Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jeff Fitzgerald woke to the sensation of the strong arms holding him squeezing softly, and the shared warmth of skin-to-skin along his back. 

Eleven, his first thought of the day, a new habit counting how many times he’d woken up this way, brought him all the way to consciousness, and he turned, sliding inside the circle of Dimur’s arms, and saw the Trabe man was already awake, and—apparently—watching him sleep. The scar above the man’s left eye, which was milky and white, paler than the rest of his skin, was all the more distinct in their mornings together, when Dimur’s already tanned skin was flush with warmth and sleep.

His right eye, a deep brown, gained small lines around it when he aimed a smile Fitzgerald’s way.

“Good morning,” Fitzgerald said.  

“Good morning,” Dimur said, and pulled him in for a long, tighter hug before releasing him.

Dimur’s quarters on the Warden, the Trabe ship where they’d spent the night, were simple and utilitarian, but Fitzgerald found the lines and curves of the Trabe architecture, as well as the warm russets and browns, to be pleasing in their own way. The small touches through the room—a flowering plant, a small and random collection of bound books, the comfortable, woven yellow blankets they lay under—weren’t many, but all spoke of the man himself.

“You know,” Fitzgerald said, moving back just enough to let his gaze focus on the other man’s face. “One of these nights, we’ll have to actually do the bedwarming you told me you wanted to do.”

Dimur chuckled, his languid smile widening. During an emergency on Voyager, they’d had to share body heat, Dimur had admitted to wanting to ask Fitzgerald to join him as a “bedwarmer,” explaining the request as a Trabe cultural one: men sharing a bed to hold each other, to talk, and to grow closer and understand each other. 

That night, Fitzgerald had finally allowed himself to admit to Dimur what had been holding him back, and then the two had spent the night in Fitzgerald’s quarters. 

Only, the platonic holding-and-talking thing hadn’t exactly happened as Dimur had suggested, which—to be completely fair—was mostly Fitzgerald’s fault. When Dimur had stripped down to a the simple sleeping wrap he wore around his waist, and Fitzgerald his sleeping shorts, talking had kind of fallen by the wayside for kissing, then touching, then exploring, then…

“I think that phase of the moon already passed,” Dimur said. 

Fitzgerald kissed him again, but then a soft series of notes played from above them. The Trabe computer telling them it was time to get up. 

They took turns in Dimur’s cleansing station—sharing the space tended to save them exactly no time and instead take longer thanks to inevitable diversions—and while he waited, Fitzgerald went to the single window in Dimur’s quarters.

Just like the last three mornings, Voyager was in full view, as were two of the other Trabe ships in the fleet, the Arrow and the Storm, and beyond them, the multi-coloured whorls of a large nebula blotted the view of the stars. 

Around Voyager’s starboard nacelle, Fitzgerald could see Voyager’s two shuttlepods still in motion. He imagined Honigsberg team worked all night. He’d be heading back to Voyager today, after checking on the last of the wounded and patients here on the Warden, where they’d moved everyone who’d been injured more than a week ago during the Vidiian attack. He imagined today he’d be able to release the last of them back to duty—a Trabe woman, Julí who’d had a badly broken leg, and Crewman India Shigihara, one of Honigsberg’s engineers, who’d taken a face-full of coolant from a ruptured line. 

He was still mentally preparing himself for the day when Dimur’s arms went around him again from behind, and he leaned back, putting his own hands overtop Dimur’s forearms and squeezing. 

“Are you okay?” Dimur said. “Your shoulders are tight.”

“I am,” Fitzgerald said. He didn’t doubt they’d have Voyager back on track eventually. He was okay. 

It wasn’t himself he worried about.

*

Aaron Cavit pulled his undershirt on, pausing to look out the large windows of his quarters into the bright colours of the nebula before tapping his desk monitor. 

“Captain’s Log, stardate 49578.2,” he said, once the computer trilled to let him know it was recording. 

He picked up his uniform jacket. 

“A third of Voyager’s crew are still housed on the Trabe ships of the fleet while Lieutenant Honigsberg works to collect enough omicron particles from the nebula to restore our antimatter levels.” He slid the jacket on, and zipped it up. “His team have been working non-stop processing the particles, and projects we’ll be back underway by the time I get back from my meeting with the Drayans. I’ll be leaving by shuttle this morning, and with a little luck and some diplomacy, I hope to return with more of what we need to finish repairs on the starboard nacelle—most especially polyferranide.” 

He glanced out the window again, watching as a shuttle appeared from the edge of the Nebula, likely having scooped up more omicron particles for processing.

“I’m confident we’ll be back underway on schedule,” Cavit said, watching the shuttle pass overhead, on its way to the rear of Voyager to return to the Shuttlebay. Another few steps brought him back to his desk, where he tapped the screen and stopped recording the log. 

After a second, he tapped in another two commands.

“Personal log, 49578.2,” he said, once the computer trilled again. He rubbed his face with one hand. “I’ve never had to rely on the Trabe fleet before. If it wasn’t for them, we’d be packed in three-to-one on the decks we can power, and barely getting by. I’m grateful, but…” He lowered his hand, staring at the ceiling. “Just over a week ago, I was on the Bridge, listening to the Captains of other Voyagers in other quantum realities. Captain Janeway, Captain Riker—officers granted their rank and positions—reminded me of how this, all of this, is my responsibility. My fault. I feel… guilty, I suppose.” He took a deep breath. “So I need to fix it, and get us back on our way, and do better.” 

He tapped the screen to stop the recording, and then left his quarters, heading for the Bridge. The corridors felt emptier than usual, and in the turbolift, he closed his eyes for a moment. 

Maybe he should talk to Jeff about all this. He’d often relied on the man as a sounding board, and he knew Jeff was the closest thing they had to a counsellor on board—and was even working on bridging the remaining gap by training himself—but lately…

He shook his head. Maybe Ro. She had offered, and it was well within her role.

The doors opened, and he stepped out onto the Bridge, tucking the frustration and guilt aside and forcing himself to focus on what mattered.

*

Sahreen Lan had gotten to the Bridge early, and ran through the status and systems diagnostics, deciding that the night shift had—once again—nudged them further ahead than planned. Everyone had been doing everything they could to tackle the two largest problems facing them: one, the starboard nacelle, badly damaged by the Vidiians, and two, their low antimatter levels, the restoration of which was a slow and laborious process. 

It was lucky they’d found the nebula when they did, or they’d’ve have been back to having the Trabe ships taking turns tractoring them as the best of a dwindling list of options. 

The turbolift arrived, and Captain Cavit arrived for duty, early as well. He saw her, and offered a small smile of greeting, stopping by her station almost amiably. 

She wasn’t fooled, even with Cavit exuding the level of calm approachability he was aiming her way. She knew this was a big morning.

“Morning,” he said. 

“Captain,” she said. 

“Have we heard from Ro or Stadi?” 

“Commander Ro made it back to Kolhari space about three hours ago,” Lan said. “The interference from the ambient tetryon flows meant we lost communications thereafter, but according to her everything was going as planned, and they were happy to see her.”

“Good,” Cavit said. “The tetryon power cells will go a long way in getting us back on our feet.”

Lan nodded. “Stadi and Taitt dropped out of warp at comm range to let us know they were making their final approach on the potential Sikarian system at low impulse, with the Cochrane running in stealth mode, just in case.” 

Cavit nodded again. “No need to show up just to remind the locals we upset one of their planetary leaders.”

“No argument here,” Lan said. Then, she added, “Repairs are ahead of schedule again.”

Cavit smiled, and the gesture seemed completely genuine. “You and Alex, and all your people, have been incredible.” 

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“So,” he leaned on the edge of her station. “You ready for this?” He aimed a small smile her way, which, coupled with his pale blue eyes and silvering hair, reminded her of Kejal Lan’s long-time editor, a man who had the gentle approach necessary to handle offering criticism, something her second host, the author, definitely struggled with.

“Yes, sir,” Lan said, aiming for a full confidence she almost felt. 

“In that case,” Cavit said. “I’ll head to the Shuttlebay. The Bridge is yours, Ensign.”

“Aye, Captain,” Lan said, and watched the Captain cross back to the turbolift, and leave. She took a single breath, eyeing the few other people on the Bridge. Lieutenant Chapman was sitting at the Engineering station, where he’d been co-ordinating the structural repair crew in the shuttlepods with Honigsberg down in Main Engineering, on the major project of repairing the starboard nacelle. At Tactical, Ensign Kaplan was chatting with Crewman Murphy, who’d had the position for the Night Shift, and would be trading off shortly. The only other person on the Bridge was Ensign Culhane, who had the Conn, a position that right now was down to tiny adjustments and helping co-ordinate the coming and going of the shuttles, given Voyager’s warp engines were on standby mode and all Culhane had to work with were the maneuvering thrusters. 

In the moment, Lan didn’t even feel the need to move to the Big Chair, though she knew Crewman Nozawa would arrive soon, at which point she would pass the station on to him, and co-ordinate from the Command interface.

Lieutenant Honigsberg was in Main Engineering. Lieutenant Cing’ta was on board, too, in the Main Shuttlebay, leading the teams gathering omicron particles and overseeing all the crew on board the Trabe ships coming and going from the Trabe ships via the Trabe shuttles. 

She had no real reason to be worried, of course.

She looked around the Bridge. 

I’m in charge.

 Her lips twitched into a small smile, then she got back to work.

Chapter Text

Taking the reins from Sullivan hadn’t taken long at all, and Doctor Fitzgerald and Kes divided what needed to be done between them and got to work. Crewman Shigihara arrived down to the minute she was scheduled, passed all her vision tests, and Fitzgerald was humming to himself as he noted her return to active duty in the file.

“You’re in a wonderful mood,” Kes said, pausing at the door to his office. 

He looked up, and though he considered deflecting, he didn’t. “Guilty as charged.” 

“You’re enjoying your time on the Warden?” Kes said. She had a PADD in hand, likely already done the final inventory updates for the supplies they’d used during the fight and recovery with the Vidiians, which was what she’d been working on and was probably what had brought her back into his office. 

“I am,” he said, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. 

“Dimur is a nice man,” Kes said, handing him the PADD finally. “Every time I’ve worked with him, he’s always very gentle and compassionate with the Trabe children, and it’s clear he cares about them deeply.”

Okay, now Fitzgerald was blushing. He looked up. “Is it really that obvious?” 

“You and I work together every day,” Kes said, a little twinkle in her bright blue eyes. 

“So you’re saying I’ve been floating around at work with one of those goofy smiles on my face?” He couldn’t resist a small tease in return. “Like the one you had for days after Li-Paz gave you that earring on your birthday?” 

“Yes, doctor.” Her smile—and her amusement—only grew. “Just like that.”

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re right. We’re enjoying each other’s company.” 

“Hm,” she said, with another glint. She really could make those eyes do a lot of conversational work. He wondered if it was an Ocampa trait in general, or just something Kes had mastered.

He cleared his throat, about to suggest they get back to work, but the door opened to Sickbay, and Alex Honigsberg’s voice said, “Hey doc?” 

They left the office together, and shifted into action at the sight of Honigsberg’s right arm. The uniform sleeve was burned, leaving red and bleeding flesh exposed in places, and the goateed engineer was holding the arm stiff with his left hand, cradling it against his chest.

“What happened?” Fitzgerald said, leading Honigsberg to a biobed and helping the engineer sit. Kes had already grabbed a medical tricorder, and handed the sensor to him, which he ran over the man’s arm.

“I was crawling in the catwalk, coating the nacelle induction transfer relays with kemocite,” Honigsberg said. “There must have been a speck or two of something metallic on my uniform. Before I could seal the kemocite…” Honigsberg sighed. “Zap.”

Fitzgerald noticed he wasn’t wearing his combadge, or his rank pips. Kemocite had an electrokinetic reaction with ferrous metals.

The medical tricorder finished loading the scan results.

“Electrical burns,” Fitzgerald said, unsurprised. He turned to Kes. “First and second degree.” Fitzgerald paused, turning and loading a hypo with his right hand. “This should numb the pain.” He pressed it against Honigsberg’s neck, which the man tilted in his direction without complaint. 

“I’ll get the dermal regenerator,” Kes said. “We’ll have to cut your uniform off your arm, Alex.”

“I have more,” he said, with a small smile now the painkiller had taken effect. 

Kes stepped away and Fitzgerald regarded him, lowering his voice to carry between them. “If I was to ask you how many hours in a row you’d been working already, would I like the answer?”

“This feels like a trick question,” Honigsberg said. “You’re doing your soft, ‘I’m here to help’ voice but it feels like a trap.”

“Oh, it is,” Fitzgerald said.

They cut off the sleeve of his uniform and undershirt carefully, exposing the burns and cleaning them before Fitzgerald gave Kes the go ahead to start with the dermal regenerator. The second degree burns took longer—removing the destroyed tissue first before stimulating new growth—but over the next fifteen minutes, they had the worst of it dealt with, and Kes was laying dermal strips across what was left of the burns. 

“Thank you, Kes,” Fitzgerald said, and she flashed him a look he thought meant ‘be gentle with him’ in his direction before she dipped her chin and left them alone by the biobed. 

Honigsberg heaved a sigh. “Okay. Let me have it.”

Fitzgerald chuckled. “If you already know what I’m going to say…”

Honigsberg shook his head. “Sorry.” He raised tired hazel eyes to meet Fitzgerald’s gaze, and cracked a wan smile. 

Fitzgerald frowned. “Alex,” he said. “I know this was an accident, and I’m sure you followed protocols and accidents happen. But you also seem really down right now. Talk to me.” Fitzgerald paused. “I’d rather not pull rank.”

That earned him another sigh, but Alex finally leaned back in the bio-bed, pulling his feet up as well and sitting crosslegged. “The shuttles.”

Okay. He hadn’t been expecting that. “The shuttles?” Fitzgerald leaned against the wall of the surgical bay, and relaxed his posture. This wasn’t an interrogation. It was a conversation.

“After Captain Cavit left this morning, Ensign Jetal forwarded me the usual pre-flight checklists, and she noted an estimate for recrystallization.” Honigsberg turned his head to look at Fitzgerald. “I guess it put me in a funk.” Then he seemed to realize what he’d just said, and added, “Sorry, that’s—”

“Recrystallization as in the dilithium crystals that power the enhanced warp drives in the shuttles?” Fitzgerald said. “You can recrystallize worn out dilithium to get more use out of the crystals, right? You can do that with the reactor assembly.” 

Honigsberg blinked in surprise. “That’s right. How did—?”

“I did the required courses at the Academy,” Fitzgerald said, then cracked a small smile. “Also I had to re-read it all when we found that radiogenic effect above warp eight.” 

Honigsberg smiled, but it still wasn’t up to his usual wattage. “Right. Well. The thing is? We won’t be able to recrystallize them back to their original form. To the version that handles the heat and resonance the way the original form of the crystals do.”

“So no more warp eight in a shuttle?” Fitzgerald said. That would be unfortunate, but it was a limit they’d lived with in the Federation for years now. It hardly seemed worthy of such a downturn in mood from the Chief Engineer.

“We still have enough of the original crystals to replace them in each shuttle one more time,” Honigsberg said. “But it just struck me as yet another resource that’s going to run out…” He sighed. “I’ve been doing a lot of ‘second-best,’ and ‘this should work,’ for months.” He rubbed his eyes with his left hand. “Wow. Listen to me. You know what? I’m just feeling sorry for myself, doc.”

“Alex,” Fitzgerald said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder until the engineer met his gaze. “You are trying to keep an Intrepid-class starship running seventy-thousand light years from home. I’m not an engineer, but even I know we’re supposed to have routine maintenance on a yearly basis, and given we’ve had our noses bloodied by the Kazon, the Cravic, the Vidiians…” He shook his head. “You’ve been doing an incredible job with what you’ve got on hand. Give yourself a break.”

Honigsberg took a long, deep breath. “Neither of the nacelles are going to be running optimally, the Aeroshuttle dock cap affects our top warp speed SIF, I need polyferranide, we’re processing omicron particles into antimatter…” He chuckled. “I feel like one of those Constellation-class engineers. Here, Alex, make a warp drive with these sticks, minerals, and some powder you found on a planet’s surface.”

“Four hours,” Fitzgerald said.

The effect on the engineer was immediate. His hazel eyes shifted and he aimed a very effective pleading look Fitzgerald’s way. “No, Doc, I—”

“It could be six.”

Honigsberg shut his mouth with an audible snap. 

“Rest isn’t a reward you earn, Alex. It’s biologically imperative. I just cleared Shigihara for duty, and she looked ready to climb the walls from boredom, so I’m sure she’d be happy to relieve someone,” Fitzgerald said, eyeing him. “And the Captain only left this morning to trade for polyferranide with the Drayans. He won’t be back any time soon. Take four hours. Pass the baton. Your team all know what they’re doing. Or, even better, give everyone you can spare four hours of their own. I know your team, I’ll bet everyone has been putting in more hours than they should.”

“I am not going to snitch on my team,” Honigsberg said, though this time, the small smile was back. 

“You know I can check the logs, right?” Fitzgerald said, crossing his arms.

Honigsberg winced.

“Eat first, get some sleep, and then come back here and I’ll check your arm before you go back to work.” Fitzgerald’s voice returned to a softer tone. “Deal?”

Alex held out his good hand, and with a chuckle, Fitzgerald shook. 

*

Cavit sat at the Ops station on the Ochoa, but Ensign Strickler had everything under control. They’d dropped out of warp and as far as he could see, everything was clear between them and the second planet of the Drayan system, their destination.

He took a moment to key a hail, and waited for the channel to connect. It didn’t take long, and the veiled face of a woman appeared on the small comm screen to his right. They’d spoke once before.

“Captain Cavit,” she said, smiling almost placidly. 

“First Prelate,” Cavit said, adding a diplomatic warmth to his voice. Her name was Alcia, but they hadn’t gotten to a first-name basis yet. “Thank you again for allowing us to visit.” 

“We registered your arrival—but you are not in your ship, though, are you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Cavit said. “The damage we spoke of earlier required a stop sooner rather than later, I’m afraid, for repairs. I didn’t want to keep you waiting, so I came in one of our shuttles, an auxiliary craft we keep for shorter-ranged scouting missions and the like. I hope this isn’t a letdown.” 

“Of course it isn’t.” The woman nodded, her expression beneath the translucent grey veil visible enough to register her grace. 

“We should be in orbit in about forty-seven minutes,” Cavit said. 

“We await your arrival, and will contact you with landing co-ordinates then,” the woman said, and the screen went dark. 

Cavit caught a small smile from Ensign Strickler. “They seem friendly.” 

He hoped so. They needed polyferranide, and long-range scans had suggested the moons of Drayan II might have significant deposits.

“I read over everything about the Drayans I could find in the Talaxian and Trabe databases,” Gara said, drawing Cavit out of his worry. The Ocampa woman sat on one of the benches in the back of the shuttle, wearing her blue cadet outfit. Commander Ro had suggested he bring her, given her facility with meeting new species, and the opinion had been seconded by Doctor Fitzgerald and Lieutenant Cing’ta, both of whom had begun working with Gara through diplomatic training sessions in the holodeck as part of her ongoing operations training. 

“Wasn’t much there, was there?” Cavit said, turning to face her. He’d read the information in the databases himself.

“Not really,” Gara admitted. “But it is interesting they’re isolationist when the Trabe records note they used to travel and trade with them, before the Kazon uprising. It’s a pretty significant societal value shift.” 

“I wonder what made them give up the stars,” Strickler said. 

“Maybe we’ll find out,” Cavit said. He turned to Stricker. She’d taken a trio of elective First Contact training courses during her time in the academy. It was the reason he’d chosen her as his shuttle pilot. “This is the part of being in Starfleet I always loved the most.” 

“Meeting new species?” She said, in a tone that made him think she felt similarly.

“And hopefully making new friends,” he said. He turned back to Gara again. “I’m betting the three of us have the charm to make it happen.” He added a wink to lighten the statement, and Gara’s deep brown eyes crinkled with her smile in return.

“I don’t doubt it for a moment, Captain,” she said. 

*

“We’re approaching the Kolhari defensive perimeter,” Ro said, after opening an open channel to the Kondakova. “Drop out of warp on my signal.”

“Acknowledged, Commander,” Rollins said over the channel. 

Ro signalled the change and dropped the Jemison out of warp. Ahead of them, the streaks of stars at warp returned to pinpoints, and a single star system dominated the view. Beside her, Ensign Bennet let out a subdued little whistle, his strikingly pale grey-green eyes widening in appreciation.

“I’m still impressed at the tetryon defence screen,” Bennet said. “The consistency alone is impressive.”

Ro nodded. “They’ve certainly turned a problem into an opportunity.” The Kolhari homeworld had intense tetryon fields—natural eddies and currents of the randomly vectoring particles—the end result of which made for a decidedly inhospitable environment for space travel. Sensors struggled to compensate for tetryons given their randomness, and travelling at anything more than half-impulse wasn’t advised, given potential sudden sheer. The first time she and Bennet had met with the Kolhari, they’d spoken outside the defensive screen—a series of small stations and satellites the Kolhari had constructed that not only harnessed tetryons into stable rechargeable power cells, but also formed a cohesive tetryon sphere around their homeworld and made it one of the most defended planets they’d witnessed in the Delta Quadrant, rivalling the Mokra Order. 

“Shields up,” she said. 

“Raising shields,” Bennet said. “Adjusting for deflection against tetryon surges.” 

They’d still get chop, Ro knew, but the shields should keep them from taking damage at least, so long as they kept to half-impulse or less.

She eyed her sensors and noted the Kondakova’s shields were up as well.

“All ready over there?” Ro said.

“We are,” Rollins said. “Macormack promised me a smooth ride, even.” The man’s voice held a measure of teasing.

“She lied, Scott,” Ro said, letting her amusement temper her voice, though beside her she noted how Ensign Bennet’s face had reddened at the mention of Ensign Macormack. Apparently, the man still hadn’t figured out if the woman had feelings for him or not. Definitely not a topic she intended to bring up. “Follow our approach. We’ll hail the gate station once we’re within a thousand kilometres.” 

*

“So,” Stadi said, glancing over at Taitt, who sat beside her in the Cochrane. “How’s the whole living together thing going?”

The beamed smile she got in response was answer enough, but given they still had a while to go on their low-powered approach to a planetary system that might very well be one of the Sikarian planets they’d been looking out for, Taitt was clearly happy to expand on the topic.

“It’s wonderful,” she said, and her dark brown eyes filled with feeling. “I already knew he was an attentive, empathic partner, but sharing quarters with Abol?” She took a breath, then exhaled. “We have comfortable silences, and we have long talks, and I don’t know if it’s an Ocampa telepathic thing, but he has this way of touching me just when I’m craving it. A hand on the shoulder, or holding hands, or a kiss…” She put a hand over her chest. “As my mother would put it? I am so very gone for this man.” 

Stadi smiled. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “Moving in is always a bit of a gamble, even when two people fit chalice and lid.” 

Taitt nodded. “Well, so far, so good.” She paused, tilted her head, and said, “was that observation from experience?”

“No.” Stadi laughed. “I’ve never served with anyone I dated, so moving in together was never an option.” 

Taitt ran another passive scan with the sensors, and checked it against the star charts they’d translated out of a book one of Honigsberg’s dissident friends had given him. “If it wasn’t for the interference from that pulsar, I’d be able to nail this down as our system or not.” She checked the star chart again. “It could be Tekestria.” The pulsar was in the next closest system, not the one they were in, but it smeared the sensor results beyond, and Voyager’s long-range sensors hadn’t quite been up to the task of confirming the system or not.

Not that the Cochrane was having an easier time quite yet, but as they looped around the outskirts of the system, their energy output as low as possible, they were filling in the gaps.

“We’ll keep nudging our way around the edges until you can get a better view,” Stadi said. “We’ve got lots of time.”

Taitt nodded. She turned back to her. “Are you seeing anyone right now?” 

Stadi shook her head. “No.”

“That was decisive,” Taitt said. “No one catching your eye, or something else?”

Stadi lifted one shoulder. “It’s not that I’m opposed to it, it’s more that I’ve never been particularly good at dating, to be honest.” 

One of Taitt’s immaculately sculpted eyebrows rose. “Really?” 

“You mentioned how Abol always seems to sense what you’re craving?” Stadi said, facing her for a moment.

Taitt nodded.

“Well, I know what someone I’m seeing is thinking, and there’s only so much I can do to avoid knowing it.” She lifted one hand. “Betazoid psychology—and our whole society, really—holds truth as our highest principle, but I’ve noticed in relationships, with humans anyway, honesty has to be tempered in a lot of little ways that don’t always come naturally to me, even after all these years.” 

Taitt watched her, her expression soft, and her thoughts genuinely interested. “Such as?”

“When I was on the Intrepid, doing the shakedown of the new engines, I hit it off with one of the design engineers. She was stationed at Starbase 375, and most of our test flights and missions came from Admiral Ross. So we got to see each other quite a bit, and it was fairly good. But when she’d had a long day, and she was tired, and I’d ask her what she wanted to do, she’d say she wanted to go out to dinner, but I knew she was tired and really wanted to just stay in and replicate something and maybe listen to some music.” Stadi paused. “What’s the right thing to do there? What she said she wanted to do, or what she actually wanted to do?”

Taitt considered for a second. “Respecting what she says, or meeting her needs?” 

“Exactly,” Stadi said. “When I pushed her and tried to get her to admit she was tired, she didn’t like it. But when we’d force ourselves to go out after her long day, she didn’t have as good a time as she would have had…” She shook her head. “A Betazoid would have said, ‘I’m tired.’” 

“Are we always that exhausting to deal with?” Taitt said, with a slight smile to take the edge off the question. 

“No,” Stadi said, shaking her head and chuckling. “But dating is a whole other story. Finding someone who isn’t afraid to tell me exactly how they feel, even if they think I might not like it? It’s a tall order for the human psyche.” 

Taitt took a few moments to consider that, then nodded grudgingly. She was thinking of her parents again, Stadi knew, and how they were people-pleasers and how they’d worked hard to make sure Taitt knew how to draw polite boundaries. “I can see it.”

Stadi glanced down at her panel. “I think we could get a clearer picture of that star cluster now.” It was one of the potential benchmarks they could use to see if this system was, indeed, the one they were hoping it might be.

Taitt ran another passive scan. The image cleared up and she checked with the star charts. “It’s a match,” she said. “A perfect match.” 

“So this is Tekestria,” Stadi said, feeling a rise in her mood. 

“This is Tekestria,” Taitt nodded. “Given Sikarian technological advancement, if we could trade here, it would solve a lot of our problems.” She paused. “Except they didn’t much like us last time. We did help a dissident movement go undetected.”

“True.” Stadi remembered all too well how Gathorel Labin had strung them along with false promises and tried to use Voyager’s crew to discover the dissident movement on Sikaris. The man had delighted in his plan in his own mind, and she’d found him beyond distasteful. “But this is too good an opportunity to pass up.”

She tapped on the Conn, rotating the Cochrane with thrusters.

Beside her, she felt Taitt’s confusion. “You’re aiming us away from the system?” Stadi felt Taitt’s mind wondering how that lined up with ‘too good to pass up.’ 

“It may be too good to pass up,” Stadi said. “But two people who both met and upset a planetary magistrate showing up in a Federation shuttle isn’t the best way to introduce ourselves to Tekestria.” 

“Ah,” Taitt said. “Fair enough.” Then, with not just a little bit of amusement in her voice, she added. “So you’re thinking of something a bit less… honest?” 

“There’s honest, and there’s volunteering, Zandra.” Stadi’s lips curled in a smile of her own. “I already ran something by the Captain.”

Chapter Text

Stadi barely took a moment after landing the Cochrane to climb out, passing the post-flight checklist to Crewman Vance, and waving Taitt over to follow her across the Shuttlebay. Taitt followed, amused at Stadi’s apparent decision to make what she’d discussed with Captain Cavit a surprise, but rolling with it. 

Sometimes, in the Delta Quadrant, when your ship was damaged and it had been a rough couple of weeks, you had to make your own fun.

They were half-way to the Vidiian shuttle when Taitt started to form a hypothesis on the surprise in question, and Stadi glanced her way, obviously picking up on the thought.

“Exactly,” Stadi said.

The Vidiian shuttle had belonged to Doctor Danara Pel, who’d been on board Voyager for just over a week before she’d died, and she’d left a mark on more than a few of the crew, their oddly cantankerous EMH among them, but in a more physical sense, she’d also left behind her shuttle.

“While I agree arriving in a Federation shuttle might be a bad idea,” Taitt said. “I can’t imagine Vidiians would be more welcome.” 

But when they arrived in the furthest bay, where the shuttle had been berthed in the last month or so, she noticed the Vidiian shuttle didn’t look the same. She’d only glimpsed it during the arrival,  true, but the lines of the craft seemed different to her, as did the markings—the Vidiian text had been removed, and someone had instead clearly renamed the vessel: Pel was written in Federation standard on either side of the sleek, almost-runabout sized craft. 

Ensign Ahni Jetal was waiting for them, as was Ensign Pablo Baytart, who was currently juggling three hyperspanners, including reaching behind him and launching every third spanner over his head. When he saw the two officers approaching, he bit his lip and quickly caught all three tools, blushing a little.

Showing off for Jetal, Taitt wondered, or just embarrassed at being caught juggling at all? Baytart kept his dark hair short and spiky, and had the sort of nose her mother would have called aquiline, and had a bit of a reputation as a flirt. 

“Lieutenants,” he said, aiming a nod at both of them. 

“Tekestria checked out,” Stadi said. “How are we with the Pel?” 

Jetal and Baytart shared a glance that landed somewhere shy of complete confidence, and Jetal spoke first. “Obviously we haven’t spent more time with her over the last week, but we’re about three quarters of the way through the official plan, I’d say. I’d still like to do more work on her shields; she only had basic navigational deflectors to begin with.” 

“And she’s still unarmed; we haven’t installed phaser strips,” Baytart added. 

Jetal nodded. “But her engines have been fully refitted, we adjusted the spaceframe and reinforced her superstructure, and she’s otherwise up to Starfleet Spec now.” Jetal paused, considering. “Oh, and Chief Tamal and Ensign Martin installed one of the transporter modules from the Amundsen—that took some doing, but Crewman Meyer finally got the pattern buffer to shake hands with the onboard computer.”

Taitt eyed Stadi. With both Commander Ro and Captain Cavit away, she was the ranking officer on Voyager. It would be her call. 

“And her sensor profile?” Stadi said.

“Given everything Crewman Atara and Ensign Ballard did to get her engines up to our standards, and the adjustment to the deflector harmonics, she won’t read like a Vidiian ship at all. And she doesn’t much look like one now, either, given our additions.” Jetal lifted one shoulder. “If someone was really familiar with Vidiian shuttles, maybe they’d spot it?”

Taitt watched Stadi consider, and the slow smile that grew across her face gave her away before she finally spoke. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “Pablo, you’ve clocked enough flight time with her?”

“Yes sir,” Baytart said, nodding.

“Don’t understate, Pablo. You’re the only one who has,” Jetal said. She turned to them both. “Adjusting her conn interface is also still on the list. It’s not intuitive.”

“I remember,” Stadi said with another smile. Taitt recalled Stadi had been the one to bring the shuttle into the Shuttlebay and had—her words—‘maybe scratched the paint a bit.’

“Get her prepped. I’ll put together an Away Team,” Stadi said. “I want Cing’ta with you, but other than him, I don’t want anyone who visited Sikaris to be on board.”

“I don’t know if Meyer’s on that list, Lieutenant,” Baytart said. “But he’s definitely got the best grasp on the Pel’s computer. It’s a great computer, but it’s an axionic system.”

“I’ll check,” Stadi said, and she and Taitt left them to it.

In the turbolift, Taitt broke the silence. “You’re going to send them incognito,” she said.

“I am,” Stadi said. “Captain Cavit and Commander Ro both agreed, given our situation, if we could manage to reach out quietly, and see if this planet would be willing to trade supplies with us, that it would be worth the attempt, but that we didn’t need to arrive reminding them what had happened on Sikaris.”

Taitt considered that. It walked a fine line, but it didn’t overstep regulations. They weren’t going to lie about who they were, they were just going to arrive with a much less obvious profile. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like. Just another day in the Delta Quadrant, trying to make the Starfleet way of life fit in a place it had never encountered. “And Meyer?”

“I’ll add him to the team regardless,” Stadi said. “If Meyer went down to Sikaris, and they do get permission to trade, he can keep Cing’ta company while the rest leave the shuttle.”

*

“Gate Control to Jemison.”

Ro let out a measured breath of relief at the hail, nodding to Bennet, who tapped at the Ops position. She was well and truly ready to get out of these random blasts of tachyons pelting at the shields of the shuttle.

“This is Jemison,” he said.

“We have you and the Kondakova in position.” The voice on the channel stumbled a little over the ships named for the former astronauts, but kept going. “We’re opening the gate for you.”

Ahead of them, one of the larger structures in orbit of the Kolhari homeworld dominated the view through the window, a tall conical orbital station, with a wider hemispherical projection at the relative upper end. It reminded Ro somewhat of McKinley Station, though on a much smaller scale than the impressive structure in orbit of Earth, but it also contained a triangular framework to one side. Across the whole, a curtain of tetryon energy flared and flashed, held together as a sphere around the world by a series of equidistant, smaller stations and satellites, an incredibly effective defensive perimeter that had kept the Kolhari safe for generations, according to the trader they’d met with weeks ago. 

“Look at that,” Bennet said, shaking his head. 

Ro watched the flares of tetryon energy begin to fade away around the triangle structure alongside the station. They bursts of energy curled inward, looping around the three sides of the triangle and folding over like petals of a flower, until, slowly, a clear hole opened in the centre of the shape, and, as she watched, grew larger. 

“They must be using some sort of coherent field capable of modifying the direction of the tetryon flows,” Bennet said, still leaning forward like it was the most impressive thing he’d ever seen. “But I have no idea how you’d even begin to do it on this large a scale. The variables in play…” He seemed to realize he was speaking aloud and glanced at Ro. “Sorry, Commander.”

She offered a small smile of understanding. “It’s impressive.” 

“Gate is open,” the voice on the other end of the channel said. “You may come through. Please follow the landing signal all the way to the planet, and do not deviate from your course. Gate Control out.” 

The channel closed, and Bennet checked his panel. “I’ve got the landing signal. I’m feeding it to you.”

Ro saw the course light up on her panel and keyed thrusters to get them through the gate. 

On the inside of the tetryon sphere, the change was immediate and palpable. The random discharges of tetryon energy that filled the Kolhari system vanished, and the shields around the shuttle stopped flickering with the impacts. The sheer was completely gone, and Ro felt her shoulders drop for the first time since they’d arrived in the system. 

“Course laid in,” she said, and nudged the Jemison into a landing arc. Behind her, Macormack did the same with the Kondakova. It was almost anticlimactic to land on the planet itself, even with some strong winds, after the rough ride from the outer reaches of the star system. Still, she set the ship down gently and ran through the post-flight checklist with Bennet.

Once they were done, she eyed the view outside. Crunchy white snow lay all around them in the landing pads, and the sky was a brilliant blue and nearly cloudless. She if the tetryon defence screen might be visible from the planet’s surface at night, then turned to Bennet.

“Grab your winter gear,” she said, nodding to where Bennet had hung a long thermal jacket. “It’s cold out there.”

He nodded, and she rose, pulling on her own coat and tugging up the hood. The Kolhari homeworld ran to the cold side of Class-M to begin with, and the continent where they’d been directed was in its midwinter—and, Ro hadn’t failed to notice—sparsely populated and at the end of a natural curve of land that formed a bay in one of the planet’s oceans. At a glance, to her the cluster of buildings and the landing pad and the general layout spoke of a military base, not a civilian location. 

They met up with Rollins and Macormack outside the shuttles—both wore their coats as well—and they’d barely gathered before three Kolhari approached them, two men led by a woman, all in heavily hooded white jackets of their own, marked with small square insignias, the woman’s more complex than the ones the men bore.

“You’re Lieutenant Commander Ro?” the woman said, raising her voice a bit to be heard over the cold wind. Like the Kolhari they’d met with before, the woman had gentle facial ridges on her forehead, all the way up to a high hair-line where Ro caught a glimpse of deep auburn hair beneath the woman’s white hood. 

“I am,” Ro said. “You must be Major Botia?” That had been the name she’d been given.

“One and the same,” the Major replied, with a friendly enough smile. “Welcome to Kemett Base. Let’s get you all inside,” she said, waving one hand back to the wedge-shaped building behind them. “I imagine you’re all hungry and thirsty after your trip.” 

“Thank you,” Ro said, and her group followed the three officers inside.

*

The Drayan homeworld was beautiful. The gravity felt lighter to Cavit as he stepped off the shuttle, and he was surprised at just how much green existed alongside what was clearly a landing facility. Though kept low and neatly tended, the shrubs and greenery formed natural lines around the pathways, and the warm wind came tinged with a vaguely hibiscus-like scent. A few of the bushes had tiny white blooms, as well, and the occasional white petal drifted in the breezes. 

Beyond, taller buildings did exist, but even those seemed designed to exist in a harmony with flora—he could see green roofs on most buildings, and the tallest buildings, most of them round, had outdoor gardens, complete with trees, every few storeys. 

The First Prelate herself waited at the path away from the shuttle, alongside two others in similar, head-to-toe grey outfits with translucent veils over their faces. As he, Stricker, and Gara approached, Cavit caught just a glimpse of a small triangular patch at Alcia’s widow’s peak that appeared to have a different colour and texture than the rest of her skin—small scales, perhaps—but other than that, they could have passed for human at a glance.

“May this day find you at peace and leave you with hope,” Alcia said, once the three had walked the short distance to where the woman stood with her companions. She allowed a small smile. “That's a traditional blessing from our ancient scrolls.” 

“Thank you,” Cavit said, dipping his head in a small bow. “Your homeworld is beautiful, and from what we read, you don’t often accept visitors, so I’m truly grateful you allowed us the opportunity.” 

That made Alcia smile. “It’s true, we don't often engage in dialogue with alien races, but your story of crossing the galaxy intrigued me.”

She introduced her two aides, a paler-skinned, lithely built Drayan woman named Gille, and a taller, wider Drayan man with dark brown skin named Goron, and Cavit returned the favour.

“This is Ensign Kimberley Strickler, my pilot, and this is Cadet Gara, one of our students of other cultures.” 

“You are not human,” Alcia said, glancing back and forth between Gara and Cavit.

“No,” Gara said. “I’m Ocampan. My homeworld is here, in the Delta Quadrant, but I joined Voyager’s crew after they first arrived.”

“I would greatly enjoy hearing more of the story of your arrival,” Alcia said to Cavit.

“I’d be happy to tell it,” he said.

Her smile remained just as placid as before, but she shifted a step to the side. “Please, then, come this way.” 

They followed. Cavit spared a glance at Gara, and saw a small line had formed between her eyebrows. When she caught him looking, she shook her head, the line vanishing and her smile returning, and the slight anxiety her expression had inspired passed. Clearly, whatever it was she’d picked up on, she wasn’t worried about it. 

*

Scott Rollins liked the Kolhari. They were comfortable, reminding him of Starfleet in all the best ways—organized, direct, and streamlined—once Major Botia had brought them inside to a meeting room that could have been plucked from any number of Federation outposts in the Alpha Quadrant—table, chairs, long windows, neutral colours throughout with a few splashes of wall-art to break up the otherwise dominant greys and tans. 

Botia had sent the first of the two men with her—a fair haired, paler-skinned Kolhari she introduced as Second-Lieutenant Coska—to fetch them all something to drink and eat. They’d hung up their jackets by the entrance of the meeting room and it hadn’t take Coska long to return with a trolley. He’d started serving one of the heartiest broths Rollins had ever had the pleasure of eating—it tasted of shellfish, he thought—along with a dipping bread that was crusty and perhaps a bit bland to the human palate, but still delivered the warmth of the broth to his stomach. 

The drink turned out to be a kind of tea, and much sweeter than he usually enjoyed, but he sipped it nonetheless. 

Even better, Botia and the other second-lieutenant, Jastan, who had darker brown skin and shorter black hair, had gotten right to business before Coska had even finished pouring their teas from the large metal jug.

“I hope you don’t mind working through a meal,” Botia said, and Rollins could see Commander Ro was having the same reaction to the Kolhari he was—down to business was absolutely her style.

“Not at all,” she said. 

“This is what we brought with us to trade,” Rollins said, once he’d gotten the nod from Commander Ro. “You tap here to scroll,” he added, passing the PADD to Botia. “Our understanding from our previous meeting was a mix of foodstuffs, some uridium rods, and two crates of nitrium would be most useful.”

“Two crates?” Botia looked up, surprised. “You can spare that much?”

“We can.” Ro nodded. “We got lucky and found some nitrium rich asteroids a few star systems back.” 

“Calçots,” Botia said, looking back at the PADD. “Plomeek. Marob root…” She chuckled. “I’ve never heard of these foods before.”

“Our botanist, Crewman Daggin, included all the care and keeping instructions for a healthy crop. He selected the plants with the highest, easily growing yields and nutritional payoffs,” Rollins said. “The seeds and shoots we’ve brought should give you healthy crops you can expand with each growing cycle. Apparently, Marob root especially will grow as much as you let it. There’s a warning in there about not letting it out of any growing area you don’t want it to take over completely.”

“He’d have come himself,” Ro added. “But he and his partner just had a child, so he’s not on active duty at the moment.” 

“Of course, of course,” Botia waved that off, and scrolled through the rest of the PADD. “This is more than we’d hoped for, Lieutenant Commander.” Botia smiled and lowered the PADD. “We’ll start charging the tetryon power cells immediately.” She gave a little nod to Jastan, who’d finished his meal with a military-like single-mindedness, and the man rose, offered a slight bow, and was out of the room like a shot. 

“You charge the cells planetside?” Bennet said, sounding surprised. “From what I saw, your screen keeps all the tetryon energy away from the planet, doesn’t it?” 

Botia eyed him, smiling again. “You’re the engineer our trader met with, aren’t you?”

“I am, yes,” Bennet blushed. “Sorry. Ensign Rick Bennet. My honours engineering project featured tetryon-based energy systems, and I’m honestly in awe of what you’ve accomplished here.” 

“I wish I was more knowledgeable on the subject,” Botia said. “But I can tell you all our installations like this one all have tetryon wave receivers, collecting energy sent from the defence screen downward in coherent beams.” She took a sip of her tea. “Just don’t ask me to explain how it all works, exactly.” 

“Fair enough.” Bennet offered a grin in return. 

Ro finished her own tea, and put the mug down. “The trader we made it sound like you were recovering from a major setback, but he didn’t really offer much in the way of details.”

Major Botia exhaled. “You could certainly say Kolhari has had a few decades, yes. We’re energy rich, thanks to the tetryon fields in the system, but that limited our exploration of space.”

“I’ll bet,” Macormack said, speaking up for the first time. “The tetryon sheer in your system is incredible.”

Botia smiled. “To put it mildly. We did make it into space, though, in ships built to handle the tetryon fields. But our climate is cool, our growing seasons are short, and without trade, our people have to run things very trim. We’re lucky the seas can provide us with most of what we need to keep the population fed, but…” She lifted one hand. “Things are often lean and our native flora was never truly up to the task of larger settlements.”

“I hope what we’ve brought can help in the long term,” Ro said. 

“It will,” Botia said. “Especially these foodstuffs. The more we can do ourselves, the better. Trade is getting harder and harder to come by, thanks to the the Kazon.” 

“We’ve had more than a few run-ins with them ourselves,” Rollins said, exchanging a glance with Ro. 

“At first, we attempted trade relations with them, but they tended to raid our ships, so we ended up having to be more and more careful whenever they were around.” Botia shook her head. “Anyway. Let’s get you all settled in. We’ve prepared quarters for your visit, and while they may not be luxurious, I promise they’re warm.” 

“We can unload the shuttles first, if you’d like?” Rollins said. 

Botia seemed taken aback by the offer. “We don’t have the power cells ready for you yet,” she said, and Rollins realized where her hesitation was coming from.

Clearly, they didn’t often get to trade with people who accepted offers on good faith.

“That’s fine,” Ro said, catching his eye. “It’ll save us time later.”

“We can do that, Commander,” Macormack said, gesturing to herself and Ensign Bennet. “No reason for all of us to get cold.”

“I’ll help you,” Costa said, and the three rose.

“I’ll show you to your quarters,” Botia said. 

*

Stadi smiled at the group already gathered in the Main Shuttlebay, pleased they’d all arrived early. “Thanks for coming,” she said. Other than Lieutenant Cing’ta, her dive into the records of who hadn’t spent time on Sikaris during Voyager’s visit had let her come up with a solid core of dependable people to work with. She knew Lieutenant Dennis Russell from him relieving her from swing-shift Bridge shifts on occasion, Ensign Pablo Baytart was one of her pilots, Ensign Therese Hickman came highly recommended by Taitt, Ensign Lyndsay Ballard was a regular face in Engineering and one Honigsberg trusted, and Rollins praised Crewman Clifton Biddle’s calm.

She’d even learned Crewman Kimble Meyer hadn’t visited Sikaris, so her including the computer expert hadn’t even been with a concession. 

The group gave her a series of nods and smiles in return, and a moment later Lieutenant Cing’ta joined the group as well, looking a little surprised to be the last to arrive. 

“I won’t pretend you haven’t already discussed why I might have gathered you,” Stadi said, and that got a wry smile out of Baytart. “But here’s the mission. You’re to take the Pel to Tekestria, make contact, and see if they’re open to trade. Lyndsay, you’ve got Alex’s wish-list?” 

“Yes, sir,” Ballard said, lifting a PADD.

“Chief McMinn is putting together some packages of literature, foodstuffs, and he’ll be along shortly. Lieutenant Cing’ta is going to come with you, and you’re going to approach with caution and an eye for learning how you’re likely to be received, but Captain Cavit wanted me to be very clear about two things: you are not going to lie about who you are—though we’re not going to volunteer more than the locals need to know—and you are not going to put yourselves in danger. Understood?” 

They all nodded.

“Lieutenant Russell will be in charge of any face-to-face trades, given Cing’ta’s face is so memorable.” She glanced at the Bolian, who cracked a smile across his big blue face in return. “Therese, if these people are open to trade, Taitt would like you to see if there are more star charts available—though she said they don’t have to be hand woven petal silk this time.” 

“Understood,” Hickman said, with a small grin of her own.  

“Should we go in civilian clothes?” Biddle said, and it struck her as a smart question. She faced Cing’ta, wondering.

“That might not be a bad idea,” the big Bolian said. “If our goal is not to remind anyone who might know of Voyager’s… less than stellar interaction with the Sikaris Magistrate, the less clues the better.”

Stadi had to agree. “Good idea. Go ahead and get changed, and drop by the Mess Hall, too—the Pel doesn’t have a replicator.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Meyer said. Stadi knew he’d be instrumental in changing that.

“Okay,” she said. “McMinn should be ready in half an hour. Get what you need, and then report back here to Lieutenant Cing’ta for take-off in thirty-five minutes.”

The group broke up, and she watched them leave, then headed to the turbolift to return to the Bridge, acutely aware she was in command of Voyager until Commander Ro or Captain Cavit returned.

Behind her, another shuttle run from the nebula returned, and a group of engineers moved to unload the omicron particles. 

Chapter Text

Cing’ta sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Kimble Meyer in the cockpit of the Pel. Baytart had the central helm position in the half-circle that was the bridge, but he and the slim human were both working at what had been set up as an Ops station to the right. 

“Try again,” Meyer said. The younger crewman wore a black, short-sleeved shirt with a geometric design in deep purple running down one side and one sleeve that only seemed to appear in certain angles of light. He’d been working on the communications interface with Cing’ta for over an hour now, and while they were making progress, Cing’ta was starting to worry they’d have to go in without any intelligence beforehand.

Still, trusting the man—Meyer knew computers cold, even this strange axionic system that had Cing’ta barely following what the human was doing—Cing’ta reinitialized his comm-scanning program and ran it, aiming the reception feed at the planet still some hours away.

It booted.

“You did it,” Cing’ta said, grinning at the man, who turned to him and offered a self-satisfied smile in return. Meyer had, like a lot of the former-Maquis, been shyer and standoffish around Cing’ta since his role as an informant for Starfleet Intelligence had been revealed, but there was no mistaking the pride in Meyer’s face right now at his accomplishment.

“On the plus side,” Meyer said. “The processing speed of this system should make up for the difficulty in getting it to understand and run our programs.”

He wasn’t kidding. On the screen, Cing’ta watched as signals—both stray noise and organized communications, newsfeeds, and entertainment channels alike—began to buffer into his program.

“How’s it going?” Russell joined them, standing just behind them. He’d chosen a white vest over a long-sleeved grey undershirt—it drew out how some of the hair at his temples had begun to grey, but overall the look was pleasing, Cing’ta thought. 

“Kimble got it working,” Cing’ta said, turning in the chair. “And it’s starting to sort and organize the feeds now, then it will begin searching.” 

Russell’s light brown eyes crinkled a little when he smiled. “I had no doubts.” 

That made Meyer’s shoulders straighten even more. 

“What is your program searching for, exactly?” Ballard said, from across the other side of the small cockpit, in the third station, where she’d been monitoring the ship’s systems since they’d left Voyager. The blond, in a green tunic and soft brown trousers, looked more like a woman on her way  to shore leave than an officer keeping an eye on an alien-tech engine.

Then again, that was the point.

“Names, mostly,” Cing’ta said, turning his chair all the way around. “We collected the names of anyone the crew interacted with from the Dissident faction, as well as some key terms we thought might help us determine the situation on Tekestria—any discussion of the local Magistrate, or major news events.” He rolled his shoulders, cracking his stiff neck audibly. The others all claimed the Vidiian shuttle was remarkably comfortable, but everything felt a size too small for him. 

Then again, he was the tallest person on Voyager. 

Ballard nodded once. “Got it.”

“I can monitor if you two want to go grab something to eat,” Russell said. “Biddle and Hickman are breaking out some of what Eru packed for us in the back. The rest of us can have our turn after.” 

“Definitely,” Meyer said, rising from the stool he’d brought to the Bridge so he could share the station with Cing’ta. 

Cing’ta joined him, heading to the aft of the Pel, where sleeping bunks filled with containers McMinn had put together for them lined either side, and a simple table and seating area took up the rest of the streamlined space between. He had to duck a fraction to step through, but once seated, it was almost comfortable.

“What have we got?” he asked, seeing Biddle was just unscrewing the cap of a large thermos. 

Biddle paused to sniff at the opened thermos. The dark-skinned human wore a deep green shirt that clung to his fit frame and made his strength clear at a glance. “Trabe coffee, I think.”

“Ooh, firenut?” Hickman reached for the thermos, and Biddle gave it to her with a little smile, letting her pour. Hickman wore a garnet-coloured wrap, which set off her hair, dyed a similar shade of red, both of which flattered her warm brown skin. 

The earthy scent of the firenut coffee filled the area, and Cing’ta lifted his own mug for Hickman to pour. The first swallow warmed him. 

“It looks like lunch is some kind of wrap,” Biddle said, still investigating the packages Eru had put together for them. 

“Bajoran?” Meyer lifted one eyebrow, his tone hopeful. 

They weren’t Bajoran, though they did have a nice pepper-like bite to them.

“I’ll bring something for Pablo once we’re done,” Hickman said. The table sat four, and they intended to eat in turns, but as the only pilot who completely understood the Pel’s interface, Baytart would be eating at the Conn. 

When they made the move to swap, Russell glanced up as soon as Cing’ta came into the cockpit, a smile on his face.

“We got something?” Cing’ta said. 

“We did. Eudana Husor,” Russell said. He held up the PADD of names they’d gathered before setting out. “She was the woman who spoke with Sullivan, Kes, and Li-Paz, and flat-out told them Labin wasn’t going to help us, and that dissidents would be getting in touch with them soon.”

“She was mentioned?” Cing’ta said. This was very useful intel. How the feeds spoke of Eudania Husor would go a long way to letting them know the political climate on Tekestria.

“Oh, no,” Russell said, his smile widening. “It’s better than that, Lieutenant. Eudania Husor is on Tekestria. She’s a climatologist, part of a council devoted to Tekestria’s weather control network.” 

Cing’ta grinned. “You go eat. I’ll figure out how we can get a message to her.”

*

Though he’d never admit it to anyone—and he was pretty sure Kes could tell and felt the same way—the last patient of Fitzgerald’s day was the one he’d been most looking forward to seeing. He glanced at the door once or twice, and finally, with a little smile, Frank Darwin asked him, “Am I keeping you, Doctor?”

“Sorry,” Fitzgerald said, chuckling. “You caught me out.”

Frank Darwin had been doing physiotherapy for his destroyed-and-replaced shoulder joint for months now, and they were getting down to the final exercises. In a plain grey shirt, the man rotated his arm out to the side, slowly, but without any apparent discomfort, and nearly a fully restored range of motion. “Who are you waiting for?” he said, once he’d finished the set.

“Our newest crewmember,” Fitzgerald said, once he’d held the tricorder by the man’s shoulder for a full scan. “Your rotator cuff is holding up nicely.” He faced Darwin head on. “You’ve been following your routine, haven’t you?” He tried to temper his surprise into something more like teasing.

Darwin blushed, a slight darkening on the brown-skinned man. “Deb—uh, Ensign Lang pointed out I couldn’t complain about my injuries if I didn’t do the work to recover.” 

Fitzgerald grinned at him. “No more kayaking on the holodeck, then?”

“We’ve been swimming a lot instead. Rebecca Sullivan said it would be better for my shoulder.”

“Rebecca Sullivan is right,” Fitzgerald said. “And accepts all forms of chocolate as payment for her advice.” He paused, catching Darwin’s gaze. “I’m glad things are going swimmingly.”

“Oh,” Darwin winced, shaking his head. “Doc, that was bad.”

The door to Sickbay opened, and they both turned, seeing T’Prena and Daggin arrive together, T’Prena carrying their newly born son, Setok, in her arms. Neither were in uniform, instead wearing simple brown robes that made Daggin look more Vulcan than ever. They’d both decided to take parental sabbatical, and Fitzgerald had to remind himself not to gush emotionally at seeing the two of them. 

But it was still a close thing.

“Is this the bouncing baby boy?” Darwin said, smiling. He lowered his arm.

“This is Setok,” Daggin said, smiling at Darwin. “Would you like to meet him?”

“I would,” Darwin eyed Fitzgerald.

“You’re good to go. Keep up the routine, Frank.”

Darwin slid off the bed, and Fitzgerald was reminded of the man’s compact frame when he joined the couple with their child. Darwin was so fit, it was easy to forget he wasn’t particularly tall, but beside the lanky Daggin, the illusion was broken.

“He’s very interested in what’s going on,” Darwin said, looking down at the child, who was awake and looking back at him. “He looks like he’s trying to memorize everything.” 

“His ocular acuity is not yet developed enough,” T’Prena said, throwing her usual bucket of ice water on the warm small talk. 

“But he finds voices fascinating,” Daggin said, putting things back on track. “When people speak to him, I can feel his whole attention aiming their way.”

“I’ll let you get to your appointment,” Darwin said, tracing a finger along the baby’s hand once, then stepping back. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” Daggin said. T’Prena, for her part, dipped her chin slightly.

After Darwin left, Kes joined them and Fitzgerald brought Daggin, T’Prena, and Setok to the third bio-bed, where Kes had already set up the infant scanner. They’d replicated more medical gear in the past few weeks than in all the time they’d been in the Delta Quadrant, it felt like. Feotal transporter, incubator station, infant-scale scanners… 

“How are you two doing?” Fitzgerald said, while Kes cycled through the diagnostic. “Managing to get enough sleep?” 

“Yes,” T’Prena said, simply.

Daggin, as was typical, had a bit more to say. “We’ve worked out a schedule that works for all of us. It’s been fine, really.” 

Fitzgerald blinked. T’Prena would be stoic as a matter of course, but Daggin sounded… well rested.

“Wait. What you just said to Frank about feeling his attention,” Fitzgerald said, once T’Prena lowered Setok into the scanner, where his little face seemed completely unperturbed by the change of scenery. “Can you already sense his consciousness, telepathically?”

Daggin, whose gaze hadn’t once raised from the medical bassinet, nodded. “That’s right. Setok was born telepathic, but his receptive range won’t increase beyond touch until he’s a young adult.” Daggin tilted his head, finally looking up. “Assuming he follows Ocampan development, that is.”

Fitzgerald had read every word of the medical files they’d gotten from Oman and Dey at the Suspiria’s Array, especially the parts about childbirth and foetal development, but that fact about Ocampan telepathic ability hadn’t been in there.

He glanced at Kes, but the blond Ocampan didn’t look surprised, either. He supposed to Kes and Daggin, this was just a fact they’d already known, not a revelation. 

“Born telepathic,” he said, considering the new information.

“Vulcans do not generally develop telepathic ability until they are adults, like most telepathic Alpha Quadrant species,” T’Prena said, as though she’d anticipated what Fitzgerald was about to say next. “But, as Daggin says, it seems Setok is taking a more… Ocampan path.” She lifted one eyebrow. “It has made meeting his needs significantly less difficult.”

“I’ll bet,” Fitzgerald said. He activated the scanner, and the soft noise made Setok’s head turn one way, then the other. The baby definitely looked fascinated, Fitzgerald thought. Daggin was right. 

“His weight is good,” Kes said. “He’s eating okay?”

“Yes,” Daggin said. “If I’m fairly close to him, I’m aware when he’s hungry, or thirsty, or needs a change or is somehow uncomfortable.” He smiled. “Setok is really no trouble at all, beyond only sleeping two hours at a time. All the stories Sam told me about being a new father seem rather exaggerated now.” 

“Well,” Fitzgerald said, his eyebrows rising. “Humans don’t have telepathy. Their babies definitely rely on their lungs to make their discomfort known.” He looked at the scan results, still shaking his head. “Kes is right. Everything looks good at a glance, let’s start with his reflexes. Kes, did you want to take the lead?” It was an opportunity to expand Kes’s practical knowledge, and he didn’t want to fumble one-handed with any delicate maneuvers, either. 

“Of course, doctor,” Kes beamed. 

By the time they were done with Setok and T’Prena had taken her turn—she, too, was showing every sign of recovering well from the less-than-ideal delivery—Sullivan had arrived, and she and Kes were with Daggin and Setok when T’Prena put her robes back on and joined them. 

“Same time next week,” Fitzgerald said, and the parents collected their child from Kes’s arms, and were on their way. 

Fitzgerald waited for the door to close before he gave in to saying what he’d been holding back since they’d arrived. “That baby is the cutest baby in the universe.”

“It’s the ears,” Sullivan agreed whole-heartedly. “Beyond cute.”

“Our ears usually develop our folds and points as we grow,” Kes said, touching her own pointed ear with a smile. “We’re usually born looking much like you. I’m intrigued to see how Setok’s will develop—especially with so much of his endocrine and circulatory systems favouring his Vulcan parentage.”

The door opened again, and it Dimur stepped in, smiling at the group and Fitzgerald in particular. Fitzgerald checked the time. His shift had gone by fast.

“Anything we need to know about before you head out?” Sullivan said, aiming a particularly amused smile Fitzgerald’s way. She and Kes were handling the night- and swing-shift respectfully, and clearly Sullivan had mostly dropped by so early because she wanted to ogle the baby.  

“Hello, Dimur,” Kes said, nodding at the Trabe man.

“Kes,” Dimur said, putting his arms behind his back and holding his left wrist in his right hand, the way he did when he was waiting. 

“Not really,” Fitzgerald said, dragging his attention back to the two women, which was hard when Dimur did the wrist-in-hand thing, because the pose drew his shirt so tight across his shoulders and chest. Which was, he was pretty sure, why Dimur had done it. “You’ve got a couple of appointments for follow-ups, but no surprises. Oh, Ondé’s blood results came back within normal, so I think Emmett and Hilé got the dosage right on her treatment, and assuming she maintains, I think she’s got it under control. The only other thing I’d like you both to do is make sure Alex and the other engineers are taking some breaks. The repairs are ahead of schedule, so they can take a breather here and there.”

“We will. And you really shouldn’t call the doctor ‘Emmett,’” Kes said, shaking her head at him, but smiling regardless. 

“As soon as he picks a name, I’ll call him whatever he likes,” Fitzgerald said. “Okay. Sickbay is all yours, Kes.”

Dimur walked with him to the Shuttlebay, where one of the Warden’s shuttles would take them back to the Warden again. Eating on the Warden—not to mention spending his off hours and sleeping there—had become a part of his routine so easily in less than a week. Admittedly, giving up his quarters on Voyager while they were in grey mode had meant more room for those directly working on repairing the ship and had been the right choice, but he couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it all felt.

In the Shuttlebay, the start reminders of why they’d made so many changes were harder to miss. As they entered, the Drake was just passing through the forcefield and a team of engineers were approaching, ready to gather the omicron particles the shuttle had collected, and take them to Main Engineering, where Honigsberg’s people would process them into antimatter. The Kelly was already moving to a launch position to take its own turn heading back out into the nebula, and an orderly pile of plating awaited the return of the shuttlepods. 

Dimur’s Trabe shuttle looked almost lonely, given it was one of the few things not in motion in the large space. 

As they approached the shuttle, Fitzgerald was surprised to see Karden and Yareth waiting by nearby.

“Hey, you two,” he said. He’d thought the two had been assigned to the Storm while Voyager was on grey mode. 

“Hello, doctor,” Yareth said. She had her long hair tied back in a simple knot today, rather than loose. Beside her, Karden rose to his full height—which Fitzgerald realized had gone up more than a few centimetres over the months since he’d joined them—and stood almost to attention. 

“Can we help you?” Dimur said, eyeing them both with a friendly enough smile. Fitzgerald was glad. Some of the Trabe visibly struggled around Karden, which he supposed wasn’t completely surprising given the history of the Kazon and Trabe, but Dimur had been respectful with the young Kazon from the start. 

“We hitched a ride on a shuttle from the Storm an hour ago,” Yareth said. “So we could get more reading material, and to have a meal.” She lifted a pair of PADDs she was holding, and Fitzgerald noticed Karden had a PADD of his own, too. “When we saw your shuttle here, we thought we could ask for a ride back, rather than making them come get us?”

“Of course,” Dimur said, gesturing to the rear hatch. 

“Thank you,” Karden said, still a bit formally, but Fitzgerald knew how much Karden wanted to be a part of Voyager’s crew officially. He’d been studying around his work in the Gardens almost non-stop since he’d arrived. He eyed the shuttle. “I don’t suppose I could pilot her?”

“You know how?” Dimur said, with just a trace of surprise.

“We train once we’re old enough,” Karden said. “And once we become askara, we’re assigned to a shuttle of our own. Senior askara are given a shuttle for their own use.”

“Then by all means,” Dimur said. “Take the pilot’s seat, Karden.”

Fitzgerald saw the flash of gratefulness in Karden’s eyes, and they boarded.

*

The cold wind of the Kolhari morning tugged at Ro’s jacket, but the day had dawned bright and clear, with a pristine blue sky above making the snow on the ground seem all the brighter. She and Bennet worked together at the Jemison, transferring the cases of charged tetryon power cells into the rear of the shuttle, while Rollins and Macormack did the same with the Kondakova. 

All told, the mission had been a real success, and although Ro had the urge to leave as soon as possible, Major Botia’s superiors had arrived late the night before, and an offer a breakfast before they left had been put forth. Ro knew the appropriately diplomatic thing to do would be to accept, especially from a people for whom food had come to be such an ongoing concern. 

Also, she liked Botia. In the previous evening, they’d ended up talking while Botia’s people had mingled with Rollins, Bennet, and Macormack, and she’d noticed the same ‘I’d rather be anywhere else’ look on the Major’s face, and had managed to wheedle the confession out of her that she, too, didn’t love the diplomatic side of being in command. 

Which made the upcoming breakfast all the more amusing to her, really. 

“We’re all good, Commander,” Rollins called from the adjacent landing pad, and she saw they were sealing the Kondakova’s ramp back up. Beside her, Bennet lugged the last case into place, and then they’d be able to do the same.

“Let’s head back in,” she called back, and the group of them trudged through the crunch of snow to get back to the main building, where Second-Lieutenant Costa met them, took their coats, and then gently offered to lead the way to where “the Colonel” was waiting.

“The Colonel” turned out to be a grey-haired Kolhari woman with a pleasant enough smile, dark brown eyes, warm, russet-bronze skin, and the build of someone who worked hard to remain fit. The room was a different one from the simple meeting space they’d done all their trading and socializing in the day before, instead a more ornate space, with wider windows offering a view toward the opposite side from the landing area, including a distant mountain range and a glimpse of ocean. The table here was larger, more elegantly appointed, and tureens lay ready alongside the wall opposite the windows. 

Major Botia was present, in a more formal looking uniform than the day before, as was Second-Lieutenant Jastan, and Botia waited for Second-Lieutenant Costa to take his place on the other side of the table before she said, quite formally, “Lieutenant Commander Ro, Lieutenant Rollins, Ensign Bennet, and Ensign Macormack, this is Colonel Attra.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ro said, dipping her chin.

“I doubt that,” Attra said, with a wry smile. “If you’re anything like the Major here, you wanted to hop back in your shuttles and put our planet behind you, not share a meal with someone so tired of riding her desk she used your visit as an excuse to meet someone new.”

Ro couldn’t help it, she cracked a smile, and saw Major Botia’s lips fighting a smile of her own. 

“Well,” Ro finally said. “Even if that were true, we’ve learned not to take potential friendships for granted since we arrived in the Delta Quadrant.”

“Nicely said,” the Colonel chuckled. “Second-Lieutenant Costa is supposed to serve us all, but I’m happy to grab my own bowl if you are?”

“Absolutely,” Ro said, and the woman nodded once in response, clearly pleased.

They lined up buffet-style—the breakfast included more of the crusty bread, the warm broth, but also a side of a yellow bean in a thick sauce that Ro noticed the Colonel and the Major both took only a small amount of from the serving tureen, which itself wasn’t large at all. She followed their lead, eyeing the rest of her people and seeing them do the same, grateful they’d noticed. 

“Now,” the Colonel said, once they’d all sat, and the jug of water had been passed around. “Are you willing to indulge me with the story of how you ended up in—what did you call our space?—‘The Delta Quadrant’?”

“That’s right,” Ro said, launching into an abbreviated version of their arrival while they ate, pausing here and there when the Colonel or the Major had questions—Costa and Jastan didn’t say a word. Rollins picked up the thread a few times, and when one of the Major’s questions was particularly technical, Bennet had an answer for her.

“And that brings us to now,” Ro said. Their plates were empty. 

“We’ve heard of the Vidiians, of course,” Colonel Attra said. “But we’ve been fortunate not to have had a direct interaction with them. The Kazon, on the other hand…” She let out a particularly expressive grunt of disgust. “May the currents take them away.” She shook her head. “We’d heard the rumours of your working with them in their new tide-be-damned Alliance, but I’m glad it was—as you said—overstated.”

“We hope we can undo the damage our former crewmember has done,” Rollins said, his voice deepening the way it did whenever Durst was referenced. They hadn’t glossed over Durst’s role in the Kazon Alliance. Ro had already had to explain it to the original Kolhari trader they’d met weeks ago, and there was no point denying it. 

“The Kazon do enough damage on their own,” Major Botia said. “Don’t think they wouldn’t have found a way even without your man.” 

It was a gracious statement, Ro had to admit. 

“Can they bother you here, in your system?” Bennet said, frowning a little. “I’m surprised, given your defence screen, and the general tetryon levels in your system—they’ve never struck us as particularly technologically advanced, just… numerous.”

“We’ve always been safe from them here in our home system, you’re right,” the Colonel said. “But thirty years ago, we’d started our first colony—a settlement, intended to be a trading and farming world—but when the Kazon overthrew the Trabe, they eventually reached our colony and started attacking our convoy ships. Our top warp speeds weren’t on par with theirs, and our settlement went dark nineteen years ago. One day they were transmitting, the next they weren’t. We tried to send ships, but the Kazon sects were fighting all around us, and we were forced to pull the ships back.” She shook her head. “That colony was supposed to be the start of a great experiment, a supply line and expansion to deal with some of the shortages we have here on our homeworld, but in the end, we had to give it up.” 

“We manage trade with those we can,” Major Botia said. “The Talaxians, the Hemikek Mining Consortiums…” She lifted her glass of water, taking a swallow. “But it’s always a risk once we leave our system.”

“I wonder if—” Rollins began, but Ro didn’t get to hear what he might be considering, as a short series of tones sounded from speakers hidden above their heads. 

Major Botia rose, as did the two Second-Lieutenants. She walked to the wall, pressing a small panel there. “This is Major Botia. Report.”

“Major,” came a voice of an officer Ro hadn’t yet met. “There’s something happening with the defence field. The General has put us on high alert.”

Colonel Attra rose from the table as well, joining Botia at the comm panel. “What exactly is happening?” she said. Ro noticed she didn’t mention who she was, clearly used to people knowing the sound of her voice.

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the specifics, Colonel,” the voice replied, making it clear Attra’s assumption was correct. “The General only said the integrity of the field was dropping.” 

Chapter Text

On the round communication viewscreen, Eudana Husor’s face struck Lieutenant Russell as rather young. She had a pale complexion, and wide, dark brown eyes that drew most of his attention. Doe-eyes, his father would have called them. 

“Hello?” she said, a slight frown marring her face at the sight of him. He was the only person on her screen, he knew, and they’d never met. 

“Hello,” Russell said, offering what he hoped was a disarming smile. “You don’t know me. My name is Dennis Russell. But I believe you met some of my friends and crewmates on Sikaris. Kes, Li-Paz, and Rebecca Sullivan?” 

Eudana’s doe-eyes widened with clear surprise. “You’re from V—, the same ship?” She cut herself off from saying Voyager, Russell noted. 

“That’s right,” Russell said. “Although we’re in a smaller, different shuttle right now. We’d hoped to stop by to potentially do some trade—we brought some things we think your people would like—but we wanted to reach out first, to get a sense of, well…” He chuckled. “How that might be received, I suppose.”

Eudana took a moment with that, but after a moment, she nodded. “That was wise. The local Magistrate has many restrictions in place.” She took a breath, considering. “I can get you a landing permit. What is the name of your shuttle?”

“It’s called the Pel,” Russell said. “I can add our transponder signal to this communication, if you’d like?” Neither of them had really referenced the less-than-direct method Cing’ta had used to get this channel directly to the home he and Meyer had been able to track down as belonging to Eudana Husor.

“Please.” She nodded again, and he attached the signature.

“It will take me some time. Please don’t approach Tekestria until you hear from me,” she said. “I can use this channel to hail you?”

“You can,” Russell said. 

“Until then,” Eudana said, and the channel closed. 

The wait turned out to be nearly an hour, but Eudana made good on her intention, getting them clearance to land at a facility Cing’ta traced to be within walking distance of a major marketplace. Eudana offered to meet them at the pad, and Baytart had them on final approach shortly thereafter.  

Watching from the rear of the cockpit, Russell’s first impression of Tekestria was of islands: the planet lacked the major landmasses of most Class-M worlds, instead appearing to be made up mostly of long strings of island chains, and though a rare few approached the size of Earth’s Australia, the balance were of a much smaller scale, often in chains. They were heading for one of the larger islands, however, and as they grew closer, he saw cities and transportation networks become visible. Predominately made of white, tan, and cream materials, the buildings weren’t often tall, with a few exceptions. 

“Quite the network of defensive satellites,” Cing’ta said, from the ops station. 

“We’ve been scanned multiple times,” Ballard said, from the other side of the cockpit. “They’re definitely confirming our transponder.” 

“I’ve got an automated approach beacon,” Baytart said. “We’ll be down in a few minutes.” 

Russell stayed standing, leaning against the entrance to the cockpit until the Pel touched down dead-centre on a landing pad capable of handling ships at least four times its size. The ship barely trembled at the contact.

“Nice landing,” Russell said.

“It’s all the Pel,” Baytart said with a little shrug, turning in his chair once he’d locked the Pel down, and then rising. “She has amazing microgravs, once you figure out how to time them.” Ballard was already on her feet, too. 

Cing’ta turned in his chair too, but didn’t rise. “I’ll monitor your combadges,” Cing’ta said. “Keep me in the loop.” 

“Will do, Lieutenant,” Russell said, then went to collect the rest of his team.

Outside the Pel, the air was warm and scented from fist-sized bright orange blossoms that bloomed at the top of tall lean trees to one side of the landing pad. Eudana was waiting as she’d said she’d be, in a light green dress that stirred around her legs in the wind. Her hair, tied back simply, was adorned with a spiral of silver and deep grey wires, and she smiled as she approached the group. 

“Hello,” she said, and to his surprise, she hugged him. He returned the hug, bending down a bit to accommodate her small frame. 

“Follow my lead,” she said, keeping her voice low. 

“I will,” he said.

Their group followed Eudana to the landing port buildings, where she described them multiple times as “traders” to those who asked, and the each had images of their faces scanned into a database, their names attached and registered to the Pel. Sticking to regulations, Russell remained completely honest.

But he didn’t volunteer any information beyond what was asked of him. 

Yes, they were here to trade. No, they’d never traded here before. Yes, they understood the very long list of restricted goods. No, they wouldn’t make any trades before they had a permit from the Merchant Commissioner. 

That last point left him with some worry, but he let Eudana lead their group away from the port buildings before he voiced it.

“Our next stop is the Merchant Commissioner, then?”

Eudana turned to face him. “Yes, but…” She exhaled. “Let’s go back to my home first, and catch up.”

He understood, and they followed.

In her home, the sitting room in which every surface seemed to have some sort of earth-toned cloth or pillow at the ready, Eudana’s attitude shifted from the professional, direct persona she’d adopted thus far into something far more friendly. 

“We never got a chance to thank your people for what you did,” she said, aiming this at the whole group. “Our movement would have been destroyed before it had barely begun without you.” 

“To be clear,” Russell said, knowing he needed to set the tone. “We’re not here to help the dissident movement. Our regulations are clear: we don’t interfere—or let ourselves be used to interfere—in internal movements.”

Eudana nodded. “I understand, but still. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hickman said, with a little smile, and Eudana beamed at her.

“Okay,” Eudana said, sitting. “What is it you need?”

Russell nodded at Ballard, and she pulled out the PADD of Chief Honigsberg’s wish-list. “Anything on this list will help,” the blond engineer said. “The second tab lists everything we brought to trade. We focused on unique foodstuffs—we have a fruit that originated in the Gamma Quadrant, believe it or not—and, of course, we have a database of stories and literature.”

Eudana eyed it, considering. “The Magistrate has locked down a few things on your list, but some of it should be possible.” She lowered the PADD. “What I’m more worried about is getting you approval from the Merchant Commissioner.”

“It’s going to be difficult?” Russell said.

“Not directly,” Eudana said. “The real problem is the Magistrate’s agents. I’ve got enough people we can trust in the landing port, but right now, the Magistrate is keeping an eye on anyone in the market making trade requests—they know we’re trying to move people to Dedestris, and the fastest way to get there is to trade for a spatial trajector pass. They’d prefer we’re reduced to using warp ships.” She eyed Russell’s group. “You’re brand new, you just arrived, and if the agents see you heading in to the Merchant Commissioner’s office, I’m sure they’ll tell the Magistrate and before you get to the Commissioner’s office, there’ll be an official ‘pause’ placed on granting trade permits so they can check you out.”

“Is Dedestris nearby?” Hickman said. Russell wasn’t surprised at her question: Hickman’s role on the team definitely included interest in knowing where more Sikarian worlds might be.

“Four months in a cruiser, longer for our smaller ships,” Eudana said. “Most of the dissident movement is trying to gather there, where the Magistrate is known to be more progressive toward interactions with other species.” 

Hickman’s brown eyes met Russell’s and he gave her a little nod. They definitely wanted to find out where Dedestris was. If it happened to be on their way home, all the better. 

But as for the hear and now… “What do you suggest?” Russell said. “We don’t want to break any laws, Eudana. If there’s no proper channel to get a trade permit, we don’t intend to use anything like a black market.”

Eudana considered that, and unless Russell was mistaken, he caught a slight dejection. He supposed if he was part of a dissident movement, he’d want the advantages their trade goods offered for himself, too. But he had his orders. 

“In that case,” Eudana said. “We need to get your permit requested before anyone realizes you’ve gone into the Commissioner’s office. When they see what you’re offering, they’ll be sure to approve it—how could they not? You offer such new joys.” She nodded at the PADD. “I don’t suppose you have any distractions on that trade list of yours?”  

Russell blinked. He turned to Baytart, smiling as a thought occurred to him, and the dark haired man regarded him with a little frown.

“Sir?” he said.

“I do have one idea,” Russell said. 

*

After Alcia finished giving Captain Cavit, Ensign Strickler, and Gara her tour of what she introduced as the Cyrsata Elyan, the oldest still-standing temple in Drayan history—in which many Drayan relic scrolls were housed behind transparent sheets of a crystalline rock, and had still functioning aqueducts—Ensign Strickler mentioned Bajoran aqueducts, and they moved to look at the structure closer, Alcia answering Strickler’s questions with the same, gentle, ongoing patience she’d displayed throughout their mission so far. Alcia’s two aides followed them as well, seemingly content to do as they’d done the whole time: remain in Alcia’s orbit.

Cavit took the opportunity to step to the side with Gara.

“Something’s bothering you,” he said, pitching his voice low, but keeping it—and his expression—pleasant. 

Her dark brown eyes met his with slight surprise. “Not bothering me, exactly, Captain it’s…” She took a moment to consider. “There’s an odd sense to the Drayans I can’t put my finger on. They’re… fizzy.”

Cavit blinked. Of all the words he might have come up with to describe the placid, veiled, grey-robed Drayans, “fizzy” was very, very far down the list. “Fizzy?” he said, tilting his head.

“Has Chief McMinn ever served you sparkling water?” Gara said.

He smiled and nodded. “It’s pretty common on Earth.”

“Oh,” Gara said. “Well, the sensation on the tongue? The way they feel to me, telepathically, is similar. Like they’re swirling under their own skin, in their own minds.” She smiled. “It’s not unpleasant, but it’s a little distracting.”

“I can imagine,” Cavit said, smiling back. It sounded interesting, but more importantly, it didn’t sound like anything to worry about. 

Alcia and Strickler rejoined them. 

“Well, Captain,” the Drayan woman said. “What do you think?”

“I think my first impression of your planet understated,” Cavit said. “I thought it was beautiful. But now I realize it’s not only beautiful, it’s carefully treasured to maintain that beauty. You’ve worked hard as a people to make it this way.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” Alcia’s chin dipped, and to Cavit’s surprise, she even looked pleased. It was one of the first signs of open emotion he’d really seen from the woman. “We nearly lost our way—and our world—once, and were it not for the reformation, I believe our society would have self-destructed.”

Gara tilted her head. “I read a little about Reformation, and I noticed some of the temple texts mentioned it, as well. They called it ‘the return to the source’?”

“Yes,” Alcia said. “In many ways, our ancestors were like you: brilliant scientists and engineers. But they lost their way. Continually developing better, smarter, more efficient machines, until the technology became more important than the people.”

“There were periods like that on Earth as well,” Cavit said. “In fact, one of our most famous scientists once said, ‘It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity,’ after a particularly dark period in Earth history. Balancing technology and morality doesn’t always come naturally, unfortunately.” 

“Our balance was nearly too far gone,” Alcia said, turning her face upward, and unless Cavit was mistaken, she was looking at one of the Drayan moons. “My great-grandfather helped to return us to ourselves, and since that time we've remained isolated to avoid the influence of those who might lead us back down the wrong path.”

That felt a little bit like a brush off to Cavit, and he wondered if he’d make a mistake somewhere along the way. Damn.

Then Gara spoke. “Your people’s return to their home is a beautiful journey,” she said. “Your great-grandfather clearly led them in the right direction. I think Voyager is very much on a similar journey, really.”

That got Alcia’s attention. And Cavit’s, if he was being honest.

“Voyager is itself very advanced technology, though, is it not?” Alcia said.

“Absolutely,” Gara said, nodding and smiling. “But Voyager is on a journey. Technology they didn’t control brought them here, but technology they do understand and control—and guide with their morality—will get them home.”

When he saw the contemplative look on Alcia’s face, Cavit could have hugged Gara. 

“I see what you mean,” Alcia said. “Though technically, this world isn’t where we are from.”

“It isn’t?” Cavit said.

Alcia pointed upward, and Cavit looked. It took him a moment to realize.

“The moons?”

“All the moons, yes, and that moon in particular, for me,” she said. “We nearly destroyed it in our reckless pursuit of advancement—our very birthplace—and so the reformation sought to claim this planet as the new home for our penitence while we restored our most sacred place.”

A weight tugged at Cavit’s chest. “Your moons are sacred places.”

“They are,” she said, and the frowned. “I think this has upset you.”

“No, quite the opposite,” Cavit said, shaking his head, though he had to work hard to keep the defeat from his voice. “It’s saved me from making a huge mistake. We’d hoped to ask for permission to collect polyferranide from the moons to help repair Voyager, but clearly that’s not something I would even ask now.” 

To his surprise, Alcia’s expression shifted to something close to pleased again. “Captain,” she said. “You have been an ongoing and wonderful surprise, and a reminder we shouldn’t assume the worst of those who embrace technology.” 

“I’m glad,” Cavit said, and in truth, he was glad—it mattered to him whether or not the Drayans felt Voyager were good people, and if nothing else, he was pleased to have their good impression of him. 

“And I believe we have the same materials here on the planet,” Alcia said. “Though perhaps not as abundantly, and we might not be able to provide all you need, depending on the process.”

“I wouldn’t want to ask your people for anything they wouldn’t be willing to give,” Cavit said, one hand rising.

Alcia simply offered her placid suggestion of a smile again, barely visible through the veil. “You respected our journey, Captain. We can respect yours.”

The relief he felt buoyed him more than he’d imagined it might. 

“First Prelate.”

The voice came from behind them, and they turned as one. The man who’d approached wore a different style of suit to Alcia and her aides, though it was also made of the grey material and he, too, wore a veil. His suit seemed built for more mobility, however, with a sharper cut of trousers and less voluminous sleeves. 

“Yes?”

The man glanced at Cavit, Strickler, and Gara, then gave the tiniest shake of his head.

Ah. Well then.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Cavit said, before Alcia had to ask it of them.

They stepped aside.

“That was brilliant, Gara,” Cavit said, softening his voice again. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you just did.”

Gara’s warm brown skin darkened with a flush. “Thank you, Captain. I just—” She frowned, suddenly, turning. “They’re worried. They’re almost panicked.” 

Cavit glanced up to see Alcia returning to them, her usual calm replaced by a determined stride to her step. He believed Gara’s impression of the First Prelate’s emotional state, but she wasn’t giving any outward sign of it.

“I’m sorry, I've been called away on an emergency,” Alcia said.

“Is there anything we can—”

“No, you should go.” Alcia’s facade cracked slightly, her voice betraying her emotional state. “It would be better if you and your crew went back to your ship to continue on your journey.”

The one-eighty surprised Cavit, and he knew he was bound to honour the request. He also didn’t want to lose the opportunity. 

He allowed himself to press, just once more.

“There is an author, one of our most famous writers, who wrote a classic novel that has influenced members of the Federation ever since,” Cavit said, and while Alcia did turnt to face him, she seemed more impatient than anything else. “He centred Let me help as the most important core of a story, saying they were far, fare more important than even the words I love you." Cavit took a breath. “If you want us to leave, we will leave. But whatever has happened, First Prelate, we would be willing to help.”

To Cavit’s surprise, it wasn’t Alcia who spoke, but one of her aides, the man, Goron.

“First Prelate… Corin is on the missing ship,” he said. “My Corin. Please.”

Alcia turned to him, and the worry and fear on her face couldn’t have been clearer had she pulled of the veil. The turned back to Cavit, opening her mouth, but no words seeming to occur to her.

“What do you need us to do?” Cavit said. 

*

Ro Laren eyed her people and saw the same expressions on their faces as she imaged she bore herself: frustration. Of them all, Rollins was doing the best to hide it, but his posture was rigid in the chair beside her.

They’d been tucked aside in a waiting room, and while Second-Lieutenant Costa had brought them a pitcher of water and some cups, they’d heard nothing for nearly half an hour now. 

Despite being told someone would be with them as soon as they were clear to leave, Ro wasn’t sure she had much more diplomacy left in her. She wanted to know what the hell was going on. She rose from the chair, and Rollins turned his gaze up at her, one eyebrow rising in the unspoken question. 

“I think we can reasonably request an update,” she said.

He gave her a nod in return, almost successfully fighting off a little smile.

She cleared her throat and went to the door, opening it slowly, and finding Second-Lieutenant Jastan standing just outside. He turned to face her, his expression tense.

“Second-Lieutenant,” she said, raising a hand when he opened his mouth to speak. “We don’t want to cause you any trouble, nor add to the disturbance.” She took a moment, forcing a tone into her voice that never came natural to her: supplication. “We’re just hoping we could request and update.”

The man gave her a tense nod. “I’ll let them know,” he said.

Ro stepped back into the room, and the door closed behind her. She sat again, convinced it was a worthless effort, but to her surprise, about ten minutes later, the door opened again and Major Botia arrived, her expression grim and flat in a way Ro knew well: hiding real worry.

“I’m sorry we kept you waiting so long,” Major Botia said. “My hope is to get you to your shuttles so you can be on your way soon, but the timeline is… inexact.” She swallowed, and took a deep breath. “It will depend on when the defence screen fails.”

“What?” It was Bennet who said the word, but Ro had exactly the same question. 

“What’s happening to the screen?” Ro said, when Major Botia didn’t immediately respond.

“We’re not sure,” she said, lifting one hand. “None of the tech people can tell us, but it’s destabilizing at one point, and if that point breeches, it will cause the cohesion to fail throughout the sphere.” 

“Because of the randomized tachyon vector effect,” Bennet said, nodding. 

Botia ran a hand through her short hair, a wan smile twisting her lips. “That sounds like what the tech people said, yes.” 

“Do you know the cause?” Ro said. They were limited in how they could help the Kolhari, even discounting Starfleet Regulations—also they had two shuttles to work with, not Voyager—but they were trading partners, which did technically categorize the Kolhari as “allied” and opened up a few options.

“We think it’s Kazon,” Botia said. “Three of their Predator-class vessels have entered the system, and they’re on the same side of the defence screen as the disruption. But we can’t see any direct cause.” 

“Commander,” Rollins said, but she was one step ahead of him, already nodding.

“Is there any chance you’d let us take a look?” Ro said, and Major Botia’s returning smile made Ro think this entire conversation had been designed to make her ask that very question.

“If you’re making a diplomatic request,” Major Botia said, the sly smile there-and-gone-again. “I believe you are within your rights to speak to Colonel Attra directly. She’s in the command centre. How about I take you to her?”

“Bennet,” Ro said, nodding to the engineer. “You’re with me.” 

His pale grey-green eyes met hers. “Aye, sir.”

They went with the Major, who repeated no less than three times in a carefully enunciated voice that Commander Ro and Ensign Bennet were here to make a formal diplomatic request at each point where the Major was stopped by guards standing at ever-more-secure looking barriers. 

“I enjoy my life and my career,” Botia said, when they were walking a short corridor beyond the third guard post. “But I do dislike the unnecessary regulations sometimes.” 

Ro dipped her chin in agreement.

After one final declaration of intent to another pair of guards, they entered a large command centre. One wall was dominated by a floor-to-ceiling representation of the planet itself, broken into wedges, with positions of satellites, stations, and the main gate to the defence screen clearly overlaid. 

Rows of stations faced the main display, each a little lower than the last, with two walkways that led down to the bottom, where a large station currently manned by the Colonel and a few other officers were sitting. 

The Colonel glanced up as Major Botia arrived, and said in the driest voice Ro had ever heard, “Major, I’m sure you’re aware this area is restricted.”

“Yes, Colonel,” Botia replied in a similar tone. “However, Lieutenant Commander Ro would like to make an official diplomatic request.”

“Ah,” Colonel Attra said, raising her gaze. “In that case, of course I’d like to hear what you have to say.” She met Ro’s gaze.

“Officially,” Ro said. “I’d like to offer our help, if we can. I have a certain amount of latitude given our relationship as trading partners, but we’ll do what we can.” She gestured to Ensign Bennet. “Bennet is our tetryon expert.” 

“You, tech with the doom-and-gloom,” Colonel Attra said, and one of the men in the front row glanced up, looking like he’d just been nominated to be shot. 

“Me, Colonel?” he said. Compared to all the other Kolhari they’d met, the man struck Ro as borderline reedy. His skin was paler, too, and the ridges on his forehead weren’t as pronounced, allowing some of his fawn-coloured hair fall in front of his face when he glanced up.

“Yes, Mr. There’s Nothing We Can do. Explain it to this man.” Attra pointed at Bennet.

Bennet stepped over, and the two began discussing, Bennet moving around to the other side of the tech’s station and listening and nodding while the tech spoke. Once the man finished speaking, Bennet asked a couple of questions, pointing at the display.

Ro waited, trusting him to do his job.

A few moments later, Bennet looked back up at Ro, and he exhaled, those grey-green eyes of his heavy with meaning.

“What is it?” she said.

“I don’t quite know what they’re doing yet, Commander,” Bennet said. “But I can tell you without a doubt they’re using Federation know-how to do it.” 

*

Lieutenant Dennis Russell watched from the other side of the open square as Pablo Baytart and Clifton Biddle walked around the opposite corner, and waited for the mix of Sikarians and few other alien species in the trading market to notice them.

It didn’t take long.

Biddle’s singing voice caught their attention first—the man’s light tenor wasn’t just enjoyable, the man had real talent—and as he sang an acapella song with a rapid beat, snapping his fingers in time, Baytart sent no less than five balls into the air, somehow matching the slap of the little spheres into the palms of his hands with the beat, while also dipping left or right to send a single ball triple the height of the others, or to bounce one off his forehead, or—in a move that made Russell blink in stunned surprise—riocheted one ball off his elbow and into the hands of someone in the crowd, then nodded to get them to throw it back to him, which they did, laughing.

The entire market was looking their way—including the Sikarians in the somewhat more mundane grey-and-blue outfits Eudania had told him were the agents of the Magistrate’s personal watch. Behind his back, Russell wagged two fingers, pretending to be just as enthralled in Baytart’s show.

Which, okay, wasn’t that hard really. When Baytart smiled the way he was smiling now, confident in his ability to entertain the crowd, he was really, really attractive.

Huh.

A gentle tap at his shoulder and the shift of movement behind him was enough to let him know Ballard and Eudania were stepping past him, and a moment later he heard the door to the commissioner’s office open and close.

Only a few people in the crowd had drifted from Baytart and Biddle’s performance by the time he felt a second touch at his arm, nearly twenty minutes later. Russell turned, and saw Ballard beside him. No sign of Eudania, but likely she’d slipped away as soon as possible. 

“All good?” He said.

“Requests are in,” Ballard said. She stared at the performance, and Baytart did a little spin while Biddle upped his tempo with the newest song. “Okay, Pablo is really good at that.”

“It suits him,” Russell said, and then winced at the look Ballard gave him, a slow smile that tugged little lines into the corners of her brown eyes. 

“You know,” she said, her voice so “casual” it was laughable. “Pablo and Joel decided they were better as friends.” 

He took a breath. “Is that so?” Crewman Joel Swift was a chemist, Russell knew. Quiet and a bit reserved, he could see why the two hadn’t quite sparked, but it reminded Russell how many people used the word ‘quiet’ to describe Russell himself. 

“It is indeed so,” Ballard said. Then she squinted. “Are people giving them money?”

About five minutes into their performance, someone had put a bowl in front of the two men, and Ballard wasn’t wrong; it was indeed filling with what appeared to be some sort of tokens. 

“I think they’re going to be here a while,” Russell said. “If you want to head back to the Pel, grab Meyer and Hickman. She should be done with the book stalls by now. I’ll give Biddle and Baytart the signal, but I’ll keep an eye out until our entertainers want to leave.” 

“Okay.” Ballard chuckled, patted his arm again, and then left him there. He saw her approach Meyer and Hickman, and the three left together shortly thereafter.

Laughing, Baytart launched all five of his balls so high into the air the crowd cheered, and beside him, Biddle sang a chorus that rose nearly as high. Russell caught his eye and gave him the signal—raised hands in applause—and Baytart winked in return.

Yes. Definitely attractive when he smiled.

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Dennis Russell shifted the box in his arms to a more comfortable position and started back to the Pel, Crewman Kimble Meyer to one side of him, and Crewman Clifton Biddle to the other, both similarly laden down. For a society so centred around pleasure, comfort, and new experiences, Russell thought someone should teach the Sikarians how to make a box that didn’t cut into the palms of your hands when you carried it.

Then again, the trader they’d given the Gamma plomeek cuttings to had brought the boxes on a grav sled, and had seemed completely astounded they didn’t have one of their own. 

He should make a mental note for future trading missions, he supposed.

He met with Ensign Lyndsay Ballard at the open rear of the Pel, and she used a PADD to quickly catalog the boxes the three men carried before they brought them on board. Inside, he added the box to the stack in one of the bunks. Despite being uncomfortable to carry, the boxes did at least stack well, with small ridges to keep them neat. 

“How did we do, overall?” Russell said, pausing by Ballard while Biddle and Meyer headed back down the strip to where their stack of supplies waited, watched over by Eudana, who’d helped them connect with all the trades they’d made.

She’d been a good friend to them. 

“I think the Chief will be pleased,” Ballard said. “We were never going to get everything, but the man who wanted the Gamma plomeek was very generous.”

“In return for being the only person to get the plant,” Russell said, shaking his head. The Sikarian desire to be the sole provider of anything they’d brought to trade with had worked to their advantage more than once, but nothing had been as ‘valuable’ as the fruit gathered in another quadrant of the galaxy. 

“No accounting for taste,” Ballard said, and the little twist of her lips as she said it made him glance up just in time to see Ensign Therese Hickman and Ensign Pablo Baytart returning from the market. Baytart had a tray of something in both hands, and Hickman had a satchel over her shoulder.

“You’re not going to let this drop, are you Lyndsay?” he said.

“Hm?” Ballard said, the picture of innocence. 

Russell started back down the walkway. Baytart and Hickman had stopped to talk with Biddle and Meyer, and he joined them.

“How did it go?” he said. 

Hickman held up two rods. “Local starcharts, including more detailed charts of the two next-closest Sikarian planets.”

“But they cleaned us out,” Baytart said, with a little shrug. “They knew we wanted the star charts. We are officially out of stories and plants.” Then he flashed a grin. “However, what Biddle and I earned was enough to pick up some Tekestrian tomato plants—they weren’t expensive.”

“They’re easy to grow,” Eudana said, an amused glint in her dark brown eyes. “But they were imported from Dedestria over three years ago now, so they’re falling out of fashion.” 

“Well, they’re new to us,” Hickman said. “And if I read my tricorder right they’re good nutrition.  Bronowski and Daggin asked us to keep an eye out for any opportunities to add to the Garden.” 

“You two traded my half of the stash for outdated tomatoes?” Biddle raised one eyebrow, though his grin took the sting out of the words.

“Think of it as future ratatouille,” Baytart said, with a winning smile, which Russel tried not to notice. Well. Overly much, at least. 

“Cing’ta to Russell,” the Bolian’s voice came over his combadge, and Russell frowned, tapping it. It was strange the Lieutenant was communicating with him from the Pel, rather than waiting for him to return with another box. It didn’t bode well.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“We’ve got company.”

They all turned, and sure enough, a quartet of people were approaching, still at the other side of the landing port, but their attention—and their stride—made it clear they were heading their way.

“That’s the Magistrate’s assistant,” Eudana said. “And some of this watch.” 

“Get these last boxes into the Pel,” Russell said, having already recognized the grey tunics from the market place. “Tell Cing’ta to keep his head down.”

The others took a moment to gather most of the last of the traded goods. Russell himself lifted the last two pieces remaining, a pair of canisters, but he waited, putting an amiable smile on his face as the official approached. 

Unlike the other Sikarians they’d encountered, the man in the lead of the quartet wasn’t smiling, and his approach didn’t slow until he was a step or two away. Dark haired, with fair skin and small lines around his grey-blue eyes that made Russell thing the man didn’t smile nearly as often as he frowned, the official didn’t waste any time.

“These people are human,” he said, aiming the word—and the less-than-pleasant emotion behind it—at Eudana.

“That’s right,” Russell said, trying to take the focus away from the woman who’d helped them. If there was blowback, he didn’t want it to land on her. “We are. Is there something I can do for you?” He kept his smile in place.

“The only humans our people have encountered in the past were from a starship called Voyager,” the official said. As he spoke, the slender wire ornaments in his slicked back hair seemed to vibrate more and more, as though his frustration were feeding them with kinetic energy. It was all Russell could do to keep his gaze on the man’s pale eyes. 

“Yes,” Russell said again, nodding. “That’s right. We came to make some trades.”

“They received a trading permit,” Eudana said. “And their trades included no restricted items, as I’m sure you already know.” 

The man glowered at her, then back at Russell. “The Sikaris Magistrate revoked visitation rights for Voyager and her crew.”

“But this is Tekestria,” Eudana said, and for a slight, doe-eyed woman, she stood firm, face-to-face with the official. “And these people have done nothing wrong here.”

The official’s expression soured even further. He swallowed whatever he wanted to say—and it was very clear he wanted to say something to Eudana, especially—and faced Russell again.

“You may not be guilty of any crimes here,” the official said. “But we both know you are far from innocent.”

“Nevertheless,” Eudana said. “The deals are done, and the trades were all approved.” 

“Your role on Tekestria is important, Eudana,” the official said. “But sometimes I think you overestimate the latitude you think it provides you. I suggest you make your travel requests again. I believe the Magistrate is likely to approve them now.”

The official turned and walked away without another word.

“I think your group should probably leave as soon as you can,” Eudana said, facing him.

“You too, it sounds like,” Russell said. 

“He’s not wrong,” she said. “As an planetary atmospheric controller, I do have some freedoms others don’t, but I think helping you will be enough to get me reassigned to Dedestria. And likely demoted.” She didn’t sound at all upset by the prospect.

Russell glanced at her, and saw the sly smile on her face, and realized this had been part of Eudana’s endgame the whole time. She wanted off Tekestria, she’d said. Upsetting the powers-that-be might very well have accomplished that.

“Well played,” he said, wondering how much of her help had ever been genuinely motivated.

“It was nice to meet you, Dennis,” she said, and then turned and left him there. 

He carried the last of their goods onto the Pel. Cing’ta was waiting for him the moment the rear door closed.

“Everything okay?” the big Bolian asked.

“Get Pablo—Ensign Baytart—to ask clearance to leave sooner rather than later,” Russell said.

Cing’ta’s deep blue face cracked the tiniest of smiles at Russell’s use of ‘Pablo’ before he nodded and went to the cockpit. Ballard was still there with her PADD, as was Meyer, but Hickman and Bittle must have been up front as well.

Ballard’s lips were also doing a not-quite-smile.

Great. Between Ballard and Cing’ta, no doubt he hadn’t even begun to endure the friendly “advice” coming his way. 

“We’ve been given permission to launch,” Baytart’s voice came over the ship-wide comm. “We good back there?”

“We’re good,” Russell said, noting Meyer tying down the last of the traded goods. 

In less than ten minutes, the Pel was in the air.

*

“I think I understand what’s going on,” Ensign Bennet said, raising his voice to be heard over the other, lower-voiced murmurings coming from most of the stations around Commander Ro and Colonel Attra. 

They’d been in the command centre for nearly an hour now, and at Ro’s request, Colonel Attra had allowed Lieutenant Rollins and Ensign Macormack to join them. Macormack had stood by Ro near the Colonel, while Rollins had been involved in a conversation with Major Botia for most of the time since arriving, no doubt chatting strategies. 

“Walk me through it,” Ro said, moving to the station where Bennet and the Kolhari technician—Ro still hadn’t caught the man’s name—had been working. Colonel Attra followed with her, and it didn’t take long fro Rollins and the Major to join them, either. 

“This is the source of the problem,” Bennet said, calling up a display on the technician’s screen. The three large Kazon vessels were marked, as was a large slice of the leading edge of the planetary defence field. 

And between the two…

“What is that, exactly?” Ro said, frowning. Because to her, the display looked very much like a communication signal, but surely that couldn’t be enough to disrupt the defence field.

“It’s a carrier wave,” Bennet said. “Or, rather, it’s three carrier waves.” 

“A comm signal?” Rollins said, and Ro didn’t blame him for the confusion. 

“I don’t understand,” Attra said, turning to the technician. “How is a comm signal bringing down the defence field?”

“Think of it like a… tuning fork,” Bennet said, but when that made both Ro and Attra shake their heads, he paused, considering. “When two people sing a particular note, there’s an interaction between the sounds that creates a third note you can hear,” he said, speaking a bit slower, his grey-green eyes tracking both Ro and Attra.

“Right,” Ro said. The Colonel nodded, too.

“They’re using three signals to create three more, each signal interacting with the other two,” Bennet said, and beside him, the technician tapped on the interface and a triangle of lines formed between the three Kazon vessels, with points formed mid-way between each line between the Kazon ships. 

“And those new wave signals interact the same way,” the technician said, a smaller triangle forming between the highlighted points on bisecting the original lines.

“And again, and again,” Bennet said, waving a hand as the image created more and more triangles inside triangles. “The end result is a kind of lance of interconnected interference that’s parting the tetryons. There are so many layers of waves at play it’s affecting the tetryons despite the multiplicity of vectors inherent to the tetryon flow. Basically, they’re coming up with so many contingencies, more and more of the tetryons are being stymied.”

“And you said this is a Federation based move?” Ro said. If it was, she hadn’t heard of it before, but then again, foiling a planet-sized tetryon defence system wasn’t something she imagined had come up in the Alpha Quadrant.  

“I’ve been inside the Trabe ships, Commander,” Bennet said. “Their comm systems don’t have signal output capable of this level of precision. These have been upgraded, and they’ve been upgraded to a Federation spec.”

“Durst,” Ro said. Beside her, Rollins stiffened.

“He’s your man who went rogue and joined the Kazon?” Major Botia said.

Rollins managed a stiff nod. 

“How do we stop it?” Colonel Attra said. 

Bennet let out a breath. Beside him, the technician stared at the screen, his expression grim.

“Colonel,” the technician finally said. “I don’t know that we can. Like Rick said, their signal strength is much better than ours, and far more precise.” 

“Do you have any ideas, Ensign?” Ro said, because Bennet’s jaw was tightening, and he looked physically pained. 

He glanced up at her, hesitating. 

“Go ahead,” she said.

“The only ways I can see to stop the signal are to stop it at the source—either by turning it off or by destroying one of the ships—or to send an inverted carrier wave that cancels out one or more of the three source signals entirely,” Bennet said. “But the Kolhari don’t have the transmission set-up they’d need for a precise enough signal.”

“Can we do it with the shuttles?” Ro said. This was, in part, due to Durst’s influence. She’d argue they had the responsibility to do what they could to reduce his impact. 

“No, Commander,” Bennet said. “There’s a reason they’re using Predator-class ships. What they’re doing takes a lot of power.” 

“At least it’s only three of them,” the technician said. “We still don’t have any raiders or fighters on our sensor grid. If they take down the field, it will be bad, but our fleet and our ground-based weapons should be able to deal with them if they come close to the planet.”

“They won’t,” Major Botia said. “They won’t com anywhere near us.”

Ro had to agree, and from the grim look on Rollins’s face, she saw he was on the same page. 

“It’s proof of concept,” Colonel Attra said, answering the technician’s confused expression. “If they can take down the defence field, then they’ll leave, and come back with an invading force later, knowing they can take down our screen whenever they want—assuming we can even get the field back up by then. That’s why they’re doing it from the edge of the system.” 

The technician, already pale, went whiter still. 

“Then we need to disprove their concept,” Ro said. She turned to the technician. “How long before the defence field is breached?”

“The randomness of the tetryons makes it hard to be exact,” the man said. “But our best estimate is six hours.” 

“Bennet,” Ro said. “How long would it take you to help the Kolhari get their communications up to what they’d need to counteract the Kazon?”

“I feel like the answer needs to be ‘less than six hours?’” Bennet said, swallowing.

“I can help,” Macormack said. “I know my way around transmitters.” 

“With your permission?” Ro said, turning to face the Colonel.

Colonel Attra nodded sharply. “Get on it,” she said, encompassing most of the room, which burst into activity. 

“I’ll take you to our closest transmitter,” the technician said, already rising. Bennet and Macormack went with him. 

Once the initial rush of people moving died down, Ro looked up to see Lieutenant Rollins had waited. She looked at him. “Go ahead, say it,” she said.

“We have a responsibility to counteract anything Durst has done to affect the balance of power in this quadrant, Commander,” Rollins said, with a faint little smile. “You’re doing the right thing.” 

She cracked a small smile of her own. “I wasn’t expecting that, to be honest.”

“Ever read about the planet Neural?” Rollins said.

Ro had a vague memory of the name. “Pre-warp planet, but something to do with the Klingons?”

Rollins nodded. “Klingons gave some of the natives weapons. A Federation captain decided the only way to balance things out was to give the rest of the natives similar weapons.”

Ro exhaled. “The last thing I want to do is upgrade anyone’s weapons.”

“Agreed,” Rollins said. “But in this case, I think we can both argue the need to put the Kolhari back on even footing with the Kazon, given it’s our fault they’re in trouble.”

Our fault. Ro couldn’t help but notice the way Rollins said the words. To hear ears, it sounded a lot more like my fault.

*

“There’s a lot of atmospheric disturbance,” Cavit said from the ops station of the Ochoa. “But I think I can compensate—it seems to be fading.” Beside him, Ensign Strickler had the conn, and behind them both, Alcia and Gara had what remained of the seating space on the class-2 shuttle. 

“We believe that’s what happened to our vessel,” Alcia said. The electrokinetic storms on the moon can come up suddenly, and can overwhelm even a skilled pilot.” Her worry was a near-palpable thing in the small space.

“The other Drayan ships are launching as well, Captain,” Strickler said. “They’ll be a few minutes more.” 

“We’ll find them,” Gara’s voice was soft behind Cavit, and he imagined the Ocampa was feeling the stress from the First Prelate. Stadi had told him numerous times that Gara had a natural telepathic flair at catching the emotional state of those around her. 

“This used to be my job, before I was made first officer,” Cavit said, injecting confidence into his voice as well as calm. “Okay, I’ve compensated for the residual fallout from the storms. We won’t be beaming anywhere, but I’ve got a clear picture of… there.” He tapped on his controls. “There are signs of impact at one-eight mark one-one-nine, Ensign.”

“I’ve got it, Captain,” Strickler said. She glanced over her shoulder at the First Prelate. “It might be a bit bumpy, but I can get us down close to the crash site.”

“I’m reading four lifesigns,” Cavit said. 

“Four?” The First Prelate’s voice tightened in anguish. The inference that four was fewer than there should be was clear to all of them. 

“Take us down, Ensign,” Cavit said gently.  

Stricker’s landing was smoother than Cavit thought it might be, given the last of the passing storm, and he gave her a little nod of respect once the Ochoa touched down. No sooner had Gara opened the rear of the shuttle than Alcia was in motion, and when Cavit went to follow her, Gara touched his arm.

“She’s very afraid,” Gara said. “And not just for the survivors. She’s afraid of us, Captain. Or… worried about us, I think.” 

Cavit blinked at that, but nodded, and followed, stepping out into a jungle-like environment, green and warm and lush, loud with the sounds of birds and insects, and a warm breeze rich with the scent of flora. The sun broke through in short beams above them, and he, Gara, and Strickler headed for the crash site together, following after the First Prelate, who had left almost at a run.

The crash had clearly been a rough one, though it was largely upright. The trail of broken trees and deep groove cut into the earth behind the ship spoke of a high-speed impact, but the four survivors weren’t immediately apparent. Cavit tried his tricorder, approaching Alcia where she stood, just to the side of the medium sized craft, which looked to Cavit to be about the size of a small personnel carrier. A dozen people, perhaps, could have ridden in this.

“The attendants are dead,” Alcia said, looking through the shattered front of the shuttle’s cockpit. “They will be alone.”

They? Cavit wanted to ask, but Gara touched his forearm again, and nodded her head to one side. He looked and…

Four children stood at the edge of the woods, staring out at them with wide, worried eyes. Unlike every Drayan Cavit had met thus far, these four wore brighter colours, and had no veils, though the little triangular patches at their widow’s peaks were unmistakable. 

“First Prelate,” Cavit said quietly, and when Alcia looked at him, he faced the woods.

“Hello,” Alcia said. She knelt down, holding out her hands. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” one of the children spoke, a little boy with light brown skin. Cavit wondered if this was Corin, the one Alcia’s aide Goron had mentioned. “Fayla’s gone. The Morrok took her.” 

“The Morrok?” Cavit said, pulling out his tricorder and scanning. 

“There is no Morrok,” Alcia said, her voice still gentle. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, but it will be all right now.”

“It took Fayla and now she’s gone!” A little girl with pale skin, brown hair, and large, sorrowful eyes spoke this time. “It’s going to take all of us. I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Cavit said. “We can take you home.”

“Captain,” Alcia said, her voice tight again, as though her anxiety had returned despite the recovery of the children. “I thank you for your help, but you should go now.”

He blinked. 

“Don’t leave us with her,” another little boy said. “She sent us here to die!” 

Cavit’s mouth opened, and he turned to Alcia, expecting her to brush off the statement.

Instead, she looked sorrowful.

“Captain,” Gara said, moving to Cavit’s side. “I don’t think we understand everything going on here.”

“You don’t,” Alcia said, taking a breath. “This is a critical time. I can't allow you to interfere.”

“What does that little boy mean, Alcia?” Cavit said, a cold rush sending a shiver down his back. “Did you send these children here to harm them?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to use a harsher word.

“It’s you doing the harm,” Alcia said, and to her credit, she sounded genuinely worried. “You simply don't understand.”

“Can you explain it to me?” Cavit said. 

Above them, the faint rumble of something began to echo in the distance. 

“Drayan shuttle,” Strickler said, eyeing her tricorder. “A few minutes out still.”

“Please don’t make us die,” the little girl who’d spoken before pleaded.

“First Prelate?” Cavit said. 

“It is not a choice, this is her time,” Alcia said. “She has reached the end of her life.”

Cavit stared at her. “They’re children.”

“No,” Alcia said, shaking her head. “She is ninety six years old. They all are. You don’t understand because you’re outsiders. Your aging process is reversed.”

Cavit frowned, but Gara tilted her head. “She’s telling the truth, Captain.”

Alcia took a step toward the children, and as a group, they shuffled back. 

“No, leave us alone,” the little girl said.

“I’m here to help you.” Alcia stopped moving, raising her hands.  “It's perfectly natural to be frightened. You're taking a step into the unknown. The attendants would have helped you prepare yourself. You were never meant to face this time alone.”

“The monster?” the little boy said.

“There is no monster,” Alcia said. “It only exists in stories.” She glanced back at Cavit. “They’re easily confused, their memories become clouded. They’re completely innocent, and their fears can overwhelm them. At the end, we free ourselves from all responsibilities to this life and we leave it peacefully.”

“There is no monster,” the boy said again, as though he was trying out the statement. Some of the worry on his face smoothed away. “Crysata?” he said.

Cavit didn’t know the word. He eyed Gara, but she shook her head.

“That’s right,” Alcia said, her gentle voice rising in praise. “This is a normal biological process which begins the day we are created. The energy in our bodies holds together for our lives, then releases. And we come here. To the Crysata.” 

The two little girls reached out to each other, holding hands. “We wanted to come here?” The one that had yet to speak, who had short black hair and deep brown eyes, seemed unsure, but also like she was speaking of something she half-remembered. “We wanted to come here.” The second time she spoke, her voice was clearer. A declaration, not a question.

“This is where the very first spark of life was created,” Alcia said. “We all want to return here at the end, to complete the cycle and rejoin the infinite energy.”

The children paused.

“Do you feel it calling to you?” Alcia asked, her voice a well of compassion.

The first little boy nodded slowly. After a moment, they all did.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Gara said, and Cavit turned to her, surprised she’d addressed the children directly. Alcia turned to the Ocampa as well, her own expression guarded. “They’re afraid to go alone,” Gara said, speaking as much to Alcia as Cavit, he thought. 

“I can go with you,” Alcia said. 

For a long moment, none of the children spoke. Finally, the little girl nodded again.

“Okay.” 

“We’ll wait for you here, First Prelate,” Cavit said.

Alcia turned to him, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Captain.”

This time, when she walked to the children, they waited for her, and reached out their hands. She gathered them in a group hug for a beat or two, then straightened, and said, “It’s this way.”

They walked away together.

Cavit looked at Gara, who was still staring off in the direction the children had gone, but he would have bet she wasn’t seeing what was right in front of her. “Gara?” he said.

“I can feel them. The children—well, no, they’re not children, are they?—but…” She shook her head. “That sense I get from the Drayans, the fizziness?” 

“Yes?” Cavit said.

“I think that’s the energy the First Prelate was speaking of. It felt different in those four. Like it was… loosening, ready to slip free.” She put a hand to her chest, closing her eyes. “It’s actually quite a lovely feeling, really.” 

“Are they really that old?” Strickler said. 

“I believe her,” Gara said. “I think so, yes.”

“I’d love to learn more about how they’re born,” Strickler said. “She made it sound like they… coalesced.”

“I don’t think they intended us to ever know,” Cavit said. “And I don’t think we should ask. I just hope we’ve done right by those… elders.” If that was even the right word.

“I promise you,” Gara said. “Once Alcia explained it to those four? They were at peace with this.”

Cavit looked back at the woods where the figures had vanished. 

Peace. Oddly enough, helping during this time with the Drayans made Cavit feel the same way. 

“Peace,” he said, liking the sound of the word spoken aloud.

*

Ro fought the urge to ask Bennet for an update. The engineer and all the Kolhari technicians—and Ensign Macormack, for that matter—hadn’t slowed down once since Bennet had first proposed the improvements to their communication transmitters. The deficits had struck Ro as a fascinating example of a human saying Captain Cavit sometimes used when it came to discussions technology: necessity was the mother of invention. 

The Kolhari had an abundance of power. Their technology, as a result, didn’t seemed to often lend itself to finesse or streamlining. Their communications were no exception. Bennet had seen that right away, explaining to Ro that the Kolhari didn’t try to be precise with their comm systems because they had all the power they needed to boost the signal louder and louder.

That part, at least, was going to work in their favor. 

But they did need a measure of precision here, and that—she knew—was responsible for the tightening of Bennet’s jaw. 

Rollins and Major Botia joined her in the communication building, and she realized she hadn’t even noticed them arrive, she’d been watching Bennet and the others so intently. 

She met Rollins’s gaze, raising one eyebrow. 

“Less than an hour,” Rollins said, answering the unspoken question before turning his blue eyes to the wall of technology Bennet, Macormack, and the technicians had been working on for multiple hours already. 

“Bennet,” Ro said, and the ensign passed a tool to one of the Kolhari before stepping away to join her. “How are we doing?” she said.

He took a deep breath, aiming his answer as much at the Major as he did at her. “The good news is your comm towers and subspace dishes are all capable of handling the specificity of the narrow counter-carrier wave we need.”

“The bad news?” Major Botia said.

“I’m worried about the power balance,” Bennet said. “Too much, and the carrier wave will be affected—it’ll broaden, which won’t work—and too little, and it won’t reach the Kazon vessels and… that wouldn’t work, either.” He sighed. “Your engineers are used to just throwing more power at the problem, and it shows in your hardware—so much of Kolhari design is about channelling and funnelling the heavy flow of tetryon-based power, and…” He seemed to realize he’d slipped into too much detail, and shook his head. “Sorry. You don’t need all the information. Mostly what I’ve done comes down to building relays and power converters your people already theoretically knew how to build but never needed to build, and then giving them some pointers on how to narrow down a carrier wave.”

“How soon can you try?” Ro said, offering him a small smile of encouragement, but needing him to understand they were almost out of time. When Alex had suggested Bennet given his background in tetryon-based power, she’d accepted his judgement, but she was starting to realize just how lucky they were to have the man on Voyager.

“I’ve been watching the clock,” Bennet said. “I know we’re almost out of time. At this point, we’re just installing more relays to help avoid overloading the carrier wave with too much background noise from the power source itself. Can I have ten more minutes?”

Ro turned to Major Botia. It was her call. She’d have to answer to the Colonel.

“Ten minutes,” Botia said.

The time somehow passed too quickly and inexorably, and Bennet and the technicians closed most of the panels—though some remained open, portions of their systems no longer contained in what used to contain them. Major Botia called it, almost down to the second, and Bennet, Macormack, and the other technicians stepped back. 

“We’ve sent instructions to all the other subspace-capable communication hubs, Major,” one of the technicians said. “But we’re the only ones who are ready.”

“Then by all means,” the Major said. “Send the carrier wave.”

The technician moved to a console, and Bennet joined him, standing near, but not sitting. Both watched the screen. “If this works, it should be obvious within a few minutes,” Bennet said. 

Macormack was beside him now, and after another moment, Major Botia joined them. Ro considered hanging back, then gave up on the pretence. She wanted to know as soon as possible herself.

“If this doesn’t work,” Botia said, dropping her voice to be somewhat private between herself and Ro. “We’ve got our ships ready to launch, and we’ll launch and cover your shuttles so you can leave, just in case the Kazon ships decide to take some shots at you on your way out. You’ve done everything you can to help us, and the Colonel wants to make sure you get on your way safely.”

“Thank you,” Ro said. She shared a glance with Rollins, who clenched his jaw. 

She wondered if he was thinking about he possibility of Durst being on one of those ships. She knew she was. 

“The transmitter is stable,” Bennet said. “And the carrier wave is within parameters, though I wish we could have tightened it a bit more.”

“The next tower can tighten the power flow,” the technician said. “It would have taken us too long.”

Bennet just nodded.

On the screen, the lattice of triangles representing the carrier wave lance formed by the Kazon ships looked he same to Ro. She braced herself for disappointment, and was about to task Macormack and Rollins with getting the shuttles ready when…

Had the lattice just shifted slightly?

“There,” Bennet said. “Look.” He pointed, and once again, the pattern of triangles-within-triangles seemed to ripple, one side of the outermost triangle warping slightly. 

“It’s working,” Bennet said, and he grinned, turning to face them. “It’s working.”

Ro kept her gaze on the display. The ripple was growing. 

“I’m getting some heat in the transmitter,” one of the technicians said. “It’s still within tolerance, but it’s rising.”

Major Botia leaned forward. “Is that enough? What’s happening with the defence sphere?”

A second technician tapped on his screen, and the image of the planetary defence field appeared. It was far more frayed and indistinct than it had ever been, but as Ro watched, the oddly worn spot that had been forming seemed to shrink the slightest amount.

Or had she imagined it?

“Look,” Bennet said, and she turned back to the first display in time to see the ripple had turned into something closer to outright tremors, and—between blinks—the whole thing fell to pieces. The “lance” the three carrier waves had formed completely collapsed. 

A cheer went up around the room, and Ro found herself grinning as she straightened and met Major Botia’s delighted smile. Then she turned to congratulate Bennet, only to see Macormack grab the engineer and pull him in for a congratulatory kiss. Bennet blinked, his grey-green eyes widening for a startled moment, before he wrapped his arms around her and returned it in kind. 

Macormack recovered first, stepping back and seeming to realize where she was. She cleared her throat. 

“Well done,” she said to Bennet, her dark brown eyes all for him, then turned and took a few steps away to speak with Rollins, who was grinning at both of them with openly visible mirth.

“Th-Thanks,” he managed to say to her retreating back. He coughed.  

Ro leaned closer to the ensign. “For the record?” she said. “That was most definitely a sign.”

Bennet turned pink, and before he could say anything to make this moment even more awkward, Ro left him, returning to Major Botia.

*

After parting ways with Gara and Strickler in the Main Shuttlebay and letting Jetal and McMinn organize unloading the shuttle, Cavit paused to ask the computer where he could find Lieutenant Honigsberg, so he could share the good news.

“Lieutenant Honigsberg is in the Arboretum.” 

Cavit cracked a small smile at the computer’s voice. Apparently, someone in the systems engineering team had updated the computer’s references to the former Crew’s Lounge, which was more or less below where he was standing. 

He took the turbolift down one floor, and entered the space, and then paused at the sight that greeted him. 

Both Lieutenant Honigsberg and Doctor Fitzgerald were on short ladders, climbing them to reach the upper branches of the Kona trees, alongside Ensign Bronowski, who appeared to be giving them instruction. They all had small canisters as well, and unless he was mistaken, they were picking tiny red fruit from the trees themselves, and being very selective of how they did so.

He crossed the space to the middle of the room, noticing more than a few of the sitting areas were full of gold-uniformed crew. Engineering staff, taking a break. He could smell the ubiquitous ginger-scent of marob-root tea as well, and noticed someone had set up a small station of the drink on one of the far tables, near the memorial plaques. 

“Do I want to ask?” he said, once he was close enough the three men could hear him without raising his voice.

“Captain,” Honigsberg said, taking a second to drop a bright red fruit into his canister before he sort of glanced around like a cadet caught out of uniform. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were back.”

“You still have fifteen minutes left before this group goes back on shift,” Fitzgerald said, not even pausing in his efforts to comb through the long strands that bore the fruit. He glanced up at Cavit, his steely blue eyes full of amusement. “The engineering staff and I came to an understanding about breaks,” Fitzgerald said. “They’re ahead of schedule, everything is more than on track, and so I put my foot down. Or, well, I put it up a ladder. And Bronowski was happy for the help.” 

Ensign Doug Bronowski looked like he’d rather curl up into a ball than get involved in the conversation, but he managed a little nod in Cavit’s direction. “The first of the Kona kernels are ripening, and some of the delta gooseberry bushes, too.”

“It’s fine,” Cavit said, and he meant it. “You pick the coffee by hand?” 

“You only pick the fruit when it’s completely red,” Fitzgerald said, plucking one off to hold out. “And inside this rather sweet and peppery fruit, is the most wondrous thing.”

“A coffee bean?” Cavit said, chuckling.

“Two coffee beans,” Fitzgerald said. 

Honigsberg, clearly unable to stand the humiliation of being up a ladder picking fruit in the presence of his Captain, climbed down, putting his canister down. “How did it go with the Drayans, Captain?”

“It went well. I have about two-thirds of the polyferranide you asked for,” Cavit tried to soften the blow a bit. “I’m afraid the full amount wasn’t possible for multiple reasons.” 

“That’s more than enough,” Honigsberg said, rubbing his goatee and smiling. “The full amount was to give us a healthy stockpile. Two-thirds is…” He grinned, then turned to look up at Fitzgerald. “Doc? Please?” 

Fitzgerald leaned against the top of the ladder. “Fine. But no more than one shift. I mean it. If you don’t rotate off, I will track you down.” 

“Deal,” Honigsberg said. Then he turned to one of the groups sitting at the tables. “We have all the polyferranide we need. Anyone up for some processing work?” 

Half the engineers in the room cheered, rose, or made other gestures of approval. Ensign Orlando even applauded. They were gone moments later, Alex leading the way. 

Cavit peered into the canister Honigsberg had left behind. “How much coffee will you get out of these trees, anyway?”

Bronowski paused, tilting his head. “They’re very healthy. Each tree could easily give us two thousand cherries if we tend them well. Six trees, two beans a cherry…” Bronowski lifted one shoulder. “Two point seven five kilograms, once they’re roasted?” 

Cavit considered. “Is that a lot?” It didn’t sound like a lot.

“Three hundred cups, maybe?” Bronowski said. “At least, if you add as much milk as Doctor Fitzgerald does.”

“Hey now,” Fitzgerald said. “I’m up here helping you pick those cherries, Doug.” 

“I didn’t mean it as a criticism,” Bronowski said, with such honest bafflement Cavit had to hide a smile. Bronowski was a good man, but he didn’t have much of a sense of humour. 

“Fair enough,” Fitzgerald said. “Better you saying it than the Captain.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Cavit said, though he’d had every intention of needling the doctor’s love of very milky coffee.

“I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, Captain,” Bronowski said, coming back to the point. “But the cherries won’t go to waste either,” Bronowski said. “Eru is planning on making Cascara—it’s a kind of tea, I think—and they’re naturally sweet and have a caffeine kick. She has a lot of ideas for them, including making flour, and whatever we don’t use will make a rich compost for the Gardens.” 

Flour, tea, and coffee. Cavit smiled. “Do you think any other Federation ship out there is making their own flour from coffee cherries?” 

“I don’t imagine so, sir,” Bronowski said, his straightforward tone not changing at all. 

Fitzgerald aimed an amused glance at Cavit around the tree, out of Bronowski’s line of sight. 

“You’re climbing trees now?” The voice came from behind them, and Cavit turned. When Dimur caught sight of Cavit, there was a brief hesitation in the man’s expression, but it passed when he turned his attention back to Fitzgerald, replaced by a wide grin. The Trabe man looked up at Fitzgerald with such obvious fondness Cavit could practically feel it radiating from the man’s dark brown eye.

“Is it that time already?” Fitzgerald said. 

“It is, but…” Dimur’s smile widened. “Do you two want some help?” 

“I won’t turn it down,” Bronowski said. 

“I’ll leave you to your harvest,” Cavit said. “I need to go make my log entries and check in with the other missions.” He paused, and faced the Trabe man. “Good to see you, Dimur.” They’d had a rocky patch when evidence had painted Dimur out to be a suspected traitor, feeding information to the Kazon, and he wanted to take the opportunity to show some warmth to the man.

Especially given the direction Dimur’s relationship with Doctor Fitzgerald seemed to be taking.

“Thank you, Captain,” Dimur said, with a trace of that hesitation from before, but at least it was only a trace. 

Cavit didn’t miss the grateful look from Fitzgerald, either. 

*

Captain’s Log, Stardate 49597.7. Over the last week, Chief Honigsberg has restored all systems, including getting both nacelle Bussard ramscoops back to eighty-five percent efficiency, which is better than we could have hoped for without making planetfall. The omicron particle production of antimatter has returned us to full power, and the last of the crew temporarily housed on the Trabe ships are returning to Voyager, and then we’ll be underway again at warp. All three of our trading missions were successful. Russell’s team brought back star charts that Taitt believes puts another Sikarian planet, Dedestria, somewhat on our path, though whether or not we divert for a visit will depend on our supply situation once we get there, sometime just before the end of the year, and whether or not we want to risk another interaction with the Sikarians. Another possible stop more directly on our path has been suggested by Commander Ro, who learned of a Kolhari trading colony that went silent. It is mentioned in the Talaxian database, but the information is long out of date from when the Kolhari say they lost contact. According to Commander Ro, the Kolhari people would very much like to know what happened, and though we won’t be able to go back and tell them, I think we’ll make it our next destination—we could always send a message back to the Kolhari by probe, if it comes to it. Finally, my own time with the Drayans was honestly restorative, as well as successful.  

Cavit finished recording his log at his Ready Room desk, looking out at the view of the nebula that had been a constant companion over the last week. He leaned forward again, and tapped a few more commands into the monitor, waiting for the trill that told him it was recording.

“Personal log, supplemental,” he said. “This morning, I had a cup of cascara, and a frittata made with Arde potatoes, Rakosan greens, and Gamma-quadrant plomeek, and I don’t know how many spices from however many worlds.” He took a breath, smiling. “And for the first time in a long while it struck me that every single piece of my meal came from friendships we’ve made, and connections we’ve forged here in the Delta Quadrant.” He paused. “We’re growing coffee, on the other side of the galaxy. When we hit a wall, I intend to remind myself of all the things we’ve accomplished. Because even though I may not have been promoted to this position, and I don’t have Starfleet to call on, I do have something other Captains don’t have. I have the best damn crew in Starfleet.”

He tapped the monitor, ending the recording, and then went back to the Bridge.