The Last Harvest

The abduction and murder of ex Borg drones for their implants is on the rise

A Cut Too Deep

Unknown Vessel
December 2401

A cold and snowy winter had always been Arys’ favourite time of the year. Outside of the window, tall pine trees rose out of the earth to brush the sky, their branches heavy with the silvery-white crystals that had settled over the landscape like a comforting blanket, allowing it to sink into a peaceful slumber until this season was over. 

Inside, the air carried a faint melody with it, rising and falling like distant waves, soothing and mysterious like an ancient lullaby. From a mug standing on a small table beside her, wisps of cinnamon-scented steam curled up and mingled with the scent emanating from the lit fireplace, whose softly dancing flames warmed the room, and cast a soft glow across honey-coloured walls and hardwood floors. 

Arys sank into her wingback chair, feeling the supple fabric against her skin, and enjoying the cozy, enclosed feel while her fingers brushed over the book she had chosen as her companion for the night, and every night before and after this one. 

She gently traced the worn and familiar cover, perhaps unsuited for such modern times, but chosen for a reason. It housed her own writings, of what was, and what could have been, intertwining in a fairytale meant for only for her eyes, waiting to be read and re-read over and over again. 

There was comfort in anticipating what came next. In knowing it was safe and good. And as she read, time lost its meaning.

Arys frowned. Over the sound of the crackling fireplace and the slow turning of pages was … something, growing in intensity like a whisper pulled into a scream. She clutched the chair’s fabric as if she could anchor herself there, hold on, stay in this place just a little bit longer, resist the force that tried to rip her out of her sanctuary. To keep her chosen reality from unraveling. 

But it didn’t work. It never worked.

“Move!”, the gruff voice that eventually forced Arys back into reality shouted, and back on the cold floor of her cell, she wrapped the loose fitting jacket tightly around her, as if it could offer some sort of protection. It had been dark for too long – hours, or days, she couldn’t say – but that darkness had been almost kind in comparison to the dim light that now filled every inch of her prison, making her unable to hide. 

She still shrunk back into a corner, only to be pulled to her feet by the man who had come to take her. His fingers pressed painfully into her arm, then released enough not to hurt her, as if he just remembered that those were considered assets. But he didn’t let go enough to allow her an escape. As if there was a way for her to get out of here. Arys had tried. Several times. And every time, her captors had lost a little more of their already fragile patience with her refusal to comply. Eventually, they had found ways to make sure that she did. 

Not daring to look at the man, Arys kept her gaze fixed on the floor as he lead the way out of the cell, and through a narrow corridor. Through closed doors, she could hear the pleading cries of other prisoners, begging for mercy, asking to be rescued. Newcomers, clearly. Those here long enough had long stopped pleading to be set free. 

A short few moments later, the corridor made way to a large room with harsh, sterile lighting, and under the watchful eye of several guards standing near the entrance, just in case a patient turned out to be more resistant than anticipated. There was another man there. The Head of the Snake, the leader of this operation. Well-dressed and soft-spoken. Not cruelly delighting in pain like some of his crew, but business-oriented and cold. 

Arys’ team was waiting for her. Men and women whose faces had seemed to blur whenever Arys had tried to take a closer look at them, and who she didn’t know beyond the surgical suite despite having been working with them for weeks now. In the beginning, she had wondered if they were here voluntarily, or if they too were prisoners, forced into a gruesome perversion of their chosen profession. If they were returned to their cells, or if they had personal quarters. What they told themselves to justify what they did.

But over the weeks, the initial curiosity had dissipated. 

Instead, she had started to give them the names and faces of people she had previously worked with. Wyn Foster, Ivin Zumagi, Sheila Bailey. Friends, colleagues, competition. 

Now free of her guard’s vice-like grip, she took a step forward, looking at the woman on the operating table, though making sure not to look too closely. Never too closely.

Instead, she focussed on the medically relevant things – vital signs, location of implants, injuries sustained during the capture. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder who she had been before being added to the Collective, and who she had become after being freed. 

“Get started.”, someone barked, and Arys brushed a tired curl out of her face before reached for her equipment. 

Her mind was numb, fleeing reality once more, imagining herself in sickbay, with an injured crew member in her care, and telling itself that this time, the outcome would be positive. Her hands were trained to perform the procedure with flawless accuracy. She had plenty of practice, and she had busied herself with perfecting her method. 

The superficial implants were easy to deal with, and from what she had learned, most of the affected had them removed, as if that could silence the memory of what had happened to them. 

Back in her old life, after a stressful surgery, one of her assistants would have a hot cup of Gelat waiting for her. And Lukin would have dinner cooked. 

She moved on to the ocular implant. Her scalpel traced the edge of the eye socket, and she made precise, practiced cuts to separate the circuitry from the optic nerve. The process was excruciatingly slow; slower than it had to be, as she carefully detached the mechanical parts, which were promptly collected to be sanitised and handed over.

She had complained about all the administrative work, and about not being to follow her surgical passions any longer. Now, what wouldn’t she give for a boring desk job.

From the neck down, she worked through embedded devices that regulated the respiratory and circulatory systems. She exposed the rib cage, her hands slipping beneath to detach bioengineered ribs, carefully pulling them free, sealing the wound each extraction left behind.  

One by one, she disconnected these conduits, monitoring vital signs. 

“Enough”, she said, unused to the sound of her own voice. She usually didn’t speak. The people around her paused their work in hesitation. 

“There are implants left.”, said the Head of the Snake. One of the guards stepped closer. 

“I know, but we retrieved most of them. We can stop now, and-… “

“All of them. Or do you want to return to your cell and have the others continue the procedure?”, the Head asked calmly. Arys knew what he implied. This would continue until every last implant was retrieved, whether she complied or not. 

Arys closed her eyes, surprised at the tears that threatened to spill over. This was how they had gotten her to agree to doing the extractions in the first place. When she had been brought here, of course she had refused. And when physical violence hadn’t yielded the expected results, they had turned to other methods.

They had made her watch inexperienced staff hacking away at a fully conscious patient. Again and again. 

Until they had told her that if she did what they had bought her for, she could at the elect to have her patient sedated.

She nodded slowly, and started with an incision just below the temple, carefully peeling back layers of flesh and muscle to reach the cranial implants where she carefully extracted each microchip lodged in delicate neural tissue, her hand steady as she removed every piece of foreign machinery that had fused with the body. She could do this. She had the surgical skill, the training, and the practise for it. 

Finally, she reached the spinal implants. Arys’s hands shook as she exposed the spinal column, where Borg mechanisms had fused with nerves and vertebrae. One by one, she disconnected these conduits, but even with her precision, nerve fibres tore as the pieces of machinery resisted removal, clinging to their host with metallic stubbornness.

But the patient was alive. A fragile husk remained, breathing shallowly, barely clinging to life – but alive.

“It’s done.”, she whispered eventually, and the doctors stepped back. She forced herself to look up and face the Head of the Snake. “She can recover. There is no need to-…”

There was the slightest shake of his head, and the Orion guard sneered. He raised his disruptor, fired, and the patients vital signs vanished in an instant.

 Arys was left in the silence, blood on her hands, with the remnants of her perfected method that now seemed like a naive dream of the idealistic Starfleet Officer she had once been.

“Bring her to her cell to rest. We have more.”

Arys didn’t resist, following along obediently as she was led out of the surgical suite, humming the old seaman’s shanty her grandfather had taught her. For all those lost at sea. 

The Empty Cost

USS Callisto
December of 2401

Aboard the USS Callisto, most of the crew was blissfully unaware of what awaited them. The ever-present hum of the engines pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and familiar, through corridors, workspaces, leisure spaces, and quiet quarters.

In sickbay, Dr. Nichelle Trova moved between patients, her hands quick but her mind drifting. She knew she’d studied the faces of her colleagues, met each of them at least once – but she was, and had always been, awful with names.  She offered a warm smile to a young nurse who was assisting her with a sprained wrist from an ill-fated attempt at impressing someone in one of the gyms.
“Sorry, remind me, it’s… Rea, isn’t it?” Nichelle asked, more guessing than knowing.The other woman grinned. “It’s Raylan, ma’am, but close enough.”
Nichelle laughed, a little embarrassed, but glad to find the nurse unoffended by her lacking ability to remember names. At least she got the first letter right.
Around her, nurses chatted, one sharing a recipe for Bajoran spice cakes, another recounting a romantic holodeck adventure with her sweetheart.

A few decks away, on the holodeck, Lieutenant Jonathan Keller found himself finally able to be relaxed and present. He watched his children laugh as they scrambled over the simulated grass to catch a ball he had tossed their way. His youngest, with an exaggerated look of determination, caught it, stumbling backward with a laugh as he raised it high over his head like a trophy.
“Good catch, kiddo!” Jonathan cheered, ruffling his hair, and feeling… lighter…  as he regarded the pride in every inch of his small frame. Here, the worries and duty felt irrelevant. Here, all he had to do was be Dad – and he savoured each second of it.

Meanwhile, in the Counselor’s office, Ensign Velix shifted uncomfortably in her seat, casting a shy glance toward the Counselor. She picked at the edge of her uniform, trying to find the right words to answer the question she had been asked.
“I know it sounds silly, but… I mean, Lieutenant Pereira probably doesn’t even know I exist. As a person, I mean, not just a colleague.” she sighed. Her eyes flickered up to meet the Counselor’s gaze. “But every time I pass him in the corridor, I just… feel all warm and fuzzy.”
The Counselor had to hold back a smile. Of course he couldn’t say anything, but ironically he had the exact same question with Lieutenant Pereira only a few days ago. “Sounds perfectly normal to me. Have you thought about just… talking to him?”
The young woman’s eyes widened. “I could never…”

In engineering, Ensign Sarin adjusted a recalibrated warp coil, fending off playful teasing from her team.
“Are you sure this won’t take half the core with it?” one of the other ensigns teased, nudging her shoulder with a smirk.
“Oh, it’ll work,” Sarin replied dryly, casting an overly confident wink. “And if it doesn’t, you’ll be the first to find out.”
“Uh…. I guess this is where I take my lunch break.”, her counterpart replied, taking an exaggerated step back, but ultimately remained closely.
The warp core did not explode.

It was, to anyone passing through, just another unremarkable day.

But up on the bridge, the atmosphere was very different.

Captain Ceix’ brows had furrowed in a frown as he leaned forward. He studied the viewscreen with a quiet intensity no one dared to interrupt. And there was no one to interrupt it, because  the entire bridge crew mirrored his focus, almost transfixed by the image of a shuttle drifting lifelessly against the cold backdrop that seemed so much darker than it had before. Its hull was almost entirely shattered, a charred remnant of what had once been sleek plating, pocked with breaches that exposed empty interiors. 

“Yellow alert.”, said the Captain eventually, breaking the spell. The amber light pulsed across the bridge, casting an eerie glow over consoles and faces. 

Lieutenant Dakora, eyes fixed on her readout, spoke up next. “Captain, life sign scans are negative. No survivors…  I am trying to download the crew manifest and passenger list, but… “

She trailed off, her voice dissipating into an uneasy hush as her fingers hovered over the data. Every indicator suggested this had been a civilian shuttle, outfitted with only the barest of shields, its systems designed for routine travel, not combat. There was no reason for it to have been attacked so brutally.

Brennan’s gaze flicked from the console to Captain Ceix. “We followed a distress signal, but… it’s almost as if whoever did this wanted us to arrive just in time to find nothing.”

Ceix’s jaw tightened. The details on his screen displayed simple passenger logs—generic names without rank or designation. Each lacking piece of information hinted at lives unremarkable, but dearly connected: a mother, a spouse, a son. Ordinary people. Not rich as far as he could tell, not connected to anyone with a name that mattered.

“There is something else. The cargo is untouched, and whatever valuable components the attackers could have taken from the shuttle are still there.”

“If they didn’t come for parts, they came for something else.” Ceix said eventually, the edge in his tone sharpening as his eyes took in the trail of debris. They could have taken everything, but so far, it looked like they took nothing. And that made the destruction of the shuttle even more senseless. 

“I want every available information on the crew and the passengers.”

Brennan gave a nod, and got to work. 

“Captain… I’m picking up traces of a warp signature. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

“Source?”

“Unknown. Not a federation starship.”

At once, the energy on the bridge shifted from shock to focus. This was something they could do, rather than sit with the questions they didn’t have any answers to. But it was the Captain’s decision whether they wanted to pursue this, or not.

Captain Ceix straightened, and his gaze hardened. “Follow that signature.”

Unwind

Unknown Vessel
December of 2401

There were moments in which he longed for the comfort of the Collective. The constant presence of other minds, the thoughts that filled the silence, the direction and sense of purpose. There had been no fear then, and he had felt no pain. Now, he felt everything. 

He carefully traced the softness of her hair, letting strands of it slip through his fingers like silken threads as he cradled her close, wrapping his jacket tightly around her. She hadn’t been feeling well when they begun their journey, and here in the cold, dimly lit cell, she had developed a fever that flushed her cheeks and hid the constellation of freckles beneath carmine spots and sapphire bruises. 

Her eyes were closed, but he knew the shade of them – a forest of oak, mahogany and cherry wood, with specs of moss and pine, that gave him peace even on the worst of days. 

He tenderly wiped the tears from her face, careful not to wake her. And in that deafening silence, he whispered the things he had never told her, letting the words spill forth, sensing that ‘all the time in the world’ had narrowed down to this small moment. A fragment of the time they had promised each other. 

“You’re going to be alright.” he murmured, though his voice shook as he said it. He kissed her hair. It was such a small, fragile promise he tried so hard to believe as he stood, and faced the guard who had come to take him. 

The man motioned for him to follow, his face an unemphatic mask of indifference, his mannerism cold and detached. And yet he had allowed for this tender moment of goodbye. 

He craned his neck to look back at her, just this one last time, but gloved hands pried him away, telling him it was time to go. No more delays. The corridor was silent, harsh lights humming above, reflecting on the slate grey walls and turning them into the shimmering silver of a spider’s web. Each step was an echo that reverberated down to a hollow emptiness that was spreading inside his chest, and there was a comfortable numbness to it that suffocated the sensation of pain like a soft blanket that smelled like their first kiss. But it wasn’t what he wanted. 

No. He thought. Not like this.

He had been numb once. Now, he wanted to be fully alive for as long as he had.

Ahead loomed a sterile room, gleaming with surgical tools and unforgiving lights. He had heard others speak of it, guards making fun of the screams that burst forth, though what greeted him was an oppressive stillness as the guard led him to the operating table and secured him in place. 

Then he saw her. The arachnid of his nightmares that sucked the life out of her prey, dissolving them until only an empty husk remained. She stepped forward, and her eyes flicked over him, lingering for a fraction too long as he defiantly stared into her eyes. They weren’t cold. They were empty.

The woman was older than him, but she looked smaller. She cleared her throat, her gaze dropping as she adjusted the settings on a monitor beside the table. “You… shouldn’t feel any… pain,” she said slowly, as if it was exhausting to speak. “I will sedate you.”

He took a slow breath, and to his surprise, his own voice was softer than he had anticipated, and barely more than a whisper. 

“Let me stay awake. Please… I want to be alive, even if it’s only for a little while longer.”

She hesitated, looking over her shoulder as if expecting someone to tell her no, but the other attendants were unfazed. Indifferent. With a slight nod, she turned back to him, her eyes shadowed by something he couldn’t quite name. The corner of her mouth twitched as if fighting against an apology she couldn’t bring herself to say.

As her hands moved over him, disintegrating clothing and adjusting sensors, he saw the faint tremor in her fingers. It was enough to give him a strange, bitter comfort. That, somehow, he wasn’t alone in this after all. 

“You will be awake. But it won’t hurt.”, she said eventually. 

Slowly, but ever increasing, the hum of the machines filled the room, and he felt his mind detach from his body,  allowing a strange clarity to settle over him.  

“Too long…” he whispered, staring up at the ceiling. “It felt so long that I was just… one of them. Not even me, not really.”  He let out a hollow laugh that was barely more than a breath. “I was a weapon, and I was part of their will.” 

He couldn’t see what the woman was doing, but he felt a slight pull on his leg. Perhaps he simply imagined feeling it. She didn’t respond, and so, he simply kept talking. 

“But sometimes… sometimes there was this little voice inside. Telling me it was wrong. Telling me there were people suffering because of us. I didn’t know how to make it stop.”

He looked over at her as she stepped to his side, expecting perhaps nothing, but she met his gaze. And for a moment, one hand rested lightly on his shoulder before her gaze hardened. 

“Even if you had resisted,” she replied “they would have replaced you. Someone else would have carried out the same orders.” Her eyes drifted to the machines around them. “One drone’s defiance doesn’t change anything to them. It never would have mattered.”

A sad, fleeting smile curved his lips. “Maybe not,” he said, his gaze drifting to the ceiling again. “But it mattered to me. It’s… strange, really. That I could be so powerless but still want to hold on to who I was, even if no one ever knew.” 

He could watch her work now. Remove those implants that had bothered him, those he hadn’t been able to get removed. That it happened now, at the very end, left a bitter taste in his mouth. Her work exposed muscle and bone underneath, and blood pooled underneath him. As if proving to him that he was still human.
That, underneath it all, he always had been human. 

“I got a second chance. I just… I just wish it had been more. More time. More love. More of… everything.”, he said closing his eyes now. 

“Me too.”, the woman said. “We are almost done. That last part is… scary. I would like to sedate you now.”

He looked at her again, and for a moment, he saw the reflection of his own pain and helplessness in her gaze. “Please don’t…”

He sounded scared now. He was scared. He didn’t want to die.

She held his gaze, and eventually, she nodded, and reached for a scalpel. 

He felt the faintest pressure against his temples, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, strange warmth spread through his skull, gentle at first but growing, like a tide creeping in, as the world around him began to blur and he closed his eyes. 

I wanted to buy a ring. A silly little human tradition, but it felt important to me. I had wanted it to match her eyes. I never found quite the right shade. 

The once-precise hums became muffled echoes in the distance, an almost pleasant backdrop to his thoughts.

I spent so much time studying. I wish I would have had more time to enjoy the sun. 

His breath came slower now, each inhale stretching longer than the last. He wanted to reach out, to hold on to whatever was left of himself, but his body felt heavier with every passing second. 

I was going to introduce her to my mother.

The thought came to him in a rush, distant and urgent. He tried to remember her face – but all he could find was the vague shadow, like a dream half-remembered.

Her eyes. I can’t remember their color. I think they were green. 

Everything seemed so far away,  pulling back from him, retreating into some dark place where he couldn’t follow. A part of him wanted to fight, to scream, but there was nothing to scream at.

I hope I will see her again. Somehow. 

There was only silence now. The buzzing of the machines had been replaced with a steady thrum of a heartbeat that didn’t seem to belong to him.

I… I wish… I….

He felt something inside him slip away, something final, irrevocable, as his consciousness unraveled like a thread pulled too tight.

I…

 

Spark

Unknown Vessel
December of 2401

The concept of days and weeks had long lost its meaning to Arys.

Instead, her existence was divided up into the time she spent in the surgical suite, the time she spent in her cell, and the time she got to retreat into herself and escape to the mental place that was warm, peaceful, and safe. 

When first she had been brought here, this had been a sanctuary only accessible when she was asleep. Those rare nights she didn’t have nightmares. Over the time that followed, sometimes, she could go there at will. She would dissociate from her surroundings and let her body rot away on the cold floor of her cell, or stand at the operating table. Sometimes, for a while, she watched her hands move with eerie precision, remembering the time she had been lauded for her surgical skills, and promised a bright future ahead.

And in the book that waited in her mental space, that was how her life had unfolded. A medical career past the position of Chief Medical Officer. Groundbreaking surgical procedures, inventive cures that saved thousands of people.

She knew that it wasn’t real. But more and more, the lines had started to blur, and there were moments in which she could forget that the book of memories was full of lies, but she found herself making that final concession – it didn’t matter whether it was real or not.

And every time she went there, she hoped she wouldn’t have to return.

But after that last extraction procedure, that conversation with the young man whose body had long since been discarded, the doors remained closed, sealed shut by the unnamed force that kept her tethered to reality, no matter how much Arys strained against it and begged and pleaded for just a moment of escape. 

Instead, thoughts and emotions she didn’t think she still had, were pouring from some deep dark hole inside her. Arys had never had the luxury of indifference – as much as she had liked to pretend that she didn’t care about herself or those around her – and something in the man’s words had rekindled a hatred that burned with an intensity that set every fibre of her being ablaze, filling the cell with a gleam that promised destruction, longing to spread through corridors and envelope the whole vessel until all that remained was ash.

That would include her, but she was ready to burn. 

Her opportunity came days later, when the door groaned open and the guard blinked in surprise as he found Arys standing there rather than curled up in her usual corner. 

“Eager to get started?”, he asked with a scoff, a taunting comment to which Arys merely replied with a nod. And as they left the cell, it was the first time that she really took in her surroundings. Noted the well-filled cells adjoining hers, and the access key the guard was carrying. The number of steps it took to reach the operating room, and the faces of those already waiting there for her. The fact that it’s set up told her this hadn’t always a been a surgical suite, and the terminals on the walls that still had life in them, used to catalogue the implants they retrieved from their victims. The ex Borg drone that stood guarded by several men, and the fact that he seemed a be a hulking and healthy fresh catch, straining against the grip of his captors.

“Sedate him.”, hissed one of the guards at Arys “And no chatter with that one.” 

Arys gave another compliant nod, and turned towards the table that contained different hyposprays, her fingers hovering over them for a moment longer than necessary. 

She didn’t make a conscious choice. Rather, she executed what always seemed to be the plan, even if she hadn’t made it. She felt the weight of that decision, the profoundly wrongness of using someone else as means to an end, a pawn in a game they neither of them sign up for. A little act of defiance that would bring consequences she couldn’t perceive. 

But it didn’t matter. She reached for the hypospray just next to the sedative, felt the cool metal on her skin, and then turned to the prisoner. She didn’t say a word as she reached up and injected the man with its contents, which, within seconds, caused his neurons to fire and his muscles to coil. 

The guard, who had anticipated the opposite effect and already loosened their grip, struggled to regain control, but their once-constrained victim let out an animalistic howl and surged forward. His previously defiant eyes blazed with unadulterated fury as he charged into his captors. 

The guards scrambled – one was caught in the attack and fell, only to have his windpipe crushed by the ex Borg’s hands a moment later. The other managed to retrieve his weapon, only to have it wrenched from his hand and thrown aside as the prisoner turned his raw strength toward him.

Arys watched the chaos she had ignited with a surreal detachment, feeling the hot rush of adrenaline mingle with a grim satisfaction. 

Suddenly, someone shouted into his communicator, calling for reinforcements. The room’s blaring alarms began to pierce the air, painting the walls in red light. This was her signal. Her moment. While they were distracted. While no one was watching her.

Arys moved swiftly, exhaling as she reached the keys on the terminals, trying to figure out the sequence that would unlock the cells. For a brief moment, the image of rows of faces, their expressions shifting from dull resignation to dawning realization and flickers of hope, crossed her mind. 

Access Denied. 

If she had needed any proof that she wasn’t a hero, this was it. 

This terminal was meant to allow for the logging of inventory, and communication of said parts with the bridge and potential buyers, but not much more. So that was exactly what Arys used it for. 

Arys’ fingers flew across the console, toggling through menus until she reached the inventory logs. Every piece was cataloged, every “part” labeled, the contents of each cell, descriptions of each prisoner, and their intended “extraction” dates. It sickened her, but she harnessed that disgust and her revulsion.

She selected Transmit All and opened the comm frequencies, not hesitating a single second before casting the signal wide – an unencrypted broadcast sent out to anyone within range. There was no going back now. She knew that what she’d done would draw predators and allies alike, but at this point, she was beyond caring.

The terminal chirped, confirming the broadcast was live, and Arys imagined the faces on the other end of the signal… ships passing within comm range… seeing the nightmare hidden within the walls of this vessel.

For the first time in what felt like ages, her breath felt steady, her mind silent. At peace.

Then, just as she turned from the console, a sharp pain shot through her side. She staggered, instinctively clutching her abdomen as her vision blurred. She stumbled backward, colliding with the terminal as pain pulsed through her. Blood trickled down her side, warm and sticky against her skin, but oddly distant.

Because door was open again. And, this time, Arys had a feeling that she wouldn’t be coming back.  

Chain of Command

Bridge, USS Callisto
December 2401

As he set course to follow the warp signature left behind by the vessel that had destroyed the civilian shuttle, Fransix Leski’s hands trembled. He could feel the adrenaline flooding his veins and sharpen his senses, forcing his heart to heart to race ahead, while his mind desperately tried to catch up with what was happening. It wasn’t panic, but a fierce alertness that seemed to ignite every nerve. 

Excitement and anxiety collided and dissipated into an electrifying blend of anticipation and dread, and a sense of purpose that conflicted with the uncertainty of what awaited them. 

Around Leski, people and words blurred in and out of focus at a rapid pace until his mind had decided what to pay attention to, and what to banish into the background. 

“Sir, we are picking up a signal.”, said the officer by the science station, and Leski’s glanced over at her in an attempt to anticipate what she could have discovered. 

“What is it?”, asked the Captain, seeming equally eager to calculate their next move accordingly. 

“I am not sure yet.”, the woman admitted while her brows furrowed as she leaned in to assay the readout. “It looks like a broadcast, an unencrypted file. Source unknown.”  

“It could be a trap.”, warned someone else, and what followed was a moment of silence. 

“Run it file through a level-five buffer,” Captain Ceix ordered. “Set up a heuristic filter to isolate any anomalous signals or active code fragments.” He paused, and glanced at the officer by the tactical station. “Monitor for any secondary emissions or piggybacked transmissions.”

The science officer nodded, her fingers already moving across the console. “Initializing the quarantine buffer now… it’s clear.” 

Leski wanted them to double-check. He had to admit that he didn’t have much experience just yet, but receiving something from an unknown source didn’t sit right with him. 

“Let’s see it.”, nodded Ceix, and turned his attention to the view screen where the backdrop of stars and far-away nebulae was replaced by a mixture of standard alphanumeric characters and alien script. Column after column of entries, each row representing a single item or entity.

“It looks like an inventory manifest.”, noted the First Officer as she stepped closer to the view screen. 

The first column was labeled with what appeared to be identification codes. Next to each code, a second column displayed a list of what could only be described as components: entries like LC Cortex Array, Peripheral Neural Cluster, Nanotube Filament. 

Further to the right, a column labeled Status offered brief descriptions: Extracted, In Transit, Processing. Adjacent to that, a final column titled Schedule detailed timestamps.

“Strange…” muttered the science officer, tilting her head as she cross-referenced the data with the ship’s library.

A few rows contained longer entries, with additional details. Subject 7484-C: High-value bio-integrated system. Extraction scheduled within 24 hours.

Leski’s chest tightened. There was something unsettling about the way the log intermingled clinical precision with descriptions that felt disturbingly personal.

“What do you make of it?” asked the Captain. 

“It could be raw materials,” suggested the tactical officer, though his tone betrayed uncertainty. “Or… biological samples?”

The science officer narrowed her eyes at a section toward the bottom of the log. A secondary list, separate but linked to the main inventory, was titled Containment Registry. It bore a smaller number of entries, each with a several descriptors.

“Captain, this section seems to refer to… well, individuals,” the science officer said hesitantly. “The terminology here suggests live specimens. But the way they’re categorized…”

The room fell silent. 

“Are there any recent specimen registered?”, Ceix asked. “Anyone who might have been part of the shuttle’s crew or civilians?”

“Four of them.”, nodded Brennan. “The entries match the approximated date of destruction of the shuttle.”

Tactical spoke up next. “According to the crew manifest and passenger list, they had fourteen individuals on board.”

“Why wouldn’t they have taken the others?” , frowned Ceix.

“I think I can answer that.”, said Brennan, and Leski noted how she looked a little more pale than usual. “There were nine passengers in total, four of them travelled together. V’lana Torvass, Roth Moser, Meg Weißenfels, and Krisic Kar. And they were all assimilated into the Collective.”

“They’re Borg?”, Leski blurted out before he could stop himself. A few more senior officers shot him a reprimanding glance, while Brennan gave a vague nod. “Ex-Borg. With all that happened… well, there are a few of them around.”

Leski felt a shiver running down his spine. The Borg terrified him more than any other entity in the galaxy. The loss of self, becoming part of a machine… 

And his mind got stuck on that, overwhelmed with intrusive thoughts of the worlds they had destroyed, assimilated. 

“So they are Borg parts.”, said Ceix with an unusual heaviness in his voice. 

“Sir.”, said the science officer. “Broadcasting this was either an accident… or an advertisement.”   

Ceix gave a slow and rose from his chair. “Ready room.”, he said tightly. 

Once more acting before thinking, Leski got up. He had worries he wanted to voice, be part of the group that made the decision whether to run to or from danger, but realised quickly that he wasn’t privy to that discussion. And for the first time since the start of his Starfleet career, it bothered him. 

He swallowed hard, attempting to retake his seat, when Brennan approached him. “Take a five minute breather.”, she said quietly, and so only he could hear it. It was a kind gesture, but in that moment, all Leski could think about was how incredibly intrusive it was for a telepath to read his mind. He wasn’t part of the decision, and now he was not even allowed the privacy of his own thought. 

“I’m fine…”, he replied, but Brennan only gave him a pat on the shoulder and followed Ceix and the other senior officers, leaving the remaining crew to stare at Leski. At least he did feel stared at, and that tipped the scale in favour of taking the offered break. 

 


Away from the bridge, he could finally breathe. He leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, hoping it would ground him, but finding it did nothing of the sort. 

“Hey Fransix.”, said the voice that finally did. It belonged to Velix, who Leski didn’t know terribly well, but liked. They had been serving on the Cupertino together, and been promoted in the same celebration. 

“… Hey…” He said lamely, trying not to make eye contact. “What are you doing here? Headed to the bridge?”

Velix gave a nod. “Yes, got orders to show up, just don’t know why yet.” She paused for a moment and then looked at Leski. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the bridge?”

“Taking a short break.” he offered as an excuse. It didn’t work. 

“You never take breaks. What’s up?”

“I don’t know.”

Leski sighed. He didn’t want to talk about it, but desperately needed to. And of all the people on the ship, Velix was probably the one he felt most comfortable with. Eventually, he spoke up. 

“We think the shuttle had Borg on them. And that it was destroyed and the Borg were taken prisoner. The Captain is discussing it with his senior officers now.”

Velix’ eyes widened. “Borg?”

Leski nodded. “Or… ex Borg.”

“I heard about something like that from one of my friends in Intel. Something about harvesting Borg parts… Even scraps of that tech can cause havoc. We’ve seen what happens when people think they can control it.”

“They are terrifying. The Borg, I mean.” Leski said quietly, expecting to be reprimanded or berated, but Velix did neither of these things. Instead, she agreed. 

“They are. I know my symbiont encountered them before. I honestly hoped I would not.”

“I would rather just… leave.”, he admitted quietly, feeling a little safer to voice his feelings. 

“And not do anything?”, Velix asked with a frown. 

“No, not that… just….”

“Just what?”

“I don’t know.”

Velix fell in step next to him as he made his way back to the bridge. Leski had been given a few minutes, and somehow needed to put himself back together before those doors parted. 

“The Borg are evil. Everything about them is poison. It’s hard to feel sorry for them.”, he said eventually.

“What about the ones who broke free? The ones who didn’t choose it? They’re people now…  Imagine surviving the collective only to be… harvested.”

Leski gave a small nod. “We need to… I don’t know.”

Velix stopped in her tracks and looked at him. “Fransix, what’s really going on?”, she asked calmly. 

“I…- “

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” 

Leski sighed once more. “I just wish I had more… more time? More influence in what happens now?”

“How do you mean?”

“Everything is just moving so fast – first the distress signal, then the destroyed shuttle, then the broadcast, now the Borg. They are discussing what to do next, and I don’t have a say. I just get to do what they decide, at the time they decide. I feel like… I feel like a drone. Like I don’t have any autonomy.” 

The silence that followed was almost deafening. 

“They make decisions and all I can do is comply, or get out.” , he added bitterly. 

“But you can get out.”, said Velix. “You have autonomy. And I get how it’s not great to not have a say in the matter, but do you trust our Captain to make good decisions?”

“I mean… I have no reason to doubt him…”, Leski admitted. 

“I understand that it doesn’t feel great when someone above you is making decisions, but what would be the alternative? Ask everyone on the ship? Vote? The Captain is in his position for a reason, and he has never failed his crew.” 

“I know.”, nodded Leski, though he sounded a little defeated. “I think I am just… overwhelmed.”

“And maybe a little scared.”, Velix added neutrally. “Me too – maybe not so much of this, but other things. Captain isn’t scared, though. That’s why I am good with him and the senior staff making the decisions.” 

Leski inhaled, focussing on feeling his lungs fill with air. “Let’s… make a deal. Okay?”

“Sure.”, said Velix, a little too trustingly, in reply to which Leski tried a grin. 

“I stop being scared to potentially face the Borg.”

“Okay…?”

“And you stop being scared of asking Pereira out.” 

Velix cheeks turned red. 

“Oh shut up. That was sooooo uncalled for.” 

“Still true.”, said Leski, his grin turning a little more sincere. 

The doors to the bridge hissed open, and Velix shot him a playful glare as she made her way to relief the officer at the science station while Leski returned to his own chair at the helm, deciding that he was still scared and overwhelmed, but that he would shelf those feelings for later.  

Arys All Along

Unknown Vessel
December 2401

The doors to the operating suite slid open with a strained groan, and Mahok stepped inside, His polished shoes clicking against the blood-slick floor. He was a man used to the fact that everything could be broken down into cost and profit. There was neither anger, nor disgust in his expression. If anything, he seemed utterly detached from the destruction around him. 

The room reeked of copper and ozone. A stretcher bore the broken body of a collapsed physician, still twitching faintly every now and then. Around the body, guards and technicians frantically tried to restore order to the chaos. The faint buzzing damaged console and equipment was, every now and then, interrupted by a groan from one of the injured, or an order given by a one of his officers. 

Mahok’s eyes took in the damage with an accountant’s precision. The shattered instruments. The bloodied floor. The disassembled equipment. 

Each broken hypospray, each twisted restraint, each dented table. 

One of the guards approached, blood streaking his uniform.  “Sir, the prisoner… he -”

“Spare me,” Mahok cut him off, his voice icy and low. “I’m not here for excuses. I’m here to count the losses.” 

He stepped around the guard without a glance and knelt beside a shattered diagnostic console, running his fingers over the jagged edge of the casing. “Each of these devices is worth more than your life, and you allowed a single drone and a disgruntled doctor to render them useless.”

The guard swallowed hard but said nothing. Mahok straightened and turned his gaze to the table where the ex-Borg lay, now silent and still  and under heavy sedation. “What of the merchandise?” 

“Damaged, sir,” a technician piped up nervously. “The neural interfaces are compromised. Potential buyers might still be interested…”

Mahok clasped his hands behind his back and glanced around the room one last time. “Do your jobs, salvage what you can, and clean up this mess.”

Without another word, he turned. 

He had nearly reached the doors when one of his officers intercepted him. “Sir,” the man said, clutching his PADD like a shield. “We’ve detected a Starfleet vessel on approach. They’ll be within range in less than an hour.”

Mahok froze mid-step, his lips curling in disdain. “Starfleet,” he repeated, his voice smooth and contemplative. “And they’re responding to the broadcast, no doubt.” 

“It appears so.”, the guard nodded.

Mahok gaze landed on Arys, still slumped against the wall, her breath shallow but steady. 

He considered her for a long moment, weighing options, running probabilities in his mind. Finally, he turned to the Doctor, a thin man who had taken to hovering near the corner. 

“Doctor Krenn. See if she can be stabilized. I’ll need her alive. Alive enough, anyway.”

The doctor blinked in surprise but quickly nodded, stepping forward “Yes, sir.”

“Do it quickly and quietly. This is an asset I’m not finished with yet.”

With that, he strode out of the room, his mind already pivoting to the next move in his strategy. 


Half an hour later, he stood in the shuttle bay, addressing the gathered crowd, his personal shuttle, sleek and prepared for departure, behind him. A handful of guards and advisors stood ready to board, chosen for their loyalty and usefulness. The extracted merchandise had already been brought on board. The rest of the crew, those assets that were necessary to sacrifice, watched him.

“There is not enough space for all of you,” he said plainly, his hands clasped behind his back. “You knew the risks when you signed on, and I am not in the business of charity. But I am not unreasonable.”

His eyes scanned the faces in front of him, the panicked expressions, the fear, the doubt. It made him smile. Then, his gaze settled on the officers closest to the chain of command. “There’s a way out for you. Starfleet will arrive soon, and when they do, you’ll need someone to blame. A scapegoat.”

He allowed the words to settle before continuing. “Fortunately for you, we already have one.” 

There was a murmur in the crowd. Many of them knew that the woman who had started the chaos hadn’t been executed or left to die, but stabilised and brought to the Captain’s quarters. Mahok’s tone was laced with cruel irony as he continued. “She was your captain, wasn’t she? The one who orchestrated this entire operation, coerced you all into compliance.”

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, and not sure what to do with that information. 

“I advise you to sell the lie convincingly,” Mahok added  “Claim you were innocent pawns, forced to follow orders under threat of death. Starfleet loves a good redemption arc.” 

And then, without another word or another glance, he turned and boarded the shuttle, his chosen entourage filing in behind him. The hatch sealed with a hiss, and moments later, they were on their way towards the nearest nebula, where Starfleet was unlikely to track them. 

Chaos

Unknown vessel
December 2401

Draxon Vale had joined Mahok’s crew more than a year ago, and believed himself well on the path to setting himself up as his right hand and confidant. He had enforced Mahok’s orders ruthlessly and without doubt, taken care of the dirty work, and only waited for the First Officer who currently held the position to make a mistake so he could replace him. 

When Mahok had begun loading the shuttle and determining who was to come with him, he had fully expected to be one of those valuable enough to travel with him. The rejection pierced his self-image and unraveled the future he had built in his mind. 

Despite having his back turned to the remaining crew, he could still feel the smug expression on their faces, each satisfied glance a personal insult he was unwilling to let go. They were happy to see him denied his rightful place, content with their fate as long as they dragged him with them.

His jaw and the hand around his weapon tightened as though he would strangle it in frustration, and he kept his expression stern and unreadable while his emotions rose, a seething mixture of betrayal and fear. 

The shuttle departed, its destination unknown, as it carried Mahok and his most valued assets to safety. And for a moment, no one dared say a single word. A pull gnawed at the back of Draxon’s mind – if he didn’t act now, someone else would. And he became aware that he now held the leadership position he always strived for, but never held.

“You heard what he said”, he barked, straightening with a sudden surge of power as he turned to the group, instinctively raising the phase rifle he had been carrying. “Make preparations!”

He was in command now, and because making plans was not his strongest skill, he defaulted to what he knew – and that was to follow Mahok’s directive. 

His order hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable, until the first movements broke it. 

Some nodded their assent, others lowered their gaze, and some stood frozen. That was until someone spoke up. 

“And how do you suppose we are going to do that?”

The voice belonged to Kira Halden, the dark-skinned senior engineer. She was the one person Draxon hated most, a woman with whom he shared a long and complicated history. Always defying him, always making him look small as she questioned his orders with a raised brow and the tone of a disappointed parent scolding an unreasonable child. 

His throat tightened at her comment, causing him to lose valuable seconds to reply, and giving her the momentum to continue. 

“Pretend that one woman – one injured and malnourished woman, might I add – has kept us all against her will? No one will buy that.” Halden continued, earning herself a few glances from the other crew members. 

“What’s the alternative?” Draxon growled, cursing himself for allowing Halden to question his authority and orders. 

“Blame Mahok. Simple.”, she replied, her tone steeped in condescension. 

Draxon’s first instinct was to aim his weapon and put an end to this discussion, but he doubted that the others would react well to that, and it was far too risky to have the crew descend into chaos. He needed them to trust him and follow his orders. 

He swallowed hard, and struggled to keep his voice calm as he replied. 

“You’re smarter than that, Halden. The boss gave us a lifeline, and if we play it smart, we’re out of this mess. No one is going to believe us if we start pointing fingers at a man who is already gone.”, he argued back.

Halden scoffed at that. “We have evidence. Logs, manifests – they might even be able to trace the shuttle. We can prove that we were just following orders.”

“Following orders?” Draxon laughed bitterly. “That’s not an excuse Starfleet will accept, and you know that. We were all complicit.”

“Complicit?” Halden snapped. “You know damn well some of us didn’t have a choice. You think I was happy keeping this ship running while they butchered those people?”

She wasn’t wrong – Halden had fought tooth and nail when they had taken and repurposed the ill-fated ship she had worked on, refusing to work for the people who had slaughtered her crew.
She would have been executed and discarded had it not been for the fact that they had lost their last senior engineer only days prior. Mahok had spared her. It had taken weeks for Halden to settle into her new life, but now…

“You happily took your salary.” Draxon shot back. “And believe me, sooner or later, our newest addition would have, too.” 

“What happens if the scapegoat talks?”, someone in the back piped up. Draxon didn’t bother to look.

“Then we need to make sure we ALL say the same thing.”, he snapped. His patience was beginning to fray, and the constant questioning was starting to get under his skin.

“What if we just try to get away from here?”, asked the same voice again, and this time, Draxon turned to look at the source of his growing annoyance, finding it in Rynn Morrow, one of the physicians.

He was about to reply when Halden cut in. 

“Outrun Starfleet?”, she asked with a frown and a slight shake of her head. 

“Head into a nebula, hide there.”, Rynn nodded. 

“They have a far better equipped ship than hours, they will find us eventually.”, Halden explained calmly, and her voice lost its condescending tone she took with Draxon. 

Which, in turn, angered Draxon even more. He grit his teeth, attempting to stay calm.  

But his patience was wearing thin. “Do what you are told! The longer we waste on this useless discussion, the less time we have.”

“You’ve yet to tell me anything!” Halden replied dispassionately. “Other than to ‘make preparations’.”  “Make changes to the logs! Fabricate evidence, I don’t care. Make it believable.”, Draxon yelled, his eyes now wide and mouth almost foaming. 

Halden remained calm. She gave a dismissive scoff, and gestured to several of the group’s members, who immediately followed her out of the shuttle bay.

Draxon stood there, still clutching his rifle, his mind racing. He should have shot her. And somewhere deep down, he feared that she was right.



Kira Halden couldn’t stand to look at Draxon’s face for any moment longer. Every word out of his mouth tempted her to roll her eyes, and while she wasn’t a violent person – she didn’t want to be – there were moments where hitting him square in the face and tossing him out of an airlock felt downright therapeutic. 

Halden shook her head, continuing her path through the dimly lit corridor that would eventually lead them to the bridge. If only they could work together… The past was a closed chapter for her – she had long made her peace with the decisions she had made to survive. But no, he was too thick for that. 

Once they were far enough from the shuttle bay to avoid being overheard, she let out a sharp, frustrated sigh.

“Tell me.”, she said, glancing at Rynn Morrow, who had accompanied her. “Is there a correlation between strength and lack of intelligence? Do his muscles use up all the oxygen so there isn’t any left for his brain?”

The younger woman blinked, and then offered a careful smirk. “Possible.” 

Tarrik Solan, usually quiet and reserved, grinned. “If that’s the case, it would explain a lot about Draxon.”

Halden snorted. “It’s like arguing with a replicator, though the replicator probably has more common sense.” 

Rynn rubbed the back of her neck, lowering her voice. “He’ll snap if he hears you talking like that…”

“Let him”, countered Halden. “He’s already losing it. The only thing that keeps him in charge is that rifle he’s waving around. If he were to use his tiny brain and think for a moment… well. I mean, how will he, in specific, tell anyone that one woman kept him in line? He’s the one carrying the weapon, and weighs twice as much as she does.”,

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”, agreed Tarrik, and Rynn, who had fallen silent, gave a small nod.

They reached the bridge, which was essentially deserted after Mahok’s departure. Only Erek Vinn, their pilot, had remained. 

“Any signs of the Starfleet vessel?”Halden asked him, and the young man turned around to her. His red eyes betrayed that he hadn’t taken the turn of events particularly well.

“We have about ten minutes until they will at the very least attempt to hail us. If they don’t just open fire.”

“It’s Starfleet. They won’t fire unless necessary.”, Halden said and leaned against a console. Ten minutes wasn’t much time. 

“What do you want to do?” Rynn asked. Halden was not sure if this was a question of tactics or morality.  

“I don’t just want to blame Arys.”, she replied plainly, letting that sink in. 

“What’s that sudden sense of justice?”, Tarrik commented. 

“Justice? Oh you know me better than that.”, Halden said and rolled her eyes. “I don’t give a damn about the woman. We had a good enough thing going on here, and she ruined it. I want it to be believable, that’s all. I don’t want to just blame her.”

“What do you propose?”, asked Rynn, though from the look of her face, she already knew the answer. 

Halden pushed off the console and straightened.

“One scapegoat isn’t enough”, she noted slowly, the words forming as her mind formulated a plan. “We need to spread the blame around. Make it look like a system, not one single woman who masterminded this whole mess.” 

“You’re talking about implicating the others.”, Tarrik caught on. 

“Not all of them. Just enough to make the lie stick.”, Halden replied coolly. “How many of us are left? Seven? Nine? Nine people against one woman – no one would buy it. But the three.. four… of us against a larger system…. Now that’s a holodrama I’d be invested in.”

“Yeah, but… how?” Rynn asked. She didn’t look happy with this at all. And Halden didn’t need her to be.

“Fabricate a new story.”, she shrugged.  “Arys and Mahok were working together. One of us sent the broadcast, and the situation escalated. Guards got shot, Arys did too, Mahok fled.”

“You are talking about killing Draxon.”, said Erek, who thus far had been quiet. He didn’t seem particularly upset about the idea, just a little reluctant to get his hands dirty. 

“Yes. Same for anyone who is a danger to our survival.”

“I’ve never killed anyone!”, Rynn exclaimed, taking a step back. 

“It’s easier than it looks.”, Halden shrugged. “But I’ll do it myself. I need you, Rynn, to check on our ‘Captain’, make sure she is alive, but not alive enough to talk. Tarrik, I need records. Make sure no one can delete the departure of the shuttle, and add Arys into the log files.”

“Got it.”, both nodded.

“What do I do when Starfleet hails us?”, Erek interjected, eager to solidify his place within the group. 

“Lower the shields and tell them to ‘help’ us. Say there has been a rebellion.”, Halden responded, and paused for a moment. She didn’t know Erek well, and his loyalty was fragile at best. She needed to find a way to assure him that their best chance for survive was sticking together, and to the same story.

“Tell them you sent the broadcast.” 

“R-… really?” Erek stammered, his already bulging eyes widening further.

“Yes.”, Halden replied smoothly. “You’re part of the team now.”

And with assignments given, there was only one thing to do – follow through. And make sure they survived.

 

Half-Truths

Bridge, USS Callisto
December 2401

Fransix Leski and Neeya Velix had parted in good spirits, as both headed to their respective stations on the bridge. She had acknowledged his sense of powerlessness when it came to decision-making, and his initial unease at aiding anything that had once been Borg.

Sometimes, Fransix forgot that Velix might appear like a young woman with a hairstyle that barely passed as adhering to Starfleet’s grooming regulations, but had the experience of several lifetimes, thanks to her symbiont. 

He hated to admit how talking to her had made him feel – not just understood, but beyond that, oddly warm and fuzzy inside. He didn’t quite know how to process those feelings. So he chose to ignore them. 

Still, the conversation had him feel a lot more relaxed as he settled back into his place at the helm. His eyes swept over the readout of his console, quickly checking for any changes that had occurred in his brief absence. But nothing had changed, aside from the fact that they were now closer to the source of the mysterious broadcast. 

In just a few minutes, they would be within hailing range. 

He could feel some of his nervousness returning the closer they got. 

Leski almost didn’t notice the senior officers returning to the bridge. Their expressions were grim but determined, and he could only guess at the weighty conversation they must have had. He thought back to his earlier doubts, and felt a surprising sense of relief that he wasn’t the one making the final decision on what to do. 

Captain Ceix took his seat in the centre chair with practised ease, staring at the empty viewscreen for a moment before he spoke. 

“By now, we are certain that the attack on the shuttle and the broadcast weren’t a coincidence. For the past decade, this sector has seen an illegal trade in Borg technology. These items used to be scarce and dangerous, and retrieving them was often not worth the risk. But now, with new sources available, the trade flourishes.”

Leski found himself nodding in agreement. It was the same context Velix has given him earlier, and hearing it confirmed, grounded some of his earlier apprehensions. 

“We believe that the vessel is part of a harvesting operation” Ceix continued, His voice was steady, authoritative, and commanding. A call to action. “And we have a duty to help those who’ve been kidnapped.” 

There was a moment of silence, interrupted eventually by Lieutenant Commander Keller, who had moved to the tactical station. 

“We are hailing range,” he noted. “But I recommend getting scans on the ship before we attempt to contact them.”

Ceix nodded his assent, reclining in his chair to wait for more information to act on. Finally, Keller spoke again.  

“Mid sized vessel, it looks like a reconfigured civilian cargo ship. Warp 7 maximum”, he said, his tone neutral.

“What about their defensive capabilities?”, Ceix asked. 

“Weak shields, reinforced hull plating, two phaser banks and one disruptor cannon. A single low-yield photon torpedo launcher. They are no match against us, and if they are smart, they won’t even try to engage.”

Ceix leaned forward and furrowed his brows. “They could have outrun us, fled to the nearest nebula. The question is why haven’t they?”

“Maybe it’s a trap?”, Keller suggested, his gaze briefly flicking up from his console to look at Ceix, who gave a slow nod. 

“I am not happy with any of this. Scan for any hidden vessels, I don’t want to run into an ambush.” 

“Negative, sir.”, Keller replied after a moment “They’re alone, but I’m picking up a warp signature from something that has moved away from the area. Not long after the broadcast.”

“Hail them.”, Ceix ordered as he got up from his chair. 

Comms opened a channel, and for a few seconds, they were met with silence. It was too early to say that they weren’t responding, but the seconds seemed to stretch unbearably until finally, the viewscreen came to life. 

The backdrop of stars resolved to reveal a young man seated on a dimly lit bridge. 

For a moment, Leski stared at the image. Behind the man, consoles appeared only semi-functional, outdated, and clearly scavenged from vessels of varying origin. What Leski immediately noted was that the man seemed to be around his age, though his face was gaunt and pale, and his hands were trembling. 

And he was alone. There was no one else visible on the bridge. No Commanding Officer to lead the exchange. 

Leski couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for him to have to handle such a conversation, and he didn’t like the idea at all.

 


 

Erek, the pilot of the other vessel, was nothing short of terrified of the imposing Captain. His presence triggered within him an odd longing for a life that was … better. Questions he had long banished from his mind started to pop up again –  what would have happened if he hadn’t failed his entrance exam to the Academy, or had the guts to try again. Would he be on the other side of this? 

“My name is Aldris Ceix, Captain of the USS Callisto.”, the man said with a firm voice. “We received a broadcast from your vessel.”

“This is the ISS Asklepios. My name is Erek.”, he said meekly, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

“Erek.”, the Captain repeated, letting the name linger for an uncomfortable long moment. “Where is your Captain?” 

Erek swallowed hard, trying to sort through the chaos in his mind. The Captain – Mahok – had left. But no, they had a new Captain. Someone they all wanted to blame. 

“She is injured.”, he said evenly, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice. And then something clicked. “I… I sent you the broadcast. I couldn’t let them continue what they were doing here… “

Ceix inclined his head. “What happened on your ship? Where is the rest of the bridge crew?”

Erek took a shaky breath.

“I sent the broadcast and then everything started to be chaos. We tried to fight back! ”, his voice faltered.  “The Captain got shot, but she’s alive. Her right hand and some of the others took a shuttle and left. Now we’re alone.”

He just hoped it was true, and that Halden had followed through with her plan. 

“Lower your shields so we can beam on board. We will help you.”, Ceix said calmly. 

Erek glanced at his console, his pulse racing. He could lower the shields, but Halden hadn’t given him the all-clear yet, and he knew he had to stall.

“I am trying, really. It might take a few minutes.”, he said, his voice taking a high pitch as he pressed a few random buttons on his console to look busy.

“Why the delay?”, asked another voice, this one sharp and belonging to someone Erek quickly identified as a Security Officer. 

Erek froze. He had to figure out an excuse, and he had to do it very quickly. 

“The shield matrix is unstable,” he blurted, feigning frustration. “When the Captain was injured, she disabled several key systems to prevent a takeover. I’ve been trying to bypass the failsafes, but the system isn’t responding properly. If I lower the shields now, I might destabilize the entire power grid.”

He glanced at Ceix’s image on the screen, praying his story would hold. “Please, just give me a few more minutes – I’m working as fast as I can.”

“I see.”, said Ceix, though he did neither seem pleased, nor convinced. He turned to the officer who had spoken. 

“Commander Keller, get your away team ready. Take medical support with you.”

“Aye sir.”, Keller responded, already moving to comply.

Ceix’s attention shifted back to Erek. “How many people are left on your vessel?”

Erek hesitated, quickly doing the math in his head. There was Halden, himself, Tarrik, and Rynn. Then there was their “Captain”, and then the Draxon and his guards. Draxon who, hopefully, was already disposed of. “Eight people.”, he answered finally.

Ceix’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What about the people your ship has taken prisoner? Are they alive?”

The Borg. In his panic, Erek had basically forgotten about them. He knew the last hunt had been mere hours ago – there was no way the individuals were already processed. Not after what had happened in the surgical suite. 

“Most of them.”, he said vaguely. 

“Are they safe?” Ceix pressed.

Erek forced himself to nod. “Yes, they are locked up.”

And he hoped that was true. Because while a confrontation with Starfleet was terrifying enough, the thought of facing angry Borg chilled him to the core. Even if they were ‘turned back’, weakened and outnumbered, they were still Borg.

 

The Cost of Silence

ISS Asklepios
December 2401

Rynn Morrow’s footsteps were nearly silent as she crept down the corridor and towards the Captain’s quarters. She stuck to the shadows, nervously checking every corner, searching for any sign of movement. It made the journey, though short, feel unbearably drawn-out. 

She didn’t know who or what she was afraid to run into – the Borg were confined, and the remaining crew wouldn’t have any objections to her making sure their plan didn’t fail. And yet she knew that her following Halden out of the cargo bay had made her loyalties clear – she would choose Halden over Draxon. And she could only imagine how displeased that made him. If there was one thing she had learned from the fate of the prisoners and those who dared to defy Draxon, was that crossing him was a sure way to get killed. 

That was how their last senior engineer had met her end.

 

She nervously brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Now that she thought about it, was absolutely not happy with the task she had been given. She understood, and agreed, that their “Captain” needed to stay alive, but she hated being the one responsible for ensuring it. 

Rynn had worked with Arys for several months, and in that time, she had always thought of  her as weak and unreasonable – clinging to outdated ideals before ultimately betraying them. Still, Rynn couldn’t deny a certain fascination with Arys’ surgical skills, and it had irritated her to no end that the woman refused to teach her. 

So instead, Rynn had observed her every movement, determined to one day replace her. 

Her family had been loosely connected to the Orion Syndicate for as long as she could remember, but never quite managed to permeate the structures that already existed and break into its inner circles. If Rynn mastered such a skill as valuable as advanced surgery, it could have been their ticket to finally earning a position of real power within the organization. 

At least, that had been the plan. Now, she faced getting captured by Starfleet and spending her life in a prison colony. 

Once Rynn arrived, the unlocked doors hiss open without any resistance, surprising her. She had never been inside the Captain’s quarters before – though she hadn’t been above trying to cozy up with Mahok in the past. 

The Captain’s suite was as luxurious as she had imagined, exuding an air of extravagant taste. At the same time, the space seemed unexpectedly untouched, as if the occupant had only just left, and would return soon. 

Shelves lined with bottles of liquid caught her eye. Some rare, most illegal, all of them undeniably expensive. Clothing and other personal items were meticulously tucked away, leaving no trace of haste. On the dark wooden desk, a crystal glass of amber liquid remained. 

Rynn had expected that Mahok would take his personal items with him, but then again, she thought bitterly, it was clear that possessions nor people meant very little to him. No personal attachments – he had told her that once, as if it were something to be proud of. To her, it just sounded lonely. 

Though that wasn’t Rynn’s main concern right now. 

“What are you doing?”, she demanded, her voice sharp as she looked at the two figures in front of her.

One of them was Arys, curled up into a corner as if she could somehow disappear into the shadows. The woman looked even more pale than usual, her face drawn and damp with sweat. She leaned weakly against the wall, and the ill-fitting shirt soaked in barely dried blood clung to her body like a second skin. She was at best semi-conscious, and neither acknowledged Rynn, nor the other person in the room. 

That other person was Kovin Haynes, one of their … colleagues. A grey-haired man who had primarily focussed on assisting in the extraction procedures, and catalogued the items they had retrieved from the Borg. With him, he had a case with medical supplies, and he appeared to be searching for something.

“What are you doing here?”, Rynn asked suspiciously. Perhaps he was here for the same reason, but frankly, there was a reason Kovin mostly stuck to cataloguing. 

“Getting rid of her, like Draxon said.”, Kovin replied with a frown. But then, something seemed to click. His frown deepened, making him look even older than he already was. Perhaps he was realising that Rynn hadn’t been privy to that particular conversation. 

“Mahok said to blame her.”, Rynn said and folded her arms across her chest. She would very much have liked Halden’s support right about now. 

“And we are in agreement on that.” Kovin nodded. “But what if she talks?”


“I am here to make sure she doesn’t, but Halden said to keep her alive. No point in blaming someone dead and another gone.”, Rynn hissed, fumbling for her communicator before realizing that using it was far too risky with Draxon still out there. “We had a plan!”

“Sounds like you’re already deviating from it.”, Kovin said with a shrug shrug as he reached for the hypospray he had been looking for. “It will be quick and painless. And it’s better than risking her talking.” 

“She won’t, I already told you that.”, argued Rynn. 

“Okay then.”, Kovin sighed. “But we can’t rely on that. And what do you think will happen to me if Draxon finds out I didn’t follow his orders?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”, Rynn admitted quietly. “Halden will take care of him.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. 

“Are you insane?”, Kovin hissed. “Draxon is a soldier, Halden is a fucking engineer. What’s he gonna do, throw a wrench at him?”

“You know she is tougher than that.”, Rynn pointed out.

You know this is insane.”, countered Kovin. 

“Okay… okay…”, Rynn exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I get your point, I really do. But think about it. If we want to sell the lie, it needs to be convincing. If you inject her with… I don’t know, whatever you have there-… “ 

“Xynaphal.”

“Yes, this thing. If you inject her with that, Starfleet will notice.”, Rynn said, trying to hide the desperation in her voice. And the annoyance. “It shows in scans, and if they do an autopsy – well.. we’re screwed. .”

Kovin’s fingers tightened around the hypospray. “I didn’t know that. What do you propose?”

“Let’s give her silvoxene”, Rynn suggested, pointing at another vial amongst Kovin’s supplies.

“What is it?”, he asked, and Rynn just about resisted rolling her eyes.For someone calling himself a doctor, he was pathetic. 

“Its a clotting agent”, Rynn explained, and approached to pick up the vial and hand it to Kovin. “I know she already received it to help slow down the bleeding. If we give her more, she will probably have a stroke. Maybe two. The more, the merrier, as they say.”

“Can’t Starfleet fix that?”, Kovin asked. 

“Maybe.”, Rynn admitted. “But probably not entirely, and it means everything she says can be dismissed as brain damage.”

“That’s.. smart”, admitted Kovin reluctantly. He thought for a moment. “Just make sure that no one comes inside. I hear some of the crew decided to go haywire.”

Rynn nodded and returned to the door. She cautiously peeked into the hallway, scanning for any signs of movement. But even though she found the corridor deserted, the silence was still unnerving. 

Satisfied, she turned to let Kovin know that they weren’t being watched, only to freeze before she could get a single word out. Her eyes locked onto the silvoxene that lay discarded on the floor, and then the hypospray – the one loaded with xynaphal.


He was gonna kill Arys, and with that, their scapegoat.

And with that, their means to get out of this whole thing. 

“Stop!” Rynn cried out, her voice high-pitched and panicked as the adrenaline surged through her. She launched herself at Kovin, moving faster than she thought possible, and barrelled into him. There was the soft crunch of cartilage breaking, accompanied by a scream. 

Kovin was fueled by anger and pain, but Rynn was a lot younger and the adrenaline gave her the edge. Finally, with a sharp twist, she managed to pry the hypospray away from him. 

“Give it back! it’s what Draxon wants!”, Kovin yelled so loudly that Rynn was sure the whole ship heard him. 

He tried to grab it, and then froze. The only thing audible was the familiar hiss of the hypospray dispersing the medication – into Kovin’s hand. 

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. Rynn’s thoughts, her breathing, her heartbeat. 

Then, Kovin’s eyes widened in sheer terror and he struggled away from Rynn. Unable to get back to his feet, his hands clawed at the floor. He dragged himself into the direction of the door, a hoarse, voiceless cry barely escaping his lips. 

But Rynn couldn’t let him escape, could she? 

She scrambled to her feet and rushed towards the door, climbing over Kovin’s tortured form in the process. Her hands trembled as she slammed her palm against the control panel, locking the door. 

“P… please…”, Kovin whispered, his voice breaking. His breaths came in short and shallow, and he tried to reach up to her in a final plea, his fingers already turning grey.

Rynn didn’t answer. Instead, she watched the unnatural color expand to the rest of his body, and listened to the strange gurgling sound that accentuated every weak breath Kovin took. Until he finally stopped moving.

“Draxon to Kovin. Is it done?”, Draxon’s voice came from somewhere inside Kovin’s pocket. 

Rynn didn’t move. 

“Answer me!”, the voice came again, louder and sharper this time.

Rynn stayed completely still, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Draxon knew. Or at least he would know once Kovin didn’t reply. 

Draxon didn’t make another attempt at communication. He would come here and see for himself. Rynn could only hope that Halden got to him before he arrived. 

 

Beneath the Surface

USS Callisto
December 2401

It was one of those rare moments Doctor Nichelle Trova found herself missing the position of Chief Medical Officer she had held on board the USS Cupertino. The job came with more than its fair share of stress, but at least the Captain had always kept her in the loop. 

Here on the Callisto, and no longer in a department head position, things were different. Over the past few hours, she had been so busy with patients and administrative work that the ship might as well have been kidnapped into the Delta Quadrant – she wouldn’t even have noticed.  

The news that they had come across a destroyed shuttle and then followed a mysterious broadcast, didn‘t reach her until she found herself assigned to an away team. Their mission? Board a vessel thought to be connected to a harvesting operation. 

Nichelle hadn‘t been part of an away mission for what felt like ages, and truth be told, the thought of it didn’t entice her in the slightest.  She wasn’t exactly a field medic – never had been – and there were several people better suited for such an endeavour 

And somehow, focussing her mind on that little, and very personal, detail was a lot easier than worrying about the bigger picture. Like the fact that they were facing part of the Orion Syndicate, and that what this ship was harvesting were parts of Borg-tech. From ex drones, who were now people. 

What angered her most was the name of the ship. Asklepios. It felt perverse to take a cornerstone of medicine so relevant that his name had lasted through centuries and travelled across the galaxy, a symbol of hope and healing, for a vessel where people met a gruesome end. 

These horrors certainly overshadowed her personal struggles, but Nichelle felt them fade into the background the moment Jonathan Keller entered sickbay. He froze as soon as he saw her, and his jaw set. 

Nichelle had been certain that he had been informed of her transfer to the Callisto, and assumed them not having crossed paths was because he simply tried to avoid her. But reading his expression now – the raw, barely concealed pain, the confusion, and the persisting anger – she wasn‘t so sure that was the case. 

„Doctor.“, Keller said coolly once he regained his composure, inclining his head in a gesture that was more a matter of formality than anything else. 

„Commander.“, she replied in an equally curt greeting, but she found that her voice was not nearly as composed as his. 

Neither of them said anything more. 

Because what else was there to say that didn‘t feel like shallow conversation, and a feeble attempt to gloss over what was on both their minds. 

Nichelle wanted to ask him how he was holding up after Ricarda‘s death, and how the kids were coping with the loss of their mother. She wanted to tell him that not a day went by that she didn’t think of Ricarda, and missed her best friend more than she could ever imagine. 

She wanted to say sorry. Sorry for failing Ricarda when it mattered most, and sorry for taking her away from him. 

But this wasn‘t the time to have that conversation. Maybe the right time would never come. 

Jonathan wordlessly motioned at her to follow, and she quietly trailed after him. 

“I can‘t keep thinking about the name of that ship.“, Jonathan said suddenly, his voice an unexpected but not unwelcome interruption of the silence. Nichelle looked at him in surprise – – she had thought the exact same just moments earlier –  and he continued bitterly.  “To use that name as some sort of sick joke.“

The doctor gave a slow nod as they entered the turbolift. 

“It‘s disgusting.“ she agreed. “The whole operation is.“

“Just stay behind me at all times.“, Jonathan said suddenly. Then he paused, and as if he was only now remembering that he hated her, he added “I don‘t want you to slow us down.” 

 


 

On the ISS Asklepios, Tarrik Solan had made his way from the bridge to engineering, the only place where he felt entirely at ease. He preferred working here over his shifts on the bridge, where Draxon barked his orders whenever none of those with actual power were around. 

Engineering was his sanctuary for the peace and quiet it offered, and it didn’t hurt that it housed his favourite chair and the least outdated console to work at.

The low hum of the warp core and the vibrations that translated through the deck were oddly soothing, and for a moment he managed to forget the complete mess they were in. 

Manipulating the logs was easy as pie. And as the old saying goes, don’t trust any statistics you haven’t faked yourself. Or something like that, anyway. 

Arys‘ name was seamlessly added to transactions and orders and outgoing correspondence. Her presence now documented as Captain of the Asklepios for the past two years, and leader of the operation. 

“That should do the trick“, he thought, not loving the idea, but necessity was a cruel motivator. He liked to think of himself as too smart to spend his life in confinement. 

Satisfied with his work, he reclined in his chair and closed his eyes. The peace, however, was short-lived as moments later the door slid open, revealing a dark figure.  Tarrik instinctually ducked, hoping the intruder hadn’t seen him, and would leave again. 

But the shadowy figure didn’t. 

Instead, it approached, and Tarrik didn’t know what unsettled him more. That whoever this was would find him falsifying logs, or that the person clearly seemed intent on claiming his chair. 

„Tarrik?“, a voice said eventually, revealing Korzal Nenn, another engineer, standing only a few feet away from him. 

„Hey…“, Tarrik managed. His voice sounded weak, and the choice of words entirely inappropriate for the situation. 

„What are you doing?“, Korzal asked with a frown, already leaning in to assay the readout. 

„I‘m… fixing the logs.“, Tarrik said, his voice sounding uncertain, even to him. Sometimes, in moments like this, he wished he had Halden’s confidence. 

„Oh good. I was gonna do that too.“, shrugged Korzan and leaned against the console. 

“Right..“, Tarrik sighed. Adding Arys to the logs had been the part of the plan they had in common. 

„How far did you get?“, the other Engineer asked curiously, not bothering to turn back around to check for himself. 

Tarrik managed a small smile. „Almost added her to everything there is – going back two years.“

“And you removed Mahok, right?“ 

The casual tone in Korzal’s voice made Tarrik’s stomach tighten. He had definitely not done that. For a moment, he considered lying. Then he remembered that he was awful at it. 

“Uh… no?“, he said hesitantly.

“Well Draxon said to do so.“, Korzal said, not firmly, but as if he was reminding Tarrik of something he seemed to have forgotten. “Let me just do that real quick…”

“No…”, Tarrik replied and shook his head. “Halden said to leave him in.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t just blame one person. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s a lot more reasonable if we can say Arys was the Captain, and that her right hand – Mahok – left with the assets and most of the guards when she got injured.” 

“Hm.”, frowned Korzal. “Yeah that actually makes sense, but Draxon’s idea is a little different – just blame the woman. No one else.” 

“Right.”, said Tarrik again, finding that he should probably feel on edge, but wasn’t nervous at all. It was far too much like talking to a colleague about a system update.  “So what are we going to do?” 

Korzal thought about that for a moment. Then, a smirk spread on his lips. “Do you know rock, paper, scissors?“, he asked casually. 

“Sure I do. Everyone knows that.“, Tarrik replied, rolling his eyes at the question. 

“Neat. So… if I win, we remove Mahok like Draxon wants. If you win, we leave him in. Deal?”

“Deal.” 

For a moment, Tarrik wondered if this was really how they were going to decide what to do.

And if that, really, wasn‘t the way all conflicts should be handled.

Arrival

Bridge, ISS Asklepios
December 2401

Jonathan Keller involuntarily held his breath as he stepped onto the transporter pad, eyes open, every muscle coiled to spring into action. 

As someone who started his career as part of a hazard team and had several years as Chief Security Officer under his belt, he expected an immediate escalation of the situation upon their arrival.
He glanced at his away team – men and women he trusted and knew well – finding they seemed to anticipate the same. Their weapons were raised, their focus sharp, ready to react to whatever lay ahead. 

Keller was certain that he wasn’t the only one who expected them to be swarmed by armed guards the moment they materialised on the ISS Asklepios. 

Finally, his vision cleared and his feet once more stood on solid ground. But instead of the chaos he had braced for, they were greeted by a charged silence. The bridge was dimly lit, the air heavy with the metallic tinge of oxidised metal from the ageing consoles that lined the back of the room, and instead of a hostile welcome committee, it was deserted – except for the one pilot they had previously spoken to, a young man who stared at the Starfleet officers with wide eyes and trembling hands. 

Keller exhaled. But he didn’t make the mistake of letting his guard down. 

“Anderson, Ra’lah, secure the bridge.” he said calmly, nodding at the two men to his right, before he turned to the others. “Una, Hann, check the ship’s system, check for any hidden defence protocols, and make sure their shields and weapons remain powered down.”

Then, he glanced at Nichelle, who was standing a few feet to his side. He had given her the clear instruction to remain out of immediate danger, and she was already not following them. Keller felt an uncalled for frustration rise within him, hot and suffocating, 

“Behind me.”, he hissed, with more venom in his voice than he had meant to. 

He felt justified in his reaction – but only for a moment. He might have found solace in his hatred for Nichelle – the doctor who had failed to save his wife – but was acutely aware that the same woman had been her best friend. Ricarda would kill him if something happened to her. 

“Please.”, he added, a little more softly this time, before turning his attention to the pilot. Erek was his name, he remembered.

“Get up.”, he said, his voice once more firm, fixing him with a cold gaze, and lowering his weapon just enough to not appear too threatening – but threatening enough. 

Erek turned pale, stammered something, but eventually relented. He almost stumbled as he got up, as if the support of the chair was all that had kept him from falling apart. He staggered backwards, eyes never leaving Keller, and pressed himself with his back against the nearest console. It was a satisfying display, Keller found. 

“Now, tell me what happened.”, he demanded. “Why are you alone on the bridge?”

The thought that Erek was more than he let on crossed Keller’s mind, but he dismissed it. 

“The… I… ” Erek started, then paused as if trying to get his thoughts into order – or his story. “There was an issue with one of the Borg-”

“People! They are people!” Nichelle piped up from behind Keller, her tone betraying the emotion behind the statement. Keller clenched his wrist, then released it again. He couldn’t fault her for being angry, and now wasn’t the right time to fault her for speaking up. 

Erek’s eyes flickered over to Nichelle, then lowered. “Yeah.. Those. It’s… it’s easier to think of them as Borg, you know?” He paused, then continued. “One of them went crazy. I don’t know how it happened, I heard someone injected them with adrenaline instead of a sedative. It…  he…  started attacking people.”

Keller remained quiet – an interrogation technique he found to be effective. It coerced the other person to talk more and fill the uncomfortable silence. 

“I thought… this is my chance. I sent the broadcast, and just hoped that someone would receive it, and…”, Erek said quietly, his voice a whisper that barely rose above the hum of the console behind him. 

Keller pressed on. “What happened then?”

“The Captain got injured. We brought her to her quarters. Mahok and some guards took a shuttle. They left.”, he said, recounting the events. 

“Who is Mahok?”, asked Keller, narrowing his eyes as he noted the change in Erek’s speech pattern. 

“He was the… Captain’s right hand. They… sort of… worked together.”, Erek said after a moment of hesitation. 

“So your Captain is alive?”, Keller demanded to know. 

“Yes, she’s in the Captain’s quarters. Got badly-… she got hurt. Shot, I think?”, Erek said vaguely. 

“The Captain. “, muttered Nichelle. For a split second, Keller found his irritation rise again, but then he understood what she was getting at.

“Does your Captain have a name?”, he asked, deceivingly casually. 

Erek’s gave a vague nod, but several seconds passed until he spoke. “Yes.. yes of course. Uh. Alice. That’s her name, Captain Alice.”

Keller allowed a frown to etch his features. He hadn’t quite believed the man’s account of events, but now, he was even more doubtful. He was too hesitant, especially for someone who claimed to have sent the broadcast. 

At the very least, he expected him to know his Captain’s name. 

“Bring him back to the Callisto. Brig.”, he told Hann. They could interrogate him later. 

Erek’s looked up, his eyes wide with fear, but he didn’t say anything, and Keller was satisfied to leave it at that. He turned to his remaining officers. “We move as one. I have the feeling this will not be as straightforward as we’d like it to be.”

 

Miscalculation

ISS Asklepios
December 2401

Draxon was worried, even though he would never admit to, or show such weakness. It concerned him that Kovin, the man he had sent to make sure Arys didn’t talk, had not replied when Draxon had tried to check in with him.

On the one hand, it meant he couldn’t be sure that Kovin had completed his given task, and that alone could cause countless problems. He hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but even he could see that the agreed on lie didn’t quite stick. There were holes in the story, unanswered questions, and the one thing they couldn’t afford was Arys to tell her account of what happened. If she was only somewhat cohesive in what she said, it would certainly land them in a prison colony. 

They knew nothing about her other than when she had entered their ‘employment’. Even a full name or any sort of history beyond what her evident surgical skills implied eluded them, and letting her live was simply too risky. 

The other side of the coin was that he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something had happened. Draxon knew of the disagreements amongst the remaining crew, and that Kira Halden was the reason for this. 

He hated that woman. Kovin, on the other side, was someone he knew well,  trusted, and even liked. He was, perhaps, not the most gifted doctor on board, but he didn’t make Draxon feel stupid or small. It couldn’t be called a friendship as such. But there was the potential for it. At least that was what he believed, and perhaps even hoped for. 

His steps echoed along the hallways as he hastily made his way to the Captain’s quarters. He expected the doors to open at his approach. To his unpleasant surprise, they did not.

“Kovin.”, he tried his comms again, then hammered against the closed doors, only to be answered with utter silence. 

Draxon growled in annoyance and frustration. He hit his palm against the control panel a few feet down the corridor, and input his security override, assuming the needed privileges had been transferred to him when the others left. Once more, he was disappointed. 

Had they simply forgotten, or did they still not trust him? 

He clenched his fist, slamming the control panel repeatedly, and until it began to crack. As if that would change the outcome. 

 

“Kovin! Answer me!” He tried again. He tried to keep the worry from creeping into his tone, but even to himself, he sounded desperate. Draxon resolved himself to silently pray to whatever power was out there that, through some miracle, he would receive a response. But none came. 


 

Kira Halden, meanwhile, was wandering the corridors in search of Draxon. For the benefit of the others – Rynn, Tarrik and Erek – she had justified her desire to get rid of him as a necessity, and declared him a risk to the credibility of their lie.
But, in truth, she had long waited for an opportunity to get rid of him, and almost succeeded several times before by making him look as stupid as he actually was. 

Whatever grand plans he might have had, she had made sure to cross them. Whatever little power he might have attained, she had denied him. Halden smiled to herself as she wondered if he had already noticed that he no longer held access to any higher security protocols. 

An unsettling quiet lay over the ship, as if the crew wasn’t scrambling to put their stories into place, and she didn’t come across a single soul. 

Then, as she rounded a corner, she almost stumbled over the body of a young man laying face down on the floor. Blood pooled beneath his crumpled frame, seeping from injuries she didn’t know the cause of. 

Halden knelt down to turn the body around, searching the face for familiarity. It wasn’t someone she worked with on a regular basis, and none of her allies. She frowned, not able to remember anything about the young man other than that their pilot had been overly fond of.

What a shame.  Hopefully Erek didn’t find out, he was already the weakest, and probably most emotional, member of the group. 

At least this wasn’t a total waste, she thought, and pried the man’s weapon from his cold fingers. He wouldn’t be needing that any more. 


 

Draxon had always been someone to rely on himself, but now at his wits end, he found himself hoping for the aid of some divine being that would magically fix everything. The Bajorans had their Prophets, he knew, and he wished his people had something similar. 

After what seemed like hours of hoping for a response, he resolved himself to the fact that something had happened. 

And his thoughts immediately drifted to Kira Halden, the instigator between what he would call a mutiny. 

Draxon slammed his fist into the wall, and his knuckles split open at the impact. He barely felt it, he was too occupied with being angry. Why couldn’t the woman follow his lead, just this once? He understood that she wasn’t fond of him, and he didn’t fault her for it, but now was not the time to indulge ill feelings about the past. 

It wasn’t like he had been the one to decide to attack her freighter, and to dispose of the crew. He had even advocated for keeping them around – they all had the potential to be useful – but unfortunately, hadn’t been the one making the final decision. 

What had saved Halden was their need for a new senior engineer, and truthfully, he believed sparing her was an excellent choice. She was intelligent and reasonable – most of the time – and had always considered her the perfect match to his physical strength and tactical experience. They could have been great as a team if Halden hadn’t decided that they were enemies. 

He would find her, and finally confront her. Talk to her, make her understand that they had to work together or face the consequences. He didn’t know if Starfleet had already arrived, but if he didn’t find Halden now, he was certain that both of them would be on the losing side. 


 

Now armed, Halden crept through the corridors that led to the surgical suite. The room was still in disarray, pieces of damaged equipment strewn about, and everything of value removed when Mahok had left. 

She peeked into the adjoining hallway, the one leading to the cells, finding the doors open and their prisoners gone. It surprised her that Mahok had taken them along, especially since he had argued the subject of space on the shuttle, but that tracked with earlier displays of what he regarded important, and what was disposable. 

It should have made her angry, make her hate him, but it didn’t. Not more than she already did. 

If she was honest with herself, she hated every single soul on this vessel. A few years ago, when the ship had carried a different name and was in the business of illegal substances rather than Borg technology, they had encountered her freighter, badly damaged after an ion storm.

Ignoring them would have been easy. Helping them would have barely cost any resources. Taking the vessel is hardly any effort. It had been utterly senseless to board them in the way they did. 

That day had shaped her, and taught her that the galaxy remained a dangerous place. But that was in the past now, and she had to secure her future. 

Her ears perked up as she heard footsteps behind her, heavy and moving with purpose, but she resisted the urge to turn around, but in the reflection of one of the terminals, she could make out a tall frame standing in the doorway. Draxon. 

“Halden”, he growled, taking a menacing step towards her. “We have to talk.” 

“Talking is overrated.”, she said, and turned around, her hand clutching the weapon she had retrieved earlier. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation, her movement fluid and controlled as she fired.


Draxon’s eyes widened as he stared at the weapon, and heard it click. He staggered a few steps backwards, anticipated a sharp pain in his chest, and a painful last gasp, but none of the sort happened. 

As a matter of fact, nothing happened at all. He looked at the malfunctioning phaser, then at Halden as his brain struggled to catch up with what had just happened.  

She had wanted to kill him. Even now, when they should be allies, she wanted to see him fail. Did she really hate him that much?

He noticed Halden attempting to reset her phaser, murderous intent still in her eyes, and before he could make any conscious decision on what to do, his instinct took over. He closed the distance between them as he lunged at her, letting anger fuel his movements. He would beat some sense into her, if that was what it took to make her listen.  

She screamed and tried to scramble away from him, but she was just an engineer, he was a trained soldier. 

He grabbed her arm to wrestle the weapon away from her, and howled as she clawed at him, but didn’t let go. He slammed her against the wall, and part of him savoured her cry of pain. 

“Stop this and we can talk.”, he urged her, trying his best to keep his temper down. Now that she was disarmed, she was no longer a danger, and he held her pressed against the wall. 

Her response was not what he had expected. 

“Talk?”, she scoffed, spitting into his face. “To you? You barely manage to string two sentences together without stumbling over your words, let alone make any sense.”  

Draxon exhaled, ready to make one last attempt to put it all out there, and make her understand that he wanted all of them to get out of this. 

“I might not be the smartest, I admit that.”, he said in slow, controlled breaths.. “And we might not get along. But this ship – you people are-… “ He paused “This is all I have.”

Halden paused for a moment. And then she started laughing. It was that condescending laugh that had always put him on edge, made him feel worthless. And she knew that. 

“This is the most stupid shit I’ve ever heard.”, she said coldly, and between fits of laughter. 

And Draxon snapped. He grabbed her head, hitting it against the wall. His mind screamed at him to stop, to think, to breathe, but Draxon’s vision didn’t clear until Halden stopped laughing. 


 

Halden felt herself crashing to the floor once Draxon let go of her, an throbbing pain spreading from the back of her head to her whole body. But only for a moment. She looked up at Draxon, noting the expression of utter shock on his face rather than the pleased smile she had expected.

He knelt down to her. Her body felt light, detached, as if she was floating above the pain. It was a strangely empty feeling, and she barely perceived Draxon pulling her into his arms. 

“I… didn’t want that… I… I’ll find a doctor… Starfleet has doctors…”, his voice cracked like that of a child having broken a favoured toy. 

And all Halden could think was how ridiculous it was that he actually meant all that bullshit about being a big happy family. If the situation had been any different, Halden would have made fun of the way his hands trembled as he held her. But now, the only thing she felt was fear. If Starfleet’s doctors were what would save her, she was all for it. She would rather live in a prison colony than die here. 

There were shadows in the doorway. Perhaps that was Starfleet now. Perhaps this wasn’t the end after all. But something didn’t feel right. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Her eyes fixed on the shadows that moved closer with each passing second, fixing her eyes on the figures that were slowly stepping into the light. 

She could make out partially bloodied, dishevelled clothing, and dark metal fused to skin. A cold dread settled in her chest. The security protocols… In her haste, she had disabled them. Her eyes widened in terror as she looked at Draxon, trying to redirect his attention to the approaching prisoners, but his concerned gaze never left her. 

Not until they had reached him. 

From Darkness to Light

ISS Asklepios
December 2401

Dr Nichelle Trova stood silently behind Keller, resisting the urge to challenge him further, unwilling to earn herself another glare. She understood his reaction to what he clearly had perceived as disobedience, but part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he had reacted the same way towards anyone else. 

She couldn’t quite place why she disliked him leading the initial questioning of the pilot, but she did so with an intensity that seemed almost unreasonable. It was difficult to stay quiet when she had so many questions, and noticed so many things in the story that didn’t quite add up – the name of the Captain, his claim to have sent the broadcast…

It was like trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing, and Keller’s tone wasn’t helping them one bit. 

Nichelle stifled a frustrated sign as Keller ordered the young man beamed up to the Callisto. It seemed a hasty decision, and like it would give him time to think and put his story in order – but it was Keller’s decision, and she resolved herself to bite her tongue and wait for new orders. 

“We move as one”, Keller spoke after a tense pause. His voice was firm and authoritative, but there was none of the previous venom in it. “I  have the feeling this will not be as straightforward as we’d like it to be.”

The security officers exchanged glances and nodded from their respective posts. Una, who was standing by one of the terminals, glanced up and addressed Keller.  “I have located the remaining crew on the  vessel:”, she said matter-of-factly, and stepped to the side to let the others see. 

From her spot behind Keller, Nichelle could only barely glance past his back and at the readout. It highlighted the bridge, where they stood now, along with the Captain’s Quarters, Engineering, and Sickbay – each location a potential flashpoint

“I suggest we split up,” said Anderson. “Clear the ship quickly. Most importantly, get to the prisoners and the injured.” He paused, scanning their faces “But of course, it increases the risk.” 

Nichelle didn’t like that idea in the slightest – they only had vague information on what was going on here – but once more resisted the urge to speak. Instead, she looked at Keller, who seemed to consider Anderson’s suggestion.  “It could be a trap.”, he mused, but didn’t discredit the idea right away.  

“It might be.” Anderson admitted. ”But it tracks with what we were told, and what the scans on the Callisto showed us.”

“Agreed.” Keller conceded eventually, giving a slight nod. 

That, Nichelle thought, proved her earlier concern at her being the focus of his irritation rather than this being the way he led his away team. “Anderson, Una – you take Engineering. Ra’lah and Hann – sickbay. The doctor and I will go to the Captain’s quarters.”

The Doctor. Now she didn’t even get to have a name. Nichelle shook her head, glancing at the others. Did anyone notice? If they did, no one cared enough to comment on it. 

 


Usually, Tarrik enjoyed the silence of engineering. The peace to focus on problems that intrigued him and the satisfaction of feeling useful. He didn’t have Draxon’s muscles or Mahok’s business acumen, and since he got nauseous at the sight of blood, he would never have made a passable surgeon. 

Even if he felt like his work often didn’t get the appreciation it deserved, he was happy. Usually, anyways. 

Now, the silence felt oppressive, and his thoughts far too loud. Ever since they had been alerted of Starfleet’s arrival, he and Korzal had hidden behind one of the terminals, and remained in the shadows as much as possible. 

“What do you think will happen?” Tarrik whispered eventually, his fingers fidgeting against the terminal’s edge, hoping that any sort of conversation would quiet the screaming in his head. 

“Reasonably?”, asked Korzal, and shot him a short glance before once more turning his attention to the door. 

“Yes.”, Tarrik’s voice trembled slightly. Why was he so nervous? “I mean… it can’t be that bad, can it? We changed the logs. We have someone to blame…”, he continued, finding a fleeting comfort in the sound of his own voice. 

“We do…”, sighed Korza and then shook his head. “But… seriously Tarrik, we were still part of this.”

“We didn’t actually do anything.”, Tarrik replied, his voice rose, and there was the edge of panic creeping in. “We kept the computer running, that was it. We didn’t attack the other ships, we didn’t cut up those people, and we didn’t sell the parts.” 

“We still helped. Even if it wasn’t actively participating.”, Korzal said quietly. “We made sure it could continue, didn’t we?”

“So? What was I supposed to do? I had orders, I just did what I was told.”, Tarrik snapped. 

“So did I.”, Korzal said softly. “But somehow that doesn’t make it better.”

Tarrik opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Not when the soft hiss of the door sliding open froze him in place. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows, for a moment entertaining the vain hope that they would overlook them and leave again. 

But then the lights came on, harsh and unforgiving. 

 


Kira Halden never thought she would find herself hoping for Starfleet’s arrival. But as she lay on the cold, dirty floor of the surgical suite, unable to move or draw in more than shallow breaths, she wanted nothing more than to be saved. The pain in her chest was unbearable, and it wasn’t just physical. 

She had never felt as utterly helpless as she did when she had watched the prisoners drag Draxon away from her, and heard his feeble attempts at defending himself. It was the first time she had prayed to anything or anyone.

Halden wanted to help him – a realization that came as a surprise. He had been her enemy for so long, hating him a pastime she had indulged in far too frequently. She had wanted him dead only minutes ago. But not like this. 

Hearing his sobs and screams now, seeing him terrified and vulnerable, made something shift inside her, and her anger at their shared history subsided, and in the moment she was finally able to let go of her hatred, she could no longer help him. 

It was a bitter irony that, just as Draxon’s body went still, Starfleet finally arrived. Two officers, both armed, stepped into the room. Too late to save him, but perhaps in time to help her.

They are coming to save me, she thought, and watched as they spoke to the prisoners. A bulky man stepped forward, his posture threatening, shouting something Halden couldn’t understand. Next to him, a young, sickly woman – a low priority product who had been here for weeks, neglected and forgotten – seemed to calm him down. The man nodded at the Officer, and followed them as they turned to leave. 

Wait! Halden wanted to scream. Take me with you!

But her scream remained trapped inside her. 

 


Nichelle hurried to keep pace with Keller’s speed as they walked through the dark corridors towards the Captain’s quarters. 

If Nichelle had thought the situation on the bridge to have been wholly unpleasant, she had to admit that this current interaction – or the lack thereof – brought it to a whole new level. 

The way he regarded her, the way the look in his eyes clearly showed that he didn’t want her here… she had to remind herself time and time again that this wasn’t the time, nor the place, to confront him.

When they finally reached the Captain’s quarters, Nichelle’s chest tightened. 

“Hm.”, said Keller as he regarded the damaged access panel. “Looks like someone was quite unhappy about not being able to get in.” 

He seemed to speak more to himself than to Nichelle, and disregarded her entirely when she flicked open her medical tricorder to scan the area. The door, though closed and seemingly heavy, didn’t keep her from finding what she was looking for. 

“Two lifesigns. One weaker than the other.” , she said eventually and looked at Keller.

Keller didn’t return her gaze. He gave no indication that he had actually heard her, focus remaining on the damaged access panel. 

“Two lifesigns.”, she repeated, her voice a little firmer this time. 

“I heard you the first time.”, Keller muttered dismissively. There was a tinge of irritation in his voice and he didn’t look up. Instead, he tapped his badge. “Corelas, I need access to the captain’s quarters. Can you unlock them from the bridge?”

“I can, but it will take a moment.” 

“Understood.”

As they waited, Keller finally turned to Nichelle. 

“Just like the Cupertino’s sickbay adhered to your rules, this is my away team. Stop trying to make me lose my cool. It won’t happen.”, he said, fixing her with an unreadable gaze. 

“I am not trying to-”, Nichelle gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. She swallowed hard. “ Of you didn’t want me here, you should have requested someone else.”

“I did.” Keller cut in, his voice cold. “Brennan said there wasn’t any time for it. That’s the only reason I didn’t leave you standing where you were. At least, supervised, you can’t do any more harm to people.”

Nichelle fell silent, her breath catching in her throat. This was so incredibly hurtful, and while she understood his pain, she knew that it wasn’t fair. 

But before she could say something, the door to the Captain’s quarters clicked open, and Keller’s focus instantly shifted to what lay ahead. 

He raised his weapon and stepped inside, with Nichelle following him at a distance. A body lay on the floor, hand stretched towards the door as if he had tried to crawl into safety – not the source of the lifesigns she had detected earlier. 

“Captain Alice, I presume?”, said Keller, which had Nichelle turn her gaze from the deceased crew member and towards a young woman in dark uniform. While Keller’s demeanour was cool and detached, the woman’s eyes bulged and her voice trembled as she hastily shook her head. 

“What? N-… no. I am not the Captain. She is.”

She pointed towards someone they had previously overlooked. Another woman sat in a corner, with her arms wrapped around her legs, and her face hidden from view. 

Nichelle moved over to her instinctively, but froze in her steps as Keller grabbed her arm. 

“She could be armed!”, he hissed, weapon trained on the Captain. 

“She looks hurt.”, Nichelle responded sharply, “And It was confirmed that she was injured. Jonathan, just look at her. I have to help.”

At the mention of the first name, Keller’s grip on her arm tightened, not enough for it to hurt, but implying that he could. 

“Since when do you take that oath seriously?”, he growled.

Nichelle felt her eyes fill with tears, and without thinking, she yanked her arm away from him to tend to the woman. Who was a criminal, yes, but still deserving of medical care. 

“Four to beam up.”, said Keller flatly, and without another word, they were beamed out. 

 

Epilogue

Ready Room, USS Callisto
December 2401

Three days after the liberation of the prisoners, it still felt like every interrogation yielded more questions than the answers they so desperately needed. The accounts given by crew and prisoners of the Asklepios were fragmented, often contradictory, and failed to fully explain how an organization that had evaded detection for so long had imploded within just a few hours. 

The question that seemed to permeate every conversation was the matter of what would happen now. To the ship. To the crew. To the prisoners. 

Captain Ceix, and probably everyone else, would have preferred a straightforward resolution. Justice served, happy endings for those who deserved them, and them on their way to the next mission. 

But as much as they wanted to cast people into the roles of villain and victim, it quickly became painfully obvious that it wasn’t that easy. 

“What about that Engineer?” asked Ceix as he emptied the third cup of coffee, and rose to get a fourth one. The discussion had gone on for what not only felt like hours, and he found the simmering tensions between his officers as difficult to navigate as the fate of their guests. 

“The name is Kira Halden.” Keller responded after finding the corresponding record on his PADD. “Senior Engineer of the Asklepios. She was found in the operating suite, and appears to have sustained several injuries.” He glanced at Doctor Trova to fill in the medically relevant details.

“Spinal cord trauma.” elaborated the doctor, her tone clinical and detached. “There’s significant compression and partial severance at the thoracic level. The damage can be repaired, but not with the equipment I have here.” 

“Whatever prison she ends up in can take care of that.”, shrugged Keller dismissively. “Even if I disagree with resources being wasted on her.”

It was Brennan who shook her head at that.  “She still deserves medical aid.” she reminded matter-of-factly, her tone firm yet even.

Keller’s posture stiffened ever so slightly at the rebuke. He gave a curt nod rather than discussing the matter further.

“Until she is picked up, we will provide the best medical care possible. Doctor Trova, see what you can do for her, and we’ll take it from there.”, Captain Ceix, now back in his seat, decided. 

“We need her account to make sense of the gaps in the pilot’s version of events”, mused Brennan, a sentiment that didn’t seem to sit right with Keller.

“I think the situation is clear enough”, he said coolly. “He was the only one to answer our hail and actually cooperate. He lowered the shields so we could beam on board. He told us what happened, and let us escort him to the Callisto without causing any trouble.”

“The problem is that there are some things that just don’t make sense.”, reminded Trova, quietly and far more carefully than she had to be. Before Keller could brush her off, Ceix interjected.  

“That is true.”, he noted, “We have established that the broadcast was not sent from the bridge, but from a terminal in the operating suite.” 

“In addition, he didn’t even know the Captain’s name. He called her Alice.”, added Trova. “Maybe we’ve misheard him.” Keller pondered, though Ceix had the feeling that he didn’t believe so himself. 

“Right…” said Brennan, redirecting the conversation to the other suspects. “Is there any progress with the two young men you found in engineering?”

Keller seemed to need a moment to shift his focus, but eventually gave a vague nod. “They claimed there was a power struggle after the Captain was injured, with different factions trying to seize control of the ship. But their stories don’t entirely add up.” He paused “They are…  difficult to deal with. But in different ways.”

“Difficult how?”, asked Ceix, leaning forward.

“The one is practically inconsolable. He only talks between fits of crying. And when he talks, most of what he says is that he is innocent, and was just following orders. Over and over again.”, Keller explained, with a tinge of annoyance in his voice before he continued.

“The other one? Calm, apologetic even. He is all too aware of his part in all this, and owns up to it. And he’s sorry. Somehow that makes it worse.”

“Why does it feel worse?”Brennan wanted to know. 

Keller needed a moment to articulate his thoughts. “Like he knows exactly what he did, but he’s still trying to win our sympathy. At the end of the day, they’re all just trying to save themselves”

“That is difficult.”, he acknowledged. “Following orders has been an excuse as old as conflict itself. But it’s never that simple, is it?”

Brennan gave a nod, pondering this for a moment. Then she looked at Keller.  “What would you do if you were ordered to do something you didn’t want to do?”

Keller furrowed his brows, and reached for his own cup of coffee. “I would do it anyway. But this is different.”

“How is it different?”, Brennan asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“I believe in what Starfleet stands for.”, Keller explained. “Its mission and values align with my own. And if there are orders I am unhappy with, I still can count on them being part of a bigger picture.” 

There was a heavy pause before he continued. “But these men? They chose to be part of something reprehensible. They entered this type of employment by choice, and stayed because they wanted to – or because they didn’t care enough to leave. Had we not put an end to this, they would likely have remained there and continued doing what they did.”

“I understand your point.”, Brennan nodded, but had another question on her mind. “What if that’s all someone knows?”

“How do you mean that?” Keller wanted to know, indulging the question for the time being. 

“That doctor, Rynn Morrow, for example. I’ve read your interrogation report, and she says she comes from a family that has always been part of organisations like this. I am wondering – If you are raised in an environment where this is normal – do you really have the capacity to make an informed choice? Or are you just following a pattern you had no part in designing?” she asked. 

Ceix leaned back in his chair. In other situations, Ceix would have redirected the discussion to something more productive and more acute. But he could sense that they weren’t just debating philosophy – they were trying to grapple with the cruelty of what they had uncovered. To understand why some people would choose to be cogs in something so destructive.

“I think…” Keller began “that you are still responsible for your decisions. No matter the situation, or the upbringing. Maybe it’s harder to make the right decisions if a toxic environment is all you know, but it’s not an excuse to not walk away.”

“Then… What about the prisoners?” Trova challenged, her voice quiet but even. Keller’s jaw tightened, and he fixed the doctor with a sharp gaze. 

“What do you mean?”, Ceix asked calmly, trying to break the rising tension. 

“They killed two people when they were freed.”, Trova elaborated, focussing on Ceix. “And yes, I know someone will say it was self-defence, but the individuals we found weren’t even armed.”

“After what they went through, would you blame them?” Keller hissed, as if the question itself was an attack. 

“No.” the Doctor shot back. “But I am saying it’s more nuanced than ‘you are responsible for your actions’.

“Not this topic again.”Keller groaned, rubbing his temple.  “We’ve been over this a hundred times.” 

“Commander Keller. Please.”, said Ceix, his voice a little firmer this time around, carrying the undercurrent of a final warning, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

Then, he turned to the Doctor. “I would appreciate it if you could clear up what this is about.” 

“It’s about the Captain, sir.”, said Trova, her voice low. She lowered her gaze and paused, which gave Keller the momentum to cut in. 

“Who refuses to cooperate, despite being well in the condition to do so.” he interjected, allowing the irritation to crack through his voice. 

 Trova took the bait. She scoffed – openly disrespecting a superior officer. “She’s physically healed, yes, but what of the psychological damage?”

“Damage? She caused all of this!” Keller’s voice rose in anger.

“I don’t believe it. Medical scans show fractured bones, barely healed, and those weren’t accidents. These injuries were inflicted.” 

“What about the log files?” Keller snapped, leaning forward in his chair.  “We have proof. Why are you wasting time with theories?” 

“Records can be manipulated, Commander.”, Trova said, matching the heat of Keller’s anger. 

“Well, when she stands trial, they will decide if she is guilty or not.” Keller said with a slight sneer. He folded his arms in front of his chest, and leaned back as if he had won the argument.

“Captain.”, said Trova, her voice softening, but struggling to remain calm. “I don’t think she should be moved yet. It’s my professional opinion – for the good of my patient – that she remains here for the time being.” 

Captain Ceix exhaled. He was growing exhausted, and regretted allowing the discussion that had led to… this. He glanced at Brennan. His now-XO had started her Starfleet career in the medical field, and he trusted her judgement.”  

“What do you think?”, he asked, willing to put the matter into her hands.

Brennan looked at Doctor Trova and Commander Keller. Then, she lowered her gaze to the PADD detailing the Captain’s injuries. There was a pause, but no hesitation. 

 “I agree with the Doctor.”, she said eventually.

Keller looked like he had been hit in the face, but resolved himself to giving a simple nod of assent, and then moved on to the next point on their agenda. 



Once Doctor Trova and Commander Keller had left, Ceix wearily made his way from the conference table to his desk, grabbing a fifth cup of coffee in the process. The last vestige of energy had drained from him, and while his legs felt heavy, his mind felt even heavier. 

“It would be a lot easier for us if the Captain just left with the rest.”, he muttered quietly, staring into the steaming mug. Criticism, yes, but his tone was gentle. He understood her reasoning. He, too, had questions, and wasn’t at all fond of relying on someone else to uncover the truth. 

“I know.”, said Brennan, giving a small nod. “But I stand by my opinion.” 

“And I accept that.”, Ceix said, and raised his head to face her. He offered a soft, but very tired, smile as means of reassurance. “I don’t like what’s happening between Keller and Trova. Had I known their history, I would never have agreed to the transfer”

“I didn’t know it either.”, Brenan admitted, her tone steady but with a subtle edge to it. “And I think we need to keep an eye on it. Grief… comes in waves. And its much easier to handle when it can turn into anger, and has a target.”

“I understand that far more than I would like.”, Ceix exhaled. For a moment he pondered divulging details of the many lives he had already led, and how he could relate more to both sides than either of them knew. Then, she shook his head. “The USS Givens will be arriving shortly. Please make sure everything is set up for a smooth transition.” 

“Understood.”, Brennan straightened. Her gaze flickered over to Ceix one last time before she left. The door slid shut behind her, and Ceix was left alone with the hum of the ship and the steady rhythm of his thoughts.