“We estimate they have around 18 hours of breathable air left.”

A warm, itchy silence filled the room. It suffused those gathered there with a supreme sense of dread.

The station officer who organized the briefing, an old, slow and surprisingly taciturn Bolian, finally broke the silence. He turned to Abigail. “Listen, Captain–” the word jumped at her. She was still getting used to it. “I know this was supposed to be a shakedown cruise. Goodwill tour around Deneb.”

Maybe it was being addressed by her new rank. Perhaps it was divine inspiration. But the words jumped out of her. “When duty calls, we answer,” she said with a smile. “Besides, we have an excellent crew, and it’s time to put them to work.

The Bolian gave a wincing smile. “Yes, well. We’re very glad to hear that.”

Abigail nodded.

“Of course,” he continued, “as we’ve described, Starbase 514, the entire Task Group, is stretched pretty thin after that awful business with the Dominion fleet. And Frontier Day.” Abigail saw the downcast eyes of some of the others around the table, intense but ever-shifting gazes at their boots through the transparent aluminum tabletop.

Abigail could feel everyone in the room withdrawing, so she offered something to keep the conversation moving.

“Yes, and many ships of the Fourth Fleet are arriving nearby — the Verity in Sevury, Saratoga in Nasera…”

“Yes. And so…” he sighed.

He was pursuing his course of conversation so slowly she decided to interrupt him and change the subject. Time was, after all, of the essence.  “And this signal came through subspace?”

The lanky young Andorian who had been leading the briefing piped up in a soft, high voice. “Yes, Captain. We’ve never monitored any subspace transmissions from the system before, but this one is clear. And it is an SOS. The ship was operating using radio frequencies until, we believe, it was disabled. We believe they’ve used some kind of rudimentary subspace beacon to signal for help. I’ve transmitted everything we have to your science team”

“Any chance the Breen or one of the old Dominion ships caused this?”

The old man grunted. “Possible, yes,” he said. “But our sensors can’t parse that from here, and you’ll be the first ship to take a look.”

“And this is not first contact, correct?”

The Andorian nodded but had a look in his eyes that seemed unsure. He was unsure. “It’s definitely not, but it is a bit complicated…”

The Bolian made a noise that approached a laugh but landed somewhere closer to throat-clearing.

“You see,” the Andorian continued, “it is — or was — a colony world. They are aware of warp drive.”

“It’s how they got there,” said another of the station crew.

“Quite right,” the Andorian continued, “but shortly after settlement, they chose to cut off communication with the Federation. We know for a fact they destroyed their warp shuttle and subspace transceivers back in the 2340s. They put it on the nets. Their last long-range communication. Until now.”

“Which is their right,” observed another.

“And a damned stupid one,” the Bolian finally concluded. No one was willing to counter that claim.

Another surge. Rising from the table, Abigail offered a small bow and glanced at the others, who instinctively rose as she did. “We’re happy to do our job. Let me talk to my crew. We should have a plan in under an hour. I’ll reach out then.”

It was clear the old Bolian was worried, worried about this green-looking captain and her laughably youthful crew, most of whom had just been promoted in order to properly fill the complement of a refit, but still aged, California-class ship. Perhaps his concerns were well-founded; most of the station crew around him were well below middle age for their various species.

The man who had outlined the dire situation, the thin Andorian, gave a reverent look to Abigail. “We’ll make every preparation to facilitate your immediate departure.”

As she left the ugly little briefing room, she passed into a corridor with massive windows that gave a prominent view of her new command, Mount Shasta. She tapped her commbadge.

“Ralin to Mount Shasta.”

“Go ahead, Captain.”

“One to beam over. And Commander–”

“Captain?”

“Better put on a pot of coffee and tell the senior staff to meet me in the observation lounge. Wait. Do we even have a senior staff yet?”

The voice on the other end of the line chuckled, warm and hearty. “Indeed we do. The doctor came aboard right after you beamed to the station.”

“Alright. That’s enough talk, then. Energize.”

Another chuckle. “Aye, sir.”

Then the stale corridor melted into a swirl of glitter, and Abigail heard the bosun’s whistle as her feet formed on the transporter pad.