‘I understand your concerns -’

‘With all due respect, you don’t have a damned idea what it’s like out here, Captain.’ Every wrinkle of the colonial liaison’s grimace was rendered in perfect detail in the holographic projection hovering above Captain Reyes’s desk. But it meant the lines of exhaustion were as clear as the ones of anger, which was enough to soften the XO’s frustration.

But it had been some time since anyone had pulled a with all due respect on him, so Reyes still needed to draw a slow, tense breath, and couldn’t stop himself from saying, ‘The resettlement of Fortair IV happened faster than recommended, Mr Brennos. The atmospheric disruption from the Century Storm hadn’t dissipated when you returned six months ago. These were hardly ideal conditions to rebuild a colony.’

The projection of Brennos rolled its eyes. ‘Minor storms -’

‘Which, if I’m reading properly, have impacted your agricultural yields.’ Reyes waved a PADD indicatively.

‘So you would have preferred we wait on Starbase Bravo while your meteorologists stared at sensor readings and we ate your supplies, lived in your emergency shelters?’ Brennos countered.

‘We would have happily -’

‘We want to get back to our lives, Captain. Not live in a converted cargo bay for a year. We would have been more of a burden on you if we hadn’t gone back. Now we’re asking for a little more help. Some more supplies. Some soil enhancements for our fields.’ Brennos paused, and Reyes tried to not scowl as he knew what final blow was coming. ‘Or would you rather we starve?’

‘Of course not -’

‘Or abandon the colony and return to your starbase’s shelters?’

Reyes ran his tongue over his teeth. His pride was not the most important thing in this situation, not more important than the conditions for the colonists. It didn’t make it hurt that much less to have been complained at for an hour by a liaison, and then be accused of not caring. ‘Send me the full assessment of your needs, Mr Brennos, and I will have a shipment out as soon as possible.’

‘Good –’

‘And we will be sending specialists to assess your farmland and make recommendations on how to improve your future yields.’ Reyes leaned forward, expression going stern. ‘I expect their advice to be listened to, considering the close relationship between Fortair IV and Starbase Bravo.’

Brennos paused at that, and Reyes knew what he was thinking. The more independently-minded farmers would not enjoy being told how to do their jobs by Starfleet researchers. It seemed nobody’s pride was going to come out of this completely intact. But because Brennos was no more of a fool than Reyes was, he nodded. ‘I look forward to their help, Captain. Thank you. Fortair IV out.’

The image disappeared, taking away not just Brennos and his complaints, but the faint, background whine of the holographic projectors in action. Reyes slumped back in his chair and rubbed his temples, closing his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, his desk had little more peace. Brennos was gone, but the PADDs weren’t, each of them shining with the details of a different pocket of chaos in the Paulson Nebula. A year on from the Century Storm, and the region wasn’t about to be ripped apart by ion storms or subspace rifts. But its effects could still be felt. Colonies like Fortair IV struggled to fully recover, and communicating and travelling deeper into the nebula’s reaches was the hardest it had been for centuries.

Reyes reached for his desk systems and hit a button. ‘Computer, schedule a meeting between me and all division heads. Subject: expanding operations in the Paulson Nebula.’