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Chapter Text

Kes and Li-Paz rounded the corner of the corridor, seeing the doors to Holodeck One, and Kes smiled when she saw the others were gathered there, too. Daggin and Abol smiled back, the two Ocampa clearly pleased to see her but just as unclear as to the reason they'd been called, and Li-Paz greeted Nelson, Stiles, and Sveta with a tilt of his head and a question.

“You, too?”

“Doctor Fitzgerald asked for all of us to meet him,” Nelson said. Like the other former Maquis, he was wearing his crewman uniform, while Kes, Abol, and Daggin sported science blue cadet uniforms.

“Did he tell any of you what it was about?” Kes asked. Her summons had lacked detail, only a location and time, which had, oddly, been during her off hours. Usually, Doctor Fitzgerald scheduled their training sessions to coincide in the hours before their duty shifts began. “I thought it might be the results of my medic test, but Li-Paz got a message, too.”

“No details at all,” Sveta said. The Russian woman didn’t sound put-out about it, or even frustrated, but rather intrigued. She’d come a long way. 

They all had.

“My money is on him asking us to help out on the Trabe ships,” Li-Paz said. “He’s been spending almost all his time over there these days.”

“He’s been teaching some basic medical classes to their crew, and to some of the oldest of the young adults,” Kes said. 

“That makes sense,” Abol said. “But he usually tells us ahead of time what we’ll be doing.”

“Except for surprise tests,” Stiles said, which made everyone—Kes included—look at him.

“You had a surprise test?” She didn’t mind the idea, exactly, but it made her wonder why she hadn’t had one. The scenarios Doctor Fitzgerald ran them through on the holodeck after his classes were her favourite part of the process—applying what they’d learned to recreations of real events in Federation history.

When no one else spoke, the dark-haired man looked up in surprise. “Didn’t the rest of you?” There’d been a time Kes had found Samuel Stiles intimidating: he was built solidly, and he had a habit of carrying himself like a coiled spring, and had so often seemed angry. But these days, she understood him better: he took a great deal of responsibility for those he cared about, and had lost people in the past—including, Li-Paz had told her, Stiles’s wife, with whom he’d had two sons who were still back in the Alpha Quadrant. 

“No,” Kes said, and the others shook their heads as well.

“No disaster scenario by yourself? On the Bridge?” Stiles frowned, shaking his head. “I wonder why I got singled out for that?”

Beside them, the doors to Holodeck One opened. They all turned.

“Let’s find out,” Sveta said, shrugging one shoulder and stepping through the large door, which had opened on a familiar enough program: the street outside the Stonewall Inn, Lieutenant Honigsberg’s holographic recreation of a bar on Earth that had become a popular program during their time in the Delta Quadrant. 

*

Doctor Fitzgerald was waiting for them inside the Bar, alongside the man Kes had seen him with quite often over the past few weeks, Dimur, one of the Trabe. Dimur seemed to be a bit of a jack-of-all-trades of the Trabe fleet, working some repairs, some supplies, and also helping to wrangle many of the younger Trabe on the four ships—the majority of the Trabe with them on the four vessels were young adults, children, and even some toddlers—and Dimur had always been very polite and friendly to Kes. He was broad and had a “rough around the edges” look to him that reminded her of a well-worn sweater Li-Paz favoured when he was off-duty. He also wore a brace on his left leg which Doctor Fitzgerald and the Emergency Medical Hologram had created for him to replace his previous, less efficient and less flexible version. 

The bar was otherwise empty, which was also strange. Usually, at the very least, the holographic barkeep, a Ktarian named Ziman, was there.

“Dimur,” Fitzgerald said. “I know you’ve met Kes in Sickbay, and I think Gavin Nelson and Li-Paz and Daggin, too?”

“Yes,” Dimur said. A faded burn scar on the left side of that eye a milky white and sightless as a result, but neither reduced the effect of his smile, which drew smile lines around his remaining eye, which was a particularly nice dark brown. “We built the first Garden together.”

“Hello again,” Daggin said warmly, while Nelson and Li-Paz smiled.

“These are the rest of my students, Sam Stiles, Sveta, and Abol,” Fitzgerald said, and Stiles shook hands with Dimur, while Sveta and Abol made do with polite nods.

“I’m guessing you probably want to know why I asked you here,” Fitzgerald said, once introductions were finished. 

“Yes,” Stiles said. As so often, he was the spokesperson of their group. In their training scenarios, Stiles took command, though to her surprise, Doctor Fitzgerald had assigned her to be his second-in-command after the first few weeks, despite her training for a medical path.

“Well, I was about to head back to the Warden,” Fitzgerald said, which was the name of one of the Trabe ships. “And I wanted to say a proper farewell.”

Kes frowned. “Farewell?” She shared a glance with the others, and felt Li-Paz shift beside her, taking her hand and squeezing it. Sometimes she would have sworn Li-Paz was the one with telepathic gifts. He always seemed to be aware when she felt off-balance or upset.

“Yes,” Fitzgerald said, blowing out a breath and looking at each of them in turn. “I won’t be your instructor any more.” The words stunned them all into silence, and Kes was about to ask more, but Doctor Fitzgerald held up his hand. “Because as of your last scenarios, you’re done. You finished. Congratulations.”

Doctor Fitzgerald began to smile. It grew slowly, and it was clear he was happy. Mirth danced in his steely-blue eyes.

“Doctor,” Kes said, allowing some of her frustration to come through. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Sure it was,” he said. “My jokes are always funny.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dimur said, beside him.

“Wait,” Nelson raised his hand. “Finished?”

“Finished,” another voice said. They turned, and saw Commander Ro approaching from the far end of the bar. She was with Lieutenant Honigsberg, Lieutenant Russell, and Lieutenant Taitt, too. Abol beamed at Taitt, and Kes caught a sense of his pride, as well as some of the love he felt for her.

“Nearly a month earlier than I projected, too. I have these for you three,” Fitzgerald said, taking a moment to step behind the holographic bar and return with three flat boxes, which he brought to Abol, Kes, and Daggin. Kes let go of Li-Paz’s hand to take her box, and when she opened it, she smiled widely at what lay inside.

A blue shouldered Starfleet uniform. For her. Denoting her as a medical-division crewman.

“For our newest medic,” Fitzgerald said, once she looked up at him. “You didn’t just pass, by the way, you didn’t miss a single question on the written tests, and you scored in the highest percentiles throughout the entire practical.” His steely blue eyes softened with a smile. “I’m so proud of you, Kes.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Kes said, at a loss for more words. She still wanted to continue her medical training, and she knew she had years ahead of her still until she could be a doctor, but this was the fruition of so much work. She grinned at Li-Paz, who took the box from her hands and put it on one of the empty tables before hugging her close. 

“Congratulations,” he said, into her ear. She gripped him, happy. When they broke apart, she saw Lieutenant Taitt and Abol had just finished a hug of their own, and Lieutenant Honigsberg and Lieutenant Russell—who so often commanded the Bridge during night shifts with Stiles, Sveta, and Nelson—were shaking Nelson’s hand. 

“I also have something for you, Sam,” Commander Ro said, and everyone, especially Stiles, turned their attention to her. She held out a small black box, and Stiles frowned at it for a moment before he took it.

When he opened it, he looked up again, his dark brown eyes widening with surprise. “Commander?” he said.

“What is it, Sam?” Kes said, not able to see from where she was standing. She’d never seen Sam Stiles rattled.

Sam tilted the box so they could all see. Inside were two small pips, one gold, the other the gold-rimmed black. Together, they denoted the rank of a junior grade lieutenant.

“Doctor Fitzgerald and Lieutenant Russell agreed with me that you have shown remarkable leadership qualities,” Ro said, taking the box back from him. She pulled out the first pip. Stiles still looked shell-shocked when she reached out to attach it to the neck of his uniform. “And given your history in the Maquis and your performance over the last seven months, this was our conclusion.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he said.

“That’s a first,” Sveta quipped, and even Stiles smiled at that.

Ro put the second pip in place, and stepped back. “I had Doctor Fitzgerald put you through Bridge Officer training, on the sly.”

“That last scenario we did was the final part of the Bridge Officer test. Which you passed, obviously,” Fitzgerald said. “Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Stiles laughed, a rare sound from the serious man. “I thought you were singling me out because I was falling behind or something.” 

“Quite the opposite,” Fitzgerald said. 

“I’ll be putting you into the night shift bridge officer rotation on the next crew schedule cycle,” Ro said. “Russell suggested you’d be up for it.”

Stiles surprised Kes by hugging Lieutenant Russell. Slim, gentle Russell seemed just as taken aback, but patted Stiles’s back after a moment. When Stiles pulled back, he said, “You accepted us from the moment we came aboard. You have no idea what that meant to us.”

“Hear, hear,” Sveta said. 

Russell’s face pinked. 

“I hate to celebrate and run,” Doctor Fitzgerald said. “But Dimur and I have to get back to the Warden. Before I go, though…” He lifted his chin. “Computer, begin program.”

With a series of ripples, holographic patrons—and the effervescent bartender, Ziman—appeared, and music began to thrum through the bar. From the ceiling, confetti fell, and Doctor Fitzgerald said, “Congratulations, again, to all of you.” 

The door to the bar opened, and Kes saw Captain Cavit arriving. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, with a small smile that crinkled his soft blue eyes.

Fitzgerald and Dimur paused to speak with the Captain before they left, and Kes caught a rush of something strange from the Captain. 

He was worried. Worried about Doctor Fitzgerald. 

She frowned. She hadn’t intended her telepathic abilities to read the Captain, but it was just like that sometimes: particularly strong thoughts or feelings seemed to register without any effort from her, particularly when she was relaxed and happy.

She tried to shake it off, turning back to Li-Paz when he handed her a glass of something fizzy and celebratory, but in the back of her mind, she couldn’t stop herself replaying what she’d felt, turning it over and over until she was certain she had it right.

For some reason, Captain Cavit was afraid and worried about Doctor Fitzgerald.

*

“Any sign of the probe?” Lieutenant Veronica Stadi said. She had the big chair on the Bridge, and turned her head to look up at Ensign Sahreen Lan at the Ops Station. The Trill woman shook her head; a few strands of her long curls escape the braid she wore them in. 

“Not yet,” Lan said. “Shouldn’t be long now, though—the last signal we got from it is almost in sensor range.”

“Well, I’m sure the party will wait for us,” Stadi said. 

“They’ve earned it,” Ensign Doug Bronowski said. He had the Conn, and Stadi caught a brief burst of happiness from the man. He really was pleased for the group Fitzgerald had been working with, and she could guess why.

“Looking forward to passing the keys to the life sciences lab to Crewman Daggin?” Stadi said, emphasizing the Ocampan man’s new rank, and maybe allowing a teasing note to play in her voice. She liked Doug. He didn’t have much in the way of a sense of humour, but he was a solid pilot, worked hard, and hadn’t ever intended to spend half his time in their Garden—what they called the hydroponics and airponics bay—he’d just been the most qualified of Voyager’s crew to handle the job, as well as the closest person they had remaining to a botanist.

“I definitely won’t argue if Lieutenant Taitt wants to put him in charge,” Bronowski said, aiming a small smile over his shoulder. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Lieutenant Rollins said, clearly amused himself. “Because once his child is born, I’m betting you’ll be covering the Garden even more than you are now.” 

“Oh.” Bronowski’s shoulders slumped. Clearly, the man hadn’t thought of that. Poor guy. Stadi shook her head at Rollins, who winced and mouthed the word ‘sorry’ her way. 

“Is Doctor Fitzgerald going to continue with new students?” Lan said, in a rather obvious change of subject, but Stadi ran with it, knowing Bronowski would bounce back. He always did. 

“I think so,” Rollins said. “Cir and Eru expressed an interest, and I think Gara, too.” He smiled. “And I know Kar—sorry, Karden—wants to.”

“He’s still pretty young,” Lan said. “Isn’t he?”

“Equivalent of about fourteen, Doctor Fitzgerald thinks.” Rollins nodded. “Commander Ro and I have him doing some basic education right now—the Kazon don’t exactly prioritize arithmetic, science, or reading comprehension, to put it mildly, so hopefully that’ll keep him content for a while.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Stadi said, and Rollins chuckled. Karden’s desire to be a part of the security department had been an oft-repeated request. The young Kazon had earned his name during their last fiasco with that damned traitorous Peter Durst, and it had lit a fire under him to get started. 

“I wonder if 1106 would want to take part,” Lan said. “In classes, I mean.”

“You know, 1106 has been inside the nacelle so much I haven’t had a single conversation with it. Him?” Stadi frowned. “I really dislike calling 1106 it.”

“1106 hasn’t expressed a preference of pronouns yet,” Lan said. “I floated ‘they,’ and 1106 said ‘the suggestion will be considered, thank you.’”

Stadi smiled. “Polite robot.”

“Always,” Lan said. “Makes me feel shame, to be honest.” 

Stadi smiled, and it felt good to smile. After they’d found the Vulcan ship, the T’Vran, gutted, barely functional, and with a single dying Vulcan on board, morale had taken a significant hit. They’d so hoped to find the Vulcan ship someday and have another ally with them on their journey home, and instead, they’d found evidence Cardassians had attacked the T’Vran. 

There’d been two escape pods missing, and three crew unaccounted for. They’d been searching ever since, and using probes and the shuttles to increase their search pattern, even as Voyager and the four Trabe ships that made up their “fleet” continued on a path toward home.

“I’m thinking of suggesting Hajar,” Lan said. “For the classes. She was one year short of becoming an ensign, and—” She paused as her station trilled an update. “Hang on. I’ve got something on sensors. It’s the probe, but…” She frowned. “It’s been destroyed.”

“Can you identify the cause?” Stadi said, feeling something tighten in the pit of her stomach. “Or do we need to get closer?”

“No, I can tell from here,” Lan said, exhaling. “Spiral-wave disruptors, and powerful ones at that.” She looked up, meeting Stadi’s gaze.

“Cardassians,” Stadi said. She’d have to call the Captain and Commander Ro back to the Bridge. 

Looks like she wasn’t going to be heading to the party after all.

Chapter Text

Stadi rose from the big chair as Captain Cavit and Commander Ro returned to the Bridge, meeting them as they stepped down into the command area. 

“Report,” Cavit said.

“One of the probes we sent out on the paths Daggin and T’Prena suggested might be where the T’Vran had come from went silent. We just got in range, and it’s been destroyed. By spiral-wave disruptors.” Stadi watched Cavit’s expression harden. Beside him, Lieutenant Commander Ro Laren’s mind flared with righteous anger and indignation for just a moment, then fell into a low, steady hum of determination. 

Bajorans tended to be “loud” to Stadi, but Ro Laren had a particularly impressive ability to collect and control her own thoughts and emotions, to the point where she often didn’t have to try to sheild out the Commander’s thoughts at all.

“Cardassians,” Cavit said.

“We did know they’d had a ship brought to the Delta Quadrant.” Ro turned to face the viewscreen, which still showed stars at warp. “There were two names in the Ocampa memorial garden.”

“How long until we reach the remains of the probe?” Cavit said, turning to Lan.

“Another twenty minutes,” Lan said. 

Cavit nodded. “I want constant scans for any signs of Cardassian ships,” he said. “If they attacked the T’Vran, I don’t doubt they’ll be just as hostile to see us. But there were three people missing from the T’Vran, and the most likely place we’ll find them if they’re still alive is on that Cardassian ship.” 

Stadi stepped down to the Conn, relieving Bronowski, who gave her a little nod and then went to stand at one of the relief stations in the rear of the Bridge, in case he was needed. Behind her, Cavit and Ro sat at their seats. 

“The spiral-wave disruptors were powerful, Captain,” Rollins said, speaking up from Tactical. “I think we can rule out most of the smaller classes of Cardassian ships.”

“If it’s a Galor-class,” Stadi said. “At least we know we can outmaneuver and outrun them.”

“And their shields aren’t as solid,” Rollins said. “But the Trabe ships won’t be up for much of a fight, if it comes to one.”

“We’ll definitely have to make sure they stay back,” Cavit agreed.

“If we keep everyone—ourselves included—out of the their forward targeting arc,” Ro said. “Their main cannon is taken out of the equation.”

“That’s right,” Rollins said. “The spiral-wave disruptor is forward-facing, isn’t it?”

“On every Galor ship I’ve ever fought,” Ro said.

“I’ll let the Trabe ships know,” Rollins said. 

“Transfer them all the information we’ve got on Cardassian weapons,” Cavit said. “I’d rather them be completely forewarned.” He chuckled. “Isn’t it nice to go into a situation with some knowledge beforehand for a change?” 

Stadi had to smile at the sentiment. She had to admit, it did feel good on some level to potentially be facing a foe she already knew something about. And given what had happened to the T’Vran, she knew few of the crew on Voyager would be unwilling to smack down the people responsible, that was for sure. 

“Captain, I’ve got something at the edge of the long-range sensors,” Lan said. “It’s too small to be a Galor-class ship, but it’s definitely got a Cardassian warp signature, and—” She frowned. “It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Cavit said. 

“The signal scattered in some way, but I’m sure it was Cardassian,” Lan said.  

“What is our relative vector?” Cavit said.

“It was moving at warp four-point-two,” Lan said. “I’m feeding the co-ordinates of the signature before it vanished to you, Stadi.”

“I’ve got it,” Stadi said. She eyed the co-ordinates, Voyager’s position and speed, and nodded. “I can adjust our course easily enough, Captain,” she said. “It’s more-or-less on our path already.”

“Do we have time to recover what’s left of the probe?” Ro said.

“Yes, Commander,” Lan said. “Assuming it keeps the same velocity. I had it moving at warp four-point-two.” 

“Okay,” Cavit said. “Then we’ll stop long enough to pick up the pieces of our probe for analysis, then set a course for our unknown Cardassian ship.”

“Time to call the shuttles and the rest of the probes back to the Fleet?” Ro said.

“Yes,” Cavit said. “I don’t think there’s much chance this isn’t the right Cardassian signature, given where we are. Lan?”

“Aye, Captain.” The Trill woman opened a channel, hailing the first of the six shuttles they’d sent out on scouting vectors. 

Stadi eyed her navigational sensors, noted where they’d be meeting up with the various shuttles in all likelihood, and started working on plotting a course toward the Cardassian signature with as few interruptions as possible.

*

“Sorry to pull you from the party,” Chief Honigsberg said, looking up as Crewman Li-Paz and joined him at the main engineering table where he was already standing with Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti, Crewman Kimble Meyer, and Crewman Richard Henard. “But I am hoping you can bring your expertise to the table.” 

“It looks like the table is already full,” Li-Paz said, the dark-haired Bajoran engineer eyeing the spread-out remains of what had been their probe—much of which was scorched and twisted, including the black box. “Is this all that’s left?” His eyebrows rose, and his dark blue eyes were clearly surprised.

“Yes,” Honigsberg said. “I want you to join Nicoletti and Meyer; try to get something out of the black box. I know you like a challenge, and you three are the best systems engineers I’ve got.”

Li-Paz seemed to consider the scorched black-box. “A challenge, yes, but…” He frowned. “Wait. Wasn’t this a duritanium-hulled probe?”

“It was,” Honigsberg said, feeling some satisfaction that Li-Paz had spotted the same thing they’d just been discussing before he arrived so quickly.

“This is way too much damage,” Li-Paz said.  

“I know,” Honigsberg said, rubbing his goatee absently. “That’s what the rest of us are are going to be trying to figure out.” He picked up a twisted piece of the probe casing. “We’re over a year away from the Caretaker, and Cardassian ships haven’t got the speed Voyager does. So if the Cardassians had this level of firepower over a year ago, how didn’t Starfleet know about it?”

*

“Okay, let’s try again. What would scatter a warp signature,” Zandra Taitt said. 

She and Lan had been working in the Stellar Cartography lab for about an hour. On the main display, the Cardassian warp signature Lan had picked up—and then almost immediately lost—replayed on a loop of the few seconds between catching it and when it vanished. 

“An inverse warp pulse,” Lan said.

“An EM field,” Taitt said.

“Nebula,” Lan said. “Though there isn’t one there.”

“Can’t you also use a magneton pulse?” A voice asked from behind them.

They both turned, and Taitt smiled to see the two men who’d just entered the lab. 

Okay, she smiled to see one of them in particular, but she enjoyed both of their company well enough. There was Abol, in his new crewman’s uniform, smiling at her with that look in his dark brown eyes he had that made her feel seen on more levels than she could verbalize. 

Beside him, Ensign Michael Murphy was carrying one of the black thermos-flasks from the Mess Hall in one hand, and two mugs in the other. Abol had two more. “I think you can remodulate plasma injectors, too,” Murphy said. “If we’re assuming someone is trying to mask a warp signature on purpose.” 

“I think we have to consider all the options,” Taitt said. 

“Then disprove them one by one.” Lan smiled wryly. “Is that tea?”

“Marob root with ginger,” Murphy said. “Gara said she brewed it strong for us, given how long we might be working.”

“Bless that woman,” Taitt said, and Murphy started pouring.

Once they all had a mug in hand and had tasted a first sip—Gara hadn’t been kidding, the tea was strong and had a nice bite to it—the foursome turned back to the readouts, and Taitt did her best to focus back on the display, rather than how nicely Abol’s new uniform fit the man across his chest. So handsome. 

“A magneton pulse would leave a trace resonance we’d be able to pick up,” Taitt said, considering Abol’s option first. “I’m not seeing anything.”

“That’s right,” Lan said. “And remodulating the plasma injectors would cause a spike before the signature was lost.”

“And there’s no spike, either,” Taitt said, nodding.

“Did you notice they disproved our theories first?” Murphy said.

“I didn’t know that about the plasma injectors,” Abol said. “Will you walk me through the process when we have more time?” 

Taitt smiled in spite of herself, glancing at Murphy’s somewhat bemused expression.

“You should ask Atara,” Lan said. “Ram was the best we had at hiding our trails.”

“I will,” Abol said. “Thank you.” Then he paused. “Wouldn’t an inverse warp pulse leave a ripple effect in the subspace topology?” 

Taitt nodded. The man was right. She ran a filter through the readings they had and…

“No ripples,” Lan said. She eyed Abol. “Smart thinking.”

“So we’re left with a nonexistent nebula or an EM field,” Taitt said, shaking her head.

“But an EM field would just… smear a warp signature, wouldn’t it?” Murphy said. “It’d still be there, it would just be distorted.” 

“Right,” Taitt said. Then, she frowned, considering, then tilted her head. “Unless you kept changing it.”

“A randomized EM field,” Lan said. “That… sounds familiar, actually.” She frowned, then started tapping on the screen beside the sensor readings. “It’s going to take a lot of computing time to come up with al the variables, but give we have a starting point and a vector, I think we can crack it.”

“Or perhaps you should leave it with us?” Abol said. “Since you’ve both been on duty for nearly ten hours now.”

Taitt blinked, looking at the chronometer, and realized Abol was right. She wanted to resist, to keep working on algorithm, but Ensign Murphy was completely capable. 

“I left Ahni with the offspring ages ago,” Lan said, wincing. 

“I gave her a break, and Tricia took over once she brought the Cochrane back,” Murphy said. “She brought a book, and she’s only been there for a few hours now.” 

Lan shook her head. “How are you a better parent to my symbiont’s kids than I am?”

“Easy,” Murphy said. “I’m not a senior officer, or one of the smartest people on board.” 

Lan eyed him. “That was smooth.”

“Does that mean you two will go get some sleep?” Murphy said.

Taitt laughed. “You two are way, way too proud of yourselves right now.”

Abol’s dark eyes met hers.

“Fine,” Taitt said. “Sahreen? We’re done for the night—Michael, make sure you keep the Bridge up to date.”

“Will do.”

*

“How long have you been feeling this pain?” Doctor Fitzgerald ran the scanner from his medical tricorder across the chest of Tenir, the commander of the Warden, one of the four Trabe ships that, alongside Voyager, made up their fleet. 

“Mealburn?” Tenir said. “Off and on for as long as I can remember. I’ve always had a touchy stomach.” The Trabe man—who had been introduced to Fitzgerald as ‘an elder’—still had thick brown hair, and had always been boisterous the few times they’d spoken, despite him being somewhere in his sixties, but he’d come to the Medical Bay after Fitzgerald had finished his emergency first aid class with the older teenagers of the ship.

“We call it heartburn,” Fitzgerald said. “But that’s not what’s wrong. You have a hiatal hernia—part of your stomach is bulging through the large muscle separating your abdomen and chest.” He looked at the tricorder, then back at the man. “It’s early, and we can fix it.”

“Hilé?” Tenir said uncertainly, eyeing the Trabe medic beside Fitzgerald. 

“Doctor Fitzgerald is right,” Hilé said. The woman, whose dark hair was silvering at the temples, looked at the readings Fitzgerald had transferred to her medical readout. “I can operate, draw your stomach back where it belongs, but there’s also damage from where your stomach acids have burned at your upper digestive areas.”

“Which the EMH can treat on Voyager,” Fitzgerald said. “He can regenerate the tissue.”

Hilé’s eyes widened. “Your Federation medical technology continues to impress, Jeff.” 

“How long will it take to recover?” Tenir said, leaning forward. “I can’t afford to be off my feet for long.”

Fitzgerald held back a sigh. This attitude was common among the adults on the Trabe ships, and one of the reasons—in his opinion, at least—so many of them had let small health issues build into larger problems. He understood intellectually; they were running on what amounted to skeleton crews, as well as carrying young adults, teens, and children of younger ages as well. 

If Tenir was off duty, someone else had to pick up the slack, and “someone else” didn’t really exist. 

“Your son can handle it,” Hilé said. “And we’re with the fleet now. We’re moving as a group, handling problems as a group, and following Voyager’s lead.” 

“That means more than a couple of days, doesn’t it?” Tenir said, frowning.

“If we handle the surgery on Voyager as well,” Fitzgerald said, not wanting to step on Hilé’s toes, but also wanting to make sure Tenir got the treatment he needed. “It would only be about three days.” 

Hilé gave him a grateful smile, and he returned it. 

“Fine,” Tenir said, sliding off the imaging bed and standing. “I’d better get back to the Bridge and let Renir know.”

“I’m sure he meant ‘Thank you,’” Hilé said, crossing her arms and looking at the older Trabe man, who closed his eyes and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. He opened his eyes again to look at Fitzgerald. Sometimes, the facial ridges of the Trabe made them seem aggressive to Fitzgerald. They weren’t—it was just the way they cast their facial features to his human gaze—but when they softened their features for apology, they looked exceptionally contrite. 

“It’s fine,” Fitzgerald said. “I’ve dealt with Starfleet officers for my entire medical career. Frankly? The Trabe are a welcome respite from people who believe they’re invulnerable.” He said it with a smile, and Tenir chuckled.

“Thank you,” he said, and left the Medical Bay.

“Are you okay here?” Fitzgerald said to Hilé. “I’ll go contact Voyager.”

She nodded, and Fitzgerald stepped out of the Medical Bay, stretching his arms over his head, then undoing the straps on the neural rig he wore on his left hand. 

Dimur was waiting for him outside the Medical Bay, and he smiled at the sight of him. The broad-shouldered man had been one of the first people Fitzgerald had met among the Trabe, and he looked forward to their evenings together. 

“Evening,” he said, enjoying the way Dimur smiled at him.

“Your classes went late?” Dimur said, by way of greeting. He pushed off from the wall where he’d been leaning, his gait only slightly off thanks to the brace he wore on his left leg. 

“We were giving the commander a quick check-up,” Fitzgerald said. “Sorry to keep you.”

“It’s fine. I finished realigning the shield emitters. I can’t remember the last time I had the opportunity to really spend the effort.” He shook his head. “Every system on this ship is in a better state than it’s been in years, thanks to you.”

“I think you mean Voyager,” Fitzgerald said. “Speaking of which.” He paused, and tapped his communicator. “Fitzgerald to Sickbay.” 

“Yes, Doctor?” It was Crewman Sullivan, which meant it was later than Fitzgerald had realized. 

“Is Emmett handy?” Fitzgerald said. 

“I’m right here,” the Emergency Medical Hologram said, with a terseness in his voice Fitzgerald knew came from his use of the nickname he had for the program.  

“I’d like to arrange for the commander of the Warden to beam over. Hiatal hernia, as well as upper esophageal damage,” Fitzgerald said. 

“Of course,” the EMH said. “We can schedule something for as soon as we’re out of warp.”

“I can log the request with the Bridge, doctor,” Sullivan said. “How are the classes going?”

“It’s going really well,” Fitzgerald said, smiling even though Sullivan couldn’t see him. “Both with the adult crew and the young adults, though between you and me and Dimur here, the teenagers have more aptitude.”

“Hey,” Dimur said. “I’m in the crew class.” He nudged Fitzgerald’s shoulder.

Sullivan’s laugh carried over the comm channel. “I’ll let you know when we’re all scheduled up.”

“Thanks, Rebecca. Good night to you both.”

The comm channel closed. 

“Am I really that bad a student?” Dimur said, crossing his arms.

“No,” Fitzgerald said. “But you’re a better engineer, I think.”

“I’ll take that compliment,” Dimur said. “Nice to be competent at something. Now come have dinner. Daggin sent over some of those Gamma Plomeek Fruit, and I think I can spice them up enough to make them interesting.” 

“For the record?” Fitzgerald said. “You’re a more than competent cook.” 

Dimur grinned, and threw one arm around Fitzgerald’s neck, laughing while they walked. He didn’t remove his arm until they got to the Mess Hall, and Fitzgerald found himself a little unsteady when the weight of it was gone.

*

Captain’s Log, supplemental. Stellar Cartography has managed to adjust sensors to relocate the Cardassian warp signature through the randomized EM field scattering effect, and the fleet has been on a pursuit course for the better part of a day, which has been made all the more difficult by the erratic path of the signature itself, and—it turns out—a clever use of sensor echoes that has, more than once, had us chasing a sensor ghost.

“It’s absolutely trying to shake us,” Taitt said. She, or Ensign Murphy, or Ensign Hickman had been at the Science Station non-stop for the past twenty-four hours, co-ordinating with Ops to keep the Cardassian warp signature visible. The effort was also taking most of Lan’s people’s attention, as well as a healthy group of Engineering. Lieutenant Honigsberg was on the other side of the Bridge from her updating the sensor algorithms on a near constant basis.

“How long before we’re in visual range?” Cavit said.

Taitt did some quick mental math, double-checking with her readings. “If they keep zigging and zagging like they have been, I’d say the next ten minutes.”

“I keep expecting them to do something more… Cardassian,” Ro said. 

“Agreed,” Cavit said. 

Taitt didn’t have time to offer an opinion on that. Lieutenant Commander Ro, Lieutenant Rollins, and Ensign Lan had all pointed out how unusual the Cardassians were behaving already, but she had her hands full just keeping her lock. Also, there signature itself was—now they were getting closer—starting to display an odd quality.

She frowned, running a quick scan again while she had the sensors compensating for the current EM field and… yes. It read almost like a smear—like someone had put their hand over subspace and rubbed at it, smudging the tailing edge of the warp signature.

“Lan, are you seeing a blurring to the signature itself?” Taitt said.

“I’m still dealing with all the sensor echoes,” Lan said. 

“If you hadn’t noticed the neutrino emissions, we’d still be stabbing around in the dark,” Honigsberg said. “Let me check, Lan. I’ve got the EM field handled for the moment.” 

“All yours,” Lan said, still working her station. 

Taitt looked up, watching Honigsberg frown at his display. “I see what you mean.” 

“Ever see anything like that before?” Taitt said.

“No,” He rubbed his short goatee. “It could just be an effect of the EM field.”

“I suppose,” Taitt said, though she wasn’t convinced, and given his expression, he didn’t seem to be, either.

“I think I can give us visual,” Lan said. 

“On screen,” Cavit said, rising from his chair. 

Taitt looked up as well, and after a moment, a small image appeared in the centre of the viewscreen. She frowned. She was used to Cardassian ships being of a certain design—forward-heavy, with flares that then tapered narrower toward the stern, but… 

“Magnify,” Cavit said.

The image flickered, and silence fell on the Bridge. 

“What is that?” Stadi said. “It definitely looks Cardassian, but I don’t recognize the configuration and… I don’t see any windows.”

Taitt realized Stadi was right. No windows. 

“It looks like a pair warp nacelles laid side-by-side,” Ro said, rising to stand beside Cavit. “And covered with weapon ports.”

“Lan, Rollins?” Cavit said.

Stadi glanced down at her own readings, trying to amalgamate all the various course changes the warp signature had made into an amalgamated whole. Whatever it was, it was going somewhere. Was it a warp shuttle, perhaps? 

“I’m reading approximately a thousand kilograms of matter and a thousand kilograms of antimatter,” Rollins said. 

“You could crack a small moon with that much firepower,” Honigsberg said.

“That’s not all.” Rollins looked up. “Disruptors, torpedo tubes, two wide-range emitters, one of them plasma-based, I think.“

“I can tell you why it has no windows,” Lan said, glancing up. “There are no lifesigns.” 

“Something that large and powerful is unmanned?” Cavit said, crossing his arms. 

“It’s a missile,” Lan said. “It’s like the old ATR-3000s, but with a major upgrade.”

“ATR-3000?” Taitt shook her head, not knowing the reference.

“Cardassians used them during the war with the Federation,” Lan said. “In the late 2340s, they used them to target Federation facilities. High warp, with intelligent AI computers controlling their flight pattern and targeting systems.” She took a breath. “Dolay saw the aftermath of one them once.”

Taitt could her the disgust in Lan’s voice. Her previous host had died in the final years of the Cardassian War, and Taitt knew Sahreen Lan had struggled with much of the memories the man had passed on to her with the Lan symbiont.

“Right,” Cavit said. “They agreed to dismantle and end their use as part of the Armistice.”

“Apparently not,” Ro said. 

“It’s definitely newer,” Lan said. “Even from this far away, I can tell it’s a new design.”

“How did it get here?” Honigsberg said. 

“Maybe the same way we did,” Cavit said, blowing out a breath. “Or maybe the Cardassian ship brought it with them. We know the T’Vran was boarded, and many of her crew were killed by personal weapon’s fire. If that missile is unmanned, then we still haven’t found the Cardassians responsible.”

“Captain,” Taitt said, frowning at the results of her attempt to amalgamate the course changes of the weapon. “I know where it’s going. Every time it threw us off, it aimed itself back at a planet in a system over ten light years away. At its current speed, it'll get there in about three weeks.”

“You’re saying it has a target in mind,” Cavit said.

Taitt nodded. Then she told him the rest of the bad news. “It’s a Class M planet, sir. Rakosa. The Talaxian database listed it as a potential trading source, and I’m reading multiple heavily populated areas.”

Chapter Text

“We’re within communications range of Rakosa V now, Captain,” Lan said. 

“Send the channel through to my Ready Room, Ensign.” Cavit rose from the Captain’s chair, and glanced at Ro. “Keep chasing it down.” 

Ro nodded. “I will.”

In his Ready Room, Cavit took a second to drink a few swallows of marob ginger tea, and then tapped his desk monitor to life, keying in a hail. 

Like most planets with warp capability, the Rakosans had a subspace communication network, and it didn’t take long to get an open channel. His first glimpse of a Rakosan reminded Cavit of Corvallens, though their skin wasn’t cracked, instead their large upper cranium sported a series of ridges. They had mottled skin, too, and smaller-than-human eyes. And, of course, the first Rakosan he spoke to was a bit confused by Cavit’s request to speak to a planetary leader, instead nudging him to his “supervisor.”

After introducing himself a few times to every more highly-placed communications clerks, working his way up the food chain, he finally found himself speaking to a Rakosan woman with a tight, clipped cadence who told him to “wait for the First Minister.”

He took another swallow of tea while the screen filled with a series of symbols the universal translator captioned as ‘Office of the First Minister.’ 

The screen changed to that of a Rakosan man in a blue-and-red tunic-like jacket over a black shirt. Cavit couldn’t see much of the room the man was in—he appeared to be in front of a grid-lined wall with angled crossbeams—but this, he hoped, was the right person, finally.

“Hello,” Cavit said. “My name is Aaron Cavit, Captain of the Federation Starship Voyager.”

“First Minister Kellan, Captain.” Like most of the Rakosan’s Cavit had spoken with, he seemed almost reticent to say more than a few words at a time. “What is it you want?”

Cavit tried not to react to the less-than-warm greeting. “We’re new to this area of space, and we don’t know a lot about your people, but our scans say there’s a good chance you’ve got tracking technology.” He paused. “I imagine you’ve seen our little fleet?”

“We have been observing all five of your ships for a day,” Kellan said. 

“Right,” Cavit said. “Have you also spotted a smaller vessel, on a course toward your planet?”

“Yes.” Kellan hesitated. “Though we cannot identify it.”

“That’s because it’s throwing up an EM field,” Cavit said. “Not to mention sensor echoes.” He sighed. “First Minister, I’m afraid it’s a missile, and as far as we can tell, it has a payload with a major destructive yield.”

“This is a threat, then.” Kellan’s voice hadn’t changed at all. 

“What?” Cavit shook his head. “No. No, First Minister, I wanted to warn you about the missile, not—”

“Captain.” Kellan shifted in his chair. “I don’t understand what your game is, but we’ve heard of your alliance with the Kazon, and we won’t be threatened into capitulation.” 

Damn Durst to Hell, Cavit thought, but he did his best to keep his expression calm. 

“First Minister,” he said, dropping his voice to something close to apologetic. “I know I have no way to prove it to you, but those claims of an alliance are false. The four ships we travel with aren’t Kazon—they’re Trabe—and they’re our only real allies. The Kazon are lying about us, knowing it will make potential friends turn away from us.” He lifted one hand. “We’re not here to threaten you.”

Kellan’s eyes narrowed, and Cavit knew he wasn’t convincing the man. How could he?

“And yet here you are, sending this missile towards us.”

“We didn’t send it. It’s not ours, I assure you. It does come from our quadrant of the galaxy, yes, but it was created by a different species,” Cavit said. “You said you’d been monitoring us. If you look at our course corrections you’ll see we’ve been trying to catch up to it. We didn’t launch it. We’ve been tracking it down because we think it was involved in another attack on a ship we found.” He softened his voice further. “We’re going to try and disarm it, preferably long before it reaches you in the next three weeks.”

“Perhaps you are telling me this in order to delay our defensive response.” 

“First Minister,” Cavit said. “I wish I could convince you, but all I’ve got are my words and my actions. Keep scanning us, watch what we do. I hope we can succeed, but I thought it best to warn you in case you hadn’t seen the missile coming.”

“We see it.” Kellan said. “I am placing our defence force on alert.” The statement was heavy with extra meaning, and Cavit could hear it perfectly well.

“I don’t blame you,” Cavit said. “May I contact you on this channel again? Let you know how our efforts go?” 

“Yes.” The First Minister paused. “We will be watching your progress closely.” 

Cavit nodded. “I understand.”

The channel closed. Cavit exhaled. They needed to get close enough to this damn missile so they could figure out a way to stop it. 

*

“This is everything I could find in the ship’s library on the ATR-3000, combined with everything Sahreen knows about them, too.” Lieutenant Honigsberg said, pulling up the display in the Briefing Room. “And these are the scans we’ve gotten so far of our new missile.” 

Lan looked at the two images, and felt the usual waves of anxiety, fear, anger, and focus that always came when she faced down something so integral to the life—and death—of Dolay Lan, her symbiont’s previous host, a Starfleet Lieutenant. She’d seen what the ATR-3000s could do, and there was a reason the Federation had lobbied so hard to get the Cardassians to agree to dismantling the program during the peace talks.

“Clearly the Cardassians didn’t give up on these missiles when they said they did,” Commander Ro said, mirroring Lan’s dark thoughts.

“I’d say not,” Captain Cavit said, and to his credit, the man sounded thoroughly disgusted, but not surprised. She found it oddly refreshing not to be the only one in the room for whom the Cardassian people had no possible reputation to recover.

“Some of the superstructure is based on similar lines,” Lan said, noticing the similarities between the two designs where she could. “The deflector, the embedded nacelles. It doesn’t look like they upgraded the navigation system very much at all.”

“Too busy adding more explosives and weapons,” Lieutenant Rollins said, and she didn’t disagree. 

“Still, that could potentially work to our advantage,” Lan said. 

“The engines themselves are putting out a stronger warp signature than the 3000, now that we can reliably compensate for the EM field,” Lieutenant Taitt added. “The engines may be of a similar design, but I’d be willing to theorize a better top speed of warp eight, or even warp nine.” 

Lan nodded. “Which it will only do if actively threatened. Otherwise—at least, if the AI system is similar to the 3000—it will stay at this cruising speed until it reaches its target.”

“Which gives us almost three weeks to come up with a way to stop it once we catch up to it,” Ro said.

“Speaking of the target. Rakosa V,” Honigsberg said. He tapped a series of commands into the display, and it shifted, revealing the planet in question. “Somewhere in this circle is the likeliest of targets, and we keep narrowing it down.”

“Every time the missile changes course, we get a bit more information to work with and a clearer picture from its vector just where it’s trying to touchdown,” Taitt said.

“I can send that information on to the First Minister,” Cavit said. “It might help him trust us a bit more.”

Lan had heard about how that conversation had gone, and decided if she was ever alone in a room with Peter Durst, she’d slug him as hard as she could. Dolay had been a decent pugilist. She could rely on his memories and just clock the arrogant engineer, right in his smug face.

“One thing I still can’t explain is that smear on the warp signature. It’ss still bothering me,” Taitt said. She raised an eyebrow to Honigsberg, and he nodded. She rose, stepping up to the screen and bringing up her readings. Lan eyed the warp signature and she saw what Taitt was talking about. Smear was a good word—like the warp field around the missile had been smudged in part.

“That’s definitely not because of the EM field,” Stadi said. The pilot narrowed her dark Betazoid eyes. “I don’t know what it is, though.”

“When we get closer, we can try scanning for other forms of interference,” Honigsberg said. He, too, was frowning at the display.

“Actually, we’ll need to be careful about that,” Lan said. “If we seem too interested, we might trigger the missile into a higher alert level.”

“And if we do that, it speeds up, you said,” Cavit said.

Lan nodded. 

“Passive sensors for as long as we can, then,” Cavit said. “And given the armaments on that missile, I want shields up as soon as we’re within range.”

“Aye, sir,” Rollins said.

“We might want to tell Adné to keep the Trabe ships further back, too,” Stadi said. 

“Definitely,” Rollins agreed. “Their shields aren’t as sophisticated as ours, and if it does come to a fight, they don’t have a lot of combat training among them.”

“Okay,” Cavit said. “Take this back to your teams, and let’s focus on methods of destroying it.”

Everyone rose, but Lieutenant Rollins raised his hand. “Actually, Captain, Commander, if I could have a word with you?”

“Of course,” Cavit said, nodding to him, then turning to the rest of them. “Dismissed.”

Lan filed out with Honigsberg, Stadi, and Taitt, the doors closing behind them. She briefly wondered what Rollins might want with the Captain and Commander Ro, but soon enough her thoughts turned back to the missile.

The ATR-3000s were shielded, but Cardassian shields weren’t the best by any means, and even with improvements, it was possible they’d be able to overwhelm the shields with a single volley of torpedoes. The real issue was making sure the damn thing didn’t survive their first attack—if it did, it would leap to high warp.

She went to her station, relieving Crewman Emmanuel, and got back to work.

*

“Just under three weeks,” Cavit said, his voice low. It was a lot of time, and it wasn’t enough time at all. 

“Captain?” Ro looked at him. He’d returned to his Ready Room after their talk with Rollins, and reached out to the First Minister again with an update of the potential target zone. It was currently too large a surface area of the planet to do much in the way of preparation, but the First Minister seemed to appreciate the information, noting that they could at least mobilize people to the outskirts of the area, considering anything outside the border of the potential target site safe as bases from which to launch rescue operations if the worst happened.

After, he’d come back to the Bridge and sat down, and those two words kept replaying in his head.

Rescue operation. He didn’t want that to be the ultimate scenario. Cavit didn’t want to doubt his people would stop the missile, but he also didn’t want to fail to plan for every outcome and…

Wait. Maybe there was a way to help the Rakosans prepare for the worst case scenario.

“What if we sent our shuttles ahead to Rakosa V,” Cavit said, leaning in to speak to Ro. “With the new dilithium, they can travel at warp eight. If it comes to it, they could use their transporters, aid in any evacuation plan as we narrow down the impact area.” Using transporter technology for the Rakosans—who didn’t have transporter technology—fell well within Starfleet mandates of relief efforts in the face of disaster.

And it would be a show of good faith, too. He wanted something to convince the First Minister they were here to help.

“Six shuttles,” Ro said, picking up the thread of his idea. “Over the course of weeks…” She nodded slowly. “Even if they only dealt with remote areas, or people without access to mobility. It could help.”

“Okay,” Cavit said. “Get the shuttles away as soon as you can—with enough people to operate their transporters around the clock if they need to. I’ll contact the First Minister again and make sure he understands they’re coming to help.”

“Aye Captain,” Ro said.

*

“We’re ready,” Stiles said, glancing at Nelson beside him. “Let them know.”

“Shuttlecraft Cochrane to Bridge,” Niles said, opening a comm channel. “All shuttles are ready to depart.” Behind them, Crewman Dell, a brunette human spit-and-polish Starfleet engineer sat perfectly upright in the unfolded third seat, where Stiles knew he had absolutely nothing to do.

“Comfy?” Stiles said. 

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Dell said, with a small nod. 

Lieutenant. Stiles still couldn’t believe it. It made him the highest ranked former-Maquis other than Commander Ro—and maybe Lieutenant Cing’ta, though that was more complicated, what with him being a Starfleet double-agent when he was with the Maquis—and he felt the weight of it again. Over the last couple of days, he’d been congratulated by so many people he’d lost track, and now, here he was, leading a potential rescue mission involving six shuttles and eighteen crew.

All reporting to him.

If someone had told me this a year ago…

“You’re clear. Opening shuttle bay doors,” Sahreen Lan’s voice was calm, and professional, but Stiles could hear a trace of tension in it. Cardassians. Why did it have to be Cardassians, and what were the chances of it being Cardassians out here in the Delta Quadrant?

The shuttle bay doors were open. 

Stiles tapped on the conn, and Shuttlecraft Cochrane, with it’s odd black coating of refractive kelbonite and fistrium, lifted off the deck and led the rest of the shuttles out into space behind Voyager. 

“Pilots, sound off,” Stiles said.

“Ochoa, ready,” Ensign Baytart said.

“Jemison, ready,” Crewman Vance said.

“Kondakova, ready,” Ensign Jenkins said.

“Drake, ready,” Ensign Kalita said. 

“Kelly, really,” Ensign Macormack said.

Stiles glanced at Nelson, and Nelson nodded.

“All right,” Stiles said. “Set course for Rakosa V and engage at warp eight on our mark.”

He keyed in he commands himself, and Nelson relayed it to the other shuttles. The Cochrane leapt to warp speed, the other five in formation behind him.

They were on their way.

Behind them, Voyager and the four Trabe ships returned to warp, still on an intercept for the Cardassian missile.

“By the way, Lieutenant,” Crewman Dell said. “Congratulations.”

Stiles smiled. “Thank you.”

*

Captain’s Log, Stardate 49447.0. We’ve finally caught up to the Cardassian missile. Adné has kept the Trabe ships a bit behind, and we’re doing our best with passive scans to see what we can make of it. One thing’s for sure: it has definitely been upgraded from the prior models the Cardassians used in the war.

“On screen,” Cavit said, rising. 

The missile appeared on the main viewer in all its streamlined threatening glory, and Cavit crossed his arms, taking a few steps forward. “Sensors?”

“Spiral-wave Disruptors,” Rollins said, working on his readings. He frowned, glancing up. “It’s got quantum torpedoes, Captain.”

“Definitely not around in the 2340s,” Cavit said. 

“It has a thoron shock emitter,” Lan said, the surprise clear in her voice.

“That’s not Cardassian standard,” Ro said, rising and joining Cavit in the centre of the Bridge.

“The plasma emitter is also a weapon,” Lan said. “It’s armed to the teeth.” 

“Its shields?” Cavit said, glancing at Lan.

“Better than I’d expected,” Lan said. Her station trilled. She looked up at him, pushing a strand of her long dark curls behind her ear. “It’s scanning us.”

“Scott?”

“Shields are up, Captain,” Rollins said. “But it hasn’t powered weapons.”

Lan’s station trilled again. “It’s hailing us.”

“What?” Stadi said. “The missile wants to talk?”

“Okay,” Cavit said, sharing a raised eyebrow with Ro. “Put it through.”

“Unidentified Federation ship,” the missile’s computer began, in a rather soothing feminine voice that Cavit never would have associated with a Cardassian computer interface. “Although this vessel is Cardassian it has been appropriated by the Maquis. Please stand down your weapons.”

“What?” Cavit turned to Ro, who shook her head, a frown bisecting her eyebrows. 

But the missile wasn’t done speaking.

“Probability assessment indicates you are most likely to operate within the parameters of the Cardassian Federation Alliance, as described in the treaty of 2367. This treaty has been rejected by the Maquis. If you interfere with this tactical mission against Cardassian aggressors, this vessel is programmed to respond with all necessary force.”

“Cardassian aggressors?” Rollins said. “Where?”

“I know that voice,” Lan said.

Cavit turned to her. The Trill woman was staring at the screen, her mouth slightly open, and a disbelieving look in her eyes.

“Ensign?” he said.

She seemed to take a second to shake off her shock. “The voice of the missile. It’s Torres. B’Elanna Torres.” 

Chapter Text

“B'Elanna Torres wasn’t in our cell,” Ro said. “She was with Chakotay’s group.”

“We were supposed to be chasing him down,” Cavit said, shaking his head. “Instead, we found you and your ship.”

Ro gave him an amused look. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He shrugged, offering a tiny smile. “I’m not complaining,” he quipped. “But at least Tuvok would have informed Starfleet about her. What do we have on Torres?”

She, Captain Cavit, and Ensign Lan were at the rear of the Bridge, where Ro brought up the file on Torres. The image of the half-Klingon woman seemed to glare out of the screen at her. “She attended Starfleet Academy for a couple of years, but dropped out,” Ro said, scanning the information. 

“She has a temper,” Lan added. “That much I remember.”

“Did either of you work with her?” Cavit said.

Ro shook her head, but Lan looked up from the file. “Only once. A few of us handy with experience working on older ships helped Chakotay’s cell get the Val Jean up and running.”

“The Val Jean?”

“A, uh, liberated Peregrine-class,” Lan said. “Torres was Chakotay’s chief engineer. That’s how I know her voice. I helped restore the sensors. She’s a brilliant engineer, Captain.”

“Brilliant or not,” Cavit said. “She hijacked a Cardassian missile and for some reason it wants to attack the Rakosans.”

The turbolift door opened, and Ro turned, pleased to see the three people arriving. She’d called Cing’ta to join them, as well as Crewman Sveta and Crewman Avery Roberto, both of whom she thought had known Torres. 

“Back here,” Ro said, and the three moved to join them. 

“Can any of you recall anything about B'Elanna Torres, and especially anything about her maybe reprogramming our Cardassian friend out there?”

Sveta shook her head. “We only worked together once, before I was assigned to your cell. I know Chakotay trusted her, and thought she was the best engineer he’d ever worked with.”

“Avery?” Ro said.

Avery Roberto, a handsome, quick-witted man with light brown hair and some of the best hand-to-hand combat skills Ro had ever sparred with, bit his lip. It wasn’t like him to hesitate, and to took Ro a moment to realize why. 

He was trying to be gentlemanly.

“If I recall correctly,” Ro said, not enjoying putting the man on the spot. “You two were… close?”

Roberto swallowed. “Yes, Commander.” He let out a little breath. “We, uh, didn’t last, though.” He paused. “I’m not sure I know anything useful. She was brilliant, passionate, an incredible engineer, but she didn’t talk much about whatever she was working on, and I certainly didn’t hear anything from her about a missile. Honestly? If she cared about it a lot, then she would have been less likely to talk to me about it.” He looked nearly pained to make the admission. “She tended to push people away if they tried to get close.”

Roberto was turning red the longer he spoke. Ro let the poor man off the hook. “If you think of anything at all…”

He nodded.

“Cing?” she said, with another small twist of her lips that was almost a smile. “While you were spying on us, any chance you spied on them?”

The Big Bolian cleared his throat. “I spent most of my time in the Maquis monitoring communications and trying to figure out where a Cardassian mole might be.” Cing’ta took a deep breath, frowning. “But now that you’re asking specifically, I do vaguely remember an alert about some sort of automated Cardassian strike inbound for Alpha 441.”

“Alpha 441?” Cavit said.

“One of our munitions bases,” Lan said. “A planetoid in the Badlands. As far as I know, it was still intact when we left. I think Torres worked there—we kept our information about other cells light or nonexistent.”

“Alpha 441 wasn’t destroyed,” Cing’ta confirmed. “And all this was about a year before we ended up here in the Delta Quadrant.” 

“The Cardassians targeting the Maquis with weapons they’re not supposed to have would be par for the course,” Ro said. “It could be the same missile, and if Chakotay’s cell figured out how to stop it, she could have reprogrammed it.”

“I’d assumed the whatever automated strike had been launched had been destroyed,” Cing’ta said. “I didn’t realize it was something like this missile—assuming this is the same one. The signal chatter I overheard wasn’t very specific.”

“Okay.” Cavit exhaled. “Simplest explanation is likely the right one, so it looks like this B'Elanna Torres managed to hijack this missile two years ago, and it seems like she programmed it to steer clear of Federation ships, but that missile isn’t going to ignore us if we try to stop it—so we get one shot.”

“How clear a picture do we have of the missile at this point?” Ro said, turning back to Lan.

“Passive scans are pretty much complete,” Lan said. “Zandra, Scott, and Alex are modelling some options right now.” 

Ro looked at B'Elanna Torres’s face again, and wondered if the woman would ever have any idea how much damage she might have inadvertently caused, on the other side of the galaxy. She doubted it. At least, not until they got home. 

Hopefully, they’d be able to tell her they handled it.

“There’s still something I don’t understand,” Ro said. “Why it’s targeting Rakosa.”

“I suppose we could ask it,” Lan said. “It seems pretty chatty.”

Ro looked at Cavit, and he nodded. “Let’s do that. Cing’ta, take mission ops. Sveta, Roberto, if you remember anything else that might be useful, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

A trio of “Yes, Captain”s greeted the order, and the group broke up, heading back to their original stations. Lan slid behind the Ops station and glanced over her shoulder at Ro as Ro stepped down into the Command area.

“Hailing the missile,” Lan said, with a sly turn of her lips. “Channel open.”

“Maquis missile,” Cavit said, and Ro noticed he’d shifted into his calm, diplomatic voice. “Why are you targeting the fifth planet?”

“Dreadnought will destroy the fuel depot on Aschelan V,” the calm, feminine voice replied. 

“The missile has a name?” Stadi said softly, glancing over her shoulder at Ro and Cavit. 

Ro, though, was more focused on what it had claimed to be doing. “Aschelan V,” she said, “That’s in the Alpha Quadrant. It’s a Cardassian planet on the edge of the Badlands. We’re in the Delta Quadrant. You’re in the Delta Quadrant.”

“The target is located in the Alpha quadrant. Target lock has been established.”

“No, it hasn’t. You are way off course,” Cavit said. “Look, Dreadnought, I don’t know if Torres programmed you to care about innocent civilians, but you are not where you think you are, and if you continue on your course, you’re not going to destroy a fuel depot, you’re going to hit a heavily populated planet of innocent people.”

“The target was measured via size, radiothermic signature, atmospheric composition, relative position to its star—“ 

“It’s not Aschelan V,” Cavit said.

“Did you take damage?” Ro said, trying a different tactic. “Were you exposed to a coherent tetryon beam, and then a gravimetric wave?” 

There was a brief pause before the missile—Dreadnought—replied. “Yes. All attempts to evade the wave failed.” 

“That wave brought you all the way to the Delta Quadrant,” Ro said. “And Aschelan V isn’t in the Delta Quadrant.”

“The probability of being in the Delta quadrant, seventy five thousand light years from last confirmed location, is negligible. The target is located in the Alpha quadrant. Target lock has been established. There will be no further discussion. Terminating communications link.”

The comm channel closed.

“We’re not going to talk it down,” Cavit said. “How do we destroy it?” 

*

Lieutenant Sam Stiles dropped the Cochrane out of warp, and beside him, Nelson co-ordinated with the other shuttles. Through the window, Stiles saw Rakosa V ahead of him in space, lit with only a crescent. A beautiful blue ocean covered the leading edge of the planet, where a large continent dotted with lakes was starting to appear. Class-M planets had a range to them, but at a superficial glance, Rakosa V looked beautiful.

I hope it stays that way.

“Let’s announce ourselves,” Stiles said. “Hail the First Minister’s office.”

“Hailing,” Nelson said. He glanced over at Sam, nodding once. “They’re answering.”

“On screen,” Stiles said, turning his head to the side to look at the monitor.

A Rakosan appeared, reminding Stiles of a few other species he’d met. Stiles took a breath, reminded himself that his usual tone could sometimes come across as gruff, and softened his voice intentionally. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Sam Stiles. Myself and these other five shuttles are here to help in whatever way we can. I believe Captain Cavit explained our transporter technology to you?” 

“He did.” The Rakosan paused, her voice clearly hesitant. “I am Science Minister Rilla. I have been asked to confirm your claims.” 

Confirm we have transporter technology, or that we’re here to help? Stiles wondered, but nodded. “Of course. If you’d like, I can beam down with one of Voyager’s engineers who can answer any questions you have. Or, we could beam you up here. Give you a first-hand experience?”

Rilla’s eyes widened, and her lips twitched, and her voice had a more intrigued quality when she said. “You could transport me to your shuttle?” 

“Absolutely,” Stiles said, trying not to sound to happy about her question. He’d hoped dangling a first-hand experience in front of a scientist would be the right move. Seemed like it was. 

“I would like that. I will bring a medical scanning device to ensure it’s safe,” Rilla said.

“Do you need time to get ready?” Stiles said.

“I am prepared.”

“Then we’ll beam you right up,” he turned his head. “Gavin?”

“All ready,” Nelson said. “Locking on.”

“Energize.” 

So far, so good.

*

“Are we ready?” Cavit said, leaning forward in his chair. Tension was tightening the muscles in the back of his neck, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up with a headache from clenching his jaw.

“Aye sir,” Rollins said. “I’ve got a manual spread of four type-six photon torpedoes, and standing by on phasers.” 

They’d chosen not to use a target lock, since Lan recalled the previous model, the ATR-3000, was programmed to react to a target lock with evasive maneuvers. It meant projecting a course, but since they’d caught up to Dreadnought, it hadn’t continued to zig and zag, not once it had delivered its warning. 

“On my mark. Photons first, then phasers. Don’t let it breathe,” Cavit said. He took a second, then held up his hand, tipping his fingers forward. “Fire.”

The photon torpedoes lit the viewscreen with four streaks, each one lighting up the shields around Dreadnought and—as far as Cavit could tell—not penetrating it in the slightest. 

How in the hell?

“It’s shields were modulated to our torpedoes,” Lan said, surprised. 

“It must have analyzed our torpedoes when it scanned us,” Ro said. She sounded equal measures frustrated and impressed, and Cavit could relate. He glanced at Rollins.

“Firing phasers,” Rollins said, and a barrage of phaser-fire lashed out at the missile in turn. His frown said everything Cavit needed to know.

“It’s shields are holding,” Lan said. “It’s weapon systems are coming online. It’s hailing us.”

“Let’s hear it,” Cavit said.

“Unidentified Federation ship. Stand down your weapons, or this vessel will respond with all necessary force to prevent disruption to its mission.”

“Scott?” Cavit said, facing Rollins.

“It’s shields are still holding,” Rollins said. 

“It re-routed a lot of power to compensate for our attack,” Lan said. 

“You think we could overwhelm it?” Ro said.

Lan lifted a shoulder. “It worked for the ATR-3000s. If you pounded them enough they ran out of juice and something had to give—their core could destabilize, or their engines might overload… they weren’t designed to do much else but run if they were hit hard enough.” 

“I’ll take it,” Cavit said. “Rollins, hit it with everything we’ve got. Another spread of photons, and follow it up with phasers.”

“Aye, sir.” 

The second volley of photons struck with a much more impactful effect, a sign they were making headway, though the missile itself continued as before. The phaser strike, however, finally seemed to trigger the defensive options Torres had programmed it to warm then about.

“It’s powering up its thoron shock emitter,” Lan said. “I’m seeing a dip in its power curves.”

“Phasers again, Scott. Don’t give it any excuse to draw power from anywhere else,” Cavit said.

“Aye, sir.” Voyager’s phasers lashed out again, and then the thoron burst erupted from Dreadnought, and Voyager rocked with the impact. 

“Shields at seventy-one percent,” Rollins said.

“Maintain fire,” Cavit said.

“It’s working,” Lan said. “I’m reading an instability in the core.”

“Captain,” Taitt said from the Science station. “If we aimed a tachyon beam at the warp core, it should increase the instability. It might initiate a breach.”

“Do it,” Cavit said, gripping the arms of his chair as another lance of the thoron weapon slammed into Voyager’s shields.

“Shields at forty nine percent,” Rollins said. “I’m maintaining fire, but Dreadnought’s shields are still holding.”

“Lieutenant?” Ro said, aiming her question at Taitt.

“Initiating the tachyon beam.”

“It’s working,” Lan said, her voice rising in excitement. “Dreadnought’s core is destabilizing rapidly. We’re about twenty seconds from…” She frowned. “What the hell? There’s a plasma surge forming in the missile’s core, and—”

Voyager lurched violently, and Cavit nearly lost his grip on his chair. A series of muffled rumbles ran through the deck beneath his feet, Lan yelped as her station erupted with sparks and she threw up a hand to protect her eyes.

“Report,” Ro said.

“It sent some sort of plasma feedback through the tachyon beam,” Taitt said. 

“Engineering to Bridge,” Lieutenant Honigsberg’s voice came over the comm. “That plasma surge backed up into our main power system. EPS relays are burnt out all over the ship.”

“Captain, I’m losing warp engines,” Stadi said.

Cavit looked up, and sure enough, Dreadnought was visibly gaining ground ahead of them. Then, with an audible change to the hum around him, Voyager was no longer at warp and the missile flared away in a flash of light as the stars returned to normal.

“Damn it,” Cavit said. He took a breath. “The missile?”

Lan was still working to restore her station, most of the panels were offline, but Taitt spoke up. “Still on course for Rakosa V.” She paused. “Captain, it increased speed to warp nine. I’m estimating the new impact time in less than fifty-four hours.”

“We did some minor damage to its shield emitters,” Rollins said. “But not much else.”

“Sickbay is reporting two casualties,” Cing’ta said from the command rail. “Two broken bones in Engineering.” 

Cavit turned to Ro. “Get a damage report and have Alex get our warp engines back online as soon as possible. We need to catch back up again. I need to tell First Minister Kellan our attempt didn’t go quite as planned.” He swallowed. “And the new timeline.”

Ro nodded. “Aye, Captain.” 

*

Stiles watched Crewman Dell and the Science Minister, Rilla, working side-by-side the transporter, and eyed the number of transporter cycles in the shuttle’s log. They were more-or-less keeping up the same pace they had since they arrived, but he’d want to swap out Nelson for Dell soon, to give the man a break. Each of their shuttles had a trio of crew on board precisely so they could take turns, and catch a breath. Co-ordinating their six ships beaming people around a planet was repetitive work, and no one needed a lapse in concentration at a bad time.

“How are we doing?” Stiles said, pitching his voice low to keep it between him and Nelson. Dell and Rilla had a system going—she was prompting him with the various beam-out and beam-in site locations off a PADD—and he didn’t want to break either of their concentrations.

“Power consumption is about what we expected,” Nelson said. “We’ll be able to keep this up almost to the last minute, if things go badly.” A soft chime interrupted him, and he looked down at his panels. Nelson tapped his panel, then swallowed. “Sam, we just got an update from Sahreen from Voyager,” he said, pitching his voice growing even lower while he sent the information over to Stiles’s display.

Stiles read the text, and took a breath to just sit with it. 

Fifty-four hours. It wasn’t enough time. Hell, the weeks they’d had wouldn’t have been enough time, but now…

On the Eastern Continent, the major coastal docking ports were full of people, but there weren’t enough ships. So far, the Rakosans had managed to keep outright panic at bay, but this news could tip things over.

He hoped not.

He took a breath, about to have Nelson open a channel to the other shuttles to let them know, but beside him, the panel trilled again.

“Sam,” Nelson said, frowning. “I’m reading an orbital launch.” 

“From the planet?” Stiles said, surprised. Everyone they’d spoken with to co-ordinate the evacuations had confirmed they were using their ships to get people away from the impact zone, not from the planet itself.

“Fifteen ships,” Nelson said, nodding. “They’re smaller…” He blinked. “They look like fighters, to me.”

“Minister?” Stiles said, hating to interrupt—especially now—but needing information. 

Rilla turned to him, and crossed over the short distance to the front of the shuttle, passing the PADD to Dell, who kept working. “Yes?”

“These ships,” Stiles said. “They’re leaving Rakosa. Do you know why?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she dipped her shoulders, a gesture Stiles had realized was the Rakosan version of a nod. “That’s our defence fleet. I imagine the First Minister wants them as a defensive line between this weapon and Rakosa.” The grey-brown skin of the woman's forehead creased slightly, her soft ridges growing more pronounced.

Stiles exchanged a glance with Nelson, who worked his station, then dipped his gaze. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said, and Nilla went back to work with Dell, though she aimed one last troubled glance through the viewscreen at the retreating ships as they went to warp. 

Once she was out of earshot, he glanced at Nelson.

“How bad is it?” he said, leaning close to Nelson’s ear.

“They have pulse disruptors,” Nelson said. “And polarized hull deflection…” He shook his head. 

Stiles took a breath. “Swap out with Dell and tell him to grab a nap,” he said. “I’ll let the other shuttles know to rotate a fresh person in and about the new timeline, once I break it to Nilla. And then I’ll let Voyager know about the defence fleet, in case they don't already know.” 

Nelson’s dark eyes met his, and he nodded, rising from his chair.

*

“We’ll be back underway in just under an hour,” Ro said, and Taitt glanced up to see Captain Cavit coming back onto the Bridge from his Ready Room. She hadn’t even realized he’d left, she’d been scouring her sensor readings of Dreadnought so intently. 

She brought up the final scans of the missile as it had pulled away from Voyager, and frowned at the readings again. While they’d been aiming the tachyon beam at Dreadnought, the warp smear had… changed. It curved away from the active tachyon beam.

Taitt couldn’t escape the feeling the odd disruption to Dreadnought’s warp signature might be important, or at the very least useful, and she applied another series of filters to the sensor readings. 

Nothing. Again.

Tachyons. Why tachyons? Tachyons didn’t normally interfere with warp signatures. 

She went back to basics, pulling up tachyon fluctuations, and comparing the various results to what she’d seen on her sensors. She shook her head, dismissing partial matches as she went, cutting the results down to a few possibilities. Misaligned plasma assemblies could apparently cause a tachyon beam to curve, as could some cloaking devices or…

She froze, looking at the pattern of a tachyon detection grid intersecting with a cloaking device in the database from the USS Hornet, which had taken part in a tachyon detection grid in 2368. 

“Captain,” Taitt said, not bothering to hide her alarm. “I don’t think Dreadnought is alone.” 

Captain Cavit rose from his command chair and crossed the Bridge to join her. “What do you mean?” 

“That odd smudging of the missile’s warp signature? I noticed a reaction with the tachyon beam, and…” She brought up the two displays. “It looks an awful lot like this scan from the Hornet. They took part in a tachyon detection grid to catch cloaked vessels a few years ago.” 

Cavit straightened. “A cloaked ship.”

“It would explain the smudge as well,” Taitt said, realizing it as she said the words out loud. “If a cloaked ship was keeping up with Dreadnought, sticking close to it, their warp fields might interact that way—it would allow the cloaked ship to borrow some of Dreadnought’s warp field, give its own engines a break.” She looked up at Cavit, seeing the same realization hit his pale blue eyes. 

“They’re riding Dreadnought’s wake,” Cavit said.

“Who, though?” Ro said. She’d risen as well. “We haven’t met a single species in the Delta Quadrant yet with cloaking technology.”

“Good question,” Cavit said. He crossed his arms. “I don’t suppose we have any way to penetrate their cloak from here?” He eyed the Bridge at large.

Taitt tried to think of something, but beyond another tachyon beam—which had to be directed, and needed to be up close—she couldn’t think of anything. She shook her head, and saw Lan and Rollins looking just as defeated.

“When I was on the Monitor,” Cavit said, turning to face the viewscreen. “We bumped into some cloaked mines on the Federation side of the Romulan DMZ. The Monitor had some of the best sensors of her day, and we caught a small distortion inside the neutral zone itself, and we knew it was a cloaked ship, coming our way. The first mines hit us hard, and we couldn’t move, the Captain was unconscious and the First Officer was in Sickbay. It was my first real command moment. I knew if I fired on the Romulan ship, we’d start a war. But if I waited for it to get to us, we couldn’t dodge any attack it threw our way, between the damage and the potential for more mines.”

“What did you do?” Rollins said. 

“I fired a spread of torpedoes around them, to let them know we could see them, and politely asked them to go the hell home,” Cavit said. 

“And it worked?” Ro said.

“It did.” Cavit crossed his arms. “Let’s try a little diplomacy again.” He turned to Lan. “Open a hailing channel, wide across all subspace channels.”

Lan nodded, tapping in the command. “Channel open.”

“This is Captain Aaron Cavit of the Federation Starship Voyager, hailing the cloaked vessel trailing the missile. We can see you.” 

Taitt raised an eyebrow. That was overstating, but she supposed all diplomacy involved a little bit of bluffing. Also? She never wanted to play poker with Captain Cavit. He sounded one-hundred percent sure of every word he spoke. 

The viewscreen changed, and though it wasn’t a completely clear image—Taitt knew some distortion was a side-effect of communications from inside a cloak effect—but even with the static marring the signal, the figure was identifiable.

“Hello, Captain,” a Cardassian man said in a deep—and deeply amused—voice. “What a pleasure it is to encounter someone from our side of the galaxy.”

Chapter Text

Ro stared at the face of the Cardassian on the viewscreen and willed herself not to show emotion. She didn’t know him. He wasn’t anyone specific to her. But that face, the sneer, the smugness of the man… The familiarity of the Cardassian sense of superiority felt like someone had thrown a glass of ice water into her face. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” Cavit said beside her, and Ro took a short, even breath, forcing herself to remain calm. She wanted to aim a supportive look Sahreen’s way—she could only imagine how Lan was feeling—but didn’t dare show even that little sign of weakness in front of this Cardassian.

“Forgive my manners. In the surprise of your hail, I must have forgotten myself. I’m Gul Casek,” the Cardassian said with a typically snide little smile, his dark eyes glittering.

This man killed the crew of the T’Vran. But then Ro’s attention caught on the man’s uniform. It wasn’t right. The triangular breastplate was present, yes, but it was… polished. New. Barely touched. 

And the rank insignia was missing. 

What sort of Gul doesn’t wear his rank?

“Nice to meet you,” Cavit said, in a tone Ro imagined would fool anyone who didn’t know him. He sounded pleasant, and had affected a diplomatic air she knew she’d never achieve were she to have ten more lifetimes to work on it. “Can I assume you arrived here courtesy of an alien in an array snatching you from the Alpha Quadrant?”

“You can assume whatever you’d like.” Gul Casek tilted his head. “I must admit, the only reason we answered your hail, Captain, was curiosity. How did you penetrate our cloak?” 

“Voyager is a new ship, with top-of-the-line technology,” Cavit said, holding out his hands. “We’ve got some of the best sensors in Starfleet.” He took a step forward. “You can imagine how curious we are to find a Cardassian ship with a cloaking device.”

“The Delta Quadrant is a dangerous place,” Gul Casek said. “Staying out of everyone’s notice seemed the safest course.”

“So you just found a cloaking device?” Cavit said, still affecting a more cheerful tone.

“Something like that.” Gul Casek’s oily smile returned.

“I imagine you saw our attempt to deal with the missile,” Cavit said.

“We did,” Gul Casek said, nodding. “I hope the damage to your top-of-the-line ship wasn’t too extensive. Though I have to admit I was surprised you made the attempt. The ATR-4100s are best left to their targets once they’ve launched.” 

“A missile that, I believe, isn’t supposed to exist?” Cavit said. 

“The treaty clearly stated Cardassia would never deploy this sort of technology against Federation targets,” Gul Casek said, with complete dismissiveness. “And in point of fact, as you well know, the target of this ATR was set by the Maquis, not us.” 

Clearly, Ro thought, he didn’t care one speck about the Rakosans. How unsurprising.

“And if I asked you to help us destroy it?” Cavit said.

“Destroy it?” Gul Casek actually chuckled. “Why would we want to destroy it?”

“It’s going to decimate most of a continent on Rakosa V,” Cavit said. “Innocent civilians who don’t even know who the Maquis—or the Cardassians—are. Surely you could see the benefit of helping them avoid the catastrophe. If only from the selfish point of view of having their gratitude?”

“That potential gratitude comes at the cost of risking my ship, Captain.” Gul Casek shook his head. “Whereas, if we allow the missile to do as the Maquis desire, we’ll be able to simply take the supplies we need from the Rakosans and be on our way—they’ll be in no position to put up a fight, I dare say, no matter how may of their people you’ve promised to transport out of the impact zone.”

Ro took a sharp breath, but managed to keep her composure. Just.

“Another thing I’m curious about, Gul Casek,” Cavit said and this time, Ro heard the tension in his voice. He’d run out of diplomatic patience. He crossed his arms. “When you attacked the T’Vran, was that all it was? Taking the supplies you needed?”

For the first time, Gul Casek’s smile faltered, his expression hardening. “Given your alliance with the Kazon—something I’m sure your superior officers back in the Alpha Quadrant would question—I don’t think you have quite the moral high ground you’re claiming, Captain. Despite your claims to the Rakosans of the alliance being exaggerated, we all saw that announcement, and the human standing right there with the Kazon.”

“He—” Cavit started, but Gul Casek held up a hand, cutting him off. 

“I’m honestly impressed,” the Gul said. “I didn’t think humans had it in them to make so practical a decision.” He shook his head. “Now. I believe we’ve indulged each other’s curiosity more than enough, Captain, and we have preparations of our own to deal with.”

The screen went blank.

A moment of silence fell before Cavit turned. “Thoughts?” He glanced at the whole Bridge crew, then focused on Stadi. “Anything?”

The Betazoid shook her head. “Even lower-ranked Cardassian officers are trained to keep their thoughts to themselves, Captain. Between his training and the distance, I couldn’t get much—in fact, I could barely read his surface thoughts. I’d say he’s well-schooled in the art of telepathic resistance.” 

“He’s definitely lying about one thing: that man is no gul,” Ro said. “At least, not officially.”

Cavit nodded at her. “No insignia. You noticed, too.”

“And his uniform was… fresh. He kept the signal on his own face, too,” Ro said. “He didn’t want us to see whatever was going on on his Bridge. That’s often the way Cardassians communicate, but it’s another check in the ‘hiding something’ column.”

“Agreed,” Cavit said. “And I’m not sure I bought his whole speech about taking supplies from the Rakosans.”

“Really?” Ro raised an eyebrow, and Cavit shook his head.

“Well, no, I believe he’d be that casually cruel, and steal what he wants, but no… It was more that it felt like an excuse to me.”

“I might have a theory about that. I was monitoring their comm signal,” Cing’ta said from the command rail mission ops panel. “There was an asymmetrical variance of interference in the background of the comm signal—it’s part of the reason the signal wasn’t very clear.” 

“What kind of interference?” Lan said. 

“It looked like EM surges to me,” Cing’ta said, tapping the display. “Power fluctuations, maybe. Here.”

Lan eyed her own display, and slowly nodded. “I think you’re right.” She looked up. “Captain, their ship might be damaged. This pattern of interference could be caused by damaged power relays. Cardassian ships use a plasma distribution manifold. If it took damage, replacing it here in the Delta Quadrant would be nearly impossible. This could be the result of a patch-job.”

“If that’s the case,” Taitt said. “Once we’re close enough, we could scan for trace plasma variance. It might penetrate their cloak—give us a partial view of their ship, like looking at the veins in a body.” 

Ro realized something, and she opened her mouth to say so, but Lieutenant Rollins was clearly on the same page, because he beat her to it.

“Dreadnought,” Rollins said. The broad-shouldered man looked up, a small smile playing across his face. 

“Scott?” Cavit said.

“Dreadnought attacked the Cardassian ship,” Ro said. “And that’s why she’s damaged.” She shared a smile with Rollins, who nodded, and picked up the thread.

“They’d have no way of knowing the missile had been hacked by the Maquis,” Rollins said. “Think about it—they saw one of their own missiles. They must have thought they could decloak and shake hands with it—and probably got a face-full of thoron shock for their trouble.” 

“There’s no way Torres programmed that thing to be as polite to Cardassians as it was to us.” Lan said, nodding. “She’d have Dreadnought attempt to knock out any Cardassian interference.”

“And if they managed to cloak their ship again, I’d bet Dreadnought would have just moved on without them,” Ro said. “I can’t imagine Torres programmed Dreadnought to react to cloaked Cardassian ships. Cardassians don’t have cloaking devices. Or they didn’t until now. Dreadnought probably doesn’t realize they’re still hitching a ride, and using some of Dreadnought’s warp field to take some of the pressure off their own engines.” 

“They might need that warp field,” Stadi said. “If their power systems are compromised enough for that kind of interference, borrowing some of Dreadnought’s warp field might be their only way to keep up their speed.”

“When Dreadnought jumped to warp nine,” Taitt said. “The smear in the warp signature shifted, but it was still here on all my scans—I think you’re right.”

“Which could also be why they want to let the missile hit Rakosa V,” Cavit said. “It could be the only way they currently have available to get anywhere close to a warp-capable species, even someone with less developed technology like the Rakosans.”

“And then they can pillage what they need to repair their ship, cloaked, from orbit, while Rakosa V suffers from a massive disaster,” Lan said, shaking her head in disgust.

“Okay,” Cavit said. “If we’re right, we need to stop that missile for more than one reason. As soon as engines are restored, plot an intercept to Dreadnought.” He exhaled. “I need options.”

“Captain…” Taitt said, then hesitated. Ro turned to face her, surprised. In the last year, she’d never really seen the woman do anything other than confident composure. 

“Go ahead,” Cavit said. 

Taitt took a breath. “I’ve been running models,” she said. “Options for destroying Dreadnought.”

Cavit’s gaze softened. “From your tone, I’m guessing it’s not good news.”

Taitt’s smile seemed forced, and Ro started to get an idea of what suggestion was about to come their way. “Dreadnought is carrying two thousand kilograms of a matter/antimatter bomb—the containment field it’s carrying is significant, but…” She paused again, clearly rallying to say the words. “A large enough antimatter explosion in front of Dreadnought would rupture its containment from the outside-in.” 

“We don’t have that kind of firepower,” Rollins said. “We’re down to eighteen torpedoes.”

But Ro saw where Taitt was going with this. “The warp core,” she said. She glanced at Cavit, and wasn’t particularly shocked to see he didn’t look surprised himself. Clearly, the Captain had already gotten himself there.

“Yes, Commander,” Taitt said.

Silence fell on the Bridge for a beat or two.

“What about the secondary core?” Lan said. “We’re carrying an emergency back-up, aren’t we?”

“The secondary core is only capable of about warp four,” Stadi said. “Is that enough?” 

Taitt shook her head. “I ran the numbers with the Trabe ships, too. I thought we could redistribute them, take some aboard, but even if they could catch up to Dreadnought, the chances of one of their cores being enough is sixty percent at best.” 

“And if it’s Voyager’s warp core?”

“Ninety-seven percent,” Taitt said.

Another beat of silence.

“Lan, get me a channel to the First Minister. I need to warn him about the Cardassians and let him know what we’re intending to do,” he said. Then he turned to face Ro. “As soon as we restore engines, lay in an intercept course for Dreadnought at our best possible speed. I know Alex won’t want to push the starboard nacelle, but the faster we get there, the faster we stop Dreadnought.” He paused. “And I want you to organize the crew—prep them for the escape pods, along with any supplies we can bring with us so we’re in the best position possible after. I’ll let Adné know we’ll need the rest of the fleet to give us a ride until we can come up with something else. We’ll have to rely on the shuttles and the Rakosans to deal with the Cardassian ship. I’m not letting them get away, not after what they did to the T’Vran.” 

Ro nodded. “Aye, Captain,” she said. This was it, then. They’d be abandoning Voyager, with only whatever they could grab and fit inside their escape pods. Would they even be able to find another, single ship large enough for all the crew? The four Trabe vessels would be a tight fit for over one hundred and fifty people. 

“Captain,” Cing’ta said. “The Cardassians were clearly listening to your earlier communication with Rakosa V.”

Cavit nodded. “Right. And I’m sure they wouldn’t be happy to find out what we’re planning. We’ll need to set up a scrambled communication channel so I can warn the First Minister and get in touch with the shuttles. I’m guessing you’re up to that?” Cavit’s smile seemed forced, but Ro appreciated the humour. 

The big Bolian scoffed at the mere suggestion he couldn’t handle it.

Cing’ta was right, Ro knew. The Cardassians would listen in to their communications, otherwise. And Cavit was right, too. There was no way they could allow the Cardassians to continue attacking and pillaging people like they had the T’Vran. Given they’d only have shuttles left once Dreadnought was destroyed, they needed to warn the Rakosans about the Cardassians—they’d need help dealing with them.

Dealing with the Cardassians. 

Ro blinked. “Captain, don’t scramble the channel.”

Cavit turned to her, frowning. “This is our only option, Ro. If the Cardassians interfere—”

“No, that’s just it, Captain,” Ro said, smiling. “I don’t think it’s our only option. We have two.”

She started to explain her plan.

* 

Captain Cavit had begun to notice the slight changes in the posture and lines on the face of the First Minister that denoted stress over their last few calls. Years in Starfleet had taught him to look for body language in alien faces.

He only wished he was seeing something more hopeful.

“The crowds on the eastern continent ports are growing,” Kellan said. “We don’t have enough ships.”

“We’re going to intercept the missile in less than ten minutes,” Cavit said. 

“Which leaves us with just under an hour,” Kellan said. His voice was tired. “The missile destroyed three-quarters of our defence force in less than a minute, and disabled the remaining ships. Our planetary defence network isn’t much stronger, but I’ve activated it.”

“I’m so sorry for the loss of your pilots,” Cavit said. “But we’re not giving up yet.”

“What can you do?” Kellan said. “My understanding is your weapons failed?”

“They did,” Cavit said. “But First Minister—“

“Please, called me Kellan. Your crew have saved so many of my people with your transporters. I think we can move past titles.”

Cavit smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the sentiment. “Kellan, then. Call me Aaron. We have one more option. I can use Voyager to detonate the warhead before it reaches Rakosa V.”

Kellan’s eyes widened, and the folds above his eyes smoothed out to nearly nothing. It made him look younger and—Cavit couldn’t help the comparison—rather like a startled fish. “Use Voyager? You mean to collide with the missile?”

“More or less,” Cavit said. 

Kellan leaned forward on the monitor. “Do you really think that would work?”

“Our models say it’s almost a sure thing,” Cavit said. “Our Trabe allies will collect most of our crew from the escape pods.”

“Most?” Kellan’s eyes narrowed again.

“I’m going to have to call back the shuttles we have helping you—I’ll need them to beam the skeleton crew off Voyager before the collision. I’ll need people to stay on board, navigating, right to the last possible moment—and it’s best the shuttles are back just in case we need some firepower if the Cardassians I told you about decide to interfere with our plan.”

“You think they would?”

“I think they can’t stop us, but they might try.”

“You would sacrifice your ship, risk your crew, all to benefit a people you didn’t even know a week ago?” Kellan’s voice had softened to a near-whisper.

“I saw the numbers, Kellan,” Cavit said. “Nearly two million Rakosans are still on the eastern continent. That’s not a difficult choice.” 

“Aaron, I… I cannot thank you enough. Your reputation isn't deserved. For what it's worth, you've made a friend here.”

“Well,” Cavit said with a small smile. “We may have to take you up on some hospitality while we figure out how to keep going on our journey without a ship.”

“You have it. For as long as you need.” Kellan’s voice was full of emotion. “Our shipyards are open to you, if it comes to that.”

Another rush of warmth spread through Cavit. “I’ll be recalling my shuttles soon. Either way, we’ll let you know how it goes as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Aaron. My Science Minister has spoken very highly of your Lieutenant Stiles.”

“Sam’s a good man.” Cavit smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

*

Ro looked up as Cavit returned to the Bridge. 

“Recall the shuttles,” he said.

“Aye, Captain,” Lan said.

“Get the crew ready in the escape pods,” Cavit said to her. 

She nodded, rising. “Bridge to all crew. Anyone not among the Senior Staff report to your assigned escape pod. This is not a drill.”

Behind them, the relief crew left the Bridge. 

Cing’ta hesitated. “I’ve set up the channels for you, but I could stay, Commander, just in case.”

“You’re good to go, Lieutenant,” Ro said. “Take command of the evacuated crew. Co-ordinate with Doctor Fitzgerald on the Warden.”

The Bolian’s large shoulders dropped visibly. “Aye, Commander.”

He left.

“How did we do with supplies and tools in the escape pods?” Cavit said, once the turbolift doors had closed behind Cing’ta.

“We prioritized transporter and replicator technology, as well as dilithium, computer components, things that will help us refit, upgrade, or—worst case scenario—design a new ship,” Ro said. 

Cavit nodded, and the turbolift opened behind them. Lieutenant Honigsberg strode onto the Bridge and took the Engineering station. “I can run everything from here,” he said, cracking a slightly embarrassed smile and rubbing his goatee. “Main Engineering is creepy with everyone else gone.” 

Ro smiled. She looked around the Bridge. She, Cavit, Lan, Rollins, Taitt, Stadi and Honigsberg would soon be the only people on Voyager. 

“Escape pods are launching,” Rollins said. 

“Adné has confirmed the rest of the Fleet has them on sensors, and they’re on the way,” Lan said.

“Okay,” Cavit said. “We’re prepared for option two. Let’s hope we don’t need it.” 

Ro turned to the viewscreen.

It all came down to her plan. 

Option one.

Chapter Text

Cavit looked at Dreadnought on the viewscreen and spoke to the only six other people remaining on Voyager. 

“How much time do we have until Dreadnought makes a final approach?” he said.

“Fifteen minutes,” Lan said.

“The shuttles?” Cavit said.

“They’re in range,” Rollins said.

“Stadi?” Cavit said.

“Intercept course laid in,” Stadi said. 

“Taitt?” Cavit said.

“I’m ready,” Taitt said.

Cavit turned back to look at Ro, who stood at the Mission Ops panel of the command rail, rather than her chair. 

She met his gaze.

Cavit nodded. “Go.”

*

On the Bridge of the Rankorak, Gul Casek frowned at the viewscreen.

“We need to stop them,” he said. 

“If Voyager destroys the ATR and we haven’t moved off, we’ll be destroyed as well,” a woman’s voice said, and Gul Casek tried to fight off the fury he felt at her typical habit of airing opposed opinions on the Bridge. He turned to face her, allowing his annoyance to show on his face.

For her part, Aris showed no sign of consternation in return.

Romulans.

“We need to stay within the ATR’s warp field for as long as possible to get as close to the planet as we can.” Casek said, hating that he was deigning to explain his choices to the Romulan, but knowing that among their crew—no, they were his crew—some gave her voice more credit than it deserved. 

He could see the officer at the conn, for one, listening to their discussion intently. If only he had a better pilot. He’d replace the man.

The Romulan crossed her arms. “From where we are now, it would only take weeks to arrive at impulse power.”

“And if the manifold fails before then?” Casek said. 

“Do you have that little faith in your engineers?” Aris’s small smile betrayed the pleasure she was taking in undermining him. He needed to deal with her. Sooner, rather than later, and—

The soft, slowly-rising almost musical sound of a Federation transporter—a sound he absolutely had no expectation of hearing on this side of the galaxy—interrupted his thoughts and he turned, mouth opening in shock.

Four Starfleet officers had appeared at the rear of the Bridge. The officer at the conn rose, reaching for his weapon, as did the officers at the tactical and status stations, but the four Starfleet officers stunned his officers before they could get off a single shot. 

He reached for his own weapon, but the lead man, a strong, dark-haired human lieutenant with flecks of silver at his temples raised his phaser Casek’s way.

“Drop it,” he said. 

Casek dropped his disruptor.

*

Stiles regarded the last two people standing on the Cardassian Bridge and tried to temper his surprise at the second, who stood in a woven grey-and-silver uniform that was unmistakable, as were her pointed ears and her severe haircut.

What the hell was a Romulan doing on the Bridge of a Cardassian ship? 

Time to figure that out later. Maybe.

“If you’re armed, drop it,” Stiles said to her.

“Gul Casek does not allow me to remain armed,” she said, barely ruffled.

“Nelson, lock down access to the Bridge. Dell, start marking the crew for transport. Jenkins, the Conn is all yours.” Stiles never took his eyes off the two remaining standing figures on the Bridge while the other three moved to the Cardassian stations and took over. Stiles pointed with his free hand. “You two, over there. Now. We’re detaining you for the attack on the Vulcan High Command ship T’Vran.”

The Romulan woman all but glided to the side of the Bridge, but the Gul Casek’s movements could best be described as grudging. His grey skin had darkened all along his neck ridges, a flush of anger.

“I’ve sealed the doors and taken the turbolifts offline,” Nelson said. He turned his head. “This isn’t a typical Galor-class ship, it’s listed as a Keldon-class, whatever that is, but the interfaces are pretty much Cardassian standard.”

“I’m marking the lifesigns for Voyager and the shuttles. We’ve started transporting the crew to Voyager’s Cargo Bays. We already emptied Main Engineering and their transporter rooms,” Dell said. “Lieutenant, there are only a hundred and sixty-two lifesigns on board.” He paused. “Mostly Cardassian, but twelve more Romulans, an alien, and two Vulcans. The alien and the Vulcans are in the Brig.” 

“From the T’Vran, I assume,” Stiles said, aiming the statement at the Gul. The man didn’t answer, but to his surprise, the Romulan woman did.

“Yes,” she said. 

“Aris,” Gul Casek said, voice tight. “Silence.”

The Romulan woman didn’t so much as glance at the Cardassian man, instead regarding Stiles with a calm, poised expression. 

“Send the T’Vran survivors to the Kelly,” Stiles said, then turned back to the Romulan woman. “A ship this size, I’d expect three hundred crew.” 

“We were operating with a minimal crew when we were brought to the Delta Quadrant,” Aris said.

“Aris!” Gul Casek snapped.

“How are we doing, Dell?” 

“Nearly done,” Dell said. “Three minutes. It doesn’t look like any of the Cardassians managed to trigger an intruder alert. They’re spread out so thin we didn’t need two transporter cycles to clear any individual room.” 

Stiles tapped his combadge with his free hand, deciding the risk was slight enough now. “Stiles to Voyager. We're in position. Just a few more minutes and we’ll have everyone off the ship—they were running with a skeleton crew. We also recover three survivors of the T’Vran. They’re on the Kelly.” 

Almost as if to underline the statement, the stunned Cardassians on the Bridge itself were the next to be transported away.

“Good job, Lieutenant,” Captain Cavit said over the channel. “Any surprises?”

“Thirteen Romulans,” Stiles said, eyeing the Romulan woman. Aris, Casek had called her. “And this isn’t a Galor-class ship, even though Taitt’s scans of the manifold leaks lined up like one. It’s some sort of variant design. Keldon-class.”

“If I may interrupt, Captain, what exactly are you intending?” Gul Casek said, raising his voice to be heard across the Bridge. “If you plan to take my ship after you destroy your own—”

“Of course not,” Cavit interrupted. “I’m intending to use your ship to destroy Dreadnought. Your attack on the T’Vran and plans for Rakosa V made it perfectly clear I can’t allow you to keep your ship.”

Casek’s eyes widened. 

“The last of the crew are off the ship,” Dell said. “Just these two left.”

“I’ve nudged us as close to Dreadnought as I can,” Ensign Jenkins said. She turned to glance at Stiles, one immaculately sculpted eyebrow rising. “This ship is in pretty bad shape.”

“They took a beating from Dreadnought,” Nelson said. “I’m downloaded their most recent logs to my tricorder, and I’m grabbing everything else I can.”

Just like the senior officers had speculated, then, Stiles thought. 

“The self-destruct?” Stiles said.

“Has an authorization code lockout,” Nelson said. 

“I will not give you the code,” Casek said. 

“Then I’ll beam you two down to the planet,” Stiles said. “Right in the impact zone. Dell, lock on to the Gul and his Romulan friend here.” 

“Locking on,” Dell said. 

“You’re bluffing,” Casek sneered, and Sam did his best to maintain his poker-face, since the man was correct. “No Federation officer would ever—”

“I have the authorization code for the self-destruct,” the Romulan woman said.

“No you don’t,” Casek said, glaring at her. 

“Do you really think the Tal Shiar would allow us to work together, to give you access to our cloaking device, without guaranteeing ourselves a superior position?”

Tal Shiar? Stiles exchanged a look with Dell, and the crewman’s eyes widened in response. The Romulan intelligence agency? Who the hell were these people?

“I have the code,” the woman said, turning away from Gul Casek, who was visibly shaking with anger. “In return I request a chance to speak with your Captain and to explain my position on this ship.” 

“Oh, you’ll definitely have that,” Cavit said over the open channel. 

“Very well then. The code is—”

Gul Casek bellowed, leaping for the woman. Stiles, waiting for it, stunned him before he could make contact, and the Cardassian slumped to the floor of the Bridge, boneless.

Aris merely raised an eyebrow. “Casek-6-1-1-5-Red. Normally the computer would request a verbal confirmation, but you will find a workaround if you key the code in manually.”

“Nelson?” Stiles said, glancing at the man.

Nelson was working the panel. “It’s accepting the code manually. It’s starting a five minute countdown.” 

“We were not able to adjust the timeline,” Aris said, with a small shrug. 

“All right,” Stiles said, turning back to Dell. “Get yourselves and these two off this ship, I’ll take the Conn, Jenkins. Whatever you’ve got downloaded will have to do, Nelson. Once you’re all back in the shuttles, keep a lock on me. I’d rather not go down with this ship.”

“We’ve already got a lock on you, Sam,” Lan’s voice came over the open channel to Voyager, and he smiled. Dell and the others beamed off the ship—the Romulan tipped her head once to him in a sign he decided to interpret as respect—and he slid into the Cardassian conn.

It was the single most uncomfortable chair he’d ever sat in. 

On the plus side, he wouldn’t be in it for long.

*

“Captain, I’m getting interference on Stiles’ transporter lock, even with his combadge signal,” Lan said. “The core overload is straining the damaged manifold and putting out a lot of radiation.”

Ro exhaled. Damn it.

“How much longer until the self-destruct?” Cavit said.

“Two minutes,” Lan said. She looked up. “But I think we’ll lose the lock before then, unless he decloaks.” 

“If he decloaks, Dreadnought will fire on the ship.” Ro shook her head. This wasn’t an option. “Sam, we may have to get you out of there a bit early and trust the ship won’t drift.” 

Rollins’s station trilled. “Captain, Dreadnought is powering up its thoron shock emitter.”

Cavit frowned. “Why?”

“It might be reading the increased radiation,” Taitt said. “The AI might be realizing there’s a potential threat.”

“If Dreadnought manages to hit the Cardassian ship while she’s cloaked and her shields are down with an overload in progress?” Honigsberg said. “That ship will not survive.” 

“I can raise shields and decloak, Captain,” Stiles said. “I only have to buy another eighty seconds.” 

“If you raise shields,” Ro said. “We can’t beam you out.”

“I’ll drop them at the last second, Commander.” Stiles’s voice was calm.

Ro met Cavit’s gaze. It was a significant gamble, and could well cost Stiles his life. 

“Let’s do one better. Get us in front of Dreadnought,” Cavit said. “We need to grab Dreadnought’s attention—if it’s attacking us, it won’t have time to try and figure out where that radiation is coming from.”

“Aye, Captain,” Stadi said. “Adjusting course.” 

“Dreadnought is targeting us,” Rollins said.

“Good,” Cavit said. “Lan, have every shuttle ready to lock onto Stiles—they’ll need to pick him up for us.”

Now their shields were up, they couldn’t do that job themselves, Ro knew. 

The Trill woman nodded. “Aye sir.”

“Thoron shock incoming,” Rollins said. 

It slammed into Voyager’s shields, and they all rocked in their seats. 

“Shields at seventy-three percent,” Rollins said.

“We definitely got its attention,” Ro said. “Go ahead, Sam.”

“Decloaking and raising shields.” The Cardassian ship appeared in a shimmery wave, and Ro noticed the differences Stiles had mentioned. The ship looked like a Galor-class at first glance, but had a thicker upper section, and a finned tail. It had also clearly seen some damage. 

“Fifteen seconds,” Stiles said over the channel.

“Another thoron shock wave,” Rollins said. "Dreadnought is still only targeting us."

The hit slammed into Voyager’s shields—they were close, and Stadi had no room to maneuver.

“Shields at forty percent,” Rollins said.

“Five seconds,” Lan said. “Four, three, two…”

“Dropping shields,” Stiles said.

“Beam him out,” Ro said.

“Stadi,” Cavit said.

“On it, Captain,” Stadi said, twisting Voyager away from the missile.

Behind them, the explosions came in rapid-fire. The Cardassian ship erupted as its warp core overloaded, and the explosion rocked Dreadnought, which twisted once as though trying to escape before it, too, was enveloped in a flare of antimatter. Voyager jolted once, then twice under the shockwaves, then everything grew calm again.

“Lan?” Ro said.

She worked her station, her expression tense, then turned to face her, smiling. “Stiles is on the Cochrane, Commander. Dell beamed him out.”

Cavit exhaled. “Call all the shuttles back. Once they’re docked, we’ll go get our escape pods. Rollins? Have the shuttle crews report to the Cargo Bays to keep an eye on our guests.” He turned to face Ro. “Apparently, I’ve got a chat with a Romulan to look forward to.”

“Better you than me, Captain,” Ro said. 

*

Captain’s Log, supplemental. We’ve recovered all the escape pods, and Voyager has landed on Rakosa V, in their southern continent’s shipyard facilities. Lieutenant Honigsberg believes he can restore the starboard nacelle’s ramscoop up to perhaps eighty percent of full deuterium collection, thanks to the supplies First Minister Kellan made available to us.

As for the Cardassian ship, Major Aris of the Tal Shiar, the Romulan who gave us the self-destruct codes, has explained the ship as one of a group of prototypes designed in concert between the Romulan Tal Shiar and the Cardassian Obsidian Order, apparently designed for a potential foray into the Gamma Quadrant to learn about a threat there—the Dominion. She claims the ship was on a simple test run of their cloaking device—a trip to the Badlands and then back to Cardassian space—when they were abducted by the Caretaker. Given their mission was a simple test-flight, they weren’t fully crewed at the time, which would explain their crew numbers, the Romulan presence, the cloaking device, and the odd uniforms of the Cardassians—the Obsidian Order don’t have ships or guls or a military division. 

From their ship’s logs, downloaded by the shuttle team, her story seems to check out. Or at least, there’s nothing conflicting with her version of events. She claims to have been against the attack on the T’Vran, which Casek ordered, but there’s no confirmation of that particular part of her story in the logs. 

On the plus side, we’ve recovered the three survivors of the T’Vran, and Doctor Fitzgerald and the EMH are treating them. Only one of them was seriously injured, though all three have been in Cardassian holding cells since the attack on their ship. Gul Casek claims he intended to use them as skilled labour, but, again, I have no way to confirm any of that. 

Captain’s Personal Log, supplemental. What the hell do I do with nearly a hundred and fifty Cardassians and thirteen Romulans? I can’t keep them locked up in Cargo bays for the entire trip back to the Alpha Quadrant. They have to answer for what they did to the T’Vran—they murdered most of her crew—but Voyager isn’t a prison ship. Even if we have a formal trial, my ability to enact a just punishment is limited.

Cavit closed his desk monitor and turned to look out the windows of his Ready Room. It was always striking to see a blue sky rather than space, and Rakosa’s southern continent, currently in its winter, afforded a bright, snowy view among the various burnished-silver and faded-copper-green buildings of the shipyards. 

His door chimed, and he turned. “Come.”

It was the First Minister himself, and Cavit smiled to see him. “Kellan.”

“Aaron.” It turned out the Rakosan man was quite slender and very tall—over two metres tall—and he crossed the space with long strides to shake hands with Cavit. Rakosans shook hands with both hands, he’d learned, and Cavit mirrored the gesture. 

“I didn’t realize you were coming,” he said. He tilted his chin, smiling. “Hot chocolate?” 

Eru had discovered the drink was particularly pleasing to the Rakosan palette during the first meals she’d prepared for Rakosan guests. Apparently, the Science Minister who’d worked with Lieutenant Stiles had tried it on Crewman Nelson’s suggestion and it had been a big hit thereafter.

“Please,” Kellan said, not even trying to disguise his pleasure. 

Cavit replicated two mugs worth, passing one to Kellan, who took a long sip and exhaled, his slightly-pointy tongue trilling a little noise of pleasure. 

“I’m make sure we leave a supply,” Cavit said, lifting his own mug. 

“We’re trying to reproduce the flavour,” Kellan said. “Your Eru and Gara have been helping us in our attempts using local edible flora.”

“If you’ve got those two working on it, then I’m sure you’ll crack it,” Cavit said. He pointed the couches, and they sat. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you, actually,” Kellan said. “I’m here to formally request to take the Cardassians from you. And the other ones, at their leader's own request… the Ramalans?”

“Romulans,” Cavit corrected, frowning. “Aris asked you to stay? And what do you mean, take?” Aris had asked Cavit to keep her people separate form the Cardassians, and he'd done it—they were in in the brig, rather than the Cargo Bays—but it sounded like Aris had asked Kellan for much more.

“I mean a trial. And yes, Aris requested it, for her people especially. Under Rakosan law, both the Cardassians and the Romulans took part in an attempted planetary attack,” Kellan said. “Passively, granted, and Aris insists her people's part was minor, but Rakosan law has provisions for those who knowingly fail to warn or divert a crime, and this would have been the most severe assault on our homeworld in recorded history.” He paused. “They should be on trial. Not only to see them held accountable for their crimes against our people, but also as a message to others.” Kellan lowered his cup.

Cavit had read the repots Ro and Fitzgerald had put together on the Rakosan people, but he hadn’t delved too far into their legal systems. “What would the likely outcome be?”

“Restitutional placement,” Kellan said. “We believe in restorative action, not punitive.” The Rakosan man leaned forward. “Their senior most leaders would be imprisoned, especially at first, but the crew would be allowed some freedom to help restore what was lost. Our defence fleet, the supply disruptions from the evacuations and panic…” He held out one hand. “With continued good action, they could eventually earn their freedom again as members of Rakosan society, and, eventually, if they so choose, they could leave, though they’d have to earn passage on a ship.”

Cavit took a moment with that. “I don’t know if I’ve really underlined the danger of the organizations these people belonged to in the Alpha Quadrant,” he said. “The Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar are manipulative intelligence agencies, capable of cruel and violent acts—I told you about their attack on the T’Vran. I’m not sure how I’d feel about leaving them behind on Rakosa V, Kellan. They’ll try to leverage their knowledge of technology, and if you gave them even an inch, they’d try to escape…” 

“Without access to any of their technology—and none of ours—under constant surveillance, and kept separate?” Kellan said. “Our restitutional complexes are decentralized—they would be scattered across facilities around the planet, unable to speak to each other or organize.” Kellan smiled. “I appreciate your worry, Aaron. I do. But we have handled similar—albeit smaller-scope—situations like this before. We’ve had our share of sectless Kazon pirates, and even some run-ins with the Mokra Order. As you put it, organizations are capable of real evils, but in our experience, the vast majority of individuals are different, and can be redeemed.” He tilted his head. “And if not, they can at least be productive and earn what happiness they’re capable of sustaining through their own positive contributions. Their crimes are real, Aaron. I don’t discount them. But here they have a chance to make amends. They may refuse, or they may learn a new way, or they may do the bare minimum for whatever comfort they wish to live out their lives in, but it has to be better than keeping them locked up in your cargo bays, does it not?” Kellan paused. "And, not to put too fine a point on it, Captain, but... when I say I'm making a formal request, I mean it. Our people have ever right to hold these individuals."

The man was right on that last part, for sure. Cavit took a long swallow of his hot chocolate. “Of course you do. I’ll have Lieutenant Rollins give you everything we have in our computer on the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar. And all our logs for your trial, as well as what we got from their ship and from the T’Vran survivors—whatever you need from us for this trial? Just ask.”

“Thank you,” Kellan said.

As solutions went, Cavit couldn't help but feel it was imperfect. Which felt like just another day in the Delta Quadrant, really.

*

Doctor Fitzgerald watched the EMH and T’Prena work on the Vulcan man in the surgical bio-bed. At a glance of the readings, the wiry, thin Vulcan they’d recovered from the Cardassian ship would be on a long road to recovery. He’d suffered from serious radiation exposure on the T’Vran, and the majority of the damage had been left untreated during his time with the Cardassians, including near-blindness. 

“Begin a neuro-scan,” the EMH said, and T’Prena nodded, picking up the scanner and shifting to stand over the patient’s head. Fitzgerald noticed she’d upgraded the maternity tunic version of her uniform to a larger size since her checkup the day before. 

He thought she had about a month left in her pregnancy now, more-or-less. They were in uncharted territory given the Ocampa-Vulcan hybrid, but the progression of T’Prena’s pregnancy had definitely skewed to the Vulcan scale of things.

When someone arrived beside him, Fitzgerald turned, thinking it would be the Captain, early for an update, but was surprised to see Crewman Daggin instead. He’d thought the Ocampan man was working with Chief McMinn, Eru, Cir, and Gara, handling all the non-tech trades being organized between Voyager and the Rakosans.

“Daggin?” he said. “Everything okay?” 

“I finished my shift,” he said, in a soft voice, clearly not wanting to intrude. “I wanted to see Kaurit.” He paused. “I met with Velar and Yareth already, in the Mess Hall, and they said he was here. He was injured?”

Of course. Daggin had helped T’Prena with her mind-meld with the sole survivor they’d found on the T’Vran, Setok, before he’d passed; no surprise he’d want to check in on the survivors. Fitzgerald gave Daggin’s shoulder a squeeze. “The Cardassians hadn’t done much to help him since the T’Vran, but we’re doing what we can.”

“It’s strange,” Daggin said, not turning away from the scene in front of him. T’Prena was scanning the neural tissues responsible for Kaurit’s vision, and the EMH was noting the results and stimulating the nerves with his usual clipped, professional tone. “I’ve never met them, but I know them.” 

Fitzgerald faced him, seeing the deep empathy in the man’s hazel-green eyes he’d grown accustomed to over the last year. “How clear are the memories from the mind-meld?” Fitzgerald said. From what he’d read, most Vulcans found the experience of a mind-meld faded over time, though aspects of the connection did remain. Then again, there wasn’t much written. Unsurprisingly given their propensity for privacy and emotional distance, Vulcans didn’t often write medical papers about the intensely personal telepathic connection. 

“My impressions from the meld are still the same as when they happened,” Daggin said, glancing at Fitzgerald. “I seems my Ocampa memory is going to hold on to all of it.”

Fitzgerald turned, alarmed. T’Prena and Daggin experienced three years of Setok’s life. “Are you okay? It’s not… distracting, or overwhelming?” He couldn’t imagine suddenly having someone else’s life suddenly downloaded into his own brain. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” 

But Daggin only shook his head, clearly not sharing any of Fitzgerald’s concerns. “It’s not intrusive. It’s more like…” He paused, considering. “I remember the three years Setok spent in the Delta Quadrant, but I’m also aware they’re not my memories. They’re not as vibrant as my own thoughts, my own feelings. There’s a sense of distance. It’s not confusing. I imagine it’s a lot like what Ensign Lan experiences with her previous hosts, in a way.” His gaze focused on a middle nowhere. “I actually feel quite fortunate—even the better for it. Setok was a kind, good, intelligent man.”

Fitzgerald squeezed Daggin’s shoulder again. “He’s in good company.”

Daggin eyed him, and his boyish smile cut through. “Thank you, doctor.” Then he glanced at T’Prena and the holographic doctor again. “While I want to trust T’Prena to tell me if she’s tired she has a habit of pushing herself. Are you sure it’s okay for her to be working so much given her pregnancy? Didn’t her shift start six hours ago?” 

“She had a check-up yesterday, and she’s pacing herself. She’s fine,” Fitzgerald said, with a little smile of his own, knowing where Daggin’s anxiety was coming from: a typical Ocampa pregnancy was four months—Y’Prena was nearly seven months along. “As is your son.” 

That earned him another one of Daggin’s boyish grins. 

*

“All crew are back on board and the last of the cargo has been stored, Captain,” Ro said, when Cavit came out onto the Bridge. 

He took his seat beside her, looking through the viewscreen at the snowy shipyards. “Did we manage to figure out a local version of hot chocolate for them?” he said, dropping his voice to a conversational level.

“We did,” Ro said. “Or, rather, Gara and Eru did.”

“Well, that makes me feel somewhat better about leaving those prisoners behind,” Cavit said. “Rakosa V gave us old enemies and new friends.”

“It’ll make for an interesting report when we get home,” Ro said.

“Tal Shiar, Obsidian Order, Maquis…” Cavit tapped his fingers one-by-one. “I suppose I should be grateful no Klingons got involved.”

“Beyond Torres.” Ro offered a small smile in return for his joke. 

“Beyond her,” Cavit agreed. He shook his head, then raised his voice to be heard by the whole Bridge. “Blue alert.”

“Blue alert,” Rollins repeated, and the lights on the Bridge shifted to the atmospheric departure status. 

“Take us up, Stadi,” Cavit said. “And set a course for home.”

“Aye, Captain.”