Excalibur, Season 8  |  The Darkness and the Thunder

The unprecedented wartime alliance of the Romulan Star Empire with other Alpha Quadrant powers, including their perennial enemy the Federation, against the Dominion, left in its wake a wellspring of less xenophobic sentiment throughout the Empire. As a result, rapid liberalization in the post-year wars took place under the Enuar (Forward) government. This included a temporary easing of tensions along the Neutral Zone, participation in multinational ventures such as Sky Harbour Aegis and the Camelot Project, and reforms to various civil aspects of Romulan life. 

These rapid liberalizations, however,  have been met with an equally passionate push back from the more conservative elements of their society.  Following the death of the Enuar leader, Praetor Kohlav Avfad in 2384, the last four years have seen the steady rise of the nationalist Sihhus Lakhraem (Preserve, Defend) under the leadership of Proconsul Jalon Llhvae. 

Underlying many of the platforms of the Sihhus Lakhraem is the deep-seated Romulan xenophobia and a growing distrust of even Romulan-inhabited border worlds, which were at the forefront of the Enuar movement. As the Sihhus Lakhraem have solidified their hold on the Senate, that distrust has become increasingly apparent with passage of several laws collectively known as the Preserver Acts directed at the frontier worlds, Romulan and alien alike. On the orders of Proconsul Llhvae and the Sihhus Lakhraem, rubberstamped by Praetor Gaher, greater numbers of Galae ships have been sent to patrol the border regions. Simultaneously, the Romulans have withdrawn their forces from areas of less value to the Homeworlds, reducing the numbers of exploratory craft and withdrawing from joint ventures like the Camelot Project in the Gamma Quadrant. The Neutral Zone, which had briefly been open to crossings if properly cleared by both sides, has once again become a no-man's land.

Meanwhile, following a close election, the Federation has celebrated former Federation Councilor Hajer Somak’s inauguration. Running as a moderate, Somak has promised to continue most of his predecessors policies regarding rebuilding and modernizing Starfleet. He also promised that his administration would continue to expand the Federation with new members, and to continue to press the Cardassian Union on efforts to become less dependent on Federation aid. 

The blade that was broken has been reforged, and the new Luna-class Excalibur once again finds herself in the middle of perilous times. In Season 7: The Proud Tower, Pt. 1, much of our story involved the Paimpont region, where the Tamarn Empire and the Kaedwan Confederation felt the tensions between the Federation and Romulan governments rising.  As we begin Season 8: The Darkness and the Thunder,  we hope to engage you once again with a variety of themes and plots with faces old and new as the story unfolds.    

It had been a little over a month since the Elarion had been suddenly redirected to the Neutral Zone in what had obviously been a show-the-flag move by command, and then even more suddenly withdrawn from the Neutral Zone. Destorie had anticipated being sent back on patrol of the border worlds near what the Federation called the Pampiont sector. 

“Enarrain,” Tyras’ voice had chimed over the comms in his chambers. “Incoming priority message from Galae Command. Routing to your station.”

Destorie had come to greatly appreciate Tyras’ efficiency, and he activated the viewer. He had expected Admiral Lakel’e Hvaern and his icy glower to replace the spinning t’Liss, but was instead greeted by an unfamiliar face -- a Vice-Admiral Jaeln Krelav. He was young, maybe even close to Destorie’s age. 

“Good afternoon,” he said before Destorie could assess him further.  “You will be receiving new orders via secure comms by the time we finish our conversation. The Elarion is to leave the Neutral Zone and head for the Parisn sector at best possible speed. You’ll receive additional instructions once you arrive.”

Destorie’s brows shot up. He tried and failed to recall anything of note about that particular sector of Romulan space before Krelav continued. This is a priority mission. I expect you to get underway immediately. Your orders should be arriving now. Krelav out.”

The abruptness had left Destorie stunned. As the Elarion sped towards Parisn, he was still taken aback. Tyras and Lhaelev had been diving through the archives to find anything about the sector with very little success. 

“It’s a backwater nowhere,” Tryas said over coffee the next morning. “A few scattered settlements and mining operations. The Galae barely has a presence there -- just a few older cruisers and one aging outpost on Golan IV.”

“Anything recently?” Destorie asked. 

“No, not on record anyway.” 

But they had barely arrived in the Parisn sector when they were once again called back to the Neutral Zone. Destorie could barely contain his annoyance when Krelav delivered the news.  

“What now?” He let a hint of discontent through. 

Oblivious, Krelav continued without giving any rise. “A Federation science team has gone missing in the Outmarches. While they have yet to ask for our assistance, we want you to head to the sector anyway.”

“A science team?”

Krelav nodded. Destorie had done some digging after their first encounter and was shocked to learn that Krelav was indeed close to his own age and even less time as a  commanding officer, but so far as Destorie could tell no obvious patron or nepotistic tie to explain his rapid ascent. That made the Elarions’ commanding officer even more suspicious. 

“It was originally supposed to be a joint team of Romulan and Federation scientists, but the Romulan side of the expedition was canceled. We did, however, grant permission for the Federation to continue. I am sending you a full brief over secure channel now.”

Destorie frowned again. “I see. I thought the Parsin mission was priority?”

“It was. Now it’s not.”

A slightly younger Destorie would have almost certainly responded with an expletive, but time--and experience--had tempered him just enough to suppress the urge. 

“Ahh -- so what exactly are our orders then?”

“You are to proceed to the Outmarches and the coordinates indicated in the enclosed secure file, undercloak and observe. If, at such time as the Federation requests our assistance, you will be given orders to do so”

Having finished the briefing, Destorie contemplated hurling something against his wall, but a chime at the door interrupted. 

“Enter.”

It was Khaena. “Enarrain,” she said crisply. “I was told you wished to speak to me?”

Her formality was slightly alarming, and on the heels of his conversation with Krelav he had to force himself to remain calm. “I just wanted to check in on you. Tyras told me you missed the staff briefing this morning. That isn’t like you.”

“I sent an aide. As far as I knew, that was acceptable. Unless something has changed? I was very busy this morning with a patient -- Erein Nakeln has an acute case of Gemarintitis.”

“Of course, that’s perfectly fine. But you’ve also been avoiding me. I just --”

Khaena crossed her arms cooly.  “Have I?”

He nodded. “You missed the reception, and you haven’t came to nag me about brooding over our new orders. I just -- is everything okay?”

“Well, as I said, I’ve been busy seeing to my duties. I am not your mother.”

The words were delivered with such sting that Destorie couldn’t help be be taken back. “Khaena -- what -- I ---”

“As I said, I am very busy. If all you needed was a status update, next time I suggest simply asking me directly instead of calling me to your office,” she said, still standing just inside the door way. “If there’s nothing else, I do have a department to run.”

“What in Elements name has gotten into you Khaena.”

Khaena’s demeanor darkened and she felt her heart jump into her throat. She’d been trying to put this confrontation off, but she should have known Destorie would press the issue. 

“Permission to speak freely, Enarrain.”

The edge to her voice cut through the air and Destorie blinked in stunned silence before shaking his head. “You’ve never asked for permission before speaking your mind to me before, why now?”

She sighed. “Two weeks ago I received a coded transmission from an associate of Gaen’s. I guess all of my poking around for you into whatever scheme the  Tal’Shiar are upto caught his attention.

Destorie tipped his head but let her continue. 

“I suppose it’s obvious why you wouldn’t have told me about how intimately your family was involved with the operation Gaen was investigating when he dis-- was murdered. And no I am not angry about that. You are not your sister or even your father. You’re many things, but you’re not them and I don’t hold you responsible for their actions--”

She shook her head. “Don’t apologize, either. I suppose I wanted to believe that you -- you know it doesn’t matter what I wanted to believe that.  I  wanted -- never mind.”

Standing straighter she took a deep breath. “He confirmed some of what you’ve been fearing. The shipments are illicit and they’re connected to what Gaen was investigating.”

It was, Destorie understood, confirmation that Gaen really was dead, and that in all likelyhood, his sister had been the instrument of his demise. He let the moment and Khaena breath before clearing his throat. 

“Finally some good news, but I am afraid we won’t be able to act on it. We’re headed back to the Outmarches.”

Khaena frowned. “Again?”

Destorie related their new orders, as well as his thoughts on the Vice-Admiral. When he’d finished, Khaena, who by now was sitting across from him and seemed much more at ease, scrunched her nose. She really should have retired when she had the chance, she thought to herself, but after a moment, she sighed. 

“I’ll send you the information,” she said, “but if you don’t mind, I’d like to focus on my duties aboard the ship.”

He understood of course and said it wasn’t a problem. Standing, Khaena headed for the door. “Should I send Tyras in with a warning?”

“Please do.”

She nodded, pausing once more before leaving. “Enar--Destorie,” she said. “Thank you for everything. I suppose none of this has been easy for you either.”

Background Information for Senior Staff

General Information on Toren III :  Third planet in the Toren system. Located on the edge of the Pampiont region of space, near the Tamaran Empire and the Romulan Neutral Zone. Class-M, the planet is on the arid side with few large bodies of water and sparse vegetation. Rich in minerals, Toren III has a thriving mineral extraction business. Leading exports include raw dilithium, tritanium and trellium-D.  The Toren have also established small outposts on several moons of the system’s gas giants, in addition to a trade depot orbiting Toren III’s second moon. 

Species Profile:  The natives of Toren III are humanoid in appearance, with the exception of pronounced cartilaginous ridges on their cheeks and nictitating membranes. The Toren are a proud and free people, having forged a unified civilization despite their fierce independence. They are known for their tenacity and will, overcoming any trial that is set in their path and holding true to their views through most hardships. However, this also means that Torens are a stubborn and wilful people, difficult to lead and unwilling to accept views that differ with their own points of view without extensive debate and persuasion.

Technological Profile: The Toren achieved warp technology in 2237.  Technologically advanced, the Toren are roughly on par with other similarly situated species, including their neighbors the Tamarians and the Kaedwani, but lack the industrial base or population to support a large military. 

Toren Politics and History: The Federation have maintained trade relations with Toren III for many years; they are one of the oldest trading partners in the region. 

The consolidation of power within the Kaedwani Confederation and the continued rise of the Tamaran Empire forced the notoriously independent Toren to seek protectorate status in 2368. Since then, a small but growing seperatist movement has called for a reversal of such policies. A government proposal to apply for full-membership has caused these bubbling tensions to reach boiling point. The past six months have witnessed a series of large demonstrations and occasional violence, particularly in the planetary capital of Trehjet and the provinces of Jhen and Mauret.  

Toren III’s planetary government is divided into a senate and a single head of state, called a Parak. The Parak is the spokesman for the planetary government, and heads up all diplomatic affairs in the name of his people. When spoken to he is referred to simply as Parak (name); for example, Parak Joffies is the current head of state on Toren III. 
 

Asher turned in bed, covering his head with a blanket. Maybe, he thought, if he ignored the chime they would just go away. A fourth round of beeping disabused him of this notion and after a heavy sigh, he sat up in bed and turned on his bedside light.

“Come.”

“Captain,” it was one of the junior bridge officers -- Ravi Malek -- who’d apparently been given the task of rousing Asher.  

Must have drawn the short straw. “Yes, Ensign?”

To Malek’s credit, he remained unphased by the obvious displeasure shown by his commanding officer at being woken in the middle of the night. The stout, brown haired human stood at an easy attention just inside the doorway to Swain’s quarters. His eyes shifted occasionally across the room, the only sign of nervousness. 

“I am sorry to wake you Captain, I know it’s late.”

“It’s fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well, my apologies for keeping you.”

“Commander Stanton sent me to let you know that Admiral dos Santos called to schedule an early morning appointment.”

Asher’s frown deepened. Starbase 46’s martinet commanding officer Rear-Admiral Carlos Gil dos Santos Puerto was notorious for his early morning briefings. Asher had hoped to avoid one of them as neither he, nor Excalibur, were in dos Santos’ chain of command. 

“I see, any particular information the Commander wanted you to share about that?”

Malek nodded and produced a PADD. “Yes, sir. This should have everything.”

Asher motioned him over and started reading,, leaving Malek to stand awkwardly at Asher’s bedside before coughing to get his Captain’s attention. 

“Oh, you’re still here. Was there anything else?”

“No sir, just that the meeting will be at 0530 on the station.”

What deity on what planet did I annoy? “Thanks. I am sure you have other duties to attend to at such an hour. Or maybe restful sleep.”

Malek stifled a laugh and saluted crisply before leaving Asher alone to ponder the contents of the PADD. Asher closed his eyes and laid back down. “Computer, time?”

The melodious computer voice chirped back the reply all too happily. “The time is oh-three-hundred hours and thirty-two minutes. Your alarm will go off at oh-seven-thirty.”

Sighing heavily, again, Asher forced himself out of bed and headed for the replicator. “Coffee,” he said almost growling, “black, double strength.”

Taking the cup, he started reading the PADD again. The initial message from dos Santos conveyed Starfleet’s appreciation for the information they had gathered from their probes and even more so, apparently, on the data concerning the alien device. Apparently, it independently confirmed a theory Starfleet Intelligence had been shopping as to their nature. 

“Well,” Asher said between drinks, “I suppose it’s nice to be recognized.”

The rest of the missive concerned new orders for Excalibur. So much for the vacation, Asher considered. 

A few hours later, Asher and Jalen Stanton made their way to the expansive briefing facilities aboard Starbase 46.  dos Santos was waiting for them. He was tall, lean and his slicked-back hair had just a touch of grey at the temples. His deep blue eyes conveyed little in the way of emotion. Asher forced a smile. 

It had been nearly thirty years and he still found the man distasteful. “Admiral.”

“Captain, Commander,” dos Santos said with a sweeping gesture. “Thank you for coming, please have a seat, I am afraid we don’t have much time this morning, so we’ll get right to it.”

Jalen tossed a glance at Swain and then nodded before sitting down. Despite dos Santos passive demeanor, there was clearly something grave about the situation.

“I assume you both read the short document I sent you this morning?”

Asher wanted to say something rude to the effect that he was a little old for pop quizzes, but just  nodded. “Yes, sir. Though Toren III is a little out of the way from here, isn’t it?”

“Still the same Asher, I see. Somethings never change.”

For his part, Jalen made a note to ask Asher about his relationship with the Admiral. 

“I didn’t mean --” Asher half-lied.”

Holding up a hand, dos Santos waived him off. “It’s fine. You’re right,  it is a bit more in your old neighborhood, but Admiral Tersan asked me to brief you so that you could get underway as soon as possible. She knew you were hoping to get back to 39 Tango, but this is a bit of an emergency.”

Asher felt a little silly, but nodded. Maybe dos Santos had changed. 

“As you know Toren III is situated in the Paimpont, close to Tamaran space but also the Romulan Neutral Zone. As a protectorate of the Federation, we’ve traded with them for years. Over the last several months, though, there have been increased tensions on the planet as they debate applying for full-membership.

“Last month separatists staged a massive demonstration in the capital, demanding Tolen independence. Their government has asked us to mediate the dispute.”

“I’ve been to Toren III,” Asher said, leaning back in his chair. “Though it was a long time ago aboard the G-W.”

“That was why Excalibur was chosen, ”dos Santos nodded before continuing. “As I am sure you’ll remember, Toren III is not only in a strategic location for Starfleet to monitor Romulan activity but it is also rich in dilithium, tritanium, and trillium-D.”

“So what are our orders, sir?” Jalen said, giving Asher another sidelong glance. Asher nodded his own approval of the question. 

“First and foremost you are to try and prevent armed conflict between the two the two opposing sides. The leaders of the two groups have agreed to talks mediated by the Federation. Your orders are to provide whatever security resources are necessary and to mediate the dispute.”

“And I assume Starfleet has a preferred outcome?” Asher said with a bit of a frown. 

“While Command would obviously prefer Toren III to remain a Federation protectorate, and would welcome their application for Federation membership, you have a duty to be impartial.

“I would suggest you start with a reception aboard the Excalibur. You’ll want to show them that the Federation can be trusted with security, and---”

“And be a neutral arbiter despite our obvious interests.”

dos Santos grinned. “Something like that.”

Jalen smirked slyly, though his head was already filling with a list of things that would need to be done to get the ship and crew ready for the mission. Biting his lip, he glanced over to Asher. 

“We’ll need a few more days at least to get the computer core untangled,” Asher said, taking the cue from his executive officer. “And I’d like to give the crew a day or so of leave at your rec facility. I’ve heard it’s one of the best in quadrant. We could also do with a thorough resupply. My operations officer is still fuming that we didn’t get the chance before we left Elasia.”

Nodding, dos Santos stroked his goatee. “Yeah, I read the initial report on the issues with your computer core. I’ve informed my engineering staff to give Excalibur top priority. As for the other things, of course. And you’re right, it is one of the finest rec centers in the quadrant, even has a parrises squares arena. I don’t suppose you’d like a rematch, Asher?”

Jalen’s eyes widened. Oh dear.

He went over the results of all of the tests he ran. Val had seemed impatient by the third hour of testing, but the data he was getting didn’t really make sense. The arm and eye themselves were working properly. They were both standard models from 10 years or so ago, with replacement spans of 20 years. The problem seemed to be in the input signals they were getting, so it was with her implants connecting them to her nerves, not the prosthetics themselves.

The scanning and diagnostic equipment on the starbase was much more sophisticated than that on the Excalibur and much more sensitive. The conclusion Dr. Bradley came to was that Val seemed to contain a jumble of different sets of implants. Nearly all were standard Starfleet issue, but the configuration was unusual. Common sense told Dr. Bradley that you don’t mix different sets of neural implants. It was dangerous and wore out components at an accelerated rate. 

Additionally, there was one implant that he couldn’t recognize. It seemed to be hooked into everything. The identification number it contained didn’t match anything in the Starfleet medical database, but Val’s medical file didn’t report anything happening to her outside of Starfleet sickbays. No Starfleet doctor would have implanted a mix like this, but they seemed to be working properly until recently.

As far as he could tell, the problem was that the configuration was stressing the implants in ways they weren’t meant to be. They had a 20 year lifespan, like the prosthetics, but they were starting to fail prematurely. This could be treated for a while with neural stabilizer treatments, but eventually he’d have to figure out how to re-create the original configuration, and figure out what the unusual core implant was doing…

He smirked and continued reading. To be honest, though somewhat petty, his directive had been a rather mild corrective. Frankly, Will and Rhan were lucky that Miranda wasn’t still the executive officer. 

Asher  sighed. He liked Stanton.  He was efficient, thoughtful, and competent -- all qualities any captain would value in an executive officer -- but he wasn’t Miranda. Asher's weekly dinners with Miranda had become more like getting together with a friend, while with Stanton they were, well businesslike. They rarely talked about anything other than work, and once the meal was over, Stanton headed back to his quarters -- where as Miranda usually stayed to polish off another bottle of wine (or two) and catch up on the latest gossip. It was fine, but Asher deeply missed the camaraderie he felt with Miranda. 

Who did he have to blame for that? He sighed again. 

A chime at the door interrupted his brooding. “Come.”

He put his book down and set upright on the couch  as his new chief of security entered. Lucius Rex was about Asher’s height, well-built, and his premature grey-hair gave him an air of authority that someone his age might normally lack. It was easy to see why Arden had found him attractive. Asher pushed the thought aside.

“Commander?”

Rex straightened. “Captain. I wondered if I might have a minute of your time.”

Asher frowned inwardly, but nodded. “Sure, have a seat.”

Nodding, Rex joined sat down in one of the chairs opposite the couch. Though the Swain had a reputation as an “approachable” Captain, Rex still found him a bit intimidating.   

“What can I do for you Commander?”

Swain tended to leave personnel matters to his executive officers and, like Miranda, Stanton had so far proven himself to be extremely capable, but he wasn’t going to just cold-shoulder a senior staff member. 

Taking a deep breath, Rex composed himself before starting. “Permission to speak freely?”

Oh boy. Asher nodded. “Of course.”

“Why am I here, sir?” 

The question took Asher off-guard. “What do you mean?”

“Sir, with due respect -- you’ve barely said two words to me since I came aboard. And at virtually every opportunity you’ve given me a frosty welcome. I talked to your old chief of security and... is this because...”

Asher let out a laugh. “Oh gods,” he said, struggling to regain his composure. “I am sorry, were you about to ask me if this was because you dated Arden?”

Rex blushed. “Well sir, I can’t think of any other reason you’d be so cold to me, when from what I can tell, you’re very warm with the rest of your staff.”

Closing his eyes and fighting back a laugh, Asher finally regained his composure. “My apologies then commander. It certainly wasn’t my intent to make you feel unwelcome. It’s just, you’re new to the crew and I -- well I’ve been trying to be a little more -- anyway I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“Then it doesn’t bother you that --”

“I thought you would have realized Arden’s the jealous one. To be honest, it’s a point in your favor. He has good taste in men. Unlike me. Mine is legendarily bad -- except for Arden.”

Rex stifled a laugh, both at the implied compliment and the addendum. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Thank you Captain. I just wanted to make sure that -- well if you didn’t want me here I was going to ask for a transfer now, before I got too settled in and while we were at starbase.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince your former CO to let me have you aboard Lucius?”

“Sir? I thought she recommended me for the job.”

“She did -- only after I managed to get her a case of sparkling Romulan ale and a Tholian silk dress. And only then because I had introduced her to her husband twenty years ago.”

Blushing again, Rex finally let out a sigh. “Well I am sorry to have disturbed you Captain. I am sure you’re busy, besides I need to make sure all my staff have completed their trainings.”

Asher nodded. “Of course Commander.:

Rex stood up and headed towards the door.”

“Oh and Commander?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Just remember that Arden’s a married man now, hmm?”

Rex grinned widely and continued towards the door. 

"Local Time is 1300 hours." the digital voice said back in reply.

"Oh good, she shouldn't be teaching right now." William said as he grabbed a different piece to look at. "Computer, call Lieutenant Koria Imonim, Starfleet Academy."

"Attempting to contact." it replied.

As he waited for Koria to answer his call he kept examining the different pieces. While he could tell what some pieces were because he could follow the logical path of 'this is the memory, these are the power cables, this is the power supply', some of the details escaped him because of how different the Sheliak way of thinking was. He took a couple notes down before he heard the telltale chirp of the call being answered.

"Well hello there stranger." the spotted humanoid said as he turned toward his computer screen, "I was wondering when you were going to call next."

"Sorry about that." William said, rubbing his hair and looking away for a second before continuing, "I've been really busy here on board. I'd actually meant to call earlier, but-"

"It's alright Will," Koria said, smiling "Do you need anything? Because it looks like you're still on duty."

"That's not the only reason I called." William said, "But I do need some help, or a pointer in the right direction. I'm looking for either an expert, or someone that at least knows more than I do, on Sheliak technology."

Koria raised an eyebrow at him, "Sheliak technology? What's going on out wherever you are?"

"I'm just doing a research project."

"While on duty?" she asked, her tone and face incredulous.

"It's an official research project?" William replied, trying his best to not sound like he was up to something.

"Or it's something you're not allowed to tell me about."

"Well..."

"It's ok, this probably won't be the last time either." she said, sighing softly. "But as luck would have it, my co-teacher for 'Astrophysics for Engineers' probably knows the most about Shelak technology here. Let me see if he's available and I'll patch you through to him."

"Thank you, so much. And I promise to call more often." William said, smiling at her before she left the screen.

"I'll hold you to it." she said before she disappeared.

A short time later she reappeared in a side-by-side with a male Bajoran Lieutenant Commander wearing Engineering Gold.

"Lieutenant Chocox, this is Lieutenant Commander Latara Taban, Commander, this is Lieutenant William Chocox."

"Thank you Koria." William said before she signed off.

"How can I help you?" Latara said.

"Well, here's the thing," William said, as he and the commander starting talking about Sheliak Technology.

Val, though, wasn’t feeling so well. She had not had much of an appetite lately. The headaches she had been getting were accompanied by bouts of nausea that made scarfing down a replicated sandwich difficult at times.

She held her head as she entered her quarters. “Computer, dim lights 50 percent.”

The computer acknowledged her order with a chime. The bright lights in her quarters lowered to a level that didn’t make her feel like she was in a dentist’s chair.

Having her own quarters wasn’t something Val was quite used to. Back on the old Excalibur, the flight crew generally slept in bunks, if they slept at all, and were ready to spring to action at a moment’s notice. As bridge crew on the new Excalibur, off duty meant off duty. She could still be called up in an emergency, of course, and at this point in the mission you couldn’t discount that possibility.

She had become good at hiding certain things over the past few months. It seemed like the only way to ensure that she still had a spot on the crew roster as a 38-year-old pilot with a several-year medical leave of absence on her record, anyway. The headaches, the strange operation of her prosthetics in the morning and evening, the constant feeling that you’re not quite ‘there’, it was all going to be hard to explain if it ever came up on duty, wasn’t it?

She was the helmsman of a brand-new Federation cruiser. As long as she was on duty, she could push it all out of her mind and focus on only what needed to be done. But once she was off, or once the medication wore off…

Nothing could jeopardize her position. She was too driven to let that become an option.

Her shaking hand dug through the drawer next to the sink in the small bathroom area. She picked up a vial and a hypospray, swirling the vial in the air before assembling them together and injecting the vial’s contents into her neck. She closed her eyes with a look of relief on her face while the trembling came to a gradual stop.

‘Is this what I am,’ she thought, ‘a busted toy? I should have been left in pieces in the debris field…’

She had gotten the bioxedrine from a doctor at the starbase she had been stuck on in limbo between Excaliburs. He had a thing for pilots, she was a pilot in need. It was only natural, and totally off her medical records so she could maintain her status. It seemed to keep her in control of her faculties, and she had enough for months…

...

Some ops flunky sent Val a message soon after she rose to get ready for duty. There was a yearly audit of personnel records that began a few days earlier. There were several classified personal logs in her personnel file. That’s not entirely odd.

The normal assumption would be that it was cover for some clandestine activity, but that plainly wasn’t possible here. The first one on the list was timestamped during her fateful sortie at Chin’toka, which wasn’t exactly a covert op. She didn’t remember recording it, either. Though, she didn’t exactly remember much from around then.

Val sighed. Might as well figure out what was so important that it was classified. “Computer play personal log, stardate NNNN.N.”
The computer beeped back at her. “Unable to play back log entry.”

“Why not?”

“Lt. Carillon is not authorized to view this entry.”

Problem with the new computer system? Valerie tapped the console in her quarters. “It’s my log entry. How can I not read my own log?”

The computer repeated its earlier declaration. “Lt. Carillon is not authorized to view this entry.”

Val shook her head. Maybe R’han would be able to figure out what was going on with the lockout.

"I am loving the enthusiasm though, the plasma cutter wasn't necessarily a bad idea, just not the idea that we need right away." he said to the young ensign that was entrusted to his care.

"Thanks." Reynolds said as they set themselves up at the end.

"You're welcome," William said, "I'll grab a hold of the main body, and you can try turning that end of it with the spanner."

"On it sir." Reynolds said.

William grabbed a large pair of pliers and gripped the main body while Reynolds took the spanner and attached it to the end where they though the most likely point of entry was.

"On three sir?" he heard Reynolds say.

"Your count." he said back, bracing himself to make sure that the device didn't rotate on them.

"One, two, three." Reynolds said before cranking hard on device.

*shnk*

The darn thing wasn't budging. William could hear Reynolds groaning as he kept applying pressure, but the device wasn't opening. After a few seconds of effort they both relaxed from their positions.

"Alright, let's try again, but this time I'm going to try to turn it with the pliers while you apply pressure with the spanner." William said to Reynolds.

"Sounds like a plan." Reynolds replied, a little out of breath.

"One, two, three." William said, grunting as he and Reynolds tried again.

It quickly became apparent that they weren't going to be able to brute force this thing open.

"Alright, looks like your first idea was the correct idea Ensign." William said putting his pliers down, "We're going to need the plasma cutter."

"Yes!" Reynolds said with a fist pump.

"Go get the goggles and we'll get started." William said, shaking his head a little bit at the enthusiasm Reynolds was showing. "Hopefully we'll get through this before the Captain gets down here."

A low hum prevailed across the oira of the Elarion. At the center of the room, a single, solitary chair overlooked the pit containing the helm and navigation stations.  Daise’Erei’Riov Tyras Vlaen ran his hands along the smooth upholstery. He paused for a moment, considering the supple, grey leather. It was, he decided, actual leather and recently done. A rarity among  smaller ships in the fleet. 

They had been in space less than a week and so far ship and crew were functioning well. Their mission took them to the frontier of the Romulan Empire where they were to patrol the border worlds -- a place where many ships seemed to be sent these days, he noted. Tyras had spent little time in the Outlands, as they were often called. Whispers of insurgency among the border worlds had become common among the elite of the home worlds. He hoped that they were overstated. 

He ran his hands along the upholstery again. Just how did an older patrol craft get such a premium command chair? His thoughts trailed in the direction of double doors to his left -- the commander’s chambers. Though none of the other senior officers had been brave enough to voice them in his presence, Tyras knew they too had questions about their new commanding officer. 

It wasn’t just that he was relatively young or that he came from a somewhat infamous bloodline, but that in addition to all of that he carried the rank of Enarrain in place of the usual Riov. Which, like the plush chair, was out of place on such an unremarkable vessel as the Elarion. A human translator might not have noticed the difference -- they both loosely translated as ‘Commander’--  but Enarrain carried privileges and seniority that Riov did not. Tyras had his own ideas on the subject, but knew better search too deeply for the truth. 

He trained his thoughts elsewhere as the lift doors slid open. The lythe, greying figure of the ship’s chief medical officer emerged. She was, as far as Tyras knew, one of the few aboard who knew much of the Enarrain outside of his public reputation or official record, having previously served with him on another assignment.  

“Jolan tru,” she said, breezily making her way across the oira. “I assume the riov is in his chambers, brooding, ie?”

Tyras shifted uncomfortably. “The Enarrain is reviewing personnel assignments, as is his purview.”  It was a mild corrective, but one Tyras felt compelled to give though if she noticed it, she didn’t react. Instead she simply nodded and continued toward the double doors, a distant hann’yyo following as she disappeared, leaving Tyras once again to contemplate the situation. 

Brooding was, however,  the correct word to describe the mental state of the Elarion’s commanding officer. He had been in his chambers for much of their journey towards the Outlands, rarely interacting with any of the senior staff.  Today was little different. He glanced upwards at the chime. “Come.”

“Rehkkai,” the smooth voice of the maenak came, intruding into whatever thoughts were holding him. “I see you have changed little since the Talon.”

Destorie N’Dak turned from the window to face her. a small smile creeping across his face. “Nor have you -- Khaena,” he replied. “What can I do for you? I trust all is well in your fiefdom and that you’re having no issues with tr’Vlaen?” 

“Not at all. He seems competent and fair. All qualities desirable in someone of his rank and station. He even seemed rather uncomfortable with my suggestion, rhae the oria, that you were in here ‘brooding’ He made a point of mentioning you were working on personnel reports or something.”

Chuckling lowly, Destorie placed an ISD on the desk in front of him. “Did he? This is his first assignment as Daise’Erei’Riov so I suppose his enthusiasm shouldn’t unexpected.”

“Or perhaps he fears the wrath of the Enarain,” Khaena teased lightly, but only just so. “At any rate, that is not what brought me here.”

Leaning back into his chair, Destorie sighed. The Elarion had hardly been his choice of assignments and due to certain political concerns his ability to choose a senior staff had been somewhat limited. Still, he was pleased that he had managed to secure the appointment of Khaena to his crew. She had served with him for many years as one of the nightshift doctors aboard the Talon, and he trusted her far more than anyone else aboard his new command. 

“Oh?”

“I have been looking into the matter that we discussed before we left dock.” Khaena had found her way into one of the rather plush -- perhaps too plush, she considered -- chairs that flanked the oblong desk at the center of the room. 

“The medical supply shipments to the border world?”

She nodded. 

“And?”

“Nothing suspicious, so far as I could find through the normal channels. It is a bit odd I admit. Such a large number of advanced medical devices being shipped to a far flung colony that lacks a major medical center. Even stranger that the world is, primarily, non-Rihans -- laborers mostly.”

A frown crept across his face, though Khaena wasn’t sure if was from frustration. “I see,” he said crossing his arms. 

“But,” she offered, shifting in the chair, the mirth fading from her voice. “I do still have some contacts in the Tal’Dian -- friends of Gaen’s. They could look a little bit closer into the matter. If you’re still unsettled by it.”

“I would not ask if I did not think it important,” he said, “something about this disquettes me.” 

She nodded, standing and straightening her uniform. “Speaking of which,” she said, the airness returning to her voice. “You have yet to report to medical for your examination! What sort of an example are you setting for the rest of your crew?”

Before Destorie could reply, she saluted crisply and headed back onto the Oira where Tyras remained vigilant. She considered his features for a moment, stopping to study him. He was not, by her estimation, overly handsome nor particularly displeasing to look upon. He kept his hair tightly cropped in the overly regimental style the Galae had become infamous for throughout the galaxy (she kept her own greying hair in a neat braid). And though House Vlaen might not have had the prestige of their commanding officer’s house (or the infamy), it generally was removed  from the meager ranks of most of the other crew members, herself included. She had looked at his service record as well -- a graduate of the Imperial Retor in the capital. He had proven himself to be an able officer. She hoped that was how he’d came about his position, anyway. Letting her eyes linger only so long, she continued once more.

“Maenek,” Tyras said as she was almost to the lift. “Were you planning on joining the other officers tonight for dinner? I understand that tr’Lhaelev has some new holovid he wants to play afterwards ... if you’re interested, of course.”

She wasn’t particularly, but she would survive.. “It would be a good opportunity to get to know my fellow officers,” she said with a smile that she hoped didn’t seem overly forced.

“I look forward to seeing you,” Tyras added. “Till tonight then.”

It was late afternoon — not that you could notice such things aboard a starship dancing through space—and the medical bay was relatively quiet. Khaena glanced briefly up as she heard the footsteps of her assistant approach. 

“Are you still here?”  Hjaeli said, her arms crossed disapprovingly. “Go home!”

“I thought I gave the orders.”

“It’s quiet and besides, you have that officer’s dinner to prepare yourself for and we only have tr’Maek to deal with — I think I am more than capable of handling a lone erein with a case of space sickness.”

Khaena furrowed her brows. 

“Oh, sorry.  Deep Space Introgastrionial Aphasiac Syndrome.”

Exhaling, Khaena smirked despite herself. “Is that what they’re calling it now? Never mind, don’t tell me. I am happier not knowing. I suppose you’re right — it is quiet and you have things well in hand. Just try not to make a habit of giving me orders, hmm?”

Hjaeli grinned. “Of course. H’nah, be gone with you.”

Her quarters were only a short lift ride away. Entirely unremarkable, they were sparsely furnished and most of her personal effects remain packed away in a series of small boxes in the corner. She’d debated about even bringing them along, but it wasn’t as if she had any other place to put them. After Gaen had passed away, she’d sold their small house on ch’Rihan. She’d considered buying something in the capitol for when she was on leave, but it seemed a waste to pay for a townhouse or condo that she’d spend a few days or weeks a year occupying.

“But you could rent it out!” Hjaeli had suggested when she’d mentioned it. “People are always looking for places to stay for a few days or weeks in the city.”

“How would I manage that? I work on a starship!”

“Oh they have an app for that! You just sign up as a host and the company takes care of the renting, keeping your place up, everything. It’s so easy.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“Oh I don’t make enough money to have a place — not on the pay for an assistant medical officer without any real years of service. Unlike you.” Khaena had let that one slide, but mentally made a note of it for some future transgression. She was glad though, to have the young, slightly impetuous doctor aboard. She had interned aboard the Talon, and proven herself to be capable, qualified officer. It had come as something of a surprise, then, when she was on the list of available officers for the Elarion. 

She glanced at the old-fashioned chrono hanging from the wall -- one of the few things she’d unpacked --there was still time for a shower and change of clothing before dinner. Officer’s dinners were low on her list of preferred activities, particularly with a crew of mostly young, ambitious male officers all jockeying for recognition and promotion. Still, she needed to learn more about them and who she could trust. 

Sighing, she headed to the sonic, slipping out of her uniform along the way. One thing she did appreciate about older model ships, like the Elarion was that their sonic showers were configured to a lower pitch than newer models. Though she knew it made little difference in function, she always felt more relaxed by the low, thrombing pulses. 

Finished with her shower, she changed into a clean uniform and tied back her hair. Skipping a mirror or makeup, she pulled on freshly polished boots and headed for the officer’s mess a few decks up. Most of the others had already gathered by the time she arrived and were mulling around the oblong table at the center of the sparsely decorated room, sipping ale. 

“Jolan tru,” Tyras said, waving her over. “I am glad you decided to join us.”

She nodded politely and took an offered glass of ale. It was of relatively decent stock, and she believed, originated in the Verete region of homeworld, though she couldn’t be entirely certain and didn’t care enough to ask. Ale nerds were, in her mind, tedious. 

Once the last of the senior staff, minus the Ennarain of course, had arrived they took their seats. She looked them over, appraisingly. Tyras sat at the head of the table, naturally. He carried himself with a certain stiffness she found common in young officers in their first position of real authority. Next to him sat the ship’s security chief on his left, and to his right their chief science officer. Neither was particularly green, but were still young to her. Though the security chief seemed to be going a bit grey prematurely. Perhaps a genetic issue?  Khaena scolded herself mentally for the diagnosis.

They were also joined by the ship’s senior helm officer and the operations chief. Both of whom reminded her of rambunctious teenagers. Then there was the chief engineer. Aside from herself and perhaps Destorie, Marim tr’Feava was the most experienced of the senior officers. He had been aboard the Elarion for over a decade and was now on his third commanding officer. A veteran of the Dominion Wars, he was brusque and prickly and a bit overprotective of the ship -- not that she’d met an engineer who wasn’t in love with their flying pieces of metal. And people accused maeneks of being protective of sickbay? She smirked to herself as enlisted personnel brought out broth and crusty bread. 

Apparently, one of the positions Destorie had been keen on filling personally had been the chef. It was a welcome relief from the sort of cuisine that she’d come to expect on smaller, unimportant ships like this one. Most of the senior staff agreed. 

“One thing I will say for our riov,” Lhaelev, the operations officer, said raising his ale, “he certainly found a good chef.”

There was general agreement as the waiters brought a second course of roasted vegetables and lightly fried noodles in a cream sauce. Except, of course, from Marim who grumbled lowly. “I didn’t sign up for the Galae for haute cuisine, give me a ration and a stiff ale anyday.”

“Then why did you have seconds last night?” Tyras teased lightly. 

The engineer frowned crossly. “I was hungry and the portions were small. Keeping this old girl running is hard work, especially with all the neophytes we got this time. One of them new ones didn’t know the difference between a recoil spanner and a disruptor. What are they teaching at the Retor these days anyway.”

Khaena smirked. She empathized. Several of her orderlies were fresh out of training and had needed some additional instruction. “One of mine,” she offered between bites of the pasta, “almost injected an erein with vivensel instead of etherin.”

Only Lhaelev seemed to understand the implications and giggled before explaining the effects of vivensel, which elicited a chuckle from everyone, even Marin. 

“We were all new officers once,” Tyras interjected. “I am sure each of us did a few silly things when we were fresh out of the retor.”

Thael tr’Ghilv, the security officer had said little to this point, but now he turned his attention to Khaena. “What about the Enarrain,” he said, resting his elbows on the table and steeping his fingers. “What was he like as an erein, you knew him then, didn’t you?”

The room collectively turned its attention to Khaena and she sighed, wiping clean her mouth and placing her napkin on the table. She’d wondered how long it would take before that particular subject came up.  Hjaeli had bet her an evening shift it would be before the main course. Khaena had hoped it would wait until at least desert. She considered if she’d tell Hjaeli the truth or not.

“Not entirely,” she said, “He was an erein when he first joined the Talon, but it was na his first assignment.”

“Still,” Thael pressed. “A diplomatic posting on Qo’Nos hardly counts.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said, taking a long drink of ale between sentences. “But at any rate, he was much as you’d expect from any young officer. Overeager, ambitious, brash... all of those would apply.”

She glanced over to Tyras. He shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his chair. He had to have also known the topic would come up. Still, his unease answered a question for her. “But he was a d’heno and I was a nightshift maenek. It wasn’t as if were crossed paths regularly.”

That was somewhat of a lie, but unless they’d gotten access to his medical records, they’d never know. The enlisted brought out their main course, thankfully saving her from further interrogation and the subject of her relationship with Destorie did not come up again for the rest of the meal. 

Afterwards, she found herself talking once more to Tyras as the others settled in to watch the holovid Lhaelev acquired. It was some pulp action routine that she found incredibly tedious and boring, but had stayed for appearances sake. Tyras apparently found it tedious as well. 

“They’re so formulaic,” he’d said offering her a bite of his popped eael. “I don’t really get the appeal.”     

She smirked and declined to offer her own personal theory for why men enjoyed them 

“You weren’t exactly truthful at dinner,” he said lowly.

Glancing over, she lifted a brow. “About?”

“Your relationship with the Ennarrain.”

She frowned, uneasily. “I am not sure what you mean.”

He smirked and looked towards the holovid, tossing back a few bites of the eael. “I don’t particularly blame you for demuring to elaborate, but I know that he personally requested your assignment.”

“He was often in the maneken bay when he was first assigned to the Talon, as I said a bit brash and overeager. He was my patient more than a few times,” she paused, “that is it. He wanted a friendly face aboard, someone he knew...”

“And trusted?”

She tipped her head. “I suppose. It’s not as if that’s unusual.”

Tyras looked back for a second. “Fair. It’s not as if he has any particular reason to trust me, but...” He trailed off.

 Feeling her unease subside, Khaena offered a smile. “Destorie... the Enarrain,” she said, “He does not trust easily. He’s always been that way, but he respects those under his command who do their duty. And he does not like sycophants.

“Do your best and serve the ship well and you will gain his trust, in time.”

When the evening ended, Khaena found herself back in her quarters holding a holoimage in her hands. It had been nearly three years since Gaen had died of a heart attack while they vacationed in the fashionable resort town of Se-Ret.  At least, that was the official story. She frowned and looked away.  

Gaen had served in the Tal’Dian, the Galae’s intelligence service, for nearly thirty years. He had been on assignment. She always hated when he was on some covert assignment. He would go weeks, sometimes months without being able to contact her. Then, suddenly, out of the ether he would rematerialize in their living room, or in her quarters at whatever assignment she was currently on, acquiped with Teryian white roses and a bottle of good ale. He also knew how to mollify her. 

She looked back to the holovid. She could still remember the evening she’d learned of his death. She dealt with death all the time as a meanek, and she was no stranger to it in her own life, having buried both of her parents and an elder sister.  Still, nothing completely prepared one for it. 

The evening shift had just taken over and Khaena had settled into her office to complete some reports -- she often worked late. The starbase was relatively quiet and the disherens were busying themselves with cleaning and calibrations, least Khaena find worse for them to do.  She was enjoying a cup of Sumae tea -- it had once been a favorite --and listening to some soft jazz when a young man arrived in medical, looking for her.

Overhearing her name, she popped her head out, half-expecting an overeager erein coming for a physical. Instead she found a young ne’arrain wearing the dark grey sash that indicated he was on special assignment.  

“I am Khaena t’Yhven,” she interjected. “How can I help you, ne’arrain?”

He looked over, gravely. “Maenken,” he said. “It would be best if we spoke in private.”

The disheren’s lifted their brows, but said little as she nodded and motioned the ne’arrain into her office, closing the doors behind her. 

“I am afraid that I must bring you some unfortunate news,” he said fumbling for an ISD. “It’s about your bondmate.”

From there she didn’t recall all of the precise details. Only that little in her life had been the same afterwards. The trip to Se-Ret had felt surreal. Gaen had never liked that sort of thing and she thought it was a silly cover story, but she was in little position to argue. Even once she did arrive and the whole planned cover played out, none of it felt real. Nor had she gotten any real clue to what had actually happened to her husband. Neither the ne’arrain, who she never saw again, or the handler who arranged everything for her before, during and shortly after the funeral had been willing or able to divulge.  It had vexed her.

They rarely talked about work, but Gaen hadn’t indicated that his work at the time was particularly dangerous. There was always danger involved of course, but the Tal’Dian was hardly the Tal’Shiar and deaths of those in their employ were relatively rare.  Finally, after weeks of trying and failing to learn more about how her husband had died, it had been an unexpected call from Destorie N’Dak that had brought clarity and a degree of closure. 

She replaced the holopic on the nightstand and laid back down on the bed. Maybe she’d been better off not knowing the truth. Part of her wished she’d never answered that call. It would have been easier, in the long run, to not know the truth, right?

She sighed and closed her eyes. That was the easy lie people told themselves. 

It was an unseasonably cold day in the capital region of homeworld. On virtually any other late spring day, the ihren course would be bustling with activity. Today, however, only a few committed players braved the weather.  From his balcony overlooking the seventh hole, Destorie took a break from the stack of ISD’s on a table to watch. 

He’d never cared for ihren. It was an old person’s sport in his mind. Boring as sin, and it required far too much work to be good at it. Not that most of the people who frequented the ihren course in question were any good, far from it. 

It had actually surprised his father when Destorie had asked upon his return from the Gamma Quadrant if he could move into the family home on the outskirts of the capitol. Destorie had always had a certain fondness for the home, though.  It was stately, without being overly ostentatious, was relatively private, and mostly importantly was rarely frequented by any of his relations. 

“Do you still brood over decisions like when you were a child?”

Destorie felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand up. He hadn’t heard that voice since the incident. Instinctively, his hand went to his belt for his absent disruptor. 

“Still the d’heno I see,” his sister’s voice followed the action, a certain mirth to her voice that annoyed him even more “But don’t worry, I am not here to kill you or anything. This is strictly a personal visit.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t exactly trust you, Rasa.”

“And they say you’re not very clever.”

“I don’t really care what your associates in the Tal’Shiar say about me.”

“Oh you should, you really should, dear Sheuiji.”

“Don’t call me that,” Destorie spun on heel to face his sister. “As far as I am concerned you are no longer a member of my house.”

Rasa was sitting on his desk, looking over the scattered ISDs. She seemed uninterested in her brother’s sudden bolero. Her hair was longer than he remembered. As always, she was impeccably dressed in the latest fashions of the capital’s trendy Uraemu district. Finally, she paused her snooping and glanced up at her brother. While her twin sister Savu had inherited their mother’s warm amber eyes and soft features, Rasa had the same sharp features -- high, tight cheekbones and dark, foreboding eyes that pierced like knives -- of her elder brother and father. 

“Well fortunately for you, I don’t feel the same way.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I see you’re selecting a first officer for the... Elerion, yes? Rather unfortunate name for a ship, but I suppose you take what you can get in your position.”

“Elarion.” Destorie glowered.  “What about it.”

“Oh,” she said, returning her attention to the ISD’s. “I just thought you might want some help. Afterall it is a big decision you’re making. A first officer needs to be extremely trustworthy.”

He crossed his arms. “Then why in the element’s name would I want your help selecting one.”

“Well,” she said, “for starters I know which of these options they gave you are Tal’Shiar plants or loyalists. But I suppose you do have a bit more experience with this. How is that lovely woman who was your first officer on the Talon doing anyway -- Laehval or something like that? I bet you miss her. You were so, close, after all.”

“Why would any of them be a Tal’Shiar plant. The Elarion is a patrol ship.”

Rasa noted, somewhat disappointedly, that he didn’t fall for her baiting on t’Temarr, and sighed inwardly. “Well it’s true they don’t care about your mouldering old patrol ship and its mission to the Outlands, but you have to know they are keeping a close eye on you, Sheuiji. Especially after the debacle in the Gamma Quadrant with our brother. Where is he anyway? I’d hoped to pay him a visit while I was in the capital, but no one seemed to know. Not even my colleagues in the Tal’Shiar.”

Destorie’s jaw tightened at the mention of Issaha. “He’s safe.”

“Good.” He was taken aback by the seeming sincerity. “You should have done a better job of keeping him out of trouble.”

“Me?” Destorie spat, almost letting his temper get the better of him. “He wouldn’t have been in trouble if you hadn’t set him up with that position in the first place.”

Rasa glanced over again. “That wasn’t my doing and I assure you the person responsible has been, disciplined.”

“I never knew you were so protective of Issaha.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know Sheuiji. Anyway, I didn’t come here to argue, I came to offer you advice on your personnel decisions. “

“Why do you care? It’s not like I have anything to hide from the Tal’Shiar anyway.”

Rasa pushed off the desk and made her way over to him. She stood slightly taller due to her high-heeled boots. Something that seemed to please her for a moment before the mirth vanished, replaced by coldness. “There are concerns about your loyalties.”

“My loyalties?”

“Yes. Are you loyal to the Empire, or to the Galae.”

“I wasn’t aware those were separate; and that’s certainly a charge coming from the Tal’Shiar.”

 “Don’t play me for the fool, Sheuiji. We both know that things are changing. Very soon you -- and father -- are going to have to make your loyalties clear.”

“I know why you’d want to protect father --”

“Isn’t it obvious? If you’re caught up in this, his loyalties will be questioned and it would hurt the family. It’s bad enough mother is a bleeding heart Enuar supporter.”

“I am shocked you care about what happens to the family. It would certainly be a first.”

“Like I said, there’s a lot about me you don’t know. Now, you can either accept my offer or pick blindly, not knowing which of these” she motioned to the ISD’s behind her, “are Tal’Shiar operatives. Your choice.”

The oira had been taken over by the overnight shift. The Elarion continued to cruise at warp 6.5 towards the Outlands, the stretch of space along the Neutral Zone that had separated the Federation and the Romulan Empire for over 200 years. Typically, an assignment here was uneventful, particularly in the years following the Dominion War when the permeance of the barrier between the two empires had seemed to wane.  

Of course, that had begun to change again  in the last few months. A string of terrorist attacks among the border worlds had put the region on edge. Debate in the Senate had focused on “outside agitators” and the failure of the Galae to reign them in, but they’d been mostly small in scale and no one had been seriously hurt, yet. 

The overnight officer of the watch was a young erein named Kaev. He was short, stout and largely forgettable. He’d only joined the Galae because he had few other options outside of following his father and brother in the family trade. He’d been unremarkable in his studies at the regional Retor he’d attended, and was wholly unsurprised to receive an assignment aboard the Elarion. What had surprised him, however, was finding his name on atop the duty assignment as officer of the watch. 

He’d never shown any initiative nor desire for such a position -- typically a young officer’s first opportunity to show potential for further promotion. Kaev sighed deeply. Why had the Sub-Commander given him the position? Surely tr’Maelc, the over eager erein from d’heno currently manning the tactical console would have been more appropriate?

Still, there had been little use in complaining about it. It was, after all, only one shift a week. The others he could quietly pretend to press buttons at the communications station while the system largely ran on automation. 

The lift doors slid open suddenly, startling Kaev. He glanced over and suddenly felt a wave of terror wash across him as Destorie N’Dak strode out. What in the elements name was the Enarrain doing on the oira at this time of night? 

“erein,” Destorie said, pausing at the railing that separated the command area from the rest of the room. 

Kaev blinked, feeling the collective eyes of the overnight crew focus on him -- he wasn’t sure if they actually were or not, but he thought they were. He’d only even met the Enarrain twice, and he’d never dared speak to him.  “Rekhhai,” he managed. “Ca-can I be of assistance.”

Destorie smiled, a rare sight, remembering his own first time in the center chair. That seemed like a lifetime ago. “No,” he replied. “Just going to my chambers to do some work. I assume all is quiet?”

“Ie, nothing to report.”

“Mehnka. Vhri’mehnka.”

Destorie smiled again -- which was somehow more terrifying to Kaev -- before disappearing into his chambers. When the doors  had slid closed, Kaev sighed and slumped into the chair. 

“Do you need to change your underwear,” Maelc chimed in.

Kaev sat back up, casting a glower. “Na, I am quite dry. Thank you. Don’t you have sensors to be realigning?”

Maelc grinned, pleased himself. “It is strange, though, isn’t it? The Enarrain just popping up to his chambers at 0218 to do some ‘work’?”

“He’s the riov,” Kaev said without looking towards Maelc. “He can do as he pleases. It’s not for us to question.”

“I am just saying -- it’s interesting.”

“I would suggest,” came the sudden interjection from the direction of the secondary lift, “you listen to erein tr’Hjan, erein tr’Maelc and work on your sensor alignments.”

They both looked over to see the visage of Lhaelev lingering. 

“Centurion,” Maelc snapped, “I meant no --”

“I am sure you didn’t, but I would advise doing as tr’Hjian wisely suggested.”

Maelc swallowed hard and looked back to his station, suddenly feeling every eye on the oira trained upon him, including those of Kaev.  Lhaelev glanced to Kaev briefly before heading towards Destorie’s chambers and after a brief delay disappearing. Kaev considered asking Maelc if he needed to change his underwear now, but decided against it. Graceful in victory, he’d always been taught.

Still it was peculiar for the operations officer to mysteriously join the Enarrain in his chambers at such an odd hour. Kaev pushed the thought to the back of his mind. 

The subtle off-white lighting of the corridors struck at Destorie as the doors to his quarters hissed open.  He held a hand up to shield his eyes. 

“It’s so dark in here,” Khaena said, perhaps a bit more chipper than usual. “I was surprised when you weren’t on the oira.”

“Elements must you talk so loudly.”

Holding back a giggle Khaena mercifully let the door slide shut behind her.  “I see your dinner with the Governor went well, eh?”

Destorie was still in bed. It was nearly 1030 hours. He a waste receptacle nearby and a half-empty thermos of water on the stand by his bed. His clothes littered the floor. He thought they were his clothing anyway. He hoped they were. Yes, they were. They had to have been.  “You should be lucky I didn’t make you come along.” 

Destorie sat up. His head throbbed. “I imagine Tyras is in even worse shape.”

She held back another giggle. “Ie,” she added, “he stopped by the medical bay this morning and asked for hydration pills. Though I am curious about the mark, rhae his neck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a hickey.”

“A what?”

“Au know... a hi...” she sighed She decided she might sleep better at night if she didn’t pursue that line of thought any further. “Anyway, how was the meeting?”

“The Governor was quite gracious,” Destorie said. It took him a moment longer than he would have liked to get his bearings. “Turns out he served with my grandfather Nkedre in some... some battle -- Naranda or something I don’t remember to be honest with you.

“But the moment he found out who my mother was, he demanded we have a drink of some local whiskey and then one thing led to the next and well..” he paused, waving a hand to the air. “I feel relatively certain we acquitted the ship well.” 

Smirking, Khaena made her way over to the replicator.  “Jalla, hot -- two creams.” 

“I never drink jalla hot, or in the morning.”

“Maybe you should try it. It’s wonderful for a hangover. Better than haeln or whatever that Klingon drink is you’re so fond of, rakata... whatever.”

“Raktajeno, and is that a prescription?”

“Ie.” 

He took the offered mug and put it to his lips, “Far be it for me to ignore my doctor’s advice then.”

“Ha! When have you ever listened to a word a maenek told you? Hmm.”

Destorie smirked feigning innocence as he drank more of the jalla. He had to admit it had already calmed his stomach. 

“Anyway what did au learn?”

“Not much to be honest. Ever since the government tightened the visa restrictions he said things have been slow here in the outlands.”

“And the medical shipments?”

“He didn’t know anything about them. Not surprising, but he did say he’d look into it as a favor on account of my grandfather.”

Khaena chuckled. “Well I suppose you have something to be thankful about then.”

“I am not sure it was worth the headache.”

“What is that human phrase -- never look a gift something in the mouth? Now, I am going to let you work off your hang over in peace and see to my duties in the medical bay.  How long do you think we’ll be in orbit?”

“A few more days at least, unless something pressing comes up. tr’Feva has been harping on Tyras to let him realign the plasma manifolds.”

“Good, you should let the crew take leave then.”

Destorie pulled his beeding about him as he glanced over his cup. “Prescribing for the whole crew now are we? I thought you were going to let me recuperate in peace, don’t you have work to be doing?” 

Khaena replied only with a smirk and headed out of the room, leaving Destorie alone. Though his stomach now felt some better, he could still feel the plasma grid pulsating behind his bed with every thump. It was a reminder why he rarely drank heavily. That had always been Issaha’s province anyway. His thoughts lingered a moment on his younger brother. Issaha had always been his shadow, tagging along on all of his big brother’s adventures. He was  always in the way; but now he was off on his own adventure. Somehow, despite himself, Destorie almost missed his shadow. Especially now. 

Why had she warned him? It had been nearly two months, and it still didn’t make any sense.

Kaev fiddled with the controls on the command chair. Why did it have to be during his shift.

“No response to our hails,” Maelc said with a grimace. 

Kaev frowned and glanced back to the tactical console and shook his head. “No flight plan on record, no registry on file? It’s an older model runabout.”

“Three lifesigns aboard,” Aleaht Geleir, the NCO manning the operations console chimed in. “No sign they’ve detected us.” 

Chewing on his lip, Kaev considered. “Helm, stand by to intercept.”

Maelc lifted a brow. “This is highly irregular.”

“Why is it always when I am in the center seat. Thirty-minutes more and this would be someone else’s problem.”

“The elements must love you.”

Kaev glowered silently for a moment before turning back to the viewscreen. His duty shift had nearly ended when Maelc had detected the warp signature of an errant runabout. Kaev had hoped it would simply be a routine matter, and had considered ignoring the issue. As he punched up the communications array on his chair to wake the Sub-Commander, he wished he had. 

“Sub-Commander,” he intoned gently, unsure if Tyras was sleeping or not. “I hate to disturb you, but there is a situation on the Oira that I believe merits your attention.”

Tyras grumbled, but said he’d be up in a minute. Maelc was trying to hide a smirk. “Better you than me.”

“Wasn’t this supposed to be your shift anyway?”

“No! You traded for it fair and square.”

Kaev glowered again. “Can we get a detailed scan of the runabout?”

“No without dropping the cloak,” Gelehir said flatly, as if Kaev should have known that. She was a far more seasoned officer than any of the green ereins manning the graveyard shift, a fact she routinely groused over. 

The lift doors slid open, drawing Kaev’s attention away. “Sub-commander.”

“As you were,” Tyras said. He was still pulling his outer tunic into place as he made his way to the center seat. “So what’s the situation?”

Despite his nerves, Kaev calmly updated his superior officer of the situation. When he’d finished Tyras stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Interesting. No flight plan on record and they don’t appear to be in any distress.”

Kaev nodded. “Ie.”

“Helm, lay in an intercept course. Set alert status 2. Senior officers to the Oira.”

A low fluorescence permeated the Elarion’s interrogation chamber.  The room, really more of a large broom closet, was cold and smelled of old cleaning supplies. Three figures were restrained in metal chairs.  Destorie paced evenly before stopping in front of the youngest of the three. “You may have some promise. What is your name?”

The calmness of their new interlocutor seemed to catch the three men in ‘Galae’ uniforms off guard.  “Don’t answer this bastard,” one of them said, spitting bloodily at Destorie. 

Destorie smirked, watching as the green-white projectile landed on his freshly polished boots with a splat. “Do you realize how expensive these boots are?”

The spitter didn’t respond;  another prisoner did, however. Destorie had wondered what to make of the grizzled, middle-aged officer. In the time they’d been held, he’d said almost nothing, and had barely reacted when the Elarion d’Heno officers got a bit rough with them.  “They’re standard issue,” he said calmly. “Nothing special about them, other than you made some poor disheren polish the out of them. Trying to impress someone?”

“You have a discerning eye,” Destorie said thoughtfully. 

“Boots are boots.”

“True, though some boots are better than others.” The middle-aged prisoner grunted as Destorie turned his attention to the younger prisoner once more. “So, tell me, what is your name.”

“I told you, leave him alone. He’s just a kid, and you --”

“Aurel,” the boy said, his voice was hoarse and shaking, “My name is Aurel--”

“Damnit! I told you not to...”

Destorie circled again, chuckling mirthlessly.  “Warrant Officer, Second Degree, Aurel s’Lehan. Warrant Officer, Private, Haej ei-Aemek and Chief Warrant Officer...”

“Mhve tr’Udfev.”

“Mhve...”

“He already knows who we are, and he’s likely already decided to execute us. What’s the point.”

“Some might say you are traitors.”

“We’re not traitors!” Haej -- the spitter -- protested, straining at the straps holding him in place hard enough to alarm the d’heno at the back of the room. “We were only following our orders. And besides, aren’t we due rights of statement and proper trials.”

Destorie cleared his throat. “tr’Udfev, it would behoove you to silence your disheren before I have him incapacitated.”

“Coward...”

“Shut the hell up  you idiot.” 

Haej recoiled and Destorie smiled appreciatively towards Mhev.  

“So why should we cooperate?  What is the supposed benefit for us?” Mhve said, shifting a bit uncomfortably. The restraints were too tight to realistically try to get loose, but his mind kept him fidgeting with them anyway. 

“Convince me your lives are worth sparing.”

Destorie had known it was really only a matter of time before one of them broke. His money had been on the younger one of course; but it had been refreshingly the elder officer who had saved them from the executioner’s block. His sense of duty as their superior officer had won out over his own pride, Destorie supposed.  

“We didn’t know what was in the boxes, I swear to you. Just that they were to be delivered  to Gaen II. Nothing more.”  

“Interesting, continue.”

“The three of us, we worked cargo. Some guy in fleet uniform approached us with our riov.  Told us he had a special job for us , and once it was completed would. -- well it would greatly benefit each of us.”

“Benefit you how?” Destorie said, lifting a brow.

“Mhev...”

“No, he might as well know Haej...” Mhev sighed. “He picked the three of us, I suppose, because we were easy enough targets to buy off and low enough priority no one would notice if we failed or went missing.

“I owe money to the wrong people. I am not proud of it, but it’s the truth. My bondmate, she... well she needed an operation a few years ago ... look I am sure you don’t care that much, but that’s my story. Haej here, well...”

Haej frowned, “My family does not have a name of our own. I wanted to go to the Retor, to become a real officer... but...”

“Mmm,” Destorie said. “I see, and whether you believe it or not, I understand. And the boy?”

 Looking away, Aurel couldn’t hide his blushing. “He was working for some rich back on homeworld when the heir of the house took a liking to Aurel. The rich didn’t like it, made Aurel enlist or threatened to have him jailed. Then he made sure Aurel got shipped off to the ass end of the Empire. They promised him a transfer back home.”

He almost felt sorry for them; they were too low born though to have dreamed up such a scheme on their own, and the story seemed convincing. His train of thought, however, was interrupted by the pulsing vibrations of his t’Liss. He frowned and turned towards the lurking d’heno. “Transfer them to the br’tehh. See that they are fed and looked after by the maeneken. And,” he paused for a second, “get them fresh uniforms.”

Before the prisoners could respond, Destorie strode out of the room. He hit his t’Liss. “Go ahead.”

“Enarrain,” it was Tyras. “A vessel just decloaked. Their Riov wishes to speak to you --”

“I’ll take it in my quarters.”

Tyras’ voice wavered. “He’s waiting for you in your chambers.”

Destorie lifted a brow, but acknowledged and took the nearest lift to the Oira. He paused briefly as he passed by the command chair. Tyras looked unsettled. “He beamed over as soon as they closed communications.”

Taking a deep breath, Destorie forced back the expletive fighting to come out of his mouth. “I see. Do we have a registry on our new visitor then?”

“The Taebrle.”

Lifting his eyebrow in the fashion of a Vulcan, Destorie shook his head. “Never heard of it. See what you can dig up while I meet with...my guest.”

Tyras nodded, somewhat relieved Destorie had shown such restraint. “I was just about to head down to the shuttle bay.”

Destorie nodded his approval and took one last deep breath before he entered his chambers. Though smaller and  lacking a macabre collection of Cardassian “spoons,” Destorie had found them to be far more suitable than those he’d had aboard the Talon. Of course, he noted, those had never been his chambers. His train of thought, however, derailed as the doors slid shut. “Ah, riov,” came a smooth greeting. “Shaoi kon. Please forgive the intrusion, but I thought I’d make myself at home.”

Destorie felt the hair on the nape of his neck stand up. Sitting on his desk was a slender male Romulan in maybe his early fifties. He wore his hair neatly cropped and pulled back from his face in such a way that it made him look almost like a bird. More distressing, however, was his dark charcoal uniform signifying his service to the Tal’Shiar.

“I am Colonel tr’Sehibe, of the Internal Affairs division of the Tal’Shiar.”

“Colonel,” Destorie said, forcing a polite tone. “Welcome aboard the Elarion. Can I get you something, water, tea perhaps?”

“No, thank you Riov. I don’t plan on staying long.”

“I see.”

“I am afraid there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. Your sub-commander indicated that you had brought the crew of the runabout Baruv aboard and placed them in your br’tehh.”

“That is standard procedure,” Destorie said making his way to desk. “We were about to question them on why they didn’t respond to our hails or have a registered flightplan.”

Pushing off the desk, Sehibe smiled. “Ah, well then. I’ll save you sometime. I am afraid that you’ve accidentally, through no fault of your own, stumbled into a Tal’Shiar operation.  So, if you could just return them to their ship and let them be on their way we can all pretend this little incident never happened.”

For a moment Destorie pretended to think that over, before leaning back in his chair. “Nah.”

Sehibe recoiled. “Excuse me, Riov. You did hear me say this was a Tal’Shiar operation, and that I am a colonel in the Tal’Shiar, yes?”

Destorie grinned. “Yes.”

“Then,” Sehibe tried to contain his exasperation. “I am sure you understand the weight my request carries? I would hate to have to bring it to the attention of your superior officers that you were interfering with an official Tal’Shiar operation.”

Nodding, Destorie agained feigned consideration. “Well, I’d guess you’d hate that almost as much as your superiors would enjoy an inquest into this ... what did you call it incident? I somehow doubt they’d very much like the Senate poking around in such matters.”

“Really, Riov? Such idle threats don’t become a Galae commander. As I said this is a Tal’Shiar operation. So, we can either do this the easy way or I...”

“It wasn’t an idle threat, Colonel.”

Smiling, tightly, Sehibe once more suppressed his annoyance. “Riov --”

“You know I think I forgot to formally introduce myself earlier, how rude of me.”

“Riov, not to put too fine a point on the matter but--”

“Well not to put too fine of a point on it as you say, but I am not actually a Riov.”

Sehibe’s expression shifted uneasily as he examined Destorie’s rank sash for the first time. 

“As I said, I forgot to formally introduce myself. I am Enarrain Destorie N’Dak, son of Dlvon N’Dak. You may have heard of him. He actually used to serve in the Tal’Shiar -- though I was never entirely clear on what his ‘rank’ was, you people are always so strange about that.”

Wrinkling his nose, Sehibe exhaled heavily. “I see, Enarrain.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I doubt that either of our superiors would appreciate the other’s looking into this little incident. So why don’t we just skip ahead to the part where you tell me what is going on here and then, if I am satisfied with your answer, I’ll let them go.”

The Baruv blinked away. In darkness in his chambers, Destorie watched as it broke the subspace barrier, the flash glinting in his eyes. 

“The Taebrle seems to be waiting for us to go to warp.”

Destorie nodded. “Yes. I doubt the Colonel entirely trusts me. Have helm resume our patrol.” 

“You don’t buy that story he told you do you? Not really?”

Turning to face his first officer, Destorie shook his head. “Of course not. The Tal’Shiar never tell the whole truth.”

Tyras nodded in agreement. While he’d had few enough dealings with them, he knew others who hadn’t been as fortunate. Entire families could be ruined by the Tal’Shiar for even the mildest of transgressions, and the rise of Procounsel Llhvae had only emboldened them. He glanced to Destorie for a moment. He hadn’t known what to think of him even a few weeks ago. 

“Part of me wishes we could simply wash our hands of this whole mess,” Tyras said quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, sir. I understand your decision and I support it, but it’s just...”

“You don’t need to apologize, Tyras,” Destorie tone was genuinely sympathetic. He understood, fully, the sentiment of his executive officer, perhaps even more than Tyras could imagine.   He bit his lip, wondering what a younger version of himself might have thought of the idea of aligning himself and his house with a bunch of liberal outworlders and aliens. He remembered dismissing the Enuar only a few years before, even. But these were unusual times, and that made for, as the Lloann’na would say, strange bedfellows. 

Finally, Destorie returned to his desk. “Once we’re out of sensor range, cloak and lay in an intercept course for the runabout.”

Tyras nodded. “Do you plan on bringing the senior staff in on this? Some of them are already asking questions.”

“Not yet, but we may need to -- can we trust them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then find out.”

Tyras nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“No.”

Bowing his head respectfully, Tryas turned on heel and headed back to the Oira. He disliked keeping the senior staff, at least, in the dark but it wasn’t his call to make.  He sighed and took his seat. 

“Helm, resume standard patrol. Stand down from alert status.” There was a collective relief at that from the entire oria crew, though Tryas still sensed lingering apprehension.  As the helm officer began maneuvering the Elarion away from the other warbird, Tyras tried to push the uncomfortable question posited by Destorie to the back of his mind. Can we trust them? 

He glanced over to Lhaelev.  The operations officer glanced up as well, feeling Tyras’ gaze. Destorie trusted Lhaelev, apparently. That much Tyras knew, and also Khaena. But other than that? Tyras shook his head. “Centurion,” he said, “Keep an eye on the Taebrle.”

“Aye.”

Khaena shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The webinar on on new procedures for quarantines was decidedly boring, and extremely racist. 

“Aliens,” the presenter droned, “are unclean and carry with them a host of infectious diseases. Especially among our non-Rihan populations -- the Lloann’as loose morality and feral nature has caused numerous outbreaks of sexually transmitted disease.” 

“Loose morality,” she said outloud. “Where do they find these people?”

“Extra precautions must be taken when dealing with any foreign-born individual visiting the Romulan Empire. Galae officers should be warned against fraternization of any kind.”

Khaena belly laughed. “Fraternization! I can’t wait to hear what he has to say about the Klingons.”

Why she had to endure these things remained a mystery to her. This certainly wasn’t a very valuable use of her time. She knew well enough how to implement a quarantine; and even patrolling the Outlands, the chances of anyone running across a Lloann’an to fraternize with were fairly low, especially since border crossings had, once again, became extremely restricted following the passage of the Preserver Acts a few months ago.  

She wrinkled her nose as the presenter began a particular racially charged screed against one of the alien races that populated several border worlds. While xenophobic bigotry was hardly a new feature of Romulan social life, it had always been somewhat more muted in more formal settings, particularly among the medical community. That it was now not only being trafficked in, but official party line was worrisome. 

“What a waste of time! We’d barely started treating them--”

“I know, but you know how it is.”

Khaena lifted her brow and muted the presentation.

“And we’re not supposed to keep any records?”

“That’s what the Sub-Commander said.”

“Elements.”

Piqued, Khaena poked her head into the medbay. “Hmm?”

Hjaeli was surprised to see Khaena and pulled back briefly before relaxing with a heavy sigh. “I thought you were taking the afternoon off.”

“Na,” Khaena said, almost defensively. “There was a webinar on some dumb thing I was supposed to attend. What is going on?”

Smirking Hjaeli made her way over to a console and began calling up information. “You know that runabout that we ran across?”

Khaena nodded. “What of it?”

“Well the d’heno had roughed up the three crewmembers a bit and command called us in to have a look at them. Nothing serious.”

“D’heno,” the disheren who’d accompanied Hjaeli said. “Are they all so brutish.”

“Yes,” Hjaeli and Khaena said almost in unison before giggling. 

“So?”

“Well as we were treating them, Sub-commander Vlaen rolled in to tell us they were being released, immediately and that we were to delete all medical records pertaining to them, per the Enarrain’s orders.

“Apparently, some warbird showed up and their riov met with the Enarrain and now we’re just letting them go and erasing records we had them aboard.”

Khaena felt an ulcer coming on. “I see,” she said tightly. “Well see to that.”

Hjaeli frowned, but didn’t question Khaena, knowing that tone. 

Returning to her office, Khaena turned back on the webinar in time for another racial invective laced section, this time on the dangers of something called “root beer,” but her mind was elsewhere. What was Destorie thinking? 

Her communications panel chirped. She paused the webinar for a second time and looked down to see who was calling. She felt a tingle run down her spine. Rhevid tr’Laen.

“Elements,” she cursed beneath her breath, closing  the door separating her office from the medbay. “How can that be.”

Rhevid tr’Laen. She hadn’t thought about that name for some time; it was an alias Gaen used to contact her when he was undercover. She refused to allow herself to believe that he was really still alive. And if he was, she might simply kill him out of principle. Still, the encryption code verified. She took a deep breath and braced herself as the spinning bird of prey on her screen faded. The message was text only, the system informed her.  

She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t know if that was relieving or not. She punched in her own verification code and waited again as the message loaded.  Destorie had been sure, she told herself. He had documents detailing everything. Still in the back of her mind, she had always held out some small sliver of hope. 

It felt like an eternity had passed when the message finally loaded. 

Aurel shifted uncomfortably in the co-pilot seat of the Barauv. Sensors indicated the Elarion had jumped to warp, moving away from them. The Taebrle, however, had not. He looked over to Mhaev in the pilot seat.  The old man, as they’d called him back starbase, looked more surly than usual.There had been barely more than a few words exchanged between all three of them since the Elarion’s dase’erei’riov had arrived in the br’tehh to announce their release.

He had thought they were going to die aboard that ship. But now? He wondered if it was too late to simply run away. He could make it the escape pod before Haej or Mhaev could react, and  they were close enough to several inhabited worlds. 

He frowned and looked back to his console. 

“I still don’t know why they just let us go,” Haej finally broke the silence as he came back to the main compartment eating a ration. 

“Isn’t it obvious,” Aurel said, “the Tal’Shiar didn’t leave them any choice.”

Mhaev frowned. “I am not sure what that means for us.”  The younger Romulans looked over to him, expectantly but he simply shook his head and adjusted their course. 

“What do you mean?” Haej prodded. “We’re still alive and we can still complete the mission. They didn’t open any of the containers.”

Aurel turned around. “Can you be sure? They seemed to have a pretty good idea what was in them.”

“I checked them myself.” Haej said between spoonfuls of flavored protein supplements that smelled and looked more like pet food. “All the seals were still in place. They have been able to scan them, but they didn’t open any of them.”

Mhaev was still silent. 

“The Taebrle is moving off now.”

“What’s their heading?”

Aurel double checked himself. “Vector 27 by 36 by 10. They’re cloaking.”

Relaxing, but only just so Mhaev nodded. 

“Incoming transmission, audio only -- from the The Taebrle” 

He tensed again, but took a deep breath and activated the communications array.   “This is Colonel tr’Sehibe . It would be advisable, if you were to take additional precautions to mask your warp  signature. Do not endanger the mission again.”

The comm cut out abruptly, leaving the three men staring at each other.  Aurel looked towards the escape pods again, but noted that Haej was in his way now and sighed deeply. Mhaev grumbled lowly as he made another adjustment to their course. “Haej, you and Aurel go work on masking our warp signature further.”

Haej frowned poking at the remains of his ration pack. “They could have just given us a cloaking device and solved that problem.”

“Well they didn’t, so get going. It’s another four days till we reach Cete and I’d be willing to bet that bastard riov on the Elarion isn’t done with us yet.”

 “I don’t even know what we can try,” Haej said as they made their way to what passed for engineering aboard the aging runabout. “I am not a real engineer.”

“Didn’t you train as one?” Aurel asked, settling next to Haej.  They hadn’t really known each other very well before the mission. Haej worked in engineering aboard the starbase, doing whatever the enlisted officers didn’t want to do themselves, while Aurel lived the glamorous life of a serviceman assigned to the cargobay. Sometimes, when he was particularly lucky, he worked in laundry and dry cleaning. Their paths rarely crossed other than the occasional hello. 

“Look, I can clean a plasma injector or rewire fusy food dispenser.” Haej said with a grimace, “but masking our warp signature is a little above my paygrade.”  

Aurel tipped his head, considering Haej again. He was lean and gangly, and his uniform had never fit entirely correctly. His greyish-brown hair refused any attempt at taming, which Aurel found rather cute. That was mostly all he found attractive about the engineer’s mate, however. His nose was out of proportion to the rest of his face, and he had a weak chin. Which was to say nothing of his personality, which bordered on crude and often slipped into the downright unpleasant. Still, despite the roughness, he’d been friendly enough to the shy, mildly effeminate Aurel. 

“I am afraid I am not much help on that front either,” Aurel added glumly. “I only barely know how warp engines work.”

Haej smirked. “Now if it were a spot on my dress uniform, I suppose you’d have some tricks up your sleeve.” 

“What do you think will happen to us?”

“What do you mean.”

“When this is all over. Do you think -- do you think they’ll let us just go back to our old lives maybe?”

“Why would you want to do that? Do you want to spend the rest of your life just cleaning uniforms?”

Aurel sighed. It had its merits. “Not really, it’s just --”

“It’s just what?”

“I get the feeling that... you know never mind. I am just being silly.”

Haej slid out from under the console with a frown. “Look, there’s no use in worrying about what’s going to happen to us. There’s nothing more we can do about it, so don’t get any weird ideas. We’re in this together, you hear?”

“Thanks -- yeah. I guess we are, aren’t we.”

Haej nodded and resumed tinkering. 

“Haej,” Auriel said, “Before... back on the ship. I am sorry if let you down by telling that man my name. It was just..”

“Don’t worry about it kid, you were just trying to do what you thought would help us. Now, go get me a type 4 spanner. It’s the one that looks like a hammer.”

Destorie strolled onto the oira with a cup of rakatjeno in his left hand, and an ISD in the other.  He was early, Maelc observed, happy that he’d vacated the command chair a few minutes before.  

“Report,” Destorie said, stopping by Maelc’s station. “What is our status erein?”

For a change, it was Kaev that got to grin at someone else's misfortune. Maelc took a deep breath and double checked the status monitor before replying. “Situation is normal, sir. We are proceeding on our original patrol route. Nothing else to report.”

“And the runabout?”

Maelc bit his lip. “Still on sensors. They did appear to be trying to mask their warp signature.”

“I see. Mehnka. Vhri’mehnka.”  Destorie tapped the console lightly and smiled. “Vhri’mehnka.”

He took the center seat and resumed looking at the ISD. Maelc shot Kaev a dirty look but resumed his work until the first shift crew arrived to relieve them. They left together on the auxiliary lift. Their barracks were on the same deck, and neither was particularly hungry.

The doors hissed closed. 

“I thought you were going to pee yourself when the Enarrain spoke to you.”

“Shut up,” Maelc said with a glower. “He’s talked to me before plenty. You’re the one who can’t ever talk to anyone above Erein without getting weak in the knees.”

“Remind me why I tolerate you.”

“Because you like the way I kiss.”

“No wonder you’re single.”

Back on the Oira, Destorie had finished the rakatjeno and dropped in the recycler. Part of him considered telling the operations officer to stop tracking the runabout and simply wash his hands of the whole mess. It would be easier that way, afterall. Very little good could from antagonizing the Tal’Shiar. Still he needed to know exactly what they were up to, even if that meant risking entanglement. 

“Rehkkai,” Lhaelev said. “The runabout appears to be adjusting course, heading towards ch’Ganei.”

There could be no letting them go now.  “Interesting. Continue to monitor them. Helm, adjust our course to bring us closer to ch’Gan...”

“Sir I have an incoming transmission for you from high command. It's on the restricted channels. “

Destorie glanced to  Lhaelev again, this time with an even deeper frown. “I’ll take in my chambers.”

The spinning t’Liss of the Romulan Imperial Navy Command was already displayed on his viewers by the time he settled into his desk. He quickly confirmed his authorization codes and retinal scan and the t’Liss dissolved into darkness before being replaced by Admiral Lakel’e Hvaern. 

Hvaern was infamous for his perpetually icy glower. His deep set eyes revealed little. Destorie wondered, for a moment, if this was in response to his encounter with Colonel Seihbe, but he would have thought the admonishment would have come from his direct superior, Rear Admiral Yyven Laxal. It would have also surprised him if Seihbe had escalated the situation any further. Still, he held his breath pensively as Lakel’e began speaking in a gruff, gravelly tone that accentuated his outworlder accent. 

“Enarrain N’Dak,” he said. “I hope all is well with you aboard the Elarion. I know it can’t have been the assignment you were hoping for, but we must all do as the Empire needs.”

Before Destorie could respond, Lakel’e had moved on. “There is a situation developing and Command believes that your extensive experience in dealing with the Lloann’na could be useful.”

That was certainly one way to describe Destorie’s (mis)adventures in dealing with the Lloann’na over the years. Still, he was intrigued. What had transpired with the Lloann’na and why would command send him of all people to deal with the problem?  “I see,” he said, stroking at clean-shaven chin, “What is the mission?”

“The Elarion is to end your patrol and head to the Hyspert system, on the edges of the Outmarches. There you will rendezvous with the Gaenor, the Thaetix, and the Fulmic.”

Four warbirds on the edges of the Outmarches?  “To what end?”

“I am afraid I can’t tell you that, just yet Ennarain.” He held up a hand, anticipating the protest. “Once you’ve arrived at the coordinates, you will take command of the task force. Additional orders will be issued at that time as the situation develops. I wish I could tell you more, but you know how it is. The Tal’Shiar guard their secrets more zealously than the Ferrengi covet Latnium, I swear.”

Nose wrinkled like a Bajoran, Destorie leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He knew better than to argue the point, and given his recent run in with the Tal’Shiar it was perhaps best not to ask anyway. Still in the recesses of his mind, his final conversation with his sister before he left for the Elarion began clawing its way into his conscious mind. 

“Be careful, Sheuiji,” she had said turning to leave the study. “I am the least of your worries in the Tal’Shiar. You have made powerful enemies. For the sake of our house, do not give them any excuses to act.”

The words lingered as he thanked Lakel’e for the courtesy of telling him where the secrecy originated. Lakel’e nodded. “The formal orders are arriving via encrypted communique now. How quickly can you be underway to Hyspert?”

Destorie glanced to the second monitor where communique awaited his security clearance.  “By this evening. My engineer wanted to make some adjustments to our field coils, and I agreed. You know how engineers can be if you reschedule things on them.” 

Lakel’e’s icy visage finally cracked and he chuckled. “Don’t I ever. Very well. I’ll notify the commanders of the rest of your task force. The Gaenor is a bit closer than you, but the Thaetix and Fulmic are coming from the Rylan sector.”

They exchanged formal goodbyes leaving Destorie to stare at a spinning t’Liss once more. He frowned and pulled up the encrypted orders. “To Ennarain Destorie N’Dak, Commanding Officer RES Elarion,” he read the first few sentences aloud before trailing off. Finishing, he punched them through the computer to verify they were legitimate. When the computer had returned the authentication, he took a final  deep breath before heading out onto the Oira.  

Tyras had joined the oira crew by that point. Lithe and slender, Tyras was far taller than Destorie. He had sharp, blue-green eyes that almost sparkled in the soft oira lighting. Destorie found him attractive, but he has long since sequestered those emotions. Still, there were moments where he couldn’t help but admire Tryas’ sharp jaw and angular, Romulan cheekbones. 

“Ennarain,” Tyras said, breaking the spell. 

Destorie gathered himself quickly. “How long would it take tr’Faeva to realign the plasma coils.”

Blinking Tyras, furrowed his brows. “Several hours at least... but...”

“Good, have him begin realigning them. I feel like had mentioned they’re were out of alignment in our staff meeting yesterday.”

They hadn’t had a staff meeting yesterday. After a few moments, his commanding officer’s intent dawned on him and he nodded. “Of course, right. I forgot. Yes, I’ll have him get started right away. We’ll have to drop to impulse of course.”

“Very well. You the conn.”

Destorie disappeared into his chambers once more, leaving Tyras to deal with the somewhat bewildered oira crew. 

Which was why William found himself exploring the Engineering section. He'd already looked over it as part of his initial "getting to know the ship" phase when he first came aboard, but now he was looking for a particular kind of place. He needed someplace that was off the beaten path and away from any security sensors that would inform the XO as to what exactly it was he was doing. The guy apparently had a background in Security before becoming an XO and all that meant was that he was consistently in William's business in regards to any secret projects.

"Hm...this might be a good spot." William thought as he looked around a little nook away from the main pathways around Engineering. Unfortunately as he looked around he noticed a visual sensor immediately above him looking straight at the nook.

"Damnit." William said as he continued his search.

Irene was the exogeneticist happily bagging up insects; Ensign Valdar, geologist (and her latest fling), was taking rock samples for elemental analysis; Ensign Horochuk, a botanist from Earth fresh out of the academy, was cataloging plant life; Ensign Tiran, another biologist from a cold-weather planet, was complaining about the heat, the bugs, and pretty much everything about the jungle biome.

“I hate these flying insects,” Ensign Tiran whined as he slapped another one off his forearm, leaving a tiny drop of blood behind.

“You’ve used twice as much repellant spray as everyone else, Tiran,” said Irene. “Maybe they like your earthy scent.” Valdar and Horochuk laughed at Tiran’s expense. “It’s getting dark, though. Maybe we can call it a night.”

The sun was rapidly setting, the sky turning bright orange and purple. It was a breathtaking sight. Horochuk, in charge of the holographic camera, took plenty of pictures of it all.

Lt. Hakran had given her the thumbs-up to remain on the surface for a few days so they had set up camp in a small clearing with easy access to water for their filter canteens. Old-fashioned tents made sure that they disturbed the ecosystem as little as possible with no permanent structures or garbage left behind.

All in all, it was a productive trip to the surface.

“Welcome aboard, I am Prince Coreth, Duke of Collasta and Viceroy,” he said to Asher with a respectful gesture. “The Elasian people and the House of N’Dak are honored to host you aboard the flagship of the Elasian fleet.”

Asher smiled tightly, both at the grandiosity of the situation but also the mention of N’Dak. How the universe had allowed not one, but two houses to have such a name eluded him. “The honor, is all mine.”

“Captain Swain” Hamlet said moving to shake Asher’s hand. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person.  I served with Arden on Deep Space Six.”

Caught on his back foot for a moment, Asher shook Hamlet’s hand half-heartedly before returning Hamlet’s own firm handshake.  He remembered, now, that Hamlet had sent them a wedding gift -- an espresso machine -- that was still in a box in storage back on Starbase 37 Tango. 

“Of course,” he said, hopping his momentary lapse had gone undetected, “we love the espresso machine.”

Pleased, Hamlet nodded. “His highness has offered to take anyone who arrived early on a tour. I highly recommend it, it’s an impressive ship.”

Sensing that was more of an order than a suggestion, Asher nodded and went along with his royal highness. Asher had read about the rather pompous nature of the Elasians in preparing for the mission, but he had expected it to be an exaggeration. If anything, they had undersold it. 

The Soltok’s vast interior was finished more in the style of a cruise ship than of a battlecruiser. Every room and corridor had thick, rich carpeting and trim finishes. It was, surprisingly, tasteful however, as Asher had fully expected some garish nightmare to shame a Ferengi.   

The Prince was affable enough. He clearly took great pride in showing the ship. It wasn’t the Excalibur, but Asher smiled anyway. After they’d finished, Coreth invited Asher to join him in the lounge while they waited for the other Captain’s to arrive. 

“So,” Coreth said, handing Asher a drink from a passing waiter. “How do you find her, the  Soltok.”

Asher took a sip of the surprisingly good wine and cleared his throat. Several other captain’s had found their way to the  lounge as well, but they were being kept busy by other Elasians and Hamlet. “She’s a fine ship,” Asher said. “A real show piece.”

The prince nodded. “The other vessels of her class,” he said between sips of wine, “are more austere, but my grandfather insisted the Soltok be built to a higher standard. It’s a bit of an extravagance, I admit.”

“What will become of it... and the other battlecruisers? They aren’t being sold, correct?”

Coreth wrinkled his nose. “No,” he said flatly, “the Dano III, Prince Gaal, and the Freilo will all be decommissioned in the coming months and taken to the Federation boneyards at Gravis II. The Melora and the Tyan will go into reserve duty, while the Soltok will remain active leading the newly formed Elasian Security Force.”

He continued unprompted. “Not everyone in the military has been happy about disarmament, or the democratization of  our government. But it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.”

Asher lifted a brow, but  sensed he should politely end the conversation. “Well, again your highness, thank you for the tour. It was most enjoyable, but I shouldn’t monopolize you. In fact, if you'll excuse me, I should catch up with Captain Hamlet.” 

Smiling, Coreth nodded and Asher slipped away with a deep sigh of relief before making his way over to Hamlet. 

“How was the tour?”

“It’s a big ship.”

“The Elasians don’t ever do anything small.”

Asher nodded in agreement, taking a drink of wine before a waiter refilled his glass. Hamlet was breezy enough while they were in a group of other commanders, but sobered as he pulled Asher aside surreptitiously. 

The sudden mood change worried Asher, but he wasn’t deep enough into the wine to have lost his poker face. When he was sure they were out of earshot, Hamlet took a deep breath. “I have an assignment for you.”

“Me -- or my ship?”

“You, personally. “

Asher lifted his brow. 

“Strictly on the QT.”

Unable to hide his frown, Asher nodded his understanding. “What’s  up?”

“Despite putting a lot of resources into it, Intelligence still hasn’t ferreted out the identity of the third party broker. Both the Elasians and the Cardassians have said that their agreement required  strict non-disclosure.

“But the Council is concerned. We have a team on the surface working it, but I’d like you to see if you can find anything out from the Prince. He seems to like you.”

Asher’s brows went higher. “We talked a little and he showed me around the ship. That’s hardly a relationship.”

Hamlet held up a hand. “It’s still something.”

“Shouldn’t this go to someone more experienced with...” Asher’s voice dropped,  “that kind of thing? I am not a spy or even a diplomat. I am just a scientist.”

“I have people working on other angles,”  Hamlet made a motion to the room. “But hadn’t  got anyone to cover the Prince yet.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Asher said, resigned to his fate. “But no promises.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The identity of the broker had continued to be an explosive topic in Federation discourse. Asher should have known there would be some clandestine plot to find it out. Afterall, there  were only so many people who could come up with the latinum equivalent to 20 billion Federation credits; and virtually all of the prime suspects had been eliminated so far. 

The Grand Nagus had personally given the Federation assurances that neither he nor any Ferengi were behind the deal, and had even taken the unusual step of having the Ferengi Commerce Authority complete a public audit of transactions.  The Klingons had neither the will or finances, and at any rate could have simply bought the ships directly off the Elasians. The Romulans were always suspects in any galactic intrigue, but Praetor Gaher had been among the loudest voices against the deal, second only to the Bajorans. That left only the smaller powers, none of which, according to Intel, had the finances.

Asher glanced over Hamlet’s shoulder to Prince Coreth.

Excalibur's senior staff (that's you) have been enjoying several days of leave at Deep Space 9 following the Battle of the Wormhole, while an extensive review of Excalibur condition has been completed to determine salvageability. Senior staff have been called to a meeting in DS9's ward room.

TO: Executive Officer – Commander Jalen Stanton

CC: Chief Medical Officer – Lieutenant Commander Maryse Dubois

CC: Chief Engineer – Lieutenant William Chocox

It is unfortunate that so soon after launch that I must formally file a deficiency report regarding multiple design aspects of the bridge; especially since so many other aspects of the vessel are up to date and are considerable improvements on earlier classes. However, the concerns are urgent and/or major enough that a delay would be unacceptable.

I have identified three major deficiency categories in the bridge design, mostly due to the fact that the layout and console design was contemporary with primary operations of the Galaxy-Class starships and design phase of intermediary starships like the Intrepid. Unfortunately this was not updated even though the underlying technology was, due to a waiver issued by Starfleet Command. I still suspect similar reports have and will be filed by other ships in the Block II construction of Luna-Class vessels while this bridge module is actively installed.

Deficiencies

1. Standing Stations

   1. Pursuant to findings in Starfleet Medical Report 1087 § 12, full duty-shift assignments at standing consoles present high risk of upper spine and neck injuries over time with standard use. The findings additionally list generic impact injuries as a likely occurrence due to lack of support during inertial disruption events. The study also finds fatigue to be an issue for full duty shifts assignments. The official recommendation of this report is to phase out standing stations as soon as possible in new designs, refits and upgrades. This recommendation was accepted and folded into Starfleet Design Guideline 337β.

   2. Pursuant to findings in Starfleet Operational Research 783 § 1, standing consoles present an unacceptable risk to ship operations in emergency situations due to the likelihood of crew-members being unable to remain on station due to inertial disruptions causing loss of balance, or complete dislocation of personnel from the station. The remedy to this finding was folded into Starfleet Design Guideline 337β.

2. Station Designations & Locations

   1. The inclusion of the Navigation designation at the port fore console is antithetical to the last 30 years of Starfleet bridge operations and designs, as computer improvements and helm officer training has eliminated the need for this position. Its place in “prime real estate” for receiving commands during emergency operations makes it far too valuable to be an auxiliary station.

   2. The tactical station’s placement aft of the command seating bank has been proven (Starfleet Operational Research 791 § 1) detrimental to crew-members comprehension of orders during high volume events in comparison to fore stations.

   3. With recent trials of split bridge operations rated positive (Starfleet Operational Research 833 § 12), as well as the experience in those trials of most of the current bridge personnel, reverting to a consolidated operations station is not recommended, though no official guideline has been passed.

3. In Starfleet Design Guideline 362λ, it was decided that lighting should be increased to assist with multiple aspects of service on the bridge: alertness, awareness of surroundings, and communications between personnel. This guideline was followed in this bridge module, however the material guidelines remained from the original design specifications which relied on a considerably lower brightness level. The result is higher specular lighting, with increased reflectivity on metal or glossy surfaces. This distracts personnel as well as providing issues with eye strain and headaches.

Recommendations

1. Installing suitably tall chairs (with folding arms to act as restraints & using adjustable but secure mag-lock bases to account for crew physical statures) at all standing stations would be sufficient short-term until such time as they can be replaced with permanent seated consoles.

   1. Additionally, configurable holo-emitters can be installed to provide extra eye-height information to the standing consoles that lack displays without permanently blocking visibility.

2. Operations should be split between ship and mission profiles.

3. The replication and installation of new light fixtures and/or light covers to diffuse the light sources to levels sufficient to meet medical recommendations while maintain brightness levels mandated by Starfleet Design Guideline 362λ.

4. Station layout improvements based on most recent Starfleet Design Guideline 388α, Starfleet Operations Efficiency Recommendations, and limitations of current console designs (attached file: 8W8AXSUW9DGI). Switching now before officers become “entrenched” would make the transitions easier.

All listed recommendations (other than full replacement consoles) can be implemented while the ship is in space, with materials on hand, with minimal disruption if the work is completed during “low-activity” shifts.

Senior Operations Officer

Lieutenant J.G. Rhan K’hal

"He is nice.  He's a good captain," she insisted.

"Then why leave?  Why didn't you wait to be reassigned to a new ship?"

Miranda sighed and swirled her drink in her glass.  "It's complicated.  He... he's made several mistakes lately.  I've had a very difficult time forgiving him."

"What sort of mistakes?  What's so unforgivable?"

"Nothing horrible.  He didn't murder anyone, or anything like that.  He's just been selfish.  He put his own agenda before the ship's, before his crew's.  He abandoned us and was damned lucky he didn't get thrown out of Starfleet because of it.  We had to pull him out of the fire more than once.  Every time I looked at his stupid face, I just wanted to punch it.   That, and I got tired of babysitting."

"Isn't that the job of an Executive Officer?"  He laughed.

She grinned despite her sour mood.  "Most of it, yes.  Babysitting the captain and all the rest of the crew, as well.  It never ends."

"Sounds like you made a good move for yourself.  Get a bit of a break.  Stop babysitting crew and start babysitting ships instead."

"Yeah, I guess."  She finished off her drink and set it on the table.  "It's more the crew I'm missing right now.  That and the chance to put the new ship through her paces.  The Luna is such an amazing upgrade.  I've already been all over her systems."

"Always the engineer."

She nodded.  "Can't help it.  Just like you can't stop being thick-headed phaser fodder."

"Hey!  Someone has to protect you delicate types.  I'm looking forward to drilling the hell out of the crew.  Security is always so lax on these exploratory missions."

"Swain is going to hate that."  She paused and grinned wickedly.  "Do it as often as possible."

He laughed again.  "Done."  Throwing a glance at the wall chrono, he sighed.  "Time for me to get to the ship.  Thought I'd get settled in early and see what mayhem I could cause."

"Be careful out there, Jalen.  I know it's been eight years since the accident, and you've gotten your feet wet again on the Cherokee, but deep space is another animal entirely.  Nothing ever goes according to plan."

"I know.  I read through the Excalibur's records.  She's... ah... got quite a history.  Part of the reason why I requested the assignment after you'd declined."

"I know, and I put in a good word for you.  I was hoping they'd give you a shot."

"Thanks.  It means a lot to me."  He took her hand and pulled her close, brushing the hair from her face as he captured her gaze.  Their lips brushed in the softest whisper of a kiss.  "It was good seeing you again," he murmured softly.

As he drew away, she scoffed.   "I hope it was a fair sight better than just 'good', Jalen."

The blonde commander grinned.  "Well, I didn't want to sound too cheesy.  I'm supposed to be one of those strong, emotionless meat-head types, remember?  Wouldn't want the girls hearing me spout poetry.  Bad for my reputation."

"Good luck with that.  Another word of warning, if you catch Swain staring at you with a dreamy look in his eyes, he's probably debating the morality of seducing his first officer and cheating on his husband.  Maybe use that to your advantage." 

"Always have and always will.  No one can withstand the raw animal magnetism of Jalen Isaac Stanton."  He smacked himself on the butt.

She chucked a pillow at his head, which he ducked effortlessly.  "Get out.  I draw the line at people who refer to themselves in the third person."

"Jalen takes offense to that and says you will miss him terribly."

"Jalen has an overinflated ego and an overly high opinion of himself.  He's also going to get his butt kicked if he doesn't get going."

"See you when I get back?"

"I'll be here," she promised.  Send me some updates in the meantime.  "I want to hear how you're getting on.  And take care of my engineers, will you?  Every once in a while they need their XO down in the pits making sure they don't blow up the ship."

"I'll see what I can do."

This bitterly disappointed her. She called up the office of the admiral who had sent her the message, but they wouldn’t even put her through. Some cajoling and vague threats later, she learned the decision was final. Val was furious and let them know how she felt in no uncertain terms.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to stay in Starfleet anymore. Well, she had a nice long leave lined up after that. 3 weeks on Risa. Plenty of time to think it over.

Even without the threat of war, there were always options for her. She could go into the private security market, fly rustbuckets to protect traders, even work as a mercenary in more lawless frontier regions of the quadrant… well, her morals, instilled by years of Starfleet service, rejected the last one out of hand. Protecting traders in antique impulse fighters is a good way to get killed. Private security might work out, though.

But in the end, she decided it was all a bad idea. Her headaches had been getting worse and worse lately. Sometimes her vision would get blurry, or her balance would be off, or she’d get so nauseous. She always blamed her artificial eye even though doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with it.

The three weeks of vacation passed in a flash for her. It was on the final day that she received another message from Starfleet. She figured it was a stern warning for the way she acted on subspace, but it wasn’t. It was a message from an unfamiliar commander.

It turns out Captain Swain was pleased with her performance at the helm on the last mission of the Excalibur. Despite being placed into an unfamiliar role, she performed admirably and showed all the piloting skills that had made her such a fearsome competitor in the cockpit of a fighter. And now he wanted her back at the helm of his new command.

Flying a brand-new starship, huh? Well, that was enticing enough to get her to drop any thoughts of leaving.

A Hakran K’hal Log

With his personal gear chucked into his quarters on deck 3, and little thought of checking out his office on deck 9, Hakran made his way to deck 7: the home to the NSSL Sector, or non-specific science laboratories. This new setup, with entirely new types of variable-use-equipment, allowed for greater flexibility depending on mission profile, and allowed more than one lab to work in the same mode. That’s what was on the specs, anyway. Hakran wasn’t going to sign off on that as an “improvement” until he’d seen it for himself.

Coming to the first double doorway for NSSL 1, he took a breath and coded himself in on the side panel. Stepping in, his first reaction was “bright!” His second reaction was “shiny” followed by “hmm.” Naturally the brand new layout still had that new lab smell and was sparkling clean. It seemed the room’s default lighting profile was set to “might as well be walking on the sun,” and he dimmed them by 25% just so he could get a better look without his pupils contracting so small as to turn into black holes, instead of, well… black holes.

Able to take a proper look around, he was struck by just how generic the lab seemed. He’d had more dedicated purpose laboratories at his public high school back in San Francisco. He walked over to the storage room and open the doors, and was heartened by what he saw inside. Here were a lot of the items missing, which could apparently be dragged out on demand: low and high level containment units, quantum particle generators and more. Opening another door revealed an intriguing multi-purpose unit that, upon reading the label, could either act as a biological incubation unit or specimen holding. As each of the five labs of this type were supposed to be equally stocked, there certainly was flexibility.

Hakran walked over and turned on one of the built-in consoles with multi-purpose analyzer unit. The familiar LCARS interface was slightly updated, and the unit was asking for which mode to load into.

“Enable 4-D specimen analysis,” he said to the unit. The interface immediately changed with a very familiar (to him) set of readouts and options. His sensitive Caitian ears could hear the analyzer unit shifting its innards about. “Very nice,” he murmured. He poked around the interface a bit, occasionally finding the newest update to LCARS had finally added more intuitive next-action buttons so he didn’t have to pull up menus to do what was necessary.

“Cancel operations,” he ordered. The computer asked if he would like to save his work, which of course wasn’t necessary, and upon getting the negative response the screen reverted to the state exactly as he had found it.

With a scratch of his pointy beard, he found he had an administrative quandary on his hands: where to put his people, and how to deal with possibly having to punt them out of a lab if the mission required a change in the room’s profile.

Well, he still had the more intellectually oriented rooms to look at, which supposedly were heavy on the consoles and display screens, as well as variable seating options to be the conference room of a scientist’s dreams or a suitable forum for sharing data and batting it back and forth, and more besides. There was also astrometrics, right next to the torture chamber, i.e. his office. He would have to visit that far sooner than he’d like, as he had a few personnel juggling acts to do.

Other than the paperwork, he was starting to look forward to the new digs.

"I think I'm going to be sick." he said as he leaned against the main console.

"Sir?" the Tellarite Ensign that was working on one of the panels behind William turned to look at him, "Do I need to call the doctor?"

"No, no, it's just nerves." Williams said as he took a couple deep breaths, "I've never had 350 lives directly in my hands like this before."

"Weren't you serving on the previous version of the Excalibur? I'm sure you had that many lives in your hands back then."

"But there was a Chief Engineer above me that time. Someone that could keep me from doing anything too crazy...depending on the Chief of course, but even if we wanted to get too crazy the XO on the Excalibur was a former Chief Engineer so she knew how to keep us in line. Right now, I don't know anything about the officer right above me."

"Well, I doubt the Captain would have you here as Chief Engineer or that Starfleet would allow you to be here as Chief Engineer if they didn't think that you could do it."

William watched the Tellarite walk back to where she had been working on the panel.

"What's your name Ensign?"

"Torthem bim Zhuffand, sir."

"Thank you Ensign."

"Couldn't let you think you didn't deserve to be here sir. I'm sure you're going to be fine."

"Either way, thank you." William said before he started to walk around his Engineering Department. His department. One with what seemed like excellent crewmembers to help him keep the ship in space.

            She pondered what was going to be next for her career. Was she doomed to sit station-side forever? Exobiologists and xenogeneticists were in demand for science ship postings, so probably not. But it might be a while before she finds an open spot that isn’t right back where she started, especially when your record is as… spotty as hers in places.

            The consensus of her personnel reviews was that she was a bright and driven scientist. They also said that she had displayed poor judgment in interpersonal relations, a streak of impulsiveness that was definitely going to land her in trouble, and other things that didn’t bode well for one’s Starfleet career. 

            Irene looked at her PADD. Her schedule had filled up with therapist sessions and orders to exercise and stop drinking courtesy of Dr. Dubois and the starbase’s medical staff. She decided that following Maryse’s orders was a good idea.

            Before she went back to her quarters, Irene stopped by the starbase’s lounge area for a little afterparty. There were a few other Excalibur crew members there, too. She took a seat near another blueshirt she sorta recognized. “Ensign… Valdar! Geology, right?”

            The other blueshirt was a Trill about the same age as her. She had short brown hair and spots the same color, contrasting against her fair skin. She smiled warmly. “Stellar cartography. You’re a biologist, yeah? Uh… Mincine? I don’t think we ran into each other much on the ship, but after that meeting I could use some familiar company.”

            Irene ordered up a glass of water to clear her incoming headache. “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting my first tour to end with a decommissioning.”

            “Bad timing, that’s all,” Ensign Valdar said before sipping her drink. Irene wasn’t sure what it was, but from the ensign’s facial expression it was something strong. “I was aboard for three years. You?”

            Irene frowned lightly. “Just about a year for me. I’m hoping I don’t have to start my career over on my next ship.”

            Ensign Valdar shook her head. “You had the scores to land a biology slot as a fresh cadet, right? You’ll land one as a one-year ensign.” She sipped her drink. “I can’t believe it’s gone. It wasn’t even that long ago it was top-of-the-line.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either…” Irene stared at her drink, feelings of guilt bubbling to the surface. 

Ensign Valdar noticed this and changed the subject as fast as she could. “Say, did you really knock out N’Dak with one punch?”

Irene lit up again, laughing. “That guy’s a lech! Yeah, he tried to grab my ass at the bar on a starbase before the last mission. Taught him a lesson about that.” They spoke a while longer about this and that, then planned a discreet rendezvous later that evening.

Irene’s mood improved over the next month, thanks both to her new friend, a long rest, and the intensive therapy she had been going through. She was starting to learn that it really wasn’t her fault that the ship was wrecked in the time stream. She had done all she could. Nobody could have anticipated anything that came up, because nobody had ever done anything like it before.

As the weeks passed, she took a few shifts in the starbase’s xenobiology department to keep her skills sharp. As much as she needed the rest, performing simple experiments made her feel better and useful. The glowing recommendation she got from Commander Moharri, the section chief, couldn’t hurt her chances of finding a new posting when she was ready for full active duty again either.

A Rhan K’hal Log

So much for getting away from the station. After browsing the offerings of assignments, he found that there were no new launches scheduled for a while, and most of the holes to fill on ships under way were for lower decks personnel. So in the end Rhan stayed on 39 Tango. After waiting for a few more days, the position opened up: the beta shift operations officer had been waiting (impatiently) to give birth, and was now on maternity leave. Since he’d wormed his way into the station’s operation staff after the Excalibur had been assigned here (networking, networking, networking!), he was able to slide right in with only a few introductions needed.

One of the immediate perks of working, instead of being an Excalibur refugee, was that he’d been moved to larger, nicer, and most importantly single-occupancy quarters. Brotherly love was nice, but he and Hak could not share quarters for very long without getting under each other’s fur. The elder K’hal was taking his usual methodical approach to deciding his future, and was still on Station. They would grab dinner together usually, often with a useful buffer of additional Excalibur crew that hadn’t moved on yet.

While he had no particular emotions regarding the crumpled mess that was the Excalibur (as an operations officer he knew very well how much a ship was just a system of parts, and of little use without its people), he had found it odd and somehow fascinating watching the ship slowly being picked apart by the vultures. He even directed them where to store the meaty bits once he’d begun his new assignment. He could look at the transfer docket and think “ah yes, I remember giving that system a kick in the ODN relay” or “wasn’t that the one that Commander Hawthorne had beaten with a hammer after everyone else had given up on it?”

He did feel quite a bit different altogether about the break-up of the Excalibur crew. Most of them had taken the first ships available to head off on leave, having had their own fill of the station’s hospitality, there were others that were lollygagging (like Hakran), while deciding on what course to take next. He’d even helped break through the bureaucratic red tape for a few of his own people so they wouldn’t have to slide down rungs on the professional ladder. Seeing them drift apart like a cloud entering into wind shear, never knowing if he’d see any of them again, left Rhan with a lingering sadness that manifested with him being quite a bit quieter and more plodding than his normal self.

This was of course the first time since leaving the Academy where he’d had what looked to be a permanent parting from his long-term colleagues and friends. Though growing up in San Francisco he was quite used to people coming and going, so that dichotomy was understandably pulling his psyche in two different directions. He really didn’t like it at all, but he was far too much of a fatalist to dwell on it for long. He had three months in a familiar if not all that glamorous location, doing a job he could do in his sleep. He’d be able to adjust to moving on in relative comfort. Hopefully.

*Bounce, Bounce, Bounce*

William was sitting in an office in the Theoretical Engineering Department at Starfleet Headquarters. He'd finished up his assignments for the day and found himself bouncing a tennis ball against the wall of his suitably impressive office. He found himself doing that a lot these days, ever since he'd been reassigned to Starfleet Headquarters from the Excalibur. He figured it was probably his punishment for blowing up half the ship shortly after he was posted there as well as the rest of his shenanigans with Admiran. He chuckled as he remembered that crazy ol' Trill.

"Chocox!" he heard before the tennis ball flew past him and hit the back wall. "Where are those simulations I wanted you to run?"

William turned and looked to where Lieutenant Commander Grax, his Betazoid superior officer was standing in his doorway. William didn't even bother speaking to him and just imagined the presence of the report and simulations in his boss' inbox.

"Ah, yes, thank you. As you were." LC Grax said before he walked away.

William gave him a small smile before he went and picked up his tennis ball and resumed his bouncing.

*Bounce, Bounce, Bounce*

He was interrupted a little bit later by the sound of an incoming video call. He looked over and saw that it was from Koria Imonim, the unjoined Trill lieutenant who was serving at the Academy as an instructor. He accepted her call and turned to look at the screen as it came on. Which was right about the time that the tennis ball came in and smacked into his face. He tried to keep the look of embarrassment from his face but from the way Koria was laughing he could tell he was unsuccessful.

"How's it going sweetie?" he said to the screen.

"A lot better than it is for you I imagine." she replied, "Less likelihood of tennis balls as well."

"Yeah, comes with the territory here I'm afraid."

Koria laughed again, "Listen, I wanted to call because I had a good time last night and wanted to know if you wanted to meet up again."

William smiled, "I'd love to meet up again, when are you available?"

"I should be available in a couple days. What about you?"

"That works for me. What do you want to do?"

"That would be telling. I'll pick you up around 2000 hours?"

"I look forward to it."

Soft piano music played in the background while he read over the preliminary damage assessment on the Excalibur.  He sunk into the couch as he read deeper into the report. There were, literally, dozens of remarks as he scrolled through the individual sections of the report that made his stomach turn,  such as “total loss,” “will need complete rebuild,” and the ominous “unsalvageable.” Finally he came to the last section, a narrative from the senior engineer conducting the assessment. 

Part of him thought it was unfair to have someone who didn’t know the ship decide her fate. He was sure that this, Commander Arhren Sloan was perfectly competent and capable of delivering a fair assessment, but it just seemed somehow wrong. Then again, that was why Sloan was making the assessment and not Miranda or Tandaris. Neither of them could be remotely objective about their ship, and to be fair, neither could he.

When had that happened, he wondered? That Excalibur became his ship? Odd now that she was possibly at the end of the line, that he would feel this tug at his heart. He took a drink of tea and started reading the final narrative. It was a bit like reading ahead to the end of a holonovel, or more grimly, reading obituaries. 

“After a thorough on-site inspection, and after reviewing reports from the ship’s Chief Engineer and Commanding Officer, I am prepared to make the following recommendations to Starfleet Command on the future of the USS EXCALIBUR.” 

Asher frowned, looking away towards the star-filled windows. The drydock was thankfully on the other side of the barren rock that Starbase 39 Tango orbited. He didn’t think he could look at her while he read the next lines of the report. 

“The vessel has sustained major damage to virtually every system, including power, life-support, drive, navigational arrays, and computer networks. The structural integrity of the superstructure required significant reinforcement to be towed at warp speed. 

“Even under normal circumstances,  a recommendation for refit could be considered questionable. Given that Excalibur has undergone three major refits already in just under five years, it becomes even more questionable. Not only because of the large number of resources required to complete a refit of this magnitude (comparable in both time and material to new construction), but the underlying issues with key structural components that have now underwent the same number of refits one would expect for a vessel reaching the end-of-service life, but in just six standard years.”

His heart sunk. He didn’t need to read any further to know how Command would receive the report.  He laid the report down on the table. He considered calling Miranda to tell her. It would be another few days before Command made a formal decision. She deserved to know. Excalibur was as much her ship as it was his, afterall.

It was late. What was it his father had always said about bad news? Something about it never going away. Asher frowned. He’d never listened to his father before, so he wasn’t about to start now. 

He glanced away again, towards where the picture of he and Arden as newly graduated cadets had been since Arden moved to the starbase. It had been one of the few possessions Arden had taken with him aboard the Bancroft. Asher swallowed hard. There was no one else in the world he suddenly wanted to be near. 

They had finally managed to catch each other on a livefeed just a few hours before. Asher hadn’t expected to cry. He was never the crier. Arden had teased him about it after. Which, he supposed, was fine. “Now you know how I’ve felt all these years, Asher.”

That was an uncomfortable truth. They had been an item, on and off, since they’d met at the academy at the learning center where Arden was teaching supplemental classes to, mostly, non-human cadets on Federation standard. And in all of the break ups, all of the “cooling off” times it had always been Asher who’d left. It had never been Arden before. It also never been Arden whose career had come first. 

Asher was happy for his husband though. Even if it wasn’t an assignment of his choosing, the executive officer experience was virtually a prerequisite for having your own command. Arden would never, ever admit it, but in his heart, Asher knew, he wanted his own chance to command. 

They had chatted for almost an hour before Arden’s actual assignment had come up. The Bancroft, a relatively new Nova-class, had been assigned to survey one of the ruins that Asher had led bread-crumbed the Lugh too while searching for him.  

“It’s just this mission,” Arden assured Asher, though he hadn’t asked. “As soon as we’re done with the survey, Command assured me I can have my old job back at Starbase 39 Tango.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Why wouldn’t I. It’s a good command, and Excalibur isn’t likely to be assigned elsewhere for a while I’d venture.”

Asher bit his lip. “Arden, I don’t know if they’re going to sign off on a refit this time. She’s in pretty bad shape.”

“Oh.” Arden’s voice was suddenly quiet, introspective. As if Asher had just told him a good friend had died. “I... I am sorry, honey. I -- well I guess we can talk about it once you know more. 

“The Bancroft is a good ship from what I can see so far. Captain Uhmasa has a good crew here. The other senior staff have been good too. You’d like the security chief, he’s an unjoined Trill.”

Asher lifted a brow. “Anything I need to worry about?”

Arden snorted. “Are you jealous? Why Asher Swain.”

They laughed together before closing with I love yous and plans to talk again later in the week once the Bancroft had completed its initial orbital surveys. And more practically, when Asher knew for sure if his fears about Excalibur were real.  

Perhaps Asher, thought, he could join the Bancroft. He knew the planet, and the ruins perhaps better than one in Starfleet, and command would be more than willing, he assumed, to give him some leeway between assignments.  After a moment, Asher pushed the idea aside. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone and besides, he’d learned from Arden that command had been extremely generous in not revealing to anyone aboard the Bancroft about the particulars of the ‘rescue mission’ that Arden had led to the planet. 

Admiral Haller had said in confidence that if there was a decision to decommission the Excalibur that she would help Asher get a new command of his choosing. The Excalibur  had never been his ideal posting and Fleet had foisted it onto him, afterall. And despite his recent lapse in judgement, he was a seasoned commander at a time when many of Starfleet’s more senior commanders were retiring.  Perhaps, Haller said, he might even be inline for a Sovereign-class or Galaxy-class. 

It was an appealing offer. He knew that the Strausbourg was nearing the end of a refit and that most of her command staff, including her Commanding Officer, Giles Greenworth, had been reassigned. He’d even stopped by the construction site to look over the new bridge module. Granted, he’d instantly felt guilty. Like he’d just cheated on a lover or something.  Now, with the obituary in hand, he felt even guiltier.

Still, the reality was that he would need to make a decision about his future soon. It was strange, really. He’d spent most of the last six months considering that very question, and now, having finally decided he wanted to command Excalibur, fate had seen fit to intervene and make the decision for him. 

It was time for her usual evening ritual. She was washing her face in the small washroom area. She was cautious as always around her artificial eye. She put a patch over it to protect it during the night.

She hated the eye which didn’t match the natural blue eye next to it and gave her headaches and was sure was out of focus and was the first thing people noticed when they saw her. She hated the artificial forearm whose color was always just slightly off from the rest of her skin and whose connective seam to her upper arm was always visible to her and that itched when she tried to sleep.

Worse, they reminded her of the Borg. They’d taken her parents from her along with so many others that she knew, growing up with the other Starfleet brats on Starbase 44. The very thought that she had anything in common with them repulsed her.

She’d asked the same questions so many times. The eye was yellow, Commander Martinez had explained, because of natural genetic variation that precluded using implants with natural colors. Human skin pigmentation naturally varied with age and exposure to UV light, he had explained, so there was no way for it to perfectly match the rest of her skin.

The only thing she hated more than the fake parts was the smug commander who lectured her about them. He had answers for everything, even questions she hadn’t asked yet. And he was always so interested in her health and her future. Sometimes she wished they’d left her to die in the debris field, not put her back together in a starbase. There would be no smug commanders and no future. Only eternity.

The door chime rang, breaking her out of her cycle of thoughts. “Ugh, hold on,” yelled Val from across the room.

July 26, 2388 -- Earth

Lake Como was quiet in the darkness. Cool mountain air drifted down from snowy peaks. Fireflies danced in the late summer.  Nan Bacco smiled, she would miss Earth, she considered for perhaps the first time since she’d taken the Federation presidency. It had never felt like home, but now in the waning days of her presidency, she realized that like so many others it had captured her heart.

She glanced away and back towards a small villa; the final aeroshuttle had arrived and Cal would be coming to collect. Sighing, she took a final breath of summer and headed back down a cobblestone path. 

Cal met her at the doors. He wore the same frown as always, though now she noticed something else, thought she couldn’t place it. “That’s it,” he said, “Swaggert is here now. They’re all waiting in the den. I had Maurice get them settled in with refreshments.”

She nodded.  “Good.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No, but it's the right thing.”

Cal’s frown broke. “I guess you really don’t have any plans to ever run for office again.”

Nan laughed and patted her old friend on the shoulder, squeezing gently as she passed by and into the villa.  It was nearly midnight local time and the small romanesque villa was still save for muffled chatter coming from behind heavy double doors, each carved with the likeness of several Roman gods and goddesses.

“Madame President,” a plain-clothes Starfleet security officer from her detail who was guarding the doors said as he opened the doors.

She glanced towards him with a smile before taking a deep breath. “Into the lion’s den.”

The room, like the rest of the house, was decorated in a style meant to evoke the long dead Roman Empire. Waiting for her, were the four leading candidates to replace her. It was, she realized, the first time she’d actually been in the room with all of them at once.  Nearest to her, Hajer Somak looked over as the doors opened.  At nearly 130, the Catullan male’s once purple mane had faded to a regal silver and he seemed to enjoy his role as the elder statesman in the race.  Across from him, the final arrivee was pacing. Nan sighed. 

William “Bill” Swaggert. If you were writing a political character for a holonovel from human history, you wouldn’t do much better than just modeling him. Young, charismatic, and extremely handsome. He was, Nan considered, almost too perfect. If she were twenty years younger and single, she might even consider him attractive -- until he started talking about politics, anyway. 

At the other end of the room, Salyet of Vulcan and Rydra Thallis were making small talk. Nan wasn’t actually sure why Salyet was running, if she was being honest. As Vulcans went, she was something of a wallflower. Sure she’d been part of three different presidential administrations in the past, and had been part of the Vulcan delegation to Earth for nearly half a century, but outside of the Champs d'Elysee, she was virtually a non-factor. 

Rydra, however, was a rising star in Federation politics. The purple-skinned Osadjani had made a name for herself as an outspoken critic of both Nan’s and the preceding Min Zife administration's efforts to rebuild Starfleet following the Dominion War. Earlier, she had been a passionate advocate for the Bajorans and a strong critique of Federation policy towards the Cardassians. Though she’d been a continued thorn in her side, Nan had always found her to be fair and forthright. 

As all four finally turned towards Nan, she motioned to the security officer to let the door close. She wondered when the last time anyone in the room had been alone at a meeting without an aide. Smirking she made her way over. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “I know it’s late and I am sure you’re all wondering why you’re here.”

Saylet, surprisingly, replied first. “It is a curious situation we find ourselves in, Madame President.”

Before Bill could chime in, Nan resumed. “What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room. And if it does, well... I will make it my personal mission to assure that the campaign responsible doesn’t win the election.”

“I thought you weren’t taking sides,” Bill said smugly, “that’s what you keep telling all the papers anyway.”

“And I am not,” she gave him a cold glance. 

“I assume,” Rydra said, folding the upper most of her two sets of arms, “that if the President is going to all the trouble of meeting with us all, at midnight, in some tiny house away from Paris that it’s a matter of state importance?”

“That is correct.”

Hajer leaned forward, putting his glass down on a coffee table. “Alright.”

Salyet added her agreement before Bill finally agreed as well. 

“In 48 hours I will be making a major announcement concerning a future Federation member and the Cardassian Union, after which you will be free to discuss the issue with the press freely. I am telling you all this now so that you can be prepared. The decision has already been made.”

“Which future Federation member, exactly?”