Jules was so intensely focused on keeping a stable connection with both Commander Mall’s team on the surface and Lieutenant E’Spor’s team on the shuttle that it took three chimes – rather than his personal goal of only one – for him to notice the additional communication signal coming in.

Taking in a heavy gulp of air – and again swearing himself off of all alcohol, synthetic or otherwise – he confirmed the connection and piped it into his earpiece. “This is the Gilroy.”

“Darling, you doing alright?” asked a sweet, older voice. “Not like you to wait this long to pick up when I call.”

Jules couldn’t help but let an honest chuckle escape his lips. He connected her call to the bridge’s speakers. “I don’t think I’m built to date Klingons, but I’m good, Sora. You’re on with the bridge crew.”

“Alright then,” she answered, and Jules would bet anything she was smiling. “Captain, I’m reporting in that we’ve just lost power to the outpost. Backups are running, but Valia doesn’t think they’ll last long. She says her people are used to these rolling blackouts – but I’ve got quite a few patients who’d be better if they were beamed into our sickbay while we wait to see if Commander Mall’s team can restore power.”

Jericho Sands, who to this point had been silently appraising the duality of the hyper-competence and poor professionalism of his favorite communications officer, suddenly sat forward in his chair and wrinkled his forehead.

“I’m sorry Sora – we’ve moved away from your position to get closer to Mall. He reported in that they found the source of the outpost’s power issues just as a large storm was approaching their position. We’ve moved in to provide better support.”

“Well then,” replied the planet-side nurse. “Damn.”

The Captain stood up and moved instinctively to Jules’ station. “Not ideal, Nurse New’all. But I have full confidence in your ability to manage through this situation.” He spoke clearly, but in the rarer, deeper voice that only came from him when he needed to give serious orders. It was never intentional, but somehow it was always there when he needed it. “I’ve got Lieutenant E’Spor on his way to support Commander Mall, too. They’ll get this fixed as fast as possible. Hold out.”

“I understand, Captain,” said Sora. “I made due on Bajor in far worse conditions. I guess I’ve just gotten myself spoiled by our sick bay. I’ll keep you posted if anything changes. New’all out.”

When the background buzz of the communication channel ended, Jericho realized just how quiet the bridge had become. He took a moment to gaze around the room, studying the faces of each of his bridge crew as they stared back at him. They weren’t under fire or being hunted down by some cloaked predator. Neither, really, were any of his away teams in mortal danger. But everyone, it seemed, was worried. About doing a good job, yes, but also, he knew, about making sure everyone made it home safe and successful. He appreciated all of them.

“Didn’t realize Sora was raised during the Occupation,” said Jules, breaking the silence as he moved back to prioritize the channels with both Commander Mall and Lieutenant E’Spor.

“The end of it, yes,” replied the Captain, placing a quick hand on Jules’ shoulder before moving back to his central chair. It wasn’t his place to tell any more of her story.

—

The shuttle continued to shake as the atmosphere was rocked by turbulence. E’Spor had just finished reminding his team of the mission briefing a third time as a way of staying cool while the pilot cursed briefly under his breath.

“We’re approaching Commander Mall’s last known coordinates. Activating visual scanners so we can locate them,” the pilot announced a moment later.

E’Spor and his team each took to a screen, searching for any sign of their first officer as the approaching storm made more technical scans unreliable. The Vulcan appreciated the distraction the task brought as the shuttle continued to rock and sway. He thanked, privately, Commander Walker for her anti-nausea injection before he had deployed on this mission. And her discretion.

“I think I see a flare,” came one of his direct reports, and each of their displays was replaced with hers. A shining red light, bright and clear, shone across all their screens.

“Take us down then,” ordered E’Spor, only a slight hint of desperation in his voice.

—

Commander Mall couldn’t repress a smile, as cold and battered as he felt, when the lights of the shuttle came bright overhead. He shielded his eyes as it landed, dust and debris kicking up violently. Moments later he approached Lieutenant E’Spor. He noted the feelings of relief rolling off of his Chief Engineer picked up by his Betazoid abilities – surprising, but not entirely rare for a Vulcan – and adjusted his tone to sound as serious as possible, hoping the authority would help E’Spor focus fully.

“You saw our flare then,” he said. “Good. Let’s move, Lieutenant.” He ushered the Vulcan and his team of engineers several meters away. “It took us a while, but we were able to trace a series of failings in the Romulan energy infrastructure back to this one spot.” He had to shout, the storm above them beginning to crescendo.

They approached a rather unremarkable box-shaped structure, no more than 4 meters on either side, built with what seemed to be sturdy metal to protect it from the elements. Markings in the Romulan language warned the general populace of high voltage and to stay away.

“It’s shielded against most scans,” Mall continued, “but we managed to pry open the casing.”

E’Spor knelt by the exposed internal circuitry, his tricorder chirping a frantic, rhythmic warning. He adjusted the narrowness of the sensor beam, his brow furrowing. “Commander,” E’Spor said, his voice cutting through the rising howl of the wind. “This was not a systemic failure of the Romulan grid.”

Mall stepped closer. “Explain, Lieutenant.”

“The primary power flow regulator has been phased out of alignment using a localized dampening field. It is precise. It is intentional.” E’Spor pointed a steady finger at a charred, jagged component. “This is a sub-molecular bypass. It was designed to slowly bleed the outpost’s power until the storm hit, ensuring the surge would cause a total, irreversible cascade.”

“Commander Mall to Captain Sands,” said the first officer, standing to his full height as he tapped his commbadge. “The Romulan power grid has been sabotaged…”

He was cut off by a sharp, piercing burst of static from his comms. On the Gilroy bridge, the same sound caused Jules to wince and rip his headset away.

“Captain!” Jules announced, voice high. “Something is overriding our local channels! It’s a high-priority tight-beam from Starfleet Command.”

Jericho Sands stood. “On speakers, Jules.”

The bridge was suddenly filled with a cold, synthesized tone. “USS Gilroy, this is Admiral Withers. We’ve got new priority orders for you.

“This is Captain Sands,” Jericho said, his voice hard. “We are in the middle of a critical relief operation and an emergency -“

“Belay that, Captain,” the voice interrupted. “You are ordered to cease all operations at the Romulan outpost immediately. Secure your teams and prepare for warp. The USS T’Kumbra is being diverted to your coordinates to relieve you of the humanitarian effort. Your presence is required at Starbase 12 for immediate reassignment. Effective… now.”

The channel snapped shut. The silence that followed was heavier than the storm.

“Captain?” Jules whispered. “E’Spor found sabotage. If we leave now, Valia’s people -“

Jericho Sands looked at the viewscreen, where the ion storm was beginning to swallow the outpost in a swirl of bruised purple and static. They were being pulled away from a crime scene and a crisis they had just started to solve.

“Signal the teams,” Sands ordered, his voice sounding older than it had five minutes ago. “Tell them to pack it up. We’re leaving.”