The recycled air inside the Arrow-class runabout Kaedn was so brittle it could snap, and if it didn’t, there was every chance that Or’uil might. To say that the young Ungeat’s return to his home world of Uviri had been a success was a massive overstatement, especially after what they had learned when reactivating the listening post. Starfleet forces were at risk of being overrun if the so-called ‘Lost Fleet’ somehow coordinated their efforts into one final attack. An attack on the one place that had so far proven well out of reach, but would destroy any hope of a Starfleet counteroffensive. Every attack across the sector seemed to have had a part to play in softening up Starfleet’s ability to defend the strongest of all its strongholds in the region – Farpoint Station. But most of all, it was the news slightly closer to home for the Ungeat that really caused the tension levels to rise. No one could speak after what they had heard, what was there to say? Platitudes, apologies and commiserations wouldn’t cut it right now. A week ago, the adolescent tactician with bulbous eyes, comically large ears and a robotic-sounding voice was oblivious to the pain and suffering of his people, quietly going about his business and carrying out his duties. Platitudes were all anyone was sharing, anything to ease the terrible burden of worry that he felt. Not now. Now they were faced with the harsh brutalities of war, and he felt more than a little guilty at not being here for his people, and at the ever-rising death toll.

In some of the first data packets received from the listening post upon its activation, the team had garnered their own update on the fate of the battle in the Un’gar system. With Hathaway somehow out of reach, the away team had had no choice but to try and find out the fate of their colleague’s mission. All had quickly come to regret knowing. Especially the system’s native crew member. Whilst the Cardassians had apparently succeeded in breaking the Dominion resistance and beaming their soldiers to Un’gar, the reality of what they had found was disturbing. Intercepted communications between the Cardassian commanders and Hathaway itself estimated that Ungeat casualties numbered nearly three million. Three million dead at the hands of a brutal enemy, all while their prodigal son strolled around the galaxy fighting for their freedom, instead of fighting with them. Dominion resistance on the planet was high, and the Cardassians were assisting the Starfleet forces in retaking the Federation Embassy, but their efforts had come at a cost. Over a hundred Cardassian soldiers had died in the attempt to retake the Embassy, but the sense of what was to come was nothing compared to the truth of the situation. The away team had had no choice but to leave their security team behind to secure and hold the Sanctum, while they tried to return to their ship.

When the runabout finally landed in its hangar bay and the crew disembarked, the trauma of what had befallen their comrades was laid bare for all to see. Everywhere they walked, everywhere they turned, whether damaged console or injured crewmen, blast points or blood splatters, corridors reeked of destruction and death. Emerging from the turbo lift and onto the bridge, the scene was even worse. Medical personnel and engineers alike were working their asses off to stabilise the ship and crew. More than a few consoles had given way to the stresses of battle as had several crew members who were now covered in sheets to protect their dignity.

Slouched in the command chair, a medical officer leaning over him and tending to a bleeding wound on his forehead, Giarvar Kauhn heaved the greatest sigh of relief upon seeing the team report back to the ship.

“I trust your mission was a success?” He winced through the pain, visually scolding the medic attending to his needs.

“The Sanctum is in Federation hands Captain,” Or’uil confirmed through his synthesiser, “but we have learned a terrifying truth on this day.”

Listening to the Ungeat’s words, the ship’s former XO pushed the medic aside and rose to his feet. A shared glance with Noli caused the Captain to jut his head towards the observation lounge. “We should talk.”

Once in the safety of the lounge, the XO poured everyone a glass of water from the emergency rations that had been broken out, the clearest sign yet that replicators were offline. The three officers slouched into their respective chairs around the table, and the Captain began to bring them up to speed on what they had missed so far.

“We’ve managed to secure the system but we’ve done so at a heavy price,” Giarvar told, leaning back in the chair and clasping his hands together behind his head for support. As his eyes began to water, neither officer needed to be an empath to work out what he had to say was difficult. “We’ve lost Udal, Mayr…,” he whispered, still staring at the heavens and fighting back the tears, “…and Tuca.”

Or’uil clasped his hands together and lowered his head out of respect, while Noli… well to say she was about to blow a gasket was an understatement. She launched out of the seat like a torpedo and began pacing, her hands on her hips. “In total, we’ve lost seventy-five, including Udal, Tuca, Bellurr, three of the Hounds and thirty-five of the security team retaking the embassy. Prida’s in sickbay, we’ve got over fifty critical patients and nearly a hundred walking wounded still on duty,” the Captain finally revealed, lowering his head and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his uniform.

Over the next few minutes, the three officers took some time to vent, and then compose themselves as much as they could given the news they had faced. Three of their friends, gone. For Noli, it was particularly painful to lose Tuca and Mayr as she had built such a strong working relationship with both and they had come to respect each other deeply. Tactical Operations had been one of the strongest departments on the ship, partly down to a triumvirate of power (which had become a quartet when Or’uil joined) which saw the team function like a well-oiled machine and one which had now been shorn of two of its most critical components.

When the conversation finally resumed, and the tactical officer shared the intelligence they had received from the data packets at the Sanctum, the Captain was in disbelief. So much loss, only to be faced with the very real prospect of one final, decisive battle dozens of lightyears away.

“We need to recall the squadron, have the away teams return and then set a course for Farpoint,” Giarvar told, rising to his feet and looking at the two officers around the table with him. “If the Dominion take Deneb, then the losses we have suffered will have been for nothing. We cannot let that happen…”

Captain’s log, supplemental.

 

We’ve lost many colleagues in our mission to liberate the Ungeat home world. While he won’t say it, I can see that Or’uil is taking their loss hard and blames himself, and his people, for Starfleet being there in the first place. How do I help him to see this is not the case?

 

Deneb stands on a precipice. If our intelligence is right, everything we have endured, will have been for nothing. All signs point towards a massive assault on Farpoint, but with a heavily damaged ship and no functioning communications grid, we have no way of letting the Fourth Fleet know. With one nacelle out of commission and warp drive reduced as a result, we’re heading to Farpoint at reduced speed. I don’t care if we must hobble across the proverbial finish line, Hathaway will deliver its message of warning…

Days later, hobbled and scared from battle on the outside, her internal injuries even more severe, Hathaway dropped out of warp on the edge of the Deneb system. It was a minor miracle she was there at all, but it was even more impressive that ship and crew had pulled together in their hour of need and dragged themselves to Farpoint. Their intelligence had been proven right, with Admiral Beckett requesting the presence of any and all available ships for the defence of not only Farpoint, or Deneb, but the entire quadrant (or so it felt, anyway). Answering the call had been a no-brainer. It didn’t matter what state they were in or how many people they had lost, there was no chance Hathaway was going to be absent from such a crucial moment in history.

It was a veritable ‘Who’s who’ of Fourth Fleet starships that had responded to the call, with some of the most recognisable ships in the fleet lining up in defence of the system. Manoeuvring her way through the traffic, the Sagan-class starship took her position in the fleet’s formation, positioned on Discovery’s starboard flank.

While the crew waited for their instructions, one particular young man felt the entire weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. Starfleet had been at Un’gar despite decades of mistrust from his people. Starfleet had come to their aid and liberated them from the threat of the Dominion, despite the misgivings of his people. They probably deserved to still be under the iron boot of the Jem’Hadar foot soldier, but the people of Starfleet, of Hathaway, had answered the call. They had answered with their lives.

He would now give his in the pursuit of…

…vengeance.