Captain’s Log, Stardate 78088.9. The Higgs is en route to Orinal Two, deep inside the Paulson Nebula, to reestablish contact with a science team studying the planet in the aftermath of the Century Storm.

 

While I’m disappointed that Challenger Squadron’s expedition to the Gamma Quadrant has been scrubbed, I’m both excited and anxious to be entering the Paulson Nebula. Excited by the chance to study the changes the nebula has undergone in the year since the Century Storm, but anxious because those changes have made the nebula a more dangerous place.

“Now entering the Orinal System,” Lieutenant Commander Mitchell announced from the helm. “ETA to Orinal Two is fifteen minutes.”

Captain Anastasia Matheson acknowledged her XO’s announcement before resuming the uneven beat her fingers were tapping on the armrest of the command chair. The dust and gas of the Paulson Nebula swirled around them, its dusky pink and purple hue visible on the viewscreen. 

“Hard to believe it’s only been a year since the Century Storm tore through this place,” Mitchell commented, his gaze set on the viewscreen.

Lieutenant Shepard quickly chipped in, “And we still know very little about the effect it’s had, just that life here’s now harder and more dangerous than before.”

“Ensign Edal, hail the science outpost,” Ana ordered. 

The young Trill was only a year and a half out of the Academy and had quickly proven herself indispensable with a grasp of non-Federation Standard languages, unlike anything Ana had seen. “No response, captain.”

“Interference from the nebula?”

Edal just shrugged. “No ma’am.”

“Commander Pezara,” Ana turned to her chief science officer. “Do the sensors indicate a failure of their comm system?”

Ana pushed herself out of her seat and moved to the science station, standing just over his shoulder with her arms folded. The sensor data on the large LCARS display provided her with her answer, but the muscular Bajoran science officer made his report anyway. “The nebula’s making it difficult to get clear readings from this distance. We won’t be able to get a clear picture until we’re in orbit.”

“Is it possible another rift has opened up near the planet, preventing communications?” Ana asked.

The captain watched with satisfaction as her former deputy switched his feed to the input from the lateral sensor array and studied the data silently. “It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think so.” He finally replied. “I’m not seeing the same kind of agitation of the nebula’s particles that we saw last year during the storm.”

Ana continued to watch Pezara work, even getting involved. For a few minutes, she forgot that she was the captain, for a few minutes she was just a science officer again, unburdened by command. They analysed the incoming data together, sharing thoughts and theories. 

“Captain, we’re approaching Orinal Two,” Mitchell announced a few minutes later, bursting the captain’s bubble. “Entering standard orbit.”

Reluctantly returning to the centre of the bridge, Matheson settled back into the command chair. “Edal,” Ana turned to her senior communications officer once more, “hail the outpost again.”

“Still no response,” Edal replied after several expectant seconds. 

This is more than communications issues, Ana told herself. Her stomach churned as she quickly ran through the possibilities, “Barim?”

“I’m not detecting any humanoid life signs on the surface,” Pezara reported.

Ana pushed the anxiety she felt to the back of her mind, “Alright, I guess we’re beaming down.” She announced, before firing off orders in quick succession. “Lieutenant Fournier, you’re with me. Have Chief Gold join us. Edel, have T’Nira and Armstrong meet me in the transporter room. Commander Mitchell, you have the CONN.”

When she arrived in the transporter room a few minutes later, the requested team members were already waiting. She accepted a holstered phaser and tricorder from Fournier and attached them to her uniform. Before stepping onto the transporter platform, Ana took a deep breath and steeled herself against what they might find on the surface. “Energise.” 

The transporter room around her dissolved in what looked like a shower of sparkles. While the interior of the outpost materialised, her worst fear did not, at least not immediately. There were no bodies visible, the lights were still active and the consoles looked like people had been working at them only minutes earlier. 

“Fournier and Gold, secure the rest of the outpost,” Matheson ordered. “T’Nira, check for signs of the science team. Armstrong, see if you can access the logs. I want to know what the hell happened here.”

The away team fanned out. Ana could almost imagine the science team was just on their lunch and would return to their work soon. But the Higgs’ sensors already confirmed that wasn’t the case. “It’s like they disappeared into thin air.” She said to no one in particular.

“Not all of them,” T’Nira replied, looking at something on the floor.

Ana traced the CMO’s path and came upon the body of a Tellarite man. “Lieutenant Commander Gorek.”

“Killed by an energy weapon,” T’Nira reported with her medical tricorder in one hand and the detachable scanner in the other, pointed at Gonek’s body. “Single shot to the chest.” She studied the tricorder screen silently for a few seconds. “Judging by these readings, the weapon used was a Klingon disruptor.”

Kneeling beside Gorek’s body, Ana studied his face. She’d been struck by how grumpy the commander looked in his service image. He looked even grumpier in death than he had in life. The thought caused a sad smile to momentarily flicker across her face. Catching sight of it, T’Nira cocked an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“Mister Armstrong, any luck accessing the outpost’s logs?” Ana asked, standing to her full height.

The engineer’s features were furrowed in concentration, and he was muttering to himself, though Ana couldn’t make out what he was saying. Her question hadn’t seemed to register with the chief engineer because he hadn’t looked up.

“Mister Armstrong,” Ana’s said again, her voice raised this time. Armstrong looked up, surprise written across his face. “Any luck accessing the outpost’s logs?”

Ana’s shoulders sagged at the frown on Armstrong’s face. “The logs have been badly corrupted. Visual sensor logs, the science team’s logs, their research. There’s not much left intact.”

“Can you recover anything?”

Armstrong didn’t take much time to think about the question. “This isn’t my area of expertise. Lieutenant Shepard should take a look. There’s no one on the Higgs who knows computers better.”

“Establish a data connection to the Higgs,” Armstrong nodded as Ana tapped her commbadge. “Matheson to Higgs.”

The sound of Mitchell’s voice replied almost instantly. “Mitchell here. Any sign of the science team?”

“We found the body of the team’s commander, Lieutenant Commander Gorek,” Ana told him sadly. “There’s no sign of the rest of them. Lieutenant Armstrong is establishing a link to the Higgs’ computer. The outpost’s logs have been corrupted. I want Lieutenant Shepard to work on them, and see what he can recover.”

There was a momentary pause, no doubt as Mitchell silently dismissed Shepard from his post to carry out the captain’s orders. “Understood.”

“The outpost is secure, captain,” Fournier announced as she returned with Chief Gold in tow. “No sign of the science team or any indication of what happened to them.”

The evidence of what happened to the science team was here. No one just disappeared without a trace. “Commander Mitchell, send down a forensics team. I want them to go over the outpost with a fine-tooth comb.”

“Forensics team’s on its way,” Mitchell replied.

Ana looked around the room slowly, her worry for the science team written on her features. She was determined the outpost would give up its secrets. One way or another they would find out what happened to them.

Lieutenant A. Charles Shepard, Charles to most and Charlie to only a select few, watched as data fragments scrolled slowly past his eyes. He’d spent the past half hour studying the science outposts database, or what was left of it. The data was heavily corrupted, with only a few fragments remaining. Charlie’s task was to retrieve whatever he could that might shed some light on what happened to the team.

“What’ve you got, Lieutenant?” Mitchell asked smoothly as he breezed into the computer lab.

Charlie tried hard not to roll his eyes at the XO’s arrival. He didn’t dislike Mitchell, but he wasn’t as taken by the pilots ‘charm’ as others seemed to be. Charlie firmly believed Lieutenant Commander Pezara should have been promoted to XO, instead of Fleet Captain Forrester’s best friend. It’s not what you know, but who you know, Charlie thought sourly. 

“It seems that a virus has corrupted their database,” Charlie replied as his fingers started moving frantically across the surface of his console. “Lucky for us, their virus wasn’t very effective.”

Charlie could feel Mitchell at his shoulder, watching. It wasn’t like Mitchell would understand what Charlie was doing. Nothing about the XO suggested any kind of intellectual curiosity. He seemed more like the kind of guy who would do the bare minimum to get by and still succeed somehow.

“Can you recover the corrupted portions of the database?” Mitchell asked.

Charlie nodded as his fingers continued to dance across the console. “Some of it at least, yes.”

“How long will it take?”

How long is a piece of string? Charlie bit back that retort and replied, “Difficult to say, sir. Probably hours, possibly days.”

“Alright, let me know when you have something,” Mitchell instructed needlessly. And here I was just going to keep it to myself. Charlie thanked his lucky stars that the XO wasn’t a Betazoid with all his internal sassing of Mitchell.

Rather than leaving, as Charlie had expected, Commander Mitchell remained in the computer lab. Was he planning to hang around until Charlie had something? Didn’t he trust the chief ops officer to do his job without supervision? It was neither of those. Mitchell eventually asked, “Did your parents really name you Aristotle?”

Charlie froze at the sound of that name. That fucking name. His fucking name. The name his parents had saddled him with. The name that he’d been teased about in school. The name he’d spent more than two decades trying to shake with limited success. Charlie tensed and stared at a spot on the LCARS display in front of him. 

“Yes,” he replied simply. Mitchell chuckled. “You must have fond memories of school.”

If Mitchell thought this would amuse Charlie, he’d badly misjudged his audience. “No,” Charlie snapped, “I don’t and I’d rather not talk about it.” 

Charlie didn’t dare look at Mitchell. He could feel the Commander’s eyes drilling into him and could imagine the fury burning in Mitchell’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” Charlie was taken aback by the XO’s words and the note of contrition in his voice. “I didn’t realise it was a sore spot.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” Charlie replied. He was relieved that Mitchell’s response had been so measured. Another officer wouldn’t have been so understanding of Charlie’s outburst. 

Mitchell patted him on the back, “I’ll let you work in peace.” The hiss of the door behind him a few seconds later signalled Mitchell’s exit. Once certain he was alone, Charlie’s shoulders slumped and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, taking several deep breaths. Once he’d calmed himself, he continued writing a new algorithm to recover the outpost’s data. 

Lieutenant Commander Mitchell was back six hours later, this time with Captain Matheson and Lieutenant Fournier joining him. In the hours since Mitchell left, Charlie had recovered about thirty percent of the outpost’s database. That included the last few minutes of the internal visual logs before the virus was uploaded.

“Let’s see what you’ve found,” Matheson instructed.

Charlie tapped a control and the visual log he’d cued up began to play. There was no sound, just the images. It showed the science team being rounded up by people dressed in rugged civilian clothes. The leader was holding a disruptor to Gorek’s chest. Despite the lack of sound, it was clear that the Tellarite was being predictably defiant.

They already knew how this ended. The group’s leader, a human man with salt and pepper hair and a scraggly beard that was more grey than black, narrowed his eyes at Gorek and fired the disruptor. The science officer was sent flying back, crashing to the floor out of sight of the sensor. The rest of the science team was huddled out through the outpost’s external door. One of the kidnappers remained behind, working at a console but after a few seconds, the feed went dead.

“Any clues to where they took them once they left the outpost?” Fournier asked.

Charlie already had the answer to that question lined up and waiting. He pulled up a feed he’d been able to recover from the outpost’s external sensors. It showed the science officers being loaded onto an old Starfleet shuttle, since modified for civilian use.

“A type four shuttle,” Mitchell muttered as they watched the shuttle slowly lift off the ground and fly out of sight.

Captain Matheson folded her arms. “Can we track it?”

“The type four has a limited range,” Mitchell told them as he stepped up beside Charlie and started tapping at the console. On the screen in front of them, a star chart of this region appeared showing their current location and the surrounding systems. Finally, a circle was overlaid on the chart, indicating the shuttle’s range. It covered three other star systems. “I estimate they’ve been taken to a planet somewhere in this circle.”

They silently studied the chart for a few moments. “Are there any M-class planets within this area?” Matheson asked.

Charlie input the query into the computer, which highlighted three planets, other than the one they were currently orbiting. “There are three within the shuttle’s range.”

“Are any of them inhabited?” This question came from Mitchell.

Charlie once more consulted the computer. “Not anymore,” he finally announced. “Falor III was home to a small mining colony until last year. Most of the inhabitants were evacuated during the Century Storm. About a hundred decided to remain behind.”

“That’s where the science team’s been taken,” Captain Matheson announced confidently before turning to Mitchell. “Commander, get us there. Best speed.” 

Mitchell acknowledged the captain’s order before leaving the lab. As he did, Fourner asked, “Any chance we can identify the leader?”

“If I can get a decent still image of him, I can cross reference the Federation database.” Charlie was already scrubbing the visual log back to search for an image of their leader they can use. “But it could take a while.”

Matheson let out a snort. “The nebula will see to it that you have plenty of time.” She patted Charlie gently on the shoulder. “Good work, Lieutenant.”

Fournier followed Captain Matheson out, leaving Charlie alone with his new task.

The journey from Orinal to Falor had not been a smooth one. The Paulson Nebula had thrown up its fair share of navigational hazards, including a level three ion storm, which meant it took ten hours for the Higgs to travel the relatively short distance. It was a challenge for Lieutenant Commander Alexander Mitchell, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

During the journey, Lieutenant Shepard had managed to identify the leader of the kidnappers as Frank Donaldson, a miner who’d worked on Falor’s dilithium mine until it ran dry five years ago. Since then he’d had a number of jobs but hadn’t managed to hold one down for longer than a year.

“Captain, we’re approaching Falor III,” Alex reported. He already plotted the course that would establish the Higgs in standard orbit above the planet. All he needed was the order.

Matheson pushed herself to her feet. “Take us into standard orbit, Commander.” She turned to her chief science officer. “Mister Pezara. Scan the surface for life signs.”

“Scanning now,” The Bajoran science officer replied. 

With bated breath, they waited for Pezara to study the sensor scans and report his findings. Was there anyone left down there? Did they come all this way for nothing? Had the hostages been taken somewhere else? Why had they been kidnapped? They looked to Pezara to provide answers to at least some of their questions.

“I’m not picking up any life signs on the surface,” Alex’s shoulders sagged at Pezara’s report. He was already plotting a course and calculating the journey time to the other class-M planets when Pezara said, “However, there’s some kind of scattering field around the old dilithium mine that I can’t penetrate, which suggests there’s someone down there. Given how deep the mine is, I believe those who chose to remain behind could have survived the ion storm by taking shelter down there.”

At the helm, Alex started running his own scan, searching for any sign of the shuttle that carried the hostages away. Much of the planet’s infrastructure had been destroyed by the ion storm, buildings were little more than shells filled with rubble. About a kilometre from the mine was the remnant of a shuttle landing pad where Alex found precisely what he was looking for. “Captain, I’ve located a type four shuttle roughly a klick from the mine. Looks like our kidnappers’ shuttle.”

“Edal, open a channel,” Matheson ordered. When the young communications officer confirmed the channel was open, Matheson continued. “This is Captain Anastasia Matheson of the Federation Starship Higgs. We believe you’re currently holding a Starfleet science team, taken from Orinal Two. You will return them immediately and present yourselves for arrest.”

Matheson’s hail was met by silence, not that Alex expected anything else. He was sure that Matheson wasn’t expecting it to be that easy either. “No response.” Ensign Edal confirmed.

“Are you sure they’re receiving us?” Matheson asked.

Edal nodded. “Yes, ma’am. They can hear you.”

“If you don’t comply, I’ll beam down with a security detachment and recover our people by force. Neither of us wants that.”

The viewscreen changed from an image of the planet with its nebula backdrop to Frank Donaldson sitting behind a desk, his fingers laced. His salt and pepper hair and grey and scraggly beard were familiar from the outpost’s visual log. His anger was evident from the tension of his jaw, the tightness of his lips and his furrowed brow. “The Federation has no jurisdiction here. If you beam onto sovereign Faloran territory, you will be trespassing and treated accordingly.”

“This is a Federation world, we-”

“Former Federation world,” he shot back, his gravelly voice so cold that Alex swore he could feel a chill. “Your Federation abandoned it. Decided it wasn’t worth saving.” He’d unlaced his fingers but was now holding one fist inside another. “You forfeit any claim you have to this planet. We are a sovereign world now, no longer under Federation control.”

This isn’t getting us anywhere, Alex thought. 

“The Federation didn’t abandon your planet,” Matheson shot back calmly. “It was evacuated in the face of a level ten ion storm.”

Donaldson’s nostrils flared. “And then you forgot about us.” He thundered, banging his fist loudly on the table. “Too busy helping the Romulans again, instead of taking care of your own people.”

That was a difficult charge to refute. The crisis in the Velorum Sector the previous summer had drawn Starfleet resources away from the Paulson Nebula in the aftermath of the Century Storm and Falor III had fallen through the cracks.

“Withdraw from this system immediately or we’ll be forced to take action,” Donaldson warned them, looking distinctly uncomfortable. It looked to Alex like Donaldson was out of his depth. “This is your only warning.” Looking offscreen, Donaldson nodded to someone and the connection was cut.

Everyone on the bridge sat in momentarily stunned silence. Take action? What does he think is going to happen? 

“Lieutenant Fournier, prepare a security team. We’ll have to recover our people by force.” Matheson ordered. This was the first time he’d seen her like this. The normally force-averse scientist was replaced by something altogether different. A result, he supposed, of spending the past few years as an Executive Officer.

The sound of an alarm coming from the science station drew everyone’s attention. “Captain,” the urgency in Pezara’s voice caused Alex’s stomach to clench, “there’s a ship appearing from behind the planet’s second moon.”

“Can you identify it?” Matheson demanded.

Pezara studied the sensor readout for a few seconds before reporting, “It’s a Klingon Bird-of-Prey. The hull markings match a ship that’s been responsible for attacks on merchant shipping in the Paulson nebula over the past six months.”

“Captain,” Fournier’s tone was more panicked than Pezara’s, “they’re powering weapons.”

Matheson retook her seat and began barking orders, “Red alert. Helm, bring us around. Fournier, prepare to return fire.”

From the other side of the bridge, Ensign Edal spoke up. “We’re receiving a transmission from the surface.”

“I told you to withdraw, Captain,” Donaldson told Matheson when he reappeared on the screen. “Now, I’m a merciful man so I’ll give you one last chance before I instruct my friend,” he faltered momentarily, “to open fire.”

Alex turned to look at the captain. Their eyes met and he saw a fire there he’d never seen before. Her jaw was set and she was gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She gave her XO a small nod.

Matheson’s defiant tone took Donaldson by surprise. “We’re not going anywhere without our people.”

“Then you leave me with no choice,” Donaldson told them with a sad sigh. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Then you leave me with no choice. I’m sorry, Captain.”

Donaldson’s face disappeared from the screen, and within seconds the first disruptor blast impacted the Higgs’ shields. The deck beneath them lurched, causing Lieutenant Commander Pezara Barim to reach out and steady himself on his station.

“Mitchell, evasive manoeuvres.” Matheson barked from the centre of the bridge. “Fournier, target their weapons systems and return fire.”

Sweat beaded on Barim’s forehead as he watched the incoming sensor displays. His job was to scan the enemy ship in search of some weakness that Lieutenant Fournier could use to defeat their enemy while the Chief Tactical Officer focused on using the Higgs’ weapons and shields to best effect.

Fournier let loose a barrage of phaser fire from the dorsal arrays as the Higgs made a pass at the bird-of-prey’s ventral side, where their shields were weakest. The enemy fired off a spread of torpedoes from their aft launcher, which exploded against the Higgs’ shields. This sent everyone scrambling to stay upright while the ship around them shook violently.

Barim studied the sensor scans of the enemy ship as the ship continued to be buffeted by enemy weapons fire. There was nothing remarkable about the ship itself, it was a standard B’rel-class bird-of-prey, but it had been modified with two rotating disruptor cannons, providing it with 360-degree coverage. Both ships were evenly matched in terms of speed and manoeuvrability, so they were depending on Mitchell’s supposedly superior piloting skills. Barim sent up a silent prayer to the prophets that Mitchell was as good a pilot as he claimed.

“Shields down to seventy-nine percent,” Fournier announced after a particularly heavy volley of fire that caused sparks to fly from a conduit in the ceiling. “The bird-of-prey’s shields are at sixty-two percent.”

The battle was certainly going in the right direction for now, but the tide could turn very quickly so there was no resting on their laurels. The schematic informed by incoming sensor data was showing interesting readings coming from the bird-of-prey’s engineering section. It looked like a fluctuation in a secondary power coupling that fed into their shield generators.

Barim silently sent the data to Fournier’s console, who immediately picked up on what he was getting at. “Commander Mitchell, bring us to bear on the ventral side of their engineering section.” She ordered. Barim was surprised at the confidence with which she ordered the XO. To his credit, Mitchell knew that she had a plan and worked to position the Higgs according to Fournier’s order.

When she judged the moment to be right, Fournier let loose a barrage of phaser fire with a spread of torpedoes as a chaser. It was clear the weapons found their intended target when the bird-of-prey’s shields disappeared completely. Barim estimated it would take at least half an hour for them to restore power to the shields.

“Captain,” Ensign Edal broke the silence on the bridge, “the bird-of-prey has sent a message to the surface.”

Matheson stood and moved to the communications station. “What does it say?”

“You’re on your own,” Edal replied after several seconds. On the viewscreen, the bird-of-prey turned away from the Higgs and started moving away at full impulse.

From the helm, Commander Mitchell reported what they already knew, “Captain, the bird-of-prey is retreating. Should we pursue?”

“Let them go,” Matheson told him. “Our job is to recover the science team.”

Captain Matheson was probably right, Alex decided, but it stuck in his craw that a mercenary ship which had attacked civilian ships and would probably do so again was escaping justice. He smoothly piloted the Higgs back into her orbit above the planet. “Re-establishing standard orbit.”

Matheson acknowledged Mitchell’s report before turning to comms. “Edal, open a channel to Donaldson.” The familiar sound of a channel being opened rang across the bridge and Edal gave the Captain a silent nod.

“Mister Donaldson, it seems the cavalry has tucked tail and run,” Matheson announced. “You’re on your own, which leaves you with your original choice; surrender peacefully, or I’ll send down a team to take you by force.”

Seconds ticked by with no response from the surface. Just when Alex concluded they weren’t going to get one, Donaldson’s visage reappeared on the screen. He glowered menacingly at them. “You think our resolve is so weak that we will just give up so easily?”

“I think,” Matheson replied slowly, “that you would willingly lay down your life to remain on your homeworld.” Alex agreed with that assessment, given what they’d seen from Donaldson. “I also think that it will take more than a few Starfleet scientists to start to undo the damage done to this planet’s ecology by the Century Storm and that that process will take at least a generation, probably more.”

Donaldson opened his mouth to counter but Matheson wasn’t done yet. “Finally, I think that you cannot kidnap people and hold them against their will, but more importantly, a man is dead; killed in cold blood.” Donaldson’s anger was extinguished instantly. Like someone poured cold water over the fire burning within him to be replaced by sadness and regret. “I think you must answer for your crimes.”

“I didn’t want to kill him,” Donaldson sounded genuinely remorseful. Little comfort to Lieutenant Commander Gorek’s family, Alex thought.

Matheson was similarly unmoved. “But you did, and now you have to answer for that.” Alex could see the fire reigniting in Donaldson’s eyes and Captain Matheson did too. “Look, neither one of us wants an armed conflict. Most of your people are innocent. But I can’t allow the killing of Lieutenant Commander Gorek to go unpunished and I will not allow you to continue holding those science officers. One way or another, we’re taking you into custody. It’s up to you how hard to make that and whether you’re going to put innocent people at risk.”

Alex was taken aback when the screen suddenly cut back to a view of the planet below them. “What happened?” Matheson asked.

“The transmission was cut at the source.” Ensign Edal scrambled to re-establish the connection but with no success.

Over his shoulder, Alex could hear Matheson take a deep breath through her nose and let it out sharply, a sign of her frustration. “Well, I guess we have our answer,” she decided. “Mitchell, take a security team with phaser rifles. Assemble them in transporter room one and prepare to beam down on my mark.”

With a sense of dread and trepidation, Mitchell secured his station and climbed the steps to the upper level of the bridge. “Fournier, you’re with me.”

“Captain, we’re being hailed,” Edal shouted louder than she really needed to. Alex and Fournier stopped at the open door that led to the rest of deck one and watched the viewscreen.

Donaldson appeared again, this time looking utterly defeated. He was slouched over his desk, his eyes downcast. “You win, Captain. We surrender.”

“The scattering field is being lowered,” Pezara reported from the science station.

Donaldson looked up, directly into the viewscreen. “What will happen to my people?”

“Those who were involved in the killing of Commander Gorek and the kidnapping of the science team will be arrested and handed over to the relevant authorities when we return to Starbase Bravo,” Matheson told him sternly. Her tone softened as she continued, “The rest of your people will be relocated.”

With a solemn nod, Donaldson accepted his fate. “I may not be able to join them, but my people will return here,” he paused, “someday. We will reclaim our home.” The comm channel was disconnected once more.

“No need for phaser rifles,” Matheson told him, sounding as relieved as he felt. “Take Donaldson and his accomplices into custody and prepare his people to beam up. Lieutenants Shepard, Armstrong and T’Nira will prepare a cargo bay to house them for the journey back to Bravo.”

Alex nodded before leading Fournier off the bridge.

Three hours later, Alex found himself walking into the observation lounge where the Captain was receiving an update from the rest of her senior officers.

“Are the colonists onboard?”

Alex nodded as he lowered himself in his chair to the captain’s right. “They’re being settled in. Donaldson and his team are settling into the Brig.”

“What’ll happen to them now?” The Yorkshire-born Chief Engineer asked in his broad accent. Armstrong had been the only other Challenger officer to transfer to the Higgs and Mitchell was grateful for the familiar face.

It was hard not to feel sympathy for the colonists. Seeing your home destroyed by an ion storm would’ve been traumatic enough but to now be ripped away from that home would only compound that trauma. “We’ll transfer them to Starbase Bravo once we arrive. Diplomatic and civilian affairs will take it from there.”

“Captain,” Alex glanced down the conference table at Shepard, “what about relocating them on Coltar? It’s not too far from here.”

It was a good idea but Matheson was already shaking her head. “I spent an hour begging and pleading with the Governor’s Office to take them, but she refused. Told me that Coltar cannot and will not accept any more refugees. They’re struggling with the ones they’ve already accepted.”

“She as in the Governor?” Alex asked.

Matheson shook her head again. “I didn’t speak to Governor Wells. It was her Chief of Staff, Constance…something.”

“Forsyth.” Alex helpfully supplied.

The Captain was taken aback. “You know her?”

“We met last year when the Challenger assisted Coltar with the Century Storm,” he told her, a small smile on his lips. “Miss Forsyth is a force of nature.”

From the look on her face, the Captain agreed, “You can say that again. Do you have any tips for dealing with her?”

Alex chuckled. “I wish. I did my best to avoid her.” 

Matheson rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t help me,” the Captain complained.

“No,” he agreed, “but I know someone who has a direct line to the Governor.”

Captain’s Log, Stardate 78099.21. The Higgs has arrived in orbit of Coltar Four where the refugees from Falor Three will be rehomed, thanks to the intervention of Fleet Captain Forrester. With the colonists settled we are preparing to continue on to Starbase Bravo where Mister Donaldson and the others involved in the attack on the science team will be handed over to Federation authorities.

With an early morning gym session under her belt, Captain Ana Matheson was ready to begin her day. She had always been a morning person, much to Callum’s annoyance, and loved nothing more than to spend the first hour of her day in the gym. That was why she found herself walking past the transporter room shortly after five am when her Executive Officer emerged in civilian clothes. His shirt was so rumpled she guessed that it had spent more time on the floor than it had on him.

With a knowing smirk, she greeted him brightly. “Good morning, Commander.”

“Morning,” Mitchell mumbled in return without meeting her gaze. He set off towards the nearest turbolift.

Ana’s smile widened as she set off after him, catching up easily. “I know I said the crew should enjoy some shore leave on Coltar, but I didn’t think I needed to place a curfew on my First Officer.”

“I lost track of the time,” Mitchell’s voice was huskier than usual, his normal baritone had a slightly lower pitch and was gravely.

Shooting him a sideways glance, Ana could see the blush creeping up his neck. “Oh, I’ll bet you did.” When Mitchell looked over at her, Ana gave him an exaggerated wink.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Mitchell grumbled.

That much was true. “Are you saying you wouldn’t give me a hard time if you caught me doing the walk of shame?”

“I would never give my Captain a hard time if I found her in the same situation,” Mitchell shot back as he approached the turbolift, reaching out for the call button.

His words were right but they didn’t sound particularly sincere. Besides, Ana knew better, “that’s not what Fleet Captain Forrester told me,” she shot back. “He said that you gave him shit anytime you caught him doing the walk of shame when he started dating Commander Bentley.”

“That’s different,” Mitchell told her as the tell-tale sound of a turbolift arriving could be heard. “We’ve been best friends for more than twenty years.”

They stepped inside the turbolift. “Deck one,” Matheson ordered before turning back to her XO. “Speaking of Forrester,” having busted his chops enough, she pivoted to a question that had been bugging her, “how did he get Governor Wells to accept the refugees?”

“He gave her something she’s wanted for months,” Mitchell smiled for the first time since arriving back onboard and finally met Ana’s gaze.

Ana cocked an eyebrow. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Tom finally agreed to be the star of Coltar’s Frontier Day celebrations in April,” Mitchell told her.

Of all the possibilities that were running through Ana’s mind, that hadn’t even occurred to her. “That’s it?” It seemed like such a small price to pay in exchange for Wells accepting one hundred more refugees. The turbolift came to a halt and Ana followed Mitchell out.

“I think you underestimate how much Thomas Forrester hates being the centre of attention, especially at events like that,” Mitchell told her. She would have to take his word for it; Mitchell knew Forrester a hell of a lot better than she did. “But he’s done exactly what he did last year.”

They came to a stop in front of the XO’s quarters. “Which is?”

“Turned his starting role into an ensemble,” Mitchell told her with a tired smile. “Last year, when Wells wanted to give Tom the Freedom of Coltar, he convinced her to award it to the crew of the Challenger. This year, he’s convinced her to make their Frontier Day less about him and more about the Squadron.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did, her shoulders sagged. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” he replied with a lopsided smile and a raise of his eyebrows. “Tom’s roped us all into taking part.”

Ana couldn’t stop a sigh from escaping. “Great,” she groaned. “Though on the bright side, you’ll be able to see your friend again.” She wiggled her suggestively.

“And you and Callum will be able to spend some quality time together.”

That thought cheered her up. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she told him.

“Anything I should know before I go grab a shower and some breakfast?” Mitchell asked.

Ana shook her head. “Nothing right now. Go freshen up, and maybe grab an hour’s sleep while you’re at it. By the looks of it, I don’t think you got much sleep.”

“Sleeping was the last thing on my mind,” Mitchell grinned.

Ana rolled her eyes as Mitchell disappeared into his quarters, leaving her to walk the corridors of deck one to her own quarters, on the other side of the ship. As much as she’d been amused by his walk of shame, the encounter had only served to highlight her own loneliness. 

She missed Callum since he transfer to the Challenger. It was still so new that they hadn’t really had a chance to get away from work and spend a few days together. Sure they would see each other for Coltar’s Frontier Day celebrations, but they would still be working. She missed coming back to their quarters at the end of the day to find him slaving over the replicator, or lounging on the sofa reading the latest journal articles.

Ana quickly pushed such thoughts away. There wasn’t time for such thoughts, not right now.