Several days had passed for the crew of the USS Hydra, a time which the crew had spent in furious preparation for whatever might be occurring in the Lambda Puppis system. The reality of the situation they arrived to find had fallen just slightly outside of their expectations and planning, however.

“We understand your concern, Captain,” the administrator of the colony said with a slight frown, “But we’ve just been through a rather tumultuous few weeks. Most of our facilities are sitting in shambles, and the ones that weren’t outright destroyed by the storms will take weeks to repair. We simply didn’t have the ability to send a message out given the state of everything down here.”

While Captain Bastin was somewhat relieved to find out that there wasn’t an attack on the colony, the situation was still far from ideal. The storm in question had seemingly moved on, but it hadn’t left before doing considerable damage to the small colony. Bastin was about to comment on that very thing when the administrator interrupted his train of thought.

“I would suggest that your vessel depart the area, Captain. Our projections before the storm hit showed that we won’t get much of a window before they return with increased intensity,” the man remarked bluntly.

“Are you saying the storm is going to return?” Capt. Bastin asked, skepticism leaking into his voice.

“At best, you have another week before the storm resurges and you’re trapped here. The ships we had in orbit were lost in the storm, and though I don’t imagine our vessels were even remotely close to your vessel in terms of their durability, they weren’t flimsy. It took the storm less than an hour to tear them to shreds,” the administrator continued.

A ripple of concerned whispers flitted about the bridge at the statement. The manifest they had found regarding the escort vessels that should have been in orbit had led the crew to believe that even if they had lost them in a fight, it would have been a significant feat for attackers. To hear that the storm had managed to basically obliterate such ships in under an hour was a very worrying prospect.

“Why didn’t they seek safe harbor somewhere?” Bastin inquired.

“We didn’t have enough warning. Our science team only discovered the storm a mere thirty hours before it hit, and were in the middle of their calculations on the storm’s trajectory when the leading edge hit us. They only got as far as giving us a timeline for our current window of calm, which is why I can’t even be sure if a week is an accurate estimation of how long you have before the storm returns,” the man said in an apologetic manner.

The lack of concrete information was enough for Bastin to switch gears, “Can you provide us with what your scientists discovered prior to the storm hitting?”

“Sadly, no,” the administrator shook his head, “the labs were one of the buildings unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of the storm. The entire district around it was leveled to the ground.”

“Do you have shelters set up?” Capt. Bastin asked.

“We do, and thankfully they are deep enough underground that we only had to contend with power outages intermittently. Everyone who was lucky enough to be on the surface when the storm hit is in relatively good condition,” the man relayed.

“If you will send us a list of everything you are lacking, and what support you would find helpful, my crew and I will make sure to provide it as quickly as possible,” Bastin offered.

“I’ll have my team contact you immediately. Thank you for your concern, Captain,” the man bowed his head just slightly.

The transmission cut off suddenly, causing Bastin to turn toward his Operations Officer, “Lieutenant?”

“The feed was terminated planetside,” the Vulcan remarked, tapping a few commands, “It appears to be a consequence of their power grid experiencing some manner of interruption.”

“We can put maintenance support at the top of the list then,” Bastin remarked with a smirk before turning to his First Officer, “You have a background in science, do you not, Commander?”

“I do,” Cmdr. Yuri nodded.

“Join the away team with a small contingent of science officers and see if you can collaborate with the scientists on the ground and get a feel for what we’re looking at, timeline wise.”

“Will do,” the woman said, removing herself from her chair to head to the turbolift.

“Lt. T’Rel, contact Mr. Brak and let him know that I need him to head down to the planet to help them solve their power issues and to start work on the dampening field network you proposed. If nothing else, we can set them up around the shelter and increase their chances of survival,” the Captain ordered.

“Would it not be more prudent to take the colonists aboard and escape?” the Vulcan asked.

“If we knew that the storm wasn’t going to block out exit from the Nebula, that would probably be the best course of action,” Bastin nodded, “The problem with that is that we don’t know how soon the storm might return, how intense it will be, or what might happen to the Hydra if we get caught in it. Their shelter is probably a much safer place for them to be with all the uncertainties we’re currently facing, even if it isn’t the most pragmatic solution we have available to us at the moment.”

“Your argument is logical,” T’Rel said after a moment’s consideration.

“As soon as communication with the colony is restored, let them know that we’re sending down our first wave of support,” Bastin said before leaving his seat, “I’m going to relay our findings to Starfleet.”

“Unfortunately,” the Vulcan stopped the man, “Communications are being interrupted by the surrounding storm activity in this area. We will not be able to send out any messages until we clear the Nebula.”

“I see…” Bastin muttered with an unhappy tone of voice, “Then I guess I’ll just review our contingency plans and wait for our away team’s findings.”

“Very well, Captain. I will notify you immediately if the situation happens to change,” T’Rel remarked.