What, Lieutenant Grigory Kozlov wondered, bewildered people more as he crossed the bridge? Was it seeing the Toronto’s Chief Science Officer here at three in the morning? Or perhaps it was the fact he was dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown. Ultimately it didn’t matter, he decided as he excused the duty Science Officer whose name Kozlov had long since forgotten.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?”

Kozlov didn’t look up from his work to answer Lieutenant Shepard’s question. His fingers continued to dance over the science console. “Da. I had an idea for extending the range of our sensors.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

Poor Shepard, Kozlov thought, so limited by his conventional little mind he tries to make up for it by playing Captain in the middle of the night.

“You must strike while the iron is hot, Lieutenant,” Kozlov replied.

His intellect was lost on a ship like the Toronto, or so Kozlov told himself. He’d often wondered if deciding on a career in Starfleet had been a mistake. With a mind like his, he should be running a long-term research project at the Vulcan Science Academy or the Daystrom Institute. But he’d decided that Starfleet would allow him a chance to get a first-hand look at the mysteries of the universe. Dealing with idiots like Shepard occasionally led him to believe he’d made the wrong choice.

Lieutenant Shepard retreated to the command chair, allowing Kozlov to focus on his work without being asked any more stupid questions. It took him another fifteen minutes to make the adjustments he believed necessary, but when he was finished, he was rewarded with success. A triumphant noise escaped his lips.

“You extended our sensor range a whole five light years,” Shepard sniped from the command chair. “Well done.”

The blood in Kozlov’s veins boiled at Shepard’s mocking tone. Take a breath and count to ten, Kozlov told himself. Advice his father had given him many years earlier. He made it all the way to five, a new record, before he shot back, “I would not expect someone with the intellect of a pea-nut to understand the genius necessary to extend our sensors.” 

“You-” Shepard shot to his feet, his face puce.

Kozlov cut across him, unwilling to let Shepard finish that thought. “By being able to see a little further, we are now able to detect a signal coming from a planet in the Kinress System.”

“What kind of signal?” Shepard eventually asked after fuming silently for a moment, torn between his duty and wanting to tear into Kozlov.

This can’t be right, Kozlov thought as the computer provided its analysis of the signal. Instinctively, he slapped his chest where his commbadge ought to have been. A second later he realised his mistake and opened a comm channel on his console. “Kozlov to Captain.”

“What is it, Lieutenant?” The groggy voice of Captain Vestri replied after a lengthy wait.

Kozlov’s mouth was as dry as a desert. “We have detected a signal on the edge of our sensor range,” He croaked. “You will want to see this for yourself.”

“Very well,” Vestri sighed. “I’m on my way. Vestri out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kozlov could see Shepard hovering nearby. “What?”

“What’ve you found?” Shepard insisted.

While he could easily satisfy Shepard’s curiosity, Kozlov wasn’t so inclined. “The Captain will be here soon enough. I suggest you wait.”

Shepard walked away in a huff, leaving Kozlov to continue his study of the signal. When Captain Vestri arrived a short time later, her uniform jacket open and her hair pulled into a hasty ponytail. “Kozlov, don’t you ever sleep?”

“When I am dead, then I will sleep,” Kozlov told her.

The Captain positioned herself over his shoulder and folded her arms. “This signal of yours had better be worth dragging me out of bed at zero-three-hundred.”

“It is, Captain.” Kozlov activated his console’s holographic display and displayed the signal’s waveform analysis.

Vestri had been a science officer before she moved to command. A waste of a good scientist, Kozlov mused sadly. She studied the information for a few silent moments until she announced, “This is a Borg signal.”

“Da,” Kozlov agreed, “from a homing beacon.”

His fingers brushing the surface of his console, Kozlov brought up a navigational chart as the Captain asked, “There’s a Borg ship emitting a homing beacon out there?”

“I can not tell the source of the homing beacon at this range,” Kozlov replied. “But I have traced it to the fourth planet of the Kinress system.”

Captain Vestri nodded. “Transmit the coordinates to the helm.” She ordered before moving towards the centre of the bridge where she began issuing orders in quick succession. “Ensign Anye, lay in a course for the source of the Borg homing beacon and take us to warp eight.” She turned to Shepard, “Have the senior officers report to their posts. I’ll be in my ready room. The bridge is yours.”

Captain Tarven Rix wiped the last remnants of sleep from his eyes as he approached the Challenger’s flag bridge. Being summoned by Commodore Wyatt shortly after zero-three hundred hours could mean only one thing; bad news. Out here in the wilderness of the Gamma Quadrant, that could mean anything.

“Captain Rix,” Commodore Wyatt’s voice greeted him the moment he walked through the door, “I apologise for the late-night summons.”

Wyatt was standing at the master situation display, a waist-high conference table with LCARS displays built into the surface and holographic emitters so information could be displayed above it. It was the centrepiece of the Challenger’s flag bridge and perfect for Wyatt to gather her officers around.

“One of the burdens of command,” Rix replied with a lopsided smile.

The doors hissed open again, admitting Captain Victor Axelrod the the room. Rix tensed at the sight of his new First Officer. Axelrod had not been Rix’s choice for the position, but Commodore Wyatt had presented Axelrod’s appointment as a fait accompli. Rix resented being saddled with Axelrod without any input and could feel his blood pressure rise every time they were in a room together.

“We’ve received a report from the Toronto, they’ve detected what they believe to be a Borg homing signal,” Wyatt told them. Above the table, a holographic image of the signal’s waveform hovered.

As Rix silently studied the image in front of him, Axelrod spoke. “I wasn’t aware the Borg had made it this deep into the Gamma Quadrant.”

“We’re newcomers to this part of the galaxy, Captain,” Rix reminded him, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, “we have no way of knowing if or when the Borg have ever been spotted here.”

He watched as Axelrod’s jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. Axelrod obviously wanted to say something but was holding his tongue. It was a smart choice because Rix was in no mood to suffer his First Officer at this late hour.

Wyatt didn’t comment on the interaction as she silently typed a command into the table. The waveform was replaced by a three-dimensional star chart showing the Challenger’s position. A star system about ten light years away was marked with a red pulsing dot. “Challenger’s sensors have detected an identical signal in the Garvagh system.”

“Do we know what the source of these homing signals is? Are we talking about a ship or something else?” Rix asked. There was a third, unasked question on his mind, Why wasn’t I told we’d detected a Borg signal?

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Wyatt replied. “Captain Axelrod, lay in a course for the Garvagh system and wake the senior officers.”

Axelrod nodded, “Aye, ma’am.”

Once the Axelrod was gone, Wyatt circled the situation table. “I know you’re not happy with my decision to appoint Axelrod as your first officer.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Rix replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Wyatt’s features softened. “Rix, we go way back. Hell, you save my life at the cost of your own. I want you to speak freely when it’s just the two of us.”

“You should’ve consulted me, Bess,” Rix told her. “I should’ve had some input into who was going to serve as my XO.”

It was a moot point because the decision had been made, but Wyatt was still willing to convince Rix that her choice was the right one, “He’s a good man and a fine officer.”

Rix didn’t doubt either of those things. His problem was that he wasn’t sure of Axelrod’s abilities as a leader. “When’s the last time he commanded anything other than a desk?”

“I have no doubt of his leadership abilities,” Wyatt replied without answering Rix’s question. “He may be a little rusty commanding in the field but I have no doubt he’ll be up to speed in no time.”

A burst of anger flared up in his chest, one that he quickly pushed back down. Whether she owed him her life or not, exploding at a Commodore would do Rix and his career no favours. “I don’t have time to hold his hand while he shakes off the rust.”

“You don’t have a choice, Rix,” Wyatt told him, an edge of steel in her voice. She’d come a long way from the callow young Ensign that Rix had taken under his wing on the Valley Forge thirty years ago. “But you will have to work with him, whether you like it or not.”

Wyatt didn’t say anything else, silently stepping away to resume her place at the head of the table. Rix fumed impotently as he walked out of the flag bridge. Ultimately Wyatt wasn’t to blame for this situation. No, the true architect of this situation was Thomas Forrester. If he’d just listened to Rix’s advice and remained on the Challenger, none of this would have happened.

Damn you, Rix cursed silently, wherever you are.