‘Mourn not the passing of a life well lived, yet celebrate. Count the times your souls smiled together, reached out so invisibly yet tangibly and touched. Death is only the end of a chapter, my friend. And so as this body makes ready to return to the soil, my spirit will watch over you and live in your heart. It will bring sadness as we transform to this new way of connecting, yet this is part of living.’

Standing at the mirror in the bathing area of his quarters, Vasoch could do nothing but remember the words of his great grandfather many years earlier as he stood, trying to make sense of this latest loss. Their loss. His loss.

‘Death is the gateway to rebirth, and as someone beloved passes through, we both mourn and celebrate. We feel their loss in our life, yet we celebrate all that they achieved in their lifetime for goodness, for love, for the natural world. It is a time when we are most aware of how sacred living is and to appreciate the gift all the more.’

Right now, it felt like he would struggle to appreciate anything given the tragedy that had just befallen the crew. Ten crewmates had been killed in the most heinous, senseless way possible, and among them their Captain.

It was safe to say their relationship had been somewhat fraught at the beginning, with sh’Elas and her people transferring to the Temeraire in the wake of a command disaster both prior, and during, the Century Storm. He’d seen her as a usurper, taking the rightful command of Captain Ruas and making out she was the saviour. Hell, he’d even resented the crew of Santa Fe for coming in and taking the jobs of dedicated crewmen. But in time, throughout the crisis in Romulan space, and especially since they had joined the Ulysses together, they had found a respect for each other. She had felt comfortable enough to come to him for advice, for counsel, and he felt comfortable enough to administer it (whether it was warranted or not). Hell, they had even begun to socialise and consider each other friends. Now she had been taken from them. If she had been taken by Starfleet, promoted to some far off land, he’d have been happy for her, but this loss was nothing short of tragic. A career in the shadows of an excellent commanding officer, she’d finally been given her own chance to shine in the Captain’s chair, to make her own mark. And that she had. On him, and on this crew.

Using his wrinkled hands to splash water on his tired face, the Captain’s Tellarite executive officer could only imagine how people like Prida, Chiera, Zinn and Noli would feel. They’d been with Tharia on the Santa Fe, they’d worked with her through thick and thin, and they trusted her. If she was his Captain after such a short time working together, he could only imagine what she meant to them. And ugh, poor Noli. Lying on that medical biobed, unconscious and alone, she would have to wake up at some point in the near future and deal with the loss they were all dealing with now.

Turning away from the mirror in disgust, the Tellarite returned to his living quarters and looked around in silence. Just yesterday, he’d been confined here, alone, and wondering whether they would ever be free from the clutches of the Devore. Now, a standard Federation day later, she’d been the one to mastermind their escape, and to retake their ship; she was the one to bring them freedom. She was the one who had paid the price. Too high a price. A price paid in blood. Her blood. And the blood of nine other officers, almost the entire prison populace in the Brig and, apparently, one vile, disgusting murderer who would now escape justice.

According to Doctor Torres, trace elements of unknown DNA had been found in the brig, DNA that didn’t belong to any of the Devore or Starfleet crewmen. Who the being was, it was anyone’s guess, but they were all determined to find out whatever they could. For their colleagues, for their Captain.

For now, he had the unenviable task of filling in Task Force Command with regards to their loss, and the recent fate of the ship. Wandering over to the replicator, he requested a glass of cold water and then took a sip. He wandered over to the desk he so often used and pulled the chair out from behind the workspace, collapsing into the warm leather seat. Tapping the control on the base plate of the computer console, he addressed the machine. “Computer,” he said, “open a secure channel to Captain Andreus Kohl aboard Discovery. Captain’s Priority encryption,” he directed, then sat back and waited while the computer worked its magic.

An animation of a Starfleet arrowhead logo slowly spun on the computer console’s display to pass the time while the computer conducted its subspace routing.  When the animation winked out, it was replaced by a live video link with Task Force Executive Officer Andreus Kohl, seated in a nondescript diplomacy suite aboard the USS Discovery.  A puzzled expression passed over Kohl’s widening eyes, but he blinked it away and set his jaw in a more neutral expression.

“Commander Gor,” Kohl said, offering a nod in greetings.  “It is a pleasure to hear from you — from anyone aboard the USS Ulysses after all this time.  Please don’t take this the wrong way if I admit…  You’re not the one I was expecting.“

Gor shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the words he was yet to say. He hadn’t expected to have to make this call either. Deciding that it was probably best not to prevaricate, the XO simply relayed the news that he had contacted their senior about. “Thank you sir, but I wish I was contacting you under better circumstances,” he began with the pleasantries, “but I regret to inform you that, late last night, Captain sh’Elas was lost in the line of duty,” the Tellarite let out sorrowfilled sigh.

Kohl spat the word “Lost?” back as if Gor had personally dropped Captain sh’Elas on an unknown planet in the Gradin Belt and failed to find his way back to her.  On the display, Kohl was seen shaking his head and blinking repeatedly, his brow furrowing intently between his eyebrows.

“Commander, I order you to be more precise in your choice of words,” Kohl said, too hotly.  “What do you mean by lost?“

Raising an eyebrow any Vulcan would have been proud of, Gor found himself wondering if this man was truly as intelligent as he had been led to believe. Still, if Kohl wanted him to be more precise, then precise he would be. “Captain sh’Elas was murdered by a powerful telepathic being that was brought aboard during recent events,” the Tellarite bit back. “A full report will be with you by the time we safely return to the Markonian Outpost,” he added swiftly, so that the Task Force Executive Officer didn’t feel he would be neglecting his responsibilities, even in the face of such a devastating loss.

The brave face Kohl was putting on crumpled at the clear and inescapable mention of murder.  Dropping his chin to his chest, Kohl cradled his face in the open palms of his overlapping hands.  Although Kohl muttered an oath, he spoke too softly for the audio sensor on his end to pick up the words.

Kohl breathed in through his nose and he straightened up his posture.  He dropped his hands to his sides.

With some urgency, Kohl asked, “How fares your crew?”

“They’ve just spent two weeks going through hell and now this. They’re devastated,” the much older man told as honestly as possible, “I’ve seen loss, I’ve experienced it, and it never gets easier. We have a young crew, and many have never experienced such tragedy.” He had to take a minute to compose himself, looking away from the screen as his eyes welled and a sniffle stopped by to say a brief hello. “They’re on their knees, but they’ll never show it. They’re putting on a brave face and responding with the dedication and fortitude the Captain would expect of them,” he added proudly.

On the display, Kohl nodded at each of Gor’s statements.  He smiled briefly at the pride he heard in Gor’s voice.

“I expect you played a large part in that achievement,” Kohl remarked.  “Thank you for bringing them home.”  He let that moment hang, making sure Gor truly received it.  And then, Kohl asked, “What resources do you need immediately?”

Glossing over the man’s remarks, unable to feel any pride in himself at present, Vasoch thought about his question for a little while. “Sojourner and Sarek have come to our aid, and rendered medical and engineering assistance. We’re about three light years from friendly space,” he advised the Captain, “but what we really need is some time to process, and grieve. And a slot in the queue for the next opening of the wormhole.”

“Of course, commander,” Kohl replied.  “I can make those arrangements.  In your absence, the fleet has made progress on devising a means to send blood dilithium back to subspace.  The risk it poses to telepathic species is too great.  We’re days away from conducting our first experiment.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Vasoch shook his head at the thought, “we’ve had our own issues with that stuff. We managed to rescue nearly six-hundred telepaths from a Devore internment camp where they were using blood dilithium to torture prisoners. Species from all over the quadrant. It was one of those individuals, unfortunately, that was responsible for the Captain’s death,” his voice full of regret for what had transpired in the face of trying to do something right.

Kohl shook his head, his eyes half-lidded when he said, “I’m so sorry for your loss; yours and your crew’s.”

On the LCARS panel, Kohl blinked a couple of times and then he appeared to sit up straighter in his chair.  Evidently, it took him a few seconds to process something Gor had said.

“You said you rescued nearly six hundred individuals from a Devore prison?” Kohl asked, his expression pained.  “Our task force presence on the Markonian Outpost is only equipped for fleet coordination and emergency medicine.  We don’t have sufficient Starfleet resources in the Delta Quadrant to support the daily living needs of an additional six-hundred civilians, let alone assisting their transit back to their own worlds…”

“We couldn’t leave them there,” Vasoch countered swiftly, “but many have expressed the willingness to simply go about their lives themselves. They’ve been cooped up for so long, they were just happy to get out of there. Many will make contact with their own species and those that can’t, most have formed friendships that will see them work together.” He took a deep breath as he sat back in the chair again. “They acknowledge that our part is done. They are free, and their freedom came at a heavy price for us,” he elaborated.

“It sounds like you have the situation well in hand, captain,” Kohl said pointedly.  “We’ll make preparations to receive your crew by the time you arrive.”

Vasoch blinked several times upon hearing the word ‘Captain’ used in relation to himself. He’d been called it by members of the crew in the hours since the Captain’s death, but to hear it from a superior made it, official? “That would be appreciated, Captain. Thank you. I’ll keep you apprised of any developments in the meantime,” the Tellarite nodded respectfully.

On the screen, Kohl said, “They’ll be looking to you now,” before the comm channel closed.

‘Looking to him now?’ Like he didn’t already know that. Every life aboard the ship rested on his shoulders now, and the weight of that expectation would weigh heavily on his shoulders until the ship returned to safety. At that point, who knew what would happen? He’d have time to think about it now, with the ship under escort and headed for friendly space. Well, in the morning anyway. For now, he had to try and find sleep in order to have the energy to guide his people home.

Death is only the end of a chapter, after all. He had to work out how to write the next one.