They found Orantei a week after the encounter with the Klingon who called himself a king. The convoy – forty-odd ships now, a drifting nation of rust and resolve – had been creeping along the old trade lanes at impulse for so long that the crew had begun to think in fractions of their normal velocity. It was a strange sensibility for the crew of the Farragut, who could warp away to safety in an instant, but doing so would leave their newfound convoy to a desperate fate. So they crawled along through systems, suppressing resentment or impatience as best they could.

The Farragut led from the center, her hull carrying some mild scars from the recent skirmishes but nothing the Starfleet ship considered to be dangerous. It was a certain agony being relatively untouchable and surrounded by fragility. Behind her trailed freighters with patched engines and mismatched armour plating, a tanker leaking gases from a dozen barely-sealed seams, a medical barge whose air scrubbers were borrowed from three different cultures’ technologies. And yet, they held together. A moving testament to the ingenuity and resilience of the trading culture in the Shackleton Expanse.

“Orantei Station,” Jevlak announced from the science station. “The details match those provided by the Klingon. I’m beginning sensor scans now.”

“Show me,” Ayres said.

The viewer resolved into the shape of the station. A point of light first, then the subtle bloom of structure. He could see the geometry: three wide rings revolving around a central core, their motion perfectly synchronised. It shimmered faintly, an opalescent sheen that shifted between metal and glass depending on the angle. No scorch marks. No external debris. No signs of abandonment. No indicators of decay.

“The power readings are extraordinary,” Jevlak added. “They’re inconsistent with anything else we’ve found out here, captain. The alloys and materials are exotic, some our sensors can make sense of and others are unusually complex.”

“Everything out here’s a surprise,” Ayres murmured. “Plot our course in-system. Let’s see what it looks like up close.”

The bridge was quiet except for the hum of the consoles. Parr sat in her chair next to Ayres, arms folded, her expression one of professional wariness. “A Klingon pirate-king tells us about a station no one’s heard of, and when we find it, it’s too perfect to be true. I don’t like it.”

“We’re treading a lot of new ground here, commander,” Ayres offered. “But you’re right to be wary. He said it was a refit point for ships on the outer lanes and that includes the Pilgrims. So we’ll be careful.”

But the convoy was near the end of its tether. One of the tankers was rationing fuel to run its life support. Another ship had resorted to cannibalising its own parts to keep its core from overheating. Ayres knew the arithmetic of desperation. Whatever waited at Orantei, it was worth the risk to rest, regroup, and see if they could get more support from Starfleet.

“Keep studying it, Jevlak,” he ordered. “Let’s try to minimise surprises.”

The results to the scans trickled in over the next few minutes. Perfect atmospheric containment fields. Power regulation at ninety-nine-point-nine percent efficiency. The station’s systems were operating as if time itself had never touched them.

“There are ships docked,” Kincaid said, his voice tight with surprise. “Dozens. Freighters, tugs, even a few that look like survey craft. No distress calls. No defensive postures. Everything’s just,” he searched for the right word, “relaxed.”

Parr frowned at the panel at her chair. “They’re broadcasting a public docking beacon. No requests for information or apparent confusion at our appearance. They’re being friendly.”

Ayres leaned back in his chair. “Friendly,” he repeated. “Out here, that’s the most suspicious thing I’ve heard all week.”

Parr allowed the smallest ghost of a smile. “It’s still the nearest place for some rest and resupply.”

“True enough,” Ayres said. “Let’s see who’s home.”

They opened a channel. “Orantei Station, this is Captain Ayres of the USS Farragut, we are a United Federation of Planets starship escorting a convoy of merchant vessels. We’re requesting permission to dock for resupply and repair.”

The reply came almost instantly. The voice was warm. Female, confident, and surprisingly human.

“USS Farragut, welcome. You’re cleared for primary docking ring, bay two. Your convoy may proceed to auxiliary berths. You’ll find us well equipped for your needs.”

Ayres straightened slightly. “To whom am I speaking?”

The answer carried an unmistakable smile. “Administrator Lara Tei. And if you’ll forgive the forwardness, captain, I’ve been expecting you.”

“You’ve been expecting us?” Ayres asked carefully.

“Word travels,” Tei replied. “Even this far out. Starfleet’s reputation for compassion precedes it and the Farragut has become quite the story over the last few weeks. I’m honoured you’ve come our way.”

Her tone was cultured but not pompous.

“Administrator Tei,” Ayres said, “you’ll forgive our caution. We’ve had some unusual experience in the expanse.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’ll find no difficulties here, captain. Orantei welcomes you. You and your first officer will be my guests once you’re securely docked. My staff will attend to your ships. Rest. Eat. Let my home be your home for a little while.”

The transmission cut with a soft chime.

Ayres looked at Parr. “Thoughts?”

“She’s too smooth,” Parr said immediately. “And she’s human, which is a surprise.”

Ayres nodded slowly. “I wonder if that’s good luck or bad?”

“Whatever it is, she has the advantage on us,” she murmured.

The Farragut slipped closer on manoeuvring thrusters, the long sweep of the station filling the forward view. Its architecture was breath-taking up close: every curve balanced, every surface gleaming under the faint shimmer of defensive screens. The hull plating bore no signs of stress fractures or heat scoring. It looked both ancient and impossibly new.

The convoy followed in slow procession, their ships fanning out like birds approaching a nesting ground. Docking drones lifted from the station’s underbelly. Sleek silver machines with insect grace. They moved without transmissions, guiding each freighter to its berth through bursts of data.

“Those drones,” Jevlak murmured. “They’re interfacing with our ships automatically. Their control signals are adaptive, responding to whatever interface they encounter. Ours included.”

Ayres frowned. “That’s impressive and totally at odds with the ramshackle technology we’ve experienced from everyone else in the expanse so far.”

The Farragut followed instructions toward the docking area, looking somewhat out of place from the rest of the assembled ships and yet somehow more appropriately similar to the pristine station. The docking umbilical extended, caught, and locked with a satisfying metallic hiss.

“Hard dock confirmed,” Kincaid said softly. “Atmospheric seal engaged. All readings are stable.”

On the external displays, they could see the convoy settling in.