Under siege and devastated by the massive Vaadwaur assault on the system, Andoria now resembled something of a pyre among the stars. Fire and brimstone rained as Starfleet and the Imperial Guard struggled to mount any kind of defence in the early stages of the enemy onslaught. Armageddon, if you please. The end of all things.

The enemy were ruthless; calculated and precise, they knew exactly where to strike in order to target necessary infrastructure and limit the swiftness of the response from the system’s defenders. Strategy was something Vaadwaur leaders clearly excelled at.

Destroyers flanked battlecruisers to provide cover from enemy fire; escorts worked in battle groups to overwhelm their targets. Organised tactics suggesting this was an assault months, maybe even years in the making. A realisation almost as devastating as the attack itself.

‘Your skies will burn beneath the fire of our will. Resist, and you die forgotten…surrender, and you will live as part of something greater.’

Chilling words from an enemy that seemed hellbent on annihilating the populace of the Andoria system, for a reason as yet unknown. They’d attacked within seconds of their transmission, paying only lip service to the offer of respite before striking, offering neither Starfleet nor the Andorian’s the time to surrender, let alone inform their forces to stand down.

War had come to Andor, and as Admiral Theron watched from her well fortified position on Starbase 7, she tried her best to push all of her questions aside. Questions such as ‘Why now?’ and ‘Why here?’ Questions she knew she would get answers to eventually. For now it was about mustering what defence she could and giving the system a fighting chance for survival. Above the situation table, a holographic representation of the system and all allied forces flickered as another dull vibration reverberated through the decking beneath her feet. Somewhere, decks below, a detonation echoed through the EPS relays and into the command centre. Reassurance that they were safe, for now. Beyond the station’s immense shield grid, Starfleet forces were not proving so lucky.

Dockyards were a smouldering ruin, and while most of the Vaadwaur were now occupied by ships that had been able to rally, some remained fixated on the destruction of the system’s shipbuilding and maintenance installations. Clearly, they didn’t want any opportunity for Starfleet to regroup in the sector.

“We’ve lost the Farrell. All unoccupied dockyards have been destroyed or are under assault,” Commander Peri reported from the Admiral’s right flank. In the absence of the Andorian’s trusted ally, Peri Anya had stepped into the breach, providing tactical updates and relaying orders from the Sector Commander.

“Melbourne reports they are in the fight,” a second voice from across the table informed the two strategists.

Reaching out into the hologram, Theron flicked her wrist and brought a dockyard on the edge of the system into focus. It was quiet, in an area of the system under light attack so far, but the vessel occupying the berth made it a very tempting target.

“Columbia?” she asked, eyes watching as holographic Vaadwaur ships appeared to congregate and form a new formation.

“Struggling with engine issues,” Peri reported, glancing up from her station. “It appears the enemy are growing wise to her location…”

“Have Melbourne team up with Santa Fe and Nova. Tell them to outflank that enemy build up and provide a screen for Columbia,” the Andorian sighed as she zoomed in on the display.

“We need Columbia to get in the fight, and soon…”

Engineering was a mess of epic proportions. If it were a person in time of war they’d be on a biobed with with their innards dangling, rotting. Only the innards in this case were EPS relays, optic cable and components any unsuspecting officer from other departments simply wouldn’t be able to name. Consoles had been ripped apart, undoing all of the hard work they had done during their recent repairs. Engineers climbed in and on, under and over, in an attempt to solve the sudden propulsion failure.

Prida had been chief for a couple of months now, and in that time she’d studied every schematic, every read out, every maintenance log. Nothing had pointed to a startup failure on this scale. She’d experienced startup issues before just like any engineer worth their gold pressed latinum, but nothing like this.nothing where the power systems were functioning at peak capacity, better even, but the ship just would not move.

“Capacitors?”

“Aligned.”

“Relays?”

“Open.”

The checklist was extensive and the entire time they went through it, Vashara’s warning rang in her ears.

‘Get us out of here now… or we all fucking die.’

A stark warning that engineers heard more often than they cared to remember, but there was something different this time. Usually there was hope in one’s voice as they delivered the message, a belief that their comrades would get them out of whatever predicament they faced. This warning was different. It was cold, like all hope had been lost…

Like Vash knew they were all going to die.

Like it was a mathematical certainty. But as an engineer, Prida liked maths and knew all about mathematical certainties. And the only mathematical certainty she knew was that she would never let her crew down.

“Bypass the impulse reactor,” she declared at the last possible moment, drawing silence and concerned frowns from those around her.

“We can’t,” the assistant engineer declared, stepping forward to the pool table and placing his hands on the work surface. “If we do this, either of the propulsion systems could overload and we die.”

“If we don’t do it, we die…” Prida glared across the table at her deputy. Reluctantly she gave a nod and confirmed her order.

“Do it.”

Bearing down on the mighty Columbia, once the pride of Starfleet and still one of the most recognisable names out there, the Vaadwaur attack force loomed like the harbinger of death himself. Never before had death loomed in such a way that people could make peace and say their goodbyes, but today the crew watched their impending doom unfold before them, their fate sealed.

Vashara, standing at the heart of the bridge where her friend should have stood, guiding them to safety in a way only Noli could, steeled herself for their final dance with the devil. Taking a sharp inhalation of breath, she closed her eyes, shielding them from the blinding light that would lead them to their end.

Only it wasn’t the end. There was no explosion, not even a rumbling of deck plating under the impact of weapons fire. The only sense under attack was her ears as cheers rang around the command centre and she peeled her eyes open. On the viewscreen, the most wonderful sight to behold; two magnificent starships, vessels that would be considered old and outdated by modern standards, proved as reliable as ever, pounding into the advancing force with such ferocity that the Vaadwaur scattered like rats on a sinking ship.

Melbourne and her friends had bought Columbia a much needed reprieve. Maybe, just maybe, enough time to get her engines back online.

“Contact Captain Quinn and thank her for her assistance…”

Spinning on her heels, Vash, like her colleagues, set her sights upon the most welcome of views. It wasn’t another starship saving the day – it was better.

Having emerged from the turbo lift just in time to watch the Nebula-class starship and its New Orleans-class cousin save the day, Commander Noli was more than happy to be back in the command center, and the staff were equally as happy to see her. Some were even happier to see the officer that had secretly joined the Bajoran upon her return to the ship.

“Thank the Prophets you’re here. We have a problem,” Vash stepped forward, preparing to bring the diminutive blonde up to date, only for a hand to be held up, palm facing the Orion.

“Computer,” Noli called out, looking Vash in the face before gesturing to the figure beside her. “Transfer command codes to Captain Giarvar Kauhn, effective immediately. Authorisation Noli Alpha-Six-Four-Three,” she instructed.

“Authorisation confirmed,” the computer responded. “USS Columbia now under command of Captain Giarvar Kauhn.”

For those that knew the Captain, his presence was a welcome one. For those who didn’t, it was a brief moment of confusion as they all considered the same question; who was he, and why should he assume command over a woman they had learnt to trust?

“We’ll handle all the introductions later,” Giarvar smiled as much as he could allow, “but right now we need to get into this fight.”