—- Starbase 86 —-

The Vulcan Captain Radak slowly stood from his chair. He had filed his latest round of reports for the higher ups and had his therapy scheduled. Command did not know of his condition, and it would not affect his work for at least a decade or more so he did not feel like informing them. By then he would be long retired, living on Vulcan and engaged in sedate reflection away from the life he now lead. Even if he had not moved on, writing reports was not an active activity and he was sure that he could do so even while affected by a degenerative muscular disease.

The medical bay of the station was large and impressive, particularly when compared with a starship. He entered quietly and was shown to a chair where he was to receive treatment. There was some hope that Tuvan Syndrome could be slowed or cured with radiation but he was not sure, and while he did not have training as a doctor, had seen his physical condition deteriorate while on treatment. An older Denobulan man smiled, and joined him. His doctor was kind, seemed to know what he was talking about and discreet.

The Denobulan helped him adjust, he always said Vulcans made the best patients, because they took good care of themselves and it was only logical that they listen to the more informed doctors. Other species started to try to cure themselves after a few hours of reading popular scientific articles. Vulcans understood that many years of medical school was more informative than a few hours in front of your computer or pretending to be a doctor on a holodeck.

“Have you told Starfleet Command yet?” the Denobulan Doctor asked, both to make conversation and because he cared for the fate of his patient, even beyond the medical treatments that he was giving him.

The Vulcans shook his head tiredly, “No it is not yet logical to do so. They cannot assist me, and my performance is not yet affected.”

“Which is why I haven’t filed a report on your yet,” the Denobulan said, “If your performance is in question I have a duty to let your superiors know.”

Radak nodded, “I am aware of your duties and responsibilities. I would not place you in a situation. My father died of Tuvan Syndrome, I am aware of the timeline. I have at least a decade before the condition affects my service and I intend to be retired by then.”

“You’re just going off to die without telling anyone you’re sick?” the doctor inquired.

“I did not marry, my fore bearers are dead,” Radak explained, “I will inform my sister when needed, but I have no one else.”

“Friends? Even Vulcans have friends.”

“My friends were killed by the changelings,” Radak said, and if the Denobulan did not know better he would have guessed that his voice was tinged with sadness. The Vulcan captain came in for treatment once every month, and then had two days off duty to recover. Neither his condition or his therapy was affecting his work, so the doctor did not report it. Perhaps he did have a decade, or perhaps that was just wistful thinking.

For now though Radak had a few more tomorrows left, though he had no one in his life to help greet those tomorrows.

—- USS Selene, Bridge —-

At a console Lieutenant Commander Jake Dornall made a sound like he had been strangled. It broke a relative silence that had descended on the ship in the past two hours, as everyone was absorbed in their own data display. Captain Olivia Carrillo looked over at the Chief Intelligence officer with some degree of trepidation. He was generally level headed, and not prone to just making noises for the sake of making noises.

“Dornall?” Carrillo inquired.

“Probe’s done, probably destroyed. Its last transmission was of tachyons heading this way,” he reported.

Carrillo knew that likely meant that the cloaked ships had destroyed it and a number of them were heading toward the USS Selene’s place studying the twin suns. They had anticipated being able to run from any threat, but the other option seemed to be that the Selene only saw the ships right before an attack. If you were a Klingon wanting to silence the Selene, a sneak attack before it could transmit to the Federation what was happening, was a good idea.

“Yellow alert,” Carrillo said, “Don’t raise shields but get ready to run. Prep torpedoes in case we need them.”

If it was Klingon ships as shootout benefited the Klingons who likely could overwhelm the USS Selene. Their best option was to fire a few quick salvos and hit warp. They weren’t defenseless but they were not ready to take on multiple threat vessels if that was what the readings turned out to be.

Carrillo added, “Send in another probe, if that vanishes we know we’re in trouble.”

Her First Officer Lieutenant Commander Keyana Mason nodded, “Preparing a second probe ma’am. And it’s away.”

Carrillo nodded. Nothing was going to happen soon, but when the damn broke and if a ship uncloaked it was likely that a bunch of things were going to happen all at once. It might not be for another few hours, but when the time came the USS Selene’s fate would be decided quickly. The entire bridge was silent at the probe left the Selene, and followed its journey on the main viewscreen. It streaked forward at warp, and then vanished with a blip only a few hundred miles away from the ship. Then as if to put any further doubt to rest a Klingon ship decloaked, followed by a second and a third.

“We’re being hailed,” Lieutenant Claudia Jara said at the tactical conn. A Klingon’s face appeared on screen it was the former First Officer of the USS Luna, Klar. He’d betrayed the ship to kill a bunch of Romulans. It was before Carrillo’s time with the crew but most of the other bridge crew knew him quite well.

“This guy again,” muttered Jara who had dealt with him, though not when he was a First Officer.

“Starfleet ship,” Klar said, “We’re glad to see you. Allow us to beam aboard and explain the situation.”

“Answer the hail Lieutenant,” Carrillo said.

When the bridge of the Selene appeared visible to Klar Carrillo saw the recognition in his eyes. His smile broadened, as if being presented with an opportunity. He’d always shown a degree of animosity toward the ship that he’d served on as an exchange officer, and Carrillo had to imagine that defeating the crew on a different ship, would be quite a feather in his cap.

“I’m sorry Klar, we’re not currently able to accept visitors, lots of work being done on our ship. I’d say it’s unsafe,” Carrillo lied, “I’d advise you keep your distance, least one of our automated defenses fire.”

Klar nodded, “I’d engage in more clever banter but…”

There was a shudder and the ship rocked. Two more Klingon vessels decloaked and fired. While the Klingons revealed honour and glory in combat they seemed to be less interested in it at the moment, wanting to eliminate a nosey Federation vessel all on its own, far away from Starbase.

Carrillo made a gesture meant to suggest cutting the open comm, which the officer at Tactical Lieutenant Jara did immediately. Given that even if the Klingons were playing fast and loose with the treaty she was not going to open fire on her (supposed) allies, Carrillo said, “Red alert, shields up. Pr’Nor get us out of here, maximum warp.”

It did not feel good to run from a potential fight, but it was what was required at the moment. The Klingons would of course deny this had ever happened and Starfleet did not want to push it, but that did not mean the Selene had to perish in a fireball.

The Chief Flight Control Officer obeyed, and the Selene banked, turning away fro the Klingons and hitting warp speed. At top warp it was unlikely that they would purse them, on the run they were safe.

It was just when they stopped, that’s when they’d discover if the Klingons had sent a force to follow them.