A cluster of candles danced in unison as Dil swept past in mock grandeur, the swelling strings of the Cardassian aria filling the air with plush harmonies. As the soprano reached her high note, belting vibrato seeping into every surface, he found himself facing the wide double windows of his small cabin. Beyond the sleek sloping hull of Daedalus’ starboard saucer hung the twin stars of Jenkins Alpha and Beta, endlessly caught in each other’s gravity, locked in a dance eons in the playing. Beyond the two dancers lie a thousand other stars, each their own grand narrative, gracefully dancing across the universe’s infinite stage, telling epic stories of life and love. 

“Somewhere out there is Bajor.” he said, as the sopranos voice faded away. He lifted his hand to his forehead in mock search, looking like a cabin-boy in the crows nest. Even here, hundreds of lighyears from his homeworld he imagined a glimpse of light signalling the opening of the wormhole. Though not a fanatic believer, it gave him some small comfort that there may be higher beings keeping a watchful eye over life in the galaxy, even when times like these made it hard to cling to that comfort. The crew was still reeling from the events of Frontier Day, even as they continued to plan their next mission and Dil had kept a brave face for the morale of the crew. Once his cabin doors slid shut however he felt the weight of loss just as keenly as any of them. 

“So is Earth.” Maine muttered, “though you’re probably more likely to see it from port side.” The man’s slim frame leaned against the small adjoining wall, hugging the shadows. 

Dil kept his eyes fixed on the starscape before him. “Then you should’ve spent the night in someone else’s cabin.” 

“The only other person with this kind of view is the Captain and I don’t think that would be entirely appropriate.” Maine crossed the small room, collecting his uniform from the ground where it had landed. “Plus he only sleeps three days a year. Who knows what he’s doing in that cabin.” The first notes of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sat on the short sofa beneath the expansive starscape. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” 

“Almost always.” 

“He makes model starships.” Dil raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. “He’s got models of every ship he’s served on and a few classics.” Dil turned from the windows and sat on the sofa, reaching for the glass on the coffee table. What had started the evening as a cold nightcap was now a watered down suspension of alcohol. “His favourite’s the Enterprise-C, he’s fitted it with a small anti-grav so it can fly around the room.” A wide smile spread across his face as he remembered one his early meetings with Captain, where the older Denobulan had presented the model with pride as he berated Dil for not taking advantage of down time. 

“He’s a good man.” Maine observed. “Starfleet needs more of those.” A tense quiet hovered between breaths. “Especially now.” The candles flickered once more as a chill ran through the room. Both Dil and Maine had served in Starfleet for long enough to have made a number of friends amongst the fleet, the loss of so many without warning had called the two of them together last night in the crew lounge. Drawn from his maudlin mourning for T’Sal and everything their relationship might have been by the recent news, Maine had found that his own recent loss, though acute, was tempered by the fact T’Sal had lost his life undertaking a dangerous mission by choice. His new crewmates and the Federation at large now suffered an incalculable loss that was seemingly without reason, without explanation and without choice. 

“I was surprised we haven’t been recalled yet. I know 72 and Bravo faired relatively well but I thought it would have been all hands to the pump.” Maine toyed with a cushion tassel absent- mindedly. 

“We will be. For now Command wants us to secure Bletchley, then report back to 72.”  Dil downed the last of the wide tumbler and motioned to Maine. Receiving a small nod he crossed to the replicator in the wall. “Zaya and Bib already have a plan. Something fruity?”

“It’d have to be, given we don’t know a lot about the base.” Maine replied, the cogs of his mind beginning to grind with strategic considerations. 

“I meant the drink.” Dil pressed a button on the console, selecting a drink from the menu. “The plan is relatively simple.” A constellation of light rippled across the replicator as two tall glasses shimmered into existence. Sweeping them up in his hands he crossed back to the sofa and offered a pleasingly orange drink towards the other man, replete with a dainty violet umbrella. “We’ll deploy Icarus on the far side of the planetoid and then whilst we make an interference run on the base they’ll approach from the planet’s surface.” Theta Squad, along with Rana, the ships Betzoid Chief science officer and resident computer genius, might be a tight squeeze in the small Waverider craft, but it was hardier than a standard shuttle and much more nimble. 

“I thought we couldn’t make a dent in their shields?” Maine mused, stirring the drink idly. 

“We don’t need to. Oyvo noticed that once the base only had one target to focus on it was rotating shield strength almost entirely to the facing shield.” Dil slurped his drink, his own umbrella bobbing in the glass. “Whilst we make a strafing run, Icarus will ascend from the planetary shadow and with a few modifications from Sima and Log be able to slip between the shield layers.”

Silence descended on the cabin, interrupted only by the sound of sipping. 

“I want to be part of the mission.” Maine finally stated, placing the now empty glass on the table. His violet umbrella lay at the bottom, soaking up the melting ice. 

“I suspected as much.” Dil, set his own empty glass on the table. “Are you sure you’re ready? By all accounts you froze in the Oromal Cluster when it mattered.”

“I don’t want to lead it but I am a seasoned officer with multiple successful small team infiltration missions in my jacket.” Maine paused, a confession dancing upon his lips. As it escaped his tight jaw, loosened only by the fruity tropical drink, a mote of sadness broke free along side it. “I owe it to the team. You’re right, I froze on the Breen base. I couldn’t handle the failure.” A sharp intake of breath prepared his next confession. “Losing T’Sal was hard, to realise it was for nothing was harder.”

“You understand that Bib will be in operational control.” Dil met the man’s eyes with a sharp focus, if his tongue was loose from the drink, he wasn’t showing it. “He makes all the calls.”

“I understand. I know I have some bridges to repair there as well.”

“I’ll consider it. Briefing is tomorrow at 09:00.”

“I should get some sleep then.” Maine smiled and lent into kiss the handsome Bajoran.

A cadenza of snoring emanated from the bed, the form of its singer hidden by the small dividing wall as on the small desk a screen flickered to life. On the barely illuminated screen the stylised icon of a hooded figure appeared, coloured in browns and greens. With the press of a button the Obsidian Order communique opened to a shadowy figure. From the chair, barely illuminated by the fading flames of the lonely remaining candle, a voice whispered from behind a refreshed drink.

“He took the offer. Archangel is proceeding as planned.”