell…” she fumed.

Wide-eyed and almost in terror at the woman’s frustration, the tactical officer could do nothing but watch as Nazir pushed herself off the sofa and headed for the privacy of her bed chamber. He rose, ready to leave until she turned and glared at him.

“Stay there. Do not move,” she frowned, then vanished into the private space.

When she eventually emerged, dressed once again in her duty uniform, the jacket flapping open over her pale blue vest that covered her torso, the Captain took a minute or two to finish up. She stepped across to the table and picked up the glass that contained the remnants of her beverage and poured the dregs into her mouth, only to stop before she swallowed. Her eyes settled on her tactical chief, who was watching her every move, and she forced the beverage down her gullet in a single gulp. Returning the glass to the table, Keziah shook her head and smirked.

“When I said ‘stay there, don’t move’, I didn’t mean it so literally,” she told the youngster, hands on her hips.

“Forgive me Captain, but you said ‘do not move’, ” the Ungeat clarified. “I would never disobey such a command from my commanding officer.”

Laughing, she shook her head at the entirely appropriate response of her tactical chief and pointed to the data PADD. “Grab that,” she instructed. She watched him pick up the storage device and cradle it as if his life depended on it. In that moment, she couldn’t help but marvel at the man’s youthful innocence. His stature fooled people into believing he was older than he was, and she was guilty of forgetting his age herself.

“Come on you,” she smiled, jerking her head towards the door. “Let’s go see what shit’s about to hit the fan this time…”

Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

Lakota has passed the Ursa Astralis micronebula reported by Marlowe and has entered the Ziyafa sector. We are headed for the location of a rendezvous scheduled in the log of Lieutenant commander Voss. Sensors have detected a small vessel, believed to be the freighter K’rshrr. Science officer Voss believed that Qadd was willing to put his ship at risk in the search of more significant discoveries, all in the hopes of improving his own personal fortunes. I’ve done my research, and Qadd strikes me as a bit of a rogue. His last ship, the Solaria, was lost during the Lost Fleet crisis. It seems that he couldn’t escape rumours, even then. Rumours that he abandoned ship to save himself, sacrificing his crew to ensure his own safety. Starfleet could never prove it of course; how would you with only one eye witness? Marlowe was his consolation, forced to earn Starfleet’s trust again.

 

If Voss is right, and Qadd’s antics have somehow hurt the Marlowe crew, then someone at Starfleet Command has a lot to answer for.

 

For now, I reserve judgement. My larger concerns rest with my squadron. What started off as the squadron’s maiden voyage has turned into Lakota’s last stand. Buran has been dispatched to respond to possible Borg sightings along the Gorn border, while the sudden interception of a distress call from the Guardian has seen Osiris ripped from our mission.

 

We’ve been shorn of our defensive cover and our escort; we are travelling into a potentially volatile situation and we do so without our squadron for support. And while I am confident in the abilities of my crew, we are now alone…

 

…and that scares the shit out of me.

Boredom. No, frustration. Or was it exasperation? Perhaps it was all three? What was certain was that the longer Captain Nazir stared at the creature on the viewscreen, the more she was in danger of slipping into a comatose state. She’d been listening to Captain Xorax of the freighter K’rshrr drone on about the unsuccessful harvest they’d experienced on Revla II and the impact it had had on his haulage business ever since for approximately fifteen minutes. Normally, such a first contact type of situation would be her bread and butter; she’d have rolled out the carpet, brought him aboard and maybe even offered to help with his business needs if she could, but she was certain Starfleet would forgive her transgression today, given the nature of her mission.

“Mister Xorax…”

A booming voice next to her cut through her frustration and her distracted state, with Keziah turning her head to look at the XO. Even bald and largely expressionless, she was able to tell her new Number One was just as frustrated as she was – the padding squeezed completely out of shape on the arm of his chair was a dead giveaway without the loud tone of his words.

“No, no. Captain!” Xorax reminded Onsas with a cheery disposition and a wagging finger.

“Forgive us Captain,” Nazir pushed herself to her feet and tugged on the hem of her uniform jacket, taking a step forward to look a little more authoritative, and like she was actually paying attention. “We appreciate the struggles you have been through, but time really is of the essence for us. We have reason to believe you met or were scheduled to meet, a ship of ours. The USS Marlowe.” Finally, she’d managed to get her point across, the same point she’d tried making almost a quarter of an hour ago.

“I think I recall ssssseeing your ssssship,” Xorax mused, ruffling his long, scraggly hair. “Blue man, hair free.”

‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ the Trill smiled. “Yes, that’s the ship’s commander, Captain Qadd,” Nazir nodded enthusiastically.

“Yesss. We were due to meet to dissscusss a posssible trade of resssourcesss, but it never arrived,” the Beta quadrant native explained, his lisp becoming more evident as he spoke. “Our sssensssorsss last ssshowed her at Norayisss.”

“What is Norayis?” the Captain asked, looking hopefully across at her science officer, and then her tactician.

“A trading outpossst. Nothing happensss in thisss sssector without the Adminissstrator on Norayisss knowing about it,” he smiled, leaning towards the screen, as if trying to get a better glimpse of the bridge… or was it her captain? “Now we trade, yesss?” he asked.

“We’ll be more than happy to trade with you Captain,” Nazir nodded, but she soon dulled his excitement, “once we have located the Marlowe, we’ll be happy to attend to your every need, but we must find our people. I hope you understand.”

Was she batting her eyelids? There was a definite twinkle in her eye and a cocked head, or so Commander D’orr thought. There was no way Nazir would use her feminine charm to try and placate the freighter man, was there?

Xorax laughed playfully and swatted at the screen with his left hand. “I’ll hold you to that, Captain,” he smiled and then disappeared from view.

As soon as the viewscreen went blank, the Captain dropped her hands to her knees and bent over, taking a moment to compose herself. When she eventually stood upright again, she took in a deep breath and slapped her arms to her sides.

“Have we found this trading outpost he mentioned?” she asked, looking down towards the CONN.

“Yes ma’am,” Burton announced from the flight operations station, turning in her chair to look at the Trill. “It’s a small facility in orbit of the 6th planet. Roughly five lightyears from here,” the pilot told.

“Set a course and take us there,” Nazir instructed, returning to her seat. “Still no sign of the Marlowe?” her attention turned to Teyahna at the science station.

Despite having access to the main sensor suite on the ship, and as many resources as possible diverted her way, the Orion had no choice but to shake her head. “We’ve been running around the clock scans for any sign of her but nothing yet.”

“Perhaps we are going about this in the wrong way,” Or’uil chimed in from tactical, drawing many eyes in his direction. “Marlowe was supposed to be out here making scientific discoveries. We should look for any possible locations she may have been studying. It is possible her signature has been masked by spatial phenomena.”

Nazir clicked her fingers and pointed in the direction of the tactician. “That,” she grinned, “that is why you’re in exactly the right place,” strategic thinking from the Ungeat who, just a few days earlier, had very nearly been moved back to his old department of operations. In one sentence he had vindicated the captain’s decision to keep him where he was, proving his worth yet again.

“Commander Teyahna,” Onsas looked across at the station, his voice used in a manner that was less about gaining the Orion’s attention and more about her doing as was suggested.

When she returned her attention to them a short while later, she was pleased with the results. “I think we’ve got a possible hit,” the Orion told, tapping her things and pulling up a sensor schematic of the sector on the main viewscreen. “There is a nebula on the far edge of the system. Nothing special, but she could be over there,” the scientist advised.

“If I may, Captain?” Onsas spoke, his voice much lower this time, almost respectful as he addressed his superior. A nod from the Trill allowed him to continue. “We can get to the nebula with a minor detour to the trading station on Norayis. I suggest we follow up on the lead from Xorax before proceeding there,” the Xelliat looked at the Captain hopefully. Relief swept across his leather-like skin once the Captain nodded along with his suggestion.

“Continue scans for the Marlowe and of this nebula. We’ll make contact with the trading outpost and see what they can tell us,” she instructed. She was about to make for her chair when she caught Teyahna rising to her feet. “Something wrong, Commander?”

“Can I see you for a minute, Captain?” the Orion asked, eying the passage to the conference lounge at the back of the bridge.

“Number One,” Keziah shot a look to her first, then strode past him and the command chairs, jerking her head in the direction of the conference lounge as a summons to the scientist.

Once the two officers were inside the sparkling observation room, the Captain gestured for her second officer to take a seat at the table while pulling out her own chair. “What can I do for you, Teyahna?” she asked once comfortably sat.

“Commander Voss ma’am,” Teyahna began, definitely piquing the Captain’s interest. “I studied with him at the Academy. He was late to Starfleet, but was already a talented scientist, well respected in his field of astrophysics.”

Nazir dutifully nodded along.

“I know him,” Teyahna sat forward, arms folded and upon the table top. “If he has concerns about Marlowe’s situation as the logs suggest, then we need to listen to him. Marlowe is his dream; to be out among the stars, exploring the cosmos. He doesn’t want fame or glory, he wants to experience science and its raw, magnificent power.”

Nazir listened for almost ten minutes as her second officer elaborated further on the background of Commander Voss. It was interesting to hear her speak so passionately about someone else, given the fact she was usually quite reserved when making friends. Her words were compelling.

“I’ll take this under advisement,” Keziah placed a gentle hand atop the Orion’s blue uniform sleeve. “And we’ll do our best to find him. One way or the other.”

Nodding swiftly several times, the green-skinned beauty rose to her feet and smiled at her superior. “Thank you Captain.”

Watching the woman leave, Nazir gently swayed from side to side in her chair, left arm perched on the armrest, hand rubbing her chin as she considered the woman’s words.

Testimony as to the character of one of Marlowe’s senior officers. It was more than she had regarding the character of the ship’s commanding officer…

…and that made her further question the Bolian’s command instincts, and the possibility that he had, perhaps, bitten off more than he could chew this time.

She just hoped that Lakota wouldn’t be too late to find out.