“You’re telling me they have no contact with the outside galaxy?”

Commander Al Ganbold, a striking man of just under 60 years, stood with his arms folded and his head dipped in thought.

“Not exactly,” Abigail said. “The Federation still maintains a subspace relay near the Correolan System, and we know that the Federation networks have been accessed from that location. Once every five or so years, it seems.”

Al looked up quickly. “So they were hiding a subspace comms system. They didn’t really destroy all their UFP tech.” Another realization crept in. “They have a space program.”

“Yes, something like that. Or someone is checking the relay, at least. I’d guess that they fly out in person, download transmissions onto some kind of data storage, and truck it back. But the SOS was via subspace. They would have asphyxiated before we ever noticed radio frequencies.”

“I guess we do know that they have some kind of space program, not some new aberration.” Al scratched his chin. “Feels like a trap.”

Abigail leaned forward, her elbows on the California-tanoak desk. “Like I said, Commander, I think we need to take this one in good faith.”

“I’d still like to work with Da Silva’s team to prepare for the potential of piracy.”

“Of course,” the captain said. “But I know for a fact you’re already prepared. That stuff’s standard procedure.”

Al bit his lip.

“Okay, number one. Time to tell me what you’re really worried about.”

He sighed and smiled. He appreciated the directness, and the permission. “Out of nowhere, a lost colony reemerges, in space, just after the sector got torn to shreds?”

Abigail leaned back, letting her expression of concern show itself. Ganbold was lively, a gentle iconoclast. An adventurer. What was he feeling so … what was this feeling? Then it revealed itself, that hot feeling.

 Fear. But why so much?

She chose to ease up.

“You’re right. It doesn’t look good.” She swiveled in her chair and looked through the window, then turned back and gave Ganbold a sympathetic look. “What was that thing you said this morning about the camel?”

“I know, Captain. But … I can’t help but feel like— May I speak freely, sir?”

I’d prefer you did, Al.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, I can’t help but feel I’m not being used to the best of my ability, Captain.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he said with a forceful exhale, “I think I should be on the shuttle. You don’t need me filling space on the bridge.”

She considered it a moment and folded her hands on the desk.

“Commander, there’s a reason the XO is a bridge officer.”

“I know, sir but—”

“But it is also customary for the first officer to lead an away mission, which this one mostly certainly is.”

“Yes, captain,” He looked relieved.

“But the fact is, Commander, I do need you on the bridge. I do.”

He sat up slightly.

“Listen. This is the first time I’ll be calling the plays, here. You know what I mean, Al.”

He swallowed. “Damn,” he said to himself. Then he said to Abigail “I’m sorry, Captain. That was out of line.”

“No,” she said quickly. “Quite the contrary: I need it. Like I said.”

Al had the look of a man who lost a hard-fought competition, or who had just come to a hard realization. Well, that was pretty selfish, Al. You moron, he thought.

“Commander,” she said as he rose. I really do appreciate the candor. I’m going to need everyone’s help.”

He smiled. “Of course, sir. We’ll be ready.”

Alone again in the ready room, she sat quietly. She considered calling up some music, but decided not to. Idling scrolling her desktop display, she spent a minute pondering her first officer, this Mongolian man bristling with exuberance, and why he was so afraid.

And why won’t he admit it?