Like a scene from an epic movie of the twentieth century, the Starfleet vessels Al-Batani and Cardenas hung motionless in the great void of space: watching; waiting. In the crimson-toned darkness of the Excelsior’s bridge, all eyes were laser-focused on the holographic starfield on the screen, and the distant cluster of contacts that edged ever closer. Ten distant signals, dark silhouettes crawling with the menace of a beast stalking its terrified prey. Shallow breathing and the rhythmic chimes of LCARS panels the only sounds to be heard as the universe waited with bated breath. Not for the first time this year, the heavy cruiser’s battle-weary officers waited for the dawn – only this dawn was different. The dawn of realisation that Starfleet was all that stood between two species and an ancient feud.

Not the tallest, most imposing of figures, Captain Vasoch Gor’s fearsome reputation came from his open, unreserved nature that would have seen him well at home with the Qowat Milat. The practice of being absolutely candid had seen him share the situation with his crew, circumstances of failure and all. If they couldn’t convince the Draxan fleet to tuck tail and run, then there would likely be a conflict in which Starfleet would have to choose how to intervene. And while their friends on Hypatia would continue their efforts to communicate with the species now identified as Nihari, it was up to Gor and the team to try and diffuse the situation from here, to avoid Starfleet’s first ventures into the Shackleton Expanse becoming ones of aggression and grandstanding. Hard to imagine given the force massed against the Starfleet vessels.

“Captain…”

From his vantage point behind the Ops and Flight Control stations, Gor’s head move fractionally to the right, his non-verbal signal for the tactical chief to continue.

“I’ve got a final analysis on the Draxan vessels,” the Bajoran tactical officer began her report, tapping at the controls and changing the view on the screen to reflect the three different types of vessels bearing down on their location. Her report was methodical and informative, outlining everything from their shield grids and weapons array to the power of their tractor beams. “Individually, their cruiser wouldn’t even be a match for Cardenas, let alone us. Their advantage will come from their numbers. Their smallest vessels are more manoeuvrable than anything we can offer, which suggests they operate in swarms,” her report concluded, the main view screen changing back to the starfield that had reflected their position before.

“I think it’s time to let them know who’s in charge around here,” the Tellarite held up a hand and gestured to the Ops station. “Open a channel, all frequencies,” he commanded, placing his hands behind his back and taking a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenge ahead.

“This is Captain Vasoch Gor of the Federation starship Al-Batani,” he spoke into the open comm array, eyes trained on the viewscreen. “Your presence here is a violation of Nihari law and you are requested and required to return to your own territory,” he instructed sternly, no hint of waiver or compromise in his voice.

Across the frigate’s bridge, silence reigned supreme. Even the red alert klaxon’s had terminated, leaving the standard red strobe lighting running alongside the dimmed lights of normal operating times. Tapped in to the communications channel opened aboard their much larger Excelsior-class cousin, the bridge crew listened for any response that might come from the targets on the main viewer, but they had done nothing but eat static so far. Elliot, by far the most experienced member of the Cardenas crew, drummed silent fingers on his left knee, eyes glued to the forwards display. At the station directly behind him, his trusted XO, Charisma Lennan, sat beside her colleague from the counselling deck, the two sharing station and concerns alike, though neither shared their feelings with Captain Mercer.

In stark contrast, at the very front of the command center, the two youngest members of the bridge crew lent towards each other and shared occasional whispers of discontent, with Talia Vos (the youngest by two years), surprisingly more contained than Chief Operations Officer Nash Everett. They were in the middle of their hushed conversation when a ‘shush’ flew in their direction from Commander Nilssen at tactical.

Captain Mercer inched forward in his chair, hands grasping the arms as his finely tuned ears detected the slight change in the static received from the telemetry array, all this years in engineering paying dividends. Sure enough, the static grew louder, only to be replaced by a whine and then silence. Only, it wasn’t a true silence like before; to the untrained ear, there was nothing, but to the Captain, there was definitely someone on the other end of the transmission at last.

“Stand by for orders,” he whispered, turning briefly to his XO, who directed her concerned gaze back to her display and tapped a message on the console.

“You have no place here, Federation…”

Listening to the voice, deep and menacing as it was when it eventually came, Vasoch felt a great relief that finally someone had engaged with him, even if it was only a disembodied voice.

“For time, this area has been stable and unconcerned with those from beyond, and then the travel lines lift. Within days, beings with forehead ridges and pointed ears flood the area, followed by Federation meddlers who ‘come in peace’”, the angry voice scoffed so loudly you could almost hear the shaking of his head in frustration.

“I am sorry you feel that way,” Captain Gor responded, lowering the tone of his voice marginally, hoping to strike the right conciliatory tone for the task at hand, but his words seemed only to anger the Draxan contact further.

“We don’t want you here, and if you stand in our way, we will consider your meddling to be an act of conflict,” the voice barked. No one needed to be a telepath to sense the anger in their voice.

“Whilst I appreciate your views,” Gor turned and looked to his XO, who nodded her reassurance, “we are here at the invitation of the Nihari government, who recognise this system as their sovereign territory. They have requested our presence in a bid to broker a lasting peace between your people…”

“We recognise the Nihari as nothing but an ancient menace that must be erased. Stand in our way, and your presence here will be terminated. You have one of your standard hours.”

With that, the channel audibly closed, the computer beeping to signal the transmission with the Draxans was at an end.

“Mercer?”

“I’m here…” Elliot Mercer’s voice came through almost instantly. “If what we are led to believe is true, we cannot let the Draxans through. We have to give Noli time.“

“I’m glad we agree,” Vasoch nodded along slowly. Reaching for the controls on the arm of his chair, the Tellarite pressed a single button.

“All hands… battle stations.”