Chapter 1
The trip from Risa to Opperline III was going to take a long time. It was the longest amount of time I could ever remember being on a starship. And the U.S.S. Ludwig was a galaxy class. When the Federation first gave me the itinerary it was shocking. Three weeks in a galaxy class? It'd felt unbelievable even then, standing on Risa with my bags packed. But looking out the window of the observation lounge on the Ludwig, space seemed to vibrate around me like a tuning fork. It was the first time I realized how far away from home I was really going. Something about looking out those windows made my teeth feel electric.
Those three weeks gave me a lot of time to think. Most of our complement had already arrived on Opperline III and begun preliminary work on the planet's surface months ago. Only three other members of my terraforming team were onboard with me; Louise and David Greenblatt, a husband and wife (a biologist and a molecular chemist, respectively) and a strange, surly older man named Piers Farthing with gnarled hands who kept to himself. I never ended up figuring out what exactly his specialty was. He didn't volunteer. I never bothered to ask.
I was to be the group's chief (and basically only) botanist. I'd gotten the position pretty unexpectedly. I'd sent in my prospective-terraformation application only three months before I actually got the assignment, and the whole thing had seemed kind of hasty. Especially by Federation standards. When they first sent word I was incredibly surprised. I hadn't even expected an update to move that quickly through the mammoth bureaucracy's grinding teeth, let alone a decision. I figured the message would be a cursory "we've received and processed your application, we'll let you know." Terraforming missions were ludicrously competitive and the waiting list could be years long for the best assignments.
But a decision was what they had made. They told me the position had opened up unexpectedly because, after several departure delays, the previously assigned botanist had found it necessary to remove himself from the mission for personal reasons. Something about a sick mother. If I took the position, I'd ship out in three weeks. I didn't really buy the excuse about the other botanist then, but I didn't think about it too much. Once onboard the Ludwig it struck me that he might have come to the same realization I had, just a lot sooner. Opperline III was really far away.
Three weeks was not a lot of time to get one's ducks in a row for a probably-indefinite deployment to parts unknown, and I told the Federation as much, not that I had many ducks to begin with. They hemmed and hawed about how I wasn't commissioned. They threw in a pension plan. I said yes.
I would've said yes even without the pension plan. I didn't tell them, but frankly when I closed the comm channel and realized I'd be leaving Risa (for probably the last time) in less than a month I was elated. It felt like I'd won the lottery. The next day I walked into the Risa Land and Sea Beautification Commission's office and handed in my letter of resignation. I had to field a few concerned messages and a few very concerned conversations over drinks with friends in the coming weeks. Those conversations escalated quickly in their urgency as time slipped away from us and my friends realized yes I was serious and no I probably wouldn't be coming back. Everyone kept asking me "why, Sylvia?" It bothered me a little when I realized I didn't have a good answer but probably not as much as it bothered them.
On the Ludwig, though, the question felt a little more pressing. Sure, I hadn't been happy on Risa, but I hadn't exactly been happy anytime I'd left Risa either. I'd tried out starbases, I'd tried out starships. I probably would've even tried out Earth, if there'd been a way to get there besides Star Fleet (or being born there– both options obviously out of my reach). So why did I think this would be any different? I'd always gone back to Risa after maybe a month or two. But it wasn't ever because I missed Risa.
There certainly wasn't anything or anyone for me there. The slow, leisurely pace drove me crazy. The whole planet was overrun with a dangerous combination of hedonism and liminality. Tourists were always coming and going, but living there felt like being sucked into a morass. Sure, the weather was nice. Sure, it was beautiful. But even that allure started to vanish once I worked for the agency making sure it stayed that way. The whole place was lush, moist and stagnant. Perfect growing conditions for mold. It'd been exactly the same since before I'd been born, it stayed the same throughout my entire childhood and adolescence there, and I always had the feeling it'd be that way long after I was dead.
Something about the hurried shuffle and muted beige of the Ludwig gave me the exact same feeling, so when we finally arrived at Opperline III I was nothing short of relieved. There were about a hundred of us there: geologists, the ecology team, climate specialists, chemists, a security detail. The planet itself was small but gorgeous, all verdant grasses and strange temperate forests. We were stationed a few hundred miles north of the equator, and the weather was good if a little cold for my taste. The agriculture team told me it was ideal for growing the kinds of Terran plants native to the American continents. We weren't a particularly tight-knit group, but we were certainly all friendly and professional. I never felt alone there, though maybe a little lonely. Colonists were expected to arrive eventually, but probably not until a year and a half into the mission if we kept to our Federation-prescribed schedule.
I'd only been there for a month when the Romulans came.
The weather that day felt like early spring. A chill nipped at my hands and ears but it was crisp and sunny. I was in one of my greenhouses, humming gently, tending to an orchid. I had just paused my scans to look out over the agricultural team's beautiful, green-budding wheat field when I began to hear a low hum.
It was so soft at first I could've convinced myself sasaI'd imagined it; almost more a suggestion of sound than sound itself. As it grew louder, though, the timbre of the vibrations became unmistakable. It was the sound of an electromagnetic field. I turned my head from left to right, trying to determine its point of origin, but it seemed like it was coming from all directions. I paused. All directions? But that could only mean-
I pulled my now-useless comm unit from my uniform's pocket just in time to hear the unmistakable sound and see the unmistakable shimmer of a transport beam as two Romulans materialized into shape just outside the entrance to my greenhouse. I shouted into my comm unit.
"Fonesca to security! Two Romulan-"
A crash. The door to my greenhouse had been kicked in, and the two Romulans burst inside, disruptors pointed at my chest.
"Drop the comm unit," said the Romulan closest to me "and raise your arms. Make no sudden movements or I will fire, and I warn you: I will only fire once. Cooperate and we will grant you the gift of your life."
I wondered at the phrasing: 'you shall receive the gift of your life'. It almost seemed like a joke, but I supposed there wasn't anything particularly funny about the situation, as I stood there, comm unit still in hand. Had my previous message gotten through, or was that the point of the electromagnetic field? Either way, there was nothing I could do about it now. I dropped the comm unit and it fell with a thud onto the packed-dirt floor of the greenhouse. Slowly, I raised my arms. So much for winning the fucking lottery.
The first Romulan gestured for the second to advance.
"Confiscate her weapons." he said.
"I don't have-"
"Silence!"
I shut up. The second Romulan walked behind me and frisked my legs and sides, pulling my tricorder and my gardening shears from my pockets. He then picked my comm unit up from the ground.
"No weapons Subcommander Bochra,"
Subcommander Bochra grit his teeth.
"Her boots, Antecenturion, quickly."
The Antecenturrion hurriedly kneeled and stuffed his hands inside my boots, feeling around. After a few moments he stood.
"Still no weapons Subcommander Bochra." he said.
The Subcommander nodded stiffly and reached within his pocket for his comm unit.
"We are three." he said.
Suddenly, I felt that familiar grain-deep pin-needle spinning sensation, as though I had tried to move but my entire body had fallen asleep at once. We were beamed aboard the ship.
