The sun was rising over the Sangre de Cristos, casting shadows in an interplay of warm yellows and soft pinks. The crisp, high desert air carried the rich aromas of cooking tamales and roasted chiles, mingling with the earthy piñon pines and sage scents.

A layer of frost coated the table as Órlaith sat down, her back pressed against the café’s brick wall. The owner had given her a curious look when she insisted on a sidewalk table in the near-freezing weather, but she simply gave the woman a smile. Bundled up in her coat and scarf, she was comfortable enough. Wrapping her hands around the coffee cup, she savored its warmth, and a small smile appeared as the rich, earthy aroma drifted up to meet her nose.

“Santa Fe is a beautiful city, especially in the morning.”

Órlaith nearly jumped out of her skin, splashing hot coffee onto her hand and hissing in discomfort. She glowered at the intruder, her annoyance palpable before her expression softened in recognition.

Ethan Talon stood before her, dressed head to toe like a character from an Old West holonovel. He wore a long chocolate brown duster coat, cowboy boots, and a well-worn Stetson replete with sweat stains around the headband. With his back to the rising sun, he was silhouetted against the vibrant morning sky.

Without waiting for an invitation, Ethan pulled out a chair, its metal legs grinding on the concrete sidewalk, and sat with his legs crossed. Removing his hat, he placed its crown on the table before him. “It’s Been a while,” he said, a hint of warmth in his voice.

Órlaith sighed, setting her coffee down with a soft clink. “It has. I thought you were back on Terra Alpha, working your ranch with Trinity and the kids.”

Ethan leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. “I was, but then I got bored. I reckon I was born about 550 years too late.”

He stared down the mostly empty street, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Few people were out this early, but a handful of Starfleet officers made their way to the transport station, their breath forming little puffs of white in the crisp morning air.

The café owner appeared, balancing a plate in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. She set the smothered breakfast burrito in front of Órlaith, the savory aroma wafting up as she refilled her coffee. Turning to Ethan, she asked, “What can I get for you?”

“Just a coffee, ma’am. I ate before I got here.”

She nodded and disappeared inside, only to return seconds later with a white porcelain cup she filled from the pot she was still carrying.  “If you need anything else, let me know,” she said with a friendly smile before heading back into the café.

Ethan watched her retreat before turning his attention back to Órlaith, a slight look of disgust crossing his face as she dumped copious amounts of sugar and cream into her drink. Lifting his unaltered coffee, he smirked. “You want some coffee with your sugar?”

“Hush,” Órlaith replied, stirring the mixture with determination. “A little sweetness never hurt anyone.”

“I think it has. Cavities. Type-2 diabetes,” Ethan countered, sipping his coffee with a raised eyebrow.

Órlaith shot him a wry smile. “That’s what sickbay is for.”

“That’s one way to excuse reckless behavior,” he replied, shaking his head. “Modern medicine has given us artificial hearts, but I don’t plan on getting into any knife fights with Nausicans either.”

Órlaith chuckled, appreciating his point. “Fair enough. But you can’t live your life in fear of what might happen. A little indulgence never hurt anyone.”

“Except for your teeth,” he quipped, leaning forward, his playful smirk returning. “You might end up with a mouthful of regrets.”

Órlaith shrugged, setting her coffee down as she picked up her fork. She sliced off the end of her burrito, causing cheese, scrambled eggs, and sausage to ooze out, stirring into a pool of pork green chili sauce before finally lifting it to her mouth. A smile of satisfaction spread across her face. “Oh God, I didn’t know what I missed out on until I came here.”

“I think you’re supposed to have chorizo in that, not sausage,” Ethan observed, eyeing her plate.

“Same thing, essentially, but there’s a spice or something in chorizo I don’t like. I do like Italian sausage, and that’s what I got,” she replied, taking another hearty bite.

Ethan grunted, taking another sip of his coffee. “I was surprised Mom gave the Santa Fe ranch to you.”

Órlaith shrugged again, a habit that was becoming all too familiar. “She wanted to keep it in the family… more or less. Grandpa—uh, Jonathan—was the closest thing to a grandfather I’ve ever had, and genetically speaking, Rebecca Talon is my mom. Liv and Aimee have no connection to this place, and Mom is on Terra Alpha with Milo on their ranch.”

She poked at the sauce pooling around her burrito, barely glancing up as she spoke. “Okay, what do you want, Ethan? I’m on leave. Starfleet captains do get them from time to time.”

Ethan sighed, his fingers tapping restlessly on the rim of his coffee cup. He set it down, still half-full, and leaned back, arms crossed tightly against his chest as though bracing himself. His gaze lingered on Órlaith, an unspoken plea in his eyes. “I was hoping you would help me… I don’t have anyone else I can trust. After all, we’re family, right?”

Pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth, she studied Ethan, the word “family” echoing in her mind. It stirred up something old and unresolved inside her. After twenty-six years, she still wasn’t sure where she fit in with the Sandoval/Talon family. Mom wasn’t Mom at all. Rebecca was an alternate-universe version of her mother, and Órlaith was a stranger in this reality. The realization that she shouldn’t exist wasn’t lost on her. In this world, her father, Dominus, was Nick Ryder, who had never been involved with Rebecca. She bit the corner of her lip, unsettled by the implications of it all. The Ryders threw a wrench into her attempts to understand her place.

Still, despite the confusion, she felt a flicker of acceptance from the Sandoval/Talon family. They were the closest thing to a family she had, even if their connection felt fragile. Looking at Ethan, who smiled with genuine warmth, she reminded herself that she didn’t need to have all the answers right now. Maybe it was enough to simply be here, surrounded by those who welcomed her as she navigated her past and present tangled web.

“Yeah,” she said in a breathy voice. “Something like that. So what can I do for you?”

“I need to go to Cylothis.”

“Cylothis!” Órlaith sputtered on the coffee she had been sipping and set the cup down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “The Orion Syndicate controls that planet. Are you insane?”

He flashed her a mischievous grin. “I might be a bit crazy, but this is official. Starfleet Intelligence is receiving some troubling reports.” He hesitated, weighing his words. It wouldn’t do to reveal too much in this open-air café in Santa Fe, especially with a potentially unbriefed asset. “I need a starship and a crew. And I need a captain I can trust—someone who’ll trust me in return. There’s a lot of classified intelligence that I can’t share until you agree to help and receive a proper briefing.”

She drummed the table with her manicured nails, the tips making soft clicks against the surface. With a sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, she said, “Yeah, I’m in, but are you sure you want to take the Andromeda to Cylothis? Isn’t that like painting a giant billboard that says, ‘Starfleet is here’?”

Ethan nodded, finishing off his coffee with a frown. “Ugh… it’s cold.” Standing, he picked up his hat and positioned it firmly on his head, then dug into his pocket to pull out a pair of strips of gold-pressed latinum, tossing them onto the table with a satisfying clatter of metal on metal. “That should more than cover both our orders and tip handsomely.”

He glanced east, staring into the rising sun, which was now well above the horizon. The desert was bathed in golden rays, casting long shadows across the landscape. “We wouldn’t want that, but I’ve covered it. I have a short—range shuttle with all the codes to keep us under the radar. We just need a ride to get close.”

“Which is where the Andromeda comes in.”

He snapped his fingers in a pointing gesture and winked at her. “Bingo.”

“Alright, I’m in,” she said, resigned that she would probably regret this decision later.

He nodded. “I’ll get the appropriate paperwork pushed through for your detached assignment. You should see those orders by the end of the day.”

“Must be nice to have that power and freedom.”

He grinned. “There are certain perks to the job, I won’t lie. Your ship is in the Ganz System, right?”

Órlaith nodded. “They’re doing a follow-up survey on a pre-warp civilization that experienced dramatic seismic activity. They’ll swing by Earth at the end of the week.”

“We’ll need transportation sooner than that.” He dug into his duster, pulled out a PADD, and slid it across the table with a loud scraping sound that broke the quiet morning. “Your—well, our—travel arrangements. I’ll have the Andromeda meet us.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you later.”

As Órlaith watched him walk down the street toward the transport station, she shook her head, her mind racing with possibilities. The Orion Syndicate was obviously up to something, but when hadn’t they been? Starfleet Intelligence had ongoing operations to destabilize the organization, but the way Ethan spoke suggested this situation was more than their usual nefarious dealings.

Sighing, she stared down at her now-cold meal. “Well, this is what having a family gets you.”