Chief Security and Tactical Officer’s log, stardate seven-nine-zero-eight-six point eight-one. The captain’s transformation continues to develop, and despite our best efforts, we are no closer to understanding it—let alone reversing it. Doctor Rarta has exhausted every medical and scientific theory at our disposal, yet the captain remains an enigma. His abilities are increasing, his perception of reality is evolving, and we fear we may lose him if we do not act swiftly.

Commander Patterson has asked me to lead an away team back to the planet’s surface. We need answers, which we hope will be hidden among the ruins left by the former inhabitants. Eliatha appeared to us once before. If she is watching us and waiting, perhaps she will reveal herself again. If not, I hope we uncover answers we can’t seem to find. 

The air was thick with dust as the away team carefully manoeuvred through the crumbling remains of an ancient city. Johren moved with precision, scanning every broken structure with his tricorder. The ruins stretched for kilometres, but the area of interest lay just outside the central complex, where the away team from earlier first encountered Eliatha.

Chaoi knelt near a jagged stone formation, running her own scans. “These structures appear to have been reinforced with some form of unknown alloy,” she noted, adjusting her scanner. “It’s deteriorating, but there are still faint traces of tetryon energy. I’m detecting the same energy patterns that were used in the beam that struck the captain.”

Johren walked over to stand beside Chaoi. “So whatever this place was, we can probably consider that Eliatha did something down here.”

“Another mystery unravels itself,” Chaoi said with huge disbelief. 

Alesyo, who had walked a bit further away from the other two, was examining an ancient inscription carved into the stone. Her usually stoic expression darkened. “Sir, you might want to see this.”

Johren and Chaoi approached. Johren glanced down at the worn symbols illuminated by Alesyo’s tricorder. The alien script was old, but the translation matrix was working. Slowly, the meaning became clear. 

Alesyo read it out loud. “The sky split apart. The light took them. The ones who changed were lost to us. We were no longer their kin.”

Johren’s brow furrowed. “Sounds like they were transformed.”

Alesyo nodded grimly. “And not in a way that was welcomed.”

Chaoi moved to another section of the ruins, scanning deeper into the rock formations. “Commander, I think I found something—a tetryon energy signature is leading underground. If I had to guess, the energy is being redirected here, possibly to fuel Eliatha’s transformation process.”

Johren exhaled sharply, glancing around at the ominous ruins. “That means she’s drawing power from whatever is below us. The question is, why?”

“We know the Caretaker used a tetryon-based reactor to be able to pull Voyager and other ships from across the galaxy,” Chaoi speculated. “Maybe it’s the same level of technology. 

Alesyo’s fingers tightened around her tricorder. “Sir… I believe the Nacene came to this world looking for something. The Caretaker was trying to find a species that could sustain him—that could become a new companion. What if Eliatha, and possibly others like her, have taken that mission even further?”

Chaoi’s gaze darted between them. “You’re suggesting that after experimenting on this civilisation, the Nacene didn’t just try to find a mate—they learned how to make one.”

A cold shiver ran down Johren’s spine. He thought of Captain Bennet, of how easily Eliatha had claimed him as hers. “Why? Why go through all this effort?”

Alesyo looked up from the inscriptions, her expression grave. “One reason, Commander.”

She met Johren’s eyes and said a single phrase. “To survive.”

USS Destiny (NCC-92600), Swallow Nebula region, Delta Quadrant

Patterson sat in silence beside Bennet’s biobed, her gaze locked on the unconscious rise and fall of his chest. The hum of medical instruments surrounded her, punctuated only by the occasional beeping of the bioscanners monitoring Bennet’s neural activity. The weight of the past few hours pressed down on her, but another, older weight pulled at the edges of her mind—one she hadn’t let herself dwell on in years.

She let out a slow breath, allowing herself to remember for a moment.

Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards, Mars

Stardate: 62258.9 (5th April, 2385)

The sky was burning.

Ensign Demi Patterson gritted her teeth as she struggled to steady the experimental shuttle. The heat from Mars’s upper atmosphere and the residual explosions from the orbital facilities were wreaking havoc on her flight systems. Sparks burst from the panel beside her, and the scent of burning metal filled the cabin.

She had to reach the surface. She had to get to her family.

Her fingers danced across the console, rerouting power to the engines. Just a little further. Just enough to reach transporter range. Through the canopy, she saw Mars’s scarlet expanse growing larger beneath her. The comm channels were full of panicked voices, screams, and emergency orders. Starfleet vessels were engaging the Synth ships, but it was chaos.

Her console screamed an alarm. Patterson’s heart leapt into her throat as her display showed a new threat vector—two Synth ships closing in fast. Their weapons locked onto her shuttle.

“No, no, no—” she whispered, slamming the controls to evade. It was useless.

The Synths opened fire.

The last thing she saw was a blinding wall of plasma energy. 

Then nothing.

USS Westminster (NCC-70499)

Consciousness snapped back violently. Patterson stumbled as she materialised onto a transporter pad, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The scent of ozone filled her nose.

“Easy there, Ensign,” a firm, steady voice called out.

She looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a Starfleet red command uniform approaching her. His face was worn with experience, but his eyes held a calm authority. Like her, he was covered in dirt, and his uniform was ripped. He had the bluest eyes that Patterson had ever seen.

“I’m Commander Johnathan Marshall-Bennet,” he introduced himself. “Welcome aboard the U-S-S Westminster.”

Patterson blinked, still reeling. “M-my family… they’re—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Bennet’s expression softened, but there was an urgency behind his patience. “I know this is a lot to take in, but we need your help. The Westminster is leading evac efforts, and we need a pilot. My brother’s been flying, but he’s not the greatest at it and has got other things to deal with.”

Her mind struggled to keep up. A pilot? Now? She had just lost—

“Ensign, from the way you were flying that experimental shuttle, I’m assuming you’re one hell of a pilot, yeah?” Bennet’s voice was gentle but firm. “You’re Starfleet. We need you.”

Something clicked into place. She pushed her grief down, buried it deep where it couldn’t slow her. She would grieve for her family later.

“Yes, sir.” She sputtered.

Moments later, Patterson barely had time to take in the Westminster’s bridge before her attention snapped to the man sitting at the helm. Taking one quick glance along the back wall, she saw the ship’s Master Situation Diagram and the outline of a Parliament-class ship.

A boyish smirk greeted her as Captain Zack Marshall-Bennet glanced over his shoulder. Immediately, she saw the family resemblance between him and his brother, Johnathan, who she just met in the transporter room. “Glad you could join us, Ensign.” He gestured to the helm. “Take over.”

She slid into position without hesitation. Her hands moved automatically over the controls, instinct taking over. As she got the feel of the ship, she caught Bennet barking orders to the crew behind her.

“Lieutenant,” Bennet called to tactical. “Full spread of quantum torpedoes, target the lead Synth ship.”

The response was immediate. A volley of torpedoes streaked across space, cutting through the chaos outside. Patterson barely had time to process it. She was flying a starship now, not a shuttle. She had a mission—a purpose.

Minutes passed in a blur of evasive manoeuvres and rapid-fire commands. Patterson had no time to think, only to act. It was only when the Westminster managed to break free from the thickest of the fighting that she felt the weight of everything she had lost pressing down on her. But she couldn’t break. Not yet.

“Nice flying,” Bennet remarked, his tone lighter than the situation called for. “Looks like I’ve found a new pilot. What’s your name, Ensign?”

She didn’t reply immediately, her grip on the console tightening. Then, finally, she looked at him. “Demi Patterson, sir.”

He smiled, but the moment was brief. “Stay sharp, Ensign. We’re not out of this yet.”

USS Destiny (NCC-92600), Swallow Nebula region, Delta Quadrant

Present Day

Patterson exhaled, returning to the present. She turned to look at Bennet, still unconscious on the biobed.

“You saved me that day,” she murmured. “Gave me a purpose when I had nothing left.” She swallowed, gripping the edge of the bed. “You went on to help me through my grief. My career. My life.” She straightened, resolve settling into her bones. “Now, it’s my turn to help you, Zack.”

Her fingers hovered just over his hand, hesitating for a moment before she finally let them rest on his. A silent promise. She would not let him go through this alone.

She had no idea how to help him. But she would find a way.

She owed him that. 

She owed him everything.