“She’s half El-Aurian…and even that’s suspect.”  Captain Peter Crawford stood at the head of the conference table. Twenty-four hours had passed, and the varying results from the teams had been assembled.  The combined report was displayed on each of the senior staff’s PADDs.  Peter tapped at the large screen at the front of the room, “As you worked and updated us, we sent out requests for data to as many sources as we could think of – and some guesses.  We had a few surprises among the expected.  One is that her history is in serious question.  Given what little we know about them, we have to imagine she’s using her status as a motivator for whatever plan she’s set in motion.  It took a little work to piece together her background…but she’s not who she says she is – at least on paper.  Her name is Leanna Dorl, but it was also her mother’s name.”

A new image appeared showing a kindly old woman.  “Leanna Dorl was murdered five years ago in a small colony where she had retired to live the last years of her life.  The investigation came up empty, but within three months, her daughter started using her name and history – bringing her to the attention of Starfleet Security and eventually Starfleet Intelligence.  You know the rest.”

Ensign Merlin Markell sat back in his chair, stumped, “Why is she taking them straight into the teeth of the Sheliak Corporate?  What’s the endgame here?”

Ensign Penna, the Operations Chief, raised her Vulcan eyebrows, “It has been uniquely challenging building a psychological profile – there are variables within the data sets that are logical.  However, there is an equal amount of illogical choices and actions – it is an irrational path that they are following.  Without further information on the upper levels of this organization’s ideas and beliefs – the equations will remain unsolved.”

The other Vulcan in the room, Chief Science Officer Vlokar, added, “We tasked the computer to run several scenarios around the behavior of Leanna Dorl and what is known of her crew.  Each run was unsuccessful in determining a realistic possibility.”

Peter asked, “How many of them had a good ending?”

“None, sir.”  The room stilled.

The speaker at the door squawked, “Captain Crawford to the bridge!”

Peter stood and headed out the door and down the hallway to the bridge, followed by the senior staff. As he reached the center chair, senior officers took their stations. He called out, “Report?”

The voice that had called him to the bridge had belonged to Lieutenant Saffron Helsing at the helm.  She turned in her chair, concern creasing her face.  “They must have picked us up, sir – they’re pushing their engines to the redline.”

Disbelief filled his words, “They can’t think they’ll outrun us?”

She shook her head as she ran the calculations at her station, “At their current speed, computer estimates they’ll burn out their engines in four hours.  They’re still weeks away from the border.”

Peter stared at the screen, the stars streaking by as the Franklin D. Roosevelt sped onwards.  What was this woman up to?  And what part did her crew have in it?  The images of the young family remained at the forefront of his concern.  He tapped the channel console on his chair, “Bridge to Engineering – do we have the ability to produce the parts and repair the ships if they burn out?” He felt a deep breath from each of the senior staff on the bridge.  He felt it in himself, too.

Ensign Fiona Jammer’s voice crackled through, “The ships are a pretty standard model – we can manufacture most of them, and whatever’s left, my team can get creative.”  Her voice dropped out, and Peter wondered if she was taking the same breath they had taken collectively on the bridge.  “We run the risk of more trouble if we try and stop them on our terms – there’s a better chance of us changing some hearts and minds with some helpful repair work.  Besides, who knows what else I’ll find that needs fixing…sir.”

He smiled and closed the channel.  Every bridge officer had turned to face their CO.  He answered their curiosity, “Chief Jammer makes a point.  They haven’t committed a crime or done anything that rises to the level of being forcibly boarded…yet.  Maintain course and speed.”

Cadet Natalie Harris sat in her quarters, staring out the window.  Her Starfleet journey continued to mystify her and confuse her. One of her professors had put her name forward to be placed on a starship to further her experience and understanding of the command track.  Now, she sat in her good-sized quarters as a Yeoman to Captain Crawford.  She’d unpacked her things and hung the few decorations she had acquired.  The mission had come together so quickly that she’d been assigned a mentor to help her acclimate.  Who that was was still a mystery.  The door chime sounded, “Enter.”

Harris was greeted with a quiet smile. A young woman extended her hand, “Lieutenant Saffron Helsing, Chief Flight Control Officer…and your mentor. May I come in?”  Natalie nodded mutely and watched the blond-haired lieutenant look around. “You’ve made it your own. Good first step.”

Natalie found her words, “Can I get you anything to drink?”  Helsing asked for a lime soda and sat in the small living room.  Natalie sat opposite her in a comfortable armchair, waiting for instructions.

Saffron took a sip and sighed, “Reminds me of home.  So, Cadet Harris – my job is to help you get used to this ship and the crew.  Your background is impressive – at least the parts I was allowed to read.  You’re here because you’ve got an eye on the command track.”  Harris nodded, returning to her muted status.  “You’re going to get plenty of it here.  You are familiar with Captain Crawford, so that’ll help.”

Natalie felt a question burning a hole in her attention, and she blurted it out, “Is there a reason why the XO isn’t my contact?”  She felt the heat immediately on her face, “I’m sorry…that was not professional of me.”

Helsing seemed to appraise her, staring at her in the silence that followed.  Natalie wasn’t sure what to make of it, and it nearly tripled her anxiety.  The senior officer shrugged, “It’s a valid question, Cadet Harris.  Our XO isn’t here by choice.  I’ve seen some fireworks between them, so be aware of how that may play with your role as Yeoman to the captain.  She’s plenty capable, so don’t think she’s stupid.  She’s smarter than she shows.  Captain Crawford just told me that I’m your mentor for now.”

Natalie realized there was plenty between the lines of what Helsing was saying.  What that meant for her would have to be discovered on her own.  “What’s our first step, LIeutenant Helsing?”  Natalie felt impatient.  There were things to be done.

Saffron chuckled, “First to the bridge, then to the ready room, and then to duty.”  She pushed off the couch, “You sure you want to walk down the command path, cadet?  It’s not an easy life.”

Natalie stood and followed her out the door to her quarters, “Easy never appealed to me. I’d rather push myself.”

“Well, you came to the right place.  This mission will not disappoint you.”  They stepped into the turbolift, “Never a boring day in the rimward, cadet.  Never a boring day.”