“…the elections are officially underway, and our teams have reported no significant issues.  The cult has refused to participate, but their senior leadership is starting to peel off.  They’re down to around 500 members as of the last count.  Most of the ones coming down from the mountain were tired, hungry, and annoyed at the constant singing and shouting they were doing.”  Charlie Hargraves was on the main screen of the bridge of the USS Mackenzie.  “Our work in the remaining towns and cities is proceeding well.  Chief Katsumi and her team have three of the five power plants running.  The other two should be online within a few more days.”  He tapped through his PADD, “That’s all I have for now, Captain.  I understand you’ll be heading back to us soon?”

Captain Wren Walton hoped that was the case, “We’re still working to undo the damage The Syndicate did here.  The Olympic’s engineering team and the K’Ehleyr’s support are helping that move along.  Current projections have us back to Janoor by the 9th at best and the 10th at worst.”  She tapped at her console on her chair, “You received the latest update?”

Hargraves had, “We’re working on our end to extend planet and orbital sensors to see what we can see, Captain.  So far, we’re all clear.  I’ll keep you updated.”  They finished the report, and the channel closed.  Walton stood from her chair, adjusting her uniform as she did, “Commander Park, you have the CONN.”

Her XO stood from her chair, watching Walton walk into her ready room.  She was usually invited.

Walton secured the ready room and found her way to the long couch under the massive windows.  She lay full length on it, feeling the last few days and hours of revelations pushing and pulling.  With the help of Thasaz and the records they found buried in the computing systems on Alahans, they’d pieced together that Patras had taken charge of Rigilia’s group quite recently. As far as they could theorize, the Patras would have reviewed the personnel files upon taking command.  Thasaz’s face wouldn’t have been missed, even disguised, by someone like Patras.

He now knew she was with the Mackenzie. It wouldn’t take long to connect that to the Olympic, and Peter Crawford.  The added layer was the alternate Carolyn Crawford.  What was her part and goal in all this?  Was she truly going to try and kill Peter?  They were confident she didn’t know about Prime Carolyn.  Yet it wouldn’t take much work to troll publicly available information and news reports.  “Goddamn…everything,”  Walton muttered as she stared at the ceiling, contemplating what was next for them.  There was plenty of work to be done in the Deneb system for the Mackenzie Squadron.

She blew out her frustrations in a long sigh.  She stretched long on the couch and forced herself to sit up.  The ready room was silent, and she hated silence.  “Computer, play Anastasia Montana’s latest album.”  There was a beep, and her ready room was filled with the warm guitar strumming of her favorite folk singer.  The music helped soothe her nerves until she could wander to the desk, sit down, and start compiling reports.  The music played on, and she found her rhythm as the aching tones of Montana wove between the sour guitar twangs.

“In the hills of the hollow, my soul reaches for the sky, hopeful to not wallow, believing that the tears will dry…”