The rush of the Musselshell River echoed off the banks where Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana stood, fly rail in hand. The summer warmth washed over him as he adjusted his cast, flicking it back and forth with measured care until the arc was near perfect. The rocky hills rose around him, patches of green filling in underneath the stocky trees. The sun crawled over the horizon, tickling his skin. He took a deep breath, and the simulated smells of an early Montana summer morning reminded him of a faraway home.

“Porter to Fontana.”

He closed his eyes. The memories of this place would never leave him. His station seemed to have the same problem. “Go ahead.”

“We’ve received an update from the search and rescue teams. They’re bringing back fifty survivors out of the seventy-five.” He winced as he continued to soak in the warmth of his surroundings. A colony had attempted to settle on a planet a few systems away. They had failed to complete a full planet survey. The resulting catastrophe had sent Montana Station’s teams scrambling in the morning hours.

He pulled the line in, “Did we recover the bodies?”

“In progress. Colonial Operations is asking for your, sir.”

Geronimo looked out on the holographic representation of his Montana home. He’d managed just over half an hour each week here, taking in the sights. He was hoping for a new record, eventually. “I’m on my way, Ensign Porter.”

“We need a director, sir.” The young ensign sat at her desk in Colonial Operations. A pile of PADDs was scattered across her desk. Fontana glanced around the room, seeing a similar theme across the other desks. “We managed well enough at the start with a connection to Starfleet Colonial Operations…but we need someone with experience onsite. Business is picking up.” Her eyes were filled with concern.

Fontana slipped into the chair beside her, “I’m open to suggestions, Ensign Crowder.”

She turned and began to tap at her desk console, “I’ve been doing some research – off duty, to be clear, sir. Frontier Day didn’t spare diplomatic operations…so I had to look beyond the regular possibilities.” Faces and dossiers faded in and out as she worked, “I had to leave out anyone who had been charged or convicted of a crime or offense. We’re far enough out here; we need someone clean. Connections that got them into the trouble might come looking to start back up whatever it was.” More dismissed options scrolled by until she slowed to one, her eyes staying on the photo of the old man before she tore them away, her focus back on the station commander, “Captain Tobias Engstrom. Retired.”

Fontana let out a low whistle, “You ever play baseball, Ensign Crowder?” She nodded. “You are swinging for the fences if you think Toby Engstrom is going to come out of retirement to come out here and clean up a mess we created.”

“I suspected you might say that. Or that he would if we asked.” She searched her collection for a PADD and handed it to him. “There is a little-known clause that allows us to draft him.”

Geronimo read the cited clause and repeated his whistle, “Reserve activation clause? There’s a reason why it’s ‘little known’ and ‘rarely used’…it’s used to make an officer compliant when nothing else works. Toby is going to hate us for this.”

“You know him, sir?”

Fontana sat back in the chair, memories flooding his mind. “Never in the same division or squadron…but we’d always find each other on the same station every few missions. Catch up, get a drink…, and find out how close he was to turning in his uniform.” He nodded at the screen, “He cashed in five years ago at 60. I haven’t heard from him since. I heard he’d retired to some quiet world.”

She pulled up the details: “A world within a few weeks of the Cardassian Border.” With a pained look in her eyes, she explained to her CO, “He’s our best option, sir.”

Geronimo stood, “The rest of the possibilities on your list?”

She shook her head, eyes wide. “It is very downhill from there, sir.”

“Then I better get ready to climb.”