A red rain fluttered across the open square as crisp leaves were lifted and tossed from the roofs of nearby buildings; the signs of a planet deep within its seasonal autumn as the meticulously tended plants of the courtyard found themselves swallowed by the tsunami of red and yellow. As a gentle wind rustled through the tall branches of the nearby trees Maine could have believed himself back home of Earth. Seated, book in hand, amongst the manicured shrubs of his mother’s beloved cottage garden in England, where he had lost too many hours watching the ballet of leaves fall through an air thick with the scent of Shepherd’s pie. The wind rustled again and as a group of leaves began their long tumble he spotted one lonely green leaf, once hidden beneath the cluster it was now wildly exposed to the wind and chill. He watched as the twisting branch was grasped the wind and raked back and forth, the lonely growth twisting and turning with a nimble flexibility, it refused to fall. The philosopher in Maine sighed, just like this little colony.

Ciman II had seen its fair share of vicious winds; first abandoned by the Federation, bullied by the Union, exploited by the Maqui and then all but forgotten during the Dominion War. Too far from anywhere to be anything but a dot on the map, they had suffered at the hands of profiteers and pirates eager to pick at corpses, using Ciman to hide their dirty work. Following the renewed interest in the region by both the Federation and the Union they had been freed the opportunists in favour of becoming a small voice in the new DMZ’s rough alliance of colonies, not a member of any great import but their large arable lands and temperate climate made them somewhat of a bread basket for the area. Ciman had never planned to have much in the way of defences and found trading crops for the protection from their neighbours had been enough. That trade that was now very much in danger, as were the colonies.

“Tranquil isn’t it?” A voice echoed across the small courtyard, a gentle tone carried on the breeze. “This time of year almost makes me feel like I’m back on Cardassia. The world turned a slight tinge of yellow and brown.”

“I was just reminiscing myself actually.” Maine said aloud, unsurprised by the voice.

“Oh really? May I enquire as to what?” The inquisitive visitor spoke louder, moving closer.

“Crisp evenings and Shepherds Pie.” Maine responded, picking up the few padds spread across the bench next to him.

“What is…”

“Shepherds’ pie? Earth dish, a minced meat mix in gravy topped with potatoes and cheese.” Maine answered, “Each family has a secret version. My mother added curried beans.” Turning, he found the disembodied voice’s owner, a tall Cardassian of statuesque features crossing the courtyard. Their slick black hair tied up into a small bun, pierced by a delicate metal pin, a few lengths fell forward framing a sculptural face. Motioning to the empty spot next to him they sat, pulling the edges of their deep orange jacket tighter against the chill.

“That sounds…” A raised eyebrow from Maine cut them short. “… like an experience.” The Cardassian said. “We have a similar thing made from Voles and Tiban root, my mother said her secret was Vole blood.” A second raised eyebrow from Maine elicited a wry smile. “How were today’s discussions?”

“The same as the last two day’s worth.” Maine had been on-planet for almost four days now, alongside teams from the U.S.S. David Lane, an old Miranda class deployed to the area with supplies and now diplomats. Under the guise of delivering trade and civilian aid they had been instructed to begin discussions regarding how the Federation and by extension Starfleet could help the colonies with the True Way’s roaming attacks. Whilst the diplomats discussed the bigger issues Maine and Nestus were to provide logistic support to the colony, improve tech where they could, shore up security. In the grand scheme of things Maine’s work could do a lot of good, they just had to get the Ciman’s leadership to agree, until then they waited, pouring over plans of what they could do if someone just let them. “How do you put up with it Zaya?” he sighed, rolling his eyes back towards the building behind them, where discussions continued.

“I didn’t. There is a reason I’m out here and I never stood for re-election.” Once an active member of the colony’s leadership Zaya had allowed their term and political career to finish in favour of pursuing other methods of serving the citizens of Cimin. ‘More practical things’ they had stated to Maine the days before when they had been greeted by Zaya on the transporter pad. “Politics wants to make lofty things and long lasting decisions, which means long lasting meetings and I get uncomfortable around hot air.”

“So instead you opt for being out here in the cold with me?” Maine retorted, it had only been a few days but Zaya had been a constant sparring partner and though their scientific knowledge was average, Zaya was well known in the community and in the halls of the administrative building, giving Maine access to information he would need to get a head start on their work. Possibly a bit more access than he should have, Zaya was heavily invested in the colony and it showed in how many people owed them favours.

Zaya picked up the top padd from Maine’s pile. “The Golden Ox.” They sighed. “A lot of people in this town had friends and family aboard.”

“They’re just out of contact at the moment. It could be any number of things.” Maine said, small comfort at the moment, it could be anything, comms failure, solar interferance, giant space hand. They both know what it was likely to be, True Way marauders, seeking to break the colonies.

A silence fell on the square as they both sat in their mutually approved fantasy.

“It is chilly isn’t it? Have you thought of dinner plans?” Zaya said, cutting through the silent breeze that fluttered against the nearby tree.

Maine paused, he had become friendly with Zaya but the invitation took him back, he was meant to keep a professional distance whilst the diplomats did their work. ‘Don’t get too involved, begin too friendly might make promises you can’t keep’ an older Bolian professor has once warned him.

“No I haven’t. Something simple and more schematics no doubt.” He said, raising his small pile of padds as example.

“Why don’t you join me for a dinner this evening, I’ll make something fresh, local ingredients and not a replicator in sight. I promise.” Zaya offered, her face still fixed in a small smile. Beneath her dark brown eyes something flickered, her offer was not quite what it seemed. “I’m having some friends over.”

“I appreciate it but I really…” Maine began to mutter but he was cut off by Zaya.

“Perhaps we can trade some ‘family secrets’.” She said, as she stood and took a step forward, offering out the padd she had earlier taken from his pile. Looking down he saw the intel report regarding the Golden Ox had been replaced with the vessel’s cargo listing, including a variety of unreported additions, a full itinerary including several undisclosed additional stops and a full technical specification noting the vessel’s unregistered armament improvements.

Standing, Maine stepped alongside Zaya. “As long as we don’t need to eat Cardassian Voles.” he said, eyes tightening with acknowledgement.

“You have to hunt them before you can eat them. That’s no secret.” Zaya said as they led Maine out of the courtyard. Pulling his jacket closer against the renewed evening chill, Maine glanced back toward the building where diplomats and leaders still spoke. Sighing he turned to follow Zaya, leaving the last green sprig unwitnessed as it slowly began to turn a dark yellow.