In her cushy ready room aboard Britannia, Anyanka Harrison raised a slender eyebrow that would put a Vulcan to shame. The chill of her frustration was palpable even over the warm wash of Risa’s twin suns that peeked through the window.

On her wide desk screen, a trio of Starfleet deltas pulsed impatiently as the radio comms reached out from Britannia’s array towards her fellow marooned vessels. The small boxy form of Aldrin as it bobbed across nearby the planetary control centre, the slender arrow of Sirona that glided through the upper atmosphere and Io’s mighty shape that lazily floated over Risa’s pleasant surface.

“Answer the damn phone people,” Harrison whispered to herself as she lifted a fine china cup to her lips, willing her compatriots to answer.

Commander Mayvilis heard the high-priority ping emerge from the operations station on the Aldrin bridge.

“What the hell…” She muttered to herself and was about to vocalize an order to answer it but quickly remembered it was just her there at the moment. The Aldrin was in skeletal crew status, given the respite many of her crew were taking on Risa. Instead, Mayvilis tapped a combination of controls on the armrest of her command chair and answered the call.

Captain Silas Crowe straightened in his chair, and his hand drifted instinctively to the armrest controls. The Priority One alert still pulsed red on the overhead display, casting intermittent flashes across his furrowed brow.

“This is the Io,” he said with a calm voice, though his eyes flicked to Commander Byrrynathalorim —unreadable as always— then to Lieutenant Piper at the helm, scanning for some hint of context. “What assistance can we provide?”

A long second passed. The crew held their breath, fingers hovering over consoles, waiting. Crowe didn’t speak again, but the slight crease at the corner of his mouth spoke louder than words.

An eerie silence had spread on the Sirona’s bridge. They had barely made it out of the impact radius of the exploding passenger liner, and now that they were safe, the gravity of what they had done began to settle in.

“Captain.”, said K’Shara softly, her voice almost a whisper. “We are being hailed. It’s the Britannia, they’re asking for assistance.”

Captain Valdes didn’t reply. Seconds stretched, until eventually, she gave a nod.

She barely managed to glance at Harrison as her face appeared on the viewscreen. “This is the USS Sirona. How can we… help?”

Harrison’s eyes narrowed at the captain’s hesitant tone. Valdes had a reputation for reliable efficiency; to see her so out of sorts was disquieting.

“A few minutes ago my team identified a number of unidentified signatures hidden within this storm cloud.” Harrison slipped the cup back onto its saucer and shared Hart Squad’s collated data with the other captains.

“We believe some of these are the missing civilian relay ships, which for unknown reason seem to be hiding from us. There are, however, several other ships that we cannot identify.” Harrison settled back into her chair, as the most tactically capable vessel she could flex her authority and order her colleagues to assist. Manners, however, cost nothing, as her mother repeatedly reminded her. “We would appreciate your assistance in both identifying and, if necessary, containing these vessels.”

“Aldrin will assist however we can, Captain. Just send some directives our way.” Commander Mayvilis replied with a strong confidence in her voice, having ignored for the moment that internal resources on the Aldrin were minimal. She debated for a moment if she should call her crew back from their leave but figured pulling everyone aboard onto active duty would suffice – the former would take too long.

Behind Harrison’s screen, the coral skin of Lieutenant Commander Bahir appeared at the doorway, holding a padd next to his head. A pair of blue dots danced back and forth across the screen before one suddenly blinked out of existence. The word Sirona flashed on the screen in bright blue letters, stirring a sickly feeling in the pit of Harrison’s stomach.

Valdes, of course, had no way of knowing what it was that had Harrison turn pale, and needed several moments to regain her composure. Then, she spoke up.  “Approximately ten minutes ago, our sensors picked up an unknown vessel next to the SS Celeste. The Celeste began powering their engines, heading to Risa, and we-… “ She paused. Saying it made it more real. “They were headed to Atheta. We … had to act.”

“Valdes explain yourself-” Harrison began before the ship rocked violently and the gates of hell fell open.