Tyva Dal was not a morning person, but she was up before her alarm.  Up and moving around in the bare kitchen area of the temporary quarters they had assigned on Starbase 339.

Mrs Anne Halston, a retired federation schoolteacher, widow, and surrogate mother to Tyva Dal for most of the past decade had already made her favorite Risian fruit smoothie and her father’s favorite smelly bitter tea. Mrs. Halston also had the distinction of being the only non-Starfleet personnel allowed on the Floston who wasn’t related to a Starfleet officer onboard by blood or marriage. One young enlisted officer almost questioned her and then he read the notes on his PADD for her onboarding and quickly shut his mouth and waved her past.

She had been related to distinguished Starfleet personnel. She lost her husband and two sons – one only in his second year in the academy – to the Borg and Dominion violence. It almost crushed her. She almost couldn’t help but adopt a lonely little girl in her class, raised by a single Dad. While she never had any romantic attachment towards Ishreth Dal, she became the de facto grandmother to Tyva, willing to babysit her, be a motherly counterpoint to her father – and to care for her in dangerous times like these.

Mrs. Halston was quiet this morning as Tyva focused on her father.

“Are you sure I can’t come with?” She asked, ready to list eighty-seven reasons (give or take three) why it would be perfectly plausible for her to come.

“I am absolutely sure.” He replied in soft even tones, which somehow carried more commanding weight than anyone yelling could match. “I do not want you to get hurt.”

While it wasn’t necessarily safe on Starbase 339, he knew that the risks of danger were far greater on the Calistoga, a ship ordered to go out and try to secure an alliance with the Independent Merchant’s Consortium.  A so-called trade guide of a diverse group of merchants and traders that worked outside of Federation territory.

They were pirates. No one Starfleet wanted to be doing business with on an average and sane day. But things were neither average nor sane recently, and as a time honored saying over several cultures stated ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Starfleet Command was gambling that the Vaadwaur were enough of a threat to all ways of life in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants that even pirates might hop on board an offer of alliance.

Ishreth was thinking it was a likely bet, and also was well aware that one good deed would not a good person make. It was dangerous before the Vaadwaur were involved and extremely dangerous now.

Tyva eyed him, not daring to argue. Partially because she knew it was true, and partially because her father was not someone who enjoyed verbal sparring in the slightest. She folded her arms across her chest, drawing back, hesitating to say what was really on her mind. “It’s gonna be boring here.”

He gazed calmly back at her, knowing that was the least of her concerns. It had been tremendously boring on the Floston, and she kept herself engaged with a minimum of teenage complaining for weeks. “You will manage. You will make friends. I know you will.”

She drew in a slow, shuddering breath. Talking to people was like breathing to her. Processing her own emotions… that was so much harder. “What if they don’t like me?”

Another question that was far from a concern. Tyva never lacked for friends in any of his former postings. “They will. They, too, are alone and scared and want friends.” He paused and fixed her with an even gaze, “What are you really scared about?”

She stood there, starting to take a step back, almost ready to run away from the question. Her shoulders trembled and her brows drew inwards and finally she rushed forward. “What if you don’t come back?!”

He wrapped her up in his arms and let her cry, waiting until the emotions washed over her in big chaotic waves.  He was steady, immobile, warm, like a very yielding rock. Maybe even a soft rock. She loved that about him.

As she calmed, he looked at her and brushed away a tear from her cheek. “You know I will do everything in my ability to stay safe. And to keep everyone safe. Everything I do is to ensure I come back to you.”

She sniffled. “That’s important, right?”

He hugged her once again. “That is everything, Tyva.  Absolutely everything.”

~*~

Breakfast was far too short. Goodbyes were far too fleeting.

Ten steps outside of the temporary quarters, as Mrs. Halston promised to take good care of Tyva and ensure she kept up all her good habits, Ishreth Dal set his face in the same calm, reserved, almost emotionless expression that he had learned so well as a child. His hazard teammates called it his ‘duty face.’ Only those active antennae expressed emotions.

He arrived to the Calistoga early. Always early for everything whenever possible. Check in was smooth, everything was already ready and waiting. He walked through the halls, noticing the crew stare at him as he went. He nodded politely back to them without saying a word.

It was not lost on him that they were hyper-fixated on him. Nor was he surprised. He had witnessed several new launches of ships from Deep Space 53, where a gathered crew from the sector came together under a new command team to bond and then set out fresh. That was a best case scenario. This was not. He knew he was replacing this crew’s longtime commanding officer, and that he was arriving with only a tiny handful of other crew needed to shore up some holes in the security and tactical departments. None of which he knew well.

He was the outsider. This was their home.

And yet he was the person with experience in battle, and this crew was used to diplomatic and science missions. The question was how did he get them to trust him in the few hours it would take to reach independent spaceport Mireya 7?

“Look, if the Vaadwaur don’t kill us I’m just sayin’ we could all transfer together like one big happy family.” The briefing room doors slid open to reveal an animated human male gesturing with his whole upper body towards the window and at the ships docked beyond them. “I’m not married to this hunk of metal.  I’m connected to the people onboard.” He heard the doors and swung a hand towards them before actually taking a look at them. “Whaddya say, you with me Evie?”

And then Lt. Commander Jason Ibanez let his eyes catch up to his mouth and his brain ground to a stuttering halt. Lieutenant Yvette Haynes did not walk through the door.  Instead, an Andorian gazed calmly back at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have the slightest idea of what you’re speaking about.” Commander Dal walked into the room, gazing one by one at the assembled senior staff.  A Vulcan female in medical teal who looked wholly unimpressed, a Troyian male in engineering gold who was quite into the human’s theatrics and a Betazoid in command red who looked like she was fending off the universe’s worst headache. T’Lena, Draxen, Roix and Ibanez. Ishreth Dal had, in fact read the entire crew roster. Stuck on the Floston he decided to exceed expectations on his homework. “You must be Lt. Commander Ibanez?”

Jason blinked and pulled his overdramatic hands back beside his body.  “Yeah.  I am.”

“While I will never discourage or stop your request to transfer, I would encourage you to give the new arrangements a try before you plan an exodus.” the Andorian offered mildly.

Ibanez blew a breath out through his teeth. He wanted to say something sassy back, but the words ‘unbecoming of a Starfleet officer’ spoken in the tone of his nagging ex-wife rang in his head. He brought himself to a more formal posture, unconsciously matching the one the Andorian held and after a wait that was slightly too long for comfort and yet just fast enough to be considered acceptable he offered, “Welcome onboard, Sir.”

“Thank you, Commander Ibanez.” Ishreth Dal didn’t smile. His expression stayed the exact same calm it has been the entire time. But his antennae curled forward very slightly.

One battle down. So many more to go.